The stagnant air of the corridor rushed in as the doors opened, and the new bloods filed out of the drawing room in small groups, their expressions a mix of lingering shock and newfound resolve. Enkidu pressed a hidden button beneath the table, resetting the room's security clearance to "Public."
This had been an accidental discovery during one of his idle psychic explorations of the ship. The forr owner of this suite—or perhaps the vessel itself—clearly had many secrets to hide; otherwise, they wouldn't have installed a holographic projector specifically designed to deceive outsiders. The device was remarkably realistic in both audio and visual fidelity; while the occupants engaged in clandestine dealings, an observer from the outside would see nothing but a master and his guest playing a quiet ga of Regicide.
"Lord?"
"It's nothing, Androda." He drained the cup of recaff the maid had brought and stood up. "I'm going out for a walk to clear my head. Keep the room in order. Varex and his sycophants are currently aboard the Lash of Agony, and it'll be so ti before they move back to the Golden Dawn. You and Paul must ensure my 'high-value' mortals stay put. I don't want them caught in his clutches."
"As you command."
After a few more brief instructions, Enkidu stepped out, intending to patrol the ship. As for the departing recruits, he wasn't overly concerned for their imdiate safety; since Varex intended to select candidates for the power armor, he wouldn't be foolish enough to slaughter them all just yet.
"Armand?"
He stopped, surprised. He had intended to visit Armand's ward after finishing his rounds, but the veteran had already walked out on his own.
"What's with that look? Did you expect to stay in a sickbed forever?"
Armand glared back, his posture rigid. Due to the severity of his injuries, he wasn't wearing the power armor that most others never removed; he wore only a simple robe, which made his physical scarring all the more apparent.
"I only ant that your recovery is impressive. I thought you'd need more ti to reach this state."
Enkidu smoothly pivoted the conversation to avoid provoking the veteran further. He noticed subtle, peculiar changes in Armand: his physique seed more... balanced and stable. Flesh was slowly knitting over his withered left foot, making it look more capable of bearing weight, and his deathly, sallow skin had taken on a relatively "normal" hue.
More startling was the thin layer of new skin forming over the hollow ruin of his face, as if it were attempting to overwrite his original features.
An alarm went off in Enkidu's mind.
"How do you feel?"
"Never better!" Armand rotated his wrist, a fire smoldering behind his empty sockets. "It must be the blessing of the Dark Prince that has filled with such vigor!"
"Damnation, I wonder when I'll ever receive such favor," Enkidu "envied" insincerely. He was already regretting leaving his room. "What do you think of... the recent events?"
"What events?"
"The funeral for our brothers."
"Ah, that." Armand pulled his lips back into a sarcastic sneer, making him look more like a mythological man-eater than a true Astartes. "I'll say this: thanks to those damnable Craftworld rats, Varex is finally bothered to put on an act."
"Oh?"
"I forgot, you're still a recruit who knows nothing." He glanced at Enkidu with cold indifference. "In the past, that man wouldn't have gone to such trouble to commorate anyone. He'd have thrown the bodies straight out of an airlock. I suspect even this 'tribute' is a lie—usually, after a loss like that, Morpheus would suddenly have a fresh supply of new 'pharmaceuticals.'"
"That is... grim."
"So the Craftworlders have their uses. With so many dead, Varex is forced to court your loyalty so Telax doesn't completely turn on him."
"So, that's why he's offering power armor to the initiates?"
Armand stared at him in genuine shock for a second, then let out a raspy, booming laugh.
"How naive! You actually think he's giving it to them? True, you were a lucky thief—with the failure of the ritual to the Dark Prince and his temperant, you should never have survived. It was only because Telax barged in and picked a fight with him that you walked away with a suit!"
Enkidu nodded awkwardly. Reconstructing that Slaaneshi feast in his mind, he knew he really shouldn't have survived. "Restraint" and "tolerance" were not words in a Slaaneshi cultist's dictionary; once a flaw is perceived, total destruction usually follows.
Moreover, he had personally witnessed Varex's failure to complete a sacrifice.
As for the power armor... he imdiately understood what Armand was trying to tell him.
The logic was simple: there were too many suits in need of repair and too few "Cogs" to do the work. They only had Abel and Pasqal. A Tech-Priest, regardless of rank, always possessed pride; having been forced into captivity, they weren't exactly going to put their hearts into repairing the gear of their captors.
"So, these are all empty promises."
"No, the promise is real—provided you have the strength to take it," Armand warned coldly. "Tell your subordinates to be ready. Tomorrow, Varex will likely have them duel for his entertainnt. Only those who walk out of the Octagon alive will be deed worthy to inherit the armor of our fallen brothers."
"Then I think killing Varex tomorrow might be a better proposal."
"You? Kill Varex?" Armand turned back in disbelief, as if looking at a rare specin. Then, that surprise shifted into a complex, indefinable look. "Don't tell you're planning to move against him for the sake of those 'new bloods'?"
"And if I am?"
"Damnable... innocence. You truly think everyone is as lucky as you? That even in the face of death, soone will step in to turn your danger into a promotion?" Armand snapped with sudden fury. Enkidu was certain he heard genuine jealousy in the veteran's voice. "In this place, no one becos a battle-brother without proving their strength! You are no exception! If you hadn't slaughtered those Aeldari and pried out their Soulstones, we wouldn't have accepted you either!"
"You're just a lucky thief who stole that armor by flattering Telax!"
"It's not the sa." Hearing Armand's irrational accusations, Enkidu felt his internal resolve harden. "There are many ways to prove strength. Killing a beast, securing plunder, or sothing else entirely... selecting recruits through fratricide is the worst possible path. Even if one survives, how can you guarantee loyalty over a backstab?"
"That is not for to ponder. I am a warrior; I practice the blade. And you cannot shield them forever. One day, they will die."
Enkidu thought of Bellator's funeral customs, the little wooden doll from Varangis, and the inevitable fate most Astartes faced. A faint sorrow clouded his heart.
"But I still have to try. I cannot stand by and watch them die for sport."
"Too soft," Armand muttered, seemingly realizing he had lost his composure. He quickly moved past the debate. "You'll have to take this up with Telax. He's the one who wants Varex dead more than anyone right now."
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