Graham McNeill: Killing Ground

'This Emperor's world?' asked the Lord of the Unfleshed, his leathery tongue having difficulty in forming the words over thick, razor-edged fangs.

Uriel nodded, seeing the pain behind the creature's eyes, yes, it is. 'One of them anyway.'

'More worlds like this?'

'Millions,' agreed Uriel.

Seeing the confusion in the Lord of the Unfleshed's face, Uriel understood he probably had no concept of so vast a number. 'There are many worlds like this,' he said, pointing up to where hundreds of stars shimmered in the darkening sky. 'Each of those lights is a world like this.'

Uriel knew that wasn't exactly true, but as the Lord of the Unfleshed looked up, a slow smile spread across his face.

'Sky black.'

'Yes,' smiled Uriel, only now realising how much he had missed the natural diurnal cycle of a habitable world. 'The sky is black, and in the morning it will become light again.'

'Like world of Iron Men?'

Uriel shivered as he pictured the dead, unchanging skies of Medrengard and the unblinking, black sun that held sway over it all. 'No, not like Iron Men's world at all. The sun is golden and warm. You'll like it.'

'Good. Iron Men's world bad,' said the Lord of the Unfleshed. 'This world smell bad too. Not bad like Iron Men's world, but still bad.'

Uriel's interest was piqued. 'This world smells bad? What do you mean?'

'Bad things happen here,' said the Lord of the Unfleshed, looking around the square with an apprehensive gaze. 'Blood spilled here, much blood. Not all gone yet. Making Unfleshed hungry.'

Uriel shared a look with Pasanius, both warriors all too aware of how dangerous the hunger of the Unfleshed could be.

The Unfleshed had fought alongside them on Medrengard through brutal necessity and desperate circumstance, but how long such an alliance would hold against their terrible appetites was something Uriel was not keen to find out.

He looked up into the mountains, where the faint outlines of herds of animals could still be seen. Uriel pointed upwards and said, 'You see those beasts on the mountain?'

The Lord of the Unfleshed nodded and Uriel was reminded that their physiques were, at least partially, made up from Space Marine gene-seed, which included superior eyesight to that of mortals.

' You can hunt them,' said Uriel. 'That is good meat, but only that meat. You understand?'

'Yes.'

'Human meat is bad meat,' said Uriel. 'You cannot eat it. The Emperor does not want you to eat human meat anymore.'

'We understand,' said the Lord of the Unfleshed. 'No eat humans.'

'If you see any humans you don't recognise, hide from them. Don't let them see you,' added Pasanius.

The Lord of the Unfleshed bobbed his massive head, thick ropes of drool leaking from around his fangs, and Uriel knew he was already thinking of the taste of fresh meat and hot blood. Without another word, the mighty creature turned and barked a string of guttural commands to his fellow creatures, who rose from their obeisance below the temple's eagle and followed their leader as he set off in the direction of the mountains.

'Will they be all right left to their own devices?' asked Pasanius.

'I don't know,' admitted Uriel. 'Emperor help me, but I hope so.'

Uriel and Pasanius watched them as they vanished from sight, swallowed up in the darkness of the dead city.

'Now what?' asked Pasanius.

Uriel turned to his sergeant and said, 'Now we talk.'

Night closed in on the dead city as Uriel and Pasanius sought shelter from the drizzling rain and biting wind. Pasanius was still clad in his stained blue power armour, albeit severed at the elbow, while Uriel's skin was largely bare to the elements. Portions of Uriel's armour had been stripped from his upper body by the brutal ministrations of the Savage Morticians, and though fragments remained of his breastplate, the armour was essentially useless.

Without power feeding the fibre bundle muscles that augmented the wearer's strength, it was heavy and cumbersome, impeding where it was designed to enhance. Without conscious thought, both Space Marines gravitated towards the Imperial temple. Of all the buildings around the square it was the most intact and therefore the most defendable.

The city felt dead and abandoned, but it did not pay to take such things at face value. A fuller exploration of the city could come when the sun rose, but for now, shelter and somewhere to lie low was Uriel's priority.

The doors lay twisted and melted on the ground, and Uriel recognised the telltale impact striations that spoke of a melta blast.

'Someone barricaded themselves in here,' said Pasanius, following Uriel's gaze.

'Looks like it,' agreed Uriel.

'Now why would someone do that?'

'If you were a citizen of this city and you were under attack, where would you seek refuge?'

'I wouldn't be seeking refuge,' said Pasanius. 'I'd be fighting, not hiding while others fought for me.'

Uriel said nothing in response to the simple, yet wholly understandable sentiment, recognising the same lack of empathy for the fears of mortals in Pasanius's tone as he had heard in so many others of his kind. To be so elevated above ordinary men brought the risk of arrogance and though he had heard that egotism given voice by many other Astartes warriors, he had never thought to hear it from Pasanius.

The temple's vestibule was cold, a chill that reached out to Uriel beyond the sensations pricking his skin. He had stood in many temples from the most magnificent to the most humble, but even the least of them had a sense of the divine in their architecture and sense of scale, but this building had none of that.

It felt empty.

Uriel pushed open the splintered remains of the doors that led to the nave, the echoes of his footsteps thrown back at him like those of a shadowing twin. Dust motes spun in the air, but his vision easily pierced the gloom of the temple's interior as he made his way inside. A vaulted ceiling arched overhead and thick pillars of fluted stonework marched the length of the nave towards a toppled altar.

Fallen banners that reeked of mould lay curled on the flagstones and broken wooden pews filled the floor between the vestibule and the raised altar. The walls were faced with dressed ashlar and the last of the day's light illuminated thousands of scraps of paper fastened to every square inch.

Intrigued, Uriel made his way towards this unusual sight, breaths of wind through the empty window frames making it seem as though the wall rippled in anticipation. The papers were old and faded and many had rotted away to fall on the floor, piled up like snowdrifts. Of those that remained, Uriel saw they were a mix of scrawled prayers for the dead, scraps of poems or simple lithographs of smiling men, women and children.

'What are these?' whispered Pasanius, his voice loud in the stillness of the temple as he made his way along the wall and peered at the sad pictures and words.

'Memorials,' said Uriel. 'They're prayers for dead loved ones.'

'But there're so many… Thousands. Did they all die at once?'

'I don't know,' replied Uriel. 'It looks like it.'

'Emperor's blood,' hissed Pasanius. 'What happened here?'

A cold breath whispered across Uriel's neck.

You were there.

Uriel spun on his heel, his hand reaching for his sword.

'What?' said Pasanius as Uriel's blade hissed into the air.

'Nothing,' said Uriel, relaxing when he saw there was no threat.

He and Pasanius were the only trespassers in the temple, but for the briefest second, Uriel could have sworn that there had been someone behind him. The temple's crepuscular depths were empty of intruders, and yet…

Uriel's warrior instincts had been honed on a thousand battlefields and he had not stayed alive this long without developing a fine sense for danger. Though he could see nothing and hear nothing within the temple, he had the definite impression that they were not alone.