He turned away, laughing as dismayed soldiers and horrified Iron Warriors watched one of their mightiest daemon machines destroyed before their very eyes. The ground shook as the Titan hit the ground and was smashed asunder, but Honsou was already making his way back to Khalan-Ghol. He had no way of knowing what had become of the rest of his warriors, but trusted that they were experienced and resourceful enough to get back to Khalan-Ghol on their own in all this confusion.
A dark form emerged from the smoke beside him and he recognised the sinuous form of Onyx. The daemonic symbiote's claws were unsheathed and bloody, the glittering fire of his eyes shining with a deathly lustre. He had hunted well.
'A successful foray,' said Onyx with typical understatement.
'Aye,' agreed Honsou. 'Not bad. Not bad at all.'
The sanctuary Ardaric Vaanes had spoken of turned out to be secreted in a shadowed valley overlooking the plains before the mighty fortress shrouded in dark clouds and explosions. The sounds of battle still raged from below and Uriel could see a tremendous blaze deep in the besieger's camp. Their flight from the Unfleshed had been a helter-skelter journey of false trails and looping attempts to prevent the beasts from following their tracks. Uriel could not shake the sound of the Unfleshed feasting on the prisoners, but was surprised at how little it bothered him now. Perhaps Vaanes had been right, there was nothing anyone could have done for those poor unfortunates, and death was the best thing for them.
The renegades had split up once clear of the death camp and now returned to their base in ones and twos, climbing down the valley sides or hiking up from below.
'Our sanctuary,' said Vaanes, pointing towards a series of crumbling bunkers and blockhouses that had fallen into disrepair and had clearly seen better days. Partially filled-in trenches and rusted coils of razorwire were angled before the dilapidated constructions, but Uriel's practiced eye could see that this place was not without its defences. Barely visible gun nests overlooked the approaches and he doubted that anyone could approach without some warning being given.
'What was this place used for?' asked Pasanius.
Vaanes shrugged. 'An old ammunition store, a barracks, a construction exercise? Who knows? All I know is that when we found this place it was abandoned and no one ever came near it. That's good enough for me.'
Uriel nodded as they crossed a trench via a series of iron sheets and Vaanes moved ahead of them towards the blockhouse beyond the bunkers.
Pasanius leaned close to Uriel and whispered, 'What are we doing? These Space Marines are renegades! Are we to damn ourselves even more in the sight of the Emperor?'
'I know,' said Uriel bitterly, 'but what choice do we have?'
'We can strike out on our own.'
'Aye, and maybe we will, but they have been here longer than us and we may learn something of this world and its dangers.'
Pasanius looked unconvinced, but said nothing more as they reached the armoured doors to the blockhouse. Whatever mechanism had once opened and closed them obviously no longer operated and Vaanes hauled them open with brute strength before disappearing within and indicating that they should follow.
Uriel ducked inside the blockhouse, the interior surprisingly well-lit by numerous holes pierced in the roof. Shafts of dead white light pooled on the rockcrete floor and reflected from the peeling, flakboard walls.
'I realise that this might be a little more luxury than you're used to as Ultramarines, but it's the nearest thing we have to a home just now,' grinned Vaanes as he walked ahead of them into the blockhouse's main chamber.
Light streamed in through the firing slits and Uriel could see that the chamber was full of the same Space Marines who had attacked the camp earlier. Most were engaged in cleaning their weapons or repairing their armour and Uriel was shocked at the sheer number of different Chapter symbols he saw on display.
Howling Griffons, White Consuls, Wolf Brothers, Crimson Fists and many others he did not recognise.
But most surprising of all were two figures crouched in the corner of the main chamber cleaning lasrifles. Dressed in the battered fatigues and torn uniform jackets of the Imperial Guard, they looked up as Uriel and Pasanius entered. Both men were so filthy and dishevelled that it was impossible to tell what regiment they had belonged to, but both wore expressions of tired, proud courage.
'Two new warriors for our band!' called Vaanes before slumping against one wall and removing his helmet.
Uriel refrained from qualifying that statement as the leaner of the two Guardsmen rose to his feet and limped towards Uriel. His skin was pale and wasted looking blotchy and unhealthy, his eyes bloodshot.
The man extended a palsied hand and said, 'Lieutenant Colonel Mikhail Leonid of the 383rd Jouran Dragoons.'
'Uriel Ventris, and this is Pasanius Lysane.'
'What kind of Space Marines are you?' asked Leonid, stifling a cough. 'I don't see any markings.'
'We are Ultramarines,' replied Uriel. 'Sent from our Chapter to fulfill a death oath.'
Leonid shrugged. 'A better reason than most for being here.'
'Perhaps,' nodded Uriel. 'And how is it that a colonel of the Imperial Guard comes to be here?'
'That,' said Leonid, 'is a long story…'
CHAPTER EIGHT
Leonid and Sergeant Ellard, the softly spoken companion of the colonel, spent the next hour and a half regaling Uriel and Pasanius of how they had ended up in slavery on the bleak daemon world of Medrengard, beginning with the devastating assault of the Iron Warriors on the world of Hydra Cordatus just prior to the Despoiler's invasion through the Cadian Gate.
He spoke of weeks of constant shelling, of tanks and Titans and of the lethal cancers that base treachery had infected the men and women of his regiment with. But more than this, he spoke of noble courage. He spoke of a warrior named Eshara, a Space Marine of the Imperial Fists, and the sacrifice he and his men had made before the Valedictor Gate. Uriel felt a fierce pride well within him at the thought of such a noble warrior standing before impossible odds, and wished he could have met such a brave hero.
But ultimately, the story did not end well. The Iron Warriors finally took the citadel before Imperial reinforcements could arrive and Leonid wept as he spoke of the brutal slaughter that took place upon its final fall.
'It was a nightmare,' said Leonid. 'They showed no mercy.'
'The Iron Warriors serve the Ruinous Powers,' said Uriel. 'They do not know the meaning of the word.'
'Captain Eshara bought us some time, but it wasn't enough. The cavern below was too large and there was too much gene-seed to destroy. We—'
'Wait,' interrupted Uriel. 'Gene-seed? There was Space Marine gene-seed beneath your citadel?'
'Yes,' nodded Leonid. 'An Adeptus Mechanicus magos told me that it was one of the few places in the galaxy where it could be stored. The Warsmith Honsou stole it and brought it to this world along with the slaves he took for his forges at the battle's end.'
'Who is Honsou?' asked Pasanius.
'He is the warlord who dwells in the fortress you saw as we came into this valley,' said Ardaric Vaanes.
'It is this Honsou's fortress that is besieged?' said Uriel, unable to mask his interest.
'It is,' confirmed Vaanes, wandering over to join the conversation and squatting down on his haunches. 'Why are you so interested in Honsou?'
'We have to get to that fortress.'
Vaanes laughed. 'Then you truly are here on a death oath. Why do you need to get to Honsou's fortress?'
Uriel paused, unsure as to how much he could trust Vaanes, but realised he had no choice and said, 'Our Chief Librarian was granted a vision from the Emperor, a vision of Medrengard and bloated, daemonic womb creatures called daemonculaba giving birth to corrupt, debased Space Marines. We are here to destroy them and I think that more than mere happenstance has brought us to this place.'
'How so?' asked Vaanes.
'Can it be coincidence that this Honsou has returned here with quantities of
gene-seed for these daemonculaba and that we should learn of it from a man who was there to see him take it?'
Vaanes looked Ellard and Leonid up and down. 'I wondered why I hadn't left you to die with the other slaves on the Omphalos Daemonium. Perhaps something other than curiosity stayed my hand.'
Uriel started. 'You know of the Omphalos Daemonium?'
'Of course,' said Vaanes. 'There are few on Medrengard who do not. How is it you know of it?'
'It brought us here,' said Pasanius. 'It appeared within our ship when we made the translation to the immaterium. It killed everyone on board and then brought us here.'
'You willingly travelled within the Omphalos Daemonium?' said Vaanes, aghast.
'Of course not,' snapped Uriel. 'Its daemon creatures overcame us.'
'The Sarcomata…' nodded Vaanes.
'Aye, then the iron giant within the daemon engine brought us here.'
'The iron giant?' asked Leonid. 'The Slaughterman?'
'Slaughterman? No, it said that it only wore the flesh of the Slaughterman, that it was the will of the Omphalos Daemonium that commanded.'
'Then the daemon is free!' breathed Vaanes.
'What is it anyway?' asked Uriel.
'No one knows for sure,' began a sallow-skinned Space Marine of great age wearing armour of deep red and bone, with a raven's head on his shoulder guard. 'But there are tales aplenty, oh yes, tales aplenty.'
'And would you care to share any of them?' asked Vaanes, impatiently.
'I was just about to,' growled the Space Marine, 'if you'd given me half a chance.'
The Space Marine turned to Uriel and said, 'I am Seraphys of the Blood Ravens, and I served in my Chapter's Librarium in the years before my disgrace. One of the greatest driving forces of my Chapter is the seeking out of dark knowledge and forbidden lore, and over the millennia of our existence we have discovered much, and all of it gathered it aboard our Chapter fortress.'
'Your Chapter knew of the Omphalos Daemonium?'
'Indeed we did. In fact, it was a source of particular interest to many of our secret masters. Over the centuries I read much of this daemonic entity, and though much of what was said I believe to be false, there are some things I believe are true. It is said that once it was an ancient and powerful daemon prince, a servant of the Blood God that existed only for slaughter. The skulls it piled before its dark master were legion, but always one creature ever outdid it, one of the Blood God's most favoured avatars, a daemon known as the Heart of Blood: so terrible it was said to have the power to summon bloodstorms and drain the vital fluid from its victims without even laying a blade to their flesh.'
Uriel and Pasanius shared a start of recognition as Seraphys continued. 'This avatar was a daemon of deadly artifice who forged for itself a suit of armour into which it poured all of its malice, all of its hate and all of its cunning, that even the blows of its enemies would strike them down.'
'What became of these daemons?' said Uriel.
Seraphys leaned closer, warming to his tale. 'Some say they fought a great battle that sundered the very fabric of the universe, hurling the debris across the firmament and thus were the galaxies and planets born. Others say that the avatar of the Blood God outwitted the Omphalos Daemonium, and trapped it within the fiery heart of a mighty daemon engine bound to the service of the Iron Warriors, becoming the dread chariot of the Slaughterman - ever to hunger in torment for vengeance.'
'Then how is it that it is free?'
'Ah, well, that the ancient legends do not tell,' said Seraphys sadly.
'I think I might know,' said Leonid.
'You?' said Seraphys. 'How could a lowly Guardsman know of such things?'
Leonid ignored the Blood Raven's patronising tone. 'Perhaps because when Ardaric Vaanes and his warriors freed us from captivity, we were able to defeat the Slaughterman and drive him into the firebox of the daemon engine. We thought we had destroyed him.'
'But all it did was free the daemon within the firebox to take the Slaughterman's flesh for its own,' said Vaanes.
'Does anyone know what became of the Omphalos Daemonium's rival, the avatar?' asked Sergeant Ellard hesitantly.
'There is nothing in the tales I have read of its ultimate fate,' said Seraphys.
'Why?'
'Because I think I have seen it.'
'What? When?' asked Leonid.
'On Hydra Cordatus,' explained Ellard. 'Sir, do you remember the stories that went around when the Mori Bastion fell?'
'Yes,' nodded Leonid. 'Mad stuff, ravings about a giant warrior killing everything in the bastion by his voice alone and a whirlwind that… fed on blood.'
By now a sizeable crowd had gathered to hear these tales and the synchronicity of these revelations was lost on no one.
Ellard nodded. 'I saw it too, but… I didn't say anything. I thought they'd section me for sure if I said what I'd seen.'
'Don't keep us in suspense, sergeant, what happened to it?' demanded Vaanes.
'I don't know for sure,' said Ellard, 'but once it killed Librarian Corwin, it opened up some kind of… gateway… I think. I'm not sure exactly. It was some kind of black thing that it stepped through and vanished. That was the last I saw of it.'
Vaanes rose from his squatting position and said, 'I think you bring trouble with you, Uriel Ventris of the Ultramarines. This is a deadly world, but we can survive here. We steal what we need from the Iron Warriors, and they in turn try to hunt us. It is a fine game, but I think your coming to Medrengard has just skewed that game.'
'Then perhaps that is a good thing,' pointed out Uriel.
'I wouldn't bet on it,' cautioned Vaanes.
Pasanius sat alone on the rocks outside the blockhouse, more tired than he could ever remember being. He had been awake now for… days, weeks? He couldn't tell, but he knew it had been a long time. The sky above was still that damnable white, and how anyone could live on such a world, where there was no change to mark the passing of time, was beyond him. The crushing monotony of such a bleak vista made him want to weep.
He held his arms out before his chest, turning both hands before his face. His left gauntlet was torn and scarred, ruined by the constant climbing over razor-sharp rocks, but his right was as unblemished as the day it had been crafted to the flesh and bone of his elbow. Thus far he had been able to keep its unique ability to repair itself secret from his battle-brothers, but he knew it was only a matter of time before its miraculous powers became known. Pasanius hammered his fist into the ground, pounding a powdered crater in the rock, smashing his fingers to oblivion then watching in disgust as they reknitted themselves once more.
The shame of concealing such evil from his brethren had almost been too much to bear and the thought of disappointing Uriel terrified him. But to admit to such weakness was as great a shame, and the guilt of this secret had torn a hole in his heart that he could not absolve.
There was no doubt in his mind that it had been beneath the surface of Pavonis, facing the ancient star god known as the Nightbringer, that he had been cursed. He remembered the aching cold of the blow from its scythe that had severed his arm, the crawling sensation of dead flesh where once there had been living tissue. Was it possible that some corruption had been passed to him by the Nightbringer's weapon and infected his body with this terrible sickness?
The adepts of Pavonis had been quick to provide a replacement arm, the very best their world could produce, for Techmarine Harkus and Apothecary Selenus to reattach. He had never been comfortable with the idea of an augmetic arm, but it was not until the battles aboard the Death of Virtue that he had begun to suspect that there was more to his new limb than met the eye. What crime had he committed to be so punished? Why had he been visited by such an affliction? He knew not, but as he removed his breastplate and took out his knife, he vowed he would pay for it in blood.
Uriel lay back and tried to sleep, his eyelids drooping and heavy. At least in the blockhouse there were areas out of the perpetual light of
the dead sky, where darkness and sleep could be sought. But sleep was proving to be elusive, his thoughts tumbling through his head in a jumble.
Uriel now felt sure that there was more to this quest than he had initially thought. He knew he should not have been surprised to learn that the Heart of Blood was more than just an artefact, that the schemes of daemons were never straightforward. Were he and Pasanius part of some elaborate vengeance the Omphalos Daemonium had planned for its ancient rival? Who knew, but Uriel vowed that he would not allow himself to be used in such a way. Dark designs were afoot and a confluence of events had come together to bring them to this point. Despite the dangers around him, he felt on some instinctual level that the will of the Emperor was working through him.
Why then did he feel so empty, so hollow?
Uriel had read of the many saints of the Imperium and had heard numerous sermons delivered with impassioned oratory from the pulpit of how the Emperor's power was like a fire within that burned hotter than the brightest star. But Uriel felt no such fire, no light burned within his breast and he had never felt so alone.
Sermons always spoke of heroes as shining examples of virtue: pure of heart, untainted by doubt and unsullied by self aggrandisement.
Given such qualifications, he knew he was no hero, he was outcast, denied even the name of his Chapter and cast within the Eye of Terror with renegades and traitors. Where was the bright light of the Emperor within him here?
He shifted his position, trying to get comfortable on the hard rockcrete floor so that he might be rested enough to press on to the fortress. He knew that the chances of their surviving the journey to the fortress of Honsou were minimal, but perhaps there was some way to entice these renegades to join them. In all likelihood they would all die, but who would miss such worthless specimens as them anyway?
Ultramarines Omnibus (warhammer 40000: ultramarines) Page 80
