The Slumber:

[Lord_Starscream]

The Slumber:

 

Chapter 1: Risk and Reward

 

844.M41, the Seraphim Subsector:

 

Stale air passed through the worn lungs of the faithful servant as his eyes searched for any features it could identify in the darkened room. Every time he entered these chambered he tried to resist the urge to tremble. The walls must have been familiar by now, the features in them and the furnishings within should have been second nature to him by now. Whether it was lit, or it was dark, this place should have been as familiar as his own pen. But his mind was filled with so much panic just from being here he couldn't bring anything noteworthy to the fore of his mind. A trembling hand combed past his forehead, slicked with sweat, before combing through the web of long since healed cuts across his weathered skin and the thinned forest of hair that lay atop his head. Anxiety set his heart in motion, leaving it almost painful in his chest.

 

Was this his time? Of all the times that they were called here, it was always a question that was left up in the air. How many of his comrades over the years had he seen turned into the things from beyond the veil of this world. Anastasia, Ghorne, Selenna, and Antonius all met their fates in this very room. All of them turned into... into misshapen horrors beyond imagination, before he harvested them. Those moments filled his every night, his every dreams with the horror of his own pending fate.

 

When the crimson light dimly lit the room, Cassius felt his blood pressure rise immediately before his lungs inflated for what he feared was the last time. The walls glimmered with the darkened symbols of the Gods he knew now lurked in this world. Their names were too terrible for him to whisper himself, least of all in the corridors of this “blessed” vessel... The Sacred Truth. Before him stood the man he'd learned to call master, even as the word would leave his lips in a stutter. When the air exhaled from his lungs, it left Cassius with the realization that it wasn't his time to embrace these dark beings. Instead, he would live. Despite the agony of this existence, the idea of suffering the fate of his former comrades was far more unappealing. To end your life in that state, and begin your existence in the next world as nothing was far far worse.

 

With his survival more guaranteed than it had been moments prior, Cassius's breathing became more normalized while his brown eyes glanced towards the titan that stood in the darkness in front of him. The crimson red of his armour was a hellish scarlet in the glowing, pulsing, vile red light which oozed from the right hand of the creature he'd come to see as the monster which dwelt in the belly of the beast. That beast was The Sacred Truth, the ship which he'd unfortunately had come to call his home. Of all those who bore this armour, and all those who were like this creature, this one was the worst of them. Without his helm, Cassius looked upon fair and almost smooth features, but beyond the welcoming smile which stretched across the fluid skin of this... this... thing, lay a mind far worse than the Daemons which it fed people to.

 

“Cassius, are you forgetting your place?”

 

The words were enough to make his body respond instinctively. It was as if he'd lost all control over his own frame as he fell to his knees, before bowing his head to the floor, his body trembling.

 

“Most glorious, blessed and powerful-”

 

An annoyed noise emerged from his master.

 

“For a man of your ageing disposition, Cassius, you certainly are desperate to live. I do not need your groveling right now. I require you to do something for me. Something useful beyond donating your blood to a pact.”

 

A sense of both fear and relief mixed together. For a moment his body relaxed, and he almost slipped into the ground from his kneeling position, preparing to pass out on the floor in his elation. It was the fear that kept that in check however. Favours asked by these creatures were always devilish in their nature. It was as plane as his master was bald, this request... this order would be something which endangered him, and all for the glory of his master... Sorcerer Gamil Murdus of the Host of the Blessed Gaze Word Bearers. These creatures above him played their games using their lives and-

 

The thought wasn't completed as he sensed a whisper in his mind.

 

Cassius... I know what you are thinking in this very moment. Rise and accept my task, or I will kill you and summon another. I did not bring you here to wallow in your own self pity.

 

Flesh pressed against the floor seconds later as Cassius pushed his hands onto the hardened flooring beneath him before rising to his feet. The grim glow of the unnatural light bathed him as his eyes turned directly towards his master, trying to keep his composure while the Psyker stared not only through his eyes, but through his very soul. He could literally sense the Sorcerer glancing over the essence which made up him.

 

As if he found something acceptable, Murdus nodded several times, his confident smile never leaving his features before he strode past him to the other side of the room. Beginning to check over the tome which had been brought back with them from their prior engagements, the giant hands brushed over the large pages as the hulking figure gleamed more information from the knowledge within. It almost reminded him of his father, who'd been a servant to one of the scribes on his home world of Kerra. It'd been a path he'd never followed himself, instead becoming little more than a labourer. It reminded him of something his father had told him what seemed like a dozen lifetimes ago. As if he were still a child, he could hear his father's voice as if he were standing there with him.

 

Within the pages of these, Cassius, you'll find the thoughts of the past. They are the voices of the wise in all their forms echoing through history.

 

The text of any of the books which Murdus had were all in languages Cassius himself could never hope to understand. It wasn't the alien languages themselves that left the human in wonder, it was what that information was. Especially since he knew that Murdus had kept that particular tome a secret from the other Word Bearers, such as the Dark Apostle Zikair, or the ship's military commander Lord Otiartes. He himself had witnessed it being taken, along with several others in the cult. They all knew better than to announce anything as being suspicious from the Sorcerer, if only because of the fates of those who crossed him.

 

“What is it you require, Lord Murdus?”

 

Without even so much as casting him a glance, the body of the marine didn't shift in the slightest before he heard him speak.

 

“I require you to assemble no less than 90 other mortals. See to it that they bring their arms with them and have them meet in drop bay twelve. I will join you shortly after. You have one hour, Cassius. Tell the mortals that those who come will be rewarded by the Dark Gods.”

 

Unlike many of the faithful, Cassius came to worship the Gods in fear of them more than anything else. He'd seen what they were capable of, and liked to understand them for their true nature. His comrades in arms were far more eager and excited to rush headlong into battle in hopes of being recognized by the Gods. The older man didn't want to be noticed by anyone at this point. The destiny of those favoured by the Gods was often a grim one. They gave their blessings, but often with curses, or with irony inherently built into said blessings. The Gods were as cruel as they were kind, and all things had a price.

 

“It will be done, my Lord.”

 

Relief washed over him as he exited the darkened chambers of the Sorcerer, feeling the burden of the nightmare within fall into the back of his mind. He simply needed to do his task, and then he could find somewhere quiet and out of the way. He would worship when the Word Bearers told him to worship, chanting in the chorus of the faithful, as his faith was never in question in that the Dark Gods were the only true Gods. Beyond that however, he sought only to live. Most of the slaves aboard this vessel had lived perhaps five or six years. Since the moment of his own 'discovery' after the Word Bearers had come to Kerra in the scouring, Cassius had lived almost twenty years aboard the vessel, because unlike the full blooded and committed slaves within, he understood what it meant to seek the favour of the Gods.

 

It was madness.

 

The fact Murdus was sending him, and not going himself, or sending another chosen of the Gods told him that this was all apart of a plot by the sorcerer. That meant this was all apart of a dangerous game for him as well. That was something that would never sit well with him, but it was far better to be a pawn in one of the elevated's games for power, than it was to be fuel for that power. There was a risk to all of this, and he hated that. But as with all things, for every risk there was reward, and in this instance the reward was plane to see. Continued survival, even if only for a few more days, a few more weeks, would be his ultimate prize.

 

Travelling across the decks of the Grand Cruiser was a dangerous feat for any mortal. Hungry servants of the Gods, beyond the Astartes themselves, were always looking to consume their prey, or lure you into their clutches. Possessions and death were widespread among those who were arrogant enough to simply believe they could use any passageway, especially without the permissions required. Instead, he guided himself around whole sections of the vessel, avoiding the places where he'd seen men and women punished for their arrogance. This place was as much a prison, a labyrinth, as it was his home. Navigating the last few halls armed with the appropriate direction, the “elder” cultist found his way to the slave pens.

 

The halls were stained with blood in several spaces, having never rarely been properly maintained. This was a place rarely known for its comfort by any stretch. Every second here presented as much danger as it did hospitality. Screams filled his ears, but only briefly as they were cut short. Every inch of this place was filled with suffering, as the slaves themselves turned to the Gods for guidance and relief from this existence. There was only one true law here, which was strength. Different areas of the pens had different overlords, strong men having taken charge and become themselves kings of their domain. It was only when their masters came here that all authority was released to the carriers of the Word. When they arrived, it was as if the authority of the Gods fell into their hands.

 

The foul taste in the air somehow brought about a sense of normality in the suffering of this place. Children, gaunt and hungry, looked at him with sheepish and feral stares, preparing to scurry into the shadows themselves as the lights flickered above them. It was a natural defence in this place to be so skittish. They were the recently born, or recently acquired. The strongest of them could be chosen, in time, to serve as the next generation of warriors, for both the cults and their masters. For now however, they were what anyone would expect them to be... humans turned into little more than frightened and desperate animals.

 

The lights flickered again while he turned his attention quickly to the right, seeing two males, covered in self inflicted scars moving to approach him. He placed his hand on his pistol, drawing it from his pants, clearly a warning sign. It was hardly the most intimidating, an old auto-pistol barely being held together and with only one clip. The bluff was real enough for the degenerates staring at him. They were of a Slaanesh leaning cult, he could already tell. The scars were too ritualistic, and there was a hungry look in their pale eyes. A few more seconds of calculating left one to smile. The cracked teeth at the fore of his mouth was a dead give away. This had been Brax, the son of an old friend of his. The bald, pale, lifeless husk of a man was the last remnants of Kole. How his blood had to have been thinned over time to have sired Brax, but worse yet to allow the boy to grow up into this sensation hungry cannibal.

 

“Cassius,” the bigger of the two whispered. “I almost didn't recognize you, old man.”

 

“And I you, Brax,” he commented slowly, not daring to put his pistol away for even a second. “You are looking well.”

 

It was the small words that often got him out of trouble. The casual talk in a tense moment could diffuse what would have been a desperate struggle for life and death. The number of times he'd managed enough words to let the other side think about what they were doing before they acted were countless. The number of times it didn't work? Well... you couldn't win them all.

 

The other cultist, the one who'd remained silent so far, was grinding his teeth in front of him, saliva dripping from his lips uncontrollably. He bore out the same features as Brax, but looked perhaps a few years younger, but unfortunately more inclined to be hot headed. There was almost a rage coming over him before he took a step forward.

 

And that was a step too far. Dropping his arm forward, he lined the shot up in what seemed to be a flicker of the unstable lighting above them. The deafening echo of the pistol ran through the halls before the soft sound of the bullet shredding through flesh assaulted his ears. As the flicker of light above them ended, Cassius saw the blood splatter against the wall behind his target. With a dull thud, the body hit the ground and a deep gore began to slowly pool around his body, seeping into the crevices in the floor, pooling in dents and scrapes while the life oozed from his body.

 

There was a stillness in the air while a trail of smoke ascended from the end of his barrel, still pointed towards his would be killers. As if personifying the stillness, Brax remained in place, his tongue sliding over his teeth as he decided on his course of action. The look in his eyes told him that he wasn't intent on going home empty handed. Tilting his pistol towards his friend's... offspring, or what was once his offspring, Cassius gave a warning look. That was the last curtosy he would afford. The idea of being attacked from behind, beaten, and then cooked alive in the best case was hardly something he wanted to be apart of. He didn't survive down here all these years by leaving himself open.

 

“I am on important business,” he warned. “I don't have time for this, Brax.”

 

“I won't leave here empty handed,” Brax warned. “We need the meat, for her lust. Shenara demands it.”

 

The idea that Brax would sacrifice himself for a possessed woman's appetite for human flesh wasn't surprising in the slightest. He'd not seen Shenara personally, but the Word Bearers themselves described her as having received a “gift” the last time he saw any of them down here, which usually either meant mutation or possession. Given how she now had empty vessels of people like Brax following her, he guessed it was more than likely the possession.

 

The other 'human' regarded him, his body slipping back slightly as his bare ribs showed through his chest while he tilted. He snapped his jaws several times, before gently clicking his teeth together, as if he was ready to open his mouth to bite at him. He could see Brax's eyes change between himself, and the end of his gun barrel.

 

But then they traced to something else, the body, on the floor.

 

“You're not going empty handed,” Cassius offered. “Even if its not the best quality, you've got over a hundred pounds of it on the floor. Waste not what the Gods leave for you, Brax.”

 

Over the decades he'd seen unspeakable horrors, people turning into things, daemons, victims of unspeakable acts of violence and agony, as well as the trophies of his masters. Sadly, the sight of a man hungering for human flesh was not new on that list, least of all someone looking at one of their dead comrades with a kind of bizarre lust in their expression. Brax regarded him one last time, before descending on the body of the fallen, grabbing it and beginning to drag it back with him, a wet slick of sickly deep scarlet following him as he dragged the corpse.

 

Only once the boots of the dragged body disappeared from his view did Cassius holster his pistol. AS sense of relief washed over him before he turned to gaze at one of the doors of a “pen”. That one had the marking of the Pact of Zeal, one of the cults which dwelt here. He needed to get those 90 or so brothers on behalf of Murdus, and the Pact of Zeal could at least be relied on. Fringe dedicated cults were always more dangerous, as Brax so conveniently demonstrated to him again.

 

It was time to go meet Zamar.

 

* * * *

 

That's where we'll leave it for now. If people dig it I'll continue, but next chapter is going to follow our dear Sorcerer, Gamil Murdus and the Chaos Space Marines of this Blessed Host of the Dark Gods.

[Lord_Starscream]

The Slumber:

 

Chapter 2: Ambition

 

Insults... insults heaped upon insults had driven him to this new goal. Ten thousand years he'd stood in his legion, pledged to the eternal service of the Gods and their glory. For ten thousand years he'd delved deeper and deeper into the true nature of Chaos, into the true nature of their unborn servants and the gifts they bestowed upon their faithful mortal adherents. He had walked on the same path as the false God, the Emperor of Mankind, standing in his presence on two occasions. He had heard the spoken word of Lorgar, serving under his prestigious banner during the Great Crusade and during the Heresy itself. Since the Crusade, he'd build great shrines to the ruinous powers themselves, and sacrificed millions in their name. He'd pledged himself to the Dark Council and their authority over him, not scattering away like a coward hiding from the truth as so many warbands had.

 

Another page flipped in the tome before him, his eyes scanning over ancient runes and scripts describing the history of this universe. Within this tome, a tome he could only read due to shackling a Daemon of Tzeentch to his will, bore out the future he'd been building for himself. Even now, in this darkened hovel he found himself in, inside one of the great cruisers of the fleet, he felt his urge for yet more power...

 

For all of this loyalty to the Dark Gods and to the Council Gamil had seen many rewards. From the role of humble Librarian, he was elevated in every respect to a true Sorcerer of Chaos. The warp was his plaything at a glance, and he held daemons locked in servitude to him, as well as the knowledge of these creatures in almost all their forms. He oversaw possessions, uniting followers into a truer form, closer to what all mankind should one day be elevated to. The mortal followers were his fuel, using their faith and their bodies to distill new minions to his masters. All of it fed into his ego, all of it swelled his pride and vanity as he was built into roles of further and further importance. Gamil Murdus was not simply some lackey to the Dark Council, he was an ally holding high ranking among the faithful and those gifted with sorcery.

 

Or at least he'd viewed himself as something more.

 

Closing the tome, allowing its human leather binding to fold, Gamil's power armour shifted while he turned away. The sound of his Mark IV boots clanked against the surface of the flooring before he opened the door, letting the artificial light into his darkened sanctuary. He only permitted any illumination into his chambers which came from either the outside, or from other worldly sources. The idea of desecrating the space with artificial light, or even the trivial light of mortal stars was an embarrassment to the eternal source of truth which was engraved across the walls of his dwelling. The Dark Gods were beyond so much of this existence, and the idea that he would be put in a lesser position before them because of the foolish decisions of others infuriated him. Those decisions were to humiliate him in his standing not only with the Legion, but with the Gods themselves.

 

While he passed through the corridor Gamil noted every bulkhead had seals scribed across them, all offering both praise and protection from the Gods. It was the small touches that the Gods appreciated the most. It could be recanting the written word of Lorgar himself as you plunged your blade into the heart of the deluded defenders of the False Emperor, or bit it giving them praise in the efforts of your cause no matter how small.

 

The truth was important to understand, and the truth was something he was being exposed to. There was a usurper to his position within the Legion now. A loyalist Librarian and a traitor Chapter had been welcomed into the embrace of the Legion. The most disgusting part of it was that these marines were the Sons of Ultimar, or at least descended from them. The Crimson Centurions had turned their back on the False Emperor, slew their loyalist brethren, and embraced the Pantheon of the Dark Gods. But all things came at a price, and their leader, the Chief Librarian, bargained his position into the legion in a bid for more power. It was an obvious ploy, but Gamil found himself in the inferior position to this pitiful renegade. An Astartes who should be looking to him for the simple right to exist in this Legion, the Legion of Lorgar, now was elevated above him.

 

The long corridor finally came to his destination as he attempted to keep his quietly furious gaze ahead. Past the barrier of the door, he could sense familiar psychic energies coalescing. Pressing the access panel, the door shifted open immediately, revealing the horned helm of his own master. The two horns reached to the ceiling, the metallic red tips almost scraping the top of the room. A great cape descended from the paldrons of his daemonically forged armour. The face of a loyalist marine was build into the leather, human leather, that comprised the cape. The Dark Apostle Prometheus, Lord of the Blessed Host stood there staring towards a cauldron of red-blue fire. In the heart of the blaze, Gamil saw a familiar sight.

 

It was as if the Dark Gods were mocking him.

 

“-And as a result my most glorious Apostle, you can see my pressing need for more assets from your person. With the conflict in the Ikraun Subsector escalating, I wish for you to send several companies of your greatest warriors here. I also need an assistant, and therefore would recommend you send the prized Sorcerer Gamil Murdus. I will need his limited skills to assist in several important ritu- oh. It appears you have a guest, Lord Apostle.”

 

This was the former loyalist Astartes... Balthazar.

 

“I suspect I am to depart shortly, but remember that Lord Erebrus-”

 

It was impossible to hide his pure disdain for this creature. It stood there in its recently corrupted Power Armour, its helm turned into a visage of hate. He was staring into the green optical ports of the helm even through the communication rift opened in warp space. Without a thought seemingly crossing his mind, he felt himself manipulate the portal, causing it to blur and fizzle, before Balthazar's appearance fizzled.

 

Slowly, the horned helm of his master turned, a green optic glinting in the artificial light of the sacred room he stood in. Already Gamil knew that there was an equal fury to match his own gaze behind the mask. Prometheus took several steps forward, his paldrons moving from right to left with each step of his legs and each swing of his arms. Looming over him, his Apostle stared down at him grimly.

 

“I am aware that you do not like that bootlick, I do not like him either. But you must also be aware that Erebrus has given him a high status, and has requested that I provide him with the material support he has asked. The omens are in his favour. Erebrus himself will reward me greatly for such support. And I am sure you too will find rewards in your service to the Dark Gods-”

 

The Dark Gods reward those who elevate themselves.

 

The wheels moved inside his insidious mind. This was his final confirmation to move ahead with his plans. The system the fleet lingered in was something he'd peered into the warp and saw in his visions for days. He'd sacrificed, and he'd made pledges to the Gods to catch this glimpse of truth. The warp existed in all places and all times, and the stills he'd seen of the future, and the past, told him to look into the grimoire of the Eyeless Prophet. Its pages only lit up and came to text in the hands of those who could see beyond. In his left hand, his gauntlet clutched the human leather which bound the book as he darkly remembered the power it spoke of on the surface of the planet of Varanus II. Varanus II was a planet only minutes away from them now, a lightly populated Imperial World with little to no defences.

 

The book spoke of a power that existed before the False Emperor, dating back to the time of the ancient Eldar Empire. A sacred item concealed within a temple of a long forgotten patron. Best of all however, it spoke of taint, corruption, something he could tap his own power into and control. If he were to find this ancient temple, if he were to be the one to obtain its secrets, his own standing within the Legion would change. If it was as grand as it described, he knew the Gods would reward him with Daemonhood itself. He would sooner take this risk than be left shackled to that... son of Ultimar.

 

I walked with Lorgar, I won't kneel before this pathetic sham of a Sorcerer.

 

“We won't be leaving this system for another week, was it?” Gamil asked. “Awaiting other elements of the fleet you'd sent out to scout out the next subsector? If that's the case, before I am to depart with my battle brothers, I had a project I wanted to finish before we left this quaint system. My Lord Apostle, I would request five faithful brothers of the Legion, to come with me to the surface of the planet Varanus II.”

 

“No,” Promethus responded without taking his words into consideration in the slightest. “I will not have you slip past responsibility-”

 

“My lord, I would be willing to make a plentiful contribution to you. I would owe you a favour, one bound in and by blood. I would repay you in this life and the next. I would humbly kneel before you and grant you whatever is within my power.”

 

It was humiliating to think he'd be prostrating himself before his current master, even if he achieved his new strength, but it was all a gamble. Within his power was the key words, the contract would be most difficult to enforce.

 

“An agreement in blood then, Gamil? Fascinating... a bargain perhaps can be struck between us, with the Gods overseeing it. However, you must convince your brothers to come with you to the surface. I promise you the use of a Thunderhawk Gunship, and two days to find whatever it is you are looking for. Even if you die, you will still owe me a great deal.”

 

A petty negotiator would be how Murdus thought of his master. Hiding his sneer, he nodded to his master.

 

“I thank you master, and will return within the two days you have allotted me. I will not disappoint you, I can assure you.”

 

Taking several steps past him, Promethus slid past, his cape sliding against the floor behind him. The face imbedded in the cape just looked back at him with despair, and the Sorcerer felt a sense of irony coming from the look.

 

“Do not fail, Murdus.”

 

The pledge was given, and accepted. In a brisk walk he took off down the hallway, his boots thumping against the surface before he stepped into the darkness of his dwelling. Opening his palm, the crimson light from before washed over the most sacred room and its runes. With haste he collected artifacts, and relics of great importance and power. All of these were tools to be used, tools to be bartered with with his brethren. But most importantly he grabbed the rod of Bar'ek. The familiar hilt fit in his hand the same as it had before, the script built into the hilt catching fire with daemonic light for but a moment as it fit in his hand.

 

The last of my power. The last tools with which to trade.

 

The only relic he could never barter away as if it were a trinket was the rod. It possessed his greatest achievement, his greatest conquest, and his means of achieving his desires. The book would reveal more as they drew closer to his desire. The font of power was in this system, on that planet. It was his for the taking, and he would sacrifice all needed to acquire it for his own to work his way out from underneath that pitiful Loyalist scum. The Dark Gods would bless him, and he would be praised once more by the Primarch himself. This would be his moment of glory, his moment to show the fullest he'd come to understand the arcane in these 10,000 years. But it would also be his demonstration of understanding the Primordial truth, which was simple.

 

All power, all of it, required sacrifice.... either yours, or well... someone else's.

 

Now then. To acquire my brother's aid, and to find the slave Cassius.

 

The slave had best have completed his work.

 

=== === ===

 

Well, I hope people are liking it. Any feedback is welcome. Next chapter I suspect we'll be jumping back to Cassius for one chapter, before to another dear Marine friend afterwards. 

[Lord_Starscream]

The Slumber:

 

Chapter 3: The Last Supper

 

“Cassius... Cassius... Cassius.”

 

The voice whispered through what had once been a barracks. The vessel had once been the lodge for many more Astartes than it currently was. The Sacred Truth had been a ship that had seen service as far back as the Great Crusade. As far as Cassius knew, it was a captured during the Horus Heresy by the Word Bearers, having taken it from the Blood Angels. Its old name was long passed into the histories, but it was hard to imagine this room filled with Imperial Space Marines, each one of them preparing themselves for their next engagement. The walls were covered in holy desecration of the false idols of the great enemy, the false Emperor. The trophies of the cult adorned the wall as well, different fragmented pieces of captured enemies who'd been sacrificed to the glory of the gods. Quietly, Cassius made sure to remind himself not to be among them.

 

The flickering lights above made him somehow more aware that he was surrounded. To his left, he idly noted there was a huge man, with the look of an Imperial labourer about him. The huge calloused hands of the man were the main thing he took note of, beyond the maddened red eyes which shined from beneath his hood. To the right, a lankier individual, but she had the gaze of someone significantly more deranged. The scars which criss-crossed her shaved head were unique in many respects, but he could see in the web across her head, that it formed into the great eight pointed star, revealing her faith in her painful artwork.

 

“Zamar,” Cassius responded after continuing to appraise the room around him.

 

The arrogant figure in front of him continued to circle. Another old man among the human population of the crew, Cassius knew Zam all too well. The bootlick of the Astartes known as Kil'ren, having served his master 'faithfully' for over fifteen years before the champion's death. Now he was a ruthless master of the cultists which owned this section of their pens, all of them constantly looking vainly for favour in the grim hope that they would be seen as important and be worthy of blessing by the Gods. The fools had no idea how disposable they all were. It was better to live with your head down, and do as you were told, than to play the dangerous game of favour. All that the Gods gave, required sacrifice.

 

With his one eye fixed on him, Zam licked his yellowing teeth before cracking his neck to one side. Straightening out his coat, having been taken from a fallen Guard Captain, he paused several seconds longer than expected before he continued.

 

“So you come down to my level, begin firing shots off, and then expect me to take you in? Come now Cassius, you know safe passage has a price in my realm.”

 

In the past, Zamar had saved him, at least twice on the surface of worlds condemned to be burned by the warband. In turn he'd helped the Pact of Zeal several times himself, returning the favour, but these things were fluid. One day the Pact were his friends, another day they were looking for sacrifice to improve their chances of favour. They could never be fully trusted, only if they had reason to fear you, and your power. And sadly, Cassius had little power of his own. But he did have the power of another...

 

“Your realm?” Cassius scoffed. “This is the realm of the Angels, of the Astartes, and I am coming on one of their behalf’s. I am not playing some foolish game down here. I did not come to pass through the area, Master Gamil Murdus, Sorcerer of Chaos and Chosen of the Gods, the one who has walked in the path of Lorgar and Erebrus, has ordered me down here to find bodies from among the faithful for a new purpose.”

 

A purpose that Cassius himself didn't even know or understand. Zamar immediately moved his hand up to his own face, resting his fingers on his stubble. Stroking his digits across the course skin, the cult leader appeared to be in shallow thought. His own self interest and greed were the principal cogs that were turning in the machine of his mind, Cassius suspected. Those suspicions were clearly not wrong when Zamar began his reply.

 

“I would watch your tongue regardless, Murdus has many servants and clearly some would not be missed,” Zamar observed. “But do tell me, what quest did his bring you on? On your journey to illumination from the Gods, clearly this is an important step for you on the path to glory, Cassius.”

 

The way he spoke his name each time, it felt like he was being approached by a snake in human form. The Pact of Zeal worshipped all the Gods, much like their masters the Word Bearers, but of all of them he knew Zamar most reflected Slaanesh.

 

“I was told to come to the Pens and find no less than 90 willing servants to the Gods, and then report to Drop Bay 12,” Cassius admitted. “This task was described as being of extreme importance, and perhaps could see favour given by the Gods.”

 

“I am already favoured by the Gods, Cassius. What more could I need? I hold their favour, and my cohort aspires. Empty promises mean nothing to me. What can you offer on behalf of our master?”

 

And this was where things got tricky. Offer something in Murdus's name, and have his master reject the deal. This leads to his death, either by failing his master, or failing to achieve his bargain with the cult. Offer nothing to the Pact of Zeal, and run out of time looking for converts to the cause. The outcome of that, would be yet another painful, excruciating death. Simply put, one of these results had him probably die, the other had him definitely die.

 

“What is it that you desire, Zamar?” he asked. “What can I offer you, on behalf of Master Gamil Murdus?”

 

There was a glint in his eyes in response.

 

“I want him to give me new form, a new body,” he answered bluntly. “One fitting of my station as a disciple of Chaos.”

 

Already, Cassius knew what he was asking for. He was asking to have his mind moved to the body of an astartes. It was something he'd known Zamar to rave about more than once, and knew the outcome would hardly be what he expected it to be, even if he got what he wanted. With that said, who was he to say no? Master Murdus, would be the one to say no, he suspected.

 

“You are asking for godhood to perform one simple task-”

 

“I am,” Zamar hissed. “It will give me what I need to become more than this meaty shell. If your master agrees to this, then the Pact of Zeal will ride with him.”

 

Well, we all die. I had just hoped to not die screaming.

 

“Very well, now let us go to Master Murdus-”

 

“No,” Zamar was quick to interject. “I will only go once he comes for us.”

 

“Then there can be no deal, Zamar. We're on a timeline, and unless we get to bay twelve shortly, I'll be dead, and I'm sure before Gamil kills me, he'll be sure to find out why when he pulls my mind apart and feeds my souls to the unborn,” Cassius fired back, anger coming to the fore.

 

One of his minders grabbed his left arm, which immediately made his right hand twitch for his pistol before he scanned the room dangerously.

 

“So you lied to me, just to get my minions to go on your little chase, Cassius?” he sneered. “I am to be the puppet of the puppet and nothing else? Do you not think I know you? I know you'll do anything to survive, and Murdus himself would have killed me and then forced the Pact into his service without bargaining. He would have used his power-”

 

“You are a fool if you think that you can bargain so deeply with our master. What favour can you receive from the gods if you are dead? Do you not think delaying this will lead to anything beyond his ire being unleashed? Don't be a fool, Zamar. Your gift will be his favour and little else, and if you think to kill me remember that I am the only one he's sent. He will send someone else, perhaps someone of a more angelic persuasion, to find cultists, and myself.”

 

It was time to simply let his arguments stand or fall. Zamar could either be a fool and damn them both in his greed, or he could find himself enhanced in his faculties and make the correct decision.

 

“So by coming here at all, you've condemned me to serve in a role without reward?” Zamar spat. “Just by coming here at all!”

 

Rage was quickly replacing any discussion from his counterpart's position as he realized that just by being here and making the offer, Cassius had condemned Zamar to servitude. There would be no pact, at least not as he wanted it. They would serve the Sorcerer and receive what favours he offered, and little more. To think otherwise was ignorant.

 

“So, rally your men, Zamar, service will be mandat-”

 

The punch landed hard on the side of his jaw. It was something he'd barely noticed when the anger of his comrade had bubbled to its fullest. It was hard enough that Cassius lost his footing as well, slipping and falling onto his ass and right hand. There was a ringing sensation running through his mind, while at the same time he felt his nostrils flair with adrenaline. His own fury burned, but he knew all too well just by looking up and seeing his two handlers and Zamar, that fighting would just get him dead.

 

The fact that Zamar hadn't drawn a blade or gun and finished him, told him that the punch was part of the payment that would be owed for this favour.

 

“I am sure Master Gamil will be pleased to see the Pact of Zeal come forward, answering the call before all others-”

 

“We'll be at bay twelve in an hour,” Zamar snarled. “Now get out and remember that this will not be forgotten.”

 

Of course it won't. Of course.

 

Rising to his feet, Cassius brushed his jaw uncomfortably while he made his way towards the doors.

 

A ringing success. I'm still alive.

 

Alive, and with new enemies, whether it be on Murdus's task, or afterwards. Superb.

 

= = = = = =

 

Alright. Next chapter coming up is going to focus on either Murdus, or another Chaos Space Marine as the next step.

 

Lemme know what you guys think, or if you like it. :\

[paulJam]

interesting choice having the cultists operating as a nominally semi-autonomous sub-force.

seems risky to think about turning down or negotiate a request/order coming from a sorcerer.

enjoying it though.

[Lord_Starscream]

I always envisioned different groups and individuals in Chaos inevitably always trying to do their best to gain favour. Its all about sacrifice, a trade of sorts. Nothing is free, everything has a cost.

 

Even Cultists want to better their position, even they want favour. To be simply pawns (or to accept that you are a pawn) will not yield you the promise of the Dark Gods. There is always the struggle to become something more.

 

The cultists recognize their position, they recognize their options, and try to get the most out of it. Inevitably however, to resist the will of the Astartes is certain death... but to try and gain more personal power, glory, or "gifts" should always be attempted.