2 – Transition
They fight. Their immediate targets fall quickly. With the nearby spaceports under their control, the traitors are able to call down powerful reinforcements: titans, god machines; the pinnacle of ground based siege weaponry. During their long service in the Warmaster's armies, they have become as corrupted as as any of his servants, their machine spirits twisted into sinister and bloodthirsty specters.
Giving the crushing soles of these mechanical predators a wide berth, the soldiers advance toward the enemy's final and ultimate bastion. They are a motley horde: Astartes, cultists, mutants and daemons. Wherever they come, the warp manifests itself even further, and with it, the boons and weapons of the dark gods. Here, an entire company of Imperial Fists get engulfed, only to reappear as the tormented protagonists of a living mural, their flesh and souls banished into writhing stone, screaming with the voices of the damned. There, statues of imperial heroes are animated with baleful life, transformed with sickening irony into a perversion of everything they represent. Their horrible eyes burn like coals as they slowly lumber over the battlefield, swinging their weapons with little finesse but terrible power.
But although many of the defenders are consumed by the horrors that are visited upon them, many remain steadfast; for they know, the Master of Mankind is with them, and so are three of his chosen sons. And every meter the invaders wrest from them must be paid in blood.
Among the advancing traitors is the one simply known as Errake. He will make a name for himself in the dark millennia to come, but at the moment he is still a mere captain, an afterthought, marching in the shadow of demigods and living legends.
Yet even now, he is already a seasoned veteran. He was there, at the dawn of the Great Crusade, almost three hundred years ago. Once, he fought the Emperor's enemies across a thousand worlds; now, he only follows his Primarch and Warmaster, an asset in Horus' endeavor to bring to ruin everything previously accomplished.
Errake leads his own, and his brothers too, have seen much battle. Over the years, they have formed strong bongs, coalescing into a closely knit whole. Among themselves, little needs to be said for coordination, intimate familiarity rendering most words obsolete. But even their numbers will be drained, whittled away in the coming days.
Eventually, the host assembles before the walls of the Imperial Palace, lit still mostly by the fires of war and the inferno of unholy lightning above. For a moment, the guns fall silent, and even the roiling skies become quiet, as if holding their breath in anticipation. One of the attackers makes his way to the front. He towers over most of the soldiers, and his armor conveys a disposition both bloody and barbaric. He is Angron, Primarch of the World Eaters, and leader of Horus' ground troops in this sortie. A mighty roar rises from his lips, which is as close to a bid for parley as he will ever come.
"HEAR ME, SLAVES OF THE FALSE EMPEROR! I BRING THE TERMS FOR YOUR SURRENDER! LET US SPEAK, WHILE THERE IS STILL TIME FOR IDLE WORDS!"
For a few seconds, nothing happens, Angron's call echoing along the walls and buttresses of the mighty fortress. Then a light appears, high up on the battlements, small but powerful, a star of purity in this sea of madness. Those with sharp eyes recognize a figure, clad in golden armor and with two shining white wings on his back; and it hurts them to look at his radiance.
"I hear you, traitor." The voice is calm, yet carries easily even to the last rows of the assembled. Indeed, it is more felt than heard, and many screech and growl in discomfort; even the angel's voice is anathema to them. "Name your terms then, if you think they will serve a purpose other than increasing your folly."
"VERY WELL." With mocking flourish, Angron unrolls a huge parchment. It is made from human skins and written on in blood.
"FIRSTLY: THE FALSE EMPEROR WILL ABDICATE AND RELINQUISH ALL CLAIMS TO POWER, NOW AND FOREVER.
SECONDLY: THE FALSE EMPEROR WILL ANSWER FOR HIS CRIMES AND SUBMIT TO THE MERCIFUL JUDGMENT OF THE WARMASTER HORUS.
AND FINALLY: ALL SERVANTS OF THE FALSE EMPEROR WILL SWEAR FEALTY TO THE WARMASTER AND BOW TO THE DARK GODS."
He tosses the scroll to the side. For a moment, a ghostly silence descends over the landscape once more.
"I have heard your terms. Hear you now my answer."
Sanguinius' voice has changed; it is cold, and betrays the anger incited by the preposterous demands declaimed by his fallen brother. Then, the storm breaks:
"WE REJECT YOUR TERMS UTTERLY AND COMPLETELY! OUR LORD AND MASTER SHALL NOT BOW TO ANYONE, NEITHER YOU, NOR HORUS, NOR THESE SO-CALLED 'GODS' BEFORE WHOM YOU PROSTRATE YOURSELVES! BEGONE FROM THIS WORLD, AND TAKE THE WARP-FILTH WITH YOU! YOU WERE ONCE A SLAVE, ANGRON, AND A SLAVE YOU HAVE BECOME AGAIN! GO, OR NONE OF YOU SHALL BE SPARED!"
The angel's aura flares with his words, becoming even brighter in his fury.
Angron turns to the waiting host and sneers. "Well, I'm glad that's over with." Then he looks to the brooding palace walls once more. "BRING. IT. DOWN!"
A mighty roar rises to the heavens, as millions of voices answer his command.
Aeren woke to the deafening noise of thunderhawk engines. He opened his eyes; the cone of a searchlight had replaced the darkness outside and flooded the small chamber with glaring brightness. A black silhouette then entered the hallway, thankfully blocking most of the harsh light. Aeren recognized Errake, who in turn noticed that his apprentice had woken. "We're leaving," he said. "Collect your gear."
There wasn't a part of Aeren's body that didn't hurt. Suppressing a groan of pain, he stood up and began packing what little equipment he had brought, soon numb from light and noise.
A few minutes later, the thunderhawk was carrying them back to the Rajais' palace, cutting through the now pitch black night and the cold rain. Aeren was eating the last of his field rations; after the utterly exhaustive ordeal in the previous hours he was hungry like seldom before. The rations didn't taste great. They were bland and chewy; but right now, he didn't care.
Opposite of him, Errake sat in his dark armor, slightly swaying with the craft's rocky movement, displaying his usual stony aloofness.
"Your anger is pointless," he said eventually.
Aeren wasn't really angry anymore, too drained to feel anything. But he didn't care to answer, instead contenting himself with tearing at his ration bar.
"I told you, if you'd decide to become a Space Marine, I'd hold you to it. I told you the training would be hard, and that is necessary. This galaxy doesn't tolerate weakness. If you aren't the absolute strongest you can be, it will chew you up and spit you out. So even if you hate me today, one day you will thank me for everything I'm putting you through." The giant pauldrons rose in a shrug. "And if not, you are welcome to try and kill me."
Aeren still didn't answer.
It took them close to an hour to go back. When they exited the 'hawk via the lowered ramp, they were already expected by Endymion and a few other Astartes, all in full armor.
"About time! The Roach has already entered the atmosphere!"
"We're early enough. How do I look?" came Errake's deadpan answer.
"Shady," his lieutenant grinned.
"I don't know what I expected. All right! Clear the platform!"
The roar of the thunderhawk's engines intensified again, and the massive vehicle took off, turning the cold downpour into billowing fog. Meanwhile, Aeren and the others stepped into the long, high corridor leading from the platform to it's antechamber. At the entrance, they passed a stern looking older man with receding gray hair: that was Hyuri Ashok, recently appointed Master of Ceremony, after his predecessor had met with his inglorious end. He stiffly bowed to Errake. "Welcome back, my lord." Errake ignored him. Flanking the official were four servants, carrying a wide canopy; after all, it wouldn't do to have the Roach exposed to the rain even for the short amount of time it took her to reach the corridor's more permanent roof.
Inside the corridor itself, an honor guard lined both walls, clad in full dress uniform and armed with long rifles. Aeren eyed them suspiciously, half expecting an ambush; but Errake strode by without so much as looking at them. Finally arriving in the antechamber, they found the Rajai and some other dignitaries already assembled.
Myridna, who was uniformed as well, had grown even thinner in the last shifts, now bordering on haggard. Her husband didn't fare much better; neither looked very happy.
When Errake approached her, the regent inclined her head. "My lord."
"Raj." He then turned to the boy. "Aeren, I want you to watch this."
Aeren would have preferredf to go to sleep again, but at this point he was somewhat resigned. "Fine."
He took place between some of the nobles, who tried their best to inch away from his grim appearance.
And then they stood there, in frosty silence; Errake motionless, the Rajai carefully controlled.
They did not have to wait long though. While the noise of the thunderhawk was still growing more distant, it blended into and was replaced by a new one; doubtlessly another transport, but more high pitched and less powerful. Before long, the Roach's shuttle set down, filling the far rectangle of the corridor's opening. From what they could see, it was of slender build, sculpted like some exotic bird, and plated stern to prow in gold, glittering in the platform's light. As soon as it touched the rockcrete, Ashok and the canopy wearers hurried out to meet whatever was about to leave the craft.
The people back in the antechamber could see the shuttle's ramp being lowered, and a number of people exiting it, arrayed in what appeared to be an orderly formation. After Ashok and the person up front had exchanged bows and a few words, they began their journey through the hallway, and
as they came closer, more and more details revealed themselves. Leading the group was small figure cloaked in a blue mantle and hood, followed by three women in plain gray dresses, their faces half-hidden behind veils of gauze. The rear of the group was formed by six guards in purple uniforms, carrying rifles and sabers at their hips.
When they reached the assembly, the person in front threw her hood back, and revealed herself to be a young woman, no older than thirty years. Her skin was bronze, her hair shining auburn; but her eyes where of a blue so radiant, they seemed to shine with a light of their own.
As was custom, the Master of Ceremony positioned himself between the two groups.
"May I present the Lady Regent, Raj Myridna Sulemnar, and her Lord Husband, Raj Agipor Sulemnar. And may I present to you, my ladies and lords, her exalted eminence, Mistress Tokunai of the Unbent Fellowship."
Myridna inclined her head once again and gave a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Welcome, Lady Tokunai."
The young woman replied with a smile of her own. "Sister." Her voice was soft and dulcet, yet at the same time surprisingly voluminous for one of such petite build. She closed in and hugged the other woman, laying her cheek against Myridna's. Reluctantly, the regent returned the embrace. Her smile seemed downright carved into her face now. After they separated, Tokunai offered Agipor the same courtesy; his smile seemed more genuine, if a little pained. Finally the arrival turned to the lord of the Astartes, who stood on the side, opposite of Ashok.
Myridna indicated the massive figure. "And this is..."
"My lord Errake." Tokunai knelt before him, her bowed head almost touching the floor.
The giant looked down at her. "Rise."
And like that, introductions were done, and the regent turned to leave. "Now, if you'd join us below? Dinner has been prepared."
"It will be my pleasure," Tokunai beamed.
The feast wasn't held in the great hall; possibly because the hosts could do without the unsavory presence of Rahebat's severed head, that was still quietly rotting away there. Instead, they moved into another large room somewhere half up the mountain; only the northern wall was made up of large windows, against which the rain pleasantly pattered. The Astartes didn't participate, not caring for this kind of banquet and also being much to large to share a table with the humans. But for some reason he could not fathom, a place had been reserved for Aeren. Seeing how he was still hungry however, he didn't mind too much. As before, there were several courses. But the boy soon found himself utterly absorbed by the conversation, which was orchestrated by the Roach with experienced ease: the young woman had a way with words that was magnificent to behold, weaving wit and insight into a marvelous tapestry. That, in combination with her tremendous charisma made her the center of attention; the mood was relaxed, and Aeren noticed to his astonishment that even Myridna seemed to thaw a little. Somehow, Tokunai made the fact that she was about to become the ruler of Mahamat seem not so terrible to the old elite. Even Aeren found his spirit lifted in these hours.
Errake was sitting in his quarters and finalizing the plan for their departure, when he was roused from his considerations by the chime of the doorbell. "Enter."
The door opened, and on the other side stood Tokunai. "My lord, a moment of your time, if you please?"
The marine nodded, and the small woman entered his room. If she was at all cowed by his presence, she certainly didn't show it, instead exuding the same easy confidence as before. Following in her wake were four servants, carrying something that looked like a palanquin, although if it was one indeed, it couldn't offer transport for any but a very small person. They placed it in the middle of the room and turned to leave. Errake just watched, saying nothing.
Tokunai took place on a sofa that stood on one side of the room. "Before we begin, allow me to slip into something more comfortable."
"I hope there is a point to all this."
The young woman leaned back and closed her eyes. A wave ran through her body, and she put her head back; her eyes opened wide, and gagging noises emanated from her throat. She heaved, two, three times, and there was a sound like a long, deep exhale. Meanwhile, Errake felt a tingle in his stomach, the unpleasant tug of warpcraft on his soul. Then the woman's mouth snapped shut and she fell to the side, racked by violent coughing.
There was a movement in the drapes of the palanquin. A small hand covered in chitinous dark skin appeared in the gap, followed by an equally small shoe. With that, a tiny figure emerged from the transport. The Roach couldn't have been taller than a meter, and was wrapped in a cloak of dark, shimmering cloth, somewhat resembling the look of her skin.. The upper half of her face was hidden in the shadows of a large hood, pierced only by the soft blue glow of her eyes. She waddled over to where the young woman was slowly recovering from her fit, and gently patted her knee. "It is good, child. Go and rest now," she cooed. Her voice was strange, neither male nor female, and rattling, almost mechanical sounding. The woman rose. "Yes, mistress." Her voice had changed, having lost most of the tremendous presence she had previously displayed. She cast a furtive glance in Errake's direction before hastily leaving the room.
When the door closed behind her, Errake addressed the diminutive being. "So this is why they call you 'the Lending Roach'."
Tokunai gave a clacking chuckle. "Yes. Describes me fairly well, doesn't it?"
"Although you're small compared to an actual roach."
"True."
"So it's your warpcraft that allows you to bring worlds into the loving embrace of Chaos."
"It helps, yes. It allows me to make people more accepting towards me and any… suggestions I might bring forward. It is a subtle thing, and takes time, but the influence I again is all the stronger for it."
"Then I guess it's a good thing I won't be staying."
"I'm not so sure that you're susceptible to my particular charms. And aren't we on the same side anyway?"
"Of course." Errake made a short pause at this point. "Why are you here?"
"Firstly, I wanted to thank you. The dossier you sent me was quite comprehensive and helped a lot during my preparation for this mission."
"You're welcome."
"If you don't mind me saying, you seem to go about things differently than other Astartes. You seem more… composed."
"I take that as a compliment."
"For example, I was surprised you didn't dispose of the Rajai."
Errake shrugged. "Killing these two would only have made things more complicated. I find most humans are very cooperative when faced with the choice between death and an alliance."
"Hm. And I assume your imposing nature would prevent people from going back on such agreements."
"Yes... was there anything else you wanted?"
"Indeed, forgive me." The Roach hobbled back to her palanquin, producing a datapad from its depth.
"I have been tasked to relay the Warmaster's new orders."
The pad left her hand and floated up to Errake, while the glow under the hood seemed to strengthen for a moment.
Errake grabbed the crackling pad. "Enough with the sorcery. I don't care for it."
Tokunai bowed. "As you wish."
The Astartes studied the document for a while. "I see."
"May I ask a question," the tiny figure inquired.
"Go ahead."
"Normally I wouldn't ask something like this, but as I said you don't strike me as the easily offended type."
"Unless one wastes my time."
"Of course. Why does the Warmaster use someone like me to relay his orders to you? It seems inappropriate."
"More like spiteful and contemptuous. Abaddon still holds a grudge for things that happened ages ago, and he has done everything to insult me ever since I entered into his service. I'm not sure what he hopes to achieve with that, though."
"Curious indeed. But perhaps there is no deeper meaning, and this is just the way he indulges in his power."
Errake's eyes bored into the two blue spheres glowing in the darkness of the hood. "Yes. Perhaps."
They stared at each other for a moment. Then Tokunai turned away. "So what are you going to do?"
"For now, I will continue to go where he wants me, and help him in his war."
"I take it you will leave shortly, then."
"Yes. My men are returning to my ship as we speak. We'll be gone in a few hours. I trust you'll be able to handle things by yourself."
"I'll be fine, especially once the rest of my children have landed."
"How large is this cult of yours anyway?"
"Some one hundred and eighty six thousand, give or take."
"And they are all loyal to you?"
"They'd give their lives in a heartbeat."
"Impressive."
They were quiet for a moment, before Errake spoke again. "If that is all, you may retreat."
The Roach bowed once more. "Of course, my lord. I wish you luck on your future endeavors, and perhaps we'll meet again someday."
"I doubt it."
There was a hint of a smile under the hood. "Who knows? The gods work in mysterious ways."
"That they do."
So, here is the second chapter. Not too much happens, as it is still a bridge from the prequel into the new plot. Still, it was another very difficult one, and I don't think it's all that great. I really haven't been inspired recently, although pink noise helps somewhat. Writing this story has been a real chore so far, and I think it shows. If this keeps up, I may abandon it altogether.
Anyway, I want to thank Kondoru for the first review. I seem to be doing something right after all, and I wish you success with both your studies and your writing.
Thank you for reading.
