Exitus Ultima Chapter 22
The target was near, Arvael could sense it, a throbbing pulse of power making his psychic awareness tingle. Through echoing catacombs and dusty vaults it called him, drawing him as the sea tugged at a sailor's heart. It was enticing and yet foul, the sour reek of spoiled milk, a corrupted and vile odour, tainted with the filth of Chaos. Only those pacted to the Dark Gods would think to use such rancid power, only the Traitor Marines would pollute their souls so.
"We're close," Arvael breathed.
"You're sure?" Gotram asked.
"The scent is unmistakable; the Alpha Legion are close."
"Then the time has come to make them pay," Jediah hissed, "Everybody stand ready, we're going in."
Arvael bit back a retort, knowing Jediah wouldn't care for whatever he had to say. The Lieutenant was focused on the mission and for now that was right. Arvael put thoughts of their disagreement from his mind as he took up his Force-Morningstar. Like a Chirgueon laying out his scalpels Arvael prepared his psychic tools, weapons Telekinetic and Telepathic, shining implements of death.
The tunnel they were advancing down was a crumbling ruin. Dry for centuries, without a hint of moisture in the air. Decaying mortar drifted by and every footstep shook microscopic particles from the brickwork. Even the keenest hunter would agree this tunnel hadn't seen the passage of a living man in centuries and yet ahead were echoes noise and light. Arvael dared not send his sight ahead, such Sorcery as he sensed would doubtless have wards against psionic spying, so he had to rely on conventional awareness. Thrumming activity and the chatter of voices, signs that the Traitors had indeed established a base under Jercha. The Alpha Legion's hub had at last been located, the most likely place they would secret a cure to the poison killing Roboute Guilliman, the prospect made Arvael giddy.
"Let me send two scouts ahead, to find a way around, then flank them from all sides," Gotram proposed.
"Straight out the Codex Astartes," Jediah hissed, "They'll be ready for such manoeuvres. No, we hit them hard and fast from the outset."
"A direct strike?" Arvael questioned.
"Alpha Legion love to overthink things," Jediah stated, "But no matter how clever a plan is, it cannot cope with a rocket launcher fired into the mix."
Orders given the Reivers fell into an arrowhead formation, knives drawn and shock grenades held ready. They were poised for the battle to come, ready to kill anything that stood against them. Jediah took point, his Fractal edged short-sword held downwards in his grip. With the Lieutenant leading the way the Storm Heralds crept to the edge of the encampment, then with a roar he led them to battle.
A furious cry announced the dispatch of shock grenades, flying high to soar over various upright caskets. They detonated with thunderous retorts and aching flash of lights, electromagnetics within scrambling autosenses for precious seconds. On its heels came the Reivers, charging into the fight and killing before the enemy knew what was happening.
Arvael saw mortals falling before the wicked knives, cut apart by slashing blows that ripped limbs free and opened chests. The Reivers were barely touching the mortals, but so fast and strong were their blows that every gesture brought death. The Chaos Marines were a more challenging prospect. A handful of azure-hued warriors stumbled between cyro-caskets; wrenching malfunctioning helms free. They were cut down by vicious bursts of bolt pistol fire, concentrated volleys tearing them apart. Arvael knew they needed some alive, but in a Transhuman fight there was no such thing as holding back, he'd have to trust their remarkable physiologies wouldn't let them die too fast.
The Storm Heralds killed five Traitors in the first seconds of the attack, but then a deep and echoing growl rang loud. Arvael screeched to a halt, recognising the timbre of that growl. From the ranked rows they came, hulking monstrosities of muscle and rage. Glykonae, six of them, charging into the fray with primal roars of fury.
The Reivers responded with volleys of bolt fire, hammering the incoming madman with mass reactives. Detonations burst over iron hard flesh but did little more than scratch the skin. The Glykonae charged through the worst, swinging wild as they hurled themselves at the Storm Heralds, scattering the loyalists like pins. Gotram was sent flying by a backhanded blow, that saw him crash off a Cryo-casket and fall still. Jediah ducked a roundhouse punch that should have seen his head taken off and stabbed a knee joint, but to no effect. The Glykonae swung after him, bellowing in rage.
Arvael saw the battle turn against them and knew it was up to him to act. He gathered his full psychic strength and channelled it all into his weapon, causing the crystal head to blaze with potency. He threw himself at a Glykonae battering Brother Razart into the ground, swinging his weapon for the spine. The glowing head made contact and telekinetic power flowed, exploding in a torrent. The monster staggered from the blow, its spine cracked and its legs no longer obeying commands. That hit would have stoved in a Rhino's hull, but it did make the Glykonae fall, crippled from the impact.
Arvael sagged at the expenditure of power, having drained all his strength into one blow. Razart took up a knife and stood by his side while he recovered, guarding his flank. Arvael was grateful for the gesture of Brotherhood, which was why he was shocked by Razart's unexpected death. A flash of green, a surge of warp power and the sense of spacetime twisting, then a pointed blade was erupting from Razart's chest.
Arvael spun in shock and found himself confronted by a warrior in scaled armour, wielding a twin-bladed staff. His helm was crowned by serpents and his aura stank of spoiled power. This was the source of the scent, the author of ruin, a warped and twisted Sorcerer of Chaos. One steeped in lore forbidden and damnable.
Arvael reacted on instinct, hurling his weapon at the cur's head, but the fiend was no longer there. Power flared once more and the Sorcerer was gone, leaving empty air. Arvael threw himself aside as a blade tip passed through the space where his head had been, passing inches from his helm. Again the power flared and he dodged another blow, staggering as he evaded desperately. The attacks were coming from all directions, the Sorcerer teleporting to and fro with terrifying ease. Arvael wouldn't have dared enact such a ritual without hours of laborious preparation, but the Sorcerer skipped across the warp with all the effort of stepping across a room.
A third blow came from his right and this time he was too slow. The tip struck his helm and tore through, ripping an eye lens free. His vision crazed as Autosenses failed and he expected a follow up attack to tear his hearts out. When it didn't come he frantically tore his helm free, blinking as his eyes adapted, only to find the Sorcerer standing back insouciantly, head cocked as if examining the young Librarian.
"That's better," the Sorcerer crooned, "Now we can talk."
"Die Chaos filth!" Arvael snarled as he lifted his weapon.
"That's rude," the Sorcerer laughed, "Especially since we both know you expended all your strength on that stunt. Now to introductions, I am Beta and I've been expecting you."
"I don't care what your name is, and you're wrong, I'm not entirely spent!"
Arvael fell to one knee and his bare palm slapped the ground. Glowing lines of force ran out from the touch, describing circles and runes. Glyph magic was precise work, requiring concentration and time, not the sort of thing one could pull off mid-battle, and yet Arvael's anger lent laser focus. With speed he'd never known before he created a glyph of amplification, boosting what meagre power he had left.
Beta took advantage of his momentary distraction to make an arcane gesture and from his hand shining serpents sprang. Eyes glowing with deadly power, clad in scales of hate and fangs dripping poison of unspent revenge. They flew through the air, seeking Arvael's hearts. The Librarian's life hung in the balance but power flooded through him and with a gesture he raised up a wall of earth. The Serpents struck the barrier and their power was spent uselessly, leaving him untouched.
"Not bad," Beta sniffed.
"Try this!" Arvael snarled.
With his boosted power Arvael ripped a Cryo-casket from its foundations and sent it hurtling at the Sorcerer. Twelve feet of shining plasteel caromed at Beta, making him leap aside to avoid being crushed. Elated Arvael ripped another free, and another, sending them all at Beta. The Sorcerer bobbed and weaved, unable to stop the hail of metal and discarded tubes rolled away, crushing mortals lurking behind.
Arvael threw two at once, trying to pin Beta but the Sorcerer sighed, "I think that's quite enough of that." With a flicker of warp power he stopped the cryo-caskets in mid-air, freezing them in place. Arvael was stunned, his boosted power had been thwarted with ease, his strength revealed to be insignificant. Beta had overpowered him with barely any exertion, proving he was steeped in power Arvael had never dreamed of.
"It cannot be," he wheezed as sweat poured down his brow.
"Please," Beta scoffed, "How long have you been doing this, a few decades, even that? I have been honing my power in the Warp for ten millennia, I have battled Gods and Daemons. You are a child compared to me... observe."
Beta's spirit struck Arvael's soul, a Telepathic attack, mind to mind. Arvael's defences were shredded in an instant, bored through by a cunning strike informed by millennia of practice. The Librarian had made his mind a fortress, but when tested against Beta's cunning it proved as formidable as a sandcastle. The Sorcerer had perfected ways into a mind few could conceive, learned subtle arts at the feet of masters of spiritual realms and evil gods alike, it was simple for him to penetrate the defences and plant a vision.
Arvael's sight failed as he beheld a vista of treachery. Himself, kneeling before coven of Sorcerers swearing allegiance to Tzeentch. This Arvael's armour was marked with foul runes and his spirit soured by corruption. His face was a picture of greed and hate, the face of one who had betrayed his oaths and spat on his fealty to Terra. Worse was the glint in his eyes, a mote of pain, the pain of one who has sacrificed all in the name of duty and been cast out for his efforts. One who did what was required of him and was rewarded by being named an outcast, barred from the Brotherhood of the Chapter forevermore.
The wound to Arvael's spirit was too great to bear and he fell to his knees howling, "No, it shall not be! I defy this, I defy you. I shall never submit to Chaos, never you hear me! I shall die before betraying my Brothers! Get out of my head!"
The vision faded and Arvael's world swam back into focus. He couldn't have been lost for more than a minute, but it was enough. He found himself kneeling in the dirt, his weapon taken from him. Gloating warriors in azure-plate loomed over, bolters held ready to execute him in an instant. In a line he knelt alongside Gotram, Jediah, Nuihus, Reshea and Oppoaro, all that remained of the Storm Herald's bold strike. The rest were dead, their bodies mulched by titanic blows of the Glykonae. The Reiver's had been comprehensively taken apart, overpowered by foes superior in strength and cunning.
"Back with us I see," Beta crowed, as he stood over them.
"I have nothing to say to you, Traitor filth!"
"But we have so much to discuss, there is so much you can tell me."
"Kill us, you won't get anything from me."
"Not even for the promise of a cure for your gene-father?"
"I... what?!"
Gotram butted in, "Don't fall for it, he's playing you."
"You can shut up!" Beta snapped, "You're only alive as leverage!"
"He's right though," Jediah hissed, "You already know everything, don't you? You knew we were coming and laid a trap!"
"I know more than you can imagine," Beta laughed, "But not everything... not Harbinger's True Name."
That sent Arvael's head reeling again, "Harbinger, what's that Daemon got to do with this?!"
"Oh, didn't you know, Harbinger is here on this planet. It was he who devised that delightful little poison that's killing your Primarch. Ever changing, ever evolving, always seeking new ways to bring about his death."
"Harbinger has returned," Arvael breathed "That explains everything, all the riddles make sense."
"Was it the Daemon who told you we were coming?!" Jediah spat.
"There you give the Daemon too much credit. I didn't need the warp to tell me you were coming, not when you told me yourselves!"
The ring of Traitors parted as a slim figure stepped between them. Arvael's jaw tightened as he beheld Carisa stepping around Chaos Marines, utterly unintimidated by their soaring mass. Her motions were different, not shy and timid as was familiar but bold and assertive. A predator in its own den, and her eyes held nothing but contempt. She came to stand at Beta's side and grinned mockingly, her mannerisms utterly transformed.
Gotram gasped, "You?! The Sorcerer turned you!"
"He didn't have to," Jediah growled, "Carisa's been working for the Alpha Legion all along. She's been playing us, making us run in circles, while reporting back to the Traitors what we were doing. She's one of their agents!"
Carisa reached up to her bottom lip and pulled it down, revealing a brand on the inside of her gum. A triple-headed serpent, burned into the flesh of her mouth, where none could see. The pain of such a mark must have been crippling but she seemed unbothered, conditioned to withstand pain and psychic probe alike. She let go her lip and spat, "Not just an agent, a full operative, embedded in the Vettia to eliminate loose ends. Imagine my surprise when you buffoons ruined my perfect execution."
"We've been following your every step from the start," Beta chuckled, "Hydra Dominatus."