Exitus Ultima Chapter 8

Toran waited, for there was nothing else to do. In a sterile chamber outside an Apothecarion Astartes' officers gathered, idly waiting for news. There was furtive talk amongst them, for while they were skilled warriors and brave commanders, they were not healers, they knew nothing of the restoration of fallen Transhumans. Left with nothing to do, they talked in sullen groups, bitterly revisiting all they had seen. Captains and Chapter Masters from twenty-nine Chapters, biding their time. A situation none of them was accustomed to.

With nothing else to do Toran examined them in detail. Scarred warriors, each a hero of battle. There was K'inich Yux, veiled Shade-Lord of the Smoke Jaguars. Those elusive warriors were allies to the Storm Heralds, but this one seemed aloof and detached, his black eyes glinting from under a pale brow, his skull shaved bald save for a single braid that hung past his shoulder. Elsewhere Jaric Phoros glowered, seeking fault with all around. Further out Iron Father Faeron of the Steel Confessors silently observed, his half-metal face betraying nothing of his mindset. Lesser Captains were scatted about, but only Phalros stood equal to these in rank.

"Toran!" Phalros' annoyed voice cut in.

"What?" Toran started, "Apologies I wasn't listening."

"Obviously," First Captain Jemiel grunted, "We were saying you were closest to the attack, what happened?"

Toran could see every second in his mind, it was seared into his recollections forevermore, "I saw a Traitor grasp the Primarch's hand, something passed between them and he fell. His wounds reopened, he looked close to death."

"What was it?" Jemiel pressed.

"I know not, I have never seen the like. But the Traitor spoke of the hydra before he committed suicide."

"Alpha Legion," Phalros spat, "Echeb warned me not to think them so easily defeated. I thought we were alert for possible treachery, I was a fool to think we were prepared for anything they could produce."

Toran argued, "My lord, this Traitor snuck past the watch of Inquisitors, a thousand spies and Custodes and Victrix Guard alike. He was vetted and searched most thoroughly, you do not bear any responsibility."

"I am a Chapter Master, these worlds are my protectorates, everything is my responsibility."

Jemiel scowled, "The Victrix Guard will start pulling teeth, before letting anyone into the Primarch's presence in future."

"Assuming he has a future," Phalros growled.

"Surely he cannot die," Toran gasped in denial.

"I do not know, but we must be ready to act. Jaric Phoros will demand action, Faeron keeps his own counsel. K'inich Yux is an ally, but not one I would count on for support in this arena."

Toran blinked, "Are we expecting war?"

"Someone will try to seize control," Jemiel growled, "Mark my words, I have seen how the Crusade operates. Everyone here is planning how to take command, for the betterment of the Primarch's guard and proper organisation of the Crusade, naturally."

"Is there a nominated successor?" Phalros asked.

"Not one Chapter would abide any other to be placed above them in authority, they heeded only the Primarch's will. The only other who could keep them in line would be High Marshall Helbrecht, but he is far away, sent deep into Segmentum Tempestus."

Suddenly a loud cry rang out, "Enough with this!" All turned to look as saw Jaric Phoros turn to the door, where a pair of the Victrix Guard stood vigil. Though the master of the Fire Lords was unarmoured he looked ready and able to beat them down with his bare fists. The Captains of various Chapters stood with him, looking ready to join in.

"I demand to be allowed into that room!" Jaric barked.

"One does not make demands of the Great One's axemen," came the sibilant whisper of K'inich Yux.

"Keep your nose out of this, you sulking wretch."

K'inich retorted, "The hollowest jugs ring the loudest, and you are so very loud."

The room parted as everyone stood back. Belatedly Toran remembered the Smoke Jaguars and Fire Lords had a long and bitter feud, centuries of mistrust and bloodshed laying between them. They had set aside their differences in the Crusade's service, but as soon as the leash was dropped their bitter enmity rose. Toran was sure if either had weapons blood would have been shed already, but the fists of a Space Marine were weapons in their own right.

"Why don't you go find a nice corner to cry in?" Jaric snapped.

"Crop-burner I name thee," K'inich snapped, "Thy sons are fit only for scorching empty fields and slitting the throat of babes in the crib."

"Keep your mouth shut!" barked Agrippa from Phoros' side.

K'inich turned very slowly to take in the Marine Malevolent, "Your ships hide many shadows, Butcher King, so many hidden spaces. You should watch your tongue, for the shadows are mine and the hidden places call me lord. Open your mouth again and you shall never feel safe within your own halls."

Agrippa fell silent but Toran watched aghast as the pair of Chapter Master faced off. Yet it was Faeron of the Steel Confessors who spat, "You waste words arguing, when we should be out there!"

"Doing what?!" Jaric barked, "Looking under stones for a cure?"

"If we have to."

"We're not leaving till we get answers, I demand to be let into that room!"

K'inich hissed, "Touch the door and the axemen won't have to lift their blades, for I shall end thee."

Jaric's face screwed up in anger but just then there was the snap of bolts unlocking. All eyes turned as a plasteel door slid aside and Cato Sicarius stepped forth. The Knight-Champion of Macragge looked grim, his face stone and his eyes filled with grief. Toran had never found the commander of the Victrix Guard to be easy to like, too proud and superior by half, but in that instant he felt sorrow for the Marine's burden. He looked like a pallbearer, and yet anger clenched his jaw.

"What is this ruckus that causes I, Cato Sicarius, to leave my gene-father's side?!" the commander barked.

Phalros answered, "The Primarch, tell us he is not dead!"

"He still draws breath, but barely," Cato Sicarius stated grimly.

It was not as reassuring as it sounded and Jaric pressed "What is his status?"

"Troubling, his life signs are faint and weakening before our eyes. The finest healers of the Imperium tend upon him, but they are baffled, no man alive understands Primarch physiology and this poison defies categorisation."

"Surely he can't die," Jemiel gulped.

"Better you see for yourselves," Cato sighed.

The Knight Champion stepped through the door and the officers followed. Beyond lay an observation gallery, ringing an operating theatre. The Space Marines spread out and looked down through glassic panels, seeing the Lord Commander of the Imperium Entire laid out on a surgical slab. Toran's breath caught in his throat, for Guilliman was in dire straits. The outer layers of his armour had been removed, revealing strange machines beneath. These were tied to cogitators and pumps, as smoking incense braziers implored the Machine Spirits for aid. Tech-Priests worked over the Armour of Fate, arguing back and forth as to the purpose of strange devices built into its frame. Toran didn't speak the Lingua Technis but knew they were coming up short, whatever arcane relics hid beneath that plate were beyond the understanding of the Mechanicus. Astropaths ringed the room, hands clasped as they performed unknownable feats while medicaes and Chirugeons worked over the vicious rent in the Primarch's neck. Guilliman was so pale as to be a corpse, eyes closed and were it not for the beeping of life-support machines Toran would have thought him dead.

Across from him a Primaris Marine in the armour of the Victrix Guard laid on another slab, red tubing sucking blood from his veins to be pumped into filters and gene-adjusters before being injected into the Primarch. Medicaes were unplugging the Marine but he begged, "No, not yet…"

"You've given eight pints already," came the response.

"I can spare some more… take it all…"

"You've given enough; let someone else have a turn."

Jaric Phoros turned to Cato and gulped, "You're trying to transfuse a Primarch with Marine blood?"

"It's thin stuff, but nothing else comes close," Cato sighed in despair, "Lord Guilliman skirts hypovolaemia and this is the only way we can keep him from crashing. The wound is a side effect of poison, one that is destroying blood cells from the inside out. The Medicaes are baffled, this poison defies any attempt to reverse it. They tell me he should already be dead, but something is resisting it."

K'inich nodded to the Astropaths, "Witchery not born of man… Xenos witchery."

"The Eldar are known to have played a role in Guilliman's resurrection. The Astropaths are trying to boost… whatever it is they did to him. It might be working, it might not, we have no way to know."

"The Eldar, do they know what passes in these darkest of hours?" K'inich asked.

"Ask Xenos for help?!" Jaric spat in fury.

But Iron Father Faeron hissed, "Don't pretend the Xenos haven't been helping the Crusade in their own way. We all know Lord Guilliman has an arrangement with them."

"I do not trust the Eldar as far as I can throw them," Jaric spat, "Let's cut to the chase, where is Belisarius Cawl? He alone understands what occurred in the Temple of Correction, he can fix this."

"Cawl is on Forgeworld Crux Lapis," Phalros answered, "A week's sailing, with favourable warp tides."

"We don't have a week," Cato lamented.

Toran spoke up then, "Have we considered erecting a stasis-field?"

Cato glared at him in annoyance, "The Imperial Regent has decreed that he is never to be put in stasis again. Even if his life depends on it, I am sworn to not allow it. He will not suffer himself to become a monument to a dead ideal, not again."

"Screw that," Jaric scoffed, "He's dying, His orders are null and void."

"I have sworn a binding oath to my Primarch. All the Victrix Guard have. By our honour we must kill anyone who tries to put him in stasis."

The last hope guttered out and Toran knew what it meant. Nothing imperial science could do would save Guilliman's life, and they hadn't time to send for aliens or Techno-savants who might know more. The Primarch's life was slipping away before their eyes and they could do nothing to halt it. Toran had never felt so helpless, he was useless in this arena, a mere onlooker to the greatest tragedy of the age. Never had he thought he would witness his Gene-father's death, the mere idea of it was unmanning.

Faeron spoke up, "It is time to consider the worst. What contingency plans are in effect should Guilliman die?"

"Die?!" Jaric roared, "He can't die!"

"All that lives, must die," K'inich stated, "The Sun-Emperor alone walks in eternity, so it is written."

Cato Sicarius spat, "The contingency plans have already failed. It was predicted you Masters and Captains would move to establish order in the Crusade and maintain momentum. Instead I find you in here, bleating at my doorstep."

"Don't place the blame on us," Phalros rebuked, "You never communicated such orders to us."

"If you think to blame me…" Cato hissed.

Toran hastily cut in, "This is no time for casting blame. We have to act, before it all falls apart. We must do everything we can to help the Living Primarch, while we can still say such a thing. This poison came from somewhere, so there must be a cure. All we have to do is find it."

Cato shook his head, "Every Inquisitor and Custodes is currently scouring this planet and beyond. The Primarch's intelligence networks are taking apart Cardinal Gresham's entire life, probing every contact and interrogating his entire household. Even the Historitors are ploughing through dusty data-stacks, trying to unearth any reference to such a calamity happening before. They find nothing."

"They aren't us," Jaric growled, "Gresham wasn't working alone, someone must know of this poison, and a cure."

"You are hardly fit to be investigators," Cato snorted, "You are as likely to shoot a suspect as speak to him."

"They won't die until they've talked," Jaric growled, "I promise you that."

Cato snapped, "I cannot have you blundering about, ruining my investigations. I need you elsewhere. The Crusade is awash with rumours, panic is spreading and the masses cry out in terror. Admirals and Generals are already bickering over what to do. I need every Space Marine to get out there and impose order. Keep the panic quelled and quash any hint of violence. You want to help, this is how."

Jaric glared, "You do not give us orders. My Fire Lords commit themselves to restoring Guilliman, at any cost."

"Without the Regent the Indomitus Crusade fails," Faeron agreed, "Without the Crusade the galaxy is lost."

"The Smoke Jaguars will not know sleep nor rest till we find the cure," K'inich avowed.

Phalros declared, "This planet is among our Protectorates, we know it better than any. If there is an answer we will find it."

Cato glared at them, "All you will accomplish is to spread panic and alarm! If you start blundering about you will crush any hope of digging out the truth!"

"That is your concern," Faeron uttered, "We will do what must be done."

With that the Iron Father turned and strode out. One by one the others went after, each determined to scour this planet to the bedrock in their quest to find a solution. Cato Sicarius was a picture of anger but could not stop them from leaving. Only Toran remained behind, the Captain torn in his hearts. A part of him wanted to race out there and start shaking everyone he met for answers, to break down every door and kick over every rock. Yet he knew it was futile, the Alpha Legion had played them all for fools and would not be so careless as to leave a cure laying about.

Toran was trapped between action and inaction, the mindless urge to rush about and keep busy or stand still and mourn. He thought fear excised from his being but the prospect of losing his gene-father left him frozen with indecision. As Guilliman lay still all Toran could manage to do was place his hand on the glassic and wait for death's cold hand to snatch the life of the Primarch away. The last hope for mankind lay down there, and it was doomed.