C. Goto - Dawn of War

“No, captain. It was they who imprisoned the daemon in the first place, placing it behind a complicated combination-lock. Their farseer entrapped the daemon in the stone, and buried it. She rigged the burial chamber with a psychic lock that could only be breached by the residual power that she imbibed into a ritual dagger, which she also buried. Even if someone were to recover the stone itself, it could only be awoken in a final ceremony performed on ground consecrated by the blood of a devoted population,” explained Mordecai, pausing as the expression on Gabriel’s face changed.

“Inquisitor, the whole of Lloovre Marr is constructed on top of a giant reservoir of blood-just look down into that chasm. It appears that large sections of the population must have been cultists for some time-perhaps influenced by the power of the stone, or perhaps mutated by the sea of blood that seeps through their soil. Even their lho-sticks must be saturated with the resonances of blood and death,” responded Gabriel. “It seems that it was not only the people of Tartarus who were ignorant about the events here, it seems that the Inquisition was also kept in the dark.”

“How do you know this story, inquisitor?” asked Isador, his scholarly scepticism making him suspicious. “Did you learn it from the eldar?”

“No, Librarian,” answered Mordecai. “The eldar have fiercely safeguarded all knowledge of the stone-even going so far as to interfere with our efforts to retrieve it. As Chaos’ most ancient enemy, they see themselves as the only capable defence against its influence. And we are all paying for their arrogance now.”

“I’m not sure that you have answered my question,” persisted Isador, his years of training in the librarium showing. “How do you know all this?”

“Because we were here, Librarian Akios,” said Mordecai, pausing to let the statement sink in. “The Inquisition was here three thousand years ago, when many Chapters of the Space Marines were still young. An inquisitor of the Ordo Xenos led a Deathwatch recovery team to Tartarus, drawn by the presence of the eldar and a particular eldar artefact. This team saw the eldar farseer imprison the daemon with its own eyes.”

“And what was the Deathwatch team here to ‘recover’?” asked Gabriel, one eyebrow raised incredulously.

Mordecai sighed audibly, as though he had not been willing for the conversation to reach this point. His warhammer was still swinging rhythmically from one hand to another, but he broke the rhythm and hefted it into the air, brandishing it above his head in both hands. “This,” he said. “The Deathwatch team came for the materials needed to construct this warhammer-a daemonhammer. It was forged from a shard broken from the sword of the avatar of the Biel-Tan-the fabled Wailing Doom of Khaine himself. That was the very weapon with which the avatar slew the daemon prince on that dark night-and this is a daemonhammer unlike any other. It is the God-Splitter.”

“And the Inquisition stole part of this glorious weapon,” said Gabriel, shaking his head in disappointment. “What a mess.”

“You still do not know it all, Captain Angelos of the Blood Ravens. That Deathwatch team was led by a certain Captain Trythos, also of the Blood Ravens-the first Blood Raven ever to serve a secondment with the Ordo Xenos,” said Mordecai, revealing more than he should have done, but enjoying this last fragment of power.

Gabriel shook his head. The great Trythos had been here before-was it here that he had been mortally wounded whilst on a Deathwatch mission, before his body was returned to the Third Company and enshrined in the sarcophagus of a blessed dreadnought? The same dreadnought that was destroyed by the eldar this very morning.

“Yes, Gabriel-Brother Trythos, Captain of the Blood Ravens Third Company lies at the start of this affair-the hidden history of your own company is also embroiled in the history of Tartarus.”

“I assume that there is still time to avert the disaster,” said Gabriel, resolution fixing itself across his face.

“This is already a disaster, Gabriel. The power of the Maledictum has grown-it is enough to turn the faithful and drive men mad. Many of the local population have already turned, as you have seen, but some of the Imperial Guard also teeter on the edge of a precipice. It is affecting you and your Marines too, I can feel it.

“It is calling to the warp storm, drawing it in to eclipse the system when dusk falls tomorrow. It wants to trap us here with it, so it can force even the best of us to serve its twisted will. This is why I encouraged you to leave… and why I still encourage it,” explained Mordecai, appealing to Gabriel to see sense at last.

“You should have revealed this to me at the start, Toth. It would have made matters easier, although it would not have changed my decision. You know that I cannot leave this planet as it is. I will not shrink away in the face of such evil,” said Gabriel, full of resolve.

“I would not have it any other way,” said Mordecai, slinging his warhammer over his shoulder and thumping his other hand down on Gabriel’s shoulder guard. “Let us end this bickering and face our enemy together. United, we have a better chance of thwarting the Alpha Legion’s plans for the Maledictum.”

Returning the gesture, Gabriel slammed his palm down onto Mordecai’s shoulder. But when they turned to Isador, the Librarian was already walking away, muttering to himself, whispering silently.

They are weak, Isador. Terrified of the power that you alone amongst them can understand. It is yours… yours for the taking… before the small-minded cowards destroy it… think of the good you could do in the name of your Emperor… think of the power you could wield in your

Isador shook the voice out of his head. It is mine…

C.S. Goto (ebook by Undead)

01 – Dawn of War

In the very centre of the Temple of Dannan, the dark corridors gave way to a majestic courtyard. It was bounded on each side by the arches of stone cloisters, decorated in the High Gothic style of the finest Imperial architecture. Intricate engravings scrolled across the arches, depicting scenes of glory and honour from the history of Tartarus and displaying the ritual iconography of the Imperial cult itself. Above the largest arch in the north wall was a magnificent icon, carved deeply into the pristine stone. It showed the image of the Golden Throne, ringed by the ineffable presence of the Astronomican, singing the Emperor’s grace for all the galaxy to hear-sending out a beacon for the souls of the faithful, no matter where they might be.

But the icons were defaced and vandalised, sprayed with blood and chipped away by the clumsy strikes of clubs, sticks and fists. Here and there, the stone was riddled with pits and holes, as though it had been struck by a barrage of gun shots from close range. And, in the centre of the courtyard, the once verdant and beautiful plants had been burnt to ashes. In their place stood a ring of human cultists, stripped to their waists, trembling with fear and excitement. A series of grooves had been etched into the flagstones, leading from their feet to a small, circular hole in the middle, like the radials of a wheel. The hole dropped away from the temple, plunging down into the great subterranean reservoir of blood, hidden in the vaulted chamber under the city, like an underground cathedral in its own right.

When Sindri had realised that the temple had been built directly above the blood-chamber, he had laughed-there are no coincidences on Tartarus. It was as though the whole planet had been designed with this ceremony as its goal.