Extremus Fors Chapter 9

Clad once more in armour Hypras made his way down to the training dojos. It had been necessary to take the diversion, it would not do to appear before Squad Mercadier in a shrift, not if he intended to win their loyalty. It frustrated him how long it took to don plate, but ritual appeasements were not to be ignored. The Spirits of the Machine were fickle and prone to waywardness, woe betide the warrior who forsook his armour's hallowed ministrations. So Hypras endured as artificers attached his armour one plate at a time, teeth grinding over every lost second.

With barely two hours left before Purity of Silence set sail Hypras stepped into the echoing chamber that passed as a training dojo. Here various environments could be recreated, any imaginable scenario played out and ancient battles recreated, to be refought over and over. He stood on a tall balcony, running around the perimeter, looking down into a series of rooms laid out like a rat's maze. Currently the chamber had been set to resemble a Narcolapse-addict's fever dream. Lights strobed in multi-coloured hues and smoking braziers fumed hypnotic unguents into the air. Soft cushions lined the floors and the piled bodies of vat-grown clones were inked with lurid tattoos. Screams of pain and ecstasy were being played on a loop, jarring the ear while the skin crawled with the projected psychic sensation of fingers caressing without consent. No mere theoretical scenario was this, but a recreated battle from actuality. A few weeks earlier the strike squad had torched a Slaanneshi coven on Angle's Redoubt, facing Daemonettes in the bowels of the Hive sinks, some would call it routine purge but for Grey Knights no mission was routine.

Through the rooms models of those Daemons danced. Servitors specially refitted with obscene adornments and large pincers for hands. No material foe could match the unearthly nature of Neverborn, the stilled flicker-movements that somehow were inhumanly fast, but the Adepts had done their best. These servitors moved with speed beyond the Mechanicus' normal talents, swift and deadly in skill and style. Technology of rare make endowed the servitors with lethal grace an Imperial Assassin would envy. They were still slow and feeble compared to actual Daemons, but one must make do.

Despite his haste Hypras stood back and watched as squad Mercadier advanced through the den. Each warrior was coming from a different direction, closing a noose around a central chamber. In every room they were confronted by two or three foes, trying to deny their momentum, every step challenged, every inch a battle. Their minds sang in the Aegis, forming the interconnected union of the Grey Knights. Battle-Psykers of the Astartes called this a Congress, a powerful but deeply unstable fusion of powers, but to the Grey Knights it was as familiar as breathing. In terms of power there was not much between a son of Titan and the Librarian of any other Chapter, but it was their ability to unite that made Grey Knights so potent.

Hypras knew their names well and watched as Brother Galhuad confronted a pair of cavorting servitors. He fought with the traditional Nemesis polearm, the shaft unbreakable and the speartip crackling with psychic potential. Huge pincers came at him with bone-shattering force but he denied their touch with a hand over hand rotation. Left and right and left they struck, but somehow his weapon was always in the right place to block. Galhuad was charting the future with his mind's eye, seeing attacks before they presented themselves in reality. The servitors shrieked as they tried to flank him, but Galhuad's polearm flashed, tip shearing through a neck to decapitate one, then reversing to thrust behind and run the enemy closing on his back through the heart. He had struck the man-machine in the perfect point to cut off its power supply, finding its weak spot with impossible precision. The Perfect Strike technique, as taught on Titan, a fusion of skill and prescience few could master.

On the far side Brother Mordad battled a gaggle of thin-limbed servitors. Light and fast, with daggertip fingers, trading armour for speed and bouncing up and down with spring-assisted bounds. Mordad fought them with a two-handed Nemesis greatsword, sweeping it about with lateral swipes. His attack was heavy and slow, and the servitors easily dodged his blows, but his intent had merely been to clear room. His mind flared and suddenly the length of his sword was engulfed in purest flame, burning with resolution and the fires of zeal. He thrust the tip at them and flames leapt forth, gushing wide and inundating flesh and steel. Skin and bone ran like wax and metal deformed, melted by the fires of his will. None could resist the inferno, save Mordad, who stepped through the flame untroubled, the pure of heart having nothing to fear from the fires of hell.

Closer to the heart of the maze Brother Agriff gave battle to a hulking Servitor. Bigger and stronger than its kin, heavily armoured and with fists the size of a man's torso. Agriff fought it with a Nemesis Thunderhammer, its head engraved with silver runes of banishment. A fist nearly took his head off but Agriff sidestepped and slammed his hammer into its flank. The blow caved an immense crater into the metal and bone, deeper even than a Space Marine's strength should account for. Hammerhand, a technique that bestowed unearthly strength, giving Agriff might beyond his physical frame. He drew back and struck the reeling Servitor once more, sending it flying back through the wall behind and crushing three more foes lurking beyond under its concaved frame.

Last was Brother Pelleus. He fought a tide of foes with twin Nemesis short swords, one held upwards, the other dropping from his fist. A river of servitors tried to stop him, blocking the corridor with their mass but Pelleus was not daunted. His hands danced: block, deflect, strike, thrust, slash, riposte and slice, all of these in the blink of an eye. The Quickening, a technique of speed and grace, channelling power into unmatched swiftness. Pelleus moved through their ranks like a tornado, leaving collapsing foes in his wake and having not suffered so much as a drop of his blood to be spilled.

Hypras watched as the foursome entered the central chamber and was mildly impressed that they all did so in the same heartbeat. Their timing was impeccable and as one they raised their weapons and cut down the torpid clone-man sprawled on a pile of cushions, to simulate the decadent cult-leader. The scenario was complete and silence fell, while Hypras reflected on what he had seen. The squad was superlative in combat, and powerful in the psionic arts, but their focus had been lacking. The Aegis that united them was diffuse and weak, scant protection against a true Daemonic foe. The cause was obvious; they had lost their Justicar, Alcanon their leader and locus of psychic power. Without him they were lessened, a blunt blade, in need of reforging. Hypras knew tradition demanded they should be returned to Titan at once, but his needs overrode such niceties.

As the foursome moved to depart Hypras descended a flight of metal stairs, moving to block their exit. They did not seem surprised to see him, his aura declaring his presence long before they laid eyes on him. They came to a halt and remover their helms, revealing pale faces with stern countenances.

Galhuad bowed shallowly and said, "Brother-Librarian, we are honoured by your presence."

Hypras replied, "Your performance was impressive, you should be commended."

"Nothing but chaff," Agriff snorted, "No substitute for true Neverborn."

Pelleus agreed, "A training regime would have to be much harder than this to test us."

Mordad confirmed, "I prefer real foes, but I sense this is no social visit."

To lie among psykers was no small thing so Hypras stuck to the truth by saying, "I come to you with a terrible geas upon me. A threat has arisen that must be confronted, and you shall come with me to stop it."

"The lost Daemonsword is found?" Galhuad asked.

"How did you know that?!" Hypras gasped in surprise.

"Galhuad's perception is sharp," Pelleus scoffed, "They say some day he may join the Prognosticars."

"But this does not explain why you come to us," Mordad stated bluntly.

Hypras drew in a breath and said, "I must capture this blade, but I cannot do so alone. I require Brothers to join my expedition."

"Brother Captain-Manguire was unwilling to lend you a complete squad?" Agriff probed.

"Sixth Brotherhood is under orders to oppose an incursion in the Heraculan Deeps," Hypras confessed, "You are all he had to spare."

That caused looks to pass between them and Hypras sensed suspicion in their auras. Galhuad spoke, "Then this is not an official mission, as set forth by the Prognosticars. This is a personal vendetta."

"To hare off on your own volition, without sanction… this is a thing unheard of," Pelleus uttered.

"The mission is vital," Hypras retorted, "It's worth is self-evident."

But Pelleus snorted, "I never said I didn't like it, just wanted to be clear how many traditions we are throwing out the airlock."

Galhaud's shock rang through his aura as he exclaimed, "Pelleus, you cannot be thinking of joining this foolishness!"

"Yes I can," Pelleus snorted, "I've always wanted to carve out a place in legend. This sounds like a rare chance to snatch for glory."

Galhuad retorted, "Justicar Alcanon would have had you scourged for such vainglory!"

Agriff spoke then, "Alcanon would indeed disapprove of such self-glorification, however Pelleus is right to say we should join the mission."

"Not you too," Galhuad spat.

Agriff however countered, "A Daemon is bound into physical form, a fleeting chance to capture and imprison an aspect of the Primordial Annihilator. Such a moment does not come often; we must not let it pass."

"How often do we have a chance to strike back at the First Enemy?" Hypras pressed, "To do more than banish and deny their advance. Here we have the means to hurt them, to remove a potent fiend from their ranks. We cannot ignore this prospect, duty demands we act."

"Our duty is to return to Titan," Galhuad argued, "Tradition demands we inter our lost in the Dead Fields and be reforged as a unit. If we chase dreams we will squander our strength and throw good lives away."

Yet Mordad said, "To hurt the Primal Evil, even in the smallest way, I shall not turn my face from such a course."

Three had agreed and Hypras knew the fourth would not stay if his brother went, and yet that was not enough. Hypras needed their uniform consent, to have all of them join willingly or not at all. Their Aegis was weakened but still bound them. If all were not in accord they were worse than useless, better none go than have a divided squad at his back.

Hypras faced Galhuad and said, "I could command your compliance, but I ask you to join me."

Galhuad glared back and said, "You defy the traditions of Titan with this endeavour. You stand in defiance of orders. We have heard of you, of your insults and scorn for our allies. You defy the Inquisition's orders at every turn."

"I serve higher orders," Hypras stated, "The Emperor's gift sets us above such paltry mortals. We are elevated to a higher station, for our life-mission is greater than they can dream."

Galhuad's lip curled as he said, "That is where we differ. The Emperor's gift is a burden, a standard we must aspire to. We must strive to be worthy of His protection, with righteous words and deeds and obedience. Our traditions are sacrosanct, not to be broken on a whim. Unlike the Emperor's Left Hand we are not given license to do as we will, to sin and call ourselves righteous."

"Do not compare me to an Inquisitor!" Hypras growled, "The purpose of Titan is to confront Sin Incarnate, wherever and whenever it rears its ugly head. No matter how many Brothers we lose, no matter how diminished we are, we must fight on. Were you the last of your squad, the rest fallen in battle, would you turn your back and flee, bleating of tradition? No, I see it in your eyes, you would fight to the last, sure and certain the cause was just. I say to you this is such a moment, a fiend of the Primal Evil arises. Will you confront it or run away, be true to the spirit of the Grey Knights or be a coward?!"

Galhuad looked like he had swallowed a lemon but said, "Ten thousand years have the Grey Knights stood against the Primordial Annihilator, ten thousand years of Brothers laying down their lives for the sake of reality itself. I will not shame that legacy, I will not turn my back on my Brothers. I will join your quest."

Hypras accepted this and said, "Then you must swear yourselves to my command, to obey my words as if it was the Grandmaster's own."

Agriff declared, "My word is given and it is unbreakable."

Mordad stated, "The enemy is waiting, I shall not quibble over who wears the laurels of command."

Pelleus affirmed, "Lead and I will follow."

Galhuad was the last to say with leaden tones, "As my brothers swear so shall I, Squad Mercadier is yours to command."

Hypras lifted his chin and uttered, "Come Brothers, to the hangers, we shall requisition a Storm Raven and be away. We have our mission and time is short, let us depart this very hour. We are committed to this course, and woe betide he who stands in our way."