The Black Book

[Nemesor]

The Harbinger of Truth was burning. A ship over three thousand years old - in service to the warriors of the XVII Legion since it emerged from the shipyards. First it had borne them across the stars to conquer in the name of the Imperium of Man - prosecuting the False Emperor's Great Crusade. Later; it carried them on the bloody path of the Heresy, the long road of death that lead the Warmaster Horus and his blessed brethren to Terra. When the Warmaster fell and the campaign was abandoned, it was the Harbinger of Truth that saved Dark Apostle Jol Neron and his Host from the avenging servants of the Corpse-Emperor. It had served them well across hundreds of campaigns and thousands of battles.

 

And now it was lost - its void shields shattered and its hull torn apart. The glorious black spires bristling across its exterior broken, drifting away as the behemoth vessel inexorably fell towards the planet below, twisting as it vented atmosphere and its outer hull crumbled away. The Chapel of Hate was an airless ruin - its once beautiful barbed architecture melted and smashed - all throughout the ship mortal servants drifted about the corridors and chambers - their bodies rent open by exposure to the vacuum. Crystallised blood broke silently as it collided with bulkheads. Here and there, crimson-armoured giants floated among the corpses - Word Bearers whose armour had failed them, or who had been ill-prepared for the destruction of their vessel. The few who survived the failure of the shields; and the subsequent barrage of enemy fire, had long abandoned the broken strike cruiser. The hull groaned as it pierced the increasingly dense atmosphere of the world below. Flames licked along its ruined length higher and higher. All around it smaller fragments formed a firestorm in the sky. The gargantuan display of devastation could be seen for hundreds of kilometres.

 

From his detachment's landing zone on a lonely desert plateau, First Acolyte Sarabus watched with tears in his eyes - as the place he had called home for centuries descended to the surface of Phyran IV in flames. The Imperial defenders of this world were doomed to defeat - but they were inflicting terrible casualties on their foes in their death throes. The Word Bearers vessel was but one of seven ships dedicated to the Ruinous Powers that had come to ravage the Phyran system. The other six were representatives of Abaddon's Black Legion, the Night Lords and the Alpha Legion. They had banded together to fight for a common goal - the Third Black Crusade. Phyran IV was a hive world with a vast population, numbering in the tens of billions. The servants of Chaos had arrived to unshackle the populace from their servitude to the False Emperor.

 

Those who bowed before the Dark Gods would be taken to serve their new masters as slaves - labourers, personal servants, ship crew or perhaps honoured with the opportunity to fight in the regiments of traitor guardsmen and militant cultists. While mere humans were far less valuable than even crippled or insane Astartes - they were needed to maintain the equipment of their demigod masters. Phyran IV could provide enough slaves to equip a dozen vessels with crew to match that available to them in the days of the Great Crusade. The new Warmaster Abaddon could earn the loyalty of many warbands with a gift of mortal servants. With this in mind; he had tasked the Black Legion warlord Harath Kahb with leading the planetary raids to gather these slaves, and sacrifice those who would not kneel for the favour of their daemonic patrons.

 

The Harbinger of Truth was the only Word Bearers vessel among the raiders. A cold feeling of dread settled over Sarabus as he realised that the surviving Word Bearers had only two options before them with their own ship gone. They could either join one of the other warbands present - or die there on Phyran IV. Either way, the Host of the Bleeding Sword would be no more.

[Nemesor]

The loss of the Harbinger of Truth was a crushing blow to the morale of Sarabus and what little remained of their Host. But they still had a mission, and if there were to be any hope of surviving the days ahead, the Word Bearers would have to complete it. Sarabus had a duty to preserve the lives of his fellow sons of Lorgar - and to preach the Primordial Truth. Although their ship - and in all likelihood their Dark Apostle - were lost, their purpose was not. Sarabus steeled himself, thankful that the look of dismay on his face was hidden by his baroque helm. He turned his eyes from the spectacular firestorm of the falling vessel and looked over the five Coteries that remained of their Host. He cleared his throat, activating his vocal amplifiers.

 

"Brothers!" His voice boomed across the landing zone as he spread his arms wide, drawing all eyes to him, "Our ship and much of our Host is lost. But we must remain strong! Our task has not changed. Ready your armaments and give praise to the Dark Gods, vengeance is at hand!"

 

The assembled Astartes knelt and began to mutter twisted prayers, the Coterie leaders prompting them with lines from the Book of Lorgar. They all knew the scripture, and they responded with the next line in perfect unison. Sarabus inhaled deeply as censers were lit, their sickly-sweet perfume filling the air. The Gods would be with them, as always. As the prayers ended, the marines set about readying their wargear and organising themselves into the appopriate formations. Scouting parties quickly broke away from their Coteries to seek their objective out.

 

Sarabus and the warriors of the five Coteries had been sent to that arid region of Phyran IV for a very specific reason. According to the Alpha Legion spy network, there was an underground power plant hidden here, supplying vital energy to Hive Gyre - a stronghold for the Imperial defenders. If the power plant were disabled, the Hive's defences would be greatly weakened - making an invasion far less costly for the Chaotic forces. The power plant itself was expected to have relatively light defences, relying more on its concealment for protection. However, it was a complex, large structure, and so the Word Bearers would need to split up to secure the entire installation.

 

Sarabus would be going in with Fifth Coterie - lead by Rhal Goralion. Sarabus had little love for Goralion, in fact he hated him. Goralion was a former rival of Sarabus. He had constantly vied with Sarabus for status and prestige, and had tried on more than one occasion to orchestrate his demise. He was consumed with jealousy when Sarabus was chosen to be Jol Neron's First Acolyte. Sarabus chose to go into battle alongside Goralion's Coterie only because he did not trust them to do as he ordered otherwise. Sarabus hoped with every mission that Goralion would fall - and perhaps his successor would be more agreeable. In fact, Sarabus entertained thoughts of removing the Coterie leader in an unfortunate 'friendly fire' incident all too often. Though he knew his rival was still valued by the Dark Apostle, so he had never dared to act on his treacherous fantasies.

 

Sarabus checked his own weaponry while he waited for reports from the scouting parties. His bolt pistol - once a Tigrus pattern - had been embellished with angular metal studs and a barrel in the shape of a snarling daemonic face. Engraved on its grip in Colchisian runes was the word Retribution. It was, as he expected, well-maintained and loaded. Next, he looked to his power sword - a long, broad blade of fairly plain design, save for the crossguard decorated by a silver eight-pointed star. He thumbed the activation rune, watching it crackle into life as a corona of energy surrounded the weapon. Satisfied, he deactivated it. He was, as he had already known, ready for the battles to come.

 

His thoughts were not allowed to wander much further when the gravelly voice of Rhal Goralion came to him through the vox.

 

"They've found the entrance, First Acolyte."

[Llagos_Tyrant]

Great so far! This looks very promising.

[Nemesor]

Sarabus was at first surprised by how quickly the scouting parties had located the entrance to the installation. But upon seeing it for himself, he realised it was not so difficult a task as he had expected. The entrance was a massive adamantium door that would sink into the ground when opened. Wide enough for a pair of land raiders to drive through side-by-side comfortably, and twice as tall as a dreadnought. The door was set at the bottom of a canyon, several hundred meters deep. The canyon itself was even more wide, and clearly carved into the landscape by artificial means. The surface of the rock was too-smooth, with strange ripple-patterns betraying the superhot cutting tools used in its creation. Hardly a subtle entrance. On either side of the door was a massive heavy bolter turret set into the canyon walls. They could not aim high enough to fire at the Traitor Astartes looking down at them from so high above, but they would be problematic for any who tried to directly assault the door on the canyon floor. Sarabus took a moment to consider what needed to be done, and the equipment at his disposal.

 

"Fourth Coterie will breach the door. Eleventh and Second will take out the turrets. Eighth will take up a position in cover in front of the door." Sarabus said to Goralion, stood to his right. Goralion's helm turned slowly to face him.

 

"There is no cover down there, First Acolyte." He was not even trying to hide the disdain in his voice. He loathed being under the command of his old rival.

 

"Make some. A few well-placed grenades will dislodge some of the cliff edge. They can conceal themselves amongst the rubble," Sarabus never turned to face the squad leader. Goralion grunted and set about voxing Sarabus' orders to the other Coteries. While they busied themselves with preparations, the First Acolyte moved to a distance and knelt in the sand. He drew about himself an eight-pointed star in the dust, and began to pray. He opened himself to the Warp, muttering in daemonic tongues as voices from beyond the veil came to him. They whispered into his thoughts, seeking to plant ideas, strike bargains, or simply to dominate his mind. But Sarabus was strong of will, and would not be swayed from his purpose. The voices dulled gradually until only one remained.

 

"You have returned, Bearer of the Word. What is it you seek from me?" The voice sent shivers through Sarabus' body - it was the sound of malevolence - pure unadulterated hatred. A voice that dripped contempt and malice. It was the voice of Shar'fhon - a warp-creature that had made numerous bargains with the First Acolyte when he first began to commune with the realm of Chaos. He took a moment to regain his composure before responding.

 

"Your powers. I know you can glimpse possible futures, Dark One. Can my Host survive among the warriors of another Legion? Or are we doomed?"

 

"So the Bearer has concerns more selfish than the Word?" the creature chuckled - a hollow, mirthless sound, "You can survive - but I see only one way." Sarabus grit his teeth. The other voices were coming back.

 

"Tell me how!" he seethed, the daemon was taking its time. The First Acolyte felt himself weakening, though he hoped he was not yet showing it.

 

Shar'fhon told him. With a hiss, Sarabus closed himself off from the warp, his spirit hurtling back into his body. He was on his hands and knees - muscles tight and twitching spasmodically. His crimson power armour was encrusted with a layer of frost. The Word Bearer breathed deeply - calming himself as his body cleansed itself of stimulants, unconsciously released by his armour in response to the stress of the ritual. After a few seconds, he rose from the ground. The star he had drawn about himself had turned black - the sand scorched.

 

Goralion approached the First Acolyte now. He had been waiting almost since Sarabus had begun - he knew better than to interfere with such sacred rituals.

 

"All is in readiness. We await only your command to begin, First Acolyte." He growled, this time a new emotion tinted his voice - jealousy. Goralion was forever held back from training in the ways of Warpcraft. His mind was not sharp enough to pierce the veil. Every reminder that his rival was not so impaired stung his pride a little harder.

 

"Destroy the turrets, then have Eighth and Fourth rappel down as quickly as possible and breach the door. Move quickly - time is of the essence."

[Nemesor]

The Word Bearers wasted no time in making the breach. As they had a hundred times before on a hundred different battlegrounds, the door was shattered. Brothers Borath and Phontus - armed with a missile launcher and a multi-melta respectively, opened fire. Borath's krak missile roaring as it spun through the air, hurtling toward its target. With a crunch and a ground-shaking thump, it impacted and detonated, tearing the turret open like a tin can as the initial blast detonated its ammunition feeds. A clean, well-placed shot. Sarabus expected no less from a warrior who had been carrying that weapon for longer than most astartes had lived. Phontus' weapon had a very different effect - but it was no less devastating. With a shriek, the blinding blast of superheated gases seared through the air, striking the turret's outer armour and melting through it instantly. Phontus allowed the blast to drift across the target, cutting a deep molten gash in it. When the beam disappeared, the turret was crippled, one of its barrels sheared off, while the other was no longer connected to its ammo feed thanks to the deep rent left by the melta blast.

 

The turrets destroyed, Fourth and Eighth coteries leapt from the cliff-edge, rappelling down to the bottom of the canyon on thick cables of metallic weave. They hit the floor, and with practiced speed moved to their positions. Eighth took cover among the rocks fallen from above, while Fourth began planting melta charges on the door, , powerful electromagnets securing them in place. The charges placed, Fourth retreated to the sides of the doorway, splitting into two groups flanking the massive entryway.

 

"By your order, first Acolyte." Voxed Har Lethon, leader of Fourth Coterie. A detonator was clutched in his ceramite-encased fist. His posture slightly hunched, poised to fight. Sarabus would not make him wait any longer.

 

"Detonate."

 

With a roar and a blinding flash, the melta charges activated. It lasted but a moment, and the whole while the Chaos marines' helmet autosenses were compensating - filtering out excessive light and then allowing it back in as the brightness fled. All watching could see the immense hole, ringed by glowing-hot metal, and the vast cloud of superheated vapour rising from the breached doorway. A furious heat-haze distorted the air around the breach, making it hard to make out what lay beyond the broken portal. 

 

The next minute passed agonisingly slowly, as the door creaked and groaned, and the heat-haze and vapour dispersed. Every Word Bearer was ready to open fire, but no foe came. They waited, but there was no response from within. Sarabus knew they could not afford to wait from what the daemon had told him. He rose and pointed forward with his sword, bellowing through his vox amplifiers.

 

"Into the breach! For the Dark Gods!"

 

A roar went up as the Word Bearers vocalised their pleasure at being finally unleashed. Fourth coterie charged in through the breach, Eighth close behind them. Second, Eleventh and Sarabus along with the Fifth rappelled down into the canyon as quickly as they could. As the First Acolyte descended, he heard Har Lethon on the vox.

 

"All clear - not a defensive measure in sight." There was a hint of suspicion in the squad leader's voice. Sarabus understood why. Something did not sit right about this - a total lack of defenders. The commander of security was probably pulling his forces back to a choke point for an ambush. That, or there were hidden defences - boobytraps, perhaps.

 

Surely the installation would not be left totally unprotected. Not even the servants of the Corpse Emperor were so foolish and arrogant as to think they would get away with that.

[Unknown Chronicler]

The only thing I could remark upon in the beginning is the three thousand years of the ship...the Great Crusade lasted no more then 400 or less years (I could be wrong so please correct me) and the Heresy there after was no more then a handful of decades (which could change over the course of the HH books) so the ship would by far be a lot older possibly 8000-9000 years of age (but it could be 7000 if you want to consider the Great Scouring and Colchis was left untouched until the UM came and burned it). But other then that I think it is good!

[Brother Ambroz]

Well it's been 10,000 years since the heresy and more since the ship was made but if you take into account books like Soul Hunter there are some warbands that were "lost" in the warp and it hasn't been quite as long for them.

 

Anyway awesome story so far, lets see some more!!!

[Nemesor]

In response to your comments, this story does, as stated, take place during the early part of the third Black Crusade. A long way off M41, but still a few millennia at least away from the Heresy. And as you rightly observed, Tanith Ghost, time does not pass normally for those who travel in the warp. Even individual ships from the same Legion may have experienced vastly different lengths of time since the Heresy. For one vessel and its crew, barely two centuries may seem to have passed, while another has suffered and struggled through the entire ten millennia of the Long War.

 

EDIT: Also, there will be a new part coming soon, just very busy atm with my suddenly hectic life.