Venenum Filios Chapter 13

In a dark and quiet corner Persion lay aching, his body battered and bruised. He was missing the outer Ceramite layers of his armour and he was unarmed. He was currently located within a dank cavern, possibly once a subterranean hall or machine shop. If so then the passage of millennia had worn it down, leaving it little more than a hole in the wall.

Persion had been dragged here by the Traitorous filth, stripped of his protective plate and then worked over for a couple of hours. They had used fists and the stocks of bolters to beat upon his already bruised body, his ravaged gene-seed being slow to repair the damage. Persion had suffered for a couple of hours then feigned unconsciousness, which seemed to satisfy his captors. Knives and crueller implements had not yet been brought forth but doubtless that was to come when they thought he was awake.

Persion felt every inch of his body aching and protesting at the harsh treatment, yet he overrode such simple pains by force of will. He was Astartes and he had a mission to complete, what was pain compared to that. All while they had been battering him Persion's mind had been busy, collecting information, analysing details, assessing his captors and he was far from impressed. These Heretics, these Soul Drinkers, were in gleaming armour, every panel beautifully trimmed and polished. Yet that glorious veneer hid deeper hurts, their armour was dented, it creaked and whined and there were deep wounds that had not been properly repaired. This told Persion that these turncoats were woefully unsupported, struggling for supplies and skilled artisans. A fact that they were trying to cover up with their pride.

All Astartes were prideful; it was a basic requirement for a Transhuman warrior who must fight impossible battles. Yet the Storm Heralds tempered pride with focus and dedication to duty, well most of them at least. These Soul Drinkers for their part had no trace of humility; their pride strayed into arrogance and contempt, making them sloppy and careless. Persion knew this to be true, for while they had stripped his Ceramite they had left the undersheath of his armour, along with his vox. Persion was a communication specialist so while they had been battering at his body he had amused himself by deciphering their vox encryption; it hadn't been that hard really. His years of skimming officer levels feeds made him an expert signal cracker, why else would the Chaplains put up with his ways. Now as he lay there feigning unconsciousness he was cycling through his captor's transmissions, listening in on their conversations.

Persion counted five separate voices, a combat squad, though their talk indicated that there were more of them out there. Two were stood outside his prison, guarding him with bolters while the rest patrolled. Persion heard frequent refrains of 'Finding it' and 'sweeps of the area being blocked by cave-ins' and 'was the gene-tech really here?' This told Persion three things: one the Heretics had not built this place, they did not know the layout. This was not surprising as Chaos warbands were notoriously fractious, it would be more than likely that the Traitors would have splintered into separate groups.

The second thing he learnt was that the Traitors had not been here long, only as long as it took to sweep these ruins. But the third thing he concluded was that there was actually something here worth finding. Some form of gene-tech that the Heretics wanted for themselves. This was vital intelligence, Persion had to escape and report it to Captain Toran. Persion's deliberations were interrupted by the thumping of approaching boots. He risked opening an eye slightly and peered out to see what was occurring. What he saw was a pair of newcomers entering his field of vision, Soul Drinkers but in different armour. One was in Apothecaries' white, his Narthecium showing the wear of frequent use.

The other was had a dented helm and was decorated in a Sergeant's laurels, but he bore himself like a Commander. His armour had been trimmed with amber embellishments and he bore personal heraldry upon his greaves, an image of a coiled serpent. Yet what drew Persion's eye was a glorious weapon upon his hip. A long power sword, with a large amber jewel set in the pommel and a snarling serpent's head on the crossguard of the hilt. A wondrous relic, too mighty for a mere Sergeant to wield. Persion concluded that this filth must have pilfered it from some noble hero, stealing his honour as well as his life.

The commander strode up to the group and over his vox barked, "What's going on?!"

One of the combat squad stepped up, one of those who had worked Persion over and was now holding his Friction Axe. The scum reported, "Brother-Commander Coluber, we caught an intruder in the upper shafts. A spy poking about in the ruins."

The commander, Coluber they called him, spat, "A spy, for whom? How many are they, do they know we are here?"

The filth replied, "Unknown, he hasn't talked yet."

The Apothecary sneered, "So you decided to beat him within an inch of his life and leave him for dead. Good work Ferrac."

The one called Ferrac growled, "Don't question me Shrios, you weren't here to make him talk."

Commander Coluber stated, "Don't argue, there aren't enough of us left to fight among ourselves. Did he reveal the location of the Gene-vault?"

"Not yet," growled Ferrac flexing his fists, "But give me time, I can make him talk."

Apothecary Shrios replied, "You've been fighting dregs for too long Ferrac, would you break under torture?"

Ferrac sounded irate as he said, "How much more time are we going to waste shifting through crumbling ruins."

Shrios replied, "As long as it takes, I need the gene-tech Sarpedon hid, I need the equipment and knowledge he took from Stratix Luminae. I can't conjurer Astartes Brothers from thin air. The Magnificence simply lacks the Apothecarion facilities to forge new warriors. If we are to see our glory restored then I need the tools, recruits and gene-seed to rebuild."

Ferrac protested, "How many years have we already wasted on this foolishness? How many decades lost to Warp translations as we chase rumours across the galaxy? Why can't we face facts, the Soul Drinkers are dead, Sarpedon has killed us. Why can't we just accept it and live our lives as Daenyathos taught us: cold and fast."

Coluber cut in saying, "You know why, I made a vow, a promise. I gave him my word that we would keep the flame alive; don't let it end like this he told me. Would you defy his last order?"

Ferrac sounded reluctant but he said, "No."

Persion was confused by all this; he had not heard such talk before. It seemed the Soul Drinkers were arguing about rebuilding their forces, they appeared to need the gene-tech as much as the Storm Heralds. Persion couldn't let that happen, he couldn't let these heretics return to plague the galaxy and he swore to stop these traitorous whoresons. Unfortunately as he did so he couldn't help but move his head and that drew the attention of the Apothecary who said, "Your prisoner is awake."

Persion cursed as the three strode over and he knew there was no point hiding his awareness so he sat up, ignoring the sharp stabs from his muscles. The three came over to him and the Commander squatted down so that he could look Persion in the eye. Coluber reached up and removed his dented helm, revealed a craggy and worn face, with a nose that had been broken many times. Persion was surprised that there was no sign of mutation on him; the followers of Chaos delighted in such defilements but that could not hide the foulness within.

Coluber looked him in the eye and said, "You… you're from the local Chapter, the Storm Wardens, what's your name?"

"Brother Persion," Persion growled, "and it's the Storm Heralds."

"I stand corrected," said Coluber, "but this world is your fief, you can help me. You can tell me where to find the Gene-vault."

Persion spat, "I will tell you nothing Traitor filth!"

Coluber looked down and said, "I suppose you would think that, but what if told you we are not Traitors. That we are yet loyal to the Emperor and Terra?"

"Save me your lies," Persion snarled

Coluber rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and said, "Let me tell you a tale, the tale of the Soul Drinkers. We were a proud Chapter, born from the blood of Dorn so long ago. We were the most glorious expression of the Emperor's will. We scythed across the stars never claiming a homeworld, cold and fast, as our great warrior-philosopher Daenyathos taught us. You should have seen us; you would have wept to witness our ferocity and our zeal."

The one called Ferrac butted in to say, "Then came Sarpedon."

Coluber nodded sadly and said, "Yes Sarpedon, that filthy mutated swine. Once a Librarian within our ranks, he was corrupted in mind and body. He went insane; he murdered our Chapter Master and stole our beloved relics, our fleet and our Brothers, he stole it all from us. Anyone who opposed his treachery was cut down. Sarpedon turned his back on Terra but his arrogance knew no bounds, he refused to bend the knee to Chaos either. He declared the Soul Drinkers 'Free' and tried to make his own way in the galaxy."

Ferrac muttered, "Didn't work though."

"No," Coluber stated, "Whatever else Sarpedon was he proved to be a lousy Chapter Master. He wasted his forces in pointless battles and then he was stupid enough to be captured by the Imperial Fists. His tale ended on the Phalanx, under the gaze of Dorn's spirit and so did the Soul Drinker's… or so everyone thought."

Then Coluber leaned in and looked Persion in the eye saying, "Here's what you may not believe, what Sarpedon never knew. A few of us slipped the net; a handful of loyalists survived his treachery. We stole a small ship and fled during the confusion of his coup. Even as he slaughtered his way through our Chapter's Fortress-Barque we slipped away, swearing vengeance all the while. We ran and we hid, it shamed us but we had to survive, we had to keep the flame alive. We stalked the Traitor for years, chasing rumours and gossip but he was always one step ahead, always fleeing before we could catch up. Then word came that he was dead and that our vengeance had been stolen from us. Now all that remains is to rebuild, to restore our Brotherhood and clear our good name. A most difficult and arduous endeavour yet one we must undertake."

"You were right," Persion said, "I don't believe a word of it."

Coluber was taken aback and said, "So… you won't help us find the Gene-vault?"

Persion declared, "I don't aid Traitor filth and you must take me for a fool to make your lies so obvious."

Suddenly Shrios leaned in and said, "Wait...something's off. He can't lead us to the Gene-vault, because he doesn't know where it is! Look at his face, there's something wrong with his gene-seed."

"He's right," Ferrac said eyeing Persion's Phage ravaged face, "If these Storm Heralds have a problem with their own gene-seed then they would have gone straight to the vault, not sent in a spy to poke about."

Coluber stood up and said, "Then it seems we are done here."

Ferrac smirked and said, "Let me put this one out of his misery."

Coluber held up a hand and commanded, "No."

Ferrac's grin faded and he said, "But he's useless to us."

Coluber declared, "We haven't survived this long by wasting assets and this one might yet reveal useful information. Whether he wants to or not."

Ferrac sank back as Shrios said, "So what do we do with him."

Coluber declared, "Strap his armour back on and bind his hands, he's coming with us. We've cleared all but one sector of the ruins, the gene-vault has to be there. Gather the Brotherhood, tell them that soon our flames will blaze proudly once more."

As the Soul Drinkers begrudgingly pulled him up, Persion was already plotting, for he wasn't fooled by this pantomime. He had seen far more convincing performances by Traitors, some by those he had once called Brother.

These Heretics had sorely underestimated his resolve. He would escape, he would find his Company and then he would teach these curs the error of their ways.