He blinked; the stygian hall still stretched away from him. Lumens shone dim and crimson from recessed alcoves. Their light caught edges of friezes carved into the stone walls, the proportions subtly wrong, the inscriptions that ran around and sometimes through the scenes of battle defying his attempts to garner meaning. Something about the lettering caused his mind to slide away, a subconscious refusal.

The spear felt heavy in his gauntlet. It’s golden shaft extending out to a blade of silvered flame. It shone in the darkness, magnesium bright. It should have illuminated all before it, but the liquid shadows pressed in, smothering, impenetrable.

A rhythm sounded from somewhere in his battle plate. 

<beep>……<beep>……<beep>……<beep>……<beep>……

A whisper rose around him. So quiet at first, he thought he imagined it. Shouts, shots, cries of the wounded, bellows of defiance, clash of blade on blade, blade on armour, blade on flesh. It broke like a wave. The violence all-encompassing, deafening, complete. Just as suddenly, it was gone. The unseen battle swept away, and he was alone once more. 

A decision, although in truth it was no choice at all. A tentative step, then another, gathering pace until he was sprinting through the passages. The walls blurred with speed and then with something…other. The details dissolving into a miasma that seemed to chase him no matter how fast he moved. Portals and crossways came and went; he paused at none, for he knew his destination was inevitable. The labyrinth chose his path.

At last, a final barrier barred his way. Great ironclad doors five times the height of a man, chased in gold and framed in obsidian, they denied him. He glared at them, the insistent telltale ringing louder. 

<beep>…<beep>…<beep>…<beep>…<beep>…<beep>…<beep>…

He had neither the time nor inclination to investigate. He roared at the doors, slammed armoured fists into its face, splinters of iron and gold bursting from the impacts in glittering clouds. He pushed, straining with all his gene-wrought might against them. Finally, he thrust his spear into the hairline gap where the doors met and heaved on its haft. Slowly, slowly, he prised them apart until at last he could squeeze his fingertips into the break and pull.  

Muscles straining, fibre bundles and servos screaming, he forced the doors. When they were a foot apart, something gave with a snap, some mechanism relinquished its hold. He stumbled through the portal as the barrier fell away, catching himself before he fell. He barked a laugh at the absurdity of it, all his grace undone in a moment.

Straightening, he beheld the space. Black marble disappearing into gloom. He could not make out the walls to either side, distance the thief of detail, but before him, a great armourglass eye looked out into the void. The stars flashed, staccato patterns in the black. Comets and meteors fell, slicing towards a planet wrapped in flame. His perception shifted. Not stars but battleships pouring hate into each other’s flanks. Not comets nor meteors but the vanquished, falling to their doom, their deaths adding more weight to the murder being done on the benighted world. The light of the battle illuminated a single chair. Not a chair, a throne. Sized for a demigod and wrought from blood-soaked brass, it loomed over the chamber despite the distance. It felt expectant, waiting for its occupant to take its rightful place. To rule all it surveyed.

The blow came out of nowhere, a backhanded strike that caught him across the pauldron and sent him skidding across the polished floor. He rolled, dodging the head of the mace that crashed down, shattering tiles. Vaulting to his feet, he lashed out with the spear, deflecting another hammer blow, then ducked as a lightning claw the size of his chest swept in to eviscerate him. More strikes, more blows, he backpeddled, keeping out of reach when he could, parrying when he wasn’t swift enough. A kick launched him into the air, and he soared high, war-light making golden armour shine silver, his wings into a shroud. He extended his pinions and arrested his descent. He hung in space, out of reach of the colossus who waited below. The monster didn’t pace or curse but stood silently, a dormant volcano. 

A tocsin sounded, a critical alert from deep in the vessel.

<beep><beep><beep><beep><beep><beep><beep><beep><beep>

He dived, wings folded back for speed, spear thrust out. A missile aimed at the heart of darkness. A doom. An ending. The monster exploded into motion. A massive claw rose to meet him. He saw his error too late. Much, much too late.

<beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep……………………..>

Brother Corvulo shut off the alarm. A single rune flashed red on the cogitator bank, and he keyed the sequence to call the sarcophagus. Ancient systems purred to life, chains pulled, and platforms shifted. Within a minute, a golden cocoon lay on the inspection rack before him. He removed a gauntlet and pressed his palm to the reader plate, letting the genelock sample his vitae. With a hiss of releasing gas, the sarcophagus split along the middle. As the casing opened, blood poured out. Thick, rich, and far too much. A body hung suspended in a web of tubes and cables. Its heavily muscled frame was torn, great rents carved into its chest and arms. Its face was fixed in an expression of pain, rage, and horror all at once. 

Corvulo sighed and activated his narthecium, extracting the geneseed in swift movements. He activated his comms, calling for apothecarian serfs to remove the body.

As the menials set to work resetting the machine, he opened the log file on the cogitator. 

Aspirant 436-Kappa-6. Suspected underlying weakness in mental architecture. Impact of Flaw IX-01 [REDACTED] extreme. Psychosomatic wounds fatal.