A/N: Chap 22 review responses are in my forums as normal. Thank you to all who read and reviewed.
Chapter Twenty-Three: Et Percutiam Aegyptum
Four Valkyries dropped down through the open core of Dalet Spire. In ancient days, she now knew, the spire used to be called the Bostan Arcology. It was, Thenes showed them, the only spire that had direct air access to the underhive.
And so they went.
The Arbites were so short-staffed that Lyta rode co-pilot with her chosen transport. Behind them in the troop cabin, Lord Phaelias was speaking to his retinue–one of whom included an Adepta Sororitas who had a habit of staring at Lyta with murder in her eyes.
Through the canopy of the gunships, Dalet Spire rocked and burned with heresy and sedition. She doubted every one of the millions she saw crowding the streets were, in fact, traitors. But enough were that it no longer mattered who was innocent and who was guilty. The entire spire was lost to the corruption that seemed to be dragging all of Terra into the pit of damnation.
And I'm damned along with them. Her thoughts continued to spiral between all she had learned, and the dogma that had shaped her life up to that point.
The Emperor once walked among men, but then and always has been a god. And as a god, He has always been humanity's one true god.
She now knew, with absolute certainty, that the Emperor did indeed once walk among them, and was always a god. But he was not alone. He was not the one true god, because He himself acknowledged Telos' sanctity. He aided her church. And that knowledge was a heresy that made her heart ache and her mind spin. What was the connection between the Emperor of Mankind and Telos?
The crusader, Skeld, wanted her dead as if the Sororitas could see Lyta's heretical thoughts.
With her helm on, she keyed an old vox secure rune into the vambrace of her power armor, trying to remember a channel not used since she was a child. In the display within her helm, she saw runes flitting by as the old security code was accepted.
Seconds later, she saw a small projection within her helm of a familiar face–one dominated by augments in the right eye and jaw. Old Goern the Seneschal stared back. "Lord? Little Lyta?"
"What is the status of the Archduchess?" Lyta asked.
"The Archduchess and her immediate family and council have evacuated to the family hab on Bet Spire. She continues to press for assistance from the Imperial Palace. The spire structure is redlining."
Duty warred with itself, but inside something felt different. It felt as if the imposed voice of orthodoxy had been shunted far away. She could still hear what she had to do, but the conditioning felt distant and less compelling. In any other time, it would be sufficient for her to seek a mind-wipe or face corruption charges.
That voice was telling her that she needed to order her sister, cousin and aunt to fight until they died in the Emperor's name, because that was what all servants of the Imperium were expected to do. And yet, she simply couldn't bring herself to do that. She didn't want to.
"No help is coming, Goerne. This isn't just Terra, my old friend. This is across the entire Imperium. No help is coming. On behalf of Lord Moro, I am ordering the Archduchess and all she can take with her to evacuate the city for orbit."
"My lord…my dearest Lyta, are you sure?"
"If they stay, they die for no purpose. This is my order, Goerne. Tell her I will remain in the hive to defend it with my last breath, but the Archduchess and the rest need to flee."
The ancient servant blinked his rheumy organic eye, and wiped away a single tear. "It shall be as you will, Lord. May the Emperor's light guide…" The signal ended.
"Power failure past level forty," the pilot announced. "Lost all signals from upper levels. Going to external lumens."
"Belay that," Lyta said quickly. "Go to false color and infrared. Don't make the ships targets."
"Confirmed," Kurzmann noted from another of the four Valkyries. "Go to false color and infrared. No externals."
"Acknowledged," the pilot said. "Rigging for stealth flight."
The canopy went black, and then flashed red with infrared and thermal passive scopes. This deep into the spire, most menials were the poor of the poor, barely eking out a livelihood on processed starch as they slaved away for fifteen hours a day in whatever manufactoria would take them.
She could see them, crowded desperately along the edges of the open-air markets and arteries, seeking some light from above.
"Watch for falling bodies," another pilot Lyta did not know reported over the vox. "We've been hit twice."
"Attacking?" Lyta asked.
"Jumping or pushed off," came the terse reply.
As soon as the pilot explained, she saw. In the IR and thermal displays of the canopy, it appeared to be a scene of nightmares as bodies fell around them with increasing numbers. The artifice of the valkyrie's machine spirits were such that she could make out individual faces–menials caught in the rictus of fear, or acceptance. Some fell almost with grace, arching their backs and falling head-first, while others flailed about in terror.
Some had the twisted mutations of Warp contamination.
"Emperor's light preserve us!" The pilot sounded as shocked as Lyta felt.
"We continue," Phaelias declared from the back. "In His name, we continue!"
Something hit their Valkyrie–Lyta did not need her power to know what it was. The pilot cursed under his breath and tried taking the ship into the more open core, but this deep the center of the Dalet hive had a column of hab units that were connected to the outer walls by dozens of arterial pathways, most for foot traffic.
In normal conditions, the passages were still more than open enough to permit air traffic. At any other time, Ministorum dirigibles would be flying in the space, projecting messages of faith and fidelity to the crushed masses in the lower hive.
But now? Now, bodies seemed to be falling from every one of the long, arched arteries that connected the core column to the outer walls of the spire. More and more bodies, as if…as if…
"This is an attack," Lyta realized. Common sense and Warp-infused intuition arrived at the conclusion simultaneously. "This is the chaos sorcerer's doing!"
More bodies struck the Valkyrie. Not with explosive force, but with enough force that each blow strained the thrusters and pushed the ship a little further off course.
The rain became a shower. Lyta began reciting the old prayers she learned as a child. I am weak. He is strength. In Him, I am strong. I am imperfect. He is perfect. In him, I am perfected.
But in her, I find hope.
The last was not part of the liturgy. It came to her without conscious thought, as if inserted by another mind that sounded just like her own thoughts.
The shower became a deluge. Alarms began to sound as the sheer weight and density of the falling bodies of the spire overcame the gunships.
"Valk 3, port thruster failing. Suspensors overloaded!"
From her co-pilot's seat, set behind and slightly above the pilot's seat, she used the gunship's auspex to view Valk 3. Bodies struck it like a constant percussion as its starboard thruster flamed out before the constant rain of flesh.
From the now constant thudding and the stomach-churning drops she felt, they were not far off.
Kurzmann's voice boomed through the alarms. "Lower inter-spire artery is half-klick, 260 mark down 20. Burn for it!"
Lyta's pilot did just that, and more. The density of falling bodies was so bad the pilot opened up with the ship's lascannons, trying with limited success to burn a passage through the deluge of lost humanity. The bodies were falling so quickly even with infrared and thermal, they were flying nearly blind.
Valk three, already barely in control, slammed into the rockcrete frame of the arterial opening in a burst of dirty-orange flame. It terrified her that she couldn't remember if any of her team were on that ship.
The rain of bodies came to an abrupt end as the three gunships entered the lower inter-spire artery between Dalet and Gimel spires. The artery itself was easily a hundred meters wide, providing dozens of artery lanes stacked on top of each other and spinning off in various directions for the flow of materiel and food to the billions of hungry mouths within the hive.
Only thirty meters of open air existed, however, making for a very tight fit for the three gunships.
The machine spirit's auspex within the valkyrie was powerful enough to extrapolate their relative position even without satellite positioning using Thenes' last data burst. And according to that, they were fast approaching the Gimel arterial ramps that would either lead up, or down. Like all the spires, Gimel possessed vertical rails for mass transit, but like everything else those systems were down.
She wasn't sure the valkyries could fit into those tunnels.
The question quickly became moot.
"Holy throne!"
The pilot pushed down on the control stick, sending the Valkyrie into a dive the tunnel simply shouldn't have had the clearance for. The alternative, though, was worse.
Lyta remembered watching void ships crashing when the warp storm first struck Terra. It should not have been a surprise, given Botan's heavy void traffic, that such a disaster would strike here as well.
The arterial passage ended in a twisted string of crushed rockcrete clinging to broken, bent girds of adamantine steel built to withstand millennia. The collapsed ceiling forced them down into a crater dug deep into the hive structure, undoubtedly killing hundreds of thousands instantly. Every surface she could see was burning.
How could Lord Moro possibly survive this?
"Lord, mark 25 down 32."
She followed the pilot's direction and saw, to their right and down, a gaping maw in the fire. The explosion had exposed a deep arterial passage that didn't appear on Thenes' maps. "Go, slowly," she ordered.
The pilot obeyed, and the two other surviving Valkyries followed as they flew into the crater left by the crashed void ship. According to the auspex readout, they were only a dozen or so levels above the foundations, near the mid-way point between the spires.
Lyta wondered if some great enemy had directed the void ship on purpose.
The tunnel was smaller than what they just left, but had no arterial lanes that she could detect. In fact, it looked ancient and completely unused, with only a thick layer of debris, dust and water or sewage running through its center.
"This is going to be tight, hang on," the pilot warned.
They moved almost at a hover, going slow in the utter darkness of the passage. The sensorium of the ship's auspex reached out as far as its machine spirit permitted, but it was still limited.
When the DF-0 Shade came into view, partially crashed into the ancient rockcrete wall, she knew even without seeing the Inquisitorial seal on its black hull that this was Lord Moro's ship. "Take us down, we've found his ride," she ordered.
"Taking us down," the pilot confirmed.
Pings echoed from the other three Valks. The tunnel was not large enough for them to land side-by-side, and so in a line the three Valkyries settled into the filthy, wet floor of the tunnel.
"Stay with the ship," she instructed the pilot. "See if you can maneuver the ship around for faster egress. Just in case."
The pilot didn't wear a fully enclosed helmet, being an arbiter as much as a pilot. She saw the wry twist of his mouth. "Just in case. Aye, Lord."
When she reached the cabin, the side door was already open and Caligus, Phaelias and Skeld were already out. "Where is Dalamar?" Phaelias was calling.
"He was on Valk 3, Lord," Skeld answered. She also had her Sabbat-pattern helm on, securing her power armor against the untrustworthy atmosphere of the tunnel. "Along with Noode and several of our troopers."
"Blast it!"
Lyta looked around to confirm where her people were, and caught a glimpse of pale hair in the flood lumens of the lead Vaklyrie. "Maerya! Wait!" She rushed around the nose of the lead ship in time to see Maerya stepping into the open hull of Lord Moro's shade. The smaller gunship bore signs of exposure to fire, with the hull rippled in some parts from extreme heat and bolter fire.
Lyta followed after the pskyer, but stopped at the door.
Lord Moro lay just inside. His legs were gone, burned off at the knees by some terrible flame. Somehow, he lived, and was whispering something to a teary-eyed Maerya. Swollen eyes looked over Maerya's shoulders and widened when he saw Lyta.
"Rothid," he croaked in a choked voice. "Lyta, flee. It's a trap. For you."
She didn't have time to process that, not before a massive first struck her. It was not the blow of the fist, though, which sent her flying across the tunnel. No, it was the blue etheric flame that the touch unleashed. Only the hexagrammatic runes of her armor saved her life.
The far wall broke her fall; and likely her ribs as well. She collapsed to the filthy muck of the tower floor and desperately tried to breathe as the world narrowed. She managed to look up in time to see the crusader, Skeld, charge heedlessly with power sword, bolter and faith.
What she charged was a nightmare. The sorcerer wore Astartes armor, striped with bright colors that glowed in the tunnel as if radiating their own power. Blue and green flickers of plasma played about his entire form, as if he were a living power blade. He carried a staff that shimmered with the unholy symbols of his unclean master.
Skeld fired her bolter, but her shells impacted against a shimmer in the air, while the sister carried no such protection. The monster waved his staff and intoned words that made Lyta's ears bleed.
Skeld imploded. Balefire flashed within her core, and in an instant she ceased to be. She never even managed to cry out.
Phalias fired an archeotech plasma weapon that seared the air. The sorcerer easily redirected the fire, but his return strike hit a shimmering field that protected the lord inquisitor.
The demons struck from the shadows all around them. Three monsters of neon-pink flesh, a giant mouth on legs, charged into the Inquisitorial forces. After their recent fight with a different breed of demon, Lyta felt some small sense of pride that Artigan overcame his shock and belted out orders. One of the demons ignored the scrambling Ordos troopers and lunched directly for Philias. The Lord Inquisitor turned his plasma pistol to the near threat, only for chaos fire to fall on him. He wore a refractor field, but the power of the sorcerer quickly overcame it.
A giant in unadorned black power armor surged from the shadows with a sparkling crozius as large as Lyta.
This time, it was the sorcerer's turn to go flying. However, unlike Lyta the monster held sway over the elements. He stopped mid-air, righting himself and rising higher. He slashed with his staff and sent a devastating psychic bolt at Caligus.
The custodes somehow dodged it, and fired a bolter gun the size of a mortal's leg. The shell hit the sorcerer's field and exploded with blinding light; and under that cover Caligus charged to get another hit with his crozius.
The sorcerer surged to the side, moving through the air in a shimmer of warp power. The shimmer ended abruptly, and the sorcerer dropped to the muddy tunnel floor with a startled, angry cry.
Eta Bequin, one-armed, as slim as a stick and still pale from her recent injuries, sprinted right behind the chaos sorcerer. She made no effort to attack or strike, but instead used her sickening pariah aura to disrupt the sorcerer's connection to the warp.
Doing so enraged the monster. He roared and raised not his staff, but his bolter. But Caligus was so impossibly, amazingly fast. The custodies almost blurred in Lyta's teary-eyed vision as he used Eta's null field to attack, as if the two had trained for just such a maneuver. The crozius struck down with unbelievable power. It didn't sever the sorcerer's staff arm. It crushed the limb off, ripping flesh with utter brutality.
The sorcerer shouted profane curses that unleashed a storm of fire. Caligus again moved with blurring speed. The lead valkyrie behind him had no such luck. The ship vaporized under the etheric blast of energy the sorcerer shot, as thoroughly as if struck by a capital ship macrocannon.
Eta tried another pass, but this time the sorcerer expected her. He spun around with his intact hand and back-handed her. It was an off-angle blow, merely a fraction of his strength, but more than enough to crumple the young pariah.
But it opened a very small window for a breathless, agonized Lyta Rothid to charge with the point of her power-blade directly into the sorcerer's armor. The power blade bit into the armor with a flash of etheric energy, and then plunged into the warp-corrupted flesh within.
The sorcerer tried to strike her back, but used an arm that didn't exist and instead just sprayed blood on her armor.
Directly over her head, Caligus' crozius struck the sorcerer's helm from his head and sent the monster flying. Lyta's sword was jerked from her gauntlets as Caligus' blow sent the sorcerer cart-wheeling backward. This time, impaled by a power sword and with one arm, the sorcerer did not arrest his flight with warp power, but crashed with a splash into the ancient sewage.
Lyta fell to her knees, still struggling to breathe, and waited for the next blow. The sorcerer slowly picked himself up and ripped out the blade with his remaining arm. Behind them, Artigan led a valiant defense in destroying those demons the sorcerer was able to summon, rallying the surviving Ordos troopers and arbiters from his and Phaelia's retinues.
Nearby, Eta tenderly climbed to her feet, swaying and clutching her remaining arm to her side as she stumbled out of the filthy water.
Instead of attacking, the sorcerer turned and began walking unsteadily into the shadows of the tunnel.
"He'll be back," Caligus said. "You are injured, Interrogator?"
"Broken ribs, internal bleeding," she admitted. "The last one hurt me worse. Bequin?"
"I just hurt," came the quiet response.
Behind them, the weapons fire tapered off. She could hear Artigan taking a roll of who was left. Lyta tried to stand, but her knee gave out. She tried again, and this time regained her feet. Gingerly, she made her way over the slimy, wet surface of the tunnel. With the immediate threat in retreat, she became more conscious of how the sludge sucked at her feet with each step. In some areas, she sank down to her knees.
Finally, she reached the shade. Within, she found Maerya right where she left her, sitting by Moro's side. She'd provided him water, and surprisingly, he was eating a protein bar. Lyta removed her helmet to speak, wincing at both the effort and the thick smell of decomposition within the tunnel.
"Lord, what is your status?"
"I'm shorter," Moro said with a dry, humorless chuckle. "He didn't dare kill me, not until he had you. He won't stop until he's dead; we'll need to remain on guard."
Artigan made his way over, stepping around the huge bulk of Caligus. Phaelias' thin assassin in cameoline armor followed.
"Lord Moro," Artigan said, gasping. "The hab citadel was destroyed."
"I know, Rael," Moro said. "I was returning to the citadel when Zhaena warned me. By then, the warp storm had fallen across Terra."
His tired eyes drifted back to Lyta.
"I found the book," she told him. "I saw. I saw the Emperor as he once was, fifteen thousand years ago, during the Dark Age of Technology. I heard him speak. Lord, was that the same book once held in Malcador's vaults?"
"It was gifted to Gallent Sidozie by the Sigillite as he sat the Golden Throne for the Emperor," Moro said. "And Sidozie passed it down to his successors who continued to follow the Sigillite's true orders, even if the Inquisition itself turned away."
"To keep Taylor Hebert from falling to Chaos," Lyta said. Pieces began to fall in place. "The acorns. There were two–one went into the stars. The other…"
Moro slowly reached up to his exquisite rosette. The skullform in the center was oddly smooth, and like all of the device was of a golden color. He removed it from his armor and turned it around.
Lyta's ribs kept her from sucking in a breath. In the back of the rosette, she saw that the skull form was laid over the surface of a simple, golden acorn. "Lord?"
"This was Sidozie's own rosette," Moro. "For ten thousand years, it has been passed from Inquisitor to Inquisitor. My own master passed it to me, as hers passed it on before. It's yours now, Lyta."
"Gallent Sidozie. He was killed by his fellow inquisitors for heresy," Caligus noted.
Moro seemed to notice the giant in armor for the first time. "You are the custodian, Caligus. I received word of you."
"From whom?"
Moro smiled wryly. "From fellow servants. On my life, Custodes, we serve the same master. I will gladly die for my Emperor. But don't you see? Saint Telosia was reputed as a healing goddess. She could heal anything, it was said. Even the soul. All of the myths and liturgy of her church spoke of her power to restore. She can heal the Emperor. She can restore Him! Even the Sigillite himself said as much. Against that hope, I have spent almost three centuries fighting. And now I pass it on to my interrogator. Take the rosette, Lyta. It is yours now. It has always been yours."
She took the arcane device gingerly, careful not to touch the acorn itself. "Lord, do you know where the trees are?"
"Abrin, Lyta. Or, Brin, I suppose. And I do. Your grandfather showed me sixty years ago, when I first visited Terra."
Behind her, Eta Bequin began to pray under her breath.
Lyta looked back down at the ancient rosette. She wondered if Malcador himself had once held this very device. Did he craft it himself? Was this actually the Sigillite's before he gifted it to Sidozie?
"It resonates," Maerya said. She cradled Moro gently. "The moment you took it. I see now. My lord was right–it was always for you."
"What will I see?"
"The truth," Maerya said. "As terrible and wondrous as that truth might be."
As much as her chest and ribs hurt–as much as her head throbbed with the abuse and her eyes pulled with exhaustion–she did not hesitate to take off the gauntlets of her armor. "I've come to far," she said, as much to herself as anyone.
With her bare hands, she rubbed her thumb over the acorn.
As she began to fall, she heard the echo of a spirit. A machine spirit.
She lived.