"Report: Objective secured. Sanctuary occupied."
Enkidu pressed a hand to his helt. Aside from the three of them, no enemies remained within the holy precinct—only the distorted, rhythmic moans of the Drukhari Archon and the steady drip-drop of blood hitting the floor.
"Not a bad ti," Telax's voice crackled in response, backed by a cacophony of explosions and screams of terror. "What is your haul? Have you harvested the heads of the False Emperor's lackeys for the Dark Prince?"
"I don't need you to remind of my duties," Enkidu retorted with a half-jesting sharpness. "Two Wyches and over a hundred Kabalites are dead. I'm fairly certain the Dark Prince has already received my offerings. As for captives: one high-ranking xenos noble and five human aristocrats. Five others of unknown status—though one is definitely a Navigator, and a remarkably young one at that."
"A Navigator."
Enkidu could practically hear Telax licking his lips, his hearts thumping with predatory joy. A chaotic skirmish, a pre-planned raid, and a result that exceeded even their most optimistic projections.
"Excellent. Hide her. Do not let anyone find her—that fool Varex doesn't deserve such a prize. I'll be there shortly. Rember: do not let anyone snatch our spoils."
The vox cut out with a brief acknowledgnt, followed by the scuffing sounds of heavy movent.
"Move them into that storage room over there," Enkidu commanded, pointing to a half-ajar door in a corner of the sanctuary. "Stay out of sight."
The storage room was cramped, filled with splintered pews and moth-eaten tapestries. He placed the Navigator on a lopsided recliner, while the others were stacked against the wall like cordwood.
A mont later, the rune representing Telax flickered to life on his HUD.
Upon seeing the young, barely mutated Navigator, Telax allowed a satisfied grin to spread across his scarred features.
"If Varex had half your brains, we wouldn't be scavenging in the gutter."
"You flatter , Lord."
"Hardly. Those idiots are currently in the chem-vats, so high they've forgotten which way is up. They've completely lost sight of the objective."
Telax spoke with scathing derision. Behind him, Enkidu noticed the silhouettes of two red-robed Tech-Priests.
Securing them had clearly cost Telax so effort; his power armor bore fresh scorch marks, and a section of his helt's crest had been sheared away.
But it was a pittance compared to the gain. If these two "Cogs" could be coerced into cooperation, not only would their armor be repaired, but the warband might finally cultivate its own "Techmarines."
"A fine harvest, Lord."
"It is nothing."
Telax tilted his head with arrogant pride, his gaze sweeping over the human nobles before settling on the Drukhari Archon—now reduced to a limbless torso. A bold, dark thought blood in his mind.
"A xenos. The Dark Prince's favorite vintage. I cannot wait to let my Lord savor his soul!"
"No, no, wait—" Marazhai's aristocratic poise vanished instantly. Facing a devotee of Slaanesh, he felt a primal, bone-deep horror. "You cannot offer to the Thirsty Lady! I am Trueborn! An Archon of the Kabal of the Ravening Tempest! Spare , and I can bring you a thousand more sacrifices!"
"A xenos speaks nothing but lies. Only when they face the Dark Prince's kiss do they reveal their true face." Telax hoisted the Navigator and the Drukhari with cold indifference, turning toward the exit. "I shall break him myself. Deal with the others as you see fit."
"By your command."
Enkidu watched him depart, then turned to face the four remaining humans.
Cold. Binding. Sothing was searing against her chest.
Consciousness surfaced slowly. Octavia von Valancius opened her eyes to a world of dim shadows, finding herself shackled to a bulkhead. Almost all her concealed weapons had been stripped away, save for the heavy, golden Aquila hidden against her skin, which was radiating an intense, burning heat.
Right. She had been poisoned by that damnable xenos. Was the alien about to interrogate her? She steeled herself. Stay firm. Weave lies. Mislead the monster.
Octavia blinked rapidly, forcing her vision to clear as she cautiously surveyed the room.
"I see you're awake."
The voice was soft, carrying the unique sub-vocal resonance of an Astartes. She snapped her head toward the sound and saw a towering figure in pink-and-black plate standing by the wall—exactly as she had seen in her tarot.
However, the card had been reversed.
Octavia stared in horror. This Astartes bore no Imperial icons, no wings of the Aquila. His armor was encrusted with jagged, irregular spikes. In the lore she had studied to beco a proper Rogue Trader, this type of wargear ant only one thing.
"Heretic!"
"To you, I suppose I am." Surprisingly, the traitor accepted the label with a near-shrugging indifference. "You Imperials are all the sa. Always 'heretic,' 'purge,' 'atonent.' It's the one thing I despise—your inability to simply hold a conversation."
"I will tell you nothing. Give up now."
"Is that so? The very fact that you said that tells you aren't quite ready to die."
The Astartes spoke with a relaxed air, but to Octavia, he looked like a lion toying with its prey—outwardly casual, yet watching for the slightest tremor in her resolve.
"And even if you die, you won't return to the Golden Throne. That is a privilege reserved for the rarest of heroes. You would simply shatter in the tides of the Immaterium and turn to dust. If I place you on the altar, the servants of the Dark Prince would be ecstatic to turn you into a piece of 'art'."
"You think such threats will shake my loyalty to the Throne?"
"You think I harbor expectations of you? I was rely testing the waters. You are my slave now, and a master always has more ti and luxury to wait for his slave's voice than the other way around."
She closed her eyes, trying to shut him out, but the images of the Emperor's Tarot swirled behind her lids. The Aquila charm on her chest grew even hotter, pulsing as if urging her to speak.
No. I would rather be a martyr slain by the profane than a collaborator. Whether it was the street-preachers from her childhood or Heinrix, the ssage had been clear: to consort with the traitor is death, and even death cannot wash away the sin.
Octavia gritted her teeth, terrified that a word of compromise might slip out.
After a long, tense standoff, she heard the Astartes let out a faint, amused huff. He said nothing more and simply turned, leaving the interrogation room.
Left alone in the silence, a crushing weight of darkness and dread began to swallow the Rogue Trader whole.
~~----------------------
Patreon Advance Chapters:
[email protected] / Drear20
User Comments
0 comments from readers