Herald of the Stars: Chapter One Hundred and Twelve (Patreon)

Over the next two hours, the Astartes corpses recover their colour. Their scars and studs disappear and their shaved heads and jaws sprout new hair. Sergeant Odhran rapidly loses muscle and bone mass as his missing arm regrows. All five of them de-age, changing from buff, middle aged men, to fresh faced twenty-five year olds.

At the two hour mark, an electric pulse restarts their hearts and the Astartes start breathing. I hold mine for the next hour, tense with anticipation, but they never wake. Wondering what is going on, I turn my auspex on them, but there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong. Confused, I try my more esoteric scanners and my own psychic senses upon them. Almost immediately I detect a problem.

The souls of the Astartes are missing.

After some thought, I recall that the Emperor protects the souls of Space Marines from predation, or so the lore goes. I also remember seeing a golden flash of light when I held Odhran’s funeral on Distant Sun. If I want these marines to come back to life, I’m going to have to petition the Emperor.

I stare longingly at the massive kill count for a whole minute, mentally preparing myself to let go of my glorious gains. Then, with a sour face, I place my hands on Odhran’s head and heart and close my eyes. I look inwards at myself and tug at the metaphysical chain in my chest, pushing my power into the bond alongside my request.

Pearlescent white drops drops flow from me along the chain then I feel a painful yank and the numbers in my mind’s eye plummet. A steady golden glow builds up in my hands and seeps into Odhran’s body for ten minutes. I shudder as I feel something akin to gravel pass through my eye, down my arms, as it passes.

Tears fall from my eyes as an image passes through my head of a young boy struggling through inhumane trials, watching the children he grew up with, die one by one. During the trials, while he gasps for breath, or lies insensate from pain after crude surgery, a man yells at the dwindling survivors.

“What is your duty?”

Odhran and the trainees reply, “To serve the Emperor’s will!”

“What is the Emperor’s will?”

“That we fight and die!”

“What is death?”

“It is our duty!”

This litany continues endlessly. Should even one of the children fail to respond, like because they’ve passed out, the whole group is punished with more training. After a decade, the young boy has grown. He is clad in power armour for the first time, a rare smile on his face. He is surrounded by his fellow marines and congratulated, and welcomed as a true brother. He leaves the chapel-like armoury with the other newly anointed marine.

The boy is one of two survivors.

Odhran’s eyes snap open and, as he bolts upright, I jump back out of the way.

Using E-SIM to alter my voice to the Drill Abbott I saw in Odhran’s memories, I yell, “Attention!”

Odhran leaps to his feet and salutes, naked as the day he was reborn.

“Put this on,” I throw an undersuit to him and point to a corner of the room. “There is a screen there, if you would like more privacy.”

Odhran catches the suit and puts it on immediately, “Magos Issengrund?”

“Yes, it is me.”

“Details.”

“Look around first. Closely.”

Odhran finally takes in the pink clean faces of the marines and their slowly rising chests.

“What have you done?” His tone conveys both confusion and menace.

“First, know that you are safe, unharmed, and as healthy as an Astartes could hope for. You also have a new arm. You’re welcome. Second, as to what I have done, I used archeotech to revive you and your brothers. The process has not finished yet for the other four. I encourage you to watch. I don’t think you’d believe me otherwise.”

“A miracle.”

“Funny you should say that.”

Odhran’s eyes widen slightly.

I approach the next marine in the row, and place my hand on him, “Who is he? To you, I mean. Not just his name and rank.”

“This is brother Kylian. Veteran of eighty years. He has been by my side since he completed his training and refused a higher position so he could continue to fight beside me. He was picked from the serfs among the crew of our ships for his empathy. It was not enough for him to become a librarian, but always been excellent at knowing when others wish us harm. It is through his skill and grace that I survived so long and that our team could function so far from our chapter.”

I nod, “Place your hand on my shoulder and pray to the Emperor, keeping the image of brother Kylian in your mind.”

“Very well.”

Together, Odhran and I pray to the Emperor. Another hundred thousand kills are syphoned from me, then, unlike Odhran, my kill count continues to drop. My third eye snaps open, outside of my control, and observes the four bodies. My whole body lights up, more white than gold, and tendrils of power slither from my third eye and latch onto the bodies.

E-SIM blares warnings as my body crumbles, my Life Support Module and Regenerative Hormones unable to keep up with the destructive power. I fall to my knees and Odhran is blasted away from me. Heat radiates from my flesh and I feel my soul crack and wither.

The cloth covering the marines turns to ash and a thin shield appears around their bodies, keeping them safe, even as the tables and tools flow like wax. A hungry, overpowering voice echoes through the chapel.

“Tithe.”

My eyes and ears pop. I try to scream but cannot move, utterly locked in place. Just before my body and soul are annihilated, the power winks out. I collapse.

“Magos?” says Odhran.

Unable to speak or move, I connect to the room’s vox and sensors, “I listen. I live. Thoughts slow. Speak hard.”

“What was that? Who was that?”

“Emperor.”

Odhran, “Emperor indeed. That was quite the show.”

“No. Actual Emperor. Bad Dad took due. Nearly killed me. Old brothers’ souls gone. New souls, old bodies, old memories, new behaviours. Impetuous. Like children. New brothers wake much later.”

“Truely?”

“You watch. You feel. You see. Cannot deny his power. His gift. My sacrifice. Magic aways price.”

“Yes, Magos. Truly you are blessed with his attention.”

“Dispute. Blessing.”

Odhran chuckles lightly and it quickly descends to a full blown laugh. He takes a breath to steady himself, “Do you require aid?”

“No. Servitors bring supplies. Repair imminent. Ten minutes.”

“Then I will watch over you.”

“Agreement. Happy.”

My implants are damaged and my nanites are almost all fried. The Warp Tap has ceased working and the Concurrent Conscious Cascade has suspended my additional instances. Regenerative Hormones, however, are fully functional and rapidly putting the organic parts of my body back together. With every second that passes, my thoughts clear after five minutes, I sit up and blink away the old blood from my restored eyes.

Two servitors enter the chapel. One carries a bowl of amino porridge and a recaf and presents it to Odhran, who accepts the fare. The other brings me four litres of water, grox stew, a kilo of metallic beads, and a herbal tea. I can’t hold anything yet, so I direct the servitor to place the food on the ground in front of me, then feed me the metal beads and water. By the time I’ve choked down the metal, I can hold my own spoon.

Odhran and I eat in silence. My spoon clatters in my empty bowl and I lean back against the damaged table, sip my tea, and sigh.

“You heal remarkably fast, Magos.”

“It just looks that way. I can move, talk, and think properly now. It will be at least a day until I can completely restore myself. Are you injured?”

“Nothing worth speaking of.”

“I’m not going to argue with you. You have, however, just returned from the dead. Do not hesitate to request aid should you feel unusual. I suspect the Emperor will smite me if I ask for your soul back a second time, or maybe just kill me by accident during the process. There will be no third revival.”

“That is acceptable.” Odhran frowns, then sighs, “My old brothers? They are truly gone?”

“They are. While the Emperor worked through me, the residual wisdom left in his wake told me that he did not have your old brother’s souls, so he made new ones. It was far more expensive than transferring you from his domain in the Warp back to your body. As for why your brothers were not present, I can only speculate.”

“Go on.”

“Your brothers died to demons while you died to the Eldar. While I held a proper funeral for all of you in Distant Sun’s auto-temple, to properly send you to rest, they had been dead for many years. There was nothing left to send back to the Emperor’s side. As for if they were devoured by demons, faded, or still fight on within the Warp, I could not say.”

“Thank you, Magos.”

“Earlier, I requested details on the current situation and you delayed it, no doubt hoping to only relay the information once when all my brothers and I were awake. Circumstances have changed. Where are we, when are we, and why are you a mutant?”

“We are in the Koronus Expanse. Approximately fifty years have passed since you died. My fleet, which I have built in the time since we last fought together, was seeking passage across the Expanse back to the Calixis Sector to trade our discoveries for new resources.

“We finally found the route, only to be ambushed by the Great Enemy, whose machinations failed when they were killed by a nearby, faulty Necron device. The Necron device exploded after consuming the Great Enemy, a named Warp entity, code named Bad Penny. The explosion disrupted our Warp transition to the Materium and we were sent back in time. It is approximately the year eight hundred and ten, of the forty-first millennium, plus or minus twenty years or so.”

“Remarkable,” Odhran folds his arms. “I’ve fought a lot of xenos. From time to time I have picked up parts of their cultures from stolen missives and poorly secured transmissions. While the insight gained is used to better defeat them, one anecdote that stands out to me is part of what passes as culture for the foul greenskins. Orks measure the might of their bosses not only by their size, but the strength of the enemies. If you have been hunted down by the Great Enemy and have the Emperor’s ear, there must be something truly fantastical aboard this vessel. What else is vital for me to know before I leave this room?”

“To finish your previous line of questions first, I became a navigator after praying to the Emperor for aid. Our lone navigator was sick and we risked being trapped at the edge of the galaxy. Through His aid, I was altered and our navigator was restored.

“We carry a Space Marine STC. It is pre-heresy and contains everything required for all infantry and armour equipment for Astartes and their auxiliary forces. While Mars likely still holds most of this data, it has been lost by many forgeworlds and they would benefit from receiving it. As would the Tech-Marines of all loyalist chapters.”

“I understand now why He interfered. Your work is great, Magos.”

“It is. My fleet, which I have named the Stellar Fleet, is based around the Iron Crane, a mobile shipyard. We are on the Iron Crane in the navigator tower. Distant Sun, your previous posting, now has a xenos habitat, hosting Tau prisoners of war, a handful of lesser races rescued from Dark Eldar raiders, and a single Eldar Warlock mercenary, also rescued from Dark Eldar. The xenos are contained and do not have permission to walk about. I would ask that you do not seek conflict with them, or kill or harm them out of hand. They are currently contributing to the success of this mission and I would like it to stay that way. I also prefer to keep my word. Do not make a liar of me, Sergeant Odhran.”

“I understand the burden of necessity, Magos. Your warning is acknowledged.”

“The last thing you need to know is that we are heading for the planet Kinbriar V where Necrons are in conflict with Yme-Loc Craftworld Eldar. We need to destroy the tomb world to secure our passage between here and the further rimward into the Koronus Expanse.

“The main reason is that the world that held the Astartes STC does not get rediscovered for another two hundred and fifty years. I’d hate to see it mysteriously disappear because the Necrons revived, spread out, and destroyed it. We will require Yme-Loc’s cooperation to ensure the Necrons' destruction. I revived you and your squad to help me perform raids on the tomb as a vital part of our overall strategy.”

“Will my new brothers awake in time?”

“For the first raids? I doubt it. They will likely require a period of adjustment too. We will budget for six months. During these six months, it will likely be you and I, the Eldar Warlock, my bodyguard, and a penal company performing these raids. We will be supported by kataphrons and our backs guarded by the Stellar Corps, my infantry and armour forces.”

“This is a lot to take in, Magos. I wish to requisition suitable quarters for my brothers and I, then watch over them while I rest and meditate. I also require my wargear returned to me.”

“I will show you the way. Servitors will bring your wargear and move your brothers later.”

“Very well, Magos. Lead and I shall follow.”

I stand and groan, sore and stiff with new bone and muscle. My implants grind within my body as I guide Odhran to spare officer quarters in Iron Crane’s main crew quarters. I am pleased Odhran is such a level headed fellow, or at least willing to listen before attempting to rip my brains out through my asshole for some obscure slight. I told a believable story, I think, or rather part of one. Performing a miracle too, must weigh in my favour on the old kiss or kill scale.

Hopefully, the only things Odhran will use his lips for are praising me, cursing my enemies, and offering me advice.

I leave Odhran in his new rooms with a dataslate, praying I have made the right choice. Was reviving five, fanatical, trans-human warriors a good idea? Can’t be any worse than running into a Necron tomb, guns blazing, while being eyed up by a corps of emotional, fortune telling, pointy eared gits.

Fuck my life.