Incantator Congressus Chapter 40
Harbinger's outline was all he could see, the horrifying visage filling the sky above. Dozens of eyes fixed Arvael like vermin caught in the gaze of a predator. The slit of a maw gnashed the air, eager to rip and tear. Tentacles drew back in readiness to pounce as smaller tendrils kneaded the ground, steadying the serpentine body as it rose upon its own coils. The tainted stench of the Daemon filled Arvael's nostrils, his hearts thrummed with the subsonic growl of silky skin dragging over the ground and his guts clenched at the vile aura of corruption. The end was upon him, yet he did not run, faced with the ultimate enemy of mankind Arvael held his ground and drew in a breath to shout one last defiance.
Harbinger's scorn only grew as the Daemon reared back, tensing for the final blow. A wave of muscle contraction ran through the coils as the moment came, but then the sky erupted into fury. From nowhere a blast of wind and hail blew up, filled with icy daggers sharp as razor blades. The spontaneous hurricane nearly blew Arvael from his feet but Harbinger was caught totally off-guard. The tornado grabbed the Daemon's mass, even as it sank scores of icy shards into his bulk, and threw him aside. The fiend was sent toppling, smashing aside menhirs as his immensity was turned against him, leaving a sprawled mound of coil and tentacle, struggling to recover.
The wind died down and Arvael gasped in wonder, "How…"
"Look, reinforcements!" Chamat exclaimed.
Arvael's head turned and he beheld a wonder, Master Echeb, striding into the fray with a bold stride and fury in his eyes. The Storm Herald's astrolabe staff crackled with meteorological power and wisps of frozen time dissolved off the edges of plates, signs that his freedom was but moments old. At his side strode Imix, the Shade-Seer's aura filled with shadowy wroth. Two formidable Psykers joining the fight, burning with the need for vengeance.
"Harbinger!" Echeb roared, "You're not finished with me yet!"
"Pathetic worm!" the Daemon bellowed as it untangled itself, "I shall crush you into paste and eat your soul!"
Imix stepped forward and declared, "The first hit was worthy, but the next is mine!" He planted his feet and spun his staff hand over hand and from the spinning blur erupted flocks of black shades. Manifestations of his will, shaped like birds and swift to the fight. The flock flew at Harbinger and set about him with beak and claw, ripping and tearing away flesh before flying past and dissolving. More flurries did Imix send forth, leaving Harbinger a bleeding mass from head to tail.
The Daemon was injured badly but not defeated, he threw back his head and unleashed a roar that became a shockwave. The shades were scattered into nothingness by the blastwave and Arvael was picked up and thrown aside. He landed behind a menhir and hastily rolled into shelter, taking cover from the sonic onslaught. To his amazement a small woman with sharp fangs was lurking there, trying to go unnoticed. "Who…" Arvael gasped but the woman turned and dove into the quivering air, preferring to risk the onslaught rather than dwell near a loyal Space Marine.
Harbinger's voice rang in the wind, "You stand before the turn of the universe itself, you cannot hope to win!"
From behind the menhir Echeb cried, "I nearly bested you once and I shall do again!"
"Last time I was holding back, no longer, this time you die!" Harbinger roared.
Yet Echeb shouted, "I do not stand alone: together Imix!"
Arvael risked a peek and saw the Shade-Seer and Spirit of the Storm combine their powers, forming a tornado filled with ice and shadow. A vortex, dark as a thundercloud arose from their hands, blasting into Harbinger. The Daemon disappeared into that stormfront and unearthly screams issued forth. Cawing shrieks, booming thunder and howling wind engulfed Harbinger and Arvael knew the enemy was beset by woe. He wished he could add his power to the onslaught, but his strength was depleted. There was only so much power he could safely channel from the Warp and he had exhausted it all. Barely a trickle of energy eked through him, not enough to participate in the mighty conjuration before him. Yet the pair did not seem to need aid, they wove a terrible enchantment, striking Harbinger over and over.
The foe was beleaguered on all sides and yet a Greater Deamon was not so easily dismissed. A blazing surge of light exploded in the heart of the storm and the Daemon's silhouette was described in multi-hued fires. Harbinger wreathed himself in flames, burning away shades and melting icy daggers in an instant. The wind faltered and clouds dissipated as Harbinger overwhelmed the Stormfront with an inferno of his own making, leaving him free to act.
Arvael's hearts grew cold as he saw the attack falter and yet Echeb called, "To me my cousins, form a Librarius' Conclave!" Instantly Arvael was up and running, racing to reach his master. The others followed suit, Sythah, Ashuay and Chamat, all running as fast as they were able. Arvael's energies were reduced to a trickle, but he guessed his master's intent, if he was right then a trickle would be more than enough. Arvael vaulted a fallen Menhir and saw Imix grasp Echeb's hand, and then he slapped a hand onto the pauldron and his brain exploded with possibility.
Physical contact formed a connection and through it their mind's merged. Consciousness met consciousness and flowed into each other, like a river joining an ocean. Memory and thought and instinct flowing together and becoming more than the sum of their parts. Powers united, amplifying each other, not adding to the sum but multiplying it. Three became one, greater than all of them combined and then Chamat, Sythah and Ashuay joined the union and it surged beyond comprehension. This was not their might sixfold, it was their power elevated by itself to the sixth power.
The communion contained all their knowledge and from it was born an avatar of their will. From their souls emerged a warrior form, twenty metres tall and shaped like the fiercest of Astartes' champions. Echeb's will was its bones, unbreakable and enduring as a cliff. Sythah' essence was its sinew, binding the meat of its being into coherency. Ashuay's impetuousness was its muscle, lending strength and might enough to shatter any foe. Chamat was its skin, unyielding and resilient as the bedrock of the world. Imix was the beating heart, his depthless power filling it with potency unrivalled. And Arvael was its fists, his connection to the world enabling it to give battle. A Gestalt being, equal to Harbinger in every way.
A tiny part of Arvael remained aloof and he watched as the Gestalt let out a roar of righteous hatred. Harbinger was not slow to respond, the Daemon cast out fires in sheets, trying to burn the shining warrior away. The Gestalt was not troubled by the conflagration, it strode through the flames without care, grappling the serpent around the neck and trying to throttle him. Harbinger screamed in outrage and lashed with tentacles, clawing at the diamond-hard skin but failing to penetrate. In desperation the tail swept around, wrapping itself around the Gestalt and squeezing like a constrictor snake.
The Gestalt felt the pain but it had little meaning. A glowing fist drew back and then rammed forward, smashing into Harbinger's face. Fangs shattered, eyes popped like jelly and Harbinger's face deformed under the blow. Again did the Gestalt strike and again, then it followed up with an uppercut that sent the Daemon reeling. Harbinger crashed backwards, dripping ichor from its wounds as the Gestalt strode after. Outmatched physically Harbinger fell back on what he knew best, magic. The head lowered and a sibilant song uttered from the broken lips, notes that rewrote the world. The ground under the Gestalt changed, becoming a great maw, filled with inward-pointing fangs. One foot dropped into that trap and the teeth bit hard, trapping it still. The Gestalt flailed for a moment, trying to counter this spell but Harbinger's drove forward, smashing into the chest as razor-tentacles bit deep. Agonising poisons flowed and the Gestalt quivered, but its essence was not flesh and blood and its will remained unbroken. The Gestalt drew on ancient lore, becoming intangible for a moment, passing through dimensions unseen. The trap snapped shut on nothingness as the Gestalt vanished, only to reappear behind Harbinger.
The Daemon spun about to face the threat but the Gestalt has taken a moment to grab a menhir and lift it like a club. Harbinger's head was struck in the side by a stone weight, making him sag sideways, only to be caught in the other side by a backhanded blow. Again and again the Gestalt hammered the Daemon, forcing him backwards but giving no respite from the onslaught. Harbinger retreated, slithering over the ground but the Gestalt was relentless, matching every motion and hammering away all the time. Harbinger's form was losing coherency, fraying at the edges as bloody chunks of him dropped off. The Daemon's hold on reality was slipping, he was close to being banished back to the warp and victory was within sight. The part of the Gestalt that was solely Arvael yearned for the final blow, to drive this filth back to the hell that spawned him. Yet it was not to be.
Harbinger drew in a breath and spat a word that was old when the galaxy was young. The stone menhir in the Gestalt's grasp changed, becoming a mass of blue butterflies that flapped away in a diffuse cloud. Caught by surprise the Gestalt overbalanced, swinging past the Daemon without making contact. A foot stumbled and for a precious instant the Gestalt was vulnerable.
"Nice trick, you almost had me, but I know this spell and its weakness!" Harbinger roared. The pointed tip of the tail shot away, moving fast as a bolt round across the clearing. It did not strike for the Gestalt but instead for the distant circle of Librarians, their bodies inert and helpless as their wills were channelled into the Gestalt. There was no way to stop the coming blow, no way to evade without breaking their communion, all that remained was to see who was standing closest to the fight: it turned out to be Imix.
Arvael gasped as his link was broken, shattered by a sudden unbalancing of their comingled minds. He opened his eyes and beheld Imix standing before him, mouth wide open. The Smoke Jaguar's chest was pierced by a tipped barb, driving into his backpack, through his spine and out the other side. Lifeblood gushed down his legs as his hearts were torn out, ruptured beyond recovery. Imix's lips moved slowly but his limbs shook as his fate stole over him.
"Imix no!" Arvael breathed, "Do something, save yourself!"
Imix could only whisper, "To cast while dead… would be a…"
The tail ripped out of him, taking strings of internal organs with it and Imix collapsed, dead before he hit the ground. Arvael's legs gave out, shock and dismay filling his soul, but more than that the death of Imix shattered the survivor's strength, breaking them utterly. The Gestalt faded into mist as its beating heart was removed and the rest were drained by the absence. They fell to the dirt, rolling about in impotence. None of them had a drop of psychic power left, not even Echeb, they were spent and empty. They could not stand; they could not even lift their arms, so frail were they.
Arvael rolled over and saw Harbinger gathering itself together. The Daemon was bleeding profusely but its victory lent him strength. A shimmer passed over his body and the wounds closed, flesh drawing together as the face rebuilt itself. He seemed somewhat smaller, drained by the violence of the fight, but still was more than potent enough to end the Librarians once and for all.
Harbinger shook his head, making tentacles dance, as he hissed, "So close to victory and yet so far, little maggots."
Arvael wheezed, "We shall… defeat… you…"
"Hardly likely," Harbinger chuckled as he slithered nearer, "You are finished, I have won."
"You… can't last…"
"This body is giving out, true. Yet it shall endure long enough to finish you off. Echeb I will save for last, as my sacrifice to complete my ritual, but you Arvael, I shall wait no longer to kill you."
Harbinger leaned down, tentacles reaching for the fallen Librarian. Arvael had no way to fend them off, no way to fight back. The Librarians had tested themselves against the mightiest of Daemons and been found wanting. There was nothing to be done save die with his eyes open. Resolved to face his end with courage Arvael fixed his sight upon the Daemon and so was looking straight at the wall beyond when it exploded.
One second the wall dividing Fulcrum from the maze was intact, the next it was a billowing explosion of rock and dust. Crystal shards careened high and fell again as sheets of grit filled the air. Through that haze drove a chariot unlike any other. Multi-tiered, fitted with weapons and sorcerous tools and pulled by two frothing mutants that pawed the ground with shovel-like hands and feet. Over the top pulsed a crystal weapon, throbbing with the power used to blast a way inside the maze and the air quivered in protest as Jubila's entrance was made.
Stunned amazement swept over all, even Harbinger struck dumb by the surprising intervention. Arvael was left speechless, unable to grasp what was happening. Jubila however seemed ecstatic, he stood proud and cast his gaze across the battlefield and a self-congratulatory smirk crept onto that cruel face as he proclaimed, "Admit it: you missed me."