Exitus Ultima Chapter 21

Crimson Vengeance chased the dying daylight, burning across the sky as if in a race with the sun. The fiery orb that scorched Sacellum's plains was bloated and red upon the horizon, trying to duck out of sight and bring the night. The Thunderhawk fought against that inevitability, flying at supersonic velocity in a furious attempt to keep pace. Desperately the pilots flew, seeking to squeeze every last morsel of speed from the airframe, knowing all the while time was running out. Every second that passed brought Roboute Guilliman closer to death and the quest for a cure stood on a knife's edge.

In the hold Arvael was talking over the Hololith, seeking an update on recent events. He was talking to Mayra, who was in orbit aboard the Thunderlord. From there the woman could reach all Companies and the various agents who served Echeb's clandestine network. The Librarian had yearned for good news but the grim cast to the woman's features told otherwise. She looked like one of the Chapter's professional mourners, someone who had perfected the art of weeping for heroes centuries dead.

Solemnly she reported, "The sands run out and the hours grow fewer and fewer. A day at most, that's all he's got left."

"He's that close?" Arvael gulped.

"We don't have eyes on the Imperial Regent," Mayra sighed, "But news leaks out. The Chirugeons have run out of ideas and can only watch his life slipping away. "

"Is there any progress on other fronts?" Arvael pressed.

"The other Chapters are causing trouble all over, there's a lot of blood being spilled but no progress to note. The Storm Herald's Librarians report dead-ends and false trails at every turn. You alone report any real progress at hunting down the Alpha Legion. Echeb urges you to make haste, you may be our last hope."

"No pressure," Arvael muttered under his breath.

"What was that? Your signal is breaking up."

"Nothing," Arvael deflected, "Tell Echeb to keep the Thunderlord in position. We will be in Jercha city-state within the hour, we need to maintain communications."

Mayra nodded, "The Chief Librarian has already done so, we bring the Iron Hail, in case you need it."

Arvael blinked, "Truly, the situation is that dire?"

"Echeb thinks it is," Mayra affirmed, "As I said you are our last hope, name it and you shall have it."

"I am honoured by the trust my master shows in me. We shall not fail and one more thing,"

"Yes?"

"Pass my regards to Captain Toran and the Third, tell them we shall meet again soon."

"Can do," Mayra confirmed, then the Hololith narrowed to a single ribbon of light, before blinking out. Arvael sighed as the weight of the mission settled upon his shoulders, knowing all hopes rested on their success. He turned and saw the squad moving about the hold, preparing their weapons. A fight was certain and they had to be ready. The Reivers were sharp and ready, they would not falter or fail. The bodies of the dead lay in the rear. By rights they should be returned to an Apothecary for gene-seed extraction, but the mission was too important to divert. They risked losing the sacred genic legacy of the fallen, as decay took its toll, but that risk was one that must be chanced. Nothing could stop the quest for a cure.

Sitting on a strapped-down crate in a corner Carisa the joygirl shivered. The hold was cold by human standards and she had only her slim dress for comfort. Arvael was no expert on mortal standards but he was aware she hadn't slept since they found her and mortals needed rest to function. He had nothing to comfort her and yet he stepped over saying, "You should sleep."

Carisa looked up, "Sleep? In this juddering box, with the engines howling in my ears?"

"This is safe and level flight," Arvael argued, "A Thunderhawk isn't designed for comfort but this is the best you will get."

"I couldn't sleep anyway," Carisa groaned, "I'm wired."

"Wired?"

"You know, running on spit and vinegar," Carisa said, "The last day has been the most intense of my life."

Arvael accepted this, "Adrenaline can keep a body going far past the tolerances of normal times. Yet we will be landing in an hour, you can rest then."

"You're not bringing me along?" Carisa blinked, "What if you need a local guide?"

"We know where we are going and what we face," Arvael replied, "Your services are no longer required."

Carisa looked down at her bare feet, "All my life I dreamed the God-Emperor's Angels would come and swoop me away. Take me from this life of sin to a better place. I don't know what's more remarkable, that it actually happened, or that I'm just as miserable here as I was there."

"You never considered joining a convent?" Arvael mused, "The Adepta Sororitas offered sanctuary to all."

"Do I look like a Battle-Sister?!"

"There are non-militant Orders," Arvael countered.

"The priesthood have their dirty claws in the Chantries," Carisa shook her head, "Besides no one runs from the Vettia, no one. They have people everywhere, no one can keep them away."

"We are Adeptus Astartes, these petty criminals will rue the day if they dare cross us. You are safe with us, stay in the gunship and rest. No one will hurt you, so long as you are under our protection."

Arvael left the joygirl to her solitude as he moved back, passing the others busy with their preparations. He found Jediah and Gotram at the rear of the hold, speaking quietly. The pair were equally fierce and ruthless, yet Jediah was far more willing to cross moral lines. Arvael was quietly disturbed over what he was teaching the Reivers.

"We land in forty minutes," Jediah instructed, "Get everyone in their restraint cages in thirty."

"Then we take the fight to the Traitors," Gotram agreed, "We make them pay for what they have done."

"We make them bleed," Jediah agreed.

Arvael joined the conversation, "Leave some to talk, we need a cure."

Jediah's cold eyes glared at the interruption and he waved Gotram off with a nod of the head. The Sergeant made himself absent as the Lieutenant glared. Arvael ignored his disdain and said, "We need to talk."

"So talk," Jediah grunted.

Arvael sensed he was on dangerous ground but pressed on, "Vuruel, you killed him."

"So?" Jediah replied.

"He was a Storm Herald, a Brother, you broke faith with the Chapter's teachings," Arvael accused.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Jediah sniffed, "I killed many Storm Heralds in the civil war."

Arvael grimaced, "Heretics, oath breakers and deviants. They were polluting the Chapter's spirit with their twisted creeds."

"You don't know anything," Jediah growled, "Your order hid in your ugly tower and mediated, while we fought and died in the mud. You held yourselves too precious to risk in a brawl and then dare judge those of us who spilled our blood for victory."

"It wasn't like that," Arvael protested, "The powers of the Librarius could not become involved. If we used psychic means to make ourselves kingmakers then the Warp would rule the Storm Heralds. That could not be countenanced, the Warp must serve, never rule."

"That is the talk of cowardice," Jediah snarled, "You bleat excuses and deflections, but I was there with a knife in hand. I tell you the divisions between us were nothing. Those we killed were every bit Storm Heralds as we are, killers and warmongers, they were us and we were them. The only difference is we won and they lost."

Arvael was incensed, "Is that all you believe the Chapter to be?!"

Jediah snorted, "You all wrap yourselves in chains of sentiment, covering your eyes with talk of principles and higher purpose. You are afraid of the truth: that the Space Marines were made to be weapons, nothing more, nothing less. We are not heroes or champions, we were made to kill and kill supremely well. We are darkness, we are death, we were made to deliver His wrath, anything else is a childish delusion."

"That's not true," Arvael argued, "We have a duty!"

"You know nothing of duty," Jediah sneered, "We have a duty to kill, to destroy and above all win. You bleat about one life lost, but how many so-called innocents die when we bombard a city from orbit? How many millions have we slaughtered to reach one Heretical leader? We are all killers, but the rest of you hide from the harsh truth. I am the only one with my eyes open."

Arvael growled, "You have no idea what I have done in the name of duty. I have judged those who would serve the Chapter with all their hearts, only to find them weak and lacking in resolve. These I kill before they can fail. I winnow the pure from the impure, I forsake my honour so others do not have to. I have done all this without hesitation… and even after all that I'm standing here telling you you've gone too far."

"I care nothing for your opinions," Jediah dismissed.

"You have a gaping void where a soul should be," Arvael hissed, "Your black spirit lacks any hint of honour or comradery. Were you an aspirant, facing the judgement of the Librarius, I would slit your throat as being unworthy to bear the name Storm Herald. You are a weak link in our Brotherhood!"

Jediah's fist flashed and caught Arvael across the chin. This time he was not wearing a helm and he took the full force on his jaw. The crack of fist on bone drew all eyes but they hastily looked away as Jediah glared back. Arvael refused to admit it hurt, despite wanting to rub his jaw, he stood proud, staring down the Lieutenant with stern resolve.

Jediah leaned in, "Your wittering reveals weakness. The mission is before us and you bleat of virtue and vice. You distract us all with your hand-wringing. The mission is all, and I will do anything to see it completed, anything."

Arvael retorted, "I see clear at last. You care nothing save for your own victories. If there is no line you would not cross to achieve your goal, then you are no better than the Traitor Astartes."

Jediah snorted in amusement, "You know nothing. Those dupes wallow in their own corruption, delighting in self-indulgence. They are soft, distracted by their own desires. I do not let my focus stray; I do not let anything stand between me and the completion of my mission. You want to know what makes me different from the Traitors: it's because I am a Frakking professional!"

With that Jediah left the Librarian to stew. The Lieutenant moved off, striding past his squad as if daring them to comment. Arvael finally allowed himself to rub his jaw as he stared daggers at Jediah's back. He had always known Jediah to be cold and ruthless, showing no sign of warmth of Brotherhood, but never truly grasped how dark his soul was. Jediah was the worst of the Space Marines, a killer without compunction or scruple. They would fight together, see the mission completed, but Arvael resolved to never turn his back on Jediah again. There was no telling what he would do or who he would sacrifice and Arvael had no intention of joining the ever-growing list of Jediah's victims.