After the introduction, a prelude really, of some of the characters in this piece of fan-fiction, the story continues or rather actually begins, with the protagonists 'early years' Thanks for all the PM's , followers, and reviews: they are greatly encouraging and motivate me to continue work on this story. A special hello to Savage Thruster whom I actually encountered in a totally different setting and who recognized my username :D *waves* If you have any questions, suggestions, or requests: send me a message or post a review and I will look into it. In case people are wondering: English is not my native tongue so forgive any archaic use of words or strange proverbs
For the following chapters expect violence, much smashing of face and limbs, and the occasional occurrence of strange and exotic dangers. But not before a whole lot of administrative non-sense.
When finished reading you will obviously be mind-scrubbed and sent to serve in a penal legion. Or rebuilt as a servitor serving drinks at the local Tech-priest bar.
Hallowed halls
Segmentum Ultima, Ultramar, Espandor System, Emeriss moon
Ultramar: beacon of order and law in the vast war-torn expanse of Imperial Space. Although greatly lessened compared to its days before the Great Heresy it still stood as an exemplar of military power and prosperity through adherence to the ideals of the Empire of Man. Its nine systems all beholden to the ruler of Macragge it housed countless billions of imperial citizens, hundreds of well-trained regiments of soldiers, and of course the might of the Ultramarines Chapter and some of its successor chapters. Emeriss was one of the smaller planets in the Espandor system, a verdant planet with a geography that seemed oversized in all aspects: enormous mountain ranges, ancient forests where millennia old giants shielded shadowy forest floors with their mighty branches, tempestuous seas, and rolling grassy plains that seemed to stretch beyond the horizon. Even the sparse fauna seemed exaggerated: towering ursine creatures over three times the height of a man, majestic predatory birds and gargantuan aquatic mammals. It has been said that the XVIII Legion sent its recruits here to test their prowess against some of the largest predators but no living soul on Emeriss had ever witnessed such an event.
Sheltered in a valley and located next to a crystal blue river that slowly meandered its way past meadows and woods was the Schola Progenium. Although it bore a formal name in High Gothic it had been known to the citizens of Ultramar as The Academy for generations. Many famous and illustrious careers had started in the Academy and only the very best eligible orphans found their way to its hallowed halls. The ancient Imperial institution was housed in a sprawling complex of fortified monasteries, cathedrals and underground bunkers. Unlike most Imperial structures it blended into the natural surroundings, its thick moss-covered walls often seeming to flow directly into the grassy hills. Proud banners depicting the symbols of Ultramar and the Imperial Aquila flew in the warm breeze as the thousands of servants, academy staff, and students went about their business.
In one of the many wings of the complex a highly secure medical facility tended to the needs of the students and staff. Currently a security detail of black armoured storm troopers stood at attention while a bearded man clad in a brown robe whispered to one of the medicae staff. The man finished his conversation and made the sign of the Aquila before departing, followed by his retinue. The medicae, a woman in her forties sighed and went back to check the data on a display attached to a massive glass-steel cylinder.
Solitary confinement unit MB-01, Medical Wing Ultramar Academy 2 weeks later
Shub scratched at his artificial hand for the 322nd time that morning. It was hard to get used to the sensation of… absence. He constantly felt as if his lower arm and hand were still there, even itching, but when he looked all he saw was a dull grey bionic replacement. He flexed his muscles or rather thought about flexing them and the metal digits opened and closed as ordered. It would take some time to get rid of the delay he had been told by the Medicae and attending Tech-priest but eventually the prosthetic would function as well if not better than a real limb. For now it was uncomfortable and added to the increasing list of things to make his day miserable.
Tomorrow would be his first day as a student in class 412-B of the Academy. Apparently people in high places had pulled strings to enrol him despite his obvious shortcomings compared to the elite of Ultramar he would be joining. He had neither a noble heritage nor a family of dedicated servants to the Emperor to boast off. In fact Shub felt decidedly out of place in the Spartan, clean surroundings. The ordeal of Manufactorum Gamma and the confrontation with a Daemon seemed a thing from the distant past mostly featuring in his nightmares. Flashes of violence and strange deformed creatures stalked him in his dreams and often he awoke screaming the name of his dead friend Gor. He had only regained consciousness a few times after leaving Wagner and several times Franciscus had been at his side explaining why he had cut off Shubs arm. He recalled hearing of the taint of the warp and being lucky to be alive but had soon sunk back in a deep, dreamless sleep.
The data slate he had been handed was filled with rosters and schedules detailing his required presence in the various rooms, halls, and courtyards of the Academy. Prayers in the Cathedral at 06.00 would start off the day followed by lectures on the Theological nature of the Imperial organisation and analysis of the many virtues of the Eclessiarchy. The rest of the day would be filled with 'Basic combat training' With the number of classes he was required to attend tomorrow he would barely have time to meet his fellow students. Getting the chance to meet others was something Shub was looking forward to after what seemed like an eternity in the secured confines of the medical wing.
He hadn't seen or spoken to Franciscus since the journey from Wagner Secundus. He hadn't seen many people at all in fact. He had mainly been tended to by the female Medicae Alicia and her assistants in the secluded medical wing. Shub paced around his Spartan room slowly, taking care not to lose his balance. Devotional prayers droned from a built-in vox system extolling the many virtues of the Imperial Faith and the supremacy of mankind. He winced for a moment, the newly mended bones in his body still painful and sat down carefully to rest.
Recovery was a slow process; Shubs body had been malnourished, dehydrated, and bruised and battered when he was recovered from Wagner Secundus, not to mention his lower arm having been severed by a chain sword. A full month of being submerged in a medical tank had also wrought havoc on his musculature and balance despite extensive electro-stimulants and hormone treatments. The greatest change had taken place in his mind however: his gift, once sporadic and unreliable had grown, matured, even. His memory had always been good but he now found that he could recall minute details from events years back. Even stranger: from only a few pieces of data he could deduce vast amounts of information. With every piece of the puzzle added Shub found there were more question marks and more unexplainable events. Why had they rescued him from the Manufactorum? Where did his powers come from? What was his purpose here? Why did he have recollection of so many strange things in his mind? As If on cue little bits of knowledge flashed from his subconscious to his attention:
The Ork body, although simian in appearance is in fact more akin to a sentient fungal growth. Its main weakness is localized in dense masses of nerve fibre located in neck and thigh. Records have shown that a mature Ork specimen can survive for several minutes without its head...
Primary cogitator function in class IV Lath-class combat servitors is optimized at a core temperature of 08.12 degrees…
Decisive in compliance of the Purgatory system was the use of the 405th Krieg engineer Regiment utilizing Atomic charges to disrupt the tectonic plate on which the central Heretic Hive was located…
Firing of the honoured Basilisk Machine shall not commence without applying the proper incense and reciting the Litany of Death from Afar and the Litany of Hatred...
Shub sat on the edge of his sleeping mat with his head in his hands. His life had always been about surviving, coping with hardship and suffering. He had never had the opportunity to choose his own path. Now he found himself, once again, forced into a position he did not choose. He shook his head trying to clear his mind. Tomorrow, after two weeks of isolation, his training at the Academy would commence and he was determined to make the most of it. Sighing deeply Shub got to his feet and started a series of slowly performed exercises meant to strengthen his muscles and improve his coordination. Had a knowledgeable observer been at hand he would have been surprised to see a 12 year old boy moving through the blocks and thrusts of the 7th set of Mordian Infantry Close Combat Doctrine.
Ultramar Academy, Grand Master Osirian's office
Franciscus leaned back in the comfortable chair and sipped his amasec, a rare and expensive vintage from one of the agri-worlds of Ultramar. The spacious office around him was panelled with exotic wood and richly decorated with tapestries and oil paintings of the Academies illustrious Grand Masters. A large fireplace sat beneath a prominent Metal Aquila stretching over 2 metres. A female servant, one of the older students, clad in an impeccable uniform stood at a respectful distance bearing a silver tray with refreshments. Several scribes and administrative aids could be heard conversing in hushed tones in the adjacent room, sorting reports and stacks of documents detailing the daily proceedings of the Schola Progenium. Seated in the chair opposite to him was a man who looked to be 70 years of age with proud patrician features and thinning blonde hair. Observant green eyes and facial features that resembled a carved piece of basalt made it clear that Grand Master Osirian was an important person. The grandmasters voluminous robes bore many badges and laurels denoting his exalted academic position and was completed by several rings crafted from precious metals and set with a multitude of gems. Despite all the trappings of power and status, Grand Master Osirian, 5th in his line to be head of the vaunted Academy of Ultramar was scared. Very scared. Receiving visitors from the Inquisition was not a regular occurrence especially one bearing the authentication Lord Franciscus had shown when he arrived.
"I assure you my Lord, the academy will tend to your young protégée with the utmost care and attention. We have a record of the finest academic achievement and the best tutors in the Segmentum." Osirian said, nervously sipping his drink.
"Your assurances are neither required nor necessary Grand Master. I trust you to enact the will of my office to the best of your ability." Franciscus paused for a moment to absentmindedly rub the inquisitorial seal on his ring. "Young Shub will be offered the same curriculum and testing as the rest of your students and will be spared effort nor ordeal. It must be clear however that no permanent harm may come to him for any reason at all." "His presence here and…affiliation with my organisation is to remain secret. You are the only one to know of his link with the Ordo. Any breach of these terms will result in drawing the full interest of my order and the associated investigations of the people responsible." Franciscus looked Osirian in the eye. "You, Grand Master, are ultimately responsible for the Academy. Do not fail the Inquisition." Franciscus drained his glass of the remaining amasec with one gulp and got up. Osirian and the aide carrying the silver platter quickly moved to bow. With a swift gesture Franciscus waved his hand at the girl who was trying to both gracefully bow and balance a tray simultaneously. An intense flash of red shot from his hand to the girls head and seared a neat hole in her skull. The stench of burnt hair and skin permeated the room as the girl slumped to the plush carpet, tray and glasswork smashing to pieces and scattering crystal fragments. "The Emperor protects, Grand Master" Fransiscus intoned as he left the office.
A dusty courtyard somewhere in the Academy grounds
Drill-Abbot Shagtan was a giant of a dark-skinned man towering over his students with a two metre tall body criss-crossed with scars both old and new. He had a bald head, dark brown eyes that showed little emotion and a jawline reminiscent of an Ork. Only his face betrayed his age with the teeth of time etching out an ever increasing pattern of lines and grooves. Thick corded muscle and almost no body fat; Shagtan looked more like an escaped pit-fighter than an instructor of a group of children. Yet that was exactly what he was. Rumour was that he was an ex storm trooper and veteran of many wars. Others placed him as a former bodyguard of a planetary governor. Shagtar himself did not stoop to answer the many questions about his past. Most often he communicated with the students of the Schola Progenium through his favoured medium: controlled violence. His method of tuition was based on a few simple principles: in order to build one must first be broken down. It pays to be a winner. And finally and most importantly: Until the moment a student could beat him they had no rights whatsoever.
Shagtar had been the nemesis of students at the Schola for decades and the list of injuries caused by his brutal daily training was the source of many wagers. Despite his violence and harsh treatment of students he was greatly respected by the Schola senior staff.
The afternoon sun glared in the sky bathing the dusty courtyard in sweltering heat. The sand had the colour of old blood and retained the heat, causing the temperature to rise even further. Great pillars of dark stone bordered the area and provided areas of shade. Several corridors led from the courtyard deeper into the massive complex. Drill-Abbot Shagtar stood in the middle of a circle drawn in the sand. Facing him, lined up in a neat row were the children of class 412-B. The youngest being twelve years of age and the oldest nineteen. Shub stood between a tall lanky 14 year old boy named Alek and a 13 year old boy whom everybody called Stubs for his short, rather rotund posture. Compared to the other boys Shub looked like a stray dog: short messy hair, still thin and covered from head to toe with bruises and scars. His augmetic lower arm and hand were painfully hot and sent a dull aching pain shooting up his arm and shoulder. He squinted against the bright sun, his grey eyes studying the Drill-Abbot and the courtyard. Its nickname was the Proving Grounds and it was the place where young students started their real training.
The Schola Progenium worked according to ancient Munitorum rules and guidelines so complex and convoluted that an entire section of the library was dedicated to housing its many dusty tomes. Each child taken into the academy faced a year of testing and scrutiny before proceeding to the rest of their education. Those judged to weak or morally unfit were sent off never to be seen again while those that passed the rigorous testing and questioning were placed in one of several classes. With the different ages entering the classes this could lead to severe imbalance in some cases but every student was expected to perform to the same exacting standard demanded by instructors.
"Fear leads to weakness, weakness leads to doubt, doubt leads to heresy" Shagtar intoned with his surprisingly soft voice. He eyed the line of children trying to stand straight and face his gaze without flinching. His eyes stopped at the trembling form of Stubs."You, into the ring" The boy hesitated for a moment and wiped the sweat off his forehead. Seeing the Drill-Abbots facial expression he quickly stepped forward into the ring drawn into the sand. Stubs eyed the imposing figure anxiously trying not to show his fear too much. "The rules are simple: no weapons allowed, you only stop when I tell you too, there can only be one winner." The boys all nodded. "Now little one, try to kill me" Shagtar said. Everyone giggled including Stubs until they noticed the expression on Shagtars face. The fat boy swallowed audibly. "You have 'till the count of three to try and kill me before I come for you" The Drill-Abbot said stretching his arms and loosening the muscles and tendons in his neck and back.
"One" Stubs looked around nervously and moved forward cautiously, his little fists raised. "Two" The boy looked around helplessly for any form of assistance. In a sudden explosion of movement the giant of a man sprang forward and struck out with his left fist hitting the boy on the right side of his jaw. With an audible shattering sound the boy was propelled through the air to land on his back a few metres outside of the circle. Neither he nor the rest of the boys moved as Shagtar stood straight and brushed some flecks of blood off his fist. "Last rule: trust no one once you are in the ring, especially me" "You" He pointed at another boy.
In several minutes the Drill-Abbot had knocked out, incapacitated or injured most of the class. A few of the older ones had tried a few swings or kicks but no one had actually managed to land a hit. The class was lined up being tended to by several medicae. Shagtar was barely breathing hard when he pointed at Shub. "You" The boy stepped into the ring calmly despite the carnage he had seen being wrought on the other children. His pulse slowed and time seemed to crawl forward, a sign of his extraordinary mind working. From the previous bouts of sparring his mind had learnt much of Shagtars style of fighting. It was an adaptation of the close combat techniques used by the Cadian armed forces; fast and deadly with a preference for powerful strikes and kicks. It left little room for error. Subconsciously Shub dropped into a loose fighting stance with his legs slightly bent at the knee and feet at shoulder width. His hands moved into a loose open palmed guarding position. The Drill-Abbot raised a bushy eyebrow and flexed his muscles. "Looks like there's some fight in this one"
With a grin he moved forward, feinting a left jab before delivering a devastating right hook. Shub instinctively moved closer to the man, ducking beneath the hook and slapping his open hand with as much strength as he could muster against the extended arm of Shagtar causing him to slightly loose his balance. Thrusting upward Shub focussed all the power and ferocity he had into a vicious strike into Shagtars armpit, one of the few places in the human body where muscle and bone do not shield a point where nerves converge. The Drill-Abbots arm immediately went limp as the excruciatingly painful strike to his Plexus Brachialis shut down motoric function in the limb. Shub followed up by a series of fast strikes to the kidneys and abdomen intending to weaken his opponent. His unnatural inherent ability to fight did not compensate for the difference in raw power however. Shagtar ignored the strikes that would have felled an average opponent and instead rammed his knee into Shub. The boy attempted a quick double handed block but had no chance to stop the massive knee crashing into his chest. He blacked out only to regain consciousness on his back in the sand with the Drill-Abbot towering over him. "Where did a kid like you pick up Catachan close combat techniques?" Shub tried to answer but could only manage a wheezing cough. "Never mind, if you think being trained by a guardsman is going to help you in here you are sorely mistaken." Shagtar gestured and a few of the less severely injured children helped Shub back to his feet.
"Now it is time to start your training, form up in pairs!" the Drill-Abbot thundered and everyone quickly scattered to do his bidding. The rest of the day was spent in gruelling training and physical exercise. Although Shub still had some trouble breathing from the hit he took to the chest he quickly fell into the rhythm of punching, kicking and blocking. Despite being the youngest in his class it was clear from the start his technique and ability to read his opponents made him one of the more effective fighters. The other top fighter was Namuth Eginias, last surviving member of a famous family of Imperial Navy Officers. He had lost his family when their home planet had been raided by Xenos. The Eldar had butchered many and taken captive even more. By some miracle Namuth survived the ordeal locked in a cellar. He had been found and sent to the Schola Progenium at the age of six and had spent most of his youth in the institution. Namuth and Shub were enemies from the moment they first laid eyes on each other. The noble born Namuth despised Shubs lack of etiquette and his coarse mannerisms, Shub resented the other boy's arrogant behaviour and sense of superiority. It was with some anxiety then that the two faced each other in the last of the days sparring sessions.
Namuth was clearly larger and stronger. With his 14 years he had the benefit of a more developed musculature and a larger reach. His style of fighting was centred on quickly closing with his opponent, distracting with fast blows to the head or other vulnerable areas and finishing him by establishing a choke hold or dislocating limbs. He had already sent three others to the Medical wing with various injuries and looked eager to take on Shub. Shub on the other hand did not look very dangerous but his class knew differently after seeing him in action with the Drill-Abbot. His stance and style varied with each opponent, his techniques seemingly following his motion as if they were a natural extension of his body.
The two faced each other in the hot sand of the proving grounds. In the background grunts and cries of pain could be heard as the rest of their class trained and went through the motions of sparring. Both were tired from several hours of hard physical exercise but determined to prove something to the other. Five of the boys who always followed Namuth around the Academy stood nearby eager to see the fight. "You might be here but you are not one us offworlder" Namuth spat as he slowly circled around Shub. "I do not know who was bribed or who messed up but the Academy is no place for lowborn Off world scum like you. I am going to put you in your place and smash you into the dirt where you belong" Some of the bystanders laughed and jeered at Shub who stood in a relaxed position with his arms next to his torso, slightly bent at the elbow. He shrugged: "Noble birth or social status won't help you in battle Namuth. Being angry will only distract you and make it easier for your opponent." With a snarl Namuth sprang forward launching a punches and kicks at Shub. Stepping left and right Shub dodged most of the attacks and blocked those that came too close. The older boy wasn't holding back and it took some effort to deflect his attacks. Shubs breath quickened and he focussed his concentration. Left left right, kick, kick, left left right, kick. After a minute, which felt like an eternity Shub saw the pattern in his opponents attacks. Embedded between feints and lunges was a basic pattern in the older boy's attacks. Shub shifted his stance slightly turning his left side towards Namuth. He dodged one powerful left hook, then leant backwards to avoid a left handed jab that would have shattered his nose. He swayed ever so slightly to his left inviting the right handed attack he knew would come. Sure enough Namuth, looking to capitalize on his opponent's mistake, put all his anger into a crushing right handed hook aimed at Shubs head. Shub lunged forward to get within the arc of the strike blocked the extended forearm with his left hand and rammed his augmetic right hand into Namuths upper arm taking away most of the power behind the hook. Using his momentum he twisted and turned around using the weight of his body to lead his left elbow. The point of Shubs elbow hit Namuth in the stomach causing him to double over in pain. A right uppercut landed firmly on the older boys chin and sent him sprawling to the ground. Shubs breath came in laboured gulps as sweat poured down his body. The entire fight had taken just over a minute but had exhausted him. "Well fought Namuth but like I said you are too angry to fight well. Maybe that's the lesson you will learn from today" Shub grinned and turned to walk away only to walk right into a fist aimed at his face by Siphir one of Namuths cronies. The unexpected attack caught him right on the jaw and dropped him to the sand like a ragdoll. The others rushed in and savagely kicked him in the stomach and side as Namuth slowly got to his feet. A trickle of blood from a small cut on his chin ran down his neck mingling with the sweat and sand.
"Enough" The Drill-Abbots command cut through all the noise and immediately everyone stopped what they were doing. "Perhaps the lesson you have learned today young Shub is that there is strength in numbers." Shagtar glared at both Shub and Namuth. "Your hatred is a tool, use it well and in service to the God-Emperor but remember in here I decide about life and death." He turned to view the rest of the class. "Go and cleanse your selves. Those that can't walk will be brought to the Medicae. I expect you here again tomorrow at noon." The class, including Shub who had managed to climb to his feet, bowed deeply "As you command Drill-Abbot" they intoned in unison. As they marched back into the complex to get cleaned up Shub couldn't help but notice Namuths deadly glare.