earlier, and he came up firing. Again, his bolt rounds found no target.
Shouts and screams echoed through the lift bay, accompanied by the percussive barking of bolt
weapons as more of the ghostly attackers materialised, dropping from overhead and emerging from
shadows that had been empty moments before.
Moving faster than he could track, one of the insubstantial attackers darted around Sabtec, a
fraction of a second in front of his coughing bolter, and the Word Bearer backed up a step,
attempting to put some extra space between him and his ethereal attacker.
The creature darted forwards, dissipating into mist as Sabtec fired upon it. It re-formed just to
his left, and he swung his bolter towards it. A blade slashed down in a diagonal arc, slicing the holy
weapon in two, and a second blade stabbed towards Sabtec’s throat. He swayed aside from the
attack, but such was its speed that it still gouged a line across the faceplate of his helmet. Dropping
his useless bolter, he grabbed his attacker’s slim arm. Feeling solid armour and flesh beneath his
grasp, he hurled his attacker away from him, sending it spinning through the air, and drew his sword
from his scabbard.
“Thirteen!” he roared, bellowing the rallying cry that would bring the warriors of his coterie
together.
Thumbing its activation glyph, Sabtec brought his sword humming to life. The metre-and-a-half
blade gleamed as a sudden wave of energy raced up its length, and he swung it around in a glittering
arc to deflect a dark blade that sang towards his groin. The blade severed the attacker’s hand at the
wrist, and the eldar warrior gave out a hiss of pain before becoming one with the shadows once
more.
“Thirteen!” roared Sabtec again, breaking into a run towards the bulk of his coterie, which was
fighting its way towards him through the confusing blur of darting shadows.
“Twenty-third, form up on me,” he roared, seeing Namar-sin’s warriors becoming isolated and
surrounded.
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Even as he closed with his warriors of the 13th coterie, he saw one of them hamstrung by a
slashing blade from behind and fall. Instantly, a trio of shadows materialised around the fallen
warrior, looming like shades of death over him, and they dragged him backwards.
One of the black-skinned eldar warriors made a slashing motion with its hand that parted the
substance of the air, cutting aside the veil between real space and beyond. In an instant, the fallen
warrior was bundled through the rent in reality, which sealed up behind him as if it had never been.
Sabtec slashed with his blade, keeping the darting shadows around him at bay. He focused on
one of the creatures as it materialised behind another of his squad brothers, its slanted, milky white
eyes focused on its prey.
Sabtec roared as he launched himself forwards and impaled the shadow eldar on his power
sword, plunging the weapon into its throat. Its blood danced upon the energised blade, spitting and
jumping. Sabtec freed his weapon, slicing it out through the side of the eldar’s neck. Its head
flopped to the side, and it dropped to the ground. The glowing runes across its body blazed with
sudden light, and then faded, smoking slightly, leaving just a shattered eldar corpse lying on the
floor.
Having formed up, the 13th coterie fought back to back, protecting each other’s vulnerable
flanks. The enemy was coming at them from all directions, yet the warrior brothers had fought
alongside each other for countless centuries, and each could predict his brothers’ movements with
the understanding that came from a lifetime of shared battle.
Heavy bolter-rounds from one of the Havoc Space Marines of the 217th ripped a swathe through
the shadows, tearing two of the eldar apart. A pair of blades punched into his back and he was
dragged into another dark rift that swallowed him, closing off behind him.
Sabtec’s 13th blazed away at the shadows, most of their shots missing their targets, but a few
striking their attackers, blasting bloody chunks out of armour and flesh.
The attack ceased as quickly as it had started as first one of the mandrakes stepped into shadow
and was gone, and then another and another, until the Word Bearers were alone, smoke rising from
the barrels of their boltguns, and steam venting from the cooling chambers of plasma weapons. The
sudden silence was eerie, and Sabtec’s breathing sounded loud in the confines of his helmet. The
warriors of the 13th took the moment’s respite to load their bolters, dropping empty clips to the
floor.
Sabtec turned his head left and right, seeking the enemy, but it seemed they had truly gone. Still
wary, he broke from the circle of his squad, and moved cautiously forward.
“Report,” he snapped.
Of 13th coterie, two members were dead and one was missing, taken by the dark eldar. Three of
the surviving members were wounded, but not seriously. The 217th Havoc coterie had fared even
worse, with three members dead, Namar-sin included, and two of their squad missing, leaving only
three members remaining.
Sabtec swore.
“You three,” he said, stabbing a finger towards the remaining warriors of Namar-sin’s coterie,
“you are 13th now. 217th is dead.”
The brother warriors bowed their heads in assent. It was a great honour to be taken into the
hallowed 13th coterie, but they had fought as part of the 217th under Namar-sin for centuries.
Ammunition was running low, and the Word Bearers moved amongst their deceased kin,
stripping them of weapons, grenades and clips. Sabtec knelt alongside each of the fallen warriors,
speaking the oath of the departed over each in turn. With his combat knife, he carved an eightpointed
star into the forehead of each warrior, solemnly intoning the ritualised words, and daubed
their eyelids with blood.
Kneeling over the corpse of Namar-sin, Sabtec removed his helmet, and placed it on the floor
alongside his fallen brother. Then, he reverently lifted one of the champion’s hands up, and stripped
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it of its gauntlet. Cradling the warrior’s meaty fist in one hand, he reached again for his knife, and
began to saw through the champion’s fingers, using the serrated edge of his blade.
After hacking through each of the digits in turn, he tossed a severed finger to each of the
members of Namar-sin’s coterie. He kept one for himself, for Namar-sin had been his battle-brother
since the Great Crusade, and he had respected the warrior greatly, and valued his comradeship.
He began to strip his battle-brother’s body, removing his shoulder plates and placing them
carefully at his side, before moving onto his gorget and outer chest plates, removing each piece
carefully and reverently. The other members of his squad stood by solemnly.
He pulled the breastplate away with a sucking sound, taking with it the outer layer of skin that
had long fused with the armour.
The flesh of Namar-sin’s broad torso was heavily muscled, and the tissue of that muscle
glistened wetly. With a deft movement, Sabtec sliced a deep cut from the breastbone to the navel.
Inserting his hand into the cut, he searched around in the chest cavity, groping behind the thick,
fused ribcage. Grasping Namar-sin’s motionless primary heart, he pulled it free, cutting it loose with
his knife.
Sabtec stood and lifted the heart up in his bloody hands.
“Namar-sin was a mighty warrior and devoted brother of the true word,” said Sabtec. “We
mourn his passing, yet rejoice, for his soul has become as one with Chaos. In honour of his service
in the name of Lorgar, we eat of his flesh, that he may live on with us as we continue the Long War
without him, and that we may carry his strength with us, always.”
Lifting the heart to his mouth, Sabtec took a bite, ripping the flesh away with his teeth. Blood
covered his chin, and he chewed the lump of flesh briefly before swallowing it. Then he stepped in
front of the first of the three remaining warriors that had belonged to Namar-sin’s coterie, offering
the heart.
Marduk stared through the thirty-centimetre thick porthole into the inky blackness beyond as the lift
continued to power its way down into the Stygian depths of the ocean. Little could be seen apart
from occasional bubbles of expanding gas, and the visage of his skull helmet was reflected back at
him, distorted in the curved therma-glass.
“There is no going back now; we have not the time. I feel the threads of fate weaving together.
The time of the completion of this… necessary task, draws close,” said Marduk with a hint of
impatience and irritation. “Sabtec and Namar-sin are veterans. They can look after themselves.”
The lift strained and creaked alarmingly as the building pressure of the water outside pressed in.
The thick metal plates of the hull, supported by countless brackets and thick bolted girders, flexed
inwards, groaning like a beast in torment.
The lift had descended at a steady rate, down the shaft carved from solid ice. The rate of descent
slowed as they reached the lower crust of the ice and plunged into the sea, before increasing in
speed once more as they sank further into the icy depths. They were some four thousand metres
below the surface, nearing halfway to the ocean floor.
Burias was pacing back and forth like a caged animal, glaring hatefully at the bulging hull as if
daring it to give way.
“Be calm, icon bearer,” snapped Marduk, turning away from the porthole. “Your restlessness is
distracting.”
Marduk could feel Burias’s impatience like a living thing, intruding on his spirit.
“What is the matter with you?” asked Marduk in irritation.
“I am envious,” said Burias, pausing in his pacing for a moment, flashing Marduk a dark glance.
“I had wished to fight the eldar again. I wish to test my speed against them.”
“You sound like a spoilt child,” spat Marduk. “Recite the Lacrimosa. Begin at verse eighty-nine.
It will calm your nerves.”
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Burias glowered at Marduk.
“Eighty-nine?” he said, furrowing his brow.
“‘And when the accused are confounded and confined to flames of woe, rejoice and call upon
Me, your saviour,’” he quoted.
“The Lacrimosa has always been a favourite of yours, hasn’t it, brother?” asked Burias.
Marduk smiled. Alone amongst all the warriors of the Host, he tolerated Burias referring to him
as brother, in honour of the blood-oaths that the pair had sworn aeons past, when they were both
idealistic young pups, freshly blooded in battle. Nevertheless, Marduk allowed the icon bearer the
honour only when they were alone, or out of earshot of the other warrior brothers of the Host, for
such familiarity was unfavourable, especially now that he was certain that his ambitions of
becoming Dark Apostle were fated to be, at last, fulfilled.
A Dark Apostle must be aloof from his flock, a symbol of the undying faith of the holy word. He
had learnt that from Jarulek, and it was, his arrogant master had taught him, part of the reason why
the role of the Coryphaus was important. The Dark Apostle must be more than a warrior; he must be
an inspiration, a saint, the holiest of disciples. He must be raised above the warriors of the Host, for
the gods spoke through him. A Dark Apostle had no brothers except others of his rank, for it was
deemed that familial relations within the Host humanised him too much, weakening the awe he was
held in by his warriors. Such a thing led to a weakening of the strength of the Host, and a lessening
of the faith.
“A Dark Apostle,” Jarulek had lectured him condescendingly, “must be above reproach, above
question. He cannot have close ties with the warriors of his flock. Your Coryphaus is your closest
confidant, and your will is enacted through him. He is the bridge that spans the gap between the
Dark Apostle and the Host.”
Marduk pushed the distracting, errant thoughts back, his mood darkening.
“The Lacrimosa brings me great calm,” said Marduk. “It at once soothes my soul and rekindles
my hatred.”
“I shall do as you suggest, brother,” said Burias. “So long as Sabtec leaves a few for me, I guess
I can wait.”
Another loud groan shuddered the lift, and Burias scowled.
Kol Badar stamped towards them, and the cordial companionship between Marduk and Burias
evaporated. At once, they were no longer long-time friends and blood brothers; now they were once
again First Acolyte and icon bearer.
“This lift is a relic,” remarked Kol Badar. “If a fault in the hull appears, we will all be crushed to
death. This is a foolish endeavour, an unnecessary risk.”
“Are you going senile in your dotage Coryphaus?” snapped Marduk. Burias sniggered. “You are
repeating yourself. Your protestations have been heard before, and duly noted. I don’t care what you
think. I am your leader now, and you will do as I wish.”
The Coryphaus’s brow creased in anger.
“If a fault appears, then we are dead,” Marduk said, more calmly. “Such would be the will of the
gods, but I do not believe it will be so.”
“How can you be so sure?” asked Kol Badar.
“Have faith, Coryphaus,” said Marduk. “Each of us is in our allotted place, as per the will of the
gods. If it is our time to die, then so be it, but I do not think that it is. The gods have much more in
store for me, of that I am certain.”
“And for me?” asked Burias.
Marduk shrugged.
“You speak as if all our actions are already predetermined,” growled Kol Badar.
“Are you so sure they are not?” countered Marduk. “I have seen things in dream visions that
have come to pass. Many amongst the Host have. Does such a thing not suggest that every decision
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that we think we make has not already been determined beforehand? A path set in front of us that
we, try as we might to avoid our fate, are condemned to walk?”
“By that rationale, why should we strive for anything? Why should we seek to destroy our
enemies, if the outcome has already been decided?” asked Burias.
“Don’t be a fool, Burias,” said Marduk sharply. “The gods help those that help themselves. If
you were not going to try to defeat your enemies, then you were already fated to lose.”
“If what you suggest is correct, then this,” said Kol Badar, levelling his combi-bolter at
Marduk’s head, “is the will of the gods?”
The Coryphaus’s weapon system whined and clicked as fresh bolts were loaded into the firing
chambers. Burias licked his lips, glancing between the First Acolyte and Kol Badar.
Behind them, kneeling in a tight circle with his squad, Khalaxis half-rose to his feet, but the
