Inspired by Zahariel's awesome work, The Roboutian Heresy. You might have heard of it.

RAVEN'S FEAST

Chapter 1

"There is an art to dying. But it is a dying art"

-Corvus Corax

The Warp was not beautiful. It was great, horrible, majestic even in its fathomless power, but it was not beautiful. It was often described by void farers, Astropaths and Navigators who had glimpsed at it as a swirling mass of radiant colors, as sounds echoing with senseless emotions, as mind scratching visions of horror, and a thousand other less categorizable sensations. Maintaining one's very sanity was impossible if one were to gaze into the horror and nightmare made real for too long, some losing their mind from a merest glimpse at the indescribable things that could not be, that should not be. There were no suns in the Warp, but it was anything but dark, except for metaphorically.

When Raptor's Shroud at long last ripped it's way into the realspace from a storming, bleeding wound in the fabric of dark space, the metallic blast shields covering the bridge's viewports could finally be lowered, revealing the star dotted blackness behind.

Rukiel Varkhian sifted on the bridge's command throne, his finely maintained black power armor letting out only a faintest of metallic groans of servos, virtually impossible to hear for anybody but the Astartes wearing the ceramite-plated suit of war.

Now the void, the void was beautiful. It was dark, it was cold, it was silent.

The sounds around the bridge made by crew, servitors and logic engines finalizing the materium transition started to calm down as the ship successfully resettled into the laws of the physical universe, indications of Warp jump without problems flowing into the data ports under Rukiel's dismissive gaze. Geller fields were lowered and the ship's withering Navigator transmitted the final confirmation from his isolated quarters before severing his connection with the ship's machine spirit, offering the full control back to the humans manning the bridge.

Multiple readiness and situation reports were shouted towards Rukiel's command throne. One of the voices particularly caught the attention of the black clad Astartes commanding the ship and the warband.

"You..." Rukiel spoke with a voice that was like a smooth but implacable granite, pointing one of his dark gauntleted fingers calmly at an officer who had a moment ago informed that the ship's auspex systems were in readiness.

The mortal had been about to return to his duties when he realized the ship's master was addressing him, and he proceeded to snap into a slightly worried stance of attention. "My lord?" He asked with a questioning and careful tone.

Rukiel flicked his hand, beckoning the mortal closer. The man hesitated for only a moment, understanding he had no way of refusing, and quickly made his way to the foot of the elevated platform on top of which Rukiel's throne was stationed. He bowed deep under his lord's attention, waiting with his gaze held down.

"You are new," Rukiel spoke, as a statement rather than a question, as he lazily fiddled with the shaft of his Power Spear, called the Shadower, that was resting against his throne. His memory was flawless, and he remembered every single being of the bridges crew, from the highest officers to the lowest servitors, by appearance and sound if he did not bother to learn all their names. This mortal was a new addition on his ship's center of command.

"Ah, yes my lord. I am the new sensor officer taking over the post from the previous holder who passed away earlier..." His voice was cut out as a carmine red ceramite gauntlet snapped forward from Rukiel's left, seizing the front of the man' uniform faster than an eye could blink, and yanking him into the air. The man only managed to let out the most basic gurgle of surprise before he was face to face with the giant standing on the platform beside Rukiel.

The previous sensor officer had died in uncertain circumstances in his quarters some hours ago, Rukiel knew this, and had not bothered to find out more. Only thing of importance was that there was a replacement as soon as possible. And as always when a new mortal was pulled up from the faceless mass of the rest of the ship into Rukiel's own bridge, there was a certain procedure, almost a tradition by this point.

The mortal was hanging in the air, held up by an Astartes clad in vivid red and silver trimmed armor. The little human was gasping for air as a pale, though not Raven Guard level pale, face leaned closer and gleaming bloodshot eyes drilled into the mortal, paralyzing him from fear. The face of the Astartes was hideous, twisted and stretched, a nightmarish visage of corruption and horror. His long deathly gray hair flowed down his scalp in a disheveled manner. The irises were blood red, gleaming with unholy, insatiable thirst.

The Blood Angel was holding the mortal in his left hand, while his right limb rose to the neck pulsing with rapid heart beat. The right arm of the Angel was a large augmetic talon, a metallic bionic that replaced his long lost limp with monstrous instrument of war.

Rukiel liked the weapon. It was no lightning claw, there was no disruption field generator on it. More surprising was that it's long claws were not made of adamantium. They were made from simple iron, a frail metal that one would not believe would last any kind of use in hands of an Astartes. Yet the claws were flawless, not a single sign of wearing down or battle damage. The secret of the weapon was, apparently, in symbolism that the Dark Price appreciated. The iron used to make the weapon had been collected from blood of mortals, endless slaves who had been sucked try to collect enough iron to forge the claws. It was a weapon literally made of blood. Rukiel believed it was this symbolism and the blessing of the Warp that made the weapon usable.

The Blood Angel reached with one of the claws of the talong and sliced at the mortal officer's neck. It was a small cut, a precise sharp move that only drew a small trickle of blood onto the iron claw. The Astartes brought the claw to his lips, catching the blood with his tongue. He moved his mouth slowly, savoring the taste. Then he let go of the mortal.

"He is competent... " Verion said to Rukiel with a slightly cracky hissing voice.

Rukiel chuckled. "Back to you duties." He grunted to the officer who quickly scrambled away from the command throne.

Verion had ritually tested every new addition to the bridge of Raptor's Shroud for as long the lone Blood Angel had been with the warband. He claimed he could taste if a mortal was lacking in skill or resolve. Rukiel did not know if that was true, but he allowed Verion to have his little tradition. On rare occasions when Verion was of the mind the mortal currently under his evaluation was incompetent, he would not take just a single drop of blood but instead drain them dry. He did it rarely enough that the boost to the bridge crew's dedication was worth the lives of few mortal slaves.

His evaluation complete, Verion stalked back to the right side of Rukiel's throne. The Blood Angel had once been a pirate lord. He had led a small fleet of mortal corsairs across Segmentum Pacificus, mercilessly raiding the realm of the Corpse Emperor. Until he had bitten more than he could swallow and attacked a portion of an Imperial g=Guard regiment temporarily stationed at some small starport. Verion's forces had put on a hard fight, but after he lost his arm, the fight was lost. It had been a mere Imperial Guard sergeant who had torn of the Blood Angel's right arm with his chain blade. Not an Astartes champion of the Loyalist Legions, not some foul Xenos monstrosity. A mere mortal had managed to do the deed in the heat of the battle as the Guards swarmed Verion.

With their leader defeated, the corsairs were slaughtered, though Verion managed to escape his doom. But something broke that day within the Blood Angel. After that day he was no longer able to manifest the Glamour his Legion was known for. Rukiel thought it was because Verion had himself lost the the faith in himself, and if he did not believe himself a superior being, how could anyone when looking upon his monstrous visage. Rukiel's warband of the Obsidian Talon had picked up Verion from the Blood Angel's last remaining corsair ship. At first Rukiel had only meant to harvest Verion's Geneseed as something to throw in the cloning material for Spawn Marines to spice things up, or barter off to some other eager party in the Eye. They had been however been campaigning at that time, and since Verion had been willing to fight for the warband, Rukiel had thought it would be more useful if he died fighting for the warband, since the Geneseed could be harvested just as well when he fell in battle. But Verion had survived long enough for the Warband to return to the cloning facilities of the Eye to replenish their numbers. Rukiel could have killed Verion then and handed the Angel's Geneseed to the clone masters along with his other raiding hauls. But he had not. And he had not done so in the decades since. Verion was now of the warband. His Geneseed could just as well wait until the day he fell in battle.

On the opposite side of Verion, on the right of Rukiel's throne, was another Astartes, but he was of the Raven Guard.

Torash was a gene brother of Rukiel, and also almost identical in appearance. They both had the white skin, black hair and dark eyes of their Progenitor. They had same facial features of ancient Xeric tribe ancestry, same short backwards swept hair. Only difference that made their faces not mirror images of each other was the scaring of Torash' face, the marks of many battles the had eroded his features.

Torash was a good warrior, a man of action and little else. Simple, obedient, and most of all loyal, the kind of man who could always find a need for himself. There was no ambition for leadership burning in his heart, and Rukiel knew he could always put his own life in Torash's hands. He was sharing the position of second in command with Skiessax who was currently not on the bridge.

Now Skiessax was a clever and sly mind not without ambition in contrast to Torash. Rukiel always had to keep an eye on him, lest he grew too blinded by his aspirations. If Rukiel ever were to die, it would be Skiessax who would be taking command of the Warband, there was little doubt about it, and both of them knew it. And Rukiel had to bitterly admit he could not think of a better successor. The idea that someone like Mortian or Kerverax could lead the warband made him laugh. Skiessax's usefulness far outweighed his level of threat, and Rukiel hoped and enforced that it would remain so.

There were two other figures of transhuman bulk on the bridge, a pair of Spawn Marines standing guard on the sides the main bulkhead, unflinchingly and silently watching over command deck through the unblinking retinal lenses of their low grade helmets. They were probably the oldest Spawns Rukiel still had around his ship, and they would probably stay around as long as he commanded this vessel. They were particularly underdeveloped mentally, even more incapable of independent action than servitors, and very poor at obeying more complex orders than even a lobotomized slave could. They would have been practically useless on a battlefield, but Rukiel was not a wasteful man. As a result of a whim of inventiveness he kept them on the bridge, standing on the edge of the ship's center of command. They did not have to do anything else then stand imposingly in their scrap imitation of a power armor. They required practically non existent amount of nutrients, did not have to leave their post for rest, or for anything else. They did nothing but stand there, but their mere presence kept the grew ever on their toes, even when Rukiel was not on the bridge, keeping any thoughts of mutiny away. They were almost brain dead statues, but the mortal crew did not need to know that.

The world was called Nuitek by the Imperium. Most of it was covered in deep blue seas, dotted by half green, half gray continents. The large gray clouds in its atmosphere were not caused by pollution, but rather the high volcanic activity and the numerous ash-spilling volcanoes that dotted the surface. High frequency of eruptions was creating new land masses, and indeed, Rukiel's perfect memory could spot new streaks of gray on the world's surface that definitely were not there the last time his warband had visited this system.

It was a rather remote world, devoid of major imperial interest or presence. The world was divided into countless feudal states, with no advanced technology or centralized government.

It was not a death world, but the conditions were harsh, caused by the constant highly traditional warring the feudal states practiced rather than the high volcanic activity. The planet actually had a relatively large population of very stable genetic purity. It had been rumored that it had once been a recruitment world of a loyal Astartes Legion. Its population was perfectly suited for the needs of the Raven Guard.

This was Rukiel's fourth time visiting the world. He had returned here three times before to supply on organic material at the ends of his raids into the realspace, when the fighting was done and all that left was to gather his bounty and stalk back to the nest in the Eye for resupply. Fresh supply of human cattle was always needed to fuel the geneforges of the Legion's homeworld and the production of the Spawnkin into the Legion's ranks.

Rukiel had unofficially established Nuitek as his recurring harvest ground for flesh. It was remote, of little interest to the Imperium who only visited it to demand tithe every few decades. It was technologically underdeveloped, which meant little resistance. An easy prey for the a warband seeking easy harvest rather than a meaningful fight. It's high population assured there would be plenty of flesh around the next time Rukiel would return here as well.

Raptor's Shroud drifted through the void towards the orb contrasted by the system's sun, a world peacefully laying in solitude and ignorant of the wider universe.

Unlike previous times however, the orbit was not empty. Nor was it peaceful.

"My lord!" an officer suddenly yelled, the first indication of things being out of something being wrong. "We are picking signs of void engagement from the orbit of the planet!"

Rukiel's head snapped towards the mortal in an instant, his mind suddenly in high alert from this unexpected development. A ship in orbit of Nuitek should be rare. A void battle should be unheard of. Yet here he was, finding the planet probably the only time in its history when there were actually ships taking on each other in the cold void above it.

"Bring the ship to combat readiness. Convert power to sensors and extend their reach," Rukiel issued an order, shifting his position on the command throne. "Tell me what is happening."

The crew barked orders as they proceeded to get the ship into alertness for any possible hostile actions. The Void Shields of the light cruiser came online, weapon batteries were primed from their idleness. The auspex and other sensors reached out to sweep the void around, carefully searching for any and all signs of a threat.

"We are reading at least two large ships in the orbit, lord!" A sensor officer finally informed as the data poured into data screens. "There are confirmed Lance dispersions, and what we appears to be macro ordnance wide off its target. The two ships are definitely firing upon one another."

And faint opportunistic grin appeared on Rukiel's white lips. An ongoing void engagement in a remote location? How fitting that the carrion birds had arrived. If the emerging survivor of the fight was suitably damaged, Raptor's Shroud could mercifully finish it off and loot both carcasses of the dead ships. "The ships. Give me information. Size and indications of allegiances?"

"Unknown, lord, we are not getting more accurate readings yet."

With his ceramite clad fingers drumming the arm of his throne, Rukiel leaned forward slightly. "Turn our course towards them and give me a visual. Maximum magnification."

The ship changed its course slightly, vectoring itself with the void battle from their previous direct heading for the planet. A viewscreen flickered as the magnified image of what sensors were detecting ahead was enlarged for Rukiel's black eyes, revealing the battle theater of the void to him. The shapes were still small, but they were easily distinguishable against the brighter background of the planet, further highlighted by the flares of lance fire flickering against their void shields.

Rukiel identified the ship from their movements and the way they were using their weaponry long before any sense of scale or shape was perceivable. "They are Strike Cruisers…" He muttered silently enough for only Verion and Torash to hear.

As they frew closer, the nature of the ship grew only clearer, and soon there was no mistaking them.

"My lord, the ship appear to be Astartes Strike Cruisers," came the confirmation long after Rukiel had already come to the same conclusion.

"Drop our speed by a quarter and convey power to hide the reactor trail. We will run silent."

"By you will, lord. Dropping speed.

"Let's see what he have here," Rukiel mused to the two Astartes standing beside him.

Raptor's Shroud drifted closer, a silent hunter cautiously stalking the territory of larger predator. The two Strike Cruisers paid no mind to the smaller light cruiser, most likely not detecting the ship running silent in the cover of the dark void, or if they detected it, they were quite busy with mauling each other.

Rukiel recognized the heraldry both of the Legion ships, their colors and symbols easily readable from the distance his ship was observing the brawls of the giant ships. One of the ships was sporting colors of White and Blue of the Eaters of Worlds, their fanged maw decorating the prow the mighty vessel as it spat the payload of its weapons at its dark counterpart. Now the other vessel...

"That is Second Shadow... " Rukiel whispered in surprise at the sight of the vessel of his own Legion. It was an ancient ship of the days of the Crusade. Rukiel had witnessed that very same ship gutting the loyalist crafts during the Dropsite Massacre. It's hull was dotted with scratches and damage from millennia of conflict, but it was still a majestic beast of the void in its dark glory.

And it was getting destroyed by its younger cousin.

"It looks like the rumors of this being a recruitment world of a Legion might have not been so empty after all," Rukiel snarled.

"We should attack." Torash declared with his typical short sightedness. "Let us crush the Eaters together with the Second Shadow.."

Rukiel grunted in disagreement. If the Raven Guard ship facing the XIIth Legion had been winning, or at least holding its own, he might have considered it. Out of the opportunity to scavenge a Legion vessel's hulk as well as in the name of blood's kinship with the Raven Guard vessel.

But Second Shadow was most certainly not winning this fight in the void. It was losing. Badly.

Atmosphere was leaking from numerous ruptures in its hull, its armor plating hammered and breached in many places around the ship. Its lances were not firing despite no visible damage to them, and its maneuvering was dragging and much sloppier, indication of high chance of internal damage by enemy boarding. Rukiel knew quite well what World Eater boarding parties could do to a ship. The XIXth Legion ship was fighting a losing battle, but fight it did still.

"They should have run." Rukiel gave his evaluation of the obvious. "They should have fled a long time ago." This battle was pointless, the Raven Guard ship should have been trying to disengage while it still could. Instead it was mauling the World Eaters with its remaining still operational weapon batteries, a wounded prey defiantly snapping at a predator that was killing it. This battle reeked of desperation, of futile resistance of the inevitable.

"They are dying," Verion snarled coldly.

"They are," Rukiel agreed as he rested against his throne and watched the death of the magnificent metal beast of the void.

The killing blow came soon after. World eaters ship spun around in a maneuver that the Raven Guard ship could not hope to respond in time. A deathly accurate torpedo salvo scythed through the void and debris that had been ripped from the ships or that might have once been escorts. The warhead spread was fired at a close range, against a target that was unable to correct its course in a way that would have spared it.

The torpedoes impacted the spine of the dark Strike Cruiser, the massive damage caused by the simultaneous detonations breaking the back of the ship. It was cut in half, ripped into two pieces in the middle as its killer turned to release one last broadside into the already fatal wound that it had inflicted upon its enemy.

Rukiel half hoped the plasma reactors of the Second Shadow would have overheated and detonated in the ship's death throes. If it had taken the World Eater ship with it or at least seriously crippled it, it would have been a perfect battlefield for Raptor's Shroud to descend upon the carrions.

But the death of Second Shadow was a silent, flareless event in the cold of the vacuum. Its systems failed and all its lights and engines died out, its weapons fell silent, and all its defiant struggling fell to gravely stillness. Its two largest pieces simply drifted apart in the uncaring darkness of the void, its crew dead or freezing inside it.

The World Eater vessel pulled away, leaving the huge wreckage satellites that it had created in the orbit of the planned behind. It left the metal carcass behind, retreating to lick its wounds towards the pole of the planet.

Raptor's Shroud was only a Hellbringer-class light cruiser, claimed by the warband in the years after the Great Betrayal after the loss of their old ship. It could not hope to prevail against a true Astartes Strike Cruiser, even one damaged and scarred by recent battle. There could be still over a hundred World Eaters aboard it, whereas Rukiel had only his lieutenants and few Spawn squads, a token force left after a long riding flight, desperately in need of restocking.

And so the World Eater ship was allowed to go undisturbed, allowed to limp away from the engagement as the proud victor with its head held high.

"Take a heading towards the wreckage of the Second Shadow, one third of the maximal thrust. Keep us still silent, I don't want the attack dogs of the the Corpse on a Throne spot us and give us the same treatment," Rukiel finally ordered when the World Eaters had reached a far enough point that Rukiel dared to slip forth with Raptor's Shroud in cover of stealth and battlefield wreckage.

The ship started to cautiously thrust itself forward, emerging from the shadow of the planet's tiny moon, heading straight for the fresh husk of a brother Legion ship like a carrion beast approaching to feast something left behind by an apex predator.

"Skiessax," Rukiel spoke after opening a vox channel. "Were you paying attention to the slaughter that just took place?"

"Yes," came a half snarl of an reply. "What are your orders?"

"Prepare a boarding force. Let's see if there is anything in there that we can salvage."

The bulkhead was already broken when Rukiel and his squad reached it. The massive blast door had been ripped from the wall, lying as a twisted chunk of bend metal on in the gravityless corridor, and he past over it with without any effort.

What had once been the command deck of the Second Shadow was now a smashed chamber of mess filled with obliterated logic engines and control stations, servitor positions and command platforms. Wreckage and varyingly intact frozen bodies that had once been the bridge crew floated around the chamber that now almost resembled more like a crater. Front of the bridge had been torn away, leaving behind a massive hole open to the void.

The world of Nuitek was visible through the giant tear in the metal structure, and Rukiel gazed at the bright surface of the gigantic planet that loomed ahead of him with only emptiness of space between them.

"Spread out, see if the is anything valuable in here," He barked to the the other power armored warriors behind him before he fired his jump pack in a contained burst, sending himself to drift towards the central dais of the command deck.

Skiessax, Verion, and Kerverax spread out, their feet mag-locking to the metal deck and allowing them to effortlessly move among all the void exposed wreckage. Mortian followed Rukiel, his own jump pack letting out a feint thrust as he followed his commander.

None of the Spawn Marines accompanied the boarding force, since few of them possessed what passed for power armor that was void sealed. Most of the exploration of the hulk was left to scavenging crews of void-suited servitors that were going through the bones of the ship's corpse at the moment, but Rukiel had wanted to inspect the bridge himself.

The command throne at the center of the bridge had remained mostly intact, though the platform around it had been severely scarred by violently impacting debris. Rukiel landed on steps of the stair leading to the throne, mag-locking and continuing to ascend on foot. Mortian followed, smashing a collapsed support beam aside with his power fist.

Rukiel reached the most elevated dias and gazed upon the broken remains that sat on the throne. The transhuman carcass was twisted open from the torso, like something had bursted out from beyond the ribcage. Some of the flesh was black and glistening as if something had liquefied some of the internal organs and then frozen them solid, but was not quite educated how the physical laws of those procedures were meant to happen.

What had slain the Legionnaire was a unobservable from the corpse, though not hard to guess when regarding the damage the bridge had suffered under the guns of the World Eaters. A single tear in amor exposed to the void could indeed be fatal to a Raven Guard Legionnaire, as they were all missing functioning Mucranoid, and therefore lacked the same transhuman protection to the vacuum possessed by the other bloodlines of the eighteen Legions. The death and the dark release of the Unkind had rendered any original fatal trauma beyond diagnosis.

The black power armor was twisted apart from the inside, most of its components ruined beyond salvaging. Both of the legs were nowhere to be seen, as was one of the arms, whereas the remaining one was clenching the throne in an iron death grip. The top of the body and the helmet were mostly intact, and Rukiel peared into the dead retinal lenses of the finely decorated helmet, but not finely crafted enough.

Unless Khulkis, leader of the warband of the Dark Blood, had recently suffered from a sudden urge to make his battle plate less ornamental, this was not the leader of the Legion forces that had used Second Shadow as their flagship. Rukiel had met Khulkis a handful of times, and the man was not famous for his humility. That left the question, where was the leader of the Dark Blood. Why had he not commanded his own shit against the onslaught of the XIIth.

"Anything?" Rukiel asked from the open vox channel shared by his warriors.

"Not much. No Pureblood corpses, and only couple of Spawnkin," Kerverax grunted as he smashed aside a floating remains of a frozen over servitor from his path.

"Nothing but wreckage," Verion spoke with his faintly slithering voice.

"We did not see any Legionnaire presence on the way here either," Skiessax pointted out from the front of the bridge, where he was standing of the on the edge of the whole in the metal structure. "This dead craft is almost empty of the Ravenlord's sons."
"So where are they? Surely they did not board the World Eaters," Kerverax asked.

"Maybe they are on the surface," Skiessax offered his theory as he watched the world from his vantage point.

That was most likely it, Rukiel realized and was suddenly quite sure of it. That would explain why the Second Shadow had continued its desperate fight against the the World Eater vessel, possibly trying to wait until its warriors extracted from the world below. Most of the warband was almost certainly down upon the planet. But why? What did a world like this have that would require deployment of practically all of the warband? It was possible that the Raven Guard had spread out along the ship to rebel boarders, but Skiessax was right, they had not encountered anything pointing toward that possibility.

"If they are on the planet, the Word Eaters are probably also there," Mortian rasped from beside Rukiel. "It is probably a full company, and they have just torn Second Shadow in two, establishing orbital support supremacy. If Khulkis and his lot are still alive down there, they are not going to be for long."

"I hope you are not suggesting helping them," Kerverax scoffed. "We don't have the forces to face the Eaters. Khulkis got himself into this mess, and now he pays for his mistakes."

That would also mean there would a Spire without a master on the planet of the Ravenlord when they would return to the Eye, Rukiel mused to himself. Full of resources that the Dark Blood would no longer be needing. Rukiel of course had his own Spire on the dark, nameless world of the revered Primarch, but it was a modest one at best, reflecting one of the Legion's smaller warbands of that he commanded. The Spire of the Dark Blood, on the other hand...

Had the World Eater Strike Cruiser been lost in the void combat or finished of by Rukiel's ship, he might have lended a hand and at least offered to pick up Khulkis and the rest of his Purebloods onboard his ship, if they were still alive down on the surface. He might have, or he might have not. But he would not risk it with the hounds of the False Emperor hanging in orbit. This was probably the end of Khulkis, another of the precious few Pure-blooded sons of the Ravenlord gone, without even the chance of resurrection at the hands of the Legion Apothecaries. Shame.

"No" Rukiel spoke as he stared at the vast ruin of a bridge in front of him. It was so much bigger than that of the Raven's Shroud. Oh, what Rukiel would have done to command a vessel such a this had been. "Khulkis got himself killed, Dark Blood is on its own." Rukiel turned towards Mortian and pointed at the corpse of the Raven Guard Pureblood who had been claimed by the Warp now. "Take that with you. We'll see if Arkmadius can get anything off it."

"I want the helmet," Mortian replied as he moved into grap the dead form.

"Your lord generously grants it to you," Rukiel replied with a smirk.

The way to what had once been the Raptor's Shroud medical deck was filled with cold and stark metal corridors with little signs of life. There were sub chamber doors on both sides of Rukiel that had not been opened since the ship had been claimed by Obsidian Talons, leading into patient chambers that had not seen a living being in millenia. The mortal crew avoided this part of the ship, out of rumors and fear caused by the reputation that the Raven Guard held when it came to shaping flesh and twisting bodies, rather than any real cause. Rukiel did not have the services of one of the Legions revered and dreaded Apothecaries under his command, so the medical deck was not an sanctum of abominations and horrors beyond realms of sanity.

He reached the main chambers, entering through one of the only frequently used bulkheads on this sublevel of the ship, followed by Kerverax and Mortian, who was still carrying what remained of the dead Pureblood recovered from the wreck of Second Shadow.

The space was filled with medical instruments of both familiar and unfamiliar nature to Rukiel. Operation and dissection tables, instrument catches and lumen pods. Couple of large tanks were hanging from the far wall, filled unknown transparent liquids. A freezer unit in the corner, keeping its contents preserved.

Not a great cavern of ruin, not a temple of dark genius.

The sole occupant of the room approached the three Purebloods, detaching himself from whatever project he had had under his attention. The warrior was clad in the pristine black Power Armor of the Legion, the white Raven symbol proudly displayed on his left shoulder plate. "Lord Varkhian, you have something for me?" He said respectfully, his eyes traveling to the corpse over Mortian's shoulder.

Arkmadius was a son of the Ravenlord, but despite the old Narthecium in his right wrist, he was not an Apothecary. He wore no great mantle of the Legions genecrafters, nor were his white face and obsidian eye covered by a signature beaked helmet. Arkmadius was a of younger blood, one of the few trueborn inducted into the Legion after the Heresy. He was aspiring to become an Apothecary one day, to learn the secrets of human genome and flesh crafting, but for now he was serving as the Harvester of Rukiel's warband. Rukiel was fully patroning his search for dark knowledge and quest to be raised among the ranks of the Raven's gene architects.

Arkmadius watched over the delivery of mortal material to the incubator forges of the Legion homeworld, as well a harvested the Astartes geneseeds of the warbands fallen enemies, the most valued resource in the Eye. There was a chain around his neck where many tiny metal tubes were hanging, three of them filled with organic matter, the signifier of one of his most important duties. Each of the three samples were from a dead Purebloods lost over the years of the Long War, lost brothers claimed by the Warp. One day, if the dark tidings of the Empyrean allowed it, they might stand alongside Rukiel again and serve Legion once more. One day.

"A fallen son of the Raven is brought before you," Rukiel spoke as he motioned Mortian forth, and the Legionnaire proceeded deeper into the chamber and lowered the remains of a dead gene brother to one of the cold metal tables of the chamber. Mortian was sure to detach the fallen warrior's helmet and claim it before withdrawing. "Harvest his pure and honored blood so that he might one day receive the chance to return from beyond the Veil to his Legion, and his Seed if you are able, so that the essence of our Raven father might live on," Rukiel continued. "Then send his corporeal remains into the cold darkness."

Arkmadius nodded, placing a hand on the capsules hanging from his neck and moving to loom over operation table. "Blood of our dark lord," he said with reverence as he detached one of the empty tubes, so very small in his transhuman hands.

Mortian Left the chamber, clutching his trophy of a helmet, the bulkhead closing behind him.

Rukiel and Kerverax move to stand at the end of the metal slab where the corpse lay, looking down into the black lifeless eyes in gaunt sockets.

"You think the brain might yet be beyond ruination?" Rukiel asked as Arkmadius cut the corpse with his Narthecium.

"It was exposed to the void for a long while," Kerverax reminded him with a grunt.

"His transhuman flesh is not yet completely degenerated, and his helmet was intact, so I guess it is possible," Akrmadius replied as a new vial of blood and tissue was added to the chain of the fallen around his neck.

"Only one way to find out. I want to know what in the Warp they were doing in this sector." Rukiel said, lifting his deactivated power spear above the corpse's head. The adamantium tip of the Shadower came down with a crunch as it split the skull of the dead Pureblood open, exposing the gray brain matter beyond the cranium. Rukiel moved his spear aside, his right armored hand coming down and grasping the brain material before claiming it from its ruined bone socket. He brought the organ of brain cells and cerebral synapses to his pale lips, and then opened his mouth to feast upon it.

It was gone in a moment, and Rukiel closed his eyes as his transhuman body attacked the mind cells of the dead Raven Guard. His Omophagea reached into the consumed organ, pulling experience and memory information from it, nerves transferring the extracted information into Rukiel's own brain. His truly humble Psychic ability, granted by his bloodline, aided the process, persuading the cells to think themselves a little more alive and less damaged than they were with the help the Empyrean, allowing him to drink in all the memory information that was at this point physically possible and then a bit more.

The memories started flooding Rukiel's mind, and he harnessed his iron mind to search for the things that mattered, things related to the final moments of the dead Pureblood's life and his warband. Why were they here on this world beyond the eyes of the Gods? Why had Khulkis committed his warriors to that foolish endeavour that had seen his ship lost? Why had they not simply just ran to fight another day. Why, why why?

The first memory trail of an answer came, and the slowly coming revelation hit Rukiel's mind like a master crafter Thunder Hammer when it finally came. He learned the reason the dead Pureblood had led the ship against the World Eaters from scraps of memory. He learned the reason Khulkis was on the surface with most of his forces. He learned why they had not run. He learned of the undreamable prize that the forces on the planet had been fighting for.

Had he seen it, Rukiel though as his hearts hammered, his mind filled with sudden zeal. Had the Legionnaire on the ship's bridge seen it? He drilled into the dead memories with more determination and eagerness, forcing his mind to reap all it could from the digested brain matter. And he finally came to one particular moment in the now deceased Pureblood's final moments, one image that made him to hold his breath.

A vision of a command deck of a starship, of a Strike Cruiser. A vision of a holographic communicator and a transmission. Vision of a flickering image of Khulkis of the Dark Blood.

A vision of the Raven Guard warlord holding in his hand a relic... A relic of a Primarch...

A relic of the Ravenlord...

Aaand that is the first chapter of this new little story of mine. It has been long in the planning, and with the release of the Zahariel's Raven Guard chapter, I may finally begin this.

This story takes place in an uncertain year of the 38th millenium, following Rukiel Varkhian and his small Raven Guard warband on their mission on the world of Nuitek. This is a short story, it will probably be 3-5 chapters long, just little something that I though I would write to contribute to the Roboutian Heresy universe. I hope to do Zahariel's work justice, he has given his blessing upon this story and I try not to disappoint. Thanks to him for also beta reading this for me.

In case you were wondering, Chaos is the Prize in on a small hiatus until I complete this out of the way. Should not take too long, don't worry.

Leave a review to tell me what you think, and have a nice day.