The Chronicles of Mateus

[Doomaflatchi]

Across the vast entirety of the Imperium of Man, bells tolled with joy. Uncounted trillions of human citizens, some bound together by nothing except their collective dominion by the greatest human empire ever to exist, listened with exultation to the brazen peals that filled the air on this most holy day. For this day was the first day of a new year by the Terran calendar, and everywhere people celebrated. On countless worlds throughout space, Planetary Governments were forbidden from executing prisoners on this day, and people danced openly in the streets, cheering. This was a day of universal celebration, for on this day, Holy Terra completed one more cycle around its shining sun, which had once blazed forth with life-giving light upon the face of the Most Holy Emperor Himself. On this day, people everywhere rejoiced simply because they were alive. This day was holy above all others, for this day showed the universe that even though the Imperium was beset on all sides by the alien, the mutant, and the heretic, who expended all they had in the endless seeking for Mankind’s destruction… on this day, the Imperium celebrated that, for yet another year, their foes had failed.

 

And yet, there was one place in the vast Imperium where no bells tolled.

 

On Titan, drifting slowly through space around Saturn, a place closer to the Golden Throne than almost anywhere else, no songs were sung. No feet danced. No faces smiled. Deep within the bowels of the moon, within the hallowed halls of the basaltic Fortress-Monastery of the Grey Knights, the only sounds in the air were those heard every day – the humble steps of Marines deep in prayer, the sharp strikes of practice weapons trained ever in readiness, and the solemn cant of Chaplains, recounting to all their everlasting duty and determination. On Titan, this was a day like any other, and nothing to celebrate. For the Grey Knights fought every single day for humanity’s survival, and for them, every single day was a victory against their foes, to be rejoiced in every night in the solemn prayers and purifications voiced by those bearing the Book and Sword of Chapter 666 - the Grey Knights chapter of the Adeptus Astartes, militant arm of His Emperor's Holy Inquisition.

 

High atop one of the towers of the Fortress, underneath an observation dome that looked out upon the mighty defensive fortifications of Saturn’s rings, two men stood over a pict-slate, planning how they would defeat yet another foe, so that the Imperium could still exist to celebrate again next year.

 

The first of the two men was Therion LeCraux. A tall man, he held himself with a strength that belied his age. His brass armor, fringed with gold filigree, reflected the dancing candlelight that illuminated the room. A deep crimson cloak swept down from his shoulders, and around his neck hung a heavy amulet bearing the stylized ‘I’ that marked his status as an Inquisitor Lord. At the moment, his gauntleted fist was extended, pointing to a single prick of light amongst a cloud on a map of a territory on the outskirts of the Eye of Terror.

 

“Here, Mateus,” Lord LeCraux said, his voice even and cool. “This is where the interrogations of the ship’s Navigator indicated they were heading. That is where we should strike.”

 

Grand Master Mateus considered the map, his armored bulk nearly twice the height of the Inquisitor Lord with him. Wearing his holy suit of Tactical Dreadnaught Armor, his broad-shouldered frame seemed even more massive in the small briefing chamber. “Perhaps…” he rumbled, his deep and cultured voice seemingly at odds with the myriad of scars on his face. “But I’m worried it could be another feint. If they pull our forces out of position like they tried to do at Chrysalt Obscuris, our inattentiveness may just give them the time they need to find the psyker they’re looking for.”

 

“And if we don’t,” Therion countered, “we may give them enough breathing room to finish the ritual if they already have him.” The pair had pursued these particular fanatics across eight sectors, finding the heretics’ resilience matched only by their mysterious ability to acquire resources seemingly out of thin air. Already Mateus had lost five battle brothers to the machinations of this cult, and even though they had killed thousands in return, he was unwilling to let revenge cloud his judgment. At the moment, however, with brother Darik’s interment within the crypts only three hours past, that delicate distinction was becoming hard to make.

 

Sighing, Mateus pushed back from the table. “I need to think,” he said simply. Nodding briefly in respect to Therion, Mateus turned on one heel and strode from the room, his mind awash with the foundations of a plan.

 

Inquisitor Lord LeCraux watched him leave, a small knowing smile on his face. Mateus was like a son to him, for more reasons than one, and he knew the Grand Master’s thoughts almost as well as his own. The plan was there – it just needed clarity to emerge. Even now, Therion knew, Mateus would be heading deeper and deeper into the bowels of the Fortress, seeking the only thing he knew that could bring his mind out of the fog of emotion into the clarity he needed: combat.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The training room echoed with the grunts of men and the sharp smacks of flesh on flesh as blows were blocked, parried, and turned aside. The two men that sparred were the center of attention, objects of careful study for future emulation by those Grey Knights standing around the outside edge of the chamber. This fight deserved special attention from the observers, as it highlighted two of the best that the Chapter had to offer – Brother-Captain Mathis, of Grand Master Mateus’ strike team, was training against the famous Brother-Captain Stern, whose force had returned to Titan briefly to resupply. They faced off in the center of the room, stripped to the waist, the silver hexagrammic wards beneath their skin clearly visible in the soft light.

 

Mathis, slightly larger in height and heft than his opponent, launched himself forward in an attempt to use his size to his advantage. Stern spun around, throwing a foot back in a lethal side kick to his foe’s side. Mathis spun with an inhuman speed which seemed even more out of place on his massive frame, catching Stern’s foot in the crux of his right arm. As he brought his left over his head to deliver a devastating hammerfist to Stern’s knee, Stern struck. Leaping off the ground, Stern twisted his foot in Mathis’ grasp, scissoring his other leg around to clip his opponent’s chin. Mathis, momentarily disoriented by the blow, leapt backwards to escape Stern’s inevitable follow-up attack.

 

Stern, however, was far too cunning of a warrior to be anticipated that easily. Casting his own defense to the wind in the face of a stunned opponent, Stern launched every muscle in his body as hard as he could, throwing himself forward into the teeth of Mathis’ retreat. Lashing out with both arms, he rained blows upon the chest and shoulders of his opponent. Mathis blocked and parried with the techniques he had mastered through a lifetime of constant combat, knowing that he had to find a way to put himself back on the offensive soon. Recovering himself, Mathis twisted underneath Stern’s next strike, channeling his entire weight into an elbow strike just beneath the line of the Captain’s arm. But, where the blow should have connected, Stern simply wasn’t there.

 

Mathis, realizing instantly what had happened, managed to turn his body just enough to keep his shoulder blades from being shattered when Stern’s feet slammed into his back, bearing him to the ground with the full momentum attained from his psychically enhanced vertical leap. Stern’s hand was at Mathis’ throat before the Captain’s head even hit the floor, and the fight was over.

 

The assemblage of observers let out a collectively held breath, and more than one uttered a quiet prayer of praise to the Emperor for the strength that they had at their disposal. Stern helped Mathis to his feet, and the two moved over to a nearby bench to sit and collect their thoughts.

 

“Well fought, brother.” Stern’s gaze was critical but approving. “I’m impressed at the warrior you have become.”

 

“And you as well,” Mathis replied, “I thank you for the fight. How long are you here?”

 

“A few days, nothing more. A Planetary Governor is suspected of harboring sorcerers, and we move out as soon as our Strike Cruiser is refueled.”

 

“M’kachen’s influence?” A worried frown had creased Mathis’ face.

 

Stern smirked, looking slightly offended. “I have banished other daemons, you know.”

 

Mathis laughed, clapping his old friend on the shoulder. “Like it or not, brother, your name and his are going to be remembered together for as long as either exists.”

 

Suddenly, a new voice entreated them. “Ah, Brother-Captain Stern! Well met!” Stern looked up to see Grand Master Mateus walking towards them, and his usually impassive face was split by a smile. When Mateus had formed his initial strike team to make raiding forays into The Eye of Terror, Stern had been one of the first invited. Though the two had great respect for each other, Stern refused, partially because he hated teleporting (a technique that Mateus was famed for using to its fullest extent), but mostly because he did not want to inadvertently bring the gaze of the Lord of Change down upon the endeavor. M’kachen’s servants were everywhere, even if the Daemon Prince himself was banished, and they reported all they saw to their master. Better by far, Stern thought, to give Mateus a greater chance of victory by staying out of it. Much as he relished the chance to exterminate the enemies of mankind, there were many more efficient places that his strength could be put to use.

 

“Well met, indeed.” Stern said, saluting. “How fare you?”

 

“I need to think,” Mateus said simply, his voice deep and calm. “Are you available?”

 

Stern didn’t even need to ask what he meant. “Certainly. Terms?”

 

“Weapons and psychic powers, to first blood. Acceptable?”

 

“Of course.” Stern moved to the wall, lifting his Nemesis sword. Its weight felt good in his hands, and its heft was a natural part of his arms movements. It hummed in attunement to his psychic powers, and he could feel it attach to his mind like a new limb, as though it were always designed to be there.

 

Mateus drew his sword as well, slightly longer and heavier than Stern’s, and watched his opponent critically. He analyzed his weight, strength, gait, the way he held his weapon… everything was categorized and internalized in the blink of an eye, and Mateus nodded slightly in decision.

 

Putting one hand over the base of his blade, he gathered the psychic power of his mind, channeling it through his unwavering faith. As he passed his hand along the blade’s length, his mind isolated and broke down the connections that held it together, reforming them with a thought. The result was a change in the blade’s shape with no loss in strength, reformed like new into any design desired. It was a technique that the Grand Masters sometimes used to adapt to the situation, allowing them to choose the best weapon for the encounter. For his lighter, quicker opponent, Mateus chose the form of a khopesh, which had a straight blade extending from the handle for about half a meter, while the second half of the sword’s length curved outward and back in to form a sickle-shaped crescent, which could be used to slash or catch and deflect an opponent’s blade with equal ease.

 

The two warriors faced off in the center of the dueling ring, circling each other slowly. Their eyes moved rapidly, searching for any flaw, no matter how minute, in the movements of the other. Two, three, then four complete slow circles they made, each finding the other’s movements perfect.

 

Mateus nodded in approval, then charged the Brother-Captain. He knew that it was important to deny Stern the charge, as the Captain’s speed could force Mateus back on his heels very quickly. His khopesh darted in and out, arcing back and forth in circular swipes designed to pull Stern’s defenses out of position, forcing him to overextend himself.

 

But Stern’s speed was like lightning, and he actually stepped into each assault as he parried, limiting the range of the Grand Master’s swings. As he advanced, Stern focused his mind. Mateus would feel the build-up, he knew, but he tried to disguise the effect as long as possible in an attempt to keep his opponent on the defensive.

 

Their swords whirled through the air, cleaving visible pressure-streaks in the dankness of the Fortress-Monastery. Psychic sparks leapt from the blades at every hit, as though even in the spit-second of contact their minds were fighting to overcome each other.

 

Suddenly, Stern parried high, sweeping his left fist up under his blade in a devastating uppercut. Releasing the energy he had been accumulating, Stern felt the warm crackle of the blue-white psychic lighting as it curled lovingly about his fist. They called it Hammerhand, and the strength that Stern could fuel into it put a powerfist to shame.

 

Mateus smiled grimly as he spun his grip on his khopesh, twisting the sickle-blade around Stern’s sword. One the hook was locked on the blade’s edge, Mateus heaved down, pulling Stern’s blade into the path of his uppercut. Stern’s fist smashed into his own sword, and as the psychic lightning wrapped around the blade – which was attuned directly to Stern’s mind –the muscles in the Captain’s face went slack with shock and pain.

 

Stern’s world suddenly became white-hot. The psychic feedback was immense! He wrenched his mind away from the Hammerhand, forcing it out of existence before his own psychic assault forced him to lose consciousness. The silver wards burned coldly against his skin, and he shook his head to clear the spots forming in front of his eyes. In the half-second of half-blindness, Stern’s blade danced in an unconventional counter-attack, a pattern he had dug up from the archives when he was still a Justicar. Mateus, expecting a feint from the archaic movements, took a step back as he blocked. That step was all the time Stern needed to clear his head, and he re-launched his attack in earnest.

 

Stern was one of the quickest swordsmen that the Chapter had to offer, and he brought all of his speed to bear against his opponent. His sword strikes scissored in closer and closer to his opponent, and the metallic ring of Nemesis weapons connecting filled the air like music, a grim parody of the bells that never tolled here. Stern worked Mateus’ defense high then low, left then right, searching for a weakness.

 

Mateus caught Stern’s sword in the curve of his khopesh, but Stern just turned his slash into a thrust, forcing Mateus to retreat or be impaled. Stern reversed the stab into a slash, and Mateus knocked it away with a flick of his sword wrist.

 

Then, Mateus began gathering his will. His faith shone like a beacon to Stern’s psychic eye, so bright that he couldn’t make out how the energy was being directed. Mateus’ eyes glowed pure white, and small bolts of lightning arced out of their edges to his brow, nose, and chin, as though his head could not contain the energy he was mustering by sheer force of will. Mateus grit his teeth in determination, and in that moment, he was the perfect symbol of the Emperor’s wrath made manifest.

 

Realizing that it was now or never, Stern darted forward and struck, his sword weaving a precise line between the arcs of Mateus’ defensive stance.

 

Then, as his blade’s point was about to hit home, Mateus released his awesome psychic power. There was a flash, and then nothing – Stern’s sword slid through empty space where the Grand Master was just an instant before. There was a sound like cupped hands being clapped together as air rushed in to fill the evacuated space. Stern felt the tabard tied around his waist flutter with a breeze of displaced air from behind him, and knowledge seized the Captain like a cold panic. Pivoting elegantly one his forward foot, Stern spun around, bringing his sword to bear – but as he turned, Mateus stepped calmly past him, sword outstretched, lightly drawing a thin red line against the Captain’s stomach. Just a little more pressure, Stern knew, and the Grand Master could have spilled his entrails upon the floor.

 

Stern gasped in astonishment. A teleport? he wondered with incredulity. He had never heard of it being done. With this short of a range, it was psychically possible, he supposed, but… the amount of energy was unfathomable. Stern looked back at the Grand Master, his face plainly stitched with awe at the simply awesome amounts of raw faith that must be held within this man’s humble breast.

 

Mateus was passing a hand over his sword’s length, reverting it to its original shape. “How did I beat you?” he asked in his calm, deep voice. Stern could only shake his head.

 

“I must not have been fast enough on that last spin…” he said, panting.

 

Mateus just shook his head. “You were as fast as I have ever seen you.”

 

Stern looked up, his eyes narrowing. “Then it was your teleport,” he said almost questioningly. “I should have anticipated it.”

 

“How could you?” Mateus asked simply. “You had never seen it before.”

 

Stern took several deep breaths, considering. Finally, he was forced to shake his head in defeat, his eyes downcast. “I don’t know.” The words were terse, as though he had trouble uttering them. “But I will spend the next day in prayer, to ask the Emperor to forgive my weakness.”

 

Mateus walked slowly forward, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder. Stern’s eyes jerked up to meet his, filled with obvious reverence. Mateus’ voice was soft and considerate in a way that Stern had never heard before, yet still deep with a wisdom beyond the years of a man who, technically, was younger than Stern.

 

“It is possible to make no mistakes, and still lose. That is not a weakness – that is life.”

 

With that, Mateus turned and strode purposefully out of the chamber. “Mathis!” he called out behind him. “Say your prayers and gather your gear. We leave on the morrow.” He could hear Mathis saluting behind him, but he paid it no mind. His thoughts were flowing smoothly, for the rush of combat had brought him the clarity he so desperately sought.

 

He now knew what he had to do.

[flameseeker574]

excellent work, I look forward to reading more. Also good job humanizing the space marines, its something that more than a few stories lack.

[xXwarsmithXx]

Seconded :D Very nice. It has a crisp, clean feeling that I like.

[Godslayer]

Very good, the narrating was good, the plot and characters real fit the space marine theme.

Enjoyed it.