Dark Adeptus PDF
Preview Dark Adeptus
Dark Adeptus Warhammer 40000 Grey Knights Book II Ben Counter A BLACK LIBRARY PUBLICATION First published in Great Britain 2006 Cover illustration by Philip Sibbering. ISBN 13: 978 1 84416 242 0 ISBN 10: 1 84416 242 7 ++Priority Transmission: Coding/Delta/Rouge++ ++Recipient: Loyal Imperial Commanders – as designated by Commissariat, The Librarius Staff, Inquisitor Baptiste & Canoness Arrea.++ ++Subject: Traitors and Executions++ ++Author: Phyr_Negator – Scrivenor-in-attendance to Inquisitor Nikolay Vinogradov++ ++Thought for the Day: To cheat is both cowardly and dishonourable++ Attention all loyal citizens of the Imperium!!! Scanning of sacred books is a mortal sin! ********* Whispered by Tzeentch, Lord of Hidden Knowledge. Inspired by Slaanesh, Master of Forbidden Pleasures. Resist foul machinations of the Dark Gods and buy books from the Black Library. *********** Thought of the Day: All traitors will be executed without mercy and compassion! Inquisition is watching YOU! Contents Dedication Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Dedication To Helen Prologue IT IS THE 41st millennium. For more than a hundred centuries the Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the master of mankind by the will of the gods, and master of a million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the Imperium for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day, so that he may never truly die. YET EVEN IN his deathless state, the Emperor continues his eternal vigilance. Mighty battlefleets cross the daemon-infested miasma of the warp, the only route between distant stars, their way lit by the Astronomican, the psychic manifestation of the Emperor's will. Vast armies give battle in his name on uncounted worlds. Greatest amongst his soldiers arc the Adeptus Astartcs, the Space Marines, bio-engineered super-warriors. Their comrades in arms are legion: the Imperial Guard and countless planetary defence forces, the ever- vigilant Inquisition and the tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus to name only a few. But for all their multitudes, they are barely enough to hold off the ever- present threat from aliens, heretics, mutants - and worse. TO BE A man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruellest and most bloody regime imaginable. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods. Chapter One 'I long for death, not because I seek peace, but because I seek the war eternal' - Cardinal Armandus Helfire 'Reflections on the Long Death' THE SKY OF Chaeroneia shuddered with static and changed, displaying a new channel of geometric patterns. Holy hexagons representing the six-fold genius of the Omnissiah merged with the circles representing the totality of knowledge that the tech-priesthood sought. Double helices, fractals born of sacred information-relics, litanies of machine code, all swirled against the sky of the forge world, casting the pale light of knowledge over the valley of datacores. The smokestacks of the titan works were silhouetted against the holy projections, ironwork bridges spanning gigantic factory towers, sky-piercing obelisks where tech-priests watched the heavens, radio masts where they listened for the voice of the Omnissiah in solar radiation. The valley itself, lined with towering cliffs of obsidian datacores, was a long deep slash of shadow. Projected onto the thick layer of pollutants in the forge world's atmosphere, the sacred arcs and angles were a visual representation of that evening's data- prayers being intoned by thrice-blessed worship-servitors in the Cathedrals of Knowledge. Beneath the titanium plated minarets rows of identical servitors would be standing, their vocal units emitting streams of digital information, singing the praises of the Omnissiah in the binary of pure Lingua Technis. Magos Antigonus knew that meant a new solar cycle was starting. The pollutants over Chaeroneia were so thick there was no sun, so it was only the clockwork-regular services of the Cult Mechanicus that gave time any meaning on the forge world. That in turn meant he had been on the run for three Terran standard days. It was a long time to go with no food or sleep. The datacore valley was a good place to hide out. Visual sensors were often confused by the pure blackness of the datacores themselves and the impenetrable shadows that flooded between them. The information in the cores was so pure that sensoria were dazzled by the intensity, while even augmented eyes could miss a single man in the darkness. But Antigonus knew he was still far from safe. He turned to the servitor next to him. Like all servitors, this device was built around the frame of a once-living human being, the baser levels of its brain computing its functions and its nervous system relaying commands to its augmetic limbs. It was a basic manservant model, programmed to follow its owner and execute simple commands. 'Epsilon three-twelve.' said Antigonus and the servitor turned its face towards him, large round ocular implants whirring as they focused on the tech-priest. 'Journal additional.' Epsilon three-twelve's hands clicked as the long articulated fingers reformed, reaching inside its hollowed chest cavity and bringing out a roll of parchment. A dextrous servo-arm reached out of its mouth, holding a quill. 'Third standard day,' said Antigonus. The servo-arm dipped the quill into an inkwell concealed in the servitor's left eye socket and wrote down Antigonus's words in a stilted, artificial hand. 'Investigation halted. The existence of a heretical cell has been confirmed. Primary goal executed.' Antigonus paused. He had thought that finding them would be the worst of it. He had been utterly wrong. Unforgivable. 'The heretics are between ten and thirty in number.' continued Antigonus, 'representing all Adepta of the Mechanicus, including genetors, lexmechanicus, xenobiologis, metallurgus, pecunius, digitalis and others unknown. Also include ranks from menial to archmagos and probably above. No upper limit to penetration of Chaeroneia's ruling caste.' Antigonus stopped suddenly and flicked his ocular attachment upwards. Its large glass orb surveyed the sky above, still swarming with the sacred imagery. He was sure he had heard something. But he had been on the run for three days and had been unable to risk accepting maintenance on Chaeroneia for some time before that, so perhaps his aural receptors were failing him just as his motive and circulator units were wearing out. Epsilon three-twelve waited patiently, quill poised over the scroll. Antigonus waited a few moments more, the ocular orb searching up and down the valley. The sheer sides of the chasm were glossy and black, drinking in the pallid light, while the floor was littered with rusting, unrecognizable chunks of machinery. Antigonus was sure he and his servitor were well-hidden behind one such massive slab that looked like the engine from a mass-lifter vehicle. However, he knew better than to think that made them safe - a heretic tech-priest with a powerful auspex scanner set to detect Antigonus's life signs could sniff them out. 'The nature of the heresy itself is not fully understood. Secondary objective incomplete.' Antigonus shook his head. The ways of the Machine-God were
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