Carcharadons: Void Exile, page 24
The Pale Nomad was right. He had wielded the ancient relic weapon, and when it had killed he had felt many things – exultation, righteous anger, even bloodlust. None of it had been uncontrolled, though. At no point had he felt the killing frenzy drive out the colder, more clinical thoughts that gave him purpose in combat. At no point had he felt the urge to roar his hatred and his fury in the face of his foes.
The Blindness had not returned. Was he free from it? Perhaps what Te Kahurangi said was true. He had brought about his own exile. He had dug the pit of his own shame so deep that it had been easier to lie alone in its depths than attempt to climb back out. Perhaps the Blindness really was a convenience, a tool he had used to convince himself he was irredeemable. Had he made himself into a wild beast simply so he did not have to walk the hard road to redemption?
That was what Te Kahurangi would have him believe, but he knew the cleverness behind the Chief Librarian’s every word and action. He had been there when Sharr had first been tithed, snatched by the Chapter along with thousands of others on Zartak. Even then, Te Kahurangi had been ancient. He had seen more of the Carcharodon Astra and their struggles in the Outer Dark than any other. He understood the Chapter intrinsically, perhaps even more so than Lord Tyberos. He had mentored Sharr, had even named him. He had also specifically chosen and trained Khauri, and now had returned to them both from nowhere, that old predator stalking familiar prey.
‘My loyalty is to the Chapter, never to myself,’ Sharr told him, gazing down at Reaper still, turning the mighty chainaxe over in his hands. ‘That is the way it must be for all of us. Perhaps you are right in what you say. I have become too self-centred.’
‘You have allowed yourself to be defined by your failure, to be motivated by that alone,’ Te Kahurangi said. ‘Instead, you must be motivated by your duty to the Chapter, to the Carcharodon Astra. And to Third Company. Your company. You will lead them again, Bail Sharr, whether you will it or not.’
Sharr nodded.
‘So be it,’ he said.
Voldire grunted and swallowed bile, feeling it burning away his gullet before the tissue began to reknit.
The sacred parasites infesting the vox-frequencies had sensed the signal being sent from the vox-array. A trap had already been set there, but the connection he had made had almost overwhelmed him.
Markel Vost had noted his discomfort, and hurried up the stairway of flesh beginning to form the lower part of Voldire’s body, reaching what had once been the side of the Fabricator General’s throne. The Fabricator General himself was still where Voldire had cast him, slowly melding with the organic matter around him. He continued tearing at his own body, though he no longer screamed, merely panted with panicked exhaustion, doomed to repeat the nightmarish cycle for as long as he existed.
‘The Adeptus Astartes,’ Voldire managed to grunt, whisps of smoke rising from his lips as the acidic effluvium he was hacking up gnawed at his steel fangs.
‘You should not be concerning yourself with such matters, my datagnost,’ Markel Vost said, the tentacles that had formed around his mechadendrites caressing Voldire’s bulk obsequiously. ‘With respect, you will require all your cognitive brilliance for what lies ahead. Allow the faculty to deal with these petty threats.’
‘Not threats, Vost, opportunities,’ Voldire said, hating that one of his learned colleagues might have misunderstood him.
He took a moment to try and master himself. The work being done to his body was agonising, though pain had ceased being a true concern a long time ago. It was the effects on his mind that worried him. He was beginning to push beyond the bounds of mortal consciousness, even as his bloated, bleeding form was allowed to run rampant, no longer constrained by the pruning labours of his imps. It was as if he was now aware of the barrier that separated the materium from the immaterium, all around him, taut and slender, shimmering and shuddering. It felt as if a single pinprick might unmake reality.
This was the moment they had worked towards, and Vost was right – it would take every ounce of his cognitive abilities to avoid disaster. He had to remain in the present, even as his mortal body melted and his mind was untethered.
‘How long have we yearned to be able to study and test the forms of the Adeptus Astartes?’ he asked Vost rhetorically, finally finding a degree of focus. ‘And these ones are known to our divine liberator. They are an accursed breed, banished by those they die trying to protect. They haunt the dark spaces beyond the stars.’
‘There is some unrest among the faculty regarding them,’ Vost admitted, leaning in closer to the lumpen, misshapen thing that had once been Voldire’s head, as though imparting a shameful secret. ‘We did not anticipate their presence here.’
‘That is why none of you are tenured,’ Voldire grunted dismissively. ‘They will try and stop our work, of course. The pallid one and his apprentice are especially dangerous. I have been told of them. I felt the former just moments ago. He is strong, but tiring. Many in the Forge of Souls would pay a great deal for the delivery of his soul.’
‘How can we assist you then?’ Vost asked.
Voldire pondered the matter for a while, letting his thoughts flow with the canting of the black binharic filling the throne room.
Vost was right, it was really nothing more than a distraction, but he had come too far to leave these sorts of matters to the vagaries of chance and the wills of the gods, even the one he had pledged his research to. He bared his melting, merging fangs at Vost – all he could do to emphasise his next words, as his arms had long since been swallowed up by the growths fusing him to the flesh pyramid.
‘Bring the Forge Guard,’ he snarled.
A delegation was sent back into the bowels of what remained of the Mother-of-Them-All, embedded in the Pinnacle’s crown. They returned to Diamantus’ throne room laden with a dozen brazen, rune-carved sarcophagi. Each was arrayed around the monstrous ziggurat that Voldire was becoming one with, and after studious bloodshed, the faculty awoke their occupants.
The lids of the sarcophagi levered back, admitting a rush of embryo fluids and liquified organics and a steaming stench so vile it even made Voldire twitch in his flesh throne.
The occupants stepped through the sludge, their movements juddering and uncertain as they grew accustomed to newfound consciousness. They groaned, bodies shifting and changing without any sign of stopping, their corruption allowed to run rampant now they had left the warded containment of the sarcophagi.
Much like Voldire himself, their mutations never ceased, though the change was not confined to their flesh alone. Malignant machines run by scrapcode-infected abominable intelligences had latched on to the bodies sealed into their sarcophagi in the Mother-of-Them-All, and now their corruption surged unchecked. A skull split to expose a whirring cogitation unit, only to seal back up as the broken face transformed into a bestial, fang-filled muzzle, then a cyclopean visage with a maw that split around almost the entire circumference of the head. Another had a gash from collarbone to groin that was filled with whirring buzzsaws, while a third had both limbs fused into a strange and writhing rifle, part bone, part metal, sickly warpfire flaring within it. The only unifying element shared by the mutating monstrosities was the holy icon of the Eight-Pointed Star of Enlightenment, carved into what passed for each forehead.
They were another gift from the Infernal Architect, Voldire’s Forge Guard, and he knew to call upon them only in the most desperate of circumstances.
The twisting, crunching, scraping creations knelt as best as they were able. Voldire acknowledged them with a shudder of the fleshy tiers beneath him, speaking to Vost with a leering, melted grin as he did so.
‘You see, my dear colleague. Now, there will be no more distractions.’
PART THREE
+ + Initialising astropathic relay auto-séance transcript chain 372F/71G. Part 3 of 4. Record downloading + + +
+ + Cleansing transcript file + + +
+ + Transcript file cleansed. Sender verified as Interrogator Anton Fell, agent of Inquisitor >REDACTED< of the Ordo Hereticus + + +
+ + Opening Transcript + + +
We have reached the entrance to the Pinnacle, and I am pleased to report that our journey has yielded positive results, though uncertainty continues to dog us.
The trek up the mountainside was conducted over the course of two local day-cycles. The ruination of the city is even worse higher up the slopes, and the Pinnacle seems perpetually wreathed in dust, or fog. What sunlight makes it through is ugly and sickly.
On the first night of our ascent, whilst seeking shelter, Garwell was drawn to the remains of one particular structure, where he identified a wrecked Archenemy war machine, a hulking, many-limbed mechanical monstrosity that, in death, wore its terror like a shroud.
I would not have lingered in such a place, but Garwell pointed out that its destruction indicated the strength of Imperial resistance in the area. We commenced a search of the surrounds and finally discovered evidence of the very thing you deployed us here to find.
Among the vast numbers of deformed Archenemy slain were several pieces of wargear that can only have belonged to a warrior of the Adeptus Astartes. The only disappointment was that it was fragmentary, and I fear its wearer did not survive the fight.
We searched the surrounding ruins thoroughly, and found more evidence of the bloody, Emperor-blessed work of the Space Marines – bodies blown open by bolt-rounds and savaged by chain weaponry. Such sights are a delight, but I am frustrated that we were unable to make any further progress. It seems almost certain the owner of the wargear we recovered perished during the fight, but his brethren must have retrieved his remains along with the rest of his equipment. I suspect the pieces we have retrieved were left behind because they were damaged beyond repair.
For now, I will content myself with knowing that our venture here has not been without purpose. It seems as though your hypothesis is correct. The exact identity of those Space Marines who gave their lives for this world remains to be seen. Hopefully more hard evidence will be forthcoming.
I will submit a more detailed report as soon as I am able, to be appended to this data-chain.
Still no word from Captain Torrian and the Lightbringer. More updates anon.
+ + Transcript file ends + + +
+ + Thought for the Day: A suspicious mind is a healthy mind + + +
CHAPTER XXV
A phantom came for Khauri between assaults, a pallid thing emerging from an unnatural gloom that only he seemed aware of, gathering like a sea fog to dim the harsh white lumens arrayed along the walls of the Twinfort. It was slender and grim, and it spoke to him in words he could not understand at the time, but which lodged hard and firm in his mind for a comprehension that would come later.
The slamming report of a bolt rifle snapped him from the reverie. He started, looking about but finding no fog, no gheist, just Ihu of Second Squad, lining up another shot at extreme range, picking off cultist infantry attempting to set up positions to snipe at the ramparts. None of the other Carcharodons or the skitarii on the walls appeared to have noticed what he had seen, nor heard what he had heard.
He remembered the words, and understood them.
The Librarian hurried to the gatehouse, where he found Kordi and Ze-One-Prime.
‘The attempt at taking the vox-array has failed,’ he informed them. ‘The systems were too corrupted to be put to use in contacting the fleet.’
‘The Pale Nomad told you?’ Kordi asked, likely assessing there was no other feasible way he could know such a thing.
‘Yes,’ Khauri said, deciding against mentioning how weakened Te Kahurangi had seemed when he had appeared in his spectral form, how withered and gaunt and deathly.
‘He also told me what we should do,’ he continued, ‘and it aligns with your own wishes. He advised that we should go on the offensive.’
Kordi grunted with amusement. The combined force of Carcharodons and skitarii had held the Twinfort throughout the night, building mounds of heretic dead outside its walls. There were so many slain in some sections that the Carcharodons had been forced to use grenades to dislodge and topple the ramps of bodies leading to the parapet.
Their resistance had been fuelled by the fort’s fully stocked armoury. The only point of uncertainty had come when the Archenemy had thrown their daemon engines against the wall, including a slug-like thing that had attempted to batter down the cog gate with its armoured head. The wall’s point defences – lascannons, multi-lasers and more esoteric Adeptus Mechanicus gear – had combined with Rangu’s Hammer and Black Scythe to cut down most of the deranged machines before they reached the walls, and krak grenades had slain the ones that had gained a foothold. The only casualty Second Squad had suffered had been Mere, carved open by a stalk tank’s bone buzzsaw before his grenade had detonated, blasting away the thing’s legs and sending it plunging down among its mutilated and butchered kin.
The last assault had been the weakest yet. Khauri could sense great masses of the mutant horde out amidst the ruins beyond the Twinfort’s perimeter, but it seemed much of their strength had been spent.
‘Does Venerable Te Kahurangi have a specific objective in mind?’ Kordi asked.
‘He would have us link with the other half of the company, and launch an attack on the Pinnacle. The master of this invasion has made their nest there, and their plans will unmake this world and more besides if we do not strike.’
‘We should have done that from the beginning,’ Kordi said.
‘Perhaps.’
As they spoke, Dominus Ze-One-Prime stood off to one side, leaning heavily on their cane, seemingly listening despite the fact the words were being exchanged via closed vox.
‘Will you join us?’ Kordi asked the magos dominus. ‘If it means abandoning the Twinfort and the skybridge?’
‘Possibly,’ Ze-One-Prime allowed. ‘I am aware that a decapitating strike against the enemy’s leadership is standard protocol for the Adeptus Astartes, and would not seek to sway you from that goal. Your departure would likely render a defence of this locale untenable. The remains of my maniple would not be able to endure a siege indefinitely, which is what we would face. Accompanying you, therefore, becomes the optimal strategy. Besides, I wish to be avenged upon the monsters that have befouled my world and slain my kindred.’
‘That is not a path of reasoning I expected from a tech-priest,’ Kordi admitted. Ze-One-Prime’s vox-stalk emitted a dry chuckle.
‘You think me a machine, but your first mistake is to imagine that machines are without emotion – that their spirits are cold, clean, uncomplicated things. But consider what has been done to my world. Consider the filth we have had poured into our engrammic boards and our data-stacks, the vileness of the cancerous scrapcode that has been sent to worm its way into our brains and joints. The terrible lengths we have been forced to go to in order to survive. The most unthinkable blasphemies have been committed, have been heaped upon us. The machines of Diamantus, those not rotten with the work of these hereteks, scream. They scream in pain, and they scream for revenge. And when the logic of your operational proposal aligns with such holy purpose, there the will of the Omnissiah is made manifest.’
‘Then we have an accord,’ Kordi said, briefly saluting the dominus by bringing his gauntlet to his breastplate before addressing Khauri. ‘You have coordinates for a confluence with the rest of the company?’
‘I have a landmark, and a vague idea of where it might be found,’ Khauri said, trying to articulate the earlier psychic exchange. ‘Perhaps the magos dominus can assist me in identifying it?’
‘I will give you full access to my mem-charts,’ Ze-One-Prime confirmed.
‘Then let us not delay,’ Kordi said. ‘Rangu’s Hammer will lead the way.’
‘One more thing, strike leader,’ Khauri interrupted, knowing he had delayed telling Kordi the truth for too long. ‘There is a matter you should know of before you rejoin your void brethren. Bail Sharr is here with us, on Diamantus.’
The Third Company was made whole again beneath the Diamantine Triumph, a statue that stood in a circular parade before the Forge Temple of the Two Archmagi. The statue itself consisted of a vast cog wheel with a representation of the planet of Diamantus at its centre, all borne up on the backs of a las-sculpted procession of labourers and servitors and overseen by representations of the Martian priesthood.
There had been a battle around the Triumph. A skitarii maniple had made a stand, fighting to the bitter end. Their metallic corpses were interspersed amidst hordes of mutant slain and the wrecked daemon engines that filled the parade and lay in mounds on the steps of the forge temple beyond.
The Triumph bore wounds from the battle. Several of the cog’s upper teeth had been blown away by ordnance, and the figures holding it up had been riddled by small-arms fire. The damage was honest, though – the indiscriminate work of warfare and not deliberate, foul blasphemies; the forces of the Archenemy had not been in control long enough to begin defiling the symbols of the Omnissiah.
The Arkifane hordes had moved on to assault new bastions of resistance, and the two prongs of the Carcharodons’ advance had little difficulty in reuniting among the slaughtered remains. Kordi and the other strike leaders made brief greetings, exchanging tactical data regarding casualties and ammunition stocks. It seemed that Second Squad had avoided the worst fates suffered by their void brethren – several units had been reduced to half-strength, and Tenth Squad had been all but wiped out, with the only surviving brother, Dohu, attached to the damaged Fourth Squad.
Kordi spoke to Nuritona last of all. He had already noted Henno’s absence, and how Ihaia had uncased and unfurled Third Company’s old, raggedy banner beneath the Triumph, a sure sign the moment of decision was approaching.
