xKonradCurzex
02-09-2014, 02:43 PM
Bloodfather: A Lion Warriors Space Marine Short
1
In the Tall Grass
The Strike Cruiser Caliban’s Wake sat motionless in the vast blackness of space. Its
thrusters powered down to a cool blue glow as it hung dormant, waiting; like a predatory cat of
ancient Terra lying in the tall-grass, hunting its prey.
Captain Antillius sat rigidly atop his command throne, his hawk-like gaze peering
intently out into space before him, scanning the darkness of the horizon; watching, waiting. All
around the dais, deck-officers and servitors worked diligently at their stations, relaying pertinent
information to Antillius’ throne if and when necessary, for he did not wish to be disturbed for
anything short of a Tyranid Hive-fleet invasion or Ork Waaagh!; such was the intensity of his
concentration on the stars.
‘Auspex!’ he barked suddenly, causing the nearest crew-members to jump.
‘Nothing yet, my lord,’ replied a crewman to his left.
‘Close and long-range scanners?’
‘Negative, Captain. All systems read zero contact.’
Antillius frowned and sat back in the command-throne, his digits tapping at the edge of
the arm-rests. None of this made any sense.
The Caliban’s Wake, a ship of the Lion Warriors Space Marine chapter-fleet, had been
following a lead of particular interest to Chapter Master Sephariel; however, Antillus and the rest
of his crew were not made aware of the intimate details behind their mission. Theirs was to serve
the chapter and perform their duty to the Emperor in whatever way was required of them. The
Captain was not usually one to ask questions, he simply obeyed when ordered.
They had been following the mysterious sightings of a lone vessel that had been
appearing and disappearing all over the sector. Initial reports had suggested that there may be
survivors aboard the ship; though, all attempts at hailing the craft had ended in failure before it
disappeared once more into the Warp. After following the ship for a week, Captain Antillius had
worked out a pattern, and he was betting on a hunch that the ship’s next appearance would be
here in this chance-selected portion of space.
Luck, it would seem, smiled upon him.
‘Captain! Auspex reads incoming translation from Warp-space!’
‘Where?’
‘Seven-hundred kilometres to the port-side.’
Moments later, a flash of electric-scarlet in the distance heralded the translation point of
the new arrival, and Captain Antillius and his crew on the bridge of the Caliban’s Wake ceased
working momentarily to watch as the battered form of a ship emerged from the rift in space.
‘Jericho Class Pilgrim Vessel confirmed,’ a servitor droned as the long-range scanners of
the Caliban’s Wake identified the ship, sending the information back to be digested by the
lobotomized crewmember and relayed to the Captain. Antillius gazed passively at the heavily
damaged and warp-rusted hull of the ex-merchant tanker as it glided slowly forward on dead
thrusters; its bloated form pitted and scarred from impacts of unknown origin.
‘Bring the Wake about ninety-degrees to starboard and put her into position to broadside.
Vox-master, hail our new companion.’
‘Aye, Captain’
As the attempt showed, however, like many attempts prior, the Jericho Class Pilgrim
Vessel bounced back only static-silence.
‘Lieutenant Kraska, I want a full thermal scan of that ship. I want to know if anything
still lives and breathes on those decks.’
The lieutenant, a slender woman with close-cut blonde hair, athletic build, and piercing
blue eyes nodded and went about initiating the scanning sequences. She returned moments later
with her reply.
‘Scanners indicate faint heat blooms in the engines and heart of the ship. She’s still alive,
but barely. According to our navigator, her name is the Bleeding Heart.’
‘And the crew? Passengers?’
Kraska shook her head.
‘There is no sign of life aboard that ship; it’s just an empty husk. The crew has either
abandoned her long ago, or they are as cold and dead as she is.’
Antillius frowned.
‘That would account for the amount of comm-silence.’
The Captain leaned forward in his command-throne and brought a hand up to his chin,
stroking the short silver beard that adorned his square-jawed features before speaking again.
‘Open a channel to the Masters.’
‘Aye Captain. Connection confirmed’
The lights of the bridge dimmed slightly and a massive hologram swam into view before
the throne. Deck-officers and crewmen alike lowered their gaze in respect as the hulking form of
a Legion Terminator appeared before the Captain.
‘What word, Captain?’ rumbled the hologram as it gazed down at the small man, its voice
slightly distorted due to mild interference.
‘My lord, we have encountered the vessel. She has been confirmed as the Bleeding Heart,
a pilgrim ship, all but devoid of life.’
‘Any signs of warp re-entry?’
‘None, lord; though, as recent history has shown, she has a habit of making her
appearances brief. My estimate would be that we have at least another three hours before she
disappears again.’
‘Duly noted, Captain. Bring us into range for deep-strike teleportation.’
‘My lord?’
Four other massively armoured figures emerged in the foreground of the hologram just
behind the first; each bearing the snarling black lion-head insignia emblazoned upon the right
shoulder-pauldrons of their golden armour; a winged talon on the left. The lead terminator turned
his steely-gray eyes upon Antillius and spoke once more, his voice like gravel rolling down a
hillside.
‘We go to do the Chapter’s work. To question me is to question the lord Sephariel.’
The Captain simply nodded, knowing better than to pursue the matter further.
‘Understood, sire. Helmsman, bring us closer.’
The shimmering forms of the golden warriors blinked out of existence and the Lion
Warrior’s Strike Cruiser turned slowly and gracefully in the ocean of space. Like the lion in the
tall grass, they slowly inched closer toward their prey.
2
Ritual and Departure
The embarkation deck of the Caliban’s Wake was alive with activity as servitors and
chapter serfs bustled about preparing the giants for departure. The five massive forms of the Lion
Warriors veterans moved with a lumbering gait as they stalked across the deck toward the
teleportation platform; each member of the terminator squad taking position around it, standing
equal distance away from the warrior beside him.
Moments later, a cadre of robed servitors bearing the mark of the Priesthood of Mars
emerged, a lone tech-priest at its head swinging a glowing incense lantern like a pendulum
before him as he led them in a binary prayer. The procession moved slowly and deliberately
about the circle of warriors as they blessed each suit of armour and the wearer within; all the
while the incense wafted like a haze about them, trailing in their wake and hanging about the
blessed like an aura.
The leader of the terminators, the one who had addressed Captain Antillius, turned his
steely gaze about the circle and took in the helmed-faces of each of the warriors accompanying
him. Each man was as common to him as if they were his own kin, and each warrior, he knew,
was willing to lay his own life down for that of his brother. As the tech-priest and his group of
shambling servitors completed their ritualistic blessings and prayers to the Ominissiah, the five
veteran Astartes moved as one. With the sound of grinding servos, they entered the teleportation
platform, turning to face outward and bringing their weapons to bear. The lights on the deck
dimmed as the floor beneath them glowed a vibrant, electric blue that coruscated about their
ceramite boots and grew in intensity. The five warriors roared as one as they were enveloped by
the light
‘For the Lion! And the Emperor!’
Then, with a building hum of power and a brilliant flash, they were gone.
3
Corruption Within
The first thing they registered as the teleportation mist dissipated around them was the
echoing silence that hung in the air and seeped down the corridors of the dead ship. The second
thing was the smell.
Even through the enhanced filtration systems built into the suits of Indomitus-pattern
terminator-plate, the foetid stench of decay, mixed with human waste, oppressed the geneenhanced
senses of the five veteran Adeptus Astartes warriors. The strongest smell of all,
however, cut through the haze like a knife: a metallic tang that hung thick and sour in the stale,
recycled air that passed unbidden through their armour’s defences, assailed their nostrils, and
was ingested into their lungs. First-Captain Vorne Alael of the Fang, Honoured First-Company of
the Lion Warriors Space Marines recognized the stench immediately, his pupils dilating as
recognition dawned on him.
‘Blood…’
Kerek Tighe, a seasoned veteran of over a thousand battlefields, and Vorne’s closest
friend since before their inauguration into the Lion Warriors, gave voice to his brother’s
thoughts.
‘Ay,’ came the low guttural snarl emanating from the mouth-grille of the terminator to
Vorne’s immediate left. ‘The ship reeks of it.’
Dannoc Vol turned his emerald-lensed gaze upon the darkness that greeted them,
illuminated only by the shoulder-mounted lights of their armour, bathing the corridor in a weak
glow that reached for a few meters. With a word, the brightness intensified, and as they took
stock of their surroundings, the source of the smell was made abundantly clear.
The plasteel floor was littered with prone human forms robed in crimson and awash in a
sea of viscera and coagulated gore that stretched the length and breadth of the hall within which
they stood. The walls were painted with crude symbols, blasphemous prayers, and icons
worshipping a sinister power far beyond the mortal scope. Vorne’s lip curled at the sight, his
emerald vision tinged with yellow due to the amount of blood that adorned everything that his
eyes fell upon.
One of the terminators, Brother Undan, moved to the nearest corpse and knelt by it; the
servos whirring noisily as he willed the tactical armour to comply. Reaching out with the head of
his massive power-axe, he slowly turned the robed corpse onto its back, revealing its features.
What he saw when its face was revealed repulsed him. What was once a human male, now
represented a desecrated symbol to the ruinous powers. The man’s eyes had been messily ripped
from their sockets leaving dark, gaping holes, and the flesh had been mostly torn away; a crude
Khornate symbol carved deep into his ravaged face. As he looked down, a glint of tarnished
silver caught Undan’s eye. Reaching into the shallow pond of bloody worship that surrounded
them, his gauntleted fingers found purchase upon the object and he lifted it from its resting place
for all to see. Within his clenched fist dangled a long silver chain, at the end of which hung a
large pendant in the shape of the Aquila, the sign of the Imperium of Man. Like the man’s face,
however, this too had been desecrated, and both heads had been snapped off.
‘This must have been an order of sorts, on a pilgrimage to Holy Terra.’ Vorne Alael gazed
upon the horror that lay before them, surveying the grizzly sight.
‘Brother Andren, set a light to this blasphemy and purge this gruesome scene.’
As if in response to his command, the bodies began to twitch and spasm; writhing
uncontrollably and causing the lake of blood to boil and seethe at their armoured feet. A great
bestial roar leapt from out of the gathered darkness and reverberated along the corridor, causing
even the dampeners in each terminator’s helm to short. The Fang stepped back from the scene,
bracing themselves immediately for what might come.
The spasming corpses all along the corridor rose before them, lifted by an unseen force
and became crucified to the air; their arms spread wide and heads tilted back, mouths agape in a
silent scream as rivers of blood poured from unseeing eyes. Vorne’s squad watched as hellfire
ignited within the lifeless sockets and the corpses split down the center, gushing flaming ooze
that burned ragged holes in the plasteel flooring. The deafening roar was suddenly replaced by
numerous shrieks as the servants of Khorne made themselves known.
Bloodletters, with their blackened horns and snarling faces tore themselves free of their
hosts, exploding bodies as they ripped their way violently into reality. The nearest lesser daemon
landed with a sickening thud just a scant few metres from the cadre, its sinewy form glistening
with a deep blood red shine, fresh from the womb from whence it emerged. Eyes the colour of
amber burned with hatred beyond that of human comprehension as it raised its rune-etched chaos
blade to strike.
It never got the chance.
The Bloodletter of Khorne was lifted off of its cloven-hoofed feet, hanging suspended by
Vorne’s lightning claws. It writhed and let out a horrible shriek before being blasted apart by the
storm-bolter fixed to the Captain’s power-gauntlet.
‘Back to the warp, foul thing!’
The rest of the Fang did not need to be prompted as they waded into the daemon-host
that surged forward to meet them. Dannoc Vol let out a mighty roar as he punched his forcehammer
through the torso of a charging lesser-daemon and then tore three more to shreds with
his storm-bolter, moving forward to engage the next target. Undan and Kerek Tighe waded into
battle on either side of Brother Andren; each blow of their power weapons striking with speed
and brutal effect while their brother ignited his Heavy Flamer, sending a cyclonic pillar of
burning promethium into the screaming horde. Their axes rose and fell as they carved great
bloody swathes through the enemy, finishing off those left marred by Andren’s inferno.
Vorne stood alone in the lake of fire and blood, his lightning claws audibly crackling with
energy as they sizzled and cooked off the daemonic gore caked to the lethal blades. He let out a
roar as he plunged the talons of his right fist into the body of the last of the Khornate daemons,
pinning it to the plasteel deck and watching it writhe in the blood. The First-Captain retracted the
blades letting the lake settle over the now still corpse, watching it return to the sanguine filth
from whence it came.
With a whining of servos, he straightened and looked around at the carnage. He was soon
met by the other four veterans as they sloshed through the gore to take position around their
leader; their weapons and armour a testament to their encounter. Vorne opened a link to his
squad.
‘Be on guard, this place is not as it seems.’
He was acknowledged by four sub-vocalizations, and motioned for them to move
forward into the unknown. Opening another link, the Captain attempted to hail the Caliban’s
Wake.
‘Captain Antillius.’
There was a long, drawn-out pause before,
‘My Lord?’
‘Perform another thermal scan of this vessel.’
‘Aye, my Lord; though we did previous, and found nothing’
‘Would you call ‘being attacked by a host of daemons’ nothing, Antillius?’
‘No, Lord, but I –‘
Vorne cut him off.
‘Scan.’
‘Aye, Lord, it will be done.’
4
Vengeance
The squad walked on for several hundred metres, their ceramite boots never once finding
dry plasteel. Blood lay everywhere, like a sanguine blanket draped over the otherwise dull ship.
It was as if the ship itself was a heart and the five terminators of the Lion Warriors First
Company were wading through its veins and arteries. Every so often, Vorne would receive
reports from his squad-members of strange sightings: anguished faces in the walls of the ship,
crying out voiceless pleas to otherwise deaf ears; daemonic visages leering from the pooling
blood at their feet, only to disappear when taken a second glance.
‘This place has run afoul of the taint of Chaos, that much is certain,’ growled Dannoc Vol.
‘My hammer hungers for death.’
Vorne glanced sideways at his brother and spoke as they passed down another bloodfilled
corridor, the walls glistening with red chaotic script painted in maddening streaks of ichor
that seemed to grow increasingly disturbing and frequent the deeper within the ship they
ventured.
‘Steady yourself, Dannoc, that rabble was not the last of our encounter here today.’
His vox-link suddenly came alive.
‘Lord, I have done as you ordered. I-it just doesn’t make sense…’
Vorne stopped and furrowed his brow, the Fang ceasing their march as they watched their
Captain.
‘Speak plainly, Captain.’
‘My Lord, we scanned the ship prior to your insertion upon her decks and we received
nothing. The ship was dead. Now, however, the entire ship is like a fiery beacon!’
‘You mean to say this vessel is inhabited?’
‘No, Honoured Lord. The ship is alive.’
Just then, another thunderous roar ripped through the ship causing the very flooring upon
which the terminator squad stood to quake.
‘Blood of the Emperor…’ exclaimed Undan as the bloody walls suddenly peeled off like
scabby tendrils and shot out from either side in an attempt to ensnare them.
‘For the Lion and the Emperor!’ Vorne roared, drawing the Mk II Mars Pattern powersword
at his hip and parrying three attempts at his legs by the snaking appendages before he
slashed another two apart and watched the stumps flail wildly, dripping red ichor as they recoiled
back into the wall from whence they came. The massive power weapon cleaved effortlessly
through the warp-flesh of the things as the Fang were assailed once more on all sides by a
relentless and renewed attack by the ship.
Undan and Kerek Tighe stood back-to-back, swinging their power-weapons and fighting
back the lethally-probing tendrils. Dannoc Vol swung his mighty hammer left and right,
pounding back the assault as Brother Andren once more unleashed a torrent of flame, engulfing
the corridor in burning promethium and the Emperor’s fury.
This time, the ship fought back harder, causing the Fang to double their efforts as they
desperately tried to free themselves from the entwining limbs that snaked around their arms and
legs, attempting to bring them down.
Vorne had his helm torn free from his head by a barbed tentacle in time to watch Brother
Andren lifted bodily above them. Andren roared in furious defiance, unleashing fiery hell with
his Heavy Flamer even as his suit of Indomitus-pattern tactical dreadnaught armour was peeled
back like tin and his body ripped apart by the probing appendages. The First Captain roared and
the remaining four terminators struck with renewed fury as they avenged their fallen comrade,
slashing and hacking like windmills of death as they cut a path toward the end of the living hall.
The veteran terminator squad finally managed to pull themselves free of the writhing,
snatching horde of tendrils, their armour dented and scratched from the relentless assault. Kerek
Tighe roared and sent a final burst of storm-bolter fire into the writhing mass before turning back
to the squad. Vorne addressed each of them as they re-assembled by his side; the vacant spot that
Brother Andren had filled weighed heavily on all of them.
‘There will be time to mourn our fallen brother when we return to the Wake. For now, we
must focus on our task at hand.’ He said, dismissing their grief with their sense of duty to the
Chapter and the Emperor.
‘We are the Fang, Honoured First Company of the Lion Warriors Space Marines,
favoured of Master Sephariel, and hunters of the Fallen. We have come to this warp-damned
vessel to purge the evil that lies within. We will not falter, and we will not fail.’
He looked at each member of his squad in turn.
“We are Adeptus Astartes, and our vengeance is absolute!’
The three squad members roared their affirmation, smashing their gauntleted fists on their
ceramite breast-plates in unison, raising their weapons in salute to their Captain and preparing to
depart once more into the belly of the beast that was the Bleeding Heart.
Vorne grinned; his square, chiselled features pulling tightly showing the various scars that
lined his face from battles long-past. A black tribal tattoo adorned the right side of his face: the
outline of a roaring lion that stretched over his right eye to his lower jaw, and back to the base of
his neck. Many more such tattoos and markings adorned his skin, as was customary of his old
tribe from whence he was chosen by the Lion Warriors centuries ago. A wild mane of ravenblack
hair hung down his back and over his shoulders, having been shaken free of its traditional
top-knot by the rough removal of his helm; the sides of his head were shaved to reveal more
intricate tribal markings of unknown importance, however similar in origin to that of the others.
Surrounded by his remaining warriors, Vorne and the Fang stalked off in search of their
prey.
5
Bloodfather
Time and time again, Vorne and his squad were beset upon by scores of daemonic hosts
and apparitions as the ship grew more and more restless in its attempt to free itself of the
unwanted intruders. Each time, however, their combined courage and strength, mixed with the
Emperor’s wrath that was inherent in each of them, saw the enemy pushed back into the shadows
to lick its wounds. After scores of winding passageways teeming with blood, and countless
encounters with products of the ship’s wrath, they finally reached the command-deck.
They waded shin-deep now, every ripple sending dismembered limbs and bones bobbing
off in every direction as they made their way toward the bridge. As the terminator squad passed
through the threshold into the main sanctum, the Fang finally came face to face with their longhunted
prey, and a veritable charnel-house.
The being sat atop the command throne within the bridge of the ship; the throne itself
stained crimson and kept sanguine by the constant ruby streams that fell from the countless
headless corpses of deck-officers, menials, slaves, familiar forms of crimson-robed figures, like
those first encountered upon their arrival on the ship, and even servitors, hanging crudely from
the ceiling by hooks. The heads lay piled about the base of the throne like gruesome trophies,
their lifeless eyes with their blank stare impossibly weeping endless rivers of blood that rolled
down the command dais and lent to the gathering tide at its base. Atop the bleeding throne amid
the skulls, an abomination of flesh and ceramite lorded over the gruesome scene. Here, man and
metal were made grotesquely one; the hulking form of what was once a proud Adeptus Astartes
warrior now possessed and changed by the ruinous powers of chaos. It sniffed the air and a
bestial grin crossed its features; its lips parting to reveal row upon row of jagged fangs as it let
out a low, rumbling chuckle and acknowledged the intruders.
‘Welcome to the lair of the Blood Father, taker of skulls and Champion of Khorne.’ It
said, grasping a skull in a huge, clawed hand and inspecting it with amber eyes. The possessed
paid little heed to the four terminator-veterans within its midst as he rolled the skull absentmindedly
over his taloned digits.
The remaining members of the Fang moved forward in a phalanx, weapons at the ready;
Vorne Alael moved at the tip of the spear. He was the first to address the beast.
‘We have come for you in the name of the Lion, to make you answer for your betrayal,
your conspiracy with Luther, first of the Fallen, and we charge you with death. How do you
plead, Arael?’
At hearing the sound of its name, the possessed paused, momentarily taken aback by the
utterance of so ancient a title; one that had, until now, no meaning for him anymore. It turned its
rage-filled gaze upon the First-Captain and, taking the skull into its palm, crushed it to dust
before speaking.
‘You have come to make me confess, have you?’ it snarled, rising slowly from its throne
and stepping down onto the bloody dais, shattering skulls beneath its tread.
Vorne growled beneath his helm.
‘No, I have come for your head.’
6
Final Battle
The Fallen who dubbed itself the Bloodfather grinned, its face-splitting smile revealing
rows of needle-sharp fangs. As it stepped forward into the dim light that flickered from the
ceiling, Vorne and the Fang could make out remnants of its ancient armour that betrayed its old
allegiance to a chapter long ago disgraced; the insignia of the I Legion faded almost to nothing
on its right shoulder pauldron; scratched away by what looked to be self-inflicted jagged clawmarks,
and caked in centuries-old dried blood.
The Bloodfather flexed its brutal claws as it surveyed the four terminators with its
burning amber glare before its jaw distended, releasing a thunderous bestial roar that shook the
chamber and caused the noise-dampeners in the Fang’s helms to activate.
Bloody tendrils snaked from their resting place beneath the lake of blood, striking like
vipers as they found purchase on the Fang’s armour, pulling them to their knees despite their
efforts to struggle free and rise to challenge him. Only Vorne Alael, their leader, remained
untouched by the constricting cables that even now enveloped his struggling brothers. He turned
in rage from the writhing mass to the beast before him, gripping the hilt of his ornate powersword
in his right gauntlet.
The life-signs of his brothers remained green on his heads-up tactical display. They were
not dead as Vorne had first assumed; Arael was baiting him into single combat.
A deep, rumbling cackle issued forth from the distended maw of what was once Arael, its
Amber gaze fixated upon the Commander of the Fang. Taking a few measured steps further, it
raised its taloned hands.
‘For Khorne and the Skull Throne!’
Vorne Alael widened his stance and braced as the Bloodfather thundered through the lake
of blood, coming within striking distance in moments and swinging its lethal talons. Vorne met
the advance head-on, raising his blade two-handed and blocking the powerful swipe of the
Chosen’s claws before throwing himself shoulder-first into Arael’s assault, crashing hard against
the Khornate champion’s chest and sending it sprawling away. The fallen recovered quickly and
snarled. Vorne spun the blade in his hand, the blade singing as it cut through the air.
‘You fight out of rage; hatred for your erstwhile brothers, those you have betrayed by
turning to the heathen gods. Your lack of honour and unforgivable betrayal to the Emperor and to
your father disgusts and offends me, and the Chapter you and your fallen brethren disgraced.’
Arael roared and attacked once again, its talons spinning and slashing in a furious
windmill as it tried desperately to break Vorne’s impenetrable guard.
‘Who are you to judge me? Who are you to judge us? You weren’t there! You - none of
you - can possibly understand or perceive what happened that day!’
Arael managed a rending slash across Vorne’s chest-plate, scoring deep gashes with its
bladed digits that marred the winged skull adorning its surface. It laughed an evil, gurgling
cackle as Vorne staggered backwards.
‘You may be strong, terminator, but you are weak in your resolve; blinded by the
doctrines set before you by your precious codices.’ The Bloodfather slowly circled the terminator
Captain, his claws flexed wide, ready to strike; a sickening smile spreading across its twisted
features.
‘Our father betrayed us. ‘El Jonson lied to us and turned on his sons. Luther knew the
way, the truth. He saw beyond our father’s ploy, even beyond the Emperor’s so-called “grand
design”, and wished to free us of the shackles of servitude to a false ideal.’
Vorne sneered and brought his power-sword to bear, striking heavy blows against Arael’s
guard.
‘You lie! The taint of chaos and the shame of your betrayal has turned you to cowardice
and deceit!’ he bellowed, backing away a scant few feet before charging the fallen once more
across the lake of blood that swirled and sloshed at their armoured feet.
Sanctified blade met Chaos-warped talon as the two combatants battled across the length
and breadth of the bridge of the Bleeding Heart. In the back of his mind, Vorne could still sense
his brothers’ life signs as they yet struggled within the binding mass of bloody tendrils; though
they were barely audible over the beating of his twin hearts and the clashing of weaponry.
Vorne put every bit of effort and skill into his attack as he struggled against the fallen.
Words from the Litany of Hate poured forth from his mouth as he focused his anger into
righteous fury that bled from him in an aura.
Sensing the terminator’s power and hearing the words that emboldened the Space Marine,
the Khornate fallen became further enraged; froth began to form at the corners of its mouth as it
worked itself up into a maddened frenzy. As the leader of the Fang made to swing in a brutal arc
at Arael’s midsection, the Bloodfather parried with a clawed fist, smashing the power sword from
out of Vorne’s hand and sending it hurtling across the bridge to embed itself into the hanging
corpse of a deck orderly. The Bloodfather raised a powerful leg and sent a thunderous kick to his
midsection, the force of the blow shattering Vorne’s deeply-scarred breastplate and throwing the
Captain back into a set of consoles, caving in the machinery with the force of the impact.
Pain receptors flared as Vorne tried to stand from where he had fallen. Even without his
helm, he knew the severity of the damage the brutal kick had dealt: several broken ribs and a
collapsed lung. Pushing the pain into the back of his mind, Vorne rose to his feet to meet the
Fallen once more.
Smoke rose from the smashed consoles signalling a small fire as snaking tendrils of wire
tore free from their moorings and showered the hanging corpses with sparks. Headless cadavers
bubbled and cooked as they burned. Arael, the Bloodfather took a deep, rattling breath and
cackled darkly as it slowly approached Vorne, its talons dripping in gore as it dragged them
through the blood at its shins. Then, with a speed that a being of its size should never have
possessed, it tore across expanse between them to engage once again, eager to deliver the killing
blow to a seemingly weakened and defeated opponent.
Vorne, however, was waiting.
Seconds before Arael made contact, the Terminator Captain unsheathed his lightning
claws and lunged forward, driving through bonded ceramite and warp-flesh alike. The blades,
bathed in coruscating blue energy, carved deep and true, lifting the Fallen from its feet as its
powerful forward momentum was suddenly and painfully reversed. With a roar of exertion,
Vorne Alael drove Arael into the plasteel flooring of the command-deck sending a miniature
wave of blood cascading in all directions and a shudder to ripple through the plating as the sheer
force dented the decking beneath.
The lake settled only momentarily before Vorne was kicked free and sent sprawling
through the dangling corpses that hung suspended from the ceiling, exploding several as he tore
through them like a stray comet. He came to rest half-way across the bridge, his armour a
shattered ruin that failed to respond as he tried to rise once more.
Arael, the Bloodfather stalked toward the fallen terminator and knelt by him, lifting his
chin with a curved talon, the tip of the lethal claw biting into his flesh.
‘Pathetic. Your trust in the Emperor has led to your downfall at the hands of Khorne, the
true God.’ It burbled through ruptured lungs, blood pouring freely from the wounds Vorne had
inflicted.
Vorne Alael, Captain of the Fang, First Company of the Lion Warriors world was filled
with fiery pain as he lay broken before the Bloodfather. Inclining his head and looking toward
the Chosen, he managed a smirk as he felt the recycled air around them charge before speaking.
‘Your God is a lie, and he has betrayed you.’
Before Arael could respond, the bridge filled with a blinding flash of electric blue and a
deafening clap of thunder heralded the arrival of a third. Turning to meet the sudden intruder into
its domain, Arael, the Bloodfather was suddenly lifted bodily from the downed Terminator
Captain. As it struggled in the massive grip of a giant power-claw, Arael stared into the deathless
eye-sockets of a feral-cat skull mounted atop a golden ceramite sarcophagus flanked by ornate
angelic wings. As he struggled and thrashed wildly in its grasp, the Fallen could only manage a
simple:
‘How -’
He was met by a cold and distant reply that echoed from the sarcophagus’ hull.
‘Rejoice, for I am your soul’s salvation! Repent, and die!’
Arael, the Bloodfather, Chosen of Khorne and Fallen traitor of the Dark Angels Space
Marines could do nothing but scream as a torrent of flame burst forth and burned him to charred
ruin. The monstrous being of ceramite clenched its fist, crushing the remains to dust before
turning on its axis and wading slowly with quaking steps toward Vorne, pistons firing as it
moved. It was quickly followed by the familiar gait of ceramite footfall as the remaining
members of the Fang were released from the Chosen’s sorcery. As one, the three veteran
terminators lifted the prone and broken form of Vorne Alael above their shoulders and
disappeared in a shimmering flash of light and energy.
7
Cleansing
As it stood alone on the deck of the Bleeding Heart, the towering form of Dreadnought-
Chaplain Zephriel surveyed the blood, dangling corpses, and the skulls that crudely decorated the
surroundings. Though he could not truly see, for the pilot of the giant machine was no more than
a mangled husk afloat in preservative fluids, he could sense the scale of corruption that
surrounded him. He spoke.
‘Dannoc Vol,’ he intoned, the voice emanating from the ancient a deep metallic echo.
‘My honoured Lord-Chaplain.’ Came the reply. ‘We have been received back aboard the
Caliban’s Wake, and Lord Vorne is being treated by the Apothecarian.’
‘Will he live?’ he asked, more of a curiosity than a concern.
‘It would appear that your intervention came not a moment too soon. The Emperor
watches over our Captain. He is resilient, and he will live to fight another day, by the Lion.’
‘What of the humans?’
There was a lengthy pause before the response was given.
‘They know nothing.’
Zephriel emitted a sound akin to the grinding of tank tread
‘Good, then the secret remains hidden.’
‘Aye, brother. It is so.’
The Chaplain cycled channels then and spoke once more, addressing the bridge of the
Caliban’s Wake.
‘Captain Antillius.’
‘Yes, lord?’
‘All weapons fire on the Bleeding Heart, full compliment. Leave no trace.’
‘As you will it, Lord-Chaplain.’
As swirling energy of teleportation mist enveloped the hulking Dreadnought-Chaplain,
Antillius’ voice rang out once more, echoing faintly in the dark confines of the sarcophagus.
‘Firing.’
As the world faded to white around the Chaplain, the last thing he heard before
disappearing from the bridge was the primal scream of the ship’s machine-spirit as it was torn
asunder.
Epilogue
The starboard batteries of the Caliban’s Wake were ruthlessly efficient as they cut apart
the Jericho Class Pilgrim ship.
As Captain Antillius watched from his command-throne, the Wake shuddered and poured
forth a violent barrage of destructive force known only to ships of the Imperial navy. Within
seconds, the lethal projectiles had crossed the vast expanse of the void and had connected with
the enemy vessel, boring deep through the warp-rusted hull with ease and detonating within its
centre.
Blooms of fire pitted the hull of the Bleeding Heart as deck by deck was incinerated;
massive sections of ship-plating billowed out in pustulent tumours of flame and tore away like
scabs. Within seconds, the engine-core went critical and detonated, cutting the ship in half and
for a scant few moments, resembling a dying star, before atomizing.
Once it was done, Antillius turned to the helm.
‘Helmsman, set a course for Segmentum Obscurus and inform Master Sephariel of our
arrival. I have a feeling the Masters have much to discuss upon our return, and we best not keep
the fleet waiting.’
‘Confirmed, Captain.’
‘For the Lion, and the Emperor.’
1
In the Tall Grass
The Strike Cruiser Caliban’s Wake sat motionless in the vast blackness of space. Its
thrusters powered down to a cool blue glow as it hung dormant, waiting; like a predatory cat of
ancient Terra lying in the tall-grass, hunting its prey.
Captain Antillius sat rigidly atop his command throne, his hawk-like gaze peering
intently out into space before him, scanning the darkness of the horizon; watching, waiting. All
around the dais, deck-officers and servitors worked diligently at their stations, relaying pertinent
information to Antillius’ throne if and when necessary, for he did not wish to be disturbed for
anything short of a Tyranid Hive-fleet invasion or Ork Waaagh!; such was the intensity of his
concentration on the stars.
‘Auspex!’ he barked suddenly, causing the nearest crew-members to jump.
‘Nothing yet, my lord,’ replied a crewman to his left.
‘Close and long-range scanners?’
‘Negative, Captain. All systems read zero contact.’
Antillius frowned and sat back in the command-throne, his digits tapping at the edge of
the arm-rests. None of this made any sense.
The Caliban’s Wake, a ship of the Lion Warriors Space Marine chapter-fleet, had been
following a lead of particular interest to Chapter Master Sephariel; however, Antillus and the rest
of his crew were not made aware of the intimate details behind their mission. Theirs was to serve
the chapter and perform their duty to the Emperor in whatever way was required of them. The
Captain was not usually one to ask questions, he simply obeyed when ordered.
They had been following the mysterious sightings of a lone vessel that had been
appearing and disappearing all over the sector. Initial reports had suggested that there may be
survivors aboard the ship; though, all attempts at hailing the craft had ended in failure before it
disappeared once more into the Warp. After following the ship for a week, Captain Antillius had
worked out a pattern, and he was betting on a hunch that the ship’s next appearance would be
here in this chance-selected portion of space.
Luck, it would seem, smiled upon him.
‘Captain! Auspex reads incoming translation from Warp-space!’
‘Where?’
‘Seven-hundred kilometres to the port-side.’
Moments later, a flash of electric-scarlet in the distance heralded the translation point of
the new arrival, and Captain Antillius and his crew on the bridge of the Caliban’s Wake ceased
working momentarily to watch as the battered form of a ship emerged from the rift in space.
‘Jericho Class Pilgrim Vessel confirmed,’ a servitor droned as the long-range scanners of
the Caliban’s Wake identified the ship, sending the information back to be digested by the
lobotomized crewmember and relayed to the Captain. Antillius gazed passively at the heavily
damaged and warp-rusted hull of the ex-merchant tanker as it glided slowly forward on dead
thrusters; its bloated form pitted and scarred from impacts of unknown origin.
‘Bring the Wake about ninety-degrees to starboard and put her into position to broadside.
Vox-master, hail our new companion.’
‘Aye, Captain’
As the attempt showed, however, like many attempts prior, the Jericho Class Pilgrim
Vessel bounced back only static-silence.
‘Lieutenant Kraska, I want a full thermal scan of that ship. I want to know if anything
still lives and breathes on those decks.’
The lieutenant, a slender woman with close-cut blonde hair, athletic build, and piercing
blue eyes nodded and went about initiating the scanning sequences. She returned moments later
with her reply.
‘Scanners indicate faint heat blooms in the engines and heart of the ship. She’s still alive,
but barely. According to our navigator, her name is the Bleeding Heart.’
‘And the crew? Passengers?’
Kraska shook her head.
‘There is no sign of life aboard that ship; it’s just an empty husk. The crew has either
abandoned her long ago, or they are as cold and dead as she is.’
Antillius frowned.
‘That would account for the amount of comm-silence.’
The Captain leaned forward in his command-throne and brought a hand up to his chin,
stroking the short silver beard that adorned his square-jawed features before speaking again.
‘Open a channel to the Masters.’
‘Aye Captain. Connection confirmed’
The lights of the bridge dimmed slightly and a massive hologram swam into view before
the throne. Deck-officers and crewmen alike lowered their gaze in respect as the hulking form of
a Legion Terminator appeared before the Captain.
‘What word, Captain?’ rumbled the hologram as it gazed down at the small man, its voice
slightly distorted due to mild interference.
‘My lord, we have encountered the vessel. She has been confirmed as the Bleeding Heart,
a pilgrim ship, all but devoid of life.’
‘Any signs of warp re-entry?’
‘None, lord; though, as recent history has shown, she has a habit of making her
appearances brief. My estimate would be that we have at least another three hours before she
disappears again.’
‘Duly noted, Captain. Bring us into range for deep-strike teleportation.’
‘My lord?’
Four other massively armoured figures emerged in the foreground of the hologram just
behind the first; each bearing the snarling black lion-head insignia emblazoned upon the right
shoulder-pauldrons of their golden armour; a winged talon on the left. The lead terminator turned
his steely-gray eyes upon Antillius and spoke once more, his voice like gravel rolling down a
hillside.
‘We go to do the Chapter’s work. To question me is to question the lord Sephariel.’
The Captain simply nodded, knowing better than to pursue the matter further.
‘Understood, sire. Helmsman, bring us closer.’
The shimmering forms of the golden warriors blinked out of existence and the Lion
Warrior’s Strike Cruiser turned slowly and gracefully in the ocean of space. Like the lion in the
tall grass, they slowly inched closer toward their prey.
2
Ritual and Departure
The embarkation deck of the Caliban’s Wake was alive with activity as servitors and
chapter serfs bustled about preparing the giants for departure. The five massive forms of the Lion
Warriors veterans moved with a lumbering gait as they stalked across the deck toward the
teleportation platform; each member of the terminator squad taking position around it, standing
equal distance away from the warrior beside him.
Moments later, a cadre of robed servitors bearing the mark of the Priesthood of Mars
emerged, a lone tech-priest at its head swinging a glowing incense lantern like a pendulum
before him as he led them in a binary prayer. The procession moved slowly and deliberately
about the circle of warriors as they blessed each suit of armour and the wearer within; all the
while the incense wafted like a haze about them, trailing in their wake and hanging about the
blessed like an aura.
The leader of the terminators, the one who had addressed Captain Antillius, turned his
steely gaze about the circle and took in the helmed-faces of each of the warriors accompanying
him. Each man was as common to him as if they were his own kin, and each warrior, he knew,
was willing to lay his own life down for that of his brother. As the tech-priest and his group of
shambling servitors completed their ritualistic blessings and prayers to the Ominissiah, the five
veteran Astartes moved as one. With the sound of grinding servos, they entered the teleportation
platform, turning to face outward and bringing their weapons to bear. The lights on the deck
dimmed as the floor beneath them glowed a vibrant, electric blue that coruscated about their
ceramite boots and grew in intensity. The five warriors roared as one as they were enveloped by
the light
‘For the Lion! And the Emperor!’
Then, with a building hum of power and a brilliant flash, they were gone.
3
Corruption Within
The first thing they registered as the teleportation mist dissipated around them was the
echoing silence that hung in the air and seeped down the corridors of the dead ship. The second
thing was the smell.
Even through the enhanced filtration systems built into the suits of Indomitus-pattern
terminator-plate, the foetid stench of decay, mixed with human waste, oppressed the geneenhanced
senses of the five veteran Adeptus Astartes warriors. The strongest smell of all,
however, cut through the haze like a knife: a metallic tang that hung thick and sour in the stale,
recycled air that passed unbidden through their armour’s defences, assailed their nostrils, and
was ingested into their lungs. First-Captain Vorne Alael of the Fang, Honoured First-Company of
the Lion Warriors Space Marines recognized the stench immediately, his pupils dilating as
recognition dawned on him.
‘Blood…’
Kerek Tighe, a seasoned veteran of over a thousand battlefields, and Vorne’s closest
friend since before their inauguration into the Lion Warriors, gave voice to his brother’s
thoughts.
‘Ay,’ came the low guttural snarl emanating from the mouth-grille of the terminator to
Vorne’s immediate left. ‘The ship reeks of it.’
Dannoc Vol turned his emerald-lensed gaze upon the darkness that greeted them,
illuminated only by the shoulder-mounted lights of their armour, bathing the corridor in a weak
glow that reached for a few meters. With a word, the brightness intensified, and as they took
stock of their surroundings, the source of the smell was made abundantly clear.
The plasteel floor was littered with prone human forms robed in crimson and awash in a
sea of viscera and coagulated gore that stretched the length and breadth of the hall within which
they stood. The walls were painted with crude symbols, blasphemous prayers, and icons
worshipping a sinister power far beyond the mortal scope. Vorne’s lip curled at the sight, his
emerald vision tinged with yellow due to the amount of blood that adorned everything that his
eyes fell upon.
One of the terminators, Brother Undan, moved to the nearest corpse and knelt by it; the
servos whirring noisily as he willed the tactical armour to comply. Reaching out with the head of
his massive power-axe, he slowly turned the robed corpse onto its back, revealing its features.
What he saw when its face was revealed repulsed him. What was once a human male, now
represented a desecrated symbol to the ruinous powers. The man’s eyes had been messily ripped
from their sockets leaving dark, gaping holes, and the flesh had been mostly torn away; a crude
Khornate symbol carved deep into his ravaged face. As he looked down, a glint of tarnished
silver caught Undan’s eye. Reaching into the shallow pond of bloody worship that surrounded
them, his gauntleted fingers found purchase upon the object and he lifted it from its resting place
for all to see. Within his clenched fist dangled a long silver chain, at the end of which hung a
large pendant in the shape of the Aquila, the sign of the Imperium of Man. Like the man’s face,
however, this too had been desecrated, and both heads had been snapped off.
‘This must have been an order of sorts, on a pilgrimage to Holy Terra.’ Vorne Alael gazed
upon the horror that lay before them, surveying the grizzly sight.
‘Brother Andren, set a light to this blasphemy and purge this gruesome scene.’
As if in response to his command, the bodies began to twitch and spasm; writhing
uncontrollably and causing the lake of blood to boil and seethe at their armoured feet. A great
bestial roar leapt from out of the gathered darkness and reverberated along the corridor, causing
even the dampeners in each terminator’s helm to short. The Fang stepped back from the scene,
bracing themselves immediately for what might come.
The spasming corpses all along the corridor rose before them, lifted by an unseen force
and became crucified to the air; their arms spread wide and heads tilted back, mouths agape in a
silent scream as rivers of blood poured from unseeing eyes. Vorne’s squad watched as hellfire
ignited within the lifeless sockets and the corpses split down the center, gushing flaming ooze
that burned ragged holes in the plasteel flooring. The deafening roar was suddenly replaced by
numerous shrieks as the servants of Khorne made themselves known.
Bloodletters, with their blackened horns and snarling faces tore themselves free of their
hosts, exploding bodies as they ripped their way violently into reality. The nearest lesser daemon
landed with a sickening thud just a scant few metres from the cadre, its sinewy form glistening
with a deep blood red shine, fresh from the womb from whence it emerged. Eyes the colour of
amber burned with hatred beyond that of human comprehension as it raised its rune-etched chaos
blade to strike.
It never got the chance.
The Bloodletter of Khorne was lifted off of its cloven-hoofed feet, hanging suspended by
Vorne’s lightning claws. It writhed and let out a horrible shriek before being blasted apart by the
storm-bolter fixed to the Captain’s power-gauntlet.
‘Back to the warp, foul thing!’
The rest of the Fang did not need to be prompted as they waded into the daemon-host
that surged forward to meet them. Dannoc Vol let out a mighty roar as he punched his forcehammer
through the torso of a charging lesser-daemon and then tore three more to shreds with
his storm-bolter, moving forward to engage the next target. Undan and Kerek Tighe waded into
battle on either side of Brother Andren; each blow of their power weapons striking with speed
and brutal effect while their brother ignited his Heavy Flamer, sending a cyclonic pillar of
burning promethium into the screaming horde. Their axes rose and fell as they carved great
bloody swathes through the enemy, finishing off those left marred by Andren’s inferno.
Vorne stood alone in the lake of fire and blood, his lightning claws audibly crackling with
energy as they sizzled and cooked off the daemonic gore caked to the lethal blades. He let out a
roar as he plunged the talons of his right fist into the body of the last of the Khornate daemons,
pinning it to the plasteel deck and watching it writhe in the blood. The First-Captain retracted the
blades letting the lake settle over the now still corpse, watching it return to the sanguine filth
from whence it came.
With a whining of servos, he straightened and looked around at the carnage. He was soon
met by the other four veterans as they sloshed through the gore to take position around their
leader; their weapons and armour a testament to their encounter. Vorne opened a link to his
squad.
‘Be on guard, this place is not as it seems.’
He was acknowledged by four sub-vocalizations, and motioned for them to move
forward into the unknown. Opening another link, the Captain attempted to hail the Caliban’s
Wake.
‘Captain Antillius.’
There was a long, drawn-out pause before,
‘My Lord?’
‘Perform another thermal scan of this vessel.’
‘Aye, my Lord; though we did previous, and found nothing’
‘Would you call ‘being attacked by a host of daemons’ nothing, Antillius?’
‘No, Lord, but I –‘
Vorne cut him off.
‘Scan.’
‘Aye, Lord, it will be done.’
4
Vengeance
The squad walked on for several hundred metres, their ceramite boots never once finding
dry plasteel. Blood lay everywhere, like a sanguine blanket draped over the otherwise dull ship.
It was as if the ship itself was a heart and the five terminators of the Lion Warriors First
Company were wading through its veins and arteries. Every so often, Vorne would receive
reports from his squad-members of strange sightings: anguished faces in the walls of the ship,
crying out voiceless pleas to otherwise deaf ears; daemonic visages leering from the pooling
blood at their feet, only to disappear when taken a second glance.
‘This place has run afoul of the taint of Chaos, that much is certain,’ growled Dannoc Vol.
‘My hammer hungers for death.’
Vorne glanced sideways at his brother and spoke as they passed down another bloodfilled
corridor, the walls glistening with red chaotic script painted in maddening streaks of ichor
that seemed to grow increasingly disturbing and frequent the deeper within the ship they
ventured.
‘Steady yourself, Dannoc, that rabble was not the last of our encounter here today.’
His vox-link suddenly came alive.
‘Lord, I have done as you ordered. I-it just doesn’t make sense…’
Vorne stopped and furrowed his brow, the Fang ceasing their march as they watched their
Captain.
‘Speak plainly, Captain.’
‘My Lord, we scanned the ship prior to your insertion upon her decks and we received
nothing. The ship was dead. Now, however, the entire ship is like a fiery beacon!’
‘You mean to say this vessel is inhabited?’
‘No, Honoured Lord. The ship is alive.’
Just then, another thunderous roar ripped through the ship causing the very flooring upon
which the terminator squad stood to quake.
‘Blood of the Emperor…’ exclaimed Undan as the bloody walls suddenly peeled off like
scabby tendrils and shot out from either side in an attempt to ensnare them.
‘For the Lion and the Emperor!’ Vorne roared, drawing the Mk II Mars Pattern powersword
at his hip and parrying three attempts at his legs by the snaking appendages before he
slashed another two apart and watched the stumps flail wildly, dripping red ichor as they recoiled
back into the wall from whence they came. The massive power weapon cleaved effortlessly
through the warp-flesh of the things as the Fang were assailed once more on all sides by a
relentless and renewed attack by the ship.
Undan and Kerek Tighe stood back-to-back, swinging their power-weapons and fighting
back the lethally-probing tendrils. Dannoc Vol swung his mighty hammer left and right,
pounding back the assault as Brother Andren once more unleashed a torrent of flame, engulfing
the corridor in burning promethium and the Emperor’s fury.
This time, the ship fought back harder, causing the Fang to double their efforts as they
desperately tried to free themselves from the entwining limbs that snaked around their arms and
legs, attempting to bring them down.
Vorne had his helm torn free from his head by a barbed tentacle in time to watch Brother
Andren lifted bodily above them. Andren roared in furious defiance, unleashing fiery hell with
his Heavy Flamer even as his suit of Indomitus-pattern tactical dreadnaught armour was peeled
back like tin and his body ripped apart by the probing appendages. The First Captain roared and
the remaining four terminators struck with renewed fury as they avenged their fallen comrade,
slashing and hacking like windmills of death as they cut a path toward the end of the living hall.
The veteran terminator squad finally managed to pull themselves free of the writhing,
snatching horde of tendrils, their armour dented and scratched from the relentless assault. Kerek
Tighe roared and sent a final burst of storm-bolter fire into the writhing mass before turning back
to the squad. Vorne addressed each of them as they re-assembled by his side; the vacant spot that
Brother Andren had filled weighed heavily on all of them.
‘There will be time to mourn our fallen brother when we return to the Wake. For now, we
must focus on our task at hand.’ He said, dismissing their grief with their sense of duty to the
Chapter and the Emperor.
‘We are the Fang, Honoured First Company of the Lion Warriors Space Marines,
favoured of Master Sephariel, and hunters of the Fallen. We have come to this warp-damned
vessel to purge the evil that lies within. We will not falter, and we will not fail.’
He looked at each member of his squad in turn.
“We are Adeptus Astartes, and our vengeance is absolute!’
The three squad members roared their affirmation, smashing their gauntleted fists on their
ceramite breast-plates in unison, raising their weapons in salute to their Captain and preparing to
depart once more into the belly of the beast that was the Bleeding Heart.
Vorne grinned; his square, chiselled features pulling tightly showing the various scars that
lined his face from battles long-past. A black tribal tattoo adorned the right side of his face: the
outline of a roaring lion that stretched over his right eye to his lower jaw, and back to the base of
his neck. Many more such tattoos and markings adorned his skin, as was customary of his old
tribe from whence he was chosen by the Lion Warriors centuries ago. A wild mane of ravenblack
hair hung down his back and over his shoulders, having been shaken free of its traditional
top-knot by the rough removal of his helm; the sides of his head were shaved to reveal more
intricate tribal markings of unknown importance, however similar in origin to that of the others.
Surrounded by his remaining warriors, Vorne and the Fang stalked off in search of their
prey.
5
Bloodfather
Time and time again, Vorne and his squad were beset upon by scores of daemonic hosts
and apparitions as the ship grew more and more restless in its attempt to free itself of the
unwanted intruders. Each time, however, their combined courage and strength, mixed with the
Emperor’s wrath that was inherent in each of them, saw the enemy pushed back into the shadows
to lick its wounds. After scores of winding passageways teeming with blood, and countless
encounters with products of the ship’s wrath, they finally reached the command-deck.
They waded shin-deep now, every ripple sending dismembered limbs and bones bobbing
off in every direction as they made their way toward the bridge. As the terminator squad passed
through the threshold into the main sanctum, the Fang finally came face to face with their longhunted
prey, and a veritable charnel-house.
The being sat atop the command throne within the bridge of the ship; the throne itself
stained crimson and kept sanguine by the constant ruby streams that fell from the countless
headless corpses of deck-officers, menials, slaves, familiar forms of crimson-robed figures, like
those first encountered upon their arrival on the ship, and even servitors, hanging crudely from
the ceiling by hooks. The heads lay piled about the base of the throne like gruesome trophies,
their lifeless eyes with their blank stare impossibly weeping endless rivers of blood that rolled
down the command dais and lent to the gathering tide at its base. Atop the bleeding throne amid
the skulls, an abomination of flesh and ceramite lorded over the gruesome scene. Here, man and
metal were made grotesquely one; the hulking form of what was once a proud Adeptus Astartes
warrior now possessed and changed by the ruinous powers of chaos. It sniffed the air and a
bestial grin crossed its features; its lips parting to reveal row upon row of jagged fangs as it let
out a low, rumbling chuckle and acknowledged the intruders.
‘Welcome to the lair of the Blood Father, taker of skulls and Champion of Khorne.’ It
said, grasping a skull in a huge, clawed hand and inspecting it with amber eyes. The possessed
paid little heed to the four terminator-veterans within its midst as he rolled the skull absentmindedly
over his taloned digits.
The remaining members of the Fang moved forward in a phalanx, weapons at the ready;
Vorne Alael moved at the tip of the spear. He was the first to address the beast.
‘We have come for you in the name of the Lion, to make you answer for your betrayal,
your conspiracy with Luther, first of the Fallen, and we charge you with death. How do you
plead, Arael?’
At hearing the sound of its name, the possessed paused, momentarily taken aback by the
utterance of so ancient a title; one that had, until now, no meaning for him anymore. It turned its
rage-filled gaze upon the First-Captain and, taking the skull into its palm, crushed it to dust
before speaking.
‘You have come to make me confess, have you?’ it snarled, rising slowly from its throne
and stepping down onto the bloody dais, shattering skulls beneath its tread.
Vorne growled beneath his helm.
‘No, I have come for your head.’
6
Final Battle
The Fallen who dubbed itself the Bloodfather grinned, its face-splitting smile revealing
rows of needle-sharp fangs. As it stepped forward into the dim light that flickered from the
ceiling, Vorne and the Fang could make out remnants of its ancient armour that betrayed its old
allegiance to a chapter long ago disgraced; the insignia of the I Legion faded almost to nothing
on its right shoulder pauldron; scratched away by what looked to be self-inflicted jagged clawmarks,
and caked in centuries-old dried blood.
The Bloodfather flexed its brutal claws as it surveyed the four terminators with its
burning amber glare before its jaw distended, releasing a thunderous bestial roar that shook the
chamber and caused the noise-dampeners in the Fang’s helms to activate.
Bloody tendrils snaked from their resting place beneath the lake of blood, striking like
vipers as they found purchase on the Fang’s armour, pulling them to their knees despite their
efforts to struggle free and rise to challenge him. Only Vorne Alael, their leader, remained
untouched by the constricting cables that even now enveloped his struggling brothers. He turned
in rage from the writhing mass to the beast before him, gripping the hilt of his ornate powersword
in his right gauntlet.
The life-signs of his brothers remained green on his heads-up tactical display. They were
not dead as Vorne had first assumed; Arael was baiting him into single combat.
A deep, rumbling cackle issued forth from the distended maw of what was once Arael, its
Amber gaze fixated upon the Commander of the Fang. Taking a few measured steps further, it
raised its taloned hands.
‘For Khorne and the Skull Throne!’
Vorne Alael widened his stance and braced as the Bloodfather thundered through the lake
of blood, coming within striking distance in moments and swinging its lethal talons. Vorne met
the advance head-on, raising his blade two-handed and blocking the powerful swipe of the
Chosen’s claws before throwing himself shoulder-first into Arael’s assault, crashing hard against
the Khornate champion’s chest and sending it sprawling away. The fallen recovered quickly and
snarled. Vorne spun the blade in his hand, the blade singing as it cut through the air.
‘You fight out of rage; hatred for your erstwhile brothers, those you have betrayed by
turning to the heathen gods. Your lack of honour and unforgivable betrayal to the Emperor and to
your father disgusts and offends me, and the Chapter you and your fallen brethren disgraced.’
Arael roared and attacked once again, its talons spinning and slashing in a furious
windmill as it tried desperately to break Vorne’s impenetrable guard.
‘Who are you to judge me? Who are you to judge us? You weren’t there! You - none of
you - can possibly understand or perceive what happened that day!’
Arael managed a rending slash across Vorne’s chest-plate, scoring deep gashes with its
bladed digits that marred the winged skull adorning its surface. It laughed an evil, gurgling
cackle as Vorne staggered backwards.
‘You may be strong, terminator, but you are weak in your resolve; blinded by the
doctrines set before you by your precious codices.’ The Bloodfather slowly circled the terminator
Captain, his claws flexed wide, ready to strike; a sickening smile spreading across its twisted
features.
‘Our father betrayed us. ‘El Jonson lied to us and turned on his sons. Luther knew the
way, the truth. He saw beyond our father’s ploy, even beyond the Emperor’s so-called “grand
design”, and wished to free us of the shackles of servitude to a false ideal.’
Vorne sneered and brought his power-sword to bear, striking heavy blows against Arael’s
guard.
‘You lie! The taint of chaos and the shame of your betrayal has turned you to cowardice
and deceit!’ he bellowed, backing away a scant few feet before charging the fallen once more
across the lake of blood that swirled and sloshed at their armoured feet.
Sanctified blade met Chaos-warped talon as the two combatants battled across the length
and breadth of the bridge of the Bleeding Heart. In the back of his mind, Vorne could still sense
his brothers’ life signs as they yet struggled within the binding mass of bloody tendrils; though
they were barely audible over the beating of his twin hearts and the clashing of weaponry.
Vorne put every bit of effort and skill into his attack as he struggled against the fallen.
Words from the Litany of Hate poured forth from his mouth as he focused his anger into
righteous fury that bled from him in an aura.
Sensing the terminator’s power and hearing the words that emboldened the Space Marine,
the Khornate fallen became further enraged; froth began to form at the corners of its mouth as it
worked itself up into a maddened frenzy. As the leader of the Fang made to swing in a brutal arc
at Arael’s midsection, the Bloodfather parried with a clawed fist, smashing the power sword from
out of Vorne’s hand and sending it hurtling across the bridge to embed itself into the hanging
corpse of a deck orderly. The Bloodfather raised a powerful leg and sent a thunderous kick to his
midsection, the force of the blow shattering Vorne’s deeply-scarred breastplate and throwing the
Captain back into a set of consoles, caving in the machinery with the force of the impact.
Pain receptors flared as Vorne tried to stand from where he had fallen. Even without his
helm, he knew the severity of the damage the brutal kick had dealt: several broken ribs and a
collapsed lung. Pushing the pain into the back of his mind, Vorne rose to his feet to meet the
Fallen once more.
Smoke rose from the smashed consoles signalling a small fire as snaking tendrils of wire
tore free from their moorings and showered the hanging corpses with sparks. Headless cadavers
bubbled and cooked as they burned. Arael, the Bloodfather took a deep, rattling breath and
cackled darkly as it slowly approached Vorne, its talons dripping in gore as it dragged them
through the blood at its shins. Then, with a speed that a being of its size should never have
possessed, it tore across expanse between them to engage once again, eager to deliver the killing
blow to a seemingly weakened and defeated opponent.
Vorne, however, was waiting.
Seconds before Arael made contact, the Terminator Captain unsheathed his lightning
claws and lunged forward, driving through bonded ceramite and warp-flesh alike. The blades,
bathed in coruscating blue energy, carved deep and true, lifting the Fallen from its feet as its
powerful forward momentum was suddenly and painfully reversed. With a roar of exertion,
Vorne Alael drove Arael into the plasteel flooring of the command-deck sending a miniature
wave of blood cascading in all directions and a shudder to ripple through the plating as the sheer
force dented the decking beneath.
The lake settled only momentarily before Vorne was kicked free and sent sprawling
through the dangling corpses that hung suspended from the ceiling, exploding several as he tore
through them like a stray comet. He came to rest half-way across the bridge, his armour a
shattered ruin that failed to respond as he tried to rise once more.
Arael, the Bloodfather stalked toward the fallen terminator and knelt by him, lifting his
chin with a curved talon, the tip of the lethal claw biting into his flesh.
‘Pathetic. Your trust in the Emperor has led to your downfall at the hands of Khorne, the
true God.’ It burbled through ruptured lungs, blood pouring freely from the wounds Vorne had
inflicted.
Vorne Alael, Captain of the Fang, First Company of the Lion Warriors world was filled
with fiery pain as he lay broken before the Bloodfather. Inclining his head and looking toward
the Chosen, he managed a smirk as he felt the recycled air around them charge before speaking.
‘Your God is a lie, and he has betrayed you.’
Before Arael could respond, the bridge filled with a blinding flash of electric blue and a
deafening clap of thunder heralded the arrival of a third. Turning to meet the sudden intruder into
its domain, Arael, the Bloodfather was suddenly lifted bodily from the downed Terminator
Captain. As it struggled in the massive grip of a giant power-claw, Arael stared into the deathless
eye-sockets of a feral-cat skull mounted atop a golden ceramite sarcophagus flanked by ornate
angelic wings. As he struggled and thrashed wildly in its grasp, the Fallen could only manage a
simple:
‘How -’
He was met by a cold and distant reply that echoed from the sarcophagus’ hull.
‘Rejoice, for I am your soul’s salvation! Repent, and die!’
Arael, the Bloodfather, Chosen of Khorne and Fallen traitor of the Dark Angels Space
Marines could do nothing but scream as a torrent of flame burst forth and burned him to charred
ruin. The monstrous being of ceramite clenched its fist, crushing the remains to dust before
turning on its axis and wading slowly with quaking steps toward Vorne, pistons firing as it
moved. It was quickly followed by the familiar gait of ceramite footfall as the remaining
members of the Fang were released from the Chosen’s sorcery. As one, the three veteran
terminators lifted the prone and broken form of Vorne Alael above their shoulders and
disappeared in a shimmering flash of light and energy.
7
Cleansing
As it stood alone on the deck of the Bleeding Heart, the towering form of Dreadnought-
Chaplain Zephriel surveyed the blood, dangling corpses, and the skulls that crudely decorated the
surroundings. Though he could not truly see, for the pilot of the giant machine was no more than
a mangled husk afloat in preservative fluids, he could sense the scale of corruption that
surrounded him. He spoke.
‘Dannoc Vol,’ he intoned, the voice emanating from the ancient a deep metallic echo.
‘My honoured Lord-Chaplain.’ Came the reply. ‘We have been received back aboard the
Caliban’s Wake, and Lord Vorne is being treated by the Apothecarian.’
‘Will he live?’ he asked, more of a curiosity than a concern.
‘It would appear that your intervention came not a moment too soon. The Emperor
watches over our Captain. He is resilient, and he will live to fight another day, by the Lion.’
‘What of the humans?’
There was a lengthy pause before the response was given.
‘They know nothing.’
Zephriel emitted a sound akin to the grinding of tank tread
‘Good, then the secret remains hidden.’
‘Aye, brother. It is so.’
The Chaplain cycled channels then and spoke once more, addressing the bridge of the
Caliban’s Wake.
‘Captain Antillius.’
‘Yes, lord?’
‘All weapons fire on the Bleeding Heart, full compliment. Leave no trace.’
‘As you will it, Lord-Chaplain.’
As swirling energy of teleportation mist enveloped the hulking Dreadnought-Chaplain,
Antillius’ voice rang out once more, echoing faintly in the dark confines of the sarcophagus.
‘Firing.’
As the world faded to white around the Chaplain, the last thing he heard before
disappearing from the bridge was the primal scream of the ship’s machine-spirit as it was torn
asunder.
Epilogue
The starboard batteries of the Caliban’s Wake were ruthlessly efficient as they cut apart
the Jericho Class Pilgrim ship.
As Captain Antillius watched from his command-throne, the Wake shuddered and poured
forth a violent barrage of destructive force known only to ships of the Imperial navy. Within
seconds, the lethal projectiles had crossed the vast expanse of the void and had connected with
the enemy vessel, boring deep through the warp-rusted hull with ease and detonating within its
centre.
Blooms of fire pitted the hull of the Bleeding Heart as deck by deck was incinerated;
massive sections of ship-plating billowed out in pustulent tumours of flame and tore away like
scabs. Within seconds, the engine-core went critical and detonated, cutting the ship in half and
for a scant few moments, resembling a dying star, before atomizing.
Once it was done, Antillius turned to the helm.
‘Helmsman, set a course for Segmentum Obscurus and inform Master Sephariel of our
arrival. I have a feeling the Masters have much to discuss upon our return, and we best not keep
the fleet waiting.’
‘Confirmed, Captain.’
‘For the Lion, and the Emperor.’