Extremus Fors 2
The Furthest orbit of Greater Tectum
A derelict tumbled through the empty void, aimlessly wandering without any direction to steer for. Just another hulk left from the titanic void battle that had ravaged the naval base of Tectum, spending two months drifting off into the void. The gas giant was a smudge in the distance, multitudes of ships and docks invisible rendered to the naked eye. No ship was coming this way, no rescue effort had been mounted. The Imperials were furiously rebuilding and had no time to spare for a derelict hulk, especially not when they were busy with hundreds of such wrecks threatening to collide with the docks.
A mass-conveyor by class, a wallow scow of a pilgrim ship meant only to ferry filthy masses of the faithful between shrine worlds. Pilgrim's Dream, a name utterly undeserved, big as a battleship in displacement and twice as ugly. She had been caught in the opening salvoes of the Word Bearer attack; her logic engines toasted by an errant lance blast that overloaded her simple Machine Spirit. Engines and shields and vox were all intact, but without a cogitator core she could not manoeuvre or signal for help. She had been left to tumble away, ignored and forgotten, twenty thousand pilgrims abandoned to freeze or suffocate, but it turned out their fate was far more immediate and violent.
Inside the derelict thunder and fire was unleashed, a furious exchange of bolt shells crossing the interior of the ship. Inside the arcane mechanisms of the Gellar-field generator two breeds of Transhuman joined in battle. One side was clad in the crimson of dried blood, and their snarling helms were crested by rising horns. Daemon-mouthed bolters were heavy in their hands and twisted mutations marred their forms. Traitors, warp-touched madmen of the cursed Legions, tattered remnants of the invaders: Word Bearers.
The Traitor Marines fought with the fury of dead men, knowing there was nowhere left to run, it was fight or die and they held nothing back. Yet the force set against them was no ordinary band of hunters. Knife and chainsword were met by gleaming force-weapons, while bolts ricocheted off silver armour etched with esoteric wards. Wrist mounted storm bolters laid down devastating barrages of counter-fire while feet shook deckplates with their mass. Into the teeth of enemy fire shining warriors advanced, indomitable and unbreakable in their surety of purpose. Grey Knights, the Imperium's elite Daemonhunters, the secret sons of Titan.
Proud and contemptuous were they, and none more so than Hypras. In the midst of the fray he advanced, striding confidently into the blizzard of rounds. His plate was heavy with marks of arcane lore, his waist bounded by scrolls of dread knowledge and a tome that to even name aloud would damn a soul. In his hand was a tall Nemesis-stave and his head was crowned by a Psychic hood that shimmered with caged might. A prince among Psykers, greater in power and understanding even than his Chapter-Brothers, trusted with the darkest secrets: a Grey Knight Librarian.
Hypras moved quickly up the left flank, drawing the enemy's fire. He was not troubled by the torrents of bolt rounds, for not one touched his plate. He was surrounded by a flickering miasma and any bolt that touched the warp-bubble flashed out of existence, dropped into the warp to expend its fury uselessly. A dangerous conjuring of skill few could claim, even among the Battle-Psykers of regular Chapters such psionic art would be deemed sorcery, but Hypras was assured of his purity, hardened against corruption and protected by the Emperor's gene-seed. He did not fear using his powers freely.
Hypras' progress drew away enough firepower to allow his kinsmen to advance up the right flank. Yet as he drew into the shadow of a towering Gellar node he was confronted by a more challenging foe. From the dark shadows bounded a backwards-legged creature, with fiery claws and a gnashing faceplate. Once a proud Space Marine, now debased and defiled by the Principal Evil, his flesh offered up as a vessel for a Neverborn.
Hypras' lips drew back in disgust as psychic senses tasted the curdled fury within, a lesser emanation of the Skull Throne. This pathetic fool had given up his soul for trinkets, the weakness of the Astartes laid bare once more. The lies of the First Evil had found fertile soil in this dupe's mind, but Hypras was determined to tear it out root and branch, then sow the ground with salt.
The Possessed Marine opened his mouth and flames gushed forth, black and tainted with vile malignancy. Hypras was not given pause, he dropped the warp-bubble and held up his free palm. The flames veered off as he exerted his will, deflected away towards a knot of Word Bearers firing from cover. The plume struck them and clung like tar, burning through Ceramite in moments to make flesh run like wax. Five Traitors collapsed screaming as the dark power of their gods smote them, but Hypras had other concerns.
The Possessed leapt at him, claws growing from raised gauntlets. Hypras barely got his stave up in time to block a strike that would have torn his hearts out, but still his boots were driven backwards, sparks flying where ceramite ground over plasteel. The Neverborn's strength was unholy, its ferocity stunning and the heat of its breath blistered his face. The Possessed Marine leaned in, seven yellow eyes gleaming as he growled, "Blood and skulls, blood and skulls, blood and skulls."
Hypras stood firm in the face of horror and snarled, "Pathetic fiend, you are no prince of the Warp. You are but a splinter of the Primordial Annihilator, a cast-off afterthought!"
"Blood and skulls," the creature within hissed, "Blood and skulls."
Hypras' guts clenched in revulsion but boldly he cried, "Juar Het Gerena Je!"
Thus Hypras made the Invocation of Berane, a primordial and almost forgotten cantrip of banishment. The effect on the Neverborn was instantaneous, blasting it from its vessel and severing all ties to the material world. The Daemon was flung back into the warp, sent to make its excuses to its vile master, leaving the Marine hollow and bereft. The Traitor fell to his knees, legs no longer working, as he wept, "I'm empty, I'm all alone in the dark!"
"Wretched fool, your soul belongs to the First Enemy. Reap the rewards of treachery!" Hypras declared as he lifted his gun and put a single round into the weeping Marine's head.
Hypras let the corpse fall to the deck as he turned to take in the battle. Throughout the generatorum battle raged, Word Bearer against Grey Knight, under the gaze of bleeding sacrifices. High above they hung, weeping mortals nailed to projector nodes and crackling capacitors, thousands of humans captured when the ship fell. They hung from spiked discharge vanes and dangled from Synthi-blood pipes. The prisoner's veins had been opened to spill lifeblood down the mechanisms, and evil designs were drawn onto the metal out of their vitae. Eldritch silver runes had been covered in their faeces and sigils of protection defaced with pulled teeth and dripping eyeballs, perverting the purpose of this place from rejecting the Warp to summoning it. Hypras however ignored the wailing tears and fluttering agony from the sacrifices, their lives were meaningless in this conflict.
Knots of Word Bearers laid down vicious crossfires, some two-score of them fighting furiously. The Grey Knights were outnumbered two-to-one, but they were not daunted. A shining spearhead led the way, Terminator-Paladins of squad Carroges, their heavy plate shrugging off bolts like rainwater as storm bolters thundered in return. A step behind Strike-squad Mercadier followed, staying in the shelter of the Terminators as they picked off threats from the flanks. At the rear Purgation-squad Grenier stood their ground and laid down covering fire with Psycannons, their aim preternaturally accurate, suppressing targets before they could even present themselves. At the fore strode Brother-Captain Manguire, shrugging off fire with a Kine-shield, as he strode into the midst of the foe. The Word Bearers fell back to buy time but with a gesture he grabbed one of their number from afar and telekinetically pulled the cur ten metres across the deck, to be impaled upon his Nemesis sword.
Hypras saw their advance with his eyeballs and it was magnificent, but it paled in comparison to his mind's eye. In the realm of thought the Grey Knights were shining figures of purest power, radiating strength and incorruptibility. Their minds worked together, forming a harmonious communion that repelled the filth of the Underverse. The Aegis, the Grey Knight's communal pooling of minds, shaped to weaken and excise all things that emanated from the Principal Evil. Hypras was part of it, but only at the furthest edge. Each squad worked as a sub-choir of a greater chorus, each Knight channelling his power through his Justicar, who in turn added his might to the greater collective. Hypras was mighty and wise, but he stood apart and could only look on in awe as they advanced.
The Grey Knights were nearly in melee with the foe when a Traitor stepped out from behind a Gellar node, a missile launcher set to his shoulder. Before any could react he aimed and fired, sending a Krak warhead into the midst of squad Mercadier. Justicar Alcanon took the hit in his chest, his thrice blessed plate was proof against the wiles of the Archenemy but against conventional arms it was merely power armour. His breastplate failed to hold and the warhead blew through him, spraying innards across the deck. Alcanon's mind fell from the Aegis and his squad wavered, their psychic focus broken. The Word Bearers rallied in moments, redoubling their shooting until torrents of firepower inundated the Grey Knights. They ground to a halt, even Terminators struggling to stand, and it seemed their charge had failed. Then Brother-Captain Manguire cast into the Aegis, "+Squad Aloglave: you are needed!+"
Spacetime convulsed as something moved across the surface of the warp, crossing distances in a heartbeat. Ten flashes of light erupted behind the Word Bearer's line as shining figures burst into reality. With personal teleport vanes crackling, Squad Aloglave appeared in the enemy's rear, storm bolters firing and Nemesis blades lashing out. Traitors fell to the aching purity of the Grey Knights, caught in a vice and unable to break free.
With the incoming fire cut off Manguire rallied, leading his Brothers into the fray. Hypras was with them, Nemesis stave blazing with power. Mightily the sons of Titan laid into the foe, their weapons smiting all within reach. Halberds cleaved heads from necks, swords drove through hearts, maces crushed chests and hammers splattered brains like jelly. The Word Bearers fought back, as any Space Marine would, and Brother Gornamet of Aloglave went silent in the Aegis, his lifeblood spilling from a terrible wound to the chest. Hypras avenged him a moment later, Nemesis stave shattering the Traitor's spine with a single blow.
With strength and fury the Grey Knights cast down the wicked, leaving only one left. A battered figure in black armour, wielding a spiked crozius. His wounds were many and his left arm bent at an unnatural angle but there was no mistaking the Dark Apostle of this band. A minor acolyte in the Traitor Legion's byzantine hierarchies, but still a figure steeped in dark lore and infernal power.
"+Your doom has come+" Manguire cast as he faced the filth.
With narrowed eyes the Traitor hissed around pointed teeth, "The False Emperor's witch-knights, come for Gorchid's head. I should be honoured, but instead I'll just kill you."
"+Save the bravado, you will not lay a hand upon us+"
But Gorchid' mouth split wide as he proclaimed, "It is not me you should fear, but him! Come slaughter-lord! Come prince of carnage! Take my flesh J'kereathan and grant me revenge!"
The Dark Apostle's threw back his head and arms spread wide as his body swelled with the power of damnation. Muscles bulged obscenely and Ceramite shattered as the Dark Apostle's body grew, mass adding itself from nowhere. Black talons ripped from fingertips as cloven hooves formed and horns erupted from his brow. Gone was Gorchid the Dark Apostle, and in his flesh walked a Daemon of incalculable power, a greater emanation of the third vein of Khorne.
Twenty-seven Grey Knights stood before a Greater Daemon and yet not one stepped back. They held their ground and Manguire cast, "+Hypras!+"
The Librarian's hand fell to the tome at his belt, bound in tanned human skin and written in the lifeblood of most holy men as he recited, "H'tre Gretgh, Juser Inkader!"
The Daemon's head snapped up in shock as a feral roar of fury issued forth. Its growth stopped, stillborn as the words dug deep, robbing it of power. It took a stumbling step forward, trying to lay hands upon Hypras, but the Librarian continued, "Tou Lingh Hwasa Sew Ih Te Saison, Iy Lat Yin Gre!"
The Daemon shrank before him, as well it should. No Neverborn could deny the power of its True Name, and this fiend was known to the Grey Knights. A secret held in trust by Titan, shared only with the most ardent and unyielding Librarians. This name could corrupt any soul, render a man mad simply to know it, and break his body apart to try to say, but Hypras was equal to the peril. His soul had been honed and hardened by unspeakable rites, his mind shorn of doubt or mercy. His lips split and his throat closed around the malefic words but he pressed on, never hesitating over a single syllable. He owned nothing for the Daemon save contempt and with his recitation rendered the Daemon helpless and weak.
The Daemon collapsed to the deck, robbed of all strength. Then Brother- Captain Manguire stepped forward and rammed his Nemesis sword into its heart, banishing the fiend back to the warp. Silence fell as the filth was excised from reality and Manguire ordered, "+Check they are all dead+"
The squads moved to obey as Hypras swallowed a painful glut of bile where his throat bled and rasped, "Our Prognosticars... were right... we were just in time."
Manguire pulled free his helm, revealing a throat that was a mass of scar tissue where his larynx had been ripped out, and cast, "+Two Brothers dead, a sore loss in these dark days+"
"They died facing Sin Incarnate," Hypras intoned solemnly, "They will rest in the Dead Fields with honour."
"+And the mortals?+"
Hypras looked up, where hundreds of whimpering sacrifices bled out. Their minds were blasted by what they had seen, few would live and those unfortunates would wish they hadn't. Worse he sensed thousands more minds beyond, prisoners yet to be sacrificed. Twenty thousand souls cowering in the dark bowels of the ship, praying for deliverance. Unfortunately Hypras was no angel of mercy, his purpose was singular and unwavering.
Hypras had no quiver in his voice as he uttered, "None may witness the Ruinous Powers and live, none may know of the Grey Knight's existence. This ship and all aboard must be destroyed. In the Emperor's name, leave none alive."
