When Romulus stepped into the chamber, he found only scattered chunks of flesh spraying blood across the deck.
Chaos Space Marines.
From the skull decorations and the blood-red paint on their armor, they were most likely warbands devoted to one of the four dark gods—specifically, Khorne.
After dispatching the enemies with ruthless efficiency, Arthur pulled one corpse upright. The fallen warrior's armor bore the mark of the Crimson Fists. Frowning, Arthur examined the plate more closely.
The members of the kill team were not Primaris. Which meant Guilliman had not yet awakened.
He tilted his head, listening.
Aside from the echoes of "Blood for the Blood God" and the sound of axes splitting meat, there were no more signs of fighting. The corpses of the Deathwatch on the floor and the Chaos Marines who had attacked told the story clearly. The defenders here had been wiped out.
"Seems we're late?"
The stench of blood filled the air. Arthur knew it had to be a warp-tainted illusion, since his armor's life-support systems never opened to the outside.
"There's still time."
Romulus's eyes lingered on the necks and chests of the fallen Marines. Two ragged holes yawned there, as though someone had violently carved something out.
"Chaos Marines and daemons are not allies. They won't let daemons snatch the prize before they've had their fill."
"…Fair point."
Arthur released the Deathwatch warrior's body.
Each Astartes carried the sacred gene-seed, implanted after nineteen surgical modifications.
After the eighteenth surgery, the progenoid gland in the neck matured after five years and could be harvested. The one in the chest matured after ten and could be extracted upon death by an Apothecary.
These gene-seeds were the foundation of every Chapter. If they mutated or were lost in large numbers, a Chapter was finished unless saved by its parent Legion or the Imperium's grace.
For Chaos Marines, cut off from the Imperium and warped by mutation, stealing loyalist gene-seed was one of their few ways to replenish their ranks.
And because one particular being had laced the very process of Astartes creation with the warp's taint, gene-seeds were also precious to daemons. They were rare treasures for blasphemous rituals.
So it was no surprise that the Chaos Marines striking at the Gellar field had not destroyed it right away. Predators did not share their prey with scavengers.
Maybe, once the fight ended, they would even steal this ship to leave the daemons snarling outside.
Arthur's knowledge of the setting let him piece it together quickly.
But still—
"Two of us enough?"
Arthur asked, suggesting they wait for the Battle Sisters.
By his reckoning they should arrive in about a minute. Armored in power armor, reinforced by augmetics, and driven by unshakable faith, the Sisters were always welcome allies to the Astartes.
His superhuman mind also calculated that the carnage here had been caused by a sixteen-man squad. Ahead of them were true Astartes, not the fodder that could not even react to their strikes.
"Two?" Romulus laughed.
"Who said we were only two?"
"?"
Arthur tilted his head. Then he looked back. From the shadows behind them emerged a whole line of Ultramarines in blue armor.
"Tch, works like a charm, but why are souls so damned expensive?" Romulus muttered.
"What?"
Arthur stared at the squad of Ultramarines that looked like Romulus had conjured them from thin air. His mind reeled.
"Split from this one," Romulus explained, pointing to the corpse of a Marine marked with the Omega and a skull. He patted the shoulder of one of the blue giants.
"Standard Primaris physique. But the soul cost was absurd, so I cut corners. I had to handwrite the subroutines. No soul core, just manual control through me. Still, more than good enough."
"I'm almost certain we're not being blessed by the gods of Chaos."
Arthur studied the machine-like squad, shaking his head. His suspicion that their powers came from the warp weakened.
If Chaos had this kind of ability, they would not need to whisper in High Lords' ears or lure Primarchs with honeyed words. They would just mass-produce Astartes bodies and stuff daemons into them.
Not that Chaos could not subsidize such schemes if it served their purpose. The dark gods had both patience and resources, as the fall of Magnus proved.
But Arthur, who had grown up soft in the 30th millennium, knew he had neither the wisdom to see through such schemes nor the courage to gamble on them.
So, until they reached realspace and tested themselves against a pariah, doubt upon doubt was the only safe stance.
"Exactly."
Romulus nodded and nudged Arthur forward.
"You draw their fire. I've got a dozen guns waiting to tear them apart."
Shipboard combat was about fire superiority. Whoever got their shots off first won. Even Astartes could be brought down if caught in concentrated fire.
With a dozen bolters and meltas at his back, crushing Chaos Marines without resupply was simple.
"Fine. Make it quick."
Arthur lowered his stance, shield raised, and moved forward, sweeping the chamber.
There had to be more Chaos Marines lurking.
But the traitors, flush with victory, did not expect another force to appear here. Those who leapt at Arthur froze in shock when they saw the line of Ultramarines behind him.
Chaos had given them powerful bodies and instincts, but no instinct could stop massed bolter fire in a confined space.
Arthur kept his focus, maintaining a perfect guard as they pushed deeper.
Until they reached the base of the generator.
A wider chamber.
And here, the stench of blood reached its peak.
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