"I'm here, Master."
Octavia sounded as tired as Talos looked.
"I'm here……"
She spoke into the loudspeaker of the conference hall:
"So are the Eldar."
"Prepare the ship to warp again."
"I can not stand it any more."
There was a cry in her voice.
"Master, I can't, I'm sorry, I can't..."
"They will come to us in twenty minutes at most. You have to get us away."
"sorry, I can not."
"You've been saying this for over a week."
"Taros, please listen to me. If this continues, the subspace will kill me. One jump, or two. It doesn't matter... you are killing me."
The prophet stood up from the command throne and walked to the railing of the podium, leaned down, and looked at the orderly bridge below.
The holographic display flashed with a ghostly warning of the threat: six Eldar warships in total, their sails lost in the twisting mist.
"Ottavia."
His voice softened.
"They can't chase us forever. I need you to give me a little more help... please."
Octavia didn't answer, but a few seconds later, the answer came from the ship itself.
The decks began to tremble as the warp engines began to build up power, turning one reality into another.
"do you remember."
Her voice echoed across the command deck.
"The first time I took control of the Blood Alliance?"
There was a strange duality in her tone, as if she were united with the machine soul of the ship, an unhealthy unity that gave Talos goosebumps all over his body.
"I remember, you said you could kill us all because we were heretics."
"I was angry and scared at the time."
He heard her take a breath.
"Everyone, get ready to enter the sea of souls."
"Thank you, Octavia, I will remember your contribution this time, and I will repay you when the time is right."
"You shouldn't thank slaves."
she replied, her resonant voice echoing through the halls.
"And this hasn't worked yet. Save your thanks for when we can survive. Should we run or hide this time?"
"neither."
As soon as Talos spoke,
Every eye on the bridge was turned toward him, and those Legionnaires still on the command deck watched most enthusiastically.
"We won't run away."
Talos told Octavia calmly, knowing that everyone was watching him.
"We don't hide anymore, we have to take a stand."
Talos passed the coordinates through the keyboard on the arm of his throne.
"Take us to the Nessian system."
"Throne!"
Octavia cursed, causing half the crew on the bridge to frown at the Imperial curse.
"are you sure?"
"We don't have the fuel to dance with them, and we can't break their blockade. If we are herded together like prey, then I will at least choose where to fight back."
Selion returned to the throne and asked teasingly:
"Then the question is, what if they're waiting for us there?"
Talos looked at his brother for a long moment.
"What do you want me to say, Selion? We're going to keep going, we're going to kill them, or they're going to kill us."
Curse lingering in the warp, Talos left the bridge and walked to meet the soul he had every reason to see, but had no desire to see again.
Sword in hand, he walked down the winding corridor, his thoughts dark—and his choices even darker.
He was going to do something he should have done a long time ago.
As he stood before them, the doors to the Hall of Reflections rumbled open, and while the servants were still going about their business, the humble Mechanicus turned to watch him enter.
"Soul Hunter."
A mechanical priest in a robe greeted respectfully:
"My name is Talos."
The Prophet replied as he walked past him.
"Please use it correctly."
Suddenly he felt a hand grasp his shoulder guard, and turned to face the man who had dared to touch him.
This faux pas is far unlike any Tech-Priest's.
"Talos."
Dietrian, the heretic of the Mechanicus, said as he straightened and tilted the skull mask that served as his face.
"Your presence, while not violating any code of conduct, was unexpected, and the result of our last conversation was that you will be summoned if anything changes in that thing."
That thing...
Talos didn't like the Mechanicus' choice of words.
"I know our agreement, Dietrian."
"But you come here armed, with the sword drawn in this sacred place, and there is only one outcome that has any serious possibility in dealing with your actions."
"what is that?"
"You have come to destroy the coffin and kill Macharion inside."
"Good guess."
Talos turned and entered the chamber attached to him, where the ornate coffin of the War Philosopher lay.
"etc--!"
Talos stopped, not because of Dietrian's command but because of his own shock, but the sword remained in one open fist.
He saw the sight before him: Ornate sarcophagi chained together in the ceramic shell of a Contemptor Dreadnought, the blue aura of Stasis still moving around the war machine's limbs - locking them in There - motionless.
"Why are you doing this?"
Talos didn't look away.
"I didn't order him to be turned into a Dreadnought."
Dietrian hesitated before speaking.
"The Ritual of Resurrection requires placing the subject within a sacred casing."
Talos didn't know what to say, he wanted to object, but he knew nothing would move Dietrian and make him see anything meaningful.
And he was even more surprised when he saw another figure already in the room.
The man sat with his back against the wall, lazily holding the trigger of the chain axe, listening to the whine of the blade.
"Hi bro, good afternoon."
Another Night Lord greeted him softly.
"Usas? What brings you here?"
Ursus shrugged.
"I come here often to see him and I feel like he should come back to us, we need him but he doesn't want to be needed."
Talos stared at Ursus for a while, and then gave Dietrian instructions in a low and slow voice.
"Activate comms talker."
"Sir, I-"
"Activate the speakerphone or I'll kill you."
"As you command."
Dietrian trotted along on his thin legs, clattering to the main console, followed by an unhealthy grinding sound from several levers.
Hum, hum hum hum, ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
For a moment, the room was filled with breathless, animalistic and exhausted screams.
Somehow the voice sounded like an old man's—full of old, tired frailty.
Talos closed his eyes for a moment, but his helmet remained staring ahead, as grim and unfeeling as ever.
"enough."
he whispered.
"I'm going to put an end to this."
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