The Hound and the Sagittarius - Part 2

## The Hound and the Sagittarius

Primarch Surmah Nyyrik

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ACCESSING SECURE ARCHIVES. CLASSIFIED REFERENCE 949-1.

AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY.

RECORD TWO OF TWO.

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“Bartosz….”

The venomous voice slithered through the cyclopian doors of the bridge as they yawned open; all heads turning to regard the colossus bathed in arterial spray as he swiftly climbed the steps leading up to the command deck. In his wake strode the oily-black clad Ajattaraenen, the elite 1st Company Terminators of the Hounds of Surmah. Like their master, viscera and blood dripped from their studded plates, having made directly for the Purest Intent, rather than returning to their own Flagship. Behind them, bound by chains, the planetary governors shambled to keep pace with their titanic gaolers, their eyes wide with the terrors they had been subjected to.

“You saved more than expected,” Surmah said, “I’m impressed, after what I was presented with earlier, I didn’t think you were capable of actually doing field work.”

Surmah’s eyes were impassive, but the rebuke was clear; that he had been forced to fly halfway across the galaxy to fix the mess his brother had found himself mired in was galling. A failure for Bartosz’ first Compliance… not even the Fanatic had such a red mark in his ledger.

“You dare to show up to a world I am bri….” Bartosz started to say, before his brother silenced him.

“You will be silent, little brother, you haven’t earned the right to speak yet.” Surmah purred.

“I dare to do nothing. Our Uncle sent me to see just what was taking you so long with your first Compliance. And rather than a world on its knees ready to be welcomed into the Imperium, I am greeted with you pathetically capitulating to the ever increasing demands of these wretches.”

As if on cue, the Ajattaraenen hauled the mortals out in front of Surmah, their bedraggled bodies jostling together as they tumbled in a pile of limbs.

“We seek a diplomatic resolution with every Compliance,” he continued, the sudden disturbance going entirely unnoticed, “but should such an endeavor become clearly impossible, then it is our duty to bring them into the fold forcibly, or remove them. We do not “barter” with worlds we have set out to conquer. That you would deign to do so is abhorrent.”

To his credit, Bartosz remained quiet. Though his elder brother wasn’t outwardly wrathful, he could sense the cold fury that crawled beneath the surface; Surmah wasn’t here to debate, he was here to educate his errant brother.

“We expected more from you, Bartosz. A son of the Emperor is gifted in all things, whether by virtue of word or of the blade, we are fashioned to conquer all that lies before us, we are unequaled in this galaxy, save against ourselves. That one as gifted as you failed in such a task is beyond my comprehension.” Surmah said, his tone losing some of its venom and becoming tired instead, as though he was a disappointed parent scolding a child.

Stepping over the mortals at his feet, Surmah began to pace about the deck, taking in his surroundings with more acute interest, as he allowed the weight of what he had said to settle. Purest Intent was a very apt name for his brother’s Flagship, and not just because Bartosz always wished for the brightest of outcomes. The interior of the ship was immaculately clean, polished and gilded without growing austentatious. It was beautifully maintained and under other circumstances, he would have been appalled at his own lack of decorum, the red trail leading from the access doors turning a darker shade of brown as he stalked about the chamber.

Coming to rest once more above his captives, he peeled away a web of flesh that had gotten stuck to his vambrace and flicked it from his fingers, the gory mess squelching as it landed on the marble flooring. He looked like a vision out of one of Old Earth’s tales of the underworld; where demons tormented the souls of the dead, flensing and devouring them for all eternity. A few rivulets of blood still drained down the face of his armor, forming a pool around his feet and the mewling mortals found there. Unclasping his mask, he mag-locked it to his side and peered down at the planetary governors beneath him.

“Rise.” he commanded, his fangs glinting as if to reinforce the present threat.

The governors shakily rose to their feet, nervously looking at the monsters in their midst, uncertainty plastered on their grimy faces. They huddled together, a pack mentality all humans seemed to obey, as though their numbers might ensure their safety.

“What are you planning to do with them, Surmah? Have they not suffered enough?!” Bartosz pleaded.

“I’m going to teach you a lesson, little brother,” he said, a devious lilt affecting his voice. “Your idealism has a price, and it was my Hounds who paid that price with their blood.”

With a pressurized thunderclap, an arterial mist erupted from the center of the command deck, bathing everything for a dozen meters in a claret film. Chunks of meat slopped onto the floor from control consoles and stone pillars, while a faint clattering could be heard as fragments of bone flew about the vast expanse. A creeping horror began to spread about the floor as understanding dawned on those who were present. Where once the governors of Ranox had stood, a pool of blood was all that remained, crimson dripping from Surmah’s taloned hand.

“Sometimes words can bring a world to its knees. Other times, a world must be forced to see the ignorance in which they dwell. It is at those times one must have the conviction to do what is necessary. For the betterment of the species, you must be willing to make the difficult decision no one else wishes to.” Surmah said.

Lowering his hand, Surmah turned to leave, gesturing for his guard to make their way to the exit ahead of him and ensure no fools lacked the sense to stay out of their path. This entire expedition had been a waste; from the time and munitions spent, to the few casualties his sons had suffered, none of this had been worth this detour in the Six-Hundred and Sixteenth Expedition’s Compliance log.

Bartosz stood there in disbelief, blood trailing down his face and armor as he tried to process the viciousness of his brother. How could he be of the same blood as the beast who had just murdered fifteen innocent humans and painted the room with their remains. Certainly the Emperor wouldn’t condone such wanton brutality to the very beings they were charged with protecting.

“You and your Hounds should be kept leashed and muzzled by our Father, locked away like the mongrels you are. It won’t be long before you are censored for such base behavior.” Bartosz said, the words clipping through his clenched teeth.

Reaching the lip of the staircase, Surmah tilted his head back slightly, a snarl playing out across his gaunt face as his eyes drifted behind him.

Stone screamed as it shattered from the impact, a crater plunging into the metal decking beneath, as Bartosz was driven into the ground. Opening his eyes, he beheld two alabaster orbs gazing back at him, a seething fury burning behind them. Fangs revealed themselves as lips parted in a snarl, spittle flecking his face. As he struggled to rise, Surmah slammed him back down into the floor, driving him deeper, as rivulets of blood started to fill the crater. Armor began to buckle from the tremendous pressure as Surmah pinned his brother to the floor, his face inching closer with each breath.

“Your naivety is going to cost you one of these days, little brother.” Surmah seethed “You are weak. Even that wretched "golden one" has the conviction to do what is necessary when words fail him. That Khnum felt you ready to lead your Legion is laughable. You have shamed him and his sons. Those who rescued you and took you under their wing have only been repaid by ineptitude and paltry excuses to justify those shortcomings. You do not deserve to call him, or any of us, brother.”

Rising from the crater he had driven his brother into, Surmah departed the command deck, his footfalls echoing with a hollow clang around the chamber as he and his guard took their leave. He had lost control, however brief, and for that he was ashamed. He already had a reputation for monstrous actions, he did not need to compound such a misconception by lashing out at one of his brothers, however deserving they may have been. Pausing as he reached the door, the thought crossed his mind to make amends, but with humors still simmering, now was not the time.

As Surmah stepped through the portal and left the bridge in crimson silence, Bartosz slowly pulled himself to his feet. He was painted in arterial spray, his armor dented and crumpled in several areas from the sudden violence of Surmah’s assault. He had been told that he and his sons were immune to fear, such needless emotions were something only mortals suffered from, and yet…. It wasn’t quite fear that lingered in his heart. No, not fear, but shock. Shock that one of his brothers could actually bring themselves to strike another, let alone do so when they had been wrong. He looked about the room, the looks of horror and worry on his peoples’ faces finally rousing him to action, as he realized his bridge had been turned into an abattoir.

“None of you are to speak of this incident, under any circumstances, unless I give permission otherwise.” he said. “Have a servitor crew and menial labor force sent in immediately, this chamber needs to have any memory of this event ever happening erased.”

As he staggered towards the exit, he slowed his step as he realized how callus he had been with his people. Unlike him, they were not immune to such sights, and if he was feeling shaken over what had transpired between him and the Hound, then surely they were a hundred fold.

“Apologies. My curt tone was not intended nor directed at you, I simply wish this scene gone and for all of us to be free from it. Go to your chambers and clean yourselves.” Bartosz said, his tone more somber. “Such stains will take time to cleanse, so I do not expect your immediate return. Please, forgive me for subjecting you to such a scene, I would never wish anyone to witness so abhorrent an act. But I cannot control the humors of my feral brother.” The last note punctuated with barely contained rage.