The periodic and near rhythmic dripping of water could be heard. The drops running like shimmering streams along their dark cells. Every so often the precinct-fortress of the Arbites would shudder from an artillery shell. What few waxing candles were present were near spent and flickered and wavered threatening to extinguish with each passing moment.
She prayed that they wouldn't. The fire and source of light was among the scant few comforts that remained for them.
The dank and damp atmosphere of the dark caverns and under-wells of the corridors stank of rot and decay.
Pitiful stammers and wails of anguish and pain resounded throughout. Pleas and cries for salvation and rescue for both their mortal coils and their souls.
Sister Verarya of the Order of the Vengeful Martyr peered across her surroundings, recounting hymns and prayers of vengeance and remorse in her mind as she did so.
The commandery having long been reduced to their paltry sum. The Prioress having been among the first killed in the initial stages of rebellion. She did not know the whereabouts of either the Palatines nor the Sister Superiors or if they had also already departed to Emperor's side.
What remained of the Ecclesiarchy on the world had either turned from the Emperor's light, butchered or thrown into cells to be used in whatever foul sport the traitors of the Hive had in mind. The same ran true for whatever loyalist forces that had been on the planet in the coup against her master's world.
Verarya brought herself away from those hopeless thoughts, and clutched the simple rosarius beads in prayer that she was able to spirit before being summarily placed in the cell. Though they did not confer upon her the protection fields that were in other symbols, they gave her and her sisters a comfort that was sorely needed.
What remained of her small Order were either dead or in the cell with her and they numbered only thirteen.
While there was some solace in the small symbolic beads, the other was that there were other settlements and garrisons on the planet. Hopefully, the loyal forces of the Imperium were near in their victory on the planet and that she nor her sisters would be prisoner any longer.
While her mind and soul burned hot in fury, stripped as she was of her armor and adorned in simple small clothes, like the others in the dark cells of Castodon, she sat in the grime, shivering in the cold and wet air.
Many others were the same, teeth chattering and bodies shaking, all of them huddled together to conserve what warmth they had. The stone walls while insulated carried a cold that bit at their skin and chilled the air into ice.
Even if there was power in the Hive's power complexes and generators, there was little use in having them provide comfort for those that would see the Imperium torn asunder. The Sister doubted that any warmth beyond the waxing candles that hung in the rafters or along the shadowed walls and the tattered clothing that clung to their forms existed in these cells.
She looked about her, there was one cell that remained empty save for its single occupant.
The man within had been unconscious and dragged into the cell shortly after their own internment by the traitors of Organa's PDF. She assumed it was a couple days or a couple weeks. There was hardly a way to tell time down here.
She assumed it was a single day later, Verarya didn't exactly have a way to measure time but the Sororitas didn't think it was long.
The candles stood tall when they were first lit and in the beginning of their internment had been replaced when they were at their waning ends but now that chore had been long neglected and the wicks were at the end of their roots.
Though where the others were stripped of their armor, flak jackets or any form of equipment, his was still slightly there if in mediation, some golden bracers and greaves but nothing beyond that and it didn't seem to be power armor given that it was strapped on rather than sealed.
And while they attempted to speak to him, he had pulled away from them and secluded himself against the wall of his cell. His vibrant green eyes flickering across them before he seemingly fell asleep.
He didn't eat nor drink. Whatever meagre scraps their jailor provided them, he always gave to them. Though they never made conversation even if they tried to speak to him.
Verarya didn't know how long it had been. Their jailor making it a point to never speak to any of them. Only clanging his shock maul along the wrought iron bars of their cells to scare or beat whatever notions of resistance or escape from them whenever he entered to give food and drink.
Her stomach growled at the thought. It was a long while since they've been fed and it had been an increasingly rare sight to see the jailor ever since the fortress began being bombarded.
The man was sitting in the farthest corner of his cell and held himself close like they were. Though as far as she could tell he didn't appear to be disturbed by the cold air.
She took a moment to study him some more.
He wore a torn shirt and pants and wore thick boots beneath his golden but scorched greaves. One that was singed and burned along the hem and sleeves and had since a large wound along his abdomen, one that indicated a creature with large claws had gouged him. Though she didn't know of anything on the planet that could have done such a thing. The wound, while it looked to be particularly lethal, didn't seem to bother him much.
A clang tore her gaze away from the odd man. She didn't even her his arrival. The jailor returned though while he still carried his shock maul, a laspistol was also in his off hand.
She tore her gaze away but snuck glances at him, a sense of dread welling up within her. While she was ready to take her place alongside the faithful fallen at the Emperor's side, the thought was always one that accompanied the din of battle and slaying His enemies.
Dying in a cold and dark cell, defenseless and with no way of retaliation was not a way she had ever considered.
Some in the other cells, those that held remnants of the loyal subjects of the Imperium but not as hardy, scurried away at the sight clung to the hewn walls of their cells in fright. The few Arbites that remained glared at their captor.
The jailor seemed to revel in the fear he induced, as a sickly smile grew across the traitor's face revealing a row of cracked and bloody teeth that seemed to glint in the arcs of electricity produced by the shock maul. A thin and forked tongue washed over dry lips.
Verarya resisted the urge to gag at the sight but a fury tore at her at the implication.
While his outward appearance held no trace of corruption, the taint of the Ruinous Powers was easily borne and hidden away within.
These were no mere traitors no longer, heretics had taken their place, of whom held a special hatred in the heart of Verarya and indeed all the Sisters of her near-extinct Order and those across the Imperium.
Still, the heretic continued onwards reveling in the fear that wafted from those that were of less hard of heart. Then he came to a stop at the odd man's cell. He clanged on the wrought iron bars of the cell with his shock maul. The electric arcs leaping from one bar to another.
"Ey," His words seemed to hiss and his tongue seemed to flick and dart. "Ey, you, in there! Your presence is needed!" A wet laugh rattled about. "We have some surprises for you!"
The man in the cell simply kept his head against his folded arms. Not acknowledging the words of the corrupted jailor.
The cultist scoffed. Or coughed. She couldn't exactly tell, not with how the heretic seemed to sway and hobble with every movement.
The bony fingers went to the prison locks. She guessed that the cultist was annoyed or unnerved by the silence of the man in the cell because he fumbled with the lock and took longer than what was necessary to open. Though it could have been because the jittering hand or thick fingers had made it difficult to do so. As if he was hopped up on some sort narcotic.
And given what little she knew of the Great Enemy's followers, it wasn't out of the realm of possibility.
Verarya didn't exactly care but said a small prayer for the loyal soul. If he was to die, she hoped that he would at least go true to the Emperor's side and not be corrupted or stolen away by the Great Enemy.
The gate finally opened. It creaked and groaned as it swung. It was an archaic cell and while the lock may have been of a simple datascreen, there was no automation.
But the moment it was widely open and the cultist had passed the threshold, did the man do something.
Or at least she thought he did.
Something was launched with a speed that made a bolter round seem slow in comparison. It was clear and pale and only seen because a flicker of a light refracted off its surface and glared into her eye.
The cultist wobbled once. Then twice, then fell backward with a heavy and meaty thud.
A viscous red ichor spilled from the heretic's throat, and his fingers that clutched the shock maul went limp.
His mouth limply hanging and strangling to shout or scream in pain but was gurgling and drowning in his own blood.
Her mouth fell open at the sight as the man simply stood and walked cautiously to leave, taking care to step over and glance about his surroundings to be sure that there were no other guards.
He looked at the shock maul and policed it, getting a feel for the weight before bringing the heavy weapon down in a single powerful swing onto the cultist head, spattering the vibrant yet dark blood of the cultist against the dark stone floor and crushing the skull underneath the metal.
Verarya stood as did her other sisters at the sight. Was this man really going to try and breakout and fight against the heretics?
Let it not be said the Order of the Hallowed Heart was to be found wanting.
Verarya moved forward to the rails. "Guardsman!" Her voice was raspy, the meagre bowls of gruel doing little to quench her thirst or sate her hunger. She coughed to clear her throat and licked her chapped and dry lips. She assumed he was one. Or maybe one among the personal honor guard of the presumably dead Planetary Governor. Even though she had never seen one, they were always thought of as gaudy but highly capable warriors. The golden remains of his armor seemed to indicate that he was of their number anyway.
Regardless, he was a loyalist. Whatever divine providence that had struck the heretic down made her sure that whoever this was had the light of the Emperor with him.
That or he was a witch.
But if that was the case, even if it left a rather distasteful turn of her stomach, they still shared a common enemy.
Besides, at this time, Verarya and her sisters could obtain their vengeance and if possible reach Imperial lines that were nearby.
He turned regarding her with a curious but hard sea-green stare and he cocked his head as he stopped in front of their cells.
He spoke in a form of High Gothic that made it seem he was of the Schola Progenium but it was broken and most of what he said she didn't understand.
Maybe, the honor guard of the Governor only recruited brutes? It made it easy to simply direct such soldiers to battle and made them not as susceptible to betrayal because of stupidity.
Maybe he was an embedded agent of the His Most Holy Inquisition? She didn't know much about them. Perhaps it was common for their operators to speak in forms of language that only they understood?
She was thinking too much of this.
Maybe the guy was just an idiot but she doubted it.
Verarya needed to keep this simple and discern what both parties could understand.
"We'll fight." She gestured to herself and the other sisters that had gathered around her. They all nodded their agreement. "They'll fight." Verarya pointed to the few Arbites and loyalists that had also been taken captive and were at their cell's bars.
"Fight." He said, nodding as if he were familiar with the word and as if he were confirming it.
Perhaps, simplicity was where it lay to communicate? She was no Sister of the Ordos Dialogous as her prowess lain in bolter and flamer but she was learned enough to know that. While he was no Ogryn as it was clear he had some intelligence, it was possible to communicate in simple words and phrases.
"Fight." She said and also nodded her agreement.
He looked conflicted for a moment before nodding. Thinking he was going to break the locked datapad with his policed shock maul in order to override the mechanism, she and the others behind her stepped away.
But instead of doing that, a small orb of translucent water materialized from thin air above his palm and in a moment it coated the small datapad easily shorting the simple electronic. The cell door clicked open and allowed them to step out.
It was in short order that the other prisoners were released and the man took the head again with his shock maul having handed the laspistol to her.
A weapon tainted but a weapon nonetheless. Verarya supposed the first course of action was to retrieve their arms and armor. The quicker she rid herself of the weapon and armed herself in her holy and blessed panoply, the less she exposed herself to the taint of Chaos.
"Arbitrator, where would the main armory be?" She asked to one of them, an older man with thick grey hair and a multitude of scars that crossed his face like a patchwork of well…patches.
"Deep within the complex." He admitted as he flanked the stairwell, behind the man that had so recently freed them. Said man looking curiously and suspiciously to them and Verarya found a need to explain their course of action. "We'll have to fight deeper and then fight our way out."
The loyalists were all waiting patiently and whispering rejoicing prayers to the God Emperor as they found themselves out of the abhorrent black cells of the fortress-precinct.
Her surviving sisters keeping close to her, though she didn't know many of them, they seemed to be looking to her for guidance and leadership.
Ironic that she had only ended her tutelage so recently and she was sure that others among them held seniority over her by sheer years of service.
Perhaps it was only her being the initial point of contact and steeling her resolve enough to capitalize on the situation that saw them gravitating towards someone with the initiative. It wasn't everyday they saw the predations of the Warp made manifest and she only knew what she had learned of it at the Progenium.
"Armory." She said the word and gestured to themselves. "Weapons."
The man nodded and then, with one resigned look towards the stairwell, began to ascend them. The Arbitrator and Verarya following closely behind.
Precinct-Fortresses of the Adeptus Arbites were built with the purpose of bleeding traitors dry should they lay siege to it and for those that gained entry into the bastion itself to make it a tedious and bloody affair for cleaning it of its contingent of Arbites.
Even now, as they went down the winding corridors of the precinct and up and around the numerous wells of stairs, walls and floors were plastered in dried blood and gore. The heretics taking little care in honoring the once holy place for the Emperor's devoted servants.
The halls were eerily silent as the cadre of loyalists ventured further. Other than the jailor, them and the odd rat that scurried about, they had passed no other form of life. Though every now and then the whole structure would shudder and pillars of dust would fall from the ceiling.
The loyalist bombardment was well and truly underway now. She only prayed that the bombardment wouldn't bury them all.
They continued forward.
Until the man stopped on his heel and pulled them flush against the ferrocrete walls. Everyone followed, pulling and hiding in the shadows of the dark corridors.
Verarya was about to voice her complaint when she heard voices and the pattering of hurried feet.
A small horde of cultists shambled on through the larger corridor. Most were armed with looted weapons of the Arbites, shotguns and shock mauls. Blood stained skin and carved tattoos of the Ruinous Powers glinted in the lumen-tubes that trailed in the more trafficked area of the fortress-precinct.
A horrid and putrid stench of blood made the Sororitas curl her nose in disgust. By the Emperor's blessing,
The loyalists remained still. Nary a breath shared among them until the worshippers of the Great Enemy had entirely passed.
Verarya and the Arbitrator made to move but the man held his hand in a closed fist. Halting them again.
The bombardment continued unceasingly, the ferrocrete and ceramite walls shuddering, causing the lumentubes to flicker. Another, smaller group of cultists hurried past.
How does he know? Can he hear?
Did he have some form of precognition?
The idea of working alongside a witch sat ill with Verarya and it continued to unsettle her. Even more so when the planet was under threat of Chaos.
Verarya would keep an eye on him and, if necessary, kill him.
'The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.'
-H.P. Lovecraft
Hello! This is another work that has been in the tank for a couple months already. Originally inspired by The Incredible Muffin's Star-Bound (Excellent read; highly recommended), I got my mojo back when Vraks Chapter One came out in youtube.
The plan for this work, while inspired by Star-Bound, is different but much in line with what many works regarding the current state of affairs in the 42nd millennium entail. Percy will be in for a rough ride as he comes to grips with what exactly happened and the culture shock that'll happen but as always, pressing matters are priority.
This chapter is merely a small stepping stone. Getting used to the formatting and thought processes of people indoctrinated as well as religious zealots and how to put their thoughts and actions into words while also remaining a sort of realistic stance on those in the know so to speak. For example, a Sister of Battle, would probably know more about some things than a regular citizen of the Imperium. While an Inquisitor would know even more.
Its all about perspective here and something I want to experiment more with when dealing with extremist ideals that are present in the 40k Universe.
I will also say to keep in mind that this is an Alternate Universe. Whatever canon up up to the tail end of the Girlyman's Crusade, is canon with my own spins on it. That being said, I will be approaching this with a sort of realistic approach in regards to the Warhammer universe. It'll still be dark and grim but grimderpness will be thrown out the window, like the fact that naval vessels use thousands of slaves to load a single macro cannon round. While technically canon, that's just dumb and doesn't make sense with the pace of battles fought in space. A battery of macro cannons would probably only be able to get two shots off before it would take an ungodly amount of time to load another round.
That aside, if you have any questions or concerns, please feel free to ask. You can find me on the Emerald Library Discord. The link to that is on my profile.
