The air on the training deck was thick and sweltering, a nauseating cocktail of prothium fus, sweat, and the heavy copper tang of blood.
But to Enkidu, in this mont, the stench was strangely sweet.
He stood in the center of the circle, clutching the dripping head of the alpha beast. The creature's glazed, unseeing eyes seed to lock with those of the mutilated Noel hanging from the ceiling—a silent, grim communion between the dead.
The arena was silent for a heartbeat before erupting into a chorus of ragged breathing and frantic whispers.
Truen approached him. His ill-fitting training fatigues were shredded in several places, revealing slabs of dense muscle that were already stitching themselves back together. He stared at the beast's severed head for a long ti before grunting a single word:
"Congratulations."
A wave of warmth radiated from Enkidu's chest, montarily pushing back the chill of the ship. He took a deep breath, feeling his frantic secondary heart begin to slow its rhythmic thumping.
With Truen leading the way, the other initiates began to find their voices.
"By the Throne, that nearly killed , Boss!" Pius barked, wiping a sar of ichor from his face. "That thing moved like a blur. If that had been , I'd be gutted right now."
"I didn't even see you jump," Varangis added, his eyes wide with genuine envy. "Is this it? Is this truly the power of an Angel?"
The others crowded in, offering their own jagged versions of praise.
Enkidu felt a strange sensation blooming in his mind.
It was a feeling both familiar and alien. Since his arrival in this nightmare universe, every nerve had been taut with the strain of survival—the constant, grinding fear that he would slip and beco just another depraved monster. But here, surrounded by these n, he felt sothing he hadn't expected: he was needed. They looked to him.
That is a heavy burden to carry in a place like this, he thought grimly.
He wiped the gore from his brow and scanned the group, his eyes settling on Sebastian. The clerk flinched, instinctively trying to shrink into the shadows of the crowd, but Enkidu reached out and gave his shoulder a firm, grounding squeeze.
"Well done, Sebastian. You stood your ground. We all hunted today. How many did you take down?"
Sebastian's head snapped up. The eyes that were usually drowned in cowardice and tremors now flickered with a spark of disbelief.
"I... I only..."
He stamred, his words failing him. A faint, unnatural flush crept into his sallow cheeks.
"You did it," Enkidu said, his voice steady and affirming.
Sebastian looked down, a small, uncontrollable smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Not as many as you. But I killed two."
A cold, mocking laugh sliced through the air, instantly extinguishing the small fire of hope in Enkidu's chest. He turned to see Telax and the two veterans standing on the observation gallery, looking down at them as if they were vermin in a sewer.
"A victory? Is that what you call this?"
Telax descended the stairs, his movents a predatory glide. He kicked the alpha beast's head, sending it tumbling into the shadows. His voice was thick with unvarnished contempt.
"I expected a performance. A display of artistry. Instead, I find a herd of Grox wallowing in a mud pit."
He swept his gaze across the deck. One by one, the initiates lowered their eyes. Even the iron-willed Truen couldn't maintain eye contact with the traitor.
Finally, Telax's eyes locked onto Enkidu.
"Especially you, Four."
Telax stepped into Enkidu's personal space, his purple, mutated face inches from the initiate's nose.
"Incredible clumsiness," Telax hissed, his voice dropping to a low, vibrating threat. He grabbed Enkidu's collar and yanked him close. "Thirty-four seconds. A full thirty-four seconds! If I cut down the cripple hanging from the ceiling right now, he would kill you ten tis over in that span. And yet you stand there, preening yourself for killing a re animal."
"Do you know what true perfection is? The mont that beast's muscles began to coil, your blade should have already been moving—a single strike to the neural hub. One cut. It shouldn't have felt pain; it should have only witnessed the beauty of your movent. To die in a state of wonder and praise—that is art!"
"Every extra heartbeat, every aningless twitch... it is sacrilege."
Telax was radiating a palpable fury. The initiates held their breath, waiting for the heretic to tear Enkidu apart.
Under the weight of the verbal assault, Enkidu felt the urge to snap back, but he suppressed it instantly. He swallowed his pride and bowed his head.
Stripped of the Chaos madness, Telax wasn't actually wrong.
Taking thirty-four seconds to kill a mutated beast might look fast to a mortal, but to a true Astartes, it was a failing grade. Space Marines were creatures of transhuman speed. To them, a sixty-kiloter-per-hour run was a leisurely stroll. Their reflexes were asured in milliseconds.
If Enkidu wanted to survive this warband—and perhaps one day escape or turn his blade on them—he couldn't be "average." He had to be better.
He took a slow breath and offered Telax a slight, respectful bow. He looked up, his eyes reflecting a sincere, almost hungry desire for knowledge.
"You are right, Lord Telax. My movents were undisciplined. My mind was clouded by a hollow victory. There is a vast chasm between what I am and the perfection you describe. I have much to learn from you."
Telax froze. He had clearly expected defiance, an excuse, or the pathetic begging he usually elicited from "stock." He had already ntally prepared several ways to break this boy's spirit. But he hadn't expected... humility.
That specific reverence for the "craft" struck a chord, dragging a flickering shadow of Telax's own past to the surface.
The traitor's serpentine pupils contracted. He flicked his gaze away as if montarily burned. Beside him, Virsuto let out a soft, intrigued chuckle.
"Hmph."
Telax grunted, retracting his clawed hand from Enkidu's collar.
"At least you have the self-awareness to recognize your own incompetence. It ans you aren't entirely beyond salvation."
Telax turned away, his tattered leather cloak swirling behind him.
"We shall see if you have the right to be called my brother. Hold onto that sha, Four. I do not wish to see such a 'sideshow' again."
He strode toward the bulkhead door, his voice echoing back to them:
"Five minutes of rest. Then get to the marks. Your next exercise is a sixty-six-kiloter forced march—under weight."
User Comments
0 comments from readers