Nihilo
Authorial parasite
- Location
- Catalonia
► ModernPygmalion (Galatea My Beloved)
"I know what I am and what I have done and how I will end. A dirty fucking pipe rat who's clawed over corpses to see the sky and will now get squashed like the exposed vermin I am. I'm just glad it will be at the hands of a true saint, not what those bolter bitches peddle. The galaxy needs more of you and less of me."
"Just... do me a favor? When you kill me, get my soul too. I don't want the old lady to see what I turned into. Nevermind what trouble my girls would get into trying to save me from Slaanesh gobbling me up. Stupid things've gotten attached and we both know the overboss wouldn't be as kind as to just poof them."
A towering grey shape stomped through the smoke, shoving aside the burning Immolator as it went. Fighting ceased as daemons and Word Bearers alike drew back before the newcomer. The Dreadnought stopped, red gaze fixed on Amatnim.
'You came here for me.'
Amatnim stared, unable to take his eyes from the ancient monster standing before him. The Dreadnought spread his arms. A gesture of invitation and challenge.
'Well, here I am. Come out then, sons of Lorgar. Or has your courage deserted you in the centuries since I wore the colours of the Legion?' The Dreadnought turned, studying the daemons that crept towards him. 'Or perhaps you prefer to let these abominations wage war on your behalf? Is that what you have become in my absence?'
The Dreadnought turned, surveying the daemonic ranks arrayed before him. Then he swept a talon out, and spat a single, thunderous word. A word that Amatnim had not heard in centuries – a word from lost Colchis. A word he had forgotten the meaning of, but which sent a spike of pain through him. He wasn't the only one it hurt.
The Neverborn screamed – as one, they screamed. A strange light swelled, seeming to rise from the Dreadnought's battered chassis, and Amatnim was forced to turn away. The light spread, and for a moment, Amatnim thought he glimpsed great wings – not two, not four, but six or a dozen or more – rising from the Dreadnought's back, and a face – wise and pitiless in its wisdom – superimposed over the bare helm of the ancient war machine.
'This place is not for you,' the Dreadnought said.
Around him, daemons came apart, scattering like ash on the breeze. The effect spread like a contagion through their ranks, claiming them even as they turned to run, to flee.
Amatnim waved Apis and the others back. Perhaps the ancient warrior was mad – who wouldn't be, imprisoned for millennia on a world such as this? 'I have more wisdom than you know, brother. Come – join us, rejoin your Legion, and you shall have it as well. The wisdom of clarity – of truth revealed.'
The Anchorite stopped. 'And is that why you came, boy? To dig me from my tomb and tell me fanciful stories?'
Amatnim cleared his throat. 'I came because the gods showed me your torment, and I knew that I could not leave you to rot in this place. Move aside, brother, and we will finish this last task and depart.'
'Where will we go, then? Not Colchis, for it is gone. Not Terra. Where, then, boy?'
Annoyed, Amatnim looked directly into the Dreadnought's optical sensors. 'Sicarius, brother. Where the Dark Council waits to welcome you.'
There was a sharp, staccato sound. It echoed in the quiet. Amatnim realised that the Anchorite was laughing. 'And who is on this council? That jackal Kor Phaeron? Or that adder Erebus? Who guided your steps, boy?'
'Stop calling me boy, nameless one. I am Amatnim Ur-Nabas Lash, and I am a veteran of the Long War no less than yourself.'
'Amatnim.' The Dreadnought leaned forward. 'I know you now. One of Kor Phaeron's curs. You liked to burn books, I recall.' Another staccato laugh. 'Books aren't known for fighting back, are they?'
Amatnim bared his teeth. Anger thrummed through him. 'I did not come here to be mocked, old one. But stand aside, and I will forgive you your loose tongue.' He swept out his axe-rake for emphasis. 'We shall slaughter your captors before we depart for happier fields than this.'
'Stand aside? No, I've done that enough for one lifetime. I stood aside at Isstvan and Calth. But not here, boy. Not now.'
The great machine whirled, quicker than Amatnim believed was possible. The blow caught him in the chest and he was hurled back against a broken plinth. As he sagged, his battleplate screaming damage warnings in his ear, he saw Apis and the others open up on the Dreadnought. Bolters roared, but the Anchorite ignored them. He reached out and caught Amatnim by the shoulder-plate.
'What is a man to do when he has lost his faith? I felt as if I were in the desert, with no one to guide me out. The gods spat in my face, and whispered false promises. They showed me oases, but there was no water in them, only blood.'
The Anchorite lifted him, claws tightening. 'And then, I saw the light. It stretched across the dark skies, and drew me on, and I followed. Through the sands I stumbled, until I beheld a city on the hill – a city of gold, as great as a mountain, and shining like a caged sun. And in that city, the truth. Not the falsehoods you peddle as such, but the real thing. The truth that we turned from, unable to bear its mighty light.'
'There is... there is only one truth,' Amatnim said. 'It is older than any city – older than man himself.'
'And that is the lie. The oldest lie.'
'You came here for me.'
Amatnim stared, unable to take his eyes from the ancient monster standing before him. The Dreadnought spread his arms. A gesture of invitation and challenge.
'Well, here I am. Come out then, sons of Lorgar. Or has your courage deserted you in the centuries since I wore the colours of the Legion?' The Dreadnought turned, studying the daemons that crept towards him. 'Or perhaps you prefer to let these abominations wage war on your behalf? Is that what you have become in my absence?'
The Dreadnought turned, surveying the daemonic ranks arrayed before him. Then he swept a talon out, and spat a single, thunderous word. A word that Amatnim had not heard in centuries – a word from lost Colchis. A word he had forgotten the meaning of, but which sent a spike of pain through him. He wasn't the only one it hurt.
The Neverborn screamed – as one, they screamed. A strange light swelled, seeming to rise from the Dreadnought's battered chassis, and Amatnim was forced to turn away. The light spread, and for a moment, Amatnim thought he glimpsed great wings – not two, not four, but six or a dozen or more – rising from the Dreadnought's back, and a face – wise and pitiless in its wisdom – superimposed over the bare helm of the ancient war machine.
'This place is not for you,' the Dreadnought said.
Around him, daemons came apart, scattering like ash on the breeze. The effect spread like a contagion through their ranks, claiming them even as they turned to run, to flee.
Amatnim waved Apis and the others back. Perhaps the ancient warrior was mad – who wouldn't be, imprisoned for millennia on a world such as this? 'I have more wisdom than you know, brother. Come – join us, rejoin your Legion, and you shall have it as well. The wisdom of clarity – of truth revealed.'
The Anchorite stopped. 'And is that why you came, boy? To dig me from my tomb and tell me fanciful stories?'
Amatnim cleared his throat. 'I came because the gods showed me your torment, and I knew that I could not leave you to rot in this place. Move aside, brother, and we will finish this last task and depart.'
'Where will we go, then? Not Colchis, for it is gone. Not Terra. Where, then, boy?'
Annoyed, Amatnim looked directly into the Dreadnought's optical sensors. 'Sicarius, brother. Where the Dark Council waits to welcome you.'
There was a sharp, staccato sound. It echoed in the quiet. Amatnim realised that the Anchorite was laughing. 'And who is on this council? That jackal Kor Phaeron? Or that adder Erebus? Who guided your steps, boy?'
'Stop calling me boy, nameless one. I am Amatnim Ur-Nabas Lash, and I am a veteran of the Long War no less than yourself.'
'Amatnim.' The Dreadnought leaned forward. 'I know you now. One of Kor Phaeron's curs. You liked to burn books, I recall.' Another staccato laugh. 'Books aren't known for fighting back, are they?'
Amatnim bared his teeth. Anger thrummed through him. 'I did not come here to be mocked, old one. But stand aside, and I will forgive you your loose tongue.' He swept out his axe-rake for emphasis. 'We shall slaughter your captors before we depart for happier fields than this.'
'Stand aside? No, I've done that enough for one lifetime. I stood aside at Isstvan and Calth. But not here, boy. Not now.'
The great machine whirled, quicker than Amatnim believed was possible. The blow caught him in the chest and he was hurled back against a broken plinth. As he sagged, his battleplate screaming damage warnings in his ear, he saw Apis and the others open up on the Dreadnought. Bolters roared, but the Anchorite ignored them. He reached out and caught Amatnim by the shoulder-plate.
'What is a man to do when he has lost his faith? I felt as if I were in the desert, with no one to guide me out. The gods spat in my face, and whispered false promises. They showed me oases, but there was no water in them, only blood.'
The Anchorite lifted him, claws tightening. 'And then, I saw the light. It stretched across the dark skies, and drew me on, and I followed. Through the sands I stumbled, until I beheld a city on the hill – a city of gold, as great as a mountain, and shining like a caged sun. And in that city, the truth. Not the falsehoods you peddle as such, but the real thing. The truth that we turned from, unable to bear its mighty light.'
'There is... there is only one truth,' Amatnim said. 'It is older than any city – older than man himself.'
'And that is the lie. The oldest lie.'
