I knew I was headed in the right direction when the destruction apparent on the walls of the Dawnshadow intensified and when the number of corpses or blood-pulped remains increased. And yet, for what should have been two squads of foul Chaos Marines, I had not seen a single one anywhere. Still, I also did not hear much shooting or screaming of heretical profanities, so I assumed they had indeed fallen. I wondered, then, where their bodies had wound up.
When I saw a large stain of externally-coagulated blood upon the ground, flattened against our steel floors, I understood, and followed after where the fallen Iron Warrior had been dragged. Something—or someone, rather, and I was pretty confident in my guess as to who—was taking their corpses elsewhere. And as I neared to what I believed to be the impact site of one of the boarding torpedoes, I heard the sound of metal punching against metal, clanging and echoing through hissing halls. I readied my Condemnor Bolter, and pressed on, entering the then-dilapidated engineering room with a great torpedo sticking into it.
At the base of the torpedo was a pile of dead Astartes, some mauled or burned, others with no apparent wounds, but all dead all the same. At the base of the pile was a man of battered bionics and clipped mechadendrites, his body beaten and torn at. One of his legs was missing, as were some of his fingers, making him stumble and claw at the pile of mechanized Astartes as he endlessly rammed a fist into one of their skulls. That was, until he sensed my approach. “Blackgar,” Varnus muttered, voice monotone and electronic.
“Varnus,” I nodded to him, stepping closer, my weapon at the ready.
“You suppose I’ve gone mad, don’t you?” Varnus suggested, and for the first time since I had known him, he released a sigh.
“I fear it, my friend, I do not assume it,” I corrected.
He nodded, then leaned against the pile of dead Chaos Warriors before laying his backside down upon them, facing me. His front had indeed been woefully shredded and shot up. I knew not of the workings of his bionics, but to me it was a wonder that he was still alive. He was very much so out of breath, but his cracked green eyes still burned with a silent, electronic fury all the same. “They do not deserve to wield the gifts they do,” Varnus explained. “They are an affront to the Omnissiah in both flesh and steel. They don’t deserve any of this!” he shouted, scraping a hand through the head of one of the Iron Warriors near to him and ripping its own augmetics out of its skull, tossing the bloodied bionics to the floor.
“No, they don’t,” I agreed. “Are you OK?”
“Do I look OK?” he grunted.
It struck me, then, that his replies lacked the usual admech wordiness and exactness he so often possessed. “Not particularly. But I have not seen you…”
“In the nude?” he suggested, then managed a robotic laugh. “The cloak…damn, I know not where I have left it. But it was unsuitable for combat and infiltration. Stood out too much. Better to lurk among the clouds of steam as a silent, unassuming menace. And menace these heretical wretches, I did,” he asserted with a proud nod. “You no doubt notice the change in my speech patterns, Blackgar.”
“It’s dawned on me, yes,” I admitted, my Bolter still at the ready. I was still uncertain if the Varnus before me was the one I had been friends with for so long.
“Cold logic has its strengths, but they end in times of real battle. A lesson I learned in hunting Espirov, many years ago. I have suppressed logic implicators and engaged adrenal inputs, allowing for heightened emotion. Heightened rage and fury. It will…take time for the adrenaline to disperse,” he explained. He then gestured over himself with one of his frayed hands. “I have made of myself a weapon to hunt and kill those who defy or defile the blessings of the Omnissiah. In this vein, I have tried to arm you likewise. Had I a wealth of time and resources, I would make us both into killing machines the likes of which our enemies have never seen before. I believe that is what you want, is it not?”
“To some extent,” I shrugged. “How many did you kill?”
“Most. Those that I could get my hands on. I have been called many things in my lifetime, Blackgar. Nightmare is one. These pitiful vestiges of filth at my backside are not supposed to know fear, per their design specifications. And yet I saw of it in the blacks of their eyes today. The flesh is weak. I am not. Valeran Mortoc will learn this when I servitorize him. Do not fear me, Callant Blackgar. I know who my enemies are, and I know well that you are and always have been a close ally,” he explained.
“I think I’m growing to like this version of you,” I said with a smirk, disarming my Condemnor and sliding it into the holster on my back. I then began to step nearer to him and his pile of victims.
“You shouldn’t. This is only temporary,” he reminded me.
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“Yes, but you’re much more conversable now, and more interesting at that,” I laughed, then offered him a hand with my augmetic. He took it, and I pulled him up to his one foot, throwing myself under his shoulders to help support him. “Where am I bringing you?”
“My quarters. I will repair myself. I’ll have some of my men come down here to disassemble these Iron Traitors. I assume the battle is won, which is why you’ve come here?” he asked. I nodded in confirmation, helping him limp out. “Good. You don’t disappoint, Blackgar.”
“Likewise,” I replied. “We make quite the team, you and I.”
“We do. I have often stated my displeasure for many of your peers, but you are a welcome reminder that there are capable men in the Holy Ordos worth working with yet,” he said. “Are we prepared for phase two?”
“There is some work to be done yet. And a task for you and your remaining adepts, if you’re up to it,” I answered.
“Callant Blackgar,” he said, as though chiding me. His face then turned my way as he paused in his limping, gripping my shoulders a bit more tightly. “Will it result in the destruction of the enemy?”
“Most thoroughly, yes.”
“Then I am up to it,” he said, as a statement of fact, and then went along with being carried out of the Engineering subsector—we still had a great distance to cover to that effect. “What is this task of mine?”
“There is an asteroid field near Quintus, on the opposite side of the Dawnshadow,” I began. “I want you to move it to the approximate location that our assailants revealed themselves, and then I want you to mine it, high-yield. I wager you have two-to-three weeks before our enemies recollect themselves and launch their next attack. Doable, do you think?”
“A tight timeframe, especially with unknown resources,” he noted.
“You will have whatever you require, my friend,” I assured him.
“That has never proven untrue thus far. Doable, then, yes,” he nodded. We walked/hobbled in relative silence for several minutes, then. Past the point where I had found Lucene. Past scattered Skitarii, to whom Varnus revealed no outward acknowledgement of—though perhaps he communicated with them over their Noosphere. Further still, then, past where I had left Silas—he must have been taken by Castecael, as I was confident the sleep I had induced in him would have persisted even still. We were just nearing the point at which Bliss and I had emerged from the access tunnels—not that I intended to bring Varnus through that way—when Varnus spoke up suddenly. “Ask your question.”
“I have a question?” I asked, caught offguard.
“You do. About our future.”
“Are you a prophet, then?” I scoffed.
Varnus cleared his throat in what was likely either a grunt or a snort, but it was mechanized and sounded to me like a low growl. “You’re no fool, Blackgar. You wish to know what comes of our relationship, when this is done.”
“Ah. Yes,” I nodded. “The Phaenonites are dead. The Iron Warriors are next on the chopping block—this Warband, at least. Holicar Espirov’s allies are diminishing quite rapidly, thanks to us. Removing every trace of his tainted existence has ever been your goal. So, when your goal is achieved, what then?”
“I suppose I will need another,” he acknowledged.
“Any ideas come to mind?”
“Well, I have devoted my life to the eradication of one and their allies. In the process, I’ve made a few allies in turn. Some Inquisitors among them. And Inquisitors tend to have enemies. Who are yours, Blackgar?” he asked, stopping in his tracks to again turn toward me.
“There are many, I suppose, but one comes most to mind. They go by Ouranos,” I began, and meant to give him a bit more to go on, but he waved a frail hand aside and shook his head.
“Then they are next. The eradication of this Ouranos will be deployed,” he agreed.
“Will that suffice to please the Omnissiah?”
For the first time in our relationship, the lower half of his face contorted, a mechanized jawline managing a grin. “It may. But it will please me, Blackgar, to assist you in such a matter. In the immediate, let us finish here, and see Valeran Mortoc to extermination. That will be cause to celebrate indeed. He has no doubt plagued our great Imperium for centuries more than even I have hunted Espirov.”
“Agreed. Varnus,” I started, but found myself in uncertainty. I, therefore, relied on simplicity: “Thank you. Allies are ever in short supply and high demand. I value those I can count on greatly, and you have ever met my every need, regardless of the difficulty.”
“No task that is easy is ever worthwhile,” he recited to me, nodding.
“Amarinthine Verses, 78.12,” I nodded with a small smile.
“You’ve read our texts?”
“I’ve perused what I’ve found time for,” I nodded again.
“Perhaps you know this, then: ‘Let the weaker in mind follow the words of the strong.’”
“Canticles of Gethsemenoth, 87,” I confirmed, and then quoted one for him in turn. “‘Endeavor is its own reward.’”
“The Omnissiah is rewarding indeed, that all those years ago I may have found the one cursed Inquisitor capable enough to slay His enemies yet wise enough to know of and heed His words,” Varnus mused. “You are a unique and valuable find indeed, Blackgar. Should there ever be a time in which you wish to evolve past your flesh, you would honor us to join our ranks as an adept,” he offered.
“You are far from the first to make such a polite and flattering offer, my friend,” I admitted, remembering when I had first met Varnus. There was a Grey Knight present as well that had extended a similar courteous offer, albeit one slightly less than possible. I had knowingly declined it for its impossibility. “Perhaps, should this body one day fail to fell the profane. Until then, I quite value my flesh, even if it is weak, as it is a reminder of my insignificance. Lucene may also be…displeased were I to take you up on such an offer, romantically speaking.”
“Weak and insignificant are not words I would use in your context,” Varnus suggested. “As for your beloved Sister, I see no reason the same offer could not extend to her. Regardless, I would hardly force such a change of shape upon you. Your flesh has sufficed thus far for the destruction of the Omnissiah’s enemies. I am certain it shall continue to do so. We near my quarters,” he declared abruptly. “Upon arrival, leave me to tend to myself; you will undoubtedly have tasks of your own still to complete today. I will let you know when the asteroid field is prepared.”
“The Emperor protects, my friend.”
“The Emperor protects.”