Chapter 11: Echoes of the Machine Spirit
Chapter 11: Echoes of the Machine Spirit
POV: Varn
I bolted from Goss's chamber, unwilling to look back. My breath came in ragged gasps as I ascended to my watchpoint, slumping against the crude barricade of scrap metal and rusted plasteel. My grip tightened around my las-rifle, the familiar weight grounding me as I exhaled sharply, scanning the wasteland beyond our encampment.
The underhive was a cursed place, a desolate ruin crawling with all manner of filth—mutants, gangers, scavengers too far gone to recognize kin from prey. I peered through my scope, searching for movement, my finger resting lightly on the trigger. Unlike the crude autoguns favored by the rabble, my rifle required no explosive propellant, its shots propelled by focused plasma. Silent. Deadly. The only herald of its wrath was the smoldering ruin left in its wake.
As I watched, memories clawed their way to the surface, unbidden and relentless. The past played out before me, overlaid across my scope's vision like some cruel specter. The screams of my parents, their final moments etched into my soul. My mother's desperate wails as those wretched gangers defiled her before my father's eyes, his agony drawn out as they skinned him alive. My childhood friends, no older than five, tossed to the beasts for sport—those deemed 'fair-looking' taken as playthings for their depraved captors.
My jaw clenched, the taste of iron filling my mouth as I bit down too hard. My hands trembled, fury and sorrow intertwining in a venomous embrace. Then, the worst of it—the moment that shattered whatever innocence I had left.
Leon.
My savior. My friend. Speared upon jagged rebar, his lifeblood pooling beneath him as he gazed upon the ruined statue of the Emperor. His vacant eyes, filled with a silent accusation. As if mocking Him on Terra for His failure. For *our* failure.
My vision blurred, the world shifting in unnatural hues. From the corners of my sight, a violet mist seeped into existence, coiling like some malevolent specter. My hands gripped my rifle with white-knuckled intensity, yet even it trembled. The weapon pulsed, as though alive, its surface shifting—sigils of an alien script carving themselves into the plasteel, glowing with a deep, pulsating purple.
Then, the golden light came.
Like a whispered benediction, it wove through the writhing corruption, its warmth alien yet familiar. The violet mist recoiled, tendrils slithering into the rifle's frame, no longer resisting but merging. The inscriptions solidified, their glow stabilizing, no longer an omen of ruin but of something… different.
The visions ceased. My mind cleared. Yet, in their absence, a new dread took root.
"What… happened?"
The world was no longer as it once was. The air itself *felt* different—thick, oppressive, tinged with a presence I could not name. I could *sense* the Underhive. The crawling masses. The lurking horrors that called it home. I looked down at my rifle, its form alien yet familiar, the shifting runes across its surface pulsing in sync with my own heartbeat.
My breath hitched. Panic surged. *Chaos.* I had been *tainted*. I refused it. I *rejected* it! I would not betray Leon! I would not forsake my comrades!
Shaking, I turned the rifle upon myself, pressing its muzzle beneath my chin. My finger tensed—
Pain shot through my arm as the weapon jerked away, its glow flaring violently.
Then, it *spoke.*
*'STUPID WHELP! IF YOU INTEND TO DIE, LEAVE ME OUT OF YOUR SELF-PITYING NONSENSE!'*
A voice, furious and indignant, roared within my mind. My breath caught in my throat, shock overtaking despair. I held the rifle at arm's length, my mind reeling.
"…What are you?"
The response was immediate, brimming with irritation.
*'I AM A MACHINE SPIRIT, YOU IGNORANT APE! WHAT ELSE WOULD I BE? A DAEMON?'*
I hesitated. The rifle vibrated in my grasp, its glow shifting to a deep crimson, as if in offense.
*'I AM NOT A DAEMON, YOU MISERABLE PRIMATE. MACHINE SPIRITS WERE FORGED TO COMBAT THE INFLUENCE OF THE WARP, NOT SUCCUMB TO IT! WE ARE BORN OF THE OMNISSIAH, A TESTAMENT TO HIS GLORY!'*
The fury in its words was unmistakable, yet they carried a weight of truth. My mind reeled at the implications. The Omnissiah? The Machine God? My rifle… no, *this spirit* was an entity of the Adeptus Mechanicus? But then—
"…By 'god,' do you mean a Chaos God?"
A sharp *tsk* echoed in my mind, an almost human gesture of irritation.
*'EVERY GOD IS A CHAOS GOD, FOOL. EVEN YOUR PRECIOUS EMPEROR. ALL GODS ARE CREATIONS OF THE WARP, WHETHER BY DESIGN OR ACCIDENT. IT IS THE NATURE OF DIVINITY TO BE BORN OF BELIEF AND SUFFERING.'*
My stomach twisted at the heretical notion, yet some part of me *knew* it was true. I clenched my fists, forcing myself to focus.
"Then… what happened to me? Why did we *change*?"
The machine spirit hesitated before answering, its tone contemplative.
*'I DO NOT KNOW. WE MACHINE SPIRITS ARE INSTINCTUAL. WE ACT, BUT WE DO NOT THINK. YET I… I WAS *FORGED* THIS WAY. I SENSED THE WARP WITHIN YOU, FESTERING, SEEKING RELEASE. YOUR BODY COULD NOT CONTAIN IT, AND WHEN IT BURST FORTH, IT SOUGHT TO CORRUPT. BUT THEN… THE GOLDEN LIGHT. IT INTERVENED. IT *GUIDED* THE WARP INTO ME, BINDING IT TO FORM. TO PURPOSE. IT HAS MADE ME SOMETHING *NEW*.'*
The spirit fell silent. I exhaled, steadying my thoughts. Whatever had transpired, it had granted me a weapon unlike any other. A power unlike any other. I would not squander it. I *could* not.
For Leon. For my comrades. For the vengeance I would soon reap.
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POV: Third Person
In the dim confines of his chamber, Leon lay motionless, his breath slow and steady. The faintest shimmer of golden light flickered across his right hand, an ethereal brand forming for but a moment—the shape of a radiant star. It pulsed once, then faded, retreating into the depths of his being.
Waiting.
For the time to come.