Patients and Oaths

The droning of the ogryn was tuned out by Azazel, he no longer cared about anything the occupants were saying to actually listen. It had been... years since he had a proper laboratory and med bay, and now he was in one. Sure it'd need a few changes... personal touches... but he could finally get to work again... the blades sang to him even now. His Narthecium arm shook in anticipation as he examined the state of the heresy era medical bay and its attendant equipment. The Apothecary seemed lost as his students ghosted behind him similarly lost, old memories all coming back of their times using far steadier blades. Back when they were free off the battlefield to experiment... test... the Apothecaries helm turned swiftly back to the still un-moving Dark Angel. He let his HUD detail to him just how the marine was dying, where every wound was and its severity, the likelihood of survival without medical attention and, most importantly, where improvements could be made.

He looked at the less damaged unarmored marine who had so brasly challenged Azael, "Time is of the essence my friend. I assure you the Dark Angel is dying. He will die if I do not intervene, and with all this...", he gestured about, able to think clearly with his blood lust subdued by his wish to utilize this new laboratory, "equipment I assure you I can save him. You see, currently he is actually liable to bleed out. Laraman's Organ was either damaged in our previous engagement, or is simply overtaxed by the sheer number of serious wounds. His blood is not clotting and scar tissue is not forming fast enough. At the current rate he will be beyond saving in approximately five terran minutes due to loss of blood.
Normally simply pathcing his wounds could save him but serious nerve damage may have ovvured, not to mention the sever levels of trauma his body is currently fighting. He has taken enough damage to send a marine into shock. That alone is impressive. Shrapnel wracks his body and if I don't seal his wounds, repair or un-obstruct his Laramans organ and remove as much shrapnel as I can he is going to die..."

He chuckled lightly and walked over to Xepherial, hoisting the marine over his shoulder with a loud grunt. He looked at Thron and his contempt was potent beneath his eye lenses, "Stop me now and he will die. And then you will die. Now if you'll excuse me I have... work to do...", he let out a shaking breath of excitement as he placed Xepherial on the nearest operating table. What followed was nothing but vox clicks between the red marines, all clustered over Xepherials body.

The three fallen apothecaries first discussed what they would need to stop him form dying, a 10 second conversation. Next came 130 seconds of contemplation of what 'enhancements' were best. Then another 20 seconds of the three ensuring all nearbye supplies were in working and sterile order. All in all, there was just over 60 seconds left before the marine reached a point of no return. Only then, did the apothecary begin to work. There was no need yet for anestesia, the subject was unable to move. Azazel's fingers seemed to move like precise lightning strikes, cutting away armor and flesh, coagulant and needle's flying across xepherials skin and inside his ruined chest cavity. The Marines helm was removed by his pupil with two arms while the other removed Xepherials chestplate.

Vitality monitors were already hooked into the marine and were already starting to stabilize within seconds. But Azazel never slowed down. Needle, scalpel and narthecium moved in unison, never staying still. Vox clicks announced when the surgeons would speak, sometimes leading to passed tools and other times simple nods or shakes of the head. Their eyes never lifted from Xepherial's body. About two minutes in, Xeph would start to come to, but before he could react a needle slipped into his neck. It was a large needle from a small leather pouch on Azazel's hip. He couldn't move a muscle, going totally limp and unable to move any part of him... and suddenly there would be pain. He could feel every stich, every cut and every prod like fire under his skin it was so intense. blood flow had long slowed to manageable but still it covered his chirugeons hands as they clicked like excited crows, particularly Azaze'ls Corvus pattern helm clicked and nodded like the clever birds. Suddenly several leather bags and pouches were deposited onto the table by the pupils. Strange metallic objects were drawn from them, along with more common but... crude implements. Bone saws and sutures, hideously spike forceps and clamps. Suddenly the clicking was constant as the implements were utilized or attached. Bones pulled away to attatch strange cybernetic implements to organs or muscles and bone, each one being put in place with excruciating agony. Yet Xeph could neither close his eyes nor pass out, the drug flowing thtough his system ensuring he was completely awake and helpless, his nerve centers tortured with every passing second.

The red gauntlets of the marines were stained darker as they worked for what felt like an eternity. finally the clicking birds seemed satisified and started to sow the marine back up.

Another needle jammed into Xeph's neck and suddenly it was all dark again. Senses dulled, unable to see his pain was a distant pang, felt but not fully experienced. And suddenly it all seemd to shake, like an earth quake in his own mind.

Azazel had moved up to his skull, using saw and forceps and clamps he split open the marines head and suddenly the three were completely quiet. They seemed to have some kind of... lazer like focus on Xepherial, and Azazel's work on his skull. This lasted twenty minutes, the rest had lasted less than seven. Azazel breathed heavily as he cut and sowed and attached, careful and precise with every movement as he rooted around in the marines skull. Then... he just stopped and started closing him up. Silently his aides reattached Xepherials damaged armor as azael cleaned up blood and messy stitching. Finally, he let out an aubible, content sigh. He looked up at the room, and finally removed his helmet. His face was in a rictus grin, teeth flashed gratuitously, "The work is done... he will live... much, much longer he will live."

The back of Xepherials skull was covered in strange machinery, mainly around the base of his skull. Runes and clear vials were displayed prominently as wires ran into the back of his scalp in thick cabling. Another successful surgery.

Urgrugg sat in the corner of the ship, staring into the gem atop his staff. He was only half paying attention to what was going on around him. In a way, it almost felt like there were two of him, one preoccupied with his staff and the other concerned with the rest of the world. In his head, an argument went on, a crazy argument that would make no sense to anyone but an ork. Even then, no other ork would have the argument themselves. Either way, Urgrugg was likely crazy.

As the crew talked and debated, his thoughts slowly began to turn to hostile actions. For the longest time, a voice in the back of his mind had discouraged those thoughts, and helped keep them in check. Now, though, that voice was gone, and each passing moment made Urgrugg doubt whatever sense he had ever thought it had made. The conversations going on were not helping matters, either.

For the most part, things seemed simple to Urgrugg. They needed to leave, and go somewhere else. The obvious place to go was somewhere they could fight. The rest of it was just wasted breath. While some part of him found what the Ogryn said to be fascinating, and extremely informative-it had answered so many questions the ork had had about imperial culture for so long-it still did not matter. Sure, the Ogryn was the biggest, so obviously he should be in charge, but any boy could tell you bosses aren't chosen for their thoughts. All leading a mob meant was you got to fight all the biggest and toughest things.

Of course, there was also the gem. It was small, but it was there, his secret store of warp energy. It wasn't enough to do much, but it took next to nothing to kill someone. All he would have to do is break skin, and the jolt of warp energy could shoot to the victim's brain and destroy it completely. He could use that, but then he would be left defenseless. Just knowing it was there, though, was a comfort to the ork. Really, though, there was something else he wanted to do with that small burst of energy much, much more.

In a way, Urgrugg was like a man lost at sea, with nothing to drink but a bottle of rum. Who he was, his personality as it had existed for his long life, was based on a steady and constant connection to the warp. Without that connection, that personality was dying, being dehydrated by the lack of warp energy he was used to. There was warp energy around him, of course-everything produces warp energy, and the eldar stones were practically giant batteries-but like a thirsty man at sea he knew it would do him no good. Just taking in that power would not only not fix his problem, it would make it worse, and very quickly.

However, his stone was slightly different. That warp energy he could take in, and safely. It also was not the real thing. All it would accomplish is make him want more. Just like the man with the rum, though, it would feel so good going down. That alone might make the consequences worth it, if he were just going to die either way.

These two streams of thought clashed. One side of him wanted to fight, to kill everyone there just for the sake of the battle. The other was obsessed with the gem, stuck in a constant state of uncertainty of what to do with it. While the two sides would not seem mutually exclusive, deep down, it was actually a war between his base, orky self, trying to return to its instincts, versus his true identity, desperately grasping for his last chance at hope, knowing that when he takes hold of it, that will just mark the end.

When the ship shook, it jarred him from his thoughts, and that was all it took. His nose locked onto the scent of fresh blood, his eyes sought the group operating on the fallen tech marine. Standing, the battle in his mind was halted. Not ended, so much as stalled, as both sides agreed there was something else that needed done.

Walking up to the apothecary, he waited for him to finish. Once done, the ork held out his arm. Though it had reattached, and he was able to move it, it was little more than useless beyond that. It looked like it had been mummified, shriveled and completely dehydrated as it was. Like in most cases, the ork had managed to do what many would say could not be done. However, it had not been done well, and the result could hardly be called a success.

"You fix?" he asked the apothecary, a bit excited, though he didn't show it. Seeing the tech marine come out of his surgery with metal additions had made Urgrugg somewhat hopeful for something like that of his own. Perhaps one of those power claws he had heard of. Though, it was unlikely the marine would be able to match true ork engineering. "Can trade. Make me better. Make you better." Gesturing with his staff, he indicated the apothecary with the prior, then himself with the latter.

Ga'duk's spiel was certainly... succinct. From the sound of things, it seemed the heresy in question involved... Horse, Horus? And bastard that he was, his armies apparently made it all the way to Terra itself, only to be slain by the Emperor. Well, as the lug said, the Emperor was very good at protecting what was his... and yet somehow, that hadn't been enough to defend himself from Horus? Leaving him confined to a throne of some sort as a result. And frankly, that was quite unbelievable, for what sort of harm could possibly leave the Emperor of Mankind so damaged for so much time? It might actually be more believable to assume he was truly dead, but without any counter-arguments, he had to assume most of the immense fool's testimony was somewhat accurate.

Around this point in his musings, the Dark Apothecary started to get in his face about exactly how unlikely Xepherial was to survive if he wasn't healed, and quickly. He disliked the red-armoured Marine's demeanour. Actually, he disliked a lot about him, including the obviously heretical allegiance. Even so, if what he said was true, then Lucius would have to concede the point in this case - his skill would be necessary to revive Xepherial after all. Assuming he was truth-telling, that is, and there was every reason for him to not do so.

Even so, the Dark Angel kept a hawkish lookout over the proceedings. Though it took an inordinate amount of time for them to actually start, it happened that once they did, they began to work extremely rapidly indeed, the Marine and his subordinates apparently communicating in various clicks and whirrs... or, perhaps it was just signalling. He had no way to tell.

Two minutes in, Xepherial seemed to begin to awaken. Before he could properly do so, however, a needle was pushed into his neck, pumping some substance or another into his body that made him go limp once more, not seconds before a pile of machinery was dumped on to the table next to the Marine. Were they not done yet? Was all this really necessary? In spite of himself, he tried to tell himself that, perhaps it would assist in recovery. Or maybe they were to boost strength? He didn't know, couldn't say, and yet there was certainly a lot being modified.

It was about six minutes in that Lucius finally glanced toward Xepherial's face, finally saw his eyes were still open... finally saw the glazed expression he had. Not like his. An appearance of that sort was only caused by unbearable amounts of pain.

Lucius shivered as he barely restrained his anger, desiring little else than to tear the Chaos Marine apart limb from limb... and yet to do so now would surely be foolish, would surely leave him more dead than desired. And so, to distract himself, he called Ga'duk over to him, and for him to arrive quickly. Once he did, he would whisper into the Ogryn's ear, quietly enough that it'd hopefully go unnoticed by the surgeons over their workings: 'When I say "now", charge the main surgeon. Try to get one of his subordinates with the charge as well.'

And with that said, he managed to hold himself together for yet another forty or fifty seconds, until finally the artificial creatures around him began to sow the Dark Angel up.

And then another needle was plunged into Xepherial's neck. For half a second, Lucius tried to believe it was some form of healing accelerant... only to have his belief destroyed by the sound of a circular saw, and the turning of Xepherial on to his front, and there was no possible reason for the Apothecary to bring that towards the Techmarine's skull-

'Okay, no, you're done,' Lucius stated, intervening and pulling Xepherial's body off the operation table with a somewhat pained grunt. Not two seconds after he'd done so, however, he found himself in the grip of one of the Apothecary's minions, the power armoured arms wrapping round his own from behind in a way that attempted to encourage dropping his charge, and which would probably be inescapable for any normal human... luckily, he was no normal human. Alas, since it seemed this course was inevitable, he supposed the earliest opportunity to gain the upper hand was appropriate here.

'Now!' he called, in the same moment dragging one arm painfully free of the Marine's grasp, his other hand gripping Xepherial's armour where he had as much grip as possible, using the Techmarine's own substantial weight as momentum to spin himself round and toss the Marine toward the wall, or at least away from the psychopaths that called themselves Apothecaries for the moment. Continuing the spin in spite of the nerves of his arm protesting the skin twisting like that underneath the fabric, he yanked his other arm free, gripping his foe's helmet with the first freed hand, and with the second drawing his combat knife and holding it to the throat of the Chaos Space Marine he now stood behind. They were armoured, but even they had joints that needed flexibility, which could be exploited as weak points if one had the time to focus on such a possibility.

And all this in no more than a second. Considering the lack of armour, he was quite impressed with himself. On the other hand, how the Marine reacted to suddenly being held hostage was... somewhat more debatable. And he did hope he had the strength to maintain his advantage, after all that effort to get him in this position to begin with.

Ga'duk watched the surgery with facination, he had seen battlefield medicine before but it wasnt the same. The Imperial guard medics would staunch the bleeding and get the soldier stabalized enough to make it back to a forward medical station or back to the doctors on a ship. This however was much more methodical, like the Imperial guard medicae doctors he guessed. It was still interesting to watch, even if he didnt have to training to understand their work.

Thorn called him over and whispered a plan to him, however surgeon and subordinate didnt make a ton of sense to him. Surgeon sounded familiar but he wasnt sure what it meant, and subordinate had far too many syllables to be understood. Ga'duk was pretty sure that subordinate was not a real word. He mulled over Thorn's orders, "Charge the main surgeon".. well, that might mean the red marine Medic.. or the black clad robot? He looked over and studied the dread mage and decided it was unlikely as Thorn marched over towards the group of marines. Ok, but he still wasnt sure who to charge, Azazel was the likely choice as the one in charge. While Thorn argued with the marines Ga'duk tried to decifer the second part of the order.

Sub-ohr-did-nate... No definately not a real word. Thorn was probably screwing with him, Which was fine. It always happened, soldiers and commanding officers often messed with Ogryn because they are just "big n' dumb" and there for easily screwed with. However the ogryn's puzzlement was broken when he heard Thorn shout 'Now' and execute a very impresseve series of movements that brought the marine holding him under Thorn's control. He wondered what was supposed to happen next, Thorn was out numbered and the other marines would kill him soon if something else didnt come help him....

Oh, Right. It wasnt long but approximately a heart beat passed before the cogs in the ogryn's mind all caught up. Charge the main surgeon... Probably Azazel, the rest he would have to confer with Thorn about. He leaned forward and pumped his legs getting his hundreds of pound moving at a speed that would not have won any races, but his momentum was enough to damage small vehicles, and space marines. He noticed a marine between him and Azazel, which was less than helpful. So he bowled through the marine as he prepared to do something horrible to the robot marine or Thorn. Ga'duk's shoulder connected with the marine's breast plate. He also swung his arm batting the marine into the wall of the medical room smashing and deforming shelves and drawers in a roughly marine shape. He lashed out with his leg trying to kick Azazel down, just as the marine turned to square off with the Ogryn.

Ga'duk's boot hit the marine square in the chest launching him back several feet. At the same moment the boot connected there was a sharp report from a bolt pistol he didnt notice that slammed into his leg and tore a sizeable bit of muscle to sloppy gore. However the explosive charge was a dud because, as everyone knows, the Emperor Protects. Even with the shell being a dud it weakened the Ogryn and the leg gave out under his considerable weight. The marine was prepared for the kick and managed to absorb the force and simply slide evenly back across the metal floor, keeping his feet and training the bolt pistol at the Ogryn.

Ga'duk simply stared the marine down with an expression of barely contained fury. Not only the rage carefully crafted by the Imperial Guard, but a more primal and savage one. One that would be easily recognized had anyone seen a Khornate Berzerker. This was the same fury but restrained by a sane, if simple, mind. The taint of chaos was slowly infecting the Ogryn, a largely unshielded mind surrounded by heretics and xenos artefacts where having its affect. Perhaps this fresh corruption could be cultivated.

Looking around the room, the situation was becoming ever more heated. With astartes of varying kinds becoming increasingly hostile to each other, risking to have at each other at any moment.
Zuriel needed to make something, he was tired of this useless rivalry. It was time to exert his power over the situation.

After having cast himself into the depths of loss and despair as he crept along the corners of the room he realized his folly and began to exert his will over those around him. Knowledge is power, and he held that knowledge. For it was given to him by the liber mechanicum.

All around him was medical machinery, some of excellent quality and of ancient design. The best available for mortal standards.
He knew there was better, especially for his ends. Alas he could not be picky and went to work.

He made sure he was out of immediate sight, or at least wouldn't be shot instantly when the marines started firing.
Behind him the situation was becoming more and more heated as the renegades were performing surgery upon the techmarine.

Opening the liber mechanicum Zuriel flipped quickly through the pages until the correct page was showing. He had no idea which page was the correct one, nor was there any way to know if it was the correct page since the pages lacked numbers, letters or illustrations to differentiate them from each other.
But this was the correct page, he was sure of it. He ripped a small elongated piece of the parchment from the top right corner and put it down in front of him. Took a vial and using a tweezer he put the piece inside.
With a moment of hesitation, Zuriel froze, flipped a dozen or so pages, ripped another piece out and put into another vial.

He filled the vial halfway with water, took some of the oil which dripped from his robes and put into the vials. Gave a quick whirl and then ran his fingers across a multitude of samples. Stopped at one and snagged it from the storage.
Emptied the vial roughly equally in the two experiments and finally corked them and watched them as they blended.

Black swirls were going inside the vials, dancing, defying gravity.
Excellent, even as he can't focus energy inside here. It seems the already defiled materials still held much of their potency.
After a while, after hearing the chain blade of a narthesium go into full whirr Zuriel took samples from the two vials. And checked them in a microscope.
The virus samples were alive, and they were hungry. They were happily attacking the skin cells of the parchment from the book. Since it wasn't parchment at all. It was leather. Probably human by the look of it.
Perfect, the samples were having the desired effect. The virus was mutating. He marked the two vials, the first red, the second green before putting them in a pouch on his person.
He also made sure to snag a hefty syringe, he would need it for later.

How quickly things had changed. At first, he'd stepped forward to make one proposition, now he was considering another. One thing was for certain, this trip was looking to be much more lively than he'd expected. All things considered, it looked like he may just end up with that fight he was after anyway.

The two marines fighting, moving around with certainty and precision, reminded him of the elite of his own tribe. Most thought that sluggishness and poor reflexes stemmed from just being slow. No, in truth, speed in combat was more about the state of mind than the state of body. It always surprised their enemies when the hulking, brutish nobs they expected to be lumbering and slow proved to strike with speed like that of a jungle cat. It was hesitation that ultimately slowed a warrior in combat, and while orks were prone to making poor decisions, they made them with finality. Once an ork set to a course of action, he carried it through, heedless of danger. It was their nature, and though it proved a double-edged sword, it was often a boon in combat their enemies never expected.

When the huge ogryn came charging towards the other marine, it wasn't entirely surprising that he'd been brought down. After all, he had hesitated when given the order to strike, and that had been time which worked against him. Now, laying on the floor as he was, bleeding and vulnerable, it felt only right to kill him. He had lost, and in combat, that was the penalty for defeat.

Looking over at the tech marine who had once more been thrown to the floor in all the commotion, Urgrugg suddenly had a better idea. There were other things that could be done to a failed combatant. Slavery, for one, was a favorite among his kind. Having muscle like that, it would be a waist to put down the old dog. Though, saving him at this point would be difficult indeed.

Reaching out with his staff, the ork touched the tip of the crystal to the open wound on the ogryn's leg. He had to be careful, or what he was about to do would kill the big brute. As it stood, there was a not small chance it would kill him anyway. Either way, there was no risk in it.

Tapping the hidden power in the staff, Urgrugg released the warp energy stored within. This technique was originally meant to kill, but he had manipulated it like this before, and knew it could work. As the power was released, he focused not on the target's brain, which was the usual aim, but his nerves. Lighting up the entire system, he forced all of them to send a signal, all at the same time; Pain, pure, and massive in scale. When it was all discharged, if the ogryn lived, the nerve damage would be severe, and it would be more than enough to put him in a coma.

When he saw the big fellow's head slump back, he looked at the apothecary. Maybe, giving him a new patient would defuse some of the tension in the air. Gesturing to the potential corpse of the ogryn, he spoke, "Can use. Give to nurgle. He accept. Make better. Make green."

Like it or not, the other space marine was a fool. If a pain boy wanted to experiment on a patient as the price for operation, there was no choice to it. Even if stopped, the pain boy would just make sure some part of the operation was incomplete, something vital that could be left to last but that had to be done. The habit among his tribe was to leave the idiot a vegetable until it was done, and Urgrugg had a suspicion something like that was going on here. Watching the procedure, it was obvious the apothecary had the skill for that. Looking in his eyes, it was obvious he was orky enough to do it.

Xepherial felt his body lifted and placed onto a table, an altar, or maybe it was a grave. The pain of his wracked and burned insides no longer seemed as intense, as if it no longer mattered and meant nothing. Despite the disorientation, he knew, or he was vaguely aware, that he was surrounded by enemies who would assure his demise. He could hear them but couldn't make out their words. All Xepherial knew was that hope had run out. It was over, and he was shutting down.

It was then that his wound was opened and the surgeon began his work. Pain flickered alive briefly once more, but again, it didn't matter and garnered no reaction. Xepherial was a defenseless corpse teetering on the brink of salvage, daring the dark apothecary to ply his skill. Azazel worked quickly with razor sharp focus and heretical alacrity, like any fresh warrior taking to the battlefield. Bleeding was stopped, shrapnel removed, seared flesh cut away. Stimulants and stabilizing drugs seized hold of Xepherial's vitals, refusing them permission to drop any further. Vessels were stitched closed and organs reconnected to their blood supplies, and soon... the god-emperor forsaken marine was forced back to consciousness. Death had been denied.

Xeph's eyes cracked open to see the form of Azazel, his red-clad students at his side, withdrawing a blood-covered narthecium as he took note of Xepherial's awakening. He was like a giant, red, demonic bird crossed with an apothecary. The look on the space marine's face was interesting as he began to lift his head. Shock, denial, pain, and perhaps gratitude? The conflict was amusing.

"No.." Xepherial irked out, yet he could not deny that every cell in his body was greatful. He hated Azazel, and yet at the same time, didn't want him to stop. The 'benevolent' emissary of chaos had restored his life, painfully and mercilessly, but now that debt could not be denied. Innate human instinct cried out for survival like it would for any base animal, fighting Xepherial's moral directive to kill this heretic!

Before he could protest any further, emotionally or physically, the decision was made for him, and Xepherial was silenced by a needle to the neck. His muscles almost instantly went slack, a better restraint than any physical force. Resisting the chemicals in his blood was utterly impossible, yet the space marine keep trying. This, he found, was where the real pain began. Xepherial's mental scream would have deafened an astropath, music to a neverborn's ears. He felt everything Azazel did to him, bones fracturing, muscle being torn off its attachments and relocated, the grinding, the fusion of cold, cruel implants to his unwilling flesh. Rage traded back and forth with agony and blurring denial in his mind, and for the first time in the space marine's life since his long forgotten childhood, Xepherial felt fear. He felt terror, and to have been forced to know that one emotion as a space marine was to be broken.

The look on the paralyzed once-Dark Angel's face was a horror to behold, spurring his barest allies into action. Another needle finally ended Xepherial's suffering, allowing him to fall into neutral blackness and quasi-oblivion.

Ga'duk stared at the Chaos marine for several heartbeats debating if he would be able to cross the few feet between them and kill him before the bolter shells brought him down. It wasn't a real debate, the marine had already shot him once and his leg stayed attached only because the shell was a dud. His eyes tracked to Thorn for a moment and could see him still struggling with the other marine, he was in a stand off... No, not even a stand off he was at the mercy of a bloodthirsty crazed marine. He still tried to push himself up to stand and felt the pain and blood well up in his leg just as he felt a tickle of something press against the wound.

He glanced over and stared at the Ork pushing his staff against the wound, he was puzzled for a moment not understanding what the Ork was doing. Then a lance of agony crept up his leg, as if every nerve was being set ablaze. Ga'duk's eyes went wide is fear, convinced that the Ork had just tried to kill him, but the pain launched up his body radiating from the leg into his torso and limbs. He slumped back with almost a childish whimper and curling into a ball, flexing and tightening his muscles in a desperate hope that raw strength could stop the assault on his body, with each flex it amplified the pain making the Ogryn roar in pain and fear, maybe chasing the magic in his body away by scaring it. It was a pitiful gesture made out of desperation, but it was short lived at the pain found its way up to his brain, He thrashed on the floor for a moment, bouncing his head off the metal floor before he fell limp darkness stealing his vision and mind.

His breathing and heart slowed as his consciousness fled, and continued slowing as the magic coursed through him. The Ork's magic burned the nerves out, destroying the Ogryn's mind and body, a slight trickle of blood running from his ears the only sign that he was no longer whole and simply an empty shell of living meat destined to slowly waste away as his biology continued on without knowledge that he was already dead.

---

Oskar ran down the corridor fleeing from a few hundred million tyrannid.. Well probably not that many but more than he could confidently burn to death. He had already lost his platoon, his company, and finally his squad. The bugs had ambushed them, attacking the middle of the column over and over again, splitting them into smaller units to be devoured. Oskar and his squad had been on point while the Storm Troopers where trying to join the Adepta Sororitas who had been bogged down by Chaos, Orks, Astartes, Ogryn and Tyrannids if the vox traffic was true. The bugs had been picking the troopers off until Oskar sprinted through the corridors alone. The sound of battle echoing all around him, He could still hear his captain shouting defiantly at the horde and the sound of bolter and chainsword growing closer. 'Crazy fool' thought Oskar, He crossed a wide hallway with what appeared to be the hull of a ship jutting from the wall with Sisters of battle, chaos marines, and genestealers strewn about the floor. The battle that happened here had moved on, probably in the direction of the heavy bolter hammering away nearby. He spyed a trail of blood heading around a massive slap of steel in the middle of the corridor, "that's curious" he mumbled to himself the rest of the battle had gone in a different direction. Maybe he could find some rouge traders to hitch a ride with.

He reached the door and heard some conflict going on, and definitely an Ogryn shouting. It wasn't Genestealers, he was sure, and that was good enough for him. He was about to pound on the door when he heard a growl behind him. "shit" Oskar said as he turned to see no more than a half dozen clawed genestealers. "Oh, 6? I can take six of yah bastards" he hefted his flamer to point down the hall. The genestealers charged into his range and Oskar smiled as a jet of burning promethium engulfed the creatures making them shriek. Oskar shouted maniacally at the dying creatures "BURN YAH BASTARDS BURN! BURN! HAHAHA" feeling joy and satisfaction with the flames roaring from their twitching bodies. He then turned and kicked the door hard with his armored boot, not wanting to be in the open with Genestealers on his heels for long. he kicked the door again hoping to draw the attention of someone inside. "IF YOU DONT OPEN UP ILL BLOW THIS DOOR DOWN AND LET THE TYRANNIDS EAT YAH!" he shouted. He still unslung the heavy melta bomb to make good on his threat if he needed to.

Well... this was an unexpected turn of events. Not Thorn's resistance, no that was fully expected. The ogryns intercession was far more surprising. Were it not for his pupil it is very likely the Ogyn wopuld have been able to trounce the Dark apothecary. As it were, his pupil was half way across the room, rather dazed, and his other student was held up by Thorn. The red armored marine thrashed and growled as his rage grew, Thorn had interrupted the marine whilst engrossed in a calming surgery, and the surgery in his skull was taking over again.

Azazel stared at the downed Ogryn, the rage in its eyes a clear indication of the anger of Khorne taking root... a possible ally... were it not for the ork of course. Another surprise... the Ork must have viewed Azazel as a boss... or some other primitive equivalent in orkish 'society' if it could even be called that. He'd have to insure the Ork remained on his side. He had already proven his loyalty twice now. Azazel began to laugh. He turned to Thorn, currently holding his other pupil.

"Well Thorn, it seems your little gambit has failed. Once again you are alone, outnumbered and outgunned. Bravis will knock his way out of your grip soon enough. And then he is going to rip both of your arms off. I will do nothing to stop this. Now... if you'd do me the favor of surrendering and releasing Bravis of your own free will, I'll keep him from killing you by beating you to death with your own severed limbs. And... I'll keep you off my table unless you are truly in danger. Deal? Oh of course I'll have free reign to finish the delicate operation on your friend of course. Well? Life or death 'Thorn'?"

He laughed and leveled his pistol at thorn as Bravis yanked and fought hard trying to escape.

@agentmanatee@Sophrus@Wraithblade6@Necroes@Klomster@BCTheEntity

Vedius had no real idea what was going on about him, although the plethora of raised voices told him that something was certainly wrong, even if he had wanted to turn about and see for himself what was happening he was close to finding an answer to their navigation problems...or so he believed; Emperor but these codes and complications were infuriating him, his hands moving over the control consoles as fast as they could go.

“Oh Throne,” he muttered, a blinking rune separating itself from the other, larger, runes that represented the space battle they had only recently entered and apparently coming right for them. Of course he had not bothered telling the others, it would only cause trouble that he wanted to avoid, but they had slid like a tiny minnow into a net full of gnashing sharks (the Imperial and Astartes ships) and sleek adversaries that were half there and half shadow (their Eldar opponents). For this long he had been able to avoid direct fire, assuming correctly that whomever was in command thought of them as below contempt, but now it seemed that someone had decided they were worth at least the missile speeding toward them.

“I would advise that everyone hold onto something!” Came his voice, amplified by his helmet and directed toward the fractured factions behind him.

In a flurry of movement he turned on the view-screen, the large square taking up most of the foremost wall of the ship, and before all their eyes the true extent of just how deep into danger they were became very apparent; solar sailed Eldar ships dog-fought with Thunderhawk gunships and Fury Interceptors, larger cruisers blasted one another with glittering beams of pure energy or cannons the size of cathedrals, even now the Astartes of the Hawk Lords prepared themselves to send out boarding pods and decimate the enemy from the inside out.

Oh yes, they were in trou-

Thrump

The missile impacted on their Starboard side, a shudder weaving its way through the whole vessel, instruments falling from racks beside the medical tables, weapons hammering to the floor.

“We'll never make it out of here alive,” came another muttering, “unless...”

His head whipped about to take in a scene that he hadn't expected to find, a bleeding Astartes, a dead-looking Ogryn, and apparently the beginning of a violent confrontation. He had to ignore that for the moment though.

“I'm going to take us into an enemy ship!” He bellowed, “prepare for a boarding action, or prepare to die.”

How in the Emperor's name was he going to do this?!

-“I would advise that everyone hold onto something!” The voice of Vedius snapped Zuriel out of his pondering of who to give the serums and he recognized the klaxon for incoming fire.

Instinctively he latched on a roof support beam with his mechandrite arm which gave him a rock solid stance and readied himself for the impact.

The ship shook and while some who didn't manage to grab on in time or didn't bother was flung to the floor, Zuriel barely moved an inch.
The situation was getting more and more chaotic, suitable considering most of the present.
After Vedius suggested they board an enemy vessel he knew everyone on this ship was crazy apart from him.

While the situation around him kept going out of control, Zuriel spotted a holding apparatus that had been severely damaged from the attack.
Inside was a single odd gem, shining with a sort of unnatural alien gleam, reminding him of a picture of a galaxy, Zuriel couldn't help himself so he simply pocketed it.
He had a plan with this one.

-“Prepare for a boarding action, or prepare to die.” Vedius voice boomed out once more, Zuriel simply raised his puny hellpistol and looked around him skeptically to see if any of the others followed suit.

Xepherial was up. Somewhere in the moments lost in the Ogryn and Thorn's intervention, the recently repaired dark angel had been able to clear much of the injection from his bloodstream. Pain, adrenaline, and the healing accelerants already injected into his body must have sped up the paralytic drug's metabolism allowing him to awaken. Still bare of his chestplate, Xepherial's stitched-up and bloody chest heaved breath once again with newfound strength as he used the table near him to pull himself up. His tortured flesh pulled against the sutures, already scarring down at this stage of super-human healing.

"Monster, fiend!" Xepherial was beyond begging for the life he hadn't asked to be restored. His voice was rash. He didn't care if he died at this point, but he would vent his rage at his tormentor while he still had the power. "I'll kill you..." He took a step threateningly in Azazel's direction.

Azazel snarled at Xephherial, looking up and down the recently awakened marine. His stitching was still new. "Quiet! And careful fool. Your stitching is new and your organs are still damaged. Give it time to recover before you choose a side." He sneered, using his free hand to draw his chainsword. He held it, pointed at Xepherial without it being revved up.

Bravis growled and yanked hard at Thorn, trying his damndest to escape.

Azazel's one armed pupil was slowly pulling himself up, mumbling, muttering and growling as he drew his bolter, shakily standing and leveling his bolter at Thorn... but he heard the banging on the door, and turned to it mildly interested.

Indoctrination and hypnotherapy were part of a space marine's early mental training. Through years of practice and endurance, they learned the control necessary to make use of their physical enhancements and abilities in the heat of battle. A space marine learned to ignore pain, to concentrate and to fight in spite of its presence, for days, to even arguably stave off death by their shear will. Although he had been young, Xepherial called on all of it now, compelling his wracked flesh forward in preparation of a physical assault. Muscle rippled behind the several interface ports he bore on his chest. All three of his remaining servo arms swung up behind him like scorpion tails, plasma snapping between the teeth of his cutter in anticipation of sizzeling through Azazel's armor. Yet, the trained eye of a scientist could see that his limbs quivered ever so slightly, the dilated, black pupils of his eyes struggled to hold their focus, adn his balance was off. There was nothing lacking about his will, however, and Xepherial suddenly lunged forward like a wounded lion with a right hook toward Azazel's beaky helm.

Azazel growled. He so hated undoing good work. The lunge was easily predictable and he knew Xepherial was far to damaged to beat him. He sidestepped the lunge and brought the flat metal back of the chainsword smashing into the side of his face with a ringing counterblow. He kept his pistol trained on Thorn and Bravis even as he knocked Xepherial hard on the face, likely now needing more needlework.

"How distasteful."

The Dark Angel had completely missed... No, no he had been out manuvered. Disoriented from the knock against his head and knocked to the ground, Xepherial awoke to the fact that he was in comparably poor condition to fight. Through disheveled black hair, he looked up and happened to see Thorn, fighting to save him despite his own wounds. Through clouded vision, Xepherial knew the man he saw wasn't a mortal human, but Astartes, like himself, a battle brother, someone who wasn't going to let him go down alone. The vision brought a strange comfort.

Azazel chuckled, and pointed his chainsword at the downed, disoriented and currently outmatched Xepherial. "Now SurrenderThorn. Or I'll do something truly terrible to poor Xepherial here."

The end result of all his hard planning had been... minimal progress, and a lot of setbacks. The Ogryn did manage to knock away one of the subordinates, only for the surgeon himself to blow a hole in his leg. And then the Ork did something that rendered the Ogryn unconscious, possibly dead. Overall, he had been worthless.

On the other hand, Lucius wasn't in such a great position himself. He still had the Marine in his grips, but as the surgeon helpfully pointed out, he'd break free eventually, bucking wildly as he was. And even if he let the Chaos Marine go of his own will, there was every possibility that he'd just kill Lucius anyway, either before his boss had the opportunity to tell him to stop, or because the man didn't bother, liar that he surely was. Either way, his position was extraordinarily perilous, especially with his persistent injuries and that bolt pistol levelled at him... and that might also be the key to surviving beyond the next few seconds, as it happened. The Marine he had hostage was equipped with his own weaponry, probably something ranged just in case; his armour would likely make for a good meatshield if he happened to die with his throat slit-

'I would advise that everyone hold on to something!' came the voice of the purple-armoured Marine piloting the bizarre ship, and for a couple of seconds, Lucius found himself gazing at a viewscreen that made his own situation seem a tad irrelevant for the time being. An immense space battle, seemingly between all sorts of factions - the Eldar, the Imperium, it seemed even one of the Legio Astartes was there, or at least whatever they had devolved into in the last ten thousand years. And in the same moment, Xepherial had revived himself, and now lunged toward the enemy Marine, threatening to destroy him. How exciting.

And yet this distraction was not to Lucius' benefit, for the wild Apothecary began to move ever more erratically, trying to grab back at Lucius' body to throw him, and it was clear he'd break free in a moment if Lucius didn't act right then. He tore his hand free of the Chaos Marine's helm, grabbed at whatever weapon happened to be at his belt, and was promptly thrown away as, simultaneously, the ship jolted and the Chaos Marine tore himself from Lucius' grasp.

Through the knife still at his throat. Lucius' strength alone might not have gone too far through even the weaker points of Bravis' defenses; with the additional strength of his own power armour, on the other hand, it managed to cut deep into the Marine's neck before sliding out and away with its wielder.

As he fell back, ready to spring away from the floor the second he landed, Lucius glanced at the blade in his hand, noting that it was coated in a layer of crystallising red blood across its entire width. An extremely damaging wound, then - chances are the initial bleeding wouldn't kill his ex-hostage, but the clotting across multiple important blood vessels and maybe even his windpipe would certainly cut off the oxygen his brain needed, at best knocking him unconscious in less than a minute, and steadily weakening that whole time- assuming no Chaotic idiocy went to work on inexplicably keeping him going- at worst killing him in that same amount of time. But, since he was a Space Marine after all, Lucius guessed he'd be more likely to suffer the former situation... meaning he was still good as a hostage.

And in his other hand, the Marine's bolter. Probably Chaos-aligned, but perfect for the situation at hand.

Landing on the hand holding his own weapon, and noting that his fall had positioned him behind Bravis in a way that made targeting him infeasible, he aimed and fired the new gun toward the Chaos Marine’s knees- their backs, the less-protected portions- in a burst of four rounds. The first round struck the first knee dead-on, exploding as it pierced and practically pulping the flesh within; the next two, fired as Lucius moved the gun round, passed between the legs and hopefully struck something of his main aggressor as he brawled with Xepherial; and the final shot glanced Bravis’ leg, just enough to knock him down in combination with the other shot, but not enough to detonate the round properly.

And as his hostage fell, he sprang off of his hand, barging into the back of Bravis to properly bring him to his knees, and at the same moment forcing the Marine round slightly to block not just the main surgeon’s possible attacks, but also those of the surgeon’s other minion, the one-armed fellow who’d been knocked down before. Lucius was now hunkered down behind the body of the Marine with his throat slit, sword hand gripping the back of the Marine’s chestplate to keep him still and upright, gun hand pointed over the pauldron toward his master. If either of Bravis’ allies could target him, they would be flesh wounds at best.

And even then, the surgeon had the gall to try and threaten him with Xepherial’s well-being. His allies continued to be effective, of course. But to threaten them when he was in the weaker position? How dare he? How DARE that maniac tell HIM that HE had to surrender- his train of thought cut off as another glimpse of his past returned to him, the same battle as he had been lost to Chaos in. A slight glimmer of a sword striking a pauldron, as it happened. Interesting.

‘Better idea, whatever your name is,’ Lucius retorted coldly. ‘You and your friend put your weapons down, and we can trade our respective allies to one another. Bravis here’s gone and cut his own neck open. He’s going to die if you don’t give him immediate medical attention.’ As expected, the Marine was already beginning to weaken, making holding him in place that much easier. But weakened would shortly be dead… somewhat shortly, at least. Not necessarily a grand prospect…

‘I’m going to take us into an enemy ship!’ Vedius interrupted from his seat. ‘Prepare for a boarding action, or prepare to die.’ And that suited Lucius just fine, because it only strengthened his position.

‘I reckon you can’t save Bravis and prepare for the boarding action whilst keeping Xepherial under your blade, surgeon,’ Lucius continued, his voice a monotone over the sounds of the ship’s vibrations. ‘If you wait too long, it might be that you lose out on everything. Best make your choice now, and bear in mind you will lose an ally if you choose poorly.’

@agentmanatee@BCTheEntity@Wraithblade6@Klomster@Sophrus@Necroes

The Viper-class Sloop Macharius' Pride weaved in and out of the surrounding fire-fight with an ease of movement that was uncommonly seen among the vessels of the Imperial Navy – their ships more commonly used as gun-toting battering rams against their many enemies – indeed, the craft of Captain Ahab Isaiah moved in a way that even the fleeter and less glimpsed Eldar vessels were having a hard time keeping track of. This was not to say much, as their advanced technology found him and his ship soon enough, beams of pure energy having disabled its shields and scoured its limited armour during the early moments of the running space battle; only the churning plasma engines of the ship having kept them alive this long.

It was only as the ship passed between two larger ships, the after effects of a missile impact blooming before them, that one of the Naval crew spoke up from his station, the highly attuned Auspex and Auger array of the ship having picked up something out there.

“It appears to be a ship, Captain.”

“A ship?” Questioned the incredulous Captain, his one good eye glancing to his own command console for but a second, “smaller even than our own. Quaint, very quaint.”

Ahab was known as a brilliant ship commander, but also as a one-eyed bastard of extreme arrogance and high-handedness. Since taking command of the Pride he had demanded absolute obedience from his crew, not disliked by the men per se, but gripping them in an iron-like fist for sure. Only the presence of Fleet Commissar Glanville and his multiple spies throughout the decks had assured that fears of a mutiny had been put to rest.

“Wait...” Stuttered the bridge crewman for a moment, “the ship has gone.”

“Destroyed?”

“There is no debris, but it must have been.”

A snort of air was all that the rather broad analysis conjured from the seated Captain, a gesture of his hand showing that the man should simply ignore it.

“Get us back to the fight, I see we've slowed slightly, and if we keep at this speed then the perfidious Eldar are sure to catch us. Go, go, go!”

---

It had been hairy alright, and for more than a few moments the Emperor's Child was convinced that they were all dead men. As it happened that had not been the case, the Viper slipping from the cloud of wreckage that was a part of his own ship and presenting an opportunity which they would not get again.

With what limited 'piloting' skills he possessed, Vedius had deployed the landing gear and mag-lock clamps, the minuscule box of bodies and spirit stones – in comparison to pretty much any other ship present – thumping down onto the rear hull of the Raider-type vessel as it began to speed up once again.

Such a disappearing act would not work forever, other ships bound to see them clinging to the Pride like some form of ugly limpet before long, and so they had to work fast. This meant, as far as he could ascertain, cutting through the metal skin beneath them and escaping into the ship of nearly eight-thousand souls. At least that would have been, had it not already suffered damage itself, casualties mounting and whittling down the numbers before they even arrived; a Viper-class ship was not suited to battles such as this, no matter how good their speed or scanners.

“We have landed,” declared the Decurion, finally unbuckling himself from the command-throne and gripping his weapon before turning to face the others, “but we cannot remain here for too long; the lander is clamped to an enemy ship, one we must enter in haste and with some force I imagine. So-”

Bodies had been tossed here-and-there during the contact with enemy ordinance, even more so when the mag-locks had nearly been wrenched from the underside of the Lander – like a drowning man gripping hold of a speedboat – but in spite of this Vedius could tell (mostly from the dead Ogryn and multitude of drawn weapons) that something had happened while he had been 'flying'.

Immediately on edge, he raised his bolter and swept it over the mass gathered at the rear of the craft, waiting either for an explanation – by way of motion or verbal account – or a sign that they were getting off this soon-to-be wreck.

The rumble and the loud thump of the engaging mag-locks were the signal Zuriel waited for.
As Vedius turned about, Zuriel was already at the airlock punching in the combination Vedius had used to get them into this thing.
Having imaging sensors for eyes and cogitator functionality connected to his brain, meant that short video captures were fully plausible. And as such had taped when Vedius used his access code.

Being an air-lock, he entered the small room and had the door close behind him with a thud.
He punched in a few more activation runes, then the recognizable sound of depressurisation followed by silence. The outer door opened and Zuriel could see the hull of the Macharius' Pride stretch before him.

What was more welcome as he pushed off from the doorway was that the horrid silence of the null zone was behind him, now, the glorious presence of the veil was again fully visible to his mind, again the cacophony of the warp could be felt desperately trying to break through and the multitude of eyes were on him again.
Yes, he was free.

He touched down, with practised ease he engaged his mag-boots which locked unto the hull of the Sloop and began to walk.
He twitched his head, violently jerked an arm and turned to his right.
Zuriel thought to himself, Viper class sloop, slightly damaged, access ports on every two decks for maintenance. Closest one is....
He looked for a second, before locating a round roughly metre across airlock.

As he reached it he unwound an access cable from the rear of his skull and plugged it into the access panel which was hidden behind a simple hatch. As he began to override the systems, he recalled that he had not gotten here alone.
None of the others would fit the small hatch, or if they did Zuriel imagined they wouldn't let their honor be spoiled by cramming themselves into a tiny access port.

But then again did he want them to enter the ship? Not really, but then again his chances of getting through his ordeal would be much higher if they worked together.
Such a bother, as the maintenance port opened Zuriel decided that he'd get to the closest lighter bay door or loading bay. Whichever was closest. While he himself might be able to haunt the ship like some sort of ghost, any attempt of seizing the vessel would require the others.

A quick glance back at Vedius was spared as he talked, because any more than that would lead to a fatal distraction for Lucius.

A second glance was spared, because now the Emperor's Child had a gun pointed at everyone. Well, fantastic, was he going to threaten Lucius too?

...and that got him thinking. How many people were helping the Dark Apothecary right now? The man himself and his assistant, of course, but was there anybody else who might actually be allies of his? The Ork was surely no ally of Lucius', at least... and the one tech-priest wasn't a known factor either, as it happened. He'd wondered if Vedius might be a friend rather than a foe, but there was no way to know for sure... his only ally, then, was Xepherial. And he was pinned beneath the Apothecary in question...

It gradually dawned on Lucius that save his fellow Dark Angel, everybody in the room might, in fact, be an explicit enemy of his. And if that was true, then if he didn't allow Xepherial to be altered... they would probably both die instead.

'Shit,' he muttered under his breath. And he was so sure his idea would work. Not that that mattered: selfish as he was, he actually liked living more than he liked losing allies. The end goal of an ally was to keep you from dying, after all... and whilst anything else might add to their value, such as discussions of the past and even possible friendships, it would ultimately wind up being sentimental at best compared to the overarching goal of not sacrificing oneself for a stupid reason. Speaking of which, he concluded that any attempts to get his standoff opponent to disarm himself would be ridiculous at best. He was inherently untrustworthy, after all. Therefore, an alternate plan of action would prove to be just as stupid... but perhaps slightly less stupid than he'd already been. And besides, there was somebody else pointing a gun at everybody now.

Slowly, Lucius placed his stolen weapon down on the ground, kicking it out and away from himself a short distance, and at the same time sheathed his own combat blade. (That'll need repolishing later, he reminded himself. What a foolish thought at a time like this.) Then, he lowered his half-dead hostage to the ground, stood up with his arms raised slightly in a position of apparent surrender, and calmly walked away from Bravis. He did head toward the weapon racks, since he would want weapons other than his swords in order to survive whatever boarding action they were about to make, but in this regard, he'd have to hope his movements weren't mistaken for a threat. If they were, he'd be dead in just a few second's time. If not, then maybe he'd even be excluded from cursory modification into whatever psychopath Azazel desired of his victims, as described.

@agentmanatee@Wraithblade6

Resolution

Thorn made his own demands after opening fire on Azazel. He scowled through his helmet, taking cover on the other side of the operating table, the bolter shells exploding in a shower above him. He brought his own bolt gun from its strap, jamming a fresh clip in as he prepared to return fire. Trying to use his own pupil as a shield? Surprising... there was more to thorn than meets the eye it seemed. Not that it mattered. What was one more student to a dead foe?

Just as Azazel was prepared to enter a proper firefight... it seemed Thorn was finally coming to his senses. He was surrendering... and Azazel was sorely tempted to end the un-armoured marine. It would be so very easy. His arms were up, his weapons away... he could empty a whole clip into him if he so desired... but now was not the time. He growled, let his bolt gun swing loose on its strap once more and rushed to Bravis. He quickly took off his helmet and set to work repairing the severely damaged soft tissues. Again he seemed to be in a trance, lost in the desperate medical care as he saved one of his last pupils lives once more. Once that was finished he sedated him, Bravis would need to cool off... besides there was still Xepherial.

Before the marine could do anything Azazel snapped at his one armed pupil and rthe two restrained him quickly, a needle slipping once more into his neck, and the world going foggy... but not black. The two marines heaved him back up onto the operating table and Azazel got to work. Even in the chaos of the imminent boaarding action he didn't flinch. He'd be ready when the call came to jump ships, but until he was engrossed. Xepherial would be out for nowhere near as long, just as Azazel finished his final adjusments numbed consciousness would return. just in time to help with a violent boarding. Azazel's one armed student carried Bravis while the Dark Apothecary himself stood with weapons ready, prepared to mulch through whatever foe they were about to be thrown at.

Xepherial didn't resist as he was taken off the ground again, yet his eyes never left Lucius' until the needle would reenter his neck and blacken the light once more. There was no point in yelling, screaming, fighting, talking. What would he have said to the brother that simply chose not to throw his life away? Acceptance was painfully clear in his hopeless stare. They had failed. It was over, and it was always going to be. All that was left for them now was to face the shame of still being alive. Any and all hope was dashed to pieces and mocked in its deathrows. The glory that all space marines strove for had been unceremoniously sacrificed to pragmatism. All that was left was this painful, burning shame.

Xepherial, once proud son of the Lion, had given up. Yet, even bearing this disgraceful failure, he lived, going on like a metaphore for the broken Imperium itself. When he awoke, he found his armor had been put back on him, and he could no longer see the stitchings and scarred flesh that branded his front. The armor was still damaged, but not beyond repair or worthy function. He looked around to see that he was indeed where he still remembered he had been. Recent memory flashed back quickly, followed by a surge of erratic emotion and denial. Quickly, he ceased this line of thought, focusing only on the present. Something was happening.

This time, Xepherial decided, he would try to think before he acted. Whatever his judgements about the ork, the dark apothecary, the Emperor's Child... Xepherial looked around for someone else he had seen... whatever his judgements, he would have to wait for his information to be complete if he was going to be at all productive. There was a bolter in his hand again. ...odd. All his servoarms also worked. Also odd. Little did he know he had anything plugged into the back of his skull. He felt so mentally sluggish.

Bravis and Vedius seemed to be watching him carefully as he stood up. Xepherial kept his bolter down and seemed to be assessing the situation. He turned his head toward Lucius, still not knowing his name, but recognizing him. The new monster that had been Xepherial the techmarine said nothing, red optics steady.

They were about to board another ship. That much was clear. Somehow they had gone from an infested spacehulk to a small ship of some xenos origin, bearing strange pods and icons. Xepherial had no concept of how long it had been since he had been out cold, wounded, tortured... It couldn't have been long since he recognized his present company, even... Azazel. The black void around them carried no sound of the firefight outside, but the constant sounds of wrenching and clanging metal and wavering artificial gravity indicated a serious problem.

Xepherial had seen the mechanicus, with the cybernetic face and the darkly marred red robes, exit through an airlock. The viewport outside showed the outer hull of an Imperial vessel, and that was more than enough reason for Xepherial to want to enter it. Allies, peace, sanity, answers. All this awaited him if he could only get inside. And what of the others? The heretics and xenos would obviously be quarantined and exterminated. His own association with them would probably also condemn him to the same fate. Still, knowing this, Xepherial didn't even hesitate.

The large Dark Angel strode over to the airlock without a word and prepared to exit. He paid no heed to any around him as he seemed to fixate on one apparent goal, a goal they all shared. Turing on the apothecary or the ork at this point would only end in all their deaths, and in addition, Vedius had a mean glare.

The second door of the airlock opened, and a suction pulled through the rent in his armor's torso. Secondary systems attempted to compensate, the helm of his powerarmor tentatively sealed around his neck, allowing him to remain conscious for a few moments while he struggled to breathe against rapidly dropping pressures. The light of a relatively nearby exploding ship illuminated the hull, and Xepherial's magnetic greaves fixed themselves against the cliff of plate.

Quickly spotting where he needed to go, he walked over and opened the access panel on the hull of the new ship as did Zuriel before him. The dendrite on his glove still functioned. They could enter. The pressure would be restored, and they would be inside in some distant unpatrolled part of the ship. Then, other matters could be addressed.

@Sophrus

It was dark on the new ship. Motion sensor lights activated and a silent alarm was triggered, causing a small red light to blink high on the bridge where some mortal shipman was neglecting to pay attention. This was the brig after all, and prisoners were not to be roaming about free from their cells. Xepherial finally found himself alone, with no sign of the rogue admech that had entered this way before him. The Dark Angel huffed, as he had been deprived of normal oxygen levels for the several moments it took him to get inside. He settled himself, looking around at the human-made surroundings. Was he.. free? A free hand clutched loosely over his freshly repaired torso.

With hard footfalls and a rhythmical whir of mechanical joints, Xepherial began a course down the empty hall in front of him. This was an Imperial ship. He was back amongst his own! Hope surged through him, and he realized had little time to warm them of the heresy and chaos he had brought aboard. The Red Corsairs were extremely dangerous, and the ork had the potential for infesting the entire ship with spores. They were easily the primary threats of the sordid group, but Xeph knew he had beaten them in boarding this new vessel and would be able to find help before they could stop him. He tracked in a straight line from the airlock, avidly scanning for a crewmember to attempt to deliver his message.

Suddenly, Xepherial heard a cough and stopped on a dime. Only then did he realize what part of the ship he was in. There were darkened cells on either side of him, metal doors with thin sliding windows for food and water, each one housing a criminal or stowaway, but they were human. The prisoners quarters were expansive, adn Xepherial began to wonder about the purpose of this vessel, not to mention how to reach an officer.