Clang—
A heavy sound rang out—it was the sound of the Apothecary collapsing to his knees.
Naturally, this caught Arthur's attention. He scanned the battlefield, confirmed there were no living enemies left, shook the blood from his arm, lowered his shield, and reached out to support the Apothecary.
Smack—
But the Apothecary swatted Arthur's hand away and instead pulled out a long rectangular box from behind him, pressing it heavily into Arthur's palm.
"My lord."
His blurred vision shifted away from Arthur's ornate armor and shield as he began to speak.
His voice came out with a distinct wheeze—clearly, the massive gash in his chest had severed his windpipe.
"..."
Arthur wanted to say this wasn't the time for talking, that he should lie down and tend to his wounds. But looking at the wound that had nearly cut the Apothecary in half—slowly seeping blood rather than gushing—it left him at a loss.
"This... is the legacy of our brothers. I... cough cough... I kept their honor safe."
Arthur dropped to one knee. Looking around at the nearly wiped-out Deathwatch warriors and then down at the frosty box in his hands, he began to piece together what had happened.
The Khorne warband's Space Marines, after claiming victory, had forged this arena using the corpses of the fallen. The Apothecary had become the arena's defender, facing endless waves of heretical challengers. The prize: the gene-seed of his battle-brothers—and perhaps a stronger opponent.
Neither the Apothecary nor the gene-seed were more than props in this blasphemous ritual.
At the moment of his failure, both he and the gene-seed he had won would be sacrificed to the Blood God, becoming part of the victor's power.
It was a duel doomed to end in failure.
But now, in this final moment, as life drained from his body—
A sudden warrior had descended from the heavens, disrupting this unholy ritual. Countless explosive rounds had shattered the illusion of victory, dragging the spectators back into the blood-soaked battlefield.
In Syphris's eyes, that fiery explosion looked like a cold, burning sun.
He had won.
"Yes."
Arthur nodded solemnly.
He reached out to take the gene-seed box—but found that his hand remained frozen in place.
"My lord, please swear an oath."
Syphris met Arthur's eyes and said weakly, "Swear that you will be loyal to the Emperor and fight for mankind until your final breath."
Arthur couldn't imagine how Syphris was still speaking.
He was silent for a moment, then nodded firmly.
"I swear."
"Swear to keep the gene-seed of your brotherhood secret, never allowing heresy to glimpse even a fragment."
"I swear."
"Swear that you will carve a bloody path through enemies to reach your brothers—that even if it costs your last drop of blood, you will bring their honor home."
"I swear."
Whoosh—
Syphris exhaled deeply, as though all strength left him in that instant. His right hand, still holding the gene-seed box, sagged slightly.
"My lord… for the Emperor… for Macragge…"
Arthur listened patiently, until that fading voice disappeared, until his superhuman hearing told him the body no longer stirred.
That battle-scarred gauntlet slipped from the corpse's hand, and Arthur could clearly sense that the soul within was gone.
"..."
Ignoring the numbers rapidly rising on his display, Arthur gently laid the Apothecary's body down.
He reached out for the Apothecary's equipment, linked it to his system, and carefully followed the instructions in his armor's manual to extract the gene-seed.
Buzz buzz buzz—
After defeating the enemy, Romulus directed the Space Marines to return and support the Imperial Guard. He himself entered the Gellar Field Core to investigate.
Apart from the flames released by the Sisters of Battle to purge the heretics and their somber prayers filled with sorrow and fury, only the sound of chainsaws cutting through armor remained.
As the saw gradually split the fallen warriors' armor, Arthur—through the data transferred from the Apothecary—learned the origins of the gene-seed.
Gene-seed origins:
Crimson Fists – 4
Mantis Warriors – 4
Avenging Angels – 3
Claws of the Void – 2
Space Wolves – 2
Blood Angels – 1
And—
A syringe pierced a gland, drawing out a gene-seed. A string of data appeared before Arthur's eyes.
[Syphris Gage]
[Deathwatch Apothecary, stationed at Eternal Hunt Outpost]
[Former Chapter: Ultramarines]
Clack—
The storage box sealed. The data refreshed.
Ultramarines – 2
He stood up, cradling the storage box as if it were a fragile piece of glass.
Eighteen gene-seeds in total.
He placed them into the compartment below his power pack—an area least likely to be damaged in battle. Once the storage system synced with his armor and began displaying real-time data on the gene-seed, Arthur finally let out a long breath.
Recovery complete.
Then he stood and looked toward the nearby Sister of Battle.
"Sister."
"My lord!"
The Canoness, still burning heretics with promethium, ejected a smoking canister and reloaded her flamer with a fresh solvent.
Upon hearing the Angel of the Emperor call her, she immediately set aside her work, approached Arthur, and offered a devout Aquila salute.
"Your name, Sister."
"Arabella, my lord."
Saint Arabella—the founder of the Order of the Sacred Rose and the living saint venerated by the Sororitas.
To bear that name typically meant the bearer was a nun of great prestige and virtue.
"Sister Arabella, I ask you to pray for my fallen brothers, to guide their spirits to the Golden Throne."
Arthur believed these warriors should not pass silently under the shadow of desecration. But unfamiliar with Astartes death rites—and being a non-believer himself—he could not offer them a proper farewell.
So he turned to the Sisters.
In a world where faith truly has power, no one was more suited for prayer than a devout Sister.
"It would be my honor, my lord."
Though the Angel's words were stiff and terse, to Arabella they were a supreme honor.
Each Astartes Chapter had its own unique culture, often differing more drastically than the various sects within the Imperial Creed.
And because of the importance of gene-seed, Space Marines held death in the highest regard. It was rare for anyone outside a Chapter's own Chaplains to conduct their death rites.
Thus, for any faithful servant of the Emperor, being asked to lead the death rites of an Angel of the Emperor was a profound honor.
Even for a Canoness who could command over a thousand Sisters in battle—it was a request she could never refuse.
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