Legends of the Smoke Jaguars Chapter 223
"You allow this Magos to play carelessly with your innards?" Sechura asked warily.
"To bridge the gulf between what is and what can be requires the bravest heart," Vitcos rejoined.
"Or a brain of rock," Sechura argued.
"Tis why we are here," Vitcos stated, "The Censors can make us stronger, faster, keener of eye."
"My eyes I like just fine."
"And yet they could be more, the Shadow-path fell short, I would own such power."
It was a grim truth. Mere days earlier they had discovered how changed the Censors were. The Smoke Jaguars were accustomed to being impenetrable to detection, their creed of Shadow-path strange and unknowable to outsiders. The legacy of the Raven Guard and their Primarch, a blend of discipline, skill, technology and something quite otherworldly. That Vendrick had seen through it so easily was troubling, Vitcos wanted to know how he'd done it. There was also the fact he'd displayed uncanny strength and speed during their sparring, and Vitcos suspected he'd been holding back.
Ilquitio frowned as he mused, "These Censors, could they penetrate the veil of the Ravenlord himself?"
"You jest!" Sechura refuted, "Our Shadow-path is but a faint echo of the Primarch's nature. Were Corvus Corax himself here then these tinkerers would not smell him till claws slit their throat."
"And our other Gene-father?"
Vitcos scowled, "Speak not that name, not ever while among untrustworthy souls. The Ordo Astartes would condemn the Smoke Jaguars to burn for such truths."
That shut him up and Blazing Shadow Prowl fell silent. They'd gathered to watch the first implantation, and Vitcos had volunteered to be the sacrificial lamb. He stood in a short shrift, while the others wore armour, outside a Medicae suite buried deep within the Renegades' Woe. Through a glassic window he saw a room filled with sterile implements and white-robed adepts. Strange devices were laid out on tables and a Servitor stood at the head of the med-slab, its arms multiple callipers and needle-tipped mechandrites. Strange elixirs bubbled in upright tanks and fed tubes into and out of a strange creature, crab-like and bound by iron fetters. A primitive beast or Sentient Xenos, Vitcos dared not guess, but he presumed its metabolism played some part in the fermentation of the chemicals he was about to be injected with.
Memories stirred, of a youth laying on cold stone floors, gasping in agony as changes unnatural burned through him. Of Genewrights slicing flesh open to bring about the transformation of boy into Transhuman. Strange rites and noxious vapours filled the air as blood stained the stone slabs. He remembered his skull being cracked open to insert Occulube and Sus-an-Membrane, as salt tears spilled from his eyes. Bones cracking as they grew beyond nature's intent and muscles swelling till death would seem a welcome reprieve. He had suffered through the gene-forging and had no wish to know such agonies again, but his will was granite. He had rejected the urge to die, despite the heartfelt wishes of blood-father and Headsman alike. Vitcos lived and breathed defiance, he had not submitted then, he would not now.
Sechura glanced about then asked, "Where does Il-Tzak dwell?"
"The Headsman inspects the weapons of Censors," Vitcos shrugged.
"He does not wish to observe our first translation?"
"He cares not, and I welcome his disinterest."
"Of the Censors though, what make you?"
Vitcos considered his answer carefully, "Vendrick is rigid as a dead tree, unable to flex or bend. Mull-ic, as unseeing as a statue. Convinced he is great and all others are lesser, he looks over the shoulders of his Kinsmen, telling them how to suck eggs."
Ilquitio chimed in, "I met one called Dhulak. Content with his lot, to serve without resentment and satisfied by the work of his hands."
Sechura added, "Belphian bears watching, his humours are unsettled. His fires burn too hot, he knows not circumspection or subtly."
Vitcos concluded, "A blunt lot, these Censors are, and yet we will take their strength for our own."
He hadn't spoken to any of his Prowlmates of Vendrick's implication, that once enjoined to the Censors there was no returning. Vitcos had assumed the Chamber Militant would be as the Deathwatch, a temporary thing, a passing phase of the moon. Surely it could not be true and yet the dark arts of science and logic employed were Heresy to the wider Imperium, to return so changed might not be possible. Had Blazing Shadow been sent to their slow deaths, without expectation of return, it had an uncomfortable ring of truth to it. But on the other hand Tachna had been sent too, a Headsman most respected in the Chapter. Teotihuacan would not send the Gaze Catcher to his death so casually. No, Vendrick was merely toying with the newcomers, making merry with their fears. Vitcos tried to tell himself that, but the idea of Stone Eye ever cracking a joke rang false.
Thankfully his musings were interrupted as Lazar approached. The Magos had only two Inquisitors with him, hooded and silent as ever. The party approached down a corridor, his stave clanking as he walked. The tall Magos was impenetrable and mysterious, but his voice sounded eager and his gait was quick.
"Here we are at last!" Lazar cried, "The beginning of greatness!"
"I stand ready to receive your gift," Vitcos declared, quashing his misgivings deep.
"The first step on the road to becoming a Censor, alas that it must be done in stages, but I am working to streamline the process."
"A boy I was once, now more. I am no stranger to the process."
Lazar chuckled, "I assure you this is quite different. I have unearthed secret sciences lost since the Dark Age of Technology, when technology was not bound by the fears of ignorant men. Arts that cast the feeble efforts of lesser Magos into shame. I still work to comprehend the full scope of my discoveries, the Censor project is not yet perfect, but I advance! Always advance! Even since the last iteration I have made progress. You shall be Censor 3.1, I admit I am quite interested in the effects it will have on your bloodline. We have not tried this out on any of Corax's gene-line as yet."
That was less than reassuring but Vitcos held mute. Together they turned and passed through the plastek sheets into the white space, leaving Blazing Shadow and the Inquisitors behind. Instantly Vitcos' nose was assailed by the smells of counterseptics, the harsh tang of metals and washed fabrics. The hanging lights were harsh and the air cold. His skin shivered at the chill, not in fear, most certainly not fear he told himself. But his trepidation was overpowered by surprise when he realised he recognised one of the adepts.
"Tvos?" he blinked.
The Xenophile Magos replied, "In the flesh, so to speak. It seems my skills are required."
"You are not touching my skin!"
"Your refusal is illogical, I have operated on many types of genhanced lifeform."
"Less reassuring than you think that is."
Yet Lazar uttered, "I have use for many strands of Machine Lore. Tvos' expertise in genics is useful, not as staggering as my own of course but useful. Remove your garments and lay down so I may commence. The new frontier is not how much you know, but how willing you are to surrender to the incomprehensible mystery that is the Omnissiah!"
Vitcos shot a glare at Tvos but did as bid and lay upon the Med-slab. Chill caressed his back as weighty bands were strapped to his arms legs, chest and head, binding him tight. The Adepts clustered around, leaving him staring upwards into glaring arc-lights. It pained his eye, and he doubted Ilquitio would care for it with his sensitive sight, but he did not cry out or struggle.
"For optimal homeostasis the use of analgesia is not recommended," Tvos stated.
"Time slips from the hourglass," Vitcos muttered.
"I think that means get on with it," Tvos observed.
"We must first introduce gene-exilirs to prevent implant rejection," Lazar crowed as he came nearer, syringes rolling in his hands.
Vitcos lay still as the syringes were connected to his implant ports, feeding dripping concoctions from the bubbling vats via tubes. This wasn't so bad, the Genewrights of his own Chapter did such things often. Yet as the chemicals entered his bloodstream he felt hot, a prickle of fire creeping through his veins. He didn't care for it and fought the urge to squirm.
Lazar announced, "Chem-boosters will now be introduced, to promote muscle growth and bone reossification." Before Vitcos could speak a burning knife was applied to his Black Carapace below the sternum, slicing a square section away. Pain bloomed but he held still, though he was forced to grit his teeth as saws went into the small hole over his belly and cut away fat and muscle. Blood whelmed over his chest, removed by suction tubes, as small callipers pushed in and under his fused ribcage, depositing several small spheres into his chest cavity. Sharp was the pain, and quick, but he did not scream, he would not. If Vendrick had endured this, so could he. Thankfully it was swiftly over and the hole sutured shut as the Black Carapace was restored.
That wasn't so bad but Lazar declared, "Now the neural kinetic stabiliser, to enhance cognition and allow direct interface with subsequent implants. This has the side effect of reducing susceptibility to temporal and spatial anomalies." Vitcos' eyes widened as the Magos brought forth an armature, tipped with a thin thread of coiled metal. Steel hands grasped his chin, forcing his jaws open and he felt a shudder run through him as he realised where it was going to go. Despite his will he tried to close his mouth but steel digits were lodged between his teeth, meaning he only bit his cheeks. The taste of blood in his mouth as he watched the armature drop nearer, the tip glistening like an adder's fangs.
"Tvos, a chance to prove yourself," Lazar stated. The Xenophile nodded and took the device, leaning over Vitcos' open mouth. The urge to spit acid into the metal face was nearly overwhelming but Vitcos refrained as the threat was pushed between his teeth. A sharp pinch at the roof of his mouth told him the sharp end was penetrating his brain case, then the armature began feeding the thread up into his cranium. Vitcos' muscles twitched randomly as the coiling metal spooled into his head, pushing around his neurons like a snake climbing up a tree trunk. It kept coming, more and more of it, surely filling his head to bursting. Vitcos could only watch in mute horror as the thread nestled into the spaces of his brain, doing things unknowable to his reasoning.
Strange colours flashed in his eyes as his visual cortex was disturbed, blobs of green and purple fighting for dominance. He smelled the sap of the Necartree and the acrid tang of thirstvine roots. Heat and cold washed over him in waves and flashes of memory blinked in rapid sequence. An Orruk trying to strangle him, moonlight on a midnight ocean, a drop pod rattling around him as he plummeted into combat. A psyker lord blazing with power unholy, a world on fire, scoured clean by Exterminatus as he watched from on high. His blood-brother, dead by his hand, heart ripped clean as his teeth devoured the vital organ. All this and more, all at once.
Horror whelmed within his breast, trying to steal his courage. Lifetimes of bravery in the face of impossible odds and none of it compared to this. He was drowning in sensations, his brain being taken apart and put back together in invidious ways. The cold oblivion of death would be preferable, not this translation into the unknown. He was Vitcos, the thought rang in his head, Vitcos First of Blazing Shadow. He had earned that name with his own deeds, he would not surrender his identity. His father had failed to kill him, Tachna too, even his blood-brother. All would desire to see him dead but he had spat in their faces and lived, he would not die to the hand of this Magos.
Suddenly it was over, colours faded and memories subsided. Tvos was leaning back as the armature rose away, its work done. Vitcos blinked rapidly as the bands holding him were loosened and the tubes disengaged. He lifted his head, then winced. A melon topped his skull, swollen and heavy. Sluggish were his thoughts and wool packed his ears. Surely that thin thread couldn't have weighed more than a feather, but it felt like a ton. Something had been done to his brain, though he could not articulate what, something unwelcome and intrusive.
Lazar lifted two of his arms to proclaim, "The first implantation is complete!"
Vitcos managed to get upright and asked, "What boon is this?"
"It will take several months for the effects to become apparent, but you will gain denser muscle and quicker sinew in due time."
Vitcos rubbed his brow, "My head, a coiling adder it contains."
"You will adapt, it is a critical interface for the more advanced upgrades you will receive in time. But for now you must recuperate, only once you have adapted can we proceed to the next phase."
Vitcos put his feet on the cold floor and shivered, "My strength returns, I am not afraid. Begin today!"
"In due course," Lazar deflected, "You cannot rush perfection. The next subject must disarmour and prepare for surgery, you shall all undergo the first implantation this very day!"