Daemon Gates Trilogy 02 Night of the Daemon

by Black Library

  Then he noticed the centrepiece.

  Rearing high above them, her head almost brushing the ceiling, was the statue of a woman, or at least of something with certain feminine attributes. Her face was stunning, with full lips, wide eyes, a strong brow, high cheekbones and a surprisingly sharp nose. Golden hair billowed around her, framing her features in a golden halo that did little to dim the proud, demanding look upon her face. Two pairs of curv­ing horns sprouted from her temples, each adorned with gold and gems. Her skin was smooth and white, most likely alabaster, and gleamed in the torchlight.

  Her body was equally perfect, with broad shoulders, proud, prominent breasts and a smoothly curved stomach, her belly button pierced by a pair of overlapped silver cres­cents. Her arms were strong and well muscled but still smooth: all six of them.

  lust below the belly button she began to change, how­ever. Her skin developed a pattern of overlapping scales that quickly covered her lower form, and instead of legs she narrowed from the hips into a single thick column that coiled twice before rearing up behind her. The scales were a varied green, from deep emerald to a pale milky colour, and formed patterns that made Alaric's eyes ache.

  He knew who he was looking at. The intense, almost fright­ening beauty, offset by the unsettling combination of human and animal, meant it could only be one of the four Chaos gods. Slaanesh: the Prince of Pain and Lord of Pleasure. This must be one of his many forms, the beautiful woman with the six arms and the lower body of a massive serpent.

  The daemon-possessed soldier was already halfway across the large chamber and appeared to be heading straight for the statue. Lankdorf fired another crossbow bolt, striking it in the back near one proto-wing, and Braechen stumbled, snarling. Apparently the change had not progressed as far there, because the bolt stuck out from his flesh, and blood dripped from the wound. He glanced behind him and grunted when he saw them, and Alaric was careful not to meet his gaze. Then Braechen turned back towards the statue once more.

  "We've got to stop it!' Alaric said, his mind racing. Per­haps it contained some tainted energy of its own, as had the Chaos statues they'd encountered before, something the daemon could tap to increase its own strength. What­ever its reasons, if the monster wanted to reach the statue they had to prevent that from happening, but how?

  'The gauntlet!' Dietz shouted, already running towards the mutated man. 'We broke the statue and closed the gate. If we destroy the gauntlet maybe it'll be forced out again.' He raised his new axe, saying something that Alaric recog­nised as a prayer to Ulric. Lankdorf was right behind him and Alaric saw the bounty hunter also muttering some­thing, although he couldn't make out the words.

  Alaric nodded to himself. That made sense. At least, it was worth a try. The only problem was, the daemon didn't want to cooperate. Braechen was walking again and seemed oblivious to the two men rapidly approaching from behind. If he didn't stop he would reach the statue before they could get close enough to attack the gauntlet.

  That meant they had to distract him, and Alaric knew just how to do it.

  Taking a deep breath, he called out. 'Hey! Braechen!' He thought he heard the man grunt but Braechen didn't react otherwise. Alaric took a few steps closer and tried again. 'You, daemon! Turn and face me!' This time the daemon- infested soldier laughed, making that horrible sound again. That gave Alaric another idea.

  He closed his eyes and let the memories he had held at bay for so long overwhelm him. He was back in that

  Night of the Daemon

  235

  chamber once more, facing the daemon as it struggled to enter this world. Dietz had shattered the statue and the gate was closing, but still the daemon lurched forwards. He raised one hand absently to rub at his neck, where the daemon's tentacle had struck him just before it vanished. He remembered what it had said.

  'K'red'lach!' he shouted, his eyes flying open again.

  Braechen stopped dead.

  He turned, slowly, to look at Alaric, and Alaric forced himself to look right back.

  Studying what had been Braechen in an effort to maintain his sanity, Alaric saw that the changes to his body had contin­ued. His entire arm was now scaled, ridged and barbed, right up to the homed shoulder, and his chest had traces of alter­ation as well. Right in the centre, a dull glow rose through his flesh, reminding Alaric of the throbbing sphere he had seen in the daemon's flesh. Was that its heart, he wondered? Braechen's flesh had all gone dark, all mottled, and his face had shifted, growing longer and narrow, with cheekbones that literally carved through his flesh and reared like small axe blades along his face. His sandy hair had clumped together, looking more like spikes or horns scattered atop his head, and darkening to black at the tips, and his eyes glittered and burned, tugging at Alaric again as they had once before.

  This time the daemon was trapped within a man. Even though it had claimed that body, and was changing it to suit itself, it was still mortal flesh, and the gaze, though powerful, was muted by its terrestrial prison. Alaric found he could still think, could still move a little, even as those eyes bored into his.

  'You know me, don't you?' he asked, advancing a few more feet. Dietz and Lankdorf were almost in position, swords at the ready. 'You remember me.'

  The mutated warrior eyed him, both mouths split into wide grins. Then the lower mouth, the one across its neck, moved, hissing something he could not begin to compre­hend, and the upper mouth, the one that had belonged to Braechen, formed one word.

  'Alaric.'

  He shuddered and the creature laughed. It knew his name! But how?

  Dietz chose that moment to attack, his borrowed axe flashing out and down, landing right at the juncture of gauntlet and mutated flesh. Lankdorfs sword was right beside it, hitting the arm just a little higher up.

  Braechen roared. His arm flailed, knocking both blades away, and then his other arm swept the two men aside, sending them tumbling to the floor.

  'How do you know me?' Alaric shouted, desperate to draw the daemon's attention. The ploy worked. Braechen turned back to face him, still grinning, but Alaric thought he saw blood along the arm where the blades had struck.

  'I know you,' the daemon-altered man replied simply, the Braechen-mouth apparently translating the mind-numbing sounds that issued from the wider mouth below.

  Yes, but how?' Alaric demanded. It wasn't just a ploy. He needed to know. 'From the statue?' he asked.

  Braechen laughed. 'The statue,' it repeated. Was that agreement? 'Yes, and from this.' He raised his left arm, the gauntlet gleaming and flickering, and apparently moaning between them.

  'The gauntlet?' Alaric was confused. 'How?'

  'Yes, gauntlet,' the daemon replied, 'Hraklonesh.' The Braechen-mouth mimed the word, which apparently defied translation. 'Expanding Maw, his.'

  'That belonged to... Hraklonesh of the Expanding Maw?' The name made his teeth feel numb and his mind shriek but Alaric continued. He could see Dietz and Lankdorf out of the corner of his eye. They were on their feet again and ready for a second attempt.

  'Mine now,' Braechen replied. He laughed. 'Soon you will be, as well: body and soul.' Alaric had continued his approach during their conversation and wondered if that was his doing or the daemon's. He suddenly remembered being drawn towards it once before against his will, and

  panicked as he discovered he could not stop himself from taking the next step. Only a few feet separated them.

  He was saved, surprisingly enough, by cultists. A wave of men and women came charging down the stairs, straps, rib­bons and gauze flying, and weapons raised, shouting their defiance. They paused at the sight before them, unsure who to attack first. Dietz solved that problem for them.

  'He's an unbeliever,' he shouted, gesturing towards Braechen. 'He defiles this holy place!'

  That was enough for the cultists. They launched them­selves at the mutated soldier. He laughed and turned to meet them, ripping the first attacker's arm clean out of its socket and beating the stunned man's head with t
he limb hard enough to crack both arm bone and skull. More attacked, however, and even with the daemon inside him Braechen was forced to focus on this new threat.

  Several braziers had been knocked over already and more were overturned, their coals smouldering atop the rugs and pillows. The cavern was getting darker, but it was still light enough to see what was happening. Alaric blinked, notic­ing a light oddly placed at the upper edge of his vision, and turned to look. It was coming from the statue. In the upper­most of her right hands the statue held a large sceptre of cunningly wrought gold set with bands of milky jade. It' was the jade sceptre, the symbol of the cult and the Chaos god's greatest treasure.

  Jade didn't usually glow.

  Alaric stared. Then he blinked and stared again. Yes, he was sure: the jewel at the very tip of the sceptre, a large rounded gem, possessed a dull glow, invisible before but evident now that the room had grown darker. That wasn't jade!

  'Ulric's beard! It's enchanted!' Dietz gasped out, also star­ing at the sceptre. 'It's probably another relic!'

  Alaric nodded. That could be the daemon's goal, to claim not one but two artefacts. Certainly Braechen was heading in that direction, shoving his way past couches and benches, and piles of cushion without slowing. Why would

  the daemon need a second artefact? And why was only the tip glowing? The rest of the sceptre, although it appeared to be of excellent workmanship and extravagant materials, did not appear unusual in any way.

  'Warpstone!' It was Lankdorf who hissed the word, and Alaric remembered again the bounty hunter's sharp eyes. 'I think that thing's a warpstone!'

  That's what he wants!' Alaric said, suddenly putting the pieces together. 'The gauntlet must not be enough of a gate to bring him through completely. He needs that warpstone to complete or at least speed up the process!' Then his mind took another leap. The gauntlet lets him manifest through Braechen,' he realised, speaking out loud, 'but that's still not his full presence. With the warpstone he can step through completely, just as he'd planned with the stat­ues. We have to keep him away from that sceptre!'

  He turned back towards the battle before him, just in time to see the remaining cultists fall back and to the sides, making room for a new figure.

  'Begone, foul daemon!' The man now speaking was tall and slight, making Alaric think of Strykssen, although his hair was dark, dyed a deep red like wine, and bound back in a long braid, and his features were delicate, almost feminine. He wore an assortment of leather straps around each limb and a series of looped chains around his waist, covering a flimsy loincloth of some shimmering fabric. Gems hung from his ears and naked chest, and adorned his fingers and neck, and he moved with the assurance of command. Clearly this was a high priest of some sort.

  'I know your allegiance,' the senior cultist continued, stop­ping several feet from Braechen's reach as his brethren attacked again. 'Your master is not welcome here! We worship Slaanesh!'

  Braechen took a step towards him, slow and menacing, but the cultist did not retreat. 'Begone,' he said again, 'before I call upon our master's power to destroy you!'

  The daemon-infested soldier took another step. 'Very well,' the cultist said, paling slightly but still standing his

  ground. 'SsTbiart'ah!' he shouted, tilting his head back, the word echoing around the room, 'your servant calls upon you! Ss'I'biart'ah! Aid me!' His hands began to glow, a soft green that matched the statue's scales, and violet light poured from his eyes. The room grew noticeably colder, and Alaric felt a wind tug at his hair and clothes, carrying the too-sweet scent of decaying flesh.

  Braechen actually paused at the first utterance of the name. Then he threw back his head and howled, both mouths emitting wordless cries of defiance, rage, and per­haps fear? Did the daemon really fear this SsTbiart'ah? Alaric didn't know and right now he didn't care. All he knew was that Braechen was distracted and his body was his own again. He began to creep forwards, trying to get closer to the daemon-possessed soldier without drawing attention to himself. Dietz and Lankdorf had clearly had the same idea, and all three of them advanced quietly, try­ing to find an approach that would sidestep the cultists and put them within striking range of Braechen.

  Fortunately the priest was keeping both Braechen and the other cultists distracted. 'Kneel before the Prince of Chaos!' he commanded, his hands snapping forwards as if punching. The green glow shot across the gap and stmck Braechen in the chest, sending the daemon-infested man staggering, and again he howled, this time clearly in pain and rage. Again the priest struck and again Braechen reeled, blood and some other liq­uid dripping from tears and cracks across his battered chest.

  'Yes!' shouted the priest, stepping forwards. His eyes were the brightest spots in the chamber and Alaric could still see their pinpoint glows when he blinked. 'Bow before the greatest of the gods,' the cultist demanded, raising his hands, the glow intensifying. 'Cower for mercy from Slaanesh and his servants!'

  In his exultation the priest had gotten too close. Braechen suddenly straightened, growling like a maddened beast, and his gauntleted arm shot forwards, grasping the cultist by the neck and squeezing. The captured cultist gasped, his face turning dark and his hands flailing, but their green

  energy washed over the gauntlet like water, unable to harm it or make Braechen release his grip. The cultists lunged at his other side, but the mutated warrior laughed and brushed them aside. They did distract him, however.

  'Now!' Alaric shouted. He took a quick step forwards and lashed out, his rapier slicing across Braechen's forearm right above the gauntlet. Dietz and Lankdorf had not missed the opportunity, and both of their blades also landed, carving deeper into the flesh. The mutated warrior shrieked and tried to pull away, but the priest grasped Braechen's arm right where the gauntlet ended. The barbs sank deep into his flesh but the cultist ignored the wounds, focusing upon the forearm in his grip. The glow around his hands intensified, turning a searing greenish white, and Braechen screamed as the strange fire burnt away his mutated flesh, and his hand clenched in response, prevent­ing him from pulling loose.

  Alaric, Dietz and Lankdorf were on both sides of the arm and continued hacking at it. The cuts had turned to deep gouges, and Alaric saw bone through the blood. Just as Braechen managed to wrench his fingers open, the priest falling to the cushion-strewn ground, Dietz struck one last mighty blow and his axe sheared through the bone. With a resounding splintering sound the arm separated and Braechen's own convulsive jerk sent the gauntlet flying. It dis­appeared somewhere behind the statue, lost in the shadows.

  Alaric glanced over at Dietz. 'We have to make sure it's destroyed,' he said, starting to turn away He didn't get very far.

  Alaric had hoped that with the gauntlet gone, the dae­mon would also disappear. He soon realised that wasn't the case, as Braechen struck at them, knocking the three of them off their feet. The daemon-infested soldier staggered back several paces, shoving aside the gathered cultists, blood and ichor dripping from the ruin of his arm, but he still stood, and his eyes still blazed as he gnashed his teeth at them and roared his defiance.

  'Ulric preserve us,' Dietz said, shoving cushions aside as he stood and grasped his axe again. 'Now it's angry.'

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Dietz shook his head, trying to clear it. Braechen's last punch had made his head ring and his vision was still slightly blurred, but he didn't have time to be groggy. The daemon- possessed warrior was clearly enraged at the loss of the gauntlet - not to mention his forearm - and it was lumber­ing towards them, murder glinting in its glowing eyes.

  'Die, Chaos spawn!' Lankdorf had been faster to recover and was already back on his feet, sword in one hand and ever-present crossbow in the other. He fired a bolt into Braechen's head, where it protruded from the temple like a strange, feather-edged horn, and swung with his sword.

  The mutated man merely laughed that chilling laugh again and knocked the blade aside with his stump. His remaining hand lashed out, slicing across the bounty hunter's chest
, the long barbed nails sprouting from the fingers carving through cloth, leather, and flesh. Lankdorf groaned and dropped to his knees.

  Braechen growled, the horrible second mouth drooling in anticipation, and raised his clawed hand. Then he

  abruptly dropped his hand and turned away, wading into the cultists instead.

  What? Dietz shook his head to make sure he wasn't see­ing things. No, the daemon really had turned away from Lankdorf, leaving the bounty hunter wounded but alive, but why? He stepped quickly to the other man's side and knelt beside him.

  The cultists, for their part, swarmed Braechen like angiy bees, clearly insensed at his presence in their temple and outraged by his treatment of their high priest. Even though they wore no armour - and little clothing, for that matter - the cultists made up for their vulnerability with grace and speed, dancing around Braechen, darting in to stab him and then ducking away again before he could strike. Dietz hoped they would at least keep the creature busy for a while.

  'Get off me! I'll be fine!' Lankdorf tried to shove him away, but his injury left him too weak to resist as Dietz quickly examined it. The wound was nasty but not life- threatening. He saw a row of gashes across the chest that would probably scar, and he could see the bounty hunter's flesh beneath the tatters of his shirt and jacket. Then he saw something else.

  'What's this?' It was a gleam of silver and emerald and as Dietz reached out to touch it he remembered - the amulet! The one Glouste had found in the tomb, over the burial chamber door. Lankdorf had taken it when they'd first met and he'd forgotten all about it. It had been hidden beneath the bounty hunter's shirt, but the blow had exposed it. Was this why the daemon had backed away?

  "You want it back?' The bounty hunter laughed weakly, and then groaned as the movement shifted his torn flesh. Take it, then.' He bowed his head to let Dietz slip the chain free.

  'Alaric!' Dietz glanced up and saw his friend nearby, clearly torn between going after the daemon, going after the gauntlet, and coming to their aid. 'Look at this!' He tossed the amulet to the nobleman, who caught it, and almost dropped it when he glanced at it fully.