thousands of metres up into the dark water. Their vision slowly diminished the further they got away
from the glow of the mining facility, until they could see only what was lit by the powerful
spotlights on the prow of the submersible.
The lights of the other craft blinked, as all four of the submersibles travelled along the same line.
As they passed beneath yet another towering arched causeway, they came upon a sheer drop-off, an
undersea cliff that plunged down into blackness. It was down this vertical wall that the submersibles
dropped, leaving trails of bubbles in their wake.
The sheer drop seemed to have no bottom. The chasm must have been over two kilometres in
width, and it dropped away into utter darkness.
At last, something came into view, something immense.
“Gods of the ether,” swore Burias as they came upon the wreckage of the Flame of Perdition.
The Dvorak-class freighter was wedged between the walls of the chasm, its prow and stem
ground into the sheer walls of the drop-off, bridging the bottomless gap.
As the submersibles ploughed on through the clear water, impeller engines whirring, the sheer
size of the ship became apparent. It was one thing to see battle cruisers hanging in space where there
were few reference points to give an indication of their sheer scale, but seeing this ship wedged
firmly between the two distant sides of the chasm was breathtaking.
A portion of the lower stern looked as though it had been sheared away. It might have suffered
the damage as it struck the mouth of the chasm, or it might have occurred thousands of years before
the ship entered this sub-system, long before it had smashed through the ice crust of Perdus Skylla.
According to Darioq-Grendh’al, the ship had been lost in a warp storm anomaly for some six and a
half thousand years. Anything could have happened to it in that time.
Warp storms were notoriously unpredictable, and time and distance became blurred within their
bounds. The Flame of Perdition might have been drifting through the nebulous warp storms for
fifteen thousand years, twenty thousand years, thrown like a leaf on the wind through the ether. Or,
equally as likely, it might have seemed to its crew to have been gone only a fraction of a second
before it struck the surface of the frozen moon, and plunged into the oceanic depths.
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During its time in the warp, and wherever else it may have emerged, the ship may have
encountered any number of daemonic and xenos entities, and it was highly possible that some of the
creatures remained onboard.
Apart from the shattered stern, the ship appeared to be in a remarkably complete state, and
though Marduk feared that its interior had been flooded, there was every likelihood that at least the
upper decks might still contain breathable air.
At such depth, and with its integrity compromised, what air did remain within the ship would
have shrunk to a tiny fraction of its previous volume, but if any man-made structure could withstand
the immense pressure as deep as this, it was a space-faring cruiser.
The submersibles ploughed inexorably towards the ship that grew ever larger in the small pict
screen. As they drew closer, Marduk could see that the sides of the ship were scarred. Entire
sections of its thick armour had bubbled, and other portions looked unnaturally smooth, like the skin
of a burn victim, or as if they had been splashed with corrosive, high-grade acid.
The four submersibles drew towards the immense freighter, dipping down towards one of its
gaping, water-filled hangar bays, still following an automated route.
“At least they seem to know where they are going,” said Marduk.
“Or they are leading us into a trap,” said Burias, angrily flicking switches and yanking on the
controls.
The four deep-sea craft, dwarfed to insignificance by the sheer size of the Flame of Perdition,
entered the cavernous hangar bay. It was a surreal experience to drift through the submerged bay, to
pass by upturned shuttles that had clearly been tossed around the expansive hangar bay by the force
of the impact with the ice, or the chasm sides. The four submersibles ghosted through the massive
open space, leaving a swirling wake of turbulence behind them that blurred the water.
They began to ascend vertically, climbing up through the flooded levels of the ship, the
automated controls carefully navigating them safely through the tangle of shattered girders and
twisted metal.
The corpse of a man dressed in naval fatigues reared up in front of the submersible, filling the
pict screen with its cadaverous rictus grin. The flesh was almost completely rotted from its bones
and as the submersible bumped the corpse out of the way, one of its arms came loose. A host of
wriggling eel-creatures squirmed from the cavity, thrashing madly, and then the corpse drifted out of
sight.
As they continued to ascend, passing through flooded cargo bays and freight holds, they passed
more corpses, all being slowly devoured. They powered along a wide corridor, the tilt that the ship
had come to rest at forcing the submersible to travel at an obtuse angle.
They entered another area of the ship, and the submersibles bobbed to the surface of the water
like corks. Automated pressurisation systems kicked into gear, slowly equalising with the outside
pressure, and once the dials began to flash green, the access hatch began to release. It swung wide
with a slight vacuum hiss, and Marduk stepped out into knee-deep water. The submersible had
brought itself up to a raised gantry twenty metres above what appeared to be a holding area.
Evidently, the upper portion of the ship was still structurally sound, and air had been trapped within
it.
Marduk’s helmet readouts gave him a flood of information and he saw that the air was unsafe
for an unprotected human to breathe. Astartes warriors, with their superior, genhanced physiology,
would probably last around an hour before they expired.
Marduk saw that the submersible he had emerged from was drawn up alongside half a dozen
others.
“The explorator and her team’s vessels, presumably,” said Kol Badar, stamping through the
water to Marduk’s side.
A massive doorway yawned behind them, leading further into the Imperial freighter. With no
other obvious way of proceeding, Marduk led the warriors through its arched expanse.
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They came upon a series of bulkheads, part of the latticework that subdivided the ship into
distinct sections, adding strength to the whole and allowing areas of the ship to be isolated from
each other in the event of hull breach.
Though there was no power within the ship—its plasma core reactors were clearly dead, or at
least dormant—the bulkheads could be accessed manually. Kol Badar ripped one of them open with
a wrench, half-expecting to be washed away by a flood of water. Once all the warriors had passed
the bulkhead it was sealed behind them once more, and the next bulkhead opened. The ship beyond
was dark, but the air was breathable without danger, and Marduk felt certain that this was the way
that the explorator had taken.
He grinned within his helmet. He could almost feel the presence of the wretched devotee of the
Machine-God. He had but to reach out to possess her.
“She is here, somewhere,” said Marduk. “I know it.”
“She’d better be,” growled Kol Badar.
Warily, the warriors of the Host began to move further into the wrecked hulk that was the Flame
of Perdition, weapons at the ready.
They had advanced for over three hours, though in that time that had been forced to retrace their
steps a dozen times as their way was blocked by shattered sections of the ship, or by bulkheads that
led back into the flooded lower sections.
Burias’s mood, previously buoyed by Marduk’s optimism, had slowly soured as the sheer
improbability of finding the explorator within this confusing maze was driven home. Kol Badar was
right. The cursed worshipper of the profane Machine-God could be anywhere within the ship, if she
were here at all. The ship was over two kilometres in length and consisted of almost fifty deck
levels, depending on where within the ship one was located. In addition, a myriad of air ducts, subfloor
tunnels and inter-deck stowage vaults made the Flame of Perdition a veritable labyrinth, and
despite the fact that perhaps seventy per cent of it was flooded and impassable, it would take a
Herculean effort and incredible luck to locate a single individual within its confines.
“There is no such thing as luck,” Marduk snapped angrily, picking up the vagaries of the icon
bearer’s unfocused thoughts. This was a test of his faith, the First Acolyte reminded himself, ridding
his thoughts of any shadow of doubt. The explorator would be delivered to him; it was the will of
the gods. He had only to open himself up to the powers of the ether, and allow his earthly flesh to be
guided.
“Keep moving,” said Marduk.
Kol Badar and two of his Anointed warriors were leading the advance, walking in single file,
their massive shoulders sometimes scraping along the walls of the narrow, dark corridors.
Terminator armour had been originally constructed with brutal ship-to-ship boarding actions in
mind, where the immense protection its heavy plates provided far outweighed its lack of speed and
manoeuvrability. Within the flooded hulk, they were the obvious choice to lead the advance.
Khalaxis walked a pace behind them, a blinking auspex held before him, scanning for
movement. The amount of interference from the ship was playing havoc with its accuracy, limiting
its range to less than fifty metres. Anything moving within the range of its sweeps would appear as a
blinking icon, but thus far only the other members of the Host had appeared on its blister screen.
Marduk walked with Burias in the centre of the group, along with the hulking form of Darioq-
Grendh’al. Members of Khalaxis’s coterie surrounded them, and the other two members of the
Anointed brought up the rear.
They moved with well-practiced discipline. Despite no movement or heat signatures being
picked up by the auspex, individual warriors peeled off to lay fields of over-watch down side
corridors and into darkened rooms. Those behind moved past the sentinels, which filed back into
line towards the rear. At the very back of the formation, the Anointed ensured that no enemy was
able to approach unannounced. The formation was in constant movement, each warrior providing
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cover for his brethren before moving on, and though their progress was slow, they moved
inexorably deeper into the hulk. It was standard practice in unknown, tight confines such as these,
and centuries of drilled combat doctrine ensured that everyone knew his place.
The air within the ship was perfectly still, like the inside of a mausoleum, and the silence was
oppressive. The darkness was all consuming, and with the utter absence of any form of light, even
the enhanced vision of the Word Bearers was impaired. Their footsteps echoed painfully loudly
along the empty corridors, and Marduk ground his sharp teeth in frustration, drawing blood. In the
desolate silence of the hulk, sound travelled easily, and their quarry may already have heard their
advance and moved deeper into the freighter.
The line of warriors emerged from a branching corridor into a room that might once have been a
thriving workshop. Piles of mechanics and engine parts were strewn across the grilled, uneven
flooring, and heavy machinery that would have taken a dozen power-lifter equipped servitors to
shift lay overturned, like the discarded toys of an infant.
Half a dozen dark, uninviting corridors led from the room, as well as at least four closed,
powered doors. Warriors had taken up position at each entrance, auto-sensors straining to locate any
threat.
“Which way?” asked Kol Badar.
The Coryphaus’s tone conveyed the warlord’s thoughts clearly, without need for words, that this
was a hopeless venture, but Marduk ignored his inference and paused, calming his breathing and
closing his eyes.
He had entered this half-trance a dozen times already within the ship, searching for any residual
warp-trace that might suggest the explorator had come this way, but so far had found nothing. The
soul of every living creature in the universe was a flaring beacon within the warp—those individuals
who manifested latent psychic powers burning the most fiercely—and to those schooled in the
occult teachings of the Word Bearer’s priesthood, it was possible to perceive this soul glow in the
material realm, sensing it even at distance.
Marduk strained to pick up anything, and had almost resigned himself to failure once more when
he felt…
something. It was very faint, like the fading heat image that surrounded a body an hour dead, but
it was definitely there. His eyes snapped open.
“There,” he said, pointing towards one of the corridors.
Without a word, the Word Bearers continued deeper into the Flame of Perdition.
Somewhere in the distance there was an echoing clang. It was impossible to gauge the distance
of the sound, but to Marduk he felt it was confirmation of the whereabouts of the explorator.
“Quickly,” he urged.
The Anointed were leading the way, their combi-bolters tracking for movement. Khalaxis’s auspex
throbbed with its steady light.
The remainder of the warriors followed single-file, weapons held at the ready.
They had been moving within the Flame of Perdition for over an hour, time enough to have
walked its length twice over had their path not been so circuitous and slow. No further sound had
been heard other than that one, distant echo, but Marduk was confident that his quarry was near.
The First Acolyte was lost in his thoughts when it happened.
A sheet metal wall panel punched inwards, crumpling like synth-board, and a blurred, dark
shape leapt from the gaping hole in the wall. A clawed limb smashed into a warrior brother’s
helmet, crumpling it like paper, and hot blood spurted, splashing across the wall.
Marduk saw a blur of limbs, an exoskeleton of dark chitin, and another warrior brother was
dead, claws tearing an arm from its socket and punching through a breastplate.
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In the tight confines of the corridor, all was suddenly chaos, with warriors shouting and bolters
barking.
The warrior in front of Marduk staggered backwards as the xenos creature turned its attention
