Soul Flayers
7. Trial by fire
Shamok was sitting silently in the damp dark cell. He was alone with his thoughts, reflecting on the events of recent months. Open the warp gate in the midst of this base and cause havoc? That would be just childish release of anger from his own inability.
His mind and consciousness was slipping in and out and his soul was in the warp one moment and back in the reality in the next second. His soul was torn apart hundreds of years ago, so this was one of the most natural state to be in. Dancing with deamons in his dreams for eternity. Insanity was taking grasp of his mind more and more.
He has failed in a big way. In a massive way. He failed so badly, he wonders why chaos gods haven't yet turned him into one of those mindless chaos spawns - look, another tentacle is growing. Soon, I will lose my own will. A babbling pile of maws, horns and tentacle. This is where the path leads for the most of those seeking princehood. The death would be so sweet redemption. So much better as a mindless, ever-suffering pawn of chaos gods drown in madness and insanity.
And why the Warmaster haven't turned him into smoking pile of ashes by now anyway?
The sound of rusty keys opening the gates disrupted his flow of dark thoughts.
"It's time. This is your last turn," a familiar voice spoke.
"Beleghast, my friend. We have done so much together. And now you're my warden. I truly underestimated Lugos..."
"Speak no more, Shamok. Baxter's axe is waiting to cut your head down for couple of weeks by now. Your betrayal to the Legion cannot be forgiven. And with each rotten word you speak, you only prove that he's done a big mistake not to smite you to ashes in the first moment."
Only a dull silence was a reply to his words. Beleghast continued:
"Gather last of your wit and come with me. The Ritual is now well underway. But the enemy is charging us. And it's massive, at least 3 armies approaching. We need a help of each hand able to summon hordes from warp. Warmasters' decision, not mine. Should you fail in defending the ritual place, price for failure is death."
6. The Speartip
As usual, Mark was doing his patrol along current borders of a Black Legion territory. He was promoted again recently as he proved more than capable with his mission of finding deserters and bringing them to justice - the Black Legion way. But now there was a different task to complete. He was walking the hills on the border. Recon patrol takes two - Ferad was walking with him. Dressed in leather cloaks, armed with autoguns, fast and light, as usual.
"How many beacons do we have left?" Ferad asked.
"Two more and we're done for today."
"Great! There's still a lot of border to secure. They say savior from the skies will be falling again in two months!"
"I can't wait for that to happen!" Ferad replied excitingly!
"Yes, this is a pleasant work. Reestablishing navigation beacons on borders every time we conquer a new region."
They stopped to take a short break.
"I've heard there's quite an army coming to help!" "Here, take this." Mark gave a piece of bread to Ferad and then he took a sip of water from his flask.
"We'll have the borders covered by then, that's no problem. The beacons will navigate the saviors from the skies to land precisely as planned. But if they want to land further away from the border, it might happen that they'll miss their landing spot. So place them precisely, so that at least bordering territories are sucered."
Ferad asked: "Do you think they will drop right on top of their heads?"
Mark replied: "Who knows, their warfare is ancient and effective. Speartip, they call it. Brutal and effective strike of a force directly at the throat of the enemy!" "Ehm, at least unless the enemy doesn't do the same first," he added in a silent voice.
The warleader Shamok was really losing reputation in recent months. And both Ferad and Mark were quite lucky to be priviledged to learn this classified information about this reinforcement arriving soon.
"The last counterstrike against false emperor followers was quite a success!" Ferad turned around with a spark in his eye.
"Indeed."
Then, Mark he imagined himself as a leader of a squad of those mighty astartes warriors and speculated loudly: "A drop into the empty territory is much easier. You don't have to overcome all those fortification, moreover every infrastructure built is a hinderance as well. They'll attack from the dunes."
"Nah, I'm sure they will do that speartip. Or maybe even more of them! One spear for each enemy, hahaha!" Ferad starts to laugh. Oh yes, the biggest battles are yet to be fought!
Several weeks earlier at Garovon's Black Legion HQ:
Lugos. His past was a little in the shroud. Only the dark gods of ruinous powers knew how the First Acolyte in the service of Lorgar's XVIIth legion ended up in Black Legion's ranks. And more surprisingly in a small warband led by a half-mad sorcerer, eager to posses everything and everyone - Shamok Rhakul. Where Shamok was one who dances with deamons, Lugos was always the one corrupted deep into the core and eager to spread this corruption everywhere. Where Shamok was the one who lead the host into battle, Lugos was the one who imposed the might of Chaos Undivided onto everyone : onto our own troops to boost their ferocity and madness in battle, onto enemies to smite them down, onto unsuspecting civilians so that he can corrupt whole cities and even planets into service of Chaos. He was indeed the darkest chaplain this planet has ever seen.
Shamok stood in the ceremonial room. He was alone. He kept few secrets from Lugos, the mighty Dark Apostle of Shamok's warband. When the two joined, nothing could stand in their way when they opened a summoning circle and hordes of deamons strated to pour into reality. But this one secret he kept for himself. He held tight to a powerful amulet hanging on his neck. This was not like others. This one had a huge power in it that remains to be unlocked. Who knew he could find such a treasure on this planet.
Since the time Lugos joined, Shamok's warband thrived! Hundreds of years of one successful campaign after the other. On several occassions, he was the one that prevented this crazy deamons-possesed warband to fall apart. Shamok's genious engines possesed with deamons needed some strong corrupted hand to keep it in check. He was Shamok's right hand.
But somehow, this one was too personal. The ultimate goal of Shamok's life. Immortality, eternal bliss of becoming the mighty creature of the warp! Something he was thriving for for millenia is here at hand, at this planet. So little remains. This must not be known to the mind of Lugos. Especially not Lugos! The final chance to achieve apotheosis might turn into dust in a fraction of a moment. But Shamok didn't see into his head. Lugos was the only one he couldn't read. As Shamok contemplated about his failures to get any closer to this goal in recent months, he sensed Lugos is getting closer. He quickly hid his amulet beneath a cloth and cleared his mind from every thought.
'Dark Lord, I've a good news,' he felt telepathical flow of thoughts pouring from Lugos' head as he was enetering the room. No need to knock, they knew about eacher other long time before he even got closer to a building. His face was tatood with dark summoning formulas. Mere look of common mortal at him would corrupt the unfortunate being to the marrow of the bone.
"Speak," replied Shamok, although he already received a message by psychic way and knew exactly what Lugos is going to say.
"The help is on the way," he said out loud.
"I don't understand. When I've sent the request, I thought that the Warmaster will send us couple of squads," Shamok said. "And now you're telling me the Vengeful Spirit itself is heading our way?"
"Precisely," Lugos told. A mild smile appeared on his eyes. Lugos let out exactly only the emotions he wanted to show. The charisma and skill of imperial chaplains was multiplied by deep infusion of chaos in his soul. "We're about to win this war," he added in a calm voice.
"What is so important on this planet that the Warmaster himself is heading this way?"
"I believe that is a question to which only Warmaster knows the answer."
...
Shamok had been very restless in a last couple of months. But never as much as on that day. What could be possibly of any value to the Warmaster here? He knew this planet through and through. Surely, it would be great to win Garovon, but this planet is far from that important to attract his attention. There must be something else. In the loneliness of his chamber, he unpacked the amulet again. He realized he has much less time than he thougth.
At that moment, the message arrive: Chaos gods chose their champion. It's the deamon rat. Not Shamok. What now? Is everything lost now? Can the goal still be achieved? Submit and help or die. How could we submit when Warmaster is coming? That's definitely not an option!
5. Atrocities of war
The sun was setting on the horizon. Two figures were standing on a top of a hill. They were clad in leather cloaks, studded boots and autoguns were hanging on their waists. One of them pointed his finger towards the valley. "There." It was the only word he uttered. He was pointing at the direction of a small village. Smoke was rising from chimneys.
Orneus was still shaking, wrapped in a blanket, sipping a tea made from dried leaves. He was warming himself next to a small fireplace.
"I did everything they wanted. I've always worshipped The Four, as they have tought us. But, but,..." he turned into cry again.
"Shhhh, calm down, " a tender women tending to him replied. "Speak, if it will make you feel better. But you don't have to."
He was sobbing silently for a few moments, then he continued:
"I don't understand, that should've been the holy place! A place of power and enlightment! But everything in that camp is wild and wicked. We've been lied to! It's all corrupted to the bone. The worst that is in us manifests everywhere!"
"Don't speak like that, dad, The Four are the ones we should have in highest respect! They can hear you!" A voice came from a doorway. A young teenage boy was standing there.
"Son, please leave us alone," the woman replied.
"Trust me. It was t-t-terrible! Everything in that camp was either possessed by daemon or was a daemon itself. And that huge warmachine stuffed with souls makes you sick just by looking upon it! You would turn mad if it ever gets close to you!"
"Mariah, they killed Billy!" Orneus turned into cry again. After a moment he went on:
"The camp is swarming with more and more daemons, the followers of the Angry One, but recently there is plethora of small smelly mischievous goblins running around. They have horns and are covered in boils. They stink horribly, like a rotten meat. And sometimes they are pulling their bowels around."
He made a move as he was about to puke, but he managed to keep composure. He breated in heavily and took another sip from the tea.
"But it got way worse after they returned from the last battle. The warleader really doesn't it in his hands. He's losing one battle after another. When they returned, that big spidery thing went completely mad. It started shooting around randomly. The daemon spirit must got mad. Well, even more mad, I mean. Much more mad. It started slashing around in a way even those blood daemons are not able to! Billlllyyyy," he started to cry again.
Few minutes later, he continued:
"Usually, the warleader can handle it. Well, he's the only one that can really handle it. But after this battle, they say, they pulled him out from a burning transporter or what. He was unconsious, they took him to infirmary."
His voice was shaking.
"And his mad daemon engines are loose, wreaking havoc all around the camp!" he spoke with tears in his eyes.
He was shaking. His gentle wife didn't know what to think. Part of her was totally shocked and struck by fear. But on the other hand, this story is just too crazy! Her husband must have gone mad. Surely, the attrocities of war seen firsthand drove him crazy. Surely, she can treat him, he'll rest and get all the love he needs and he'll be fine. Will he?
"Don't worry, it's all over now. You are here, safe," she told.
He sipped from the tea.
She asked then: "So, they let you leave the camp?"
In the very same moment, a loud triple knock on the door echoed the chamber. Orneus looked at Mariah with a dull stare in his eyes. He said nothing.
A second later, a loud noise filled the room as a noise of entrance door kicked down filled the space.
4. The turn of the tide (?)
Orneus and Billy sat down, sipping some poorly brewed ale made from local wheat. They were looking around, making sure no one hears them.
".... and they say, he closed himself in the room, mending his power armor for hours. Supposedly he had a huge footprint across the back, like from some giant warsuit - accross his whole back!"
"Psssst, if anyone hears us talking about this, Baxter will cut our heads before you count to three!"
They swallowed their urge to giggle. They were both recruited not a long time ago from locals. Anyhow, the locals where quite helpful in the Legion's campaign so far. But in recent months they were getting scared. Legion's territory was shrinking and lot of local people just appeared in the midst of battle on one of many fronts opened now. Some of them were seeking refuge as mercenaries.
"I also heard from Rob that there is something strange going on around ceremonial room. There was a deamon summoning ritual, which is nothing strange, yes. But right after ceremonies the room was locked down. Usually they at least remove sacrificed bodies. Now it stinks like hell around there."
"Warleader riding into battles not caring about cleanup? Lulz," Orneus starts to giggle.
"Ehhhm, I don't think so. This was an order of the high priest, I've heard. That horrible stench and clouds of flies starts to appear all around. Poor guys with barracks just accross the street."
"So are they going to summon Golgothan, the Shit Deamon?" Billy started to laugh loud.
"Well, actually, I think you're not too far from the truth, from the rumors that I've heard," replied Orneus with a little more serious look on his face.
Another voice suddenly stepped in: "Stop gossiping like two old wives! Or I will deal with you right now!"
"Comon' Mark, just because they give you this small responsiblity, you don't have to act like a bully," said Billy.
Well, Billy and Orneus were new. Billy and Orneus didn't yet learned to fear their superiors. People like Billy and Orneus usually end up as a ceremonial sacrifice. But Billy and Orneus didn't learn this. Yet.
In a deep and far space, a ship manifested out from the Empyreum. It was not any small ship. In fact, it was a huge and majestic battleship. It was the ship! The greatest shrine to Chaos gods that mankind had ever built. The ship upon which history of this galaxy was written 10 thousand years ago and ever since. On its hull, a giant golden eight-pointed star with eye of Horus in the middle was shining and next to it a proud name of the ship of ships - Vengeful Spirit
It's stratageum was heavily decorated with blasphemous iconography and arcane symbols celebrating all aspects of the innermost corrupted nature of not only mankind, but every living being in this galaxy.
A small robed figured walked in. He took a few steps towards towering figure standing in the middle.
"Warmaster," he bowed deeply. Abaddon's presence was just too indimidating to look him directly in the eyes.
"Speak, what are the news from Ghar'ovon campaign?" he spoke with his gross voice.
"Sir," he started to speak, "Shamok Rhakul, appointed protector of Ghar'ovon, sends his request for aid. He reports that even though locals are very helpful, battleforces of several other factions have invaded the planet now."
"And he wasn't able to bring it under control with his warband?"
"He speaks of Greenskins, Aeldari, waking Necron army that was apparenly asleep on this planet, bunch of Slaaneshi deamons led by a greedy daemon prince that refused to cooperate. And if that's not all, Blood Angels set their foot there, too."
"Blood Angels' gene-seed, sweet," he pauses for second, then continues:
"Is there something he doesn't understand to say that a failure is not an option here? We need that planet!"
A grumbling voice of the mighty figure of Warmaster of XVIth Legion was pounding like a thunder echoing through the hall of the stratageum.
"Warleader Shamok has a whole host of deamon legions at his disposal! Send him an order to perform a direct spear-tip assault immediately. We'll assist him as we get there. That planet is too important for us to lose..."
3. I'm never gonna dance again
"I told you to seduce them and take their land! Not to get seduced and let them suck your blood. And as a bonus, give them our last mine in the process!!!"
"But sir, you've ordered to..."
"Shut up! Next time take the f#@$!g enemy down! Shooting in the air to celebrate that you see tits after centuries is just a violation of a direct command!! Yes, I'm looking at you, Rock and Beep! You're lucky your firepower is too precious for us to lose you."
Then he calmed down.
"We've lost a lot in this battle, but it seems that what's most important to us probably still lies somewhere else than in the north. We'll meet with naughty rat again later. The war is far from lost. We still have some good amount of tricks up in our sleeves to unleash on all those who stand against us! I won't go into any details as my inner sense tells me that there might be an ancient metaphysical method used by our enemies to eavesdrop on every word I'm saying right now."
"Go now, tonight's ritual is about to begin very soon. Baxter, sharpen your axe, we need to get some heads rolling..."
A spark appeared in the eye of the executioner and he started to grin.
...2 hours later...
Inside a dark room deep in legion's headquarters, three robed figures stand in a triangle, surrounded with a circle of disciples standing around. The atmosphere in the room was very strange after a bloody ceremony that was just finished. In the middle of the room, right among still warm cadavers of ritually sacrificed unfortunates a strange muscular warrior was standing:
"What is the purpose you summon me to this world?" a hissing voice speaks.
Shamok, one of the three, replied:
"We summon you for one sole purpose. To kill and slaughter!"
A large deamon body was standing proud. He was standing eight feet tall, heavily decorated with brass and jewelry with Khorne's iconography. Bunch of skulls was hanging on a leather strap tied to his waist. It was apparent that this was no ordinary bloodletter.
"Give me a single reason why I shouldn't turn this circle of mumbo-jumbo casters into a pile of blood and bones in this very moment!!!" - the Bloodmaster uttered, rising his mighty flaming Blade of Blood, ready to strike right away.
"Of course, you could do that," Shamok replied. You would kill the few of us before the magic of this circle dissipates and you disappear back into the warp.... but! Wouldn't that be a waste of such a great opportunity to spill the blood of hundreds, thousands more on this planet?"
"Speak up," he replied, not lowering his infernal sword even a bit. The daeamonic eyes seemed to have a flame of unworldly rage burning in them.
"There are huge hordes of orcs just waiting to be slaughtered, they keep coming. There are servants of the anathema thirsty for bloodshed in the south, also relentless. Sooo many bodies just waiting to get rid of their heads! And that is only a beginning, a small fraction of what's ahead of us. This is a blood skirmish for domination on this planet. I think I need to say no more."
The daemon look at Shamok, straight into his eyes: "Fail to deliver on your promises, human, and me and my cohort will appease the appetite to our own liking, starting with those servants of pussy god from your ranks! This, I promise to you!"
Shamok replied with a gleeful smile: "It's always a pleasure to have a deal with crystal clear terms! I expect a fruitful cooperation for the upcoming years."
2. It was an Order!
In the dark room at the Legion's HQ, Shamok was sitting on his deamonicly decorated high chair, listening to the reports from his field officers:
"Sir, the enemies have made a breakthrough along a wide front. In the south, false emperor slaves took our mines and are advancing towards north and west. In the west, after taking our mines, greenskins are constantly assaulting us, moreover they're spreading all over the planes. In the north, naughty rat's daemons are attacking our last remaining mine. We've managed to defend it so far, but it was only so so. It won't hold for much longer."
"Don't worry, Quend's assault will bring it under control," Shamok replied with some really sinister overtone in his voice.
"Dark Lork, Quend...", officer Garrond gulped and officer Burghes continued ... "Quend could not mobilize enough men." "He wasn't able to carry the assault. Three of our four mines are now taken for good."
Shamok's left hand started to shake, he rised it towards his face and turned into fist to gulp the anger rising inside him. Angry grin on his face slowly turned back into hateful but calm gaze and with a silent seeping voice he uttered:
"The following people will stay here: Wokroul, Garrond, Kratches and Burghes."
The rest of the council left the room. The atmosphere in the room was dire, officers sweating heavily.
Then Shamok turned in to madness, he outburst into rage and started to scream like a wild animal:
"It was an order! Quend's attack was an order!!!"
"Who do you think you are to dare to disobey an order that I give?! Is this what it has come to?! The military has been lying to me! Everybody has been lying to me! Even the Protection Squads! Our leaders are just a bunch of contemptable disloyal cowards!"
Wokroul replied: "My Lord, I cannot allow you to insult the soldiers!"
"They are cowards, traitors and failures!"
Garrond uttered: "Dark Lord, this is outrageous"
"These officers are the scum of the Black Legion! Not a shred of honor! They call themselves officers! Years at the military training... just to learn how to hold a knife and fork! For years, these commanders has hindered my plans! They've put every kind of obstacle in my way! What I should have done is liquidate all the incompetent high-ranking officers, as Horus did!"
Then he suddenly paused and look deeply into the eyes of men standing there in their black and gold armors.
"I'm just messing you!" he suddenly turned into horrendous laugh. The frightened look at faces of those present into the room turned into amazement and puzzlement.
"I will have just Quend's head," he uttered in the light tone one would use when he picks a meal from a dinner menu.
"However the situation is dire," his voice turned into more serious tone.
"I just returned from the battle with the greenskins. They are not supposed to be a threat to us! Yet they managed not only to take one of our mines, but their sheer numbers managed to defend the position even despite the fact that I personally kicked those shiny metal asses of their scrap machines!!! And you should have seen those shrieks of agony when the warp force twisted their green fungous little brains! Ah, sweet feeling of tearing the enemy apart. This never gets old!"
"So, with the last mine on a verge of fall, we've just entered completely new phase of this military campaign!"
By the look on his face, those present could see that there's much more going on in his mind than meets the eye.
"Start arming up, and finish mustering those damn conscripts Quend failed to gather! We have some key battles to win ahead of us. Dismissed!"
A public ritual sacrifice later that afternoon was glorious. Shortly after, Shamok was looking at hollow eye sockets of three heads of former advisors rotting on spikes above the main headquarters building. He hated weakness and underdeliverance.
Still uplifted from the dark ceremony, his thoughts were quite optimistic:
'This time, hopefully I've rid of the last of those weak incompetent fools. Only the strong ones remai. And with their skill and my command, we shall be victorious!'
- Silence before the Storm
"Yes, my lord. We have lost another mine. And we have reports of attacks both from the north and from the south," the small figure announced with shaking voice.
"And how about that Rat lord, Onnan or what's his name?"
"He refused any cooperation, sir, they just declared attack on us."
"Damn, he'll understand sooner or later that it is better to join us than to oppose us!"
The eyes of his warleader were shining with strange reddish light. Samon Rhakul, the Summoner, leader of Soul Flayers batallion, appointed by warmaster Abaddon for operations on planet Garovon.
The air in the room was very thin. The messenger knew, he could smash him out of existence with a mere thought. But his composure was surprisingly still this time. Apparently his mind was concentrating and heavily thinking about following tacticts and strategy to employ here. For years the mighty Black Legion was alone on this planet. Successfully turning all the natives to their service, building estabilishment and strong base for futher operations in this secto. Natives adored Him almost like a god. And those who dared to refuse - well, their bodies are lying rotten long forgotten on bottoms of pits.
"Our campaign is in danger. Too many have now discovered the existence of this planet. We have no time to waste, we must take advantage of our current position. Use all resources to fortify norhtern and southern edge. I will personally lead the elite group to take back our mine from those pesky Orcs."
"Once we deal with those screamy slaves of false emperor and naughty rat, we need to prepare for what is rising from the east! They may help us in the first phase of campaign, but I wouldn't underestimate their power."
"Go, and send my orders to arm up. It's time to put those guns and chainswords to the test, again. Their souls will be crushed. No one stands in the way of mighty deamonkin Soul Flayers!"