Venenum Filios Chapter 15

Among the ruined foundations of the Keep the Storm Heralds moved, sweeping across the area. They were methodical and thorough in their search, checking each and every dip and furrow in the land. They were moving fast but the crater was miles wide and there was a lot of ground to cover.

Among their ranks was the form of Captain Toran, striding along with his head held high. He was a dashing sight with his red cloak and augmetic eye, the scars on his cheeks granting him a savage air. Yet that proud visage was marred by the spider-web of veins covering his face, thick and red now edging to necrotic black. The Phage was ravaging his flesh as much as anyone's and he knew it. Toran strode among the ranks calling out, "Keep looking Brothers, there must be another way down into the ruins. Do not rest until you find it."

His eyes swept the area and saw Chaplain Wrethan, waving the squads onwards. He had neither removed his helm not spoken in days and Toran was concerned. It was not obvious but to those who knew him the signs of his pain were clear, whatever was going on under his helm, it must be causing him agony. Toran left him to his duties, not wanting to add to his woes. He strode on and soon encountered Furion, shifting rocks and moving debris. He appeared hale at first glance yet his movements were hesitant and slow, like he had rickets in his joints. The Sergeant couldn't move with his customary power or strength and it made him look old.

Toran knew he wouldn't want any special consideration so strode up to him and said, "Any progress?"

Furion replied, "Not yet, no signs of another entrance."

"Keep looking," Toran commanded, "We can't give up now."

"Captain," said Furion hesitantly, "What about Persion?"

Toran felt a knot form in his throat, for he too was worried about Persion. The Brother had disappeared underground and then been lost in a cave-in. There was a faint possibility that he was merely cut-off and lost but everyone knew the most likely outcome was that he had been crushed and killed. Even Space Marines had their limits and hundreds of tonnes of stone would be as fatal to them as any man.

Toran had wanted to order Company to dig Persion out but one glance told him that the cave-in was too unstable, one wrong touch would bring the whole thing down on any would-be rescuers. Whoever had laid that trap had known what they were doing. Toran had his suspicions, it seemed all too likely that the traitorous Alpha Legion lurked nearby, watching and plotting dark schemes. Unfortunately there was nothing to be done, the Company needed to explore below, the Chapter needed whatever secrets were hidden here. So he had ordered them to find another entrance into the buried foundations.

Toran drew in a breath and said, "Persion is on his own for now, all we can do is find a way below. Perhaps we will run into him down there."

From a nearby scree slope came the voice of Jediah saying, "I bet we will probably find him lazing around, taking a rest while we work."

Toran glanced over, seeing that Jediah's face was more bruise now than otherwise. His swarthy features marred by the Phage and he wasn't the only one. Novak's swelling skin was getting worse, Wrethan was silent and all the other Brothers had their own afflictions. Only Bylan was hale and Toran had secretly decided that when he was incapacitated by the disease he would place Bylan in command. It wasn't ideal but it was all they had, Bylan could be trusted to lead them to a noble death.

This was Toran's secret, what he couldn't tell the men: he didn't think that they would actually find a cure here. Toran had a reputation for innovation and radical thought but even he thought this was a wild snipe chase, a complete waste of time. He doubted there was any undoing this Phage, that once they were done here all that would remain would be to find some honourable war to fight and die in. Yet couldn't say that, for the sake of his Marines they had to have some small hope of survival.

Suddenly Toran felt a gnawing clench in his guts and prickly heat across his forehead. He stammered, "Keep looking… I'm going to check those rocks over there."

He drew curious stares as he hurried up a ridgeline and dove in amongst a large collection of free-standing stalagmites, left over from long ago. Toran hastily ran in amongst them, losing himself among the narrow and winding spaces. The tall rock soared over his head and cast him into shadow, a hazy world of darkness and secrets.

When Toran was convinced that he had gone far enough inside so that no one could see or hear him he doubled over and threw up his guts. Terrible cramps gripped his stomach and he fell to his knees, puking up over and over. Long minutes passed as he regurgitated again and again seemingly without end.

After the passage of an eternity he sat back up and wiped his chin, grimacing in disgust. He knew the Phage was hitting him hard, harder than most. He had no doubt that he would be among the first to die when it truly set in. Still, a small part of his mind whispered, better that than live to suffer the mutations. Better to die quickly than live like the disgusting filth of Chaos.

"Having problems?" came a voice from behind him.

Toran glanced behind and saw the shape of Sergeant Mylos, standing there watching his Captain. His helm, with its marksman's laurels, was off to reveal his face. He was walking on one augmetic leg and bore his cusotmary combi bolter-plasma. A fine weapon that Toran had seen him make incredible feats of marksmanship with. Mylos looked stern and proud, a sight marred by the fact that his short hair was falling out in clumps.

Toran woozily stood up and knew that the Sergeant must have followed him in here, he must have seen everything. Toran shook out his cramps and said, "You shouldn't have seen that."

Mylos cocked his head and replied, "You think you're the only one suffering, you always were an arrogant one."

Toran sighed, for that was Mylos all over and the pair had a complicated relationship. Once bitter rivals, then begrudging comrades they had known each other for decades. Toran had patched up their relationship but they could never have been friends, it was all they could do to function as Captain and Sergeant. Mylos had appointed himself the Naysmith of Third Company and his comments were as acerbic as they were insightful.

Toran had recently been considering transferring Mylos out to another Company but it had seemed churlish and immature. He couldn't be the first to admit they rubbed each other wrong, and neither could Mylos. Both were too proud to admit that they would be happier apart.

Toran brushed this off thinking to himself that they could at least be professional and he said, "We all suffer in our own ways; I worry for the sake of our Brothers."

Mylos nodded and said, "I am confident that you will find a way out this mess, you always do."

Toran was surprised, that was a rare compliment from Mylos. He didn't agree with the statement itself, but it was a surprise. Then Mylos glanced to one side before saying, "Have you thought about what comes after?"

Toran was confused and asked, "What do you mean?"

Mylos drew in a breath and said, "I mean the future for our Chapter, what we should be doing in the wider galaxy."

Toran grasped what he was hinting at, the Storm Herald's internal political strife, and he said, "You mean the Emperor-worship, whether we should embrace the proselytising ways of the Chaplains."

Mylos sighed in exasperation and said, "No, not that, we both know it's just a cover for deeper fault lines in our philosophies and doctrines. The truth is that the Storm Heralds are being dragged down by the Lex Imperalis, that kowtowing to Terra's whims is grinding us into the dust."

Toran didn't like the sound of that and said, "We must trust in Chapter Master Gorgall, he will steer us through these choppy waters."

"Gorgall," Mylos snarled with disgust, "Can't you see he's the root of the problem? His compromises, his prized co-operation with the various Imperial Institutions have led us into the meatgrinder time and time again and for what?!"

Toran was incensed and said, "You speak dangerous words Mylos, this Chapter has always operated under the writ of Imperial Law. You advocate breaking with our finest traditions."

Mylos sounded desperate now as he said, "Open your eyes! The Imperium is dying; we all know it to be true. The End Times are upon us and we can't stop them."

That struck home hard, Toran knew all too well the parlous state of the Imperium. It was besieged on all sides, drowning in foes and rotting from within. He'd done his best to heal its wounds, fighting terrible foes and injecting fresh blood in the form of conquered worlds but it was too little too late. The Imperium was akin to a man dying of cancer, nothing could stop it and all knew it to be true.

Still Toran refused to lay down and accept it and he said, "What else can we do, save hold true to our oaths and follow our lords into the fray."

"What if we had a better lord?" Mylos ventured, "What if there was a better candidate than Gorgall?"

Toran's suspicions flared and he probed, "Who do you mean?"

"Chief Apothecary Lessall," Mylos proclaimed, "He understands that the old ways will no longer suffice, that the time has come for us to step forward and lead humanity. The Space Marines should be ruling the Imperium, not those petty quill-pushing High Lords. Terra is going to fall, nothing can stop that but we don't have to be dragged down with it. We can rise from the ashes with fresh power and purpose."

Toran had heard such talk before and he was disgusted to hear it coming from one of his Sergeants. He barked angrily, "These are not your words, are they? Who has been whispering in your ear, who have you been talking to?"

Mylos didn't answer the question and instead said, "They've been watching you and think you are Gorgall's pet, but I know you're smarter than that. Use that intellect, you know the time for revolution is upon us. You don't have to go down with Gorgall and his ilk; you can join the righteous side, the winning side."

"Mylos!" Toran spat, "Listen to yourself, you advocate kinstrife, civil war. That is not our way, we can find a solution without resorting to bloodshed."

"Don't be a fool," Mylos cried, "I'm trying to save you, to save all the Storm Heralds. We will be ground down to nothing if we continue like this; don't be the one to end our line."

Toran shook his head and said, "Mylos you were always a fiery one, you burned so brightly among us, but you have allowed dark thoughts into your soul. These words are beneath you, leave them where they belong, in the dirt. Remember your Brothers, your Company… they need you. Forget these dark thoughts; come re-join us in the light."

Mylos stared at Toran then said, "You truly are Gorgall's man."

Toran nodded and declared, "And I am proud to be so."

Mylos stared at Toran then slowly said, "You're not going to change your mind, are you? You're locked on this course and so am I."

Toran frowned and asked, "What are you saying?"

Mylos didn't reply, he stepped back and looked out between the stalagmites. For a long moment he stood there, gazing outwards and then he gave his response. Quick as a flash Mylos brought up his weapon, the gaping barrels pointed directly at Toran's chest. Toran's jaw fell as he saw the shining plasma-chamber of the Combi-bolter blaze with power. Then Mylos' finger squeezed the trigger and he unleashed a bolt of deadly energy, straight at his Captain's heart.