The Judges In Their Hunger Read online

  The Judges, In Their Hunger

  David Annandale

  He had thought surrender the better choice. He had hoped to avoid wrath and perhaps, just perhaps, inspire mercy. If not for his people, then at least for himself.

  He watched as another of his ministers was brought before the horned monster. The judge in power armour grabbed the man by the throat and lifted him from the ground. ‘Do you have value? You do not have perfection, but can you conceive of that state?’

  The minister’s feet danced for purchase in the air. ‘No, lord,’ he gasped. ‘Next to you, what could–’

  The judge, who was called Mindarus, interrupted by bringing up his other hand and punching through the man’s skull. ‘Disappointing,’ he said. ‘His underlings are obviously no better, if they have left him in such ignorance. Kill them all.’

  At the back of the Hall of Justice, one of the other monsters nodded and left on his mission of extermination.

  Lord Nathaniel Bellasun, Imperial Commander of Sendennis, was not a warrior. He would admit to being a coward, but he preferred to think of himself as a realist. He knew his nature, and that of his world, and what both their capacities were. Sendennis delivered its requisite tithes to the Imperial Guard, but its troops were not prized on the field of battle. They were soft from the primary industry of Sendennis: luxury. For the nobles and rogue traders with means and appetites, Sendennis accepted the one and provided for the other. It had done so for centuries. Excess was its indigenous art form. Its isolation in the Eastern Fringe, at the limits of the Imperium’s influence, gave Sendennis considerable license.

  But now the monsters had come, and they confronted Bellasun, who fancied himself an epicure of some knowledge, with the perfection of excess. They called themselves the Flawless Host. Their armour was the black of night, the violet of deep luxury, and, most disturbing of all, a pale pink that recalled both the infants of the privileged and the exposed muscle of the mutilated. They had demanded the capitulation of Sendennis. Bellasun had faith in the Emperor, but felt that His protection was too remote. He had opened all doors to the monsters, and now flawless horror was ravaging Sendennis.

  Mindarus gestured, and Bellasun walked towards him. His mind raced. To survive, he must offer something sublime. He let his imagination run riot with atrocities. It was with even a bit of pride that he began to speak before he had even reached the judge of his fate. ‘My lord,’ he began, and bowed low. ‘If I may, I can propose the most exquisite of martyrdoms.’

  The rear of the hall exploded. The doors flew into splinters, and a large chunk of the wall disintegrated. The Chaos Space Marine who had left a moment before was sent arcing through the air, his limbs severed, his head dangling from his torso. A squad of giants charged in, so close on the heels of the explosion it was as if their mere presence had shattered the wall. They were clad in ancient grey power armour, studded and already splashed with the blood of their foes. Their pauldrons were emblazoned with a coiled shark. They moved down the central aisle of the hall, heading directly for Mindarus.

  Bellasun felt the world give way beneath him. He had been on the verge, he thought, of coming to an understanding with the invaders. They embodied the principles of Sendennis taken to the final degree, so surely there was room for an understanding. But now terrifying myths had arrived. Bellasun did not know the name of these warriors. He knew of them only through the tales of their actions, tales that the people of Sendennis told each other to exorcise the fear that these unforgiving beings might be real. They were predators in the night of the void. They were the coldness of the universe that Bellasun’s world existed to deny. And now the feral truth had arrived.

  The Flawless Host, scattered around the hall, opened fire. The thousands of prisoners panicked. They stampeded, and took many of the shells intended for the loyalist Space Marines. Soft mortals exploded. Blood was rain and spray and mist, and it filled the air. The loyalists answered the traitors in kind. They aimed higher. Civilians who stayed low were unharmed. But others, beyond reason, tried to escape the crush by climbing over the marble benches. Some of them fell back, their bodies shredded, coating their fellow prisoners with vitae.

  The loyalists’ fire was limited, intended to do no more than hamper and enrage. It worked. As the squad closed with the traitor captain, the rest of the Flawless Host rushed forward.

  Bellasun dropped to the ground. He scrabbled to the nearest pew and tried to tuck himself underneath. He had grown too wide, and so curled against the stone, whimpering as the two forces came together around him.

  He had believed himself a connoisseur of sensation. He had been a fool. Before him now was sensation in absolute form. The Flawless Host fought with perverse grace. They revelled in each telling blow. The loyalists killed with brutal frenzy. They smashed their foes to the ground with power fists and gutted them with chainswords. There was no art to their war, only a carnivore’s savaging of prey. There was very little left of each traitor that fell. The floor of the hall was awash with death.

  The monsters of excess tore each other apart. The hunger for perfection wrestled with the hunger for the kill. The greater rage of the grey predators triumphed. They reduced the traitors to ruined armour and shards of bone. When the last of the chain-blade growls faded, the air was humid with slaughter.

  The terrified citizens quieted, awaiting the new determination of their fate.

  Bellasun made himself stand. He straightened his stained robes of office as best he could. The Space Marine captain turned to look at him. He was not wearing his helmet. His lined, blood-splashed face was the pale grey of old death. His eyes were a uniform, glistening, inhuman black.

  Bellasun looked away and bowed. ‘Welcome, lord…?’

  There was no answer.

  Bellasun tried to recover. ‘As Imperial Commander, permit me to welcome you to Sendennis, and to thank you for saving–’

  ‘You were bowing.’ When he spoke, the giant revealed rows of jagged, triangular teeth.

  Fear choked any response in Bellasun’s throat.

  ‘You were abasing yourself before the traitor,’ the Space Marine said.

  Bellasun sank to his knees. Despite his terror, he gazed up into that terrible face.

  The pitiless face of the true judge of Sendennis.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  David Annandale is the author of the digital short story ‘Eclipse of Hope’ and the novellas Yarrick: Chains of Golgotha and Mephiston: Lord of Death for Black Library. By day, he dons an academic disguise and lectures at a Canadian university on subjects ranging from English literature to horror films and video games. He lives with his wife and family and a daemon in the shape of a cat, and is working on several new projects set in the grim darkness of the far future.

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  David Annandale, The Judges, In Their Hunger

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