Marduk registered the presence of another being in the centre of the room. He had thought he was alone, but his vision focused on the back of a tall, unearthly thin individual. Marduk glared at the creature hatefully, remembering its touch.
Its emaciated upper body was garbed in a tight-fitting, glossy black bodysuit, and its legs were concealed beneath an apron of similar material. The figure was leaning over something, a body perhaps, and appeared engrossed in its work. Dozens of blades, hooks and other less easily recognisable implements hung from its waist, and its hairless head was strangely elongated, its skull extending back further than was normal. Dozens of needles and tubes entered the flesh of its skull, flowing backwards like a mockery of hair.
Hovering above the table on which the death-like eldar worked was an immense spider, a dozen slim limbs extending from its body. The long, multi-jointed limbs were akin to the blades that pierced his own body, their surface black and reflective, and he wondered if it was a similar creature that held him. Its legs moved with swift, precise movements, each one easily four metres long and elongated to sharp points. Marduk decided that his first impression had been wrong. This was not a living creature at all. It was a machine.
As the machine spider rotated slightly in the air, its long legs moving rapidly and independent of each other, Marduk saw that his assumption was not quite correct. The thing was alive, or at least part of it was. In the dull light that pulsed from the ceiling and floor, he could see that there was an eldar figure at the heart of the spider-machine, or at least what must have once been one of the decadent xenos beings. Its face was obscured beneath a shiny black, featureless mask, and the spider-like limbs were attached to its torso, protruding from its spine. The eldar’s humanoid upper arms merged into another pair of long spider limbs, though they were shorter than the others and ended in cruel barbs. Where its two legs ought to have been there was instead a bulbous, glossy black abdomen that hung low, bloated and obscene. From the tip of this abdomen, a pair of spinnerets exuded a sticky substance.
As Marduk’s eyes became used to the dim lighting, he saw that the spider-eldar was not hovering at all, but was attached to the ceiling via a series of coiled cables. A black substance moved within those cables in rhythmic spurts, like blood behind pumped through arteries by a beating heart.
The tall, black-clad humanoid, that Marduk took to be a sub-species of the eldar race, was talking to itself in a hissing voice. The First Acolyte could not understand its words, for it spoke in the foul eldar tongue, but he sensed that the creature was pleased. As it moved to the side, he saw what was occupying the creature’s attention. A fellow warrior of the XVII Legion: Sarondel, one of the 13th coterie was pinned down upon a bladed slab, his chest sliced open to expose his internal organs.
Anger roiled up within Marduk to see one of his sacred brothers of the Word so violated. The tall, skeletally thin eldar was removing the warrior’s organs one by one, and placing them in shallow dishes that hovered alongside the slab. The eldar’s long fingers ended in scalpel blades, and he saw a cruel smile on the creature’s face as he got his first look at his captor’s visage.
Its cheeks were hollow and sunken, emphasising its sharp, high cheekbones and thin mouth, and its almond-shaped eyes were black and dead. Its movements were crisp and sure as at sliced through Sarondel’s flesh, and the warrior growled, gritting his teeth against the pain as his blood began to flow anew.
Marduk felt savage pride as the warrior of the 13th coterie spat a wad of blood and phlegm up into the twisted surgeon’s face. The eldar was unconcerned, and wiped its face with the back of one hand.
‘The dark gods of Chaos will feast on your soul come the end,’ said Marduk. ‘You are already lost, you just don’t know it yet.’
The eldar straightened, dead eyes fixing on Marduk. It ghosted across the floor to stand before him.
‘In the end we are all lost,’ it said, lifting a bladed fingertip to Marduk’s cheek.
The First Acolyte did not flinch beneath its touch, though he felt hot blood running down his face. Instead, he grinned, his blazing eyes holding the eldar’s gaze.
‘Your time will come sooner than you think,’ he said.
‘That is your prediction? You are a prophet then, human?’
‘I am far beyond humanity. I am Marduk, First Acolyte of the 34th Grand Host of the XVII Legion, the Word Bearers, blessed of Lorgar. I make no predictions, xenos filth. I make you a promise.’
Marduk’s eyes rolled back into his head as he sought to draw the power of the warp into his body, to call the daemons of the immaterium to him and unleash their fury upon this wretch that dared to defile the sacred forms of Lorgar’s angels of the Word… but nothing happened. Silence and emptiness was all that greeted him, vast, cold and empty, and he screamed his fury.
Marduk tried to fly free of his mortal body, to rise above his earthly shell and become as one with the blessed ether, but it felt as if shackles held him locked into his body, imprisoning him within the cage of his flesh.
Had the gods of the ether forsaken him? Had they withdrawn their favour from him? The thought was more terrifying than any pain or horror that this being could ever heap upon him.
The eldar sneered at him, dead eyes watching him with keen interest.
‘You can bring none of your taint here, slave,’ it said, its voice mocking. ‘Your gods have turned their backs on you.’
Marduk gritted his teeth and threw himself forward, muscles straining as he sought to rip the eldar limb from limb, but he was jerked backwards. The bladed limbs that impaled him hauled him back, and shooting pain blossomed up his spine.
Marduk thrashed and roared, and fresh blood began to run from his wounds as he fought to tear himself loose. The eldar merely gave a dry, cruel laugh, and turned away from him, and Marduk stared venomously at the retreating figure as it strode from the room, parting the hanging partition with a wave of its hand.
You can bring none of your taint here, slave, his captor had said, and Marduk could well believe the truth in the words. The feeling of isolation was staggering.
Did a null-field containment force keep his link with the warp at bay? Or had the gods truly forsaken him?
He had experienced a similar sensation of being cut off from the powers that be, once before, deep within the xenos pyramid on the Imperial world of Tanakreg, in that hellish otherworld that was not truly part of the material universe, but something else entirely. He had experienced a similar sensation there, and there he had won out, defeating his former master and escaping with his prize.
Escaping? The doubt came unbidden to his mind. Had he truly escaped? Or had he merely been allowed to escape? Surely such a being as powerful as the Undying One would never had allowed him to flee its realm had it not wished it to be so.
‘My lord,’ said a cracked voice, and Marduk glanced over towards the mutilated figure of Sarondel, stretched backwards upon the surgeon’s slab, his chest ripped open. The monstrous spider creature was still poised over him, and it sprayed a liquid film over the exposed organs from the tip of its vile, bulbous, segmented abdomen.
‘The gods… have they deserted us?’ breathed Sarondel, echoing Marduk’s thoughts. ‘I cannot feel their touch.’
‘Speak not such heresies,’ growled Marduk. ‘This is a test of our faith. The xenos filth will be punished for what they have done to you, brother. I promise you that.’
Sarondel groaned something indecipherable in response, and Marduk strained again to pull his limbs from the spikes impaling them. His efforts were hopeless. His muscles bulged with all his hyper-enhanced strength, but he was powerless against the slender blades that held his crucified form.
What if the gods had deserted them, thought Marduk with a stab of terror?
Silence such thoughts, Marduk raged. Such doubts are poison. Fortify your soul, he reminded himself, your faith will be rewarded.
Patience, he told himself.
His time would come, an
d he would be ready.
‘You left him behind,’ said Burias flatly, his eyes glinting dangerously.
‘Am I going to have a problem with you, Burias?’ growled Kol Badar.
Burias pursed his lips, not taking his eyes off the Coryphaus. He took a deep breath, repressing his violent urge to leap across the shuttle cabin and tear the older warrior’s head from his shoulders.
He had always fought at Marduk’s side. Even as an acolyte, Burias had recognised that Marduk was destined for great things, and he was honest enough to admit that that he had befriended him in the hope that he would be dragged up the chain of command with him. Burias had never made any secret of this fact, and he had enjoyed the success he had achieved, and the privilege he had gained, as Marduk had risen to First Acolyte. With Jarulek dead and gone, it was surely just a formality before Marduk became a Dark Apostle, and then Burias’s position would become even more influential. He was Marduk’s confidant, his brother, his friend, and he would have had the ear of a Dark Apostle at his disposal.
In one swift, opportunistic move, Kol Badar had eliminated that future, and for that Burias would dearly love to rip his hearts from his chest.
‘You think he is dead?’ asked Burias in a low voice.
‘He’s gone,’ said Kol Badar. ‘The dark eldar took him. There is no coming back.’
Burias scowled, all his years of comradeship with Marduk, wasted. Once again, he let his eyes roll back into his head and the deafening tumult that was the immaterium screamed into him. Drak’shal had a bond with the First Acolyte, stronger than any bond between Burias and Marduk, a bond of servitude, a bond of command. It was, after all, Marduk who had first summoned Drak’shal into the icon bearer’s flesh.
Drak’shal reached out at Burias’s urging, searching for Marduk’s soul-fire, for some hint of its existence. The daemon found nothing. Of course, it would take days, weeks even, to properly scour the turbulence of the empyrean, despite the bond the First Acolyte and the daemon shared, but a shadow presence should have been simple to locate. It was as if everything that Marduk was had been snuffed out. Slowly, Burias opened his eyes.
‘He is truly gone,’ he muttered in disbelief.
‘As I said,’ said Kol Badar.
This changed everything. If Marduk truly was dead, and what other explanation could there be, then Burias would have to quickly reassess his position. Without the First Acolyte’s backing and favour, his position within the Host was tenuous. Kol Badar, as Coryphaus, was the most powerful individual within the Host, and would, as protocol demanded, take over the leadership role. Burias would be foolish to take that lightly. Without the First Acolyte to shield him, Kol Badar could do with him as his wished with impunity.
‘What of the Council?’ asked Burias, his mind whirring. ‘The life of a Coryphaus that has allowed his Dark Apostle to die is a tenuous thing, but a Coryphaus that has allowed his Dark Apostle and First Acolyte to fall? You’ll be made to suffer, and I have no wish to fall with you.’
‘Walk with me,’ commanded the Coryphaus, releasing the harness clamping him into his seat, and making his way towards the control cabin of the Idolator, fighting the angle of the ship’s assent and the G-forces that pushed against his massive frame. Clearly, Kol Badar wished to continue the discussion out of the earshot of the other warrior brothers of the Host, which made Burias at once both suspicious and intrigued.
Burias threw off his harness and stood up unsteadily. Using the rail-holds above his head he hauled himself hand over hand towards the front of the shuttle. Once inside the control cabin, Kol Badar punched a blister-rune and the hatch was sealed behind them.
The crew of the Idolator had long been fused with their controls, and what remained of their flesh was covered in runes and sigils of binding. They stared ahead with sightless eyes, their entire existence dedicated to serving their infernal masters. They would not repeat what words were spoken in their presence even were they capable of speech.
‘The Council need not know all the details,’ said Kol Badar slowly, his eyes intense.
‘They will need to be told something,’ Burias hissed, ‘unless we do not return to Sicarus at all.’
‘No, that is not an option. No warrior of Lorgar has ever turned from the XVII Legion. No, we tell the Council the truth.’
‘The truth?’ asked Burias.
‘Yes, that the Dark Apostle Jarulek was treacherously cut down by the traitor Marduk, who was envious and covetous of his hallowed role,’ said Kol Badar, ‘and that Marduk was subsequently slain for his misdeed.’
‘You wish to lie to the Council?’ asked Burias, his voice incredulous.
Kol Badar did not have a chance to answer, as warning lights lit up across the consoles of the shuttle. The Coryphaus moved swiftly towards the pict screens flashing with a stream of data, and swore.
‘What is it?’ asked Burias in alarm.
‘A tyranid spore shower,’ answered the Coryphaus.
It was heading right towards them.
‘Admiral,’ said Gideon Cortez, flag-lieutenant of the Hammer of Righteousness. ‘The master of ordnance has a firing solution. Request approval to launch torpedoes.’
‘Approved,’ said Admiral Rutger Augustine.
He was standing at the forward observation deck with his hands on his hips, watching the battle unfold before him. The strategy of maintaining a blockade in front of the encroaching tyranid menace and decimating any world, inhabited or not, in its path still rankled with Augustine, but such were his orders.
Most of the enemy hive ships were still tens of thousands of kilometres away, but he could see them: immense, sentient creatures kilometres long with skin thick enough to endure living in deep space, their vile bodies armoured in segmented carapace easily as strong as the hull of the mighty Retribution-class battleship he stood in. It almost defied logic that creatures as large as this could exist in the universe. The largest of the bio-ships was easily a match for the Hammer of Righteousness, and rivalled her for size, and there were hundreds of smaller living ships that shoaled around the largest organisms. The smaller creatures ranged from the size of light cruisers all the way down to the size of attack craft and interceptors. The smallest bio-ships flew in dense clouds around the large hive ships, like swarms of angry bees around their mother-hive, and several Cobra-class escorts had already been destroyed by them when they had ventured too close.
The tyranid fleet was a terrifying prospect to face at close range, and Augustine had decreed that no Imperial vessel approach within six thousand kilometres of it. Even so, the xenos bio-ships were capable of startling bursts of speed that had at first taken the Imperials by surprise, and Augustine had lost the light cruiser Dominae Noctus and its entourage of frigates and escorts due to this unexpected trait.
A pair of hive ships had swung towards the Dauntless-class light cruiser as she had been turning to starboard to make a strafing run across the flank of the hive fleet, breaking from the formation of bio-ships.
Though the commander of the Dominae Noctus had seen the danger, he had been powerless to pull away fast enough. The cruiser had desperately unleashed the fury of a full broadside into the two bio-ships training in on him. Augustine had watched the destruction unleashed on the living organisms on one of his flickering pict screens, and had seen the carapaced hides of the beasts rupture beneath the barrage, spilling bio-fluids into space. Still, the bio-ships had continued on, spitting streams of acid that melted the side of the Dauntless light cruiser and launching swarms of smaller creatures, exhaling them from gill-like rents in their sides.
A trio of Sword frigates had nobly moved into the path of the behemoths, seeking to draw them away from the floundering light cruiser, and two of them were overwhelmed as boarding chrysalides were excreted from the hive ships, clamping onto and cutting through their hulls before overrunning their decks with swarms of warrior organisms.
One of the bio-ships was drawn by the bait, and turned on the last remaining
Sword frigate, while its twin closed on the doomed Dominae Noctus. The rest of the fleet had watched in growing horror as immense hooked tentacles shot forth from the prow of the bio-ships, locking onto the hulls of the light cruiser and the frigate, drawing them into the immense living beasts. More tentacles wrapped around their hulls. The Sword frigate was crushed utterly beneath the pressure and ripped in half. The Dominae Noctus lasted little longer, for the tentacles drew it in close to the hive ship, and its hull was rent by the immense, bony beak concealed at the heart of the mass of tentacles. For an hour, the creature gorged upon the light cruiser, its hull almost entirely obscured by the tentacles that wrapped around it, and Augustine had listened in stoic silence to the screams of the dying as bio-acid and feeder organisms had been spewed into the interior of the compromised ship.
Augustine had no intention of losing any more of his fleet to the xenos fleet, and the Imperials were engaging the tyranids only at medium to long range.
The Hammer of Righteousness’s dorsal lance batteries had taken a heavy toll on the advancing tyranid fleet, but the xenos ships continued on relentlessly, absorbing the casualties they suffered and pushing ever forwards. The bio-ships mortally wounded by the long distance barrages were devoured by the other hive-ships, who would doubtless use the genetic material to spawn more of their foul kind.
Augustine felt a shudder beneath his feet as the prow torpedo tubes fired, and he watched with satisfaction as the six immense, plasma-core projectiles, each almost eighty metres long, powered through the gulf of space towards the largest of the hive organisms.
Lance batteries from the rest of the fleet stabbed into the closest bio-ships, and other torpedoes impacted with fleshy bodies several kilometres in length. Tentacles flailed in death-spasms, and thousands of tiny organisms flew into the mighty wounds in the hides of the immense beasts, latching onto flesh and each other and excreting a cement-like substance over themselves to form a living bandage, sealing up wounds even as they were caused.
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