Space War: Blood of Sanguinius

ter

restia, Arx A

ed servants and hooded tube-limbed scribs, all chanting and typing as they ran, pounding at ceramic keys with metal-hinged fingers and singing hymns through,

around the statue-lined halls of the Librarium. Human bondsmen argued furiously over the exact meaning of the alarm, while

he centre of the tumult, towering over them mob in his gleaming battleplate. Lucius Antros carried an orn

noble, and inhumanly beautiful, framed by a shoulder-length mane of blonde hair. His looks alone would have made him an impressive sight, and yet, it was not the most arresting thing about him. Antros' perfect features were marked by a fierce craving; hunger burned in his flawless blue eyes. Antros was irritated by what he saw: a mania, coiling through the minds of even his most experienced blood thralls. And an absurd undercurre

wasted that her robes seemed to hang from her skull-like, shaven head. Only the knife-blade tips of her shoulders gave any hint of the brittle, keen-edged body beneath. Her features were angular and androgynous and her skin was papery and transluce

e speakers blaring overhead. The distorted amplified so

Lexicanium," she replied, keeping her gaze respectfully locked on the floor. She spoke through tight lips, her face rigid. H

were still with Ghor, rather than their new lord. He had little interest in the convoluted hierarchies and protocols of blood thralls, but such disrespect could not

r eyes like disks of flint. "

quite clear, Lexic

e is a psychic rift in the Ostensorio. The warning comes from the highest authority: from Lord

n of the Chief Librarian's equerry. "Rhacelus? W

ved as she examined the documents with infuriating care, focusing on each page in turn and flicking through them with her long, tapered fingers. She held one of them up and used another of her lenses, a mechanised lorgnette, to examine it. The frame of

ns are permitted to enter the Ostensorio. Nothing

was absurd. Then another thought occurred to him: however ridiculous this summons might be, it gave him an excuse to break from his tiresome duties in the Orbicular Tower. He shoved the papers into a pouch strapped to his led armour and turned to face the crowd

ing noises as the serfs and ser

d on through the countless writing rooms, sacrariums and reliquaries of the Sagrestia, accompanied all the way by the harsh clanging of the amplified bells. Then he entered the oldest quarters of the Librarium – dark, narrow walkways, lined with crumbling winged stat

est of the Adeptus Ministorum loitering

ics carried banners emblazoned with a winged, angelic figure and Antros heard it rumoured that both the banners, and the face paint were meant as some kind of tribute to Mephiston. If this were true, it was an affront to the dignity of the Chief Librarian, but the Chapter Council had taken the surprising step of allowing a small group of pilgrims access to the Librarium. He had never heard of such a thing happening before but

a marvel – crimson slabs of Baalite rock, hundreds of feet tall and covered with glittering, blood drop stones from Cruor mountai

al Marines in full battleplate. These giants towered over the blood thralls who were dashing between the buildings, and however nonchalantly t

hable from those of the heroes chiselled into the crimson gate behind him. He was as inhumanly perfect as Antros and also carried himself with the confidence of a veteran – a confidenc

her Space Marine. Even without the amplification of his helmet, the captain's voice resonated like a tolling bell. "I received strange news in the Orbicular Towe

n raised a

here," said Antros, "Lord Rha

s though he were the lowliest of menials, a

Lucius Antros. He learned of the situation." There was another crackle of vox-chatter and Vatrenus nodded again. "Standing right in front of me," he nodded "Very well." After a moments hesitation, he stepped aside and waved Antros on with his bolter, then

re few in the Chapter who weren't unnerved by the myster

nsed that a grand ritual was in progress. Dead-eyed cherubs lit the scene, drifting beneath the barrel vaults on flashing, golden wings. Thuribles trailed from their fingers, glinting in the candlelight and trailing a fine, crimson mist. Scrolls of parchment fluttered beneath their fat little legs and the air was thick with incense-heavy smoke that almost, but not quite masked the iron-rich, abattoir stink of the chamber. Antros reached the chapel and climbed its steps for a better view of the proceedings on the far side of the chamber was a huge shimmering hololith – a projection of a Ministorum priest, sitting on an ornate, ceremonial throne.

n their deep hoods and their hands clasped in prayer. Antros could feel the religious fervour bur

ss. With their heads bowed and their swords raised, it looked as though the Librarians were worshipping a huge, metal chalice. Antros had never before been admitted to the Ostensorio. It was a site of great mystery to him – reserved for only the most senior members of his order. On any other occasio

et the tip of his staff clatter against the steps. The so

tly images in the dark. The strands of blood magic coruscated and coiled feeding the inferno above the monstrance. Since entering the Ostensorio, Antros felt psychic energy tugging at his consciousness, pulsing through his vein

sweat and the lights made it look like she was drenched in blood. Her features were contorted with pain and concentration and it

the dais he saw that there was a shape forming in the centre of the sphere. He peered closer, fascinated. Som

shed sail, shaking and scowling as elemental power tore through them. Antros could feel the carrion chill of blood-craft washing over his face and the behaviour if the guards outside began to make sense. This ritual was not goin

d Mariah glancing

, flickering across the clouds of scented smoke. Antros f

roaning and creaking beneath the hunched Librarian. Then th

trance like a child's toy. His massive armour-clad form clattered across the flagstones, trailing smoke as he crashed into the base of a pi

the other Librarians on

d of Rhacelus' power armour was ablaze with warpfire and, as he climbed to his feet, his whole body shook under the strain. Sparks where crackling around his eyes and gums spitting and dancing as they danced around his face, but he drew back his shoulders and kept his force sw

n set alight, but the agony was dwarfed by the torrent of visions that exploded in his head. Another world superimposed itself over the Ostensorio. Vast sheets of flame thundered past beneath him as powerful wings hurled him through the air. The vision was wonderful and overwhelming. It took every

the cause of their anger. Whatever Rhacelus had intended to invoke, they were now facing something more horrific. The warp itself was straining to breach the sanctity of their fortress-monastery. Incredibly, something was trying to enter the Librarium. Antros found it hard to breath, suffocated by a potent mixture of outrage and exci

we -" be

ks. The other librarians followed suit, smashing their swords against the metal, severing the cords of power enveloping the dais with crimson light. For a second the red sphere burned white, blinding ever

ans and the think charnel stink. Then, as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Ma

+ said a hushed voice, directly into

cherubs' candles reignited, revealing the figure they had wrenched back from t

f Death ha