Exitus Ultima Chapter 15
Beta examined the cryo-casket in detail, scrutinising the form within. A towering creature, laden with muscles and coarse hair. There was a distinct hunch to its shoulders and a thick brow squeezed the eyes into piggish dots. The jaw was overbuilt, giving it a savage appearance and yet for all that the Glykonae radiated strength and power. As the proto-historic Neanderthal was to man, so the Glykonae was to an Astartes, slow of wit but far more robust. A worthy match for the Imperial's new Primaris paradigm.
As wizened artisans stooped around the lines of cyro-chambers, tending to the systems that would awaken them, Beta had time to reflect. Long had the Alpha Legion sought the means to enhance the basic Astartes, a project commenced long before the Horus Heresy erupted. Unlike prouder Legions the XXth had been willing to admit Astartes were not the pinnacle of the Emperor's Gene-craft. The Adeptus Custodes were evidence of that, and rumours persisted that the extinct Thunder Warriors had been greater than their replacements, as individual warriors at least. Alpharius had revealed to his sons that the Astartes model had simply been the best suited for the task of galactic conquest, more disciplined and stable than the Thunder Warriors, easier to mass-produce than the Custodes. They had been disposable troops, intended to conquer a galaxy for their maker and then be cast aside once he deemed their usefulness over. The Alpha Legion had accepted the first two truths, but baulked at that last part.
Long before Horus declared his rebellion the XXth had begun to tinker with their gene-seed, seeking improvements. It had not gone well, failure after failure, twisted rejects and aberrant fiends born of incomplete understanding. The perfidious Emperor had been jealous of his secrets and denied the Legions any knowledge of their creation, other than that necessary to replicate the template he had given them. Still the XXth had tried. The stolen Ravendelve data had bought them to the brink of success, liberated from Corvus Corax's own flawed attempts to do the same thing, but Beta had ruined that chance, a necessary sacrifice so he had told himself.
For millennia since Beta had tried to recreate the project, to build a superior breed of Astartes. He had failed, the work was beyond the scope of all who lived in this lesser age. He had nearly given it up as a lost cause, till a Martian Magos had made the Primaris breakthrough. Beta had sent agents to steal Belisarius Cawl's knowledge, and the fragmentary snippets they had gleaned made the Glykonae possible. They were as yet imperfect, savage and short-lived, but as disposable weapons they were remarkable.
Epsilon came around a cryo-casket and declared, "Life-signs spiking, they will awaken in minutes."
Talgor was fussing over a cogitator and reported, "Hypno-indoctrination is complete, they should obey orders from the first breath."
"Should is a treacherous word," Beta muttered, "We've had issues with early trials."
"Only a handful rejected the memory implants, the rest accepted us as their lords."
"Let us trust you fixed the flaw," Beta snorted.
Talgor glared, his pride pricked but Beta didn't respond. The leaders of this Alpha Legion splinter worked as a cooperative, but it was an uneasy alliance at the best of times. All of them had much to gain by cooperating, but none of them trusted easily. Talgor had already proven he could switch allegiances when he turned renegade, Epsilon was suspicious by nature and Beta had woven lies for so many centuries even he wasn't sure what parts of his life were fact and which fiction. Then there was Delta.
Beta's eyes moved to the side, where a figure stood silently. Delta was greatly changed, his features redesigned by subtle surgeries. His face was now cruel and pinched, his eyes narrow and gleaming with snide intellect. A face of one long dead, a master Moritat of the XXth called Alpha. Beta had known him, as had the Storm Heralds. Alpha had died infiltrating and betraying them, and as disconcerting as it was for Beta to see the face of his old comrade brought back from the dead, he was counting on the shock unmanning the loyalists.
He sidled over to Delta and asked, "How is the face?"
"It heals," Delta deflected.
"I know it hurts."
"Not my first face-change," Delta scoffed, "Worry less about me, and more about Harbinger."
That caught Beta's interest, "The Daemon moves?"
Delta nodded, "Our spies watch his cultists, as they watch ours, and something is afoot. There are strange rituals in the ruins of burned-out temples, footsteps echo in places where no man should tread. Harbinger's acolytes search the undercrofts of Cathedrals and tombs, seeking something only they know. Harbinger is looking for something, though what I care not to guess."
Beta scowled, "The Daemon has already engineered the poisoning of a Primarch. What greater feat could he have in mind? This bear further investigation."
"You suspect he plans to betray us?"
"Harbinger is a Greater Daemon, betrayal is a given, but in what shape or form, this we must determine."
Delta sighed loudly, "Daemons below, loyalists above, and we, caught in the middle. This was supposed to be so straight-forward, then it got complicated."
"We are the Alpha Legion," Beta scoffed, "Straight-forward has never been our way."
"Finally, a truth from the master liar," Delta smirked.
Their conversation was interrupted as a chime rang out. Epsilon and Talgor backed off, leaving a cryo-casket to jet gusts of steam from within. Cold blue fluid drained out the bottom as artisans frantically worked the systems, awakening the creature. Grey flesh was exposed, wrinkled and puffy like a Newborn's but stretched over muscles hard as iron. The casket groaned as the tube slid upwards, spilling the thing within onto the unforgiving stone as various cables pulled free from its flesh.
Beta felt a mote of alarm as the Glykonae lay still, betraying no sign of life. Perhaps it had been non-viable from the start, merely kept from death by life-support feeds. He stepped nearer to examine the body, but then it sprung to life. A feral roar ripped from a swollen larynx as the bestial form tackled him about the waist. Too close to employ his staff, too quick to cast a spell, carrying him back to slam into another cryo-casket. The sheer strength of the impact rattled his bones, so mighty even a Space Marine saw stars. Such might would be his to command, if he could but master it.
Bolters were aimed at the Glykonae's back but Beta's fist was faster. He struck the engorged features across the jaw, causing the head to snap to the side. It came back with a feral snarl but Beta punched it again and again, snapping the head to and fro. The Glykonae paused at last as the violence penetrated its skull and it glared at the Sorcerer as lips tried to form words, holding him firmly against the cryo-casket all the while. Its first utterance was a mushy drawl as muscles struggled to form precision, but then the Hypno-indoctrination caught up and it spoke.
"You... strong..." it drawled.
"Stronger than you," Beta lied.
"Name..."
"I am Beta, your commander. These are Delta, Epsilon and Talgor, you will obey them."
"No... my name..."
Beta blinked for this was unprecedented, the Glykonae hadn't bothered to ask for a name before. Perhaps it was more intelligent than the earlier prototypes, perhaps the Hypno-indoctrination had been improved with repeated iterations. Either way it was a marked step forward in their development, a prospect as worrying as it was welcome.
"You need no name," Beta affirmed, "You are a brute, made to fight and obey."
"Brute..." the Glykonae slurred.
"You shall serve us," Beta repeated.
"Why?"
That was a question Beta hadn't expected and it was most perturbing, "Your life is nothing, a mere candle in the night. Nothing you do has meaning, unless it serves a greater cause. Swear allegiance to us and your life shall have a purpose!"
"And... if I... refuse?"
"Look down," Beta answered.
The slab of a head craned down and beheld Beta's fist held inches from the swollen chest. Green flames engulfed the hand, twisting forward into points making a claw of fire, poised to ram up into the chest and carve the hearts out. The brute grasped Beta was inches from ending its short life and its head came up with a grin. It let go of the Sorcerer and stepped back, arms spread in acceptance of defeat.
Epsilon signalled the waiting artisans to come forward and they dragged bits of Ceramite plate along, corded together with leather straps. These were fitted to the brute as it stood still, adding to its bulk. Nowhere near the protection of power armour, in truth its frame was enhanced enough already to shrug off a bolt round, but the basic outline granted a sense of an Astartes' shape, and the colours of the Legion were stark. An idea of armour more than anything else, a declaration that they were alike and of like mind.
Beta breathed out, "One down, several hundred to go."
Talgor stepped up, "The first is the hardest, the rest will follow suit."
"You can deal with the rest," Beta suggested, "I have places to be."
"What's this?" Epsilon queried, "Sneaking off again, leaving the grunt work to the minions, that goes against our compact."
"I do not play you false," Beta assured them, "You are best skilled to handle the Glykonae, I am better used chasing Harbinger's plotting."
"You seek to unravel a Daemon's intent?" Talgor scoffed, "Better souls than you have tried."
Beta however argued, "We are caught between two foes: loyalist scum and Daemonic treachery. It avails us nothing to defeat one, only to be undone by the other. Harbinger has designs beyond those he revealed, schemes upon schemes upon schemes. I am sure he intends far more for Sacellum than to be the grave of a Primarch, staggering as that is. Whatever he plots we must know, and I shall. It is time to teach this Daemon that in the realm of secrets there are none who can challenge the Alpha Legion!"