Graham McNeill: Killing Ground

The Unfleshed dragged the carcasses of three of the mountain grazers into the church, each beast's body torn and bloodied with fang and claw marks. The dead beasts were covered in a coarse fur, with bovine heads and long, burrowing snouts of leathery hide. Their legs were slender and powerful looking and Uriel imagined they would be swift on the hoof.

'They've already fed then,' said Pasanius, seeing the bloody jaws of the Unfleshed.

'So it appears,' replied Uriel as the Lord of the Unfleshed dragged one of the larger kills over to the altar. The carcass was dropped before him.

'We eat meat on mountain,' said the Lord of the Unfleshed. 'This meat for you.'

Without waiting for an answer, the hulking creature turned away, his eyes dull and lifeless. Curious as to what was the matter, Uriel reached up and placed a hand on the Lord of the Unfleshed's arm.

No sooner had Uriel touched the arm than it was snatched away and the Lord of the Unfleshed turned to face him with a hiss of pain. Uriel flinched at the suddenness of the reaction and the violence he saw in the Lord of the Unfleshed's eyes.

'Not touch me,' hissed the Lord of the Unfleshed. 'Pain. This world hurts us.'

'Hurts you? What do you mean?'

The Lord of the Unfleshed paused, as though struggling to find the words to articulate his meaning. 'Air here different. We feel different, weak. Body not work like before.'

Uriel nodded, though he had no real idea as to why the Unfleshed should feel different on this particular world.

'Try to get some rest,' advised Uriel. 'When the sun comes up we'll get a better look at the lie of the land and decide what to do next. You understand?'

'I understand,' nodded the Lord of the Unfleshed. 'Emperor happy with us?'

'Yes, he is,' said Uriel. 'You are in a place dedicated to Him.'

'Dedicated?'

'It belongs to him,' explained Uriel. 'Like where you lived before.'

'This house of Emperor?'

'It is, yes.'

'Then we stay here. Emperor take care of us,' said the Lord of the Unfleshed, and Uriel found the simple sentiment curiously touching. These creatures may be genetic aberrations, but they believed in the Emperor's divinity with a simple, childlike faith.

The Lord of the Unfleshed lumbered away to rejoin his fellows and Uriel turned back to the altar, where Pasanius was butchering the carcass they had been provided with in preparation for roasting it over the fire. Space Marines could, of course, eat the meat raw to gain more nutritional benefits, but after the deprivations of Medrengard, both warriors were in the mood for some hot food inside them.

Uriel watched the Unfleshed as they hunkered down before the walls, staring in fascination at the parchment scraps on the wall. Pasanius handed him a skewered hunk of meat and placed his own over the fire.

'It's easy to forget,' said Uriel.

'What is?'

'They are just children really.'

'The Unfleshed?'

'Yes. Think about it. They were taken as youngsters and twisted into these horrific forms by the Savage Morticians, but they are still children inside. I was placed inside one of those daemon wombs. I know what it tried to do to me, but to do that to a child… Imagine waking up and finding that you had been turned into a monster.'

'Do you think any of them remember their former lives?'

'I don't know,' said Uriel. 'In some ways, I hope they don't; it would be too awful to remember what they'd lost, but then I think that it's only the fragments of what they once were that's keeping them from truly becoming monsters.'

'Then let's hope more of their memories return now that they're away from Medrengard.'

'I suppose,' said Uriel, turning his skewer on the fire. 'I know they look like monsters, but what happened to them isn't their fault. They deserve more than just to be hunted down and killed because they aren't like us. We may not be able to save their bodies, but we can save their souls.'

'How?'

'By treating them like human beings.'

'Then I just hope you get to talk to people before they see them.'

'I plan to, eventually, but let's take things one step at a time.'

'Speaking of which,' said Pasanius, lifting his skewer of meat from the fire and taking an experimental bite.

'Oh, that's good. What's our next move in the morning?'

Uriel removed his skewer from the fire and bit into the meat, the smell intoxicating and the taste sublime after so long on ration packs and recycled nutrient pastes. The meat was tough, but gloriously rich. Warm juices spilled down his chin and he resisted the impulse to wolf down his meal without pause.

Between mouthfuls, Uriel said, 'Tomorrow we explore the city, get a feel for its geography and then work out where we might find a settlement.'

'Then what?'

'Then we present ourselves to whatever Imperial authorities we find and make contact with the Chapter.'

'You think it'll be that easy?'

'It will or it won't be,' said Uriel. 'I suppose we'll find out tomorrow, but we need some rest first. Every bone in my body aches and I just want one night of proper sleep before we get into things.'

'Sounds good to me,' agreed Pasanius. 'Every time I closed my eyes on that damn, daemon engine, all I saw were rivers of blood and skinned bodies.'

Uriel nodded, only too well aware of the nightmarish things that lurked behind his own eyes when he had tried to rest on the Omphalos Daemonium. Not since he had stood before the Nightbringer had he seen such horrors or believed that such terrible things could be dreamed into existence.

For the unknown span of time they had spent within its insane depths, both they and the Unfleshed had been plagued by these blood dreams and Uriel knew that his mind had been close to breaking, for who could be visited nightly by such phantasms and remain sane?

Of all the nightmarish visions of death and bloodshed that plagued Mesira Bardhyl, it was the Mourner she feared the most. She never saw his face, she just heard his sobs, but the depths of agony and suffering encapsulated in those sounds was beyond measure.

It seemed impossible that anyone could know such pain and sorrow and live. Yet the mourner's dark outline, stark against the white, ceramic tiles of the empty room, was clearly that of a living person.

Tears coursed down her cheeks at the sight of the Mourner, a measure of his pain passing to her as her treacherous feet carried her towards the iron-framed bed he sat on, the only piece of furniture in this otherwise featureless room.

She knew she was dreaming, but that knowledge did nothing to lessen her terror.

Despite the khat leaves Mesira had mixed with the half bottle of raquir she'd downed before reluctantly climbing into bed, the nightmare of the Mourner had still found her.

Step by step, she moved closer to the Mourner, wracking sobs of anguish causing his shoulders to shake violently. As Mesira drew closer, she felt his grief change to anger, and though she tried to will her hand not to reach out, it lifted of its own accord.

As she touched the Mourner's shoulder, the stink of burned meat filled her senses and images danced behind her eyes: burning buildings, screaming people and a firestorm so intense it billowed and seethed like a living thing.

'No,' she whispered. 'Not again.'

The Mourner ceased his weeping, as though only now aware of her.

Without warning, flames suddenly bloomed into life across his body, engulfing his head and limbs with incandescent brightness.

'You were there,' said the Mourner, apparently oblivious to the fire that consumed him.

'No, I…' cried Mesira, falling back from the killing heat.

'You were there,' repeated the Mourner, his voice accusing as the flames slithered over him. In moments, his body was scorched black and the smell of his seared flesh made her gag.