++ From the blasphemy of the fallen, ++
++ Our Emperor, deliver us, ++
++ From the begetting of daemons, ++
++ Our Emperor, deliver us, ++
++ From the curse of the mutant, ++
++ Our Emperor, deliver us, ++
Sanctity V had burned in the fires of hell. And Sister Merina Thorn re-lived it each night in her dreams.
Each night, she saw its fall again and again. The night the heavens ripped themselves open. The night blood rained from the skies. The night the winds screamed promises of power and glory, and whispered of an eternity of pain and damnation. The night the shadows came alive, and daemons stalked the streets.
Visions, unbidden and unwanted, flashed through her mind. She saw the deaths of her fellow Sisters, each an avenging angel as they were dragged down by the lost and the damned. She smelled the acrid tang of fire, smoke and brimstone staining the air. She heard the chanting of the millions who had lost themselves to the madness of the Warp. Her skin crawled at the memory of the numberless damned tongues that forced their way from once human throats – none meant to be uttered by mortal mouths.
And yet, for all this, she had not lost her faith. For the Emperor had come to her. His voice had guided her. Now, she was His vengeance upon this world.
Rubble crunched beneath Merina’s boots as she entered the Cathedral of His Eternal Flame. Or what was left of it.
The once-hallowed grounds had been all but destroyed during the doom of Sanctity V. Stained glass littered the cold marble floor, the beauty of their frescoes – each depicting the glory of mankind’s great victories in their eternal struggle against the horrors of the galaxy – shattered and gone forever. Pillars of stone stretched past the crumbled ceiling and into the roiling, crimson sky like gnarled, grasping fingers. Shattered pews lay scattered across the hall, mixing with the half-burnt remains of hundreds of priceless books – each hand-copied and written over painstaking hours by the planet’s Ecclesiarchal monks.
Images of her Battle Sisters’ final stand in these very ruins flooded her mind. The desperation. The savagery. The bark of holy bolters as an unending tide of the mad and possessed flung themselves against the cathedral’s walls, desperate to drown the last of the planet’s faithful in a wave of blood and bodies.
She saw Mari and Saphira, back to back atop a mountain of rubble, as numberless hands ripped at their battered armour. She saw Emilia – young, beautiful Emilia – as a sea of blows rose and fell above her, ruining her angelic features forever. She saw Superior Iona, as stern and aloof as ever, her chainsword rising and falling in bloody arcs until its teeth were clogged with gore.
Guilt washed through her.
Merina forced her mind back to the present, paused and looked down at herself. The joints of her battered Sabbat-Pattern armour whirred and clunked with even such small movements. The void-black and crimson of the Order of Our Martyred Lady had been all but expunged by weeks of dust and blood, its paint chipped and ruined. Merina chided herself for such laxity, her stomach twisting at the thought of what Superior Iona would say at the sight of her. She vowed to find time to wash and clean her armour. The colours of Saint Katherine deserved such. Her fallen Sisters’ armour deserved such.
Though, in her heart, Merina knew the armour was broken beyond repair, despite her efforts. Over the previous months and weeks, she’d salvaged pieces of armour and power packs from her fallen Sisters. She’d dug through the rubble, shifting tonnes of dirt and mountains of corrupted carcasses, as she’d sought out their bodies. Yet she knew it wouldn’t be enough. Not in the long run. The true maintenance of her sacred battle armour had always been entrusted to the Order’s vassals and servants. She was a living weapon of His vengeance, not a mechanic or enginseer. But she smiled at the idea that her Sisters were still fighting alongside her through their recovered equipment.
She began to weave through ruins once more. Slowly, carefully, she made her way towards the apex of the despoilment: a once proud statue of the God-Emperor that stood eternal vigil over an ever-burning basin of golden flame.
The fire, a symbol of His ever-lasting power and glory, still blazed somehow. A light in the darkness of this fallen world. A promise of salvation. Untouchable by heathen hands.
But the statue had been desecrated. Despoiled. Vandalised. His noble features hacked away, then crudely recarved into the leering visage of some cruel daemon.
Cold fury burned through Merina at the sight, even as she knew this place would be rebuilt. That the Emperor’s light would return and cleanse this place of its sin. He had promised her that. Even as her world had descended into insanity. Even as daemons had glutted themselves on mortal souls and minds around her. He had come to her. Guided her. Shown her that this was not the end.
Merina knew the Imperium would return. Their armies would grind the heretics to dust. Sanctity V would shake beneath the boots of a thousand Guardsmen, while the blessed fury of His Sisters would burn away their taint. Perhaps He would even send His angels, His Adeptes Astartes. But, until then, Merina knew she was His weapon here. His chosen blade of vengeance.
Something rumbled in the distance. A sound familiar to the soldier in her. Artillery? she wondered as the warmth of hope washed through her. Had her prayers been answered? Had the Imperium truly returned? Were her Sisters – Iona, Emilia, Mari, Saphira – to finally be avenged?
Grabbing her bolter from beside the statue, now rarely used due to the scarcity of ammunition, Merina marched towards the cathedral’s broken doors. It felt right to be holding it again, its blessed weight reassuring in her hands. It made her feel complete again, ready to bring His ruin down upon the enemies of mankind.
No, my child.
Merina froze, unable to resist the command in the voice. His voice. Rich. Strong. Noble. It swelled her with strength and purpose. It was irresistible as it filled her mind, clouding all other thoughts.
We must stay hidden. We must stay in the shadows. The enemy are too strong. Too numerous. This world still languishes in the plague of unbelief.
Merina felt her heart sink. The briefest spark of hope had been lit inside, only to be snuffed out. Yet she could not deny Him. He was the Master of Mankind. He had guided her through this shadow war. He had saved her, had chosen her. Yet, in her heart, she longed for a more pure war. A more familiar battle. One where she could stand before the Emperor’s enemies in the open, bolter roaring, chainsword singing.
‘My Lord,’ she said, bowing her head and clasping her rosarius, ‘Forgive me. I had hoped your Imperium had returned.’
There is nothing to forgive, sweet child. I am heartened by your hope. By your lust to slay my enemies. But we must not be hasty. Or foolish. You serve me better in the darkness.
Merina smiled at His words, hope rekindling inside her. The Emperor had a plan. He had promised her the Imperium would return. That she would once more fight for the faithful in His light. She just had to be patient. To trust in His plan.
The enemy are fractious, said His voice once more. As likely to fight each other as the faithful. It is in their nature to bleed their own strength. As you must continue to bleed them.
Merina watched the unbelievers advance through the blasted ruins of the street.
Stay hidden, sweet child. Patience.
Merina nodded, feeling her knees wince as she crouched lower, maintaining the balance between remaining unseen and watching her prey. Her shoulders and thighs screamed under the weight of her armour. She could barely remember the last time she had fully removed it. Through the long weeks and months of this shadow war, she had existed almost entirely within its protective shell.
Not long now, my child. Patience.
Merina gauged the distance between her and the closest soldier, for professional soldiers, they clearly were. Showing no obvious signs of mutation, nor bearing any of the usual fetishes and grisly trophies typical of the followers of the Archenemy, their steel-grey fatigues presented a remarkably uniform appearance. Similarly, their Mars MKIII pattern lasguns looked clean and well cared for. Their movements were efficient and practised, each member of the five man squad covering each other’s backs. Less than 50 metres, she judged. Too far still.
Her grip tightened around the haft of her combat knife as her eyes picked out the aquilas on their chests. Fury flashed through her mind. How dare they bear His mark still? They turned their back on Him! She ground her teeth, fighting against the tidal wave of rage inside her, even as she pictured herself bringing His wrath to these apostates. She saw herself bathed in blood, her knife slick with gore.
Patience, whispered the voice once more. Save your fury. Then embrace it when the moment comes. Embrace the power it gives you.
Merina closed her eyes, breathing in deeply through her nose. ‘Oh Emperor, guide me,’ she whispered. ‘Grant me your wisdom and strength. Your fire and your fury.’
Rubble crunched beneath a boot nearby. Merina’s eyes flashed open. Mere metres away stood one of the enemy. Piercing blue eyes, wide with fear and nerves, scanned the ruins around. Merina felt her muscles tense in anticipation. Her heart beat faster in her chest as she felt the familiar surge of adrenaline rushing through her.
The eyes found her. They locked with hers. He’s just a boy, something whispered at the back of her mind. With a growl, Merina crushed such merciful notions, readying herself to do His work. Her breath stilled. She shifted her weight onto her haunches, feeling tension build in her glutes.
Now!
She leapt forward, her armour boosting her strength and speed to miraculous levels. Her knife plunged into the boy’s neck, even as a scream escaped his lips. Her full weight crashed into him, and they tumbled to the ground. Merina raised her knife again and again and again. She let the rage rush through her as she felt the warmth of his blood spray against her face.
Teeth bared through a mask of gore, she tossed the boy’s carcass aside and sprinted towards her next victim. Las fire spattered the rubble around her, a handful of shots finding their mark but fizzling uselessly against her armour.
She barrelled into the enemy. The weight of her armour drove them to the ground as she fell upon him with the savagery of an unbridled beast. Hands thrust into her face, desperately trying to push her away. A finger pushed its way into her mouth. She bit down, crunching through bone and smiled as she heard the guardsman’s tortured scream.
Yes, sweet child, hissed His voice. Embrace the rage. Accept its gifts.
A quiet voice inside her, a hushed whisper nearly buried, wept. But Merina knew His voice was right. Without this fury, surely she would be dead. This anger, her new found strength and speed, were His gifts. His miracles given to one who had stayed faithful and true.
Spitting out the man’s finger, she looked up and saw the enemy were falling back slowly, rifles raised as they watched her. A shot punched into her shoulder. Merina snarled.
‘Cowards!’ she screamed as she sprinted after them. ‘Traitors! Heretics!’
Another shot punched into her gut, staggering her momentarily, even as she closed the gap between her and the next soldier. Her knife slipped into his midriff, slitting him open and filling her nose with the raw stench of his guts, even as his bayonet slipped through the weak joint at her elbow. Pain exploded through her mind. Yet it only fuelled her rage as she slammed her forehead into the guardsman’s face. Once. Twice. Three times. She felt his nose break beneath the blows. Then she released the man, letting his body flop unconscious to the floor.
The roar of a chainsword sounded behind her. Merina turned, panting like a wild dog as she eyed the two remaining survivors. Her skull pounded. Blood plastered her face. The pain in her arm screamed. Yet the joy of battle sang through her, and she would not be denied. His vengeance would not be denied.
One guardsman knelt in the dirt, scant metres away. Fingers fumbling desperately at a vox-caster’s dial as he screamed into the speaker. The other stood between them, feet planted wide and a grim mask of determination set on his face. He gripped a chainsword in two hands. Tired eyes stared back at her from a weather-worn face, framed by a mane of hair and a grey-streaked beard.
Merina growled as she saw the three chevrons on his shirt sleeves. It was a Sergeant’s duty to guide those under him. To enforce loyalty and discipline, yet here was one who had led his soldiers into damnation. Yes, she told herself, I will enjoy taking His revenge on this one.
Quickly, my child, hissed His voice, malice oozing through every syllable. Kill them all. Bathe in their blood.
Merina clenched the fist of her injured arm, letting the pain focus her. The arm would be weak, but she knew she could kill both of them one-handed.
She stepped forward, arms wide, inviting the sergeant to strike. Yet he did not. He retreated cautiously, opening more space between them.
Merina smiled, her teeth stained pink by the mask of blood she wore. Springing forward, she ducked as the sergeant swung his chainsword high in response. Her knife flickered out, slashing across the back of the man’s legs, severing his hamstrings. He stumbled to the floor, the roar of his chainsword spluttering and dying as it slipped from his grasp.
Standing behind him, Merina almost felt like laughing as he failed to rise on his ruined legs. Blood seeped through the grey of his trousers. She pressed her boot into his back, pinning him to the floor. He wheezed as the air was driven from his lungs. Grabbing his hair, she hauled his head back, exposing his neck to the cold touch of her blade.
‘You have been judged,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘And found guilty. His holy vengeance shall find you in this life and the next.’
‘Emperor… Damn you…’ gasped the man.
‘I am His fury! His Vengeance!’ screamed Merina as her knife slit his throat, opening up a sea of crimson at her feet.
Looking up, she saw the last guardsman curled into a ball. The vox-caster speaker cradled to his chest as tears and snot streamed down his face. He sobbed, his words little more than an incoherent babble of terror.
Pathetic, thought Merina. That this had once been one of the Emperor’s soldiers. Anger coursed through her at the thought that this man had, perhaps, slaughtered one of her Sisters. That he had survived the madness of that terrible night in their place. Emilia’s youthful face, so vigorous and energetic, flashed before her. Then Iona’s stern visage, her eyes as cold as bare stone.
Leave this one alive, whispered His voice once more. But bring me his eyes. We shall blind our enemy. Leave them stumbling in the darkness of faithlessness.
A single tear rolled down her cheek, tracing a line through the grime and blood. ‘Yes, my Lord,’ she said. ‘I will make him pay. I will make this whole world pay.’
She approached the last survivor and set about her bloody task. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she heard sobbing.
‘Blessed Emperor,’ Merina whispered, ‘accept this humble offering. This token of unswerving adulation from an unworthy servant.’
Merina opened her eyes and rose from her kneeling position before the eternal fire. She tossed the bloody remains of the guardsman’s eyes into the flames. Where His voice had told her to dispose of them. She winced as she heard them pop, even above the crackle of the fire. As she had winced with all the others. The purity of fire, He had told her, was the only way to truly blind the enemy of its senses. He had demanded these bloody sacrifices in His holy flames.
Something nagged inside her, pleading that this was wrong. She forced herself to bury that persistent, quiet voice. As she had done each time He had asked such cruelties of her. She couldn’t afford any moments of weakness. Not here. Not in this war. Not in His name.
She looked up at the statue that loomed above her from across the eternal flames. She lamented the cruel sneer that had been carved into His noble features and felt her skin crawl as the shadows of the flame gave it life. A pressure built at the back of her mind. The hairs across her body stood on end.
The air cracked around her.
She fell to her knees. The urge to vomit flooded through her. Her head pounded, feeling as if it would split open. Lightning flashed across her vision.
She heard something move behind her. The ground seemed to shift with it, its footsteps echoing through her body. Spinning, she turned to face this new threat. Whatever it was, she vowed she would face it with the Emperor’s name on her lips and fury in her heart. She would defend His holy place until her last breath. She would not let her Sisters’ deaths be in vain. Not now. Not after all this time.
Giants stood before her. Each impossibly large and encased in gargantuan suits of bone armour, they dwarfed her in both height and bulk. Upon their shoulders, they proudly bore a black book, a four-pointed star emblazoned across its pages. Enormous fists crackled with electricity at their sides.
Yet it was the sixth giant, stood at their heart, that truly drew her gaze. His royal blue armour was stark in contrast to the dusty white of the others. A craggy, scarred face with broad and brutish features stared back at her from beneath an armoured hood. A nest of wires and tubes ran between his shaven head and his suit of armour, and she noted that two metallic studs punctured his forehead above his left eye.
Merina stood frozen to the spot, dumbstruck by the sight. She’d listened in enraptured silence whenever Sister Superior Iona had recounted the tales of her service on Armageddon alongside the Astartes of the Salamanders Chapter. She remembered reading tales of the superhuman feats Astartes could accomplish during her time in the Schola. And now she stood before veterans of their kind. Warriors of centuries of experience, armed and armoured with the finest gear the Imperium could forge.
‘Terminators,’ she whispered under her breath.
A voice screamed for her to run inside her head. The desire to flee and hide nearly overwhelmed her. Yet she forced herself to stand her ground. That even warriors as these – His Angels of Death themselves – would turn their backs on the Emperor, and His Imperium sickened her. Such heresy could not go unpunished. No, she would fight. No matter the cost.
Baring her teeth in a snarl, she gripped her knife tighter and felt fury flow through her once more. She felt her limbs fill with holy strength and vitality once more.
Ghost light shimmered in the Librarian’s eyes. His voice – softer than she had expected from such a being – began to chant in High Gothic. Words that she recognised, yet which terrified something deep inside her – something which slithered and crawled through her as it tried to hide from this enemy – and rooted her to the spot.
Pain exploded through her with each word. With each syllable, the agony grew. Her skin was on fire. Something grabbed at part of her mind, wrestling with the thing that had slithered deep inside at her in fear. She clenched her eyes, squeezed them tight, somehow willing her mind to drive out this intruder.
She cursed herself for this weakness. For failing to fight. She prayed for the strength to die a warrior in His name, not some scared maiden. Like Emilia had. Like Iona. Like Mira. Like Saphira.
Kill it! screamed His voice, filled with panic and hysteria. Kill it! Kill it! Kill it!
Merina leapt forward at His command, her limbs seemingly no longer her own to control. Yet she rejoiced in the action. At the chance to strike back. At the chance to fight. The urge to feast on this unbeliever’s flesh and drain his blood surged through her.
Lightning shot from the giant’s hands, engulfing her and flinging her across the cathedral. She landed amidst rubble, her nerves singing in agony, her body broken and shaking. She twitched violently as the remnants of this foe’s lightning coursed across her armour and skin.
Blackness engulfed her. Laughter echoed through her mind. His laughter, she realised. Her gut twisted at the sound, a cold shiver running through her. Why would He laugh? Yet she knew it was not her duty to question Him, and, with her final breath, she vowed herself once more to the voice that had saved her in her hour of need.
Deep inside, the quiet voice that she had buried, the one that had sobbed as she cut out the guardsman’s eyes, screamed.
Finally she recognised it for what it was. It was her.
#
‘Contact made. Target eliminated,’ clicked Erastus bal Shadeer, Epistolary of the Tome Keepers, into his vox set. ‘Possessed, as is becoming increasingly common near the nexus of each Warp gate on this planet.’
He stared down at the broken figure below him. Despite everything, it was still recognisably human in many ways. From the armour, he could tell it had once been a Battle Sister of the Order of Our Martyred Lady. Much of the insignia and colours remained clear, even after all these years.
Yet, it – she – had become something else. The changes were more subtle than in most others he had encountered throughout the scouring of Sanctity V. But they were there. Her teeth were elongated, sharp and fanglike. Her armour had fused itself around her hands, twisting themselves into beast-like claws. But it had been the eyes that had told him of her possession. Eyes as black as night, bottomless pits that, as she died, had become human once more.
Erastus ground his teeth in anger at what he had learnt of Sister Merina Thorn in those final moments of her life. As he had exorcised the daemon from her mind, he had glimpsed the world in which she had lived since the fall of this planet and the opening of the Cicatrix Maledictum. He had seen that, in her heart, she had never lost faith in the Emperor. That she had, in her mind, been fighting for Him. For the soul of this world.
‘Affirmative,’ clicked the gravelly voice of Captain Balto bal Khazzar. ‘Brother-Orator Urzen bal Kudane and his strike team are converging on Nexus-Point-Three-Seven-Five. Join them and purge it of all taint, Brother-Epistolary.’
‘Affirmative,’ clicked Erastus, as he signalled his strike team to move towards their next target point and stomped from the Cathedral of His Eternal Light.
‘Contact made. Target eliminated,’ clicked Erastus bal Shadeer, Epistolary of the Tome Keepers, into his vox set. ‘Possessed, as is becoming increasingly common near the nexus of each Warp gate on this planet.’
He stared down at the broken figure below him. Despite everything, it was still recognisably human in many ways. From the armour, he could tell it had once been a Battle Sister of the Order of Our Martyred Lady. Much of the insignia and colours remained clear, even after all these years.
Yet, it – she – had become something else. The changes were more subtle than in most others he had encountered throughout the scouring of Sanctity V. But they were there. Her teeth were elongated, sharp and fanglike. Her armour had fused itself around her hands, twisting themselves into beast-like claws. But it had been the eyes that had told him of her possession. Eyes as black as night, bottomless pits that, as she died, had become human once more.
Erastus ground his teeth in anger at what he had learnt of Sister Merina Thorn in those final moments of her life. As he had exorcised the daemon from her mind, he had glimpsed the world in which she had lived since the fall of this planet and the opening of the Cicatrix Maledictum. He had seen that, in her heart, she had never lost faith in the Emperor. That she had, in her mind, been fighting for Him. For the soul of this world.
‘Affirmative,’ clicked the gravelly voice of Captain Balto bal Khazzar. ‘Brother-Orator Urzen bal Kudane and his strike team are converging on Nexus-Point-Three-Seven-Five. Join them and purge it of all taint, Brother-Epistolary.’
‘Affirmative,’ clicked Erastus, as he signalled his strike team to move towards their next target point and stomped from the Cathedral of His Eternal Light.
About the Author
J.S. Savage is a teacher in the UK and has been an avid of all things 40k and Warhammer Fantasy since he accidently found his way into a Games Workshop store as a young boy. When he was younger, he was a keen writer but has only just started up again recently. Between work and being a parent, he doesn’t get nearly enough time to paint, read and write as much as he would like – or as much sleep as he needs!
