Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 23

"Explain this failure," Kharkul hissed dangerously.

Xavaar kept his cool and didn't flinch as he replied, "Our raid was ambushed, by the XIXth Legion."

"The loyalists have found us," Kharkul growled irately, "But this does not excuse your inability to complete the mission I gave to you. You should have crushed Corax's little birds and brought my prisoners back, as I ordered!"

Xavaar stared levelly at his lord and replied, "You seem to forget the nature of this foe. These are no dishevelled Orks or weeping Guardsmen, we faced Astartes, Space Marines. You remember the Dropsite Massacre as well as I do, how even outnumbered and betrayed they fought to the last drop of blood. They have had years to rebuild, years! Now they have returned to exact vengeance. To stay and fight would be to die, and you know it."

Kharkul glared angrily, making the twisted servants shrink back. Xavaar had returned to Oblivioni Cavum with his battered band of raiders, making his way immediately to report the dire news. Once more they were in the surgical suite, where the Mutilators were born. The dark chamber had been filled with hissing incantations and the wet noise of surgical knives slicing flesh, but now silence had fallen. The dark-robed clerics cowered against the walls, trying to go unnoticed, fearful of their lord's wrath, as well they should be. Kharkul's anger was terrifying at the best of times, to be presented such dire news was to risk obliteration, and Xavaar hadn't even got to the really bad part.

Kharkul's eyes filled with anger as he snarled, "Horus should have annihilated the XIXth, along with the Xth and the XVIIIth. They should never have troubled us again; no wonder that fool failed to break Terra."

"There is more," Xavaar continued, "I encountered a renegade with them, a Night Lord, fighting for the Ravens."

"You jest," Kharkul sneered, "This is a cruel prank."

"No," Xavaar sighed, "It was true. The way he moved, his style and sneering contempt, he was a son of Nostramo through and through. I nearly died, only the power of my gaze allowed me to best him."

"So, he's dead?" Kharkul sniffed.

"If only I had time," Xavaar sighed, "I had a more pressing need for information and took the chance to root about in his memories. Much was jumbled and confused but I picked out critical details. This force we face is no Legion, merely a scouting company. They came to recon the system, they did not expect to find us here, they assumed the Night Lords abandoned Copan years ago. There is some form of reorganisation occurring among the loyalists, a dividing of the Legions. I didn't follow much of it, and in truth think he didn't understand it himself, but the important part is we are not outmatched… yet."

"Interesting," Kharkul mused, "A shame you didn't have time to finish the kill."

Xavaar nodded in agreement, though he chose not to tell the other reason he left Sedaxus alive. The two of them were prophesied to meet again, at the ending of his life. Xavaar desired to change that future, but he knew Prophecy was an insidious serpent, the more you fought it, the harder you strove to break free, the tighter its coils gripped. To change the future one must find the tiniest fulcrum of destiny and apply pressure, it took precision and care. He could have tried to put a blade into Sedaxus' skull, but knew deep down something would have intervened, and then destiny would wrap him in iron chains and drag him to his doom. He would have to play this subtly, if he was to avoid his vision.

Kharkul looked thoughtful as he mused, "If they did not come looking for us, then the Throne has designs on Alar-Median. The cog-worshippers try to hide their connections to Horus' rebellion, but the Emperor's mutts are not fooled and come to lay siege to the Forgeworld. This is good, if the Throne moves on so powerful a Forgeworld the VIIIth must respond. The Night Lords will be coming back, our Primarch will return at last."

Xavaar tensed himself and dropped the bombshell, "They're not coming. The VIIIth is shattered and broken, leaderless and divided… Konrad Curze is dead."

"What?!" Kharkul roared in disbelief.

"He's dead, he fell to an assassin's blade. The Night Haunter is no more!"

Kharkul's face erupted into anger as his hands flowed into whipping chains. Xavaar was lifted off his feet as they struck, wrapping his limbs and neck in silvery coils. He didn't fight, knowing it would only antagonise his master, holding still as unyielding metal cocooned him in crushing pressure. His throat closed and his breath was cut off as the Red Flayer's anger broke over them both and he yelled, "You lie!"

Xavaar could not respond verbally but drew upon his mind's gift to fashion an illusion. A memory he had found in Sedaxus' mind, brilliant and bright, the searing impression of a Primarch speaking, a moment none could forget. With a flex of his mind he cast an illusion of Corvus Corax, standing in the room as a shade and speaking, "Perhaps it would please you to learn the Night Haunter is dead… An assassin took his head, the report arrived just before your ship broke warp… It proves Konrad right, he knew his doom and made it happen. By fate or his insane will, the end he desired came to pass. Does that mean he won?"

The illusion shattered as Kharkul dropped the Sorcerer to the floor. He stepped back and hissed, "Dead… he can't be. My plans, my vengeance, all gone. He will never return, never be made to suffer for scorning me… everything is ash…" Suddenly Kharkul turned and threw out his hands, roaring in anger as the chains lashed about wildly. Clerics screamed as Kharkul's anger broke over them, whipping chains slashing over their bodies. The Red Flayer stormed into the room, roaring like a struck Ambull as he tore them to bits. Blood fountained high, painting the walls with vitae and cleaved bodies fell to the floor in puddles of blood. He tore heads from their shoulders, plunged silver points into chests to rip out hearts and removed limbs, to allow lifeblood to gush everywhere. The clerics fell to the floor pleading for mercy but he had none to give, he ended each and every one of them, cruelly and with malice. Even the room itself was not spared, overturned tables dropping half-finished mutilators to the floor and cauldrons of boiling blood toppled over. The Red Flayer was destroying years of careful labour, but he cared not, his anger was incandescent and would not be stayed.

Through the carnage Xavaar stood calmly, sure that his life was safe. He watched the destruction unfold without comment, waiting for the rage to pass. Finally the Red Flayer was done, nothing left but ruins of his work. He stood in the mess he had made, breath rasping as the bladeslaves milled placidly in his wake. The silver coils hung limp, their fury spent. Xavaar stepped nearer and dared to press, "The news is dire, I know but we must look to our next steps. This system will soon be overrun with loyalists and Orks, time for us to depart. There is no help coming, but the Ravens have a ship, if we could seize it…"

He broke off as Kharkul made a noise, a heaving broken rasp of air escaping his lips. Xavaar thought for a moment it was weeping but then the Red Flayer tipped back his head and began to roar with laughter. A booming glee, part relief part mirth, all madness. Xavaar had not expected this at all and became wary, concerned his lord's sanity had finally snapped. The Red Flayer however bellowed, "The universe underestimates me! Fate and destiny think me a puppet to dance on their strings, but they fail to see they serve my purposes. I said the age of Astartes and Primarchs had passed, that this is was an age for gods, and I was right to do so!"

"Master?" Xavaar carefully pressed.

"Punishing Curze was never my end goal, merely a step upon the road, a satisfying one yes, but not the destination itself. By eliminating Curze all the loyalists have done is remove a troubling obstacle from my path. They did me a favour. I can move on with my plans without interference, this is good news!"

"My Lord," Xavaar murmured, "Surely we must plan our escape from this system."

"Leave?!" Kharkul laughed, "Why would I leave when I have everything I need right here?!"

"I don't follow."

Kharkul didn't answer, instead striding to the far wall, bladeslaves in tow. He withdrew the coils and formed his hands back into gauntlets, then touched the bare wall. To Xavaar's surprise a broad section slid away, revealing a second, larger chamber behind. The Skinned Man had never suspected this was here and followed inside curiously, seeing strange plinths standing in a sweeping circle, each bearing twisted effigies and strange devices of black stone. He saw things that could be astrolabes but with too many dimensions, clockwork devices that counted time in uneven measures and calculus slabs with impossible numbers. The walls were covered in scratched formulas of insanity, raving scribbles to most, but to a Sorcerer dread revelations of Empyreal knowledge and Daemonic lore.

"What is this?" Xavaar breathed aghast.

Kharkul half-turned and grinned as he explained, "You never paid much mind to the builders of Oblivioni Cavum, but I have. Their names are lost but the truth of their hearts remain. While you stewed in bitterness I swept far and wide and found relics and ruins hidden across the system, and artefacts of incredible power. I learned much from them; I grew mighty with forgotten lore and discovered the secret power they hid. The builders were aware of Chaos and sought to harness its power. They fashioned great artefacts to yoke Daemons and tame the energies of the Warp, artefacts I have gathered and studied, unlocking their secrets."

Xavaar would have been less worried had he heard an Ogryn was playing with the controls of a Plasma Reactor and started, "Such energies are perilous! To tame the warp is a fool's errand, to trust Daemons is a sure way to die!"

"So timid," Kharkul laughed, "So cautious. Even in treachery you cling to the prescriptions of your mentors. You are a dabbler in dark lore and a thief of power, snatching crumbs from the table while I have feasted with Daemon kings. The Mutilators were more than an army, they were learning experiences, teaching me of my own transformation and the boundless potential it promises. I have outgrown you, little Sorcerer, I have mastered the secrets of the forgotten builders, completing the work they began."

"Their civilisation went extinct," Xavaar cautioned, "To follow them is to share their fate."

"Only because they did not embrace the boons fully. They sought to steal from the Warp, when they should have bathed in its glory! I am not afraid, I shall do what they could not, I shall ascend!"

"Ascend…" Xavaar breathed, "You don't mean…"

"I do mean. Angron, Fulgrim, Magnus, Mortarion, Perturabo, Lorgar, all have left their origins behind to become something greater, an immortal being of the Warp. Curze was a poor excuse for a Primarch, the least of his Brothers, the Night Lords deserved better. Taking physical revenge on him would have been amusing but to outgrow him, to leave him in the dust and become a fiery angel of fear itself. When the Night Lords speak of their greatest soul they will remember me, not our sorry excuse for a Gene-father. What finer revenge could I ever claim?!"

Xavaar was aghast at the scope of his lord's plans and breathed, "To ascend to Daemonhood, but that would take power incalculable."

"Indeed it would," Kharkul chuckled, "But I have the means. I shall rip open the veil between realities, exposing these worlds to a Warp Storm of majestic fury. I shall plunge this system into the seething tides of the Empyrean and from the pyres of the dead shall I ascend on wings of fire. All I need is a few more relics and I shall enact a ritual to breach the walls of the Materium and become a god!"

Xavaar's felt a lump of ice form in his chest, a chill void of horror as the plan was made known. It was insane, utterly devoid of reason or logic. There was no way this would work, Xavaar was sure of it, all Kharkul would do would be to kill every living thing in this system. Yet as he looked upon the Red Flayer he was not so sure of this conviction, Kharkul had grown mightier than he had ever suspected, it may be that he knew things the Sorcerer didn't. Either way it made no difference, the Red Flayer was set upon this course and Xavaar knew exactly what that meant for himself. Compared to what Kharkul was planning, having Sedaxus run him through seemed a kindness. If the Sorcerer didn't act swiftly then he was in for a fate far worse than being gutted on a pair of knives. He had to stop this, but he knew he couldn't do it alone.