Day 23
"Colonel Marcus Agrippa, you and your men have performed your duties admirably in the face of this filth," Canoness Praxiah said, her voice amplified by vox cast. The ceremony had been rapidly assembled on such short notice, held right outside the long field of debris that had once been nine kilometers of tunnel. While all eight of the regiments brought with them were being honored, only the 22nd was present, as it had taken the bulk of the casualties and performed the important task of acting as the anvil for their hammer.
The rest of the regiments, accompanied by a few elements from the Sisters, were pushing towards Janus, forced to march by foot and vehicle due to the enemy having withdrawn its trains at some point, possibly in the effort of ferrying more forces to the conflict. It would be several days before they reached the exit and Janus proper, especially as their speed was slowed from having to check both sides of the tunnel walls for explosives in case their foe attempted to copy their trap.
The 22nd and the bulk of the Cleansing Rains were assembled in the ashen fields outside the tunnels, far enough that they did not have to smell the rotting corpses of the crushed poxwalkers. There had been a rare thinning in the cloud cover, turning the dark sky grey instead of black. Such things were not unheard of but certainly not common on Monstrum and Praxiah had taken it as a sign of the God-Emperor's desire for honors to be bestowed on those who deserved them the most. Only a few Sisters and serviles were elsewhere, cleansing the corpses of foe and ally alike with purifying flames.
And, she was more than willing to admit, these men and women deserved them. Nearly two hundred of her Sisters, including many of even the zealous Repentias, had had their martyrdom postponed for another day through the sacrifice of the Malum Cohorts. It was a shocking display of faith that Praxiah had never seen the like of before. Certainly, she had not expected for not a single one of her Sisters to perish in a battle of this scale and ferocity, but it was these men and women, not even Guardsmen, that had given their lives for the sake of the Order of the Cleansing Rains.
Their faith and ferocity in the face of the ruinous powers was astounding, far beyond any mortal troops she had ever fought alongside before save her fellow Sisters. While she could have slain the daemonhost herself, she would not dare denounce those troopers that had thrown themselves towards it, knowing they wouldn't survive.
They had gone to the side of the God-Emperor, Praxiah was certain.
"For your service and the zeal of your soldiers, you have the gratitude of the Order of the Cleansing Rains and the Imperium," Praxiah continued. She made the sign of the aquila. "While I can grant you no proper honors this day, know that the God-Emperor sees your sacrifice."
Agrippa returned the sign and bowed his head in thanks, saying nothing, a small smile on his face.
"Is that all you have to tell me, my dear doctor?" Ahsael asked the floating and bloated form of Ferrik. The squirming mass of flesh was wounded all across his body, but he bled only a sickly yellow substance rather than true blood as he whimpered pitifully. Nearby, holding the failure aloft with daemonic power, was the host of one of the neverborn that had returned from the battle. It cackled with delight as it felt the soul of the good doctor hovering between realms, already tasting the death that was to come and eager to claim his soul.
"I-," Ferrik's pleas devolved into a hacking cough, though whether it was because of the myriad sicknesses wracking his body or from the wounds that had been dealt to him by unnatural claws, even Ahsael couldn't say. "P-please! My luh-lord!"
"Disappointing," Ahsael said dismissively and waved his hand. The daemonhost was upon him before the sorcerer had even fully turned away, leaving the screaming wretch's body to be feasted upon, as would soon also be the case for his soul as it was cast into the Warp. While none were quite so fervent in their desires as the Neverborn of Slaanesh, most daemons enjoyed the pain and suffering of mortals, particularly those that worshipped the rivals to their own god.
Ahsael sat upon his throne. Where not so long ago he'd had the leadership of the cults present, now only Uirus was present, other than the daemonhost who was even now dragging its blubbering prey into the shadows.
"Are you concerned, brother?"
Ahsael glanced at Uirus, arching an eyebrow. "Do I looked overly pleased to you?"
"Of course not," Uirus replied, bowing his head. "But Ferrik's words of this threat are…"
"Troubling," Ahsael finished. "As disgusting as I find all who worship Nurgle, Ferrik was not an incompetent man. The flaws of his military acumen aside, his plagues should have wreaked havoc across the corpse-worshippers. While I can understand the zealots to be protected by their armor, the rest were mere defense forces. They should be ravaged with disease, yet they continue their march towards Janus even now, all the very picture of health."
"I have heard tales that the power of the Warp suffuses the zealots of the Imperium at times, protecting them from the influence of the Neverborn and our sorceries," Uirus said. "But never in such numbers."
"I do not believe this to be a case of strong faith in a corpse on a throne, Uirus," Ahsael said. He paused, considering for a moment, before continuing. "None of my visions showed such a situation arising on this world. I believe we are betrayed, my brother."
Uirus' brow furrowed at that. "One of the cultists?"
"Not by our servants, Uirus," Ahsael said, shaking his head. "But our masters in the Warp."
Uirus' eyes widened. "Tzeentch," He breathed.
"Perhaps," Ahsael admitted, tilting his head. "The Architect of Fate is as fickle as the Warp itself. But it is also possible one of his brother-gods or another has obscured this future from me. Nonetheless, it is clear to me that we have displeased something."
"The future has always been fickle," Uirus said and Ahsael almost thought the man might have been trying to reassure him, ludicrous as such an idea was. "Our enemies are not so mighty that we cannot defeat them without divining the future."
"You may be right," Ahsael said, pausing for a moment. "But it would be foolish of us to continue without making the proper inquiries. It may be that some daemon or other has muddled the tide of fate to confound us and I would like to know why."
"Such things are seldom swift in producing results, Ahsael," Uirus said, crossing his armored arms. "Our foes are days away from the gates of Janus. While their force is a small one, they have proven their ability to confound greater numbers."
"Do you doubt your own skill as a commander, brother?" Ahsael asked with a flicker of a smile and Uirus tensed.
"Would I not be assisting you in this matter?"
Ahsael shook his head. "I have power enough."
"It is not your power that concerns me, brother, or any other aspect of your skill. It is the Warp's trepidations that weigh on my mind. Ever since the opening of the Great Rift, the daemons have been… excited, like predators drawn by the smell of blood. Old precautions may no longer be enough."
"Careful, Uirus," Ahsael said, his voice growing hard. "It sounds as if you are calling me reckless."
Uirus tensed again, withholding a grimace. Ahsael had no need to call upon his power to know his brother had not intended the slip.
"Apologies, my lord," Uirus bowed his head. "I will trouble you no longer with my questions. Janus will hold for you."
"Good," Ahsael said, his voice taking on a more magnanimous manner as he leaned back in his throne. "I'll also assign Kalak and his horde to protect Janus."
"My lord?" Uirus' tone did not hold the rising anger in him at the thought of the beastman, but Ahsael could sense it, nonetheless. "Why… him?"
"For the same reason I sent Ferrik to attack a city that had managed to survive two attacks that, by all rights, should have damaged or conquered it," Ahsael said, shrugging. "An expendable pawn to be thrown at the enemy so we might learn more of them. We now know our foes have some kind of resistance to the plagues of Nurgle. We must now learn if they are equally resistant to the mad berserkers of Khorne."
"And… if they are?"
Ahsael considered the question. Uirus, though not as powerful a psyker as himself was still a brother of the Thousand Sons and a servant of Tzeentch. Far from making him trustworthy, it meant he was as equally capable of great treacheries as he was of stunning acts of loyalty. If Uirus thought Ahsael was sacrificing him like the Khornate ragers…
"Then you will hold the city until the spires themselves crumble," Ahsael said finally. "Expend the lives of every mortal in that city if you must but hold it for Tzeentch. I do not expect you to die for Janus, but I do expect you to keep both your life and the hive. I will be in communion with the Warp for nine days. Regardless of our foe's strength, I think you can manage such a thing, yes?"
Uirus nodded, both reassured and suitably chastened. "Yes, my lord."
Catherine Ellen rested in her bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling. Her armor had been set aside, inexpertly removed by Purilla, its myriad pieces stacked in a corner of the chamber. Her hellpistol and anything else in the room that was a weapon or might have been used as one had been removed while the Inquisitor slept. Less than a day ago, she'd have been outraged by the action. Now, however…
The door creaked open. It needed to be oiled and the cleaning had been scheduled for an hour ago, but Purilla had cancelled it. Ellen hadn't told her to.
Purilla stepped into the chamber, closing the door behind her with a foot. She carried a tray containing a variety of foods, meats, fruits, and vegetables imported from nearby Agri-worlds years or even decades prior and perfectly preserved through artificial means until they were ready to be served. A banquet the likes of which all but those who dwelled in the highest spires of Monstrum could never dream of seeing, let alone eating. Breakfast.
Purilla asked something, how she was feeling most likely. Catherine didn't listen. She didn't respond. She didn't move or acknowledge the psyker in any way.
Purilla came over to the side of Ellen's bed, setting the tray next to her on the bed. The girl took Ellen's hands in her own, not in a reassuring way but to turn them over and check her wrists for any cuts that may have appeared. First the hand closest, then the other.
Despite her appearance, Catherine's mind was not at rest. The events of the last day and, indeed, the last few weeks were running through her mind at a lightning pace. She was looking for every place where she made a mistake. It was not hard to find them, they were abundant.
She had cried herself to sleep the night before. Her failures had never been more clear and it was a small blessing that she'd rested soundly with no nightmares or dreams of any kind. She wasn't sure when Purilla had left but was certain it was after she'd fallen asleep.
Purilla sat down in a chair she'd dragged forward the previous night. "This is a lot more worrying than the crying," She murmured, though not to herself. She had seen others like this before, men and women who had simply… shut down. Mostly they had been psykers who could not withstand the trials they were expected to survive in order to be sanctioned by the Imperium. They would often disappear overnight, but some would be found dead in the morning cycle, having slashed their own wrists or throats.
I admit, I did not expect her to fall so hard, so fast, Tide admitted, whispering in her mind. She's in a sort of mental loop, reliving her mistakes and failures.
"Can…" Purilla glanced down at the woman, unsure if she should even be speaking to Tide while she was so close by.
Speak freely, if you wish, she is not willing to hear anything right now, Tide stated. Purilla considered the offer but chose to decline it.
Can you help her?
That… depends on your definition of 'help', Tide replied. I cannot just… fix her brain. Or, rather, I am not willing to forcibly reshape her mind from its current state to be what I believe would be ideal. I can keep her from causing herself or anyone else physical harm, but her mind must remain her own.
What about how you showed me how the Imperium was just using me as a tool? Purilla asked, frowning. You helped me and 'reshaped my mind', didn't you?
Yes, and also no, Tide countered. I showed you the truth you were unable to see. You drew the conclusions and changed yourself.
And what's stopping you from doing that to help her?
Your situations mainly. How do you think she would respond if I revealed myself now, as I did to you? That not only were her darkest suspicions regarding organism-04 correct, but also even worse than she had imagined?
You're not trying to destroy humanity, Purilla pointed out.
Do you think she will really care? In this state, she will either go mad with rage and want to exterminatus the planet or sink even deeper into this despondency.
You could stop her.
Easily, she has been Altered, but simply taking control of her body would not help her.
Would… would 'fixing' her really be that bad of an option?
Tide was silent for a time and she thought she might have offended him in some way. She was considering apologizing for even asking, but his voice returned before she'd decided.
It is… not an easy decision. With someone with her authority as not only an ally but a willing ally, we could accomplish much. However, do I have that right? I have intentionally killed before, but only in the defense of my own life or the lives of others, and, in a very tangible way, I would be killing her by tearing out her mind and replacing it with one of my own design. Why should I be the judge of what is right and wrong?
You see the universe in ways no one else does, Purilla said, remembering the glimpses of insight into Tide's own understanding of reality. To see the ruinous powers not only as dark gods but also understand them as what they were, fundamentally, poisons to the universe, to life itself. She shivered, a part of her longing to once more see in a way her mind had never been designed to truly understand. If not you, then who?
Then no one, Tide replied. I do not want to control or rule, I do not want to destroy or kill, I… I…
What do you want? Purilla had never felt Tide so… uncertain before. In many ways it was both terrifying and… comforting. The question was one she had been thinking about asking for some time now. What were they doing? They opposed Chaos and all others who would threaten life, but was it just opposition? What was their plan?
Tide was quiet for a while once more, contemplative. Purilla studied Ellen, who was slowly blinking, entirely unaware of the conversation going on inside the psyker's head. A part of her, a white-hot kernel of rage, wanted to just reach out and wrap her hands around the other woman's neck, to choke the life out of her and send her to her precious God-Emperor. It would be nothing less than what she deserved for all the pain and suffering she had caused, not just to Purilla, but to countless others.
Yet, a larger part of her, the part that was driving her now, could find only pity in her heart for Catherine Ellen. The woman who had failed her troops, her Imperium, and her God, who had spent hours sobbing last night.
It was hard to reconcile those contradicting feelings and she wondered if Tide was having similar thoughts. Purilla was still a member of Ellen's retinue and the woman was an Inquisitor, so she was technically required to aid Catherine in any way possible, even if that was only in name. Tide had even less of a reason to help Ellen, though also less of a reason to hate her.
I want to create life.
Purilla blinked, distracted from their conversation by her straying thoughts. She coughed, more out of an ingrained reaction to covering her physical spluttering than any actual need to, before realizing how silly that was to do, her face coloring slightly.
Pardon?
I want to create life, Tide repeated, seemingly fine with just ignoring Purilla's misstep. I want to bring life to barren worlds and shape new plants, animals, bacteria, everything.
Are you sure you're not a god? Purilla had asked the question, only half in jest, before she could stop herself. Rather than take offense, Tide seemed amused, apparently understanding she regretted her phrasing.
Quite certain, Tide said, and she felt a rumble of his amusement, like the feeling of distant thunder. My phrasing could use some work, I suppose, but my words are essentially what I meant. I want to create all kinds of life, not life controlled by me, but allowed to grow and thrive in freedom, without the worry of it all being destroyed by monsters. I want a galaxy, a universe, at peace, one willing to accept and live alongside an endless variety of lifeforms, be they sapient or not.
His words were accompanied by images, concepts of life far wilder and more extravagant than anything Purilla had ever imagined before. Some creatures were terrifying in their alien appearance, others warmed her heart, some were simply strange and even funny-looking or seemed impossible in their appearance, but all were unique and wonderful. She saw whole worlds that were filled with life, not kept as ordered gardens or harvest factories like Agri-Worlds, but truly free and beautiful.
The images were almost too much for her to fully process, but when the flurry of thoughts and emotions were finished, Purilla realized that there was something wet on her face and she was grinning.
That's… that's nice, was all Purilla could say as she wiped her face of the tears. It was far too simple of a response, but all that she could come up with.
Thank you, was Tide's own simple reply.
Vidriov stepped out onto the plaza of the spire, his auditory sensors picking up the rushing of the wind and, far below him, the clang of Deimos' countless factories, still hard at work even after such a monumental battle. Near him, a pair of servitors carried a large crate between the two of them, nondescript save for the mark of the Adeptus Mechanicus emblazoned on its sides. The spire they were in was one of the center-most that reached past the cloud cover of the planet, though they stood in a section located just below that blanket of smog.
Vidriov took a moment to step out onto the plaza, a rarely visited part of the towers where their work would not be disturbed, and he looked out across Deimos. It was an inefficient world, run by incompetents and failures, infested with corruption of both the filthy alien and foul Chaos. Such a world would, in most cases, be purged via exterminatus had a ship with the capability only been able to be called upon.
But perhaps it could still be saved by the grace of the Omnissiah, rather than cleansed by His wrath.
He sent a silent command to both servitors and they set the crate down, one using the hydraulic claws that had replaced its flesh and blood hands to remove the top, revealing the device held inside. It was a mash of wires and compartments, with four large tubes held in its other sections. The bomb was a crude thing, not born out of a blessed STC or similar record of knowledge from the Golden Age of Technology, but from the combined knowledge of himself, Logis Calarn, and Magos Zalum to fashion something new. There were some in the Adeptus Mechanicus that would have him turned into a servitor for the creation of such a device, but Vidriov knew they were fools who could not see the logic in his actions.
It had been Logis Calarn's report on the effectiveness of those infected with Organism-04 against the forces of the ruinous powers that had driven them finally to action. Organism-04 was a creation of the Omnissiah, a biological machine crafted to guard His chosen against vile influence of Chaos and Xenos. What more proof did they need?
The device was withdrawn from the box and placed on the edge of the plaza. Its weight was all that kept it from being swept off the side and falling kilometers into the city below.
Ten such devices had been created, but more were already under construction in secret laboratories in Deimos known only to those of the Mechanicus. Such devices would not be used to infect Deimos, but the other hives and ensure a stronger world.
Omnissiah damn them if they were wrong.
"For humanity," Vidriov intoned and he activated the device. It blinked active and, after waiting a carefully calculated amount of time, Vidriov applied force to the side via the end of one of his cybernetic legs to relocate the bomb into an area of freefall.
It was 2.7324 seconds before the bomb exploded, though the fire blast was hardly visible from the top of the plaza. There was no visual sign of the spread, but in mere moments Vidriov detected the rapidly increasing levels of organism-04 in the air around him as some of the spores were kicked up. Most, however, were spread out, scattering far.
Elsewhere in the city, in carefully chosen areas, be they central ventilation ducts or above market or even in chapels, the nine other bombs went off. Their explosions were small and would do little damage, if any. With the Imperial Guard's colonels already strong-arming the local PDF and Arbites into joining them to refill their heavily depleted ranks, the city was in uproar and would hardly notice a few tiny explosions, let alone investigate them.
Vidriov extended his mechadendrites, one tipped with a syringe. This action was not a part of the plan, but… Well, he'd already come this far. The others could study its effects all they wished, but Vidriov had faith.
The syringe plucked into one of the last remnants of his flesh, a portion of his left shoulder, which connected to the organic components of his brain via his plasteel-encased spine. The syringe injected a flood of spores and Vidriov gasped as he felt its work almost immediately, dead nerve endings flaring back to life. He might have imagined he could feel it working, moving up and into his spine and brain, repairing old flesh and removing any impurities. His only regret was that he'd cut away his lungs and could not share the Omnissiah's gift as it was meant to be shared.
"Omnissiah, preserve me," Vidriov said and if he still had lips he would have smiled ruefully at the irony of the words and their new, far more literal meaning.
Well, that's not quite my name, but you asked nicely enough.
