The Musing of R. L. Frymire

LIFTING HIS BLESSED power fist, Sergeant Reidgus Gregyen, of the second Assault Intercessor Squad from 8^th Company, motioned his brothers forward. The silence was oppressive, their heavy footfalls echoing across the bleak Great Hall of the fortress-monastery. Upon entering the vast chamber, his gene-seed enhanced vision was obstructed by thick fog. The occulobe that had been implanted along his optic nerve during his trans-human transition so many years ago was connected to his retina to enhance his vision, but it was all but useless. Their only source of illumination came pouring in with the mist, but the weak rays from the planet’s sun did little to pierce the heavy shroud. Even the reinforced photolenses of his helmet’s eye guards were thwarted by the wretched haze.  

The low lighting should not have been a concern, and yet, he was forced to engage the lumen affixed to his armour. The dim light was nearly unnoticeable to the natural eye, but the illuminating beam shone brightly in his photolenses. A frown pulled at the corners of his mouth as the white mist only thickened, further reducing his visibility. Glancing methodically about, he was capable of seeing straight ahead without impediment, but the atmospheric conditions obscured the chamber a mere meter above his head throughout the entire length and width of the hall. 

Hulking forms stood sentinel on either side of the long entryway. Resting upon a high shelf, the line of statues were indiscernible, the enshrouding haze preventing Sergeant Gregyen from identifying the Chapter to which this mighty monastery belonged.

Outside, their gunship waited on the large platform before the Great Gate, its lumens engaged but offering insufficient aid within the citadel. Outside, the damage was more obvious. The fortress was constructed within the mountain’s façade, but the stone was pitted. Large chunks were gouged from the rock face, with crumbled stone scattered across the ground leading to the gaping portal that should have been sealed and fortified. Because of the undulating fog, it was nearly impossible to extract details from the outward configuration of the intricately designed keep or to see what banner hung above the gates.

The monastery was meant to be a symbol of power but no longer. Its decrepit remains had become a tomb of a lost Chapter’s artifacts and history. Grief lodged in Gregyen’s chest to witness such majesty brought so low. Fury ignited, pouring hotly through his veins despite the burden of sorrow. 

Brothers, whomever you are, you will be avenged, he vowed darkly.

“Keep tight,” he ordered as his squad advanced down the long hallway.

The heavy stillness felt wrong. Deeper they entered, his eyes boring into the flagstones at his feet. A symbol was marked there, too large for their meager light to illuminate. Irked to be continually denied, his muscles tensed with leashed aggression, the unknown plaguing him incessantly. He could not prevent himself from speculated about the fate of those who’d come before.

Was their yet life deep within the bowels of the mountain? An Imperial force holed up beyond a barricaded chamber? Determination lengthened his stride. He would not rest until they scoured every last inch of the fortress, but first, his mission. His prerogative was to secure the Great Hall and surrounding chambers before notifying his chain of command. Thus far, there had been no sign of the vanguard. If the elite scouting squad had made it past this point, Gregyen was confident they would cross paths shortly.

He and his men did not make it far before a sharp report blasted through the vast entrance. Sergeant Reidgus Gregyen had a glimpse of illumination far on his left, on the high platform where the distorted statues were lined, then the ping of impact, followed by the portentous clattering of one of his Astartes falling.

“Open fire!” he shouted, not bothering to be quiet as he shot his heavy bolt pistol in the area he’d seen ammunition’s fire.

His squad followed suit. Bolter fire illuminated the Great Hall, peppering the statue’s stone legs as they charged diagonally down the hall, where they climbed the high platform to take cover amongst the statues. Gregyen spared a glance back at his fallen brother, who did not rise or twitch. Toxic rage churned in his gut, but he focused on the unknown assailant. In a coordinated move, his squad split around the statue on either side, and charged with heavy bolters blazing.

Sergeant Gregyen caught motion within the flare of fire. A burst of speed carried him the last couple meters separating him from his target. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, vengeance rose swift and fierce as he raised his power fist and struck blindly. The burly figure lunged to the side at the last moment, causing his power fist to gouge a chunk from the towering statue on his left, stone fragments spraying outwards.

Instantly, the leg crumbled, causing the entire statue to lean precariously. It came crashing down with a creaking groan, the other leg crushed under the weight. A geyser of stone shards and dust erupted, plumbing outwards and skywards, further lowing visibility, but his reinforced photolenses helped track his target, who hurdled towards him as though trying to get under his guard. 

Gregyen was ready and smashed his armoured foot into the enemy’s central mass with a crunch of metal.

The large form flew from the platform and landed with a roll, before swiftly regaining a knee. The creature was marginally illuminated by the light spilling in from the open portal. It stood as tall as a Primaris, with great feathery, wings sprouted from its back. The abomination resembled a mutated raptor, its long talons digging into the flagstones. It appeared unarmored, its light tunic hanging from its gangly frame, with a gaudy, ornamental belt encircled around its contorted torso.

It raised its head, deadly beak opening with an echoing shriek. One of its claw-tipped hands lifted towards Gregyen even as he jumped from his perch in swift pursuit. A strange energy pulsed from the thing’s palm as he lifted his power fist. But before the creature could reveal its power or Gregyen could landed a blow with his mighty fist, the blast of a bolter sounded.

The creature lurched backwards but remained standing, while he heard something clatter across the flagstones behind the beast. Shouting a battle cry that tore his throat with its brutality, Gregyen struck the raptor’s skull, hearing a satisfying wet crunch. Skin and bone flew off its cranium as it hit the ground with a clattering crash. He frowned, his senses trying to tell him something was not quite right, but the creature did not rise, its feathered wings twisted at an awkward angle.

As he cautiously advanced, the air around the mutated form shimmered and wavered before his eyes. His heavy bolt pistol came up and he fired, the round bouncing off armour that had not been there a moment before.

A cloaked figure replaced the daemon of chaos.

The armoured legs were exposed by a greyish brown cloak, and looked suspiciously familiar. Heavy bolt pistol at the ready, his men followed behind him, offering additional cover as he approached the prone body. With the extra illumination cast by the lumen’s beam attached to his armour, Gregyen clearly saw the red blood and brain matter leaking from the crushed skull of one of the missing vanguard. Beside the Eliminator rested his signature rifle, the object Gregyen had heard fall before he’d killed his own brother. The revelation was a heavy weight to bear. 

“Do my eyes deceive or is that..?” questioned one of his men in stunned disbelief.

“An illusion?” supplied another.

“Or is this the illusion?” countered the first suspiciously.  

Before Sergeant Gregyen could reply, a ball of flame emerged from deeper within the chamber, striking one of his brothers. The Astartes went flying several feet, the ethereal flames eating across is armour greedily. Gregyen could just make out enough to see garishly pink flesh and a large beak. The half-humanoid bird creature screeched at them menacingly. His remaining warriors opened fire on the beast as their brother hit the ground.

“No! Stand down,” shouted Sergeant Gregyen with wild speculation. He moved forward a few paces, hands raised, and spoke loudly but calmly. “I am Sergeant Gregyen of the Sons of the Phoenix. Name yourself or perish!”

“Sergeant, you can’t believe that thing is one of ours?”

“We know naught who yet thrives within these halls,” he replied stubbornly, recalling the shattered skull of the Eliminator—his doing. 

Another ball of flame emerged from the darkness, heading straight for him. Flinging himself to the side, Sergeant Gregyen and his men opened fire as more flaming energy rained down on them. Without cover, they were easy targets. They had little choice but to defend themselves. The attacking beast fell from its perch and landed with a dull thud. 

Again, Sergeant Gregyen’s senses registered the sound.

As one, he and his squad approached the motionless form on high alert. Swiftly, his brain analyzed what his senses had been trying to inform him. This time, there’d been no subtle clanking of concealed armour when the creature landed. He watched the wingless daemon’s form waver, but unlike last time, the body erupted into pink and blue flames, before disappearing as if it had never been. The daemon had been real.

“Chaos filth,” spat one of his men. “Here of all places.”

However, the second voiced the thoughts hounding Gregyen. “Deception lurks within these halls. How are we to dispel truth from illusion, friend from foe?”

Gregyen had no answer. His gaze wondered to the terminated Eliminator. Had the warrior gone mad or, more likely, had his vision been clouded as theirs had been, causing the Eliminator to strike out against his own brothers?

His gaze landed on a piece of stone caught in his lumen beam. The twisted pieces were unfamiliar. Gregyen could not say what caused him to turn towards the destroyed statue, but suddenly, he was standing before the fragmented shards. Enough of the statue was intact to see that it was not the familiar form of an Astartes as it should have been but something other.

A violent expletive brought him around even before one of his men called him over. Gregyen rushed to his squad, who surrounded their fallen brother that had been struck by ethereal flames. The thing that had taken the Astartes’ place so appalled Gregyen that he mirrored his brothers heated curses, before turning away from the mutation in disgust.

Behind him, the thing gasped sharply, and at his feet, a spiked tentacle encircled his ankle. Slime marred his prestigious armour, sickening him, but the truly loathsome task was upon him. Turning back to the abomination, Gregyen lifted his pistol and fired, ending the life of yet another brother.

“I AM L’ADRIATH Eli’amaur,” the aeldari informed Sergeant Raestra Vaehnor from the first Assault Intercessor Squad with a distinctly aloof air. “I, and my kin, herald from the Craftworld Varantha.”

“I care not where you come from, xenos, but why you have come,” interrupted Sergeant Vaehnor.

“Filthy barbarian. You dare disrespect your betters?” hissed one of the two helmed aeldari flanking L’Adriath’s right.

Vaehnor paused with a surprised blink, not expecting such a lyrical and feminine voice from the armoured figure, but the hostility was unveiled as the lithe warrior took a threatening step forward.

Vaehnor felt his men tense around him, the creak of weapons loud in the taut silence. “Halt or die!” he warned, voice harsh.

Simultaneously, the xenos leader lifted his arm. The female warrior stopped and went silent. Then he spoke without inflection as though he were above and removed from the rising tension around the two forces. “As I said previously, violence is unnecessary. We are not your enemies this day.”

“That remains to be seen,” Vaehnor replied grimly, his shoulders tightened, ready for action at a moments notice.

After what he’d witnessed back at the downed thunderhawk, vengeance roiled through his being, demanding satiation, and the female xenos was the perfect target to unleash his pent up aggression, yet caution stayed his violent instincts. Something was amiss, and it was his duty to gather intelligence and relay his findings to his chain of command.

He eyed the trio before him warily.

L’Adriath Eli’amaur wore rich purple robes that concealed him from neck to wrists and down to his ankles. Gloves encased his hands, the same shade of gold that marked the aeldari runes along the hem of his sleeves and bottom of his robes. His jaw clenched as he noticed the xenos blasphemed by wearing similar colors of his proud Chapter, but he bit his tongue until he tasted copper.

A strange, bone structure was embedded in L’Adriath’s robes over his chest, down his torso, to flare in a downward triangle along the length of the skirt. The garment was oddly elegant, but Vaehnor was mostly surprised that the xenos did not hide his face. His gold and white egg-shaped helm was held in the crook of his arm, while his right clasped a long spear that appeared too ornamental to be deadly, but there was no denying the sharpness of the leaf-bladed tip. A seer, he knew. One of their most deadly kind amongst the aeldari species.

Long, dark hair was tied back in a high topknot, revealing hideously pointed ears that silently proclaimed the seer’s otherness. Alien.

Vaehnor turned his gaze on what he assumed was a female. She wore slim armour, bone white but for the flaming red mane sprouting around the oblong helm. She carried a long blade, and he noted a strange pistol at her left hip. Her face was hidden behind the daemonic helm, and for a moment, he wondered what face went along with the beguiling voice. He shook off the ridiculous notion and glanced at the third figure who yet remained silent. Another warrior, but wearing completely different armour. The motionless warrior wore all green, but the rigid armour plating appeared heavier than the white warrior. The utter stillness of that one gave Vaehnor reservations, compelling his gaze to return constantly, mistrusting.

“To answer your inquiry, and to show we mean no disharmony, a known artifact of my kin has been identified to be on this planet. We have come for its retrieval.”

“What artifact?” he asked suspiciously.

The seer gave nothing away, his regal features unmoving, while his eyes remained empty as though the fiend possessed no soul. The abomination was an offense to humanity, and Vaehnor yearned to wipe the galaxy clean of their vile presence. 

The real abomination lies behind you, barbarian.

Sergeant Vaehnor stiffened at the faint whisper along his senses. “Cease your trickery or your life is forfeit!”

Every instinct screamed at him to destroy the abhorrent xenos, but an image of the mutated vanguard lying dead behind him caused him to hesitate to signal to his men and exterminate the trio without further delay.

“Very well,” spoke the seer, seemingly without fear of him and his warriors. The unspoken insult demanded retribution. As though unaware of his inner conflict, the aeldari continued. “The artifact is not of your concern. It is ours, long thought lost. Unfortunately, it presently remains out of our reach. The Ruinous Powers hold sway over this planet.”

“Impossible,” interrupted Aimoz Lazito from behind on Vaehnor’s right. “This is an Imperial world. Whatever artifact there is to be found belongs to the Emperor, not you.” He spat the last word as though speaking of a worm rather than a highly dangerous and ancient being.

“Vermin,” seethed the female warrior, hand moving to the hilt of her blade. “I will personally see to the removal of your impudent tongue.”

“You are welcome to try, xenos,” Aimoz replied heatedly.

“Enough!” charged Vaehnor without turning to Aimoz. “For the time being, I care not what artifact you believe belongs to you,” he continued, addressing the seer who remained detached and unconcerned by the rising friction around him. “Tell me of this chaos that attempts to lay claim to this planet.”

Admitting his ignorance cost his pride dearly, but something was causing their communications between the second Heavy Intercessor Squad and from command in orbit to fail. Then there were the abhorrent mutations he’d been forced to render the Emperor’s peace upon… The desecration of his Chapter was an offense that could not—would not—go unanswered.

“The Changer of Ways. It is he who weaves his influence over this world.”

The name was unfamiliar to Vaehnor, who opened his mouth to speak, but above, he heard the unmistakable sound of drop pods. Glancing upwards, he could not see more than several specks streaking from the sky before the tall trees obscured his sight. He cursed under his breath. He had an inkling where the drop pods were heading.

“We must make way for the monastery,” he informed his squad, before returning his gaze to the trio impeding his path. “Step aside.”

“Should any of you enter the Changer of Way’s temple, none shall ever remerge,” portended the seer.   

“Is that a threat?” demanded Aimoz with a growl.

The seer turned to Aimoz with fathomless blue, almond shaped eyes. “It is not myself or mine own kin you must fear this day.”

“Fear?” Aimoz sneered, while the rest of Vaehnor’s squad scoffed loudly. “An Astartes knows no fear. Beyond you is a Chapter monastery. If anything, whoever, or whatever, dares trespass shall be dealt with swiftly.”

“Is that what you believe lies beyond?” L’Adriath Eli’amaur inquired softly. His enigmatic eyes appeared to intensify, Vaehnor noted instantly. “Allow me to offer enlightenment. The temple you speak of is illusion, belonging to The Great Deceiver, the Changer of Ways. I warn you, whosoever goes within will become nothing more than a mere play thing for the capricious god of trickery.” Then he added off-handedly, “Regrettably, a few of our own have become entangled within The Great Deceiver’s web of temporal misalignment.”

Another of Sergeant Vaehnor’s men spoke. “Sergeant, we should turn our ears from xenos lies. The fortress is before us! We must reach our brothers with news of the vanguard.”

“Fools,” spat the warrior woman.

“Mind your tongue,” Aimoz snarled back.

“Enough!” shouted Vaehnor, who eying the aeldari warily. “Our business is our own. Now step aside or be counted an immediate enemy.”

From the forest came maniacal laughter from dozens of shrill voices. Abruptly, the forest was aflame, with darting horrors hooting and shouting as they ran at the opposing forces with devilish grins and hellish eyes. Both Astartes and aeldari alike took up battle against the screaming hoard of horrors that came at them in a flood of warp energy.