The Beast Arises

His breath stank of stimm residue and an aura of antiseptic coagulant surrounded the Assassin. As he shifted, a wound opened under his ribs, a fresh trickle of blood dribbling out onto his synskin sheath. The Assassin didn’t seem to notice. His attention moved from one Space Marine to the next and then on again, constantly scouring his surroundings and their occupants.

Esad Wire had crash-landed the ork fighter almost on top of the Imperial lines, demanding audience with the commanders. Secured by Crimson Fists, he had said nothing until the representatives of the allied factions had arrived. The scene for the audience was grim — the broken stone underfoot was smeared with the blood of orks, their corpses and body parts still wedged between chunks of rubble. The ceiling had collapsed, letting the mid-afternoon sun lay deep shadows across the proceedings.

‘By what right were you sent into our forces?’ demanded Odaenathus.

‘Is that really the issue, Chapter Master?’ the Assassin replied. He grimaced and took in a ragged breath. ‘My orders came directly from Lord Vangorich, in concert with members of the Inquisition. Does it matter how or why? I tell you again, I have seen inside the ork city. The force that remains is overwhelming. Stronger than anything you have yet encountered. You cannot attack.’

‘Why did you not continue your mission to kill the Great Beast?’ asked Vulkan. ‘Surely that was more important than warning us of any danger. If you killed the target, our losses become inconsequential.’

‘I could not reach the Great Beast,’ Esad Wire admitted with a shake of the head. His eyes lost their focus for a few seconds, seeing something that was only memory. ‘I barely breached the outskirts of its sanctum. It was even more luck that I got out again. Tens of thousands of giant orks, armed as well as your elite companies. But that is not the worst. There is more than simply a warlord guiding this force. It is something far grander. A demagogue, a high priest perhaps.’

‘An emissary of an ork god?’ Bohemond spat the words, his fingers tight on the hilt of his sword. ‘Folly! Do not attribute the trappings of civilisations to their primitive antics.’

‘I have seen their temples and preachers,’ the Assassin replied sharply, his gaze still moving from one Space Marine to the next, never stopping. Koorland noticed his defiant stare did not extend to Vulkan. ‘I have witnessed the ceremonies, the rituals and sermons of their creed. This is holy war to the orks, every bit as zealous as that ill-fated, ridiculous Proletarian Crusade.’

‘That changes nothing,’ said Vulkan. ‘If anything, it reinforces the importance of the Great Beast. If we slay the orks’ demigod, we break them.’

‘I agree,’ said Wire. ‘But I tell you without a word of a lie that we cannot reach the monster this way.’

‘It’s been baiting us the whole time,’ Thane suggested, ‘trying to draw us in at every turn. This last trap might be the final one.’

‘It’s an ork, it wants to fight,’ Bohemond interjected. ‘It is a smart ork. But do not give it more credit than that. It simply wants to fight on its own ground, its own terms.’

‘We cannot let it,’ said Koorland.

‘It offers us no option, Lord Commander.’ Vulkan stood up, as though about to leave. ‘Must I say it yet again, you must have some faith, Koorland. If there is a single lesson I need you to learn, it is that there is no final defeat while you hold true to the service of the Emperor. We cannot give in to despair, no matter what happens. Even when it seemed that Horus could not possibly lose, those of us loyal to the Emperor continued to fight. Even when there was not even a vision of what winning might look like, we refused…’

Vulkan bowed his head. His voice trailed away, shoulders hunched by some personal, painful memory.

‘We cannot out-brute the orks!’ snarled Esad Wire. He lifted his hands imploringly. ‘It is why we have lost every battle so far. It is why we will lose everything if we do not think harder rather than fight harder! Lord Vangorich sent me as his agent. Stop fighting a war and start thinking like Assassins!’

Bohemond growled something incoherent and Vulkan shook his head in disgust.

‘You have a suggestion, Assassin?’ asked Koorland.

‘If you cannot get to the target, bring the target to you. Draw it out and then strike.’

‘The Great Beast has resisted all military challenge so far,’ said Vulkan, looking back at them. ‘What could possibly draw it out of its fortress that we have not already done?’