Exitus Ultima Chapter 26

"You are not going in there," Cato Sicarius stated bluntly.

"You must let us pass," Toran pleaded, "Everything depends on it."

"The Regent's life hangs in the balance, every moment is a struggle to save his life, we do not need you blundering about."

"But we're trying to save him!" Toran implored.

"I have a million witch doctors and self-proclaimed healers pounding on the doors, I have no time to indulge your fantasy."

Toran bit back a retort, knowing further argument would only goad the Commander of the Victrix Guard. It was galling though, they had flown so far and so fast, leaving Sunhawk a fuming wreck on the landing pads as aghast Techmarines wept over the damage. A furious drive through Dramacus City-state had seen them reach the Cathedral-fortress where Guilliman lay dying. Racing up levels, pushing past guards, only to be baulked at the last hurdle.

Cato Sicarius stood before the doors to the Apothecarion, firm and unyielding. He had not been pleased to see Toran, Arvael, Faeron and Phalros burst in, the Chapter Master having joined them while everyone else remained below. The Knight Champion of Macragge had been in the middle of a bitter argument with Jaric Phoros, K'inich Yux and Agrippa, the leaders of the Fire Lords, Smoke Jaguars and Marines Malevolent equally furious with each other. The interruption of outsiders only exacerbated the situation, which put everyone on guard.

Phalros stepped forward and pleaded, "Captain Sicarius, we understand this is unorthodox, but we believe we have the means to save the Regent's life. Secrets ripped from the Alpha Legion's own lips."

"You think…" Cato began but was interrupted.

"The Traitors?!" Jaric barked, "You found them?!"

"We did," Phalros stated, "And they let slip vital information."

Cato's eyebrow twitched as his cold reserve cracked, "A cure?"

"Not exactly," Phalros confessed, "But perhaps the solution we need."

"In other words you have nothing but fantasies. Begone and trouble me no more."

Yet K'inich Yux hissed, "Words spoken in haste are regretted at leisure, I would hear this tale."

"That is not for you to decide!" Cato Sicarius barked.

Agrippa snorted, "There are a hundred of my killers below who say different, plus three hundred Fire Lords and whatever that sulking wretch has to hand."

"Not to mention five hundred Storm Heralds," Phalros added.

"You threaten violence?!" Cato barked.

"We're going to hear this, no matter what you say," Jaric growled.

"Our stars are in alignment," K'inich allowed.

"See, you've got the Fire Lords and Smoke Jaguars agreeing on something," Agrippa snorted, "That should tell you how important this is."

Cato looked irate but hissed, "Speak quickly then, I have no time to waste."

Arvael stepped forward and recited, "We located the Traitors and they claimed there was no cure to what is killing Guilliman, but they could not help bragging about how deadly it is. Ever-changing, ever-evolving, constantly adapting. Crucially they revealed the poison has been present in the Primarch all along. That gave Captain Toran an idea."

"You, I should have known," Cato groaned, "What is it?"

"I can't tell you," Toran confessed, "If I do, you'll have us thrown into a gaol. But I believe we've all been looking in the wrong place, that the answer does not lie in the disciplines of biology but mechanical. Specifically we must examine the Armour of Fate."

Cato's face froze as a guilty look stole over him, "You know not of what you speak."

"So, there is something to this?!" Jaric blinked.

"The Armour of Fate is mysterious and powerful, forged by Belisarius Cawl and endowed with rarefied technology. The Victrix Guard is sworn to preserve its secrets from all outsiders, but know adepts trained by Cawl himself have been communing with its systems, trying to find a way to save Guilliman."

Faeron stepped in, "But they didn't know what they were looking for."

"And you do?" Cato disdained.

Faeron sniffed, "I have a notion, one I'm sure Cawl would not like me to share. I know he's trained many adepts to service the Primarch's armour, but there are aspects none save he understand, secrets kept from all. If we're right, that could be the key to saving Guilliman."

Cato looked unsure, his sworn duty to maintain secrecy conflicting with his duty to save the Primarch's life. Conflicting orders, tearing him in two. Toran appreciated his dilemma, but had no time to waste on deliberation. Seconds could mean the difference between life and death, and they could not afford the time to allow Cato Sicarius to ruminate.

Surprisingly it was Agrippa who said, "Look at it this way: they can hardly make the situation any worse. Guilliman won't last the hour. The Regent will die, and that is something you are going to have to live with. The question you must ask is: can you endure knowing you didn't try absolutely everything to prevent it?"

Cato's defiance wilted and he lowered his gaze, "Whatever you're going to do… just get on with it." He turned and led them through the door, entering the observation gallery where various adepts loitered. Faeron took off, heading down some steps to enter the medical suite. Toran peered through the glassic, seeing the Primarch laid out on a med slab. He looked worse than ever, white as a sheet and with a gaping wound on his throat. Surrounded by beeping machines and festooned with tubes and wires, the faint and thready pulse readings were barely discernible, twin hearts barely beating as death stole over him. Sections of his outer armour had been lifted away, revealing the bulky devices hidden beneath; relics Toran believed held the answer.

Faeron shouldered aside surprised adepts and stepped nearer, extending a Mechandrite from his wrist. He spent a few seconds scanning for an interface port, then plugged himself into the Armour of Fate. The Iron Father closed his eyes and fell still as his mind engaged with the Machine Spirit, communing in the realm Binaric. Toran waited as the seconds crawled past, desperate for a change, any change.

"Clear the room!" Cato Sicarius barked at the huddled adepts then once they had privacy addressed Toran, "I have violated by sworn oath, now explain why I did so."

Toran kept his eyes on the Primarch but he replied, "Tell me, have any of you ever seen Roboute Guilliman without his armour? Anyone… at any time?"

"He must wear it constantly, to prevent assassination attempts,"

Jaric ventured, "His life is too valuable to chance."

"In public yes, but even in private?" Toran questioned, "Does he need it at rest or study or strategizing? Space Marines spend months in plate at a time, but even we must take it off at points. I have known our lord only briefly, but already I know he wears armour at times when by all rights he should remove it. For some time I have suspected the Imperial Regent can't remove it, physically can't. I think the Armour of Fate is what's been keeping Guilliman alive for the last decade."

"They've removed a lot of it," Agrippa pointed out.

"Ablative layers, solid plates, but not the devices within, not the mechanisms Cawl wrought."

"Assuming you're right, it's not keeping him alive anymore," Jaric allowed, "So what is Faeron trying to do?"

Toran glanced at Cato and said, "To answer that we must ask, what do we know of the poison itself?"

"On this matter the Victrix Guard are sworn to silence, and that is an oath I am not breaking," Cato stated firmly.

But Arvael elaborated, "The Alpha Legion claimed it was planted by Fulgrim long ago, that's it's been in the Primarch's blood this whole time."

"I can neither confirm nor deny that," Cato growled.

"That's Administratum speak for yes," Phalros snorted.

Toran continued the narrative, "Assuming that's right then the Armour of Fate has been holding back the poison for years. You may have thought the poison was dormant, lurking in quietude till the Traitors woke up it, but I think it's been active this whole time. They claimed the poison is evolving, redesigning itself moment by moment, ever seeking new ways to kill Guilliman. That got me thinking: how can any machine counter a toxin that is constantly changing? No matter how advanced a Machine Spirit may be they are limited, pre-programmed, there is no way Cawl could account for every possible variation. Unless… unless the Armour of Fate is also evolving, learning second by second, and adapting its defences to counter the poison. Not passively reacting to the changes but proactively anticipating them, always thinking a step ahead."

"Flaming Frak," Jaric breathed, "Are you saying what I think you're saying?!"

"The pillars of creation would shake at the revelation," K'inich gasped.

"What?" Agrippa asked, "What are we thinking?"

"They're suggesting that there's a Silica Animus hidden inside the Armour of Fate," Cato growled, "That Belisarius Cawl built an Abominable Intelligence into the workings of its arcane mechanisms, to keep ahead of the poison. You realise this is utter Heresy to even contemplate?"

"Which is why we didn't tell you first," Phalros explained.

Their deliberations were interrupted as a cry arose among the Chirugeons below. All eyes turned downwards and saw a great flurry of activity as adepts pointed to monitors and machines beeped. They cried in amazement, they prayed what they were seeing was true, they fell to their kneeing weeping in joy as a miracle unfolded. The bedlam was intense but through it all Toran had ears only for one thing, the faint beating of the Primarch's hearts, growing stronger and steadying as his descent into death was averted.

Faeron disengaged from the Armour of Fate and wearily made his way back up to the viewing gallery. He looked drained by the short minutes, but his head was held high in triumph, "It is done."

"Guilliman's going to live?!" Phalros cried.

"The Regent is stable, his cells cease to wither. I am no medicae but I think he is no longer in danger. Recovery will be slow, even for him, but he'll live."

Toran's heart felt light at the news, his breath quickening in joy. Roboute Guilliman's death had been averted and a weight equal to a planet lifted from Toran's shoulders. The bleak vista of extinction was cancelled, humanity's death warrant was rescinded. The Primarch would live; the thought gave Toran joy unlike any he had known in a century.

"I was right," Toran gasped, "There is an Abominable Intelligence hiding inside the Armour of Fate?"

"Yes and no," Faeron explained, "Silica Animus come in many varieties, as diverse and unique as biological life. The Men of Iron, Kaban, Tabula Myriad, Chroxius, Cadmus and Soulbound. This particular breed is forged for a singular purpose. It is tamed, spayed even, limited solely to the preservation and protection of Guilliman himself. Not truly self-aware but yet a Machine Mind."

"But it's still heretical?" Agrippa guessed.

"An unforgivable defilement of the Cult Technis' proscriptions," Faeron stated, "If the Fabricator General knew of this the armies of every Forgeworld would march upon Belisarius Cawl, and the Primarch himself."

Cato turned to them, "Everyone shall swear a binding oath of secrecy on this matter. No word shall pass of these events, not one syllable. If questioned under torture you shall still speak only of divine miracles and the Emperor's blessings. Faeron, you deserve plaudits for your efforts here, but you must abide with the knowledge that you have performed a singular duty."

"You thank the wrong person," Faeron demurred, "The logs show the Armour of Fate was overwhelmed by a surge of unidentifiable energy several days ago, the bloodcurse stunned the Silica Animus into torpor and allowed the poison free rein. All I did was reinitialise the matrix and let it free. It is the good Captain you owe thanks to."

Toran averred, "I stand in your shadow, noble Iron Father."

But Faeron insisted, "Cawl hid his Heresy well, but any adept with enough skill could have found it, if they knew what they were looking for. But without your novel idea, I could have spent a lifetime trawling the Binaric substrates and not found it. No adept would think to go looking for a Silica Animus, but you did. Toran you alone, among millions of Tech-Priests, Apothecaries, savants and Astartes, had the wit to think outside the box. Such unorthodox thinking is beyond the bounds of men in this age, except for you. I do not know whether you are a genius or a madman but I speak truly when I say it was you, and you alone, who saved Roboute Guilliman's life."

Toran could only bow his head in acceptance as Phalros said, "It seems congratulations are in order Third Captain."

Jaric agreed, "The Imperium owes you a debt of gratitude."

"Our gene-father's life is thanks and praise enough," Toran humbly stated.

"Speak softly and strike with confidence, such is the mark of a great man," K'inich declared, "The sons of Sedaxus shall whisper the name Toran of Lujan with awe."

Cato Sicarius drew himself up, "I judged you an arrogant fool, but it seems I spoke in haste. This shall not be forgotten. I shall tell the Primarch of these events when he wakes but first…"

But suddenly Arvael screamed, "Yaaargh!" as he grabbed his head with both hands.

"Brother?!" Toran yelped as the room began to shake around them.

From below a deep and terrible rumble arose, shaking the walls and the glassic in its frames. An earthquake shook the Cathedral from foundations to spire top, making it sway as stonework crumbled to dust. Machines rolled free in the Apothecarion, fluid lines jiggled and adepts screamed as the world shivered. Thunder rolled above too, splitting the heavens with booming retorts, audible even inside a vault of stone. Black lightning speared at random and tornados formed across salt plains, whipping particles of sand into whirlwinds of fused glass that could shred the meat off a man's bones in seconds. The whole planet was screaming, terrible and infernal woe spilling free as black clouds formed spontaneously, covering the land and the sky in a dark storm of destruction.

Inside the viewing gallery Toran grabbed Arvael and shouted, "What's happening?!"

Arvael was in agony as his psychic senses were buffeted, "Chaos is loose! The Dark Gods, they know what we have done here, they are angered! They send their wroth to scour this planet, to ensure their victory is not snatched away."

"What's he saying?!" Agrippa shouted.

"He's saying Chaos knows their poison failed, the Traitors aren't willing to let Guilliman go so easily. They are going to try a more direct route!" Toran barked.

Cato Sicarius took charge instantly, "Summon all Astartes Companies, ready your Rhinos Repulsors and Land Raiders. All Chirugueons prepare to relocate with alacrity. Victrix Guard: prepare a bier for our liege lord so we may carry him from this place. The slaves of Chaos are far from done and they know where we are. Make haste, we are moving Guilliman out of this city-state before the armies of hell come to finish the kill!"