Noctem Oritur Chapter 49

In the deepest darkest part of the Fortress Monastery a line of bedraggled figures moved, trudging wearily along with the stench of defeat hanging over them. Five Night Lords, the last remnants of Vorshaan's proud army, plodding one step after another with no real direction in mind. They had been broken and shattered in the fight but they remained Astartes and it was not in their nature to lay down and die, so onwards they marched.

At their head plodded a rent and bleeding individual, the crippled Chaos Lord Vorshaan making his escape even as blood leaked from the wounds in his chest and the stumps of his once proud wings. His genhanced blood was not clotting as it should and he could feel weakness creeping into his limbs and a cold sensation closing around his heart. Yet despite all that had happened he still walked with his head held high and his swords gripped tightly in his hands, the anger and rage radiating off him as he brooded on his defeat.

Vorshaan was seething as he replayed the entire invasion over and over in his mind. He cursed his lackeys for their incompetence and his allies for their perfidy. It was clear to him that the bungling of the other Warlords had cost him this war, their waywardness and conflicting agendas had wasted his forces. He gnashed his teeth at the failures of all around him and told himself he should have killed the other warlords personally and taken their armies for himself. The fact that he had been forced to flee the Imperial's vengeance was a humiliation he would never forget.

The small group pressed further into the depths, seeking places so submerged that even the accursed storm could not reach them. The dank tunnels were filled with sea water that lapped around their waists and smeared grunge over their proud colours but that was all to the best. The imperial lapdogs were undoubtedly pursuing them and they no longer had the numbers to win, all they could do was press on and continue to evade retribution, revenge could come later. As Vorshaan limped ever downwards he could hear whispers in the back of his mind, neverborn offering to heal his flesh and promising limitless power in exchange for a foothold in reality.

These voices had been with Vorshaan for ten thousand years and he had always ignored them, he was master of his own fate and refused to be enslaved to the lies of Daemons but now the seductions were louder than ever. They thundered in his ears, offering to make his vengeance real, to fill him with the power of the Warp and make him mighty enough to annihilate all who stood against him. The Daemons regurgitated visions of the future into his mind, showing him as a king of a Legion, surrounded by adoring minions and with the corpses of those who had abandoned him strung out as trophies above his throne. Yet it was this last thought that kept Vorshaan from succumbing, he could see that he had been betrayed by his own followers and was determined to exact revenge, not with Daemonic gifts and infernal powers but with his own two hands. He could see now that his defeat was entirely the fault of Beta and Gamma, the pair had conspired against him and at the very moment of his triumph had absconded with the bulk of his armies, denying him the reinforcements he needed to finally crush the lapdogs. In fact he was wondering if the pair had subverted the other Warlords too and turned this entire invasion into a farce to undermine him. Yes, it was his underling's treachery that had defeated him, he should never have relied on others to carry out his plans.

Vorshaan was pulled out of his festering recriminations by a sudden shift in the air. He held up one arm with a sword still in hand and the squad paused with weapons raised in a circle. He stretched his senses to the utmost, trying to discern what had changed, but only darkness and the swish of waves answered him. He turned about to inspect his men and that was when it hit him. He had fled the battle with four Night Lords but now there were only three standing behind him.

Silently he signalled to the others to query what had happened to their lost kin, but they signed back that they had seen nothing. Vorshaan bared his teeth in anger, it was possible that the other member of their group had split off, trying to find his own escape, but that was poor thinking and in defiance of his orders. He had explained that staying together was their best chance; well it would be if he needed to sacrifice their worthless lives to ensure his own escape. He mused on what could have happened, it was almost certainly not the loyalists, they would have come barrelling straight at them shouting ridiculous threats and oaths to their corpse God. No, this was something else.

Vorshaan snarled and broke his silence, "Something is hunting us, something that should not be here. Perhaps something was trapped in the vaults until flooding broke the wards. We need to kill it before it picks us off one by one. Spread out and start looking for our lost kin or whatever has taken him."

Vorshaan's squad spread out, confident in their ability to match any predator of the darkness they encountered, as they sectioned and cleared the area yet they found nothing. The Dusk Prince sent them out on a wider sweep, looking into desecrated halls and kitchen messes filled with rotting corpses but again they found only more nothing. They moved deeper into the darkness, their footsteps echoing as they looked for pursuers and traps but there was only emptiness and the minutes stretched out eternally. Vorshaan felt a prickle running down his back, he was not capable of feeling fear but the apprehension was intense, he was badly wounded and had barely a fraction of his potency: a genuine fight now could finish him. Of course he was willing to spend the lives of his men without thought if it got him to freedom but wasting their limited strength was pointless if it did not draw out their hunter.

Reluctantly the Dusk Prince recalled his Marines and determined to press forwards before they were caught but he grimaced in anger as the squad came back short, three he had sent out but now there were only two returning. Vorshaan gulped as he realised the scale of the threat and addressed his pair of remaining warriors saying, "We need to find a defensive position, this monster can't take us all at once."

Swiftly he led them into a shadowed storeroom, the floor had a thin layer of sloshing water over it but the space was secure and had only a single entrance: it would have to do. "Secure this room," ordered Vorshaan and the pair ran forwards as he inspected the entrance to ensure there was nothing behind them, he heard the others sweeping for traps and lurking enemies but by the sounds of it they were finding only empty crates. Vorshaan was feeling light headed now; even his gene-forged body struggling to keep up with the loss of blood and he found himself wondering what manner of monster could pick off Space Marines so effortlessly and silently. There were few things in the galaxy with such skill and power and there was not one amongst that list he would care to face on his best day, let alone in his wounded state.

So focused was Vorshaan on his situation that he was caught unawares by a sudden spike of hot agony spearing up into his spine from behind. The Dusk Prince roared in anger as his legs failed and he dropped his swords as he collapsed onto the wet floor with blood gushing out of his body. He looked up, expecting to see some vile monster but all he saw were his two guards standing over him, one of them held an inactive chainsword and the other a serrated knife, dripping with his blood. Vorshaan stared at them and realised there had never been a monster, it was betrayal upon betrayal that had brought him low.

He gazed up at the Chaos Marines and gasped, "You… who are you?"

"I am surprised you do not know," said the one with a chainsword in a light tone of voice, "You did guess my name earlier when you were talking to Alpha."

"Delta," gasped Vorshaan as his eyes widened in shock then had addressed the other saying, "Which would make you?"

"Epsilon," growled the second in a rough gravely rasp.

"So… Beta lied about only one soldier surviving the training," wheezed Vorshaan as the truth sank in, "What of the others who came with us?"

Epsilon growled in response, "They are in no position to be helping anybody."

Vorshaan's heart sank as he saw how thoroughly he had been played then he blurted, "You don't get to kill me, that was never the plan, Gamma is the one sent to kill me."

"Yes," replied Delta smoothly, "He does seem the type, doesn't he?"

Epsilon continued, "That is why we put him up front, where we knew you would inevitably fixate upon him, all the while we were running around behind your back, subverting your troops to our cause."

Vorshaan tried to move but his wounds were too severe, even his genhanced physique had its limits. He sank back and gasped, "You should rethink this, I reward those who show initiative, you could both rise far under my banner and I can offer you far more than that snake Beta."

"Shhh," Delta mocked, "You think we don't know you would kill us the instant we dropped our guard?"

"Beside," commented Epsilon, "The Alpha Legion has already taken everything of worth from you."

"No!" barked Vorshaan, "I won't die like this, not like this, not to lackeys like you!"

"Hush," said Delta pulling his chainsword back and activating the spinning blades, "Try to die with a little dignity." Then he swept his arm across and in one clean sweep struck the head from the Dusk Prince, ending his reign of terror forevermore.

The pair stood over the corpse and looked upon the remains of a warlord who had come so close to achieving his goal, yet they did not revel in their deed, for to them it was just another step along their convoluted path. Delta bent over and picked up Vorshaan's fallen swords saying, "Beta will want proof he is dead but leave the head where the lapdogs will find it; that should deter any further pursuit."

Epsilon nodded and scooped up the pale head without even bothering to examine it and said, "Are we really going to leave some of the Throne worshippers alive?"

"They are irrelevant," replied Delta nonchalantly.

"What of the Long War?" protested Epsilon, "Don't you hate them too?"

"Of course I do" said Delta "I want them all dead as much as you do but their destruction was never the true goal, we are the Alpha Legion, we take the long view."

Epsilon nodded and declared, "Hydra Dominatus."

"For the Emperor," replied Delta in a mocking tone before the pair spilt up and made their escape.