Dark Adeptus

by Ben Counter

  Yes, Urkrathos would rule and above him Abad­don, united in enslaving the galaxy. But for now, there was work to be done. The Hellforger would have to be prepared for a full atmospheric landing, the troops regrouped and reorganized into landing par­ties and space cleared for the tribute itself. But these were all details. The end was now in sight. Urkrathos had won.

  Chapter Seventeen

  'When it was over, when the blood had dried and the fires had died down, then we found we were the same as we had always been - small and terrified human beings, with only the light of the Emperor to see by in this dark galaxy of sin!

  - Saint Praxides of Ophelia VII,

  'Notes on Martyrdom'

  'What would you have me do?'

  It was a long time since Archmagos Veneratus Scraecos had spoken physical words through his vocabulator unit. It was still a strange feeling, heavy and primitive, but he knew it was the right way to conduct himself when speaking with the concen­trated knowledge-construct that was the avatar of the Omnissiah Himself.

  There was no reply. Scraecos stared intently at the brushed ferrocrete floor of the hangar. He felt the intense scrutiny beating down on him like the rays of a sun. He was being judged. The Omnissiah was judging him with every moment, of course, but now it was so palpable he felt as if he were being taken apart piece by piece, bionic by bionic and inspected.

  If there were any faults in him, if Scraecos failed the silent interrogation, then there could only be one result. He would be destroyed completely, the essence of the machine stripped away from both his bionic and biological parts until he was just a collec­tion of meaningless junk. He had seen it happen before. The tech-priests he had led down to this place a thousand years ago had not been as strong-willed or comprehending as Scraecos himself and they had been seared away from their bodies and annihilated. It was an awesome demonstration of the Omnissiah's power. Just as He could comprehend the universe, so He could choose not to comprehend you and in doing so would make you cease to exist. That was true power. The Omnissiah decided what was real or not and that was why He was the rightful ruler of the universe.

  'Look upon me.'

  The voice of the Omnissiah was pure knowledge beamed right into Scraecos's head. Scraecos was almost blinded by its magnitude. To simply replicate that voice through base mechanical means would be impossible. The very voice of the Omnissiah spoke of infinity.

  Scraecos looked up. The face of the Castigator looked down upon him. Scraecos had been awestruck the first time he had seen it and that feel­ing was not gone now. The massive burning eyes were the only features, but they welled with knowl­edge so ancient that the human race itself was just a footnote to the last chapter. Their gaze pinned Scrae­cos to the floor, stripped him of all his rank and experience so he was like a child before the Castiga­tor.

  The Castigator was the avatar of the Omnissiah. Through the Castigator, the Omnissiah spoke directly to His servants. It was a measure of how corrupt and ignorant the Adeptus Mechanicus had become that the Omnissiah had to stoop so low as to give itself physical form. It was so He could instruct the tech-priests of Chaeroneia without the self-serving Archmagi of the Imperium to twist His teachings. Similarly, He had required Chaeroneia to be removed from the Imperium so His teachings would remain pure. It meant that bringing Chaeroneia back into real space was a great risk, because the Imperium still had the chance to corrupt the ways of the True Mechanicus before the Omnissiah's face could be revealed to the rest of the galaxy.

  'You ask me what I would have you do. Have you learned so little?'

  Scraecos reeled with the intensity of the Omnis­siah's disapproval. 'I have... I have been apart from myself for so long. I have not been one, but many. I fear my own self has been weakened.'

  'No. It is stronger. You now understand why I chose you first. And why I choose you again now. Is it not so?'

  'Yes! Yes, my lord, it is so! Because I am a killer!'

  'You are a killer.' The word was like a mark of approval. Scraecos shuddered - no one tech-priest had ever been given praise by the Castigator before. 'Though you have long been a builder of my edifice of knowledge, yet you have never truly been an archmagos. You have always been a murderer. When you slaved for the corrupt Mechanicus, you killed for rank and favour. Is this not true?'

  'It is true.' Scraecos had indeed killed. Infighting between the Magi of the Adeptus Mechanicus was sometimes far more intense than the outside Imperium had ever realized. Research accidents, nat­ural disasters, spacecraft wrecks and outright assassinations could all be arranged and Scraecos had done so several times in reaching the rank of archmagos veneratus. He had killed to ensure it was he who was sent to Chaeroneia in the first place, to follow up rumours of pre-imperial technology beneath the toxic deserts. He had never, ever imag­ined he would find something like the Castigator - but it was ultimately killing that had brought him before the avatar at that moment.

  'And you are a killer still. This is why even the other magi of Chaeroneia singled you out and gave you your self again. Dull-minded as they are, they could not mistake the killer inside you. Even when your mind merged with theirs, the spark was there still.'

  Scraecos was taken aback. 'Do they not serve you well?'

  'Of course. Every living thing on this world must. But though I understand their failings and use them, they are failings still. They do as they are instructed and nothing else, but do I not command you to seek innovation always? Yet their thinking is not innova­tive. As it is with the machine, so it must be with the mind, so that machine and flesh and soul can become part of the machine that is the universe. You, Archmagos Veneratus Scraecos, you are not so. You do not just kill because it is required of you by supe­riors or circumstance. You kill because you enjoy it. That was the part of you that the Mechanicus could not erase. It was the part that sought me out and led you here. That was the free part of your mind that would listen to my creed. It was why you were the first and why you are here now.'

  'Then you really did call me here.'

  'Of course. Nothing that happens on this world happens without my willing it. You already know what you must do.'

  'Yes.' Scraecos's voice was trembling. He was filled with a strange emotion, something that had left its echo on him from an early life he did not remember. It was cold and gripping - it robbed his mind of its thoughts leaving only itself behind. He searched through his datacores and realised that it was fear. For the first time in longer than he could remember, Scraecos was afraid. He was being called forth to do the work of the Omnissiah and he was afraid of fail­ure. You want me to kill.'

  'The outer moat of this facility has been breached. The hunter-programs failed to catch their prey. The intruders are within the titan works. You are to take the works garrison, confront the intruders and kill them. They include unbelievers who have evaded the grasp of the tech-priests since Chaeroneia left real space. Others amongst them are interlopers from the Imperium, come to steal what is rightly the domin­ion of the Omnissiah. They will be annihilated. Other visitors from real space will soon arrive, believ­ers in our cause who will help us spread the true creed of the Omnissiah. The intruders must be destroyed before our allies arrive. I leave this task in your hands, Archmagos Veneratus Scraecos. You have proven yourself above the other tech-priests in the depth of your lust for destruction. Hold it in check no longer. In doing this you will prove yourself wor­thy of becoming my first prophet. Your success is a mathematical certainty. Go now and do the work of your Omnissiah.'

  Scraecos was filled with rapture. He was the prophet. It was already done - only the inevitable victory remained to be played out. Yes, he was a killer. Yes, he enjoyed it. And yes, it was the will of the Omnissiah, spoken through the Castigator itself, that Scraecos kill for his god. The fear was chased away by the joy. 'I shall not fail, my lord!' cried Scrae­cos, switching his vocabulator up to its maximum, exultant volume. 'I am the finality of the equation, for death is my logic!'

  The C
astigator's gaze turned away from Scraecos again. Scraecos was no longer pinned in place by the awesome weight of the Omnissiah's scrutiny. He was free and his task was clear. The titan works main­tained a formidable garrison of troops, since it was a site that deserved far better than the gaggles of menials the tech-priests had used to intercept the intruders. Ever since the Castigator had demanded the rebuilding of the titan works and the dedication of Manufactorium Noctis to the production of the war machines, it had also stipulated that military forces of the highest order should be ready to protect the works at all costs. Now the Omnissiah's wisdom was again revealed, as those troops confirmed the absolute certainty of Scraecos's victory.

  Scraecos bowed before the Castigator. Then he turned away from the avatar and walked back towards the elevator that would take him up to ground level, to the garrison where he would reacti­vate the army.

  So would the equation be ended. And so would death be confirmed as the ultimate logic.

  ARCHMAGOS SAPHENTIS LOOKED up from the cogitator unit that dominated one wall of the bunker. The cog­itator was a biomechanical monstrosity, wrought from bone and iron with internal clockwork-like workings resembling the pulsing of organs inside a giant metal ribcage.

  'The configuration is unorthodox.' he said, 'but it can be worked with.'

  'Make it quick.' said Alaric.

  The strike force had found the bunker a short dis­tance inside the watchtower perimeter. It was blistered up from the rockcrete, the stony surface dis­figured by vein-like growths and it looked abandoned although the cogitator was working. The bunker stank of rotting biological matter and the air was almost unbreathable for an unaugmented human. Antigonus and his tech-priests were gathered just outside, keeping watch with the rest of Alaric's squad. The titan works were large enough that iso­lated corners of it like this could exist away from the eyes of the tech-priests - but there was no doubt it was only a matter of time before the Dark Mechanicus forces found them, especially if they were aware of Saphentis accessing the cogitator.

  'We need a plan.' Interrogator Hawkespur was say­ing. 'We're blind here.'

  'I agree.' said Alaric. 'My squad can fight no matter what, but we'll only have a chance of hurting the Dark Mechanicus if we know what we're doing.'

  'Priority one is the Standard Template Constructs. If it's here, we need evidence of it and we need to destroy it if we can. I don't think there's much chance of us recovering it. And if it did this to Chaeroneia, I don't think we'd want to.'

  'And priority two?'

  'Cause as much destruction as we can.'

  'I think that will take care of itself.' Alaric looked back at Saphentis. 'Can you find anything?'

  'The terminal has relatively comprehensive access.' said Saphentis. 'I should be able to acquire physical schematics.'

  'Will they know you're in?' asked Hawkespur.

  'Almost certainly.' Saphentis extended a pair of dataprobes into the cogitator, puncturing a large, veiny stomach-like organ filled with liquid data-medium. 'Ah. Yes. The titan works requires enormous amounts of power because of the metalworks and foundries that take up most of the space below the surface. It absorbs the majority of the remaining mineral output of the planet. Another major power drain is the central spire. It appears this is also the nexus for communications and information systems planetwide. The schematics are incomplete and fragmented, perhaps due to the bio-organic nature of much of the construction. I am downloading what I can.'

  'Haulvarn? Anything yet?' voxed Alaric.

  'Not yet.' voxed Brother Haulvarn from outside. 'A few flying contacts, probably animals.'

  'Don't assume anything.' said Alaric.

  'There is a third power drain.' continued Saphentis as he inserted dataprobes into various interfaces and orifices in the cogitator's innards. 'Some way below the surface. The schematics suggest a void in the underground constructions large enough for a Titan refitting or refuelling hangar.' Saphentis paused and suddenly withdrew his dataprobes, recoiling from the cogitator. 'They are aware of my intrusion. Countermeasures are imminent.'

  'Do they know where we are?' asked Alaric.

  'Possibly.'

  'Then what do you have?'

  Saphentis's dataprobes folded back into his bionic hands and he took out his dataslate. The slate's screen was covered in sketchy schematics. Alaric looked closer.

  The titan works were huge. The blasted, blistered rockcrete expanse of the Titan yard was just the uppermost level of a massive industrial complex that punched down through into the planet's crust below the ash deserts. The physical schematics were over­laid with the power usages of the various sections and the forges where Titan parts were being produced were marked out with vivid colours to show how much power they were draining from Manufactorium Noctis. The void Saphentis had noticed was just below the surface, a chamber bored into solid rock the size of a spacecraft hangar. It was using up enor­mous amounts of energy.

  'Close in on the surface.' said Alaric. 'We need somewhere we can defend.'

  The schematics shifted to show the plan of the titan works' surface. The Titans themselves took up most of the area, with the rest mostly housing fuel and maintenance facilities, or enormous ammo loading machines which heaved shells for Vulcan cannon and power cells for plasma blastguns up to the Titans' weaponry.

  'There.' said Alaric. He pointed to a sprawling mass of metal - a fallen Titan, perhaps one that had been destroyed in an accident or was somehow flawed and was being disassembled. It was a short run from the bunker. 'We'll make a stand there. The fuel and ammo facilities won't take kindly to a firefight and any bunkers will probably be occupied. But there's plenty of cover in the Titan parts and they're made of the toughest stuff the Mechanicus can produce.'

  'You're right.' said Hawkespur, 'But then what?'

  'Everything they've thrown at us, we've either beaten or escaped. That means they'll bring out the big guns and that means daemons. But the Dark Mechanicus here don't realize they're working with daemons at all. Our best chance of really hurting them is to face their daemons in battle. They might not know how to react if they realize their best weapons aren't their own. As soon as we get the chance, we make for here.' Alaric indicated the power-draining void beneath the centre of the titan works. That's where this place is controlled from.'

  'How do you know?' asked Hawkespur.

  'Because I just do.' replied Alaric bluntly. 'The same thing I felt when I faced Ghargatuloth. I feel it on Chaeroneia and it's coming from there. Either we force it out to fight us, or we go in there to get it. Either way, we fight.'

  'It seems.' said Saphentis, 'that this plan, if it can be called such, affords us little chance of survival.'

  'That's correct, archmagos. Is that something you object to?'

  'Not at all, justicar. I am free to risk my life if there is little chance of that life continuing. It gives me the advantage of logical freedom.'

  'Then it's agreed.' Alaric opened up the vox. 'We're moving out. Defensive position four hundred metres east, at the fallen Titan.'

  Acknowledgement runes flickered on Alaric's retina from his squad members. 'Understood.' voxed Magos Antigonus. 'But I won't quite be myself until I find a more intact body. You do realize, justicar, that there is an alternative opportunity that presents itself to me?'

  'I do.' said Alaric. 'But I'd rather not play that hand yet. See what they'll throw at us. Then we go for the end game.'

  'Very well. My tech-priests are moving out now.'

  Alaric looked at Hawkespur. 'Are you ready for this?'

  'Justicar, no matter what happens my life is over. This planet has seen to that already. So it's not a question of how ready I am. It's a question of how much damage I can do to these heretics before I die.' Hawkespur took out her marksman's pistol.

  'Inquisitor Nyxos trained me well. He always taught me that it would one day come down to nothing more than a gun and a handful of faith. I am glad I listened to him.'

  'All Marine
s.' voxed Alaric, 'move out.' He led the way out of the bunker and into the shadow of the watchtowers. Already the tech-priests and Grey Knights were hurrying warily across the rockcrete towards the hulking, broken shape of the fallen Titan that could just be seen in the middle distance.

  Alaric could feel the malice stronger now, as if something dark and terrible was waking up below his feet. It was watching him, watching them all. He could feel the strings it pulled, routes of black sorcery reaching into the minds of the titan works' troops, guiding them towards the intruders to destroy them. It was a force of absolute destruction, horrible but somehow pure in its purpose.

  Chaos was nothing more than lies and corruption given form and Chaeroneia was infused with it - but it was a kind of Chaos Alaric had never faced before, somehow hard and calculating, murderous but cold-blooded. It was the kind of malicious intelligence that had built a legion of Titans and yet waited a thousand years to use them, that could corrupt an entire planet of Omnissiah-fearing tech-priests with­out them ever realising the true source of the power that commanded them.

  Alaric had never known fear, not as a normal man would understand it. But he did know well the feel­ing when he was facing something that should never exist and that had the capacity to wound him down to his very soul. He felt it now. Chaeroneia could consume him if he let it, and if he wasn't strong enough then he would lose more than his life in the shadow of these god-machines.

  'Position in sight.' voxed Brother Cardios from up ahead. 'Looks cold. We're moving in now.'

  'Good. I'm right behind you.' Alaric almost uncon­sciously checked the load of his storm bolter as he hurried across towards the Titan. He ran through the Lesser Rites of Preparedness in his mind, knowing that the Grey Knights and the tech-priests would all be performing their own version of the rites, prepar­ing themselves to fight and die as best they could.