[Word Bearers 03] - Dark Creed

by Anthony Reynolds - (ebook by Undead)

  “Why not just leave them?” growled the hulking figure of the champion Khalaxis. “Let the xenos finish this for us?”

  Burias’ hand hovered over the activation rune upon the teleporter’s control panel, waiting for the First Acolyte’s response.

  “Don’t be a fool,” snapped Ashkanez. “They have the device. And besides, the Anointed are ours. Do it.”

  Burias slammed his fist down onto the glowing rune.

  Like droplets of molten metal coming together, a million tiny scarabs gave up their individual form as they combined, until once more the Undying One hovered in the air before Marduk, gleaming, untarnished, perfect. Pinpricks of light began to glow malevolently within darkened eye sockets. The necron lord turned its head from side to side, as if stretching its neck, before its inscrutable gaze locked onto Marduk. The air shimmered as the immortal being spun its deadly, twin-bladed staff, and it began to glide towards the Dark Apostle.

  “Any time now, Ashkanez,” hissed Marduk, backing away, still firing with his archaic combi-bolter. His twin-sickle clip ran dry and he bolstered the revered old weapon, drawing his crozius once more.

  Then there was a sudden feeling of vertigo, and a bright light obscured his vision.

  When it cleared, Marduk was standing upon a dimly lit sub deck of the Infidus Diabolus, staring down the barrel of a melta gun.

  “Welcome back, Apostle,” growled First Acolyte Ashkanez.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  First Acolyte Ashkanez stood five metres away, the melta gun in his hands levelled squarely at Marduk. The weapon was designed as an anti-tank weapon. At such range, even Terminator armour would offer little protection.

  Without making any threatening or sudden move, Marduk turned his head to glance around him, careful to keep the First Acolyte within his frame of vision. Kol Badar stood at his shoulder, but of the other brethren of the Anointed there was no sign. The five of them were alone.

  “You dare draw a weapon against your Dark Apostle?” snarled Marduk, his voice quivering with barely contained fury. “What is this?”

  “This is your hour of judgement, Apostle,” replied Ashkanez.

  The First Acolyte’s face was hidden in the shadow of his hood. In the gloom behind Ashkanez stood Burias and Khalaxis. Both were hooded, but easily recognisable.

  “You seek to pass judgement upon me? You arrogant whoreson. Look at you,” said Marduk, his voice thick with scorn, “unwilling even to show your faces. You are cowards, worthless cowards who bring nothing but shame upon XVII Legion.”

  The towering form of Khalaxis stiffened, his hands clenching tightly around the haft of his huge chainaxe. Burias pulled away his hood angrily.

  “You brought this upon yourself, master,” the Icon Bearer snarled.

  “You have always been a treacherous dog, Burias,” retorted Marduk. “I should have put you down long ago.”

  “Enough,” growled Ashkanez. “Where is the device?”

  “I have it,” said Kol Badar.

  “Good,” said Ashkanez. “Remove your helmet, Apostle. I want to see your eyes as you die.”

  Marduk glanced down at the stump of his left arm, then at his sacred crozius still clasped in his right hand, then back up at Ashkanez.

  “I might need a little help. Would you care to step closer and take my crozius from me, Acolyte?” he said. “It is clear that you intend to claim it anyway, why not now?”

  “I think not,” said Ashkanez, clearly having no intention on closing the distance between himself and the huge figure of the Dark Apostle, ensconced in the Warmonger’s ancient Terminator armour.

  “Coward,” mocked Marduk.

  “Prudent,” corrected Ashkanez. “Your helmet, Apostle.”

  Marduk hooked his crozius onto his barbed chain belt and reached up to remove his skull-faced helmet. It came loose with a hiss of pressurised air. The malignant red glow of his helmet’s lenses faded as he hooked his helm at his waist. The Dark Apostle’s eyes simmered with hatred.

  “Happy?” he snarled.

  The First Acolyte nodded.

  “Where are my Anointed brothers?” growled Kol Badar.

  “Does their blood stain your hands as well, Acolyte?” said Marduk.

  “Their deaths would serve no purpose. They have been teleported back safely,” said Ashkanez. “I did not feel it necessary for them to witness any of this.”

  Marduk licked his lips, and glanced between the three warriors ranged against him.

  Ashkanez still had the melta gun levelled squarely at Marduk.

  “You rate yourself rather highly, First Acolyte,” he said. “Do you really think that the three of you can take us both?”

  “No,” said Ashkanez. “I do not.”

  Marduk opened his mouth to speak, then shut it as Kol Badar stepped away from him.

  “You bastard,” he snarled as the Coryphaus bowed his head in deference to the First Acolyte. His eyes were murderous as he watched Kol Badar take a position alongside the others, a step behind the treacherous First Acolyte.

  “This day has been a long time coming, Marduk,” said Kol Badar.

  “They have all turned against you, Apostle,” said Ashkanez, unable to keep the smirk from his voice. “All your most trusted captains.”

  “Not all. Sabtec would never turn,” said Marduk.

  “True,” said Ashkanez. “I believe the fool would maintain his deluded loyalty to you to the end. A shame. He is a fine warrior. But in this war, sacrifices must be made. He will die soon enough. You are all alone, Apostle.”

  “No,” said Marduk. “The gods of Chaos are with me. And hell’s torments shall be as paradise to the pains that I shall unleash upon you. I’ll see you all burn for this outrage.”

  “No,” said Ashkanez, “you won’t.”

  “You are a traitor and a whoreson, Ashkanez. How long will it be before he turns on you, Burias? Or you, Khalaxis?” said Marduk. “Once he has control over the Host, your usefulness will be over.”

  “I’ve heard enough,” growled Khalaxis. “Let’s kill him now and finish this.”

  “The Council will see through this petty mutiny,” said Marduk. “They will never endorse you as Dark Apostle of the Host, Ashkanez.”

  “Traitors?” said Ashkanez. “No, you are mistaken, Apostle. We are not traitors; we represent the future. The Legion has stagnated under the Council’s ruler-ship, its ideals have corrupted. Only a fool could fail to see how Erebus has twisted the Legion’s ideals to his own end, corrupting the Council to his will. We represent a new order, one that will cast down Erebus’ grip upon the Council.”

  “Ekodas has been filling your head with lies,” said Marduk. “His little uprising will go nowhere. You will be hunted down like the traitorous dogs you are.”

  “You are wrong, Marduk. This is no petty uprising. We are the Brotherhood. The time of the Third Cleansing draws in.”

  “The Brotherhood?” said Marduk, in surprise. “The Brotherhood is a relic of the past. It died out ten millennia ago.”

  “And now it is reborn, under a new High Priest.”

  Marduk laughed. “You are more deluded that I had thought,” he said. “Ekodas thinks he can rebuild the Brotherhood in some petty grab for power? Does he truly think he could ever pose any sort of risk to the Council? That he could ever be a threat to Erebus and Kor Phaeron?”

  “It is you who is deluded,” said Ashkanez, grinning. “This goes far beyond Ekodas.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “That is of no consequence to me. But before you die, know that the Keeper of the Faith, Kor Phaeron himself, is the one that has raised the Brotherhood once more.”

  “Impossible,” hissed Marduk, though his blood ran cold at his First Acolyte’s words.

  “More than twenty Hosts have sworn their allegiance to the Brotherhood,” said Ashkanez. “Dozens more will join before Erebus has any idea of the danger he is in.”

  “It will never work,” said Mard
uk.

  “Erebus’ perversion of the Council draws to an end. Under Kor Phaeron’s leadership, the Legion shall be guided back to Lorgar’s true teachings.”

  “The Keeper of the Faith would drag the Legion into civil war?” said Marduk. “He would cause a schism within our ranks merely to overthrow his brother? Such a path is madness!”

  Ashkanez smiled.

  “Too long has Erebus manipulated our Legion from the shadows. His time has come to an end.”

  “Enough of your poison, traitor,” snapped Marduk, lifting his head high. Without fear, he stared into Ashkanez’s eyes. “It is as Khalaxis says: it is time to finish this. Would you not agree, Kol Badar?”

  “Yes,” said the hulking warlord, standing at Ashkanez’s back. “I would.”

  Before anyone could react, the Coryphaus stepped forward and rammed the electrified lengths of his power talons into Ashkanez’s back.

  Ashkanez was lifted up into the air. The tips of Kol Badar’s power talons burst from his chest, hot blood dancing off the blades. The melta gun in Ashkanez’s hand fired, and Marduk hurled himself to the side to avoid its searing blast. Curse papers affixed to his shoulder plate burst into flame as the shot glanced him, melting a furrow across his armour as if it were butter.

  Dark energy flickered across the barbed spikes at the head of Marduk’s holy crozius as his hand closed around its hilt, thumbing its activation rune.

  Burias was the first of Ashkanez’s conspirators to react. The change came over him instantly, his features blurring with those of the daemon within. With a dismissive flick, Kol Badar sent Ashkanez crashing into the Icon Bearer, momentarily taking him out of the fight. The melta gun in the First Acolyte’s hand went flying.

  The dimly lit chamber suddenly resounded with the deafening roar of Khalaxis’ chainaxe. The towering champion launched himself at Marduk, his face twisted in berserk fury.

  Marduk met the murderous, double-handed blow with one of his own, dark crozius and chainaxe coming together with awesome force. Marduk’s strength was augmented by the tightly knit servo-bundles of his newly donned Terminator armour, yet even so his arm was forced back as Khalaxis exerted his strength. The teeth of the chainaxe tore at the crozius, and sparks flew.

  Khalaxis’ face was close to Marduk’s, flushed with hatred and battle fury. His teeth were bared.

  “I’m going to rip you apart, master,” growled the towering, dreadlocked aspiring champion, spittle and foam glistening at the edges of his mouth.

  “In your dreams,” spat Marduk, stepping forward and slamming his forehead into Khalaxis’ face, breaking his nose with a sharp crack and splatter of blood.

  The berserker snarled in fury and reeled backwards, letting go of the haft of his axe with one hand. Marduk stepped forward to crush his skull, but walked straight into a thundering backhand. Khalaxis’ spiked gauntlet hammered into the side of his face, snapping his head around, and he tasted blood in his mouth.

  Stepping backwards, Marduk brought his crozius up instinctively, blocking the madly whirring chainaxe slashing towards his neck. With impressive speed, Khalaxis turned, spinning on his heel and bringing the axe cutting around to strike from a different angle. Still recovering from the previous blow, Marduk had no hope of getting his weapon in the path of the new attack, and so turned his shoulder into the chainaxe. It hacked deep into his armour plating, ripping and tearing furiously, but did not penetrate to the skin.

  Marduk slammed his crozius into Khalaxis’ side, the bladed points punching through his armour with a sharp discharge of energy that hurled him backwards. The stink of burnt flesh rose from the wound, but the champion leapt forwards once more, pain merely adding fuel to his rage.

  As the chainaxe roared, scything through the air towards Marduk, the Dark Apostle brought his crozius down hard, smashing it down onto one of Khalaxis’ arms. Bone and armour were splintered, knocking his strike aside, and stepping back to give himself more space, Marduk swung his weapon around in a brutal arc that connected solidly with the side of Khalaxis’ head.

  The bladed spikes penetrated the champion’s skull, which crumpled inwards as the heavy head of the mace slammed home. Blood splattered across Marduk’s face and Khalaxis staggered drunkenly. He looked strange, his features caved inwards, like wax melting under a hot sun. The dreadlocked champion swayed on his feet for a second, then fell in a crumpled heap at Marduk’s feet, dead.

  Ashkanez’s power maul smashed into Marduk from behind, battering him to his knees. A second blow, delivered with malice, crashed down onto his arm and he lost his grip on his sacred crozius. Moving faster than Marduk, bedecked as he was in hulking Terminator armour, the First Acolyte stepped swiftly forward and kicked the holy weapon across the floor.

  Marduk regained his feet and rounded on Ashkanez, his expression furious.

  “You don’t know when to stay down, do you?” he hissed.

  The First Acolyte’s face was pale from blood loss, and red foam bubbled at the corners of his mouth. The four terrible bloody wounds in his chest were leaking his lifeblood, but they would close soon enough. Still, Marduk was surprised that the Icon Bearer was still alive, let alone fighting on.

  With a roar, bloody spittle spraying from his mouth, the First Acolyte stepped forward and brought his power maul crashing down towards Marduk’s crown.

  The Dark Apostle caught the blow in his gauntleted hand, holding the crackling weapon at bay. Electricity ran up and down the length of his arm, but still he held on. The veins in the First Acolyte’s neck bulged as he exerted all his considerable force to bring the maul down upon Marduk’s, but his strength was fading, and they both knew it.

  Marduk slammed a heavy kick into the side of one of Ashkanez’s knees, snapping tendons and ligaments, and the First Acolyte fell to the ground, snarling in agony. The Dark Apostle stepped forward and kicked him hard in the side, lifting him off the floor. The First Acolyte crashed into a nearby control panel, which crumpled beneath his weight.

  The melta gun that Ashkanez had been holding was lying on the ground nearby, and Marduk stooped to retrieve the deadly anti-tank weapon. Ashkanez pulled himself from the crumpled wreckage of the control panel, struggling to rise. His shattered knee would not support his weight, however, and he was forced to cling to the control panel merely to keep upright. Marduk grinned evilly as he hefted the melta gun one in his hand and stalked towards him. He came to a halt within a few steps of the First Acolyte.

  “Whether I live or die, it won’t affect the days to come,” Ashkanez snarled up at him, blood foaming from his lips. “The Brotherhood is already moving. You cannot do anything to stop it.”

  Marduk levelled the melta gun at Ashkanez’s intact knee and squeezed the trigger. The heat from the weapon was staggering, making the air shimmer with haze. Marduk kept his finger depressed on the trigger for a good two seconds, cutting his First Acolyte’s leg off neatly above the joint and searing the wound shut. Marduk chuckled in good humour.

  Ashkanez refused to scream out, even as the searing blast turned his armour and flesh molten, his bones to ash. He collapsed, gritting his teeth in pain.

  “With or without the 34th Host, the Brotherhood will cleanse the ranks of our Legion,” hissed Ashkanez from the deck floor. The stink of burnt flesh was heavy in the air. “This changes nothing.”

  Marduk snorted, and turned away to witness the outcome of the conflict between Burias and Kol Badar. Ever since Burias’ rise to the station of Icon Bearer, so long ago, the pair had been needling each other. Now they let a millennia of hatred spill out.

  Burias-Drak’shal was crouched on all fours, his shoulders and arms swollen out of proportion with his body. Ridged horns curved backwards from his forehead, and his needle-like teeth were bared in an animalistic snarl. His armour was hanging off him in bloody tatters. Deep gouges were carved across his chest, but even as Marduk watched, they began to heal, his flesh closing up as his warp-spawned flesh regenerated itself.

  With
a snarl, the Icon Bearer leapt sidewards as Kol Badar brought his combi-bolter up, twin barrels roaring. Burias-Drak’shal leapt onto the nearby wall, his neck bent at an unnatural angle to keep his hellish, altered eyes locked on the Coryphaus. His claws had hardly touched the wall before he had sprang off again, leaping directly at the Coryphaus. Kol Badar tried to follow the possessed warrior’s movement with his combi-bolter, tearing chunks out of the metal walls and smashing delicate display screens, but he was too slow.

  The three middle fingers of each of Burias-Drak’shal’s hands had fused into thick talons, and with his arms at full extension he struck the Coryphaus in his wounded chest, punching the daemonic claws deep. The force of his attack knocked Kol Badar back a step, but the Terminator-armoured warlord did not fall. Burias’ clawed feet sank into Kol Badar’s chest, and he squatted there like a hellish primate. With one clawed hand holding him in place, he punched several holes in the Coryphaus’ chest with his free hand before Kol Badar sent him flying, swatting him off with a backhand blow of his power talons.

  Burias-Drak’shal spun in the air then landed hard, snarling, his powerful leg muscles bunched beneath him. With an explosive movement, he sprang back at the Coryphaus, but Kol Badar’s combi-bolter was raised, and he was slammed back down into the floor as a heavy burst of fire impacted with his chest and face.

  Bloody craters were blown in his armour and flesh, exposing muscle and bone, and Burias-Drak’shal shook his head in anger and pain. Part of his jaw was ripped away, exposing shark-like teeth and glistening flesh. As he tried to rise to his feet, another burst of fire sent him reeling back again, mass reactive-tipped bolts ripping into him. The Coryphaus’ weapon jammed suddenly, falling silent in his hands, smoke seeping from its twin barrels.

  A vicious grin split Burias-Drak’shal’s brutally damaged face, and his flesh began to reform. He spat a gobbet of flesh and blood to the ground as Kol Badar hurled aside his daemon-mawed combi-bolter in disgust.

  “Now you’re in some trouble,” said Burias-Drak’shal, forming the words with difficulty as thick tusks began to emerge from his lower jaw.