‘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 soon 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.
The labyrinth - Richard Ford Page 3
