BATTLE CLERIC
ETERNAL WAR SERIES PART 1
By Nick S. Thomas
Copyright © 2020 by Nick S. Thomas
Published by Swordworks Books
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Prologue
The year is 3145 in the Quintan Calendar. War spreads throughout the galaxy like a plague, but there is one power and authority who fights to bring order. The Order of Light and Eternal Chamber, known as Sanctum, and ruled by the Divine Father Imperator Harcrow, a famed immortal who has brought peace to countless worlds with fire and sword. With the years of war and the iron fist of the Clerics who act as both military leaders and missionaries.
The work of the Cleric is unending, and their devotion to the Imperator is unwavering as they lead Sanctum Troopers and their followers across the universe. The way of the Cleric is enshrined in Chamber law. An elite warrior caste that shun mutuality and rule through fear and violence. To be a Cleric is to be a weapon, and to serve the Sanctum without question, relying on the faith in the Imperator and his divine guidance, the strength of their own bodies, and the power of their advanced weaponry and the faith that has led them on this path.
One such loyal follower is Master Cleric Leif Malik, who has been despatched to the mining world of Therus where a Zealot named Cayne has corrupted workers. Communication with Therus has been lost, but the harvest on Therus is vital to the fuelling of the fleets and armouries of the Sanctum in the Elleon Sector. Malik must restore order, but an inhospitable world and a deadly enemy await him and his Troopers.
Chapter One
“Destination achieved, Therus 318,” said the ship’s navigation computer that rang out around the bridge, but there was no one aboard to hear it. There were eight empty seats on the bridge of the Heavy Cruiser ES Unforgiven. After a few moments of silence, the doors to the bridge opened, and two men ran aboard, panting from the rush they were in to reach two consoles. They were both young soldiers, in good shape, but clearly flustered.
“You didn’t awaken the Luminary?” One with a horrified look hurried to press several keys on the screen before him. His uniform tag identified him as Alder, with the rank of Sergeant. The other man held the same rank and name of Voight. They wore simple but elegant navy-blue uniforms with their ranks displayed in gold bars on the sleeves, and the Sanctum symbol of interwoven chains, the symbol of strength they served as Sanctum Wards, the cogs of the Imperator’s war machine; they were often called cogs as a disparaging slur by the elite Sanctum Troopers they supported.
“I didn’t know we had to until arrival?”
“And the Master Cleric?” Alder asked.
Voight shook his head and had suddenly become very pale.
“Come on!” Alder yelled frantically.
“How the drukk was I supposed to know they were to be summoned before arrival?”
“Because the Cleric gave precise instructions!” he yelled back as they ran on through the corridors of the cruiser. They passed four Skivs carrying weapons and ammunition crates. They were simple humanoid-shaped robots, capable of simple tasks, but not combat rolls, or any position of responsibility. Alder crashed into one of the robots, causing the two carrying a crate to stagger and crash into a wall. They soon recovered and stayed on their feet. Alder carried on, showing no more concern for them than Troopers did to Wards. The Skivs twitched as the mechanics and algorisms they worked from corrected their position, and they continued on.
“Furcel!” Alder shouted angrily at the inconvenience of the machines blocking their path.
“What’s your problem with the Skivs? You want to do their work?”
Alder didn’t reply as they ran on. The ship’s corridors were stark and purely functional. Plain metal girders and structural supports were not covered. There were no luxuries or decoration of any kind. They soon reached Cryo Chamber A, where VIPs rode out the long journeys between worlds. Alder raised his hand, revealing a barcode implanted on his palm that could be read even when wearing gloves. He held it before a scanner, and the door slid open, revealing the lavish decadence of the chamber. White columns lined the corridor to the centre of the room, each adorned with the religious symbols of the Sanctum orders.
Voight looked surprised, as he’d never seen the inside of a Chancel, where only the religious elite was entitled to travel.
“They’re asleep the same as everyone else, why all the fuss?”
But Alder looked mortified and simply shook his head as if to ask Voight to stop talking. Steam and smoke emanated from the centre of the room, blinding them to what was inside. Alder knew what that meant as he led the way through it until they were in the middle of a circular room, five metres wide. Five cryo chambers were spaced evenly about the walls and encased in gold archways. Voight had never seen anything like it, but Alder knew well enough how worried he should be. As the steam began to settle, they could see one of the chambers was already open, and they then saw the head and shoulders of a heavily muscled man. His eyes were shut, and that gave Alder some relief as he let out a small sigh, but it was to have been premature when the figure spoke.
“How long until our arrival?”
His voice was deep and intimidating as it echoed about the chamber.
“We, we are already in orbit over Therus, Sir,” stuttered Alder.
The man growled as he climbed out of the cryo chamber in nothing but compression briefs. He was two metres-tall and heavily muscled, while carrying little body fat. He had the body of Adonis, except for the many scars across his body, as if he had been shot, cut, stabbed, and burnt many times over. There was little pigment to his skin, as if he never saw sunlight. He had long dark hair tied and running down his back, and the sides of his head were shaved, revealing the tattooed symbols of the Sanctum as well as more scars. There was also another symbol, that of the Clan of Steel, two curved swords making a sphere and a straight one crossing them. As if he was not intimidating enough, Alder knew the symbol and the reverence it was held in, as well as the fear it roused amongst almost all who knew its meaning.
“I am sorry, Cleric. It was my mistake, I…” began Voight.
But the man grabbed him by the throat and cut off his reply, single-handedly lifting him off his feet, before snapping his neck. He opened his grip and let the body slump onto the deck as another of the cryo chambers opened.
“Master Cleric, you bring death to this chamber?” The man stepped out beside him. He was almost as tall, but of less muscular form and much older, though he bore many scars of his own.
“Apologies, Luminary, but this man did not meet the standards I must demand, and it is my duty to uphold,” replied the Cleric.
He didn’t look sorry for having done harm, but only that it had been done in the Luminary’s presence.
“On what charge?” Luminary Vanlith asked.
“We have already arrived at Therus, Your Eminence.”
“I see.” He paced up to Alder, who did his best to stand tall and hide his fear.
“I trust thi
s mishap will not occur again?”
“No, Your Eminence, I am deeply sorry.”
“Get rid of it,” he replied as he looked down at the body.
“Yes, Your Eminence.” He picked up the body and threw it over his shoulder before scurrying away, glad to have left with his life.
“Master Cleric Malik, your devotion to the Sanctum does you credit, but I would remind you that the Sanctum requires Wards to maintain our operations.”
“The Sanctum requires only those capable of serving the Imperator, and being worthy of his service, Your Eminence. There is no room for weakness, no tolerance for incompetence.”
Vanlith sighed.
“Your faith and your belief in our work is quite remarkable, Cleric. Loyalty is to be valued above all else, and we should all demand the highest of standards. For that is what the Imperator demands of us.”
“Yes, Your Eminence.” He nodded in agreement as Vanlith put on a dark purple robe with puffed shoulders, making him as broad as the Cleric. His robe was plain, but about it he placed a belt lavishly decorated with religious symbols made from precious stones. He pulled a hood from his robe up over his head, his long grey hair draping over the robe, while the Cleric remained still with his hands behind his back. It was freezing cold in the room, but he showed no signs of caring, as though he was not even affected by the chill and waiting on the Luminary’s command.
“What do you know about Therus?”
“A mining world that is vital to the infrastructure and the operations in the Elleon Sector.”
“Word for word from the bulletin,” replied Vanlith.
“I only need to know what needs to be done, and what you require of me, Your Eminence. All other information is redundant.”
“Well, in this case I am little better informed, despite a desire to be so. As a Cleric, your job is to bring the word of the Imperator to the Universe. Not an easy job, but a simple one. But my job is to know more. To know people, numbers, logistics. To understand the desires and will of people.”
“An unenviable and underappreciated task, Your Eminence.”
“Far from it, Cleric. Fulfilment and success is measured in what is achieved for the Sanctum, and we all have our part to play. The truth is we do not know the situation on Therus. Communications have been lost, but we do know that subversive elements on the surface have caused trouble. Our task is to make contact with the garrison, re-establish communications, and destroy all resistance.”
“Yes, Your Eminence.”
Vanlith held out his hand and handed him a small capsule.
“Review the information. I want to know that we are ready for anything. Gather your gear, Cleric, and be ready for anything.”
“Always.”
He pushed the capsule into a data slot on the back of his left hand and began to siphon through the information on a heads-up display projected directly to his eyes. He took out a compression suit and pulled on the single piece uniform. It sealed to his body, he and put on his uniform field cap with rank marking and Clan. He paced out of the room and walked through the corridors like a King. He walked tall and proud, towering over the Wards and Skivs that hurried about their work. Finally, he reached a door that simply read ’ST Armoury.’ He placed his hand over a biometric scanner, and the door slid open, revealing lines of heavily armoured power suits and five Troopers climbing into them. Every one of them was tall and muscular like the Cleric, and a world apart from the Wards.
“Attention on deck!” roared one of the Troopers as they spotted the Cleric.
“At ease!”
He stepped inside and stopped to revel at those he commanded and the equipment at their disposal. The armoured suits made them into giants and protected against most small arms fire, even some high calibre weaponry, but they had no subtlety. The suits were built for one thing. To be used by heavy infantry in war. Malik smiled, for he was in his element. He was born for this life, and he loved it.
“Another perfect day to serve,” he said with a smile.
“To Serve the Sanctuary!” they all roared in response.
Malik looked around at each of their faces to see they oozed the confidence he valued and had been trained to instil in all who served beside him. They would follow him into any fire, and come out the other side even stronger, for they were forged in fire.
“Therus is a mining world. It might not sound like much, but it’s inhospitable, more than most. The surface is jagged rock, and feral inhabitants regularly attack workers and facilities. Lava pits are deadly, even to the Z26 Power Armour with prolonged exposure,” he said as looked at their fighting suits.
“None of you have served with me before, but I expect you to know what is required of every one of you. We each of us serve the Divine Father, and his greatness is furthered by our deeds. We represent the Imperator, and nothing short of excellence is demanded of us all. We are Sanctum Troopers of the Eternal Chamber! Gather your gear and be ready to serve. Be ready for anything. Duty and Honour!”
“Duty and Honour!”
Chapter Two
They went back to business as the Cleric went to his own suit. His name and rank were emblazoned on both shoulder pauldrons, as well as the Clan of Steel motif. He was the only one among them with such decoration, and several looked upon it with great reverence and envy. Every one of them carried the Sanctum chain symbol across their cuirass. The Cleric placed his hand over the symbol, and the suit opened up so that he could climb into it. As he did so, it sealed about his body, with only his head and hands still visible. He smiled as he felt the power surge through his already powerful body. The Power Suit made each and every one of them feel like a God, although none of them would ever say as such, as it would be blasphemous. He reached for a pair of large armoured gloves, plated over with the thick metal armour like the rest of his suit. He pulled them on, and they sealed to the suit at the wrist. He clenched his fists and then unclenched them, as he felt the power of the suit flow through his body. The Sanctum Troopers were already some of the strongest of all Terrans, but their power suits made them into terrifying monsters to behold.
In front of him was a rack of weapons. As Sanctum Troopers they had access to the best and widest variety of tools to suit the wide array of tasks they were sent to. He looked up at the Subjugator battle rifle that was the most common tool in the Trooper arsenal. A variety of other pistols and small arms were around it, including a broad double-edged knife. Its crossguard was a half crescent shape, and at its centre on the langets the symbol of the Clan of Steel. He took it in hand, and it shimmered slightly as the power of his suit flowed into the blade.
“I’ve got to get me one of those,” said one of the other Troopers.
The Cleric turned about to see a heads-up display projected by the suit now put the names of his fellow troopers over each of their heads in a bold neon sign. The man was as tall as the mighty Cleric, and with skin so dark it was almost jet-black. A long scar ran down his face over his left eye, which was artificial and glistened bright blue, in contrast to his other dark eye. None of the Troopers tried to hide their scars or replacement bionic components. They wore them with pride for they were considered to be trophies won in war. The neon nametag was Wyse, and he was eyeing up the Cleric’s blade with envious eyes. All of them were, and none had anything like it on their own racks.
“The Vanquisher blade of the Clan must be earned. To become a Brother of Steel is one of the greatest honours a Trooper can ever dream of, beyond a worthy death for the Imperator, or distinction awarded by his divine hand,” replied Malik.
“Is Steel really the strongest of them all?” Wyse asked.
“I would demand proof of any man who said otherwise.”
Malik held up his blade. There was absolute confidence and strength in his eyes, and he clearly meant exactly what he said, “I’d be willing to fight any one of you to prove the reputation of the Clan. Not for my own honour, but for all who have earned the right to bear the honour of
the mark of the Clan.”
He looked to the other Troopers, their combat operations totals marked beneath their name. There was only one among them with single digit numbers, and the only woman among them, too. Her name was Hyland and her total simply read as zero, while Barick was over a hundred, and the Cleric at almost two thousand. A single tally for any armed operation held offworld.
“That quota an error?” Barick pointed to the suspicious zero beside her name. He was as pale as the Cleric, but younger and fresher faced. From his tone he was the sort to bully recruits, but nobody cared so long as he did his job, and he did it well.
The woman was just climbing into her suit. She looked young, and yet was twenty centimetres shorter than Barick, with substantial muscle mass and a sculpted body. Compared to any normal Terran or Ward she was huge, only among Troopers did she come up short.
“Everyone has to start at the same place,” she replied, confirming it was indeed her first mission. She had bright blond hair tied back, with both sides of her head shaved and tattooed with religious iconography and quotes. She bore no scars, and yet she looked confident and carried herself as though she had a world of experience.
“We’re going down to Therus and the Sanctum sends us a Colt? Someone has a sense of humour,” replied Barick cynically.
“You were Colt once, too,” replied Andez in her defence.
“Yes, I was, and I earned my first mark, and until a Trooper has, they are nothing better than a Ward to me,” snarled Barick.
“Don’t listen to him. He’s angry at everyone and everything.” She ignored Andez and looked Barick in the eyes.
“I get it. I’ve got to earn my place, and when I do, I’m going to make you eat those words.”
Barick was stunned for a moment, but he soon smiled and then broke out into laughter.
“Enough,” growled Malik.
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