TERROR NIHIL

PA RT T W O O F T H E ST RO M A R K

M A S S AC R E

C Z D U N N

SCENE ONE – EXT. STROMARK SECUNDUS

ATMOS: VIOLENT NUCLEAR WINDS RAVAGE THE

PLANET’S SURFACE WHILE A RAIN OF ASH AND

POLLUTANTS LASHES DOWN.

FX – Wet irregular footfalls, tortuous

wheezing breaths

NARRATION: Even before he turned traitor,

Pavel Minzen had never been a devout

man but, as he dragged himself across

the nuclear ravaged landscape of his

homeworld, he silently offered up a prayer

to the God-Emperor of mankind, begging

forgiveness for turning away from His

light. Every breath was a supreme effort,

emanating from radiation scarred lungs

and his flesh draped from him in reddened

strips. Each heavy footfall, burning his

feet where his standard issue boots had

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simply dissolved in the corrosive mire

underfoot, was a step closer to death.

FX – Five whines of craft heading towards

the ground followed by wet impacts

Pavel looked skyward through melted

eyelids and saw the blazing contrails of

missiles streaking towards the planet’s

surface. He dropped to his knees and

spread his arms wide, ready to embrace the

fate he’d been denied during the initial

bombardment, when he’d found himself

outside the protection of the palace as

the nuclear hellfire rained down. Time

froze as he awaited the inevitable wash

of searing heat and blinding light, but

the inevitable never came.

Confused, Pavel struggled to his feet

and dragged himself sluggishly in the

direction of the impacts. He and his entire

regiment had rebelled, taken up arms

against those they once called allies,

and they’d paid the highest price. While

most of the population lived, sheltered

in the palace and the intricate network of

underground bunkers that ran for thousands

of kilometres beneath it, the surface of

their world had become uninhabitable. If

the objects he’d just witnessed were not

yet more nucleonic warheads then what new

kind of punishment was being meted out on

him and his kin?

He did not have to wait long for an answer.

FX – multiple heavy wet footfalls.

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Through the constant downpour of ash and

the chemical haze, five figures resolved.

A quintet of giants clad in crimson sent

forth to wreak their bloody vengeance.

Their movement was ponderous and slow,

as much a result of their sheer bulk as

the swamp-like conditions, but they moved

with purpose, as if bent on a singular,

vital goal.

Life rapidly running away from him, Pavel

picked up his pace in the vain hope that

these Angels of Death would grant him

swift mercy, but in the end it was futile.

With the newcomers close enough that he

could begin to make out the markings

adorning their armour - a pair of wings

surrounding some icon or other, his vision

was so utterly ruined that he could not be

certain – Pavel fell face-first into the

sludge. Gasping, his mouth filled with the

vile mud and the corrosive soup slid down

his throat setting to work on already

devastated innards. By the time the five

had reached the spot where he fell, Pavel

was already dead; half-drowned, half-

disintegrated from the inside.

Oblivious, one of the red giants trod

Pavel’s corpse even further into the mire,

ignorantly eradicating all evidence of the

man’s existence as he strode inexorably

towards the slaughter yet to come.

SCENE TWO – INT. BRIDGE OF THE

IN EXCELCIS

ATMOS: SERVITOR AND COGITATOR NOISE.

BACKGROUND RUMBLE OF ENGINES.

CREWMAN: ‘My lord, a small craft of

some kind has just appeared on the

auspex. Not one of ours as it isn’t

identifying itself with any valid

code. It appears to be attempting to

run the blockade.’

Castellan Zargo, Chapter Master of the

Angels Encarmine, gazed out through the

unshielded viewport of the battle barge

In Excelcis. Even without the aid of

an auspex, his augmented vision could

pick out the small cutter weaving its

way through the vast capital ships of

the fleet. Whoever was piloting the craft

was no fool, keeping close to the strike

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cruisers and support craft so that the

larger vessels dare not open fire through

fear of incurring collateral damage. The

Angels Encarmine were a Chapter constantly

at war, permanently traversing the galaxy

in search of their next battlefront.

Zargo would not risk any of his ships

suffering such unnecessary damage as any

time wasted on repairs to the fleet was

better spent hunting down the enemies of

the Imperium.

ZARGO: ‘Wait for it to clear the fleet

and then destroy it.’

The Chapter serf sitting at the auspex

array eyed his Castellan with incredulity.

CREWMAN: ‘But, my lord, it is only a

small passenger craft. Is the use of

our-’

ZARGO: ‘ Never presume to tell me what the best course of action is. Do you

think that the Flesh Tearers are down

there having their tactics second-

guessed by mere Chapter serfs?’

Zargo gestured out of the viewport with

his gauntleted fist. The twin orbs of

Stromark Prime and Secundus sat benignly

in the heavens.

CREWMAN: ‘My lord I meant no-’

ZARGO: ‘Our debased cousins have

probably already prosecuted their

campaign and are enjoying their

spoils of war while the Angels

Encarmine sit in orbit awaiting the

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outcome on Stromark Prime before we

can make our move.’

The Castellan drew himself up to full

height, towering over the rest of the

bridge crew.

ZARGO: ‘I want those traitors down

below to be left in no doubt about

the fury they will face. That

rogue ship will be shot down with

such force that the population of

Stromark Secundus will tremble in

the knowledge that when the Angels

Encarmine finally do set foot upon

their world, no mercy will be

extended. Such is the fate of all

those who defy the Emperor!’

Zargo turned to two armsmen.

ZARGO: ‘Remove this man. Though

insubordinate, he may yet serve the

Chapter still.’

Without protest, the serf allowed himself

to be escorted away. All around the

bridge, crew members glanced nervously

at him, the implication of Zargo’s words

fully apparent to them all: the serf

would be lobotomised and redeployed as

a lowly servitor. Where once he sat and

operated the ship’s auspex, in only a few

hours he would likely to be operating

the manual system that aimed that sensor

array in the correct direction. As the

three serfs solemnly departed the bridge,

another Space Marine entered.

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ZARGO: ‘Captain Fracimmion, any news

from Balthiel and his Flesh Tearers?’

FRACIMMION: ‘No, Castellan. Reports

from the surface of Stromark Prime

and several of its satellites suggest

there are pockets of intense combat

but nothing to indicate victory. On

the basis of past encounters, it’s

probable they’ve won but don’t yet

realise it such is their passion for

the kill.’

The Castellan smirked. Though all

successors of the venerable Blood Angels

bear the dual flaws to their geneseed

that cause them to become mindless

beasts when in the throes of battle, the

Flesh Tearers above all others embrace

that bloodlust almost to the point of

encouraging it among their ranks. It was

no secret among those of Sanguinius’s

line and one that in all likelihood would

come to a head in the fullness of time.

Over Zargo’s shoulder the orange glare

of an explosion lit up the blackness of

space before waning as quickly as it

blossomed.

FX – Muffled explosion

Fracimmion looked quizzically at his

Chapter Master.

ZARGO: ‘Somebody was arrogant enough

to think they could run our blockade.

I thought we’d show them, and their

wayward brethren, the folly of that.’

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CREWMAN 2: ‘My lord, we’re picking

up more movement on the auspex. Lots

more movement.’

ZARGO: ‘It would seem our warning to

the population below came too late.

Very well, launch the Thunderhawks

and we’ll make swift work of these

cowards.’

CREWMAN 2: ‘No, my lord, you

misunderstand me. I’m picking up

hundreds of heat signatures and they

originate from one of the moons, not

the planet.’

The serf rotated the auspex’s picter

module so that it was visible to the two

Angels Encarmine. Zargo and Fracimmion

could only look on helplessly as the

screen filled with countless fast moving

red dots.

FRACIMMION: ‘Missiles. Stromark Prime

have launched their entire stockpile

against Secundus.’

FX – Single muffled explosion quickly

followed by more.

Through the viewport, the first of the

warheads struck the unsuspecting world

below driving a mushroom cloud up through

the atmosphere before perishing upon

contact with the airless void of space.

Others too found their mark, igniting

the oxygen-rich air of the planet and

whipping up a firestorm that quickly bled

across the entire surface.

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FX – insistent bleeping of cogitator units

Sensor arrays flashed and alarms sounded

as the In Excelsis’s systems registered the massive spike in radiation levels on

the world below.

ZARGO: ‘Oh, Seth.’

The Castellan’s face bore a look that was

part concern, part smug satisfaction.

ZARGO:‘What have your brothers done

now?’

SCENE THREE – EXT. STROMARK SECUNDUS/

TERRA

ATMOS: THE WINDS STILL RAGE BUT THIS HAS

BEEN JOINED BY THE SOUND OF GUNFIRE.

THE NOISE OF THE SPACE MARINES MOVING

AND FIRING WEAPONS IS INTENTIONALLY

INCONGRUOUS HERE – THE REALITY IS THAT IT

IS FIVE DREADNOUGHTS STORMING THE PALACE

BUT THE NARRATION IS THE FICTION PROJECTED

ONTO THE PENT BY PTOLEMIUS.

FX – Particularly loud and close heavy

weapons fire.

As one, the five Space Marines turned and

directed their aim at the turret atop

the Palace wall that mere seconds ago

had sprung to life and spat fire at them.

Each of their shots was accurate and true

and they fired with such fluidity it was

as if their weapons were an extension

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of their bodies. The turret was soon

rendered a smouldering wreck but, as if

to make sure that the ruined weapon could

never threaten anybody again, the figure

in blue power armour employed his psychic

talents and engulfed it with sapphire

flame, quickly melting it down to bubbling

slag.

CASSIEL: ‘Isn’t that just overkill,

Brother Ptolemius?’

The Librarian’s arm was still bathed in

coruscating warp energy and he waited

for it to abate before answering the

sergeant’s question.

PTOLEMIUS: ‘Given what has already

been unleashed upon this world,

I would say my actions were quite

restrained, Sergeant Cassiel.’

The red-armoured figure gave a wry smile.

Nucleonic and rad weapons were a hangover

from the days of the Great Crusade and

many of the Space Marine Legions had put

them beyond use before the outbreak of

Horus’s rebellion. Though some of their

traitorous brethren still employed such

dishonourable methods of waging war, the

more civilised of their fraternity had

long since shunned them. To unleash such

devastating power against an entire world

smacked of a cowardice that was anathema

to Space Marines of such noble lineage.

FX – lascannon fire

More turrets opened up from out of the

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miasma that clung to the planet’s surface

and bolts of las-fire peppered their

position. As if unbothered by this latest

barrage, the five Space Marines slowly

turned and, when the lascannons fired for a

second time, answered them with a barrage

of their own. Seconds that felt like eons

passed but the weapons did not fire again.

CASSIEL: ‘All haste! Make for the

shelter of the Palace wall. We’ll

be out of their turrets firing arcs

there.’

Taking point, the sergeant was followed

by Jorachiel, Iniastigon and Torriel with

Ptolemius at the rear of their formation.

The five of them had served together for

longer than any of them could remember and

they fell into familiar patterns easily.

Hugging the line of the Palace perimeter,

they advanced in single-file, seeking out

some point of egress that would allow

them access within the walls and to their

objective awaiting them inside.

The palace was a vast structure, covering

almost an entire hemisphere of the planet’s

surface, and sections of wall ran for

kilometres with neither feature nor joint,

just the smooth monotony of the stonemason’s

craft granting as much protection and

security as though a primarch himself had

overseen its construction. Heavy weapons

turrets bristled along its apex but posed

no threat to the five crimson figures scores

of metres below sheltered by the lee of

the wall.

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After several hours – perhaps days - time

passing uncertainly in the unvaried post-

nuclear landscape, the outline of the

Palace began to change and the straight

line they had moved in for so long became

a gentle curve that swept right. After

several more kilometres, Sergeant Cassiel

drew them to a halt.

CASSIEL: ‘There, up ahead. Some kind

of gate.’

The others gazed through the chemical

smoke and made out the vague impression

of two huge doors.

CASSIEL: ‘Almost certainly heavily

defended. Torriel and Iniastagon with

me. Ptolemius and Jorachiel remain

here and take out any automated

weapon systems the instant they

become active.’

FX – lascannon fire

Within moments of the three Space Marines

leaving the sanctuary of the wall,

lascannons trained upon them and raked

the ground. The air itself combusted as

the chemicals released during the nuclear

bombardment ignited and clouds of flame

formed briefly before burning out as

quickly as they’d sparked. Tracing the

shots back to their sources, Jorachiel

and Ptolemius took out the heavy weapons

with swift efficiency but, just as Cassiel

had posited, the gate was very well

protected and yet more systems activated

in response to the others’ destruction.

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Undeterred , the sergeant and his two

battle brothers charged towards the doors

but, with only metres left to cover, a

new sound joined the din of battle.

FX – pip, pip, pip of a detonator gradually speeding up.

CASSIEL: ‘Proximity mine!’

The three Space Marines stood helplessly

as a thick metal cylinder popped up out of

the ground, red lights blinking furiously

to signal their impending doom.

Then, just as the insistent beeping

threatened to become a constant whine,

Brother Torriel stepped forward and

placed himself between the mine and his

two comrades.

CASSIEL: ‘Torriel, No!’

FX – Mine detonates.

SCENE FOUR – INT. STRATEGIUM OF THE

IN EXCELCIS

ATMOS: BACKGROUND RUMBLE OF ENGINES.

FX – armoured footsteps pacing back and

forth.

Castellan Zargo paced the strategium,

his initial blush of anger having risen

to an almost total rage after contacting

Balthiel to voice his objections to the

Flesh Tearers’ reckless tactics. Though

his tone had been conciliatory, Balthiel

had finally pushed the Chapter Master over

the precipice of calm when he suggested

that the missile barrage may have done the

Angels Encarmine a favour. Any suspicions

Zargo harboured that the Flesh Tearers had

been aware of the nuclear arsenal were

confirmed with that single comment and the

tirade he unleashed against Balthiel ceased

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only when he destroyed the vox array in an

outpouring of anger. He stopped pacing and

turned to face the assembled captains of

his Chapter, currently only five in number

thanks to the losses incurred due to their

constant desire for battle.

ZARGO: ‘Arjen. What is the latest on

conditions planetside?’

The First Company Captain stepped

forward, sheaves of readouts crumpled in

the gauntlet of his right hand. He threw

them onto the stone table in the centre

of the strategium.

ARJEN: ‘I’ll give our cousins this

– they did an impressive job of

bringing utter devastation to a

world in such a short space of time.

Everything above ground has been

utterly vapourised and the radiation

levels are so high that nobody is

going to be able to set foot on the

surface for at least another decade,

even a Space Marine.’

The other captains shook their heads. What

use was a battlefield no soldier could set

foot upon?

ARJEN: ‘The population, anticipating

orbital bombardment from our fleet,

cower in shelters below the palace.

Intercepted communications from

Secundus High Command suggest they

are planning their counterstrike

against Prime as soon as the

radiation storms have abated.’

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FRACIMMION: ‘Then we don’t just

bombard them from orbit, we destroy

them from orbit. If we target fault

lines then it will be a simple matter

to tear the entire planet apart. Then

we’ll see what good their bunkers are

to them.’

FX – murmur of agreement.

ZARGO: ‘Under normal circumstances

I would agree with the Master of

the Fleet. This is no battle for the

Angels Encarmine to become embroiled

in. We seek higher glory than

sorting out petty disputes between

wayward Imperium outposts. Instead

we should be liberating worlds from

the predation of the greenskins,

halting the onslaught of the

insidious Tyranids and sending the

ancient enemy back into the Occulus

Horriblus.’

FX – more enthusiastic murmur of agreement.

ZARGO: ‘But I fear that the actions

of the Flesh Tearers will draw

censure and I wish to do nothing to

compound that. This world will once

again be of use to the Imperium in

time and, though it brings us little

glory, we must bring it back into

compliance.’

ARJEN: ‘It will be months before even

a Space Marine can survive those

conditions down below. We could

blockade the world before launching a

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ground assault but Stromark Secundus

will have its own nuclear arsenal

primed within weeks and we can’t hope

to knock all of them out before they

find their targets.’

The Castellan turned away and looked out

through the strategium’s viewport at the

planet still burning in the distance.

ZARGO: ‘True enough, Captain Arjen. A

Space Marine can’t survive down there

but I’m not talking about deploying

Space Marines.’

FX – murmur of disbelief

ARJEN: ‘But they haven’t been

deployed in more than a millennium.’

Zargo turned and looked the First Captain

square in the eye.

ZARGO: ‘I’m fully aware of that,

Captain, but we are left with no

other option.’

In turn he made eye contact with each of

the others.

ZARGO: ‘It is time to unleash The

Pent.’

SCENE FIVE – EXT. STROMARK

SECUNDUS/TERRA

ATMOS: AS PER SCENE THREE

FX – tail end of explosion and debris

showering down.

CASSIEL: ‘Sanguinius smiles upon you

this day, brother.’

Debris fell to the ground like sharpened

metal rain, tiny daggers plinking off the

Space Marines’ helmets and pauldrons.

Torriel turned to face his sergeant,

chunks of shrapnel encrusting the front

of his scorched red armour. Though he

bore the brunt of the blast, he not only

still lived but was conscious and had all

four limbs intact.

TORRIEL: ‘As he does us all, Sergeant

Cassiel.’

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Jorachiel and the librarian moved up

to join their comrades, relieved and

surprised that Torriel’s valourus act

had not exacted a heavier toll. With the

automated weapon batteries disabled, the

Space Marines were able to plan their

next move without distraction and Cassiel

examined the metal gates closely.

CASSIEL: ‘Adamantium. At least half

a metre thick, possibly more. Short

of a siege cannon, I doubt we’ll get

through here.’

INIASTAGON: ‘We could always try

knocking.’

Iniastagon raised a huge power fist

and, balling it, swung his arm back

theatrically before unleashing his full

momentum against the gate.

FX – massive fist impacting against metal

x 2

The gates held fast but the force of

impact had caused them to buckle and warp

so when Iniastagon delivered a second

blow, both doors folded inwards exposing

the palace to the radioactive storm.

FX – small arms fire. The gasps of the

dying.

Desultory fire issued forth from the

scattering of guards stationed behind the

gate but, exposed to the unseen fallout,

their flesh blistered and burned and no

more than a handful of shots deflected

harmlessly from the Space Marines’ armour

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as they strode forward. One of the

traitors, a bearded man in a trenchcoat

and peaked cap, was futilely wasting his

last moments of life attempting to apply

a radmask and Cassiel gripped him by the

throat, raising him high off the ground.

CASSIEL: ‘High command. Where is it?’

The human looked tiny in Cassiel’s grip,

legs flailing pathetically as he tried in

vain to prise the Space Marine’s hand from

him. The sergeant’s fist closed tighter in

his impatience for an answer.

TRAITOR: ‘Bottom of the sub… sub-

basement. Twe… twelve levels down.

You’ll never make it… though. There’s

an entire army between… between here

and there.’

CASSIEL: ‘One army against the five of

us?’

FX – throat being crushed followed by wet

thud of corpse hitting a wall.

Cassiel regarded the traitor for a

moment before clenching his hand into

a fist. Crushing the human’s windpipe,

the Sergeant casually tossed the corpse

aside. It slammed against the wall, half-

snapping, half-disintegrating under the

impact.

CASSIEL: ‘Those odds hardly seem

fair.’

FX – loud noise of a very large weapon

being fired.

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The sergeant said, raising his weapon and

wiping out the first of the reinforcements

who had responded to the Space Marines

breach of the Palace.

SCENE SIX – INT. BRIDGE OF THE

IN EXCELCIS

ATMOS: SERVITOR AND COGITATOR NOISE.

BACKGROUND RUMBLE OF ENGINES.

In the hours since the captains had

convened, the violent balefire that had

engulfed Stromark Secundus had burned

itself out, the planet’s oxygen exhausted

in fuelling the blazing tide. What

remained was a blackened husk hanging in

space like a negative against the starry

void. Castellan Zargo stood on the bridge

of the In Excelsis, both hands clasped behind his back, staring out over the

devastated world. In the distance, engines

flared before reality itself rippled as

the few Flesh Tearers craft that Seth

had deigned to despatch to the Stromark

Cluster translated into the warp. As far

as they were concerned their mission here

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was accomplished and the Angels Encarmine

could deal with the fallout.

Literally.

There would be a reckoning in the fullness

of time and Castellan Zargo’s greatest

desire was that he would be there to

witness it.

ARJEN: ‘Castellan Zargo?’

The First Company captain strode onto

the bridge, eliciting salutes from the

serfs who quickly went back about their

business.

ZARGO: ‘Arjen. What are you doing

here? My orders were for you to

prepare The Pent for deployment. Is

there a problem?’

Arjen ran a hand over his close-cropped

hair and aimed his eyes towards the

ground. For a warrior the Castellan

had seen defeat a tyranid carnifex with

only his bare hands, Captain Arjen was

exhibiting signs that Zargo could only

interpret as… embarrassment.

ARJEN: ‘It’s Librarian Ptolemius,

my lord. He’s refusing to go into

battle unless ordered to by Castellan

Jerricho.’

SCENE SEVEN – INT. PALACE, STROMARK

SECUNDUS/TERRA

ATMOS: CONFINED SPACE. ALL BATTLE NOISES

ARE EVEN LOUDER AND CLOSER NOW.

FX – intense small arms fire interspersed

with occasional shots from much larger

weapons.

The halls and corridors of the Palace

were choked with the bodies of the dead

and the dying; piles of human wreckage

left in the Space Marines’ wake. With the

interior now exposed to the ravages of the

planet’s surface, many of the defenders had

succumbed without the intervention of the

Angels of Death and corpses with blackened

and blistered skin greeted the five around

every new corner and every fresh chamber.

Cassiel and his brothers were far from

idle though and when they did encounter

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resistance, it was soon obliterated in a

storm of ammunition or crushed like a bug

underfoot.

JORACHIEL: ‘He promised us an army to

fight. This is nought but an army of

the dead, and corpses pose no threat.

Perhaps their ghosts will give us a

better fight?’

PTOLEMIUS: ‘Do not be so quick to

judge, Brother Jorachiel. There are

still many levels of the Palace for

us to battle through before we reach

High Command and besides…’

FX – crackle of psychic energy followed

by bodies slamming into bodies.

The Librarian sent a cascade of psychic

energy forth from his hand, lifting half

a dozen corpses from the floor and flinging

them in the direction of an onrushing

squad of traitors. Bone shattered against

bone and those few that did survive the

Librarian’s assault were swiftly mopped

up by his brothers.

PTOLEMIUS: ‘The dead are not entirely

without their uses.’

More traitors filled the gap left by their

fallen conspirators and, after offering

only token small arms fire, they too were

easily despatched.

CASSIEL: ‘Beware, brothers. The

radiation has not yet penetrated

this deep into the Palace and their

resistance is stronger.’

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31

To reinforce the Sergeant’s point,

Jorachiel strode boldly around the next

corner only to be met by a traitor heavy

weapons team aiming a missile launcher

directly at him. Laboriously, he raised

his weapon to fire but failed to unleash

his shot in time.

FX – whoosh of missile launching, followed

by explosion.

At such short range, the missile could

not miss such a large target and the

warhead detonated against Jorachiel’s

chest, staggering him backwards and

almost bowling over his four battle

brothers following him around the bend.

Frantically, the traitors attempted to

reload but, in the face of the Space

Marines’ vengeful barrage, they were

soon rendered to nothing more than

crimson stains coating the smooth Palace

walls.

FX – really ramp up the weapon fire

here almost to the point where it’s

uncomfortable to listen to.

The crater in his chest still smouldering

from the detonation, Jorachiel grimaced

and turned to Ptolemius.

JORACHIEL: ‘Seems I’m not ready to

join the ranks of the fallen just

yet, Brother Librarian.’

Traitors were spilling forth into the

corridor at a rapid rate and Jorachiel

charged, firing and swinging wildly,

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felling two or three enemies with every

shot or blow.

Ptolemius gave a knowing sigh before

following him into the fray.

SCENE EIGHT – INT. DREADNOUGHT CHAMBER

OF IN EXCELCIS

ATMOS: BACKGROUND RUMBLE OF ENGINES.

FX – sound of a service lift descending

a deep shaft.

NARRATION: Deep within the bowels of In

Excelsis, the most ancient warriors of the

Angels Encarmine slept the slumber of the

ages ready to be woken from their stasis in

the hours of the Chapter’s greatest need.

So rare were these calls to arms that not

a single living battle brother had seen

one of their own Furioso Dreadnoughts

take to the field. Even Zargo himself,

entering his sixth century of existence,

had only known of one Angel Encarmine

who had ever witnessed their venerables

at war and he had perished at the hands

of the Eldar some half a millennia ago.

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Just as the number of battle brothers had

dwindled down the years, so too had the

Chapter’s Dreadnoughts.

The last of the Death Company Dreadnoughts,

Quiesco Eternus, had fallen at the very

dawn of the 41st Millennium, the Black

Rage coming over him one final time as

he valiantly took down three Helbrutes

in the colours of the reviled Emperor’s

Children Traitor Legion. Of the ‘ordinary’

Dreadnoughts, none bearing the winged

blood-drop icon of the Angels Encarmine

had been fielded since the great Haematic

Fury vanquished the daemon Korbatherite but could not escape being dragged through

the rent in the warp torn open by the

fiend’s slaying.

That left only The Pent.

Five Furioso Dreadnoughts who had given

their lives in service to the Emperor many

thousands of years ago only to be reborn

as avatars of war, kept alive in a suit

of armour more akin to a mobile fortress

than the power armour they once wore so

proudly and with such distinction. Though

the truth of the matter had long since

been obscured by the passage of time, it

was whispered that the Furiosos predated

the foundation of the successor Chapters

– even those of the second founding –

and that all occupants of Furiosos fell

alongside Sanguinius during the Heresy.

When the great Primarchs Dorn and

Guilliman divided the legions following

the galactic civil war, the Furiosos

Terror Nihil

35

were split between all of the progeny

Chapters so that a link to their parent

Legion would be maintained long after the

last of the founding battle brothers had

passed into legend.

Though this longevity made for considerable

experience in the ways of war and a zeal

borne of remembrance of the great galactic

schism, coupled with extended periods of

dormancy it could lead to a detachment

from reality that manifested itself as

befuddlement and madness.

As appeared to be the case with Librarian

Ptolemius who would now only take orders

from a Chapter Master who had died almost

nine hundred years ago and whose suit of

armour Zargo now wore.

FX – lift coming to a halt. Massive steel

doors sliding open.

The long descent to the Dreadnought chamber

came to an end and the great elevator,

of such heavy construction that it could

carry two of the ancient warriors at

once, deposited the Castellan in a hangar

of vast proportions. The gradual loss

of these mighty engines of war down the

centuries was rammed home to Zargo in the

starkest fashion; where there were enough

stasis chambers to accommodate over three

dozen Dreadnoughts only four were bathed

in artificial blue light denoting that

they were occupied. One other was split

open like a huge metal cocoon, its recent

habitant standing before it like a giant

36

CZ Dunn

blue sentinel. The Castellan covered the

gap between them swiftly and, while he

was still a respectful distance away,

took to one knee and bowed before the

Furioso Librarian.

ZARGO: ‘Ancient One. I come before

you today to seek your aid in a

matter of war. A matter that only

you and your venerable brethren are

capable of prosecuting on behalf of

the Chapter.’

An uncomfortable silence followed the

Castellan’s words. He was just about to

repeat himself – only louder this time in

case the years of seclusion had rendered

Ptolemius hard of hearing – when the

behemoth spoke.

PTOLEMIUS: ‘You.’

His bulk shifted to look Zargo up and

down.

PTOLEMIUS: ‘You are not Castellan

Jerricho. You wear his armour and

that is his cloak set about your

shoulders, his sword at your hip yet

you are not him. How can this be so?’

ZARGO: ‘Castellan Jerricho died nine

hundred years ago, Ancient One. I

am the fifth brother of the Angels

Encarmine to have held the title of

Castellan since then.’

PTOLEMIUS: ‘I see. I have been asleep

a very long time then?’

Terror Nihil

37

ZARGO: ‘You have lain in stasis for

over a thousand years, venerable

Librarian. It is now the dying days

of the 41st Millennium and your

Chapter has need of you. Will you

serve us once again?’

PTOLEMIUS: ‘Is that what today is?

A ‘dying day’? Is today a day for

death?’

ZARGO: ‘We are the Angels Encarmine.

Every day is a day for death.

Yesterday. Today. Tomorrow. It

matters not. What does matter is that

we are the bringers of death, not the

recipients.’

The Dreadnought shifted again in its

chassis, this time moving from side to

side to take in its surroundings.

PTOLEMIUS: ‘It would appear there

has been a lot of dying since last

I walked the Imperium. This hangar

was half full the last time I awoke.

Where are the young ones? What has

happened to them?’

ZARGO: ‘They gave themselves unto the

anvil of war and were broken, Ancient

One, though not before they did some

breaking of their own. Each one died

a hero and each one lives on in the

annals of the Chapter.’

PTOLEMIUS: ‘A dead warrior is of no

use to anyone except a historian! Is

this why you come to us now? Because

38

CZ Dunn

we are the only ones left? How many

battle brothers does the Chapter

number? Are they all dead too? Only

you remain and now you come to beg us

to fight your battles for you.’

Zargo rose to his feet and approached the

Librarian.

ZARGO: ‘The Chapter is barely at half

strength, such has been the ferocity

of the war we have fought but the

glory we have covered ourselves in

lives long in the memory. Our honour

roll now rivals that of the very

Blood Angels themselves and-’

Without further acknowledgement the

Dreadnought turned ponderously and headed

back towards the stasis chamber.

ZARGO: ‘Wait, Ancient One.’

The Dreadnought showed no sign of having

heard the Castellan and continued onwards.

ZARGO: ‘If you doubt the veracity of

my words, doubt the genuine need we

have of your aid then use your gifts

to learn the truth.’

Ptolemius continued on for a moment longer

before coming to a halt. He paused as if

in contemplation and then turned back to

face the Company Master.

PTOLEMIUS: ‘Very well then.’

Zargo dropped the shackles that bound his

mind and allowed the Librarian to drink

deep of his memories.

SCENE NINE – INT. PALACE, STROMARK

SECUNDUS/TERRA

ATMOS: AS PER SCENE SEVEN.

Gore and viscera coated the five’s armour,

red atop red signifying the barbarism

that had carried them to this place.

The army they had faced was an army no

more and the bodies that lay crushed and

torn on the levels above numbered in the

tens of thousands, so total had been the

massacre they’d carried out. Now, as they

approached the threshold of High Command,

the traitors made ready for their final

stand.

CASSIEL: ‘Lay down your arms, allow

us through to claim your leaders and

we will show you mercy. Your ends

will be swift and painless. Defy us,

and prepare to face our wrath!’

39

40

CZ Dunn

The human soldiers arrayed behind a heavy

barricade hesitated and murmurs of dissent

rippled through their ranks. Faced with

five beings of such supreme power any

offer of clemency, even one that would

still result in death, deserved sensible

consideration. Before a consensus could

be reached however, the decision was made

for them by panicking traitors opening

fire on the Angels. Las-fire and hard shot

bounced harmlessly from red plates of

armour and, seemingly oblivious, Cassiel

addressed his brothers.

FX – scattering of las shots

CASSIEL: ‘For Sanguinius and the

Emperor!’

FX – Battle noise reminiscent of if the

Apocalypse itself had come

As one, the five unleashed a wall of fire,

and began their slow advance towards

the enemy position. Limbs were shorn

from bodies and traitors disintegrated

in plumes of blood in the face of the

unrelenting volley. Hundreds fell in

those first few seconds, the barricade

of anything the traitors could find in

the palace to impede the Angels advance

granting no succour as it splintered and

evaporated as easily as flesh and bone.

The screams of dying men were drowned

out by the crash of weapons and as the

five hit the traitor lines, the sound of

bodies being thrashed and crushed joined

the deathly chorus.

Terror Nihil

41

The final engagement lasted less than a

minute as, backed up against the entrance

to the command centre, the traitor forces

had nowhere to retreat to. Every swing of

an Angel’s arm, every stomp of a foot,

connected with soft flesh and Cassiel’s

promise of unleashing their full wrath

was made tapestry in blood upon the Palace

floor.

Satisfied that he and his brothers were

the only five living souls left outside

of the command centre, Cassiel raised the

weapon he carried in place of his right

arm and prepared to blow open the doors.

SCENE TEN – INT. DREADNOUGHT CHAMBER OF

IN EXCELCIS

ATMOS: AS PER SCENE EIGHT

PTOLEMIUS: ‘Such sacrifice, but such

glory too.’

The Furioso Librarian rocked uneasily on

his chassis, unaccustomed after a millennia

in stasis to gorging on the remembrances

of others. His mind was burgeoning with

six centuries of his Chapter’s history

and the second-hand memories of several

centuries in excess of that. The constant

drive to bring war to the foes of the

Imperium in whatever guise they may take

and whichever dark corner of the universe

they may linger in. Visions of heroes,

all of them dead and often in the white

armour of the Chapter’s Death Company. A

once great brotherhood now diminished by

the ravages of eternal war.

43

44

CZ Dunn

Specific images washed over him too; Zargo’s

predecessor Ilemnial falling at the hands

of an arch-enemy daemon, the Castellan’s

sacrifice allowing the Angels Encarmine’s

librarium to send the creature back to

its hellish domain; an entire company of

battle brothers lost to a vastly superior

force of greenskins with valour so great

that the battle was called The War of a

Hundred Thousand Dead in the Chapter’s

annals; The loss of the Strike Cruiser

Scion of Baal at the culmination of a decade long crusade to rid the galactic

South of a tyranid splinter fleet – two

score of the Chapter lost but three entire

sectors had not suffered alien predation

since; the nuclear holocaust unleashed

upon the world below.

ZARGO: ‘I have no choice but to call

upon The Pent to go once more into

battle. You see now how our Chapter

stands upon the threshold, staring

death in the face but spitting in its

eye at every opportunity. I cannot

in all conscience send our brothers

down to that planet knowing that they

will survive the battle only to die

later.’

PTOLEMIUS: ‘I do see that, Zargo,

and I see that you do not idly throw

our brothers onto the altar of war.

Though our numbers may have dwindled,

the heart of our Chapter beats as

strongly and as bravely as ever. I

will do this thing for you.

Terror Nihil

45

ZARGO: ‘You have my gratitude,

Ancient One, but what of the others?

Will they not take to the field of

battle once more in the Chapter’s

name?’

PTOLEMIUS: ‘My psychic gifts

help safeguard my mind from the

degradations of prolonged stasis but

I fear for the mental condition of

my four brothers. When last we were

called upon to fight, their minds

were already addled, barely cogent

and near-incapable of carrying out

orders.’

The Castellan sighed, resigned to a course

of action he would rather not pursue.

ZARGO: ‘Then that is it. As great

as your abilities are, Ancient One,

sending you down there alone would

achieve nothing except the loss of a

Legion relic. I will not order the

Death Company to die in vain and for

the same reason I cannot ask you to

fight this battle.’

Zargo turned to leave, content for

Ptolemius to spend some time among the

Chapter before being placed back into

stasis.

PTOLEMIUS: ‘Wait, Castellan.’

Zargo stopped and faced the Dreadnought.

PTOLEMIUS: ‘I think there is one way

my brothers could be convinced to

fight once more.’

46

CZ Dunn

ZARGO: ‘Whatever you need to make it

happen, is yours.’

PTOLEMIUS: ‘This is not something

you or anybody else can aid me with,

Castellan. This is something that

I will have to do alone, something

that will stretch my gifts and my

conscience to their very limits.’

The Castellan nodded respectfully.

ZARGO: ‘If I might be so bold, what

is this thing that you must do?’

PTOLEMIUS: ‘My brothers and I fell

in battle together many thousands

of years ago, before the formation

of the Angels Encarmine even. We

fell with an oath to the primarch

unfulfilled and though our heroism

earned us prolonged existence among

the ranks of the Dreadnoughts, the

knowledge that we did not make good

on that oath still haunts us and

likely hastened the other four’s

descent into madness.’

Ptolemius paused as if weighing up his

next words.

PTOLEMIUS: ‘We fell on a battlefield

not unlike the one you would have

us fight upon now and I can use that

to the Chapter’s advantage. Ten

millennia ago our mission ended in

failure but today my brothers will

refight that battle and where once we

failed the primarch and the Legion,

Terror Nihil

47

instead we shall atone by bringing

glory to the Chapter.’

SCENE ELEVEN – INT. PALACE, STROMARK

SECUNDUS/TERRA

ATMOS: AS PER SCENE SEVEN.

FX – crunch of bones being crushed.

The last of the secessionist high command

died as easily and as brutally as the

rest.

When the door to the command centre blew

open and five crimson Dreadnoughts stomped

through, several of the traitors had

dropped to their knees, their plaintive

wails for mercy the last sounds they ever

made. Those foolhardy few who took up

arms were soon eliminated leaving only

the handful hiding under instrument

consoles and map desks to be despatched

by The Pent.

49

50

CZ Dunn

FX - body being thrown against a wall.

Ptolemius cast the corpse aside as if it

were nothing more than rags and, content

that their mission was over, relinquished

his influence over the minds of his fellow

Furioso Dreadnoughts. The strain on his

psyche eased and he felt the initial wave

of confusion from his brothers as the

illusion they had been labouring under

slipped and they slowly became aware of

their surroundings. All rotated in their

chassis regarding the carnage they’d so

recently wrought, taking in the product

of their rage. Torriel looked down at

the mass of shrapnel embedded in his

reinforced chest armour and began picking

at it with his blood claws while Jorachiel

did likewise with the crater gouged

just below his head where the missile

had struck. Iniastigon flexed his blood-

encrusted blood talons, human debris

dropping to the ground from where it had

been dislodged from between the joints.

Cassiel treaded over to Ptolemius,

crushing bodies underfoot with each step.

Still not entirely aware of where he was,

he carried on forwards until he was face-

to-face with the Librarian.

CASSIEL: ‘Did we win brother? Did we

fulfil our oath and bring yet more

glory for the Angels?’

[NB: Cassiel’s voice is different now,

closer to how Ptolemius sounds in his

conversations with Zargo]

Terror Nihil

51

The Librarian looked first to the other

members of The Pent, then to the devastation

around him, then back to Cassiel.

PTOLEMIUS: ‘Yes, Brother Cassiel.

This time, we did.’

A BLACK LIBRARY PUBLICATION

First published as an audio drama in 2012.

This edition published in Great Britain in 2012 by

Black Library,

Games Workshop Ltd.,

Willow Road, Nottingham,

NG7 2WS, UK.

© Games Workshop Limited 2012. All rights reserved.

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