Diabolus Nox

Focuses on an Iron Warriors character running for his life. I hope you enjoy.
'“Ten thousand years… TEN THOUSAND YEARS I waited for that bastard to die, and he gives leadership to you? YOU?! Some upstart whose most ancient ancestors weren’t even born in the same century as the Siege of Terra?! What an unforgivable act of betrayal… I cannot--will not--accept it. My Company is stronger, Barbanon. Stronger than a dead man’s word, stronger than yours, stronger than anyone else's in this damned warband!”'

 

Macius’ words carried down the halls of the Iron Sun as he and his Terminator elites stalked the flagships dark and oft-neglected spinal corridors.

 

“Where are you? Where are you Barbanon? You know you cannot hide forever you fool. Best come out now, I may grant you a warrior’s death.” Macius called, his tongue slick with venomous loathing.

 

Barbanon would not answer the call; a warrior’s death would not serve him as well as survival, after all. He knew Macius would be coming for him, he even knew the Khornate freak would be foolish enough to try a direct confrontation; so he gathered his allies and schemed how he’d overcome Macius and his lackeys…

 

...He didn’t count on one of his heretek’s feeding violent scrap code to his arming servitors before he could don his armor. Barbanon was not a praying man, but in his heart of hearts he beseeched the Gods to lay a curse on whatever damned traitor Macius had recruited for the task.

 

So there he was, unarmored, armed with naught but a bolt pistol and scrambling through the narrow gantries in an effort to escape his almost certain doom… Hate, and the knowledge of his one way out were all that kept him going…

 

He pressed on far ahead of the lumbering brutes behind him, squeezing himself through tunnels and ducts never meant for an Astartes and trekking through derelict and defiled chambers where neglected neverborn made their nests.

“Macius has no vision…”

He began to hear the voice of his mentor whispered amidst the blowing of steam and thrum of power nodes overhead, signalling that he must be close.

“Should you find yourself betrayed and surrounded, with your enemies closing in…”

He came to a grate leading into a room with a weak light source, he removed the grate carefully before crawling through and rising to his full height.

“Go to the blackest depths of the Iron Sun…”

Before him there was a door.

”In section 14-H, find the door marked ‘Diabolus Nox’...”

He approached the door and turned the handle--it wouldn’t move, either being locked or too rusted to function. He would not let this deter him however, as soon the full strength and weight of his transhuman physiology was brought crashing against the ancient portal, sending it flying off it’s hinges after two batterings. What little light there was in the room advanced timidly down the steps, halting a mere four metres down as if afraid to move on.

“What you find down there will lift whatever siege you find yourself under, and ensure your reign thereafter...”

Barbanon descended into the abyss without a second thought.

“I give you this, and my Grand Company, because I know you will forge it into a mighty Empire...”

The darkness was pervasive, spreading over his vision until even his genehanced eyes couldn’t see the steps in front of him.

“I know you will do this--but not for me…”

“Not for an Emperor,”

“Not for a Warmaster,”

“Not for a Primarch,”

“Not for a God,”

“Not even for your brothers and cousins…”

Barbanon stopped as the ground ceased to fall beneath his feet; he stood on solid ground, cold and smooth. 

''“You will do this, solely for your own sake. Because to be an Emperor is what you want--what you have always wanted.”''

As his eyes slowly adjusted--or perhaps the darkness receded--Barbanon saw before him the mummified corpse of an Astartes slumped against the wall, a sword black as midnight clutched in the cadavers left hand and a baroque bolt gun that gleamed like the Terran moonlight in its right...

In the distance Barbanon could just hear the clang and clatter of heavy ceramite steps--his enemies were closing in, and he was cornered. Analyzing his surroundings he supposed Macius could fit a Terminator in through the stairs, but only one at a time… There was a chance--a slim one at that--Macius would be the first to come down if he knew Barbanon would be there… 

He wrenched the sword from the corpse and made his preparations, crouching quietly in the darkest corner as he focused on the ever-closening sound of footsteps…

It stopped.

'''“BARBANON! I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE!!!”'''

Macius’ amplified voice came barrelling down the stairs. Barbanon gave no response, reciting the unbreakable litany in his head while silently feeding the hate in his heart…

“COME UP HERE AND FACE ME COWARD!”

From iron cometh strength…

'''“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING TO DO? PIERCE MY GLORIOUSLY CURSED ARMOR WITH BARE FISTS?!”'''

From strength cometh will…

'''“IS THIS REALLY WHERE YOU WANT TO DIE?! COME OUT AND MEET DEATH WITH COURAGE!”'''

From will cometh faith…

“...” For a time there is nothing, then the clanking resumes as Barbanon’s rival descends. '''“So be it. May you die as vermin beneath my heel…”'''

From faith cometh honor…

Macius finally ceased his blather, for a time the low beat of Barbanon’s twin heart’s and his rival’s slow footsteps towards him were the only sound...

Clank…

 

Clank…

 

Clank…

 

Clank… 

The darkness seemed like light, then. He’d grown accustomed to squinting forward such that he could clearly see Macius’ towering and armored form descend to the final step metres from his corner. Barbanon moved like a coiled spring unleashed, lunging forward with the midnight blade wreathed in flickering black flame and bursts of sparking white energies on activation as he pointed it straight for the Warsmith’s unhelmed face…

From honor cometh iron!

CLANG

THUD

SSSST

Barbanon was on the floor, the black blade clattering against the floor beside him. He wasn’t too injured by blow--or even in much pain for that matter--but he knew he was dead. If Macius wanted he could end it right then and there with his twin-bolter, he would not be able to try for another blow or even reach for his pistol…

 

“You are finished.” Spoke Macius. '''“Bismarcke was a fool to put vermin like you in charge. You could have rallied the slaves, found your way to the armory or even made your way to the hangar and escaped altogether… And yet, you didn’t do any of this. Neigh, instead you ran and hid in these daemon-cursed shadows like some simpering whoreson of The Raven!”''' He underpinned his words with a single boltershot as he put a round in Barbanon’s left calf. The shock went straight up his leg and caused all his instincts to fire up as the explosion tore open his leg.

 

'''“You have no honor! You are worthless, pathetic and spoiled! At least show me SOMETHING Bismarcke might’ve seen in you, damnit! You corrupt my memory of his genius enough with your mere existence in his plans!”''' The Terminator Lord stepped closer, staring down his quarry contemptuously.

 

Iron Within, Iron Without, chanted Barbanon as he subjugated the pain, forcing himself to speak clearly. He may be doomed, but damnit he would have the last word.

“You wish to know why he chose me over you?” Barbanon began to sit upright, but Macius’ heavy foot pressed him back down.

“Enlighten me.”

''“I have something you forsook millennia ago--a power you cannot even comprehend, let alone utilize. For all your competence, your experience, your favors from the Gods, you do not have what Bismarcke wanted in a successor, and you never will.”''

 

Macius said nothing.

 

''“You’re too hollow. Nothing changes for you, nothing matters. You fixate on destroying the Imperium because it’s the only purpose you have left--but what will happen when we finally bring its rotting structure down? What will you do? What will be your new reason for living? Well I can tell you now brother…''

''It is nothing. You may continue to conquer aimlessly for a few millennia, but in the end you will die. Alone, sacrificed on the altar of another's’ ambition. Think on that after the satisfaction of killing me fades, ~Brother~.”''

Barbanon smiled, his eyes carrying vicious animosity. Macius returned the stare from behind his iron front, the look in his eyes telling Barbanon he chose his lastwords perfectly. He could have sworn he heard a faint drumming then, almost like a soft heartbeat around them as they locked eyes...

“This is where you die, and I take what’s mine.” Said Macius, his voice dead and metallic as he raised his power axe to finish him…

But, just as the axe rose fully there was the thunderous burst of a boltershot at the far end of the room, followed by crackling lightning trailing into Macius’ hand. A burst of energy ruptured from the Warsmith’s hand, and indeed from points across his forearm as some malefic force rendered the limb inoperable. His axe fell uselessly beside Barbanon’s head.

The drumming was audible and clear in Barbanon’s head now, the beat repetitive and strong.

“Wh-what the--WHO DARES?!” Macius howled in pain and fury as the hand holding his twin bolter searched for the source of the shot, stepping off of Barbanon to assess the new threat. Barbanon could just see it: a moving shadow darting seemingly in all directions at once as it lithely dodged the clumsy twinbolter trying to find it. Bolts and sparks of lightning erupted from the thing’s bolt pistol again and again, hitting Macius’ warplates in places they’d pierce just deep enough to cause pain...

Seeing his chance Barbanon grabbed the midnight blade again and tried to rise, scowling as new pain flared from the burst stump below his shattered kneecap.

Keep going. Demanded a thought he knew was not his own.

With no leg to stand on, he endured the ignominy of crawling up behind Macius, reigniting the midnight blade and sending it plunging forth through the relatively soft back-end of the Terminator’s armor. 

Black fire and white lightning hissed and cracked against ceramite and flesh as the blade dug deeper into his enemy. He did not stop thrusting until the blade had speared Macius all the way through and broken his outer armor. 

Macius died. There was no final threat, no roar or curse… The blade burst his hearts, and he simply stopped.

Barbanon carefully pulled the blade free from Macius’ armor, which would serve as his tomb for now, and looked for the corpse. “Are you the weapon Bismarcke spoke of? What are you?” He dragged himself back into the corner, holding the midnight blade in front of him.

The shadow descended from the wall, taking the form of a fully armored Raptor as it looked down on Barbanon, it’s eyes now glowing and coursing like twin tempests in the creature’s avian helm. 

At first the Raptor, saying nothing, merely walked closer to Barbanon. Barbanon raised the midnight blade menacingly, gripping the weapon in both hands. “I will not be easy prey, whatever you are.” He growled in warning. The Raptor stopped, staring with something like curiosity.

“My Master--the one you called Bismarcke--he called me: Djabal.” It’s voice was hoarse and ancient, like scraping metal and old parchment tearing. 

“Your Master is dead. He sent me to take your leash.” Replied Barbanon callously.

“Then, what is it you ask of me… My Lord-Autocrat?” The Raptor bent its knee in supplication, the darkness between them parting.

“I would return to my throne--your orders are to murder anyone who thinks to stop me.” Demanded Barbanon, forcing himself to his foot and leaning on the steadfast metal of his new sword. He found himself lighter, supported in part by the darkness around him.

“By your word…” The Raptor peered up the stairs, and suddenly new forms appeared from the shadowy corners of the room as the drumming flared up once more.

“Ave Dominus Nox.” Uttered the pack of new arrivals right before they all bolted up the stairs on wings of stormlight like vengeful furies. 

Slowly Barbanon climbed the steps after them, roars of fury and shock and the sounds of battle reaching a crescendo above him before dying down as quickly as they’d started. He did not stop until he’d made his way back to his chambers, then his throne--never encountering Macius’ supporters, but sometimes hearing their death-cries carried along the dead winds of the Iron Sun…

No-one dared oppose him once he asserted control of the warband. Not after that. He was their Autocrat--their Iron Autocrat--and they would all know to submit to his will. Bismarcke may have lost this war, but as the fighting on Cadia reached its zenith Barbanon knew he would have his chance at conquest soon. For the time being, he would order a full withdrawal from the Korian sector and return to The Eye… He would need more allies before his campaign could truly begin...