Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 344
The Well of Destiny
Lamentantor orbited a dead world, circling the barren planet. Once it had been a hub of industry and faith, a bastion of the Dead Imperium, now it was grave. The continents had been broken by unimaginable forces, whole nations flipped over to bury the living in seas of magma. Seas had boiled away and valleys turned into mountains so tall that they brushed space. The air was a poisonous fugue of noxious gases and the ground danced with unending earthquakes. No man could live here, all had died screaming, not leaving a grave.
It could have been the capricious whim of Dark Gods, the hand of a mad conqueror or Xenos horror that did this. Perhaps it had been simply natural forces, the planet shaken to the core when the Abyss ate the galaxy. No matter the cause the cities were gone and no one remained to tell the tale, but the shattered orbital facilities lingered. Lamentantor fed greedily off those derelicts, waves of shuttles flying from the crippled ship to loot broken wrecks. Section by section were the orbital docks emptied, supplies, parts, munitions and fuel stripped by vac-suite hands and loaded into waiting tugs. Grave robbing was hardly honourable but there was no shortage of dead worlds to scour, and so Lamentantor found strength enough to carry on.
Deep within Aronyx waited in the throne-chamber. A vast space, meticulously restored by the Host. While shields lay broken and guns went untended this hall had been scrubbed and polished and repainted, humans pouring their devotion into this sacred space. At one end rested a throne of pure obsidian, carved from a single piece of volcanic glass. It shone in the light of electro-candles, reflecting everything. Behind it was a statue made of gold, showing the Blessed Sanguinius leaping for the sky with spear in hand and wings spread wide. Along the nave were fluted columns of white marble, threaded with sapphire veins. Statues of dying heroes stood between them, and banners showing smoking battlefields and piles of slain Transhumans hung above.
Aronyx however was examining a mural. Hardly the most well-made or moving to be found in the Lamentantor, but it was unique for not being a testament to the dead. Rendered in fading paint was a fleet, blood red and proud. In a sea of black they moved, thrusting on comet tails of plasma wash. Mighty bastions crowned their sterns and massive wedges of armour covered their bows, as rows of guns scoured the stars for threats. Aronyx had never been told their names but yet he knew them. Dead Regnators whispered to him, speaking of the Crimson Sunrise, Grave Paul, Widow's Tear and the mighty Battlebarge Angel's Revenge.
A tread told Aronyx he had company and the voice of Korinthus intruded, "My Regantor, the hour draws late."
"My Sacredos," Aronyx replied, "Look upon our past, see the glory and power our forefathers once commanded."
"Once we were many, but the Abyss took the rest. The birth of the Abyss caught us unaware and Daemons did walk the hulls of our ships. So many died, nearly all. Lamentantor alone was able to break free, bearing the last of the Blood."
Aronyx reached out, he did not touch the mural, for it predated the death of the Imperium and was too precious to risk. Instead his hand hovered an inch over the surface, copying the proud lines. Such sadness filled his hearts, for the past was ashes and yet he could dream of what once was.
"Had we a fraction of this power, imagine what we could do," Aronyx mourned.
"We have no need of such trifles," Korinthus chided.
"I would hardly call the Angel's Revenge a trifle," Aronyx scoffed, "Our lone ship is a ruin, barely able to navigate. With a fleet like this we could reave across the stars, bringing victory and hope to all."
Korinthus shook his head, "The quest for a beautiful death requires not fleets and armies, merely the will and courage to stand and fight. The Blood shall find its ending, with or without such might. There is no point dreaming that our fleet will ever return, focus on the now. We must confront what is, not what might have been."
Aronyx caught the hint and nodded. He moved to his throne and took the Lance of Ascalon from a stand at its side. He took a second to ensure his golden armour was pristine, and his face was suitably solemn. Satisfied he turned and waved to Korinthus to begin the ceremony. The Sacredos strode to a closed pair of high doors and rapped it thrice with his fist, calling for those without to enter.
The doors parted and a procession made its way into the chamber. Men and women in gold robes, bearing banners sewn with the death scenes of heroes past. The masses inhabiting the bilges may squat in filthy rags, scratching at fleas, but no effort had been spared to ensure the robes of state were preserved. Among them strode Tranhsumans in shining plate, their faces bare and icons of mourning shining. At their head walked a pair of children, one male and one female, singing a lament for their dead Primarch, invoking the spirit of Sanguinius to be with them this day.
Aronyx's eye sought two among the throng. A pair of Regulus, walking with heads held high. To the left strode Regulus Brovus, a stern and respected figure among the Blood. His honours were many and he was marked as a Crusader of Wrath, in recognition of his many deeds of selfless valour. A tally to be respected but one bought over a long life of warfare. His brow revealed he was closing on a century, where nascent horns dimpled his temples. To the left strode the scowling Regulus Rovenator, Soldier of Death, fierce in war and bloody in hand. Different as light and dark, yet both worthy. One other was with them, O'leia and the mortal woman strode in a tightly buttoned uniform, jaw set and eyes narrowed.
The procession came to a halt before Aronyx and the procession went to one knee. The Regnator began the ritual, "Who is presented for consideration?"
O'leia stood and declared, "My Regnator, I present to you Brovus and Rovenator, heroes of the Blood."
"Are there any who speak against?"
"I invoke a denial!" Korinthus declaimed, "They are callow in deed and self-serving in soul. They seek only their own glory. They are unfit in the eyes of Sanguinius!"
This was but part of the ritual, a challenge must be made and answered, so Aronyx turned to the candidates, "What say thee?"
Together Brovus and Rovenator uttered, "We pledge our loyalty to the memory of Sanguinius. We shall seek ever to follow his example, in life, war and death. We shall fight only for valour. Our lives we offer to his cause, our deaths we dedicate to his name. We follow the path of the Blessed Sanguinius, in all ways."
Aronyx declared, "The valorous die but once, the craven shall die a thousand times. What say the Sacredos?"
"Their oaths are accepted," Korinthus answered.
"What say the Hosts?"
"They are brave and true, the Hosts shall follow them unto death," O'leia proclaimed.
"Then let them commune with our gene-sire."
From the ranks stepped a Marine in armour white and red. Lanfaral, acolyte to the Sacredos. In his hands was a chalice of black, its hilt packed with arcane devices. All fell silent as the acolyte approached the kneeling Regulus. Even Aronyx's breath caught, for within lay a measure of sacred blood. First taken from the Sanguinary Priests of Baal, then injected into Sacredos of the Blood Talons. Drawn ritually and reinjected to ensure it never ran out. Arcane sciences wrought into the Black Chalice kept it from congealing, but the blood itself was the greater miracle. Passed from Sacredos, to Sanguinary Priest, all the way back to Sanguinius himself. Mixed and diluted as it was somewhere in there remained a molecule of the Primarch's vitae: the blood of Sanguinius.
The Black Chalice was presented and each candidate took a ritual sip. Their eyes closed as they communed with their gene-sire, seeking a connection to his spirit. Korinthus stepped up as the Black Chalice was withdrawn and two stone cups were presented instead. The Sacredos released the gauntlet of each kneeling marine and slit their palms with a sharp knife. Transhuman vitae poured out and filled each cup, drawing their life essence.
While this occurred Aronyx was presented a bowl filled with burning herbs. He took it from the mortal's hands and breathed deep, inhaling hallucinogenic vapours. The room began to swim and his thoughts became light, twin hearts slowing as he entered the ritual trance, opening doors to the past. As his mind was elevated he gazed upon the pair of warriors, one brave and bold, the other steady and wise. Aronyx knew who he would choose, but the choice was not his to make. Wiser souls must deliberate first.
Korinthus took the cups and stepped to the throne, "Taste of their lifeforce, and may Regnators past guide us well."
"Blood will decide!" Aronyx uttered to the swirling room.
"Blood wills it," the crowd recited.
Aronyx took up the first cup and drank deep, letting the freshly drawn vitae roll over his tongue. His Omophagea went to work, sampling the liquid and measuring its quality. A few seconds later he imbibed water, to clear the sample, then drank the other cup in one draught. His mind whirled as the ritual entered its most holy stage, as his forbearers deliberated among themselves.
Brovus is a known quality, one Regnator spake in his mind, Rovenator is wild and reckless. Rovenator is brave, spake another, he will earn great glory in battle. Brovus has the trust of his Brothers, he leads with wisdom. Rovenator is stronger, he will learn wisdom in time. Brovus is old, the curse will take him soon. Rovenator will lead the Blood to beautiful deaths, Brovus will not. The end of days will soon be upon us, we require one who will walk towards it without hesitation, not one who will flinch away.
Clashing voices argued in Aronyx's head but the debate was swift. A decision was made and dissenting voices fell silent. Thoughts clearing Aronyx accepted the judgement with humility and took up the Lance of Ascalon. All eyes were upon him as he stepped to the kneeling candidates, then laid his weapon upon Rovenator's pauldron and declared, "By the will of Regnators past, let this warrior be known to one and all as a Centurio!"
"Hail Rovenator!" the crowd cheered.
Even Brovus rose, "Hail Centurio!"
There was no hint of rancour to the choice, the blood had revealed the truth, and all accepted without question. A casket was brought forth, steaming with cryo-vapours. Rovenator rose to his feet as the chest was opened and Korinthus reached within. A brain was lifted out, dripping with preserving fluids, taken from the skull of Gallimus. This was presented to Rovenator and sharp fangs slid from his gums as he bit deep. Cranial fluids and cyro-chemicals spilled down his chin as he consumed the grisly feast, devouring every last morsel with relish. Deep within his body genhanced organs would be dissecting the neural tissue, absorbing memories and personality traits. Gallimus's wisdom would be preserved, as part of the new Centurio.
Aronyx waited till the feast was concluded then proclaimed, "Gallimus will be with you, as past Regnators are with me. Let his voice guide you, but know you are your own man. Gallimus will be your guide on the path to glory, but you Rovenator must walk it."
"I shall," Rovenator recited, "May we fight with valour and may our deaths be beautiful."
"A Centurio must be properly armed, make your choice."
The Blood among the crowd stepped up, their hands filled with relic weapons. A long sword with a ruby set in the hilt. An axe, sharp as dawnlight. A pair of lightning claws, vicious and inward curved. A lance long as a man. A Power Fist, able to break fortress walls. All were worthy but it was to the lightning claws Rovenator turned, sliding his hands into the openings at their bases. Mortals made good the connections and the claws ignited, crackling with lethal energy. Rovenator lifted them high as all looked on in awe.
Korinthus approved, "Spite and Malice: the Renders of Men."
Rovenator grinned, "With these weapons I will pave the road to the grave with the bones of my enemies."
Aronyx knew he would and declared to all, "The final days are upon us, but we do not cower before them. We embrace the doom of the galaxy with glad hearts. With Centurio Rovenator's as our speartip we shall make such an ending as to wake the dead in their graves. And when we join with the spirit of Sangunius he shall know his sons died in glory!"