A youth had stepped out of the tangle of cables surrounding Tuchulcha, sallow-skinned, connected to the apparatus imprisoning the device. It took a moment for Typhon to realise that the servitor-body was being manipulated by the machine.

'He is of no consequence,' said the commander. 'He has been your jailer, and should be punished.'

A liquid-filled gasping emanated from the servitor-youth, which Typhon realised was laughter.

'I cannot be imprisoned, not by the likes of this creature,' said Tuchulcha.

'Good, then you will be able to come with us.'

The boy did not reply, but looked away, head tilted back as if he was gazing through the rocky ceiling of the hall.

'You do not have long, Typhon of the Dusk Raiders,' he said. 'The Lion comes, seeking your head. Your warriors are being slain.'

As if in confirmation, the first reports crackled across the comm-net. The rearguard of three squads of Grave Wardens were under attack. Their report was short-lived, talking of the blazing sword of the Dark Angels' primarch, and of nightmare hooded creatures by his side that had eyes of flame and claws of iron. Ten seconds passed and Typhon heard no more from his men.

'He has brought his psykers with him,' Typhon told Vioss. 'I cannot contend with their combined abilities. Warn Charthun and the second line, they must fall back towards this position.'

'As you wish, commander,' said Vioss.

'We are the Death Guard now,' Typhon corrected Tuchulcha. 'I cannot take you back to my ship by my own hand. You must come with me if you want to be free.'

'Free?' Again there was the strangled gurgling of laughter from the animated boy. 'I have been waiting a long time for the Lion to return. I saw him, the first time he came, and knew that my saviour had been delivered to me. The Perditians trapped me here, but with the aid of Iaxis I have been able to loose my bonds. I have remained solely because I knew the Lion would return to me.'

'He seeks to destroy you,' said Typhon.

'He seeks to possess me, as all others have before,' replied Tuchulcha. 'Fear not for me, brave Typhon. You must fulfil your own destiny. Your primarch awaits you. It would be such a waste for you to be slain here. Here, let me help you.'

Typhon's protest died in his throat as he felt the surge of translocation. A moment later, he was on the strategium of the Terminus Est, his remaining Grave Wardens around him.

'What was that about?' said Vioss, shaking his head. The captain turned to the surprised attendants at the bridge controls. 'Set course for the nearest translation point. The Dark Angels will be after us soon enough.'

'No need,' said Typhon, feeling a pressure in the back of his mind that he recognised well. 'Tuchulcha has already put us well out of harm's way.'

Dismissing his serfs, Typhon was left alone in his chambers, the bare metal bulkheads spotted with rust, lit by the unfettered glare of the light strips in the ceiling. He peeled off the last layer of his undersuit, tossing the sodden mesh aside to reveal his pallid flesh. He could not understand what had happened. The Father had sent him to Perditus to rescue Tuchulcha from the clutches of the Mechanicum, but he had failed.

The ache in his gut was still there, and the Death Guard commander looked down at his stomach. Beneath his flesh could be seen the rigid plates of his black carapace. There was something else, pocking his skin just below his breast plate. He could not see so clearly past the curve of his muscled chest, so Typhon turned and looked at himself in the polished bronze of his mirror.

Just beneath his solar plexus were three blisters, each as large as his thumbtip, arranged in a triangle, touching each other. They were dark red, surrounded by a black ring, weeping clear fluid. He felt no pain as he gently prodded one of the buboes with his finger. In fact, the sensation sent a thrill of pleasure through his body.

Typhon had a moment of realisation. He had freed Tuchulcha. By travelling to Perditus, he had turned the Lion's eye towards the world, setting in motion a course of events that led somewhere Typhon did not know, but was to the grand design of the Father. The trio of blisters on his flesh was a reward; a sign from the Father that Typhon's loyalty had been noted. He was marked now and forever, marked by the love of the Father.

It was just the beginning, of course. The Grave Wardens were only the first. The Father wanted them all. The Father wanted the love and loyalty of every Death Guard; the love and loyalty of Mortarion above anything else.

'Are you sure that was all the message said?' Captain Lorramech shook his head, eyes fixed on Midoa. The two of them walked back to the strategium, heading from the conveyor that had brought them up from the docking bay.

'That was all the Lion said I was to say,' confirmed Midoa. 'He was very specific. "Tell Guilliman I have a reply for him," the Lion told me. "Tell him to wait for me. I am coming." That was it.'

The lord of the First Legion sat as he so often sat these nights, leaning back in his ornate throne of ivory and obsidian. His elbows rested upon the throne's sculpted arms, while his fingers were steepled before his face, just barely touching his lips. Unblinking eyes, the brutal green of Caliban's forests, stared dead ahead, watching the flickering hololith of embattled stars.

Iaxis and his device were safely stowed in the deepest holds of the Invincible Reason. Magellix station had been turned to molten slag and rubble in a few hours; nothing was left for any other Legion to claim.

The Lion's lips moved, so slightly that perhaps a casual observer would not have noticed. Also none but those with the superhuman hearing of a primarch would have heard the words that came from his near-unmoving lips.

'I have Curze now,' the Lion said, speaking only to shadows. His monologue stopped every few moments, as though to allow someone else to speak. 'With Tuchulcha, we will be able to trap the Night Haunter. We have to be careful not to act too swiftly. Yes, when the time is right, but not before. If Curze notices a drastic change in our strategy he will respond, perhaps abandoning Thramas altogether. You are right, that would not be helpful.'

The Lion paused and wiped a fingertip across his brow.

'Guilliman is a misguided fool at best, and a traitorous dog at worst.' He took a deep breath. 'I know that, but I would no sooner bend my knee to him than to Horus. Curze has the truth of it, but I was blinded by my anger. It has fallen to me to be the scale upon which history will be balanced. Every event has its counter, every brother his equal. Curze seeks to sap my morale and the strength of my Legion with unending war. Such shall be the duty of the Dark Angels. Yes, they will be ready for the task. There will be no new Emperor, only a lifetime of war. My brothers will bleed each other dry, contesting for eternity until there can be no victor. No, not even him. There is only the Emperor, none is worthy of inheriting that mantle. I will ensure the Legiones Astartes destroy themselves before another matches the power upon Terra. That is true. Faced with the prospect of mutual annihilation, my brothers may come to terms. Horus will be forced to acknowledge the Emperor again, and Guilliman and the others will not usurp their true master.'

Again the Lion stopped, with a slight shake of the head. He turned his gaze to his left, and out of the shadows appeared a diminutive figure. It was no taller than the height of a man's knee, clad in an ebon robe, tiny and nimble black-gloved hands visible, but the rest of its body and face hidden in shadow. The diminutive creature looked up at the Lion and two coal-like glows briefly lit the inside of its hood.

'No, it is too important,' said the primarch. 'Even if what you say is true, I cannot return to Caliban yet. Come what may, I have to stop Horus and Guilliman.'

The small figure bowed its head, and the Lion did the same, his whisper full of sorrow.

'Yes, even if it costs me my Legion.'

The Serpent Beneath

Rob Sanders

~ DRAMATIS PERSONAE ~.

The XX Legion 'Alpha Legion'

Alpharius/Omegon, Twin Primarchs Sheed Ranko, Captain, Lernaean Terminator Squad Ursinus Echion, Librarian Arvas Janic, Commander, Tenebrae 9-50 Installation Goran Setebos, Sergeant, 3rd Company Squad 'Sigma'

Isidor, Legionnaire Arkan, Legionnaire Krait, Legionnaire Volion, Legionnaire Braxus, Legionnaire Zantine, Legionnaire Charmian, Legionnaire Vermes, Legionnaire Tarquiss, Legionnaire Imperial Personae Volkern Auguramus, Mechanicum Artisan Empyr Gresselda Vym, Witchseeker Pursuivant, Brazen Sabre Cadre Mandroclidas, Strategarch, Geno Seven-Sixty Spartocid Non-Imperial Personae Xalmagundi, 'Calamity', Soulfuel, Witchbreed

ALPHA.

Operatus Five-Hydra: Elapsed Time 1/-806.44//XXUXX Legion Strike Cruiser Upsilon 'Everything proceeds in accordance with the primarch's wishes, my lord.'

'And yet, I am uneasy,' replied Omegon. The mighty warrior wandered the darkened oratorium, his attention moving slickly between schematics on the walls and data-slates on the round table at its centre. Ursinus Echion stood before him only as a hololithic ghost. 'The Tenebrae 9-50 array is a tactical priority, brother. Much relies upon the technology's continued operation.'

He seated himself in one of the chamber's thrones. He rested his elbows on the armrests, and steepled his fingers pensively. 'You understand my concerns?'

'Of course, Lord Omegon,' the pellucid Echion replied.

Omegon remained thoughtful. Echion no longer wore the robes of the Librarius, instead opting for the plain attire of a company legionnaire. As one of the Legion's senior psykers, he had been an obvious choice to oversee the operation of the new empyreal technology, even if his status as a Librarian had remained a secret.

'You understand my concerns,' Omegon repeated, 'but do you share them?'

He watched a shimmer of doubt cross the Librarian's hololithic face. The temptation to lie. The decision not to.

'The Pylon Array was constructed precisely to specification,' Echion admitted. 'It is operating satisfactorily.'

'Speak your mind,' Omegon told him, 'as all of our calling are encouraged to do.'

'This technology is as ancient as it is alien,' Echion said, at length. 'If the designs for its construction and the orders to realise the project had not come from Alpharius himself, I would have thought the endeavour... misguided.'

'Your vigilance and mistrust serve your Legion well,' Omegon assured him. 'I have as much distaste for the xenos and their despicable ways as you, brother. But the hydra strikes with many heads, and we must indulge variety over prejudice, however natural such aversion might be. You know this, Echion.'

'Of course, Lord Omegon.'

'And as you said, it is the primarch's wish.'

'Yes.'

'Yet you are right to be cautious. Are you experiencing any difficulties?' he asked.

Again, Echion balanced honesty against prudence, against the prudence of honesty.

'From time to time we experience problems acquiring psyker slave-stock on occasion this has brought us into conflict with the Sisters of Silence and their Black Ships. Nothing my legionnaires can't handle, of course.'

'Does it trouble you, brother? Trading in your own kind, thus?'

Echion considered his answer. 'The technology is... demanding. We all have our part to play. My kind, as you call them, must play theirs just as the Legion plays its own.'

'Quite,' Omegon agreed. 'Anything else? What of our allies?'

'The Geno Seven-Sixty Spartocid make restless sentinels but they carry out their duties peerlessly. The Mechanicum...' The Librarian paused. 'Artisan Empyr Auguramus is a difficult man. I monitor the Pylon Array's operation but he is responsible for its maintenance. He is unnecessarily harsh with the slave-stock and interprets his directives how might one say? creatively. I suspect he knows more about the technology's workings than he or his people let on.'

'That sounds like a problem.'

'He knows he is essential to the Tenebrae operation, so he takes liberties. It's probably me. I just don't like him.'

'A man would be ill-advised to take liberties with the Alpha Legion,' Omegon said coolly. He was out of the throne and back to pacing the oratorium. 'Master Echion, your work on Tenebrae has been outstanding but I want it to remain that way. I feel you would benefit from a fresh pair of eyes, to look to your interests.'

'If you feel that is necessary, my lord,' Echion replied. 'Do you have intelligence placing the operation in any jeopardy?'

'Not directly, but our allies and enemies alike have learned much from us. We do not only have to guard against the Emperor's spies in our midst; the Warmaster, too, has his fiendish ways. We should never underestimate the threat of the xenos and then, of course, we must keep our own friends faithful. Operatives can be bought, but those that share our path can also lose their way.'

'Of course.'

'That is why I must ask you to send me encrypted specifications for the Tenebrae base's security and defences,' Omegon continued.

Echion raised an eyebrow. 'Commander Janic is in charge of base security'

'Then I'll need them from him. Schematics for the installation, the full designation of troops at your disposal and details of garrison rotations. That should get us started.'

Echion nodded. 'What do you intend to do with such information, my lord, if you don't mind my asking?'

'It will guide me in the best ways to serve you, Master Echion. It will help me decide where the vulnerabilities lie, and what other resources I can put at your disposal to ensure the continued, smooth operation of this most important of Legion projects.'

'I thank you for your concern and attentions, Lord Omegon.'

The primarch was standing by the thick armourglas of the lancet port. He stared out at the void cold, empty and eternal.

'And yet I feel there is something else,' he said, absently. 'Something you have yet to confide, brother. Something beyond these mortal concerns.' He turned, noting Echion's look of uncertainty. 'Perhaps your gift has given you some special insight, something that brings you unhappiness.'

The Librarian lowered his head slightly.

'Might I have permission to speak freely, sir?'

Omegon continued to stare out into deep space. 'Always.'

'About the Pylon Array. The aether is in a state of calmness that I have never known. I reach out across it with my mind and my thoughts travel far, like a stone bounced across the glassy surface of a still pool.'

'Continue, brother.'

'I have always suffered a touch of the sight. What the Chief Librarian used to call a "foreboding". Useful in the chaos of battle momentary glimpses of blades before they strike and las-bolts before they are sent my way.'

'You have prognostic abilities,' Omegon confirmed tightly.

'Yes, my lord,' Echion said.

'Enhanced in the presence of this xenos abomination?'

Echion was careful with his words: 'Flowing more freely, from a becalmed source.'

'And what do you see?'

'The future, my lord. Terrible and true.'