POV Flavia
The constant noise of reports and arguments between the gunner and operator filled the cabin, allowing Flavia to contact Amon without fear of being overheard. As she expected, no one paid attention to her conversation with the sorcerer, not even the bodyguard standing a few meters away from the captain's chair.
The talk with Amon had drained her. The sorcerer had a way of reaching into the minds of others. His voice—intense and intoxicating—almost made Flavia change her decision. But the captain endured, though the price for resisting was steep.
A dull, aching pain throbbed in her temples. Cold sweat dotted her gaunt, aging face, and thin rivulets trickled down her cheeks, leaving a salty taste on her lips.
She glanced around the command center with bloodshot eyes. Strictly speaking, "command center" was too grand a title for such a small and dirty room. The heretics didn't care much for the condition of their equipment, let alone cleanliness and comfort. They relied instead on the favor of the gods, sorcery, and alliances with demons.
What was the point of keeping order in the heart of Chaos? Any machine spirit, however resilient, would eventually go mad from long exposure to the warp, spewing dark prophecies instead of performing its duties. Sooner or later, the mechanisms would ooze strange fluids in place of oil.
For this reason, the traitors treated their technology as a fleeting and fragile resource, one to be squeezed for all it was worth before being discarded in favor of something new.
Her master was no exception. Amon neither understood nor loved the cold steel of machines, preferring theory and abstractions. Six years ago, when the Dark Truth had taken a direct hit to the main bridge, killing most of the officers along with the previous captain, Amon hadn't wasted the scarce resources on repairs.
Instead, he moved the bridge to a backup observation post. Since then, the new captain, along with the chief gunner and operator—the only survivors from the old crew—were forced to work in this cramped space.
The room was ill-suited to be the brain of the ship. In the center stood a small platform, accessible by two steps. Here, Flavia spent most of her day, giving orders and monitoring the situation. Along the opposite wall, the top half of which was made of thick glass giving a direct view into space, were tightly packed control terminals.
Two seats were nearby—one for the operator, responsible for the ship's maneuvers and internal systems, and one for the chief gunner, relaying the captain's orders to the crew of the weapon batteries. For greater efficiency, the gunner connected directly to the terminal with auto-cables, transmitting commands mentally—crucial in fast-paced space combat.
Behind the captain stood her bodyguard, Krell, a goat-faced mutant assigned to her by Amon. The role of the gunner was filled by Titus—a tall, wiry man of indeterminate age, with hollow cheeks and dark circles under his eyes. Flavia knew that this deserter had voluntarily joined the sorcerer's ranks.
The operator was a fat man named Vary. Flavia knew little of his origin or history, except that Vary had once commanded a merchant ship.
Both men disliked the captain for their own reasons, and the feeling was mutual. Regardless, the trio of officers could hardly be called a harmonious team.
"They'd happily settle the score with me," Flavia thought dully, "but they fear the master's wrath. If they find out about my conversation with the sorcerer, even Krell won't protect me."
The captain leaned back in her chair, sitting still for several minutes, breathing steadily, and ignoring the world around her.
"It's almost over," Flavia realized suddenly. "My suffering is coming to an end."
This thought gave her strength. For years, she had lived in constant fear of her master. She had witnessed many brutal executions, carried out by the sorcerer whenever he suspected betrayal or was dissatisfied with the fulfillment of his orders.
Amon had never hit her or raised his voice; instead, he forced her to attend these public executions. The message was as clear as day: obey, or you'll end up like them.
Even now, when she closed her eyes, the captain could see the bloody scenes in all their horrifying detail. Nightmares plagued her, seeping into her waking hours. Had Flavia possessed a softer temperament, she would have surely broken long ago, becoming just another mindless slave. But the captain, despite all the torment she had endured, had preserved herself.
She had learned the art of deception, feigning what was expected of her while secretly harboring hopes of revenge. And now, at last, an opportunity had presented itself.
For the first time in ages, she felt joy. Fear and uncertainty no longer gnawed at her worn soul. Everything had become simple and clear. The captain was close to freedom—not the kind Amon had offered, the freedom to live—but the kind that even the sorcerer could not take away: the freedom that death grants.
Flavia brushed her gray, uncut hair from her forehead. She carefully pressed a hand to her chest, feeling through her dirty uniform the ridged grip of a laspistol. The weapon, stolen a few days ago, pleasantly cooled her skin, silently waiting for its moment.
"I did learn something from you, Amon," Flavia thought bitterly. "How to fight using someone else's hands and strike at enemies from behind. It's time to end this."
Meanwhile, the battle—or rather the beating the Dark Truth was receiving—continued.
"Lance battery six destroyed," Titus reported, adding angrily, "Now we can't even bite back!"
"Shields are completely gone," Vary's shrill voice echoed. "The Templar torpedo is still cutting through the ship!"
"They want to disable and destroy us from the inside," Titus cursed. "We must do something! Captain, your orders?"
Flavia didn't answer. Instead, she gripped the armrests of her chair tightly.
"Captain!"
"I have an order," Flavia declared, breaking the silence. "Abandon your posts and evacuate. I'll stay here."
"Are you out of your mind?" Titus shouted. "Evacuation?! Amon will tear our heads off if we run! We can still escape the loyalists!"
Vary backed him up.
"If we redirect all power to the immaterium generator... Uh, shut down some of the life support systems," the operator muttered hesitantly. "We could..."
"My orders are not up for discussion," Flavia interrupted. "Do it!"
"Damn it, no!" Titus spat on the floor. "Vary, don't listen to this lunatic. Do what needs to be done, right now! We'll deal with her later!"
"So, it's mutiny?" Flavia's voice was icy. She had anticipated this outcome as well. "Krell! You heard them. These men are traitors. Kill them!"
The massive monster rattled his horns in excitement, sensing the opportunity for fun. He drew a curved knife that rivaled a sword in size and lunged eagerly at the captain's stunned aides.
"No! Wait!" Titus was the first to realize their fate. The gunner frantically tore out several augmetic cables from his body, trying to break free from the battle terminal that had become a trap, but Krell was faster.
The bodyguard lunged at Titus with a menacing growl, raising the knife above the cowering man, then slashed down in a frenzy. Within moments, the gunner was reduced to a torn, bloody mess, his lifeless body hanging from the remaining cables.
Vary froze, paralyzed by the horrifying scene.
"Youuuu…" was all the fat operator could manage, watching as the mutant approached. Drunk on bloodlust, Krell discarded his knife and pounced on Vary.
Instead of a knife, he used his broad teeth. The operator gurgled as the monster's jaws tore a massive chunk from his neck. The mutant growled contentedly, swallowing the flesh. The operator's head slumped onto the console, and he fell silent.
Meanwhile, Flavia carefully pulled a laspistol from her chest and took off the safety. With a precise movement, as if in training, she raised the weapon, aimed, and pulled the trigger. A ruby beam cut through the bridge and struck the bodyguard's back. The confined space filled with the smell of burning flesh.
Krell turned around and stared at the captain, unable to comprehend what had happened. Pain and confusion were clearly visible in the mutant's eyes. Flavia fired again, and the bodyguard, letting out an almost human groan, collapsed to the floor.
Making sure the mutant was truly dead, she rose from her chair. The captain slowly walked over to the control terminals. Warning runes flashed on the screens, and streams of data about the ship's status scrolled past. She fired a few more shots at the input devices, rendering them completely useless. Now, not even the Dark Mechanicus could quickly restore control of the ship, if they were on board.
The fight had completely drained the captain. Flavia leaned her hands on the shattered console. Her gaze drifted to the observation window. There, beyond the thick, reinforced glass, stretched the endless celestial sea. White stars drifted silently through the black void, adorning it with a silver pattern.
The infinity of space was mesmerizing, making her forget everything. Her heart ached sweetly, just like in her childhood, when Flavia used to sneak out every night to gaze at the sky. The captain didn't even notice when her lips began to whisper a prayer:
"Oh, Immortal Emperor!
Be merciful to me, though I am unworthy.
You freed me from the blindness of heart.
You showed the way.
With all my strength,
With all my will,
With every fiber of my soul,
I wish to surrender my soul and faith To You,
Immortal Guardian, Shepherd of Humanity.
I go to your judgment without fear or doubt!"
A solitary tear rolled down the woman's cheek. Flavia raised the pistol and pressed it to her chin.