The Trial of Bronius

Author Information

My name is Matthew B and im trying to write a 40k novel. Ive found that the prolouge works as a standalone short story so i'm posting it here. You can follow the progress of the novel at http://40kwriter.blogspot.com/ Please do, I need feedback on my work! Anyway, here it is: oh, and there are some points which should be in italics. ive done the bits i could find, but theres bound to be stuff missing.

The Trial of Bronius (working title)

The Warp. The dimension of chaos, the birthplace of the ruinous powers, the domain of demons. The men and women of the universe fear it, and all things that dwell in it and hail from it and worship it. From it comes mankind’s greatest enemy. It spreads corruption, disease and distrust. It is the ultimate hell.

And yet, without it, the Imperium of man and the empires of many other races could not hope to survive. The warp provides communications and transportation between planets. A short list, but these two things are key to the survival of mankind. Divided, the planets would fall, one by one, to enemies within and without. Indeed, if the warp did not exist, many of mankind’s enemies would never have been, but without the eyes and fists of the Imperium making their presence known on every planet, all would eventually fall to corruption and destroy itself with greed.

And so, thousands, no, millions of vessels of every description ply its sickly purple depths in search of their next port of call, be it for trading, imperial expansion, or war.

Somewhere, in the warp’s own twisted version of Ultima Segmentum, one such vessel was on a mission of war. Just another of a rapidly lengthening list of missions to stop the Tyranid incursion of the Milky Way galaxy.

However, an event was occurring which would change the fate of that vessel dramatically. Perhaps it was chance, perhaps an opportunity that arose and was taken, perhaps an elaborate scheme devised by a hidden being with unreadably complex plans. Magnus Cantor did not care. He just wanted to reach his destination alive.

“Where is he now?”

The internal security officer tapped furiously at keys, a worried look on his face.

“I don’t understand... the door is still locked but he’s reached the other side!”

Cantor’s expression of barely subdued rage did not change.

“He’s a potent psyker, you fool! I can think of three ways he can get through that door without you noticing! Just keep track of him. And get that door open, he’s passed it now and our men need to follow him.”

Cantor spoke into his vox bead.

“Target is continuing towards the enginarium. I want the surrounding corridors heavily defended, full weapons range available. He can do far more damage to this ship than anything we have. Stay alert, you won’t get much warning.”

Various replies on the theme of “confirmed” returned to him. Satisfied, he returned his attention to the bridge crew.

“Were losing his life signs sir... I’m not detecting any jamming; it doesn’t make-“the internal security officer stopped himself, remembering that this was a psyker they were dealing with. A corrupt one.

“He... he doesn’t need life signs anymore, I suppose...”

Cantor nodded in confirmation.

“There are many things he’s leaving behind in his pursuit of knowledge. Too many things. That’s why he must be stopped, lest he drag us down with him.”

“We’ve got him, sir. Entering corridor 35G, still moving for the enginarium. A squad is moving to intercept”

“How can you tell? I thought his life signs had stopped?”

“The door into it was just erased from the system. It takes a lot to do that”

***

What was once and man and still appeared to be, 2.5 metres tall and clad in blue armour, carrying a staff crowned with a golden Aquila, his eyes glowing a sickly purple, stalked down a corridor. His feet, clad in heavy boots, made no sound, though they appeared to hit the decking heavily as he strode, stony-faced, to a corner from which the sounds of many similar boots came. The five men came round the corner and opened fire. They were similarly tall and well armoured, but wore helmets in place of the solid hood-like device fitted to the once-man’s armour, and bulky boltguns in place of the staff. Their armour was predominantly red, but bore almost identical markings to those adorning the blue armour.

Each bolt was a miniature missile and many were now approaching the once-man at high speed. The once-man raised his free hand, palm outward, fingers splayed, before the men. The first bolt struck the centre of the gauntleted hand, exploding. The once-man’s hand stayed steady. The rest of the bolts froze in the air, rotating slowly. The guns jammed, and the men were momentarily startled. Two tried to reset their weapons, ejecting clips and racking slides in confusion. The three that were more used to dealing with the work of Chaos knew that the guns would not work until the once-man wanted them to, and leapt towards him, drawing blades and ducking around their frozen, levitating bolts to reach their target. One man tried to take a bolt out of the air and use it as a grenade, but found that is was firmly fixed in its position. It was also white-hot, and his gauntlet instantly melted into it. The bolt then became ice cold and the gauntlet became welded to it. Then all the bolts detonated in unison, all around the advancing men. The once-man smiled to himself as the three men fell to the floor, battered by the explosions of their own weapons.

With a twist of his hand, he crushed the minds of the three, to make sure they did not rise again. He lowered his hand and raised his staff. As he did so, the golden Aquila cracked, reddish-purple light spilling out of it. The Aquila crumbled and its pieces fell to the floor, exploding into clouds of sparkling dust on impact. From the tip of the staff a ring with eight spikes around it grew, to the sounds of groaning metal and whispering demons. The star of Chaos. The once-man brought the staff forwards and lighting issued from the centre of the ring, striking the two men in the chest and flinging them into the wall behind, where they slumped, unconscious or dead. Again, the once-man smiled, examining the new symbol atop his staff.

Back on the bridge, Magnus Cantor slammed his fist on a wall, cursing.

“Who else have we got nearby?”

“The rest of valour squad has barricaded the next corridor and is preparing heavy weapons, more squads of marines and armed crewmembers are converging on his position.”

“Good” Cantor spoke into his vox bead “valour, any sign of target?”

“Yes sir, we can see his... glow. He’s about to come arou-“

The voice cut out abruptly. Cantor turned to the communications officer, who was staring at his readouts and tapping keys in puzzlement.

“Why have we lost connection?” demanded Cantor

“I-I’m not sure, sir... all vox in that area is dead. Could it be... him?”

“It has to be.” Cantor spoke into his bead again. “All squads, be advised. The target is nullifying vox in his close vicinity. Take necessary precautions.”

Again, he began to receive confirmation from sergeants that his message had been received. Then, after only a few of these, the vox cut off again, suddenly.

“What now? He can’t be over here! Is it ship-wide?”

The comms officer’s hands were shaking

“J-just here sir... just the bri-“

He stopped short as a sound that nobody has noticed stopped and engulfed the room in total silence. Every cogitator in the room had shut down. A familiar voice to many laughed in the minds of everyone on the room, and the once-man shimmered into being before Cantor. Immediately, Cantor lunged for him, but his gauntleted fist passed through the once-man’s neck and out the other side without any resistance.

“There’s no point trying to kill me, Magnus.” Said the once-man, calmly. “I’m not here. I’m just making you think I’m here. Before today, such abilities were the limit of my power. Now, I can do it with ease. As I speak, I’m am bringing valour squad to an end. Do you see? The power you can wield if you embrace the warp! It’s like nothing you’ve ever known.”

“Vassar! Stop this now!” warned Cantor. “It’s not too late. If you surrender and denounce the ruinous powers, the inquisition may yet spare you. If you do not stop, you will die. I will make sure of it.”

The once man, Vassar, chuckled.

“Do you really think I’m such a fool? The inquisition would shoot me on sight, and rightly so. We are the greatest threat to the Imperium, and we shall be its downfall. You’re all fools, worshiping the lifeless skeleton of a long dead emperor who was killed by the founder of the traitor legions! Does that not prove our superiority?”

As Vassar spoke, an image played in Cantor’s mind of the golden Aquila crumbling and the star of Chaos growing in its place. He could guess the image was being played in the minds of everyone in the room. He trembled with rage at the blasphemy of Vassar’s speech. He saw the facial expression of the comms officer change subtly from terror to fearful awe. With anger and disgust, Cantor realised what was going through the mind of the officer, and was only glad that it was a mere naval officer, not one of his own marines, who’s resolve had broken in the face of Vassar’s subtle mental assault.

The officer realised Cantor was looking at him and froze, the terror returning more completely than before. He raised his shaking hands.

“N-No, sir... please! I d-didn’t... wasn’t...no!”

A bang. Flesh, bone and brain matter splattered the dead console behind the officer, and his twitching corpse toppled off its chair. Cantor holstered his bolt pistol and addressed the room.

“That is the fate of all who waver in the face of the enemy. And that is the fate you shall suffer, Vassar, if you do not end this madness NOW!”

Vassar tutted.

“Rule by fear, that’s the way of the imp-“

Cantor interrupted him, pointing at him with a hand shaking with rage and roaring;

“Cornelius Vassar, I hereby strike you from the ranks of Blood Ravens Fifth Company, banish you from the Imperium, strip you of all authority and rank and condemn you to death by any means! I gave you every opportunity for redemption, far more than a should have! You have gone too far, and now you will die, by my own hands if necessary! I shall prove to you who are superior in this war!”

Vassar looked momentarily taken aback, but then he smiled, shrugged, and his image faded from the minds of the bridge crew. They shook their heads, as if waking from a bad dream, and seemed suddenly surprised by the tall figure of Cantor. As they had watched the conversation, Vassar had diminished Cantor’s size and magnified his own in the eyes of the crew, to give his argument that little extra weight. Cantor’s rage had forced down Vassar’s illusion, which had snapped back as Vassar returned his attention to fighting his way to the enginarium.

Another officer took the comms position as the cogitators whirred and coughed back into life.

“Sir, vox is back online, I’ve worked out his position using the centre of the nullification zone.”

“Good thinking, keep track of him and keep me updated. I’m going after him.”

Cantor stalked out of the bridge, his face grim.

***

Vassar stepped over the heavily armoured body of his latest victim, blood dripping from snaking cracks in their armour. He sensed a presence approaching from behind. They could see him, and they were stepping forwards silently and warily. They could see his hunched form, breathing heavily and glowing its sickly purple and red around the edges. They were crewmen, equipped with lasguns. There were five of them. They were friends who had met on this vessel 3 years earlier. Back in their quarters, a game of regicide had been abandoned when alarms had first sounded. Both players thought they were going to win. The three who had been watching were unsure. All this Vassar could tell from their minds. His powers were like never before, amplified beyond his imagination. How could any of these fools think that the Imperium was in any way better than the warp and the lords of chaos? Such power they could all have, if they just-

The men’s fingers began to squeeze the lasgun triggers. Vassar slowed down his perception of time and watched them with his mind. He wanted to test his powers, see how long he could wait, how late he could leave it... the men didn’t have that choice. It was shoot or die. There was no fun.

Vassar sensed the gun mechanisms, examined them, and chose his moment. At the very point where the triggers were about to click, he spun with impossible speed, leaving a stretched out purple image of himself where he had been stood, and sent a wave of psychic force out of his hand at the men. They were blasted backwards and their las-shots hit the ceiling. The wave carried them down the corridor and into a wall, where their sheer velocity dented the walls and crushed their bones to dust and their organs to mush. Their forms stayed plastered to the wall.

Vassar sensed more minds approaching from ahead. They were confident and powerful. More marines. They had heavy weapons, and despite his newfound mental powers, he knew his frail body was still endangered by them. He didn’t want to take any chances. Vassar turned to face the wall beside him, staring at it intently and clenching his fists. Ice began to form on the wall and it glowed a faint purple. Vassar stepped forwards. Through the wall.

The ten marines arrived in the corridor just in time to see a blue boot disappearing through the solid wall. The pipes and wires inside and outside the patch of wall exploded violently, and the corridor was plunged into darkness. The sergeant tried his vox-bead. It was still dead. He led his men back the way they had come, trying his vox until he made contact.

“Captain? Devastator sergeant Bronius here.”

“Go ahead.” Came the voice of Cantor.

“We almost got him, but he went through a wall. He’s in cargo bay 1, we're moving in by conventional means to the aft entrance.”

“Copy that, I’ll bring some men in the other way and get you some reinforcements”

Before the sergeant could reply, his vox bead went dead again. They had reached the door to the cargo hold. He motioned one of his men to turn the heavy locking wheel and crouched, aiming his Boltgun at the door. The marine pulled it open and it groaned loudly on its hinges. The sergeant winced at the noise before realising that his target likely knew what he had eaten for breakfast on any specific date 5 years ago, let alone that he was entering the room now with the intention of killing him.

The room seemed empty apart from piles of weapons crates, food crates and other equipment. The squad moved into the large room and took up defensive positions behind some of these piles, using them as barricades. The five marines not equipped with heavy weapons began to search the room on Bronius’s orders, poking their heads around corners and stalking down aisles of boxes.

Suddenly, gunfire broke out all around the room. It seemed that they had all discovered him at once, in five different parts of the room. Sustained gunfire and frantic shouts came from their hidden positions around the room. The other five marines, crouching in their cover with their bulky weapons primed, could only wait for the outcome.

Cries issued from some of the locations, and a fountain of arterial blood could be seen above a pile of crates. The gunfire lessened then stopped altogether. A gauntleted hand could be seen, limp, at a corner, and a pool of blood followed it. From another location, a marine stumbled, his bolter gone, and collapsed a few metres away, a gaping hole in his back.

Then, another marine, bronius recognised him as brother-marine Logius, emerged from an aisle, standing proudly, seemingly unharmed.

“I got him!” he announced

Bronius rose, relieved that it was finally over, and started towards the marine.

“What happened? What did he do to...”

The sergeant froze in his tracks. Blood was leaking from beneath the logius’s helmet. The flow was worryingly strong, and the marine seemed unperturbed.

“Logius?” asked the sergeant. “Are you ok?”

“Yes, sarge, immrgghh...” the rest of the marine's sentence was lost in a sickening sound of gurgles and splutters, accompanied by an alarming increase in the blood flow from his armour. Bronius stepped back in alarm and realisation dawned.

“It’s a trick!”

The marine suddenly crumpled, like invisible strings had been cut. As the body landed, its head tilted back, revealing the neck to be almost entirely cut through. The sight stirred rage in the dead marine’s companions, who opened fire on the boxes, determined to reveal their hidden foe. Aisles toppled and ammunition boxes exploded violently, adding to the carnage. Soon, the room was enveloped in dust and flying debris. The marines paused in their onslaught to allow the air to clear and reveal their target. After a few seconds, a Lascannon boomed, and a blue armoured figure was thrown backwards through the haze. The marines watched. After a moment, the figure stood up. He was barely in one piece, with a huge hole burned through his chest. He looked down at the hole, and its edges began to glow with purple light. The wound began to close, space warping at its edges and producing armour and flesh to fill in the gaping hole. The figure, Vassar, smiled triumphantly at the marines.

The Lascannon boomed again. Vassar’s head ceased to exist. He fell backwards, the healing process stopped, and crumbled to dust as he hit the floor.

Four more figures, each seemingly Vassar, were revealed by the settling dust. The marines opened fire, their Lascannons, plasma cannon and multi-melta booming, hissing, and whirring as they unloaded more firepower at the Vassars. They fell to the onslaught, one by one, each crumbling to dust as they hit the floor, until one was left, palm facing the onslaught and a shimmering wall of purplish energy, which absorbed the hits, issuing from his hand. His eyes were glowing brighter now, as well as his mouth, which was smiling again.

“You can’t hurt me. I can keep this up all day.”

Vassar’s voice had taken on a strange, deep echo which boomed around the room.

“You, however, cannot.”

Vassar took a step forwards, and his shield moved with him. His staff glowed brighter, as if preparing for something. Vassar took another step. A quieter boom echoed around the room and Vassar stumbled, revealing to the marines that another squad of 11 had snuck into the room while Vassar’s mind was occupied. It was lead by Captain Magnus Cantor, whose outstretched arm held his smoking bolt pistol.

“FIRE!”

The ten marines opened fire with their Bolters and Vassar was caught by three bolts in the head, torso and leg. He crashed to the floor, his left leg blown off by one of the hits. The shield against the devastator squad vanished, but they lost sight of him behind a pile of debris before they could open fire.

The marines couldn’t see Vassar, but they knew something was happening. The shield was gone, but the purple glow that emanated from him was intensifying. There came a horrible sound of bones crunching, and a high pitched sound that the marines didn’t immediately realise was some sort of inhuman screaming.

What eventually rose from the debris was not Vassar. It was not human. It was four metres in height and clad in blue armour that had been warped and fused into the structure of its being. It's lower left leg was replaced by a strangely jointed leg of rotting, blood red flesh ending in a sickly combination of a hoof and a claw. The side of what could loosely be described as it's chest was missing a chunk and the gap was bridged by exposed veins, nerves and muscles which pulsed with purple light. It's massive, spiked back was hunched over and it's thick neck sported half what could still be identified as Vassar’s head. It had been caught by a bolt and was now a gruesome, dripping cross-section of a skull. Some of the weaker-stomached marines looked away in disgust.

The Vassar-demon roared at the marines, splattering them with flecks of blood. The sixteen marines opened fire. The demon lunged towards the tactical squad, ignoring the bolts like a tank ignores rain. Huge, razor-sharp claws of diseased bone, over a metre in length, extended from the gauntlets which had melted into its hands, tearing up the ranks of the squad. Six marines fell, torn to shreds, and more marines were wounded, but Cantor had dodged the sweeping claw, and came up firing his pistol at the head of the beast. It roared in pain and lunged for him, but was hit in the back by the multi-melta, which burned a hole straight through it. It seemed to decide that the devastator squad was more of a threat, so turned, crossed the large room in a few massive strides and lunged for them, again sweeping its claws towards them. The marines had little chance, with their bulky weapons harnessed to them. All four were torn apart, and their weapons sliced up. The plasma cannon’s power pack was breached, exploding violently and blowing a hole in the wall of the cargo bay, exposing what looked to Cantor like a generator. Devastator Sergeant Bronius’s bolter had been caught in the barrel by a razor-sharp claw, rendering it useless. He discarded it and drew a compact bolt pistol from a holster on his belt.

The aft door of the cargo bay burst open and another ten tactical marines poured in. The Vassar-demon was engaged with the last marine of the original tactical squad, who had managed to climb on to its back and was firing into its neck at point-blank range. The demon raked at him with its claws, managing to sever his spine and send him slumping to the floor, paralysed. The renewed fire from the new tactical squad blew the demon’s jaw off and severed some of its exposed veins and muscles. It roared again, straight from its exposed windpipe, and purple light jumped between the severed ends of the innards, drawing them back together and fusing them awkwardly. The demon leaped for the squad, crashing down on them and all but obliterating them. It's huge claws punctured the cargo bay floor, hitting something important and causing an unseen explosion that rocked the ship. It tore it's claws out and fire jetted from the fissures. A marine opened fire on it's flank, puncturing the flesh. Ice and rust formed on his armour, and his muscles froze. He fell backwards and his gun, jammed on automatic by his paralysed grip, fired wildly. One bullet smashed the glass of the control room, showering shards of glass down on sergeant Bronius, who was making his way up a flight of metal stairs to the room. Another bolt hit the recently exposed generator, causing it to detonate and blow out the lower stairs and some of the supports of the control room. It tilted, bending the remaining supports until the upper stairs took its weight. The sergeant laboured up the swaying stairs, occasionally ducking to avoid a wild swing by the demon as it battled the latest unit of marines below.

He had to leap for the doorway, and the room shuddered and tilted further as he landed. He was amazed to see a cargo bay control servitor, calmly observing the gruesome carnage below. The latest group of marines was holding up well, and was trying to find weak points from the cover of weapons crates and debris. The cargo bay was full of holes, some of which spouted fire or jets of plasma. More explosions were shaking the ship as the demon’s claws clumsily tore into the adjoining rooms and corridors, dicing various hidden mechanisms. Captain Cantor was trapped between a jet of flame and a wall of miraculously intact crates. The situation was bleak overall. The marines needed an advantage.

Bronius scanned the controls for something useful. Only three caught his eye as possible weapons against the demon. The first was ‘cargo loading clamp control’; the second was ‘climate controls’; the third he didn’t want to consider.

“Give me the clamp controls!” he shouted to the servitor over the sounds of gunfire and demonic roars.

“It is my function to control cargo movement.” replied the servitor calmly, with a voice entirely devoid of emotion. “Please specify the cargo you wish me to move and the destination of the cargo.”

“I want you to pick up that demon and smash it into whatever will hurt it most!”

“The demon does not register as cargo. I am not authorised to use the clamp on anything other than cargo.”

“Give me the damn controls!”

Bronius leaned over the protesting servitor and grabbed the control stick, swinging the clamp over to the demon. He dropped it down on the demon’s hulking shoulder and closed it, then pulled it up again.

The demon didn’t lift. It simply continued to swipe at the marines until the clamp became an annoyance. Then the chain froze and shattered, and the demon tore it off. It threw it over its shoulder and continued its assault on the entrenched marines. The clamp sailed through the air, slamming into the control room doorway, tearing through it and continuing through the room. Bronius ducked. The servitor didn’t. He was slammed in the side, torn out of his chair and crushed against the opposite wall. The impact broke the remaining control room supports and it swung down, slamming into the cargo bay wall.

The room was vertical, hanging from the wall by a thick bundle of wires and pipes. The stairs had fallen away, burying two unfortunate marines. Bronius had fallen down to the opposite wall, narrowly missing falling out of the hole where the doorway had been. He could feel the heat from a nearby jet of flame on his face. He could taste blood. Hear gunfire, roars, and strangled cries. He could smell the chaos presence in the air, testing his resolve, empowering the demon. He could see that the climate control panel was dark, its wires probably not included in those holding up the room. He could see the third switch, the one he hadn’t even wanted to contemplate. The consequences, the danger... but what would happen if the demon continued its slaughter? It was the only way.

Bronius reached out a hand and took hold of the end of the control desk. He pulled himself to his feet and began to climb; using the console’s various levers, raised buttons and switches as handholds and footholds.

He heard cables snap as a cabinet that had been nailed to the wall fell and hit the new floor on its way through the doorway. He paused, waiting for the room to stop swinging. Then he continued, more carefully than before.

Bronius reached the control panel which had, annoyingly, been placed at the far end of the room. He observed the cargo bay. There weren’t many marines left, and the demon sported a new set of wounds that it had inexpertly welded shut with its mind. Cantor had escaped his predicament and was charging towards the demon, proclaiming the might of The Emperor and firing his bolt pistol into the beast’s back.

“Captain!”

Cantor turned his head and saw the devastator sergeant, clinging to the control panel.

“Captain, run!”

Cantor halted, but did not retreat, continuing to fire at the beast. He paused to reload.

“Magnus! You have to get out, NOW!”

Cantor relented, and began to fall back to the door, firing as he went.

Sergeant Bronius donned his helmet that had been hanging from his belt and pressed the button marked ‘open cargo doors’. A red light began to flash and an alarm to sound, as the door opening mechanism powered up.

Cantor realised the sergeant’s plan and broke into a run, shouting for the other marines to do the same. He ran through the door and closed it, turning the wheel to seal it airtight. The other marines ran for the aft door, and found the wheel shredded by the demon’s claws. The demon itself prevented them reaching the other door. Bronius saw this, deciding that all who could leave had left, and pressed the ‘emergency override’ button. The tedious process of alarms ended abruptly, and the doors began to open at full speed.

The cargo bay was filled with a deafening sound of rushing air that drew up the debris and dragged it out into the warp. Crates, marines and the loose remains of the stairs scraped across the floor and fell out into the swirling purple mass. The remaining cables holding the control room snapped and it spun towards the open doorway, smashing into the side and tearing apart. The sergeant emerged from the wreckage in mid air, catching hold of the edge of the doorway.

The demon was jerked back and fell, catching sight of the maelstrom of the warp behind it, the place from where it had come, where it was born. It did not want to return.

The demon dug into claws into the floor and wall, tearing up hidden machinery and wiring in it's effort to find purchase. It's razor sharp claws denied it this, and merely caused more damage to the ship. It took hold of the opposite wall with what remained of Vassar’s mind, trying to drag itself back to safety. The wall buckled and tore, beginning to come free of the rest of the ship. Ice formed on it's surface as the demon intensified its mental hold. The dropping pressure and mental stress shattered the wall, and its shards scythed across the room, some of them impaling the demon. It tried to release its mental hold on the largest shard of ice-coated wall which had missed it and tumbled into the warp, but found it could not. Within its mind, Librarian Cornelius Vassar, the old Vassar, the Vassar who was once a fair and true and noble warrior of the Imperium, a friend and fellow warrior of many a Blood Raven, mustered the last of his mental strength to hold that shard, and cause it to drag the demon which had infiltrated and consumed him back into the warp from whence it had come.

The mental pull bowled it over and dragged it into the rapidly thinning air, which in turn pulled it out into the realm of demons where, with a scream that could thankfully no longer be heard, it was torn apart and its spirit released back into the swirling mass of hatred, terror and sorrow that rushed around the ship.

The rushing noise slowly faded to nothing and the Bronius became weightless, as the gravity plating power supply had been lacerated to nothing by the demon’s last scrabbling attempt at survival. For a moment, he saw the outside of the ship. The area around the cargo bay had been severely damaged by explosions, and the ship was still shaking from the last of the chain reactions of explosions caused by the demon’s frenzy. He drew himself inside, as the warp closed in. He drifted across the open space, into the corridor that had been revealed by the loss of the far wall. The grav-plating worked here, and he dropped down as he approached. He regarded the crewmembers plastered to the wall by Vassar earlier. Then he turned and watched the warp’s ponderous fingers invade the room. Not long now.

He tried his vox. It worked fine now.

“Target neutralised, captain.”

“Bronius? Are you ok?” came Cantor’s reply. “Quick! Get to an airlock!”

“Captain, the cargo bay was the airlock. I’m trapped in here.”

“We can use an adjoining corridor! Come on!”

“That will only cause more problems and waste resources. Anyway, I’ve probably touched the warp now. We can’t risk it.”

“But-“

Sergeant Bronius had spotted a marine on the floor. He had managed to cling on to something until the air had run out. He had lost his bolter and sword and was crawling towards Bronius.

“Just a moment, captain.”

He walked over to the marine and helped him into a sitting position against the wall of the cargo bay. He had a slash through his chest armour and was bleeding heavily. The snaking wisps of the warp came closer. Bronius could see Cantor’s face in the porthole of the door in the cargo bay. The fallen marine held out a hand. Bronius knew what he wanted. He handed the marine his compact bolt pistol. The marine gasped a “thanks”. He removed his helmet, put the gun to his head, and fired. The shot made no sound in the vacuum. Bronius took the pistol from the marine’s limp hand, and spoke into his vox.

“Don’t blame yourself, sir. We were all fooled. The Chapter Master himself would have been fooled!”

“How can you know that? There were signs, I should have realised... did you not think he had been acting strangely?”

“I’ll be honest, sir, I did. But not even an inquisitor would have thought it was the ruinous powers!”

“Now you know that’s not true, inquisitors suspect everyone of being a demon host.”

Bronius chuckled, but his hidden eyes revealed sorrow.

“Indeed they do...”

A pause. Bronius watched the warp surround him. It was on every side now, swirling around him hungrily. His armour began to rust and his skin began to crawl. It was time.

“...and they should, because if they didn’t, how would we find them all? There must be so many... just a touch of the warp, a single touch...”

He reached out his left hand, and his finger touched hell. He shuddered. His finger was glowing. The glow was spreading across his hand. He regarded it with curiosity for a few moments. Then he shook his head.

“That’s not for me.”

He clenched his left fist. The glow slowed. He looked up, at the warp, its fleeting half-images of demons in the corners of his eyes circling like sharks, hunger in their eyes.

“Frig you.”

Something suddenly seemed to occur to Bronius, and he addressed Cantor again.

“Magnus, remember these words, when I am long gone: He who bids the blasphemer entry invites ruin and death into his home.”

Brother-Sergeant Jorahn Bronius let his gun float in the vacuum for a moment while he removed his helmet with his right hand. He let it float away, and took hold of the gun, again with his right hand. He held it to his head.

Brother-Captain Magnus Cantor watched through the porthole as Bronius mouthed “For the Emperor!” into the silent whispers of the warp, and pulled the trigger.

Categories: Space Marines Fiction