Squelch!
Crunch!
"AAAGH! RCY... PLEASE!"
Thud.
Three more bodies hit the cold tal floor, their life-fluids pooling in the gri. Kian Voss stood over them, his breath coming in wet, ragged hitches. A serrated knife was buried deep in his abdon, and several of his ribs were splintered, pressing against his lungs. On his tactical display, his silhouette was flashing deep crimson—he was on the verge of total biological failure.
Despite the agony, Kian humd a distorted tune through a mouth full of blood. He hoisted his heavy pack, grabbed the secondary bag of loot, and slung the sniper rifle over his shoulder. He leaned on the Relic Blade like a cane, limping toward the jagged breach in the warehouse wall.
[Extraction Sequence Initiated: 10... 9... 8...]
Snap.
The world flickered. Kian materialized in the center of his Sanctum. The knife in his gut vanished into static; his shattered ribs knitted back together with an audible pop; his skin beca smooth and unscarred. The Sanctum's "Refresher" protocol was absolute—as long as you made it back, you were whole.
"Ah... there's no place like my lightless, fortified ho," Kian groaned, stretching his limbs.
He began the ritual of the stash. He moved his haul to the corner, sorting the high-value Spire relics from the industrial scrap.
dicae Station: He fed the scavenged Tox-Stimms and Onslaught-Stimms into the centrifuges to refine more precursors.
Imperial Shrine: He retrieved a bottle of Sanctified Spirits and offered a fresh bottle of moonshine.
Workbench: He clamped the sniper rifle into the vice. He'd fired a hundred high-pressure rounds; the "Machine Spirit" was agitated and the bore was fouled. He ticulously disassembled, cleaned, and oiled the weapon until it shimred in the erald light.
His chores finished, Kian pushed open the heavy blast door to check on the brewery.
The mont the door hissed open, Kian's face darkened. Silentium was crouched by the threshold, holding a bucket of black industrial paint. He was mid-stroke, painting a series of disturbing, spiraling Warp-runes across the outer hull of the Sanctum.
Silentium jumped, frantically hiding the brush behind his back. "Ah! Master Voss! You... you're back? I thought you'd left for the stars!"
Kian stared at the fresh graffiti, his eye twitching. "Did I or did I not say no Warp-art on my walls? What is wrong with your brain, you freak?"
"I was curious!" Silentium stamred, backing away. "This room... this 'Nest' of yours... it is very strange, Master."
"Strange how?" Kian asked, crossing his arms.
"It does not exist!" the Psyker whispered, his eyes wide with fanatical wonder. "I tried to open the lock with my mind, but it was like reaching into a void. There is no 'Inside.' I tried to peer into the room from the Immaterium, but there is no shadow here. In the Warp, this room has no reflection. It is an absolute hole in reality. It is... impossible."
Kian tilted his head. It made sense. In the logic of the "System," the Sanctum was an instanced pocket-dinsion. It was the only place in the galaxy where neither God, nor Daemon, nor Tax-Collector could reach.
"Let in!" Silentium begged, grabbing Kian's hand. "I want to see the Void! I want to hide in the silence where the Daemons cannot see !"
Kian pulled his hand back with a look of pure disgust. "Absolutely not. This is my private sanctum. You are a neighbor, not a roommate. Now, scrub those runes off my door or no Holy Pancakes for a week."
Silentium looked like a kicked puppy. "If I cannot enter the Void... will you at least let stay by the threshold? If you teach the secrets of the Silence, I will teach you the Mastery of Gravity!"
Kian paused. The "Crave" in the Psyker's eyes was real. He considered the offer. Gravity manipulation... the ability to crush a man into a sphere with a thought.
"I won't let you in," Kian said firmly. "But if you provide with Tier-2 Psionic training, I'll give you sothing even more 'potent' than the rations."
Silentium accepted the deal instantly. "Fine! To the deep conduits! We shall begin with the Crushing Weight!"
Despite his terrifying power, Silentium was becoming increasingly dependent on the structure Kian provided. To a man who had spent his life as a pariah, the Joel family's mundane kindness and Sansa's cooking were as addictive as the silence. He was slowly being dosticated by the concept of "Family."
As they walked through the brewery toward the training tunnels, Kian saw Shiv and Big Joel working with timber planks. They were building modular hab-cells for the family to sleep in.
Shiv spotted Kian and ran over. Kian handed him a small bundle containing the Frenzy-Spur Manifold and the tattooed skins. "Take these to Nephal. Trade them for credits."
Sansa, Joel's mother, approached with a steaming ceramite bowl. "Master Voss, I've prepared a broth from the fowls Elder Silas sent. Please, eat before you head into the dark."
Kian drained the soup in one go. It was rich, fatty, and full of natural nutrients—a literal miracle in the Underhive. "Excellent work, Ma'am. If you need spices or salt, write a list. I'll be heading to the Mid-Hive soon."
With a nod to his crew, Kian and the Silent One opened the outer gates of the brewery.
The two of them vanished into the darkness of the deep conduit.
☆☆☆
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