Student Eshu Orun had trouble eating. Every meal smelled like burned flesh to him. Not a pleasant smell. In fact, he had started to avoid the mess hall altogether. Too much noise, too many voices. He would grab small portions of bread and eat them in the solitude of his room instead. That was against the rules, he knew that, so he would make sure to force himself to go through additional physical training in order to cleanse himself. Unfortunately, that wore him out even more. In fact he had to constantly pinch himself during theory classes. They had fewer and fewer of these, and only those students that passed the trials of compliance were present. Shango was notably absent. Eshu blinked and pinched himself again.
"It is said that heresy is like a tree," Abbot Aquiness was saying, "Its roots lie in darkness, while its leaves wave in the sun. You can snip away its branches, cut the tree to the ground, but unless you burn the roots, it will remain." The old silver haired woman, a retired member of the order Sororitas, looked over the students. "As Commissars, you must remember your prime imperative. Before inspiring the troops, keeping up morale or helping the officers, you must keep a watchful eye and strangle any roots of heresy before they take hold in the regiment that you were assigned to." Everyone nodded. In Eshu's honest opinion, Aquiness could be a bit more focused on the spiritual element of the Commissarial duties. Not that it was a bad thing, he quickly thought, making a mental prayer. "Now," the Abbot continued, "can anyone recount to me the signs of heresy that all Commissars must be on the lookout for?"
A few hands went up. Aquiness picked one: "Agemo."
"Blasphemy against the God Emperor and any Imperial Saints, defamation of the Imperial guard and separatist behaviour." The student said, reciting the lesson from memory.
"Careful Agemo. You are correct that all of these constitute heresy but I was referring to more obscure practices relating to spiritual rather than political fields. Anyone else? Eshu?"
"Symbols and regalia that are not part of the Imperial standard or local regimental history." Eshu said, trying to force his brain to remember. "Uhm… overt signs of mutation and perversion of the sacred human form?"
Aquiness clicked her tongue: "Again not incorrect but superficial. Usually when such signs start to appear in mass, you have already failed in your duty. No, the signs are far more subtle, more insidious. Consider the following: a group of Militarum veterans form a battlefield brotherhood, dedicated to martial prowess. Do you act?"
Most students shook their heads.
"Very well. Next, this brotherhood starts asking to be deployed on the frontlines more often and prefers using melee weapons instead of the standard issued equipment. Do you act?"
The students exchange glances. "Don't we want the troops to be on the frontline, ma'am?" Asked Agemo, uncertainly.
"What about when they start committing ritualistic sacrifices?" Aquiness asked. When no one answered she signed: "This is the problem with heresy, students. It starts off as a minor thing, perhaps positive even. But the road to damnation is filled with good intentions. Never forget that in your line of duty. Be ever vigilant."
It crossed Eshu's mind that if they knew more about the dangers of spiritual heresy, they could identify it easier and faster. He quickly discarded the thought. The Abbots knew what they were doing and besides, learning about heresy was dangerous in itself.
"We're finished for today," Aquiness stated, matter of factly, "remember to return the last papers on tomorrow and again, congratulations on having passed your trials. In just a few weeks you will be assigned to different corners of the galaxy under tutelage of senior Commissars. Do not forget our lessons while you're there. Dismissed."
Eshu saluted with the others, then left the lecture hall. Just a few days before he would leave the only place he ever knew. People are usually sad about things like that, right? All that Eshu could feel however, was a certain numbness.
"Hey Mister standard haircut." Eshu turned at the familiar greeting and saw Shango. Still dishevelled, still sporting those cornrows.
"Hey Shango. Are you… alright?"
The tall student scoffed, patting Eshu on the head: "Course I am! Now come on, let's have a meal."
"I'm not-" Protested Eshu but Shango was already on his way to the mess hall.
"Come on, you look like you could eat an entire Grox. Besides, it's probably the last time you'll get to enjoy my irresistible company before getting shipped off into the galaxy."
"Shipp- Wait Shango, you're going there too, right?"
Shango didn't answer and kept on walking.
"Shango, you did your compliance test right? You had to. Shango?"
Shango slowed his pace so that Eshu could catch up, but he remained silent. Eshu felt a chill running down his spine.
The mess hall was half empty. Most students either already ate or had firing practice that tended to go well into the afternoon. Shango handed Eshu a plate full of greens and grabbed another one. They sat at an empty table. Shango started eating like he was famished.
"Alright," Said Eshu, voice hoarse, "So you didn't do the trial. That's not a problem, right? I mean they probably just decided to give you some punishment and let you retry later?"
Shango shrugged: "I meant what I said before, Eshu. Don't really want to be a Commissar after this."
Eshu stared at his plate, avoiding Shango's gaze: "How can you say that? I mean it's an honor! You can't just refuse that! Not after we've been preparing for it our whole lives!"
"Sure, but is it what you want, Eshu?"
"Yes!" Eshu said, now looking directly at Shango. "I want to be a Commissar! I want to be a hero!"
Shango smiled: "Well, that's great! You're more determined than I am. But… I'm not sure that heroes do what we're taught to do."
Eshu shook his head: "No, that can't be right. I mean Cain and Sebastian Thor and all the others- they all went through what we are going through, right?"
"Did they ever shoot-"
"Yes!" Eshu nearly screamed, causing the other student to turn: "by the Throne, yes! And I'm sure it hurt! But they knew, understood that sacrifices needed to be made if we're to survive! This galaxy is full of terrors, Shango, and we're the first and only line of defence between them and Imperial citizens!"
Shango answered with silence and ate quietly.
Eshu breathed in and out: "Alright, so you don't want to be a Commissar. That's fine, I'm sure I can put in a good word. Master Leontas knows how good you are at the firing range, maybe you can be reassigned to be a stormtrooper!"
Shango smiled, his smile distant: "I wish I had your optimism sometimes. Can you promise me one thing?"
"Yes?"
"When you're out there, don't shoot your friends."
An easy promise, Commissars weren't supposed to have friends. Not within the regiment they're assigned to anyway. Eshu nodded, more confused by the question than anything.
"Thanks," Shango grinned, then glanced at the exit "well I shouldn't keep you."
Eshu looked at his untouched plate then back at Shango: "Weren't you the one who said that I needed more calories, or something?"
"I said that you looked like you could eat an entire Grox. But alas, even great minds can err."
Eshu narrowed his eyes, he couldn't recall the last time Shango admitted he'd made a mistake. "What are you-" He stopped as Shango turned to look at the entrance again. This time he grimaced.
Eshu followed his gaze and saw a group of students entering the mess hall. His undergrads. One of them turned and locked eyes with Shango.
"You really should go." Whispered Shango.
Eshu blinked: "What, why?" The students started making their way towards the table. One of them pulled out a las pistol.
"Eshu, you don't want to be here for this." Shang said softly.
Eshu froze. He couldn't move.
Shango didn't look at the approaching undergrads, instead he studied Eshu. Finally he sighed.
"Alright then."
The Students stood behind Shango. One of them started saying a condamnation, the same one Eshu had muttered a few days ago.
"Would you do another thing for me?"
Eshu didn't answer, staring wide eyed at the scene before him. He couldn't look away. The undergrad aimed the pistol at Shango's head.
"Get a real haircut would you?"
Red light. The smell of burned flesh. A scream.
—
Eshu ducked, momentarily blinded by nightmares and the incoming fire. Why now of all time? Couldn't he sleep in peace like all the other troopers? Could he wake up normally for one damned day? He jumped behind a control panel as bullets pelted off it. An ork with an oversized rocket at his back continued blasting the control panel, seemingly more interested in the destruction the weapon caused than Eshu's location. He didn't have time to enjoy himself as two las rounds pierced his head.
"Welcome to the command deck, Cadet!" said Major Rudi. He was behind the recaf machine taking pot shots at the greenskins.
"Still not sure I should be here sir!" Eshu yelled back, grabbing hold of his- no, Hartmann's chainsword. His mentor had lent it to him before rushing down to help with a breach on the lower decks. Another ork, armed with a machete, lunged at him. Eshu barely had time to get the sword into a defensive stance, a poor one by any standards. Before the ork had time to go for another swipe, his arm exploded in a now familiar blue light.
"You're acting as a replacement Commissar, keeping me in check!" Farrah parried back, taking cover behind another control panel. "Rudi, the vox?"
"Tusi got it out when those bastards br-" The major didn't get to finish his as another hailstorm of bullets ripped the recaf machine apart. Farrah cursed and fired back. Eshu took a breath and dashed out of his cover towards the nearest ork.
The last few days had started to seem like a kaleidoscope to Eshu. The promise of help from an unknown entity, the uptick in Ork assaults, the constant nightmares. Tired didn't begin to describe how he felt. He swung at the ork who parried the feeble strike. Of course. Eshu's left arm was too weak to properly swing a chainsword on its own. Eshu dodged, dancing away from the xenos blade. Angry, the ork dashed after him, only to explode in blue light. Well, at least he could prod them long enough and let the Colonel shoot them. Eshu proceeded with the tactic, dancing, jumping and parrying what strikes he could, drawing attention away from people that actually mattered. He set himself into a rhythm: strike, jump back, parry, wait for the blue light, repeat. Strike, jump back, parry, wait for the blue light, repeat. Strike, jump back, parry, wait for the- light?
An overwhelming light flooded the ravaged room and a few seconds later, the entire world shook as the wave of the explosion swept the Gargant. Eshu stumbled, but for once kept his balance. The Ork in front of him did not and fell to its feet. Before Eshu could think, he instinctively swiped down at the enemy, cutting it in half. Maybe he could still get some mileage out of his one arm.
He turned to observe the room. The invading orks, which made their way through the roof after overwhelming the sniper teams, were dead. The ones still on the roof were pushed back by the Shahbaz. More importantly, Eshu could see a mushroom cloud of an explosion in the distance. That was an orbital strike, aimed at the green horde rather than the Gargant. Which meant…
"There's an ancient tale on my planet," Noted Farrah, standing next to Eshu, "You probably heard one like it before. It's about a wise bird, which darkens the sky when flying, offering its magical feathers to those in need." She smiled, after seeing Eshu's quizzical stare. "This Simurgh could live for a millenia then be reborn anew from its ashes. Sometimes I tend to compare our regiment to it. A flock of immortal and wise birds."
"I thought you compared it to a village." Said Eshu, trying to decide if that folk tale was against Imperial orthodoxy.
"An entire village of very wise birds then." Farrah answered, grinning. "And I'm the loudest of them all."
"Not the wisest?"
She laughed at that. "Ask Chalci about my drinking misbehaviour during Indomitus. I am many things cadet, but wise isn't one of them. In any case, we should go greet our saviours. Once they deign to descend from the sky."
—
Hartmann stumbled trying to regain his posture and aim at the greenskin. He could see more light, filling the corridor. Another explosion. Their saviours, whomever they were, were quite liberal in their use of orbital bombardment. Not that Hartmann could blame them. The entire continent was filled with Greenskins. You could aim in any direction and still hit someone. Hartmann pushed his thoughts aside and aimed his bolt pistol at the Ork. A clean shot, split the xenos' head. Hartmann could only make clean shots nowadays, given the amount of ammunition he had left. In truth he should've switched to a las pistol years ago: though weaker, it could be recharged by simply leaving the las pack in the sun for a few hours. But there was something satisfying about a bolt pistol that Hartmann couldn't explain. The kick he felt after pressing the trigger, the sound of the bolt exploding in the target's head, the sheer power of it, the authority it provided. Hartmann had rarely needed to resort to summary executions while serving with the 36th; after all, men could hardly run away from the enemy when the enemy was on all sides. Indeed the Elysians often fought like caged beasts, determined, if irreverent of the masters that put them into said cage. Still whenever the need arose to bolster morale through extreme means, Hartmann felt that he needed the bolt pistol: executing a soldier with anything less seemed wrong somehow, disrespectful of the service they had accomplished. A silly ritual, but then again, Hartmann was a man of such rituals if anything.
"Good shot sir." He heard from behind. Sergeant Chalci was standing near him aiming down sight at the corridor, with her hellgun.
"Take point, sergeant." Commanded Hartmann. "I'm nearly out of ammunition as it were."
"Don't think that'll be a problem for long." Noted the red haired trooper, who still obeyed the command. She was probably right, but Hartmann didn't want to find himself unarmed.
Methodically, they moved through the narrow confines of the Gargant, clearing one corridor after the next. Every few minutes another explosion could be heard in the distance. Finally, they emerged in the Lift room, occupied by the remaining sentinels and more Elysians. Hartmann breathed out. It seemed that this deck was clean of infestation. Lieutenant Boiko waved to him, looking clearly bored as she couldn't use her sentinel for much in this cramped space.
Chalci took a moment to look at the porthole in the wall and whistled: "Damn, they really went all out." Hartmann followed her gaze and saw the entire horizon covered by mushroom clouds.
"Looks like they created a circle of fire around us."
The sergeant nodded, looking impressed: "That should keep the Greenies from getting reinforcements. Sweet Throne, I love when the navy actually helps us."
Hartmann was about to comment about the responsibility of the Imperial navy, when he noticed a bright light coming from the sky. Another orbital barrage? No, it looked like the retro burners of a ship. Or rather…
"Look! A drop pod!" Hartmann pointed at the sky despite himself.
Chalci squinted her eyes: "You're sure? Looks more like a ship to me."
"A ship doesn't move that fast." Retorted Hartmann. "Only a drop pod of the Adeptus Astartes could descend this quickly." Of course any ship could theoretically do the same, but only Space Marines could survive the overwhelming force of gravity during orbital entry.
Chalci frowned, an expression replicated by most troopers. Hartmann understood. After being left to die by the Sons of Medusa, the Elysian rank and file was naturally distrustful towards the Emperor's Angels. A sentiment he nearly fell into during his drunken weeks. Well, he would have no more of that.
"Troopers!" He bellowed, loud enough for the whole deck to hear. "Our salvation comes at the hands of Space Marines! Leave all doubt and fear behind on this gargant! Today our duty is at an end thanks to the Astartes!"
The troopers bellowed a weak affirmative. Hartmann grimaced and was about to continue, then something else caught his eye. The shape of a drop pod became visible in the sky as he predicted. Strangely it was bigger than the usual model Hartmann had seen, equipped with long prodrudding claws that scraped the earth as it landed before the Gargant. Hartmann narrowed his eyes. Though difficult to distinguish at this distance, he could see the insignia on the drop pod. He didn't recognise it. An obscure chapter perhaps? The doors of the drop pod opened and Hartmann gasped in shock.
For its inhabitants were a far cry from Angels.
—
Eshu was on top of the Gargant's head, fighting the remaining Orks, when a drop pod landed right on top of it. He barely had time to get out of the way as its claws slammed into the scrap metal and attached itself to the Gargant like a parasite. He had to steady himself with a chainsword and nearly fell off the structure all together. Regaining his balance, he looked at the drop pod confused. It had no aquila nor any other Imperial sign that Eshu was used to. Instead it was painted in red, adorned with gold trims that run down its claws. The foreign symbols were confusing to look at and made his head turn. What… What was that?
The doors of the drop pod slammed down and a figure walked outside. He was big, twice as big as Eshu, who couldn't help but be intimidated.
"Greeting Sheeps!" The Astartes proclaimed in a feral tone. He was clad in white ceramite armour, chinked and weathered. His neck was adorned with talismans and amulets of various sizes. One of his Pauldrons was painted in crimson red, with a black hand in the middle. He held a greatsword, as big as a man against his shoulder. Most striking however was his face. Paler than most Elysians, he had braids of blond hair and a bloody cloth covering his eyes. How could he see anything in this? Despite this impediment, Eshu felt as if he was piercing him with a feral gaze.
"So you were the one that called us? To save you from…" He spread his hands in a derisive measure, "...this?"
"Y-yes?"
The Astartes snorted: "Pathetic! I was hoping for a proper offering to the gods! But all I see are miserable Xenos not worthy of my blade!"
Wait. Gods? Before Eshu could process the implications, another ork with an oversized rocket on his shoulders shot into the sky, then straight at the Astartes. The Space Marine didn't bother dodging. Instead he yawned and swung his sword in an arc above his head. The ork didn't have time to change his trajectory and the sword, simmering with energy, cut the xenos in two clean parts.
"This is asinine!" The Astartes complained as his armour was showered in black alien blood. "They don't even have proper souls to offer!"
"And yet offer them you shall, Master of executions." Another voice from the drop pod interrupted him. The first Astartes turned, scoffed again, then nodded and made his way towards the shoulders of the Titan, where the Shahbaz was still fighting the orks.
"He is getting more unruly by the day." Noted the second Astartes. That one was even more imposing and Eshu gasped as he made his way out of the drop pod. Much like the pod, his armour was crimson and black with gold trim. It was however much more ornate. Intricate symbols covered him and rich cloth hung at his belt. Three human skulls, with rubies in their eyes adorned one pauldron and an old tome, with indecipherable writing, was attached to the other. His face was concealed by a jet black helmet, with two long golden horns protruding at the sides. He exuded power, opulence and strength all at once. And none of the symbols were imperial.
It couldn't be.
"He is a son of Fenris, my lord." A third voice, more subtle and melodic. "Unruliness is part of their rugged charm I believe." The third Astartes was the least memorable. Wearing simple red armour, overlaid with white cloth hanging from his shoulders he was unarmed. The only strange thing about him was his face. Bald and perfectly chiselled, it was covered in strange tattoos made out of written lines. The only exception was his left eye around which a great burn mark imprinted itself, almost akin to a brand.
A Space Marine couldn't turn traitor right?
"You're… the Angels of the Emperor." Eshu mumbled, more of a statement than a question.
The second Astartes actually laughed. "You take me for a corpse worshipper? I knew the Imperial guard was suicidal but I don't remember them being idiots."
"Technically, we were all at one point." Said the third man amicably. "We just moved beyond it."
"Mortal!" Barked the second Astartes, their leader it seemed. "Where is your commander? I will not waste my time on frivolities and guard stupidity!"
"That would be me." A quiet voice behind Eshu stated. The Colonel. When did she climb up here? "Colonel Farrah Zal of the 36th Elysian regiment."
The leader of the… Heretics, as there was no other way to call them, tilted his head. "You? Where are your medals? Your military honours?"
The Colonel shrugged: "They only made me into a target."
The Heretical leader scoffed: "Afraid of being a target? Yet you weren't afraid of calling me a bastard! Fine then. I am here, make your case. Why should I save you and yours?"
Eshu grew pale. This… this was something he had to stop right? This was treason most foul. Making any deal, even talking to heretics was punishable by death. But the only judge present was too frozen to act. Not to mention a horrible shot.
Light rain started dripping on the surface of the Gargant.
—
Hartmann dashed across the stairs of the Titan. This was hell, no worse than that. Their saviours had turned out to be daemons, lusting after the souls of good men and women. Death was preferable to that, always. But would Farrah see it?
Of course she would, he thought angrily. He just needed to make his way to her. Perhaps if they were quick enough they could organise a defence against both the alien and the heretics. If not…
Hartmann felt the detonator in his pocket. It was still there. For days he had carried it, always reminded by its weight of the option that the Colonel had granted him. A final salute. A good, quick, honourable death for the regiment. He fumbled in his coat and pulled it out. Still working. Good. They still had a way out. He just needed to find Farrah.
Hartmann made his way across the upper chest of the Titan. Running past the troops who were looking with awe and apprehension at the arriving troops. Chalci and her squad still followed him, though they didn't understand his panic. He had no time. No time to explain that the Emperor's Angels were, in truth, as fallible and as corruptible as any guardsman. No time to explain what the perfidious forces of Chaos truly were. No time to explain how exactly he knew the symbol of the Red Corsairs, a dangerous warband of renegades that made the nearby Maelstrom their domain. No time for anything but duty.
He made his way across the corridors and stairways, old bones aching at the titanic effort. Higher and higher. The former medbay, still bearing the scars of combat. Corridors painted with alien blood. The head of the Gargant where they spent so many days and night planning and arguing, now destroyed. She wasn't here. Major Rudi stood near the hatch which led to the outside. He tried stopping him. Hartmann tossed him aside and climbed up. He could feel the rain on his face as he climbed. Higher and higher, he had to-
She was kneeling before the Chaos Lord.
No.
"Your loyalty and service," The Chaos Lord said.
No, no, no.
"In exchange for the lives and safety of your troops."
"NO!" Hartmann yelled.
She didn't turn to look at him. Instead he heard her voice. Soft but determined.
"Deal."
"Deal." Echoed the Heretic.
Hartmann's heart stopped. As a Commissar, it was his duty to watch for the morale of the regiment, its discipline and loyalty to the Emperor. He had failed at all three. His worst nightmare played before his eyes, a thousand times more horrible than he could've imagined.
Farrah got up and looked at him: "Heinz."
"You can't," He said hoarsely.
"It's the only way."
Hartmann shook his head, "No, Farrah, there is another." He pulled open the detonator. She didn't move.
"I am sorry," Hartmann muttered, "for failing you in my duty." He closed his eyes and pressed the trigger.
Nothing.
Hartmann opened his eyes and stared at the detonator in disbelief. He pressed it again. Then again.
Nothing.
Farrah Zal smiled sadly: "And I'm sorry for lying. Heinz come on, we can still make it out, together."
Tears ran down his face. She never trusted him with the lives of the regiment. She never placed the explosives to begin with. Those tears back then, they weren't for her men. He thought numbly. They must've been for me.
Somehow this revelation hurt more than her betrayal of the Imperial creed.
The Chaos Lord scoffed derisively: "Is this how you treat mutineers in your regiment? By patting them on the back and offering them sweets?"
"All men have their uses." Farrah answered, still looking at Hartmann. "And I am not in the business of wasting lives."
"I like her already." Chimed in another Heretic, a bald man.
The Chaos lord sneered: "Of course you would. I am growing bored of this charade. Kill him. This is my first decree for you, Guardswoman."
Farrah didn't move. Hartmann could see Eshu in the corner of his eye, hand on the chainsword, terrified. He could count on the cadet, perhaps other more loyal members of the regiment like Raam. He couldn't save the Colonel but perhaps he could save the soul of this regiment.
"Heinz-" Farrah started.
"I'll save you the trouble." Hartmann said, voice gravelling and reached for his bolt pistol.
"Don't make me do this."
"Then, stay still Farrah." He said, unholstering his weapon. "You have done enough, old friend."
Eshu tried to jump in, but he was tackled by Sergeant Chalci. Other troopers aimed their weapons at Hartmann but Farrah stopped them with a gesture.
There was no hint of a smile on her as he started aiming. Her face didn't budge as he fired his pistol. She didn't cry out as the shot went wide and missed her face. Her eyes, her bright blue eyes, spoke of sorrow as she aimed a plasma pistol at him.
As Hartmann felt the heat, and the light eating away at his body he was suddenly forced to admit to himself a simple truth.
He had grown old.
—
The Murderer stood before the corpse of her comrade, rain running down her cheek.
"Is there anything else you wish of me?" She hissed with venom at the armoured figure. "Spit down on the image of the Emperor perhaps?"
Lord Kalico scoffed and turned looking at the horizon: "Hardly. Keep your faith, Guardswoman, I care only that you keep serving me. Get your men ready, the thunderhawks should land soon."
The Murderer nodded but kept staring at the corpse. She could hear the muffled cries of Eshu Orun, dragged away by the troopers.
"My condolences for your sacrifice." A honeyed voice spoke at her side. The other Astartes, the man with letter tattoos. "If you ever need new gods to curse at, my chapel is always open."
"What would you know of sacrifice, Heretic?" The Murderer growled.
"Much and little. I think that's the case for most people. Everyone knows of sacrifices. But each one is so personal that you can never truly know what it's like for others."
The Murderer looked back at the Heretic. He bowed.
"I am sorry, that is not what you wish to hear. I will offer you this: they will try to take your heart away, Colonel. Never let them."
"Why should I listen to you?"
The Heretic sighed: "You probably shouldn't. Most people don't and are better for it. Truths often hurt after all."
He bowed again and left, leaving the Murderer alone with her dead friend. She got on her knees and touched the corpse. She closed his eyes and whispered words only she could hear.
Then she got up.
There was a regiment to be saved.
—
Eshu was bound in ropes, and dragged to the ships by people he used to call friends. As the engines of the crafts roared to life and defied the gravity of the planet, he took one last look at Sarduriade, his vision blurred. Shame, anger, and guilt all burned and he was on the pyre. But whatever came next, cadet Eshu Orun knew one thing with a painful certainty:
He would never be a Commissar.
THE END OF PART I