by Braden Campbell, Mark Clapham, Ben Counter, Chris Dows, Peter Fehervari, Steve Lyons
Over the roar of bolters, Natorian barely heard the distinct hiss of air escaping. Debris on the floor began to tumble towards Fakuno’s position. Natorian glanced back to see that the wall behind the genestealers that Fakuno had incinerated was white hot, cracks running across it. Fragments were beginning to be pulled towards those cracks.
Natorian was about to shout a warning but it was too late. Fractures emerged in the wall at tremendous speed, hairlines turning into chasms within seconds, and the whole wall collapsed outwards, sucked away into the vacuum of space. The genestealers went too, limbs flailing as they were sucked outwards. Natorian found himself being pulled towards the abyss, but as he fell managed to find a handhold on the rough floor. He seized Karlan as the Blood Angel fell past, grabbing one of his arms and swinging him around so he could hold on to the floor too. As they began to pull themselves towards the nearest exit, Natorian looked around to see Fakuno and Stannos doing the same, but of Lanneus and Godrew there was no sign.
Ahead, the tunnel entrance began to close, the material of the walls contracting as if alive. Time seemed to stretch as Natorian and the others dragged themselves towards it, using precarious hand- and footholds to prevent themselves being sucked out into space.
Natorian and Karlan got through the gap first, and forced the entry to stay open as Stannos pulled Fakuno through. When the last of them had made it, they let it go and the opening closed entirely, the wall closing up as if the chamber had never been there.
‘Godrew? Lanneus?’ Fakuno was saying into the vox as he got to his feet. ‘Can you hear us?’
Several seconds passed with only static on the vox, before finally there was a reply.
‘We live, for the moment,’ said Godrew. ‘Lanneus and I are out on the hull, we are trying to find an entry back into the hulk. Where are you? How fare the others?’
‘We are still within, all together,’ said Fakuno. ‘Find a way back in, we will push on and regroup when we can. Stay alive, brothers.’
‘By the Emperor’s will,’ said Godrew, and Fakuno cut the vox.
They quickly checked their equipment for damage sustained in the battle. Natorian looked at the readouts on his helmet display. Everything was in working order.
‘No damage here,’ he said.
‘Battle-ready,’ said Karlan.
‘Lost some grenades to the vacuum,’ said Stannos. ‘Otherwise, fully combat-effective.’
‘The luck of command, then,’ said Fakuno inspecting his combi-bolter. ‘The flamethrower is damaged. I will have to rely on bolter fire from here on out.’
Stannos tilted his head, looking at Fakuno’s weapon, which had been passed down by many Salamanders before him.
‘Crushed ignition, shattered tank… yes, that will need some repairs,’ said Stannos, reading whatever complex diagnostics his bionic eye showed him.
‘Thank you for your second opinion, brother,’ said Fakuno drily, checking his bolter’s ammunition and looking down its sights. ‘We need to minimise fire and explosives, if we are to avoid another breach. From here on out we aim tight for the head and body.’
‘What manner of ship is this, with walls like eggshells?’ asked Karlan.
‘Perhaps it is not a ship,’ said Natorian. ‘It may be an artificial moon or station. Either way it is very old, very alien.’
He spat out the last words with disgust.
‘Could the genestealers have built it?’ asked Karlan.
‘That would seem unlikely,’ said Stannos. ‘They are mindless creatures, not builders.’
‘Whoever built this ship, they are long dead,’ said Fakuno. ‘While those genestealers are very alive. We need to rejoin our brothers, and finish this.’
There was only one way to go, and they ran in that direction, boots crunching through debris underfoot, constantly alert for a further genestealer attack. As they ran, the corridor opened out into a vast chamber, a high vaulted ceiling above divided by columns. Natorian had a gut sense that they were heading towards the threat, a familiar rising anticipation and tension.
‘Some of this is bone,’ said Stannos, looking down at the debris they were kicking and crunching through as they ran, his enhanced senses taking in information at a speed even other Space Marines could not comprehend. ‘Also armour, spent ammunition.’
‘I smell blood too,’ said Karlan. ‘Old blood, but blood. Thick enough to get through these filters.’ He tapped the muzzle of his helmet. ‘No, wait… fresher blood, over here.’
They were approaching a pile of bodies, a huddle of humanoid forms entangled in a heap.
‘Form a defensive position,’ Fakuno ordered. ‘These are not ancient bones.’
They halted near the bodies, Stannos and Karlan pointing their weapons outwards, searching for any movement, while Fakuno beckoned for Natorian to join him to inspect the corpses.
‘What say you, Brother Natorian?’ asked Fakuno, as he rolled over the top corpse. It was of a mortal man in red uniform, stained with a darker red.
‘Servants of my Chapter,’ Natorian said, though Fakuno would have guessed that just as Natorian had, the moment they saw fallen mortals. He helped Fakuno move more corpses. The servants’ clothes were slashed, but also burned in places. Some seemed to have died in terror, others looked placid, as if death had come quietly. The corpses were in the early stages of decay, and very limp, as if their bones were shattered.
‘Genestealers did not kill these people,’ said Natorian quietly. ‘Not all of them. They seem to have been dropped from a great height, perhaps after death…’
He looked up, but the darkness consumed any hole in the ceiling above from which the bodies could have been discarded into this sprawling crypt.
‘If I wanted facts, Natorian, I would have used Stannos’ eyes,’ said Fakuno, a cold urgency to his voice. ‘What do you see?’ Natorian looked down at the bodies once more, and felt a series of fleeting impressions. Of fear, of confusion, of a sense of betrayal and that the universe was not as it should be. Of a powerful presence, strong enough to dominate weak and powerful souls alike. Natorian could feel that presence himself, above them now.
He shook off the impressions like a bad taste, filled with revulsion.
‘Something terrible nests near,’ he said, spitting the words. ‘It can break the minds of men to its will and it cannot be allowed to leave here.’
The words seemed inadequate as he mouthed them. The impressions were so fleeting, vague, lost emotions of the dead. He realised he was offering no concrete threat, nothing tactically useful. But what need did they have for his advice, these scions of great Chapters, with their long history dating back to when the Emperor himself bestrode the galaxy?
‘Whatever this evil is, we will find it and destroy it,’ said Fakuno, and Stannos and Karlan gave an enthusiastic ‘aye’ of support. Natorian had offered them vagaries, yet they trusted his instincts implicitly. He realised that this was what it was to be part of the Deathwatch, part of the Adeptus Astartes even: that long history or pedigree meant much, but little compared to the bonds formed in battle, and the bonds between this kill team were stronger than any ancestral history.
They kept moving, and when Natorian passed a pillar bearing the faint signs of a red bird painted there long ago he only briefly paused. He thought to mention it to his brothers, but then decided against it and moved on, quickly and in silence. The dreams of the Blood Ravens were irrelevant to the Deathwatch.
At the far end of the crypt, they found stairs leading up, spiralling away into darkness, and they followed them. After the organic shapes of previous rooms, these steps were flat and angular, worn to a polish – countless footsteps had passed this way over the millennia.
When they reached the top, they emerged into one corner of a vast chamber of onyx, the floor chiselled perfectly flat, the walls reaching up in sharp, brutal columns, all intersecting high above where a sickly light fell from some unknown source. High on the walls were sprawling balconies and alcoves
carved into the black, stone-like substance, and at the very centre of the room, protruding from the floor, stood a sculpture of twisting shapes and harsh angles, light gleaming off its many facets in impossible ways.
‘It looks like an altar in a cathedral,’ said Karlan.
‘A black cathedral,’ said Stannos. ‘I have never seen a place like this built in worship of the Emperor.’
‘There’s no stench of heresy here though,’ said Natorian. He knew the presence of Chaos, of daemonic influences and the heretical sects that bowed to them, but this wasn’t that. It was alien, dead. As foul as this alien architecture was, it was not the source of Natorian’s visions.
‘This is not the work of genestealers,’ said Fakuno.
‘No,’ said a new voice, and the brothers of the Deathwatch snapped their weapons in its direction. It was Lanneus who spoke as he walked alone across the sheer black floor. His voice was cracked, his armour battered and scorched. He was alone.
‘The genestealers moved in here from elsewhere in the hulk,’ said Lanneus.
‘How do you know all this?’ asked Karlan. ‘And where is Godrew?’
‘Godrew did not reach the interior, I’m afraid,’ said Lanneus. ‘He struggled, but was lost to the wilds of space. And as for how I know, I simply observe, and apply my own knowledge. There is nothing that cannot be discovered if you apply your mind to it. Isn’t that right, Natorian?’
‘That is certainly our belief,’ said Natorian, the words terse and hollow in his mouth. Lanneus’ manner perturbed him.
‘You bring us news of our brother’s death, and lecture us on knowledge?’ spat Karlan. ‘How is he lost and yet you found your way back to us, Librarian?’
‘Karlan, you… overreach yourself,’ said Fakuno. ‘Do you not see, this is no time for petty recriminations?’
‘Karlan is right to feel angry,’ said Lanneus, and Natorian felt a strange pressure building behind his eyes. ‘This old Blood Raven does not blame him for his thirst for vengeance, for his outrage.’
‘I do not need you to defend me,’ snarled Karlan, his temper flaring. His words were beginning to slur.
‘Karlan!’ shouted Fakuno, standing between the Blood Angel and the Blood Raven. ‘Enough!’
The rest of the chamber seemed distant now. Even Stannos, who had not spoken, seemed transfixed with the argument between Lanneus and Karlan. Something was sticking in Natorian’s head: Blood Angels, Blood Ravens, blood, blood, blood.
Karlan let out a bestial roar and lunged at Fakuno. Stannos tried to pull him back.
Blood, thought Natorian. Blood will be spilt.
Blood had been spilt, long ago, when Natorian was a child. The blood of all he cared for, while Natorian hid. Red blood spilling across the floor, and over the bodies–
It had been aliens who spilt that blood, the blood of Natorian’s family. Just as it had been aliens that he had fought across the galaxy ever since, fought with cold, hard, rage. Aliens all around them. A galaxy full of aliens to be fought.
Aliens to be fought now. Natorian’s cold hatred of the alien cut through the thoughts of blood and burning, allowed him to see the truth.
They had all been beguiled, focussed on each other, their minds clouded.
The genestealers were all around them. Dozens of them, close enough to touch the Space Marines in their midst, closing in quietly. Natorian drew in a sharp, flat breath – how could they not have seen what was right in front of them?
There was only one way. That cold, hard rage flowed through Natorian, focussed into bioelectricity, into his weapon. Natorian slammed the base of his staff into the floor and unleashed a shock of bioelectricity that shot through the air to his target as he spoke the name.
‘Lanneus!’ boomed Natorian, and a bioelectric bolt hit Natorian’s mentor in the chest, knocking him back. The genestealers scrambled out of the way as Lanneus reeled and stumbled between them, then closed their ranks.
Lanneus’ influence broken, the kill team could see the genestealers all around them, and reacted fluidly. Fakuno and Stannos let go of Karlan, who shook his head and let out a low groan, but quickly regained his senses. Fakuno and Stannos raised their bolters, opening fire. Natorian focussed his anger, letting out a steady stream of bioelectric bursts into the genestealers, driving them back. They had held back while Lanneus had the Deathwatch under his influence, but now they responded to being attacked with slashing claws, jumping forwards to gouge and tear at the Space Marines.
‘Fakuno to Lethal Intent,’ Fakuno snapped, while firing bursts into the mass of xenos. ‘We have located the genestealer threat and are being overwhelmed. I authorise an immediate neurotoxin strike to our position. Come about and target our beacon.’ Stannos began to set up a homing device, his gauntleted fingers adjusting the sensitive equipment quickly and carefully.
‘How did we not see them?’ demanded Stannos as he worked, clearly unnerved that even his senses could be overcome. ‘How?’
‘Lanneus,’ said Natorian. He felt no undue humility speaking to these First Founding Adeptus Astartes now. He was one of them, and he knew of what he spoke. This was the knowledge that mattered, the kind gained through hard experience. ‘He influenced us all, drew us into conflict and blinded us to our own mission.’
‘He filled my mind with anger,’ said Karlan. His voice was weary and battered, but his bolter joined the fray, firing on the xenos surrounding them. ‘Pushing thoughts of rage into my head.’
‘How could a psyker blind us all?’ asked Stannos.
‘It was not Lanneus alone who did this,’ said Natorian. ‘Something else acted through him, something that got into his head and increased his abilities. It bent Lanneus’ mind to its will, subjugated him.’
+Subjugated?+ said Lanneus. He was in Natorian’s mind now, reaching out from somewhere among the genestealers. +I have been freed, my mind opened to new knowledge.+
From somewhere within the horde of genestealers a dozen chunks of debris were flung into the air, crackling with psychic energy as they rained down on the kill team at a velocity that would pierce even power armour.
‘No!’ shouted Natorian, wielding his staff upwards, a barely controlled bioelectric burst disintegrating the missiles before they could reach their targets. The burst pushed outwards as well as up, knocking half a dozen genestealers back, buying the kill team a precious few seconds before the next attack.
‘The neurotoxin strike is incoming,’ said Fakuno. ‘The Intent will need to align with this section of the hulk first, so we must hold this position and protect the beacon until then.’
+You will be dead long before,+ said Lanneus in Natorian’s mind. +I will crush you and your beacon.+
Genestealers themselves were swept forwards towards the kill team next, picked up in a wave of psychic energy that ripped slabs of stone from the sheer black floor and turned them into projectiles. Natorian felt spent from the effort of deflecting the previous wave but forced himself to block the wave of psychic energy, holding his staff with both hands, the shaft glowing white as he willed the projectiles to slow. The genestealers themselves kept moving forwards, and as his brothers fought the creatures hand-to-claw he found himself pushed unwillingly out of the defensive circle into the mass of xenos.
+Why bring me here to kill me, Lanneus?+ he asked with a thought.
+I summoned you before my eyes were opened,+ said Lanneus. +I wish I had not. To kill my own brothers was bleak necessity. Your death will weigh heavier still.+
Lanneus’ thoughts had an edge of exhaustion, of frustration to them now. Natorian could feel the exertion of the psychic attacks wearing his mentor down, the contradictions of the lies the Librarian Captain had told himself to justify his betrayal pulling at his sanity.
A genestealer ran at Natorian, clawed limbs slashing. Natorian ducked under one blow and, bioelectric energy coursing through his muscles, punched the creature so hard its purple skull crumpled beneath the blow.
+Where are you, La
nneus?+ he asked without sound. +Stop hiding behind these creatures, let us resolve this like brothers.+
‘I do not hide,’ Lanneus said aloud, and Natorian spun around to face his mentor, raising his staff defensively.
Lanneus’ force sword hit the centre of Natorian’s staff, breaking it in two with a tremendous release of psychic energy that sent both Blood Ravens reeling.
Natorian stood facing Lanneus, the two halves of his staff in his hands. His mentor was panting, luminous mist rising from his mouth, his eyes white with psychic energy. He was truly lost now. This was a dangerous moment – the Blood Raven could open a rift into the warp itself if forced into a further psychic attack. Natorian could feel the presence of his kill team close by, fighting the genestealers. Lanneus’ attention had slipped from them to his old apprentice, so Natorian needed to buy them time to protect the beacon.
Natorian let the broken halves of his staff fall to the floor.
‘I surrender to your greater knowledge,’ he said. ‘Show me what you have seen, Lanneus.’
‘I will show you, Jensus,’ said Lanneus, walking towards Natorian, one hand raised. His eyes were burning, tears streaking down his cheeks and searing the skin red. ‘Open your mind to me, and I will let its will pass through me into you. It is a great, bestial intelligence, a power unseen since the primarchs walked the galaxy.’ Natorian could not lie to his mentor to get close enough to do what had to be done. He chose his words carefully as he took off his helmet and dropped it to the floor. He could feel the primal intensity of the horror that possessed Lanneus reaching out to him. It was lusting after the direct physical contact that would make Natorian’s possession so much easier.
‘I will help you, Lanneus,’ he said with his left hand outstretched.
Lanneus clasped Natorian’s hand in his own with gratitude.
‘Thank you for your faith, Jensus,’ he said. ‘Together we will–’
The sentence ended when Natorian brought his right hand around in a fist, every bit of biomantic power coursing through his arm, strengthening the bones and muscles beyond even the capacity of a Space Marine, streaks of bioelectricity crackling off the knuckles of Natorian’s gauntlet.
