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Without any word to Kelmaur； the figure strode across the crater towards the rock； halting ten metres from the slab。
Jharek Kelmaur smiled。
'You sense it； don't you？' he whispered and watched as the figure unclasped its arms and extended them towards the slab。 The
fabric of its robe rippled； as though some monstrous motion disturbed it； and something black and glossy extended from the ends
of the sleeves。
The crater was suddenly bathed in light as twin beams of incandescent fire shot from the figure's arms and the rock exploded into
fragments。 As the dust dissipated； Kelmaur rejoiced at the sight of an ancient； verdigris…stained bronze gate。 Again the searing
beams stabbed out and the gate exploded into molten chunks； revealing a darkened passageway that led deep into the mountain。
Kelmaur felt his heart race in excitement。 Here； he would walk passages that had not known the tread of man for ten thousand
Graham McNeill ？Storm of Iron？
years。 The robed figure clasped its arms once more and set off towards the revealed passage。 Kelmaur followed and the pair made
their way through the remains of the gate and into the mountain。
Neither Kelmaur nor his fellow traveller required light to see。 The sorcerer marvelled at the precise； geomantic precision of the
tunnel as it descended for hundreds of metres into the rock of Tor Christo。
Eventually； the tunnel emerged into a wide； domed chamber； lit by a diffuse glow that radiated from the walls。 The floor was a
broad disc of solid bronze； almost thirty metres in diameter； with an intricately designed pattern etched onto it。 It was familiar to
Kelmaur； but he could not remember why。 Reluctantly； he tore his senses away from its beguiling pattern。
His wordless companion moved to the chamber's centre； reaching up with glistening； black hands that seemed just a little too
large； and pulled back the hood of its robes。
Beneath was a face that had once been human； but was now disfigured beyond all recognition。 Adept Etolph Cycerin's face was
alive with crawling bio…organic circuitry。 Even the augmentations grafted on by the Adeptus Mechanicus had transformed； their
mechanical structure hideously altered by the techno…virus。 Cycerin turned expectantly to face Kelmaur and raised his other arm；
the flesh of the limb running； liquefying and transforming from the shape of a weapon into a hand。 The hand pointed at Kelmaur
and the sorcerer frowned at such impatience。
Had the transformation obliterated any sense of awe or reverence Cycerin once had？
Kelmaur removed the tattered scroll once more and unravelled it； clearing his throat before chanting a series of guttural and
clicking harmonics in a language that had not been spoken in ten millennia。 The chant consisted of syllables no human mouth was
ever meant to give voice to； sliding between the air； pulling its fragile structure further and further apart。
Whipcord arcs of purple lightning flickered around the circumference of the bronze disc； growing in brightness as Kelmaur's chant
continued。 The air in the chamber grew dense； like the heavy overpressure before a thunderstorm； and the actinic tang of ozone set
his teeth on edge。
The chant neared its end； the lightning arcs whipping upwards and joining in a tensing web of magenta that spun faster and faster
around the disc's perimeter。
As the last syllable passed Kelmaur's lips； crackling； whirling lightning exploded； flaring outwards with a powerful coronal
discharge。 The sorcerer was hurled from his feet and slammed into the cavern wall； slumping to the floor in a bruised pile。
Dazed and in great pain； Kelmaur raised his head and smiled。
The creature he had created from Adept Cycerin had vanished。
A BLAZE OF light flared in the centre of the glowing disc； a dancing crackle of energy swirling around the chamber as the pulsing
afterimages slowly faded。 Adept Cycerin turned his head left and right； orientating himself with the location he had been
transported to。 The scent of Jouran incense filled the air； and his altered eyes precisely mapped out the exact trigonometric
properties of the chamber he found himself in。
He wondered if he had set foot here in his previous life； but could not remember。 He could only remember the imperatives that
thundered in his brain； firing along strange； new inorganic dendrites infesting his skull。
The chamber stretched high above him； black and studded with reliquaries。 He stood on a floor of bronze； on a disc identical to the
one he had just left。 Two tonsured priests hurried towards him； their faces lined with frantic worry。
The priests stopped at the edge of the disc and shouted at him； the words were unintelligible； part of his previous existence。 He
could only converse in the machine language of the techno…virus now and the priests' banal； limited form of verbal communication
was utterly inimical to him。
He raised his arms； the black surface of his limbs writhing as the virus within him moulded his machine…flesh into a new form。
Metallic barrels and hissing muzzles formed from the engorged substance of his arms and Cycerin opened fire with his
biomechanical weaponry； blasting the two priests from their feet in a storm of shells。
Dozens of urns in the lower levels of the Ossuary shattered； spreading the bones of former castellans across the floor。 Skulls
grinned up at Cycerin as he passed； making his way to the Sepulchre's exit。
At the door to the outer chambers； he stopped； lowered his arms and waited。
JHAREK KELMAUR PICKED his way painfully down the rocky slopes； pleased that he had answered the potential of his vision。 He
did not know what part Adept Cycerin had yet to play in the unfolding drama on Hydra Cordatus； but was satisfied that he had
been instrumental in its fulfilment。
As soon as Cycerin had vanished； the pattern etched in the bronze disc in the floor had begun to fade along with the glow in the
walls； until any hint that either had existed was gone。 The scroll had crumbled to dust and； with it； any means of using the ancient
device again。 Kelmaur knew it didn't matter： Cycerin was where he needed to be and his involvement with him was over。
He groaned。 The expenditure of so much power had left him drained and his bones hurt where Cycerin's explosive teleportation
had thrown him against the chamber wall。 His ''near…sense'' was weakened and he stumbled several times； losing his footing on the
slippery rocks and loose rubble。
As he reached the bottom of the slope he straightened his cloak and set off towards his tent； his strides becoming more confident
as he found himself among more familiar surroundings。
Acolytes bowed as he passed； but he ignored them； too intent on rest and recuperation。 As he ducked below the low entrance to his
abode； painful cramps seized his stomach。 Immediately he sensed the Warsmith's presence。
'You were successful；' said the Warsmith。 It was a statement； not a question。
Kelmaur bowed extravagantly。
'Yes； my lord。 The servant of the machine with but one hand has gone。 The secret chamber was below the mountain； just as I had
foreseen。'
'Good；' hissed the Warsmith； raising himself up to tower over Kelmaur。 The sorcerer turned his head away； unable to look directly
Graham McNeill ？Storm of Iron？
at the roiling metamorphosis of the Warsmith's face。 The lord of the Iron Warriors reached up and cupped Kelmaur's chin in one
massive gauntlet。
Kelmaur gasped in pain at the Warsmith's searing touch； squirming against his grip as black discolouration spread from where his
master held him。 The tattoos on his skull danced as Kelmaur cried out； his face contorted in agony。
'Now； Jharek； is there anything you wish to tell me？ Anything you have kept from your Warsmith？'
Kelmaur shook his head。 'No； my lord！' he wheezed。 'I swear I have told you true every vision I have had。'
'Is that true？' asked the Warsmith； his disbelief plain。 No answer was forthcoming and he sighed in feigned regret。
The Warsmith said； 'You achieve nothing by lying to me； Jharek；' and reached out his hand； pressing a burning palm against the
sorcerer's temple。
Kelmaur screamed in agony as his flesh hissed and melted； filling the tent with the sickening stench of burned meat。
'You have one chance to live； Jharek；' promised the Warsmith。 'Tell me anything else you have kept from me and I will not kill
you。'
'Nothing！' gasped Kelmaur。 'I have kept nothing from you； my lord； I swear！ I see nothing more than that which I have told you！'
The Warsmith said； 'Then you are of no more use to me；' and exhaled a foetid breath of dazzling orange and green。
Kelmaur； already hyperventilating in fear； took a huge breath of the Warsmith's corrupt substance and began convulsing。
Kelmaur burned with horrific change and his screams were music to the Warsmith's ears。 Evolutionary anarchy ripped through the
sorcerer's frame。 Kelmaur's body spasmed； grotesque changes warping through his flesh in a tornado of mutation。 Tentacles；
pincers； wings and other more unnameable organs burst from every part of his rebellious anatomy； his body now unrecognisable
as human in the soup of aberrant growths。
Within seconds； all that remained of the sorcerer was a seething pile of pulped meat and bone； too grossly misshapen to sur