Aaron Dembski-Bowden - The First Heretic

Watch them die. You would die the same way.

‘I told you to answer me,’ said the Word Bearer.

Watch and learn, Word Bearer.

‘We have records of the eldar and their histories.’ He spat the foul blood that kept running onto his tongue. ‘They speak of the Fall, when decadence and sin bred corruption throughout their culture. A spiritual cataclysm annihilated them centuries ago. That devastation is this? This... divine wrath?’

This is their judgement. In their ignorance, they see only the death of an empire as countless worlds drown in blood and fire. In this moment of ascension, the eldar choose terror over power, and damn their kingdom to ashes because the Primordial Truth frightens them all.

They have given birth to a god. A god of pleasure and promise. Yet they feel no joy.

‘Enough!’ Argel Tal threw back his head and drew breath into his three lungs. The storm intensified, its tortured skies bleeding onto the world below.

‘Answer me!’ he screamed at the sky.

This is the Fall they speak of in whispered tones. The eldar were blind. They could have lived in harmonic union with the Powers, as humanity must soon learn themselves. Instead, they are dying. Unable to accept the Primordial Truth, they are being destroyed by it.

You ask why? Can you not see why? This is not how empires die, Word Bearer. This is how gods are born. The eldar faith has given the galaxy a new deity. She Who Thirsts. Slaa Neth. It has a thousand names.

These are its first moments of life, and it wakes to find its own worshippers are abandoning it, out of ignorance and fear.

This endless storm, this Eye of Terror, is the echo of its birth-cries.

‘I have seen enough,’ Argel Tal watched the city below, now silent, flooded, reaped clean of all life. ‘Blood of the gods, I have seen enough.’

Then open your eyes.

Ingethel was watching them, its mismatched eyes unblinking as they reflected the sick light from beyond the dome. The stench of blood lingered in Argel Tal’s nostrils, despite the warriors’ pristine armour and clean skin.

‘That was unpleasant,’ said Torgal.

‘Sir,’ Dagotal reached for Argel Tal’s shoulder guard. ‘I think we should leave this place.’

It was Xaphen, not the daemon, that quelled such discussion. ‘You overstep your authority, sergeant. We will not flee from the truths we’ve travelled so far to find.’

Argel Tal ignored their bickering. His vox-network was alive with squads checking in, retinal runes flickering as each sergeant linked to him.

‘Sir, we just saw...’

‘Captain, there was a voice and... and a vision...’

‘This is Vadox Squad, reporting...’

The Word Bearer turned to the daemon. ‘Every one of my warriors on the ship saw what we saw.’

They hear my voice, the same as you. That is why they are here: to bear witness. To learn. The eldar failed, and the price paid for their sin was slow extinction. Humanity must not follow the same path. Mankind must accept the Primordial Truth.

‘We cannot carry this message back to the Imperium,’ said Argel Tal.

‘Of course we can,’ Xaphen narrowed his eyes. ‘We can and we will, because we must. This is humanity’s enlightenment.’

You came here seeking to learn if your home world’s Old Ways were true. And now you know they were.

‘This is a truth too ugly to be embraced by the Imperium.’ The captain watched the dead world below. ‘You, creature, know nothing of what you speak. But brother, do you expect us to sail into orbit around Terra and right into the Emperor’s welcoming embrace? The answers we carry home will make a lie of the Imperial Truth. All human emotion takes form as psychic force? Not only is the Emperor’s godless vision a lie, it must be crushed in favour of allying with daemons and spirits?’ Argel Tal shook his head. ‘It will be civil war, Xaphen. The Imperium will tear itself apart.’

The Chaplain gave a threatening growl. ‘This is why we came. The truth is all that matters. You speak as though you expected the primarch to be proved wrong, and panic now he was shown to be right.’

‘But the captain has a point,’ said Dagotal. ‘We will not be showered with medals for bringing home the truth that hell is a real place.’

They all turned as the daemon laughed in their minds.

You have seen nothing yet, but you already judge what is best for your species?

‘What more is there to see?’ asked Argel Tal.

Ingethel beckoned with its gnarled fingers. Close your eyes.

‘No.’ The captain took a calming breath. ‘I am finished with blind indulgence. Tell me what you wish to show us.’

I will show you how your primarch was born. I will show you why the Cadians called him the Favoured Son of the Four. The Emperor is not his only father.

Argel Tal glanced at the others, seeing their eyes already closed, the mention of their father enough to tempt them into obedience. He spoke into the vox, alerting the other squads.

‘Be ready, all of you, for what we see may be a deception.’

You have such little faith, Argel Tal.

The Word Bearer closed his eyes again.

The air’s touch was ice against his skin, and the first thing Argel Tal’s returning vision offered was his own breath misting before him. The smell here was neither the sanguine richness of the alien world, nor the musky odour of oxygen filtered through a vessel’s recycling scrubbers. A certain sharpness hung in the air: the chemical tang of volatile machinery and burning glass.

Argel Tal looked around the laboratory, surrounded on all sides by live generators, cluttered tables and humans at work in pressurised environment suits – some white, some bright yellow and marked by radiological sigils. Frost rimed their faceplates, scuffing away as powder when brushed off by gloved hands.

The Word Bearer had been in scarce few laboratories in the many decades of his existence, so his frame of reference was limited. Still, he could form a fair estimation that a facility this size would only be required for the most vital or visionary work. The walls were lost behind dense cabling and clanking generators; the technicians at work numbered in the hundreds, spread around tables, platforms and desks.

One passed Argel Tal, the figure’s environmental hazard suit rustling as it brushed the Word Bearer’s battle armour. The suit’s faceguard stole any hope of seeing the wearer’s face; either way, the technician ignored the Astartes completely.

Argel Tal reached for the figure.

Don’t.

He hesitated, grey fingers curling back. The tiny servos in his armour’s knuckles whirred as he pulled away from the technician’s shoulder.

Be careful, Argel Tal. These souls remain blind to you as long as you do not interfere with their work.

‘And if I did?’ he asked quietly.

Then one of the most powerful psychic forces in the history of life would be alerted to you, and would kill you where you stand. You are within the Anathema’s innermost sanctum. Here, it breeds its spawn.

‘The Anathema,’ Argel Tal repeated, looking around the colossal facility. The other Word Bearers walked to his side, none of them reaching for weapons just yet.

The Anathema. The creature you know as the God-Emperor.