Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 371

They made entrance via the tertiary umbilical gantry. It was surprisingly easy, Kazao thought, the pair of Space Marines slipping along empty passages and into the drydock where Lamentantor was berthed. The guards had been withdrawn, to aid the excavation of the Primaris vault, so the conspirators were able to gain access without being challenged. They'd timed it just right and the moment to act was at hand.

Kazao gripped his grenade launcher tight as he stepped into the Blood Talon's Chapter-barque. Instantly he noted the changes. In the few weeks they'd travelled together, or was it months, the ship had been worked over by skilled hands and the Machine Spirits ministered to in ritual fashion. The air smelt cleaner, the lighting was brighter and Motive Force thrummed through repaired wires and renewed circuits. It made Kazao think of an old warrior, hearing the drums of war and stirred to action, surprised to find strength yet remained in his arm.

"This way," Larus called as he turned left.

"How do you know?" Kazao hissed.

"I just know," Larus chided as he stepped on.

Kazao had no choice but to follow and tried to tread lightly. Not an easy feat in power armour and he worried his plate's constant growling would give them away. They would have to avoid contact, steer through deserted sections and move swiftly. There was no way that they wouldn't be found if they lingered, this was an in-and-out job, like burglars stealing into a merchant's house in the dead of night.

They were in the bowels of the ship and moved quickly. The air took on a wet tang, as they moved closer to atmo-processors as big as hab-blocks and the nutri-recycling baths. Few ground-pounders understood that Imperial ships recycled nearly everything, including sewage. The standard ship's rations common across the stars were grown in vats fertilised by human effluent. Hardly appetising, but to victual the crews of every ship in the galaxy would be beyond even the Administratum's vast bureaucracy.

Thoughts of food made Kazao's throat tickle. It hadn't been that long since he'd ingested Larus' blood, but already the need was returning. A blot upon his soul, one that never abated. He tried to ignore it, to not to count the hours in his head, but he was failing. The need was growing worse, and he was no longer sure he wanted to resist it.

A scuffle from ahead made them both freeze. Larus held up his clenched fist as Kazao hung back, peering down the corridor. At a junction a shanty had been erected. A gaggle of mortals, huddling under a ramshackle tarpaulin. They were thin and cold, shivering without the means to even start a fire and their gaunt frames betrayed they were on the edge of starvation. Such a waste, Kazao thought, those hands could be put to good work. The Amber Vipers had little regard for mortal lives, but they never let hands sit idle when there was work to be done. The Blood Talons didn't seem to care, they dumped these wastrels anywhere and left them to rot. Kazao had seen under-sink hives that were more orderly. From the little Kazao had heard of Sanguinius' heirs he expected more consideration for mortals, and it made him wonder if all Blood Angel successors were like this, or were the Blood Talons deviant in some fashion?

Larus lifted Chrysoar and took aim. Kazao stopped him with a hand on the arm and hissed, "Not like that."

"I can take them all," Larus growled.

"Too distinctive, bolters will draw notice," Kazao whispered, "Let me."

He drew a smoke grenade from his belt and slotted it into his kreig-pattern launcher. A snap of the wrist closed the mechanism and then he fired it with a soft 'phoot' noise. The mortals didn't see the round closing till it erupted, spilling acrid smoke everywhere. The wastrels cried out as caustic clouds scoured their eyes and throats, but in seconds the Amber Vipers were on them. Larus used his knives, Kazao his fists, and in seconds they'd disposed of them all.

"Very stealthy," Larus grunted mockingly as the smoke cleared.

"I suspect screams are common down here," Kazao retorted, "Let us be away before anyone checks."

Larus didn't seem mollified but led them on. Deeper into the ship's bowels, passing into regions where the repairs had been scant and hasty. Strange, Kazao thought, the Blood Talons didn't want anyone hanging around this part of the ship. He guessed that meant they were on the right track, he wouldn't want anyone lurking near his Chapter's most holy relics. That thought made him hesitate, he was betraying his Chapter's honour, plotting sedition and conflict, aiding a bitter Apothecary who schemed to murder his oldest friend. How had it come to this, he wondered, then the need pulsed hard, reminding him he was trapped on this road and had no way back.

Larus paused by a towering black door, inscribed with skeletal angels. Their objective lay within, just waiting to be claimed. Kazao was surprised there were no guards without, but wasn't going to scorn good fortune. The pair opened the doors with ease and stepped within, only to stop in shock. The vault was massive, with a roof lost in darkness and shadows in every corner. The walls were etched in frescos of skeletal armies marching and avenging angels soaring above, hands and mouths wet with vitae. Cold persisted, making his respirator expel clouds with every breath and a looped hymnal played from servitors embedded into lecterns. The whole chamber had a mortuary cast, like a funeral waiting for the mourners to arrive. The chill presence made one want to tread quietly and speak softly, out of respect for the dead.

"There is it," Larus gestured.

"But what are those?" Kazao asked.

In the middle of the chamber a goblet stood upon a plinth, bathed in light, but around it lurked upright caskets, featureless save for the pipes feeding into their sides. Kazao had never seen the like and could not guess their purpose, but there must be a hundred of them ringing the Black Chalice. Some form of ceremonial guard, perhaps, or a tradition unique to the Blood Talons. He could not begin to guess.

Warily the pair advanced, inching towards the centre of the room. Kazao felt cold chills running down his spine and a sense that he was being watched stole over him. This wasn't right, something was off but he couldn't put his finger on it. Closer he stepped, closer, waiting for an attack that never came. A sharp snap made them both spin. Kazao thought they'd been shot, but nothing hit him. Instead he found an open casket, three rows back, hanging wide open. Both of them pointed weapons at the bier, but nothing was inside. It was empty, save for spilling white vapours that pooled upon the floor. Stranger and stranger, what was the point of an empty casket being set up here?

"Nobody's home," Larus muttered.

"Something opened it," Kazao hissed.

"Nothing I can see," Larus grunted, "What can possibly evade Space Marine eyesight?"

"Nothing I want to…"

Suddenly Kazao was struck violently from behind. A blur in the corner of his eye, that was all the warning he got before something with the force of a freight train slammed into his back, sending him crashing into a casket. He bounced off, hit the floor and rolled, coming up with weapon leading. He expected a follow-up attack, but the blur went for Larus. One second he was raising his bolter, the next it was slapped from his hands, as the blur whisked past.

"Chrysoar!" Larus yelled.

"Forget it," Kazao snapped as he rose.

"My relic!" Larus cried "I won that in battle!"

"Keep your eyes up damn it," Kazao barked, "I lost track of our foe."

Larus drew his knives as they slammed back to back, scouring the area. Kazao could see nothing, only rows of caskets in lines. This defied belief, nothing could move fast enough to evade Astartes' sight, but yet this fiend had. Some form of Daemon, Kazao guessed, set as a guard upon this place. Would the Blood Talons stoop so low?

Larus' cry was the first indication it had come back. The Brother was sent flying by a blow from nowhere, and Kazao didn't have time to react before he was struck to the ground. A heartbeat later the air cracked with distortion, similar to the sound of a supersonic round passing by the ear. The fiend's attack had been so fast it arrived before the noise of its approach. Kazao knew of nothing that could move so, and he still hadn't seen it.

He rolled over, only for a clawed hand to sear across his faceplate. Sight disappeared as autosenses failed and Kazao was forced to drop his guard to wrestle his helm free. He expected to die in that instant, so was surprised to look up and find the foe standing over him, stock still. Thin limbs, a barrel chest, and membranes stretching between elbow and hip. Pale as the grave and with black claws for fingers. The head was the worst, bald, with engorged ears and a mouth filled with needle teeth. The eyes were what made him gulp though, human eyes, bloodshot and crazed, but undeniably human. This mutant filth was once a man.

In his moment of realisation the fiend stooped low, sniffing around his form. Kazao dared not react as the mutant craned near, and he smelled the iron-stank of blood on its breath. An inch from his nose it hung, staring at Kazao's aberrant visage. It drank in his scaled face, the redness to his eye and the fangs in his mouth. Kazao could only stare back in turn, as an eerie sense that he was staring into a mirror crept over him. Kinship, of a damned variety, but yet kinship there was between them.

The air blurred and suddenly it was gone. Kazao saw clouds of mist waving to indicate which way it had gone, but of the fiend there was no sign. Larus scuttled over to his fallen bolter, picking it up like a jealous miser does a dropped coin. He cradled it tight, but Kazao continued to search for the fiend, only to be disappointed.

"What was that?!" Larus spat.

"I don't know," Kazao gulped.

"Do the Blood Talons keep monsters in their vaults?"

"I don't know, but I suspect there's a lot they haven't told us. If Coluber knew about this..."

"Forget it, we're here to start a conflict, not resolve one."

Gingerly Kazao picked himself up. The Black Chalice lay undisturbed and he hastened to snatch it up. He didn't know if that would bring the fiend back, but he had come too far to turn back now. Three steps and he was at the plinth. His hand found its stem and he lifted it high. The goblet was teeming with rich vitae and Kazao could wait no longer. He opened his mouth and drained the flagon dry. Rich Transhuman blood poured down his throat, energising him. The experience always made him feel alive but this was greater. Something more was in the blood, an echo of glory, the hint of potential beyond Astartes' norms. For a second Kazao tasted the memory of a Primarch's power and it was glorious.

The sensation passed all too quickly, leaving him wanting more. Disappointment whelmed within him. He'd clung to the fading dream that a draught from the Black Chalice would cure his cravings, but deep within had known it was a fool's hope. The need hadn't been removed from him at all, he would remain damned. Kazao's fate was sealed.

"Come on," Larus spat, "We need to leave!"

"Aye," Kazao breathed sadly, "Let us be away."

Kazao clung tight to the Black Chalice as they fled the vault, leaving behind the rows of caskets and the mysteries within. They did not know it but cold eyes watched them go, and a warped face drew back in a rictus grin. Thoughts of madness and bloodlust raged eternally, but under that was a sense of inevitable victory. The Infernae recognised their own and knew another soul walked the same road to hell they did.