half by a burst of gunfire, was still twitching. His movements were halted as a heavy armoured boot
slammed down on its head, crushing its skull like a nut beneath a hammer.
Machion-Dex lay on his back, his breath coming in short gasps as he stared up at the terrifying
figures. Each was massive, their every movement filled with power, and their inscrutable, Heresyera
Astartes helmets extensively modified to make them all the more fearsome in appearance. One
had been fashioned in the likeness of a snarling daemon, and others had fierce sets of curving horns
and tusks that gave them a brutal, barbaric look.
One wore no helmet at all, but its true face was far more terrifying than any of the helmets. The
left side was a mess of scar tissue and augmetics, and its skin was so pale as to be translucent; blue
veins could be seen within its flesh. A lidless, baleful red orb had replaced its left eye, and an
infernal glyph of the ruinous powers was emblazoned prominently in the centre of its forehead. The
figure snarled down at him, lips pulling back to expose sharpened teeth.
“Area secure,” growled one of the warriors, and the one standing over Machion-Dex nodded, not
taking his eyes from the procurator.
“The location of the target will be found here, Enslaved?” he said over his shoulder, his voice
filled with power and authority.
“That is correct, Marduk, First Acolyte of the Word Bearers Legion of Astartes, genetic
descendant of the traitor Primarch Lorgar,” replied Magos Darioq in his monotone voice.
“Then let’s get this done,” replied Marduk. He stepped towards the cowering form of Procurator
Machion-Dex, and looked down at the terrified man.
“Do you need this one?” he asked over his shoulder.
“His continued existence is not required in order to retrieve the information held within the
logic-centres of this installation,” replied the magos.
Procurator Machion-Dex gasped and began to scramble backwards, desperate to get away from
the image of death looming over him.
9
Marduk’s bolt pistol was levelled at the procurator’s head and he froze.
“No,” begged the man. “Omnissiah, protect your servant.”
Marduk smirked.
“Your profane god does not heed your ay, heathen,” said Marduk. “You have devoted your
entire, pathetic, worthless life to the worship of a false deity, a silent, profane image of the
unbelievers. I will show you the path to the true gods. In death, you will bear witness to the glory of
the true gods. They will feed upon your soul, and you will cry out in your torment. Embrace it, little
man. Embrace your damnation.”
He shot the procurator in the head, and blood and gore splashed across the grilled floor. “Glory
be to the true gods,” declared Marduk.
Marduk stood with his arms folded, deep in the bowels of Kharion IV. He stood upon a grilled
gantry within the hollowed core of the asteroid, a massive pillar of machinery rising from the
roughly hewn floor before him, glittering with lights and dials.
The magos stood before the humming pillar, fluid leaking from the severed input-jacks in his
spine. He was connected to the pillar by the one mechadendrite tentacle that had been re-grafted to
his body, and his pallid, dead lips twitched as he extracted information from the heart of the
installation’s data-library.
At last, the flexible tendril was retracted, and Magos Darioq jerked spasmodically as the
connection was severed.
“Well?” growled Marduk.
“I have disabled the automated defence system that protects the installation,” said Magos
Darioq, “and initiated the self-destruct mechanism, so that our presence will not be transmitted to
the god-cogitators of Mars.”
“Good,” said Marduk. He grabbed the waving mechadendrite tentacle with a violent motion and
gave it a solid wrench. It was ripped from the magos’s spinal column, writhing in his hand like a
serpent. Darioq twitched, and milky liquid seeped from his mouth.
“You have the information we need?” asked Marduk, ignoring the mixture of blood, oil and
protein-fluid that dripped from the thrashing mechadendrite onto his boots.
“That is correct, Marduk, First Acolyte of the Word Bearers Legion of Astartes, genetic
descendant of the traitor Primarch Lorgar,” replied the magos. “I have identified the location of the
one in whom the forbidden knowledge of xenos tech devices is installed. With this knowledge
obtained, Darioq will be able to unlock the xenos tech device.”
It was an odd quirk of the daemonic essence growing within the magos that he had begun to
refer to himself in the third person. Marduk found this amusing, but at this moment he was
concentrating fully on the words of the corrupted magos.
That the magos had not been able to unlock the device himself was infuriating, but it seemed
that he could do little other than find the one of whom it spoke.
“Where?” snapped Marduk in impatience.
Beneath the surface of Perdus Skylla, tens of thousands of people surged down access tunnel 25X1,
a never-ending stream of humanity, desperate and fearful.
They were crushed together like animals being led to the slaughter, and the air, stale and hot,
was filled with shouts and curses.
Mothers clutched wailing children to their chests, and men barked at each other, pushing and
shoving. Some stumbled and were trampled underfoot, while others were pressed against the
rockcrete walls, crushed by the relentlessly driving push of humanity. Others fainted, overcome by
the heat and the lack of oxygen. The crowd was so tightly packed that, unable to fall, their limp
bodies were carried along in the suffocating press.
10
The stink of sweat and oil was heavy, the turbines of the labouring air recycling units unable to
cope with the demands required of them. The rockcrete ceiling, above which was half a kilometre of
solid ice, pressed down oppressively.
The access tunnel was some forty metres wide and bisected by barriers and rockcrete pillars.
Beyond these barriers, traversing down the centre of the corridor, was a sunken area of open space
in which wide-gauged tracks were embedded. People pushed, shoved and cried out as they were
carried along the platforms on either side of the rail tracks.
With a blast of solid displaced air, a high-speed automated carriage sped by, gushing
superheated steam and making the access corridor reverberate as it screamed along the slick, steel
tracks. Knocked back a step by the force of the conveyance, people covered their eyes and gazed
ruefully at the mirrored sides of the carriage as it passed. Only the wealthy guild masters and their
staff had the funds and access privileges to use the highspeed conveyances.
It was a two hundred kilometre journey to Phorcys, the sole starport off Perdus Skylla within
five thousand kilometres. Access tunnel 25X1 was the only link between Antithon Guild and
Phorcys, unless one wished to traverse across the frozen surface of the moon. Few ventured up to
the inhospitable surface of Perdus Skylla other than outcasts; those unlucky enough not to be born
into any of the great guild-houses, or who had been exiled from them for serious infractions.
Twelve other mining guilds were connected to Phorcys, each of the proud guilds situated around
the starport like the points of a compass and connected by artery tunnels like the spokes of a great
wheel.
Most of the people of Antithon Guild had never left the hab-blisters deep in the ice other than to
commute to the mining facilities some five thousand kilometres below. Fewer still had been to
Phorcys, and few amongst the tide of humanity had any real understanding of the distance involved.
To them, Antithon Guild and its environs was their world and universe, harsh and uncompromising,
but familiar and safe, and they had no need to know of anything beyond its boundaries.
Or at least it had been safe until the first of the sirens had begun to wail and the pict broadcasts
had declared that Perdus Skylla was being evacuated.
No reason for the evacuation had been issued from the guildmaster general’s office, and the
twenty-three million strong population of the moon had been in shock. Shock had quickly
descended into panic as rumours spread of an imminent xenos invasion, rumours that were not in
any way refuted by the Administratum.
Groups of the Skyllan Interdiction Force pushed through the crowds, attempting to maintain
order. They wore their customary white body armour over sky-blue uniforms, and held highpowered
laslocks across their chests. Snarling, shaggy-coated mastiffs with gleaming mechanical
eye-augments strained at their leashes, sensing the tension in their masters.
An armoured Catalan-class squad vehicle moved slowly along one of the platforms, its white,
high-compound plasteel chassis gleaming beneath the humming strip-lights overhead. Its flashing
lights and blaring siren urged people out of its path, but its progress was slow, for there was no room
to allow the vehicle through.
The winged emblem of the mercenary force was resplendent across the broad grill on the front
of the heavy vehicle, and a pair of armoured soldiers stood in its dual turret at the rear, swinging the
massive twin-linked heavy bolters left and right. Their faces were all but obscured by their white
helmets, and black visors hid their eyes from view.
For twenty-five generations, Perdus Skylla had employed the Skyllan Interdiction, an outside
mercenary agency funded by the wealthy mining guild conglomerates. They served as the military
force protecting the guilds’ assets in lieu of a Planetary Defence Force, while simultaneously acting
as local law enforcement. Better trained and equipped than most Imperial Guard regiments, the
hiring of the Skyllan Interdiction Forces had allowed the mining guilds to concentrate on their
endeavours without having to draw away any of its skilled workforce to form a PDF.
11
Still, even with the mercenaries present within the tunnel to help restore order, the flow of
humanity was little short of a rout.
One of the long-furred mastiffs let out a long growl, eyes locked on the ceiling. Seeing nothing,
its master jerked its chain hard, silencing the beast.
A creature of shadow clung to the ceiling of the corridor, virtually undetectable to the naked eye
or the sophisticated targeting matrices built into the helmets of the Skyllan Interdiction Force. It
moved like a spider, making its way across the ceiling with slow, purposeful movements. Its lean,
black armoured body disappeared for a second, its menacing form turning as insubstantial as smoke,
only to reappear within the shadow of a grilled turbine further along the roof.
The creature’s skin was inky black, and elegant runes of alien design were cut into its flesh. The
runes glowed with a cold, inner light.
Turning its gaze downwards, it peered malevolently over the sea of humans with eyes that were
milky white. It paid particular attention to the armed forces of the Skyllan Interdiction, and its limbs
quivered with barely contained bloodlust. The blades running up its forearms hummed in
anticipation.
The mastiffs below went into a frenzy of barking as the creature’s scent carried to them, and
their handlers struggled to control the powerful beasts. The creature disappeared into shadow once
more as eyes scanned the ceilings, straining to pick out what had disturbed the dogs.
The air recycling turbines cut out, abruptly. The few who registered the sudden change in air
pressure gazed up at the slowing fans in concern. Without the recycling units, the air in the tunnel
would turn to poison within hours, as all the oxygen was used up and replaced with the toxic carbon
dioxide exhaled by the masses.
Skyllan Interdiction Forces tapped their helmets as their communications went down, as if
jammed by interference.
Then the first of the lights went out.
First, one of the lights faded to darkness, then another. The strip lights began to fail, one after
another, in both directions, like a wave. People screamed as darkness engulfed them. The lights
were going dark faster than a man could run, and within less than a minute every light in sight was
dead.
The darkness was complete, all consuming and as black as the abyssal depths of the oceans
below. People clutched at one another in panic, unable even to see a hand waving in front their face,
and the crowd surged. Spotlights on the Skyllan armoured vehicle clicked on, and they wove back
and forth, piercing the darkness like beacons.
People pushed towards the light sources, like moths being drawn to an open flame, and their
panicked faces shone like ghosts in the cold light. They pressed against the armoured vehicle as if it
was a talisman, those at the front crushed against its armoured sides by those pushing from behind.
Overhead, the nigh-on invisible figure had reappeared, and the runes carved into its flesh glowed
with power. Still hugging the ceiling in defiance of gravity, it slid a curved, double-bladed punch
dagger from its sheath. Other blades slid from the back of its hands, jutting forward over its fists like
the talons of a great cat, and a low hiss of anticipation passed its lips as it waited for its dark kin to
arrive in response to its summons. It did not have to wait long.
A ball of lightning appeared, hanging in mid-air for a fraction of a second before it exploded
outwards, blinding those nearby with the sudden burst of energy and throwing them to the ground.
The crackling energy was gone in an instant, and an impenetrable void was left in its wake. It was
like an inky black pool of water, though it was vertical and hung in mid-air, a plane of absolute
darkness no thicker than a single molecule.
Ripples appeared across its surface, as if a pebble had been tossed into its centre, and whining
shapes sped from the rent in real space, hurtling up the access corridor at tremendous speed. They
screamed overhead, slicing like knives through the darkness. Blades cut through flesh, and hot blood
splattered into the faces of hundreds of people, who screamed in terror. Many threw themselves to
12
the ground in fear and were trampled to death by their brothers, sisters and wives in their panic to
escape. However, with no lights, and with the tunnel packed from wall to wall with terrified people,
there was nowhere to run.
The spotlights atop the armoured Skyllan Interdiction vehicle turned frantically, trying to lock
