Heroes of the Space Marines

by Nick Kyme

  ‘These things were once our brothers, the product of Challenges past. One of them spoke to me – it revealed that only the first of us to the transportation portal will be relayed to safety. The rest will be left behind, left to the vagaries of the warp.’

  The warriors began to eye one another warily, unsure of how to take the news.

  ‘We should discuss this later,’ said Genareas. ‘For now, I would suggest a deep breath and a tight grip.’

  With that there came a sharp hiss, as the outer seal of the airlock began to lift, revealing the stark oblivion of the immaterium beyond.

  Genareas was the first to brave the cold vacuum, shouldering his flamer and gripping the corrugated hull of the great ship for dear life. He was closely followed by Agon, then Crassus and Septimon. Invictus looked to Moloch, offering him the next place in line but his battle-brother shook his head, eyeing him suspiciously. With a shrug, Invictus made his way into the void, his fingers gripping hard to the strip of weathered metal that was his only lifeline. Just as Moloch joined him on the outer hull there came an almighty blast of air as the plasglass finally gave way under its vicious assault, depressurising the corridor within and blowing flailing mutants into the immaterium.

  Invictus and his brothers quickly made their way across the hull, with the mutated bodies of what were once proud warriors floating away into the black behind them like so much flotsam.

  Though their mucranoid glands would offer protection against the vacuum it would not last indefinitely, and Invictus felt relief wash over him as he saw Genareas opening another airlock up ahead.

  Genareas and Agon made their way into the ship, and the other warriors quickened their pace along the handrail of the hull. Crassus was next into the airlock and Septimon was about to climb inside when Invictus felt the railing suddenly yield under his weight. The iron bolts securing the rail to the hull began to give way, and separate from the ship’s corrugated surface. Invictus glanced back at Moloch, a wicked plan quickly formulating in his mind. One less rival would take him one step closer to victory, and besides, Moloch had always been his inferior.

  Panic suddenly crossed Moloch’s face as he saw Invictus’s look of loathing.

  Both Space Marines moved faster, desperate to reach the airlock before the railing came free altogether. Invictus managed to grip the inside of the door, feeling a strong hand grasp his wrist. With a last look back at Moloch, he pulled hard on the railing, wrenching the remaining rusted bolts from their housing and sending his battle-brother reeling into the immaterium. Moloch’s mouth opened wide in a silent scream as he floated off, and Invictus was pulled inside to safety.

  The warriors began to breath easily once more as the outer seal was brought down with a hiss. Invictus looked to his brothers and saw that more than one of them was regarding him accusatorially.

  ‘What happened to Moloch?’ said Agon, bringing his autogun to bear.

  ‘Do you accuse me, brother?’ Invictus replied, reaching for the bolt pistol in his belt.

  Before anyone could move, both battle-brothers had aimed their weapons. There was a sudden flurry of movement, as Genareas raised his flamer to point at Agon, and in turn Septimon and Crassus pointed their own weapons at Invictus.

  ‘We have enough enemies without turning on each another,’ said Genareas. ‘If we cull our own numbers there is less chance we will even reach the portal to freedom. Once we find it, then we should allow our strength of arms to decide which of us survives. Until then, we are still brothers, we are still the Sons of Malice.’

  Invictus slowly lowered his bolt pistol, and Agon did the same.

  ‘Well met,’ said Genareas. ‘Let’s get moving. It may not take these creatures long to work out our strategy.’ With that he led the way from the airlock and along yet another seemingly endless tunnel.

  The rest of the warriors followed in his stead, but they all regarded each other with a warier eye than they had previously – especially Invictus.

  THE TUNNEL DIPPED, drawing them ever downward as though into the abyss itself. Invictus knew that to be a ridiculous notion – they were on the foundering carcass of an ancient spaceship, and despite its artificial suspensors giving the illusion of gravity, there was no “up” or “down”.

  Nevertheless, they seemed to be drawn deeper into the Labyrinth, and moisture began pooling at their feet. The further they penetrated, the deeper the waters got until they were soon wading waist deep through foetid green sludge.

  Once again, that bellowing voice emanated from some hidden part of the ship, but this time it was much closer. Invictus strained to hear what was being said but he could still not discern the meaning. The phrase consisted of three words, each of a single syllable, howled over and over again. What foul litany, and whatever ancient alien tongue it was in, was impossible to tell, but one thing was for sure – the speaker was no ordinary mortal.

  A sudden scream pierced the tunnel, rising louder than the distant roar, and every man turned as one. It was Crassus, who had been bringing up their rear. The warriors aimed their weapons as their brother was lifted into the air by some unseen hand, his body clearing the water that oozed all around them. Blood spurted from his mouth as he tried to scream once more, his body pierced from behind by a huge, spiked tentacle that burst through his chest and flailed around as though probing for another victim.

  As the lifeless body of Crassus was discarded to sink below the surface of the mire, the squad opened fire, shredding the putrid thing that had impaled their brother. More appendages began to rise from the water all around, blindly searching for prey. ‘Retreat,’ yelled Agon. ‘There are too many!’

  Invictus began to wade through the morass as tentacles rose all around. Bolter fire streaked past him as he moved down the tunnel and up ahead he could see the passage rising out of the water to safety. Agon and Septimon fired over his head, pulverising the foul smelling feelers as they reached out towards him, and as Invictus moved past him, Genareas blasted a cloud of molten fire into the corridor.

  The water level around them dropped as they climbed the passageway, but the probing tentacles still relentlessly pursued them. If they could make it through the open doorway ahead they would be free, but as they neared it, a blast hatch began to slowly descend, threatening to trap them in the corridor with the deadly spiked limbs.

  Septimon was the first to the doorway, dropping his weapon and grasping the hatch as it lowered. Invictus could hear the grinding of gears as Septimon’s great strength fought against the ancient mechanism that sought to entomb them.

  Agon was the first through the gap braced open by his brother Septimon, and he was quickly followed by Genareas. As Invictus passed through he gave one last glance to Septimon, his face grimly set as he held open the heavy steel door. Then he was gone, the metal portal slamming down and sealing his brother in with the horde of disembodied tentacles.

  Invictus sat in the dark corridor, panting for air. Genareas offered him his arm, and Invictus gratefully accepted it, rising to his feet, his every fibre seeming to ache.

  ‘Where is Agon?’ said Genareas, glancing down the corridor.

  ‘He must think us near to our goal.’

  ‘And he wishes to claim his place amongst the Doomed Ones and leave us to our fate in this place.’

  ‘Then we must hurry,’ Invictus replied, moving off down the passageway.

  With their last reserves of energy, the two warriors pursued their errant brother, and this time it was Invictus who led the way, for once a step in front of Genareas.

  THE PASSAGEWAY GRADUALLY turned and widened into a dark hall, deep shadows cloistering it on either side. Great statues rose upwards from the dark, ancient sentinels that lined the hall, but Invictus paid them no heed, for up ahead was a much more majestic sight.

  A great portal stood at the far end of the massive chamber, fulgurating blue disks dancing up and down its length, tempting Invictus – beckoning him ever closer. But between he and it was the sprint
ing form of Agon, way ahead, ready to claim the prize that was rightfully his.

  ‘Agon!’ Genareas cried.

  As he neared the portal, Agon stopped, slowly turning with a smile.

  ‘I am truly sorry, my brothers. But it seems I must leave you. I wish you—’

  Something streaked from the dark, cutting Agon off mid sentence. A huge chitin claw, ancient and battered, gripped him around the waist, lifting him five metres into the air. Agon screamed, blood gurgling from his mouth as the claw squeezed tight. The two halves of his body fell to the ground, innards spilling onto the hard steel decking.

  Then it walked from the shadows.

  Four massive limbs carried its great bulk forward. It was a mass of flesh and steel, metal plates cauterised to a body of seething blubber. Two great claws reached out to the fore and clacked together menacingly. But it was the head that was the most hideous – a twisted, bloated replica of a face that might once have been human, but was now so savage and malign as to be almost unrecognisable.

  As Invictus watched in horror, its great jaws opened and it bellowed forth its incessant call.

  ‘LET. ME. OUT!’ it screamed, filling the hall with its ear splitting roar.

  It was now all too clear. This was no ancient war cry Invictus had been hearing – it was simply the maddened ranting of an insane mutant, caged for centuries and left to the mercy of the warp’s corrupting influence.

  And now it was the only thing standing in the way of victory.

  Genareas was the first to move, stepping forward and unleashing a gout of flame that consumed the monster’s head. When the inferno subsided, Invictus could see that the flames had not even left a mark on the beast’s hardened carapace. He raised his bolt pistol, firing at the creature’s eye, but the explosive rounds did nothing but cause it annoyance.

  It roared once more, repeating its interminable request for release, before stomping forward on those thick and hideous limbs. ‘I have only one shot left,’ said Invictus. ‘We must make this last round count.’

  ‘I understand, brother,’ Genareas replied, grasping his flamer by the stock.

  The beast opened its maw, ready to bellow at them again, and Genareas took his chance, flinging the flamer into its gaping jaws. Invictus raised the bolt pistol, waiting for his moment. He had only a split second window in which to fire, but he was a veteran of the Sons of Malice, a warrior unmatched on the field. A split second was more than he would ever need.

  An explosive round pierced the promethium canister just as the flamer entered the behemoth’s mouth, igniting the liquid flame within. It exploded, blowing the top of the mutant’s head clean off, and silencing it forever. For a few seconds the body of the twisted juggernaut staggered on its four limbs, uncertain of whether or not it was dead. Then, like a tower suddenly robbed of its foundations, it collapsed to the ground.

  Genareas smiled at his brother. ‘And so it is just us two remaining,’ he said. ‘It is fitting that we should face one another this last time. We will fight, with nothing but our bare hands and our stone resolve, and the victor will claim the spoils.’ He gestured towards the portal, which still flashed and quivered seductively. ‘How I have waited for this day, Invictus. Ours is a kinship forged in a hundred battles, and tempered in the blood of a thousand vanquished enemies. This will be a battle to end all battles. I am only sorry that we cannot both march from here triumphant, but as you know, there can be only one champion.’

  Invictus nodded his agreement. ‘I too am sorry, brother,’ he said, raising the bolt pistol. ‘For when I said I had only a single round remaining; I lied.’

  Genareas had little time to protest before Invictus squeezed the trigger, sending his brother’s brains exploding from the back of his head.

  Discarding the now empty pistol, Invictus strode towards the coruscating portal and stepped within the threshold of its glorious light.

  HE STOOD AT the centre of a wide, carved circle. Ancient sigils intersected one another across its face, eliciting the notion of daemonic faces in his mind, but as soon as he tried to focus on them the faces were gone.

  Surrounding him on all sides was the faint sparking light of a containment shield. Invictus found it hard to imagine what awaited him that would require such a safeguard; there was no way he would flinch in the face of his destiny. Nevertheless, he was not about to question the dictates of Lord Kathal.

  Lining the periphery of the great hall were his brothers of the Sons of Malice, fully regaled in their armour, bearing the standards and livery of the Chapter. The sides of the hall rose in tiers, allowing each and every man to view the proceedings. Each would be able to watch as the ceremony took place, each would see as Invictus was elevated to the ranks of the Doomed Ones. This had never happened before, and Kathal must have deemed his victory in the Labyrinth a historic one to break with tradition in such a way.

  From one end of the great hall, Invictus saw Lord Kathal approaching, flanked by his Librarians and their priestly attendants, bedecked in their cerulean robes. Servitors carried the Chapter’s ancient tomes, and liturgies droned from the automated vox-units that hovered alongside the procession. But there was more; huge caskets pulled along by the grasping mechadendrites of the Chapter’s Techmarines. What was in these caskets Invictus had no idea, but something about their unexpected appearance began to fill him with a sense of unease.

  As the huge room filled with the scent of burning incense, a macabre silence seemed to descend upon the proceedings. It was an unnerving quiet, and Invictus’s unease began to intensify into a stolid feeling of dread. This was not the exultant ritual he had been anticipating – it was more like a funeral march.

  As the feeling intensified, Kathal approached him, his stone face grim in the hazy darkness.

  ‘You have proven yourself the best among us, Invictus. You have proven you are without peer for your strength and cunning. You are the most potent, the latest to prove himself worthy to join the Doomed Ones.’

  The Librarians had surrounded him now, a monotonous chant emanating from within their hooded robes. The ancient, dark language that was spewed forth by the vox-units grew louder with every passing second, and Invictus could feel something metallic on the air, as though a storm were brewing within the confines of the hall. The Techmarines had positioned the caskets, ten in all, in a circle around Invictus. They ceremoniously released the holy seals that bound their locks and revealed what was inside. Ten blank faces stared out at Invictus – ten silent warriors, their bodies still robust but their minds vacuous.

  His unease suddenly turned to cold panic. He told himself this was all part of the ritual, that there was nothing to fear, but his base instincts were crying out for him to flee this place. With the containment field binding him in place though, flight was impossible. ‘You are the eleventh hero, Invictus, the eleventh and final warrior. Look to your battle-brothers,’ he gestured to the blank faces that glared with vacant expressions. ‘Your predecessors, each one succeeding in the Challenge of the Labyrinth for the honour of joining the ranks of the Doomed Ones. For a thousand years have we searched for champions worthy of Him. And tonight, finally you are all assembled.

  ‘Our crusade can now begin. Now we will be strong enough to take back that which was stolen from us – Scelus, our home world. None will stand in our way – not the forces of the foul Ruinous Powers nor the servants of the Carrion Lord. Not with Him by our side.’

  Terror gripped Invictus as he looked down at the circle beneath his feet. Eldritch light was beginning to emanate from the carved runes, dancing and gambolling, flashing green and blue and red.

  ‘Now you will learn what it is to be among the Doomed Ones,’ continued Lord Kathal, taking a step backwards. ‘Now Malice will show you what your victory has wrought.’

  Invictus tried to speak, to demand to know what was happening to him, but he found his jaw would not move. The words simply would not come. The whisper of the Librarians rose, as did the vox-units, and they soo
n reached a crescendo. The light at Invictus’s feet grew brighter, lashing upwards to sting his legs and bathe him in its iniquitous light.

  ‘You are truly worthy, Invictus of the Sons,’ Kathal screamed, raising his arms to the shadows of the rooftop. ‘Can you hear Him calling? He has come to accept your tribute. He has come for the Labyrinth’s eleven. He has come to walk among us.’

  Invictus followed Kathal’s gaze, lifting his head to the ceiling. Through the shadows he could see the outline of something huge, something that stared down with baleful eyes. Something wicked in the dark.

  He screamed. Screamed for the pain that engulfed his body. Screamed for the terror in the depths of his soul. But no amount of screaming could halt the ritual now.

  It began to descend, pulling with it the dark and the pain. Invictus raised his voice in a last tumultuous cry as his flesh began to flay from his bones.

  As his body was consumed, he realised that not even the kindly release of oblivion could save him now…

  IN THE GREAT hall all was silent.

  The Sons had watched as the light consumed the body of their brother Invictus, along with the ten other heroes of the Labyrinth, their limbs immolated, their torsos eviscerated, their heads contorting and twisting, writhing within a pool of black light.

  And now what stood before them was no longer their brothers. Invictus and the rest were gone – gone to join the ranks of the legendary Doomed Ones.

  What stood before them was the revenant they had worshipped for millennia. The eidolon that would stand at their vanguard as they retook what was rightfully theirs.

  He could only be summoned by sacrifice – only by giving unto Him their best and most praiseworthy warriors could He walk among them.

  And here He stood, gazing with eyes of fire – the Renegade God, the Outcast, the Lost, Hierarch of Anarchy and Terror…

  …Malice.

  HEADHUNTED

  Steve Parker

  SOMETHING VAST, DARK and brutish moved across the pin-pricked curtain of space, blotting out the diamond lights of the constellations behind it as if swallowing them whole. It was the size of a city block, and its bulbous eyes, like those of a great blind fish, glowed with a green and baleful light.