revered warrior。 They brushed his blessed armour with sacred unguents； and fixed icons and holy
charms to his armour。
Marduk； First Acolyte of the Word Bearers Legion； acting Dark Apostle of the Host； stood over
two metres tall； his limbs encased in thick reinforced plate the colour of congealed blood。 His holy
power armour had been worked upon by the artisans of the Host in recent months； the plates rimmed
with dark meteoric iron； and battle damage repaired。
Marduk had meticulously scrimshawed hundreds of thousands of words across them in tiny
script； scriptures and sacred litanies of Lorgar that he knew by heart。 The entire third book of the
Tenets of Hate was inscribed around the armoured vambrace encasing his left forearm； and the titles
18
of the Six Hundred and Sixty…Six Enumerations of Erebus were carved across the curved mass of his
left shoulder pad。
The left shoulder pad had been dutifully painted black； as had those of the entire Host； in
mourning for the loss of their revered leader； the Dark Apostle Jarulek。 That Marduk had been
integral to Jarulek’s death made the symbolic act particularly ironic； and he smirked。
Over his painstakingly worked armour； Marduk wore a bone…coloured robe； tied at his waist
with chains hung with icons of dedication to the dark gods of the ether。 A book of hymnals and
battle…prayers from the Epistles of Lorgar hung at his side； its dusty pages bound in human leather。
His head was bare。 A bolt round fired by his former master； the Dark Apostle Jarulek； at pointblank
range had rent the helmet beyond repair； and Marduk’s features bore testament to the damage
that shot had wrought。 The entire left half of his face had been blasted away； and it had taken all the
skill of the Host’s chirurgeons and chirumeks to rebuild his facial structure。
Adamantium had been fused to his skull； and he had grinned as the procedure had taken place。
Pain； it was taught； was a blessed gift that fortified the spirit and brought one closer to the gods。 As
such； it was a sensation to be welcomed。 No proud warrior of the Legion would ever consider
allowing a chirurgeon to distance him from the blessed pain of his battle wounds with narcotic
opiates or psychotropic injections； for such a thing was regarded as blasphemy。
His shattered left cheek was rebuilt； and the muscles and tendons of his face re…grown or
replaced with bionic implants。 Marduk’s skin had yet to grow across this new facial structure； and
the ceramic gleam of his sharpened teeth could be seen through the strands of muscle tissue that
linked his upper and lower jaws。
His left eye socket had been blasted to splinters； and the eye turned to molten jelly by the
concussive force of the bolt round。 Once the socket had been reconstructed； a replacement eye
grown in a culture of amniotic…fluid infused with warp energy was surgically attached to his brain
stem。 The daemonic flesh hybrid replacement stared out from his adamantium eye socket； an angry；
red； lidless orb。 The pupil was little more than a sliver； like that of a serpent’s eye； reflecting all that
it saw。
For all his reconstructive surgery； Marduk’s face bore the patrician features that spoke of his
genetic ancestry。 Every warrior in the Legion bore the genetic makeup of his lord； the blessed
daemon primarch Lorgar； and the similarity between them was marked； characterised by their pale
skin； their noble profile； their proud bearing and their hair； which was as black as pitch。
Marduk’s long black hair had been combed and oiled by his robed attendants； before being tied
into a long braid and secured behind his head； atop the duster of cables that entered his flesh at the
base of his skull。 A cloak of matted fur； skinned from a blood…beast that Marduk had slain on the
death world of Anghkar Dor； was draped over his shoulders and fixed to leering； daemonic bronze
faces on his breastplate。 The inside of the fur was lined with velvet； and symbols of Chaos
resplendent had been scorched into the fabric。
Holy scriptures of Kor Phaeron； cut into the flayed flesh of innocents； were driven onto the
spikes rimming his shoulder pads； and fresh blood； drawn from the bodies of mewling sacrifices
artificially bred in vats on the lower decks of the Infidus Diabolus for that sole purpose； was daubed
reverentially onto his gauntlets。
One of the attendants lined his right eye with coal； and smoke rose from the holy mark of Lorgar
on Marduk’s brow as the servant’s withered hand brushed it。 The stink of scorched flesh rose from
the attendant’s hand； and it pulled it back sharply as smoke rose from the mark。 Marduk growled in
annoyance； and the attendant was dragged away into the darkness by two of its kin。 Its flesh would
be consigned to the cleansing fires； its body fed to its kin and its soul； if it had one； subject to eternal
torment for displeasing its master。
Marduk’s eyes lit up as his weapons were brought forth； led by a procession of censer…bearing
attendants。 They were the tools with which the Dark Faith was delivered to the heathen masses of
the galaxy and as such； they were borne with reverential care。 They lay upon black cushions； and
19
were carried upon the backs of creatures whose flesh was completely swathed in black cloth to hide
their obscene forms。
Marduk picked up his customised bolt pistol； its squat barrel protruding from the carved maw of
a daemon。 It felt natural and light in his hand； though a mere mortal would struggle to bear its
weight； and he rammed a sickle…shaped clip into place before holstering it at his hip。
Even in times of relative peace the brothers of the Host bore live weapons； for though they were
disciples and custodians of the Dark Creed； they were holy warriors first and foremost； and it was
part of their tenets to be always reminded of the Long War against the cursed Imperium； to be ever
in readiness for holy battle。 Bitterness fuelled their beliefs and passion； and the holy bolter and
chainsword were the tools with which the proper order of the galaxy would be instated。 No warrior
could forget the betrayals of the Corpse Emperor； or the fallacy of his church； while they held their
sacred weapons。
Next； he lifted his archaic chainsword from its cushion。 His grip closed around the hilt of the
weapon； and he felt the familiar rush as it bonded with him； barbs piercing the flesh of his palm。 The
power and rage of Borhg’ash； the daemon eternally bound within the chainsword； surged through
him； and he restrained the urge to lash out； to feed the beast’s hunger。 The blood of thousands had
been shed beneath its biting teeth； and it was with some reluctance that he sheathed it； allowing the
locking clamps to secure it at his waist。
“Soon you shall feed； dear one；” said Marduk to appease the daemon； and he felt a twinge of
unease as his bond with the daemon weapon was severed； as if a part of his body had been cut from
him。
Marduk dismissed his servants with a wave of his gauntleted hand。 They retreated into the dark
recess…hollows in the chamber walls； disappearing from mortal sight。
Whispering a prayer； he turned and walked across the chamber。 The great doors reared up before
him； intricately carved into a representation of the maelstrom； replete with daemonic forms and the
souls of mortals writhing in agony。 The amorphous carving shifted maddeningly； souls screaming
out in silent torment as flames consumed them and devils cavorted。
Pressing his palms against the doors； Marduk pushed them open； and they swung aside
soundlessly。
An entourage of twelve chosen warriors knelt upon the flagstones beyond the doors； their heads
bowed low。 At their fore was the icon bearer； Burias； his head lowered to the ground before his
master。
“Arise； my brothers；” said Marduk。
The devotional ceremony lasted for twelve hours； and the mournful voices of the Host rose and fell
as they intoned their hymnal responses。 The morbid peal of bells echoed out across the cavernous
expanse of the cavaedium； signalling the end of the communal worship of the gods。 Marduk’s throat
was raw from his elocutions and recitals from the books of Lorgar； but he felt refreshed and
invigorated by the communion with the great powers of the ether。 It was always this way for him。
For three months it had been this way； with prayers； sermons and services dominating the lives
of the Word Bearers as their ship； the Infidus Diabolus； ploughed its way through the roiling sea that
was the warp。 The Host was eager for battle； for the fields of war were the truest halls of worship to
the gods； but these hymnal services served their needs； while not engaged against the enemy； and
they fuelled the hatred and stoked the fires of vengeance that burnt within the breast of every
warrior brother。
Warp travel allowed the Infidus Diabolus to travel vast distances in months or years rather than
decades or more； but Marduk would allow none of his battle…brothers to enter stasis while on these
journeys； for these times were important lulls during which affirmations could be renewed and
dedications and oaths of servitude to the great gods blooded anew。
20
As the Host filed away； returning to their cells for individual； silent communion； reading of
scripture； the blessings and refitting of holy bolters and other daily rituals； Marduk found himself
gazing upon the blessed crozius arcanum； lying dormant upon a plinth at the front of the alter
overlooking the nave where the Host had gathered。
The crozius arcanum was the hallowed staff of office of the Dark Apostles； the bearers of the
true faith。 Once it had symbolised belief in the Great Crusade； in the Imperium of Man and the
optimism of the Crusade bringing enlightenment to the galaxy； but the Emperor’s lies had long been
revealed。
The Emperor had claimed that gods did not exist； that they were merely the creations of weak
minds。
Hypocritically； it was this same Emperor； though his body was now a mere rotting corpse； that
the Imperium prayed to as their patron deity。 The fallacy of the lie and its hypocrisy filled Marduk
with bitterness and rage。 In truth； that anger had not waned with time； but rather had grown stronger
and deeper。
In ignorance； blindness or perhaps fear； the Em