Chapter 32: Tales from the Ullanor Crusade (3) |
Part 3
Those Who Came Before
The Spirit of the Storm exited the Warp at the system's Mandeville Point and speedily sailed through the black, infinite void as fast as its engines could manage. The hull of a mighty vessel groaned under the strain it was being put under, but there was no correction in its course, no halting of its impressive pace. If anything, it seemed to increase speed as the various planets in the system came fully into view.
<Statement: ship energy signatures on auspex = zero. Debris = plentiful.> tech priest Uishal-Phi-4 chimed as the various sensors at the ancient magos' station let out a series of tones to let him know that the powerful instruments aboard their cruiser had completed a sweep of the system. <Analysis: Lightning Riders in this system = destroyed. Orks in this system = destroyed. Value of system = negligible.>
Ronan Cadera steepled his fingers together, brow furrowed in concern as he leaned forward in his captain's chair. This was troubling news. Fifty ships from Crusader Fleet V had entered into this system, and this is where the last traces of them had been spotted. And now all that was left seemed to be lifeless husks of their ships, floating in space without a sign of life at all.
House Cadera was an ancient house from Terra itself. At the start of the Great Crusade, Ronan's great-great-grandfather had been rewarded for his early loyalty to the Imperium of Man and was given his very own cruiser, a loyal ship called the Spirit of the Storm, to seek out signs of life among the stars. There were many among the Imperial High Command that had been wary of giving so much power to mortal individuals with so little oversight, but the Caderas did not care. Adventure and fame called to them, stirring something deep within their blood. Ronan's own mother had been lauded by Alexio Garva himself, once, in recognition for her commendable scouting of the Segmentum Pacificus.
Ronan himself did not wish to live in his mother's shadow for his entire life, and so had answered the call for aid in the Ullanor Crusade and pledged the Spirit of the Storm in service as an advanced scouting craft for elements of the vanguard forces of the Imperium of Man. At first, it had been the daring, dashing work that he had hoped for. A revealed trap here, a thwarted Ork Admiral there, perhaps even the occasional archeotech that was promptly handed over to the Mechanicum. Hundreds of Solar Auxiliaries owed their lives to information discovered by Ronan Cadera, and he made sure that any passing Remembrancer was told about it, as often as they possibly could be.
And then, he started to be outdone. The Rogue Trader was moving at such a blistering pace that he soon caught up with elements of the Lightning Riders that were working in the same area of the Ullanor Sector that he was. Soon, all of the 'new' areas he was discovering had already been swept over. Ork Admirals had been dealt with, the traps had all been sprung, and worst of all, the Remembrancers were ignoring his vox hails! Such things couldn't be tolerated, but try and he might, as much as he might push his ship to the limits, the Lightning Riders were still faster. Captain Cadera was just starting to accept the fact that he would be spending the rest of the Ullanor Crusade in ignominity when the most disturbing data had come to his attention.
Abandoning more lucrative opportunities, he had taken his ship and its crew with him to find the final resting place of the Lightning Riders VIIth Company. The people who worked for him had tried to dissuade Ronan in his goal, for House Cadera had made many an adventurer filthy rich in their starry escapades, but the young man would not be denied. He was a scoundrel, a braggart, and many other unkind things besides. But he was a proud member of the Imperium of Man, and he still knew his duty.
"Value can be found in many things, my good magos." Ronan finally said, breaking out of his memories. "And one of those is information. See to it that my shuttle is prepared for departure."
The surface of Theoton IV was bleak, barely hospitable by the standards of man, though it seemed as if the Orks had tried to make a military redoubt of the place. Bodies of slain Orks and the broken armored forms of the Vth Legion dotted the landscape, but this was a battle that happened months ago. The fires that had doubtless raged across the landscape were mere embers now, with the ash that fell like rain being their only remaining legacy.
<Warning: caution = warranted.> droned a Skitarii ranger, controlled remotely by Magos Uishal-Phi-4 aboard the Spirit of the Storm. <Lightning Riders = victors. Orks = not fully eradicated.>
"I agree with the Skitarii, sir." agreed a massive brute of a man, suspiciously aiming a massive slug thrower at the surrounding environment. "We should get back to the Spirit and be done with this place. All the blood spilled here is bound to have made this a bad world to be on."
Ronan paid them no mind, looking at a citadel off in the distance which still had smoke billowing from it. Clearly, whatever fight had happened, had concluded there. Clearly if he wanted answers, that was where he could find them.
"We search the tower." he stated firmly. "We look there, and see if there are any survivors we can find. I will discover what has happened here. If there is nothing, then we may leave."
The journey there was short, but there was the constant dull roar of the remaining Orks upon the planet. It was odd, though. There clearly weren't many of them, and there was no central leadership that the Spirit could detect from orbit. It was as if this was the refuse that the Lightning Riders had forgotten to deal with, and had left in a hurry… or hadn't been strong enough to finish the job.
At the entrance to the citadel, Ronan's party found a few Ork Boyz loitering around the front of the doors, looking at the arriving force with a mixture of shock and delight that they were finally going to be able to fight something other than themselves. Ronan was delighted too. For once, there was no investigating, politicking, or subtlety. Just good old fashioned violence.
"Hello, chap. Fancy telling a tired adventurer what he wishes to know? Then we can both go our separate ways." he japed, brandishing his cutlass at the greenskins.
One of the Orks came at him with a crude axe held high above its head. Ronan dodged the blow, but the brute had been swifter than he had anticipated. That blow had been entirely too close, and the soft gust of air generated by the ugly weapon's downward motion was noticeable as it lightly tousled his hair. Ronan was forced to take a step back, which only allowed his Ork opponent to swing the axe downward again. He tried to bring his cutlass up to block it, but the blade's metal was no match for the sheer brute strength behind the blow. The axe chopped the cutlass almost in half, and the Rogue Trader could feel his face burning as the ugly metal sliced into his brow. He scrambled back quickly, and brought up a finger to touch his wound, pulling it back when he felt blood pouring onto it. Thankfully, it was a superficial wound, and would possibly make him appear more dashing in any pict-recordings that were taken of him in the future. All in all, not the worst outcome. Still, there was an Ork in front of him that still needed taking care of. And all he had to work with was half a sword.
"Well, this is certainly unexpected." he remarked, looking back at the Ork and saluting him with the broken remains of his weapon.
"You gonna beg for mercy before I gut you, humie?" the Ork sneered, licking the blood off the edge of its axe to savor its imminent kill.
"No, but I do have something fun to show you…" Ronan said, gripping the handle of his sword tighter.
"Oh? Wozzat?" it asked, curiosity temporarily stalling its desire to inflict pain.
"The edge of my blade!" Ronan shouted, hurling it with all his might.
The broken half of the cutlass soared through the air, but the throw was off. It sailed wide to the right and the Ork dumbly watched it fly past it, well out of any danger.
"You call that a throw? Stupid git!" it chuckled, turning around to look back. That two seconds it had its head turned were enough, and Ronan used the time to pick up the fallen upper half of his blade and jam it right behind the xenos' left ear.
"It wasn't a throw, it was a distraction." the Rogue Trader hissed, letting the momentum of his leaping blow carry him and his now dead opponent down to the ground. Picking himself up and dusting himself off, he saw that his other companions were similarly successful, with none of their persons being any worse for wear. Thankfully, it appeared his new and attractive cut was the bloodiest injury any of them had.
<Observation: sword = broken.> a Skitarii piped up. <Replacement = necessary.>
"Oh really, I didn't realize." Captain Cadera hissed back. "Thank you so much for that useful bit of information, Uishai. What would I ever do without you."
<Reply: Tech Magos = happy to help.> it replied. <Available hours = all.>
Not for the first time, the Rogue Trader found himself wondering whether the old tech priest had removed his sense of humor, or had just become highly adept at making others feel off guard. The captain honestly couldn't tell if he was being mocked or not.
That internal debate could wait, however, because the way to the citadel was open before him. Inside, bodies both Orkish and Imperial littered the ground. This had been a hard fought battle all over the world, and nowhere was that more clear than in this tower. But no matter where he looked, the Rogue Trader could find no signs of life. Even the equipment that the Lightning Riders used had been stripped of all essential components.
At the top of the citadel was what had clearly been the Warboss' chamber. A massive corpse was in the center of the room, riddled with bolter-sized holes. All around it were the bodies of its honor guard, alongside a significantly smaller number of legionary corpses. So the Imperium had won this fight. But why had they left in such a hurry? Why hadn't they notified any higher authorities?
"Captain, sir." one of his men said cautiously. "There's a letter impaled on a sword over here."
"What does it say?" Ronan asked.
"It's… it's addressed to you, captain."
A power saber was stabbed into the floor, with a vellum letter reading 'for the eyes of Rogue Trader Ronan Cadera, Captain of the Spirit of the Storm'. His hands were trembling as he pulled the sword up from the floor and opened up the parchment. He couldn't help it. What exactly was going on here?
Ronan Cadera,
I apologize for not being able to tell you in person. I know you are aware of who I am, but we have also been aware of you. Your service to the Imperium, even if it has occasionally served yourself, it is to be commended. Lives have been saved because of your actions, never forget that.
During our conquest of Theoton, we received word from our Primarch himself. The push for Ullanor Prime has begun, and the entire legion has been summoned to take part in the attack. We left as quickly as we dared. The Imperium shall come to bury our dead eventually, and they would have reprimanded us for trying to place them at rest while there are still enemies to be hunted down.
But we also knew that you would come. You might act brazen, you may seem to have a hardened shell that keeps out the worst blows of the galaxy from ever striking you, but the Lightning Riders see more than you know. You have a good heart, and those are more rare and valuable than anything you could possibly find in your long adventures across the width and breadth of this entire galaxy.
We have taken the most pressing intelligence with us, for the Warmaster would wish to have it. But there are other pieces of information of a less immediate need that we have left behind for you. Take them in good faith. Let your reputation grow even faster because of them. You have earned it and more.
In addition, please take my power saber as a token of my gratitude at the mortal I most closely feel is a rival. Every time we took a system, every time we conquered an enemy, we knew that we could not rest and enjoy the fruits of our victory. You would be close behind us, and this competition has kept us sharp. Wield this weapon, one that few people, much less Rogue Traders, have ever been deemed worthy of wielding.
The Lightning Riders ask only one thing in return: our victory on Ullanor will not be the last of the Orkish threat. They will try to regroup, they will try to rise again. Scout out the furthest reaches of the Ullanor Empire. Determine where they will try to flee towards and where they will try and secretly regrow their power. Your information will be vital, and will save us decades of work that we may spend otherwise. There are none else we would trust more, and I promise you that Tengri Khagan himself will have Iskandar's personal Remembrancer take as many recordings of you as you wish.
Do this not in our name, not out of obligation, but because we know you love humanity as much as we do, albeit in your own way. Do this because humanity is the only thing you care about more than a section of your map simply labeled 'here there be monsters'. We know that you will not fail, because we know you.
Ave Imperator,
Captain Kadan of the Lightning Riders
Ronan Cadera felt a thrill forming in his stomach as he gripped the pommel of his new sword. These outsiders, ones that he had never even met, knew him better than he did himself. How could he possibly fail them now? They demanded excellence, and that was what they were going to receive. They had certainly picked the right man for the job on that account.
<Question: your orders = unknown.> Uishai said. <direction = requested.>
"Fire up the ship, my old friend." the Rogue Trader said, a wide grin appearing on his face. "Our work here is done. We have a new job to do, and I know just where to start."
"Set a course for Chondax, immediately."
The Bloody Beast
"We are approaching the planet, Seer. Your presence is requested aboard a shuttle craft ready to depart."
Arhandrun Mach of Craftworld Ildaneth opened his eyes to see an apologetic warrior backing out of the room and into the corridor of their Aurora-class light cruiser. The Farseer had been diving deep into the Sea of Souls when the warrior had interrupted him, but for once he was glad for the intrusion. There was something wrong about this planet they were arriving on, something foul that was poisoning the very aura of his environment.
There were telltale signs of Aeldari warpcraft, but it had been corrupted, twisted somehow into a new and perverted function. What it exactly was, he had no idea. But that was to be expected. The Exarch was known to be an infamously private and reserved personality, even among other Exarchs. There wasn't even a briefing that he was expected to attend. The Exarch merely requested a Seer be available for this mission, and the Craftworld had sent Arhandrun. The Aeldari supposed he should have been insulted, but the wrongness of the planet before him was making him too uneasy to feel anything other than dread. What in the name of the gods had happened here that could be felt even from orbit?
The Holofield-shielded flight down to the planet was done in complete silence. The warriors were deep in their meditations, the Exarch was brooding, and Arhandrun found himself truly idle. He thought about casting his spirit back into the Sea of Souls, trying to find out more information to make their mission go more smoothly, when he caught the eye of the Exarch, staring at him with daggers in his eyes.
"Not until we reach the planet, Farseer." he said gruffly. "I want your mind as unclouded as it can be."
"Perhaps then, it would be prudent of you to tell me what we are doing here." Mach shot back, unable to stop himself before the words had left his mouth. His temperament had never been fiery, but there was an undeniable acidity to it, one that often caused his superiors to find reasons to disfavor him.
The Exarch let out a sigh, seeming to weigh his options before deciding that perhaps the Farseer had a point. In this instance, it seemed, Arhandrun's tongue had been to his benefit.
"Very well," the warrior said. "But know that the reason you are here is because we know very little to begin with."
"We are landing on a planet in the Ullanor Sector. I am sure the Sea of Souls has been frothing from all the conflict the Mon'Keigh and the Orks have been causing in their pointless barbaric war. Our people have been content to let them kill each other, though I doubt we will be fortunate enough to have them completely eliminate the other faction."
"Our passivity has been threatened, however, because a small portion of our strike teams sent into the Ullanor Sector to recover artifacts of considerable importance have been reporting rumors of some new weapon the Mon'Keigh have unleashed. They are calling it 'the Bloody Beast', and while we normally would not care what those primitives have conjured, this one appears to be making use of something that bears the unmistakable signature of our own power."
"That is what I felt when I was meditating." Arhandrun remarked. "Something felt as though the crude practices of the Mon'Keigh had blended with our own arts."
The warrior nodded at him, obviously pleased at the concurrence.
"Indeed," he said. "And that brings us here. A great battle was fought on the surface below, not that long ago. Energy readings of this kind have never been documented at this level of power. Whatever happened there, it will give us the best understanding we could hope to achieve about just what this new Imperium has been doing."
"You have been summoned to assist us because there are few to none more talented than you at peering into the past, at seeing the echoes of what came before. When we land, my warriors and I will guard you as you investigate the battle site. Should you require more information on the battle, or what exactly the Mon'Keigh were doing here, ask me when you begin your process. I want your mind as little clouded by useless information as possible."
The world itself bore the scars of the battle. Artillery craters dotted the landscape, and bodies beyond count were piled high. Flames worked their way through them, but it was a difficult process. Clearly the Imperium had done a preliminary sweep of the field, ensuring that all of their wounded had been evacuated and all of their enemies had been slain. They would be back soon, though. Arhandrun's squad would not have needed to employ stealth if the Imperium had already left the planet.
The party arrived at a spot of truly horrific carnage, with dozens of corpses of what Arhandrun knew were the Mon'Keigh's 'Astartes' warriors. In the middle of their bodies was a crater easily seventy meters in diameter that was completely blackened from the soot of a psychic fire. Whatever had happened here seemed sickeningly familiar to the Farseer, but he could not figure out where exactly from.
"Here." the Exarch said. "This is where the Bloody Beast appeared, I am sure of it. Touch the environment, Farseer. Let us see what you discover."
The Farseer touched a part of the blackened crater and with a sudden lurch, found himself in the midst of a ferociously fought battle. Uncountable Orks swarmed all around him, trying as hard as they could to slay these Astartes warriors, armored in their white and pale blue ceramite.
They looked to be winning the fight handily, and the Orks seemed ill-equipped to deal with the might of their foe. A crude Mon'Keigh tank arrived, and happily vaporized an entire contingent of savage Ork Boyz, freeing up more of the infantry to continue their purge. The Astartes let out a triumphant cheer. Victory, it seemed, was all but theirs.
"Ah, this is the race that believes they shall inherit the galaxy." the Exarch chuckled, suddenly appearing at the side of Arhandrun. "But look: here comes a doom they cannot hope to match."
A horrifyingly loud screech of metal was heard, as a gigantic ball of hastily assembled steel was launched through the air and landed in the midst of the Astartes, creating the crater that Arhandrun now stood in. A green tide of Orks, much bigger and bolder than the ones had been before, surrounding the Astartes and opening fire. The Mon'Keigh warriors reacted quickly, though, and soon turned to face this new threat. Their patterns of fire were without fault and their teamwork was exemplary. If given enough time, they might have been able to reverse their fortunes in this battle yet again. But they were blind to the true threat that was facing them, for they had just turned their backs to it.
The steel meteor was no meteor at all. No sooner had the Astartes begun to face the charging Orks than the steel contraption stood upright on two feet and extended six arms outwards, four of metal and two of flesh. A Power Klaw shot out, attached to a massive chain and latched onto the battle tank. Such was the strength and mass of the monster inside of the metal that it was able to spin and spin around and turn the attached tank into an improvisational flail. Ork and Astartes alike were sent flying, their internal organs pulverized by the force of the blow.
The tank was sent crashing back down to the soil, but the Mon'Keigh had precious time to attack their new foe. Only one of the six arms had held the Power Klaw, and the other five had weapons of their own, and they too had been busy. Flames leapt out of nozzles and explosive ammunition was sent forth from the barrels of multiple 'shootas'. It was a scene of total carnage, but still the warriors of this nascent Imperium did not despair. Those that could still move advanced forward, chainswords held high in attack. Those that lay crippled aimed their weapons and fired wherever their comrades were not slicing. A veritable tide of bolter rounds and steel swarmed the monstrosity, but it did little good. All that their attack had truly accomplished was removing the helm of the Ork, but it did not seem to care. It raised its massive head to the sky and let out a bellowing WAAAAAAAAGH!!! that seemed to shake the very foundations of the ground.
"That is one of the Beasts of Ullanor." the Exarch said, answering the Farseer's unspoken query. "Bagorr da Trash Heap Terror. It appears as if the War Field develops enough, some of their kind will never stop modifying their bodies. This one in particular seems to take a special delight in being a walking armory."
"A formidable foe." Arhandrun agreed. "Even some of their artillery could not possibly hope to penetrate the armor. What happened to it? I do not see the body, and clearly it would be a defining monument on this battlefield."
The Exarch said nothing, for he was looking at an orange glow that had just appeared from the Mon'Keigh side of the battlefield. Moving at blistering speeds, was a creature that was easily twelve meters tall and emanating an intense heat from beneath its molten metal skin. It was a dark metal, wicked looking and durable, with the temperature inside making the lines between each strip glow white hot. It let out a bellowing war cry of its own as it spotted its prey, and pointed an accusing finger in the direction of the Trash Heap Terror.
"THIS WORLD IS NO LONGER YOURS, BEAST!" it bellowed, the heat from its mouth causing distortions in the air around it. "I RECLAIM IT IN THE OF THE IMPERIUM OF MAN AND HUMANITY ITSELF!"
Bagorr seemed as if it were about to say something, but the burning figure moved with terrifying speed, seeming to cross the distance between the two in an instant. The so-called Bloody Beast, for this is what it was, bore no weapon that Arhandrun could see, but it's fists seemed to become white hot and started pummeling away at the armor surrounding the Scavenger Beast.
Any weapon that Bagorr tried to fight back with was seized from the monster's grasp and torn away. The only sign that the once dangerous Power Klaw had been in the Beast's arsenal was the glowing red end of a uselessly dangling chain that slapped harmlessly against both combatants.
Still, for all of the fury contained within those mighty blows, progress was slow for the Mon'Keigh super weapon. The sheer sized of the Ork and the numerous layers of trash metal meant that no matter how many times the Bloody Beast slammed into its terrified enemy, there always seemed to be one more layer to smash through.
It was during this relatively long phase of the fight that the horrifying revelation that Arhandrun had been summon to uncover occurred. As the molten warrior raised a fist to slam into the chest piece of the Trash Heap Terror, the Farseer noticed another color on its hand besides the various shades of superheated metal. There was a red colored liquid running down its fist. Not the bright, almost orange red of metal, but the deep crimson of blood. Somehow, the hands of this creature were slowly but constantly weeping blood.
"By the gods," Farseer Mach swore. "I know what that thing is. I know why I felt our power here. That is our power, Exarch. That is the Bloody-Handed God at work. This is an Avatar of Khaine!"
And so it was. The molten metal skin, the sharp teeth, the uncontrollable fury, and especially the bleeding hands. This was all the signs of an avatar of the Aeldari God of War. But there were differences, and none too subtle either. No headress appeared on this form, and it did not move like an Exarch who had offered up its life and soul. This was a human, a lowly Mon'Kiegh, but somehow it had found a way to harness and utilize the manifestation of one the few remaining deities that had not been swallowed up by She-Who-Thirsts.
This was wrong. So terribly wrong. How had the Imperium managed to do this? How were the two normally opposed psychic powers cooperating, and how were they able to find multiple hosts for this entity, for there had been multiple reports over a long period of time concerning the actions of this creature.
As the two Aeldari stared dumbfounded at their discovery, the Bloody Beast grabbed ahold of Bagorr around the Beast's side and began to glow. First the armored bands were a dull red, but they soon turned yellow and eventually white hot. If this weapon could not reach the Ork inside of this armor in time, it would cook him instead.
"Farseer Arhandrun, this is enough. We must go." the Exarch declared, tugging on Mach's arm, but the Seer refused to budge. The brightness from the killing was increasing, and he could see the Trash Heap Terror beginning to smoke inside of his own protective suit.
"Now, Farseer!" the Exarch called, trying again to get his attention, but Arhandrun did not listen. The light was so overwhelming now that he could barely make out the figures. Everything around them was catching fire, consumed in the blaze that showed no signs of abating. He could not look away. It was the most horrifying thing the young Aeldarinhad ever seen. But something still held his gaze. Just before no features could be made out at all, he caught some that was-
It… it couldn't be. That was impossible. Utterly impossible. It was-
"NOOOOOOOOOOO!"
Arhandrun Mach snapped back to the present with a start, heart hammering in his chest. The shuttle was nearby, and the warriors practically had to drag him inside when he tried to run off into the ruins of the city the battle had taken place in.
"Inform the Craftworld that we found the information we have been looking for, and expect our arrival as soon as possible." the Exarch said flatly, centuries of experience helping to suppress the same fear he undoubtedly felt too. "They will wish to hear this."
Farseer Arhandrun Mach wished he could keep compose too, but the Exarch had it much easier than he did. The warrior hadn't seen what he had seen. If he had, he might not be so balanced.
At the very end, in the last second before the light overtook them, the Seer had sworn that Bloody Beast had looked right at him. That didn't make any sense, but no other explanation accounted for the horrific feeling that he felt when that terrible expression bore into him.
And as Arhandrun tentatively tried to peer into the future, the most horrifying fact of it all was that fate was decreeing it would not be the last time he locked eyes with the gaze of the Bloody Beast.