The Space Marines turned as the Swooping Hawks descended in the wake of the bombing run, their bolters rising towards the flying Aspect Warriors. Karandras was already out of cover and dashing along the crest of the hill towards the enemy. Morlaniath pounced after him, the rest of the Hidden Death close on his heels.
A Space Marine gunner sitting in a hatch atop one of the transports spotted the Striking Scorpions and heaved around his pintle-mounted weapon. Bright flares streamed towards the squad as the Space Marine opened fire, his twin-barrelled gun spraying explosive bolts. Two rounds streaked past Morlaniath and he heard a scream of pain. Glancing back, he saw Elissanadrin writhing on the ground, right arm missing below the shoulder, a gaping hole in the side of her chest. In a moment, the exarch took in the frothing blood, splinters of bone and spurting arteries in the wounds. More bolts whined past. There was no time to spare for the fallen warrior. The exarch surged after Karandras, the Teeth of Dissonance’s blades spinning up to full speed, powered by Morlaniath’s growing rage.
Karandras cut to the right and plunged into the closest Space Marine squad as more bolter shells whickered past. With two steps, Morlaniath leapt up the sloping front of the transport, biting blade level. Without breaking stride, he bounded past the gunner, the whirring teeth of his blade sweeping through the Space Marine’s neck as the exarch dashed past, thick blood spattering on the white hull of the vehicle. Swift retribution for Elissanadrin’s death sent a thrill through the exarch as he ran across the engine grille and jumped down to rejoin his squad.
Four Space Marines lay at the feet of Karandras, their armour carved apart by his sword and crushed by his power claw. The Phoenix King’s mandiblasters unleashed a torrent of blasts that hurled another foe from his feet, his armour shattering from the pulses of green energy.
The Hidden Death joined their Phoenix Lord in the melee, pistols singing, chainswords screeching. A bolter shell flashed across Morlaniath’s vision, the flare of its propellant almost blinding him, his helmet lenses polarising to avoid permanent damage to his eyes. He instinctively ducked and spun, lashing out with the Teeth of Dissonance, the blade crashing against an armoured leg. A fuzzy red shape stumbled back to his right. Morlaniath drove forwards, angling the point of his biting blade high, catching the Space Marine across his heavy shoulder pad. The exarch fought back a brief flash of not-Lecchamemnon’s death with a feral snarl.
“Destroy the invaders, set free your enmity, let the red river flow!”
Morlaniath launched himself at his foe, mandiblasters crackling into the Space Marine’s eye lenses. With a growl, the exarch smashed the roaring teeth of his blade across the Space Marine’s gut, slicing through pipes and cables in a spray of electrical sparks. The Space Marine swung his bolter like a club, Morlaniath catching the weapon on the armoured guard of his sword. The strength of the blow forced the exarch back three steps, but in a moment he regained his balance and sprang again, ducking beneath the Space Marine’s outstretched arm, the Teeth of Dissonance tearing a furrow through the ribbed armour protecting the warrior’s exposed armpit. Blood spewed from a severed artery, bathing Morlaniath’s legs as he spun behind the Space Marine.
With a shout, the exarch hammered the biting blade into the vents of the Space Marine’s power plant backpack. Fractured energy cells discharged their contents in an arc of bluish light, mirrored by a flurry of laser fire from the exarch’s mandiblasters. Coolant hissed in a cloud from the Space Marine’s ravaged armour, frosting across Morlaniath’s left arm. The thin layer of ice crystals flaked to the floor as he brought back his sword for a final blow. The Space Marine turned lopsidedly towards the attack, to be met full in the face by the teeth of Morlaniath’s weapon, which sheared through the helm, removing the top of the Space Marine’s skull. As the Space Marine collapsed, Morlaniath delivered another burst from his mandiblasters into the exposed brain matter, reducing it to steaming grey slurry.
A shadow loomed over the exarch and he saw the blocky shape of the Space Marine walker towering above him. The metal beast had its massive hand upraised, energy crackling between long claws. The exarch lifted up the Teeth of Dissonance to parry the attack, but knew he did not have the strength to fend off such a blow.
Something hit the exarch hard in the side, pushing him out of the way of the claw’s lightning-wreathed descent. Morlaniath rolled to the side, Bechareth between him and the walker, a moment before the claws slashed down, cleaving away the side of the Aspect Warrior’s helm before parting the left arm from his body.
Karandras leapt across Bechareth as he fell, his powered claw raking trails of ceramic splinters from the walker’s armour. Morlaniath was filled with the urge to drag Bechareth to safety, instilled in him by a thought from the Phoenix Lord. He could do nothing but act in tune with the compulsion. He held the Teeth of Dissonance in his left hand and grabbed Bechareth by his remaining wrist, hauling him from under the walker’s clawed feet. The walker’s fist caught Karandras in the stomach, glittering fingers punching out of the Phoenix Lord’s back.
Morlaniath looked down at Bechareth’s face, almost a mirror image of the first time they had met, the Striking Scorpion’s eyes staring from a mask of bright blood. Morlaniath saw the hatred and anger of an Aspect Warrior in that gaze, but sensed something behind the war-mask.
The exarch understood why Karandras had sacrificed himself to save Bechareth.
“You must survive this war, move on along the Path, find the peace that you crave,” Morlaniath whispered. “Fight the darkness in you. Prove that the Path is right, that Khaine does not own us!”
Bechareth’s hand flapped against Morlaniath’s arm, seeking to grasp him. He fell back with a shuddering gasp, eyes fixed on the exarch.
“I will,” said Bechareth, lips twisted with pain.
Morlaniath nodded and turned back to the walker, which was lumbering after the rest of the Hidden Death as they retreated down the hill. The exarch took two steps after the mechanical beast, eyeing the vulnerable pipes and exhausts jutting from its back.
He stopped, gaze drawn to the body of Karandras lying just ahead. The Phoenix Lord’s armour was rent open from stomach to throat, but there was no blood splashed, no organs ripped apart. In the gouge, a galaxy swirled; motes of light circled around a central brightness, each a spirit of Karandras.
Morlaniath was entranced. He could feel the faint beating of a heart at the base of his skull. It grew in strength as he approached the rent form of Karandras, drawn closer by an irresistible instinct, filled with the same external purpose as he had been when he had dragged Bechareth to safety. He was not in control of his body and watched in detachment as Morlaniath knelt beside the fallen Phoenix Lord, dragged deeper and deeper into the circling lights. The call of Khaine waxed strong, roaring in Morlaniath’s ears to the drum of the heartbeat.
He reached out a hand to touch the glittering stars.
With a wrench, Morlaniath felt himself drawn from his weak physical vessel, every part of him: Morlaniath, the First, the Hidden Death; Idsresail, the Dreamer; Lecchamemnon, the Doomed; Ethruin, the Dark Joker; Elidhnerial, the Weeping One; Neruidh, The Forgiver; Ultheranish, the Child of Ulthwe; Korlandril, the Artist.
Not-Korlandril was but an atom in the star of Morlaniath, and Morlaniath nothing but a star in the whole galaxy that was Karandras. Countless essences, endless voices drifted slowly together.
Spirits from across the galaxy, of warriors born on every craftworld in every age, and the spirit-parts that made them, and the memories of those other spirits that had touched them, stretching out, far out into the infinity of the universe, all connected, all brought together in this one body.
Morlaniath fragmented, became his parts, each seeping away into the glitter of the Phoenix Lord’s essence. The silence of space greeted them. Not for them the life-in-death of the infinity circuit. Not for them the ravages of She Who Thirsts. Here they would end, truly and forever. Only Karandras lived on. Briefly, Korlandril lived again, and then
was gone.
Peace.
He hid behind the tumbled arch of the old temple, shivering in his nakedness. Hunger gnawed at his gut. His limbs trembled with weakness, his breath wheezing in his throat. And the pain inside, the throbbing in his heart and head, the needles of agony that coursed through his mind, stretching him in all directions, more unbearable than any physical pain.
A foot scraped on dusty stone and he shrank bank further into the shadows, eyes desperately seeking an escape. There was none, he was trapped. Through the tears, he saw a figure silhouetted against the light from outside the shrine.
“Do not be afraid,” the stranger said, his voice quiet but strong.
He remained as still as death, holding his breath. The stranger crossed the bone-littered floor of the temple with easy strides, his green gown flowing behind him. The stranger’s eyes were unlike any he had seen before. They were empty of hatred, empty of lust, empty of jealousy and malevolence.
He flinched as the stranger reached out a hand. He pushed himself back until his spine was against the cold wall. There was nowhere else to hide. The stranger smiled, but there was none of the leering desire he usually associated with such an expression.
“What is your name?” the stranger asked. His voice was low, calm, not screaming, not shouting.
“Karandras,” he whispered back, his voice barely a breath.
“Karandras? That is a good name, a strong name.”
“What do you want with me?”
“I want to help you.”
“Where are you going to take me? The others wanted to take me into the dark web, but I ran. I was scared.”
“You were right to be scared. The others are not to be trusted.”
“Trusted?”
“I will teach you about trust. It is a good thing. Come with me and I will teach you many things.”
“What will I learn?”
“You will learn not to be afraid. You will learn about happiness, and peace, and balance. Do you want to learn these things?”
“I do not know… What are they?”
“They are what will make us strong again.”
“Will you teach me how to hide?”
“There are no places left to hide.”
“Will you keep me safe?”
“Nowhere is safe.”
Karandras considered this for a moment. “Will you protect me?”
“Better than that, I will teach you how to protect yourself. I will teach you how to fight.”
Karandras reached out and hesitantly grasped the proffered hand. The stranger’s grip was firm but gentle. He allowed himself to be lifted to his feet, his head no higher than the stranger’s chest.
They turned towards the door together and walked across the light, Karandras’ hand in the stranger’s.
“Where are we going?” the boy asked.
“To a place where my friends are waiting. To a place where you can learn how to fight, to battle the enemies of the body and the spirit.”
They reached the cracked steps of the doorway, the harsh light causing Karandras to blink heavily, tears in his eyes.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“I am Arhra. I am your new father.”
Whiteness faded away to the colours of life and death. Karandras pulled himself to his feet, his armour fusing the wound that had allowed his energy to escape. The Phoenix Lord looked down at the empty suit of the exarch that had given him this new life. He felt nothing of the eldar that he had been. There were no memories, save his own. There was no spirit, save the one he had been born with.
He was Karandras, and Karandras alone.
He looked around, assessing the raging battle. The Alaitocii were fighting hard and driving the humans from the dome, but the fate of their craftworld was far from decided. Karandras stooped to pick up his chainsword, reassured by the feel of it in his fist. The Striking Scorpions who had joined him were retreating back to the woods, carrying two of their wounded number between them. The Phoenix Lord turned his back on them and headed after the Imperial Dreadnought that had killed him. The Phoenix Lord felt the thrill of retribution singing through his body.
Another war, another death. Such was to be his fate, until the final battle, the Rhana Dandra, when all things would end.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Gav Thorpe has been rampaging across the worlds of Warhammer and Warhammer 40,000 for many years as both an author and games developer. He hails from the den of scurvy outlaws called Nottingham and makes regular sorties to unleash bloodshed and mayhem. He shares his hideout with Dennis, a psychotic mechanical hamster currently planning the overthrow of a small South American country.
Gav’s previous novels include fan-favourite Angels of Darkness and the epic Sundering trilogy, amongst many others.
You can find his website at:
mechanicalhamster.wordpress.com
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