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 more than 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 threat warning: a total of six Eldar warships, their sails disappearing into 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 spacecraft itself gave the answer.
The decks began to tremble as the warp engines began to gather energy, 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 was united with the machine soul of the ship. This unhealthy unity 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."
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 hall.
"And this hasn't worked yet. Save your thanks until we can survive. Should we run away or hide this time?"
"neither."
As soon as Talos spoke,
Every eye on the bridge was turned towards him, and those legionnaires still on the command deck were watching most enthusiastically.
"We won't run away."
Talos told Octavia calmly, knowing that everyone was watching him.
"We don't hide anymore, we want to make our position clear."
Talos passed the coordinates via the keyboard on the arm of his throne.
"Take us to the Nessian system."
"Throne!"
Octavia cursed, causing half of 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 driven 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 time.
"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."
With the curse floating 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.
He held the sword in his hand and 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 door to the Hall of Reflections rumbled open. The servants were still going about their business, and 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 grasping his shoulder pad, and turned to face the man who dared to touch him.
This disrespectful behavior is very different from that of any Tech-priest.
"Talos."
Dietrian, the heretic of the Mechanicus, said as he straightened and tilted the skull mask that served as his face.
"Although your appearance did not violate any code of conduct, it was unexpected. The result of our last conversation was that you will be summoned if there are any changes in that thing."
That thing...
Talos didn't like the Mechanicus' choice of words.
"I know our agreement, Dietrian."
"But you came 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 orders but because of his own shock, but the sword was still held in an open fist.
He took in the sight before him: Ornate sarcophagi chained together in the ceramic shell of a Contemptor Dreadnought, the blue halo of stasis still moving around the war machine's limbs - locking them in
There - motionless.
"Why are you doing this?"
Talos didn't look anywhere else.
"I didn't tell you to turn him into a Dreadnought."
Dietrian hesitated before speaking.
"The Ritual of Resurrection requires the subject to be placed 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 when he saw another figure in the room, he was even more surprised.
The man sat with his back against the wall, lazily holding the trigger of the chain ax and listening to the whine of the blade.
"Hi bro, good afternoon."
Another Night Lord greeted him softly.
"Usas? What kind of wind brings you here?"
Ursus shrugged.
"I often come here to see him, and I think 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 issued instructions to Dietrian in a low and slow voice.
"Activate comms speaker."
"Sir, I——"
"Activate the speaker or I'll kill you."
"As you command."
Dietrian trotted all the way on his thin legs, clattering to the main console, and then several levers made unhealthy friction sounds.