Decimation

**Decimation**
(***A Lightning Sons Short Story***)

In the middle of the chamber floor, held stationary by great chains of adamantium, Brother Drucus wept. Though bound as he was, the chains seemed needlessly excessive as the muscular, tattooed and scarred form of Brother Drucus knelt there, despondent. His sobs and whimpering cries echoed off the chamber walls, ricocheting like stray bolter rounds, punctuating the silence.

Karmidas had no idea how deep he or his brothers were under the Fortis Luminus. Miles perhaps, perhaps further. There were nine of them in total, made ten by the black clad Imidon standing by the rusted pressure door, the bronze inlay of his blackened armour glinting dully in the near nonexistent light of that fetid chamber. All of them were chosen at random, each of them selected by the grim hand of fate to perform the deed.

“It must be done, brothers,” said Prelate Imidon, his voice a rumble like thunder turned to rasp through his vox-grill, punctuating the silence so suddenly. Karmidas flexed his fingers. There was a wrongness in the air, a feeling that he could not quite forge into something tangible, but it put him ill at ease and made all the worse by the still, judgmental eyes of Prelate Imidon so close by. Drucus had been there, when he had ascended into the ranks of the Chapter - when he had been given his Liber Invigilatus, when they had suffered during the Trial of the Dunes. When they had charged the breach at Kendax, and taken the Citadel of Borlan Mar. They had served side-by-side for well over a century, by Terran standard. He looked now upon the form of his former comrade, watched how his body wracked with each sob, and his muscles tensed against his bindings.

Each of the gathered Astartes, who upon the field of battle would not balk at any order laid down from high, or barked over crackling vox lines, now stood before a brother they had once believed dead, and were expected to make it so. It gave them pause. Each of them looked to the other, helms absent, weapons discarded. A sense of unease passed between them, a look of conflicted confusion that stayed their limbs and weighed their hearts.

"The Brother Drucus you knew died at Kendax. The man before your eyes is not he, but merely a cruel after-image; a remnant that must be expunged if he is to pass into the warm, welcoming embrace of the Emperor." Prelate Imidon intoned from behind them, the sound of his slow thumping boots as he moved beyond the gathered nine. He rounded, coming to stand besides Drucus. With one gauntleted hand, he dragged the man's head back, so that his comrades might see his face. His eyes were clouded, hazed over almost. His lips contorted into the most terrible frown, one that unnerved even Karmidas to look upon. The Moritat's Malady. he had heard it called, though he had never truly seen it for himself. No one had, by any account. "Do not let your brother suffer any longer - do for him what you would want done for yourself, if you were he. End it."

Disquiet spread through the gathered nine once more, their armour wheezing and rasping quietly, giving sound to subtle, nervous movements. Brother Osidax was the first to move, with a level of surety that surprised Karmidas. From a rack in the corner he took up one of the power mauls, igniting it with a click and hum that resonated through the chamber. The others followed suit in short order, now that the line had been crossed, there was no turning back.

"Karmidas?" Came the quiet, rasped voice of Prelate Imidon. He realised he had been standing there, inert. His brothers looked at him expectantly, backed by the quiet sobs of Brother Drucus. Karmidas gave naught but a curt, subtle nod in reply, and with stiff, hesitant footsteps moved to collect the last of nine ancient power mauls, igniting its machine spirit with a harsh click. It crackled and spat menacingly; how many times had it been forced to commit the same deed over, and over and over? How many times had it been forced to commit kindeath? The order was silent, naught but a subtle nod of the Death's Head mask of Prelate Imidon, but the result was more than palpable.

Drucus cried out, a bestial scream levied against the first blow, leveled by Brother Osidax. The second came in short order, then the third, then the deluge. Karmidas felt his own hand rise and fall before he'd even registered it. Felt the warm touch and iron stench of Astartes vitae that congealed upon his face as soon as it struck his skin. In concert the blows fell, and the screams and cries of agony responded. Bones broke, flesh split, teeth shattered. Prelate Imidon stood at silent attention whilst the task was carried out, unwavering, unflinching, despite the earth shaking screams of dying Drucus. Dying, but not yet dead. The remorseful blows leveled upon him by his brothers soon turned to ones of animalistic frustration. Karmidas ground his jaw, praying silently for his friend to just give out and die, so this ordeal might be over. Yet there was no answer. They swung and kept on swinging until the pain of exertion tore through their limbs, and the cracking of each blow became almost deafening.

The swings did not stop, not at once; they petered out like the gradual end of a torrential storm, each of the nine brother-Astartes slowly coming to terms with the act they had just committed. Karmidas stood silently over the beaten form of Brother Drucus. "This is the fate of those that fall from the path, brothers - see that you do not, for the sake of you, your comrades, your Chapter and the Emperor," Prelate Imidon said after a long, deafening silence. Karmidas half acknowledged it, with his eyes set upon Drucus still. He was Drucus no longer, not as Karmidas had known him; his form was shattered and broken, his face unrecognisable. He remained there, long after Prelate Imidon and his brothers had filed out, until the squat, lumbering servitors arrived to ferry the body away; where to, Karmidas knew not, but it was not into the Emperors embrace.