Here's chapter 4. As before, this doesn't flow right from the the last chapter and the legal disclaimer is at the end. Read, hopefully enjoy, and review if you see fit...
Dark Angels at Prayer
The spartan encampment at the Word Bearers' landing site had been transformed by the labor of cultists and machines. Barracks, armories, and guard towers adorned with the sigils of the chaos gods surrounded a vast dark cathedral dedicated to the undiluted glory of chaos like ants around their queen. The cathedral had been forged of human suffering, but it was finished now and seemed to project a shadow of latent pain that contrasted with its stately form. The sounds of voices raised in prayer could be heard echoing around the base. The scene was empty of living things with only the motion of Word Bearer banners detectable in the gathering dusk.
The interior of the cathedral was filled with chaos marines, acolytes, and initiates. The congregation was led in its' prayers by a tall figure in off-white robes that billowed about him with a life of their own. Mikaihel, Dark Apostle and Daemon Prince of the Word Bearers chaos space marine legion, gave his sermon in a resounding tone that could be heard by anyone in the building without the aid of technology. "The glory of chaos has been shown to us in that they have chosen to test us with such mighty opponents, that we might please their hunger with our worthy victories. We have been defeated but never broken and our vengeance shall overcome those who would mock the scions of Lorgar and the glories of chaos! We shall use those who blindly abandon themselves to Khorne as a shield for our advance and claim victory from the angels of the False Emperor! Now, go forth to your dwelling places and prepare for battle." Mikaihel intoned, "We shall meet these prey in a matter of days and wring their souls from their unworthy flesh as tribute to the eternal glory of chaos."
Afterward, Mikaihel retired to the lower levels of the temple which doubled as his command center and moved toward his quarters. He was halted by a voice from the shadows, "The Word Bearer reputation for eloquence is obviously not overrated," it said, the cloaked figure smiling in his ebony hood, "Your men will do anything for you." "As they should." responded Mikaihel, "Unlike some other legions, mine is wholeheartedly dedicated to chaos, Cypher." The dark green armor of his armor reflected the pale torchlight as Cypher, mysterious leader of the Fallen, responded, "True as that is, I have reason to suspect that the Dark Angels know I am here." "That would provoke quite a severe response", Mikaihel replied gravely, "How would you know this?" "The latest scrying reports seem to indicate that the strike cruiser Unrelenting Vigilance has come to this world. That is a ship personally seconded to Ezekial, the Dark Angel's Grand Master of Libarians, and every time that I have encountered that ship, he has been aboard it. They wouldn't have sent him to this world unless they considered the situation extremely important. The thought of my capture is one of the few things that could call him out of his precious sanctum. He's quite frustrated with me by now." The corners of the Cypher's mouth quirked upward in amusement. "If that is the situation we will have to prepare a suitable reception for them." Mikaihel concluded seriously, "We will discuss this matter later. I have to go to my personal devotions now." "May chaos guide your path." "Indeed it shall." As the Dark Apostle moved down the dim corridor, Cypher faded into the shadows of the catacombs once more.
The Dark Angels were on the move. They rumbled across the salt desert aboard their dark green rhinos, massive landraider, and nimble black landspeeders. The detachment consisted of roughly 60 loyalist space marines aboard a dozen support vehicles and raised clouds of dust in its wake that could be seen for miles. Interrogator Chaplin Johanous, commander of the force, rode atop a growling bike stained yellow by the dust. He was filled with righteous anger and constantly clenched and unclenched his free hand, aching with eagerness. He longed for the chance to smite the emperor's foes in battle once again, his desire for combat driven to dangerous intensity by the news that one of the Fallen was hiding on this world. That he cowered among the blasphemous Word Bearers only strengthened Johanous' need for combat.
The Chaplin's mind twitched with anger as he thought about the Word Bearers. Oath breakers and heretics like the rest of their kind, they were the worst of the traitor legions in his eye. Their leaders claimed that Lorgar was spiritually superior to the almighty Emperor himself! They mocked the honored legacy of the Adeptus Astartes with their debased rituals and retention of the sacred weapons of their corrupted Chaplains! They lacked the mote of honor that the other traitor legions retained, for all of the other legions' chaplains had remained pure and were murdered... Johanous' inner monologue was interrupted as his vox unit spoke, "Interrogator-Chaplain Johanous. What is your ETA? The heretics' continued presence on this world is an insult that dare not stand much longer!" Grandmaster Amahel transmitted from aboard a Dark Angel strike cruiser where he and his terminators awaited the opportune moment to teleport into the midst of the chaos marine camp. Johanous was quick to answer.
Mikaihel scowled at the bloodstained table before him. On it lay the mutilated remnants of a dozen ravens, products of multiple failures at divining the purpose and locations of his foes. The lean daemonic figure whispered litanies of patience beneath his breath as he gestured for his acolyte to prepare another sacrifice. "This will be the last time..." he muttered as he gripped the struggling animal and slipped into a trance, his hands carving arcane runes into its flesh.
Some time later, Mikaihel strode out of his sanctum and through the corridors of his headquarters. His wings were tightly folded and his robes twitched and rippled in response to his repressed fury. Thirteen times, all the messages gibberish! This Ezekial was powerful indeed to render his warp senses so blind. He was going to have to rely on more powerful eyes than his own to pierce this fog..."My sacred Lord! I must request your attention!" The Dark Apostle was halted by a trembling initiate dressed in dark red robes. "Yes..." Mikaihel's tone failed to mask his irritation and the initiate cowered at the thought of angering his exalted commander. Mikaihel sighed in disappointment at his lapse and said comfortingly, "My anger is not with you, but with those who are blind to our light. Speak what you must that we may both continue our duties."
The initiate's face lit with pleasure and he gushed out the message, "Brother Maikalus reports that the World Eaters can't be found. They have vanished into the depths of a city which lay between them and our camp. Given their proclivity for bloodshed, it is unlikely that they will be able to arrive before the False Emperor's minions." The initiate blinked himself awake, having recited the message in a trance and was unaware of what he had just spoken. Thus he was surprised as Mikaihel shoved past him, the white robes snapping in rage of their own accord.
"Blood mad fools. They and their single minded god validate everything our Primarch preached about the dangers of excessive devotion to one part of the chaos pantheon. Khorne berserkers indeed..." He growled in frustration at the latest disruption of his Host's plans. He paused before a massive door at the end of the corridor, its surface alive with runes. He composed himself, tucking his wings against his back and willing his robes to wrap around him tightly. It would not due to enter this chamber in a state of unrest. He touched one of the fluid runes and spoke a single discordant phrase, one not meant for human ears. The door rose up and into the wall. Mikaihel strode through the doorway and into cluttered chamber beyond.
The darkened chamber was littered with scraps of paper and the walls glowed with baleful scrawl. A fetid odor arose from the shadowed corners as moldering trash and old sacrifices rotted into nothing. An amused quavering voice cackled from one such corner before speaking, "Dark Apostle Mikaihel! It has been the longest time that I've had anyone but your dour marines to speak to... Hold on a second." A wad of blackened phlegm was spit into the light as the sickly figure emerged and faced the robe-wrapped Daemon Prince. The withered form was pocked and veins could be seen through its papery skin. Only a milky third eye gave clues as to its origins as an imperial navigator, those who guided the starships of humanity safely through the warp.
Mikaihal responded sternly, "This is not a social visit. I need to speak to Auraless. His expertise is required to solve a problem." "The hooded stranger has brought guests, has he? I can feel the gaze of the stranger's foe and sense the fog he raises in the sea of souls..." "Enough word games human! I owe you respect as Auraless' host but circumstances demand that I contact the Daemon directly!" The Dark Apostle's voice snapped with irritation, his eyes glowing yellow. The withered creature before him involuntarily trembled.
Suddenly the navigator's whole pose changed and when he spoke his voice was deep and resonant, Auraless, Lord of Change had taken control of his puppet, "Mikaihel. Why must you cut my host's fun short all the time? He means no harm, most of the time. It is the only pleasure left to him these days." "I will not banter words with you, Auraless. I have much to do and little time in which to do it. I have come because I have need for your services." The Dark Apostle was careful to mask the anger he was feeling. "You are always so curt with me. Why should I help such a brusque person?" The daemon's tone conveyed the impression that it was giggling inside. Mikaihel responded in a commanding tone. "By the pact brokered between myself and Tzeentch, the changer of ways, under the guidance of Lorgar I command your obedience Auraless the Morningstar, Voice of the Dawn." The possessed navigator's eyes flared with blue light as he was bound by the ritual phrase. The daemon hissed in fury before he responded, "What would you have me do?"
"There is a Dark Angel's librarian by the name of Ezekial who clouds the warp with his meddling. I would know the Dark Angels' plan, so that I do not act in ignorance." Auraless was silent a moment, then it raised an eyebrow coyly, "He bested you didn't he? I could feel your paltry attempts to pierce his fog in vain. And your khornate pawns have been lured away by the scent of blood. You're embarrassingly desperate but I will do as you ask. This Ezekial is an entertaining challenge if I recall correctly. Such an effort will suck this poor host dry," Auraless gestured down at the body it wore, "and I happen to like this host with its exotic gifts. If I am to do this properly you must give me a sacrifice."
Mikaihel scowled and nodded, knowing the daemon would never reveal its price before he agreed to give it and attempting to extract the answer would merely raise the cost. "Your word is your oath and 'an oath sworn is a deed done'. I believe that is a quote of yours?" The Dark Apostle nodded resentfully in an effort to not antagonize the daemon. "Since such an oath is sworn, I require that five initiates be brought to this chamber, drugged and bound, just before you want this task done." Mikaihel carefully repressed the anger that filled him, but Auraless knew him too well to miss the signs of his displeasure. The daemon laughed mockingly aloud and spoke one last time as the Dark Apostle turned to go, "Sometimes I think you forget your true nature, Mikaihel. You are just as much a daemon as I am, misguided though your faith is. You should be consuming the mortals' spirits left and right with the rest of us! Why else become a Daemon Prince?" The door lowered and the daemon host was lost from sight.
The Dark Angels rested as they underwent evening prayer in the foothills to the west of the Word Bearer camp. The landspeeders had scouted ahead and Johanous stood vigil in his black armor awaiting their return. His auto scanner picked up the humming black spec of one of the nimble skimmers as it hurried toward his force's position. Johanous stood his ground as the speeder settled meters from his position. He walked over to help the pilot to the ground. "Greetings brother Christopher, what have you to report?" The pilot dropped to his knees before replying, "Interrogator- Chaplin. The heretic encampment is surrounded by vast mobs of degenerate mutants, packed together like vermin as they chant praises to their foul gods. There is no way to enter the camp undetected." This unwelcome news caused Johanous to raise an eyebrow inside his helmet as his mind sought a question that might bring more useful information to light.
At length he replied, "What equipment do the mutants possess? Any heavy weapons evident?" "Not that we could detect at long range. The auspex seemed to indicate that any armored support was inside the walls of the camp." Johanous smiled grimly and activated his force-wide vox link in reply as his direct warrior instincts embraced the plan that lay before him, "Sons of the Lion, our duty calls us into the path of conflict once more. As you know, the heretical Word Bearers have desecrated the soil of one of the Emperor's worlds. They have established a citadel of corruption that is tainting all around it. It is our duty to purge them from this world! They have surrounded their dark fortress with a sea of degenerate flesh, the unsanctified ranks of a mutant hoard! We shall cleave our way through these unworthy foes and face their fell masters! It matters not that they shall learn of our coming as we scythe our way through their slaves, for we shall be whetted by the blood of the unworthy and our holy fury shall be stoked by the heat of battle as they stir from slothful idolatry! Dark Angels, to your vehicles. We ride with the Emperor's spirit this day!"
As Johanous finished his sermon, the Dark Angel marines rose from their knees in a whir of servos. They were silent, grouping together in squads as they marched to their idling transports. Techmarines chanted over an exposed engine in one rhino, urging its spirit to cooperate with them. Johanous was pleased with his soldiers and activated a private vox channel, satisfied that he could speak in isolation. He gave a quick recount of events to an expectant Grandmaster Amahel, in response the Grandmaster intoned, "All is well, Brother Johanous. You will assault through the masses of mutants and draw the greater heretics from their dens as the Deathwing and I teleport into the heart of their camp. Subject 001 will most likely have associated himself with those in charge of the group. It has always been his way." "Then it has been verified that subject 001 is at this encampment?" Johanous' voice took on an excited tone at the thought. Amahel replied disapprovingly, "Nothing is certain about the Fallen, Interrogator-Chaplin. To capture the least of them is the same as capturing the leaders of their unrepentant bands. Always remember that."
Johanous stilled at the veiled reprimand and responded, "Of course." His tone conveyed an agreement that his helmed features didn't. Amahel spoke one last time, "Very good. You will move out and strike for the Word Bearer camp. I will be teleporting into the camp at 0700 hours. Emperor be with you." The vox shut off and Johanous strode to his bike. He mounted the machine and made his way to the head of the column as he whispered psalms of discipline under his breath. The sound of the stalled rhino roaring to life stirred him from his reverie and he signaled the advance. He was so intent on his objective he failed to notice the clouds gathering over the Word Bearer camp.
Mikaihel smiled as another bolt of lightning impacted the black clouds that hung low over his Host's encampment. He glanced down through the plasisteel window into the interior of the dark cathedral where he perched overlooking the camp. The cathedral was flooded with light as streamers of power flew up and out of the circles of sweating cultists located along the length of the knave. The power would flow into the ceiling and gather in the uppermost spire before arching into the clouds. Occasionally, a cultist would fall dead, drained of his lifeforce, only to be dragged away and his place taken by another eager volunteer. Acolytes armed with spears held the fervent masses of attendant cultists back, keeping them from glutting the spire with ethereal energy. Their unthinking enthusiam brought a dark cast over the Dark Apostle's thoughts.
Speaking with Auraless always him feeling filthy, but the costly bargain had proven to be worth it. An hour after the quintet of initiates had been delivered to the daemon, Mikaihel had been presented with a scroll written by the daemon. It was transcribed in the Daemonic tongue, an arcane script in which one could not lie. Auraless' message had had been more direct that was his normal wont. The content of the message had not encouraged levity. The Dark Angels were striking for his camp in strength. Mikaihel did not doubt that his Host could be victorious, here on their sacred ground, but steps would have to be taken to limit the losses fighting in such sensitive areas could incur.
A drop of rain hit his tightly coiled robes and he looked up as the skies burst into a torrential down pour. A cold wind lanced through the camp from the north and the rain rang off the metal roofs as the world was engulfed in glistening darkness. Mikaihel smiled beneath his robes at this sign of the Chaos gods' favor and uttered a quiet sincere prayer of gratitude. The Daemon Prince's solitude was disrupted as Cypher emerged from the shadows of the chaos cathedral's roof. The Fallen's dark green armor rang with the impact of eager rain drops and his dark robes were tangled by the wind that echoed amidst the harsh metal buildings. "You Word Bearers certainly don't take half measures. This is quite a storm fueled by quite a sacrifice." Cypher glanced down into the cathedral as he spoke where the ritual had halted and the masses of observing cultists were directed into transporting the bodies of the dead and exhausted into the depths of the cathedral's underground vaults. It was a task that would take some time. Mikaihel responded severely, "The gods demand a price for their assistance. I have received signs that such assistance shall be needed this battle, a battle provoked by your presence, and have done what is needed to procure it. Would you doubt my word in these matters?" The Dark Apostle's voice held a note of real anger that prompted Cypher to hold his tongue and merely shake his head in negation as an answer. The Dark Apostle was mollified by this token gesture and continued more calmly, "What was taken was surrendered willingly by those with faith in our creed. There was no waste in the effort and steps are being taken to insure that losses among the most humble of our flock are minimized." "I would expect no less from such a meticulous being as yourself.", Cypher added a touch too quickly and Mikaihel glanced sharply at him, offended by the perceived flattery. Cypher was saved from a tongue lashing as Mikaihel responded to a vox link, "The assault has begun? Western gate? Have the mutants hold position as we gather to repel them in the surrounding streets. All tanks are to remain in the vehicle pool, the gods have chosen that this battle be fought without them. The raptors are to be held in check as well. Allow the loyalist fools to break through until the streets break up their advance and then crush their flanks. The Primarch will smile on us this day." This speech was broken up by lengthy pauses as the lieutenant at the other end of the conversation added relevant questions. As the contact ended, Mikaihel allowed his robes to unravel and flexed his wings with a pattering sound as the rain pelted them. If anything, the arcane storm had worsened and hail joined the moisture falling from the sky. The Dark Apostle turned to Cypher with a look that was part question and part command as his robes snapped in the wind, "You are coming. Your presence will prove quite distracting to these fools." With that, Mikaihel leapt into the storm, trusting to his skill to guide him through the punishing buffets. Cypher remained still a moment longer before seeking out the stairs that would lead him to street level.
Johanous cursed the weather that had erupted during their attack and the misfortune it had spawned. His force had been methodically destroying the foul mutants who had stood in their path and the mutants could not harm the Dark Angel vehicles with their few 'heavy weapons' at their disposal. Johanous himself, riding on his bike had been the only soft point of the line and he rode in the center of the thrust, forcing any would be attackers to endure a barrage of fire from at least a dozen tanks. His Crozius Arcanium was wet with the ichor of those few mutants who had reached him and found a Chaplin of the foremost legion too much to oppose and survive. Then the storm had broken. The ground had turned to syrup and winds had driven the landspeeders cruelly to the ground where their crews had been overran by reinforcing mutants. Tanks had begun to throw tracks, forcing their passengers to dismount if they wanted to assist in the assault. As the darkness bloomed, the effectiveness of their fire power began to falter. By this time, the Dark Angels had reached the gates of camp, black and twisted, scarred with hideous dark runes. Johanous himself dismounted from his bike to plant the meltabombs that blew the gate off its hinges and into the mud of the street beyond. Seeing the narrow streets that branched away from the gate, he ordered the tanks and many of the marines to guard the entrance that they might fight their way free once they dealt with the Word Bearers. Johanous, on foot, and three dozen of his brethren moved into the camp. The sounds of massed bolter fire cutting down onrushing mutants faded as the omnipresent rain drowned out all visual details. "Infrared sensors on. We want to be able to see them before they rush us.", Johanous curtly ordered as he became aware of his force's vulnerability in these tight paths. As the marines flicked on the thermal scanners, they detected the silhouettes of chaos marines closing from all sides. Johanous shouted over his vox link, "Stand your ground, children of the Lion! Prepare for close quarter combat. We will purge these scum as the Primarch did ten millennia ago! We fight in the Emperor's name." "We fight in the Emperor's name.", came the solemn reply. Bolters and flamers roared to life as the ornate red armor of their opponents became clear in the gloom. A sudden stink of decay wafting through the storm caused darkness alerted the Interrogator-Chaplain to the arrival of plague bearers, foul daemons of Nurgle. He activated his crozious, the weapon's power field sending steam boiling from its surface. The rotting daemons blended so perfectly with the gloom that their forms were chiefly visible as distorted red shadows clutching blades of darkness. Johanous charged into their midst, his bolt pistol spitting death as he closed. Their cries of pain as he bludgeoned at their foul forms seemed to mock him. Battle fury took him as he struck out fiercely, ignoring the blows that rang off his armor. One blow cut and he felt a wave of sickness pass through his being. Shrugging off the effect he grabbed the rubbery arm and smashed its deformed skull with his crozious. He spun and faced the remaining trio of daemons, his skull mask gazing challengingly at the warp spawn abominations. They shuddered and vanished into the open air, fleeing to the safety of the warp. A nightmarish bellow echoing from massive speakers alerted Johanous to the next threat. Thunderous footfalls of a dreadnought came closer as the enraged death machine closed with the Dark Angels. He looked over his shoulder at his marines, engaged with their chaos counterparts. The dead of both sides were sunk half way into the mud as their brethren continued a conflict as old as the Imperium. Johanous glimpsed a white clad specter drop into the midst of his soliders, its wings a muted gold in the rain, wielding a massive multibarbed weapon like a club. The horror's eyes glowed yellow as it half screamed perverse litanies that provoked the Word Bearers to fight harder, their chainswords spiting blood and water. The dreadnought roared again, its cry like that of a mad man at prayer. Johanous shook with indecision: attempt to reach the white clad figure or engage the chaos dreadnought and draw it away from his men? He chose, "In the name of the eternal Emperor of Mankind, you shall proceed no further!" He charged at the massive machine as it was half turned allowing him to reach its vulnerable rear. Time slowed for Johanous as he swung at the rear of the dreadnought two handed. He struck four times, the ravenous power field cutting off the machine's power supply to its exposed leg servos as it turned around its twin power fists blazing sparks. Johanous dodged an overhand swing that blew a crater in the muddy ground. He blocked a swing from its second weapon with his crozious, the opposing power fields flaring with painful light. The feedback from his weapon stunned him and the razor barbs of the original weapon disemboweled him from below. His rosarius pulsed futilely as he was thrown yards from where he had stood before. The last things that passed through the chaplain's mind was the sight of the mad machine futilely attempting to move and the sound of a teleport boom echoing through the camp.
Mikaihel looked up at the sound of the teleport reaction amid the remains of the butchered Dark Angels' squad he had attacked. The unique green armor and black robes of Cypher were faintly visible in the gloom as the Fallen's plasma pistol picked off another of the Dark Angels' warriors. Looming like pale giants in the mist, an explosive roar of assault cannons and stormbolters announced the arrival of the Deathwing. The hail of shots thundered into the body of the Fallen Dark Angel, most ricocheting away from his body, but a pair of oozing holes marked where his armor had been punctured by the explosive rounds. Cypher stood his ground, pumping pistol fire into the vengeful attackers. One terminator was punched from his feet as another slowly toppled, a small smoking hole in his helmet marking the entry point of the bolt pistol shell that killed him. The Dark Apostle leapt forward, his robes dripping mud as the Deathwing assaulted Cypher. Cypher continued to fire as he rolled under the swing of a massive black sword. He fired as he rolled one shot tearing through the wielder's leg as his bolt cartridges tumbled around him. He came out of the role as a bone white power fist arched toward his chest. The air suddenly rippled around him and the power fist arched into the ground, passing through his torso as though it wasn't there. Mikaihel didn't outwardly react to the impossible event as he called forth a pack of bloodletters to exterminate the loyalists. Cypher flickered and faded from view as Mikaihel completed his charge, the bloodletters right behind him. There was no sign of Cypher's presence as a new combat erupted between the terminators and their warpspawned foes under the stygian darkness of an endless storm.
Legal Disclaimer: I don't own Warhammer 40k in any way, shape, or form. That honor belongs to Games Workshop and I'm not contesting that. I don't intend to make a profit from this and hope that this doesn't get me sued. Please.