This is both a background story for a collection of CSM minis and a speculation on further possible challenges issued by bored Lucius
I am fully aware that these renditions of Lucius and Fabius are at odds with those by Graham McNeill, and I never aimed at any similarity.
The cruiser of an Emperor’s Children warband was hanging in the void at a respectable distance from the dying planet. Ancilla 3 was being consumed by a splinter of a Hive Fleet Leviathan, as the last zones of resistance were quickly fading under the living tide. The leader of the warband stood on the command deck and looked on. His head was criss-crossed all over by a web of deep scars. Some meters away from him stood another towering figure, its height and stature enhanced by an array of mechanical limbs which protruded from his back and hung over his head. The scarred leader broke the silence first.
- What do you know about tyranids, Fabius? Do they have commanders? Or any kind of leader?
- Their endless swarms are commanded by the Hive Mind only, a mysterious sentient intellect, as if made up from their collective consciousness. It does not have any bodily vessel, save the whole vast organism of a hive fleet. It possesses unthinkable psychic power and is able to direct the hyper-evolutions of tyranids at will, programming the bio-factory to produce the necessary types of warrior-beasts and bio-weapons for the situation in the warzone. The Hive Mind is a peerless tactician and strategist, and those who are the physical conduits of its commands and schemes are called Hive Tyrants. Enormous beasts they are, Lucius, and ferociously beautiful in their perfection for war. They lord over their scuttling kin on the battlefield, serving as synaptical nodes in the organism. When a Tyrant is slain, his broods immediately disorganize and dissipate, having lost their connection to the Hive Mind.
- And what do they Tyrants look like?
- Each Tyrant stands two or three times your height, Lucius. They are huge versions of ordinary tyranid warriors, with cloven feet, a tail, four arms, and an elongated head protected by a thick carapace, impenetrable for a power sword, for example. Some Tyrants have also wings, some do not. Usually their lower pair of arms is occupied by a bio-cannon of some type, while the upper one wields a bonesword and a lashwhip, both organically part of the wielder.
- You know what, Fabius? I want to challenge one of such Tyrants for battle. If it has a sword and a lash, then so do I, and if one of my combat drugs infuses me with the same stuff that is running inside him, then we must be fairly on equal terms!
These words were followed by a chilling silence and a long, heavy look from Fabius. He did not smile at the absurdity, he did not become angry with the recklessness, - he just stared at the Soulthief for some indefinite seconds. Then Fabius spoke:
- Brother, you must realize one thing – and I must warn you of that. Your face-off with the Hive Tyrant may come to a result that would be beyond even Slaanesh’s control. I’m sure the beast has no qualms whatsoever about killing other sentient beings. They’re all mere food to him, as well as he has no independent emotions nor thinking other that of the Hive Mind. A being without a burning soul within, without mercurial will of its own, without ambition or greed, without actual hatred nor interests nor craving for perfection – what could be more loathsome for Slaanesh? And what could be more dangerous for you, Lucius? If it kills you – and, let’s face it, the odds are not on your side, the thing is just too big, swift, and experienced, – it will not be possible for you to be restored in such new body. Apart from the physiological and psychical circumstances, it will not feel a blink of a second’s triumph. With all your dueling record and fame, you’ll be only one of the countless billions –of those who resisted, and fell, and were devoured alike.
- Stop taunting me as a coward, Fabius! If only you knew how excruciatingly bored I am… Bored with being an eternal winner. With risking nothing and emerging victorious even in case of death. The very sensations of living on after physically dying – and then acquiring a new body inside the killer – have grown too familiar and insipid. I’ve got actually nothing to lose – as there is nothing new this galaxy has to offer me. I even seem to be tired of all my millennia of swordsmanship… But this new threat – is a treat. While this hideous menace is capable of bringing down even the combined might of the Imperium, let alone our chaotic forces – it is good both to remain and to perish. If I remain – I’ll finally be ultimately, utterly, and truly the best. If I perish – well, I’ve said before. No big loss.
So, raise my retinue! I need four squads of noise marines, one of which I’ll join in their Rhino, and the Helbrute. If any cultists from the lower decks want to bask in the favour of Slaanesh or die for it – bring them on as well. And the Defiler. We need some battering ram to reach the Tyrant through these tonnes of biomass, and to do it quickly we must be few.
***
The killteam handpicked by Lucius was engaged in seconds after their landing, right behind the frontline of assault, near one of the already formed digestion pools. Tyranids made quick work of several dozens of cultists that had been separating them from the vehicles, and the noise marines willingly left their Rhinos to once again play their deadly symphony. Each tyranid proved an easy victim for such a weapon; each one, but bot the never-ending horde of them! With each metre lost their ferociousness only grew. And then, as Lucius jumped from the top of the Rhino and landed heavily on the ground, swinging his sword and his lash, ready to let some ichor flow, - the monsters suddenly stopped, as if in doubt. They looked at him with their yellow, emotionless eyes and did not move to strike him. Lucius himself was perplexed; what was it about him that made him so special for these merciless devourers that they spared him now? Was it some new boon from Slaanesh which he had not noticed yet? Then, in a couple of seconds the beasts exited their stupor and rushed past Lucius towards his marines, who were fighting on meanwhile. The understanding flashed brightly in his mind. It was his combat drug! The substance of a tyranid’s adrenal gland – it made him smell like their kin! Even if they saw his outwardly difference, it could not override their basic instincts and identification markers of smell. Lucius left his comrades struggling behind and headed straight towards the Tyrant. Even as he ran, another idea flashed through his mind: his hooves might have added to the confusion of tyranids as well. Whatever it was, the Soulthief was bent on making the most of this sudden advantage. His blood boiling with elation and powerful combat stimms, he rapidly cut deeper and deeper into tyranids’ ranks, like a confident surgeon’s knife…
In the same moment as the Tyrant instinctively turned to face the yet unknown threat, the Blade of Laer was hungrily immersing into his flesh. The sheer might of a space marine’s blow and the unique skill of Lucius ensured that the hand with the stranglethorn cannon fell into a helpless lump to the cloven feet of the combatants. The beast gave a vehement, ear-piercing shriek and instantly jumped back, at the same time already swinging its lashwhip towards the attacker. Lucius had foreseen this move; the both lashes entwined in the air, and the daemonic one viciously pulled the Tyrant’s lash-hand towards Lucius, who swiftly severed it. Another shriek of pain and anger, and now the two fought on level terms, sword versus sword. The Tyrant’s blows were mighty indeed, the Blade of Laer crackled with all its energy to block them – and the space marine’s muscles were tested to the limit. Yet, Lucius was smaller, nimbler, and much quicker than the hulking creature, so it sustained more and more wounds with each passing minute. Lucius was in a hurry; he had to finish off the beast before its lost limbs would fully regenerate. Also it might as well command the other Tyranids to come to his rescue.
Yet, the Tyrant used another weapon, about which Lucius had almost forgotten. A psychic attack. As Lucius sensed a terrible power trying to penetrate his brain, for a fraction of a second he did not know what to do. Then the name of Slaanesh fell from his lips, with the words invoking the psychic ward. It worked: the nightmarish sounds inside were silenced. Lucius was still in favour of his dark patron. Now the battle was to be finished. The daemonic whip tangled around the Tyrant’s sword-hand and pulled it forward. Lucius swiftly turned on the spot and, in a reverse position, his back against the Tyrant’s torso, thrust the Blade into its throat from below.
As life withered in the Tyrant, his swarm ceased to be an organized force. The beasts fighting the Emperor’s Children suddenly disengaged and ran away. Good riddance – there was hardly a squad of space marines left, together with two scores of cultists forming a living shield around the revered Helbrute, who continued discharging his multi-melta into the backs of the fleeing hormagaunts. Only the Defiler lay in smoking ruins, shattered by two carnifexes. As the most dangerous weapon of the attacking warband, it had been dealt with first. Lucius reached his troops, the Tyrant’s head in hand, and ordered retreat to the cruiser.
***
After a brief conversation with the ship, the collection site was determined to be a grassy glade five kilometres away, behind a ridge of steep, pointed hills. The place lay deep in the PDF’s hinterland, still untouched by Tyranids and away from the raging bloodbath of the city. Lucius ordered to move along the ridge and to avoid any direct contact with both forces.
The Rhinos of Emperor’s Children rumbled their tracks at turbo-boost, relatively safe at the forested base of the ridge. There was only one spot on the pict-map where they had no other way than to traverse a stretch of the battle zone. There a fierce skirmish was going on between a splinter of the Tyranid assault force seeking to cut into the PDF’s rear, and a platoon of Imperial Guardsmen holding out in bunkers. Trying to circumvent this local fight meant going too deep into the Tyranid territory, remaining close to the ridge was sure death from lasguns at point blank. The only option left was rushing through the no-man’s land between the two fighting sides. This was done – at breakneck speed and with all guns blazing. Havoc launchers and storm bolters spat death into both sides, and for some vital seconds they fell silent, shocked by the sudden and deadly third party.
However, the plan was not to succeed completely. Lucius’ Rhino was suddenly shaken by a mighty blast, and the controlling systems went freak with fire alert. The crew had to scramble out of the vehicle as soon as possible. In only several seconds after this was done, the Rhino burst apart into flames and debris. Lucius and his marines ran through high grass and bushes, shooting down every tyranid in their way and hoping to reach the nearest cave in the ridge base. No lasfire welcomed them from the inside, so they ducked into the cave and could have some minutes of rest in safety.
- This isn't a completely natural cave, look! This corridor seems to have been dug out by men. I presume it leads through the ridge to its other side, and that's what we need. Activate your visors, follow me.
Having said that, Lucius led his men through the corridor. What first seemed to be sounds of battle from the outside sooned proved to be ones from the inside, and visors soon proved that: further in the corridor there were Imperial guardsmen and tyranids, screaming and fighting. Both were not big in numbers, ripe for slaughtering in the narrow confines of the corridor, and Lucius did not slow his pace. Soon the chitinous backs of the monsters became visible. They were obviously gaining the upper hand, for the sounds of lasgun shots grew fewer and fewer. Silently and efficiently Emperor's Children exterminated the xenos in mere seconds…
The commissar’s eyes bulged in horror and surprise at the figure that would be a perfect and majestic space marine, yet was horribly mutant and branded with familiar dark sigils… The relief of being snatched from the jaws of death was so quickly followed by an encounter with a heretic demigod that no sanity could endure it – only the ingrained iron will of an Imperial commander could. The commissar reacted swiftly, with no heed of tiredness or chaotic thoughts, and pointed his plasma pistol at Lucius, bellowing: “Kill the trai-…” His words drowned in a fountain of blood as his head was severed by a casual flick of the gripping daemonic lash. As the commissar’s body collapsed limply on the ground, Lucius looked at the soldiers trembling silently along the opposite wall. They were all young recruits, apparently in their first real battle; their widely open eyes stared at Lucius with terror and reverence, and at a sudden whim he thought that their conversion to Chaos would be a better insult against the Imperium than just killing them. Why, savouring the collapse of their worldview and the birth of new worshippers of Slaanesh… this was not to be missed! And what the superhuman brain of Lucius also had time to register was that many of these youngsters looked suitable for being implanted the geneseed.
- And now, kids, you just follow me out of this festering hole. I’ve saved you from a grisly death in the jaws of these beasts – I will lead you to a paradise you’ve never dared to dream of. Your life of suffering is over! Join these guys behind me, and within several hours you’ll be at a feast! Sumptuous food, luxurious rooms, softest beds, hottest girls – all this awaits you! Go and have your reward for all that hell!
Everyone followed Lucius. The fire in their reanimated eyes, the smile on their beaten faces, the tears drying out from their cheeks… That was as delightful as what he promised to them! And everyone, to a soul, walked on into the tunnel, trampling the corpse of their former commissar deeper into mud.
