Like the flagships of many Legions, the central apothecarion of the World Eaters' Chief Apothecary, Gahlan Surlak, was located deep within the Conqueror.
Unlike others, however, the sterile, bright glass and steel of the main laboratory could have its sterilizing lights deliberately dimmed.
On the wide operating table at the room's center, Gahlan, still in his armor, bent over his work.
Generators hummed. Shadows danced on the pristine white walls.
Gahlan watched the viewscreen on the operating table, slowly pushing a control lever. For every kilowatt increase in the generator's output, he would release the lever and check the data from the sensors.
The "Scarlet Scholar" could keenly hear the whir of the Butcher's Nail within the adamantium casing, but could not hear the high-frequency band completely inaudible to Astartes.
This high-frequency sonic technology was not his innovation. It originated from the Nephilim, a gift from the Black Emperor.
Gahlan had heard that Horus Lupercal was the first to discover the Nephilim enslaving billions of humans across a hundred worlds.
He and Lord Sanguinius had cleansed the Nephilim from the Melchior system.
But it was Lords Nareth and the Khan who had cleansed the hundred worlds and ultimately purified the foul homeworld.
The sonic frequency continued to rise.
Suddenly, accompanied by a distinct crack, the Butcher's Nail shattered!
A smile lit Gahlan's face. He had completed one of the two tasks the Black Emperor had commanded: to create a backdoor, a way to influence the implanted and cause their deaths.
By tuning the sonic wave to a specific frequency that resonated with the vibrating Butcher's Nail, the implant would be forced into high-frequency oscillation until it ruptured.
He thought of the scene in the Triumph Hall, the gene-father butchering his own sons.
'The Black Emperor's command was necessary. This will be a final safety lock, detonating the heads of those who lose control, ensuring they die before causing the kind of damage Angron does in his madness.'
As Gahlan conducted further validation experiments, he recalled the other task the Black Emperor had commanded: to build in a control sDemoness, to control the rage, or at least achieve autonomous control over the noise in the mind.
'The gene-father has never asked me to conduct this kind of research on the Butcher's Nails. Just as he never hides or controls his own anger.'
'But my Lord has commanded me to research it. He is very different from Angron.'
'Just as He demands of the Shadows of Order, He can surely bring a bright future to the World Eaters.'
As Gahlan pondered, he looked up at the surgical tools suspended from the ceiling. There, a prepared Butcher's Nail was waiting.
'In theory, high-frequency sonic waves can also harmonize the Nail's vibrations. But the actual effect still needs experimental verification.'
Thinking of the Black Emperor's command, he turned his head to another large screen descending from the ceiling.
The panel displayed one hundred and sixty split-screen images, captured by improved Maggot Eyes.
Gahlan had obtained the Maggot Eyes from Nuceria, the world where his gene-father had landed.
Slave masters had used them to monitor the movements of gladiators and inflict punishment.
Following the Black Emperor's command, Gahlan had excavated much of Nuceria's technology. He had then improved the Maggot Eyes, changing them from floating to dormant mode. He placed them in the glimmering light of the ventilation ducts around the central apothecarion, hidden in the blind spots of the winding staircases.
At the same moment, in a corner of the lower decks.
Mago, Captain of the 18th Company, walked through a claustrophobic, narrow passage deep into the resting place of the Legion's legendary heroes.
He stopped before an iron gate and presented his clearance papers to the combat servitor guarding the entrance.
The servitor projected a red laser that scanned his entire body. Confirming his identity, the heavy autocannon on its back moved aside.
He walked into the cold inner chamber and looked around at the platforms suspended on the walls. On a steel base, he found the immortal hero.
Tech-Priests in red robes emerged from the shadows, their gazes falling upon him.
"Lorkhe."
The Tech-Priests immediately gathered around the central platform, chanting binary prayers to awaken the Dreadnought.
Steam from the startup mechanism sprayed onto Mago. Gears turned, and cogitators emitted a low hum.
"Leave us," Mago commanded the Tech-Priests. "All recording is forbidden."
The Contemptor Dreadnought's visor flared with a crimson glow. Its sensor array collected the runic information from Mago's helmet.
It spat words in Glakarri, a growling question: "Who permitted you to wear my cloak?"
"Khur," Mago said quietly.
"Khur..." Lorkhe fell into memory. "A dull strategist, but skilled with an axe."
"The last time I saw you, you were a sergeant."
"You are worthy of my cloak. Are you leading the Indomitable Ones now?"
"Lord, thank you for your praise," Mago replied. "I disturb you because of Angron."
Mago recounted to Lorkhe, the War Hounds' Legion Master, the events since his last awakening: the repeated decimations, the tragedy in the Triumph Hall.
Lorkhe had fallen thirty years before the discovery of Nuceria. In his final battle, he had led the War Hounds to shatter an Ork empire that had enslaved seven star systems.
He was a tactical genius, always the first onto the battlefield and the last to leave.
He had never let the War Hounds down, inspiring them to victory after victory.
Lorkhe had been entombed in a Contemptor Dreadnought, still clinging to life, after being dug from a mountain of greenskin corpses.
His successor, Khur, along with Kharn and other Legion high command, had unanimously granted him the honor of First of the War Hounds as a mark of their esteem.
He commanded the growing host of Dreadnoughts.
"Your plan?" Lorkhe asked.
Mago spoke with concern, "The Legion's future hangs in the balance. Once the Nails are hammered into us, we will be on a path of no return."
Lorkhe strode forward on heavy feet, stopping before Mago.
"You know who should lead the Legion. Our gene-father."
"He is the Primarch," Mago raised his head, facing Lorkhe directly. "I respect him more than any being alive, but the path he leads us on is a dead end."
"I cannot obey him simply out of reverence."
Lorkhe clenched his massive fists. "Angron is not Nareth, not Guilliman, not Vulkan. He tolerates no challenge. Yet you openly defy him."
"I am talking about becoming the first Legion to rebel against a Primarch. Such a crime will bring punishment."
"The Emperor himself taught us obedience. He has already purged his own sons, every member of the Legions. Do not think the World Eaters are exempt from such misfortune."
"If defying Angron incurs the Emperor's wrath, what would he think of a Legion hammered full of Nails?" Mago asked.
Lorkhe was silent for a moment. "I cannot read his mind. I can only recall the man he was before Terra was unified."
"What he required of us to achieve that unity."
"As long as the galaxy is ruled under his command, as long as his goals are achieved, his ambitions realized, I truly do not know if the Master of Mankind would care about the means used to achieve that end."
"Do you truly believe we will be better off once the Nails are hammered into us?" Mago pressed.
After a dozen seconds of silence, Lorkhe raised his clawed power fist.
"Take me to Surlak. I will get my answer from him."
....
Gahlan watched the screen, one large figure and one small.
'As my Lord foretold. Mago and Lorkhe.'
The "Scarlet Scholar" vanished from his spot in a blur.
Under the dim light of the passage, Mago gripped his short-handled axe, walking alongside the Contemptor Dreadnought.
He had already asked Standard Bearer Astakos to confirm that Captain Kourage of the 21st Company would temporarily detain Captain Kharn of the 8th Assault Company, the Primarch's attendant, under the guise of discussing the Legion's future, the Butcher's Nails, and the gene-father.
He and Lorkhe only needed to kill Surlak and destroy his Nails, and they could save the Legion.
Surlak was just an Apothecary. Accompanied by the First of the War Hounds, there was no possibility of failure.
Mago suddenly stopped in his tracks, looking up. The dim light took on a hazy quality.
'It seemed...'
'Like moonlight?'
The word "moon" came to Mago's mind, but it felt increasingly wrong.
He had never seen light like this.
Dong!
Lorkhe, noticing Mago's sudden stop, halted inquisitively.
"What is it, Captain of the Indomitable Ones?"
Entombed in the Dreadnought's sarcophagus, his perception relied on his augurs, not his senses.
"The light..."
Before Mago could finish, a shadow flickered into his vision.
His superhuman vision had barely captured a blur.
He raised his short-handled axe and swung at the shadow.
Whoosh!
The axe cut empty air. A sting shot through his neck.
The "Scarlet Scholar," Gahlan Surlak, had flashed to his side, raising his Narthecium. The probe whirred, tearing into Mago's neck.
Nucerian anesthetic injected into Mago's neck.
Thud!
Mago slammed onto the deck.
"Surlak..." The Contemptor Dreadnought identified the runes on his helmet and gasped in surprise.
The Chief Apothecary's speed was terrifying. He had never seen anyone so fast.
Not even Kharn was this quick.
Only the gene-father, Angron, possessed such terrifying speed.
The Contemptor Dreadnought's mechanical components roared. His lightning-fast power claw crashed towards Surlak.
The full-fledged "Potion Professor" raised his arm, emptying a vial onto his armor.
His form vanished like ink erased from the page.
"Psychic power?"
Lorkhe spun, spreading his arms wide to widen his defensive arc.
Crackle, crackle...
Electric arcs shot from the ventilation ducts, the same kind that had so often punished Angron and the slaves. They tore through Lorkhe's defensive field, exposing his bald head.
Lorkhe spun quickly, raising his power fist. Lightning flashed, shredding the duct overhead.
Crack, crack, crack...
Amidst a series of explosions, the silver spheres hidden in the ducts were torn to pieces.
The hazy moonlight dimmed, illuminating the back of Lorkhe's head.
The Narthecium rammed into the Contemptor Dreadnought's neck.
'Surlak... is this strong?' The First of the War Hounds thought in shock. The Dreadnought, awakened less than a day, hung its head, powerless.
....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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