Armorum Fidei Chapter 5
*12 light-years from Suna*
Around a dying red giant star a craggy asteroid orbited. It was an ugly lump of rock, scoured bare by radiation and cosmic winds. No life had ever evolved here, no atmosphere or water existing to allow the most basic proteins or amino acids to form. There were no remarkable ores or precious gases to mine, no nearby interstellar bodies to study. The rock was in every way insignificant, save for one, the stellar system itself, which was located at a strategic position along Warp-routes leading into hazardous space.
The Inquisition had deemed that sufficient enough reason to establish a watch-post, a hidden observatory for oath-bonded Navigators to watch Empyreal currents and scan for the wakes of passing ships. To protect them layers of armour and guns had been strapped to the asteroid, void-shields, fighter hangers and lance arrays. Unimpressive in calibre, but they were meant only to slow an attacker long enough for the Astropaths to scream warnings into the aether. They failed.
Around the bastion hung seven hourglass-shaped starships, each eclipsing the largest battleship in size, firepower and majesty. Flares of corposant hung around weapon ports, which had chewed through the asteroid's surface with ease. Broken fighters and bombers drifted past their indifferent hulls in clouds of atoms, their matter vaporised with single-shots. In realms unseen they screamed suffocating wails, drowning out astopathic distress calls with pulsating, alien howling. They hung over the asteroid like Carnodons over a fresh kill, sinking fangs deep into the meat of its body, ready to feast.
Deep within a figure strode through a raging melee, disdaining the lives ending all around. Head and shoulders he stood over the frantic masses, untroubled by the carnage. Long back-jointed legs held aloft a barrel chest that supported elongated arms with two-fingered hands boasting wiry strength. A flared neck supported a rigid exoskeletal skull, framed by a fan ridge of cartilage behind the head, like a cobra making a threat display. The hide was leathery in texture, rippling in places but hard as plasteel and sinews moved to propel it with shocking speed. One could easily mistake it for a living thing in its own right, but appearances were deceptive, this was mere bio-armour for the true creature, an exo-cuirass for a Psybrid Praecentor called Chuqik.
Buried in the heart of his suit Chuqik was aware of all that passed nearby. His exo-cuirass painted a vision of thermal bleeds and subsonic vibrations were translated into an echolocation map, but these were subsidiary to his main sense, the psychic perception that characterised his race. Around him minds clashed and wailed, discordant notes in a jarring symphony of conflict. Notes of anger accompanied every bayonet thrust, dins of fear echoed from each desperate shot and the drumbeat of despair underlay the entire fight. The humans were a racket of emotional turmoil, but those they fought were harmonious. Around Chuqik's legs Glag, Tau, Slaugths, Tallestrians, Squats, Didcoridas, Kroot and Yncaria threw themselves forward. They fell in droves, bayonets and las-shots culling them ferociously but they hesitated not. There was no hint of fear or doubt in their heads, only the Song, the pulsing majesty of the Psybrid's collective will replacing individuality with a gestalt imperative.
Chuqik paced forward as the fight ground on, searching for his target. The humans were falling back section by section, selling space for time. They were fighting with the characteristic defiance of their race, the instinctive refusal to recognise the superiority of Psybrids baked into them, but blind denial wasn't enough. Their feeble minds could not dream to resist the Song, not without assistance. And here it was.
Chuqik turned a corner and found a packed mass of humans, gathered around a strange figure. In the echo realm of the Psykanna he pulsed with discordant noise, pumping out blaring notes of resistance. The Song was more powerful but this one didn't have to overwhelm it, all he had to do was interfere enough to break the harmonies. A Mindsinger, filling the human's ears with baffling dins.
Lines of rifles came up to fire but Chuqik was already moving. His exo-cuirass responded to his will with the speed of thought and suddenly he was bounding forward, slamming into the mass of humans. Bayonets scored over leathery flesh but failed to penetrate, las-shots pattered off his hide without making any impression and Chuqik knocked them aside with sweeps of his arms. They wailed the mushy mewling noises of their race but their soul-notes filled with shock and alarm as he drove past them. The Mindsinger saw him coming and his notes filled with defiant pride, growing deeper as arcane power built. He was drawing upon the power of the Otherness, readying a blast to burn Chuqik to ash, but the Psybrid was faster.
A neural impulse caused long whips to slide out of his forearms, each writhing like living things and thrumming with psychic potential. A sweep of his arm and the Mindsinger was cleaved in two, sliced apart by the Shatter-whips before he knew what was happening. Chuqik had struck a single blow but with it the entire battle shifted. The human's motions grew slow and their mouths hung wide as the discord of the Mindsinger cut out. The Song had them, its harmonies washing through them. Emotion and memory and free will were cored out of their souls, leaving only the beautiful melody of unity and obedience. They were part of the Song now, part of the Psybrid army and they stood silently, awaiting his commands.
Chuqik called out to them with his mind and they obeyed, taking up their rifles and turning to march away, sent to fight their comrades in other sections. Chuqik stood back as the survivors of his assault joined in and he watched them go ahead. They would soften up the next defence and allow him to penetrate to his goal unopposed. With a moment to reflect Chuqik turned his attention to the Song itself. For a Psybrid the music of his kind was everything, sight and hearing and speech, government, race-memory and weapon. Every Psybrid contributed, and was directed by it, singer and audience both, the collective will of their race giving their lives purpose and direction but responding to their perspective too.
Chuqik felt the Song fill with satisfaction at the progress made so far, but knew there was still much to be done. The Choir of War was dominant and filled the music with the urge to conquer and dominate all other races. Chuqik however was part of the Choir of Prosperity, singing of splendid isolation and raiding beyond their borders only when it brought no retribution to their nest. Sadly their voices were but a minor key in the chorus, the Psybrid race yearned for war and he could no more disobey than a hand could refuse to close. For a Psybrid disobedience was unthinkable.
"Mewek," he called out into the Song, "Report."
From afar another Psybrid responded, "We have breached their choir-vault, Praecentor. All star-singers disposed of."
"Well done," Chuqik praised, "Your efforts will resound in the Song. Newak, report."
Another voice called aloud, "We lay waste to their pathetic numbers, none survive our passing!"
Chuqik's mind spiked with annoyance, for Newak was fierce and aggressive. His voice was loud in the Choir of War and his thoughts were the darkest notes in their music. Annihilation, destruction, ruin, these were his thoughts, giving no consideration to the ashes he left in his passing. In him were embodied the most violent impulses of the Psybrid race, but they were not absolute, not yet.
"Stay your fire," Chuqik commanded, "We must conquer and control, these humans will be needed to replenish the ranks of our army when we move on."
"But we can destroy them all!" Newak protested.
"The Song demands conquest, not destruction," Chuqik reprimanded, "The collective will of our people placed me in command of this expedition. I have led two-score incursions across the galaxy and bested many races, added to our prosperity with every action. I was chosen to conduct our symphony. Do I detect a note of disobedience in your thoughts?"
"No, Praecentor," Newak conceded, "I bow to the will of the Song and will leave a few alive for afterwards."
Chuqik let the matter lie, knowing his underling would obey his will. The Choir of War was dominant but other Choirs were persuasive and had swayed their races' goal from annihilation to conquest. Blind fury and rage would not suffice against the danger that was coming, only guile and cunning would steer them to safety. The Psybrid race fought for their species' existence; to survive the return of the Songbreaker, and Chuqik knew time was running out.
He judged enough time had passed and moved to join his advancing army. He moved swiftly from one section of the asteroid to another, following the echoes of rage and pain that sang of battle and soon he found what he was looking for. In the heart of the base a wide atrium lay, some form of assembly place for the feeble minds to receive instruction. The drab and morbid architecture made no impression on him as his eyes passed over shrines and effigies of dead gods, statues of some Alpha-beast in golden armour rendered mere lumps of stone to his awareness. Of more interest was a knot of dug-in drones, humans fighting back furiously from behind a barricade of metal. They had a Mindsinger with them and their guns were of higher quality than before, each rifle overcharged by a bulky backpack. His own rabble had been culled furiously by the onslaught, piles of dead laying everywhere across the marble floor.
A significant portion of his strength had been decimated but Chuqik cared nothing for that, already realigning harmonies in his mind. From behind stepped three bulky creatures, Borlac, taken in a raid from their nest. Folds of flesh rolled off their corpulent frames and they slammed shoulder to shoulder, forming a living wall. Instantly waves of las-fire swept out, punching holes into the meat of their frames but the Borlac didn't flinch, their minds were inured to pain, knowing only the beauty of the Song.
Into the shelter of their living cover stepped a stranger creature, a mobile pillar of solid flesh with a squared head. No eyes or mouth were evident, no means of seeing or hearing could be made out, but it moved steadily and with confidence. A Nephilim, another psyker race whose Song had proved less powerful than the Psybrid's. The Nephilim stepped forward and raised its right arm, which had been fashioned into a bulky organic cannon. The incoming fire intensified, and one Borlac finally collapsed, its front cratered with cauterised impacts, but time had run out for the humans.
The two survivors stepped aside and the Nephilim levelled its cannon and fired. Powerful psychic impulses were converted into raw energy and a blazing bolt of incandescent might shot forth. Chuqik felt the power as the sun on his face but to the defenders it was death incarnate. The bolt struck their barricade and exploded, spilling fiery death all around. Bodies were blown aside, limbs reduced to ash and hearts stopped as a massive hole was melted into the barricade. Chuqik resonated with pleasure as the Mindsinger's notes fell away and he felt the Song wash over the survivors, and yet his joy was short-lived.
From the rear stepped out a single figure, a Prime-beast, standing in defiance. His arms were covered in shimmering silver plates and his chest by a curved sweep of Ceramite. He bore a long blade in one hand, that crackled with disruptive energies and at his throat hung a silver lozenge of metal, the mark of the human's watch-caste. Chuqik was vexed by this defiance and directed the Song to take this one, but to his surprise it failed to penetrate. A sour note filled this one's mind, a bitter tone that spoke of unquestioning certainty and judgement, rejecting anything that did not conform to its preconceptions. Chuqik's annoyance turned to anger, such impediments were rare but had proved obstacles in the past, thankfully there was a simple solution: kill him.
The prime stepped forward and raised its sword high, mewling some mushy cry with its flapping gums. Chuqik understood none of it but accepted the obvious challenge, moving forward with his shatter-whips extending. The Prime struck first, leaping forward with his sword stabbing upwards for Chuqik's guts. The Psybrid danced back, Exo-cuirass fluidly avoiding the blow and the next and next. The prime came on relentlessly, hacking and stabbing in a furious display of wroth. Anger and hate resonated from its mind but always that sour note held true, never wavering or weakening in the slightest.
Chuqik darted right and left, avoiding every sweep of the crackling blade as he judged this one's merits. The Prime's skills were obvious, fast and aggressive, but no mere human was a match for an Exo-cuirass. The only concern was that the beast may have some trick ready, a concealed weapon or Otherness power kept in reserve. Chuqik quickly determined that there was no such sting in the tail, the prime was what he seemed to be and the Psybrid decided there was no merit in keeping him alive.
At the next swing Chuqik flashed his whip to parry and the shining sword meet Shatter-whip in a clash of sparks. Eldritch power flowed through Chuqik, the will of the Psybrids carrying through him and into the matter of his weapon. The Song flowed through metal and energy matrix, conducted through the very disruption field that wrapped the sword in deadly lightning and plunged into the tiny generator in its hilt. In an instant the sword died, power field shorting out in a pathetic hissing whine. The Prime gasped in shock, seeing his weapon fail at the slightest touch of a shatter-whip and in that instant of inaction Chuqik swept his other arm about and wrapped the human in his coiled whips. The Prime kicked and writhed, trying to break free but Chuqik willed his shatter-whips to contract, squeezing the body in a vice. Barks of pain rang out but were stopped as ribs cracked and limbs broke. A series of popping snaps heralded the endoskeleton crumbling, bones turning to powder as Chuqik piled on the pressure. All motion stopped and the Praecentor held the body for a moment longer, then released his grip and let the boneless corpse drop to the deck and puddle at his feet.
Silence fell as the former defenders picked themselves up and stood still, their minds consumed by the Song. Chuqik determined this had been the last of the human resistance and victory belonged to the Pysbrids. Triumphant pleasure rang through the Song as Chuqik called out to his race, "This nest is ours and no warnings were sent. Prepare our shiftships for the translation to the hunting ground. Make haste, time is against us but the way is open and the humans will have no idea we are coming."
