Obedience
And hell poured forth. It boiled with banners, crude weapons, and green flesh. It was met with millions of screaming bolter shells, flying into the night with the incandescent light and inescapable timing of the firefly. Four, what Delire had dubbed the 'Spider Pattern' modified Rhinos stood side to side on the bridge. So called, because the automated Tarantula Heavy Bolter platforms had been secured at every possible angle from any exposed space on the normal variant Rhinos. With independent power supplies and magazines, they had been a natural addition to the Rhino's fire volume. Well, it would be said as normal, if had not come from Tech Marine Neilus's slightly unhinged mind. Both of the resident Tech Priests, one from Mars and one from Ryza, had argued against the changes to the ancient design.
However, Delire had stepped in to note that it was not actually a change, but a removable addition. With the removal of a few bolts, each Tarantula gun system could indeed be removed from the Rhino's armored hull.
The elevated marine and Crew firing points added their hate to the roar of battle. Delire stood above it all, waited upon by his Neophyte Hellius. They stood on a broken ledge of the Astrius Hive, overlooking bridge two and its combat.
"There is more than yesterday." Delire noted, as he kicked a tiny piece of stone off of the lip. It sailed into nothingness below them.
Hellius had just finished preparing the tea set, in ritualistic motions and subtle timing. It was something Delire had always insisted upon, but the two men had such few times to actually practice the ancient art. Though they were close as friends, they were bound by the points of master and servant. For now. Hellius would be soon raised to full Initiate status, though he did not know it.
"Actually, there is 43 more than four days ago. I fear things are traveling at a pace." Hellius presented the ancient china cup to Delire. They had found the tea set, and its accessories, in one of the many bolt-holes that had been littered through Hive Astrius.
Delire tasted the tea, and silently applauded Hellius's skill. It took a steady hand and concentration to stir the toxic brews into portions that would not kill by the drop. Still, it burned the back of his throat, more than the near deadly atmosphere did.
"We wont be able to hold this position." Delire would never admit defeat. He would Exterminatus this planet before he would admit that he had been beaten. The prophecy that had led this Black Templar fighting company here, were enigmatic at best. The Ivory Fleet, as it was called, consisted of only three ships and few marines. Now only a little under one hundred.
And this was Tigrus. The amazing events that had even allowed them to land marines unmolested, taken completely aside, still showed up the Templar forces 10,000 to 1. Though even with the apparent lack of significant technology that the orks here possessed, the Templars had only barely managed to secure one single hive on this massive forge world. It had been owned by orks for more than 5,000 years. There were almost ten other hives resident on the planet, with each generator slowly coming back online after the local system cataclysm.
The unique crew of the Ivory Fleet's ships, dedicated since their liberation from their hereditary Xenos hunters, made up a significant portion of Delire's contingent. Even now, they were down there on the bridge and in the firing points, in newly manufactured fully sealed carapace armor, assisting the Marines that they aspired to be. The tribal society had fit into Delire's plans nicely.
It had been a significantly long time since the Ivory Fleet had been in close contact with other Black Templar forces. They were slowly but surely traveling to the Ultima Segmentum, but battles and prophecy had added time onto their trip.
The bridge was completely obscured underneath green bodies and a milky goo that rode up to the mid calf. The Ork forces, very unorganized in fashion, chose to charge the bridge every day. This would not have been a problem, but every day the stacks of bodies got closer. Every day there were more, and every day they were closer to the Templar ranks. At the rate that this was happening, mathematically, they would swarm the Templar positions in a week. Despite he constant ferrying of materials and ammunition from the Emperor Provider, the now Forge Ship in orbit, there were simply not enough rounds to consume the lives that the orks were willing to throw against the Marine lines.
The Child again, like the dangerous Thunderhawk request, came to the answer.
"Adeptus Astartes forces, this is Warmaster Pilostus. In response to request 8.49.91, I have your suggested reinforcements inbound. We will be upon your orbit in standard, four days." The recorded voice sounded medium pitched, with a slight pinch on a's and i's. Delire looked over at Hellius, who was standing beside the Razorback that had become a command center. The tight wave had come in from the Emperor's Shield. Delire's personal ship, an ancient Linebacker class. It was built to charge and break naval lines, which had appealed to Delire's sense of combat.
"Did he send a roster, or anything else?" Delire pointed out two marines, and gestured for them to head upwards towards the gate. The Bridge was under heavy attack, and had so far not abated. Which was unusual.
"No, no further information. I don't know what to make-" Hellius stopped his sentence as the Child strode between them on his way to the bridge.
"It is enough." The Child, now almost fully grown and resolutely unnamed, racked the plasma battery into the pistol he carried. It was a very good specimen of Ryza technology. "Just hold the bridge."
Delire was a little daunted at the Child's faith, but it did not make him hesitate. Though he was Castellan of the Templar forces represented, the Child had proved time and time again to be invaluable and precisely correct.
"All Templars to Zone Beta. Priority One." Delire spoke over the intercom, hailing everyone in his Fighting company.
The Axe sliced through the thick armor with an ease that made Delire look back to make sure the blow had indeed fallen where it should have. The rent and peeled back metal spoke in eulogy of its owner, as the green corpse dropped into the blood-muck at their feet. The power weapon was new, to Delire. It had been found unadorned and untouched in the Vault of the Astrius Hive, and had been heavily consecrated by Ramiel the Dreadnought entombed Chaplain, and Neilus the Tech marine. The weapon jumped and leapt at any nearby enemy, timing itself perfectly to Delire's strikes. His bolt pistol grasped in his other hand seemed clumsy and ineffective in comparison. Ancient technology had forged the axe, and had sustained it's holy life, to continue it's service of the Emperor of Mankind. Delire, would not let it down.
Down again went the foes before him. Large and small each, hacked or shot to the edge of death or beyond. Beside him stood Theodore, close combat master of the Brothers in Chain. They worked a certain harmony between them, counter pointing each others weapons and moves. None could stand before them, and even the most vicious Nob soon was loathe to engage them.
Fire roared by them, obliterating a group of Orks. The holy Promethium was not in short supply, and flamers had been a heavy armament. The Crew positions where Delire was at certainly had quite a few of them. More bolter shells than the Castellan could lift, flew at the orks every second.
Their fight was not as desperate as it could have been though. Earlier in the evening, a group of orks had been spotted within the hive, bubbling up from one of the access points that had been sealed. Ramiel was there currently, re-imploding the breech in the defunct Hive's defenses.
Theodore in the mean time, sung away at the top of his lungs. 'Oh to his Glory', a hymn of antiquated style.
"Templar forces, be advised. Be advised. Two Vulture Gunships are inbound to your position. ETA, one minute." The cool and calm feminine voice sounded in Delire's ear. His armored hand crushed the windpipe of the struggling ork that he was tangled with.
"Understood." Delire pushed the thrashing body off of him, bringing his freed axe through the thigh of the ork that was right next to him. Gradually, through a succession of blows, he was able to regain his feet.
The line had been breached, and all that could get out were out or dead. The secondary line, Delire's current location was right in front of the Rhinos. The blood and other various juices that swirled almost to knee height, now covered the Castellan. Though his armor was hermetically sealed against the noxious atmosphere, he still had a bad taste in the back of his mouth.
It was then that he noticed the small knuckle bones, now mounted on his axe, were wriggling and jumping against their leather ties. They had been the knuckles of some Saint, that Ramiel had carried for the length of his career as a true Chaplain.
And they only reacted like that, to the presence of the Warp and the Psyker.
Thirty seconds later, Delire saw why they had reacted. Through the press of Orks, sparking and shooting of stringers of energy, stepped a very strange Greenskin. It's head had swollen beyond normal proportions, and green electricity moved the orks in front of it to the side. Bolter rounds bounced and zipped from the Ork, usually hitting others pressed nearby. There was a great howling from the ork body as the creature came to the fore. Green fire boiled the blood and flesh about all of their legs, and leapt out from it's fingers and lit up the dusk sky. It's impact threw Delire into Rhino Three. Rhino Two received the brunt of the attack, and its entire front armor vaporized in a second.
Delire pushed himself off of the tank, and surged up to the line of armored crewmen. Off to his right, he could see the Child and the Brothers in Chain also moving forward up to the permacrete barricades.
Emerald lightning licked and danced off of the crewmen in front, a few falling into the steaming blood lake that had been created on the closed sided bridge. Though the top was open, there was a barrier at the sides, rising only a few feet high. Which was enough.
Delire vaulted the barricade, Axe brandished and glowing in brilliant fervor. He rushed headlong into towards the Ork line, that was now leaping at him. They had momentarily stopped at the appearance of what the IFF system called a Wyrdboy.
The Castellan took a blast of verdant energy directly in the chest. Later, he would be told that it just seemed to flow about him, before lancing into the much. The Wyrdboy's eyes narrowed then closed as a great boiling storm gathered about the strange Ork. The quicker orks moving into Delire's way were cut down by concentrated bolter fire, their bodies exploding in front of the charging marine.
The map thrown up in incandescent green against his visual inputs, beeped at him once. The Castellan skidded to a halt in the sucking liquid, only a few feet away from the glowing Wyrdboy.
Timing had been almost to perfection, The first krak and frag missiles landing just as Delire outstretched his arm, tipped with the glinting stabbing point of his axe.
The shockwave of the massive amount of munitions on the bridge itself caused the ancient structure to sway and buck. Green fire sizzled around two figures as they came together, an Axe point buried in the gut of one, and the other unsigned by the energy that coursed and popped about him.
The glint, wild and confused, in the eyes of the ork would stay forever with Delire. But it would be the scene of victory and the sense of righteousness, that would keep a Templar going much longer than any memories would affect him.
The bridge shuddered again, as the Waaagh underway broke and splintered.
The Imperial Guard had come.
It took two days to scatter the Ork forces back into the outskirts of the Astrius Hive. The great walls had long since been breached, and there was no plug large enough to hold them. But there was the Guard. Fourteen different companies, on twenty various ships had arrived in the Tigrus system just when needed.
Delire, upon inspection of the request records, had been placed by himself as a Black Templar. The only problem was, which he kept to himself and his close compatriots, was that the request had been filed one hundred years before his birth.
And there was the correct coding, pass ciphers, and Astropathic records.
The Child said simply, to not worry about it, that the Templar's work was done here, and to move on would be the best situation. Delire did not want this, and debated many an evening with the Child about it. At no point, was the Marine able to break or even counter the logic that the Child used to diffuse his arguments.
"Warmaster Pilostus approaching. Glory be to the Ministorium and its charges. Great be the Emperor in all his wisdom and forethought. Magnificent be the……" The herald spoke onwards, with the monotone insistence of one who had said the same words in a countless amount.
Delire, Ramiel the Dreadnought bound Chaplain, and the Child waited on the red carpet, that had been meticulously laid out from the Aquila Lander. The dignitary, or so Delire would consider him, disembarked from his personal lander. The pomp and display spoke of nothing but too much time on the hands of the creator. Eventually, after several commendations were handed out to the unnamed unit leaders that were lining the red stripe of carpet, the Castellan found himself face to augmented face of the Warmaster.
"I would like to be the first to humbly congratulate the Black Templars for securing such an impressive facility and landing point for the Emperor's Forces." The Warmaster, along with his words, pushed his most human looking hand out to the marine.
"…. Your naval forces have good timing. ….We would like to thank you for the assistance you provided…" Delire was frankly at a loss as to what to say or do in the situation. He lightly grasped the Warmaster's hand, though it seemed that he had gripped a little too hard. The pained expression passed across the human's face almost as soon as it was noticed.
"Yes, well, what can I say." The Warmaster turned to the assembled forces along his route to Delire. "We can handle what is before us."
A resounding Huuah! sounded, from the commanders. It was seconds later that the rest of the forces allowed in the secured and sealed landing bay of Astrius Hive Spire 8, gave their affirmation to the comment.
"You have your work cut out for you." Delire said, finding that it might be the only thing he could say without confusion. He felt distinctly uncomfortable in a setting such as this.
" The Emperor guides." At this, the Warmaster took control from the Marines, beginning to dictate orders at a significant pace. Delire glanced at Ramiel, but the eternally wounded Marine had nothing to add.
However, the Child, clad in only the flowing white garments that it usually was adorned with when not in it's armor; surged from the Delire's side.
"Warmaster, I must speak to you!"
The Imperial Guard official paused, and with an almost condescending look, turned upon the Child. Though they were almost matched in height, the Child being only a few inches taller, the elder General placed hands on his hips. It was a stance that spoke of indifference.
"Yes, honored Marine?" Said the Warmaster, though the Child was not actually yet a marine. It was often hard for those outside the Black Templar's to tell the difference, since every rank had it's own amount of combat that was required to advance. To the outside world, they perhaps were all marines.
"I would know of the Curinicum." The Child, unarmed and obviously filled with fire stopped only a foot before the heralded Imperial Guard general.
At the mention of a name, Pilostus went pale. The bionic advancements that made up a good portion of the human's face and head of course stayed the same color, but the natural skin waned to more of a papery aspect.
"I know nothing of the sort." He looked then up to Delire. "Please restrain your marine, before emotions become involved."
Delire looked once at the Child, who stood resolute in it's stance, giving no quarter or question to it's intentions. If there had been any doubts, Delire would have shoved them aside.
"His judgment, is my own." Was the Castellan's only reply.
The Warmaster huffed, then turned to the Child. "This is highly irregular. I do not have to explain myself before you." The human turned his back, with fatal pride, to the Child.
The concealed bolt pistol blew out both knees before the Warmaster had a second to speak. The bodyguard units that littered the area, apart from their initial start, did not seem too upset by the turn of events.
Delire immediately moved to the Child's side, fully loaded bolter raised and trained. The standing generals of the separate Imperial Guard divisions did not seem to move, though their curiosity was plain as day.
The Child knocked the hat from the Warmaster's head, and gripped the curly hair he found beneath. "The Curinicum, you fool." The bolt pistol edged up against the augmented eye that was prominent on the Warmaster's head. "You carry it on you. Your crime is inexcusable."
"It has lead to many victories in the Emperor's name. Who are you to judge?" Pilostus asked, his voice high pitched with fear.
After a moment, "I am his apostle." The pistol sounded deceptively loud as it liquefied brain and spinal tissue, coating the deck with a patch of blood.
Ramiel was slowly cycling the assault cannon on his right arm, the gatling barrels clicking smoothly past the one before it.
But no one found it in their heart's to stop the goings on. Least of all the Templars, having thrown their bet in with the Child.
A Xenos artifact, brilliantly coursing with golden threads and glowing emerald veins, was indeed recovered by him from the fallen Warmaster. Probably Eldar in origin, the Child turned it in his hand. Its inner light placed on his frowning face. Making use of xenos artifacts was a high crime, something punishable by death. But at higher ranks, the smaller crimes were all but overlooked. The Child, after a moment of reflection above the decimated corpse, rose up to his full height.
"Who among you were his aides?" His question rang clear and true throughout the landing bay.
Very gradually a line appeared, of scribes, functionaries and advanced servitors. The Child worked himself through the line, face by face. Finally third from the end, and the most afraid of all of the attendants, the Child stopped.
Words were exchanged, in whispered tones. Something that the Child said gave back the scribe his spine, straightening the man to his proper height. Delire would never know exactly what the Child had said to the man, though it did have a visible effect on the scribe. Very quickly, the scribe leapt into ordering the process of consolidation, bringing the Guard units to bear with much more logic than Warmaster Pilostus had proposed.
Later on, when asked, the Child only said, "It was his face that I recognized."
Delire could get no more out of him.
The Black Templars slowly pulled themselves away from the Astrius Hive, taking much of their equipment with them. The Curinicum went with them, locked under heavy guard aboard the Emperor Provider. The Child, nor anyone else in their Fighting Company knew what it was. But, it was suspected to be important. Fate was leading them somewhere else, and for the moment, no one knew where it wanted them to be.
"So….it works?" Delire stood in abject curiosity, his eyes slowly devouring the contents of Neilus's work room. The Tech marine seemed to have many, possibly tens of projects in different stages of advancement. But for the moment, the Weapon that they had seized from traitors on Carrabus IV, held center stage.
"I can't find a single reason why it should not work, to the best of it's original purpose. The only thing permanent about the Weapon is the energy needs that it has. But again, like I explained, so long as it has a wielder there will be no shortage of power." Neilus was gently swaying to the music, something that was a constant in his lab. Old hymnals forever rolled from the hidden vox speakers scattered about his personal chambers.
"It is ready. For what ever purpose it was created for."
Delire and Ramiel could only agree. There was little else to be said.
The Ork space hulks and wreckage had proven a bounty for the Ivory Fleet. Though it only consisted of three main ships, it was currently towing the remains of close to twelve high class ship-corpses. The space hulks had provided the most, once the Fleet had burned away the ork taint. Again, the Adeptus Mechanics had gone to work at speed. The warp entry point right after the Tigrus system had found two Mars Adeptus ships laying in wait.
The Machine Cult knew that no authority that they had would be able to force a Space Marine chapter give up what was precious. And they had even less power over the independent and vastly volatile Black Templars. Delire would have to be killed aboard the bridge of the Emperor's Shield before he would have let them seize it from him.
So they had done the next best thing. With forged pacts and debts of honor, the Machine Cult had been able to send aboard a huge amount of personnel and equipment. For study purposes.
"Emperor's Shield, this is the Black Lance Fighting Company strike cruiser Ultimate Aggressor. We wish to meet and re-supply with your Fleet, along with our escorts." The Templar fighting company had entered the empty system only a few hours before, and had been broadcasting blankets of the correct IFF information since then. Hellius, had monitored the transmissions of radio and light since their entry. The Navigator had been monitoring any transmissions of the mind to any Astropaths in near by systems. So far, no psychic messages had been made by the other Black Templar fleet.
Delire was not overly worried. Though he had been basically out of touch with the main centers of communication for over a decade, he was still a Templar.
"Agreed Ultimate. Come to position +640 by -090. We will receive you."
"Our deepest gratitude, Castellan. Your reputation proceeds you."
Delire arched an eyebrow, looking over at Hellius. The Neophyte shrugged a moment later. Delire hadn't been aware that a reputation of himself and Fleet was even in existence.
"Hephaestus!" Neilus yelled, over the din of the meeting marines. Most of them wore their armor, but a few had what passed for normal clothes. The Tech marine was calling out his old friend, a fellow Mars schooled Black Templar.
They were both in armor, with their servo harness dancing slowly about them. Hephaestus's ruddy face broke into a smile. "Neilus, how fares the head of the class?"
Neilus had been the first in the class of marines being schooled on Mars, of which Hephaestus had been a part. He gave his lunatic laugh, their servo harnesses weaving in a complicated pattern that supplanted for speech.
Neilus: Still using the old M-4x3982 I see.
Hephaestus: Yes. It's much more durable than your M-5x0220. So this is the Ivory Fleet? Your vessels are a positive marvel.
Neilus: Yes, yes they are. I have such…beautiful things to show you my old friend. There is, so much here. The Captain doesn't know what he has.
Hephaestus: I have no doubt. Did you know Chaplain Grimaldus and Goibniu of the Forge are right now changing their course. Rumor is, they are going to meet the Ivory Fleet.
Neilus was a little taken aback by this. To his knowledge, there had been no significant messages about the Ivory Fleet. Even the name was not really official, and the Fighting Company was not really at anywhere near appropriate strength. Infact, Delire's rank as Castellan was more of necessity, than of true appointment by a Marshal.
Neilus: Indeed? I knew we were traveling to Grimaldus's position, but……They are going to come meet us?
Hephaestus: That is the rumors.
Neilus: Then I must prepare!
With that, Neilus convinced Hephaestus and the other two Tech Marines that were a part of the Black Lance Company, to come deeper into the ship.
Elsewhere in the large landing bay…
Along with a large series of formal greetings, Black Templars typically traded gifts and other favors when they happened to be lucky enough to encounter each other. The better the gift, the better the return gift, till one side had to bow out with thanks. It was an ancient dance and game, that had been played by all Templars since their founding. Their nomadic existence marked special when two groups met, and the gifts heralded it.
"This is a bike? It looks more like a torpedo with wheels." Marshal Frederick looked over the rim of his mug at the ancient plans.
"It is indeed a bike. Probably a fast attack bike. We aren't really sure, as the plans have not been translated into proper Gothic. The old dialect of gothic on here is quite extinct." Delire sat back in his chair, smiling inwardly. He had Frederick beat hands down, in their gift war. The marines standing about the two chairs and a table whispered respectfully to themselves. The gift giving had polarized into the two highest ranking Brothers, and their supporters. The Black Lance had almost ninety Initiates, who were all standing about in various conversations, or clustered around the table. Where as the Ivory Fleet had but forty remaining Initiates. Over one hundred and fifty Neophytes, at various stages of their training, made up the meat of the Fleet.
Both the Castellan and the Marshal had played a good game of give and take. But it all rained finally down upon this set of archaic plans. The bike that was displayed would have an incredible amount of speed and handling, not including twin linked heavy bolters. It was not the chunky, rugged machine that usually made up a Marine's Bike unit, but instead was sleek and only a small bit less armored.
"I can not thank you enough for the honor you present us. I will speak well of your name and Company to all I meet." The ritual ending to the age old process was inevitable, as Marshal Fredrick bowed out.
"The honor is mine, Brother. In such amounts that I too will vault your praises at every passing." Delire lined forward and clicked their sturdy glasses together. "Mother tells me that repairs to your Strike Cruiser will be done inside of a month. In the mean time, we would invite you and yours to spend time aboard our ships. There is much to be seen."
Fredrick nodded a few moments later, perhaps measuring up Delire's offer. "We will, thank you. You do have a most remarkable ship. I would wish to see your… Titus Cannon? Tech Marine Hephaestus told me a little about the weapon."
Delire hid his surprise. But all considering, it was not surprising that the Tech peoples of the Imperium would have their own gossip network. "I would be most glad to show it too you. It has been worth its weight in souls, to be sure."
Fredrick laughed at that, raising his mug slightly. "Funny wording to use!"
Delire did not smile back. "No, it wasn't."
Fredrick, Delire, Ramiel, Neilus, Hephaestus, and two other lesser Tech marines stood about the table, looking down at the Weapon.
It was quite a few minutes before anyone spoke.
"Does it have a name?" Fredrick asked, his voice seemingly far away.
"Once, maybe. It has been forgotten since then." Neilus replied.
"And this slew a greater Daemon of Khorne, with ease?"
"It did." Delire said, his hand clenching. He could still feel the unaccountably perfect feel of the Weapon in his grip.
"I…… Is that a single digit part number?" Fredrick pointed, to a very small piece of script on the barrel.
"….Yes." It was Ramiel who spoke, his vox speakers on low volume.
"I…. I think I am gona be sick." Fredrick leaned on Hephaestus who had been struck still as stone, at the sight of the Archeotech.
"So, your loss of Unas didn't bother you much?" The Child asked, staring out into space past the reinforced window.
Fredrick's face paled even more than it had been. He almost stammered, looking at the floor. "I, no. Well yes. To be taken by the smallest thing, after defeating the largest. He was so promising…" The glass in the Marshal's grip chipped, the small piece of smoked glass spinning on the deck.
"You need to let him pass. He is about you now, hovering just out of reach. You keep him there, to console yourself with sadness whenever the going gets rougher than planned." The fine wine supplied by Ramiel, slid gently past the Child's lips.
Fredrick stared at the deck, at the piece of glass laying inert against the brushed steel. He did not say anything for a few minutes. The wheels of his mind turned and whirred at pace.
"You can not possibly know of this…how do you know?" Fredrick, upon invitation, had already had his Navigator probe the Child. There was no hint of the warp, or even the ability of the psyker in the young man.
"..The Emperor wills it." The cross shaped pupils of the Child focused on Fredrick. In that moment, the Marshal knew what he had to do. He could see it within the depths, laid as plain as day.
"The Emperor Wills It."
"What is going on Marshal?" Delire asked, as the Nova Class Frigate named the Archer began pulling away from the battle group. To his surprise, the open query was answered from the Archer itself. The green holo column sparkled to life.
The haunted face of Marshal Fredrick looked back at Delire. "I have too, redeem myself. I have been negligent….I can not face you Brother." Though the Marshal technically outranked Delire, he still turned his face away from the holo screen.
"Forgive me. I go to forgive myself."
With a smooth blink of light, the Archer slipped into the warp.
Marshal Fredrick had laid plans to place Delire in charge of his forces till he was to return. There was many an argument over this fact, but between Chaplain Ramiel and Chaplain Xertus, issues were straightened out.
But Delire was unsure that their work had been the required salve.
The Child had made personal calls to each of the Marine's that remained of the Black Lance Fighting Company. Marshal Fredrick had taken twenty four of the Initiates with him, on his mysterious task.
Each of the visited marines had been later on seen with a white cloth hood or vest, and a pained look in their eyes. They were always the first into the prayer halls, and the last to leave live fire practice. Driven, would have been Delire's word for them. Hellius would have said haunted.
For a lack of a better thing to do, Delire ordered the convoy underway.
"Lekutu system IDF hailing unknown fleet. Your IFF is confusing, please clarify or we will place all systems on alert."
Delire smiled at Hellius, who returned the expression. He thumbed the transmission switch on his control arm. "This is the Adeptus Astartes, Black Templar Castellan Delire. We are the Ivory Fleet and the Black Lance Fighting Companies. Do not engage, we are merely passing through."
After a pause, "Understood. Welcome, Emperor's finest. Lekutu out."
"Trap?" Neilus inquired, his presence on the bridge having moved past new into 'usual'
"Trap." Delire said, striking the alert switches. He had never been, nor had ever heard of being so nicely heralded by any system. They either fawned to an extreme extent, or they tried to delay any approach or disruption of trade routes as long as possible.
The Hereticus ship rolled over, with surprising speed and launched her port batteries into the Shield's topside. Delire answered with a sustained volley of kinetic projectiles, which battered and blistered the unidentified ship's void shield and hull. The rapid firing weapons, in opposition to the now accepted tactics of using Lance and Nova weapons, did not allow the void shield to re-assert itself once a hole had been opened.
The Furious Interdictor, braced by the three frigates of the Black Lance fighting company, plowed a road through the milling Hereticus forces. They had been prepared for an ambush, but not prepared for the firepower that Delire was capable of submitting to his own survival.
The Emperor Provider, its ship building generators switched to their firing position, produced Lance battery fire that had decimated a squadron of the Ordos frigates. Though a repair and forge ship, it was heavily modified and ancient in design. Its armor was next to non existent, but it had over four times the amount of power generation than a full Cruiser.
The Black Lance ships fought with a near suicidal fury. They took the heaviest chances, brushed the closest to the enemy, and threw themselves in the way of torpedoes with an abandon that was incomprehensible. They seemed not to care in the slightest about their welfare, throwing everything they had against the aggressors.
Fighter and landing craft had learned to shy away from the Emperor's Shield, a testament to its' superior small arms batteries. Build originally as a dedicated capital line breaker, the Shield held more anti fighter emplacements than almost any other ship fielded in this day and age. Instead they rode low against the Emperor Provider, wrestling with the home built scratch fighters of the Ivory Fleet. Whole shoals of the pesky craft were destroyed whenever the Shield rolled to a new position.
The Lekutu IDF were not present in this bitter conflict, preferring to stay out of the way of a private war between the Black Templars and the Ordos Hereticus. No one would willingly jump into that mix.
"Starboard roll, -2! Bow plane -19. Increase engines eight and nine to 40." Delire was quick with his orders, changing the relative trajectory and angle of the Shield, to better support the Provider. Heavy Bolters and Naval assault cannons roared, spewing tens of thousands of shells into the Black, cutting down skilled and slow pilots alike.
The much greater guns of the Shield pounded the Ordos strike cruiser, evicting billows and columns of flame from every impact. The Nova cannon of the strike cruiser spoke once more, lowering the Shield's defense shields to only 28. What had been supposed to be an ambush, had developed into a slaughter. Eight ships were drifting hulks, all due to Delire's skilled maneuvering and fleet based tactics. Only one frigate had been lost from his formations, and that had been from a lucky strike.
The Titus cannons had not spoken in this engagement, for the shells were to costly and time consuming to build. And not to wasted on something Delire considered winnable by the forces he currently had.
A flock of torpedoes blinked on the auspex screens. Neilus, calm amongst the insanity of conflict, remarked on the point.
"Pilot, turn into them. Bow +31." The servitor quickly complied with Delire's order.
Two more Hereticus ships blinked into the system. But a volley of shells was already screaming their way, and the new frigates were pummeled even before they could raise their shields.
Hellius had spotted them, on the still unknown and hardly legible detection screen located on the ceiling of the bridge. It had helped them escape disaster before, and as such the Initiate had paid it attention whenever he could.
Two torpedoes got through the Shield's defenses. The flock of them had been escorted by some daring Ordos fighters, that had desperately guarded them from anti-craft fire. At the cost of their lives.
The dual impact shuddered the great and ancient ship. But her bones were strong, strengthened even more by the fanatical faith of it's crew. Atmosphere bleeding into space, the Shield turned gradually. The kinetic guns along her port flank raked and hammered the frigates that had hurt her so, buckling two into twisted ruin.
Delire ground his teeth at the damage to his beloved and unique ship. The enemy Strike Cruiser still had yet to be identified, and all the Hereticus ships transmitted false identifications. If the logi engine was to be believed, the Ivory Fleet was doing battle with a few in-system freighters.
It spun slowly on its central axis, the forward decks inclined over twenty degrees of tilt vrs the rear half of the ship. The frame was that deformed from the titanic impacts of the Shield's kinetic cannons.
Two more groups of Hereticus frigates, broadcasting their fake IFF signatures, swelled from the warp. Delire gradually brought to bare his batteries, pounding the new arrivals. His systems aboard the Command chair registered several unauthorized transportations. And since the only Transportation bay of the Emperor's Shield was currently guarded tightly by the Mars Adeptus segment, he registered them as hostile.
Though her guns pulped the Ordos frigates, many groups of assault troops were able to teleport on board before the ships were taken out of action. Blood and Steel.
Bolter fire hissed back and forth within the corridor. The rounds, explosive upon impact, shattered aqua and atmosphere pipes at all junctures. The rain of shrapnel spattered Delire's back as he returned fire from his covered position.
Though the naval battle had waned in favor of the Templar forces, the internal combat among the loyal ships had become pressing. The Inquisition Storm Troopers that made up of most of the boarding parties were notoriously hard to kill. They destroyed every working system that they passed, able to travel through even the most in hospitable of areas inside capital ships. But they had not been expecting a battle hardened crew, armored and equipped by the Ivory Fleet's own mini-forge ship. At every turn they had been stymied, stunted and contained in their expansion. Where they had grenades, the Crew had grenade launchers. Where they had Hellguns, the Crew had Bolters and Bolt Pistols. Where they had atmo-armor, the Crew had carapace full-seal.
Both sides had valiantly brought forth their ballistic arguments, peeling lives from either faction.
But it was the Child that had become the true factor of consolidation. He had been rapidly subduing the Storm Trooper contingents with little or no conflict between them. They simply submitted to his words, coming to his side of view with but a few arguments.
Delire was not so fortunate. The infantry launched missile, extremely risky in a ship born environment, shot metal fragments to stick centimeters deep in Delire's armor. It in no way harmed him, but it had done considerable damage to the hallway that his forces were in. Not to mention the collateral damage to the Crew that had taken up positions around him.
Delire seethed. "Surrender, and I will offer you one in five amnesty." The Castellan spoke, his vox speakers dialed up very high.
After a moment, "Damn you, heathen! The Emperor Protects!" came a voice from the other end of the much contested hallway.
Delire held back a crew man who had more of anger in his face than the Castellan was comfortable with. Every moment, the specialized crew of his beautiful ship was dying. He could not afford more losses than were forced upon him.
"You have no place here. This is not your ship, nor your matter. Cease fire, and surrender. I offer you one in ten amnesty." The negotiation, falling on deaf ears, still proceeded. Delire felt almost sick at the action he had been involved in these past few days. He had given his word. Only one in ten would be executed for their crimes against the Black Templars. He could go no lower, for the life-price could not exceed its own worth.
"Take my offer!" Delire said into the silent and dim light.
"Imperator Servo!" The Castellan heard this from the extent of the hall, and knew what would happen next. Bile rubbed the back of throat.
Then all was firing bolters, screaming of misplaced hate, and blood.
"Jerux Jelson. You have a unique name." The Child spoke, his armored hand brushing the soaked hair back on the head of the hyperventilating Inquisitor. The Ordos man had been deprived of all weapons, and even implants that could contain items of conflict.
The kneeling and lightly bound man did not reply. Though his eyes were wild, his face was closed to emotional inspection. Training had long since blossomed inside this tried Inquisitor.
"Inquisitor Jelson. I see great future in your life line. I also see that your hiding something. Two things. Of great import, or at least to you." The Child ran his hands over the mostly-shaved head of the human before them. Delire and Ramiel were in the room with the other two, being those only that the Child trusted.
The Inquisitor shivered and recoiled against the Child's touch, groaning with the seeming perversion of it all. Delire saw the Child moving the sweat and oils from the Inquisitor's eyes, where as the Ordos man felt a strangely haunting touch.
After a few moments of clearing Jerux's face of possible contaminants, the Child spoke again. It's eyes bore into the Inquisitors, the man quailing from the contest of wills. "You left her to die. And you knew. You knew her apostate, but you could not accept it. She was a whore, and you could not believe that she was chosen. And not you."
Jerux shuddered back away from the Child, fighting at the hands that gripped his face. He made several animal noises, but slowly seemed to come to his senses.
"It was nessesssessessessesseesss…essssary." The stuttering Inquisitor tore at the purity seal on his shoulder with tied hands. It came off in a shower of wax and paper. The shreds of it he held up above his bowed head, whispering litanies to protect him from the Warp.
The Child reached for the hand that held the Seal, and tightening his grip.
"I am not who should be feared."
The Inquisitor twisted on his feet and knees, which were supporting him. A snarl leaped to his lips, and blue fire danced about his head. Ordos Hereticus does not allow almost any psykers into their Inquisitorial ranks. Either his power had been well hidden, or it had been relatively small and latent.
The Child did not seem taken aback, as the rest of the occupants of the room stepped to a more defensible standing. Instead, he paced in, overwhelming the Inquisitor's hand in his own.
"Test me."
"Imperator meus Mucro!" The Inquisitor spouted, as the arcs of latent energy danced and played over the two closely situated figures. It burst light bulbs and minor power conduits. The deck plates lifted from their moorings, their secure screws dancing like dervishes in the air above their slots. Delire's own Marine armor systems went down for a few breathless seconds, as the cornered Inquisitor brought as much as he could into play.
Minutes of the coursing energy flowing through the two figures finally prompted a winner in the contest of wills. Though the floor and walls about them would be almost permanently scarred, the Child was untouched.
"You can not hurt me."
"………….I…..Obey." Said Jerux Jelson. "Vos es verus."
Jerux did indeed obey. Obey to what ends, Delire was unsure. The Child had politely requested to spend some time alone with the Inquisitor. The second secret spoken of by the Child was held in private, between the two alone. Even the audio feeds into the room had been filled with unaccountable mechanical errors, but easily blamed on the psychic energy that had been released.
The Inquisitor had formally declared, using his moderate status, that the Child and its compatriots had been successfully neutralized. The message wouldn't reach any significant holdings of the Ordos Hereticus for quite some time, as he had bogged it down with red tape and sensory flags. By that time, Delire planned to be well on his way to somewhere else. They took the few ship wrecks that seemed worth it to the Mother and the various resident Tech Marines and priests.
The Mars adepts and the Ryza adepts, all worshiping the same Machine God, had come to a certain amount of agreement. They had invented a contest of minds and wills, after Delire had threatened to shoot all involved when a brawl had broken out. And between skilled Tech Adepts and their servitors, they had wrecked a considerable amount of the third Dining Area.
This game, was very slowly settling disputes between the factions aboard the Emperor's Shield, though not without adverse consequences. The game called for a significant electrical voltage to be passed through the loser of any engagement. And each game comprised of many different engagements, sometimes as much as twenty. Neither side could rest assured that they would win all and every time, and as such was loathe to place themselves in the losing position. But it was a tight contest, at every juncture.
Over the next year of salvage and repair, the Game gained high rapport about the several ships of the Ivory Fleet. Crews had begun to follow the course of victories and losses for both sides, and a separate subculture had grown on those points. When Delire had finalized his plans to drop into warp, a total of three minor Adepts and several servitors had died due to the unpredictable effects of the electricity on their augmented bodies.
The warp, swallowed them all whole.
"This is…. Marshal Fredrick of the Black Templars……. I have no life support left, and my suit is far beyond damaged. This is my last will and testament. All of my forces shall be given over to Castellan Delire Omsheir, and Chaplain Ramiel the Dreadnought. They may do with them as they want, but know that I will pay at any time in blood for those Marines. They are…. hacking cough … Good."
The transmission was being beamed omni-directionally by the broken frigate that was slowly drifting out of the dead system that Delire had jumped too. It had been waiting there, for a very long time, on an empty trajectory outwards from the every darkening main solar body.
"My loyal marines are dead, their lives lost on a world best forgotten. I should have remembered…. I should have continued…." The transmission lapsed into static for a few minutes, obscuring the words of the wounded and now probably dead Marshal.
"…for all, I couldn't bring myself to do it. But I got it. I found it. It was right where we had left it, frozen and dead." The shuddering breath the Marshal took was filled with the gurgling of massive lung wounds, considering that a Marine has up too four lungs.
"It is here, on my ship. To any Templar forces who hear this. The security code is my inspiration, and my ending damnation. Use it well."
At this point, the translation ended. A few minutes later, it began to repeat, starting again it's cycle.
'Leman Russ' Was what the Child tapped into the security key pad aboard the Obsidian Cross, opening the doors and access ports into the frigate. The strewn bodies that lay about the corridors towards the bridge attested to the voraciousness of the combat that had taken place aboard the ship. But, though there were dearly sold Templar corpses, there was no visible sign of aggressors.
The Saint's knucklebones that were mounted to Delire's Axe squirmed slowly, but did not dance in their usual pattern. He could only take this as just a residue of the Warp and its occupants.
The bridge itself was a wreck of significant proportions. Most of the equipment had been destroyed, and bolter fire had ruptured almost ever flat space available to he gravatic vertical. Fredrick the Marshal was slumped in the Control Chair, the entire front of his marine armor ruptured. Delire could see the chest cavity organs, shredded as they were, had labored their utmost to keep the marine alive. The spine glistened in the slight glow of the light tubes above, visible from even his vantage point.
The message that Marshal Fredrick had last recorded, thundered throughout the ship, flowing from every speaker and antenna available. With a solemn note, Delire closed the switch that ended transmissions. Instantly, the bridge and ship seemed less haunted by unfulfilled desires. Though the laments would carry on in everyone who had gone aboard.
A single data cube gripped in death's furvor, was gradually released from Fredrick's comatose hand. The other hand, holding an empty Bolt pistol, was laid to rest with him, with full honors and ceremony.
The ancient data crystal contained the route of an unidentified Space Wolf ship, as it move here and there throughout the galaxy map. Its course could not be sense, and it's settings were irregular.
Meanings and theories that were placed to it, could never have done it justice.
"Set course to Fenris." Delire proclaimed, the Navigator gurgling in protest of the amazingly large change of course.
Farseer Yestus, kept safe and only slightly sedated, changed their Web Way course by slight margins. The Black Templar fleet had been following was keeping exact choice with the old Script. Time would tell.