Chapter 33: Keep Out of Reach of Children
Back in the dark safety of his Underhive Sanctum, Kian Voss hit the deck and let out a triumphant "Wahoo!"
"Profit! Pure, unadulterated profit!"
He began stripping the gear from his frame, humming a victory tune as he organized his haul. This was the motherload: seventeen high-condition rebel autoguns, twenty full magazines, and twenty "800g satchel-grenades."
His eyes were glazed with exhaustion, but the dopamine of a successful "Legendary" extraction kept him moving. He began the ritual of the Machine Spirit.
The rebel autoguns had seen heavy use; their barrels were fouled with carbon and grit. In the 41st Millennium, neglect was a sin against the Omnissiah. Kian systematically disassembled each weapon, checking for stress fractures in the receivers before wiping away the gritty military grease. He replaced it with a thin, shimmering coat of Sanctified Oil.
As he reassembled each rifle, he gave the receiver a quick, affectionate kiss. "Sleep well, girls. Your Machine Spirits are clean now."
He spent nearly four hours on the maintenance. Once the rifles were oiled and stacked, he turned to the magazines. He unloaded every single one. Keeping a magazine "pressed" for too long could fatigue the springs, leading to a failure-to-feed during a firefight. He organized the loose ammunition into a small wooden crate and then moved to the grenades.
The Secessionist grenades were crude—essentially 1.5kg iron cans packed with 800 grams of high explosives. These weren't fragmentation grenades; they were handheld demolition charges. Typical 40k "Overkill." He carefully unscrewed the chemical fuses from the canisters, storing them separately so a stray bump in his sleep wouldn't turn his Sanctum into a crater.
By the time he finished, Kian was yawning wide enough to see his own stomach. He roasted a few potatoes, took a quick shower to wash off the "Psyker-smell," and collapsed onto his cot.
Before the darkness took him, he checked his Tactical Cogitator:
Strength: 14 | Endurance: 15 | Mental Clarity: 13 (All +1).
Psionic Resistance: 11 | Psionic Proficiency: 11.
Kian frowned. The resistance made sense—the Silent One had spent half an hour trying to squeeze his brain—but where did the "Proficiency" come from? Could a normal man learn to use the Warp just by being "contaminated" by a powerful psyker?
He drifted into sleep wondering if he'd wake up with the ability to shoot lightning or just a third eye in his armpit.
[SANCTUM - POST-PRODUCTION PHASE]
When Kian woke up, he went through his morning routine—eat, drink, wash, produce.
He headed straight for the Imperial Shrine. The votive candle had guttered out, and the bottle of moonshine he'd left as an offering had been... changed.
[Item: Sanctified Amasec (Holy Spirits)]
Rarity: Gold (Legendary Consumable)
Durability: 10/10 (Can be sipped 10 times).
[Effects]
True Sanctity: Your soul is anchored to the Golden Throne. Immunity to Fear, Panic, and Mental Domination. Corruption Cleared.
Mental Clarity: +10.
Holy Aura: You emit a faint, sanctified resonance. Low-tier Daemons and Warp-tainted creatures suffer physical agony in your presence. Greater Daemons feel extreme discomfort.
Duration: 24 Hours.
Kian whistled. "A mass-produced Gold item? The Emperor really is a fan of a stiff drink."
The power of this stuff was terrifying. It wasn't just a buff; it was a "Delete" button for Warp-entities. If he could find a way to sell this to a high-ranking Cardinal of the Ecclesiarchy or a PDF Colonel, he wouldn't just be rich—he'd be the most powerful merchant on the planet.
But the old fear remained. He was a rat in a hole. If he showed up with "Holy Booze," he wouldn't get a paycheck; he'd get an "interrogation" by the Inquisition.
"I'm sitting on a mountain of gold and I can't even buy a steak," Kian groaned, pacing the vault floor. He needed more power. He needed to be a "Citizen" before he could be a "Merchant."
He stashed the Holy Amasec and prepped for his second trip to the Aquifer. He took three bottles of Sanctified Oil, his Adrenal Stimms, and Reno's Master Key.
But he needed one more thing—a "Safety Switch." If the Silent One decided to keep him as a permanent pet, Kian needed a way to trigger a "Reset."
[NEPHAL'S TRADING POST]
Kian found Nephal behind his counter, currently trying to fix the Machine Spirit of a toasted vox-caster.
"You got anything that can kill me instantly?" Kian asked, leaning over the counter.
Nephal looked at him like he was a Poxwalker. He slowly pulled out a stub-pistol and aimed it at Kian's forehead.
Kian sighed. "No, I mean a fail-safe. A way to end it if I'm paralyzed or captured and can't use my hands."
Nephal's eyes narrowed. He signaled for Shiv to go to the back. Moments later, the boy returned with a small, glass vial containing a single, thin pill coated in a waxy membrane.
"The Emperor's Mercy (L-Capsule)," Nephal croaked. "You tuck this against the inside of your rear molar. If you need to return to the Throne, you bite down. It's a concentrated neural-toxin that kills in three seconds."
Nephal tapped the vial. "There's a catch. The waxy membrane is designed to dissolve in saliva after twenty-four hours. If you haven't taken it out or died by then, the toxin leaks. You'll be dead before you can say 'My Lord'."
Kian took the pill carefully.
"It's high-grade stuff," Nephal warned. "Don't play with it, and for the love of the Omnissiah... keep it out of reach of children. One lick and they're a corpse."
Kian nodded, placing the pill in a small, secure pouch on his collar. He had his "Exit Button." Now, he was ready to face the Witch.
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