MIDNIGHT OF THE SOUL

by Jeffrey Arp

Maltheus stepped hesitantly down the shallow dirt ramp leading towards the underground chamber.  On the death-world of Lacrangge IV, the local authorities had uncovered something worthy enough to bring rumours that threatened the relative peace and tranquillity of the nearby systems into full-scale panic and riot.  As a Hierophant, one of the most senior of the Machine God's priests in this region of the Imperium, it was he who had been called upon when word of the find had passed from the rural to the urban, from the planet to the neighboring systems, and finally from the servant to the master.

Chaos.

So dared the servants of the Benevolent Emperor to breathe its blasphemous name in-between chance meetings on streets, acknowledging glances across a tavern, or discrete views at the official headlines of local news-vids.  Rumours abounded that a find of dark import had been discovered beneath the sands of Lacrangge IV, and the commoners told each other that the ancient gods had returned to reclaim their souls.

When word of this find reached the Emperor-class Deus ex Machina, a heavily modified battleship operated by the Adeptus Mechanicus, it carried with it not only the threat of Chaos, but also the promise of lost technology.  Had the Heretics found a working STC?  Or perhaps some vastly superior knowledge unknown to the Machine God's disciples?

Maltheus brought the battleship to bear upon the isolated Imperial world.  Landing swiftly, accepting no delay or compromise with the locals, who wished to keep the find a secret, Maltheus quickly tracked down the find's location.

Outraged, he discovered that it was an un-sanctioned excavation, done without the blessings of the proper departments within the vast Adeptus Ministorum.  Local officials offered little explanation, feigning ignorance of the dangers that lay hidden from the Imperium of Man, buried beneath unknown depths upon insignificant planets.   Could any servant of the Emperor be so ignorant of the Imperial Edicts requiring all excavations to be supervised by the proper officials?  Maltheus wondered if the common masses would ever put aside their dislike for Imperial authority long enough to realize it was the Imperium of Man, blessed by the Machine God and his bodily incarnation, the Emperor, that in the end kept them from sinking to the level of worthless beasts and mutants.

The only good of this excavation's illegality, Maltheus thought to himself while a local official pleaded his case, is that the Ecclesiarchy will not be present to attempt a claim of any technology found.  Anything of value shall become the property of the Machine God's devout Cult, the Adeptus Mechanicus.

"..but sir, please note that we have never been absent or behind on our tithes, and it is the mines of Lacrangge IV that provide the forge world of Zebul'te the raw materials necessary for your weapons of war! Surely we would not-"

"Dare you threaten the production of the Machine God's righteous icons?

The very weapons, tanks, and ships that bring war to the Heretic and cleanse the Imperium of Man of those who are unworthy of its laws and authority?"  Maltheus' voice rose in anger towards the groveling officials, so pathetic in the narrowness of their understanding and knowledge, seemingly incapable of grasping what mattered most to the Machine God and his Imperium.

"No...no!  Please, my Lord Maltheus, note that I was only trying to show you-"

"There is nothing that you could ever show me, weak fool!  I am a Hierophant of the Machine God, and it is he, not you nor your people, that holds dominion over your planet's mines.  I am but a steward of the Machine God's vast wealth, issued from him to protect what is his from vultures and leeches such as you.  This illegal excavation marks you and your fellow officers for death.  Tech-guard, take them away for immediate execution!"

Their cries for mercy, followed by threats of revenge, died as they were dragged away across the tanned surface of Lacrangge IV, its desert sands shifting idly from the lazy and changing breezes that swept across it. Delving deep into the excavated tunnels, Maltheus found himself alone save for Syllax, his ever-present scribe, who recorded all that his master spoke of.

The tunnels were built of stone slabs, and upon them were bolted small metal plates filled with inscriptions too archaic to be deciphered, even by the Tech-Priest's well-trained eye.  Syllax noted Maltheus' request for a xeno-linguist to be sent forth to study the arcane runes and letters.

Maltheus' auspex detected nothing but a seemingly endless maze of walls and catacombs, and the sparse light from randomly-placed wall-torches picked up only the dust stirred from the unwanted humans' footsteps. To Maltheus, it was as if he were located in some underwater ruin.  The air was thick and moist, the smell dank and noticeable, with a thin veil of putrefaction behind every lungfull.

After nearly an hour of searching, Maltheus stumbled upon the source of all the rumours.  In a small rectangular room stood a large statue.  Gray as the dust-covered floors and walls surrounding it, the statue had been carved in the image of a Space Marine.  Maltheus' suspicions aroused;  he wondered if one of the local Chapters of Adeptus Astartes were pushing the boundaries of the Imperium's tolerance for their ways.

Looking closely, Maltheus was frustrated to note no identifiable markings to identify the suspect Chapter behind the statue's creation.

As he stood back, the Tech-Priest realized that the statue was that of some long lost hero.  His suspicions were aroused as he noticed that the statue's armour was a crude mixture of several variants, mostly from the fourth and fifth marks but some pieces seemed to have been styled after mark two and even mark one suits of power armour.  Although Space Marines were noted for mixing armour variants in times of need, or for honourary reasons, Maltheus had never seen such a personalized suit before.  He wondered if the Marine that was the basis for the statue had been a commander or some similarly venerated hero of his unknown Chapter.

"Syllax, make note of the unusual number of armour variants represented in this statue.  I believe this to be representative of some hero, long lost.  Armour variant five is the most advanced mark of power armour represented in this piece, and has been around since the Heresy.  The presence of substantial mark one and two devices leads me to believe this to be a forgotten hero from the time of the Great Crusade...or the Great Betrayal.  A further note:  I want a full report on this planet's history, dating from m39 or the closest date possible.  I want to know if this planet was taken during the Crusade, or fought over during the Heresy.  I wonder if any suits of armour were left with this statue."

Stepping to the side of the statue, he noticed that it had been carved with the cloak of an unknown wild animal.  The flowing lines and carvings of the cape, plus the defiant pose of the statue itself, suggested a warrior astride in the heat of battle.

"Syllax, note the rather primitive cape sculpted onto this Marine.  Possible indication of it being a Space Wolf or White Scar.  Cross-reference any known data on their whereabouts with the report on Lacrangge IV's history."

Maltheus almost didn't see the helmet under one of the statue's feet.  Upon noticing it, he stood back abruptly.  Lowering to one knee, his power armour gently resting on the thick layer of dust, Maltheus took a closer look at the apparent trophy.  To his amazement, the helmet looked to be from a mark six or seven variant.  Long cracks circling the helmet suggested that the front half could be removed.  The Tech-Priest stared at the jagged cracks, wondering if perhaps the helmet was meant to be used as a hidden safe for the statue's intended users.

"Syllax, note the presence of post-heresy armour variant, specifically this apparent trophy helmet beneath the statue's raised foot.  Further note:  while it would seem to indicate a much later date of construction, it is quite possible that test suits of the mark six variant, or advanced-modified mark five variants, were present in this region during the Heresy.  I shall consult the ancient tomes for verification."

Maltheus raised back to his feet to further study the statue's finer detail.  What at first appeared to be sinister, razor-sharp spikes along the statue's raised right arm upon closer inspection turned out to be rough, unfinished projections of raw material left clinging to the nearly-finished statue. He noticed further rough spots upon the edges of the lower leg plates.

Maltheus placed an intricate scanner on one of the sculpted ventilator hoses.  Unhooking a loose cable-link from his chest, he connected the scanner to an optic receptor built into his left cheekbone.  Numbers scrolled across the lower half of his field of vision.  With nearly a century of use behind him, he mentally scrolled through the various charts and graphs until the radiation tracker appeared before him, a three-dimensional cube outlined in thin red strips.  Inside were three spheres, also three-dimensional, which were positioned in a perfectly vertical line in the center of the cube.  All three were made of thin red lines as well, and would change colour, size, and location depending on the radiation detected.

After several moments passed as the scanner calibrated and verified the results.  The center sphere turned a reddish-orange, shrinking to half its size, while the top sphere began to blur a little, growing slightly less distinct then it was before.  The bottom sphere remained unchanged, save for a slight movement towards the central sphere.

Several numbers and icons scrolled across the bottom of his field of vision, indicating the specific findings of the scanner.  Maltheus, however, had no need for them;  his sharp, experienced mind knew instantly what the indications were from the graphic display itself:  organic material was located inside the statue.

The numbers also indicated, however, that the rate of decomposition was slow.  At first, Maltheus was confused by this.  The material used to create the statue, similar to a concrete mix but slightly less acidic and corrosive, should have nevertheless eaten away any organic material, most likely flesh according to the types of radiation most highly present, after such a long time spent inside the statue.

And why was there flesh, or organic material, inside the statue at all?

As he studied the problem further, a flash of insight enlightened his mind.  He had not accounted for there being any other non-organic material within the statue's construction.  Looking at the radiation tracker again, he realized that several of the radiation types he discounted as background or extraneous might possibly be from the statue's construction material slowly reacting to the chemicals present in a foreign material imbedded within.

With little mental effort, Maltheus quickly located the metals-tracer program in his depository cortex and uploaded it into the scanner.  No sooner had he done so, an electric surge ruptured the cable-link connecting the scanner to his optic receptor.  As Maltheus involuntarily spasmed backwards, he could feel the cable-link's insert fuse to the optic receptor's port.

Instantly he found himself on his back, looking up towards the dark ceiling that hung above like the sagging lid of an ancient tomb.  As his senses returned, he could hear the wild static of the disconnected scanner still attached to the statue.  He realized there was no feeling left in his left eye, nor any sight or signal coming in from it.  Maltheus was nearly a hundred and sixty terran years old.  He had gone through an unknown number of "upgrades" and "repairs", had seen countless body parts removed, replaced, and replaced again.  Despite this, he was afraid to bring his hand up to physically touch his non-functioning, organic left eye, and his shocked mind cowered from running the diagnostic tests which would reveal its fate.

The scanner went silent as the last few seconds' worth of power drained away.  It remained clinging to the statue, a loose remnant of the cable-link gently swinging beneath it.  All went quiet save for the terrified breathing of Syllax, whom Maltheus realized was hiding in some deep, dark shadow in one of the room's pitch-black corners.

Maltheus regained his senses and rolled over onto his stomach.  As his face went parallel to the floor, his left eye fell out of its socket. A moist sucking sound restrained it several seconds before it finally freed itself, hitting the cold floor with a thick, mucous-like sound akin to when gravity slowly pulls a man down upon a sword or spear.  A long sinew of nerves and blood vessels hung limp, still connecting the eyeball to the now empty socket.  A small puff of dust raised by the eyeball's drop coated the bloody string, thickening the draining blood to a nearly solid pus.  Maltheus took hold of the limp sinew with his hand, manipulating it between his thumb and the first joint of his index finger.  Pressing hard upon the sharp edge of the small armour plates that lined his gloved index finger, he succeeded in severing the dust-coated sinew.  With a slight sweep of his hand, Maltheus absent-mindedly covered the eye with a small mound of dust before crawling over towards the statue. He did not know why the scanner went haywire, but he was bound and determined to uncover the statue's secrets before returning to his ship for repairs.  Rising into a kneeling position, he prepared to open the mysterious helmet under the statue's raised left foot.  He knew that it held the key to the purpose of the statue's construction.

The thick fingers of Maltheus' power armoured gloves struggled with the helmet's cracks.  Several loose pieces were ground off before he managed to get a secure-enough grip to remove the face plate.  As he worked the piece he loose, he turned towards Syllax.  At first, Maltheus could not detect where his scribe was, as his lone remaining eye struggled in the sparse lighting to penetrate the deepening shadows of the room.

"Syllax, do not be frightened by such occurrences.  Surely the Machine God has fated me for a more advanced optic system, no?  Perhaps he has even fated me to find such a replacement within the confines of this very site.  Come forward so that you may take note of my findings. Now, friend Space Marine, whose secrets are about to be mine;  whom was it that you killed for the Emperor so long ago as to be worthy of this coffin-like statue?"

"He kills...whom the gods kill..."

Maltheus felt his heart pound against his reinforced iron ribs.  Inside the helmet was a pale head, a winged blood drop carved in its forehead, its eyes sewn shut, its thin lips repeating the phrase.

"He kills...whom the gods kill..."

Maltheus raised to his feet, rapidly backing away.  Looking up from the beheaded face, he froze upon realizing that the statue was some lifelike tomb which housed a long-dead Imperial hero;  indeed, the statue itself was alive, at least in some form.  The statue's head had somehow pivoted, and now looked directly at the cowering scribe, the once blank depressions that had been carved for eyes now glowed a cold green.

"Upon the Emperor's Mercy, what are you?!"

With Maltheus' words, the dust fell at once from the living statue before him, raining down upon the floor as if by his words some magical spell had been broken.  The cascading dust filled in the open helmet beneath its foot, as the dead scanner fell and shattered upon a flat stone that had served as the statue's pedestal.

"I am Sabaoth ibn Arpad, the Bearer of Woe."  The voice was stern, un-compromising;  to Maltheus it seemed as if every word was a missile borne directly at him, unswerving, all-knowing, unstoppable.

"Know that before you now is the fell Lord Tubal-Kahn, the Harvester of Faith, the Ashwind of Souls, the one prophesied by your own madmen to one day set upon the Imperium as the Bull of Chaos and the Dragon of Antiquity.  Know then that this time has arrived."  Maltheus felt transfixed by the deep green that pierced through the eye-slits of the fiend's helmet.  He realized now that it had never been a statue, but a foul Legionnaire ensconced with arcane witcheries and blasphemous magics.

"There is no escape human, neither for you nor your race.  I have corrupted this world that you call 'Lacrangge,' brought it under my sway, and even now your pitiful kind sacrifices itself upon the Dark Altars of Chaos.  My fleet lies coiled throughout the system, hidden amongst the dust of space like the shadows of daemons.  See now that your scribe has shown me the proper worship and fealty, and for that he shall be rewarded."  Syllax, prostrate upon the ground with his hands thrown above his half-buried head, froze at the Chaos Lord's words. His throat closed upon the nightmarish images of what enslavement to Chaos would bring with it.

"...And as for you, dear Tech-Priest, I shall make of you a living parchment, so that it may be known that the     Imperium shall answer to its Past, and that in the Court of the Gods there shall be only the breaking-wheel and the punishing-rack.  Upon your bones I shall write Mankind's future!"

THE END.

contains material that is the property of Games Workshop.  no claim or challenge is made to their ownership.

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