Venenum Filios Chapter 12
The ground fell away before them, dropping into a vast pit torn out of the ground. It was a deep crater in the surrounding jungle, one that the fast-growing plants could find no purchase on and its slopes were packed with loose scree. The result was a gouge, ten miles wide, dropping away to a dusty floor. Down that slope the Storm Heralds were advancing, bolters held high. They had left their Megasaurs at the top of the crater along with the native guides. Nothing could have convinced the heathens to enter this crater, not even threats by Transhumans could overcome their superstitious dread of the area.
Down the slope Persion was walking, carefully putting his feet down lest he trigger an avalanche of loose scree. The crater was far from smooth, there were ridges and hillocks on the slopes, loose boulders and free-standing pillars strewn everywhere, some so tall that they cast him into shadow. The result was a maze of dead-ends and hidden crannies, places where enemies could lurk in ambush. Persion carefully cleared them, one by one finding nothing, yet he didn't let his guard down. Danger was everywhere and they couldn't risk a moment of laxity. As he walked Persion tried to ignore the itch all over his skin, but it constantly niggled at him. A reminder that the Phage was yet ravaging his body and mutating his gene-seed.
Over the vox he heard Novak asking, "This is a Keep?"
"What did you expect?" growled Jediah.
"A fortress," said Novak, "A mountain stronghold, soaring into the sky, not a pit."
Persion stated, "There may have been a fortress here once but that was millennia ago. It has fallen into ruin, these are the exposed foundations we are walking in."
Furion's voice broke in to say, "Only the Emperor is eternal, time makes fools of everything else."
They were good words but it was significant that they were coming from Furion and not Chaplain Wrethan. Persion glanced over and saw Wrethan striding ahead and the sight made him worry. He opened a private vox link to Furion and said, "Brother, have you heard a word from Wrethan?"
Furion answered, "Not in three days, he has been utterly silent."
Persion stated, "I thought so, he's getting worse, he won't remove that skull-helm and now he won't speak. I wonder what he's hiding."
Furion said sadly, "The Phage is affecting us all, I can feel it in my bones. Memnos gave us two years, but I doubt we will make it that long."
Persion knew he was right, he could feel his body changing day by day. Were it not for Apothecary Memnos' regular treatments he would be far worse off. But that was just managing the symptoms, not curing the disease, the prospect of which was growing fainter every day. Even if they did find something here there was no guarantee that it would be useful. They may have come all this way for nothing more than a weapons cache or a supply depot, which all Chapters secretly maintained. If that proved the case then they were truly doomed.
Suddenly a cry rang out and Persion saw Sergeant Mylos waving from ahead. He hurried over and found Captain Toran, Chaplain Wrethan, Apothecary Memnos and the Command squad, standing with Mylos over a large stone doorway set at a forty-five degree angle into the ground. The lintel was carved with pictograms, declarations of danger and warning in the heathen's tongue. Yet set among them was an icon they all knew, a Golden Chalice with three jewel and shining rays.
Persion felt a swell of surprise and relief, they had found the outpost, they really had. Persion realised that up till that moment he hadn't truly believed that they would find anything. He had denied it but deep down he had thought this was all a complete waste of time. He heard the Captain declaring, "This is significant, we must explore what lies beyond."
Mylos said, "It is narrow and confined, we would be boxed in. This is not a good place to fight."
Memnos stepped in declaring, "We can't turn back now, this is our only lead."
Mylos argued, "I'm not saying turn back but we should scout it out first."
Persion saw Toran glance at Wrethan, who said nothing but nodded slightly in approval. Persion spoke up to say, "Be careful, those pictograms say it's unstable down there."
Everyone looked at him and Toran said, "You can read this?"
Persion nodded and said, "Yes, it's the same as I saw as a child."
"Well volunteered Brother," Toran said, "You go first then."
Persion almost sighed but he knew an order when he heard one. He pushed past them and dropped through the doorway, finding himself in a long narrow passageway. It was dark and dim but his helm's enhanced autosenses had no problem penetrating that. The way was lined with supporting stone beams at regular intervals, holding up the roof and leading off into the distance.
Persion set off down the passageway, weapons held ready while his eyes scoured the rockface, looking for more pictograms to indicate the way. Deeper and deeper he descended, heading lower into the foundations. The walls were pitied with age and rock dust, the toll of ages carving away any signatures of previous occupants yet something was niggling at him. Persion couldn't see anything obvious but there was a tension in the air, a sense of danger and the presence of foes, just out of sight. A lifetime of war was telling Persion that something was off and his suspicions flared and then he saw it in the dirt before him: a lone bootprint. It was wide, too wide for a mortal and so clearly defined that it couldn't be more than a few days old.
Persion opened his vox link and called, "Captain I've found…" Then he froze in horror.
As his eyes rose he saw a flash of silver to his side, nestled right behind a supporting beam. It was a small silver cord, wrapped around the supports of the roof and it was matched by similar ones, stretching down the passage ahead of him. Det-cords he realised, set up right where they could blow the supports and bring down the entire roof.
Toran's voice came back, "Persion report."
"It's a trap!" yelled Persion.
At that instant there was a boom, not from ahead but from behind. Persion realised that he had already passed several det-cords and now they were bringing down the roof behind him. He instantly leapt into a run, dashing down the passageway, further away from the surface. Behind him a series of bangs chased him as he ran; a sequence of detonations intended to bring down the roof in a wave.
Persion put his head down and ran for all he was worth. Rockchips and shards of stone pinged off his armour and a wave of dust engulfed him. He couldn't see anything ahead; even switching to thermal vision provided nothing. All he could do was blunder on, desperately trying not to be crushed. Then a massive weight hit him right in the back and he went down. Persion felt impact after impact smashing down upon him, rocks pouring down in an avalanche of debris, burying him in crushed masonry. Persion felt the weight on his armour increase moment by moment, making the ceramite creak alarmingly. He tried to crawl forward but was pinned fast by the stones bearing down upon him, his ears filling with the thunder of falling rocks. More and more stone fell, crushing him down until he worried that his armour would fail and he would be mashed into paste. Then just as he was sure he was going to die the sound faded away and the rocks stopped falling.
Silence engulfed him Persion felt the weight of the rocks bearing down on him, pinning his armour in place. He was completely buried under a mound of rubble. He tried to move his arms but they were trapped by piles of stone. His vision was cut off and his vox produced nothing but static, nobody could see him or hear him. Frustration built within Persion but he could do nothing but except lay there, watching time slide past in his helm's display. Minutes crawled by and his mind began to wander. He wondered how this had happened, who had set this trap and how long ago. Was it some deliberate ploy, an ambush meant for the Storm Heralds or was it some old snare, left behind by whoever had set up this outpost. Those long-lost Traitors, rightfully driven into extinction and struck from the annals of history.
Persion pondered upon this for a while then he began to wonder if his Brothers even knew that he was alive. Did they think that he was dead and were they even looking for him. He knew that the chances of him having survived the cave-in were slim, in similar circumstances he would probably have concluded that he was dead himself. Persion considered activating his Sus-an-membrane and sinking into a healing coma. Yet he also knew that once activated it could not be dispelled without special chemical treatments in an Apothecarion, he would be out for good. There was also the consideration of the Phage, it attacked the Gene-seed directly, there was no telling what it might have done to the implant, what might happen to him if he tried to use it.
His debate was interrupted by the shifting of stone above his head, a lifting of the crushing pressure weighing him down. This was no slip of stone but the deliberate moving of a rock: someone was digging him out. Persion's dual hearts leapt in his chest at the prospect of rescue but so did his suspicions. There was no corresponding activity in the vox, no calls from his Brothers as they looked for him. Persion began cycling through various vox frequencies, scanning for activity. After a few seconds he found it, signals on a non-standard frequency, one the Storm Heralds did not use. The sound of voices was unmistakable but the encryption was foreign to him. There was only one conclusion: whoever was digging him out, it wasn't the Storm Heralds.
Persion snarled in anger at the thought of encountering the Alpha Legion here, the prospect of being captured was worse than death. He tried to flex his hands, looking for the haft of his Friction Axe but he couldn't move an inch. He wanted to scream and shout but refused to give the Traitors the satisfaction. If the Alpha Legion wanted to take him then he wouldn't give them any pleasure in the deed.
Suddenly a rock was lifted off his helm and he was able to turn his head to look up. Harsh artificial light poured in, darkening his autosenses' display for a moment. Persion growled when he saw the familiar outline of ceramite pauldrons and Astartes' helms, looming right over him. He drew in a breath, preparing to shout imprecations at his enemies but the words caught in his throat as his autosenses corrected themselves.
As his vision cleared the colours of the foe became apparent, the embellishments and heraldry standing proud and clear yet they weren't those of the Alpha Legion. There were no scales over the plate, no snakes or hydras, not even a Chaos mark to be seen. Instead the stranger's plate was a far darker hue, a purple so dark it was almost black and trimmed with polished bone and actual gold leaf. Their armour was chased with shining embellishments and upon their pauldrons were engraved scriptures, inlaid with blessed silver, each one praising Him on Terra. Every one of them boasted a proud Imperial Aquilla upon their breastplate and many purity seals over their plate, attesting to their solemn duties and the traditional sacraments they had observed. Yet what truly struck Persion dumb was the symbol upon their shoulders. A Golden Chalice inlaid with three jewels and five shining rays, arising from within.
The revelation was as shocking as it was impossible, these warriors should not be here, could not be here. They were extinct; they were dead, buried and rightly forgotten. Their mere existence was a dispute of history, an impossible affront to established facts and an insult to the blood spent to make it so.
As the strange Astartes closed upon him, Persion whispered four words to himself. Words that he never would have thought that anybody would ever utter again. Four words that would change everything he thought he knew.
"The Soul Drinkers live."