The First Heretic

‘I see a storm,’ said the captain. ‘Nothing more.’

‘You and I both, sir.’ This, from Dagotal. The outrider sergeant had arrived several minutes after the rest of them, coming straight from the containment block where he’d left Lieutenant Arvas in the less than tender care of the brig officers. ‘I feel something, though. The ship’s shaking itself apart.’

‘Always thought I’d die in battle,’ grumbled Malnor.

Argel Tal shook his head. ‘You dragged us into this nexus of energies, Ingethel. It is time to tell us why. What are we supposed to be seeing?’

The truth. The truth behind the stars. The hidden layer of the universe.

‘I see a storm that threatens to kill us all, comprised of a thousand colours.’

No. You see target locks and biological data streams. You see the world before you through filtering lenses. You stand on the border of heaven, Word Bearer. Remove your helm. Look upon the home of the gods with your true eyes.

It took him a moment to comply, hesitating at the thought of the creature’s smell assaulting his olfactory senses without first being purified by his helm’s intake grille. He took a final breath of his armour’s stale, recycled air, and disengaged the collar seals.

It was worse than he’d imagined, and the bridge crew were to be commended for the fact so few of them vomited. The chamber already reeked of a charnel house; that coppery spice of fouled blood, the stinging meat-stink of digestive organs bared to the air.

‘I still see nothing,’ Argel Tal grunted. ‘I see the storm.’

You cannot lie to me as you lie to the humans. Stare into the clashing tides around us. Do you see what stares back?

The captain stepped closer to the dome’s edge, peering out into the roiling void, where the playing energies mixed and swirled. The ship gave another tremor at the mercy of the forceful tides. There, just a for a moment, as the ship shook...

You saw. Your heart quickened. Your eyes dilated. You saw.

Argel Tal stroked his hand along the dense glass wall, staring into the tumult beyond. How could one draw meaning from this madness? The ship shuddered in the aetheric tides again, and once more the riotous energies coalesced for the briefest moment.

A human face, spoiled by frightened eyes and a screaming mouth, formed from the burning matter outside the glass. It burst against the dome, dissipating back into the raging tides from whence it came.

Do you know what this storm is?

Argel Tal wouldn’t look away from the tides. ‘It’s warp energy. The aetheric current, reaching through into the material universe. Imperial records have chronicled the presence of alien creatures in the warp itself, but they are catalogued among the lesser xenos threats.’

Ingethel’s hiss echoed in his mind. How verminous, the creature’s laughter.

Do you know what those words mean? Or do you relate lore poured into your mind by the indoctrinations that shaped you? What do you see when you stare into this storm?

The Word Bearer turned to Ingethel. A face that would have been handsome – had it not suffered the trials of Astartes surgery – stared up at the creature. ‘This is the galaxy’s blood. Reality is bleeding.’

Close. The daemon-thing chittered with a rodent’s delight. Humanity is precious in its ignorance, but that cannot be allowed to last if your species is to survive. The warp is more than a realm for mortal vessels to cut into with impunity, and use its tides to sail faster than light.

What you are seeing is creation’s own shadow, where every mortal emotion and urge takes immortal form. You are sailing through seas made of psychic energy and liquefied sorrow. You are cast adrift in the heaven and hell of a million mythologies, Argel Tal.

This is where every moment of hatred, disgust, wrath, joy, grief, jealousy, indolence and decadence manifest as raw energy.

This is where the souls of the dead come to burn forever.