Killing Ground w4u-4

by Graham McNeill

The Lord of the Unfleshed roared and snatched the arm back, lashing out with his other. Uriel ducked and another portion of the bar was destroyed, bottles and mirrored glass crashing to the floor.

  Uriel rose to his feet and the Lord of the Unfleshed followed him as he backed away to the tear in the wall through which he had entered the bar.

  'Go!' he shouted. 'Nisato, get these people out of here!'

  The enforcer nodded, still holding Mesira to him. Her face was twisted in anguish, but in the brief moment Uriel had before the Lord of the Unfleshed came at him, it seemed as though it was due to her rescue rather than the danger.

  As the Lord of the Unfleshed followed Uriel, the panicked crowds pressed into the back wall of the bar broke for freedom, fleeing through the enormous hole the monster had torn in the bar's outer wall.

  Uriel continued backing away from the Lord of the Unfleshed, giving Nisato enough time to get the people clear. The enforcer handed off Mesira Bardhyl to Pascal Blaise just as the Lord of the Unfleshed grew tired of his prey backing away and charged.

  The Lord of the Unfleshed's bulk was too enormous to dodge, so Uriel leapt towards him. His sword slashed at his foe's chest, the blade easily parting skin and flesh, but unable to work deeper into the meat of the body. A thunderous fist slammed into Uriel's side and he was hurled backwards.

  He slammed into a steel column, his body flaring in pain at the impact. Uriel fought for breath and staggered upright as he saw the Lord of the Unfleshed turn from him and haul his bulk across the bar with horrifying speed.

  Once again the creature was fixated on Mesira Bardhyl and Uriel watched as Pascal Blaise attempted to protect her. He fired his pistol, but it was wasted effort and the Lord of the Unfleshed hurled the leader of the Sons of Salinas aside with contemptuous ease.

  Uriel pushed himself across the wrecked bar and Daron Nisato cried out as he saw what was happening. Once again, Mesira stood before the Lord of the Unfleshed and this time there was no one to save her.

  The mighty creature reached down and his hand closed on her skull.

  'No!' screamed Daron Nisato, but the Lord of the Unfleshed cared nothing for his plea.

  One quick squeeze and Mesira Bardhyl was dead, her corpse flopping to the floor as the Lord of the Unfleshed released her limp body.

  With his murder done, the Lord of the Unfleshed turned from the carnage in the bar and made his way quickly to the hole torn in the structure's frontage. Uriel limped after the towering engine of flesh and blood, horrified at the casual ease with which the Lord of the Unfleshed had snuffed out Mesira Bardhyl's life.

  'That was not punishment!' shouted Uriel. 'That was murder!'

  Daron Nisato rushed to Mesira's body, weeping as he cradled her lifeless form. Pascal Blaise fought to stand as he saw what had been done to his charge, but the Lord of the Unfleshed ignored them all as he clambered over the rubble of the bar's destruction and fled the scene of the crime.

  From outside, Uriel could hear gunfire: the hard, heavy bangs of bolters and the snap of lasguns. Roaring jets and the scream of powerful down-draughts billowed choking clouds of dust into the air, and Uriel could see stabbing beams of light from the skies.

  Had Pasanius managed to call in air support?

  He heard more gunfire and bellowing roars, but beyond that, he could hear the screech of buckling steel and the groans of a structure no longer able to support the weight settling upon it. Uriel looked up as a snaking line of cracks burst across the ceiling, ripping their way from left to right and back to front.

  'Run!' he shouted.

  Pascal Blaise dragged the protesting Daron Nisato from the bar and Uriel struggled to reach the front of the collapsing building. Lumps of plaster and splintered timber crashed down around him and long spars of metal clanged together as portions of the roof caved in.

  Uriel fell as a roof beam crashed into his shoulder and he sprawled onto his front as the rear portion of the bar collapsed entirely. More metal broke and twisted, and he scrambled forwards as the building started to collapse in earnest.

  Choking clouds of dust and ash obscured Uriel's vision, but he was guided by the blinding beams of light that came from outside. Half running, half crawling, Uriel forced his way onwards. Torn chunks of concrete struck him and he staggered as an enormous, final groan shook the structure of abandoned tanks.

  Uriel dived clear of the bar as the entire assembly of tanks, plaster and timber slammed down, the lowest regions of the structure crushed beneath thousands of tonnes of iron. He rolled as enormous pieces of tanks fell from the building: turrets, doors, iron wheels and lengths of track.

  A girder the length of his body slammed down next to him and he scrambled away as it toppled onto its side. Debris and rubble fell in an avalanche of metal and Uriel cried out as more and more of it struck him.

  He was forced to his knees by the impact of something heavy and metal. A twirling shard of glass sliced his cheek and a panel of sheet metal slammed into his side, driving the breath from him and pinning him to the ground with its weight.

  Dust blinded him and the roar of the building's collapse was deafening.

  Uriel struggled against the weight of the metal as yet more debris spilled down from the building's demise. The metal was groaning and heaving and Uriel coughed as he felt the weight pinning him to the ground grow heavier.

  He tried to bend his legs beneath the metal to gain some leverage, but his body was wedged solid. The strength of the Adeptus Astartes, normally so prodigious and able to meet any challenge, was powerless to prevent the weight of iron from crushing him to death.

  With his armour, he could have escaped, but without it…

  Suddenly the weight lessened and through the swirling clouds of blinding dust, Uriel saw huge shapes around him, silver light reflecting from their outlines.

  Uriel heard the click of vox-units and the tread of heavy feet around him.

  He smelled the distinct and wholly welcome scent of oils and lapping powder that could mean only one thing: Astartes armour.

  He saw gauntleted hands heave the sheet metal, and the debris that held him pinned to the ground was lifted clear as though it weighed nothing at all. Hands dragged him from the ground and he heard chanting behind the warriors who had saved him. Amongst the smells he associated with Space Marines, he smelled strong, choking smoke, cloying and reeking of the interior of temples.

  'Who—' was all he managed before a heavy silver gauntlet fastened around his throat with a grip of unbreakable iron. Uriel was hauled from the ground, his feet dangling in the air as he was brought before an oversized silver helmet with an angular visor and blazing red lenses.

  A high gorget protected the warrior's neck and the plates of his armour were massively exaggerated, thick and awesome in their intricacy. A heraldic shield was fitted in the crease between the warrior's enormous shoulder guard and carved breastplate, half in crimson and half in white. The colours were divided down the middle with the image of a black sword, its tip pointing downward.

  Uriel knew that this was no ordinary warrior, this was a Terminator, one of the elite, a veteran. No finer warriors than those deemed skilful enough to wear such armour existed in a Chapter.

  The Chapter symbol on the warrior's left shoulder guard was a mighty tome, its pages pierced by a sword and set among golden scrollwork. Uriel's eyes widened at the sight of the symbol, for it was an ancient device worn only by humanity's greatest protectors, greater even than the Adeptus Astartes.

  The giant who held him helpless leaned in close.

  'I am Leodegarius of the Grey Knights,' he said, 'and you are my prisoner.'

  PART FOUR

  DISSOLUTION

  'Yet from those flames, no light, but rather darkness visible.'

  SIXTEEN

  Uriel's arms burned with pain and his wrists were chafed bloody by the silver manacles that held him suspended above the cold, hard floor of the darkened chamber. Its exact dimensions were unknown to him, but he had for
med a mental map of the chamber from the echoes of his shouts for answers.

  It had been days since the battle with the Unfleshed, but how many he could not say with any certainty, for the darkness was unchanging and his captors had given him no clue as to the passage of time.

  His captors… The Grey Knights…

  These warriors of legend were spoken of in hushed whispers, for the foes they faced in battle were the most terrifying of all: daemons and unclean creatures from beyond the gates of the Empyrean. Of all the Emperor's servants, they were the most honoured, the most revered, and the most deadly.

  Now, their attentions were turned upon Uriel.

  It seemed inconceivable to Uriel that he should suffer like this; that fellow warriors of the Adeptus Astartes should inflict such punishments upon him. Yet he could not find it in his heart to blame them, for had he and Pasanius not returned from the most dreaded place in the galaxy, a lair of abominations and monsters?

  As much as he railed against what was happening to him, he knew he could have expected no less. From here on out, Uriel was at the mercy of those who knew the threat of the daemonic better than he.

  In the time since the Grey Knights had taken him, he had known only darkness. No sooner had Leodegarius hauled him from the rubble of the collapsed bar than a host of powerfully muscled servitors had closed in, carrying extendable poles that terminated in thick metal collars with inward pointing blades.

  The restraint collars had fastened on his neck and Uriel knew that to resist would open his throat on the razor-sharp spikes. A robed acolyte had lifted a hood, fashioned from what appeared to be coarse sackcloth weave. Just before it had been fastened over his head, Uriel saw another Grey Knight with Pasanius similarly restrained before the open ramp of a silver Thunderhawk gunship.

  The hood had been more than simply fabric, for it had utterly blocked Uriel's perception of the world around him. His five senses were rendered useless and he felt a curious deadness to everything, as though suddenly and completely cut off from the realm of perception.

  He had been guided to the interior of the Thunderhawk and flown to the gaol that currently confined him. Uriel had no idea where he was, and what was to happen next was similarly a mystery.

  Unkind hands had manacled him and then removed the perception-deadening hood before his skull had been shaved and he had been hauled from the ground and left suspended in the darkness.

  A murmur of chanting drifted on the incense-scented air, a maddeningly constant refrain that lurked just beyond the range of comprehension. Uriel could see no source for the voices, but he could sense figures moving through the darkness, darkness so impenetrable that not even his genhanced sight could penetrate its depths.

  He knew he was being observed and he had spoken aloud of his innocence and his loyalty to the Emperor, but they would have heard such things a hundred times or more, most often from the mouths of heretics and those who consorted with daemons. After a while, he gave up and concentrated on blocking out the pain in his shoulders.

  His weight was pulling his arms from their sockets and the sinews were straining and twisting as he hung in the darkness. The metal of the silver manacles bit into the meat of his wrists and congealed blood clotted on his forearms.

  Uriel heard heavy footsteps coming towards him through the darkness. A flaming torch sprang to life and the silver giant that had pulled him from the wreckage of the bar approached.

  Firelight reflected from the burnished plates of his incredible armour, the vast plates indestructible and magnificent.

  Terminators were warriors capable of awesome destruction, trained to be masters of the killing art and unstoppable human tanks. Astartes in Mk VII plate were well-armoured and retained their lethal speed, whereas a warrior clad in Terminator armour sacrificed that mobility for almost complete invulnerability.

  As the Terminators of the Veteran company were above Uriel in skill and lethality, so too was this warrior above even them. To be in such a warrior's presence, even as a prisoner, was an honour.

  Leodegarius had removed his helmet and Uriel saw that his face was finely sculpted and almost angelic in its symmetry. Silver eyebrows framed clear blue eyes and his white hair was pulled back in a short scalp lock. The warrior's physical perfection matched his assuredly perfect soul, and Uriel was put in mind of warriors from the Blood Angels Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes, such, was his beauty.

  A group of hooded acolytes followed Leodegarius, one reading from a heavy book supported on the back of a hunched dwarf with a golden lectern fused to its exposed spine, and another carrying a silver aquila, from which issued puffs of scented smoke. Others carried a variety of items on plush velvet cushions, some of which were clearly items of excruciation, while others were devices beyond Uriel's understanding.

  Another Grey Knight, clad in gleaming silver power armour, stood at Leodegarius's shoulder and carried the awesome warrior's helmet. Behind him, a pair of sweating servitors dragged a smoking brazier, from which protruded a number of glowing irons.

  Uriel felt the chains supporting him go slack and he descended to the floor. The loosening of the chains continued until he was able to lower his arms to his sides.

  He rolled his shoulders to flex the muscles there and work the balls of his joints back into their sockets. None of his captors made any move to remove or loosen the manacles that still bound his wrists.

  'Tell me why I should not kill you,' said the Grey Knight.

  For a moment, Uriel was dumbfounded. The bluntness of the question was such that he had no immediate answer.

  'I am a loyal servant of the Emperor,' he said at last.

  'I have heard that before,' replied Leodegarius, his disbelief plain, 'so I am going to open you up and examine the farthest reaches of your soul. I will know everything about you, Uriel Ventris, and if I find you to be pure you may yet earn the Emperor's forgiveness, but if I find any hint of corruption or filthy secrets, your body will be purged with fire.'

  'I understand,' said Uriel. 'I have nothing to hide.'

  'A common declaration of the corrupted,' said Leodegarius. 'You would be surprised how many times I hear it from the mouths of those with a great deal to hide.'

  'I am a servant of the Emperor,' repeated Uriel. 'I am not corrupt.'

  'That is for me to decide,' said Leodegarius. 'Now be silent.'

  Uriel nodded, fully aware that his life was in the hands of the warrior. With a gesture he could end him and erase him from the Imperium. All that he had ever done, all the heroic deeds he had accomplished in his life, would be expunged as surely as if he had never existed.

  'State your name and rank,' said Leodegarius, 'for the record.'

  'I am Uriel Ventris, former captain of the Fourth Company of the Ultramarines Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes.'

  As Uriel spoke, a clattering stenolyte behind Leodegarius scrawled his words on a leaf of parchment, each of his fingers ending in an inky quill-tip. This would either be his vindication or his valediction.

  Leodegarius nodded and reached out to twist Uriel's shoulder towards him. Uriel gritted his teeth, the bones of his shoulder twisting painfully in the socket.

  'Your Chapter and company tattoos have been burned from your body.'

  'Yes,' said Uriel. 'Our Chapter and company markings were removed before we left Macragge on a Death Oath. For all intents and purposes, we were exiled. It would not have been fitting to continue to bear our Chapter's heraldry.'

  'Why were you sent on this Death Oath?' asked Leodegarius, and Uriel saw a servitor remove one of the irons in the fire with thick, insulated gloves. The brand was held out towards Leodegarius, but the Grey Knight ignored it for the time being.

  'For breaking with the Codex Astartes.'

  Leodegarius nodded, as though he was aware of this. Had Pasanius already been interrogated for this information?

  Thinking of his friend, Uriel decided to risk a question of his own. 'Where is Pasanius?'

  A silver
gauntlet seized Uriel's throat and Leodegarius reached back to take hold of the glowing branding iron, its head in the shape of a haloed skull. With a fluid economy of motion he reversed the brand and stamped it down over the place where an Imperial aquila had once been tattooed on Uriel's shoulder.

  Agonising pain coursed through Uriel's body as the red-hot iron seared his flesh. His knees buckled and he bit back a cry as Leodegarius kept the burning metal pressed against his skin. Smoke and the horrific smell of blackened, charred flesh filled the air. The pain was intense, but Uriel closed his eyes and focused his mind on blocking it out.

  At last the brand was removed and Uriel gasped. The pain was still there, raw, hot and intense, but compared to the agony of the continued burning, it was as though his upper arm were bathed in cool water.

  A pair of robed chirurgeons stepped from the darkness behind him and the pain was replaced by a cool, clear sensation of relief as counterseptic was applied to the wound and burn gauze bound to his shoulder.

  'That is the first lesson,' said Leodegarius, handing the brand back to the servitor. 'When we begin, you are to speak only when I permit you to speak. Do you understand?'

  'Yes,' said Uriel, nodding, 'I understand.'

  'Then you are ready for the first ordeal,' said Leodegarius, 'the Ordeal of Inquisition.'

  'What are you going to ask me?'

  'Ask?' said the Grey Knight. 'I am not going to ask you anything.'

  Concentric circles were inscribed on the floor around Uriel and Leodegarius, cut by hooded servitors with acetylene torches for arms, and the grooves filled with bubbling lines of molten silver dispensed from golden urns upon their backs. Strange sigils that were incomprehensible to Uriel were cut in the space between the two circles, which were likewise filled with silver.

  Steam billowed from the design as the servitors finished the last of the silver sigils.

  'The Ordeal of Inquisition,' said Leodegarius, 'is as old as my order. My mind's eye will see into every darkened corner of your soul. I will know your every thought. You will be able to hide nothing from me. Understand that and you may save yourself a great deal of pain. If you have evil within you, confess it and your death will be swift. Deny it, and if I find any trace of corruption, your death will be agonising and long.'