+You hardened yourself against the Warp, Pyrus, I can see it clearly. Hoarfrost ever at your fingertips, no matter how hot your Fires burn.+

Pyrus strains at his ice-shackles once more. +That was sanctioned, blessed and conducted by a true and loyal servant of the Emperor! This... merging... can not be.+

+And burning out Miotal Scathanna would cost my left arm, left leg, shatter my spine, and sear away half of my soul. Emperor alone knows what would ooze into that gap.+

+But to permit such xenos taint to infest you so permanently...+

Ariavari lays a restraining hand on Pyrus' shoulder. +Define human.+

+Of sound mind and body, of strong faith and duty, pledged in service to the Emperor.+

You lock eyes with Pyrus. +Then neither of us were ever human Pyrus. You, a psyker from birth, changed further into an Astartes before your tenth year. Myself, a Navigator from birth, cursed and blessed and bound to His service, knowing that I will mutate onto death, if the warp does not claim me first.+

Pyrus hangs his head, his flames burning lower.

+You were selected, and at every step chose to give yourself to your training and service, knowing the cost and the risk. It is my turn to choose, and I will merge completely with Miotal Scathanna, that I may continue to serve the Emperor for as long as I am able.+

Pyrus slumps to his knees. +I can play no part in this.+

Ariavari steps to your side. +Then do not. Stand watchguard instead, should the worst come to pass.+

Pyrus comes to his feet, a flaming sword appearing in his grasp. +That I can do, with clear conscience and in firm faith.+

You release his bonds with a gesture. Ariavari sits before you. You drop to your knees, Miotal Scathanna held in a double-handed grip across them. +Then let us begin. +

You unshackle the little safeguards you had built up, the insulation about Miotal Scathanna's wires. You feel them start to spread throughout your mind. You grasp them and twist them, trying to bend them onto your will. They slip away, scurrying deeper into your mind. Your eyes begin to weep little black droplets. +We must complete the merging, we will be as one.+

You try again, Ariavari crooning to the staff, prying at its substance, seeing to subsume it into yourself. A third of it does so, flowing into your eyes and nose and mouth. You all but choke on the substance, the oily alien sentience of the staff made manifest. Your nose starts to bleed, and you feel your form twist. Your skin hardens, your sense receptors sparking and fizzling out. +We are Truthseeker. In this place, there is only Truth.+

Ariavari sets to work on the next section of the staff that was Miotal Scathanna. Her song croons and shivers, a thousand little razors shaving at the metal as you draw in another breath redolent with Essence.. and cough it right back out again. You can feel the urge to forge a set of runes, carving them from the knuckle-bones of your foes. You cast the thought from your mind and try again. +We are Truthseeker. We are of one mind, one will, one form.+

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The cloud of the Essence of Miotal Scathanna wavers tauntingly before you, scraping at your aching eyes and seeping nose. +That is not the Essence of Miotal Scathanna, that is the Essence of the staff that was Miotal Scathanna, yet to be merged with the flesh of the Truthseeker.+

You inhale deeply, the acrid taste of the once-sentient metal scraping at your throat and lungs. Only a third of the staff remains, its crystalline core. You ready your will to shatter it, Ariavari's song showing you its resonant weaknesses. You bring your will down, the crystal sings, and your flesh twists in protest of what you ask of it. You can feel you muscles drain away, bone all but meeting skin at the joints as your strength flees your frame. You can feel the effort of the task ravage your flesh. Your eyes start bleeding the ever-shifting colors of the warp beneath your veil. A metallic tail sprouts from the base of the back of your skull, its prehensile length dancing to your subconscious thoughts. You feel your form grow in size, stretching up to nearly eight feet in height, your muscles bulking up once more, winding whipcord strength about your larger frame. Your clothing shreds, and you will need an entirely new wardrobe when this is over. Your incisors elongate and sharpen, forming into vicious fangs. Venom drips from them, as parts of your sinuses convert into sacks and glands to produce it.

You gather your will anew. +We are the Truthseeker, This is Our Mind, This is our Will, this is our Domain!+ You bring your will down, and the crystal shatters into a thousand needles that plunge into your flesh, each one a scrap of mnemonic data. A muscle-memory, a trained reaction, a half-remembered glimpse of Things That Can Not Be. Your mind is proof against such blandishments, and you sag and collapse, your objective complete.

Ariavari glides up, back, and away. +It is done. Despite scars in mind, the Truthseeker's Thoughts are her own once more. Despite the twisting of her flesh, the Truthseeker's Will is her own.+

Pyrus stares down at you. +What have you done to yourself...?+

You clench a fist, testing your new size and restored strength. +Nothing that would not happen to a Navigator over her years of service Pyrus. Probably going to need to redecorate my quarters and acquire an entirely new wardrobe however.+

Ariavari twitches in surprise. +I feel a silence in the Warp. The Splinter fleet has heard the cry of its Spawn.+

+Then go. I will recover my strength on my own.+ You flick a hand, opening two doors and ushering them out of your mind.

Reality resumes. Pyrus is thrown off of your back as your new size becomes manifest. He crashes back into the hoarfrost-coated walls. Ariavari drifts aside as your head-tail snaps and curls about your neck defensively. Your clothing shreds to so many tatters and falls down about you. Your throat is raw from screaming, and you can hear the echo of boots on the deckplate as the medics come running. You stand quickly, and stride towards your bed. You almost trip over it as your legs eat up so much more ground than you are expecting them to. Hurriedly, you seize the sheet and form it into a makeshift wrap, draping it about your now hulking form.

You glance about your quarters. Miotal Scathanna is gone. You blink at this particular physical manifestation of your changed mind. You look down at your right palm. There on your skin is the metallic circle tattoo that you used to only be able to see with your Sight. Your eyes water with multi-hued tears as the intensity of the light makes itself felt. You pluck up your veil with your head-tail, wrapping it around your eyes. It isn't quite big enough, but you tie it off anyways, wincing as it digs slightly into your flesh.

Pyrus regains his senses and stands. Ariavari bows, twists a shadow, and slips out the opening hatch as Bedard and Littleflame charge in. Pyrus holds up a hand, forestalling Bedard from drawing his sidearm fully. Their words whisper past your unhearing ears as you sag back to the frigid deckplates. Sweet oblivion welcomes your bruised and battered mind.