Chapter Eleven

High Orbit
Diadem
Unassigned Space

Arshavin watched carefully as his two drone ships moved alongside and then gave the override command. Positioning his vessel correctly, he initiated the transformation, feeling the twin clunk as the drones docked, one from above and the other from below.

His evil grin spread wider as his integrated connection expanded his vision and he laughed delightedly as the power surged through his brain. Taking only a moment to enjoy the enhanced sensation he set to work.

All three craft were in themselves singular robotic entities, but when joined and with Arshavin himself acting as their brain, they became something all together different. Their own elementary thinking processes were superceded by that of the Master Craftsman and in turn his sensory perception was magnified immeasurably. He was the newly formed mechanism, and its response time was only limited to the speed of Arshavin’s each and every thought.

Connections split and reformed, metallic structures flowed and joined, the ship’s entire structure being converted in the process. It was, Arshavin knew, driven by his ego, but he had always thrilled in the moment of achieving the final configuration. Once complete, a humanoid shaped construct would remain; its movement a parody of all those things that were recognised as normal and correct. It could operate here in space or down on the planet’s surface, its demeanour titanic, in every significance of that word. The Master Craftsman had never really rid himself of the yearning to walk once more through the hallowed halls of his childhood, and this desire still subtly influenced his actions.

In one supreme moment of exhilaration he sensed his completeness, metallic arms raised in triumph. With a savage delight, Magos ignited his engines and powered towards his enemies.

*

“What are they doing?” asked Arn of Walters, watching the arrival of the drone ships and their subsequent docking with Arshavin’s craft.

“Something unexpected,” replied Walters uneasily, “and it concerns me that I can feel nothing of it.”

Arn looked at him in surprise, “My Lord, you feel nothing?”

“No, Arn. They are machines, not living breathing things. There is no soul, no thoughts as we know them and no emotions either.” Walters concentrated harder, “However, that which controls them still has a vestige of humanity, however small and perhaps ……. Shields!” he roared, his arms spread outwards as though he was personally holding back an imminent attack.

Instantly Arn responded, increasing the capacity of the defensive shield to full, as an immense beam of energy struck, trying to tear its way through.

“Where did it come from?” asked Arn, calming slightly as he saw their defenses hold.

“Magos!” hissed Walters angrily, his body beginning to glow with its characteristic green energy. Eyes flashing, his voice now thunderous as it screamed its challenge, Walters disappeared from the control room, leaving his astonished crew behind.

*

City Approaches
Diadem
Unassigned Space

Marius lay quietly on the earth, near to where his seat had landed. The retros had kicked in, but his landing had not been pretty. Involuntarily, he groaned as he tried to move slightly, there was obviously something else broken apart from his left arm.

He had seen the Tauran’s craft crash and knew that it was close. It was imperative that he kept still and not attract attention, but it was not easy. Suddenly, he heard the crunch of nearby footsteps and bit his lips as pain washed over him once more. If ever he needed Walters it was now.

*

Viker felt the contact established with Walters and the towering anger consuming him. His Lord’s touch was not gentle, it held the barely controlled savagery of the beast he fundamentally was. The blessing felt more like a slap than a caress, as though it was perfunctorily given whilst Walters dealt with graver matters.

Stiv was not hurt by this, who was he to chastise Walters? He simply accepted the gift of power, his muscles writhing and changing, becoming thicker and stronger. His face too changed; his features coarsening, broadening, his mouth becoming muzzle-like and the howl that left his throat was more like a bellowed challenge.

Johns watched him and smiled, forming up the squad around him. Now they would see why he treated Viker so differently and they would learn what their Lord’s touch could truly bestow upon them.

With a single bound, Viker cleared their defensive position and raced towards the still firing robots. Lips pulled back in a feral snarl, claws flashing as he ran and with a constant growl deep in his chest, he raced towards the kill.

*

A graveyard stench was what first alerted Marius to the nature of those approaching, that and the evil cackling echoing around him. His frantic attempts at movement only brought greater cries of pain and made the level of laughter increase. The smell grew stronger, almost insupportable and, as a leering, rotting visage stared down at him, he screamed in terror.

High Orbit
Diadem
Unassigned Space


Magos was pleased, his enemies showed fear and that was good. He raised his right arm and the Gauss rifle he bore within it vomited forth silvery steel slugs, their hyper velocity slamming them into and through the fighters opposing him. Shattering cockpits, tearing through metal as though it were paper and sending his foes to a timely and excrutiating death.

A maddened giggle racked his titanic frame as he punched forth laser pulses, missiles roared from his shoulder mountings and plasma spat from his mouth. Nothing could stand against him.

City Approaches
Diadem
Unassigned Space

Marius looked up into a face from hell, rotting flesh hung loosely from the facial structure of the creature above him, a green mucus plopping softly onto his forehead.

“Yes-s-s-s,” hissed the zombie contentedly, one clawed hand reaching down to grasp a handful of Marius’ hair, “Shan will be pleas-s-sed.”

Gagging on the smell of putrescent meat, Marius tried not to scream as he was roughly dragged away. He could not turn to see where he was being taken, it in fact took all of his will power to remain conscious, as wave after wave of pain rolled over him.

His left arm hung slackly by his side, each bump or bounce sending razor sharp pain coursing through his nerves. All he wanted to do was die, it seemed as though he had been forgotten about and he knew that he did not have enough strength left to continue.

There was an ear-splitting growl, a sickening bursting sound and he thudded to the ground, blackness folding him in its comforting embrace.

*

Viker had left his squad far behind, their valiant efforts to keep up with him, were simply not enough. He leapt into the middle of the robots, slashing and biting, metal shearing and crumpling before him. Once through he continued onwards, an inner geas driving him onwards.

Clearing one small ridged area of ground, he saw a group of undead, led by one of the Taurans, toiling onwards, a body being unceremoniously pulled behind them. With no thought for the consequences he jumped straight down into the middle of them, his howl echoing all around.

A slash of his right claw stove in the half decayed head of one of the zombies, that of his left ripped through the Tauran’s chest armour and still he struck. He was a whirlwind of retribution, the stricken human body was forgotten as he revelled in his savage bestiality.

An army could have appeared and Viker would not have cared. This was what he was made for; to fight, to maim, to kill in Walters’ name.

*

James and his men were not faring as well as the others. Shan’s forces had landed right amongst them, Taurans leaping forth from drop pods and dealing death, and spreading disease that made men only wish for death.

The mere touch of a hand could transmit flesh-rotting illness, a virulent breath could melt armour and bone and still they wielded more conventional weapons. That is weapons that appeared to mirror normal patterned design, but whose muzzles leered as they spat forth explosive rounds, weapons that did not whirr or grind but laughed and chittered.

Helplessly James watched as his men were literally eaten away, to lie dormant for a few heartbreaking moments, before rising to join their undead brothers.

Tanks roared and spat forth the cleansing flames of liquid fire, holding the enemy forces and giving James time to regroup. He heard the welcome snarl of fighters as they raced across the battle field, raining a final death upon the tainted masses below. His troops slowly reformed ranks and volley fire rolled outwards.

They were not winning, but they were halting the followers of the Tauran demon. Their job had been to reinforce Krantu’s thrust for the city, but that was an objective well beyond them at this time.

High Orbit
Diadem
Unassigned Space

Augmented eyes studied the battle in space and compared it with the destruction being waged on the ground below, and Magos made his decision. Engines blasting flame, he fired himself down towards the planet’s surface, laughter bubbling through his brain. His speed increased, the heat from his entry into the planet’s upper atmosphere doing nothing more than present a slight nuisance. Multiple targets appeared on his long range scanners and he shook his arms in excited rage.

*

“Arn!” Berbatov’s voice cut sharply into the ex-Immortal’s private circuit.

“Have you taken the ship?” asked Arn, watching the huge robotic form’s mad dash towards the planet’s surface.

“Of course,” replied the Sargeant matter-of-factly, “Now what?”

“The battle seems to have changed,” replied Arn, studying his data feeds for any sign of Walters.

“Oh?” queried Berbatov, “So now where’s the fighting?”

“Down below,” replied Arn, “and Walters has gone missing!”

Berbatov laughed, “He’ll turn up. Your job is to work out how you get me and my men into the battle.”

“Not my most urgent worry!” snapped Arn, his screens filled with information on the pounding that their forces were taking.

“Fine!” said Berbatov, his voice sounding somewhat petulant, “I guess, as usual I’ll just have to take care of it myself!”

City Approaches
Diadem
Unassigned Space

There was a strange sensation filling Magos’ circuits, one which left him feeling anxious. The construct that he was started to shudder, weapons blasting their charges into the air and limbs shaking uncontrollably.

This was intolerable and the man-machine began a rapid self diagnosis, checking routines, confirming processes and all done at an incredible speed. Magos began to feel disconnected, as though he was being torn away from the essence that was he.

At last, with one final tremor, he felt control return and resumed his deadly course. As he approached the battle field, he started to power up his weapons systems, his anticipation rising with each surge of energy, until he felt that he could no longer hold it in. Screaming his own battle cry, he let them have everything, but nothing happened. He tried again and again, yet he was blocked, his ability to reach the all consuming orgasm of raging power forestalled each and every time.

Then he heard a small, yet clear voice ringing through him, “Hello Magos, you forgot about me!”

Chapter Ten

High Orbit
Diadem
Unassigned Space

“James!” shouted Walters as he checked the position and deployment of his new enemy.

“My Lord!” responded James, breaking off from his conversation with Arn.

“I want everyone in those transports on the ground as quickly as possible. Make sure it happens,” and then seeing James’ hesitation, “right now, Major!”

“And what about you my Lord?” asked the Major, obviously concerned.

“I think that I can take care of myself,” replied Walters, a grin on his face, “and anyway, Berbatov is no doubt already well on the way to removing the Tauran’s threat. Thank you for your concern, now please can you do what I’ve asked?”

Nodding, James was already scurrying on his way towards the launch bay, his mind engrossed in his new problem.

“Okay,” said Walters, turning towards Arn, “let’s take care of these robots, shall we?”

Spiteful Dawn
Diadem
Unassigned Space

Berbatov was not in fact on top of the Tauran problem; their arrival had been a real surprise and initially they had made huge advances, easily slicing their way through Shan’s undead army. Now, however, things were just a little bit stickier as the plague infected ship itself turned on them.

Corridors melted and changed, catching Berbatov and his men unawares and revealing new pockets of enemies, this time led by the newly converted infectees. This in itself did not give Berbatov undue pause, but when vile and viscous fluids spat from the walls, hissing and burning against armour and boiling flesh, he began to lose his patience.

Walls which already had appeared diseased now seemed to enter into a new and deadly virulence as boils and pustules grew and erupted, showering over the unsuspecting soldiers. Webs of a tarry black phlegm spat outwards and stuck, allowing the zombies and their masters a more easier target. All of this was evilly coordinated in order to inflict the maximum damage.

Green eyes flashing, Berbatov’s normally bellicose nature had reached new heights and his rage took over. Instead of waiting for his enemies to show themselves, he began to strike indiscriminately at the structures around him. His halberd sliced cleanly through the putrid miasma facing him, the ship shuddering in response.

With a snarl he opened a portal, revealing one infected Immortal and a group of his undead followers. Powering forward, his weapon as light as a feather in his hands, he took his revenge. The Immortal’s corroded armour could not withstand the force of his blows, huge rents and holes appeared with each strike, the stench of death hanging heavy in the air.

The fact that they had visible targets also seemed to energize his men and explosive rounds flew, weapons sang and they killed in the glory of Walters’ name.


Outer City
Diadem
Unassigned Space

Viker and his fellow soldiers were pinned down, but were at least holding up the robots as they pushed forwards. The Eyatolian armour was laying down a ferocious barrage, smashing articulated limbs and pounding silvery bodies. They were taking casualties though, and with each passing moment more of the infernal machines appeared.

Walters’ men’s objective seemed no closer and their frustration was mounting.

*

“Our mission is to provide covering fire and also to prevent any of these creatures from reaching the tower,” explained Marius over his radio circuit, as he calmly destroyed the falling drop pods, “the more we take out, the less our boys have to deal with down there.”

He and his Wing were damaging severely the robots’ reinforcements, each sweep, each pass they coldly and clinically blew apart more of the constructs. Perhaps it was not the most honourable nor satisfying task, but having seen the potential damage the robots could cause, he certainly felt justified in his work.

*

Major James and his men had begun their deployment, the first of his troops were down on the ground now, using the pinnace as their homing beacon. He had forestalled the idea of drop pods and instead had decided upon the slower troop transports; what they lacked in speed, they made up for in quantity.

Even now, the first of his men and armour were on their way to join Krantu’s advance forces and he was beginning to believe in their probability of success.

*

Shan himself had decided to lead his forces in their assault on the city below. With no thought for any potential losses he may incur, yet rather thinking only of victory, he had used every means within his command to get his men on the ground.

The disposition of the robotic soldiers and Walters’ men were of no concern, he had sent sufficient troops, or so he thought to take care of them. No, his one and only priority was to take the tower and recover the object his Master had so clearly expressed a desire for.

Grinning evilly, he saw the first of his troops smash to earth and engage his enemies, whilst his craft raced towards the tower itself.


Spiteful Dawn
Diadem
Unassigned Space

The breach Berbatov had carved out of the disgusting walls of the corridor, proved to be extraordinarily useful. Where his halberd had touched, the ship’s reaction was to draw away. Festering wounds became cleansed and the now corroded metalwork once more appeared. This brought a steadiness to the previously revolving scene of conflict.

Leading his men forwards in a concerted rush, Berbatov smote the foulness of his enemies. His men followed, pistol rounds exploding already rotten chest cavities outwards, melee weapons tearing through disgusting limbs and once dead Churchmen, stayed dead. That still left the transformed Immortals to deal with, and Berbatov took that fight personally.

Each time one of them appeared, he would hold back his own men and stride forward, his halberd whirling with blinding speed. Cuts from their infected weapons did not heal fully and even began to suppurate, but the big man ignored them all. His blade and its cleansing energy struck and smote, cut and cleaved. Fountains of pus-filled gore sprayed through the air, bloated flies withered and disease ridden bodies fell.

Shan had misjudged the ability of both his men and his ship and in leaving them to face Berbatov alone, guaranteed their demise.


Outer City
Diadem
Unassigned Space

James saw the lone craft as it roared across the battlefield, a black trail of smoke blooming from its rear. At first he thought that it was damaged, that either Krantu’s forces or even the robots had struck it. This changed though as he saw the inky cloud fall to earth, its tendrils reaching out to consume both robot and man where it touched.

He saw shiny metal instantly turn a rust-brown colour, before crumbling into dust. Men melted in front of his eyes and it was then he realised that the foul craft was in fact intact, healthy even, but clearly a carrier of the diseased and twisted health that a demon-follower was blessed with.

The Major was too far away to do anything more than watch, but just when he thought that they had failed, he saw three dots appear high in the sky. Their indistinct shapes firmed up as they raced forward at an incredible speed, bearing down on the Tauran craft. They were delta wings, and James’ spirits lifted as he realised that all was still not lost.

*

Marius and his Wing had quickly ascertained the disposition of enemy forces and were powering their fighters forwards to aid their embattled troops. It was then that the Captain noticed the lone craft as it streaked towards the city and the tower itself.

“Okay boys, you go and help our guys out,” ordered Marius, his eyes still fixed on what he now thought of as his prize, “I’ll take care of our infectious friend.”

His Wingmen waggled their wings in response and peeled away, transmission via his command circuit reassuring him that the rest of his Wing would soon join them. Wasting no time he increased the power to his engines, quickly eating up the distance between his delta wing and his prey.

*

“What is it?” snarled Shan, as one of his men tried to attract his attention, he had been busy enjoying the wonderful destruction caused by the moist cloud raining down on the ground below.

He did not wait for an answer as he could see the readout and the constant bleep of a target lock. Smirking to himself, he moved over to the control station, ready to deal with the approaching fighter. A Champion of a cursed God had his own arsenal, weapons bestowed to him by his Master. The effects of which were gloriously wicked.

Waiting for his targeting system to lock was an annoyance, but immediately on seeing the reticule turn green, he savagely activated the control sequence.

Laughing and cackling, the possessed missiles were launched. Their shells constantly reforming as the blisters grew and then burst, a stream of rot and debris falling behind them as they flew.

*

“Frak!” muttered Marius, as his systems announced missile lock and he broke off his attack run, jinking and weaving his fighter in an effort to shake the abhorrent projectiles.

They followed his every move though, their possession allowing them to anticipate his actions and still close the distance. One looping move, brought Marius’ fighter around to face them and he fired his own spray of missiles and plasma. Whether it was skill or pure luck, his efforts were rewarded with the destruction of one of the objects; a cloud of greeny brown smoke announcing its extinction. The other, though, bored onwards towards Marius’ hurtling craft.

*

Shan could see they were getting close to the city now, as what had once been an indistinct shape, now took on individual form and substance. Buildings, towers and spires in dark glory appeared before him and he raise his hands in jubilation. Nothing could stop him now.

*

Marius eventually resigned himself to the fact that there was no way to rid himself of the demonic missile. Once he had accepted that fact, he decided to ensure that at least one part of his mission would be fulfilled and, ignoring the projectile behind him, targeted the perpetrator of the attack on his fighter.

Eyes squinting in concentration he chased the horrid craft down, the strident beeping that warned him of an imminent impact ever louder in his ears. He knew that he would only get one shot at this and he was determined that it was going to be a good one. At last he was close enough and he fired everything that he had; plasma, autocannon and Spitfire’s streamed towards Shan’s vessel.

Then levelling out his delta wing, he did the only thing that was left to him to do. As the alarms in his cockpit began one long ululating tone, he punched the ejection sequence and prayed.

*

The Tauran Adept’s reverie was rudely interrupted as plasma beams scored his craft, burning through superstructure and tearing searing holes in his engines. Autocannon rounds peppered his wings and his own defense systems failed in their pre-programmed routines. With a huge roar and a gout of gigantic flame, one of Marcus’ missiles destroyed Shan’s engines, causing the craft to pitch and yaw and then tumble towards the waiting earth.

Shan screamed in frustration, he had been so close to an easy victory and he lashed out with a huge hand, crushing the half rotten bones and flesh of one of his followers. Feeling somewhat better, he looked towards the uprushing ground and became calm. He and at least some of his men would survive this and then they would complete their objective on foot. All was not lost, at least not yet.

*

Viker saw Marius’ craft hit and the subsequent strikes against Shan’s vessel, somehow they had just been given another chance and he meant to take advantage of it. He knelt and opened his arms in prayer, his thoughts clear and precise as he made his request. Then he waited.

High Orbit
Diadem
Unassigned Space

Master Arshavin smiled to himself as he recognised the signatures of the arriving drone ships. Now, he could show these Churchmen and the recently arrived and overly corrupted Tauran forces, what a member of the intellectual class could do.

Chapter Nine

Outer Reaches
Diadem
Unassigned Space

Master Arshavin laughed coldly as he watched the fleet of ships scurry to face his creations. Millennia had passed since he had last crossed swords with the Church; he had hidden himself away, developing his children to ever new and exigent levels.

His allegiance to the Tauran High Command had been swept away long ago, when he had followed the new Warmaster, ignoring the call of his brothers that he left behind. The time spent on the path of war had been helpful, but his arrogance knew no bounds and once again he had chosen solitude over the pitiful whining of his peers and subordinates. That had been a long time ago.

Combining the height of Church Technology, with demon possession had worked for a while, but he had soon decided that what he needed was something different. His spawn needed to obey him totally, and for that he had developed something new.

No doubt, both his Tauran brothers and the Church forces would declare him a heretic, but finally he had made his breakthrough. Those robots he had created, were self-thinking entities, to a point. Unswervingly loyal to Arshavin’s design, they had rudimentary brains, whose synapses were linked to his own central command. On the battlefield they could innovate, within the limit of their programmed capacity, although he still maintained the self-destruct option, if they ever advanced too far.

No-one had ever faced their like and survived and the prize waiting below, would add to their abilities. Carefully watching his screens, he saw the moment when they deployed their tactical weapons and grinned savagely. This was going to be entertaining.

*

Viker finished tightening the straps on his uniform, his gaze flicking across to Leftenant Krantu, who even now was receiving some last minute instructions from the Colonel.

He saw Corporal Johns and his old squad arrive and nodded to them with easy familiarity. It would be good to have them by his side once more, his amalgamation into Krantu’s squad was a little more difficult than he had first expected.

The call came and they formed up, ready to march onto the waiting pinnace. This was to be a quick and decisive strike, their target already defined by the Colonel. They would be dropping with some of the Eyatolians into what was expected to be a hot zone. The main body was to be held in reserve right now, the Colonel apparently ready to wait and see how the battle developed.

*

Marius fired his autocannons, the metal slugs tearing through space and impacting on the incoming objects. An ovoid of light flicked into existence and his rounds ricocheted harmlessly away.

“Careful boys,” he transmitted, “they’re shielded!”

His targeting reticule locked onto the next in line and he fired his plasma cannons. There was a brief resistance and then an incandescent explosion, as the creature disappeared.

“Captain!” screamed a voice, “Our laser cannons have absolutely no effect, we…..”

Looking at his tactical display, Marius saw the tags identifying his fighters begin to wink out and swore. With a snarl of rage, he slammed on the power and hoped he would get there in time.

*

The quill-like protrusions arched forwards, bending almost double and now facing towards the incoming fighters. Their shapes became fainter as the spines turned fluid and were flung forward, squirming towards the oncoming craft. Their serpentine motion made them hard to track and impossible to predict, yet not many pilots were overly worried, then the first of them struck.

It lashed around one of the fighter’s wings, shearing through the resistant metal as though it had never existed and continued on its way. The pilot instantly lost control of his craft, the fighter starting to spin and tumble, flying straight into more of the snake-like strings of energy. It was neatly sliced into pieces, with seemingly little sign of any diminution of the weapon’s strength.

Laser cannons fired, their beams ineffectual as they only scored the robot’s shields, with little or no penetration. Pilots were dying and there appeared to be nothing that they could do about it.

*

Arshavin crowed with delight as his robots’ weapons deployed, he was sublimely confident that the Churchmen had never faced anything like it and that nothing would be able to resist his latest inventions. He unknowingly had made a couple of mistakes; his opponents weren’t strictly speaking Churchmen and their technology was significantly higher than anything he had faced before.

*

“Fighters fall back, I repeat, fighters fall back!” ordered Marius as he and his Wing roared into battle. “We’ll soften them up for you and then you can finish them off, out!”

The delta wings flew in a linear formation, their plasma weapons blazing, the robots shields flaring and dying. Still Marius did not relent, utilising his vastly superior speed to turn and rake the robots again.

“Okay boys,” he transmitted, “they’re all yours! We’ve got bigger fish to fry!”

Once more the delta wings formed up on his lead and this time they powered on towards the waiting mother ship.

*

Arshavin had been surprised by the firepower exhibited by his enemies, but not overawed. It was time to put an end to this. He sent out a short mental command and drop pods began to deploy, augmenting his forces on the planet’s surface.

Another command, sent a beacon spinning outwards from his main ship, its pulsed signal designed not to control his current forces, but to call for reinforcements. He knew that his earlier preparations would now bear fruit. The two drone ships he had brought with him would arrive shortly and this battle would reach another level.

*

“Marius…” came the soft voice, reverberating inside the Captain’s head, a quick glance showing no radio activity.

“Yes, my Lord,” responded the Captain, his senses still focused on the burgeoning attack run on the robot’s mother ship.

“Abort your attack on the ship, I will take care of it,.” Marius began to protest, but he was quickly cut off, “No arguments. The protection of our landing force is of paramount importance. Take your Wing and give covering fire. We cannot allow these robots access to the treasure hidden below. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal, my Lord,” replied the Captain, already beginning to transmit new co-ordinates to his Wing, “We won’t let you down!”

“I never doubted that for one moment, Captain. Now …” the voice trailed off, and Marius saw the new ships dropping out from the warp.

“My Lord!” he exclaimed.

“You have yours orders, Captain!” snapped Walters, abruptly cutting off communication.

*

Shan had followed his instructions to the letter, his flagship, the Spiteful Dawn, led a fleet of plague infested vessels on the trail of Walters and his men. The beacon drawing on Walters, had also guided the Tauran Adept. Its pure light and chorus of song had inflicted some pain on Shan’s corrupted ears, but pain was something he revelled in.

They had quickly decimated the Church fleet, their unexpected attack had converted many before any resistance could be mounted. His new brothers had gleefully joined in the destruction of the few die-hard Immortals, and his now putrescent ships followed their new God faithfully.

Surprise he thought would be on their side, the Churchmen would not be prepared for the overwhelming Tauran attack. His new connection with his God gave him many things, but unfortunately for him, prescience was not one of them.

The jump directly into an ongoing space battle would not have been his most fervent wish, but he quickly adapted, ordering rapid deployment of his new ground forces and driving the Spiteful Dawn and her sisterships straight at the heart of the engagement.

*

Walters snarled as he recognised the abhorrent taste of Shan’s followers, corrupting the ether. His eyes flashed as he turned to face Berbatov.

“We seem to be outnumbered, Sargeant!” he said curtly.

Berbatov only grinned and gripped the staff of his halberd more tightly, “Which one’s mine?” he growled, unconcernedly.

“The Taurans,” responded Walters, smiling at his ever ready Sargeant, “take Uther and the rest of his men with you. I will personally get you to their flagship; the rest is up to you.”

“Just how I like it!” replied Berbatov, before turning and barking orders to his men.



Lower Atmosphere
Diadem
Unassigned Space

Viker grunted as the pinnace shuddered under fire, it seemed that their enemies were already aware that they were coming. Jones, as did the other non-commissioned officers, shouted at their men, forming them up and making sure that their motivation was at its highest possible.

The pinnace landed, its door slamming open and with a roar the infantry charged outwards. From the rear of the craft, a ramp slapped to earth and the Eyotalian’s armour poured forth, their battle cannons speaking almost as soon as they touched the dirt.

Making as if to follow Leftenant Krantu, Viker felt a touch on his shoulder; it was Johns.

“You’re with us, son,” shouted the Corporal, above the intense noise of laser and cannon fire.

Looking up, he saw the Leftenant nod, and Viker raced to join his old squad, who waited expectantly.


Outer Reaches
Diadem
Unassigned Space

Walters stood beside Berbatov and looked over the waiting men and Immortals. They had not questioned how he was going to get them on board the enemy’s vessel nor the force they would face once they got there.

“Call me, if you need me,” he muttered to Berbatov, and then began, drawing in the energy from his surroundings. A green pin-point of light formed, rapidly expanding as he opened the portal. Not waiting for its full formation, Berbatov leapt through, howling his battle cry, which turned into a full-throated roar as his men followed.

*

Things were going to plan, was the smug thought flitting through the Shan’s mind, as he saw how heavily he outnumbered the others’ forces. His men had already started their descent to the planet below and now it was his turn to deal out pain and suffering. He smiled and moved to issue his attack orders when all hell broke loose. The ship itself seemed to scream in pain, as though it had been dealt a mortal blow, its alarms sounding more like cries than warnings.

Not being sure of what was happening, Shan called for answers, even as the first of his men began to die.

Chapter Eight

The Tower
Diadem
Unassigned Space

The creature slept. It was old, so old that it had even forgotten its own name, but not its purpose. Here in the almost perpetual night of the city, it waited; its task to defend home and treasure. Any and all who had once lived here had been the food which kept it alive, but they were long gone now and all that remained for sustenance were its own offspring.

It lived in a perpetual downward metabolic cycle; birth drawing hard on its remaining reserves, which then in its consumption became death. A clawed hand flashed outwards, catching the thing which slinked out of the dark. They never learned, their racial drive for domination was written deep within their genetic code. With the minimum expense of energy, it bit off the thing’s head, chewed once and swallowed.

One enormous lazy eye looked upwards, the spinning shapes hung in low orbit, their rapid pulsations making them blink in the night sky. At its most rudimentary level the creature welcomed their activity; soon sustenance would be here.

*

A small ship dropped out of fold space; its on-board instruments questing and finally locking on the now powerful signal. Carefully it advanced forward, like a beast sniffing for danger; cautious, its savagery held in check until it was needed.

Then, a small spheroid split from the main ship, its speed incredible as it shot past the revolving objects and crashed through the planet’s outer atmosphere, where it began to glow, the still tenuous air protesting at its passage.

Once through, there was a low explosion and it spilt into numerous separate parts which sprayed out fan-like, across the sky.

*

Below, the creature watched languorously, as the spectacle unfolded. Strange feelings surged upwards, emotions long forgotten; anticipation, anger and ultimately hunger.

*

Sleek cylindrical shapes surged downwards, quickly reaching terminal velocity, their fluted sides whistling as their self-generated wind roared past. Their tops were broad, thinning to a sharp point at their furthest extremity, which made them appear like inverted cones. Each of them slammed into the earth, clawing their way downwards into the protesting dirt and rock, until finally they came to rest. Steam rose from the holes they carved as their outer skins cooled rapidly, throwing off the memories of their violent passage through the air.

Whirring quietly a circle of metal began to rise from the head of each construction, finally blowing free with an explosive snap. Segmented limbs unfolded, tentatively probing, before gripping fiercely and pulling the concealed contents of the drop pod free. One by one, accompanied by a fierce clicking they rose from their self imposed prison, righting themselves on four spindly legs.

Spider-like, a spherical metallic body hung suspended from the limbs, swaying slightly. Two bright red lights blinked, before burning in a steady glow. Moving jerkily on knife life feet, they joined together and as one pack advanced on the silent city.

*

The creature knew they were there, and it unfurled its great leathern wings, holding them outstretched and motionless for a heartbeat. With a great leap and a massive down stroke it rose into the air, its muscles complaining at the unexpected demand. Then with ponderous beats it moved to meet the oncoming threat.

Behind it, there rose from various buildings a cloud of small flying creatures, their hunger overcoming the fear of their parent. Together they sped towards the advancing constructs, avarice gleaming in their eyes.


The Galleon
Unknown Location
Fold Space

“How long?” asked Arn, as the Galleon continued its seemingly endless journey through the warp.

“Not much longer,” replied Walters turning to face him, “the signal becomes stronger.”

Then Walters face twisted in anger, his eyes flashing, and a low growl began deep in his throat.

“My Lord, what is it?” questioned Arn, worried at the change in Walters.

“Others have found it!” he snarled, whirling to stare out of the view screen, but there was nothing to see, “Prepare the men,” he said more calmly now, “this is not going to be as easy as I thought!”



The Tower
Diadem
Unassigned Space

A scream of rage echoed through the sky, as the creature realised that there was no food here, the metallic nature of its enemies would give no sustenance. With an inclination of its great wings, it banked and turned, its great maw opening. Its mistake meant that it would have to expend much of its depleted resources now in the destruction of its unknown foes. Its jaws opening and closing it began its harvest, its offspring would provide.

*

As one, numerous pairs of red eyes focussed on the beast, commands were passed and metallic carapaces split. Slender rods extended out from the constructs’ shells, locking into place and then following the creature’s flight. Bright pin points of energy coalesced at their tips and then with a shuddering roar, plasma fire surged upwards.



Outer Reaches
Diadem
Unassigned Space

“Contact! We have an unknown contact sat close to the planet’s atmosphere, my Lord,” said Arn, as he studied the read outs.

“Only one?” mused Berbatov, “Well that shouldn’t give us too much of a problem!”

“Strike that!” shouted Arn, spinning to face Walters, “We have multiple contacts, missiles I expect, and they’re headed straight for us!”

*

Walters and his party’s arrival had not gone unnoticed, as ships dropped into real space, slowing and reorienting themselves, a beam scanned and rapidly analysed them. The correct response was calculated and the once crescent shaped ship remoulded itself. Its wings extended, exposing a central cylinder and small, bulbous pods dropped down to hang heavily underneath like some kind of over ripe fruit.

Then they split apart, birthing numerous spheres whose propulsion units quickly kicked into life and hurled them towards the Galleon and its sister ships. About half way to their targets, long thin appendages flowed from their rear, solidifying in the frightful cold of space, and sticking out rigidly,quill-like, behind the now rapidly moving objects. Two red lights flicked on at the front of each of the spheres and began to blink, faster and faster the closer they got to Walters’ fleet.

*

Marius was taking a well-earned rest, chatting with some of his men about the modifications which had been made to their fighters and the advanced technology of the Delta-winged craft they had found here in the Galleon. He had just raised a glass to his lips, ready to take his first sip, when the attack alarms shrilled.

“Scramble! Scramble! We have incoming!” boomed the announcement and he raced towards his fighter, his forgotten glass bouncing once before shattering into tiny pieces on the hard decking.

“What do we have?” he demanded on the control circuit and was surprised to hear Walters’ reply.

“Captain, we’re not sure. We have multiple signals and whatever they are, they certainly aren’t friendly. They didn’t wait to get to know us, they launched immediately on our arrival in the system. You and your men are going to be vital, either as our eyes or as a means to destroy them.”

“Yes, my Lord,” responded Marius, as he approached his craft, only to be waved away by one of the ground crew.

“Oh and Captain?”, said Walters, laughter in his voice, “I hope you like your new ride.”

*

Engines roared, the signal was given and the Galleon’s new Eyotalian Fighter Wing screamed out into space. The truth was that they were not all Eyotalians, some of the original pilots from the Galleon had been placed under Marius’ command and even now it was hard to accept them. When they had removed their armoured helmets, Marius had needed all of his control not to shoot them there and then.

Well, thought Marius, at last they would see how well the unit could mesh together, no more discussions on teamwork, this was live combat.

His biggest surprise had been the delta wing waiting for him, the paint still fresh on its newly added decals; the snarling K’ran’s head and the Eyotalian Eagle. It was technologically far beyond anything he had flown before; fast, powerful and so very responsive.

Calls came in from his wingmen, verifying their status and position and in one tight formation they surged towards their unknown enemy.



The Tower
Diadem
Unassigned Space

Plasma shot skywards, yet no hit was scored; the beast’s size belied its agility. It had fed now, the gamble to consume its only known food source taken, and it was angry, so very angry.

It had taken time to beat its way upwards, to gain the height it needed to increase its maneuverability, but now it was here. Folding its wings against its body it plummeted down, its speed increasing rapidly. When it almost looked as though it was about to crash into the ground below, its wings opened with an audible crack, the resultant stress on its body tremendous.

The change of direction was sudden, it planed horizontally above its still firing enemies and opened its huge jaws. Out from its cavernous mouth came a jet of dark green liquid, expelled with such a force that its impact on the first of the metallic creatures, sent it tumbling. That however, was not the only effect.

Wherever the fluid touched metal boiled away, its corrosive force irresistible. Drops spattering out from the impacted creature burned their way through another’s limbs, causing two of the spindly appendages to snap and the creature to crumple to the floor. The spider-like construct frantically tried to scrabble its way upright, yet only managed to turn in a jerky circular motion. Its misery did not last very long, as on its next pass the beast destroyed it.

Under attack, the metallic creatures adapted, their close formation splitting apart, and once more a barrage of high energy soared upwards. One round burnt through the membrane of the beast’s left wing, destabilising its flight, the strain of its evasive tactics finally taking its toll. Bones splintered under the extreme stress, collapsing one gigantic limb and sending the beast crashing to earth.

As the beast tumbled, it smashed its way through the city, demolishing buildings with the sheer force of its momentum. At last it lay still, unmoving and the creatures skittered their way towards it tentatively. One huge eye opened, teeth snapped and more of its enemies fell. Again they moved back and once more bombarded the beast from distance.

This time it was no use, there were simply too many of them and it had no more strength. Its remaining wing flapped feebly, corrosive liquid dribbled from its mouth burning into the ground where it fell, and with a gigantic shudder, the beast died.

The creatures stayed for a time, as though waiting to see if it was truly dead, then as one they turned towards the now unprotected tower.

Chapter Eight

The Tower
Diadem
Unassigned Space

The creature slept. It was old, so old that it had even forgotten its own name, but not its purpose. Here in the almost perpetual night of the city, it waited; its task to defend home and treasure. Any and all who had once lived here had been the food which kept it alive, but they were long gone now and all that remained for sustenance were its own offspring.

It lived in a perpetual downward metabolic cycle; birth drawing hard on its remaining reserves, which then in its consumption became death. A clawed hand flashed outwards, catching the thing which slinked out of the dark. They never learned, their racial drive for domination was written deep within their genetic code. With the minimum expense of energy, it bit off the thing’s head, chewed once and swallowed.

One enormous lazy eye looked upwards, the spinning shapes hung in low orbit, their rapid pulsations making them blink in the night sky. At its most rudimentary level the creature welcomed their activity; soon sustenance would be here.

*

A small ship dropped out of warp; its on-board instruments questing and finally locking on the now powerful signal. Carefully it advanced forward, like a beast sniffing for danger; cautious, its savagery held in check until it was needed.

Then, a small spheroid split from the main ship, its speed incredible as it shot past the revolving objects and crashed through the planet’s outer atmosphere, where it began to glow, the still tenuous air protesting at its passage.

Once through, there was a low explosion and it spilt into numerous separate parts which sprayed out fan-like, across the sky.

*

Below, the creature watched languorously, as the spectacle unfolded. Strange feelings surged upwards, emotions long forgotten; anticipation, anger and ultimately hunger.

*

Sleek cylindrical shapes surged downwards, quickly reaching terminal velocity, their fluted sides whistling as their self-generated wind roared past. Their tops were broad, thinning to a sharp point at their furthest extremity, which made them appear like inverted cones. Each of them slammed into the earth, clawing their way downwards into the protesting dirt and rock, until finally they came to rest. Steam rose from the holes they carved as their outer skins cooled rapidly, throwing off the memories of their violent passage through the air.

Whirring quietly a circle of metal began to rise from the head of each construction, finally blowing free with an explosive snap. Segmented limbs unfolded, tentatively probing, before gripping fiercely and pulling the concealed contents of the drop pod free. One by one, accompanied by a fierce clicking they rose from their self imposed prison, righting themselves on four spindly legs.

Spider-like, a spherical metallic body hung suspended from the limbs, swaying slightly. Two bright red lights blinked, before burning in a steady glow. Moving jerkily on knife life feet, they joined together and as one pack advanced on the silent city.

*

The creature knew they were there, and it unfurled its great leathern wings, holding them outstretched and motionless for a heartbeat. With a great leap and a massive down stroke it rose into the air, its muscles complaining at the unexpected demand. Then with ponderous beats it moved to meet the oncoming threat.

Behind it, there rose from various buildings a cloud of small flying creatures, their hunger overcoming the fear of their parent. Together they sped towards the advancing constructs, avarice gleaming in their eyes.


The Galleon
Unknown Location
Fold Space

“How long?” asked Arn, as the Galleon continued its seemingly endless journey through the warp.

“Not much longer,” replied Walters turning to face him, “the signal becomes stronger.”

Then Walters face twisted in anger, his eyes flashing, and a low growl began deep in his throat.

“My Lord, what is it?” questioned Arn, worried at the change in Walters.

“Others have found it!” he snarled, whirling to stare out of the view screen, but there was nothing to see, “Prepare the men,” he said more calmly now, “this is not going to be as easy as I thought!”



The Tower
Diadem
Unassigned Space

A scream of rage echoed through the sky, as the creature realised that there was no food here, the metallic nature of its enemies would give no sustenance. With an inclination of its great wings, it banked and turned, its great maw opening. Its mistake meant that it would have to expend much of its depleted resources now in the destruction of its unknown foes. Its jaws opening and closing it began its harvest, its offspring would provide.

*

As one, numerous pairs of red eyes focussed on the beast, commands were passed and metallic carapaces split. Slender rods extended out from the constructs’ shells, locking into place and then following the creature’s flight. Bright pin points of energy coalesced at their tips and then with a shuddering roar, plasma fire surged upwards.



Outer Reaches
Diadem
Unassigned Space

“Contact! We have an unknown contact sat close to the planet’s atmosphere, my Lord,” said Arn, as he studied the read outs.

“Only one?” mused Berbatov, “Well that shouldn’t give us too much of a problem!”

“Strike that!” shouted Arn, spinning to face Walters, “We have multiple contacts, missiles I expect, and they’re headed straight for us!”

*

Walters and his party’s arrival had not gone unnoticed, as ships dropped into real space, slowing and reorienting themselves, a beam scanned and rapidly analysed them. The correct response was calculated and the once crescent shaped ship remoulded itself. Its wings extended, exposing a central cylinder and small, bulbous pods dropped down to hang heavily underneath like some kind of over ripe fruit.

Then they split apart, birthing numerous spheres whose propulsion units quickly kicked into life and hurled them towards the Galleon and its sister ships. About half way to their targets, long thin appendages flowed from their rear, solidifying in the frightful cold of space, and sticking out rigidly,quill-like, behind the now rapidly moving objects. Two red lights flicked on at the front of each of the spheres and began to blink, faster and faster the closer they got to Walters’ fleet.

*

Marius was taking a well-earned rest, chatting with some of his men about the modifications which had been made to their fighters and the advanced technology of the Delta-winged craft they had found here in the Galleon. He had just raised a glass to his lips, ready to take his first sip, when the attack alarms shrilled.

“Scramble! Scramble! We have incoming!” boomed the announcement and he raced towards his fighter, his forgotten glass bouncing once before shattering into tiny pieces on the hard decking.

“What do we have?” he demanded on the control circuit and was surprised to hear Walters’ reply.

“Captain, we’re not sure. We have multiple signals and whatever they are, they certainly aren’t friendly. They didn’t wait to get to know us, they launched immediately on our arrival in the system. You and your men are going to be vital, either as our eyes or as a means to destroy them.”

“Yes, my Lord,” responded Marius, as he approached his craft, only to be waved away by one of the ground crew.

“Oh and Captain?”, said Walters, laughter in his voice, “I hope you like your new ride.”

*

Engines roared, the signal was given and the Galleon’s new Eyotalian Fighter Wing screamed out into space. The truth was that they were not all Eyotalians, some of the original pilots from the Galleon had been placed under Marius’ command and even now it was hard to accept them. When they had removed their armoured helmets, Marius had needed all of his control not to shoot them there and then.

Well, thought Marius, at last they would see how well the unit could mesh together, no more discussions on teamwork, this was live combat.

His biggest surprise had been the delta wing waiting for him, the paint still fresh on its newly added decals; the snarling K’ran’s head and the Eyotalian Eagle. It was technologically far beyond anything he had flown before; fast, powerful and so very responsive.

Calls came in from his wingmen, verifying their status and position and in one tight formation they surged towards their unknown enemy.



The Tower
Diadem
Unassigned Space

Plasma shot skywards, yet no hit was scored; the beast’s size belied its agility. It had fed now, the gamble to consume its only known food source taken, and it was angry, so very angry.

It had taken time to beat its way upwards, to gain the height it needed to increase its maneuverability, but now it was here. Folding its wings against its body it plummeted down, its speed increasing rapidly. When it almost looked as though it was about to crash into the ground below, its wings opened with an audible crack, the resultant stress on its body tremendous.

The change of direction was sudden, it planed horizontally above its still firing enemies and opened its huge jaws. Out from its cavernous mouth came a jet of dark green liquid, expelled with such a force that its impact on the first of the metallic creatures, sent it tumbling. That however, was not the only effect.

Wherever the fluid touched metal boiled away, its corrosive force irresistible. Drops spattering out from the impacted creature burned their way through another’s limbs, causing two of the spindly appendages to snap and the creature to crumple to the floor. The spider-like construct frantically tried to scrabble its way upright, yet only managed to turn in a jerky circular motion. Its misery did not last very long, as on its next pass the beast destroyed it.

Under attack, the metallic creatures adapted, their close formation splitting apart, and once more a barrage of high energy soared upwards. One round burnt through the membrane of the beast’s left wing, destabilising its flight, the strain of its evasive tactics finally taking its toll. Bones splintered under the extreme stress, collapsing one gigantic limb and sending the beast crashing to earth.

As the beast tumbled, it smashed its way through the city, demolishing buildings with the sheer force of its momentum. At last it lay still, unmoving and the creatures skittered their way towards it tentatively. One huge eye opened, teeth snapped and more of its enemies fell. Again they moved back and once more bombarded the beast from distance.

This time it was no use, there were simply too many of them and it had no more strength. Its remaining wing flapped feebly, corrosive liquid dribbled from its mouth burning into the ground where it fell, and with a gigantic shudder, the beast died.

The creatures stayed for a time, as though waiting to see if it was truly dead, then as one they turned towards the now unprotected tower.

Chapter Seven

Church Fleet
High Orbit
Argent III
Second Church Protectorate

Shan lay still, the foolish Churchmen believed him unconscious, so let them do so. He had at first wondered why he had been kept alive, his injuries being sufficient even to still his corrupted heart. The power of his god had infused him with pestilence, maintaining his existence day after dreary day, feeding his pain to an almost joyous level.

Now he recognised his purpose, the bubbling and putrid murmurings of the plague carriers held within him had made him wait. They also had been a gift to the Tauran, but now they were slowly consuming him from the inside out; feeding on the pus and contagion within his rotted body.

Their movements had become more frantic and the Tauran knew that the time had come. The lesser demons pushed their way out of his corroded armour, their liquid chuckling a measure of their excitement. A black and yellow bilious fluid wept out, falling to the floor in a viscous rain. Wisps of smoke curled upwards as the material corroded the decking below. As the pooling liquid continued its work, one after another of the vile creatures rolled into the hole and disappeared from sight.

Now, a shrunken figure lay upon the gurney, but Shan’s task was far from over. With each exhalation of his racked and tortured body, a fine mist of spores came into being, the impulse of his breath starting them on their journey. Momentarily they coalesced into a mucus ridden cloud, then just as quickly dispersed, pulled away by the circulating air within the room.

Breathing became more difficult as the expulsion of the foetid miasma physically drained him, eventually all that was left was a crumpled and corroded shell, the last of its toxins leaking out drop by drop, falling down into the burnt out hole and continuing into the depths below.

*

The door opened slowly and Inspector Frings led his team inside, his angry shout causing weapons to be drawn and trained directly at the Tauran’s body.

“Stay away!” Frings screamed at a Stormtrooper who had approached the still smoking hole, his hand crashing against the general alarm button. A harsh howling began, the response to the deadliest of threats, and door after door slammed shut, sealing the party within the small room.

Frightened faces peered at him and one braver than most, asked the question they all wanted answering, “W-w-what do we do now?”

“We pray,” replied Frings, his shaking hand pulling his handkerchief from his pocket, “and ask for the Prelate’s blessing on our journey to His side.”

*

Rating Weaver carried the tray of food down the corridor, whistling to himself. He for one was not too upset that they had arrived to find the Tauran Fleet already gone or, if the rumours were correct, destroyed. It was a much easier life when normal routine was allowed to flourish and prosper. His job was to make sure that the officers were fed and cared for, a sometimes onerous task depending on the individual and their particular requirements, but one he quite enjoyed.

As he passed by the grille of the ventilation shaft, a tiny clawed hand snaked out, swiping quickly and opening a small cut on the rating’s neck. Weaver clapped his hand to the wound, involuntarily dropping the tray as pain rippled through him. His puzzled look turned quickly to fear as his limbs began to shake uncontrollably and an overwhelming dizziness made him try to cling to the wall.

A horrible laughter rang through his head and flecks of blood appeared at the corners of his eyes, boils erupting from his skin in quick succession. Cramps tore at his stomach and he vomited black liquid which seemed to heave of its own volition. With a final long drawn out scream he collapsed, his body thudding to the floor amidst the still moving liquid.

Again a horrid cackling came from the ventilation shaft, followed by a curious shuffling, then there was only silence.

*

Death stalked the ship’s corridors, its attack silent yet deadly. The Immortals themselves watched helplessly as one after another, their Church comrades fell. There was no distinction of rank nor privilege, all died equally, in screaming gut-wrenching pain. Some of the Troopers had found breathing equipment and as such had saved themselves for now, others were not so lucky.

It was obvious where the source of infection had come from, but there was no way to reach the Inspector and his party and it was far too late. Even now, the Immortals made their way as fast as they could to the Bridge, their decision on how to save the ship taken. They must vent all of the atmosphere, killing any survivors it was true, but also ridding the cruiser of this air borne disease.

Their logic was sound, however there were a number of factors they had not taken into account.

*

Frings stared at the remains of the now identified Tauran Adept, an abject terror fighting to claw its way out of his head. The decision to bring this thing on board had been his, over riding any words of caution from the cruiser’s Chaplain and the senior officers on board. He had seen only glory, the interrogation and subsequent use of any information would have surely raised him high amongst his peers.

Now there was only death and ignominy, but at least he would not live to witness it. Then he heard the rasping sound coming from the corpse, accompanied by a horrendous stench of corruption. Slowly the armour began to swell, fluid leaking from its fractured components, yet still it began to pulse with evil life. A silent scream began deep in his throat as Shan’s eyes opened, glowing a baleful and malevolent red.

*

Bodies lay, twisted and grotesque, exactly where they had fallen, pools of liquid seeping slowly out from underneath them. With an abrupt crack, the screws holding the ventilation grill parted and the slatted piece of metal dropped to the floor. A hideously gnarled and wart covered face peered cautiously out of the concealing darkness, then a squat bulbous body squelched over the rim of the shaft and plopped to the floor.

Rolling slightly the creature made its way to the first of the corpses, licking the slime covered hand before it and cackling with glee. It hopped slightly as a burst of putrid flatulence half-raised it into the air and it began to hum. Another of the creatures joined it, followed by more, their evil croons producing in the unholy chorus.

At first nothing happened and then the hand of the corpse twitched, one finger almost imperceptibly flicking upwards. Rotating slowly, the demon watched with satisfaction as one after another of the bodies moved, groans of protestation flowing from their lips. Bubbling laughter echoed through the silent corridors, as the dead began to rise.

*

The crack in Sargeant Arius’ armour was tiny, almost imperceptible but the spores found it anyway. They wiggled their way through the metallic skin and then began burrowing into the Immortal’s flesh. Entering his bloodstream they were attacked by the enhanced metabolism of the soldier and a titanic struggle took place; spores multiplying exponentially threw back the constituents parts of Arius’ immune system and corrupted all around them.

Suddenly the Sargeant coughed, a wet slickness covering the inside of his face plate. Arius’ companion looked at him with some concern, Immortals were not known for their susceptibility to disease and under the present circumstances it rang alarm bells.

Arius waved his arm depreciatingly, “Dry throat,” he murmured, yet even then he was lost, although he yet did not know it.

His brother Immortal moved forward slightly, checking around the corner of the corridor and Arius began to tremble and sweat, the convulsions slight although another indication of the efficacy of the spores. His mind began to wander and horrid visions cascaded through his thoughts.

With one final shudder it was over, his piercing blue eyes filling with a virulent red fluid as his superhuman body finally succumbed. Stealthily he approached his comrade, his now unslung axe raised up high. There was no sound as he slammed the hilt of the weapon down onto his brother’s head, the force sufficient to split open the other’s helm. Savagely he tore off his own helmet and quickly that of his unfortunate companion joined it. The other man had been forced down onto one knee and was groggily shaking his head. Snarling bestially Arius leapt forward and bit down, tearing a chunk of flesh from the weakened man’s throat.

His already virulent saliva mixed with the welling blood from the ragged wound, so passing on the now enhanced plague spores, which rapidly destroyed the soldier’s stricken defenses.

Standing back, Arius gazed on, a cunning smile playing on his lips. A shuffling, shambling noise could be heard behind him and he turned to welcome his undead brothers.

*

One leg after another slipped off the medical gurney and Shan creaked to his feet. Frings screamed now, all pretence at bravado having disappeared. A trooper sprinted forward, his rifle spitting rounds at the Tauran, who only laughed as ragged holes appeared and then slowly closed. He reached one gauntleted hand forward, grasping the terrified Trooper by the throat and crushing his windpipe effortlessly. Death personified, he strode forward, calmly murdering one after another, until only the Inspector remained.

“I denounce thee in His name,” mumbled Frings, rapidly making the sign of his Order.

Shan roared with laughter, casually backhanding the Inspector across the face. The force of the blow threw Frings across the room, crashing against a nearby table and collapsing in a heap upon the floor.

“Poor little man,” whispered Shan, grasping the front of Frings’ tunic in one hand and lifting him to his feet, “I’m sure you are wondering what is going to happen to you …….?”

Quite deliberately he drew the Inspector’s face close to his and kissed him full on the mouth, “Welcome brother……” he purred.

*

Ever so subtly, the structure of the battleship began to change, metal corroding and becoming almost fluid. Boils and pustules grew on the ship’s external skin, covering laser batteries and launch bays, as the virulent plague slowly consumed all of what was once a proud Church vessel. The engines pulsed with power and ignoring the frantic hails of the rest of the fleet , the enormous craft got underway.

*
Striding purposefully down the corridor leading to the bridge, Shan greeted his new brothers. Immortals lined the passage, their armour darkening and changing before his eyes. Colours ran slowly down their shoulder guards as their Church emblems twisted in silent pain. Underneath a new pattern began to emerge, burned into the very metal itself.

With a swish the bridge doors opened and Shan looked on at the partially rotten body of the Admiral, half melted into his chair. A death’s head grin flitted across the undead officer’s face as he peeled himself from his seat and expansively waved his new master forward.

“Now,” said Shan, “We can leave. Our Lord has given us a new task and directions so that we can follow this upstart Walters. Let us be on our way, but first …..”

Virulent streams of sickness poured from the battleship’s main weaponry, impacting against the unsuspecting Church Fleet as Shan looked on with satisfaction. Very soon his undead army would be ready, and the new Tauran Champion could lead them into battle.

Chapter Six

The Tower
Diadem
Unassigned Space

The city was dark and brooding; a jet black pall of cloud clung perpetually to its tall spires. No breeze gently stroked its filigreed buildings, no laughter rang through its vaulted halls. Death had stalked its once bright streets and garlanded avenues, and had decided to stay.


At the centre of the gloomy and pain-ridden metropolis rose a tall thin spire, its top sharply truncated, clashing with the clean lines of the surrounding buildings. A ridged shape was wrapped tightly against the fluted tower, terminating in a diamond like block which lay flat and unmoving.

The base of the structure flared outwards, inside was one circular room; symmetrically perfect in construction. Its walls were covered in jewels whose reflective brilliance was hidden behind the shadowed façade.

One pulse of light stroked the walls, their reflective properties enhancing its purity and clarity. Bouncing rays struck again into the centre of the room, and the beacon awoke.

Now the pulses became stronger, reinforced, and finally a pure beam of energy thrust skywards, its progress halted momentarily by the block laid flat over the tower’s pointed tip. Insistently the beam struck again, forcing its way outwards.

With a protesting roar of anger, the creature raised its head and saw the lance of light escape, tearing out into space, where it struck against a series of revolving shapes. These too flared into life, sparkling with energy. They spun faster and faster, resonating in time with the light’s waveform. Reaching their utmost capacity of charge, they began to broadcast a low and repetitive song.

The beam suddenly winked out, the creature lowering its head and once more closing its eyes. Deep in the tower, light continued to flash, the jewels ensuring that the newly awakened beacon would not die. They illuminated the strange dais set to one side and the dry and desiccated pair of wings resting upon it.

Argent III
Disputed Zone
Second Church Protectorate

Funeral pyres burnt across the extent of the battle field, soldiers using flamethrowers to ensure the vile and rotted corpses ignited. The battle was long over and Walters and his men were, in their own way, cleansing the memory of the conflict.

Troop transporters settled slowly to ground, their cargo doors folding outwards with steady grace. Of the original regiments only the Lutheran and Eyatolians remained. Those others who had survived had been press ganged into service, helping to ferry the dismembered remains to the central pits along with the other soldiers.

They would now all be leaving this world, Walters had promised that none would be left behind. Their new commander had already been ferried up to the Galleon with his bodyguard and advisors. His remaining command structure had remained behind to organise the uplift of personnel and machinery.

None of them had been informed of their next destination, but even the least of them was less than concerned. Walters had proven to them that he was much more than a simple leader and they would willingly follow him wherever he went.

*

Marius watched as the last of the tanks was backed on board and waited until his men were also inside. His combat helmet dangled by its straps from his arm, ready to be placed on his head before he climbed into the waiting fighter. Fuel had been found and so he and the remainder of his wing were to fly the craft off this world. Walters had explained it simply enough, where they were going they would need all the firepower that they had. He had promised various upgrades to the craft and the chance to use them once again in combat.

The captain was not so sure, he had enjoyed fighting close alongside his men; the disciplined strike of their short swords, the adrenalin rush as they had driven their enemies into dust. It was not something he could give up lightly.

As the transport heaved itself up into the air, he shook his head and raced to his waiting fighter. This was one rush he knew about and if this was to be his last time, he was determined to enjoy it.

*

Viker huddled close to the rest of the members of his platoon, although some of them, particularly Alana looked at him strangely, reverentially. He had been blessed on the battle field and many still yearned for the privilege of that honour. Corporal Johns also treated him differently, more like a brother than a common soldier and he was still finding that hard to come to terms with. Shouldering his pack, he moved to take his place in the line, but Johns pulled him aside.

“No, son,” he said, “Leftenant Krantu has asked that you join his command directly.”

“But …” began Viker, but Johns shook his head and clapped him on the shoulder, “Don’t worry about the rest of us,” he said, “we’ll be joining you soon enough.”

With a friendly shove the Corporal pushed him towards the waiting Leftenant and his men, who were about to climb aboard the pinnace. Looking back once, Viker saw the envy on his companions’ faces, quickly replaced by pride as he was welcomed into his new role.

*

Finally all of the troops were lifted off the planet’s surface, the ships taking their place alongside the Galleon and the other warships. A command was given, then one by one they jumped into the waiting anonymity of fold space.

Church Fleet
High Orbit
Argent III
Second Church Protectorate

“Where are they!” screamed the Admiral, as report after report came in from the planet.

“They’re all dead, Sir,” replied General Grimes, doing his best to calm the explosive situation.

“Three full Regiments? How is that possible?”

“You’ve read the reports on the debris from the space battle, I assume?” asked Grimes carefully.

“Of course”, snapped the Admiral, “Do you take me for a fool, sir?”

“No,” responded the General, trying to keep his temper in check, “my only point is that we can see from the hulks floating in space, the myriad of destroyed vessels and other things, that a major Tauran Fleet was defeated here. The amount of men and machinery they would have thrown at the planet, would indicate that three Regiments would have been significantly outnumbered.”

“Granted, Grimes….”, an incoming transmission, broke into their conversation and the Admiral listened intently, before turning to the General once more, a small smile of satisfaction on his lips, “they’ve found a survivor and they’re bringing him here right now!”

*

The Church Fleet had recently arrived after a fruitless search for their enemies. They had continued with the plan of garrisoning worlds, but with no news of contact, from any of their outposts, they had begun retracing their tracks. When they had emerged into real space around Argent III, every single alarm had sprung into strident life and what they found was incomprehensible to them.

There was evidence of a major battle; broken ships, countless corpses spinning in the cold vacuum of space and the residues of vast discharges of energy. Painstaking examination of all that was left, still weakly held by the planet’s gravitational pull, revealed nothing.

Deployment of troops onto the planet’s surface was even more disheartening; vast swathes of land were burned and blackened, pits containing broken and twisted bones still smouldered and stank with the familiarly sweet smell. Discarded equipment lay as a mute testimony to the ferocity of the conflict waged there.

Squads of men and machinery combed the land and any hope of finding survivors fast disappeared. That is until they found, hidden and partially crushed beneath the remains of a battle tank, the sole Tauran Elite.

*

“Where is he?” asked Grimes, as he entered the hanger bay.

“They’re bringing him up now General,” said the Sargeant in charge of the squad of Guardsmen.

“How is he?” queried the General, quickly looking over the heavily armed group of men.

“Apart from being the mis-begotten whelp that he is?” responded the Sargeant, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth, “Well he’s alive, if that’s what you want to know, sir. That is, he’s clinging to the parody of plague-infested life that represents his existence.”

“Is he still dangerous?” questioned Grimes, a slight tremor of fear apparent in his voice.

“Always …” replied the Sargeant, turning to watch the shuttle which even now was entering the bay.

A tramp of feet heralded the arrival of the Fleet’s own pet Inspector, accompanied by a bevy of troopers. They were heavily armed and carried great lengths of silvered chain with them.

“General,” acknowledged the man, dressed in a high necked tunic, his long hair tied in a pony tail which cascaded down his back. His clothing was free of any adornment, yet he carried himself with an inherent air of arrogance.

“Frings,” said the General, nodding in recognition of the other’s rank and station.

“We’ll take it from here,” said the Inspector, in his tone an implicit dismissal of the superior officer.

Grimes started, as though he had been slapped, but gracefully withdrew. This man was dangerous, his reputation preceded him.

Inspector Frings watched the General leave and then turned to the Sargeant, “Very well, Sargeant, it appears as though we are ready. You can bring him out now!”

*

They did as they were told, the body strapped to a medical gurney, ties around the man’s remaining arm and leg. His armour was cracked and broken and a black miasma leaked slowly outwards. Now and then a horrific face seemed to peep out from between the fractured remains of what had once been metal, snarled and then disappeared once more. A putrid stench of rotting flesh instantly pervaded the area and more than one of the troopers gagged and fought the urge to vomit.

With a peremptory wave of his hand, the Inspector indicated that the chains be brought forward and his men obeyed, more in fear of Frings than the Tauran himself.

“Bind him,” he snarled, removing a handkerchief from his tunic pocket and genteelly covering his nose with it.

Horrid curses filled the air and the smell became stronger as the bound figure struggled, a rotten yellow fluid leaking to the decking. Straps began to strain and without any command, the Sargeant strode forward and slammed the hilt of his pistol between the Tauran’s eyes, who slumped back against the bed of the trolley.

“Thank you Sargeant,” murmured Frings, “that was exactly what was required.”

Now chained and bound, the limp figure was wheeled away, Inspector Frings in silent pursuit.