n. pl. in·cu·nab·u·la (-l)1. A book printed before 1501; an incunable.
2. An artifact of an early period.
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SYSTEMS ONLINE When the pain began again,
Thereus checked his chronometer. Six months, three days, fourteen hours,
twenty-six minutes since the last activation. It might as well have
been a single heartbeat. “You are needed. Again.” “I serve,” Thereus said. While the tech-priests scurried around him, completing the Rites of Mobilization, Thereus ran through the standard start-up checks. Gingerly working his four limbs, he found them to be functional, though the gimbal in his right elbow was sticking somewhat. The head tech-priest stepped back. “This way to your drop pod,” he said. “There is some urgency.” As usual, Thereus thought as he followed the tech-priest across the maintenance bay, his metallic feet ringing against the deck plates. Around him, the bay was a hive of activity, with servitors and tech-marines frantically working. He walked past a dark green Thunderhawk gunship whose right side had been scarred by heavy weapon fire. Past the launching ramps and down an access ramp, they came to the drop room. Here, dozens of Dark Angels were assembling for deployment. They parted for him as he crossed the room, then quickly resumed their activities. The tech-priest led him to his drop pod, a bulbous affair already seated in its launch gantry, with two doors open to accept his bulk. Thereus stepped inside and turned around. “In position,” he reported. The tech-priest went to a keypad on the exterior of the pod and typed in a code. Docking clamps extended from the sides of the pod and secured his metallic bulk in place. RUN PROCESS: SECURE With a hiss and a thunk, his joints locked. He was now as rigid as if he had been welded in place. “Secure,” he said. The tech-priest typed in a different code, and the pod closed, the doors lifting and sealing shut. Thereus realized he didn’t even know the name of the planet they were deploying to. This was the part Thereus hated the most. Alone in the pod, with no sensory input but with full consciousness, he was left with no way to ignore the pain. It was a throbbing, aching sensation that suffused his entire being. It had started after the third or fourth activation, and was becoming worse with time. The tech-priests had never been able to find a cause or solution for the pain. All he could do was to seek a distraction. He tried to monitor the comm network, but the metallic walls of the launch tube blocked all radio signals. For a distraction, he began flipping through his internal video-capture data storage. He liked to occasionally record his inputs and play them back later. He thought of them as his memories, and by now they were more real to him than his actual memories from before he entered the sarcophagus. RUN PLAYBACK A wrecked factory in a city that had been ground to dust by the relentless action of two armies coiled around each other like pythons. Twisted steel and shattered cement all around Thereus as he stitched lines of fire into the mobs of Orcs inhabiting the ruin. Thereus advanced ruthlessly, small-caliber projectiles pinging off of his hull from every direction. From a pile of ruined machinery a horror of fused green flesh and rusted metal reared up, roaring in electronically-amplified rage. Thereus rushed it, gripping its front with his power fist while pumping round after round into it from his assault cannon at point-blank range. In return, the monstrosity drove its power claw deep into Thereus’s innards, missing the sarcophagus by inches but shredding the main power coupling. With a snap and a fizz, Thereus was plunged into darkness. Yesss… END PLAYBACK As the count of his battles grew, and his storage remained finite, he was forced to pare down the amount of records for each battle, deleting parts of each “chapter.” First to go were the pre-battle prayers and oratories. Then the interminable periods spent in transit. Reluctantly, he eventually deleted his recordings of the intelligence briefings from old battles. Then he began editing down the battles themselves, removing a few minutes here, and a few there, which he deemed superfluous. Recently he had begun noticing a trend with the memories he was keeping…. RUN PLAYBACK He strode across the barren plain of Armageddon Secundus, dispensing judgment from the barrel of his assault cannon. The local governor had seen fit to break ties with the Empire, and the Dark Angels had been dispatched to bring the planet back into the fold. As his cannon chewed through the ranks of the traitor’s soldiers with a sound like that of a giant tarp being ripped asunder, Thereus noticed some vehicles off in the distance. Paying them no heed, he turned back to the work at hand, clearing the chaff of the enemy. His audio pickups registered the sound of incoming shells, and his brain fell back on the reflexes of a normal infantryman, to dive for cover. Being a multi-ton machine, however, this was not an option, and the servos vetoed his impulses. He stood implacably as large-caliber artillery rounds began tearing his hull to pieces. Perhaps…? The drop pod shuddered and his internal accelerometer told him that his pod had just been fired from the orbiting barge. While he did not know how much of his corporeal remains were actually enclosed within the sarcophagus, he was fairly certain it did not include a stomach. Drop pod launches had always wreaked havoc with his digestion when he was a Tactical Marine. After being inducted into the Deathwing, teleportation proved even more disconcerting. Having the impact of drop-launch registering only in terms of numbers on his visual readout was not an unwelcome state. The absence of all other sensation, however, was far less welcome. Warmth, rain, touch. As a sacred warrior of the Imperium, as an implacable engine of destruction, he knew he was beyond caring. He was pleased to serve the Emperor in his current incarnation. But in the quiet of the night, when standing guard at some remote outpost, he could not deny the fact that there were some things he missed. Shaking the hand of a comrade. The satisfying feeling of exhaustion after heavy exercise. All gone. Or, not gone precisely, but replaced by a dull, numbing ache. It had grown worse over the decades and not the kindest ministrations of the Tech-priests could abate it. To distract himself, he activated his radio to monitor the comm-chatter. Now free of the barge’s mass, his radio issued a steady stream of data. Thereus listened for a few minutes, but nothing made an impression on him. It was all the same, the same patterns of communication he had borne witness to for centuries. Switching the radio off with some annoyance, Thereus selected a recording at random and triggered it. ENGAGE PLAYBACK 324.333 The boarding torpedo slammed home into the enemy ship with a resounding impact, but not quite the collision Thereus was expecting. This ship seemed… soft. The locking clamps released and Thereus readied himself for what lay beyond the portal. He was ready to charge forth, laying waste to the ship’s occupants and destroying critical subsystems. But when the sphincter at the front of the torpedo snicked open, what greeted him was a screaming mass of chitin and alien flesh. Horrors of every description boiled forth into the torpedo chamber, assaulting him with claws, tentacles, and sprays of bio-acid. He radioed a command to the torpedo to close the sphincter and fire the retro-thrusters. With satisfaction he saw several creatures get caught in the closing door, but the torpedo was already filled with dozens of horrors sawing and stabbing at him, probing for a weak spot. Fighting as best he could in the close quarters, he pulped beast after beast with his power fist and metal feet, finding that their blood was corroding his hull. One by one, his servos began to break down as the acid seeped in. As he crushed the last one, his legs weakened by the bio-acid, he pitched forward and fell onto the hissing and bubbling floor of the torpedo chamber. He thought ruefully of the odd sight that would greet the servitors when they opened the torpedo back on the barge: piles of gore and crushed chitin, with a mass of slag in the middle. And, deep within, one intact sarcophagus. END PLAYBACK His accelerometer registered a series of minor impacts to his outer hull. “Wake up, Brother, we have work to do.” Thereus realized he was standing on the surface of an alien world. Yet another. Before him he saw reddish-brown desert with craggy hills in the distance. The drop pod had opened like a flower, its steel petals dropping away to release him. Before him he recognized Brother-Commander Lestinus, striking the front of his hull with a deactivated power fist. “I am aware of your presence,” Thereus said. “About time,” said Lestinus. “I know you’re old, Brother, but we’ve got a situation here that needs sorting out.” Thereus followed the Marine away from the pod and across the reddish, sandy soil. He dimly registered the sights as they went: A partially ruined industrial complex a mile or so to the east, a volcano belching gouts of smoke some distance to the north, and what could have been a city far on the western horizon. “We’re assisting the Guard regiments holding the city, and received information that this geothermal complex was being used as a staging and logistics base for the enemy. We set out to take it from them, but the Great Enemy has proven to be somewhat more resilient than we originally expected. “We’re gradually reducing their units, but we recently received intelligence that another three brigades of traitorous troops are on the way to reinforce the garrison in the complex. We need to seize it before they arrive.” Lestinus led him towards
the staging area, a depression cut off from view of the complex by a
series of low hills. Around them, green-armored figures moved with precision
and efficiency, loading bolters, checking equipment, and saying prayers.
Thereus wondered why the Imperium did not simply blast the complex into
rubble from space. The situation must be more unstable than he originally
thought, if orbital resources were unavailable. Nevertheless, the situation
did not seem untenable. “What are the dispositions of friendly
and enemy troops?” Lestinus was interrupted by the whistle and crack of artillery passing overhead. Presently, rolling booms could be heard coming from over the low hills to the east. “I asked the local Guard commander for a fire support mission. After I threatened to withdraw the entire brigade from this area, he managed to scrounge up a few Basilisks. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go fight a war.” Thereus watched the retreating back of the Dark Angel as he idly spun the chambers of his Assault Cannon. So young and foolish, that one is. To waste an orbital drop simply to gather troops together was unthinkable. Better to attack with the troops you have in the theater on one front, and have the reinforcements drop directly into the rear of the enemy’s battle line. However, as a Dreadnaught, he held no official rank, and had learned several centuries ago that his suggestions were usually not well received. People just did not seem to expect tactical wisdom from a towering metal construct; they held him in about as much regard as a Rhino. The comm-channel crackled to life as Lestinus began issuing orders. “Devastator squads, advance to advantageous terrain and begin fire pattern Delta-Nought. Scouts advance up that defile to the northeast. All others, forward with me, slow pace and hold fire until the barrage is complete.” Thereus prayed that Lestinus was correct in his assumption of the enemy’s strength as he crested the low hill. His first good look at the complex revealed that it was much more elaborate than he had expected. Instead of a simple geothermal power plant, it was a series of large factories, warehouses, generator plants, and associated machinery. It even had several dormitory-looking structures off to one side – almost a small town in itself. In between all the buildings ran masses of pipes, gantries, and catwalks. Maneuvering through that area would be difficult enough, even before the Guard reduces it down to rubble. And reducing it they were. The rolling bombardment shook factories, collapsed dormitories, shredded pipes, and raised huge gouts of smoke and dust. Thereus’s accelerometers reported the concussions rolling across the plain as they advanced. Then, as quickly as it started, the bombardment ceased. Not nearly enough,Thereus thought. As the thunder of the artillery rolled away across the landscape it was replaced with the squeal of tracked vehicles, crunching of metal-shod boots, and Thereus’s own thudding as they advanced. The smoke and dust were being blown away, and for a minute Thereus entertained the hope that Lestinus was right, there was only a token enemy presence, and they had been well and thoroughly suppressed by the bombardment. That hope was dashed when they were still two hundred meters from the first buildings, as gouts of autocannon fire erupted from the structures towards them. Heavy bolters and missile launchers soon joined in. Thereus counted four, five, six separate enemy fire positions, all well entrenched and positioned with overlapping fields of fire. This did not look good. “Devastators begin suppressive fire, all others advance to contact. Fire pattern Delta,” Lestinus called over the comm-net. Thereus engaged his ammo feed and began unloading on the nearest source of gunfire, using short, controlled bursts to suppress the enemy. Small-caliber rounds ricoched off of his hull as he trudged forward, trying to keep up with the transports. Off to his left, a vehicle took a direct Krak hit, brewing up with a great explosion of red flame. To his right, glowing lines of heavy bolter rounds began bracketing the squads of Tacticals advancing on foot. He saw one Marine go down, then another. The Marines were responding as well they could, but were still out of range of their most powerful weapons. Thereus saw the flare of a missile bearing down on him. Reflexively, he twisted his torso just in time to deflect the missile’s blast at a steep angle. Still, the collision itself rocked him backwards, and he groaned as whatever was left of his body was whiplashed around within the sarcophagus. For the Emperor, he told himself, as he advanced again, his cannon speaking the truth of time with flame and death. For the Emperor, I have died a hundred deaths. And I will die a hundred more. And still there will be pain, and rage, and hate. But there will be no fear. The company’s Vindicators opened up on the enemy positions as they came within range, earth-shaking concussions blasting the enemy. The Emperor demands it. He demands payment in pain for all the fools stupid enough to trust the Dark Powers. Thereus began to focus his fire more as the enemy positions were close enough to distinguish individual figures. I fight for the Emperor, and there is too much pain for all the enemies of Mankind, so I take the pain myself, make it part of me, use it to fuel my rage… He was practically running as he reached the first emplacement. Several figures in ornate grey power armor wielded heavy bolters, spewing out tightly controlled bursts of death from behind a line of sandbags. Thereus charged them headlong, their fire discipline finally breaking as they poured a desperate stream of bolter fire directly at him. Undaunted, he burst through the sandbags and laid into them with his power fist, smashing them mercilessly. He had killed three when the others dropped their weapons and ran. Rather than pursue them, Thereus moved to his right, around behind a crumbling storage building. He had found over the years that when in combat with the enemy to the front, especially when firing large-caliber weaponry, a person’s focus is close to absolute and anything behind is easy to ignore, even a five-ton metal behemoth. This held true today as he approached the next heavy-weapon team. He had crushed the skulls of two of the traitors before the others realized what was going on. These, however, reacted more coolly, attempting to surround Thereus. Some of them unclipped grenades from their belt as one, apparently their leader, hefted what could only be some sort of power hammer. He lunged to the left with his power fist, pulping one while he unleashed an unfocused spray of assault-cannon shells to keep them away from his right flank. They had apparently underestimated the reach of his bulky arms as he batted another with a hook, sending him hurtling through a brick wall. Windmilling about with his arms, he fended them off as they tried slicing his power cables with bayonets or stuffing explosives into his joints. He had almost finished them when their leader came in low with the hammer, striking Thereus soundly on the side of his knee joint. Electric overloads coursed through his systems and he felt as though what was left of his skull was ready to explode. Savagely crushing the chaos marine with a vicious haymaker punch, Thereus cursed him and all his traitorous kind in every language he knew. Whirling, Thereus realized he was alone in the weapons emplacement. Glancing down, he noticed he still gripped a Chaos marine in his power fist. He examined the body. Iron Warriors, he thought. No wonder we took such a pounding on the way in. A power-armored figure appeared silhouetted in a gap in the low sandbag wall where Thereus had kicked it during the struggle. He almost unleashed a torrent of cannon shells before he recognized Lestinus. The commander strode in over the shattered bodies of the Iron Warriors, surveying the scene. “Good, good,” he said. “Very good work. We have taken the emplacements on the edge of the complex, and are pushing them back soundly. I knew bringing you in on this operation was a good idea.” Thereus called up the casualty statistics for the unit. Thirty-six casualties, twelve of whom had met the Emperor’s peace. “You are too bold, Captain,” Thereus said, tossing the crumpled form of the Iron Warrior at Lestinus’ feet. “Charging headlong into any prepared position is never a good idea, less so when your opponents specialize in siege warfare. I have seen too many good Marines die due to overconfident commanders.” Other Dark Angels entered the breach behind Lestinus, bolters held warily at the ready. Moving steadily, they fanned out into the area behind the emplacement, moving deeper into the complex. “Old one,” said Lestinus quietly, “I am aware of your long and loyal service. But now is not the time to be commenting on my tactical decisions. The Emperor guides my decisions, and will carry us through the fight.” Thereus looked around the emplacement at the heavy weapons scattered about, weapons that paid no heed to the Emperor’s will. This one will never join the Deathwing, Thereus thought. Or at least, if I was still on the council, he would not. “You are damaged,” said Lestinus, gesturing at Thereus’s leg. Cherry-red hydraulic fluid leaked down the appendage from where the power hammer had struck the knee joint. “I will call for a Techmarine.” “Not yet,” said Thereus. “It will hold for now. We must first secure the area.” As they emerged onto the rubble-strewn streets of the geothermal facility, Thereus called up the data feeds again. Success seemed assured; the enemy was falling back on all fronts, putting up only sporadic resistance. However, the cost had been high. Thereus cursed inwardly as he saw the lists of names. The chaplains will be busy tonight, he thought. He had learned over the years that the first news of a change to the tactical situation usually did not come through on the commanders’ channel but on the squad leaders’ channel, so when he noticed an increase of traffic there it immediately received his attention. New contacts were being identified at a fast rate, and when he pulled up the tactical overlay map and cross-referenced the locations of these contacts, a definite pattern emerged. “Captain,” he said, limping along behind Lestinus, “It appears those Traitor reinforcements arrived a bit sooner than your intelligence indicated.” Lestinus called his squad to halt while he referred to the comm-net. He muttered urgently into his vox-caster. “Damn those augurs! We should have had two more hours before they arrived.” He activated the company-wide channel. “Advanced elements of a new Traitor Legion force have entered the complex from the east. Probability of brigade-level elements with armor close behind. Complete your consolidation activities as soon as possible and advance to waypoints epsilon-six, eight, and fourteen as advisable. Hold until full unit reconsolidation at my order.” As the captain was issuing orders, something in the sky caught Thereus’s attention. Curving vapor trails etched their way across the dusty bowl of the sky, arcing north-to-south. Thereus had seen enough orbital drops to know where they were headed. “Captain, did you call for further reinforcements?” he asked. Lestinus stopped and looked up. He silence was answer enough. “It appears we are being encircled,” Thereus said. “Company, belay previous order,” Lestinus said urgently across the comm.. He began to jog deeper into the complex, his squad following. “All units not currently engaged, move immediately to waypoints Zeta-six through twelve at best possible speed. Prepare defenses and may the Emperor guide our weapons.” Thereus attempted to keep up as best he could, but the damage to his knee joint slowed him down considerably. His audio sensors were picking up increased sounds of gunfire, mostly from the east. He cursed his metal bulk as the command squad pulled away from him. He was tempted to plow his way directly through the buildings between him and the waypoints, to wade right through the masses of brick and corrugated steel. It would not be the first time he had done so, but the risk of suddenly encountering a hidden basement or pressurized fuel tank made him stay his course trudging down the dusty road. The sensors in his leg reported his damage in terms of synthesized “pain” messages that he had reflexively blocked out. But the other pain he could not block, the itching, burning, throbbing pain that what remained of his body felt. It was coming on strong now, aggravated by the blow from the power hammer. He had a theory that his flesh had been so long without any sensation, that it began creating pain simply as a preferred alternative to nothingness. Sometimes he felt that nothingness would be preferable. Lestinus and his squad had already made a left turn towards the waypoint, and Thereus now finally reached the same corner. Rounding it, he caught first sight of the area and could see that Lestinus’ decision had been a good one, given the situation. The Zeta waypoints were located inside a massive plas-crete building housing the main turbines for the geothermal complex. It was a heavy structure with small windows and clear fields of fire around it. If they could secure it before the enemy pressed the attack, they could hold out indefinitely. Lestinus’ squad was halfway across the open ground when the first drop pods began touching down. Blasting their thrusters briefly, they did not so much land as perform a controlled crash onto the uneven pavement around the turbine building. Like black steel flowers their petals fell open, disgorging Worldeaters in dark red armor. Two pods fell near Lestinus’ squad, and Thereus could hear more touching down behind him. Knowing it was fruitless, he opened up with his assault cannon, trying to catch them as they were still clustered near their pods. Two fell, but others began dispersing immediately, loping across the plaza towards him with long strides. Some Dark Angel units had made it into the turbine building and opened fire on the traitors, but Thereus knew it was not enough. In between bursts from his assault cannon, he could hear the howling of the Berzerkers, screaming in a raw fury of rage and foul oaths. Perhaps this is it, he thought as the Khornate warriors fell upon him. Smashing and kicking, he crushed skulls and tore limbs from bodies, shattering warp-cursed bone and ornate armor using ancient metal and eight hundred years of hate. A jab with the power fist crushed one’s faceplate; a right cross smashed another’s torso in. Yet still they fought, and this time they were getting the better of him. Their weapons were finding vulnerable components, not through martial cunning but by the simple expedient of the sheer number of blows they were landing on his structure. Finally, his right leg seized up entirely and he pitched forward onto the cracked pavement. Thereus noted with grim satisfaction that he managed to crush one of their number under his bulk when he fell. Lifting his torso with his assault cannon, he lashed out with his power fist, flailing about as best he could. But the Berzerkers were all over him now, standing on his back, hacking at whatever they could reach. Dimly out of the corner of his vision he perceived Lestinus and his squad going down under a flurry of chain-axes. Such is the end, he thought, as he watched his internal readouts go dark one by one.
Yessss… The pain ceased. Sunlight poured through the boughs as the two lovers ran barefoot through the forest. Spring had come early on Decius Prime, and the brenwood trees were in full bloom, filling the air with a heady scent. They laughed as they ran, as young people do. Coming to their favorite stream, Thereus tackled her playfully and they rolled on the moss. They wrestled for a bit, and she ended up sitting on his broad chest. “There!” she said coyly, “The mightiest boxer in town, and I have bested him!” “You shouldn’t say that,” he replied. “The match isn’t until next week. You’re going to hex me.” “Doesn’t matter,” she said, planting a kiss on his forehead. “Everyone knows it.” She looked at him wistfully. “Oh, sweetie, you know I love you. But you can’t be a boxer forever. If we’re going to get married, you’re going to have to find a career.” Thereus plucked a tender shoot of grass and clenched it between his teeth thoughtfully as he watched the dappled sunlight through the new leaves above. A gentle breeze prickled his skin as he hesitated. “I hear the imperial recruiter is coming to town next month,” he said, and a shadow of static crossed her face. ###Damage control subroutines initiated Sweat stung Thereus’ eyes as he panted heavily. He was sitting on a stool in the corner of the ring. The roar of the crowd filled his ears as Old Man Grinton tended to a cut over his left eye. Suddenly, his vision was filed with the seamed, leathery face of his coach. “You gotta keep coming on strong,” he yelled above the crowd. “Bostrophos is no pansy, but as long as you keep him off balance you should be all right. Remember, be careful of his right hook.” The bell rang sharply and Theseus got to his feet, stepping forward towards the center of the ring. Across from him, a huge, dark figure approached, the muscles on his thick neck bulging from a combination of rage and, Thereus suspected, illicit substances. They traded a few tentative blows before getting down to the business of pummeling each other. They clenched, and Bostrophos hissed in Theseus’ ear. “You are weak, boy,” before delivering a nasty head-butt just out of sight of the referee. “Your rage makes you sloppy,” Thereus said. Bostrophos howled and unleashed a right hook that nearly removed Thereus’ head. Thereus ducked and went inside for the uppercut….
Thereus awoke cursing. The pain had returned. His unconscious time was already a blur in his memory, fading fast. The warm scent of his homeworld was quickly being replaced by the inputs from his servos as they pierced his mind with an unspeakable agony. His visual sensors were pressed against rough asphalt. Slowly, gratingly, he dragged his frame upright. He took inventory of his situation. His assault cannon was mangled, the mechanism smashed, the tips of two barrels completely sheared off by chainaxes. Hydraulic pressure was down to half of normal. His main power plant was offline, and he was operating off of emergency backups. Looking around, he checked his internal chronometer. Two hours has passed since that last disastrous engagement. The open ground around the factory was littered with power-armored bodies, both loyal and traitor. Gaping holes had been blasted in the shell of the building. Dragging himself slowly into the turbine building, Thereus noted that a fierce struggle had ensued. The Dark Angels had, as they are wont to do, stubbornly defended this pointless objective to what appeared to be the last man. Thereus noted that the apothecaries had not had an opportunity to extract the gene-seeds from the fallen. ###Power remaining: 19% He should radio for pickup. That would be the proper thing to do. But he could not bring himself to it. Eight centuries of pain had drained him of any capacity to care. Pointless deaths, endless destruction. Making his way to the second-floor gantry up a cargo loading ramp, he spotted something that gave him hope. The building was a power plant. The thermal energy for the turbines came from an active lava vent, the building having been built around it. Before him was the central thermic chamber, where the lava vent glowed hotly in the center, magma bubbling and churning around the ceramite pipes. Standing on the edge of the balcony, staring down into the convective currents, it all became clear to him. The Emperor had presented him this opportunity. He knew of Thereus’s long service, and had decided to reward him with this opportunity for release. It would all be over soon. Thereus made his way to the edge and stood there for a moment, relishing the thought of release. When he heard the sounds behind him, had he had time to think about it, he probably would have suppressed his defensive reflexes. But eight centuries of habit is difficult to break, and so Thereus reflexively spun and stepped aside as a screaming monstrosity of metal threw itself at him. The chaos dreadnought must have survived the battle, and been lurking in the complex. Thereus dimly thought his audio sensors must have been damaged for him not to have heard it sooner. The thing skidded to a stop just before the edge of the platform. It crouched, screaming through rune-encrusted loudspeakers, and charged him again, its power tentacles lashing about. Thereus caught its charge on the stump of his assault cannon, dearly wishing it still worked. Sparks crackled as it lashed his hull with its tentacles. Thereus swung his fist in what should have been a mighty roundhouse punch, but he discovered he was unable to activate the power field that would have sheathed it in destructive energy. That and the reduced hydraulic pressure conspired to turn his blow into a pathetic slap, glancing harmlessly off of its hull. He instead gripped the dreadnought with his fist, attempting to tear pieces off of it. But all he could manage to do is put dents into the metal of its hull. ###Power remaining: 14% The two titans struggled there, locked together, shoving each other back and forth, knocking into machinery and crushing armored bodies underfoot. Then, the thing spoke to him. “I remember you,” the chaos dreadnought hissed. “Thereus…” This unsettled Thereus so much that he nearly lost his grip on the beast. “What…?” he said as the thing shoved him backwards and whipped its tentacles at Thereus, rattling his hull. “Yesss… I remember…. You condemned me!” With a scream, it flung itself at Thereus, and it was all he could do to keep it off of him. He didn’t normally take note of his opponents, but this one… he scanned the dreadnought’s hull as he fended off his attacks. On the side, near where the autocannons had been, was a small plaque, what he was looking for. When he saw what it said, he recoiled. It can’t be.... Bostrophos. The name sent his mind reeling. Back in time, back through the centuries. Reflexively he attempted to access his videologs of the time, only to realize there were none, since he was still of the flesh. That name… through the mists of his physical mind a memory bubbled up, a memory long lost…. Thereus was leading several squads of Marines in a night attack against the forces of Chaos who had distracted themselves with despoiling a rural town. The fighting was fierce, but Thereus had the Chaos Marines surrounded and surprised, and he could tell they were gaining the upper hand when he had rolled into the town square in his command Rhino. He had been consulting with his techmarine in front of the town hall when the oaken doors exploded outwards and a dozen Bezerkers charged down the marble steps with bounding leaps and guttural howls. A champion of Khorne made straight for him. Thereus whipped out his power sword and thumbed it to life just as the chaos warrior leaped off the steps, his chainaxe describing an arc of death over his head. Their blades struck simultaneously, the power sword skewering Bostrophos as the chainaxe crashed down upon Thereus’s shoulder, slicing deep into his torso and nearly severing his left shoulder cleanly. As they collapsed to the flagstones together in a bloody heap, Thereus’s last image he saw with his own eyes was that of Bostrophos’ hateful snarl. ###Power remaining: 08% Thereus yanked himself out of his reverie in time to catch a body-blow from Bostrophos’ power tentacles squarely on the sarcophagus. Thereus parried the next series of blows with what remained of his arms, pushing back away from the chaos dreadnought. Undaunted, the champion of the dark powers coiled himself for another assault. “You stupid whore of a loyalist,” Bostrophos screamed. “I have killed and died and eaten the souls of men far stronger than you! I will lay your heart at the foot of the Skull Throne!” The rest was incomprehensible, insane gibberish as Bostrophos worked himself up into a frenzy. Thereus decided it was time to change tactics. Casting about, he spied a metal drum off to the side. Keeping his eye on Bostrophos, he sidled towards the drum, his crippled right leg scraping along the platform’s grating. As the chaos warrior was reaching an apotheosis of fury, Thereus lashed out with his good leg and kicked the drum towards him, hoping that it contained something volatile. It broke open on the dreadnought’s hull, blossoming in a satisfying gout of chemical flame. Thereus came in fast behind, rushing Bostrophos as fast as he could with a damaged leg. He smashed into the dreadnought, driving it backwards against the railing. Bostrophos screamed, not in agony but with totally shattered sanity, and flailed blindly with his power tentacles. He gripped the chaos dreadnought and lifted. Leg actuators, pushed far beyond their design specifications, failed and ruptured in gouts of hydraulic fluid. Bostrophos wrapped his tentacles around what remained of Thereus’s assault cannon, the metal searing and softening from the crackling power field. With a final push, Thereus heaved the dreadnought completely over the heavy steel railing. He dangled there, trying to pull Thereus with him. Thereus felt his center of gravity shifting as the railing began to bend under the combined weight of both dreadnoughts. “You will never know the hell of being me,” Bostrophos hissed. “Trust me,” Thereus said grimly, “I know.” With that, he gripped his left shoulder with his power fist and ripped it completely off. Bostrophos fell, silently, towards the boiling lava, still gripping the remains of Thereus’s assault cannon in his tentacles. The hulk of the dreadnought splashed down into the pool, bobbing impossibly atop the dense liquid for a moment. Theseus thought he heard a strange sighing sound come from Bostrophos’ loudspeakers before the dreadnought was sucked under by the currents. Thereus stood there for a while, leaning his multi-ton bulk against the warped railing, staring down into the molten metal. There, but for the grace of the Emperor, go I. He knew now why the Emperor had called him here. And what he must do now. ###Power remaining: 03% He opened a comm channel. “Alpha command, this is dreadnought Upsilon-three-six requesting evacuation. Rendezvous at my location. Unable to relocate. Please dispatch a tech-marine as soon as possible. And an apothecary for gland retrieval.” Setting the message to repeat indefinitely, he wondered if the transmission would be able to escape the thick walls of the building. He almost hoped it would not. His right knee joint failed completely and his leg collapsed, pitching him backwards onto the platform. As expected, the pain was flaring up again, searing into his mind with a depressing familiarity. Lying there, watching his hydraulic pressure readout drain away and his systems slowly go dark, he wondered how many more times the Emperor would call upon him to die in service to the Imperium. He would do so willingly, with no resentment to the Emperor, his commanders, or most of all to the citizens for whom he fought and died. To do otherwise would be to go down the path of insanity that had consumed Bostrophos. Faintly, he began to receive a garbled reply from some highly distorted source. They would come, and the cycle would begin anew. Sighing inwardly, Thereus turned off his visual sensors and waited for the pain to stop. He could wait a very long time, he decided.
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