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Ways and Means The old man felt at home here in the cool, wraithbone quiet of the Dome of Crystal Seers. The silence was almost comforting to one who had spent years listening to the pleas of his fellows for guidance and comfort. It was the silence of disembodied minds, of the ancient wisdom of the Eldar slowly congealing into the very fabric of his world. It was a silence that he would soon be joining. Aryani was a Farseer, an Eldar who had chosen to follow the Path of the Warlock and never left. The power the position brought, both spiritual and material, was incredible, but the price was great. Over time, his body would slowly crystallise until eventually he would simply take root in the wraithbone of the craftworld and never move again. For him the price was worth paying. For a human, it would be inconceivable. Sadly he turned and walked out, head hung. Life was still worth the living. Hours later, he stood before the assembled warriors. No, more than warriors, they were Exarchs, the greatest and most powerful warriors of the Craftworld and the Eldar race. The decision had been made. The five were gathered, the Court of the Young King. Aryani regretted involving them, but he needed reinforcements for his mission and he needed trained fighters. He took down the massive, jewel-encrusted sword; the Wailing Doom; from it’s position in the moulded door, turned to the Court and began to chant his least favourite words in the whole damned universe. “Suinereyais corotres autrus! We have come to witness and to sacrifice! The time for battle is upon us; the Bloody Hand shall point the way. Enter, Young King, chosen of the Exarchs!” The warrior emerged, stripped and painted with the arcane emblems of the Dire Avenger shrine. As he stepped out of the darkness, Aryani realised in a whirl of shock that it was Karrias, an old friend, and a childhood friend. A friend no more, not now he was lost to the Path of the Warrior. Aryani laughed inwardly. They were so much the same, and so different. Both had lost their freedom, but Aryani could still find peace. For Karrias there would be no peace. His soul was condemned to spend eternity in an Exarch suit. When he died, his spirit stone would join the pool of the armour’s wisdom and his body crumble away. Or he would, if not sacrificed to the Bloody-Handed One. On his own death, Aryani would remain forever rooted in the Dome of Crystal Seers. Oblivion. Somehow that no longer frightened him as it once had. Maybe he was getting old. He stepped around to the side of the young Exarch and handed him the robe. “Wear the mantle of Biel-Tan so he will know whom you serve!” he cried. He gritted his teeth. This was one of the worst parts. He raised the sword. “Cup of Kreel, accept this sacrifice!” The sword fell and the blade slashed Karrias’ wrists horizontally, not diagonally. He’d live long enough to complete the ritual. As the first drops of blood landed in the brass cup on the table, a sound of flames could be heard behind the doors, a sound that roared and rumbled, a crescendo of fire. He handed the cup and sword over to Karrias, who stood, eyes glazed, awaiting his fate. “Wield the Wailing Doom to ignite his battle-lust!” The sound was deafening now as the doors were blasted open. Within was an firestorm, a column of fire that blasted flares into the room, creating a carpet of flames around the door. Karrias stepped unfazed toward the pillar. Aryani swallowed. “Khaela Mensha Khaine! He comes to you! Awaken, and accept this sacrifice!” Karrias was swallowed by the firestorm. The doors swung closed and his scream echoed through the craftworld’s very heart. It was a day later. The Court of the Young King was still gathered about the doors. Aryani stood before them, knowing the time was nigh. From within came a thunderous cacophony of footsteps, a great metallic tempo beating through the floor. The doors were pushed back, the fiery carpet blasted forth once more, but emerging from the flames was a figure born of nightmare. Twelve feet high, with skin of molten iron, blood dripping from its left hand, magma from it’s heels, lit by an inner rage that burned brighter than the stars, its eyes alight with hate and bloodshed, its right hand clutching the Wailing Doom, a gargantuan weapon for a mortal Eldar but lifted like a normal sword by this monstrosity of the Eldar psyche, the Avatar came forth. It stepped out of the doors, legs splayed, Bloody Hand raised in mocking salute, the Wailing Doom held out parallel to its waist, the living incarnation of the Eldar war god, Khaela Mensha Khaine, the Avatar roared. It was a primal sound that reverberated through the Exarchs, the old Farseer, carried by the Craftworld’s wraithbone core, a sound of war. The battle cry of Khaine. Space ripped open as the Eldar ships cruised smoothly out of the webway into orbit about the world. Whatever was there had unknowingly colonised an Eldar Maiden World, a planet terraformed by the Eldar millennia ago, before the catastrophic events of the Fall that had all but wiped them out. Aryani was nervous. He couldn’t help feeling he’d made the wrong decision. Reaching into his pocket, he took out the runestone pouch, dipped his hand in and withdrew four small gems. The first, the Rune of the Emperor, the sign of humanity, hovered in mid-air. The humans, the race that could turn to evil or aid the Eldar against it. The bi-coloured gem spun around and around, presenting first red, then blue faces toward the Farseer. Interesting. Some for, some against the Eldar. The second stone, the Bloody Hand, orbited about it, keeping its red face toward the Emperor. The third was the balance, the sign of truth, and the last was – the last was the Double Skull. The sign of treachery, and an ill omen at any time. He tossed three more stones into the air. The Spider. It would be a war of attrition, fought in secret places. The Arrow. They would have to move fast. The Phoenix. This was interesting! The Phoenix signified an old thing in a new place. Still he was unsure. Aryani reached out and touched the stones. Instantly an image of war filled his mind. He stood on Hiliali, the Maiden World. All around him the warriors of the Emperor fought his Eldar, but he could sense another presence behind their actions, a presence that hungered for battle and bloodshed. The presence of something ancient and eager for slaughter. He beheld the arrival of a great army of the Imperium, an army clad in black and devoted to their dead Emperor, an army driven by the need to scourge this world. They too attacked the Eldar, but he could foresee a time when they would fight against a common foe, this evil force that drove the lesser humans to war. Suddenly his mind exploded. He understood. The world they orbited was freshly colonized by the Imperium, but other humans, Chaos tainted humans, were both already on the planet and among the new, Imperial warriors. They didn’t know Chaos was present there, they fought to defend their new territory The humans had been there long enough to establish themselves – whatever happened there, Hiliali was lost to the Eldar. What mattered now was to save them from the foes both within and without. He could not, would not abandon a Maiden World to Chaos. He had to choose the lesser of the two evils. He had to help the Imperium. The Eldar cruiser cleft lower into the atmosphere, its sophisticated shields blazing red as they fought to cope with the rise in friction. From the nose of the craft emerged a long, slender landing craft, a single plasma ramjet pushing it down toward the surface. Aboard it were Aryani, his Warlock aide Ryssan and their Guardian bodyguards, together with units of Howling Banshees, Striking Scorpions, Fire Dragons, Shining Spears and even a Falcon grav-tank nestling at the rear of the ship.. The four Exarchs and the lesser psyker sat around him, ready to hear his words. “The path of the future is unclear to say the least,” he began, “and for now we must fight against the humans.” “What do you mean, for now?” rasped the Striking Scorpion Exarch Molloa. Of all the warriors in the mission he was the most aggressive, the most far-gone on the Path of the Warrior. “I mean until a new course of action becomes apparent, Exarch Molloa. Until either we grow too weak or they too strong. When we land, I shall expect deployment within the hour. We are going to land near a human outpost and destroy it before too many human troops arrive.” The reply was somewhat testy. Aryani distrusted the Aspect Warriors, but he knew on Biel-Tan they had more power than he would ever possess. His role on this mission was as advisor and in-battle commander, nothing more. “So we are to cleanse Hiliali of these scum? I presume there is no other reason hidden in the implications of time?” This voice was that of the Banshee Exarch, Kryssia. She too had an aggressive soul, but tempered by a cunning and wisdom beyond her years. Aryani gulped. He hated lying at any time, but the Exarchs were too volatile to inform about his vision just yet. He would have to tell them a half-truth. “Possibly. The future is too convoluted to see, but for now I know we must fight.” The Banshee seemed satisfied and Aryani relaxed. He continued his briefing. “We must be swift. The Imperial Guard are present in large numbers and I fear defeat unless we strike and flee.” “The decision is made.” Proclaimed the last Exarch, Fergar of the Fire Dragons. “Your plan is approved and we go to war.” The landing craft smashed down into the soil with a crunch that shook the planet. It’s boarding ramp hissed down and the Eldar army emerged. First Aryani and his bodyguard, then the Shining Spears, Scorpions, Banshees, Dragons and finally the Falcon proceeded down onto the ground of the planet. Grav-engines humming, the massive vehicle slid smoothly to a halt. Aryani waved his singing spear about his head in a signal of war and the force began to march south. They came upon the Imperial force that evening. The humans were camped around a small firebase with it’s own landing pad, evidently a staging post for the planetary conquest. They didn’t know what had hit them. All over the pad Imperial Guardsmen in their camouflage armour rushed about, manning heavy weapons and vehicles. The Shining Spears were the first on them, jetbikes whirring as the Eldar warriors aboard them charged and fired their laser lances at point-blank range into the humans. The Falcon cruised up behind them and opened fire, laser beams fired in short, sharp, pulses or long scattering beams from its turret guns. The twin shuriken catapults beneath them opened fire as the grav-tank came within range, slicing discs of wraithbone adding to the mayhem. Rising inexorably, the grav-tank moved onto the landing pad and opened its rear doors. Kryssia’s Banshees emerged, power swords drawn and charged, masks emitting their hideous war-cry, shuriken pistols blasting away into the enemy. Time for phase two, thought Aryani. As the Guardsmen began to counter-charge into the swirling melee the Banshees had created, the Falcon rose on its vectored engines and started firing into the watchtower beside the pad. As it ground up, Imperial heavy weapons atop the tower opened fire, an autocannon shot punching through the turret of the Falcon and destroying the power generator, blowing the turret sky-high. The tank whirled around and left the base, clearing the way for the rest of the attack. The Scorpions and Dragons moved into place now, chainswords, mandiblasters and fusion guns disemboweling, decapitating and incinerating the human warriors. Molloa stood among a mass of Guardsmen, his Scorpion’s Claw shattering bone and armour alike into a pulpy mess. Aryani, Ryssan and the Guardians were the last to arrive on the platform. By this time the huge, chaotic combat had been forced back into the tower and building proper as the Aspects fought off the last few Guardsmen. Aryani and his men opened fire, their accuracy boosted by Ryssan’s skill-enhancing powers. The whirling shuriken catapults sliced limbs and weapons apart right, left and centre. The doors to the tower opened and a human in black emerged, a human in carapace armour and wielding a power sword in his right hand and a power fist on his left. A Commissar! The Guard officer charged the Banshees and began to slash his way through towards Kryssia. The Exarch turned, her executioner readied. The weapons clashed, left, right, under, over, the two evenly matched. Aryani raised his hand. Time to tip the balance a little. His essence, his fighting spirit, stepped out of his body and was whirled into the duel. The singing spear lashed out once, splitting the Commissar’s side open. Twice, and the man died screaming as it slashed his jugular vein. Kryssia nodded her thanks to the Farseer as his spirit was sucked back into his body. Atop the tower a lone Shining Spear fought three Guardsmen at once, pushing them off the top in a squirming mass of arms and legs. Suddenly the jetbike riding Aspect Warrior was smashed apart in a hail of explosive bullets, a hail from above. Aryani gazed skywards, seeking out the source of the fire. There! An Imperial flyer of the sort they called Thunderhawks, heavy bolters reaping a tally of death among his warriors. Aryani leapt back off the tower, crying to his men. “They come! Now is the time to flee!” The Thunderhawk landed, massive retro-rockets holding its bulk up until the landing legs touched down on the pad. The door swung down and they emerged, the Black Templars, the instrument of the Emperor’s vengeance. Ten Initiates in their power armour, boltguns chattering out a song of destruction. Six Neophytes, armed for close combat, attacked the few Eldar too stupid to flee. As they ran for the cover of their own landing craft, Aryani smiled within his helmet. They had come, as he knew they would have. The Templars were destined to assist him, he knew not why or when. He scurried up the ramp into the sleek ship, followed by the thirty or so survivors of his mission, the crippled Falcon grav-tank cruising in to land in the rear of the vessel. The arcane drive engine groaned into life and the ship was borne skywards on three long lances of plasma. Down below, Gideon and Darius slowed to a halt at the edge of the pad. Darius raised his bolt pistol and fired three shots after the Eldar craft before Gideon slapped his arm down. “Don’t waste ammunition, Darius. We need all we can get.” He smiled critically at his Neophyte. Impetuous, irresponsible, but he was Gideon’s friend. Darius returned the smile, his sideburns raising a good inch as he grinned. Behind them, an Imperial officer stood to attention and saluted. Gideon turned around on the spot and returned his salute. The officer coughed nervously. “Umm, sir. Permission to report?” He had evidently never met a Space Marine before and probably the hulking giant with the missing eye and the slightly vicious stare put off a little. “Granted, lieutenant, and make it quick.” Gideon stared down at the Guardsman in the tattered armour. “We were attacked about 0700 hours by an Eldar force, sir! They were all over us in a matter of minutes; we must have lost at least three-quarters of the platoon. If it hadn’t been for you we’d all be dead by now.” The Guardsman paused to nod gratefully and also to breathe. “How did you know they’d be here?” “Intuition, and the fact that this happens to be the only barracks on this island chain. The Eldar fight like that. They find your most vital node and strike there, then flee before we can deliver the Emperor’s Grace.” Gideon thumped the Imperial eagle on his chest. Darius stepped around him to speak to the Guardsman. “Do you have any idea why they attacked?” he asked, critically summing up the man. The Guardsman looked about fifteen years older than him, with blond hair and clad in Cadian flak armour in the camouflage colours of his homeworld. “Do they need a reason?” the man replied. “They’re aliens. Whatever they do is motiveless and without just cause.” “The kind of answer I’d expect from a Templar!” Gideon laughed. “You missed your calling, lieutenant. Tell your men to regroup around the tower.” He turned to the Templar behind him. “Brother, our task is clear. First squad, remain here with me to guard the base. Second squad, take the Thunderhawk and return to the ship. Tell them we require reinforcements to deal with an Eldar presence here, in particular we’ll need bikes and some heavy support, recommend Land Speeders.” The other Templar nodded. “It will be done, brother Gideon.” He strode off to a group of Templars and began issuing orders. Aryani slumped in his chair in the corner of the landing craft as Molloa towered over him, eyes burning. “You knew!” the Exarch yelled. “You knew all along the humans had reinforcements, you sacrificed twenty lives to satisfy your prediction!” “Calm yourself!” the Farseer answered coolly. “You are not a Seer, you have not seen the paths of fate. The humans will fight with us against a common foe.” “Your Warlock, Ryssan! He’s dead, Aryani! Your pupil died to prove you right!” Molloa flexed the Scorpion’s Claw menacingly; he looked like he was going to strike Aryani. Kryssia, the Banshee stepped up and pushed the Scorpion aside. “What is this common foe?” she asked. “I know not.” Another white lie, Aryani thought. He knew perfectly well, he just didn’t want to admit it. Not until he knew he was right. Maybe Molloa had a point; maybe he was getting paranoid. “All I know is that this will be a war fought in darkness and in death. Maybe we will all die.” “She’s just as bad!” shrieked Molloa. “You saved her life, I know how you two feel for each other! She’ll believe anything you say, you scum!” He turned away and stormed off towards the Falcon. “Don’t be too hard on him.” Kryssia said, sitting down next to him. “I knew the last incarnation of Molloa too. His spirit is touched by darkness, he’s volatile at the best of times.” “Do you think he was right?” Aryani whispered, holding his head in his hands. “Do you think I’m getting self-obsessed, that I sent those twenty to their deaths to prove myself right?” “I trust you, even if he doesn’t.” she replied. “And I think you’re right. There’s something evil here, I can feel it.” Aryani stood up. “You’re right. And the time has come to let the truth out.” He stalked off toward the cockpit. Twenty-four Guardsmen had survived. Between them they carried three heavy weapons, a meltagun and a grenade launcher. Together with the eight Templars they were all that remained to defend this base. A heavy bolter was placed on the top of the tower, a lascannon at the door and an autocannon on the pad. The smallest squad of seven men worked silently to bury the dead while the others watched the approach to the base. The Templars had left at dawn, their reinforcements arriving and the Thunderhawk bearing instructions to head for the planetary capital. Lieutenant Leroy stared down the track. They had gone. They had saved the base and gone again, their duty done, living a life of constant battle. Leroy absently stroked the Khornate amulet about his neck, envious of their never-ending war. Their time would come soon. Soon his master would rise again. The bridge stood across an inlet of the sea, a thin line of metal joining the Imperial settlement of Port Moldion to the firebase on the island. Gideon’s squad and their Rhino passed through the gates of the bastion onto the bridge itself and began the mile-long march to the Port. For half an hour they strode in silence, until Darius spotted something to the east. “Master Gideon!” he said quietly, scanning the skyline. “What is it?” the Initiate replied, raising his hand to demand a halt. “You see the crag over there? The grey one?” Darius put his hand over his eyes to shield them from the light. “Yes, why?” Gideon squinted into the distance. “Look just next to it.” He pointed to a patch of sky. “Emperor’s Blood! Arm yourselves, brothers! Brother Ranion! Alert the bastion guards!” The Initiate he had named turned and ran back along the bridge toward the concrete bunker. What Darius had seen was this – a short, slender metal shape, hovering above the surface of the water and cruising downriver, a shape surrounded by a field of light. An Eldar Vyper Jetbike, a two-man heavy weapon vehicle and often protected by a force field. Gideon grabbed a missile launcher from the Rhino’s armoury and raised it to his shoulder, trying to get a better look through the eyepiece. Through it he could see the distinctive thorn pattern of the Biel-Tan craftworld – the Eldar hadn’t given up yet! His hand tightened on the grip as the counter at the side of the eyepiece clicked down until it reached 500 metres, the effective range for a krak missile. Gideon squeezed the grip and a missile shot out of the launcher, a trail of smoke heading for the Vyper. The missile struck the energy field around the bike and exploded there, doing no damage. Throwing the missile launcher aside, Gideon grabbed a pair of melta-bombs and tossed one to Darius. “They’re a contact bomb – clamp them on, then punch the red button and run for your life!” he shouted, pulling out his power sword. The rest of the squad powered up chainswords and loaded bolters. There was a rattle of fire as the Vyper flew overhead, swinging around the tower of the bridge and landing in front of the Rhino. Two Eldar leapt off – one male, in a long green robe and an ornate helmet, a long, thin sword in his hand, the other female in mesh armour and holding a long staff with a blade at each end. The robed figure raised his hand and a storm of energy swirled out and over the Templars. Darius hit the deck, dragging Gideon down with him as the Rhino was battered by psychic energy. The robed Eldar ran up to them and threw his weapon down, his free hand cutting off the storm. He addressed them in a soft, cultured voice. “Hail, warriors of the Emperor! We shall not fight on this day!” Gideon dragged himself up and aimed his bolt pistol at the Eldar, an expression of incredulity on his face. “You say this, alien filth, but I’ll not stain the souls of myself or my brother Initiates by letting you live!” He pulled back the safety catch and fired. Immediately the other Eldar whirled in front of him and knocked the bullet aside with the staff she carried. In the same fluid movement she lashed out and knocked Gideon’s gun away. Gideon switched on his power sword and attacked, the weapon humming as its energy field sliced the air. The Eldar warrior leapt back and the sword hit the ground with a thunk. Gideon stumbled and the sword fell out of his hand momentarily, long enough for the other to step heavily on the hilt. “Perhaps now
you will listen,” he said. “I am Aryani, a Farseer of Craftworld Biel-tan.
My companion is Kryssia, an Exarch of the Shrine of the Howling Banshee, and we
come to you with news that is vital to your race.” “I don’t want
to hear your news, filth!” Gideon snapped, pulling himself upright. He stepped
toward Aryani but Darius stayed him. “Wait, master. He might have valuable information. Speak, Farseer Aryani.” Darius was surprised at himself, having the audacity to command Gideon. “Thank you,
young one. Your master may have more to learn from you than you from him.”
Aryani smiled wanly and began to tell his tale. “Some time ago, I received a
dire portent concerning the future of this planet. It seems that among your
colony is some vile taint of Chaos, some ancient evil beneath the surface. It
may already have corrupted some of your number and I fear the evil has only just
begun. Chaos has some reason to conquer this world, some secret or scheme of the
Dark Ones, that can only be resolved here, though the consequences may spread
throughout the galaxy.” “So you’re saying there is some evil
presence here, something that wants this planet for itself? Where do you come
into this?” Darius asked, releasing his grip on Gideon in his interest. “You may not know this, but of the
inhabitable worlds in this cosmos, over a fifth are, or were, Eldar maiden
worlds, terraformed by my ancient kin. This is one of them, the planet we know
as Hiliali. We would not see it fall to the Darkness – personally, I would see
it in the hands of a race who are inclined to fight alongside us, and not
against us.” Aryani inclined his head sadly. “There are many on my world who
dream of re-conquering the Eldar Empire of old, but I feel our time is done and
the Eldar race is dying, never to rise again.” “You’re right about one thing,”
Gideon said, “and that is that your race is dying, and two of its members will
die now. Your warrior-witch may have bested me once, but you cannot and will not
prevail.” He lunged for the power sword and was about to put his promise into
action when he heard the chanting. Looking up, he saw a mass of humans dressed
in red robes charging down the bridge toward the Rhino. The mob chanted
constantly in some vile tongue, but every now and again Gideon caught a phrase
in Gothic. “Blood for the Blood God! Blood for
the Blood God!” Aryani turned to him and spoke again. “So, humans. Do you fight with us?” “Not with
you,” Gideon answered, “but perhaps alongside you.” Gideon replied as the mob of cultists
charged down the bridge toward him, firing weapons randomly into the air. He
fired a series of rapid shots from his bolt pistol and three of the heretics
fell, trampled flat by their damned brethren. Beside him, the Eldar psykers
Aryani stood and joined the fusillade with spinning shuriken discs. Gideon heard
the voice of his Neophyte Darius behind him. “Master Gideon! Get down!” he
shouted. Gideon leapt downward and to the side and saw Darius standing with a
heavy bolter slung in both hands. He cranked the mechanism and a hail of
explosive bullets blew half a dozen Cultists to hell. Darius stood triumphantly
next to the Rhino, the awesome firepower of the heavy weapon blasting into the
mob of evil warriors. His gaze fell onto Gideon. The Templar stood next to
Aryani, impaling any Chaos follower who came near them. Aryani raised his hands
and muttered under his breath. Gideon could feel the world around him grow cold
as the Farseer’s powers began to work. A whirl of light shot from his head and
into that of a cultist, who fell screaming, blood spewing from various orifices
on his face as the psychic energy ate into his brain. Gideon stabbed out again,
shredding the arm of a mad Chaos worshipper. He looked around and saw the other
Eldar, the warrior-woman Kryssia, hacking her way through the mob back towards
them. She cut down the last cultist who barred her way and shouted to Gideon
above the sound of the mob. “We have to get out of here, to find
the source of this evil!” Darius turned to her, shot a pair of
cultists charging toward her back and retorted. “I’m with that! Whatever’s going on, it isn’t right!” Darius ran for the Rhino and was somewhat unnerved to see Kryssia following him. Aryani and Gideon, on the other hand, were heading for the Vyper. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Darius shouted after him. “I’m not letting that wizard out of
my sight!” Gideon replied. “I don’t know what he knows, but I’m damned
if I’m not getting to the bottom of this!” Before Darius could say any more, the
jetbike powered up and shot over the battle into the city. Darius jumped into
the Rhino and tapped the driver on the shoulder, grinning. “Follow that Vyper!” he said, and
burst out in a sharp, unnatural laugh. “But the cultists, Neophyte! They’re
all around us!” The Templar driver looked worried as a frag grenade exploded
just in front of his viewport. “Use the ram bar!” Darius snapped. “That’s what it’s for! Crush the heretics like the scum they are!” The Rhino began to jerk its way forward through the mass of screaming enemies. The Vyper jetbike cruised over and
through the streets of Port Moldion. Strangely, they were empty of people and
nobody was coming out of houses to marvel at the flying vehicle. Gideon pulled
himself forward and spoke to Aryani. “Have you seen that? Nobody here!”
His words came out distorted by the extreme speed and he struggled to keep his
balance. “I know! Strange, isn’t it just?”
The Eldar’s voice sounded in Gideon’s mind, as clear as it had been on the
ground. He shook his head. “Listen, warlock, I don’t like you
and you don’t like me, but if you’re lying about this…” he paused,
menacingly, savouring the moment. “Believe me, I’m telling the
absolute truth. There is something evil out there and I don’t like it. Your
people probably awakened it delving about on this old world.” Aryani gripped
the handlebars tightly and swung the Vyper round a corner. “A detachment of my people are en
route to the planet,” Aryani continued as they banked around another corner.
“And they are led by none other than the Avatar of my Craftworld.” “The what?” Gideon asked. He’d
been following the conversation up to now and wasn’t about to be put off. “The Avatar, a living fragment of our
war god Khaela Mensha Khaine. You have heard of Daemon Princes, yes? The
Champions of Chaos who rise to immortality?” “All too many times, warlock.
Continue.” Gideon swallowed nervously. “Khaela Mensha Khaine was slain in
battle by Slaanesh, the evil god of pleasure. Now all that remains of him are
his Avatars, beings of great power, easily the equal of Slaanesh’s Princes,
daemons of sacred destruction to combat the Chaos in the universe.” Aryani
made a curious sign over his chest. “The Avatars are all that stand between us
and destruction. They remind us that war is a tool to be used and not a way of
life as it is for our Dark Kin.” Gideon shuddered at the memory of the Dark
Eldar. The evil aliens had captured him not long ago and subjected him to a
myriad of tortures and temptations, trying to break his spirit. Only the arrival
of Darius in their world had saved him from their hands. “Gods and daemons? I wonder if I am
fighting on the right side, warlock. It seems to me that you are opposite sides
of the same coin, you Eldar who fight for a supposedly good cause and the Chaos
followers and their evil ways.” Gideon stared at Aryani, daring him to
respond. “We do not fight for good or evil, Templar Gideon. We fight for survival and in that fight there are no rules.” The last of the Cultists had fled as
they were crushed beneath the Rhino’s armoured tracks, the APC now speeding
through the city streets. Darius sat opposite Kryssia and smiled nervously. He
was both fascinated by and afraid of the Banshee Exarch. Fascinated by her pure
dedication to battle, her amazing skills, and her strange, powerful weapons.
Afraid of her, thanks to his trained paranoia of all non-humans and also thanks
to his earlier encounter with the Eldar. He couldn’t help but compare her to
the Dark Eldar he had fought just over three months before. They were obviously
the same species, with the same motives, but completely different ways and means
of carrying them out. The female Archon he had met before had been a daemon in
mortal form, a powerful, sadistic, but hideously seductive force of evil, a
creature of pain and pleasure. Kryssia was devoted to war, fighting only for her
own sake, trapped in the Path of the Warrior and the very peak of military art.
Both used their formidable abilities not for good or evil, but for themselves.
They were so much the same, and yet so different. She returned the smile, the
wraithbone lips of her helmet curving up, matching the movement under the armour;
Eldar craftsmanship at it’s very best. “Do you have any idea what we’re up
against?” Darius asked, his face a picture of concern. “Not in the least. Aryani mentioned
some ancient evil, some terrible power of Chaos that infested this planet, but
he never said what it was.” She stretched back into the seat of the Rhino,
uncomfortable in the primitive vehicle. “Can’t you get this thing to go any
faster, mon-keigh? We must be a mile behind the others by now.” “Any faster and we’ll blow the
engines.” answered Darius with a grin. The Black Templar next to Darius, a
warrior by the name of Tharlon, grabbed him by the shoulder. “Are you mad, Neophyte? Consorting
with aliens? It is the first step on the road to heresy!” The other man’s
face twisted in a snarl of disgust. “This vile witch has a grip on your soul,
brother. Even I can see that.” “Heresy?” Darius asked sharply. “I
think not. Remember that for all my faults I am still a Templar, pure in mind,
body and soul. Nothing can change that. Nothing. I serve the Emperor and him
alone, and if I have to bend the rules to serve him best then I will.” Darius
sat back confidently. He had tried to seem convincing, but in his heart he was
wracked by doubt. His earlier encounter with the Eldar had left a taint on his
soul, a taint he was too afraid to tell anyone but Gideon about. And he had to
admit, his feelings toward Kryssia extended beyond admiration. So what if he
found her attractive? He was human, wasn’t he? He quashed the thought quickly.
He’d almost gone that way before, listening to that human voice that whispered
in his heart and not the training and the faith in his head. He shook his head
and gazed into the driver’s compartment. The Rhino’s driver, a Chapter Serf
shifted in his seat and spoke. “Do you know exactly where we’re
going, Neophyte?” he asked querulously. “We just keep going until we find the
Vyper. I know it went this way.” Darius answered, gazing back toward Kryssia. “What do you get from all this?” he
said to her. “If you help us we win the planet, if you don’t then Chaos
does. What’s in it for you?” “The lesser of two evils.” Kryssia stated in her melodious voice. “The Imperium may not be our friends but they are our allies more often than not. With Chaos we have only enmity.” Aryani brought the Vyper to a halt above
a tall, gothic building embellished with baroque ornamentation and strange,
skeletal renditions of the Imperial Eagle. He turned to face Gideon. “This is it,” he said briefly. “I
sense the evil here. What is this place?” “The Temple of the Emperor’s
Sacrifice? You must be mistaken, warlock. This is the centre for the worship of
the Emperor on this planet!” Gideon smirked at him. “There is no heresy
here! You lied to me!” “On the contrary, it makes perfect
sense. The Cult of the Emperor’s Sacrifice? Those skeletal eagles? This
cult is dedicated to the Emperor’s death at the hands of Chaos.” Aryani
began to raise the Vyper higher. “The Emperor lives! Why do we have the
Golden Throne if this is not so?” Gideon screamed at him over the whine of the
engines. “Your Emperor is all but destroyed,
his soul is no longer in his body. He is Pariah, untouchable, soulless. You keep
him in that edifice of sacrifice not because you care for him but because you
fear to lose your protector. That is your Imperial Cult, Templar, a paranoid
fear and a hope of salvation. But who am I to judge? We Eldar have failed and
you humans are on the road to ruin in your turn.” “Silence!” Gideon roared. “Get
back to the point, you wretch!” “The cult is a cult of death, a cult
of Chaos, and being the only temple on this sparsely-populated planet made
spreading the word so much easier. Are you ready, Initiate Gideon?” “Ready as I’ll ever be, warlock. And don’t forget – if they don’t kill you, I will.” Aryani nodded, hit the retros, and powered the jetbike down through the Temple’s roof. The Rhino was heading down the Imperial
Way, the road at the heart of the complex, when the cultists struck again. Krak
grenades showered down from the roofs to either side and blew the tracks clean
off. The doors of the tank opened to allow the Templars out, only for them to be
met by a horde of yelling maniacs. Darius grabbed Kryssia and Tharlon and pulled
them back, through the Rhino’s top hatch, as the chanting hordes fired shot
after shot into the tank. At this close a range against this kind of firepower,
power and carapace armour were no use at all and the Initiates and Neophytes
died screaming. Darius drew his chainsword and swung it down onto the skull of a
Cultist who was pulling himself up the hatch. Below him he heard the manic
screams of “Blood for the Blood God!” and heard
the sound of his brothers being ripped to shreds. He turned to Tharlon, only to
see the Templar picking up Kryssia by the throat. "Die, alien scum!” he shouted,
throwing her to the mob. The axes and swords of the Cultists rose and fell as
she disappeared under a thrashing mass of metal. “You maniac!” Darius yelled. “You
murdering fool! She was our best chance of getting out of here!” “You’re next, heretic! Darius, spawn
of evil, lover of aliens!” Tharlon shrieked triumphantly as he fired the Rhino
storm bolter from it’s freshly twisted mounting into the hatch, keeping the
Cultists back. “I saw the way you looked at her! I knew what was coming!
I’ll tell them she seduced you! That you gave in to her, pleasure-seeker that
you were! I had no choice!” He twisted around, trying to turn the vehicle’s
hatchway back the right way round again and face it toward Darius. Darius stared blankly back at him, then
raised his bolt pistol and shot Tharlon once through the skull. The Initiate
screamed as he died. Darius wondered how crazed he’d really been. Was he part
of the Chaos plot, or simply an overzealous fool? Whatever the case, nobody
would ever know now. Fighting to survive, and in that fight you used whatever
ways and means you could. He turned sadly back toward the hatch, almost in a
trance as Cultists fired straight up the side of the Rhino, trying to finish him
off but missing in their frenzy. Looking down, he saw Kryssia, covered in blood
from head to toe, her twin blades hacking though the Cultists who came near her. “Thank Khaine for that!” she said. “I thought I’d never get rid of him.” The Vyper jetbike smashed down through
the thin roof of the Temple and crashed into the nave. On either side, chanting
Cultists looked up in astonishment from their prayers. Aryani and Gideon leapt
off the jetbike and stared up at the altar at the far end of the Temple. What
had once been a statue to the Emperor had revolved on its base – they could
see the turntable in the floor – and had revealed a massive figure, carved in
red stone. It stood some three metres tall, a massive horned head with grinning
fangs resting atop a muscular body with long, strong-looking arms ending in
sharp claws over half a metre in length. Its legs were short, stocky and tipped
with huge hooves carved out of granite. The only clothing the statue wore was a
simple loincloth about its waist, revealing the massive, stone, blood-slicked
muscles of its torso. Before it stood a Cultist in red carapace armour trimmed
with bronze, clutching a huge double-headed axe emblazoned with a three-barred
rune of Chaos. The chanting Cultists took out their poorly concealed laspistols
and autopistols from their robes and took aim. The Demagogue at the altar smiled
at them. “You are too late!” he shrieked.
“All that is needed is one more death, one more death to summon him! Which of
you is it to be?” “Neither!” Gideon bellowed back at
him. “And you, heretics, shall be the only ones to die on this day!” Aryani
nodded his approval. “Twice!” said a youthful voice from
the door. Darius stood there, shadowed by Kryssia. Both were covered in blood,
weapons drawn. “So be it!” the Demagogue replied. “All shall die for Khorne!” The Chaos Cultists swarmed down the steps toward the two warriors next to the jetbike, firing weapons both at them and at each other. Aryani raised both hands and murmured softly in his own language. Suddenly a radius of light burst over the Cultists to one side, energy blasting randomly out over the masses and pulverising at least five. The others cowered or fled under the eldritch storm that swirled over them. Gideon smiled and charged the others heading down the stairs to his right. His bolt pistol spat fire at the enemy, felling one with every shot. By his side he suddenly spotted Darius, chainsword buzzing as he cut down those around him. Kryssia danced among them in a whirlwind of death, the humming Executioner blades slicing off heads and limbs. Aryani hurled his singing spear time and time again, every hit stabbing a Cultist down. Suddenly the Demagogue joined the fray, his axe wreaking havoc as he carved his way through his followers toward them. He paused at the head of the altar stairs and held out his free hand. In it was a small red device – a teleport homer. He pressed a control and immediately five armoured figures materialised around the altar, five men in red power armour, trimmed with brass, carrying boltguns of some ancient design. Gideon’s shocked voice echoed over the halls, for the first time a trace of real, primal hate present in his tones. “TRAITORS!” he yelled. “Chaos
Space Marines, Darius! Fight on! Destroy them all!” He unsheathed his power
sword and leapt over the mass of Cultists into the Chaos squad, shattering the
armoured chest plate with his booted feet and decapitating another with the
blue-glowing weapon. Darius slashed out at another cultist who was running for
him, but he couldn’t reach his master. He realised his next foe was the
armoured Demagogue. The Chaos priest hefted his massive sacrificial axe and
whirled it around his head, bringing it down in a massively powerful stroke.
Suddenly Kryssia was in front of him, her twin blades raised to parry. The axe
blazed with power and a daemonic roar filled the air. An Axe of Khorne, a daemon
weapon! It shattered the Executioner swords and crashed through Kryssia’s
chest, smashing her to the floor. Darius jumped into the Demagogue and emptied
his last clip of bolt pistol ammo into him. The shells impacted harmlessly off
his armour as he brought the axe around for another swing – too slow.
Darius’ chainsword sliced his leg off and he went down screaming. Another blow
and his head was a bloody mess. Darius knelt next to the ruined body of Kryssia,
cradling her head in his arms. White light whirled in the torn-open chest plate,
obscuring her body from view. She tore off the helmet and threw it away. For the
first time Darius saw her face, thin, pallid, sad, beautiful. Huge, pale blue
eyes set beneath her thin, dark eyebrows. Her face framed by brown hair that
spilled out onto the floor, the spirit stone of her armour resting about her
neck. She slipped it off and held it out to him in one hand, a hand that shone
with the same light that spilled from her ruined body. He bent over slowly and
kissed her, clumsily. Smiling grimly at him, she placed the stone into his hand
and whispered. “Goodbye…” Suddenly the light became blinding, arcing over her and into the stone. When he could see again, Darius saw that the stone pulsed with an inner light. He slipped it around his own neck and stood up. Gideon’s blood-mad rush into the Chaos
squad had felled two of them, and now he stood duelling with a third, a warrior
wielding a huge chainaxe that whirred and screamed for blood. The Chaos Marine
laughed as his weapon bit into Gideon’s shoulder-pad. “You children that call yourselves
Space Marines!” he snarled. “If your ancient brothers could not fell us,
what chance do you have?” “More than enough, spawn of evil!” Gideon brought an armoured fist into the Chaos Marine’s leg and fired the bolt pistol it held. His enemy collapsed screaming. He became aware that Aryani was standing next to him, lashing out with the spear. It impaled the nearest Chaos Marine and sent him crashing into the altar, blood spilling over the stone. The fifth and last Chaos follower grabbed the teleport homer and tapped a button. Immediately he was gone in a whirl of grey light. Aryani and Gideon looked at each other with grudging respect. And then they heard the voice. The blood of its defender oozing over
its hooves, the statue came alive, claws flailing blindly for a few seconds.
Slowly it stepped forward, granite hooves crushing the flagstones of the Temple.
A second, more decisive step brought it to the pulpit of the Demagogue. It
opened its mouth and roared. “AFTER TEN THOUSAND YEARS, I
LIVE AGAIN! I WALK THE WORLDS ONCE MORE! KHASTARAX, BLOOD-DRINKER, KHORNE’S
CHOSEN, LIVES AGAIN!” Aryani stepped back involuntarily, his
face contorted with fear. “A Daemon Prince! I had no idea things
were this bad!” The Daemon Khastarax looked down at him,
its grin widening. “THEY ARE THAT BAD, MORTAL!
KHORNE CARES NOT FROM WHENCE THE BLOOD FLOWS, AND NOW I SHALL DRINK YOUR BLOOD
AND TAKE YOUR SKULL AND GIVE YOUR SOUL TO HIM! BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!” It lashed out at him with one clawed
fist and smashed him off his feet and into Gideon before hauling its bulk over
the edge toward Darius. “GIVE ME HER SOUL, LITTLE MAN! KHORNE WANTS THAT ONE MOST OF ALL!” “You’ll get this over my dead
body!” Darius shrieked at the daemon. “What do you want her soul for? Can
the dead have no rest?” "NOT THAT ONE!” Khastarax
boomed at him. “THAT ONE SLEW ME IN HER PAST LIFE! NOW A HUNDRED SOULS
ARE IN THAT STONE, A HUNDRED EXARCHS WAITING TO BE CONSUMED! A HUNDRED SOULS
WOULD REND THIS WORLD APART!” “Then you’ll have to come and get
it!” Darius shouted, dodging the flailing claw and jumping onto the Vyper.
Gideon pulled himself into the gunner’s seat. “Emperor have mercy on our souls!” said Darius. “We’re going up!” The Temple doors blew open under the
hail of shuriken shells as the Vyper blasted out. It flew straight and true over
the Via Imperator and crashed into the building on the opposite side. The
Templars staggered out, disorientated and confused. From the shadows unseen
hands moved to support them. Gideon looked around into the face of an Eldar
Guardian. “You have fought well, mon-keigh. The Eldar started this. We will finish it.” From the darkness, a hundred Eldar
warriors poured onto the Via Imperator, shuriken catapults and bright lances
trained on the wrecked doors. The huge red shape of Khastarax filled the gap. He
glowered out at the army awaiting him and screamed into the dying daylight. “COME
FORTH, MY CHILDREN! YOUR TIME IS NIGH!” Khastarax loomed over the Via Imperator,
his massive bulk shouldering aside the remains of the Temple doors. Arms
stretched out, the Daemon Prince stood astride the steps and uttered a harsh,
bestial call. “AKSHO KHARNETH AKASH! KHORNE IS
CALLED WITH BLOOD!” There was a whirl of red light around
the stairway and suddenly a horde of hideous monsters surrounded the huge
creature of Chaos. Some were humanoid, tall and muscular, carrying long black
blades that crackled with balefires in taloned, blood-slicked hands. Some were
in the shape of dogs, again vast by any mortal scale, fanged and clawed, ruffs
of black skin on their shoulder, brass collars about their throats. Some were
gargantuan beasts of metal and daemonic flesh; black skin trimmed with brass
armour, walking on four hoofed legs and butting the air with their powerful,
shield-shaped heads. Darius drew himself upright from the wreckage of the
building across the road and stepped back in shock from the scene of horror laid
out before him. “What in hell are they?” he gasped,
gagging for breath. “They are daemons, Darius,” replied
Gideon, his power sword already drawn and ready. “They are creatures of Chaos,
the chosen of the Dark Gods.” “You speak true, mon-keigh,” said
the Eldar on Gideon’s left. “Those on foot are Bloodletters, the Warriors of
Death. Those hounds are Flesh Hounds, and the great armoured creatures are
Juggernauts, the daemons steeds of Death’s Warriors. All of them serve Khorne,
the Blood God, the god of battle and slaughter.” “You seem knowledgeable on the ways of
Chaos!” Gideon growled menacingly, “but in view of our current predicament
I’ll waver it until the battle’s won.” “Of this I am glad, mon-keigh. Warlock
Graiath, Biel-Tan Craftworld.” He tapped his helmet in the strange salute of
the Eldar. “Brother-Initate Gideon and
brother-Neophyte Darius, Black Templars Chapter.” Gideon replied with his best
Imperial-standard salute. Darius tapped him lightly on the shoulder. “I hate to bother you, master, but FOR DORN’S SAKE LOOK OVER THERE!” His voice rose to a screaming crescendo as he gestured down the street to an opening into the city sewers. From out of the darkness poured a horde of Chaos Cultists, evidently the last tainted citizens of the planet. They ploughed down the street, brandishing hand weapons over their heads, shooting forgotten in the frenzy. Graiath gestured with his left hand to a unit of Guardians in position around the ruined buildings. They opened fire with shuriken catapults, whirling wraithbone blades skimming through the heretical humans and slicing off arms and legs indiscriminately. Gideon and Darius added to the maelstrom with bolt pistol fire, driving the Cultists into the ruins. The Guardians moved up to engage them, firing into the buildings at close range. Gideon, Darius and Graiath ran down the stairs onto the street – and then they remembered the daemons. Khastarax lumbered down opposite them,
his horde of darkness about him. The Bloodletters and Juggernauts stampeded into
the Eldar army, Guardian and Aspect alike being slashed apart by hell-blades or
crushed under brazen hooves. Here and there a support weapon crew or Exarch
fought against the odds, shattering daemonic bones and slicing sinew, hurling
the foulnesses back into the warp. Graiath snapped his fingers angrily and the
second wave of Eldar committed themselves, the trio of warriors joining the
charge. Between the Scorpion and Banshee Aspect Warriors who charged into the
daemon horde were five giant figures seemingly made of living bone. Darius leapt
around a gibbering Bloodletter, emptying a bolt pistol clip into its face as he
did so. “What are they?” he asked Graiath
between shots. “Wraithguard!” the Eldar replied, witchblade flashing as it banished daemon after daemon from the planet. His hand outstretched, he chanted briefly in his own tongue, letting loose a hail of psychic energy in the form of a flame-shaped blast of power that scourged through the enemy toward a trampling Juggernaut. The blast hit and blew the massive daemon into fragments of brass that melted before they hit the floor. The Wraithguard plodded slowly into the fray, strange alien cannons blowing Hounds and Juggernauts apart one by one, leaving the smaller Bloodletters to the Aspect Warriors who moved among them nimbly, cutting down the servants of Khorne. Khastarax looked down at the robots and roared deafeningly before charging through the mass of daemons, his great black claws pushing and crushing aside his followers as he heaved himself toward the Wraithguard. He reached the robots within ten seconds, and it was then that Darius realised the full power of the Daemon Prince. “DIE, MORTALS! SKULLS FOR KHORNE!”
The huge daemon cried, lashing out with
his taloned hand and shattering one Wraithguard into fragments of bone. His
gore-slicked horns crunched into the huge head of another, the spirit stone
within crushed under the impact. A high-pitched scream filled the air as the
robot fell apart without the soulstone to power it. His other fist gripped the
neck of a Wraithguard and pushed it into the fourth. Both constructs were left
as a mass of tangled metal and wraithbone on the Via Imperator. The fifth stood
its ground and spoke in a metallic voice. "Make sure you kill us all,
daemon, for while one lives you shall be denied your victory!” It raised the cannon it held and pulled
the trigger. A burst of warp energy engulfed Khastarax’s stone body in light,
but it scattered harmlessly off the blood-red skin of the daemon. “NICE TRY, DEAD MAN, BUT I AM
BEYOND YOUR FEEBLE WEAPONS!” Khastarax squatted back on his haunches, and then lifted
himself off the ground on his massively powerful arms. He swung forward, using
his shoulders as pivots, and kicked out with two massive granite hooves. They
hit the Eldar war machine head-on with a sickening crunch, felling the robot and
sending it flying into the building where Darius and Gideon hid. Darius made the
sign of the eagle over his chest. “We’ll never win against that damned
thing!” he whispered in shock. But Gideon was already standing up and striding
toward Khastarax. “Be pure in mind, body and soul,
Darius, and none can overcome us!” The Templar broke into a run, armoured
boots powering him into the daemons. Flesh Hounds surrounded him, their glowing
green fangs battering at his body. Gideon unsheathed his power sword and began
to cut his way through the pack, blue crackling power blowing daemonic dogs into
smoke. Darius got up himself and grabbed Graiath by the shoulder. “He’s dead unless we help him!
Can’t you do something?” he shrieked, shaking the Eldar back and forth. “I cannot,” Graiath replied
solemnly, “but I know someone who can. Suinereyais corotres autrus!”
he cried, raising a hand above his head. From the shadows behind them came a
growl of rage and hate, a growl of pure frenzy and battle-lust. Loud, clanging
footsteps sounded on the stone floor, and an unbearable heat started to singe
Darius’s sideburns. Graiath pulled him to one side as a huge Eldar in armour,
a gigantic creature of iron and fire, stormed past them in an unstoppable stride
as slow and mighty as the remorseless advance of a lava flow. Graiath fell to
his knees as it passed. “Khaela Mensha Khaine! Bring death to
our foes in the name of the Eldar race!” “Emperor protect us!” Darius cried
out loud. “The daemon must fight his own!” “Behold the Avatar!” Graiath answered him, pulling himself upright. “The Bloody Hand shall slay the Daemon of Blood this day!” The Avatar stomped into the daemons like
an avenging angel, its sword slaying three with a single sweep, burning
footsteps forming a train of fire behind it, its Bloody Hand dripping constantly
now. And all the time it emitted a primal sound of rage, the battle cry of the
nameless hate in the Eldar psyche. All around it Eldar redoubled their efforts,
and for the first time it looked like the daemonic ranks were thinning.
Khastarax landed heavily on his feet and crunched across the Wraithguard corpses
to stand before the Avatar. He threw back his horned head and laughed. “KHORNE BE PRAISED! I’VE
PRAYED FOR A WORTHY MATCH!” The Avatar opened it’s own fiery maw
and bellowed back in tones as bloody and furious as any the Daemon could deploy. “YOU ARE DOOMED, KHASTARAX OF
KHORNE, DOOMED AS YOUR VILE GOD! I SPEAK WITH THE VOICE OF KHAINE, HIS WORDS ARE
MINE, HIS STRENGTH IS MINE, AND HIS SPIRIT LIVES ON IN ME!” The
Avatar drew back the Wailing Doom and swept it around in a blazing arc toward
Khastarax. The Daemon Prince replied with an outstretched arm of stone that
blocked the blow, but even so a flurry of splinters flew as the sword hit home.
Khastarax staggered back, shook his head and extended his good arm. A
thunderclap resounded over the battle and the Axe of Khorne appeared in his
fist, the three-barred rune of the Blood God glowing in anticipation of the
slaughter to come. The bound essence of the Bloodthirster Daemon within crackled
and snarled as the daemonic blade clashed with the flaming sword of Khaine’s
chosen. Fire and sparks flew up as the weapons rebounded off each other. Gideon
hacked down the last daemon just as Darius ran up to join him. Together they
stood and watched the two giant warriors duel. Gideon murmured softly to his
brother Marine. “While they fight, we head for the
Temple!” The two Space Marines crept around the
edge of the plaza as Khastarax took another blow, this time to the chest. Black
ichor dripped from the wound but still he fought on, dealing the Avatar a
glancing blow to the side of the head and snapping off part of the Eldar
daemon’s helmet. The Avatar replied with a punch to the Daemon’s midriff,
forcing his enemy back. Khastarax’s hand clenched of its own accord, dropping
the axe. The Avatar stood triumphant over his fallen enemy and spoke once more. “SINCE THE FALL WE HAVE DEFIED YOU
AND YOUR KIND, AND WE SHALL NEVER BE DEFEATED!” It swept the Wailing Doom down onto
Khastarax’s head and the sword crashed inexorably into the daemon’s flesh.
Khastarax screamed, just once, as his mortal body was blown apart into a
thousand shards of dead stone. A cloud of red smoke rose out of the daemon’s
corpse and for a moment his voice filled the square again. “I…WILL…NOT…BE…THWARTED!” he snarled, before lines of white light coruscated through the smoke and it was sucked up into a single point that vanished with a slow warping sound. The Avatar stood before the Temple of the Emperor’s Sacrifice, sword raised in salute to the two Templars who stood on the stairway. The surviving Eldar gathered in its wake and raised their own weapons to match the gesture Gideon and Darius bowed their heads in reply. When they looked up, the Eldar were gone. Only the fiery trail of the Avatar’s footprints, leading off into the ruins of the burning city, razed by the avenging Eldar forces, showed they had ever been. Gideon and Darius turned into the heart of the former Khornate temple. Silently the two of them walked over the
rubble toward Khastarax’s empty altar. Darius stopped briefly to kneel by the
empty armour of his comrade, the Exarch Kryssia. He pulled her spirit stone out
from under his armour, letting it dangle above her on its chain and whispered
under his breath. “Whatever happens, Kryssia, you will
be avenged. I swear it on the blood of my Primarch and myself.” He took out
his combat knife and slit the palm of his left hand, clenching it over the
Imperial Eagle on his chest. Gideon meanwhile strode toward the altar, eyes bent
low, searching the ground for an Eldar Farseer’s body. He stopped short as he
found Aryani’s body lying there amidst the dead. The Farseer was alive, but
only just, the huge wounds inflicted by Khastarax’s claws apparent for all to
see. Aryani was unhelmed, unarmed and bleeding from three massive gouges, but he
still stretched out one hand toward Gideon. The Templar fell to his knees next
to him. For the first time he saw the Farseer’s thin, languid face, a pale
face with dark eyes and hair, a face torn by guilt and regret. Aryani gritted
his teeth in pain as the hand contacted Gideon’s forehead and forced out his
dying words. “He… is gone?” “Gone, warlock, slain by your
people.” Gideon’s voice was thick with tears. “Psyker you may be, Aryani,
and alien as well, but I fought with you and I – I came to respect you.
Respect, trust and even, maybe, admire.” “We…have thwarted Chaos here… but
their plans extend beyond this world. My time is… almost up…but as I lay
here…the fates granted me… a final vision. I am… as good as gone… but
you must carry on the fight. I…know not what…it means…but it is the key…
to what may be… the greatest…Chaos…plot… in a thousand…years.”
Aryani tightened his grip on Gideon’s scalp. “To you… I give my final
vision. Succeed, brother Gideon… where I failed. In this…fight…we use
any…ways and means…we can.” A flash of light sparked from his fingers into
Gideon’s skull. Aryani closed his eyes in satisfaction; his mission would go
on. Gideon stepped back in horror and thumped his head, chanting a mantra under
his breath as the vision played itself out before his mind. He saw a grey plain
of ash, a plain upon which rivers of blood flowed slowly over the landscape. He
saw a mountain amidst the plain, a dark cathedral spire atop it, a great
fortress about it. He saw the face of Khastarax above it all, the hideous
daemonic grin and the blazing, angry eyes. He saw stars wheeling before his
eyes, then nothing more. “Witchcraft!” he snapped. “Have
mercy on my tainted soul!” Darius was gazing out of the window as
he saw the Thunderhawk cruise down and land in the square. Their reinforcements
had arrived, but far too late. He turned to Gideon, only to see Aryani’s death
and the passing on of the battle against Khastarax and his minions. Gideon
stomped madly down the nave, his face contorted in rage. “What happened?” Darius asked, but
he was waved into silence. Gideon stopped and rounded on the Neophyte. His voice
was thick and almost crazed. “Tell no-one of this, Darius.
No-one.”
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