The skull of the ex-head librarian hummed as it retracted a specialized claw into the machinery attached to its base. Lord Nour watched the shiny laminated and resin reinforced bone bobble once, as if it was bowing. Then, the small grav-motors at the base of the servo-skull lifted the willingly donated remains of the ex-head librarian up into the cavernous halls of the Imperial Library.
Lord Nour watched it go before turning his eyes to the tome that had been laid on the table in front of him. He had come here to take a look at the Chronicle of Ursh. Vidar had recommended it to him once, and what the Lord from the Terrawatt clans said before the recommendation had clung to his mind for some reason.
"It is not the Imperium's soldiers, nor their weapons I fear."
The Terrawatt clans rarely spoke in frivolous riddles. They preferred speaking directly, and used facts or logic whenever they could. Therefore, there were few ways Vidar's words could be interpreted. If it was not the soldiery or the weaponry of the Imperium, the only things that remained were its economics, its legislations, and its Emperor. He didn't need three guesses to figure out which one Vidar was referring to.
Lord Nour removed one of his reading gloves. They were a required piece of clothing in order to preserve the priceless books in this section of the library from finger oils and moisture. He placed his bare hand on the security panel built into the solid metal book cover that encased the tome. It beeped, approving his biosignatures, then there was a clunking sound and a seam opened up on one side. Nour put his glove back on ,and then slowly opened the book cover. He grimaced as he saw several bulges attached to the inner side. These were ball bearing filled explosives that had been pointing at him while the metal book cover was closed. Forcing it open would have most likely resulted in a shotgun spray of shrapnel shooting through his upper torso.
'It isn't in the restricted section for nothing.' Nour thought to himself as he opened the tome.
For two hours Nour read through the histories of Kalgann. It followed the broad strokes of what the children of the Nord Afrik Conclaves were taught of their ancestral enemy. The acts and events were written in a more sympathetic light, but the death tolls were no different at least. It was an interesting portrayal of how a barbaric slaughter could be seen as a glorious victory when viewed from the otherside. However, all of the cataclysmic battles that were taught to the children of the Nord Afrik Conclaves were referred to as minor skirmishes in the Chronicles of Ursh. Each one was just a preparatory step to the great goal of taking down the ancient capital of the Nord Afrik Conclaves; Xozer.
Nour did not know much about Xozer. He had seen the blackened ruins and vitrified basin surrounding it. Supposedly, a pure atomic had been detonated above the city, and destroyed both it and its attackers. The explosion also sent shockwaves of some sort that shut down caches of ancient technology all across the Afrik continent, Europa, the region that would become the Achaemenid empire, the lands of the Indol, and even the Yndonesic Bloc.
Yndonesic historians said that the effect of this shockwave might have inspired the first primalist Ethnarchs. It was these zealots who wished to revert all humanity to an age before technology. The sudden loss of ancient devices and facilities may have been seen as a sign from the divine, and allowed the overly religious a rallying call to coalesce into the Church that eventually birthed the bloody regime of Cardinal Tang.
Unfortunately for the scholars, all they had was theory. The loss of vast amounts of technology also meant the loss of vast amounts of information and evidence. The psi-wars that occurred shortly after did little to stem the leakage of human history.
The only thing that could be confirmed was that almost all of the relics from the Dark Age of Technology ceased to function across the Afrikan, Indol, Achaemenid, and southern parts of the Eurasian tectonic plates.
The only reason humanity survived at all in these regions, was thanks to the massive increase in psykers across these regions.
But, that was not a blessing. Psykers are feared and hated for a reason.
Nour snorted as he read about how the altruistic society of the Nord Afrik Conclaves was described. The idea that they were all mercantile with the sale of potable water and fertile soil being portrayed as the beginnings of economic slavery was cynical at best. He wondered what Vidar found to be enlightening in this obviously colored propaganda piece from a defeated enemy's past.
Xozer had fallen hundreds of years ago, and this Chronicle of Ursh came from the same age. The Ursh in this book merely occupied the same geography as the Ursh the Imperium defeated. Even if the overlord of modern Ursh shared the same name as the Kalagann in this book, there was no logical reason to believe that they were the same individual. Ritualistic name changing, or even coincidence made more sense than to believe what was on the pages. Of course, it was impossible to confirm that now. The Thunder Warriors had raised Ursh to the ground, and the only thing that remained of Kalagann was his Armour of Pearl placed in the Imperial Palace for display.
Leathery pages turned again as Nour read more about how the final battle unfolded at Xozer. He read about how atomics were deployed enmasse, and how Xozer's walls fell one by one.
On the next page, a deep crease dug itself into Nour's brow.
What was once merely a propaganda piece had been replaced by the scratchings of a madman.
It described plagues of insects, as thick as monsoon rain and so vast in their swirling masses that they blacked out the sun falling upon Keyser's forces. They choked air intakes, weapon ports, visors, ears, mouths and throats. Water boiled without fire. Engines overheated or burned out without warning. Men turned to stone, or their bones turned to paste, or their flesh succumbed to boils and buboes and flaked off their limbs.
The only parts that made sense was when the book described men going mad and turning upon their own.
Majiks and demons were referenced outside of simile and metaphor. Names that he had no idea how to pronounce were used over and over again like nouns, verbs, or adjectives; as if the reader was supposed to understand what was happening from these names alone.
"Found something interesting?" A feminine voice whispered into his ear, and Nour froze. A drop of sweat fell from his forehead onto his hand, and he realized they had been trembling for some time.
"Lady Callidus." Nour whispered. "This place is quite exposed."
There was a husky chuckle from behind him, and he heard the air rustle as the assassin drew away from him.
"We are in the restricted section of the Imperial Library, Lord Nour." The Imperial assassin said in a casual tone. "For now, even the servo-skulls have given us privacy."
Nour suppressed a shiver that tried to creep down his spine. This visit was unscheduled, and no one enjoys an unscheduled visit from an assassin, especially in private.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Nour answered civilly. He kicked himself internally as he did so. It was rare for him to be civil to the assassin. Their conversations were usually more frank. In his fear, he had fallen back on the instinctual good manners of his highborne upbringing, and the assassin would notice that.
"Do not be afraid." Lady Callidus drolled. "I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people."
Nour snorted, recognising the Catharic quote from Luke 2:10. So, the assassin had come as a messenger today.
"Careful." Nour said with a chuckle, tension easing at the assassin's joke. "Practice of religion is a punishable offense."
"Oh, spare me the lecture." The assassins sighed as she walked around the table and into Nour's view. "Eternally loyal I may be to the Imperium of Man and the Master of Mankind, but even I have complaints I wish to air from time to time."
"A complaint?" Nour said with a raised eyebrow. Referring to the Emperor as a god did not sound like much of a complaint. It sounded more like an attempt at suicide.
"It's nothing much." Callidus sighed. "I just wish to be used as something more than an errand girl once in a while."
"As a normal person, I believe it is better when assassins are used for nothing but errands." Nour said sourly.
"What are you, a pacifist?" The assassin snorted back.
"I am a politician." The Lord shrugged. "Violence is the last tool that should be used."
"Well then, I retract my previous statement." A grin spread across the assassin's face as she spoke. "You should be very afraid of the message I bring."
"And what is the message?" Nour replied as his eyes narrowed.
"Finish that book first." Lady Callidus said, gesturing to the book in its explosive rigged case. "You have already put one foot over the boundary between those like myself and the rest of the Imperium. Ignorance cannot be afforded by those who speak with the Emperor's word, or act as the Emperor's hand."
Nour raised an eyebrow at the assassin. This book was far from what he would consider enlightening, but the Lord from the Terrawatt clans would not have recommended him a piece of fiction out of whimsy. His fingers turned another leathery page, and his brow furrowed again at the mention of golden angels raining down from the sky. His eyes turned upwards, looking at the decorations of the Imperial Palace. Beautiful humanoid beings with giant wings were engraved with gold leaf where the decorative pillars on the library walls met the arched gothic ceiling. Another shiver passed through his body, as he felt their pupiless eyes stare down at him judgmentally from above.
"Apt symbolism, aren't they?" The assassin chuckled before him. "Angelos is an ancient term for messenger, and as messengers of a higher power, they were referred to as such. Who better to be portrayed in a place where words from our far more glorious past are given to those who merely survived till the present."
"And you?" Nour said sourly. The quote of Luke 2:10 were the words of a monster made of nothing but feathers and eyes speaking as an angel of God. What sort of 'angel' was she pretending to be while risking the Emperor's fury?
"I am the hand of the Emperor." Lady Callidus smiled. "I will remain so until the Emperor tells me 'It is enough: stay now thine hand'."
"2 Samuel 24:16." Nour said quietly, referring to the passage of the Catharic book that referenced the angel of death.
"Correct." The assassin smiled, then laughed. "How ironic that the ones tasked with destroying a thing must know the most about it."
"It is only when a target can be recognized that it can be taken out." Nour said, before looking down at the book again and reading the next line.
—-
Wilhym Mardol watched as another wave of shells hid the ancient void shields again. No mushroom clouds appeared, for there was no dust or rubble to kick up when the atomics struck the shields. All they could see was a massive flash that shot up into the sky as the void shield redirected the explosion's own force against itself. They had been shelling the city for several hours from behind the broken remains of the 7th defensive wall. However, the dark blue barrier remained firm.
Roma fliers flew over them occasionally, providing air cover while remaining far enough away from the blasts of the atomics. The updraft created by the heat from the atomics hitting the shields was gradually forcing away the ion storm that had been brewing above them, allowing the sun to once again hit the ground.
The ground was black and brown. Rotting plants filled the untrampled fields, while burnt and crushed remains showed where the armies of Ursh had passed.
"Mardol!" Keyser called from beside him. "How much longer must we wait for the shields to fall?"
Mardol sighed. Honestly, he had no idea. This shield was an artifact from the ancients. There was no telling what it was capable of. However, that didn't stop Keyser from asking him just like he always did whenever he had to deal with something technical or logistic related.
"It will take some time." Mardol said irritably. "Those shields supposedly survived the original apocalypse. We may be here for several days."
"Damn the cowards." Keyser muttered. "They only prolong their suffering by hiding from us."
'And ours as well.' Mardol thought to himself. The oxygen in their suits was not infinite. Another few hours, and they would need to start thinking about rotating troops out of the irradiated zones to refill their oxygen supplies, and possibly gather nutrient canisters from Shang Khal. Sieges were grueling for both sides.
Still, the citizens of Xozer would have it infinitely worse than them.
"It seems they evacuated the outer walls before the battle. There are no civilians in the farms, which means they must be packed in this last murengon. However…" Mardol leaned in towards Keyser so his voice could be hidden from the others. "The lack of armed infantry resistance worries me. Besides their defensive laser walls and the snipers, we haven't run into any other standing forces. I would have expected at least gene-brutes to be deployed against us."
"Do you think they are setting up a trap?" Keyser asked.
"No." Mardol shook his head. "That shield prevents them from attacking us, just as it protects them from our fire. If they were going to organize a trap, it would have been when we attacked the second layer of defensive walls."
Xozer's firepower decreased with every wall that fell, while Keyser's forces grew more concentrated. The second wall was the best place for a trap in Mardol's mind, for it was both hidden behind the first wall and only marginally weaker than the first in terms of firepower.
A dedicated resistance with infantry or mechanized vehicles assisted with supporting fire from the crystalline walls would have inflicted heavy casualties on them. Even if their forces outnumbered those of Xozer's, concentrating whatever military strength it had left could have created a force strong enough to break the Urshite encirclement. Should that have happened, they would have had to worry about being flanked by the defenders. Shang Khal and Keyser had discussed counters for such an attack, but in the end all their planning ended up going unused.
Keyser then chuckled slightly, before turning to Mardol.
"Your weakness is that you overthink things, Mardol." The Lord Marshall said. "The answer lies in the dirt around us. Look at the farming equipment left mid-use, and the messy tracks that lead into the murengon. There were no soldiers here, only farmers. The arrogant fools never expected us to breach the first wall."
Mardol looked down at the fields, and saw hoes and hand plows left behind. People had been working here until the last moment.
"They must have run under the shields when the first atomics fell." Keyser chuckled again. "But, it is too late for them. They will soon learn what it means to live outside their shielded conclaves as the cancers and leukemia consume their bones and bodies."
The words were spit with caustic venom, and Mardol felt his hand ball into a fist.
"We did not come here to inflict pain and misery, Keyser." He hissed. "We inflict pain and misery out of necessity, not malice."
The two armored men stared at each other upon their steeds, then Keyser turned away.
"... You are right." He said slowly then laughed. "Forgive me, Mardol. The battle has boiled my blood and my brains."
Mardol sighed and put his hand on the Lord Marshall's forearm.
"You promised us a better world where our worth would be known, Keyser." He whispered. "I can't have you losing your mind and getting killed by a stray shot until you get us there." His helmet optics pointed at the rotting crops in the fields, and the burning land, as if to remind his friend just how far they were from their dream.
"We will get there, Mardol." Keyser said as he patted his friend's hand as the mortars and cannons fired the next salvo in the background. "It will take time, but we will get th-"
Suddenly, there was a deep bubbling sound, like boiling mud. As both men turned back to the blue dome surrounding the city, they watched it ripple and writhe, despite not having received the next salvo of shells.
The shield was falling apart, but not because the forces of Keyser had overstressed it.
"NO!" Keyser cried out as he watched the atomic and explosive artillery shells fired moments earlier fall into the center of the city.
There was a stunned silence. Seconds turned to minutes as they all waited to hear the sound of explosions.
But nothing happened.
"Were the shells defective?" Keyser finally said.
Mardol shook his head. "That was tens of thousands of shells, Keyser. Tens of thousands of shells from a hundred different munition plants. What do you think the odds are that we all fired the duds at the same time?"
The odds were astronomically low. No reasonable explanation existed for what just happened. However, there was an unnatural answer.
"Majiks…" Keyser hissed venomously.
"And powerful ones at that." Mardol said glumly, then he froze.
"They say all majik comes from sacrifice." He said slowly. "Did they sacrifice their shield generators to cast that spell?"
A chill went through all of them at the same moment. The order of events lined up. Xozer hadn't used any majiks until now, and the sudden unexplained failure of the ancient void shields was too perfect to be coincidence.
"Men, prepare to charge into the city." Keyser gave the orders hastily. "Ignore everything, and focus on your hate. Majiks fail before Khorne's fury. We must get to the hierophants and stop their next spell."
The hierophants of Xozer had just sacrificed the void shields that kept them and their ancestors safe from atomics in order to use their majiks. There was no telling what other priceless artifacts would be used up next.
"Can we get into contact with the other brigades?" Mardol asked the Vox officer as Keyser organized his forces for the assault.
"I can't get a clear signal." The Vox officer shook his head. "The radiation was already interfering from before, but there has been nothing but white noise ever since the shields fell."
"Then fire the signal flare for an all out assault." Keyser ordered, returning from the berserkers and other lancers.
The Vox officer nodded, and pulled out a massive flare gun that looked more like a hand held cannon from his back holster. A huge flare was loaded, then fired up into the sky. It rose like a reverse shooting star, trailing a tail of red smoke as it flew.
Off in the distance on either side, two more blood red flares rose, and then more followed as the signal traveled through the encircling armies.
"Fire the targeting flares for our cannons and mortars." Keyser ordered his Vox officer again. "Have them target the next walls."
"Keyser, our shells will not explode." Mardol reminded the Lord Marshal. "Their majiks will nullify them."
"They cannot nullify their mass." Keyser replied. "If they cannot explode, then their lasers cannot detonate before they land." His helmet turned to the breaches in the destroyed wall before them. Although many, each one was quite narrow, creating a dangerous bottleneck. They were the perfect locations for the enemy to concentrate their remaining fire power. "We need as many soldiers to get inside the city. I would throw rocks at them if it would get another lancer beyond those walls."
The Vox Officer loaded another flare while the two of the spoke, and fired a green flare before firing a second yellow one in parabolic arcs at the wall that had been hidden behind the shields.
"Get ready! Lancers! With me!" Keyser called out to his troops, and the berserkers took cover by each of the ragged edges within the 7th wall.
The thunder of cannons and mortars came, and laser fire flashed from beyond the wall. But, the heat only melted the swiftly rusting metal casings and rotten explosives of each shell. The liquified remains struck like ancient cannon balls, shattering some of the crystal lenses.
"Charge!" Keyser shouted as he heard the sound of cracking crystals, and the berserkers obeyed. They spilled out of the cracks all at once instead of waves, and the remaining lenses opened fire. The lasers on the lower sections of the walls remained unscathed, and they let loose their fury on each of the gaps before them. Light spilled out of each crack, and all who stood there sublimated into gas leaving nothing behind. The ruined wall melted like wax, and the gaps in the ruined 7th wall were sealed with a mixture of its own molten ceramics and metals.
Yet, even as the lasers roared like blast furnaces, the clack of metal claws on crystalline surfaces could be heard. Keyser and his Tupolev Lancers lept from the top of the destroyed 7th wall, just as the walls of Xozer finished firing. The clawed feet of their metal steeds had clambered up the ruined wall, finding purchase on the shattered crystals and cracked surfaces. The berserkers had been a distraction, baiting the city into using its dwindling reserves to wipe out as many Urshite soldiers as possible. Now, the Tupolev Lancers flew through the air, safe from laser fire.
"Spread out!" Keyser commanded as his mechanical steed slammed into the ground, kicking up dirt and dust like a bomb. All 6 metal limbs groaned as they attempted to absorb the force of the landing. Several of the lancers fell, failing to hit the ground with all 6 limbs at once. Clawed limbs popped off or exploded from the strain put upon them, sending their riders flying in random directions.
Keyser gave them no heed, instead moving forwards while jinking at random moments. As if on cue, Volkite fire came from above. The last wall had been covered by void shields, so the snipers were still alive and able to fight. All of them wore thick oxygen masks with leaded face plates, and were protected by bulky looking body suits.
The Tupolev Lancers charged forwards, avoiding the Volkite fire as best as they could. They were in a race against time. Once the optical resonators recharged, they would all be incinerated in an instant.
Keyser saw the massive diamond-like crystal in front of him begin to glow, and ceased his evasive movements. Instead he forced his steed forwards as fast as he could in a straight line. Volkite beams began to scar his armor, drilling through it in preparation to blow him up from the inside.
Keyser grabbed a melta charge from a pouch on his pack, primed it and threw. At the same time, he forced his steed to about turn with a mental command. All 6 legs scrambled as the cybernetic horse and rider skidded sideways before finally building enough friction against the ground to begin running back the way they came. Only a second later, the melta charge detonated. Superheated plasma was sent out in a small sphere, liquifying the crystals nearest it to it, and shattering more with its shockwave.
The Volkite snipers continued firing at Keyser, further cutting into his armor and weakening the backplate. Then, a burning yellow flare blinded them. Their beams scattered as they lost sight of Keyser, and the Lord Marshall swerved out of the few beams that remained on target.
Mardol gave a sigh of relief as he lowered the massive flare gun he had snatched from the Vox officer's back holster. Keyser always stood at the front of any engagement. That was why his men followed him. Despite their many recent arguments, Keyser still had his respect, his loyalty, and his filial love.
"Lancers!" Keyser roared, Volkite beam scars still glowing on his armor like worms made of molten metal. "Climb!" Then he turned and charged the ruined section of wall.
Mardol cursed internally as he tossed the flare gun back to the Vox officer. The Lord Marshal's armor was the weakest amongst all of them right now, having just been savaged by several Volktie beams.
"Outrun the Lord Marshal!" He ordered. "Cover him with your bodies if you have to! Let not the first lance of Tupolev fall so close to victory!"
Battle cries and war whoops sounded as the lancers charged forwards. They pushed their steeds to the limits, trying to catch up with their leader. Volkite beams rained down on them, but they were panicked and disorganized. Instead of concerted volleys, they splashed down at random intervals and targets. The snipers were still recovering from their partial blindness, and the black mass of armored soldiers appeared only as a blur, hiding Keyser from their sights.
The lancers' steeds clambered up the walls, losing little speed. They leapt from crack to crevice like mountain goats, and clawed their way up like cats when they could find no other purchase. They scaled the wall, several stories tall. It towered over everything like a ruined cliff face. Yet, it only took the Tupolev Lancers a few seconds to reach the top.
"Faithless cowards!" Keyser roared as he jabbed his lance forwards, snagging the arm of one of the snipers leaning over the ramparts to shoot at them. The grinding gears yanked the man in, turning his upper half into minced meat in an instant before his legs and waist simply fell off the tip, all sinews and tendons to the rest of it torn to shreds. His steed stuck its head over the top as it grabbed onto the ledge with its two fore limbs. Then, it let loose a jet of fire from its mouth, engulfing Xozer's soldiers in orange flames. Some stumbled backwards and fell off the walls, screaming to their deaths. Others ran into their compatriots, yelling for help, only to spread the conflagration that was consuming them onto others.
Amidst the chaos, Tupolev Lancer after Tupolev Lancer clambered over the ramparts, and joined the killing on the walls. Soon, there was nothing but charred corpses and red slurries on the ramparts.
"8 of you run down the walls in that direction. Clear out the snipers, and then begin boring holes for melta charges to disable the walls. The other brigades might not have been able to make it, so we must assist them. We need the rest of Shang Khal's armies to enter the murengon. Otherwise we might get surrounded and overwhelmed." Keyser began giving orders as his men joined him. "You 8 do the same in the other direction. The rest, follow me to the city center."
16 of Keyser's men began to purge the rest of Xozer's defenses as the rest turned to look inwards to the city.
Unlike the other outer areas, the last sections of the city were heavily urbanized. There were no pastures here, or if there were they had been built over by various factories, habitation towers, and storage silos for food or fuel.
"We'll travel across the roofs and bridges." Keyser said as he pointed to the center of the city. Massive corridors connected some of the buildings, and hordes of people could be seen crowding upon them. "We don't have the time to navigate our way through their maze-like streets, or the explosives to simply blow our way to the center. Now, follow me!"
Keyser's steed lept from the walls once again, and landed on the flat roof of a factory of some sort.
Mardol gave another internal sigh as he followed suit. Roofs aren't usually meant to bear weight. There was a good chance the heroic charge of Keyser could have ended with him simply falling through the building, and disappearing under the rubble like the heel of a slapstick comedy.
'At least he picked a roof with lots of air conditioning units and ventilation fans on it.' He grumbled internally. Such heavy machinery indicated a lot of weight was on the roof already, meaning it was more likely to be strong enough to land on.
Keyser and the Tupolev Lancers ran across the roofs, leaping over the alleys and streets, and sometimes crashing through windows and storming through factory floors, administrative buildings, and habitation blocks. They trampled any who stood before them, not even bothering to raise their weapons to get them out of the way. Blood and gore coated every inch of them, their weapons, and their steeds.
As they landed on another heavily reinforced roof, they heard an explosion in the distance. A faint bluish-purple glow began to rise from one of the sectors of the city. It was diagonally across from their location, in an outer ring than they were. Keyser and his men had just crossed the 2nd. The sheer density of buildings meant the last 5 defensive walls were incapable of firing, having been converted into power relays for the infrastructure beyond them.
"Ionizing radiation." Mardol said quietly as they watched the bluish-purple glow grow brighter. "One of the brigades must have let loose dirty atomics into the city."
"The signal flare only gave the order for an all out assault." Keyser replied grimly. "They're following their original orders to wipe out Xozer's nobility." He turned to the rest of the lancers. "The other brigades might be slow to arrive. Prepare for the fight of your lives. Remember, majiks only waylay the misguided and unfocussed. Steel yourselves."
The Tupolev Lancers nodded. Mardol started to do the same, but then something in his peripheral vision froze every microlitre of blood in his body.
"KEYSER, LOOK!" Mardol pointed, and the Lord Marshal as well as all the others turned their eyes in the direction of his finger.
In the very center of Xozer were a series of massive distillation towers. Besides them, were giant domed buildings that housed the centrifuges. Several boxy filtration plants were placed all around these. Each one shone in the sunlight like polished silver, but that silver shine was swiftly being covered by the dark brown color of rusted metal. Corrosion spread over the buildings like mold, growing bumps and rough spikes like stalagmites across its surfaces. The full curves of the domed centrifuges sagged and buckled, like the cheeks of a starving pauper. Rust brown was joined with the gangrenous green of over oxidized metals, and the distillation towers that stood proud began to sag.
Then they fell. With iron shrieks, and metallic groans, each one crumbled as if it were made of sand. Their heavy tops crashed right through the sagging centrifuge buildings and filtration plants, releasing black streams of gas or polluted water into the air that began to rise as clouds over the center of the city.
Not one of the Tupolev Raiders could speak as the entire filtration and purification system collapsed in on itself in a pile of rubble, rust, and dust. Xozer had just killed itself. There was no way for it to survive without its filtration plants. Their enemy had committed suicide right before their eyes, taking with them Shang Khal and Ursh's prize.
"Lord Marshal." Mardol finally spoke. "We have to fall back."
Keyser remained silent, only staring at the growing black cloud in the center of the city.
"There is nothing left for us here, and we are over extended in enemy territory. We need to fallback to one of the other rings, then give the signal for the entire army to retreat so we can all fall back as one."
Once again, Keyser did not reply, but Mardol saw his friend's fist tighten around the handle of his lance.
"Keyser!" Mardol hissed, drawing close so he could whisper in private to him. "We failed. Now, we have to worry about the southern client states and the honor bargains we can no longer uphold. We cannot afford to waste any more lives."
"Waste?" Keyser spoke quietly, and Mardol felt a pang of terror at how calm his friend sounded. "No lives are wasted in the struggle of war. That is the beauty of it, Mardol. Everything has its purpose, whether it be the lowest slave soldier or the highest ranking general."
"This is not the time to be babbling about your philosophies, Keyser!" Mardol shouted back. "We need to fall back."
"And leave the hierophants to guffaw at our retreat?" The Lord Marshal shook his head. "No. Our mission is not yet complete until their lives end."
"They've already killed themselves." Mardol growled. "They've killed their people. They've killed everything that they stood for. They destroyed themselves and the legacy of their forefathers. What is the point of fighting here anymore?"
"To ensure they do not do this somewhere else." Keyser said as he pointed the gear tips of his lance at the black cloud in the distance. "Do you think the hierophants will stop with just this one city? They will spread their foul mind-sickness to all who will listen. They've already shown just how far they are willing to stoop to spite us. They will not stop when we retreat. They will take their majiks, and corrupt everything they can touch."
The other Tupolev Lancers looked at Keyser, Mardol, and the black cloud covering the ruined artifacts. Many of them gripped their lances in barely suppressed anger at having been denied their prize. It was not just the destruction of the artifacts, but the city-wide suicide that they had just witnessed that boiled their blood. That was the coward's way out. A spiteful, bitter, and ugly way to end not only themselves but everyone associated with them.
Yet, Mardol also spoke true. There was no strategic point to fighting anymore. Xozer was now dead, and it could never return to its former glory. The threat to Ursh had been eliminated, even if the main prize was gone.
Then Keyser chuckled slightly, and turned his steed to face his lancers. "Besides, I've just thought of a way to fulfill our honor bargains."
"What?" Mardol replied, unable to understand how Keyser could possibly hope to recoup what had been lost.
"Look at what covers us. It is blood, and what is blood but water and nutrients."
Mardol's steed took a step back, reflecting the revulsion Mardol felt at that moment.
"You cannot be seriously thinking to-"
"Capture the entire surviving populace of Xozer? Oh, I am Mardol. That is the only way to give the Roma and all the others their pound of flesh."
In exchange for fresh soil, and fresh water Mardol proposed to give the remaining people of Xozer to their creditors. Not as slaves, but as fertilizer. Each person was filled with clean unirradiated water, and had fed on fresh grains for many years. They would satisfy the Roma, at the very least, who had to recycle their own dead in their farms aboard their aerial carriers.
"Have you lost your mind, Keyser!" Mardol shouted out.
"IT IS THE ONLY WAY THROUGH THIS DESPAIR, MARDOL!" Keyser retorted with ten times the volume, forcing Mardol back with the rage in his voice. "I know we've failed to gain control of the artifacts, but this is the next best option. The only way forwards, and not backwards."
"Keyser…" Mardol spoke. This was not a plan, but plain madness. There were maybe a few hundred million survivors in the city. Hardly enough to satisfy the nutritional needs of the southern states. The air power of the Roma may remain on their side, but civil war and strife were unavoidable now.
They had lost, and there was no point to any further butchery. Yet, the Lord Marshal either refused to or was not able to see that.
Mardol felt his heart sink, seeing his friend and comrade of hundreds of thousands of battles fall so low. At this moment, he sounded no better than the berserkers they used as cannon fodder.
"Lord Marshal! Look! The cloud." Another lancer cried out, and they all looked up at the black cloud.
It was moving. Tendrils were spreading out from it, and descending into the city while also spreading out over them like a net. Its shadow had begun to darken the sky, and there was now a low droning noise echoing from it.
All of the Tupolev Lancers except Keyser stepped backwards with their steeds, realizing what the black thing was. It was not a cloud, but a swarm of buzzing insects so concentrated and so thick that it was blocking out the sun. Ungodly screams began to rise from the portions of the city the swarm had touched, and new swarms rose with those screams, spreading deeper and further into the winding streets of Xozer.
"So, the foul majiks of the hierophants shows its face." Keyser crowed. "Do you see, Mardol? Do you see, my lancers?" He pointed towards the swarm spilling out of the ruined artifacts. "Look at what the hierophants have done with the wondrous legacy of our glorious past. Instead of handing it over to those worthy, they destroyed it all out of spite and bitterness. Now, they seek to spread death and decay over everything." Keyser raised his lance, standing with the swarm and ruins to his back. The gears of his lance screamed as he revved its engines. "This cannot be allowed to stand! I now charge into the heart of darkness to show those hierophants that THEY HAVE NOT WON! Who is with me!"
One by one the Tupolev Lancers raised their lances. "Keyser! Keyser! Keyser!" They chanted. They did not fear death. They did not fear pain. They were not defeated, and the hierophants would pay for what they had done.
"Good." Keyser nodded. "Now, harness your hate. Let Khorne's fury flood your veins."
"Keyser!" Mardol grabbed his friend's forearm. "We must fall back!"
This place was in the middle of a desert. There was nothing to protect. Their homes in Ursh were far far away. This battle was already lost, and the only thing that mattered was getting as many men and women out of here before the hierophants majiks consumed them all.
"Silence coward!" Keyser yanked his arm out of Mardol's grip and backhanded him off his steed. "I will not stop! I cannot be stopped!" He roared. "This is the only way forward for all of us. The only way to survive!"
Mardol landed on his chest plate, but at that moment he could have been staked through the heart and not felt it.
Something was rotting inside of him. The glorious vision that once inspired him was crumbling before his very eyes.
'There is no better world, is there Keyser?' Mardol asked the image of his friend in his heart. 'War isn't just a tool for you. It's not just lip service to the Wrathsingers of Ursh that flows from your mouth.' The dream he thought he shared with his friend blackened and died as he lay there in the ground. 'You are no hero. You are no leader. You are just a man. The same sort of man that burned this planet to its bare bones in the first place.'
Every achievement, every victory, every raucous celebration in his memory darkened with despair. Every sight and sound he had of Keyser withered as the veneer fell off of it.
'And I helped you do it.'
Mardol returned to the real world, back from the black pit that had replaced the organs in his chest.
Keyser was saying something to the others, but he couldn't hear it. His ears rang with the white noise of utter silence. His glazed eyes caught sight of something in the blood and muck before him.
It was the hilt of a broken chain blade. The same sort of weapon that the berserkers had used. Its tip had been melted off, and the serrated chain was fused to the blade itself.
Mardol looked at the lance he had dropped when Keyser had struck him from his steed, then back to the broken berserker's blade.
Some part of him whispered to him that something was not right. There were no berserkers here. Keyser had left them all back at the 7th wall. This shouldn't be here. It might be a trap.
But Mardol felt his fingers closing around the handle, pulling it out of the now brown gore around them. Small worms and maggots crawled out of the minced putrefying meat, before hurriedly burrowing away as if trying to hide away from sight. The broken blade was barely the length of a combat knife, but its small size meant it could be hidden behind Mardol's armored wrist.
Mardol stood up from the ground, and Keyser looked down at him.
"Leave if you want, First Lieutenant Wilhym Mardol." He said quietly. "Thank you for your service until now. I couldn't have reached here without you."
The first lieutenant shook his head. "I've come this far, Lord Marshal. I shall be with you until the end."
"Good." Keyser said, tone pleased. "Get on your steed, Tupolev Lancer. Here, take my hand."
Keyser reached down towards Mardol. Their hands clasped each other, then Mardol yanked the Lord Marshal towards him while jumping up at the same time. He pulled the broken blade out, holding it in a reverse grip like a dagger, and slammed it through the weakened backplate of his old friend's armor.
"This is it, Keyser." Mardol said slowly, locked in a one armed embrace with the Lord Marshal. He could feel his friend freeze from shock and began to fall backwards. He then twisted the blade, destroying as many redundant organs inside Keyser's chest as he could as he heard the other Tupolev Lancers cry out in rage behind him. "You and I should never have lived this long."
The two slammed into the roof they were on with a metallic thunk, driving the broken blade hilt and all into Keyser's body.
"Traitor!" One of the lancers cried as he stabbed the rotating drill gears into the side of Mardol's torso. Metal chips and shards shot out of the back end of his lance, pelting the lancer's armor and sending up sparks. However, instead of red blood and pink meat, the only thing that came out of the armor was a gangrenous green sludge.
Mardol's arm spun backwards and grabbed the haft of the lance, then lifted the Tupolev Lancer and his steed upwards as his body swelled. Armored plates rusted and fell off like overly dry skin, but instead of a man, a massively obese thing with twisted horns emerged from Mardol's armor.
It guffawed as the other soldiers could only stare up at the gangrenous bloated corpulent thing that was now squatting over them. Its guts were hanging out of its stomach from a crescent shaped wound that looked like a grinning maw. Every inch of it was covered in boils, pimples, or weeping ulcers leaking yellow pus that steamed like acid as it hit the ground.
"Such beautiful friendship broken. Such wondrous dreams darkened by despair." It spoke, and every hair on the Tupolev Lancers stood on end in pure revulsion at its voice. "This is the true end of all War, for the Grandfather is the beginning and the end." It guffawed again as the black swarms descended upon all of them.
The sounds of their wings were so loud it blocked out the Tupolev Lancers' own cries as they became blinded by the black bodies of the flies that now surrounded them. Their steeds let out streams of fire, but the flies only flew into the flames, blocking the barrels of the internalized flamethrowers with their charred remains and extinguishing the pilot lamps and electric starters. They crammed themselves into every nook and cranny they could find, compacting their own bodies and crushing themselves into the lancers armor. Maggots crawled out of their cracked carapaces, chewing their way out of their parents, and then set to work on the metal armor of the Wrathskin.
Their mechanical steeds shrieked as their joints began to rust and give out, suffused with the digestive juices and oxidative haemolymph of the flies. Screws and bolts popped off as the pressure from so many insects forcing themselves inside their air intakes and flamethrower nozzles bloated the now brittle metal of their stomachs.
Meanwhile, the lancers heard the crink crank of a million almost microscopic mouths gnawing at their airtight armor. They swatted and slapped at themselves, trying to make it stop, but soon their joints were so full of gunk that they could no longer reach their backs or their legs.
One lancer let out a bloodcurdling scream as his armor hissed, internal air leaking out of a hole the maggots had finally chewed through his armor. More and more hisses followed, as the maggots finished on the metal, and then set about on the skin and muscle beneath. Soon, blood began to leak out from the holes, as flies, worms, and more maggots made their way inside.
Another lancer tore off his helmet, unable to bear the sound of thousands of mouths chewing on him from the inside out. His face was swiftly obscured by the swarms, and the few lancers nearest to him watched him fall to the ground and writhe in agony as the insects forced their way into every available orifice they could find.
"Do not worry." The horned head of the creature loomed out of the darkness above them. Its many fat chins wobbled as it grinned, revealing rotten teeth and bleeding gums. "Death is but the next part of the cycle. Join your Lord Marshal and his First lieutenant in the joyous chorus of endless suffering."
—-
Nour sighed and took off one of his reading gloves so he could rub the bridge of his nose.
He had just finished the section about the betrayal of Wilhym Mardol, and the daemon that came out of his body.
What message the author hoped to instill with such disgusting descriptions was unknown to him, but he could imagine the visceral nature of the deaths of the Tupolev Lancers.
"Is any of this true?" He asked Lady Callidus who was sitting opposite him. "I'm guessing these majiks the chronicle refers to are the doings of psykers?" He continued as the assassin remained silent. "But, all their abilities are based around the manipulation of the mind and the senses. These are far too direct. The only way I can make any sense of this is that these are descriptions of complicated illusions that brought about some sort of psychosomatic injuries in its victims."
"Your experience with psykers stems mostly from the lessons of the psi-wars, I presume?" Callidus asked back.
"That is what we are taught." Nour answered.
"The psi-wars were indeed mostly just that." Callidus nodded. "Mental enslavement with psychic abilities, and the control of millions with hallucinations."
"Then are you saying this is something else?" Nour said as he pointed to the lines describing the swarms of insects and daemons tearing themselves out of human bodies.
"Thoughts and dreams are an interesting thing." The assassin said, causing the Lord to give her a quizzical look. "They come from men and women in the real world, but they persist long after those who envisioned them are gone. They can move armies, topple empires, or even build them up as well. Their message can remain as potent or even grow stronger should their creator be martyred. There is real power there. We often like to think that we are the ones who wield that power, but there are times when it is not clear which is controlling which."
"Are you saying that our ideologies are controlling us like pawns on a chessboard?" Nour scoffed.
"It would be easier if they were. At the very least, that would mean they had rules and goals in their game." Callidus shrugged again. "It is because it is never that clear that constant vigilance must be maintained."
"Vigilance against what? This?" Nour gestured to the book before him.
"The enemies of man are many." Callidus replied. "Sometimes it is not enough to eradicate them. Their ideals, their culture, their very memory must be burnt and forgotten."
"And is that what the Emperor did?" Nour said as he put his reading glove back on and turned the page. "Did he burn Xozer to the ground, and render my ancestors homeless and at the mercy of feral psykers?"
"Is that bitterness in your voice?" Callidus asked.
The story of Xozer was the history of the Nord Afrik Conclaves, the region Nour came from.
"If there is, it comes from my exasperation with you." Nour muttered, waving off the accusation. "If any of this is true, then I see no salvation for the city, its inhabitants, or the armies surrounding it."
Callidus suddenly let out a burst of laughter.
"Pardon me." She said as she calmed down. "It's just that your judgment of them was harsher than the Emperor's."
"He thinks this is worth salvation?" Nour jabbed a finger at the descriptions of the hierophants, and the sacrifices they made to cast their majiks.
"It's not a question of what he thinks, or what he wants." Callidus said softly. "He must act. No matter how horrible, no matter how cruel, no matter how inhumane the deed may be, he must do it in order to save humanity."
"Save them from what?" Nour asked, and the assassin's green eyes gazed into his brown ones.
"Everything." She said. "The terror. The machine. The mutant. The alien. And of course, humanity itself."
Nour sighed. The assassin was obviously not going to be helpful in figuring out what any of this meant. Further questions would be a waste of time.
His fingers turned the page, and he looked down to the last stand of Shang Khal. The descriptions of events were just as insane as the rest of what he had read, but at least there was a sort of strange metaphoric irony that could be read between the lines.
