Steel & Oil: Warhammer 32K

Lin's logic-analyzer told him that although the steward looked like a man fleeing in blind panic, his purpose was clear: he clearly still had a card left to play.

But no fallback card could top the Greater Daemon from moments ago, so Lin didn't mind trailing along behind him to see what tricks this Tzeentchian cultist could still pull.

As the Ever-Changing Daemon Lord withdrew, the ritual came to an end. The Warp-power gathered within the hive city receded with astonishing speed. The indigo mist blanketing the manufactorum stratum began to fade, and the daemons, robbed of the profane force of the Warp that sustained them, were forcibly banished back.

As one of the few beings on the field still radiating the profane force of Tzeentch, Ayash knew all too well how conspicuous he now was in the eyes of that pack of the False Emperor's lackeys.

But that didn't matter. So long as he could reach that place…!

He waved a hand and summoned a Tzeentchian disc, and the profane force of Tzeentch still surging within his body gave him a fleeting sense of relief.

The Ever-Changing Daemon Lord who had partnered with him might have broken faith and turned traitor, but the great God of Wisdom had not yet abandoned him. If he could only escape, the Psychic power within him would be the capital by which he made his living hereafter.

The thought made him grind his teeth.

Just what kind of worthless trash was that Greater Daemon? Scooping up the spoils and then loafing on the job, and in the end even scheming against its own ally?!

Fortunately, he had never fully trusted M'Kachen either. Beyond his collaboration with the Tzeentchian Greater Daemon, he had kept a fallback in reserve, enough to let him escape Port Sanctus alone.

Give me one more chance, and I will surely rise again, and become a renowned Daemon Prince at Tzeentch's side!.

At that thought, he drove his Tzeentchian disc faster still. Under his reckless, life-be-damned channeling, the disc held a safe distance from the Thunderhawk gunship pursuing relentlessly behind him.

They soon shot past the frightened, uneasy inhabitants of the upper hive. These people, still kept in the dark with the tale that "a rebellion has broken out in the lower hive," had no idea what had truly happened down below. Ayash had no interest in doing anything more to these civilians. Twisting and turning through the passages, he finally arrived at the entrance to a fortress.

This was the planetary governor's safehouse. Ever since the rebellion erupted, the life-clinging, death-fearing planetary governor had fled here, wrapping himself in layer upon layer of protection and refusing ever to venture out.

The planetary governor's household guard were on duty here. Seeing Ayash approach, they saluted him.

This sacrifice was built upon deceiving those above while hoodwinking those below. Though the planetary governor did intend to turn to Chaos, the patron he worshipped led him toward Slaanesh, the youngest of the gods.

Through subtle calculation and ease of execution, Ayash had shifted the entire ritual's orientation toward the Changer of the Ways. Yet he had not folded the planetary governor and all the military force under the governor's command into the embrace of the God of Wisdom.

He could of course have simply supplanted the man, but that would have been too crude and heavy-handed. He felt that only by weaving an element of deception into the plan could he please his master all the more. Who could have imagined it would come to this?

He had no wish to dwell on whether a simpler, cruder approach back then might have let him amass the power to crush those Astartes. Facing the saluting household guard, he asked urgently:

"Where is Egrimm?"

"The governor is in the sealed chamber at the fortress's heart, my Lord."

"I have urgent matters to report to the governor. Before that, I will activate every security measure in this fortress. You will keep guarding here. If anyone tries to break in, open fire on them!"

The household guard hammered their fists against their breastplates. "The task will be accomplished, my Lord!"

That guarantee did not hold up for long. When the household guard saw the Thunderhawk gunship touch down before them, the pride from their earlier vow curdled instantly into terror.

I'm supposed to fight Space Marines? Are you serious?

The name of the Emperor's Angels worked wonders on these guards who had not been corrupted by Chaos. From the bottom of their hearts they dropped their weapons and respectfully ushered Lin and his companions inside.

"This way, my Lord. I know a shortcut."

"No need." Lin raised a hand in refusal, then gestured to the warrior beside him holding a bolter to simply cut a path with his meltas. "This is faster."

—

The earth-shaking, mountain-quaking blast of the meltas drained the colour from Ayash's face. Only when he laid eyes on Egrimm did a trace of blood return to his cheeks.

But before he could open his mouth, Egrimm rose first. This governor, for once not toying with women, wore an expression of unrestrained terror and fury. "Ayash, what have you done?!"

Ayash lowered his head, yet his gaze still swept over Egrimm's features, as if appraising a lamb bound for slaughter. "My Lord, the plan has merely encountered one small variable…"

"First the Warp-might in the underhive recedes, then someone breaks into my safehouse, and you call that a small variable?!" Egrimm sprayed spittle as he spoke. He strode up to Ayash and seized him by the collar. "Do those Astartes have to tear my head from my shoulders before you'll admit your failure?!"

To Ayash, the man's panic was a delicacy. Seeing the planetary governor like this, he recovered a measure of confidence in his grip on the situation. "There will never come such a moment, my Lord."

"What do you mean?"

"Because I have already prepared a Warp translocation for a single passenger to escape."

Egrimm released his hand, hope for life rekindling in his eyes. "You mean, you can send me away to safety?"

Escape had been Egrimm's aim all along, and now that Ayash dangled this bait, the man took it, just as he'd expected.

Egrimm urged him to begin the ritual at once, but Ayash only drew out his staff without hurry. A slight tap of it, and to Egrimm's shock, he first fixed the governor in place.

Egrimm froze, then struggled, only to find he could not break free of the Psychic bonds at all.

His anticipation gave way to bewilderment. He stared at Ayash, not understanding why the man would do this.

Ayash lifted his chin, vindicated at last. Gazing upon this incompetent governor who did not yet know his coming fate, all his earlier frustration turned to arrogance in this final, godlike stroke.

"I only said there was a Warp passage for a single passenger to escape. But I never said who it was for!"

Egrimm seemed finally to grasp it, his expression transforming. "Ayash, you master-devouring bastard!"

Ayash sized up this vessel brimming with the profane force of Slaanesh with a greedy gaze. The handmaidens he had so carefully selected for the governor earlier had, step by step through their trysts, expanded the governor's appetites, until today the power contained within this body was enough to translocate him out of Port Sanctus after the sacrifice.

Not merely a medium for pleasing Tzeentch through deception—this was his true final card!

Even as the sounds of the Astartes drew nearer behind him, Ayash was no longer panicked.

"Astartes? The Ever-Changing Daemon Lord?" He broke into wild laughter. "Those who betrayed me surely never imagined I still had this move!"

He drew upon the profane force within Egrimm's body. "Great Tzeentch, Changer of the Ways, Weaver of Fates! Today I offer you this soul drowned in desire. May its flesh and soul become one link in your endless scheme!"

At his pull, a rift of translocation slowly began to open.

A rift in the Warp is a passage for translocation, and at the same time a bridge of communion with the great Four Chaos Gods. This variable—finding a sliver of survival in the depths of desperation—seemed to draw the very self of the Changer of the Ways. As that gaze turned upon this place, Ayash, sensing it in his heart, closed his eyes and thrilled to the touch of the Empyrean's might.

"Yes! That's it!" he cried out. "Even trapped in a hopeless corner, my plan can still produce a variable fit to please the Changer of the Ways himself!"

He seemed to hear the God of Wisdom's low chuckle—yet that great being's gaze passed over him and fixed upon something behind him.

But behind him there was only Egrimm.

Why would that supreme being look at Egrimm?

The doubt flashed through his mind and was gone. The Psychic power suddenly waning at his back forced him to turn his head and check the situation.

And then he saw Egrimm, already free of his bonds.

No—that was not Egrimm at all!

Ayash's eyes went wide with horror.

He watched this "Egrimm's" body begin to swell inch by inch, his bones cracking with a sound that set the teeth on edge. As the frame shot rapidly upward, the flesh that had belonged to Egrimm melted away like wax, and the profane force of Slaanesh clinging to that husk dissipated into nothingness along with the torn skin.

A moment later he had fully assumed the physique proper to an Astartes warrior. He wore no armour, yet standing before Ayash he remained tall and awe-inspiring, an unshakeable mountain.

Ayash's lips trembled as he studied this Space Marine who had, at some unknown point, disguised himself as the planetary governor. The Emperor's Sacred Scripture inscribed across every inch of the warrior's skin sent his very soul reeling with a single glance.

He raised his staff with a shaking hand, forcing himself to face this "Egrimm."

"Just when did it begin?!"

The Astartes ignored his hoarse demand. He merely strode forward, closing on this cultist of Tzeentch.

Fine beads of sweat broke out on Ayash's brow. All at once he remembered the "advice" the Ever-Changing Daemon Lord had given him before departing.

Your plan, perhaps, is only one link in someone else's greater plan…

The Space Marine's lack of armour gave Ayash a slim, faint hope. He drove the last of the Psychic power in his body, meaning to land a head-on strike against this Astartes.

But the Psychic power he gathered was frozen upon his hand in the very instant it was about to leave it. Feeling someone likewise using Psychic power to stop him, Ayash turned his head to look and found a red-armoured Space Marine in ancient Egyptian style effortlessly restraining him with his own Psychic power. On his shoulder plate was the mark of a spray of colourful feathers.

Ayash's heart sank to the abyss. It struck him suddenly that the two assassins he had hired earlier might be of one company with this Astartes disguised as the governor.

That Ever-Changing Daemon Lord who had sent him to seek out the Astartes had surely seen through something—and had told him none of it!

"Why do this?!" Now it was his turn to struggle like a madman. "What exactly is your aim? What good does any of this do you?!"

"We never scheme for personal gain," said the Thousand Son.

"Impossible! Then why disguise yourself as Egrimm, why indulge my every move?!"

Ayash's face was kneaded into a twisted mask of agony and despair. He felt that all his scheming up to this moment had left him no better than a stray dog at the roadside. "So the planetary governor was already one of your disguises when he returned to Port Sanctus? Just who are you?!"

He received no answer.

The Space Marine closing on him produced a dagger from somewhere and drove it swiftly into the centre of Ayash's brow, churning his brain into pulp.

Ayash's soul departed his body beyond his control. He could feel himself being drawn toward the Changer of the Ways—yet what awaited him was not the crystal Labyrinth brimming with boundless wisdom, but the soul-forge where those who failed to please the Changer of the Ways are cast aside.

There he would become fodder for daemons, offering up his final worth.

Tzeentch's chuckle turned now to wild laughter, and the god's great might swept toward the Space Marine who had slain Ayash through the still-open portal—only to be barred at the threshold by the Emperor's Sacred Scripture inscribed upon his body.

The warrior cast aside the dagger, still smeared with the Tzeentchian cultist's brains. Malik, emerging from the shadows, handed him his power armour. He began to don it, and the cold, grim hydra mark on his shoulder now stood out with striking prominence.

"We are Alpha," he said in a low voice.

"We are everywhere."

"Another Psychic reading appeared suddenly, and then Ayash's Psychic reading vanished," Issaga reported abruptly.

"Looks like someone made a move." Lin found nothing strange in it.

"Could it be the one we let go earlier?" Lena asked.

"No idea, but it's very possible. Let's pick up the pace."

The automated defences the steward had activated before entering delayed them a little. Fortunately the other party had no intention of leaving either. When Lin and his companions pushed open the door to the innermost sealed chamber, wary and braced, that Astartes of the Alpha Legion stood right where he was, waiting for their arrival.

"Welcome, Sage Lin, and you sons of Dorn." His voice was low and steady, betraying a calm sense of control. "You're a little slower than I expected."

"Alpha."

Thorne stepped warily to the front rank, positioning himself, whether by intent or not, before Kurande. This veteran who had fought in the Pluto campaign knew well how troublesome these foes could be. "You… no, you pack of traitors, why would you appear here?"

With his words, the warriors who had come alongside Lin all leveled their weapons at these traitors. Lin's gaze swept across the sealed chamber and found that, apart from the Night Lord and Fallen Angel he had already met, there was here as well a Thousand Son laying out a ritual array.

Beside the Thousand Son was an unclosed rift in the Warp. He appeared to be altering the destination the rift led to.

Lin shot a glance at the Fallen Angel, and the Fallen Angel turned his face away in embarrassment. But that small exchange plainly could not change the overall standoff, both sides poised on a knife's edge.

The situation looked ready to erupt at the slightest spark, yet this warrior of the Alpha Legion showed no panic. He signaled his teammates to lower their weapons, and even had the Thousand Son sorcerer halt the alteration he was about to complete, showing their sincerity that they could be talked to.

"Loyalists and traitors—just who is it that draws the line between them?"

"Does a man who took part in the Great Heresy have the right to say such a thing?" Kurande rebuked him.

"At least more right than those Imperial forces who evacuated Port Sanctus."

Alpha shrugged. "What do you think loyalty is? An oath to the Emperor? Unconditional obedience to a Legion? Or blind devotion to some ideal? Those so-called loyalists—are they truly loyal? Or are they merely bound by dogma and fear, blindly following a banner they do not even understand?"

The sons of Dorn were plainly not much good at this kind of philosophical debate, but the sincerity the other side displayed did not seem to be leading toward an immediate fight. Weapons still raised, they exchanged glances, at a loss for what to do.

Fortunately Lin stepped forward. Keenly interested in this Alpha, he took up the thread. "You think you're different?"

"Of course. At the very least, we know exactly what we're doing."

Alpha's gaze settled on Lin. "I know you, Sage Lin. I once gathered some intelligence on you through the Cath Maximus channels. As a gesture of sincerity, I'm willing to make a partial exchange of information with you."

"I don't make trades with nobodies."

"Fair enough. Then let our identity serve as the opening line of this exchange."

His gaze swept across the teammates beside him as he introduced them. "We are the Expunged Warband. As for me… you may call me the Insubstantial One."

"The Insubstantial One?" Lin confirmed.

"That's right. Raid Commander of the Expunged Warband, Occam the Insubstantial One."

[Author's Note: A son of the hydra who considers himself loyal—Occam the Insubstantial One.]

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