Semeneo's gaze swept over the distant mountain's shadow, then froze. A Shadow of Order had materialized.
His chainsword's motor whirred, its teeth spinning, yet strangely, it was utterly silent.
He lunged at the rearmost rat-face, his silent blades shredding it.
Flesh struck the teeth, then rebounded, as if an invisible barrier sheathed them.
'Shadow Scorpions!'
Semeneo calmly swapped hydrogen bottles, raising his Etacarn plasma gun and continuing to fire, his eyes fixed on the rear lines.
While embedded in the Alpha Legion, he had heard of them. Their abilities in this field rivaled those of the Raven Guard and the Night Lords.
Now, at last, he had the chance to witness them in battle.
His eyes were locked on the rear lines, not missing a single detail.
Yet the Shadow Scorpions emerged from the shadows in ways beyond his perception.
They seemed to grow from the shadows behind the rat-faces, launching their swift attacks in absolute silence.
Their savage assault dismembered the rear line, without even alerting the adjacent front line.
Semeneo strained to track their movements.
But their massive forms, black armor and all, vanished from sight. Neither his helmet's augur nor his own eyes could follow them.
Then, they would reappear, striking with their blades.
'Psychic power?'
He remembered information passed by an Alpha infiltrator into the Raven Guard.
Corvus Corax would often appear suddenly, on the battlefield or off, taking Raven Guard away.
The infiltrator had investigated, discovering that one Raven Guard, shortly before being taken, had vanished from sight on the training deck for three seconds.
Was the Shadow of Order using similar psychic powers to hide in the shadows?
He discarded the habits ingrained in the Alpha Legion, forging a new one upon his return.
Semeneo watched both the enemy runes on his tactical display and the distance, closing the gap.
[5.9 kilometers, 4.7, 3.8.]
Only when the distance closed to [1.6 kilometers] did the enemy realize they were being flanked.
Dozens of rat-faces, their tails curled around their weapons, dropped to all fours and scurried away.
They leaped, their green eyes filled with the carnage.
A piercing shriek. The rat-faces turned, then fled.
Even the tails of hundreds loosened, flinging their human-made weapons aside as they fled faster.
Other xenos followed suit, their curled tails hurling their weapons, accelerating their escape.
Semeneo stopped. He saw a hundred battle-brothers lower their plasma guns and draw strange combat knives.
The hilts were carved from bone, a skull faintly visible at the pommel.
They lowered their center of gravity and sprinted.
Clang, clang, clang.
The first Shadow of Order caught a rat-face. He raised his left arm, grabbing its furry head.
The rat-face was lifted. Its tail curled, lashing like a whip against his Mark IV armor.
Clang!
The black armor dented. The Shadow of Order's blade fell.
Thwip!
He decapitated the enemy with a single stroke, hanging the head from the spiked belt around his waist.
Semeneo's eyes narrowed. The Shadow of Order used the back of his knife, bloodied, to mark a symbol on his helmet.
Then, he hung the body on a hook at his left hip.
Semeneo frowned. He hesitated.
'This behavior looks very similar to the World Eaters. Is this permitted?'
With misgiving, he watched as a hundred Shadows of Order hung xenos heads from their belts, three rat-faces on each side, their long tails dragging in the dust.
He watched them gather, lighting a campfire.
They slit the rat-faces' arteries, draining the blood into bowls.
Like skilled butchers, they soaked them in hot water, stripping the fur with practiced knife work.
They used spikes to impale the bodies, setting them over the fire to roast.
Semeneo silently joined the line for his nutrient paste.
He looked at another camp, a kilometer away, where a hundred Shadows of Order raised their bowls, drinking the blood.
Then, they chanted something, taking the fragrant roasted rat-faces and tearing into them.
Semeneo felt the weight of his bowl. He sat silently in the shadow of a ruined gun emplacement.
"You seem troubled by something."
Semeneo looked up. Pat, the High Chaplain, had appeared beside him.
His eyes were vertical, glowing with a strange, pale gold.
"They eat xenos flesh and drink their blood. It seems barbaric."
"Is this permitted?"
"They are a special group within the Chapter. They call themselves the Sorrowful Brethren," Pat said, following Semeneo's gaze.
"Each carries a master-crafted combat knife, to take enemy skulls as trophies in victory."
"Only those who have personally taken an enemy's head may become a Sorrowful Brethren."
"After battle, they drink the enemy's blood and eat their flesh."
Pat turned his gaze to Semeneo.
"My Lord has said, 'It is better to guide than to suppress.'"
"He permits the Sorrowful Brethren but confines them to order: their rituals are to be performed only on xenos."
"That is why the Sorrowful Brethren are based on the galactic eastern edge, where endless xenos can satisfy their cultural customs."
Pat knew the Black Emperor had done this to satisfy the Faceless from the 2nd Legion, their gene-father's inherited hunger for flesh.
He had neither indulged nor suppressed it, but had drawn a boundary, allowing them to satisfy their genetic drive without losing control.
Monitoring their subconscious was also the duty of the "Dreamwalkers."
Semeneo's eyes were deep. "At least, the Sorrowful Brethren's prey are xenos. They don't harm their own."
He recalled the bloodshed he had witnessed in the Alpha Legion. Especially the 42nd Hydra, the destruction of the 670th Expedition Fleet, the slaughter of the Kynoch Chapter and other Imperial forces, to hide their secret.
....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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