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upon　them。　Pennants　of　flayed　human　flesh　fluttered　from　back…banners；　and　all　within　the　Host　had
repainted　their　left　shoulder　pads；　the　ones　that　had　previously　been　stained　black　in　mourning　for
Jarulek；　Dark　Apostle　of　the　Host。　They　were　no　longer　in　mourning；　Marduk　thought　with　a　smile。
At　the　front　of　the　power　armoured　bulk　of　the　warrior　brethren　stood　the　Anointed；　the　warrior
elite　of　the　Host；　and　armoured　divisions　interspersed　the　ranks。　Rhinos；　Land　Raiders；　Predators；
Vindicators；　all　had　had　their　battle…scarred　hulls　repainted；　and　fresh　sigils　to　the　ruinous　powers
and　litanies　of　the　true　word　had　been　daubed　and　inscribed　upon　their　ancient；　armoured　skins。
Hundreds　of　slaves　and　chirumeks　worked　upon　the　hulls　of　these　armoured　divisions；　patching
damage　and　sanctifying　their　hulls　anew　in　the　blood　of　unbelievers。
Daemon　engines　and　Dreadnoughts　clawed　at　the　flagstones　of　the　terrace　to　the　side　of　the　bulk
of　the　Host；　each　titanic　amalgamation　of　machine　and　daemon　kept　in　place　by　chains　held　in　the
hands　of　hundreds　of　straining　slave…proselytes。
This　is　my　Host；　thought　Marduk　with　pride　and　satisfaction。　Mine。
Marduk　stood　with　his　eyes　lowered　as　he　awaited　the　judgement　of　the　Council。　None　but　the　Dark
Apostles　were　allowed　to　look　upon　the　sacred　members　of　the　Council　when　it　was　in　session；　and
he　kept　his　eyes　dutifully　cast　down　as　he　awaited　the　outcome　that　would　determine　his　fate；　for
now　and　forever。
The　wounds　he　had　suffered　under　the　knives　of　the　eldar　haemonculus　had　long　since　healed；
leaving　just　faint　scars　upon　his　flesh；　joining　those　that　he　had　earned　from　fighting　on　a　thousand
worlds。　His　body　was　armoured　in　archaic　plate；　a　holy　relic　that　had　been　chosen　from　the　armoury
of　the　Infidus　Diabolus。　Marduk　had　spent　long　hours　in　solitude　scrimshawing　the　litanies　of
Lorgar　upon　their　surfaces。
He　held　his　skull…faced　helmet　under　one　arm；　the　helm　that　had　been　worn　by　the　blessed
Warmonger　before　him；　and　over　his　armour　he　wore　an　unadorned　robe　the　colour　of　bone；　as　the
ritual　required。　His　face　was　sunken　and　pale；　for　he　had　partaken　of　neither　food　nor　water　for　a
month；　just　one　part　of　the　arduous　tests　that　he　had　been　subjected　to　in　order　to　prove　his
suitability。
He　had　been　on　Sicarus　for　almost　three　months；　and　since　the　commencement　of　the　rituals　of
testing　and　purification；　he　had　not　spoken　to　a　living　soul；　though　his　days　were　filled　with　acts　of
penitence；　recitation　of　the　Great　Works　and　communion。　He　had　endured　all　manner　of　ritual
debasement；　as　his　soul　was　stripped　bare　and　he　was　reborn　into　the　dark　faith。
He　was　subjected　to　solitary　confinement　for　weeks　on　end；　sealed　within　the　ossuary　sepulchre
deep　beneath　the　Basilica　of　the　Word；　interred　within　a　crawl…space　little　larger　than　his　body；
walled　in　with　bricks　and　blood　mortar。　Hallucinogenic　smoke　coiled　around　him　in　the　tomb；　and
as　he　breathed　the　fumes　in　deeply　and　his　body　passed　into　a　catatonic　state　nearing　death；　his　spirit
had　soared　free。　Garbing　himself　in　armour　of　the　soul；　he　had　fought　an　endless　army　of　daemons
that　sought　to　test　his　resolve；　armed　with　a　gleaming　sword　in　one　ethereal　hand；　a　shield　of
darkness　strapped　across　his　other。　How　long　the　infernal　gods　had　directed　their　minions　against
him　he　knew　not；　but　finally　he　was　brought　back　to　the　land　of　the　living；　his　imprisonment
174
shattered。　He　awoke　a　new　warrior；　weak　in　the　body　from　his　confinement；　but　strong　in　faith　and
spirit。
Endless　days　of　ritual　torment　and　study　followed；　when　every　aspect　of　his　mind；　faith　and
body　were　tested　to　breaking　point；　but　through　it　all　Marduk　remained　strong；　refusing　to　succumb
to　the　daemonic　whispers　that　taunted　him；　telling　him　that　he　had　already　failed；　that　his　soul　would
be　consumed　by　the　ether　and　his　name　forgotten　by　history。
All　that　was　behind　him；　and　he　stood　before　the　Council；　proud　and　noble；　as　he　awaited　their
final　word。
“Kneel；”　came　a　growled　command；　and　Marduk　fell　to　the　ground；　impelled　by　the　sheer
dominance　of　the　voice。
A　figure　moved　before　him；　and　a　hand　was　placed　upon　the　crown　of　his　head；　pushing　it
backwards　to　expose　his　throat。
I　have　failed；　thought　Marduk；　though　he　could　not　believe　it。
A　serrated　khantanka　knife　was　drawn　and　its　cold　blade　placed　against　the　carotid　artery　of　his
neck；　but　he　did　not　flinch。　He　would　face　death　with　pride；　though　still　he　refused　to　believe　that
such　was　his　fate。
The　knife　slashed　the　artery；　and　Marduk　gasped　as　blood　fountained　from　his　neck。　Bright
blood　pumped　from　the　wound；　spraying　out　around　him。　It　gushed　over　his　breastplate；　running
down　over　his　torso　and　onto　the　floor；　pooling　around　his　knees。
Marduk　swayed；　still　shocked　that　it　had　come　to　this；　and　all　colour　drained　from　his　face　as　the
pool　around　his　knees　spread　outwards。
His　pristine　skull　helmet　dropped　from　numb　fingers；　splashing　into　the　pool　of　warm　blood；　and
he　fell　forwards。　He　threw　a　hand　out　to　catch　himself；　but　his　strength　was　fading；　and　it　was　all　he
could　do　to　stop　himself　from　sprawling　face…first　into　the　already　congealing　pool　of　his　lifeblood。
Anger　swept　through　him。
Marduk　used　the　anger　swelling　through　him　to　give　him　strength；　and　he　pushed　himself　up　off
the　floor。　If　he　was　to　die；　he　would　not　die　scrabbling　on　the　floor　like　a　dog。　Even　as　more　blood
pumped　from　his　neck；　he　retrieved　his　blood…smeared　helmet　from　the　floor　and　shoved　it　back
under　his　arm。
He　blinked；　staring　at　the　pool　of　blood　in　which　he　kneeled。　There　was　so　much　blood　that　he
was　amazed　that　there　was　any　within　him　at　all；　and　his　vision　wavered。
This　is　the　end；　he　thought。
The　mark　of　Lorgar　on　his　forehead　began　to　burn；　smoke　rising　from　his　skin　as　the　searing
rune　blistered　his　flesh。
A　hand　was　placed　against　his　neck；　and　the　wound　was　closed　as　warmth　suffused　him。
“Arise；　Marduk；”　said　the　domineering　voice；　and　Marduk　felt　hands　on　his　shoulders；　helping
him　to　his　feet。　He　was　weak　with　loss　of　blood；　and　did　not　realise　that　he　had　passed　the　final　test；
and　had　received　Lorgar’s　blessing。
Lifting　his　gaze；　he　stared　into　the　impossibly　dark　eyes　of　none　other　than　Erebus；　he　who　had
been　first　Chaplain　of　the　Word　Bearers　when　Horus　had　lived；　he　who　had　brought　the　true　faith　to
so　many。
“Welcome；　brother；”　said　Erebus。
Other　than　Lorgar；　and　arguably　the　Keeper　of　the　Faith；　Kor　Phaeron；　Erebus　was　the　most
powerful；　revered　and　influential　member　of　the　XVII　Legion；　and　at　his　word　countless　millions
had　perished。
Erebus’s　head　was　shaved　smooth；　and　covered　in　intricate　script；　his　flesh　a　living　Book　of
Lorgar；　and　Marduk　stared　at　him　in　confusion　and　wonder；　still　not　understanding　what　was　taking
place。
175
The　other　seven　Council　members　stepped　forwards；　surrounding　Marduk；　and　he　gazed　around
at　their　hallowed；　revered　faces　in　awe。　He　knew　them　all　by　name　and　reputation：　the　Dark　Apostle
Ekodas；　the　craggy…faced　holy　leader　of　the　7th　Company　Host；　who　had　led　a　holy　crusade　of
retribution　upon　the　Black　Consuls；　almost　wiping　the　Cursed　Chapter；　a　successor　of　the　hated
Ultramarines；　from　the　galaxy；　at　his　side　was　the　Dark　Apostle　Paristur；　shrewd　and　savage；　who
had　killed　the　Blood　Angels　Chaplain　Aristedes　in　single　combat　on　the　walls　of　the　Emperor’s
palace。　Mighty　heroes　of　legend　all；　the　Council　members　closed　ranks　around　Marduk；　touching
their　fingertips　upon　the　already　congealing　blood　and　daubing　unholy　symbols　upon　his　armoured
plates。　Erebus　dipped　his　thumb　in　the　blood　and　marked　Marduk’s　cheek；　and　he　felt　his　skin
blistering　beneath　the　touch。
One　of　the　Dark　Apostles；　Mothac；　encased　in　ensorcelled　daemon　armour；　a　gift　from　Lorgar；
held　a　thick　book　in　his　arms；　its　weight　immense。　The　book　was　bound　in　the　skin　of　Ultramarines；
and　Marduk　gasped　as　he　looked　upon　it。
“The　Dark　Creed；”　he　murmured；　overcome　with　awe。　These　were　the　holy　writings　of　the
daemon　primarch　of　the　Legion。
Finally；　realisation　dawned　on　him。　He　had　succeeded！
Mothac’s　face　was　solemn；　and　the　Dark　Apostles　gave　him　some　room　as　he　hefted　it　before
him。
“Swea