Exitus Acta ProbatCarravar’s shuttle dashed through the darkness, a shining blade directed into the abyss that was the Ymgarl Purgatus Zone. Aboard were Carravar himself, along with two Black Templar Space Marines, brothers Gideon and Darius. They were the lone survivors of the disaster that had wiped out the battleship Absolution, a disaster that had been unavoidable. Inside the tiny cockpit, the three men were engaged in animated discussion. “Tell us, Carravar. You can’t prolong it forever.” Darius was saying, his right hand loosely gripping its combat sword. Gideon was taking no part, lounging at the scanner chair with an expression of abstract interest, watching the others argue. Tall even for a Space Marine, Gideon’s apparent age was late-forties (he was actually nearly a century older than that), with powerful grey eyes set in a bleak, impassive face. His left eye was bisected by a long scar that ran from his temple to his jaw, a relic of a battle with the Dark Eldar not so long ago. His short, steel-grey hair was cropped close to his skull, adding to his bearing the appearance of a warrior born. On the right arm of his black, battle-scarred power armour rested a gigantic power fist, currently deactivated. Before him was a peculiar tableaux. Darius, his Neophyte and brother Marine, a short, lithe fellow with black, untrimmed sideburns and a mass of tousled hair atop his youthful features and glancing blue eyes, faced the Inquisitor Carravar, his face alight with anger. Carravar was smaller than either of them, but had an aura of power all his own. The psyker was shrouded in a long, dark blue robe, underneath which the shape of his carapace armour could be seen. In the lining of the robe was a small private armoury, known to contain a power sword and hellpistol, among other weapons. His face was invisible, partly due to the hood and partly due to the metal and plastic rebreather mask he wore to obscure his voice. The voice came out guttural and mechanical, an intimidating sound for the Emperor’s enemies. His gloved hands rose in surrender, Carravar sat down in the pilot’s chair. “Well, Darius, you have me beaten. I shall explain all very shortly – since very shortly we shall be arriving at our destination.” “Explain now,” said the young Neophyte, standing behind the weapon control desk. “Think of it as our mission briefing and you might be bothered to explain something for once.” “Calm yourself. I shall explain everything.” Carravar
turned to face them, pressing the autopilot activator. “The Ymgarl Nebula was
where the Genestealers were first discovered, and for that reason the sector was
cordoned off. However, I have reason to believe that the forces of Chaos have
taken an interest in a small area within the Purgatus zone. That area lies
before us… ah, yes, we’re here. See for yourselves, gentlemen.” He pointed
to a viewport on the side of the cockpit. The two warriors turned to face it and
what they saw was stunning. On the other side of the
Purgatus zone, another ship was closing in on the same point. If Carravar’s
shuttle was sleek, then there was no word to describe this vessel. Small,
slender and graceful, painted a deep satin black, the only light visible on it
the plasma ramjet drive at the rear, flaring blue light into space. Aboard were
three men, and none of them were very happy. Erion was bored and upset and angry. It was bad enough his being called upon to work as part of a team, but his companions not only annoyed but disturbed him. Erion was a Vindicare Assassin, part of the Temple dedicated to the elimination of the Emperor’s foes from afar. In other words, he was the ultimate sniper, equipped with the Exitus rifle and pistol. The name came from the Dictatus Vindicare, his modus operandi. Exitus Acta Probat. The End Justifies the Deed. The weapons were among the most advanced humanity had to offer, but they were issued only to the Assassins, the last weapon of the Imperium against its many enemies both within and without. And his companions were Assassins too. Balaer strolled into the small cockpit, his black suit gleaming. Erion fought down the nausea his compatriot always caused in him. Balaer was a member of the Culexus Temple of Assassins. The Culexus were deeply, deeply bizarre. They recruited their psyker-slayers from all over the galaxy, seeking out those with a strange psychic mutation. All Culexus Assassins were soulless, having no psychic presence. Even beings with no major psychic abilities felt disgusted to be around the untouchable creatures, but those with the gift of psionics were afflicted with genuine physical pain, magnified by the Animus Eye the Culexus all wore on their massive helmets. The other Assassin sat down opposite him and grinned. At least, he seemed to grin. The deaths-head mask he wore was hard to read. Erion grunted his greetings and went back to reading the mission data. “When do we arrive?” Balaer muttered. “The sooner I can get off this ship the better.” “It’s me, isn’t it,” said Erion. “You don’t like me. Well I don’t like you. Fair’s fair.” “You’re fine. It’s the other one who scares me.” “Scares you?” Erion laughed. “You’re a Culexus, a Pariah, an Untouchable, and he scares you? You’re more human than I thought!” “Don’t mess around, Erion. I can’t help the way I am, but the Emperor has made me this way and I intend to serve him as best I can. But that thing in the back gives me the creeps.” Balaer glared into the back of the ship. “Me too.” Erion nodded in a rare gesture of fellow feeling. “I don’t like this at all. Why send in four of us? Why not just you, or just that monstrosity in the cryo-chamber?” “Whatever we’re after, it has to be powerful.” Balaer reached for the mission data slab and Erion passed it to him. “All it says here is ‘target may possessed of formidable psychic powers and is certain to be a formidable combat opponent’. That’s helpful.” “The combat won’t be worth worrying about.” Erion pointed to the cryo-chamber. “Not with him on the team.” The “him” was an Eversor Assassin. They didn’t know his name; they hadn’t even spoken to him. The combat-drugged maniac was deep-frozen in cryo-stasis until ground zero, since his psychotic tendencies would lead to him attacking the other Assassins if no other target presented itself. That was the worrying part. Why the Imperium had chosen to deploy an Eversor alongside them was beyond Erion’s ability to guess. Whatever they were up against, it was powerful, very powerful. Erion switched on the infravison in his helmet, checking that everything was working. A button on the console bleeped. Balaer looked across at him. “Thirty minutes. Best get to work on the cryo-chamber.” Darius gazed open-mouthed at the enormous vessel that towered over the shuttle. He’d heard of space hulks, of course, all Templars had, but never had he realised just how big they were. The main bulk of the vessel appeared to be an Imperial heavy transport, but there were telltale curves and bumps that showed an Eldar ship and the messy, rusty metal of an Ork cruiser visible among the amalgamated asteroids that were embedded in the mass. The hulk appeared to be dead, just floating in the ether. Looking around, Darius could see other ships, smaller, but in the same state of disrepair. They’d flown into a spaceship graveyard. Carravar looked over his shoulder. “That’s it,” he said, gesturing at the hulk. “Somewhere aboard that space hulk is a thing of such immense evil that my mind can barely comprehend it, something old and insane and chaotic in the extreme.” “Something that you are here to destroy.” Gideon said, leaning over to see out of the viewport. “How do you plan to search the hulk? It must be four miles long and three high, you’ll never be able to scour all of that.” “I don’t need to,” said Carravar solemnly. “I have the means to locate this thing.” “I won’t ask what they are.” Darius responded. “What do you expect to find there?” “Chaos.” Carravar answered with a hiss. “Traitor Marines, possibly even daemons, and I have no idea in what strength.” “That’s why you needed the Absolution!” Darius exclaimed. “And the Black Templars. I intended either to storm the hulk or to destroy it. The weaponry of this shuttle wouldn’t make a dent, so we are forced to enter the beast’s lair and slay what dwells within.” “Ready your weapons,” said Gideon, “we’re going in.” “We’re going in.” Balaer stated somewhat flatly. “Is the Eversor ready?” “He’s coming out of stasis now,” Erion answered. “I’ve fed in the mission data and target details, at least all the data we’ve got.” “Then we’re ready. All systems check out… docking
now!” The Culexus grasped the controls and heaved. The Assassins’ ship
curved smoothly alongside the immense space hulk that orbited before them,
cruising down its length toward what must have been part of the Imperial
transport ship. Balaer pulled on the levers and the small ship hurtled left and
into a huge, empty, rotting cargo bay. Touching down on its single ramjet, the
shuttle landed with an alarming creak. The door opened and the two Assassins
strode out. Erion slunk down the ramp, his black stealth suit already changing
shade to match the shadows. In his hand was a stumpy pistol, the size and shape
of a plasma weapon but without the distinctive fuel canister or coolant sheath,
while slung over his shoulder was his Exitus sniper rifle. He stepped onto the
floor of the bay, which whined under his weight. Beside him walked his
companion, dressed in a tighter, figure-hugging suit, also in black. The only
thing that marked out the Culexus from any other Imperial agent was his helmet.
It was huge; the skull-faced helmet surrounded by the tubes and conduits that
linked Balaer’s mind to the Animus Eye. The Eye dominated his face. It looked
like a huge dead metal spider that had landed in the Assassin’s left eye
socket, legs curled up in a last attempt to protect the underbelly. Erion knew
that underneath was the soul-wrenching darkness of the Culexus’ nonexistent
spirit, a window into the empty heart of the psyker-killer. Balaer stood well
clear of the ramp and held out his left hand, which clutched a remote control.
He flicked the single switch. From within the shuttle came the sound of a door
opening, then rapid, light footsteps, and then the Eversor was leaping out of
the shuttle. Erion caught a glimpse of a tall, muscular shape in tight black
synskin, the heavy glove and slender metal talons of the neuro-gauntlet, a
double-barrelled combi-pistol in the other hand, and a power sword and rucksack
of melta bombs slung over the creature’s shoulders. It landed lithely on both
feet and looked around, the bright white skull gazing into the dripping depths.
It stared into Erion’s eyes and he saw the beast that lurked within it, barely
controllable by human standards. Those mad eyes glared out at him before the
Eversor bounded off into the depths of the ship. Balaer followed, sticking to
the shadows, while Erion started to climb the ladder that would take him up into
the service ducts. All conversation had ceased. The hunt was on. On the other side of the Imperial vessel, Carravar, Darius and Gideon were dismounting from their own craft. Gideon’s polished and scarred armour with its huge power fist whirring in the darkness, casting out a dim blue glow, landed heavily on the deck, which sagged under the weight of the power armour. Darius landed more lightly behind him, wielding a boltgun and a combat sword, while Carravar clambered out, still dressed in his heavy robes and seemingly unarmed. The Inquisitor looked around nervously, but he shook his head and took out a Auspex scanner from his robe. Switching the device on, he glared at the screen for a minute or so before turning for one of the exits. “Here,” he said. “Here is where we must go.” “What’s down there?” asked Darius, peering into the dark, musty-smelling corridor. “At least five unknown life forms,” replied Carravar. “Brother Darius, it would be a great help to me if you were to bear the scanner. We’re looking for a massive power spike somewhere in the transport’s cargo bays.” “Very well.” Darius took the scanner and held it thoughtfully. Besides their own presence, the device also showed five white dots – unconfirmed life signs – ahead, about a hundred metres. They could see a large bulkhead before them, corroded with years of rust and disuse. Gideon stepped forward and pressed the opening control. The bulkhead ground worryingly, but opened, showering him with rust. The room beyond was seemingly empty. They looked at each other, then at the door. “Life signs?” Gideon asked simply. “They’re in there somewhere…” Darius cocked his bolter. “When you’re ready, brother? Inquisitor?” Carravar nodded, taking out the hellpistol from yet another concealed pocket and jamming in a fresh power pack. “Ready,” he said, checking the safety catch. There was a high-pitched shriek from inside the chamber. Darius jumped and Gideon laughed. “Something wrong, Neophyte? We should know no fear.” “Sorry, brother. I feel nervous. Something about this place isn’t right.” “I feel it too,” Gideon said, inclining his helmet downwards. “Let’s go.” The three men stepped into the chamber. The Auspex began to bleep loudly, crisply in the still air. The life signs, whatever they were, were all around them. Strange scuttling sounds could be heard under the floor. They stood, rooted to the spot, fearing Genestealers or some foul daemonic trickery. The shrieking sound returned and Darius could bear it no longer. He opened fire, blasting the explosive boltgun shells into the floor panels. The shrieking and the scuttling stopped as the panel nearest him flipped up to reveal the rat, blasted apart. Darius smiled in relief. “All clear,” he said, flipping the scanner on again. “Let us continue.” Carravar answered, stepping gingerly around the corpse and moving down the corridor on the other side of the empty chamber. They reached a T-junction after about three minutes and Carravar whispered, “Scan!” to Darius. The Auspex whirred quietly. “Down there,” said Darius, gesturing to the left. They took a right turn, then went left again at a cross-corridor. Another bulkhead barred the way, but a hefty punch from Gideon smashed the ageing metal away. An empty room, a straight corridor, and then they came to another empty chamber with a T-junction outside. Darius stopped to scan again. “That’s odd,” he muttered, slapping it with a gauntleted hand. “The damn thing’s picking up another power source. There’s another ship docking here somewhere, either that or the scanner’s malfunctioning.” “Another ship?” Carravar whispered fearfully. “Can you get a designation?” “No,” Darius replied, shaking his head. “It’s well shielded though, and appears to be a three-man shuttle very similar to our own. Apart from that I can’t get anything.” “Expecting someone?” asked Gideon with a wry smile. “Jest not, brother Gideon,” said Carravar. “We go on
and cross that bridge when we come to it. Can you still get a lock on the other
power spike?” Darius nodded. “Good. Keep moving.” The next chamber was odd. The bulkhead and the walls had picked up a vague red tint, not paint, but certainly some kind of liquid, long-since dried. Gideon scraped some off the wall with his free hand and tasted it gingerly, the enhanced senses of a full Black Templar coming into play. “Blood!” he snarled, drawing his bolt pistol. “And fairly fresh! There’s something alive in here.” His suspicions were confirmed when a door to his left hissed open, disgorging five power-armoured figures into the small room. Five figures in dark crimson power armour. Five figures bearing chainaxes. Five figures that carried the planet-eating maw and the arcane horned helmets of Worldeaters Chaos Space Marines. Gideon fired his bolt pistol at the nearest traitor, the bullets biting into the plasteel armour, trying to find a breachable point. One shot hit the eyepiece and the Chaos Marine fell. Darius planted his feet on the ground and rapid fired into the advancing Chaos squad, his shots either bouncing off or embedding themselves in shoulder pads and greaves. A Worldeater charged him, chainaxe buzzing and snarling as it tore into his right shoulder, twisting the Black Templars emblem into a mass of tears and scars. Darius’ right hand came up clutching his combat knife. The weapon plunged into the cables around the Worldeater’s waist and he recoiled, cursing in an unintelligible language. He didn’t have time for a second charge – Darius fired the bolter and took his head off before he had a chance to recover his momentum. The three surviving Worldeaters roared in unison. “Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!
Blood for Khorne!” Three harsh, cruel voices raised in tribute to their foul god. Three became two as Gideon’s power fist impacted into a red-armoured chest, smashing its owner apart. The nearest Worldeater, helm-less to show off his Chaos Gift of swept-back bone horns, grinned and grabbed at the power fist, pulling out the cable. The two power-armoured men grappled in the dim light, Gideon’s Mark Seven armour against the Worldeater’s Mark Five. The Worldeater’s armour was slightly tougher, but Gideon had the advantage of speed, although with a Chaos-crazed monster hanging on to him that was negated somewhat. Carravar simply stood firing futilely into the doorway, pinning the other Chaos follower back although doing him no harm. The Chaos Marine raised his hands. “Khorne!” he snarled. “Aid us!” And the Blood God answered. Materializing out of thin air, a Bloodletter, one of Khorne’s Warriors of Death, came to aid his followers. The daemon was as tall as a Space Marine and easily burlier, clawed hands clutching a long sword that crackled with warpfire, red, blood slicked skin and muscles shifting as it moved. Darius gazed into its eyes. Two deep, dark holes in its face, leading into an abyss of hate and battle-lust, leading into the heart of Khorne himself. The Bloodletter’s hideous face twisted in a smile, its brazen fangs glistening in the light. It leapt. The light flickered across brass horns and red skin. The deadly black sword swung down towards Gideon. With phenomenal speed the Templar spun around on his heel, throwing his adversary into the path of the weapon. The Bloodletter’s sword slashed into the Worldeater’s head and continued, carving through power armour and bone and flesh alike. Khorne’s Warrior roared as the Bezerker fell beneath its blade. “Khorne cares not from whence the blood flows!” it bellowed, stepping over the ruined corpse to attack the retreating Gideon. Gideon snapped off a shot from his bolt pistol – the daemonic warrior carried on regardless as the bullet blasted a hole in its body. As they watched, the flesh slowly knitted together and the sword rose again. Suddenly Carravar was there between the daemon and its victim, a force axe mysteriously appearing from beneath his robes. The blue-glowing weapon whirled and spun through the air in a series of dazzling manoeuvres. The Bloodletter readied its own weapon, crackling and steaming with the blood of its comrade. Darius reluctantly tore his eyes away from the duel and back toward the other Bezerker. He was gone. The sound of weapons clashing drew his attention back to Carravar. The two beings whirled around, circling and slashing, each frantically parrying the other’s blows. The tip of the hellblade caught Carravar a glancing blow, sparking as it bit into his carapace armour. Screaming in pain, the Inquisitor swung his own blade around, biting deep into the sinews of the Khorne daemon’s neck. The two Templars were unsure what to do – should they assist or leave the Inquisitor to do what he did best? The Bloodletter forced Carravar back to the doors, but abruptly his weapon was dropped and he was intoning some formula in the pre-Gothic tongue of the Adeptus Terra. “In Nomine Dei-Imperatus, Tibi Impero Foede, Daemon, Ne Nos Molestes Iterum! Abi Ex Loc Et Redi Eo Unde Veniste! Veni Numquam Ad Mudum Mortalium!” (In the name of the God-Emperor, I command you, Daemon, trouble us no more! Quit this place and return whence you came! Come no more to the realm of mortals!) And then his axe whirred out again and split the Daemon from thigh to collarbone, cleaving through the beast’s unholy tissues, tearing it asunder and hurling it back into the warp. Carravar slumped forward, but remained conscious, dragging himself upright to gaze about the chamber. “What happened to the other traitor?” “He escaped.” Darius said, his hands forming the sigil of redemption. “Then we can expect more of his kind to beset us, assuming the fighting does not alert them. The daemon was weak, freshly materialised. Those that follow will be stronger.” “Then it is fortunate for us that you have the power to banish them.” Gideon grasped the Inquisitor’s wrist. “Do we go on?” “Darius?” Carravar asked, pointing at the scanner. “Through that door,” said the Neophyte. “The power spike is somewhere down there.” “Then we go to it.” Carravar intoned, clipping the
hilt of the force axe to his belt. Erion crawled along the
service ducts, both his weapons holstered. They would be no use to him here.
Beneath him came the occasional clang of booted feet or the snarl of a Chaos
Space Marine, but none of them even noticed him. The Chaos traitors were too
weak, too disorganised to be aware of the Assassin in their midst. Their senses
were enfeebled by blood and hatred as the Khorne troops scuffled in their
corridors and guardrooms. Erion moved on, leaving no trace. Not a single atom of
his body, not a single smell from his sweating limbs polluted the air, there was
no trail for anyone to follow. He reached a grille and punched it out into the
empty air, swinging his body out onto the gantry. He lifted the Exitus rifle
into place, sighting on the figure standing alone in the cargo bay below… and
then he heard the growling. It occurred to him that even a Vindicare Assassin,
with all the mortal trappings that he carried, still left a blazing trail in the
warp for a daemon to follow. He turned around, his eyes wide in fear, and then
the Flesh Hound’s jaws closed about his face. Balaer stalked silently
down the corridors of the deserted space hulk. Here and there he came across the
wreckage of a skirmish – always Chaos bodies littered the floor, cut down by
the Eversor who preceded him. His Animus Eye clicked in the silent darkness,
bunching itself tighter as it always did when he was nervous. He was so nervous
that he forgot to check the next length of corridor. He didn’t notice the trap
until it was too late. By then the one-shot krak grenade had already splintered
his soulless skull open. When the two Templars and the Inquisitor reached the small guardroom, they were stunned to find it deserted. They had expected to see Bezerkers waiting for them, alerted by the sound of bolter fire, or a daemon crazed for slaughter. Not an empty chamber without a sign of life. From down the corridor they heard cheering and chanting. It seemed to be coming from the base of a flight of stairs they saw off to their left. The chant was a disturbing, low, loud rhythmic repetition of the same word. “Blood! Blood! Blood!” came the sound of dozens of
voices raised in triumphant chorus. The three hurried down the stairs, weapons
at the ready. They came to a set of double doors, huge brassbound doors that
totally filled the narrow passage. Darius kicked them open and the three stepped
through. The hall on the other side contained two Worldeaters, both wielding chainaxes and duelling within a vague circle of chains held up on metal poles topped with skulls. The circle ended on either side of the doors through which the trio had entered, and luckily the huge lumps of brass obscured them from most of the audience. The audience was made up of dozens more Khorne worshippers, all brandishing weapons hopefully, and it was they who chanted loudly to the combatants. The two in the centre seemed to be hell-bent on disembowelling each other – at least they were until Carravar shot one of them in the back with the hellpistol. The hit downed the Chaos Marine and focused his compatriot’s attention on the three men in the doorway. He stared incredulously at them before motioning with his hand. Three other Bezerkers of Khorne jumped into the circle and headed for the Black Templars and Inquisitor, while another hopeful challenger climbed into the ring to slug it out with the Champion. The three Bezerkers who had been sent to oust the intruders lashed out wildly with their weapons, pushing Carravar and his companions back onto the stairs. Two of them advanced, grinning wickedly, but the third stood and watched, seemingly weighing up the situation with unusual care for a crazed follower of the Blood God. Gideon’s powerfist arm was knocked back, dislocated by a chainsword thrust, Darius was backed into a corner trying to fend off his assailant and Carravar was – Carravar had fled! Gideon looked around as he staggered up the stairs. No, the Inquisitor was still there. He was lying behind the door, stunned in the act of reloading his pistol. The Bezerker towered over Gideon. He could smell the traitor’s foul, blood-scented breath through his mask; hear the buzzing of the chainsword as it was lifted for a two-handed killing blow. An expression of shock crossed the Khorne marine’s bare face, and then he collapsed to the floor, his eyes lolling back. Darius’ opponent was blasted into nothingness by a plasma shot from nowhere – Gideon stared at the third Bezerker, who stood with plasma pistol levelled at the smoking air. He laughed mockingly as his own weapon rose to meet the threat. “So, the traitors kill their own in bloodlust?” he asked rhetorically. His finger tightened on the trigger. A hideous sound emerged from the seemingly paralyzed Bezerker, a sucking, slurping sound coupled with a high-energy whine. The bulky armoured Marine imploded in a flash of light, transforming into another, smaller, slimmer, female form in figure-hugging black synskin. In one hand the warrior held a flamer-like weapon sheathed in cables, the other held the short sword with which she had evidently slain Gideon’s enemy. She put up both weapons and stepped gracefully over the corpse, saluting. “Mariana,” she said simply. “Assassin of the Callidus Temple.” “Evidently.” Gideon replied, forcing his bolt pistol back into its sheath. “Brother-Initiate Gideon, Black Templars Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes. Brother-Neophyte Darius, of the same Chapter, and Inquisitor Carravar of the Ordo Malleus.” “Master, what in the name of Dorn is going on?” Darius glared at the Assassin. “Who is she?” “Mariana is an agent of the High Lords of Terra themselves, Darius,” the old Templar said, barring his compatriot’s path with his good arm. “My apologies for my student, Assassin Mariana. He has much to learn.” “Maybe so,” the Callidus said with a smile. “Your arm – dislocated. Stand still and I’ll snap it back in.” “I can do it myself.” Gideon answered. He stood back and slammed himself into the wall of the stairwell, grunting as the loose bones skidded across each other. Mariana laughed. “Oh, for the Emperor’s sake get down here!” she stifled. Before Gideon could protest, she had danced around behind him and twisted his arm back into place. The Black Templar cried out in pain. “Be quiet, you big baby. You Marines are all the same.” She moved across to Carravar and slipped the hood off him. The Inquisitor opened his eyes to see a black-masked face filling his vision, hair tied up in a ponytail. He lurched back out of her reach and scrabbled for his pistol. “Relax, Inquisitor,” said Mariana, jumping up. “You are not my target here.” “Then who or what is?” Carravar said, shaking his head to clear it and pulling the hood back over. “A power so great that even the Primarchs would have trembled to face it, Inquisitor. The same power you yourself seek.” “The Chaos gate?” asked Carravar. A cough from Gideon alerted him to the presence of the Templars. “Ah yes, brother Marines. Now is the time for explanation.” “Explain, Inquisitor.” Gideon growled, clenching his fists. “I came to this ship because I know that somewhere on board is a Chaos item, a warpgate that leads into a daemon world somewhere on the edge of the Maelstrom. My powers told me it was the same world you yourselves seek to end these dreams and visions – the world of the daemon Khastarax. I intend to use the gate and assault his fortress within the Eye.” “Two Marines and yourself against Khastarax?” Darius laughed. “You must be mad, lord Inquisitor. You haven’t faced him; you don’t know how powerful he is. On Moldion he shattered a squad of Eldar Wraithguard without taking a single wound. It took the daemon Avatar to slay him there, and you propose to face him on his own turf? You must be mad,” he repeated. “Mad.” “But I am not, Darius. I knew the Assassin kill-team was coming to assist me. I was unaware they had arrived before me, however. But they have, and with their help we shall go on.” “Why are you involved at all?” Gideon asked. “What made the Inquisition concerned with this matter? There are thousands of daemon worlds out there. Why is this one important enough for Assassins and Inquisitors to cooperate over it?” “Because it is the source of this madness,” said Carravar. “The corruption of Moldion was just the beginning. You are aware of the war on Armageddon?” Gideon nodded. “That war has drained the Segmentum resources, all forces are being concentrated on the defeat of Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka, leaving the Segmentum Tempestus vulnerable. The forces of Chaos know this, and they have amassed in the warp, readying themselves for war. The Emperor’s Tarot predicts the Chaos Gods gathering their power in this sector for a Black Crusade, and they have chosen Khastarax as their leader. I have transmitted a signal to the High Lords with what information I had. Their answer was, Mariana?” “They sent our team to reinforce your efforts, and they promise military support as soon as the Armageddon system is stable,” replied the Assassin. “So you see, brother Templars, the three of us are caught up in a bigger picture. Your Farseer, Gideon, he knew what was coming. We are the sector’s only hope, ourselves and whatever forces the Imperium chooses to send.” “A secret weapon,” Mariana said, her face suddenly serious, “a secret weapon aimed at the prince Chaos has chosen to lead its foul hordes. A secret weapon aimed at Khastarax.” “Then what are we waiting for?” Darius asked, jamming
a fresh clip into his bolter. “Let’s go!” The four strode along the empty corridors of the Chaos hulk, Gideon and Darius in the lead, Carravar behind, then Mariana. The Inquisitor gazed around the corridors in revulsion. “How many were there in your team, Mariana?” he asked, suddenly breaking the grim, purposeful silence. “Four,” responded the Callidus Assassin. “The others were in that ship you said you detected. A Vindicare, a Culexus and an Eversor.” “An Eversor?” Carravar whispered hoarsely. “By the Golden Throne! What do they mean by this, sending one of those maniacs?” “Grotesque, isn’t it?” Mariana grinned. Gideon stopped to face her. “What did you say?” he asked. “’Grotesque, isn’t it?’” the Callidus said. “Why?” “I just had the strangest feeling of déjà vu.”
Gideon answered. He recalled the words of Aryani, the Eldar Farseer who had set
him on this quest to destroy Khastarax. It had only been four months before, but
it felt like his whole life had passed again between the times. They stood outside the doors of the main cargo bay now, the huge brassbound edifices towering over them, hanging half-open. Carravar whirled his hand and Darius switched on the scanner. It buzzed and crackled in the gloom, lighting up Darius’ face with its graveyard glow. His eyes widened. “It’s full of them!” he whispered. “And the gateway’s in there too. That’s the power spike.” “Indeed it is,” said Carravar. “Ready?” “Ready.” Gideon nodded. Darius simply held his bolter in his hands. Mariana pulled back the switch on her neuro-shredder. “For the Emperor!” Carravar yelled, kicking the door away and firing his weapon into the red-lit room beyond. The scene that greeted him was one from hell itself. Bezerkers filled the floor, easily sixty of the Worldeater Chaos Space Marines gathered around the huge shape that filled the far end. Gathered on the steps leading up to the shape (which we are, by degrees, approaching) were eight far larger warriors in heavier armour. Each held a chainaxe or power axe in one hand and a combi-bolter, a double-barrelled weapon, in the other. Chaos Terminators, the antithesis of everything the Imperium stood for. Darius had fought alongside Terminators before, but never against them. At the very head of the steps stood a power-armoured Chaos follower in black armour that shone with fresh blood. He held an enormous double-bladed axe in both hands, an axe that carried the abominable emblem of the Blood God Khorne picked out in brass. Behind him was the Chaos warpgate, an enormous octagonal frame of black daemonic stone and iron surrounding the roiling, churning mass of deep red energy, crackling and burning with the fire of Chaos. The Champion of Khorne looked up and beheld the four warriors storming into his chamber. He cursed and spat in the Dark Tongue of Chaos and the Bezerkers began to flow and reform, pushing and shoving toward their enemies. Darius and Gideon glanced at each other. They knew that the end was closer than ever. “No Pity! No Remorse! No Fear!” the two Black Templars
bellowed at the tops of their voices, charging into the horde of red armour and
brass weapons. Mariana had already disappeared into the Chaos force, her weapons
cutting into the plasteel wall. Carravar was striding with force axe shining,
his hood thrown back to reveal the helmet of his carapace suit. The axe lashed
out at his attackers as he remorselessly hacked a path into the slaves of Khorne.
Four against forty. There could only be one outcome. They had been fighting for what seemed like hours. Darius knew he must have shot down at least five Bezerkers but they came on nonetheless. It was over, and he knew it. Scanning the mass of armour he saw the Chaos Terminators pushing their way through their comrades, axes raised to strike at a nanosecond’s notice. This was it. There was no way they could survive… but then a Terminator fell, screaming, a black-clad shape leaping over its body and laying about it with a power sword. The shape moved like lightning, the weapon slashing and slicing almost faster than Darius could follow it. A grinning, death’s head helmet topped the black monster that was even now cutting down another Terminator. Gideon appeared beside him, a Chaos helmet gripped in his powerfist. “Eversor!” he panted. “Take cover! It’ll…turn on us if it runs…out of enemy.” The Templars jumped into the melee, fighting not only towards the gate but to get away from the crazed Assassin. The Eversor rolled around the smoking body of the second Terminator and drew an ornate double-barrelled pistol. Rising on one knee, it aimed for the Champion of Khorne. First the bolt pistol shot, denting the enormous Marine’s armoured chest, then the needle pistol fired, driving its toxic ammunition home into the charging Worldeater. The Terminators turned in their drive and began to force their way towards the Assassin, the Bezerkers shoving around, closing in on the drug-maddened psychopath. The death’s head rose above the crowd just for a moment and Darius heard the distorted screech above the sound of the Khorne troops, hacking at each other now in their frenzy. “Go on!” the Eversor’s warped voice bellowed. Taking advantage of their enemies’ distraction, Darius and the others began to push forward for the warpgate. They passed the gagging Khorne champion and ran up the stairwell towards the huge metal portal. Carravar halted them before the structure, gazing into the depths of Chaos itself. On the other side could be dimly seen a dark, twisted landscape, rivers of blood and mounds of skulls set in a black volcanic plain, but all was tinted red by the energy field. Carravar looked up from his crouched position and Darius saw the meltabomb he had primed and clamped to the stairway. “You’re going to destroy the gate, aren’t you?” he asked bitterly. “I have to,” the Inquisitor replied. “If we are lost but Khastarax slain then it will all be worthwhile. Exitus Acta Probat, Darius. The Outcome Justifies the Deed.” “Damn that now!” Darius shouted, but the Inquisitor
was already pushing him through the Chaos gate. Energy flared and crackled
around them, there was a brief sense of distortion and then the four of them had
landed on a barren ash plain. Mariana looked back up at the warpgate, the exit
of which was set in a huge stone statue to Khorne. She saw the shape of a Chaos
Terminator advancing through the gate. She heard the explosion from the
meltabomb and saw the energy field flicker and die. They were trapped. Trapped
on a daemonworld of Khorne. Far across the wilderness stood the fortress, guarded by a mighty horde of Chaos Space Marines, Cultists, Daemons, all the foulness the Blood God had gathered for his coming war. The huge temple of Chaos dominated the landscape for miles around, the great stone building set into a peak of the impossibly tall mountains of this world. Deep within its labyrinthine corridors, the beast lurked, ancient, vengeful and almighty here in its foul realm. Massive hooves rested at the foot of the throne, huge, bulging muscles encased in black Chaos armour, two gigantic bat-wings stretched about its shoulders and a menacing fanged head dominated it all. The beast’s eyes shone with hate and frenzy, a bitter, twisted creature that glared out at the universe, a being that knew only war and carnage. Khastarax gazed out into his realm, and he saw the Templars and their companions arrive. He grinned a terrible, blood-hungry grin. “THEY COME, THE LEFT HAND OF THE EMPEROR AND HIS
‘SECRET’ WEAPON. THEY COME AND THEY SHALL BE DESTROYED!” And the horde heard his voice and they obeyed.
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