Chapter 157: The Blood Pact of the Spire
"AAAGH! I'm breathing! I'm still breathing!!"
The heavy soldier sat in the dirt, staring at the headless corpse of the Commissar. He was laughing hysterically, the adrenaline of cheating death washing over him in waves.
"You're breathing, but I'm going to have a bruise for a month!" Lady Nightingale snapped. She was sitting on her backside, rubbing her hip and glaring at the soldier who had dropped her.
"Ah! My Lady, my deepest apologies!" The soldier scrambled up and scooped her back into a princess-carry.
Nightingale leaned back against his chest, her eyes fixed on Kian Voss. There was a new light in her gaze—a flicker of genuine, predatory interest.
Kian pulled out a Lho-stick, lit it, and took a long drag. He noticed the Lady staring.
"Beautiful Lady Nightingale," Kian smirked. "Don't tell me you've fallen for the 'Suspension Bridge Effect.' Were you so moved by my courage and decisive violence that you've fallen hopelessly in love with a humble scavenger?"
Nightingale blinked, then let out a dry, melodic chuckle. "I wouldn't rule it out, Sergeant. In this Hive, a man who can hit a target's head through a three-inch gap is a rare commodity."
Kian stepped closer, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together in the universal sign for credits.
"I'm a hard man to catch, My Lady. My dowry requirements are... extensive. If you want to marry into the Voss bloodline, the bride is expected to bring a few basic household items: one Warp-capable voidship, a wing of one hundred atmospheric fighters, a battalion of one thousand Chimeras, and ten thousand elite shock troops."
He blew a smoke ring. "Of course, if you're short on the 'common' stuff, I might accept an ancient STC fragment or a Rogue Trader's Warrant of Trade. I'll give it some thought."
Nightingale's lip twitched. "Then you are indeed a very expensive prize, Sergeant."
Kian stopped joking and got back to the audit. He walked over to the Commissar's body and stripped it of its primary assets.
[LOOT ACQUIRED: THE COMMISSAR'S VESTIGES]
1x Mk. XI 'Mars' Pattern Bolt Pistol. (A hand-cannon that fired rocket-propelled mini-grenades).
1x 'Solomon' Pattern Chainsword. (Teeth made of monomolecular carbon-steel).
3x Spare Bolt-Clips.
Kian tucked the gear into his pack and turned to his squad.
"Listen up, heroes. This 'creature' we just killed? It wasn't our beloved Political Officer. It was a Warp-beast masquerading as a man of the Creed. A shape-shifter! We have avenged the Commissar's soul today!"
The soldiers looked at the red greatcoat and the peaked cap, then back at Kian. They understood the play. A dead Commissar meant an Inquisitorial investigation. But if everyone in the squad was "guilty," no one would snitch.
"One by one," Kian commanded, gesturing to the corpse. "Put a bolt into the remains. A final tribute for our 'fallen' leader. For the vengeance of the squad!"
The soldiers didn't hesitate. They stepped forward and pulled their triggers. Twenty beams of sun-fire slammed into the body. By the time the last private finished his turn, the Commissar was a charred, unrecognizable slab of carbon. The evidence was liquidated.
Kian pulled a Las-pistol from his belt and handed it to Lady Nightingale.
The Lady looked at the smoking meat on the floor and frowned. "Is this really necessary? He's already ash."
Kian gave her a look of intense, mock-devotion. "Lady Nightingale, we have walked through the fire together. We are partners. We are brothers in arms! Don't tell me our 'bond of fate' is so weak that you won't join the ritual?"
Nightingale realized she was being forced into a "Blood Pact." If she reported the desertion, Kian would simply point out that she too had participated in the desecration of an Imperial officer.
She let out a sigh, raised the pistol, and put a ruby beam through the charred skull.
"Excellent," Kian cheered, raising his heavy-barrel rifle. He dialed the power to Overload and fired twenty rapid shots into the spot where the body lay.
When he was done, there wasn't even a tooth left. Even a forensic Tech-Priest would find nothing but scorched floor-plates.
"Now," Kian said, checking his chrono. "Let's get the hell off this floor."
They reached the far end of the warehouse. Nightingale gestured to a high-security bulkhead disguised as a ventilation grate. She input a sequence on the keypad and leaned into the iris-scanner.
CHIRP. GRIND-CLANK.
The "Small Lift" opened. It wasn't small. It was a massive industrial cargo elevator, large enough to haul an entire armored platoon.
The squad scrambled inside, the heavy doors sealing behind them. As the lift began its smooth, silent descent toward the Mid-Hive, the tension finally snapped.
The soldiers collapsed onto the floor, hooting and hollering with the fever of survivors.
"THRONE! Did you see that?!" Egghead yelled, punching the air. "We walked the Spire! we fought the Laughing Dead! We ate 200-scrip crackers!!"
They were high on the "Raid-Success" dopamine. They had seen the forbidden heights and come back with Spire-tier guns. They felt like gods.
Kian pulled his water-canteen from his belt. The scent of Sanctified Amasec immediately filled the cramped elevator. The men went quiet, their noses twitching.
"Come on then, you beauties! A toast to the Voss Guard!"
The soldiers unscrewed their caps. Kian poured a small, concentrated dose of the Holy Spirits into each one. He saved a cap-full for Nightingale.
"For me too?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"We're brothers now, Nightingale! Drink up! The next cycle of our legend begins today!"
The squad downed the spirits. The "Soul-Wash" effect hit them like a tidal wave of peace and clarity. Their hangovers vanished, their fears were purged, and for a moment, the dark Hive felt like a paradise.
Lady Nightingale took her sip and her eyes narrowed. She stared at Kian with a look of profound, calculating realization. She had spent a fortune to buy "Anti-Warp" talismans from High-ranking Arch-Confessors, and none of them possessed a fraction of the power of this "Sump-swill."
Who is this man? she wondered. He has the gear of a scavenger, the mouth of a heretic, and the blood-blessing of a Saint.
She reached into her robes and pulled a ring from her finger—a simple band of gold inlaid with a micro-cogitator chip. She pressed it into Kian's hand.
"A gift for the savior of my house," she whispered.
Kian looked at the ring. "Is this... are we moving that fast? I haven't even met your parents yet."
Nightingale laughed softly. "It is a House Nightingale Key-Ring. It contains a localized data-terminal. With this, you are officially a 'Factorum-Proxy' for my family. You have legal Spire-status, access to this elevator, and the right to enter my Mid-Hive estates whenever you wish."
Kian slipped the ring on, feeling the heavy hum of the data-slate within.
He had just unlocked the ultimate Spire-Pass.
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