Dark Adeptus

by Ben Counter

  Instead of hydraulics and complicated joints, the Titan's moving parts were connected by dense bun­dles of black fibres that contracted and expanded like muscles. It moved with a stately grace, every motion calculated and efficient.

  It was as if every other Titan was a crude imitation of this one, replacing its alien-looking technology with crude mechanics. Alaric couldn't imagine any forge world being capable of building such a thing. Even the most advances xenos species, like the eldar or the crea­tures of the Tau Empire, couldn't have fashioned a war machine so obviously superior to Imperial technol­ogy

  The Titan turned its massive head at the sound of the Warhound's engines. The green fire bathed the Warhound in light and Alaric felt the weight of an immense intelligence scrutinizing him from behind those burning eyes.

  'Antigonus! Get us moving!' voxed Alaric as the Titan's torso began to turn towards the Warhound.

  'I'm on it,' came the reply. 'Hold on.'

  'Grab something!' shouted Alaric to Haulvarn and Dvorn. With Lykkos and Archis dead and Cardios too wounded to come with them, the two Grey Knights were all that remained of Alaric's squad. They had both been with him on Volcanis Ultor and, if he had been forced to choose two Grey Knights to remain, he would probably have chosen them.

  The Warhound lurched drunkenly as it strode uncer­tainly forward, straight towards the STC Titan. The Titan raised its gun arm and Alaric heard the loud whirr of its massive servos as the gun barrels began to cycle.

  'It's firing!' voxed Alaric.

  'Then I won't have time for conversation. Best of luck, justicar.' Antigonus's voice was suddenly drowned out as the Titan's main gun opened up.

  The muzzle flash edged the titan works in burning orange. Shots slashed through the air above the cara­pace and shrieked a few metres away from Alaric - not explosive shells or las-blasts but captive dae­mons, screaming in agony as they were flung burning through the air. Alaric could feel their screams against his soul, feel their pain as they exploded in bursts of warp-spawned flame. Shots thudded into the side of the Warhound, knocking the war machine sideways. The carapace tipped and Alaric grabbed onto the railing to keep himself from slipping. He heard explosions racking the Warhound's torso as the daemons exploded deep inside its body.

  The carapace tilted almost vertical and Alaric was sure the Warhound would fall. His feet kicked against the pitted armour as he tried to gain a foothold. Another shot from the STC Titan's cannon smacked into the carapace beside Alaric and stuck there, the writhing serpentine form of the daemon whipping around in pain as it burned up. Flaming coils reached out to grab Alaric and immolate him as the daemon died - Alaric lashed out with his hal­berd and cut the daemon in two, feeling its body disintegrate and its corrupt spirit flit back to the warp. The heat from its death melted the armour around it and the railing came apart in Alaric's hand, sending him skidding down the carapace.

  Alaric tumbled down the slope, knowing there would be nothing for him to grab onto and certain he wouldn't survive the fall. He tried to dig his hal­berd into the ceramite and brake himself but the blade glanced off in a shower of sparks.

  The edge of the carapace zoomed closer and the drop yawned. Suddenly he was stopped and Alaric felt a hand around his, pulling him back from the edge.

  Brother Dvorn looked back at him, the faceplate of his helmet scorched by a close encounter with the Titan's fire.

  'Not so quick, justicar.' said Dvorn grimly.

  Alaric didn't have time to thank him. Another vol­ley thundered into the Warhound, this time point blank into its head and upper torso. Alaric heard the daemons shrieking out through the Warhound's back as the shots punched right through and he won­dered if even Antigonus could find somewhere to hide inside the Warhound's systems that was not being shattered and burned by the onslaught.

  The STC Titan was close now. Its head rose directly above Alaric, the beam of its eyes like a spotlight dancing across the scorched carapace.

  'We go now!' shouted Alaric above the din. He spotted Haulvarn close by, crouched down at the front railing, trying to make himself a small target against the rogue shots sending daemons shrieking in all directions. 'This thing's about to fall apart!'

  Dvorn and Alaric scrambled up to the front edge, where the carapace formed a lip protecting the Warhound's head below. Alaric glanced down and was not surprised to see the Warhound's dog-like head was half gone, the metallic face blasted apart and spilling fragments of data-medium.

  The gap was still too big. None of them could have got across. But it was the only chance they had. Pos­sibilities buzzed through Alaric's head - if they stayed they would be killed when the Warhound fell, which would happen in a few seconds. If they jumped they would fall and they would still die.

  Twin bright white beams of energy lanced up from the Warhound and bored deep into the armour of the STC Titan's chest. The Titan reeled and its shots went wide, spitting burning daemons into the sur­rounding Titans. The Warhound's twin plasma blastguns played their beams around the Titan, scor­ing deep furrows across its armour. Clear fluid flooded out like blood from a wound, flashing into clouds of steam where it touched the superheated plasma beams.

  Antigonus had got the Warhound's weapons work­ing. It meant he was still alive, at least.

  The STC Titan let out a sound like a thousand wounded animals bellowing at once. The massive power fist reached up, fingers spread to grab chunks of the Warhound and pull it apart.

  'The magos made it angry!' shouted Dvorn with relish. 'It wants to finish this up dose!'

  The Titan's fist grabbed the edge of the Warhound's carapace, the fingers sinking deep into the ceramite and boring through the plasma reactor housing inside the Warhound's upper torso. Deep cracks spread across the carapace and Haulvarn had to roll to the side to avoid being swallowed up. White-hot plasma bubbled up from inside, spitting upwards in burning plumes as the pressure was suddenly released. With the plasma reactor breached the Warhound's power levels would be dropping fast, the war engine's lifeblood pouring out of the ruptured reactor housing.

  The Warhound tipped forward as the STC Titan closed its fist and pulled, trying to rip an enor­mous chunk out of the Warhound. The Titan's featureless face loomed closer, illuminated by the curtain of sparks streaking up from the dying Warhound. The Titan bowed down over the Warhound, trying to get more leverage in its attempt to pull its enemy apart.

  Brother Haulvarn jumped first, taking two steps and then propelling himself across the gap between the two Titans. A Grey Knight in power armour was extremely heavy but a Space Marine's enhanced muscles meant he could still leap further than most unarmoured men. Haulvarn slammed into the armour covering the Titan's shoulder, near the base of its high collar. Dvorn went second and, being the strongest Grey Knight Alaric had ever known, he flew further, almost skidding off the back edge of the Titan's shoulder armour.

  Alaric was last. As he jumped, almost half the Warhound's carapace came free, sending a mighty gout of liquid plasma bursting upwards like a vol­canic eruption. Liquid fire showered everywhere and the Warhound rocked backwards. Alaric saw the Titan veering away from him and he reached out for the front edge of the Titan's shoulder armour - he could see Haulvarn trying to reach for him, to grab his hand and haul him to safety again. But they were too far apart.

  Alaric fell, tumbling past the graceful, fluted armour of the Titan's torso. Beneath him there was just the rockcrete of the titan works, split and cratered by the Titan's feet.

  The Titan's multi-barrelled gun swung into view beneath Alaric. Its barrels were still cycling and in that moment Alaric realised it was aiming at the Warhound again, ready to administer the killing blow.

  Alaric twisted in the air, reached out and slammed into the top of the gun as it swung below him. He hit the gun's housing hard, the cycling barrels just a handspan away from his head. He held on tight, ignoring the searing heat that had built up around them. He dug his feet and fingers in and pushed him­self backwards towards
the Titan's elbow joint, away from the gun barrels.

  The Warhound toppled slowly, like a giant felled tree. Its knees buckled under it and, trailing an arc of spitting plasma, it crashed to the ground, kicking up a cloud of flame and pulverized rockcrete. A moment later the Warhound's plasma reactor imploded and it was engulfed by an expanding ball of multi-coloured flame that flowed across the ground and up the legs of the STC Titan, around the gun arm and Alaric. He held on grimly against the blast of superheated air that nearly dislodged him and buried his face beneath his arm as the white-hot light flowed over him.

  It only lasted a second, but it was almost a second too long. The flame subsided and Alaric dared to draw a breath again, feeling the skin on one side of his face scorched and tight. He pulled himself up so he could see better and he saw the surface of the armour on the Titan's torso and legs was covered in blisters, like burned skin. As he watched, the blisters sank back down and the burned armour shimmered, the ugly burns replaced with the weeping pearlescent white again.

  The Titan had the capacity to repair itself, with a scale and subtlety that even the war engines of the eldar could not match. Where had this machine come from? Who had made it?

  Alaric turned around to see if there was anywhere for him to go. In the Titan's torso, just below the shoulder joint, were several vents large enough for even a Space Marine to crawl through. They were too far away to jump, though. It was more likely that Alaric could find a way into the Titan's body by clam­bering up the arm and into the shoulder joint, hoping there was a space somewhere beneath the armour that he could fit through. It was a risk - the climb was long and difficult and he knew the Titan contained scores of lesser daemons because it had used them as ammunition - but it was less of a risk than waiting on the gun barrel to be found.

  Alaric dragged himself on his front towards the rear of the gun housing. He felt the screaming of dae­mons below him as they were forced into the firing chambers. The Warhound was dead but the Titan wasn't going to take any chances - it was lining up for a final volley to remove any possibility that Antigonus might still be alive somewhere in the wreckage.

  The gun tipped down to aim at the Warhound and opened fire. A blast of burning air slammed into Alaric as the daemons shrieked down into the Warhound, stitching explosions through the wreck­age. Alaric lost his grip on the gun housing and knew he couldn't make it to the shoulder joint.

  He didn't let himself die. He planted a foot on the edge of the gun housing as he was thrown off the gun and kicked off. He jumped towards the Titan's torso, thrown further by the Shockwave of the gunfire. He hit the torso armour hard and reached out for some­thing to grab onto. His gauntlet found the edge of one of the vents cut into the Titan's side, where an acrid chemical exhaust was howling out from some­where deep inside.

  Alaric pulled his whole weight up on his one hand and hauled himself into the vent. The gunfire was now an echoing roar from outside, complemented by the deep throb of the Titan's inner workings, sounding like the beating of an enormous alien heart. Alaric's eyes instantly adjusted to the darkness and he saw he was surrounded by the cramped entrails of the Titan - they were metal rather than biological, but they were somehow flexible, bowing and pulsing like something alive. The interior stank of chemicals, hot and painful to breathe. Pipes and ducts were knotted all around Alaric and there was barely enough space for him to move. Alaric had never seen technology like it - it was the work of nei­ther the Dark Mechanicus nor the Adeptus.

  Hawkespur had been right. This was older, cleaner technology, from a time when humankind created technology instead of replicating it and so opened up the way for the Age of Strife.

  Alaric could feel daemonic presences elsewhere in the Titan but they felt small and distant. They were servants to the machine, like the daemonic ammuni­tion that fed its gun. The machine itself was not dominated by daemons - its crew, if it had any, were human, or at least some creature whose presence did not activate the anti-sorcery wards built into Alaric's armour or the psychic shield around his spirit.

  Alaric was in some mundane part of the Titan, probably in the coolant systems around its central reactor. Even his massive strength probably couldn't penetrate the reactor shield of a machine like this. He had to reach a part of the Titan that he could damage - the ammunition stores perhaps, or the place where the Titan was controlled from. Either way, it meant heading upwards.

  'Haulvarn? Dvorn?' Alaric tried to raise his squad-mates on the vox, not holding out much hope he could get through to them. He tried Hawkespur and Archis, too and Antigonus, but they were either dead or out of contact. Either way, Alaric was on his own. He had been forced to fight unsupported against the daemon Ghargatuloth when Inquisitor Ligeia had been lost, but he had at least had his fellow Grey Knights to fight alongside him. Now he really was on his own, one man against this war machine.

  Alaric began to work himself upwards through the dense tangle of pulsing machinery. It was warm and slightly malleable beneath his fingers, feeling unpleasantly like living flesh. Below him the coolant systems stretched down into the darkness and the Titan's scale was even more apparent from the inside than the outside.

  It was a long and difficult climb. Alaric's sense of time seemed warped inside the alien machine, but he had to climb for perhaps half an hour, hauling him­self through tight knots of pipework or dangling one-handed above a sheer drop too deep for him to see the bottom. The sounds and smells of the place were completely new - the pulse of a half-living metabolism, the gales of hot chemical air, the whis­pers from all around as if the Titan was haunted. Technology and biology were fused here, but far more efficiently than on the rest of Chaeroneia. No human mind could have designed this. The tech-heresies that covered Chaeroneia were just a crude reflection of the STC Titan's technology, like chil­dren's drawings of something they did not understand.

  The Titan's body tilted as it turned away from the Warhound and tipped from side to side as it walked. It was heading somewhere and Alaric didn't think it was back towards the place where it had risen to from the depths of the titan works. Eventually the giant vessel containing the reactor was beneath him and less recognisable sections of the titan's working loomed above him. Alaric guessed that even a tech-priest would be awed by both the scale and the strangeness of the technology inside the Titan.

  Somewhere in the Titan's upper chest the machin­ery opened up into walkways and service ducts, where maintenance workers could get in amongst the machinery to work on it. The ladders and cat­walks seemed crude, as if they had just been welded on wherever they would fit - Alaric guessed that the Titan's original design had made it completely self-sufficient, like Chaeroneia itself, without needing anyone to come in from outside and maintain it. The Titan's internal architecture became more apparent and it was a strange, alien world inside the war engine. The walls were made of some slightly glossy white alloy, sweating beads of condensation and inlaid with geometric silver designs that almost ached with significance. The elegant curves and almost biological machinery made for a disconcert­ing contrast, reinforcing Alaric's conviction that there was something fundamentally wrong with the Titan, something sick that spoke of tech-blasphemies and corruption.

  Alaric reached the point he guessed was level with the Titan's shoulders. Here the inside of the Titan seemed to have more in common with some alien palace than with a machine of war. Slender columns lined the corridors, pale as marble but subtly warped to make everything seem out of focus. Chambers with uncertain purposes were linked by circular doors that hissed open as Alaric approached, reveal­ing rooms full of strange crystalline equipment or bulbous growths of white alloy that looked like weird abstract sculpture. Alaric couldn't see anything that looked like it controlled the Titan and he couldn't stay where he was - the scrabblings of the lesser daemons on his mind seemed to be getting more insistent and the Titan could probably deploy its daemons like a body deployed white blood cells, hunting down infections like Alaric and neutralizing them.
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  He could see them. Congealing shadows at the edge of his vision, they slunk along the walls and ceiling, recoiling as he turned to find them. But they couldn't hide, not from a Space Marine trained since childhood to face the daemon in battle. They were dark scaly shapes with too many eyes and legs, half-formed things prematurely born from the warp to serve the war machine. Alaric drew his Nemesis hal­berd from his back but they didn't dare approach him. It caused daemons pain just to be near a Grey Knight and even alone Alaric would have been a fig­ure of fear for these lesser daemons. Even so, as they scrabbled thicker around the shadows Alaric saw that if they all attacked at once he wouldn't have much of a chance against their sheer numbers.

  He could feel them against his mind and knew they would never get in. But it was the lack of dark power in the Titan that really worried Alaric. What­ever was controlling the Titan, it wasn't a daemon and yet it could command them.

  Alaric headed towards what must be the centre of the Titan's chest. He walked through more rooms, more strange growths of metal and alloy, each one less like the inside of a machine and more like a scene from an alien world. Abstract murals inlaid into the walls suggested meanings that Alaric couldn't grasp. Gaping orifices, wrought from metal but fleshy and sinister in shape, framed gullets that led back down into the guts of the Titan. Pulses of light washed through the upper levels in time with the beating of the Titan's heart. And all the way the daemons stalked Alaric, skulking just out of sight.

  At the centre, Alaric finally reached a small circular chamber containing a tight spiral staircase leading upwards - the chamber's walls were like silvery liq­uid, the same substance that was in the moat of the titan works and Alaric could just see shapes squirm­ing below the surface. If they were more data-daemons they didn't come to the surface and attack - perhaps word of the Grey Knights had spread among the daemons and they knew not to take on Alaric.

  It was more likely, of course, that they were just herd­ing him, knowing that soon Alaric would be defenceless and would make for easy pickings.