Chapter 48: The Sky is Falling
Chapter 48: The Sky is Falling
"Victory."
Sparks flew from the crossed blades.
"Victory!" the assembled warriors roared back, their voices like thunder. The intensity in their gazes was so powerful it seemed as if it could physically push back the opposing sword and axe.
With a flick of his wrist, Arthur withdrew his blade. He knew it was enough. The black-armored knight let his cloak fall, once again concealing his majesty and magnificence behind a veil of silence.
The others sheathed their own weapons, their eyes fixed on the holy light left behind by the Emperor, their hearts filled with the certainty of victory.
"One day of preparation," Romulus said, glancing at Arthur from the corner of his eye and sighing softly. From now on, for any morale-related activities, he was just going to send his best friend.
"Inquisitor Aglaia may organize the personnel she requires. We also need time to take possession of our new vessel."
"Understood!" Aglaia stood ramrod straight, like a soldier being inspected.
"My Lord!" she said, approaching Arthur and respectfully offering him an I-shaped sigil. "Thank you for your magnanimity and mercy. This is a sigil anchored to my soul. It will allow you to locate my soul at any time."
This was the sigil she had received when she worked as a chronicler in the libraries of the Ordo Originatus, before she became an Inquisitor. The Roman numeral I signified that she was the first of her generation of agents. By normal procedure, this sigil would have been passed down to her own apprentice. But now, Aglaia felt an instinctual urge to present this token.
"If, in the future, I should show any sign of falling to corruption, you may take my life at any time," Aglaia said concisely, as if wasting even a fraction of a second of the knight's time was a form of blasphemy.
Arthur's previous actions had given her a chance to live. A psyker prone to emotional instability was extremely dangerous, especially one who was an Inquisitor—her own mentor was a prime example of the disasters one could cause. And normally, an ordinary person couldn't just execute an Inquisitor. The problem was, the people around her were anything but ordinary. The Magos of the Adeptus Mechanicus only cared about threat levels. The Black Templars were already at odds with the Inquisition and were extremely hostile to all psykers except Navigators; they were probably itching for a chance to cut down a "witch" like her.
Arthur's actions, in the eyes of everyone else, had served as a guarantee for her. And she, in turn, could not tarnish the honor of the ancient warrior.
"I accept," Arthur said, taking the sigil.
A golden light flared.
"Here we go again," Ramesses muttered, silently manipulating the safe house to envelop Aglaia's Warp-presence.
"Thank you, my Lord!" Aglaia retreated, her voice filled with emotion. She felt an unprecedented sense of peace wash over her.
"Hiss~" Karna suddenly felt that the grapes he was eating weren't sweet anymore. They were a bit sour. How was this kid Arthur so lucky? He already had a set of signature wargear, and now he had a signature accessory too. The "locals" might not know what that "I" meant, but they did. It was clearly the Emperor playing favorites. He was the only Dark Angel on this ship. And them? If it weren't for Arthur, the three of them wouldn't have even gotten a laspistol from the Cadians.
The Emperor is biased!
How was it that this kid Arthur could just rattle off cool, impressive lines one after another, while the three of them couldn't? And why did the Emperor like this kind of melodramatic stuff so much? Was his teenage phase still not over after several tens of thousands of years?
"My Lord, I wish to lead my Inquisitorial retinue to your vessel afterwards," Aglaia formally requested of Romulus.
"Of course."
"The cruiser has completed its docking procedures, situated between the Nicor and the Ark. The xenos spoils you have acquired, I will also have them exchanged for consumables," Cawl added as Aglaia retreated.
"Our thanks," Romulus nodded, preparing to lead his men away.
CLANG!
Just as the group began to move, the Imperial Fist warrior who had been hit in the face by a splintershard tried to take a step, but failed. He staggered a few paces, then collapsed to his knees, clutching his legs.
Right in front of everyone.
"Elder!" the three Sharks cried out in alarm, rushing forward to help. They scrambled to support him, feeling as if the sky itself had just collapsed.
"..." Tyberos, who was still holding the drooling Archon, froze. For a fraction of a second, Romulus felt that the look he gave the three Sharks was the look one gives to dead men.
"His life is not in danger," Romulus said, his voice calm and steady, matching the authority he projected during command. He hadn't been concerned because the data monitoring the Imperial Fists' vitals hadn't issued any warnings. 'Looks like I'll have to add a status effect display module in the future,' he thought.
"...I understand," Tyberos nodded. The suffocating pressure immediately dissipated.
Click—
The son of Dorn removed his helmet. The face that was revealed was slightly aged, his rugged crew-cut and eyebrows completely white. On his stone-carved features, the penetration wound on his lower cheek looked particularly gruesome.
Cawl's enhanced mechanical vision allowed him to lock onto the traces of corrosion on the fragments of the splintershard. "Do you have sufficient medical facilities?" he asked with interest.
Romulus paused, weighing his options. The bodies they created were Imperial Fists, without a doubt. They could even edit the rate of cellular aging. But to allow an examination meant that this warrior's entire physical structure would be exposed to Cawl's sight.
When Romulus had used the template, although he had been mindful of the time period and hadn't chosen the Primaris Space Marines that Cawl would later introduce to the Imperium, he had still used a perfect, unflawed gene-seed for the sake of combat effectiveness.
In the current era, after the mass-recruitment during the Siege of Terra, the near-annihilation during the War of the Beast, and the second founding using personnel from the Fists Exemplar, the Imperial Fists' gene-seed was missing the Sus-an Membrane and the Betcher's Gland from the nineteen Astartes surgical implants. Furthermore, the organs of the Imperial Fists and their various successor Chapters had undergone a certain degree of mutation over time, leading to genetic defects where some organs failed to function properly.
Therefore, a complete, unflawed Imperial Fists warrior, aside from the ones in the Archmagos's own private stock and the collections of certain anonymous thieves, should only have existed during the Great Crusade.
Was revealing this trait a good thing?
Of course it was.
The simple fact that they possessed intact gene-seed from the 30k era was enough to prove the authenticity of their identity.
"We do not have an Apothecary. Recovery is usually handled by Arthur," Romulus said. Because his marines were just drone-bodies, he would just replace them if they got broken. He had never intended to maintain them. He had planned to establish the position of Apothecary after they had secured a Chapter homeworld for the purpose of mass-producing troops.
But now, this accident provided a very good excuse.
(End of Chapter)