more than a primitive urge to survive, to evolve. To change. Is this not the instinct that drives us
all? Aspiration to greatness? A need to be better than we were?
Bhehan, made rational and steady through years of training, concentrated on the image.
You are eldar. He did not speak the words aloud. There was no need to.
I was eldar. Now I am nothing more than a ghost, a faint remnant of what once was.
I will not speak to you, xenos.
Such arrogance as this brought my own brothers and our glorious sister to their end. It will be
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your undoing, mon-keigh.
Bhehan sensed a great sigh, like the last exhalation of a dying man, and as rapidly as the spectre had
materialised inside his mind, it was gone. With a sharp intake of breath, Bhehan’s eyes snapped open.
‘We should not linger,’ he said, slightly unfocussed. ‘We should take our brother and we should go.’
‘Is this what the Fates suggest?’
‘No,’ said Bhehan, hesitating only momentarily. ‘It is what I feel we should do.’
Gileas practically revered the majesty of the Prognosticators. Divine will or not, he would never
question a Prognosticator’s intuition. He nodded.
‘The will of a Prognosticator and the will of the Fates are entwined as one. We will do as you say.’
Reuben stepped forwards. ‘Perhaps…’ he began. ‘Perhaps we should not. Not yet.’
‘Explain.’ Gileas shot a glance at Reuben.
‘We interrupted them. The aliens. We could lure them back out in the open.’
‘Reuben, are you suggesting that we use our dead brother as bait?’ Gileas didn’t even bother
keeping the disgust out of his tone. ‘I can’t believe you would even entertain such a thought.’
‘Bait,’ echoed Bhehan, his eyes widening. ‘Bait. Yes, that’s it. Bait!’ He drew the force axe he wore
across his back. ‘That’s exactly what he is.’
‘Prognosticator? You surely aren’t agreeing to this ridiculous scheme?’
‘No! For us, sergeant. He’s been left here to lure us out.’
Another echo of thunder rolled around the skies overhead in accompaniment to this grim
pronouncement. The rain had slowed once again to a steady drip-drip-drip. It pooled briefly in the vast,
scoop-like leaves of the trees and splashed to the ground, throwing up billows of dust before evaporating
permanently.
None of the Reckoners other than Bhehan had psychic capability, but all of them could sense the
sudden shift in the air, sense the threat hiding somewhere.
Just waiting.
‘Keep your weapons primed,’ snapped Gileas, his thumb hovering over the activation stud of his
chainsword. ‘Be ready for anything.’
‘I sense three psychic patterns,’ offered the Prognosticator, his hands tight around the hilt of the force
axe. ‘Different directions, all approaching.’
‘Only three?’ Gileas said. ‘You are sure of this?’
‘Yes.’
‘Three of them, five of us. It will be a hard fight, my brothers, but we will prevail. We are the Silver
Skulls.’ Gileas’s voice swelled with fierce pride. ‘We will prevail.’ Jalonis and Bhehan pulled their
helmets back on at the sergeant’s words.
With the squad at full battle readiness, Gileas turned his attentions to the reams of data which began
scrolling in front of his eyes. He blink-clicked rapidly, filtering out anything not pertinent to the moment of
battle, including the winking iconograph that had previously represented Wulfric’s lifesigns. The brief
glimpse of that particular image served as a visible reminder of the desire for requital, however, and
fire-stoked battle lust raced through the sergeant’s veins.
‘They are coming,’ Bhehan breathed through the vox.
Gileas made a point to double-check the functionality of his jump pack at the Prognosticator’s
warning. He diverted his attention to the relevant streams of data that fed the device’s information into his
power armour, and was satisfied to note that it was at approximately seventy per cent. Certainly not
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representative of its full, deadly performance, but good enough for a battle of this size. He ordered the
rest of the squad to do the same. If these animals were seeking a fight, then the Reckoners would
willingly deliver. They would deliver a fight and they would deliver what they gave best and what had
earned them their name.
A reckoning.
For most Space Marines, engaging an enemy was all about honour to the Chapter, pride in the
company or loyalty to the Imperium. Sometimes, like now, it was about righteous vengeance.
Occasionally, it was simple self-defence. For Sergeant Gileas Ur’ten it was about all of these things.
Above and beyond all else, however, it was the thrill that came with the anticipation of a fight. The burst
of adrenaline and increased blood flow as his genetically enhanced body geared up to beget the hand of
retribution that was the rightful role of all the Adeptus Astartes.
Another moment of silence followed and then a tumult of screaming voices rose as one. It preceded
the charge of a slew of enemies from the undergrowth, each as massive as the one they had already
encountered. Gileas thumbed the activation stud of his chainsword and it roared into deadly life, the
weapon’s fangs eager to feast.
The sudden appearance of so many of the xenos caused a moment’s pandemonium, but that was all
it was: a single moment during which the Assault squad formed a tight-knit, ceramite-clad wall of stoic
defence. There was vengeance to be taken and they were ready to take it.
Each of the xenos radiated a palpable desire to kill. They walked upright, although with a certain
stumbling gait that implied they may not always have done so. It seemed probable that their hind legs
hadn’t been used in this way for long. As though confirming these suspicions, three of them dropped to all
fours.
As they prowled closer to the Astartes, their movements became snake-like, a sinuous flow that
allowed them to undulate across the uneven ground with hypnotic ease and disconcerting speed.
The skin of one creature’s mouth drew back to reveal a double set of razor-sharp teeth. It didn’t
take much of a stretch of the imagination to work out how it was that the xenos had removed internal
organs so swiftly and efficiently. Every single one of those teeth looked capable of tearing through flesh
and muscle with ease. The attackers moved as a unit, almost as though they were as tightly trained and
drilled as the Astartes themselves.
A rapid headcount told the Silver Skulls that there were nine of them, and with determination every
last one of the Assault squad entered the fray. Bhehan, his force axe at the ready in his right hand, raised
the other, palm outstretched in front of him, ready to cast a psychic shield around his battle-brothers. The
crystals in the psychic hood attached to the gorget of his armour began to pulsate as he channelled the
deadly power of the warp, ready to unleash it at a moment’s notice.
Gileas and Tikaye both charged the alien on the far right with their chainswords shrieking bloody
murder. Jalonis and Reuben levelled their bolters and began firing.
Fury descended on the previously silent jungle. Orders were shouted, and the cries of alien life and
the indignant, defensive answering retorts of the squad’s weapons flooded the surrounding area in a
cacophony of sound.
Gileas drove his chainsword deeper into the flesh of the alien he was fighting, putting all his strength
into the blow. The thing lashed out at him, howling and chittering. Talons flashed like deadly knives
before his helmet, but he ducked and weaved with easy agility, avoiding its blows. As far as he was
concerned, as long as it remained affixed to the end of his chainsword, it was a suitable distance away
from him and was dying at the same time. An additional bonus.
Reuben coaxed his weapon into life, discharging a hail of bolter shells at the onslaught. Beside him,
Bhehan swept his hand forwards and round in a semi-circular arc, almost as though he were simply
thrusting the xenos away from him. The one directly facing him stumbled backwards and howled its
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displeasure.
With a grunt of effort, Gileas yanked the chainsword out of the alien’s flesh and swung it round,
almost severing one of the wicked, scythe-like talons from its hand. He moved in harmony with the
weapon as though it was merely an extension of his own body. Watching Gileas Ur’ten fight was
aesthetically pleasing; even in the heavy power armour of the Adeptus Astartes he was agile, lithe and,
more than that, he was a master at what he did. He enacted his deadly dance of death with practiced
aplomb.
Tikaye, engaged as he was with his own opponent, did not immediately notice that another was
prowling towards him. It reached out with a clawed hand and swept it towards the Space Marine. It
caught him between his helmet and breast plate, and with a sudden display of strength sent him flying
backwards. He landed heavily with an audible crunch of ceramite at Bhehan’s feet. The Prognosticator,
briefly distracted from gathering force for his next attack, glanced down at his battle-brother.
Within seconds, Tikaye was back on his feet, his weapon back in his hand, and he tore into the
nearest enemy with a vengeance, letting his chainsword do the talking.
One of the three beasts that had been slithering towards the psyker leapt suddenly with a yowl of
triumph. Instinctively, Bhehan trusted to the power of his force axe rather than his psychic ability and
channelled his rage and righteousness into its exquisitely forged blade. The hidden runes carved deep into
its metal heart kindled and throbbed with an otherworldly glow.
Years of training and dedication to the arts of war at the hands of the masters on Varsavia
automatically took over and Bhehan planted his feet firmly on the ground, prepared for the moment of
impact. The axe sang through the air towards its target, a low whine audibly marking its trajectory as it
swept towards the enemy.
To his consternation, the force axe passed right through the alien’s body. The unexpected
follow-through of his own swing unbalanced him and he fell to one knee. He scrambled immediately back
to his feet, ready to resume combat, only to realise that the thing was gone, utterly vanished before his
very eyes. All that remained was a strange psychic residue, streamers of barely visible non-corporeal
form that were consigned fleetingly to the air, and then to nothing more than memory.
‘Something isn’t right here,’ he voxed, puzzlement implicit in every syllable.
‘Really, Prognosticator? You think so?’ The pithy reply from Gileas was harsher than perhaps it
might otherwise have been, but given that the sergeant was locked in a bloody battle to the death with a
creature seemingly quite capable of slicing through him like he was made of mud, it was understandable. ‘
Any chance that you’d care to elaborate on this outstanding leap of logic?’
Clenching his force axe with an iron grip, Bhehan whirled to intercept another xenos which was
catapulting itself at him. He swung the weapon again and once more his blow met with no resistance.
He had sensed three minds. No more, no less. With the two illusory attackers dispelled, they were
now facing seven.
‘They are not all real, my brothers,’ he stated urgently. ‘Only three of them present a real threat.’
‘They feel real to me,’ responded Jalonis, who had just been viciously swept into the trunk of one of
the vast trees. The armour plating across his back was cracked. His helmet flashed loss-of-integrity
warnings at him and, ignoring them, he resumed his fighting. One of Reuben’s arms hung limp at his side
as his body worked swiftly to fix the damage that had been caused to it.
Gileas and Tikaye had fallen into battle harmony with each other and were battering determinedly at
one of the enemy. As one, they both fired their jump packs, performing a vertical aerial leap that caused
the xenos to snap its head up sharply, its eyes fixed on the now-airborne targets. The range of the jump
packs was severely limited due to the tree cover, but they remained aloft, well out of its reach.
It dropped its long body low, coiling like a spring and readying itself to launch. Bhehan, thinking
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swiftly, took the opportunity to blast a psychic attack into the creature’s mind.
It did not vanish.
‘That one!’ he shouted into the vox, gesticulating ferociously at the xenos and alerting his airborne
brothers. ‘That one, brother-sergeant! It’s solid.’
The sergeant nodded brusquely. He had no desire to understand the whys or hows of the situation.
Bhehan’s words were little more than meaningless background noise to him at this moment. Only the
solution was of importance at this stage. Only the battle mattered.
In full synchronicity, Gileas and Tikaye both bore their full weights downwards to land on the xenos
beneath them. Close-quarters combat was one thing. During such a pitched battle, a being could fight
back and stand a chance of being a danger. Being crushed beneath the full might of two
power-armour-wearing Space Marines was something else entirely and not something so easily eluded.
The alien, anticipating its own demise, wailed in murderous rage for a few seconds before both
Space Marines plummeted solidly onto it. Bones crunched and arterial blood spurted from puncture
wounds caused by the creature’s exoskeleton shredding through its flesh. Crude brutality, perhaps, but
effective nonetheless.
Devoid of their source, two more of the psychic projections immediately melted into the ether. Gileas
and Tikaye fired their jump packs again and blasted grimly towards the rest of the fray. Bhehan,
witnessing the scene, paused momentarily as realisation bloomed.
It was suddenly so clear to the Prognosticator. So very, very simple.
‘They are manipulating your minds! Brother-Sergeant Ur’ten, you must listen to me! They have
extremely strong psychic capability. My mind should be awash with all these things, but it is not!’ The
Prognosticator bit down on the excitement and forced his mind to focus. He knew he was making little
sense and that was no use to anybody.
He had removed two of the illusory aliens by passing his force axe through their psychically generated
forms. With the death of one of the true alien forms, two more had dispersed.
From the nine who had attacked, the Silver Skulls now faced four. If Bhehan’s theory proved
correct, only two of them were real. Kill those, his theory suggested, and their intangible counterparts
