Surprisingly, it was Hektor who pulled me from my terrified stupor. Not through any encouraging word or reckless act, no : instead, the World Eater fell to the blood-slick ground, twitching and growling. His weapons slipped from his grasp as he clawed at his helmet with trembling hands, and I realized what was happening to him with a shiver. Somehow, this creature of the War God, this U'Zuhl, had activated his cortical implants, despite the constant flow of Panacea into his body.
The thought that it might succeed in undoing the World Eater's medically-induced restraint chilled my blood, and that was enough for me to shake off the dread caused by U'Zuhl's approach. I stepped forward, breaking the shocked silence that had descended on us all and drawing all eyes (except Hektor's, who presumably were screwed shut under his helm) to me.
"You are hurting my companion," I said, inclining my head in Hektor's direction (I was damned if I was going to take my eyes off the monster).
"He has spurned the Blood God's gifts," it hissed. "Turned away from the Eightfold Path of sacred slaughter by embracing the false peace you granted him using the gift of the Dark Prince's newest courtesan. Now he pays the price for his disobedience."
I let out a bark of laughter, not bothering to pretend it was sincere. Cain the Liberator wouldn't find one of his friends was writhing on the ground, the pain engine in his skull biting at his brain, amusing – and, truth be told, neither did I.
"Gifts ?" I scoffed. "Is that what you call these barbaric implants ?"
"Through them, his bloodline is elevated in the Blood God's eyes," the daemon proclaimed, and there was something of a mad prophet's tone in the nightmare that passed for its voice. "A blessing and a collar, delivered by the Messiah of Blood onto his sons."
"A curse, nothing more, and one self-inflicted through sheer stupidity," I countered. "Hektor told me the story of his Legion, daemon. Nothing forced the War Hounds to mutilate themselves like this, apart from their adoration for their Primarch. I have no idea what Angron was thinking when he subjected his own gene-sons to the same torment he'd endured – I suspect it was his own brain damage at work – but all he achieved was turn an entire Legion of disciplined Space Marines into compulsive killers."
"They gained strength from the Messiah's gift," Skulltaker denied. "Through pain, their minds are stripped of unnecessary distractions, brought closer to the purity of rage where mortal souls are closest to the true state of the universe : conflict, bloody and everlasting."
Madness. Complete and utter madness. But then, only a fool would expect rationality from an infernal minion of the Chaos Gods.
I sighed theatrically. "They murdered each other and abandoned all tactics, leading to them suffering easily avoidable casualties, you mean. But that's enough wasted time discussing the failings of Angron and his sons. You said you've come for me," I challenged it, gesturing at the blood-drenched room, "and yet it is the crew of my companion's vessel who have suffered for your presence. If you wanted an audience with me, there were more civilized ways to get one."
"You have denied the Blood God his due, Cain," said the daemon. "You have shackled His servants among your followers, kept them chained and refused them the baptism of bloodshed time and time again. And so I have come, to give you a simple choice : embrace the Eightfold Path, or be judged through the trial of battle. Either way, Khorne shall have His due."
I wanted nothing more than to tell Jurgen to rip the creature apart with his mind, or to order Malicia to cut in to ribbons. But I held back from giving voice to the command that I knew either of them would obey without question (although for very different reasons).
In Jurgen's case, this was because of the spiked black collar around U'Zuhl's throat. I knew enough about the denizens of the Warp to know that this must be one of the infamous Collars of Khorne, bestowed by the Blood God upon his favored slaves to protect them from psychic powers. As for Malicia, I was keenly aware of the presence of the USA troopers watching the drama unfold with keen interest. Truth be told, if Lieutenant Nathan and his men and women hadn't been here, I'd have been perfectly content with throwing my bloodward at the problem : it was quite literally what she was here for.
But I couldn't, because that would be showing weakness to the Khornates. Which, considering how dangerous U'Zuhl looked, I would ordinarily have been perfectly fine with, if it weren't for the fact that U'Zuhl was a daemon of the troopers' patron god.
I could feel the troopers' hesitation, their sudden doubt at the creature's words. On Slawkenberg, the War God was worshipped by the former PDF as a martial deity, one that prided strength and valor in battle – not the fanatical bloodshed U'Zuhl was preaching. Hektor's own understanding of Chaotic theology was exactly as advanced as you would expect from a man who had put a pain engine into his brain in order to impress a broken madman, so, even though I'd been worried at first, he'd converted to the USA's own interpretation of Khorne without issue.
How much of that had been a genuine change in his beliefs, and how much had been simple pragmatism and not wanting to anger thousands of soldiers in power armor, however, I had no idea. Frankly, so long as he didn't rock the boat, I'd been fine leaving him to his own devices.
But the fact remained that, if I allowed it, U'Zuhl would undo everything I had done to prevent the madness of the cults I'd unwittingly allied myself with from consuming the Protectorate. Worse, if I gave in myself and accepted its thinly-veiled ultimatum, I would start walking the path that led to the vision that had haunted my nightmares for years.
So, once again, I was forced to do something I really, really didn't want to, and which would put me in immense personal danger. Although, for once, it wasn't so much to save my own skin in the long term as it was to save my soul – and the lives of Emperor alone knew how many Imperial citizens, I supposed.
"No," I snarled. "The Protectorate belongs to its people, not to the Gods. The blood it sheds is at my command, not for Khorne's pleasure. The Blood God can either accept that and take the worship he is given, or he can join bastard Nurgle among its enemies !"
I heard the sharp intake of breath through the vox-speakers of the USA troopers' armors at my apparent blasphemy, but I didn't let it stop me.
"I know the War God has been feeding on an orgy of mindless carnage wrought by Hektor's Legion since the Heresy," I continued, improvising wildly, hoping against all hope that my web of lies wouldn't collapse now and leave me alone and surrounded by madmen. "Ten thousand years of brutish slaughter, driven onward by the bite of the Nails. But I will not partake of that same poisoned cup which has corrupted Khorne and stripped him of all honor ! We fight for Liberation, for the freedom of all Mankind from the Imperium's tyranny and the Lord of Decay's corruption !"
I sensed the shift in the USA troopers as they listened to me. Their posture straightened as I shamelessly called on their military pride. Those of them who had been alive during the Uprising had joined the cause to protect their people and avenge the many wrongs they had suffered, and those who had come after had done so after having been exposed to the Liberation Council's propaganda for years, if not their entire lives in the case of the youngest. They fully believed in the lie of Cain the Liberator, and I had no issue using that to keep them from becoming the kind of blood-crazed lunatics the Ravagers had been by the time they had died on Adumbria.
I had made my case, dropped my challenge. Now all I had to do was survive it.
"You spoke of a trial, didn't you ?" I swept my chainsword through the air with a flourish, ending the movement with the blade aimed straight at the daemon. "Very well. Let us begin, then. The sooner this is over with, the better."
U'Zuhl made a sound which might have been laughter, and then it leapt at me, and I was stuck in the single most lethal duel I'd ever fought in my disreputable career as an unwilling enemy of the Throne.
From the first clash of our blades, I knew with absolute certainty that I couldn't defeat U'Zuhl through mere martial prowess. Even with my power armor augmenting my strength far past the limits of my human flesh, the daemon was taller, larger, and stronger than me. And unlike Malicia or Hektor during our practice sessions, it had no reason to hold back against me.
In addition, U'Zuhl didn't fight like a mortal being, or at least not a sane one. It spared no thought for defense, focusing instead wholly on the attack, on tearing me apart with that baleful blade it wielded. Any human duellist using such a fighting style would have been eviscerated within seconds of the battle's start had they faced anyone but the most inexperienced of novices, but the daemon's sheer speed and power made it impossible for me to take advantage of the holes in its guard. Instead, I had to draw on every bit of experience I had from my regular sparring sessions with the likes of Hektor and Malicia, whose physical abilities far surpassed mine, just to stay alive.
After several seconds of increasingly desperate parries, blocks and dodges that turned the two of us round and round in the small arena that had formed in the desecrated chapel, surrounded by our respective escorts, an idea took root in my mind. My previous encounters with powerful Neverborn had shown that they were capable of something mimicking emotion – and the battle against Hash'ak'gik had proven beyond doubt that they weren't beyond being manipulated by a mere mortal either. Maybe, just maybe, if I could force U'Zuhl to make a mistake by losing what passed for its temper, I just might have a chance of surviving this.
"You know," I gasped as I barely parried another blow that would have taken my head clean off, "I've just realized something. You are afraid of Akivasha, aren't you ? That's why there was another breach in the Enginarium. You knew she was coming with us, and you were afraid of facing her. For all your words about honor and glory, you cower from any fight you can't fix."
"The Vampire is not my prey," it hissed. "She and her kind are of no particular interest to the Blood God. Their war is over, and the part they have to play in galactic history would be nothing but a footnote if not for your interference."
"Sure," I laughed, putting as much mockery in the sound as I could manage. "Keep telling yourself that. I'm sure the rest of Khorne's hunters will believe you, and not think you were afraid of her."
"I fear nothing !" it roared. "I am the dread that stalks the cowardly, the bane of the weak and the death of the false !"
My provocation had worked, but it wasn't giving me the opportunity I'd hoped for. Instead, U'Zuhl redoubled its assault, forcing me to give ground. Soon, I'd find myself with my back against the wall with nowhere left to go, and then it would only be a question of how many seconds I could keep my skull where it belonged.
I was going to die, I realized. This creature, this daemon of the God of War to whom countless heretics across the galaxy had sold their souls, was going to kill me, and the entire USA would fall under its influence. My imagination provided me with an image of crimson killers in power armor reaving their way across the Damocles Sector, slaughtering billions in the name of mindless carnage.
In the years to follow, I would never know whether the sudden surge of rage I felt at the thought was caused by U'Zuhl's infernal aura, or a perfectly natural response to my situation. What I do know is that, as it descended upon me, it made me consider a course of action so risky, I'd never have thought about it if I'd been in my right mind.
As I caught another blow that would have cleaved my head from my shoulders on my chainsword, I deliberately let go of the weapon. The moment it left my hand, U'Zuhl's black blade bit into the metal and cut right through the whirring chainblade, sending the pieces hurtling along the floor. Something like surprise flickered across its face, and in that briefest of openings, I drew the overly decorated bolt pistol that hung at my hip and aimed it straight at its skull, nearly point-blank.
We froze, like two actors in a mummer's play when a displeased troupemaster calls for a pause because one of them flubbed his lines.
"Fool," the Skulltaker hissed through needle-point teeth. "Do you really think a mere gun will be enough to defeat me ?"
That was a painfully good point. I dredged through all the forbidden lore I'd unwittingly absorbed through my long association with the likes of Krystabel and Jafar, searching for any straw to grasp to. And, thank the gods, once again inspiration struck me like a lightning bolt from Jurgen's hands.
Symbolism. Symbolism was key. A single daemon's power, once manifested in the Materium, could vary wildly depending on the circumstances. The same creature which could withstand artillery shells without harm due to how removed and emotionless the weapons were would be much more vulnerable to swords and flamers.
"The first time I held that weapon, I used it to kill a tyrant who thought he could force his will upon my people in the name of his god," I told it. "And after that, I used to execute a man who thought he could reduce war to butchery and earn honor and glory through sending others to their deaths."
I drew on all the skill at deception I'd cultivated over my years of serving as the Liberation Council's figurehead to project an image of absolute confidence and certainty. When it came to the Neverborn, and the Warp in general, perception shaped reality. Right now, U'Zuhl was being perceived by myself, but also by everyone else in the chamber. If I could persuade our audience that what I was saying made sense, then maybe, just maybe, if I understood the unholy metaphysics at play correctly, I just might stand a chance of surviving this day.
And if I didn't, if I was completely wrong, then at least I wouldn't spend my last moments of life in undignified begging. Not that I wouldn't have gone down on my knees and grovelled if I'd thought it'd make the slightest difference, but it was rather obvious the Skulltaker wouldn't have been impressed.
"Now here you are," I finished. "Trying to compel me into turning my comrades into butchers, in a vain attempt to earn glory through massacre. What do you think is going to happen when I pull that trigger, 'Skulltaker' ?"
The daemon cocked its monstrous head to the side, considering my words. I followed its move with the barrel of my bolt pistol, my finger tight on the trigger. To my own amazement, my grip on the weapon was perfectly steady, my hand entirely free of the shaking I'd have expected from the level of abject terror I was experiencing.
"No," U'Zuhl snarled, after what felt like an eternity. "I shall not accept this !"
Then, lightning-fast, it moved, bringing its sword up to strike at my heart. On reflex, I pulled the trigger, and the bolt shell pierced through its red eye and detonated into its skull right as the blade was starting to pierce through my armor.
The daemon's body was blown back by the strength of the detonation. Even though my shot had decapitated it, I still heard it scream as its body dissolved, its essence dragged back into the Empyrean until all that was left behind was U'Zuhl's black blade, laying across the deck from where it had fallen after coming so close to killing me. I took a deep breath, not quite believing that I was still alive, then noticed that the rest of the Bloodletters were still here, and looking very ticked off (although I struggled to imagine them with any other kind of expression).
"Oh, nads," I muttered under my breath.
For the first time in years, the Nails were pounding, pounding, pounding in Hektor's skull.
This close to Skulltaker, they could no longer be silenced. The Panacea injectors around his wrists were still working, but this was more than a physical pain : this was a divine punishment, levied against him by the Herald of Khorne for his perceived transgressions.
He had forgotten how painful it was. After ten thousand years, less than a decade of blessed relief had been enough for him to forget.
No, he realized dimly through the red fog of agony. He hadn't forgotten. His eidetic memory wouldn't let him, damaged as it was by what the Nails had done to his brain matter. He had merely suppressed the memory, for the sake of his recovering sanity, the same way all remembered pain faded from the human mind with time.
But now, the pain was back. It demanded that he kill, that he spill blood and claim skulls in the War God's name. That he surrender to the crimson haze of rage and agony. He could feel the impulse to stand, to leap at the very companions who had come with him into the depths of the Worldwounder in order to satiate the never-ending thirst of the Nails with their blood.
No. No, he wouldn't. Never again. No matter what it took, no matter how much it hurt, no matter whether it displeased Khorne or not. He would not go back to the mindless brute he had once been. He would rather die, and as the Nails bit deeper and deeper, seemingly responding to his defiant thoughts, he felt as if he very well might, though he knew from his experience languishing in the fields at Skitterfall's gates that the Nails could never actually kill their host, merely make them wish for death.
Slowly, his muscles twitching, Hektor pushed himself off the deck, but not to leap at his allies and start butchering them to appease the Nails. Instead, he kept his gaze resolutely fixed toward the center of the room, where Liberator and Skulltaker were battling.
Hektor had heard U'Zuhl's name before. In the Eye of Terror, the names of the Dark Gods' most infamous daemons were passed around warbands, as potential allies and (far more often) enemies to avoid. The World Eaters had less time for such gossip than the rest of the Nine Legions for obvious reasons, but the legend of the Skulltaker had still spread within their ranks.
Chaos Lords beyond number had perished under Skulltaker's blade, yet now, Hektor watched as Cain held his ground against Khorne's Executioner, but despite his prowess, the Warmaster was forced to give ground time and time again. It seemed that Cain's death was inevitable, and through the pounding of the Nails, Hektor despaired that the time he'd spent in the Protectorate might have only been a brief, wonderful interlude in the end.
And then he watched as, against all sense and reason, the Liberator defeated the Herald and sent it howling back into the Sea of Souls, putting it down with a single bolt shell as if the daemon was nothing more than a mad dog.
The pain of the Nails faded away, grudgingly diminishing like a retreating tide as the World Eater's bracers injected him with more Panacea to repair the damage they had inflicted on his brain. He shivered in blessed relief as clarity returned to his sight, just in time to see the rest of the Bloodletters charged at Cain, howling oaths to Khorne that Hektor instinctively understood despite having no idea what infernal language they were using.
Without missing a beat (indeed, if anything he seemed annoyed more than anything else) Cain kicked the black sword of U'Zuhl up into the air and snatched it into his free hand, and the blade ignited with warp-fire the moment his hand closed around its hilt.
Hektor rose to his feet, chainaxe roaring, and leapt to the Liberator's side, joined by Malicia, Jurgen and Suture. Sorcerous lightning crackled overhead as Lady Van Yastobaal unleashed a spell on their foe, quickly followed by a volley of las-bolts as the troopers opened fire.
Then the Bloodletters were on them, and there was only the rush of close-quarters combat. As he fought, Hektor saw Cain wield Skulltaker's blade, the Slayer Sword which had claimed the lives of so many of the Blood God's enemies, as easily as he did the chainsword the World Eater had seen him practice with so often since joining the Protectorate.
Truly, thought Hektor as the last of the Bloodletters was dispatched, the Liberator had earned the favor of the War God this day – proving his worth not through worship and submission, but through martial prowess and courage. And with it, he'd proven too the superiority of the path he'd chosen for the USA; the path of honor and triumph over that of mindless bloodshed.
After all, as Hektor knew all too well, power was the only currency that truly mattered when it came to the Dark Gods.
U'Zuhl fell through the Sea of Souls, burning and howling in rage and thwarted bloodlust. Never before, in all the uncounted ages of his service as Khorne's Executioner, had he been defeated by a mere mortal.
Much to his chagrin, U'Zuhl was forced to admit that it had been surprised by Cain's prowess. One of the many gifts the Skulltaker had received from its master in order to fulfil its duties was the ability to sense the weaknesses of any combatant he faced, so long as they had earned the Blood God's displeasure.
That gift had utterly failed the Executioner when it had faced Cain. The Skulltaker wasn't sure whether that had been because the mortal was still favoured by the Lord of Skulls, or because of the strange shadow that covered his entire existence. But even with that boon denied him, he should still have triumphed over Cain – would have, if not for the trick the man had pulled at the last moment. He yearned to call it dishonorable, but the mere fact that it had worked and the bolt shell had unmade his corporeal form instead of bouncing harmlessly against his head was proof that Khorne had approved.
After an interminable descent, U'Zuhl essence came to a sudden stop in the Formless Wastes. Had a mortal mind been able to witness the scene without immediately going mad, they might interpret it as a crimson meteor falling from the skies and slamming into the ground, before a fuming Bloodletter wearing a cloak of skulls crawled out of the crater.
U'Zuhl would have to make the trip back to the Skull Throne, fighting his way through the throngs of daemons and damned souls waging endless war in Khorne's shadow, so that he could present himself to his lord and answer for his failure. His clawed hands closed into fist on reflex at the thought, and his rage burned even hotter at the sudden realization that the Slayer Sword, another of the Lord of Skulls' gifts to him upon his ascension, was gone, left behind in the Materium as a trophy for the one soul who had defeated him.
A shadow fell upon U'Zuhl, and he looked up from his empty hands to see a tall, lithe figure with emerald eyes and flowing black hair.
"Emeli," the Herald of Khorne snarled, recognizing the creature from the many battlefields of the Great Game.
"Skulltaker," the Daemon Princess of Slaanesh hissed. "You tried to kill my beloved Ciaphas."
"I did." U'Zuhl wouldn't lower himself to lie, even to a spawn of the Dark Prince, and he most definitely would never beg. "Did you really think you could protect him forever ?"
"You fool. He doesn't need my protection," she spat. "I merely give it to him because I love him. He beat you without my intervention, did he not ?"
"He did defeat me," U'Zuhl admitted, though it burned it to its core. "And in doing so, earned a reprieve, and the token of my power I left behind as his rightful reward. But so long as he rejects the Eightfold Path, the Lord of Skulls will keep sending challengers his way, until he kneels or dies."
"I know. Already, Khorne is orchestrating a trial at the foot of his throne to determine who will follow up on your pitiful attempt on my beloved's life. But whoever they are, they will fail too."
"Such faith. Such certainty. Tell me, whore-princess, before we get to it : what is it that you see in this mortal to cause such devotion ?"
The daughter of the Youngest God smiled, and despite everything it had witnessed, U'Zuhl felt a twinge of apprehension at the sight. He had fought countless Slaaneshi daemons before, and witnessed the depravities of the Silver Palace itself during one of the Blood God's attacks upon the domain of his rival, but he'd never seen any of the Dark Prince's infernal choir show that kind of expression.
"I see someone worth loving, little killer," replied Emeli. "Now, it is your turn to answer a question of mine : who sent you after him ? I know the strength of the little void-queen's ship. Its wards wouldn't have parted to allow you and your coterie passage so easily, not without the intercession of some mortal conjurer to facilitate it."
U'Zuhl exposed his teeth in a threatening snarl.
"If you want to know, then you will have to force the answer out of me."
Emeli was still smiling, but her expression was now one U'Zuhl was much more familiar with.
"I was hoping you'd say that," she purred. "I have a lot of frustrations I need to work out."
When the nearby cogitator started beeping in alarm, Killian was in his office aboard the WUN-13's research facility, looking through Magos Galerion's latest reports. He immediately put down the data-slate and turned on the shrilling cogitator, using his credentials to access the station's network.
Within moments, he had accessed the station's auspex. The long-range scans had detected a single ship appearing at the system's Mandeville point. A few typed commands focused the auspex array on the unknown vessel, revealing its identity : the Worldwounder, flagship of the Van Yastobaal Dynasty and scourge of pirates across the Torredon Gap.
Well. That wasn't good. Killian's first thought had been that one of the other Directors of the Bloodied Crown had managed to locate his base of operation and was dropping in to intimidate him or steal his work, but this was much worse.
He hadn't heard anything from the psykers he'd sent to Sanguia with orders to kill Cain several weeks ago, nor had he received any transmission from the Chairman or the Ripper General. It was clear now that they must have failed, for the Black Commissar was there. But only the ship of his pet Rogue Trader was visible on the auspex : he must have left the rest of his fleet behind, or perhaps they had been lost to the Warp while their master rushed to claim the Shadowlight.
Killian didn't know how the arch-heretic had managed to discover his location – his best guess was that the assassins had betrayed him, or that Cain had offered sacrifices to the Dark Gods in exchange for the information. But regardless of how the Black Commissar had found out, he still needed to deal with the situation.
His Righteous Punishment was in the system, waiting for its master's return. The ship could escape WUN-13 without being caught by the Worldwounder, so long as the heretics focused on the station – but that would mean leaving Galerion's research behind. Even just moving the Shadowlight to the ship would take time : there were procedures required to safely transport it without its carriers dying horribly, and none of those had been kept ready to use. A quick mental calculation told Killian that, by the time the psychic amplifier was safely aboard His Righteous Punishment, its odds of escaping the Worldwounder would be unacceptably low.
The good news was that the heretics were unlikely to simply blast the station apart with the cruiser's weapons. Having survived uncounted aeons of erosion and geological pressure, Killian didn't doubt for a moment that the Shadowlight would survive such a thing, but the heretics might not know that, and finding the device in the rubble would be difficult. Which meant that the Black Commissar would launch boarding parties, and would probably lead them in order to claim the honor of seizing the priceless artefact himself (as well as the prestige of killing Killian with his own hands).
There was a small security force on the station, of course, but it was meant to deal with escaped test subjects. Secrecy had always been Killian's best defense, it was why he had gone to such lengths to hide the location. That only left one option to the Inquisitor, distasteful though it was.
With a muttered curse, Killian opened a vox-channel to Galerion's laboratory.
"Magos," he began without preamble, "we've been discovered by heretics, and are about to be boarded. How quickly can you get your latest project ready for combat ?"
AN : I hesitated about whether to give Cain the Slayer Sword or not after discovering that Skulltaker's weapon is a named artefact in the lore. To decide, I consulted the Trinity of Tenets :
1) Does this make Cain more powerful ?
2) Will this cause Cain problems in the future ?
3) Will this make Cain more stressed ?
If at least two of the three Tenets are correct, then that's a good sign that the idea is a good one. In this case, 1 and 3 are certain, and I'm sure I can figure out a way to make 2 come true as well, so here we are. Looking at the most recent rules for the weapon in 40K (thanks to the Internet), the Slayer Sword is powerful, sure, but not game-breaking, which seems in line with its (admittedly rather limited) lore.
Next chapter, the attack on the Shadowlight research station. Surely nothing will go wrong !
As always, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and look forward to your thoughts and comments.
Zahariel out.