Disclaimer: I do not own Warhammer 40,000 it is owned by Games Workshop.
Disclaimer: The Roboutian Heresy is a FanFiction penned by Zahariel. I have received permission from him to set this piece within the universe of The Roboutian Heresy.
Blood of Ignorance
Chapter 4
Cabal Master Cyril Velarion cursed as he fired his bolter, sending bolt rounds sheathed in psychic flame punching through Tau and Tau-corrupted Humans alike. He could feel the presence of the daemon through the ether, like a festering sore in the back of the mind, and more than that it's attention wasn't just fixed on him and his brothers, it was here. The daemon had manifested in reality, something that should not be was.
"Brothers!" he pulsed the thought. "Daemonic intrusion! Guard your thoughts, and be wary! Stand together as one in mind, flesh, spirit, a brotherhood of iron in the light against the darkness!"
CABal…mastER…velaaaarION…WE…Are…heEERE…WE…see…YOuuuu…
"I will suffer no trespass, daemon!" Cyril hurled the thought back, and reached out to touch his brothers' minds and souls. They grasped back, unreal and yet soothing in the madness of the Warp, like morning Sun at dawn on a winter's day. Light bloomed amidst the darkness, warmth spreading and washing over them to wrap them in its protective embrace, brothers standing as one against the evil of Chaos. "Knowledge is power!"
…yoU…HAAvE…noooo power…HEE…
"AND WE GUARD IT WELL!" the Thousand Sons hurled the thought as one, and blasting back the daemon's presence with unbreakable will. The currents of the Warp roiled, impossibly pulled free in part of the daemon's control, though what was left quickly darkened with its rage, a rage that grew even stronger and yet impotent as what little taint it slipped through their light was burned away by the searing, etheric weave that was bound protectively over their souls.
The Rubric of Ahriman: curse and salvation in equal measure, the bittersweet ward of the XV Legion against the vengeful fury of the Changer of Ways.
Incoherent whispers pounded at their mind, and their light in the Warp flickered as the daemon assailed it, but the brothers stood as one, the whispers fading into nothing in but an instant, and the light never faltering. "THE EMPEROR AND THE CRIMSON KING!" Cyril pulsed as he fired his bolter.
"HAIL!" his brothers responded. More enemies were approaching…Tau, fleeing in terror from something, only to find no salvation as they fled, only death by the Thousand Sons' bolts and the lasers of the Spire Guard. But there were others behind them…
…Humans, Humans who'd turned their backs on the Imperium and the Emperor, and embraced the foolish and naïve teachings of the Tau. In so doing they'd bared their souls and left them unprotected to the agents and slaves of the Great Enemy, and walked unwittingly down the path of damnation.
Most still wore the uniforms of the xenos allegiance that had marked their first step to damnation, some with armor over it, but all wore the maddened eyes of those touched uncleanly by the Warp, and many were covered in blood and ritual carvings. Images flashed through Cyril's mind…
…a woman wept on the floor as three men had their way with her, tears turning to unclean delight and pleasure as their pain and pleasure drew a spell that stirred the currents of the Warp…
…blood and gore splattered the walls and floor, men and women madly feasting on the bones and flesh of their own and their xenos slavers…
…a man screamed incoherently as he struck his victim again and again, blood and gore flying with every blow…
"Behold, brothers!" Cyril telepathically roared, bolt fire ripping through the ranks of the lost alongside blasts of psychic fire from the Pyrae. "The fate of an unguarded mind: madness and heresy, damnation and ruin, slavery and death!"
"Drink of the fount of knowledge," the Thousand Sons responded. "Trust in the Senses of Man, but guard yourself with the Gifts of Wisdom and Reason, and in so doing find and understand the Truth!"
"Knowledge is power!"
"AND WE GUARD AT WELL!"
Blasting charges blew the door open, and Spire Guard stormed through. A pair of cultists were reeling on the floor, and were quickly dispatched with a shot to the head each. "Oomes," Sergeant Hathor ordered. "Take point."
"Roger, sir."
The guardsman did as ordered, briefly flattening himself against the wall next to another door on the opposite side of the chamber, and checking around the doorframe cautiously advanced down the stairs to another door. The sound of hushed voices could be heard through, and Oomes briefly flattened himself against one side of the door.
Taking a deep breath, he rushed out, lasgun rising to cover a trio of scarred cultists standing to one side of a long table that dominated the room. The scars were fresh, raw and red with dried blood, clearly newly-cut and cauterized one way or another. Displaced air cracked as Oomes, fired, his squadmates covering him from behind as he took cover behind a series of crates to his right.
Two of the cultists went down to Oomes' fire, the third avoiding his fire by dodging to the side, only to be cut down by Oomes' squadmates. "Clear!" Oomes shouted, though he kept his lasgun aimed at a door on the corner to the left in front of them.
His caution would be rewarded as when the squad filed into the room, the door burst open and a cultist charged out, veins distended and carrying a heavy stubber in his arms. Oomes fired as the cultist aimed at his squads, and landed a trio of shots into the cultist's chest. To his surprise the man didn't drop, no doubt thanks to the combat drugs that allowed him to carry a heavy weapon in the first place, though another volley of laser fire from the squad finally brought him down, in particular a shot straight through the forehead courtesy of the squad markswoman, Corporal Nitetis.
Sergeant Hathor wasn't taking chances though. A series of hand gestures had the squad taking covering positions, while Trooper Binra advanced with his flamer. Aiming the special weapon at the door at an angle, the guardsman pulled the trigger and sent liquid flame gushing into the room beyond.
Pained roaring was heard, and in a moment a hugely-muscled cultist rushed out flailing. A volley of laser fire threw him back against the wall, and then to their shock the cultist recovered and with a roar charged at them. Lasers lashed out twice more, and finally the cultist toppled facedown.
"Secure the room!" Sergeant Hathor bellowed out.
Guardsmen rushed to secure the room, Oomes taking his lasgun's butt against a misshapen figurine that hurt to look at standing on a plinth in the corner. And he didn't hesitate to crush the fragments beneath his boot.
"Clear!"
"Clear over here!"
"Right, prepare to move out!" Sergeant Hathor shouted. "Flanking positions on that door!"
Guardsmen did as ordered, taking up positions beside another closed door on the far right of the chamber. As soon as they opened, heavy stubber fire roared through the door, along with that of regular stubbers. "Binra," the sergeant said. "Standby on your flamer. The rest of you, cover fire!"
"Yes, sir!"
Without bothering to aim, guardsmen aimed their lasguns around the doorframe, and fired in the general direction from where the heavy stubber was firing. The roaring of the heavy weapon continued unabated for several moments, and then cut out with a cry of pain. At once, Binra stepped into the open and fired his flamer.
Liquid fire jetted out, and filled the air with the sound of screaming. Binra kept up the heat for several seconds, and then lowered his flamer. "Mop them up." The sergeant said with a gesture, the Spire Guard rushing cautiously into the room.
The cultists manning the heavy stubber were dead, though those hiding amidst the metal shelves to either side of the central aisle were still alive, but lying helpless in pain on the ground. A las bolt or two were enough to deal with them, and the dead ones were shot just in case.
The sudden sound of stubber fire sent the Spire Guard into cover however, the two of their fellows checking the corpses of the cultists' heavy weapons team staggering as stubber rounds bounced off against their carapace armor. Rushing for the shelves, they ducked behind cover as more cultist charged in from the door.
"Prepare for hand to hand!"
The cultist screamed as they charged the Spire Guard with clubs and heavy tools and other makeshift weapons. The Spire Guard met their charge with bayonets and the butts of their lasguns, Oomes stabbing one cultist through the chest and sweeping him slammed the butt of his lasgun into another cultist's torso. The cultist staggered back before the next blow bashed him in the face.
Oomes fell back as the cultist fell, firing once, twice, three times. Cultists fell with every shot, and then a hulking mutant roared in, flailing and throwing its fellows aside as it charged into battle. Oomes fired his lasgun at the monster, as did several of his fellow Spire Guard.
Bloody wounds were blown into the mutant's flesh, but it only served to make it angrier. Grabbing a pair of its fellow cultists, it threw them against the Spire Guard who were sent flying. The mutant drew itself up and roared…
…and staggered back in shock and pain, its throat a mangled ruin from a laspistol shot by Binra, who'd gone to ground to the rear. With his primary weapon being a flamer, he'd hung back and only taken potshots with his sidearm, but this one shot was right on the money.
A second shot in the same spot further staggered the mutant, and then with shouts several Spire Guard threw itself on the mutant. Caught by surprise, the monster was unable to balance itself and fell back. And before it could recover, one of the Spire Guard took the nearest available weapon – ironically one of the cultists' stubbers – and emptied its ammo at full auto into the mutant's face.
Blood pooled on the floor as the Spire Guard got off the corpse, other guardsmen moving to secure the rest of the room. Once they were sure the mutant was dead, the guardsmen who'd put it down retrieved their lasgun, with the one who'd used a cultist's stubber tossing it aside and making the Sign of the Aquila followed by a Prayer of Atonement for using a potentially-tainted weapon before retrieving his lasgun.
"Area secure!"
"Let's move up!"
Leaving the storeroom behind, Squad Hathor left through the other door, up a stairway and through a series of empty corridors. Every so often they'd come across a room, though most were empty. In one several terrified women, clearly custodial staff from the look of their uniforms, were found hiding but were left alone by the Spire Guard.
The Inquisition or the legion would handle them later, though they were simply told to stay put.
As they advanced, crackling on their micro-beads indicated the presence of nearby Spire Guard units. "This is Sergeant Zet Hathor, 65th Company, Spire Guard." Sergeant Hathor said into his micro-bead after gesturing for the squad to halt and go to ground, and retuned his micro-bead. "Identify yourselves."
The sergeant had to repeat himself several times before a response came true. "Sergeant Hathor," a familiar voice came over the micro-bead. "This is Lieutenant Tiakken. Status report."
"Yes sir." The sergeant said. "We've secured the storerooms along our area of responsibility, and are moving towards the route to the command center."
"…pinned down along junction…niner…"
"Please repeat that sir, you're breaking up."
"Pinned down along…repeat…"
"Sir?"
There was no response, and the Spire Guard looked at each other uneasily. After another moment though the connection cleared. "Sergeant Hathor," the lieutenant said, the sound of las and stubber fire audible in the background. "Please come in, Sergeant Hathor!"
"This is Sergeant Hathor. Lieutenant?"
"Bring up your map of our area of responsibility."
"Yes sir."
The sergeant briefly fumbled to pull a data slate out of his webbing, and activating it synced it to the Spire Guard's network. The lieutenant quickly highlighted a section for them to clear and advance from.
"Break the stalemate, sergeant." Lieutenant Tiakken said. "Once we clear this section, the command section is at the end."
"Yes sir!"
Showing their new route to the rest of the squad, the sergeant stowed his data slate and led them along their way. The guardsmen replaced the power packs for their lasguns, with Binra checking his flamer's pilot light.
As they advanced, the sound of gunfire steadily grew, until they reached a corner. Peering around it, they saw several cultists taking cover along the wall and a barricade lying across the main corridor, and more cultists on another corridor beyond. Another heavy stubber had been set up behind the barricade, and was steadily laying down fire on Imperial positions further down.
"Corporal Nitetis?"
"Yes sir?"
"Can you set off their ammo from here?"
The petite woman just smirked, and the sergeant nodded. "Good," she said. "Alright boys and girls, standby to storm the enemy flank. We'll let Nitetis take the first shot, and take out as many of those heretics out all at once while taking some heat off our boys further down. Got it?"
"Sir, yes sir!"
Sergeant Hathor nodded at his men, and then at Corporal Nitetis. The woman nodded back, and then crouching down carefully stepped out into the open. It took only a couple of moments to steady her aim, and then a single, ruby-red lance of light shot out.
It struck the heavy stubber's ammo box, blowing it apart and setting off the rounds inside. Pandemonium erupted as bullets and shrapnel sprayed out, compounded by the las fire coming from the Spire Guard as they stormed forward.
The cultists tried to rally, but with their heavy weapon out of commission and unable to remain under cover while responding to the flank attack, they were gunned down from the front and the side. "Don't let up!" Sergeant Hathor said, firing his lasgun and turning one of the cultist's chests into a bloody ruin.
Oomes did just that, a pair of las rounds all but blowing off a cultist's limb and searing a chunk off his chest. A stubber round bounced off his pauldron, throwing his aim awry, but it was easy enough to correct…
An explosion from the left sent Oomes flying, over the barricade and sprawling out across the corridor floor. As he slid to a halt, he just lay there, stunned and with ears ringing, staring up at the ceiling as cold began to spread through his body.
Incoherent whispers ghosted through his mind, but despite his injuries Oomes ignored them, refusing to hear much less understand what they were saying, knowing that if he even tried, he would go mad. Struggling to an elbow, his eyes widened in horror as he saw Corporal Nitetis lying not far from him, slack and with her head twisted at an oblique angle, blood dripping from her mouth.
The sound of Binra's anguished screaming drew his attention, while the…air? His body?
It was…cold…getting cold…so cold…
Something…that was once Human, floated through the air, its flesh pallid with veins throbbing unnaturally here and there. Its mouth worked and babbled out nonsense, but at the sound Oomes felt his eardrums burst, the whispers growing louder.
But even at the presence of this…thing, Oomes remembered what he'd been taught, first at school and again during training, both as part of the PDF and again as one of the elite Spire Guard. He would not listen. He would not break, and he would not open himself up to the Warp.
The whispers rose to a crescendo, and then the thing stared down at Oomes. The guardsman's body was so cold, so very cold, he could barely move, and his breath steamed as he gasped in horror. The things' eyes were gone, just ruined and bloody eye sockets that trailed blood down its face, but amidst those cavities burned two points of purple fire.
The thing raised its hand at Oomes, flesh contorting and twisting to form a grotesque mockery of a mouth. Dimly, Oomes saw through cold-induced stupor las fire exploding harmlessly before it could reach the thing, and its…hand turned mouth opened, blue light erupting…
…and Oomes knew nothing more.
"Squad Hathor's been wiped out!"
"Hold position, and concentrate your fire!" Lieutenant Tiakken's voice cracked like a whip. "Take out that daemonhost!"
Lasfire cracked through the air in crimson streams of death, only to expend themselves harmlessly against an invisible sphere of force surrounding the daemonhost. In response, it raised a hand, light gathering in a sphere for a few moments before exploding outward.
The Spire Guard and their barricade were sent flying several feet, though it took Lieutenant Tiakken only a couple of moments to recover. Slowly rolling on all fours and shaking his head, whispers clogged the lieutenant's mind, but with a herculean effort he shut them out, and then turned in his head at the sound of maddened laughter.
One of the Spire Guard nearby was scratching at his face, babbling and cackling, his eyes bloodshot and mad. The lieutenant stared in horror for a moment, and then scrambled for his sidearm.
Pulling it out, he aimed it at the madman, or would have had the former Spire Guard not pounced on him, scrambling for the lieutenant's throat. "We live, we fight, we die, and we live again, all in their…!" the madman shrieked before his head blew apart in a crimson spray.
Pushing the corpse off him, the lieutenant scrambled away, and glanced to where the shot came from. Another guardsman nodded at the lieutenant, and then turned to the slowly-approaching daemonhost.
"OPEN FIRE!" Lieutenant Tiakken shouted, likewise aiming his laspistol at the daemonhost. "For the Emperor!"
Lasfire from the Spire Guard lashed out against the daemonhost, again to no avail. Hair stood on end as the abomination laughed, and then the air seemed to grow heavy and oppressing, eardrums protesting in agony.
Displaced air thundered explosively, accompanied by four blinding flashes of light. Daemonic laughter turned into an inhuman scream as the daemonhost was cut in two from shoulder to hip, the corpse's halves bursting into the same golden flames that wreathed the force weapon that had banished the daemon within.
"By the throne…" one Spire Guard whispered.
"Terminators…" Another said.
The lead Terminator turned, eyepieces glowing a bright green against the crimson helmet. "Lieutenant Tiakken, is it not?" Legion Champion Constantine Nemean – recognizable even through the modulation of the helmet's speakers – said. "Reorganize your men, and follow up behind us."
"Yes, my lord!"
The champion nodded as best he could within the constraints of his Terminator Armor, and then with the rest of his squad, advanced down the corridor. In the meantime, the lieutenant turned back to his men.
"You heard the lord champion," he barked. "We're to follow up! Gather the survivors, patch up what you can, and prepare to move out! And get in touch with our other Spire Guard, I want status reports on the double!"
"Sir, yes sir!"
Four XV Legion Terminators advanced through the command section's corridors, their footsteps heavy and loud in the empty corridors. There were rooms along the way, but cursory scans revealed nothing of interest beyond, and so they were ignored.
No, the Thousand Sons were focused on another, more dangerous foe. Even the daemonhost from earlier was nothing compared to yet another, more powerful Neverborn that had been summoned forth into reality by the misguided actions of the mad.
Though, why it had moved into the command center, they knew not, only that it had.
Finally, the Thousand Sons reached their destination, a great pair of double doors leading into the command center. A relic of Imperial days, the doors had been stripped of the iconography so characteristic of Imperial construction, but the fundamentals of the style were still there.
Checking their gear and their connection to each other, the four Thousand Sons literally marched through the doors, metal giving way against their bulk and squealing in protest as it was trampled underfoot. "By the Primarch…" Constantine murmured.
There had to be around a hundred of them, at least, Humans all bearing physical and psychic marks of being touched to one degree or another by the Great Enemy. They'd all gathered in the command center, and Constantine noted in alarm how many screens and stations had been debased with vile icons and symbolisms in blood of Human and xenos alike.
Corpses could be seen here and there, Humans and xenos both, some killed ritually and others not, and images ghosted through the Warp, of the cultists devouring the flesh of the sacrifices…even as they still lived and their souls were drawn out and fed to the Warp in agony. "Abomination…" Constantine thought.
The cultists rushed the Thousand Sons, having expected them and indeed may have gathered here for that purpose. As one, the four Thousand Sons raised their hands, psychic flame gathering in their palms. In the next moment, great sheets of fire washed out over the advancing hordes, melting flesh from bone and immolating tainted souls down to nothing: the only mercy the Thousand Sons would give them.
Fully a third of the cultists perished in that volley of psychic fire, and another third perished in a second volley. Behind his helmet however, Constantine narrowed his eyes as he sensed the Warp shift, and that his brothers sensed it too.
The daemon was coming.
It wasn't here now, but it soon would be. And it would be coming through that ragged hole in the floor in the middle of the command center. "Brothers," Constantine pulsed. " With me!"
"Advance as one!"
The four Thousand Sons drew their storm bolters as one and opened fire while quickly advancing. Cultists flew apart under the hail of explosive bolts, and then they were in range for hand to hand.
Force swords burned with golden flames as they hacked Chaos-touched Humans to pieces, or were simply thrown aside with brute force impacts from the hugely-armored trans-Humans. Those who fell were trampled underfoot, and then the Warp screamed.
A powerful telekinetic blast erupted outward, buffeting the legionaries and sending cultists flying. The Thousand Sons focused on the daemon as it rose into the air, a large sphere of flesh with four deformed faces staring out in the four cardinal directions.
"Eternal…greed…" one face gurgled out.
"Eternal…slaughter…" another said.
The Thousand Sons raised their storm bolters and fired. Bolt rounds exploded harmlessly against a kine-field, and one of the faces screamed at them. Again, a powerful telekinetic blast went out, this time focused on Constantine. His brothers scrambled out of the way as the champion was blasted back, arms crossed in front of him, but managing to stay on his feet between the support of his armor and his own resolve.
Weee…seeE…YOuurrr…souLLL…CONsttanntiiiiNE NEMEaaaaaaaaaaaN…AND…IT…IS…OURS!
Constantine's response was to send a comet-like blast of fire at the daemon, only for it to explode harmlessly against the kine-field. And then the daemon opened its eyes.
A boy sat on a woody hill, staring out over green fields in spring. The boy felt the stealthy approach from behind him but said and did nothing, save to smile fondly. A pair of soft hands came down over his eyes, and the boy grinned as he reached.
"Guess who?" the girl asked.
"Mileina, isn't it?"
The girl giggled and ran off, the boy chasing after her through the woods. "If you catch me, I'll be your bride!" she said over a shoulder, and the boy grinned wider in expectation.
"Alright," he said, picking up the pace. "Get ready to live up to that!"
The girl just giggled while continuing to lead the boy on a merry chase through the woods, the wind picking up and sending leaves flying through the air…
SHE WAS A BEAUTIFUL THING, WAS SHE NOT?
SUCH A SHAME NOTHING CAME OF IT, NO THANKS TO THE CORPSE GOD'S DEMANDS.
Years had passed since then, and the boy and the girl were now older, at the height of adolescence. The boy stood wearing the featureless grey of an aspirant to the Scholastica Psykana, with two uniformed guards from the League of Black Ships standing watchfully on either side to take him away, the rest of the townsfolk looking on sadly.
"We both knew this day would come." The boy said.
"Will you come back?" the girl asked.
The boy shook his head. "I don't know." He said. "Though it's best I don't. The life I'll have…the responsibilities that come with my gift…I wouldn't want you to share the burden. You'll be happier that way."
"NO!" the girl said, throwing herself at the boy. "Without you I won't be the least bit happy!"
"Mileina…"
BUT SUCH IS THE FATE OF THE GIFTED IN THE CORPSE GOD'S KINGDOM IS IT NOT?
THEY ARE BROKEN AND CHAINED ON HIS ALTARS, UNABLE TO REACH THEIR FULL POTENTIAL, NEVER TO TRULY TASTE THE FRUIT OF THEIR GIFTS, ALL BECAUSE THE BLIND AND WEAKLING WELPS THAT SNIVEL AND MOAN AT THE FOOT OF HIS TOMB FEAR THEM SO.
OR WORSE YET, SIMPLY FED TO HIS FURNACES, SO AS TO KEEP THE CORPSE GOD'S DEATH SCREAM ECHOING FOR JUST A BIT LONGER.
BUT YOU…CONSTANTINE NEMEAN…THINGS MAY YET BE DIFFERENT…
Mileina stood before him, Constantine standing as he used to be, before the Black Ships, before the Chaplains of the Thousand Sons had found him worthy and taken him to Terathalion. They stood before an altar beneath an eight-pointed star, amidst the green fields of the world he was born on, in the warm evening of summer beneath the stars.
She smiled at him, and held out a hand. "It's not too late, Constantine." She said. "You can still go back. Back to me. We can still be happy together, just you and me, and start a family here, away from the war, death, and suffering that the Corpse God would ask you face. All you have to do, is take my hand. Let it go. Just let it go."
Constantine closed his eyes for an instant and an eternity…
…and opening it beheld only a rotting corpse on a dead land of rot and ruination. And raising his storm bolter, Constantine said the only thing he could say, and pulled the trigger.
"For the Emperor."
A/N
Wow, it's been a while since the last update yes? Time for some action then, an explosive start to the first chapter in a long while.
Let's see…first of all, thanks to Zahariel as the beta for this chapter. Next, yes…Brotherhood of Psykers is more than just a tabletop rule, it can be used as a device in a story too. Also, nothing is sacred for the Daemons of the Warp, anything can be used to try and corrupt those who call upon the Warp's power.