Smoke and blood filled the air, the taste pleasing something dark and bitter in the depth of Tiberius' soul. He shook his head within the confines of his thick armoured helm, pushing his cheek against the cool ceramite inside in an effort to relieve a phantom itch. It had been four centuries since he had under gone to Trials of Choosing. Four centuries he'd had to hone his rage and hunger into a tolerable companion. He'd like to say he succeeded, yet when amongst such carnage as this, he had to wonder. His foot crunched into the chest of one of the fallen Firewarriors, splitting the plas-tech and popping its innards into a mushy pulp. He continued down the row of steps between the ancient logic engines and data banks. The battle, if one could call it that, had ended in as much time as it took one to draw a breath. Scaran, his favoured squire, had devoured and rent upon the Xenos witch, while his other sons had unleashed a shotgun storm upon the lightly armoured Banshee's who had tried to close the distance.
Tiberius fixed his eyes upon Scaran and bared his fangs beneath his helm. He pointed towards the initiate and spat an order into his vox unit.
++ Gellus, Irik, restrain your brother. ++
The two scout-squires nodded and sped off down the steps towards their fellow, Irik went low, Gellus aiming high. Between them, they wrestled the screaming Scaran to the floor. The struggled to contain the bucking warrior, his rage doubling his strength and tenacity. Tiberius closed the gap between him and the struggling initiates and brought the rear end of his bolter smashing into Scaran's already bloody forehead, knocking the consciousness from him. The rage caused his body to twitch, his fingers still grasped and gripped, his mouth gnashed lazily, the monster within sought to continue the bloodshed.
++ You two keep watch on him. Heinan, Fullum, secure the immediate area, execute those still living. ++
The order left his lips as he fixed his eyes upon the mewling form of the Eldar witch. The sagging green robes were heavy and thick with bright blood, it lay propped against the huge sealed stasis contained in the centre of the command pit. Its large fluted helm was cracked, one of the visor plates had shattered and a pale grey eye glared at the Astartes. It clutched at its throat, trying feebly to stem to tide of blood washing down its torso.
Tiberius leant forward and placed his bolter rifle upon the top of the container, the metal giving off a dull thunk as it connected with the dust encrusted box. He let the servo's compensate for his weight as he lowered himself down into a crouch, his chainmail tabard pooling upon the floor beneath him. He lifted his hands and grasped either side of the long wraith bone helmet, the warlock clutched at his wrists but Tiberius was insanely stronger than the dying alien and just lifted the helmet clear. Dark locks spilled down the creatures shoulders, revealing knife curved ears and ivory skin, elongated eyes and high cheekbones gave it an utterly alien appearance and its small gasping mouth was turning blue from loss.
++ Why are you here, witch? ++
His voice was soft, almost sensitive, but there was an unmistakeable bite of venom in it. Contempt.
The Eldar reached up to grab at the huge gorget rimming the Astartes helmet, but Tiberius intercepted the hand, clasping it within his and leaning down.
The Warlock worked its lips as if trying to say something before spitting a glob of sticky blood onto the faceplate of the Space Marines helmet.
Tiberius sighed, the sound a crackle of static out of the bronze rimmed grille set into the side of his armoured face plate. He fixed his eyes onto the Eldars and applied pressure with his fingers. There was a snap and the xeno groaned lowly.
++ I will not repeat myself a second time. What are you doing here? ++
The creature sucked in a few breaths before whispering something in its dirty tongue, then it considered for a moment and grunted out a string of broken Imperial.
" Idara'liel, human. You cannot be trusted with the Makers tools. You have built on top of Greatness, sullied it with your stupid fingers. It must be destroyed to allow the Maker to return and stop the Walking Dead, the Great Pestilence. "
It hawked a spew of frothy blood up onto its chest and its head slumped forward. Tiberius released its wrist and grabbed its head, pushing it back and leaning closer.
++ I am not without compassion, explain your actions and I will end it quickly, Eldar. ++
The things eyes flickered, ghostly and now bloodshot. Tiberius could see a glittering jewel upon the front of its wraith bone armour flutter and dim, knowing its life would soon be spent.
" Your primitive technologies stain the first splendours of this galaxy, this thing we seek... "
It grasped at the massive box behind it, its fingers clawing at one of the armoured ridges on the container.
" ...it falls to your kind now, we have failed due to your machinations. You must remove your war machine creator from the Life Key, before the Great Devourer comes from the dark...the Maker has placed too much faith in your kind. Do not fail, or you will all die. Now kill me human, I do not wish to speak to you any further. Kalac'cha. "
The xeno's closed its eyes and placed its fragile hand upon the forearm of Tiberius battle plate. It was a reverent touch, accepting its fate. Tiberius could respect that show of emotion from the creature, even if it was alien. He gripped the Bolter from the containers top, lifting it a fraction before considering the situation. He replaced it and then took the Eldars head in both of his hands, one each side of its jaw.
++ Find peace with your Gods, xeno. ++
With a jerk of his wrists, the Eldar died.
Tiberius lowered its sagging head slowly until its chin was flush with its chest, ignoring the jagged angle of broken bone in its neck. He stood, the servo's whining once more with the motion.
He gripped his Bolter and mag-locked it to the thick plating of his thigh and ran his fingers over the surface of the stasis container. There was a strange Eldar device upon the gene-lock, it resembled a data slate in an odd way, a smooth white square with a glimmering black centre. He gripped it and tore it from the container, casting it to shatter on the far wall of the ancient ships command centre. He gazed at the gene print lock and considered it for a moment, none here would posses the required genetic code to open this crate. He doubted anyone in the galaxy would.
Instead, using the gifts given to him, the Knight-Sergeant proceeded to grunt and strain, upping the strength output of his armour until the servo's and fibre bundles threatened to pop and split.
With a roar of exertion, he tore the top of the crate from the bottom half, a gust of ice choked air puffing outwards from the interior. He stumble backwards, but his suit recalibrated to right his position. He unlocked his gauntlets and flung the crate top away, stepping back to the container. Hoar frost coated everything from view, crystal glimmering mist poured out over the sides of the crate like smoke. The Knight-Sergeant lowered his gauntlet and wiped away the ice crystals, the sound like wind chimes as the shards collided with the ancient metal deck.
He could make out a secondary container, a thick black lock box two foot wide and a foot deep. He could make out imperial letters stamped onto it but the millennia of frost obscured most of it from view. The Knight glanced around the chamber, watching his scouts dragging the pile of corpses into the corner of the room and setting up a defensible exterior from any potential threats.
He turned back to the crate and realised he was holding his breath. With a steady hand he smoothed away the rest of the ice with the side of his fist, his eyes widening as he read what was revealed. Both of his hearts skipped a beat and he felt a burning lump in his throat.
He turned and gripped at his gorget, smacking the vox stud.
++ Sergeant Tiberius to the Errant, requesting crimson level retrieval, requesting archaeotech recovery team, over. ++
He waited long moments, his eyes fixed upon the slouched form of the dead Eldar at his feet. A touch of prophecy hit him like a gunshot and he almost missed the return transmission.
++ Errant, to Sergeant Tiberius, request acknowledged, extraction team enroute, May He watch over you. ++
Tiberius released the held breath and was suddenly hit by a sense of cloying claustrophobia. He fumbled with the maglocks upon his helmet and tore it from his armour, letting it clatter to the floor beneath him. He leant forward, gripping the sides of the container, letting his eyes rove over the words once more.
Standard Template Construct Activation Key