Vengeful Spirit

by Graham McNeill

  ‘It’s not far,’ she said, though distance would become a somewhat subjective quantity the deeper they went.

  ‘And how is it that you know of it?’

  Alivia struggled to think of a way to answer that without sounding like a lunatic.

  ‘I came here a very long time ago,’ she said.

  ‘You’re being evasive,’ said Alcade.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So why should I put my trust you?’

  ‘You already have, legate,’ said Alivia, turning and giving him her most winning smile. ‘You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t.’

  She’d told them of what lay beneath the Sanctuary, a gate closed in ages past by the Emperor and which Horus planned to open. She told them that beyond the gate lay a source of monstrously dangerous power, and thankfully that was enough for them.

  She’d not relished the prospect of trying to exert her empathic influences over the legionaries of the XIII Legion, but as things turned out there hadn’t been any need to apply pressure to the legate’s psyche.

  It wasn’t hard to see why.

  She’d offered him a last lifeline to achieve something worthwhile, and he’d seized it with both hands.

  ‘Thirty men facing the might of two Legions sounds grand in the honour rolls,’ he’d said after she’d told him what she wanted of him and his men. ‘But last stands are just the sorts of theoreticals we’ve trained our entire lives to avoid.’

  ‘This isn’t a fight we’ll walk away from either,’ she’d warned.

  ‘Better to fight for something than die for nothing.’

  He’d said it with such a straight face too. She hadn’t the heart to tell him that sentiments like that were what had kept men fighting one another for millennia.

  They’d found the citadel filled with refugees. Most had ignored them, but some begged for protection until Didacus Theron fired a warning shot over their heads.

  The Sanctuary and its secret levels, the really interesting levels that not even the Sacristans or Mechanicum knew about, were beneath the deserted Vault Transcendent. Alivia took every confounding turn through the catacombs and located every hidden door as though she’d walked here only yesterday.

  The last time Alivia had climbed these particular steps, her legs were like rubber and fear sweat coated her back like a layer of frost. She’d helped him come back to the world; her arm around his waist, his across her shoulder. She’d tried to keep his thoughts – normally so impenetrable – from reaching into her, but he was too powerful, too raw and too damaged from what lay beyond the gate to keep everything inside.

  She’d seen things she wished she hadn’t. Futures she’d seen in her nightmares ever since or inked in the pages of a forgotten storybook. Abominable things that were now intruding on the waking world, invited in by those who hadn’t the faintest clue of what a terrible mistake they were making.

  ‘Do these steps ever bloody end?’ asked Theron.

  ‘They do, but it’ll seem like they won’t,’ answered Alivia. ‘It’s kind of a side effect of being so close to a scar in the space-time fabric of the world. Or part of the gate’s defence mechanisms, I forget which. It’s amazing how many people just give up, thinking they’re getting nowhere.’

  ‘I’ve been mapping our route,’ said a Techmarine called Kyro with a superior tone that suggested he was equal to anything this place could throw at him.

  ‘You haven’t,’ said Alivia, tapping a finger to the side of her head. ‘Trust me.’

  Kyro flipped up a portion of his gauntlet and a rotating holographic appeared. A three-dimensional mapping tool. Right away, Kyro frowned in consternation as multiple routes and divergent pathways that didn’t exist filled the grainy image.

  ‘Told you,’ said Alivia.

  ‘But do they ever end?’ asked Alcade.

  Alivia didn’t answer, but stepped out onto a wide hallway that she knew every one of the Ultramarines would swear hadn’t been there moments ago. Like everything else here it had a smooth, volcanic quality, but light shone here, glittering within the rock like moonlight on the surface of an ocean.

  Wide enough for six legionaries to walk comfortably abreast, the hallway was long and opened into a rough-hewn chamber of chiselled umber brick. The Emperor never told her how this chamber had come to be or how He’d known of it, save that it had been here before geological forces of an earlier epoch raised the mountain above.

  Ancient hands had cut the stone bricks here, but Alivia never liked looking too closely at the proportions of the blocks or their subtly wrong arrangement. It always left her strangely unsettled and feeling that those hands had not belonged to any species known by the galaxy’s current inhabitants.

  The Ultramarines spread out, muscle memory and ingrained practical pushing them into a workable defensive pattern. Alivia’s human allies, Valance especially, kept close to her like a bodyguard.

  ‘Is that it?’ asked Alcade, unable to keep the disappointment from his voice. ‘This is the Hellgate you spoke of?’

  ‘That’s it,’ agreed Alivia with a smirk. ‘What did you expect? The Eternity Gate?’

  She’d told them something of what lay beyond the gate, but Alivia had to agree it didn’t exactly look like the most secure means of keeping something so hideously dangerous out. Irregular chunks of dark stone veined with white formed a tall archway in the darker red of the mountain’s foundations.

  The space between the arch was mirror-smooth black stone, like a slab of obsidian cut from a perfectly flat lava bed. Nothing within the chamber was reflected in its surface.

  ‘We expected something that looked like it would take more than a rock drill or a demo charge to breach,’ said Kyro.

  ‘Trust me,’ said Alivia. ‘There’s nothing you or the Mechanicum could bring that would get that open.’

  ‘So how does Horus plan to open it?’

  ‘He’s blood of the Emperor’s blood,’ she said. ‘That’ll be enough unless I can seal it.’

  ‘You said the Emperor sealed it,’ said Theron.

  ‘No, I said He closed it,’ said Alivia. ‘That’s not same thing.’

  Alcade looked at her strangely, as though now seeing something of the truth of what she was.

  ‘And how is it you know how to seal it?’ he asked.

  ‘He showed me how.’

  Kyro tapped the black wall with one of his servo-arms. It made no sound whatsoever. At least in this world. ‘If what’s beyond here is so terrible, why didn’t the Emperor seal it Himself?’

  ‘Because He couldn’t, not then, maybe not ever,’ said Alivia, remembering the gaunt, aged face she’d seen beyond the glamours. He’d been gone no more than a heartbeat to her, but she saw centuries carved into the face she’d watched go into the gate.

  ‘The Emperor couldn’t seal it, but you can?’ said Kyro. ‘You’ll forgive me, Mamzel Sureka, if I find that hard to believe.’

  ‘I don’t give a damn what you find hard to believe,’ snapped Alivia. ‘There are things a god can do and things He can’t. That’s why sometimes they need mortals to do their dirty work. The Emperor left armies to guard against obvious intruders, but He needed someone to keep out the lone madmen, the seekers of dark knowledge or anyone who accidentally stumbled on the truth. Since I’ve been on Molech, I’ve killed one hundred and thirteen people who’ve been drawn here by the whispered poisons that seep from beyond this gate. So don’t you dare doubt what I can do!’

  She took a calming breath and shrugged off her coat, tucking the loaded Ferlach serpenta into the waistband of her fatigues. She felt foolish for losing her temper, but every emotion was heightened in this place.

  ‘How old are you, Mamzel Sureka?’ asked Alcade.

  ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ said Alivia, though she knew exactly where he was going with this.

  ‘The Emperor was last on Molech over a century ago,’ said Alcade. ‘And even with juvenat treatments, you’re nowhere near old enough to have been at
His side.’

  Alivia laughed, a bitter, desperate sound. ‘You don’t know how old I am, Castor Alcade. And, right now, I wish I didn’t either.’

  Loken felt as though every cubic centimetre of air had been crushed from his lungs. He wanted to deny what the thing wearing Gerradon’s face had said, but the voice, the posture... everything, told him it was true.

  When you see me, kill me.

  The words he’d heard whispered in the shadows of his quarters on the Tarnhelm returned to him. No, that wasn’t right. They weren’t a memory, it was like he’d heard them again. As if some fragment of what had once been his friend was still speaking to him.

  Loken’s sword and bolter lay on the ground before him. It would be easy to sweep them up, but could he put a bolt through Gerradon before the others gunned him down? Did that even matter?

  He forced down the killing urge.

  ‘Tarik?’ he said, the name forced through gritted teeth.

  ‘No,’ said Gerradon with an exasperated sigh. ‘Weren’t you listening? I’m Tormaggedon. I was waiting in the warp when Little Horus cut off Tarik’s head and plucked the bright bauble of his soul before any of the warp whelps could feast on it. He screams and begs like a whipped dog, you know. Fulgrim did the same, and he was a primarch. Just imagine how bad it is for Tarik.’

  ‘Don’t listen to it, Loken,’ warned Rubio. ‘Warp spawn feast on the pain their lies cause.’

  Grael Noctua kicked the back of Rubio’s knee, driving the psyker to the deck. The butt of a boltgun sent him sprawling. Bror Tyrfingr snarled at Noctua, but Severian shook his head.

  Loken knew sorrow. He’d grieved at the death of Nero Vipus and had mourned battle-brothers he’d lost along the way. Tarik’s death on Isstvan had all but broken him and driven him into an abyss of madness he wasn’t sure he’d ever really escaped.

  Until now.

  He lifted his head and the fists he’d made unclenched.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Tarik would never beg. Even in death he’d be stronger than that. You say he’s screaming? I believe you. But he’s not screaming in pain, he’s screaming at me to kill you.’

  ‘I am the first of the Luperci,’ said Gerradon. ‘The Brothers of the Wolf. And you can’t kill me.’

  Loken rubbed a hand across his chin and tipped his head back. When he next looked at Ger Gerradon, he was smiling.

  ‘You know, if you’d just let him die, I wouldn’t be here,’ said Loken, now able to admit out loud to the sights and sounds that had plagued him since the visitation on the edge of the Mare Tranquillitatis.

  ‘I’ve seen and heard Tarik Torgaddon at every step of this journey,’ said Loken. ‘He’s long dead, but he brought me back to the Vengeful Spirit. He brought me back to kill you and set him free.’

  Gerradon tossed Karayan’s rifle to one of the dead-eyed legionaries and took a step towards Loken with his arms open.

  ‘Then take your best shot,’ said Gerradon.

  ‘Stand down,’ said Grael Noctua. ‘He can’t kill you? Well you can’t kill him, either. The Warmaster wants him alive.’

  Gerradon grinned and gestured to the transformed warriors in black, those he had called the Luperci.

  ‘Take a good look, Garvi,’ said Gerradon. ‘You’re going to be just like them. I’m going to put a daemon in you.’

  TWENTY-THREE

  Blood price

  Obsidian Way

  A god amongst men

  ‘So this is the best defence our father could muster?’ said Mortarion as bolter shells punched the walls of glassy rock beside him. The Death Lord snapped off a pair of eye-wateringly bright shots from the Lantern.

  Aximand didn’t see if they hit, but it was safe to assume the XIII Legion were two warriors fewer.

  ‘A few petty cantrips and a handful of legionaries?’

  Aximand heard the Death Lord’s disdain, decades in the making, but even in the heat of battle, he couldn’t let the comment go unremarked.

  Not after the blood he had shed.

  Not after so many warriors under his command had died.

  ‘That’s not all he left,’ snapped Aximand as a grenade thrown back along the passageway detonated with a compressed bang. ‘He left millions of men and tanks. He left armies the Sons of Horus fought and crushed. What did the Death Guard do? Razed a jungle and massacred a defeated enemy.’

  Mortarion regarded Aximand with the scrutiny a man might give an upstart child. His fingers tightened on Silence. Those Deathshroud who weren’t shooting along the passageway took a step towards Aximand until Mortarion waved them back.

  ‘You might once have been a true son, Little Horus,’ said Mortarion, his voice a low, rasping growl, ‘but look in a mirror. You’re no Sejanus anymore.’

  Aximand leaned out to shoot. A blue helm vanished in a fan of ceramite and blood. ‘What has that to do with anything?’

  The Death Lord leaned in close, his words for Aximand alone. ‘It means that you think you’re special? You’re nothing. It means that, Mournival or not, I’ll end you if you speak that way again.’

  ‘Lupercal would kill you.’

  ‘My brother would be displeased at your death, but he would forgive me. You’d still be dead though.’

  Horus appeared at Aximand’s side with a feral grin of anticipation making him seem younger and more vital than ever. He leaned out into the passageway and unleashed a roaring blaze of fire from his gauntlet-mounted bolters.

  ‘There will be others,’ said Horus ducking back into cover as an interlocking pair of bipod-mounted heavy bolters raked the passageway. ‘Father wouldn’t rely on mortals to keep his secret. He’ll have a failsafe of some kind.’

  ‘All the more reason for you to let me send Grulgor up there,’ said Mortarion over the hammering impacts and detonations of explosive munitions. ‘He’ll end this quickly.’

  Horus shook his head. ‘No, we do this my way. So close to the gate, Grulgor could kill us all.’

  Grulgor?

  Aximand knew the name, he’d read it in casualty lists. He looked back to where the Justaerin were locking their boarding shields into position. Aximand was not surprised to see Abaddon and Kibre holding flanking positions. Their shields were splashed with blood in bladed radial patterns that were not accidental.

  ‘Ready, Ezekyle?’ asked Horus of his First Captain.

  Abaddon slammed his shield on the floor and slotted his combi-bolter into the firing notch by way of answer.

  ‘All yours, brother,’ said Horus, moving back and taking up position at the head of the Justaerin’s formation. One of the Terminators locked a shield onto Lupercal’s armoured forearm. Against his mighty frame it looked woefully inadequate protection.

  Mortarion waved forward two warriors armed with rotary missile launchers.

  Horus nodded and a hammering salvo of bolter shells filled the passageway. The two Death Guard stepped forward and ripped out a volley of missiles. Warheads streaked down the passageway. Aximand heard the metallic cough detonations. Shroud bombs and frags.

  One warrior dropped to his knees with the back of his helmet blown out. The other staggered with most of his ribcage detonated from the inside by penetrating mass-reactives.

  ‘Lupercal!’ shouted Abaddon as Horus led the Justaerin forward.

  Shields braced, marching in relentless lockstep. Boots like mechanised pistons as they pushed into the passage. Heads down, shields out, they filled its width. Gunfire pummelled them.

  Not enough to stop them.

  Nowhere near enough to stop them.

  Alivia traced the patterns she’d memorised all those years ago over the surface of the gate. Each movement sent a rippling shiver of painful disgust through her.

  She knew what lay beyond the gate better than most.

  She knew how it hungered for what lay on this side.

  A closed gate was better than no gate, and the howling, mad, devouring things on the other side weren’t about to give up even this tenuous hold
without a fight.

  Alivia’s empathic gift was now a curse. This close to the gate, every hateful thought she’d ever had was magnified. She relived the pain of every lover who’d betrayed her, every attacker who’d wounded her and every person she’d abandoned.

  And not just hers. Valance and his four men knelt beside her with their rifles shouldered. They were soldiers, and had a lot of bad memories. All of them crowded her thoughts. Tears streamed down her face and wracking sobs spasmed in her chest.

  Not for the first time, she cursed in a dead language that she had been left to do this. She knew that he couldn’t do it. After what he had taken from the realm beyond, it would be suicide for him to draw so near to those whose power he’d stolen.

  Every mantra she whispered was faltering, every line she drew in lunar caustic was fading before she could empower it. She couldn’t focus. All the years she’d spent waiting in readiness for this moment and she couldn’t bloody concentrate.

  Hardly surprising, really.

  The sound of battle was incredible. Bolters and other, heavier weapons were filling the passageway with explosive rounds, but she knew it wouldn’t be enough to stop the Warmaster.

  She had known that Horus would find this place eventually, but he had found it quicker than she’d hoped. She’d never agreed with the decision to obscure the existence and nature of the warp, but if Alivia’s long life had taught her anything, it was that finger-pointing after the fact was beyond futile.

  Four Ultramarines stood with her and her bodyguards, a living shieldwall of flesh and ceramite. This was the only place mortals could survive – being without armour in the midst of a Legion firefight was a sure-fire way to end up dead.

  Castor Alcade oathed the warriors protecting her little band to fight as though the Emperor Himself stood behind them.

  These men would die for her.

  They weren’t the first to do so, but she dearly hoped they’d be the last.

  An explosion shook the chamber and she coughed on the acrid propellant fumes. She could taste aerosolised blood misting the air. Not good. Especially with the aggression flaring from every man in the chamber. Ultramarines were all about their practical, but they had sacrificed too much to fight clinically with the cause of their hurt so close.