Chapter 12: The Weight of Vengeance

Chapter 12: The Weight of Vengeance

POV: Leon

I drifted through the abyss, a cold and endless void that had become my familiar prison for the past five years. No dreams, no visions—only silence and emptiness. It was as if my very soul was adrift in the Immaterium, lost and forgotten.

But then, something changed. A warmth, unfamiliar and foreign, seeped through the void, cutting through the numbing cold. It felt new, as if it had only just been birthed into existence. And yet, I could feel it—connected to me in a way I could not yet comprehend.

A blinding flash of light erupted, and suddenly, I was awake.

I found myself in my quarters, lying upon my cot. My body no longer felt the weight of exhaustion; the fatigue that had plagued me had vanished as if purged by unseen hands. But my thoughts clung to that warmth I had felt in the darkness—an anomaly in my otherwise void-like slumber.

Shaking my head, I dismissed the thought and prepared myself for the day ahead.

---

Stepping outside, I was met with the scent of porridge simmering atop an electric stove. Merah stood beside it, stirring the pot with slow, practiced movements. I took a seat beside her as she offered me a warm smile.

"Good morning, Leon. Sleep well? No strange dreams, I hope?" she jested, her tone lighthearted.

I chuckled dryly. "You know I never dream, Merah. Just the same black abyss."

She nodded, understanding. Merah was one of the few who had been with us since the early days of Vargas Camp. If anyone knew my peculiarities, it was her. But I did not let my thoughts dwell on it for long as I grabbed a bowl of porridge and took a measured bite.

"How are the preparations with Goss progressing?" I asked between mouthfuls.

Merah's expression shifted—unease flickering in her eyes. She hesitated, shifting uncomfortably before speaking.

"From what Varn has told me, Goss's machine—the 'Banshee,' as he calls it—is complete. He's only making final modifications to ensure the woman's body can withstand the strain."

Her fingers tightened around the wooden spoon, her distress evident. Finally, she exhaled and turned to me, voice laced with quiet sorrow.

"Leon… do we really have to do this to her? Why must we become like them? Why must we make her suffer?"

The spoon halted inches from my lips, my grip tightening until the metal bent beneath my fingers. Lowering my head, I let out a weary sigh.

"I know what you're saying, Merah. I don't want to become like them either." My voice wavered, haunted by memories too terrible to speak of. "But I have seen too many horrors. I have watched helplessly as the weak suffered and died, with no means to save them."

My jaw clenched as I willed my emotions into submission.

"I am no Emperor. I cannot perform miracles. I cannot save everyone."

A tremor ran through me as I kept my gaze lowered, unwilling to let her see the wetness in my eyes.

"So I will be their vengeance. I will be their salvation in death. I will ensure that their suffering ends so they may finally know peace."

Merah studied me for a long moment before speaking softly. "To the Emperor's side… right, Leon?"

I did not answer. I merely nodded.

And so we ate in silence, both of us lost in thought. As I finished my meal, I steeled my resolve, fortifying my mind for the trials to come.

'I will be their kindness. I will be their hope. I will be their vengeance. I will be the chosen blade of the Emperor, as He demands.'

Rising from my seat, I bid Merah farewell and set off toward Goss's chambers.

---

The path to Goss's workshop was littered with crude traps—no doubt his doing. Simple snares, pressure plates, and tripwires meant to catch the unwary. But I had known Goss for long enough to anticipate his paranoia. Avoiding them was second nature.

Upon reaching his chamber, I pushed the door open, only to be met with an ear-splitting shriek of agony.

The stench of blood, sweat, and chemicals choked the air as the sound of a manic cackle filled the room. My stomach turned at the sight before me.

Margaret—if one could still call her that—was affixed to the exosuit, the Banshee. Spiked braces had been driven into her flesh, locking her in place, while tubes pumped a cocktail of stimulants and pain suppressants through her veins. Her body convulsed, her raw-throated screams echoing off the walls.

Goss turned to face me, his face splitting into a cheerful grin. "Leon! Ah, good timing. How was your sleep? I hope this wench's shrieking didn't disturb you."

Scratching my head, I replied, "Didn't hear a thing."

Goss arched a brow. "Really? Huh. I suppose I was too gentle in my adjustments then. I should—"

I cut him off. "How long until we strike both bandit camps?"

He hummed, rubbing his bloodied chin in thought. Margaret continued her ceaseless wailing, but he seemed wholly unbothered.

"Well, the weapons are ready. The area has been secured—traps set so no scum can escape. The only thing left is ensuring our dear Margaret is fully… integrated."

I nodded. "Understood. You've done well, Goss."

He waved a dismissive hand. "Ah, don't mention it. You've tolerated my little hobbies, and for that, I'm grateful. Besides, once we're through with this cesspit, I'll have all the traps I could ever want."

Despite myself, I smirked.

Turning on my heel, I left the chamber, heading toward Varn's station to finalize the battle plans.

Tonight, we would unleash our wrath. For the Emperor. For the fallen. For vengeance.