AN : Hello, readers ! Sorry for the long wait (just checked the date ... blood of the Emperor, it has been more than a month !) It shouldn't happen again for a while, since I am back in a stable period of my studies now. That is, unless my Internet connection keeps frakking with me like it has for the last week.

In this chapter, we will return with Asim, who still must face the consequences of what he has done for Arken on Parecxis Gamma. After that, I will upload another short story, which is almost complete at the moment of writing this, then return to the Forsaken Sons. The Roboutian Heresy should follow, unless something in particular catches my attention until then.

I thank for their reviews :

Spider : glad you appreciated it (and that the twist was clear enough. I wasn't certain if Mahlone's secret was sufficiently exposed for a reader to see it). Concerning the Steel-Wrought, I haven't given much thought to that part. My current position is that, after all the modifications Merchurion had to make for the Dreadnought chassis to accept a human pilot in the first place, then to adapt it to the Governor's implant, then to ensure he will see exactly what the Forsaken Sons want him to see ... well, the Steel-Wrought is probably a unique model of Dreadnought in all the galaxy. Its combat capabilities are still undetermined, as it had yet to be tested (which should come soon). For the Unbound, Arken will want to avoid factionalism, as they are supposed to be Forsaken Sons first and foremost (besides, can you imagine what would happen in Mahlone's case ?)

max tremblay 372 : it is a great honor you ! Kill a few loyalists for me ! (Also, did you know that typing your pseudo in the document editor of the website causes it to be truncated to .372 ?)

On an almost completely unrelated note, I recently downloaded the mod Apocalypse for Dawn of War I. If you have the game, I recommend you try it ! It adds a whole lot of new units, including CHAOS TITANS !

Now, on to the chapter ! If you see anything conflicting the previous material, have an idea for what is to come, or simply wants to give me your advice, please leave a review !

Zahariel out.

I do not own the Warhammer 40000 universe nor any of its characters. They belong to Games Workshop.

Asim arrived to the ruins of Hive Anaster aboard one of the Hand of Ruin's Thunderhawks. The gunship, alongside many other of the ship's transports, had been scheduled to bring materials to the forces of the Forsaken Sons present in the conquered city, and no one had objected when he had simply walked aboard, wearing his armor and carrying his staff. The tech-priests who were overseeing the loading of the transport had simply bowed and arranged their cargo to make room for him. Rank, for all the responsabilities it carried, also had its privilege, and as leader of the Coven, Asim was amongst the highest ranked individual in the informal hierarchy of the warband.

There was something disrespectful in using the Thunderhawk for carrying goods. The gunship was a weapon, a predator that brought the Angels of Death unto the fields of battle. Asim could feel the irritation of its machine-spirit, only placated by the constant prayers and invocations of the tech-priests all along the journey. Like all of them, the Thunderhawk was changing, taking on new traits more adapted to this new existence.

As the craft descended through the planet's atmosphere, the former Thousand Son reached with his sixth sense, trying to get a feel of his destination. The hive was a maelstrom of violent emotions – fear, anger, blood-lust, pain and horror. Creatures of the Warp were taking shape in the shadows, birthed by the souls of those who still lived. A thousand nightmares had already become real, and more were pressing on the veil, eager to tear through its weakened fabric and incarnate themselves into the world of matter. Once, feeling such things would have made Asim recoil in horror, and call for the planet's destruction. But all things changed.

When the Thunderhawk touched the ground, the Sorcerer was the first to leave by the disembarkation ramp. It was raining : not the blood rain that he had been told had followed his ritual, but a clearer rain that washed away the blood that covered almost every surface. A mere brush with the Warp told Asim that this wasn't ordinary rain either, though. These drops were the tears spilled by the hive's denizens, their sorrow reflected in the Empyrean and brought back to them by the Storm. There was a poetry in that, as well as a dark humor that doubtlessly made the Dark Gods smile.

To Asim's moderate surprise, his arrival had clearly been expected. A warrior clad in the colors of the Fourth Legion, with his shoulder emblem painted black to mark his allegiance to the Forsaken Sons, stood in front of the ramp. Behind him, several servitors waited to begin unloading the Thunderhawk so that it could return to the Hand of Ruin.

The Astartes was known to Asim, of course. They had conversed at length during the plundering of Mulor Prime, discussing about the past glories of their respective Legions and fathers, and pooling their understanding of their strengths and weaknesses in order to help the son of Perturabo's project. From what Asim had learned from the transmissions he had listened to in the Thunderhawk, he was now effectively the commander of the invasion force in Anaster, risen to command by the fall in battle of Lucian. And that was probably a good thing in the long term. Iron Warriors had always been more competent than any other of the Nine Legions in the art of siegecraft, be it as attackers or defenders.

'Kakios', he greeted the former Iron Warrior, slightly bowing his head. 'It has been a long time.'

'It has,' answered Kakios, saluting him with a clenched fist pressed on his chest – the traditional salute to a superior officer. The Fourth Legion had always taken matters of protocol seriously – an inevitable result when your commander could assign you to the most dangerous part of battle in the next grinding.

'What brings you here, lord ?'

'I have questions I need answers to, and a quest to fulfill.'

The two Astartes stood in what had once been the house of one of the hive's noble families. Kakios had installed the headquarters of the invasion force in a former ballroom, its former function shown only by the pieces of broken furniture on the far sides and the paintings on the walls. The place was broad enough to accommodate the cogitators and other devices required for Kakios to command the operation. Asim had seen several splatters of blood as Kakios had led him, but relatively little damage to the building itself, and asked the former Iron Warrior about it. Apparently, the inhabitants had been infiltrated by a cult of the Ruinous Powers prior to the arrival of the warband. When the Forsaken Sons had launched their assault, they had killed those who were still loyal and knelt before the chosen champions of the gods.

'I have been away from the war while I was recuperating, Kakios, and there is only so much I can learn from picked up transmissions, especially under the Storm,' said Asim. 'First, tell me the situation on the planet.'

The former Iron Warrior activated an hololithic table. It was nowhere as powerful as the Hindsight back on the ship, but it was more than capable of displaying the slowly-turning globe of Parecxis Alpha. The planet was about the same size as Terra. Lines of data scrolling in the air indicated that the world's core, however, that poorer in heavy metal than Mankind's cradle. Since Parecxis Alpha's gravity was similar to that of the Throneworld, this hinted at terraformation on a terrifying scale, probably committed by the former overlords of the system, before the Great Crusade. There were two major landmasses, separated by vast oceans whose purity had once been maintained by a carefully engineered balance in the ecosystem. With the decay of the planet's infrastructure, it wouldn't be long before the great purifying devices failed and the seas turned into poisoned slime.

At Kakios' command, the six hive-cities of the world were highlighted on the map. Above two of them floated the chained daemon head of the Forsaken Sons, while the Imperial aquila shone upon the four others. Both of the hives under the renegades' control were located on the same continent, north and south from the last hive still in loyalist hands.

'As you can see,' began Kakios, 'we hold two of the three cities on this side of the ocean. The capital, Santorius, is where most of the warband has made planetfall during the first attack, as well as where the greatest concentration of cultists is to be found. There are hundreds of Marines and thousands of mortal fighters there, and tens of thousands of canon fodder, but as far as I know, no one is actually in charge. Lord Arken has issued his commands to the pack leaders and mortal overseers, but hasn't appointed an overall commander.'

Beneath his helmet, Asim raised an eyebrow.

'Really ? That seems an uncharacteristically careless move from the Awakened One. What will happen if the loyalists launch a counter-attack ?'

'Hive Santorius still has most of its defences intact, thanks to the efforts of our infiltrated agents,' explained Kakios. 'By the time our forces attacked, many positions were already in our hands, even if we did lose a few to … unforeseen circumstances. With that many troops, even the sons of Angron would reconsider an head-on assault. There are men on the walls and at the auspex stations, ready to sound the alarm if the hive is attacked – and if that happens, all those in the hive loyal to our cause will rush to the gates. The loyalists and their allies simply don't have the numbers to waste in such an attack. Personally, I also believe that the Awakened One needs all those he could trust with such a position of command for the next step of his plan … whatever that is.'

'I see,' acquiesced Asim. 'And what of our dear cousins' forces ? How many of them did make planetfall ?'

'All of them. Almost a thousand loyalist Astartes are on this world, Sorcerer. I don't have access to all our intelligence on that subject, of course. But from what I have been told, these so-called Sons of Calth have separated their forces between the three hives on the other continent and have begun the evacuation of the last one they hold on this side. Reports from the few scouts that have made it back indicate that, like us, they are fortifying.'

Asim pointed at the hive, in the middle of the continent. Its name – Lornera – was displayed in greenish light above it, and it seemed strangely small, when seen like this.

'There must be tens of millions of civilians left there at the very least, even after all the damage the Storm and us inflicted. How do they plan to evacuate them all ?'

'They don't. For all their honour and pride, it seems even the sons of the noble Roboute can make sound tactical decisions when they really have to. They will try to save as many of this useless rabble as they can, we can be sure of it, but they know they cannot keep the hive from us, not with these positions.'

Asim digest that information. Truly, the Thirteenth Legion had changed much since the Heresy.

'And here ?'

'The situation is under control, but the hive is still a mess. We hold the walls and the highest tier of the hive, while most of the hive is in ruins or occupied by some loose elements from our forces. Apart from a few remaining troopers and idiotic civilians, no one is resisting us. We are making progress on the fortifications at an acceptable rate, thanks to the new slaves we have taken from the hive.'

'Workers in the manufactoriums,' mused Asim, 'and their engineers. I can see how you could put them to use. How about the Unbound ? I heard Lucian has fallen ?'

'He lives yet. The Fleshmasters are working on him. As for the Unbound …' Kakios shook his head ruefully. 'They did the job they had been given, I will grant them that much. They even kept fighting after Lucian went down, though I think the Awakened One was right to send the Blood Champion to reinforce them … however he knew it would be necessary. But …'

Kakios paused, and Asim waited patiently for his brother to find the words.

'They are wild,' he finally said. 'Not like the World Eaters, thanks the Powers, but they lack discipline. Outside of battle, their hypno-training slackens and they act more like overexcited mortals than Astartes. More than one hundred of them remain active, but only about half of those listen to me, even though I speak with Arken's authority !'

A sliver of anger showed on the Legionary's face as he ended his tirade. Asim waited for his temper to settle down, using the time to master his own irritation. Kakios didn't know it, but there was a high chance what he had told Asim had just made the Sorcerer's mission a lot more difficult.

'Where have the others gone ? Surely they haven't left the hive ?'

'Some of them followed the Blood Champion to the underhive, to test their mettle against the monsters that dwell there. Others have scattered across the city in search of prey. Sometimes a pack of them comes back because they are wounded, bored or have damaged their equipment. The Fleshmasters told me to let them do as they please. They say it helps them to gather data about them, to help prepare the next batch. Why are you asking ? You are looking for one of them ?'

'Yes. His name is Illarion. Do you know where he is ?'

Kakios stayed silent for an instant. Then, the systems in Asim's helmet detected the former Iron Warrior pull out a file from his armour's memory banks and transfer it to the hololith. It instantly began to display – a register of the Unbound involved in the attack of Anaster. A list of names scrolled down, each followed by the current statute of the corresponding warrior – dead, wounded or active – and the observations of the Fleshmasters on that particular subject. When the name of Illarion Radomir Sertanov finally appeared, Asim swore violently, cursing every single daemon with a perverse sense of humor.

'Sorry, Sorcerer,' said Kakios, and his tone was almost sincere – a wonder, coming from one of Perturabo's bitter brood. 'This one is deep in the underhive, if he is even still alive.'

The path Asim had taken on the former Iron Warrior's counsel brought him to his destination without any difficulty. He had passed through entire districts of rubble, threading carefully on paths barely large enough for his imposing figure. Some sections had been entirely devoid of life, his sixth sense perceiving only the faint echoes of death and sorrow. Others had been teeming with terrified civilians, cowering in the ruins of their home or dragged away by the patrols sent by Kakios to find manpower for his works. These patrols were composed of the troops Arken had sent from the Hand of Ruin : mortals enslaved from the Mulor system and trained in the depths of the great battleship, and defectors from Parecxis Beta, all united under the banner of the Forsaken Sons. Some had branded their own flesh with the symbols of the Powers, and many proudly displayed the mutations that had been inflicted upon them by the whims of the Warp.

Here was another of the things that had changed since Asim had turned from the Emperor's light. Once, the sight of these wretches rounding up the traumatized survivors of the hive like cattle would have enraged him. Yet now, all Asim felt was admiration at the other Legionary's cunning. By leaving the mortals alone except when he needed more slaves, he ensured that those would be the strongest – the longer they survived, the more resourceful they were. And in a way, despite the militia's cruelty and Kakios' slave master's habits, it could be argued that these mortals were better off working on the fortifications. The Forsaken Sons had brought down abundant stocks of condensed nutrients for their slaves, and some of the survivors he saw struggling away from him in terror looked famished. At least in the slave holds they would be fed, and Kakios and his packmates were pragmatic enough not to work them to death and keep them protected from the incarnated predators of the Warp and the feral killers still loose in the hive.

Through the journey, there had been one constant. Apart from the occasional resisting civilian or fight between two groups of militia too lost on whatever stims they had obtained on the Hand of Ruin or fabricated for themselves, there was no violence. This part of the hive was under the control of the Forsaken Sons led by Kakios, even though there was no doubt that entire sections are still entirely lost to anarchy.

The relative peace would soon be gone, however, as he neared the unseen border that, in all such cities across the galaxy, separated the underhive from the civilized, lawful districts. And as Kakios had told him, the paths to the realm beneath were heavily guarded. The checkpoint Asim had reached was in one of the broadest streets he had crossed so far. By that point, it had been several minutes since the crying sky had been visible : support archways and the sheer size of the surrounding buildings blocked the skyline entirely. The only sources of illumination were the few lumi-globes that still miraculously worked and the fires lit by the guards so that they may keep watch.

A barricade had been built by the loyalists, blocking the entire avenue and rising six meters high. The corpses of its former defenders lay down at the bottom, unceremoniously dropped from above after they were slain. Five Unbound now stood vigil, their back turned to Asim and their bolters trained on whatever was on the other side. Mortals also guarded the entrance, manning the weapons left by the loyalists – flamers and heavy guns that could tear through ceramite with ease. Even from a distance, the Sorcerer could feel their focus, excitement and concealed fear, and he began to wonder just what he had gotten himself involved with when he had accepted the deal offered by the Herald.

He approached, walking in the middle of the street to ensure he wouldn't be taken for an enemy (not that his powers couldn't protect him, but it would have been a bad beginning). Two more Unbound emerged from one of the buildings by the side of the road. As they advanced toward him, Asim extended his sixth sense, filtering out the background aura of pain and sorrow to get a feeling of their minds. One of them, who walked just back enough from the other to make clear who the leader was, had a deep and focused mind. Asim could see how he was being perceived, the image reflecting in the Unbound's surface thoughts : not an enemy, but someone to be wary of. The young Marine knew that he was a Sorcerer – which, given Asim's attire, was hardly surprising – but he didn't know him personally. The lord of the Coven had had little opportunity to interact with the new generation, which was a shame. The Fleshmasters appeared to have put a lot of work into them.

The other one, the leader, was a very different creature. The unrestrained power of the Unbound coursed through his flesh and soul, the fire of his core drawing the attention of a hundred weakling Neverborn. An Astartes helm in the colours of the Sons of Calth hung from his belt, and he held in his hand a power blade marked with the emblem of Ultramar – doubtlessly the very weapon of the warrior whose head he now used as decoration. To slay a member of the loyalist Legions was no small feat, especially for the newly created Unbound. Despite all the strength they had been granted, they still lacked the proper experience in fighting those possessing it too. That was the reason Anaster had been chosen for their first battle, after all. Asim thought that if he didn't kill himself doing something foolish, the young blood had the potential to become a prominent figure amongst the warband.

The discussion was curt, and underlined with tension. Not directed toward Asim, but toward the barricade : clearly the Unbound expected to come under attack at any moment, and had difficulties focusing on the sorcerer when battle was likely to erupt at any moment. According to the duo, the outpost was regularly attacked by creatures from the under hive, mutated freaks with no tactic beyond charging the walls and being torn apart by the heavy guns so that the few who managed to climb the barricade could be slain by the Unbound themselves. Most of the bodies

When Asim mentioned Illarion's name, he felt a surge of anger from Mahlone, and a deep sense of disquiet from Ygdal – respectively the sanguine soul and the phlegmatic one. Apparently, they didn't like their fellow Unbound. Still, they told Asim that he was still in the underhive, and had been for several days. It wasn't the longest time any group had been down there, though, so he was probably still alive – Asim didn't need his psychic talents to see how much Mahlone hoped to be wrong. When the sorcerer asked if they had someone who could guide him through the underhive amongst the mortals they commanded, they both looked at each other for a second before nodding, apparently thinking of the same individual.

'Oh ! Balthazar ! Come down here, there is someone who needs your services !'

In answer to Mahlone's call, one of the mortals on the barricade, who had been resting until then, came down and trotted toward them. He was wearing scavenged body armor, and bore many scars upon the rare patches of exposed skin that told of a life lived on the edge of civilization, but it was his weapon that drew Asim's attention as he drew nearer. The man carried a las-rifle which to the human eye looked to be nothing special apart from being better maintained that those of most of the warband's human auxiliaries. But to Asim's sixth sense, it was alive with power. A daemon lived in the weapon, bound to the Materium by its physical presence. Whether or not the man – Balthazar, Mahlone had called him – knew the nature of his weapon, Asim didn't know, but he resolved to investigate this matter once he was done with his present business. One thing was clear to him, though : this mortal had been one of the inmates he had sent through the Warp, though he wasn't one of those he had given over to the denizens of the infernal realm.

'I am looking for one of the Unbound that went into the underhive' declared Asim once the mortal had reached him. 'I should be away to detect him when we are near. These warriors say you can guide me. Is it true ?'

The mortal stared at Asim with eerie focus. For a moment, the sorcerer wondered if he knew that Asim was the one who had sent him from Parecxis Gamma to this place through the Warp, and if he would hold a grudge for that. Then he bowed his head, and said :

'Last time we counted, there weren't that many left inside. If he is still alive, I promise you we will find him, lord. If you can … assist the chase with your talents, then it will be even easier.'

'Very well. Take what you will need and let us be on our way, then.'

Balthazar hadn't lied about his capacity to lead Asim through the underhive. The mortal walked amidst the rubble with ease, descending aver deeper while the Space Marine scanned all frequencies, looking for the Unbound's transmissions. Asim knew that some of the young bloods had to be using the vox – at the very least, the stench made sure they were wearing their helmets. Even though his armor's rebreathers, Asim could smell the rotting flesh and ever-present rust, the poisonous chemicals dripping from the factories above for generations, and the potent scent of blood. Though he didn't dare reach too far with his sixth sense, Asim could still feel that great power was at work here. The familiar aura of the Blood Champion was the closest, radiating the disturbing kind of half-serenity that the Possessed World Eater found in the aftermath of butchery, in the slice of time between the kill and the resurgence of his murderous urges.

But even though the psychic mark of the former World Eater made his skull ache, it was a soothing presence compared to what he could feel lurking deep beneath his feet. Raw horror emanated from the depths of the underhive, and the veil between reality and the Warp, already thinned by the Storm, was threatening to burst at a moment's notice. Shadows danced at the corner of Asim's vision, great shapes with claws and dripping fangs that followed him and his guide. He wanted to reach out, to find what it was that waited in the darkness, to know the face of the creatures so that he may better face them. But his instincts were kept in check by his training amongst the Fifteenth Legion and his experience during the Exodus. To open his senses now, beyond what he always perceived through them, would be to expose his soul to the taint. He was already corrupted enough, with one of the Dark Gods claiming his soul because of his father's bargain and a scion of the Blood God haunting him. No need to add to his damnation yet.

If Balthazar noticed the corruption in their surroundings, he gave no sign of it. In another mortal, such fortitude would have been surprising, and even suspect, but Balthazar had endured the madness of Parecxis Gamma and the passage through the Warp to this benighted place. His soul had been hardened against such things, and it showed to Asim's second sight as a halo of stirring redness, an aura that reflected how the murderer saw the world. His vision had been narrowed down to how to kill the most effectively and in the greatest number and ignored all the rest. On any civilized world, he would have been put down as a dangerous psychopath, but here, it made him an excellent servant of the Forsaken Sons, as long as the warband gave him opportunities to indulge his blood-lust.

As they went deeper, the two renegades came across a lake of chemicals of several tens of meters of diameter. Asim couldn't be bothered to calculate how long it had taken for the toxic pool to be formed by the leaking waste product of the hive, but his armor told him all he needed to know. The sludge was a cocktail potent enough to melt the lungs of an unaugmented human if its vapours were inhaled, and nothing would remain from any flesh dipped into it. There was only one way forward : a bridge of metal plates, scavenged from various sources and hung above the lake by cables binding them to the ceiling.

'This doesn't look like it could bear my weight,' remarked Asim.

'No, it couldn't,' confirmed Balthazar, strapping a rebreather mask on his face. The protective gear and the weapon he still held in his arms made the man look like one of the soldiers of Old Earth, back when Man had first discovered how to kill his kind in one of the most horrible manners imaginable.

'Then how am I to pass through ?'

'You will have to walk, lord. It isn't very deep, and your armor can take it – the others' could, at least. Gonna scrap the paint away, sure, but there shouldn't be any real damage.'

'How delightful,' murmured Asim before checking his armor's void-sealed integrity. Satisfied, he immersed into the lake. It reached up to the middle of his chest, and warnings immediately danced before his eyes as his gear realized what was happening. He blinked them away with irritation, erasing dozens of them before making a mistake. Without meaning to, he disabled the reflection filter that had covered his vision ever since he had left his chamber on the Hand of Ruin, and saw the world around him without obstacle beyond the red-colored lenses. Under the light of Balthazar's lumi-globe, the Herald of Blood looked up at the Sorcerer from the surface of the lake of poison.

You will find him soon, said the daemon. Then, you will descend deeper into this realm of fears and shadows, for it is its king which is fated to become one with the son of the tainted blood.

Great, thought Asim, knowing the Herald would hear it and trying very hard not to dwell on the implications of that. You didn't mention this in our accord.

It is the will of the Gods. Do not forget, father, that you are their instrument in this affair, in return for your restoration.

I know.

They found the Unbound sixteen minutes after crossing the lake. In the end, it wasn't thanks to the vox nor to Asim's powers, but something a lot simpler : they followed the noises of battle. Asim's enhanced hearing picked up the characteristic sounds of bolter fire and Balthazar led him straight to their source. When they reached the location of the battle, both the Warp-marked soul bearing a power touched by the Blood God and the Sorcerer stopped in their tracks as they took stock of the scene before them.

Three Unbound stood amidst a circle of dying flesh, fighting with gun and blade against a horde of malformed monsters. Like Asim's, their armor was partly discoloured, though the dull grey of bare ceramite was hardly visible under the blood and viscera that covered them. They were careful not to waste their ammunition, shooting only when needed to save themselves or one of the two others. They fought bravely, yet if nothing changed the end result was obvious. No amount of genetic enhancements and superior weapons could defeat such crushing numeric advantage.

Some of the enemies they faced had been humans at some points, while others came from the myriad vermin that always grew beneath the hive-cities of the Imperium, no matter how well-run. All were afflicted by extensive mutations : horns, claws, fangs and plates of bones that made them look like a carnival of devils from Old Earth's mythologies. They howled and shrieked and screamed as they threw themselves under the Unbound's swords, and their fractured psyches burned with bloodlust and a craving for their own death in equal measure. A few were made brighter to Asim's second sight by the Neverborn within them. The daemons were no more than minor incarnations, spirits of hunger and fear, but they drove the rest of twisted army forward. They were like shepherds leading cattle to the slaughterhouse, and the moment Asim thought up this comparison, he realized it was truer than he had imagined. The dying screams of the mutants, their fear of death and the release from their tortured existence were being drained away through the Aether. It was feeding the daemon at the bottom of the underhive, helping it spread its touch further.

It was time to put an end to this. Already one of the Unbound was faltering, his energy leaking out by a dozen wounds, each enough to cripple a mortal man. Asim gathered his thoughts, focused his mind, and called upon his powers. He didn't raise through the Enumerations or weave the energies of the Immaterium in a subtle manner. Instead, just like he had done years ago in the burning streets of Tizca, the son of Magnus unleashed sheer and raw power upon his foes, guiding it so as to avoid destroying the Unbound as well.

Arcs of lightning poured forth from the Sorcerer's staff and teared through the mutated host, searing the flesh and ripping the souls from their malformed bodies. When the attack reached one of the possessed beasts, they burst apart in showers of gore, sending splinters of bone and baleful fire through the rest of the horde. More and more died every second as the scope of the devastation extended. The mutants at the back of the horde broke and ran, leaving their kindred to die under the frightful power of the Coven's lord.

Asim advanced toward the three Unbound. Balthazar walked behind him, looking at the Sorcerer with new-found awe. That diminished the risk that he would turn on Asim … though it was probably better not to let him see how much this unleashing of power had weakened him. As he neared them, the three Unbound fell to their knees. It irked the Sorcerer to see Astartes display such deference. Even though he was their superior officer – or whatever term was now in use amongst the Forsaken Sons – and expected to be treated with the appropriate respect, kneeling just felt … wrong. It reeked of blond loyalty, the kind which had almost ruined the Nine Legions during the Heresy. Still, he supposed the Unbound's position may be due as much to respect as it was simply the result of sheer exhaustion. Who knew for how long they had been fighting against the tide before Asim had delivered them. Judging by the number of corpses they had tallied, hours, perhaps. Crashing the bodies of the mutants underfoot, Asim finally stopped a few steps away from the trio.

'I am Asim of the Coven. Which one of you is Illarion ?'

One of the two least wounded warriors, holding a power blade in his right hand, slowly stood up.

'I am,' he said, his voice full of the delicate intonations of a spire-born and, despite who he was talking to, dripping with the arrogance typical of his kind. 'We are grateful for your help, lord. What brings one such as you here ?'

For a moment, Asim remained silent. There would be no turning back after this. Once Illarion knew of the opportunity that had been arranged for him, he would seize it in a heartbeat – Asim could see that much without needing to probe the Unbound's soul. Right now, he could still lie, pretend that he had come to bring him back to the war, that his presence was needed to gather the Unbound in Lucian's absence. He would believe that …

An image flared inside Asim's mind's eye : himself, drowning in an ocean of blood, feeling the agony of every being he had ever killed, directly or not, for all eternity. In that moment, he knew this was what awaited him on the other side of the veil, and that he would be there soon if he tried to escape his obligations. His only hope to escape that torment was to continue living and the only way to that that was to gain more power. And the only way to gain more power …

'Rejoice, Illarion. The Pantheon has heard your prayers. I have come to grant you what you desire : ascension to the ranks of the Secondborn.'

After sending the wounded Unbound back to the surface, the four remaining heretics descended deeper into the underhive. Illarion had been as enthusiast as Asim had expected, unfazed by the revelation that the creature he was to be bound to was the one responsible for their current environment. His comrade, whose name Asim never learned, was apparently content to see his leader reach such heights. The sorcerer could feel that he cared little about the outcome. Either Illarion lived, in which case the Unbound would have a close connection to a rising power amongst the Forsaken Sons, or he would die, leaving the position of leader open. There appeared to be a lot of Unbound that looked up at Illarion as a source of leadership, though from what Asim had seen, Mahlone was probably a stern rival. He would have to warn Arken about these factions – even if the Awakened One surely already knew, they had to prevent them from reaching open conflict.

The group didn't meet any more of the mutants, though Asim could feel them watching from the shadows, terrified of his powers. Deeper and deeper they went, following the trail of aetheric corruption to its source. Finally, after more than an hour of march, they emerged inside a broad, empty space that had once been a control room and maintenance access of sort. Great pipes were still visible on the walls, the last trace of some titanic device from the world's early history. Perhaps they were inside a remnant of one of the ships that had first brought Mankind to this world. Asim had heard from Pareneffer that, according to what Jikaerus had found on the second planet, the colonization fleet had been forced to crash when it had been attacked by the xenos who had then enslaved the survivors. Whatever the origins of this place, it was obvious that it had been abandoned long ago and left to rot while the city was built up above. However, the rust and other damages of time were almost hidden by the changes caused by the chamber's current occupant. Black, viscous matter crawled on the walls as if alive, never stopping its disturbing movement.

The source of the underhive's corruption stood at the centre of the room, locked in place by chains of golden light. Where the chains touched the substance of the daemon, streams of crimson vapour hissed away – evidently the creature was in tremendous, constant pain. It was roughly humanoid in shape and almost twice as huge as an Astartes. Its body was made of black smoke, undulating in the cage formed by the golden chains, and within it could be seen the shards of a million nightmares. Asim tasted the sorrow of a maiden as the one she loved went to war, heard the last breath of a soldier dying from a chainsword through his chest and felt the fear of a child as the sky caught fire, all in the time it took for his hearts to beat once. Before their next beat, he saw hordes of twisted monsters slaughtering entire cities, heard the agonized screams of mortals cut apart while alive and saw a planet burn in the grip of a giant clawed hand …

He tore his eyes from the daemon and deployed his powers to protect his companions from the mesmerizing effect. Muffled gasps and curses told him that they too had been seeing the … things inside the daemon, the echoes of the fears that had given it birth. The Unbound and the mortal quickly took position around Asim, their weapons aimed at the Neverborn.

'This is what you want to bind to me ?' asked Illarion, his tone a mix of incredulity, awe and anger.

Asim ignored him, focusing his mind on the daemon before him and trying to make sense of what he perceived. For all the madness of the Warp, there were always a myriad patterns hidden underneath the chaos, and nothing was ever truly random. There was a reason for the daemon aspect, and for the chains that, as far as Asim could tell, were inherently part of the creature. The apparent paradox of a daemon carrying its own prison was a clue as to the origins of the Neverborn, one that Asim could use to unravel its nature. If he was to bind it to Illarion and complete his pact with the Herald, the Sorcerer needed to know everything he could learn about it. Besides, he was curious himself. The daemon was powerful enough to affect the entire underhive and create the monsters they had faced – some of which had even had daemons of their own. And, judging by the visions it had shown, its creation was a fairly recent event. Even the Coven – even the Thousand Sons, back at the end of the Heresy, after they had spent decades and sometimes centuries perfecting their craft on Sortiarus – had precious little lore about the mechanisms of daemonic conception. What could he learn from such a Neverborn, only recently come into existence yet as ancient as any of its timeless kind ?

The shadowy figure must have felt Asim's gaze, or detected the presence of the renegades in some way, for it turned to face them, its chains clinking with the sound of breaking blades as it moved. The moment the Sorcerer saw what was in place of the daemon's face, the pieces clicked together. Asim couldn't held an exclamation of surprise when the true scope and irony of the situation was revealed to him.

'By the blood of Magnus …'

An Eye of Horus formed of blazing flames crowned the daemon's body, gazing upon the intruders in its lair from a hood of crawling darkness. When the creature spoke, the eye flared brighter, and its voice was projected directly into Asim's thoughts. The Sorcerer's mind interpreted the psychic contact as a choir of voices screaming in terror, the cries somehow managing to form words.

'I know you, sorcerer.'

'Do you now ?' said Asim out loud, steeling his psyche against the feeling of utter violation caused by the daemon's silent speech.

'The Sea of Souls is still in turmoil from your deeds, sorcerer. Many of my brethren sing the name of Asim in the Empyrean, praising the one who has delivered upon them such a bounty of pain and blood. Even from here, where the souls of the livings are outnumbered by the shades of

the dead, I heard of you and of the one you serve.'

That was somehow flattering, but not the reason he had come here. Perhaps he could leverage this fame to convince the daemon to go along with his plan. After all, even if he had been tasked with Illarion's 'ascension' by the Herald of Blood, that didn't mean this Neverborn agreed, or even knew of the transaction that had been conducted aboard the Hand of Ruin.

'What is it, lord ?' asked Balthazar. The mortal was still aiming his possessed weapon toward the daemon, but his thoughts were shining with interest. 'I have seen my share of daemons on this world, but that's the first time one of them talked, even like … this. And why does it have the emblem of the Warmaster on it ?'

So, even non-psykers could understand the words of the daemon, seeing as neither Illarion nor his packmates asked what the former inmate was talking about.

'It is because this one is quite powerful, and therefore sentient enough to communicate,' explained Asim, easily falling back into the teaching role he had once fulfilled as a member of the Fifteenth Legion. 'It was born from the amalgam of the fears of all the inhabitants of Hive Anaster, and probably came into existence when Arken unleashed the storm.'

'I am far more than that, sorcerer,' interrupted the creature. 'I am the terror unleashed upon the Imperium by the Sacrificed King. I am the nightmares of a billion souls as they learnt that the horrors of the past were returning. I am the despair that seized the heart of the empire of Man when its favoured prince turned traitor. I am a shard of the broken soul of a god, and the destroyed hope of Humanity. I am the Shadow of Horus.'

Asim winced at the overbearing tone. He had hoped to avoid this, vain a hope as that may have been. Daemons above a certain threshold of power had tremendous egos and enjoyed talking about themselves far too much. But there was one thing in that boastful monologue that gave Asim pause, and he felt his temper begin to rise as he considered the words and their implications. However, before he could voice his thoughts, Illarion spoke them first :

'You claim to possess some part of the soul of Horus Lupercal ?! Do you wish to be destroyed, daemon ?!'

'Not the soul of the Sacrificed King, son of his dying line,' growled the daemon. 'That was lost forever to the fire of the Anathema's wrath. But the being he had become was much more than Primarch : he was the champion of the Four Gods. His essence reached beyond the mortal ken and into the Great Ocean, shaping the course of the galaxy to his will. When he fell, parts of his being scattered through its tides, and it is one such piece that found its way to this point in time and space.'

'I see,' said Asim. 'You are how the hivers saw the Warmaster; how he appeared in their terrified nightmares as the Heresy unfolded and the galaxy burned.'

'Yesss', hissed the daemon. 'The most feared being in the galaxy, and I am the incarnation of that fear ! I am the ultimate terror of Man given form by the remnants of the Pantheon's Chosen !'

'And yet,' Asim pointed out, 'you are trapped here. Chained, unable to leave this forsaken hole. You have power, that is undeniable … but is ultimately limited by the very thing that grants you strength.'

The daemon growled in anger, and the Unbound held their weapons tighter. Unfazed, Arken continued :

'That is because you are the Shadow of Horus, and Horus failed. He died in the orbit of Terra, aboard the Vengeful Spirit, never even setting foot on the world that would have been the emblem of his victory himself. You were given birth when Arken unleashed the Warp Storm at Isleas, and by then these people all knew of the Warmaster's defeat. I have no doubt a thousand different accounts of that day circulated in this hive alone, yet all must have had one detail in common : the Emperor killed Horus. These chains you bear are made of that knowledge, and of the belief that Horus' soul is now forever consigned to the underworld. That's why you appeared here and not blazing from the skies as a herald of imminent doom. And that is also why we are here. We can help you, daemon.'

The ire of the creature, which had been increasing while Asim exposed the truth of its situation, temporarily abated. It was curious – another sign of its high complexity for one of the Neverborn. Most daemons lacked all ability to consider the future, as they were timeless entities, and could never plan anything but how to kill their next prey.

'Speak, Sorcerer', said the Shadow of Horus.

'I have been tasked with offering you to bound with this worthy soul,' began Asim, indicating Illarion with his staff. 'His flesh would host your essence, and thus allow you to journey across the stars instead of languishing here. In return, you would grant him the power he desires and that the Gods wish him to obtain. You would hunt together, and spread fear and pain across the galaxy as a powerful member of our warband. Such is the compact, to which this warrior has willingly agreed. What says you ?'

The Shadow turned its gaze upon Illarion. Without needing Asim's prompting, the Unbound advanced toward the daemon.

'You are the son of my father,' said the Shadow. 'They hid your origins from you, but I can feel his essence running through your blood. You are a Son of Horus, one of those who once ruled over the Gods' armies in their name, and are now most fallen from grace. Yet you have never seen the figure of the Sacrificed King, never waged war alongside him. What is it you want from me, forsaken son ?'

'Power,' answered Illarion without any hesitation. He didn't appear surprised at all by the revelation of which gene-seed had been used during his ascension to the ranks of the Astartes. 'I want the power to destroy, to conquer and to rule. I want my foes to tremble in terror at the mention of my name. I have seen the power your kind can grant, and I want it.'

'Such things are not without cost,' warned the daemon, an edge of teasing in its voice. 'Even shall I agree to this compact, if I find your soul wanting, I shall crush you and claim your body as my own so that I may honor the debt I would owe to the Forsaken Sons. Are you really certain you are strong enough ?'

The Shadow already knew Illarion was committed, Asim thought. It was taunting him so that the young blood would make the final step into damnation willingly.

'I know the risks,' said the Unbound. 'I don't care. I will show you my strength, and master the power you have to offer. My will is strong, and you shall not break it, daemon.'

The sound of a space ship breaking apart emanated from the creature, and it took a moment for Asim to recognize it as a chuckle.

'Sorcerer,' it called. 'I accept this bargain, and by the compact am bound. Through the flesh of this warrior, I pledge my power to the Forsaken Sons, until the end of the binding. Do what you have to do.'

Asim had never performed a possession ritual before. He had studied the methods employed by the Word Bearers, piecing out the lore from the fanatic nonsense, but even the Seventeenth had never had to face a case such as this one. The Shadow of Horus was already incarnated, while typical possession involved the daemon being summoned from the Empyrean into the host's body. It technically made things easier, since it wouldn't require the power to drag the Neverborn into real-space. But at the same time, it was a foray into the unknown. Without the agreement of both parties and the howling Warp Storm, Asim would never have tried this alone.

Illarion was kneeling before the daemon in the centre of an hexagrammic circle. He was bare-headed, his eyes closed in meditation, and utterly still. The Shadow of Horus loomed over him, like a king of Hell's circles preparing to anoint a knight. The circle was isolating them, preventing the power of the daemon to spread further. Balthazar and the other Unbound observed from a safe distance, and Asim, who stood at the edge of the circle, could feel their expectation and unease.

The Sorcerer had removed his helmet. Without its psychic hood, he could manipulate the aether more precisely, but was in great danger if this dragged out. So far, the presence of the Shadow had kept lesser spirits at bay, but now that it was contained, they would soon return. He had to do this quickly and perfectly. It wouldn't do to make a flawed work of a soul's damnation.

Carefully, he reached out into the circle with his mind. At once, the terror of a billion souls pressed on him, threatening to break through his will and conditioning and turn him into a screaming, broken wretch. He held on, diverting the strength of the assault away, and his mouth began to form the lines of the highest Enumerations. He focused on the Shadow of Horus, and began to undo the threads of physicality that bound it to the material plane. Every time he removed one such thread, he created a new one between Illarion's soul and the daemon's essence. At least, that was how he would have described it to someone without the sixth sense. As all such descriptions, though, it was tremendously lacking. It didn't carry the sense of imminent doom, the resistance of the daemon to being cast out of reality, willing or not, or the tears opening in the Unbound's soul with each daemonic hook he attached to it. This was an act that was wrong and most foul, a blasphemy against sanity and an affront to Humanity, performed at the bequest of a creature born of murder and acting upon the will of false gods.

But it was also duty, revenge, and the payment of a debt. And these were all Asim had left to live for. His decision was already made – it had been made the moment he had accepted the Herald's bargain. So he went on, until Illarion was the only thing anchoring the Shadow of Horus. Now, only one last thing remained – a part of the ritual he hadn't told the Unbound about. His eyes still closed, looking only with his second sight, the Sorcerer entered the circle and stood behind Illarion. Then, with moves as fast and fluid as quicksilver, Asim drew his ceremonial dagger and cut the young Astartes' throat. He heard the distant shouts of surprise of Balthazar and the Unbound, and the pained gasp of Illarion. He saw the essence of the daemon pour into the wound and spread within the flesh. And he saw, in the last instant before his helm was put back on his head by his trembling hands and protected him from the rest of the Warp, the battle begin for the soul of the new Possessed.

And elsewhere, deep within the shadows of his own subconscious, he knew that another such battle had just ended.