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Taharaen takes after me. He cannot form emotional bonds all that well like me. His traumatic experiences further stunt his ability to form emotional bonds, and he has to use his empathy as a crutch. 

It is as much of an impediment as it is a blessing. 

He retains a child-like understanding of the world that grows into something like nihilism because of what happens to him.

He gives without reservation and loves without reservation or prejudice. He feels that is what his chapter asks him to do, and he does it to the best of his ability up until everything comes crashing down. 

Gerlaen is particularly important as he's Taharaen's only tie to this world and one of his very few reasons for living. 

This anthology is mainly about him and will get darker in subject matter as i revise and look over my writing. 

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“He is a relic of past wars, a veteran of Badab. His sanity is questionable. There is little more I can find on him then his planet or origin and his refusal to join the deathwatch. He is rather close in proximity to the Marine that heads his chapter.”

Addendum: His name has disappeared from the records since the conclusion of the abberus system problem. I wonder why this is? 

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From Blood are we Born, to Blood Evermore Consigned. ~ :Libris Malefica

From the Blood of Sanguinius are we born, to his fate we are consigned. I find a morbid comfort in that saying. If I were to die, then I would die in the same spirit my progenitor did in defeating Horus. 

It is a saying I have been taught since I first stepped foot on the Mater Lachyrum as an aspirant. These words are the spiritual credo of this chapter. They tell of everything we have suffered and have yet to endure. 

I have an almost arrogant supposition that as an astartes, I was made to be above sorrow, above grief, and above feeling the pain of loss. Once, I believed that. But I have lost too much and seen too much these past years.  Badab was…difficult to endure, to say the least.   A half-empty ship is evidence enough of that. Despite the wounds left on this chapter, many of my remaining brothers still hold to their pride as astartes. That is their right and their prerogative. I imagine without that belief in what they serve, many would be driven insane or fall into chaos. 

My pride has no grounds to stand on. All of my memories are filled with the worst of my experiences.  The passing of years has dulled my wits as much as it has stolen my joy. I know there is an invisible rot that eats away at me. It will kill me. This darkness is a yearning, a poison in my soul, that grows ever stronger as the days pass. It cries out for vengeance for past wrongs and cares not whose blood is spilled. I have no one to turn to for counsel for this disease.   Yet I am still here. My hearts beat despite all I have endured and have yet to face. And much will we face as our fleet nears the Abberus System.  Soon, this chapter will wage war again. Fortunately, not alone.  Soon, I will find myself tested against the hive fleet that threatens this sector and the darkness that wages war inside of me. It is one of the few things I truly despise.  I cannot banish these thoughts of rage, unnecessary vitriol, and despair. Every day, I ask myself why. Why do I still live? Whom do I truly cherish? Am I using my brothers for my own ends despite all that I try to do for them? 

I used to seek spiritual shelter and guidance under the wing of my mentor, the late Chaplain that I used to serve. 

He was my teacher of one hundred and forty years and I am soon to take his place. It is to be a quick ceremony. I am to take up my duties immediately after Master Phoros names me Reclusiarch. War approaches, and there is much to be done. Many new primaris need to be acclimated before they march to war alongside our veterans. 

I know I do not deserve this honor nor am I ready to shoulder this responsibility, but I know my chapter needs me to do this. 

In this sacred chamber, in this Reclusiam where I have spent much of my life, I seek wisdom from ghosts long since passed and from a teacher who no longer occupies these halls. I begin to recite litanies of strength and fortitude as I steel myself for what is to come. I feel renewed rage and the familiar black ichor of the thirst rise within my throat as memories come unbidden to me. Memories of this sacred chamber unscarred, untainted by the hands of the Minotaurs. Of an altar that has stood here untoppled and perfect.  It is under repair now. 

It fills me with a determination to survive to see it restored to its former glory.

The doors to the Reclusiam creak open. I know from the heavy footfalls that it is an astartes that comes into this room.

"Taharaen?" I do not recognize this battle brother. He is young, but I can tell from his manner and the way he addresses me.

"Come in. Do you have a message?"

He meets my gaze, the ruby red of his helm lenses staring into my eyes. He does not observe protocol.

"I do, brother. Master Phoros summons you."

I give him a curt bow. I will not correct him nor scold him for not observing his mannerisms. I have no time for that now. Perhaps another day.

“Thank you.”

Chapter Text

I stand upon ashes. The bright yellow of my carapace armor has been stained a deep, muddy red, smeared with blood, dirt, and grime. I think some of it is my own. 

I am in a great amount of pain, but I will not waste the anesthesia or the attentions of the calix priests that can be better spent on the battle-brothers and those of the scouts who can still be saved. Light fades in and out of my vision as I sway lightly from side to side. When was the last time I had time to rest? Or eat? Or drink? 

My thoughts wander as I fight off drowsiness. 

This victory has been bitterly won by countless of my brethren and the good men and women we have fought for. Even now, I cannot banish the images of their corpses lying strewn across detritus. Men, women, and children barely of age carved inside out by the crude, savage weaponry of the green skins. Lamenters, noble heraldry defiled, and bright armor broken and brutalized by the merciless combat against the orks.

I once knew many of them as older brothers and familiar acquaintances. 

It will be hard to adjust to their absence, to look in familiar places and see them empty. I never had the chance to say goodbye or honor their sacrifices. But,  I take the smallest measure of comfort in knowing they died well. Such is their lot in life as astartes, and I know it will certainly be mine. But so many have died to the point I am certain my older brothers will struggle to recruit more.. The survivors, those of the 3rd and fourth companies, have not walked away unscathed. Many of them have gone mad, driven over the brink by the Black Rage. I have not left unscathed, either.

I fear I have left a piece of myself behind on that accursed world. That dim hope I could have been a light in the dark. I know with a certain kind of dread that things will get worse from here. 

Why do I think such things? It is not becoming of a potential Battle-Brother to think such things. To think that the trials he endures is not worth the bitter tears and sweat shed for whatever nebulous thing lies ahead. It is a bitter poison in my thoughts that eats away at me. It causes me more pain than any wound could. I grit my teeth, feeling pain lance up my arm as I grab the railing of the thunderhawk as it ascends the ashen skies of Slaughterhouse III. My vision spins, and tension forms at the base of my skull, threatening to tie a noose around my consciousness. I grasp my ruined bolt gun in a trembling, blood-slick hand to prevent it from falling from my grasp. And for a moment, I curse my weakness, the force of the ascending vehicle causes me to slam my injured arm into the railing.

Despite my best efforts to bear the pain, I can't stop my ears from ringing. Soon, this will end.

Hours later, I find myself kneeling in the dim light of the Reclusiam. I do not know why I find myself there. Perhaps to seek solace after all that has occurred. 

The ship is much emptier than it was before. I find it saddening as well as disquieting. In the time I have knelt here, some have come to contemplate and meditate on the artifacts that lie within this chamber. They do not disturb my vigil, for they assume I come here to find solace from my sorrow.  I will eventually have to leave this place when I can finally gather my feet under me and walk away.

Much time has passed since anyone has come to disturb the quiet of this hall. I find myself drifting to sleep on my feet, my mind inactive, and my body slumped over on my knees.

I don't know why I came here or why I stayed. All I vaguely remember is the bone-deep exhaustion, both mental and physical, that has compelled me to seek refuge in this sanctuary. 

Heavy footfalls break the silence that passes as day turns to night.

I rise from my knees and break from my sullen thoughts and sleeping mind as I turn to face whoever has broken the silence I took comfort in.

It is the chaplain. He has a knowing look in his eyes. Perhaps he will wish to know my name before he dismisses me from the Reclusiam.

"For what reason do you brood in the Reclusiam, little brother?"

Chapter Text

I did not see Adraxies lunge at me until it was too late. 

As I turned around, my hearts kicked into high gear as I saw his bloodshot eyes.  

I feel pain shoot up my back as I’m slammed onto the ground with great force.

“By the Emperor!” I grunt as I struggle against his almost crushing grip.  

My heart races. My blood thunders in my ears as I struggle against something far stronger than myself.

My mind races with increasingly terrible possibilities and quickly, I come to a conclusion;

Adraxies had gone mad with the Red Thirst. The desperation of the battle on Corinth had taken a toll, and now, hours later he's slipped over to the point of no return. 

I was a fool to come in here with him, alone , and by the Emperor, did it have to happen now? In one of the storerooms of all places? I thought he was holding it together particularly well before... His condition began to rapidly decline minutes into our conversation. 

I roll my body to the side and manage to land a savage punch into his jaw. He reels back, roaring something incomprehensible.

Our fight lasted a few seconds until I heard the clamor of voices and the fast tread of armored heels.

I wipe a bit of blood from my mouth as I roll onto the heels of my feet.

I feel bitter laughter bubble out of my throat. The first astartes I shared some bond with was now trying to kill me. 

All I had to do now was just last for a few more seconds until they got the bulkhead open.

I tried to drop to the ground to try to sweep at his legs as he lunged at me again but this time, he was far too fast for me. 

I had barely enough time to scream as my head was wrenched to the side. I felt jaws close around my throat and fangs pierce my skin.

I struggled against his ever-tightening grip.

My world began to blur and spin and black spots began to dot my vision.

I feel him fall from me as a single bolter round blows his skull out.

I fall to the floor, trying to reach for anything before my hand slackens and the world goes dark.

I do not remember if this was simply misfortune or a curse that I had to face the revenants that haunted my chapter so soon..

I do not wish to remember.

Chapter Text

My home burns, like how I feared it would those few weeks ago.

The Mater Lachymarum burns. Bolt shells explode in the sulfuric air as fighting destroys parts of the ship and casts light into flame. 

Bodies of both Minotaurs and my brothers lay strewn within these halls, each in various states of decay or bloody unmaking. I crush and destroy what is left of some of these corpses in my haste to get to the Reclusiam. 

I bolt through its halls, lighting fast with my active chainsword in hand. My weapon’s teeth savagely cut into those menials and boarding parties that dare stand in my way, ripping apart bone, nerve, and fat in splashes of viscera that paint the floor.

And for a few critical seconds, I miss a body I see as little more than a blur. A minotaur, whom I failed to direct my weapon towards, slams my body into the wall, knocking my weapon out of my hand and snapping the chain that bound it to my gauntlet. 

I quickly regain my footing and grab the chainsword. I raise it above my head and send it in a downward arc toward the Minotaur’s gorget.

He erupts in a gory spectacle of sparks and blood as he dies underneath the stroke of my blade.

I pick up my pace and round the corner, kicking off the body of the dead off of my chainsword before I dash off again. 

My hearts, primary and secondary, beat like pistons as I near my goal.

From what I see, my blood beats with renewed rage..

Relics lie toppled, and displays lie shattered and ruined. They have sacked the Reclusiam! 

An animalistic howl rips itself from my throat, one borne from grief and fury, and my world turns red. 

—---

What manner of monster is this? What manner of creature has struck down my brothers in such a savage way?

It is a yellow angel wreathed in blood, and the gore of my brothers with that damnable checkered bleeding heart etched onto its damaged pauldron.

It twists its head towards me in an unnatural fashion as it tears Balderac’s arms from him.

It does not speak but snarls with blood between its teeth and gums.

I raise my sword and prepare to defend myself. I would not die to this traitor. 

It throws Balderac’s body at me with inhuman strength. I cannot shift my weight in time as it slams into me and sends me spinning to the floor.

“Animal!” I growl as I shove his body off of me.

It lunges at me with frightening speed, its every move honed to a merciless perfection.

I catch it by the gauntlets and turn its body aside to slam it into broken glass and marble.

Taking advantage of the lapse of seconds, I slam my helm as hard as I can into its head.

It falls back, dazed but impossibly, not dead.

It was resilient, and it refused to die. The wounds penetrating its armor mattered little. The torments it suffered much later under our jailers mattered little.  It just did not die.

Chapter Text

How long has it been since Corinth? How long has it been since I stepped foot upon the ashes of Slaughterhouse? I do not remember anymore. Time slips away from me like sand between my fingers, but the scars of that world still remain on my skin like ash and grit I can never scrape off. I can still see those haunted, horrible sights in my dreams. Men and women in cages, starving children with whip marks on their skin and malnourished bodies. There was no salvation for them. None at all.

Who should I blame for this? I need someone to blame for this. The orks are gone. Burned to cinders on the surface of slaughterhouse 3. I tell myself I should blame that man at the head of this chapter. That kind face crowned by that damnable halo of golden hair I only see glimpses of from time to time. 

I know not if he deserves my consternation or my hate, but he had led us into so much suffering. There are faces I left on Slaughterhouse 3 that I will never see again.  I care not for the new allies that we have. I care little for what honors they tout proudly on their ceramite plate or what bonds of brotherhood they share with my fraternity. I do not trust them, and I never will, no matter how many times Gerlaen tells me to hide my hatred for the Astral Claws. He does not listen to me, and no matter how much I tell him, his faith in Malakim Phoros is misplaced. 

But he is the only thing I have left. The only familiar face I can cling to. I will stay by his side. If he is to be dragged into whatever misfortune awaits us next, I will go with him. No matter how badly our fates sour. 

He cannot die. If he dies now, a part of me goes with him. 

-----

I cannot breathe. I cannot take a breath without inhaling blood or the smell of some sort of filth. I can no longer tell if it is mine or someone else's. I feel a crushing sensation on my eyes as I struggle to open them and take in my cell in its entirety.  It’s very secure, but it is ill-kept. 

I hear some distant scratching and screams; madness comes upon whoever else inhabits this abattoir. I can guess my jailers take turns imparting punitive punishment on their prisoners. 

Wounds mar my skin as an ugly reminder of the torment I suffered not that long ago. I cannot move without hurting. It is maddening. 

The door opens and I am greeted by a familiar face. 

Gerlaen doesn’t look too well, I note to myself.  Fresh bruises and wounds scab and mar his dark skin where his robes cut away to reveal his arms. His eyes come upon me, and his expression turns into something of horror. 

“Taharaen?”

I offer him something of a smile that turns into a wince as pain lances across my cheek and fresh blood oozes from my lips. 

He comes closer and helps me sit up with unusual gentleness. 

“What happened?”

My hands, shaking, form something like words as I recount my troubles and how I got here. I tell him that they burned the Reclusiam during their raid on the Mater Lachrymarum. I tell him that became my place of capture. 

“Are your symptoms getting worse?” He whispers to me. His eyes are full of worry. 

I force my fingers to form the words. Much worse. Why are you here? Why did they send you here?

“They whisper that you might be the harbinger of the flaw returned. I was sent to confirm if you had progressed to the point of no return. I am glad to see you had pulled through.”

I choke out a bloody laugh, feeling my blood and mucus gurgle painfully in my throat. 

Thankfully, he speaks no more. I wrap broken, wounded arms around him, staining his robes and feeling his heart's beat for what I think might be the last time. 

To my everlasting shame, I couldn't stop myself from weeping, my sorrow pouring out like a dam and my exhaustion making it impossible to repress. No one but him bore witness to my grief, and even if anybody heard, they wouldn't know who cried.  I feared this would be the last time I would ever get to embrace him, and I let my sorrow out. 

Our fates were uncertain. 

----------

I teeter on the brink, on the edge

and stare down into unimaginable darkness.

I stare into the maws of a beast

clawing its way up my chest.

I have a million things I wish to say,

things I cannot express so simply,

I cannot bring myself to utter

that i love you. , 

Chapter Text

I see you stripped bare in all of your weakness, yet I cannot find it in my heart to hate you for it. For I love you as you have loved me.

I loved him, I realized.  I hated myself for taking so long to name that feeling that followed me around whenever I thought about him. I needed him more than I had ever needed anybody. He helped me get back on my feet after Corinth, and he was the person I worried about the most. I cannot imagine where my life would be if Gerlaen had not asked what I was doing alone in his Reclusiam all those years ago. 

I remember when I dragged his half-dying form from Primus IV not long into my apprenticeship. I could not rationalize why I did so, only that he had more to teach me, and I couldn’t let him die until he could impart on me everything he knew. 

I clung to him like a child would a father. I couldn’t help it. He was a stern but kind teacher, and he was what I needed at that time. I clung to him, agreeing to do whatever he asked of me if only I could spend one minute more with him. He introduced me to an entire world of lore, doctrine, and knowledge I remember pouring through late nights. 

I knew what position he groomed me for. I didn’t much care for the power nor authority or glory, but cared more for the man that had helped get me here. 

I would have never imagined what came after.

I loved him, I know now. I loved him dearly, as if he were my biological father. 

I was such an annoying apprentice. I have no idea how he put up with me.

And I think he loved me too despite how much I must have bothered him. 

No matter how bad our lives got, he was there in some capacity. I dreamed about him. 

I can recount him telling me he drew strength from my memory. That in some way, I helped him carry on when hope seemed lost. 

I know that is why I was able to see the next 100 years through with him. 

I remember he began to lean heavily on me for support and comfort as many faces he had known began to return in caskets. It soon became my turn to be the rock he leaned upon as his world was turned on his head.

It was the least I could do. 

I knew he would die, one day when this chapter had served its due. I just hoped he would cling to life a bit longer. 

It was a child’s wish.

 Gerlaen wished for a good death, and I hoped I could be there to see him off.

Chapter Text

This was something I had been dreading ever since I was released from my lessons today. I had hoped this would not happen.

I feel it coming on. A pain in the back of my throat. An itching dryness. Then, I taste blood as something in my proximity reminds me of a terrible scene I'd only just begun to remember.

An unfortunate, sharp jab as I accidentally ram my thigh into the side of a table, and as if from nowhere I hear glass implement falling to the floor and crashing. My head jolts to the sound of its direction and I stare at the broken thing, uncomprehending at first, but then in anger that wanders from the broken object as my fangs begin to slide out of my jaw and pierce my bottom lip.

Blood starts to stream down my lip, and within a few heartbeats, it all begins to fall apart.

I grab the side of the table to steady myself as I feel a wave of bloodlust come on. It is a painful, all encompassing sensation spreading from my throat to my teeth, then to my eyes as steady streams of blood leak from them.

It hurts. My body twitches out of my control, crying out for blood and something to sink into!

I shut my eyes, trying to will it to pass. This goes on for a few, torturous minutes as I suck in air through my teeth and take shuddering breaths as I slowly choke on my bloodthirst.

I hear the door open, and panic rises in my throat. I barely manage to croak out, “N-no!"

Before my eyes shoot open on their own, revealing eyes engulfed in black!

“Taharaen?!” It is a voice I recognize through the haze of pain. It’s Gerlaen! How did he find me here?!

I lunge at him, my legs moving on their own, and he manages to catch me. I feel his fingers dig into the muscles of my shoulders as I claw at his bare flesh and thrash. “Taharaen! What’s gotten into you?!”

I don’t know if I can answer him. I’m not sure if I can muster the strength to do that. My world is a dark, muddy red and I cannot perceive the world around me. 

But I try anyway, forcing my throat to move somehow. All that comes out is a nasty, disgusting snarl.

He gains the upper hand on me, eventually forcing my rebellious body to its knees through greater strength of will and body.

I eventually managed to get something out. “M-My Lord..you shouldn’t see this..” Shame colors my weak response. I can feel the red film around my eyes clear up a bit by now. My body relaxes on it’s own somehow, recognizing it's not in danger.

“Tell me what’s going on, Taharaen.” His voice is stern and demanding. I can see concern in his eyes.

“I am in decline,” I whisper. “My sanity slips away with it.”

“The dreams? Your episodes?” He looked like he needed to know.

“Both,” I reply. I do not want to ask him for help or clemency, but it seems I have little choice.

“Is that why you submitted an inquiry to the Master of the Damned?”

I nod, averting my gaze as I muster the courage to utter a retort. “Is that why you asked him to turn it away?”

“That is correct. Listen to me, Taharaen. Out of all of the cases I’ve seen, out of all of the cases he has reported to me; You stand a chance of overcoming it.” I look at him in disbelief as he says this. What has gotten into him to make him think this way?

“Overcoming it? All who have tried are dead, or even worse, insane! You would ask this of me? To endure and endure until the last of my sense flees me?!” I hiss in anger.

“YES! I would have you TRY!” He roars. I stare at him in horror as my body slumps a bit more in defeat and exhaustion.

I can feel him release his hold on my shoulders and wrap my arms around me in a protective embrace.

“I’m…sorry. But I do mean it Taharaen. Please, try for me.”

Tears welled in my eyes as I sank deeper into his embrace. Sorrow eats at the corners of my heart as I realize I don’t want to refuse him. I can feel the earnestness in his embrace, and it hurts me to realize just how much I matter to him.

I am damned but he would ask me to claw my way out of this inky darkness for him.

And I find I cannot refuse, even as my heart aches and sorrow burns like acid in my chest.

I wrap my arms around him in a reciprocal embrace.

Chapter Text

There is peace in this shrine to the past and the present. Fine memorials dedicated to long-dead heroes are etched in gold and brass line the walls.

I have spent some time cleaning this chamber, sweeping, and wiping dirt and blood from precious relics. I feel some measure of blissful peace from these simple, repetitive tasks. Here, i can sweep away the memories of the nightmare on Badab and simply…brood. 

I set down the broom and wiped a bit of sweat from my brow. It has been a habit since my days as an apprentice to the Reclusiarch.

Since my elevation to Chaplain, such menial tasks have no longer been necessary for me to perform. But I still do them as if the years had not passed and things have not changed.

I do not like change, no matter how much My Liege tells me to take it in stride. Change is a foreboding, ill omen I would rather do without.

I wasn't always like this. Not as a neophyte, not as a young boy of 8 moons. Time slips away from me the more I age.

I pick up the dustpan and empty it into the wastebasket.

Setting it down, I turn to unravel and cut the parchment strips that would later be used for purity seals.

My hands, as damaged and scabbed over as they are, do these tasks with a deft ease and a speed that wouldn't have been possible for a normal man.

I feel a quiet pain at the back of my skull, a dull throbbing and a thirst that would grow worse if I were not wary.

I let out a long breath, feeling some tension drain from my body.

"Come here to seek peace, troubled soul? Is that why you abhor the cages?" A voice calls out to me from the open doors to the Reclusiam. I recognize it. A flare of irritation arises in me at the tone he uses, but I let it slide. He does not know what face lies behind the mask I wear when I take office as his Chaplain. He does not know it is me.

“I do not abhor the sparring cages. But I prefer to spend whatever little time I am afforded maintaining this place of worship.”

He comes out of the long shadows cast by the heavy doors and into the candlelight.

“I do not scorn you for your devotion to the Reclusiam- I think you more devout for it. But wouldn’t you like to spend more time with your brothers?” He asks. 

“I…” I hesitate. I know agreeing to his request would be dangerous. I would be tempted, dragged to a place beyond return, beyond reproach. But…I could compromise. I could allow myself this little luxury that would soon be taken away from me. 

I could not isolate myself forever no matter how much my…condition kept me from that fraternity i so cherished.

“When?” I ask, deciding to acquiesce.

Chapter Text

I walk as fast as I can through these mazes and layers that make up this ship. It feels bare, unadorned, stripped of the history that would have once defined my chapter as a whole.

In my haste to leave the cages, I had tucked on what garmets that I could reach - a pair of plain breeches and a coarse tunic that still clung to the sweat on my flushed skin. There was no ceremony in it. I could still feel the stings of the small cuts the servitor had landed across my skin as they made contact with the rough fabric draped over my body.

I worry. My thoughts are becoming increasingly morbid. They have not stopped since last week. They race with increasingly horrible possibilities.  I fear for Gerlaen. 

That fear ran hot through my veins, spurring me towards action.

I try to ignore the unfamiliar archways of the halls, the strange make and build of the columns and floors as I rush to the docking bay. This was not the Mater Lachyrum. Yet I could not help but compare it to the fortress-ship that was once my home. It's been impounded now. I don't know if I'll ever see it again. This new fortress ship, despite being perfectly suited to hosting a chapter of Astartes, lacks the warmth, the history, and the spirit of the Lady of Sorrows.  

There is little but hushed voices and conversations exchanged in passing, the soft rumble and quiet shuffle of servitor-machines and serfs alike.  Those who remain are tense for the possibility that they might be called to battle once more and would have to prepare on short notice.

I pass the half-empty mess, pass the quiet exchanges of the brothers that barely take up the entire hall... Some of them acknowledged my presence with a head nod before returning to whatever task they had paused.

Things were changing for the worse once again. We were to endure the absence and slow death of our chapter while on a mission to repent for our involvement in the Badab War. To earn the right to exist in the Imperium again.

I try to stem the tide of bitter thoughts as another worry comes to mind.

I think, What would I find there, carried out of the transport? Who would I find there, dead and covered by a black shroud, to be cremated?

I round the corner, sidestepping a servitor as I feel the temperature change.

Gooseflesh runs up my skin as I feel cold air envelop my body, and my eyes strain as I stare at the void of space and stars beyond the equipment and clamor of activity.

There, passing through the atmospheric shield and onto the hangar is the transport I had hurried to see. It lands on the meshwork of the flooring, releasing heat and smoke as landing gears come out.

My breath catches, and my hearts hammer like war drums in my chest as I see a few brothers carry out a casket between them-

Anger rises in my chest as I see a familiar face among them. Gerlaen.

It’s irrational to feel anger when I should feel relief. I thought he was the one in the casket, and that little, morbid notion struck deeper than I would have imagined.

But this fear that I might lose him before I could repay him for a lifetime consumes me. I have been more restless than I have ever been before.

I catch his eye as they head towards the elevators. I would catch him soon.

——

I ran my fist into his chest, and he caught it before it made an impact. I try a couple more times, not trying to break his guard but to vent my anger at him.

“What’s gotten into you?” He hisses.  He kicks out at my right leg, sending me sprawling to the floor. I catch myself before my head hits the ground.

I swallow hard, tasting blood at the back of my throat. I get to my knees and lunge at him, trying to knock him off of his feet.

I managed to slam him into the bars of the sparring cage.

“You-” I choke on my words. “How dare you-”

His hands clasp around my shoulders. “What’s going on?”

I sag into his embrace as a wave of unexpected exhaustion comes over my body. My rage was spent, doused, and began to cool into regret. “I saw you come out of the thunderhawk. I thought you were the one they were carrying until I saw you.”

His reply was gentle as if he were consoling a distressed child, even though I was two centuries old.  That was how he saw me at that moment.  “You couldn’t have known, Taharaen. We were carrying Juherian to be cremated.”

“Juherian…” I mutter under my breath. I raise my head to look at him. “He was one of the old guard?”

Gerlaen nods, his eyes kind but his expression mournful. The ice in them had melted into a deep sadness. 

“What if it was you?” I whispered. Even bringing up the possibility was difficult. "What if you were amongst the dead? You are as important as Juherian was…”

Juherian. I know not what enemy might have fell him, or what deadly circumstances he might have braved. But all I could think of was how much of an omen his casket was. 

That death would come for Gerlaen, swiftly, suddenly and mercilessly. 

“It would have been up to you to carry on my work. You know this, Taharaen.” 

I avoid his gaze. “Well…I know that. But I find something unfamiliar stirs within my chest. It..is why this happened..”

Gerlaen looks at me as if he expects an answer. I suppose he wishes to know, too.

I hesitate, unsure if I should give voice to my thoughts. "I am uncertain of this. But I love you."

I feel familiar; callused hands place my hands over his primary heart—hands that have guided me and helped mold me into the man I am today. 

It was an ultimate act of trust. It was as if I held a dagger to his hearts and he trusted me not to press the blade in.

“Do you mean it?” He’s said this countless times now, both in the past and present, under different circumstances. But here, he sounded so vulnerable, almost frightened, I might say what he didn't want to hear.

Perhaps he saw me as a son. 

Be certain of what you say and resolute in what you preach. Once you take my station, many will listen to you. 

I clear my throat, steeling my voice to cement my words. 

Chapter Text

I remember little of my ascension, to my everlasting shame. I have no stories I am particularly proud of. I’ve always needed to double my efforts in one manner or another when it came to understanding... everything.

I did not understand or feel the bonds of brotherhood that my peers seemed to share. I never could. I could never walk away with an everlasting bond for they…had died before I did. I mourned friends I had barely known. I tried to rationalize why they had left me so soon, and I carried much guilt. 

Death was an ever-present tormentor and unwanted in my life. It had stolen much from me and killed my peers.

The longest bond I’ve ever preserved was with my teacher, Gerlaen. 

And he is dying. My cherished father and companion of three hundred and forty years will be gone. His name will be engraved in the hall of heroes, and he will soon be counted amongst the dead.  

I can see the fairly weak grin on his face even as I drag him on of the wreckage of the citadel. His legs are no longer of use to him, and I suspect his body will follow soon. Blood seeps in thick rivulets from his lips as more vitae runs down his face to cover his good eye.

I have but moments to say my goodbyes while he still breathes. 

I laid him on broken debris. He took my hand in his own and pressed it to the crater on his cuirass. 

“Taharen.” I can barely hear him, but the hoarse whisper is more than enough to grab my attention.

“My boy. Listen to what I have to say.” He coughs wetly, splattering blood on the ground. 

There was so much love in his good eye. So much. I felt unwanted tears stinging in my eyes.

“Once I am gone, you replace me. The Master will need you as he has needed my counsel. Do not fail him.”

He pulled me closer to make sure I could hear his next words as his voice began to die.

“Swear to me you will not fail, Master Phoros. I know you despise him, but you must serve him as well as you…..served…me.” He fell limp in my arms as he breathed his last. His hand loosened and fell away to hit the ground. 

His lips were parted as if he were going to say - I love you. 

“I-I will. I will...” I whisper. I take his corpse into my arms and close his eyes and shut his jaw.

I press my forehead to his and press a final kiss to his brow as I take his body up and carry him out of the wreckage.

I knew I would miss him for as long as I would live and carry his memory with me to the grave.

Chapter Text

The hall is quiet, despite being filled with people. My soul cries out; why? Why does he honor you with this ceremony? What right does he have to vindicate you when it drives the spear of pain deeper?  The memory of Badab will never leave you!  Those little things that echo at the back of my mind bind my ankles to weights that feel impossibly heavy.

Pain, once imagined, now made real with the agonizing passage of seconds, seeps into my head. My body jerks as if it’s been attacked.

 I don’t have the energy to refute my bleeding spirit. That little voice was right about one thing. Badab will never leave me. Those soul-wrenching cries that haunt my every dream will never leave me despite my efforts to banish them.

Veins pop out from my skin as I realize how wound up I’ve become. I unclench my fists with effort, willing my scarred fingers to uncurl from my palms.

 But I can’t turn away from this. My chapter bleeds as much as I do, and I have no right to turn away the spear of pain that will be driven into my soul. 

 I make my way towards the man who stands at the end of the procession. I know what he will give me once he gives his speech. I will be congratulated, perhaps even honored by a patriarch I deeply despise. 

I have no grounds to hate him. I do not know what drove him to make such decisions that led my chapter to disaster.

 I am sure he knows this already. He gives me the faintest of reassuring smiles, which pains and insults me in equal measure. When I look upon that dais he stands upon, I am reminded of what I’ve lost.

 Every step feels so heavy. 

 My world goes by in shades of grey and black. The servos and lumens fail to light my vision as I go past my brothers and their serfs. I can see concern in those brothers and serfs that are more perceptive than their kin. Perhaps they see past my fake bravado, my fake smile. But they have no idea what troubles me so much, why i seem like i march to my death.

 I kneel before my liege lord and bow my head.

 I can barely hear anything he’s saying as he gives his address. My ears ring despite their capacity for inhuman clarity and acute hearing. The nightmares that have disturbed me in my sleep, chasing my vision and rooting themselves in my memories like weeds that refuse to die surface again.

 I hear the murderous battle-cries of the Minotaurs as they seep into every corner of the Mater Lachyrum.  Visages of long-dead peers stare back at me with blank, accusatory stares. My hearing fills with the dreadful noise of their dying screams..

 I realize for a moment I’ve forgotten to breathe. Something red and warm trails down my eyes.

I look up to see Phoros drape something over my shoulders. It is a red sash of cloth.

 For some reason, that piece of cloth stands out to me. Why is it a deep red? Why did it look like blood?

I quickly swipe at bloody beads gathering at the corners of my eyes with my finger before standing up and bowing to him.

—--------------------------

I don’t lose composure until I am far, far away from their prying gazes. 

The red sash I was given is folded tightly and hidden away in the pocket of my robes. Something in me is reluctant to let anyone else see it.

I sink down against the wall, feeling the ridges of the column dig into my back and send spikes of pain up my spine. I barely notice the pain as my eyes spasm behind their sockets.

Exhaustion settles over my body, and a feeling more violent slowly replaces it. It floods my head, my eyes, and slowly tightens its vice around my throat.

The ringing returns now in force. I can hear nothing now but the distant screams that played and danced and taunted me not so long ago. 

What little color I could see transitions to black and white. Blood pours down my tear ducts in earnest now as I relive Badab in full.

I drag myself to my feet, as difficult as it is, and limp away.

-----

My dreams are rent by screaming ghosts,
By those apparations that ask me why?
I see their hollowed-out skulls
torn open by shells and broken by fire.
I feel the weight of my chains 
and see the marks they've left on my skin,
I am a prisoner of my own mind,
a victim of a disease that had no cure but time.
My world passes in dark shades of grey,
in unreality that burns itself into my eyes.

Chapter Text

The ceremony was brief. Many gathered to see the late Reclusiarch buried in the catacombs of the Mater Lachrymarum. More than I would expect to turn out for this funeral. 

I had originally thought his body was to be burned. To be cremated. It was protocol for any who had died during our Penitent Crusades for about a century. That is over now, and I find it difficult to adjust to the sudden changes that the end of the crusade had brought. So many fill these catacombs now. The veterans of the Corinth Crusade lie here, their lives spent in blood to wipe clean the sins of our chapter.

I had spent sleepless nights tending to their bodies and dedicating their souls to our Gene-Father. It is one of the few times I had found a morbid peace in my duties. One of the last times i will get to do so before we arrive to answer the call to war once more. 

Things are changing so suddenly. I find myself unsettled by how quickly it is happening... My brothers wear unfamiliar armor now. The lines are cleaner, almost more elegant than the older versions the veterans of our chapter wore once. The Primarch’s decree has brought much needed respite and relief from the far reaches of the system. New Geneseed and new brothers too. I was not opposed to receiving them. Some of the new arrivals were veterans of Guilliman’s Indomitus Crusade. It will be a shame to lose them so quickly, but the more bodies to throw into the fires of war the better. Perhaps some of them will live through the next war we march into.  

My thoughts have taken a sour turn since Gerlaen’s death. I try to quash these thoughts as they arise but often fail to do so. I can’t stop the tears from falling when my thoughts inevitably drift back to him. Everything had gone as it had supposed to but I can’t stop the wound his death had left behind from aching and bleeding. If I had been a mortal I would have died by now.

Grief is a powerful ailment. I have no idea how mortals deal with this, how they don’t somehow come out worse for it. 

It is midday in the ship. The servitors have turned the lumens throughout the barge to signify the passage of time. They illuminate everything in a soft orange glow. The statues, the arches and the passengers that roam the halls of the barge. I walk through them and descend to the catacombs of the Mater Lachyrum. 

I go there now to meditate on the vow I had made to him. I start to think- why did he make me swear to him to serve Master Phoro’s faithfully? Why not the chapter as a whole? Part of me wishes he had been less specific. I push away these thoughts in disgust. I did not want to doubt his words since he was gone now, but I cannot help but wonder why.

Gerlaen had been a trusted friend of sorts to Master Phoros. He had stuck by the Master’s side despite the pain his decisions had caused him time and time again. I was there to hear him voice his private grievances of Phoros to me. Thoughts he would never voice them in front of the master himself.  I never knew why he thought me safe to voice his private thoughts to, and i still don’t think I will ever know. I will be forever grateful he trusted me with them.  

I come upon his casket. It is bare, save for the heart and teardrop with wings engraved onto the red door of his grave. War often leaves little room for proper honor to be afforded to the dead. I wish I could have done more for him, perhaps gotten an artisan to chip away at making a proper tomb for my former master. But there are none upon this barge at the moment. 

I press my forehead upon the door and close my eyes.  I think upon the last time I was here with him and try to recall whatever he had said to me. It feels as if ages have passed. My heart is so heavy. 

Gentle footfalls break the silence of the catacombs, rousing me from my sorrow and bringing my attention to the stairs. 

I can see the familiar shape of Master Phoro’s Halo as he approaches. It gleams in the candlelight as his armor servos quietly whir and work with each motion he takes.

“Reclusiarch.” His voice is soft, almost mournful. There is a tinge of regret in the way he looks upon the tomb I rest my hands on. I remove my hands from the lid and turn to address him. Familiar, bitter thoughts come to mind. Why was he here? 

“My Lord,” I rasp, my throat dry. I find I want to say more, but my words fail me.

“You grieve for him. No one has seen you for the past few hours.”

I swallow a lump in my throat. “I do.”

He sighs and walks closer. His eyes shimmer like cerulean gems in the dim candlelight that lights this place. He looks at the casket which I stand guard over. 

“I…loved him like a brother. You are not the only one that grieves for him, Taharaen. Many mourn his loss.”

I clear my throat, trying to hide the snarl that hides behind my face. “I know. But I don’t see you permitting others to approach his tomb.”

He sighs. I can see how weary he is by the way his pauldrons sag slightly. 

“I have private regrets. I have things I have never gotten to say to my closest advisor. In the years close to his passing, we...grew distant. I intend to make up for that mistake. I know you two were close. I am not as callous as you think I am, Taharaen.”

I find his words so hard to accept.  I could hear no lie in them.

But for a while, I found I could tolerate his presence. I can see the pain in his blue-grey eyes. They shimmer with sorrow.

I stay silent.

Chapter Text

My blood rushes hot in my ears as my hearts beat like drums. 

Everything is happening so quickly. So soon. The smell that chokes out my senses aren’t helping things. It is the heady incense that fills the air, permeating every corner of the ceremonial chamber. It smells of a certain wood I don’t believe I could identify. 

The deep wood helps flush out the overwhelming musk of ammonia and iron that often follows the devotees who will filter into this hall. 

The passing intensity of the incense helped mark the passage of time and felt like a reminder;

It has not been very long since Gerlaen’s death and my elevation in his place. 

I take deep breaths, trying to rid myself of the tightness in my lungs and my throat. It is so powerful it threatens to steal by breath wholly.

Is this what it felt like to grieve for a father?

My hands do not stop trembling until the very moment I hear footsteps near the entrance to the chapel.  

Frameworks and wiring the buttresses of the chamber as artificial lighting flickers on and illuminates the hall through the glass. My skin crawls as the light brings my vision out of the shadows casted by candlelight into full visibility. 

I cannot hide all of my sorrow, my pain, but I can hide enough of it to present a mask of strength to the rest of my brotherhood and those I will soon usher into the fold. 

It was impossible to do.

The first of the attendees filter in. They greet me, brother by brother and address me by my new rank: Reclusiarch. 

I go through the motions in reciting the names of the new arrivals with ease, calling their names one by one and acknowledging their triumphs and struggles in a ritualistic fashion.This continues until i come upon the last name on the list.

Palmerin Ishor. Bladeguard Veteran. 

A flicker of recognition crosses my memory. Where have I seen this name before? 

The thought is almost automatically stored away for later consideration as I continue the ceremony to it’s near conclusion.

Silence settles amongst them for commemoration and the breaking of their fasts. As prayers end, my brothers filter out of the chapel to attend their daily duties or linger around to exchange quick words before heading off. 

There is one amongst the crowd that stood out to me. He looked kind despite the hardness of his features and he was the last one I had named during the ceremony. 

I had skimmed over his files and records in preparation for the ceremony. He had a biological brother that he lost early in his career fighting the Indomitus Crusade. Perhaps that was the reason why he looked so kind. 

I was drawn in by some longing. Some yearning. I couldn’t look away fast enough. 

But he seems to take notice of me as his attention shifts from his silent conversation. He’s in full armor, his halo glinting light off of polished metal and freshly painted ceramite.

He excuses himself from his conversation and approaches me. 

“Brother Reclusiarch. A word?”

I granted him his audience as soon as we were alone. 

I had bid farewell to the last of my brothers and closed the heavy doors to the chapel, leaving us alone and in privacy. 

Ishor cleared his throat. “Forgive me, Brother Reclusiarch- But i could not help notice that something troubles you.”

I could not help but laugh bitterly.  “I thought I had hid my sorrow well enough.”

There was something in his eyes that softened. It was like he wasn’t looking at a brother in a position that commanded respect and even some distance from him.

“Do not hide it. It will destroy you.” His voice was soft.

I felt a stab of anger at his well-meaning words. He did not understand. “My duty demands much of me.” 

Palmerin did not seem dissuaded by my words. “It demands much of me as well.”

What did he see in me? A brother in need of guidance? A young squire elevated to the rank of knight far too soon? 

I need to ascertain if he was true in his sympathy. He could not have asked to see me for no reason.

“Will you join me in praying for the late Reclusiarchs soul?”

He follows my gaze towards the altar on the center dais. “Yes. Do you grieve for him, brother?”

He spoke as if he knew my grief. Palmerin did not know me, but he offered the question with genuine sympathy in his words. I could not understand why. 

Irrational anger stirred in my gut, fanning the flames of my rage further. I should have been able to let it go, but I could not accept his kindness nor douse the flames of my grief. 

“I do.” I whispered inaudibly.

Chapter Text

I feel as if I have come to an impasse. That this former brother of mine, held chained to the wall is an ill omen of sorts. A portent of my own future. He is what I will become, given time and ill luck. I have not been consigned to Death Company yet due to my own impossible tenacity and willpower in resisting the black thing within my soul.

He writhes within his bonds, jaw snapping and fury blazing bright in his maddened eyes. His once blonde hair is a dark, red matte of blood. His mouth is curled into an almost rictus snarl as he looks at me. I know what afflicts him. I know that the rage bundled in his mind and the thing which diseases his soul is the Black Rage. Few can resist it. It is a horrible thing to endure and withstand. There is something in those eyes. A note of recognition. I see a hint of regret and despair within those bloodshot eyes, something within him that wishes to reach out from the darkness that cages him. It is quickly swallowed by the black fury that drowns it again as I step closer.

I feel my own rage and the black ichor of savage thirst rise within my throat. I wish to rip him apart, to feel the pleasure of having his bloody flesh in my hands as I feast…drink..feast…drink… The two words repeat over and over again in my mind as saliva gathers in my mouth and my eyes start to tunnel vision on him. 

I snarl with disgust as the thoughts come unbidden to my mind. With effort, I push the thoughts aside and focus on the subject of my attention.  I..cannot recall his name, to my shame. It has been so long since they dragged him screaming from his former company. He..almost attacked me in his rage. I can remember his fingers gouging a deep, impossible but bloody gash in my forearm as I struggled to fight him off. I had been a Neopythe then. 

I did not rival him in strength then as I do now. I could easily kill him in this armor of mine, but I have no wish to do so. 

I kneel before the crazed beast, not close enough for him to reach me but near enough for him to hear what I am to recite. I let the words trail over me, and familiar litanies come to my lips. I have come here to try something. To see if my recitations and voice can soothe the aching beast within the brothers of the Death Company. If I succeed, I will know my purpose and what I will do if I finally succumb. If I fail, I will have to find another. I have no choice. It has been too long, and I am teetering on the edge of bloody delirium and oblivion. I will become a danger to my brothers and my master soon. I will break the promise I made to Gerlaen so long ago. I must carry my resolve and my compassion with me when I finally leave them. I have little left to me but that and my precious vow. 

I sing the litany of focus and then a prayer to Sanguinius with my eyes closed and familiar hallucinations wash over me. My muscles strain involuntarily as I briefly relieve the battle that took my gene father so long ago. My words trail off into my prayers as pain takes me, as it clams up my throat and my senses, and for just a moment, I can hear the chained beast roar in sympathetic pain. 

And then he stills. He calms. The rage in his eyes fades, but I know it will return to him soon. Sweat beads down my brow, and I hack up an acidic globule of blood. It hits the wall and burns away a bit of the stone. I wipe away the bloody tears that stream down my face and open my eyes.

“Brother?” The voice that comes from him is hoarse and dry. His eyes drift from the floor up to see my face, and he swallows in recognition.

“No….you too? ” He almost seems saddened, I believe.  He recognizes the familiar, bloody tears on my face and my haggard expression. 

I nod. And for but a moment I wonder if I should tell him that I suffer the same curse that had caused him to nearly take my life so long ago. Whether or not I should burden him with that bitter knowledge. 

“I suffer the same thing you do, too. I have suffered it for far too long, and I know the blood will take me..” I let it out. I tell him that I am damned like the rest of them. That the darkness will take me.  I inch closer and press my forehead against his, feeling the chill in his body and the pain in his soul. His eyes are closed as he takes haggard breaths. I know he is exhausted, that the curse has run his energy dry. 

I run a hand through his sweat-slicked hair, keeping in close proximity to him. His rage seems to calm in my presence. He sees me as a brother who shares his pain. I have not the strength of mind to tell him otherwise. 

We are left with a few minutes of blessed silence. I have succeeded in my task, and If I survive the upcoming battle, I know that I will be here with the rest of the Death Company.

Chapter Text

There is a grim resolve that's settled into my heart. An internal acceptance of what I was going to do and what it meant for me, as well as for my victim. 

I step into the cell, pistol in hand. There are a few rounds chambered in this weapon, I shall fire into the skull of Diomedes, former captain of our 3rd company. 

I will end his life because he has slipped past the point of no return.

He was a good captain. His men loved him. I saw the evidence of their loyalty myself in the long years I have served aboard the Lady of Sorrows. He does not deserve to spend the next few centuries like this. 

Not when I know so intimately what he suffers.

Blood ebbs from his straining eyes as he wrenches his body back and forth in wild directions as if fighting some unseen thing. 

I shift my gaze from the door to the beast straining against his chains, forged to be stronger than he is. I see knots of scars run across his body, ripple and stretch as he tries to tear his wrists from his chains.

As if he could. 

He tries to speak past bloody, chapped lips. I know he wants to tell me to turn away but he possesses no control over the functions of his throat or his tongue. His trembling lips try to form words but fail at the halfway point as more drool slips from his over-active betcher’s gland. I know of the mental limbo he floats in - not quite mad but not at all sane.

I take a firm grasp of his shoulder and force him to kneel before me. He tries to shake me off with extraordinary strength, and I almost lose my grip.

There is something wild in his eyes, a fear that he should not feel. But his eyes glaze over when they look at me. 

“It will be over soon,” I whisper. My words translate into the auditory component of my vox grille, and they come as a low rumble.

Diomedes snarls at me, blood and drool splattering across my skull-plate.

“You don’t have to suffer anymore,” I mutter softly. It was for him. If I could not put to rest the snarling predator in my mind, I would do this for another.

I hear one of the chains snap as he smacks the bolter out of my hand. It clatters several feet away from me as it hits the wall and makes a crater there. With a swift movement of my hand, I bring a fist down on his neck. He staggers, a bruise quickly forming from the impact area.

This would have normally caused a fatal injury to an ordinary, unarmored brother, but he is no ordinary brother. Not anymore. A curse drives him on and refuses to let his body go.

I wrap my gauntlets around his neck and begin to squeeze hard.

He chokes, blood, and drool, and bloody snot running down his face as he futilely struggles against my grip. His lips spasm violently as the last of his strength dies underneath my hands.

Silent tears fall down my burning eyes as he eventually falls still under my grasp.

I catch his body as he slumps forward, the chain binding his right wrist rattling as it prevents him from completely falling to the floor.

I caught myself envying the peace on his expression as I gently lowered him to the floor.

“The deed is done,” I note to myself. “It is done…”

I feel for the helmet releases and take the only shield I had from the smell of blood and the sour stink of sweat off.

Sour, stinking air hits my face as I feel the hiss of the seal's release.

I wipe my tears with the back of my hand as I try to stop them from falling and feel the bitterness of the deed I performed.  

I should not have had to do this. But at this stage, Diomedes would have been too much of a liability to use on the battlefield. He was not mad enough to die fighting as his final act, nor sane enough to live amongst his brothers. Diomedes deserved better. He deserved to die honorably...

And I...gave him death as his final reprieve..

I cry out in frustration and rage and sorrow as I let my grief pour out in this isolated room. 

"Damn it all...Damn it all!"

Chapter Text

The ground under my feet rumbles. The walls tremble as the ship plunges into the swirling miasma of the warp.

The lumens flicker as if strong winds were assailing the ship, casting the halls and corridors into darkness one moment and illuminating them another.

I feel some crewmen stumbling their way through the dark. Some of them stumble into me and mutter profuse apologies as they go to their stations.

I do not fault them. The noise and darkness are deafening to all but the best of the voidborn.

Battle-Klaxons wail as automated messages start to come over the speaker system. I filter them out as I reach my goal.

Staffers and Crew raise their voices, fighting to be heard in the noisy dim as they prepare themselves for a possible warp breach. Weapon safeties click off as men and women stand ready at their stations waiting for the warp to start pouring in from the walls.

I have but a few moments.

I come upon the ship-master’s side. I see the small plumes of air rise from his breathing as the temperature begins to drop. His hands tremble around the handle of his bolt pistol and cold sweat beads at his brow.  His eyes are unfocused, darting from corner to corner on the bridge. 

“Steel yourself, captain. It would not do at all to have you die under my watch.” I rumble softly.

He stands up a little straighter at my words. His breathing seems to calm a little.

“Good…I hear them now. They come for us.” I catch a bit of longing in my voice as if I were anticipating something I had awaited for a long time.  The air crackles with energy as distorted shapes start to manifest out of the air, tearing at the fabric of reality right before our eyes.

I raise my crozious, activating the power field on my weapon. The air around it begins to fill with electricity.

Roars and inhuman screeches resound into the hall as the sound of lasguns light up the darkness.

And something dark and familiar within me stirs. 

—------

I desired to be alone quickly after realspace had come upon the ship. 

I kneel over a basin of water as I wipe dried blood out of the crevices of my gauntlets. 

I watch the ripples of water in the basin as I dip the washcloth in and clean it of blood. I find the repetitive motions…soothing. I always had. The angry hunger within my chest settles a little as the haze around my senses was slowly washed away into the cool water of the basin. 

I am out of my armor. It rests someplace in the armory, being watched over by the serfs and tech-adepts of the cult-mechanicum. I needed to erase the image of Diomedes from my mind, and having the armor that I used to give him mercy felt..disgusting. I needed time to contemplate. To meditate in the way I always had. 

I feel the cool water lap at the neural ports at my hands, sending pleasant chills up my arms.

I wished to linger here a bit longer and lap up what little silence was afforded to me by circumstance.

“Taharaen?” A gentle, familiar authoritative voice calls out from the open bulkhead to my chambers.

I nearly jump out of my skin and feel like a child caught doing something wrong.

“Yes?” My voice is hoarser than I had expected it to be.

“Are you alright?” That seems to be a question I always got from him these days.

I turn away from him and mull over the question.  What had changed now?

“I…prepare for the worst,” I answer, twisting the washcloth and letting the water trail between my fingers.

“What do you mean by worst, Reclusiarch? What do you fear?”

I hesitate, not knowing whether or not I should answer the question and what consequences it would merit from my Liege.

“Defeat.” I did not mention the other thing. I assumed he knew already.

“I suspect you are not telling me something, but I will not press the issue.” He responds.

I turn on my haunches, placing the washcloth across my damaged cuirass. 

“I do want to ask you something. Will I be deployed with the strikeforce?” It wasn’t that important of a question. I simply wanted to change the subject.

“You will not go with the spearhead unless there is pressing need.” 

“I see.” A brief silence comes over us both, settling in the air like calm waters.

“Will you give a sermon today in the main halls?”

My expression softens into a warm smile like ice slowly melting into water.

Chapter Text

The pristine and ornate chamber I had been summoned to felt so cold and suffocating.

I knew why I had been brought here. Deep inside, I knew the resentment that had been brewing underneath my skin was going to be addressed sooner or later. I could not hide it forever, not from my Lord, nor from the perceptive eyes of his aides.

I just wasn’t sure if the answer I was going to receive was going to fan the flames of that resentment. I kept my gaze cast to the floor. I had never done so before, but this was under special circumstances. 

“You’ve never done this before. Care to explain what’s changed?” Argos asked, his curiosity hidden behind his mask. I bristled at the hidden insult behind his tone. His position as the Master’s trusted dog lent him power and confidence that made him abrasive.

I ignored the jab. I did not speak. I had too much to say, and I feared that if I said anything now, it would all come pouring out. I wouldn’t be able to stop myself.

Thankfully, Malakim Phoros intervened. He held up a hand as if to silence the question.. “Silence, Argos.” The command was absolute, and Argos, hound that he was, immediately obeyed.

He turned his attention to me. His questioning gaze, though not unkind, felt so heavy. 

“Care to tell me why you resent me? What wrong have I done to you to deserve this?” I could sense a bit of hurt and anger under his steely voice. He hid his emotions well. I did not know him well enough to be certain I caused those emotions.

Was I a sort of weak spot for him? The thought was terrifying. 

I swallowed, feeling apprehensive. I tried to ignore the wild beating of my twin hearts in my chest as I gathered myself to speak.

And I told him everything. I told him about Badab and the Late Reclusiarch’s pain and the anguish and despair we had both endured under his leadership. I poured my heart out to him, letting out the rage, confusion, and loss I had held within me for all of these years. 

I fought to stay still even as Argos let out a low snarl. “This borders on treason!” He looked ready to pounce on me and tear me to pieces, his eyes burning with an irate fury.

It was Phoros who held him back with a glare harsh enough to quell his violent impulse to strike me where I stood.

“I…see. Thank you.” Phoros said with a little bit of difficulty. He had difficulty meeting my eyes. 

I could feel the shift in the room as silence reigned for a few heartbeats. “You may go.”

As I left, I felt…relief, but a sense of looming dread. What punishment would my confession earn me? 

I took a shuddering breath as soon as I was out of earshot and tried to calm the thundering of my hearts. I had gotten it over with, but a question remained to be answered: what would he do with this information, and where would our tenuous relationship go from here?

I did not know. I never liked not knowing, but this was out of my hands.

Chapter Text

The booms that resonated through the air and the sound of lasguns and bolters slowly quiet and cease. Those noises are no longer so near now. I step over unrecognizable remains, corpses and armor that had been so corroded and defaced I could no longer tell what chapter those pieces belonged to. The all too familiar smell of burned flesh permeates the air as the smoke starts to lighten and dissipate slightly. Things are becoming quiet. Violence that filled these fields is settling down. Small skirmishes are still occurring but that doesnt seem important now. 

The fighters on this field collect themselves. Guardsmen drag their dead and wounded back to the surviving vehicles to travel back to their camps. 

I pick my way through broken barricades and barbed wire, searching for someone. I had lost sight of them in the mass of bodies as battle was joined here.  I don’t know who exactly i’m looking for at this moment, but premonitions, no matter how weak, are not worth ignoring, not in this environment. 

That premonition was of Master Phoro’s possible death. What I saw was him slowing, the Calix with him, falling before he could carry out his sacred task. I had reminded myself; no matter how much I hated Master Phoros, he could not die. His life was more important than mine and I would take whatever action to prevent it from coming to pass. 

Any sort of information is critical. This battle is ever-changing and I fear it will take an unpredictable course.

I come upon the distinctive sight of the half-sun halo attached to a damaged power pack. He stands with a few of his command squad. They stand next to one of the several intact tanks that survived the engagement. It’s not enough to transport all of the wounded I see being loaded onto them. Both Astartes and Guardsmen along with surviving families in their teeming masses crowd onto the war machines to be driven to the best sanctuary the chapters can provide. 

I walk close enough to overhear what they are discussing. I can’t tap into the private vox channel they are using, but i can read what they intend to do. 

Soon enough, Master Phoro’s companions depart from him. I can see he puts much of his weight on his sword as they walk out of sight. A few more seconds and i realize he’s injured.

I walk a bit faster, not caring for the delicate detritus I crush under my feet in my stride.

“My Lord.” I take off my helmet, clamping it to my belt. 

He doesn't turn around.

“My Lord!” I raise my voice. 

He turns halfway to meet my gaze. Blood streams down his head and there is a slight limp in his leg. He cannot do much good like this.

“Taharaen.” There is a note of relief in his voice. 

I give him a slight nod. “Are you injured, My Lord? Shall i get the Calix Priests?”

He seemed like he was about to say no before he sags his shoulder a bit. I shift my gaze to see where it could possibly come from. Was this injury fatal? Was hiding this injury out of pride or simply habit? He was stubborn, and I was beginning to worry he might cause his own injury to worsen. 

I grasp his hand that holds a death grip around his power sword. 

“Let me help you, My Lord.”

He lets me take his arm over my shoulder and help him walk towards the waiting transports. Master Phoros is heavy- I note- as I drag my feet across the dirt and gravel. My brothers, both wounded and hurt, part to let us through. 

His surviving honor guard intercepts us as I get close to the tank. One of them steps in our path. 

“Step aside!” I bark at him. I itch to raise my bolter but I will my arm to stay put.

I feel my lord’s weight shift slightly. His voice is no less commanding despite the strain i can hear in it. “Let us through.”

One of them looks at his companion before stepping aside. I can see they are not used to my presence. Perhaps one of them wished to take Malakim off of me. I know I am performing a task reserved for someone else.

As I helped him sit down on the transport, he beckoned me closer. 

He whispers something in my ear.

“For what reason do you give this task to me?” I ask simply. A bit of suspicion gnaws at my thoughts. Why would he give me this task?

He gives me a meaningful look and speaks as if he could read my mind.  “From what I hear, you will be able to make the journey. I am not trying to send you to die, Taharaen, but I trust no one else to do this.”

I nod, not quite understanding his trust but accepting his word. 

“I will make for their camp at nightfall.”

Chapter Text

I stand with a lone scout, the only survivor of his company. We had fought through the crumbling cathedral and navigated collapsing roofs and detritus to get so far. This dangerous journey, however had exacted it’s toll. Only one of us is getting out of here. 

“Reclusiarch.” The young man rasps. He grasps my forearm heavily, using it as a crutch to right himself. It seems he wanted to face me with as much dignity as he could muster. There was pride in those pained eyes. I would listen to whatever he had to say. 

“May i make a final request, my lord?” I had heard this far too often these past weeks,

I nod. “Make it known to me, and I will fulfill it to the best of my abilities.”

His shoulders sag slightly in relief. He was losing strength by the minute. “Give me final benedictions. Something a battle brother would deserve.”

The ruined altar in this church was only but a few steps away.

I gently pick him up and lay him against the shrine. I start to recite the benedictions and the rites of passing. 

Both of us know that help is a long way off from here. The Calix will not make it in time to save him, no matter how much I wish it would not be so.

As i finish, I notice he’s fallen still. The stuttered rhythm of breathing I had heard from his lips has ceased now. He has died. 

I lay his bolter across his chest and give him a warrior’s salute. He deserves as much. 

“May the Emperor see you to his side.”

—-

I left him behind. The only survivor of our scout detachment. Whatever is left of him is crushed underneath the ruins of the shrine. I left them all behind. 

The thought repeats in my head like a ruthless, repeating drumbeat of guilt, anger and shame. I know they died well, but some part of me believes this could have been prevented. That i could have been better and somehow prevented so many from dying.

But I know what’s gone is gone now. Their legacy will lie in the dirt and ashes of this world once we are done with it. Their names will be forgotten.  It is my duty to bring the news back to the chapter that the convent has fallen.

 I feel the rents the carnifex had left behind on my armor. For whatever reason it’s poison has not completely eaten away at the protective layers underneath the ceramite but it has rent it’s toll on the cogitators and systems. I can see the alarms that blare in my helmet. They fill what little vision I have and blast noise in my ears. I cannot hear any of them but the sound of my breathing and the destination ahead. There is so much smoke and dust that roams around the battlefield that it makes anything not within a few feet difficult to see. 

My eyes hurt so much. They blink in an attempt to clear the dust that covers the thin film of moisture that is quickly drying up now. I cannot recall how far I have walked and how I have even made it this far. My hands are covered in blood that is not mine. My injuries have slowly been torn open by activity and exhaustion. I should have died by now. 

I have pushed my armor and my body too much and too far. 

I come upon a familiar encampment within a ruined cathedral. Familiar etchings line the walls, with a heart and teardrop upon the entrance to the door.

The guards see the familiar emblem on my pauldron and let me pass into the cathedral.

—--------

I barely notice the bulky form of an Apothecary Biologis come up to me and haul me to my feet. He is surprisingly deft for how much his armor restricts his movement.

“What happened?” An unfamiliar voice comes out of his vox speaker. I cannot help but note how heavily accented it is. I did not have much time to acclimate all of the new primaris arrivals. I shut off the alarms, blaring in my helmet to hear myself think for a moment. Enough to answer his question.

“I escaped alone- The Cathedral of Saint Vitulia Under Siege- The fortress is overrun-” I feel a painful spike and fresh blood flow down my lips as something else tears open in my body. I was going to continue- to tell him that the last scout attached to the second company was with me-

I feel stale air hit my face as he tears off my helmet and pricks my neck with a stimulant. It is enough to numb whatever pain clouds my thoughts. It is not enough to banish the searing guilt and melancholy that follows. 

“The Cathedral of Saint Vitulia has fallen. The convent of the Crimson Chalice has gone silent.” My voice trails off. Sorrow keeps my voice from continuing. 

The Biologis nods. He has heard enough from me and uses his vox-bead to communicate this information to whatever command still remains here. Part of me wishes to go with them. To see this through. But i know they will not let me die here. 

I feel a second prick at my neck, and the world goes dark. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

I close the eyes of the last Iron Lord of my detachment to fall with careful hands. His head slumps to the side with a sickening crack as the light in his eyes finally dims. Acid eats through the worn and battered plating of his ceramite, dissolving the paint and heraldry engraved on his cuirass.

.

A thought crosses my mind. I wonder if I should try to get rid of it somehow. Find a better way for him to be buried. It would be better for him than leaving him in a no-man’s land for his body to rot. It pains me to see him die in ignominy after all his brothers have done to help me get here.  

I bite my bottom lip, feeling burnt skin bleed anew as my fang sinks into it. 

I can feel the thirst ebb at me. I cannot give it any ground. Not at this juncture. 

But I know I cannot do that. The Hive Tyrant lingers around this deadly field, devouring the biomass of its dead creatures and the corpses of Imperial faithful.

I hear the dreadful chittering of its flying creatures as they swoop down on the field and devour the carrion spread out on the field.

I arm my grab my crozious and, leaving the Iron Lord behind, retreat into whatever darkness is left to me.

—--

I have found something I might bring the Tyrant down with. It is a desperate gamble, and i am willing to pay whatever price I have to to give the imperial forces a chance to kill it.

Even my sanity. The rage claws and screams at me, and it is getting even more difficult to keep my head clear as I move towards my goal. 

I am nearly at the tower where the emplacements are. If I can just make it up the stairs, I can get it to work!

As I advance, it becomes clearer to me I am not the only one that has attempted this. Gunnery crews lie disemboweled, disintegrated or dead all around me.

I raise my gauntlets to shield my face as something lunges at me from a hidden corner of the ruins. 

And for a few moments, the rage gets the better of me.

I lunged at it with a fury I could not summon on my own.

And before I knew it, I tore off the termagant’s claw, feeling pain shoot up my arm as recent wounds began to reopen. 

It snarls at me before I crush its face with a swift kick to the head.

Clarity returns to me heartbeat by painful heartbeat.

I pant from exhaustion and spare a glance behind me before picking up my crozious and moving on.

—--

One of the guns is still armed. I have armed it with a Colussus bomb. I have spent precious time bringing it back online.

I feel the shadow of its head loom over the crack in the ceiling. It knows I’m here.

Pain lances through my body as I bring it to bear on the Xenos.

Bloodlust ebbs through my ears, beating at my hearing with a war drum as I release the trigger!

A boom resonates with deafening boom, destroying the tower, and I am thrown back for what must have been a couple thousand feet. A few more explosions ring through the air…

I feel air rush past my ears as I fall from dangerous heights.

And the desolate ground quickly comes up to meet me. I am sure I will join the dead very soon.

—-

Chapter Text

I feel blood press against the insides of my eyes…I can see little but the shifting tide of those currents that fill every tiny inch in my lungs. 

I hear the nebulous long-dead echoes of something…old, ancient, and dreadful claw at the edges of my mind. Every time I plunge back into this hell, the blurry illumination of these visions seem to unfold and clearer in detail. My hearts always beat like wardrums and threaten to burst out of my chest, and everything, everything hurts. My throat burns, and my body aches, screams, and convulses with a thousand tiny needles that stab without pause. 

It drives me mad. Utterly mad. I rage, I weep, and I cry out for a death I know won’t come. 

I had known this was coming for a long, long time. I am unfortunate enough to have sought death and been refused at its doorstep time after time, attempt after attempt. 

I can feel little else but the pain of these visions and the horrible nothingness.  There is violent darkness in the space between my world and the next.

I dread to know what I must look like, given I have little control of my own body anymore. 

—--

Time passes, and by the throne, I don’t know how long. 

I feel eyes upon me the next time control returns to my body. Those pair of eyes shine with a concern and naivety I had long thought lost in this chapter.

It occurs to me that I don’t know how long it has been since I have had visitors.

My hand, caked with dried blood, reaches out towards the bars without conscious thought. This boy reminds me so much of someone. 

“You shouldn’t be here.” I find myself surprised at how tired I sound. 

He stumbles back, frightened, but he keeps what little courage he possesses and doesn’t flee. 

I can see him more clearly now. He is a small, baseline human boy. No more than 8 years old. 

“I won't hurt you,” I whisper more to myself than him. “What is your name?”

“S-S-Sariel.” He stutters. I can see his courage grow.

“Why are you here?”

Sariel gets to his feet unsteadily. “T-they sent me down here. The angels.”

“As a test of your courage?” I ask. 

“I-I don’t know! I don’t know…” He starts to cry, but he doesn’t run away or collapse. His feet remain firmly planted despite how badly he’s shaking.

“Come closer, Sariel. Come closer and hear what I have to say until they come get you from this abattoir. It will be worth your while.”

He trembles as he steps closer to the bars. He wipes his tears away with the back of his hand and gathers up more courage to step closer to me, an angel clad in the darkest colors of night.

And he listens until the warden leads him out to rejoin the other neophytes. 

------

I lay trapped in this prison,

kept bound by invisible chains,

kept in darkness unrelenting

pulled apart to pieces by pain.

I see this little mote of light, 

rock the surface of my cage,

skittish and terrified as it beholds me.

Soon, I will watch it go to rejoin it's siblings above.

and be left alone in this darkness

again.

Chapter Text

He’s awoken by alarms. Battle cries cut through the thick haze of his sleep and rip him from the muck of his nightmares.  It cuts through the eerie silence of the dungeons and holding cells. Taharaen stumbles out of his own and, and one by one, goads his maddened brothers towards the armory, where others will help him get his brothers into their armor. He’s done this so many times now it has become easy. 

The klaxons blare like hellish metronomes in his ear, goading him on towards the promise of savage bloodshed.  Armored feet pound down the walkways as the company runs to war. 

Taharaen shuts out the noise as he focuses on his tasks. His hearts beats like war drums as he pushes against the pain of his delusions as his armor is wrapped around him within seconds by serfs and servitors. 

He leads his company down separate stairs and walkways to their drop pods. 

Soon, he clasps himself in one of the many vehicles that will drop out of the ship and pierce the atmosphere. Huge doors move and release their cargo of living weapons out of space onto the planet below. 

Reality and unreality blend together in a hellish whole. Taharaen can see both and neither at the same time. His dreams bleed with the dying screams of innocent men from an age long past. He’s spent so much time with them that he struggles to remember they are long since dead.

He sits in silence as his gauntleted hand's clasp and unclasp around the drop pod restraints. Soon, the Death Company will make landfall. Soon, they will taste blood on their lips, tear apart flesh with vicious teeth, and attain vengeance for an angel long dead.

He thinks he can hear reports and chaos over the communications. He doesn’t know whether it’s about the Imperial Palace or the battle zone in some sector far away from the solar system. 

At one moment, the interior of a drop pod becomes something more archaic. At another moment, it returns to its usual appearance. It has become so hard for him to tell one from the other anymore. He’s given up on trying. 

His eyes bleed in rivulets, drying on his cheeks and filling his nose with the smell of his own blood. It is tantalizing and ephemeral. Data flows through his heads-up display, and he drinks it up as the walls of the drop pod creak and rock dangerously. Missiles and weapons fly inches past the tightly contained walls.

Every inch they would descend would be an inch closer to a fiery death if they did not manage to land.

Yet Taharaen found himself smiling at the thought of being cooked alive within a metal coffin. It would be a real pain, a real death. It would spare him from the agony he had been suffering for the last decade after he consigned himself to the Death Company.

But against his wishes,  they would soon make it down to the surface. 

“TEN SECONDS TO IMPACT!” An alert in his helmet appeared, taking precedence over the field of data moving across his eyes.

It counted down as blood rushed in his ears. His mouth began to salivate. The battle was so close. He could practically feel it. The servos of his armor vibrated as they sought to replicate the small involuntary twitches of his muscles as they prepared for war. 

Ten…..Nine…..Eight….Seven…

Taharaen imagined himself tearing through fear- flushed skin and delicate bone of the quarry that would be waiting for him in fear and trepidation. He would….

He bangs his helmet against the wall of the drop pod as it makes an impact.

The astartes revenants within their cage roar as the harnesses come away and as the doors to the drop pod fall open with a crash, but they do not charge without abandon. Chainswords and Jump packs come alive as armored giants prepare to take to the air and kill with a dread rage.

He activates his comms, willing all in his company to hear what he would say.

“Forward! Rend their flesh to ribbons! Reap vengeance on the traitors for what they have taken from us!” Taharaen roars through his vox grill. The hunger, the bone deep rage rears it’s ugly head faced with something so tantilizing. 

He activates his crozius mace and feels the charge of electricity dance up his palms and raise gooseflesh on his skin.  Pain lances through his muscles but he cares little now in the face of imminent slaughter.

He would kill and rend and bleed until he could do so no more.

“For Sanguinius!” The Death Company in their dozens take up the familiar war chant as chainswords and power weapons in their dozens begin to cut and swing through the flesh of enemy combatants. 

Lines of gunmen upon seeing the wave of black start to hesitate, looking to each other in confusion and when the first of them start to die, break rank and flee. They stumble over each other in the ensuing chaos. 

But they are too slow to save themselves.

The first of the Death Company ram into the fleeing mass of bodies, creating bloody, visceral mist of flesh, bones and crushed bodies on impact. Others soon followed, hacking, kicking and stomping any unfortunate enough to stand in their way. There was little discipline in these maddened revenants but martial power and fury that could not be reasoned with.

Taharaen takes his fair share of death too. He grabs a man attempting to flee with a quick swipe and tears his head out with his spine in a swift motion.

Mere minutes into the fighting he can see a line of bigger machines descend onto the battlefield.

A wicked smile spreads across his face.

—---------------

Now that the battle is done, and my body run to it’s limit, i feel some of my sense return to me.

As the haze lifts, i realize something is covering my palms. The smell of it is familiar.

It had belonged to one of my brothers who i can no longer name. He had turned on me as soon as the last one fell, attempting to kill me. I had defended myself, turning aside his blows with overstressed gauntlets and using the shattered end of my crozious to bash his head in.

And I am ashamed to admit; I had lapped at the blood and brain matter of his corpse. I can still taste it on my tongue and it sickens me.

I swallow down some of the black ichor that rises to my throat and sit, feeling over-stressed servos in my armor protest at the movement. 

I soon find myself unable to sit up straight. Something gives out and i fall to my knees.

I am in so much pain. 

Thump….Thump….Thump…

I hope that when the undertakers come to put my company to rest as they collect their dead they will not spare me this time. I strain my neck to view my surroundings. 

Heavy footsteps sound on the soil as they draw ever closer.

I try to rise to my feet but i feel them ache and burn and scream at me. Warning runes sound in my head display with the infernal temperament of a metronome.

Throne i’ve always hated the sound. 

I dismiss the warnings and feel blissful darkness ebb at the edges of my vision. 

My body sags along with my fading consciousness.

And for a while, all is still. There is no pain; there is no slow, inching decay of the mind here. Just emptiness.

Until i am awoken with a sudden jolt. The hands that grab my helmet and find the release catches sends an electric pulse through my head that yanks me out of the darkness.

It is a familiar face, a face i have been well acquainted with for almost a century.

“My Lord?” I rasp through bloody lips. 

He looks at me with something like pain in his eyes.

“You needn’t suffer this any longer Taharaen.”

I narrow my eyes in confusion. “What do you mean my lord?” 

I am fading again.

“You will be remade anew.”

Chapter Text

This was the worst time something like this could happen. After trial and tribulation of war I am faced with my old, vampiric instinct.

He had carried me out of the catacombs, out of my isolation, and for what?

Something familiar, something ugly, washed over my senses like a thick wave of oil drowning out everything but the need to kill, to rend the figure in front of me.

Panic rises from somewhere deep within. No. This cannot be happening now. 

Bile rises from my throat as my head begins to spin. I feel my fangs slide out of my gums, and acidic blood stings my lips.

I lean my weight against the table and feel it crack from how hard I am on the edge.

Pain rends my body inoperable, and my world drowns in a sea of blood. My maw drools with the prospect of killing my liege, my lord who had trusted me with his life.

“Equerry.” The fog lifts a little to reveal a familiar face. He’s caught me, somehow. Concern lines his aged, weary face.

Shame creeps up on what little conscious feeling I have left to myself.

“My Lord..” I grit my teeth as I feel another painful pulse wrack my body. I want to ask him why he trusts me so much that he’d let me close enough to kill me.

Why does he torture me like this, knowing the pain I suffer in his presence? 

I want to beg him to kill me. To put an end to this but something stays my tongue.

Something warm drips past my lips, and to my horror, I realize it is my lord’s blood.

The fog clears, and the pain subsides to be slowly replaced with a warm sensation of…contentment.

This is not how his blood is supposed to taste. I’ve been drugged.

Through fading vision, I manage to rasp just audibly enough for him to hear = “Why?”

I get no answer.

—--

I find a warm hand on my forehead upon waking again. It is pale and callused with scars decades old.

It is Phoros.

I blink away the darkness to stare at his pale blue eyes. They are warm and full of sorrow. What haunts me is the sorrow is directed not toward the troubles around him but me.

His pity is a kindness I do not deserve. I try not to let it show, however. 

I feel his hand lift my head and the other support my back until I sat upright.

My fangs slide out of my teeth as I smell the small trickle of blood from his neck.

“Drink.” His voice is authoritative. It wasn’t a request.

I clench my jaw. I know he’s taken something-I know because of the trickle of blood running down his nose.

He presses my head against his neck, and my jaw instinctively opens up, and I sink my teeth into his skin.

His blood is bitter to taste. It’s heady and laced with chemicals, but I cannot stop.

He presses something into my palm. It is his signet ring.

“Drink, Taharaen. Drink and be still.”

I feel my eyes droop close, and sleep comes over my troubled form. The pain…stops for the first time in a long time. 

Chapter Text

Has he died alone, in his self-wrought prison? 

I cannot banish the thought, not as I descend the stairs, past security, past the gates that lead down to where the Death Company is held. My guards rush after me with questions on their lips. “My Lord?” This wasn’t the time to answer any of them.

Has the illness that had followed him finally killed him?

His pulse is still. He looks worse off than when I last saw him. I did not even know it was possible for that to happen. I seem to have come too late. 

Every visit, I ask him to hold on for me. To struggle for hope that surely felt so absent as I frantically searched for answers that always eluded me, despite my best efforts. 

Despair edges at the corners of my mind as I take in his state. He hangs limply from his chains, unresponsive. It tears at my heart to see him brought so low. 

I cannot stop the tears from falling. I swallow the hollow cry that rises from my bosom unbidden and unwelcome. If this were to work, I would need to hurry. There was still a chance this was not the end for him. There was a sliver of hope that he could be pulled back from the brink.

Love is such a dangerous thing, and love has cut me so deeply.

With an effort, I break the chains that hold him upright. I brace for the dead weight that falls on my shoulders.  I heft his weight over my shoulder and brush off the hands that sought to lighten the burden on my shoulders.

To let him rot like this….felt like bitter failure.

“Forgive me, Taharaen. You must endure one last thing for me.” I whispered to him, knowing he did not hear me, nor would he answer.

I prayed that whatever strength was left to him would see him through this final test. 

I will put him through the Rubicon Primaris. 

Taharaen -

I blinked slowly, letting clean, surgical light filter into my eyes. 

The chill was gone. The deep chill that had seeped deep into my bones was gone, replaced by a warmth I could not quite place.

What had happened? Why was I here? 

I sat up with effort to find a thermal blanket wrapped over my body.

Confusion settled over me as I took in my surroundings. 

“Apothecary?” I tested my voice. It hurt, but I felt a rush of relief through my body that I could even speak at all. The Black Rage had almost taken my voice in its totality, and now, it has been restored to me. How did this happen? What was this miracle?

It felt too good to be true.

There was a shuffle of footsteps that followed my inquiry. They sounded too light to belong to a space marine. A serf shuffled into the apothecary, head low. She carried a pitcher of water under one arm and a cup in the other. 

“Speak, please. What happened to me?”

She hesitated, not sure what she should say. 

“My Lord….I know little. But I was told to give you this.” She took out a note from her sleeve and set it on the table next to the slab I sat on. 

She quickly left after pouring water into the pitcher.

I took the note and read it.

“Forgive me, my friend, but I was left with very few options. I could not leave you to rot and pass away.”

I felt my hearts beat a little faster. My eyes widened as I read the note over and over again.

What had been done to me? What did my future hold? 

Heavier footsteps broke my train of thought as shadows formed the note I held.

“Taharaen?” I look up.

Familiar, tired, worried eyes stared back at me.  That beautiful, patrician face had a shadow cast over it that only seemed to lift seeing me alive and breathing.

I could see his eyes grow misty. 

I stood up, getting off the slab to embrace him. He needed it.

“I will explain everything in due course.” His voice was hoarse. His shoulders sagged into my embrace as if a great weight had been lifted off of him. 

His arms wrapped around my frame, gentle but firm and unyielding as his tears traveled down my back.

“Welcome home.”

Chapter Text

It was blissfully quiet. The only ambiance that could be heard was the gentle swishing of water and the tread of menials throughout the hall.

“Sariel, can you hand me the washcloth?” Both men spoke rather lowly as if raising their voices would disturb what had come over them both. It was a comfortable exchange of words within a sacred space, a memorial dedicated to past victories and failures.

“Of course.” Despite his elevation to his current station, he still had much to learn from the former Reclusiarch. It had been years until he had learned Taharaen’s entire story. 

An awkward pause.

“A question I should ask while you are cleaning- why do you like it so dark?” He had to voice the question. 

“I don’t have an answer for that, Sariel.” His master replied.

“But why?” He squinted at him, trying to pick out Taharen’s form in the darkness. He knew it was just a preference, but he wished to poke him with the question regardless. 

“I don’t have a reason.” There was no reason. Why did he have to ask?

Dim, artificial lumens lit the hall. The candles enclosed within braziers lit at a quiet, unknown approach from the end of the hall. The serfs that were tasked with maintenance and cleaning bowed and got out of the visitor’s way.

The heavy doors to the Reclusiam creaked open as someone new pushed their way inside.

Both Sariel and Taharaen turned to see who it was; their inhuman sights were able to pick out the figure in the dark.

“My Lord!” The younger of the two expressed his surprise. He was about to descend to greet him when his teacher held him back. Sariel’s heart raced when he realized his mistake and his face began to flush with embarrassment.

“Stay here! You do not move without his leave to depart!” A harsh whisper. Taharaen was panicking and trying not to show it. Sariel felt grateful for the restraining hand. 

What could Master Phoros want at this hour?

“I must speak to the Chaplain alone.” Came the calm reply as if he heard none of their exchange.

He let go of Sariel’s shoulder and let the younger marine leave. Taharaen was sure he would have his ear pressed to the door as soon as he was out of sight. He could sense what was between them, perhaps, and did not wish to leave without some detail to commit to memory. 

Malakim did not speak until Sariel had left.

“How are you recovering?” 

Taharaen considered the question. “Well enough. Might I ask why you visited the Reclusiam at this hour?”

He moved up the stairs, his gaze fixed on the Chaplain, who tried not to inch away instinctively. It was hard to accept physical proximity from anybody after years spent caged and suffering in the abbatoirs deep under the ship. 

“Your vow to Gerlaen…Is fulfilled, is it not? I came here to ask you to make new vows to me.”

Taharaen froze in confusion.

“My…vows?” He never thought Phoros would bring them up again. 

He felt his hairs stand up on end when his master’s hands took his. Malakim’s hands felt like worn leather. His body tensed, remembering pain forgotten-

“Swear to me that you will serve me beyond the vows of brotherhood  Swear to me that you will be by my side to give me counsel and companionship like you did for my late advisor. Refuse, and we will never speak of this again. .” There was hope in those blue eyes. 

His eyes softened a little at the earnest request. Taharaen had long since forgiven him for the grudges he had formed so long ago in his youth. This was an opportunity to try to leave the darkness of his past behind. 

“Of course. Shall I seal this exchange in blood?” Phoros has done so much for him; how could he not?

Malakim shook his head. “A ring will be enough. Do you still have mine…?”

—--

“Thank you…”

Taharaen felt shocked as he saw tears begin to fall from his Master’s eyes. How long had he desired companionship from him? How long had he wanted this promise?

He wrapped his arms around his Lord’s shoulders.

“I apologize if I’ve said anything-”

“You’ve said nothing wrong.” The reply was strained. “I am…grateful. That is all. If you had refused…”

It took a few seconds for him to realize what the vows really meant. What he said weren’t just vows..

 to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until parted by death….

“My lord?” He gently swept blond strands out of his Lord’s eyes.  He pressed the tip of his nose to his forehead, next to the studs embedded into his skin. He felt warmth seep from flushed skin as silent tears began to dry. 

“Will you stay for just a few moments longer?” He heard the barely audible whisper. He had to strain to make sense of the words, and they cut deep.

He whispered back, “I will stay for you.”