Chapter 27: Carcharodons: Psst, Can We Call a Truce?
Inside the room, twisted, malformed creations appeared one after another, things as warped and broken as the Warp itself. They had the shape of beasts but were still wrapped in the skin of the material world. Some were like machines, sprouting flesh now that their restraints were gone. Others were humanoid, their forms mutating at a visible rate once they were freed.
"Ramesses really is a medical student at heart," Arthur mused.
He knew that, theoretically, creating soulless husks with their materialization ability to conduct experiments was no different than the dissections of lab rats in a medical school from his past life. It was just that the absurd environment of Warhammer 40,000 made the entire scene grotesquely dark and twisted.
Still, Arthur felt a pang of physiological discomfort. These materialized husks, now possessed by daemons, had a profound uncanny valley effect. And this was supposed to be their sacred work—donating their own souls to hand-craft cadavers for the sake of humanity's future. Yet Chaos had somehow twisted it into the scene of a mad scientist's evil experiments.
Truly, anything that touches Chaos becomes warped.
Research into Warp-based psychic energy constructs, research into a nerfed version of the Stormcast Eternal's "soul-forging," research into establishing a chat channel with Old Man Gold, research into personality correction for daemons, research into the utilization of the safe house's cloaking function, and so on...
Arthur narrowed his eyes, a series of experimental projects flashing through his mind. The fact that Ramesses could conduct research in this environment without batting an eye, producing so many projects in less than two weeks... medical students were truly a different breed.
Screech—
His black sword flared with a crackling blue power field, annihilating the nearest Chaos-construct. Arthur searched his memory and began to methodically erase all traces of their work in this area.
Studying Chaos, contacting daemons—these were unforgivable crimes in any era of the Imperium. This was a secret they had to keep.
Aboard the Nicor, Tyberos and the company captains of his Chapter gathered around a massive hololithic display. At that moment, all eyes were on a warrior at the edge of the table, one wearing a skull-faced helmet and cradling a long, auramite-tipped staff.
Te Kahurangi, Chief Librarian of the Carcharodons, an ancient warrior who had served the Chapter for over a thousand years.
After the unusual communication had ended, the doubtful commanders had no choice but to once again seek the necessary aid of the Librarian who had guided them through countless threats. Their counterpart seemed to know a terrifying amount about them, not only the name of their Chapter Master, but even his never-publicly-revealed title. They also seemed to be very familiar with the Carcharodons' style.
"In my journeys through the Warp, I have glimpsed the path ahead," Te Kahurangi began. "It is a blank fog. No figures remain in the void, only the shattered fragments of death linger at the periphery, thick with an unbelievable terror and the despair of an imminent end."
"That does not sound promising," said Akia, Captain of the 3rd Company, looking at the two ships docked together on the hololith. The sourceless rage that flowed in his veins did not make him a great thinker, but even he could sense the danger in those words. It was not a good omen.
"But I also glimpsed a ray of hope," the Librarian continued. "A convergence of powerful emotions, an uplifting spirit. An unseen bond has pulled souls that should have perished from the abyss of death. The gaze of the Void Father has fallen upon this place."
"How can you see such a contradictory vision?" Tyberos's cold tone held a hint of surprise. As someone who had worked with Te Kahurangi for a long time, he knew the Librarian was a master of prognostication. He rarely needed to use the vague, cryptic language of other psykers; he could usually just state fragments of the past and future directly. This was unusual. "Is it because of that unseen thing?"
"Yes. It seems the Librarian on the other side is quite skilled. He has blocked my sight," Te Kahurangi answered honestly. He could think of no other reason for the vast blank spots in his vision. Surely it wasn't because those people had no Warp-presence at all?
"Then, what is our answer?" Through the viewport, Tyberos could see the lights on the side of the heavily damaged Strike Cruiser beginning to flash. It was an invitation.
"The answer remains unchanged," Te Kahurangi said, opening his eyes. "We will return fully laden."
"That is enough." Not bothering with any further discussion, Tyberos ignited the lightning claws on his arms, Hunger and Slake, and gave the order. "Prepare the shuttles. First Company will remain on the flagship. Third Company, with me."
Tyberos had not given up on the idea of a "tithe." At most, if the other party was in dire straits, he would take a little less. He knew that every choice carried risk, but this was the fate of the Carcharodons. Even if it meant conflict, they had to press forward and tear off a piece of flesh. They never knew if they would survive to see their next meal.
The Sharks knew this universe was not friendly. Heretics, xenos, even the Imperium they fought to protect, never showed them any kindness. So they could only fight, and plunder, and cast aside honor and reputation to become the reviled predators that other humans saw them as.
Inside the shuttle, the Carcharodons maintained a stunning silence. They gripped their notched chain-axes and slammed fresh magazines into their worn-down boltguns. If a challenge awaited them, then let it come.
But as the shuttle's melta-cutters tore through the partially-opened hangar doors and a squad of silent warriors charged out, they were stunned by the scene before them.
In front of them, fully armed Tartaros Terminators stood in neat ranks. The far wall was brilliantly illuminated by the floodlights of several massive vehicles, revealing one ancient and powerful war machine after another. In the air that washed over them, Tyberos smelled no danger, only the fragrant aroma of food.
This was the remnant force that needed rescuing? This wasn't right.
"..."
Watching the mortals who had lost their balance when the hangar door was breached being shielded by a dozen Terminators, Tyberos expressionlessly retracted his lightning claws.
"Te Kahurangi!" His voice was a low complaint.
"I only said we would return fully laden," the Librarian replied, effortlessly shifting the blame. He gazed at the dazzling array of vehicles in the hangar, raised his staff to halt the subsequent shuttles that were about to charge in, and slowly floated inside, using his psychic powers to seal the still-leaking breach in the hangar door.
Awe appeared in his eyes as he looked at the Deathwatch Librarian. Even now, he could not see a single shred of the future concerning these warriors.
"?" Ramesses, who was still trying to remember his list of research projects, noticed the reverent gaze pointed at him and tilted his head in confusion.
"Welcome, brothers of the Carcharodons. I am Romulus, Kill-team Leader of the Deathwatch," Romulus said, releasing the Colonel he had been steadying. He introduced himself in fluent High Gothic, seemingly unbothered by the Carcharodons' aggressive entrance.
The Carcharodons, who had just been acting like a pack of bandits, instantly became reserved.
"...Greetings."
Looking at Romulus, who was as unusually tall as himself, Tyberos's current mental state was as complex as that of a mugger who had tried to rob a down-on-his-luck victim, only to find out it was a disguised armored car.
This was incredibly awkward.
Translator's Note: The original author includes a PS note thanking readers for their support and recommending the official Black Library novels about the Carcharodons. They praise the characterization, noting that despite their hardship, the Sharks have principles, repay their debts, and that their "tithing" is a matter of survival. The author finds their contrast between brutal combat style and cultured, pensive nature to be very compelling, calling them "introverted extroverts" like their primogenitor, Corvus Corax.