wind whipping around the tower must have been immense. Pushing these thoughts from his mind,
he closed his eyes and let his spirit break free of his earthly body.
Invisible and formless, he soared from the Thunderhawk, passing through its thick, armoured
hull and out into the atmosphere beyond. The powerful winds touched him not at all, and with a
thought he hurtled across the sky towards the rising Gehemehnet, faster than any crude mechanical
aircraft ever could. This was the way of the spirit and with his insubstantial warp-touched eyes he
saw the world in a different light.
The material world around him was shadowy and dim, a pale and dull land. With his sight he
saw not the light of the sun, nor the colours of the mundane world, all was but shades of grey,
lifeless and monotone. There was movement all around, the movement of daemons separated from
the mundane world by only a micro-thin layer of reality. He flew somewhere in between the two
worlds, neither truly in the real nor the Ether, but he could perceive both.
He heard nothing but the scraping, garbled cacophony of noise that was the sound of Chaos. A
million scrambled, screaming voices mixed with the roars and whispers of daemons. It was to
Marduk a comforting, neutral sound in the back of his mind. It was too easy for the unwary or
uninitiated to be forever lost in the sound. If you listened too closely, it would draw you into it and
never let you have peace.
Marduk willed himself on, drawn towards the massive Gehemehnet tower that rose in both the
material world and the warp. It existed in both planes and it was not a monotone shadow like the rest
of the world he passed over. Far from it, for the Gehemehnet tower was ablaze with light and colour.
Deep red and purple shades blurred across its surface amid flashes of metallic sheen, like those
created by oil on water.
Tiny pinpricks of light, countless thousands of them, marked the soul fires of the mortal worker
slaves who toiled over the physical construct of the Gehemehnet. They were like tiny burning suns.
103
Some burnt bright and fierce, their spirits strong, while others grew pale and faltering. Carrion
daemons of the warp clustered around each burning soul fire, along with an endless myriad of
daemons of other bizarre and horrific forms. They clumped around the souls of the living like cold
children around a campfire in winter, straggling against each other to be the closest to the blaze. The
mortals were completely unaware of the attention that they received, save perhaps for an occasional
feeling of coldness, or a flicker of movement in the corner of the eye.
The kathartes were there, clustered around the bright soul lights, and they raised their beautiful,
pristine and predatory feminine faces at his approach. They kicked away from their vigils and soared
towards him upon glowing feathered wings. In the Ether they were angelic and alluring—it was only
when they breached the material plane that they became twisted hag furies.
As he drew nearer the pulsating Gehemehnet, he saw the soul fire of one of the slaves flicker
and dim as the man gave up his hold on his mortal body. Instantly, the pale light of the spirit was set
upon by the daemons huddled around it and its light was hidden amongst the dense ball of daemons
that were wild in their ravenous feeding frenzy as they consumed the unfortunate soul.
The soul fire of one slave drew his attention, for it was different from the others. It was bright
and fierce, with a grand cluster of over a thousand ethereal denizens of the warp around it, and
Marduk could feel their expectation. This one was favoured indeed, he thought.
A sudden tug upon his spirit pulled at Marduk and he allowed himself to be drawn towards the
calling. In an instant he had passed through the walls of the shattered palace of Shinar and hovered
before the Dark Apostle. He was infused with light, a strong presence in the warp as in reality. He
turned his earthly eyes to look at Marduk and smiled.
“Welcome, my First Acolyte. I thought I felt your questing spirit lurking nearby.”
I wished to see the glory of your Gehemehnet with more than the limited faculties of my mortal
being, my lord.
“Of course. Its power waxes strong.”
It does, my lord. It is nearing completion?
“It is close, but I need your strength, First Acolyte, to complete the rituals of binding. This is
why I recalled you from battle.”
The battle fares poorly. It is shaming.
“I would sacrifice the entire Host in order to fulfill the will of the Dark Council, if such was
needed.”
And the warrior-brothers of the Legion will lay their lives down if that is what is required of
them.
“Yet you struggle, First Acolyte. Why is that?”
The Coryphaus must be punished for his failures.
“Must? You would make demands of me, First Acolyte?”
No, my lord.
“I have faith in my Coryphaus, First Acolyte. To doubt his abilities is a reflection of your doubt
of me, for he is my chosen representative in all matters of war. You would insult me in such a way,
dear Marduk?”
No, my lord.
“Do not defy me, young one. You are no Dark Apostle yet, and I hold the key to your future
within my hand. I can destroy you at my will.”
It will be as you will it, Dark Apostle, said Marduk, and took his leave. His spirit soared high
into the upper atmosphere. Hundreds of daemons were drawn to him, feeding upon the hot emotions
of hate and anger flowing from his spirit.
The tent flap was thrown open and Havorn stooped to enter the shelter. The air was heavy and
cloying with the stale smell of sweat. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the gloom before he
104
could make out the three medicae officers standing over the cot in the corner. One of them
approached him, saluting, and he recognised the man as Michelac, the chief surgeon of the 133rd.
His black rimmed eyes were tired.
“It’s not good, sir,” he said.
“What the hell happened?” asked Havorn.
“Astropath Klistorman collapsed late yesterday afternoon, as you know. He was ranting and was
suffering severe convulsions, and he was bleeding from the nose. I suspected an internal
haemorrhage within his brain: such a thing could have been building there for months. But he
seemed to regain his strength this morning and he seemed to have suffered no ill effects.
“This afternoon, however, he has had a series of episodes. He is sleeping now, but they are
getting worse.”
“There are other astropaths with the fleet. This is war, medic, and people die. Why did you call
me down here?”
The medicae officer licked his dry, cracked lips.
“His ranting has disturbed me. He has spoken of things that chill my soul.”
“You fear possession?” asked Havorn sharply, his hand falling to his holstered weapon.
“No sir, not that, thankfully,” said the man hurriedly. “But… I know that astropaths are powerful
psykers, sir. I am no expert in such things, but I am of the understanding that they are able to see
things that humble men like I cannot. In my opinion, that is not a blessing but a curse.”
“So what has he been speaking of?”
“When his words are decipherable, he has been speaking of some construction of the enemy. It
will erupt with power when the ‘Red orb waxes strongest’ I believe were his words. Given that there
is a damned big red planet hanging in the sky, I thought that you might wish to know what he said.”
Havorn walked to the side of the cot and looked down upon his astropath. The man was
skeletally thin, his skin ashen. He wore a metallic, domed helmet over his head and his eyes were
concealed beneath it, though there were no eye slits or visor. Pipes and wiring protruded from the
back of the helmet, disappearing beneath his high-necked, sweat soaked robes. He was bound with
leather straps, holding him firmly upon the cot.
“I didn’t want to remove any of his accoutrements. I feared that I might harm him, or me,”
muttered the medic. “I ordered him restrained so that he did not harm himself if he had another
seizure.”
Havorn nodded.
“Did he say what would happen when this power he talked about was unleashed?” he asked.
“He was not particularly lucid, sir. Most of his words were gibberish. He did, however, talk of
hell being unleashed and of this world being turned inside out.”
The astropath coughed suddenly, blood and phlegm on his lips, and then he began to go into
severe convulsions. The muscles in his neck strained as his entire body went rigid and shook, and
the medic pushed a piece of leather between his teeth to stop him from biting though his own
tongue. He twitched spasmodically for thirty seconds before going limp, his breathing heavy and
ragged. He spat the leather from his mouth and turned his sightless gaze towards Brigadier-General
Havorn.
“It draws near!” he said in a coarse whisper, flecks of foam spitting from his mouth. “As the red
orb waxes strong, it will erupt! Damnation! It will awaken Damnation! Destroy it before the time
comes. It is…” The man’s words dissolved into unintelligible gargles as another fit took hold of
him.
“See to him as best you can,” said Havorn and he took his leave. Walking out of the tent, he
raised his gaze to the giant red planet Korsis looming overhead. He had been told that it would be at
its closest to Tanakreg in five days time.
105
Five days to wipe the enemy clear of the planet before whatever it was that the astropath had
seen would occur. He wished that he could discount the man’s fevered words as those of a diseased
mind, but he felt that there was something in them.
Damn it, was he getting superstitious in his old age?
His gaze turned towards the insane construction that rose like a needle into the atmosphere. It
was hard to believe it was over a thousand kilometres away.
It had to be destroyed. Five days, he thought.
“I am withdrawing the Host back to the defensive earthworks and bunkers outside the ruins of the
city, my lord,” growled Kol Badar. He squeezed the trigger of his combi-bolter and ragged fire
ripped apart the chest of yet another enemy trooper. There were thousands of them advancing all
along the battle front and the Coryphaus’s armour was slick with gore and the foul, milky, nutrientrich
blood of the Skitarii.
“I cannot hold them at the mountains with the valleys destroyed and our numbers are too few to
halt them on the salt plains,” he said as he gunned down more soldiers advancing relentlessly into
the Word Bearers’ fire. The ground was liberally littered with the dead, yet the enemy continued to
advance, stepping over the bodies of their fallen comrades. Others were crushed beneath the rolling
tracks of battle tanks and mechanised crawlers. Earth and bodies exploded around him as shells
from battle cannons pounded the line. Searing lascannons silenced a Leman Russ tank, blowing its
turret clear of its chassis and Kol Badar heard the roars of the Warmonger nearby as the revered
ancient one relived some long past battle as it killed.
The voice of his master, the Dark Apostle, throbbed in his head.
The time of the Gehemehnet’s awakening draws near. Allow it to be interrupted and your pain
shall know no bounds, my Coryphaus.
“I would gladly give my life in sacrifice for my failures, my lord,” said Kol Badar as he stepped
slowly backwards, snapping off sharp bursts of fire left and right.
“Seventh and eighteenth coterie, close ranks and give covering fire,” he ordered, switching his
comm-channel briefly. “Twenty-first and eleventh, disengage and back off.”
You have a duty to perform, Kol Badar, and you will have no such release while it remains
unfulfilled.
“Burias, ensure they do not encircle us with their light vehicles. Engage and destroy them,” he
ordered before closing the comm once again.
“My lord is merciful.”
No, I am not. Your failure will not go unpunished, nor will it be forgotten. Allow none to assail
the Gehemehnet. Sacrifice every last warrior-brother before you allow a single enemy to launch an
attack against it. Do this and the Dark Council will be pleased. Fail again and eternal torment will
be yours.
“I will fight them every step of the way, my lord,” swore Kol Badar. “I have ordered Bokkar and
the reserve to strengthen the defences, preparing for the arrival of the Host. We will hold.”
Succeed in this, my Coryphaus, and I will give you what you most desire. I will give you the First
Acolyte, and you can finish what you once started.
Kol Badar blinked his eyes in surprise. He clenched his power claw tightly, the talons of the
mighty weapon crackling with energy as he slew another pair of enemy soldiers, his fire cutting
through their midsections. He chuckled in anticipation and felt a savage joy fire within him.
“I will not fail, my lord. I swear it before all the great gods of Chaos. I will not fail.”
106
BOOK THREE:
ASCENSION
“With victories over others, we conquer. But with victories over ourselves, we are exalted. There
must always be contests, and you must always win.”
—Kor Phaeron—Master of the Faith
107
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Imperial Dictator class cruiser Vigilance moved soundlessly through the void of space as it
rounded the war-torn planet, dropping into close orbit. The calculations had to be absolutely precise
and the logic engines housed within the bridge had been working constantly to provide the complex
algorithms calculating the exact moment for the barrage to be unleashed.
The area of jammed communications was broad: to risk the Vigilance entering the field was
testament to the severity of the threat. All sensory equipment was rendered useless as soon as they
entered the zone. Even the astropaths were unable to pierce the gloom projected up from the planet’s
surface. Once within the field, the Vigilance was utterly cut off from the outside world. The only
guiding light was that of the Astronomican, which Navigators could still thankfully perceive.
Nevertheless, to launch an orbital bombardment essentially blind was highly unorthodox and the
risks were high. However, the Admiral had been insistent and the cogitators had been consulted to
predict the exact mathematics required to plan such an endeavour.
The approach of the cruiser was painstakingly enacted. If it were but a fraction of a degree off its
angle of approach, if its speed was slightly out and the tip of the massive cruiser off by the smallest
