Though these Astartes had been stripped of their power armour, their identities remained discernible through the stark geometry of their features and the enduring marks upon their flesh.
A single Astartes, his brow embedded with multiple service studs and his face tattooed with intricate, swirling runes, was the first to lead the way out of the holding cells.
"Ersen," a voice called out. "We know nothing of the situation outside, nor why we are being granted this reprieve. The speed at which those iron constructs executed the xenos was... beyond sight."
Ersen, stepping out into the corridor, bore a countenance that, despite being masked by heavy runic ink, carried an expression of warmth and unwavering resolve, reminiscent of a pilgrim on a holy journey.
"Sagelhan, I understand your trepidation," Ersen replied. "But do not fear. I am already a sinner; from the moment my gene-father, Lorgar, betrayed the Imperium, my transgressions became a stain that no water can cleanse."
At the mention of Lorgar, the runes covering Ersen's body flared with a dim, sickly light, sending a sharp, familiar thrum of pain through his nervous system.
As a member of the Word Bearers, Ersen could not reconcile his soul with the treachery of his gene-father. By the time he realized Lorgar had turned traitor, it was already far too late. Ersen had been a Sergeant of the Sixth Company; he had personally slain battle-brothers loyal to the Primarch before seizing a frigate with a handful of like-minded brothers who rejected the betrayal. They fled into the void, beginning a nomadic existence, fighting for Imperial worlds across the galaxy.
They scoured the heraldry of their Legion from their plates, battling for the Imperium in shadow. Though their true identities remained unknown to those they saved, they knew the truth: they were loyal, and their Primarch was their eternal shame.
When Lorgar ascended to daemonhood, the shockwaves reached even those wandering the galactic fringes. To prevent the corruption of their fallen father from eroding their sanity, Ersen and his brothers meticulously researched protective psychic runes, searing them into their own flesh.
Alongside these sigils, they inscribed the Lectitio Divinitatus and various liturgical wards to preserve their purity. The psychic blades used for the task cut not just through skin, but into their very souls, a brand of agony that could not be suppressed.
Yet Ersen knew this was their penance. Whatever the cost in suffering, they had to endure.
Under the aegis of these marks, runes, and holy words, the power of the fallen Primarch could not seize their minds, but the pain remained a constant companion. Whenever the foul reach of the Warp groped for them, the runes would discharge protective energies, triggering bouts of uncontrollable agony, a brutal reminder of their loyalty to the Imperium and their hatred for the Traitor Primarch.
As the years ground on and their supplies dwindled, Ersen was forced to lead his brothers into warzones of unprecedented carnage, seeking either the mercy of a final rest or the chance to scavenge wargear from the corpses of fallen Astartes cousins. When possible, they performed the ancient rites, petitioning the Golden Throne to take the souls of the Emperor's fallen sons and guiding the spirits of the faithful away from the predations of the Warp.
One by one, his battle-brothers fell in anonymous skirmishes. Ersen personally cremated their remains. Their gene-seed remained pure, which meant their connection to the Primarch was dangerously potent; to tithe or transplant such organs would only birth new traitors. He did not hesitate to destroy them, even if it meant the extinction of his own line. Only his hatred for Lorgar and his devotion to the Emperor sustained him.
After the last of his brothers perished, Ersen sold their frigate to a mundane merchant guild on an Imperial world. He began to move through the stars using civilian transport. It cost him nothing; no mortal could find an Astartes who wished to remain hidden, especially not a Word Bearer with latent psychic attunement. Occasionally, Ersen would strike from the shadows of a vessel, purging Genestealer infections or cultists whose presence turned his stomach.
This continued until the merchant vessel he occupied was intercepted by the Drukhari.
The Imperial escorts were pulverized by the xenos raiders. A third of the passengers were slaughtered immediately; the rest were taken as cattle for the slave markets. Ersen himself slew hundreds of Drukhari before several xenos sorcerers finally subdued him with malefic sorcery.
When that foul energy touched the runes on Ersen's skin, the spells were dissipated by the backlash of his agony. This discovery, a plaything that suffered more exquisitely than any other, delighted the sadistic Drukhari. After losing dozens more of their number to capture him, an Archon personally dragged Ersen back to Commorragh.
Beside him stood Sagelhan of the White Scars. During a reconnaissance mission against Orks, he had been ambushed by Drukhari raiders emerging from a Webway portal. His jetbike was vaporized, and he had been rendered unconscious by the blast. He awoke in chains and was brought here. Most of the other brothers from various Chapters shared similar tales of misfortune.
Except for the Night Lord, Mordred, known as the Soul Devourer of the Abyss.
Though born in the squalor of a hive-world underbelly, Mordred had been graced by the kindness of a local priest of a minor cult in his youth. That old man had worshipped the Emperor through the lens of the Imperial Truth, and his guidance gave Mordred a brief window of peace. After the priest died, the cult disbanded, and Mordred's life spiraled. He was forced to use his burgeoning talents for theft to survive. Yet, after every successful crime, he would find a secluded spot to offer frantic prayers of contrition to the Emperor.
Eventually, he was apprehended by the authorities and swept up in a tithe of fighting men, destined for the Night Lords. By some dark miracle, he survived the trials to become an Astartes. Mordred never truly fit in with the criminals and psychopaths of his Legion, but he adapted to the shadows as all his kin did. When Konrad Curze declared his rebellion, and especially after the destruction of Nostramo, Mordred could not stomach the betrayal.
He deserted his Legion alone, wandering the galaxy and venting his fury by hunting xenos. While stalking a band of Craftworld Aeldari who had raided an Imperial world, he accidentally stumbled into the Webway and became lost in its labyrinthine depths. He wandered until his mind began to fracture, eventually being captured by Wych cults and cast into the arenas of Commorragh.
To most, this was a place of no escape. But to a son of the Night Haunter, escape was always a mathematical possibility. However, upon his arrival, his Astartes cousins greeted him with cold loathing. Only through their vitriol did he learn that his Primarch was dead and that the VIII Legion was branded as traitors for all eternity.
Tortured by this revelation, Mordred languished in the pits, unsure of his purpose, until Ersen, the loyal son of a traitor Legion, arrived.
In Ersen, Mordred saw the shadow of the priest who had cared for him as a child. Ersen, utilizing his oratorical gifts, helped the drifting Mordred find his faith once more. Under the Word Bearer's guidance, Mordred found a new center, and together they began to plot how they might lead these unfortunate warriors out of the dark.
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