XX. LAST / FIRST
Brother-sergeant Archetus waits.
His proud warriors – the Space Marines of the third founding, the scions of Guilliman fighting on the spear point of the Magellan Campaign for the Emperor's domains in this benighted sector of the galaxy – are waiting with him.
And when he strikes his next blow, it will leave a whole world reeling.
/
Far and wide away, the last lights of Barcados' ruined coastline twinkle wanly, as if trembling before the God-Emperor's might. But here, before the sprawling edifice that was once this planet's rule-hearth, all is darkness except in the visor displays of several Space Marines.
'I don't see any threat markers around the place,' Archetus notes in a calm, measured voice.
'Neither do I, brother-sergeant,' Bao Er, his second-in-command, confirms. The frost-tempered Bohai native has been clasping his treasured chainsword at the ready ever since the Astartes left the dead coast hours before.
'Which was to be proved. Our enemies are inside, then,' Dje Kwan, another hard son of the White Waters, barks. 'Cowards all, as I thought. Believing they can hide from the warriors of the Ice Throne!"
'Not for long,' Brother Attikus chuckles and strokes his flamer.
/
'We are the predators that lurk in your seas', Archetus begins.
'The scourge of the alien, the bane of the unloyal,' his warriors echo back through the vox.
'We are the Aquamarines!' the sergeant finishes their Chapter's motto, and in response, his men bang their fists against their chest-plates.
'Squad Zell, on my mark.'
The ten warriors with their sergeant's personal heraldry etched onto their helms, break cover and charge as one.
Beyond the threshold, the darkness like ink-black silk lies in wait for them.
/
Inside, there reigns a hellscape of beautiful slaughter.
Undaunted, his squadmates stride forth right through this unbelievable nightmare, killing the last living cultists mewling for succor of their vile god, naked bejeweled fools in an abattoir of twisted desires.
But the true foe remains well-protected, well-hidden.
Brother-sergeant Archetus learns this as he battles his way to the top.
By the time he reaches the former lord-governor's rooms, Archetus' armour is scratched with gilded-ebon claws of his attackers, and his helmet is nearly split in two, making the visor blurry with static.
He wrenches it off, revealing his face for the first time since the landing.
He is young, a second-generation Primaris whose likes are deeply revered in his war-ravaged Chapter. A lean, swarthy face under a neat line of close-cropped black hair, one half of his skin a diagonal tattoo depicting an intricate web of green waves. None other warrior in his Chapter, no matter what worlds they hail from, can boast anything quite like this pattern. After the decades of battles, it is already crisscrossed with many scars, and every mark left by his foes added a new layer of complexity to his noble features.
/
And there, in the grand room, his current enemy sits. Swathed in the paltry shreds of a ruler's gown, as tall as a brother Astartes, six-limbed and glistening with fragrant oils, it hurts Archetus' eyes to look at it, and almost makes him weep for its loveliness.
'Well-met, the last son of Ardemis', it greets him, the lilting voice coming from different angles at once, high with the music of delightful agony and bringing with it melodious rhythms of the waves from his forgotten birth-planet.
'You are mistaken, monster. I hail from Tokelau-Elima,' the Space Marine growls, not taking his hate-fuelled gaze off the foe.
'A gross lie, my sweet,' the presence singsongs. 'The world of your birth was destroyed by the same Chapter you think you belong to.'
'No!' Archetus roars. 'No, it cannot be!'
'It can, handsome one, and it is.' The entity laughs like a devilish girl. 'How coarsely they butchered your homeworld! How brutish they fought its men and beasts alike! Its oceans running crimson with the blood of the slain by the time they had finished.'
'That was a heretics' world,' the sergeant insists. From below, he can already smell the acrid smoke of purifying flames: Brother Attikus finally got to his work.
'And yet you bear the name of its lords, Archetus Zell.' The horrendously beautiful thing whispers it as if to a lover long-lost. 'The first Aquamarine to be told the truth. The last of the bloodline, the only one left to avenge its demise. And then, only then,' the monster smiles broadly, showing ideal rows of tiny pearlescent fangs, 'I will allow you to kill me as you like.'
The warrior halts, breathing heavily.
He abhors this infernal being with every cell of his body. He should resent it. He must fight.
He is of the God-Emperor's paladins, and must uphold his principles no matter the cost.
And yet, here and now, he yearns to know the truth.
'Oh, I shall kill you, unholy one,' Archetus growls at last. 'Have no doubt of this.'
'To return into the realm of my master by your own hand will be ecstasy most pure, my brave.'
Archetus grits his teeth and makes his decision.
'Now, show me,' he dictates.
'With pleasure, my loveliest,' the daemon sighs and reaches for his face.
/
Brother-seducer Archetus waits.
His allies – the children of pleasures unfettered, the maids of the God of Excess whispering bittersweet secrets into the ears that listen – are waiting with him.
And when he strikes his next blow, it will leave a whole world reeling.