Chapter 908 - 907: You Are the Last Great Beast, and My First Spirit

The northern wilds were the oldest, most desolate, and most dangerous region of Caliban.

Now, almost all the forests were gone, save for the northeastern part of the planet, near the Wolf's Head Mountain and the surrounding area where the fallen Knights of Sirius had been located.

Zahariel, a Librarian of the Dark Angels, stepped from the landing pad. The deep-grey pad was flanked on three sides by massive, multi-tiered mineral refineries and storage tanks, casting long shadows across the fields.

Zahariel quickly moved away from the pad, looking around. The tops of brown and black roots stubbornly pushed through cracks in the smooth surface.

Caliban's forests had not yielded to the Imperium's ground-clearance machinery. They still resisted, tenaciously regrowing.

Imperial planetologists had classified Caliban as a Death World, not just dangerous, but actively hostile to human life.

Zahariel had read extensively in the Librarius's archives, and had come to understand that a Death World is almost impossible to tame.

Caliban appeared to have been completely transformed by the Imperium's engineers, but the "Spirit Warlock" could sense that was not the case. Something still resisted.

As Zahariel advanced, the trees grew from knee-high shrubs to towering giants, six men tall.

He entered the forest.

The "Spirit Warlock" frowned, staring into the green, deathly silence. The trees rustled.

"Zahariel, you are a child of Caliban."

"You must stop them."

The "Spirit Warlock," following the weeping trees' gaze into the forest, was thrown back to a moment of glory years ago. He had slain the last Great Beast in this very area.

More importantly, the feeling was the same now as then.

Something lurked in the forest, something even an Astartes couldn't see.

It radiated a slow, loathsome decay.

His gaze swept over the buildings and towers, searching for the hidden presence.

He saw that the Great Beasts were gone. The twisted, terrifying trees were gone. Even the craters from the Great Order's campaigns had been scraped bare. Yet the atmosphere remained.

The "Spirit Warlock" extended his spirituality. "Who told you?"

His voice, filtered through his helmet's grille, echoed through the forest.

The forest was silent. The darkness deepened.

Receiving no answer, the "Spirit Warlock" extended more of his spirituality.

"The survivor of the Knights of Sirius, the wraith that haunts Caliban, where is he?"

He could sense the forest's nature-spirits resisting the question, but from the swaying of the branches, he could tell the resistance was weakening.

Having gained the Black Emperor's power, he had been hunting for the last survivor of the Knights of Sirius for nearly a year.

The "Spirit Warlock's" voice was gentle, coaxing.

"We are all born of Caliban. We stand together."

"You should tell me."

Second after second of silence. A deep voice echoed.

"He is-"

Roar!

Zahariel was startled. This presence he knew too well. It belonged to a Great Beast.

But the last Great Beast had been slain by him. Luther had always regretted not achieving the same feat.

Following his intuition, he ran towards the roar.

He had only run a kilometer when he emerged from the forest.

His gaze narrowed. The ground ahead was covered in frost.

He looked at the center of the frost, where a lightning-scorched tree stood.

His intuition prickled. From the tree's shadow, a massive, pitch-black beast emerged, like a piece of obsidian studded with massive spines.

A Great Beast, thought extinct!

The blade-like mane on its chitinous head exploded, a storm of projectiles hurled at Zahariel.

A piercing shriek, laced with venom and hatred.

Zahariel's mind traced the trajectory of each blade. He leaped back.

The piercing shriek filled his ears, the venomous roar echoing in his mind, as if trying to tear his brain and soul apart.

He instantly ascended to the Third Level of the Thelema mindstate, erecting a golden barrier that sealed the wraith's scream outside.

The "Spirit Warlock's" eyes narrowed. A Great Beast's mane couldn't be detached. This was a wraith.

The hatred in its scream surpassed a normal wraith's. It seemed to bear an extraordinary grudge against him.

'Could this be the Great Beast I once killed?'

'I killed you once. I can kill you again. Then, I was only a Knight, using my gifts by instinct. Now, I am not only a Dark Angel, but have mastered the Fear Sight under the Black Emperor's tutelage, and gained His power.'

As Zahariel thought, he recalled the memory of nearly being torn apart by the Beast's sword-like claws, and charged the wraith.

A thousand Zahariels materialized from all directions.

In an instant, a thousand blades struck the shimmering armor.

Bang!

The Great Beast shattered into a thousand pieces.

Whoosh!

The fragments of the Great Beast's wraith reformed. Physical attacks were ineffective against it.

The Librarian raised his left arm, drawing his force staff from his back.

Crackle!

The staff, wreathed in black flame, struck the Great Beast.

Since becoming a "Nightmare," Zahariel's psychic flame had turned an unusual pitch black.

One by one, like dying stars, black orbs flew at the wraith.

Boom, boom, boom...

The Great Beast was torn apart by the black flame, its shimmering green form exploding into fragments.

Zahariel watched the fragments, slowly drifting and reforming.

It was still alive. Slowly regenerating.

The "Spirit Warlock" stared at the powerful wraith, his eyes gleaming.

"I killed you once. You are the last Great Beast, and you will be my first spirit."

His breathing slowed, growing deep and even. A grey mist rose in his eyes.

He extended his spirituality. Countless black, mystic symbols enveloped the wraith.

The scattered green fragments churned.

A brilliant light erupted, as if trying to break through the black "net."

The "Spirit Warlock" clicked his teeth, the third from the right, bottom row. The black "net" contracted, forcing the green light back.

The black shroud and the green light pulsed and contracted, but slowly, inexorably, the net closed.

Suddenly, the green light was fully contained within the shroud. Not a glimmer escaped.

He clicked the tooth again. The black shroud became a stream of light, shooting into his mouth.

The light vanished. A mystic symbol was faintly etched into that tooth, the third from the right, bottom row.

An image flooded his mind: a figure wearing a wolf-head mask.

On either side of the mask, wings extended, wrapping around the back of the head.

The Wolf!

His first captured wraith had revealed the location of the last survivor.

....

If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.

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