On the lower decks, another routine slaughter had reached its conclusion.
Enkidu stood atop a mound of twisted corpses—a heap of xenos, heretics, and corrupted servitors. He withdrew his battle-blade from a cooling chest, the silvered steel hissing as it left the flesh, and leaped lightly down to the deck.
Blood flowed in sluggish rivulets, pooling into an obsidian-red lake. The cacophony of explosions and guttural curses had faded, replaced by a heavy, ringing silence.
"Finished?"
Enkidu gave a low grunt of affirmation. He scanned the darkened chamber, and after confirming no movement remained, he nodded to the others.
He watched Soler carelessly toss a tattered, filth-stained banner onto the pile of dead. For a moment, Enkidu felt a strange sense of vertigo.
Three years.
Three years since he had woken up in that vat. In that time, he had transformed from a nerve-wracked weakling—terrified of killing and even more terrified of corruption—into a seasoned semi-Astartes who could wield a chainsword with clinical precision and look upon a slaughterhouse without blinking. This metamorphosis was fueled partly by the flashing fragments of veteran memories and mostly by Telax's sadistic curriculum. It hadn't been a kind process.
He was still only "half" a Space Marine, for Telax had yet to grant them their full power armor. Instead, they were used as high-functioning hounds. Two and a half months ago, Telax had scrapped their formal drills entirely, opting to throw them into the "Great Game" of the lower decks—a lawless zone filled with xenos strays and warp-warped horrors. Through this brutal culling, Telax had gained battle-hardened stock, reduced the strain on his food supplies, and simultaneously created a new source of... organic recycling.
Enkidu only hoped the ship's reclamation systems were efficient enough to filter out the warp-taint before the meat hit the mess hall trays.
His gaze lingered for a second on a corpse with purplish skin and a hideously distended cranium before he turned and walked away.
"Today's objectives have been met."
Enkidu handed a data-slate to a one-eyed female officer wearing a jagged eye-patch. She, in turn, passed the device up to Telax, who sat on a high dais.
"Cleared thirteen minor supply vaults. Xenos and heretic presence neutralized. Seven hundred and sixty-three units executed. Located a hidden slave food cache..." Telax skimmed the report with bored indifference until his eyes locked on the final line. "...and destroyed a shrine to the False Emperor?"
"Yes."
Enkidu answered without a flicker of emotion.
Truthfully, he held no personal prejudice against the Imperial Creed. Life in this universe was so miserable that if people didn't have something to believe in, they'd simply go mad.
But that was only if "Imperial Faith" actually led back to the Emperor.
"Sacrilege." The data-slate cracked under the pressure of Telax's grip. A hollow, ancient fury flickered in his eyes. "In the sacred domain of the Dark Prince, there are still remnants of the False Priest's dogs! I want a full purge. If you find any more of these sycophants, you are to perform a public execution. Make it a spectacle."
"As you command, Lord."
Enkidu offered a shallow bow. His voice was a flat, toneless mask. He turned to leave, but as he reached the third step, Telax called out.
"Wait. You stay. The rest of you, get out."
Sebastian gave Enkidu a fleeting, "may-the-Throne-help-you" look before being ushered out behind the heavy blast doors.
Enkidu turned back to face the true master of The Lash of Agony.
If one could ignore the visceral sense of evil permeating the air, one might actually call Telax a man of taste. His private sanctum lacked the typical Slaaneshi debauchery—there were no graphic murals or gaudy displays of flesh. Instead, the room was governed by a meticulous "dark aesthetic," where the horror was tucked away in the intricate, unsettling details.
At the highest point of the room sat a throne of dark silver. Two bleached Aeldari skulls were embedded into the armrests, their hollow sockets staring into nothingness. At the top of the throne's back was the stylized mark of Slaanesh. Telax sat there, his piercing eyes boring into Enkidu.
"Do you know? You are special," Telax said, licking his lips with an expression of predatory interest. "From the very start, Varex named you personally. Enkidu. A name from the oldest myths of man. I wonder what he was thinking—perhaps his pet sorcerer whispered it in his ear? Regardless, you have performed exactly as he hoped."
"I don't follow, Lord. Did you not keep me here to discuss the destruction of the heretics?"
Enkidu was used to Telax's brutality; this sudden shift to conversational intrigue was deeply unsettling. Considering the typical hobbies of Slaaneshi devotees, Enkidu felt a cold shiver crawl up his spine. He took a subtle, instinctive step back.
This movement seemed to delight Telax. He let out a booming laugh that echoed through the vaulted ceiling.
"Fear not, little thing. Do you think I am like that debauched fool Varex, who lets anyone into his bedchambers? Come closer. I won't bite. I simply wish to talk."
"Is this talk about more than just executing Imperial loyalists?" Enkidu asked cautiously, stepping forward while keeping his guard up.
"Indeed. But tell me, Lord Telax... who is Varex?"
The laughter stopped abruptly, only to return a second later, louder and more shrill.
"Hahaha! You don't even know the man who gave you your name? That is rich!" Telax laughed until he was breathless, eventually wiping a tear from his eye. "Ah... I suppose I was so focused on your training that I neglected to tell you who actually owns this fleet."
In truth, he had withheld the information on purpose to keep the initiates' loyalties muddled.
"Our proud, perfect, and utterly excessive brother Varex is the master of this fleet—and your master as well. However, he prefers his 'artistic pursuits,' so he delegated the task of honing you to me. When you finally meet him, be sure to give him my regards."
Telax's grin was malicious. He was curious to see if the temperamental Varex would find this silver-haired recruit as interesting as he did.
"I shall remember that, Lord Telax."
"Stop playing a role in front of me, initiate," Telax said, his voice hardening as he sat up straight. "Fabius Bile doesn't put much soul into his work; he cares more about his 'New Man' experiments. I've known from the beginning that some of you retain your memories. Especially you. You're refined, quick-witted, and you always keep yourself... clean. Let me guess. Which hive-spire did you crawl out of, little noble?"
Enkidu's heart skipped a beat, then steadied.
He had never hidden the fact that he possessed a memory, but being singled out by Telax was a dangerous game. However, Telax would never guess that Enkidu wasn't a spire-born brat from a hive world, but a traveler from beyond the stars.
This was a lever he could pull. A new layer of camouflage.
"It is a meaningless question, Lord Telax. Whatever world I came from was destroyed before I ever woke up. I watched it burn with my own eyes. As for my old name... it was buried long ago. This name is all I have."
"You could reclaim your old name," Telax said significantly. "Varex gave you a label based on a passing whim. Perhaps it isn't one you wish to keep. In my presence, you may be whoever you truly were."