Thallaxia

Chapter 1

Flame was all around him.  The transport slammed into the ground at rapid speed, and the undercarriage began to peel away as they dragged.  Explosions rolled in series from the direction of the impact, before the ship caught on something, and began to tumble. 

On its third roll the ship came to a sharp halt, and Lukan became pinned in the wreckage.  He was wounded, something pierced his armor.  Fires grew around him.  He only felt the pain as he looked down to see it, a jagged pipe emerging from his chest at an upward angle.  His blood ran cold.  His automatic injector sensed the injury and released a powerful pain killer.  His thoughts swam through the red and dark and blood around him.  He needed to free himself before the fire consumed him.  The pipe wasn't that long, he could pull himself off and find a way out, he thought.

He tried to raise his arms, and they didn't move.  He tried to move his legs, and they didn't even twitch.  He was paralyzed.  The pipe must have severed his spine.  He could just barely still move his neck, enough to keep his throat clear so he could breathe.  He activated his emergency transponder via mental command that had been drilled into his psyche.  That's all he could do.  He couldn't even vox the rest of the Cell without his helmet.  He hoped the rest of his Cell survived.  He was in the belly of the transport, the worst place to be in this particular scenario.

Lukan hung by the pipe, jaw slack, drool mixed with blood running freely out of his mouth.  The smoke grew thicker and began to work its way into his throat.  He couldn't even cough, letting it settle on his tongue, and coat his uvula.  He could still feel his limp body through the painkillers.  He could feel the heat of the fire on every part of himself, as it began to melt his uniform, and his flesh.  His vision began to fade.  He let his consciousness fall into the deep, dark heat.  At least he was warm.  At least he was sedated as he died, and did not have to go screaming in agony.  He could retain some dignity, even if no one else would ever know.  He had survived more than so, so many.  He could die here with pride.

Lukan heard voices.  They sounded very far away.  He might have rejoiced to be found, were he not so certain of his demise.  Thank the Emperor they survived, he told himself.  He closed his eyes.  He could not see any more, he need not spend the effort to keep them open.  He heard the shrieking of metal being torn apart, and fresh air flooded the wreckage.  The comparably cold air rushed at Lukan and into his wound, sending an agonizing chill through his body.  His throat and lungs began to spasm in response.  Ripping facsimiles of coughs ripped out of his chest, worsening his wound and sending blood flying out of his mouth with every horrible exhalation. 

His eyes flicked open and saw the shape of an Astartes in front of him.  Brother Ferox.  His helmet was flashing with multicolored lights, and sweeping sensors.  He was analyzing the severity of Lukan’s wounds.  The lights snapped off and the marines deep vox grilled voice boomed

“You will live.”  Before stabbing him with an injection, and pulling Lukan off of the pipe.

The pain from the sudden movement was so agonizing that Lukan lost consciousness.  When he came to again he saw the sky above him, and could breath clean air.  He was on the ground.  He saw Ferox above him, holding a piece of hinged wreckage aloft.

“Hide.”  Ferox said, and slammed the transport door closed over him.

“Salvation will find you.”  Lukan heard him say from the other side.  And then;

“We bring the fight to them!  Advance with extreme prejudice!”

He felt the marines footsteps pound into the earth as he ran away, and the sound of gunfire faded, leaving Lukan alone, in the dark.  He wasn't in pain any more, not really.  He could feel the injection Ferox jabbed him with, coagulating the ragged ends of veins in his wound.  He could feel his entire body, so abused and beaten and riddled with drugs, every inch of him was alive with tingling sensation.

Lukan attempted to stretch his over exerted muscles, and a dread cold as ice water seeped into his gut.  He had managed to forget that he was paralyzed.  The inability to move even an inch sent him into a claustrophobic anxiety attack.  His thoughts began to race faster than he could understand them.  His brain honed in on the strained muscles that were set to burning from staying in one position too long.  The sensation overwhelmed him.  Noises began to emanate from his throat and Lukan realized that, if he tried, he could still scream.  And so he screamed.  Ferox told him to hide, but scream was all he could do, and he did so until he lost consciousness again.

He woke in darkness.  He had no way of telling how long he was out for, and after only seconds the panic began again.  Whatever muscles he was still able to manipulate into a scream were now failing.  Lukan attempted to master the panic.  He was a member of the Vigilia.  He was chosen because he is a survivor.  Brother Ferox Suld is his bonded Astartes, and great friend.  He has been serving with him for the better part of ten years.  The recitation of facts calmed him.  When his thoughts strayed to his broken body, he started from the beginning.  I am a soldier of the Malum Vigilia.  I am a survivor.  Brother Ferox Suld is my bonded Astartes, and great friend. 

Lukan’s mind slipped into darkness again, but the facts repeated in his mind as he rested.  He could no longer tell when he was awake or asleep until he woke, and he was somewhere else.  There were voices around him.  He was being moved.  He was staring up at the steel ceiling of a voidship, or more particularly, the docking bay where two ships were connected.  He could not move his head, or open his mouth to try to speak, as he was held in place by fittings on the gurney.  After a few seconds, the movement stopped, and Lukan heard a woman’s voice,

“Releasing patient for transport to the local Ordo Reductor facility.” it said.

What?  No.  No he hadn't heard that right.

+Thank you doctor.  We will take him from here.+

Why were there tech priests?  Oh throne.  No.  Emperor no. 

They were going to put him in the Lorica.

He could see only the ceiling as he began to move again.  Lukan’s mind was blank with terror.  They were going to put him in the Lorica.  The stories all came rushing back to him.  The omens of the tech priest that he had promised his body too long ago, in the event its ceasing to function.  Lukan found himself wishing to stay the way he was before allowing this.  He wished he had died on the pipe, in the fire. 

His eyes recovered from their sightless glaze and Lukan saw one of the tech priests stepping to the side, closing a chamber door.  He was in a stasis chamber.  He tried to scream as the room began to fill with cold smoke.  He craned his eyes to the side to meet the tech priests, hoping to plead for mercy, but saw none in its cold robotic voids.

A second later the door opened again, and Lukan was still trying to scream.  He was brought out of the chamber quickly and through a massive open ship's bay.  Large medical lights came into view above him, along with servo skulls with blinking red recording lights.  Then he came below a terrifying conglomeration of long metal arms with various cutting, drilling and welding attachments. 

Moments later he heard a tech priest start what sounded like a medical journal.

+This is Ternax Vex of the Ordo Reductor.  Subject has presented with catastrophic lower cervical cord destruction and complete paralyzation.  Limbs have succumbed to various wounds and have lost any viability upon arrival.  I will now begin the transfer of the patient to his chosen Lorica Thallax chassis.

Lukan heard a console beeping next to him, and he felt a liquid being released from somewhere.  There was an IV in his arm, he didn't even notice it being put in.  In an instant the painkillers stalled in his system during the stasis transit were canceled out, and Lukan felt all of his wounds.

The tech priest long ago had told him that in this eventuality, he would need to remain conscious, and his nerves un sedated, in order to ensure their proper placement within their new host.

Lukan saw the face of the operating tech priest come into view above him.  I am a soldier of the Malum Vigilia, he told himself.  I am a survivor, he told himself, as the tech priest began the process of removing him from his body.




Chapter 2

Years ago

Lukan watched as his transport drifted towards the space station.  It had a large middle section, where the bulk of its activities must be handled.  Above and below it were large spires with rotating compartments shooting off of them.  Dozens of Mechanicus ships of varying sizes surrounded the station, entering or leaving docking bays.

Lukan knew that the Vigilia had extensive ties with the Mechanicus, in order to supply the augmetics needed by its mortal soldiers.  But he did not know what this station was.  The Vigilia’s best kept secret, or best kept he’s been made privy too so far.  None of his contemporaries knew the purpose of the trip he was on either, only that they, too, would make the journey one day.

Lukan was to be inducted into the Malum Vigilia’s Astartes companion pool.  The thought still gave him chills.  He remembered being a child, and thinking Space Marines were a fairy tale.  So much of the galaxy was just a story back then.  And then he was recruited to the guard.  The horrors of the void soon became very real to him.  But Lukan survived, where so many had not.  And the Vigilia noticed. 

Before he could work with an Astartes, Lukan needed to receive his standard augments.  That would be done aboard the response flotilla he is assigned to, however, and this station was not that  Lukan saw a massive icon above the docking bay he was about to enter.  A cog, with a tower, and a lightning bolt inside it.  He did not know this order.

The transport passed through the environment shield and docked in the middle of a large empty bay.  The transport was automated, and only Lukan was onboard.  The door opened for him regardless.  Cold blue light seeped into the transport.  Lukan stepped out, and saw his breath turn to frost in front of him.  Throne, it's cold, he thought.  He looked around for an indication of where he was supposed to go.

Against the wall Lukan saw a tech priest.  They stood at least seven feet tall, and wore a flowing mechanicus robe.  The deep hood kept their face in shadow, save for one glowing red eye. 

+Lukan Wrenn.  Congratulations on your promotion to bond cell applicant.+

The priest's voice was high, shrill, and echoing, like a million voices in one.  Lukan nodded to them. 

“What ordo is that?”  Lukan asked, pointing to where the icon above the bay was.

+The Ordo Reductor.  World breakers of the Un-maker.+ said the tech priest.

“The Un-maker?” Lukan asked.

+Omnissiah.  Emperor.  Un-maker.  In times past the distinction carried more import.+

Lukan was surprised to hear such candid talk of the Emperor.  If it were a subordinate of his he might have reprimanded them.

“Very well…” Lukan said, un-sure.  He continued;

“You are quite the secret.  A secret that everybody knows about.  Why do recruits of the Vigilia come here?”  Lukan asked.

In response the tech priest took a step to the side, and gestured to the lift behind them.

+All will become clear.+ The priest said. 

Lukan nodded again and made for the lift.  The priest entered after him, and the door closed without any noticeable interaction.  The lift moved up for around fifteen seconds, before opening into darkness.  The tech priest stepped out of the lift before him, and the cold blue lights turned on as he entered.

They were in a warehouse.  In front of them was a sort of reception area, a large desk with hololiths and maps, terminals and cogitators.  A dozen yards past the desk, and in either direction beside it, were huge arming racks displaying what looked like armor of some sort, though Lukan had never seen its kind.  Cold fog rolled on the floor in between the rows of racks that held hundreds and hundreds of these mechanical bodies.  They went on so far that Lukan could not make out an end to them in any direction.

The tech priest reached the desk and turned to see Lukan's bewildered expression.  They waited for Lukan to ask his questions.

“What are these?  Am I to be armored like a marine?” Lukan asked, grasping.

+Only in the proper eventuality.+  The tech priest said, and continued,

+The Lorica Thallax.  A remnant of an age long past, to be resurrected by the order of Archmagos Bellisarius Cawl, and Lord Regent Roboute Guilliman.+

Lukan was surprised again to hear such names mentioned in his presence.  The Lord Regent had ordered him here?  The Archmagos had a hand in this technology?  It was as if he were living in a legend.

The tech priest turned about, and walked past the desk, towards the racks. 

+Come.  Walk with me among them.  You will want to see before you make your choice.+

Lukan was still slightly stunned.  He had more questions, but felt no rush to end his wonder.  He followed the priest to the racks.

They were sorted by variations, hundreds of one identical model might fill a row of racks.  The first they passed were polished bronze in color, with an oddly shimmering faceplate.  The next they saw were slightly taller, and made of ceramite.  The next were shorter, and made of another, darker material that Lukan could not name.  Even more variations lay in any direction from Lukan.  All of the machine bodies were bereft of weapons, and looked rather sparse, like they were missing components.

As Lukan continued through the racks he noticed a commonality between them all.  These did not appear to be suits of armor, as there was no discernible way to incorporate a soldier physically.  They were solid pieces with, evidently, no hollow spaces.  Some of them also bore ribbons, with names of Vigilia soldiers.  Certain models had a ribbon on each one.  Some had multiple.  Other models only had a few, though every model type had some. 

The tech priest began to speak, evidently tired of waiting for Lukan to inquire.

+The Lorica Thallax and Astartes power armor were both born of the same principle.  To integrate a subject with its armor, to provide a supremely protected, informed and empowered occupant.  The level of integration ended up being the defining factor.  The Lorica Thallax diverged from use with Astartes, due to its reductive factors, and instead became standard in the forces of the Mechanicum, and the Ordo Reductor.+

Lukan listened intently, trusting his questions will be answered in turn.

+Once placed within the Lorica a soldier can live for centuries.  One of The Lorica's most valued uses is in saving a catastrophically wounded soldier.+

Placed within the Lorica.  That gave Lukan pause. 

“You’re going to put me in one of these?” He asked.

+The Vigilia would not rob you of your humanity, regardless of the Ordo’s view on the subject.  You are here today to select a chassis should your body fail, yet your mind can be saved.  You will be given a new body, and a new chance to serve the Un-maker.+

Lukan paused in thought.  Interesting.  He was simply relieved that this entire ordeal was not a matter of immediate import, instead something for the future.  A contingency.  The priest continued walking through the racks, and told him more.

+The Thallax are extremely durable, agile, and powerful.  You will be tougher, stronger and faster than you could ever hope to be while still beholden to your flesh.  Each Thallax houses a high energy compact reactor that can power devastating weaponry.  You will have extremely versatile access to augmentation, and customization.  You will be fitted with a jet pack.  The list of practical benefits goes on.+

Lukan was wary already.  Nothing a tech priest espoused so fervently was without a catch. 

“At the cost of my humanity?” Lukan asked. 

+Implantation within the Lorica is not without its difficulties.  You will lose your vision, and hearing, given something else instead.  Due to the intense trauma of being placed within a new body, your emotional centers will need to be dampened, lest you feel agony un ending.  Your mind will need to be conditioned to function with its new body, and your psychological limits will be tested.  However, due to The Archmagos recent applications of re discovered ancient technology, internment within the Lorica will no longer inevitably result in insanity.+

“That used to be a feature?  Inevitable insanity?”  Lukan asked with equal parts humor and horror.

+The great crusade, and the eras that followed, were times of unparalleled urgency, and unpleasant practicality.  A soldier may succumb to insanity within the Lorica, but only after centuries of superlative combat service in the ranks of the Ordo.  An exceptional compromise in the eyes of many, even to those that may suffer the consequences.+

It surprised Lukan to find himself thinking that he understood.  He was in the Vigilia after all.  After his time here, he would be sent directly to receive his standard augments to serve as a Bond Cell Applicant, a series of no less than a dozen, highly invasive medical procedures, augmetic grafts, and mechanical integrations.   This is a shade similar to the life and purpose he was already living.  It occurred to Lukan that another Chapter in another time might have interred him without his knowledge or consent, and conscripted him to service regardless.

Lukan stopped in front of a machine body made of polished steel.  It was taller and wider than him.  He tried to imagine the force capable of being summoned from its large mechanical arms and legs. 

“Does implantation hurt?” Lukan asked, not really able to think of a more pertinent question.

+Affirmative.  By design.  Your receptors will be dampened enough to not burn out your sanity, but you will be brought to maximal awareness during implantation, to increase the odds of success.  Each viable nerve needs to be mapped to a new pathway, and pain is the most effective method.+

Lukan paused.  That did not sound pleasant.  His nerves.  That gave him shivers.

“How much of me ends up in this thing?  As much as you can salvage?”  Lukan asked.

+Negative. The only components of your body to be transplanted will be your brain, spine, and nervous system, regardless of the viability of individual components or organs.+

That sounded horrific.  That sounded beyond horrific, like the worst pain that could be imagined.  The possibility of capitulation crept into Lukan's mind.

“What if I don't consent?  I imagine that's what you have brought me here to gain.” He asked, turning to look at the priest.

+The Lorica Thallax contingency is a requirement to be considered for work with an Astartes.  The Malum Vigilia is investing a disproportionate amount of resources into you and your training.  They will not waste the experience of a valued operative simply because their flesh fails.+ The tech priests said, meeting his gaze with his one red eye.

“The flesh fails with age as well.  Am I to be interred in one of these when I am too old to serve?” Lukan asked, wholeheartedly expecting it to come off as a joke.

“Affirmative.  To be a member of the Malum Vigilia is to embrace service without end.  You will be kept at operational capacity until such a thing is no longer viable.” The priest said without humor.

Now this shook Lukan.  He had never really entertained the possibility of retirement, not much of the guard does.  So in a way, Lukan thought this an improvement.  He could live for centuries, if he played his cards right.  He could serve with Astartes for centuries.  He could never be one of the Emperor's Angels, but this felt like he might come close.  The weight of a trillion human souls never given the opportunity to live a life of such purpose felt like it would crush him if he were to refuse. 

Lukan looked back at the mechanical bodies.  So many more left to see.  He wondered if he would find any that suited him in particular.  Any with some personality.  He looked back to the priest.

“Then I suppose I should find one I like, eh?”




Chapter 3

Lukan was changed.  His brain was irrevocably and catastrophically altered by the pain he endured during transplantation.  He was peeled open, and pulled by his seat of consciousness.  His flesh was pared away around his nerves and discarded without ceremony.  Any semblance of familiar sensation or identifiable senses quickly became a forgotten memory.  The only experience left for Lukan to feel was agony, as his nerves become exposed to the near freezing air of the mechanicus operating theatre.  “How?” was the only word he could manage to think.

His brain was placed within his chosen chassis, a tall and thin body, made of a dark matte material.  His spine was fixed into place.  Then began the long, long process of the flesh welding.  Every single one of his nerves was affixed into its new position with extreme heat.  His already screaming remaining sense erupted in fresh torment, and his brain began to fight against the stimulants keeping him cognizant of the pain.  This is when he noticed his emotions beginning to vanish.  Lukan's mind was brought to its breaking point, and emotions of any kind that touched this threshold were chemically castrated by the tech priest currently watching his brain.  He would never feel anything so deeply again.

If he were to look back on the experience Lukan would not be able to identify when he began to feel his new body, rather than the insane mess of unidentifiable sensations from his raw nerves.  He could feel the heat them being fixed, and then he felt the heat of the steel around the nerve.  As more and more of him was welded into place, he began to feel a weight to himself.  The sensation was dull now.  Agonizing, but not fresh, and the layering and piling on of these dull flesh welds eventually coalesced into a facsimile of a body.  The process of affixing his nerves took no less than eighteen hours.

When all of his nerves had been placed, his chassis was closed, and he was fully inside his new body, for the first time.  Lukan was lifted by a large chain hooked to his back.  He felt the sensation of being moved.  His center of gravity was shifting and he could feel the massive weight of himself pressing firmly on the rest of his body, and the chain holding him aloft.  He could not see, hear, smell, or taste.  But he had a body to feel now, in a way.  It did not feel the same as his old body.  Or did it?  If he was being honest with himself, he could not remember what it felt like to be in his old body.  He just remembered that he could feel great pain like that.  Less now.

He felt something press into his new abdomen.  It was very warm.  It jerked and clicked and interfaced with his body in some way, before locking into place.  Moments later he felt an extremely volatile… something, enter his body.  It churned and rolled at his center, before sending waves of itself into his torso and limbs.  He felt it begin to gather beneath the home of his thoughts, until the waves filled his body completely, and his polished blank face shape clicked on.

Lukan would frequently be asked about the djinn sight by his fellow soldiers upon returning to the ranks.  He would often describe it as if his sight and hearing had become one sense, and he had neither individually any more.  It would allow Lukan to see through walls and terrain around him, determine velocity and trajectory near instantly, and gain an exceptional amount of data about a target's physical condition from the unique combination of sensory capabilities.  It would allow him to track seismic pressure, blood heat, and electromagnetic fields, over great distances.  The human brain struggles to compensate when presented with a new sensory experience though, and Lukan would eventually come to refer to the djinn sight as his “vision” because it was the closest approximation. 

When Lukan's new body became active, he did not understand the djinn sight yet.  His faceplate flicked on and Lukan's brain was overloaded with information instantly.  He perceived a roiling sea of red, pulsing and all aiming directly at his face plate.  The tech priests were chattering, but he didn't even know how he knew that.  Words entered his brain as this new form of data;

+Back away.  Monitor the subject closely.  Remove the ignition apparatus.+ a Tech priest spoke.

Lukan aimed his head down.  He could move his head.  He again didn't really know how, he just felt the machine being pulled from his new metal gut and instinctively attempted to look at it, though he could no longer see.  The storm of data in front of him became complicated, and then faded.  He moved his head some more.  Throne, it had been ages since he moved.  He needed to stretch.  Lukan immediately became overwhelmingly anxious.  He needs to move his body right now.  He began to try.

Lukan's metal frame began to spasm.  His arms began to flail and legs began kicking.  He smashed his right arm through the rigging that was holding him upright, and the chain that was holding him aloft fell out.  He landed with a resounding slam on the deck.  He tried his hardest to stay upright, and he managed to make it a few loping gaits into the room before falling and slamming into the deck.  Movement was not helping.  He felt still, and stiff.  Like he had under the wreckage.  He felt the dread again, cold as ice.  He continued to smash the floor below him, attempting to force the aching dull whine from his nerves.  It wasn't working, and he found himself emitting a machine sound of some kind.  Is that how I scream?  Lukan thought.

Lukan focused on the physical sensation that created the noise.  It was something he was controlling, he just couldn't make out how to do it on its own yet.  Nonetheless, he forced his will into that section of his mind, and his body reacted by letting out a terrible, long and painful screech.  It all hurt.  Throne, it all still hurt so much.  A tech priest spoke near him again.

+Bond cell applicant Lukan Wrenn.  You have endured much, and survived your ordeals yet again.  You have a new body.  We are capable of inducing a state of rest.  Would you like us to do so?+

Nothing had ever sounded so pleasant in Lukan's entire life.  He stopped his shrieking and stilled his limbs, for the most part.  He did not feel entirely in control of his body yet, so full of energy and power it was.  The tech priest spoke;

+We will take that as affirmation.+ 

Somehow Lukan could perceive the tech priest approaching from his side even though he was facing straight down.  He was an odd mixture of cold and hot spots with electromagnetism flying off of him at every point.  The priest connected something to Lukan's back, and he fell asleep




Chapter 4

The tech priests re-booted Lukan.  They attempted to do it slowly, with the application of sedatives to keep him from reacting violently again.  When he came to Lukan was upright, back on the hook, but his feet were on the floor this time.  There were three tech priests in the room with him.  One in front and one on either side, behind him.  Information slowly trickled into Lukan's mind.  There was a field of some sort around him, around everything in the room.  It was flowing constantly from one thing to the next.  Machines.  It was flowing from one machine to the next.  The tech priests included.  There is heat around him, though little of it.  The tech priests contained the heat too, as well as the electromagnetism and environmental pressure all around.

Lukans recalled the sensation from earlier when he screamed and tried to talk. 

“+Is this the noosphere?+” The words came from his body with unexpected ease.  His voice bounced off of itself and rattled around the room like a coin in a beggar's tin.  It bore no resemblance to Lukan's old voice.

+You can perceive the noosphere?+ The tech priest in front of him said with surprise.

+I am going to transmit a large packet to the Magos, tell me when I have sent it.+ The priest said.

The tech priest did nothing for around twenty seconds before a large wave of the rolling information streamed in a million pieces to the Magos behind Lukan.

“+Now.+” Lukan said.

+Fascinating.+  The tech priest said with robotic wonder.

Lukan did not know what to say to that.  He noted that he was not in pain, and did not feel the need to stretch what used to be his limbs. 

“+The pain.  Will it return?+”  He asked.

The tech priest shook his head and began to move towards him.

+You must re-define pain in your new form.  The sensations you felt are what it is to be implanted in the Lorica.  Not pain.  They will return, and you must master them.+ The priest said, moving to his side.

“+I felt as though I needed to…Stretch.  To express my muscles.  I can not.+”

+Ah.  Well that is simply phantom body syndrome and will subside with time.+

The priest placed a mechadendrite on the hook in Lukan's back

+You have regained the faculty of speech rather quickly.  Shall we try walking next?+ He asked.

Lukan affirmed his consent to the priest, but something strange happened.  He didn't say anything, but he spoke to the priest.  He essentially said “Okay” without the need for the mechanical step.  The priest noticed.

+We will train you to interact with the noosphere and other such networks before you return to your compatriots.+

His compatriots.  His cell. 

“+Do they yet live?  How long has it been?+” He asked.

+You were the sole casualty of the crash.  They eagerly await your return. It has been over four hundred terran cycles since you sustained your injuries.+ the priest replied, while pulling the hook out of Lukan's back.

Over a year.  The stasis chamber must have masked a trip through the warp, back to the heart of Ultramar.  And he suspected it would be over a year going back.  He felt something.  The only feelings he had a notion of at the moment were agony and confusion, until this new one reminded him he could still feel more.  He was excited to be reunited with his friends. 

Lukan quickly learned to walk again.  It was more intuitive than he would have thought.  Still, he felt that he was underutilizing his new body, and the priests took him through a full diagnostic of his new form.  The process took hours, but the passage of time did not affect Lukan like it once did.  He did not get hungry, or tired, or bored, or restless.  He got lost in the diagrams and schematics of his body, and came away with a deep understanding of his systems.  The practical application of these systems was another thing entirely, though.

Lukan spent the first months of his travel back testing his new physical capabilities.  He was capable of running five kilometers in under nine minutes, though he heavily damaged the track he ran on.  He did not tire physically any more, and continued these benchmark tests for many days in a row, partially out of excitement, and partly because he had absolutely no idea what to do otherwise.  He did not want to confront more than this, not right now.  The priests offered him many chances to rest or recreate, but he was content to lose himself in training.

He could lift over a thousand kilograms in a standing posture and more in various lifting positions.  He could carry an intense amount of weight on his back.  Still, he did not tire, only felt his metal body endure the stress without complaint.  His reaction time was exceptionally improved, the djinn sight keeping him ultimately informed of all things around him at all times.

He was capable of running obstacle courses and reacting to interference in ways that he never would have been able to when reliant on sight and hearing.  His perception was three hundred and sixty degrees at all times, and physical obstructions no longer provided as much complication.  He could sense the heat and electricity of all things, and their absence, all around him, shooting off into every direction, forever, until it all faded into the background noise of reality.  A wall in front of him existed, and so too did the things behind it.  But they did exist behind it, and his perception of them was as such.

He was taken to a shooting range.  This… Now this excited him.  He was a sharpshooter in the flesh, and he was wondering if he would retain his specialization after his transformation.  He still retained many of the necessary qualities.  Patience.  Discernment.  His reaction time was better.  His physical control of his extremities was better.  Lukan was beginning to think he actually might be a better sharpshooter in this form, although a bit clunky. 

They gave him a rifle that would have been comically oversized before, now it felt as though he might break it.  They ran many servo skull shooting galleries that Lukan enjoyed, even if they were a bit easy.  Eventually the trick became to recognize when the priests had released the skulls in a pattern that made it physically impossible to hit each target, and take the option that eliminated more.  Lukan felt very good about his marksmanship.  He spent days practicing with various standard long range weapons, until one day a tech priest approached him with a rifle.

The priest told Lukan that he would have as much time as he wanted in their armory later, but brought him a particularly effective weapon to train with.  He said it had been borne by the Thallaxii before, but did not elaborate further.  The weapon was nearly two meters tall, with a long thin barrel, and a bulbous flared protrusion along its length.  Near the grip was the energy chamber where the shots were charged.  The handle and trigger came directly off the energy chamber, and a very sparse stock stuck out of the end of it.  There was a large cable to connect to his own energy source, to power the weapon.  The tech priest called it a photon thruster.

When connecting a weapon to his power source the energy would run through the hand that he has affixed to the trigger and handle of the weapon, in this case his right.  The feeling of connecting to the gun was something with no real human analogy.  The sensation that he felt at all times, that gave his body the ability to move, his internal reactor, became split between the two reservoirs.  The photon thruster came alive with his energy, and began to sustain itself within the chamber.  It did not diminish his own energy capacity at all, except maybe momentarily, initially. 

Lukan held the rifle with one strong mechanical hand and willed it into shooting.  It was always a strange thing, interacting with a new weapon.  There were no triggers any more.  Lukan had to figure out where to push in his psyche.  It usually came quickly.  When he willed the shot into charging, the photon thruster began behaving in a very unique fashion.  The energy replicating inside the chamber began a reaction that by all rights should have blown the gun, and Lukan's hand, to pieces.  In an instant a reaction capable of powering a hab block for a month was produced, and channeled out of the gun's barrel at a velocity approaching the speed of light.  The shot did not hit any target, but it left a clean, deep hole in the ceiling.  It looked like it went very far. 

His own core was not affected by the shot, only the core of the gun.  He also did not think he moved at all.  Did this gun not produce recoil?  He fired another shot.  No it definitely did, and if his sensory calculations were correct, it was actually quite strong.  Not by his standards, any more, evidently.  He could fire repeatedly one handed without moving a centimeter.  The tech priest offered to run a special gallery to test its capabilities, and Lukan accepted.

The wall moved half a kilometer back.  Lukan shot bullseyes with no issue.  He could shoot repeated bullseyes into the same scorched target mark.  The targets moved and Lukan could track them with astounding fluidity, continuing with no misses.  A barrier made of armored plates appeared.  It was difficult to discern the skulls past it, but it was a simple scene with only one new variable, and Lukan continued to take his shots.  Lukan continued practicing with the rifle for many days, and eventually adopted it as his favored weapon.

With half of his transit left, Lukan began noospheric and advanced systems interface training.  The noosphere flowed through all things here on the mechanicus ship and was almost indistinguishable from baseline reality.  They taught him to interface with it, though he had almost none of the information necessary to access any of its systems.  He was not fully aware or in charge of the things he was doing.  He suspected that is why he was not allowed access to the noosphere, he might interact with it in some erratic way.  They taught him to connect to various cogitators and force them into submission in seconds, in a manner that astounded Lukan himself.   It was as if he spoke directly to the simple machine spirits, and they listened.  The technical jargon and rows of numbers were all transmitted to him, but he did not understand any of that yet. 

It was during this period of intense mental training that Lukan first truly looked inward, at what he had become.  He was still Lukan.  He remembered being Lukan.  He had memories from throughout his whole life.  Didn't he?  He found his memories fragmented and missing something.  Memories of being Lukan, without Lukan there any more.  Lukan did not exist any more, or at least the Lukan that was.  He thought of a cold cup of amasec, one of his most visceral pleasures.  He had enjoyed it many times.  He could not remember how it felt to drink one.  He couldn't imagine the sharp bite of the alcohol, or the condensation on the glass.  That was it.  Lukan had endured so much pain, and been so quickly and effectively reconditioned, that he no longer had a viable mental model for what it felt like to have flesh.

Lukan explored the ramifications of this.  He explored his memories and found what they were missing.  He no longer had memories of physical sensations throughout his life, as his brain had given up its old ways and fully adapted to the new.  He remembered the raw agony of the surgery, but not even the pain he felt in the wreckage, on the pipe.  Every memory Lukan had was torn apart into tiny pieces, and shuffled together in his brain, now bereft of the connective tissue of his flesh.  He did not know what to do with this revelation.  He thought he might start a journal.  Record what he did remember somehow, but when he looked inward he found that he actually had the internal capabilities to create catalogues and organized repositories of his own memories.  It would just take time, and be very confusing.  It became a task that Lukan addressed in his down time.

Towards the end of his trip Lukan was genuinely excited.  Everything was so unbelievable.  When he thought about what had happened to him and what he now was, he…  Did not know how to feel.  Maybe the feeling he should have felt was not there any more.  Confusion dominated his life for so long. 

But he would get to see his cell soon.  He went through training with a couple of them, and had memories with them.  Above all else, he wanted to see what Ferox would make of him now.  It had become somewhat of a tradition for the cell to test their strength against Ferox as training.  They had never bested him, all five of them versus him, and they never really expected too.  It was just fun.  Ferox would want to challenge him when he got back, that much Lukan was sure of.  A test of strength vs an Astartes. 

Lukan endured much throughout his service.  He did not know what lay ahead for him, and he could not say whether anything was worth it.  But one thing was certain.  He was now living a legend.




Chapter 5

Lukan went to meet his cell in full panoply of war, accompanied by two tech priests.  The armory he had been given access to was massive, and unique.  There were weapons that were meant to be mounted on heavily armored vehicles, or wielded by Astartes.  He had operated more than a few of them before in such a fashion, from the back of a Rhino or other armored transport.  They were huge weapons that required extensive rigging to stay in place, and stay stable.  But the weapons here were different.  They were stripped of many of their components and left in their most basic functioning form.  Lukan soon came to learn that those pieces were no longer necessary, as his new body provided those functions.  The guns did not need mounting assemblies, large energy reservoirs, triggers, sights, handles, or heatsinks.  His body did all those things, and did them better than the gun would have.  This was a Thallax armory.

Lukan wore his photon thruster detached, mag locked across his chest.  He had learned recently that this was a unique model of photon thruster that sacrificed raw power for a smaller frame, and increased range.  In its larger form it was sufficient to pierce a tank.  Now, it was capable of piercing almost any bodily armor or hard carapace, but no longer rent massive holes in its targets.

Over his right shoulder he bore the solution to the larger targets, a stripped down and remodeled Mark VII astartes las cannon.  A genuine Astartes weapon, remodeled to be borne on his frame.  It swiveled backwards, and lay across his back diagonally.  Lukan struggled to think of targets he had encountered in his service that this weapon would not completely obliterate, though it did have a toll on his readily available energy reserves. 

Over his left shoulder was a miniaturized grav cannon, mounted on a mechadendrite like third arm that could be controlled independently, or hooked into his left arm for precise targeting and immediate threats.  It also served as an exceptional blunt weapon. 

And on Lukan's waist was the brutal weapon of the guard, Astartes, and a million million fierce human warriors that fought in the Emperor's name; the Chainblade.  An exceptionally large and heavy chainblade.  Lukan had never actually owned one before, and he was quite fond of it.  All in all, Lukan thought he might have gone overboard.  All of these weapons were ultimately detachable, and operating them simultaneously would be nearly impossible.  But there was no reason not to carry them.

Lukan was the first member of the Vigilia to be interred in the Lorica Thallax.  He was not the first to fall in service, just the first they were able to save.  Save wasn't the right term, Lukan thought.  Re-purposed, more like.  He travelled with two tech priests now and an entourage of servitors.  He would be drawing lots of attention, and he was glad for the buffer. 

Lukan was to be re united with his cell aboard The Vigilant Hand, one of their response flotillas many ships.  He waited in the docking bay that connected the two ships.  Lukan became slightly disoriented as he passed the threshold between them.  It was different here, though he did not know how until he made his way further onto the Vigilia’s vessel.  Up until now Lukan's experience of reality in this new body was aboard Mechanicus vessels.  The noosphere was ever present, almost smothering, information constantly flowing between each and every thing.  As they left the Mechanicus ship behind the flowing rivers and crashing tides of information dried up into thin trickles between machines, servo skulls, servitors, and the occasional living entity.  It felt empty.  But Lukan did not find that unpleasant.

The tech priests that guided him carried their own noospheric aura that connected firmly to whatever channel it could, in order to communicate with the ship's captain and other personnel.  Lukan could decipher what they were communicating, if he desired, but felt content to be led for the time being.  There was much to observe around him. 

As they made their way through various checkpoints manned by what should have been familiar staff, Lukan quickly realized something else.  He… Couldn't really tell who any of these people were.  He could discern their height, weight, blood pressure, and body temperature.  He could tell whether they had eaten that day, whether they were in emotional distress, and he could do all of this from the next room.  But he couldn't see their faces.  He couldn't hear their voices.

He could “see” that they were staring at him.  All of them.  Every single person he walked past stopped what they were doing and stood with rapt attention.  They were to meet Decimus and his cell in a training area they had all used many times, and as they left the commotion of the common areas of the ship behind, Lukan thought it felt empty again.  He saw life signs growing ahead,  That must be them.  One was about five times larger than the rest of them, and tossing the smaller ones around with ease.  As Lukan had guessed, they were sparring.

The doors to the large open space pulled open silently, and let a rush of air in.  They did not seem to notice the door.  They were around the corner. Away from the shooting range and arming area.  They noticed his crashing metal footsteps on the floor.  They might think he is a marine coming around the corner.  They were catching their breath, pointing, and listening as Lukan came closer.  As the mortal members of the cell fell away from him, Ferox gave up the ghost and gently splayed onto the floor.  They must have really gotten him going, though his heart rate was comically low.  Some were coming closer to the corner, just as Lukan was too. The tech priests were behind him, they let him approach on his own. 

“Oh :cuss:ing shi–!”  one exclaimed as it was taken off guard by Lukans massive size.  He threw himself backwards and slammed into one of his compatriots behind him, knocking them both down.  Lukan stopped.  A third yelped and jumped out of the way.

“What the :cuss:!” the third yelled, not at anyone in particular, but definitely staring at Lukan.  She froze and seemed to be momentarily transfixed by his shining blank face plate. 

The fourth was on the other side of Ferox, and actually went for his arming weapon as if he were about to fight Lukan.  Ferox saw this first, and then saw one and two nearly fall on top of three.  Lastly he saw Lukan, and burst into booming laughter.  This did not immediately put the mortals around him at ease, spiking their heart rates considerably upon hearing it.  But after a few moments they calmed down and began to chuckle as well.  Brother Ferox lazily made his way to stand up, having a hard time stopping the laughter.

Number three was the first to speak to him.

“Is that you Lukan?” she said.  This must be Az.  Lukan could tell they were female, and Az was the only female in the cell.

“+Affirmative.+” Lukan's grating, tinny, echoing voice blasted at a volume entirely too loud.  They all winced heavily.  Damnit.  Lukan hated his voice now.  And since when was he saying affirmative?  Too much time with the priests.  Ferox laughed harder at that, before finally making it to his feet.  He took a long look at Lukan, and the weapons he wore, while the others looked on.

“Well good job they didn't send you without guns.”  He said with a smile, and approached Lukan.

Ferox offered him his arm, despite seeing the strange clamping mechanisms that were now Lukan's hands.  Lukan grasped his arm the best he could, and was shocked by how strongly Ferox could grip his own.

“Welcome back Lukan.” Ferox said, staring straight into his face plate.

Lukan had never been able to really “shake hands” with Ferox before.  Attempting it in earnest might incur injury.  Now Lukan had actually momentarily worried about harming Ferox with his metal hands.  Of course this was unfounded, Ferox’ skin was like kevlar.  To be able to shake hands with an Astartes was no small thing.  Being able to reunite with his friend, and stronger at that, was no small thing.

Lukan stood face to face with Ferox now, and felt nothing.  More empty.  He recalled memories with him.  He just hadn't gotten around to sorting all of them yet, and was unsure if he remembered everything he should about their relationship.  He wondered if his memories with Ferox may have been part of what was excised.

“+Thank you Ferox.+”  Lukan didn't know what to say. 

He remembered that Ferox saved his life.  How could he be so stupid.  Come one Lukan.  You still can show respect.  This is still an Angel of the Emperor.  Lukan broke their grip, and kneeled in front of Ferox.

“+Thank you Brother Ferox Suld.  You for saving my life, that I might serve the Emperor once more.+”  Lukan said in his horrible robot voice.

Ferox burst into laughter again.

“Well you are welcome.  But please, you embarrass me.”  Ferox gestured for him to stand, and then motioned at the guns he carried.

“Want to show us how these work?” He asked.

Lukan stood and replied

“+Oh.  Would you like to see?+”

Ferox gave an agreeable shrug, while the four mortals nodded emphatically. 

“+Very well.+” Lukan said. 

“+But please, do me one favor first.  I can see that this is Az+” He said, motioning to her.

“+But I have not seen any of you with this face, and you are not familiar to me yet.  Duulga, Bileg, Sansar.  Who is who?+”

The three men identified themselves and Lukan tied their identities to their unique collection of life signs.  Committing them to memory. 

They spent the next hour or so attempting to challenge Lukan's marksmanship.  There was no contest.  There may be facilities or programs in the Vigilias fleets that were capable of truly testing his mettle, but not here or now.  Lukan demonstrated each weapon in turn for them, leaving them in awe of the staggering fire power each time.  They were transfixed by his internal reactor and the power it was capable of outputting.  They began to attempt to see its limits, before Ferox told them to give Lukan a break.

They all chuckled.  Lukan stowed his weapons, and felt measurably pleased with how the reunion had gone.  Shortly after, the mortal members were assigned time to go to the mess hall.  Something that Lukan no longer had the need to do, and definitely did not have the desire to do, not at the moment.  He had already received too much attention for the day.  Instead, Ferox requested his company to learn more about him and his new body.

Ferox and Lukan spent many hours comparing themselves physically and mentally.  They were of comparable height, and he outweighed Ferox, unarmored.  Now, Lukan would never in a thousand years presume to think that he could best an astartes in any capacity.  They were different.  All the same, Lukan had trouble conceiving how a physical being could actually best him in his current form.  Ferox endeavored to show him. 

They started with the easy things.  First, a five kilometer race.  To Lukan's absolute astonishment Ferox bested him easily.  Lukan had run it in roughly eight minutes, where Ferox did it in under seven.  He had several distinct advantages.  Firstly, he was able to run without armor.  They discussed whether the test should be armored or not, and they agree that since a Marine has the choice to wear his armor, Ferox will get the choice to wear his.  Lukan however was armored, eternally.  Ferox ran barefoot and in simple clothes.  He started at an intense pace, and his velocity climbed the entire circuit.  He was pressing the entire way.  Lukan, on the other hand, accelerated to stop speed and stayed there the entire way, not able to gain any more speed.  Ferox said that he may actually be faster in the armor, but he was not sure.

They considered the factor of endurance.  They concluded that there would be no testing how long they could run now, it would take days.  But they theorized that Lukan actually held the advantage in this regard.  Lukan simply did not get tired.  Ever.  His body simply endured and continued.  The only thing close to exhausting he experienced anymore was the powering down of his reactor core, not something that he did often.  Ferox on the other hand, while in possession of tremendous fortitude, was a biologically based organism that would eventually, after weeks most likely, need to stop and rest.  This principle applied to many aspects of their individual capabilities they discussed.

Next they saw who could lift more.  Again, to Lukan's shock and awe, Ferox bested him.  There was something about the living tissue, the fighting organisms and systems of the Astartes physiology that amplified its strength far beyond what would be considered reasonable at a glance.  They resorted to gravity modulated weights, nothing else was heavy enough.  Ferox let Lukan go first, taking a guess at what a good weight might be.  He watched silently, and on his turn, tuned the weight to an oddly particular number, far above where Lukan had set it. He couldn't say he did it with ease, but he did it with confidence. 

They did more target practice.  This contest Lukan won, but it was much closer than either of them thought it would be.  Even un armored, Astartes reflexes, reaction time, agility, acuity and perception were so fine tuned as to feel uncanny to witness.  But Lukan was a sharpshooter after all, and if there was one thing he wanted to win it was this.  Maybe Ferox knew that.

As they competed they talked of the days ahead of them.  They were, apparently, already on transit to an emergency call.  They had a warp capable ship and a navigator waiting for them and two other cells.  There was a rogue tyranid presence that had landed on an Imperial world, and began to reproduce.  Transit would take roughly twelve days, starting now.  Lukan was surprised to be on active duty so soon, but he also did not know what else he had expected.  In the eyes of the cell and the Vigilia, his arrival was an asset to be utilized immediately. 

They continued more tests and competitions.  They played many games of Regicide, which Lukan always won.  This was a peculiarity that vexed Ferox for a time, demanding replay upon replay.  Ferox was unequivocally the superior tactical mind among the two of them and he would not hear any difference.  It was upon their seventh match that Ferox realized Lukan was essentially capable of reading his body chemistry like a lie detector, but much more effective and informative.

They sparred hand to hand.  Lukan was surprised that Ferox did not wish to don his armor for this, but figured both data sets had value.  There was only one data set however, that of Ferox trouncing Lukan with ease.  The Astartes members of the Malum Vigilia were, after all, melee specialists, and Lukan liked to shoot guns.  Though Lukan was able to leave some deeply colored marks on Ferox’s upper body, he was no match for the sheer accumulated technique and skill of the Astartes.

During their transit Lukan socialized little.  Him and Ferox continued training, and his cell mates communicated necessary details about the mission, but Lukan's mind was again quiet.  Empty.  He was devoid of… Anything.  They were on a mission.  They would be there in days.  This is what occupied his mind for this time.  After years aboard the Mechanicus ship, such a small span of time seemed to pass in an instant.  Or maybe it passed so quickly because he was experiencing less during that time. 

Lukan was adrift in the void, unstuck in his own timeline, lacking any connective fibers that might tie what is left of him to his mind, and his mind to his soul.  The connection the priests had managed to salvage, what made him Lukan, was a thing so thin that to break was its nature.  But Lukan's body was strong now, and breaking was not in his nature.




Chapter 6

Lukan was living a sharpshooters dream.  He stood firmly on a rooftop, overlooking the area of operation.  The kill box.  A common strategy when dealing with the more monstrous and animalistic xenos.  The tyranid presence here was small, but reproducing quickly.  The creatures appeared suddenly, no one knew they were here.  It was a rogue element, but left unchecked could spell the doom of an entire planet.  Or worse.  The monsters immediately overwhelmed the cities defenses and the planet's governance was not keen on fighting tyranids, instead barricading inside of the hive, and waiting for help to arrive.

The city where the tyranids breeding vat was established had been thoroughly ravaged by the time Lukan, Ferox and the others arrived.  The people had nowhere to go, but ran nonetheless, to be hunted down and incorporated.  Some still hid in the city itself, and this complicated their mission substantially.  They had been on the ground for many hours already, setting the stage.  Ferox waited in orbit, ready to be inserted at the critical moment.

Fires raged throughout the city, both due to the catastrophic failure of its infrastructure, as well as Lukan and his cell’s work.  After determining an area was clear of civilians, which was a very simple task for Lukan, they were rather fast and loose with the explosives.  The breeding pool lay far in front of Lukan, at the end of a long boulevard.  Along either side of this boulevard the buildings had been strategically collapsed to deny access to any of the many vicious gaunts that roamed the town.  Lukan occupied himself by dispatching the ones caught within the kill box, between requests for the function of his las cannon.

“Lukan!  I need you to put one right here!”  Sansar yelled over the vox.

Sansar was designating a structural support that would evidently aid the cell by no longer being there.

“+Affirmative.  Evacuate the premises+” Lukan voxed back.

“Oh :cuss:-” he said, beginning to run.

The las cannon slammed into position and once Sansar had reached a safe distance, Lukan began to charge the shot.  The energy chamber of the gun thrummed into life and built upon itself exponentially until the vibrations it produced reached a crescendo, and loosed the shot.  The ray of energy pierced an entire building before traveling further to reach its target, leaving a clean passage behind it.  The structural support was obliterated and a tall building in the distance toppled onto its side in a great storm of fire and dust.  The wreckage settled as the las cannon spun back down, and returned to its resting position.

“I think that's it guys.  The creature will have a hard time getting out of here.  Not impossible, mind, but tough.  We better give him a reason to stay.” Sansar told the cell.

The creature was a carnifex.  One of the many things produced from the pool after its fresh influx of the entire city.  By far the most dangerous threat on the battlefield currently.  Eliminating it would not end the infestation, they still must hunt for the swarms' synaptic creatures and eliminate them as well.  But, they would not have to do so with a carnifex around if they eliminated it now.  So that was the plan.

“Where do we bring him down?” Az asked.

Bileg replied “Just by the pool I think… Lukan!  Leave some bugs for Ferox to smash up as well, yeah?  Gotta let him bait the thing.”

“+Affirmative.+” Lukan replied.

“Dropping Astartes in 3… 2…1!” Az counted down.

Five seconds later a drop pod ripped through the cloud cover, gaining velocity.  It crashed into the city center plaza, shooting a cloud of dust and dirt seventy five meters skyward.  The doors fell off of the pod, and brother Ferox stepped out, wielding a massive two handed power sword.  He wasted no time, cleaving a charging gaunt in two only seconds after he emerged. 

“Xenos filth!” He bellowed, not through the vox, but loud enough to echo throughout the boxed in city center.

Lukan kept track of every hostile on the battlefield and concluded that Ferox was in no danger yet.  The Carnifex was close, though.  Lukan could not make out its life signs distinctly, there was too much commotion, he could just tell there were large concentrations of organisms in multiple directions.  One was moving particularly like a singular creature, and Lukan reasoned that this was the carnifex.  Soon confirmation came over the vox.

“Hooooly :cuss: I have contact.” Bileg said quietly.

“It's right outside the building I'm in.  It's heading your way, Ferox, from my location.  It’ll be hard to miss.  I will follow to take up overwatch.”

Lukan immediately honed in on Bileg's location and confirmed that the mass near him was indeed the carnifex. 

Ferox let out a resounding battle cry.

“To me vile creature!  To me!”

Everything was going to plan.  Ferox was in his element.  The carnifex stood no chance.  He would be cleaved into pieces within the half hour.  Such was Lukan's confidence in not just Ferox, but the Adeptus Astartes in general.  Complacency had no place on the battlefield though, and Lukan did his due diligence.  He watched as Ferox faced the direction the creature was coming from, and tracked the gaunts that began to come at him. 

“Keep them off me for a few minutes.  We’ll be done here soon.”

Lukan took this as permission to open fire, and began eliminating gaunts in a steady rhythm.  There were more pouring into the boulevard every second, coming to join the Carnifex in its hunt.  And then the monster reared its head.  Two stories of bone plating covering pulsing pink muscles and alien flesh.  Wicked scythes that could slice a hab clean in half for hands, and looming from its back.  A massive slobbering maw filled with uniform rows of gleaming razor sharp teeth, the size of a mortal man.

Ferox stood in front of the Xenos with no hesitation in his heart, no uncertainty in his mind.  Lukan could actually determine that Ferox was, in fact, calm at this moment.  This is what he does, what he was created for and what he has done for centuries.  He might be more in distress in his downtime than he was currently. 

The carnifex let out a shriek that split the air apart,  and reared its appendages back.  Such a base show of force.  Stupid alien, Lukan thought.  I am glad you will be dead soon.  To Lukan's private embarrassment, Ferox did the exact same thing.  He roared and lifted his greatsword high in the air, accepting the xenos challenge.

Something changed when the beast roared.  Seismic activity through the entire city.  Under the city.  Under the plaza.  Lukan hurriedly ran through environmental diagnostics.  It was localized, only here.  Not an earthquake.  He re directed power to amplify his sensor ranges.  Nothing.  Again, more power.  Nothing.  No stop.  Emanations of the seismic activity were a kilometer down and rising rapidly.  It was a life sign.  Lukan focused.  It was a huge life sign, and many more around it.  It was as big as the carnifex.  A burrower.  It must have been very very far down.  Lukan cursed himself for not catching it before.

Ferox charged at the carnifex, and began the battle in earnest.  He was a flashy fighter, sparing no expense to attempt a swift takedown.  He made use of extensive feints and bluffs to attempt and identify an opening, while the carnifex pushed, not giving him a millimeter.

The creature would be here in minutes, less if it wanted too.  Lukan needed to do something now.  He could not rely on his las cannon to efficiently dispatch the creature, and regardless, it was arriving with a swarm.  The other members of his cell had taken up overwatch positions and were emptying their clips into the gaunts charging at Ferox.  They would not be able to hold back the horde.

Lukan identified the creature's likely point of emergence, and began to eliminate the gaunts in the immediate area.  Four.  Five.  Six.  Quick clean shots through the skull.  He needed to jump now.  The jetpack on Lukan's back burst into life, and Lukan shot into the opening he created.  There were more gaunts to clear but he could not wait any longer, and kept shooting while he was in the air.  Roughly twenty meters short of his intended mark, still fifteen meters high in the air, Lukan's reactor core became over taxed, and he accidentally redirected his power incorrectly, blowing away a gaunt when he needed to stay airborne.  His jet pack sputtered, and the reactor reservoir inside it could not catch again while he was falling.  He slammed into the boulevard and left a deep score in the ferrocrete, before rolling and coming to a stop.  He checked his systems.  Remarkably, no damage.  He located the creature again.  He needed to move.  Now.

Az came over the vox.

“Lukan what the :cuss: was that?”  She sounded dumbstruck.

Lukan quickly got to his feet.  Ferox regarded him momentarily, as he battled the monster.  And then the ground broke open.  Lukan was tossed back into the air, closer to Ferox and the Carnifex.  He landed with another resounding slam.  Above him loomed a disgusting xenos creature.  It had no face or eyes.  Just a maw with tendril like teeth and a thousand burrowing legs that ended in grasping biting mouth like parts.  Smaller tyranid organisms flooded out of the tear that opened up in the ground.  A pack of gaunts leapt to devour Lukan.

In an instant his gravity cannon gimbal swung to meet his arm and powered on.  The few precious moments of inactivity were enough for Lukan's reactor core to power up again, and lukan met the leaping gaunt with a crushing wave of gravitational pressure that flattened them, as well as anything else in a fifteen meter radius.  Lukan moved his las cannon into position and began to spin it up.  He drew his chain sword with one hand and kept the gravity cannon ready in the other.  Las cannon almost ready.  Oh throne.  Lukan didn't know if he was going to make this shot.  It was too late, the monster is moving. 

“+Come and get it, bug :cuss+” Lukan transmitted in his horrible robot voice, as the creature lunged for him.




Authors note

Thanks for reading!  This is my third story.  The Malum Vigilia is remarkably unique in that it is granted dispensation to access a large armory of Lorica Thallax Chassis, and use them to preserve their mortal members for as long as possible.  Lukan Wrenn was the first mortal to be interred, early in the vigilias history.