I have failed, thought Marduk, though he could not believe it.
A serrated khantanka knife was drawn and its cold blade placed against the carotid artery of his neck, but he did not flinch. He would face death with pride, though still he refused to believe that such was his fate.
The knife slashed the artery, and Marduk gasped as blood fountained from his neck. Bright blood pumped from the wound, spraying out around him. It gushed over his breastplate, running down over his torso and onto the floor, pooling around his knees.
Marduk swayed, still shocked that it had come to this, and all colour drained from his face as the pool around his knees spread outwards.
His pristine skull helmet dropped from numb fingers, splashing into the pool of warm blood, and he fell forwards. He threw a hand out to catch himself, but his strength was fading, and it was all he could do to stop himself from sprawling face-first into the already congealing pool of his lifeblood. Anger swept through him.
Marduk used the anger swelling through him to give him strength, and he pushed himself up off the floor. If he was to die, he would not die scrabbling on the floor like a dog. Even as more blood pumped from his neck, he retrieved his blood-smeared helmet from the floor and shoved it back under his arm.
He blinked, staring at the pool of blood in which he kneeled. There was so much blood that he was amazed that there was any within him at all, and his vision wavered.
This is the end, he thought.
The mark of Lorgar on his forehead began to burn, smoke rising from his skin as the searing rune blistered his flesh.
A hand was placed against his neck, and the wound was closed as warmth suffused him.
“Arise, Marduk,” said the domineering voice, and Marduk felt hands on his shoulders, helping him to his feet. He was weak with loss of blood, and did not realise that he had passed the final test, and had received Lorgar’s blessing.
Lifting his gaze, he stared into the impossibly dark eyes of none other than Erebus, he who had been first Chaplain of the Word Bearers when Horus had lived, he who had brought the true faith to so many.
“Welcome, brother,” said Erebus.
Other than Lorgar, and arguably the Keeper of the Faith, Kor Phaeron, Erebus was the most powerful, revered and influential member of the XVII Legion, and at his word countless millions had perished.
Erebus’s head was shaved smooth, and covered in intricate script, his flesh a living Book of Lorgar, and Marduk stared at him in confusion and wonder, still not understanding what was taking place.
The other seven Council members stepped forwards, surrounding Marduk, and he gazed around at their hallowed, revered faces in awe. He knew them all by name and reputation: the Dark Apostle Ekodas, the craggy-faced holy leader of the 7th Company Host, who had led a holy crusade of retribution upon the Black Consuls, almost wiping the Cursed Chapter, a successor of the hated Ultramarines, from the galaxy; at his side was the Dark Apostle Paristur, shrewd and savage, who had killed the Blood Angels Chaplain Aristedes in single combat on the walls of the Emperor’s palace. Mighty heroes of legend all, the Council members closed ranks around Marduk, touching their fingertips upon the already congealing blood and daubing unholy symbols upon his armoured plates. Erebus dipped his thumb in the blood and marked Marduk’s cheek, and he felt his skin blistering beneath the touch.
One of the Dark Apostles, Mothac, encased in ensorcelled daemon armour, a gift from Lorgar, held a thick book in his arms, its weight immense. The book was bound in the skin of Ultramarines, and Marduk gasped as he looked upon it.
“The Dark Creed,” he murmured, overcome with awe. These were the holy writings of the daemon primarch of the Legion.
Finally, realisation dawned on him. He had succeeded!
Mothac’s face was solemn, and the Dark Apostles gave him some room as he hefted it before him.
“Swear your undying allegiance upon the Dark Creed and you will be one with us, Brother Marduk,” said Erebus.
Marduk placed a bloody hand upon the hallowed book, his eyes blazing with faith.
“I swear it,” he intoned.
“Dark apostle,” said Burias, and Marduk, standing on the balcony overlooking his Host, turned towards his icon bearer with a smile.
The newly appointed Dark Apostle wore a cloak of flayed flesh, and his right hand leant upon the butt of the mighty crozius arcanum that had been wielded by Jarulek before him. It felt good to wear the deadly weapon, the icon that represented his new-found position.
“That will take some getting used to,” he said.
Burias smiled savagely at Marduk, and inclined his head towards the archway leading from the bone balcony.
“The sorcerer comes,” said Burias, a note of distaste in his voice.
The archway led into his private shrine within the immensity of the Bastion of the Word. All Dark Apostles had their own quarters within the immense structure. This one had belonged to Jarulek, and it now belonged to him.
With a glare of warning to Burias, Marduk turned to receive the Black Legion sorcerer.
Kol Badar stood by Marduk’s side, immense and strong, his face unreadable. Only the clenching and unclenching of his mighty power talons gave away a hint of the Coryphaus’s thoughts, and Marduk smiled. Kol Badar had not taken Marduk’s ascension well, but he had knelt before Marduk, as had all of the Host, and sworn his life and soul to him.
Darioq-Grendh’al stood at his other side, garbed in robes of black, his face hidden beneath a deep cowl. The fallen magos was still changing, though his corruption was all but complete, and Marduk marvelled at how far he had fallen. He was truly a creature of Chaos, both in body and in spirit, and his mighty servo-limbs quivered as if beneath a mirage, their form subtly changing from one second to the next.
Burias stood alongside the champions Sabtec and Khalaxis. Burias was tense and eager to be away, and Marduk sensed too that Khalaxis was yearning to battle once more. Soon, he thought. Sabtec’s face was set in his usual stoic expression. Marduk had been impressed by his skill, and knew that he would achieve great victories in his name.
To the side, dwarfing them all, was the immense bulk of the Warmonger, standing immobile, his heavy weaponry held at the ready.
These are my warrior faithful, thought Marduk, my officers and advisors. He knew they would serve him well, and if they didn’t, he would sacrifice them, and none would be able to question his actions, for he was their Dark Apostle and he held their lives in the palm of his hand.
Marduk turned his attention to the new arrival, Inshabael Kharesh, sorcerer of the Black Legion. His gaze met piercing blue eyes that glinted with hidden secrets and knowledge, and Marduk affected a feigned smile of welcome. The Dark Apostle did not like the man, for he saw sorcery as a weakness—the only true power lay in faith, not conjurer’s tricks and magic—but he was not one to argue with the will of the Council.
“You will extend him all the courtesies that such an esteemed envoy demands in the coming crusade,” Lord Erebus had said. “He is the emissary of the Warmaster, and though Abaddon is but a pale shadow of Horus, we must show the requisite respect. This sorcerer could be a great ally for the XVII Legion. See that he is treated with courtesy.”
“It will be as the Council demands, my lord,” Marduk had replied, bowing.
“The… artefact is ready to be tested upon the warriors of the false Emperor?”
“It is, my lord.”
“Do not fail me, Marduk. Should this crusade falter I will be most displeased,” said Erebus, his voice soft, yet carrying a potent weight of menace.
The sorcerer nodded his head in respect to Marduk, dipping his staff, which bore the unblinking eye of Horus, low to the ground.
“Welcome, Inshabael,” said Marduk smoothly. “I am honoured that you will be joining us for this crusade. It is always good to fight alongside our brothers of the Black Legion, and I am sure that your wise council will be invaluable in the coming days of blood.”
“I e
xtend my gratitude to you for your kind words, Dark Apostle Marduk,” replied the sorcerer, his Cthonian accent harsh. “The Warmaster is keenly interested in your… xenos curio.”
Marduk bowed his head, a pale smile on his lips. Abaddon had clearly sent the sorcerer to watch over the Word Bearers, but Marduk did not allow his anger to be reflected on his face.
The sorcerer’s eyes drifted skywards, towards where the Infidus Diabolus hung in low orbit, and Marduk followed his gaze. The battleship was but one of many there, hovering motionless in the burning skies of the daemon world. There were thirteen battleships in all, and again Marduk felt his breath stolen by their awesome sight.
Thirteen battleships of the Word Bearers: five full Hosts, each led by a Dark Apostle.
The Thunderhawks and Stormbirds of the other Hosts were already flocking skywards, each one filled with bloodthirsty, zealous warriors. Heavier shuttles rose ponderously towards the waiting battleships, battle tanks and screaming daemon engines looked within their holds or hanging beneath them from metre-thick cables and locking clamps.
Immense transports lifted from the surface of Sicarus, emerging from beneath the parade grounds around the basilica, which slid aside to reveal gaping, subterranean crypt-holds below. The giant tubular vessels were powered by roaring engines that scorched the buildings below them as they rose into the air, defying the powers of gravity that strained to pull them back to earth. Kathartes swirled around the behemoths, filling the air with their piercing screams, for the daemons knew what was held within, and were hungry for them to be awoken. God-machines worshipped as physical representations of the powers that be, the titans of the dark Mechanicus rose towards the battleships, and Marduk relished the time that would soon come when the demi-legion of immeasurably destructive war machines would be unleashed. Long had it been since he had marched to war with the immense forms of titans striding behind him, each step covering fifty metres of ground, and their weapons laying waste to entire Imperial cities.
“An impressive sight,” said the sorcerer.
“Indeed,” agreed Marduk, a satisfied smile on his face. “Once more the Imperium will tremble.”
The Dark Apostle lifted his skull-faced helmet from under his arm and pulled it over his head. It connected with a hiss, and he breathed deeply of the acrid, recycled air.
“The Black Legion are keeping their eye on us?” growled Kol Badar in a low voice across a closed circuit vox that none bar Marduk could hear.
“Something like that,” said Marduk, replying across the closed circuit. He glanced towards the hulking Coryphaus.
“Don’t think for a moment that I don’t know what you tried to do, Kol Badar: your little attempt to usurp me,” said Marduk mildly, his voice oozing menace.
The Coryphaus stiffened, but made no response.
“I am your Dark Apostle, with the full backing and confidence of the Council,” continued Marduk calmly. “I will no longer tolerate or indulge any insubordination. I will warn you only once.”
Then he turned to his comrades and broke off the closed communications.
“Come, my brothers,” he said, his voice booming. “It is time.”
“We go to war?” inquired the Warmonger, its voice booming, sepulchral and eager.
“To war,” confirmed Marduk.
EPILOGUE
Marduk stood with his arms folded across his chest as he watched Darioq-Grendh’al at work.
A series of dark metal rings, each as tall as a man and inscribed with Chaotic runes of power, were aligned above a pentangle of blood, held in mid-air by the servo-arms of the magos. There were three rings in total, each fractionally smaller than the last, and they were aligned to form a single, large circle. Mechadendrite tentacles steadied the rings, holding them motionless with snapping, barbed claws and daemonic mouths. Another tentacle, black and smooth, emerged from within the ex-priest of the Machine-God’s body, squirming from a bloody rent that opened up on his metal chest, reaching towards a control column that rose beside the magos.
A blinking eye appeared at the tip of the tentacle, and it peered down at the controls. Then the eye melted back into the fleshy tip of the tentacle, and it keyed in a sequence of buttons on the console.
A red light rose from the centre of the pentangle, and a similar light stabbed down from the ceiling above, where a similar daemonic symbol had been daubed. The two beams of light met, passing through angular holes within the sides of the dark metal rings, and Darioq-Grendh’al released his grip on them.
Marduk half-expected the metal rings to fall to the ground, but they hung in place, perfectly motionless as the magos stepped away. A pair of black-robed chirumeks, their wasted flesh augmented with mechanics, stepped forwards and presented the magos with a featureless stasis box. Mechadendrites stabbed a series of buttons, and the lid of the stasis box slid aside, smoke rising from within.
Then, with delicate care, the magos brought forth a perfect, silver sphere from within the box. The chirumeks scurried back into the darkness, and Darioq-Grendh’al moved back towards the rings hanging suspended in mid-air.
The magos extended his mechadendrites, reaching towards the joined beams of red light, and placed the silver sphere in their centre, where they had joined. It hung there, caught between the two beams, and Darioq-Grendh’al retreated once more.
The dark metal rings began to rotate, three rings moving in separate arcs that rolled around one another, moving smoothly and with increasing speed. The sound of air being displaced by the spinning rings got louder as they rotated faster, and soon the sound became a solid hum. The red light of the twin beams became diffuse, filling the sphere created by the rotating rings as they spun ever faster.
Marduk’s eyes were locked on the silver sphere, the Nexus Arrangement that hung motionless in the centre of the rapidly spinning rings. At first nothing happened, but then glowing green, xenos hieroglyphs appeared across the perfect silver sphere. They glowed with intense light, and the sphere appeared to melt, its faultless, seamless exterior becoming seven rings that began to rotate around a centre of glowing green light.
The rings began to turn, mirroring the movements of the larger rings constructed by Darioq-Grendh’al, though their movements were slower.
Turning a dial, the red beams of light began to intensify and thicken, turning the green light at the centre of the xenos sphere a daemonic, bruised purple colour.
“It works,” said Marduk, with a grin. It was his to command.
Green lightning flickered across the tip of the black pyramid as the prison of the ancient being known as the Undying One was shattered. A billowing cloud of dust rose from the ground as the immense pyramid began to rise, green hieroglyphs glowing into life upon its sides. Larger than any battleship, it lifted towards the dark sky, powered by engines far beyond human comprehension, for it was created by beings that had been in existence before the stars had been formed.
The majority of its bulk had been hidden beneath the rock, and it shattered the earth as it rose to the heavens, casting a shadow over the continent below. It rose higher into the air, green lightning still crackling across its sheer sides.
Directed by the Undying One’s immortal will, it turned towards the angry red blemish that scarred the night sky, towards the Eye of Terror, towards the one that had released it from its imprisonment.
Scanning and basic
proofing by Red Dwarf,
formatting and additional
proofing by Undead.
e-buttons">share
[Word Bearers 02] - Dark Disciple Page 34