Speculum Enigmate Chapter 8

Rats had got into the ceiling ducts again. He could hear them scraping against the pipes and cavities between decks, their endless skittering faint but detectable to his genhanced hearing. Even with the background hum of the Warp engines and the thudding of serf's feet nearby he could hear them. It was far from uncommon in Imperial starships for that ubiquitous breed of vermin to have made their nests, wherever mankind roamed the stars rats accompanied them. Still it spoke poorly of the Storm Heralds that they tolerated such vermin in their vessels, but then Sergeant Gotram had come to expect very little from his new Chapter.

The Reiver Sergeant and most of his squad were lounging in their billet, idly passing the time between training drills by honing their weapons and moaning about their lot. Like him they were far from impressed by their reassignment, Reivers held themselves to be an elite breed, tougher faster and more deadly so they were thoroughly disappointed to be inducted into a mongrel by-blow Chapter. Gotram believed the Lord Guilliman should have wiped the Storm Heralds from the galaxy and replaced them with a pure Primaris force, but nobody cared what he thought.

At a low table Brother Hernaa was scratching kill-oaths into bolt-shells with a needle as he muttered, "Where did Silias and Cowan go to get that moonshine, Holy Mars?"
Gotram shrugged in his Phobos armour and said, "It was only a rumour that the serfs had an illicit still."

Across the billet Brother Ortal was tossing his combat knife up in the air, catching it flawlessly every time, as he said, "It better be true, the only alcohol in this Chapter is insipid ceremonial wine. I need a stiff drink or I'll go mad."
Gotram rolled his eyes and said, "Glitching cogs, Mikila, Ferhia, see where they've got to."

Two other Primaris stood up and departed the spartan billet, leaving six Reivers alone in their dormitory. It was a bare metal cube, unembellished and plain. Gotram thought it typical of this miserable assignment and growled, "Who did we glitch to get dumped here?"
"You've found the root directive Sergeant," Hernaa agreed, "Years training on the Red Sands of Mars, countless experimental implantations and ten thousand years in stasis, only to get this inglorious assignment."

Ortal paused in his knife game and remarked, "Yones and his Intercessors don't seem to mind."
"Yones is an idiot," Gotram declared, "A happy smile and a good aim, that's all he is. His last squad got eviscerated on the Macragge's Honour and he got put in charge of a group of newbies, fresh from their stasis tubes and still with oil glistening behind the ears. No wonder he got dumped with these outdated wretches, even the other Firstborn think they're nobodies. We're Reivers, best of the best, trusted with the most important missions and perilous actions. We deserve a true Primaris Chapter, not these decrepit fossils."

"Can't argue with that," Hernaa concurred, "It's a complete waste of our talents."
Ortal frowned as he asked, "What do you think of our new Lieutenants?"

Gotram sniffed, "Persion's useless, couldn't tell his exhaust port from his torsion joint. He hasn't a clue what he's doing. That Apothecary is constipated over some past shame and Jediah thinks he's scary but I'd wager he wouldn't last one mission in the Reivers. There's no soul in his eyes, no fires of passion."

Heads nodded but Hernaa paused and remarked, "Is it just me or is it awful quiet out there?" Gotram paused as he focused his hearing and it struck him the background noise of the ship had faded. The engines still rumbled but of the serfs no noise remained, the area was uncommonly quiet. Gotram's hand jerked and his knife was in his grip as he realised the Reivers were alone in this section of the ship. He tried his vox and called, "Silias, Cowan, Ferhia, Mikila: report." Only static came back and Gotram waved the squad to the door. The Reivers were already on alert and followed him out into the corridor, only to find it empty and deserted. Gotram's senses were screaming something was wrong and he waved to the right saying, "Junot, Gadwen, Beveial go right. Hernaa and Ortal with me."

The squad spilt up, three Reivers heading in each direction and Gotram had his knife and bolt pistol ready as he scoured the passage for threats. All his training and experience told him they were in danger and he checked every inch from the polished deckplates to the mesh-pattern roof tiles that hid thick pipes. He was confident no enemy could avoid three Reivers, yet as they advanced they saw nothing but an empty passageway.

It was Hernaa who whispered, "You… you don't think something got on board. Something from the Warp?"
Gotram's guts fell at the prospect of a Gellar field failure and he instantly tried his vox, "Bridge come in… Bridge. Junot, Gadwen, Beveial… can anyone hear me?"

Washes of static were the only reply and Ortal hissed, "It got them too, a Warp predator took them."
"Error-shunt-abort," Gotram spat, "Fall-back now!"

Gotram and his two remaining Brothers fell back, retreating before the unknown horror. Frantically the Sergeant tried his vox over and over, but got nothing save static, they were totally cut off. He kept his knife in one hand and his bolt pistol in the other as he swept the bare corridor, watching for the lurking threat. The idea that any foe could take out a squad of Reivers seemed farcical but then they were in the Warp, a realm of nightmares where man was not meant to pass. The slightest fluctuation in the Gellar field could have allowed a macabre being into the ship, a supernatural horror that could tear this ship apart. Despite his scorn for the Storm Heralds in general Gotram fond himself wishing for a few Heavy bolters at his back.

They passed the door to their billet and Hernaa moved to duck inside but Gotram hissed, "No, there's no other way out of there, it's a deathtrap."
Yet Ortal glanced over their shoulders and said, "Sergeant, the corridor is…"

He didn't get to finish his sentence for as they passed the entrance to their billet the roof tiles exploded over their heads. Gotram had a single second to remember the scratching noises they had heard earlier and realise it wasn't rats after all, then a blue blur fell amongst them. The Reiver Sergeant spun about with all the speed his Sinew Coils allowed but was too slow as a shining smear of light slashed across his thigh, cutting his muscles and sending him staggering to the side. He tried to level his bolt pistol at the indistinct shape but a ceramite clad gauntlet slammed into the nerve cluster in his wrist, numbing his senses and making him lose his grip. Gotram was reeling from this onslaught and before he could recover the shape spun about, a boot extending to catch him behind the knee and sending him crashing to the deck. Then the silver light flashed again and a flare of pain told him his hamstrings had been cut, leaving him flopping helplessly on the floor.

The Sergeant lay in a confused daze, baffled as to how he had been taken apart. The attacker had demolished him with ease, debilitating him before he could even join in the fight. This foe had taken his squad one by one, hunting them with deadly skill and stealth and now it had come to finish off the survivors. But that wasn't the worst part; the worse thing was that he recognised this blur of blue. It was no horror from the Warp, no nightmare of the Empyrean, it was Jediah, the Lieutenant with the soulless eyes.

Gotram could only watch helplessly as Jediah rose from his crouch, Fractal-edged blade in hand. Jediah was fast but Hernaa and Ortal were yet Space Marines and they flung themselves at him with knives flashing. Jediah's face was exposed and he grinned with anticipation as they met blade to blade. The Reiver's had height and numbers on their side but Jediah was wearing full plate and he fought without restraint or hesitation. Gotram could barely follow the exchange of blows as knives flashed and knees and elbows hammered away, landing blows that would have split mortal skulls and shattered ribcages. In moments everybody's blue armour was scored and chipped, the colours marred by furious blows. The Reivers were fighting with all the skill their training permitted but their forms were predictable, following the prescriptive doctrines hammered into them on the red sands of Mars. Whereas Jediah had been fighting Traitor Marines for centuries, he knew moves they couldn't conceive and fought with an adaptive, fluid style that changed second by second. Plus in close-confines the weight of his plate granted him a telling advantage over their light Phobos armour.

Gotram watched aghast as the tip of Jediah's blade penetrated Hernaa's belly, tearing a deep groove into the flesh. The wounding was non-fatal but enough to trigger his Belisarian Furnace. The unique organ responded by disgorging hyper-stimulants and aggression boosters, turning the Reiver into a mindless fanatic. Hernaa threw himself bodily at the Jediah, trying to envelop him in a bear hug, but the smaller Marine dropped his shoulder and twisted, sending the Reiver headfirst into a wall. The Primaris slammed into the bare metal with bone-crunching force, causing him to stagger back, weeping blood from his cracked skull. Before he could recover a boot to his spine sent him again into the wall again and this time he collapsed, groaning on the deck as he keeled over.

Meanwhile Ortal tried to stab Jediah in the back but the Lieutenant blocked the blow with a forearm and then followed with an uppercut that made the Reiver's knees wobble. Instantly Jediah was on him, punching the gut to double him over then elbowing him in the back of the head to send him sprawling to the deck. Before he could think to move Jediah struck, blade stabbing down through the shoulder to ram into the floor. Ortal roared as his back was violated and his other arm tried to reach up to grab the offending blade, but he couldn't twist his arm far enough. He was left pinned to the deck, helpless to move as Jediah turned his attention to the Sergeant.

In the few seconds this had taken Gotram had been left flabbergasted by the unprovoked attack, unable to understand what madness had overtaken Jediah. Yet his hamstrings had already started to knit back together and he crawled towards his bolt pistol, hoping to get a shot off. unfortunately Jediah saw the move and spun about, boot lashing out to smash Gotram in the side of the head as he roared, "Who's in charge?!"

Gotram's head snapped back and blood spilled from his lips. He was battered and reeling but he was able to gargle, "I'll kill you."
Instantly Jediah's other boot shot out, smashing into Gotram's guts and making him vomit blood as the Lieutenant snarled, "Who's in charge?"

Gotram couldn't speak as he rolled onto his front, trying to get up on his hands and knees. But Jediah's foot slammed down on his shoulder and two hands grabbed his wrist, heaving it upward. Gotram screamed as his arm was wrenched vertically behind his back, sinews tearing and bones grinding against each other as Jediah levered his limb into an agonising position. He thrashed to break free but was unable to break the grip as he cried, "Traitor! Heretic!"

Jediah only increased the pressure, bending the fingers in the hand as he hissed, "Are those your last words?"
The pain in Gotram's joints was fierce and sharp as he spat, "You attacked fellow Storm Heralds, its unthinkable!"

"Wouldn't be the first time," Jediah snarled as he bent fingers backwards, "I killed many Storm Heralds in the civil war and I enjoyed it."

Gotram could only spit, "You're insane!"
Jediah jerked the hand, snapping the ceramic laced bones of three fingers as he hissed, "You have seven more fingers and then the arm itself to loose if you don't answer my question: who's in charge?"

Gotram realised then he was beaten, utterly demolished and defeated. Jediah was going to rip it off, Gotram realised, forget dislocation the madman was going to rip the arm off completely. Jediah was more vicious and savage than Gotram had ever imagined, the supposedly superior troops of the Reivers had been outfought and outmanoeuvred by a foe who put their vaunted prowess to shame. With no other options Gotram dropped his head onto the cold floor and whispered, "You are... you're in charge."

Jediah held his arm still for a few more seconds to get the point across, then let go growling, "Don't forget it."

Gotram suddenly rolled as Jediah moved to Ortal and bent to pull his blade free in a spray of blood. Gotram grabbed his bolt pistol in his good hand but hesitated when Jediah hissed, "Not on your best day... and this is not your best day."

Gotram's hearts burned for revenge but he knew Jediah wasn't bluffing, the psychopath would kill him if he tried anything else. Reluctantly he holstered his pistol and grabbed his hand, forcing the broken fingers straight with a wince, as he said, "What do you want... Lieutenant?"

Jediah shook drying blood off his blade and ordered, "Go retrieve your squadmates, they're tied up in a sewage dump two passages along. Then meet me in the training arena. You have a lot to learn."
Gotram was stunned as he exclaimed, "You attack us and now you want to train us?!"

Jediah turned and fixed him with a cold stare as he hissed, "Your Reivers are soft and sloppy... it is weakness. I don't know who trained you but they understood nothing of the darkness. I will teach you the true meaning of strength, how to hold the darkness close and hone it to a killing edge."

Gotram quailed in the face of those predatory eyes and gulped, "The squad won't follow you, they'll hate you after this."
"Hatred is good," Jediah whispered with relish, "I shall makes you strong, by the time I'm done with you weaklings you will truly know what it is to hate. Darkness, fire, pain and blood awaits us and I am going to enjoy every second."