The Sorcerer's Tale

Within his domain, the Sorcerer was king. And his domain was all that his power could touch. The tower was enough, he told himself. He told himself this often.

The great Sorcerers of the Thousand Sons, those that remained, held great power. Worlds and armies, slavish cults, secrets and rituals untold. He had the tower. The single tower, on the black rock world, on the edge of nothing at all. But it was enough. It was enough - for the Library. No spell-book of Ahriman lay within, no daemon-scribed ledger. But enough, more than enough.

A scream echoed from downstairs. The Sorcerer sneered horribly; the cultists were at it again. By the way they went through each other, he'd have to recruit a new batch soon. Perhaps Khornates, this time. The Slaanesh kind were simply too... *unseemly*, even for his methods. For a bit of peace and quiet, for not having to risk stepping in a freshly vivisected servant in the hall - for a useful attendant, he would give untold riches. And yet.... It would soon no longer matter. As soon as his work with the Library reached completion, even Ahriman would have to give him notice. This result was beyond doubt.

Another agony-filled scream rang out from below. The Sorcerer clenched his fists, electric fire clawing into existence with his rage. He'd have to discipline them again, before his day's research could commence. *Damned Slaanesh worshippers*, he thought. If he was very lucky, they wouldn't take quite so much enjoyment from it this time. The Sorcerer had nearly exited his study when he heard a new sound, just at the edge of his hearing. He turned toward one wall of the tower, the roar growing ever louder. It is at this point that the wall explodes, and a mass of steel took its place. The Sorcerer flew, very briefly, into darkness.

He awoke to the sound of his skull ringing. Noise blurred into a single high-pitched whine, and his vision of smudge of gray. The faint outline of something jutting from one of the walls coalesced, even as the Sorcerer stumbled, unable yet to rise from his knees. Tables and shelves had exploded over the inside of the room, coating everything in a carpet of wreckage, scrolls, and dust. The strange mass swam in the Sorcerer's vision, linking to a distant memory, millennium ancient. *A... Thunderhawk?* The Sorcerer's blood froze, and his spine went stiff. The Imperium had arrived, and he was still reeling. He opened his mouth to call his servants to arms, but over the whine in his ears, he couldn't hear his own voice. He fell forward onto his hands, croaking again for help. *Chaos preserve me. Too soon. They've come too soon!*

 He closed his eyes in concentration, calling the familiar energies to life. Static fire coursed to his hands and his mind opened. The Sorcerer would not let himself go down without a fight. He was too old, too proud, to die easily. Psychic un-fire lashed from his eyes, no longer afraid. He had not lived millennial in service to Chaos without growing malignant and fierce in his power. Only - another noise, strange and familiar, crowded into his mind, crying for his attention. He turned his head to the right, trying to locate the source of the cloying sound - to find himself an inch from the blade of a chain-ax, purring hungrily. A horizon of teeth and steel, blurring together at such close range, forced his mind into a state of catatonia. Like turning over in bed to find oneself eye to eye with a carnodon, no preparation for battle, no moment of ascendant psionic force, could have prepared him for that second of shocked, animal, dread.

The Sorcerer found his legs kicked from under him with a shock of pain, and heard the ax descend, again inches from his face. *Ah, yes. That was the sound.* The purring hum of the motor, so familiar from his early days, was now filling his mind again, joined with the endless recession of hungry teeth. Behind the eye-watering expanse of steel, the Sorcerer met the steel-plate visage of a massive Space Marine, sporting unfamiliar deep blue armor, and an equally foreign Chapter device. While the Sorcerer puzzled over the mystery of his unexpected guests, more sallied forth from the Thunderhawk. Out of the corner of his eye, the Sorcerer understood, with a sinking feeling in his gut. The Marines had no less than crashed the front end of the dropship into his tower, demolishing a fair section of wall to make way for its disembarkation ramp. He counted at least six Marines, and various dreadful weapons, making their way across his lab. And he guessed from the crushing pressure in his left shoulder, and the odd cold point at the back of his head, that there was at a Bolter to his skull. *Chaos preserve me*, the Sorcerer thought, dread weighing down his arms.

Two Marines stationed themselves near the stairs, the only way down from the tower's heights, and the rest splayed out across the Sorcerer's vast chamber, the muzzles of various weapons sweeping back and forth as they searched.

"The holos," the Marine with the chain-ax pronounced, his helmet vox rumbling. "Where are they?" The Sorcerer felt a moment of doubt and surprise. He hadn't thought his collection to have alerted the Imperium, unless.... *Oh. Damn.*

"What holos, loyal dog? What use have I for -" The Sorcerer's world turned to a flash of crimson, even as the lies left his mouth. His skull throbbed, from what he was almost certain was a generous crack from the Marine behind him.

"The holos that you took from the libraries of Buggerthismess," the apparent commander said evenly. The Sorcerer's guts turned with the revelation he half expected.

"So then.... You searched the vaults, did you?"

"Yes," said the Marine commander. "And we found the *surprises* you left for us." The chain ax purred closer, with the barest turn of the wrist.

"Understand this, traitor; you will die. Regardless of the outcome. You have the option of choosing *how* you will die, that is. You can either comply with us and reveal the holo-vids' location, and we end you quickly and with dignity - or..."

The commanding Marine brought the humming ax close to the sorcerer. Right between his legs, tearing his robes to tatters.

"... We can force the answer out of you. Slowly."

Sweat began to seep from every pore of the Sorcerer's skin. The understanding that these Astartes were of a kind all together different from any in his life and experience - this was almost worse than the threat.

"Of course," the Sorcerer managed, forcing himself to meet the Marine's visor. "If you'll let me up...." A gauntlet closed on his arm and the Sorcerer found himself several inches off the ground.

While the Sorcerer lamely pointed to the Library's door, a great din of yelling and steel came from the staircase. The Sorcerer felt a scant note of hope rise in his chest. Imagining that a rabble of Slaaneshi cultists could overwhelm even a single Marine was madness, but if they could distract the Marines for one moment, just one spare moment -

The Marine standing flush with the wall of the tower stepped into view of the staircase, brought his weapon to bear - the Sorcerer heard a terrible *hiss* from the bulky device - and a wave of light surged down the stairs. There were screams, but not the kind a survivor makes. The scream of super-heated air ripping free of a body. The foul stench permeated the study, rich with burned meat and ash. The Marine shouldered his Meltagun and gave a thumbs-up. The Sorcerer found no trouble directing the Marines to the Library after that.

"They are all intact, I assure you." The Sorcerer was allowed to walk on his own once inside the Library, albeit with a Bolter to his spine. High stone walls covered with full shelves, reigning high over cluttered tables and towering stacks. And everywhere - holos. Crystals, data-slates, cogitator memory banks in gleaming chrome. A veritable wonder of information. The Marines were transfixed, gazing at the walls and piles of holos with evident adoration. The Sorcerer didn't try to guess what they were there for; the records covered half of human history. Even the Captain seemed to wander, lost in reverence to the cache they'd found. The Sorcerer waited for just the right moment, stepping behind a massive table, wrought from raw slate from the dead world beyond his walls. His minder kept the barrel of the Bolter trained on him, but even he seemed distracted. *Perfect.*

The Sorcerer closed his eyes for a breath, and - *the table flew, propelled by willpower alone, primeval forces from the Universe's gestation clawed forth from the Sorcerer's hands, words that were not sound but razor-sharp incantations poured forth from his mouth. Lightning lit forth from his eyes, flickering in colors outside human cognition. His mind opened, ascended, collapsed, all at once - and he let Chaos in. He was too old, too vile in his power, too practiced to die easily. He'd take them all with him, even if it cost him his mind and whatever remained of his soul.*

The Marine Captain didn't so much throw the ax as drop it with aplomb. He tossed with panache and purpose. With the trigger locked on. It tore through the Sorcerer even as its weight drove him to the ground. The other Marines brought their weapons to bear, but the work was done. The chain ate until it hit stone floor.

"Get the skulls in here," called the Captain, wrenching his ax free of the corpse. From the Thunder-hawk, in flew a pair of servo-skulls, decorated with the Chapter arms. They spun in a joint helix, round and round, casting thin webs of red laser light around the collection. They flicked their sensors in every direction until one paused, floating high above the room. It extended its delicate armatures, took hold of a holo-disk, and drifted back down. It delivered its find to the Captain's outstretched gauntlet. The Captain turned the delicate artifact in his hand, and immediately fell to one knee.

"In the name of the Lord and Lady!" he shouted aloud, calling all his men to attention. "We've found one! One of the sacred copies! *Godzilla vs Biollante!*" A mighty cheer went up through the men, whooping and cheering. Some knelt and prayed on the spot.

The holos were loaded by padded crate into the Thunderhawk, one after another. The rest of the Marines secured the tower, burning what they found, and placed demolition charges at its base. The Captain watched each crate of precious cargo loaded in. As the last one was secured in the Thunderhawk's bay, he called the junior-most Marine to report.

"Half-Life 3 confirmed. As well as the 'Jazz Jackrabbit Platinum Edition',' Shovel Knight: Interred', and 'Dragon Age: The Mustache Ride Chronicles'. To name just a few. We appear to have the entire King Ghidorah series. It's a great day, isn't it sir!"

The Captain nodded slowly, grateful that the junior Marine couldn't see his face. This was a grand day. A day worthy of song and sacred LAN parties. But he had to keep the men on point. He clapped his gauntlets together, and said, "Yes, Junior-Captain. And a start to a glorious career, I'm sure. But we need to be moving. Have the servo-skulls do another penetrating sweep. I don't trust the old traitor to not have hidden a choice relic or two in the walls."

"Yes, sir!" The young Marine positively jumped into action. The Captain shook his head softly, and took to cleaning bits of Sorcerer from his chain axe. Wouldn't do to have it rust. Not when he had such bounty to bring to O'Magudnis. He'd need to marathon each and every one of them, movies and games all, as befitted his rank. And besides, he thought, passing a file between the teeth of his weapon, *someone* needed to make sure they were all in working order, axis inversion and all that, right? As befitting a reward as any. And the Junior-Captain was right: It was a great day.

As the final number of Marines entered their Thunder-Hawks with their spoils, they shout out in zeal,

"For the Lord and Lady!"

"AND THE EMPRAH!!!!"