 
### A Guiding Light

### (Sudden Dearth Book II)

by

G.A. Whitfield

Smashwords Edition

A Guiding Light

Copyright © 2010 by G. A. Whitfield

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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A GUIDING LIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

Spaceport

Regimental Command

Luther

Rank upon serried rank of soldiers stood in review, the recruitment was complete and they waited to board the descending transports. Commands roared across the parade ground, feet stamped in unison, banners flared and the 7th Lutheran Infantry Regiment boarded the waiting vessels.

Engines sparked into life, farting fumes into the still air as APC's, aircars and tanks patiently awaited their turn.

The cleansing of Luther had been brutal and it had been nothing less than miraculous that the Inspectorate had found Colonel Walters to lead this Regiment. He had appeared one day, when they had called for blooded officers. Apparently he had been stuck in some outpost, his small contingent more than happy to follow him.

The new troopers were quickly assimilated; his command organisation rapidly incorporating the new volunteers. The Regiment had easily taken him to their hearts, their loyalty at times bordering on heresy. If it had not been for the urgency of the recruitment, many more questions would have been asked. Particularly the Church Guard raised numerous complaints at the accidents befalling their personnel, although the Colonel's reports had been scrupulous in their content.

None could complain at the generosity of the man; he had brought his own pinnace with him, his men crewing the vessel at no extra expense. No-one had seen the full crew; they remained on board, their bodies covered in a strangely fashioned armour. Some of them appeared big enough to be Church Elite, but everyone had of course dismissed that as a ridiculous notion.

Colonel Walters had been presented with the Regimental colours in a particularly strange ceremony by his huge and forbidding looking Leftenant, the stylisation of the screaming wolf's head unique in its depiction.

*****

"We are ready, my Lord!" carolled Krantu, his pride in the soldiers obvious.

"I've warned you about that," admonished Walters, smiling.

"Yes, my L... Sir!" replied the K'ran, snapping to attention.

"Are the others on board?" asked Walters, squinting upwards at the latest transport to depart.

"They're waiting for you, Sir!" said the strange Leftenant, indicating the two platoons of soldiers; their khaki fatigues blazoned with the snarling emblem of the regiment, their tunics uniquely piped with green.

"Very well," commented, Walters, turning for one last look around.

He knew that he had the best of the people from Luther with him. Men and women made up his new command, their close families and hangers-on had already been ferried up to the awaiting ships. It was true that he was leaching vital resources from this world, but he had promised himself that they would all reap the benefits of their sacrifice a hundredfold.

Silently he prowled forward, Krantu and two other huge soldiers trailing in his wake. If only the Churchmen knew, he thought to himself, they would certainly not be so accommodating.

*****

Major 'Jimmy' James tapped his fingers impatiently on his desk, the Inspector in front of him had presented him with a real problem. He had arrived only today, with a small entourage; two junior inspectors and three cadets.

"I do not see your problem," insisted the man in a whining tone, "my orders are clear and it will go ill for you to delay me longer. I will present myself to your vaunted Colonel, and woe betide him if he tries to thwart me in my task."

James smiled quietly to himself, thinking of this puny individual, threatening the Colonel. Inspector Ivanov noted the smile and his hand reached for his sidearm.

"I wouldn't if I were you," growled a new voice, and Ivanov started as Walters pushed roughly past him, a huge Leftenant sauntering in his wake.

"This man is impeding me in my duty, as an Inspector of the Holy Prelate, I do not answer to you!" he sneered.

Walters waited patiently, the silence lengthening uncomfortably. He glanced once at his Leftenant and the Inspector was driven to his knees by a tremendous blow. The boot placed into his back pinned him to the floor, his cheek pressed firmly against the metallic decking. His men made as if to reach for their weapons but the look in the Colonel's eyes stayed them; it was chilling, deadly in its promise and brooked no defiance.

"You will address me as Colonel or Sir," said Walters calmly, "you will never threaten myself or any of my men again. This is my Regiment, not yours and I will accept nothing less than obedience. I think you need a little time to yourself to reflect on this, to pray to the Prelate for guidance."

He nodded to Krantu, who roughly pulled the Inspector to his feet, other soldiers entering and dragging the rest of Ivanov's team away, after disarming and roughly searching them.

"Lock them in the cells on the pinnace," he ordered Krantu, "I want no contact between them and the rest of the transport's crew. Not for the present anyway."

Krantu turned away, his silence signifying his acceptance, his large hand firmly gripping the Inspector by the hair.

"You'll be sorry!" screamed Ivanov as he was bundled out of the office.

Grinning at James, Walters spoke, "I already am, my dear Inspector!"

*****

Stiv Viker was feeling lost, lonely and pretty awful. Last night's party had somehow managed to continue over until this morning, at least that was what his body was telling him. He felt like somebody was trying to pound their way out of his head, his mouth dry and furry, his lungs still choked with smoke and he certainly wasn't open to conversation.

Not that there was much small talk in his platoon, everyone would rather kill themselves than upset Corporal Johns. He was one of the older soldiers, found somewhere by the Colonel and readily accepted by the rest of their strange leader's unit.

It had struck Viker, the same as many of the other new recruits, that there was a sameness to the older men. A shape of body; muscles seemed to burst from new tunics, shaggy hair; which seemed to cover every part of their bodies, and those eyes. Like the Colonel they each had piercing green eyes, whose depths seemed to promise raw, animalistic anger.

Shivering, he turned to his bunkmate, Alana and prodded her with a grimy finger, "How you feeling?" he asked as quietly as he could, although it still sounded like a roar to his pained skull.

"Leave me alone!" she snapped, then groaned as she was roughly tossed out of her bunk, by the passing Corporal.

"Up and at 'em!" roared Johns, a wide grin splitting his face.

"What?" replied a befuddled Alana.

"Leftenant Krantu has a job for us," he said cheerfully, "and you know better than to keep him waiting!"

As one the recruits moaned in dejection, if there was one person more terrifying than Johns, it was the big Leftenant; he didn't even look human!

*****

Inspector Ivanov was apoplectic with rage, he had never been treated this way by any Church officer. They knew their place in the scheme of things and had always been terrified of what the snivelly little man could do to them.

This Colonel Walters though, he showed a disdain for the badge and rank Ivanov carried, there was none of the requisite fear, rather an all powerful belief in his own right to command. It all smelled of heresy to the Inspector and in his cell he delighted himself with the thought of what he would do to the Colonel when he got out.

The clanging of the cell door brought him back to reality, and he shrank back against the rear wall at the sight of the hulking Leftenant. Behind the man stood a group of curious soldiers, delight at the predicament of the Inspector written plainly upon their faces.

"Arrest him!" screamed Ivanov, pointing at Krantu, "I command you!"

No-one moved a muscle. Instead they looked at the Leftenant as he began first to chuckle and then roar with laughter.

Finally he stopped his unseemly behaviour and pointed at the Inspector, "This," he said flatly, "is your first lesson. The only person you owe your unquestioning loyalty to is Colonel Walters. You can see his benevolence and thought for you. This Inspector and the rest of his breed will rot here in this cell unless they are converted to our way of belief. Any who feel the same as this scum will join him here, praying for release from his God."

There was absolute silence, except for the mutters of heresy from the cowering Inspector. Then, Viker's tremulous voice was heard, "His God, Sir?"

"Ah, yes," responded Krantu, his eyes flashing, "that would be lesson number Two!"

Outer System

Charsu

Second Church Protectorate

A straining of Fold Space announced the vessel's arrival, it burst into normal space in full view of the Tauran ships. There was a poised danger about the strange three-masted alien craft; the Galleon had arrived.

One cold transmission was heard, "We warned you!", and then with no further communication, gun ports slammed open, rapidly followed by a broadside of plasma which tore through the two lead Tauran vessels.

Two more ships appeared, their design that of more familiar Church origin, but they only sat waiting. Desperately the Tauran Commander tried to bargain with his attackers, against whose shields his plasma and rail guns had zero effect.

It was in vain; the Galleon ruthlessly destroyed vessel after vessel, each broadside smashing through ineffective shields and vaporising metal instantly.

When there was nothing left except space dust, a broad band transmission was beamed down to the planet.

"This is the Lost Company, we apparently were not clear enough for your liking. Please receive these gifts on behalf of our Lord. Perhaps others will learn from this lesson and respect the sovereignty of our protected worlds in future."

The cold voice disappeared, never to be heard by anyone living on the Tauran planet. Objects spat from each of the three vessels, their flight programmed to perfection. They cut into the planet's atmosphere and screamed down towards their carefully selected targets. Shortly afterwards, small extremely bright suns began to burn in each of the world's major cities.

Without another word, the three ships once more jumped into anonymity of Fold Space.

**Chapter Two**

**Argent III**

**Disputed Zone**

**Second Church Protectorate**

The world of Argent III, sat innocuously in its usual place, revolving quietly around its particularly uneventful sun. Nothing ever happened here, in fact nothing had ever happened out of the ordinary as far as the inhabitants of the planet were concerned. That is, until this one fine morning, when war came slowly yet resolutely to the system.

Ships winked into real space, taking up their predetermined positions. Shuttles began to ferry Church troops to the planet's surface, irrespective of the local Governor's complaints. Regiment after regiment was deployed, and the Guardsmen began to dig themselves in.

Shortly after the final troop transport was once more safely in the arms of the fleet, the main body of vessels jumped once more. They had other worlds to find, other fortifications to build and time was running out.

*****

Stiv Viker was among the first to make planet fall. Somehow Johns and his platoon had been adopted by the gruff Leftenant Krantu. They had been relieved of their more mundane duties and put through some special training. Little more had been said about the unusual treatment meted out to the Inspector, but truth be told, none of them were particularly upset about Ivanov's predicament.

An APC roared past, spraying mud into the air and Stiv delicately wiped the front of his tunic. He, like many of his fellows, took an inordinate pride in his Regimental emblem. It instilled confidence; he always felt ready for anything when he was dressed in his uniform. Even with his body armour in place, he could feel where the snarling head sat over his heart, and was comforted.

He laughed uncontrollably as he saw Alana misjudge her step and fall backwards into a muddy puddle.

"Viker!" screamed Corporal Johns, "Don't just stand there! Give her a hand!"

The thought of clapping appreciatively did briefly flit across his mind, but it was not advisable to display too much humour in front of the testy non-com.

With a wave of agreement, he trudged forward, better positioning his backpack to make sure he did not overbalance and join her there in the middle of the road.

*****

"Him there," said Krantu softly to Walters, "he's the one."

"Why him?" asked Walters enquiringly, not for a moment doubting the K'ran's judgement, rather his question was out of curiosity.

"He's different," replied Krantu, even after all of this time and the modifications his body had undergone, he still found it hard to talk in long sentences.

Smiling to himself, Walters insisted, "How is he different?" he asked.

"Hard to say," replied Krantu, "but trust me, he's the one."

Walters watched the young soldier struggling through the mud, his hand outstretched in order to help his companion. With a heave she dragged him down beside her and they both collapsed into helpless laughter. Perhaps he is the catalyst, thought Walters to himself, only time will tell.

His attention was drawn away from the two young soldiers, as his enhanced senses felt a disturbance in the ether approaching. Whatever it was, it wasn't friendly.

Closing his eyes he reached out and felt the wrongness and with a snarl he turned to Krantu.

"They're here already!" there was a snick of claws extending, as the K'ran grinned wolfishly.

"Good!" was his only answer, as he waited for further commands.

"Warn the men," snapped Walters, his mind already calculating what they might have to do, "Ours that is!" he cautioned Krantu, "the others will just have to look after themselves!"

Something was going on, of that Stiv was sure. There was a new purpose in the older men, they seemed to bristle in excited anticipation. He could have sworn he had heard some of them growling to each other in low undertones, and their walk! They prowled now, like hunting beasts ready to be slipped from their leashes, hands flexing subconsciously, forgotten weapons slung on their backs.

Viker stared closely as the Colonel exited his Command Tent, Major James and Leftenant Krantu with him. A group of the men from his pinnace approached, their bodies encased in their strange powered armour. They were huge men, fully as big as any of the Immortals, yet still wearing the characteristic snarling beast emblazoned on their shoulder guards.

One of them raised his visor and Stiv tried to get a better look. A rough hand jerked him away by the back of his tunic, spinning him around and there behind him was the ever present Johns.

"Stop gawking!" he hissed, "and get the rest of the platoon together. For some reason, the Leftenant has taken a personal interest in us and none of you are going to let me down!"

With a shove in the back, he was propelled rapidly across the road. Stiv risked one last glance at the group of officers and found himself staring into the unblinking green eyes of the Colonel. He felt pierced through by the Colonel's gaze; it was as though he were being weighed on a very strict pair of scales. Smiling slightly, the Colonel turned away and Viker felt immensely disappointed, as though he had lost something and involuntarily he cried out.

Walters looked back briefly and an electrical charge seemed to pass between them, Viker feeling energised, invincible. The Colonel nodded and continued on his way, the others following meekly behind him.

**The Galleon**

**Unknown Space**

Arn rose from the Command chair and looked across at Berbatov, "Can you feel it?" he asked excitedly.

Berbatov nodded and swung a foot at a passing crewman who skipped easily out of the way. His hand reached down and touched his halberd where it lay propped against the wall. The shaft was reverberating slightly, as though in tune with some strange music.

"About time!" he grumbled bad-naturedly and then he grinned, "I was getting just a little bit bored with all this waiting. Why don't you tell them?"

The shipboard communication system sprang into life, Arn speaking softly into the transmitter, "Our Lord calls us!"

His voice echoed around the Galleon and there came an answering howl of pure joy. Messages were passed across to the other ships and after a short wait, as one they winked out of real space in answer to the long awaited summons.

**Geosynchronus Orbit**

**Argent III**

**Second Church Protectorate**

Admiral Baynes had stayed behind with his cruiser and two destroyers, his orders to protect the best he could the troops on the planet below. Further sealed instructions had been given to him in private; if the threat was overwhelming he was make all speed to rejoin the fleet, the information of the enemy disposition was more important than the hundreds of thousands of lives below.

He had privately questioned these orders and been curtly rebuffed, there would be no discussion allowed. So, it was with trepidation he received the reports of multiple vessel signatures. It looked as though a fleet were due and he would have to run. Perhaps he might get the chance to at least reduce the odds before he fled, although he would only do so if the risk to his ships were minimal.

It was in an awed silence he heard the details of the estimated number of enemy vessels dropping into real space and not waiting any longer, he ordered his ships away, leaving the troops below to their potentially terminal fate.

*****

There was no escape for the Church ships, a vast fleet winked into existence all around them, effectively corralling Admiral Baynes and his men. His only option was to fight and take some of the enemy with him. He ordered gun batteries charged, missiles readied and fighter craft launched. In a tight formation his three vessels ploughed onwards, directly into the centre of the opposing forces.

On his command the ships fired into unison, their concentrated fire intended to punch its way through the vessels before them. Shields flared in opposition and counter missiles were launched.

He felt his cruiser reel under the power of his enemy's attack, three times as many of them engaged him and from all sides. No time was given for him to communicate with his destroyers as their shields were torn apart and enemy fire sent them screaming to the Prelate's Bosom.

Alone now, he continued to fight, data streamed in of batteries overheating, missile hits against enemy ships and more against them. Hull integrity had been breached on three separate levels and there was now no return for the fighters, the launch bays having been ripped into shreds by incoming missile strikes.

Baynes saw the indication of their failing shields and the exact moment their tenuous protection disappeared. Shortly afterwards he heard reports of enemy vessels clamping on to their hull and new breaches being blown. Reports flooded in of fighting on all decks and that his men were losing, their resistance futile.

His decision taken, he ordered his Exec Officer to join him in the destruction of his once mighty vessel. An explosive detonation stopped him short as he saw the poor man reduced to a liquid spray and he knew that all now rested on him. There was no time to do this properly and he raced to ensure that this failure at least would not fall at his feet.

It was, and always had been from the moment of the enemy fleet's arrival, too late. A backhanded blow sent him reeling backwards in his chair and he screamed in pain as a whirring blade was pushed slowly into his stomach. The owner of the weapon calmly held the Admiral in place with one booted foot and proceeded to turn the man's entrails into a horrific soup.

Still alive, Baynes looked up into the scarred and piteous face before him, pleading for release.

"I will give you release," sneered the man, leaning forwards and kissing the Admiral on the lips, a vile spittle passing between them. He laughed even more as Baynes' mouth began to blister and boil, "You are welcomed," he snarled, "into his ever-loving embrace!"
Chapter Three

Geosynchronus Orbit

Argent III

Second Church Protectorate

"Eagle One to Eagle Base, over. I repeat, Eagle One to Eagle Base, over!" nothing, there was zero response. Captain Marius of the Eyotalian 326th Fighter Wing, 'the Eagles', cursed as he pounded his fist against his control panel. He had seen the destroyers implode under the vicious enemy barrage, and had heard the frantic transmissions from the cruiser as the boarders smashed their way through the final defences.

His wing had responded to his call, flying close to the automatic anti-aircraft systems of the cruiser, relying on their own friendly identification transponders to protect them. They had flown tip to tip, their autocannons blazing a metallic path of death in front of them. The enemy fighters had been unable to resist, yet the ploy had not been without casualties.

Two of their wing had been downed on the first pass by enemy missiles, another blown apart by the cruiser's own defences. It was irrelevant now though, they had nowhere to land, the ship's launch bays having been destroyed. Basically there were two choices, die here or try and link up with the ground forces, a slower yet no less certain death based upon the vast superiority of the enemy fleet.

Marius was leaning towards a more glorious and rapid end, here amongst the last remains of his companions. Not because he was the most heroic of men, rather the most practical. Signal strength was minimal and therefore he could not contact anyone on the planet, he had three Spitfire missiles remaining, his autocannons were less than half-full and his laser cannon was all but useless.

There was no certainty his men would feel the same way, but he had to at least give them the option. Drawing in a deep breath he reached to activate his transmitter, but was forestalled by an incoming message.

"This is Colonel Walters, Seventh Lutheran calling all surviving Navy personnel. You are to disengage, I repeat, disengage from enemy contact. I am assuming overall control for this mission. You will lock on to the signal which is currently being transmitted from my temporary headquarters. Walters Out!"

Captain Marius looked curiously at his transmitter, he must have subconsciously flicked the switch to transmit after the message had finished. Cautiously he responded, _"Marius here, can you verify? Over."_

" _Captain, make your choice,"_ replied the voice flatly, _"accept my invitation unconditionally or die out there. Out!"_

This was more than strange, thought Marius, he had never given his rank, or had he?

*****

Walters turned to face Krantu, "Don't worry Leftenant, they'll come."

"My Lord, what use are a few fighter pilots," asked the Leftenant, looking puzzled.

"I wasn't talking about them," grinned Walters, "however, every single person counts, or have you forgotten that?"

"No my Lord," said Krantu, "I have not forgotten."

"Good. Now what reports do we have of the enemy?" questioned the Colonel, changing the subject.

"Nothing as of yet, my Lord, all is quiet," replied the Leftenant.

"That won't last for much longer," responded Walters, "believe me!"

Argent III

Disputed Zone

Second Church Protectorate

Viker refused the smoke stick Alana waved enticingly under his nose, it held no interest for him. Ever since his chance encounter with the Colonel earlier, he had felt energised and in need of no other substitute.

He had tried to explain what had happened, but his squad mates had just laughed. Curiously enough the only one who had not derided him was Corporal Johns, instead the grizzled veteran had simply stared. His gaze had been free of contempt, it was instead watchful, in a stern yet accepting way. Any reverie was blown away by the screaming howl of the alarms, all across the base they erupted in a manic chorus.

Johns sprang to his feet, barking orders to the relaxed men and women, using his fists and feet where words seemed to have no effect. The enemy was coming and he had no time for stragglers and was keen to make sure that they all understood this.

"You!" he snapped at Viker, "Get your weapon and stick with me!"

"Corporal?" asked Viker, his voice quavering slightly.

"That goes for all of you!" he roared, but Viker was sure the message had been especially meant for him.

Geosynchronus Orbit

Argent III

Second Church Protectorate

Drop pods were launched ceaselessly from the enemy cruisers, fighter craft were spat carelessly into space in numbers too many to count and still Marius vacillated. Right now, they were out of the main fight, hanging motionless whilst he made up his mind. More men had found their way to him, their own units ripped apart by the fury of the previous engagement and looking for someone to take charge.

"Fuck this!" he muttered to himself, and then over the general frequency, "Form up, boys, we're going to join the party. You have my absolute permission to send as many of these arseholes back to whichever ugly witch created them. For the Prelate!"

Any response was drowned out by the roar of his engines as they thrust his fighter forwards. This was much better than waiting, and who knew, maybe this Colonel Walters had a plan?

Argent III

Disputed Zone

Second Church Protectorate

Soldiers charged to and fro in a maelstrom of activity; vast amounts of ammunition were ferried to forward supply depots, armour took up its position and Guardsmen scurried to avoid their commanders' wrath. Colonel Walters looked on, confidence in his men high. He knew that this scenario was being repeated in other areas, the Church units outside of his command reacting in their own way.

They, however, were of little concern to him at this moment, whatever part of the enemy forces they could tie up would only be a help, but was not counted in his own plan. His men needed to be blooded, to bond and find their true vocation. When the time was right he would be able to demonstrate to them exactly what was required of them and the rewards awaiting their loyalty.

No, all they needed was time, enough for Arn and Berbatov to get here. Once that happened they could deal with the Tauran forces and then their real mission could begin. As the first of the drop pods began to rain down, he smiled, his teeth bared in an animalistic pleasure. The Church Navy had left them here to die and his men would soon know that. Once they realised their predicament, they would turn to him for guidance and he would be ready.

Behind him he heard the excited growling of his K'ran bodyguard, they could feel it too. The link between them and Walters was strong and they could feel his rising excitement. Today they could kill again in the name of their Lord, their impatience to do so was palpable. Walters growled back, energy beginning to flow into him, and flexed his muscles. He was ready, let them come!

*****

Viker clutched his laser rifle close to his chest, fear setting his nerves on edge. Drop pods had hit the earth close to his position and he knew it would be soon. He saw Alana's mouth moving, but no sound issued forth. She was praying to the Great One of that he was sure, but whether it would do any good was another matter.

Johns stood nearby, one foot on top of the earthworks, staring out across the plain in front of them. Wind ruffled his shaggy hair and his face was lifted into the breeze. Viker could have sworn that he was sniffing the air, like some wild animal.

Unannounced, he turned, his eyes locking tight onto those of the young soldier's. With a start, Viker for a moment saw them blazing an emerald green and winced at the physical impact of them. In His name, he thought, who or rather what is he?

The screeching of brakes announced the arrival of an aircar, Colonel Walters jumping down from the cabin. A low hum was heard across the lines, almost a purring of contentment, and Viker saw all of the veteran troopers staring at their commander, an almost religious fervour in their eyes. Leftenant Krantu and the two huge bodyguards were also there, their bodies tense with excitement.

The Colonel and his entourage carried no weapons, yet they did not look unarmed, instead they radiated a kind of cold and deadly violence, held in check, but soon to be released.

Stiv heard chanting and the beating of drums from out on the plain, a dark mass slowly moving forward. They were here, and he only hoped that he could stay the fear which coursed through his veins, long enough at least to do his duty.

There was a light touch on his arm and he swivelled around, finding the Colonel next to him.

"Do not worry, my son," said Walters calmly, "I am with you!"

*****

Captain Marius held his Wing under tight control; they could not afford to waste their valuable ammunition. Now his decision had been made, their only hope of survival was in reaching the Lutheran positions. Somehow he knew there would be support there, more ammunition perhaps, but at least a safe haven. He was determined to make every last round count, to maximise the destructive power of his fighters.

So with this in mind, the formation of fighters roared onwards, avoiding engagement with the enemy as instructed. The transponder signal drew them on, its bleep becoming a beacon of hope, or at least the promise of some kind of salvation.

"Walters," muttered Marius to himself, "you had better be worth it!"

*****

The semi-recognition of the Captain's need reached Walters where he stood and he smiled. It was starting, now he would speak to the men here, would build their hunger for victory and with each chant of his name, with each pledge of loyalty, his strength would grow.

*****

Uther felt his Lord's summons and called to his battle brothers, Tor would remain here, in the pinnace, for now. The ex-Immortal checked his weapons one last time, as the others filed past him into the waiting shuttle. The craft had been kept hidden on board the pinnace, its design screaming Immortals to all.

No matter now, they were no longer Church Elite, they had a new brotherhood, a new Lord. Still, their role was the same, they would only carry it out in another's name. One who held their total loyalty, who led them on the battlefield and imbued them with his strength. Unable to hold his eagerness in further, Uther raised his head and howled in joyous exultation, his brothers quickly joining in.

*****

The stuttering roar of the anti-aircraft batteries announced the arrival of the enemy aircraft, strangely they had kept silent during the deployment of the drop pods, but now they opened up in their full splendour. Their targets appeared only to be the enemy fighters and bombers, they strictly avoided the more slow moving troop transports.

Marius and his men had no such compunction, their objective was to join up with Walters and anything that got in their way was a prime target. They had managed to maintain their identity relatively secret during their approach, their craft ignoring all hails and hugging the ground as they neared the Church-controlled positions. Finally though their disguise had been sprung and Marius had given the order to fire.

He watched as one of his precious Spitfire missiles swooped imperiously into the attack. All attempts to stop it failed and it finally tore its way through the belly of a slow-moving transport, splitting it open and sending its contents spewing downwards towards the hard ground below. He briefly saw tumbling bodies and equipment as he flashed past, another target in his sights.

*****

The shuttle settled briefly to earth, disgorging its contents, before rising rapidly and tearing back in the direction it had just come from. Viker stared at the armoured men rushing forward, there had been no talk of Immortals here!

Amazingly he saw them kneel before Walters, their fists crashing against their chests. Then he recognised them as part of the crew of the pinnace, this was getting stranger by the minute. One of them carried a furled banner in his hands, which he ceremoniously held out to the Colonel. He saw Walters smile gently and nod, the armoured figure then firmly planting the shaft into the ground. The colours which unfolded were not those of the regiment, the design was the same but contained no Church numbering or prayers. A snarling beast head emerged, as the wind caught the cloth. It seemed alive, its emerald eyes reflecting in the sunlight.

As one, the armoured figures and all of the veterans knelt, then their howls rang out in a tremendous chorus. They appeared changed, bigger, more powerful and the Colonel almost god-like! What was happening?

**Chapter Four**

**Argent III**

**Disputed Zone**

**Second Church Protectorate**

"Die you fucker!" screamed Marius, his fingers pressing again and again on the fire control button. He had passed through the calm and controlled commander phase and was only now interested in killing his enemies. This was a nightmare, he had no idea how many men he had left, and in fact cared little. The only thing fixed in his mind was the next enemy that crossed his sights. In such a target rich environment, it was easy to lose yourself.

His last Spitfire missile speared outwards, obliterating his target; a slow moving bomber which had lined itself up for a run at the AA batteries. All he had left were his auto-cannons and he was determined to make every last one of these Tauran shits pay. Screaming his anger aloud he roared as he fired, "Walters, where are you? This is for you!"

A calm washed over him, an exhilarating energy he had never felt before. He heard Walters' voice ringing in his mind, "I know my son, have faith!"

The curious thing was that he did, and unbelievingly he felt his laser cannon power up. It burnt with a pure green fire and he aimed at his enemies and felt the screaming bolt tear them apart. There was none of the usual waiting time, rather he seemed to have infinite charge in his weapon. The auto-cannon was spent, his missiles were gone and yet his laser cannons carried a sort of divine flame.

A message entered in his brain, he heard the words whispered and he did indeed believe. His voice rang through all of his surviving wingmen's speakers, "Have faith in Him, believe in Walters and you shall be rewarded. See how I smite our enemies!"

The channel became clogged with transmissions, "In Walters' name! For Walters! Die you Mother!" All worked, they had been blessed and were exultant. Their enemies could not resist the purifying fire of their lasers and down below Walters roared, grew and called more to his banner. The enemy came, they fought and they died!

*****

Viker watched them come, the mutants and dispossessed herded by their masters; the Tauran Elite. He watched as the virulent armour of the fallen spewed forth clouds of bloated flies which swirled around their heads, hiding them from sight. Laser fire was ineffective against them, only dropping the monsters to the earth, yet the Taurans came on.

He looked up at Walters and found him smiling, saw him nod to his own men and stride forward. Like many Viker raged in frustration at his inability to be more than he was, to walk at Walters' side and then miraculously his Colonel halted. He turned, his eyes flashing a pure verdant green and spoke, "Come, join me!", was all he said and they did.

They came in their hundreds and thousands, screaming his name, yet he did not wait. He strode forwards to meet the demon possessed Taurans and they cried out in anguish. Running they tried to catch up with him, almost insane with their desire they ripped and tore their way through the unfortunates who faced them. They had no pity, no reason to forgive; their Lord walked alone and they would not be found wanting.

Walters smiled and watched them come; it was almost time, he could feel it.

**The Galleon**

**In Transit**

**Fold Space**

"What's keeping us," growled Berbatov, his halberd slamming into the wall, sending metallic sparks into the air.

"Calm down," cautioned Arn, "we still have time!"

"But he's alone, with nothing but a handful of men with him!" replied Berbatov in frustration.

"Have faith, my friend," responded Arn, "When has he ever let you down?"

"Never!" snarled Berbatov, "My fear is that we will fail him!"

"Do not fear," said Arn, his tone reassuring, "even now we arrive!"

**Argent III**

**Disputed Zone**

**Second Church Protectorate**

AA batteries spewed forth their charged weapons, tanks rolled forwards and the Seventh Lutheran killed. They were inspired, nothing could stop them. Not the Tauran champions whose now plague invested bodies caused unimaginable mutations in their minions, nor the Battle Fleet which railed against them.

Elsewhere on this accursed planet, Church Troops died. They boiled in their own juices, they cursed their leaders and still they expired. Only those who fought within Walters' sphere of influence prevailed.

Marius and his men were invincible; they harvested enemy souls as though they were nothing more than offerings to their Lord. Far out in space, the Tauran fleet despaired and when they thought they were at their lowest, they felt deceived.

Out of the vagaries of space appeared ship after ship, led by a strange three-masted vessel whose broadsides were devastating in the extreme. They ripped and tore, scalded and boiled, the very existence of their foes away. The Tauran Pagan Gods quailed at the fervour they faced, their minions were destroyed without pity, screaming into the void.

They had never faced such an enemy and knew not what to do. On the planet's surface Walters came into his own, his long awaited ascension was imminent. He howled in triumph as his enemies fell, and his men howled with him.

With each slash of his claws they grew, with every bite of his jaws they changed, until at last they were his. Their bodies became infused with his power, their cries were only an echo of his own and in the midst of the ripping and tearing host, Viker found his God and was pleased.

**Outer Atmosphere**

**Argent III**

**Second Church Protectorate**

Nothing could prevail against the intense bombardments, the Tauran Battleship heaved in pain. Boils and pustules on its hull burst, throwing virulent waste, debris and ammunition outwards. A miasma of bloated flies roared out of the distorted turrets, the respective swarms obscuring the form of the vessel. Slowly the great ship got underway, its creaking and groaning shell resisting the impact of the plasma batteries by the sheer will of its demon-infused master. With one last great effort it lurched its way into Fold Space, leaving behind a trail of plague infested debris, which dwindled and died.

Other ships were not so lucky, the Galleon's accompanying cruiser and two destroyers laid down a tremendous field of fire. It seemed as though they were willing to expend every last missile, every drop of plasma, and to drain completely their laser batteries. Once free of the battleship, the Galleon joined them, methodically reducing ship by ship the Tauan fleet to inexistence.

Smaller transport ships dropped out of Fold Space, hanging back out of the way of the seething maelstrom of fire. As a safe corridor was blasted through to the planet, they waddled their way forward, taking up a stationary position above the war stricken world below.

**Argent III**

**Disputed Zone**

**Second Church Protectorate**

"Whoa!" gasped Marius, as a sleet delta-winged fighter screamed past him, its plasma cannons spitting forth brilliant streaks of lightning. In a matter of moments, two of the attacking craft were nothing more than rapidly dissipating balls of energy.

The swift vessel turned sharply and roared back towards him, taking up a silent but protective position to his right. He tried to contact its pilot, but received no answer.

Another silently moved into place to his left, rigidly holding a more than respective distance, seemingly their task only being to escort him.

"Got to get me one of those!" said Marius to himself, as they effortlessly matched his speed. Then at last he remembered the rest of his Wing and guiltily asked for a roll call.

*****

Viker saw the blade as it arced towards his head and knew that there was nothing he could do. At the last moment, a gauntleted hand parried the blow, following through with the blade in its hand. The weapon sheared through the meagre armour of the mutant, showering Viker in a spray of bile and blood.

Beside him stood one of the armoured figures, who nodded briefly and then sprang forward into the fray once more. Stiv glanced round and saw that somehow he had left his platoon behind, he was surrounded by armoured figures and slightly ahead he saw the Colonel. He pulled his rifle from the body below him, the bayonet had become stuck in its entrails and he needed to stamp down hard in order to rip it free.

There was a soft footfall to his left and he swung the weapon sharply, but to his dismay it was caught and held. Crying out in desperation he let go of its stock and scrabbled for his combat knife, but a hand gently closed over his restraining him.

"Your fervour is admirable, soldier", said a soft voice, "but trying to kill your commanding officer is not the done thing."

Shame-faced, Viker looked into the grinning face of Walters and wished the ground would open up and swallow him.

"S-s-s-ir!" he muttered in chagrin, "I am so sorry!"

"Not to worry .....ah yes, Viker, isn't it?" and then when the young man nodded, Walters continued, "Your fervour has led you to rashly leave the protection of your platoon. If you insist on being here, then I'll just have to give you a helping hand."

Walters eyes began to blaze with an incandescent green fire and Viker felt himself drown in their vast depths. There was a roaring in his head, a long drawn howl and then he feinted.

"Johns!" roared Walters and the Corporal raced forwards, "My Lord?" he rasped.

"Take care of him," Walters commanded, and then more quietly, "he's one of us now."

Johns grinned and hefted the prone body of the soldier effortlessly onto his shoulder. The boy had shown promise and had been rewarded, today many others would receive their Lord's gift, but Johns sensed something special about this one.

*****

Elsewhere on Argent III, Church troops fought and died. They were no match for the Tauran Elite led forces, nor the swarms of bloated flies which crawled into every open orifice of their bodies. Their still warm corpses expanded grotesquely, finally exploding and each one expelling a mass of the horrific insects. Thus an expanding wave of plague-driven troopers crashed back into their own lines, ultimately propagating their fellows' doom.

In other areas, decaying and putrid men staggered onwards, laser fire ineffective against their mindless assault. They bit and clawed at their ex-companions, infecting them even as they gorged on the fresh meat.

The only true resistance came from a mixed group of Eyotalian Lancers and Infantry. Their tanks held their position with the barrels of their battle cannons depressed to their limits, they fired high explosive rounds directly into contaminated troopers as well as the oncoming Tauran Forces. They then rolled forward, flamers and heavy auto cannons charring and exploding what was left.

Accompanying them was what was left of their infantry, their Leftenant had wisely ordered his men to discard their rifles and with pistols and short swords only they butchered their way through their undead foes. These weapons were a remnant of their historic past and with a steady and measured beat they swung and stabbed, cut and hacked until their arms ran with the blood of their enemies.

Cheering they celebrated their victory until the drop pods began to slam down. Wearily the Leftenant called his men to order as a new wave of mutants raced forward, and waited for the drop pods to show what new horror they would thrust upon his men.

*****

Explosive bolts blew, metal flew away and out they came, howling and snarling with rage. Armoured covered bodies leaped forward, weapons blazing a constant explosive fire. A huge man led them, smashing through the desperate defence with ease, bodies crumpling into nothingness as he struck.

Berbatov had arrived, and the Tauran Forces trembled.

Chapter Five

Argent III

Disputed Zone

Second Church Protectorate

This was, Berbatov knew, what he was created for; his halberd was a whirling, slashing promise of death. Its blade sparkled with power, flashing back and forth, leaving only dismembered husks behind. His laughter rang out and his men joined in, their battle madness total in its abandon.

One Tauran planted himself in front of Berbatov's armoured figure, in his hand a distorted sword whose blade's form wavered as buzzing flies coalesced around it. The Tauran's armour moved as though it carried something hidden inside; a writhing and shuddering constantly wracked the hideous frame.

"Time to die!" it buzzed, as bloated insects entered its open mouth.

"How trite, but true," responded the Sargeant carelessly cutting the mutated figures in front of him out of his way.

"Ready, when you are!" he said cheerfully and swung his halberd.

*****

Marius climbed down from his cockpit and watched as the two delta-winged craft flew past. Only five of his men had survived the brutal dog fight, and they too had landed with the hope that Walters' troops had somehow managed to find sufficient ammunition to allow them back into the air.

"Sir! Sir!" called a voice nearby, and he turned to find a young infantry Leftenant waiting nearby.

"Yes, Leftenant?" answered Marius, returning the fresh faced Officer's salute.

"Captain Marius, Sir," he said snappily, "I formally relinquish command, Sir!"

It was only then that Marius saw the soldiers hunkered down nearby, staring warily in his direction. He peered into the gloom and saw the distinctive shape of tanks, their turrets pointing out towards the enemy.

"Command?" he queried, only now noticing the distinctive short swords and cap badges.

"Yes, sir!" responded the Leftenant, looking at the eagle emblem stitched onto the front of Marius' tunic, laurel leaves grasped in its claws as it screamed its defiance, "What are your orders?"

Argent III

Zone of Conflict

Second Church Protectorate

Viker opened his bleary eyes and saw Corporal Johns' weather beaten face staring down at him.

"Welcome back, son," said Johns, standing and moving away.

"W-what hit me?" asked Viker, every muscle in his body aching.

"You have been blessed," returned the Corporal, "given a great gift, which you must use wisely."

"Pardon?" said Viker, his confusion evident

"Our Lord has chosen you, endowed you with His power," stated the Corporal, "Are you ready?"

Stiv checked his body carefully, there were no obvious wounds and he swung his legs off the cot, carefully testing his ability to stand. He moved in front of the mirror and stared in amazement at the face looking back at him. The thing that struck him most were his eyes, their normal ice-blue colour had changed to a deep green. Unknowingly he began to growl.

"Exactly," echoed the Corporal, "so I ask you again, are you ready? The boys are waiting."

He looked enquiringly at the Corporal who grinned savagely, "There's plenty more of the enemy out there," he said, his arm waving generally in the direction of the Tauran forces, "have you finished in here?"

The young soldier felt energy begin to pour through his body, revitalising him and nodded at Johns.

"Good!" snarled Johns, "Let's get going then!", and without another word he sprang out of the door, Viker following close behind. Suddenly, Stiv felt imbued with an incredible strength, the growl in his throat turning into a full-blooded howl. From all around came his answer and he saw shapes racing to join him. In leaps and bounds they came, bodies changing as they sprang to his side; muscles writhed, teeth were bared in anticipation and weapons were tossed aside.

Then he knew, he could feel Walters ahead slicing his way through their enemies. Without conscious thought, his claws snicked into place and at last Viker joined his pack.

*****

Arn waited with the rest of his men aboard the Galleon; he would not be needed, things seemed to be going exactly as planned. The fat transports waited too, their cargo would soon arrive; at this moment it was being created in the maelstrom of battle below.

Amongst the seething mass of Tauran troops, there were two clear islands of relative calm. Within the eye of this tainted plague infested storm, Church troops replenished ammunition, repaired equipment and then once more smote their enemies.

Captain Marius was in one such place, the remaining Eyotalians gathered around him as he spoke. He had utilised the cockpit of his now stranded fighter as a platform from which to address his new command.

He spoke of Walters, of his call to battle and pointed towards the spearhead of Berbatov and his troops who were carving their way methodically through their foes. Marius' oration included their long and proud tradition of battle, and the opportunity they held within their hands today; they too could write a glorious page in the history of their people. His speech was crowned by the more than symbolic gesture of unsheathing the short sword belted to his waist.

The men roared in approval and, as one, hundreds of sparkling swords joined in this veneration," Walters!" they screamed, "A-ve! A-ve!"

*****

Walters was surrounded, a score of Tauran Elite had him pinned within the circle of their pestilent weaponry, or so they thought. He merely smiled as they advanced, waiting patiently, his arms held loosely by his sides. The furore of the battle field had faded into insignificance for all of the players in this cameo performance.

Suddenly, Walters moved, his arm flashing forward and catching one of the Taurans by his wrist, with a quick twist Walters snapped his bone cleanly. He twisted the dangling hand and slammed the owner's sword into his own chest. Powering backwards he stamped his heel into the chest of another opponent, shattering armour and ribs alike and punching the Tauran off his feet, to fly uncontrollably into two of his fellows.

With a shrug of his shoulders, Walters claws slid into view, energy crackling around them. His subsequent strikes were lightning fast, cleaving armour, chopping flesh and tearing immense wounds wherever they touched. The Taurans demon-augmented bodies were snail-like in their responses, in comparison to Walters speed, and his wild laughter rang out.

A savage howling impinged on his consciousness, but he did not stop; each death brought him closer to the ordained moment.

*****

Berbatov could now see Walters and the fact that he appeared alone, drove him to new heights. His whirling halberd was a blur, powerful double strokes pulled him through his enemies. He no longer danced nor moved to avoid incoming blows, he simply smashed his way through them. At his side came the rest of his men, their brutal attacks mirroring his own, nothing could stand in their way.

Those that tried to flee or were simply too far away were cleaned up by Marius and his men. Their disciplined and methodical pace was awesome; shoot, stamp and strike, they cleaved their way through with finesse. Tanks rolled on behind them, their battle cannons tossing shells far ahead, gauging huge holes in the Tauran ranks.

This escaped Berbatov, his only thought was to reach his Lord's side, he cared not how many of the enemy interposed themselves in his way, all would die.

*****

From almost the opposite direction, Viker led the charge. His new found powers melded naturally with his transformed physique and he roared, howled and killed. Johns stood by him, deflecting blows where needed and protecting Viker's back. He seemed to have automatically fallen into the role, yet it seemed so natural.

*****

Uther and his men rejoined Walters, crashing through the final resistance to reach his side. Their help was not needed, as even as they rushed to his aid, Walters skewered the last of the Taurans on his claws, driving them through his putrid armour and into his sternum. With a wrench of his shoulders he ripped them back out and howled his triumph to the skies.

"Are you well, my Lord?" asked Uther, kneeling in obeisance.

"Never better!" replied Walters and as they watched his body began to glow.

*****

Troopers moved slowly across the field, harvesting souls for their Lord. A whine of pain would attract them, a swift slash of claw or knife would stifle their cries and on then the gruesome work would continue.

Marius watched his men as they too did their duty, his thoughts turning to the rapid change in his fortune. From fighter pilot to leader of men in one short day; he missed the exhilaration of riding his war beast, but today he had found something new.

"Sir!" cried one of his men, pointing at an incandescent point of light, "What is it?"

Saying nothing, Marius began to run, his men swiftly falling in behind.

Argent III

Geosynchronous Orbit

Second Church Protectorate

Arn felt the change, the burgeoning godhood of his Lord, and fell to his knees, arms raised in adulation.

Berbatov had now reached Walters' side and he too crashed unbidden to the floor, his men following his example. An unbearably bright light suffused Walters' body, radiating outwards and painting the surrounding terrain an eerie shade of green.

Far across space others trembled or roared their defiance and on one small planet, a beacon began to glow.

Chapter Six

The Tower

Diadem

Unassigned Space

The city was dark and brooding; a jet black pall of cloud clung perpetually to its tall spires. No breeze gently stroked its filigreed buildings, no laughter rang through its vaulted halls. Death had stalked its once bright streets and garlanded avenues, and had decided to stay.

At the centre of the gloomy and pain-ridden metropolis rose a tall thin spire, its top sharply truncated, clashing with the clean lines of the surrounding buildings. A ridged shape was wrapped tightly against the fluted tower, terminating in a diamond like block which lay flat and unmoving.

The base of the structure flared outwards, inside was one circular room; symmetrically perfect in construction. Its walls were covered in jewels whose reflective brilliance was hidden behind the shadowed façade.

One pulse of light stroked the walls, their reflective properties enhancing its purity and clarity. Bouncing rays struck again into the centre of the room, and the beacon awoke.

Now the pulses became stronger, reinforced, and finally a pure beam of energy thrust skywards, its progress halted momentarily by the block laid flat over the tower's pointed tip. Insistently the beam struck again, forcing its way outwards.

With a protesting roar of anger, the creature raised its head and saw the lance of light escape, tearing out into space, where it struck against a series of revolving shapes. These too flared into life, sparkling with energy. They spun faster and faster, resonating in time with the light's waveform. Reaching their utmost capacity of charge, they began to broadcast a low and repetitive song.

The beam suddenly winked out, the creature lowering its head and once more closing its eyes. Deep in the tower, light continued to flash, the jewels ensuring that the newly awakened beacon would not die. They illuminated the strange dais set to one side and the dry and desiccated pair of wings resting upon it.

Argent III

Disputed Zone

Second Church Protectorate

Funeral pyres burnt across the extent of the battle field, soldiers using flamethrowers to ensure the vile and rotted corpses ignited. The battle was long over and Walters and his men were, in their own way, cleansing the memory of the conflict.

Troop transporters settled slowly to ground, their cargo doors folding outwards with steady grace. Of the original regiments only the Lutheran and Eyatolians remained. Those others who had survived had been press ganged into service, helping to ferry the dismembered remains to the central pits along with the other soldiers.

They would now all be leaving this world, Walters had promised that none would be left behind. Their new commander had already been ferried up to the Galleon with his bodyguard and advisors. His remaining command structure had remained behind to organise the uplift of personnel and machinery.

None of them had been informed of their next destination, but even the least of them was less than concerned. Walters had proven to them that he was much more than a simple leader and they would willingly follow him wherever he went.

*****

Marius watched as the last of the tanks was backed on board and waited until his men were also inside. His combat helmet dangled by its straps from his arm, ready to be placed on his head before he climbed into the waiting fighter. Fuel had been found and so he and the remainder of his wing were to fly the craft off this world. Walters had explained it simply enough, where they were going they would need all the firepower that they had. He had promised various upgrades to the craft and the chance to use them once again in combat.

The captain was not so sure, he had enjoyed fighting close alongside his men; the disciplined strike of their short swords, the adrenalin rush as they had driven their enemies into dust. It was not something he could give up lightly.

As the transport heaved itself up into the air, he shook his head and raced to his waiting fighter. This was one rush he knew about and if this was to be his last time, he was determined to enjoy it.

*****

Viker huddled close to the rest of the members of his platoon, although some of them, particularly Alana looked at him strangely, reverentially. He had been blessed on the battle field and many still yearned for the privilege of that honour. Corporal Johns also treated him differently, more like a brother than a common soldier and he was still finding that hard to come to terms with. Shouldering his pack, he moved to take his place in the line, but Johns pulled him aside.

"No, son," he said, "Leftenant Krantu has asked that you join his command directly."

"But ..." began Viker, but Johns shook his head and clapped him on the shoulder, "Don't worry about the rest of us," he said, "we'll be joining you soon enough."

With a friendly shove the Corporal pushed him towards the waiting Leftenant and his men, who were about to climb aboard the pinnace. Looking back once, Viker saw the envy on his companions' faces, quickly replaced by pride as he was welcomed into his new role.

*****

Finally all of the troops were lifted off the planet's surface, the ships taking their place alongside the Galleon and the other warships. A command was given, then one by one they jumped into the waiting anonymity of Fold Space.

Church Fleet

High Orbit

Argent III

Second Church Protectorate

"Where are they!" screamed the Admiral, as report after report came in from the planet.

"They're all dead, Sir," replied General Grimes, doing his best to calm the explosive situation.

"Three full Regiments? How is that possible?"

"You've read the reports on the debris from the space battle, I assume?" asked Grimes carefully.

"Of course", snapped the Admiral, "Do you take me for a fool, Sir?"

"No," responded the General, trying to keep his temper in check, "my only point is that we can see from the hulks floating in space, the myriad of destroyed vessels and other things, that a major Tauran Fleet was defeated here. The amount of men and machinery they would have thrown at the planet, would indicate that three Regiments would have been significantly outnumbered."

"Granted, Grimes....", an incoming transmission, broke into their conversation and the Admiral listened intently, before turning to the General once more, a small smile of satisfaction on his lips, "they've found a survivor and they're bringing him here right now!"

*****

The Church Fleet had recently arrived after a fruitless search for their enemies. They had continued with the plan of garrisoning worlds, but with no news of contact, from any of their outposts, they had begun retracing their tracks. When they had emerged into real space around Argent III, every single alarm had sprung into strident life and what they found was incomprehensible to them.

There was evidence of a major battle; broken ships, countless corpses spinning in the cold vacuum of space and the residues of vast discharges of energy. Painstaking examination of all that was left, still weakly held by the planet's gravitational pull, revealed nothing.

Deployment of troops onto the planet's surface was even more disheartening; vast swathes of land were burned and blackened, pits containing broken and twisted bones still smouldered and stank with the familiarly sweet smell. Discarded equipment lay as a mute testimony to the ferocity of the conflict waged there.

Squads of men and machinery combed the land and any hope of finding survivors fast disappeared. That is until they found, hidden and partially crushed beneath the remains of a battle tank, the sole Tauran Elite.

*****

"Where is he?" asked Grimes, as he entered the hanger bay.

"They're bringing him up now General," said the Sargeant in charge of the squad of Guardsmen.

"How is he?" queried the General, quickly looking over the heavily armed group of men.

"Apart from being the mis-begotten whelp that he is?" responded the Sargeant, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth, "Well he's alive, if that's what you want to know, sir. That is, he's clinging to the parody of plague-infested life that represents his existence."

"Is he still dangerous?" questioned Grimes, a slight tremor of fear apparent in his voice.

"Always ..." replied the Sargeant, turning to watch the shuttle which even now was entering the bay.

A tramp of feet heralded the arrival of the Fleet's own pet Inspector, accompanied by a bevy of troopers. They were heavily armed and carried great lengths of silvered chain with them.

"General," acknowledged the man, dressed in a high necked tunic, his long hair tied in a pony tail which cascaded down his back. His clothing was free of any adornment, yet he carried himself with an inherent air of arrogance.

"Frings," said the General, nodding in recognition of the other's rank and station.

"We'll take it from here," said the Inspector, in his tone an implicit dismissal of the superior officer.

Grimes started, as though he had been slapped, but gracefully withdrew. This man was dangerous, his reputation preceded him.

Inspector Frings watched the General leave and then turned to the Sargeant, "Very well, Sargeant, it appears as though we are ready. You can bring him out now!"

*****

They did as they were told, the body strapped to a medical gurney, ties around the man's remaining arm and leg. His armour was cracked and broken and a black miasma leaked slowly outwards. Now and then a horrific face seemed to peep out from between the fractured remains of what had once been metal, snarled and then disappeared once more. A putrid stench of rotting flesh instantly pervaded the area and more than one of the troopers gagged and fought the urge to vomit.

With a peremptory wave of his hand, the Inspector indicated that the chains be brought forward and his men obeyed, more in fear of Frings than the Tauran himself.

"Bind him," he snarled, removing a handkerchief from his tunic pocket and genteelly covering his nose with it.

Horrid curses filled the air and the smell became stronger as the bound figure struggled, a rotten yellow fluid leaking to the decking. Straps began to strain and without any command, the Sargeant strode forward and slammed the hilt of his pistol between the Tauran's eyes, who slumped back against the bed of the trolley.

"Thank you Sargeant," murmured Frings, "that was exactly what was required."

Now chained and bound, the limp figure was wheeled away, Inspector Frings in silent pursuit.

Chapter Seven

Church Fleet

High Orbit

Argent III

Second Church Protectorate

Shan lay still, the foolish Churchmen believed him unconscious, so let them do so. He had at first wondered why he had been kept alive, his injuries being sufficient even to still his corrupted heart. The power of his god had infused him with pestilence, maintaining his existence day after dreary day, feeding his pain to an almost joyous level.

Now he recognised his purpose, the bubbling and putrid murmurings of the plague carriers held within him had made him wait. They also had been a gift to the Tauran, but now they were slowly consuming him from the inside out; feeding on the pus and contagion within his rotted body.

Their movements had become more frantic and the Tauran knew that the time had come. The lesser demons pushed their way out of his corroded armour, their liquid chuckling a measure of their excitement. A black and yellow bilious fluid wept out, falling to the floor in a viscous rain. Wisps of smoke curled upwards as the material corroded the decking below. As the pooling liquid continued its work, one after another of the vile creatures rolled into the hole and disappeared from sight.

Now, a shrunken figure lay upon the gurney, but Shan's task was far from over. With each exhalation of his racked and tortured body, a fine mist of spores came into being, the impulse of his breath starting them on their journey. Momentarily they coalesced into a mucus ridden cloud, then just as quickly dispersed, pulled away by the circulating air within the room.

Breathing became more difficult as the expulsion of the foetid miasma physically drained him, eventually all that was left was a crumpled and corroded shell, the last of its toxins leaking out drop by drop, falling down into the burnt out hole and continuing into the depths below.

*****

The door opened slowly and Inspector Frings led his team inside, his angry shout causing weapons to be drawn and trained directly at the Tauran's body.

"Stay away!" Frings screamed at a Stormtrooper who had approached the still smoking hole, his hand crashing against the general alarm button. A harsh howling began, the response to the deadliest of threats, and door after door slammed shut, sealing the party within the small room.

Frightened faces peered at him and one braver than most, asked the question they all wanted answering, "W-w-what do we do now?"

"We pray," replied Frings, his shaking hand pulling his handkerchief from his pocket, "and ask for the Prelate's blessing on our journey to His side."

*****

Rating Weaver carried the tray of food down the corridor, whistling to himself. He for one was not too upset that they had arrived to find the Tauran Fleet already gone or, if the rumours were correct, destroyed. It was a much easier life when normal routine was allowed to flourish and prosper. His job was to make sure that the officers were fed and cared for, a sometimes onerous task depending on the individual and their particular requirements, but one he quite enjoyed.

As he passed by the grille of the ventilation shaft, a tiny clawed hand snaked out, swiping quickly and opening a small cut on the rating's neck. Weaver clapped his hand to the wound, involuntarily dropping the tray as pain rippled through him. His puzzled look turned quickly to fear as his limbs began to shake uncontrollably and an overwhelming dizziness made him try to cling to the wall.

A horrible laughter rang through his head and flecks of blood appeared at the corners of his eyes, boils erupting from his skin in quick succession. Cramps tore at his stomach and he vomited black liquid which seemed to heave of its own volition. With a final long drawn out scream he collapsed, his body thudding to the floor amidst the still moving liquid.

Again a horrid cackling came from the ventilation shaft, followed by a curious shuffling, then there was only silence.

*****

Death stalked the ship's corridors, its attack silent yet deadly. The Immortals themselves watched helplessly as one after another, their Church comrades fell. There was no distinction of rank nor privilege, all died equally, in screaming gut-wrenching pain. Some of the Troopers had found breathing equipment and as such had saved themselves for now, others were not so lucky.

It was obvious where the source of infection had come from, but there was no way to reach the Inspector and his party and it was far too late. Even now, the Immortals made their way as fast as they could to the Bridge, their decision on how to save the ship taken. They must vent all of the atmosphere, killing any survivors it was true, but also ridding the cruiser of this air borne disease.

Their logic was sound, however there were a number of factors they had not taken into account.

*****

Frings stared at the remains of the now identified Tauran Adept, an abject terror fighting to claw its way out of his head. The decision to bring this thing on board had been his, over riding any words of caution from the cruiser's Chaplain and the senior officers on board. He had seen only glory, the interrogation and subsequent use of any information would have surely raised him high amongst his peers.

Now there was only death and ignominy, but at least he would not live to witness it. Then he heard the rasping sound coming from the corpse, accompanied by a horrendous stench of corruption. Slowly the armour began to swell, fluid leaking from its fractured components, yet still it began to pulse with evil life. A silent scream began deep in his throat as Shan's eyes opened, glowing a baleful and malevolent red.

*****

Bodies lay, twisted and grotesque, exactly where they had fallen, pools of liquid seeping slowly out from underneath them. With an abrupt crack, the screws holding the ventilation grill parted and the slatted piece of metal dropped to the floor. A hideously gnarled and wart covered face peered cautiously out of the concealing darkness, then a squat bulbous body squelched over the rim of the shaft and plopped to the floor.

Rolling slightly the creature made its way to the first of the corpses, licking the slime covered hand before it and cackling with glee. It hopped slightly as a burst of putrid flatulence half-raised it into the air and it began to hum. Another of the creatures joined it, followed by more, their evil croons producing in the unholy chorus.

At first nothing happened and then the hand of the corpse twitched, one finger almost imperceptibly flicking upwards. Rotating slowly, the demon watched with satisfaction as one after another of the bodies moved, groans of protestation flowing from their lips. Bubbling laughter echoed through the silent corridors, as the dead began to rise.

*****

The crack in Sargeant Arius' armour was tiny, almost imperceptible but the spores found it anyway. They wiggled their way through the metallic skin and then began burrowing into the Immortal's flesh. Entering his bloodstream they were attacked by the enhanced metabolism of the soldier and a titanic struggle took place; spores multiplying exponentially threw back the constituents parts of Arius' immune system and corrupted all around them.

Suddenly the Sargeant coughed, a wet slickness covering the inside of his face plate. Arius' companion looked at him with some concern, Immortals were not known for their susceptibility to disease and under the present circumstances it rang alarm bells.

Arius waved his arm depreciatingly, "Dry throat," he murmured, yet even then he was lost, although he yet did not know it.

His brother Immortal moved forward slightly, checking around the corner of the corridor and Arius began to tremble and sweat, the convulsions slight although another indication of the efficacy of the spores. His mind began to wander and horrid visions cascaded through his thoughts.

With one final shudder it was over, his piercing blue eyes filling with a virulent red fluid as his superhuman body finally succumbed. Stealthily he approached his comrade, his now unslung axe raised up high. There was no sound as he slammed the hilt of the weapon down onto his brother's head, the force sufficient to split open the other's helm. Savagely he tore off his own helmet and quickly that of his unfortunate companion joined it. The other man had been forced down onto one knee and was groggily shaking his head. Snarling bestially Arius leapt forward and bit down, tearing a chunk of flesh from the weakened man's throat.

His already virulent saliva mixed with the welling blood from the ragged wound, so passing on the now enhanced plague spores, which rapidly destroyed the soldier's stricken defenses.

Standing back, Arius gazed on, a cunning smile playing on his lips. A shuffling, shambling noise could be heard behind him and he turned to welcome his undead brothers.

*****

One leg after another slipped off the medical gurney and Shan creaked to his feet. Frings screamed now, all pretence at bravado having disappeared. A trooper sprinted forward, his rifle spitting rounds at the Tauran, who only laughed as ragged holes appeared and then slowly closed. He reached one gauntleted hand forward, grasping the terrified Trooper by the throat and crushing his windpipe effortlessly. Death personified, he strode forward, calmly murdering one after another, until only the Inspector remained.

"I denounce thee in His name," mumbled Frings, rapidly making the sign of his Order.

Shan roared with laughter, casually backhanding the Inspector across the face. The force of the blow threw Frings across the room, crashing against a nearby table and collapsing in a heap upon the floor.

"Poor little man," whispered Shan, grasping the front of Frings' tunic in one hand and lifting him to his feet, "I'm sure you are wondering what is going to happen to you .......?"

Quite deliberately he drew the Inspector's face close to his and kissed him full on the mouth, "Welcome brother......" he purred.

*****

Ever so subtly, the structure of the battleship began to change, metal corroding and becoming almost fluid. Boils and pustules grew on the ship's external skin, covering laser batteries and launch bays, as the virulent plague slowly consumed all of what was once a proud Church vessel. The engines pulsed with power and ignoring the frantic hails of the rest of the fleet, the enormous craft got underway.

*****

Striding purposefully down the corridor leading to the bridge, Shan greeted his new brothers. Immortals lined the passage, their armour darkening and changing before his eyes. Colours ran slowly down their shoulder guards as their Church emblems twisted in silent pain. Underneath a new pattern began to emerge, burned into the very metal itself.

With a swish the bridge doors opened and Shan looked on at the partially rotten body of the Admiral, half melted into his chair. A death's head grin flitted across the undead officer's face as he peeled himself from his seat and expansively waved his new master forward.

"Now," said Shan, "We can leave. Our Lord has given us a new task and directions so that we can follow this upstart Walters. Let us be on our way, but first ....."

Virulent streams of sickness poured from the battleship's main weaponry, impacting against the unsuspecting Church Fleet as Shan looked on with satisfaction. Very soon his undead army would be ready, and the new Tauran Champion could lead them into battle.

Chapter Eight

The Tower

Diadem

Unassigned Space

The creature slept. It was old, so old that it had even forgotten its own name, but not its purpose. Here in the almost perpetual night of the city, it waited; its task to defend home and treasure. Any and all who had once lived here had been the food which kept it alive, but they were long gone now and all that remained for sustenance were its own offspring.

It lived in a perpetual downward metabolic cycle; birth drawing hard on its remaining reserves, which then in its consumption became death. A clawed hand flashed outwards, catching the thing which slinked out of the dark. They never learned, their racial drive for domination was written deep within their genetic code. With the minimum expense of energy, it bit off the thing's head, chewed once and swallowed.

One enormous lazy eye looked upwards, the spinning shapes hung in low orbit, their rapid pulsations making them blink in the night sky. At its most rudimentary level the creature welcomed their activity; soon sustenance would be here.

*****

A small ship dropped out of Fold Space; its on-board instruments questing and finally locking on the now powerful signal. Carefully it advanced forward, like a beast sniffing for danger; cautious, its savagery held in check until it was needed.

Then, a small spheroid split from the main ship, its speed incredible as it shot past the revolving objects and crashed through the planet's outer atmosphere, where it began to glow, the still tenuous air protesting at its passage.

Once through, there was a low explosion and it spilt into numerous separate parts which sprayed out fan-like, across the sky.

*****

Below, the creature watched languorously, as the spectacle unfolded. Strange feelings surged upwards, emotions long forgotten; anticipation, anger and ultimately hunger.

*****

Sleek cylindrical shapes surged downwards, quickly reaching terminal velocity, their fluted sides whistling as their self-generated wind roared past. Their tops were broad, thinning to a sharp point at their furthest extremity, which made them appear like inverted cones. Each of them slammed into the earth, clawing their way downwards into the protesting dirt and rock, until finally they came to rest. Steam rose from the holes they carved as their outer skins cooled rapidly, throwing off the memories of their violent passage through the air.

Whirring quietly a circle of metal began to rise from the head of each construction, finally blowing free with an explosive snap. Segmented limbs unfolded, tentatively probing, before gripping fiercely and pulling the concealed contents of the drop pod free. One by one, accompanied by a fierce clicking they rose from their self imposed prison, righting themselves on four spindly legs.

Spider-like, a spherical metallic body hung suspended from the limbs, swaying slightly. Two bright red lights blinked, before burning in a steady glow. Moving jerkily on knife life feet, they joined together and as one pack advanced on the silent city.

*****

The creature knew they were there, and it unfurled its great leathern wings, holding them outstretched and motionless for a heartbeat. With a great leap and a massive down stroke it rose into the air, its muscles complaining at the unexpected demand. Then with ponderous beats it moved to meet the oncoming threat.

Behind it, there rose from various buildings a cloud of small flying creatures, their hunger overcoming the fear of their parent. Together they sped towards the advancing constructs, avarice gleaming in their eyes.

The Galleon

Unknown Location

Fold Space

"How long?" asked Arn, as the Galleon continued its seemingly endless journey through fold space.

"Not much longer," replied Walters turning to face him, "the signal becomes stronger."

Then Walters face twisted in anger, his eyes flashing, and a low growl began deep in his throat.

"My Lord, what is it?" questioned Arn, worried at the change in Walters.

"Others have found it!" he snarled, whirling to stare out of the view screen, but there was nothing to see, "Prepare the men," he said more calmly now, "this is not going to be as easy as I thought!"

The Tower

Diadem

Unassigned Space

A scream of rage echoed through the sky, as the creature realised that there was no food here, the metallic nature of its enemies would give no sustenance. With an inclination of its great wings, it banked and turned, its great maw opening. Its mistake meant that it would have to expend much of its depleted resources now in the destruction of its unknown foes. Its jaws opening and closing it began its harvest, its offspring would provide.

*****

As one, numerous pairs of red eyes focussed on the beast, commands were passed and metallic carapaces split. Slender rods extended out from the constructs' shells, locking into place and then following the creature's flight. Bright pin points of energy coalesced at their tips and then with a shuddering roar, plasma fire surged upwards.

Outer Reaches

Diadem

Unassigned Space

"Contact! We have an unknown contact sat close to the planet's atmosphere, my Lord," said Arn, as he studied the read outs.

"Only one?" mused Berbatov, "Well that shouldn't give us too much of a problem!"

"Strike that!" shouted Arn, spinning to face Walters, "We have multiple contacts, missiles I expect, and they're headed straight for us!"

*****

Walters and his party's arrival had not gone unnoticed, as ships dropped into real space, slowing and reorienting themselves, a beam scanned and rapidly analysed them. The correct response was calculated and the once crescent shaped ship remoulded itself. Its wings extended, exposing a central cylinder and small, bulbous pods dropped down to hang heavily underneath like some kind of over ripe fruit.

Then they split apart, birthing numerous spheres whose propulsion units quickly kicked into life and hurled them towards the Galleon and its sister ships. About half way to their targets, long thin appendages flowed from their rear, solidifying in the frightful cold of space, and sticking out rigidly, quill-like, behind the now rapidly moving objects. Two red lights flicked on at the front of each of the spheres and began to blink, faster and faster the closer they got to Walters' fleet.

*****

Marius was taking a well-earned rest, chatting with some of his men about the modifications which had been made to their fighters and the advanced technology of the Delta-winged craft they had found here in the Galleon. He had just raised a glass to his lips, ready to take his first sip, when the attack alarms shrilled.

"Scramble! Scramble! We have incoming!" boomed the announcement and he raced towards his fighter, his forgotten glass bouncing once before shattering into tiny pieces on the hard decking.

"What do we have?" he demanded on the control circuit and was surprised to hear Walters' reply.

"Captain, we're not sure. We have multiple signals and whatever they are, they certainly aren't friendly. They didn't wait to get to know us, they launched immediately on our arrival in the system. You and your men are going to be vital, either as our eyes or as a means to destroy them."

"Yes, my Lord," responded Marius, as he approached his craft, only to be waved away by one of the ground crew.

"Oh and Captain?", said Walters, laughter in his voice, "I hope you like your new ride."

*****

Engines roared, the signal was given and the Galleon's new Eyotalian Fighter Wing screamed out into space. The truth was that they were not all Eyotalians, some of the original pilots from the Galleon had been placed under Marius' command and even now it was hard to accept them. When they had removed their armoured helmets, Marius had needed all of his control not to shoot them there and then.

Well, thought Marius, at last they would see how well the unit could mesh together, no more discussions on teamwork, this was live combat.

His biggest surprise had been the delta wing waiting for him, the paint still fresh on its newly added decals; the snarling K'ran's head and the Eyotalian Eagle. It was technologically far beyond anything he had flown before; fast, powerful and so very responsive.

Calls came in from his wingmen, verifying their status and position and in one tight formation they surged towards their unknown enemy.

The Tower

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Plasma shot skywards, yet no hit was scored; the beast's size belied its agility. It had fed now, the gamble to consume its only known food source taken, and it was angry, so very angry.

It had taken time to beat its way upwards, to gain the height it needed to increase its maneuverability, but now it was here. Folding its wings against its body it plummeted down, its speed increasing rapidly. When it almost looked as though it was about to crash into the ground below, its wings opened with an audible crack, the resultant stress on its body tremendous.

The change of direction was sudden, it planed horizontally above its still firing enemies and opened its huge jaws. Out from its cavernous mouth came a jet of dark green liquid, expelled with such a force that its impact on the first of the metallic creatures, sent it tumbling. That however, was not the only effect.

Wherever the fluid touched metal boiled away, its corrosive force irresistible. Drops spattering out from the impacted creature burned their way through another's limbs, causing two of the spindly appendages to snap and the creature to crumple to the floor. The spider-like construct frantically tried to scrabble its way upright, yet only managed to turn in a jerky circular motion. Its misery did not last very long, as on its next pass the beast destroyed it.

Under attack, the metallic creatures adapted, their close formation splitting apart, and once more a barrage of high energy soared upwards. One round burnt through the membrane of the beast's left wing, destabilising its flight, the strain of its evasive tactics finally taking its toll. Bones splintered under the extreme stress, collapsing one gigantic limb and sending the beast crashing to earth.

As the beast tumbled, it smashed its way through the city, demolishing buildings with the sheer force of its momentum. At last it lay still, unmoving and the creatures skittered their way towards it tentatively. One huge eye opened, teeth snapped and more of its enemies fell. Again they moved back and once more bombarded the beast from distance.

This time it was no use, there were simply too many of them and it had no more strength. Its remaining wing flapped feebly, corrosive liquid dribbled from its mouth burning into the ground where it fell, and with a gigantic shudder, the beast died.

The creatures stayed for a time, as though waiting to see if it was truly dead, then as one they turned towards the now unprotected tower.

Chapter Nine

Outer Reaches

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Master Arshavin laughed coldly as he watched the fleet of ships scurry to face his creations. Millennia had passed since he had last crossed swords with the Church; he had hidden himself away, developing his children to ever new and exigent levels.

His allegiance to the Tauran High Command had been swept away long ago, when he had followed the new Warmaster, ignoring the call of his brothers that he left behind. The time spent on the path of war had been helpful, but his arrogance knew no bounds and once again he had chosen solitude over the pitiful whining of his peers and subordinates. That had been a long time ago.

Combining the height of Church Technology, with demon possession had worked for a while, but he had soon decided that what he needed was something different. His spawn needed to obey him totally, and for that he had developed something new.

No doubt, both his Tauran brothers and the Church forces would declare him a heretic, but finally he had made his breakthrough. Those robots he had created, were self-thinking entities, to a point. Unswervingly loyal to Arshavin's design, they had rudimentary brains, whose synapses were linked to his own central command. On the battlefield they could innovate, within the limit of their programmed capacity, although he still maintained the self-destruct option, if they ever advanced too far.

No-one had ever faced their like and survived and the prize waiting below, would add to their abilities. Carefully watching his screens, he saw the moment when they deployed their tactical weapons and grinned savagely. This was going to be entertaining.

*****

Viker finished tightening the straps on his uniform, his gaze flicking across to Leftenant Krantu, who even now was receiving some last minute instructions from the Colonel.

He saw Corporal Johns and his old squad arrive and nodded to them with easy familiarity. It would be good to have them by his side once more, his amalgamation into Krantu's squad was a little more difficult than he had first expected.

The call came and they formed up, ready to march onto the waiting pinnace. This was to be a quick and decisive strike, their target already defined by the Colonel. They would be dropping with some of the Eyatolians into what was expected to be a hot zone. The main body was to be held in reserve right now, the Colonel apparently ready to wait and see how the battle developed.

*****

Marius fired his autocannons, the metal slugs tearing through space and impacting on the incoming objects. An ovoid of light flicked into existence and his rounds ricocheted harmlessly away.

"Careful boys," he transmitted, "they're shielded!"

His targeting reticule locked onto the next in line and he fired his plasma cannons. There was a brief resistance and then an incandescent explosion, as the creature disappeared.

"Captain!" screamed a voice, "Our laser cannons have absolutely no effect, we....."

Looking at his tactical display, Marius saw the tags identifying his fighters begin to wink out and swore. With a snarl of rage, he slammed on the power and hoped he would get there in time.

*****

The quill-like protrusions arched forwards, bending almost double and now facing towards the incoming fighters. Their shapes became fainter as the spines turned fluid and were flung forward, squirming towards the oncoming craft. Their serpentine motion made them hard to track and impossible to predict, yet not many pilots were overly worried, then the first of them struck.

It lashed around one of the fighter's wings, shearing through the resistant metal as though it had never existed and continued on its way. The pilot instantly lost control of his craft, the fighter starting to spin and tumble, flying straight into more of the snake-like strings of energy. It was neatly sliced into pieces, with seemingly little sign of any diminution of the weapon's strength.

Laser cannons fired, their beams ineffectual as they only scored the robot's shields, with little or no penetration. Pilots were dying and there appeared to be nothing that they could do about it.

*****

Arshavin crowed with delight as his robots' weapons deployed, he was sublimely confident that the Churchmen had never faced anything like it and that nothing would be able to resist his latest inventions. He unknowingly had made a couple of mistakes; his opponents weren't strictly speaking Churchmen and their technology was significantly higher than anything he had faced before.

*****

"Fighters fall back, I repeat, fighters fall back!" ordered Marius as he and his Wing roared into battle. "We'll soften them up for you and then you can finish them off, out!"

The delta wings flew in a linear formation, their plasma weapons blazing, the robots shields flaring and dying. Still Marius did not relent, utilising his vastly superior speed to turn and rake the robots again.

"Okay boys," he transmitted, "they're all yours! We've got bigger fish to fry!"

Once more the delta wings formed up on his lead and this time they powered on towards the waiting mother ship.

*****

Arshavin had been surprised by the firepower exhibited by his enemies, but not overawed. It was time to put an end to this. He sent out a short mental command and drop pods began to deploy, augmenting his forces on the planet's surface.

Another command, sent a beacon spinning outwards from his main ship, its pulsed signal designed not to control his current forces, but to call for reinforcements. He knew that his earlier preparations would now bear fruit. The two drone ships he had brought with him would arrive shortly and this battle would reach another level.

*****

"Marius..." came the soft voice, reverberating inside the Captain's head, a quick glance showing no radio activity.

"Yes, my Lord," responded the Captain, his senses still focused on the burgeoning attack run on the robot's mother ship.

"Abort your attack on the ship, I will take care of it," Marius began to protest, but he was quickly cut off, "No arguments. The protection of our landing force is of paramount importance. Take your Wing and give covering fire. We cannot allow these robots access to the treasure hidden below. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal, my Lord," replied the Captain, already beginning to transmit new co-ordinates to his Wing, "We won't let you down!"

"I never doubted that for one moment, Captain. Now ..." the voice trailed off, and Marius saw the new ships dropping out from fold space.

"My Lord!" he exclaimed.

"You have yours orders, Captain!" snapped Walters, abruptly cutting off communication.

*****

Shan had followed his instructions to the letter, his flagship, the _Spiteful Dawn_ , led a fleet of plague infested vessels on the trail of Walters and his men. The beacon drawing on Walters, had also guided the Tauran Adept. Its pure light and chorus of song had inflicted some pain on Shan's corrupted ears, but pain was something he revelled in.

They had quickly decimated the Church fleet, their unexpected attack had converted many before any resistance could be mounted. His new brothers had gleefully joined in the destruction of the few die-hard Immortals, and his now putrescent ships followed their new God faithfully.

Surprise he thought would be on their side, the Churchmen would not be prepared for the overwhelming Tauran attack. His new connection with his God gave him many things, but unfortunately for him, prescience was not one of them.

The jump directly into an ongoing space battle would not have been his most fervent wish, but he quickly adapted, ordering rapid deployment of his new ground forces and driving the _Spiteful Dawn_ and her sisterships straight at the heart of the engagement.

*****

Walters snarled as he recognised the abhorrent taste of Shan's followers, corrupting the ether. His eyes flashed as he turned to face Berbatov.

"We seem to be outnumbered, Sargeant!" he said curtly.

Berbatov only grinned and gripped the staff of his halberd more tightly, "Which one's mine?" he growled, unconcernedly.

"The Taurans," responded Walters, smiling at his ever ready Sargeant, "take Uther and the rest of his men with you. I will personally get you to their flagship; the rest is up to you."

"Just how I like it!" replied Berbatov, before turning and barking orders to his men.

Lower Atmosphere

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Viker grunted as the pinnace shuddered under fire, it seemed that their enemies were already aware that they were coming. Jones, as did the other non-commissioned officers, shouted at their men, forming them up and making sure that their motivation was at its highest possible.

The pinnace landed, its door slamming open and with a roar the infantry charged outwards. From the rear of the craft, a ramp slapped to earth and the Eyotalian's armour poured forth, their battle cannons speaking almost as soon as they touched the dirt.

Making as if to follow Leftenant Krantu, Viker felt a touch on his shoulder; it was Johns.

"You're with us, son," shouted the Corporal, above the intense noise of laser and cannon fire.

Looking up, he saw the Leftenant nod, and Viker raced to join his old squad, who waited expectantly.

Outer Reaches

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Walters stood beside Berbatov and looked over the waiting men and Immortals. They had not questioned how he was going to get them on board the enemy's vessel nor the force they would face once they got there.

"Call me, if you need me," he muttered to Berbatov, and then began, drawing in the energy from his surroundings. A green pin-point of light formed, rapidly expanding as he opened the portal. Not waiting for its full formation, Berbatov leapt through, howling his battle cry, which turned into a full-throated roar as his men followed

*****

Things were going to plan, was the smug thought flitting through the Shan's mind, as he saw how heavily he outnumbered the others' forces. His men had already started their descent to the planet below and now it was his turn to deal out pain and suffering. He smiled and moved to issue his attack orders when all hell broke loose. The ship itself seemed to scream in pain, as though it had been dealt a mortal blow, its alarms sounding more like cries than warnings.

Not being sure of what was happening, Shan called for answers, even as the first of his men began to die.

Chapter Ten

High Orbit

Diadem

Unassigned Space

"James!" shouted Walters as he checked the position and deployment of his new enemy.

"My Lord!" responded James, breaking off from his conversation with Arn.

"I want everyone in those transports on the ground as quickly as possible. Make sure it happens," and then seeing James' hesitation, "right now, Major!"

"And what about you my Lord?" asked the Major, obviously concerned.

"I think that I can take care of myself," replied Walters, a grin on his face, "and anyway, Berbatov is no doubt already well on the way to removing the Tauran's threat. Thank you for your concern, now please can you do what I've asked?"

Nodding, James was already scurrying on his way towards the launch bay, his mind engrossed in his new problem.

"Okay," said Walters, turning towards Arn, "let's take care of these robots, shall we?"

Spiteful Dawn

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Berbatov was not in fact on top of the Tauran problem; their arrival had been a real surprise and initially they had made huge advances, easily slicing their way through Shan's undead army. Now, however, things were just a little bit stickier as the plague infected ship itself turned on them.

Corridors melted and changed, catching Berbatov and his men unawares and revealing new pockets of enemies, this time led by the newly converted infectees. This in itself did not give Berbatov undue pause, but when vile and viscous fluids spat from the walls, hissing and burning against armour and boiling flesh, he began to lose his patience.

Walls which already had appeared diseased now seemed to enter into a new and deadly virulence as boils and pustules grew and erupted, showering over the unsuspecting soldiers. Webs of a tarry black phlegm spat outwards and stuck, allowing the zombies and their masters a more easier target. All of this was evilly coordinated in order to inflict the maximum damage.

Green eyes flashing, Berbatov's normally bellicose nature had reached new heights and his rage took over. Instead of waiting for his enemies to show themselves, he began to strike indiscriminately at the structures around him. His halberd sliced cleanly through the putrid miasma facing him, the ship shuddering in response.

With a snarl he opened a portal, revealing one infected Immortal and a group of his undead followers. Powering forward, his weapon as light as a feather in his hands, he took his revenge. The Immortal's corroded armour could not withstand the force of his blows, huge rents and holes appeared with each strike, the stench of death hanging heavy in the air.

The fact that they had visible targets also seemed to energize his men and explosive rounds flew, weapons sang and they killed in the glory of Walters' name.

Outer City

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Viker and his fellow soldiers were pinned down, but were at least holding up the robots as they pushed forwards. The Eyatolian armour was laying down a ferocious barrage, smashing articulated limbs and pounding silvery bodies. They were taking casualties though, and with each passing moment more of the infernal machines appeared.

Walters' men's objective seemed no closer and their frustration was mounting.

*****

"Our mission is to provide covering fire and also to prevent any of these creatures from reaching the tower," explained Marius over his radio circuit, as he calmly destroyed the falling drop pods, "the more we take out, the less our boys have to deal with down there."

He and his Wing were damaging severely the robots' reinforcements, each sweep, each pass they coldly and clinically blew apart more of the constructs. Perhaps it was not the most honourable nor satisfying task, but having seen the potential damage the robots could cause, he certainly felt justified in his work.

*****

Major James and his men had begun their deployment, the first of his troops were down on the ground now, using the pinnace as their homing beacon. He had forestalled the idea of drop pods and instead had decided upon the slower troop transports; what they lacked in speed, they made up for in quantity.

Even now, the first of his men and armour were on their way to join Krantu's advance forces and he was beginning to believe in their probability of success.

*****

Shan himself had decided to lead his forces in their assault on the city below. With no thought for any potential losses he may incur, yet rather thinking only of victory, he had used every means within his command to get his men on the ground.

The disposition of the robotic soldiers and Walters' men were of no concern, he had sent sufficient troops, or so he thought to take care of them. No, his one and only priority was to take the tower and recover the object his Master had so clearly expressed a desire for.

Grinning evilly, he saw the first of his troops smash to earth and engage his enemies, whilst his craft raced towards the tower itself.

Spiteful Dawn

Diadem

Unassigned Space

The breach Berbatov had carved out of the disgusting walls of the corridor, proved to be extraordinarily useful. Where his halberd had touched, the ship's reaction was to draw away. Festering wounds became cleansed and the now corroded metalwork once more appeared. This brought a steadiness to the previously revolving scene of conflict.

Leading his men forwards in a concerted rush, Berbatov smote the foulness of his enemies. His men followed, pistol rounds exploding already rotten chest cavities outwards, melee weapons tearing through disgusting limbs and once dead Churchmen, stayed dead. That still left the transformed Immortals to deal with, and Berbatov took that fight personally.

Each time one of them appeared, he would hold back his own men and stride forward, his halberd whirling with blinding speed. Cuts from their infected weapons did not heal fully and even began to suppurate, but the big man ignored them all. His blade and its cleansing energy struck and smote, cut and cleaved. Fountains of pus-filled gore sprayed through the air, bloated flies withered and disease ridden bodies fell.

Shan had misjudged the ability of both his men and his ship and in leaving them to face Berbatov alone, guaranteed their demise.

Outer City

Diadem

Unassigned Space

James saw the lone craft as it roared across the battlefield, a black trail of smoke blooming from its rear. At first he thought that it was damaged, that either Krantu's forces or even the robots had struck it. This changed though as he saw the inky cloud fall to earth, its tendrils reaching out to consume both robot and man where it touched.

He saw shiny metal instantly turn a rust-brown colour, before crumbling into dust. Men melted in front of his eyes and it was then he realised that the foul craft was in fact intact, healthy even, but clearly a carrier of the diseased and twisted health that a demon-follower was blessed with.

The Major was too far away to do anything more than watch, but just when he thought that they had failed, he saw three dots appear high in the sky. Their indistinct shapes firmed up as they raced forward at an incredible speed, bearing down on the Tauran craft. They were delta wings, and James' spirits lifted as he realised that all was still not lost.

*****

Marius and his Wing had quickly ascertained the disposition of enemy forces and were powering their fighters forwards to aid their embattled troops. It was then that the Captain noticed the lone craft as it streaked towards the city and the tower itself.

"Okay boys, you go and help our guys out," ordered Marius, his eyes still fixed on what he now thought of as his prize, "I'll take care of our infectious friend."

His Wingmen waggled their wings in response and peeled away, transmission via his command circuit reassuring him that the rest of his Wing would soon join them. Wasting no time he increased the power to his engines, quickly eating up the distance between his delta wing and his prey.

*****

"What is it?" snarled Shan, as one of his men tried to attract his attention, he had been busy enjoying the wonderful destruction caused by the moist cloud raining down on the ground below.

He did not wait for an answer as he could see the readout and the constant bleep of a target lock. Smirking to himself, he moved over to the control station, ready to deal with the approaching fighter. A Champion of a cursed God had his own arsenal, weapons bestowed to him by his Master. The effects of which were gloriously wicked.

Waiting for his targeting system to lock was an annoyance, but immediately on seeing the reticule turn green, he savagely activated the control sequence.

Laughing and cackling, the possessed missiles were launched. Their shells constantly reforming as the blisters grew and then burst, a stream of rot and debris falling behind them as they flew.

*****

"Shit!" muttered Marius, as his systems announced missile lock and he broke off his attack run, jinking and weaving his fighter in an effort to shake the abhorrent projectiles.

They followed his every move though, their possession allowing them to anticipate his actions and still close the distance. One looping move, brought Marius' fighter around to face them and he fired his own spray of missiles and plasma. Whether it was skill or pure luck, his efforts were rewarded with the destruction of one of the objects; a cloud of greeny brown smoke announcing its extinction. The other, though, bored onwards towards Marius' hurtling craft.

*****

Shan could see they were getting close to the city now, as what had once been an indistinct shape, now took on individual form and substance. Buildings, towers and spires in dark glory appeared before him and he raise his hands in jubilation. Nothing could stop him now.

*****

Marius eventually resigned himself to the fact that there was no way to rid himself of the demonic missile. Once he had accepted that fact, he decided to ensure that at least one part of his mission would be fulfilled and, ignoring the projectile behind him, targeted the perpetrator of the attack on his fighter.

Eyes squinting in concentration he chased the horrid craft down, the strident beeping that warned him of an imminent impact ever louder in his ears. He knew that he would only get one shot at this and he was determined that it was going to be a good one. At last he was close enough and he fired everything that he had; plasma, autocannon and Spitfire's streamed towards Shan's vessel.

Then levelling out his delta wing, he did the only thing that was left to him to do. As the alarms in his cockpit began one long ululating tone, he punched the ejection sequence and prayed.

*****

The Tauran Adept's reverie was rudely interrupted as plasma beams scored his craft, burning through superstructure and tearing searing holes in his engines. Autocannon rounds peppered his wings and his own defense systems failed in their pre-programmed routines. With a huge roar and a gout of gigantic flame, one of Marcus' missiles destroyed Shan's engines, causing the craft to pitch and yaw and then tumble towards the waiting earth.

Shan screamed in frustration, he had been so close to an easy victory and he lashed out with a huge hand, crushing the half rotten bones and flesh of one of his followers. Feeling somewhat better, he looked towards the uprushing ground and became calm. He and at least some of his men would survive this and then they would complete their objective on foot. All was not lost, at least not yet.

*****

Viker saw Marius' craft hit and the subsequent strikes against Shan's vessel, somehow they had just been given another chance and he meant to take advantage of it. He knelt and opened his arms in prayer, his thoughts clear and precise as he made his request. Then he waited.

High Orbit

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Master Arshavin smiled to himself as he recognised the signatures of the arriving drone ships. Now, he could show these Churchmen and the recently arrived and overly corrupted Tauran forces, what a member of the intellectual class could do.

Chapter Eleven

High Orbit

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Arshavin watched carefully as his two drone ships moved alongside and then gave the override command. Positioning his vessel correctly, he initiated the transformation, feeling the twin clunk as the drones docked, one from above and the other from below.

His evil grin spread wider as his integrated connection expanded his vision and he laughed delightedly as the power surged through his brain. Taking only a moment to enjoy the enhanced sensation he set to work.

All three craft were in themselves singular robotic entities, but when joined and with Arshavin himself acting as their brain, they became something all together different. Their own elementary thinking processes were superceded by that of the Master Craftsman and in turn his sensory perception was magnified immeasurably. He was the newly formed mechanism, and its response time was only limited to the speed of Arshavin's each and every thought.

Connections split and reformed, metallic structures flowed and joined, the ship's entire structure being converted in the process. It was, Arshavin knew, driven by his ego, but he had always thrilled in the moment of achieving the final configuration. Once complete, a humanoid shaped construct would remain; its movement a parody of all those things that were recognised as normal and correct. It could operate here in space or down on the planet's surface, its demeanour titanic, in every significance of that word. The Master Craftsman had never really rid himself of the yearning to walk once more through the hallowed halls of his childhood, and this desire still subtly influenced his actions.

In one supreme moment of exhilaration he sensed his completeness, metallic arms raised in triumph. With a savage delight, Magos ignited his engines and powered towards his enemies.

*****

"What are they doing?" asked Arn of Walters, watching the arrival of the drone ships and their subsequent docking with Arshavin's craft.

"Something unexpected," replied Walters uneasily, "and it concerns me that I can feel nothing of it."

Arn looked at him in surprise, "My Lord, you feel nothing?"

"No, Arn. They are machines, not living breathing things. There is no soul, no thoughts as we know them and no emotions either." Walters concentrated harder, "However, that which controls them still has a vestige of humanity, however small and perhaps ....... Shields!" he roared, his arms spread outwards as though he was personally holding back an imminent attack.

Instantly Arn responded, increasing the capacity of the defensive shield to full, as an immense beam of energy struck, trying to tear its way through.

"Where did it come from?" asked Arn, calming slightly as he saw their defenses hold.

" _Magos!"_ hissed Walters angrily, his body beginning to glow with its characteristic green energy. Eyes flashing, his voice now thunderous as it screamed its challenge, Walters disappeared from the control room, leaving his astonished crew behind.

City Approaches

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Marius lay quietly on the earth, near to where his seat had landed. The retros had kicked in, but his landing had not been pretty. Involuntarily, he groaned as he tried to move slightly, there was obviously something else broken apart from his left arm.

He had seen the Tauran's craft crash and knew that it was close. It was imperative that he kept still and not attract attention, but it was not easy. Suddenly, he heard the crunch of nearby footsteps and bit his lips as pain washed over him once more. If ever he needed Walters it was now.

*****

Viker felt the contact established with Walters and the towering anger consuming him. His Lord's touch was not gentle, it held the barely controlled savagery of the beast he fundamentally was. The blessing felt more like a slap than a caress, as though it was perfunctorily given whilst Walters dealt with graver matters.

Stiv was not hurt by this, who was he to chastise Walters? He simply accepted the gift of power, his muscles writhing and changing, becoming thicker and stronger. His face too changed; his features coarsening, broadening, his mouth becoming muzzle-like and the howl that left his throat was more like a bellowed challenge.

Johns watched him and smiled, forming up the squad around him. Now they would see why he treated Viker so differently and they would learn what their Lord's touch could truly bestow upon them.

With a single bound, Viker cleared their defensive position and raced towards the still firing robots. Lips pulled back in a feral snarl, claws flashing as he ran and with a constant growl deep in his chest, he raced towards the kill.

*****

A graveyard stench was what first alerted Marius to the nature of those approaching, that and the evil cackling echoing around him. His frantic attempts at movement only brought greater cries of pain and made the level of laughter increase. The smell grew stronger, almost insupportable and, as a leering, rotting visage stared down at him, he screamed in terror.

High Orbit

Diadem

Unassigned Space

_Magos_ was pleased, his enemies showed fear and that was good. He raised his right arm and the Gauss rifle he bore within it vomited forth silvery steel slugs, their hyper velocity slamming them into and through the fighters opposing him. Shattering cockpits, tearing through metal as though it were paper and sending his foes to a timely and excrutiating death.

A maddened giggle racked his titanic frame as he punched forth laser pulses, missiles roared from his shoulder mountings and plasma spat from his mouth. Nothing could stand against him.

City Approaches

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Marius looked up into a face from hell, rotting flesh hung loosely from the facial structure of the creature above him, a green mucus plopping softly onto his forehead.

"Yes-s-s-s," hissed the zombie contentedly, one clawed hand reaching down to grasp a handful of Marius' hair, "Shan will be pleas-s-sed."

Gagging on the smell of putrescent meat, Marius tried not to scream as he was roughly dragged away. He could not turn to see where he was being taken, it in fact took all of his will power to remain conscious, as wave after wave of pain rolled over him.

His left arm hung slackly by his side, each bump or bounce sending razor sharp pain coursing through his nerves. All he wanted to do was die, it seemed as though he had been forgotten about and he knew that he did not have enough strength left to continue.

There was an ear-splitting growl, a sickening bursting sound and he thudded to the ground, blackness folding him in its comforting embrace.

*****

Viker had left his squad far behind, their valiant efforts to keep up with him, were simply not enough. He leapt into the middle of the robots, slashing and biting, metal shearing and crumpling before him. Once through he continued onwards, an inner geas driving him onwards.

Clearing one small ridged area of ground, he saw a group of undead, led by one of the Taurans, toiling onwards, a body being unceremoniously pulled behind them. With no thought for the consequences he jumped straight down into the middle of them, his howl echoing all around.

A slash of his right claw stove in the half decayed head of one of the zombies, that of his left ripped through the Tauran's chest armour and still he struck. He was a whirlwind of retribution, the stricken human body was forgotten as he revelled in his savage bestiality.

An army could have appeared and Viker would not have cared. This was what he was made for; to fight, to maim, to kill in Walters' name.

*****

James and his men were not faring as well as the others. Shan's forces had landed right amongst them, Taurans leaping forth from drop pods and dealing death, and spreading disease that made men only wish for death.

The mere touch of a hand could transmit flesh-rotting illness, a virulent breath could melt armour and bone and still they wielded more conventional weapons. That is weapons that appeared to mirror normal patterned design, but whose muzzles leered as they spat forth explosive rounds, weapons that did not whirr or grind but laughed and chittered.

Helplessly James watched as his men were literally eaten away, to lie dormant for a few heartbreaking moments, before rising to join their undead brothers.

Tanks roared and spat forth the cleansing flames of liquid fire, holding the enemy forces and giving James time to regroup. He heard the welcome snarl of fighters as they raced across the battle field, raining a final death upon the tainted masses below. His troops slowly reformed ranks and volley fire rolled outwards.

They were not winning, but they were halting the followers of the Tauran demon. Their job had been to reinforce Krantu's thrust for the city, but that was an objective well beyond them at this time.

High Orbit

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Augmented eyes studied the battle in space and compared it with the destruction being waged on the ground below, and _Magos_ made his decision. Engines blasting flame, he fired himself down towards the planet's surface, laughter bubbling through his brain. His speed increased, the heat from his entry into the planet's upper atmosphere doing nothing more than present a slight nuisance. Multiple targets appeared on his long range scanners and he shook his arms in excited rage.

*****

"Arn!" Berbatov's voice cut sharply into the ex-Immortal's private circuit.

"Have you taken the ship?" asked Arn, watching the huge robotic form's mad dash towards the planet's surface.

"Of course," replied the Sargeant matter-of-factly, "Now what?"

"The battle seems to have changed," replied Arn, studying his data feeds for any sign of Walters.

"Oh?" queried Berbatov, "So now where's the fighting?"

"Down below," replied Arn, "and Walters has gone missing!"

Berbatov laughed, "He'll turn up. Your job is to work out how you get me and my men into the battle."

"Not my most urgent worry!" snapped Arn, his screens filled with information on the pounding that their forces were taking.

"Fine!" said Berbatov, his voice sounding somewhat petulant, "I guess, as usual I'll just have to take care of it myself!"

City Approaches

Diadem

Unassigned Space

There was a strange sensation filling _Magos'_ circuits, one which left him feeling anxious. The construct that he was started to shudder, weapons blasting their charges into the air and limbs shaking uncontrollably.

This was intolerable and the man-machine began a rapid self diagnosis, checking routines, confirming processes and all done at an incredible speed. Magos began to feel disconnected, as though he was being torn away from the essence that was he.

At last, with one final tremor, he felt control return and resumed his deadly course. As he approached the battle field, he started to power up his weapons systems, his anticipation rising with each surge of energy, until he felt that he could no longer hold it in. Screaming his own battle cry, he let them have everything, but nothing happened. He tried again and again, yet he was blocked, his ability to reach the all consuming orgasm of raging power forestalled each and every time.

Then he heard a small, yet clear voice ringing through him, "Hello _Magos_ , you forgot about me!"

Chapter Twelve

City Approaches

Diadem

Unassigned Space

"I have brought you a gift, my Mas-s-ster," the sibilent voice hissed, tickling at the corners of Marius' consciousness, "it is the one respons-s-sible for our delay."

"Excellent!" came the reply, this in a deep bass rumble, with hints of hidden pain and terror. Marius cracked open his eyes and saw the towering form of the Tauran Adept bending over him.

"Unfortunately, we do not have the time to indulge ourselves right now. You will bring him with us," said Shan, an evil grin splitting his face, "but before we leave, I have something for him, a taster shall we say..."

A huge gauntleted hand moved to cover Marius' face, the contact cold and clammy. After a moment he felt a liquid touch running towards his now tightly closed eyelids. Whatever it was would not be stopped, and the liquid seeped through, burning his eyeballs and bringing a terrible scream to his throat. The pain was excruciating; infiltrating his body violently, driving like sharp spikes further into his skull. He prayed, his teeth clenched against the pain, and felt a response, a burst of energy. Just enough to bolster his weakening defenses and stop the onward push of the demon-induced infection. It was not beaten, only held at bay, its tendrils now dispersing throughout his weakened body; although his brain, his soul remained intact.

"Look!" laughed Shan, pointing at the changes to Marius' face and body, "He receives our Lord's blessing and will follow us willingly. I do feel some resistance, still, but no matter we will deal with that when we have more time. Let's move!"

Utterly subservient, his remaining force of Immortals and zombies, followed him, Marius dragged along behind, his body twisting and bubbling under the onslaught of the demon-blessed disease. Although outwardly, he was now one of them, inwardly, at the very core of his being he continued his struggle, holding onto the thought of Walters and the rescue, he knew would eventually come.

*****

Split and broken bodies lay all around Viker; their heads separated and crushed, the undead never to rise again. Chest heaving, Viker looked down on the crumbled form below him, clad in a Church uniform. He had been mistaken, this was not the one he had been tasked in saving. It had been no decoy, the Tauran forces could not have known of his objective, no it was a simple mistake and the responsibility was totally his.

His enhanced hearing picked up the arrival of his squad and he turned to face them, recognising the thinly veiled terror in some of their eyes. He ignored it, they would, if they were worthy, also receive their Lord's blessing in time.

Johns came forward, delicately stepping around the rotting body parts, approaching Viker.

"It is not him!" growled Viker, kicking at the body with one foot, "he is still out there somewhere."

"We'll find him, son," responded the non-com, "of that you can be sure."

"You did not change?" asked Viker, seeing Johns still in his human form.

"No," replied Johns, "I needed to stay in control and guide the squad, no matter how much I wanted to join you. There will be time enough for that, later."

Viker raised his head and sniffed, tasting the air, "We must move!" he barked, "They are close to the city and I smell something of our target. Strange though, it is not quite him, it's tainted somehow."

"We will clarify everything once we get there," and then turning to the rest of the waiting squad, "Let's get going, we still have a job to do!" he roared.

Although he took the lead, this time Viker did not race ahead, they would need all of their forces intact once they reached the city, of that he was sure.

High Orbit

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Arn chuckled as he saw the drop pods deploying from the _Spiteful Dawn_ , you could always count on Berbatov to find a way. His penchant for fun was well known, and his idea of enjoyment was simple and direct. Fighting and killing, in his Lord's name of course, were two of the foundations of his reason for being.

Surveying the remaining Tauran vessels, he saw little in the way of threat. It appeared that they were content to wait for further instructions, but Arn himself had other plans.

City Approaches

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Shan halted his party on the outskirts of the city, studying the darkened and recessed buildings amidst the rubble and destruction. He could feel the pull from the central tower where his prize awaited him, yet he was reticent, in an almost childish way frightened of the dark before him and what it might hide. Cursing at his own foolishness, he strode ahead, the thump, drag of his undead followers echoing off the walls around them.

They stopped once more, abruptly, as an almighty howl reached them. Shan recognised the call of a hunting beast to the rest of its pack, someone or something was close and they needed to hurry. Even so he hesitated, subconsciously waiting for something, and then he had it, as other howls were heard, transmitting their own hunger and anticipation of the kill.

The Tauran leader urged on his followers, he himself picking up the inert Marius' form and slinging it across his shoulders, before breaking into a shambling run.

*****

_Magos_ was confused, he was hearing voices, something that perhaps had occurred to him before during his own isolation, but never with such clarity, nor a barely concealed feral undertone. Due to his nature, he loved control, and he was definitely now not in control of his body or even his own thoughts. His rapid descent halted and he hovered, trying desperately to understand what was happening.

" _Feeling a little uncomfortable, are we?"_ said the voice, interrupting his febrile thoughts.

"W-who are you?" asked the egotistical being, fear vibrating in his own voice.

" _Ah, well we'll come to that in a moment,"_ replied the voice dismissively, _"however, right now we need to get one thing straight! I'm just a little bit upset with your behaviour, this killing of my people has to stop. If you agree, like a good boy, to behave, I might just let you live, if not..."_

"You do not dictate to _Magos_!" was his roared reply, his limbs once more struggling titanically.

" _Oh dear,"_ came the calm yet disappointed reply, _"I somehow knew that would be your response."_

Once more, _Magos_ , felt the possession of his body begin and there was nothing that he could do. His right articulated limb, turned back upon itself, the open muzzle of the Gauss rifle situating itself ominously in front of his control room. Power began to build and he knew what would follow.

At the last moment, the arm twitched and the super accelerated slug slammed into his shoulder mounted missile launchers, exploding them off the construct and tearing tonnes of armour away with its passing. There was no pain as such, only a deep sense of loss, as connections were separated irrevocably.

" _Ooops!"_ came the voice once more, a deep chuckle accompanying the comment, _"Let's try that again shall we?"_

The arm moved slightly, positioning itself centrally and Magos tried desperately to assume a semblance of control as the induction field resolutely charged the next shot.

*****

Viker heard the howls too, they had a hooted overtone and belonged to none of his brothers. He itched to break free of his slower comrades, but would not do so. It appeared that there was something else out there, and by the repeated calls more than one of them. Hunger played through the voices, that and the pack nature of their calling restrained him. It was obvious that Johns had noticed it too and Viker sensed the moment when he gave free reign to the beast inside him. This was going to be bad and Viker dropped back, to stand beside the now transforming Johns.

*****

Nothing they could do slowed the plague-driven Tauran forces, their numbers swelling as fallen soldiers were reanimated. James and a fighting core of men had fallen back onto the staging area, where a ring of tanks waited. The roar of their battle cannons was ceaseless, obliterating the undead, the only way they could effectively reduce their opponents' numbers.

It was then that the dripping and cursed drop pods screamed to the earth, boring into the ground with their terminal velocity enriched speed. The usual disregard for their minions was apparent, as the pods flattened zombies and crushed Immortals equally.

Major James raised his voice in prayer, he knew that this was going to tip the balance of the battle, and not in their favour. Pods began to deploy their contents and he ordered the tanks to advance, his wavering men following.

A familiar roar came from the middle of the Tauran ranks and James slapped the side of his helmet, in an attempt to clear his head of its obvious delusion. Then it came again, "What are you waiting for, Jimmy?" barked the voice loudly in his ear via his private circuit, "You're going to miss all the fun!"

*****

Marius' tortured body awoke and with it came the realisation of his own torment. His skin writhed beneath the onslaught of the virulent disease; warts, boils and sores formed, died and reformed. An unending fire traced across his nerve endings as flesh liquified and bubbled. No longer limply held by Shan, he struggled madly to be free yet the Tauran Adept held him tight, enjoying the sounds of pain screeching in his ear.

Deep within him, he was still Marius and struggled to remain so, holding on to his faith in Walters. Each new attack of the rancid virus was repulsed and he maintained his self, yet the cost was terrible. Outwardly he was no longer human, his face ran like wax, eyes dripping down his cheeks. There was no sight left and his misshapen mouth moaned in agony.

One massive shudder wracked his frame and he slipped out of Shan's grasp, as his very bones became porous, then fluid, before hardening once more in a weird parody of the human form.

The Tauran looked down at him, before grunting dismissal and racing once more towards the tower. There was nothing that Marius could do, but lie there, his body pooling on the floor at one moment, then twisting into a mutilated design in another.

His mind raged in frustration and he felt himself connect with something, it was not Walters, but like him in an undefined way. It drew him on, calling to him and in a half drag, half fall, he slithered his way towards it.

Chapter Thirteen

The Tower

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Darkened alleys, blackened doorways and the interminable dust of ages passed in review as Marius continued his tortuous route. The call was getting stronger; a pulsing beat in his febrile mind. There was an unspoken promise, also a need, yet Marius concentrated solely on the resonating ring in his head.

Time passed slowly; each drag, each fall brought him a little closer to his objective. He did not marvel at the intricate architecture, its whorls and circles, nor at the obvious craftsmanship, its taste not quite human. His route took him past a domed building, strangely carved structures peppering its walls. There was no pause to enjoy the innate beauty demonstrated there, only the desperate need to keep going.

Dust filled what was left of his mouth, his blindness had long ago turned into piercing vision, yet this heightened gaze saw only one mote of dust after another. Where he slid, no foot had passed in eons, his tormentors had obviously taken another route.

At long last he reached an open grating set low against the wall of a building. The metal tines were twisted and torn, their still sharp edges ripping at his flesh as he pulled himself through. As he fell down a steep incline, tumbling and turning, he only felt relief. He had arrived at last.

*****

Shan ran on towards the Tower, his men following behind as best they could. He too took little notice of his surroundings, not because he was physically incapable, but rather because they were of no interest to him. The howls continued and were closing in, making him increase his speed. Those behind him were expendable and he wanted the barrier of their presence in between him and whatever was making that noise.

With a cry of triumph, he reached the central square, the Tower rising from the exact middle of the cobbled area. Alien statues sat at measured intervals around the outside of the plaza, but he only saw the immense circular shape thrusting skywards. Eight separate exits neatly split the otherwise continuous wall formed by the surrounding buildings and their shadowed openings promised dark and mysterious secrets.

His search became more and more frantic as he raced around the Tower's base; all that faced him was a smooth and impenetrable façade. There was no door, no windows and he now howled in frustration.

From each and every one of the mouth-like exits came an echoing peal of noise and Shan span to face first one, then another of them. Vague, misshapen forms moved just at the edge of his vision and he called urgently to his men to join him.

*****

Marius slipped and rolled, tumbled and fell for what seemed an endless time, his body finally slamming into a waist high wall and coming abruptly to rest. He scanned about, the expected absence of light surprisingly missing. A glow infused the area, highlighting the piles of skulls and other bones, haphazardly strewn before him.

Looking up, he saw a hole in what he assumed was the roof, a perfectly circular opening from which the light cascaded downwards. There was something else, hidden from his view by the wall, on a kind of raised platform, but right now he was just glad that he had stopped moving. The urge to crawl forward was still there, in a dull aching sort of way, but not as pressing. It seemed as though he would be allowed to gather his breath, to recover a little, as though whatever called him knew he would need all of his remaining strength for one more task.

City Approaches

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Viker heard them before he saw them, a clicking and scrabbling of claws preceding their appearance. He sensed Johns' shared anticipation for the coming fight, his growl now deep in his throat, presaging the violent explosion of movement to follow. Darkness had yet to fall fully, but it would be soon in coming. Long shadows cast by rubble and hillocks covered dips in the land with night's blackness and it was from one of these hidden areas that Viker had heard the tell-tale noises.

His squad had fanned out around Johns' and his position, utilising whatever cover that they could find. All of their weapons were pointed towards the area indicated by the tense and straining figure of Johns. Unannounced, Viker saw a pair of baleful green eyes which caught the dying rays of the sun. Suddenly there were more, a mass of writhing bodies becoming slowly visible. His growl too joined that of Johns. Fingers tensed on triggers, and prayers were intoned as the monstrous creatures slunk out of the shadows and into the last remaining light.

The Tower

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Once more the urgent impulsion came and Marius struggled on mal-formed limbs over the wall. He slid amongst one pile of bones, which crumbled into dust as he passed. Clearing the wall, he sank into them, a cloud of powder puffing up at his passing. Laboriously he approached the centre, around which appeared a more clearly defined pattern of bones, as though someone had deliberately placed them there with some actual design in mind. They flared outwards in mimicry of two giant wings, arched as though suspended in mid-beat.

The previously rapid mutation of his body had slowed almost to a standstill, his bones still retaining a vaguely humanoid shape. Using clawed and twisted hands, he dragged himself up to the central dais and flopped onto its flattened upper surface. Before him was a throne, or that was what it appeared to be and resting upon it was a pair of bloodied wings, seemingly ripped recently from some creature, a red fluid dripping slowly down their length.

Still the call was relentless, drawing Marius' broken frame forwards, ever closer to the stone seat and that which it held. With an overpowering compulsion driving him on, Marius finally reached the chair and raised one shaking and disfigured hand towards the bloody remains resting there.

*****

Shan felt the moment Marius reached the throne and despair swamped him, as he realised he had failed. His link with the now half-mutated individual was still strong and when Marius' crumpled fingers made contact with the eternally bloody flesh, he knew, deep down inside himself a long wailing cry sounded.

It was as if some playful god had stopped time, or at least let it play forward, but only frame by frame. A beam of light seemed to peek out of the Tower's tip and almost shyly rise skywards. Little by little night became day, as the brilliant energy bathed the whole area. The Tauran Adept saw his men's mutilated and rotting faces turn in slow motion, their howls of anguish coming forth only as deep bass moan. Spittle which flecked their decaying lips, fell, but only drop by drop, as though reluctant to touch the floor and break the spell.

The creatures which flowed out from the darkness, did so step by step, their wings tucked against their backs. They were all that was left of the great creature's offspring and their hunger glinted manically in their eyes. Mouths slowly opened, betraying razor sharp teeth and their ululating tone seemed to go on forever.

All at once, real time returned and the noise of battle crashed in upon Shan. His people's moans were neither pleas nor battle cries, yet they gave up their half-lives almost loyally in his defence. Short foreclaws tore at them, as teeth snapped closed on the undeads' limbs and Shan smiled, his evil and lascivious version of a smile that is.

That which made up the disease which held the zombies to their pitiful version of life replicated, its new spawning ripping energy from its now dying parent. Almost gleefully, this spores burrowed their way into the creatures throats, and gums, wriggling into their bloodstreams and changing their allegiance in a less than complicated, but extremely effective attack.

Then Shan felt better, he saw his new minions turning to snap at their brothers and sisters, no longer interested in his death, but rather the prevention of it. He glanced once at the Tower and grinned, it was not yet over.

*****

The instant his fingers brushed against the extremities of one bloody wing, Marius was lost. An electric charge shot down his arm and his body jerked rigid, and began to smoke with the transfer of what was an inconceivable level of energy. His already pliable skin began to melt once more and his mouth opened in a silent scream. In his head, he thought he heard a dry chuckle, but was unsure.

That which Shan had given him was burnt away, literally, flesh flashing into vapour, with the accompanying smell of charred meat. He could only hold onto the core that was Marius, that and the gift he had been given by Walters. It did not seem as though it could be enough, as bones began to be visible, beneath the remains of muscles and tendons. A cracking and shattering sound echoed round the chamber and he bent double as his spine split in two. Still his finger melded to the winged remains and yet more energy was discharged into his body.

His collapsing frame fell forward onto the chair, his chest now impacting onto its seat and the rest of the remains held there. Marius could not think, could not see and did not care, as the pain became his whole world. Like limpets, tendrils slashed outwards and stuck to him, sucking yet more of his essence and deflating what had become little more than a bag of flesh further.

At last, it was all one, a pulsing sack of bones, flesh and liquid, from within which Marius clung onto the most tenuous of holds on life. It began to solidify, lengthening and thinning out, bones re-meshing and limbs reforming. A translucent skin covered it all, and beneath could be seen a constantly moving liquid. The skin hardened, the form becoming rigid on the throne and the lights flashed and played against the pupae that now waited for rebirth.

City Approaches

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Viker watched surprised as the emerging creatures stopped and melted back into the shadows. He sensed rather than saw them turn and race towards the distant Tower and whatever called them. He and Johns, along with the rest of their squad, saw the gigantic beam burst skywards, and with no single word of agreement exchanged, they started forwards. The Tower seemed to be calling them too, and they still had a long way to go.

The Tower

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Looking fondly at his new creatures, Shan smiled, this was now going to be much easier. He could send these things to do his bidding, perhaps even one of them would be big enough to carry him? That though was a risk he would rather avoid.

Strangely enough, he began to hear more of the hooting and howling calls and wondered whether his luck could get any better. That was until the first of them swooped out of the sky and slammed into his recently won followers. He saw others take flight and launch themselves towards the heights of the Tower, their looping and circling motion almost a display of joy and love.

What was happening? Everything had been going so well and now? It was then he heard the unmistakable snarl of the accursed Walters' men and turned to flee. There would be another day.

*****

Inside the Tower, the pupae moved once more. Strange protrusions pushed and strained against the once more malleable skin, desperately looking for a way out. A small tear was formed, which widened and lengthened, fluid weeping out and dripping down the throne's side.

One by one, the surviving offspring winged their way downwards, until they sat, hunched and expectantly waiting, like loving parents awaiting their first born.

Then with a tearing sound, the pupae split in half, spilling its contents onto the dais. The strange howling, hooting noise began again, this time quiet and restrained, as Marius rose from amongst the sticky remains.

Chapter Fourteen

City Approaches

Diadem

Unassigned Space

The silvery projectile left the Gauss rifle in a blur, rocketing through the control room and splattering part of that which was Magos against the walls. It did not, however, totally destroy what was fast becoming Master Arshavin once again. His many years of mutation and adaptation, had made him extremely hard to kill, and both more and somewhat less than human.

Whilst in his semi-machine state, he was still connected to all that was the construct, and he futilely tried to regain control. He was slapped mentally and watched helplessly, as the drone ships began to reform, their programming different somehow, as they blatantly disobeyed him.

He screamed as the last of his links were ripped asunder and once again, he was nothing more than one cast out ex-Tauran. Despair crashed in upon him, as his creatures disobeyed and rushed to do someone else's bidding. All, though, was not lost, and as he braved the lack of atmosphere, his smashed control room and the less than responsive controls, he dragged himself to his survival pod.

Whoever had done this would pay, thought Arshavin, it was not over quite yet. Once inside the escape craft, he activated a sequence of keys manually, over-riding the ship's own constraints and launching his lifeboat. It was no mere escape pod, his tinkerings over the centuries had seen to that for all of his creations. Sat cocooned in his new metal shell, he directed himself away from the remains of his construct, there would be time for a new Magos, something different and certainly less susceptible to destruction.

The Tower

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Marius was no longer quite human; the change process within the pupae had rebroken demon-twisted bones and grown new ones. The genetic pattern, held within the winged remains had been dominant over his remaining humanity and had burnt the tainted spores away. What now strode forth from the liquid remains of the pupae, was something much more; a new and improved version.

The circle of adoring creatures continued to croon encouragingly and Marius stopped, his head cocked on one side, as he watched them. His new eyes were bright, whirling with a myriad of colours and his movements were precise and avian-like. His hair was gone and a downy covering of feathers not only protected his bald pate, but had spread across his whole body, their rich blue colour striking.

His legs were long and spindly, seemingly too weak to support his upper body and its massively muscled chest. The need for such a powerful upper body was revealed as he stretched, and his creamy-white wings unfolded. He held them out to dry and croaked reassuringly at his watchers, who squatted patiently, awaiting his every command.

*****

Shan ran, his putrid breath rasping loudly and echoing off the narrow-walled streets. Behind him came the last of his men and two of the newly converted undead creatures. They had not stopped to fight, rather as soon as he had heard Walter's animals close by the Tauran Adept had fled. He had left his men behind and put as much distance between himself and the encroaching enemy as possible.

He could always create new troops, although the loss of his converted Immortals would hurt him, once he was clear. His Master needed him and Shan did not expect to let him down. In this the Tauran's ego had taken over, demons cared little for their vessels and could easily find a new one.

On and on he ran, his heavy boots pounding against the ground, their beat echoed only by the scrabbling of claws by his side.

*****

Viker and Johns led their squad into the central plaza at a run, claws unsheathed and teeth bared. Their accompanying soldiers quickly took cover, where they could and did begin laying down heavy fire against the remains of the undead forces. There were few now, as the creatures had decimated them to start with themselves being turned upon by Marius' new allies.

This was not a real consideration for Viker, whose internal beast was free and hungry to kill. He and Johns leapt straight amongst Shan's forces, clawed hands ripping and tearing. Their squad poured concentrated volley after volley into the outer edges of the group, bunching them in towards the centre and the violence awaiting them.

One creature spread its wings, ready to leap above the fray, and use its momentum to spear back down towards Viker. He did not wait, one clawed hand slicing through its rotting wing membranes and hooking it back to earth. As its hungry maw snapped towards him, a laser-round flashed by, striking it cleanly in one eye and blinding it. Viker saw Alana lining up her next shot, but didn't wait, his jaws crushing bone as he finished it off.

As quickly as the melee had begun it was over, Viker and Johns looking almost disappointed. They looked up amazed at the explosion of creatures, as they arced out of the central tower, their calls angry and menacing. No time was wasted in circling, they simply banked, folded their wings and dived, a harsh screaming cry their only evident warning.

City Approaches

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Walters revelled in the control of the machine; it seemed to have been made specifically for him. As Arshavin scurried away, Walters did not feel the urge to pursue him, he was more engrossed in the study of that which had been Magos. Its enhanced sensors added to those powers he inherently held, refining them with the precise mechanical routines contained within the drones. He could also feel the link with the robots fighting still on the ground below, almost as though they were an extension of his body.

Slowly, he infused the drones with his essence, allowing the connection to strengthen, the fluid machinery to reform. There was no need for a control room as Walters and the machine became one.

*****

Robots disengaged from the conflict without warning, their spidery bodies transforming and propelling them quickly away, leaving the ground forces bewildered with their withdrawal. This confusion lasted but a moment as Shan's disease infected troopers resumed their manic attacks.

Berbatov had little time for the make-up of his enemies; he was more concerned about killing them. His timely arrival had changed the balance of the engagement somewhat, but was still to be conclusive. The fact that his own dead rapidly revived, to take part in the attack on the zombies' side was a little disconcerting. However, ever the pragmatist, the big man just killed them again, this time permanently.

*****

James had responded instantly to Berbatov's summons and he and his men had pushed forwards, their tanks' battle cannons blasting a molten path through their enemies. They were making steady headway, although the disappearance of the robots had freed more of theTauran forces up, and forced him to consolidate his position, before moving on again.

"Sir!" shouted one of his scouts, pointing to the mass of robots which had appeared once more on a ridgeline to the south of them. They stood silently, in a single line, apparently waiting for something.

"Oh Crap!" cursed James, as he saw what it was that had caused their vigil; a huge, towering robot, cast in the image of man, descended from the skies, retro-rockets slowing its descent in a flare of blue-white brilliance.

The thing was enormous, its burnished metal skin flashing in the sunlight as it lightly landed amongst its minions. It paused for a moment, looking down in apparent affection at the robots below and then began to stride forwards, its tremendous footsteps reverberating through the very earth. Its robots flowed along with it, to the front, side and rear they roamed, red eyes bright and malevolent once more.

The Tower

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Viker opened his arms and roared his defiance skywards, as the creatures plummeted towards him. He felt rather than saw his squad join him, professionally taking up their firing positions. The sound of power cells being changed and clicked into place gave him a feeling of reassurance and he howled once more, challenging his foes and telling his pack where he was, all at once.

By his side, Johns mimicked him, crouching slightly in anticipation of the coming fight. Closer came the creatures, Viker's keen sight now being able to discern their distinct number and also identify one individual above all others. Its vivid blue was in direct contrast to the others midnight black. He could feel its presence, awakening a response within him, his muscles tensing ready to spring him towards his enemy.

Rifles were raised and targets selected, fingers tightening on triggers, but at the last moment, the precipitous dive was halted, wings flicking outwards to haul their owners upwards and brake their mad dash. As one they slowed, the back beat of their wings causing a physical stirring of the air around Viker, yet still he did not relax.

The blue-hued leader, for that was obvious, dropped in front of Viker, his wings folding gracefully against his body. There were no distinctive clothing or marks, a fine covering of feathers encased his body. Yet he strode forwards on his spindly legs, with an arrogance born of familiarity. John's muscles bunched, in preparation for his leap, and the creature spoke once, dismissively.

"Not a good idea, Johns!" his voice was distorted by a strange clicking and whistling, the beak-like mouth not assisting speech to any great degree.

Viker tensed, there was something about the intonation, the command, and with this faint recognition he placed a restraining hand on Johns' chest.

"Who, or what are you?" growled Viker, staring intently into the creature's whirling eyes.

"I am, or rather I was, Captain Marius," he seemed even puzzled himself as he continued with his strangled speech, "now I don't know what I am. I need to speak with Walters urgently."

"That would be Colonel Walters, at the least," snarled Johns, still straining against Viker's hand.

"Perhaps," laughed that which had been Marius, "although I think we are more equal now, than ever before. Tell me, where is he?"

It was Johns' turn to laugh now, "What? Captain high and mighty, don't you know where he is? Can't you, with all your power, simply just feel him?"

Marius screeched in anger and one clawed hand swiped towards Johns, but Viker parried the blow, leaping forward and kicking out, slamming the creature back.

"You will regret that!" hissed Marius, raising his head and screaming to his followers, "believe me. The lives of your men are now forfeit!"

"We've heard that before!" answered Viker, his barked retort accompanied by his charge, forcing Marius to unfold his wings and power himself skywards. He was just too slow, as Viker's clawed hand hooked into the muscle of his left calf, snagging him and drawing him back down. Marius stared directly at Viker, ripped his leg free and then used his momentum to pivot and slash a taloned foot across Viker's chest.

The comforting crack of laser-rounds, joined the roars and howls of Viker and Johns and the screeches of Marius' creatures. No quarter would be given, Viker was sure that this was no mistake, there was something wrong, evil in this thing that had been Marius, and he could not let it go free.

Chapter Fifteen

City Approaches

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Shan was in no hurry to join back up with his forces, rather he was looking for a means to escape the planet. Things had gone from bad to worse and he needed time to recover. It seemed as though his erstwhile enemies were occupied with various threats, and that left him free to continue with his flight.

Two of the winged creatures continued at his side, as did one of the Immortals. They had not met any other resistance, and therefore Shan was fairly convinced that his troops were at least holding out, if not even winning the battle.

With an unexpected suddenness they ran right into the rear of James' troops, catching a group of soldiers by surprise. There was no time to waste and Shan ploughed straight in, lashing right and left, ripping weapons free from broken limbs and callously firing at point-blank range. His companions were no less effective, and the unlucky squad was quickly silenced.

Not even out of breath, the fight had been short, intense and extremely bloody, Shan surveyed his surroundings. He could see and hear the exchange of fire to his front, and was sure that there would be no possibility of escape in that direction. No, what he needed was where Walter's men had landed, perhaps there he could find transport of this cursed rock.

With a grunt, he signalled to the others, retracing their steps until they were well clear of the fighting, and skirting the rear positions as they moved towards their objective.

Spiteful Dawn

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Master Arshavin's escape pod had passed too close to one of Shan's remaining ships, and now it was too late. The automated system within the pod had communicated with that of the ship, and the often too clever Arshavin, had in effect sealed his own doom. His sub-routine overwrote that of the ship and his pod was guided automatically into its landing bay. No matter how much the Master cursed nor slammed his augmented fists against the control panel, he was simply ignored.

Speed slowing, the pod gently kissed the landing cradle and began to shut down, the external and internal pressure equalizing, as it prepared to release the main hatch. Arshavin knew that this was not going to be particularly pleasant and that he would need to buy himself some time, if he was to succeed in once more achieving his freedom.

The pod itself, was like many of his creations, multifunctional and he quickly broke his way into its systems. He knew it was too late to try and relaunch it, but he could perhaps make use of its robotic parts and fashion himself a chance.

Busily he toiled, even as he heard the banging and crashing of metal instruments against the outer skin of his pod. They, he knew, would not wait too long before bringing up something that could either cut or blow its way through the main hatch. Ignoring the feeling of panic, he continued, a complicated mechanism appearing before him on the floor.

The Tower

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Viker soon realised that they were in trouble, he and Johns were holding their own against Marius' creatures, but his squad were finding things just a little bit more difficult. They did not lack for courage, nor skill in arms, it was just that these things were extremely fast, very agile and totally vicious.

A cry behind him pulled Viker's attention away from Marius, who had now managed to lift himself up above the fight. He saw Alana double over, as a black taloned hand ripped through her body armour and he roared with anger. With a stupendous leap, he launched himself towards her, smashing into the creature and driving it to the ground, just as it was about to strike again. His eyes blazing, he punched a clawed hand into the beast's chest, ripping through tendon and muscle, tearing away one wing joint.

The whisper of wings behind him caused him to roll, using the creature's bleeding body as a shield. There was a tremendous blow, which ripped the beast from his hands, and looking up, he saw Marius hovering there. Viker bunched his muscles and sprang straight up, his claws just missing digging into the hovering Marius' flesh, but still scoring bleeding lines across his calves.

There was a screech of pain and Marius dove downwards, his beaked mouth pointing straight at Viker's face. At the last moment, Viker twisted to one side and followed Marius down with his knee, hearing the satisfying crunch of bones. As he stood, Marius' feathered head in his hands, with one claw raised, he was hit simultaneously from two sides. The first was Johns, trying desperately to intervene as one of Marius' creatures slammed into an unprepared Viker's back. He did enough that his momentum pushed Viker away, so helping him weather the blow.

Marius, climbed wearily to his feet, wincing in pain. "This is not over, "he sneered pointing one long finger at Viker, "you will pay!"

With that he beat his wings strongly, rising swiftly into the air, his creatures following.

"I'll be waiting," snarled Viker, his voice carrying clearly, "and don't worry, there'll be no charge!"

Spiteful Dawn

Diadem

Unassigned Space

The hatch began to crack and deform, as the continuous pressure from outside began to have effect. Arshavin sat quietly waiting, he had finished his own preparations a while ago and had simply decided to allow the Tauran forces to tire and anger themselves. He had redesigned circuits and apparatus entirely and his three creations sat quietly awaiting his orders.

They were strange, compact mechanisms, spider-like in construction, with eight jointed limbs and they bobbed quietly, transmitting eager anticipation. The Master had built each of them to perform distinct functions and, although by chassis they were similar, their individual bodies were very different. Each was the size of small canine, the first of them had many spindl arms weaving slowly and sinuously from its central core. The second carried what looked like two tubular weapons sat high on its back, and the third had two claw-like arms which extended outwards, the pincers snapping quietly.

In truth, Arshavin was pleased. He now at least had a plan and one he felt that had a good chance of success. So, he waited patiently and then as the hatch split open and a heavy gauntleted hand punched through, he sent the command to his machines, and instantly they were fully operational.

*****

The Immortals were not exactly prepared for what came out of the small pod, they had as usual expected cowering and terrified survivors, who they could torment and eventually kill. However, the first of them was punched backwards as a silver blur flashed through the recently opened portal. Squirming arms buried themselves into rotten skin and whatever orifice they could find. Arshavin had built well and had the recruitment of new troops as his first objective, with that aim in mind he had created his first vehicle. Thin filaments pierced further into nerve endings, strengthening and expanding the rotten fibres and coalescing whatever strange magic powered the Tauran soldier. Leaving a thin cap of silver trailing across the forehead and neck of the now prostrate convert, the robot launched itself away from its host, looking for new prey.

Connections were rapidly made and Arshavin began to feel through his external sensors, so recently wound into the Tauran's nervous system. With an insane giggle he laid back in his seat and began to control his new toy, as his other creations skittered out of the hole in the hatch. Next through was his miniature weapons platform, its twin-mounted pulse lasers, rapidly cycling. They cut a swath through the less-then prepared undead troopers, and gave the Master time to take over his tame Immortal.

The bulky trooper rose quietly, a fine filigree of energy sparking around his half- rotten skull, two red eyes burning brightly. A hand jerkily withdrew a misformed pistol, bringing it level with the construct's shoulder. Once there, Arshavin ordered his mannikin to fire and watched gleefully, as holes exploded outwards from the disease-infected forces before him.

More silently, the third machine quietly made its way to the nearest control panel, its pincer-like claws cutting through metal, before carefully separating wires and connecting them to its torso. Almost immediately it began to upload the Master's hastily prepared programs into the local processing facilities.

Doors began to close, sealing off the launch bay and trapping the Tauran forces within. Now, thought the Arshavin, we can really get things done.

The Tower

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Rapidly Marius led his forces away from the tower, which to him now felt compromised by the arrival of Viker and his squad. He had been over-confident and had almost paid with his life. If it had not been for the timely intervention of his followers, he knew that Viker would have finished the job he had started. It was hard for Marius to understand, he felt full of his new-found energy and there should be no way that Viker could have bested him, yet he had.

It had to be something to do with Walters, that much at least Marius had clear in his reconstituted brain. Apart from that, there was not much else he had managed to make sense of.

His rebirth had been both traumatic and rewarding, he had felt the new energy burning through his body, his strength multiplying many fold. There was also the alien and unknown, whatever he had joined with had given him much, but surely it would have taken something too? One clear thing it had given him, was a hatred for Walters and he had no rational reason for this strong emotion. All he knew was that Walters was dangerous, in fact that he presented a real threat to Marius' new existence. The sooner that he could dispose of him the better, thought Marius, his new synapses being flooded with unreal expectations.

Spiteful Dawn

Diadem

Unassigned Space

This was something new for Arshavin, the connection, however much corrupted, with a previously thinking and breathing biological entity, brought much more pleasure than he would ever have imagined. There were now three of the creatures under his direct control and he was using them and the robots to clear out the rest of his unwelcome guests.

They were surprisingly efficient, and much more flexible than his other creations, giving him the ability of causing the maximum amount of damage, in the shortest possible time. His attempts to convert one or two of the zombies had been less than useful, and so he had decided to restrict himself to the already augmented Immortals.

This made his conquest of the ship, necessarily slower, yet he was not unhappy. There had been no real resistance and he was just beginning to wonder whether the rest of his conquest would be as easy, when rounds began to explode against the side of his escape pod.

The Tower

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Viker had not waited for Marius and his creatures to disappear from sight before pushing his squad's pace. It seemed obvious that whatever Marius had become, was now opposed to Walters, a radical change of opinion which mirrored his complete transformation from man, to something very different. This thing was not like Walters, of that Viker was sure having received a little of Walters' power himself.

His squad too had needed little encouragement to react with violence, there had been none of the awe they had felt in Walters' presence, rather an overwhelming urge to remove some undefined threat. It had been an animal reaction, instinctive and Viker knew, one hundred percent right.

With that in mind, he had quickly set a forced pace back towards the lines of battle, the tower instantly forgotten. Although Marius and his followers appeared to have set off in a direction contrary to that of Walters' troops, Viker was taking nothing for granted. He knew that he would even leave the squad to their own devices, if he felt that they could not keep up, deep down he was convinced that it was extremely important to reach Walters and the others as quickly as possible.

Spiteful Dawn

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Crouched down behind the single seat in the centre of the escape pod, Arshavin cursed his luck. It seemed that whenever he was just beginning to win, along came another gift from the Tauran Adept. He had called back his minions, but was not sure whether they would arrive in time. Peeping out from behind the chair, he saw a gauntleted hand grasp what remained of the hatch and begin to pull. His mewling cry of fear was not worthy of one so ancient or so highly thought as he, but in that moment he feared his own mortality.

The muzzle of a pistol poked through what remained of the hatch, and swept from side to side for a moment, before exploding into action. Rounds ricocheted from the walls, sending shrapnel screaming through the tiny cabin. Arshavin echoed the sound of the shots, his terror overwhelming his sensibility. He felt pieces of metal pierce what was left of his skin and watched his oh so precious bodily fluids leak away. If his robotic servants took much longer, there would be nothing for them to protect!

City Approaches

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Walters could not believe the feeling of power, of domination that the control of that which had been Magos gave him. Robots rolled and stalked by his side, their weapons primed and ready. Raising his arms he felt the Gauss rifle charge and had the undeniable urge to smash and destroy. He felt every movement, each surge of energy and knew that he was losing himself, but did not really regret it.

Then he felt the change, Marius' birth and Viker's struggle in his name. An undeniable need drew him in, stopped his dash towards omnipotence and physically halted his forward motion. Twisting, he pointed his primed weapon skywards and fired, his aim fixed on a distant object. The charged projectile flashed away and Walters smiled, at least now Marius would know that he was coming.

Chapter Sixteen

The Tower

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Viker saw the towering monster approach, its long, silvered limbs flashing in the sunlight. The vaguely human shape was destroyed by the obvious weaponry arrayed across its shoulders and chest. By its side rolled and lurched a gaggle of robots exhibiting a deadly and palpable purpose.

Signalling a halt with one arm, Viker made his squad take cover and watched approvingly as they melted into the surrounding terrain. Then he himself hunkered down and waited, the rhythmic pounding of the creature's feet aiding the countdown to its arrival.

*****

Marius had not flown far; he circled away and returned to the tower once Viker and his team departed. There was an inexplicable pull influenced by the altar-like structure, it promised him some sort of enlightenment and so it was worth the risk. He had left sentries planing the air currents above, as he had spiralled down through the central shaft, alighting once more near the stone throne sat upon the dais. Now he perched on the chair's back, his claws gripping tightly to the stone, wings folded neatly to his back, and studied the chamber. There was something here he was missing.

City Approaches

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Shan stared intently at the patrolling men, as he studied what appeared to be his obvious escape route. They had continued their silent flight, stopping only to eradicate any perceived threat, which in this case meant three different, yet equally half-asleep soldiers. Now they had reached the perimeter of the vehicle park, in whose centre sat a rather convenient shuttle.

The Tauran was not trustworthy by nature and worse now he felt persecuted. Therefore he looked on the lightly guarded vehicle as a rather unsubtle trap, but was determined to turn the situation to his advantage. He nodded at the other surviving Immortal, who disappeared into the surrounding underbrush. There was a sharp crack and then silence, the man returning shortly afterwards. Not even bothering with the obviously redundant interrogative, Shan half-stood and began his move forward, staying close to the reassuring shadows offered by tree and bush.

His now tame creatures stayed where they were, their spear-like claws and long wings, no use in this silent but dangerous game. Using a number of crates as cover, he approached the front of the shuttle. All that now remained was the short stretch of concrete between his hiding place and the sentry. Two breaths later, the soldier turned as though to speak and Shan leapt, his powered armour boosting him rapidly across the distance.

With no time for finesse, he slammed his right knee into the man's lower back at the same time as he wrenched his head backwards. There was a satisfying snapping sound and Shan lowered him slowly to the floor. He stood for a moment, but there was no alarm given and so he hurriedly demanded his new followers join him, pushing them inside the body of the craft and palming the key to close the entry hatch.

Once inside, he bundled his way past half-stored boxes, kicking the heavier ones aside and climbed to the pilot's seat. There was a practiced economy to his movements as he bypassed the normal processes and fired up the engines. A satisfying growl was his response and with no further ado, he grasped the controls, pushed forward the power levers and grunted contentedly as the vessel took, somewhat shakily, to the air.

The Tower

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Marius heard and felt the impact of the Gauss rifle charge as it smashed through the tower's upper walls in quick succession. The supersonic projectile, fired apparently aimlessly by Walters, had reached its target. Dust and brick particles showered down onto Marius' bowed head and he screeched in anger. Deep down he knew that Walters had done it to rile him, to send a message of intent. So, he would accept the missive in the context it had been given, but this would not distract him from his search.

Cocking his head on one side, he focussed on the curious murals lining the still brightly lit walls. They depicted some form of flying creature and the tower itself, as well as a conflict between different factions. Some were winged, others on foot or riding in stylised chariots, but the masterful rendition left no doubt as to the intent of those who assailed the tower; its owner's destruction.

There were further scenes detailing the internment of the flying creatures and then one which showed light radiating from the tower to strike out at its enemies. Here was where his total concentration fell, for he knew that he was missing something. The throne was shown as a burning seat from which someone directed those coruscating energies and Marius knew that this was the only way he could beat Walters. It was here somewhere and he would tear the tower apart, if necessary, in order to find it.

*****

Walters felt he was close enough, and although he felt Viker's presence, he ignored him. He stood, his giant metallic legs spread widely apart and began to cycle through his weapons, in a continuous barrage of sound. First the Gauss rifle, then pulse lasers, a plasma cannon mounted in his other arm and a bevy of short-range missiles. He released them all in what became a gigantic broadside which boiled and raced towards the tower.

Grinning to himself at his cleverness, Walters restarted his forward movement, stopping again after a short while to repeat his aggressive attack, the second bombardment wreaking further damage to the tower's outer skin. Now they were closer, the robots joined in, their weaponry aimed in a flatter trajectory; their targets the building surrounding the tower. The new Magos wanted nothing between him and his enemy. All obstacles were to be removed.

Spiteful Dawn

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Arshavin's dual vision dizzied him, as he fought for control of his terror. His bio-robots were close, the tunnel-like sight they gave him, showed them running past broken and twisted enemies, turning the final corner and then entering the launch bay. The Master could feel his other creatures nearby and he tried to disassociate himself a little from his robotic mannequins, in order to direct his laser-carrying friend.

It was difficult to concentrate though, as the gauntleted hand continued to tear at the entrance and pistol rounds to explode haphazardly inside the pod. Not only that, but the constant data stream downloaded to his brain was dangerously dividing his attention.

Cursing his luck, he shut off the gloriously rich vein of information from the ship's system and focussed only on his own situation. Outside was something, probably an Immortal, that had escaped detection and he needed to neutralise it and quickly. He folded himself into as small a target as possible and closed his eyes, the action at least blocking out one of his many inputs.

City Approaches

Diadem

Unassigned Space

"Sir!" shouted the soldier, breaking James' concentration.

"Yes!" he snapped, irritated at the interruption, he and his troops were pushing the Tauran forces back, but the outcome was still in the balance, "What is it!"

"Sorry, Sir," apologised the Trooper, "but they say it's important!"

Major James turned, now giving the young man his full attention, "Who says it's important?" and then a little more encouragingly, "spit it out lad, I don't bite!"

"Y-yes sir," responded the soldier, remembering the last time he had seen Major James in his full glory, "It's the rear vehicle park, sir. They say they've been attacked, and one of our Shuttles is missing!"

"Why bring this to me?" asked James dangerously, the continued sounds of battle tugging at his attention.

"Reports say that a Tauran was responsible, sir," insisted the trooper, "and that he's headed for the fleet above, Sir."

Now the soldier had James' attention, the circumstances were strange. It was not unknown for the potential of units behind his lines, but this smacked of a desperate escape attempt, or at least one with purpose.

"Get me Arn," he snarled, "and quickly!"

The Tower

Diadem

Unassigned Space

More and more debris was falling, almost in a constant stream now, down onto the lower areas of the tower. Marius had called his creatures to him, their vigilance above was pointless now, they knew that their enemy was here and he needed to concentrate on the solution. They had formed an attentively watchful circle and their eyes whirled with a mixture of devotion and barely suppressed rage, as their leader continued to stare unblinkingly at the wall.

In a sudden burst of movement, Marius hopped down from his perch and stalked across to the last part of the design on the wall. One clawed finger gently traced the outline of the throne and then reaching the centre of the symbolic light show, it stopped. Then a clenched fist slammed into the wall once, twice and then again with a subsequent shower of plaster and paint.

Crowing in triumph, Marius saw the lever hidden lever and pulled on it savagely, turning slowly as a grinding, groaning noise came from the dais. The chair itself was flattening to take the form of an inclined couch and the arms were shortening, their stone covering cracking and splintering away, to reveal two rune-covered control panels, on whose faces danced energetic motes of light.

Screaming harshly, Marius half-leapt, half-flew across to what now he knew was a control chair, and settled into it. There was no question of him lying down on the rearranged furniture, rather he sat cross-legged, his hands resting lightly on the control panels.

The knowledge he needed for its activation flowed through him and he flicked his fingers across the runes, now waiting patiently below his hands. Light once more bombarded the chamber, flashing too and fro from one crystal-covered wall to another. He felt the power build and then, when he knew he was ready, he entered a command string, and smiled.

*****

Walters was really enjoying himself, the firepower contained within Arshavin's construct was awe-inspiring, almost titanic. He had never controlled an engine of war with such destructive powers before and was revelling in the boyish pleasure of each energetic volley. There was also something pleasurable in the demolition of the black tower before him. It offended him at his most primal level and he subconsciously knew that it had to be obliterated and quickly.

As he cycled through yet another volley and watched roiling columns of dust and fire boil away the exterior of the building, he smiled sheepishly to himself. He knew what he was doing was right, but it couldn't hurt to have a little fun whilst he did so, could it?

*****

Almost casually, Marius sent the concentrated energy beam on its way, Walters' new toy his priority target. The lance of light tore upwards, flashing close by his creatures and searing flesh by its sheer proximity. Squawking in pain, they shuffled away and began again their stolid regard.

It had travelled three-quarters of the way to the top of the tower when it stopped, its point expanding in a ball of blue-white light. Below, Marius depressed yet another rune and the globular ball of force started to spin. Now it acted like a lens, thin strands of light arcing outwards, the wall shattering at their touch. Another glyph caused more power to be added to the beam and now rays of light smashed their way out of the tower.

Marius stared in fascination at the complex patterns being spun by his creation and his beak-like mouth opened, his raucous cries being echoed by his followers. Their unholy chorus filled the chamber and rose in a crescendo whilst their missiles of light arrowed towards the waiting Walters and his robotic army.

Chapter Seventeen

The Tower

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Walters had been subconsciously waiting for this moment, ever since he had realised that Marius had found the shrine first. Somehow, in burning free the infection, that which resided there had melded with the Eyatolian's own genetic structure, changing him and making him into something new.

There was a strange kinship between them, a shared birthright that Walters felt in the deepest part of his being. Now he knew why he had raced here, to destroy the tower and everything within it. Well, he had been a little late, but at least he could put that part right. He was still feeling somewhat smug when the first bolt of energy slammed into him, boiling away armour sheathing and exposing the metallic structure beneath. This happened in the time between heart beats, in the moment it took him to shield himself, and he was rightfully shaken.

Beam after stupendous beam smashed against his screens, physically driving him backwards. His robotic followers could not last, the merest touch of the terrific ray of force, volatilising them. With a sharp command, he sent the surviving constructs out of the way and he himself began to fight back.

He did not only call upon the physical weapons residing within that which had been Magos, but also called upon his own reserves. The real difficulty was he need to remain shielded, as Marius' attack was constant. Therefore he had to resort to brute force, each step forward accompanied by a shot from his projectile weapons, the various mass weapons crashing into the tower and reducing one more part to rubble.

*****

Marius too had sent his beasts away, their flight was a little more risky, as they had to brave not only Walters' fire, but also the incandescent beams spearing outwards and directed by Marius himself. He knew he could not cease in his attack, a weakening of his onslaught would allow Walters access to him personally and that he felt he would not survive.

Drawing further on his reserves, he increased his barrage of shots, the intensity of the beams melting the brickwork of the tower itself. Whatever Walters did not demolish, Marius took care of.

*****

Viker stared at the results of the vast forces being liberated in front of him. The earth itself boiled as the shields surrounding Walters, sloughed off Marius' thrusts. Geysers of molten rock puffed skywards, a shimmering heat haze causing the constructs shape to shimmer and shake. Yet somehow, it continued to plod forward, fire spitting out from its good right arm. There appeared little that he could do, this titanic struggle was a full level of comprehension above him.

He needed flesh and bones to fight, or at least something tangible. Starting, he noticed how some of Marius' creatures had escaped and spiralled haphazardly away from the tower. Grinning to himself, he rose, the squad mimicking him. Here at least was a foe he could fight, and with a peremptory growl he sprang towards them, his men following.

Inner System

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Shan's Shuttle bored single-mindedly towards his command vessel, he could see the remains of various of his ships, as they drifted aimlessly in the cold vacuum of space. Larger pieces of metal drew others to them, yet still the _Spiteful Dawn_ appeared intact. She was damaged, that much was obvious, but he could feel her virulent integrity, and that was all he needed.

He opened the engines fully, making no attempt to hide his objective; speed was of the essence. It was certain that he needed to get out of here, regroup and return with further forces. Not only was there Walters to think about, but Marius as well now. Hopefully, they would mutually destroy each other, but he held little real hope of that. No, his only option was to retreat, strategically of course.

*****

"Got you!" snarled Arn, as he watched the Shuttle tear towards the Tauran Fleet ship. He sent his call via communicator to the waiting fighter squadron, giving them full autonomy of action. Their only objective was to reduce the stolen craft into space dust, and they eagerly kicked in their thrusters in response to Arn's orders. Berbatov may have left the Tauran ship relatively intact, but Arn had little concern that there would be anyone left capable of causing his people damage. Therefore he calmly sat back in his seat and waited for his men to do their work.

Spiteful Dawn

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Arshavin was just a little concerned, the sound coming from the entrance hatch, seemed to suggest that his attacker was climbing inside. Once he did that, then he was fairly sure that his long existence would come to a very abrupt and messy end.

Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, he concentrated on his creatures and was rewarded with visual confirmation that his small weapons platform had arrived. The visual input from the little robot showed the rear of a powered armour suit, one leg still on the floor and the other pushing into the pod's entrance. There was no time to lose and so Arshavin ordered it forwards, its pulse lasers powering up. In a direct assault, it would have little effect, but he wanted the Immortal incapacitated, or at least slowed down. That way, his bio-robots could arrive and save him.

He watched as the small robot approached his attacker's supporting leg and opened fire. It switched its assault between the knee and ankle joints of the Immortal's supporting leg, its concentrated fire doing what no single round could do; it began to melt the articulation and an accompanying roar gave evidence of its initial success.

The Immortal now struggled to extricate himself, to deal with whatever was attacking it from the rear and with one final wrench, he broke free. On seeing the small robot, the hideously scarred and disease infested Immortal smiled, pulled its pistol in line with the mechanical construct and fired. Even as the round impacted, the faithful machine continued its attack, only stopping when the explosive charge blew its insides out.

With a depreciative snort, Sargeant Arius turned back to finish the job he had started, placing his leading foot once more through the opening, he pushed off, his pistol pointing the way.

The Tower

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Walters was close now, the force of the beams striking upon him, holding him in a contorted forward movement. His arms were pushed out in front of him, the construct mirroring the efforts of a human to push back against an immovable object. His metallic feet dug into the earth, his simulated muscles straining and writhing as they inched him slowly towards the tower. With one last heave he grasped the rubble remaining around the tower and grinned as it crumbled beneath his augmented fingers.

One giant leg slammed down onto the pulverised building and unbidden the foundations rendered their submission. In a heart's beat, that which was Magos crashed through concrete, earth and bones tumbling uncontrollably towards the waiting Marius.

Dust rose in a blinding fog, masking the exact location of the robot as it fell, causing a landslide of debris to cascade down onto the throne. Screeching and screaming in protest, the construct came to a halt, head hanging over the hole above the throne. Through his false eyes, Walters saw the thing that Marius had become watch him, saw its beak open as it screamed in raucous triumph and knew that at this moment, he had lost.

With the enhanced powers contained within his frame, Walters could see, feel and taste the bolt of energy as it formed. He could understand the wave of anger and elation radiating from below and also the necessity to leave. Yet somehow, he needed to stay, to witness this.

Reaching out he felt the love and trust placed upon him by his people and his indomitable spirit flared anew. A surge of power trembled the construct's frame, strengthening it and laying a carpeted shield across the opening, just as Marius struck.

*****

Vast energies warred, boiled, disappeared and reformed as neither gave ground. To some extent Marius was protected by the mechanisms within the throne, but in such a struggle, this truly was minimal.

Reflected rays struck against him, crisping his outer skin, the feathers burned away in an instant. He could not, however, stop now, the release of such a level of force made no account of a need for temperance or change of purpose. It was all or nothing and both of them were committed to the destruction of the other, at whatever price.

Marius felt himself shrink, as his internal reserves were sucked dry by the throne's fulfilment of his wishes. He tried drawing upon the vital force of his minions, but felt them far away, crying out their frustration as they died. One of Walters' creatures no doubt, fulfilling its master's wishes. For Marius, survival suddenly became everything, he would wager all on one last strike, one blow so massive that nothing could resist it.

Drawing from deep within himself, he concentrated beam after beam, holding them as he felt the power build, fizzing and bursting from him. His avian eyes blinked once, twice and then gleamed full of fire, as he let his ultimate weapon go.

*****

Just before the he was hit by the incandescent rod of force, Walters knew he was doomed and potentially all of his people too. There was no time to think, only to act and he grasped onto his only chance, pouring all of his essence, his knowledge, his hopes and his fears into a willing vessel. A calm satisfaction filled him as he watched the front of the beam rage upwards, spitting and clawing against his shields, which held for that instant he needed and no more.

*****

Utterly spent, Marius saw the effect as his blow struck, the brief flare of a shield and then the instantaneous vaporization of the construct. There was a strange flare of energy, just before Walters' shields collapsed, but it was nothing; the final struggles of a defeated God-in-Waiting. He, Marius, had now taken that mantle and would draw his own followers to him. All he needed was a little time to recover, to regain his strength, and once that was done, he would continue Walters' quest, but in his own name.

*****

All across the battle field, they felt his passing, the cold wind of despair blew through them, for one moment. Then, the raw animal rage deep within them surged through and they killed, they maimed, and they destroyed, all in His name.

*****

Viker knew the moment that Walters fled the construct, the instant he took his decision and was there in between the heart-beat of action. The squad of men and women around him watched his collapse, lived his convulsions and breathed in his resurrection. They saw the light blazing from his eyes, the muscles straining and the glistening of his canines.

When he stood and stalked back towards Walters' forces, without a single backward glance, they followed.

Chapter Eighteen

Spiteful Dawn

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Shan was close; he could feel the welcoming wrongness of his ship, as its virulent pestilence called to him. Almost, it overwhelmed him, but he retained enough of his senses to hear the strident alarms as they announced multiple missile locks. He had known that Walters would have left a screen of fighters guarding his remaining vessels, but had hoped that the stolen shuttle would fool them. Well, he thought, there were still a few tricks these semi-Churchmen had yet to learn, and smiling grimly he kicked the engines to full.

Inner System

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Arn concentrated on the data readout as his squadron closed in for the kill. They were close to the _Spiteful Dawn_ , which hung motionless where Berbatov had left it. It would soon be over, even now missiles screamed towards the stolen craft, whose course did not change, as though its pilot was oblivious to the impending destruction. Something was wrong, no-one who had been capable of overcoming the forces guarding the shuttle, then been capable of flying it unerringly to the larger ship, could be ignorant of its anti-missile systems, there could only be ...

"Abort! Get out of there!" roared Arn into his communicator, willing the fighters to turn before it was too late.

Spiteful Dawn

Diadem

Unassigned Space

A cruel smile peeled Shan's lips back from his bared teeth, a bubbling laugh forcing its way out of his mouth. His beloved ship had not let him down, arms of rotting and putrescent fluid arcing outwards to engulf the oncoming fighters. Its corrosive nature melted and crumbled the crafts' structure in a blink of an eye, and banking sharply, the Tauran Adept flew straight into it. Miraculously the bilious liquid was repelled by his presence, sliding away and then around him caressingly. Its protection was comforting and he felt the first of the missiles explode harmlessly behind him, the mass of the fluid deadening their effect.

Onward he flew, towards the newly visible launch bay, the pestilent miasma clearing as he approached. Calmly he eased the shuttle to the deck, powering down the engines and stretching languorously before unbuckling his harness. Questing with his enhanced senses, he soon knew of the unwelcome guest on the _Dawn_ and purposefully made his way towards the last sign of disturbance, the ship remoulding itself as its Master returned.

*****

The destruction of the fighter squadron in itself was a disaster, but even more so was the manner in which it had occurred. Arn knew that the Tauran vessel would only have protected one person that way, its Lord and Master, and that meant he would have to act quickly if he was to prevent his escape. Shouted commands caused his men to spring into action and the Galleon got underway, swinging slowly as it turned to meet the _Spiteful Dawn_ and remove its threat permanently.

*****

Imperiously, Shan strode down the corridor towards the sound of fighting. Doors opened with reverence; Arshavin's codes and over-rides useless against the rapport between Shan and his vessel. Contemptuously he disposed of the first of the so-called Master's bio-robots, surprising it with his sudden appearance and smashing its weapon to one side with the flat of his hand. The fingers of his other hand closed vice-like around its throat, as he lifted it and slammed its head against a nearby stanchion. Reaching down, he ripped the fine silvery filaments free and then brought his boot down crushingly onto the thing's skull, driving it onto the decking in a spray of gore.

Ahead, he knew his man was close to the protagonist and so he moved forward, hunting the others who had been corrupted and turned against him. It was really quite ironic, corruption normally was his forte, and it piqued him that another had dared to do so to his men. Seeing the last of the robots taking aim at the broad back of his pet Immortal, Shan snarled and leapt forward, drawing his pistol in one fluid movement. He did not miss, the explosive round impacting directly onto his opponent's neck, the subsequent conflagration punching a hole through the back of its skull, rendering it ineffective.

In reaction to the shot, a huge hand appeared from the entrance to the escape pod, now revealed in front of him.

"Enough!" he roared and a face followed the weapon out inquiringly. The rest of the body followed, just as soon as the Sargeant recognised Shan, his ungainly exit replaced by a formal salute once he was free.

"Tell me Sargeant," hissed Shan, "what exactly is going on here and where are the rest of your men."

*****

Arshavin knew he was in serious trouble; all of his bio-robots were gone, and had been dealt with as though they were little more than children. He needed a new plan and quickly if he was to get out of this. Thrusting aside any misgivings, he rose from behind the security of his chair and reached for the controls to the external speakers. Having served with the Tauran forces previously, he knew how to deal with them, and if all else failed, he still had a couple of his followers out there, waiting patiently for his signal.

The Tower

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Viker was dizzied, confused and self-absorbed all at once; a singular mote of existence had impinged on his consciousness, shocking him to his very core of being. An immense and overwhelming blow of nothingness had slammed against his mind, erasing part of his self and then pouring in something new. It was this otherworldly burst of identity which had pulled him into a different reality.

The squad still trailed along behind him, a mix of fear and adoration in equal measure shining from their eyes. Waves of power radiated in spasmodic and fluctuating levels from Viker as he struggled with the pain of his rebirth. Their intensity burned through any mental barriers held by the troopers, visiting them with strange and ephemeral visions. Drug-like, they were becoming more and more addicted and soon they all formed a circle around the now static Viker, swaying in time to the pulses of energy flowing from him.

They were changing, slowly but surely as he did, so they too were metamorphosing but in their case, only into what was but a poor image of the real thing. It was though, enough.

*****

The darkness now enfolded Marius, as he blindly awaited the return of his children. It was a wistful, almost forlorn hope, but he still felt something of their existence. During his battle with Walters, he had peripherally felt the extinction of each one of them, until there were but a handful left, than in the final conflagration, he had lost them. He was, though, sure of their return, and so he waited, forlornly, although patiently.

*****

A charge built, gradually, succubus-like, drawing in the essence of those round him, until he could barely contain himself. His teeth chattered, vibrated with the pent-up explosiveness of the moment, yet still he sucked in more. His people felt it too, expanded with him, to their particular bursting points and held there, screaming inside, for the release to come. Viker was oblivious to their needs, his own requirement for understanding, took precedence over all. Their suffering was but a minor irritation in the greater scheme of things, and was something to ignore.

As each moment passed, a pregnant expectation grew, until the imminent birth was irrefutable. Then, with a roar, a whimper and a bang, Viker was reborn. He was the same, yet different. More, yet somehow less and new, although with a taste of immeasurable age. Together, the mutated squad dropped to their knees, no intelligible sound left their lips, rather a mewling acceptance, animalistic in its intensity.

Raising his head, Viker howled his challenge to the skies, and all across the field of battle, those lost in the despair of being so recently orphaned, smiled. Their ferocity instead of abating, increased, and their own cries joined those of Viker's.

*****

Berbatov had felt Walters' loss the most keenly of all, yet an echo still remained, bouncing into and out of his head. Mechanically he killed the remains of Shan's forces, his halberd seemingly sentient in its ability to parry and destroy, whilst he ambled through the Tauran forces. His usual ferocity had left him, instead he worried at the niggling feeling that he was missing something, and whilst he pondered, his men closed around him in a protective cordon.

*****

Marius too was troubled, still waiting for his surviving minions, his enhanced brain gnawed away at the apparently buoyant morale of Walters ex-troops. They did not react as though they had lost their world; at first they had done so, their anger gloriously unleashed, yet this rage had now become something else; a burgeoning hope, a germination of desire. He was not sure, although he could feel the wrongness of it all. For him, this world's power should be totally and unequivocally his, to do with as he wished. This though was not so, he was blocked, something or someone was interfering, and the most unsettling of all, was he had no idea who.

*****

Pain lanced with a blinding sharpness across Viker's sweating brow, its intensity causing him to drop to his knees. A voice demanded recognition, but both the man and the animal bound within him rebelled against the unwanted intrusion. Johns watched on helplessly, now his young charge was curled foetus-like into a ball, his arms and legs lashing out haphazardly in response to the tearing agony ripping through him.

The Sargeant felt the beast within him railing for release, yet he could not lose control at this precise moment. He, at least had to remain focused, even as the squad collapsed around him. One by one, they crumpled, Viker's incapacity transmitting itself to them all, disease-like in its contagion. Only Johns seemed immune, perhaps his longer time serving under Walters having prepared him, or perhaps it was the old Sargeant within him, disciplined to the last.

Whatever the reason, he was needed now, as with a hooting wail, a group of Marius' creatures loped into view. Their, beak-like muzzles chittering together in their recognition of weakened prey. On his own, Johns rose to his full height, his snarl announcing the relinquishment of his self to the beast. With a roar, he changed, the welcome adrenaline rush coursing through his body, muscles expanding and filling with power. His enemies checked, but then seeing only the Sargeant stalked forward.

On the ground, all around the raging man-beast, troopers whimpered, cried and ultimately screamed with pain. The only one who had quieted was Viker, his body relaxing slowly into a semblance of normality. As Johns sprang to the attack, a sigh rippled through Viker, the exhalation of breath calming, its vestiges fluttering out across the squad of tormented men and women nearby. One final whisper, was followed by a life-welcoming inhalation, and Viker's eyes snapped open, a dazzling, blazing green light shining forth.

*****

Johns felt rather than saw Viker pass him, a wave of energy pushed him to one side, an eagerness for battle had dismissed Viker's usual well-mannered and educated behaviour; he wanted, no needed, blood.

He slammed into the first of the creatures, his taloned hands tearing through its leathern wings as though they were paper. Hooking the relatively fragile bones contained within, he pulled it in, clashing his jaws together and crushing its skull in one bite, the pressure irresistible. Scornfully he tossed his opponent aside, swaying to the left as a sharpened beak speared towards him. Laughing now, he ripped into the underbelly of the second beast, flipping it onto its back with the momentum. Grinning feral-like, he slashed once and watched, entranced for a moment, as its entrails slithered to the floor.

A disdainful kick sent it backwards towards Johns and he leapt high into the air, twisting and spinning as he fell amongst the remainder of his foes.

*****

A scream tore its way bodily from Marius, his children were dying, were being annihilated with a gleeful relish. Anger coursed through him and he vaulted upwards from the throne, their death cries impossible to ignore. His wings snapped outwards, his body still slow in its response, yet he could not remain seated whilst his creatures died. Beating slowly, he struggled skywards, clearing the tower and angling towards the vicious and terminal conflict.

*****

Viker felt him drawing near and purred in contentment as he slowed and watched the remaining three beasts limp away. Behind him, his own rose to their feet, their bodies even now protesting at the change. No matter, it would be enough.

Chapter Nineteen

The Tower

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Marius' flight became more and more erratic; as he felt the consequences of his battle with Walters, his wounds re-opened, his blood began to weakly leech his frail reserves as it dripped earthwards and his muscles groaned in mutinous chorus. From within came the urge to draw more from the essence of the throne, deep under the now crumbled tower. Instinctively he did so, the process becoming harder the further he flew, more resistant, a feeling of chastisement carried along with energy flow.

Still he could not release his hold on the source of his power, it was all that he had now, there were pitifully few followers on which to call. His anger drove him on, yet even that began to wane as he topped a rise in the land and saw the remainder of his beasts grouped together. They were encircled by a leaping, growling pack, in whose centre paced Viker, energy pouring from him in waves.

Screaming his battle-cry Marius arrowed towards him, pulling insistently on the remaining vestiges of power held within the throne, recklessly. There was a tangible surge, which filled and swelled him as never before, and then...nothing.

*****

The tower was dying, the ground heaving geyser-like, as Marius demanded his energetic tribute. Spouts of earth, rock and bone exploded upwards, great holes appearing around the remaining base of the tower. With a roar, the foundations gave way, black brick tumbling and cascading down, to smash angrily against the throne itself.

For a brief moment, a shield formed, protecting the stone seat, but then this too failed, the base of the chair itself cracking under the weight of debris which hammered into it. Light sparked, shining out of the crack and through the mist of dirt and powder. As the chair fractured, the spark became a raging flame, burning its way through the rock and remains of the tower itself. Such was its intensity, that melting material bubbled and spat, unable to resist the overpowering forces within.

An incandescent sheet of brilliance formed, rising as a thin wall high into the air, until it seemed to reach an unspoken limit, where it hung, undulating snake-like, waiting. For an instant it stilled, becoming translucent and a gigantic face peered out. Haunted eyes scanned the horizon frantically, but saw nothing. Then, a hand reached out, plaintively trying to break through the barrier, straining towards where Marius, even now, flew. As he dived, all of his concentration focussed on Viker and his destruction, the face opened its mouth and screamed. The noise passed through the curtain of force, radiating outwards. It was a terrible cry, which banshee-like destroyed all in its path.

*****

Viker watched Marius' trajectory and smiled in anticipation, his silvered talons flicking in and out of existence, mirroring his eager anticipation of the battle to come. He now knew who and what he was, he felt the power all around him, breathing in the heady cocktail of faith, love and even worship. As purely Viker, he had only drawn on that energy bestowed onto him by his Lord, but now, it was all his.

Somehow, he was both Walters and Viker, yet he knew that he retained his self, purely because he was allowed to. Walters was quiescent, waiting, ready to help and guide Viker as needs be, but the young man was not fooled in any way. He existed because it suited Walters, but that was alright, there was an unspoken promise that all would be returned to him, one day. Today, however, was not that day.

Suddenly, Viker was pushed aside, gently but firmly and once more Walters experienced the sweetness of life. His arms opened, palms flattening to face the oncoming Marius and the sound wave that followed him. The air shimmered, a dome-like shield forming to cover all of Viker's squad. Spreading his shoulders and squaring his legs, Walters mentally pushed.

*****

His speed was exhilarating, the final burst of energy had once again rejuvenated him, and Marius knew he was invincible. That is to say, he was convinced until the moment his face smashed into a non-existent wall, his body crumpling concertina-like as an irresistible force met an immovable object. For a flashing moment, he resisted, but Walters' expanding wave had no time for him. It continued with its original intent, forcing the badly wounded Marius back, into the shrieking whirlwind of sound.

Whatever he had become was not enough to save him, his wings shredding into slivers of flesh and broken bones. His mouth opened in pain, but no air filled his lungs, as a sonic punch liquefied his insides. Marius clung onto his life tenaciously, yet he was caught in-between a titanic encounter, and there was nothing he could do.

*****

Viker was conscious of Walters' intent, in fact encouraging him from the safety of his mental cocoon. The tensing of their shared body presaged the next act in the scenario, Walters sharply expelled growl the signal which signified his strike. Those palms which held the squashed and maimed figure in the air were gracefully pulled back, forming fists which were punched sharply outwards. Marius' rag-doll of a body was flung away, as the massive force drove the unknown attacker back upon itself.

*****

He was going to die, he could predict it, all of his power had been worthless. There in front of him was the now leering face, ebbing and flowing within the light show before him. A wrenching tearing feeling wracked his useless body and looking down, he saw a bloodied mass fall away. It was then he realised that he had seen the last of his body, whatever he now was hurtled towards the open and still screaming mouth. An echo of that sound filled his own mind, overwhelming him with its pain and anger, all clearly directed at him.

*****

He knew that Marius' power was almost gone, the final vestiges accelerating to their doom and eternal torment as he watched and he did not care. Dismissing that which had once been one of his men, he relinquished control, Viker dropping back into his body with a shudder. It took him a relatively short amount of time to regain his awareness, and he then realised that the sharing of his self with one of such power, had changed him once more. An enhanced perception greeted his return and he felt and saw the last moments of his ex-comrade. Sensitised nerve-endings screamed in rage as they witnessed the excruciating pain being visited on Marius and Viker could not idly stand by.

Unconsciously calling on channels and pathways within himself, previously unused, he mentally proffered a conciliatory hand. Leech-like and in a last act of desperation, Marius latched onto the olive branch. Scratching and spitting, clawing and snarling, Marius pulled himself away from his imminent destruction. His target was obviously to reach one of his minions, and his intent rang clearly in Viker's head, who was prepared for such a move.

Now he clung on to Marius' consciousness, he drew him in, ignoring any intended resistance, enfolding and overwhelming that which remained. Walters rebelled and Viker was caught between two warring titans, whose only thought was their mutual destruction. They ignored their host and he used this to his advantage.

He let the beast within him take over, its nature was confrontational, savage in the extreme and it mentally slashed into the mutually preoccupied pair. The sudden attack split the warring parties apart and Viker struck, carving Marius away from the base of his power and taking it for his own. A wild wind buffeted him, as the conduit to the released power joined to him, the spark that was Marius being absorbed. The screaming face now turned its rage to Viker, yet he had the backing of a semi-deity and faced it on equal terms.

Once more the entity within the shimmering wall attacked and again Walters pushed to the fore, this time though, Viker did not timidly shrink into the background. He welcomed Walters' presence, but now had his own connection, which he clung to. Under the pressing and urgent conditions faced, Walters did not try to banish him, rather working with and through him. The resulting blend smashing and tearing into the shimmering wall of force. As they became more and more dominant, the shield fell back to earth, seeking to hide from its perceived destruction. The throne could not hold it, yet Viker wanted its power for himself.

Unthinkingly, he snatched the sword from his belt and flung it into the rapidly disappearing field of force. It spun end over end, sparkling with the reflection of the still powerful light show. There was an eye-burning flash and then no more. Blinking rapidly to clear his vision, Viker staggered forward, followed closely by his men.

The sword had buried its way into the rock and stone around the throne. It shimmered with an unearthly light, which mirrored that of its vibrating action. There was however no remaining point, no metallic coating, rather only energy. Viker reached his hand forward, Johns screaming out a warning, but he did not waver from his purpose. He knew what the blade was and the recently formed connection cried out to him. As his fingers closed round the hilt, he felt the echo of Marius, finally being absorbed, welcomed into his new consciousness. It was though, momentary, as now the blade vibrated in his hand, a conduit direct to the heart of the power contained within the rock below.

He felt Walters shrink backwards as he drew deeply, sucking the energy in, feeling the all-consuming passion that it was. The difference this time, was he had already experienced the joining, had been introduced relatively gently to the siren-song accompanying such intense power and so he resisted its whispering allure. No mutation of his body occurred, no bone-melting change wracked and ruined him. Rather, he accepted the offering given, that which was Walters guiding and protecting him.

A pure blue light enfolded him, infusing those around him with wonder and awe. As his intensity reached incandescence, he rose from the floor, arms outstretched and there, within the shimmering, shining light they saw his wings form and come into being. No horrid or monstrous parody were they, but the image of those represented in the imaginings of the faithful. Long, white feathers covered the new appendages, whose span was enormous. One by one the squad dropped to their knees, adoration in their eyes, as they saw the birth of an Angel in their midst.

Chapter Twenty

The Tower

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Walters knew that he was no longer needed, or even wanted. Viker´s transformation was as real and as profound as that which he had experienced. Each one of these artifacts were created for a purpose, the power entrenched within them needed a sure hand and concentrated guidance. His journey here had not been in vain. Rather, it had been accomplished with just a different outcome. What remained of Marius had joined with Stiv's own consciousness and the vessel within which they resided, could not hold his power as well.

With a wrench, he drew himself away, drawing on his followers adoration in his necessity. There was a subtle difference and he knew that Viker was working his own magic. The angelic creature had already received his first disciples and the link with Marius was bringing him more. The Eyatolians held their eagle symbol in awe, now they would need to change it for another winged creature.

This world was no longer his to command, yet he had no regrets. His departure was acknowledged with a beneficiant regret and a promise of a new and welcome meeting to come. For now, he had an imminent need. His resources were diminished with the outpouring of expended energy and like the beast he was, he required a safe place to lick his wounds and hide.

Around the ruins of the tower, his dissipating energy whirled, searching. Then he felt a response and sped downwards.

*****

A smile cracked Berbatov´s ugly face. Walters was not dead. He had felt it. With renewed vigour he charged towards the remaining Tauran soldiers, his weapon spitting and chewing its way through them. All about him Walters' troops responded.

Once through the feeble cordon, he raced away, men and vehicles following unquestioningly. None noticed the shattered remains of the robotic soldiers start to twitch, their metal becoming fluid and pooling together. Parts melded and changed. Spider-like creations broke apart, before reforming into a new spherical structure.

Shocked Taurans gaped in confusion. Then, as one pulsing red eye opened they began to fire. It was far too late. With a scream of released energy, a singularly intense beam shot forth. In a short time the Taurans were either dead or fleeing.

Explosive rounds shot upwards from the Eyatolians but were ignored. With a whirring sound the robot rose higher before it shot away.

*****

At the base of the tower, the headless body of the construct began to move. Its being suffused with energy. Small robots rolled and chittered in a maddened frenzy. Zombie-like that which had been Magos climbed to its knees before falling once more to the earth.

A streak of silver light arced over the horizon. Its tremendous speed diminished rapidly until it was floating just above the construct. Gently it touched down onto the ravaged shoulders of the man-like structure. It melted. Molten silver poured down, filling the massive wounds. Its semi-intelligent structure rebuilt damaged circuits, drawing its smaller brethren in and moulding them into something new.

Facial features appeared as the construct shrank in size. A heavy brow, strings of metallic hair. Sharp and jagged teeth filled a huge mouth fixed into a bestial grin. Now animate, clawed hands reached forth, breaking apart what remained of its companions. At last it was finished and Walters stood. No longer was he of flesh and blood. Now he was more. His body matched his semi-immortality.

*****

The approaching troops saw the creature and slowed to a stop. Berbatov was the only one who approached without fear. With a smile, he gently swung his halberd, its staff striking the thing's side with a resonating boom.

"I like your new look." he said, "Couldn't you have found something a little less conspicuous?"

"Ah, Sargeant," Walters boomed, "feeling a bit underwhelmed are we?"

A tear rolled from the big man's left eye, although none but Walters could see.

"I suppose this means that we've stopped sodding about and you've found someone else for me to kill?"

Walters laughed and placed one arm across Berbatov's shoulder. The Sargeant's knees buckled slightly.

"Yep. There's a nice big spaceship up there which we need to take care of. It seems that someone forgot to clean it the last time he was there."

"Lazy fucker, whoever he was," replied Berbatov as the surrounding troops roared their approval.

Viker returned to consciousness, his assimilation complete. Little remained of Marius, a taste hung there within Viker's memories and an embodiement of power within the word. He floated to the floor and looked around him. Those of his men who remained had changed. Their features were more angular, burnt in his own transformation. None of the rough beast remained, their features were pure and mirrored his own.

His wings folded against his back. Their pure white feathers shone brilliantly in the reflected light of the weak sun.

"My Lord." Jones spoke, his voice rough with emotion. "What would you have us do?"

"Wait. Others will be joining us."

As if in answer to his mere thoughts, a rumbling of engines could be heard. Dust clouded the air on the horizon and soon they could see what was left of the Eyatolian regiment hurrying to join them.

"Walters has his own mission to fulfil. We will meet again when the time is right. For now, though, we are needed elsewhere."

*****

That which had been held captive in the tower was no more. The throne lay cracked and broken, the walls with their strange murals hung askew. For a moment, something pushed against the fabric of reality and then angrily whipped away.

Spiteful Dawn

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Arshavin held his breath whilst his mechanical lungs laboured. He could hear the muted sound of conversation from outside and knew that he would have only one chance. For him it was enough. Deep within his altered body burnt a cold hatred. His plans had been torn apart by Walters intervention. Now, he needed a way out of this ruined system and back to his home base. He still had many resources there which he could command. No, this was not over by a long way.

"Come out of there you wheezing bag of bolts!"

The voice bubbled in diseased pain. One more of these Demon-infested and egocentric lordlings would have to be dealt with.

"I am coming." Arshavin whined. Weakness, whether feigned or not was always a good starting point.

As he cleared the twisted metal of the entrance, he tested his links with his remaining robots. They were still there, awaiting his commands. The horrible and corrupted visage of Shan was the first thing he saw and he bowed meekly.

"I saw your creations and their ineffectual attempts on the planet. Why should I let you live?"

"You saw but a part of my resources. If you can get us out of here, there will be much more to reward you."

An armoured hand slammed into his face, spinning him across the landing bay.

"You will show some respect." Said Shan, contempt clear in his voice. "Now, the first thing we need to do is get out of here. Can you control this ship?"

"Of course, my Lord," Arshavin said, masking the new hatred which had sprung up from within him, "where do you wish us to go?"

"Show me these wonders you spoke of."

"As you wish."

Arshavin sidled past thedisease-carrier, hunched like a whipped cur, expecting another blow. None came. The thump of the two Taurans' feet as they followed him was his only answer.

The Galleon

Diadem

Unassigned Space

The Galleon's movement was slow and deliberate. Plasma batteries were prepared and Arn readied himself to give the command. It was then he felt Walters rebirth and Berbatov's exultation. He hesitated.

"Arn," the voice whispered in his mind, "you are needed."

"My Lord," he answered, "but what of the Tauran ship?"

"Leave it. We need to get off this planet. It will keep."

"But..."

"Arn." The voice was imperative. "You have never doubted me before, please don't start now."

"Of course, my Lord."

He gave the order and the Galleon swung away from its suppurating target. A miasma of disease still floated around it and for a moment he could have sworn he heard cruel laughter echo across the intervening space.

Spiteful Dawn

Diadem

Unassigned Space

The _Spiteful Dawn_ wallowed slowly away from the planet. Globules of pus floated free in its wake. In the control room Shan's mad eyes stared out of the main screen. He felt no loss. His soldiers had done their duties and he could soon create more. With the disappearence of the Galleon towards the planet, his main worry had vanished.

"Are we ready?"

Arshavin looked pained. His communion with the tainted ship left him bilious. At least his own creations were safe. They hid in some of the conduits and he had managed to convince the disease-stained vessel to ignore them. There was a longing deep inside him for the clean and intimate touch of Magos, but he could correct that loss when he reached the outer limits of his system.

"We can leave when you wish, my Lord."

"Good. Then get us out of here."

Fold Space protested as it enfolded the huge bulk of the battleship. Behind it was the debris of battle and the cursed ships of Walters and his men.

The Tower

Diadem

Unassigned Space

Viker and Walters stood close together as they surveyed the troops lined up in review. The Eyatolians had removed their Eagle emblems and now proudly wore the stylised angel. Shuttles waited for the departing troops.

"Where will you go?" Viker asked.

"To find Shan and Arshavin eventually. I still have people out there. You have heard of K'san?"

Viker nodded. The K'ran had been gone a long time, on some special mission for Walters.

"Yes. Krantu spoke of him."

"And you? What will you do?"

"We will stay here for a short while. My people need to become accustomed both to me and the part they now have to play."

Walters thought personally that the Eyatolians would need little time to adapt. He had ordered one of the cruisers to remain, it would be ready to take Viker wherever he needed to go.

"And when it is time?"

"We will be ready," said Viker, "you know how to reach me."

They shook hands, the strangely metallic being and his angelic counterpart. Then Walters strode purposefully away, towards his pinnace and the waiting figure of Berbatov.

Epilogue

Asmode's Lair

Spindle

K'san stood high above the pestilent town. Up here, the wind blew clean, ruffling his long silver hair. None of them were as they were. They had been touched by their God and the beast now dwelt within them, rather than was worn internally. With him were three of his kind, as well as a group of S'sral's misfits. He had chosen them, giving them a purpose.

They still wore their golden power armour; two huge and imposing, the others thinner and silent. Their special skills had helped in the search and had finally brought them here. It was the world of his birth, where the K'ran had been created.

Below them would be the laboratories, hidden deep within the city. His task had been simple in its outline but would be difficult in execution. Walters had felt his need and had given him this mission. He was to investigate this world.Liberate those he could and if it was proven to be impossible, return for reinforcements.

What he had already learnt was vital, but his heart still called to him. There was an army being created below. Its purpose still a mystery. Not only K'ran but others were massing and he had to find out what was happening.

With a nod, he started the descent, the others fanning out in their established pattern.

*****

The city itself was huge. Steam and flame rose in spurts from strange structures. Their twisted and tortured frames defied both gravity and sensibility. Lines of chained figures were dragged, kicked and beaten into dark entrances. At their sides prowled huge K'ran snapping and snarling. Leashes of whip-thin metal held them in check and their masters giggled insanely as they menaced their victims.

More human-like figures limped in and out of the bedraggled lines, prodding and clubbing the unfortunates. To the front and rear were two large chariots whose drivers lashed whips indiscriminately. Blood ran from the walls of the peculiar buildings and smeared the pavement.

K'san watched carefully, his face a study of controlled anger. He could no longer stand by idly and swore he would save at least some of these people. The K'ran tried to turn on their masters but were swiftly chagrined, their resistance quelled mercilessly.

With a roar, one went mad, its huge jaws crushing the head of one of its captors. The line ground to a halt and the front chariot raced towards the crazed beast. Its wheels ran over any in its way and as it bumped over one of the falling bodies, it snagged a length of chain. Prisoners were dragged screaming along and part of the chain gave. Instantly a small group of prisoners made a desperate attempt to escape. This was his chance.

He growled out his commands and his men flew into action. From their vantage point atop a nearby building, they dropped to the street. As the fleeing people passed by they were dragged into the cover of a darkened alley. The chasing group ran unaware after them. They had no reason to fear.No-one on this world had ever escaped. There was nowhere to run.

It was their first and last mistake. K'san had placed his men well. The now human K'ran guided the startled prisoners to the rear, whilst the gold-covered figures eagerly awaited their pusuers. It was done quickly and silently. Huge hands grasped unresisting heads. A twist. A snap and it was over. Long knives and sharpened talons drunk deeply. Then they were gone.

Once again in the safety of their hiding place, K'san approached their new allies. There was something strange about them. Long fine hair, sculptured features and upturned ears. They were Ori.

END

About the author:

Englishman, traveller, who was captivated by Spain and stayed. Proud husband and father who finally listened to his wife and children. Work took me around the globe, taught me a new language and opened my eyes.

Other works:

A Guiding Light (Sudden Dearth Book Two)

A Leap Of Faith (Sudden Dearth Book Three)

Urion's Belt

A Cold Dish

Euthan Palace

26-S

SALIGIA

The Gift

Find out more by visiting www.sudderndearth.blogspot.com

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