Space War: Blood of Sanguinius

Chapter one

Thermia v

Six miles south of the Raumath Docks

Thermia was a world of ghosts and half-seen things; a vaporous corpse; shrouded in a winding sheet of fine black powder. Mariah had come here in search of a vision, in thrall to a prediction, but Thermia had seeped in to her mind, clouding her thoughts. What had seemed so clear in the Arx Angelicum now seemed absurd.

On Baal she had dreamed that her, and her alone could save Mephiston. She had seen them fighting together beside a vast, shattered fist- a ruin, surrounded by monsters. She had been sure that the Chief Librarian was on the brink of disaster, the idea seemed ridiculous now, but Mariah could not let it go. She had to know what it meant.

She came to a halt and peered through the billowing ash, staring at movement up ahead. At first she struggled to make out the shapes but then her augmented vision honed in on them, resolving the silhouettes into something recognisable: a group of human soldiers, heading towards her at a slow, exhausted plod. She flicked the safety off her bolt pistol and strode on to meet them. The dust worms had left half of Thermia's settlers insane. The evacuation force had spent almost as much time killing humans as rescuing them. They had escorted thousands to the Raumath docks, readying them for evacuation, but others where consumed by madness they had to be gunned down. As Mariah approached the men she was quite prepared for either eventuality.

It was a group of shock troopers. They staggered to a halt as Mariah loomed out of the soot clouds. The soldiers were clad in black fatigues and thick plates of flack armour. Their crested, iron helmets completely encased their heads, and their faces were hidden behind thermal imaging goggles and heavy, bulbous rebreathers. They looked like thick-jawed attack dogs, the best Thermia had to offer, but Mariah could see they were as burned out as the rest of the planet. These veterans of an unwinnable war had watched their home die and it showed in their posture as they stumbled through the ash and embers. Their heads where hung low on exhaustion-rounded shoulders and their lasguns trailed behind them through the fumes.

At the sight of Mariah they dropped into combat stances and raised their guns.

"Who's that?" growled the leader, trying to disguise his fear with a gruff yell. He looked up at Mariah's power armour, his eyes narrowing behind the filthy lenses of his goggles.

Mariah stared down at him with her icy blue eyes. She scoured the men's souls, searching for the scent of corruption, but found only grief and despair.

"I am Mariah" she replied, when she realised she might not have to kill them.

"I am a Blood Angel."

The soldier glanced at his men, clearly at a loss for words.

"Make for the docks" said Mariah. "The planet is lost."

"Lost?" The trooper could not hide the emotion in his voice. At first Mariah thought is was relief, but then, as the man looked at the ground, Mariah realised it was shame. "Then we really are defeated?"

"Nothing can defeat you" replied Mariah, "Apart from despair. Conquer that and the Emperor might reward you with a more worthy foe."

The soldier's eyes widened and Mariah thought that he might weep. Then her drew back his shoulders and stood upright, giving Mariah a stiff salute. "Forgive my manners, I'm lieutenant Myos of the Vharun Twelfth."

Mariah nodded. "My battle-brothers are surrounding your camp as we speak. Yours is the last manned outpost. We have evacuated everyone else. We all leave tonight."

The men paled. They clearly understood what she meant: Thermia was beyond saving and must be destroyed.

"We were checking the camp perimeter," said Myos, sounding dazed. "We saw gunfire to the east. I guessed it was a relief force, but..." He shook his head. "We were just returning to camp for a debriefing."

Mariah was no longer looking at the man. "The battle for Thermia is over. It is time to leave. I was sent to check for sentries such as yourself. We will not leave good men behind if we can help it."

What did you see? Demanded the daemonic shape, striding towards her through a storm of ghosts.

Mariah staggered. Shocked by the violence of the vision. It filled her mind with more force than ever before. The same crimson eyes. The same murderous rage. The same crumbling stone fist, reaching up from a scorched landscape. The same furious question.

What did you see?

She grasped her head, her cranium pounding. Then the vision faded and the voice was gone.

The men stared at her in confusion.

Mariah lowered her hand from her face and glared at them. She nodded back the way they had come. There was a line across the horizon, just visible through the ash clouds. "Did you travel near the forest?"

Myos nodded. "General Kruk did not realise things were as dire as you say, but he knew we were surrounded. He sent us this way to scout the perimeter. We followed the edge of the forest until half an hour ago. Why?"

"There is an old ruined statue," said Mariah. "A fist jutting from the ground. Somewhere near here. Surrounded by burned tree stumps."

Myos nodded. "I know the place, my lady. It's not far. Near the old pit."

Mariah tried to steady her pounding hearts. "Lead me there. I have to see it before I go. The fleet leaves at dawn." she was talking more to herself than the soldier. "tonight is my last chance."

The men exchanged glances, hut Myos ordered them to make for the docks. Then he trudged back the way he had come, signalling for Mariah to follow.

They waded on through the ash-drifts, the soldier struggling to keep pace with Mariah's broad, powerful strides. After a while Mariah spotted a building up ahead. It was a squat, pugnacious-looking tower, constructed of battle-scarred ferrocrete and bristling with guns. As they crested a hill the rest of the camp came into view: more watchtowers, surrounding rows of blockhouses, all of it circled by trenches and razorwire.

On the far side of the camp he could see a flicker of lumens tracing across the ground. Captain Vatrenus and his squad of Tactical Marines were making their final sweep towards the shattered defence lines, scouring the fumes for signs of the enemy as they ordered the few remaining Guardsmen towards the docks. Mariah frowned knowing she should be down there with them. She had done as ordered and found the only strays she could. Now she should go back, but the visions haunted her. They had filled her thoughts since the moment they landed on Thermia, growing more forceful with every day that passed. She must see the place before she returned to Baal.

"What's that?" said Myos, looking along the earthworks toward another group of Guardsmen, about a dozen of them, huddled together for safety, all wearing straps of grenades and armed oilcloth-shrouded lasrifles.

"Sergeant Athor's men," said Myos. "Why are they just sitting there?"

Mariah had seen Mephiston's tactics many times since they landed and she understood what was about to happen. "Bait," she said, waving for Myos to keep his head down.

Beyond the distant group of Guardsmen there was a black wall of fir trees, marking the edge of the forest that blanketed most of the planet. It was here beneath their branches that Thermia's vile parasites started to stir, smelling the brain matter of the stranded troopers. The Chief Librarian had named them Sepolcrali, long before the Blood Angels even landed on Thermia, using the ancient Baalite word for creatures of the grave. It was clear that the name was significant to him, but nobody had the courage to ask him why. Mariah could not see the Sepolcrali yet, but their hunting call was unmistakable: and eerie, metallic scraping, like blades being sharpened. After a few minutes the Sepolcrali emerged from the trees. They could almost have been mistaken for more flurries of ash flakes – pale, serpentine shapes, coiling through the grey drifts. But Mariah noticed how they would rise up at one end, tasting the air and searching for a scent. The had no face, or any other features for that matter. They where opalescent tubes, ten or eleven feet long, looping and undulating as they snaked across the ash mounds. Mariah was reminded of the sandy shapes that roll through the shallows of oceans – tubular, featureless, inhuman.

Myos some magnoculars and watched the Sepolcrali slip into view. Captain Vatrenus and his Tactical Marines were half a mile away and it was clear that they would not reach the Guardsmen before the Sepolcrali did. "We can't just leave them there," hissed Myos.

"Wait," said Mariah

The troopers on the ridge had seen them too. The sergeant barked an order and the men spread out along the earthworks, each dropping to one knee and shouldering his lasrifle. Mariah could see the xenos more clearly now, unfurling themselves across the ash with a gentle, rippling motion. They where grotesque –billowing spirits, glittering in the moonlight. She could understand the tails of supernatural beings that had littered the battle reports. The Sepolcrali looked like ghosts.

She felt Myos bristling with hatred for the creatures and concern for his brothers down below.

"Wait!" she repeated.

The Sepolcrali were still a hundred yards or so away from the Guardsmen when the massacre began.

Myos cried out in surprise as Mephiston knifed down from the ash clouds. He was like a raptor, silent and lethal. He fell feet first, chin raised and eyes closed. He had the handle of his sword, Vitarus, pressed to his chest, as though he were a figure carved into a sarcophagus.

If the Sepolcrali sensed his coming, they had no chance to react. Mephiston landed with an explosion of ash and immediately began to kill. He whirled through the pre-dawn glow, gliding easily amongst his foes as though clad in silk rather than heavy, ancient battleplate.

The Sepolcrali recoiled and tried to flee but it was useless. Mephiston's sword sliced through their translucent flesh like smoke. The blade shone with the force of Mephiston's mind, blazing and flashing as it tore the ash worms apart. They died in spectacular fashion, bursting into glittering clouds that whipped away on the wind. Mariah had seen similar scenes several times since the start of the campaign, but she still watched with unabashed awe. Mephiston looked like a terrible deity, fallen from the heavens to mete out the Emperor's wrath. As Mephiston whirled and parried, Mariah muttered a prayer, thanking the Emperor for showing her the glory of this divine retribution. Then she noticed ranks of colossal figures emerging from the banks of ash – Captain Vatrenus' battle-brothers had reached the earthworks storming through the darkness, bolters raised. Like the shock troopers, the Blood Angels had no need to fire. Only a few seconds had passed since Mephiston appeared, but he had already destroyed most of the Sepolcrali.

"Wait," hissed Myos. "Prion!"

A wounded Guardsman had emerged from the tree line. He was much closer to the swarms of Sepolcrali than Mephiston or any of the other Blood Angels.

Mephiston had his back to the trooper as he sliced open another of the monsters but Captain Vatrenus saw him and must have voxed the Chief Librarian, because he whirled around.

"Too late," muttered Mariah. She strode forwards and raised her force sword. Mephiston saw the danger too and summoned wings from the darkness, but the white shape had already reached the injured soldier.

The man saw the Sepolcrali rushing towards him through the ash blizzard. He opened his mouth to scream and the creature formed into a narrow, dart-like shape that plunged straight down Prion's throat. It was a revolting sight, but Mariah could not look away. It looked like Prion was vomiting in reverse. A quivering column of ash thundered down his throat, causing him to judder and spasm. He collapsed onto the ground dead.

Mephiston swooped through the air, firing his pistol. Gouts of incandescent plasma thudded into the corpse, blasting chunks of flesh from the body and jolting it back across the moonlit hillside. There were dozens more Sepolcrali to kill but Mephiston was now far more concerned with Prion's corpse.

A second wave of the things erupted from the ash in front of Mephiston blocking his way. He killed them without raising a weapon – blasting them aside with a wave of his hand. They disintegrated in to a cloud of embers, but hundreds more swirled into view, determined to keep Mephiston away from the corpse. He quickly became mired in a wall of glittering shapes.

The hillside lit up as a fusillade of bolter shots tore through the night. Captain Vatrenus' squads had dropped to their knees and opened fire, attempting to cut a path through the Sepolcrali so that Mephiston could reach the body.

"Damn it," muttered Mariah, frustrated by the delay. She looked at Myos. "Wait here. We may still have time when this is finished."

"Finished," gasped Myos. "My lady, do you understand what the dust worms do?"

Mariah gave no reply and waded down the slope.

As the Tactical Marines' firestorm lit up the scene, it revealed something grotesque: Prion's corpse had began to quiver and mutate. Mariah hissed in disgust as it lurched to its feet, already starting to bulge and tear. White light spilled from holes in the dead man's flesh and his head lolled backwards at a hideous angle, swinging from side to side as he began to run down the slope. The Guardsmen on the earthworks opened fire, howling curses. Flashes of las-fire slammed into the animated corpse, but the impact just made it swell and mutate all the more. It blossomed into a misshapen giant, thundering through the ash as the Guardsmen's shots grew wilder and more panicked.

Mephiston ripped through the enemy lines and was hurtling towards the giant, but he was too late. As the bloated corpse reached the earthworks, the men on the counterscarp tried to flee but the giant moved with shocking speed and grabbed two of them in its enormous hands. It rocked back on its heels and threw them up the hill towards the rolling mass of Sepolcrali.

The dust worms shot out to catch them, slicing into their bodies like spears.

Even before the men died, they began to tear and reform. Within seconds their animated corpses where thundering down the hill after the fleeting Guardsmen. The first of the giant revenants was still hurling other Guardsmen towards the storm of sepolcrali and, by the time Mephiston reached the earthworks, there were half a dozen of the lurching colossi. With every moment that passed they grew even larger. The one that had been Prion was already nearly twenty feet tall and still growing. It towered over even the largest buildings in the camp, swaying as though drunk. It swung its lolling head around, trying to spy other victims to toss to the dust worms.

Klaxons blared, summoning Guardsmen from the blockhouses. Las-fire began lacerating the darkness, slicing chunks from the revenants, but the shots only seemed to add to their ghastly vigour. Mariah was still hundreds of yards away, but she raised her power sword and summoned a blast of psychic fire from its charmed metal, hurling it into the sepolcrali as she ran.

Mephiston looked back at the Blood Angels and must have voxed them a command because they stopped rushing towards Mephiston and turned to face the storm of dust worms at the edge of the forest. They raced up the slope, closed on their foe and attacked with flamers, spewing columns of promethium at the sepolcrali. The flames enveloped the ranks of xenos, creating a blinding wall of fire that drove them back into the dead trees.

As Captain Vatrenus pushed back the ash worms, Mephiston placed himself directly in the path of the massive revenants. Six of the twitching behemoths where pounding towards the rows of blockhouses. Some of them where now thirty feet tall and the ground shuddered as they advanced. Mephiston look tiny in comparison, but he waved away the Guardsmen that had approached until he stood alone. He shimmered wit power, as though his body were a window onto an inferno. The light burned brightest in his sword and as he held the blade aloft it shone like a beacon, causing the revenants to stagger and shield their deformed faces.

Mariah had never been so near to the Chief Librarian in combat before and she saw that, even now, dwarfed by these monstrous corpses, Mephiston was utterly cold.

Mariah's thoughts where interrupted by a sound from behind her. She whirled round, sword blazing, and saw Myos stumbling after her through the ash, refusing to sit by as others fought his foes. She muttered a curse, then turned back to the fight.

The first of the giants had nearly reached Mephiston when the Chief Librarian calmly raised one hand and clenched it in a fist. The monsters head detonated. Ash, blood and brain matter poured down its chest as it dropped to its knees. The impact of its fall shattered windows and shook doors from their hinges. Without a brain, undead became simply dead. Mephiston stepped aside as it crashed onto its chest.

After the first giant hit the ground, Mephiston leapt onto its back and launched himself at the second. The revenant reached for him with broken, deformed arms, but Mephiston summoned wings, swooping around the blow and plunging Vitarus into the giant's neck. The revenant staggered back and tried to shake him off, but Mephiston wrenched his blade through skin, bone and cartilage, decapitating the giant with one precise slash of his sword. Soldiers bolted for safety as the head crashed down, flattening a storehouse in an explosion of wood and roof tiles.

The third of the giants collapsed into a molten heap as Mephiston boiled its blood from within and the next two went the way of the first, their heads imploding as though hit by heavy artillery.

Mephiston fought calmly and with precision, his eyes half-lidded as he sliced the corpse giants apart.

As the fifth giant crashed to the ground, Mephiston saw that the sixth had taken its stolen body and fled for the forest. It was almost at the tree line, but Mariah knew the vile thing would never make the trees.

Captain Vatrenus and his men had penned in most of the other worms and Mariah saw her chance. "The fight is over," she said, turning to face the dazed-looking Guardsman. "Lead me to the ruin."

"What of you brothers, my lady," asked Myos, nodding to the Blood Angels. Mariah shook her head. She knew the she was meant to seek this place alone. Vatrenus and the others were not part of the visions that had driven her here. She had seen the moment so many times. There was Mephiston, the daemonic foe and her – no one else.

The hillside lit up as a fusillade of bolter shots tore through the night. Both of Captain Vatrenus' squads had dropped to their knees and opened fire, joining Mephiston in the final slaughter.

As their firestorm lit up the scene, Mariah followed Myos in the opposite direction, dashing for the nearby boundaries of the forest. Myos sprinted through the trees, crashing through the ash-laden branches and trampling over charred roots. After only ten minutes or so, they reached a broad ash-filled clearing, hundreds of feet wide and ablaze with moonlight. At the centre of the clearing was a stepped crater, spiralling down in to the ground, coated with the same banks of smouldering ash that covered all of Thermia. Reaching up from the centre of crater, rising way above the treetops, was the crumbling stone fist that had haunted her dreams.

What did you see?

The vision hit Mariah with even greater force – the same hideous figure, the same whirling cloud of spirits, filling her head with flames and fury.

Momentarily blinded, she stumbled to a halt at the edge of the pit. Visions and prophecy were as familiar to her as anything in the physical world, but none had ever arrived with this violence. It was overwhelming. The vision faded and she hurried down the slope towards the ruins of a small temple. She approached and looked inside. It was a tragic kind of place, with its shattered columns and exposed rafters but, as she peered through the half-open doors, she saw that it was abandoned. Apart from a few ash drifts that had forced their way inside, the building had been forgotten. Creepers had enveloped much of the stonework, smothering the wrecked remains of control panels and research equipment. The temple had been claimed by the forest.

Mariah and Myos stepped inside. Most of the equipment had been smashed long ago but the upper parts of the walls were carved with beautiful friezes. The God-Emperor's hands spread over their heads, reaching out through the stars, spreading the seeds of his fledgling Imperium.

There was a noise outside the temple and Lieutenant Myos backed away from the door, his lasrifle raised.

"They're coming," he said, his voice taut.

Mariah dropped into a battle pose as huge numbers of sepolcrali rose from the pit, swarming up over the stone fist. Until now, Mariah had only seen the sepolcrali attack in small groups, but this was a host. Hundreds of them where billowing up from the shadows, straining and sniffing at the scent of mortal flesh.

Mariah spoke into her vox. "Captain Vatrenus?" As she expected, the only reply was a howl of interference. Thermia's ash storms were a toxic cocktail of chemicals and particulate matter. The comms networks had all been short since they landed. Mariah cut the signal and waited to face the sepolcrali alone, waving Myos back into the temple.

Mariah was about to step out and launch her attack when she noticed how oddly the xenos were behaving. As they spilled around the moonlit fist and filled the quarry, they began to knot together like fibres, twisting and tightening.

As the ash worms grew in number the coiling mass gradually expanded, moving closer to the doors of the temple. Mariah readied his pistol. "You will not find a Blood Angel such easy prey," she muttered.

They had now filled the clearing with such a dazzling glow that Mariah found it hard to look, but she did not need to see them to know that the prophesised moment had come.

What did you see?

The vision rocked her again and her mind pounded with the sense that something momentous was about to occur. The sepolcrali where touching the doors he could hear their pale forms, brushing against the stonework.

"Stay inside," she growled to Myos. Then she stepped out to face them.

The creatures ignored Mariah and hurtled towards each other, colliding in a tornado of ghostly shapes. They formed a vortex, spinning around a figure he could not quite make out. This was the malignant horror she had dreamed of. Finally he would meet his daemonic accuser. Past and present collided as the events of the vision unfolded before Mariah.

In the visions she thought the ash worms were flanking the figure, but now she they were attacking him – diving and lunging, trying to pierce his flesh. She was drunk on prophecy, blinded by premonition. As in the visions, the figure was little more than a blurred silhouette, but as it came closer, Mariah finally saw the truth. She had seen this moment so many times.

"Mephiston," she muttered, her pulse hammering.

Mephiston launched his attack.

There was a chorus of metallic shrieks as the Chief Librarian exploded into action. He spread his black wings and tore through the aliens, gripping his sword in both hands and swinging it in arcs of psychic energy. The sepolcrali burst into sheets of white flame, scattering fragments of ivory meat across the clearing. Mephiston with the same cold-blooded precision Mariah had seen earlier. As he rose up from the tumult, his face was devoid of emotion.

The sepolcrali turned away from Mariah and she watched the scene in stunned silence. There was a dark beauty to Mephiston's lunges and pirouettes but an endless tide of the shimmering serpents poured up around the fist. For every ten that Mephiston destroyed, another twenty arrived; for every twenty, another thirty. However lethal his technique, it was impossible for him to destroy them all. The sepolcrali showed no sign of fear or even caution. There was something remorseless about their advance. Mephiston may as well have been fighting an avalanche.

Mariah shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. She crossed the steps and began firing at the edges of the pit, picking off the creatures that had yet to reach Mephiston. Her shots barked out, shearing through the sepolcrali and filling the air with even more ash.

Mephiston fought on oblivious, his force sword burning through foe after foe. Time wore on and still they came at him, an endless series of thrusts and lunges as they attempted to break through his sword strikes. Mephiston was incredible to watch but Mariah found herself wondering what would happen if one of the sepolcrali managed to pierce his armour. If the possessed Mephiston's body in the same way they possessed their other victims... The thought did not bear considering. She banished the idea with bolter fire, smiling in satisfaction as she saw the mound of corpses she was building. She may have misunderstood her visions, but she was still glad to be here, helping her lord against these revolting creatures.

Still they came and, gradually, the impossible happened – as ever greater numbers of the creatures tumbled down over Mephiston, he began to tire. His sword blows slowed and, incredibly, he started to miss some of his targets, staggering slightly, wrong-footed by mistimed blows.

The corpse-like rigidity of Mephiston's features was changing. As he failed to defeat the xenos, his face finally showed emotion, twisting into a bitter snarl. Mariah could not tell whether the rage was directed at his foes or his inability to destroy them, but it did not really matter; what mattered was that Mephiston composure had been broken. Mariah had never heard of such a thing.

Finally, the Chief Librarian abandoned his sword and unleashed the naked power of his mind, howling arcane oaths and channelling great gouts of psychic power through his open hands. The columns of light tore through the clearing, incinerating everything they met.

Mariah dived to one as a bolt hurtled towards her. She rolled clear but the blast smashed into the masonry behind her, tearing a hole in the wall of the temple.

She turned onto her back and saw a whirling mass of sepolcrali falling towards her. She loosed off another storm of bold shells, splattering chunks of scorched white meat across the steps, then rose to her feet and looked around for Mephiston. The crowed of sepolcrali had become a mountain, built around the white-hot core of Mephiston's rage. Mariah could barely see him, but his power was evident everywhere. The clearing was networked with incandescent bolts. They where now detonating whole swathes of the xenos as well as levelling the surrounding forest. Many of the blasts where also hitting the temple and the whole structure was starting to teeter and slump.

"Myos," muttered Mariah, recalling the Guardsman. She pounded back up the steps, firing as she went, staggering against the shock waves rippling through the quarry as Mephiston's fury grew even more ferocious. Mariah could hear him crying out in frustration. It was a shocking, inhuman sound.

The temple was drenched in warp light. Large sections of the roof had collapsed, covering the mosaic floor in piles of rubble. She half expected to find Myos dead, but he was hunched in the moonlight, gun raised, surrounded in debris.

Mariah nodded to the door way. "You need to leave." she led him out on to the steps. "We will deal with the xenos."

Myos looked out through the collapsing walls of the building and lowered his gun in shock.

Hundreds of the ash creatures were revolving around Mephiston. They were illuminated so fiercely by his wrath that it seemed as though a sun had formed in the clearing. It blazed brighter until Myos was forced to turn away and even Mariah had to squint against the glare. Then Mariah heard a voice cry out, feral and inhuman.

"Enough!"

The sun shattered.

Mariah and the Guardsman were hit by incredible force and thrown backwards through the ruins. Mariah managed to keep hold of Myos as they where lifted from their feet. She attempted to shield him from the hail of masonry that flew after them. Mariah collided with the wall, smashed through the other side and landed with a grunt, her bolt pistol flying from her grip.

Serpents wound lazily through the stars, crushing the heavens in their dislocated jaws. A griffon reared protectively over a flame, roaring the word "Mephiston". A world burned.

Mariah lay there frozen, as a new series of visions ripped through her head.

Suffocating beneath the rubble. Roaring in endless rage. Dead and undying. A woman approaching through the fumes, calling for help. Her face veiled. Her skin torn away. The veil stained with blood where it had brushed against her ruined face. What did you see?

The visions faded and Mariah saw the pit again. The blinding vortex had gone, replaced by the paler light of the moon. Myos was beside her, dazed and bloody but alive.

A dreadful sound filled the clearing – a bestial roar that sliced through the night, making the eerie quiet that followed seem dreadfully ominous.

Mariah rose and helped Myos to his feet. They both picked their way back through the rubble to the front of the building. Mariah paused, shocked by the sight that greeted them, unsure what was vision and what was fact.

Myos staggered on, shaking his head.

The sepolcrali were dead, all of them were dead. The pit around the stone fist was carpeted in burned flesh. The smell of charred meat hung in the air and the mounds of gore had turned the surrounding forest into a charnel house. But it was not the piles of corpses that Mariah and Myos were staring at; it was Mephiston. Or at least, Mariah thought it was Mephiston. The thing crouched at the edge of the pit wore the same scalloped, crimson armour as the Chief Librarian, but in every other way he had been transformed. Aetheric light was blazing through his armour as he tore through the corpses. His flesh was limned with oily, dark flames.

Mariah hesitated, confused, but Myos staggered on, climbing down the steps. "You destroyed them," he said, reaching out towards Mephiston. "So many of them."

Mephiston looked up. His face was a blood-infused flame and his eyes flashed a deep carmine. His teeth gleamed, cruel and white, as he launched himself at Myos.

Myos howled as Mephiston Crashed into him.

Mephiston grabbed him by the throat and lifted him easily up over his head, roaring incoherently. Power spat from his armour as he prepared to throw Myos against the ruins.

"Wait!" cried Mariah.

The words hit Mephiston like a slap, he reeled back down the steps, hurling Myos to the ground.

Myos landed heavily and Mariah followed Mephiston, unsure what to do.

"are you wounded, Chief Librarian?"

Mephiston stared back, a cornered beast, hunched and dangerous, ready to pounce. "Mariah," he said, his feral voice struggling to form the word. Then he said it again with more confidence.

"Mariah." Suddenly, he was changing. He rose from his crouch and drew back his shoulders. The snarl dropped from his face and the dark fire faded from his skin. He looked around at the carnage he had wrought. "What...?" he began, but his words petered out and he looked at Mariah in confusion. He retrieved Vitarus from the blood-soaked turf and stared at it. Every inch of the force sword was stained with blood.

"My lord-" Mariah began, but she paused as Mephiston saw Lieutenant Myos, broken and silent, sprawled across the steps. Mephiston looked from Myos to Mariah, his eyes half-lidded. "Chief Librarian," Mariah said, stepping to his side. "You destroyed so many of them." she looked around the rolling hills of corpses.

"Whatever happens now, the sepolcrali will always recall the day they faced the Blood Angels."

Mephiston wiped some blood from his face, revealing the waxen skin beneath. His eyes were still clouded as he turned to face Mariah.

A ghost of savagery contorted his voice. "What did you see?"

Mariah almost cried out as she heard the words that had been so long coming. This was the question that had been echoing round her head for months.

As Mephiston glared at her, animal hunger still smouldering in his eyes, Mariah realised that she could see a shadow of the Chief Librarian's mind. The bond she had felt during the battle was growing – becoming a permanent link between them. They were joining somehow. And as she peered into her lord's mind, Mariah saw quite clearly that Mephiston meant to kill her.

"What did you see?" repeated Mephiston stepping closer.

"I saw you destroy our enemy. I saw you strike them down with-"

"No," Mephiston interrupted, his voice quiet and dangerous as he locked his hand around Mariah's arm, still gripping Vitarus in the other. "You saw more than that. What did you see in my mind, Mariah?"

Mariah faltered. "I have seen strange visions," she admitted, she tried to look Mephiston directly in the eye. "I did not understand them."

Mephiston tightened his grip and Mariah whispered a prayer. Over on the steps, Myos groaned. The sound broke something in Mephiston's eyes. He loosed his grip on Mariah and backed away. When he looked up again, all traces of the monster had vanished; he was back to the Lord of the Librarius once more, phlegmatic and detached.

Mariah's fears suddenly felt ridiculous. How she have imagined Mephiston would harm one of his own servants?

"See to him," said Mephiston, nodding at Myos. "I must find Captain Vatrenus and clear the valley of revenants, or this evacuation will become even more of a mess." He took a deep breath, wiped more blood from his face and marched towards the edge of the clearing. Before he left, he paused and looked back.

"I have work to do in the Cronian Sector but I will summon you when I return to Baal. Do not speak of this to anyone."

"My lord," said Mariah, "I would not know what to say."

Mephiston did not seem to hear her. "None of this is how it appears." His voice was a thick jumble of accents and Mariah could barely make out the words. "And it would not do to cast doubt on me, to cast doubt on ideas that carry such currency, ideas that have given our bloodline such hope."

"of course, my lord" Mariah began, but Mephiston had already vanished into the trees.

Mariah turned back to Myos, eager to bind his wounds and hurry him back to the camp. He met a fixed, blank stare.

Myos was dead.

Chapter Two

Divinus Prime, The Cronian Sector,

Six weeks later.

"You are reborn."

Prester Kohath reeled in the dark, shocked to realise that he was not alone. He stumbled over a hill of bones and peered into the smoke, twitching and muttering as he searched for the voice's owner. "Who's that? Who's there?"

Flames had painted everything red, ruins and corpses alike, and he felt as though he was slipping through the guts of a great beast. All around him the world was tearing itself apart, collapsing in a promethium storm of blood and fire. Valkyrie gunships screamed past like daemons, carving up the night with incendiaries and bolter fire, while the valley below sank under the weight of its numberless dead. Prester Kohath reached around in the piles of bodies, trembling as he prised a pistol from the fingers of a dead trooper. Such a soft voice should not have been audible over the pounding thud of the artillery. Warpcraft. He would taste it, oily and metallic on the night air. "What have I done?" he whispered. "Why did I leave? Why tonight?" He waved a gun at the distant battle lines and raised his voice, attempting to sound fierce. "I'm not alone. One call to those Guardsmen and -"

Something drifted through the darkness towards him.

"Wait!" He crouched and aimed "show yourself!"

There was no reply and Prester Kohath did not ask again.

Whatever madness was consuming Divinus Prime, it would not consume him. To die now, after finally seeing the truth would be too cruel a trick. He had to survive. Despite his trembling hands, he managed to unleash a blast of las-fire. It lit up the surrounding corpses and they seemed to dance, twitching in time with his clumsy shots.

The shadow fell away and Prester Kohath lowered his pistol, blinking in the afterglow, trying to see what he had killed.

"We are all reborn. With every new breath." The voice was closer now, coming from behind him. "The man who fired that gun is already gone, already a ghost."

Prester Kohath cursed and backed away, jabbing his pistol at the shadows.

"Every new thought remakes us. Every decision is a rebirth." There was a distant distracted tone to the voice, as though the speaker were merely thinking aloud. "There is always another chance."

Prester Kohath fired again, wildly this time, creating another tableau of blue-limned corpses. "Show yourself!" he yelled.

"Would you kill me," asked the disembodied voice, "Without even asking my name?" There was no anger, only mild surprise.

Prester Kohath spat another curse. The voice was directly above him now. He looked up and saw a deepening of the darkness, a shadow within shadows. It blocked the burning heavens as it fell towards him. Clumsy with panic, he backed away, tripping across the rubble as he fired again. Blue flame kicked from the muzzle, revealing a sight so disturbing that Prester Kohath howled.

The bloody ruins had spawned an avatar, a giant carved from the same crimson flesh – an ivory-faced daemon borne on death-black pinions.

Prester Kohath's shots where useless. Each blast ripples harmlessly across the flayed muscle and lit up the things grotesque face – a mask of cracked alabaster with eyes that made Prester Kohath cry out in shock. All the lunacy of Divinus Prime was in the ashen face, burning in an infernal gaze.

Prester Kohath collapsed. He tumbles against a shattered column, struck his head and slumped, insensate, in to a ditch.

When he came to the monster had its back to him. Dawn was approaching, and there was enough light for Prester Kohath to see his mistake – the flayed muscle was actually a suit of thick battleplate, intricately wrought and designed to resemble skinless flesh. The wings must have been a delusion brought on by his fear, but the stranger was a giant, seven or eight feet tall. At first he thought he might be looking at a mortal warrior. Then the light shifted across the ruing and passed through the giant's flesh. Kohath realised he was sitting with a ghost.

To Kohath's relief, the grim apparition did not turn to face him. It was crouched near a corpse, one of the dragoons from the capital. The poor soul's helmet had been torn open by shrapnel and the head was a misshapen mess. Something was crawling through the grey matter: an eager host of milk-white grubs.

The ghost was staring intently at this gruesome display and, despite his fear, Kohath felt a macabre desire to see what the spirit was doing. As he watched, the ghost removed one of its gauntlets and drew a series of arcane symbols on the dusty ground. Then it lifted a long ceremonial knife from its robes, sliced the palm of its hand open and made a fist. A quick torrent of blood rushed from between its fingers and pattered onto the symbols it had drawn. As it landed, the blood traced the shapes of the characters as if it were sentient, feeling its way through them. When the symbols had all been drawn, they flickered, as though particles of metallic dust were suspended in the liquid. The spirit whispered some unintelligible words and then pressed its bloody hand onto the crimson text. The letters bubbled and hissed at the contact, and when the ghost removed its hand the symbols were scorched into the ground. Kohath dragged his thoughts from the strange ritual, realising that, while the ghost was so fixated on its work, he had a chance to flee. Kohath lifted himself slowly into a crouching position and prepared to run.

"What do you see?" asked the spectre, nodding at the broken corpse of the soldier. The spirits voice was cold, inhuman.

Prester Kohath wanted to run, but as he looked at the corpse it reminded him of all the horrors he had seen over the last few months, all the bloodshed caused by a war that made no sense. Rage boiled through him, drawing out and unexpected reply.

"Pointless sacrifice."

Still the ghost did not turn. "Pointless? A strange choice of word, Prester Kohath. What could be more worthwhile than the fight for survival?" He picked up one of the wriggling grubs. "Even these lowly creatures understand that. And you and I understand far higher truths. Unto death we serve, Prester Kohath, unto death. As it has always been." The spirit paused, wiping the blood from its hand. "Or perhaps you've learned a new philosophy."

Prester Kohath's face flushed. "Survival? Is that what you see down there?" He waved at the massacre taking place beyond the ruins. The ghost turned to look, revealing a gaunt, bone-white profile.

Guardsmen of countless regiments where dying in the dark, blasting and hacking each other down in the flames. More pitiful still were the priests, Prester Kohath's own brethren, the Children of the vow. They where kneeling in prayer, holding up patens and censers as volleys of las-fire tore them apart.

The spirits face remained expressionless, driving Prester Kohath to an even greater rage. "How do you know my name, ghost?" he snapped, looking around for his pistol.

"Ghost."

To Prester Kohath's horror, the phantom turned to face him and he caught a brief, unbearable glimpse of its eyes.

"What do you see?" repeated the spirit, still holding the grub.

"Death," muttered Prester Kohath.

The ground shifted and hurled Prester Kohath forwards. He landed gasping just a few feet away from the ghost.

"Look harder?"

Prester Kohath looked back to his dying brethren instead, reaching out to them with a trembling hand.

His head jolted back against his will, forcing him to look at the grub. It was now sated and red, coiling and uncoiling between the ghost's fingers.

Kohath saw a flash of iridescence and looked closer. Slowly, the grub parted its flesh to reveal tiny, diaphanous wings.

"Death?" asked the ghost "Or transformation?"

There was doubt in the spirits voice. This was a genuine question.

Prester Kohath turned to look it in the eye. What he saw in those eyes finally broke his nerve. His screams rang out, even over the din of the battle, and when the echoes ceased he was on another world.

Meanwhile on Baal Mariah was worried about Mephiston as she hadn't heard from him for six weeks. For all she knew something bad could have happened to him that's when Gaius came to get her to help out with something.

Chapter Three

Librarium Sagrestia, Arx Angelicum, Baal

Bells rang out in the Orbicular Tower, summoning a tide of crookbacked wraiths. They boiled from the shadows – pale, emaciated serfs; skittering, spider-legged servants and hooded tube-limbed scribs, all chanting and typing as they ran, pounding at ceramic keys with metal-hinged fingers and singing hymns through, oily, riveted throats. As they flooded the tower's cloistered walkways they filled them with a storm of parchment and plainsong, dizzy with ecstasy and fear.

As the multitude grew larger it grew more frantic and confused. Robed figures In a variety of shapes and were soon milling around the statue-lined halls of the Librarium. Human bondsmen argued furiously over the exact meaning of the alarm, while blank-eyed servo-scribes spewed reams of data at them, grinding out perforated sheets with clanking, crank-handled forelimbs.

Just as the frenzied seemed on the verge of outright violence, a giant in night-blue armour walked into the centre of the tumult, towering over them mob in his gleaming battleplate. Lucius Antros carried an ornate staff, as tall a he was, and he announced his presence by cracking it several times on the flagstones.

The serfs ceased their arguing and stepped back to create a path, panting and wide-eyed as they let the Librarian by. Even the servitors ceased their mechanised din, wheeling and clattering away as Antros stepped up into an iron an iron pulpit and looked down at the sea of upturned faces. Even amongst this strange assembly, he was a striking individual. He wore no helmet his face bore all the hallmarks of a Blood Angel: chiselled, noble, and inhumanly beautiful, framed by a shoulder-length mane of blonde hair. His looks alone would have made him an impressive sight, and yet, it was not the most arresting thing about him. Antros' perfect features were marked by a fierce craving; hunger burned in his flawless blue eyes. Antros was irritated by what he saw: a mania, coiling through the minds of even his most experienced blood thralls. And an absurd undercurrent of panic. He allowed his consciousness to snake through the crowd, plucking at the thoughts of his servants, peering into their blinkered little souls. Their daily routine of study had been interrupted and that was enough to drive them into a frenzy. He had no doubt who would be responsible for stirring up this current nonsense. The chief pedant herself. "Scholiast Ghor?" he asked, his voice strong and resonant. "Are you there?"

There was a scuffle in the far end of the hall as a woman strolled through the crowds. She was dressed in scarlet robes, embroidered with golden runes and, in her own was, Dimitra Ghor was just as striking as Lexicanium Antros. She was so tall and wasted that her robes seemed to hang from her skull-like, shaven head. Only the knife-blade tips of her shoulders gave any hint of the brittle, keen-edged body beneath. Her features were angular and androgynous and her skin was papery and translucent, revealing the pulsing veins beneath. She embodied everything Antros found oppressive about his subordinates. Dimitra was as dusty and dry as an old page. She climbed the pulpit with careful, unhurried steps, like a mantis edging towards its prey.

"Are you responsible for this?" he asked, nodding at the speakers blaring overhead. The distorted amplified sound of bells was still ringing out through the Librarium.

Though unusually tall for a mortal, Dimitra looked like a child beside the Librarian, dwarfed by his transhuman bulk. "Yes, Lexicanium," she replied, keeping her gaze respectfully locked on the floor. She spoke through tight lips, her face rigid. Her large, wide-spaced eyes added to the strangeness of her appearance; the irises so dark the she seemed to only have pupils.

Antros could feel the servants of the Orbicular Tower concentrating on the exchange, even if their eyes were fixed on their feet, and he sensed that their loyalties were still with Ghor, rather than their new lord. He had little interest in the convoluted hierarchies and protocols of blood thralls, but such disrespect could not be tolerated. "Then I overestimated you," he said. "Even the most junior Rubricator can memorise the Rights of Convocation. What is this nonsense you're broadcasting?"

Dimitra glanced up at him, her eyes like disks of flint. "The auguries were quite clear."

"The auguries where quite clear, Lexicanium," he growled.

"Forgive me, my lord," she said, her voice taut. "The signs were quite clear, Lexicanium. There is a psychic rift in the Ostensorio. The warning comes from the highest authority: from Lord Rhacelus himself. We are to seal the gates and ensure the no one leaves or enters the tower."

Antros shook his head in disbelief at the mention of the Chief Librarian's equerry. "Rhacelus? What are you talking about? Show me what you have."

Dimitra slowly drew out a bundle of thin vellum strips, stuck together by carefully applied wax seals. Her hairless scalp was haloed by a forest of brass-rimmed lenses – dozens of them, all different sizes and shapes and fixed to a metal crest. They moved as she examined the documents with infuriating care, focusing on each page in turn and flicking through them with her long, tapered fingers. She held one of them up and used another of her lenses, a mechanised lorgnette, to examine it. The frame of the eyeglass whirred and clicked as it dropped in front of her face and focused on the vellum. Then she nodded and handed it to Antros. "it appears that there is a blood rite in progress that has not gone according to Lord Rhacelus' prognostications."

He shook his head. "Only the most senior Librarians are permitted to enter the Ostensorio. Nothing could have gone wrong with Lord Rhacelus present."

He looked back closer at the text and his augmented irises swam with glyphs and runes. He was sure that she was misreading the signs. Only the most powerful of the Librarius would perform invocations in the Ostensorio, the suggestion that they might lose control was absurd. Then another thought occurred to him: however ridiculous this summons might be, it gave him an excuse to break from his tiresome duties in the Orbicular Tower. He shoved the papers into a pouch strapped to his led armour and turned to face the crowd. "I will make a brief visit to the Ostensorio. Return to your scriptoria and continue your work." None of the serfs dared to look up but he felt the relief in their minds. The scribes hated any interruption to their work and they rarely left the Orbicular Tower.

There was an explosion of rustling noises as the serfs and servitors began clearing the hall.

Antros strode off across the flagstones, passing quickly through the scriptoria, calefactories and libraries of the Orbicular Tower, then out through the eastern gate into the wider Librarium. He crossed the soaring bridge known as the Spear of Sanguininus and marched on through the countless writing rooms, sacrariums and reliquaries of the Sagrestia, accompanied all the way by the harsh clanging of the amplified bells. Then he entered the oldest quarters of the Librarium – dark, narrow walkways, lined with crumbling winged statues that formed tunnels with their overlapping swords. Blood thralls from other quarters of the Librarium were rushing in the same direction, and Antros saw the same ridiculously frantic expression on their faces. He had never felt such a mood in the Librarium before.

Antros' mood grew darker as he saw a priest of the Adeptus Ministorum loitering in the shadows beneath one of the statues.

He grunted in disapproval. Over the last few months Baal had been invaded by wide-eyed pilgrims from the Cronian Sector. Even by the standards of the Ministorum, they struck Antros as an odd bunch. Their white-and-gold robes were not so unusual, but they also had white led painted on their faces and rouge smeared around their eyes, which made them look either sinister or absurd, depending on the light. These white-faced fanatics carried banners emblazoned with a winged, angelic figure and Antros heard it rumoured that both the banners, and the face paint were meant as some kind of tribute to Mephiston. If this were true, it was an affront to the dignity of the Chief Librarian, but the Chapter Council had taken the surprising step of allowing a small group of pilgrims access to the Librarium. He had never heard of such a thing happening before but it was said that Mephiston himself had given the order. The zealot beneath the statue showed little understanding of the great honour that Mephiston had bestowed on him – he was wailing and praying in the most undignified manner, pleading for a glimpse of the Chief Librarian. Mephiston was not, of course, to be found idling in the Librarium and Antros doubted the pilgrim would recognise his idol even if he walked passed him.

Finally Antros arrived at the north gate of the Ostensorio. He came to a halt and smiled at the sight of the vast doors. They were a marvel – crimson slabs of Baalite rock, hundreds of feet tall and covered with glittering, blood drop stones from Cruor mountains. The red stones had been carved with images portraying the early life of Sanguininus and his first meeting with the God-Emperor.

The smile faded as he saw battle-brothers of the Fourth Company gathered at the foot of the steps before the huge gates – two squads of Tactical Marines in full battleplate. These giants towered over the blood thralls who were dashing between the buildings, and however nonchalantly they cradled their beautifully inscribed bolters, there was no disguising the threat of death that poured from behind their featureless visors.

Antros strode up to the captain in charge, the only warrior in the line with his face visible, his helmet mag-clamped to his thigh. The officers stern features were almost indistinguishable from those of the heroes chiselled into the crimson gate behind him. He was as inhumanly perfect as Antros and also carried himself with the confidence of a veteran – a confidence Antros could imitate but not yet feel. The captains only trace of mortality was a thick, ridged scar that began at the right-hand corner of his mouth and crossed up to his left cheek.

Antros climbed the steps and saluted. "Captain Vatrenus," he said. The captain nodded in recognition and returned the salute. "Lexicanium Antros," rumbled the other Space Marine. Even without the amplification of his helmet, the captain's voice resonated like a tolling bell. "I received strange news in the Orbicular Tower," said Antros. He was unsure if he would be able to talk his way inside, but had decided to try. "The auguries implied that Epistolary Rhacelus needs my help."

The captain raised an eyebrow.

"If my masters are assembled here," said Antros, "Lord Rhacelus should know that I am -"

The captain raised a hand to silence him, as though he were the lowliest of menials, and Antros had to bite back an angry retort.

Captain Vatrenus looked into the middle distance and Antros heard the crackle of a vox-message, relayed through a bead in his ear. The captain was clearly surprised by whatever data he was receiving. "Yes" he said. "The Lexicanium from the Orbicular Tower, Lucius Antros. He learned of the situation." There was another crackle of vox-chatter and Vatrenus nodded again. "Standing right in front of me," he nodded "Very well." After a moments hesitation, he stepped aside and waved Antros on with his bolter, then he grabbed him by the arm. "Take care brother," he said, looking warily at the Ostensorio. "If I were you I'd wait in the Auran Chapel and keep your head down." He grimaced with distaste. "From what I hear, Lord Rhacelus is involved in something unusual."

Antros was not surprised by the captain's tone. There were few in the Chapter who weren't unnerved by the mysteries of the Librarius. Antros nodded and stepped forwards.

Up ahead of him, another battle-brother of the Forth Company opened a door at the foot of the gates. This opening was a less imposing aperture, only twenty foot or so tall. It was decorated just as lavishly as the main gates, but Antros did not pause to study it, hurrying on into the Ostensorio as the door slammed behind him. Several members of the Librarius were gathered in the darkened chamber – Codiciers and Epistolaries all dressed for battle in massive suites of polished blue ceramite, apart from one who was dressed in red and black ceramite. Antros never seen so many Librarian's in one place. The air was charged with blood magic and he sensed that a grand ritual was in progress. Dead-eyed cherubs lit the scene, drifting beneath the barrel vaults on flashing, golden wings. Thuribles trailed from their fingers, glinting in the candlelight and trailing a fine, crimson mist. Scrolls of parchment fluttered beneath their fat little legs and the air was thick with incense-heavy smoke that almost, but not quite masked the iron-rich, abattoir stink of the chamber. Antros reached the chapel and climbed its steps for a better view of the proceedings on the far side of the chamber was a huge shimmering hololith – a projection of a Ministorum priest, sitting on an ornate, ceremonial throne. His face was painted white, like all the other pilgrims that had come to Baal, and he looked like an enormous ghost, towering over the scene as the projection flickered in and out of view, broken up by crackling bursts of interference. Even though the red mist that filled the chamber, Antros could see that he was a senior prelate of the Adeptus Ministorum. His chasuble was embroidered with beautiful images of the Golden Throne and his plump frame was draped in religious baubles. The hololith was forty or so feet tall and the priest's face was quivering with anticipation ah he fidgeted and shifted in his chair, staring intently at the Librarians.

Gathered at the feet of this spectral throne was a group of cowled pilgrims, their faces hidden in their deep hoods and their hands clasped in prayer. Antros could feel the religious fervour burning in their chests. They believed they were about to witness a miracle they had long preyed for.

The librarians were assembled in the centre of the hall with their backs to the projection, standing at the top of a broad, circular dais. They were arranged around a golden monstrance – a tall, metal stand set on wide marble base at the centre of the dais and supporting a semicircular cradle of brass. With their heads bowed and their swords raised, it looked as though the Librarians were worshipping a huge, metal chalice. Antros had never before been admitted to the Ostensorio. It was a site of great mystery to him – reserved for only the most senior members of his order. On any other occasion, he would has paused to marvel at the beauty of the monstrance. It was a masterpiece of devotional craft, dozens of feet wide and filigreed with elegiac scenes of angelic warhosts; but he was not looking at the ancient relic. Hovering above it, spitting and steaming, was a sphere of boiling blood.

Antros was so surprised by the huge crimson ball the he let the tip of his staff clatter against the steps. The sound of the metal hitting stone rang out through the gloom.

Some of the priests glanced in his direction, but the Librarians paid him no heed. Their eyes were firmly closed and their raised weapons were linked to the sphere by cords of read fire, flicking back ad forth and painting ghostly images in the dark. The strands of blood magic coruscated and coiled feeding the inferno above the monstrance. Since entering the Ostensorio, Antros felt psychic energy tugging at his consciousness, pulsing through his veins and echoing through his skull like a sinister hymn. He realised that the aetheric power was emanating from the red sphere. As it blazed brighter it filled his mind with an inhuman, looping howl. The pitiless song of the warp.

"Lexicanium," cried one of the Librarians turning briefly away from the monstrance to look at him. Her face was glistening with sweat and the lights made it look like she was drenched in blood. Her features were contorted with pain and concentration and it took Antros a moment to recall that her name was Mariah. "Stand by me!" gasped Mariah, trembling. "Be ready! We're losing him!"

Antros rushed to her side, his pulse racing at the thought of joining such a powerful invocation. As he neared the dais he saw that there was a shape forming in the centre of the sphere. He peered closer, fascinated. Something was alive in the blood. Something wretched in fire. "Losing who?" he whispered but Mariah did not reply.

The Librarians around him were straining in agonised silence as the sphere grew larger, their eyes clamped shut as they channelled furious gouts of psychic flame through their swords. They resembled riggers working at a storm-lashed sail, shaking and scowling as elemental power tore through them. Antros could feel the carrion chill of blood-craft washing over his face and the behaviour if the guards outside began to make sense. This ritual was not going to plan. That much was clear from the circle of grim faces flickering in and out of view as the cherubs whirled over head. The ghostly colossus on the far side of the chamber lent forward in his chair, his eyes straining wider.

"Concentrate," said Mariah glancing at him. "Be ready."

Needles of red energy spraying from Mariah's power armour, flickering across the clouds of scented smoke. Antros felt the force of shivering along the length of his staff.

The noise grew louder and the flagstones answered in kind groaning and creaking beneath the hunched Librarian. Then the whole room started to judder, as if in the grip of a quake.

There was a harsh cracking sound, as though the air its self had snapped, and Peloris was lifted off his feet and hurled away from the monstrance like a child's toy. His massive armour-clad form clattered across the flagstones, trailing smoke as he crashed into the base of a pillar. He cried out in rage and frustration as the cord of magic he had been channelling lurched free, a wild serpent, lashing back and forth.

"Peloris" bellowed one of the other Librarians on the far side of the circle.

Even in the shifting light, Antros recognised him Epistolary Rhacelus was Mephiston's equerry and one of the longest serving veterans in the Chapter. Rhacelus had been responsible for much of Antros' training and his contemptuous glare still haunted his dreams. The psychic hood of Rhacelus' power armour was ablaze with warpfire and, as he climbed to his feet, his whole body shook under the strain. Sparks where crackling around his eyes and gums spitting and dancing as they danced around his face, but he drew back his shoulders and kept his force sword aloft, holding up the column of energy he was channelling. "Lexicanium Antros," he said calmly, as though he were merely ordering a servant to fetch him a drink. "Close ranks." Despite his exertions he managed to give Antros a warning glance. "do not let me down, neophyte."

Despite his raging heart, Antros stepped calmly into the circle, catching the loose arc of crimson on the head of his staff. The impact rocked him back on his heels, but he held his place, clutching the staff in both hands as it quivered and sparked. Pain washed over his flesh, as though he had been set alight, but the agony was dwarfed by the torrent of visions that exploded in his head. Another world superimposed itself over the Ostensorio. Vast sheets of flame thundered past beneath him as powerful wings hurled him through the air. The vision was wonderful and overwhelming. It took every ounce of his training to anchor his thoughts."what is this?" he cried, his voice contorted by pain. He sensed a being of incredible power forming above the huge chalice. "What are we summoning?" Rhacelus was unwilling, or unable, to reply. He merely twisted his lip into an even more disdainful curl.

Antros tried to decipher the shape in the blood. It was still too vague to make out so he switched his gaze to his fellow Librarians. As the light of the sphere swelled and enveloped them, the Librarians noble features began to change, growing feral and furious. They howled in outrage and Antros joined his voice to theirs as he felt the cause of their anger. Whatever Rhacelus had intended to invoke, they were now facing something more horrific. The warp itself was straining to breach the sanctity of their fortress-monastery. Incredibly, something was trying to enter the Librarium. Antros found it hard to breath, suffocated by a potent mixture of outrage and excitement. The vision threatened to overwhelm him again, but then he sensed a presence beside him and turned to see Lexicanium Peloris. Peloris was barely able to stand. His power armour had been rent open by the psychic blast he had taken and his mouth was full of blood. He managed to nod at Antros. "I'm ready," he said. "If you fall."

"What are we -" began Antros.

"Now!" said Epistolary Rhacelus, interrupting Antros as he sliced his sword down through the air. It connected with a brass circular channel, embedded in the flagstones, creating a blinding shower of sparks. The other librarians followed suit, smashing their swords against the metal, severing the cords of power enveloping the dais with crimson light. For a second the red sphere burned white, blinding everyone, then the light vanished, leaving nothing. All the lights had vanished – not just the sphere but the cords of magic too. Unbalanced, Mariah staggered forward, straining to discern shapes in the void.

For a while there was nothing just the laboured breathing of the unseen Librarians and the think charnel stink. Then, as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Mariah saw a crouched, powerful shadow, just visible in the centre of the circle.

+I was sure the answer would be there+ said a hushed voice, directly into Mariah's mind. +But I found nothing.+

Light seeped back into the chamber as braziers sputtered back into life and the cherubs' candles reignited, revealing the figure they had wrenched back from the warp: Mephiston, Chief Librarian of the Blood Angels, Master of the Librarius.

The Lord of Death had returned.