Cincere Tempestas Chapter 11

The din of battle rang out over the city. It echoed in the vast libraries, it filled deserted lecture halls and medicae suites, it boomed up the dreaming spires and down into the basements of museums. The noise was everywhere, carrying the screams and roars of the dying, declarations to one and all that the war was escalating in fury and destruction. The noise made Kasarox's lips pull back over his teeth, revealing a feral snarl of anger. He was currently waiting in the Word Bearer's camp, watching the devastation from afar. The fact of that gnawed at his patience and made his mind seethe with frustration. The accursed loyalists were advancing upon his camp, from the north and the south and yet he could do nothing about it.

He and Raruma had dragged back the strange corpses before Abulaz and the Dark Apostle had taken a keen interest in them. For a moment Kasarox had dared to believe that the Dark Apostle would unleash the full might of the Crooked Path upon the foe. With the Daemon engines, hordes of cultists and hundreds of Lorgar's sons at his disposal Kasarox could have shattered the corpse-worshippers in a battle that would have drawn the eyes of the Pantheon but he had been denied. Instead Abulaz had ordered the Crook Path to fall back and leave only a token force behind, sacrificed to slow the enemy down.

Kasarox had wanted to spit in disgust at the notion, he had wanted to rage against such cowardice, but he had held his tongue. Abulaz was the Dark Apostle, Kasarox reminded himself, even now he was communing with the Pantheon and he would return with the revelations that would lead to victory. Once more Kasarox cursed his own stubborn nature, why did he have to question everything? If only he could crush his doubting mind then surely the Primordial Truth would bless him with power.

In frustration Kasarox turned and marched back into the camp, making his way past long lines of prisoners. They were bound hand and foot, forced to kneel in the dirt before towering Word Bearers, who were reading aloud from weighty tomes. Their words wracked reality with otherworldy resonances, the language of the Neverborn tearing at the fabric of the universe. Many prisoners were weeping bloody tears or going into fits as the truth of the Warp brushed against their minds. They closed their eyes and shook their heads but nothing could stop the torrent of revelations taking root in their souls. Already mutations were starting to manifest in their flesh, the first steps on the road to greatness. The seeds of Chaos had been sown and it was inevitable that they would bloom into a most terrible rapture.

As he walked Kasarox saw Raruma also wandering the camp, inspecting various prisoners. He had paused before one particular mortal, a woman whose face was spotting with the initial stigmata of mutation. She was trying to beg for her life but her tongue had swollen in her mouth, preventing her from speaking.

Kasarox strode over and snarled, "What are you doing Mocker?"

"Unhallowed," Raruma replied without looking up, "I am watching divinity at work, it is going to be magnificent."

Despite himself Kasarox found the words forming, "What do you mean?"

"My Neverborn can feel the seeds blooming," Raruma answered, "It will happen... Now."

Kasarox glanced at the mortal and saw a sudden change seize her as she tried to scream. Her tongue burst from her mouth and rolled down to touch the floor while her flesh began to billow outwards. The other prisoners screamed and tried to shrink back but were shackled and could only watch in horror as muscles swelled and bones shattered. New mouths opened over the body and phlegmy eyes blinked in random clusters as tentacles and claws erupted from random points. In seconds the mortal was gone and in her place was a bloated, heaving mass of muscle and fanged mouths, with multiple limbs and eyes that were filled with madness and pain.

Raruma looked upon the body and sighed, "The Gods blessed you too much, glory or madness, such is the way of Chaos."

"A Spawn," Kasarox stated, "Hardly impressive, still it will be useful. Drag this one away, it can join our army when the battle comes."

As cultists moved to contain the mewling spawn Kasarox shook his head, even though he yearned for blessings, to become a spawn was too far. Nobody would desire such a fate but the Pantheon acted as they willed, they could bestow immortality or abomination with but a whim. No living being could predict nor question their wills.

Raruma watched the spawn being dragged away and then said, "One spawn, will that make any difference?"

"No," Kasarox spat, "The corpse-worshippers close even now. We have no more than two hours until they hit this camp. Then we die."

Raruma looked at him and said, "You think we should be out there, fighting back with bolter and claw?"

Kasarox snarled, "I would shatter these pathetic fools with my own two hands. I could break them with the power we have here but instead we cower and wait!"

Raruma glanced about and then said quietly, "Maybe you should. Why not take our army and go fight? Go and win glory for Chaos and the Legion?"

Kasarox exhaled and let his anger settle as he replied, "Alas we cannot, Abulaz seeks answers from the great beyond. He bids us wait and do nothing."

"Abulaz," Raruma sneered, "He plays around with eldritch rituals when he should be fighting! Maybe if we spent less time on our knees and more time slaughtering our foes we would be winning this war!"

Kasarx fixed him with a glare and spat, "You go too far Mocker. The Dark Apostles' word is law; to question him is to question the will of the Dark Council and Lorgar himself!"

Raruma stepped in and said, "You give him too much credit, you know battle like he never could. If you were only to…"

"Stop right there," Kasarox growled, "One more word and I will kill you for blasphemy."

Raruma promptly shut up and lowered his eyes, letting the subject drop. Kasarox turned on his heel and strode off, the possessed Marine trailing behind. Together the pair strode through the camp, headed for Abulaz's pavilion. It was a huge structure, with a sharp pointed roof and trailing sides. The fabric was made of tanned human skin, daubed with runes of Chaos and the words of Lorgar and the air shimmered around it like it was blazing hot.

Standing before the entrance were a pair of Terminator guards, their helms boasting long tusks and their bodies covered in short spikes. The guards tracked Kasarox as he closed but raised their combi-bolters vertically to allow him to pass within. The Coryphaus was one of the few who could pass unchallenged but in his hearts he knew they scorned his unworthy flesh. Kasarox strode past them, entering a small section of the tent and found it to be filled with darkness and smoke. Short tables were covered in charts and books while a slave tended to smoking braziers. That was not all they found for standing over one table was Vulak, who was examining a scroll. The First Acolyte turned and saw Kasarox and Raruma enter and the sneer on his brutal face spoke volumes.

Vulak's nose wrinkled like he had smelled a bad scent and said, "What are you doing here worm?"

Kasarox bit down on the urge to put his fist through Vulak's face and replied coldly, "Where is Abulaz?"

Vulak snorted, "Busy with more important matters."

Angrily Raruma spat, "The corpse-worshippers close upon us."

"Hold your tongue Mocker," Vulak snarled, "The Dark Apostle is well aware of the situation, he has everything in hand."

Kasarox shook his head and said, "We need to be ready, the accursed loyalists approach but our defences lie dormant. We need to be ready to greet them. If we are unprepared they will slaughter us!"

Suddenly a deep voice rumbled, "Who dares disturb my communion?"

Kasarox fell to the floor and pressed his head to the ground as a far curtain wall was swept aside to reveal the majesty of the Dark Apostle. His armour was caked head to toe in dried blood and his aura shimmered with dark power. Kasarox glanced up and pleaded, "Forgive the intrusion Mighty Lord, but war comes and we seek your orders."

Abulaz grinned and said, "Orders? What are orders compared to revelation? Follow me and you shall all receive enlightenment."

Kasarox didn't understand but he obeyed, standing up and leading the others to follow in Abulaz's wake. Beyond the curtain they found a dissection chamber crammed with metal gurneys bearing flayed bodies. It was the strange corpses they had retrieved, stripped of their armour and weapons which had been discarded in a corner. Freed of their plate Kasarox could see the bodies were functionally Astartes but enlarged somehow, taller and with more muscle mass. In places skin had been peeled back to reveal the tendons and he could see that the sinews were merged with some form of metal coils.

Abulaz spread his arms to take in the chamber and declared, "I have been examining these bodies and seeking answers from the Pantheon. They tell me of secret labours in the depths of Mars, of forbidden experiments and millennia of research. It seems our hated foe seeks to match our majesty with new genetic tricks."

Kasarox dared to say, "So this work is not so new after all, they've been working on this since the Heresy?"

Abulaz lowered his arms and grinned, "I have learned of secret experiments and failures galore. The Neverborn whisper to me of Cursed Foundings and Dark Foundings, of a Martian Adept making mistakes and then fleeing when his failures turned on him. They whisper of him burning all the evidence and covering up his connections to Falcons of Fire, the Dragons of Black and others."

Raruma looked about and said, "How does it help us?"

Abulaz seemed to be in a generous mood for he replied, "These new fools think themselves perfect, they believe that all their flaws are eradicated but they know not what secrets lay within their blood. Chaos is in all things and no amount of genetic trickery can change that fact. We shall use that against them; turn their secret flaws into our weapons."

"How?" Kasarox enquired.

"We shall withdraw the Crooked Path, retreat to the depths and let this camp burn," Abulaz replied.

"Retreat?!" Kasarox spat in surprise.

"Watch your tone worm!" Vulak snarled but Abulaz waved him down.

The Dark Apostle drew in a breath and said, "These mortals are meaningless compared to the power at our fingertips. We shall withdraw and let the corpse-worshippers have their little victory, it shall avail them not. We shall rise from the ashes with divine power and sweep them away at the moment of their triumph. All I require is a subject to work my craft upon; I need one of these new Astartes alive and breathing."

Kasarox bowed his head but dared to point out, "The corpse-worshippers will grow suspicious if they win too easily."

Abulaz nodded distractedly and said, "Select our least worthy Brothers, the shallowest in devotion as a rear-guard. Their sacrifice will ensure our ascension. Now go oversee the evacuation of our true forces and do not return until you have a live prisoner for me."

Kasarox bowed and turned to leave but inside his hearts were seething. He was about to leave his own blood to die under loyalist guns, sacrificed as part of some devious scheme. He didn't want to do that, he wanted to stand and fight. He wanted a glorious victory to draw the attention of the Pantheon. Yet despite his misgivings Kasarox would obey, Abulaz was his lord and he could not disobey, no matter what.

As the trio left Abulaz looked upon his works. He ran an armoured digit over a gushing wound and then lifted it to peer at the congealed blood. He extended his tongue and licked the blood off his finger then grinned as he whispered, "They thought to hide their manipulations from me but the answer is to be found in the blood, it is always in the blood. Secrets and mysteries abound but the truth is plain for those with eyes to see. The only real question is: do these fools know of the deceit that lies within their own blood?"