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Burias　was　the　epitome　of　the　warrior　ideal：　a　consummate；　balanced　warrior。　His　body　was　as
proud　and　strong　as　his　faith；　and　though　he　was　young　in　comparison　to　Kol　Badar；　he　had　been
blooded　in　battle　across　a　thousand　ile；　though　there　was　a　lingering；
dangerous　intensity　in　his　wide　eyes；　just　a　hint　of　the　power　lurking　within；　straining　to　be　released。
Burias　was　one　of　the　possessed；　and　though　he　kept　the　daemon　Drak’shal　at　bay　with　sheer　force
of　will；　he　willingly　gave　way　to　the　beast　once　the　fires　of　battle　were　met；　and　the　results　were
invariably　bloody。
Burias　bowed　low；　dipping　his　tall；　eight…pointed　icon　before　him；　and　Marduk　acknowledged
him　with　an　incline　of　his　chin。　Kol　Badar　bowed　his　head；　carefully　measuring　the　movement　to　be
at　once　mildly　insulting；　yet　not　overtly　disrespectful。
“The　Enslaved　one　is　requesting　that　he　be　allowed　to　reconstruct　his　armature　arrays；　that　he
may　continue　his　work　upon　the　Nexus　Arrangement；　lord；”　said　Burias；　his　voice　neutral。
“It　is　foolishness　to　allow　it　such　privileges；”　said　Kol　Badar。
“Walk　with　me；”　ordered　Marduk；　turning　on　his　heel　and　striding　away。　He　did　not　speak　as
they　exited　the　cavaedium　by　a　side　portal　within　the　sacristy；　walking　up　corridors　lined　with
skulls。
One　of　the　kathartes；　skinless　daemonic　furies　that　inhabited　the　Infidus　Diabolus；　perched　upon
the　shoulders　of　a　winged　angel　of　death　statue　above　them；　baring　its　teeth　at　their　passing。　Marduk
flicked　his　gaze　up　towards　the　daemon；　and　it　lowered　its　head；　whimpering　like　a　dog　beneath　the
switch。　Blood　glistened　across　its　exposed　musculature；　and　it　shimmered　like　a　distorted　pirt　image
before　disappearing　once　more　into　the　sea　of　souls　that　was　the　warp。　Immersed　in　the　tides　of　the
ether　buffeting　the　Infidus　Diabolus；　the　katharte　would　take　on　its　truer　form；　that　of　an　angelic
maiden；　as　dangerous　as　it　was　alluring；　propelling　itself　through　the　formless　other　world　upon
feathered　wings；　its　siren　call　signalling　the　death　of　those　of　weak　mind　that　heard　it。
They　passed　dozens　of　dark　arches；　each　leading　off　into　different　areas　of　the　labyrinthine　ship。
Warrior　brothers　stood　aside；　their　heads　lowered；　as　they　passed。　Black…cloaked　slave…creatures
scurried　out　of　their　path；　while　others　prostrated　themselves　pathetically；　faces　pressed　to　the　floor。
Moans　and　tortured　cries　came　from　darkness　beneath　the　walkways；　and　wasted；　skeletal　fingers
extended　through　the　metal　grids　in　appeal。　Thousands　of　wretched　slaves　were　kept　aboard　the
Infidus　Diabolus；　existing　in　the　darkness　and　squalid　conditions　below　deck　in　order　to　perform　all
the　horrific　and　mundane　jobs　required　to　keep　the　ship　running。　They　were　condemned　to　a　lifetime
of　servitude；　and　they　cried　out　for　death。
“The　priest…magos　of　the　Machine…God　is　necessary；”　said　Marduk　finally；　as　the　trio　walked　the
musty　halls　of　the　strike　cruiser。　“The　Nexus　Arrangement　will　never　be　unlocked　without　him；　he　is
the　Key…master；”　he　said；　referring　to　a　prophecy　that　told　of　one；　the　Enslaved；　who　would　unlock
the　potent　device　that　the　Host　had　uncovered　from　a　xenos　pyramid　upon　the　shattered　Imperial
world　of　Tanakreg。　It　would　be　a　powerful　weapon　in　the　arsenal　of　the　Word　Bearers；　and　much
favour　would　be　granted　to　he　who　controlled　it。
22
“The　Key…master？”　scoffed　Kol　Badar。　“The　wretch　has　proven　useless　in　unlocking　the　device
thus　far。　He　cannot　be　trusted。”
“The　magos　is　mine；”　said　Marduk。　“He　is　my　puppet；　and　will　do　exactly　what　I　want。”
Magos　Darioq　was　changing。　At　first；　the　effects　on　his　body　had　been　subtle；　barely　noticeable；　but；
as　the　daemon　took　further　control　of　his　purged　system；　the　change　was　coming　on　with　alarming；
exponential　swiftness。
Stripped　of　his　robes　and　chained　to　the　wall　of　his　cell；　he　shuddered　in　torment　as　the　carefully
cultured　daemon　essence　writhed　within　him。　He　opened　his　mouth　soundlessly；　exposing　a
secondary　set　of　teeth；　thick　and　sharp；　pushing　up　through　his　bleeding　gums　behind　his　own。
His　flesh　was　wasted　and　pallid；　though　most　of　his　body　had　long　been　replaced　with
mechanical　augmentations。　His　entire　lower　body　had　been　replaced　with　heavy…duty　bionic
replacements；　immensely　powerful　leg…units　with　inbuilt　gyro…stabilisers　that　enabled　the　magos　to
bear　almost　two　metric　tonnes　of　weight　upon　his　frame。　This　was　necessary；　for　with　a　fully
activated　servo…harness；　the　magos　weighed　as　much　as　a　small　tank。　Black　tendrils　crawled　and
pulsed　beneath　his　skin；　and　his　flesh　rippled　from　within　as　the　daemon　made　its　claim　on　him。
Augmetic　telescopic　braces　were　fused　to　his　spine　for　stability　and　strength；　but　the　distinction
between　mechanical　augmentation　and　flesh　was　blurring。　Blood　dripped　from　rents　in　the　metal。
The　heavy　bulk　of　Darioq’s　servo…harness　was　clamped　between　his　hips　and　his　shoulders；　and
again；　the　hybrid　amalgamation　of　fusing　metal　and　flesh　could　be　seen。　Fleshy　muscles　had　grown
over　several　of　the　pistons；　enhancing　their　mechanical　strength　with　that　of　the　daemon　and　giving
the　corrupted　magos　an　even　more　hunched　appearance。　The　four　servo…arms　of　his　harness　had
been　sheared　away；　along　with　half　a　dozen　mechadendrites　that　plugged　into　the　nerve　endings　of
his　spinal　column；　and　they　wept　blood　and　ichor　as　their　stubby　remnants　twitched　and　jerked
spasmodically。　Two　of　the　severed　mechadendrites　had　already　re…sprouted；　fleshy　tentacles　of
glistening　muscle　growing　from　his　spine。　Plugs　and　sockets　covered　his　wasted　skin；　and　from
some　of　these　leaked　a　milky　ichor　that　hissed　as　it　hit　the　floor。
With　his　hood　and　robes　stripped　away；　Darioq’s　head　was　laid　bare。　Only　a　fraction　of　his
original　face　remained；　the　rest　encased　in　mechanics。　A　grilled　voice　box　was　implanted　in　his
throat；　and　his　left　eye　was　an　impressive　display　of　sensors　and　optical　arrays。
The　distinction　between　the　mechanical　and　the　human　was　blurring　all　over　the　corrupted
magos’s　body。　Even　as　the　trio　of　Word　Bearers　watched；　the　metal　cranium　of　the　magos　swelled
and　rippled　like　water；　and　a　curving　horn　pushed　up　from　the　right…hand　side　of　Darioq’s　skull。　Its
tip　was　hard　and　bony；　but　clearly　organic。
His　right　eye；　which　had　been　milky　and　blind　when　the　Word　Bearers　had　first　captured　him；
was　now　solid　black。　His　brain　units；　held　in　protective　bell…jar　casings　that　protruded　from　behind
his　hunched　shoulders；　were　filled　with　dark；　writhing　clots；　and　black；　oily　tentacles　burrowed
through　them；　like　a　mess　of　bloodworms。
“Magos　Darioq　is　no　more。　This；”　said　Marduk　with　a　wave　of　his　arm；　“is　Darioq…Grendh’al。”
23
CHAPTER　THREE
Guildmaster　Pollo　scanned　the　latest　despatches；　blinking　his　augmented　silver　eyes　intermittently　to
record　their　contents。　After　several　minutes　of　reading　and　recording；　he　dropped　them　onto　his　desk
and　leant　forward　to　pour　himself　another　drink　from　the　half　empty　crystal　decanter　in　front　of　him。
He　raised　his　glass　up　to　his　eyes；　gazing　at　the　play　of　light　upon　the　ruby　liquid　as　he　sloshed　it
around　the　ice。　Then　he　knocked　the　drink　back；　savouring　its　bite。　He　placed　the　glass　down　on　its
coaster；　and　rubbed　at　his　temples　with　both　hands；　his　eyes　closed。
“Bad　news；　guildmaster？”　ventured　a　voice。
Polio　turned　to　face　his　young　adjutant；　Leto。　He　was　little　more　than　a　boy；　barely　having　the
need　to　shave　yet；　and　his　eyes　flicked　around　nervously　as　he　waited　for　his　answer。　He　was　young；
but　he　was　a　good　officer　and　had　a　mind　like　a　sponge。　He　knew　that　in　time　he　would　have　made　a
suitable　guildmaster；　but　such　a　thing　was　not　to　be。
“You　should　have　gone　with　the　others；　Leto；”　he　said；　his　voice　tired。
“I　will　leave　when　you　leave；”　replied　his　adjutant。
When　the　first　astrotelepathic　despatches　had　come；　warning　of　the　xenos　hive　fleet’s　approach；
Polio’s　distaff　had　been　aghast。　That　had　quickly　descended　into　panic　when　the　extreme　dictate　to
combat　this　threat　had　been　transmitted；　and　that　panic　had　not　been　aided　by　the　sudden　departure
of　the　Administratum’s　advocate　of　Perdus　Skylla。
“This　world　has　been　condemned　to　death；”　the　administrator　ha