Dark Apostle

Burias raised his gaze to meet his master's flinty, cold eyes. 'Have I angered you, First Acolyte?'

Marduk laughed, a harsh, barking sound.

'Anger me? But you are always so careful with your displays of respect. How could you have possibly angered me, Burias?' Marduk held Burias's gaze, dark humour in his eyes. 'No, you have not angered me, my friend,' he said, turning away. 'My mind is… occupied. The dream visions are coming to me more frequently since leaving the Maelstrom, the closer we draw to the planet of the great enemy.'

'Your power grows, First Acolyte,' said Burias, looking at Marduk's strong profile, his skin so pale it was translucent.

'And yours with it, my champion.' Marduk growled.

Burias grinned ferally. 'That it does.'

Marduk's head was ritually shaved, except for a long, braided length of black hair that sprouted from his crown. A network of criss-crossing, blue veins pulsed beneath his flesh. Cables and pipes pushed through the skin at his temples, and his teeth had grown into sharp fangs over the centuries. He was truly a terrifying warrior to look upon, and his armour was bedecked with honorifics and artefacts of religious significance. Burnished metal talismans, tiny shrunken skulls and Chaos icons hung from chains on his ornate, deep red armour. A scrimshawed bone of the prophet Morglock was strapped to his thigh with padlocked chains, and extracts from the Book of Lorgar, scratched upon human flesh, hung from his shoulder pads.

'And how is Drak'shal today?' asked Marduk, looking deep into Burias's lupine eyes.

'Quiet. But I can feel he is… hungry.'

Marduk laughed. 'Drak'shal is always hungry. It is his nature. But I am glad he is not strong today: today is no time for him to come to the fore. Keep him in check. His time will come soon enough.'

'I look forward to it. He so likes to kill.'

'Yes, he does, and he does it very well. But come now, we must not keep the Dark Apostle waiting.'

The pair left the sanctum, Burias leading the First Acolyte in silence, the icon held out before him, reverentially clasped in both hands. The honour guard fell into position a step behind. They walked through twisting corridors and up further flights of stairs until they came to a great, golden door, details picked out in relief. Once there, all four of the Word Bearers warriors dropped to one knee and bowed their heads. They waited in silence for several minutes before the doors before them were thrown open.

'Arise,' said a dangerously softly spoken voice.

Raising his eyes, Burias looked upon Jarulek, the Dark Apostle of the Host. Bedecked in a black robe that covered much of his ancient, blood-red armour, he was neither particularly tall nor broad for one of the Legion. Outwardly, he projected none of the sense of brutal power that Kol Badar exuded, nor the potent vitality that Marduk possessed. Nor did warriors fear him for the lethal savagery that Burias knew lurked only barely beneath the surface of his own demeanour.

It was perhaps the confidence of one who knew that the gods themselves sanctioned his actions that made warriors tremble before him, or perhaps it was the absolute belief in what he did, the fire of faith that burned within his soul or whatever of it was left, for it had long been pledged to the ravenous gods of Chaos. Whatever it was, Jarulek inspired fear, awe and devotion in equal measures. His words were spoken softly and deliberately, but on the battlefield his voice would rise to a powerful howl that was terrifying and inspiring to hear.

Every centimetre of Jarulek's exposed pale skin was covered in the hallowed words of Lorgar. Tiny, intricate script was inscribed perfectly across his flesh. Litanies and catechisms ran symmetrically down each side of his pale, hairless head, and his cheeks, chin and neck were sprawled with passages and curses. There was not a place upon him where you could place a data-stylus and not be touching the hallowed words of the great daemon primarch. Devotions, supplications, orisons, they extended over Jarulek's lips, inside his cheeks and across his tongue. Not even his eyes had been spared, citations of vengeance, hate and worship scribed on the soft, glutinous jelly of those orbs. He was a walking Book of Lorgar, and Burias was in awe at his presence.

'Lead the Dark Apostle forth, Icon Bearer,' intoned Marduk. Six additional guards of honour stepped into place around Marduk and the Dark Apostle, and together with the pair accompanying Marduk they represented the eight points of the star of Chaos.

'First, we worship,' said Jarulek. 'Then we kill a world.'

'I risk my men in there, and I am told to forget all about it?' spat Lieutenant Varnus. 'There is some kind of cult organisation operating in Shinar, perhaps across the whole of Tanakreg. We are just getting close.'