Dark Disciple(科幻战争)-第55部分

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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
174
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