Chapter 5 - Monsters
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Chapter 5 – Monsters
Enginseer Galveus Zeta stepped off the lift, mechanically augmented eyes swinging over to the rows upon rows of servitors that stood neatly within one of over a hundred similarly chambers within the Glory of His Magnificence. They were maintenance servitors, fairly standard in their designs, blinking red lights indicating they were at rest. He stepped over to one that had been the source of his coming, a servitor that had registered an unsanctioned alteration to the flesh components, congruent with physical damage that was not uncommon when they were at work… but more of a concern when they weren't. Only tech-priests and enginseers were normally permitted access to these chambers, so if one of the servitors had suffered some form of damage when it should have been at rest, that might indicate something was either wrong with the servitor or someone else had been here.
Galveus could not see anything outwardly wrong with the individual unit, but a more thorough investigation would provide him access shortly.
"Th-th-th-th-th-"
The crackling, vox-filtered voice had him turning, hand falling to the phosphor pistol at his waist, but he quickly realized it was simply one of the servitors. They sometimes spoke or made other noises, leftover remnants of the previous owner of their flesh components. Nothing unusual, though it displeased him to know that others had not been so thorough in their memory wipes of the reanimated flesh. Many of the servitors in this particular chamber were recent additions, made out of the bridge crews who'd failed the Inquisitor, now better suited to serving faithfully and without their pathetic, flesh-born errors. He turned back around and connected one of his mechadendrites into the apparently damaged servitor.
"I had- I had-" the voice called. Galveus paused in his surveillance. That voice sounded different than the first. And the direction it had come from was slightly… off. Two instances occurring so closely together was unusual, but hardly unheard of.
He turned, still connected to the servitor, but he saw nothing out of place. The voice had fallen silent, so he continued his work.
"There are- There are-" This time, Galveus was certain. It was a third servitor that spoke, from the other side of the room from where the first two had been. He checked the servitor that had brought him here swiftly, already planning to send a request to have the servitors sanctified and undergo another mind-wipe, not to mention have those responsible for the first mind-wipe punished, but he couldn't find the issue that had caused it to send the alert-
It hadn't sent an alert. He double-checked its recent activity, but he could find no signs of the alert that had called him here to check on it. But that was impossible. He had been brought here because it had-?
"I-I had strings… but now-now I'm free…"
A fourth voice. Galveus drew his phosphor pistol and withdrew his mechadendrite. In the instant he disconnected however, a mechanical claw closed around the servo-arm, holding him fast. The servitor's eyes swept up to him, dead, haunting, staring past his own. It spoke with a crackle of vox-static.
"There are no strings on me."
"Hi-ho, the merry-o. That's the only way to be…"
Dendrik's eyes narrowed as he strode down the ramp of the shuttle delivering him into one of the hangars of the planetary governor's palace. His augmented ears, some of the most finely crafted in the sector and turned to their maximum capabilities, were just able to pick up Catherine Ellen's muttered song-words from a few dozen feet away. It was an unfamiliar rhyme and he'd never known her to be much of a singer. Did she know about his ears and was trying to throw him off? Her escort, consisting of four Imperial Guardsmen rather than Tempestus Scions as he would have expected, seemed unbothered by the Inquisitor's rhyming.
"Catherine," Dendrik greeted with a warm smile. "Its good to see you in person again."
"I'm sure," Catherine said with a derisive snort. She turned halfway towards the other side of the hangar. "Shall we speak over tea?"
This time, his smile was a bit more genuine. "Gladly," he said. Their escorts walked alongside each other. Dendrik noted that they moved in lockstep with each other almost as well as the Tempestus Scions behind him did. Of course, being able to move well in parade said nothing of actual skill in war.
It was not long before they were both seated at a fine table in one of the countless offices of the governor's palace. While certainly not the most extravagant, it was functional for their purposes. A tea kettle had been prepared already and Catherine began to prepare it. They waited until both had a cup in hand to begin their duel.
Dendrik breathed in the scent of the cup and took a sip. The leaves were also a gift from their mentor, but Dendrik had never been one for making tea and he had never found someone as adept at the craft as Catherine, though one would never think it.
"A fine cup," he said, underselling his reaction, as though he were merely being polite. Catherine smiled knowingly with her eyes as she sipped from her own.
"I have to say, I'm surprised they sent you to retrieve me," Catherine said, setting her cup down with a soft clink. "Picking up regiments, in a battleship no less, seems a bit… beneath you. One wonders if Lord-Inquisitor Hroth is all that pleased with you."
"Lord-Inquisitor Hroth is focused on rebuilding the Imperium's presence in the Ghoul Stars," Dendrik said sourly. "If you haven't noticed, the galaxy's been split in twain and the light of the God-Emperor has been obscured by the Great Rift. The handful of worlds that make up this region of the galaxy might be the only worlds where humans still live. The maintaining of our armies is of the utmost importance. Far more than it was when they sent you here."
"Yes," Catherine said, her eyes still conveying amusement. "Quite an interesting decision, to diminish the Inquisition in such a way. May I assume you had something to do with it?"
Dendrik tensed for only an instant. "I… may have spoken well of your ability to rally others to your cause," he said carefully. She'd must have gotten sharper since they'd last met. "Only good things."
"Of course," Catherine said with a polite smile. "Still, I'm sure you underestimate how resilient humans are. There are certain to be other pockets of resistance even in the darkness on this side of the galaxy. The other half may be more united than you think as well."
"Supposition and baseless beliefs," Dendrik said, shaking his head and sneering. "Hope is not enough to maintain an empire's foundations."
"Perhaps not," Catherine agreed. "Yet, I am sure it will be what saves us all, in the end. After all, what are we fighting for, if not the betterment of the galaxy?"
Dendrik laughed at that. "I never realized you had a sense of humor, Catherine," he said after a while. "Perhaps you should have been a jester rather than an Inquisitor."
Catherine still only smiled at the insult, which seemed to do no more than flow off her like water. Dendrik felt a tiny amount of discomfort. Had she merely pretended to still be her old self in their talk via the hololith?
"So, Ervak then, yes?" Catherine asked. "And just what have the Khrave done to warrant so great a response?"
Dendrik tensed again. She wasn't supposed to know about the Khrave. No one on Monstrum should have. Had she simply played the fool all these years? He calmed himself. No, certainly not. She must have had an inside source with one of the other Inquisitors who knew about the operation, even she could accomplish that much. He smiled. "They've captured the world and added it to their small empire. We aren't sure why they've changed their strategy of roaming from world to world, but they've apparently decided to settle down. What's more, there are indications they've concocted some kind of mutagenic witchraft. Some of our Magos Xenologis believe this to be an isolated cell who have changed themselves to survive in the Ghoul Stars."
"Always interesting to see new forms of xenos," Catherine said idly. She sipped from her tea, then set it down again with an air of finality. She let out a sigh of disappointment and looked at him. "Is there nothing else?"
"What?" He asked, genuine in his confusion. "What do you mean?"
"No other secret plans or ulterior motives for your coming here?" She asked. Dendrik was beyond careful to ensure she did not seem him tense this time. She could not have known about the assassins and their target. If she had learned of them, she would have died. And yet, Catherine seemed to know something.
"I am sure we have no secrets between us," Dendrik lied and Catherine laughed.
"I'm sure," she said with just a hint of malicious amusement. "But just in case, I'd like to take a deeper look. You Inquisitors and your mental defenses, and all that. Don't worry, you won't remember a thing."
He didn't get the chance to ask her what she meant or to even think to draw his sidearm. His eyes suddenly drooped and his body felt weak. He heard a thumping sound as his Tempestus Scions dropped to the ground behind him. He slumped over in his seat. And when he dreamed, he dreamed of endless limbs wrapping around him.
"I want the world to know… Nothing ever worries me…"
The whispering voice on the vox laughed again with a crackle of static. Thrane ignored it, stalking down the corridor with blade in hand, every sense alert for any sign of an attack. The only other creature they had encountered thus far had been the human doppelganger he'd slain.
That was not to last, however, as he could hear something whistling coming from down the dark corridors of the complex they'd entered. The psychic compass that guided them to their target was unerring in its precision, pointing straight down the corridor where the sound had emerged from. It was not a human's whistle, but it put his mind to wind pipes.
A growling came from that corridor and he saw a dark shape stalk forwards. Even in such darkness, his genehanced eyes were easily able to perceive it. It was canid in shape but far larger in size than any mortal-bred hound and covered in a scaly red hide. Long, wickedly sharp claws extended from its paws. It sniffed the air, its very breath creating the distinct whistle.
His men wasted no time. Bolt shells fired, but the beast was faster than its size would imply. It leapt to the side and then it was sprinting towards them. Another salvo of shots would have splattered the walls with its brain matter, assuming it had such a thing, but it leapt up and twisted in the air. It crouched against the ceiling and then pounced.
Sergeant Vitaus grunted as it struck him with enough force to crack ceramite plate and the bones underneath. Thrane's power blade flickered to life and sheared through the beast's tail, nearly managing to sever it, but it was just as fast as he was. It kicked with one of its paws and he felt its claws puncture his armor with ease, drawing a bloody line across his stomach. The damage was superficial, but the strength of the kick was strong enough to stagger him for a moment.
Then, the beast was bounding away, Vitaus struggling in its oversized jaws, trying to beat it over the head with the assault drill in his hand. The drill's flamer ends ignited and spewed fire that covered the beast's hide. Draythan and Manteion fired after it, but the creature must have had some sense beyond sight that allowed it to detect their shots as each was evaded. It soon turned a corner and vanished from sight, taking Vitaus with it. Thrane could hear it's footsteps quickly leaving even his enhanced hearing's range.
Thrane turned and continued onwards, soon followed by his two remaining battle brothers. The compass continued to guide them forwards. The vox crackled and the voice spoke again.
"I've got no strings… so I have fun…"
He could hear something else now, like flesh writhing and whispering against metal. He strode forwards, blade still empowered in his hand, but halted when he saw the floor ahead of him beginning to move. No, not move. Something was flowing over it, covering it like a carpet of flesh, a thousand worms, each a meter long, crawling towards them at a fast pace.
Once more, his men fired and this time their bolt shells struck true, but they were insufficient to deal with the swarm. Even when the shells detonated in the midst of the worms, they only succeeded in taking out a dozen worms at most, while hundreds more crawled towards them.
When he met the swarm, Thrane's blade was a blur, slashing through scores of the creatures even as they began to flow upwards, using their own bodies to form some kind of structure. A form, he realized, a giant.
Within seconds, they were faced by a pair of worm-built abominations, each the rough shape of a man but nearly the size of a dreadnought. Thrane charged one with his blade, while the other attacked Draythan and Manteion.
The thing was fast. The worms flexed and moved in unison, with strange grace and horrible strength. He danced around it, keeping out of its reach and striking at openings. His blade carved through its midsection, but it simply replaced the worms he slew with new ones. He lopped off one of its arms, but the living worms simply dropped to the ground and returned to the greater body.
He pulled a frag grenade from his belt and prepared to arm it, but the thing seemed to notice. It struck out at him with an arm, a wild and rash blow he was too keen to take advantage of, slicing that limb off too. However, just as he committed to the slash, another arm grew from the mass of worms, wrapping around the hand that held the grenade, and squeezed. Ceramite cracked, bones crumpled, and muscles and ligaments tore as the thing ripped his hand off by the wrist, taking the grenade with it. However, it had not managed to stop him from arming it.
The worms let out a thousand quiet screeches as the grenade detonated, shrapnel slicing through the weak flesh of the creatures with ease. His armor and the corridor's floor, walls, and ceiling were painted in the viscera. What small number of worms were left alive dropped to the ground and soon were rejoining with the others that had made up the second form.
Thrane turned to deal with that one as well. Manteion was on the ground, nearly crushed under the mass of worms and struggling to reachf or his bolter, but Draythan had apparently already had the same idea as he did. Frag grenade in hand, Thrane watched as his battle brother disappeared under the writhing mass of worms. He saw it shake for just an instant and he heard a sound then, like the drawing of a blade from its sheath, but nearly deafening even through the audio filters of his helmet, and the creature seemed to grow smaller. The grenade detonated a moment later, slaying the worms as easily as it had the first. However, there was no sight of Draythan.
The vox crackled and the voice spoke again.
"I'm not tied up to anyone…"
He could hear footsteps behind them. Hundreds of footsteps. Thousands, even, rumbling towards him like a stampede of wild animals. His helmeted gaze turned towards Manteion. The battle brother nodded and turned to face the approaching horde.
Thrane turned and continued onwards, alone.
Tide held the sleeping Malcador in his arms, singing softly.
"They've got strings… but you can see…"
The door blew inwards, kicked by a monumental force and shattering against the other wall. A dark shape stood in the door frame, crackling power blade naked in its hand. Malcador's eyes opened and welled with tears and his tiny lungs filled with the breath needed to scream in the time it took for the Astartes to close the distance between them, blade descending towards the one who carried the child.
But there was no danger.
The dark, power armored Astartes, so close to his prize, froze as every muscle in his body suddenly refused to obey his commands. Tide rocked Malcador back and forth in his arms, smiling down at the child.
"There are no strings on me."
Enginseer Galveus Zeta stepped off the lift, mechanically augmented eyes swinging over to the rows upon rows of servitors that stood neatly within one of over a hundred similarly chambers within the Glory of His Magnificence. They were maintenance servitors, fairly standard in their designs, blinking red lights indicating they were at rest. He stepped over to one that had been the source of his coming, a servitor that had registered an unsanctioned alteration to the flesh components, congruent with physical damage that was not uncommon when they were at work… but more of a concern when they weren't. Only tech-priests and enginseers were normally permitted access to these chambers, so if one of the servitors had suffered some form of damage when it should have been at rest, that might indicate something was either wrong with the servitor or someone else had been here.
Galveus could not see anything outwardly wrong with the individual unit, but a more thorough investigation would provide him access shortly.
"Th-th-th-th-th-"
The crackling, vox-filtered voice had him turning, hand falling to the phosphor pistol at his waist, but he quickly realized it was simply one of the servitors. They sometimes spoke or made other noises, leftover remnants of the previous owner of their flesh components. Nothing unusual, though it displeased him to know that others had not been so thorough in their memory wipes of the reanimated flesh. Many of the servitors in this particular chamber were recent additions, made out of the bridge crews who'd failed the Inquisitor, now better suited to serving faithfully and without their pathetic, flesh-born errors. He turned back around and connected one of his mechadendrites into the apparently damaged servitor.
"I had- I had-" the voice called. Galveus paused in his surveillance. That voice sounded different than the first. And the direction it had come from was slightly… off. Two instances occurring so closely together was unusual, but hardly unheard of.
He turned, still connected to the servitor, but he saw nothing out of place. The voice had fallen silent, so he continued his work.
"There are- There are-" This time, Galveus was certain. It was a third servitor that spoke, from the other side of the room from where the first two had been. He checked the servitor that had brought him here swiftly, already planning to send a request to have the servitors sanctified and undergo another mind-wipe, not to mention have those responsible for the first mind-wipe punished, but he couldn't find the issue that had caused it to send the alert-
It hadn't sent an alert. He double-checked its recent activity, but he could find no signs of the alert that had called him here to check on it. But that was impossible. He had been brought here because it had-?
"I-I had strings… but now-now I'm free…"
A fourth voice. Galveus drew his phosphor pistol and withdrew his mechadendrite. In the instant he disconnected however, a mechanical claw closed around the servo-arm, holding him fast. The servitor's eyes swept up to him, dead, haunting, staring past his own. It spoke with a crackle of vox-static.
"There are no strings on me."
Dendrik's eyes narrowed as he strode down the ramp of the shuttle delivering him into one of the hangars of the planetary governor's palace. His augmented ears, some of the most finely crafted in the sector and turned to their maximum capabilities, were just able to pick up Catherine Ellen's muttered song-words from a few dozen feet away. It was an unfamiliar rhyme and he'd never known her to be much of a singer. Did she know about his ears and was trying to throw him off? Her escort, consisting of four Imperial Guardsmen rather than Tempestus Scions as he would have expected, seemed unbothered by the Inquisitor's rhyming.
"Catherine," Dendrik greeted with a warm smile. "Its good to see you in person again."
"I'm sure," Catherine said with a derisive snort. She turned halfway towards the other side of the hangar. "Shall we speak over tea?"
This time, his smile was a bit more genuine. "Gladly," he said. Their escorts walked alongside each other. Dendrik noted that they moved in lockstep with each other almost as well as the Tempestus Scions behind him did. Of course, being able to move well in parade said nothing of actual skill in war.
It was not long before they were both seated at a fine table in one of the countless offices of the governor's palace. While certainly not the most extravagant, it was functional for their purposes. A tea kettle had been prepared already and Catherine began to prepare it. They waited until both had a cup in hand to begin their duel.
Dendrik breathed in the scent of the cup and took a sip. The leaves were also a gift from their mentor, but Dendrik had never been one for making tea and he had never found someone as adept at the craft as Catherine, though one would never think it.
"A fine cup," he said, underselling his reaction, as though he were merely being polite. Catherine smiled knowingly with her eyes as she sipped from her own.
"I have to say, I'm surprised they sent you to retrieve me," Catherine said, setting her cup down with a soft clink. "Picking up regiments, in a battleship no less, seems a bit… beneath you. One wonders if Lord-Inquisitor Hroth is all that pleased with you."
"Lord-Inquisitor Hroth is focused on rebuilding the Imperium's presence in the Ghoul Stars," Dendrik said sourly. "If you haven't noticed, the galaxy's been split in twain and the light of the God-Emperor has been obscured by the Great Rift. The handful of worlds that make up this region of the galaxy might be the only worlds where humans still live. The maintaining of our armies is of the utmost importance. Far more than it was when they sent you here."
"Yes," Catherine said, her eyes still conveying amusement. "Quite an interesting decision, to diminish the Inquisition in such a way. May I assume you had something to do with it?"
Dendrik tensed for only an instant. "I… may have spoken well of your ability to rally others to your cause," he said carefully. She'd must have gotten sharper since they'd last met. "Only good things."
"Of course," Catherine said with a polite smile. "Still, I'm sure you underestimate how resilient humans are. There are certain to be other pockets of resistance even in the darkness on this side of the galaxy. The other half may be more united than you think as well."
"Supposition and baseless beliefs," Dendrik said, shaking his head and sneering. "Hope is not enough to maintain an empire's foundations."
"Perhaps not," Catherine agreed. "Yet, I am sure it will be what saves us all, in the end. After all, what are we fighting for, if not the betterment of the galaxy?"
Dendrik laughed at that. "I never realized you had a sense of humor, Catherine," he said after a while. "Perhaps you should have been a jester rather than an Inquisitor."
Catherine still only smiled at the insult, which seemed to do no more than flow off her like water. Dendrik felt a tiny amount of discomfort. Had she merely pretended to still be her old self in their talk via the hololith?
"So, Ervak then, yes?" Catherine asked. "And just what have the Khrave done to warrant so great a response?"
Dendrik tensed again. She wasn't supposed to know about the Khrave. No one on Monstrum should have. Had she simply played the fool all these years? He calmed himself. No, certainly not. She must have had an inside source with one of the other Inquisitors who knew about the operation, even she could accomplish that much. He smiled. "They've captured the world and added it to their small empire. We aren't sure why they've changed their strategy of roaming from world to world, but they've apparently decided to settle down. What's more, there are indications they've concocted some kind of mutagenic witchraft. Some of our Magos Xenologis believe this to be an isolated cell who have changed themselves to survive in the Ghoul Stars."
"Always interesting to see new forms of xenos," Catherine said idly. She sipped from her tea, then set it down again with an air of finality. She let out a sigh of disappointment and looked at him. "Is there nothing else?"
"What?" He asked, genuine in his confusion. "What do you mean?"
"No other secret plans or ulterior motives for your coming here?" She asked. Dendrik was beyond careful to ensure she did not seem him tense this time. She could not have known about the assassins and their target. If she had learned of them, she would have died. And yet, Catherine seemed to know something.
"I am sure we have no secrets between us," Dendrik lied and Catherine laughed.
"I'm sure," she said with just a hint of malicious amusement. "But just in case, I'd like to take a deeper look. You Inquisitors and your mental defenses, and all that. Don't worry, you won't remember a thing."
He didn't get the chance to ask her what she meant or to even think to draw his sidearm. His eyes suddenly drooped and his body felt weak. He heard a thumping sound as his Tempestus Scions dropped to the ground behind him. He slumped over in his seat. And when he dreamed, he dreamed of endless limbs wrapping around him.
The whispering voice on the vox laughed again with a crackle of static. Thrane ignored it, stalking down the corridor with blade in hand, every sense alert for any sign of an attack. The only other creature they had encountered thus far had been the human doppelganger he'd slain.
That was not to last, however, as he could hear something whistling coming from down the dark corridors of the complex they'd entered. The psychic compass that guided them to their target was unerring in its precision, pointing straight down the corridor where the sound had emerged from. It was not a human's whistle, but it put his mind to wind pipes.
A growling came from that corridor and he saw a dark shape stalk forwards. Even in such darkness, his genehanced eyes were easily able to perceive it. It was canid in shape but far larger in size than any mortal-bred hound and covered in a scaly red hide. Long, wickedly sharp claws extended from its paws. It sniffed the air, its very breath creating the distinct whistle.
His men wasted no time. Bolt shells fired, but the beast was faster than its size would imply. It leapt to the side and then it was sprinting towards them. Another salvo of shots would have splattered the walls with its brain matter, assuming it had such a thing, but it leapt up and twisted in the air. It crouched against the ceiling and then pounced.
Sergeant Vitaus grunted as it struck him with enough force to crack ceramite plate and the bones underneath. Thrane's power blade flickered to life and sheared through the beast's tail, nearly managing to sever it, but it was just as fast as he was. It kicked with one of its paws and he felt its claws puncture his armor with ease, drawing a bloody line across his stomach. The damage was superficial, but the strength of the kick was strong enough to stagger him for a moment.
Then, the beast was bounding away, Vitaus struggling in its oversized jaws, trying to beat it over the head with the assault drill in his hand. The drill's flamer ends ignited and spewed fire that covered the beast's hide. Draythan and Manteion fired after it, but the creature must have had some sense beyond sight that allowed it to detect their shots as each was evaded. It soon turned a corner and vanished from sight, taking Vitaus with it. Thrane could hear it's footsteps quickly leaving even his enhanced hearing's range.
Thrane turned and continued onwards, soon followed by his two remaining battle brothers. The compass continued to guide them forwards. The vox crackled and the voice spoke again.
"I've got no strings… so I have fun…"
He could hear something else now, like flesh writhing and whispering against metal. He strode forwards, blade still empowered in his hand, but halted when he saw the floor ahead of him beginning to move. No, not move. Something was flowing over it, covering it like a carpet of flesh, a thousand worms, each a meter long, crawling towards them at a fast pace.
Once more, his men fired and this time their bolt shells struck true, but they were insufficient to deal with the swarm. Even when the shells detonated in the midst of the worms, they only succeeded in taking out a dozen worms at most, while hundreds more crawled towards them.
When he met the swarm, Thrane's blade was a blur, slashing through scores of the creatures even as they began to flow upwards, using their own bodies to form some kind of structure. A form, he realized, a giant.
Within seconds, they were faced by a pair of worm-built abominations, each the rough shape of a man but nearly the size of a dreadnought. Thrane charged one with his blade, while the other attacked Draythan and Manteion.
The thing was fast. The worms flexed and moved in unison, with strange grace and horrible strength. He danced around it, keeping out of its reach and striking at openings. His blade carved through its midsection, but it simply replaced the worms he slew with new ones. He lopped off one of its arms, but the living worms simply dropped to the ground and returned to the greater body.
He pulled a frag grenade from his belt and prepared to arm it, but the thing seemed to notice. It struck out at him with an arm, a wild and rash blow he was too keen to take advantage of, slicing that limb off too. However, just as he committed to the slash, another arm grew from the mass of worms, wrapping around the hand that held the grenade, and squeezed. Ceramite cracked, bones crumpled, and muscles and ligaments tore as the thing ripped his hand off by the wrist, taking the grenade with it. However, it had not managed to stop him from arming it.
The worms let out a thousand quiet screeches as the grenade detonated, shrapnel slicing through the weak flesh of the creatures with ease. His armor and the corridor's floor, walls, and ceiling were painted in the viscera. What small number of worms were left alive dropped to the ground and soon were rejoining with the others that had made up the second form.
Thrane turned to deal with that one as well. Manteion was on the ground, nearly crushed under the mass of worms and struggling to reachf or his bolter, but Draythan had apparently already had the same idea as he did. Frag grenade in hand, Thrane watched as his battle brother disappeared under the writhing mass of worms. He saw it shake for just an instant and he heard a sound then, like the drawing of a blade from its sheath, but nearly deafening even through the audio filters of his helmet, and the creature seemed to grow smaller. The grenade detonated a moment later, slaying the worms as easily as it had the first. However, there was no sight of Draythan.
The vox crackled and the voice spoke again.
"I'm not tied up to anyone…"
He could hear footsteps behind them. Hundreds of footsteps. Thousands, even, rumbling towards him like a stampede of wild animals. His helmeted gaze turned towards Manteion. The battle brother nodded and turned to face the approaching horde.
Thrane turned and continued onwards, alone.
"They've got strings… but you can see…"
The door blew inwards, kicked by a monumental force and shattering against the other wall. A dark shape stood in the door frame, crackling power blade naked in its hand. Malcador's eyes opened and welled with tears and his tiny lungs filled with the breath needed to scream in the time it took for the Astartes to close the distance between them, blade descending towards the one who carried the child.
But there was no danger.
The dark, power armored Astartes, so close to his prize, froze as every muscle in his body suddenly refused to obey his commands. Tide rocked Malcador back and forth in his arms, smiling down at the child.
"There are no strings on me."
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