Rise of the Tau

[Razor Devil]

‘Tell me how. I want to know it all, from the beginning. How are the Eldar responsible for creating the biggest threat our Imperium has ever faced?’

‘Very well, Chaplain, but I must warn you. It is likely that most of what I reveal may be beyond your understanding. You may deem many of the facts heretical, and so be unwilling to hear them. Still, you wish to learn the whole truth. So be it, Astarte. Here it is.
The Tau were…an experiment. They were created as a weapon.’

‘By the Eldar?’

‘By the Eldar, yes. A weapon against Chaos, the Great Enemy. A last, great hope. You see, we may have been fighting the forces of the Ruinous Powers for many thousands of years, but the Eldar? They have been fighting the war much, much longer. They hold a great racial shame, Codian, a shame they may never overcome. A shame that eclipses all others, even that of the traitor Horus and his damned followers.’

Codian felt his soul churn at the very mention of the traitor Primarch’s name, and Kryptman saw this.

‘Ah yes. As an Astarte, the hatred you feel burning in your breast at the very mention of that most foul name is nonetheless but a dim, stuttering fraction of the palpable hatred that all Eldar feel, every single moment of their lives. The memory of what they caused is ingrained upon their souls. It is their curse, their eternal burden.’

‘Why, Inquisitor? What did they do that was so terrible?’

‘They destroyed themselves, Codian. They gave birth to something so utterly horrific that its delivery eclipsed their homeworlds, effectively destroying the Eldar empire. They condemned themselves to a lingering, inescapable death. The Eldar race has been gasping its dying breaths since before we even took to the stars.’

‘Gave birth to what, Kryptman?’

‘To answer that, look to the Eye. The largest ever warp-realspace breach. We both know that the Eldar are a highly potent race with regards to psychic ability. The decadence of the ancestral Eldar created a schism so powerful that it tore a hole in the universe, Chaplain. Its birth swallowed their homeworlds and created the Ocularis Terribus, the Eye of Terror. The Eldar, in essence, gave birth to a facet of Chaos itself, and in doing so they condemned their entire race. Little wonder then that, at some point, they would conspire to atone for their sins. How little they had learned.’

Codian shook his head slowly and fell still, his glowing eyes burning in Kryptman’s direction.

‘You claim that the Eldar created the Eye? Do you realise how monumentally absurd such a claim sounds?’

‘Of course I do. That aside, does it really surprise you to learn such a thing? Chaos was abroad long before it almost tore apart our Imperium during the Heresy, Chaplain. There were races and creatures that warred for supremacy amongst these stars long before the human race even existed. Our race is young, Codian, younger than most.’

‘Back to the Eldar and the Tau.’ Codian said, stepping closer to the glowing dais. ‘What of their connection?’

‘I am already explaining that to you, Chaplain. You see, the Eldar are driven by this shame to seek a way of ending the threat of Chaos for all time. However, their biggest failing, like that of all the other enemies of Chaos, is their very self. The vulnerability of the body and soul. The Eldar, it seems, are a perfect effort, at the pinnacle of their development. They are immune to genetic change, unable to evolve. This is why they so stringently expose themselves to such rigorous meditations and disciplines. Like an immune system unable to evolve in order to counter a deadly virus, the Eldar’s tenuous existence teeters in the face of Chaos. They simply have no hope of countering it. That is their one great flaw, Codian. They were designed to withstand evolution’s progress. They are genetically locked.’

Codian issued a long, audible sigh and looked away, frustration clawing at him.

‘You asked for the truth, Chaplain.’

‘The Eldar were ‘designed’? What do you mean by that, Inquisitor?’

‘Designed, as we all were. Open your eyes, Codian. The clues to our origins have been among us since the dawn of our existence.’

‘You are raving!’ Codian shouted, brandishing his fist. ‘You have lost your mind, Kryptman. I will hear no more of this idiocy!’

At that the Chaplain swept around and marched toward the chamber door, shouldering past the towering Praetorians.

‘So be it.’ Kryptman called after him, his broadcast voice reverberating around the dusty space. ‘Run from the truth, Chaplain. But be warned, you were the one who demanded answers. I knew that you would be unable to accept the truth, and yet I revealed it to you nonetheless. Before you leave, let me ask you but one question.’

Codian slowed at the doorway, one hand finding the frame. He turned his head slightly.

‘Speak, and then be done.’ He growled.

‘Were we the first?’ Came the reply.

‘What manner of question is that? The first?’

‘The first, Chaplain. The primal race. You know that we were not. You know that there were other creatures abroad amongst these stars long before the human race even existed. They were the creators, the primogenitors. The fathers of the ancient Eldar, the fathers of us all.’

Codian’s imposing form froze in the light of the doorway.

‘Blasphemy…’

The single word echoed through the chamber, low and quiet and filled with menace.

‘Your disbelief be damned, Chaplain. It doesn’t matter how hard it is for you to accept. You, like all of us, are a creation. Whether through purpose or accident, it matters not. Life and sentience, they are no accident, no simple culmination of random astronomical events.’

The Chaplain pivoted sharply and the air within the chamber thundered. Several bright flashes strobed across the walls and the gathered xenoarcana as his bolt pistol roared, sending a hail of bolt shots out into the glowing field.

Shimmering ripples spread across the iridescent wall as the bolts exploded, plumes of fire bursting at the demise of each projectile.

Kryptman raised a hand and the guardian servitors came alive, shuddering as they activated. Each one stomped forward and surrounded the Chaplain, so swiftly and suddenly that he had no time to react. Within seconds he was fast, his pistol torn from his grasp. Steel claws wrapped around his arms, holding him rigid. Try as he might, he could not break free.

‘You will hear the truth, damn you!’ Kryptman shouted, his voice filling the chamber, so loud it caused the brass-ringed speakers to crackle and shudder.

‘Know your place in the greater scheme of things, Astarte. Step down from your pedestal and accept your status. We are children, all of us. Mere children struggling to emulate the greatness of those whose footsteps we follow across the stars. Wars were fought for this galaxy long before we existed. Powerful, ancient races waged those apocalyptic wars, races that were so powerful they could have eclipsed our Imperium without thought.

‘You yourself must have seen their legacy on hundreds of worlds across the Imperium, stood beneath their ancient monoliths and pondered upon the archaic technologies they left behind. Cadia, the Sentinel Worlds, Naogeddon. Arthas Moloch. These worlds and hundreds more hold the clues to their legacy.’

Codian did not answer. His rage was clear, his glowing eyes burning into Kryptman. The ancient Eldar, in their boundless arrogance, attempted to emulate their creators. Their all-consuming hatred of Chaos drove them on to do so. So it was that they discovered one of these legacies on a world close to the Eastern Fringe, one of the last surviving worlds of their creators, the First or Old Ones.

‘On the world of Arthas Moloch they uncovered an ancient gene-temple of the Old Ones, and beyond that, traces of their final efforts, a small system, a ‘stellar nursery’, if you will. It was here that they discovered the final legacy of their long-lost creators. Every lifeform within the infant system was unique in that, biologically, they were resistant to the insidious corruption of Chaos. It was there that they found the Tau, their last great hope. Their weapon against the Great Enemy. Am I right in assuming I have your full, undivided attention now?’

Again, Codian remained silent, though he seemed to have ceased struggling.

‘I will take your silence as a positive response. I know how hard it is for your kind to accept change, Chaplain, to strive to learn beyond the confines of your dogma. The Tau are change given flesh. They were designed to adapt, to learn and advance.
Using the ancient technology they discovered, the Eldar bio-engineered the ultimate creature. They trawled the lifepool of this galaxy in search of the most powerful genetic traits and they stole them in order to create a ‘super race’.

‘From the Ork they took the ability of racial memory and genetic malleability. From the Q’orl, the power of hierarchical pheromone control, racial unity and caste mentality. The Kroot provided evolutionary control and manipulation and the Jokaero, the ability to construct and design unconsciously any aspect of technology needed to counter or solve any given situation.

‘Even we were harvested, Codian. They took from us our sense of inquisitiveness, our thirst for conquest and exploration, our need to expand. So many traits were stolen and it would take an age to list them all. The Eldar reaped their genetic harvest and forged it into the Tau, instilling their own ingrained hatred of the forces of Chaos. Then they conjured up a great and powerful tempest around the system in order to isolate their progeny and preserve them, to allow them to grow. And so the Tau were born.’

Kryptman nodded and the Praetorians released the Chaplain before stepping back into the shadows in silence. Codian stooped low to retrieve his pistol, hesitated for a lingering moment, and then placed it back in its holster.

‘So the Tau are the ultimate creation then? As interesting as all this is, it fails to answer one fundamental question.’

‘What happened?’ Kryptman answered, speaking each word slowly and purposely. Beyond the field, his eyes widened.

‘Why did they go so wrong? In short, no one knows the answer, not even the Eldar. All we do know is that, sometime during the Tau’s growth, something happened to them. They encountered a foe or obstacle so utterly inimitable to them that it caused a great and unforeseen schism. Some Eldar suspect the Tyranids were to blame, that perhaps the complex Tau genepool was compromised, mutated by Tryanid influence. Others claim that the emergence of the ancient Necrontyr triggered some inherent factor within the Tau, a product of their legacy. We just don’t know.
What we do know is that this event initiated an acceleration within each and every Tau. It effectively kick-started an evolutionary boost that continues to this day. You see, the Tau were not the perfect creation they were supposed to be, Chaplain. They are flawed, and that flaw is why we are where we are today.

‘Imagine it. Every one of the traits implanted into the species has been magnified beyond imagination. They are the masters of their own biology and are able to gain any knowledge they need in order to prosper, able to change both physically and mentally in order to deal with any situation. They exist to bring an end to Chaos, an urge so strong that they conquer and enslave and consume for one purpose, and that is to build an army capable of destroying Chaos. They learn from every conflict and adapt to every situation that arises without exception, all the while driven ever onwards by a will to dominate and succeed that mirrors our own. They cannot stop, Codian. They cannot yield. They were designed to win.’

‘So how do we beat them?’

‘We open their eyes.’

With that, Kryptman manipulated something set into the armrest of his chair and a small hololithic projection shimmered into being before him. Codian immediately recognised the figure it portrayed. It was the Tau ambassador they had captured on Vanphilos. He looked to be held in a small cell, and Codian guessed that it was one of the many onboard the Proscriptus.

‘Our captive.’ Kryptman confirmed. ‘He may yet hold the key to the downfall of the Unity.’

‘How so?’

‘O’Shovah. The legendary rebel of the Tau. O’Shovah’s rebellion is proof that the Tau are able to break this cycle of conquest. O’Shovah’s expedition found the world of Arthas Moloch and they encountered the eternal guardians that the Eldar had left to stand sentinel there. It was there that he discovered the truth behind his origins, and it was also there that he discovered the true extent of the treachery of the Ethereal caste. When the Aun leading the expedition was killed, the all-consuming control was broken. He and his followers were free.’

The Inquisitor gestured towards the projection.

‘It is our hope, Chaplain, that we can somehow find a way to counter the Ethereals’ control. Your brother Laenar and myself think that we have found the key to do just that. If we are able to permanently divorce a Tau from his genetically-induced enslavement, we may be able to win this war.’

‘I see. And if you cannot achieve this?’

‘Then we will use the Caesus.’ Kryptman answered, his voice growing cold. ‘And we will see a war that will eclipse the stars.’

Unsurprisingly, Codian found himself utterly without a response.

‘Then we had better pray your plan works.’ He finally managed to answer.

[Dalenator]

Ooooooo, the suspense.
I'm loving this so far, please post more.

[Razor Devil]

Part Thirty Eight.

Dark Designs.


All eyes turned to the double doors of the bridge as Codian entered, voices falling to silence. He stepped into the massive chamber, each footfall reverberating through the vast space.

‘Chaplain.’ Czevak smiled, tipping his head in greeting. The Astarte did not answer. Instead he moved past the Inquisitor and stood before the Astartes present, greeting each one in turn with a warrior’s handshake, hand to forearm.

‘Brother-Chaplain, it is good to see you alive and back here.’ Ligur said, his words sincere. The Librarian’s thick lightning claw gauntlets were gone, and Codian found himself gripping a bare bronzed arm covered in wards and decoration.

‘It is good to be back amongst familiar faces, brother. Imperial faces.’

He cast a glance over at Czevak, who looked to respond with a certain disappointment. This pleased him.

‘I am told we have a plan.’ He said, taking in the surrounding tactical displays and hololithic charts. Ligur tipped his head solemnly.

‘We do. I trust your meeting with Kryptman was satisfactory, and that you gained the answers you needed in order to clarify your thoughts for the daunting journey ahead?’

The question came completely out of the blue and it caused Codian to take a step back. Ligur merely met his gaze and awaited his answer.

‘Many supposed facts were revealed.’ He whispered ominously in reply. If even half of what Kryptman told me holds truth…’

‘It does, Chaplain.’ Ligur answered, cutting him off. ‘And we of the Deathwatch are amongst the few brethren who know this with utter certainty. It is why we do what we do, and why we have divorced ourselves from the Alliance. If you can take the word of any Astarte on board this vessel, take mine.’

The Librarian’s powerful eyes found his for a lingering moment, his gaze sharp and ominous.

‘There has been enough division amongst our kind, brother.’

Codian found himself beginning to understand why these Marines were acting beyond the influence of the Imperium then. Ligur’s sincerity was without question, he could see that. He still knew little if nothing about why the Marines here had separated themselves from the rest of the remaining Imperium, but could sense that belief played an important part in that separation.

‘The plan.’ He said again quietly.

Ligur nodded slowly and faced the gathered mixture of Astartes and bridge staff.

‘Now that we are all present, it is time to discuss our next steps. Adept?’

He gestured toward a black-robed engineer who bowed his head and began to manipulate the rune bank before him.

A rising whine echoed throughout the chamber and the glow globes dimmed sympathetically, a growing orb of sterile white light forming before the adept. Silence fell over the assembly as the hololithic projection yawned into life, a perfect scaled image of the galaxy.

Many glowing runes lit the image, pulsating softly like miniature crimson stars. Masses of these small lights were clustered about the projection, and Codian took them to be representations of the positions of Tau forces.

The Librarian indicated several areas encircling the Segmentum Solar, the image rippling as his finger passed from one pulsating crimson mass to another.

‘Our intelligence, if reliable, places the current Tau advance in these key areas. It would seem that the fleets Kraken and Prometheus are merging, an event we have feared for many years. We know this to mean only one thing. The advance for Terra is underway.’

A quiet murmur passed through the assembly, as each and everyone present had their worst fears confirmed.

Ligur shifted his hand and slowly encircled the Terran system, the large azure rune that represented Terra pulsing softly at its centre.

‘They are closing the net. The Tau have the Alliance on the back foot and they know it. We have sent an Astropathic communication via the Macharius array but we don’t even know if the grid is still intact. All we can do is await an answer.

‘In the meantime, we must redouble our efforts to close the gap between the Caesus and Terra.’

‘Forgive me, Brother Ligur.’ Czevak cut in. ‘But there is more than a simple need to deliver the artefact to its required destination. The Caesus must be prepared for use as well as relinquished to the appropriate authorities on Terra. We still have much to do before we can complete our mission.’

Codian emitted an audible growl at the Inquisitor’s interruption. Ligur shook his head silently to quiet him and stepped aside, bowing his head at Czevak.

‘Perhaps you could explain further in the absence of Kryptman, Inquisitor?’

The comment was subtle but Codian picked up on Ligur’s hidden anger straight away. Kryptman should have been present to head the meeting, and yet it was clear that he would be remaining absent. The others gathered here seemed aware of this already, and Ligur of all of them was clearly the most displeased by this. He felt he could sense a rift beginning to grow between the Inquisitor and the Astartes in his service.

In the weeks following Vanphilos the ancient Inquisitor had become increasingly withdrawn and secretive, spending longer and longer locked away within his chamber and refusing conference, and no one knew why. Czevak’s arrival had brought about a change in him, and Codian for one did not know why.

The change vexed him greatly, and he found himself directing the blame at Czevak.

The Inquisitor’s eyes lingered on Codian for a moment before he turned to the projection and began to point out the various positions of the encroaching Tau fleets.

‘We still have a huge area of hostile space to cross before we are able to rendezvous with the Alliance fleets, and then we can’t be sure they even know we are coming. That aside, we still have to ensure that the Caesus is prepared for use when we hand it over. It is up to us to make sure that it is not only delivered but also primed and ready. I will not lie to you all, the journey we need to take to achieve this will test each and every one of us far more than we have ever been tested in our lives. We, as a race, stand facing the twilight of our existence, and we are going to have to confront trials that none of us could ever have imagined.’

‘Speak your mind, Czevak.’ Codian snapped, his raised voice turning every head. Czevak’s face twitched but he maintained his composure. He pivoted sharply to face the projection once more.

‘As you can see, there are currently no safe paths through to the Imperial fleets that we know of. At this moment in time, this is of no consequence.’

Another collective murmur washed through the gathering. Codian drew himself up in preparation to answer, though this time it was Berolinus who answered, the younger Astarte’s face flushed with anger. He stepped forward, his fists bunched.

‘Of no consequence? How can you say that? The future of our Imperium hangs in the balance…’

Czevak held up his hands for calm, clearly apprehensive in the presence of the towering Marine.

‘Please, hear me out. The activation of the Caesus is a huge undertaking, far larger than anything else ever attempted since the near physical demise of the Emperor. Our immediate problem is not its delivery. We need to find a way to power it.’

‘I see.’ Codian answered, stepping forward. ‘So enlighten us then, Czevak, for we know too little about this device to be able to guess how to do that.’

The Inquisitor fixed Codian with a cold, steely gaze, a dark and damning knowledge lingering behind his eyes. Even before he uttered the first few words of his reply, Codian knew what was coming.

‘The Eldar have promised us the solution to this. Even as we speak, my former hosts move to secure what we need. I know precious little of how this will be achieved, only that our efforts are being observed and augmented by these mysterious creatures. In the meantime, we have other pressing concerns.’

He looked to the Librarian beside him.

‘Brother Ligur?’

Ligur nodded and then turned to the gathered faces, signalling to one of the deckhands standing beside the door to the bridge.

‘We have had a breakthrough. Precious few such achievements have been made since the Tau rose to power, yet we have finally managed to secure ourselves a major victory here onboard the Proscriptus. Brother Laenar, you may enter.’

Codian felt a surge of anticipation at the mention of his brother’s name. It had been too long since he had seen his Techmarine comrade.

The doors of the bridge hissed open and Laenar stepped through, his huge frame filling the space. The arms of his servo-harness were folded at his sides and his back, yet still the warrior had to negotiate himself through the opening.

Laenar entered the bridge and bowed to the surrounding warriors, the eyeslits of his helm pulsing a glowing emerald green. As he spoke, his voice was deep and mechanical, more so than Codian could ever remember before.

‘Brothers, comrades, I bring you tidings of great import. The integrity of our enemy has been compromised for all time.’

He held out a hand towards the open doors and the others looked on. A collective gasp whispered throughout the chamber as the creature there stepped through into the light.

Standing there, regarding each face with a mixture of bewilderment and fear, the captured Water Caste Envoy froze. The creature’s mouth worked silently as if struggling to find speech. A large area at the centre of its face was covered with gauze, indicating an obvious surgical procedure, recent given the freshness of the dressing.

After several moments of terrified silence, the Tau lowered himself slowly onto one knee and bowed his head, a visible tremble running through his body.

‘Por’O Gormat, Envoy Prelate.’ Laenar uttered, introducing the xenos to the stunned audience. ‘Slave to the Unity no longer.’

Codian was the first to break free of the mire of shock. He started forward, his footsteps ringing on the deck in the near silence.

‘Explain, Laenar. What is…that…’ He thrust a finger out at the alien, ‘doing on the bridge of this ship.’

‘Making history, Chaplain. Stand, Envoy.’

The alien did as ordered, slowly rising to his feet. He seemed to flinch at every word or movement around him, his eyelids fluttering in apprehension almost constantly. Standing by his side, Laenar literally towered over the slender alien.

‘The mission to Vanphilos may have been testing, but it has borne fruit, Codian. We have achieved that which we set out to do. We have an ally in this creature.’

The Chaplain took another step towards the Por, bending at the waist so as to examine the Tau. Gormat lowered his head fearfully, his eyelids almost turning translucent as they vibrated. After a few tense moments Codian rose.

‘An ally? How can we possibly trust a Tau? If such a union were possible, would it not have been tried before now?’

‘It is all a matter of biology.’ Laenar answered, indicating the gauze at the centre of the Envoy’s face.

With that he walked away from the scene and returned moments later, carrying with him the Envoy’s captured staff.

Gormat regarded the symbol of office with a glimmer of recognition, his black eyes widening for a moment, then he simply turned away, a curious and unreadable expression passing across his face.

‘It was Kryptman who came to me with the idea.’ Laenar continued. ‘He theorised that the Ethereals of the Tau somehow exuded a powerful pheromonal control over the rest of their race. Furthermore, in their absence the commanders of the other castes had to ensure, albeit unwittingly, that the ultimate control of the Ethereals was sustained.’

He extended his arm and proffered the alien staff.

‘His suspicions proved correct. This artefact was found to generate an artificial pheromone near identical to those generated by the Ethereals. The device was neutralised and the olfactory receptors of the subject creature removed. Within hours the subject started to display symptoms of extreme withdrawal, but this soon passed. You see before you a member of the Tau race now utterly divorced from the influence of the Ethereal caste. Envoy?’

The alien bowed his head at Laenar and then Found Codian’s fiery gaze.

‘Por’O Gormat, Envoy Prelate…’

He paused, thought passing over his grey face.

‘Former Envoy Prelate of the Final Sphere Expansion, Or’es El’leath to the fleet of Aun’O N’dras Shi’Ko’vash Or’es Ol’nan…’

Codian emitted a low growl of irritation, cutting the Tau’s rambling introduction short.

‘M-my apologies, gue’la warrior. Gormat will suffice.’

‘Xenos will suffice.’ Codian uttered, a murderous hostility in his voice. ‘Are you so ignorant a creature, Tau, that you cannot sense the absolute hatred I hold for your kind? It is all I can do to stand in your presence without tearing your head from your shoulders. Perhaps you had better convince me why I should continue to restrain myself before the urge becomes too great to suppress.’

The Envoy held up his hands and backed away, pleading eyes finding the Techmarine’s helm-covered face.

‘Please, try to restrain your anger, warrior of the Emperor. I am your enemy no longer. Your engineer and your medical caste have opened my eyes to the deceit that lies at the heart of my people. Ours is an empire built on lies and manipulation. We are a race of drones, slaved to the machinations of our Ethereal masters. Every action I have ever undertaken in the name of the Unity I have done so unwittingly, despite thinking I was acting under my own volition.’

Gormat fell silent, a look of what Codian took to be disgust twisting his smooth features.

‘O’Shovah.’ He whispered, his voice tinged with a deep sadness. ‘By the Tau’va, I see it now. All this time we thought of him as the worst traitor, and yet now I finally see the truth.’

Gormat twisted on his heel and made quickly for the nearest bulkhead, his slender fingers reaching out in order to steady him. Whatever pain of betrayal he felt inside, Codian was unmoved.

‘I await your answer still, xenos. What can you offer us in payment for your continued survival? Justify your presence or prepare to meet the end of your existence here on this bridge.’

Gormat tensed at hearing this. His fingers tightened against the dark, brass-trimmed wood.

‘What can if offer you?’

He rose and faced the Chaplain once more, smoothing down the folds of his ceremonial robes as if in an attempt to regain a little dignity.

‘Gue’la, you have no idea. Your Alliance fights with bravery and defiance as they struggle to turn aside the extinction fleets. They cannot win.’

‘Enough, Tau. I will hear no…’

‘They cannot win.’ Gormat said again, this time much more defiantly. ‘The Unity are too powerful to stop. They will smash through the defences of your home system and they will take the seat of your Emperor as their own. You know nothing of the Unity’s myriad plans for this galaxy.’

Codian took a step forward, his hand finding the hilt of his crozius. Gormat continued regardless.

‘I will teach you all the secrets of the Tau if it will bring about an end to the Ethereals’ rule. I will reveal their plans to build an army of your kind. I will reveal the pacts they have made with the unknown denizens of these stars, creatures you know of only in stories and legend. I can tell you what they plan to do with the Emperor…’

‘Enough!’ Codian roared, drawing his crozius with a thrum of crackling power.

‘Hear me, gue’la! They will use him to further their own ends! They will corrupt him and turn him to their cause…’

Codian thundered across the remaining space and drew his arm back, azure sparks trailing behind the skull-faced head of the murderous weapon.

‘…as they have done to your warrior prince, the Guilliman…’

The Chaplain froze, his boots squealing as they slid across the deck. The power weapon halted inches from the Envoy’s head, the field surrounding it deactivating instantly. It hovered there, causing Gormat’s features to quiver unbidden.

‘What did you say? By the Fortress of Hera, Tau, repeat that last statement.’

‘Your first one, the warrior prince. The Guilliman. He is awoken, gue’la, and he fights beneath the banner of the Unity.

Even as the first sharp intake of breath hissed through the air of the bridge, Codian was gone, the double doors leading out into the ship twisted and hanging forlornly.

At the centre of his private chamber, Kryptman’s eyes slid open.

[Dalenator]

c'mon not just that, give us a few more chapters of this great story. Don't leave me hanging.

[Razor Devil]

Part Thirty Nine.

Hard Truth.


+++THE ZIGGURAT IMPERIALIS, SEAT OF THE HIGH LORDS+++
+++THE IMPERIAL PALACE+++
+++TERRA+++

All eyes turned to the massive arched doors. The shadowy giants standing guard there shifted in the half-lit gloom, golden armour glinting. The sound of the huge doors grinding open was thunderous, echoing through the impossibly vast space. Pallid cherubs trailing banners and censers flitted away from the light that spilled into the space, illuminating the ancient mosaics stretching across the floor.

Armoured shapes appeared, casting long shadows across the glowing bridge of light. The sound of armour plate and steel-shod boot rang through the dry air, intensified a hundredfold by the acoustics of the immense space.

The arrivals were Astartes, clad in gleaming blue and gold ceremonial armour. The personal heraldry of the Warmaster decorated the right shoulder guard of each warrior, marking them out as members of Calgar’s Chosen.

‘My honoured Lords, presenting the Honour Guard of the Warmaster.’ A faceless and hidden herald-servitor boomed, its augmetic voice reverberating throughout the chamber.

‘Representatives of the Warmaster and Lord Solar, commander of the Alliance forces. My Lords, prepare for hololithic audience.’

The lead Astarte, his flawless armour almost entirely hidden beneath a flowing ivory cloak, started forward from the procession as the rest of the warriors fell to one knee in perfect unison. The cloaked figure stopped as he reached a huge inlaid golden aquila and knelt himself, producing a small object from beneath his vestments.

The object was a small and perfectly formed golden idol of the Warmaster clad in armour and flesh, seated upon the throne of Macragge, just as he had been before his internment into the ancient Dreadnought armour.

Not that the figures arrayed around the edges of the circular chamber could have picked out these details. The twelve most powerful men in the Imperium sat illuminated far above the floor of the audience chamber, so far in fact as to seem little more than shadowed pinpricks of light.

One by one, flickering holographic representations of each of the High Lords of Terra appeared before each lofty throne, eyes cast down upon the new arrivals.

‘Open the link.’ Spoke the twisted, avian form of Krieusius Magmador, Master of the Astronomicon.

The figure far below bowed and did as ordered. There followed a short, whispering rush of building power and the air above the outstretched idol frosted and swirled, quickly forming the same kind of grainy image as those surrounding the curved walls.

Marneus Calgar’s majestic face formed out of the very air itself to look out upon the assembled High Lords, his regal features proud and clad in flesh, just as they had been in centuries past.

‘Lord Calgar.’ Spoke the wizened Matriarch Constanta Anvellonne, the Abbess Sanctorum of the Adeptus Sororitas.

‘We have gathered here as requested, to receive word of the continuing war effort.’

‘How goes the fight against the Unity?’ Magmador cut in, his high, sibilant voice almost a screech.

‘My gathered Lords, I bring news of the war, though I regret to inform you that little of what I have to report is of a positive nature.’

‘Then perhaps you had better put us out of our misery, Lord Calgar.’ Spoke the Grand Master of the Officio Assassinorum, Lord Fraudator Regaas.

The image flickered as it bowed, the oversized face tightening with suppressed anger.

‘We are put to flight. Gehenna saw a defeat for the Alliance, a defeat that would have been compounded had we attempted to stay and face the Unity. I made the decision to withdraw for the good of Terra.’

‘I see.’ Spoke Anvellonne, her pale, lined features wrinkling. ‘And what of the Endymion? We of the Sororitas were hoping to hear of her own account of this war. Does she fare well?’

‘She is…lost to us, Matriarch. The Saint gave her life to face the Tau’s greatest weapon.’

An audible cry of despair rose up from the Abbess Sanctorum’s position and her personal holo-image dissipated, breaking apart. The light illuminating her seat faded, casting the distraught woman in darkness.

Unmoved by her pain, the other High Lords looked on, faces set in stone.

‘Perhaps the loss of Gehenna and the surrounding inner territories was an inevitable occurrence.’ Spoke Gregator Consolatin, Adeptus Supremus, Master of the Administratum.

‘This war has drained our resources to their limits. We can simply no longer sustain the rate at which we are having to produce…’

‘By the Emperor, Consolatin, hear yourself!’ Cut in Lorn Vestosul, Lord Commander Militant of the Alliance Guard.

‘We are a war for the very survival of the Imperium itself! You cannot put a price on this war, neither in terms of manpower nor fiscal cost. This is survival at it rawest, Adeptus Supremus.’

‘Nonsense! You know nothing of the workings of our Imperium, Vestosul…’

‘Nor the cost.’ Another voice cut in, a powerful mechanical tone. The huge holo-visage of Grand Magos Ghormengar Ghan Achosyx, Fabricator-General of Mars Posthumous, turned its gaze towards the fiery Lord Commander.

‘We are not an inexhaustible commodity, Lord Commander Militant. Mars is gone. All our blessed forge worlds are gone, either destroyed, captured or far beyond our reach. We simply cannot afford to sustain any loss…’

‘Enough!’

A thunderous voice cut through the arguing, shocking those responsible into silence. All eyes fell upon the golden-helmed visage of Captain-General Pugnus Imperatorius of the mighty Adeptus Custodes.

The bronzed skin of his ancient face contrasted starkly with his flowing white beard. Set at the centre of this shock of hair, his perfect teeth were bared.

‘Enough of this petty squabbling! You are High Lords one and all, the masters-in-state of our Emperor’s realm. Conduct yourselves as such. Can we not set aside our differences of opinion long enough to discuss our next course of action? Our Imperium teeters on the brink of total destruction?’

None of the other Lords were able to offer an immediate answer.

‘Vestosul is right, at least in principle.’ Imperatorius continued after a pause. ‘This is a war of survival, and as such we will do whatever is necessary to survive. We will fight and work and produce, regardless of limitation. Failure to do so can mean only one thing, defeat.’

‘Hmm. There is too much talk of retreat and concession.’ Regaas chipped in. ‘Soon we will find ourselves backed into a corner from which there is no escape. Can we not steel ourselves to take the reins of offensive action?’

‘Please, let Calgar speak.’ Uttered Suni Mae Sing, Grand Mistress of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica.

Her eyeless holo-representation shifted to face the Warmaster.

‘The death of the Saint was suspected, Warmaster. We felt it even here. Tell me, what do you know of Saint Cloelia’s final moments? What was her message?’

Calgar’s visage wavered, a visible confusion tightening his features.

‘I regret to say, Mistress, that I know of no much message. I was regretfully far from the scene of her death when our lost Primarch took her life.’

‘Interesting.’ The blind woman replied after a lengthy pause. ‘And yet every single Astropath on Terra felt what we now know to have been her death-song. She spoke unto us, the blessed Endymion, though we know not what she said.’

‘It was much more.’ Magmador cut in. ‘The Astronomicon roils still at its passing. The Great Light of the Throne reacted, Mistress…’

‘The Primarch.’ Imperatorius uttered, his mighty voice cutting through the heated debate. ‘So, the suspicions were true. Guilliman is restored.’

‘He is. The Primarch walks amongst men.’

The entire chamber fell into silence, a deep foreboding void of sound. Not even the cherub swarms made a sound, the incessant beating of their grafted wings fading into nothing as if in empathic response. It fell to Lord Inquisitor Covenant, the Inquisitorial Representative, to break the silence.

‘So, how does one set about making war with a son of the Emperor Himself? Not even the Inquisition has such countermeasures in place to deal with the re-emergence and betrayal of a Primarch.’

‘Betrayal.’ Growled the Warmaster in reply. ‘Is an inappropriate to describe the current status of our Primarch. He is not of his own mind. The enemy have somehow managed to compromise him.’

‘As Horus was compromised, Warmaster?’ Regaas sneered. ‘Do not allow your love for your Primarch to blind you, Calgar. Look to history. The betrayal of the Emperor’s first sons almost tore our Imperium apart. That same betrayal saw our Lord cast broken upon the Throne…’

‘Regaas!’ Imperatorius roared, his visage shuddering and breaking up beneath his rage. ‘Speak not of that which you little understand!’

Fraudator Regaas’ image darkened, a sneer of contempt drawing his lips back over his teeth.

‘And yet, Custodian, the fact remains that Guilliman serves the enemy. Whatever the cause of his betrayal, his heresy cannot be ignored. Lord Inquisitor. Abbess Sanctorum. Grand Provost Marshal. Ecclesiarch.’

The Assassinorum Grand Master looked to each of these faces in turn.

‘Together, each one of your organisations exist only to uphold the law of the Imperium and ensure that heresy, dissent and impurity are scoured from its borders. Surely, there can be no compromise in the execution of your collective duties? A traitor is a traitor, an enemy is an enemy. There can be no grey area if this organisation, this Imperium of ours, is to survive.’

‘The law is utterly resolute.’ Answered Lodon Darvistor, the Grand Provost Marshal of the Adeptus Arbites.

‘Regaas speaks the truth, however unpalatable it may be.’

‘I concur.’ Ecclesiarch Von Winterthur echoed, bowing his ancient head. ‘Heresy is heresy. Our dark and shameful history has taught us that.’

‘He must be brought low.’ Covenant answered calmly. ‘Compromise is naught but self-condemnation.’

‘Primarch or no, he murdered a Saint of the Imperium.’ Anvellonne whispered from the darkness, her cracked voice heavy with spite.

‘Can there be any greater crime against the All-Father? Guilliman must be destroyed.’

Calgar’s mighty face quivered to hear such things. Steeling himself, he bowed.

‘Then I can plainly see that my audience is at an end here. Until the next briefing.’
Before any of the High Lords could voice a protest, the Warmaster’s shimmering face dissipated and his Honour Guard quickly rose as one. In silence they turned on their heel and left the chamber, the massive doors slamming shut behind them.

For several long minutes, there was only silence. Voicing himself for the first time since the Lords had gathered, the Paternoval Envoy of the Navigators spoke, his voice seeming to cause a chill to descend over the entire chamber.

‘It would seem that we are at odds with our own Warmaster.’ Malchis Vambra-Rhaeticus observed.

‘This cannot bode well. There has been enough schism amongst the members of the Alliance. Can we trust Calgar to do what is necessary?’

‘We must.’ Von Winterthur answered. ‘The soldiers and citizens of our Imperium are harried enough. Faith has been sorely tested these past few centuries. Entire worlds have fallen beneath the yoke of the Tau. Heed my words, we are in danger of seeing another Plague of Unbelief. Should word spread through the remaining kingdoms that one of the mightiest warriors of our Imperium has turned his face from the Emperor’s light and sides with the hated enemy, it may prove to be the undoing of us all. He must be stopped, no matter the cost.’

‘Agreed. We must use every resource available to achieve this. If Calgar cannot be trusted to destroy Guilliman then it is up to the Inquisition to end this heresy. I fear that perhaps only the Grey Knights are strong enough to achieve this.’

High above, Regaas hammered his fist into the ancient lectern.

‘I will hunt him. Perhaps we cannot allow Calgar to see us working against him to destroy the wayward Primarch. No, this could shatter the relations between ourselves and the Alliance, at least the Astartes factions. Guilliman must die, that is certain, but it must be a death unconnected with any of us, at least in the eyes of the Warmaster. I will set my assassins upon the Primarch. I pledge the efforts of every temple at my disposal to achieve this.’

A slow-burning murmur of agreement whispered throughout the chamber as, one by one, the other High Lords concurred.

Only ancient Imperatorius remained silent, his burning eyes fixed upon the Grand Master of the Assassinorium’s triumphant and determined face.

Regaas saw this, and smiled.

[Razor Devil]

Part Forty.

Old Comrades, New Enemies.


Is it true?

He had found himself asking the question with an unexpected calmness and clarity. The doors to Kryptman’s chamber had opened upon his arrival and the hulking guards within had stood immobile, cold and deactivated.

The Inquisitor had been waiting.

Yes.

Even as the single word echoed through the chamber in reply, to his credit, he did not react. His twin hearts hammered a single shuddering beat. His fingers tightened. He fought down the urge to cry out, to lose himself in anger, to surge forward and tear the Inquisitor from his seat. He did not.

He found himself able to utter but one word, the tone of his voice controlled by only the flimsiest emotional walls.

Explain.

I cannot. Kryptman had answered with genuine sincerity.

I can only confirm that he is risen, restored to health by the Life Caste. His mind is poisoned, his eyes blind to the truth. He fights for the enemy.

How could a son of Macragge respond to that? How could a keeper of the Chapter’s sanctity allow himself to hear such an incredulous claim? Roboute Guilliman, the greatest of the Primarchs, the father of his Chapter and a score of others. Guilliman had resisted the Great Heresy, when brother had turned against brother, when warriors sworn to uphold the honour of the Emperor had turned their faces towards the darkness and eternal damnation.

Roboute Guilliman had not.

He ducked low as the whining buzz-saw arm screamed past, his reverie almost causing him his head. Stripped to his waist, the muscles of his honed physique strained against his skin as if they would burst through.

The training servitor spun wildly, the speed of its rotation increasing. Weapons arms flailed in deadly arcs as screaming saw blades, crackling power bludgeons and all manner of other cruel weaponry hunted for his flesh.

The servitor’s aggression pattern was set to maximum, and Codian felt the thrill of combat surging, washing away the anger and confusion within. The heat of battle always brought with it a clarity of mind an Astarte could not find from any other source, not even meditation. He could think over no better way to both work away his frustrations and centre his thoughts.

A crackling power spike speared forward, hunting for his abdomen. He shifted to the left and twisted, bringing the head of the crozius down in a hard, chopping motion. The spike rang and spun away, sparks bleeding after it. The hoarse, raking thrum of a chainblade intensified as the weapon swiftly made to take his legs, missing as he leapt just high enough for the blade to scream by beneath.

Codian landed and turned into the servitor’s pole-like torso strut, feeling his bare back slam against the cold metal. He raised his free arm and grabbed the nearest extremity before bringing his weapon up and shearing the large scissor-claw there away with a swift, rising blow. The servitor started to rotate again and he rolled forward, passing between two more weapons arms before landing on one shoulder and coming up in a controlled roll onto his feet. His armoured boot flashed out and another weapon went spinning away, twisted and broken.

The blow set the unit off-balance, if only for a second. He saw this and shouldered forward, his arm drawn back ready to strike. The servitor was still turning, its targeting systems realigning after the blow. He brought the crozius forward…

The spike came out of nowhere and drove into and though his collarbone, cutting his advance brutally short. The immediate flash of intense pain caused him to cry out and he brought the weapon down, carving the servitor’s cogitator unit into two ragged halves. He felt his collarbone grind against the spike, a fresh surge of pain hitting him as the unit slumped, pushing him down onto one knee.

‘Pushing yourself too hard I see.’

The unexpected voice startled Codian, so much so that he forgot the pain surging through him and hauled himself free, the triumphant spear coated with thick, congealing blood. He slumped down on the edge of the combat dais and looked to the door of the chamber to see Grungi staring back, leant against the frame.

‘Perhaps you ought to get that looked at.’

‘It will heal.’

The Demiurg gave a nonchalant shrug and shifted his weight onto his feet, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

‘Hnn. I’m sure it will. Feel better for that, longshanks? It wasn’t much of a fight, from what I saw. Perhaps it was exactly what you needed though.’

He gestured towards the grisly wound.

‘A warrior needs reminding from time to time that he is not immortal. To live as we do, you have to expect death to come from every blow. Expect to die. Such expectations will keep you strong, keep you focused. A good look, by the way. Much more fitting of a warrior.’

‘Advice.’ Codian answered coldly. ‘From a xenos?’

Grungi sneered and dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

‘Ahh, get over yourself, cloud breather. Extract that rod from up your **** and try to cultivate a sense of perspective. A king is only a king if he has a throne to squat on. The Tau are the rulers of this galaxy, my friend, and you are the xenos, the unpalatable minority, the alien to be purged. You have no business acting and talking as if you are my better.’

Grungi shook his head and waddled over to the dais where he slumped down beside the injured Chaplain, chewing his scarred lip thoughtfully.

‘We are stuck. Did you know that?’

‘What?’

‘Stuck. Stranded. As in no way forward. If you’d have stayed instead of storming off in a sulk you would have found that out. We can’t get to Terra, bone-priest. The Tau have seen to that. We have no obvious way of delivering your precious Caesus.’

Codian shifted uneasily as he heard this, the pain in his shoulder subsiding almost immediately.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Your brethren certainly are. The Tau Envoy is working with them to try and discern a safe course through the enemy fleets, but it may be some time before we find ourselves on the move again. We have hit a dead end.’

Codian rose, his ascent visibly unsteady. He reached over and slammed his palm into the console at the dais’ edge and the lights of the chamber intensified.

‘So, we have hit a dead end. Damn this cursed place.’

Beside him, Grungi regarded his augmetic hand thoughtfully.

‘You know, I feel I’ve spent too long on this soulless Imperial tub. I need to clear my head and speak with the ancestors. I feel perhaps you do too. What say you join me?’

Codian’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

‘Join you? Demiurg, what are you talking about?’

‘Follow me.’ Grungi replied, hopping from the dais and onto his feet. ‘And bring your armour. When not in battle a warrior must preserve his dignity.’

+++

The low hum started with a deep, thunderous boom that rolled beneath the darkness like a wave, its echoes rumbling as they dissipated through the bowels of the black void. The crackle of activating lights followed; dim at first, but growing in intensity at the passing of each moment. Even as the vast space began to illuminate, casting the black shadows away, the large circle set into the centre of the chamber floor ignited, a cold, blinding azure glow creating a column of shimmering light.

Dancing wisps of ethereal energy appeared at the centre of the column, bleeding into existence as if caught immobile after travelling at great speeds. Within moments, a crude, misty outline began to form. Moments more, and Thurgus Grungi stepped from the thick beam and out into the silent chamber, a smile of recognition spreading across his twisted face.

‘Home.’ He whispered, stepping aside as the column darkened and rippled once again. He looked behind him as Codian emerged, his body language betraying his bewilderment. Grungi found himself staring at the Marine’s face, his real face, not the leering skull he had come to recognise. It was only then that he realised that, in the combat room, he had seen the man beneath the armour for the first time.

‘Hmm.’

He smiled and raised his hand, offering the view to the dumbstruck Chaplain.

‘Welcome back. By Thor, but it’s good to be among the ancestors once again.’

Codian didn’t understand what he meant by that, not at first. It took him several seconds of silent observation to actually realise where he was.

‘The Grudgebearer.’

Grungi smiled again and beckoned him to follow.

‘Ah, my soul lifts already, longshanks. Her spirit welcomes me home.’

Codian’s face tightened as he purged the disorientation and shock within him. The layout of the alien craft, the vast deck spaces with their overtly industrial design, the coolant groves and thick riveted bulkheads, all started to look familiar. He had left this craft months ago and now here he was again, incredibly, where moments before he had been stood on the deck of the Proscriptus Rex.

‘How? How did we do that?’ He asked quietly. ‘Teleportation?’

‘No. Not as you know it, bone-priest. Heh, your Mechanicus have quested for an age to learn the greatest technological secrets of the Demiurg. They never were able to accept the prowess of our engineers.’

‘Even so, you didn’t answer. We have just crossed the gulf in the time it takes for an orbital teleportation to occur. That was faster than warp travel, Demiurg. The machine in your quarters…’

‘I built it.’ Grungi answered, almost as if hesitant to admit responsibility. ‘I have taken two life oaths in my years, bone-priest. The Engineer’s Oath was the first. The translation matrix is a fairly simple machine to build, even with Imperial tech, if you know what to salvage. I managed to link your ship to the matrix just over a month ago.’

Codian said nothing, but found himself marvelling at the stark simplicity of it all. He knew he should have felt anger at the Demiurg’s actions, both in the theft he suggested and the fact that he had kept his abilities from them, but he found he could not. So much had happened these past few months and, despite the anger he still felt burning within him at both Kryptman and the Tau’s revelations, he could also sense a change within. Many facets of the smouldering core of faith within him were cooling, unravelling despite his best efforts to maintain their vigour. His hatred of the xenos, the strict principles of the codex, these and more seemed to be growing almost redundant, unnecessary. It was as if this dark, uncertain future had somehow begun to fundamentally change all that he was inside, a prospect unthinkable for an Astarte.

The problem was, he was more than a warrior of the line. He was a Chaplain, the very essence of both the warrior and the chapter made flesh. To even suggest that his own faith might be sliding…

‘Why have you brought me here?’

Grungi looked away from the quivering coolant pipes he had been inspecting and exhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring.

‘To reflect. One must look to the ancestors when he has no answers of his own, brother warrior. I return here now and again, just to keep myself grounded and commune with those who have passed. Hnn, it also does me good to check that the Grudgebearer remains undisturbed. Feel honoured that I have chosen to share this with you.’

‘Reflect?’ Codian answered. ‘Here? I am not Demiurg, Grungi. Why would I find solace on an alien vessel?’

Grungi shook his head softly and then flicked a thumb out in the direction of a gloomy corridor beyond. In truth, even as the words had left his mouth, Codian realised how blind the momentary confusion had made him.

‘Think back to the moment you first opened your eyes here in this dark time.’ Grungi continued, regardless of the realisation passing over Codian’s face.

‘And the tomb you left behind.’

+++

The cramped interior of the lifepod was just as he remembered. The bodies of his lost comrades lay where they had died, little more than desiccated husks, skeletal and mummified by the centuries. Artemon’s ancient artificer armour gleamed beneath the lights, the golds and blues sparkling beneath the dust.

‘Captain…’ He whispered, bowing his head respectfully.

The other honourable dead were arrayed about their captain, seated in eternal silence. Maximus, the Company Champion cut a regal pose even in death. His broadsword rested, hilt up, across his chest and down between his armoured legs. His shield lay at his feet, the golden Imperial eagle facing the ceiling. The others, battle brothers Polonius, Andrior and Lestri had been young by Astartes standards, part of the same squad as Berolinus. He still remembered standing at the door of the lifepod, his hand outstretched.

No more room, brothers.

A hurried series of responsive nods had seen the rest of the Marines leave without protest, intent on seeking out the next available pod. A heavy sadness weighed him down as he thought back to that time. Could he have saved more lives? Had those Marines escaped, gone on to continue the Emperor’s ceaseless wars? He knew he would never be able to answer that.

He looked to the floor at the centre of the small bridge at the shrouded body of Kreusus the Epistolary. Such waste. Though he had administered the Final Rites to these fallen warriors, he considered their final resting place, the tomb the lifepod had become. Perhaps it would be fitting to ask the Demiurg if it would be possible to cast the vessel adrift and aflame, a fitting tribute to those inside. Here in this nightmare time, there would be no safe place to lay the bodies of these men to rest.

He nodded thoughtfully to himself, the idea gaining merit in his mind as he considered it.

‘To be back amongst you one last time is my honour, brothers of Macragge.’ He whispered. ‘And I will carry your memory with me wherever fate may direct me. Ave Imperator.’

‘Touching.’

Every muscle in his body froze as the soft voice echoed through the space. It was a voice he had never heard before.

He twisted his head to look out at the access hatch, and the dark-armoured shadow standing there.
Another Astarte.

[Razor Devil]

Part Forty One.

Secrets, Fallen.


+++THE ZIGGURAT IMPERIALIS, SEAT OF THE HIGH LORDS+++
+++THE IMPERIAL PALACE+++
+++TERRA+++


Grand Master Regaas pulled his gloves tighter, almost seeming to relish the prospect of outward perfection. He smoothed his raven hair back against his scalp, a look of barely disguised triumph spread across his face.

The other High Lords were gone, sinking quickly back into the endless shadows, their vast entourages in tow. Achosyx was the last to depart, as ever. He cast a long sideways glance at Regaas, his single remaining eye glistening in the half-light, before heading towards the vast floodlit archway, his huge and ever-present Praetorian servitors in tow.

He sighed, his eyes passing over the deep shadows surrounding him, before turning to the nearby entryway to his left. A disturbance there caught his attention and he watched as shadows appeared, almost as if on cue, blocking out the bright light streaming in from the space beyond.

Grand Mistress Mae Sing glided into the chamber like a ghost, her white robe seeming to shimmer as if imbued with a light of its own. Master Astropaths surrounded the blind woman, ancient skeletal figures that brought with them a psychic weight that far belied their meagre forms.

Regaas inhaled sharply through bared teeth as he felt the entourage enter, sensing the palpable psychic presence of the ancient Master Astropaths surrounding her. These were individuals selected for their sheer potency, men and women who were able to tear open organs and crush skulls with the merest thought.

The blind, emaciated gaggle scanned the deep shadows as they passed, faces twitching. No amount of darkness could hide a body away from the attentions of these beings, and though it appeared so, it was almost mockingly apparent to the potent Astropath council that Regaas was far from alone.

‘High Lord Mae Sing.’ The Grand Master uttered with a smile, affording her a curt but courteous bow.

‘To what do I owe this informal audience?’

Suni Mae Sing slowed, the foot of her guide cane coming to rest on the polished marble floor with a loud, echoing tak.

‘Come Regaas, you know why I am here.’ She whispered with a voice like an arctic wind. ‘Like you, I seek to bring an end to this war. Our two organisations may never have been the closest of allies, but still it would seem that we must work together, all of us, if we are to bring about the changes needed to halt the Unity.’

Regaas nodded slowly and then sighed. He had about him the air of a man almost permanently late for some unspecified appointment, driven and harried by a life of constant haste.

‘You bring me a warning, do you not?’

‘I do, and it would seem that you are already aware of the specifics.’

‘Indulge me nonetheless, Mistress.’ Regaas answered, stepping closer. He had the gleam of anticipation in his eyes.

‘Imperatorius.’ He whispered.

Mae Sing’s thin lips moved in perfect timing with Regaas’ own as he spoke, a silent confirmation of his suspicions.

‘Ah yes, ancient Imperatorius. His ideals are as dated and dust-choked as he himself is. To think that he would have us consorting to ‘save’ the traitorous Primarch.’

‘Have a care, Regaas. No matter the circumstances…’

‘The circumstances are clear to see, Mistress.’ Regaas hissed, his voice dripping malice. ‘There can never be exception. The iron fist of vigilance must be maintained. If we allow its grip to slacken even a fraction, we risk losing everything. Guilliman has to be destroyed.’

Mae Sing took a step back, her porcelain face twisted with discomfort. It was clear to Regaas that she agreed, no matter the bitter taste it left in her mouth.

‘This meeting sours my soul.’ She spat, a visible discomfort saturating her. ‘There has already been enough division amongst the Imperial factions.’

‘And yet, honoured Mistress, you arranged our clandestine tryst. Imperatorius is old but he is powerful, one of the most powerful among us. His voice is strong and his influence great. No matter my candour, I fear him, Mistress, yet I cannot allow some age-old, deep-rooted sense of extended brotherhood to rob him of reason. If this Imperium of yours is to stand any chance of regeneration, any and all malignant cancers must be purged. Purity, irresolute purity, is all that can save us. Did not the Emperor Himself, father of us all, teach us that?’

‘He did, Regaas, and I am here to confirm my support of that. You understand that such conflicts of opinion can lead to only one outcome. You of all of us were the most outspoken. Even now your agents plot and scheme to end Guilliman’s life. My mind’s eye has a far-reaching gaze, Lord Regaas. Imperatorius would surely seek to undermine your plans by whatever means necessary.’

‘Then let him try, Mistress. My cause is just.’

He paused, a wily light playing in his eyes.

‘Of course, all this is moot, if we are to be truthful with one another. You didn’t run the risk of discordance to come and voice your approval of my suggestion. No, I sense an underlying anxiety in your demeanour. You come to warn me of more than our erstwhile colleague’s intent. As you say, your mind’s eye sees that which the mortal gaze can not. Confide in me.’

Mae Sing wavered, her skeletal hands rising.

‘I have seen…’ She whispered, her ethereal voice causing the others around her to shift and tense empathically.

‘I have seen beyond the façade, beyond the layers of deceit. I have glimpsed the hidden core of ancient origin at the centre of Captain-General. Potent as my gaze is, even I am unable to glimpse more than a hint of the being that lies beneath. Even so, I have seen. Pugnus Imperatorius is not who he appears to be, Regaas. He is an imposter…’

‘A deceiver, Mistress.’ Regaas answered, his features twisted in contempt. ‘It is as I have always suspected. No other High Lord can claim such a resolute authority in duplicity as I. I too have seen beyond the façade. The condescending air, the irreverence of his tone. The way his eyes shine with contempt every time he regards us. Yes, I know Imperatorius hides his true identity from us, Mistress. He lives a lie, a lie that would see us duped, coerced and misguided. He seeks to persuade our efforts, to manipulate us, to influence our racial direction. We cannot allow this. Whatever his motives, we must not be swayed by his influence.’

Regaas swept one hand out before him as if to dismiss the deceit, disgust writ large across his face.

‘Imperatorius has an agenda of his own, unknowable and dark as it is. I will not allow him to manipulate and despoil our efforts.’

‘Have a care, Regaas.’ Mae Sing answered, her voice low. ‘We could well find ourselves at odds with our counterparts. The voice of the Custodes commander is strong, and I cannot guarantee that the others share our direction. I have sensed the enmity between yourself and Achosyx, and I know of at least two others who hold strong ties with Imperatorius.’

‘Then we must be vigilant. For the good of our survival, we must persevere.’

‘No.’ Mae Sing answered ominously. She reached out and touched his arm. He recoiled instinctively, as if touch carried with it a charge.

‘There is a darkness amongst us, Regaas. An ancient secret, a masquerade, hidden and seething. You don’t, can’t, understand. Imperatorius wears his identity like a veil, his very essence tainted with deceit.’

‘I know.’ The Grand Master of the Assassinorium hissed. ‘And I will see the lie suffocated and extinguished before it can be allowed to interfere with our plans.’

With that, Fraudator Regaas pivoted on his heel and marched from the cavernous meeting space, gesturing at the shadows as he departed. Suni Mae Sing shuddered as she felt the deep shadows surrounding them shift at his command, and tried as best she could to dismiss the foreboding weighing upon her soul.

+++

Codian took a step back, quite unable to trust his senses. The bulky shadow stood before him, as large and corporeal as life, blotting out the light from beyond the doorway. Though he knew he could see and hear the figure, another Marine given his bulk and appearance, there was something about him, something indistinct, life blurred slightly out of focus.

‘What is this?’ Codian snarled, instinct forcing defence into his posture.

‘Chance.’ The stranger whispered, his voice clipped and spare. ‘Or fate. You decide, Prophet.’

Codian’s face tightened as he heard the name spill from the stranger’s lips, feeling his choler rise. Questions raced through his mind faster than instinct, playing over and over again even as he reached for his holstered bolt pistol.

Where was the Demiurg? How had this being gained access to the Grudgebearer? Who was he?

He raised the pistol and aimed, his arm fast and true. The stranger didn’t even seem to shift, just glow brightly for a split-second, a snap of white light exploding before him. Codian’s sidearm spun away amid a shower of sparks, whickering past his head like white-hot shrapnel.

‘Stay calm, Ultramarine.’ The stranger warned him, a brace of pistols now held in his outstretched hands.

‘Or I’ll put a ball of plasma through your face and make a mockery of destiny.’

The stranger held his pose for a few tense moments more and then finally relaxed, deactivating both pistols and holstering them with one smooth cross-armed motion. He stepped further into the chamber, allowing Codian to see him better.

He wore thick white robes under which could be seen the familiar bulbous curves of ceramite power armour. A large hood covered his head, leaving only the lower half of his pale face visible. Long black hair streaked with grey snaked from the hood and hung down, reaching the curve of his chest armour.

He carried with him a broad-bladed sword, its sheath strapped at an angle behind him. As he stood there, his hidden eyes regarding the Chaplain, he nodded his head slowly, as if in approval.

‘Yes.’ He whispered. ‘I had to see, had to be sure.’

Codian’s lips drew back over his teeth in a snarl, his anger undiminished by the sudden assault. If the stranger noticed this, he remained impassive.

‘I knew that you would come back here, back to the beginning. I could have hunted the stars for you for years without success, and I would have found you, for time is on my side. My quest is nearing its end, brother. I have danced forward and back for the longest time in the blink of an eye. There is no place out of my reach, Chaplain. No place in the universe. No place except where it all began.’

‘What do you want?’ Codian asked, with a voice as deep and as ominous as rolling thunder.

‘To go home.’

The stranger reached around behind him and revealed the sword hanging there, though he made no attempt to remove it from its scabbard.

‘The reason for my existence given form.’ He said, allowing the hanging weapon to fall back loosely behind him.

‘You wear the colours of a Dark Angel.’ Codian observed, ignoring the outsider’s strange revelation.
‘Yet I sense that you are less than that. I will ask you again. What do you want? This is a private place, renegade…’

‘Cypher.’

Codian paused, the hand that had been creeping towards his crozius slowing. A glimmer of distant recognition sparked within his mind, like the recollection of some old, half-remembered childhood story.

‘Cypher.’ He repeated, shifting his weight as he turned towards the door. ‘Remember this. Lock that word within your mind and remember. Remember Caliban. At the end, Prophet, in the light of the dawn of the final day, remember that name and call it aloud. I will come, and I will…’

He paused, clearly rethinking whatever it was he had intended to say.

‘At the end, at the very end, when they are revealed, the first will answer the call to war. I know more than I should.’

He looked over his shoulder at Codian, revealing no more than a sculptured jaw and a row of perfect white teeth.

‘Too long have I drifted, Prophet, awaiting redemption. Only you may save me. Open the gate for me and I will bring salvation, for you and for I. Remember.’

As he watched, a pall of ethereal darkness seemed to seep from the very air to surround the being, indistinct and hazy. The mysterious warrior’s voice grew distant and surreal, as if heard through water.

‘Return, Chaplain. Return now. The Reavers have come…’

He was gone. Codian blinked, almost as if expecting his senses to have deceived him. He stayed there, immobile, his mind running through the bewildering event over and over again. The final words of the stranger continued to echo around his head, alive and heavy with potency. One word in particular stained his thoughts, refusing to be pushed aside.

Return…

Even as Grungi barrelled his way through the hatch and into the lifepod’s cramped interior, the mists of confusion were abruptly swept from his mind.

Return.

The Proscriptus.

[Razor Devil]

Part Forty Two.

Contact.


Berolinus stepped into the bridge and shook his head. He appeared displeased.

‘No sign. Wherever he is, I cannot find him.’

The rest of the gathered figures said nothing. Ligur exhaled deeply and turned back to face the glowing display before him, the light it exuded casting a sickly emerald glow across his face.

‘No matter, he will return when he is ready. This ship, you are sure it is one of ours?’

Beside him, the small gaggle of deck officers slowly began to confirm their suspicions.

‘The signature is unmistakeable.’ One of the men answered, a short aging crewman named McNeill. He pushed his way forward carefully and began to manipulate the brass runes before him, concentration screwing up his aging features.

‘It’s a cruiser, Gothic pattern by the looks of her. She’s old Port Maw stock. The ident-cogitator names her as the Throne’s Vigil.’

He fell silent, the soft pulsing radiance of the readout screen bathing him. He frowned.

‘She isn’t responding to hails. She’s locked onto us but I’m not detecting any weapons signatures. Strange.’

‘You are sure?’ Ligur asked, edging forward. He lowered himself next to Soble in order to get a better look at the screen. Side by side, the Librarian positively dwarfed the smaller crewman.

‘As I can be. The Prostriptus I.C is one of the most reliable I have known. Hmm, something doesn’t sit right. I’ll continue to try…’

‘Place the ship of alert, just as a precaution.’ Ligur answered, rising slowly.

The others were silent, an air of ominous anticipation hanging heavy over the bridge. Laenar left his position and made his way silently across to the screen, a mass of hulking extra augmetic arms. Umbras and Berolinus watched him go.

‘Codian should be here.’ The tactical Marine uttered, looking to his brother. ‘We should be together, Umbras. His absence unsettles me.’

The Apothecary merely nodded, his gaze fixed upon the Techmarine. Umbras was a veteran, a warrior tempered by many decades of experience. Berolinus was younger, fresher, the fires of youth and vigour burning within him.

‘Me also.’ Umbras answered after a pause. He seemed distant, distracted by something beyond him. He checked the serrated blade and workings of his vambrace-mounted reductor and then, watched closely by his younger comrade, unclipped the helmet from the hook at his belt and slid it onto his head.

‘Expecting trouble?’ Berolinus asked, already tensing and arming his bolter even as the question left his lips. Umbras nodded curtly and gestured by a flick of the chin out into the busy bridge. Exactly who or what the Apothecary was trying to draw his attention to, he had no idea.

‘Someone is, brother.’

He drew closer, sliding his bolt pistol free of its holster in one fluid, soundless motion.

‘It’s a hidden thing, a flicker of anxiety here, a whispered warning there. Many of the men and women here have served onboard this ship all their adult lives. They have seen a lifetime of ship-to-ship warfare. This is a warship, Berolinus. The Proscriptus exists but to hunt. Can’t you feel it? She is a predator, and her hackles are up.’

Berolinus frowned and rose to his full height, bolter clutched tightly in his hands. Now that Umbras has pointed it out he could feel it, the underlying tension in the air. Not one to rest on his laurels, the Marine left his position and moved to stand with Laenar.

‘What is it, brother?’ He asked, empathising with the tension. The Techmarine simply turned his head and regarded him, his cold, pulsing eyes devoid of either familiarity or emotion.

‘Precaution. Fear not, we just have to be sure. According to these readings the Throne’s Vigil is confirmed to be closing on our position. The engine signature and dimensions of the craft are unmistakeable, though…’

He fell silent for a moment but continued to work the controls before him. Berolinus watched him, intrigued.

‘What are you trying to do?’

‘Fix this. Something seems to be malfunctioning.’

He gestured at the bank of screens before him.

‘We know she’s there; we have all the information, all the readings. We just can’t see her.’

He began to cycle through every visual array in turn, searching for any sign of the approaching craft.

‘Nothing.’ He uttered, seemingly unmoved by impatience. ‘She has to be there.’

Lurom Berolinus stepped back and looked to Umbras. The older Ultramarine returned his gaze, silent and unwavering. Like Umbras, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was building. Something bad.

Captain Andrasi was on the bridge too, surrounded by a small collective of his crew. He was shouting something to McNeill, his face flushed with anxiety. A warning.

‘Check the Segmentum logs. See if she’s ever been registered as lost…’

Berolinus began to push his way through the flocks of crewmen circling the busy bridge, heading towards Umbras’ position. As he passed by he caught the quick flashes of conversation that drifted between them. Low, anxious bursts of opinion, kept whispered as if to contain a greater panic.

Umbras stood beside Ligur at the head of the bridge. The Librarian was busy growling at the ship’s Master Astropath, a tall, skeletal ghost of a being called Scanlon, whose pearl-white robes seemed to shimmer as if woven out of glittering light.

‘That is none of my concern. Establish choir to choir contact now, it is the only sure way to ascertain their identity. If we cannot reach them soon then we will be forced to respond with hostile force. See it done.’

He looked back over his shoulder at the two Marines, hissing his frustration out through bared teeth.

‘A communications problem, nothing more.’ He said. Despite the measured control in his voice, both men knew it was an over-simplification.

Berolinus was about to answer when he heard a voice from somewhere amongst the underlying white noise of the bridge. A familiar voice, quiet and apprehensive. A fearful whisper.

He peered over his shoulder to find the black-robed Czevak, standing in one darkened corner of the bridge. The Inquisitor’s eyes were wide, not through outright fear but strong, pulse-quickening apprehension. He looked to be speaking into something; a hand-held communications slate connected to the control banks via a looped, copper-alloy wire.

Unnoticed by the Inquisitor, Berolinus tapped Umbras on the shoulder guard with the back of his hand and started forward.

‘Yes. Yes, I am sure. Mimic engines, has to be. I would advise it, Inquisitor. For the good of the holy mission…’

He finally noticed the approach of the two Marines and cut the communication short, casting the slate aside. Berolinus’ imposing advance brought him before Czevak in seconds.

‘You.’ He uttered, thrusting an armoured finger at the smaller man. ‘You know something. Damn you, share what you know with us! What is happening?’

‘I can’t be sure.’ Czevak answered calmly, despite the trepidation the Marine had seen in his eyes. His breathing seemed rapid, laboured.

‘But we may be in great danger. I need…I need to do something. Something very important.’

Berolinus was about to answer when the ambient buzz of the bridge increased. Voices were raised, warnings shouted. From what he could gather the ship was closing, still unseen, still silent save for the transmission of the obsolete code. He heard on of the frantic crew shout something, raising his voice to a screech so as to be better heard.

‘The Throne’s Vigil had been listed as lost, presumed destroyed, over one hundred and fifty years ago.

‘I will need help.’ Czevak said, drawing his attention once more. ‘Emperor’s light, pray that I am wrong…’

‘With what?’ Umbras asked him.

‘What is it, Czevak?’ Berolinus snapped.

‘Please, Apothecary, I need a strong arm to assist me. We do not have much time. I will explain on the way…’

Umbras nodded and made to move.

‘Answer me!’ Berolinus shouted, grabbing the Inquisitor by the shoulder and pulling him around. The wrench must have been painful but Czevak showed no discomfort, only desperation.

‘Let go, you fool! We are all in great danger!’

He hauled himself free and gestured for the Apothecary to follow him.

‘We need to reach my quarters with haste and retrieve something. If the enemy board us before I am able to complete my work then all is lost.’

He looked to Berolinus.

‘You stay here, Astarte. Prepare for a fight. They will board us, and when they do they will head for the bridge. Hold them, just stay alive and hold them, whatever it takes.

‘Hold who? Who the hell are they?’

‘Pirates.’ Czevak answered, already on his way out of the bridge. ‘Of the worst kind.’

+++

It took five minutes from the departure of Czevak for the general alarm to sound, rousing the ship for war. Three minutes after that, the first shots were fired. By the enemy.

Lightning-strike hits punched expertly through the starboard defence batteries, crippling them. Another two minutes and the enemy craft was ‘visible’, a churning mass of star-suffocating void that spat out lance after lance of black energy, each strike precise and calculated. One strike speared through the starboard fighter bays, flashing Furies and Starhawks to atoms in the blink of an eye. Another lance carved through several generator compartments at the stern, not destroying but seriously compromising the effectiveness of the shield generators. Void shields were raised less than a minute after that, but their efforts were too little, too late.

The Proscriptus Rex was on borrowed time.

‘It’s down! V-shield’s gone!’ McNeill shouted, lost somewhere amongst the panic. ‘This is it, we won’t get another charge in time to stop an attack…’
Berolinus stood like a pillar of rock amongst the flow, his bolter slowly rising. He caught sight of Ligur and a number of the other Deathwatch by the bridge doors and nodded, seeing their readiness for combat. He was halfway across the shifting body-sea when the entire forecastle shuddered, a wrenching, blurring jolt. Sirens wailed and crewmen screamed, all bathed in the shifting, iridescent light of a score of warning beacons.

‘Ligur!’ He called out, barging his way through the last few feet of bodies, his temper finally getting the better of him.

‘Pirates, he said! What did he..’

‘Move! God-Emperor, move!’

Andrasi flung himself past, surrounded by his crewmen. The men were all armed, pistols and rifles clutched to their chests. The Free-Captain ground to a halt before Berolinus and found his gaze, his eyes wide with unashamed fear.

‘Eldar pirates, Marine! They are Eldar! By the Throne, you had better pray that they kill you!’

He snatched at the Marine’s armoured chest, clawing as if trying to gain purchase.

‘Hit them hard.’ He warned. ‘Hit them hard and fast and keep on hitting until they can’t stand any more. Don’t let up until they realise that you won’t give up, until they can’t take the losses, and they will run. If that happens, if you beat them, don’t let them take anyone alive. If you see them snatch someone you put a round through that poor b-----d’s head. You don’t ever let them take prisoners. Do you hear me?’

He banged the flat of his fist against the Marine’s chest armour and nodded, as if this was farewell. With that he began to urge the rest of his men through the doorway, shoving bodies before him.

‘We go to defend the Hellrunner, tighter spaces mean a tighter defence. I suggest you adopt the same tactic. Stay tight, don’t leave any space behind you or any shadowed corner. They are like oil, dark and liquid. They will flank you given any small chance. Stay sharp, burn the shadows and do not let them take you with them…’

That was it, Andrasi was gone. Berolinus watched him leave and then looked to Ligur.

‘He is right.’ The Librarian said, directing his warriors into a defence line surrounding the doorway. Berolinus fell in unbidden, quickly finding a space in between the Deathwatch warriors. He lowered himself onto one knee, checked his boltgun one last time, and prepared for combat. Blocking out the chaos about him, he fixed his gaze on the closing bridge doors.

‘Codian.’ He whispered to himself. ‘Where the hell are you, brother?

[Razor Devil]

There. Sorry for the short amount of posts, we're currently bulging on the download limit and I'm not allowed to do uneccesary stuff. (We get a speed cap, not money cap.) But they'll spare me, right? Maybe...

[Razor Devil]

Part Forty Three.

Soul Reaver.


Krak-thoom.

The noise thundered through the corridors, echoing and overlapping as it rolled over them. Bodies tensed, some twitched. A fine rust rain fluttered down from the overhead pipework, dancing as the lights flickered.

Another one. Another strike, not as close this time, but close enough to cause a fresh surge of fear to course through the men.

‘Stay focused. Ignore the noises and concentrate on the job ahead.’ The Cadian whispered through his rebreather. The men-at-arms gathered themselves and pulled in tighter behind him, shotguns clutched tightly to their chests. He checked his wrist chron and edged closer to the turn, advancing foot over foot, his hellrifle drawn up to his face, ready for use. He reached the junction and risked a short, quick glance around it into the space beyond.

He drew his head back and, pausing for a moment, tore the rebreather from his face.

‘Atmospheric integrity is stable.’ He told them, steam curling from his mouth. The section was ice-cold, frost particles glistening like clouded glass on the bulkheads, one of the classic after-effects of hull-breach.

He took a few sobering breaths of freezing air and then, lowering himself onto one knee, took another look.

He’d seen enough. Without a word he raised five fingers and waved then out at the other side of the corridor. Five of the men-at-arms ducked low and sprinted across the space to come to rest at the other side of the opening, clustering around the adjacent corner.

Slowly, sure that the others were ready, the Cadian began to edge his way around the corner.

The fierce, barbed spike jutted through the ruined viewport bay like a nail through wood, an invasive alien structure totally out of place and utterly malignant. Its fierce prow glistened with a liquid sheen, steaming with the heat generated by the harsh impact. Sickly amethyst lights blinked and played across its surface, writhing like iridescent snakes along organic ‘veins’ worked into the segmented carapace. The craft itself pulsed as if alive.

Impalers, ship intelligence had called them. Assault boats. That was about as far as the information extended.

‘They are xenos, Eldar.’ The Cadian whispered, as if that fact would somehow make a difference to the men.

‘We know s--t all about this enemy other that they most probably want to kill us.’

‘Hnn. I heard different.’ One of the men behind him answered gruffly. ‘Guy called Swallow up in ordinance; he’s seen ‘em before. Says they take you, back into the shadows. Says they can tear the scream right outta a man’s throat and leave it like a stain, a lingering shriek…’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Thorpe, sir.’

‘Thorpe, shut your mouth. What they do, all they do, is step out of that thing and die.’

‘Sir.’

A deep, hissing rush of steam drowned out anything else any of them had intended to say.

The Cadian edged forward and peered out into the mist, his rifle solid against his shoulder. Despite the thickness of the vapour, he could see something pulsing at its centre, rippling like a vertical pool of shimmering mauve water. The sharp nose of the craft had spread, opened into four points that jutted from the drifting mists.

There was no sign of any enemy movement. There was nothing at all except the light, swirling softly inside the dark innards of the craft. Where were the enemy?

Move up, he signed. The others crept up behind him, shotguns at the ready. They quickly spread around him to form a wall, guns pointing at the pulsing anomaly.

‘Hold your fire and brace.’ He ordered. ‘I am going to take a shot, see if I get a reaction.’

He loosed a single bright blast out into the gaping mouth, the lasbeam spearing right into the heart of the glow. The light rippled briefly, increasing in intensity for the merest of moments before reasserting its ambient glow. Nothing else occurred.

‘What do we do now?’ Thorpe asked.

‘Advance.’

Slowly, they began to close the gap, the Cadian leading. He had almost reached the edges of the separated extremities when it happened. The anomaly pulsed briefly and something was vomited out onto the metal deck, ringing as it bounced to a standstill.

The Cadian responded immediately. He shouted something that the others didn’t catch in their surprise and launched himself back, almost falling on his face as he sprinted for cover. The others finally began to come to their senses as the brace of skittering obsidian orbs came to a halt, spinning like cast stones before them. By the time they exploded, three of the men-at-arms were left to bear the brunt of the blast.

The projectiles didn’t explode as such; rather they seemed to reach the end of some sort of detonation cycle. The spheres whined and began to glow, no more than a curious and unbalancing occurrence, before they shuddered and liquidised into a bright, blinding light.

The three men fell to their knees screaming, screaming like children, hands clutching at ears. Shotguns clattered to the floor, forgotten and useless. The sound emitted by the devices was like claws on glass only a thousand times worse, wicked, horrendously pained and utterly immobilising. Pure, unadulterated terror spilled from their mouths as they fell to the floor, convulsing.

Oiled chains sprang from the depths of the alien craft and dragged them screaming back into the abyss, limbs flailing.

‘Attack!’ The Cadian shouted, driving forward. He unleashed a flurry of shots out into the glowing, churning steam, the screams of those taken echoing in his ears. He continued to fire one-handed as the others quickly joined him, tearing a frag grenade from his belt. He pulled the pin with his teeth and lobbed it into the mass, shotgun fire roaring around him.

‘Pull back! Fire in the hole!’

The survivors fell back with him, awaiting the inevitable backwash of the exploding grenade. Several long seconds passed.

Nothing.

The Cadian frowned and folded himself around the corner once again, gun trained and ready. The rest of the men with him followed suit, nervous, cautious, fearful of the reappearance of the wicked chains.

‘Options, sir?’ Thorpe asked, quickly filling the breach of his gun with fresh shells.

‘Do we…do we advance?’

‘We do not. We don’t have a clue what we’re dealing with. Get me ship security. We need to reinforce this breach while we still have the chance. We need charges up here, it’s the only way to be sure. We’ll blow this bloody thing and seal off this corridor if that is what it takes.’

Even as Thorpe began to speak into his wrist-comm there was a whisper, several liquid hisses barely audible above the ubiquitous hum of the ship. The Cadian snapped his head around and saw the small pockets of quicksilver mist twisting and expanding in the air, unravelling like barbed smoke.

‘Move! Fall back…’

Clouds of monofilament webbing filled the space, hunting for flesh to ensnare and lacerate. Each burst slid from the mists to unfurl, drifting, spinning, glinting in the lights. One mass landed lightly against a vertical cable tube and constricted immediately, wrapping itself around the thick metal with a squeal. The mesh sank as it bit into the pipe, sparks spilling like burning rain.

There was a soft, ringing plink, the sound of crystalline glass smashing, then another and another. He glanced over his shoulder in time to see something dark and glossy shatter against the bulkhead. Again, there. Something whickered past his face, the smallest of spinning slivers, almost catching his skin.

The enemy were firing.

The sound of boots hammering into the floor echoed down the corridor and he turned to see more security agents approaching, soldiers clad in thick black carapace. He waved them over and rose, alien fire still playing it curious melody behind him. One of the soldiers was shouting something as he approached, though his words were lost amid the cacophony of fire and boot.

‘Secure this position! We a…’

‘…portals! Damned portals, all over the ship…’

He paused, the words dying in his throat.

‘What?’

The security officer waved his men on past him, watching carefully until he was sure that they were in position. With that, a good head taller than the Cadian, he lowered his gaze.

‘The b-----ds have been hitting us all across the port side of the ship. They’re using some form of portal technology, carried in the noses of their damned attack craft. Men have attacked the gates, some have even led assaults through them. It’s not a good situation, not by a long shot. The best we can do is blow the breaches and seal the surrounding bulkheads.’

He gestured out at the gathered soldiers, several of who were already busy preparing thick bundles of krak and melta charges.

‘You had better pull your men back, soldier. Fall back beyond the bulkhead doors and take up defensive positions.’

The Cadian nodded and waved his squad towards him, watching as the men began to filter quickly through the security officers. Two of the men were unfortunate enough to be forced to cross the open space. Trapped at the other side of the space with nowhere else to go, there would be no protection when the charges detonated. they lowered their heads and sprinted towards safety. Glinting shards speared swarm-thick from the mists and pinned them, convulsing, to the bulkhead.

‘Ach. You and yours had better double-time it back down there.’ The officer warned, utterly insensitive to the deaths before him. He glanced back over his shoulder.

‘It looks like one of the big things coming through. It took the lives of eight good men to drop the one that came through into the port battery chamber…’

The Cadian spun on his heel and shouted for the others to fall back. Behind him the lights flickered and dimmed. Voices raised as the space before the security agents shrank away, the air thickening with a deep pulsating hum. Something huge drifted into the corridor, bulbous and armoured with layers of black carapace. Oiled metal flashed as folded extremities rattled open, spreading like the petals of some huge, monstrous flower.

He looked back and choked, watching as the men rose to meet the abomination. Gunfire roared, armour sang its defiant retort. A scissor-limb bisected one soldier like a ribbon, parting his legs from his torso in a fountain of blood. Another was hoisted high by the creation and deposited into a dark recess at its back. Micro-extremities snaked from the pitted metal around him and with expert swiftness and precision flensed armour, clothing and flesh from his body in less than five seconds. The poor unfortunate was dragged deeper into the unseen bowels of the mechanical fiend, still writhing and screaming as the spiked carapace slid closed over him.

He never saw anything beyond that. The shouts of the soldiers behind him turned to screams, horrific sounds heavy with terror and pain. Other, more inhuman whoops and cries scoured the air. Something murmured past him and thudded into the back of the skull of the man beside him, dropping him onto his belly like a lead weight. More alien projectiles hissed around him, shattering against the walls. The shards lacerated his face but he ignored the pain and kept on running, his heart racing.

Every sound set his nerves alight. Every death around him caused his heart to thunder. He felt the rifle fall from his grasp and he didn’t care. Someone was screaming in his ear, calling for reinforcements. He tore the bead free and cast it aside.

Fear. For the love of the Emperor, he had never felt fear like this, and Kasrkin did not fear anything.

‘Emperor help me…’ He whispered.

+++

Codian stepped out into the chamber, the walls around him shimmering with the light of the portal. Grungi stood at the centre of the small room, an oasis of flesh and blood surrounded by purloined and cannibalised hardware. The Demiurg was silent, on edge. He glanced around slowly, like a predator sensing his prey’s scent on the breeze.

‘Tension.’ He growled, his augmetic eye shining. ‘Take a lungful, longshanks. Do you smell it? There is blood in the air.’

Return, Chaplain. Return now. The Reavers have come…

The words of the mysterious Astarte echoed around his mind unbidden. A warning, from the far reaches of the galaxy.

The sounds of gunfire filtered through the vents as if in confirmation. Cries and screams mingled with the noise, enough to chill all but the hardest of souls.

The ship was under attack.

Codian said nothing. He didn’t have to; the Demiurg was already moving, stripped to the waist and ready to kill.

‘Time to reap vengeance, Marine! Kill them first and consider their sins against us later!’

The chamber door slid open to reveal a corridor wreathed in thick black smoke. Something was burning further down the end, giving off a thick, meaty odour. Codian frowned as he recognised the smell of burning bodies, though his helmet quickly filtered out the stench.

Grungi was gone, little more than a darkening shape sprinting into the fray. The sounds of the enemy were everywhere, filling the air like the cacophony of a spirit host. Shadows shifted at the corners of his vision. He sprinted past several mournful heaps of tangled, eviscerated flesh, almost every and all traces of humanity scoured from them. Halfway down the corridor he passed an poor unfortunate, a young man, a rating by the looks of him, pinned to the bulkhead, his skin gone. The man silently screamed in pain, his vocal chords shredded. Codian drew his pistol and blew the tortured figure’s head from his shoulders without breaking stride.

Up ahead Grungi was shouting, bellowing like a grox. The azure glow of a power field flashed and swirled in the half-light, stuttering and fizzing again and again as it connected with solid matter.

He charged through the rolling smoke and saw the enemy for the first time.

They were slender, evil-looking creatures, tall but slight. They wore deep blue armour of segmented carapace, bedecked with spikes, thorns and hooks. Grungi had engaged a small squad of the raiders, shouting oaths and curses as he single-handedly fought off their murderous attentions. One of the attackers noticed his approach and quickly raised its rifle. Something sharp and swift shattered against his visor and he lowered his head, turning aside the second shot that had been intended for his neck seal.

These attackers were xenos and they were fast, deadly fast. He raised his pistol and blew the attacker off its feet, the thing’s arms flailing wildly as it went down. Three mighty strides saw him brought face to face with the others, his crozius to hand and singing with power. One of the pirates drew a long, serrated knife and turned to face him, uttering something strained and unintelligible.

‘Wrong decision.’ He snarled.

[Razor Devil]

Part Forty Four.

The Dark Kin.


Grungi’s fist was loosed and crackling with power. He spun on his heel, twirling the weapon about his head, searing glowing ribbons through the packed torsos and limbs surrounding him. The Raiders’ rifles were cruel bladed things bristling with razor-sharp, monomolecular edges. The weapons were fashioned so as to be used in close quarters fighting as well as ranged combat, though neither these nor the segmented carapace that the pirates wore offered any real protection from the Demiurg’s murderous attentions.

Grungi pirouetted and twirled faster than any being of his proportions should be able to. Even as the first creature to notice Codian’s arrival lifted its weapon to fire upon the Chaplain he had killed his first victim. His first strike saw the pirate’s rifle shattered in its grip. The return took its head from its shoulders.

The Demiurg reversed his turn and swept the fist through the stomach of another foe, shearing through its backbone and parting it at the waist. Armour shattered like glass at its touch, sending a glittering cloud of fragments swirling into the air. He stepped back as a bladed rifle swung for his throat and swept his arm before him, in turn missing his opponent by a hair’s breadth. He flung his arm up and over, causing his attacker to lean back almost to the floor as the fist scorched and blistered its chest armour. Grungi rode the momentum of his strike and threw himself into a back flip, bringing the fist around again. The creature made the mistake of righting itself and the subsequent strike it cut in half, from groin to collarbone, the blow sending the bisected halves falling away.

Codian lunged at his foe, untroubled by the weapon in its hand. He raised his arm and the blade rang against his vambrace, the blow originally intended for his neck. Within seconds he had the measure of the enemy, his analytical mind assessing every nuance and trait with a proficient, gene-grafted instinct.
They were fast, almost supernaturally so. They knew exactly where to strike to ensure a kill, merely by facing their enemy. He brought his left arm down tight to his side as another strike hunted for his waist, seeking the flexible join there. The blow rang as it was turned aside, before another swift return jabbed into his armpit. He grunted, feeling the blade bite through the joint into his flesh deep enough to hurt but not kill.

He trapped the knife there and turned, tearing it from the attacker’s grip. He pivoted on his heel and crushed the pirate’s head down between its shoulder blades, bones snapping wetly.

Grungi’s final opponent cartwheeled past and slammed upside down into the bulkhead by his side, broken and smouldering.

‘Hah! They snap like twigs, these Eldar! Give me a real challenge…’

The Demiurg halted swiftly as something speared into the meat of his shoulder, causing him to emit a quiet grunt of pain. Several more impacts rang out against Codian’s back and he wheeled around in time to see more of the creatures, Eldar as Grungi had identified them, advancing on them through the smoke. A deluge of fire hit him, so quick and dense it caused him to lurch back, his boots sliding across the deck. Something silver and liquid hissed out to meet him, a rapidly unfurling, glittering mist. He snapped off a bolt round that punched through the mist and sent the attacker sprawling, a moment before the webbing hit him and constricted around his armoured form.

His carapace groaned and squealed as the net bit into it, fighting to crush him and slice him to ribbons. Grungi charged past, shouting oaths at the enemy, his passing throwing his balance further. He fell back, his armoured bulk shaking the deck. The mesh continued to tighten, testing its tolerance against the ancient armour.

His arms had thankfully remained free and he brought the head of the crozius up so that the effect of the shimmering field kissed against the xenos metal wrapped around him. The mesh puckered and blistered in its presence, quickly running fluid. Within moments the integrity of the mesh was lost and the remaining pieces sprang back, coiling in on themselves as they rolled away.

Codian hauled himself up and onto his feet, his armour scored but intact. He quickly checked and blessed his weapons and set out down the gloomy corridor, following the Demiurg’s grisly trail of destruction.

He caught up with Grungi at an intersection, choked with bodies and body parts both human and xenos. Gore literally painted the walls, telling of the violence and murder that had occurred here. He ground to a halt, feet sliding on the thick dark fluid underfoot, as the familiar sight of the stunted xenos warrior hove into view.

Grungi was in the midst of a frantic, violent confrontation with the last surviving member of the alien squad, a tall, murderous creature armed with the specialised weaponry of a minor commander. The pirate was armed with a huge, double-bladed claw, the weapon fixed to its forearm. Violet energies slid over the serrated blades in waves, adding to the suggestive deadliness of the razor-sharp weapons.

The creature wore no helmet and Codian saw for the first time that Grungi’s passing identification of the raiders had been an accurate one. The warrior was clearly Eldar, readily apparent by the shape of its pointed ears and dark, almond eyes. The thing’s skin was pallid and grey, its black lips and mouth stained crimson as if through the continual act of drinking blood. An intricate thorn tattoo decorated most of the left-hand side of its face, while its opposing side was little more than a twisted riot of scar tissue.

The thing threw a hateful glance at Codian as he approached before turning its attention back to Grungi. It ducked low, faster than any normal human could do so, and swept a leg out to bowl the Demiurg off his feet. Grungi slammed onto the deck and rolled sharply, his attacker’s blades driving into the space he had occupied a second before. Grungi spun and rose, his chained fist drawing a blazing arc before him. The pirate flipped back and landed lightly on its feet, its free hand producing a cruel-looking, bladed pistol. It fired off a quick burst of splintered crystal-shard fire that sliced through Grungi’s exposed flesh with ease, the multiple impacts throwing the short warrior back.

Codian thundered into the personal space of the pirate like a lascannon strike. The Eldar was swift, inhumanly graceful and utterly deadly, and to its credit, did not falter in the Chaplain’s presence. Codian literally barged his way through the xenos like a hammer through glass, ignoring the creature’s attempts to feign, counter and parry his attack. Blood, armour and viscera scattered like the wake of a bomb blast as the pirate came apart, Codian’s battle-rage a shuddering, vocal roar.

‘On your feet.’ He growled, reaching down and hauling Grungi to his feet. The Demiurg’s teeth were bared as he assessed his wounds, swiftly deciding that they were superficial enough to disregard. He twisted his arm sharply and the fist retracted, clicking into place at his wrist. He flexed the metal fingers as if working the feeling back into them.

‘Hnn. Press on, bone-priest. Press on to the bridge. Our best chance of a swift victory is to take the head of the commander. Raiders and pirates are all the same, they hate loss.’

‘Agreed.’ Codian answered, attempting to gain his bearings in the death-filled passageway.

A choked cry echoed down the hall and the two warriors sprinted out to meet the sound, weaving through the ruined bodies. Both of them entered the wide hallway in time to see the lone Deathwatch Marine there die, fighting and struggling as the screeching shadows themselves swarmed over him, slashing and stabbing and tearing him to pieces. Codian caught sight of the warrior’s face a heartbeat before it sank into the roiling mass, the defiance and exertion he saw there etching itself upon his memory.

‘To the bridge, Chaplain.’ Grungi insisted, taking hold of his forearm. ‘It is the only way to save this vessel. Mourning follows the aftermath, Codian. Vengeance is immediate.’

They continued on through the winding passageways of the Proscriptus, finding death wherever they turned. They quickly passed by a series of intersections that had seen a tremendous confrontation, legs churning through the charnel around them. Codian rounded the corner after the Demiurg and caught a glance of a lone rating, bloodied and near death, cornered by a howling squad of armoured nightmares.
The pitiable man watched as the two figures hurtled past before pulling the pin of the frag grenade held tight in his bloodied fist. The blistering backwash of the following explosion chased Grungi and Codian through several sections and turns, immolating all it passed.

Codian understood the importance of the Demiurg’s intent more as they ploughed on, the realisation of what Grungi had meant soon dawning on him. Although he hadn’t explained outright, the squat alien was correct. The commander of the xenos enemies would surely be heading straight for the bridge, with the exact same intent as they. To destroy the ship’s command presence, the best and most sure way to bring the rest of them to their knees.

Indescribable horrors awaited them at every turn, each one more loathsome than the last. Reaching a large, nigh-cavernous junction they slowed, almost stumbling, as they came into the presence of something utterly monstrous and incredibly alien.

The gruesome mannequin was lashed to a spike thrust into the centre of the space. It appeared at first glance to be some debased, scaled-up representation of a child’s toy, albeit fashioned by some inhuman, perverted mind. The thing oozed a visible aura of pain, a churning black miasma that radiated agony, both mental and physical.

Bodies lay strewn about the creation, twisted and sprawled as if punched from their feet by its very presence. They lay in pools of vomit, entrails and blood, almost as if the recently deceased had torn themselves open in absolute agony.

Grungi staggered back, clutching at his wounds as though their effect had instantly worsened. He fell to his knees, snarling in pain. Codian fought the urge to tear his armour from his body, feeling for all the world as if he were encased in some horrific iron maiden.

‘A…trap…’ He gasped, fighting to steady his gun hand, the pistol in his grip swinging languidly past its target again and again.

He found himself losing the fight. He was an Astarte, he had never experienced such a sensation as extreme agony before. The sensory assault shocked and threw him, it was like awakening to find oneself acquiring a whole new plethora of senses, so indescribably alien was the phenomenon.

He did the only thing he could. Summoning every last vestige of strength he scooped Grungi up under his arm, cast his pistol out into the corridor beyond and tore a krak grenade from his belt. As he passed the despicable thing he flicked the pin free and rammed the grenade into its midriff, fighting the waves of nauseating blackness washing over him.

With one last, supreme effort he threw himself and his companion headlong through the archway and into the next section. Behind them, the thing exploded with a dull, resonating thump, and a single, reality-tearing scream.

He knew then, with absolute, unquestionable certainty, that he would take the head of the creature responsible for this.

+++

Warning lights bathed the chamber the colour of blood, the accompanying banshee wailing of the sirens a screaming sonic herald warning of the coming terror and destruction.

Czevak’s face seemed gaunt and pallid despite the hue. He looked up once more as he noticed the tall, hulking form of Umbras tense by the doorway.

He opened his mouth to speak, only to let his voice die in his throat. The Apothecary’s finger hovered near the grille of his helm’s rebreather, a silent gesture in turn demanding silence. He simply nodded and turned his attention back to the task at hand, grimacing with effort as he hauled the smooth cylindrical object free of its hiding place.

The thick disc rang as it clattered onto the deck, though the sound was curiously non-metallic. He could feel the Marine’s eyes on him as he struggled with the release clamps, focusing his mind as best he could, as he had been taught, to will the object open.

‘Czevak.’ He heard the white armoured warrior whisper behind him, his voice almost lost in the discordant cacophony.

‘Hurry. They approach…’

Despite the anxiety and urgency churning within him he shuddered, feeling the object’s residual presence challenging him. Runes glowed hot beneath his fingers, ancient psychic wards awakening and unfurling to protest his alien will. He centred his mind and concentrated, nudging each one aside as carefully and forcefully as he dared. He found himself hoping that the wards would sense the reasons behind his urgency and sink back, and with that he searched his memory for the best mental representation he could, shivering slightly as he recalled the monstrous Dark Kin.

The object physically shifted, empathically recoiling from his thoughts. For a moment he feared that he had pushed his will too hard and thus risked everything. Then, albeit begrudgingly, with a hiss of escaping unearthly steam, the mobile wraithgate began to unfold.

There was a sound behind him and he jumped, falling away from the altering artefact and onto his rear. Umbras had caught something dark and slender, a creature clad in dark, burnished plate writhing in his grasp. The thing wielded a large curved dagger and was stabbing wildly at the Marine’s armour, hunting for any weak spot it could find. The Apothecary’s armoured fingers sank into the alien’s helmet and he twisted violently, bone snapping like dry kindling.

The creature’s tall helm sagged, its face slamming into its chest. He flung the body away from him and it fell limp, as if suddenly boneless.

Umbras threw a hurried glance his way, the crimson vision slits of his bone-white helm shining, before turning back towards the hatch and hauling the sliding bulkhead door shut with both hands. The Marine stepped back and then barged forward, hammering both fists into the frame of the hatch with such force that the metal there bent inwards. He repeated this until the area in question was warped and misshapen, the metal literally fused to that of the hatch itself. Just for good measure he snatched his bolt pistol from its holster and put a bolt through the hatch activation rune, shattering the small panel.

‘That should hold them for now.’ He said, stepping back from the hatch. Within seconds the door began to shake, the first blows hammering against it.

He walked calmly over to the prone Inquisitor and offered him a hand. Czevak took it and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet. He glanced at the broken body sprawled across his cot, dark blood staining the simple linen sheets he had slept beneath.

‘I imagine such a foe, if determined enough, will breach this chamber soon enough, Inquisitor.’ He observed. His gaze found the activating relic at his side, the first pinprick flashes of shimmering light bathing his bone armour in a hazy glow.

‘This.’ He nodded his head in the wraithgate’s direction. ‘Whatever it is, whatever it is intended to do, I hope it fulfils its function soon.’

‘So do I, brother.’ Czevak answered, his fingers tightening. ‘For all our sakes.’

[Razor Devil]

Part Forty Five.

Hunted.


‘Demiurg! Damn it!’

He slapped the back of his hand across the alien’s ruddy, bearded face, cursing inwardly as the scarred features remained slack.

Grungi was hopelessly unconscious, for the most part. The Demiurg twitched and shuddered, as if trapped in some unknown, horrific nightmare he was unable to wake from.

Codian had seen this before. He had witnessed battle brothers sustain such horrific and debilitating injuries that shock had shut their minds down. It seemed to him that the Demiurg had suffered the same fate.

Nothing could be allowed to stall him now. His blood was up and his warrior’s soul screamed for vengeance, a scream that had to be answered. His answer would shake the stars themselves.

He knew he had little choice. Grabbing Grungi by the buckle of his belt he hauled the short warrior up and across his shoulder, quickly retrieving his pistol afterwards. He checked the magazine instinctively, balancing his crackling combat weapon across his arm as he did so. Satisfied, he continued on his way.

He rounded the next corner, feeling a welcome familiarity as he recognised his surroundings. Here the passageway widened and grew in height, the vaulted ceiling ascending into the shadows high above. The craft’s lifepod bank dominated the left-hand side of the hall, a long line of puckered irises stretching out into the distance. He noted that some of them were sealed, meaning the escape boats they had once led to were now long gone.

Fools, he thought to himself. Cowards and fools. What good would flight do them? Unlike the Guilliman’s Wrath, this ship could yet be saved.

He recognised his position within the vast vessel. Here he was in the lowest levels of the forecastle, the huge, blocky tower that housed most of the vessel’s command systems, least of all the bridge itself. There was obvious physical evidence scattered about the place that told him, without a shadow of a doubt, that the raiders had penetrated this far. However, the volume of carnage he witnessed suggested that the enemy presence here was less substantial than he had encountered thus far, meaning that the bulk of the enemy force had yet to penetrate this deep into the ship.

Despite his augmented strength the Demiurg was a dead weight upon his shoulders, an impediment he could ill afford if he were to encounter further resistance, which he was sure he would do. He set off again, hearing distant gunfire drifting through the air. Further ahead he knew he would find the elevators that would lead to the bridge itself. If they were still active then he was in with a chance.

He accelerated into a sprint, cursing the sonorous ring of each footfall he made. Something exploded somewhere nearby, causing the deck beneath him to quake. He ignored this and continued.

Strange, animalistic howls reverberated down the space behind him, distant but quickly growing in volume. He increased his speed to compensate, batting aside a bobbing, malfunctioning servo-skull, a slender alien blade lodged in one dead eye socket.

A chilling, insane laughter drifted through the air, intermittent, distant and echoing like the drip of water in a cavern. He felt the hairs at the base of his neck rise, his augmented senses reacting to the suggested threat.

The nameless abomination that had brought Grungi low had taught him one essential lesson about these piratical Eldar. They sought to achieve victory primarily through terror and panic, the weapons they employed to attain this designed as much to terrify and confound as kill. What manner of nameless horror the damned construction had been he could not guess, nor could he fathom its nightmarish workings. Were they slaves to the Dark Powers? Did they utilise the same mysterious sorceries as the followers of Chaos? Perhaps only Czevak could truly provide the answers.

Nearing his objective he tensed, picking up the odour of something…wrong. Something that shouldn’t be. The unfamiliar trace soon vanished, and it took several seconds more for him to realise the impossibility of what he had experienced. His helm was fixed in place and tightly sealed, and as a consequence scent was not a sensation generally afforded to a Marine in full armour. This struck him as particularly disconcerting. It was almost as if whatever he had sensed obeyed none of the rigid, compulsory laws of reality. He considered this an omen, and pushed himself further in compensation.

As the gloom continued to peel back he recognised the familiar sight of the elevator bay growing closer, the first of the many doors flanking the hallway coming into view. He knew from experience that most of the elevators ascended to the bridge level, and that he wouldn’t need to be fastidious in his selection. Every step brought him closer to his goal, and for an Astarte, this was all that mattered.

More inhuman howls and cries assailed his ears. Some were roughly recognisable in pitch, almost human, whereas others were animal and unknown, terrible and otherworldly. He shuddered, a repulsive, familiar feeling washing over him. The odour of something foul, something…wrong, slowed him in his tracks, and it was several moments before he realised the impossibility of this. His Astarte armour, sealed and airtight, did not allow for the detection of scent unless specifically modified to do so.

He glanced over his shoulder to see for himself what manner of abomination could defy the resolute, compulsory laws of existence, and saw them for the first time.

The creatures came loping out of the distant gloom, torpedoes of skinless corded muscle that glistened beneath the lights of the hallway. He uttered a prayer to the watchful soul of He Enthroned at the sight of such abominations, for there was no doubt in his mind that these beasts were born of the warp.

Part feline, part reptilian, the otherworldly predators were urged on by another, more humanlike figure. The corsair accompanying them skipped and tumbled after his charges, shrieking harsh, guttural commands, and moving faster than any mortal being ought to be able to. This individual wore little except a collection of scattered crimson armour plates, the majority of its exposed skin pallid and scar-laced.

He was hunted.

He picked up the pace, seeing the end of the corridor approaching fast. From experience he knew that he would have no time to access any of the elevators he passed by, for the enemy would be upon him before he could even coax the doors. No, his best course of action would be to try and put some distance between him and his pursuers in order to create an effective counter attack.

He reached the intersection and veered sharply to the left, his right shoulder guard striking the bulkhead with enough force to buckle it.

There was a cry of alarm and he slowed, several jarring impacts striking his chest and legs.

The hallway here opened up into a vast, vaulted chamber, its distant ceiling obscured by the lofty gloom. A long barrier stretched off into the distance to his right, and beyond that, an artificial abyss, Codian knew, that ran from the heights of the forecastle all the way down to the depths of the enginarium levels.

Beyond this chasm was a vast wall filled with hundreds of glass-fronted elevator pods, each and every one set at differing heights. More than a few were shattered or ablaze, an ominous indication that the filthy corsairs had penetrated this far, though in far fewer numbers.

His attention, however, was more firmly rooted on the small squad of men-at-arms currently staring back at him in horrified shock, the lasguns in their hands smouldering guiltily.

‘Emperor! Forgive us, Chaplain!’ One of the soldiers begged, holding out a hand in supplication. All five men cried out as they watched the towering warrior lift his bolt pistol up and out at them, where it hovered ominously for a second before swinging it out towards the nearest pod and firing a single round.

The bolt shattered the single sheet of curved glass, sending the separate pieces tumbling away into the darkness below. Without a word he let his weapons fall at his feet and lifted Grungi from his shoulders. He drew his arms back and hurled the Demiurg into the pod, then quickly retrieved his armaments.

‘Combat readiness.’ The Chaplain commanded, pivoting sharply and firing out behind him. The dark, leaping shape came apart in mid-air, the explosive bolts tearing it to pieces. The remnants of the beast unravelled quickly, gobbets of flesh dissolving into a thick, greasy smoke. Sticky soot pattered against his armour, where seconds before the unnatural creature would have slammed into him.

The soldiers visibly sagged, horrified by the spectacle. Then the second of the beasts leapt at Codian and was sent flailing over his shoulders and skittering past the men, snarling and snapping as it skidded across the deck.

‘Kill it.’ He said simply, bringing his crozius up ready.

The two remaining creatures and their Eldar master bore down upon the waiting Chaplain, howling malicious intent. He made to strike at the first, only to have its jaws clamp tight around his vambrace. He spun sharply, summoning every last ounce of strength he could muster, and flung the beast into the barrier. It crashed through the metal rail and fell into the dark abyss, its cries echoing as they faded away. Its pack mate slammed into his chest, jaws snapping eagerly, claws raking deep gouges across the thick armour. He stumbled back beneath its weight, feeling the barrier behind him warp and buckle.

The beast’s maw thrust for his face again and again, acidic slaver coating his helm. He raised his pistol and fired, feeling the power of the shot as it tore through the creature’s hip.

The warp beast fell away, screeching and convulsing, freeing him. He brought his crozius up and was about to strike the abomination in two when something sliver and incredibly fast flashed past, turning the blow aside. He kicked out, sending the beast spinning away, and watched as the pack master landed lightly before him, its long-hafted falchion swirling as it came to rest.

The alien regarded him with a look of utter contempt, hatred twisting its disturbingly human features. It screeched some guttural, unintelligible command and the injured monster by its side turned its gaze towards the unconscious Grungi, its bright emerald eyes shining with a feral anticipation.

‘No.’ Codian growled, aiming at the beast. This opening allowed the Eldar to react and the xenos did just that, drawing its own cruel sidearm. Splinter fire hissed out at him and Codian reeled, crystal slivers shattering against the skull face of his helm. Each shot was calculated and ominously accurate, questing for any weak point or joint that would help deliver a killing shot. He rode this storm of fire, confident in the protective qualities of his ancient and venerated armour.

The warp beast dragged itself up onto its feet, shook its head and then coiled, ready to spring. Before he could respond the unnatural animal pounced, quickly accelerating into a loping sprint. It bounded past him and leapt, easily clearing the handrail. Codian responded instinctively, the only way he could. He let his crozius fall and reached out, snatching the beast’s serpentine tail. Such was its momentum that it slammed him into the barrier, compromising its further, but his grip held.

The creature’s advance halted suddenly, suspended in space, before it plummeted rapidly, legs clawing at the air. Codian let out a roar of unfettered anger and twisted sharply, swinging the beast around and through the barrier like the arm of a centrifuge. He let go and the thing twisted through the air and barrelled into the pack master, still discharging the last of his crystalline ammunition as he sprang forward, attempting to catch the Marine off-guard. The two beings rolled away, a fused tangle of grasping limbs, and crashed into the opposite wall with sickening force.

He brought his imposing bulk around once again in time to witness the demise of one of the hapless navy soldiers. The creature they had been fighting was injured but still very much ‘alive’, if such a state truly applied to a denizen of the warp. It had one of the men pinned powerlessly beneath it and, as Codian looked on helplessly, it tore the head of its prize free with one bite. The man’s comrades cried out in dismay and advanced, lasblasts punching holes through the fleshless thing.

The barking report of a bolt round thundered through the cavernous space and the beast’s head exploded in a welter of filth, its body quivering seconds later as it began to come apart.

‘No mercy.’ The Chaplain snarled, looming at the men like some terrible, vengeful avatar. The soldiers visibly quailed, one falling back onto his rear in Codian’s frightening presence.

‘No mercy,’ he repeated, ‘no quarter. No hesitation. Kill or be killed, life or death rendered down into the simplest of distinctions. To waver is to invite death.’

He deactivated and sheathed his crozius before reaching down and hauling the prone soldier to his feet, lifting the man by his armpit as if with all the effort one would spend on retrieving a fallen lasgun. He planted the soldier firmly on his feet, the man clearly bewildered by his sudden ascent.

‘To fight for the Emperor of mankind is to prove one’s worth to exist on a daily basis. To live is not a right, it is a privilege. The Emperor protects...’

‘The Emperor protects.’ The men answered as one, almost instinctively. At this, Codian loomed ever closer.

‘…but only when a warrior deserves that protection. It is not given freely. It must be earned. Remember that.’

The soldiers nodded and mumbled in affirmation and Codian grunted in satisfaction. With that he swept past them and strode up to where the xenos pack master lay, coated in the aberrant death-residue of the beast he had fallen with. He placed a heavy boot upon the alien’s bloodied, quivering chest and aimed his pistol for its head. Without a trace of emotion or hesitation he put a round through its face, effectively beheading the loathsome creature.

‘This enemy made a fatal mistake.’ He announced, walking away from the smouldering corpse. ‘They invaded this ship. They barged their way, uninvited, onto an Imperial vessel, and straight into me.’

He accented this last word by jabbing his thumb into his chest, the connection ringing loud in the silence of the aftermath.

‘If it kills me, if it tears me apart body and soul to do so, I will see to it that these filthy, xenos excretions that call themselves pirates pay for every drop of Imperial blood they have thus far spilled.’

None of the soldiers answered him. Indeed, not one of the men even stirred. It was as if they were frozen, transfixed, and not by the Chaplain’s oath.

‘What is it?’ He growled, taking a single step forward.

The men-at-arms didn’t, couldn’t, answer. All they could do was stare at the wall of pallid, grinning xenos faces that had suddenly and ominously filled the space behind the Chaplain.

A heartbeat later, Codian paused, raising his head slightly.

‘Ah. It would appear,’ he began, his free hand descending slowly towards his trusted and holy badge of office, ‘that it is time to prove my own worth once again.’

[Razor Devil]

Part Forty Six.

The Lesser Of Two Evils.


‘Report!’

‘Gorthac here, Epistolary. The third attempt to teleport abo…xenos vessel has failed. W...urrently experiencing difficult…ching their def…rned back again…’

The channel went dead, dissolving quickly into hissing static. Ligur snarled and slammed his fist into the console, causing the runes there to flash and flicker as if in empathy with his rage.

The Librarian rose and paced impatiently across the bridge, his fists bunched tight. The gathered Marines watched him cautiously, aware of the warrior’s fearsome wrath.

‘Bring me my gauntlets.’ He commanded to no one in particular. ‘We need to bring some coordination to this defence. Open a direct channel to Kryptman, we need to keep informed on his status.’

He wheeled around sharply, taking in every face he could see surrounding him.

‘Sergeant Canth, organise these warriors. Five man squads, even assault mix. If anyone can summon up a munitions store, now’s the time to do it. Lento, liase with the relevant security staff and see to it that the Astropaths and the Navigator are secured. Laenar…’

He quickly found the Techmarine amongst the gathered warriors.

‘The Caesus?’

‘Secure, Ligur. Trust me.’

He nodded, the enigmatic Techmarine’s word apparently enough.

‘Good. You, Tau.’

Gormat lifted his head and glanced Ligur’s way as he heard the voice. Almost lost amongst the gathered ceramite armour, he seemed overwhelmed, adrift.

‘Yes, Astarte Ligur?’

‘Find a niche and mould yourself into it. You still have a destiny to fulfil, xenos. I will not allow your potential to be lost so prematurely.’

‘Of course.’ Gormat concurred. Bowing smoothly, he sank into the forest of bodies.
With that Ligur took in the entirety of the bustling bridge once more, his gaze snatched abruptly as some faceless warrior thrust his battle claws into his grasp.

‘Epistolary, we have Kryptman…’

He nodded and made to move in order to reach the console in question. As he did so, he looked about him one last time. Again, of one particular face, there was still no sign.

+++

Codian rotated slowly, cautiously, sensing the sheer weight of xenos presence behind him long before he saw or even heard a thing.

The alien warriors filled the wide gantry way before him, a wall of segmented crimson plate and exposed flesh. Each almond-shaped face was turned his way, each gaze fixed upon him. The gathered warriors were a mixture of both male and female, though, clad as they were in their cruel gladiatorial armour, the group exuded an unsettling androgynous air.

A veritable plethora of knives, swords, falchions and many other more exotic examples of combat weaponry hovered ominously before him, each once thirsty for his blood. Some of the creatures licked their lips eagerly, whilst others merely regarded him with twinkling, covetous eyes.

Behind him, one of the soldiers let out a quiet sob of fear.

‘Remember,’ he uttered, his fingers slowly tightening around the haft of his sheathed weapon, ‘each one of us is judged by his actions. For a warrior of the Emperor, his own demise is undoubtedly the greatest test of all. To die for the good of the Imperium is a greater honour than life itself. Do Him justice.’

He raised his pistol and fired, loosing but a single shot before something fast and sharp spun through the air and lodged itself in the barrel of the weapon. By this time his finger tightened again, too late to react. The shot tore through the short barrel and ignited prematurely, the explosion shattering the front of the gun.

Undaunted and largely unscathed Codian drew his crozius and activated it, striding forward to meet the massed enemy. He swung the weapon in a fearsome arc that parted the whooping xenos tide and yet struck nothing, such was the aliens’ collective agility. Bodies rolled and sank before the questing weapon, and even as the Chaplain brought the crozius back for another strike, the first of the retaliatory blows struck his armour.

Steel pattered and rang against his ceramite shell like rain, simultaneously striking a dozen places at once. Seven or eight blows struck various points around his head a second later, staggering him with their collective ferocity.

Something sharp cut into the flesh of his side, the power of the blow halted but not fully stopped by the supple, segmented rings of his waist armour. Another sharp edge glanced off his neck, narrowly avoiding biting through the weak area. He felt arms clasp around his legs, seeking to bring him down, another short but vicious series of blows crashing against his head.

These damned aliens were incredibly fast and agile, and he realised swiftly that they intended to overwhelm him.

He allowed himself to fall backwards, seeking to crush those behind him with his fearsome bulk, blanking out the agonised screams of the men-at-arms. Lasfire seared past, the blasts hurried, desperate. Whoever was in charge of the weapon cried out in agony and the fire stopped.

He came crashing down, feeling a satisfying crunch as the soft flesh beneath him compacted. Something hammered against his faceplate again and again with incredible speed, ringing as it hunted for his vision slits. Lithe fingers struggled to tear his crozius from his grasp. Through the swirling mass of flesh and armour he caught sight of a number of the creatures turn their attentions towards the stirring Demiurg, guttural voices screeching in anticipation. One of the xenos warriors leapt up onto the handrail and landed lightly, crouching on its toes, its free hand clasped around the metal bar. A malevolent smile spilt its black lips.

He rolled sharply to the side and rolled, hauling himself to his feet. Bodies fell away, some rolling out of harms way, others broken and leaking by the huge warrior’s sudden shift in weight.

Codian rose and flung the broken bolt pistol at the creature balancing before him, the spinning gun catching it squarely on the back of the skull. It cried out and fell into the dark chasm as he wheeled around, his crackling power weapon out before him, fresh determination and revulsion coursing through him.

‘Gutter-filth!’ He shouted, lunging forward. ‘Xenos whores and wretches all! I am a bastion of the Imperium! Break yourselves against my fastness if you will! You will find no passage!’

He brought the crozius down and a dozen blades met its descent, halting its powerful progress. He struck again and again, only to have the same thing happen.

He pivoted, kicking his leg out at the mass. Bodies shifted as one away from the blow but his foot caught something and its owner fell away, shrieking in pain. Knives and swords raked across his back, one blow jabbing under his shoulder guard and into flesh. He spun and took the attackers head in a shower of sparks and hissing blood, watching as the body fell away. A boot slammed into the back of his knee with surprising force and, despite feeling the attacker’s limb snap beneath the blow, he was brought low onto one knee.

Another warrior leapt onto his back and brought a blade around to his throat, stabbing at his neck. He lowered his head to turn it aside and grabbed the alien, hurling it over his shoulder. The thing landed in a coiled ball and rolled smoothly to its feet, hissing malevolently.

The enemy were on the verge of overwhelming him. A cold, damning realisation beset him then, as he felt the enemy force draw back and change its collective attack pattern, preparing for another mass strike.

They were toying with him. These creatures were using him, testing themselves against his might, like a family of young predators learning to hunt. They were possessed of a clearly unnatural agility and swiftness, no doubt enhanced by some unspeakable means. Their dark enjoyment of this ‘game’ was a palpable feeling, hinted at by the shrieks of mirth and exaltation passing through the horde. He had fought back against them and he had killed, but those deaths were meaningless to these fiends. They cared little for loss amongst their own, and suffered no demoralisation or fear at seeing members of their debased faction die before their eyes.

He was nought but a plaything to these fiends, and soon enough, when they had grown bored with his sport, they would kill him.

As if to highlight this the group shifted again and two of their number sprinted forth, leaping and twisting in some confusing and insane dance. The first landed before him and leapt high, passing over his clumsy swing and striking him across the face with the haft of its trident. This allowed its female comrade to duck in low beneath his outstretched arm, dart behind him and drag a long curved blade across the back of his neck before tumbling gracefully out of harm’s way.

Codian bit back the pain as he felt his flesh part, bright blood spurting from the wound for but a second before his enhanced biology closed it, specialised blood cells forming an instant layer of scar tissue.

The situation was starting to escalate beyond manageable levels, even Codian had the humility to recognise that. He glanced out at the open elevator across the bottomless space, the severity of his current circumstances starting to sink in. From here it was a good way deeper into the lower levels of the forecastle, if one intended to come about into the corridor where the pods could be properly accessed. He would never make it. Even if he somehow managed to leap the perilous space safely and gain access to the elevator from here, the enemy would doubtless follow.

He could stand and fight, and would undoubtedly do so if no other option was left to him. He would kill as many of these xenos fiends as he could, but he would fall. Against so many skilled and deadly warriors, he would fall.

The enemy attacked anew, sending three of their number forth in bounding, twirling leaps. The first warrior leapt into the air and came down swiftly, pirouetting as it landed, one leg folded beneath the other. Its blade flashed out and rang against the armour of his groin. Unwilling to be goaded, he turned and offered his back to the following attackers, feeling the ringing blows as their weapons connected, before spinning and thrusting out with his crozius, catching one of them across the chin and shattering its jaw. The alien fell back, blood clouding the air before it, and Codian brought the weapon up, around and down, smashing it two-handed into the deck.

Far too cunning to be fooled by the counter the warriors had already rolled back away from danger and up onto their feet, callous sneers of resentful respect flickering across their faces. If anything, Codian’s continued survival seemed only to further fuel their determination.

The finality of his circumstances hit him then, bringing with it an almost calming clarity. It was said, and indeed taught, that every warrior experienced a single moment in time, a clear, indubitable realisation, that his death was imminent.

Fate lifted the veil of uncertainty from his eyes and revealed its intent.

‘So then,’ he growled, fists tightening, ‘it ends here. So be it.’

If only he could have seen this. If only he could have known. Such a stupid, frustrating way to end the most crucially important journey he had ever undertaken, he thought. If only someone, anyone, could have warned him that this would happen, that fate would throw this random, unforeseeable variable into the maelstrom of war and conflict this galaxy had become.

If only someone…


Someone had.

Someone had seen this happen. Someone had warned him of the imminent attack. He stood here now, staring death in the face, as a direct result of that warning. His mind reeled as he thought back to the events that had transpired immediately before his return to the Proscriptus, an unexplainable, gut-churning coldness twisting at his core. The very shadows themselves seemed to swell and tense about him as he thought this, almost as if in barely-contained anticipation. At that very moment, a sensation, an awareness came to him, indescribable and indefinite, so abstract and incomprehensible it caused his hearts to quicken.

It was as if something stirred, shifted, altered. As if all the infinite vastness of the universe itself split into a wide, contented grin.

He spoke the word regardless, no other options left open to him. Even as it left his lips, it was as if a terrible, ageless burden bore down upon his shoulders, the weight of absolute consequence. He spoke it nonetheless.

‘Cypher.’

[Razor Devil]

Part Forty Seven.

Fallen Angel.


The entire deck trembled, only for a moment, the lights flickering and dimming. Xenos heads rose slowly, violet eyes darting between the dark recesses of the space surrounding them. A sensation of deep change passed through the hall, touching every living thing there. The alien warriors uttered not a single sound as they paused, their quarry instantly forgotten, inhuman senses reacting to the palpable transformation.

He emerged from the deep shadows as if from the air itself, the darkness first pooling and then separating as he hurled himself forth. A sea of heads turned as one to meet the cloaked figure as he sprinted forth, the twin pistols in his armoured hands blazing.

Two of the warriors fell in a heartbeat, twitching and breaking apart into bloodied chunks of meat as they hit the ground. Another died a second later, its torso disintegrated, rendered down into burning, blackened limbs and hissing fat, dismembered and annihilated by the searing ball of energy that tore it apart.

These deaths proved to be the catalyst needed to spur the surviving Eldar into action. The shock of the sudden attack brought shard-spitting pistols to the hands of the aliens, filling the air with questing death. The figure ducked and weaved as he advanced, still firing, a supernatural ability sensing the approach of every shot a heartbeat before it struck. By the time Cypher barged into the oncoming squad he had suffered not a single hit.

The aliens broke themselves upon the mysterious Astarte, a storm of blades spinning and arcing through the air with deadly intent. Cypher threw himself into the swirling, stabbing mass, the guns he wielded so expertly still unleashing death. Codian looked on in silent astonishment as the warrior entered close combat. He hammered the guns across faces and torsos like twin bludgeons and turned blades aside as he continued to fire. Burning plasma cut blinding swathes through packed bodies, each hissing ball boring its way through the press, killing and killing until it broke free to slam into the bulkhead. Bolt rounds shattered limbs and punctured chests, each and every miniaturised explosion detonating with an uncanny and indomitable effectiveness.

He thrust his arms up and crossed them in order to stop a hard downward strike aimed for his head, shattering the blade against his handguns. The pistols then descended rapidly and he spread his arms, blowing the midriffs of two alien assailants into red mist with precise, split-second timing. As the bodies fell he twisted and descended, falling to one knee, the outstretched positioning of his arms shifting again. His guns sang, two more Eldar fell. He thrust the bolt pistol out before him and the plasma weapon out behind him and fired again, both shots striking another brace of targets with deadly effect.

He seemed unstoppable, imperturbable. The plasma pistol came up and crossed over his shoulder to burn the head from the shoulders of his next attacker, the killing shot taken and achieved without even the slightest hint of a backwards glance.

The mysterious warrior’s senses seemed preternatural, almost too much so.

Xenos bodies fell around the cloaked Marine like saplings before a storm, yet the insane survivors of Cypher’s attentions showed no signs of letting up. Worse still, yet more bloodthirsty howls resounded down the hallway, undoubtedly heralding the arrival of more of the alien pirate scum.

Codian’s tactical mind kick-started with a surge, recognising the opportunity for what it was.

‘Cypher…’ He called, starting forward. He lunged and took the head of the nearest alien from its shoulders, sending it spinning away.

The warrior did not hear him. One of the feral corsairs lunged and made a grab for the sword fastened at his lower back. Cypher froze, his hooded face snapping around. Codian caught sight of his accomplice’s bared teeth, and the half-glimpsed hint of incredulous revulsion frozen on his face.

‘Never…’ Cypher uttered, holstering his bolt pistol and snatching at the Eldar’s forearm in one rapid, fluid motion.

Black shadow descended from every possible angle and wrapped itself around both the robed Marine and his mortified opponent. There was a deep, immediate boom, like sharp clap of air filling vacuum, and both of them were gone.

Codian blinked. Base animal instinct warred with the harsh conditioned logic of his Astarte mind. He trusted his own senses implicitly and yet he knew, with utter certainty, that what he had just witnessed could not possibly be.

The grove of alien bodies hung in frozen silence, staggered by the sudden incident. Despite the seemingly impossible length of time that passed as he stood, confounded, the entire event must have actually occurred within the blink of an eye. The same shadows wove and gathered once more and, as they dissipated, they left a single, ivory-cloaked figure standing there.

‘…touch that. Ever.’ Cypher snarled, finishing the sentence. Of the offending Eldar there was no sign.

A collective wail of despair rose from the raiders as, one by one, the creatures seemed to slowly realise the apparently terrible fate of their comrade. They reeled, clutching at their heads in disbelief, a reaction Codian neither understood nor empathised with. Death had never appeared to have concerned these wretches before this occurrence, and yet they shook and reeled as if torn by some dreadful revulsion.

Cypher cared nothing for their agony. He drew his bolt pistol and started forward, his plasma weapon already to hand, and coolly annihilated the remaining aliens where they stood.

‘More approach.’ He uttered, flicking his head in the direction Codian had come. He looked out at the recumbent Grungi, his half-seated, slumped body barely visible on the floor of the elevator beyond.

‘You called my name, Codian. I have come.’

He paused then, the faintest flicker of a smile passing over his lips.
‘Sooner, perhaps, than I had expected. Still, I am here at your behest.’

Codian peered over the enigmatic warrior’s shoulder as the sounds of the approaching pirate reinforcements grew louder.

‘How. How did you know?’

Cypher lowered his arms slowly, both handguns trailing thin, sour smoke. He did not answer.

‘You warned me to return, renegade. You knew that this vessel was under alien attack.’

He raised his arm, the powerful field of the weapon held in his gauntlet hand fizzing. Cypher remained steadfast, undaunted, his half-hidden face rigid as stone.

‘Trust your instincts, Chaplain. I am not your enemy and I know you sense that…’

‘I sense nothing save for sorcery and the stench of Chaos taint, fallen one. You command the shadows as your own. You appear at the call of your name, and seem to possess the ability to travel the length of the galaxy at will. Such abilities, such supernatural knowledge, could only be the product of obscene and heretical pact.’

A frown passed over Cypher’s lips and he slowly holstered his weapons, seemingly ignorant to the proximity of the approaching enemy.

‘Knowledge? Knowledge is both blessing and curse to me, Chaplain. My mind holds a weight of knowledge that would crush any other man. You would truly wish to know what I am? I am lost. I am part of a legacy of shame, an example to those who would stray from the True Path. Once, an age ago, I shunned the Emperor’s light, and for that, I became shadow.’

Shouts and cries echoed down the hallway, and Codian caught the first flickers of movement at the corner of his vision.

‘Then you are one of the damned.’ He snarled, feeling his gorge rise.

‘I am lost,’ Cypher said again, his voice soft and low, ‘and you, Prophet, are the one who will light my way.’

‘That name again. Prophet. Another enigma, another damned question that lingers unanswered…’

‘I will show you.’

Codian fell silent, inexplicably stunned by Cypher’s answer. He looked on as the fallen warrior crossed his arms and turned, fast and fluid, and drew his pistols. Gunfire thundered across the cavernous space and sprinting bodies fell, shattered, burned and bloodied.

‘This, Codian, all this, it is destiny!’ He called over the deafening roar. ‘I heard it, felt it, the death of the Saint! It was a sign, a clarion call! This war will eclipse all those before it and will shatter the stars themselves, if we allow it! I have glimpsed the myriad paths of all the most powerful players of this theatre of war and I have seen what is to be, and what must be done to prevent it!’

The gunfire ceased and, as the smoke cleared, Codian looked out upon the crimson carpet of broken bodies spread across the deck. Cypher was down on one knee, the ammunition cartridges of his guns already replenished.

‘More will come.’ He said, rising. He racked his bolt pistol and armed his plasma weapon simultaneously before casting a glance over his shoulder.

‘They can be stopped. They are powerful and terrible, more so than any other, but they can be stopped. I can show you the whole truth, Codian, the truth you have craved ever since you opened your eyes, six centuries after closing them.

‘will divulge those secrets others are unwilling to reveal. I will tell you what the Caesus is and what it was designed to do. I will lay every mystery open to you and I will tell you of the end. I will show you the unimaginable wonders and brilliant, blinding miracles of a time no child of the Emperor has ever dared they would witness. I will reveal all if you only trust me, Chaplain.’

‘There is nothing you could say to me that would sway me.’ Codian answered coldly, unwilling to be persuaded.

‘No?’

Shock fired through Codian’s body, sudden and electric. Cypher cast his gun aside and his hand darted out, his fingers wrapping around the Chaplain’s forearm. For all his strength, Codian found he could not escape the grip. He lifted his crozius but his arm felt leaden and heavy. Before him, the renegade’s dark outline shimmered and dimmed further, the shadows whispering as they came alive to encircle him.

Cypher uttered a single word as the light faded from Codian’s eyes.

‘See.’

+++

Darkness. Seething, roiling. Destiny’s strands like snakes of shadow, endless coils twisting, entwining. Mind opened wide, drowning in all that is. Paths converge, focus, light streaming through the void to strike, crushing and infinite and absolute and blinding, so bright…

A single, terrible thing, ageless and wonderful and incomprehensible. A sensation, an experience so alien it cannot be classified or explained.

Where have you taken me? What is this, Cypher?

Clarity. Absolute.

I cannot…is… is this what it is like to see through the eyes of a god?

Better.

I see. I see…

Don’t try to comprehend it, Codian. Don’t reason or assess or analyse. The infinite cannot be brought beneath the yoke of logic and your mind, mortal as it is, will not stand the consequences. Learn. Accept. See what is. Do not question, the answers will come of their own accord.

I see it. I see it all.

Death. War. End. Purpose. Lies. Corruption. Deceit. Decay. I see the cancer within, seething at our core. Angels clad as men, daemons clad as angels, legends stirring, destinies drawn together. Millennial promises fulfilled. A final war, a war built upon layer upon layer upon layer of history. Emperor, I see it all. Every facet, every face. I understand, and I see them.

The Denizens of the First Great Darkness. The Denizens of the First Great Light. The One True Light, the father of us all. The Revenant, guardian and sentinel, death guarding death. Xenos gods sleep, awaiting their rebirth. Terrible, ageless, depthless. He will eclipse them all.

More, I see, and more I understand.

I see the champions of the xenos. The Lords of War, as ancient as the stars. The first young radical, the Mutineer. The Lingering Ones, a consciousness fragmented. Not even the Tau know of their origins. The near-extinct, hatred seething at their core, thirsting for retribution.

Others still, bastions of the Light, legend realised.

The Wolf. The Eagle. The Raven. The Lightning. The Fist. The Lion. The Gauntlet. The Dragon…

Still the visions come, burgeoning into my open mind. I see the lost and the damned, they wayward and fragmented. Traitors turned traitor. I see the once-proud sons of blood reduced, wracked by their own degradation, screaming for redemption. I see the cold-blooded ones, the lost, cultured and grown as weapons of war. I see the damned, the soul-stained, fathers and sons all. Every path converged. So much, too much…

I see it all. Emperor guide my soul, I see it all…

+++

‘Codian.’

He opened his eyes and gasped, a long, rasping sound. They were back in the hallway, and the internal chron-counter flashing at the corner of his vision-slit revealed no time had passed.

‘Now do you understand, brother?’

He nodded slowly and watched as the warrior drew back his hood, revealing a face he had never seen, the face of a individual he had never known existed, from a history that had never been revealed.

Despite all this, he knew the warrior standing before him, as sure as he would know his own reflection.

‘I have seen. Your greatest, darkest sins were laid open to me, fallen one. I know who you are, and what you did.’

Cypher simply nodded, and together their eyes fell to the sword at his waist.

‘Then you know, Chaplain, what must be done to end this.’

‘I do.’

[Razor Devil]

Part Forty Eight.

Nowhere Left To Run.


‘They are coming! God-Emperor, they send the machine forth….’

The soldier threw himself back through the doorway and into the bridge, visibly trembling. The body of his comrade lay on the floor by his side, thick blood pooling around the shredded corpse.

Ligur simply nodded and waved a vast, oversized paw out towards the entrance, the gesture causing the Marines scattered about the bridge to mobilise. Armoured bodies quickly hurried into position, the sound of bolters being racked snapping through the close air.

‘This is it.’ The Librarian growled, striding forward. He issued more curt orders as he strode through the throng before slowing to a standstill in the presence of the shimmering hololithic projection before him.

‘Inquisitor. They move to take the bridge.’

‘Stand firm.’ Kryptman answered, his grainy visage flickering and distorting. Beyond his voice Ligur could hear the sounds of the enemy’s attempts to breach the Inquisitor’s chamber.

‘Hold your ground, whatever it takes. We cannot allow these xenos corsairs to undo everything we have thus far strived to achieve. I don’t need to remind you that the survival of the Imperium depends on our own ability to survive this assault. The Emperor needs us, Ligur.’

The Librarian bowed and stepped away from the projection, sensing as much as hearing the increase in anxiety around the doorway. He looked to the soldiers and Marines gathered there, watching as one of his sergeants directed the others in preparation for the defence. The tension was thick, the charged air thick enough to reach out and grab. Loud, terrible screams tore from the darkness, sounds obviously enhanced, intended to terrorize and disrupt.

Ligur closed his eyes and shivered, glittering frost forming about his head. The runes carved into the backs of his oversized gauntlets began to glow hot, agitated by his powerful mind.

They were here.

A massive shape loomed from the darkness beyond and floated through the doorway, the twin weapons hanging suspended above it shuddering as they spat death out into the bridge. The lesser men reeled back as the things outsized claws snapped murderously about it, questing for victims. One man was torn in two as the evil weapons found their mark, his bisected body falling in a wet spray of blood.

The Marines gathered there stood resolute and a grove of bolters roared in defiance, enveloping the monstrous machine in explosive flame.

Ligur had opened his eyes and he threw a nod out at the waiting form of brother Hargas, his armoured body standing flat against the bulkhead. The Marine lunged forward and dropped onto one knee, lifting the meltagun up to his shoulder. There was a sharp whine and the low rumble of igniting air and a shimmering beam slammed into the Talos, causing the machine to lurch violently to one side, shunted by the powerful blast. Its thick armour trembled and liquefied, superheated steam flashing from its flanks, and within seconds the beam had tore its way through the belly of the contraption and out the other side, reducing its mechanised guts to steam.

Its suspensors deprived of power, the Talos slammed into the deck, its limbs flailing and shuddering as it died. The Marine holding the meltagun stood back, allowing another of his comrades to step forward and toss a krak grenade into the gaping hole blasted into the abomination for good measure.

‘Fall back and assume firing positions!’ Ligur commanded, striding forward. Both his lightning claws ignited as one, twin sheaths of azure energy enveloping the imposing blades. The aging Librarian had never faced such an enemy before, and yet, through many decades of experience he had developed a keen sense of the tactics of warfare. The myriad races of the galaxy may be as varied as the stars, but combat tactics were not.

Just as he had assumed, the shadows around the door began to pool and darken, indistinct tendrils of nebulous darkness questing through the opening.

‘Engage on sight, whatever comes through that door.’

Within seconds the darkness began to roil and shift, spilling into the bridge. Indistinct shapes writhed within the mass and a ghostly hissing filled the space.

Shapes burst forth, squirming like snakes out into the bridge. Lithe bodies scurried like vermin across the floor, walls and ceiling, scuttling bodies pressed flat to every surface. Half-glimpsed forms, pallid and hairless, shrieked as they began to saturate the bridge, the shining eyes of each creature pulsing with lust as they chose their first victim.

The defenders’ guns opened up, a hammering din filling the bridge with fire and smoke. Alien bodies cried out as they fell, shadow-skinned forms shattering beneath the onslaught. Nonetheless, the shadow creatures poured forth like oil and, within seconds, those of the vanguard had found their first victims.

The non-enhanced humans of the bridge staff and ship security forces suffered the worst. Men and women screamed as the hunters pounced, rending claws lacerating and beheading with unnatural swiftness. The stoic unflappability of the Marines ensured the inevitable demise of each attacker, and soon the dark blood of the creatures began to mingle with that of their victims.

‘Don’t let a single one of them loose in here!’ Ligur shouted, picking of pace as he advanced. He looked to Torvus as he passed and the assault Marine nodded his head. Thunder hammer to hand, Torvus smoothly vaulted the handrail before him and dropped onto the deck, quickly taking up pace beside the Epistolary. A number of other Marines joined them, including Berolinus, his chainsword drawn and activated.

The shadow-things were all but beaten back, the collective miasma they had created slowly dispersing. Hissing xenos fire continued to slice through the doorway in thick bursts and one of the Marines grunted, lurching back, a dark spray of arterial blood spurting from his neck. Without a word the Astarte picked himself up and retrieved his bolter, paying the rapidly-clotting wound no further thought.

An Eldar warrior threw itself through the opening, the large cannon in its hands spraying its immediate surroundings with deadly shard-fire. Consoles shattered and sparked beneath the onslaught. Crystal fragments glittered in the air, thick and choking.

The corsair’s fate was inevitable, however fierce its attack. Seconds before its body was blown to pieces by the weight of return fire, the Eldar cast its spent cannon aside and produced something fist-sized and spherical. It hurled the device before it and pivoted sharply; as if foolish enough to imagine it stood a chance of escape. The defenders cut it down mercilessly, sending its broken body flailing back the way it had come.

Ligur was the only one ignoring the dead warrior. His gaze remained fixed to the knotted orb slowly spinning to a standstill before him, forgotten by everyone else in his or her efforts to destroy the interloper.

Ligur’s face darkened and his eyes shone with power, his scarred face taking on an almost translucent quality. He spread his arms, uttering something rendered unintelligible by the noise of the conflict, and flickering witch light shimmered into being before him, rippling like water in strong sunlight.

The force runes carved into his gauntlets responded to his unspoken command, helping the Librarian to call forth the Fury of the Ancients.

The raging psychic construct erupted from the air before Ligur and thundered forth, a horizontal column of twisting, screaming blue flame. The enemy weapon had just begun to uncoil and spread, razor-wire tendrils unfurling as if alive as the psychic manifestation slammed into it and hurled it back into the dark spaces beyond, denying its murderous intent. Pained shrieks echoed through the darkness seconds later, bringing satisfaction to Ligur.

‘They will either abandon their efforts or attempt to storm us. Either way, we will be ready to meet them.’ He ordered, driving the Marines forward. For several moments there was nothing except for a cold darkness to be seen beyond the bridge.

Then they came.

Terrible spectres of death sprinted through the opening, heavy armoured beasts clad in black plate, their helmed faces white and skull-like. They carried long-hafted glaives topped with cruel-looking blades that they swung and twirled before them, drawing glittering violet arcs around them as they advanced.
Several of the survivors of the previous assaults moved to meet them from around the gateway, only to fall back in agony, pierced by the needle shards spitting from the extremities protruding from the crests of the enemy’s helmets.

Las and bolter fire met the warriors, with some if little success. The silent aliens rode everything save for the most powerful blasts, the concentrated fire glancing off their powerful armour like water. They spun their weapons before them and turned aside many shots, sparks flying around them as they reacted with lightning speed.

With a single, thunderous clash of weapon meeting weapon, the Marines and the xenos killers met in combat.

Torvus sprinted ahead of the rest of his brethren and leapt into the invading alien attackers, bringing his hammer around and down in a powerful sweep, roaring at the top of his voice. The vicious and confident attack connected, its sudden speed momentarily confounding the alien warriors, as one of their kind fell back, its head spinning away.

Torvus landed amongst the enemy and pressed home his assault, his arms swinging wildly, blocking and parrying each swipe that came his way. His hammer sang against alien blades, its power field pulsing and flashing with each blow.

Ligur came into the fight a second later, striding confidently amongst the xenos warriors. His towering image flickered for a moment and then he dropped and turned sharply, raking the stomach from an attacking Eldar and sending its separated body twisting away. He returned swiftly, rising back up to his full height, the blow turning aside a questing falchion. The attacker reeled back and he thrust his claws through its face, near decapitating it, before withdrawing his fist and allowing the body to fall to the floor.

‘I know!’ He shouted, engaging his next opponent. ‘I have seen!’

The Eldar came at him with murderous intent, its weapon drawing dizzying whorls and spirals as it hunted for the kill. Ligur parried each strike with preternatural ease, his otherworldly powers allowing him the foresight to know where each and every blow intended to strike. He saw the opening revealed to him and took it, driving a claw through the chest of the Eldar with such force that the warrior shuddered beneath the blow, its weapon twisting away.

The alien combatants stood firm in the face of the Marines, pressing home their assault. One of the creatures was armed with a short, bulbous-nosed rifle that spat out searing globes of pure darkness. It moved forward behind the advance of his comrades, using them as cover. Every shot it loosed tore through ceramite, carapace and flesh with unsettling ease, nothing seemingly proof against its vicious bite. Despite the melee of the combat before it each shot was unerringly accurate, passing between warring bodies and clashing weapons to slam home, taking the life of its target wherever the point of impact.

[Razor Devil]

Berolinus spied the murderous marksman and sprinted forward, raising his chainsword. A Marine he had come to know as Ghaljas, a former brother of the White Scars fell cursing with his dying breath, his arm and a good part of his left shoulder disintegrated by the blast.

Berolinus shouted oaths demanding deference to the Temple of Hera as he ducked and weaved through combat-locked bodies, shouldering bodies aside, intent on his quarry.

The warrior looked up as the Ultramarine charged, raising its weapon. Berolinus lowered his head and sprinted the last few paces, passing beneath the swing of an alien power weapon. He brought his chainsword up and thrust it down in a double-handed strike. The xenos parried with its gun, an instinctive reaction that inevitably saw the weapon shattered in two. It cast the separated pieces aside and met him unarmed, assuming a combat stance.

The warrior was fast and deadly even without a combat weapon, nowhere near as strong as a Marine but almost twice as fast. It used its arms to turn killing blows aside, ducking and rolling as it avoided death again and again. The curved extremity mounted on the crest of its helmet fired again and again, spitting stiletto shards that hammered against Berolinus’s armour again and again, but the Marine’s ceramite stood firm.

The Ultramarine’s rage grew with each failed attempt, until his opponent finally made a mistake. Berolinus swung the chainsword out and missed again, his foe pivoting on his heel as it rolled along the strike. As it did so he reached out and caught it by the shoulder with his free hand. The warrior struggled beneath his grasp but it efforts were to prove too little, too late. Berolinus hauled the xenos towards him and thrust his sword through its belly, the screaming teeth of the blade causing its victim to shudder and vibrate as it died.

His teeth bared and his helm covered in the blood of the enemy, Berolinus pulled the chainblade free and hunted for his next victim.

More of the vicious black warriors poured into the bridge, dispersing as they entered. Ligur saw this and shouted orders to everyone he could see in a desperate attempt to bring order to the chaos. He tensed, a dark and oppressive sensation creeping across his mind. The psycho-conductive crystals set into his hood sparkled, sensing the same as he.

Psychic activity, latent and hardly noticeable, but present nonetheless. The warp rippled softly around him at the passing of some mind-whispered command. He began to search through the roiling mass until his gaze fell upon one particular figure. The warrior appeared identical to its counterparts in most respects, save for the long black, high-collared cloak it wore. Ligur sensed the figure’s secretive psychic commands, whatever orders it projected to the others accented by quick thrusts of its blade out into the bridge.

‘You are mine.’ He growled, striding forward. He concentrated his will and the psychic hood responded, flickering power playing about his head. The cloaked figure looked to sense his disruptive efforts and it froze, shaking its head, its own telepathic abilities abruptly confounded.

Its glowing eyes turned to regard the Librarian as he thundered through the combat, swiping his claws left and right to clear a bloody path towards his prey.

Silent, undaunted, the warrior raised its blade and prepared to meet the challenge.

Gormat’s eyes flickered with anxiety as he watched the bounding creature leap high into the air and decend, sweeping its gleaming blade through the terrified knot of soldiers. Blood blossomed in the weapon’s wake, spraying across consoles and bulkheads in glittering arcs. The warrior landed on its toes and thrust its terrible weapon through the stomach of another soldier, the blow impaling him against the cogitator bank behind.

His dark eyes fell upon a fallen lasgun before him and he unfurled his long fingers, desperate to add his own efforts to the fight. He had never used a gue’la weapon before and found himself momentarily wary of its crude design. He snatched the gun up and felt its cumbersome weight in his hands, uncomfortable with the crude, wrongly-angled grip and the harsh geometries of the stock.

Still, the basic functions looked to bear some resemblance to the firearms of the Tau, and for this, at least, he was grateful.

He lifted the lasgun and took aim, ignoring the discomfort of its alien design, and pressed the trigger. A long, searing beam of energy stabbed out and struck the creature a glancing blow across its chest armour, a descent effort by all accounts. Had he not compensated for the effects of the expected recoil that all pulse weaponry suffered he would have caught the Eldar in the neck, though much to his surprise the gun had not shifted at all upon firing.

The warrior reeled back, twisting beneath the blow, but its thick armour held. It rode the hit, coming around sharply to face him once again, the outstretched tip of its blade coming to rest in his direction.

Gormat felt his heart flutter, fear rising within him. He backed away and fired twice more, both shots lancing wide of their mark.

The Eldar advanced like a predator, its crimson eyes shining. It spun its glaive around its body, twisting it as it passed the weapon from hand to hand, almost as if to gain satisfaction from terrorising the Tau before it made the kill.

Gormat attempted another hurried shot, his final effort deflected by the Eldar, and then stumbled into a corner, turning the rifle with shaking hands in order to use it as a club. The warrior closed on Gormat with murderous intent, so engulfed by its own bloodlust that it never noticed the looming shadow fall over it.

A huge metal claw closed around the Eldar’s neck and hoisted it into the air. A plasma cutter boomed as it flared to life, cutting the warrior’s arm away at the elbow, limb and weapon clattering to the floor. The Eldar turned in time to see Laenar’s pulsing green vision slits regard it with a cold, brooding hatred before another augmetic claw-limb reached around to grab it by the waist.

The powerful limbs of Laenar’s servo-harness tore the alien in two and flung the separated carcass aside.

‘Stay with me.’ The towering Marine said, striding forward to offer his hand. Gormat took it and allowed himself to be hauled effortlessly to his feet. The Tau struggled to compose himself for a moment and then simply nodded. In truth, he would not have had it any other way.

Ligur met the enigmatic commander of the xenos hunters with an unmatchable ferocity, huge and imposing next to the tall but far more slender creature. The warrior swept its cloak back away from its legs and took a single step forward, bringing its glaive around. The Librarian crashed into the warrior with the force of a charging Dreadnought, easily enough to shatter the body of any opponent to pieces. The Eldar was swift though, too swift to be caught out by such lumbering force. It sidestepped the roving claws and countered, swinging a rapid strike out to meet the back of Ligur’s neck.

He pivoted sharply and blocked the attack with the back of his gauntlet, force runes glowing white-hot as they struggled to negate the bite of the weapon’s power field.

He threw his legs around, twisting his waist into position, and struck out with the other claw. The Eldar was no longer there.

He lurched forward as the haft of his enemy’s weapon slammed into the back of his hood, and hissed through bared teeth as the crackling blade was drawn across the ceramite at his back, just below his suit’s power plant. The ancient armour squealed as it parted and he felt the bite of the blade as it sliced through his skin, deep enough to hurt but not enough to worry about. He felt the pain swiftly neutralising as his enhanced body responded to the injury, and it took a conscious effort of willpower to force the process to cease. Pain kept both the senses clear and instinct sharp, and served as a reminder that the physical self was ultimately susceptible.

The Eldar pressed home the attack, swinging the haft of its weapon around in an attempt to catch him across the face. He threw his shoulder in the way and then attacked with a mighty stabbing lunge, almost driving his claws through his opponent. The warrior threw itself into a back flip and landed on its haunches, spinning low, its blade sweeping out to catch Ligur’s legs. The Librarian thrust one fist downwards to block the strike and then twisted, driving the other around and down to plough a hissing furrow through the solid deck.

The Eldar warrior had already moved. It rolled backwards and sprang to its feet, the dark cloak rolling around it, and pressed forward. Several swift and vicious blows rained down on Ligur’s crossed gauntlets, sparks flaring beneath each contact. One lunge managed to penetrate his defensive stance and the blade sang as it jabbed deep into the armour of his shoulder guard, pushing him back.

Ligur’s face contorted and he let out a roar of rage, his fingers finding the shaft of the glaive just below the blade. He tore the weapon free of its owner’s hands and threw himself around, sending it lancing back towards the Eldar like a spear. The warrior coolly leaned to one side and caught it as it passed, rearmed once again in the blink of an eye.

As Ligur righted himself he watched as the Eldar swept his hand out and beheaded a passing Marine almost dismissively, its burning eyes never once leaving him.
He saw then that this combat was stretch his abilities far more than he had first imagined.

As the combat began to spread out into the vast arena of the bridge, the large arch of the doorway swiftly became deserted. The shadows there thickened and pooled, so substantial it was as if they suffocated light itself. Something stirred within, unseen. Unnoticed by any of the Imperial combatants, a tall, lean figure strode out into the bridge, sweeping its black cloak aside to reveal a suit of ancient and ornate jade armour. The new arrival strode confidently forward with all the practised grace of a predator, its stride long yet each footfall so light it made no noise.

Pacing several feet into the charged space, the figure paused, taking up a wide-legged stance. The hilt of the shimmering staff it carried touched the floor by its feet with the merest whisper

Every single one of the Incubi froze. A sea of glowing red eyes turned to the newcomer as one. Opponents were quickly abandoned and ignored as the dark warriors withdrew, forming an outward facing semicircle around their lord and master, punisher blades thrust before them in readiness.

Ligur growled with agitation as his opponent drew his weapon back and turned away sharply, its cloak billowing around it. A few long strides carried it into the xenos mass unscathed, the defenders too taken aback by the sudden turn of events to take advantage of the situation. For a long, lingering moment, there was only silence.

Kryptman’s flickering holo-image regarded the figure at the centre of the gathering with a barely-contained astonishment. His representation loomed forward, as if the ancient man himself intended to get a better look.

‘Emperor, it is you…’ He breathed, recognition passing over his shadowed face.

‘Vect.’

In response to this the figure lifted its head and revealed a face more beautiful and terrible than any man present had ever seen, a visage as utterly stunning and flawless as it was evil. Ruby red lips slowly spread into a cruel smile, and she spoke.

‘So, you know me then, mon-keigh? I am gratified. It would seem the reputation of Arcobel Vect is better travelled than even I suspected.’

At this, the weapon in her hand shuddered and rocked as if with a life of its own, a dark miasma leaking from its many-bladed, pulsing head. She saw this and smiled, her violet eyes shining with wicked glee. She passed a lean hand through the shadowed mist and the weapon recoiled further at her touch, sending oppressive waves of hot pain pulsing through the vast chamber. Men groaned softly, and many of the Marines gritted their teeth, faces tightening.

The Eldar female let out a quiet, gasping sigh and withdrew her hand, the smile soon returning to her lips.

‘Come now, father. Try to maintain a little decorum. There are plenty enough souls here to slake your thirst.’

At that, she looked out upon the gathered defenders, a depthless hunger shining in her eyes.

‘Enough for us all.’

[Razor Devil]

Chapter Forty Nine.

A Stay Of Execution.


The Dark Eldar Lord’s eyes fell upon the image of Kryptman, narrowing as she regarded the static-filled image.

‘You. You are the one sealed into the chamber we have yet to penetrate. Hmm, the commander of this rabble, I’ll wager. Such cowardice, such a selfish sense of self-preservation I find so synonymous with your kind. We will prise you free of your bolt-hole, mon-keigh, I promise you that.’

Kryptman made to answer her, his mouth working slowly as he attempted to compose himself enough to answer. Vect waved a dismissive hand and turned away.

‘You have nothing more to say to me. Rid me of his presence.’

More bodies threw themselves into the chamber at her command, the lesser foot soldiers of the piratical forces. Several of the warriors dropped to one knee and fired out at the hololithic projector, unleashing a storm of shard fire that tore the device to pieces and caused Kryptman’s image to blur and fade away. This attack proved to be the catalyst the Imperials needed to kick-start their aggression. Bolters and lasguns roared in answer, sending a storm of withering fire out at the Eldar.

‘Incubi!’ Vect called, as if she needed to vocalise the curt command. Punishers spun and twirled in dizzying displays of skill, turning aside the firestorm. A scattering of the warriors inevitably fell beneath the assault, though most were simply too skilled and swift with their weapons to succumb to the attack.

Vect stepped forward and pointed the head of her thirsting weapon out at Ligur, grinning as her eyes found the Librarian.

‘Leorchar, bring me the head of that beast. Such raw, delectable rage. His spirit makes me salivate.’

The cloaked Incubi bowed its head and leapt into the air, expertly flipping over the heads of its comrades. It landed lightly and sprinted out towards Ligur, weaving and dodging every projectile directed its way. The Librarian saw this and tensed, anger rising within him at the warrior’s blatant gall.

Before he had a chance to meet the attacking Incubi Lord the other Marines around him started forward, raising their weapons in readiness. The creature named Leorchar slammed the hilt of its glaive into the floor and catapulted upwards, feet spearing high into the air. It curved effortlessly over the heads of the looming Marines and landed smoothly before Ligur, bringing its punisher around.

‘You want my head, xenos?’ Ligur said. ‘Then take it.’

+++

The deck hand’s eyes were wide with terrified anticipation. He checked the load of his pistol with trembling hands and then shouldered his comrade forward, much to the man’s consternation. Together, cautious and afraid, the two men crept closer to the unfolding conflict.

The shadows in the quiet corner deepened and shifted in their wake, drawing together to form a deep pool of impenetrable darkness.

The same shadows parted moments later to reveal a small group of figures, two of them huge, dark spectres of death that looked out into the bridge, seeing the unfolding devastation there. The smaller pile of scarred flesh at their feet stirred, roused by the sudden and violent method of his transportation.

‘Hnnn…Eldar…’

Grungi’s eye slowly opened and, as if to mirror this his augmetic whined as it powered up, the crimson pinprick of light shimmering into being.

‘Eldar…’ Grungi grumbled again, slowly unfurling. The fingers of his metal hand scraped against the deck as he curled his hand into a fist.

Thurgus Grungi hauled himself up onto his feet and threw himself out into the bridge, heading for the heart of the fierce conflict. Codian watched him leave, taking in the lay of the conflict before him as he did so. He turned to the figure by his side.

‘This is not my fight.’ Cypher answered, sensing the question before Codian had the time to ask it. ‘I have done my part. Besides, you can imagine the reaction of your comrades. Do you really think that they would listen to you if you arrived in the company of a heretic?’

The Chaplain paused then as if to argue, though, after the passing of a few moments, he simply nodded.

‘Then this is farewell for now, fallen one. Until the Tower of Angels.’

‘Until then.’ Cypher answered, and was gone, the living darkness swallowing him whole.

The sounds of Grungi’s arrival amongst the enemy filtered through the background noise of the fight and Codian looked back towards the raging conflict, feeling the pull of his warrior soul. He held himself back for a moment, taking the time to allow the weight of all he had learned to seep into his mind.

All he had seen shook him to his very core, elation and foreboding warring in his mind. Despite Cypher’s renegade past, his terrible sins and his dark abilities, Codian knew with a complete and utter certainty that the fallen Dark Angel had shown him the truth. He knew it with every fibre of his being. Despite this, he also understood that all paths were never set in stone, and that the knowledge he had gained had to be acted upon for ultimate victory to be realised. More so, he could never reveal to anyone even a hint of what he had learned, for to do so would invite only suspicion and hostility. No, his task would be to guide the others, to direct their efforts, to lead the way.

The Caesus. His soul soared as he thought of the construct behind all of this, and what it had been created to do. He pushed the thought from his mind and steeled himself for the conflict ahead, activating his crozius with a flick of his thumb.

There was still much work to be done. Before he started forth, he reached down to the small clip pouch at his waist and unfastened the clasp. He removed the object inside and then lifted his hand up to his face, the smooth gemstone there glowing with a shimmering internal light.

‘I understand now.’ He whispered, gently placing the stone back into its pocket. ‘We are coming to rouse you, ancient one, and make you whole again. Be ready.’

+++

Ligur thrashed and lunged and raked the air before him as he fought to connect with the dancing Incubi. Leorchar weaved like smoke around and past every attempt to kill him, returning the effort every few seconds with quick, rapid strikes and jabbing thrusts. Ligur’s ancient rune armour sported several deep rends and slashes, more than one red with the Librarian’s blood.

Arkannus Ligur was a powerful warrior and a potent psyker. He possessed a range of abilities largely unmatched by many of the adepts of the Librarium. Several of those abilities served to enhance his already redoubtable combat skills, but first and foremost, he was a warrior. This creature was a formidable opponent and, despite the burning hatred he felt for the xenos, he respected its skill. He could have boiled the blood in its veins or tore its black heart from its chest with but a thought by now, but he had not. He would not. He would best this warrior in combat or he would die by its blade. He would not succumb to using his abilities against a single opponent, no matter the threat.

The Incubi lunged for him again and threw its legs into the air, sweeping one leg and then the other past Ligur’s face with blinding speed. Ligur blocked both attempts but was unprepared for the third, as the Incubi landed and then repeated the move, catching him by surprise.

The Librarian stepped back, neither injured nor greatly hurt by the kick to the face, despite the dull sensation of a broken nose. The Incubi was in his field of vision for a lingering, snap-shot moment, righting itself as it brought its blade forward ready to strike. Something fleshy and fast cannonballed into the Incubi, both feet slamming into its chest and bowling it back.

The Demiurg landed before the sprawling warrior and shook his metal fist free as he rolled up onto his feet, teeth bared in anger.

The Incubi regained its balance in time to block the swinging fist, twisting its punisher about and around its body again and again as Grungi’s blazing weapon-fist hunted for a kill. Within seconds the two combatants had traded over twenty blows, leaping and twisting as they fought. The Incubi’s skill with its blade was without compare, but Grungi’s sheer untamed vigour and aggression kept the attack in his corner and the Eldar on the defensive.

‘I know you! Skull-faced shadows of death, Eldar b-----ds one and all! Your deeds are written in the Book of Rancour! This is for the brothers of the Mjolnir and the IronHead, their ships left to rot in space! For the women and the young taken into the darkness!’

He brought the fist down with a blow that shattered the haft of the warrior’s weapon in two. The Incubi cast the broken pieces aside angrily and spread its arms in challenge, taunting the Demiurg to finish what he had started. Grungi was a fine warrior and a terrifying opponent to face, but for all his skill, his actions were ultimately ruled by his temper.

Failing to see the trap, he took the bait.

He started forward, roaring oaths to the ancestors and to his lost people. The warrior retreated swiftly and then turned, breaking into a sprint towards the Incubi line. Grungi was almost upon him when the Eldar flung itself into the air, twisting end over end, and landed behind him. It swung an armoured foot out and caught Grungi square in the back, sending him skittering across the floor to come to rest at the feet of the waiting Incubi.

The chattering bolter and lasfire ceased almost immediately as the defenders saw Grungi come to rest before the Eldar. Sprawled on his chest, the Demiurg looked up to see a line of crackling blades hovering before his face.

‘Ahhh, Thor’s ****…’

‘Stand down!’

Silence fell immediately as the booming voice carried through the bridge. Each and every gaze was diverted as Codian strode from the rear of the defence line and out into the space between the two factions, regarding Ligur with a nod as he passed.

‘So, you return.’ The Librarian uttered. Codian did not answer. He walked straight up to the space behind Grungi and stood there, his burning eyes regarding the gathered Eldar.

‘This attack must end. Now.’

Not a hint of movement passed between the Incubi. Behind them, the tall alien female laughed, a curt, harsh sound. As quickly as it had surfaced her mirthless smile faded and a smouldering anger took its place.

‘Insolent primate. Such simple minds you possess, minds without the ability to recognise defeat or inferiority. Your race is perhaps the most flawed of all, and yet you mon-keigh seem to be unable to let go of the pitiable delusions of grandeur that direct your every action. Are you truly so unable to identify defeat? We have your ship by its pulsing throat, alien. You are at my whim, whether you realise it or not.’

‘Shut up.’ Codian answered sharply, the irreverence in his answer shocking the Eldar lord into temporary silence. A sharp wave of barely-contained anger passed through the Incubi, though they remained steadfast.

‘You dare to speak to me so? Yours will be the longest, most exquisite death of all…’

‘Your pathetic threats disinterest me, Eldar. If you must sully the Imperial tongue then try to keep your responses to a bare minimum, otherwise save your breath.’

He looked around him at the scattered bodies lining the floor of the bridge. Man, Marine and xenos alike lay broken and leaking, a vista of bloodshed terrible to behold.

‘Fortunate for your kind that you care nothing for loss, Eldar. All I see when I look at you is extinction. A race damned in life as it is in death. You throw yourselves upon the unsuspecting, the weak and the unprepared, driven by a thirst you cannot quench. You feign enjoyment in acts of cruelty and murder, but the truth of it all is darker than that. You scream and clutch at survival like a cornered beast, wounded and dying. Your every waking moment is given over to a single goal. Fear dominates your ilk more than any other, the fear of death. I know you. You are nothing more than cattle, and you exist only to be consumed.’

Vect’s pale porcelain face flooded with colour, her delicate cheeks shuddering with rage. The ornate staff in her hand rocked violently as if to mirror this, dark ethereal smoke leaking from the black gem set into the centre of the many blades.

‘You know nothing of us.’

‘I know everything.’ Codian corrected her, remaining calm and collected. ‘Now order your forces to stand down. Your quest is at an end, daughter of Vect. You need continue your wicked harvest no longer. I am the one you know of as Codian.’

‘Liar!’

Vect started forward with a scream, leaping high over the heads of the Incubi to land before the Chaplain. She was fast, so fast not even her retinue had managed to respond by the time her first blow was turned aside by Codian’s crozius.

The Chaplain cried out as the dark miasma exuded by the weapon passed over him. Unseen fingers raked across his soul, torment given sentience. Something flickered at the edge of his mind’s eye, a face cast in shadow, screaming in anger for release.

He stepped back, countering blow after blow, forcing his will to banish the bitter presence.

‘Listen to me! This has to end…’

Vect did not listen. She was lost to rage, cursing him as a filthy mon-keigh liar.

‘Your soul is mine! I will tear it from your brute body!’ She raged, raining attacks down on the Chaplain. As each strike landed against the head of the crozius he could see the weapon’s field flicker and dim, the living blade leeching energy every time it connected. The ghastly hunger bound within thirsted for him.

‘This is your final warning, Eldar! Desist now or pay the consequences!’

Inevitably, she did not.

Codian rolled around the proceeding strike and allowed his opponent to lurch past him. A quick glance told him that the Incubi, as watchful and poised as they were, intended to allow their mistress to continue the conflict alone.

He removed the gemstone quickly from its place and thrust it out before him, brandishing it like some powerful talisman. The stone exploded with brilliant white light, so intense and blinding it scoured the image of everything around it away, turning everything on the bridge flat and white.

Something uttered a lingering, rasping scream, a horrifying sound that scraped against the minds of everyone present. The daemonic howl soon faded to a mere echo, repeating over and over as if sinking into a depthless oblivion and the light dimmed, the pure gleaming radiance withdrawing back into the stone swiftly until the object itself turned cold and lifeless once more.

Arcobel Vect picked herself up off the deck and staggered over to where her weapon lay, the once-living blade now still and lifeless, thin black smoke drifting lazily from the cold stone at its centre. There was no trace of elegance in her movements, no haughty finesse or careful poise. Disbelief had stolen those conceited qualities from her.

She whispered something, her once-perfect voice hoarse. She repeated the same phrase over and over again, running her fingers over the jewel. Whatever response she was searching for seemed to be eluding her.

‘You killed him.’ She said, using High Gothic once more, though this time the language came to her only with a clear concentrated effort. She looked at Codian accusingly, an expression that seemed to contain almost as much elation as it did sorrow. Vect cast the staff aside and pointed an accusing finger at the Chaplain.

‘You…you keep him at your hip, the Fate-Weaver, the guardian of the bitch-goddess Isha’s Eye! Damn you and your pet, mon-keigh! Asdrubael was mine and mine alone, and you consumed him. Incubi, kill them all!’

Still prone before the black warriors, Grungi’s single eye narrowed.

‘Hnn.’ He grunted, taking in the horizon of silent faces beyond the outstretched blades. ‘I would feel overwhelmed, but numbers never were my strongest point.’

With that he rose and swirled his fist about his head, the single blow smashing every outstretched blade from its housing in one effortless motion. The Incubi stepped back in perfect unison and cast their broken weapons aside, waylaid but far from beaten. Knives and other blades were quickly drawn from strategic places about their armoured bodies and within seconds they began to disperse, alien steel glinting beneath the lights.

Leorchar darted through the press and came to rest beside his mistress, a curved, barbed dagger in each hand.

‘Perhaps we have prospered sufficiently enough to leave this brute-laden barge.’ Vect said, with enough volume to ensure that Codian caught her voice.

‘Recall the kin. Any who have not arrived by the time we are back onboard will be left to their fate.’

‘Listen to me.’ Codian called after her. ‘You are making a terrible mistake…’

Vect ignored the Chaplain’s words, affording him but a lingering, hate-filled glance as she broke into a sprint towards the bridges exit. Leorchar ground to a halt before her, so suddenly she herself striking his back.

‘Imbecile!’ She screeched, striking him across the back of his helmet. The Incubi did not respond. Ghostly and indistinct shapes drifted past the pair, as soundless as the breeze. Her jaw slackened as she peered beyond the frozen Incubi and found the figures standing there.

A brace of mon-keigh came to rest before the bridge’s entrance, slowing as they laid eyes on her. The hulking, white-armoured brute said nothing. The smaller creature’s eyes widened as he spied her and he froze, drawing a pistol from beneath his black robes.

‘Arcobel Vect.’ He spat, arming the pistol and pointing it straight at her head. ‘I should have known. You had better pray to whatever dark gods you serve that we are not too late. If the Prophet is dead, you die with him.’

Arcobel Vect inhaled sharply and raised her hand, the gesture causing her guardian to let his weapons clatter to the floor without the slightest protest. The air shimmered and rippled about her as brightly dressed figures materialised, their masked faces regarding her with hidden eyes and unreadable emotions.

‘Then it is true?’ She asked, directing the question not to the humans but rather the mysterious Eldar surrounding them. The Harlequins simply stared back at her, their collective silence providing the answer.

[Razor Devil]

Chapter Fifty.

A Gift.


Codian’s reverie was unceremoniously broken by the rude thump-hiss lurch of a passing Sentinel loader. The deck beneath his feet shook as the large bipedal machine stomped by, its oversized power claws laden with more of the strange obsidian caskets. He watched the walker’s progress for a few moments more, hearing the slightly unsettling rumble of yet another alien warpgate opening somewhere at the far end of the vast cargo chamber, before turning his attentions back to his own thoughts.

Hours had passed since Czevak had brought the Harlequins to quell the murderous attentions of the pirate Eldar, and he found himself harbouring a tremendous gratitude for the man’s actions. Despite Cypher’s ‘gift’ to him, he had little doubt that his own efforts to persuade the Eldar Kabal leader would have ultimately failed. He felt he was beginning to understand the Eldar a little better, and reasoned that they were largely not the kind of creatures given to trusting or listening to other races. A trait, he digressed, very much shared by the human race.

He thought back to the first meeting between himself and the Inquisitor, and it troubled him to recall how inadequately he had considered the man. True, the circumstances behind their first acquaintance were without a doubt largely responsible for this, but still, it had been his inherent mistrust of the denizens of this troubled time that had caused the friction. Czevak was still an Inquisitor no matter his circumstances. The Astartes and the Inquisition had never had the best mutual relationship within the Imperium, he knew that, and it wasn’t as if Czevak had the full weight of the Inquisition behind him.

That aside, Codian admitted to himself that he could have shown Czevak greater respect.

Other thoughts had warred within him since the events involving Cypher and the conflict on the bridge, and, much to his own surprise, not all of them involved the knowledge he had gained.

It was a strange thing, he considered, his unexpected epiphany. It wasn’t as if he had suddenly learned everything he needed to learn in order to bring this war to an end. It was as if…as if everything he now knew, he had already known.

As if his mind had somehow become the most complex and intelligent cogitator ever devised. It wasn’t knowledge in the pure, uniform sense but something much more. It was as if his mind now held the key to answer any question he needed to ask, as if all the information was locked away within, waiting to be brought forward at his behest.

More so, it was a pure thing, an almost divine phenomenon. Despite Cypher’s obvious link with powers dark and insidious, the very thought of which caused him to physically shudder, the gift itself had held no connection with the powers of the warp. Had he even suspected that to be the case he would have ended his own life without hesitation, he knew that with utter certainty.

No, this was something else entirely.

The experience had brought about a change within him. Though he was loathe to admit as much out loud, his perspectives, his goals, were slowly changing. In his long life he himself had taken part in countless wars and crusades, great undertakings conceived with but one purpose in mind; to destroy the enemies of mankind. To conquer worlds and systems, to scour the stain of xenos filth from these places.

How utterly redundant such a philosophy seemed to him now. It had taken moths for the realisation to hit him, but hit him it had, like a bolt round between the eyes. Through all of his experiences since awakening here in this time, despite the presence of three Ultramarine battle brothers, his closest companion had been…a xenos. An alien, the very class of lifeform he had dedicated his existence to eradicating.

Grungi was an enigma to him. His very presence warred with the countless years of Imperial dogma hammered into Codian. He was a Chaplain, a Master of Sanctity, a spiritual and inspirational leader of the Astartes beneath him. He was a living icon of those tenets and beliefs, and yet he could truly count the Demiurg a brother.

The very notion caused his gut to twist, his body reacting to the thought. He realised then how deeply ingrained such ideals were within him, and that the greatest internal struggle within was not related to the secrets in his mind but to this one, simple fact.

Since the beginning, Grungi had never once indicated any feelings of resentment or racial hatred towards him. He found this concept alien, inconceivable. He had never known what it was like, or that it was even possible, to regard another species with anything other than revulsion. The Demiurg almost seemed to fit by his side as easily as a holstered boltgun, and, try as he might, he found himself unable to resent that.

This place, this time, was changing him.

Then there was Cypher. He still knew little about the enigmatic character, which was a strange concept for him to grasp considering he knew everything about him. He had seen the warrior’s fall from grace, experienced as if first-hand the events that had led to his current, miserable existence.

Cypher’s crimes had been absolute, heresy of the worst kind. Such a being would have instilled a burning hatred within him had they met in a previous time, and Codian knew he would have given his life gladly in order to kill such a foe.

Not so now. The gift had allowed him to see beyond the crimes of Cypher, to see the whole picture. He knew he would never be able to make the others understand, to see things as he saw them. They would see only a traitor, a heretic Marine, and they would rail against his presence. He knew he had the opportunity to save Cypher’s soul and upon doing so bring one of the greatest miracles the Imperium had ever known into being, but he would have to do it alone.

‘Chaplain?’

He looked up to see Ligur approaching, his scarred face unable to hide the revulsion in his soul. As he approached he continued to look about him, his eyes running across the gathered xenos thronging the cavernous bay.

Codian steeled himself and stepped forward to meet the Librarian, pushing his internal turmoil to the back of his mind.

‘Well met, brother.’ He said. The claws of the Librarian’s gauntlet withdrew as Codian took his arm in a warrior’s handshake.

‘Well met, Chaplain.’ Ligur replied. There was little warmth in his voice. The two Marines each took a step back after their greeting and Ligur raised one hand towards the surrounding bustle, pointing to no particular area but immediately making his point clear.

‘This disturbs me. All this…’

He gestured again.

‘This is wrong. Inherently wrong. These Eldar are our enemy, Codian. They made war with the Proscriptus and now they are here, filling this hold with…’

He paused, his teeth bared. Beads of sweat ran down his thick brow, creating a sheen upon his twitching face.

‘Hnn. I cannot describe what it is for me to even stand here in this place of death. Kryptman urged me to trust this xenos filth and I do so only at his behest. Czevak assures me that these caskets are shielded, and I believe him, but still it claws at my mind. I feel slick with death, as if the blood of innocents stains my skin.’

The Librarian leaned towards Codian, a wild light flickering across his eyes. Codian was no psychic but even he could feel the struggle of will inside Ligur.

‘Thousands of them, Codian. Thousands upon thousands. Millions. I cannot hope to even guess. No blunt alive in this galaxy could ever hope to comprehend such a thing.’

‘I know brother.’ Codian answered after a long pause. ‘I know what it is we take onboard. I understand how much this goes against the grain but we must remain strong. We must do what it takes to survive, and to ensure the survival of our Imperium.’

‘Our Imperium? You of all of us should know that there are worse fates than survival. Heretics survive, but at the cost of their very souls. Would the Emperor truly wish for this to happen if it guaranteed our survival, or would he rail against such heresy?’

Codian bit back his answer, despairing at the double-edged sword the knowledge within him was swiftly proving to be. How could he tell Ligur that all this, no matter how distasteful, was to directly benefit the Emperor of mankind Himself? How could he explain that such criminal atrocity had found its origins in the prophesised completion of the very plan they were currently undertaking? He knew he could offer no true answer to the troubled Librarian.

‘All you can do is trust in Kryptman, as I do.’ He lied, feeling the burden of his understanding even more.

‘These are desperate times. We must strive to endure, to see this dark night through and meet the coming dawn. We can do little else other than trust his guidance to see us through.’

‘Curious.’ Ligur answered, working the discomfort from his face. ‘You sound more like a member of the Ecclesiarchy than an Astarte Chaplain. You should know more than most that the Emperor is no god, Codian, and yet you speak as if he is just that.’

‘And you, Librarian, should know more than most that the Emperor is more than mortal.’ Codian answered.

‘He is our lord and master, He guides us from his seat on Terra, and watches over us as both patron and protector. Our fate is guided by his will, and this is his will. I wish I could offer you more, my brother. All I can do is ask you to keep faith in what we are doing.’

‘That is all I can do.’ Ligur answered, turning away. The Marine walked away from Codian, the claws that had withdrawn upon their meeting sliding free once more. He paused, turning to look over his shoulder.

‘Faith is a positive thing, Chaplain. Blind faith is not. Be wary of such a distinction, and above all else, trust your instincts. Heresy takes root wherever it may find purchase. The blind are usually the first to provide such purchase.’

Codian watched the Librarian leave in silence. He knew that Ligur’s words were wise, and he wished he could explain everything to the Librarian.

He opened his hand and looked at the polished alien gem. No one present on the bridge had asked him what had happened when the thing had come to life and taken the dark soul within the Eldar Lord’s weapon. It was almost as if none of the others, not even Ligur, had witnessed the incident. He found himself grateful for this fact, whatever its explanations. He had enough to worry about at this present time, without having to try and explain how he did what he did.

At the far end of the hold he could see several figures he recognised, including Czevak and Kryptman.

He picked up the pace and moved to join them.

This was the first time he had ever known Kryptman leave his private chamber, one fact alone that spoke volumes of the importance of what was happening here. The ancient Inquisitor sat, surrounded as ever by the shimmering blue life-support field, atop a mobile form of his usual throne. The dais was a simple tracked construct; a cumbersome thing that he imagined saw little use.

The two men finished their discussion and turned at his arrival. Czevak spoke a few quick words to the Harlequin at his side and the figure left them with no further word, largely ignoring Codian as it passed.

‘Do you know what this is?’

Kryptman gestured out at the massed piles of caskets before them. Codian looked out upon the endless mounds, still being added to by the lumbering Sentinel lifters. Each chest was identical in design; smooth and black, with a finish like polished glass.

He nodded.

‘Wraithbone.’ Czevak cut in. ‘We can at least be thankful for that. The Eldar material serves to negate a good deal of the more…unpleasant side effects of the contents. Just don’t touch them with your bare skin. We have already lost five members of the crew to madness.’

‘I know why this is necessary.’

Both men looked at him in silence at this, their expressions hardening.

‘I know what the Caesus is and what it does.’

‘How..?’ Czevak began. Codian raised a hand.

‘It does not matter how I know, only that I do.’
‘Chaplain, if you speak the truth then you must understand the importance of our mission.’ Kryptman said.

‘All this, distasteful as it is, is necessary to ensure the survival of both mankind and the galaxy at large.’

Codian turned away from the Inquisitors and looked out across the wraithbone mountain once more, his thoughts unreadable.

‘I have made my peace with what we must do to survive, and I understand. How soon before this delivery is complete?’

‘Quite soon. The Red Masque inform me that the last batch are arriving now.’

‘Good.’ Codian answered. ‘There is still much to do. We are to set a course for Terra as soon as we can. Inquisitor Czevak, I would speak with you on matters that have been troubling me. Private matters.’

Czevak frowned as he heard this and looked at Kryptman. Both men seemed troubled by the mention of such privacy, Kryptman more so.

‘Forgive me, but I have questions that concern the Eldar. Questions I feel must be answered before we continue on to Terra. I confess, I am finding these events hard to deal with.’

He looked to Czevak.

‘I thought perhaps that you, given the years you have spent amongst them, would be able to provide the insight I need to help centre my humours on this endeavour.’

The hurt and suspicion left Kryptman’s face at this and he waved a hand, his attention turning once more to the caskets before him.

‘Ah, I understand completely, Chaplain. By all means, seek your counsel. There is still much to do before we are able to get underway.’

Codian nodded and began to walk out towards the wraithgates at the far end of the chamber, followed by Czevak.

‘I understand your inner turmoil, Chaplain.’ Czevak began as he caught up. ‘I know how hard it must be for you to deal with all this…’

Codian held up his hand to silence the Inquisitor, much to the man’s surprise.

‘Forgive me, but I needed to speak with you in private.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes. You are the only one on this ship I can turn to, Inquisitor. The only one who will understand what I have to do.’

‘Now I’m intrigued.’ Czevak answered with a grin of anticipation. ‘How can I be of service?’

‘You know the Eldar better than any of us here. There is something that I must do, but I cannot do it alone. Once we are bound for Terra I must embark on another journey, a private endeavour. No one else can know of it. I need your help.’

Czevak’s eyes narrowed as he heard this. Codian saw the first flicker of suspicion pass over his face and knew he would have to tell the man the whole truth.

‘I have learned great and terrible secrets, Inquisitor, secrets relating to this war. You know better than any that this conflict extends far beyond both humanity and the Tau. I know that you are in possession of an Eldar gateway, and that you know how to use it.’

He lifted his hand then and opened it, revealing the stone. Czevak let out a quiet gasp.

‘There is a Craftworld adrift at the edges of the Eye, cold and dead. It is an ancient place of shadows and death, the Eldar that once resided within long since gone.’

‘Ulthwe.’ Czevak whispered without the slightest hesitation. ‘Chaplain, you know of Ulthwe? How can that be?’

‘It matters not. What does matter is that I go there. This stone must be returned. I need to know, Czevak, can you take me there?’

‘Yes, I think I can. But you must tell me why.’

Codian nodded.

‘Fair enough.’

+++

Kryptman watched as the two figures made their way towards the exit, a hand resting thoughtfully upon his chin. As they grew smaller and smaller he noticed movement beyond them and his gaze quickly turned to the large group of Eldar heading his way, a mixture of both Harlequin and pirate. He could not help but allow a shiver of apprehension to pass through him as he spied the daughter of Vect at their head.

The Eldar Lord strode confidently before the Inquisitor and came to a standstill, sweeping her cloak aside. The rest of the Eldar ground to a halt behind her and waited in silence. Beyond them, Kryptman could make out something large and heavy, ferried by some means of humming suspensor dais.

The tall female looked around her at the mountains of crates and then at Kryptman.

‘We are done here. The delivery is complete.’

She snapped her fingers and the Eldar in charge of the hovering dais hurried forward, those before them parting. Kryptman looked on as the object came into view. It was a black wraithbone casket, identical to all the others except for its size. The thing was huge. It was covered in all manner of decoration, from skinned human faces to glowing crimson runes that hurt the eye to look upon.

‘What is that?’

Vect smiled at the question. She stretched her arm out and let her open hand hover over the object, her delicate face tightening.

‘A gift.’ She said finally, withdrawing her hand. ‘One of my father’s most prized possessions. He called it the Archangel of Rage. It has served me well for so long, as it did Asdrubael before me. I am loathe to part with it but I sense it would better serve your cause.’

‘What is it?’

‘Rage.’ Vect answered with some annoyance, as though scolding a dim child. ‘The fires of anger incarnate, the very avatar of rage, distilled and bound within an inescapable prison. A mighty and terrible weapon of war. I imagine the effect it would have on the filthy Tau. If only I could be there to see it.’

The Eldar moved the artefact away towards the rest of the haul and Vect turned to leave, her violet eyes lingering upon Kryptman for a moment.

‘What now, Eldar?’ The Inquisitor asked, causing her to slow. ‘What part are you and your kind to play in this coming war?’

‘Mon-keigh fool.’ She sneered. ‘Our part is done. You think we would throw ourselves into a war such as this? You may have little idea what is to come, but we have known for an age. We will return to Commorragh, seal the webway behind us and wait for the storm to pass. When the fires of war blow themselves out we will return to haunt the stars, as it always has been.’

She smiled then, a dreadful, cruel smile.

‘Watch the shadows, mon-keigh.’


Can people please comment, I don't even know if anyone's still reading this.???

[Razor Devil]

Chapter Fifty One.

A Gathering of Might.

+++THE FORTRESS OF AGES+++
+++CARIS ESTARUS+++
+++SEGMENTUM SOLAR+++

Roboute Guilliman thrust the upturned tip of his sword into the ashen earth and smiled, taking in the sight before him. He peered out at the vast and ancient citadel, its mile-high walls quaking beneath every thunderous bombardment. The Fortress of Ages filled his vision from horizon to horizon, its massive basalt walls presenting a veritable, man-made mountain range.

Bright and vast columns of light speared down from the unseen heavens and into the prehistoric edifice, ancient void shields flaring at the touch of each omnipotent lance. He knew those shields could not hold out forever. Sections of the powerful network had already failed, reducing miles of the formidable stronghold to blackened rubble.

Smoke filled the skies, dark and oppressive, and the thunder of the innumerable artillery pieces far behind him drowned out all other noise.

Likewise, the guns of the enemy barked back in retaliation. Tiny pinprick flashes of fire popped along the walls, glinting like temporary stars, vomiting their defiance out at the invading forces.

A sea of bodies and armour poured across the plains towards the fastness, flowing and shifting as they negotiated the trenches. Aircraft filled the skies, creating a vast, colourful roof of armoured might. Barracudas and Thunderbolts screamed by overhead to pummel the gun emplacements, paving the way for the larger machines.

Vespid Hiveships and Drone Factory ships touched down before the walls, braving the defensive fire in order to regurgitate their cargo. Crisis Dominators roved ahead of the foot soldiers in flocks, shield generators flaring beneath the assault. Mantas and Megalodons cast their shadow over the landscape, vast gun batteries shaking the craft as they opened up.

Flickering bursts of witch-fire raked the battlements, ethereal winds tearing ancient stone free of its moorings. The Nicassar would show no mercy.

He thought back to an age lost amid the mists of history, when last he had stood before this primeval citadel, his brothers Dorn and Peturabo by his side. The long-extinct inhabitants of Caris Estarus had fought to the last, defiant to the end, but they had fallen. They had razed the planet to ashes, unleashing dreaded viral bombs designed to scour life in all its forms from the face of a world, and they had succeeded.

Both Dorn and Peturabo had protested this course of events. Both his brothers had been consummate experts in the field of siege warfare, and had railed at the prospect of defeating the enemy in such an underhanded way. To overcome the enemy, they had argued, without breaking the fastness of the Fortress had deprived them the honour of such a task.

He had seen their actions differently, of course. He had argued the efficiency of their methods. To break the citadel would have taken months, perhaps longer. The Great Crusade could have ill afforded such a delay.

No, the Emperor had decreed Caris Estarius to be beyond saving, the xenos populace too alien and corrupt to fall beneath the yoke of the Imperium. Standing here after so long, facing these ancient walls, he could see now why his brothers had argued their case. A part of him felt glad that they had never destroyed the Fortress of Ages.

He took a deep breath; inhaling air that would have been unbreathable was it not for the eons it had spent circulating around this dead world. There were no plants here to regenerate the atmosphere. Dry and sterile it felt to him, like the air one would find trapped within a tomb.

The command drone hovering by his side shifted, humming softly as it changed position. The shield drones accompanying him did not respond, and it was through this that he knew that whoever approached was not of the enemy.

‘Warmaster.’

He straightened as he heard the voice, gathering his thoughts.

‘Hydrion.’ He answered, turning to face the figure behind him. The blue and silver-armoured Astarte fell to one knee as the Primarch’s gaze fell upon him.

‘Tell me, how goes the siege?’

‘Well, my lord. The fleet’s efforts should sound the death-knoll of the void shields within the day. The enemy however, seem ignorant to this threat and thus continue their stubborn defence with utmost vigour. Their efforts matter not, lord. Even now I have squads moving to take advantage of the breaches made in the walls. The fleet’s efforts have been structured so as to appear randomised, but I have engineered it thus that the lance strikes will not come into contact with those places I have chosen for our infiltration.

‘The Tau move against the main defences, diverting the enemy’s attentions away from us. It should prove simple for my forces to gain access.
We have managed to establish contact with a number of potential allies within the citadel. We are working at this time to verify how reliable these contacts are. Should they prove to be genuine, we may be able to accelerate our success by weeks, maybe more.’

‘Good.’ Guilliman answered, gesturing for the Marine to stand. Hydrion did so, taking the opportunity to stand beside the Primarch, his eyes finding the distant citadel beyond. Guilliman regarded the smaller warrior by his side for a moment before turning his gaze back to the distant bastion.

‘Have we a solid confirmation of the forces we face within?’

‘Yes, Warmaster. It is as we had expected.’

‘Good.’ The Primarch replied with relish. ‘The fools. We could have spent years hunting them down, and yet we discover a great number of them hiding in our path.’

Hydrion nodded and stood in silence, causing the Primarch to sense something was amiss.

‘Speak.’

‘Lord. You asked me to inform you when the fleets converge. I am pleased to tell you that the all the elements are now in orbit around Caris Estarus. The commanders have responded to your summons and await your audience via uplink.’

‘Very well.’ Guilliman answered. It is time that we coordinated the death of this world and pushed for Terra. Join me, my son.’

He retrieved his sword and the two warriors started out towards the waiting Manta, Hydrion’s warriors parting to allow them to pass. As they moved through the centre of the waiting forces the Marines abruptly tensed, bolters snapping around to face the distant fortress.

A cold ethereal wind blew across his back and Guilliman paused, his face darkening. A sound like thunder rumbled through the air and a pale, flickering light played across the ash dunes before him, hot and radiant with each crackling pulse.

‘Guilliman.’

The voice was deep and resonant, like the grating rumble of a rockslide, as ageless as the dust of eons and thick with power. The Primarch turned slowly, his black eyes falling upon the shimmering, hazy face that had formed in the air behind.

The huge, smouldering visage regarded the Primarch with twin pits of burning crimson, a palpable malevolence blazing behind them.

‘Ygethmor.’ He spat, recognising the apparition. ‘What is this, sorcerer? The announcement of the surrender of your forces?’

‘Of course not. This is a warning, slave of the Tau…’

‘A warning?’ Guilliman laughed, ignoring the insult. ‘I would have mistaken such audacity for bravery had I not heard it from any other than a pawn of the Ruinous Powers. Spineless cowards, one and all. Once-proud warriors reduced to cowering dogs whining fearfully at the heels of their daemonic masters. I am surprised any of you found the backbone to venture forth from that hellish bolthole you call the Eye, and even more surprised you summon courage enough to imagine defiance is feasible.’

Before him, the sorcerer cackled, a low, booming din.

‘Fools. Arrogant, supercilious fools. You see nothing beyond your own inflated sense of superiority. This conflict was no mistake, no auspicious accident on your behalf. This is a trap, servant of the xenos. You were lured here…’

‘Enough.’ Guilliman commanded, pointing the tip of his sword out at the apparition. ‘I care nothing for your claims of manipulation, nor if indeed they hold any truth. All that matters is that your very presence confirms one important fact, and indeed, affirms our presence here on this world. I know that you are the Despoiler’s lapdog, and that wherever you are, so must he be.’

At that the Primarch made his way over to the vision, followed closely by Hydrion. Both warriors came to stand before the smouldering face without fear.

‘Hydrion.’ Ygethmor snarled as he regarded the Marine with clear disdain. ‘It is no surprise to see you, Chapter Master. My lord has long suspected that the insidious Alpha Legion were beneath the yoke of the Tau.’

Hydrion bristled at this, though he retained the cold, calm manner of his voice.

‘Alpharius once made the mistake of siding with the weaker force. His death at the hands of my lord was a fitting retribution for such a poor display of leadership. I will not allow my legion to suffer such foolish direction again.’

Guilliman’s appreciation at the warrior’s words was evident. He tipped his head then turned to face the sorceror once more.

‘Tell Abaddon that were are coming for him. As the Emperor brought Horus low, so will he be brought screaming to his knees by the might of the Unity. His days are finally numbered, as are those of all the traitors still slaved to the service of the Chaos gods.’

‘Fool!’ Ygethmor raged, his craven image flaring for a moment. A low, rumbling laughter followed seconds later.

‘The Despoiler sends a message, Primarch. An offering. Retreat while you can, for when our great works are complete the very heavens will quake with fear, and the dead soil beneath your feet shall sludge and weep blood. The summoning of the Unbound is almost complete, and when He comes, the rage of Khorne Himself shall follow. Non shall survive the onslaught.’

The image consumed itself then, dark energies folding inwards in a storm of shadow until the sorcerer was gone, the last vestiges of warp energy fading away to nothing.

‘So, it is as we suspected, lord.’ Hydrion spoke. ‘Our sources were correct. They seek to unleash the Lord of Bloodthirsters upon us, even if the ritual brings about their own destruction.’

‘So it would seem, Hydrion. Then it is time to send the Shadowed Ones among them. Recall the Nicassar immediately, and send our allies forth.’

The Alpha Legionnaire nodded and spoke softly into his vox-link as the two warriors turned and made their way to the waiting Manta.

Beyond the far reaches of the deployed forces, previously unseen by all those taking part in the conflict, thousands upon thousands of dark, identical spheres began to drift slowly towards the distant citadel.

+++

Guilliman climbed the ramp that led into the Manta command chamber, ducking low in the rather inadequate confines of the alien craft. The command seat had at least been fashioned so as to support his robust frame, and, with Hydrion taking up place beside him, he climbed into the seat and threw the Marine a nod.

‘Activate the links.’

A brace of projector drones descended from the ceiling, activating as they did so. Emitters unfurled beneath their domed bodies and the air beneath them solidified and turned a pale blue, the outlines of two figures steadily taking form. Within seconds the links were complete and the two figures stood before him, almost as real as if they were actually there.

‘Be’gel’O Mogdrak. Shas’O Vior’la Kir’la Mont’re Kayon.’ He spoke, reciting both their names flawlessly.

‘It is good to see both of you here present for this latest undertaking. I find it fitting, essential even, that two of the Unity’s most mightiest warriors join me in eradicating this great threat.’

‘Da Despoliah...’ O’Mogdrak answered with barely contained anticipation, his massive grey maw twisting into a salivating smile.

‘Yes. Abaddon is here.’

O’Mogdrak let out a shuddering roar of exhilaration and began to beat his fists against his chest, the guttural sound intensified by whatever unseen Greyskins there were surrounding him on the bridge of his flagship, the Tau’vamaw.

Beside the Ork O’Kir’la’s scarred face tightened and he emitted a cluck of disdain. He folded his massive arms before him and lifted his chin.

‘Is it safe to assume that there will be Astartes to slay in this citadel? It is long since my warriors and I tested ourselves against Marine opponents. Too long.’

Guilliman’s eyes narrowed at the Tau’s ignorant use of the word Astarte, for the traitorous scum who followed Abaddon had long since foresworn any right to bear such a title, but hid his displeasure well.

‘Hundreds of them.’ He replied.

O’Kirla’s face tightened at his, a curious expression that the Primarch had come to learn of as delight dominating his face.

‘Excellent.’

[Razor Devil]

Chapter Fifty Two.

Vipers, To Kill a Primarch.

+++ THE ZIGGURAT IMPERIALIS +++
+++ THE IMPERIAL PALACE +++
+++TERRA +++

Grand Master Fraudator Regaas reclined in the vast, black chair, his gloved fingers steepled. The bank of ancient screens stretched before him, illuminating the pale skin of his face.

Hundreds of screens of varying sizes created a wall of shifting activity before him. The information of thousands of clandestine investigations and furtive undercover research presented and laid out before him, a vast smorgasbord of secret data.

All of it his and his alone to scrutinize.

Of all the humans in the galaxy, few were allowed entry to the Grand Master’s inner sanctum. The chamber itself was immensely psi-shielded, designed to keep out the insidious probing of psychic spies. Vast sentinel scrambler arrays ceaselessly worked to filter, decode and encode the information passing both into and out of the chamber, poisoning each burst with deadly counter-algorithms that would wipe the minds or systems of any adept or snoop-array monitoring the transmissions with immediate and total effect.

To state that such information as was on display here was of a sensitive nature would be so gross an understatement as to be absurd. Regaas was not only the Grand Master of the Officio Assassinorum but one of the High Lords of the Imperium, and as a consequence one of the most powerful and influential individuals in the galaxy.

Still, such information, even in his hands, would surely see the Inquisition declare him Hereticus and subsequently hunted with the utmost vigour.

Regaas cast another data-slate onto the bank before him and sighed. He raised his hand and waved a brace of fingers in summon to the figure waiting behind him.

Coordinator Reeze stepped from the shadows and into the soft light as if emerging from the air itself. Reeze was Regaas’s second and his most trusted aide, his main profession that of ensuring the coordination of the Assassinorum’s business. In truth he was involved more in the Officio’s activities than even the Grand Master. Reeze was the one who would usually sanction the use of the various operatives, and assumed overall command of each of the Temples.

In short, he was without a doubt one of the most dangerous men in all the Imperium.

‘Is it done?’

‘Yes, my lord. A selection of our most able operatives are underway as we speak.’ Reeze answered, passing Regaas a number of bio-encoded data-slates.

‘We have the usual mix. Callidus, Vindicare, Venenum. Each of the agents were selected by myself for according to their success rates and individual talents, based on rigorous and meticulate studies on the target.’

‘The ‘target’?’ Regaas answered, looking at the man with unconcealed incredulity. ‘Our target is Roboute Guilliman! A Primarch! Damn it man, how does one study such a mark?’

‘My apologies, lord.’ Reeze answered, quite without emotion. He handed Regaas several slates and the Grand Master regarded them for a moment before casting them aside, adding to the building pile before him.

‘What do we know of the current state of the war, Reeze?’

‘Well sir, it would appear that events have taken a short turn for the better. The advancing Tau forces seem to have stalled in their progress and taken up orbit around a small, dead world at the outer reaches of our system, though our intelligence can’t seem to pinpoint why. This is fortunate for us on two counts. The cessation has allowed the Warmaster to better coordinate his forces in preparation for Terra’s defence, and it also gives us an affirmative target location. Caris Estarus is where the first of our agents intend to intercept the target.’

‘Good. This endeavour must meet with the utmost success. We are about to undergo what is undoubtedly the largest coup that has yet taken place since Vandire’s reign. There are too many disparate elements involved here. We need to take this Imperium of ours by the reins and guide it towards a strong, positive future.’

He paused then, his gaze finding the silent Coordinator.

‘You understand that, don’t you? Indecision is killing our glorious Imperium from within, as the Tau does so without. We must ensure our survival, even if the cost is high. This has to be done.’

‘I understand, lord.’ Reeze answered simply, tilting his head. Though the man was always completely devoid of any outward display of emotion, his features seemed tighter and more set in stone as usual.

Regaas nodded slowly and then turned back towards the screens, resting his lips against his bunched hands.

‘Our actions are sure to send a shockwave through the other High Lords. It is regrettable that the temples have had to be deceived, regrettable but necessary. I need you to be sure that what we are about to do is for the good of all mankind.’

He turned to the man, his penetrating gaze unwavering and sombre.

‘Are all the elements in place?’

‘They are, lord.’

‘The exact whereabouts of each target verified?’

Reeze responded to this by lifting a hand and activating the one slate he still had in his possession. Pale emerald light bathed his craggy face as he silently read the information before him.

‘To the second, lord.’

‘Good.’ Regaas answered. Issuing a long, wistful sigh, he raised his right hand and offered the thick cygnet ring he wore there, the jewel set into it shimmering as it was activated with an apparent thought.

‘Then there can be no more delay. For the soul of the Emperor, we do now what we must.’

Reeze offered the slate to Regaas and the Grand Master pressed the ring against the screen, causing the jewel to change colour from blue to a deep crimson.

‘It is done.’

‘It is done.’ Reeze echoed, adding his own authorisation quickly. With that he pressed one more rune on the slate’s screen and then cast it to the floor, destroying it beneath his boot.

‘Now there can be no turning back. For the good of the Emperor.’
Reeze paused, and for a moment there was only silence. It seemed the Coordinator had expected Regaas to echo the sentiment, for when he did not, he looked to the Grand Master.

Regaas simply smiled.

+++

Gregator Consolatin, Adeptus Supremus, Master of the Administratum, waved his taster-servitor away with an impatient hand, satisfied that the meal before him was safe. Had it been poisoned the unit would have suffered the consequences of whatever toxins were secreted. The meal was fine. The flitting servo-skulls buzzing around the dish affirmed this and then drifted away into the darkness.

Consolatin waited for the servitor to pour him a good measure of Cardessi wine, the liquid already scrutinised, and then sat back, awaiting his dining implements.

Both of which the emotionless servitor plunged into the back of his skull.

+++

Grand Mistress Suni Mae Sing screamed. The terrified voices of her brothers and sisters carried through the chamber, creating a cacophony of pain and panic that tore at the souls of all those present.

‘Betrayal!’ She cried, the single word carrying over the vocal agony of those around her. Every Astropath in the chamber writhed and convulsed on the floor as the dark shadow passed by, its single, malevolent eye glinting. The large iris set into the left-hand side of its face slowly opened, and an eternity of violent and soul-shredding pain swallowed her whole.

+++

Lord Inquisitor Covenant was old, older than most other human beings alive. Centuries of fighting for the Emperor’s soul would have broken a lesser man, but all it had done to Covenant was instil in him a great desire to see his works complete, to fight the ravaging effects of time by whatever means he could find in order to direct the Imperium towards its manifest destiny.

Even now, with the Unity so close to Terra, the Inquisition were striving to find some means of restoring mankind’s power and ending the Tau threat. They would not fail the Emperor. They could not.

He lifted the aquila hanging at his neck and kissed it.

‘We will find a way, my Emperor. I vow it.’

Covenant’s shuttle exploded spectacularly seconds later, midway between the port and the waiting Black Ship, scattering the atoms of his ancient body to the void.

+++

The Ecclesiarch smiled and withdrew his hand, the golden aquila ring glinting beneath the rich lights of the basilica. A quick glance beyond the retreating body revealed to him a seemingly endless line of waiting bodies, nobility drawn from across the length of the surviving Imperium. Refugees, almost one and all. More than ever now did the devout peoples of the Imperium seek spiritual reassurance.

‘Kneel, child.’ He said almost mechanically, and offered his hand once again. He lowered his gaze as he felt the warm hands close around his and looked into the eyes of the young woman kneeling at his feet.

‘Imperator dominatus. Imperator consolatio. Look to the Throne…’

There his gaze remained for a moment, and he stared, transfixed, by the woman’s blazing eyes. Her response was quiet and unintelligible, only loud enough for the Ecclesiarch to hear. After a second he blinked twice and looked at her again.

‘Thank you, my lord.’ The woman whispered and, kissing the ring offered to her, rose and stepped away to allow the next supplicant an audience.

The aging noble before him looked on in bewilderment at the Ecclesiarch rose to his feet, his expression blank. Screams and cries of disbelief echoed through the ancient basilica as Von Winterthur calmly drew the ceremonial power sword fastened at his waist, activated it and took his own head from his shoulders.

+++

The assassin twisted through the air and landed feet first against the wall, explosive fire stitching across the wall after it. The figure’s red robes fell away to reveal a lithe, black-clad shadow as pushed itself out and landed on one shoulder, throwing itself over and up onto its feet.

Mechanicus adepts and Skitarii alike scattered like insect vermin beneath the thunderous, amplified voice of Achosyx. The Fabricator General’s rant was unintelligible, a scream of broken, guttural machine code understood only by those of the Mechanicus.

The assassin tore its pistol free and quickly emptied its clip out at the massive shape bearing down upon it. The behemoth did not even break its stride. Undaunted and calm the killer raised its hands to its head and released a burst of coruscating psychic energy, the blast arcing out from it in all directions. Whatever machinery the energy touched exploded violently, power systems overloading. Skitarii fell to the floor screaming, augmetics sparking as they came apart.

The Sentinel bore down upon the murderous psychic assassin, largely ignoring the questing arcs of ethereal power. The bolter in its metal hand came apart with a thunderous boom, shattering into pieces as if every bolt and fixture came apart as one. The assassin was powerful and deadly, but the ancient Sentinel was one of the Mechanicus’s most prized possessions, unique and ancient, its origins lost to the mists of time.

With a speed far belying its size the massive creation lunged forward and snatched the assassin around the throat, hauling it up into the air. It held the killer there, struggling and immobile. Mechadendrites slithered from its powerful mechanical arm to tear the crystalline circuitry and plugs away from its head, ending its murderous psychic rampage.

+Regaas.+ Achosyx spat, his mechanical voice hissing the word as though it were venom. +Traitorous b-----d. So, at last the viper reveals himself. Kill it.+

The Sentinel tightened its grip and beheaded the assassin, letting the limp body fall to the floor. Achosyx regarded the shuddering body for a moment, a cold, ancient malevolence burning in his augmetic eyes.

+Machine Empath. Hnn, pathetic. I would have expected him to try harder.+

He looked up at the silent, brooding creation at his side, the eyes there emotionless and unreadable.

+It would seem, my powerful guardian, that the End Time is upon us. Praise the Omnissiah. It is time for the Cult of the Dragon to reveal its teeth.+

+++

Pugnus Imperatorius withdrew the shimmering sword and stood over the shivering body, disbelief writ large across his face. The other Custodes about him shouted and redeployed in all directions, a general incredulity charging the air.

Nothing like this had happened in an age.

‘How..?’ Was all the Captain-General could utter.

Below him, Constantin Valedor, his most trusted warrior and brother, lay in a pool of his own congealing blood. Valedor’s bloodied mouth worked soundlessly, his eyes stricken with emotional and physical pain.

‘How did this happen, Valedor? How did he corrupt you?’

The ancient warrior shook his head, unable to answer. The psychic conditioning was too powerful even for him to break.

Imperatorius watched then as the life left Valedor’s eyes and he died, killed by the very man he had intended to assassinate.

‘Regaas.’ Imperatorius whispered, his ageless eyes burning with hatred. ‘I am coming for you, traitor.’