Liar: a person who knowingly utters falsehood; one who lies.
The dying planet – Atlantis if I recalled the name correctly – orbited an equally dying sun. From where I stood on the Chaos vessel, looking out one of the crystal windows from the briefing room, I could see the desolate landscape. With my augmented eyes, I could make out on the surface the massive cities, now nothing more than shattered wrecks, which had long ago gone to war with each other. The people of Atlantis had brought about their own demise without the aid of outside influence. A rather remarkable feat for such a civilization, given the state that the galaxy was in, had been in for almost ten thousand years.
Furrowing my brow, one armoured hand massaging my forehead, I shut my eyes and tried to blot out the noise around me. Unnerving as it was – the hum of the archaic machines, the orders quietly being relayed back and forth between officers, the sounds of chairs creaking as the occupants shifted about – it was not as unnerving to me as was the situation I found myself in right now.
I have a problem. Or, to put it more precisely, society has difficulty with my problem. In truth this supposed problem is not a hindrance to me in my profession, more of an asset than anything else. It is something that is coveted by my fellow sorcerers, sought after by those who wish to learn it, and in terms of the Imperium, something that is feared and thus, hated.
My supposed problem is that I am a habitual liar. I lie without knowing it, and when my mind finally registers what my tongue has pushed past my lips, I continually must conjure up more lies to keep the original one in motion. To me, lying is much the same as watching a weaver at her loom. Each thread has its place, sewn within the greater whole, but woe to the one thread that does not fit into the weave and because of it, spoils the end product. A lie is much the same. If not correctly placed, then the entwined threads will unravel and everything that one has worked toward is destroyed.
However, still to this day I have yet had one lie unravel itself from my intricate tapestry. I take this feat, by no means simple, as a collection of astounding good luck, a quick intelligence that I have been blessed with and a mastery of benevolent misinformation. I often imagine my mind like a multitude of shelves; that this little tidbit goes over in that box and that piece of knowledge in that shelf there. As long as I keep it all organized, then the lies will never confuse me.
Contrary to what some would believe, I am by no means a sociopath. Unlike my esteemed brethren I can distinguish the truth from my lies. I do not live out fantasies that are not at all real, even if sometimes they appear to be. I can easily recall an event as it truly happened, but at the same time just as effortlessly tell a false tale to that same event.
Perhaps because of this 'problem' of mine, these half-truths that I give out to people who seek my advice, is what first attracted me to the Great Manipulator. Tzeentch himself is the Spinner of Lies, Weaver of False Truths. He is the greatest deceiver that has ever existed and who will always exist. What he says to his followers and enemies alike is believed, and their collapse from power justly assured. Because of this, I feel a close bond to this certain Ruinous Power. It must have been a gift from him, indeed a very fine gift, for me to spin out lies so easily and have them accepted just as readily.
Lies have gotten me as far as I am now. I suppose, if I were to think back for a few moments, that in the span of my livelihood I told one or two truths, and perhaps made a comment that was not filled with false flattery. Of course, that happening in the past, as in the future, will be extremely rare and far between. Truth does not speed one on their way as easily as lies do, in my own humble opinion.
Magic never came as easily to me as lies do; the Architect of Fate had played his hand in this arrangement without a doubt. I do have some talent for magic, even if it is a bare trickle. It has taken me the better part of half a decade to master a simple spell of illusion, and even longer to develop the merest of psychic abilities to read the weakest and most unprotected of minds. Of course, no one knows that I have had such difficulty mastering spells that an acolyte could without doubt pass through with ease. True, perhaps I could have taken on a student of my own and made them do the work for me, but that would have been a risk I was not willing to take. Any student would have easily found me out for the fraud of a sorcerer that I am. But, like many liars, I have also developed the art of bluffing.
At this instant I was putting this finely tuned art into actual practise. With the problem I had on my hands at the moment, I turned my back on the failing planet and looked toward the group in the briefing room of the Chaos vessel I was on, Laughter of the Gods. Along the metallic walls, which pulsed with its own twisted life, appeared leering faces which vanished while whispered words that could predict the future if one was listening. Things crawled underneath the walls, things that I wanted no knowledge of. The inner lighting was muted, perhaps for the one or two officers in the briefing chamber that had an aversion to the harsh illumination. Chairs made from a mesh of skins that once belonged to living beings, and braced with bones from those same victims, were set up around the table in the center of the room. It was a chamber that I held no fondness for, but since I was not the captain of this vessel, I had no say whatsoever in the decor.
In the center of the chamber, floating above the table that was carved in the resemblance of a yawning daemonic mouth was a three-dimensional map of Atlantis. Around the table sat officers and Chaos marines much like myself, gazing at the scarlet pinpoints of light on the map that highlighted the cities of the planet. The grid gave off a harsh green light, casting my craggy face into shadows. In the already darkened room, the added effect addled me even further. I sculpted my face into a mask of serious concentration while I folded my arms across my blue and gold armour. I studied the map, giving the impression that I was in deep and ponderous thought. Just beyond the holographic diagram and sitting back in a heavily carved throne, his helmet modelled into the visage of a hissing daemon, was Lord Raum.
Waiting impatiently. Expecting results.
To put it bluntly, Raum was what I hoped to never become. A Night Lord divided and broken from his own Legion, having formed a new war band under his powerful leadership, Raum would always be at the forefront of any battle. His temper was one that I would have given a Khorne Berserker, but I was more than wise to leave this unvoiced. Raum; he expected nothing less than utter loyalty from his warriors, or what passed for loyalty from the followers of Chaos. The Night Lord had killed those that had misplaced such trust. He had never backed down from a challenge given, going to great lengths to ensure that his view and opinions would be imposed over others. He also hated liars with a passion that the Inquisition reserved for mutants and heretics.
For a Chaos Space Marine that had been part of the First Founding, I suppose I could commend his unwavering views and principles. However, Lord Raum was immune to flattery, whether it is obviously blatant or concealed. A bit of a problem for me, for I relied on such things to help me lie with.
I, as a sorcerer from the Thousand Sons Legion, had been in the service of Raum since he saved me from what I was certain would have been a messy death at the hands of a Carnifex. I have had to fabricate many lies to keep my head in Raum's entourage; still I had not found a convincing lie that would allow me to leave his service and find new employment in a less hazardous workplace. At least, I reflected quickly, he was not aware of my 'problem'.
Freedom from his service was the one thing, besides trying my hand at arcane magic, that I was working effortlessly toward. A noble and worthy goal as the prize at the end was my life.
Now staring at a map that showed within the northern hemisphere a blasted continent, on which sat a city highlighted in gold – a city that supposedly held a powerful artefact from the Dark Age of Technology – I was beginning to feel sick. With an intense gaze, I looked at the marked city which lay in ruin. I was, in vain, trying to find a pulse of psychic energy that this artefact no doubt would be giving off. Of course, I could not sense such an artefact for I did not have enough psychic power within me to identify such a thing. Raum's intelligence network had tracked this artefact, known simply as the Messenger, to Atlantis. Sources said it was here, buried somewhere underneath the planet's surface, situated in the area within and around the city.
My own investigation into the matter had also reached the same conclusion. The Messenger was on Atlantis, but since I could not locate it, I had gone even further and had tried to read through the scattered reports from intelligence in the hopes that perhaps the position would be revealed to me inside the city. That way, I could make a roughly educated guess on where the artefact lay, waving it off as my magical talents on display.
I was concocting a lie to get me out of the predicament that I was in. I could not lie and tell Lord Raum that what he was looking for did not exist; I would be slain on the spot. By the same token, I could not just randomly choose a point in the city and hope by Tzeentch that I was correct. It would lead Raum on a wild chase and at the end all I would have to show for it would be my severed head on a pike. It was a lose-lose situation no matter how I looked at it, but I was determined to somehow make it a winning state for me.
Hence the look of serious concentration twisting my features. For I wanted nothing more than to find this Messenger and live for a while longer. I did have that aspiring dream that one day I would be off this vessel and no longer in the service of a psychopathic Night Lord.
"Belail, have your sorceries found the Messenger yet?" Raum's voice, sounding like the grating of rock against rock behind the bestial helm he wore, brought me back to the present and away from my befuddled thoughts. I looked up at him, making eye contact and hoping that the anxiety I was feeling inside of me did now show in my eyes. Suppressing the urge to wipe imaginary sweat from my forehead, I pointed a finger at the highlighted city.
"I am sorry, Lord Raum, but I am unable to pinpoint the exact location of the artefact of which you speak. No doubt that your scouts have done an excellent job on surveying the area, but I am not picking up any psychic traces. Perhaps," I began with the faintest hint of neutrality in my voice, "someone else has already come and claimed the Messenger for themselves." A lie, yes, but perhaps it would be taken for the truth.
A snort of derision filled the chamber. My eyes slid away from the heavily armoured Raum and came to rest on Tyr, the only other sorcerer in the Night Lord's service. Tyr was, like I, a Thousand Sons Chaos Marine, but unlike myself, Tyr was not a warrior from the First Founding. And, as much as I loathe admitting it, he was by far the better sorcerer. But not the better manipulator. He had not been around long enough, in my eyes, to practise such a delicate art. He either felt that he did not need to tell a lie because the might of knowledge was with him, or that he was simply naive to the workings of the galaxy. I was always hoping that it was the latter over the former. Wishing sometimes worked, even if it does sound deluding.
"The artefact is still here; all of my auguries and readings from the Warp show it as such. That somewhere in this ruined city on this backwater excuse of a world, the Messenger is here." Tyr gave me a self-satisfied smirk as he voiced his opinion. Inwardly, I fought a dark urge to go over and rip the younger Chaos marine's head from the rest of his body. Perhaps toss his body out of the airlock. Smother him in his sleep. Something horrible and vicious.
"I was just venturing an opinion," I explained, my hands smoothing over the air in front of me. "I have done the same spells that you have, Tyr. Do not think I have not tried."
His face bore the blessings that Tzeentch gives at random to his followers. Tyr's left eye was a filmy white, the skin around it puckered red and swollen as if fire had touched it. Neither was his right eye normal; twice the size that any human eye would be. It gazed at me the same way that a vulture looked at its prey. Tyr's skin was an ashen grey, nearly transparent, the blue veins underneath easily seen. In his armour, a beautifully crafted suit, he looked out of place with his features. A walking corpse is what I thought of every time I looked at him.
"Then how come in your infinite power, sorcerer Belail, you were able to aid in the search of tracing the Messenger to this point and it is now resisting every one of your efforts to find it?" Raum's voice filled the room, cold and deadly. The type of voice he held before his wrath was unleashed. In a giddy moment of fear and panic I wanted to shout out at Raum that I had only been able to trace the artefact to Atlantis because I had kept ahead of his intelligence sources by one step. That I was not sure of anything anymore when the artefact was concerned.
Of course, I repressed these emotions and turned back to him, looking at Tyr from the corner of my eye as I sketched an informal bow to Raum.
"I have been taxed from the full use of my powers in finding this ancient relic. As such, my abilities are not what they could be at the present moment. A simple psychic sweep is even beyond my capabilities at the moment, Lord Raum. Perhaps then, sorcerer Tyr would be able to conduct such an inspection while I recuperate."
The hostility from Raum turned to Tyr. A swift look of anger passed over his abnormal face, then his eyes darted to Raum. The Night Lord was looking at him thoughtfully, gauntleted fingers pressed together.
"I am not the chief sorcerer here," Tyr spoke hastily. "I am not allowed to do such a thing. Belail, how can someone like you even begin to-"
"Enough." The single word that hissed forth from Raum made Tyr fall silent. The younger sorcerer looked sullen for a moment, then it passed. Raum glared at me through the holographic map, displeasure clearly radiating from him. "Sorcerer Belail, I will give you time to recoup your powers and when you have, you will once again seek out the Messenger. I want this artefact as quickly as possible. I have plans for it that must not be delayed. Is that understood?"
"Clearly, my Lord." I bowed to him again and turned to leave the briefing room, to retire gratefully to my own chambers. From there, I was certain I would be able to scheme up some grand idea that had not entered into the minds of the others about where the artefact might be. For the moment, I had won this round. It gave me time to contemplate yet another move, one more day to save my head. As Raum turned to confer with his officers, and as I moved to thankfully leave the chamber, Tyr's voice called out once more.
"Sorcerer Belail, would it not be easier for you to find the Messenger if we were within the city itself instead being on this vessel? Your magic, although weakened here, must still be strong enough to pick up the pulse that the artefact is sending out. That surely, a man of your talents would be able to find it easily enough if in the vicinity."
The hum of conversation died in the briefing room. Silence, horrible silence, prevailed. One of the faces in the wall laughed at me, its mouth growing obscenely large as it lolled a double-pronged tongue in my direction. Softly speaking a word that I could not catch even with my heightened senses, it vanished back into the wall it had come from. All eyes followed me as I turned around to face the group. I cursed the Fates that had led up to Tyr's birth. One day, I knew I would kill that upstart sorcerer; kill him in such a way so that his soul throughout eternity would be more tormented by that moment than his existence in the Warp.
Raum nodded approvingly at Tyr's suggestion. "Now that sounds like a very good idea," the Night Lord hissed, clasping his hands together. "We know the city and the planet itself have ceased their struggles. Nothing roams there, but if something does, then it is nothing that cannot withstand our might should they try to fight us. Degenerate bands, anarchy at its best. There is no danger for any of us."
The second-in-command, a veteran Night Lord much like Raum, came to stand beside him. Konrad was his name, if I remember correctly. The skulls and shrunken heads hanging from his shoulder plates made him one hard to forget in my mind. "When will the landing party depart, my Lord?"
Raum turned back to view the holographic map, eyes locking on the city. "We depart for the surface in two hours time." He turned to me. "Be ready by then, sorcerer Belail."
It took every ounce of willpower in my being to not race from the chamber shrieking, to run to my chambers and lock myself within them and to never reappear. That would have been cowardly, even by my corrupt principles, and that behaviour was more befitting of a woman. Before the doors from the briefing room hissed shut behind me, I saw Tyr's face, triumphant, looking at me. From the very first moment I saw him, I had known he was trouble, had felt it when he had come aboard the Laughter of the Gods. Tyr had to be disposed of before he exposed me as the charlatan I was.
I could not afford to keep such a risky being near me.
I found myself, along with the others of Raum's entourage, standing in the teleporter chamber. I was never particularly fond of teleporters. When I think about it, the motive as to why I mistrust this technology is due to having a deeply ingrained fear of them. There was always something about having my physical form broken down, only to be reassembled again by a blinding flash of light, which never sat well with me. That, and because an incident three centuries past at which I had been present at; a squad of Thousand Sons had just vanished while using one of these teleporting, never to be found again. Not at their intended destination or even out in space. Since then, I have been disinclined to use such technology.
It took all my years of acting to carefully sculpt my face into a mask of boredom as I waited in the teleporter room. Lord Raum, his second-in-command, and his five personal bodyguards stood in the chamber, armed to the teeth as all Chaos marines are. The green lights in the room reflected off the Night Lords cobalt armour, giving them an ominous appearance. In hooded cloaks chequered black and white, the technicians gave me the impression their speed was part of the reason that Lord Raum was watching over them. One of the many technicians moved across my path, hurrying around the room to a panel on the wall with dials and buttons, pushing them to bring the transportation machine to life. There were warning noises emitted by the apparatus that made my stomach clench, but nothing showed through to my face.
This was in fact bearable, or would have been bearable, if there was just one less person in the room. Tyr.
Damn him, the little worm had by some means managed to convince Raum that he was as just as important to the expedition as I was. Perhaps he said that two sorcerers were better than one, or something along those lines. Either way, Tyr was now a part of this group, and I knew that it was for no other purpose than to see me fail on Atlantis. That when I did fail, and after I was killed, then he would lead Raum to the Messenger and take my once lofty position.
Two can play at this game, you little whelp, I whispered menacingly in my head. I just have more experience than you do.
"Should we take a gunship down instead my Lord?" Tyr's voice, if I was not mistaken, held a tinge of anxiety. My spirits were lifted as I heard the pitch in his tone, but also elated with his question. If someone else had a fear of teleporters, and was stupid enough to risk asking Raum to use another mode of transport, then I was pleased that I did not have to voice such things.
Raum looked over at Tyr, the sickly green lights casting deep shadows across his helmet. "Are you insinuating that my command to that using the teleporters to bring us down is a bad one?" The younger sorcerer paled considerably under those burning red eyes behind the helm.
Tyr shifted from one heavily armoured foot to the other while holding his staff tightly. "Of course not, my Lord. I would never question your command. It is just that this technology is old, and while I am sure my deity would let no ill befall any of us, it might be better not to risk it. There is no telling what margin of error this machine has."
For a brief moment, I wonder if Tyr was also thinking about the group of sorcerers that had used one of these machines and had vanished. Perchance he was; the story had been told over and over again countless times, embellishments added as the tale is retold. He might have not seen the accident, but he had definitely heard of it.
I was glad that Tyr, in all his unfailing and sick honesty, had voiced the silent question. If Raum grew angry and decided to blow him away with the heavy storm bolter he always carried, so much the better for me. It was one less thing that I would have to take care of. I felt the mask I had put on my face begin to crack; a sick little smile wanted to play over my lips. Quickly, I looked away from the frightened Tyr, taking those moments to place my helmet over my head. Sealing my helm into place, watching the baroque writing on the lower left corner of the screen go through the checks of my suit, I was finally able to smile a wicked and maniacal grin which hurt my cheeks.
A hissing peal of laughter came from one of the technicians working at the main controls. Like all the other servants aboard the vessel, it was just mutated as the rest of them. A forked tongue flicked out from the shadows in the hood, concealing the face in darkness. Scaled hands moved over the controls.
"Begging the sorcerer's pardon, but we have had a very small margin of error with this machine, very small indeed. Only two people have experienced problems with these teleporters in the past."
"And what happened to those two?" one of the Night Lords asked.
"We don't quite know, but I'm sure one day we will." The technician gave another harsh laugh. "We still haven't been able to locate them since we teleported them to their destination, a temple somewhere on some planet. We have it listed in the books. This was before Lord Raum took over the Laughter of the Gods. However, we are still in good spirits that one day we will find them. In fact," the thing tapped a scaled finger on his console, "now that you mention it, a few people on and off have come back missing limbs when I knew they had them when they left. I wonder if they're still floating around somewhere."
"I was not aware of this problem when I acquired the ship," Raum turned his attention to the technician. "When I return, you will tell me everything that you have forgotten to tell me. If not, then I am sure someone else would enjoy your position as chief technician."
The bearable situation just became a lot more excruciating. The joy at seeing Tyr with frayed nerves before quickly left, and my stomach felt as if it was about to void everything, if I had bothered to eat before. Seeing the look of horror plastered across my rival mage's face, it would have given me a chuckle any other time, watching someone like him being taken down a peg or two. Now I was in the same position as him in terms of trusting these teleporters and I did not like it one bit. I was glad I had had the foresight to place my helm on or else Raum would have seen the fear in my eyes.
That cowardly side to me, a sizable portion, was screaming at me to walk out of the room, down the ship's hallway and then begin running as if a whole company of Space Wolves were behind me.
Raum easily felt the unease building in his men; turning to face us with his storm bolter casually pointed in our direction, Raum hissed, "By my orders we are taking the teleporters down, not a gunship. Anyone who says otherwise will find themselves being used as an example of what happens when my orders are disobeyed." With the warning given, the Night Lord turned back to the technician. "Another word from your forked tongue and you will find yourself without it. Now, send us down."
With a whimper of fright, the mutant hastily gestured for us to move to the platform. There was more than one marine amongst us who had a moment of hesitation before stepping onto the platform, but I believe we all believed that the others had not seen it. One of those few moments when a Chaos marine can absolve the lack of courage in another. Even we can be lax on some things.
There came the harsh ringing of bells, and the workers shouting commands back and forth. The technician at the main controls began adjusting knobs and placing coordinates into the ancient computer. Quickly, I made the protective mark of Tzeentch, gripped my ornate staff tightly and closed my eyes. I never wanted to be transported with my eyes open – I might not like what I see.
"Coordinates of the city have been placed. Engage," the technician hissed.
A feeling of being stretched taut overcame me, the first sign that the teleporters had been activated, and then complete weightlessness. Usually this is when my mind registers that I was being flung through space, and a prayer of protection passed my lips. If my god would see fit to let me live for one more day, I would make the Great Manipulator proud of the works I would do for him.
And also, as an after note, I silently asked if perhaps Tyr would be lost in the transport.
Then crushing weight came down on me, as if rocks were being poured over my shoulders, a veritable mountain. I felt heavy; it was an effort just to breathe. Gradually, the feeling lessened and the constricting pain in my chest lightened. Hesitantly, I opened my eyes, disoriented for just a few moments. Looking through my helm's visor at the planet Atlantis, I was disappointed by what I saw.
The city which we had been sent to was nothing more than a blasted wasteland. Buildings, or the broken remnants of them, stood no higher than five or six stories. Broken stones and twisted steel girders lay clumped together with no way of telling where one began and another ended. In some places, where I wager compounds had once sat, there were nothing but giant craters. Here and there a lone tree stood, offering up a desolate picture to the viewer.
I turned a full circle, looking at my surroundings carefully. I saw Lord Raum and his bodyguards had made it down to the surface safely, and sadly, Tyr. Well, the Great Weaver cannot answer all prayers, I thought analytically. Some things have to be taken care of in person.
"Belail," Raum's voice crackled across the comm. I winced as his voice exploded in my ear. "Find the Messenger, sorcerer, and find it soon. I don't want to be here longer than needed."
"Yes, my Lord." I gave a small bow and walked a short distance away from the group. My thoughts whirled viciously, crashing into each other and curling back in on themselves. There was no way that I could get out of this dangerous situation, and acting would no longer be enough. Neither would any of my lies. Perhaps the truth…? Nonsense, it would lead to the same end as all the other conclusions in my mind had reached: death.
Calm, be calm, Belail. Just pretend you are looking for the Messenger, and something will appear. Something always appears. I hoped by Tzeentch that something would appear. Hopefully… maybe… I raised my staff over my head, one hand tracing runes in the air while I half-closed my eyes and concentrated.
One more thought came to mind as my eyes snapped open and gazed out over the wasteland. Why had Tyr, whose powers were stronger than my own, not felt the pulse of the Messenger? He was hiding it, yes he was. That damned son of a whore was just waiting for me to fail. Oh, how the anger boiled through my veins at that moment, and the determination that came with it to end his life.
"Konrad," the Night Lord motioned to his second. "Is the auspex reading anything?"
Konrad glanced down at the built-in auspex on his left gauntlet. "There is no activity here, my Lord. Just a dead city. No one will bother us."
"How can you be so sure?" Tyr's voice was an annoying whine. "This city might be dead, but that does not mean that we-"
One of the Night Lords who carried shrunken heads looped around his ammo belt hit Tyr across the chest. Raum allowed this; letting the youngest be set in his place by the older. "Stupid child, it means that there are no humanoid life forms here."
As I planted the end of my staff into the ground, I caught a sudden change in Raum's pose. Rapidly, he became tense. No one else saw it but me. Then again, I am very apt at reading the bodily motions of the one I was in service to. "Konrad, the auspex was set to scan for humanoid forms, correct?"
Embarrassed silence filled the air on the comm-net.
"No, my Lord, I did not. I am making amends as we speak." Quickly Konrad's armoured fingers touched keypads on the device, and the screen, which had been devoid of activity, suddenly sprang to life. Quite a fair deal of green spots appeared, from what I could see. Too many to be comfortable with.
"We're surrounded. Look at how many-" Tyr gave a strangled cry as he saw the image. "There has to be-"
"Life signs are over thirty… forty-five… sixty-one… now ninety." Konrad, Fates damn him, spoke in a calm manner as he counted off. Raum stalked over to him, looked at the auspex, and then scanned the area in which we stood. I heard the safety catch on his storm bolter click, the action followed rapidly by the rest of his bodyguards.
"Defensive positions, now!" Raum barked the order, and quickly the Chaos marines fell into line. Wisely, I took this moment to rejoin the group, moving to stand in the circle facing outwards. Tyr stood beside me, not of his own choice and surely not of mine, the pupil in that overly large eye of his darted back and forth across the ruined cityscape.
"Where are they? How can humans hide like this?"
"Be quiet," Raum snapped to the marine who had spoken out of turn. Raum, standing to my left, turned halfway to look at me. "Sorcerer Belail, you better have something on hand to deal with this situation."
I gulped quietly. Raum was expecting arcs of lightning from the sky and rings of fire to wash over the approaching threat. What would he do when he realized that I could do none of these? I turned to Tyr, standing to my right. The fear was not gone from his face, but was buried underneath with determination. He looked to already be in deep concentration, ready to summon up balefire and lightning from the sky.
"You now have the opportunity to show just how much you know, Tyr. I am waiting to be impressed," I mocked. Yes, surely the stronger wizard, the young and impetuous, would want nothing more than to amaze his Lord. I could make it look as if I was somehow casting the magic and delude Raum into believing…
Instead of the arrogant smirk that I expected, all I received from Tyr was a face filled with stark, out-right fear. As if a light had been switched on somewhere in the back of his mind, and the plans that Tyr had been working on ripped away from him. It was as though Tyr had been expecting me to perform the powerful magic and he would act like the one whom…
Instantly, I knew. Tzeentch strike me blind, I knew the truth about Tyr, and in all the places where I did not need to know such things. Not in times like this. I knew Tyr's little secret.
Why Tyr wanted me to perform the castings in finding the Messenger.
Why he continually declined to show off his prowess over mine when he could, instead deferring the task to me.
Why I was always the first to take the lead in any spell casting.
I pulled off my helm, throwing it to the ground in anger. Grabbing the frightened sorcerer by his neck, I dragged Tyr close until my mouth was pressed up against his ear. "You do not know magic, do you? Do you!" The lack of a response confirmed my suspicions. My eyes locked with Tyr's then, and I saw myself inside those orbs. Tzeentch help me, I saw a younger version of myself looking back at me.
How could I not have seen it? How could I not have known?
"I- I know very little," he whimpered back at me. "You are the grand sorcerer Belail. You are the one who-"
I gritted my teeth, spit flying off of my lips as I literally frothed at the mouth. "I am in the same Thunderhawk as you are Tyr, and we are both going to go down burning in flames! You imbecile, you ruined everything!"
At the same time I yelled this, it was the same moment that the inhabitants of Atlantis attacked. Raum was the first to open fire, and my words to Tyr were drowned out under the sound of the heavy bolter. The other Night Lords, veterans from a thousand campaigns across the galaxy, fired into the horde that was now swarming over the ruins in which we stood. Angrily, I pushed Tyr away and swung my staff around to face the threat before me. Why oh why do I never carry a firearm when it is absolutely needed? If I did survive this encounter, I would remedy that problem.
There was no way to explain how the humans all appeared. One moment, emptiness, and then suddenly they were before us. There were only two things that could account for this, and I was certain there had been no Warp magic to achieve this surprise attack. From the looks of the humans, or what must once have been human, it was technology that had aided them. Unknown technology, maybe the very same that had set ruin to this world. What was left of the humans that had populated Atlantis could no longer be classed as humanoid. It was simply flesh meshed together with machinery. There was no other way my mind could register it.
Some of the humans were machines from the waist down; others had mechanical limbs that ended in cruel barbed points. A few has coils of wires dangling down their backsides, as if their built had stopped in mid-construction. There was one monstrosity that appeared to have half a head made from metal, the eyepiece swivelling back and forth with a burning red iris. They were heavily armed. I am not one to know much about firearms; I make no claims that I know one model from the next but when it is big, and a high-powered noise is being emitted, then I know it cannot be all that good.
The first line, as ungainly as it was, was quickly cut down with the suppressing fire from the Night Lords. One of the Chaos marines unclipped a krak grenade, armed it, and then lobbed it into the mass. The small explosive created a giant hole in the human-cyborg swarm, but instantly the void was filled by more of them.
"Sorcerers! Call your Dark God!" Raum's voice rose over the screaming pitch of his storm bolter, his armour dented in more than one place from the shots being fired by the enemy. I had never seen Raum look or sound as desperate as he did at that moment. He never cared much for sorcery in fighting – disdained it – but now calling for it as support indicated the tight situation he was. One of the Chaos marines, the one that had struck Tyr beforehand, gave a bestial cry as a bullet from the cyborgs found a weak point in his armour and downed him.
The nine of us had now been cut down to eight. From the looks of it, there would not be a single one of us left standing. Tyr was gibbering on the ground, crouched low and covering his head. Idiot, thinking that would help him any! Even I was not about to stoop as low as he was… but the thought had crossed my mind.
I focused on my weak psychic abilities, drawing on all the teachings I had memorized. Forcing the air to heat up around me, grabbing tendrils of Warp matter, I condensed the energy into a small orb of fire, mentally throwing it at the mob. It touched upon one of the human-turned-machines, washing over it like a small wave and melting the metal to the charred flesh. The fire continued for a few more paces, damaging but not destroying any of the other cyborgs.
They continued to lurch toward us.
Raum spoke words I never heard before that moment. "Retreat! Find a way to higher ground and contact our ship!" I was so surprised that it nearly cost me my head; a stray bullet nicked along my left ear, grazing over the skin. A ringing in my ears remained, small in comparison to the thunderous sound of bullets whizzing through the air. Instinctively, I ducked down, now huddled on the ground with Tyr.
It did not mean in any way that I was lowering myself as low as him, oh no. There was just less of a chance of bullets hitting.
It was every Chaos marine for himself. The Night Lords, while daunted by the size of the adversary before them, plunged into the swirling melee with an almost ecstatic frenzy. Raum cut at the cyborgs with a power sword in his right hand, the blade arcing with energy as it cleaved through metal and tissue alike. Firing away in his left hand was his storm bolter, dealing grievous wounds. The rest of his bodyguard strained to catch up with their leader, but one by one they were picked off. Konrad was ripped in half by a cyborg, his power armour torn open like a shell broken against the rocks. His last cry was one of defiance, not that it did him much good.
Raum had lived as long as he had because he was a survivor. He never came back for any of his warriors, even if they needed him. Eight turned to seven, and then the numbers dwindled down to a pitiable three. The other Night Lords soon followed Konrad into oblivion, and I had lost sight of Lord Raum. I was caught, on hands and knees, in a vicious horde of degenerate humans laced with technology, no one watching my back.
Save Tyr.
With him, I saw my chance for survival, even if it was slim. The wheels in my head were practically spinning now, the manipulator inside of me weaving new plots.
"Move! Get up and move!" Grabbing his arm, I dragged Tyr to his feet and together we sprinted low through the swarm. I had dropped my staff but any thoughts of returning to reclaim it ended when I looked at what lay behind and ahead of me. Shots rang out, mechanical limbs reached to grab us, but with so many bodies pressed closely together, nothing touched us. It had to be by the grace of Tzeentch, of that I was sure.
We broke through the mass, both of us nearly stumbling as we hit open ground.
Never in my life have I run as fast as I did then. Well, just once, when the Space Wolves had attacked Prospero. I did not have to worry about Wolves on my heels in this instance, just crazed humans that had become machines. Every muscle in my enhanced body screamed, every nerve was stretched tight as if expecting a flash of pain for the inevitable bullet that would pierce my armour.
Tyr was keeping pace beside me, yet the strain of his face was unmistakable. His breathing was raspy, and that overly large eye of his was beginning to turn red. More than once Tyr all but fell over his own feet. Only his quick reflexes kept him going. Perhaps it was because he was not of the First Founding – his gene-seed faulty – the younger mage was beginning to lag behind.
I saw my chance to finally be rid of the upstart, this mage so much like myself. I knew that if we were to both survive, and somehow find Raum, Tyr would be the first to tell his Lord my well-kept secret before I had a chance to utter a word. Sadly, only one of us two loyal mages would find Raum, and it would not be Tyr. I did not have issues with my gene-seed.
Armaments fired by the cyborgs blew away clumps of dry earth in front of me, sending up clouds of dust that obscured my vision. More than once my armour deflected a bullet, but I still felt the punch behind it. The other times when the bullets managed to graze pass, I silently gave quick praise to Tzeentch. Tyr gasped as the dust swirled into his large eye, rendering him blind. I saw him stumble and fall.
Now, now is your chance, my mind screamed. Take care of this problem!
I quickly looked behind me. The twisted inhabitants of Atlantis were less than fifty paces away and closing quickly, but I needed little time to complete my task.
"Belail! Belail, help me!" Tyr's voice was plaintive, like a child crying for its mother. Through the settling dirt I could see him, eyes squeezed shut and arms reaching out, searching frantically for my outstretched hand.
My hand was outstretched, although not in a helping manner as Tyr was thinking. The curved dagger I held, wickedly sharp and inscribed with runes of power, quickly found its intended mark. Tyr screamed as he lost the use of his eyes, but that shout was cut short as I grasped his head in my armoured hands, and with relative ease, broke his neck. I twisted his head so those destroyed eyes could see the Atlantians creeping up behind him, dropping his body down into the swirling dirt.
I had never done anything this vicious before, admittedly not as untidy as this. Oh, I have killed people before and I surely would in the future, but never in such haste. I felt exceedingly besmirched from such an act. It showed just how crude I was becoming to solve my problems. The blood that flowed from the young sorcerer's ruined eyes soaked into the dry earth, and the dirt was soon in turn blown away. I wonder what Tyr's last thoughts were before his soul went to join those of the daemons.
A bullet ricocheting off my chest plate pulled me from my thoughts. Another one impacted in the ground a few millimetres from my left foot. Yet another shell whizzed by, just barely missing my scalp. The Atlantians were now very close, and their aim was undeniably improving with the shortening distance. Turning away from Tyr's corpse, I began to run once more, the enhanced muscles in my body now doing their work.
The cyborgs fell away; I continued to run. Ahead of me, just as to my back and on either side, the wasted landscape of Atlantis rolled out before me. I was clear of the ruined city and what lay there, but now I was lost in a desert. When I turned around to gather my bearings, the ruined city had vanished, and my footprints were being erased by the ever-moving wind and coarse sand. It was an understatement to say that I would have little hope in finding a way back to the ship in orbit, or even crossing paths with my liege.
Then again, stranger things have happened in stranger places, and I have always managed to pull through.
Only two thoughts now occupied my mind: if Raum was still alive, I needed to find him and determine a way back to the Laughter of the Gods. If he were dead, then I would have to find a way back on my own. In the end, it all boiled down to my survival. Silently, I cursed Raum for his arrogance. He just had to make use of the teleporters and not a gunship! I could fly a gunship, but sending a transmission for teleportation would require considerable effort on my part. I had never been the sort who was versatile with electronic equipment.
I slowed my running until I stopped, more to rethink my next move than to catch my breath. It was the sound of storm bolter fire that caused me to turn toward the northwest bearing of the wasteland. At that moment that sound was the most exquisite thing I had ever heard. No one else but Lord Raum had that weapon on him in the group. Knowing the way the Fates conspired, the Night Lord had managed to not only survive but find shelter while he contacted his flagship.
"Praise Tzeentch," I whooped out in an undignified manner. If any of my colleagues were to have seen me then, they would have thought that Warp taint had poisoned my mind. How I did enjoy being in servitude, at least in these moments, to a Chaos marine who would not die no matter the odds stacked against him. Without delay, I changed course and I could swear by the Wheel of Fate that I saw a beacon of hope over the horizon.
Metaphorically speaking, of course.
Cresting one of the sand hills I found the gunfire, now sporadic, was coming from a cluster of buildings that were nothing more than skeletal frames. This place had once been a small complex of sorts, but now offered cover to the Night Lord. I had no idea what Raum was firing at, other than cyborgs that had managed to track him this far. The thought of those things in the streets, hunting down Raum and myself were I to enter, sent a chill through my bones. Of course, the prospect of finding the Night Lord and with him escape to safety… I weighted the risks and found that I could gamble.
I was a sorcerer; I was use to taking the barest chances and turning the tide into my favour. Of course deeper down I was truly a coward, but I never admitted it, not openly.
I dropped forward and crawled down the hill, taking advantage of every boulder, every last dead shrub, as cover from those cyborgs. There would be no chance of a bullet taking me out, pray Tzeentch. Reaching the bottom of the hill, I quickly got to my feet and sprinted the short distance to the crumbling wall of a building. I cautiously peeked around the edge, looking down the street and, finding it deserted, quickly moved on.
Each building was the same as the last, badly decayed and horribly scarred from the sand that whipped through the air. More than once I looked over my shoulder to see if a cyborg was bearing down on me, only to find it the workings of my panicked mind. Hurriedly, I moved through the streets and looked for any sign that would indicate that Lord Raum had come the way I was going.
The sound of bolter fire came from above me. I looked upwards and was rewarded with the quick sight of cobalt armour moving away from a window ledge. A feeling of satisfaction in knowing that I would soon be pulled from harm off this dying planet filled me. With renewed energy, I ducked into the building and quickly moved toward the stairs. Raum heard my footfalls; I was not trying to be quiet.
He appeared at the top of the steps, holding his storm bolter with both hands and pointing the barrel at me. "Belail." He spoke my name evenly, frostily. Immediately, my mind shrieked that I was about to die. That I had been found out. Raum knew I was not the sorcerer I had led him to believe.
"Lord Raum, how great it is to see you alive! Praise to Tzeentch! When the fighting started I did not know what had happened to you, there was so much confusion. I-"
"Swallow your babblings, Belail. Be quiet or you'll give away my position. Now hurry and get your sorry body up here. There's a cyborg out there somewhere in the streets and I do not want to be killed by it." The Night Lord turned and moved to stand beside a window, cautiously looking outside. I did as I was told, stepping onto the second floor landing.
"What are we to do, Lord?" I swore to myself that if he said we were still looking for the Messenger, then I would scream and run at him. Run and push him out of the window. The sheer nerve of the thought scared me. Perhaps with Tyr's death and the situation presented before me, I was becoming more erratic with my thoughts and actions. I was truly beginning to lose my composure that I worked so hard to maintain.
"I requested teleportation. However," Raum turned to face me, "it was only for one. Believing my squad had been destroyed and only myself to fend for, there was nothing else that could be done."
I could not control my emotions when he spoke those words. My mouth gaping, eyes wide with disbelief, fists clenched in a mixture of rage and utter hopelessness, I looked at Raum. I closed my mouth and swallowed a few times until I felt I could speak. "Lord Raum, you can recall the teleportation. You could-"
"I have a better idea, Belail. Call on your god and see if he will help you." Raum chuckled darkly. He turned from the window to give me his full attention. Inwardly, I shirked away from the demonic face of his helm. "I need a new sorcerer anyways. My faith in your skills has been misplaced, I feel, and I could do with someone new."
"But Lord Raum, I have been nothing if not loyal-" The tip of the storm bolter's barrel, pointed straight at my chest, stopped the words pouring from my mouth.
"Really," he hissed, "sometimes I wonder. The way you acted, the manner in which you spoke, how every piece of information garnered about the Messenger identical as those given to me by my sources. Oh yes, somehow Belail I get the feeling that you have been lying to me the whole time. And you know how I hate liars."
A bullet shot rang through the air. In the silence, the noise came as a crack of thunder. The air in my lungs was expelled in a loud gasp as I staggered back from Raum, only to topple over, hitting the floor beneath me with enough force to send dust flying into the air. I clutched at my chest, waiting for the blood to come pouring out, unable to stop the flow. Waiting for the pain to overcome me. This was how I would die, shot by my own commander on a backwater world, my body left with only the sun to bleach my bones and the wind to scatter them once they turned to dust.
I was so consumed with thoughts of my agonizing death that it took me all of ten seconds to realize that it was not I that had been shot, but Raum.
He stood looming over me for a few moments. Had his helmet been off, then I am certain a look of dumb surprise would have passed over his face. Lowering his storm bolter, the Night Lord touched at the hole in what remained of his chest. Whatever bullet had passed through, it had been strong enough to punch through the ceramite armour, the carapace, Raum's flesh and then out the other side. Little gobbets of his flesh were spattered over the floor.
Even with the enhanced physique of a Space Marine or the blessings of his Powers, there was no chance that Raum could survive a wound of that magnitude.
"By the blood of Night Haunter himself," he garbled. Two staggering steps toward me with arms stretched out, perhaps asking for my aid or, as I thought backing away from my liege lord, to strangle me with. Raum never got to murder me as he intended. He fell onto his side, blood mixing with the dirt and sand as his body gave out on him.
I had no time to think where the shot had come from. I instinctively knew. Snatching up Raum's storm bolter, I threw myself up against the wall as a hail of firepower ripped through the air where I had just been standing. Pressing myself up against the wall, I dared a look over the windowsill. The cyborg that Raum had said was patrolling the streets had found us – I – and with all the cold intention of a machine was ready to finish me.
The cyborg, a jumbling mass of wires, flesh and steel legs that were like those of a crab, stood outside just below the window with a double-barrelled gun of archaic design pointed in my direction. A cybernetic eye whirled, something clicked into place, and the machine began to fire at me as it locked on. I rolled away from the wall as the deadly bullets punched up through the floor, shredding the timber and raining wood chips down on me. I twisted around and returned the favour, firing blinding in the direction of the cyborg.
I found myself cowering beside the body of Raum. Over the shrieking hail of bullets and splintering sound of wood and plaster, my mind suddenly fixated on the dead Chaos Lord's armour. Frantically, my mind groped for whatever it was, pushing for the idea to come to me quickly. Armour, lights, a light, blinking, blinking, blinking-
The teleportation beacon!
On the left gauntlet a tiny beacon flashed, alerting the crew on Laughter of the Gods where exactly their Lord was. I fumbled for the beacon, ripping it off Raum's gauntlet and clenching it close to my chest. Not that he would need it and there was only one to be picked up. How coincidental that this should have happened. Then again, it was the will of the Great Manipulator at work. My salvation at the death of Raum; I was a free sorcerer. Only if I survived long enough.
I heard mechanical whirring from below, knowing that the cyborg was directly one story beneath me, inside the damn building. The thought chilled me down to the corrupted marrow of my bones. Another stream of bullets, this time punching through Raum's body. I gasped out a curse and threw myself away, up against the wall, all the while clutching the teleportation beacon in an iron grip.
A thumping sound came from the staircase. The cyborg was actually trying to climb up to get me, not just content to fire away beneath me. The cold logic of the thing made me shiver.
"Work," I hissed at the beacon. The heavy sound of machinery of the steps, working its way up. "Work damn you!"
Another thump. The clicking noise of mechanical limbs whirring into place.
"By all the Dark Gods, I will never tell a lie again if it means my salvation!" It was a frantic prayer and one that I was sure was not heard.
A whir; a hiss of compressed air. I looked in horror at the staircase, waiting for the cyborg to come into view and bring its weapon to bear on me. Frantically, my eyes darted over to where I had left the storm bolter in the middle of the room, far out of my reach.
Metal flashed in the sunlight; the cyborg's metallic face came into view over the edge of the staircase. As it raised its weapon, all I could think of was how I could not reason or even lie to this abomination.
Suddenly, the air around my body shimmered, and I felt again a familiar sense of displacement. Nausea swung over me, hard and fast. My breath came in quick gasps. I closed my eyes for what I was certain would be the last time. Extreme pressure closed over my head, wrapping itself around me like a vice. All I remember was dropping the beacon as I wrapped my arms around my chest. It felt as if there was something burning inside of me, a pain more intense than the greatest wound I had suffered on the battlefield.
Then with crystal clarity, a single thought snapped into being. I was not dead, nor was I dying.
I was very much alive. All I was feeling was the agony of a teleportation jump course over me.
Weight returned to me and with it, my thoughts. Everything was a haze as I stood on the platform in the teleport chamber. Slowly, as feeling returned to my body, I began to assess my situation. I stood before the assembled crew. They stared back at me, in awe or horror I did not know, and did not care. I was the only one who had come back from Atlantis. There would undoubtedly be questions. I decided to quell them before they could start.
A Night Lord, Arkabis, and the most senior officer now on the ship, stepped forward to hear my account. The lie appeared very easily, almost as if by magic. The Dark Gods, although adoring their loyal followers, did not seem to mind if a lie or two was told. If it benefited one so adored by the Great Manipulator.
"It was a horrible ambush," I began. "You all have to understand…"