by Gav Thorpe
As his thoughts turned to the morbid, he detected a trickle of activity in the wraithknight’s core structure. It was barely a glimmer, but he focused on it, nurturing it with his thoughts as one might try to fan a newborn flame. He disabled the barriers that kept his mind from being wholly integrated into the wraithknight, erasing safeguards that stopped him from experiencing full interaction with the wraithbone core.
Immediately the pain went from a dull throb to a piercing agony, his chest feeling as though the ribs on the right side were splayed open.
Nymuyrisan passed out.
When he awoke, the pain had subsided slightly. The wraithknight’s limbs twitched as Nymuyrisan’s awakened brain impulses flooded into its control circuit.
Data was still coming in across the communications network and Nymuyrisan took a moment to analyse what was happening. Many of the humans had been drawn onto the battleship and destroyed, and Asurmen led the counter-attack.
The Phoenix Lord spearheaded the thrust towards the daemon summoned by the Chaos worshippers, striding through the las-fire and shells slaying all that he met. Nymuyrisan watched with amazement as the Phoenix Lord was engulfed by a detonation, disappearing from view for a moment as flame and smoke billowed. He reappeared, none the worse for the experience, pouring a storm of shuriken-fire into the foe.
Where Asurmen fought, the eldar drove back the infantry and tanks in range of the Patient Lightning. To be on the same battlefield as the legendary warrior filled Nymuyrisan with a mixture of emotions. Pride was tempered by foreboding. The Phoenix Lords were semi-mythical, appearing at pivotal moments in a craftworld’s history. Did the arrival of Asurmen signal the salvation of Anuiven or its doom? Whatever the outcome, Nymuyrisan and the others had become part of the ongoing legend.
Though his senses were dulled Nymuyrisan could feel energy starting to grow inside the frame of the battleship. The spirit circuit of the wraithknight resonated with the increased activity of the ship’s matrix as Patient Lightning’s psychic heart grew in strength.
The ship was readying to take off.
There was a problem, obvious to the wraithknight pilot. The moment the eldar withdrew to their ship the humans would be after them, able to batter the ascending starship with cannons and lasers. In order to save the ship, the army would have to stay on the ground.
Nymuyrisan discovered that he could not disconnect from the datastream. He was not simply accessing the wraithknight’s systems, his psychic potential was powering them. Its sensors were his senses. Even more than before, he had become part of the machine. If he concentrated he could feel his heart beating, but only in as much that he detected its vibrations inside the organic component located in his chest cavity. His consciousness was no longer contained inside his flesh, but encompassed by the embodiment of the wraithknight. His mortal shell had been reduced to the status of power source, nothing more than a battery of psychic and biological energy to draw upon.
‘Hello.’
Such a mundane word, but filled with such portent and emotion. Nymuyrisan’s mood soared as he recognised the voice of his brother, unheard for so long.
‘Hello,’ he replied, unable to think of anything else to say.
He could feel Jarithuran, the twin spirits occupying the same body, which was a reverse, because for all of their mortal existence it had felt as if they had been one spirit split between two forms.
Now they were closer than they could ever have been in mortal life. They shared not only circuit, limbs and body but also the integral material of the circuit, the same meta-existence as each other. It was as though Nymuyrisan looked at his reflection, but from behind the mirror.
He wondered for a moment if Jarithuran was really still with him. The sensation was so strange it could have been a trick of the mind caused by the systems of the wraithknight.
‘I am here,’ said Jarithuran. ‘Truly. We are the same but independent.’
‘I am sorry I got you killed, Jarith.’ The twin’s sorrow was his brother’s sorrow too, but it was returned as sorrow for Nymuyrisan’s guilt.
‘I forgive you,’ said Jarithuran.
Though he had felt his brother’s compassion and acceptance countless times, it made all the difference to hear the words – at least to have the sentiment framed in words. It made them real in a way that any amount of sympathetic feeling could not.
‘We seem to be in trouble,’ Nymuyrisan said, focusing on their current predicament. ‘I think we will be abandoned.’
‘It does not matter, we cannot survive long. Without your will to sustain it, your body will quickly wither, and without the biological seat of your psyche to power us these thoughts will soon disappear.’
‘How long?’
‘How would I know, I’ve been a wraithknight no longer than you!’
‘You’ve been dead far longer…’
Jarithuran had no answer to that. Instead the twin encouraged his brother to match his thought-impulses, opening the fingers of the right hand. Between them they carried enough psychic-signal to activate the nerve-bundles and pseudomuscles of their war engine. Cautiously, they moved the right arm and hand until the splayed fingers fell upon the haft of the dropped ghostglaive. Closing their fingers around the weapon, Nymuyrisan and Jarithuran shared a moment of accomplishment, both of them mentally smiling at each other.
‘We can still fight,’ they thought in unison.
‘The more we do, the quicker we shall burn up what’s left of your body,’ Jarithuran warned. ‘We will not have very long at all, I fear.’
‘It is of no consequence. I have already been granted a wish beyond consideration – to share even another heartbeat with you is a gift that is priceless. Better to end in swift glory, as we should have done, than to eke out our last efforts to prolong our reunion.’
Conjoined in thought and intent, the two brothers lifted the wraithknight to one knee and then stood up. The left arm was gone, the same side of the chestplate irrevocably broken, exposing vital circuitry and Nymuyrisan’s mortal body. Hefting the ghostglaive in one hand, they searched the battlefield for the Chaos beast, eager to restore the balance of pride.
The starcannons were still operational and they unleashed a storm of miniature suns as they strode into the Chaos army, the blaze of fire taking the daemon’s followers unawares. The ghostglaive slashed through those too slow to get out of the war machine’s path or insane enough to hurl themselves at the wraithknight in their battle-frenzy.
‘Hylandris, can you hear us?’
There was a moment of distance and emptiness and then the farseer’s mind connected to the circuitry of the wraithknight.
Remarkable, possibly foolish. You realise that you will not be able to sustain this state for long?
‘Long enough to cover a retreat,’ said Jarithuran.
‘We will keep the enemy back until you have taken off,’ added Nymuyrisan.
It will be done, the farseer promised.
At the moment of disconnection Nymuyrisan found the Chaos beast. Its cannon was pounding the aft section of the battleship, each warpflame-shrouded shell leaving a burned welt on the skin of the Patient Lightning, the charring spreading like an infection from each impact spot. It would take only a few more hits until the hull was breached.
The twins broke into a sprint, joyful at a shared memory of the races they used to run around the Dome of Skies on Anuiven. The wraithknight pounded forward at speed, fuelled by their attempts to outpace each other even though they shared the same body, legs moving in a blur.
The eldar were already falling back. Nymuyrisan noticed that the grav-tank crews were exiting their vehicles, leaving them in the charge of the spirits that helped control them. The wraithknight pilots were not the only dead that would sacrifice their immortal futures to protect the living.
The Chaos behemoth saw them coming and turned t
o face their charge. Splinters of armour flew from the wraithknight’s body as secondary cannons and machine guns spewed fire. Now that he was fully part of the construct Nymuyrisan could feel each strike like a tiny bite on his flesh.
‘Stop that!’ Jarithuran’s admonition jarred through Nymuyrisan’s thoughts. ‘I can feel it too. We’re dead, pain is simply an illusion, a memory of what came before. Stop remembering it for me!’
Contrite, Nymuyrisan tried his best not to think of the impacts all over his body as pain. They were… rain. The gentle patter of precipitation, invigorating and delightful.
‘Much better,’ said Jarithuran.
The behemoth’s main cannon roared but the shot went wide, the pair of screaming skull shells flying high past the wraithknight’s shoulder.
‘Our turn,’ the twins thought.
The starcannons raked plasma along the nearest flank of the beast, punching through armoured howdahs and searing into scaled flesh. The behemoth roared in pain, its horned head arching back. Having seen what had become of the other beast, the Chaos followers were abandoning their mount, leaping from their turrets, swinging to the ground on ropes and sliding down ladders. Left to its own instincts, the Chaos beast shucked off the towers and turrets, rearing up to throw the buildings from its back.
It crashed down, newly revealed black hide pocked with old wounds. Some of the armour remained, on the shoulders and spine, melded to the flesh by evil sorcery. Chainmail with links the size of a man’s head hung in a mask over its face, swinging and rattling as the behemoth opened its mouth and bellowed a challenge.
It lowered its head and charged at the wraithknight, the ground trembling. Nymuyrisan looked at the approaching beast and realised that there was no fear in him. He had nothing to lose and so the dread of losing everything had disappeared too.
Moving as one, the twins guided the wraithknight aside, three quick strides taking them out of the charging behemoth’s path. As it passed, they struck, spinning to slash the ghostglaive across the creature’s throat. Nymuyrisan felt an odd moment of contact as the psychically charged blade seared through skin and blood vessels, almost feeling the life spirit of the behemoth coursing through its body.
The sensation passed as the blade tore free from the creature’s neck, cleaving through spine and muscle with ease. The beast stumbled and then collapsed, falling to its knees before rolling sideways into the muck.
The moment of victory, the heartbeat between the act and the realisation of what they had done, swelled up between the twins, a shared experience like nothing else Nymuyrisan had encountered. There was no guilt, no consequences to worry about. He was not dying, he was dead, fast becoming a memory of himself. Soon even that would no longer exist.
His awareness of reality was drifting away, draining from his thoughts even as life drained from his body, absorbed by the vampiric need of the wraithknight. By his need. By their need.
The battleship was almost forgotten, names were inconsequential, this battle, this world were old concerns. The past and future were fast becoming irrelevant. He and Jarithuran had become the wraithknight, with one purpose left to fulfil. To slay until slain.
Turning towards the remaining humans, the wraithknight raised the ghostglaive high, blood streaming down the energised blade.
Life had ended. All that remained was death. Release. Nymuyrisan lost the last piece of the tether, the final vestige of himself that separated him from the wraithknight, from his brother.
The twins would not make the final journey alone.
24
In the absence of the retreating eldar, most of the humans fell upon each other to demonstrate their devotion to their newly born goddess. The daemon princess revelled in the internecine fighting, channelling the dissipating hope and aspiration into itself to strengthen the duct between her corporeal form and the warp. Overhead the storm flickered and bellowed, infused by and mirroring the violence unleashed on the ground below.
A few eldar had not been able to make it to the battleship. Knowing that they had been abandoned they did not try to slink away but fought on alongside the spirits of the dead that were guiding the Falcons and Wave Serpents and Vypers. The daemon strode across the battlefield, unleashing bolts of lightning at these survivors as well as her own minions. She cut left and right with the golden blade, hewing limbs and heads from her followers, drinking in the flickers of psychic power released by their deaths. With each slaying, with each draught of life essence, the daemon grew stronger.
Asurmen had chosen to stay. He was needed here, to hold back the threat of the Dark Lady. He had thought his task complete with the delivery of Neridiath to the battleship, but he should have known Asuryan required a far greater deed of him.
The storm was centred on the daemon princess. While she remained intent on the Patient Lightning it would be all but impossible for the ship to leave. It was not the first time the Phoenix Lord had confronted a mortal elevated to daemonhood and he knew their weakness. The Dark Lady required warp power to secure the transition from physical human to metaphysical incarnation of Chaos. The link was raw, vulnerable and could be broken if he inflicted enough damage.
The newly raised also shared another weakness: pride. Buoyed up by the answer to their dark prayers, infused with power they had sought for a lifetime, they believed themselves invincible, suddenly beyond mortal concerns. The eldar and the battleship had been a means to an end, the fulcrum on which her bargain for power had been balanced. Even if he could not slay the Dark Lady outright, he could certainly move her attention away from the others and give them time to escape.
He sent a mental command to a nearby Vyper. The large jetbike swooped towards him, the gun cradle on its back empty. Pulling himself up behind the shuriken cannon, Asurmen bid the vehicle take him towards the daemon. As they closed, he unleashed a spray of fire from the shuriken cannon. The hail of projectiles thudded into the daemon’s unnatural flesh without any evident effect save for the one Asurmen had intended – to gain the warp-monster’s attention.
Seeing the Phoenix Lord the daemon princess uttered a piercing cry and spread her wings. She lifted into the air. The black-skinned creature arrowed towards the circling Vyper. Asurmen ascended too, taking the daemon further and further from the ongoing battle and the waves of death that sustained her. Soon the Vyper reached its maximum height, a skimmer not a true flyer, and its anti-grav engines whined to maintain their altitude. The daemon princess suffered no such limits, quickly closing on the craft from behind.
Thoughts meshed with the dead spirit controlling the Vyper, Asurmen led the Dark Lady on a chase across the forest, firing the shuriken cannon at the daemon whenever he thought she might be losing interest. Snarling, she flew faster and faster, almost catching up with the speeding Vyper, the distance from the battle growing greater with every passing heartbeat.
I shall enjoy devouring your soul when I catch you. The daemon’s voice was inside Asurmen’s head, a hissing whisper. You cannot run from me forever.
‘I can,’ replied Asurmen, ‘but you mistake my intent.’
With a thought he swept the Vyper down to a clearing, leaping from its back as it skimmed just above the ground. Rolling, he came to his feet and turned just as the daemon princess arrived.
The daemon was quick, golden blade snaking out to meet Asurmen’s cut towards her throat. The two swords met, exploding with psychic and warp power. Asurmen took a step back, ducking to avoid a barb-edged wing that lashed towards his face.
The daemon turned as she passed, furling her wings to land a distance away. She stood for a moment, watching Asurmen, warp energy cracking from her fist.
What are you? the Dark Lady asked. I see you properly now, with immortal eyes. Beneath that armour, you are not eldar.
‘I am,’ Asurmen replied. ‘As much as you are human, at least.’
I have ascended, the daemon boasted,
spreading her arms wide. I am immortal! You cannot compare to my magnificence.
Asurmen walked slowly towards the daemon princess, his blade at the ready.
‘Look at me, what do you see?’
I see… The daemon recoiled in confusion. I see nothing. You do not exist.
‘You should not cast such aspersions,’ said Asurmen. ‘You are not exactly here either. A projection, a shadow cast from the warp.’
But you are not a daemon. She flapped her wings in agitation. I can feel your warp reflection, it is strong. You are there, but you are not here. That is not possible.
‘Where is the human that you were?’ said Asurmen, stopping a couple of dozen paces from the daemon. ‘Where has she gone?’
She is in me, become me, the daemon replied. I am her.
‘But you are not. She was human and you are a daemon. You cannot be both. She is dead. You killed her when you ascended.’
I live on, I am not dead. I have become immortal.
‘That remains to be tested,’ said Asurmen.
He opened fire, scything shurikens across the daemon’s midsection. Enraged more than harmed, the beast replied with a blast of lightning. Asurmen had anticipated the attack and had already moved, swiftly circling to the left, shurikens flying from his vambraces. He cut back to the right and dived as the daemon hurled another bolt of warp power. Closing the gap he dodged left and right, firing alternately with right and left arm, never remaining in one place for more than a heartbeat. The Dark Lady threw another blast of power in frustration, missing once again.
The shurikens had not inflicted much damage but the daemon expended power to maintain its corporeal body and shrug off the slicing rounds. More importantly, the daemon princess was enraged by the incessant hail of shurikens, pride blinding her to any concern other than the destruction of Asurmen.
With a single bound the daemon cleared the intervening distance, swiping her blade towards the Phoenix Lord’s chest. The Sword of Asur leapt up to meet the attack with a mind of its own. The spirit stone in its pommel blazed with energy as the two blades collided, erupting with expended power.
