by Alec Worley
The daemon loomed over the wounded woman, swelling as it guzzled the last of the melted flesh from the reservoir in which it stood. A buckled pauldron slid from Adamanthea’s shoulder with a clang. She was clawing steadily up a chunk of a wrecked pillar as she hauled herself upright, blood pooling at her feet. Marcus could feel waves of hate crashing inside the daemon as it glared at the wretched mortal beneath it, an inferno of thwarted rage preparing to erupt.
Adamanthea was still clambering up the broken pillar when the creature abruptly drowned her in fire. The conflagration rose and boiled until it filled the chamber with clouds of flame.
Marcus cowered nearby. He whimpered beneath the scorching heat, his eyes closed, but still seeing what the daemon saw: a churning chaos of flames that would reduce the woman to a smear of ash for her insolence.
A figure burst through the flames like a tiger, clawed hands outstretched. Shielded by faith alone, Sister Adamanthea’s body was miraculously intact, as if the firestorm were but a breeze.
She caught the protruding hilt of her eviscerator as she pounced on the daemon’s chest. As she clutched the trigger with both hands, the weapon roared into life in a flurry of churning ichor. The daemon staggered back. Adamanthea let herself drop, dragging the blade downwards, unzipping a deluge of gore in her wake.
She landed on the lip of the well as the daemon emptied itself above her. She slashed the creature into chunks as it fell, its severed limbs dissolving in mid-air as she whirled the eviscerator about her. When the daemon’s head finally dropped within range, she delivered her final stroke.
Marcus’ vision turned black once more. His head spun as he fell into a faint.
He awoke to find three bloodied Battle Sisters kneeling nearby. They were chanting prayers of sanctification, restoring the Emperor’s presence to their polluted surroundings. They continued their litanies as Marcus cried out, agony suddenly flooding his body. He stared in horror at his hands, the flesh of which stirred on the bones, winding about his fingers like smoke. He touched his face and the flesh came away on his fingers, like strands of hot tar. The realisation of what the daemon’s touch had done to him hit like a blow. He curled up and retched in pain.
‘Sister Adamanthea?’ His once powerful voice had withered to a croak.
The Dominion Superior knelt beside what remained of her squad. She was drenched in blood and filth. Her brooding green eyes were piercing in her blackened face. Her gorget had been shattered, her vox-grille destroyed, revealing a small cybernetic port in her throat, surrounded by welters of scar tissue.
‘Will you hear my confession?’ said Marcus, feeling for the corded claw that hung from his neck. He tugged the pendant free and offered it to Adamanthea.
‘Return to the village wearing this,’ he said. ‘Fulfil the hunter’s oath in my stead and you will bring this world into the light.’
Adamanthea received the talisman grimly. Her face twitched with a pang of frustration as she absently touched the great scar at her throat, unable to speak.
‘Superbia vocat corruptionem,’ he said, faltering. ‘Pride indeed beckons corruption. My love for myself, for my own ambition, exceeded my love for the Throne. Forgive me, Sister.’ He raised his hands towards her, as he heard a familiar whisper in his head, the name of the kingly terror that had possessed him.
He gasped before the voice could overwhelm him. ‘Suffer not the mutant to live!’
Adamanthea’s face seemed to soften at his words, as though he had spoken a spell that brought life to cold stone. She pressed something into his ruined hands.
His rosarius.
‘Ave Imperator,’ he sobbed, kissing the icon. Adamanthea rose. That terrible rigidity returned to her face. Her surviving Sisters murmured a blessing over her eviscerator as Marcus bowed his head, exposing the back of his neck. He shuddered with grateful tears as the weapon roared into life.
A heartbeat passed before darkness snatched the whispers away.
About the Author
Alec Worley is a well-known comics and science fiction and fantasy author, with numerous publications to his name. Also a film journalist and critic, he is an avid fan of Warhammer 40,000. ‘Whispers’ is his second story for the Black Library. He lives and works in London.
On one of the Imperium’s holiest worlds, civil unrest and rumours of sinister, four-armed monsters spur the Sisters of Battle into action against numberless foes.
A Black Library Publication
Published in Great Britain in 2017 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd,
Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.
Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.
Whispers © Copyright Games Workshop Limited 2017. Whispers, GW, Games Workshop, Black Library, The Horus Heresy, The Horus Heresy Eye logo, Space Marine, 40K, Warhammer, Warhammer 40,000, the ‘Aquila’ Double-headed Eagle logo, and all associated logos, illustrations, images, names, creatures, races, vehicles, locations, weapons, characters, and the distinctive likenesses thereof, are either ® or TM, and/or © Games Workshop Limited, variably registered around the world.
All Rights Reserved.
A CIP record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 978-1-78572-735-1
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
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