Nothing had hinted at what they would find on the bridge. Huron-Fal had thought he was prepared, but as soon as the door slid open, he knew it was not the case. He had expected a room full of dismembered corpses, tortured captives or an ambush.
Instead, he found a nightmare.
The bridge was alive. Every inch of the chamber was covered in a writhing mass of pink flesh, patches of hair, human eyes and mouths dotting the surface like obscene flowers. Some of them were whispering, babbling nonsense, while others howled like mad wolves. One word was repeated over and over again, like a broken record: "Help."
Huron-Fal registered all of this only marginally. It was the middle of the chamber, the captain's throne that captivated his attention. There was something there. It kept a roughly humanoid shape, with limbs that from a distance might have passed for arms and legs. But Huron-Fal had a closer view—he could see one writhing tentacle replaced the left arm and the other members were closer to spikes. All of it was as covered with mouths just like the flesh on the walls and the floor. And yet, there was still that was recognizably human, something that told Huron-Fal this was not its original shape.
It slowly turned its head or the growth that passed for it and blinked with a myriad of eyes.
"We needed help," some of the mouths moaned.
"Where were you?" the others hissed.
Huron-Fal raised his bolter and shot. The head burst in a spray of gore, but the mouths continued to hurl accusations at them like an obscene choir.
"Brother-Sergeant!" somebody shouted behind him. "The walls!"
Huron-Fal turned to the side and found himself staring at the fleshy carpet spreading outside of the bridge. Slowly, an eye opened and blinked lazily.
"Move back, quick!" he snapped, backing away as fast as possible in tactical dreadnaught armor. The growth was spreading, but as its tendrils crawled away from the bridge it slowed down, thus allowing the Terminators to move to a safe distance.
"Grenades," Huron-Fal called out. From what he saw, the cogitators and the log engines were destroyed anyway, eaten by the growth already. A few explosions wouldn't damage anything of value.
The Endurance's bridge was always a busy place, but the bustle of activity gained a new quality with the first report of hostile activity on the Sovereign. It started with one sentence: "Squad Huron-Fal is falling back" and cascaded, as the Dusk Raiders Sergeant followed up with his own, short, report.
"Bridge is taken, My Lord." There was a crackle distorting the words, but not to a degree that it would render them incomprehensible. "Unknown life-form, likely hostile, seems to be reacting to our presence. Bridge assumed destroyed. No loses."
Mortarion's lips were drawn into a tight thin line, as he considered the report. "Status of the creature?"
"Blowing up the central part appears to have stopped its growth," was the reply. "Orders?"
Mortarion looked at Fulgrim—he had commanded before, but not like this. As alien as the feeling was, he found himself wondering about his choices, about the steps he was taking. He had never fought on a space ship. The men under his command could survive far more than anyone he had known before, but at the same time the enemies they would face were nothing like the Worlords of Barbarus. Before, he had been there, in the heart of the storm, fighting along his Death Guard. Now, all he had was voices, telling him what they were doing.
"Keep a safe distance and observe," he finally ordered. Fulgrim nodded slightly, signaling he agreed with the course of action.
"Aye, my Lord," Huron-Fal replied and cut the link.
Mortarion remained motionless, watching the holo-projection of the Sovereign in silence. How did one fight on such a vessel? He could imagine it, but was it enough? How did one get rid of all the crew? Even if Endurance dwarfed it, the Sovereign was enormous with uncountable hiding places. Logically, somebody had to have escaped and yet so far all the teams reported no survivors.
"What do you make of it all?" he asked Fulgrim.
The Phoenician closed his eyes for a moment, his brow knitting in a frown.
"Whoever did this, must not want anybody else to learn what happened," he said. "They didn't just get rid of the crew. No, they went further and destroyed all the evidence, all records of what transpired."
Mortarion nodded. This much was at least obvious, given how little information they had managed to gather. But this was not all—far from it. There was something, a sense of unease that kept nagging at him. He should know what to expect and yet, he couldn't quite place his finger on it.
"It is merely a hypothesis," Fulgrim continued. "But given that Huron-Fal and his Squad noticed human body parts growing on the wall, I think our enemy may have used some kind of Warp-manipulation to get rid of the crew. That would require powerful psykers."
"Do you think they're still there?" Mortarion asked, after considering his brother's words.
"It is a possibility," the Phoenician replied. "If I remember correctly, one of your Marines there is a Librarian?"
He pronounced the last word with a slight hesitation and some distaste.
Mortarion nodded slowly. "Naram-Sin, I believe."
He glanced at Barrett, who nodded to confirm it was the right name. The First Captain of the Dusk Raiders had opted to stay silent and Mortarion wondered for a moment if he was judging him too.
Naram-Sin felt something trickle down his lip. Instinctively, he raised his hand to wipe the offensive fluid away. When he pulled it away, the ceramite of his gauntlet was stained crimson. He had taken off his helmet long ago, having always preferred to trust his eyes.
"This place is tainted," he snarled.
"We were given orders and your complaining does not bring us any closer to carrying them out," the Emperor's Children sergeant replied. The Librarian could hear his disdain, even if the helmet hid the Marine's expression.
"I've just told you what happened to the ship," Naram-Sin replied, fighting to keep his voice level. Space Marines were not made for patience. Nevertheless, he had to remember the Emperor's Children were on his side and that he was representing his Legion.
"You have not, Librarian," the sergeant—Urbgenius—replied, pronouncing the last word as if merely saying it sullied his tongue. "We are to find survivors, if there are any. We are to check what happened to the Navigator. How does 'it's tainted' help me with any of this?"
Naram-Sin felt his choler rising. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, almost ready to draw. How dare that foppish fool treat him like that? He gritted his teeth and then froze.
"Sergeant Urbgenius," his said, his eyes flashing cerulean, "the Warp will taint us too. Get away from here."
"What?" the other Marine turned to face him, surprise colouring his voice. "Perhaps you mistake me for one your kind?"
"I said get away," Naram-Sin replied. "Something is still here and is trying to affect us. It wants violence."
Urbgenius seemed not to understand. He stood just a meter away from Naram-Sin, the snarling helmet turned to face the Death Guard. He wasn't moving. Why couldn't the damn idiot understand that Naram-Sin could see things that others were not privy too? Stupid blunt- The Librarian stopped himself before he could finish the thought. He was letting outside influence cloud his mind.
"You want me to run?" the Emperor's child asked slowly, then shook his head. "I will not cower from some Warp-xeno."
Naram-Sin didn't get to say the angry retort that formed on his lips. With a beep, the vox came alive and the voice of his Primarch rang in his ear.
"Status report."
The Librarian had proven to be rather imprecise. His first words were that the ship was tainted. Mortarion caught Barrett exhaling loudly, in a clear display of irritation and impatience. Obviously, this was not the first time that Naram-Sin had been vague.
"In what way is it tainted?" he asked his voice level.
There was a pause, as the Marine collected his thoughts. Then, he said, "I sense the presence of Warp predators here."
"What about other psykers?" the Primarch of the Dusk Raiders asked. If Fulgrim had the right idea, surely Naram-Sin would sense one powerful enough to cause such trouble.
With a slight hesitation, the Librarian said, "Negative."
Fulgrim looked taken aback, his eyes wide as he considered the words. "Shouldn't the Warp-xenos have dissipated by now, then?"
Mortarion didn't relay the question. He silently shook his head. "Rituals can prolong their stay," he said, earning a surprised look from Fulgrim. He'd have to explain later how he gained this knowledge, something that he did not look forward too. Nevertheless, Fulgrim seemed to share his distrust of psykers and it was best to be honest. "Have you seen any odd signs-"
Before he could finish the query there was a loud half-roar half-gurgle. Naram-Sin yelped and someone very near him must have fired his bolter, judging by the barking sound.
"Focus your fire!" the voice of Urbgenius sounded oddly distorted coming through both his helmet and then Naram-Sin's commbead.
Something crackled, almost as if thunder had stricken the Librarian. For a moment, the connection was awash with static, before it finally came back.
"-mutant, my Lord," Naram-Sin was saying.
"Repeat," Mortarion said.
"We are being attacked by a mutant, my Lord," the Dusk Raider replied. "I can't say what it used to be, it is heavily affected by the Warp."
AN: The next chapter will be even more delayed, likely. There was one detail in "Butcher's Nails" because of which I need to make some rewrites in the previous chapters.
Also, RL is kind of getting in the way of writing as fast as I would have liked. Sorry about this.