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synfiction · 8 days ago

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Desecration

Pairing: Demetrian Titus x FemOC

Warnings: A lot of dark implications in this one, Leandros is almost at the depths of his corruption; mentions of surgery

The Vengeance Squad is on the way! But will they be in time?

Find the previous parts of this series on my Masterlist. Comment and ask to be added to/removed from the Taglist. And remember, my DMs and Asks are open!

Something is wrong.

Titus felt it the moment he stepped from the Thunderhawk’s ramp, back into the hangar of the Resilient. Everything looked as it had when he departed. Tech adepts labored over machinery, chanting as they worked. Servitors shuffled and clanked. Serfs bustled about on a thousand different tasks.

None of those serfs were Sera.

Unsurprising. From the expressions on my brothers’ faces, it seems no one expected my return.

Rationality declared he had no reason to expect her presence. But something else… something deeper… snarled.

Something is wrong.

Titus began his march toward the Apothecary. Reports to Captain Acheran could wait. His twin heartbeat spiked, with anticipation or anxiety he could not tell. He quickened his pace until his armor creaked in protest. A few Ultramarines called out as he passed. He ignored them.

“Little Healer.” He rumbled. “Sera.”

Throne, it has been too long!

Too long since the sound of her sweet voice. Too long since her soft arms twined about his neck. Too long since he inhaled her intoxicating fragrance.

Titus ached.

And still, the nagging thought.

Something is wrong.

He turned a corner, nearly trampling a pair of techpriests, and came into sight of the Reclusiam.

Blood.

The scent jerked him to a halt. Every detail of his surroundings burst into sharp definition. Red spattered the floor just outside the great, gilded doors. A group of cleaning serfs huddled off to one side, whispering, their shoulders hunched.

“She wasn’t supposed to be here! Who even was she?”

“I don’t know. She traded places with old Gaius.”

“Why on Holy Terra would any serf want this duty?”

“I’ve never seen… him… that angry.”

A collective shudder ran through the huddle.

“What happened here?”

The serfs flinched at Titus’s booming question. Almost as one, they dropped to their knees, heads bowed. A few trembled.

Titus frowned. A simple question, and these serfs acted as if he’d threatened them with chainsword revving.

“You need not cower. I mean you no harm.”

Finally, a woman with a nose that had been broken sometime in the recent past, spoke. “It is our great shame to tell you, my Lord, that one of our number angered the Holy Chaplain, and he visited his righteous wrath upon her.”

Titus clenched his fists, unease settling in his gut. “Who?”

“I don’t-”

“Wait,” a younger man, missing one eye, broke in, “I think I saw her once, in the Apothecarion.”

Titus didn’t wait for more. With a speed that no being of his size should have attained, he raced for the nearest lift.

Please, God-Emperor. Not her.

***

Chairon paced the Apothecarion. Back and forth. Back and forth. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. He’d never liked this place. The stench of chemicals and antiseptics irritated his sinuses. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

His eyes fixed on the door leading to the surgical room.

“I must return to duty.” Gadriel had said. “I will… make an excuse for you, Brother Chairon. Inform me when the medica is able to speak.”

If she is able to speak.

The thought hurt worse than it should have. The image of Vesta laying there, choking on her own blood, replayed over and over again in his mind. It sparked faded memories of a childhood long gone. Of a boy running through the chaos of the Word-Bearers assault on Calth, finding a burning home.

And the slaughter within.

He’d never forget the choked groan from Apothecary Callistus as he knelt over the writhing body. Never forget the look in his eyes as he gathered her up and tore back to this Apothecarion, Chairon and Gadriel close on his heels.

Once again, Chairon’s eyes darted to the door. Behind which, a team of baseline medicae fought to save a life, overseen by the Apothecary himself.

He resumed pacing.

Warp damn me, we should never have allowed this to happen! We sent an innocent into danger. Alone… unprotected….

Shame wrapped icy fingers around both his hearts. First the Lieutenant’s serf. And now sweet Vesta. Vesta with her eyes that reminded him of springtime on planets long lost.

He should have protected her. He should have protected both of them. He’d failed. And all because of… him.

Rage burned in Chairon’s chest. Clawing to be set free. The same rage he’d felt when he witnessed the cruelties of the Thousand Suns upon Avarax. And again when they fought the Sorcerer on Demerium.

Even if you are not Chaos-corrupted, Chaplain, you are a traitor. One who preys upon the innocent is a traitor to all our Chapter stands for!

And he still had the Lieutenant’s Sera in his clutches.

“Enough!” Chairon turned to leave the Apothecarion. “I can do nothing here. But I can avenge-”

The door hissed open.

“Where is she?”

***

Only an hour had passed since the Thunderhawk unloaded its passenger onto the Resilient, and rumors reached even the innermost chambers of the Reclusiam. A candelabra shattered against the wall, followed by a sparking servo skull. A cherub was snatched from the air and ripped in half.

Bestial snarls sent Sacratium serfs scuttling for safety in the darkest alcoves they could find. They whispered prayers to the Emperor and rubbed aching scars, marks of their Lord’s previous bouts of temper.

“Alive?!” The roar ripped through the incense-clouded air.

Leandros stood, bare-chested, in the midst of the ruin he’d wrought. Wild eyes darted, searching for another vessel for his wrath. They fell upon the blind servitor he’d assigned to the Harlot’s cell, creeping along, blood-stained bandages clutched in its skeletal hands. A moment later its head rolled to rest at the foot of a shrine.

Titus, alive?! How? No!

He’d been so sure. So sure the mission would bring about the Heretic’s fall. A cleansing of his soul through glorious death. Or, better, a spotlight revealing the depths of his corruption.

Either way, an end to Demetrian Titus.

But, now….

Leandros raked his hands over his face. Control. He needed to regain control! Surely this was a test of some sort. Surely the Emperor would provide clarity if he just listened hard enough, focused hard enough, believed-

The thought slipped into his mind like cool silk over fevered skin.

You tried to pass your task on to another.

He stilled.

Did you not feel it when your whip scourged her tender flesh? The rush of… purpose… when your touch made her gasp in cleansing shame?

Deep, deep within the man Leandros used to be, warning bells rang.

Punishment is your right, your privilege, your duty.

“I see….”

The Heretic returned so you could inflict the punishment that is your due. And what better way to punish him, than to take that which he calls his own?

“I… I have….”

Have you? Have you taken her? In all the ways you dreamed, alone, in the dark?

The warning bells grew louder. He pushed them away.

Images filled his mind. Images he’d barely allowed himself to dwell upon. The Harlot, broken, bloodied, bare, splayed upon his cot.

Punish the Heretic by ruining the Harlot. Desecrate the desecrated. Only then will you be able to purify her soul. And the pleasure you will feel? Your Emperor-given reward for being so, so faithful.

Don’t you want your reward, Chaplain?

Leandros eyes turned toward the cell. His body burned. Hardened.

“I do.”

***

Ultramarines were supposed to be rational. Logical. In absolute control of their emotions.

Titus stood like the marble statues so prevalent upon Macragge. He neither frowned, nor snarled. No bared teeth. No gasping breaths. Still and silent.

He’d never felt more out of control in his long life.

Not Sera.

The sheer relief he’d felt at Chairon’s reassurance. Followed by confusion. Then consternation as his battle brother revealed who did lie near death, in that surgical room. Questions had followed.

Then… emotions. Wild and mixed and nothing like any Ultramarine, any Astartes, should ever feel.

Horror. Grief. Shame. Rage. Horror, grief, shame, rage. Horrorgriefshamerage.

Chairon was apologizing, his voice cracked. Titus barely heard him.

Sera.

He should never have left her behind. Calgar would have understood. Why didn’t he explain? Why didn’t he try?

The Apothecarion door hissed open again behind him.

“Lieutenant!”

Titus turned, slowly, to face Gadriel.

“Sir, I… we… she-”

Titus slammed him against the door with a bang of metal on ceramite. “She was supposed to be safe with you!”

The Sergeant looked stricken. “Forgive me-”

“Forgiveness? You ask my forgiveness?!”

He drew his fist back, only to have it caught by another.

“Brother, no!” Chairon forced himself between the two of them. “Brother Gadriel and I share blame for this. But you never warned us of the hatred the Chaplain bears you. We did not know!”

The anger bled away.

My fault. If I had been honest with my brothers, trusted them!

And now Sera paid the price for his reticence.

“Leandros….” Pushing away from his squadmates, Titus lunged toward the door. “I will kill him.”

For her, for my Little Healer, for Sera. And Warp damn the consequences!

He sensed Chairon and Gadriel falling in behind him. “This is not your fight.”

“If the Chaplain is so corrupted, it is every Ultramarine’s duty to see him removed.” Gadriel intoned.

“I would kill him for Vesta’s sake alone.” Chairon spat.

“As would I.”

All three of them turned to the bloodstained figure exiting the surgical room. Callistus’s eyes burned with vengeful fire.

Chairon stepped forward. “Vesta…?”

“Lives.” The Apothecary sighed. “We repaired the lung, set the ribs. Now we wait.” He looked down at the blood on his gauntlets and spoke as if to himself. “So small when I took her into the Chapter. I worried she would be crushed underfoot, so I sat her on my shoulder as I worked. A never ending stream of questions rattled into my ear.”

Titus had never seen the veteran smile. Then that smile faded, and he looked up.

“You are not the only one who has failed to protect one dear to him.” Moving to a locker against one wall, the Apothecary removed a chainsword. “Vengeance, brothers.”

“Vengeance.” Gadriel and Chairon growled in tandem.

Titus said nothing.

The four of them stalked through the halls of the Resilient. Serfs fled before them. Ultramarines watched in bemused silence. They shouldered through the doors of the Reclusiam to find it empty.

Good. Titus thought. The fewer brothers who see this, the better.

The door to the Chaplain’s inner chambers was locked. A few kicks and chainsword cuts solved that. Somewhere, an alarm blared.

“No going back, now.” Gadriel muttered.

“Look!” Chairon took a few steps to one side, bent, and lifted what looked like a cleaning serf’s bucket.

Opening it, he revealed a battered servo skull. “Perhaps Vesta managed to record something after all.”

“Keep it.” Callistus grunted. “We will need its evidence when we are tried.”

Titus clenched his teeth. “I care not for trials. I care only for-”

Blood. Again. Stronger.

The four of them moved as one toward the tiny barred cell set into the far wall.

“What is this?” Chairon sounded shocked.

“Hmph.” Callistus leaned forward to peer through the bars. “I have heard of such things for punishing erring Sacratium serfs. I did not know our Chaplain made use of them.”

Gadriel remained silent, fingers flexing around his bolt pistol.

Titus inhaled, and nearly choked. “Sera’s blood.”

The cell reeked of her. Of her fear. Her pain. He took in the manacles… and the shredded robe. A dark suspicion grew.

“Emperor… no….”

“He must have moved her.” Gadriel rasped. “But where? And where is he?”

Titus snapped his head from side to side. The dark suspicion consumed all before it, filling him with sick dread and a sense that they were running out of time.

Then, something glimmered in the candlelight, on the floor next to another, smaller door. He rushed to it.

My laurel leaf. Her laurel leaf.

“No….”

The muffled sob hit him like a bolter round.

“Please… stop….”

“SERA!”

He rammed his shoulder-pauldron into the door with all the force only an enraged Astartes could muster. It shattered.

And Demetrian Titus stepped into a scene from his darkest nightmares.

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synfiction · 8 days ago

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So It Begins

Pairing: Roboute Guilliman x FemReader

Warnings: Nothing much in this one, apart from general Genestealer icky-ness.

Description: The Lady finds unexpected allies, Brother Tarchus worries for his new comrade, and the thing that used to be Victor prepares for war.

One more chapter of preparation, folks, then the battle really begins!

As always, read the previous parts of this series on my Masterlist. Comment and ask to be added to/removed from the Taglist. And don't forget my DMs and Asks are always open!

This jungle hates me.

The thought pulsed over and over again through your delirious brain as you ran through the hot, stinking, void-cursed trees. Blood ran in rivulets from stinging cuts along your arms and legs, courtesy of the thorned vines that wrapped about your limbs at every opportunity. Your ankle throbbed from when you’d tripped over a protruding root.

Your mouth gaped, each gasp a desperate struggle for your heaving lungs.The very air seemed set on suffocating you with its unrelenting, sodden heat.

It’s like trying to breathe hot water!

Another bead of sweat rolled into your already burning eyes. You swiped at it, only managing to transfer more mud from your hands to your face. You could taste it. Every muscle in your body screamed in agony.

I have to rest… I have to… I-

An inhuman shriek echoed through the trees behind you. Adrenaline burst anew through your veins. Your mind filled with images of the things that chased you.

Grasping claws.

Razor teeth.

Dead, bulbous eyes.

And worse. The humans-who-weren’t.

You remembered Victor’s face. Or, the face of the thing that used to be Victor. Thinking back, you realized signs had been there. His erratic behaviour. The times he paused, head-cocked, as if listening to voices no one else could hear. The madness in his eyes.

How long? When did they… change him? Did Grandmother know?

No. She wouldn’t have believed it, not if the truth were laid out in front of her with video and pictures to support it. Not her Favored One.

You could no longer feel your legs. On and on you ran, shoving off trees with bark that tore your palms. Leaving an easy blood trail for the monsters to follow.

But what choice did you have?

I won’t become like him. Like them. I’d rather die!

Tears mixed with the sweat in your eyes. You didn’t see the pit until the ground crumbled beneath your feet. The fall tore a cry from your lips. The impact slammed the breath from your lungs.

You didn’t know how long you lay in the steaming mud, body aching, the world spinning around you, before you heard the voices.

“Caught one!”

“This had better not be another mud hog, Cesar.”

“No, no. The sensors recorded a lighter impact.”

“Bug?” The sound of a rifle cocking. “By the Bloody Void, let it be a Bug.”

“Easy, Ngoma. Spread out, surround the pit.”

You struggled onto your hands and knees, gritting your teeth against the pain in your swollen ankle.

Should you call for help?

Were these more mercenaries?

Were they even human?

“Well, well. Would you look at this?”

You looked up. From the edge of the pit, some fifteen feet above your head, five figures stared down at you. Human. Dressed in the ragged military uniforms. You squinted at the filth-covered insignia.

TerraNovan Rangers.

For a glorious moment, your heart leapt.

“Help… please! I need-”

“Shut up.” A dark-skinned woman who towered over the others leveled her weapon at you. “Lemme put it out of its misery, Sarge.”

The man she spoke to frowned, sunken gray eyes devoid of emotion. “No.”

“Sarge-!”

“The Captain wants a prisoner.”

A small man with a bandage covering half his face twitched nervously. “Interrogations have not gone well in the past.”

“Captain’s orders, Cesar.” The gray-eyed Sargent jerked his chin toward you. “Pull it up. Knock it out. And let’s go before-”

Another shriek in the distance. Closer than before. You whimpered, and the Sargent shot you an odd look.

“Fucking Void!” The tall woman spun, rifle leveled.

“Pull. Her. Up.” The Sargent snarled.

“Yes, yes.” The small man motioned to a couple more silent soldiers and they began lowering ropes into the pit.

Do I trust them?

You reached out and grasped a rope with what strength you had left.

No choice.

They yanked you up with little attempt at gentleness. Before you could regain your feet, a shove sent you tumbling to the jungle floor. You yelped as a jolt of pain flashed through your ankle. Then you felt the cold press of a rifle muzzle against your spine.

“I hope they make you scream, skinwalker.”

Something stabbed into the muscle of your neck. Darkness.

***

Brother Julian Tarchus ran his armored thumb over the edge of his combat blade.

Sufficiently sharp. Good.

He stood outside the strange little Apothecarion. Or, as Frenzy called, the “Med Bay”. He recognized it as the same white room in which he’d awakened aboard the TerraNovan ship. Only a few standard days prior.

The thought did little to ease the tension in his gut.

Frenzy was in there. Along with a sanctioned biomancer sent over from the Macragge’s Honour. Her turn to be examined.

His tension increased.

She has shown no signs of implantation. No signs of foul reverence for the abominations. But Genestealers are insidious. If she is one of them….

He remembered her grin, her wild glee, as she tore into those who would have killed him. She had stood by his side in battle. She had offered comradeship when his brothers… and his Primarch… turned away from him.

When the order for all former members of the Traitor Prince’s mercenaries to be quarantined until examination had come through, she’d looked at him with confusion. And he’d felt as if someone had plunged a dagger of ice into his internal organs.

With a start, he realized he’d begun to pace. The narrowness of the ship’s corridors only allowed for a few steps in either direction. He’d had to don his helmet after several collisions with low-hanging pipes.

Frenzy had laughed at him, even as they led her to a quarantine cell.

“Back where we fucking started, huh, Big Guy?”

He’d remained by her side until they came to take her for psychic examination, followed her to this “med bay”.

This is illogical. I should be consulting with Captain Takahashi. Preparing for the assault.

Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to leave. If the worst should be discovered….

He ran his thumb over the blade’s edge once more.

The med bay doors hissed open.

“Fucking Void! The fuck was all that about?” Frenzy strode forward, hands rubbing fiercely at her temples. “How does my fucking brain hurt?!” She saw him and jerked to a stop, grin spreading across her face. “Aww, did you wait for me, Big Guy? That’s sweet.”

He stared past her to where the biomancer stood next to a figure he assumed was a TerraNovan medica. The psyker caught his eye and bowed hurriedly, implants clicking.

“She is untainted, my lord.”

The tension in his gut dissipated.

“Hey, what’s with the giant-ass knife?”

Frenzy gestured to the Astartes combat blade still clutched in his fist.

“Theoretical: you were corrupted. Practical: I would have ended your suffering.”

She blinked at him.

“A swift strike between vertebrae, severing your spinal cord. Quick.”

She took an exaggerated step backwards.

“But you are not corrupted.”

Why does she look like she requires further explanation?

A long silence stretched between them. Finally, she snickered.

“Are you expecting me to thank you?”

“I would have ensured your suffering was minimal.”

Her snickers turned to full on cackles. “Fuck, Big Guy! Space marines have a strange idea of comfort!”

He frowned, mildly affronted by her ingratitude. “Not all would have offered such consideration.”

“Oh, don’t pout. I’m… grateful? I guess?” She winced and returned to rubbing her temples. “Fucking fuck. The void did that creepy son of a bitch do to me?”

A sigh from within the room. “I merely conducted a psychic examination of your brain wave activity to determine-”

“Yeah, yeah.” She cut him off with a wave. “But did you have to make it feel like I had acid inside my skull?”

“The discomfort is a mild side-effect-”

“Rhetorical question, buddy.” She shook her head and grinned up at the Ultramarine. “Hey, we never did get to speak to the Captain.”

“We did not.”

“Might as well head that way now, right?”

“Yes.”

He stepped back to allow her to take the lead, returning his combat blade to its mag-locked position on his belt.

Surely this sense of… relief… has to do with her value as an asset in the coming battle. It would be inefficient to waste such a warrior.

But, when she tossed yet another grin over her shoulder at him, he found himself fighting the unfamiliar urge to smile back.

“Hey, Tarchus?” The grin faded. “On the way, would you care to explain what the fuck is going on?”

He was silent for a moment. “Have you fought Tyranids before?”

“Nah, I joined up after Pangea. Heard a lot of fucked up stories, though.”

“Then you should brace yourself for the horrors you are about to experience.”

***

White light stabbed into your pounding skull. Falling forward onto your hands and knees, you vomited a stream of bile onto what felt like a dirt floor. Shapes and colors swirled around you.

“Light…,” you croaked through a mouth that felt filled with ash, “...oh, Light… help me….”

Where am I? What’s happening? Who are-?

Hands gripped your shoulders, lifting you, steadying you. Something pressed against your lips.

“Drink this, my Lady.”

Warm and with the tang of purifying chemicals, the water was still the most delicious thing you’d ever tasted. You sucked it down so quickly you choked.

“Easy, easy.” A large, calloused hand patted your back as you coughed. “Just breathe, ma’am.”

Slowly, your vision cleared. You sat on a narrow cot in what could only generously be described as a room.

More like the den of some giant, burrowing animal.

The walls, floor, and ceiling were all hard-packed dirt, reinforced with a smattering of wooden planks and rusted metal rods. Looking up, you saw roots curling through the ceiling. The air tasted dank and musty on your tongue, but heat no longer sapped the strength from your body.

You shivered and pulled the shredded remains of your gown tightly around you, just now noticing the bandages wrapped around your limbs.

Something heavy dropped over your bare shoulders. A fatigue jacket. Frayed. Covered in rusty stains. But you clung to it.

“Thank you.”

The gray-eyed Sargent glanced away. “Least I can do, ma’am.”

“Do you… know me?”

“Listener scanned your memories when she tested you.” After a pause, he stiffly sank to one knee. “Forgive us for our rough handling, Lady Heir. It’s been weeks since we’ve encountered a human who wasn’t a….”

“Skinwalker?”

“Yes, ma’am. One of the scouts called them that, and it stuck. Though, originally I guess it meant a person who could turn into a monster.” His jaw tightened. “Here, it’s the other way around.”

You remembered. The bloated, many-armed, thing in the depths of Victor’s fortress. The creatures that wriggled and skittered in the shadows. The humans whose eyes were wrong. You buried your face in your hands.

“Light save us. I learned too little from the Imperials. They are… are… some kind of tyranid…?”

You heard a rustle of cloth as the Sargent rose to stand next to you once more. “I couldn’t tell you, ma’am. Though they sure seem to be related to the Bugs.”

Pull yourself together, girl.

Taking a deep breath, you straightened. “I don’t blame you for thinking me one of them, Sargent. But I have a great many questions.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m sure you do.” Stepping back, he offered her a hand. “If you’ll follow me, Captain Antoine and Listener can explain better than me.”

You took his hand.

The Sargent helped you limp through a veritable warren of tunnels. Most dirt, though some had walls lined with crumbling cement or rusted metal. Battery-powered light poles stood at irregular intervals. Sometimes you passed rooms full of computers with cracked screens and outdated tactile keyboards.

Most of the people you encountered wore the Ranger uniform and insignia. In every case it looked as though it hadn’t been washed or repaired in weeks. Many of these bore bloodstained bandages, one woman saluting with only the stump of her right hand. A hope that shamed you filled their bloodshot eyes.

A few men and women wore the black uniform of the mercenaries. The Sargent glared.

“I’d prefer to see those bastards in the brig. But, as things stand, ma’am, we can’t afford to lose even a single good gun.” His voice lowered. “We’ve lost too many already.”

Finally, he led you past a pair of heavily armed sentries into a larger room than most. Technicians sat at computer consoles that looked like they’d been made at least within the last decade. Messengers carrying dataslates rushed back and forth. And, in the center, a holo-table flickered, displaying an ever-shifting array of charts.

A wave of voices rolled over you.

“... no response from the squad sent to the western Fortress perimeter.”

“...four skinwalkers caught in Supply Dump B… killed… water supply tainted.”

“Squad Delta reports Bug contact in Sector 72! Requesting backup….”

Two figures stood over the holo-table. The Sargent marched up to the shorter of the two and saluted.

“Captain Antoine, sir! May I present the Lady Heir of TerraNova!”

Silence fell in the middle of a word. You felt the weight of a hundred eyes settle upon your shoulders, and gritted your teeth against the strain.

The Captain, a stocky, dark-skinned man with an immaculately kept mustache, eyed you wearily. His black eyes seemed sunken in his skull, bloodshot like so many of the soldiers you’d passed.

Combat stims.

“Captain Jerome Antoine, my Lady. Of Her Majesty’s 1st Ranger Battalion. What’s left of it.” He gestured to the willowy woman next to him. “This is Listener Indira Patel.”

“Just Listener, please.”

The woman smiled from beneath her hooded robe, and you realized a broad strip of blue cloth covered her eyes. A common practice among the telepaths of the Light Blessed, if you remembered correctly.

You straightened your spine. “I owe you and your soldiers my life, Captain. And you as well, Listener.”

Another enigmatic smile. “And we, it seems, will soon owe you ours, my Lady.”

The Captain rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You’ve been dropping hints since you tested her mind, Listener. I don’t have time for this. With each day it becomes more clear the Iron Bitch sent us here to die.” His voice grew louder, more bitter, with every word. “We’re down to less than half strength! So, unless she can summon an army from nothing, I don’t give a flying fuck-”

“All is about to be revealed, Jerome. Our suffering is near its end.” She turned back to you. “My Lady, I know you defied the Matriarch. I know you rejected the Traitor Prince. I know you evaded the fate that corrupted his soul. I know you sent a message to the stars, and I know it was heard.”

You had the eerie sensation that she was meeting your eyes, even through her blindfold.

“Please, tell the Captain, tell us all, of the fleet that rushes to our aid.” She rounded the holo-table and stood before you. “And tell us of the Titan who leads it.”

Your heart stuttered. “I….”

The telepath touched your arm.

You are strong, my Lady. Show them.

The voice in your mind should have unsettled you. But you drew comfort from it. Grasping Listener’s outstretched hand, you stepped up onto the holo-table and turned to face the crowd.

For the first time, you did not cringe from the hope, the awe, the reverence you saw in their eyes as they looked up at you.

“Soldiers of TerraNova, you have been unjustly punished by those who should have valued you. You have faced horrors no one among our people has ever faced before. Isolated. Abandoned. Betrayed.”

Slipping your hand beneath the Sargent’s jacket, you withdrew the ring still tucked into your stained bodice, and slipped it back on your finger. Raising your hand high, you showed it to the crowd.

“This ring is a symbol of the alliance I have forged with the Imperium of Mankind. Even now the Lord Guilliman, your future Patron, burns a path through the stars. And, when he comes, Imperial and TerraNovan will stand shoulder to shoulder to rid this world of the evil my cousin has brought among us.”

You curled your uplifted hand into a fist. “Never again will our people stand alone!”

Life sparked in the eyes of the men and women gathered before you. A hoarse cheer filled the chamber, fists and weapons lifted high.

One technician burst from his console and shoved through the press.

“Captain, sir! Numerous contacts entering orbit. TerraNovans, military and civilian. And one voidship of unknown signature, larger than any I’ve ever seen!”

You turned to the gaping Antoine. “With your consent, Captain, I would suggest making contact with that fleet. Immediately.”

Roboute. It’s almost over.

***

The thing that used to be Victor, Prince of TerraNova, smiled as images of the approaching fleet flickered into his brain. He stood before the Patriarch, basking in its corpulent glory.

A gibbering, squelching question oozed into his consciousness.

He nodded, keeping his eyes averted from his new god’s holy gaze. “I know, Starborn. I have not brought as many into your heavenly light as you might have wished. The fodder my Grandmother sent us has been more… difficult to assimilate than I first thought..”

The next question sent a flash of pain through his nervous system. He found himself on his knees.

“We have enough! Combined with the remaining First Born, weakened as they are, we will triumph!” He gasped. “And soon, we will add another to our ranks. One with the power to spread your Truth across the stars! I will give you a Primarch. I swear it!”

The pain eased. The thing that used to be Victor stood and bowed low.

“You will remember your promises, yes? TerraNova, under my rule, will become a womb to birth many children into our holy cause. And… and you will ensure me the mate of my choice?”

A deep growl.

The thing that used to be Victor’s voice grew plaintive. “Her defiance only shows her strength, Starborn. I will punish her for daring to inflict pain upon you, and then she will be brought into the light.”

A soft gurgle.

The thing that used to be Victor smiled again. “Oh, thank you, Starborn! Yes. Yes! The children I give her will be the first among your armies.” He backed away, still bowing.

“Now, I must see to the enlightenment of those who dare stand against us.”

In the dark of the tunnels, another figure loomed up beside him. “Ah, Alroy, my Brood Brother. Be a dear and launch the bio missiles, would you?”

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