What are you going to do when I erase every single ship in your fleet aside from the Tomb Ship? I mused thoughtfully, my Sovereign drifting ever closer to the enemy fleet, the exchange of volleys intensifying ever more with every kilotre.
I searched my mory, looking for whether anyone had ever boarded Necron ships … and found that only a Teleportarium could get them through the energy shields Necron ships used. The Minotaurs had even boarded a Tomb Ship once, likewise by teleporting onto it in a last-ditch attempt to slay the Phareon.
Which would be impossible with that damned Spaceti Dampener smothering space all across the star system. It was annoying. I wanted to try out my new boarding torpedoes.
Let’s stress test that bitch. I decided, once more drawing on my soul energy, which I then used to just … hamr away at spaceti. I didn’t want to break through; all I wanted was to cause a disturbance, ripples and quakes that would reverberate across the fabric without damaging it. I wanted to see whether the Spaceti Dampener could deal with it.
Perhaps it could withstand singular, powerful efforts to pierce through the Fabric, but what of sustained, weaker quakes that spread out across the entire star system? Did they have enough energy output, even with the C’tan powering the ship to do that, and keep the energy shields fully powered as well?
I channelled it all through Atiesh, adding its own power into the fold as it focused and enhanced my efforts. The power poured into my staff, then flashed out across the system, slamming into space itself. A smirk tugged at my lips when I felt it ripple, and I continued on, slam after slam, each tid perfectly to exacerbate the slight ripples, turning them into a steady wobble after five, then a shake at twenty and an actual quake that was probably wreaking havoc across the entire system by the fiftieth strike.
My soulbone skeleton was fraying, hairline cracks spreading across it as energy tore through them, and my body was in a constant state of flux. Organic bits liquified only for to hold them together by sheer force of will, then nd them back together. It was a constant effort, trying to keep my avatar from literally falling apart, but it was worth it.
I felt it when it happened. A nanosecond after the 68th strike, the Spaceti Dampener let up, its steadying influence reeled back in to cover only a smaller region fifty thousand kilotres across with the Star Reaper at its centre. Luckily, the Sovereign was inside it because the mont that superweapon let up, an apocalyptic storm of chaotic gravitational anomalies tore through the entire star system.
It took about half an hour and drained an entire third of my soul energy reserves, while also costing the integrity of my soulbone skeleton. But I had done it. It pushed to the very limit of my psychic capabilities, to cause such destruction across an entire system, and it was only possible due to the Spaceti Dampener, which had acted like a closed-off pressure valve, letting the force of my attack stack up and up before releasing it all at once to devastating effects. It wasn't what I did that directly caused such devastation, but the rebound when the Spaceti Dampener finally gave way and all that built-up pressure exploded outwards in a single apocalyptic blast.
I need to spend more ti on the Witchblade project. I need to reverse-engineer how that psychic matrix and runes work, then incorporate my own versions of both into my soulbone skeleton. If I could make it focus and compress my power, I could achieve more with less energy and spare my bones much of the strain.
I wondered what I could achieve once I had succeeded, once my entire skeleton was woven through with those psychic focusing matrices and Atiesh was upgraded to be the equal of a Force weapon. I wasn’t sure, I couldn’t be sure until I actually did it, but the re idea sent a rush of thrill down my spine. I wanted to find out, and I was sure as hell going to do so.
Even now, my avatar’s energy throughput and ability to channel my soul’s true psychic might were my greatest limiter. I’d been so proud of my current design back when I first made it, but now I knew there was still much that could be done to improve upon it. That discovery still filled with a mix of excitent and relief. Excitent, because of course, and relief because it ant I could grow even more powerful, and that ant I might one day be actually able to change things in a way that actually mattered. It ant I could win.
On the other hand, my efforts were all but worthless in my current situation. The Spaceti Dampener was still active and still made it impossible to board the Tomb Ship by teleporting on board. I’d say it was an atrocious waste to pour so much energy into an attack that didn’t really work out in the end … but it was really fucking cool. I an, planets across the entire star system were being torn apart by gravitational storms and spatial anomalies. It was aweso.
Inside my body, a film of carapace ford around all my bones, tightening and forcing them back into their proper shape. Cracked, fractured or outright shattered into fragnts as they were, they were unable to support my body as they were. It was a temporary asure until I remade my entire skeleton, but it would do. It would be much harder to channel soul energy with them in this sorry state, and my psychic power output had probably dropped to a twentieth of what it used to be at the start of the battle.
I took my Witchblade into my hand, grasping its long hilt tightly. It was a crutch, a weapon made by a race that couldn’t channel even a hundredth of the energy their bodies could withstand in fear of drawing the gaze of She Who Thirsts. It was a weapon ant to sidestep that issue, a weapon used to channel the psychic might of its wielder directly, without the need to channel titanic amounts of energy through the body.
The Grey Knights used Nesis Force weapons for similar reasons. Their psychic potentials had been artificially raised well beyond what humans could bear. They couldn’t channel all that power through their bodies, either because the body would give out or their minds would, allowing them to be possessed. For them, too, Force weapons were a nice way to leverage their powerful psychic might without the dangers of using it directly.
It would do for too. For now. I’d wanted to do this without making use of the weapon; it didn’t feel like my own power, if that made sense. It used Aeldary runes, it weaponised their great and ancient history, their own taphysical weight upon the Empyrean. Though it was my soul that gave the seed from which it was born, and even though I forged it, it was still an Aeldari weapon. It felt like borrowed power.
I don’t know why that annoyed and troubled so much. Technically, my Eldritch Flesh and anything I’d gained through it were all borrowed power as well … but I felt like I had made it mine. I felt like everything I took with it, genetic templates and biomass alike, I had taken and made my own. The Witchblade still didn’t feel like it was mine. That was why I wanted to make my own runes, to make use of my own psychic might and taphysical weight to power it, or perhaps humanity’s as well.
But it would do. For now.
******
So this is how I’m going to die? Aboard a living, organic ship that exists in open defiance of everything that is good? Torn to shreds by a gravity storm brought about by the crazy witch that probably saw the Emperor in diapers? Is it truly how I die?
Ciaphas Cain stared numbly out the window that wasn’t truly a window. They were sowhere in the deepest part of the ship, surrounded by kilotres of tough flesh and carapace on all sides. The ‘window’ was just a screen showing a visual feed, no matter how lifelike and authentic it seed.
This was how he died. Far away from the peaceful retirent he’d fought for all his life. No, even if he escaped, he would be forever barred from it in the future anyway. How was it again? Ah, yes, ‘Only in death, does my duty end’. He was an unaging, miniature Custodian now, even if Echidna’s false copy of His Divine Majesty’s work was not truly equal to an original Adeptus Custodes, he would still live for centuries. If he couldn’t die from old age, he knew, he just knew it in his bones that the top branch would try to get him killed in other ways, as they always did. Although now it wouldn’t be due to their false belief in his divinely blessed status, but to get rid of an eyesore.
Even if Amberley was right and Lord Octavian would lend his word in his support, he knew many would view him as an abomination now, a living, breathing act of absolute heresy.
He still wasn’t sure why he’d accepted the offer- Ah, that was a lie, he knew it to be a lie. Amberley had looked at him with those big blue eyes of hers, asked nicely and gave him a coy smile. He’d folded then and there. Yes, he was a coward. That was nothing new. He’d always been a coward; that was the only thing that kept him alive. A braver man wouldn’t have survived the Schola Progenium, much less all the trouble he’d found himself in over the following centuries.
Perhaps he could weasel his way into joining Amberley’s retinue in a more … permanent fashion? He had retired from the Commissariate; he was no longer a mber of the Imperial Guard either. He was technically a civilian, even though his military rank had never been officially removed. His crimson sash and cap were never taken from him, nor was his clearance level, so he was a Commissar in all but na, even though he was technically in retirent.
If they survived this ss, that is. Not sothing he was in any way certain of, quite the opposite, in fact. The world out there beyond this small bubble they occupied looked like hell itself. An entire star system was devastated, a dozen planets torn apart, their molten hearts scattered across the void of space, while the star itself at the core of the system was in the process of going supernova. How long would it be until its wrath swallowed them whole? Would they survive it? Would they survive the Necrons’ next attempt to slay them?
A Tomb Ship. Amberley had spoken of them in hushed whispers, her face holding an unusual note of wariness and fear that he did not like one bit.
If this is how I die, so be it. He thought, then grabbed the next bottle of delicious ‘skotch’ he’d found in his room’s mini-fridge, pouring it over a cube of ice at the bottom of his glass.
He may not have won that frog wager, but Echidna had surprised him by fulfilling his wish nonetheless. The next ti he returned to his quarters, he’d found a new mini-fridge freshly stocked with new brands and types of alcohol.
Now if only he had a beautiful woman in his other hand while sipping his possible final drink … alas, Amberly was a bit too preoccupied with staring at the battlemaps and sensor feeds to serve the purpose, and the only other two won were not suitable. One was his host’s lover, and the other was her daughter. His well-honed survival instincts told him he wouldn’t live long enough for Amberley to divorce him of his balls before Echidna vented him into space if he tried his luck by flirting with either of them.
Well, that just ant he had two hands to drink with instead of one. It streamlined the process, if nothing else.
“We’re going to hit that Tomb Ship at this rate,” he mused aloud, then took a good long sip of his drink. It burned all the way down his throat and into his belly, but left a lingering aftertaste that reminded him of good-quality spiced honey. If he were to die today, he sure as hell wasn’t going to die sober. It wasn’t like there was anything he could do to better his chances at survival anyway, so sobriety would just bring down the mood without any benefit. It would not be easy, but he was determined to triumph over his Custodian-grade alcohol — poison — resistance even if it required him to pour alcohol down his throat straight from the barrels.
He could have prayed to the Emperor for salvation, but what for? The big man had seen fit to have him sitting on this ship, so the best he could hope for was that he’d be forgiven for all his cowardice when he was dumped before the Golden Throne for judgnt. Well, at this rate, all that would be left of him to dump there were going to be his de-atomised ashes, but oh well.
“That’s the point,” Echidna said with a grin that was all teeth and malice. Cain decided to do the smart thing and … down the rest of his glass. Nope. Inner peace. Serenity. He was tranquillity itself given form. “Aaaaaand we are in range, do not leave this room.”
With that final order, she moved, and even with his supposedly Custodian-grade enhanced senses, Cain could still barely catch the blur as she leapt through the ceiling. He was sure even an Astartes would have thought she’d just teleported with the speed at which she moved.
His eyes watched the hole in the ceiling close swiftly, then his gaze swam back to the visual sensor feed displayed across the massive wall right in front of him. He watched as Echidna burst through the prow of the ship, that obnoxiously long Eldar greatsword of hers trailing behind her, held in a loose grip.
Tendrils of entropic green energy lashed out at her, but they missed ti and again as she twisted and turned, likely also using Psyker nonsense to push them aside. Then she reached the Tomb Ship barely half a second after she’d left the room. Cain saw the energy shields thrum, shimring in the darkness with a light greenish hue, just short of translucent.
The Witchblade swung in a wide arc, coming down in a titanic overhead slash at the colossal wall of raw energy. He didn’t expect much; he’d just spent minutes watching warheads that had ravaged entire worlds and devastated entire Hive Ships do nothing against that shield. In all honesty, despite everything he had seen, he was expecting the sword to bounce off the shield, for a tendril of energy to swat Echidna aside and then for another of those horrifying beams to tear through the Sovereign.
He raised his glass, once more carrying that rich golden liquid, and he swallowed it all down in a single gulp after toasting his supposed host. It’d been a good run-
The energy shield split, a vicious jagged wound hundreds of tres long appeared upon its surface, and Cain’s latest drink nearly filled his lungs instead of his stomach as his eyes flew wide open. Then he promptly devolved into a hacking fit of coughs, trying not to die or cough up his lungs.
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