//Vion 5 //Death Death Death D- The medicae chamber was a cathedral of sterility, its cold, unyielding walls aglow with the eerie blue light of lumen strips. The steady hum of arcane machinery reverberated through the air, punctuated by the rhythmic hiss of the life-support systems. Ancient mechanisms, their surfaces engraved with Martian blessings, ticked and pulsed in time with the flickering bio-monitors. The scent of antiseptic was thick, clinging to the senses like a ghostly pall. At the center of the room lay a lone figure upon a raised medicae slab. The woman’s frail form, clad in tattered remnants of battle-worn armor covered by the tattered white and red robes of the mechanicum, seemed dwarfed by the intricate web of cables and tubes that sustained her battered body. Her breath came shallow, a fragile whisper against the cacophony of machinery. Blood had been scrubbed from her face, but her weathered features bore the scars of countless campaigns, her resolve unbroken even in the embrace of unconsciousness. Standing sentinel over her was the towering figure of the Angelus Machina, his presence a stark contrast to the fragility before him. Clad in the same style of armor, he was seen as nothing more than a demi-god made manifest. His pale, chiseled face was a mask of unreadable emotion, save for the fire smoldering in his pale blue eyes. Yet, he could do little more than watch as the work was done to try and save her, unable to fully process the danger her mortal life was in. His gauntleted hand rested lightly on the edge of the slab, a gesture almost tender despite the crushing strength it concealed. The blood of his mechanical enemies still clung to the ceramite plates of his armor, the crimson streaks a grim testament to the vengeance he had wrought in her name. Behind him, the Magos Biologis and servo-automata worked tirelessly, their voices murmuring invocations to the Machine God as they patched flesh and augmented bone. Yet, despite their efforts, a faint tension hung in the air—an unspoken acknowledgment that even their sacred ministrations might not suffice. For a moment, Usriel lowered his head, his lips moving in a whisper too quiet for mortal ears. Was it a prayer? A plea? Even the medicae servitors dared not intrude upon this private moment as some watched and waited to tend to him. The battle with the False God had been brutal and his armor bore those marking as energy and ancient weaponry, had dared to unmake him. There was silence before an apothecary-priest approached, his every movement precise, face hidden by an optic that took over his entire skull. “My Angelus,” he intoned, voice modulated and devoid of any emotion that Usriel’s mother deserved. “I am afraid that the damage she has sustained is too severe. Further augmentation will do little more than prolong her agony. Please, allow my ser-” “Leave us,” the Angelus’ voice boomed, his gaze unwavering from the body of One-One as the Biologis bowed his head before retreating out of the room. This woman had raised him, taught him of the magnificence of the past and the hope of Humanity’s future in a galaxy bereft of that very hope. For all his otherworldly might, all the power that coursed through his veins, there came a pang of helplessness. He needed to hear her voice, he needed to hear [i]a voice[/i] that would tell him that she would survive. [i]”Are you not allowed to enjoy the time in which you have spent with her, brother?”[/i] A voice spoke, its tone unsettling in its paradoxical blend of familiarity and enigma. It slipped into Usriel’s mind like a blade cloaked in velvet, each word piercing with an uncanny precision, as though it unraveled his soul to expose his deepest needs. Reluctantly, his gaze broke from her dying form, drawn downward to where a thousand and one grains of dark sand shifted and whispered against the cold floor. The voice persisted, its resonance both soothing and otherworldly, as if carried on a breeze from forgotten deserts. A phantom touch rested on his shoulder—warm, dry, and unshakably real. [i]“You are the [b]Alat Almalak[/b] to your people, the Angelus Machina made manifest. The love in which she has felt for you is a love any mother would have felt for their son, and you were no mere son. What would your final words be before the sands would take her?”[/i] Usriel would have thanked the voice, but as he turned, reality called once more and all there were the various instruments of medicae. The demi-god sighed as he turned back to look upon the broken form of his mother, setting his hand over her forearm. He tried to find words to say to her, wanting to heed the advice of the comforting voice, but there was nothing the Angelus Machina could say to One-One. Visions of the past came over him, visions of when One-One was with him, when his father was there. A family. No longer could he contain himself, no boy witnessing the loss of their mother would be able to, as tears began to stream down his face. His features softened, and he began to weep over her. In this moment, he was no demi-god, no general, no warrior. Usriel, in the moment of sobbing and grief, was nothing more than a boy praying to the Machine God that fate might be reversed and that he could be nothing more than a boy with his family again. He cursed the Machine God for being something more than a normal man, cursed his father for giving him up, cursed fate itself for delivering himself to this very moment. There was a shift underneath his hand, forcing him to look upon his mother once more. It was always hard to tell if One-One was awake even normally, but now he stared at her flickering eyes as Death crept from the corners of the room. The Angelus Machina wanted to cradle her, to comfort her, but he could not force himself to move from her side. One-One’s head tilted, gazing upon the Angelus Machina before a soft voice spoke, muffled as her modulator failed to comply with her speech, “Is it you? Have my prayers been answered? Is it really you sitting right there? Is it really you, my love?” “Is that you, Nirek?” Usriel’s eyes widened slightly, yet understanding that his mother was likely in the grips of death and seeing what she wanted to. His grip over her forewarn tightened lightly before responding, “I am not the man you fell in love with. I am not the man you adore. I am not your kind and gentle husband. I am your son, Usriel.” “Usriel, how is he? Where is my little Angelus?” The words stung so much that it almost forced him back to tears, seeing how she did not recognize him at that moment. It took him several heartbeats to recollect himself, water pooling in his eyes and barely restrained by his own force of will. The Angelus Machina looked away from her for the briefest moment, looking to see that her vitals fared poorly and knowing that the voice knew that he would have these final moments with her. Slowly, he turned back over to his ailing mother and forced a smile onto his face so that she may find some peace. “He- He is in the other room One-One,” Usriel responded softly. The Tech-Priestess let out a sigh of relief, “Good, I would not want him to see me like this.” One-One tried to adjust herself, finding it difficult to move her broken and largely unresponsive body. Her son laid a hand on her, wordlessly urging her back into her original position. There was a silence amongst them as Usriel lacked the words to speak to her, only allowing himself the soft moments with his mother. Yet, it was not without a lack of trying as his mind raced with what he wanted to say to her this time. There was more time between the two as Usriel merely began to enjoy the comfort of her presence, yet he knew that he would have to acknowledge her condition openly soon enough. One-One’s optics flickered again, struggling to focus as her voice, faint and crackling, emerged once more. “Nirek... please,” she whispered, her words strained but holding the soft cadence of desperate hope. “Let me see you... truly. Not through these cursed lenses. I want to see your face... before I go.” Usriel’s breath caught in his chest. “Mother,” he started softly, but the word seemed to slip past her, unheard or unheeded. Her gaze, though distant and impaired by failing augments, carried a faint spark of yearning. She wasn’t looking at an Angelus, or even her son—she was looking for the man she had loved, the man who had once whispered promises of family and love. “Nirek...” she murmured again, the synthesized voice began to grow weaker. “Take these from me. These... abominations. I do not want to see the world through cold metal anymore. I want to see you—the way I did in the beginning.” Usriel’s chest tightened, the immense weight of her words settling over him like a shroud. The tears he had tried so valiantly to restrain now streaked freely down his face, his vision blurring as he looked upon her broken form. “Mother...,” he whispered, his voice cracking. Her hand shifted weakly, the motion jerky and unsteady, reaching toward his face. “You’ve been so quiet,” she said, her voice barely audible. “Always the thoughtful one... always my anchor. I knew you’d come for me. Even now, after all the pain... you still fight for me.” Usriel closed his eyes, letting the warmth of her hand—however weak—settle against his armored cheek. “I fight for you,” he said softly, his voice choked with emotion. “Always.” One-One smiled faintly, her breaths growing more labored. “Then... fight for me one last time, Nirek. Take away these... accursed optics. Let me see you... just once more, before the void takes me.” His gauntleted hand covered hers, cradling her fragile limb as gently as his immense strength allowed. His mind raced. To comply with her request would rob her of what little clarity she had left, but to deny her would feel like betrayal—a failure to give her the peace she so desperately sought. His heart screamed with the agony of the decision, but he spoke with a calm he did not feel. “I will,” he said finally, the words trembling with sorrow. “If that is your wish... I will do it.” Her body relaxed at his words, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. “Thank you... my love. You’ve always been my light in the dark.” Usriel felt his soul shatter at her words, but he could not bring himself to correct her. For now, he would let her believe. If it gave her peace in these final moments, he would be Nirek. He would be whatever she needed. The chamber fell silent again as Usriel, the Angelus Machina, bent closer to the woman who had raised him, taught him to hope, and given him strength. And as he prepared to grant her final request, the tears fell freely, for he was no longer the Angelus Machina, no longer the chosen son of a god. In this moment, he was only a son losing his mother. As Usriel held her trembling hand in his own, the chamber seemed to grow colder, the mechanical hums and soft clicks of medicae servitors fading into the background. His other hand rested gently on the side of her face, his gauntlet removed to allow the warmth of his skin to touch hers. One-One’s breath hitched, shallow and unsteady, and her optics flickered erratically. For a moment, she was silent, her gaze felt distant as though searching through fragmented memories. Her voice, weak and laced with static, broke the stillness. “Nirek... my love... you’ve grown so strong. But your hands... they feel... different. War has hardened them, hasn’t it?” One of the medicae servitors hovered closer, its mechanical appendages deftly removing the damaged optics from One-One's face with a quiet whir of precision. For the first time in years, her natural eyes were revealed—deep blue and glistening faintly with unshed tears. Usriel’s breath caught as he stared into those eyes, eyes he hadn’t seen since his youth, and the sight stirred memories long buried beneath years of war and duty. They were the eyes that had looked at him with unconditional love, even when he had faltered, even when he had doubted. Her gaze, free from the mechanical interference, found his. At first, confusion lingered in her expression, but as the moments stretched, understanding blossomed. The clarity in her eyes cut through the haze of pain, and a single tear slipped down her cheek. “Usriel,” she whispered, her voice trembling but certain, as recognition washed over her. He froze, his heart pounding in his chest. “Yes,” he breathed, his voice trembling. “It’s me, Mother. I’m here.” Her lips parted in a weak gasp, her body struggling to move. “My son,” she murmured, her voice faltering but filled with a deep, profound love. “I... I thought I would never see you again.” Usriel bowed his head, tears streaming freely down his face. “I’m here,” he repeated, his voice breaking. “I never left you, not truly. I fought for you, for what you taught me. Everything I am... is because of you.” One-One’s hand, frail and trembling, reached up to touch his face. The gesture was weak but deliberate, and Usriel leaned into it, savoring the fleeting warmth of her touch. “You’ve become... everything I dreamed you’d be,” she whispered. “My angel... my miracle. You are my greatest creation... and my greatest joy.” Her voice began to fade, her strength waning with every word. “I’m so proud of you, Usriel. So proud... to call you my son.” “No,” Usriel choked, gripping her hand tightly as if his strength alone could anchor her to life. “Stay with me, Mother. Please.” But One-One’s gaze softened, her expression serene. “Don’t weep, my angel,” she murmured, her voice now barely a whisper. “I’ll be with you always... in the light of the stars... in the hum of the machines...” Her eyes flickered one last time before dimming entirely, her hand falling limp in his grasp. “Mother?” Usriel’s voice cracked, his eyes searching her still face for any sign of life. But the medicae chamber offered no answer, its cold sterility mocking his grief. For all his divine strength, his unyielding will, Usriel could do nothing to stop the inevitable. The Angelus Machina lowered his head, his tears falling onto the lifeless form of the woman who had raised him, taught him, and loved him as no one else ever could. And in the stillness of the chamber, as the light of her life faded into memory, Usriel whispered a vow only the stars would hear. “I will make you proud, Mother. I swear it. In life and death, you will guide me.” And with that, the towering figure of the Usriel knelt in quiet reverence, a son mourning the woman who had shaped his soul.