The Ultramarines Omnibus

by Graham McNeill

  But ultimately, the story did not end well. The Iron Warriors finally took the citadel before Imperial reinforcements could arrive and Leonid wept as he spoke of the brutal slaughter that took place upon its final fall.

  ‘It was a nightmare,’ said Leonid. ‘They showed no mercy.’

  ‘The Iron Warriors serve the Ruinous Powers,’ said Uriel. ‘They do not know the meaning of the word.’

  ‘Captain Eshara bought us some time, but it wasn’t enough. The cavern below was too large and there was too much gene-seed to destroy. We—’

  ‘Wait,’ interrupted Uriel. ‘Gene-seed? There was Space Marine gene-seed beneath your citadel?’

  ‘Yes,’ nodded Leonid. ‘An Adeptus Mechanicus magos told me that it was one of the few places in the galaxy where it could be stored. The Warsmith Honsou stole it and brought it to this world along with the slaves he took for his forges at the battle’s end.’

  ‘Who is Honsou?’ asked Pasanius.

  ‘He is the warlord who dwells in the fortress you saw as we came into this valley,’ said Ardaric Vaanes.

  ‘It is this Honsou’s fortress that is besieged?’ said Uriel, unable to mask his interest.

  ‘It is,’ confirmed Vaanes, wandering over to join the conversation and squatting down on his haunches. ‘Why are you so interested in Honsou?’

  ‘We have to get to that fortress.’

  Vaanes laughed. ‘Then you truly are here on a death oath. Why do you need to get to Honsou’s fortress?’

  Uriel paused, unsure as to how much he could trust Vaanes, but realised he had no choice and said, ‘Our Chief Librarian was granted a vision from the Emperor, a vision of Medrengard and bloated, daemonic womb creatures called daemonculaba giving birth to corrupt, debased Space Marines. We are here to destroy them and I think that more than mere happenstance has brought us to this place.’

  ‘How so?’ asked Vaanes.

  ‘Can it be coincidence that this Honsou has returned here with quantities of gene-seed for these daemonculaba and that we should learn of it from a man who was there to see him take it?’

  Vaanes looked Ellard and Leonid up and down. ‘I wondered why I hadn’t left you to die with the other slaves on the Omphalos Daemonium. Perhaps something other than curiosity stayed my hand.’

  Uriel started. ‘You know of the Omphalos Daemonium?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Vaanes. ‘There are few on Medrengard who do not. How is it you know of it?’

  ‘It brought us here,’ said Pasanius. ‘It appeared within our ship when we made the translation to the immaterium. It killed everyone on board and then brought us here.’

  ‘You willingly travelled within the Omphalos Daemonium?’ said Vaanes, aghast.

  ‘Of course not,’ snapped Uriel. ‘Its daemon creatures overcame us.’

  ‘The Sarcomata…’ nodded Vaanes.

  ‘Aye, then the iron giant within the daemon engine brought us here.’

  ‘The iron giant?’ asked Leonid. ‘The Slaughterman?’

  ‘Slaughterman? No, it said that it only wore the flesh of the Slaughterman, that it was the will of the Omphalos Daemonium that commanded.’

  ‘Then the daemon is free!’ breathed Vaanes.

  ‘What is it anyway?’ asked Uriel.

  ‘No one knows for sure,’ began a sallow-skinned Space Marine of great age wearing armour of deep red and bone, with a raven’s head on his shoulder guard. ‘But there are tales aplenty, oh yes, tales aplenty.’

  ‘And would you care to share any of them?’ asked Vaanes, impatiently.

  ‘I was just about to,’ growled the Space Marine, ‘if you’d given me half a chance.’

  The Space Marine turned to Uriel and said, ‘I am Seraphys of the Blood Ravens, and I served in my Chapter’s Librarium in the years before my disgrace. One of the greatest driving forces of my Chapter is the seeking out of dark knowledge and forbidden lore, and over the millennia of our existence we have discovered much, and all of it gathered it aboard our Chapter fortress.’

  ‘Your Chapter knew of the Omphalos Daemonium?’

  ‘Indeed we did. In fact, it was a source of particular interest to many of our secret masters. Over the centuries I read much of this daemonic entity, and though much of what was said I believe to be false, there are some things I believe are true. It is said that once it was an ancient and powerful daemon prince, a servant of the Blood God that existed only for slaughter. The skulls it piled before its dark master were legion, but always one creature ever outdid it, one of the Blood God’s most favoured avatars, a daemon known as the Heart of Blood: so terrible it was said to have the power to summon bloodstorms and drain the vital fluid from its victims without even laying a blade to their flesh.’

  Uriel and Pasanius shared a start of recognition as Seraphys continued. ‘This avatar was a daemon of deadly artifice who forged for itself a suit of armour into which it poured all of its malice, all of its hate and all of its cunning, that even the blows of its enemies would strike them down.’

  ‘What became of these daemons?’ said Uriel.

  Seraphys leaned closer, warming to his tale. ‘Some say they fought a great battle that sundered the very fabric of the universe, hurling the debris across the firmament and thus were the galaxies and planets born. Others say that the avatar of the Blood God outwitted the Omphalos Daemonium, and trapped it within the fiery heart of a mighty daemon engine bound to the service of the Iron Warriors, becoming the dread chariot of the Slaughterman – ever to hunger in torment for vengeance.’

  ‘Then how is it that it is free?’

  ‘Ah, well, that the ancient legends do not tell,’ said Seraphys sadly.

  ‘I think I might know,’ said Leonid.

  ‘You?’ said Seraphys. ‘How could a lowly Guardsman know of such things?’

  Leonid ignored the Blood Raven’s patronising tone. ‘Perhaps because when Ardaric Vaanes and his warriors freed us from captivity, we were able to defeat the Slaughterman and drive him into the firebox of the daemon engine. We thought we had destroyed him.’

  ‘But all it did was free the daemon within the firebox to take the Slaughterman’s flesh for its own,’ said Vaanes.

  ‘Does anyone know what became of the Omphalos Daemonium’s rival, the avatar?’ asked Sergeant Ellard hesitantly.

  ‘There is nothing in the tales I have read of its ultimate fate,’ said Seraphys.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I think I have seen it.’

  ‘What? When?’ asked Leonid.

  ‘On Hydra Cordatus,’ explained Ellard. ‘Sir, do you remember the stories that went around when the Mori Bastion fell?’

  ‘Yes,’ nodded Leonid. ‘Mad stuff, ravings about a giant warrior killing everything in the bastion by his voice alone and a whirlwind that… fed on blood.’

  By now a sizeable crowd had gathered to hear these tales and the synchronicity of these revelations was lost on no one.

  Ellard nodded. ‘I saw it too, but… I didn’t say anything. I thought they’d section me for sure if I said what I’d seen.’

  ‘Don’t keep us in suspense, sergeant, what happened to it?’ demanded Vaanes.

  ‘I don’t know for sure,’ said Ellard, ‘but once it killed Librarian Corwin, it opened up some kind of… gateway. .. I think. I’m not sure exactly. It was some kind of black thing that it stepped through and vanished. That was the last I saw of it.’

  Vaanes rose from his squatting position and said, ‘I think you bring trouble with you, Uriel Ventris of the Ultramarines. This is a deadly world, but we can survive here. We steal what we need from the Iron Warriors, and they in turn try to hunt us. It is a fine game, but I think your coming to Medrengard has just skewed that game.’

  ‘Then perhaps that is a good thing,’ pointed out Uriel.

  ‘I wouldn’t bet on it,’ cautioned Vaanes.

  PASANIUS SAT ALONE on the rocks outside the blockhouse, more tired than he could ever remember being. He had been awake now for… days
, weeks? He couldn’t tell, but he knew it had been a long time. The sky above was still that damnable white, and how anyone could live on such a world, where there was no change to mark the passing of time, was beyond him. The crushing monotony of such a bleak vista made him want to weep.

  He held his arms out before his chest, turning both hands before his face. His left gauntlet was torn and scarred, ruined by the constant climbing over razor-sharp rocks, but his right was as unblemished as the day it had been crafted to the flesh and bone of his elbow. Thus far he had been able to keep its unique ability to repair itself secret from his battle-brothers, but he knew it was only a matter of time before its miraculous powers became known. Pasanius hammered his fist into the ground, pounding a powdered crater in the rock, smashing his fingers to oblivion then watching in disgust as they reknitted themselves once more.

  The shame of concealing such evil from his brethren had almost been too much to bear and the thought of disappointing Uriel terrified him. But to admit to such weakness was as great a shame, and the guilt of this secret had torn a hole in his heart that he could not absolve.

  There was no doubt in his mind that it had been beneath the surface of Pavonis, facing the ancient star god known as the Nightbringer, that he had been cursed. He remembered the aching cold of the blow from its scythe that had severed his arm, the crawling sensation of dead flesh where once there had been living tissue. Was it possible that some corruption had been passed to him by the Nightbringer’s weapon and infected his body with this terrible sickness?

  The adepts of Pavonis had been quick to provide a replacement arm, the very best their world could produce, for Techmarine Harkus and Apothecary Selenus to reattach. He had never been comfortable with the idea of an augmetic arm, but it was not until the battles aboard the Death of Virtue that he had begun to suspect that there was more to his new limb than met the eye. What crime had he committed to be so punished? Why had he been visited by such an affliction? He

  knew not, but as he removed his breastplate and took out his knife, he vowed he would pay for it in blood.

  URIEL LAY BACK and tried to sleep, his eyelids drooping and heavy. At least in the blockhouse there were areas out of the perpetual light of the dead sky, where darkness and sleep could be sought. But sleep was proving to be elusive, his thoughts tumbling through his head in a jumble.

  Uriel now felt sure that there was more to this quest than he had initially thought. He knew he should not have been surprised to learn that the Heart of Blood was more than just an artefact, that the schemes of daemons were never straightforward. Were he and Pasanius part of some elaborate vengeance the Omphalos Daemonium had planned for its ancient rival? Who knew, but Uriel vowed that he would not allow himself to be used in such a way. Dark designs were afoot and a confluence of events had come together to bring them to this point. Despite the dangers around him, he felt on some instinctual level that the will of the Emperor was working through him.

  Why then did he feel so empty, so hollow?

  Uriel had read of the many saints of the Imperium and had heard numerous sermons delivered with impassioned oratory from the pulpit of how the Emperor’s power was like a fire within that burned hotter than the brightest star. But Uriel felt no such fire, no light burned within his breast and he had never felt so alone.

  Sermons always spoke of heroes as shining examples of virtue: pure of heart, untainted by doubt and unsullied by self aggrandisement.

  Given such qualifications, he knew he was no hero, he was outcast, denied even the name of his Chapter and cast within the Eye of Terror with renegades and traitors. Where was the bright light of the Emperor within him here?

  He shifted his position, trying to get comfortable on the hard rockcrete floor so that he might be rested enough to press on to the fortress. He knew that the chances of their surviving the journey to the fortress of Honsou were minimal, but perhaps there was some way to entice these renegades to join them. In all likelihood they would all die, but who would miss such worthless specimens as them anyway?

  As he turned over, he caught sight of a silhouetted Space Marine in the doorway and pushed himself into a sitting position as Ardaric Vaanes entered and sat resting his back on the wall opposite Uriel.

  Thin light spilled in through the doorway, a fine mist of dust floating in the air where Vaanes’s footsteps had disturbed them. The two Space Marines sat in silence for long minutes.

  ‘Why are you here, Ventris?’ said Vaanes, eventually.

  ‘I told you. We are here to destroy the daemonculaba.’

  Vaanes nodded. ‘Aye, you said that, but there’s more isn’t there?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I saw the way you and your sergeant looked at one another when Seraphys mentioned the Heart of Blood. That name has some meaning for you doesn’t it?’

  ‘Perhaps it does. What of it?’

  ‘Like I said, I think you bring trouble with you, but I can’t decide whether it is trouble I want to be part of yet.’

  ‘Should I trust you, Vaanes?’

  ‘Probably not,’ admitted Vaanes with a smile. ‘And another thing. I noticed that you very deliberately shied away from explaining why the Omphalos Daemonium went to such lengths to bring you here.’

  ‘It is a daemon creature, who can say what its motives were?’ said Uriel, reluctant to reveal the pact, even a false pact, he had made with the Omphalos Daemonium.

  ‘How convenient,’ said Vaanes, dryly. ‘But I still want an answer.’

  ‘I have none to give you.’

  ‘Very well, keep your secrets, Ventris, but I want you gone once you have rested.’

  Uriel pushed himself to his feet and crossed the room to crouch beside Vaanes.

  ‘I know that you have no reason to, but trust me. I know we are all here on the Emperor’s business – too much is happening to be mere accident. Come with us, we could use your help. Your men fight well and together we can regain our honour.’

  ‘Regain our honour?’ said Vaanes. ‘I had no honour to lose, why do you think I am here and not with the battle-brothers of my Chapter?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ replied Uriel. ‘Why? Tell me.’

  Vaanes shook his head. ‘No. You and I are not friends enough to share such shames. Suffice to say, we will not go with you. It is a suicide mission.’

  ‘Do you speak for everyone here?’ demanded Uriel.

  ‘More or less.’

  ‘And you would turn your back on a brother Space Marine in need of your strength?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Vaanes. ‘I would.’

  Suddenly angry, Uriel rose and snapped, ‘I should have expected no less from a damned renegade.’

  ‘Don’t forget,’ laughed Vaanes, getting to his feet and turning to leave, ‘that you too are a renegade.’

  ‘You’re no longer one of the Emperor’s soldiers and it’s time you realised that.’

  Uriel opened his mouth to reply, but said nothing as he remembered a line from the last sermon he had heard Chaplain Clausel deliver outside the Temple of Correction.

  Softly he whispered that line as Vaanes left the room, ‘He must put a white cloak upon his soul, that he might climb down into the filth to fight, yet may he die a saint.’

  URIEL AWOKE WITH a snarl, startled and disorientated. He had not been aware of falling asleep, an awareness of his surroundings giving him a strange sense of dislocation as he blinked away sleep. He pushed himself upright, repeating a prayer of thanks for a new day and feeling his mind focus and sharpen as the Catalepsean node of his brain reawakened his full cognitive functions.

  Allowing a Space Marine to sleep and remain awake at the same time by influencing the circadian rhythms of sleep and his body’s response to sleep deprivation, the Catalepsean node ‘switched off areas of the brain sequentially. Such a process did not replace normal sleep entirely, but allowed a Space Marine to continue to perceive his environment whilst resting.

  He ran a hand across his scal
p and left the shadowed room, catching the mouth-watering scent of hot food. He entered the blockhouse’s main chamber, the same lifeless light spilling in through the firing slits and groups of Space Marines gathered around a cookfire upon which bubbled a large pot of a thick gruel-like porridge. It looked like poor food at best, but right now it was as desirable as the tenderest morsel of roast boar.

  Several figures lay sprawled around the chamber, Space Marines resting and Leonid and Ellard asleep beneath the firing slit, using their rifles as pillows.

  ‘I’d say “good morning”, but that’s not really a term I can use on this world,’ said Ardaric Vaanes, spooning some porridge into a crude bowl of beaten metal and handing it to Uriel. ‘It’s not much, just some stolen ration packs made to go a long way.’

  ‘It’s fine. Thank you,’ said Uriel, accepting the bowl and sitting next to Pasanius, who nodded a greeting as he scooped the greyish food into his mouth. ‘Aren’t you worried about the smoke of the fire being seen?’

  ‘On Medrengard? No, rising smoke isn’t anything unusual on this planet.’

  ‘No, I suppose it isn’t,’ said Uriel between mouthfuls. The porridge was thin and he could taste watered down nutrients, the gruel barely enough to stave off starvation, let alone provide any nourishment. But still, it had more taste than the recycled paste his armour provided him.

  ‘Have you thought any more about what I asked before?’ said Uriel, finishing the bowl of porridge and setting it down beside him.

  ‘I have,’ nodded Vaanes.

  ‘And?’

  ‘You intrigue me, Ventris. There is more to you than meets the eye, but I’m damned if I know what. You say you are here to fulfil a death oath, and I believe you. But there is something else you are not telling me and I fear it will be the death of us all.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Uriel, seeing that he had no choice but to tell these renegades the truth. ‘There is more and I will tell you all of it. Gather your warriors together outside and I will speak to you all.’