Carpe Posterum Chapter 14

The interior of the lodge was eerily quiet and deserted, luxurious Nalwood panels lined the walls interspersed with portraits of notable worthies from this world's history. The only light was that which trickled through the high arching windows of the gallery, between them were only pits of utter darkness like thick drapes laid across the space cutting it into distinct segments. Dashing between those pits were three Space Marines, Toran Novak and Nimodes, they moved swiftly covering each other and alert for threats. As they ran Toran could see glimpses of the outside world through the windows, the valley falling away before them and the mountains rising up like frozen waves on the sea. The view must have been magnificent once but now those waves were stained black with soot and the valley was filled with the flashes of weapons.

Toran raced past, completely uninterested in the view but he could not help but notice that the windows had not been rigged with trip mines after all. He resisted the unworthy impulse to point this out to Nimodes and focused instead on the interior of the lodge, seeking enemies but there were none. The lodge seemed deserted and all the guards appeared to have rushed outside to meet the obvious attack. Still they did not lower their guard for they had all been drilled over and over that to rely on your foe's incompetence was the surest route to death.

Silently the trio penetrated deeper and deeper into the building, meeting no one till at last they found something peculiar. It was a solid metal door in an otherwise blank and featureless corridor. At last they broke their silence and Nimodes whispered, "This is a starship airlock, it has no business being here."

Toran replied, "There is no other way through, we must risk it."

Nimodes nodded and keyed the mechanism, the thick door ground aside and the trio stepped inside. They stood there gripped with anticipation, the knowledge that one could not design a better ambush site. A cold sensation ran down Toran neck but he held true, whatever would happen h would deal with it, trusting in his weapons and armour to prove true. Yet when the interior door ground back there was no party of guards waiting to greet them and no blaze of heavy weapons so he let out a breath he did not know he had been holding.

The corridor beyond was a complete contrast to the other side, sterile and so well-lit that it was obvious that this place had its own internal generators. They proceeded cautiously up the long corridor with weapons held tightly in their grips. The corridor had many rooms adjoining it in endless rows, they appeared to be medicae suites and laboratories of some description but were as deserted as the rest of the facility. Eventually the corridor ended in a large open door leading into an echoing space, it was filled with utter darkness yet their enhanced hearing could detect the distinct noise of one person breathing.

With their reflexes on a razor's edge they entered and found the space to be a long hall, bereft of features save that one entire wall was taken up with a large vault door. Before they could take another step there was a burst of light and a single ray of illumination fell upon a seated figure against the far wall. Perched atop a row of enamelled stairs was an elaborate caricature of the true Golden Throne and sitting in it was the unmistakable sight of Governor Brendan. Mortals would have hesitated, mortals would have been frozen by shock and disbelief but not the Space Marines, they were already firing.

With lightning speed they let fly creating a spray of bolt shells, each and every projectile soared through the air on a perfect trajectory for Brendan's heart but before they could impact they struck a shimmering force field. The golden ripple effect cascaded around his form like a shimmering bubble as Brendan said merrily, "Welcome, welcome! I have been expecting you. The old God's angels come to pay homage to the new God."

Toran kept his bolt pistol aimed but lowered it a fraction to assess his target and realised the man failed to live up to the countless portraits and statues he had erected. No sculpted hero was this but a jowly and balding old wretch. His flesh was soft and flabby from too much comfortable living, with a weak chin and thinning hair. He was draped in robes in an effort to look regal but the overall effect was that he was drowning in his vestments. Yet in his eyes there was a fierce fire and gaze that was not focused entirely upon this world, making Toran realise the epithet 'Mad' was far more appropriate than anyone could have guessed.

Toran lowered his bolt pistol a hairsbreadth and said, "You are no god."

"What is a God?" replied Brendan with an evil grin, "If one has millions of followers bowing down to them, worshipping them and following their every word. If one has the power of life and death over another and can kill or raise them up with but a wave of his hand, how can he not be a god?"

Toran could see the epic vanity in Brendan's eyes the overwhelming self-belief and conviction consuming the man. No wonder he had not turned to the Ruinous Powers, he truly believed his own propaganda. Toran shifted his weight slightly and Novak and Nimodes spread out a little as he said, "The Emperor has more power than you could ever imagine, you are but a thief and leach."

Brendan grinned and a little drool ran out from his mouth as he giggled, "The Emperor, that rotting old corpse, he cannot even lift a finger whereas I am incarnate and vital. Unlike him I am honest, he was nothing but a liar, he saw the existence of Gods and tried to deny it."

Now it was Nimodes who spat, "The Emperor stood for a rational and moral human race, one whose belief was placed not in idols and false gods but in each other. He taught us that humanity was not meant to live on its knees, before some cruel and uncaring deity, but was meant to rise up and face the tyranny of false gods with courage and honour."

Brendan snorted, "Do not feed me those lies. I have quested behind the veil of the reality, I saw the faces of true gods, I know they are real and if they are real then I shall become one of them!"

Nimodes barked, "Then you asked the wrong question, you should not have asked if gods exist you should have asked if they were worthy of devotion. Faith should be the call to humility, to reflection and self-improvement; it should be the force that unites all men. When religion is used as club to crush men down, as a tool to set one man above the rest then it becomes a sham, a perversion of all that true faith stands for. A falsehood just like you."

Brendan jerked forwards in his throne and yelled at Nimodes, "You dare question my majesty?!"

While the trio had been keeping him busy talking they had been inching further apart and as Brendan leaned towards the scout-sergeant Toran acted. He drew a combat knife and in one smooth motion threw it underarm towards the Mad Governor on a perfect trajectory. The Space Marines had seen all types of energy fields in their lives and many of them shared the same fatal flaw of reacting only to velocity, they would stop bullets and las-blasts but allow slower object to pass through. It was this same principle that allowed torpedoes and bombers to pass through starship shields while lasers and plasma were stopped. Unfortunately this was not one of those types and as the knife struck the golden bubble the blade suddenly stopped, to be left hanging in mid-air like a nail in a wall.

Brendan pounded his fists on his throne as he roared with laughter and cried, "You see I am beyond your feeble efforts! Repent your hubris and bow down to me, perhaps I will be a merciful god!"

Toran snarled, "Never: we will never bow to you, it is you who will return what you stole from us!"

Brendan's smile widened and he said, "Ahhh, how little you see, did you not realise that I no longer have it."

At those words a loud clunk resonated through the hall and with ponderous weight the vault door swung open to reveal the space beyond, from it marched a dozen men whose outline made Toran gasp. They were each as tall and as broad as he was, towering and bulky in way no mortal ever could be. Corded with dense muscles and with the frame of Genhanced bones. They were Transhumans: twelve transhumans but not of the Emperor's design. Each of them was twisted and deformed, some had gigantically over-muscled limbs or hands that were masses of tentacles while others had protruding jaws or bulging red eyes filled with blood shot veins. One had large bony spikes emerging from his forearms like protruding daggers while another walked on multiple crab like legs in a jerky stuttering limp.

They were the nightmare of every aspirant made real, the secret fear every novice harboured that their implants would go wrong or their flesh would betray them. This was the unspoken fate of all those aspirants whose ascension was flawed or lacked the care and attention of skilled Apothecaries to correct their wandering genomes. Their armour was an equally bastardised mix of parts, ceramite plates stuck on awkwardly to metal frames that mocked the grace of proper fibre motive bundles yet were unmistakably Astartes in origin. Their colours were scratched and marked but under that they were recognisable as being of the Storm Heralds, the lost armour of Hevaste's squad.

Toran was left aghast at the blasphemy writ before his eyes as Brendan giggled, "Look upon my works and know I am indeed a god: behold as I bring forth life!"