Domus Discordia Chapter 44

Deep below the Fortress-Monastery there was an immense spherical cavern, filled with darkness and the sounds of dripping waters. In that space floated servo-skulls, bearing votive electro-candles upon their polished heads. They did nothing to illuminate the space however, merely serving to create flickering motes of light and jumping shadows. Yet those shadows hid something vast and sinister, concealing strange devices that covered every inch of the walls. These had been preserved only by millennia of mindlessly repeated rituals, for the secrets of their operation had long since been forgotten.

At the exact centre of the sphere was a large stone pyramid. It was formed as a ziggurat, with many levels that were cut through with ascending stairs. This pyramid had no foundations or supports, it merely floated in mid-air, suspended by long-forgotten sciences. To look upon it was to instantly know that a single misplaced step would spell certain death. An instinctive response, born from mankind's most primal fears and deepest race memories.

Across from that pyramid was a small aperture, lined with a stone arch under which Furion knelt with his eyes closed. Around him serf clerics were anointing his naked form with sacred unguents and sprinkling his flesh with blessed waters from silver thuribles. Ceaseless chanting in High Gothic was being uttered by a pair of blind clerics, who stood with hands clasped before them, seemingly oblivious to all that occurred. One final serf bore a stone cup in his hands, filled with a turgid venom.

Furion had been kneeling here for hours, edifying himself for what was to come. He was readying his soul for the trials ahead, steeling himself for the burden that was to be placed upon his shoulders. Unfortunately his mediations were interrupted by the sound approaching feet and the voice of Persion calling, "I have two questions: what is this place and why have I never heard of it?"

Furion didn't open his eyes as he calmly replied, "This is the Hall of Tempests, the pilgrimage that all Chaplains must undertake."

The voice of Novak interjected, "Doesn't look like a hall."

"It is what it is," Furion stated, "Here one's spirit is laid bare before the Emperor and the worthiness of the heart is judged."

Persion didn't sound impressed as he said, "So what does it actually involve?"

Furion explained, "Sacred Crozius' are stored on that pyramid, the trial is for the questor to walk over there and pick one up."

Jediah's voice arose, "I don't see any bridges."

Furion answered with the ritual words, "If the questor's hearts are pure and his faith unyielding then the Emperor shall provide a way."

"A miracle?" Persion pondered sounding rather dubious. Furion privately agreed for he had never counted upon divine intervention. The Emperor had gifted them with enhanced bodies, arms and armour, that was miracle enough for Furion.

Suddenly Novak's voice asserted, "It's a sustained repulsor-beam, like a grav-lift but projected horizontally across the void."

Silence fell for long seconds and then Persion said, "How the hell did you know that?"

Novak sounded sheepish as he said, "I once overhead Techmarine Hevostan lamenting that they couldn't make these anymore."

Furion almost smiled, for he knew despite an irreverent attitude Novak was far from stupid, a shame really, he could have gone far with such a mind. Perhaps when Furion was a Chaplain he would do something about that, but then he chided himself for his impious thought, he had to focus. Meanwhile Persion mused, "So you walk over there, on an invisible bridge and pick up a Crozius, doesn't sound very hard."

Furion corrected him, "The devices on the walls create a simulated tempest. It grows progressively worse as one ascends. With every step the questor is tested, how far they can climb is held to be the mark of their purity. The Crozius' are arranged in order of holiness and potency, the higher one climbs the more blessed the weapons become."

There was a thoughtful silence and then Novak said, "Wouldn't it be simpler to do this with the real Emperor's Storm?"

"The Emperor's Storm was not held to be sufficiently challenging," Furion answered.

A new voice arose, Captain Toran's as he mused, "I do believe that's the first time I have ever heard anyone say the Emperor's Storm is not challenging."

Furion's eyes opened now and he shook off the serfs as he stood up. He saw Toran looking out into the dark and said, "Thank you for coming to bear witness."

Toran responded, "We are honoured to be here."

Furion gazed outwards and remarked solemnly, "I have stood in this spot before, the day Samect told me I was to be denied the test. The darkest day of my life, I am glad to have steadfast friends with me this time."

Together they moved to the edge of the black abyss and looked out. Everybody was staring at the distant pyramid and Persion inquired, "How far did Samect get in his trial?"

"There are five levels and he made the third," Furion replied, "I intend to do better."

With that Furion took up the stone cup and gulped down its bitter contents. He thrust it back into the waiting serf's hands and then before he could change his mind he stepped out into nothingness. For a heart wrenching second his foot fell into the dark abyss but then he struck something hard and unyielding. His eyes told him nothing was under him but his feet felt like they were standing upon solid rock. Furion took another step and another, crossing the infinite black as his companions shrank behind him.

Suddenly a fierce cramp seized his stomach and threads of fire wormed into his limbs. It was the noxious venom he had just ingested, burning in his guts and making his head swim. Already his transhuman organs had sprung into action, fighting to cleanse his body of toxins. That they could remove the venom was not in doubt, but the process would be agonising, this trial would test him inside and out.

Furion staggered on another step but then a fierce wind arose, catching him off-balance. He crashed down to his hands and knees, clinging to the invisible bridge to stop himself falling into the abyss. The wind howled in his ears and drowned out his thoughts, pulling and tugging at him one second then twisting and trying to blow him away the next. Furion forgot all else and focussed only upon the now, his mind consumed by the single thought of moving his hands forward and then his knees. Over and over he did this, feeling his limbs burning and his body being battered by the wind. This was more than a test of fortitude it was testing his soul, forcing him to confront his own weakness and embrace the fire in his hearts. Only his faith could sustain him through such a trial.

Furion did not know how long he crawled over the abyss but suddenly his hand encountered a rough stone step. He looked up and found he was at the base of the pyramid, at the foot of the stairs. Resolutely Furion pulled himself up but the second he did so a wall of water fell from on high. It was more than a shower of rain; it was a monsoon, smothering him from head to toe. The howling wind persisted, causing the water to cling to his skin and drenching him from head to toe.

Furion gritted his teeth and pressed on, climbing the steps hand over hand. Soon he approached a small alcove, within which lay a golden Crozius but he ignored it. This was only the first level and no Astartes would ever consider stopping at the first mark. Limbs burning with venom, battered by wind and rain Furion pressed on, determined to prove his worth, to himself and unto the Emperor.

Soon Furion reached the second level, here the soul was tested by the temptation to pick up a Crozius and end the trial. Yet no questor would countenance such a choice, it would take far greater torments than this to dissuade a potential Chaplain. So he continued on, passing more alcoves with Crozius' inside. As he climbed the temperature suddenly dropped, plummeting to sub-zero conditions in seconds. The water coating him turned to sheets of ice and Furion felt the wet skin of his hands and knees freezing to the steps. He tugged at his arms but was stuck solid, unable to move. Furiously he yanked at his limbs but could not budge an inch, the ice bonding him to the steps.

Furion gritted his teeth and focussed all his strength, then heaved upwards, ripping the skin away from his hands. Blood flowed freely but Furion pressed on, tearing and gouging his hands with every step. He was forced to discard all other thoughts and concerns, there was only the climb now, it was the only thing that existed. Agonisingly slowly Furion ascended, freezing without, burning within and bleeding profusely but he continued, he had to complete his task, the Emperor demanded it.

When Furion reached the third level a giant hand unexpectedly pressed down upon him, a concentrated grav-field crushing him into the freezing steps. Here Furion almost faltered, his spirit yearning to reach out and take a Crozius, to end this torment but he refused. He knew that the third level was where Samect had stopped and Furion would not be counted alongside the likes of him. Samect's actions had led to the death of Bylan, poor trusting Bylan. For his memory, Furion would carry on, no matter what.

Inch by inch Furion dragged himself upwards, ripping the skin off his chest as he pulled his bleeding body up the next step. The world was going dark now as the environment battered him senseless and the venom clawed at his vitality. But he forced his limbs to keep moving, no matter how much they protested. Yet nothing he did could dispel the fact that his head was swimming and he couldn't feel his extremities. The gravity was forcing the blood from his head, he couldn't see anymore, he couldn't even think.

Somehow Furion reached the fourth level but the second he did so arcs of lightning leapt from the stone and earthed themselves in his flesh. Pain amplifiers, buried in the stonework, set to levels that would kill a mortal man. Furion could not hold back a scream as unfathomable agonies surged and swept him down into the pits of unconsciousness.

His head fell to the cold, hard steps, yet it did not make contact.

An instant before his head touched stone, a firm grip caught his shoulder and heaved him upwards. Furion felt himself being lifted by strong hands and a voice cried aloud, "+Hold on to me Brother, don't let go!+"

Furion couldn't see a thing but he clung to the sound like it was a lifeline.

"+Stay with me!+" the voice rang in Furion's ears as he felt himself being hoisted upright, "+We can make it!+"

Blinded and incoherent Furion felt himself being pulled up the last steps, agony spiking in his legs as lightning, cold, gravity and venom violated his flesh. Step by agonising step, inch by painful inch, the pair climbed higher and higher. Then Furion tripped on an icy step and he fell forward, but as he did so his bloody hand flashed out and closed around something hard and metallic.

Instantly the tempest ceased, leaving a stunning silence behind. Furion crashed onto the wet steps and realised that he was at the very top of the pyramid, at the zenith of the climb. Furion lifted a bloodied hand and peered around but was dumbfounded to see that he was alone, there was no one else present. As warmth crept back into his limbs Furion lifted his hand and saw that clenched in his grip was a golden Crozius. It was a relic of surpassing craftsmanship and beauty, with a spread-winged eagle for a head that clenched lightning bolts in its claws. Furion's eye travelled the length of the weapon and he saw a name engraved on the haft: 'Storm-Heart.'

Furion could not explain what had happened, he was certain that another soul had helped him, but there was no evidence to be seen. He had never believed in divine intervention, not as the Ecclesiarchy Priests would have it, but right now he was not so certain in that conviction. Furion gripped the relic tightly and closed his eyes as he whispered, "Thank you my Emperor and my thanks to you as well… Bylan."