Through the Darkness of the Warp-Gods we gain enlightenment. Through bloody conflict we gain vengeance. Through sacrifice and prayer we gain favours of the Gods. But through great actions it is that we gain Immortality!
-Excerpt from the Forty Seventh Chapter of the Black Annals of Kor Phaeron.
Ghalmek Orbital Forge-Dock- Armorum Malefica:
On the Bridge of the Battle-Barge The Unyielding Darkness
Coryphaus Moran Lakhos looked out from the view port and watched on in anger at what he perceived through his threatening and frustrated eyes, the red orbs shot back and forth between the view screen and the report manifest which scrolled on in the console port screen. A small battle group of Carrier ships and Battle-Cruisers approached the docked Battle-Barge The Unyielding Darkness from afar, still out of firing range, spewing small streaks of black and red from within the ships' hulls and began to amass them to the fore. It was a boarding swarm.
The Coryphaus knew that he was nothing more than an open target, the refuelling was incomplete and the warp-core was spent and the replacement was yet being corrupted by those few loyal chirumeks with all haste. Time, which was all he needed, was running short. He had with him two-hundred and fifty warrior-brothers who were still loyal to him, of it fifty of them were his heavy Terminator armoured Anointed who still remained loyal. He still reeled from the news that almost four-fifths of his Terminator armoured Anointed decided to switch sides and he was only left with a handful of loyalists.
Coryphaus Lakhos hoped they were enough to repel any boarding attacks. But yet what he feared most was the inovolvment of the Disciples of the Word. He had heard their exploits, he had heard of their piety and the power they hold in the name of the Dark Creed, of how only one hundred heavily armed Disciples had slain the False Emperor's loyal Steel-Fist Chapter Space Marines in their companies and had in a final terrible effort completely and utterly destroyed the Chapter on Angolan IV. But all those epic tales were but nought now, he had to counter-them…somehow. He had a plan, and he prayed fervently to Tzeentch, Master of Fates, that his ploy would work.
His giant form turned as a terrible growl emanated from his altered throat, swinging his massive arm about the Coryphaus shattered a nearby console port into pieces with the thrumming lightning claw which enveloped the warlords left arm.
Frustration and anger welled up inside him; the only option was to escape as soon as he could. He hated the option, retreating, in front of the enemy and had only ever done it twice, once at the Blood-Fields of Morkaj against the massive horde of Orks before they were purged by Orbital fire and other at the Gates of the Terra itself when the first Warmaster, Horus the Blessed had fallen at the hands of the False-Emperor. Lakhos clenched his teeth at the thought of the snivelling Corpse-Emperor and cursed his name thrice in the daemon tongue.
For hours now he had been drawing up a plan of action, the first thing was to deal as much damage as possible to the Host and their allies and enact a withdrawal, God's willing, and head toward the Gauri System where he may still be able to muster a sizeable force of local Word Bearer garrisons who held the region under the banner of his old friend and Bond-Brother Warlord Thakash and take on the imposter host of Lorgar for good.
The upstart bastard whore-son Arkhor or whatever his name was, had single-handedly managed to bring ruin to the 4th Host of the Black Cardinal Kor Phaeron, the venerable Dark Apostle was murdered, War-Captain Orakis, the leader of the honour guard and his closest confidant, was dead and worst of all the Black-Priest Urius had let his loyalties slip and had sided with the bastard Disciples. But the betrayal of the traitorous whore-son whelp of a First Acolyte and his cadre astounded him more so, and he had swayed the majority of the host to his banner. The nerve of those usurpers!
They would soon meet the wrath of the Coryphaus!
Arkhor chanted the Darkness of the Will through the inter-vox in a monotonous but reverential voice, belying that of his authority. The calm noise resonated and distorted through the vox line into a malicious daemon cry, instilling all the faithful with dark-obedience to the will of the Dark Gods and their enemies with a confusing miasma of sounds and distortions.
Normally its potency was just below lethal to those who were warp-trained or Null-Willed. But to true mortals it would be a thing of terror.
Within the maelstrom, however, which oozed with the essence of the warp this chant was amplified in power a thousand fold drawing dark currents of the warp which coursed through the realm of utter and unspeakable insanity and limitless energy of a trillion trillion souls.
The Disciple smiled as he felt his own venerations to the Dark Gods grow from a slow monotonous chant to a raging whirl of insane chattering and thunderous verses, through the eternal currents, he heard the death-throes of those mortals who served as broken slaves aboard the enemy Battle-Barge, he sensed with his prodigious mind the melting minds of a thousand menials and the death throes of the faithful who willingly gave their souls for the great powers.
The massive pod began shuddering once the storm of tempest began flaring before the Word Bearer force and The Unyielding Darkness; the force began to move forth to execute the purge of the unbelieving scum. A screen of turbo-las and torpedoes, screamed from the hull of the behemoth ship, daemon infused war-spirits picking their targets heading for their eventual demise and rebirth in the ocean of souls.
But it was blunted; the counter-attack by the giant ship was thwarted by the unstoppable storm of pure faith which was born of the power that coursed through ever single warrior-brother and daemon infused machine on the true side. The missiles and torpedoes exploded or stopped harmlessly and prematurely and the laser fire which continued to ripple across from the hull simply vanished into the storm to be added to its fury.
The unstoppable force trailed ahead to face a new threat, a swarm of flying ships which shot from the hull-decks, yet again the storm reached it's crescendo as the enemy approached it, forks of unnatural lightening erupted from the transparent purple storm and struck at the formation. It knocked about ships and disintegrated the rest into burning wrecks as dozens more filed from the decks.
This only enraged the telepathic storm further as a hundred forks of immense purple lightening rods shot from the storm and began overwhelming the shields, the power of the warp finally broke through the void-shield and began its massive assault once more, it burnt and seared into the fast approaching hull, the mouth which yet excreted the enemy was sealed shut as a immense rod of power shot out and melted the ceramite-plasteel alloy shutters close.
Bulbous explosions of blue and red rippled across the tiers of the ship as the approaching force of Battle cruisers opened fire and the Intruder Pods raced toward weak breaches in the ships formidable hull. Within a space of a few minutes the storm abated and the Battle-Barges, outer hull defences were all but broken. A Thousand warrior-brothers and a hundred Acolytes of the Word under the Disciple Arkhor broke into the barge's formidable interior. The purging soon followed.
Ghalmek Orbital Forge-Dock- Armorum Malefica:
Aboard the Battle-Barge The Unyielding Darkness
Bolter shots rang of the ceramite walls as sheets of flame and plasma erupted from the ruptured pipelines running overhead, boiling bilious plasma poured out in a thick sheet like form as it leaked onto the deck grating and engulfed and melted couple of Chaos Marines and a group of cultist defenders who had revoked their loyalty to their true Lord and Master, Daemon-Primarch Lorgar. The Traitors were dying in droves all across the ships and the splinter host was being pushed back slowly.
Arkhor flexed his power-fist as he cocked his arm back as he prepared to break a sealed door, in a flash of anger and prodigious strength gifted to him by the Gods and his progenitor's seed and holy weapons, he sheared the fist through the reinforced ceramite door like a las shot through paper. Thick smoke and fires rippled across the frame of the doorway and a press of bodies lay about the entrance of the door. Menials, they had all been slain by the kinetic force of the punch as they braced against the door. The Disciple smiled at the thought of their suffering, and he growled at how they were released of a burden, the burden of life and service.
"Disciple Arkhor." came a stern voice in his ear bead "We have cleared the prayer rooms and flushed them from the armoury."
Arkhor smiled behind the war-helm he wore. "Good, proceed as planned. Onto the Bridge faithful of Lorgar!"
A chorus of dark curses and black names were called in answer to his orders, content he stepped into the hallway to only see another long corridor in front of him. It was packed with heavily armed cultists of the Word…traitors all. Once more his cruel patrician face behind the great red war-helm twisted into that of a contemptuous sneer to all those who opposed the true faith. He signalled to the men beside him to continue and they began jogging down the long corridor, firing their bolters en masse or simply hacking through all that stood in their way chain-axe or power-blade, as the warrior-brothers continued, Arkhor slowly walked forward followed by four other Neophytes. The new-blood.
"Neophyte Zenar, what do you think is the easiest way to our…enlightenment?" he asked in a deep and reasonable voice throwing his power-fist encased hand about the room. As if he cared about all things around him, even though they were mostly dead and maimed.
A neophyte with crimson power-armour daubed in holy writings came forward in step with Arkhor and held his head low before he spoke, "There is no easy path, lord. There is no quickness or shortcuts in our path for we trod one filled with perils and dangers, but through the faith in the Gods and prayer to them and the proper veneration of out Lord Lorgar we may overcome such…inconveniences and prevail."
"What inconveniences are those, my dear Zenar? Eldar scum? Xenos scum? The weakling so called: 'Emperor of Man'?"
The Neophytes slightly cringed at the mention of the name of the Imperium's ruler, "No, my lord." growled the disturbed neophyte, "It is one's own doubts and inefficiencies that are the most prevalent in most of a faithful one's undoing. Those are the inconveniences we must first destroy."
"Excellent!" Arkhor said with a gleeful voice. "Like our venerated Lord Erebus said: 'It is not through the sacrifice of a thousand souls that one is chosen to be a warrior of the Dark Creed. It is through defeating one-self doubts and mistakes could one become a true warrior of the gods. Only once he has slain his own fear and doubts, the gnawing sense of the fragility within, would one become a Bearer of the Word, with that in mind will one slay not a thousand…but millions!'…truer words were never more spoken."
He turned to look at the neophytes; Zenar took a step back head bowed to the rank of his comrades. "I have concluded you all to be worthy of the title of Acolyte of the Word…but for now go prove our worth on the field. Anointed of the Word await reinforcements in the dark chapel in the upper tiers, go with all haste!"
The newly incepted Acolytes bowed and jogged of the opposite direction toward the maintenance lift. Arkhor slowly followed the path his other Acolytes had taken down the dank heat and flesh infested corridor, relishing the fact that slowly but surely this giant of a ship will fall against such a wrath unleashed. Bleed he wished to the ship, bleed and spill thine contents forth to the mercy of our fury. Bleed. For the True Gods!
Ghalmek Orbital Forge-Dock- Armorum Malefica:
On the Bridge of the Battle-Barge The Unyielding Darkness
"Lord Coryphaus…the enemy…they have broken through the cordon around the holy armoury; they advance toward the teleporter array. What are we to do?"
The fear in the captain's voice was shadowed by the actions of the heretics who crewed the ship, the mortals aboard the barge were the ant-crew which kept it running. Thousands had died in the enemy's devastating psychic assault, only a few thousand survived as a skeleton crew worked a dying ship to hold on…just a while longer. For what purpose they hardly cared or even knew.
"You all are a disgrace to the Gods! Failed me you all have! FAILED!" the giant form threatened as the Coryphaus reached for the heretic captain. "You are unworthy! Just like your mortal failures who you call a crew…Failures!"
Once again the Coryphaus howled in fury, lifting up his lightning claw he smashed the Heretic Captain to a bloody pulp on the grated ceramite floor of the bridge.
Turning toward his guards he growled a command, immediately and carefully not to tempt the Warlord's wrath the power armoured forms of a dozen guards slowly filed out of the bridge.
From the shadows came a squad of terminator armoured marines, his closest and most loyal Anointed. One of them with the horns and markings of a War-Captain stepped forward and in his hand he held a ornately and intricately patterned box which writhed and moved, pulsing with an unnatural power which emanated from within. Patterns of the daemon tongue inscribed changed voraciously and faces and figures of leering daemons and banished terrors tried to break free from the mould and prison of the box.
It was the Arcanatus, an ancient and powerful bound chest forged at the feet of Khorne himself which could hold the most powerful of daemons and the most terrifying of weapons and other warply items of unimaginable power in check, only a dozen or so where ever forged and the terminator held one of them with utter reverence.
But within it lay something so powerful that its malice leaked from the box and into the daemons holding it back, driving them into a frenzy. It was the Orb of Gelmash, the same which Lorgar had forged aeons ago with a secret purpose, the same which was lost, so many centuries ago. The same when the hated Ultramrine Primarch had ambushed them at the Arkavon system, the same. But not the whole piece, this none knew but the Gods and the Holder.
Coryphaus Moran Lakhos knew that this entire charade was for this powerful chaos artefact. He knew that the damned Disciples had found out about it, although it was stated as destroyed in most of their records. It wasn't so. Apparently the alien Tau had recovered it from the Arkavon system and was in possession of it when the Coryphaus' brilliant campaign of Krnoth took place. It was being prepared to be transported to some obscure research facility back in their home systems.
A massive Word Bearer attack followed by a substantial fleet engagement in their home systems door-step had utterly shocked the enemy by the reports of it, close to seventy thousand of the capricious Tau and their dirty xenos allies were slaughtered upon the field of Kaekwa and the Coryphaus had personally executed the commander and his puppeteer leader in single combat. Then the Apostle had ordered the erection of the Dark Temple as a shrine and monument defying the enemies of the Dark Gods and as a magnet for all the local human populace who immediately converged to its unstoppable call, the world was immersed in chaos and was forever doomed to the whim of the Gods.
But those were but days of glory, his glory, his master's glory…his Host's glory. Now all of it was for nought. Yet there was little honour left here. All he could do was salvage it from this terrible atrocity and sacrilege, escape with the artefact toward the Gauri system, now that there was a small shuttle prepped and ready in the forward dock-bay of the massive ship. Yes. That was it, he had to gather to him his most loyal servants and make for the Gauri system.
Ghalmek Orbital Forge-Dock Armorum Malefica:
Aboard the Battle-Barge The Unyielding Darkness
Stalking through the tangle of corridors and vast spills of random atriums which spread about the approach toward the bridge, Arkhor silently and fervently chanted hymns to the Dark Gods, only stopping to increase his volume when he met the enemy. Swiftly and mercilessly he saw off the squads of heretic mortal ship guards who desperately to hold back this one man juggernaut that had already destroyed half a battalion worth of warriors past the machine pit.
Then he faced squads of traitor Word Bearers who tried to ambush him at another larger Atrium from the closed in corridors on either side. They were the one's to feel the Disciple's true fury, left and right he swung with his Power-Fist, Rokal as arcane runes of chaos upon it pulsated with the amount of blood it was absorbing with each strike, his other hand held the immense and powerful Storm-Bolter named Death-Giver, which spat terrible volleys of daemon bound shells which never missed the mark.
Blooms of tiny explosions shattered through the power armour of the Marines as the Power-Fist was swung at them with a terrible curse from the owner, helms were split, horns splintered and jaws broken and one by one the enemy fell to the terrible force that was Arkhor. It was testament to all those who opposed the Dark Gods and the true master of the Legion, Lord Lorgar.
Arkhor surveyed the scene before him, all in all thirty Word Bearers, a strike force worth, lay broken and dead before him. He stood upon a pile of six Traitor Marine corpses as he holstered Death-Giver and with the crackling Rokal he hefted a half-dead crimson warrior from the pile, its torso coming loose from the tangle and it's left arm sheared at its elbow. The Astartes physiology still kept him alive, though broken in two
"Where is your traitor master?" he spoke in an almost fatherly voice, a subtle and manipulative voice which belied the fact that he had cause the carnage around them.
The Marine with all its effort nodded upwards, "Upper tier...Disciple. He is a liar! I see it now!"
"Really?" Arkhor asked amused at the prospect of dissent. "How so?"
It could also be in delirium setting in after the mutilation of the other half of the body.
"We never wanted to go against…your vision. Lord" the marine went into a fit and started coughing loud as blood spurted from the grilled snout that was the standard in the helm of most marines.
Arkhor chuckled, it was true then. At least that is what he gleaned from the dying thing. "I shall make a concession." He muttered, "You will die as a son of Lorgar!"
The wretch began coughing and wheezing, with that Arkhor simply threw him to the grated floor, "Try not to make a mess and die like a true son. Name of the Gods on your lips and the whatever else the Gods need." With a casual salute, Arkhor walked away from the bloodied atrium, the half-body of the Word Bearer lay bleeding as it slowly died name of the True Gods on his lips. A small chuckle emanated from the grill as he finally died. Arkhor simply smiled, died like a true son of Lorgar, he thought, just like everyone else.
Three Squads of First Acolytes joined Arkhor soon enough from a Engineering belt and was soon met with a handful of Acolytes who were setting charges to a sealed door, behind which lay the bridge. Arkhor was close to the Orb, he could sense its faint warp presence which it leaked through some form of containment, even from behind the reinforced bridge door. But that was it; there was no indication of it actually existing or being there, just a trace of the artefact.
Arkhor growled at the fact of him being cheated out of his prize,
"Warp-Sight." He whispered to his armour.
It obeyed as sheets of additional screens covered the visor and a sudden darkness followed. A burst of pinkish red burst onto the screen followed by a flurry view of all that transpired, all his marines were outlined by a strange bark aura which reached out for their surroundings. A particular glowing trail of purple appeared in a faint light which led away from the bridge. Arkhor growled. He was cheated out of his prize.
Sudden realization occurred to him, the bastard Coryphaus had ran of with the Orb, possibly to escape with it. No! He wouldn't let that happen!
Holstering Death-Giver he opened a compartment hidden within Rokal, a set of buttons and a small vid-screen popped up, he entered a few runes onto the screen and closed the screen.
"Norm-Sight" he whispered to his armour and the Daemon-Spirit obeyed. The red hued vision was replaced with the norm he was used to. A set of maps and unit disposition appeared within his visor and he carefully identified the path taken by the Coryphaus. He was heading toward a forward dock still held by the heretical Marines
Arkhor tapped on to his inter-vox, "Ghalam! Get to the forward docking bay. Now! I want that Coryphaus stopped, I will finish him myself."
An acknowledgement followed, with a din of gunfire. Arkhor turned and began sprinting after the trail.
Ghalmek Orbital Forge-Dock- Armorum Malefica:
On the Bridge of the Battle-Barge The Unyielding Darkness
He heard the screams of warrior-brothers dying outside the sealed vault door. The bridge was secure, for now, but soon the doors will fall against the relentless assault, too few Brothers remained to defend the bridge after all, rather any other vital part of the ship, he was gifted the only weapon that can definitely reap a terrible toll against the enemy, it was the giant Amadeus, a pious and loyal Obliterator who had not entirely given over to the daemon infested equipment which had warped and fused with his body.
He was a rarity within much of the legion, just like the few Dreadnoughts that remained, who hadn't entirely fallen to the whims of the madness that was within the warp. He was almost childlike to all those he looked up to, his lucidity had slipped so far and his mind so ironically obliterated by his form to become an Obliterator. That was the true essence of the Gods.
He had once a formidable weapon master who had reforged many a bolter and chainsword damaged in the False Emperor's Great Crusade eons past, he did so with such honour and zeal that there was a definite holy purpose set in his mind. Ever since the Heresy however he had begun to grow senile and purposeless, War-Captain Rathod had deemed him a waste and was in preparation to dispose of him, until the day of the Vision, whereupon the most sacred of the Daemons of the War God Khorne came to him in a dream. Metal grew within his skin and he turned into the terror he was now, a childlike and almost innocent terror.
"Afur, Thonas you have point with Amadeus. Jonar, Khaon and myself will man the heavy bolters." He eyed the men before him and estimated the points for the rest.
"V Coterie and VII Squad you have the left, rest of you to the right. In the Holy name of Lorgar!"
The men shouted their war cries and oaths in reply to the name of the holy lord of the Word Bearers Primarch.
He closed his eyes in prayer and silently mumbled the Citations of Erebus as the sounds of battle died down outside. He heard the shuffle of feet as the warriors given to him prepared for the inevitable onslaught of their former brothers, erstwhile brothers, or traitors as the Coryphaus claimed them to be. But as a warrior-brother of rank he knew much better of what this about.
Never should the Dark Apostle, the dead Dark Apostle, had shook his hand with the dog-sons of Alpharius, they were the scheming conniving kind who were unworthy of the attentions of the Dark Gods no matter what heinous crime they had committed in their holy names.
The First Acolyte, no matter what the other said, was right. As a warrior-brother of Lorgar's legion being wrong wasn't taken lightly. Either way the whelp was correct in his calculation that the host would be perversely and negatively affected with their association with the Alpha Legion.
He knew eventually they would be betrayed, either by the dissent within the host or the Alpha Legion itself, but this form of infighting and treachery which bought in the attention of their Primarch and the Legions own Disciples could only be one thing.
It the work of Alpharius himself, it reeked of the primarch's exploitation of certain characters within the Host and the greater part of the XVI Legion itself!
He silently cursed the name of the master of the Alpha Legion.
In a sudden thunderous boom the massive ceramite reinforced door to the bridge caved in, the hardened metals which composed its structure bending weakly against the sheer power of something terrible which continuously battered the door now. Screams and echoes of war cries tore into the helm receivers of the warrior-brothers left to fend the bridge by themselves. It came from beyond the door, a warrior-brother holding a daemon-fused auspex machine shuddered as he recognised the standard bleep of the ancient Astartes war machine.
"Dreadnought!" it was barely a whisper, but that was enough. The name itself even whispered was more effective psychologically than a warning yell.
It was common knowledge that being interred into one of those living coffins was a curse to any life valuing brothers. But once a victim is interred the loneliness and the melancholy bought on by one being trapped in a shell of ceramite half-dead is not soft on even Astartes conditioned minds, terrible visions from the warp twist the psyche in to that of a madman, nay a thousand madmen.
Siege ram attached dreadnoughts continually pounded the outer shell door down, only a reinforced main door remained, the warrior-brothers stood fast and cocked their bolters in unison, the Obliterator growled at the enemy beyond and flexed its weapon infested body. Random guns, cannons and chain weapons were peppered across his severely obese and metal infested body. Slowly the innocent minded beast hefted its right arm toward the door and began the rotary calibration of his arm's muscle infused assault cannon.
It was going to be a blood-bath, this they all knew.