Mephiston: Revenant Crusade

by Darius Hinks

  Nemesor Tekheron leant close. ‘You cannot imagine how difficult it is to marshal troops based on the outcome of the phaeron’s games. But all of my predecessors who attempted to deviate from his instructions were executed.’

  ‘Well, while the phaeron plays his games, the local humans have been hoarding explosive weapons that could potentially disrupt your regeneration protocols. If they created another explosion like this near one of your regeneration nodes, they could hinder your ability to reinforce your legions.’

  ‘None of them could have survived this blast,’ said Tekheron, looking at the mountainous wall of rubble that filled one end of the hall.

  ‘But what if this was only the advance party? How many warriors have you just lost?’

  Tekheron’s voice was brittle. ‘Hundreds. I tried to explain that to the phaeron, but he is more concerned with you and your work in the crypts.’

  ‘As am I,’ replied Xhartekh. He stepped away from the pillar and looked at the wall of rubble. ‘Let me help you so I can get back to the orchestrion and finish my work.’

  Xhartekh strode across the sepulchre and headed towards the rocks. ‘You just need a passage through the antechambers, correct?’

  Tekheron nodded, following him. ‘There may be a few survivors out there. None of our readings are clear. If you can give me a quick path through, I can see for myself. If I can find any human corpses, I could show them to the phaeron. Perhaps togaether we could convince him they are a threat.’

  ‘You are as insane as he is,’ replied Xhartekh. ‘Remember what we agreed. I will make the orchestrion work in the way we discussed and then we will get it off this world. If we start arguing with the phaeron now we will be dead before–’

  A grinding aftershock rocked through the sepulchre and more of the columns gave way, ripping sections of wall and tearing up the flagstones. The noise was immense and dozens of lychguard were hurled back through the air, many of them losing hold of their weapons as they crashed to the ground.

  Xhartekh and Nemesor Tekheron dashed back across the hall, making for the entrance, but huge pieces of statuary were slamming down all around them, filling the air with dust and shards of rock that whistled through the clouds. The two nobles made it to the exit and raced back into the second sepulchre, but as they paused to look back, another aftershock rocked the necropolis.

  Xhartekh was hurled through the chaos, smashing into a flight of steps with a howl of grinding metal. He lay there, dazed for a moment, his circuits overloaded with data.

  Nemesor Tekheron hauled him to his feet and they both ran across the splintering floor, clambering over the broken flagstones and leaping through pools of fire spilled by overturned braziers. Another aftershock hit, then another. The floor gave way and they both fell, plunging into darkness.

  For a moment, Xhartekh’s cerebral processors failed to comprehend what had happened. Then he realised he was lying in a half-ruined crypt, next to the nemesor.

  ‘The device!’ he cried, his voice a distorted howl of feedback. ‘I must protect it.’

  There was an exit and stairs leading back down to the lower levels, but Xhartekh hesitated, looking back at Tekheron.

  ‘I must martial the legions,’ said Tekheron. ‘If you are right, and these blasts could threaten our regeneration nodes, I must deploy troops to guard them.’

  ‘The phaeron will not believe you.’

  Tekheron’s eyes pulsed with anger. ‘Then perhaps Alakhra and I will have to accelerate our plans. I will not stand by and let the phaeron hand our crypts to these simian wretches.’

  Tekheron dusted himself down and strode towards a doorway, waving Xhartekh towards another. ‘You must be ready to activate the device and harness its true power. Alakhra and I will come to you as soon as we can.’ He pointed his warglaive at Xhartekh. ‘Morsus will soon have new regents, cryptek, and we will not tolerate failure.’ With that he was gone, storming off into the dust clouds.

  Xhartekh stayed there for a moment, watching Tekheron go and listening to the necropolis collapse around him. With a feeling of sinking dread, he stumbled off in the opposite direction, heading back to the Halls of Kythmosis.

  Chapter Twelve

  Mephiston steadied himself as tremors rocked through the walls. They were in a narrow side passage running above one of the vast, innermost sepulchres. The corridor was not grand enough to warrant the statues and braziers he had seen in the previous halls, but the design was still unmistakably xenos. The walls were made of the same emerald-chased black stone as the crypts and they were impossibly smooth, polished to such a sheen that they reflected the ornate battleplate of the Blood Angels as they stormed on through green, sickly light.

  ‘They did it,’ said the old ogryn as he listened to the distant explosions.

  Mephiston nodded. ‘But earlier than we agreed.’

  Argolis made the sign of the aquila. In the unnatural light of the green wall circuits, he looked like a subterranean monster, risen from its cave to unnerve them with its inhuman stare.

  ‘Move faster,’ said Mephiston. ‘Every necron in the complex will be rushing to defend that breach. The Sabine Guard may distract them for a while, but when the xenos see no army coming, they will understand our ruse and return to these halls. We must plant the last charge and be gone before then.’

  ‘What about the Blood Oath?’ asked Rhacelus. ‘If the necrons realise we are behind this attack, they are hardly likely to honour the ceasefire you brokered. The aetheric shield we invoked will not hold up against sustained necron attack.’

  Mephiston nodded. ‘We have to find the fastest route to the central regeneration node.’

  ‘I can lead you,’ said Argolis, pushing himself away from the wall and hurrying through the doorway. ‘The schematics I showed you in the cathedrum are complete in every way. We mapped these tunnels for decades, using the same sonic devices used to locate Morsus’ promethium seams. And I have had a lifetime to memorise them.’

  They raced down the passageway as an eerie dirge rose from the halls below. Rather than klaxons, the necron alarms were low, mournful horns, playing a single drawn-out note that echoed down the passages, ominous and strange, like a call from the past.

  They reached a crossroads and Argolis waved them down the right passageway, which quickly opened out into a broad balcony overlooking one of the great funerary halls.

  As Mephiston had predicted, the necropolis was filled with activity. Blocks of necron warriors and lychguard were running through the chamber. Their movements were as uniform and precise as always, but they were moving at great speed, weapons raised as they thundered through archways at the end of the hall.

  ‘We have to reach the far side,’ said Argolis, pointing to a stairway opposite, leading to another balcony and more passageways. ‘Then we will be near the centre of the whole complex.’ He glanced back at the Blood Angel carrying the explosive device. ‘If we trigger the explosion there, the others will go up in a chain reaction. The whole fortress will come down.’

  Mephiston nodded. ‘When the hall is empty we will cross and engage the device. You should all have time to leave the fortress before the blast.’

  Rhacelus frowned. ‘We should have time to leave?’

  ‘I still need to find the device that blocked my warp sight, Rhacelus. Defeating the necrons may not be enough to clear my vision. If the cause of my blindness remains lost, buried under tonnes of rubble, I might still be unable to hunt down the daemon. I believe the device is not far from here – almost directly below the place Argolis intends to place the explosives. I will reach the lower levels, disable the device and leave by one of the lower exits.’

  Rhacelus looked at Argolis. ‘Are there other exits?’

  Argolis nodded. ‘They may be guarded though.’

  Rhacelus scratched at his beard. ‘I do not see how–’

  ‘My lor
ds,’ said Lieutenant Servatus from the back of the group. ‘I hear something.’

  They paused to listen. At first it sounded like rain, rattling down on the necropolis – a pattering drum of tiny impacts. Then it grew louder, like the beginning of a landslide. Mephiston glanced at Rhacelus, but the old Librarian’s shimmering eyes showed the same confusion.

  They walked back down the passageway towards the source of the sound. Argolis sniffed the air, looking agitated, pacing back and forth. Then he growled and dropped into a crouch, pointing his ablation drill back down the narrow corridor.

  Mephiston drew Vitarus as the scuttling sound grew louder.

  ‘The plague of the ancients,’ muttered Argolis, his voice constricted by hate. ‘Metal insects. They’ll strip the flesh from our bones if we–’

  The shadows exploded. A wave of glinting shards hurtled towards them.

  The Blood Angels fired. The corridor became a blue inferno as silver scarabs swarmed across the walls, emitting a high-pitched chittering noise as they flew through the gunfire. Mounds of scarabs fell back, but there were so many that some rushed through the barrage, washing over the Blood Angels.

  Battle-Brother Anassus fell, dropping his gun and clutching his helmet as hundreds of the metal constructs devoured his armour, surrounding him in a cloud of crimson spray.

  ‘Fall back!’ cried Mephiston, striding forwards with Vitarus raised.

  The Blood Angels backed away, firing and slapping furiously at their armour as scarabs dropped from the ceiling.

  Argolis howled and discharged his drill, evaporating mounds of scarabs. Mephiston stepped to his side, bringing Vitarus down with a curse. The blade shimmered with runes, filling the corridor with fire. Scarabs detonated with a rattle of explosions. Metal carapaces became spinning fragments, shrouded in embers.

  There was a brief silence as the scarabs’ charred remains tumbled back in a blackened pile. Then the chittering began again. Hundreds more scarabs boiled from the darkness, hurtling towards Mephiston.

  He brought Vitarus round in a backhanded swipe, hurling flames. Again, they fell back, incinerated, but there were so many that some made it past him, teeming over the walls towards the other Blood Angels.

  Rhacelus raised his force sword and it erupted with the same blue fire as Vitarus. The hood of his battleplate flashed white as he recited an incantation. The scarabs rushing past Mephiston detonated, filling the air with shrapnel.

  Metal bounced harmlessly off the Blood Angels power armour, but Argolis gasped as it slashed across his chest. The abhuman fell back, dropping his drill as more scarabs streamed into view. Mephiston also staggered backwards, slashing and hacking, casting lines of blue fire, but more of the scarabs broke through, swarming over the prone form of Argolis.

  Rhacelus rushed to help, warp fire crackling across his robes, and the scarabs flew back as they were ripped from Argolis’ body.

  Rhacelus reached Argolis and dragged him to safety, assisted by Servatus. Blood rushed from dozens of cuts in the ogryn’s thick hide as they hauled him to his feet.

  ‘They don’t attack alone,’ gasped Argolis, leaning heavily on Rhacelus, struggling to breathe.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Rhacelus, raising his sword and immolating more insects.

  A fourth wave crashed through the corridor and Argolis’ reply was drowned out by the roar of plasma weapons.

  ‘They are always controlled by one of the sentient necrons,’ cried Vidiens, flying into view and managing to raise its shrill voice over the din. ‘They are mindless. A necron must be driving them this way.’

  Argolis was rocked by a coughing fit. Blood sprayed from his mouth, splattering across the blue ceramite of Rhacelus’ battleplate. The old ogryn slumped, unconscious, in Rhacelus’ grip and he lowered him into an alcove.

  Sergeant Agorix fell back, howling in pain. He collapsed to the floor, wrapped in a heaving skin of metallic shells, thrashing wildly as they tore his armour and flesh. Rhacelus paused to help, but as he drew back his sword the Space Marine disintegrated, shredded into gore by the frenzied attack.

  Rhacelus battled to Mephiston’s side, hacking with his blazing sword and shooting scarabs from the walls.

  ‘Something is driving them towards us!’ he cried.

  Mephiston was fighting with murderous speed, still holding back the main thrust of the attack. His battleplate was alight with ­psychic power and he was knee deep in shattered scarabs.

  He nodded down the corridor as he hacked and lunged. ‘The necrons may be more sane than the sergeant thought. They are returning to protect the regeneration nodes.’

  Rhacelus joined his force to Mephiston’s, flinging back more of the insects. As he fought, he followed Mephiston’s gaze and saw what he was referring to.

  A humanoid figure was striding towards them. As the Librarians’ warp flame coiled around the tunnel, it revealed more details. The xenos was larger than the others they had seen, clad in thick plates of bulky armour and draped in a cloak of emerald discs that flickered as it moved.

  ‘One of their techno-mages,’ growled Rhacelus.

  Mephiston strode forwards, incandescent, burning through the scarabs and pointing his pistol at the distant figure. He fired, but the necron’s cloak shimmered as the blast hit, and the necron ­reappeared a few feet away, unharmed.

  Blood-rage boiled through Mephiston’s veins. The ugly, feral side of his ancestry strained against his mask of nobility, but he quashed it, muttering a fierce oath and raising his sword for another strike.

  The cryptek waved its staff with an elaborate flourish and hundreds more scarabs crashed into Mephiston. He lashed out with Vitarus but the weight of them knocked him from his feet. He hit the floor with a clang and Vitarus slipped from his grip, clattering back down the tunnel. Scarabs washed over him, pouring across his armour like oil. Their mandibles began shredding the plate in a feeding frenzy.

  Mephiston reached into the core of his being, unleashing his full might. Heat radiated from his chest, burning the scarabs to ash and hurtling on down the corridor, moving with such force that the walls splintered and bowed away from him. The shock wave lifted the cryptek from its feet and hurled it down the passageway.

  As the scarabs fell away, Mephiston leapt to his feet and extended his hand. Vitarus flew through the air and slapped into his open palm. He sliced the blade down and launched another column of psychic fire at the necron.

  The necron crashed into the wall, enveloped in blue flame, shaking violently as electricity spat from its armour. As it danced and jerked, Mephiston strode forwards and drew back Vitarus for the killing blow.

  Still shaking, the cryptek pulled a scythe from its belt and pressed a button in its handle. As Mephiston brought his force sword down, the necron blinked out of existence, reappearing behind him.

  Vitarus sliced into the wall and jammed. Mephiston whirled around, leaving the blade in the wall, just as the cryptek’s scythe sliced into his chest. Charged with disruptive energy, it hummed as it cut straight through his ceramite.

  Pain flared in Mephiston’s lungs before the suppressors kicked in, and blood gushed from his armour, splashing across the necron’s metal skull. He reached out to grab the cryptek’s iron-cabled throat, but his hand closed on nothing.

  The necron blinked into view on the far side of the corridor, pointing its staff at him. Mephiston lurched aside as emerald light spat from the staff and sliced into the wall. He barely dodged the blast. His limbs were oddly sluggish and blood continued to rush from his armour, as though his Larraman cells were unable to heal the wound.

  The cryptek shimmered into view once more, drawing back the scythe to strike again, but a column of blue light thudded into its stomach, doubling it over and knocking it back across the floor. It rolled away as Rhacelus strode after it, his sword dripping fire.

  The cryptek’s fall was a fe
int. It rolled to its feet and hurled the scythe. Rhacelus staggered, clutching his throat, the blade embedded deep in his neck. As Rhacelus fell, the cryptek whirled its staff around its head, summoning shadows from the walls and hurling them down the passageway. The shadows fragmented as they approached, becoming another tide of scarabs that poured over the wounded Librarians.

  The cryptek leapt forwards, pulled the scythe from Rhacelus’ neck and drew it back for another thrust.

  Then it jolted forwards as Vitarus burst from its chest.

  Mephiston loomed up behind the necron like a shadow, elongated and magnified as he wrenched the sword upwards, splitting the cryptek’s chest and head with a shower of sparks.

  As the necron hit the floor, the scarabs vanished. The necron jolted and twitched for a few seconds, then disappeared.

  Mephiston slumped against the wall, weak from blood loss. His battle-brothers rushed to help, some stooping over Rhacelus while Servatus rushed to Mephiston’s side.

  ‘Chief Librarian,’ he said, ‘we must get you to a Sanguinary Priest.’

  Mephiston shook his head, but as he tried to walk he nearly fell. He nodded at something glinting on the floor a few feet away. ‘Bring me that.’

  Servatus did as ordered, returning with the cryptek’s scythe in his hand. He handled it gingerly, aware that it had just wounded two of the Chapter’s most powerful psykers.

  Mephiston took the scythe and stared at it closely. The hooked blade was crowded with a mesh of circuits and the crossbar was studded with activation runes, one of which had been depressed. Mephiston scoured his eidetic memory, and as he studied the runes, the pages of reference books flooded his mind. For a moment he had the pleasing sensation he was back on Baal, in his private chambers – the book-crowded halls of the Diurnal Vault, deep in the Arx Angelicum. He could almost smell the dusty, mildewed pages of his treasured texts. Just the thought of the Librarium was enough to calm him. He imagined himself drifting through the psychic wards known as the Crimson Tears and lifting books from the veiled cabinets beyond. There were whole rooms devoted to the study of cryptek weaponry, but he honed in unerringly on the right volume.