Nihilo
Authorial parasite
- Location
- Catalonia
Oh, no, this is actually covered. Flak armor is cited as having a lot of shock absorbancy. Stubbers are outright shrugged off, it's only autoguns that start harming the guy under the gear.
The Galaxy is Flood, Not Food
- Thread starter Jackson Fox
- Start date
- Crossover Sci-Fi Horror
The armor doesn't really matter if the bullets hit you in a place that's uncovered.
Nihilo
Authorial parasite
- Location
- Catalonia
Kek, that's fair. They do have helmets, but the face is uncovered.
Also, found another bit of machine spirits being themselves.
Cortein took a deep breath, shut his eyes, then opened them and spoke.
'I am no tech-priest, Mars Triumphant,' he said, 'but I ask you to listen to me now. You and I have fought together for three decades. I have served you well, and you have served me in kind. Let us go now together in fire and vengeance, and bring destruction to the enemies of the Emperor.'
He mouthed a prayer to the Emperor and Omnissiah, reached for the throttle and twisted it.
Mars Triumphant juddered, the engines engaged. Tracks grinding against buckled skirts, it shuddered towards the crippled Titan.
Cortein smiled. 'Thank you.'
'I am no tech-priest, Mars Triumphant,' he said, 'but I ask you to listen to me now. You and I have fought together for three decades. I have served you well, and you have served me in kind. Let us go now together in fire and vengeance, and bring destruction to the enemies of the Emperor.'
He mouthed a prayer to the Emperor and Omnissiah, reached for the throttle and twisted it.
Mars Triumphant juddered, the engines engaged. Tracks grinding against buckled skirts, it shuddered towards the crippled Titan.
Cortein smiled. 'Thank you.'
Context: The Mars Triumphant got its engine taking a direct hit and punched right through
It is moving anyways
- Location
- colombia
Stubber is short for fire arm,it could be anything between a .22 (pea sized bullet) to a .50 cal (bit more than a long finger)
So that doesnt say much
Shock absorption is not shock "i can no sell a tank shell to the face"
Flak armor is bullet proof vest 1.5 or 1.8
Definetly a upgraded and polished version of it,but is not miracle thing
It blocks shrapnel,It blocks grazing hits,it block several direct hits from minor calibers or low moving projects,it can block a few direct ones from bigger calibers
Even the uplifting primer (that by all means is exagerated imp propaganda),says the helmet will only stop small calibers (the reason being again,blocked bullet would be like a bat,and a bat to the head will always be a awful thing)
you aint blocking .50 cals to the chest and walking out unscathed,at the very least you getting your air out the lungs
The armor is good,but the human behind still a flesh bag,shake a egg inside a metal box,the box will be fine yet the egg will break
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Nihilo
Authorial parasite
- Location
- Catalonia
I specified regular stubbers, not heavy stubbers. See here:
Chapter 21 - The Cleansing Rains
Day 18, Continued
In the deepest parts of the Barren Lands, subject to the fiery gaze of the system's star, it was raining. This rain was not the acidic waters of other parts of Monstrum, shrouded as they were by thick clouds of smog, but something more primordial, something that should only have been found on planets going through the first stages of formation.
In the Barren Lands, it rained liquid flame.
A tech-priest familiar with geological formations would likely marvel at the rarity of such a find and note that the combination of the star's heat and the high number of pockets of natural gases embedded in the craggy terrain led to such impressive sights, if one had the proper equipment to view such events. Indeed, many tech-priests with such specializations had done just that. Millennia ago, a group of the Omnissiah's cultists had come to study the phenomenon more closely. Those studies were long forgotten by virtually all on Monstrum and Canoness Evelayn Praxiah was no exception to that.
To the Canoness and her Order of Adeptas Sororitas, the fiery rain that scorched the white-hot rocks of the Barren Lands was not the result of any freak acts of nature, but proof of the design of the God-Emperor on full display. It was not just superheated rock that pelted the land, but a representation of His cleansing flame and where they derived their Order's name.
So, it was seen as an auspicious omen that the Barren Lands were subject to the greatest fire-rain it had received in eight generations, even if the Sisters could not see it. They could still feel it, both spiritually and physically.
The tunnel was not meant for so many to travel within it, let alone over a hundred vehicles. However, the Sisters persevered, as they always did, with determination and unwavering faith. Over the trundle of the machines, through the smoke produced by their engines, in spite of the sweltering heat that threatened to cook them alive inside their own armor, they marched and sang hymns proclaiming His glory.
The serfs that accompanied the Sisters were just as zealous in their faith and encouraged by the strength of those they served. However, their bodies were more limited in what they could endure. Even if they pushed through the pain that wracked them, their minds were tested by the tunnel's sweltering heat.
Many collapsed where they stood rather than willingly leave their posts or request a break. None wished to be found wanting. Even some of the servitors were beginning to malfunction and those that could not be repaired swiftly had to be left behind. A practice of cycling the exhausted serfs with those carried by vehicles, the interiors of which were marginally cooler than the tunnel itself, was quickly implemented as soon as the fire rain, which would only drive the temperature up even higher, was detected. After a prayer thanking the God-Emperor for His blessing and sign of favor had been uttered, of course.
Not all of the serfs would survive or remain fit for duty, but their numbers were great, and replacements could surely be found in Malum. A city that had fended off attacks by treacherous cultists and foul xenos could not be lacking in faith, after all. Praxiah suspected that the claims of a plague wracking the hive was merely another of Catherine Ellen's schemes or plays for power.
The Canoness marched at the head of the long column of Sisters and rumbling vehicles, leading the way down its dimly lit path. The journey reminded her of the days she had first journeyed down the tunnel, with her fellow initiates. Not all that had entered with her had returned. Delirious, dehydrated, and half-mad from the heat, but alive. The memory of being worthy, at being accepted into the ranks of the Sisterhood, still brought a swelling of pride to her chest.
They marched on, past the skeletons of those past initiates who had failed, their flesh long gone, only their bleached bones remaining. Countless thousands deemed unworthy by the God-Emperor and cast aside over numberless centuries. Failures, worthy of neither pity nor remembrance, their only use now a solemn reminder to initiates of the price those that lacked faith would have exacted upon them.
At three hundred and sixty-two, Praxiah was a veteran of countless campaigns against foul xenos and heretics alike. She had waged many crusades throughout the Ghoul Stars in the God-Emperor's name and her faith had only grown in that time. However, the last war she had been called upon to wage had been decades ago. She would never doubt the God-Emperor's plan for her, but for the last half-century, things had been… far too quiet.
Fifty-four years, Praxiah and her Sisters had remained on Monstrum, secluded in prayer and contemplation. Such a time of peace was… unprecedented, but it had driven Evelayn to the brink of despair. For it was not a time of peace. Wars were still being fought throughout the sector, heretics still drew breath, and filthy xenos remained, endangering the Imperium. And yet, in fifty-four years, not once had Praxiah and her Order been called upon to defend the God-Emperor's realm.
Their last campaign, which had been against Eldar raiders, had nearly destroyed the Order of the Cleansing Rains. The last canoness had been killed by the leader of the xenos pirates, and over eight hundred of Praxiah's Sisters had perished alongside her. Praxiah had been the one to avenge them by slaying the eldar and leading her remaining Sisters in shattering the marauding fleet.
The Administratum had labelled the campaign a 'minor skirmish' ending in victory. And then… nothing.
Over four decades, the Order was slowly rebuilt, brought back up to full strength. New Sisters replaced the dead. And, for the last fourteen years, they had waited, dutifully, for the call.
When Catherine Ellen had arrived on Monstrum, intent on raising an army against a treacherous world, Praxiah had been overjoyed and offered her Order gladly for the chance to serve the God-Emperor once more. The Inquisitor had accepted her offer, but then the warp storm had interfered and things took a turn for the worse.
Praxiah had watched as Catherine Ellen played her little games, balancing the hive cities against one another. She seemed to believe that the entire planet was moments away from a full-blown civil war.
Rather than calming the waters, however, the Inquisitor seemed to prefer needling the situation, exercising her Inquisitorial authority to move pieces around the board rather than investigate the situation more thoroughly and seek less heavy-handed methods of resolution. That was her right, of course, but it made things more tense rather than less.
Praxiah understood the complex history of politics that ran Monstrum quite well. She had to, as canoness. The Sisters could not afford to remain above such petty squabbling, unfortunately, as Monstrum provided the bulk of their equipment and many of their serfs. She had offered her experience and advice to Ellen, and the Inquisitor had seemingly accepted, yet never actually called upon her. Again, as was her right.
The quarantine of Malum was the first time Praxiah had felt doubt, not in the God-Emperor, but in one of those considered to be his left hand. The Inquisitor claimed a dangerous plague wracked the hive city and commanded it be cut-off from the rest of the planet, entirely. Yet, according to the words of convent servants within Malum itself, no such plague existed. By all accounts, the Inquisitor had quarantined a perfectly healthy city for no reason.
That was the start of the rumors, mostly among the tech-priests. That the Inquisitor had found something within Malum, a blessing of the God-Emperor, some ancient wonder of humanity. Praxiah had not paid attention to such things, of course. As much as she respected the red robed priests of Mars, their theological understanding was flawed, especially when it came to whether their Omnissiah was an aspect of the God-Emperor or the other way around.
Then, the cultists had risen up in Limos. Praxiah's greatest shame. She had failed to see such disease festering below the surface. The Order of the Cleansing Rains had prepared to march out at once, to purge the hive of all who spat upon the name of the God-Emperor.
And been ordered to stand down by Catherine Ellen.
Such a thing was practically unthinkable, but Ellen was still an Inquisitor. One invested with the authority of the God-Emperor. So, Praxiah had obeyed, much to the displeasure of some of her Sisters, both new and old. Many had chosen to take the Oath of Repentance for their failure and Praxiah sometimes wondered if she herself shouldn't have done the same.
The Inquisitor had claimed she wished to keep them at full strength, or as close to it as she could manage. The same reason why she was so slow to deploy even a portion of the Guard regiments she had raised. Praxiah had wondered, in the back of her mind, whether that was true or if it was because the cultists had seemingly focused the whole of their ire upon Malum.
She had tried to squash those doubts. After all, if the rumors were true, why would an Inquisitor be content to allow a blessing from the God-Emperor be destroyed? That question had an answer that was obvious, but too terrible to comprehend.
When she learned of Malum's overwhelming victory, she had sent a request to the Inquisitor for the city to be celebrated or commended in some way, but she wasn't sure Ellen had even received her message. It had become increasingly difficult for anyone to get an audience outside of her two advisors, the Genetor Vidriov and the witch, Purilla.
Then the Orks had arrived and Praxiah had thought, certainly, that the Sisters would fight. That they would launch a righteous crusade against the greenskins. But once more, they had been forbidden from taking the offensive against them.
Once more, Malum, so clearly blessed by the God-Emperor that it should have been obvious to all now, had repelled the Ork assault with utter ease. In fact, reports from those servants inside the city claimed the vile greenskins had not returned since their initial attack, so monumental was their failure, making Malum the sole hive city on the planet left free from besieging xenos or in the control of vile heretics and traitors.
The last straw had been the declaration of secession by the four hives of Ate, Janus, Dolus, and Eris. Though they claimed loyalty, Praxiah knew those governors well from past encounters over the decades and had had doubts about their faith for many years.
She could not, would not, be denied a third time. Her Sisters would go to war again, ire of the Inquisition be damned, and fight once more in the God-Emperor's name. Let Him on Terra judge her if she was false, but she knew in her heart that Ellen no longer sought to follow His plan.
They would raise an army of the faithful in Malum and march out and on towards Janus, the Sisters leading the way. She would demand each governor surrender to her and be interrogated for any signs of corruption. Then, when they were deemed false, they would be executed, and their city's purged of their followers. As the Inquisitor should have done with the cult of Limos in the first place.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a mechanical gait coming closer and she heard the voice of Legatine Seritta Adelus. Most of the officers in the Order were veterans almost as old as Praxiah herself, those that had survived the battles with the Eldar. It wasn't favoritism, most of the ranks had to be filled by veterans who were experienced. Seritta Adelus was one of the few of the newcomers that had proven herself competent enough in peace-time to be granted a rank as esteemed as Legatine without that experience.
"Canoness, we have visitors." Despite the helmet that covered her face and slightly modulated her voice, Praxiah knew the Sister was smiling wryly. Strong in faith, in mind, and in arm, but not necessarily the most… serious of her Sisters. It wasn't unusual for less experienced Sisters of Battle be less stoic than their elders, but few were able to walk the line between propriety and insubordination as well as Seritta Adelus.
"I have not seen our scouts report back," Praxiah stated, her brow furrowing. "Explain."
"Catherine Ellen wishes to speak with you," Seritta said, her voice tinted with just a hint of amusement. "She's waiting at the back of our line, with a host of around twenty Tempestus Scions. All armed."
Praxiah wasn't sure whether to curse or smile. She had suspected the Inquisitor would follow them once she'd learned of their departure, even if Praxiah had done her best to keep their movements hidden from the spies that had been nestled throughout Deimos. She had only told the Planetary Governor to ensure that Ellen knew they did what they did in the name of the God-Emperor and were not traitors.
Whether that would work was another matter entirely and Praxiah felt a thin weed of fear and doubt begin to curl around her heart. Had she made the right decision? Was she the one acting against the God-Emperor's Will?
She ripped that weed out, root and stem, and crushed it. She was a Sister of Battle, a Canoness of His Light, and she would never stray from His path. She had survived the Cleansing Rains, Catherine Ellen would not stop her.
"Inform her she may come to the front of the line to speak with me," Praxiah said.
"Canoness? You're… not going to her?" Seritta asked, sounding almost shocked.
"Correct," Praxiah replied with a small dip of her helmet. Seritta nodded and seemed about to speak into her commbead, when Praxiah added, "Go and tell her in person, would you? I wish for you and your Retributors to provide a proper escort for her."
"As you command, Canoness," Serrita said, bowing, perhaps out of instinct to hide the grin that was no doubt spreading across her face.
Serrita, not for the first time, was glad of the helmet she wore this day. Beyond just the protection it provided her against the smog produced by the promethium-guzzling war machines and the cooling systems it provided. She knew some of her Sisters had deactivated those systems for this march, perhaps intent on reliving their initiation, but Serrita felt no such need.
This time, she was glad of it for the fact that it hid her sidelong studying of Inquisitor Catherine Ellen's face, only partly covered by a rudimentary breath filter, drinking in the barely contained frustration therein. She had not met the Inquisitor before, nor had they been properly introduced even now as she escorted the woman past formations of Battle-Sisters and columns of vehicles, but Serrita knew enough about her.
Like any of the Adeptas Sororitas, Serrita held the Inquisition in nothing but esteem and respect. They did the God-Emperor's work. However, while the institutions formed by His command were without flaws, the individuals within them were rarely so perfect. Catherine Ellen was seeming proof of that.
Telling a Sister of Battle not to join the fight against heresy, to stay her hand against the mutant. It was beyond ludicrous; it was outright going against the Will of the God-Emperor. Rumors of Ellen being a heretic were rare, but some had reached Serrita's ears. While she could not be so sure of the woman's true loyalties, at best Catherine Ellen was an idiot in Serrita's eyes. A crass term, yes, but the only one that really encapsulated her views of the Inquisitor.
So, Serrita enjoyed the look on Ellen's face, especially as her eyes seemed to widen in rage behind her transparent goggles at the sight of Canoness Evelayn Praxiah, marching proudly at the front of a column of Celestans, not even deigning to look back upon the Inquisitor.
"Canoness," Ellen growled, having to almost shout over the noise of the Order on the march. The Inquisitor stepped past the Celestans and coming up alongside the Canoness. "Kindly halt your march so we might… speak."
Serrita and her squad of Retributors fell in alongside the Celestans. Their distance was just on the edge of what was respectful and still well within earshot of the conversation that had piqued Serrita's interest.
"The God-Emperor's Sororitas do not halt when they march in His name, Inquisitor," Praxiah replied, still staring straight ahead. "If you would speak with me, come march alongside me as we head for Malum."
"Malum," the Inquisitor spoke the name with something approaching malice, "Is under quarantine by order of the God-Emperor's Inquisition."
"The faithful fear no plague, Inquisitor, but your concern is noted and appreciated," Praxiah said and Serrita almost burst out laughing, but wisely bit her tongue.
"Your fearlessness is not in question, Canoness," The Inquisitor bit out. "Of that you can rest assured you have proven with this… excursion."
"Then you understand why this must happen, Inquisitor," Praxiah said, finally deigning to turn and face the Inquisitor, the glowing red lenses of her helmet fixed squarely upon her. "The God-Emperor's Will must be enacted. The Adeptas Sororitas are His instruments."
"As is the Inquisition, Canoness," Ellen replied and Serrita could almost hear the Canoness' grin with her next words.
"Then we are glad to have your support, Inquisitor," Praxiah said and before Ellen could reply, the Canoness continued. "Though, as a fellow servant of the God-Emperor, I advise you retire from the column before long. The heat of this tunnel is dangerous to… some. As you can see from the bodies."
Ellen's eyes widened in shock before narrowing in wrath. However, the Inquisitor was silent for a long while. Serrita stepped over then, her Retributors, their heavy bolters held at rest in their arms, following alongside her.
"I will escort you back to your Scions, Inquisitor," Serrita said. Her voice made it clear she wasn't offering.
Ellen's eyes swept from the Canoness to Serrita and back, her jaw clearly at work behind her filter. The Inquisitor's power armored hand seemed to twitch, as though her fingers wished dearly to curl around someone's throat or the grip of her bolt pistol, displayed openly at her side. If she tried, she'd be dead before she could get a shot off.
"Very well," Ellen sniffed haughtily, tearing herself away from Praxiah's side and storming in the opposite direction. Serrita followed, though she kept her distance this time. As much as needling someone like Ellen would bring her joy, doing so to an Inquisitor whose wrath had just been provoked was a poor idea.
Ahsael whispered as he worked, carving through the flesh of the whimpering sacrifice. Each burst of fresh fear and pain brought the flickering forms of the neverborn into further focus, their bodies taking new, horrible shapes as they shifted from unreal to real. He could feel their hungry gazes linger on the soul of the mortal psyker… and on his own.
His whispers surrounded them, the arcane words taking psychic form, collars to bind these petulant neverborn, to command them. It was a simple trade. The soul of this sacrifice, and any whose slaughter he commanded them to enact thereafter, in exchange for service.
He had performed this ritual over nine thousand times, bound nine times that number of daemons to his service over the millennia. He could practically perform it in his sleep.
He thought of the encroaching war that was to come. The Inquisitor's position was built upon a quickly disintegrating foundation. The Ork invasion had been unexpected but made ensuring the joint betrayals of both Eris and Ate in addition to Janus and Dolus an easy task. The inaction of the Inquisitor and the Imperium had proven an even greater boon. The governors, both those that had some insight on Ahsael's plans and those oblivious to them, had played their roles perfectly.
His followers could now move all but openly. Eris and Ate, along with certain sections of the outer hive in both Janus and Dolus, would soon find their defenses compromised by unknown saboteurs. As the Orks poured in, slaughtering the civilians, despair would fall. The Imperium not intervene against the xenos, solidifying the belief that the capital had abandoned them. Faith would weaken and, when at their weakest and most vulnerable, the illuminating light of change would come to deliver them all.
He smiled and then felt a psychic backlash from the ritual as the neverborn nearly bucked free from their chains and he swallowed a curse as he refocused once more on the ritual. The lapse was an unforgivable mistake, one the daemons had almost made sure he wouldn't have lived to regret.
He turned his full attention back to the dark sorceries he was enacting. He did not think of the war that was to come, of the great changes he would bring. He did not think of the mortal vessels who surrounded him, basking in the glory of the Great Ocean, waiting for their new masters to possess them, under the unwavering watch of his Rubric marine.
Tide felt his roots growing deeper and deeper, not just in the underhive of Malum, but all across Monstrum. The cultists that had infiltrated the hive had done their work well, already spreading his spores across the hive cities of both Dolus and Janus. Their rebellion was unexpected, but perhaps not all that surprising given the presence of a Tzeentch cult. Ate and Eris seemed to be ensnared by the cult, but not so totally as the other cities. His numbers there were still small, not enough to affect any thing on a grand level, and there had been a few members of the cult he'd avoided infecting, automatically self-destructing any spores that came in contact with them.
Namely, the two Chaos Space Marines that seemed to be running the show, Ahsael and Uirus, who seemed to be the former's subordinate. Tide wasn't too pleased to learn of the presence of a pair of sorcerers, but it had been inevitable that he would encounter some eventually. His dealing with Vra'kzil had given him a boost in confidence in handling Warp-related shenanigans, but that had been under a specific set of circumstances. On his own turf, so to speak.
Depending on how strong this sorcerer was, Tide knew he might be under a very real threat. While he doubted someone as powerful as Magnus the Red would be skulking around on a random hive world, there were plenty of Psykers not as strong who could still kill armies. Tide didn't have a counter for psychic abilities beyond the use of his Domain, and he wasn't entirely sure how to use that in any case. His studies of it thus far had been limited and cautious, particularly around the rift that appeared to lead into the Warp itself. He had no interest in drawing attention to his little hole in unreality.
He could probably overwhelm the sorcerers under waves of Flood Forms. His forces in Malum alone had skyrocketed thanks to the Ork attack. Their corpses had been burned to cinders as far as every Altered mind in Malum knew. Orks were excellent for the biomass they provided. Even an average Boy had more than twice the mass of a regular human. If he were to utilize all the biomass he had gathered to himself in Malum to create just humans, he'd be able to field quite an army at around sixteen million. And it would only be growing from there.
Would that be enough for a sorcerer though? He couldn't be sure. He didn't have enough information. The Altered cultists all thought of Ahsael as something approaching a demigod, but the displays of power he had shown them were not exactly planet-shattering, merely impressive. The summoning and binding of daemons, the creation of daemonhosts, reducing those who displeased him to ashes, that sort of thing.
Ahsael did not seem that powerful. He only had one fellow Space Marine as a servant after all, not including the lone Rubric bodyguard. But, Tzeentch worshippers were excellent at misdirection and none of the Altered cultists knew the true extent of Ahsael's might.
The cultists were slower than the genestealers to implement their plans, but Tide had gotten somewhat of an idea through his Altered. The sabotage of one's own defenses seemed foolish, but Tide suspected the idea was to cause suffering and pain, if only to catch the eye of the Ruinous Powers and draw their attention. There may have been more to it, but Ahsael was not one to share his plans in long, villainous monologues.
Tide kept running through possible ways of dealing with the sorcerer swiftly, but his attention turned elsewhere. Far above the planet's surface, the space hulk's corridors were silent, quiet except for the soft padding of flesh over ancient metal. He doubted he'd killed all the Orks, but it had been hours since he'd last encountered any of them. The hulk's retrofitted hangars were emptied of craft, presumably taken by the Orks to the surface, joining the WAAAGH! below. Had he scared them off or simply slaughtered the last of them? Even now he hadn't explored the entire hulk, so it wasn't impossible there were clutches still in hiding somewhere.
There hadn't been very many Orks on the hulk, a hundred thousand or less, but the biomass was still ample, especially as the Flood-Ork spores continued to grow and spread, providing him with a real-time map of the structure as sensor-stalks grew on every surface, creating a network of eyes and ears.
The treasures he had found were ample, though nothing as spectacular as the forge he had found, which was odd. What was odder was the fact that he was quickly discovering a large section of the hulk's core, nearly twenty kilometers in diameter, had been cordoned off by closed bulkheads, some areas leading into it shut off by magnetically sealed doors, others blocked by collapsed ship sections so tightly packed not even his spores had been able to pass through.
It was more than just odd, it was concerning. Had the Orks sealed this off? There were no memories of them even realizing the enclosed area was there. Had it been some group prior to the Orks' acquisition of this hulk? Some freak accident?
He doubted that last one. 40k was not a setting where such things just happened. There was something inside the closed area, something that either hadn't wanted anything to get in… Or something that someone hadn't wanted to get out.
Tide, not being an idiot, gave the sections a wide berth, though he maintained a constant watch through his sensor stalks on every area that seemed to lead into the enclosed space. If there was something that had made someone scared enough to create a twenty-kilometer wide prison inside a space hulk, he wasn't going to mess with it until he had more information and a lot more prep time. Perhaps once all this was over he'd crack open this particular egg, but for now he'd be err on the side of caution.
Purilla stepped inside the laboratory, her eyes quickly taking in the room. A single tech-priest stood over a dissection table, poking around inside the skull of a purestrain genestealer, but it wasn't Vidriov. It was one of his subordinates, whose name Purilla wasn't sure of, but he looked up, seemingly surprised by her presence, stopping his work.
"Hello," Purilla greeted him with a nod of her head. The tech-priest was young, she could tell. He still had most of his flesh and his face was clear of almost any augmentations save for the cylindrical eye that glared out at her from his right socket.
"Greetings, Psyker Purilla Olivia," The tech-priest intoned, almost as though he were trying to sound mechanical. It was natural from someone like Vidriov, but coming from someone who still looked so human, it seemed almost comical. Purilla kept her face straight. "What is the reason for your presence?"
"I'm looking for Vidriov," Purilla said simply, approaching the table, feigning interest in the decapitated genestealer. "Is he in?"
"The Genetor went to assist Inquisitor Ellen," He said before resuming his work, seemingly thinking the conversation was ended.
"I see," Purilla said, still looking at the genestealer. The tech-priest's mind was agitated despite his calm demeanor. It was so clear compared to older tech-priests like Vidriov, whose augmentations were rarely only surface level. This one had not cut away at his own mind to replace it with mechanical components.
"Do you require further information?" The tech-priest asked after a long moment of silence. He didn't seem comfortable around psykers. Or perhaps it was because she was not of his order? Vidriov's subordinates rarely interacted with others.
"No," Purilla said simply. Her eyes seemed to study the exposed brain as the tech-priests knife worked its way around and through it, carving away pieces of interest for further study, but her mind was focused elsewhere. She was a serpent, coiled in the underbrush, staring at a prey animal that knew something was wrong, but could not say what.
"Do you intend to wait for the Genetor here?" The tech-priest's question was tinted by a hint of frustration. His hands worked dutifully, but she could tell the distraction of her presence was affecting them. Just a little push…
"I believe I will. You will not mind, of course?" Her question was enough, the tech-priest twitched almost bodily, his knife making a cut just a bit too deep. The cultist of the Omnissiah wanted to swear, she could tell, as he refocused on the task at hand and in that opening she struck, her mind reaching out to his. "Stop working."
The tech-priest froze for a moment and Purilla felt his mind struggling for a moment against her influence.
Then, the man withdrew his hands from the xeno's cranium and wiped off the scalpel before setting it aside. The tech-priest turned to face her, his face blank.
"Is the laboratory under surveillance?"
"Yes," The tech-priest said. This time the monotone of his voice had nothing to do with him trying to sound mechanical. "There are three different augurs."
She bit down a swear. She'd only known about two of them, so she was glad she'd asked.
"Can you access them?"
"Not without permission from the Genetor."
"Could you do it without permission?"
"Yes."
"After I depart, you will destroy all evidence of my coming here. Wipe the records in these augurs. If anyone asks, it was an error with the machine spirit."
"Yes."
"Show me to where you keep vials of Organism-04."
The tech-priest turned and moved towards a seemingly empty wall, Purilla following behind him, even as she kept her hold over his mind. His will was not great, but this wasn't easy for her either. The tech-priest pressed a certain spot on the wall and it swung open, revealing a secret compartment filled with nearly a hundred vials, each no larger than her index finger. Each one was filled with a sickly yellow substance, though some were distilled in a clear liquid.
"Is that water?"
"Yes. Organism-04 has been determined to be able to survive in water, as well as six other liquid substances including alcohol."
Purilla's eyes widened slightly. That little tidbit of information hadn't been shared with her or, as far as she knew, with the Inquisitor herself. She wasn't sure what Vidriov was planning, but if he intended to utilize the organism to his own ends… Well, all the more reason for her to do this.
"Give me one with water."
The tech-priest plucked up one of the vials, handing it to her. Purilla stared at the item in her hand, the object of her desires for what felt like an eternity. She did not allow herself time to doubt, unfastening the top and downing the liquid in one gulp. Despite the unpleasant appearance of the substance, it tasted like plain water.
She waited for a moment, unsure what was going to happen. Perhaps there was a time delay? She-
A reunion is welcome, your timing is auspicious.
The whisper in her mind came like a trickle of water down her parched throat, a salve on her wounded flesh, a flood in a time of drought. Her heart swelled with hope and relief and she spoke her next words in a reverent whisper. "Tide…"
In that moment, her focus diverted, and the mind of the tech-priest broke free. His one remaining eye widened in shock and realization, and Purilla could feel the Tide's reaction move her body faster than lightning.
There was no pain, only an odd sensation of twisting as her left arm shifted, the skin and muscles rippling as bones fractured and re-fused. Her fingers became a flesh-tipped lance, tearing apart her arm-length glove, striking out and burying into the neck of the tech-priest like a dagger. The man's face twisted with pain in a silent scream as blood spewed freely and Purilla felt something leave her and enter him.
It was the work of a single, eternal moment. The wound in the man's neck sealed shut, the skin reknitting itself, and Purilla watched in fascination as her hand slowly reshaped itself back to its former self. Soon, the tech-priest stood and the only sign of the attack were the tattered remnants of her glove.
"W-what was-?"
Depart from this place for now, I will reveal all to you.
Purilla obeyed, not sure if she should be terrified or gleeful. As she reached the door, however, she turned back and glanced at the tech-priest.
"Is… is he dead?"
He lives, though he sleeps for now. He shall hide what has occurred.
She breathed a soft sigh of relief. She hadn't wanted to kill anyone.
A rare, but beautiful wish. Hold fast to that and go far.
She departed the laboratory, already thinking of what questions she would ask.
In the deepest parts of the Barren Lands, subject to the fiery gaze of the system's star, it was raining. This rain was not the acidic waters of other parts of Monstrum, shrouded as they were by thick clouds of smog, but something more primordial, something that should only have been found on planets going through the first stages of formation.
In the Barren Lands, it rained liquid flame.
A tech-priest familiar with geological formations would likely marvel at the rarity of such a find and note that the combination of the star's heat and the high number of pockets of natural gases embedded in the craggy terrain led to such impressive sights, if one had the proper equipment to view such events. Indeed, many tech-priests with such specializations had done just that. Millennia ago, a group of the Omnissiah's cultists had come to study the phenomenon more closely. Those studies were long forgotten by virtually all on Monstrum and Canoness Evelayn Praxiah was no exception to that.
To the Canoness and her Order of Adeptas Sororitas, the fiery rain that scorched the white-hot rocks of the Barren Lands was not the result of any freak acts of nature, but proof of the design of the God-Emperor on full display. It was not just superheated rock that pelted the land, but a representation of His cleansing flame and where they derived their Order's name.
So, it was seen as an auspicious omen that the Barren Lands were subject to the greatest fire-rain it had received in eight generations, even if the Sisters could not see it. They could still feel it, both spiritually and physically.
The tunnel was not meant for so many to travel within it, let alone over a hundred vehicles. However, the Sisters persevered, as they always did, with determination and unwavering faith. Over the trundle of the machines, through the smoke produced by their engines, in spite of the sweltering heat that threatened to cook them alive inside their own armor, they marched and sang hymns proclaiming His glory.
The serfs that accompanied the Sisters were just as zealous in their faith and encouraged by the strength of those they served. However, their bodies were more limited in what they could endure. Even if they pushed through the pain that wracked them, their minds were tested by the tunnel's sweltering heat.
Many collapsed where they stood rather than willingly leave their posts or request a break. None wished to be found wanting. Even some of the servitors were beginning to malfunction and those that could not be repaired swiftly had to be left behind. A practice of cycling the exhausted serfs with those carried by vehicles, the interiors of which were marginally cooler than the tunnel itself, was quickly implemented as soon as the fire rain, which would only drive the temperature up even higher, was detected. After a prayer thanking the God-Emperor for His blessing and sign of favor had been uttered, of course.
Not all of the serfs would survive or remain fit for duty, but their numbers were great, and replacements could surely be found in Malum. A city that had fended off attacks by treacherous cultists and foul xenos could not be lacking in faith, after all. Praxiah suspected that the claims of a plague wracking the hive was merely another of Catherine Ellen's schemes or plays for power.
The Canoness marched at the head of the long column of Sisters and rumbling vehicles, leading the way down its dimly lit path. The journey reminded her of the days she had first journeyed down the tunnel, with her fellow initiates. Not all that had entered with her had returned. Delirious, dehydrated, and half-mad from the heat, but alive. The memory of being worthy, at being accepted into the ranks of the Sisterhood, still brought a swelling of pride to her chest.
They marched on, past the skeletons of those past initiates who had failed, their flesh long gone, only their bleached bones remaining. Countless thousands deemed unworthy by the God-Emperor and cast aside over numberless centuries. Failures, worthy of neither pity nor remembrance, their only use now a solemn reminder to initiates of the price those that lacked faith would have exacted upon them.
At three hundred and sixty-two, Praxiah was a veteran of countless campaigns against foul xenos and heretics alike. She had waged many crusades throughout the Ghoul Stars in the God-Emperor's name and her faith had only grown in that time. However, the last war she had been called upon to wage had been decades ago. She would never doubt the God-Emperor's plan for her, but for the last half-century, things had been… far too quiet.
Fifty-four years, Praxiah and her Sisters had remained on Monstrum, secluded in prayer and contemplation. Such a time of peace was… unprecedented, but it had driven Evelayn to the brink of despair. For it was not a time of peace. Wars were still being fought throughout the sector, heretics still drew breath, and filthy xenos remained, endangering the Imperium. And yet, in fifty-four years, not once had Praxiah and her Order been called upon to defend the God-Emperor's realm.
Their last campaign, which had been against Eldar raiders, had nearly destroyed the Order of the Cleansing Rains. The last canoness had been killed by the leader of the xenos pirates, and over eight hundred of Praxiah's Sisters had perished alongside her. Praxiah had been the one to avenge them by slaying the eldar and leading her remaining Sisters in shattering the marauding fleet.
The Administratum had labelled the campaign a 'minor skirmish' ending in victory. And then… nothing.
Over four decades, the Order was slowly rebuilt, brought back up to full strength. New Sisters replaced the dead. And, for the last fourteen years, they had waited, dutifully, for the call.
When Catherine Ellen had arrived on Monstrum, intent on raising an army against a treacherous world, Praxiah had been overjoyed and offered her Order gladly for the chance to serve the God-Emperor once more. The Inquisitor had accepted her offer, but then the warp storm had interfered and things took a turn for the worse.
Praxiah had watched as Catherine Ellen played her little games, balancing the hive cities against one another. She seemed to believe that the entire planet was moments away from a full-blown civil war.
Rather than calming the waters, however, the Inquisitor seemed to prefer needling the situation, exercising her Inquisitorial authority to move pieces around the board rather than investigate the situation more thoroughly and seek less heavy-handed methods of resolution. That was her right, of course, but it made things more tense rather than less.
Praxiah understood the complex history of politics that ran Monstrum quite well. She had to, as canoness. The Sisters could not afford to remain above such petty squabbling, unfortunately, as Monstrum provided the bulk of their equipment and many of their serfs. She had offered her experience and advice to Ellen, and the Inquisitor had seemingly accepted, yet never actually called upon her. Again, as was her right.
The quarantine of Malum was the first time Praxiah had felt doubt, not in the God-Emperor, but in one of those considered to be his left hand. The Inquisitor claimed a dangerous plague wracked the hive city and commanded it be cut-off from the rest of the planet, entirely. Yet, according to the words of convent servants within Malum itself, no such plague existed. By all accounts, the Inquisitor had quarantined a perfectly healthy city for no reason.
That was the start of the rumors, mostly among the tech-priests. That the Inquisitor had found something within Malum, a blessing of the God-Emperor, some ancient wonder of humanity. Praxiah had not paid attention to such things, of course. As much as she respected the red robed priests of Mars, their theological understanding was flawed, especially when it came to whether their Omnissiah was an aspect of the God-Emperor or the other way around.
Then, the cultists had risen up in Limos. Praxiah's greatest shame. She had failed to see such disease festering below the surface. The Order of the Cleansing Rains had prepared to march out at once, to purge the hive of all who spat upon the name of the God-Emperor.
And been ordered to stand down by Catherine Ellen.
Such a thing was practically unthinkable, but Ellen was still an Inquisitor. One invested with the authority of the God-Emperor. So, Praxiah had obeyed, much to the displeasure of some of her Sisters, both new and old. Many had chosen to take the Oath of Repentance for their failure and Praxiah sometimes wondered if she herself shouldn't have done the same.
The Inquisitor had claimed she wished to keep them at full strength, or as close to it as she could manage. The same reason why she was so slow to deploy even a portion of the Guard regiments she had raised. Praxiah had wondered, in the back of her mind, whether that was true or if it was because the cultists had seemingly focused the whole of their ire upon Malum.
She had tried to squash those doubts. After all, if the rumors were true, why would an Inquisitor be content to allow a blessing from the God-Emperor be destroyed? That question had an answer that was obvious, but too terrible to comprehend.
When she learned of Malum's overwhelming victory, she had sent a request to the Inquisitor for the city to be celebrated or commended in some way, but she wasn't sure Ellen had even received her message. It had become increasingly difficult for anyone to get an audience outside of her two advisors, the Genetor Vidriov and the witch, Purilla.
Then the Orks had arrived and Praxiah had thought, certainly, that the Sisters would fight. That they would launch a righteous crusade against the greenskins. But once more, they had been forbidden from taking the offensive against them.
Once more, Malum, so clearly blessed by the God-Emperor that it should have been obvious to all now, had repelled the Ork assault with utter ease. In fact, reports from those servants inside the city claimed the vile greenskins had not returned since their initial attack, so monumental was their failure, making Malum the sole hive city on the planet left free from besieging xenos or in the control of vile heretics and traitors.
The last straw had been the declaration of secession by the four hives of Ate, Janus, Dolus, and Eris. Though they claimed loyalty, Praxiah knew those governors well from past encounters over the decades and had had doubts about their faith for many years.
She could not, would not, be denied a third time. Her Sisters would go to war again, ire of the Inquisition be damned, and fight once more in the God-Emperor's name. Let Him on Terra judge her if she was false, but she knew in her heart that Ellen no longer sought to follow His plan.
They would raise an army of the faithful in Malum and march out and on towards Janus, the Sisters leading the way. She would demand each governor surrender to her and be interrogated for any signs of corruption. Then, when they were deemed false, they would be executed, and their city's purged of their followers. As the Inquisitor should have done with the cult of Limos in the first place.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a mechanical gait coming closer and she heard the voice of Legatine Seritta Adelus. Most of the officers in the Order were veterans almost as old as Praxiah herself, those that had survived the battles with the Eldar. It wasn't favoritism, most of the ranks had to be filled by veterans who were experienced. Seritta Adelus was one of the few of the newcomers that had proven herself competent enough in peace-time to be granted a rank as esteemed as Legatine without that experience.
"Canoness, we have visitors." Despite the helmet that covered her face and slightly modulated her voice, Praxiah knew the Sister was smiling wryly. Strong in faith, in mind, and in arm, but not necessarily the most… serious of her Sisters. It wasn't unusual for less experienced Sisters of Battle be less stoic than their elders, but few were able to walk the line between propriety and insubordination as well as Seritta Adelus.
"I have not seen our scouts report back," Praxiah stated, her brow furrowing. "Explain."
"Catherine Ellen wishes to speak with you," Seritta said, her voice tinted with just a hint of amusement. "She's waiting at the back of our line, with a host of around twenty Tempestus Scions. All armed."
Praxiah wasn't sure whether to curse or smile. She had suspected the Inquisitor would follow them once she'd learned of their departure, even if Praxiah had done her best to keep their movements hidden from the spies that had been nestled throughout Deimos. She had only told the Planetary Governor to ensure that Ellen knew they did what they did in the name of the God-Emperor and were not traitors.
Whether that would work was another matter entirely and Praxiah felt a thin weed of fear and doubt begin to curl around her heart. Had she made the right decision? Was she the one acting against the God-Emperor's Will?
She ripped that weed out, root and stem, and crushed it. She was a Sister of Battle, a Canoness of His Light, and she would never stray from His path. She had survived the Cleansing Rains, Catherine Ellen would not stop her.
"Inform her she may come to the front of the line to speak with me," Praxiah said.
"Canoness? You're… not going to her?" Seritta asked, sounding almost shocked.
"Correct," Praxiah replied with a small dip of her helmet. Seritta nodded and seemed about to speak into her commbead, when Praxiah added, "Go and tell her in person, would you? I wish for you and your Retributors to provide a proper escort for her."
"As you command, Canoness," Serrita said, bowing, perhaps out of instinct to hide the grin that was no doubt spreading across her face.
Serrita, not for the first time, was glad of the helmet she wore this day. Beyond just the protection it provided her against the smog produced by the promethium-guzzling war machines and the cooling systems it provided. She knew some of her Sisters had deactivated those systems for this march, perhaps intent on reliving their initiation, but Serrita felt no such need.
This time, she was glad of it for the fact that it hid her sidelong studying of Inquisitor Catherine Ellen's face, only partly covered by a rudimentary breath filter, drinking in the barely contained frustration therein. She had not met the Inquisitor before, nor had they been properly introduced even now as she escorted the woman past formations of Battle-Sisters and columns of vehicles, but Serrita knew enough about her.
Like any of the Adeptas Sororitas, Serrita held the Inquisition in nothing but esteem and respect. They did the God-Emperor's work. However, while the institutions formed by His command were without flaws, the individuals within them were rarely so perfect. Catherine Ellen was seeming proof of that.
Telling a Sister of Battle not to join the fight against heresy, to stay her hand against the mutant. It was beyond ludicrous; it was outright going against the Will of the God-Emperor. Rumors of Ellen being a heretic were rare, but some had reached Serrita's ears. While she could not be so sure of the woman's true loyalties, at best Catherine Ellen was an idiot in Serrita's eyes. A crass term, yes, but the only one that really encapsulated her views of the Inquisitor.
So, Serrita enjoyed the look on Ellen's face, especially as her eyes seemed to widen in rage behind her transparent goggles at the sight of Canoness Evelayn Praxiah, marching proudly at the front of a column of Celestans, not even deigning to look back upon the Inquisitor.
"Canoness," Ellen growled, having to almost shout over the noise of the Order on the march. The Inquisitor stepped past the Celestans and coming up alongside the Canoness. "Kindly halt your march so we might… speak."
Serrita and her squad of Retributors fell in alongside the Celestans. Their distance was just on the edge of what was respectful and still well within earshot of the conversation that had piqued Serrita's interest.
"The God-Emperor's Sororitas do not halt when they march in His name, Inquisitor," Praxiah replied, still staring straight ahead. "If you would speak with me, come march alongside me as we head for Malum."
"Malum," the Inquisitor spoke the name with something approaching malice, "Is under quarantine by order of the God-Emperor's Inquisition."
"The faithful fear no plague, Inquisitor, but your concern is noted and appreciated," Praxiah said and Serrita almost burst out laughing, but wisely bit her tongue.
"Your fearlessness is not in question, Canoness," The Inquisitor bit out. "Of that you can rest assured you have proven with this… excursion."
"Then you understand why this must happen, Inquisitor," Praxiah said, finally deigning to turn and face the Inquisitor, the glowing red lenses of her helmet fixed squarely upon her. "The God-Emperor's Will must be enacted. The Adeptas Sororitas are His instruments."
"As is the Inquisition, Canoness," Ellen replied and Serrita could almost hear the Canoness' grin with her next words.
"Then we are glad to have your support, Inquisitor," Praxiah said and before Ellen could reply, the Canoness continued. "Though, as a fellow servant of the God-Emperor, I advise you retire from the column before long. The heat of this tunnel is dangerous to… some. As you can see from the bodies."
Ellen's eyes widened in shock before narrowing in wrath. However, the Inquisitor was silent for a long while. Serrita stepped over then, her Retributors, their heavy bolters held at rest in their arms, following alongside her.
"I will escort you back to your Scions, Inquisitor," Serrita said. Her voice made it clear she wasn't offering.
Ellen's eyes swept from the Canoness to Serrita and back, her jaw clearly at work behind her filter. The Inquisitor's power armored hand seemed to twitch, as though her fingers wished dearly to curl around someone's throat or the grip of her bolt pistol, displayed openly at her side. If she tried, she'd be dead before she could get a shot off.
"Very well," Ellen sniffed haughtily, tearing herself away from Praxiah's side and storming in the opposite direction. Serrita followed, though she kept her distance this time. As much as needling someone like Ellen would bring her joy, doing so to an Inquisitor whose wrath had just been provoked was a poor idea.
Ahsael whispered as he worked, carving through the flesh of the whimpering sacrifice. Each burst of fresh fear and pain brought the flickering forms of the neverborn into further focus, their bodies taking new, horrible shapes as they shifted from unreal to real. He could feel their hungry gazes linger on the soul of the mortal psyker… and on his own.
His whispers surrounded them, the arcane words taking psychic form, collars to bind these petulant neverborn, to command them. It was a simple trade. The soul of this sacrifice, and any whose slaughter he commanded them to enact thereafter, in exchange for service.
He had performed this ritual over nine thousand times, bound nine times that number of daemons to his service over the millennia. He could practically perform it in his sleep.
He thought of the encroaching war that was to come. The Inquisitor's position was built upon a quickly disintegrating foundation. The Ork invasion had been unexpected but made ensuring the joint betrayals of both Eris and Ate in addition to Janus and Dolus an easy task. The inaction of the Inquisitor and the Imperium had proven an even greater boon. The governors, both those that had some insight on Ahsael's plans and those oblivious to them, had played their roles perfectly.
His followers could now move all but openly. Eris and Ate, along with certain sections of the outer hive in both Janus and Dolus, would soon find their defenses compromised by unknown saboteurs. As the Orks poured in, slaughtering the civilians, despair would fall. The Imperium not intervene against the xenos, solidifying the belief that the capital had abandoned them. Faith would weaken and, when at their weakest and most vulnerable, the illuminating light of change would come to deliver them all.
He smiled and then felt a psychic backlash from the ritual as the neverborn nearly bucked free from their chains and he swallowed a curse as he refocused once more on the ritual. The lapse was an unforgivable mistake, one the daemons had almost made sure he wouldn't have lived to regret.
He turned his full attention back to the dark sorceries he was enacting. He did not think of the war that was to come, of the great changes he would bring. He did not think of the mortal vessels who surrounded him, basking in the glory of the Great Ocean, waiting for their new masters to possess them, under the unwavering watch of his Rubric marine.
Tide felt his roots growing deeper and deeper, not just in the underhive of Malum, but all across Monstrum. The cultists that had infiltrated the hive had done their work well, already spreading his spores across the hive cities of both Dolus and Janus. Their rebellion was unexpected, but perhaps not all that surprising given the presence of a Tzeentch cult. Ate and Eris seemed to be ensnared by the cult, but not so totally as the other cities. His numbers there were still small, not enough to affect any thing on a grand level, and there had been a few members of the cult he'd avoided infecting, automatically self-destructing any spores that came in contact with them.
Namely, the two Chaos Space Marines that seemed to be running the show, Ahsael and Uirus, who seemed to be the former's subordinate. Tide wasn't too pleased to learn of the presence of a pair of sorcerers, but it had been inevitable that he would encounter some eventually. His dealing with Vra'kzil had given him a boost in confidence in handling Warp-related shenanigans, but that had been under a specific set of circumstances. On his own turf, so to speak.
Depending on how strong this sorcerer was, Tide knew he might be under a very real threat. While he doubted someone as powerful as Magnus the Red would be skulking around on a random hive world, there were plenty of Psykers not as strong who could still kill armies. Tide didn't have a counter for psychic abilities beyond the use of his Domain, and he wasn't entirely sure how to use that in any case. His studies of it thus far had been limited and cautious, particularly around the rift that appeared to lead into the Warp itself. He had no interest in drawing attention to his little hole in unreality.
He could probably overwhelm the sorcerers under waves of Flood Forms. His forces in Malum alone had skyrocketed thanks to the Ork attack. Their corpses had been burned to cinders as far as every Altered mind in Malum knew. Orks were excellent for the biomass they provided. Even an average Boy had more than twice the mass of a regular human. If he were to utilize all the biomass he had gathered to himself in Malum to create just humans, he'd be able to field quite an army at around sixteen million. And it would only be growing from there.
Would that be enough for a sorcerer though? He couldn't be sure. He didn't have enough information. The Altered cultists all thought of Ahsael as something approaching a demigod, but the displays of power he had shown them were not exactly planet-shattering, merely impressive. The summoning and binding of daemons, the creation of daemonhosts, reducing those who displeased him to ashes, that sort of thing.
Ahsael did not seem that powerful. He only had one fellow Space Marine as a servant after all, not including the lone Rubric bodyguard. But, Tzeentch worshippers were excellent at misdirection and none of the Altered cultists knew the true extent of Ahsael's might.
The cultists were slower than the genestealers to implement their plans, but Tide had gotten somewhat of an idea through his Altered. The sabotage of one's own defenses seemed foolish, but Tide suspected the idea was to cause suffering and pain, if only to catch the eye of the Ruinous Powers and draw their attention. There may have been more to it, but Ahsael was not one to share his plans in long, villainous monologues.
Tide kept running through possible ways of dealing with the sorcerer swiftly, but his attention turned elsewhere. Far above the planet's surface, the space hulk's corridors were silent, quiet except for the soft padding of flesh over ancient metal. He doubted he'd killed all the Orks, but it had been hours since he'd last encountered any of them. The hulk's retrofitted hangars were emptied of craft, presumably taken by the Orks to the surface, joining the WAAAGH! below. Had he scared them off or simply slaughtered the last of them? Even now he hadn't explored the entire hulk, so it wasn't impossible there were clutches still in hiding somewhere.
There hadn't been very many Orks on the hulk, a hundred thousand or less, but the biomass was still ample, especially as the Flood-Ork spores continued to grow and spread, providing him with a real-time map of the structure as sensor-stalks grew on every surface, creating a network of eyes and ears.
The treasures he had found were ample, though nothing as spectacular as the forge he had found, which was odd. What was odder was the fact that he was quickly discovering a large section of the hulk's core, nearly twenty kilometers in diameter, had been cordoned off by closed bulkheads, some areas leading into it shut off by magnetically sealed doors, others blocked by collapsed ship sections so tightly packed not even his spores had been able to pass through.
It was more than just odd, it was concerning. Had the Orks sealed this off? There were no memories of them even realizing the enclosed area was there. Had it been some group prior to the Orks' acquisition of this hulk? Some freak accident?
He doubted that last one. 40k was not a setting where such things just happened. There was something inside the closed area, something that either hadn't wanted anything to get in… Or something that someone hadn't wanted to get out.
Tide, not being an idiot, gave the sections a wide berth, though he maintained a constant watch through his sensor stalks on every area that seemed to lead into the enclosed space. If there was something that had made someone scared enough to create a twenty-kilometer wide prison inside a space hulk, he wasn't going to mess with it until he had more information and a lot more prep time. Perhaps once all this was over he'd crack open this particular egg, but for now he'd be err on the side of caution.
Purilla stepped inside the laboratory, her eyes quickly taking in the room. A single tech-priest stood over a dissection table, poking around inside the skull of a purestrain genestealer, but it wasn't Vidriov. It was one of his subordinates, whose name Purilla wasn't sure of, but he looked up, seemingly surprised by her presence, stopping his work.
"Hello," Purilla greeted him with a nod of her head. The tech-priest was young, she could tell. He still had most of his flesh and his face was clear of almost any augmentations save for the cylindrical eye that glared out at her from his right socket.
"Greetings, Psyker Purilla Olivia," The tech-priest intoned, almost as though he were trying to sound mechanical. It was natural from someone like Vidriov, but coming from someone who still looked so human, it seemed almost comical. Purilla kept her face straight. "What is the reason for your presence?"
"I'm looking for Vidriov," Purilla said simply, approaching the table, feigning interest in the decapitated genestealer. "Is he in?"
"The Genetor went to assist Inquisitor Ellen," He said before resuming his work, seemingly thinking the conversation was ended.
"I see," Purilla said, still looking at the genestealer. The tech-priest's mind was agitated despite his calm demeanor. It was so clear compared to older tech-priests like Vidriov, whose augmentations were rarely only surface level. This one had not cut away at his own mind to replace it with mechanical components.
"Do you require further information?" The tech-priest asked after a long moment of silence. He didn't seem comfortable around psykers. Or perhaps it was because she was not of his order? Vidriov's subordinates rarely interacted with others.
"No," Purilla said simply. Her eyes seemed to study the exposed brain as the tech-priests knife worked its way around and through it, carving away pieces of interest for further study, but her mind was focused elsewhere. She was a serpent, coiled in the underbrush, staring at a prey animal that knew something was wrong, but could not say what.
"Do you intend to wait for the Genetor here?" The tech-priest's question was tinted by a hint of frustration. His hands worked dutifully, but she could tell the distraction of her presence was affecting them. Just a little push…
"I believe I will. You will not mind, of course?" Her question was enough, the tech-priest twitched almost bodily, his knife making a cut just a bit too deep. The cultist of the Omnissiah wanted to swear, she could tell, as he refocused on the task at hand and in that opening she struck, her mind reaching out to his. "Stop working."
The tech-priest froze for a moment and Purilla felt his mind struggling for a moment against her influence.
Then, the man withdrew his hands from the xeno's cranium and wiped off the scalpel before setting it aside. The tech-priest turned to face her, his face blank.
"Is the laboratory under surveillance?"
"Yes," The tech-priest said. This time the monotone of his voice had nothing to do with him trying to sound mechanical. "There are three different augurs."
She bit down a swear. She'd only known about two of them, so she was glad she'd asked.
"Can you access them?"
"Not without permission from the Genetor."
"Could you do it without permission?"
"Yes."
"After I depart, you will destroy all evidence of my coming here. Wipe the records in these augurs. If anyone asks, it was an error with the machine spirit."
"Yes."
"Show me to where you keep vials of Organism-04."
The tech-priest turned and moved towards a seemingly empty wall, Purilla following behind him, even as she kept her hold over his mind. His will was not great, but this wasn't easy for her either. The tech-priest pressed a certain spot on the wall and it swung open, revealing a secret compartment filled with nearly a hundred vials, each no larger than her index finger. Each one was filled with a sickly yellow substance, though some were distilled in a clear liquid.
"Is that water?"
"Yes. Organism-04 has been determined to be able to survive in water, as well as six other liquid substances including alcohol."
Purilla's eyes widened slightly. That little tidbit of information hadn't been shared with her or, as far as she knew, with the Inquisitor herself. She wasn't sure what Vidriov was planning, but if he intended to utilize the organism to his own ends… Well, all the more reason for her to do this.
"Give me one with water."
The tech-priest plucked up one of the vials, handing it to her. Purilla stared at the item in her hand, the object of her desires for what felt like an eternity. She did not allow herself time to doubt, unfastening the top and downing the liquid in one gulp. Despite the unpleasant appearance of the substance, it tasted like plain water.
She waited for a moment, unsure what was going to happen. Perhaps there was a time delay? She-
A reunion is welcome, your timing is auspicious.
The whisper in her mind came like a trickle of water down her parched throat, a salve on her wounded flesh, a flood in a time of drought. Her heart swelled with hope and relief and she spoke her next words in a reverent whisper. "Tide…"
In that moment, her focus diverted, and the mind of the tech-priest broke free. His one remaining eye widened in shock and realization, and Purilla could feel the Tide's reaction move her body faster than lightning.
There was no pain, only an odd sensation of twisting as her left arm shifted, the skin and muscles rippling as bones fractured and re-fused. Her fingers became a flesh-tipped lance, tearing apart her arm-length glove, striking out and burying into the neck of the tech-priest like a dagger. The man's face twisted with pain in a silent scream as blood spewed freely and Purilla felt something leave her and enter him.
It was the work of a single, eternal moment. The wound in the man's neck sealed shut, the skin reknitting itself, and Purilla watched in fascination as her hand slowly reshaped itself back to its former self. Soon, the tech-priest stood and the only sign of the attack were the tattered remnants of her glove.
"W-what was-?"
Depart from this place for now, I will reveal all to you.
Purilla obeyed, not sure if she should be terrified or gleeful. As she reached the door, however, she turned back and glanced at the tech-priest.
"Is… is he dead?"
He lives, though he sleeps for now. He shall hide what has occurred.
She breathed a soft sigh of relief. She hadn't wanted to kill anyone.
A rare, but beautiful wish. Hold fast to that and go far.
She departed the laboratory, already thinking of what questions she would ask.
The Gods of the Internet have deemed my faith in them be rewarded.
Oh shit Tide now has the mechicus now
- Location
- Euclidean plane
You know, it's nice to see a reminder that for all that the imperium does that's good and stabilizing, it's filled with near-mindless fanatics.
If I feel bad for anyone, it's the souls of the people who were trampled under cruel and unforgiving doctrine. Just think on it; a group of people go to join a holy crusade. They want to help people, fight the baddies! But if they're not strong enough to make the journey, or perhaps even unlucky, they are forgotten and reviled, corpses rotting away where they fall.
Like.. we're supposed to like the Sisters , right? Even the 'good' guys in the setting have me wishing Tide would just.. kill everyone with any authority and start over educating the local peasants.
If I feel bad for anyone, it's the souls of the people who were trampled under cruel and unforgiving doctrine. Just think on it; a group of people go to join a holy crusade. They want to help people, fight the baddies! But if they're not strong enough to make the journey, or perhaps even unlucky, they are forgotten and reviled, corpses rotting away where they fall.
Like.. we're supposed to like the Sisters , right? Even the 'good' guys in the setting have me wishing Tide would just.. kill everyone with any authority and start over educating the local peasants.
- Location
- America
It's happppppening!
Drunk Hierophant
Aspirant Archailect
- Pronouns
- He
Woooo, new chapter!
Edit: Woops, the ship is the Spirit of Eternity, Death of Integrity is the title of the book
Oh fuck, is that the Death of Integrity??
Edit: Woops, the ship is the Spirit of Eternity, Death of Integrity is the title of the book
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- Location
- Canada
Death of what?
Drunk Hierophant
Aspirant Archailect
- Pronouns
- He
The Spirit of Eternity was a DAoT Human ship trapped inside a spacehulk piloted by an AI with an enormous grudge against the Imperium for killing its captain and wanting to fuck off to another galaxy while leaving this one to rot.
Nihilo
Authorial parasite
- Location
- Catalonia
To my understanding, the whole point of the setting is that there's no wholly good factions. There may be noble individuals and even mostly good sub-groups (Lamenters, that one order of the sisters, etec), but every faction has severe flaws by design.
The sisters, for example, are so goddamn fanatical that it's noted that many will jump to going Repentia for the most minor error.
It is possible for a Repentia to redeem herself through deeds of great bravery and butchery In fact, some of the greatest and most faithful Champions of the Adepta Sororitas were at one point Repentia, such as Celestine. Those redeemed in this way are revered by their fellow Sisters, for through them the Emperor is shown to shepherd his servants through their weakness. Some Sisters even go so far as to willingly become Repentia over the slightest shortcoming.[6]
6: Codex: Adepta Sororitas (8th Edition), pg. 49
- Location
- Canada
Oddly enough I'd do the same thing if I was in its place
- Location
- ?????????
So valid. The best move sometimes is just not to play. Truly the smartest being in universe.
- Pronouns
- They/She
Clearly the right choice to be perfectley honest
You can't just go tempting the robs like that.
Mr. Cloak
Orchestrator of Paradoxical Apocalypse
- Pronouns
- I
Having the opinion that everyone except the peasants needs to die and then the peasants need to go through primary school (with Mr. Rogers episodes) is a totally normal and understandable reaction to seeing the Imperium of Mankind in 40k.
Now imagining the Gravemind holding up a bunch of struggling and terrified civilians inside a *massively* oversized house, drawing them close and saying
"Hi there, neighbor."
goodpie2
Unverified Guy With a Face
- Location
- Earth. Probably.
Okay, so what the hell is Catherine's plan here? Is she just intending to sacrifice Monstrum and try to keep her forces alive long enough to get them off planet? Because if she has any goal of actually keeping the planet at all, she does kinda seem like an idiot by this point.