Illumination

[Inquisitor Rosenadel]

Hello everyone. I haven't posted a story in a while. I have been writing however, and have lots of ideas. I meant to get this up for Halloween, but Guy Fawkes Day will have to do. Enjoy!

Illumination

I spun around quickly, drawing my autopistol in a blur of motion. It felt like I turned slower than molasses in my enviro-suit. The beams from the bubble-helmet I wore illuminated a large figure similarly garbed. He stopped cold and held up his hands. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Inquisitor. However, there is something I think you should see for yourself. Perhaps you will know better what it is and how to proceed.” Damien Alexander was an ex-Imperial Guard sniper and had a penchant for stealth. I keep him around because stealth and accuracy are values I hold in the highest regard.

Unlike certain other Inquisitors, I am not one for open confrontation and dramatic, unnecessary combat. That’s how lesser men throw away their lives when they could accomplish so much more. Granted, there are times that combat is entirely called for, and being an Inquisitor, I am required to know various combat techniques and styles, and have a decent understanding of large- and small-scale tactics, as well. But I use them as a last resort, whereas less prudent members of this organisation use them like they drink vintage amasec. They are the one who, more often than not, make things worse. They do not take the time to understand the situation that is presented to them.

At any rate, I followed Damien back to the mouth of the underground complex. I had followed a dangerous heretic here, one who had killed several in my employ. He led a cult that worshipped a daemon known as “Grimflute Goreweasel”, and they were attempting to bring him to the material plane. I interrupted their ritual, secretly inserting myself among their number and then exchanging their unholy flasks of mucus for water blessed on Terra itself. The daemon was unable to be summoned, and most of the cult died as a result of their failed spell. Though I was optimally placed, I knew the heretic would run to his safest hiding place, one where he could rebuild, regain his strength.

I tracked him to this Emperor-forsaken rock, which indeed proved to be his intended place of refuge. I tried looking through my logicator for a match to a planet or moon, but nothing came up. As far as my information showed, this stellar body was not supposed to exist. But the fact was that it did. The heretic fled to what looked like a bunker in the side of a small mountain range, so I lead my team to the surface, and we made our way to the bunker with extreme caution. No alarms were tripped, no shots were fired. When we got to the entrance, we found it unlocked and jammed partially open. Inside we found signs of a struggle. Bolt casings were scattered about the place. The bodies of Astartes were littered about the rockrete bunker. It made for a scene that was the eeriest I had seen in a while. But I stopped truly thinking things eerie and apprehensive long ago. Cold logic now drives my brain. We pressed on.

In addition to the dead that slumped in the corridors, strange markings flashed on the walls as we walked past. They looked to be a strange hybrid of human and daemonic writing, and I whispered prayers as I walked along the walls to keep any malign influence from infecting me. As we turned to investigate one of the hallways, I spotted an Astartes with armour of a different colour and scheme than the other Astartes corpses. My adjunct, Peter Hamael, further inspected the body, and showed me where smaller versions of the markings from the walls were present. After wracking my brain for over thirty minutes while my crew rested and consolidated our progress, I remembered where I saw markings of the sort. They were called “cryptoglyphs”, able to be read no matter one’s rotational position, in a clipping of an ancient text that I had read, the overall subject of which was unknown. It was about daemon-binding and how to cast out daemons from someone possessed. I feared what we might find further on.

Not twenty meters later, we came to a junction. Damien went with my data-servitor, Tomeas, down one corridor, and Ruth, my striking pilot, accompanied Peter down another. I told all of them that if they found any sort of power source that they were to activate the main lighting and logicator systems. I investigated the third in the set, and found more of the same glyphs. Tomeas had correctly deduced that other substances had been mixed with the rockrete and would disrupt our communications. I was doubly on my guard. As I moved down the passageway, the symbols and markings on the wall became more dense, and eventually I came to a cylindrical chamber with every surface covered in them. In the centre of the chamber was a cylindrical stone, also covered in cryptoglyphs.

It was while studying this object that I was interrupted by Damien. I followed him to the junction of passageways, and we proceeded down the middle corridor. At first there were no markings on the walls at all. After passing through some sort of airlock, the walls even became panelled in some sort of metal I had never seen before. It was pure white, with no blemishes except where bullet holes and scorch-marks were present. Bodies of Astartes were present here, as well, the great armoured shells still and silent. I must confess that I began to fear what I might find here that had left these armoured warriors broken here without a scratch; naught but the strange cryptoglyphs that had been burned into their ceramite plates.

Eventually, we came to another airlock-like door. This one, however, was broken and Damien informed me that it had been that way when he and Tomeas had first entered. After this door, the walls looked nearly identical to the walls in the chamber I had been earlier. After turning a corner, I beheld a sight that made me shiver with a sudden cold.

In the centre of a chamber not unlike the one I had previously observed was an enormous pedestal, on which sat an almost equally massive device. It was a giant metal cube that appeared to be able to split open in giant piston-driven hinges. It looked to be some sort of cellular xenoactivator used in gene experiments with alien mutation. But this machine had fewer liquid storage tanks and photochemical adhesion pads, and more psycho-kinetic dampers and thermal accretion radiators. I inspected it with an eye trained with some knowledge of the workings of arcane devices, knowledge gained through agreements made and debts owed between the Adepts of Mars and me.

I called Tomeas to inspect it as well and comment on and record any irregularities or peculiarities he saw in the device. Damien guarded the door, hiding in the shadows and training his long-las on the corner around which I had entered the room. After nearly one half hour of inspection, neither I nor Tomeas could infer what the great contraption was used for. I followed what I perceived to be a slight crack in the outer shell of the cube, though which there was an opening. I shined my beam on the opening, and I saw inside a corpse, rotting and deformed. But I could tell that it was none other than Bandis Aaek, the heretic I had been tracking. We had been not more than eight hours behind him. I could not smell him, and I was glad for it. The heretic did not wear any outer protection, which indicated to me that the station had an operating atmospheric system at least until Bandis died.

I decided at that point that we should search for Peter and Ruth. We found them in the third corridor in a massive control room. They had found the power fuses, but most were heavily damaged, apparently from a massive overload. By my estimations, the overload had occurred less than six hours ago, meaning that it would have been whatever Bandis did to get himself killed that caused it. Tomeas immediately plugged into the logicator bank after I routed just enough power to get them running. Some of them were also quite damaged, and I anticipated a very low amount of useful data would come from them. I began to investigate the equipment and scattered sheets of parchment that were strewn across tabletops and the floor. On them were lists and lists of data, operating procedures, and subject analysis. Ruth and I gathered up all the sheets and arranged them according to the labels and numbering on the parchments. I began to read through them, jotting notes to myself. What I read horrified me, both in content and in scale.

The reports indicated that part of a dangerous and highly complicated experimental procedure had taken place in this facility. It involved creating Adeptus Astartes using a highly-modified gene-seed, taken from several sources, some less than reputable, some less than stable, and some outright flawed. Several additional implants were also used in the creation of these Space Marines, most to enhance their endurance for telekinetic attacks and brain function, but also to raise their pain tolerance far beyond normal limits by introducing synthesised painkillers such as morphodyne. What manner of Space Marines might need measures such as these, in addition to their already fearsome capabilities, I could not fathom. Legions of these super-warriors were meant to be made. The purpose of their creation was not recorded in the papers I gathered, but I knew it could be for no righteous purpose.

[Inquisitor Rosenadel]

Tomeas began to work on getting the fuses back in working order in order to be able to access the logicator. I continued to study the notes on these extraordinary Astartes. They appeared to have gone through more psycho-therapy and chemo-indoctrination that even the most pure and stringent apothecaries of other Space Marine Chapters put their initiates through. The tests seemed to indicate that the Marines were to respond to certain audio and chemical stimuli that would induce them to perform certain commands when introduced. The commands they were to carry out gradually got longer and more complex. The project must have been massive, and only part of it could have taken place at this installation. The dates on the various reports spanned more than two centuries of careful documentation and work.

Tomeas was able to get the power working once more, but it would only be enough to last for a few hours before the capacitors overloaded the fuses once more. I resolved to gather as much information from the logicator as I could and have Tomeas commit it to memory. Tomeas and I plugged ourselves into the machine, and I inserted my Inquisitorial rosette for full access. The screen still asked for authorisation. I inserted my rosette once more. Still the machine asked for clearance. I was baffled. I had access to all the most secretive documents and files that anyone in the Imperium had, but I could not access some derelict machine that looked to be old enough to put in some museum.

I surmised that the reason it would accept my rosette was either because the machine either had its own authorisation system, or that the machine was too old to recognise Inquisitorial authority. Both had implications that greatly worried me. I assumed that the latter was unlikely, and looked on the pieces of parchment for a clue as to how to access the machine while Tomeas attempted to access it himself. Leafed through the parchment once more and found several pages containing cryptoglyphs. I tried to reason just how the legendary writing could be read from any angle. There appeared to be letters of a sort, but they all flowed into one another. I did not even know where one might begin reading the ancient script. Just to find it was amazing, but to find whole corridors and surfaces covered in the writing was extraordinary. I knew of no source or person who claimed to know the origin of the glyphs, but there were always whispers. Some said they were the writing of actual daemons. Some said that they were a non-sensical patterns derived from alien artefacts. Some said they belonged to a secret organisation that practised daemon-worship, psyker-sacrifice, and soul-eating. As I could not verify any of these sources, I chose to keep an open mind on the matter. Now that I had found lots of them, I was determined to decipher their meaning and learn their secrets. As I skimmed them, one caught my eye. It was covered in cryptoglyphs, and it seemed to be a plan for the facility we were in. It looked very intricate and eccentrically designed. It seemed to meld with the text around it as well. Instinct shouted to me that this was a clue.

My thoughts were interrupted when Tomeas called me over and indicated that he had been able to work with the infernal machine in some capacity. What he told me was somewhat other than what I expected.

“I know the password,” he said simply.

“How did you do it?” I asked.

“I used the cryptoglyphs,” he answered.

“Explain,” I said sternly.

“I have observed that the cryptoglyphs all correspond to the alphabet of High Gothic. However, there is one missing. I would know what letters correspond to what glyphs if I knew this basis letter, which in High Gothic would be ‘I’.”

I showed him the parchment with the floor plan I had discovered. “Would this be your missing letter?” Tomeas’ eye bulged. Without a word he turned to the console and pressed a few of the function studs. The screen immediately came to life, displaying file lists as well as other access points and monitors. Tomeas found the controls for full power and immediately switched them on. A readout of the systems that were once more receiving power were listed on the screen. Suddenly the readout stopped and a warning flashed on-screen: “Error: Power Insufficient. Emergency Systems Priority 1-0054A.V.d”. Red lights flicked on overhead, giving the whole scene a surreal edge. Tomeas investigated, and found that there was a room not more than five meters square that was drawing most of the station’s power. He was able to reroute some of the power feeds, but the emergency system would not let him take away power from the tiny cell.

Not enough power was route to the life support systems, so we had to keep our enviro-suits on. I sent Peter to get extra power-packs, atmosphere tanks, and the space generator from the ship, as we had only a few hours before our internal supplies ran out. Meanwhile, I ordered Ruth to clean Bandis’s corpse out of the machine in the giant room. Damien’s assignment was to guard the room while Tomeas and I attempted to glean as much information about the purpose of this station, the super-enhanced Astartes, and more importantly, the architects of the whole scheme.

What Tomeas and I found in the logicator confirmed the parchments I read earlier: the Astartes were conditioned to withstand extreme punishment, physically, mentally and spiritually more than even the toughest Astartes I had encountered. Their conditioning included brain-engrams that would activate and direct the Marines to carry out certain commands when introduced to a stimulus. Many of the engrams were quite complicated, and the variety was staggering. There were twelve variations that seemed to be repeated more than the others, and it seemed that their were orders to find certain individuals, but who the individuals were, and what was to happen once the persons were found was a mystery. It appeared that the stimuli would not be introduced to a whole company of Space Marines, or even a squad, but rather individually as the creators saw fit. The thought of Astartes sleeper agents created by some unknown organisation chilled my soul, and I determined to contact the sector Lord as soon as possible.

I left Tomeas, and Damien accompanied me as I made my way through the passages to get to the entrance to the complex and get to the ship and tell Captain Harinn to make an emergency call to Lord Efire on Gammor, the sector headquarters. As we got to the top of the lift to get to the main doors, we came upon a terrible sight. Peter was sprawled on the floor, his blood leaking from his enviro-suit. I rolled him over to discover a thin, yet precise patterns of stab-marks that had punctured the major veins and arteries around his heart, obviously the work of a skilled assassin. What was even more disturbing was the fact that, despite the fact that the door to the bunker still partially open to the frigid, atmosphere-less surface of the moon, Peter’s blood still flowed from his chest. They filled the lines and curves of the cryptoglyphs, and flowed endlessly along them. I watched as they began to flow back down the lift. Next to the lift was something that had not been the first time I had entered the complex: a stone spiral staircase, leading down, lumiglobes giving it a foreboding look. I was sorely tempted to descend and find the killer, but being the cold-hearted man that I was trained to be, logic took over and told me that my first priority was to get a message to the Inquisitor Lord. Damien and I raced to the ship, but once we were inside, we found that the transmitter was broken, as well as the engines destroyed.

Our only choice was to re-enter the complex and find a transmitter there. Damien and I cautiously approached the entrance, weapons raised. I had taken my needle rifle from the ship, and Damien had gathered some more knives and ammunition. We entered without incident, and descended the stone staircase. It descended for a long time until we came to the same corridor leading to the control room, where we left Tomeas. I got there, relieved to see him still at the logicator screen. We scanned the room for any sign of danger, and at first I saw none. But then I noticed blood leaking across the floor, again in the grooves of the cryptoglyphs, coming from Tomeas’ direction. I rushed over even as Damien called for me to stop. I got to Tomeas, and pulled him away from the logicator. His connection popped and sparked as it was forced from the socket. Tomeas had suffered no physical wound, as there was no puncture in his enviro-suit. But he bled out his mouth, ears, nose, and eyes. Again, despite the frigid cold outside the suit, the blood flowed down, and passed through the suit to the floor, where it seeped along the cryptoglyphs.

I looked at the logicator screen, and it showed two messages. The first indicated that an intruder had been found, and that a special program had dealt with him. The other was that power was being restored to life support systems because the small room that had been drawing all the power was now open, and the room deactivated. At that moment, faint gunshots and a distant, yet shrill and distinct scream echoed into the room. Damien and I were in the corridor immediately and racing towards the machine-chamber. My heart raced as I ran, for I saw that the blood had almost reached the chamber, creeping its way along the corridors. As we approached, the palpable terror of Ruth became apparent, even for a non-psyker like myself. Damien and I burst into the chamber to find Ruth horribly mangled. Her suit had been torn open, and her left leg was missing, along with her lower jaw. Her face was pierced with the shattered glass of her enviro-suit. But worse than that was the thing that was still tearing chunks out of her midsection.

It was over three meters tall, and its flesh was covered in blood, sores, pustules, and exposed muscle. Half of its skull shone through its face. It looked straight at me as I burst through the shattered airlock. One eye was missing, and the other almost glowed. It snorted, and smoke curled out its lumped, misshapen nostrils. I shot it immediately with my needle rifle. The needles pinged off its tattered remains of power armour, but a few found homes it is exposed forearm and head. They did not slow the now-charging beast at all. Damien loosed a las-shot, high-powered due to the custom overfeed system on his long-las. It hit dead centre on the beast’s chest and cracked the armour open, causing the thing to stumble, but it kept coming. I dived out of the way, as did Damien. Unfortunately for him, it rounded about and cornered him against the machine. He unsheathed his combat blades and stabbed at it, but the thing did not care, and slashed at him. A back-handed smack sent Damien into the machine, and he crumpled. The abomination closed to finish him off, and I ran to Damien’s aid. I dropped the needle rifle and, using one hand to hold on, I jumped onto the beast’s back and stabbed my autopistol into the empty eye-socket. I loosed the entire clip, the noise barely registering through the heavily-insulated enviro-suit. The thing dropped backwards, and I threw myself off to avoid being crushed. I slammed a fresh clip into the pistol and shoved it into the crack made by Damien’s rifle. I loosed the clip into the hole, and the beast convulsed, and then lay still. I grabbed Damien and propped him in a corner. He was still conscious, and the beast hadn’t punctured his suit, but it had given him a terrible bashing.

I walked over to inspect the machine once more, and find some sort of self-destruct, or a way to overload the power source to burn out the circuitry throughout the complex. I was bent over the logicator display when a shadow fell over me. I turned to see the monstrosity rearing up, about to stick its claws through my chest and devour me, when its head exploded in a shower of gore. I wiped the blood and gristle off my viewport and saw Damien with his long-las, favoring his left foot, long-las raised to his eye, managing a half grin. I didn’t return his grin, for standing directly behind him was a hooded figure, his robe a deep crimson with black and white trim and flourish, and it stood a meter taller than the ex-Guardsman. The figure jabbed a shimmering blade into Damien’s neck, and I heard Damien gurgle over the comm-channel. I tried to grab a new clip for my autopistol, but the assassin was on me before I could raise the gun. He slammed something into the back of my neck, and my vision blurred and went to black…

“Wake up, my dear Inquisitor.” The voice sounded like the boom of a Thunderbolt taking off next to one’s ear. I opened one eye, still extremely disoriented. Before me swam a shape, hooded in black. I opened both eyes and beheld a man in a black hooded robe, the hulking brute in the red robe standing next to him. I could only surmise that the warrior in the crimson robe was one of the Astartes I had read about, and that the man in the black robe was one of the members of the shadowy group that had created the Space Marine. I was in the machine where I found Bandis, and I was no longer encased in my enviro-suit, which meant that the atmosphere had been restored to the facility. I knew I couldn’t have been unconscious for more than twelve hours because of an internal time-keeping organ I had implanted years ago. This man in the hood was powerful and resourceful indeed to have arrived and restored full functionality so quickly.

“Who are you?” I asked, apprehensive at the response the man might give.

“You are in no position to ask questions of me, Gertharde,” came the man’s answer. “You have trespassed on a facility we have worked for years to keep out of sight and out of mind. I know that it was not all your fault, that you were tracking a dangerous heretic here. You have my thanks for dealing with him, but we could have dealt with him ourselves. Now, since you are privy to secrets you should never have known, we must ensure that no one else ever knows what you know, or makes the mistake of coming here.” The man nodded to the Astartes behind him, who walked to a set of levers, and pulled them in a practised sequence. The machinery around me hummed, and arcane and powerful energies began to swirl down from the ceiling. “Fortunately for me, your friends have provided the necessary sacrifice to ensure that our secret remains safe.” The man raised his eyes to me and threw off his robe. Underneath he wore puffy black trousers, a simple belt clasped tight at his waist. On his chest were scars, some in the form of cryptoglyphs, and some from burns and gashes. On his sternum, out of a network of scar tissue appeared the same glyph Tomeas had used to unlock the logicator, and it glowed as the machine got louder. I shouted in rage and fear. I heard insane whispers in my ears, and visions swam before my eyes, visions of horrible beings and vast emotions of unbridled violence, debauchery, despair, and plot. I felt something malevolent approach, and the man in black raised his hands, as if calling to the malevolence, and beckoning it. I felt it enter my head, and I screamed. The man waited a few moments until I began to seethe with pure energy and hatred and I tried to tear my way free of the restraints which detained the warm flesh I was encased in. The Kamarliiesh stepped closer and put his white-hot hands on my head. I shrieked in ethereal pain, and I tried to twist the neck to bite him, or raise the hands to tear at him, but he had restrained me well. He began to chant in the Kamarliiite tongue, the one that I had learned to despise so many millennia ago, when the Nekarontiir were destroying the Kamarliiesh, and the Maeanoar were but young. I felt myself being torn apart by bolts of psychic power, and I was destroyed. I collapsed against the restraints. The last thing I glimpsed was the hooded man, the “I” cryptoglyph in his chest glowing red, and smoking before the darkness overwhelmed me.