The underhive of Valthrex Prime was a rotting maze, its tunnels choked with corroded plasteel and the stench of blood, lumens flickering like dying stars. Thaddeus Valen led his squad through the gloom, the Crimson Veil heavy with gore across his shoulders, power sword not glowing in his left hand, bolt pistol steady in his right, his gene-seed's senses - sharp, unyielding - catching the iron tang of death ahead. Cassian followed, scavenged bolter low, six rounds left, cracked helm grim. Vorn's plasma pistol hummed, two charges primed, stoic eyes scanning. Serek gripped Thaddeus's chainsword, one frag missile slung, fury a cold ember.
They reached the sump-chamber, Talos's refuge, and stopped, ceramite boots scraping. Talos lay slumped against a rusted wall, crimson ceramite shattered, chest torn open, blood pooling in a dark lake, his bolter empty beside three Word Bearers - helms burst, crimson plate gouged, their bodies twisted in death's grip. No words came. Thaddeus knelt, his squad mirroring - fists to chests, silent, honoring a brother's stand. Serek's voice cut, icy, cold as Baal's frost, "His first mission... died like a warrior." Cassian rasped, "Yes." Vorn nodded, helm still. Thaddeus stayed quiet, Red Thirst stirring - Kael's death, Talos's blood, Ezekyle death - his jaw tight, senses tracing the Keeper's distant taint.
A vox crackled, clear, the jammer's ruin holding. "Warden, this is Torm," came the Luna Wolf's voice, strained, "only survivors - me, Dax, Zortah, Vargus, Kren. Fifteen minutes from your position." Thaddeus's helm tilted, voice grim, "Don't come, Torm. Get to the ships, landing pad aplha-nine. Tell the Legions the truth."
"Why, Sergeant Valen?" Torm's vox hissed, urgent. "Why must we go?"
Thaddeus's voice darkened, heavy as ceramite, "As Warden of the Crimson Veil, I order you - fulfill your duty. Warn them." His power sword flared, the Crimson Veil rippling, his squad's eyes on him - Cassian tense, Vorn steady, Serek's chainsword twitching.
Tomr's voice broke, "You can't win, brother! That thing - we need a psyker! It twists mids - suffering, pleasure, desperation, psychic filth! They'll also destroy this planet!" Vargus cut in, "We heard it, Warden - its voice, their plans - Valthrex burns!"
"Is that so?" Thaddeus said, grim, icy, senses catching a faint, alien hum beneath the spire. "Then someone must stay... keep them here." His words hug, a blade of sacrifice.
Torm's vox fell silent, realization dawning - Thaddeus intent, a Crimson Guardian's stand. "I..." Torm rasped, "Yes, Sergeant. We'll fulfill our duty." Dax nodded. Zorath nodded. Kren spat, "Throne's will."
Thaddeus turned to his squad, power sword steady, voice calm, "You can go, too. I'll stay - fight that thing." His eyes burned, Red Thirst a crimson tide, ready to drown the Keeper's mind-tricks.
Cassian's helm snapped up, "With due respect, brother, fuck that, I refuse." Vorn's voice cut, flat, "I refuse." Serek grunted, chainsword revving, "I want that thing to suffer."
Thaddeus's lenses gleamed, "Good." He raised his sword, bolt pistol ready, and led them into the dark, senses tracking a deep hum - not plasma, but ancient, alien, pulsing below. If traitors sought to raze Valthrex, something powered their doom. Beneath the spire's heart, a cavern opened, vast and shadowed, where an obsidian monolith loomed - xenos-crafted, its jagged surface crawling with glyphs, throbbing with forbidden energy. Word Bearers knelt, chanting "For the Truth!" Their sorcery fueled a tomb engine, a planet-killer primed to shatter worlds.
Thaddeus observed.
Jagged stalactites dripped corrosive sludge, pooling in craters across the floor strewn with rusted plasteel and shattered ceramite. At the cavern's heart loomed an obsidian monolith - xenos-crafted, towering thrice an Astartes' height, its surface a labyrinth of angular glyphs that pulsed with an unnatural green glow, like a caged storm. Tendrils of Warp-taint coiled from its base, where Word Bearers knelt. Scaffolds of twisted metal ringed the chamber, half collapsed, offering precarious perches above pits of bubbling acid.
They were at the cavern's edge, the Crimson Veil of Thaddeus soaked in gore, power sword blazing blue in his left hand. Cassian crouched beside him, Vorn's beside, stoic eyes fixed. Serek clutched the chainsword.
"What is that thing?" Cassian rasped, nodding at the monolith, its glyphs flaring, casting eerie shadows across his helm.
No one answered, the hum drowning thought. Vorn's voice cut through, flat, "Plan?"
Thaddeus's lenses gleamed, observing the Word Bearers and Daemonettes skittering near the monolith, claws glinting. "We separate the abomination from those minions and the traitors," he said, voice grim, power sword steady. I fight it alone. You shoot from afar - disrupt its psychic powers."
"Warden," Serek growled, chainsaw twitching, "What about its min attacks? That filthy heretic pull we felt?" His voice carried Talos's loss.
Thaddeus met their eyes, Crimson Veil rippling. "There's a way." His voice hardened, Red Thirst stirring - a crimson tide to burn out the taint. "The Red Thirst."
"Brother..." Cassian's helm tilted, "you'll fight that thing with our curse? It might work, but you won't think, Warden."
"We do what we can with what we have," Thaddeus said, icy, "and we don't think beyond." His strength coiled, senses catching the monolith's pulse.
Cassian's jaw clenched, bolter rising. "Yes, Warden."
Thaddeus signaled, and they moved, ceramite silent, splitting to the scaffolds. Vorn and Cassian climbed a rusted gantry, overlooking the monolith, bolter and plasma ready. Serek took a lower perch, missile launcher aimed, chainsword hungry. Thaddeus descended alone, power sword flaring, Red Thirst a smoldering ember. The Word Bearers' chant peaked, monolith's glyphs blazing, energy coiling for Valthrex's doom. Daemonettes hissed, sensing prey, but Thaddeus roared, "FOR SANGUINIUS!" - a gothic thunder, drawing the keeper.
It emerged, towering, pastel hide glistening, four claws dripping ichor, amethyst eyes burning with Slaaneshi lust. Ants? Its robes writhed, musk flooding the cavern, psychic barbs lancing - visions of Sanguinius broken, Talos's blood, Ezekyle's screams - slamming Thadeus's mind, a kaleidoscope of despair and forbidden bliss. His thoughts buckled, but the Red Thirst roared, a crimson inferno surging through his veins. He leapt from the ledge, ceramite boots cracking stone, the Crimson Veil a bloodied banner trailing in slow motion.
As the daemon focuses its Slaaneshi power on him, the Red Thirst, a primal curse of his gene-seed, surges thanks to Thaddeus not restraining it, transforming the psychic onslaught into fuel. Each vision - Sanguinius's fall, Talos's blood, Ezekyle's torment - ignites the Thirst's crimson rage, burning away the Keeper's lies and pleasures, forging clarity from chaos. The daemon's itense focus, meant to break, instead becomes a crucible, channeling Thaddeus's fury into a disciplined edge, his loyalty to Sanguinius, the Emperor and Terra anchoring his mind.
The Keeper lunged, a claw as long as a dreadnought's talon slashing, air screaming with Warp-taint. Thaddeus twisted, transhuman speed blurring powered by the Red Thirst, ceramite sparking as the claw grazed his pauldron, shrapnel flying. His power sword arced, the blue disruption field humming, slashing the daemon's flank - ichor sprayed like molten wine, sizzling on acid pools, the cavern echoing with its rapturous moan. "How do you resist, and why are you faster than the other ants?" it purred, voice a velvet blade, three remaining claws snapping, pincers gleaming. Thaddeus bolt pistol barked - three rounds, gene-seed precision guiding each mass-reactive shell, bursting a Daemonette's skull mid-leap, ichor splashing rusted scaffolds, its headless form tumbling into a pit.
The Keeper's eyes flared, psychic assault surging - an electric maelstrom of violet arcs, crackling with Slaaneshi malice, lancing at Thaddeus's mind and armor. I missBaal... Though Thaddeus's while sparks erupted, ceramite scorching, his helm's lenses flickering, but he thrust his power sword forward, disruption field screaming, channeling the psychic storm into its blade, his arms felt heavy, very heavy. The cavern lit with blinding flares, blue meeting violet, Thaddeus's Red Thirst a furnace - Kael's screams, Ezekyle's flailing - fueling clarity, his will unyielding. "Your tricks fail!" he roared, sword trembling, arms tired, arcs grounding into rockrete, stalactites shattering above.
Thaddeus's mind churns as the Red Thirst surges more and more, a crimson tide floodin his veins, its primal roar threatening to drown reason. Each lure of despair and firbidden bliss stabbed like daggers. His hearts pounded, veins bulging under ceramite, gauntlets trembling as the curse whispers of slaughter. Will i fall? he wonders, doubt flickering, the weight of every brother lost. The Thirst's rage, fueled by the Keeper's psychic onslaught, sharpening his focuse. For the Emperor, he vows, jaw tight, Red Thirst a blade wielded, not wielded by, his will unyelding.
Then Emperor's Children charged, purple armor keening sonic blasts, shattering stalactites, acid raining. Cassian's bolter barked, two rounds felling a traitor, blood fountaining, while Vorn's plasma seared another, purple plate melting. Serek's missile launcher roared, a frag round detonating, shredding Word Bearers, crimson armor bursting, runes sizzling acid pits. The keeper lunged, psychic push slamming - Thaddeus squad reeled, Cassian cursing, "Throne's fucking wrath!" - but their shots rang bolter and plasma grazing the daemon, disrupting its Warp - snare. Thaddeus rolled, power sword arcing, grazing the daemon's leg, the Keeper shireking in ecstatic pain. "MOOOREEE!!" It screamed.
Then in a blur, Thaddeus advanced, a second claw, rolling across jagged stone, acid splashing his graves, hissing. The Keeper's pincers snapped, missing by inches, carving furrows in plasteel. Thaddeus sprang, power sowrd slashing upward, severing a claw's tip, ichor fountaining, the daemon shrieking - that mix of pain and ecstasy. "Mortal!" it hissed, surprised, "HOW DO YOU DEFY MY EMBRACE!? Its third claw whipped, faster, a blur of death, but Thaddeus parried, sword meeting claw in a shower of sparks, ceramite gauntlet straining, Red Thirst roaring. He pivoted, bolter firing - two rounds, one grazing the Keeper's thigh, ichor bubbling, the other bursting a Word Bearer's chest, crimson armor exploding, body slumping amidst chanting kin. "STOP THEIR CHANTS!" roared Thaddeus.
Serek roared, chainsword revving; he heard the warden's command. He leapt from the scaffold, blade screaming, Red Thirst overtaking - eyes wild, no restraint. He went straight for the ones chanting, carving in his path a Daemonette, ichor spraying. Serek fought like a beast possessed by the Red Thirst; an Emperor's Child's sonic blast tore his helm, blood gushing. Serek Raged more and cleaved that traitor's plate, but a word bearer was about to pierce his chest. But he couldn't, because Vorn grabbed the sonic blaster, scavenged from before, its keening shattering that Word Bearer's pauldron, blood spraying. Cassian fired last rounds, punching zealots, forms crumpling, holding the monolith's edge.
Serek, untouched by the Keeper's direct gaze lacks this paradoxical clarity; since the Keepers' is focusing on breaking Thaddeus, the Red Thirst consumes Serek unchecked, Slaaneshi whispers amplifying his rage into maddness, leaving him a beast without focus.
While the chants where being stopped, daemonettes skittered, claws raking scaffolds at Thaddeus, but he danced through, fast, power sword weaving a blue lattice - slashing one minion's arm, ichor spraying, sidestepping another's lunge, its claws scarping his backpalte, ceramite groaning. He then blocked a pincer's strik, sword locking with claw, sparks raining, muscles burning under transhuman strain. The keeper's psychic voice laughed, "Suffer exquisitely!" - Its all your fault, heretic shit Thaddeus rage grew - another electric surge, violet bolts searing, but Thaddeus's Red Thirst flared, clarity a beacon, dodging left, acid pool steaming beside him. His sword struck, gashing the daemon's chest, ichor flooding, robes its moan shaking stalactites, debris crashing time going slow.
The monolith erutped in a blaze of unholy light, its green glyps searing the cavern's gloom, each pulse a hearbeat of ancient malice that shook the chamber to its core. Stalactites cracked, plummeting into acid pits with hissing roars, as the thomb-engine's energy faltered, its planetkilling hum twisting into a discordant wail. From shadowed recesses, green eyes ignited - dozens of Necrons, their skeletal frames of xenosmetal gleaming with cold, unyielding purpose, rising from eons of slumber. Warriors marched in lockstep, necrodermis glinting, gauss flayers hummin with emerald death, their scythe-like blades slicing air. At their fore loomed a Necron Lord, towering, its resurrection orb pulsing with sickly light, a staff of light crackling, skeletal visage etched with glyphs older than humanity's stars. Scarabs skittered from crevices, mechanical beetles swarming Word Bearers, their mandibles shredding crimson armor, zealots vaporizing under gauss blasts, screams silenced in bursts of green ash. The Keeper of Secrets, ichor streaming from THaddeus's gashes, whirled its eyes narrowing at the xenos intrusion. It shireked, claws snapping, robes writhing. Thaddeus, blood-soaked, power sword sparking, stood locked against the daemon's towering form, his Red Thirst a fading ember, unaware of the Necron tide. Cassian froze on the gantry, bolter empty, helm reflecting green flickers, whispering, "Throne's mercy..." Vorn's sonic blaster wavered, stoic eyes wide, plasma pistol useless. Serek, lost in Red Thirst's madness, roared, ending the life of a Word Bearer, blind to the skeletal legion. The monolith pulsed erratically, glyphs flickering, as Necrons advanced, gauss flayers charging, Valthrex's doom no longer Warp-born but forged in a relentless ancient wrath, a tide of xenos death reshaping its fate.