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emaciation； and creases so deep they looked as if they had been carved with knives lined his face。
21
His head was bald； and pipes and cables sank into his cranium； connecting him to his immense
battle suit。 He wore archaic； age…old Terminator armour and towered over Marduk by half a metre。
He walked with heavy steps； his every movement filled with power and weight。
Kol Badar was the Host’s Coryphaus： strategos； war leader； and the voice of the battle…brothers。
It was his role to lead the chorus of hymnal responses in prayer； and to art as the link between the
Host’s Dark Apostle and his warriors。 At his side； dwarfed by his sheer bulk； swaggered the Host’s
icon bearer； Burias。
Where Kol Badar was all brute power and smouldering anger； Burias walked with a warrior’s
subtle grace； his movements relaxed and fluid。 He was wolf…lean and darkly handsome； his full head
of pitch black； waist…length hair oiled and scented。 His pale face encapsulated all the noble bearing
of his heritage； and it was said that he resembled Lorgar； before he had ascended to daemonhood。
Burias was the epitome of the warrior ideal： a consummate； balanced warrior。 His body was as
proud and strong as his faith； and though he was young in comparison to Kol Badar； he had been
blooded in battle across a thousand ile； though there was a lingering；
dangerous intensity in his wide eyes； just a hint of the power lurking within； straining to be released。
Burias was one of the possessed； and though he kept the daemon Drak’shal at bay with sheer force
of will； he willingly gave way to the beast once the fires of battle were met； and the results were
invariably bloody。
Burias bowed low； dipping his tall； eight…pointed icon before him； and Marduk acknowledged
him with an incline of his chin。 Kol Badar bowed his head； carefully measuring the movement to be
at once mildly insulting； yet not overtly disrespectful。
“The Enslaved one is requesting that he be allowed to reconstruct his armature arrays； that he
may continue his work upon the Nexus Arrangement； lord；” said Burias； his voice neutral。
“It is foolishness to allow it such privileges；” said Kol Badar。
“Walk with me；” ordered Marduk； turning on his heel and striding away。 He did not speak as
they exited the cavaedium by a side portal within the sacristy； walking up corridors lined with
skulls。
One of the kathartes； skinless daemonic furies that inhabited the Infidus Diabolus； perched upon
the shoulders of a winged angel of death statue above them； baring its teeth at their passing。 Marduk
flicked his gaze up towards the daemon； and it lowered its head； whimpering like a dog beneath the
switch。 Blood glistened across its exposed musculature； and it shimmered like a distorted pirt image
before disappearing once more into the sea of souls that was the warp。 Immersed in the tides of the
ether buffeting the Infidus Diabolus； the katharte would take on its truer form； that of an angelic
maiden； as dangerous as it was alluring； propelling itself through the formless other world upon
feathered wings； its siren call signalling the death of those of weak mind that heard it。
They passed dozens of dark arches； each leading off into different areas of the labyrinthine ship。
Warrior brothers stood aside； their heads lowered； as they passed。 Black…cloaked slave…creatures
scurried out of their path； while others prostrated themselves pathetically； faces pressed to the floor。
Moans and tortured cries came from darkness beneath the walkways； and wasted； skeletal fingers
extended through the metal grids in appeal。 Thousands of wretched slaves were kept aboard the
Infidus Diabolus； existing in the darkness and squalid conditions below deck in order to perform all
the horrific and mundane jobs required to keep the ship running。 They were condemned to a lifetime
of servitude； and they cried out for death。
“The priest…magos of the Machine…God is necessary；” said Marduk finally； as the trio walked the
musty halls of the strike cruiser。 “The Nexus Arrangement will never be unlocked without him； he is
the Key…master；” he said； referring to a prophecy that told of one； the Enslaved； who would unlock
the potent device that the Host had uncovered from a xenos pyramid upon the shattered Imperial
world of Tanakreg。 It would be a powerful weapon in the arsenal of the Word Bearers； and much
favour would be granted to he who controlled it。
22
“The Key…master？” scoffed Kol Badar。 “The wretch has proven useless in unlocking the device
thus far。 He cannot be trusted。”
“The magos is mine；” said Marduk。 “He is my puppet； and will do exactly what I want。”
Magos Darioq was changing。 At first； the effects on his body had been subtle； barely noticeable； but；
as the daemon took further control of his purged system； the change was coming on with alarming；
exponential swiftness。
Stripped of his robes and chained to the wall of his cell； he shuddered in torment as the carefully
cultured daemon essence writhed within him。 He opened his mouth soundlessly； exposing a
secondary set of teeth； thick and sharp； pushing up through his bleeding gums behind his own。
His flesh was wasted and pallid； though most of his body had long been replaced with
mechanical augmentations。 His entire lower body had been replaced with heavy…duty bionic
replacements； immensely powerful leg…units with inbuilt gyro…stabilisers that enabled the magos to
bear almost two metric tonnes of weight upon his frame。 This was necessary； for with a fully
activated servo…harness； the magos weighed as much as a small tank。 Black tendrils crawled and
pulsed beneath his skin； and his flesh rippled from within as the daemon made its claim on him。
Augmetic telescopic braces were fused to his spine for stability and strength； but the distinction
between mechanical augmentation and flesh was blurring。 Blood dripped from rents in the metal。
The heavy bulk of Darioq’s servo…harness was clamped between his hips and his shoulders； and
again； the hybrid amalgamation of fusing metal and flesh could be seen。 Fleshy muscles had grown
over several of the pistons； enhancing their mechanical strength with that of the daemon and giving
the corrupted magos an even more hunched appearance。 The four servo…arms of his harness had
been sheared away； along with half a dozen mechadendrites that plugged into the nerve endings of
his spinal column； and they wept blood and ichor as their stubby remnants twitched and jerked
spasmodically。 Two of the severed mechadendrites had already re…sprouted； fleshy tentacles of
glistening muscle growing from his spine。 Plugs and sockets covered his wasted skin； and from
some of these leaked a milky ichor that hissed as it hit the floor。
With his hood and robes stripped away； Darioq’s head was laid bare。 Only a fraction of his
original face remained； the rest encased in mechanics。 A grilled voice box was implanted in his
throat； and his left eye was an impressive display of sensors and optical arrays。
The distinction between the mechanical and the human was blurring all over the corrupted
magos’s body。 Even as the trio of Word Bearers watched； the metal cranium of the magos swelled
and rippled like water； and a curving horn pushed up from the right…hand side of Darioq’s skull。 Its
tip was hard and bony； but clearly organic。
His right eye； which had been milky and blind when the Word Bearers had first captured him；
was now solid black。 His brain units； held in protective bell…jar casings that protruded from behind
his hunched shoulders； were filled with dark； writhing clots； and black； oily tentacles burrowed
through them； like a mess of bloodworms。
“Magos Darioq is no more。 This；” said Marduk with a wave of his arm； “is Darioq…Grendh’al。”
23
CHAPTER THREE
Guildmaster Pollo scanned the latest despatches； blinking his augmented silver eyes intermittently to
record their contents。 After several minutes of reading and recording； he dropped them onto his desk
and leant forward to pour himself another drink from the half empty crystal decanter in front of him。
He raised his glass up to his eyes； gazing at the play of light upon the ruby liquid as he sloshed it
around the ice。 Then he knocked the drink back； savouring its bite。 He placed the glass down on its
coaster； and rubbed at his temples with both hands； his eyes closed。
“Bad news； guildmaster？” ventured a voice。
Polio turned to face his young adjutant； Leto。 He was little more than a boy； barely having the
need to shave yet； and his eyes flicked around nervously as he waited for his answer。 He was young；
but he was a good officer and had a mind like a sponge。 He knew that in time he would have made a
suitable guildmaster； but such a thing was not to be。
“You should have gone with the others； Leto；” he said； his voice tired。
“I will leave when you leave；” replied his adjutant。
When the first astrotelepathic despatches had come； warning of the xenos hive fleet’s approach；
Polio’s distaff had been aghast。 That had quickly descended into panic when the extreme dictate to
combat this threat had been transmitted； and that panic had not been aided by the sudden departure
of the Administratum’s advocate of Perdus Skyll