Exitus Ultima Chapter 3
Several hundred kilometres from Vatalem the holy city-state of Jercha dwelt. The fading light of day cast red rays upon golden domes, making them seem on fire. Narrow and winding streets between shrines housed shanty towns of labourers and tenant-slums, while vaulted mausoleums stored millions of urns, containing the ashes of pilgrims. Thin spires rang once more with the calls to prayer and dishevelled crowds moved in tired lines, coming back to patterns ingrained since birth.
Jercha was small conurbation, built around a single craggy hill that rose from the salt plains, last of a long eroded mountain chain. Jercha could not compare to the mighty city-states of Vatalem, Eybril, Bybblas or Dramacus, attracting few pilgrims and little wealth. To survive Jercha had specialised, dedicating itself to the veneration of Saint Dubdo, patron of the dying and recently deceased. Certain creeds of the Imperial faith preached Dubdo shepherded the souls of the dead to the God-Emperor, to receive His judgement, and the city-state had made death its life. Around the inhabited city suburbs of tombs and mausoleums arose, along with halls stacked with mortuary urns. Crypts were packed with bones and catacombs ran for leagues beyond the city limits, filled to bursting with bones. Billions of souls had committed their remains to Jercha, trusting the act of devotion would curry favour with Saint Dubdo and cause him to whisper an encouraging word in the God-Emperor's ear.
Due to its small size Jercha had suffered less in the rebellion than the larger city-states, the uprising amounting to little more rioting in the streets. Few tombs had been looted, fewer still demolished. Surprising, considering three hundred Space Marines had swept the city-state clean of resistance, but then the assignment had been entrusted to the Mortifactors, a Chapter famous for venerating the dead. The sallow Brothers had been precise in their destruction, killing only living Heretics and leaving the dead to their rest. A critical mistake, had a Chapter like the Fire Lords been assigned to Jercha, they would have discovered there was far more going on than any suspected.
Beta mused upon this as he watched his minions at work. Deep below the city-state Alpha Legionnaires went about their tasks, azure armour glinting like wet blood in the dim light of lumen orbs. The crypt was vast, several kilometres long and stacked with bones. Rows upon rows of skulls rested upon shelves, whole avenues of femurs were stored together, acres of ribs and fields of finger bones, and mounds of vertebrae. The bones of the richest in life had been inscribed with holy verses, but the poor had been heaped and left to gather dust. Beta was amused to think that were certain Imperial creeds proved right in their beliefs of whole-body ascension, the afterlife was going to be a very confusing place indeed.
His kin didn't grasp the joke. They swept piles of bones side, toppled neat stacks and kicked skulls away to make room. In their place long rows of glowing cylinders dwelt, each ten feet high and steaming from cooling systems. Gestation fluids glowed within glassic tubes, each containing a broad and powerful body. Creatures waiting to be born, spawned solely to serve the Alpha Legion's goals.
A Legionnaire stood at the end of one row, carefully checking the readouts on a console built into the side. Beta strolled over, swinging a twin-bladed spear in hand. Like him this warrior wore the many-headed serpent of the XXth Legion, along with chains and cryptographic emblems, but his plate was no match for the Sorcerer. Beta wore captured armour, covered in scales and with a serpent-crested helm. This other was indistinguishable from any other Legionary, which was the point.
"How fare the Glykonae?" Beta asked.
Epsilon replied, "The cryo-systems are stable, life-signs steady. They didn't take a scratch in the fighting."
"Good," Beta affirmed, "We wouldn't want anything to spoil the surprise."
Epsilon glanced over, his face pale and shaved scalp gleaming with oils, "You think these prototypes will match the Primaris?"
"Early field trials proved they can," Beta pointed out, "They crushed all opposition."
"In contained battles, where all they needed to do was hack and slash. Open war is a different prospect. These creatures are savage and mindless, they do not fit well with the Legion's ethos of subtly."
Beta sniffed, "They have their uses."
"Short-uses, their lifespans last mere days."
"Long enough for our purposes," Beta argued, "We can revisit their lifespans later. Besides, short lives keeps them from plotting to overthrow us."
"Perhaps we should revisit the hypno-indoctrination implants," Epsilon mused.
"That's Talgor's field," Beta argued, "Are you trying to steal your Brother's secrets?"
"Naturally," Epsilon laughed, "As you steal mine."
Beta grinned at that. The cell they ran together worked as a cooperative, where all had equal say and all reaped the benefits. Well the four seniors at least, Beta, Delta, Epsilon and Talgor, all sharing command. It was an uneasy arrangement, liable to collapse at any moment, but for now the four of them agreed they could achieve more working together than they could dream alone. It had worked so far, but all of them kept a wary eye on the others, one did not survive long in the Alpha Legion without learning the value of contingency planning.
A cry from the far end of the vault drew his eye. Strolling towards them two more approached. Talgor and Delta, Brother-Commanders of this cell. Beta saw in their faces the marks of their blood. Beta was the only true son of Alpharius among them. Delta and Epsilon were whelped from stolen Storm Herald gene-seed and Talgor was a renegade Ultramarine. They all considered themselves Alpha Legion though, and the Legion considered them kin. The XXth was not a bond of blood but of ideas, a coalition of the alike and the like-minded.
Talgor didn't wait to proclaim, "It's happened as expected!"
"Already?" Epsilon started, "That was fast."
"The fighting is done, he's proclaimed victory," Talgor explained.
"How like him," Delta snorted as they came to a halt.
"He has good reason," Talgor grunted, "He is a supercilious bastard, but he remains a Primarch. Genius is mandatory."
"You sound like you admire him," Delta jeered, "Pining for your old allegiances?"
"Never," Talgor snarled, "The Ultramarines cast me out, all because I couldn't abide their stifling rules. They deserve death, he deserves death. But I refuse to underestimate him. Killing Roboute Guilliman is going to take supreme skill."
Beta agreed, "We have lulled the Imperials into a false sense of security, they are deep into their victory cups, vulnerable to our next move."
"And we had to sacrifice scores of our Brothers to make it happen," Epsilon muttered.
"You agreed to the plan. They were our most expendable assets, the weak and ill-disciplined, those who succumbed to Daemonic-possession. We had to let the Imperials kill a few of our own, if they'd seen nothing but cultists and mutants they'd have suspected a trap."
"We lost a lot of cultists in the operation," Delta pointed out, "And a lot of the equipment we provided them with."
"There are always more cultists," Beta sniffed, "And they served their purpose luring the target to Sacellum."
"And now we rely upon a Daemon," Talgor hissed.
That was a sore point. Their cell wasn't alone in this campaign; the warband had aligned their efforts with a Greater Daemon of Tzeentch, Harbinger, a fiend of awesome power and infinite cunning. Such alliances promised mighty boons, but carried dangers many times more perilous. Daemons were treacherous, mercurial and entirely without loyalty or gratitude. Beta was mighty in the ways of sorcery, but even he was wary of confronting the Cupbearer of Tzeentch.
"Harbinger has a part to play," Beta stated.
"It irks me," Delta muttered, "Chaos is a tool to be used, not an ally to trust."
"We need him, that doesn't mean we trust him," Beta argued.
"Explain again how his plan works," Talgor pressed.
"I'm not sure I can," Beta sighed.
"More secrets?" Epsilon snorted.
"Truth, the ways of sorcery are subjective and liable to change on a whim. Harbinger carries totems of great mystical significance and personal import to the target. Blood of the 33rd Psyker Son, the Threefold Traitor and the Thrice-Betrayed. There are many ways to use such items, but what I would do with them and what Harbinger will do are two different things. All I know is he can do what he promised, if we can but deliver it to the target."
"All this is too mystical for my liking," Epsilon snorted, "Guilliman's here, I say we just set off an Atomonic bomb under his arse and be done with it."
"Wouldn't work," Talgor snorted, "You think the Victrix Guard isn't alert for traps and snares, an Atomonic bomb wouldn't be allowed to get within a hundred kilometres of Guilliman."
"Always with the not-so-smart solution," Delta sneered.
"Technology is more reliable than sorcery," Epsilon retorted, "Maybe you'd know that if you didn't spend your days skulking about in shadows and spying on the ranks."
"I can do more with a whispered word than you can with a hundred claw-wielding automatons."
"They are not automatons!" Epsilon spat.
"Don't bicker," Beta snapped, "We all want the same thing: Roboute Guilliman dead. Revenge, power, glory, whatever the reason we want him dead."
"And then?" Talgor pressed, "Once we kill the target, what do we do with thousands of Crusaders, all out for our blood?"
Beta nodded at the tubes, "That's where the Glykonae come in. Our answer to the Primaris Paradigm can best their finest champions. We have hundreds here, thousands more scattered across the planet. Once the deed is done, we rise and shatter the Indomitus Crusade at a stroke and claim the glory for ending the hated Imperium once and for all."
It was a fine dream but Delta grimaced, "This all relies on a Daemon's trickery going as planned. Even if Harbinger can pull it off, he'll betray us as soon as it's done. We all know it to be true. What plan do we have to deal with Harbinger's sudden but inevitable betrayal?"
Beta sighed, "We cannot know what he intends, we will just have to be flexible."
"That's your plan?!" Talgor laughed.
Beta snapped, "We're dealing with a Greater Daemon serving the Changer of Ways! Any plan I could conjure will already have been anticipated and countered. Harbinger will have plans within plans within plans; we can't beat him at his own game. But even Daemon cannot foresee all outcomes. A moment will come that he has not foreseen and in that instant alone will we be free to act. Harbinger will fall, but not till after Guilliman is dead. Are we agreed?"
Epsilon nodded, "Harbinger serves his purpose, then we dispose of him."
"One enemy at a time," Delta agreed.
"So long as Guilliman dies, I can stomach working with a Daemon." Talgor allowed.
"Then it is decided," Beta affirmed, "We use Harbinger to eliminate the last Imperial Primarch, then remove him. With this deed we will at last be supreme among the stars!"
"For the Legion?" Epsilon asked.
Beta grinned, "Screw the Legion, we're doing this one entirely for ourselves."