Somewhere, Somewhen
*Presenting a teaser for an upcoming story: Noctem Oritur*
In the depths of deep space there was an asteroid. It floated in the endless gulfs between stellar systems, its surface cold and dark, never having felt the touch of a sun. It was ugly and unremarkable, but it was far from lifeless. Buried deep under its surface was a defiled Forge-Fane, its vaulted arches and long naves twisted and distorted by insane mathematical geometries that should not exist. Devices that looked half mechanical and half organic whispered insanities to themselves, eyes and mouths opening randomly over their casings as hands pressed out from under the skin like surface. Horrible and twisted things lurked in the shadows and Vox horns blared scrapcode over the gathering of priests. They wore dark robes that bulged in loathsome ways, hinting at blasphemies to the Omnissiah and all the tenets of Mars. For these were the accursed and despised parodies of the Tech-Priests: the Dark Mechancium.
The Hereteks swayed and fell into paroxysm of agony in a ritualistic circle around a single artefact which was large cube, twelve feet to a side and covered in white Ceramite plates. In between the gaps could be seen obsidian mechanisms and circuits so delicate that they were barely ever seen in the brutish forty-first millennium. Disgusting fleshmetal cables had been driven into its interface ports, which led away to throbbing and oozing cogitators placed in unholy configurations around the room. Between the logic engines were strange lumpy things, disgusting fusions of flesh and metal. They might have been devices or they may have been assistants, it was impossible to tell. It was a vile parody of the Holy work of the Mechanicus and any true son of Mars would have laid waste to the scene with righteous fire. Yet they were not here so the work continued.
Overseeing everything was Vorshaan, standing raptly to attention as the ritual reached its culmination. His helm was doffed, to better see every detail, but he ignored the screaming and thrashing Magi to stare solely at the device. On the front of it was a large analogue dial which was slowly creeping out of the green segment into the yellow. As the power increased a sly grin crept over Vorshaan's pallid face, revealing sharpened teeth with black gums and a savage glint in his eye. He gloried as the next step towards his goal neared and the device came to life, but then it was swiftly wiped out.
There was sudden bang and an explosion of sparks as the device flared blue light from within and sent devastating feedback through the interfaces. Dark Priests wailed pitifully and thrashed at the devices but could not stop the various cogitators around the room bursting into black flame. Desperate entreaties to the Dark gods were ignored and fire retardants were evaporated in moments as the flames spread. Several acolytes were caught in the blazing stacks and fell thrashing to the floor as daemonic faces leapt and danced in the fires consuming them.
Vorshaan growled in disgust and looked contemptuously upon a black-clad adept who was grovelling before him, snarling, "What went wrong this time?"
The adept cowered and said in a mushy voice that did not sound quite human, "It is not our fault; the artefact is highly counter-intuitive and resists our attempts to break its will. Its function is to enhance and invert a universally accepted process, creating a stable reaction is challenging."
Vorshaan was not appeased and growled, "Tell me, how many of your predecessors have I killed so far for failing to complete this simple task?"
The Adept replied matter of factly, "Six point seven six three."
Vorshaan actually cocked an eyebrow at that and remarked, "Point seven six three?"
The adept replied in all seriousness, "You ordered your torturers to keep the fourth Adept alive and in agony for as long as possible, at the current rate it will take another four point nine years for him to die."
Vorshaan hissed, "Indeed, and I seem to recall saying afterwards I would kill one of you for every further failure."
The adept shrunk back and wailed, "My lord it is not our fault, without understanding the theoretical principles the device operates upon we are reduced to brute trial and error; no better than those blinkered idiots of Mars. I assure you though we are making progress, the device will be made operational."
Vorshaan leaned forward and his terrifying visage made the acolyte quiver in terror as he said, "Well… you had best get back to work then, for your own sake there had better be no more setbacks."
The Adept looked like it was about to piss itself in fear and then turned back to the ritual circle, shouting at its subordinates and trying to appear busy. Vorshaan leaned back and enjoyed the scent of fear in the air but was distracted by the arrival of two more armoured figures into the fane. The first was his Sorcerer Beta who was carrying his staff, with long jade robes swirling around him as he moved. The other was a giant, even for a Space Marine, bearing a double bladed axe that he gripped in shovel-like hands. His armour was turquoise and decorated with writhing serpents and chained 'A' symbols, yet there was a brutality and directness to his gait that belied the sly nature of the XXth Legion.
The pair approached the Dusk Prince and Beta bowed low, yet there was hint of condescension in his voice as he said, "I see you have had another setback my lord... How many did Priests did you kill this time?"
"None", Vorshaan replied.
"Truly? I am surprised."
Vorshaan sniffed, "It pays to never be too predictable, but do not concern yourself with my work, you should be more worried about your own."
Beta smugly gestured to the warrior standing beside him and said, "I present the fruit of our labours, the offspring of your trophy."
Vorshaan looked the giant up and down and said, "Only one?"
Beta's voice was the equivalent of a shrug as he said, "As we suspected the stolen Storm Herald's gene-seed was weak. All the recruits died during training, all but this one. He has surpassed every trial and test we could devise, he will be a worthy addition to your forces."
Vorshaan did not seem convinced and said, "Are you sure, he is genetically whelped from foe, will he fight his own blood kin?"
Beta replied, "I assure you his psycho-indoctrination was rigorous indeed, no one thirsts more for the destruction of the Storm Heralds than this warrior."
"I had hoped for a squad," Vorshaan sighed and said, "But he will have to do."
He addressed the brutish warrior for the first time, "So what do we call you… No, wait let me guess. You are Alpharius."
The brute shook his head and growled, "My name is Gamma and I serve the Legion in all things."