Shadow of a Doubt
Chapter 14
"Take that boy." The golden armoured warrior gestured towards one of the thousands of boys formed up, the results of the Emperors victory over Ursh, the techno-barbarian state set up in what had been parts of Russia and Central Asia. Two of the serfs went forward and began dragging the boy forward towards a waiting transport ship. The armoured warrior looked around as all around them the scene was being repeated. Suddenly one of the serfs was hit right in the head of a rock. He turned and growled, before running towards the boy who had thrown it. The boy had blue grey eyes with long black hair with a mixture of Asian and Slavic features on his face. He calmly awaited the serf who ran towards him with the punishment whips that was often carried by the recruitment serfs. As the serf stopped and brought his right arm back to strike the boy, the child's hidden left hand would reveal a larger rock that he threw with surprising speed right into the serfs head, dropping him to the ground. Imperial Army soldiers quickly surrounded the boy as members of the Custodians looked on with amusement. The boy merely smiled and held out a fragmentation grenade with the pin already pulled, his hand the only thing keeping the spoon in its place. The boy's hand was the only thing keeping the spoon in place to prevent the explosion. All of the boys were at least fourteen or so, having been pressed into service into the former warlords army, and here, there were many giants standing in power armour selecting those they desired. There were those in golden yellow, in majestic red. Even in purple, and black. The boy walked forward slowly, the Imperial Army soldiers moving back bit by bit. The boy smiled before he suddenly looked at his hand where the grenade was frozen it seems. A massive red armoured giant stepped forward and smiled, a slight scent of ozone emanating from him as the source of the sudden frozen grenade. "I will take this boy. His intelligence is impressive." Another giant painted in dusk grey would step forward. "No, we will lay claim, his endurance is endless." A golden yellow figure stepped forward as well. "No, we will take him into our fold and fashion his patience into a deadly edge." Soon red, dusk grey and yellow were joined by black, crimson red, sea green as well as silver and deep blue. "The Custodians looked at each of them and the Captain would nod. "State your cases then."
Before any of the power armoured figures there could argue, the boy collapsed as a small syringe dart flew into his neck, and the boy was caught before hitting the ground by a dusk blue armoured gauntlet. "No Custodian. He is ours, because we are the ones that have captured him." The others looked at the Custodian Captain with outrage but the gold armoured figure simply shrugged and nodded.
"Check his pulse. More plasma is needed, give him a full dose. Ready the stasis field, he still yet lives."
The boy gasped in pain as he awoke, his chest swollen it seemed while a horrific servitor stood by and injected him with multiple syringes, the boy passing out again. He awoke in a few hours, only to see a dusk blue armoured figure who looked at him and nodded. The boy tried to get up again but he realised that his arms and legs were tied down to the bed. "Apothecary, continue please." A pricking sensation in his arm was the last thing he felt before the darkness where he dreamed. Of Serpents, of legends. Of the Golden Figure, the one who would lead humanity through the darkness. He dreamt of fire, of ice, of utter blackness.
"Stasis field is holding. Artificer, we will require new vat-grown organs immediately."
The boy was shoved down onto the seat as the door closed on him, wires hooked up to sensors around his brain as he could only blink inside the dark room. Then the light shone so brightly, all he could remember was the brightness of the light. Days, weeks later, he was removed from the room although this time he was allowed to walk of his own volition. He looked around, his height having grown considerably in the last few months. He looked down at his own hands, much larger than he remembered. Now though he followed the dusk blue figure willingly towards the apothecary, laying down on the flat bed as he was examined. "Excellent. Each implant is fitting in quite well into Kilo 390. Brother Sergeant, I believe he is ready."
The memories flew past him. Images of the range, of running punishing endurance runs, calisthenics, weights, of sleepless nights and busy days. Of weeks spent in the field learning his craft. There was fire, the loud cracks of weapon discharges, the sensation of a hard round whizzing past you too close for comfort. Of slowly crawling through mud and grass just to take that one shot that changed planets. Of sudden blackness as his body was covered in ceramite, a stifling sensation until the implants all connected to the power armour. Suddenly the world lit up around him, the power armour feeling lighter than a shirt as he walked down the ramp with his bolter held casually, fifty pounds of metal feeling lighter than air as he followed his dusk blue armoured brothers splitting into groups of two as they were taken onto the range again. Auto targeters were tested, and adjusted.
Kilo 390 tested the weight of the boarding shield as well as the power axe and nodded at his instructor, a tall sea green armoured Astartes Sergeant who nodded with approval. He looked around at his compatriots, a mixture of sea green Astartes and dusk blue ones. His first boarding action, straight through the boarding torpedo and charging forth with his boarding shield raised high as his axe flashed, cutting through flesh and bone without regard. Limbs flew as the floor became slick with blood, human and xeno. The xeno creature in front of him struck a blade across, his boarding shield absorbing most of it but the tip of the blade caused a scratch across the right cheek of his ceramite helmet. With a growl he bashed his shield into the creature before stomping onto its throat, crushing its windpipe and taking its life.
The doors of the drop pod were blasted open as he exited, the only one clad in dusk blue while those in blood red and gilded golden trim stormed forward. He would follow them clutching the bolt gun in his hand and joined in the roar of his cousins, his finger pulling the trigger as the bolt gun spat out its deadly shells that flew into the trenches held by mortals barely holding on to their courage. As soon as the bolter shells exploded, the spell was broken and the mortals began rushing out of the trench to retreat but his cousins would not allow that to happen. With a loud roar, half of those charging in the blood red line flew up on the wings of jet packs and landed amongst the retreating humans, cutting them apart with chainswords. He drew his own combat knife and roared out, jumping across the trench and impaled a human enemy to the hilt with his blade before shoving the corpse off his knife with a vicious kick.
He worked the blade carefully, flaying the soft skin around the man's chest, and cut a careful "Y" across before spreading the ribs wide open, cracking the chest open and scooping out every organ in the chest cavity before mounting the man onto the large wooden stake, impaling him there upside down on the stake. He carefully made sure that each of the organs were still hanging out and turned to face the legionnaire next to him, the midnight blue Astartes nodding in approval. He would nod before moving onto the other one, a man still alive and grasped him by the throat. The other Astarte assisted him this time, steel stakes driven with the butt of a bolter into the man's wrists and legs crucifying him onto the solid steel door that had prevented their entry previous.
The blast of the heavy tank beside him filled his helmet with the smell of cordite, an explosion rocking the enemy lines as he watched the black and grey legionnaires beside him nod in approval at the gunnery talents of the armour crew. A legionnaire with a plume crested helmet gestured with a blade, and he advanced with the others beside him. They advanced slowly but steadily, firing in long bursts while shells and missiles continued to cut into the enemy tanks in front of them. They followed behind a long line of those who carried pitch black breacher shields, shielding the bolter bearing legionnaires from the worst fire the enemy could throw at them. An occasional shot still got through and in a pained grunt, the advancing line would suffer from the loss of a black armoured legionnaire. On the far left, the heavy armour advanced and kept firing until the defensive lines facing them became nothing but burning ash and craters with bits of flak boards and plasteel fortifications remaining still. With a mighty cry of "For the Emperor" the legionnaires charged the now ruined fortifications into the capital city it was defending.
That small room around him was almost pitch black, having returned to his home. He was no longer of the Initiate, having spent at least decades campaigning with his senior cousins. Awaiting him on a pedestal lined with a rich purple felt was a customized bolter with an electric sight set on top, the barrel elongated and ending in a large suppressor. A sickle pattern magazine locked into place. Beside it was a bolt pistol, a straight magazine locked into place while the barrel itself ended in a stubby suppressor. A dagger, crafted beautifully with a long scaled handle ending in a pommel with a chained hydra laser etched into it. The blade itself was almost a foot long made up of a dark grey metal honed razor sharp. Next to the dagger laid a sheath with silver chains worked intricately into it while a serpent was laser etched into the sheath itself. He would nod as he picked those up, clamping them to his armour one by one while two servitors would step in behind him and laid a fluttering cameoline cloak over him, the cloak locking in place with a dusk blue ceramite broach that clamped to the upper left side of his breast plate. He would look at the single candle lit on the pedestal and examined it closely. Even in the barely lit gloom, his auto senses could see the Imperial Eagle with thunder bolts crossed behind it. Reaching out slowly, he snuffed out the small light with two armoured fingers and moved down to one knee. His cloak fluttered slightly as it caught the wind created by the others in the room, moving towards him.
"This is the last time you will stand in the Emperors Light Legionnaire. You have come to us, as a Legionnaire schooled in different faculties of war by our cousins. Your lecture hall was the battlefield of the mighty, and your lecturers the experience of combat. The Favoured Wolves, the incandescent Angels, the haunted of the Night and the walkers of Iron storm. Each style of combat is a fang in the jaws of the mighty Hydra, and now you will learn to put them all together, assembling them the way you would a bolter and learn the ways of the twentieth.
"The digestive system as well as two of the lungs require replacement. They are too severely injured for me to repair. Skin grafts will be needed as well."
The wind howled in the night as the large gate was slowly lowered, the two sentries having had their throats already slit. Yet the gate was lowered just enough for those waiting in the moat to grab a hold and climb on, the gate closing oddly silent, as if someone had carefully greased and lubricate every moving part in the winch system in preparation for this moment. He carefully wiped any remains of the moat muck off of his eye lenses and began moving forward. Objectives had already been assigned, there was someone specific here they were looking for. The former General had retired in luxury, having been granted this boon by the Emperor for his service in leading the 259th Urshan Regiment to great honour during the unification wars. Generous amounts of gene treatments as well as rejuvenat treatments had ensured that the retired General had lived for over two centuries easily with many still to come. Of course the oath had never been sworn by the General, spurned as he felt he no longer needed to owe fealty to anyone.
He grabbed a sentry by his mouth and slit his throat again, holding the man easily before moving the body to hide it in the bushes. The stalker bolter was clamped to his side, not yet the time for its use. He carefully arranged the cameoline cloak around himself once again and moved further into the darkness, approaching the manner house. Finding his position, he would lay prone in the orchids, awaiting the command. His brothers were positioned similarly all around the manor house, simply waiting. A small unit of guards patrolled the gates as well as the perimeter of the actual house, but they were of no concern. As night turned into day, he kept waiting even as household staff walked within five feet of him, unable to see him in between the high orchids as well as the large boutiques of flowers and vegetation arranged tastefully all around the large garden of the property. As night fell again, the signal was given. At the same time, breaching charges placed all around the massive walls of the structure were detonated, collapsing the walls and rendering the small town defenceless, hundreds of humans already dead by the simple collapse of the defensive walls.
Rising up, he shouldered his stalker bolter and began firing, as did his brothers. The guard standing in a small castle like turret had his head blown off by the heavy but silent specialist bolter rounds used. Another guard received two shots in his chest, his blood and liquefied organs spraying behind him onto the wall. As one, his brothers and him rose up and advanced towards the manor house where the front door was kicked in. Menials were ignored while any armed received a three round burst to the chest. He worked his way up stairs following his brothers, the Sergeant leading them wordlessly towards their assigned objective. A massive door was blown in with a melta bomb, the stone doors splintering and flying off as they entered, a massive bed with golden trimmed silk sheets adorning it while the man lying in it stared at them in shock. His wife laid beside him, her mouth open in shock as well while the Astarte Legionnaires entered the room. His Sergeant drew a power sword and looked at the man who wondered what had happened here. The former General stared at the Legion he had once served beside, the honoured Lunar Wolves clad in their chalk white armour. Before a word was said, the Sergeant quickly cut the General into sixteen different pieces and arranged each piece to form the shape of an eye before the wife was unceremoniously decapitated. Without a word, the Sergeant led him and his brothers out of the door and back downstairs where the menials had all been taken by another squad and executed quickly with slashes and stabs of power daggers before a thunder hawk in the colours of the Wolves landed on the lawn, all four squads quickly climbing on board before they took off, leaving only behind a city blown wide open with its governor cut into sixteen pieces. The count of the Wolves.
He looked up proudly as his pauldron was replaced in front of his brothers, it has been another decade of service and the purely dusk blue pauldron that had only a chained A adorning it was replaced by a stylized hydra with six chains across it. His plain unadorned armoured gauntlets were replaced by a pair of matching ones with inlaid scales adorning it and chains carefully painted three times around each forearm. Last but not least, his kneepads were carefully replaced, the left one had inlaid scales while the right held a stylized XX. His promotion to veteran Sergeant was not expected, but it meant his induction into the 8th as the twentieth was finally expanded. The great crusade had greater need now of fearsome warriors and the Emperor had finally allowed the twentieth to become a true Legion. His brothers all knelt on one knee in front of him as he stood there, behind him were his fellow veteran Sergeants, as well as the senior officers. The Hydra had chosen and accepted. If even one had stood, he would not have been allowed to keep his honour; that was the way of the Legion.
The 8th surrounded the xenos capital, super heavy tanks churning forward slowly as ammunition caches as well as supply dumps detonated. Through the burning wreckage of the city, he waited, cradling the stalker bolter in his hand as the rest of his squad waited divided in halves, in curiously shaped structures at the xenos starport. A stealth shielded servo skull was floating above watching the main road for them, volkite chargers clutched by two of his squad members. No heavy bolters, nor rocket launchers were carried. None was needed by the hidden squad. Movement triggered the camera feed from the servo skull to his helmet, as a single curiously misshaped carriage floating on grav fields headed down the road. The vox was blipped twice, and each half of the squad readied itself. As carriage reached the xenos craft, the patriarch got out with his bodyguards. Humanoid in shape with scales across their fish like faces, the patriarch started heading towards the craft before a single red beam fired from a volkite charger reduced his body to ash. The bodyguards were taken down with carefully aimed bolter shots. Then the craft itself detonated, killing the passenger as well as all the other occupants. Various expensively gilded grav carriages all sat nearby, leaving no doubt as to who the occupants were.
The mark of a Captain was bestowed upon him as the helmet was locked into place, the helmet was gilded with eight chains a sign of his rank as well as the tabard that now hung from his waist, complete with eight chains intertwined with a scaled serpent over the stylized XX. His company as well, went down on a knee. Except this time the legionnaires did not kneel on unadorned dusk blue knee pads. This time each legionnaire knelt on the knee pads with eight chains carefully painted and etched into their knee pads, the mark of veterans. In turn, he would face the Commander of the 8th and knee as well. The power sword sheathed at his hip was drawn by him and laid across on the floor in front of him, the Commander nodding in assent. The Shrouded, the elite Seekers formed into an entire company represented better than any the way of the 8th.
Banestrike ammunition. He looked at the Commander of the 8th who nodded in confirmation. With double the cartridge charge of traditional bolter rounds, as well as a solid adamantium tip to pierce through power armour. The question was asked silently and the answer was given in a nod. There was only one target this was made for; Legios Astartes. Wordlessly, he locked the magazine into his combi-stalker bolter and sighed internally. What were they preparing for? Why was this ever created? His gene father stood there with his Lernaean terminator elite and he understood why he was there. If any raised opposition, they would be killed in a flurry of volkite blasts and power axes. He turned to face his own honour guard, dusk blue armoured legionnaires armed with combi-stalker bolters like him, adorned with power swords while wearing their helmets had the enhanced auto targeter built in, protruding slightly out of the helmets right side. They, like him, looked at the banestrike magazines and each replaced their magazines with them. There would be questions later, but not in front of their genefather.
Perhaps his genefather knew where he stood. Perhaps it was a test. But he stood there with his company watching as the Legions fired at each other. He was ordered into battle it seemed but there was little he could do but watch. It was unthinkable, brothers firing upon brothers. It was simply almost too much to bear. Those of the company who agreed with the Primarch had ignored him as him and the legionnaires loyal to him stood by and watched as those wearing the same dusk blue fired upon the loyalists. As bane strike ammunition tore through power armour ending the lives of Legionnaires loyal to the Emperor. "For the Warmaster." He whispered in his helmet, tears gliding down his face inside his helmet as he watched. Perhaps he was frozen from some kind of weakness. Still unable to go directly against the orders of his Primarchs. They both belonged to the Warmaster now. Shaken out of his stupor finally, he finally gave the order. "Seeker company. Fire." Those standing behind him understood exactly what his orders were. Raising their stalker bolters, banestrike rounds struck the dusk armoured warriors in front of them, cutting them down viciously. The executioners all had tears in their eyes even as they held the triggers down on full auto, ignoring the usual disciplined manner of war they fought as they received the first taste of kin slaying.
"Increase the plasma transfusion. Good, the organs have been attached and seem to be doing well. We can only monitor this for now."
"This is pure treason." He stated. His commander looked at him with a hard look in his eyes. "That is not for you to decide, Captain. We have our orders, and we obeyed them." The Captain snarled before drawing his blade before he realised what he was doing and cut his former beloved Commander down. Around him, the Shrouded stood around him as bodyguards, their stalker bolters drawn. The rest of the 8th could only stare as they watched their veteran elite cut down the commander. "The former Commander was unfit to lead. I have relieved him of command. As the Captain of the Shrouded, that makes me the Commander of the 8th." He stood facing the 8th, the Harrow divided roughly in half as battle brothers faced each other. He walked down the steps of the command throne and placed himself firmly in front of the loyalist faction.
"But Commander.. we have our orders. We cannot disobey." The newly minted Commander snarled a little inside his helmet and looked at the Marines that stood in front of him. "This is your last chance Captain. The 8th either stands with the Emperor or we do not stand at all." The Marines opposite of him hesitated, and lowered their bolters. "We have always been for the Emperor. ALWAYS. No genefather nor Warmaster will sway us from this path. We were the Emperors Ghost Legion before we met our Primarch. We were his wrath in the shadows, coiling like the scales of the serpent. But this. You all know what this has come to. Even a single moment of treason is exile. You all know this." The Marines looked at him and some took off their helmets with tears in their eyes. "We have slain our own blood tonight Commander. How will we find repentance in that?" One of them asked.
"We find repentance in death brother. We find repentance in fighting for the Emperors dream. His foremost command to us was to take to the stars and illuminate them to the Imperial Truth. I have not heard any commands contrary by Him on Terra so we OBEY. We of the 8th will remain on the Emperors side. We will return to the ghosts from where we came."
"I.. Commander. We have killed our own. I have personally struck down dozens of our brothers. How do we live with what we have done. No matter the repentance." The Captain of the 4th Company spoke up, always a solid dependable officer, always following the Commanders orders. "In Service, In Death. Only in death does duty end Captain, you know this. We all know this. We are the 8th of the XX Legion. Some of you here still remember the honour bestowed on us when we numbered only two thousand. When the Emperor himself gave us his blessings and raised us to Legion strength. How can we now turn on him? We who once kneeled before the Sigilite and carried out the Emperors wrath. We who once executed those who presumed themselves to be beyond the Emperor and the Imperium of Man."
The Commander roared the last part, those standing in front of him finding themselves unable to respond. "If you truly, if you truly feel you are unable to continue on your duties to the Emperor, then stand there. If you find loyalty in your hearts, in your hearts forged by the Emperors orders and his talents, then stand with me brothers." Half of the Marines moved to his side slowly, with heavy steps and heavy hearts. Those that remained however, dropped their bolters on the ground. Captain Tullin of the 4th Company took his helmet off and placed it on the ground before facing the Commander. "Sir, I cannot. My old friend. We have risen through the ranks together, we have been inducted together. Do you still remember it? The snow covered fields of Ursh? Of your carefully planned attack on the recruitment serf? The grenade you smuggled out somehow. I miss those days my friend. My commander. Those who stand with me, we cannot serve the Emperor knowing what we have done. We beg of you then, of the Emperors mercy." The Commander stared at one of his oldest friends and nodded, closing his eyes for a moment. It had come to this, and he knew that it would. The other Marines standing with the Captain took off their helmets as well with sorrow in their eyes. The Commander gritted his teeth as he looked over at the Marines who stand with him.
"This is our penance. We shall carry out the Captains final wishes in honour of his long service to the Emperor. This request for the Emperors mercy, we will grant him. 8th, ready arms. Aim. Fire." A loud crack of bolter discharges aimed carefully dropped the unhelmed Marines with merciful precision. The Commander felt his own hand shake as he realised he had just ordered the execution of almost a thousand of the 8th. He looked over at his Honour Guard, who looked back at him in merciful silence. "Commander. What is our next course of action." The 2nd Company Captain asked him. "The Great Crusade is dead my friend. We head towards Terra. We destroy all traitors we find. We still stand once again in front of the Emperor and we will kneel to Him and renew our oaths. If he finds us wanting, we will die kneeled in front of him for that is nothing less than we deserve." The remaining officers nodded at his words.
"His breastplate is done for. We have plenty of extra ones to spare. The scar tissues? He will have to live with those. If he does."
He watched as the strike cruiser burned. The bombard cannon had struck true, the former Night Lords warship collapsing in on itself as the destruction wrought caused the cruiser to break in half yet still the rear part of the ship were still travelling by momentum, crashing further against the broken front portion. "Direct hit, Commander." He nodded at the serfs words as he watched it collapse even further. "Fire the weapons battery. I want to ensure its destruction." The bridge quickly plotted firing solutions for the weapon batteries, macro cannons as well as plasma projectors ripping into the structure and breaking off more pieces. "We are being hailed, Commander. The Mechanicum on the planet wishes to know if we are still loyal to Terra." The Commander thought about it for a few moments before nodding. "Tell them. Tell them, Ave Imperator."
The dark eldar weaved in front of him, avoiding his swing by millimetres before reversing its grip on the nasty looking blade and stabbed it towards him. His various injuries were a testament to the deadly skill of the xeno officer in front of him. He waited for the strike to get closer before slicing the xeno's arm off, the blade stuck in his armoured pauldron before lunging forward and smashing his left fist into the creature's side. With a sickening crunch, the alien was sent flying before leaping up although a bit slower now missing its arm and having no doubt quite a few broken bones. Around him, his squad fired in precise single shots to force the aliens to retreat before grenades were pumped towards them from under barrel grenade launchers. He ripped the severed arm from the pauldron and grabbed the strange blade in his hand, the two handed blade made for a dark eldar easily becoming a single handed blade in his hands and threw it right into the injured alien. With a screeching cry of pain, the creature tried as hard as it could to pull the blade out but the Commanders throw had impaled the creature against the wall. "For the Emperor, finish this!" He commanded before charging forward, the power sword in his hand swinging downwards as he split the aliens skull in half. The Legionnaires around him charged as well, with flamers torching the aliens even as the dark eldar tried to fight back. He would take the sheath from the dead aliens body and sheathed the blade into it before clamping it to his side. His blade would be returned to the armouries, requiring a new blade as the edges had dozens of slices in them, the consequences of trying to block the phase blade.
"Give him the injection now, it should kick his system into overdrive and allow his own healing abilities to do the rest of it."
He could only watch and grit his teeth as the bodies of his brothers laid around him, the only thing having kept him safe was the presence of a psychic blank amongst them. The null legionnaire leaned on the heavy autocannon he had commandeered and breathed deeply. The daemon was finally slain, costing him almost his entire strike force. The 8th was reduced down to less than twenty warriors but they had no choice. The warp storm trapping the Kilo Zeta in the system had to be stopped, and the only way was to stop the ritual taking place but they had been too late. They had fought and killed the automatons of the XV Legion, the mindless Astartes firing and requiring multiple shots to take down even with Cainite ammunition. But the summoned daemon, that had taken more. That had taken what had remained of the 8th to keep the warpspawn that had materialised in the summoning of the daemon pinned while he had led his honour guard in a desperate charge to kill the thing. The null legionnaire had charged right beside him and given him the chance to cut the damn things head off, sending it back to the warp. He collapsed to the ground, breathing with massive effort while one of his honour guard quickly kneeled beside him. "Commander? Commander. Kyreg you dumb bastard have you slept for enough?" He was confused, who the hell was Kyreg? Was that his name? The 8th Shroud, the 8th Harrow, they were his right?
"You're finally awake you lazy frak." Mytis stood in front of him as Kyreg opened his eyes, gasping for breath as he tried to sit up. "Lay back down you idiot, you took a volkite beam to the gut. You're lucky you're such a stubborn bastard. Oh and the fact that Armand was a veteran company apothecary, you stupid frak." Kyreg took a few more deep breath only to look down and see that his stomach and lower chest was one massive scar tissue. "Give it time, you'll heal. For now you need to rest."