Revisted my old Krieger lady since I wasnt super happy with it. Mostly altered colours and yeeted her big ponytail.
Sidenote, I've also been messing with Procreate recently! The difference is night and day between that and my usual Adobe Fresco shite so expect the occasional upload in a different style. (Im still figuring out colour so mostly black n white for now)
Hello, and sorry for not updating here for a bit. I hit a wall and have not had a great time climbing it. So mind the weird pacing and spelling mistakes. also the Speaker is based off of @taryn40k wonderful Word Bearer: Asma. If ya don't know about them, go read Chaos Roadtrip by them. It really good, plus here's the link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79192076/chapters/207772641
anyways the fic is down below, please read tags before opening though. Thanks and have a great next 24 hours.
Nidus stepped out of the blood portal to what should have been an empty area under a hive city in the far future, but today it had a crowd of people. Yet they were too enraptured with one speaking to notice his arrival, though the speaker did. His light golden eyes hovering over Nidus a moment too long for his liking as Zo’edax mentally told him to just join the crowd. Interest and caution laced in their voice as he moved toward the back edge of the crowd. The speaker kept going, pulling his eyes off Nidus for the moment but it kept sweeping back to him. So far the crowd hadn’t seemed to notice this fact as Nidus looked around, noting the area had been redecorated for this event.
Nidus wasn’t sure if it was an improvement or a detriment to the area as the crowd then echoed the speaker’s words for a moment. His golden scripture on his skin shining brighter as did the halo of light around his head. The horns seemed to hold it as if the speaker was a beacon of light in the dark and the cultists were like moths to it. Them surging forward before bowing fully to the floor. Nidus stayed standing, opposing the moment of the crowd. The speaker didn’t lose momentum though Nidus could tell it got under his skin as the cultists rose back up. Still clinging to his words as he went on.
Nidus had put together that the speaker was a Word Bearer by the scripture on his body already and most likely was the head of this cult here. He wasn’t sure about the horns or the unusual light halo coming from the astrate. Was it a gift, a thralled daemon or something else entirely. He was curious yet also was fine without knowing. Some mysteries were best left unsolved. The scarification marks were about average which made sense as there was a balance to the speaker. Nidus had caught all of the four known gods' names being said in the sermon. Which led Nidus to note that this cult was probably chaos undivided, which meant that predicting anything was going to be harder than a single lane cult.
The cultist bowed once more to the floor as the speaker brought the sermon to the end. Clapping his hands together loudly as the cultist all rose in union. A bit too perfect for Nidus to like when the speaker then looked over the crowd before pointing to a woman next to Nidus. A squeal leaving her lips as she was pulled and pushed forward by the crowd to the stage. The speaker’s eyes hovering on Nidus, letting him silently know it was a choice not to choose him. Zo’edax chuckled as Nidus just kept his breathing even, watching the woman reach the edge of the platform. The crowd scrunched closer together when a small hand grabbed Nidus’. A child who looked up at the sea of bodies blocking the view, so without a thought; Nidus lifted them up and onto his shoulders to see.
“Mama got chosen.” The child hissed to him with glee and excitement over sorrow, which Nidus wasn’t sure how to feel about.
<<This one is good with his flock. All seem to be fanatically devout to him. You should take notes.>> Zo’edax jokingly quipped as Nidus remained quiet due to what was happening on stage.
The woman had taken off her monk-like robe, revealing that she was nearly naked underneath. Scars and markings littered her body, most seeming to be self inflected if not done by another with care. The speaker then spoke in dark tongue, holding a dagger that was decked out with jewels and charms. The air chilled slightly as the taste of static filled Nidus’ mouth. It reminded him of the coming thunderstorms of his teen years. Yet here he was when the storm was beginning to take place. The woman had kneeled in what seemed to be the center of the platform, the speaker circling her as he carried on his chant; cutting his wrist and dripping blood over the woman. She looked elated to have the substance dripped on her as it crawled over her skin, making symbols and runes. Some Nidus recognized, others he hadn’t learned. Even the chanting was hard to follow, though he got an idea of what was about to go down.
The speaker then stood behind the woman before drawing the blade over the throat, spraying blood out and into a bowl that just appeared on a whim. Nidus glanced up to the kid, to see them engrossed in the ritual if not exhilarated at the sight. He looked back to see the speaker holding the bowl of blood overhead. He began to chant as the crowd echoed it, and soon the chanting became faster, more erratic yet in tune. The candles dimmed as the speaker’s nimbus of light became the shade of blood. The air began to chill more as Nidus could now begin to also taste blood in his mouth while feeling himself get agitated without reason. Zo’edax hummed a bit, seeming to lessen the effects for him as the speaker voice rose louder than the crowds which was already a fever pitch. Nidus wasn’t sure what the speaker had said, but he watched as the bowl of blood was lifted higher over his horned head before being released. The blood splattering the ground, seeming to freeze the crowd at first but as the bowl hit the ground and shattered; a frenzy for blood and battle started.
Before Nidus could react, the kid yanked on his hair hard enough to pull out a clump which in turn he grabbed them and tossed them off him, straight into a path of thundering feet. A fist then slammed his face as he felt the flesh buckled and break under impact as he back handed them, snapping their head around 180 degrees. Another charge with a knife that Nidus easily was able to steal and slash the current owner’s throat open, spraying blood over his face and chest. Zo’edax now cackled in delight over the carnage as Nidus did his best to stay to the edge of battle. Finding himself joining the dwindling number of survivors as the fight drew on, till Nidus found he was all that was left, next to the Speaker who then clapped. A radiant smile plastered on his face as blood began to move back towards the platform, to the woman’s dead body on the floor.
The Speaker’s hand was then raised out to Nidus, beckoning him closer but Nidus could tell it was not of good will. His other hand remained out of sight and the lack of the dagger in view heavily hinted to what was going to happen next. Zo’edax encouraged him to go though, whispering that this ritual would fail if he didn’t. He sighed, looking at the Speaker who took a step down from the platform. Nidus thought about running off to see if he would give chase, which Zo’edax chuckled at but requested he refrained from doing so. It wasn’t often Zo’edax pushed him to do something that didn’t benefit him or them directly as he felt the last the blood pull at his legs before it flowed away. Nidus then trudded after it as the Speaker beamed with a pleased smile, but kept a hawk’s eye upon him.
Nidus felt Zo’edax disappear from his back, but he could sense they were nearby out of sight to meet up with his reprinted, or saved, form that would appear after his death. Yet his attention was stolen back by the Speaker wrapping his hand over his shoulder as sweet affirmative words were softly spoken in his ear. If he had been one of the kool-aid drinkers, he probably would have believed the words spoken to him. But he knew better as he felt the dagger now at his throat. Dark tongue chants were muttered as the last droplets of blood pooled around the body, before his blood joined. The ground rushed to catch his dying form as he was shoved into the middle next to the dead woman’s body. Blood coiling over them now as Nidus felt his vision blur and dim before he was back in a tunnel, hearing something out in the cavern tear its way into reality. He shuddered at the bellow while Zo’edax just hovered next to him, staring at the direction the sound came from.
<<Oh, that’s a really good one he got summoned. Good for them.>> Zo’edax chripped as Nidus got a feeling he missed something now.
“Them?” He asked softly, throat feeling a bit tender from being slit.
Zo’edax glanced at him as he saw the playful smirk peeked through the rusted steel, letting him know he wasn’t getting an answer soon. Besides, Nidus could hear movement from above and decided it was bail time. Zo’edax agreed to that thought as he moved through the tunnel to an exit point. Him slipping out with issue when he heard another door open. He glanced to see the Speaker who looked smug as he pulled the door shut, but it disappeared into confusion at Nidus standing there. Nidus just smiled, waved and then bolted off at full speed, climbing a neighboring wall across the street and vaulting across roof tops before anything could be said or asked. Zo’edax wildly laughed outloud, echoing the area before making a blood portal for them to run through; sending Nidus crashing into the couch and tipping it over. Making him finally bust up laughing, yet he knew he would have to worry about accidentally crossing that Word Bearer in the future now as he doubted they would forget this moment any time soon. But till that occur, he would ride the high of confusing the fuck out of the Speaker for the time being.
The first pale light of morning creeps through the narrow slit in the quarters, turning the steel walls from charcoal to muted gray. Outside, the settlement is already stirring. Hammers ring again, slower than before but no less determined. The wounded who can stand have returned to work in measured shifts, while others carry water, clear rubble, and rebuild what had been broken. Life, stubborn as ever, has resumed.
Within the room, the air remains warm from the brazier that had burned low through the night. Dorn wakes before the dawn bell. Years of campaign and centuries of discipline have made sleep a necessity rather than a habit. His eyes open into stillness, instinct immediately cataloguing the room. The banked coals. His knife resting within reach. The steady cadence of breathing beside him.
Kessa is still fast asleep. She had drifted closer during the night despite her injuries, one hand resting lightly against his forearm as though somewhere between waking and dreaming she had sought reassurance that he remained there. The bruising along her temple had already begun to darken, and though her face is peaceful, every deeper breath still betrayed the cracked ribs beneath the bandages.
He allows himself a moment simply to watch her. Yesterday, he had believed he would lose her. Even now the memory rises unbidden, the collapsing ridge, the impossible stillness beneath the broken wall, the terrible heartbeat before he found her pulse. His jaw tightens. Never again, he thinks to himself. The thought is irrational. Impossible. No commander can promise such a thing. Yet the vow forms, nonetheless.
Carefully, so carefully that the pallet scarcely shifts, Dorn eases himself upright. The movement reminding him of his own injuries. A dull ache flares through his left thigh where the rebar had pierced muscle. He pulls back the bandaging enough to inspect the wound in the growing light. The flesh around it remained swollen, angry with bruising, but the bleeding had stopped cleanly and repair was underway. There is no discoloration beyond what is expected. No heat suggesting infection. He flexes the leg once. Pain answers immediately. Acceptable. Not fit for prolonged combat. Fit enough for command.
Satisfied, he rewraps the dressing with the same meticulous precision he applies to every task. Nothing wasted. Nothing hurried. Only then does Kessa stir. She blinks against the light filtering into the room before finding him seated nearby.
"...You're already awake."
"I have been for some time."
"I noticed."
Her voice carries the roughness of healing lungs. She pushes herself upright with obvious care, suppressing a wince that fools absolutely no one. Dorn is beside her before she had fully sat up.
"You shouldn’t move so quickly."
"I wasn't aware sitting up had become forbidden."
"It hasn’t."
"It sounded very much like it had."
The corner of his mouth twitched.
"I merely observed."
"You issued an observation with the tone of an order."
"It was effective."
She sighs theatrically.
"You're impossible."
"So I have been informed."
She smiles despite herself. Together they share a simple breakfast brought by one of the settlement's cooks—coarse grain cakes still warm from the stone ovens, dried strips of smoked meat, and steaming cups of bitter root tea that does more to wake the senses than comfort them. It is hardly a feast, though neither minded. There is something unexpectedly peaceful about sharing such an ordinary meal after so much violence.
For a time they simply ate. When Kessa reaches too quickly for the kettle, she catches herself with a sharp intake of breath. Dorn notices immediately.
"You are still in pain."
"I've had worse."
"That wasn’t my question."
She looks at him over the rim of her cup.
"It wasn't a question."
"No."
Another ghost of a smile passes between them. When the meal is finished, Dorn rises.
"You intend to work."
"I intend to command."
She folds her arms the best she can.
"Those are often the same thing with you."
"They are."
"And you're going to tell me to rest."
"I am."
She opens her mouth. He speaks first.
"That wasn’t a request."
She narrows her eyes.
"You've become very comfortable giving me orders."
"I have always given orders."
"You have." She smiles, "I'm simply selective about obeying them."
Dorn regards her for a long moment.
"I will have someone bring your medicine before midday."
"You remembered."
"I remember many things."
"I've noticed."
His expression softens.
"I will return later."
"I know."
He leans down, pressing a brief kiss against her forehead. Not hurried. Not hidden. Simply natural.
"Rest."
She catches his sleeve before he can straighten.
"I will." She squeezes his hand once. "If you promise not to pretend that leg isn't hurting."
"...I will attempt moderation."
"That's the closest thing to honesty I'll get, isn't it?"
"It is."
She laughs quietly.
"Go on, then."
Only after seeing her settle comfortably back against the blankets does Dorn finally leave.
The command gathering has already begun by the time he reaches the forward operations chamber. Alcaeus stands over one of them with Erastes and Jarn, while several other Astral Knights wait nearby. Conversation ceases the instant Dorn enters.
"My lord."
“Father.”
“Father.”
He acknowledges the greeting with a single nod.
"The reports."
Alcaeus steps forward first.
"The dead number fewer than first feared."
A small mercy.
"Twelve civilians."
Dorn inclines his head.
"Three seriously wounded."
"Astartes?"
"None slain."
"Two brothers suffered fractures during the collapse of Watchtower Three. Apothecarion expects full recovery."
Dorn absorbs the information without visible reaction.
"And the creature?"
Erastes gestures toward the largest map.
"We've traced its path."
The charcoal markings crisscrossed the valley floor. Concentric fractures. Collapsed vent channels. Points where the creature has surfaced. Dorn studies them in silence. Long enough that no one interrupts.
Finally he speaks, "It was never hunting us."
The captains look up.
"It was following vibration."
His finger traced the winding tunnels beneath the settlement.
"The construction."
The hammer strikes. The movement of heavy equipment. The livestock.
"The settlement itself became a beacon."
Jarn frowns.
"Then it will return."
"Perhaps."
Dorn shakes his head once.
"Or another will."
Silence settles over the chamber. He continues examining the maps. Several of the newly raised walls had shifted after the attack. Hairline fractures spread through the valley floor where no cracks had existed only days before. The entire foundation had changed. When he finally looks up, his decision has already been made.
"We relocate."
The words land heavily.
Erastes speaks first. "Father?"
"This ground is compromised."
Dorn lays his palm across the map.
"We built upon stability that never existed."
His finger follows one of the newly discovered vent systems.
"Every foundation here rests above geothermal channels."
Another.
"And fractured caverns."
Another.
"We may kill this creature."
He looks around the room.
"It would change nothing."
Understanding slowly dawns across the assembled officers.
"There may be others," Alcaeus says.
"Precisely."
Dorn nods once.
"A fortress is only as sound as the ground beneath it."
He looks again toward the damaged valley.
"This ground has already betrayed us."
No one argues, they had all seen the earth split open. Seen walls collapse. Seen civilians nearly buried alive.
"We begin identifying higher terrain immediately," Dorn continues. "Stone that has remained undisturbed. Away from the vent fields. Water access remains essential, but stability is now our first consideration."
Jarn is already making notes.
"The civilians?"
"We inform them only after a suitable location is found."
Another nod.
"They have rebuilt enough ruins already."
Erastes crossed his arms.
"And the creature?"
"Observation."
Dorn's answer came without hesitation.
"We do not hunt it."
Several heads lift.
"My lord?"
"It knows these tunnels."
His gaze hardens.
"We do not."
"We would be fighting on its ground."
"Exactly."
The room falls quiet again. Then Dorn turns toward another slate entirely. One that bore not maps but communications equipment painstakingly recovered from the wreck. Its condition is poor. Incomplete. Repairable.
"We begin a second priority."
Alcaeus follows his gaze.
"The transmitter."
"Yes."
Dorn rests his prosthetic hand against the damaged casing.
"If this vessel can be made to speak, then we must ensure someone worthy hears it."
The captains understand immediately.
"The heretics," Erastes says. "They may yet endure."
Dorn nods.
"The galaxy I knew is gone." His voice remains level, "I will not assume the enemies of mankind disappeared with time."
He looks across each of his sons.
"We will rebuild the astropathic arrays. Shield every transmission." Keep broadcasts narrow. Short. Directional."
His expression becomes carved granite.
"We seek the Imperium. But if the servants of Chaos hear us before my brothers do..."
No one needs him to finish. The consequences are self-evident.
"We proceed," Dorn says. "With hope."
His eyes settle once more upon the damaged transmitter.
"And with caution."
Around him, his sons immediately begin reorganizing priorities. Construction crews. Survey teams. Signal specialists. Scouting patrols. The settlement will move. The search for home has begun anew.
