The Waye of the Primaris

[Wargamer]

Part One:

"He is remarkable," Maric said, watching with genuine admiration as the Aspirant, Lata so Aryx beat yet another rival into submission. The teenager was solid muscle, larger and stronger than any of his peers. Where it not for his youthful looks, and the somewhat anxious way he carried himself when around the full-blood, he could easily have passed for a true Astartes.

 

Tiber, the Primaris Sergeant nodded. "He will continue to excel. The augmentation of the gene-seed will make him a warrior without peer."

"It's remarkable how humble the Primarch made you," the Apothecary replied, though the giant beside him apparently missed the sarcasm. "Anyway, as far as I'm concerned that Carnys needs to be taken away from the others before he kills someone. It's about time he saw action. I've declared him ready for mentoring, and the Chaplain and Captain both agree. Now we just need to find a mentor..."

"Which is why I'm here, no doubt," Tiber concluded.

"Well he's our first Primaris Novitae. He should learn how to fight from you, or one of you. If Bethor was still alive we'd have picked him first, but you're the obvious second choice. You're a sergeant, you've earned the respect of the Chapter's leadership, and you've adapted well to our customs, better than your peers in my opinion."

Tiber accepted the complement with a nod. "Very well. Lata shall join my squad."

"Speaking of, how's the reorganisation coming?"

Not for the first time, Tiber found the truth an unwelcome prospect. "They have adapted well."

"That badly, huh?" Maric chuckled. "Well if you're ever going to be let off the leash you'll have to whip them into line. Best of luck, Tiber."

 

It was eight tolls and the Primaris were at prayer in the Fifth Company Chapel. The Chaplain left them to it as usual; in Tiber's experience the man did not involve himself in the day to day matters of faith. Squad Tiberius sat in the pews on the left; Squad Bethor on the right. Both rose together as Tiberius entered and saluted him, as was befitting of his rank.

"Brothers," he greeted them, returning the salute.

"Has a decision been made yet? Who is to lead second squad?"

"There will be no second squad, Erasmus. Not any more; we are to adopt the Chapter's combat doctrine and combine our units."

"But that is against the Primarch's decree!" Tarquinius spat, shaking with anger.

Tiber held up his hand for calm, and calm he received. For all their passions, they were Astartes; obedience and loyalty came as naturally as breathing. "Brothers, hear me. There has been no contact from Terra since the Light of the Astronomicon faded. The Librarians speak of a coming Crusade, that the Primarch will go forth once more into this sundered half of the galaxy... but we do not know when, or if he will ever reach our corner of the stars. We have been seen as outsiders since we first set foot on this world, but now Captain Cyda-" he noted the flicker of disgust in Tarquinius' face at the mention of her name "-has agreed we are to be entrusted with full autonomy. We are now on the cusp of being treated as true Battle Brothers, equal to any other squad. However, that comes at a price, and that price is that we must act as a squad of the Chapter. The doctrines Guilliman instilled in us assumed we would have specialist support units and vehicles, but at best it will be decades before such forces are dispatched from Terra. Realistically, they may never come at all."

Brother Marinus' lips split into a feral sneer, "and why will our Company not offer this support instead?"

"Because the Chapter expects every squad to be an army in and of itself!" Tiberius snapped back, far more forcefully than he meant to.

 

He took the awkward moment as a chance to glance up at the effigy of the Emperor picked out in stained glass at the head of the chapel. In that image he was not a giant striding forth in gilded armour, but a tribal warrior wearing a loin-cloth of earthen brown and a belt of leaves and thorns. The loin-cloth bore the Chapter's emerald green triskelion. On his head, which was haloed in a brilliant golden light, was a silver crown with ivory white horns growing from it. At least, Tiberius thought they were horns; they might have been antlers.

It was a testament to the artist that this image, so very different from the norm across the Imperium, managed to convey the nature of the figure. He clearly was the Emperor. It wasn't merely that he'd been told it was the Emperor, or that it was the central focus of an Imperial chapel; if he'd have found this glass image anywhere in the galaxy, he was sure he'd have recognised the figure as the Emperor.

The squad disliked the glass image. They respected the Emperor as the greatest man who ever lived, but they did consider him a god. They prayed as a form of meditation and focus, to steel their hearts and minds against the great evils they must face. They did not believe as the other Marines seemed to. Tiberius used to think as they did, but increasingly he began to wonder if there was more to the Emperor than he'd been told on Terra; if there was some aspect of Godhood to him.

 

He turned back to the squad. Their faces had softened, and if they still bore anger they were hiding it. "It will fall to us to decide how best to equip ourselves for battle and conduct ourselves on the field," Tiberius continued. "The Chapter's armouries will provide us with whatever weapons we request, and we will be issued a strike vessel and support vehicles crewed by Chapter Serfs. Our mission is a rather vague one; to choose a patrol route and answer any calls for aid we encounter. We are also at liberty to make offensive actions as and when the opportunity arises."
"One squad sent to patrol the Imperium?" Erasmus echoed. "It's hardly an efficient use of Astartes forces."
"Out here, Astartes are few and far between," Tiberius replied. "I'm assured that often a lone squad is more than enough to turn the tide of a war, if it applies itself correctly. If the need arises, we can call for additional aid. The Chapter will prioritise a request for aid from its own above any other source."

Tiberius turned his eye to Brother Cassius, who had remained silent throughout and had seemed unconcerned with the announced changes thus far. "Cassius, I will need a second. Will you accept?"
"Of course," Cassius replied calmly. 

"Excellent. Arrange with the quartermasters to have us provided with additional weapons. Brothers, in the traditions of our Chapter, you may arm yourselves as you wish. However, in recognition of the doctrines Guilliman laid down ten millennia ago, I suggest we adopt one heavy weapon soldier and one specialist weapon soldier. The rest of us will remain as Intercessors."

Tiberius noted how the reference to the Primarch seemed to make this reformation easier to swallow.

"Now, if you'll excuse me-"

"-You must collect the newest member of your squad," said a voice from the entrance of the Chapel.

 

The squad turned toward the visitor. She was one of the Adepta, a Librarian in Maximus plate with a basket-hilted blade resting in a lazy one-handed grip. Her hair was pulled back tightly into a knot at the base of her skull, perhaps to make it easier for the psychic hood to connect to the cranial ports along her skull. Her eyes were tired and ringed with dark circles, like she hadn't slept in years. Her voice was equally weary, but still had a hint of warmth to it. Beside her was Lata, dressed in a newly fashioned suit of Scout Armour that had been upgraded for his greater bulk.

"I'm sorry, I just had a feeling you wanted him here," the Librarian explained. "My name is Seyth, and I think I'm supposed to travel with you."

"Your objection is noted, Brother Tarquinius," Seyth said as the Primaris opened his mouth to speak.
"By all means object to the Captain, Antonius. Object to the Chapter Master if you like, for all the difference it will make. You need to be a Psyker to know what the answer will be."
Tiberius thought of pointing out it was rude to read people's minds, and surprisingly was allowed to voice those thoughts without her interruption.

"Forgive me, Tiber. I did not mean to alienate you or your squad. For me the future is the present, and I am always so impatient to meet it. Well, almost always..."

"Should I inform you when we are ready to depart?" Tiberius asked.
Seyth chuckled and shook her head, "I'm a clairvoyant, sergeant; I already know where and when I'm supposed to be."

[Wargamer]

Part Two:

 

The Warp was more turbulent than it used to be, but the Navigators of the Chapter were killed in their work, and the old warp routes were still relatively forgiving.

 

Once the ship transitioned into the Warp, the deluge began. The ship's Astropaths were bombarded by a cacophony of signals, most of which were cries for help flung blindly into the void.

 

Tiberius stood at the command lectern of the ship's Strategium and reviewed the messages as they were decoded and fed through to him. Seyth stood by his side, looking more pained than ever.

"This is a call for aid from a supply convoy carrying parts and personnel. They're under attack by a ship called 'The Pox'."

Seyth shook her head. "That's a warship well beyond our means. She would destroy us in a single volley. Besides, the Bright Lords will reach them long before we could."

"Another, from Colony Venarix-613, they-"

"-are dead. They've been dead for centuries. That transmission was scattered by a Warp-squall and lost to the ether."

He tried another, focusing on the highest priority calls. "This one..." he turned to Seyth without reading further and knew from her expression not to bother. "Fine, why don't you find us a call to answer?"

The Librarian smiled, "your pride is unhelpful, Tiber. We are one squad, and you are looking for actions that an entire Chapter would struggle to overcome. We have to pick and choose our battles. I know it hurts, but a thousand little victories will eventually lead to a greater triumph. Look at transcript zero-six-three."

"It's an agri-world under siege by unidentified vessels. No further information."

"Those ships are a breakaway faction, Navy ships whose crews have lost faith. They think the end of the Imperium is upon us. They will steal food from the mouths of workers in a Hive World light years away. Those workers will starve, slowing production; that lost production will deny tanks to a Guard regiment who had the courage to stand against a Traitor Primarch and his legion. Without those tanks their line will break and an entire world's fate will be decided."

"Then we need to destroy those traitors!" Tiberius responded.

Another chuckle escaped the Librarian's lips, "Or we could ask another force to assist. The word of a Space Marine carries great weight. If I were to order Admiral Calaan to intercept that agri-world would be saved, but in return an Ork fleet would pass into Imperial space unmolested and embroil Pascus III in war."

Tiberius turned his eyes back to the console. So many cries for help being made, some of which had echoed from the farthest reaches of the galaxy. He wanted to answer them all, to rush forth and defeat every foe out there, but he could not. He compared the points of origin and dispatch dates to the pre-planned course, ruling out anything that would take more than a few days to reach.

"Librarian... if we sacrifice Pascus III, will that be better for the Imperium in the long run?"
Seyth shrugged, "I don't know. I don't see the full picture, only snippets. I see that Mortarion's Army could be held on a world where they would otherwise break through, but they could win the day regardless. Pascus III might hold, or it might fall. If I had to choose, I would choose to deny Chaos its victories, however briefly."

"Then make the order. I believe I have found which call to answer."

The Librarian nodded, "a good choice."

"Will we win?" Tiberius asked as she left the chamber.

Seyth turned to him and grinned, "If I told you that it would spoil the surprise."

 

* * *

 

Everything from St Inaculum's Gate to the docklands was now lost to the corrupted and the damned. The King's 2nd Regiment had given their lives to hold the gate, buying time for hundreds more refugees to reach the safety of the upper districts. Each arrival was scrutinised by the Sisterhood for any sign of taint before being allowed into the refugee camps set up in the guild halls and royal gardens. At first, perhaps one in a thousand were executed. Then one in a hundred. Then one in fifty. In the end the Sisterhood turned their flamers on the refugees and send them screaming back through the gate, which was promptly slammed shut and barred. The last survivors of the 2nd were given the Emperor's benediction by priests from the ramparts, and then spared being eaten alive by the blessed shells of the Basilica's guns.

 

King Theodonus XIV feared he would be the last king of Kadon. The plague-riddled lunatics howled outside the gates, but the defenders knew not to be complacent. Among their wretched number were skilled warriors with enough faculties and combat training to bring down a fortress gate. He had ten thousand men under his command, many of whom were militia. Against them was a horde half a million strong. He'd been raised on stories of victories over greater odds, but those stories now rang hollow.

 

Mother Wroth, Matriarch of the Sisterhood came to the king and made the sign of the aquila. "I bring news, your highness. An Astartes warship has arrived in orbit. They will join us within the hour."

"How many?" the king replied eagerly.

"I do not know," there was a twinge of doubt in her voice. "The vessel is small, a destroyer. It is unlikely to be a full battle company."

Theodonus buried his head in his hands and wept. "Did they not listen?" he wailed, "I told them how dire our need was! I prayed to Him for salvation and our prayers go unanswered!"

Mother Wroth spat a scolding retort that snapped his attention back to her. "If the Emperor sends only these warriors, then these warriors are all we require!"

"Of course. Please, forgive my moment of weakness..."

"Never!" she hissed. "You will bear this sin eternally, unless you do His will! As penitence, I demand you take up the sword and gun! Kill the enemies of Man in His name, and only then shall the Emperor forgive you!"

With that, Mother Wroth stormed away, leaving the old king trembling in his throne like a chastised child.

 

The gate fell an hour before dawn. Three concentric rings of defences were waiting for the coming attack; the militia in front, the King's 1st behind; the Sisterhood, Arbites and Commissariat on the final ring. All present understood the formation served two purposes: it ensured the best troops remained fresh and ready for longer, but the third line were also ready to fire upon any soldier who broke ranks and fled. They were ordered to die fighting, and die they did.

 

By dawn the first rank was lost, and the King's 1st were all but spent. The corrupted were thrown into the Imperial guns in unimaginable numbers, soaking up fire with their own flesh. The Imperials killed a hundred of them for every man lost, but the corrupted had hundreds to spare. They made the Imperials waste their shells and promethium on the plague-maddened and the mutated; only then did the true masters of the army strike.

 

The Tallymen stormed into and over the King's 1st, blasting them with shotguns and hacking with rusting blades. Ahead of them they hurled noxious gas grenades that blistered the skin and left men drowning in their own bile. The soldiers lacking respirators had no protection from these terrible weapons and died in their hundreds. The rest were totally outmatched and took scarcely any of the Plague God's soldiers with them.

 

The final clashed at last; bolter and power armour met shotgun and carapace and found them wanting. The Sisters of Battle, sealed from the gas, sang hims over their vox-links as they killed in the Emperor's name. But they were precious few in number, and the enemy was so many. The Arbiters and Commissars, though of equal skill, were lacking in wargear. They were dying faster than the Sisters. Mother Wroth led her charges, throwing them against the Tallymen in the hope that breaking the Traitor Guard might break the whole horde. It was a desperate hope, but it was all she could do.

 

Suddenly, the enemy line began to buckle. The endless horde was ripped apart by a series of explosions as bombs, shells and energy weapons rained down from above. Through the clouds came a gunship of blue and black, all weapons roaring. It fell nose-first as if intending to crash, but at the last moment the ship corrected its death-dive in a move Mother Wroth struggled to imagine possible. The g-forces alone should have killed the crew, but the ship's guns kept firing as it found a landing zone and emptied its cargo.

 

Tiberius ordered a counter-charge immediately. Cassius and four of his Brothers led the way armed with flamers, while the rest pounded bolter fire into the more distant targets.

"For the Emperor!" he roared as he advanced. "For the Emperor and the Chapter!"

Beside him, Novitae Lata answered with a primal roar of anger, like a wild beast at hunt. Maric had called him a carnys; a giant predator from the north-east of Tasal. He certainly seemed to warrant the name.

Seyth brought up the rear, mumbling to herself constantly. She was selective in her fire, snapping off bolt rounds at carefully chosen targets. There was no apparent rhyme or reason to her choice of kills, but Tiberius imagined she was weaving fate; killing the Tallymen most vital to the Chaos army.

 

"This is Sergeant Tiberius of the Supernovas to all Imperial forces! Attack now! Drive the enemy back! We must retake the gate if we are to win this day!"

Acknowledgements came along the line, but there were precious few voices responding. He glanced to his right and saw the leader of the Sisterhood charge forward with a chain-glaive, leading her Sororitas as Tiberius had commanded. In the smoke and haze of the battle they seemed to shimmer, as if enveloped in a protective field. Though the Chaos forces poured heavy fire into the charging warriors, Tiberius did not witness a single one falter or fall.

He snapped his attention back to the task at hand. Cassius and his men had brought them to the second line, but the Tallymen were rallying. A pair of Hellhounds marked with the unholy runes of the Plague God were pushing forward, crushing the dead and the dying of both sides beneath their treads.

Before Tiberius could give the order to engage, Tarquinius had already opened fire. A ball of superheated plasma shot from his shoulder-mounted cannon and struck the lead tank in a searing flash of light. The white light became a hot, angry red as the fuel-links in the turret were severed and the main gun backfired. In seconds, the entire gate was lost in a colossal blast of smoke and fire. Tiberius felt the heat wash from over two hundred metres away.

 

The blast bought the Astartes precious seconds, enough for their second wave to strike. A dozen Deathwind pods crashed into the enemy lines and burst open, revealing missile pods and automated assault cannons that fired indiscriminately in all directions. Judging by the loud explosion and second plume of fire, Tiberius guessed the ambush had claimed the second Hellhound. He ordered a halt until the sound of shrieking weapons ceased, and then began the advance once more.

 

By the retaking of the first line, the Tallymen were broken. They had Leman Russ battletanks, but the war machines were penned in by the drop pods and the husks of the lost Hellhounds. One Russ tried to plough through with a dozer blade only to become wedged on dragon's teeth. Tiberius watched with admiration as a squad of Sisters pushed through the mindless horde of plague-victims to bring their meltaguns to bear. They gave their lives destroying the tank; the slavering mob tore open the void-seals of their armour and they died choking on plague gas. Tiberius swore an oath to the Emperor he would avenge them.

 

By morning's end, Tiberius and his squad stood victorious atop the burned out shells of the dead Russ. The bulk of the Imperial force was dead, but the Tallymen had fled well beyond the reach of the defenders. Even the seemingly mindless corrupted were shying away from the walls now.

"We thank you for your aid, Astartes," said Mother Wroth, supplicating herself before the Primaris.

"You and your Sisters fought bravely. Without your courage and sacrifice we would never have retaken the gate."

"You honour us," she replied, bowing again."

Tiberius surveyed the damaged gate. "You would honour me more by securing this position. We bought you time, not salvation. The enemy will return and when they do even we will not be enough to stop them."

"Then what do we do, Astartes? How do we win this day?"

Tiberius looked out across the dead district. The reports had spoke of Chaos-touched foes, of the maddening plague that made men crave the flesh of their peers and the sudden, random mutations that sent men into a blood lust. Yet the Librarian had spoke of something more; an ancient evil, more powerful and more terrible than any on the planet dare imagine. Astartes whose souls belonged to the Lord of Flies.

 

"We cut off the head," he replied.

[Wargamer]

Part Three:

 

Pox-Bearer Luican of the Tallymen prostrated himself before his master, not daring to meet his gaze.

"How many did we lose?" a gurgling voice asked from above.

"Just over eight hundred men, plus three tanks and four support vehicles," Luican stammered.

"And why is the Blight-Father not reporting this failure himself?"

"He... he perished in the battle, Lord!"

There was a phlegm-laden sounds that might have been a laugh, "a pity, I would have enjoyed his explanation far more."

Luican dared to look up into the Plague Marine's pustule-riddled face. "Please, my Lord! Spare me! Spare my life and I shall ensure our victory next time!"

The Plague Marine cocked his head, "why would I kill you, Luican? Yours was not the failure this day. It is true I am... disappointed... but yours is not the failure to bear. At least, not this time. Rise, Blight-Father."

The Tallyman jerked to his feet by the words. He stood before his master, trembling in fear. The Plague Marine stared into him and hissed, "You will lead my armies at dawn. Return to me victorious, or not at all."

"I shall!" Luican replied quickly.

"Victorious, or dead," the Plague Marine repeated. "Return defeated, and you will know the full displeasure of Nurgle."

Steeped as he was into the Cult, the sheer power of the True Name made Luican void his bowels. He scurried away as quickly as he was able, chased by the mocking laughter of his dark master.

 

Alone at last, Chol the Plaguebringer stood in quiet reflection before a row of corpses held in rusting frames. Each of them was taller than any man, their bodies so badly decayed they were little more than twisted, yellowing bones encased in broken, rusting suits of armour. He caressed each dead Plague Marine in turn, whispering the name that Grandfather Nurgle had given them when their souls were twisted by the Rot. "Soon, Brothers," he whispered, soothing their anxious souls. "Soon you will have new flesh to wear; a gift from Guilliman himself."

 

Presently, he became aware of a change in the room. He turned toward the darkened corner of the chamber where no light seemed to reach, despite the brightness of the lumen strips.

"You are early," he told the shadow, which stepped forward to take the form of a slender creature in bladed armour.

"Is it time? Have the Mon-keigh sent their champions?" The creature's voice had a sharp, mechanical edge to it. Chol suspected it was speaking through some form of translation device.

"They have," he confirmed. "Do you have my weapons?"

The alien paused, "We are not inclined to give you our technology. We will use the weapons ourselves. Your prey will not die, though they will wish for death."

"Good, I need them alive. Make your men ready, Eldar; by dawn the Astartes will be upon us here, and my Brothers shall walk the world again."

"And then you will give us the slaves you promised?"

Chol nodded slowly, "Indeed. With my Brothers restored this world will fall swiftly. One soul in five shall be yours to take; the rest will serve me."

The creature seemed satisfied. It stepped backward into the shadows and was lost from sight. Moments later, the light returned and the darkness became less dark; mere empty space, as it should have been.

 

"What strange bedfellows we make," Chol remarked to the now empty chamber, and turned once more to the task of soothing his fallen brothers.

[Wargamer]

Part Four:

 

Heavy armour was being moved under cover of darkness. As Squad Tiberius slipped through the buildings and toward the docks they counted at least a dozen siege guns being drawn up, accompanied by tanks and support vehicles. Tiberius estimated that the Tallymen had been around two thousand strong in the first assault. This time they had close to three thousand. Hundreds of them were dedicated to rounding up and shepherding the mutants and madmen that had once been Imperial citizens, now turned to Chaos by the plague.

 

Seyth guided the squad, but in truth they hardly needed her direction. The leader of the Cult had not been subtle; the largest building still standing in the docklands had the runes of the Plague Lord adorning every flat surface, made of greening copper and flayed human skin. Fat, droning flies were everywhere in the docks, and when Tiberius was able to get a closer look he saw those same runes upon their backs. The idea that Chaos could turn even insects to their cause made him shudder.

 

"I think she's sick," Lata muttered, nodding to the Librarian. Tiberius couldn't see her face, but when he tuned into her vox-link she was arguing with herself.

"Librarian Seyth, is everything alright?" he asked.

"No!" she snapped. "There's something amiss here. I can't make sense of it! I can't see the way forward!"

Tiberius moved back to her and placed a hand on her pauldron. "Focus on the now, not the future. We know where we are and what must be done. Everything else is an unwelcome distraction."

Seyth nodded, and her vox went silent. Satisfied, Tiberius rose and turned back toward the tower just in time to catch a glint of a gun barrel in the shadows.

"Contact!" he roared, and threw himself into cover as needle-sharp flechettes rattled against his armour. He heard Marinus give a wild cry of pain unlike any sound an Astartes should ever make. The Primaris' scream lasted only a few moments before he toppled backward, silent and still.

 

The barely audible rattle of the enemy guns was soon lost to the distinct double-retort of bolters and the hissing roar of Tarquinius' plasma cannon. But the Primaris were shooting at ghosts; even their augmented eyes and the advanced auto-senses of their armour could not find the source of the attacks easily, and their foes moved so quickly they seemed to teleport from shadow to shadow.

"Librarian! Wake up!" Tiberius turned at Lata's cry. Seyth hadn't moved from where he'd left her. He opened her channel once more and called her name, but all he got in return was maddened whispers.

"Two futures... two futures at once... we're dead... we're alive... we're dead.... we're alive..."

"Then choose the damn future where we live!" roared Cassius just before a Dark Eldar vaulted from a shadow and plunged a blade into his neck. Cassius gave an inhuman howl and fell sideways. A second Primaris turned to burn the alien alive with a flamer and was likewise cut down. Tiberius fired at it, but the bolt round sailed harmlessly through the empty air where it had been.

 

Lata called out in horror as Tarquinius was brought to his knees by weapons fire from two directions at once. The attackers rushed in, grabbed the Marine as he fell and fled back into the shadows. Volleys of poison needles hammered the Novitae's position, preventing him from stopping their escape.

Before long, only three Marines remained; Tiberius, Lata and Seyth. The others had fallen, their bodies stolen by the Dark Eldar.

"Seyth! I need you with me!"

"I can't!" she wailed, "They're in my head!"

He turned toward her, weapon raised. She seemed at last to be aware of him, or at least the weapon trained on her. "You would, wouldn't you?"

"If I had to,"

"Good," she replied. Then she tipped her head to the side as if listening for something. "I... I'm sorry, sergeant. I know what awaits us now."

"What is it?"

She didn't answer. Tiberius saw the Dark Eldar in the shadows behind the Librarian and both he and Lata opened fire. The creatures jinked aside once more, but Seyth raised her pistol  and fired at what the sergeant swore was empty space. For a heartbeat it became a solid figure, which then exploded in a spray of blood and armour fragments as the Librarian's shot found its chest.

"At least I did something useful," she mumbled as the Dark Eldar fell upon her with their blades. Tiberius and Lata tried in vain to save her, but the enemy were too numerous. He claimed at least one more of the aliens, but they attacked swiftly and from every direction. He alone managed not to scream as the blades pierced his flesh and the burning poison filled his system, inflicting an agony unlike anything he had ever imagined.

 

The last thing he heard before losing consciousness was Seyth's voice whispering to him, "Kill the head...."

 

He came to in a chamber that stank of corruption and the raw energies of the Warp. The air around them writhed and shifted, and in the corner of his eyes he could see formless things that should not exist. He risked turning his head toward them, but they couldn't exist when seen directly, not yet.

"As promised, your prizes." The alien voice made him freeze again. His eyes swivelled around, hunting for his Battle Brothers. They were all nearby, chained to the walls and unconscious, he hoped.

"The souls as payment will be yours shortly," a retched voice replied, "The city will be mine by nightfall. Feel free to join the slaughter; consider those taken in battle a bonus in addition to our agreement."

There was a change in air, and Tiberius was sure the first speaker had left. He heard armoured footsteps draw closer and the stench of death became ever stronger; it took all his will not to retch.

"Yes, Brothers, we are almost ready. This one first, I think; a sergeant's body for a sergeant's soul..."

He saw a rusting knife lowered toward his throat. The Plague Marine gripped his head and drew it back, throat bared for the slitting. With a great cry Tiberius hauled at the chains and felt them give. In the moment of surprise he was able to smash the Plague Marine backward and buy himself a moment's breathing room. He grabbed the Chaos Marine's knife-arm and hurled him sideways, smashing the smaller foe into a collection of broken suits of armour. The Plague Marine maintained his grip, but the suits themselves still had their weapons; Tiberius found a bolt pistol as the Plague Marine drew a corroded plasma weapon.

 

"How are you alive?" Chol spat, firing off a point-blank shot that missed its mark by an inch and burned an oval shaped hole through the ceiling.

"By the Emperor's will!" Tiberius replied, pumping bolt rounds into his enemy's gut. The third round punched through the armour and burst in the Traitor's abdomen, but the Plague Marine didn't so much as flinch.

Though smaller, the Plague Marine was more experienced and managed to trip his larger foe. Tiberius rolled aside as another plasma bolt burned through the floor where he'd lay moments before.

"Oh you are everything I had hoped for!" Chol chuckled, drooling yellow mucus as he spoke, "my Brothers shall be overjoyed with your forms!"

"Our forms?" Tiberius risked a glance at the Librarian, still motionless in her restraints. Now he knew why she had been so disorientated. "You will never corrupt us, Traitor!"

Chol laughed at the words, just as he laughed at the bolt rounds slamming into him, "A bold claim, uttered by so many before you. But you will understand. I will make you understand..."

 

The room began to spin. Tiberius found himself in a strange new place; a battlefield on a desolate world. Burning vehicles of Imperial and Astartes design alike surrounded him, as did the bodies of thousands of Imperial soldiers wearing ancient uniforms and carrying lasguns of a design that had long-since fallen out of use.

"This is Warp trickery!" he hissed.

"This is truth," the disembodied voice of the Plague Marine replied.

A Space Marine came into view; an Ultramarine in badly damaged Corvus armour that bore the markings of a sergeant.

Somehow, Warp trickery Tiberius suspected, he could hear the vox-chatter of the Ultramarines. "This is Antonius!" the sergeant called out. "We are at Extraction Point Sigma but our dropship is missing! Where is our evac?"

More Marines appeared, all likewise adorned in Corvus plate. There were seven in total, including the sergeant. The two rearmost Marines were firing at some unseen foe.

"What is this meant to prove?" Tiberius asked.

"Listen," commanded Chol's voice.

Sergeant Antonius repeated his call for help, and this time he was answered. "Antonius, this is Epsilon Flight, the operation has been aborted."

"I am aware of that!" the sergeant replied, "that's why we fell back for extraction! Where are you?"

"The extraction has been aborted," the pilot replied over the vox. "I am sorry, Brother. Sell your lives dearly."

"You coward!" Antonius roared. "Where is Captain Otho? Where is the Primarch? Answer me! Answer me!"

No answer ever came. Antonius cursed his Chapter, the Primarch and the Emperor, and he was still cursing them as the Death Guard closed in from all sides and gunned his men down without mercy.

 

"Was this supposed to frighten me?" Tiberius asked.

Now, Chol's voice had physical form. "Come here, Brother," he said softly. He was stood before one of the bodies. The warrior's armour was beginning to rust, even though it was impossible for ceramite to rust.

Tiberius did as he was asked. He looked down at the dead Ultramarine. A powerful blast from a plasma weapon had blown the warrior's helmet clean off, yet his face was remarkably intact. Tiberius noted his features; the sharp chin, the broad nose, and the anger etched into every pore; anger at the Primarch's betrayal.

"Do you see?" Chol asked.

Tiberius looked up, intending to answer "no", but the paused. For the first time he noted, beneath the rot and decay, Chol's sharp chin.

"Do you see now, Brother?" Chol asked.

"Yes, I see..." Tiberius replied.

He felt the Plague Marine's hands upon his armour. It was not the death grip of a foe, but a mournful touch, a sympathetic touch. "I can see your thoughts, brother. I see how they doubt you. How they despise you. They will betray you eventually; if not the deviant Supernovans you serve, then the Primarch you admire. He left us to die; he will abandon you as well in time."

"I..." Tiberius blinked, and in the flickering of his eyes he saw another place; a chamber where dead Traitors and helpless Loyalists alike were bound to the walls, and where Chol was stood with a pistol raised, ready to fire.

 

Tiberius made a choice. He closed his eyes and lunged forward, feeling the putrid flesh beneath his gauntlets, and slammed his hands together as hard as he could.

 

The headless corpse of Chol the Plaguebringer toppled backwards, his weapon unfired. Tiberius shook the filth from his hands and turned toward his brothers. Seyth met his gaze, blood running from her eyes and nose.

"Librarian? Are you alright?"

"No thanks to you" she spat, "It took all my strength to wake you from the Eldar's poison and you almost let him mesmerise you!"

"Well if that's you're attitude, perhaps I'll leave you there," he replied.

"Fine by me, it's actually quite comfortable. I might have to have some chains installed in my quarters."

Tiberius and Seyth both smiled at one another. He still didn't truly understand the Tasalian irreverence, but he liked to think he was beginning to.

With Seyth's help he soon had the squad released, and the began to come around. There were many groans and grunts of pain as the remains of the poison worked through their systems, but they had enough faculties to fight.

"Alright, now what?" Cassius growled, taking in the grim scene around them.

Seyth pointed her sword toward the dead Plague Marine, "He wanted us for a ritual to resurrect his fallen allies. Between them they'd have had enough power to drag this world into the Warp."

"Truly?" Erasmus asked.

Seyh shrugged, "Well, that might be an exaggeration, but they were powerful. So powerful they could cheat death itself; when we drew close I could barely think with the noise of them. Six souls hungry for bodies, and mine easier to claim than any other."

"You will-" Tiberius began.

"-Report to the Chaplain immediately, yes. I agree. Body and mind and soul must be tested. I know, sergeant; this is the curse I've born all my life."

"Then let's get you to there quickly. Squad, move out!"

 

The will of the Plague Cult was broken. The Tallymen still fought on, but their mindless corrupted did not. Most bumbled about as if waking from a nightmare, only to find the nightmare was real when they saw the grim toll the plague had taken on their bodies. Many fled in terror, others took their own lives. A few, to their credit, turned upon those they saw as the bringers of their corruption, not that it spared them the wrath of the Imperials.

 

Tiberius and his men helped with the cleansing of the city. For three days they hunted and killed the Tallymen, and Tiberius rather enjoyed the act of instructing young Lata in how a Space Marine was to conduct themselves in war. The Dark Eldar they never saw again, but they saw the aftermath; Mother Wroth and her bodyguard cut to ribbons at the steps of the royal palace. The king died with them, the blood of an Eldar on his ceremonial sword. In the wake of the fighting the entire royal family vanished, along with half the palace guard, a dozen Sisters and three hundred souls refugees hiding out the war within the palace. Imperial records declared them killed in action. Tiberius knew better, and prayed their deaths would come quickly.

 

There was much fighting left to do, but Tiberius was satisfied the Planetary Defence Force could handle it alone. Besides, there was an Imperial Guard regiment a month away; this was no-longer an Astartes war.

After returning to the ship, Tiberius felt compelled to visit the Chapel. Seyth was there, as she had been since the battle with the Plague Marine.

"Are you well?" he asked her.

She looked like death, more so than usual, but she smiled and nodded all the same.

He took a knee beside her and made the aquila to an icon of the Emperor, dressed in more customary golden armour. The fact he wore the Chapter Symbol did amuse him some, but his thoughts were mostly clouded by the experience of the Plague Marine.

"I was shown a vision that day," he confessed.

"I know," Seyth answered.

"Was it real?"

Seyth nodded, "It felt real to me. It could have been an illusion I suppose; my mind was stretched to breaking by those damned ghosts. But if I had to stake my life on it, I'd say it was real."

"Ultramarines left for dead by their Primarch..."

"Throne, are you really that simple?" she cursed, "Sometimes men have to be sacrificed! You know that! You were ready to blow my head off because you thought I might be tainted!"

"That was different-"

"No it wasn't!" Seyth spat. "You had a choice to make, and you were ready to make the hard call! That vision was no different. Those Marines were left to die because trying to rescue them would have still got them killed, but also downed a Thunderhawk and killed the crew aboard as well. It was the right choice."

"If the Thunderhawk had come, they would have died knowing their Chapter did everything it could to save them. Maybe that would have been enough to save their souls."

Seyth had no answer to that.

"It was their rage that kept them alive," Tiberius continued, "I could feel that much. The betrayal became a lust for revenge so powerful that their souls couldn't pass on. The Warp restored them to life as servants of the Plague God."

"No, that can't be it," Seyth answered, uncertain of her own words, "The Plague Marine was a psyker; that could explain him surviving in some form. He must have made puppets of the others. He was strong, Tiberius; the strongest Psyker I've ever faced, and I faced the Hive Mind!"

"Stronger than that?"

She paused, "Well, it seemed like it at the time."

Tiberius chuckled, and the dark squall within his mind began to clear. "Let's be honest; we may never know how or why they were corrupted and resurrected. But we both know one thing - however much of that vision was true, it wasn't the truth. It was a tale spun to sow doubt into our minds and poison us against ourselves. That is the nature of Chaos; to make us feel weak so that we beg for our own damnation."

"You should be a Chaplain," Seyth grinned.

"Perhaps one day. For now, I have to be a sergeant. Where do we go next?"

"I will leave that to you, sergeant," Seyth answered with a world-weary sigh. "I need to sleep for a long, long time to heal from this. Trust your instincts, sergeant; I've no doubt you'll find another, equally amusing way to damn us all to Hell."

 

In the quiet of the Strategium, Tiberius considered the endless flow of aid requests. Worlds under siege; ships in peril; bold commanders gathering forces for Crusades and counter-attacks. All this and more, bouncing through the ether. Out in the stars there was an endless war, more battles than he could ever hope to face. Today, he'd saved one world, and with a pang of guilt he thought of the worlds that, through his choice, were now too far gone to help.

 

As the thought entered his mind a fresh call for aid came. A nearby mining colony was under threat by unidentified aliens that came in the night and abducted hundreds of people at a time.

 

Tiberius made his choice.