Hidden Paths

[Erasus]

this is a taster of my new story, please C&C as each bit is typed up and posted

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HIDDEN PATHS

'Come then!' he roared with laughter as the fires grew, 'I will devour you all!'

Wisps of flame coalesced around his body as the fires exploded outwards and incinerated everything in their path. The eldar barely had time to react before their protective armour melted into their skin and the slag of their helmets charred through screaming throats. Still they came.

A pair of warrior witches clad in bone white armour came screaming at him, their red manes singeing as they flipped and cart-wheeled through the roaring flames. He slashed with his arms and arcs of blue flames blazed through the air. The waves smashed into one of the Banshees, reducing her to ashes as it ate through her body. The second Banshee screamed louder and came on in a mad rush. Auzhan grinned beneath his helm. He opened his arms as if to welcome the oncoming eldar warrior. She leapt into the air with her blade poised to cleave through the sorcerer who had claimed so many of her kin.

She never saw the huge metallic fist that smashed her into the ground, the power fields running along the four adamantine blades mutilating her body as she was pounded into the earth. Auzhan laughed freely as she died; the determination in her charge had always been in vain.

+I SERVE+

Auzhan glanced at is reinforcements; the hulking form of Razan emerged through the smoke and stomped over the corpse of the last Banshee. The towering Dreadnought continued on towards the Eldar lines, guided by the flashing muzzles of the shuriken catapults. This would be entertaining.

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So that's an excerpt, I'll be posting the Chapters as I write them, please let me know what you think so I can adjust as I go along

[Erasus]

I

 

 

 

 

Auzhan watched as the last of the Imperial Guard burned in the blue fires.

 

After this, the planet would be scoured of their presence and Utubar's plans could begin to unfold with earnest. A nuisance at best, the human soldiers ha provided suitable rehearsals for the sorceries that would need to be unleashed when the final stages were reached.

 

The sky was tinged pink as the sun began to set, the waves of clouds seeming to chase the source of light over the horizon. Tomorrow would bear good weather. A pressure nudged against the edges of Auzhan's mind, Zarvand's voice spoke.

 

+The chattel has been culled. Vorna desires our presence at the Hidden Door+

 

Auzhan nodded in understanding and set off at a brisk pace towards the site. Without distractions from the False Emperor, they could set their attentions to the task and then the possibilities would be endless. Auzhan smiled beneath his ornate helm.

 

As he walked he passed the remnants of the Imperial Guard's last stand on the planet of Ptahem; charred Leman Russ battle tanks, crumpled heavy weapon platforms and fortifications that been turned into rubble. Scattered amongst it all were the Guard themselves; bodies curled up in guttering flames, limbs missing their sockets and the mass of slaughtered men slowly being consumed by the unholy monstrosities still roaming the battlefield, it was their due. Auzhan watched as a mass of pink flsh scampered over to a wounded guardsman, his moans grew louder as he realised what was coming for him. The mass of flesh erupted new limbs and grasped the injured man by the wrist and shoulder, chortling at its own discovery. A collection of faces shifted through its head as if it couldn't decide how its face should look, while its body spasmed under the ever changing growths it produced. With an unnatural strength it pulled apart the guardsman's body; the arm popping from the joint before the skin tore under the pressure. Giggling manically it then used the newly freed arm to beat the man to death, the crude weapon changing hands as new limbs sprouted ad others dissolved. Auzhan noticed how the daemon's colour changed every time it his the man. Tzeentch had indeed answered Utubar's call this day; at least several dozen of the cackling Horrors whirled around the battlefield, sparks of energy dancing from their fingertips.

 

He pressed on, let the little vermin glut themselves on the souls of the fallen; he had things of more importance to achieve. Utubar needed his proficiency in the arcane to awaken the ancient energies that slumbered within the frame of the Hidden Door. Thousands of years had gone by, scrying the weaves of fate to discern this and fulfil the schemes of the Changer of the Ways. Auzhan would step into his role with pride and bring about another climax in the web of schemes his master had knitted. He was one of the ultimate instruments in the galaxy after all.

 

All beneath his heavy, armoured tread was immolated as he passed; ethereal energies finding escape through Auzhan's pyrokinetic tendencies. The edges of his ancient power armour crackled with heat as his anticipation burst into an otherworldly and fiery form, yet they did not char the blue and gold paint. He was a proud sorcerer, one blessed with the strength and fortitude of a Space Marine and honoured with a rich lineage. His body was crafted to perfection by the meddling of men and then moulded again in subtle ways by the great Tzeentch. His genetically engineered muscles were now fuelled by the very fire his sorceries kindled into existence. His own psychic prowess, once a thing considered exceptional by the standards of Man, had now been stoked into an inferno thanks to the heresy of a brother. He thought of the insignia on his left shoulder pad and smiled with pride, a golden serpent swirled round to engulf its own tail; the Ouroboros, a symbol of eternal recreation. Its golden form was layered onto a blue background. The sign of the Thousand Sons, one of the mighty Legions that had once upon a time conquered much of the known galaxy, before being betrayed by the deceiver who called himself Emperor. The traitor had sent his savage dogs of war to their homeworld and so a place in the Imperium was forever denied them. How things would be now had the Emperor held even a scrap of honour he would never know, the Master of Truth and Lies would no doubt offer him such knowledge, but at a high price and Auzhan was comfortable with his path as it was. He was part of a conclave of Thousand Son sorcerers, each mighty in their own way, and together they would carve the paths that their daemonic master would require in order to lay down greater schemes. Glory was theirs to take.

 

Vorna's voice suddenly boomed into his mind, +I would have words, Auzhan+

 

+Of what matter?+ Auzhan answered, wincing as once again Vorna's voice resonated too loudly; a pointless display of telepathic prowess.

 

+Of those who would deny us our prize, they will come to answer our all; we must make ourselves ready+

 

+What words has Sharzeh shared on this?+ Auzhan already knew that their actions would not g unnoticed, there were many in the universe that would either see them stopped or dead. Preparation was key, as with all  things, and the insight of one who could glimpse the strands of fate would no doubt make things easier.

 

+Our enemies lay multiple paths for him to follow; they are not naïve, they know who watches+

 

Sharzeh was a master in the Cult of Corvidae, the ability to the see the future and read its twist and turns the Cult's main focus. When the Legion was broken and fled into the Eye of Terror many of their greatest sorcerers gathered together to peer into what the future held, including the greatest of their number; Ahzek Ahriman. Sharzeh may not have held as lofty a title as the Chief Librarian but he was no novice and was considered one of the greatest in his sole pursuit of precognition. Unlike many others he neglected other paths in exchange for mastery of the future. If he could not see what their enemy was planning then they had mobilised a larger force than expected.

 

Auzhan took a measured breath and nodded, +what would you have of me?+

 

+Gather our brothers and have them stand ready, if the smallest weakness if found the enemy will exploit it+

 

+And what of the Door?+

 

+Rodin is to take your place, do not fear brother, we will not be stopped+

 

Auzhan sent Vorna a pulse of compliance and swiftly turned on his heel to march towards his silent brothers.

 

Good, the enemy was coming. And not just any enemy either, a foe who was as adept at sorcery as the lords of the Thousand Sons Legion were. Auzhan could feel his flesh tingle with heat as warp fire started to roar through his veins. Let them come, he thought, let them come and be burnt to cinders. He would enjoy melting them down, razing their petty forces and burning their very souls. He hoped there were champions among them, warriors worthy of praise, warriors worthy of him. It had been a long time since he had been pushed to his limits. He remembered the last time he had been forced to truly fight for his life; a thin-blooded space marine who had dared to wear the mantle of a Librarian, as if any outside the Legion could truly earn that ancient title. Still, the Imperial dog had done well to strain Auzhan as he had. Auzhan fondly remembered roasting the fool's bones and claiming his skull as a trophy, it still decorated his armour now; even as he thought of it the macabre prize made a hollow clack against the back of his left thigh as he walked.

 

Once more he could see the total devastation they had left of the local defenders, the moaning of the wounded had gone now; replaced by a staccato chanting made up of many sounds, none of them natural. The gaggle of lesser daemons had now begun performing unnatural rituals to the God of Change. Utubar would be keeping watch somewhere; ensuring that the daemons were kept on a leash and only whispered of his triumph and the glory he would deliver to Tzeentch. Auzhan couldn't care less about Utubar's ambitions, he only wanted the chance to unleash fire in the name of the Legion. A small tongue of blue flame coruscated around his gauntlets as he neared where he wanted to be, he stopped just outside the mouth of a cave.

 

+Razan+

 

A deep rumble began from within, thunderous footsteps shook the loose grit from the walls, +WHO SPEAKS+

 

Auzhan stiffened in anticipation; since Chief Librarian Ahriman's meddling it was difficult dealing with certain brothers, they had become unstable. +It is I, Lord Auzhan. The enemy has come, you are to serve+

 

+I SERVE+

 

Of course you do, Auzhan thought idly and stepped back as Razan left his sanctuary.

 

Large metallic feet pounded the ground as Razan trundled forward, the pistons that were his legs swivelled beneath a large square armoured chassis, symbols of the Ouroboros winded up either side of the centre piece; a giant helm with a glowing baleful gaze, decorated in elegant gold trimming and script. The right arm consisted of two-linked lascannons, a huge serrated blade welded beneath the lower barrel. Razan's left arm was an immense power claw, each of the four adamantine blades sheathed in a blue power field. Razan was one of the rarest relics in the Thousand Sons Legion.

 

Razan was a Dreadnought.

 

+I SERVE+ he repeated.

 

Auzhan began to lead the lumbering Dreadnought to the mustering point. Vorna could have assembled the other Sons of Magnus but, like so many in the Legion, Vorna kept himself distant from those who paid the ultimate price for the Rubric of Ahriman. Those who did not wield the psychic prowess to not only survive the Rubric but also use it to empower their abilities to new heights found themselves incinerated in ethereal fires that only afflicted the soul. It rendered them to dust inside their armour, bonding them to the shells that once contained all they were. To many this was disturbing, especially when you could feel who the Rubric marine had once been, that sharp stab of loss when a brother was recognised. Auzhan didn't care; he had moved beyond such minor concerns even before the Rubric. His devotion to the Pyrae Cult had devoured the bonds to individual kin; all that was left was fire and ash in the wake of the Legion as a whole.

 

Razan stomped his way over the lush grass, +I SERVE+

 

Auzhan stopped just short of where the Rubricae stood, Razan's pounding footsteps stopping behind him. The Rubric marines stood in perfect formation, silent and still. It would have been easy to assume the suits of armour clutching their bolters were empty, had it not been for the green glow in their eyes.

 

+Attend+, he sent the thought out as a wave, he could feel it crash against the armour like water against stone. Each of the Rubricae soaked in the command and stirred to life; as one their bolters levelled out like a firing squad. Auzhan smiled; he liked to imagine that even the arrogant Roboute Guilliman would be envious of such unity. He eyed the serried ranks of Thousand Sons legionnaires and began putting together the defence patterns he would arrange them in; firing arcs and defensive lines, units for flanking and ambushes, others for sustained pinning fie and defensive blockades. His thought pattern spread out amongst the silent sentinels, he grimaced; he was never good at telepathy, Vorna was always the specialist. Damn that coward for delegating this to him. The Rubricae began to move; their feet stamped over the earth as they took up their positions. It reminded him of a game of Regicide; the pieces were set, now all that was left was to let the game commence.

 

A low growl emitted from Razan's vox casters. Auzhan glanced back at the towering Dreadnought, +Razan, you are to guard the Hidden Door; the enemy must be denied in all things+

 

+I SERVE+

 

 

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'P-please! Stop this!'

 

Lieutenant Colton screamed as he watched his comrade bend and break in unnatural ways. The other man's limbs kept twisting and cracked every time the bone changed direction. His floating torso was folded in half so that his spine had collapse on itself, the vertebrae spiralling like a double helix. It was his face that was most disturbing though; the man was still conscious, and the pain and despair etched on his features and given voice through a silent scream would forever linger in Colton's brain.

 

'Why?!' he cried out as he begun to sob into his dirty hands.

 

The sorcerer glanced down at him, the golden face mask impassive at his agony. His outstretched hand stopped moving, and the guardsman's body halted in its slow ruination.  Colton could feel the sorcerer's attention burn into him as if he was standing too close to a searing flame. He felt a pressure blossom in his skull, like a cold stone had grown there and was expanding. Then voice, grating and crushing, spoke inside his mind.

 

+Do not fear mortal; your turn will come soon, I am nearly done with this one+

 

Chills raced across Colton's skin. The sorcerer's hand now began moving again and so too did the guardsman.

 

Suddenly another of the cerulean giants approached, neither of them spoke and although he couldn't hear any clicks to signify vox chatter he knew they were communicating somehow. Evil witches.

 

The golden masked giant stopped in his display of gruesome power and left, the body dropping to the floor with a wet slap. The other giant stood over Colton now, bolter raised. He was scared of death but deep down he was relieved at being spared a crueller fate. He almost smiled as the sorcerous inferno round punched into his skull and unleashed the warp energies that would devour him.

 

Bahadur watched the ethereal flames incinerate the man that had once been Lieutenant Colton, he watched in silence, feeling the energies that had been contained in the bolter round brush against his skin despite the thick ceramite and adamantium armour he wore.

 

+Come brother, we must be about our duties+, Rodin's voice grated against his mind, he sent a pulse of compliance and turned just as the body collapsed into ash.

 

+Make your way there, I am tasked to bring another+

 

Rodin didn't slow, but he nodded in understanding. Many more would die before this was over. It was in such thoughts that Bahadur realised he was not like his kin; to him that thought did not bring elation or hunger, it brought grief. They had toiled so hard, all of them, to build something for the generations of the future, now they worked to destroy it all because they had been cast aside. Another injustice did not rectify the first, he felt grief at all the waste and futility of these wars between the founders of the Imperium and its current custodians. He would not betray his Legion though; he was far too loyal to consider such an act. Unlike many others who craved only power, Bahadur still valued the Legion they all belonged to, and so he did what was commanded of him; he slew the men and women who defended mankind, he played his part in the rituals that his brothers weaved through the ages, he obeyed.

 

Rodin was striding off ahead, towards the Hidden Door. Bahadur picked up his pace; the ritual would begin soon. His mind opened like a blossoming flower and he let the energies of the warp flow through him. The flows and ebbs of the Great Ocean swirled around him in a constant surge, he tried to focus on the static points in this sea of change. Around him he could feel the currents that ran through the planet; the souls of the deceased humans, the bright auras that surrounded the conduits that were his brothers and the knots of power that formed the daemons who even now were communing with their infernal masters. He smiled as he thought of how Utubar would punish the daemons for not toiling hard enough. Bahadur had decided long ago he would never get used to the Neverborn, the unnatural feeling of their presence like frigid oil sluicing through his mind while his body shivered and tingled against an imaginary heat. He sifted through all the information to find the last member of the Coven needed to begin the ritual. There was a space in the warp where the flow of madness broke against a particularly large essence, the feel of an ancient identity, of immense power laid dormant, the essence of a Titan. 

 

The metal construct towered above the remnants of battle, looming over the gutted carcasses of tanks and armoured carriers, the Reaver Titan was a grim sentinel keeping watch over the dead. Bahadur could feel the echoes of the awe many had felt in its presence, the scraps of emotion bleeding from the metallic lord of war in a cascade of memories. Emotions soaked into the warp like water into the dirt, many of the powers in the warp had built their thrones on the bases of such sentiments. It was why the Titan's shadow in the Immaterium was filled with the impressions of the past. It was by this mechanical wonder that Bahadur found his quarry; knelt under the Titan's leering face was the most unhinged of the Coven, Roshak.

 

Bahadur slowly stepped closer to his kneeling brother, the sound of Roshak's muttering unnerving him more than the chants of the Neverborn ever could. Roshak had one hand stretched out, fingers splayed as if to encompass the entire Titan in his grasp. Bahadur had no idea what he was muttering, the language wasn't Gothic or the sacred tongue of Prospero but it was sharp and broken like falling glass. Gently, he reached out with his mind, +Brother, we are needed; the Hidden Door is to be opened+

 

Roshak looked up, his eyes opening to gaze upon the still Titan. 'The lost children of dead gods step into the path of the destroyer, denied he must be, blood stains the soul and darkness follows. Beasts tremble before the flames of anarchy, beaten back by the twisted kin of the hidden paths, only the fire is pure. Death comes.'

 

+Are you well, Roshak?+

 

The kneeling sorcerer smiled, +yes brother, all is clear now. This regal weapon will fight for us if but directed. You come as herald, I will obey the Coven+

 

Bahadur was glad of these moments of lucidity, moments growing fewer as millennia marched by. He stepped back as Roshak stood and brushed down his armour. Roshak's bare face displaying the easy majesty akin to their father. His smooth, unblemished, copper skin was only marred by the branding that covered the left side of his face; the symbol of a scarab in the midst of a swirling sea of ancient glyphs and script. Piercing red eyes stared back at Bahadur, a mimic of his own. But where Bahadur's head was shaven to the scalp, Roshak had finger length hair the colour of bleached bone. Roshak smiled in a way a father might to a son who has just achieved something of importance, +let us depart brother, Utubar will not tolerate delays+

 

Together they marched off towards the meeting point, soon arcane energies would be unleashed and orchestrated on a massive scale, and all to unleash the dormant energies in the frame of the Hidden Door. Bahadur had to admit he was both anxious and excited; if all went to plan then the struggles over the last thousand years would not have been in vain, instead the possibilities for the future would be theirs to shape and control, if they opened the door then the knowledge that awaited them on the other side would give them that power. But could they open it? The False Emperor had once said that his Space Marines would "know no fear" but as with many things He had decreed this was actually a lie; it was true that no enemy would force them to flee in terror but there were still many things that they feared. Failure was one of these things, and Bahadur was afraid that after everything, after all the sacrifices made it would all amount to nought. He would not fret like a mortal but the worry would linger at the back of his mind like a parasite, his only option was to burn it out with hatred but he needed a target to unleash that on.  The coming enemy would be suitable for an excision of his doubt. They would be the largest threat to their success, he would ensure they would not have the chance.

 

+My brethren, you have arrived. Another moment and I would have sent the Horrors to track you down and bring you before me+

 

The psychic feel of Utubar's voice was like having your mind in a vice, the sheer dominance of his will crushing everything it came into contact with. Bahadur and Roshak both knelt before the Coven Master and awaited his approval. Although Utubar held no official rank over the rest of the Coven, his desire to control all things had led the others to give their obedience or else face the consequences. Only one did not openly show fealty to him; Auzhan, but Bahadur doubted Auzhan would show deference to any but the Crimson King himself, and Utubar could not change that. It was only through shared purpose that Auzhan agreed to do anything asked of him.  Utubar's mind spoke once more.

 

+The hour grows late and we no time to lose. The enemy will be upon us soon enough and I would be gone from this place before that.+

 

Bahadur glanced round at the others that had been assembled; he had brought Roshak himself from the slumbering Titan, but Zarvand was also here, studiously watching the flickers of lightning between his open fingers. Rodin waited impatiently, Bahadur could sense the sorcerer's unease from being this close to the daemon horde below the plateau, Rodin had lost faith in the unnatural critters after one too many attempts at possession. Sharzeh and Vorna were also present, the former held his head low in meditation, Vorna was as usual attempting to seem more powerful than he really was. These men were his brothers, they shared his blood as much as if they were born from the same womb, he would follow these men to the depths of the Great Ocean and he was sure that they would follow him, most likely not without complaint. In that moment, before the great frame of the Hidden Door, he was incredibly proud of who he was and the Legion he belonged to.

 

All eyes turned to regard the ancient frame of the Hidden Door, its smooth surface was obviously not crafted by human hands. Large gems studded its flanks in an array of patterns and small runes linked them like a web. The two curving structures did not meet at the top but it was obvious to all that this was an entrance; for this was a gate into the Webway. 

 

Utubar grinned, +let us begin+

[deathspectersgt7]

A Good read.

[Erasus]

Thanks man I appreciate it