Clang.
The heavy sound was the Apothecary collapsing to his knees.
It immediately drew Arthur's attention. He swept his gaze across the battlefield, confirmed no enemies remained alive, shook the blood from his arm, lowered his shield, and reached out to support the Apothecary.
Smack.
The Apothecary swatted Arthur's hand away, then pulled a long box from behind his back and shoved it firmly into Arthur's palm.
"My lord."
His blurred vision moved away from Arthur's ornate armor and shield as he spoke. His voice carried a heavy rasp, air whistling through torn flesh. The massive gash across his chest had cut through his windpipe.
Arthur wanted to tell him this wasn't the time to speak, that he should lie down and have his wound treated. But one look at the wound nearly splitting the man in half, blood only trickling out instead of spurting, left Arthur speechless.
"This is… my brothers' legacy. I… coughed… I have kept their honor."
Arthur dropped to one knee. He looked at the nearly gutted Deathwatch bodies around him, then at the frosted box in his hand, and pieced together the nature of this duel.
The Khorne warband had turned the corpses of loyal Space Marines into an arena. The Apothecary, as defender, had been forced to meet challenger after challenger. The prize: the gene-seeds of his fallen battle-brothers, and the right to face a stronger foe.
But whether the Apothecary won or not, whether he claimed more gene-seeds or fought valiantly, he and those prizes were all part of the ritual.
The moment he finally lost, he and all the gene-seeds he had preserved would be sacrificed to the Blood God, their essence consumed as fuel for the victor's power.
It was a duel designed for failure.
Yet now, at the very moment his life was draining away, unexpected warriors had descended, shattering the profane ritual. A storm of bolter fire had torn through the traitors who thought they had won.
Explosions of light reflected in Shifris' eyes. For a moment, he thought he saw a cold sun.
He had won.
Arthur gave a firm nod.
He reached to take the gene-seeds, but his hand froze.
"My lord, swear to me."
Shifris locked eyes with him, voice weak but resolute. "Swear that you will remain loyal to the Emperor, that you will fight for humanity until your final breath."
Arthur could hardly believe the man could still speak. He hesitated, then solemnly nodded.
"I swear it."
"Swear that you will guard the secret of your brothers' gene-seeds, that you will never allow heretics to glimpse even the smallest part of it."
"I swear it."
"Swear that you will carve a path through countless enemies, reach your fallen brothers, and even if it costs you your last drop of blood, bring back their honor."
"I swear it."
"Hah…"
Shifris let out a long sigh, as if all strength had finally left him. His hand, still pressed over the gene-seed container, sagged.
"My lord… for the Emperor… for Macragge…"
Arthur listened patiently until the fragile thread of sound faded, until his enhanced hearing told him the body before him no longer moved at all.
The scarred gauntlet slid from his grip and struck the floor. The warrior's soul had passed on.
Arthur said nothing. He ignored the surging numbers climbing in his vision and gently laid the Apothecary's body down.
He took up the man's instrument, linked it to his own systems, and carefully followed the armor's manuals to extract the gene-seeds.
Buzz.
In the pit, Romulus had already finished mopping up and was directing the Ultramarines back to reinforce the Guard, while he began investigating the core of the Gellar Field.
Aside from the flames unleashed by the Sisters to burn the heretics, and the low, grief-stricken prayers, only the grinding roar of chain-tools cutting through armor remained.
As Arthur worked through the corpses, he matched the data passed on by the Apothecary.
Gene-seeds recovered:
Crimson Fists: 4
Mantis Warriors: 4
Vengeance Goddesses: 3
Claws of the Void: 2
Space Wolves: 2
Blood Angels: 1
And—
The syringe pierced a gland and drew out another. Data appeared before Arthur's eyes.
Shifris Gage
Deathwatch Apothecary, Eternal Hunt Outpost
Former Chapter: Ultramarines
Click.
The case sealed. Data refreshed.
Ultramarines: 2
Arthur rose, cradling the container as if it were glass, as if the smallest slip might shatter it.
Eighteen gene-seeds in total.
He slid the case into a compartment beneath his power pack, the safest point on his armor, and waited until the armor's systems confirmed real-time monitoring of the gene-seeds. Only then did he exhale in relief.
Recovery complete.
He turned to the nearby Sister.
"Sister."
"My lord!"
The Canoness, who had been fueling her flamer with promethium, popped the spent canister free and locked in a new one. At the sound of the Angel's voice, she immediately set aside her task, approached, and gave a reverent Aquila salute.
"Your name, Sister."
"Arabella, my lord."
Saint Arabella—the founder of the Order of the Sacred Rose, venerated as a living saint. To bear her name was an honor reserved for the most revered among the Sisters.
"Sister Arabella, I ask you to pray for my brothers. Guide them on the road to the Golden Throne."
Arthur could not bear the thought of these warriors leaving in silence, stained with the shame of desecration. Yet he did not know the proper rituals of Space Marines. He had never been devout, and he could not grant them a fitting departure.
So he asked the Sisters.
In this universe where faith had tangible power, none were more suited to prayer than the devout Brides of the Emperor.
"It will be my honor, my lord."
The Angel's words were stiff and clipped, but to Arabella they were the highest honor imaginable.
Space Marine Chapters all held their own cultures, often with more divergence than the schisms within the Imperial Creed. Their gene-seeds made them treat death with great solemnity. Rarely did anyone outside a Chapter's own chaplains preside over their funerary rites.
So for any faithful servant of the Emperor, to lead the rites of His Angels was a sacred privilege.
Even a Canoness commanding over a thousand Battle Sisters would never refuse.
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