will speak
of death,"
he said.
"the
death of men and
worlds...."
* * *
Two Heads
Talking felt the
impact of the
fat Magus'
will like a physical
blow.
The
great,
dark
eyes
seemed
to
swell,
to become bottomless
pits
into which the
Librarian fell. At his feet, Morning
Star whimpered.
With
a wrench, the
Marine broke the
psychic
contact,
thankful that
his Librarian's armour was equipped
with a psychic hood.
The Magus
was strong,
and
Two Heads
Talking was already tired.
The
Stealers
raced
toward
him.
The
Librarian
raised
his
storm
bolter
and sent
a
hail
of
shells
blazing
out.
Tracer
fire ripped the
night
apart.
The
leading
Genestealer
was shredded
by
the
heavy
bullets.
The
other dodged
with
inhuman speed.
Morning
Star leap
between
the
Librarian
and
his
assailant.
A
claw
flickered,
and
the
old
man's
body
was
tom
in
half. Two Heads
Talking lashed
out
with
his
axe,
willing
it
to
strike
hard,
and
its
blade
burned
coldly
as
it
passed through the
Stealer's neck. He leapt back to avoid
its reflexive death-strike.
The Magus
laughed.
"You cannot
escape.
Why struggle?"
The fat man concentrated,
and
a
halo
of
power
played
around
his
head.
The
Librarian
hosed
him
down
with
fire,
but some force intercepted
the
shells,
causing
them to explode harmlessly a few feet from their target.
Two Heads
Talking strode
forward, swinging
the
axe. He felt his own power build within him as
the
blade
arced
toward his
target.
Something
stopped
it
a
foot
away
from
the
Magus's
head. Great
muscles
bulged
under
his
armour
as
he forced it forward. Servo-motors
whined as
they
added
their strength
to his.
Slowly
,
inexorably,
the
Marine
forced
the
blade
toward
his
enemy.
Sweat
ran
down
the
fat
man's
brow
as
he concentrated. A look of fear passed across
his face. He could
not
save
himself. and
he knew it.
He gave
a single shriek as
his concentration
lapsed.
The force axe sheared through
him from head
to groin. Two
Heads Talking felt the
Magus'
psychic
death
scream
echo through
the
night.
He
sensed
hundreds
of
minds
answer
it
in
the distance, through
the
deadening
curtain of mist, he heard
the
sound
of scuttling,
coming ever closer.
Knowing his only chance
of survival
lay in swift flight, Two Heads
Talking turned
and
ran.
Chapter IV
"Our world is dead,"
said
Weasel-Fierce. Some Marines
muttered about
the
fact
that
he
was addressing
than
directly, rather
than
keeping
to
the
ritual.
He
silenced
them
with
a
short, chopping gesture
of
his
right
hand.
When
he
spoke again, his tone
was scathing
and savage.
"This
ritual is a sham. It comes from a time that
is ended.
Why
pretend
otherwise?
You may
wish
to
delude yourselves by
keeping with the
old ways, but
I do not.
"You
can
speak
in
parables about
our
oaths
to
the
Emperor,
the
horror
of
the
Stealers
or
the
nature
of
damnation.
I
choose
to speak
the
truth.
"Our
people
are
dead
or
enslaved,
and
we
sit
here
like
old
women,
asking ourselves
what
to
do.
Have we
been
put under
a
spell?
When
were
we
ever
so
indecisive?
A
true
warrior
has
no
choice
in
of death,"
he said.
"the
death of men and
worlds...."
* * *
Two Heads
Talking felt the
impact of the
fat Magus'
will like a physical
blow.
The
great,
dark
eyes
seemed
to
swell,
to become bottomless
pits
into which the
Librarian fell. At his feet, Morning
Star whimpered.
With
a wrench, the
Marine broke the
psychic
contact,
thankful that
his Librarian's armour was equipped
with a psychic hood.
The Magus
was strong,
and
Two Heads
Talking was already tired.
The
Stealers
raced
toward
him.
The
Librarian
raised
his
storm
bolter
and sent
a
hail
of
shells
blazing
out.
Tracer
fire ripped the
night
apart.
The
leading
Genestealer
was shredded
by
the
heavy
bullets.
The
other dodged
with
inhuman speed.
Morning
Star leap
between
the
Librarian
and
his
assailant.
A
claw
flickered,
and
the
old
man's
body
was
tom
in
half. Two Heads
Talking lashed
out
with
his
axe,
willing
it
to
strike
hard,
and
its
blade
burned
coldly
as
it
passed through the
Stealer's neck. He leapt back to avoid
its reflexive death-strike.
The Magus
laughed.
"You cannot
escape.
Why struggle?"
The fat man concentrated,
and
a
halo
of
power
played
around
his
head.
The
Librarian
hosed
him
down
with
fire,
but some force intercepted
the
shells,
causing
them to explode harmlessly a few feet from their target.
Two Heads
Talking strode
forward, swinging
the
axe. He felt his own power build within him as
the
blade
arced
toward his
target.
Something
stopped
it
a
foot
away
from
the
Magus's
head. Great
muscles
bulged
under
his
armour
as
he forced it forward. Servo-motors
whined as
they
added
their strength
to his.
Slowly
,
inexorably,
the
Marine
forced
the
blade
toward
his
enemy.
Sweat
ran
down
the
fat
man's
brow
as
he concentrated. A look of fear passed across
his face. He could
not
save
himself. and
he knew it.
He gave
a single shriek as
his concentration
lapsed.
The force axe sheared through
him from head
to groin. Two
Heads Talking felt the
Magus'
psychic
death
scream
echo through
the
night.
He
sensed
hundreds
of
minds
answer
it
in
the distance, through
the
deadening
curtain of mist, he heard
the
sound
of scuttling,
coming ever closer.
Knowing his only chance
of survival
lay in swift flight, Two Heads
Talking turned
and
ran.
Chapter IV
"Our world is dead,"
said
Weasel-Fierce. Some Marines
muttered about
the
fact
that
he
was addressing
than
directly, rather
than
keeping
to
the
ritual.
He
silenced
them
with
a
short, chopping gesture
of
his
right
hand.
When
he
spoke again, his tone
was scathing
and savage.
"This
ritual is a sham. It comes from a time that
is ended.
Why
pretend
otherwise?
You may
wish
to
delude yourselves by
keeping with the
old ways, but
I do not.
"You
can
speak
in
parables about
our
oaths
to
the
Emperor,
the
horror
of
the
Stealers
or
the
nature
of
damnation.
I
choose
to speak
the
truth.
"Our
people
are
dead
or
enslaved,
and
we
sit
here
like
old
women,
asking ourselves
what
to
do.
Have we
been
put under
a
spell?
When
were
we
ever
so
indecisive?
A
true
warrior
has
no
choice
in
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