บท 42: Chapter Twenty One: Gold, Silver, and Steel (Part IX)
Location: The Bucephalus at Sol's Mandeville point
Date: 817.M30
It had taken two years, but the Imperium had returned itself to new heights. Twenty reborn Astartes Legions, the Imperial Auxilia, the Mechanicum of Mars, the Silver Order, and the Talons of the Emperor stood ready to retake the galaxy for mankind. The Primarchs had taken time to get accustomed to there fathers newest creations. Some feared replacement for there recent failures. Those worries were put to rest soon enough. The twenty brothers soon came to respect there otherworldly and anomalous kin-beings.
The light of the Astronomicon illuminated all its light touched with order and sanity. But on the fringes of the galaxy, beyond the reach of the light emanating from Sol, the material world tore itself asunder as the Warp thrashed in its eternal game of horror. The Four battled for dominance, seeking to exploit the illuminated weaknesses while protecting their own. Across the galaxy, chaotic cults dissolved into civil war as their gods went to war with themselves. All pretense of cooperation and undivided chaos were but a distant memory. The madness created such a horrid storm that any warp-space untouched by the Astronomicon was unavigatable. The reaches of the Ultima Segmentum become awash in warp-storms that matched the worst of Old Night This would not last forever though, the Emperor knew that. Eventually, his threat would temporarily unite the Four and the respite would be over. Until then, a galaxy of threats awaited.
The Orkish Empires grew like the fungal infestation they were. Fueled by never-ending war with themselves and others. Even now, the great call of WAAAAGH echoed through the Warp as Beasts of Armageddon clashed for dominance. The Old One's lesser folly needed to be dealt with, and fast.
Across the galactic north, the Emperor despised looking. The sheer horror of entire worlds being devoured by the Rangdans was stomach churning,. Like all viruses, they did not kill cleanly. If unchecked, they would infect all life and bring about a doom ghastly enough to match Chaos' machinations.
On uncountable worlds, the Dragon's kin and former slaves slept, waiting to reclaim the galaxy for reasons that varied from banal to insane. The Aeldari remnants were also fast organizing. The Dark City bloomed and the Craftworlds mourned the Fall. For the Webway to be truly mankind's, they and the last Old One must be bound or broken. Then, to add further complications, self righteous petty-kingdoms of fellow humans would resist unity. In their hubris, they were desperate to retain freedoms they were unworthy of. Gladly marching to extincion or worse, simply because they could.
All these threats faced the Imperium of Mankind, each threatened to strangle mankind's destiny in its crib. Standing aboard his flagship, the Emperor answered this galaxy of nightmares with a command.
"A new dawn has come! All ships, activate warp drive!"
With the thunder of thousands of warp-engines the firmament grew bright. Humanity had once again left Sol, and once again the galaxy awaited.
Location: Valley of Laponis, Macragge
Date: 817.M30 (Terran Time)
Falling stars were often referred as omens throughout human history. Even in domains and ages were the truth of their nature was known, they still held significance. This proved true upon the world of Macragge, where they are associated with good fortune and divine boons. So when reports across the Ultramar Kingdom spoke of a star burning through the sky and impacting in the northern wilderness, it was taken to mean great things were in store for the mightiest nation upon Macragge.
This quickly changed once the nightmares started. An epidemic of horrible dreams and night terrors spread across the kingdom, rippling from the northern wilds like some spiritual shockwave. With each setting of the sun, fear gripped the normally stoic citizens of Ultramar. Sleep was fast turning from respite to source of fear. All across the Magna Macragge Civitas, the night was punctuated by bloody screams and panicked yells. Poor souls fell asleep and were now trapped within their worst fears and thoughts.
Ultramar was not a superstitious kingdom, religion and tradition had its place. Science, reason, and analytical thought were considered high values. Used to govern and run the state. This made the appearance of doomsayers and fanatics screaming of divine judgment all the more bizarre. Every night, the situation only intensified. The barbarism of fear and paranoia had grown deep roots across Macragge.
One lunar cycle into the madness, Consul Konor Gulliman took it upon himself to find answers. Wise and strong beyond his years. The young politician had proved himself in the arts of politics and war. Showing leadership and level headedness, he rallied a cohort of Macragge's soldiers to investigate the nightmare's source. Theoretical: some Xeno, or ancient artifact had triggered a psychic phenomena. Practical: the nightmares had been first noticed in the villages surrounding the Valley of Laponis.
The remote valley was one of the more wild places on Macragge. Hera's Crown Mountains were named as such because of the valley. The great range was roughly oval shaped with the valley forming a cleft in the middle. The opening of the crown, to match the peaks points. Surrounded by steep jagged mountains on all sides, it was remote and only the wildest huntsman and wanderers inhabited it.
Konor had visited it once before as a youth. A number of the noble families of the Capital city had taken to hunting the Valley. Its remote location providing solitude and natural wonder to the Macragge elite. Then, it had been a jewel of ancient woods and mountain fed streams, untouched by human hands and home to statuesque herds of mountain cervidae. The old temples of the Civitas told tales of Dia, Goddess of the Hunt, and her pack of wolf-daughters stalking its forbidden groves. Konor payed such things little mind. His religious beliefs were a private affair, he honored the old pantheon, and his ancestors. The legends were exactly that, stories to guide and teach. The gods, if they ever existed, were long gone, no matter what the lunatic prophets claimed when the Warp storms had intensified these last few months. While the Warp's instability had cut off Macragge from its trade partners in other systems, this was no evidence of a clash between gods or other such nonsense.
So when the Cohort, with Konor at its head, reached the valleys opening, the consuls words were out of character.
"By the gods…. What has happened?"
From their vantage point in the cleft between two mountains above the valley. The cohort could see its entirety. Gone were the verdant hills and lush forests. Ash and the husks of dead wood remained.. The raw stink of death and decay polluted the mountain air. The war-steeds of the expedition were instantly spooked. Some instinctual knowledge filled them and there riders of the danger lurking below. Even so these citizens of Macragge had a duty to fulfill.
At Konors orders the expedition traced the mountain path down into the valley. Taking note that the death and rot seemed to intensify with each step. Deeper and deeper into the now barren valley they marched. Where in the heart of the valley, they found there target. Smashed into a bluff was a crater. Like some unholy arrow of judgment, the fallen star had burrowed a cavern into the hill.
A pool of contaminated water lay at the cavern's entrance. The once pure glacial pond fouled by putrefied matter and excrement. The source of the runination formed a barricade at the lip of the cave. Piles and piles of bones were picked clean and scattered in a makeshift refuse pile. Nothing aside from the three hundred and one men of the cohort lived in this damned hollow. This was the source of the infestation that had killed the Valley of Laponis, Guilliman could feel it.. Something within that cavern had drained the very life from this once beautiful domain. Konor knew on some instinctual level that it was also the nightmares source.
Whatever it was, the cohort would discover the truth. A fast rider had been sent back to the capital, a contingency if the worst happened. Konor Gulliman had no intention to die here, but he was a practical man. A danger unlike anything he had faced was nesting in the valley. As Consul of Ultramar, it was his duty to protect its citizens.
With stubber and charge-blade in hand, he led the force to the cave mouth. Multiple ranks of soldiers were prepared to open fire on anything that exited the cavern. These were experienced citizen-soldiers of Ultramar, bloodied against the bandit clans of the north, and handpicked by the Consul himself.
They died badly. Before the cohort could react, a great shadow exploded from the cavern. Some massive hulk of twisted flesh and metal moving at speeds beyond mortal ken. The creature leapt over Konor and smashed into the first line of soldiers. Scything talons shredded muscle and bone. It's great clawed fists crackled with witch-fire. In the time it took Konor to spin around and open fire, a quarter of the cohort was little more than burning corpses.
The monster weaved between stubber and las fire with supernatural grace. Each blow punched through plasteel armor and reduced a literal handful of soldiers to burning shreds. Konor had faced warp-craft before, and this atrocity stunk of such things. His brilliant mind dueled itself, as emotion and logic battled. Theoretical: this monster was beyond anything in Maccrages records and was supremely deadly. Practical: he was about to die.
Konor emptied his stubber's clip into the creatures flank and shouted frantic orders that went unheard in the cacophony of violence. The monster's armor deflected every projectile and blade that attempted to pierce its hideous organic armor. The consul doubted anything less than artillery would crack its blackened shell. As the thing busied itself with Konor's soldiers, he noted its bizarre appearance. It's form resembled a man, at least partially. Decked in broken armor of Tartarus theme. From each hand stuck great claws that matched a man's torso in size. Psychic flames coated the talons and swirled around the creature, forming a burning mantle. Instead of a man's face or helm, its head took the form of a vaguely draco-lupine form. It was disturbing in many ways, the least of which was how it moved and acted like living flesh, despite being formed of burnt metal. Below the waist, any semblance of humanity was discarded. Its midsection was a mess of burnt tissue and putrefying flesh, crudely attached to warp-crafted legs made of cursed bone and sinew. The necromantic construct resembled insectoid limbs and added another level of horror to the creature.
Nothing seemed to even slow the monster. The only impediment to its slaughter was the sheer numbers of the three hundred strong cohort. It took the beast time to cleave through the humans, time that a lesser or more practical man would have used to flee. Instead, Konor fought valiantly alongside his soldiers. They all knew that if this evil was not stopped here, it would eventually make its way to their homes. With courage and honor, they would die to defend Macragge, and so they did.
After what felt like hours of carnage, the cohort was reduced to more corpses filling the monster's refuse pool. Throughout the fight, the creature would take time to devour soldiers, ripping limbs off screaming warriors and swallowing them with its metallic maw. Now, with the threat dispatched, it set to work consuming the fallen, tearing into human meat like a starving hound. All of this was watched by the sole survivor. Konor Gulliman lay in a pool of blood, and only some of it belonged to him. The creature had seemingly ignored him throughout the fight, only paying enough attention to rip off Konor's arm. To the consul's credit, he had managed to cauterize the wound with his charge blade. Despite his emergency treatment, he was in no fighting shape, especially not against a monster of that size and speed.
He could try and run, but it would be futile. Konor knew how fast it could move. So instead he waited, looking for any sign of weakness or opportunity to exploit. The monster spared him for some reason. Konor swore it would regret that decision. With his little remaining strength, he clutched the antique charge blade held in his remaining hand. After an eternity of disgusting noises as the monster finished eating his subjects, it turned to Konor.
Stalking over on its pincer-legs, the monster bent down to look into Konor's eyes. The beast's breath was horrid. It was a mix of rotting flesh and industrial chemicals. Konor averted his gaze from its coal-black eyes. He know only madness lay that way. Still, he tried to strike the monster. He lunged frantically at it with his blade, hoping to pierce the monster's skull. To his horror, a telekinetic grip caught his hand and bent it back, twisting his joint out of place and eliciting a scream from Konor. The consul realized the monster could have killed all his men through warpcraft or xenoscience, it had chosen to rip them to pieces. This was no mere animal.
Further proving Konors point, the monster spoke into his mind. Like grating steel, it scraped along his psyche. "I am Korban the Eversacrifice, chosen prophet of Chaos. You wear the symbol of an old enemy, mortal. Who are you?"
As it said this, a single long talon tapped the inverted omega insignia of Ultramar on Konor's chest. The acid-fire that coated its claws marred the blue symbol and started to burn through the outer layer of Konor's armor. Marshaling his courage, the mortal man answered. "I am Konor Gulliman, First Consul of Ultramar. Kill me and be done with it, fiend. May the gods have mercy upon my soul."
The monster responded with a deep, hellish laugh. Its titanic hand gripped Konor and lifted him high. The Everchosen thrust its words into Konors mind once again. "The gods are many things, mortal. Merciful is not one of them. In another time and place, you would be instrumental in the birth of a mighty kingdom. Five hundred worlds united under order and prosperity. Ruled by your adopted son, carrying your name and virtues for more than ten thousand years. Right here and now, you are just another sacrifice."
With those terrible words, Korban opened his cast-iron jaws and sank his fangs into Konor. The consul died screaming and weeping as the monster devoured him whole. When all that remained of the noble citizen of Macragge was a pile of bone and armor Korban turned its attention to the world he had crashed on.
By the gods' will, he had been spat from the warp in Macragge's orbit, it had taken every ounce of his psychic power and dark blessings to survive impact. The Valley of Laponis had fed him well. The meat and misery of its fauna resorting him slowly but surely. His body had regrown in new twisted manners, his distant humanity as Argel Tal long discarded. Now, the souls of Konor and his minions empowered him further. The memories and torment belonging to his meals gave him new strength and wisdom.
The War between the Gods had stirred the Warp to unfathomable degrees. The Astronomicon still burned strong, powerful enough to stop the schemes of the Four from materializing anywhere its light touched.. But out here in the Ultima Segmentum, at the edges of its influences, the storm drowned it out. Macragge, the five hundred worlds, and countless other planets at the galactic fringe were isolated like islands in a hurricane. They made for easy prey for those touched by the divine. Korban now knew why the gods had cast him here, on damned Macragge. The Anathema was building an empire. Korban would do the same.
สถานะพลังงานรายสัปดาห์
-- การจัดอันดับด้วยพลัง 
-- หินพลัง