the bulk of the tyranid fleet converged on the doomed worlds； moving into firing range of the main
blockade line。
“Your order； admiral？” asked Gideon。
Augustine sighed。
“Exterminatus；” he said wearily。
Solon watched the rays of dawn lift above the horizon for the first time in over five months；
relishing the sensation of natural light upon his face。 The storms had all but cleared； and from his
position he had a clear view across the ice flows。 The white glare was almost painful； even through
the tinted windows of the spaceport； and he was awed by the sublime view。
For the past hour he had watched the alien chrysalides falling from the sky。 The xenos enemy
could be seen now； approaching Phorcys like a living tide。 People were screaming in panic； but
Solon did not bother himself。 There was no army here to face the enemy for it had long evacuated
the moon； and there was nowhere left to run。
Above the living carpet of the enemy； trails of fire were roaring down from the sky； as if the
burning tears of the Emperor were falling from the heavens to smite the never…ending xenos horde。
The cyclonic torpedoes； fired by more than a score of battleships in high orbit； slammed into the
surface of Perdus Skylla； and the moon was instantly engulfed in flames。
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Solon and all those who had not managed to secure passage off…world died instantly； and more
than eight million tyranid organisms perished in the hellish conflagration。
“The Emperor’s will be done；” said Admiral Rutger Augustine as he watched the moon ignite from
the bridge of the Hammer of Righteousness。
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CHAPTER TWENTY…TWO
Beneath a sky of fire and blood； the Basilica of the Word rose impossibly high into the air； hundreds
of barbed spires piercing the roiling heavens。 Each spire was more than five kilometres high； and
studded with jutting； rusted spikes。 Ten or more living sacrifices were impaled on each spike； and
they moaned in agony and torment as their flesh was torn from their bones by skinless daemons。
Thousands more kathartes circled the basilica； filling the air with their screeches and deathly cries。
The sound of the daemons mingled with the morbid chanting of countless millions of proselytes
within the basilica； their voices accompanied by braying daemonic choirs and the pounding of
industry。 Lurid flames burst forth from daemon…headed gargoyles as an endless stream of sacrifices
were slain in the blood…chambers deep within； and the deep baritone of Astartes voices lifted in
morbid cantillation。
Outside the temple； the lines of sacrifices； ten million strong； shuffled forwards； a never…ending
stream of humanity that wound its way through the blood…soaked avenues。 Deathly cherubs with
skeletal wings growing from their bloated； childish bodies swooped low over the masses； and foulsmelling
incense billowed from the censors hanging from the chains that pulled at their skin。 Ever
more penitents were constantly added to the lines； slaves and odalisques taken from a hundred
thousand worlds on which the Word Bearers had fought； bringing the holy word of Lorgar to all；
willing or not。 Most were already utterly corrupted to the worship of dark gods and went to their
deaths willingly； eagerly； yet twisted； black…clad minions of the Word Bearers continued to stalk the
lines； stabbing their needle…like fingers into any that shuffled forward too slowly； urging them on。
Discords floated along the lines； mechanical tentacles waving gently； and the rapturous blare of
Chaos in all its insanity assaulted the eardrums of the condemned from their grilled speakers。
Relentless mechanical pounding boomed from the discords； overlaid with daemonic bellows and
roars； voices whispering of death and the glory of Chaos； weeping of children and hate…filled
screams。
Eight immense gehemahnet towers surrounded the monstrous temple； and the doleful tolling of
their bells resounded across the hellish landscape。 Hundreds of thousands of rapturous voices rose in
glorifying chants as the colossal bells pealed； the sound torn from raw throats。
For as far as the eye could see； from horizon to horizon； towering shrines and temples to the dark
gods rose from the blood soaked earth of Sicarus； daemon home world of the XVII Legion and seat
of power of the Primarch Lorgar。 Kilometre…high obelisks hanging with thousands of lifeless bodies
and daubed with infernal runes had been erected in every quarter； and grand mausoleums；
cathedrals； and giant statues surrounded by squares teeming with worshippers spread out around the
basilica。
Spider…legged cranes picked their way across the horizon； each one accompanied by half a
million slave…workers that toiled to raise ever more impressive structures of devotion and worship to
the gods of Chaos； constructing new temples； fanes and sacrariums atop older； crumbling edifices
and cathedrals。 The work was constant； level built upon level； so that the majority of the buildings
were subterranean； an impossibly deep； labyrinthine warren of interconnected structures； all devoted
to the worship of Chaos in all its guises。 Indeed； millions of slaves toiled below ground； never
seeing the surface at all； carving out more caverns of worship； crypts and deep； hidden sanctums
many kilometres beneath the surface of the daemon world。
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The rogue trader； Ikorus Baranov； was down there somewhere； thought Marduk in amusement；
if he was not already dead。 He had enjoyed the look of horror and betrayal on the weakling mortal’s
face when he had ordered him to be taken into the slave gangs。 The human had served its purpose；
and was less than nothing to Marduk。
Two moons hung low in the burning skies； their jet…black surfaces wreathed in hellfire； like the
eyes of the gods staring down upon Marduk。
He stood on a high balcony constructed from human bones； staring down upon the glory of the
Host； arrayed below him on one of the immense terraces that extended down the sides of the
basilica： his Host。
It was gathered in all its might； standing in serried ranks； and Marduk felt pride as he looked
upon them。 Pennants of flayed human flesh fluttered from back…banners； and all within the Host had
repainted their left shoulder pads； the ones that had previously been stained black in mourning for
Jarulek； Dark Apostle of the Host。 They were no longer in mourning； Marduk thought with a smile。
At the front of the power armoured bulk of the warrior brethren stood the Anointed； the warrior
elite of the Host； and armoured divisions interspersed the ranks。 Rhinos； Land Raiders； Predators；
Vindicators； all had had their battle…scarred hulls repainted； and fresh sigils to the ruinous powers
and litanies of the true word had been daubed and inscribed upon their ancient； armoured skins。
Hundreds of slaves and chirumeks worked upon the hulls of these armoured divisions； patching
damage and sanctifying their hulls anew in the blood of unbelievers。
Daemon engines and Dreadnoughts clawed at the flagstones of the terrace to the side of the bulk
of the Host； each titanic amalgamation of machine and daemon kept in place by chains held in the
hands of hundreds of straining slave…proselytes。
This is my Host； thought Marduk with pride and satisfaction。 Mine。
Marduk stood with his eyes lowered as he awaited the judgement of the Council。 None but the Dark
Apostles were allowed to look upon the sacred members of the Council when it was in session； and
he kept his eyes dutifully cast down as he awaited the outcome that would determine his fate； for
now and forever。
The wounds he had suffered under the knives of the eldar haemonculus had long since healed；
leaving just faint scars upon his flesh； joining those that he had earned from fighting on a thousand
worlds。 His body was armoured in archaic plate； a holy relic that had been chosen from the armoury
of the Infidus Diabolus。 Marduk had spent long hours in solitude scrimshawing the litanies of
Lorgar upon their surfaces。
He held his skull…faced helmet under one arm； the helm that had been worn by the blessed
Warmonger before him； and over his armour he wore an unadorned robe the colour of bone； as the
ritual required。 His face was sunken and pale； for he had partaken of neither food nor water for a
month； just one part of the arduous tests that he had been subjected to in order to prove his
suitability。
He had been on Sicarus for almost three months； and since the commencement of the rituals of
testing and purification； he had not spoken to a living soul； though his days were filled with acts of
penitence； recitation of the Great Works and communion。 He had endured all manner of ritual
debasement； as his soul was stripped bare and he was reborn into the dark faith。
He was subjected to solitary confinement for weeks on end； sealed within the ossuary sepulchre
deep beneath the Basilica of the Word； interred within a crawl…space little larger than his body；
walled in with bricks and blood mortar。 Hallucinogenic smoke coiled around him in the tomb； and
as he breathed the fumes in deeply and his body passed into a catatonic state nearing death； his spirit
had soared free。 Garbing himself in armour of the soul； he had fought an endless army of daemons
that sought to test his resolve； armed with a gleaming sword in one ethereal hand； a shield of
darkness strapped across his other。 How long the infernal gods had directed their minions against
him he knew not； but finally he was brought back to the land of the living； his imprisonment
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shattered。 He awoke a new warrior； weak in the body from his confinement； but strong in faith and
spirit。
Endless days of ritual torment and study followed； when every aspect of his mind； faith and
body were tested to breaking point； but through it all Marduk remained strong； refusing to succumb
to the daemonic whispers that taunted him； telling him that he had already failed； that his soul would
be consumed by the ether and his name forgotten by history。
All that was behind him； and he stood before the Council； proud and noble； as he awaited their
final word。
“Kneel；” came a growled command； and Marduk fell to the ground； impelled by the sheer
dominance of the voice。
A figure moved before him； and a hand was placed upon the crown of his head； pushing it
backwards to expose his throat。
I have failed； thought Marduk； though he could not believe it。
A serrated khantanka knife was drawn and its cold blade placed against the carotid artery of his
neck； but he did not flinch。 He would face death with pride； though still he refused to believe that
such was his fate。
The knife slashed the artery； and Marduk gasped as blood fountained from his neck。 Bright
blood pumped from the wound； spraying out around him。 It gushed over his breastplate； running
down over his torso and onto the floor； pooling around his knees。
Marduk swayed； still shocked that it had come to this； and all colour drained from his face as the
pool around his knees spread outwards。
His pristine skull helmet dropped from numb fingers； splashing into the pool of warm blood； and
he fell forwards。 He threw a hand out to catch himself； but his strength was fading； and it was all he
could do to stop himself from sprawling face…first into the already congealing pool of his