Author's Note: Before reading this story, I recommend you read chapter 10 of my other story, The Power Marine Chronicles: Corruption. The events of that chapter are where things pick up in this story and though I will be briefly recapping those events, it will still be easier to understand what's going on if you read the chapter. That being said, enjoy!
Towards the end of the year 952.M41, nine years after the end of the Second War for Armageddon, one of the ork nobs under Warboss Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka, an ambitious and cunning greenskin by the name of Grimblitz Toe-Stompah, gathered several of the survivors from Gazghkull's invasion of Armageddon and began wreaking havoc across nearby systems. When the Power Marines chapter arrived to fight in the war which had ended nine years prior, they decimated Grimblitz' forces, leaving him with barely ten thousand greenskins under him.
Meanwhile, on the Imperial civilized world of Vypris, Dark Eldar raiders began to emerge, killing and enslaving the people en masse. Almost immediately, the 5th company of the Bloody Talons chapter, led by Captain Agiel, arrived on the scene to help the populace. Unfortunately, the Dark Eldar managed to avoid detection until the Power Marines too arrived at Vypris and aided Agiel, setting a trap for the Dark Eldar and butchering them.
Now, the Bloody Talons prepare their departure from Vypris to return to their home-world of Ceror...
Agiel stood with his company as the thunderhawks returned from the settlements after returning the civilians, who had been used as bait for the Dark Eldar, to their homes. As one of them touched down, a space marine exited the ramp and Agiel's eyes widened. It was Iaoth, an Astartes who had gone missing on patrol a week prior.
"Brother Iaoth!" Agiel said. "We'd thought you dead." He said. Iaoth looked at him and Agiel received a private vox feed from him. He frowned, but blink-clicked the icon on his HUD to accept.
"Captain, I have important news to deliver. Something I saw when I was away from the company. I cannot speak it in front of our brothers. Once we are back aboard the Viscera, I would like to speak privately with you." Iaoth said. Something seemed... Off to Agiel. About the way Iaoth spoke, how he sounded and how he carried himself. He could not quite pinpoint what it was, but he did not like it.
"Of course. Meet me in my quarters once we are aboard the Viscera." Agiel said.
"Thank you, captain." Iaoth said. He then walked off to join his squad. Agiel frowned, trying to figure out what seemed so off as he boarded a thunderhawk. Thirty other Bloody Talons also boarded the thunderhawk while the other transports were filled up with the remainder of the company and once the entire company was embarked, the transports took off as one, flying up through the atmosphere. Soon, the long, silver frame of the strike cruiser Viscera came into view, hanging in orbit alongside the enormous, sleek black battle barge of the Power Marines, the Armageddon. The thunderhawk docked in the primary hangar bay of the Viscera and as the ramp lowered to the cold steel floor of the hangar, Agiel strode down, looking around and sighing. After taking in the sight of the large hangar, he strode off at a brisk pace, headed for his quarters. He walked with purpose through the dim grey corridors of the strike cruiser, ignoring the occasional flickering of lights as he entered a lift which carried him off the hangar deck down to the Company Quarters. When he arrived, he strode down several corridors, past two airlocks and several bedchambers until finally, he reached a door which had his own name above it. He typed the pass-code into the keypad and entered. Seeing Iaoth was not there, he shrugged and removed his helmet.
He placed it on the table by the left wall and sat down on his stone bed, removing his armour piece by piece and laying each piece by the wall. Eventually, he was clad only in a loincloth and he retrieved his robes from the simple wooden chest at the foot of his bed. He pulled the robes on and then sat in quiet contemplation as he awaited brother Iaoth.
After a few minutes, he heard a sharp knock on his door. He rose to his feet and walked over to the door, pressing the keypad by it and allowing the steel door to hiss open. There stood Iaoth, still clad in full armour. The silver battleplate made the space marine tower over Agiel by a foot and he frowned. The power armour was completely spotless, not a speck of dust anywhere on it, not a scratch in sight. That was not like Iaoth, from what his squad told Agiel from time to time. Usually, Iaoth would only clean his armour when sergeant Ikor ordered him to. What was stranger though, was that Iaoth was still wearing his armour despite the fact that they would soon be in the Warp for however long it took to return to Ceror. And stranger was that Iaoth simply stood there in silence, staring down at Agiel.
"Why are you still in your armour?" Agiel asked. No response. He frowned and stepped aside to allow Iaoth entry. The space marine remained unmoving for a moment before he walked into the chamber. The door slid closed behind him.
"What did you want to speak about?" Agiel asked. No response. Iaoth turned on the spot and stared at him. Agiel shifted uncomfortably on his feet, putting his weight onto his left foot. "Did something happen while you were down there?" He asked. "Answer me, br-" He began before Iaoth suddenly drew his combat knife and stepped forward, slashing Agiel's throat in one fluid motion. Agiel's eyes widened in shock as blood spurted from his throat. He frantically moved his hands up to the wound, trying to hold the blood in but to no avail as the bright red fluid flowed freely over his fingers. He fell to his knees. The blood-flow slowed, the Larraman's Organ did that much, but not enough. He felt the life draining out of him and his vision began to darken.
"Apologies, captain." Came a deep voice, distorted by the vox. Iaoth sheathed his knife and placed his hands on his helmet. "But you are not needed in my plans." He explained. "You may feel a little cold and... Dead, quite soon, I'm afraid. Nothing personal."
"Why?" Agiel managed to mouth. No sound came out, only blood, but the motion of his lips was enough.
"Why? Well, you see, I'm not Iaoth." He explained, removing his helmet. Agiel saw a face, an old face, far older than Iaoth and not as pale as a Bloody Talon. His mouth was open in a wicked grin and Agiel noticed that his canine teeth were not slightly elongated like a Bloody Talon space marine.
The man's eyes were piercing and intense as they seemed to stare into a Agiel's soul, a sorrowful expression slowly creeping into his features as he did so.
"My name is Zalheim Von Himmel, of the Black Legion. I wanted you to know before you die, Captain, that I gain no satisfaction from this." Agiel sank to his knees and his vision began to darken, but he still saw Zalheim lower himself to a squat so he could remain in sight.
"I wish it could be different. I wish you could have opened your eyes and seen the truth as I have." Zalheim words were starting to sound far away, as if he were underwater, right before Agiel finally collapsed face first on the floor. "At last, you are free." Were the last words Agiel ever heard.
Barachiel, Chaplain attached to the Bloody Talons' 5th Company, stood on the bridge of the Viscera, still clad in his jet black armour, holding his skull helm by his side as he looked at the bustling serfs around him.
"Are all the preparations for Warp Jump made?" Barachiel asked.
"Yes, m'lord. The Warp Drive is prepared, the Gellar Fields are powering up and we are ready to leave at the Captain's Command." A serf said. Barachiel frowned.
"Speaking of Agiel, where is he?" He asked.
"He mentioned how he'd found Brother Iaoth." Sergeant Zargos said. "They're meeting in Agiel's quarters, if I'm not mistaken."
"I see. Well, we're on a tight schedule. If Agiel isn't here in the next ten minutes, we should make the jump and explain later." Barachiel commanded. The serf who had spoken to him nodded and slipped away.
"What do you suppose happened to Iaoth? He was gone for a week." Zargos said. Barachiel shrugged.
"Perhaps he was captured by the Dark Eldar and escape. Perhaps he got lost. I'm sure Agiel will tell us when he gets here." He said. Zargos nodded.
"Of course, brother." He replied.
Zalheim stretched as he removed the final piece of Iaoth's armour, propping the plating by Agiel's body. He looked down at the pool of blood around the corpse and frowned. That would be difficult to deal with. Still, better to handle one thing at a time. He strode over to Agiel's armour on the bed and, after allowing the cold air one more moment to grace his skin, he began to put on the armour. After a little while, he was dressed as the deceased Captain, completely indistinguishable as long as he kept the helmet on. It would be rough, but he had done this half a dozen times before and half a dozen times he had left ruined chapters in his wake, his infiltration destroying them all from within. With any luck, the Bloody Talons would be no different.
Finally, he looked back to Agiel's now cold body. Frowning, he looked around the room. No sheets on the bed, it was simply stone. He winced at the idea of sleeping on that but pushed the thought aside. Then, he realized there was only one thing he could clean the blood off the floor with. He sighed and crouched down beside Agiel.
"Once again, you have my sincerest apologies. A man of your station does not deserve such an ignoble fate." He said as he stripped Agiel of his robes. To preserve the dead captain's dignity, he left the loincloth untouched as he bunched the robes up and used them to mop up the blood. When the bulk of the sanguine fluid was soaked through the robes, he lay them upon Agiel's chest, frowning as blood continued to ooze from his opened throat. He strode over to the wooden chest at the end of the room and rummaged around in it, finding two more sets of robes. He picked them up and, after some thinking, ripped them and tied them together, walking back to Agiel and bundling his limp body in them. He then added the pieces of Iaoth's armour to the bundle and tied it up, lifting it and, with not a moment's hesitation, stepping out of the room.
When he left the chamber, he looked around. He had seen a couple of airlocks on the way... After spotting one of them down the hall, he glanced from side to side to make sure he was not observed and then walked down the hall. When he was halfway to the airlock, the dim lighting of the hallway turned into a bright red flashing as the temperature of the hallway rapidly dropped.
"Attention. Attention." Came a robotic, automated voice. "Entering the Warp in 10... 9..." As the countdown began, Zalheim cursed and rushed down the hallway to the airlock. He dropped Agiel and opened the door to the airlock.
"7... 6... 5..." The voice said as Zalheim rolled the bundle into the airlock, grunting with exertion.
"4... 3... 2..." The voice said as Zalheim closed the door and slammed his hand on the airlock open button. He watched through the window to the airlock as it was opened and the bundle containing Agiel and the armour was sucked out into the vacuum of space.
"1... Now beginning Warp Jump." The voice said. The airlock closed again as the temperature dropped even further, to the point that Zalheim's visor misted and he shivered even inside his armour. As this happened, he felt his gut wrenching and heard a crackling noise as purple energy flickered all through the air, indicating that the Viscera had just entered the Warp. He breathed deeply as he looked around. He glanced down and noticed that there was a little blood on his armour. He frowned as he thought of what to do, then shrugged and decided he'd claim it was from the battle. With that decided, he headed for the bridge.
Zalheim stepped onto the bridge and glanced around at the serfs before looking at the chaplain and sergeant at the command center. He walked towards them and nodded as he took his place beside them. One of them, the chaplain, held his skull helm by his side to reveal his face. The Chaplain, who Zalheim remembered Iaoth had called Barachiel when Zalheim forced the information from him, was bald, with few scars on his face and incredibly pale skin. His hazel eyes sparkled slightly and the short, brown beard on his chin contained a handful of grey hairs. A single service stud, indicating a century of service to the Chapter, hung above his left eye.
"Greetings, brother. Where were you? I'd heard you found Iaoth." Barachiel said.
"Yes, I did." Zalheim said. He opened his mouth to continue but then spotted a serf coming towards them. "Yes?" He said impatiently.
"Captain, brother Chaplain, we just received word that one of the airlocks in the Company Quarters was opened before we made the Warp Jump." The serf said. Zalheim shut his eyes, mouthing a curse though not daring to utter it.
"Curious. Were you not meeting Iaoth in your chamber?" Barachiel mused.
"I was. He'd been captured by the Dark Eldar. They tortured him for a week before he managed to escape, but he'd been driven mad. He tried to kill me." Zalheim said. Barachiel's eyes widened.
"It can't... Surely not!" He said.
"The Great Spirits and the God-Emperor only know what profane acts those vile aliens are capable of." The sergeant said, removing his own helmet. His eyes were dark and grey, his head devoid of hair and his face holding a rather square shape, with a strong square jaw and a cleft chin. Like Barachiel, one service stud was embedded in his forehead, above his left eye.
"I... Indeed, brother Zargos." Barachiel said. Zalheim glanced between the two, mentally noting the name of the sergeant. "What did you do?"
"I managed to evade his attacks and lure him into the airlock." Zalheim replied. "From there, I opened it and sent him into the void. With any luck, he is now dead and no longer suffering." He said. Barachiel nodded.
"I pray this is true. I've heard stories of the Dark Eldar, what they do to their captives. Iaoth was a good man, he did not deserve to suffer that fate." Barachiel said, resting his hand on his breastplate.
"I concur. Tell me, Barachiel, how long are we likely to be in the Warp?" Zalheim asked. Barachiel raised an eyebrow.
"If the Gellar Fields remain steady and luck holds, no more than a week. We may even find that that's the amount of time passed in the Matterium, too. If not, well... It's anyone's guess." Barachiel said.
"Once, when I was just an initiate, one of the Gellar Fields on the Surgat failed." Zargos said. Zalheim looked at him, intrigued. "No daemons managed to get through, the other Gellar Field remained functional, but there was a brief moment when we were completely unprotected and the Warp Drive malfunctioned. We were stuck traveling through the Warp for six years. When we reached our destination, it had been three hours since we departed." He said.
"I remember hearing of that." Barachiel said. "The captain of the tenth was... Drake, wasn't it?"
"Vasile." Zargos replied. Barachiel nodded.
"Ah, yes. Good man. Pity he didn't hear the Guardsmen's warnings about the pit with the tentacles." Barachiel said. Zargos raised an eyebrow.
"They had hooks coming out of them and were whispering, for fuck's sake. You'd think he wouldn't need a warning." Zargos replied. As the two continued to speak about various past captains and battles, Zalheim began noting everything they said in the back of his mind. In his experience, listening in on conversations between Astartes about past campaigns oft came in handy at a later stage, allowing him to better blend in by discussing things.
"No, Zargos, Drake wasn't a terrible captain, by the Emperor." Barachiel said, exasperated.
"He nearly got Chapter Master Hellsing killed when he ordered the whirlwinds to fire." Zargos replied. "Along with half the tenth."
"He'd just been told that they were dead already. And in that same battle, he nearly died himself to try and defend Oberon." Barachiel protested.
"And now he's a dreadnought. Some leadership skills he had there." Zargos said sarcastically. Barachiel scowled, revealing a pair of elongated canine teeth that Zalheim assumed were common among this chapter, having noticed it on Iaoth and Agiel.
"What do you make of this, Agiel?" Barachiel asked. Zalheim shrugged.
"He should have waited until he was certain that all the living brothers were clear. Ordering that bombardment was reckless." Zalheim said. In truth, he had no idea what he was talking about, but now, lies came easily to him. Barachiel scoffed, rolling his eyes.
"Fine, the bombardment was reckless." Barachiel admitted. "But he redeemed himself in that battle, you cannot deny he was not brave." Barachiel said. Zalheim nodded.
"He only shot at an overgrown greenskin." Zargos said, grinning. He too displayed those long canine teeth which Zalheim found somewhat unsettling.
"That 'overgrown greenskin' was a damned Squiggoth, Zargos." Barachiel said. "You were there, you saw the size of its tusks. I'd like to see you still on your feet after facing it down and getting one of those rammed through your abdomen." He continued. A smile touched the corner of Zalheim's lips as Barachiel spoke. From the sounds of things, this seemed to be fairly usual banter between the two. He imagined that Agiel, Barachiel and Zargos were all rather close. Like many other things he had picked up in this conversation, it was information that would come in handy later. As he pondered this, the two continued to speak, with Zalheim only half paying attention.
A week after departure from Vyrpis, the Viscera shot from the Warp into orbit of the stormy blue world of Ceror. Right in the center of the hemisphere facing the ship lay the large, sole continent on the planet, a lush green affair which housed the planet's entire population, as well as the Fortress Monastery of the Bloody Talons chapter.
Already in orbit of Ceror lay seven strike cruisers and a single massive battle barge, the Dracula. The Bloody Talons also had one other battle barge, the Nosferatu, and half a dozen more strike cruisers, but none of them were currently in the sub-sector.
As trails of purple smoke and energy flowed from the jagged hull of the Viscera, its hangars were abuzz with activity as landing crafts were prepared.
As the thunderhawk gunships touched down in the starport a few dozen miles from the Bloody Talons fortress-monastery, Blooded Sword, the landing ramps began to lower. Zalheim was the first off his own transport, head held high and chest puffed out as if he truly belonged. As he and his company strode through the settlement surrounding Blooded Sword, there was much fanfare from the local populace, but Zalheim ignored them like specks of dust. This landing, even more so than the murder he had carried out a week prior, was the beginning of a potentially very long journey for him and he could not afford to get distracted or caught up in the moment.
Leading the fifth company, Zalheim and a hundred space marines marched through the settlement to Blooded Sword, silver-painted ceramite boots stomping in unison as they pushed through the excited crowds. After a brief walk, the low but vast complex that was Blooded Sword came into view, the squat, grey building imposing over the primitive mud huts that made up most of the settlement as numerous icons of the Emperor as well as faceless monsters and warriors shot up into the air from the fortress. All along the walls, gun emplacements lay, no doubt to be manned by chapter serfs in the event of an attack as the Astartes fought on the front line.
At the main entrance to the Fortress-Monastery, a tall, scarlet double-doorway atop a large stairway, stood a tall space marine wearing silver armour decorated with much jewellery and personal heraldry. Truly, the bling of this man was impressive and one could barely make out the silver armour or black pauldrons beneath it and on his back, Zalheim could make out the hilt of a sword, the tip of the enormous blade visible down past the man's knees. He wore no helmet, his gnarled and grizzled features laid bare for all the world to see. His skin was deathly pale, short and slicked back stark white hair and a thick white beard framing his oval shaped face. His nose had clearly been smashed and broken several times, resembling less an actual nose and more a hasty dab of flesh slapped onto a scarred face with two small holes indicating it had a function. However, the most striking feature of this man were his piercing scarlet eyes, which seemed to puncture right through Zalheim's facade and armour and search into his soul. Though they were slightly intimidating, Zalheim paid these thoughts no mind and stepped forward to meet this man.
"Hello, Agiel. I trust the campaign went well?" The man said, smiling to reveal those elongated canines that Zalheim still had not grown used to.
"Of course, Chapter Master Hellsing." Zalheim said, using the information he had gathered over the past week and making an educated guess. The lack of a response to this name indicated Zalheim had correctly identified the man. "They fell by the hundreds before our blood lust." He said as the Chapter Master offered a hand. "I would be glad to tell you more, should you wish it." Zalheim continued as he grasped the proffered hand firmly. Though he hid it well, Zalheim was wracked with nervousness. If he messed up anywhere along the line, things could get awkward quick. He tried to recall what he could of the Bloody Talons etiquette and rituals that he had observed so far, but a week was not enough time to become truly familiar with their ways and so he took extra care with his lies.
As he considered this, the Chapter Master, who Zalheim vaguely recalled the first name of Oberon as belonging to him, slapped him on the back.
"Good to hear, Agiel. Now, I'd love to hear more, but first, I have to know... Did you have any trouble controlling your... Urges? I remember from the examinations that your Omophagea is more mutated than usual, even among our chapter." Oberon said. Zalheim hesitated, but before he had to think of an answer, Barachiel strode forth from the company.
"He performed admirably, Chapter Master. Not once did he succumb to the Hunger." Barachiel said, smiling.
"Thank you, Brother," Zalheim nodded in appreciation to Barachiel before returning his gaze to the chapter master. "He is correct. Though I'll admit, it was... Tempting. I denied myself such luxuries. To do otherwise would shame me in the emperor's eyes."
"Indeed." Oberon said. "Some among our progenitors think us blessed, to only have to face one of the Primarch's Twin Curses, but we no better. We would gladly take a Death Company to the savagery that lies within us all." He said, shuddering. So the Bloody Talons were successors of the Blood Angels, Zalheim noted. He supposed that was fairly obvious, in retrospect. And for some reason, they did not suffer from the Black Rage, but instead a mutated Omophagea made the Red Thirst a far greater issue. Perhaps this was why Barachiel had called it the Hunger, not the Red Thirst. This was something he would have to look into.
"But in any case, it is a burden we must all bear." Oberon said, sighing. "You have done well. I would love the chance to hear more about the campaign, but I'm sure you and your men are weary. Go, rest and we shall catch up later. Emperor keep you, Captain, Chaplain." He said. Barachiel nodded and strode off while Zalheim remained for a moment, almost forgetting others waited on his word. He remembered, and waved off the fifth company. They disbanded and as they slowly moved away, Zalheim remained, standing with his arms folded behind his back.
"Yes, Agiel?" Oberon asked when the last of the fifth had cleared away.
"I was only wondering, how things were going in the Monastery." Zalheim asked.
"Rather well. In fact, just yesterday, the first of the Aspirants arrived. You know the kind, the ones who live so close to the monastery they barely have to walk ten meters. The ones who usually die first in the Blood Trial, I've found." Oberon responded.
"Excellent! It's been far too long since I last saw some sport. Perhaps these will fare better than the last bunch." Zalheim began casually walking towards the monastery, hands still clasped behind his back as he talked. "I must say, it is good to be home." The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, but he'd done this too many times to give himself away with something as simple as a sneer or a scoff of disgust. The entire planet seemed to smell like fresh rain, which he supposed was its sole redeeming quality. Otherwise it was a terrible place to call home. No civilization, no war, no refined luxuries or goods like one might get from the more significant worlds of the galaxy.
"Yes. Returning home after a hard battle never quite loses its wonder." Oberon said, nodding thoughtfully. "One can never get over the contrast between the lush jungles of Ceror and whatever blasted hellhole place they just fought in."
"Truth, Brother. Truth if I've ever heard it." Zalheim nodded sagely and turned back to face Oberon, hand outstretched to shake. "It is always good, speaking with you. I appreciate your time, Chapter Master."
"It's always a pleasure to converse with my captains." Oberon replied, shaking Zalheim's hand. "Now go rest. I am sure the Emperor will have yet more battles in store for you and the chapter soon enough." He said.
"Of course, Brother. Of course." Zalheim pumped the mans hand once firmly before dropping it and heading for the religious fane known as a monastery. He hated the things. He always felt like he were being watched even if no one was around. Up the giant entry stairway and through the massive red doors, the undercover chaos agent looked around with a shrewd eye. Measuring distances, mapping escape routes, structural weaknesses; all in his head. To the average onlooker it appeared he were simply taking his time to admire the place.
When he was finally satisfied, he located the room under his new name, Agiel, and entered. Like the chamber aboard the Viscera, the layout of the bedroom was incredibly spartan, with no furnishings beyond a low, stone bed in the corner and a desk to write on, as well as a chest which probably contained robes that Zalheim would never make use of. As Zalheim looked around, a look of disgust spread across his face. Even among the Adeptus Astartes, a bedroom could be expected to have some kind of aspect that personalized it, indicated somebody actually owned the room. Personal heraldry, tallies on the wall, pictures of heroes or the Emperor, something. Agiel's room seemed to be unique only in its blandness. He sighed and walked over to the bed, reluctantly sitting upon it as he began thinking over his next course of action.
Author's Note: And there we have it, the first chapter! I would like to say that this story is not an entirely original work and is an adaptation of a story that my friends and I roleplayed on my RP forum, though it is a slightly altered version which only contains part of the story, so like... Don't go and read through 7,000 posts to find out the ending.
That being said, thanks for reading! Credit for the character of Zalheim goes to my friend Bahoogasmif, one of those RPers and also an amazing writer who you should all check the work of. Be sure to follow my Twitter master_d20 for story updates for this as well as my other works. The next chapter for this story will be uploaded in four weeks, but in two weeks time I'll be uploading chapter 2 for another side story I'm writing, The Adventures of Cutter and Reyd, so be sure to check that out as well as my regularly updated story, Not In This For Your Cause.
Shameless self-promotion aside, be sure to leave a review and tell me what you all think of this story so far.