by Braden Campbell, Mark Clapham, Ben Counter, Chris Dows, Peter Fehervari, Steve Lyons
The blow hit Lanneus’ jaw with unnatural strength and speed, and an explosion of psychic energy was unleashed as Natorian’s fist met Lanneus’ face. The impact vaporised Lanneus’ head on contact, a blinding light illuminating the chamber, but the blow also reverberated down Natorian’s arm, the feedback shattering every bone in his arm and hand in multiple places.
The pain was incredible, beyond anything Natorian had ever experienced in his life of war, and as Lanneus’ corpse fell to the floor Natorian stumbled backwards, his arm limp and held together only by his power armour. He fell to his knees, but as he did so the genestealers were in agony too, blinded by the psychic explosion that killed Lanneus, flailing and lashing. Natorian looked across and saw the three survivors of his kill team, their armour dented and slashed, but still alive. He was determined to help them, but as he forced his body to move missiles smashed through the outer wall of the chamber.
The barrage hit, neurotoxic agents rapidly spreading inside as the chamber began to void through the ragged punctures in the hull. Natorian could hear the distant sound of explosions as missiles burst through into other parts of the hulk, unleashing puffs of acidic poison into the whole area.
As the genestealers began to reel, their flesh bubbling and bursting as the toxic clouds consumed them, Natorian quickly scooped up his helmet with his good hand and locked it back on to his head. The chamber was filling with roiling clouds of toxin in spite of the pressure loss, and the flailing genestealers were kicking debris in every direction as they ran.
‘Natorian, withdraw,’ Fakuno ordered over the vox, and Natorian looked up to see the rest of the kill team clearing a path for him, releasing a burst of bolter fire on any genestealers who got too close.
Lanneus’ force sword caught Natorian’s eye, and as a genestealer lurched towards him, screeching in agony and body boiling, Natorian swept up the blade in one hand and decapitated the creature with one swipe.
As he ran to join the kill team, Natorian felt something pull at his consciousness, and he looked across the chamber. There he could see a genestealer, to the eye barely different to any other, but to a psyker like Jensus Natorian it was a burning presence, alight with psychic power. This was the presence he had felt before, much stronger than the psychic background noise of the genestealers, the terrible intelligence that had broken the mind of a once-noble Space Marine like Lanneus.
Then the creature collapsed to the floor, the rushing toxic mist consuming it, and Natorian’s sense of its psychic presence was gone.
As detonations spread deadly clouds of toxins throughout the black cathedral, the kill team evacuated.
Natorian watched the bombardment of Endless Despair through a viewport on board the Lethal Intent. Explosive blooms lit up space as the cruiser’s guns bombarded the hulk. Eventually, the Blood Ravens cruiser Burden of Proof was consumed by the spreading explosions. Natorian had argued that his Chapter should be contacted and allowed to retrieve the ship, but he had been overruled. The Endless Despair was to be marked on Imperial maps as dangerous, and to be destroyed by a larger strike force. The fate of all Blood Ravens on board would be listed as ‘Unknown’ in the Imperial archives, and no further expeditions into the hulk, or any ship connected to it, would be allowed.
Natorian’s broken arm was bound as it healed, and he rested his shattered hand on the pommel of Lanneus’ force sword, which now hung from a belt around his waist.
‘Will you return the sword to the Chapter, my lord?’ asked Heffl. ‘The artificers hold a number of fine staffs of great heritage which might replace yours, I am sure they would be proud to–’
‘No, Heffl,’ said Natorian. ‘I will keep the sword.’
‘Yes, my lord,’ said Heffl with a deep bow. He knew when his master wished to be alone, and he withdrew.
Looking on as the Endless Despair burned in silence, his hand on his dead mentor’s sword, Natorian knew then that there would never be an end to it. From those blighted memories of his early life as the xenos had killed his family, to the life of war he had lived since then as a Blood Raven and a member of the Deathwatch, the different species of alien maintained a relentless onslaught on humanity, and they never stopped. They ravaged, they killed, they even had abominable psykers amongst their numbers that could corrupt noble souls like Lanneus to their repulsive purpose, forcing brother to slay brother. There was no end to the horror of the xenos threat.
They would keep coming, again and again, until the last light in the galaxy was extinguished.
DEATHWATCH 11: Cepheus
Braden Campbell
The chamber into which he walked was circular, high-ceilinged, and lit only by four immense candelabra – one that hung suspended over a small platform in the centre of the room, and three that cast down flickering orange on the watch captains. To his right, obscured within the shadows, was a scribe-servitor. It had quills for fingers and containers of ink mounted on its forearms. A seemingly infinite scroll of parchment protruded from its mouth and spilled across the floor, while its glowing red optics watched him unblinkingly.
Barefoot and dressed only in a heavy robe, he silently made his way to the platform.
The captains surveyed him coolly. It was a tradition that the petitioner neither wore his power armour nor carried a weapon. He was a Space Marine, just as they were, and as such, no longer experienced fear. Still, was it not written in the Codex, ‘Look to your wargear, brothers, and let it never leave your sight. Your armour is your lifeward, and your boltgun is the Emperor’s wrath incarnate.’ To be unarmed and unarmoured conflicted with his psycho-indoctrination.
He suspected that was exactly the point – for the applicant to rendered humble, to be made pliable and open to manipulation. Perhaps he might reveal some hidden truth or detail upon which they might pounce. Well, such tactics might provide fruitful results against a less experienced battle-brother, but there were very few who had lived a life as long and filled with war as he had. He had long since mastered every nuance of the nineteen implants that separated him from mortal men. He could not be manipulated or coerced.
He willed his body to quiet itself. His pulse slowed. His shoulder muscles relaxed. The memorised lines of the Codex Astartes that were calling for him to arm himself against the foe lowered their protestations to a whisper.
The watch captains were each seated in an elaborate throne ringed with a carved wooden desk. As he took his place in the centre of the chamber, thick servo-arms in the backs of their seats lifted them high above the floor where they could suitably lord over those called before them. The centremost of the three, a man with a short, grey beard, tapped a sheaf of parchment. The black surface of his armour was broken only by the bright green field on his right shoulder plate.
‘This council is now come to order,’ he said in the distinctive brogue of his home Chapter. Nearby, the servitor’s quills began scratching against the parchment. ‘State your name, rank, and Chapter of origin for the record.’
‘Ortan Cassius, Chaplain of the Ultramarines.’
‘Presiding are Watch Captain Bresnik, Watch Captain Seumas, and myself, Watch Captain Drusus.’
Cassius was familiar with Drusus and Bresnik, both of whom were stern but well-respected leaders. In their home Chapters, they each commanded a company of one hundred Space Marines, and both were adherents of the Codex. He fully trusted that they would find no fault in what he had done, for had they been in his place they would have done exactly the same.
He did not recall ever hearing Seumas’ name before, however. Nor did he recognise the heraldry of his home Chapter; a yellow field emblazoned with a black, winged lightning bolt.
Bresnik rubbed his cheek. ‘Chaplain Cassius, you have been called here today before a congress of your superiors in the Deathwatch because you have made a specific request. You are petitioning to assemble a kill team and travel to the Ghosarian System in order to locate certain members of your previous kill team, sent there on a mission of lethal investigat
ion.’
‘Yes,’ Cassius said. ‘There has been no communication with them for some time.’
‘There are many possible explanations for why they have so far failed to report in,’ Captain Bresnik said. ‘The parameters of their mission might even forbid it.’
‘I am responsible,’ Cassius answered, ‘and so it falls to me to discover what that explanation is. Not only was I their original team leader, but I was also their Chaplain.’
‘Am I my battle-brother’s keeper?’ Seumas said quietly.
Cassius had never heard the Chaplain’s duty put so poetically before, but he found that he liked the turn of phrase. All loyal Space Marines, regardless of their doctrines, beliefs, or traditions, were ultimately brothers – sharing a genetic lineage that stretched back through ten millennia of unceasing duty to the Emperor. It was easy in these turbulent times for the various Chapters to remain at odds, to be insular and isolated from one another. Yet, the Deathwatch was composed of recruits from many different backgrounds. Friend and foe alike had to learn to work together against the common xenos threat, to eradicate the alien from the face of the galaxy. The duty of a Deathwatch chaplain was therefore compounded beyond such parochial boundaries; he had to guard the spiritual well-being of the whole of the Emperor’s family.
‘Yes, watch captain. I am my battle-brothers’ keeper.’
Watch Captain Drusus continued. ‘We have considered your request, Chaplain Cassius, and are prepared to deliver a verdict.’
‘But firstly,’ Seumas interrupted him, ‘I should like to review the events that took place in the Vadol Majoris System, Ultima Segmentum, at 859680.M41, referred to in your reports as “the Incident at Port Cepheus”.’
Cassius frowned inwardly. To him, Seumas seemed callous and arrogant. ‘I have already submitted my report in full,’ he said, ‘and given it my seal to verify the contents.’
‘Yes, I have it here,’ Seumas replied.
‘Then what more can I tell you that you have not already read?’
‘I beg your indulgence, Chaplain,’ Seumas said. ‘I have not had the same amount of time to pore over your report as my esteemed brothers have.’ He laced his fingers together and leaned forwards intently. ‘I would very much like to hear what happened in your own words. And perhaps you would consent to clarify a few things for me?’
‘I am here to serve, my lords,’ Cassius said.
‘Excellent. It is my understanding that in your time with the Deathwatch, you have undertaken… well, more field missions that I can readily count.’
‘Indeed. It is my understanding that I currently hold the record for both the number of kill team operations, and tours of re-enlistment.’
‘Quite true,’ Captain Bresnik confirmed, ‘and quite commendable.’
‘Many decades of service,’ Seumas said. ‘Indeed, Chaplain, mankind is in your debt. You have done great things to keep the xenos threat at bay. You’ve been the death of orks, eldar, borlac, chuffians, hrud – and now, it seems, an Imperial space station.’
Cassius did not bristle at the implied attack on his character. He had calmed himself to the point where his hearts were beating a mere twenty-five times per minute. Watch Captain Drusus, however, was not so restrained.
‘I will remind you, Captain Seumas, that your own teams have been far from innocent when it comes to the issue of grievous collateral damage.’
Seumas ignored him. ‘Brother-Chaplain, do you feel your actions in this instance were absolutely necessary?’
‘Walls, trenches and towers are no obstacle,’ Cassius said, quoting directly from the writings of Guilliman. ‘Lack of imagination and lack of will are obstacles.’
‘The Codex Astartes,’ Captain Bresnik said in benediction. For a moment the chamber fell silent. Even the scribe-servitor ceased its transcription.
‘As it is written, so it must be. I withdraw my previous comment.’ Captain Seumas cleared his throat. ‘Be that as it may, Chaplain Cassius, even you must admit that some of the elements in your report strain credulity.’
‘Such as?’
‘The creatures, primarily.’
‘Their xeno-identity has been positively confirmed since the incident.’
Seumas paused, considering his next words. ‘Does the name Chaegryn mean anything to you?’
‘That is enough!’ Bresnik shouted, slamming an armoured fist down on the desk before him. The wood cracked with a sound like gunfire. ‘The Chaplain’s report stands. Nothing further can be gained from inference and speculation.’
‘Indeed,’ Drusus said. ‘Chaplain Cassius, after reviewing the details of your petition, the council has decided that–’
‘Drogg Mordakka,’ Seumas exclaimed.
Cassius’ heart rate increased. ‘He has been found? Dealt with?’
Seumas reclined into his seat, confident now that the inquiry would continue. ‘Let the record show that the name Drogg Mordakka refers to an ork leader with an apparent predilection for salvaged Imperial technology. No, Chaplain Cassius, he has not been located or killed, in so far as I am aware. That task was given to you, is that not correct?’
‘It was.’
‘By whom?’
‘Watch Captain Drusus.’
Seumas turned to face the elder captain. ‘Perhaps Watch Captain Drusus could elaborate, then.’
Drusus, clearly annoyed, ran a hand over his beard once more. ‘Drogg Mordakka began raiding Imperial settlements on the Eastern Fringe three years ago. Captain Bresnik and I were aware of him, but did not take any action against him until recently.’
‘Why is that?’ Seumas asked.
Bresnik answered. ‘There were more important threats to deal with. That is, until he attacked the colony on Vinicus.’
‘In the same sector as Port Cepheus,’ Seumas said.
Drusus nodded. ‘Bolstered by that victory, other greenskins rallied to his side. The surge in numbers prompted a re-evaluation, and termination was prescribed. His crusade of violence, the so-called “Waaagh! Mek”, was defeated by a combined Imperial force which included units of the Deathwatch. Mordakka managed to escape destruction however, and Chaplain Cassius was tasked with hunting him down.’
‘And so, Chaplain,’ Seumas glanced down to his notes, ‘your ten-member kill team arrived in the Vadol Majoris System onboard the Veritas, a Gladius-class frigate. And as soon as you exited the warp, you received the distress call from Port Cepheus.’
‘That is correct.’
‘They were under attack by xenos life forms.’
‘Again, correct.’
‘You ordered the Veritas to respond immediately, because you assumed that the port was being attacked by Drogg Mordakka.’
‘At the time, it was the likeliest conclusion,’ Cassius said.
Seumas leaned forwards again, marking carefully every word that was about to proceed from the Chaplain’s mouth. ‘But it wasn’t the greenskins who were attacking the port, was it?’
‘No, watch captain. It was not.’
Port Cepheus was typical of many Imperial refuelling stations. It had a tower at its centre that contained cogitator banks, command decks, and cramped living quarters for any crew or workers beyond mere servitors. From the base of the tower, four fat piers reached out into space. There was an open area on each where a mid-sized vessel could dock. Immense conduits and tanks ran along their upper and lower sides. At their ends were thruster assemblies of titanic proportions that fired occasionally to keep the platform upright and stable. Beneath all of this dangled dozens of pipes, each one several miles long, which vanished into the upper cloud layer of the gas giant that the port orbited. An outside observer might have been left with the impression of a jellyfish trailing its tentacles through the water.
Most of the time, it was a quiet place. Today, however, it was crying out into the void.
Cassius peered into the augur array. There were no enemy vessels on the scope, but sensors could be fooled. He raised his head and sur
veyed his kill team. There were nine of them standing around him; nine battle-brothers drawn from nine different Chapters. It was not the smallest flock he had ever been tasked with shepherding, but it was certainly the most diverse.
‘The distress call is automated,’ Cassius said, referring to the string of numbers, time and date stamps, and the two words that were issuing from the port’s alert systems.
‘Hostica ignotus?’ Koden asked. The Space Wolf’s oversized canine teeth made every consonant he spoke particularly hard.
‘Imperial Navy shorthand,’ replied Vael Donatus, Cassius’ brother of the Ultramarines Chapter. ‘And archaic at that. It means the station is under attack by unidentified hostiles.’
‘It must be the orks,’ Omid snapped. He made a fist with his left hand, the one painted a bright red.
‘An isolated promethium refinery on the edge of the system is just the kind of target Drogg Mordakka would choose,’ Captain Ectros added.
Jonat Teven wasn’t as convinced. ‘Why would they bother to attack this place? Greenskins like a fight – the bigger, the better. There seems little challenge here.’
‘Perhaps they need the fuel,’ Donatus offered.
‘Who else might it be, all the way out here?’ Omid asked.
‘Brother Donatus,’ Cassius said, ‘inform the port that their message has been received and that we are inbound.’
‘We would be wise to use an encrypted channel,’ Omid offered, ‘in case Mordakka is inclined to eavesdrop.’
Ectros gave a snort of derision. ‘You give the orks too much credit.’
‘No, he does not,’ Cassius said sternly. He folded his arms and glared. The captain was as honourable and steadfast a Space Marine as any Cassius had ever met. He was a valuable member of the kill team, but he was too used to being in command. Here in the Deathwatch, his rank did not automatically afford him the same level of command and respect as he enjoyed in the White Consuls. Experience outweighed titles, and Cassius had lived twice as long as he. He gestured for Omid to give an explanation.
