Assassins

Guilliman's words stunned everyone. The daemons of the Warp had laid a trap, yet instead of considering how to escape it, he wanted to wipe them all out. Such arrogance would once have invited ridicule. Countless species had paid a terrible price for the existence of those creatures. Over the long ages, their corruption had destroyed peoples and civilizations beyond counting. Destroying them was unthinkable; even holding out briefly had been a rare victory.

Seeing the astonishment and doubt in their eyes, Guilliman smiled. “The long ages have proved that running from them achieves nothing. If they hunger so desperately for war and destruction, why not give them what they want? We once opposed Chaos with reason and civilization. All that accomplished was an even more crushing defeat. Since they enjoy conflict so much, we shall answer them in kind.”

“They have long lives. So do we. They can return from death. So can we. Our blades can slit their throats with ease and grant them final death. But their weapons cannot harm us.”

“They dare not even confront us openly. They rely on these petty, treacherous tricks. Why should we still be afraid? Or do you doubt my ability? Have you no faith in yourselves? Have all my victories still failed to give you confidence?” His impassioned words made them lower their heads in shame.

“No, my lord. We only...” Sicarius spoke with a trace of alarm, shaken by his gene-father's rebuke. He possessed a formidable second-generation body, but his thinking remained trapped in the past.

Guilliman silenced him with a gesture and surveyed the room. “Stop keeping your minds in the past. Chaos may have won many times, but now it will pay. Because we are here. We are no longer lesser creatures cowering in caves. We wield weapons forged from conviction. Our armies and warships sweep invincibly across the stars. Our souls dwell with the Emperor. Mortal life is only a brief journey in which we prove ourselves worthy of ascension. Fear and submission will only convince the Emperor that we are unfit to tread that highest path.”

“My warriors answer blood with blood, a tooth with a tooth. When we have slain the daemons and the last god begs for mercy beneath our blades, the final ascension will begin.”

Everyone in the room fell silent, even the two Aeldari. No one could find a reply. Guilliman's words struck their hearts like hammer blows.

“Since we entered the Warp, you have fought one extraordinary battle after another. Daemons once considered mighty cannot fight back against you. Your powerful bodies can tear them apart with ease. Why should you fear them?”

“They have not laid a trap for us. They have dug their own graves. They think they can slaughter the living beings of the material universe as freely as before. They are wrong. We shall cut off their heads, shatter their souls, and destroy the very foundations that sustain them.”

Guilliman paused and slowly surveyed the room again. “We fight for the Emperor, for humanity, and for the future of both our peoples.” His gaze settled on the two Aeldari as he spoke the final words. That last part was for them.

He remained wary of the Aeldari, but there was no denying that Yvraine had saved him. They had also sent troops to help him in the battle for Odras. Until it was clear that they meant to turn against him, he could only accept their presence. Striking first would betray the alliance between humanity and the Aeldari. Betrayal and murder would then curse humanity forever, making victory over the Warp impossible.

Possessing strength was one thing. Truly freeing humanity from the Warp and defeating it required abandoning the old ways. Betraying the Aeldari would certainly win Guilliman favor among the Imperium's human supremacists, but such shortsightedness would also cast humanity into the abyss. Betrayal and murder would haunt it forever.

The alliance, however, extended only to humanity and the Craftworld Aeldari led by Yvraine. Hostile Dark Eldar and craftworlds were not included. Those who sought peace would receive peace; those who sought war would receive war. That was Guilliman's principle.

“We will follow the Regent's orders,” Sicarius and Aion said. They were Ultramarines. Even without this speech, they would have obeyed their gene-father unconditionally.

Veilwalker and the Ynnari prophet exchanged a glance, communicating without words. After a moment, Veilwalker spoke. “Since the Regent has a plan, we will naturally cooperate. Please tell us the details.” Yvraine stepped forward as well. “The Ynnari are also willing to support the Regent's plan.”

Guilliman nodded at their declarations. Having everyone's support would make execution much easier. Star-beacon jumps allowed his forces to assemble swiftly. The Warp's apparent numerical superiority meant little: if he wished, he could concentrate a great army in a very short time. That was the advantage of the beacons. Within their coverage, any expeditionary fleet could readily reach the designated position.

Guilliman decided to send Abaddon a magnificent gift. The Emperor's age was over. The age of the Primarchs was over. But the age of the Warp gods was over too.

Now it was the age of Guilliman, the Thirteenth Prince. He intended to make Abaddon understand: so long as Guilliman remained, no one would dare raise their voice. Gods would bow their heads; dragons would coil up and behave. So what if Abaddon was Warmaster? Guilliman would still beat him until his eyes were red.

The Aeldari had several Webway routes on Belial IV. Before their ancient empire fell, the world had housed Asuryan's temple. His following had been the greatest of all; even Isha, goddess of life, could not rival him. Belial IV had therefore been not only a cultural center but a Webway nexus, crowded with entrances.

With the fall of the empire, many routes had been destroyed or filled with roaming daemons. A few hidden passages on Belial IV survived. They might encounter Dark Eldar, but those who had abandoned the Aeldari faith were no match for humans in open battle. What Guilliman did not yet know was that they could no longer beat humans even in close combat.

Once they had agreed on the plan, Sylandri Veilwalker hurried away. As a token of good faith, Guilliman gave the Aeldari a warship capable of star-beacon jumps. Of course, he also placed a backdoor in its central control system, just in case. Only he and Cawl had access to that override. No one else knew it existed. Even the workers who had built the system did not understand what they were making. Only Guilliman and Cawl, who possessed the complete body of knowledge, understood it.

Planning had taken several days, but Guilliman remained full of energy as he left the conference chamber. He immediately spotted an assassin. Feeling his gaze, the figure hastily shrank back and tried to hide.

The Imperium of Man had endured for ten thousand years. Its survival owed something not only to fearless Space Marines and the vast Astra Militarum, but to assassins. Tyrannical local rulers, speakers who incited rebellion—anything threatening the Emperor or the Imperium would draw their attention. Many self-proclaimed saviors had been shot dead in the middle of an impassioned speech by an assassin hidden in the dark.

Assassins excelled with every kind of weapon, sending the Emperor's enemies to hell.

The Officio Assassinorum had been founded during the Great Crusade in the thirty-first millennium by the Imperial Regent, Malcador the Sigillite. After the Emperor began his crusade, some of his most faithful servants gathered together. These men and women were masters of intrigue, exceptionally gifted in the art of killing. They worked in secret, hunting anyone who sought to sabotage the Emperor's grand design.

At first, they did not want the Emperor to notice them. In their eyes, everything they did was a stain beside the glory of his Great Crusade. They quietly followed their creed in the shadows, ensuring that newly compliant rulers committed no treason and did not twist the orders of newly appointed planetary governors. They walked in darkness so that the Imperium could stand in the light. These people of unshakable conviction shouldered the sins of that great empire alone.

As time passed, they realized that death could not be avoided. They began seeking suitable successors to inherit their skills and continue the great mission. That was the beginning of the Assassinorum.

The Assassinorum was divided into seven great temples: Vindicare, Callidus, Eversor, Culexus, the poison temple, Qiulisas, and a later renegade assassin temple, Maerorus. Their specialties differed: sniping, manipulating probability, mowing down hordes, poison, close combat, and anti-psychic warfare.

Maerorus had been erased not long after its founding. From its creation to its destruction, the temple had produced only a single assassin. It had been abolished because it could not be controlled.

Alpha-Rho-154 hid in the shadows, trying to avoid the Primarch's gaze and conceal every part of his body. He belonged to the Culexus Temple and specialized in countering powerful psykers, though he was highly proficient in the other temples' skills as well.

The last time he had awakened was late in the thirty-ninth millennium, when the Cadian Gate still stood. Ordered to assassinate a rebel leader, he had staged a spectacular killing: he detonated the reactor of the man's warship, executing tens of thousands of rebels along with him. An assassin's purpose was to infiltrate and kill the enemy. So long as that objective was achieved, nothing else mattered.