Belisarius Cawl- the Great Work - Guy Haley

by Warhammer 40K

  Thracian felt the first stirrings of sympathy. He squashed them.

  ‘You are tainted,’ said Thracian.

  ‘I am as human as you are, my lord,’ she said.

  ‘You are not human, not any more,’ said Thracian. The confessor’s hands flexed around his instruments. He was one of two Chaplains left alive after the rebellion. He did his duty enthusiastically. ‘You are tainted by alien influence. I should have seen it.’

  Hannelore chuckled. She shook her head. A line of bloody spittle ran from her split lips. ‘I am human. More human than you. Who resorts to torture? It is not I.’

  ‘It should not be possible. There are forty-nine separate genetic and mental tests all higher servants must undergo. How did you cheat them?’

  ‘Thracian, I cheated nothing,’ said Hannelore. ‘I serve the Emperor.’

  ‘A false Emperor. An alien perversion of our master’s image!’

  ‘He is the true Emperor, Thracian. He loves us all. He is coming to save us. I was trying to save you.’

  ‘Tell me how you did it.’

  Hannelore smiled sadly. ‘Do you really think it as easy as asking me? You must try harder than that.’

  Thracian nodded to the confessor. The Chaplain strode forwards, pushed Hannelore’s head forwards and applied a pain spike to her neural port. Hannelore’s body locked rigid as her nervous system was turned against her. Her feet drummed on the floor. Her arms strained until they creaked. Her broken teeth ground under the pressure of her own jaw.

  ‘Enough,’ said Thracian.

  Hannelore slumped forwards.

  ‘Tell me how you did it!’

  Hannelore lifted her head weakly. ‘I did not do it. Do you think I could have done these things alone?’ She leaned forwards against her bonds. Her voice became a hiss. ‘It took centuries. The sky father came and planted his seed. We grew into a loyal tribe. First, the people of Sotha were shown the light, so that the truth might be spread among them. This took decades. Then, when the brothers and sisters of the sky father’s Family were high enough in the planet’s hierarchy, brothers of the Family were introduced into the fleet.’ Hannelore chuckled. ‘You held your human subjects in such high regard, you entrusted them with far too much. I was ignorant once, like you. They came to me when I was made an officer. They came from the depths of the ship, and gave me the kiss of enlightenment.’

  Thracian looked to the confessor.

  ‘Mutational rate in her gene code suggests she was infected directly four years ago.’

  ‘Then how did she pass the later screenings?’

  ‘They were carried out on board,’ said the confessor. ‘The tests were cheated. This strain of genestealer exhibits extreme talent for psychic subjugation. They have evolved to coexist with us.’

  ‘So you filled our world and ships with enslaved kin to the xenos monsters?’

  ‘How many times must I repeat myself?’ said Hannelore. ‘We are pure. We are the chosen of the Emperor. He will come and take us, and keep us at his side! Do you not see, we do this for you!’

  ‘Again,’ Thracian said.

  At the confessor’s command, pain coursed through Hannelore’s system. She screamed. Her altered body was failing under the strain.

  Thracian raised a hand. The confessor deactivated the pain device.

  Thracian crouched, and pulled back Hannelore’s head.

  ‘How was it done?’ said Thracian quickly. The traitor was deteriorating. ‘How did you hide yourselves from us?’

  Hannelore’s teeth chattered. Snot ran from her nose.

  ‘Decades more. All it took was one Family member in the right position. Only when the officer cadre of the fleet and Sotharan defence forces were in hand did we attempt to influence the Chapter. Our father is mighty, more powerful even than you. We are the chosen ones. We will lead you all to the Emperor’s side. Even you. It is your destiny. Free me, let me take up my burden again. Be saved, brother! Salvation is all we have tried to achieve.’

  ‘No,’ said Thracian. ‘How many blasphemies against our creed were committed? How could we have been so blind?’

  ‘Because the Emperor willed it,’ said Hannelore.

  ‘You hid in plain sight. I pieced enough together myself. I thought Hadrios was trying to corrupt us. He misled us, but not deliberately; it was because of your manipulation. It was you, the people we protected. You destroyed the genestocks. All those recruits we took after the fall of Sotha, all wasted. Your elders,’ he spat the word. ‘They enslaved Thorcyra’s mind. How many are you? How long has this been going on?’ said Thracian.

  ‘Centuries,’ said Hannelore triumphantly. ‘The Family cannot be stopped. You know it. You saw it at the Miral Prime, didn’t you? Brothers who would not strike. Psykers who could see the glory of the true Emperor. They were enlightened. You felt it at the fall of the monastery, you felt the touch of the true Emperor yourself. We cannot be stopped!’

  ‘Your psychic tricks will work no more.’ Thracian stood over his captive. ‘You have been stopped. You do not take into account the will of the Emperor of Mankind, the true Emperor. I am His appointed champion, no matter what influence your vile masters sought to impose on me. You are a xenos abomination, and you have failed. Save your pity for yourself.’

  ‘You are so close to salvation, and you do not understand.’

  ‘It is you who is deluded!’ Thracian shouted. ‘Your sky fathers are predators come to feast. They run alongside the swarms. They are tyranids! Can you not throw off their influence long enough to see?’

  ‘Sotha was a test, to judge if we are worthy.’ She had said this many times, always with such utter, unshakeable conviction. Hannelore smiled sorrowfully. ‘You shall die with all the others who do not believe. But take heart, all will be saved. All it takes is one of them, and the gospel spreads again. The Four-Armed Emperor, the true lord of humanity, he loves you, and he is coming.’

  ‘You will die now. I am sorry for you. But I do this gladly.’

  ‘You could not shoot me before. You know in your heart what I say is true. One day, when you face one of them, you will see the glory.’ Hannelore smiled beatifically. ‘I am the last true child of Sotha, and the messiah of the Emperor.’

  ‘I am not going to kill you,’ said Thracian.

  He gestured at the confessor. A knife flashed, and speared up into Hannelore’s brain.

  The traitor died with her convictions intact, and a smile on her face.

  That was more than Thracian could claim.

  Past dissolved into present. Fresh wounds became old scars.

  Now

  The genestealer patriarch advanced on him, huge, bloated and unstoppable. Thracian raised his gun, and found again that he could not fire. The monster stopped in front of him. Blood dripped from every one of its claws. It panted lightly with the exertion of combat. If he didn’t know any better, he would have said it was smiling, but the beast was surely incapable of emotion. The upward curve of its mouth was the result of its abominable physiology. The look of triumph in its eyes was an illusion. It had to be. The xenos were inhuman. The hive mind shared nothing with mankind.

  Mortis runes sang in his helm. He could not summon enough free will to deactivate them. Their reedy songs tormented him. Galerius, Keltru, Ulas, Aratus… All of them were dead.

  The sky father paced around him, tread heavy and deliberate as that of the bull phantines that had inhabited the forests beyond the Pharos. It huffed hot air out, and sniffed at him. It held him in psychic thrall – why by the Emperor did it need to smell him?

  The genestealer came back around to the front of Thracian, where he could see it again. It bent low to peer into his eyes. It extended the forefinger of its left hand, and gently ran it down the side of Thracian’s helm. The nail talon squealed on the ceramite. Its tongue poked out between black teeth. The end wa
s hollow where the ovipositor lurked, waiting to slide out and inject the creature’s gene code into another victim and begin the process of subversion again.

  ‘I am the last child of Sotha, and I will kill you,’ said Thracian. He could barely open his teeth to speak. His muscles clenched in his jaw. His limbs ached from being locked in position.

  The patriarch’s smile appeared to grow wider.

  ‘I will kill you. I will kill you. I will kill you,’ he said. The patriarch looked at the gun, then it looked at Thracian. It stepped back and placed its bulbous head against the boltgun’s muzzle. Such a gentle movement for such a monster. Thracian felt the contact as a soft shiver passing up his arm. It twisted its head about on the gun, pushed hard against it. Thracian still could not move, and felt himself unbalanced.

  Abruptly, the genestealer turned about and strode away. It sat back in its throne.

  ‘This is where it all began,’ said Thracian. ‘I am ending it now. I am ending you now.’

  The genestealer steepled its fingers together, and folded its upper claw arms across its chest.

  Inch by torturous inch, Thracian moved the gun away from the gene­stealer. It watched him, amused, as his gun came to point at one of the necron crystals penetrating the floor.

  ‘I cannot fire on you. But I can destroy you.’

  The genestealer saw Thracian’s gambit and was out of its throne swift as lightning, but it was a fraction of a second too late. Its immense bulk slammed into him as Thracian finally forced his finger to contract, sending a salvo of bolts into the crystal. The first and second cracked it. The third blew it apart. The genestealer bore him down to the ground as he continued firing, spraying the full contents of his magazine out through the room, shattering ancient marble and alien crystal alike.

  He tumbled over, seeing the scattered remains of his men before being pinned into place by a single, enormous hand. The bolter was wrenched from his grasp and hurled across the room. The genestealer raised its upper claw and punched down, cracking open his breastplate. The three killing talons speared into his chest cavity. He cried out with a pain too great to bear. Blood welled up from his mouth and flooded his helmet. The partriarch stared at him hatefully, cradling his hearts in the vast spread of its claws.

  There was a rushing noise coming down the corridor, the buzz of grav motors, the rattle of wings, and an enraged hiss.

  In a final act of defiance, Thracian lifted his head up from the floor, though the effort cost him dearly in pain.

  ‘Ave Imperator,’ he said.

  A tide of silver scarab drones engulfed the patriarch, knocking it off Thracian’s chest onto the ground. As it fell, it tore out his lungs and his hearts, but he lived long enough to see its writhing form become smaller and smaller until it was gone, consumed by the drones as surely as it had consumed his Chapter’s world.

  Having seen his task completed, Thracian allowed himself to rest.

  Death claimed him, honour and all.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Shards of greatness

  Light poured from the opening sarcophagus, overwhelming Primus’ and Felix’s auto-senses. They were confronted by a sheet of white that caused their battleplate spirits to wail in pain. Then it shrank inwards, becoming a humanoid figure clad in a skin of shining silver aglow from within. It hovered over them, looking down with an imperious air. The face was hard, angles accentuated more than a human’s would be, and the head long, but it was close enough in form that it could have been a child of Terra from divergent stock, falling somewhere between aeldari and human in look, though its expression was more pitiless than either species.

  What are these? it said. Power crackled around it. A terrible heat pounded from its glowing core.

  Cawl’s limbs weaved themselves through a complicated curtsey. ‘My servants, and therefore your servants.’

  ‘I am no xenos’ slave.’ Felix raised his twinned bolters and pointed them at the C’tan.

  Silence! boomed Zarhulash. With a thought it flipped Felix onto his back and sent him skidding across the floor towards the portal.

  ‘Primus! Do something! These creatures are vulnerable to the warp. Use your abilities.’ Felix attempted to stand.

  Be silent! The C’tan’s eyes flashed, and he crashed back down to the ground again. It turned its burning gaze upon Primus.

  You are reckoned strong in the ways of the soul sea? It glowered at Primus, then moved its hand and lifted it, palm upwards. Primus dropped Cawl’s axe as he began to choke, and rose kicking from the ground. He clutched at his throat. Then match yourself against us. It glared dismissively at Primus. Feeble. Even in our weakened state, you cannot oppose us. The power of the warp is nothing to mastery of the physical realm. We were true gods, the living embodiment of this universe. Those of the warp are pale shadows. We are the light! it roared. Its shining body flared with the stolen power of extinct suns. The chamber trembled in response. The sarcophagi jiggled in the air. One listed, turning aside, falling down slowly.

  We are Zarhulash, the Potentate. It gestured, and a bladed rod flashed into being in its left hand, and a crown blurred into existence over its head, both made of the same, silvery metal caging the C’tan’s light. We are a lord of space and time. We are a manifestation of reality’s living soul. It gestured again and Primus was flung backwards. His armour crashed against the portal housing, and he fell heavily to the floor. He, too, attempted to rise, but the C’tan flattened him with a twitch of its finger, pushing down like a man squashing an insect. Primus was crushed onto the ground. His armour began to creak under the pressure.

  Cawl moved forwards. ‘Master, please! I beg you not to kill Primus. He is a loyal slave, and will serve you as faithfully as he serves me.’

  You can swear this?

  ‘I swear it! He cannot disobey me.’

  And this other?

  ‘Also my creation. Spare them both. We shall need them in the chambers beyond. There are many millions of your gaolers’ constructs beyond this gate.’

  They will not be able to stop us. The C’tan smiled sadistically and pushed hard. A conduit in Primus’ armour burst. White gas jetted out. Witness our might.

  ‘They will try. Spare them!’

  The C’tan pulled a sour expression. If you insist. Its finger curled back into its fist. Primus took in a desperate breath. He and Felix staggered to their feet.

  Know this, slaves of slave Cawl, the energy that makes up your beings is ours to command. Move against us, and we shall destroy you utterly. Slave Cawl, you will escort us through the portal, and deactivate the things of the necrontyr. Beyond is the principal machine room of this facility. There you will free us from this form. We shall open a portal, and step forward into the stars to reclaim our birthright, and drive lesser beings before us into death.

  Cawl bowed humbly. ‘Yes, my master,’ he said, and scuttled forwards to the portal. He linked himself with it, activating its destination patterns. Glyphs ignited around the triangular aperture, and the energy it held swirled in agitation.

  ‘I have deactivated the safety protocols against your departure. It is safe for you to pass, oh great one!’ Cawl proclaimed.

  Good. Zarhulash pointed the end of its staff at the portal, and with a swift tug backwards, pulled the energy field towards itself out of the gate, and into the air, where it spread and reformed into a rift wide enough to allow the C’tan out.

  Tremble, oh ye nations of the galaxy, for Zarhulash the Potentate walks again amongst you!

  With those words, the C’tan’s form dissolved into a streak of silver-braided light, and it poured into and through the gate. The portal flexed back into its frame. All energy seemed to be sucked from the chamber with its passing. The sarcophagi fell from their station in the air with mighty crashes, and the space began to pulse, shrinking inwards. A violent strobing began at what appeared like some
miles distance, but it came closer, and the bursts of light multiplied.

  ‘Aha!’ said Cawl. ‘Just as I thought. The heart of the mountain is contained within a dimensional pocket.’ He grinned over his mouth guard at Felix. ‘I knew that! But, but,’ he said. ‘The contents are unravelling. Come on, my boys, we must leave this place. Now.’ He went to retrieve his axe.

  Felix staggered towards the gate. The flashing dazzled him. Gravity waves pounded at them, dragging them away from the portal, but he set himself against them and, with his armour systems pushed past their operating tolerances, strove for the gate. Cawl clattered past him, esoteric field projectors shielding him from the forces tearing apart the false space of the sarcophagus chamber.

  ‘Remember what I told you,’ he said to Felix. ‘No shooting!’

  Whatever was happening in the chamber of the sarcophagi affected the mountain far more badly. The hall containing the deep core mine was shaking. Fountains of liquid rock burst in fiery display. Chunks of blackstone plummeted to the ground, shattering like dropped glass. The temple facade trembled and cracked.

  The drone swarm was agitated, buzzing loudly, swelling and shrinking in a great metallic flocks. Long tendrils composed of thousands of drones reached out to gather up the broken shards of the mountain, or squirmed over the cracks appearing in the wall, fighting a losing battle to repair them as they formed. Their mouthparts sparkled with desperate activity. The mountain quaked. Falls of stone roared down far tunnels, and the many pipes of its internal structure wailed in alarm.

  The bridge between our extra-dimensional cell and this facility must be severed, Zarhulash intoned. Following this, the canoptek devices must be brought under control, Zarhulash said, pointing imperiously towards the swarm. Only they have the ability to strip the necrodermis from our true energy form and free us. You have the way into the machine’s mind, slave Cawl. Use it. Once we are free, we will have little time before the mountain destroys itself and this world.