Chapter Sixteen
Mormotha, Divinus Prime.
They called it a miracle, but Antros knew it for what it was: an abomination. As the Blood Angels emerged from the catacombs, back up onto the streets of Mormotha, a bright, clear dawn was breaking, revealing the sky fully for the first time since they had arrived on Divinus Prime. Antros paused at the top of some steps, high above the streets, and stared at the scene overhead. It was Mormotha, reflected so clearly that he could make out every roof and spire in perfect detail, but the city in the sky was a nightmare of Mormotha, a world so tainted by madness that Antros' eyes began to hurt as he studied it.
In the Mormotha of the sky, silver-skinned serpents flickered between the crowds of priests, hundreds of feet long and carried on pale, translucent wings, Ossuary temples flowed like liquid, morphing constantly into new forms, the large buildings swallowing the smaller ones before unfurling into new, even stranger shapes. And the priests who ran through this lunacy were distorted, elongated counterfeits of the priests below. As the city in the sky moved ever closer to the real city, its silent inhabitants were stretching and dropping towards reality, like droplets of paint, hanging from a frieze that was pealing away from the firmament.
Horrific though it was, Antros could not drag his gaze from the surreal scene over head. He saw that, just like in the real city, there was a vast amphitheatre, crammed with thousands of burning bodies but in this likeness, the burning mutants were not screaming but dancing, revelling in the flames that were transforming their flesh. Rather than becoming blackened husks, their bodies were crystallising, growing glass like as the cavorted and leapt through the fire. Seeing it so clearly for the first time, Antros realised that the mirror world in the sky was actually the past. The fires in the amphitheatre, were only just taking hold. He was seeing the world as it was a few moments earlier. It was as though the reflection took a few minutes to assimilate the changes below and recreate them- there was a slight lag between the two versions of reality.
"Is it getting closer?" asked Rhacelus. He was standing beside Antros but his words were directed at Mephiston and Mariah, who were standing a few feet ahead of them, further down the steps, studying the rusty bolt Mephiston had snatched from Dravus.
Mephiston secreted the bolt beneath his cloak and nodded. "The reflection will soon devour the reality. I see not that this Miracle is intended to do more than simply hide Divinus Prime." He looked up at the glittering figures in the sky. "This world is being fractured and transformed by sorcery, and if I do not halt it soon," he looked up at the undulating architecture above him, "we will be walking those streets instead of these, and Divinus prime will be lost forever, along with the Blade Petrific."
"What will we do now, my lord?" asked Antros, looking back at the real Mormotha. The streets were flooded with wailing, grief stricken priests who had not made it into the amphitheatre. Those that could get near had tried to break down the gates to save those within, but the stone would not give and all they could do was listen to the screams echoing through the walls. Most had no idea of the heretical transformations that had consumed their brethren; they thought that thousands of innocents were being burned alive.
"Dravus confirmed what I had already learned from Father Orsuf," said Mephiston. "The Blade Petrific is in Volgatis. But if Dravus was right, Pieter Zorambus is already at the gates. He will take the blade this very morning if we do not arrive to stop him."
"My lord," said Rhacelus, "how far is it?"
Mephiston shook his head. "Hundreds of miles to the north, from memory, but I only glanced at the maps." He nodded to the book he had given Antros when they left the abbey. "Every shrine and temple is marked, Volgatis included. Take a look."
Antros unclasped the book and leafed through the maps and illuminated texts until he found the word Volgatis. He traced his finger over the measurements on the map and shook his head. "It's a convent of some kind. Heavily fortified. Built right at the peak of a mountain – the highest peak of the Tamarus Mountains. Nearly three hundred miles north of here." He peered closer at the pages. "Father Orsuf has made notes in the margins. The order of the Hallowed Gate. And another word. I can't quite make it out. Seraphim, perhaps."
Rhacelus glanced at Mephiston and Mariah. "Adepta Sororitas?"
Mephiston and Mariah nodded. "It makes sense. If the Ecclesiarchy place so much importance on this world, they will have stationed Sisters of Battle here to watch over it. Pieter Zorambus has half the planet at his back, though. Even the Adepta Sororitas will find it hard to hold out against such numbers. We need to get there fast. Mormotha has a space port. You probably saw it when we were up by the abbey. It is in this very district, not far from the amphitheatre. There looked to be aircraft there."
Rhacelus nodded. "If we fly we could reach Volgatis in minutes rather than hours."
Mephiston spoke into his vox. "Captain Vatrenus. Do not head for the gate. Make for the space port."
"Understood, Chief Librarian," came the reply, the captain's words were accompanied by a chorus of screaming blasts – the unmistakable sound of las-fire.
"Have you engaged more of the mutants, Vatrenus?"
"No, my lord, not mutants – just the local troops. They do not understand what happened in the amphitheatre. My explanation fell on deaf ears. I have-" His words broke off and the sharp report of bolter-fire barked over the vox-network. "The idiots think we are the enemy."
Antros looked down the steps and saw that the locals who were not fleeing from the fire were pointing in their direction, their faces twisted with grief and rage. There was a flash of gold as dragoons began spilling out of the doorway.
Antros unholstered his bolt pistol, but Mephiston shook his head. "Me and Mariah have killed enough of these people for one day. They have been lied to, but not all of them are as wretched as the Arch-Cardinal. We should spare them if we can."
Antros found it hard to lower his gun. The bloodlust that had consumed him in the amphitheatre was still there, hovering at the back of his thoughts. As he watched the dragoons approaching, their las-guns raised, he felt an overwhelming urge to storm down the steps and tear into them. He could almost taste their blood splashing into his mouth. He shook his head and recited the litanies of restraint he had learned as an acolyte, muttering the words as a mantra until he was calm enough to lower the gun and look away from the soldiers.
He clicked his data slate from his armour and called up the schematic of the city. "You're right. We are just a few streets away from the space port, my lord." he said waving to an avenue behind them that was clear of people.
Mephiston nodded for Antros to lead the way and they ran down the steps as gunfire lashed out from the nearby buildings, scattering chunks of architecture across the road as the Guardsmen's shots failed to find their mark or skimmed harmlessly off the Blood Angels' power armour.
After just a few minutes they reached the control towers and hangars of the space port. The structures were as intricately wrought as the rest of Mormotha – a spiralling mass of coiled fossils that looked to be completely deserted. There were dozens of aircraft dotted around in various states of repair, including some Valkyries, hunched in their hangers like enormous carrion birds, their fuselages painted a dull black and their wings seeming to sag under an impressive array of missiles and lascannons. Most of the aircraft looked battle ready and in good repair.
Mephiston and Mariah were already striding towards the hangers with Rhacelus at their side, making for a large, ancient-looking transport ship.
As Antros hurried after them, he saw a block of red power armour rushing towards them from the south side of the square. Captain Vatrenus and his men moved with the same martial discipline Antros would expect. Their armour was dented, scorched and drenched in blood, but none of them showed signs of injury.
Vatrenus saluted as he reached Mephiston, and the Chief Librarian turned to face him.
"Captain," said Mephiston with a nod.
"My lord," replied Vatrenus. He removed his helmet and his expression betrayed his annoyance. "I should not have cut things so fine. If you had explained to me why we needed to close those gates I might have-"
"You might have what?" interrupted Mephiston, genuinely confused. "I gave you a clear order, Captain Vatrenus. What difference would my reasoning have made?"
Vatrenus opened his mouth to argue, then caught Mariah's outraged glare and simply nodded, muscles rippling across his clamped jaw.
Mephiston nodded at the transport ship. "We need to leave now."
Captain Vatrenus looked up at the vehicle with a raised eyebrow. It was like an ugly, overgrown relative of the Valkyries in the other hangers and it had clearly seen better days. Sections of the armour had rusted away and the fuel tanks were hanging from the fuselage at a very unhealthy angle. Vatrenus turned to the Techmarine. "Brother Gallus?"
Gallus had been forced to fight his way out across the terraces of the amphitheatre alone, and his armour was more damaged that the rest of the Blood Angels, but he replied with a brisk nod. "Captain," he said, clambering up into the aircraft and heading for the cockpit.
As the transport ship's thrusters roared into life, hurling it over the walls of the city, Antros gave Mormotha one last look. The flames were already spreading through the streets, sending great plumes of smoke up through the bone spiral towers. The Labyrinth had become a funeral pyre.
