The Shattering, Chapter 65

Lorgar stepped forward, mace raised, and the bridge’s emergency lights strobed across the polished copper of his helm. Bolters thundered at his back, the roar of his sons in battle mingling with the alarms shrieking through the corridors. The intruder—this so-called Viltrumite—hovered without apparent effort, arms loose at his sides, expression unreadable. Unpowered flight, without the aid of technology, was usually within the realm of Psyker Powers, but Lorgar detected none of the aetheric energies he usually felt around psykers, like Magnus or Malcador–or the Emperor himself. 

Lorgar tightened his grip on the weapon’s haft. Sparks crackled along the mace’s spiked head, arcs of energy coiling in contained fury. He felt the deck plates trembling beneath his armored boots, the pulse of the ship’s failing systems groaning in its walls. Yet none of that stilled his wrath. He raised the mace high, ready to bring it down on the intruder’s skull.

He lunged. The haft of the mace rattled in his gauntlets. The arcs of energy licked outward. A few paces behind him, legionnaires charged, their own blades igniting with power fields, their bolters barking in controlled bursts. Lorgar’s strike came down as a swift hammerblow, the weapon cracking the air with a sharp pop. He watched the intruder raise a single forearm. Metal clashed with flesh that refused to give. The blow that should have caved steel simply stopped against that limb, leaving a spray of white sparks across the chamber. His hand shook as his weapon rang–all the force it carried seemingly thrown right back at it. The Primarch’s bones rattled. 

Lorgar caught a glimpse of the man’s face—calm, focused, unperturbed. An alien expression of control. The alien sighed and spoke, “We really don’t need to fight.” 

He wrenched the mace free and spun. The intruder’s movements were fluid. Each tilt of his body placed him beyond their blades. Lorgar’s legionnaires fanned out, boots pounding the deck, each warrior a living weapon honed by centuries of genetic engineering. They lashed out with crackling swords and roaring chainaxes. Their armor plates ground against the deck as they circled, searching for an angle. Lorgar thrust forward again, channeling the full might of his gene-forged muscles. No mortal foe had ever stood before him without bowing or dying. This man did neither. He seemed almost idle, batting aside weapons as though they were trifles.

What sort of power was this?

A fierce hiss cut through the din as a legionnaire swung a humming power sword toward the intruder’s flank. The blade carved a bright arc in the stale air. The intruder shifted and caught the blow along his forearm, barely flinching at the sparks that danced against his skin. With a casual push, he sent the warrior tumbling across the command dais. Metal shrieked as the soldier’s bulk scoured the deck plating. Lorgar advanced again, mace gripped in both hands, expression set like carved stone. He slammed the weapon at the man’s ribs, then pivoted to drive his elbow toward the intruder’s head. Yet at each blow, the intruder proved faster. Gauntlet met empty space. Lorgar saw his foe step around him in a blur, a swift economy of motion that left the towering Primarch nearly stumbling.

Not merely superbly strong, but fast too. Faster than the Khan and stronger than Vulkan. 

Several Word Bearers converged with him, unity in their assault. Muzzle flashes lit the gloom. The intruder moved among them, seizing rifles and crushing barrels as though they were fashioned of tin. Men flew back into consoles and overhead struts. The deck trembled under the repeated slams of ceramite-covered bodies. Lorgar’s teeth ground together. Each crack of armor, each crash of broken metal, drove him onward. He let a wordless snarl rumble from his throat. The intruder appeared before him in that instant, a presence that carried a weight beyond flesh. Lorgar swung the mace again, sparks showering from the point of contact. This time, the intruder caught the haft and pulled. Lorgar stumbled forward, forced to release the weapon, a brief pang of disbelief registering behind his eyes.

One of his captains lurched up from the floor, brandishing a thunder hammer. Lorgar caught the glimmer of energy in its head, a lethal device that could shatter tanks. The captain brought it down on the intruder’s shoulder. The strike detonated in a sharp crack and a wash of white light. When the flash cleared, the intruder stood unmoved. He turned, seized the hammer, and crushed its handle. The head dropped, sparking, to the deck. The intruder backhanded the captain. Ceramite and bone cracked under that blow, sending the officer slamming into a bulkhead. Lorgar’s eyes followed the arc of that battered form. The legionnaire’s chest plate had caved. He slid down the wall, gauntlets trembling.

Lorgar retrieved his mace from where it had fallen, fury bristling like a live wire in his veins. He saw his legionnaires picking themselves up in battered, uneven lines. Some coughed inside fractured helms, voices garbled with strain. Overhead, the ship’s lights flickered as the vessel rocked from external impacts. Through the viewports, distant flashes illuminated the battered shapes of other warships locked in deadly engagement. The intruder cast a brief glance at that cosmic chaos, unhurried, as if it were nothing more than a distant fireworks display.

A Word Bearer rose on Lorgar’s right, blood seeping through the cracks of his armor. He leveled a plasma pistol. Lorgar recognized that expression behind the broken visor: the set jaw, the unwavering devotion of a warrior who had known nothing but conquest. The pistol glowed at its coils, launching a superheated bolt that sizzled the air. The intruder drifted aside in a blur. The bolt left a molten scar in the deck behind him. Then he turned and flicked the pistol from the legionnaire’s grip. His next blow hammered the man’s pauldron, sending the entire warrior spinning across the floor.

Lorgar’s eyes tightened at the corners. He signaled the legionnaires to close ranks, but they were scattered, many on their knees, weapons lying ruined. The intruder hovered in the center of the command bridge, arms half-raised in readiness. There was no tension in his face. His lips formed a slight line, neither a smile nor a scowl. He seemed to wait for them to strike again. Lorgar rushed forward and engaged the enemy in close-quarters, hand-to-hand combat. 

He wasn’t the best among his brothers in melee, but he was no slouch either–and certainly not the weakest.

He lasted less than half a second, before the enemy–this Thragg of Viltrum–backhanded him away with a flick of his wrist, sending him skidding several meters back, leaving a deep gouge upon his armor.

Lorgar circled, steps measured. The intruder wore no heavy armor, no energy shield that Lorgar could discern. Yet each strike that connected with him yielded no damage. Impossible. Everything he knew told him no creature made of flesh could endure such punishment. Still, the intruder showed no sign of injury or fatigue. He simply stood in that battered chamber, dust swirling at his ankles from the failing ventilation.

A legionnaire lunged from behind, chainblade snarling in his fists. The intruder twisted, letting the sawteeth scrape harmlessly along his side. Then the intruder planted one hand on the warrior’s faceplate and shoved. Armor buckled. The warrior flew across the dais, rolling to a stop near the far console. Lorgar pressed the advantage, swinging his mace at the man’s back. But the intruder turned in time to catch the haft. Lorgar felt a jolt rush up his arms, as though he had struck a mountainside. The intruder yanked the mace free. The power field crackled in protest, blue arcs dancing where the intruder’s hand gripped its metal. Then, with a swift motion, he snapped the haft in two, letting the shattered remnants drop at Lorgar’s feet.

A flush of heat rose along Lorgar’s neck. He stepped back, chest heaving. His lips parted, breaths coming harsh and shallow in the stale air. And then, he surged forward. 

Just keep attacking, He told himself. A weakness may reveal itself soon. Nothing in existence is ever truly invulnerable. 

He blinked and found himself hurling through the open air. He landed on his feet and noted another gash on his breastplate. That blow, Lorgar realized, rattled his bones. It hurt.

Another wave of legionnaires advanced, though none moved with the surety they once possessed. He nodded to them, raising an empty hand, urging them onward. Their blades lit with electric hums, muzzle flashes from sidearms flickering at the corners of Lorgar’s vision. The intruder weathered it all with uncanny ease. He brushed aside swords and axes, letting them spark and clang. One by one, he sent the warriors tumbling, armor dented and battered. His strikes were precise, always pushing them away in arcs of shattered ceramite and torn plating.

Several marines collapsed, their weapons clattering across the deck. A few tried to rise, using consoles and railings for support, only to slide back down. The intruder floated near the dais, the red emergency lighting throwing shadows across his face. He snapped his gaze to the intruder’s eyes. There was no hint of triumph. No mockery. Just an impassive calm that defied comprehension.

He spread his hands, armor cables shifting across his broad chest. “We are the chosen sons of a power beyond mortal bounds, and you defile our place in this universe with your presence.”

The intruder offered no reply. Lorgar felt his pulse thudding, a drumbeat of frustration. He recalled the old myths of monstrous xenos that roamed the stars, the monstrous affronts to the Emperor’s domain. Yet here stood a being who shrugged off the might of a Primarch’s legion. The realization gnawed at Lorgar’s composure. He watched the intruder shift his gaze to a bank of monitors, as if searching for something. The man cocked his head slightly, then turned back to Lorgar.

Several Word Bearers stirred behind him, stepping over broken metal and unconscious brethren. They raised battered weapons, glancing at their liege for direction. Lorgar clenched and unclenched his fists, the bright arcs of a torn power cable flickering overhead. He had led this legion across the galaxy, brought worlds to kneel before the Emperor’s truth. No matter the foe, he and his sons had prevailed. But here, in the broken hush of a ravaged command bridge, a single man had broken their pride and strength.

He took two strides forward and pointed with a gauntlet, the gesture sharp. 

“If you think your powers place you beyond justice, you are mistaken,” he said. “We are the Word Bearers, and we shall not rest until you are brought to heel.” 

He paused, voice trembling at the edges. 

“And if it takes my entire legion, if it requires every ship in the fleet, I will see to it that you are undone. And—” He set his jaw, stepping closer. “And if you truly believe you are untouchable, then perhaps I should direct my efforts elsewhere. Your children, perhaps?”

The intruder’s stance shifted. A subtle stiffening along his shoulders. Lorgar pressed on, voice carrying the spitting fury of a cornered predator. “Oh yes, you must have children. You speak of them in your mocking confidence. Did you think I would not ferret out your secrets? I can track you across the stars. I can root out every last thing you treasure. You will beg me for a quick end before I—”

He never finished. The intruder moved so fast that Lorgar barely registered the blow. A hand caught him by the throat, hoisting him from the deck. He felt the plating of his gorget strain. Tubes snapped. His feet kicked in the air. The intruder’s grip clamped like a vise. Lorgar grabbed at that arm, trying to pry it loose. He thrashed, gene-forged sinews straining to break free. The intruder stared up at him with no sign of mercy. Then he flung Lorgar across the bridge, sending the Primarch’s massive form hurtling into a bulkhead. The impact shook the entire dais. Lorgar crashed down, cracks spidering across the plating beneath him.

He forced himself upright, wheezing. The intruder was upon him before he could fully stand. A blow hammered into his breastplate, splitting ceramite, buckling it inward. A second blow caved the left pauldron, severing cables. Lorgar reeled, arms raised in a futile attempt to shield himself. The intruder unleashed strike after strike, each one fracturing or tearing free another plate. Sparks lit the gloom as bits of Lorgar’s ornate wargear scattered across the deck. Pieces of scripture-laced armor clattered against consoles or skidded underfoot.

Lorgar tried to lash out, to land a blow, but each punch or kick found only empty air. The intruder was too swift, too certain, maneuvering like a phantom in the half-light. Another fist sank into Lorgar’s midsection, driving the wind from his lungs. His vision blurred, red creeping at the edges. The world rocked and threatened to tilt. He swung a trembling arm, caught only a fleeting edge of the intruder’s uniform, and then a savage blow impacted his helm. The faceplate cracked. The helm parted with a metallic screech, and Lorgar’s head snapped back, blood spattering from his nose.

He slumped to the deck in a haze, propping himself up on one elbow. The intruder towered over him. Still no trace of injury marked that face. The intruder seized Lorgar’s breastplate and ripped it clean away, cables popping, the plates twisting as if they were made of cloth. Lorgar’s chest lay exposed to the stale air, bruises already forming across his enhanced musculature. He tried to rise, but the intruder’s foot pressed him down, pinning him with unstoppable force.

“Mention my children again and I will bathe the stars in your blood.”