Tenebris Resurget: Chapter2

Up the high sides of the mountain climbed four figures, each massively over muscled Transhumans. Three were clad in thick ceramite plates but walked with their faces exposed, to any casual observer they would have appeared to be out for gentle stroll but these were the Imperium's Finest and there was no moment where they were not prepared for battle. Their eyes constantly scanned the terrain, subconsciously evaluating threats and their hands were never more than a moment away from their weapons. The fourth however wore only grey robes and had his eyes fixed firmly on the ground before his feet, trying not to humiliate himself before his Masters.

As they walked Novak drifted closer to Toran and said, "So Sergeant how much longer do you think we will be on this wretched world?"

Toran thought about it for a moment then said, "A day perhaps two to retrieve the Chapters' relics and collect the armour of the honoured dead. Most of the squads from Seventh and Ninth Companies have already boarded the Light of Terra and Captain Jossat is leading Fourth Company to ceremonially present the Traitor Vorshaan's head to the Imperial Governor."

"Then where next?" asked Novak "Rumour has it there are rebellions brewing in the mutant slums of Sucaris or that the Psybrid Xenos are stirring from their Nest."

"No" replied Toran, "Not his time, our companies are to return to Lujan to replenish the ranks and retrain."

Novak smiled and said, "No doubt we will also be covered in glory for our great victory here."

Toran frowned and remarked, "Tread carefully young one, a Space Marine does not seek glory for its own sake and duty should ever be forefront in his mind."

"Yes Sergeant" replied Novak in the brash tones of youth that proclaimed he was not truly admonished, "Still it will be good to see the blue of our homeworld's oceans once more and taste the purity of the Guardian Storm."

Now it was Toran's turn to smile, "Yes indeed it has been too long we felt the unleashed fury of the hurricane on our faces."

The Sergeant reflected on this for a moment, the Chapter's homeworld was covered in vast oceans with an unusually slow rotation rate. The result of this was that the majority of the planet's weather was gathered into a series of epic stormfronts that hovered on the Terminus between day and night. These storms advanced at exactly the same rate as the planet's rotation leading to permanent cyclone wherever the light of dawn or dusk fell.

He had heard Imperial adepts trying to explain the phenomenon with meteorological science but no son of Lujan would have truck with such profane arts. In their hearts every citizen knew that the Guardian Storm was sent by the Emperor to test the purity of mankind and winnow away corruption. So important was this to the cultural identity of the Lujanites that the Chapter had taken the Storm for their namesake and strove to Herald its virtue throughout the galaxy.

In fact it was the Chapter's most sacred rite to stand on the battlements of their Fortress Monastery unarmoured and let the tempest test their purity. Any brother who slipped or stumbled in the heart of the typhoon was seen to have let impurity into their soul and would be dragged away to the Chaplains and Librarians for shriving and self-flagellation until the Masters were satisfied that the weakness had been purged.

While Toran was reflecting on history Novak was looking over to where Halis Paur was climbing a loose rock scree and said, "I wonder how our dour brother will fare in the ritual test? I wager he will be the first to stumble in its unleashed power."

"Now you do overstep yourself Brother" said Toran sternly, "Halis is a veteran of the Chapter and you will give honour to his service."

"I hear and Obey Sergeant" quipped Novak cheekily then he bounded forwards, leaping from rock to rock with the eagerness of youth.

Toran found himself left walking alongside Bylan who had been walking silently all the while. Toran found himself wondering at the boys' future, he understood the role of his brothers and he could grasp the place of the Serfs in the mission of the Chapter but this strange child did not quite fit into either. He observed how the boy clambered over rocks and slopes with a strength no mortal man could boast but he could hear his breath labouring with the high altitude and his chest heaved with a weakness never seen in any true Astartes.

They climbed up a near vertical slope and once at the top Bylan had to put his hands on his knees and bent over to suck in great gasps of air, while Toran effortlessly crested the ridge. The Sergeant offered his hand to help the child up but he shook his head and said, "Please Master, you do not need to do that, I am not worthy."

Toran was taken aback, no Astartes would take so little pride in himself, he said, "What happened to you to make you say such things?"

Bylan sighed and said with the hollow voice of one who has explained this countless times said, "I was once a Scout-Novice, blooded and marked for ascension yet when the Apothecaries implanted my Multi-lung there were complications. The organ itself functioned perfectly but my immune system did not, it tried to reject the implant and attacked it at cellular level."

"Surely the gene-crafting was proof against such an attack?" asked Toran surprised.

Bylan drew in a breath and said "The Apothecaries claim it was but my mortal lungs were not, the immune response scarred my respiratory tract and crippled me. By the time they realised what was happening and corrected the aberration it was too late, the damage was done and my chances for ascension were gone."

Toran considered this and frankly asked, "Did no one discuss Augmetics replacements with you?"

Bylan looked away but too late to conceal a look of abject despair and hitch in his voice as he said, "Who would waste fine augmetics on a failed novice?"

Toran was disturbed by the hopelessness he saw on the serf's face, not really understanding how anyone could be so apathetic. Many held that the Astartes had their emotions cut out of them which could not be farther from the truth. It was more accurate to say their responses to emotion were shaped and resculpted. Everything about Toran's psyche had been carefully reconstructed to make him a fiercer warrior, rage, despair and fear were all but fuel for his zeal and he could not grasp how anyone could just accept their doom without fighting fiercely against it.

Eventually he settled on saying, "That must have been hard to hear."

"I still have purpose" said Bylan defensively reciting the Serf's creed, "I serve the Masters in all things and in doing so strengthen them for the fight."

Before Toran could respond he was interrupted by a sudden shout of discovery from Halis, he turned and left the serf to move forward. He saw Halis standing on a rocky ridgeline waving him over and he bounded up the ridge to find himself looking down into a sharp gully.

No not a gully: a slaughterhouse.

Everywhere they looked a nightmarish scene played out before them, grey-clad bodies strewn about rotting in the hot afternoon sun. Toran's expert eye analysed the scene and instantly reconstructed the events, this was the work of a single being pouncing upon a dozen strong men and overpowering them effortlessly.

Many had tried to crawl away after the fact but every corpse showed signs of broken leg bones and shattered ankles preventing them from fleeing. The deaths had been slow and painful, the killer taking time over every individual kill and making sure each was exquisitely painful and prolonged.

One serf had been nailed to a boulder, iron spikes driven through his shoulder blades into solid rock leaving him hanging like a tapestry. His eyelids had been delicately removed so he could not avert his gaze from the horrors played out before him. Whoever had performed this atrocity had been deliberate and delicate, clearly wanting to extract every last drop of pain and torment from the serfs.

The horror played out in Toran's mind and one thing was abundantly clear, whoever the killer was he wanted to fill his victims with Fear.

Bylan crested the ridge, he took one look then bent over behind a rock and began throwing up the contents of his stomach while Toran drew his weapons and scanned the perimeter. He took up a defensive stance and opened up a Vox channel declaring, "Pyrus Squad this is Sergeant Toran, I am declaring a War Footing. Take up arms brothers and steel your souls for battle."

"There is still one Night Lord left alive out there"