"It hurts..."
After an unknown stretch of time, Raynor slowly drifted back to consciousness through a haze of intense pain. His bones felt as if they had been disassembled and crudely re-anchored; every shallow breath brought an agonizing flare in his chest. The blood that had seeped from his eyes, nose, and ears had long since dried, forming dark, brittle scabs across his face.
The only thing providing a modicum of security was the heavy, jagged object he was clutching. The cold, hard texture helped anchor his drifting mind.
He opened his eyes with difficulty. His vision was a blurred mess of shadows, and it took several minutes for his pupils to focus. Only then did he realize that the object in his arms was merely the hollowed-out shell of a molted tearing claw.
"Sarah!" Raynor's heart tightened. He ignored the screaming protests of his muscles and struggled to sit up, gasping as a sharp, electric pain shot through his spine.
A large shadow descended from the darkness above, landing silently in front of him. It was Sarah.
Upon recognizing her silhouette, Raynor collapsed back onto the floor, the adrenaline fading into a weary relief. Sarah's body had recovered significantly; the cracks in her chitin had fused, and a new, slicker shell was hardening over her wounds. Her psychic fluctuations had stabilized into a low, rhythmic hum.
After the execution of Cassius, the sheer toll of her injuries and the psychic backlash had forced her into a brief hibernative state. However, the regenerative capacity of a high-tier Tyranid organism far surpassed human biology. She had awoken hours before Raynor.
Finding him clinging to her discarded claw in his sleep, she had opted not to disturb him. She had shed the damaged limb and left it as a surrogate for her presence while she scoured the hatchery. She had spent the intervening time devouring the high-quality biological matter left in the wake of the storm—the remains of the Hive Warrior-beasts and the gene-enhanced flesh of the fallen Astartes—to replenish her bio-reserves.
"The Astartes... the gene-seed. Was it processed?" Raynor asked, his voice sounding like dry parchment rubbing together.
Sarah nodded slowly, a complex light shimmering in her many eyes. She projected a series of impressions through their mental link:
The genetic material of the 'Angels' cannot be directly absorbed yet. The sequence contains 'Divine Factors'—a psychic imprint that resists standard Tyranid analysis. It is currently stored in a specialized stasis-organ within her chest, awaiting further evolution. Once analyzed, these fragments can be spliced to create a new tier of combat strains.
Raynor nodded, the gravity of the feat settling in. As scions of the Iron Hands, the Sons of Medusa carried the legacy of the Primarch Ferrus Manus. Even for a Tyranid, such potent evolutionary data was a meal that required time to digest.
Sarah extended an intact claw, hooked it gently under Raynor's arm, and hoisted him up. Her movements were surprisingly delicate, a jarring contrast to her monstrous form. Leaning heavily against her side, Raynor surveyed the Abyss Hatching Pool.
The chamber was a graveyard. Charred fungal carpets, shattered Power Armor, the husks of dead xenos, and the lingering, metallic tang of ozone and blood filled the air. The battle was over, but Raynor knew the fallout had only just begun.
He leaned his head against Sarah's cool armor, his mind racing through a risk assessment.
First: The secrets of the System remained safe. Whenever Raynor had attempted to record or speak of its true nature, a forced cognitive block intervened. It was a physical impossibility for him to betray the source of his power. Cassius, in his final moments, likely attributed Raynor's power to the Warp—a common enough heresy in this dark age.
Second: Intelligence leaks. Raynor judged it unlikely that Cassius had successfully transmitted a full report. Sarah's enhanced senses had confirmed a localized Warp-shadow over the planet, which would have scrambled long-range vox-transmissions.
Furthermore, with the destruction of the warehouse stronghold by the Underhive martyrs, the Sons of Medusa's local communications hub was gone. Headquarters likely believed the squad was still deep in its mission.
A Hive World not yet under full invasion was rarely seen as a threat to a full squad of Space Marines; they wouldn't expect a total wipeout so quickly.
Third: The Inquisition. Raynor wasn't immediately worried. For an Astartes like Cassius to harbor "heresy"—even in his pursuit of justice—was a stain the Chapter would prefer to handle internally. Even if the Inquisition eventually peered into Necromunda, they would find a world already descending into Tyranid-induced chaos, masking the specific murders of a few "Angels."
Finally: The local authorities. The Butcher had been thorough. The Arbites were bribed or dead, and the martyrs had left no witnesses. If the Governor's office became suspicious, Raynor's influence in the Underhive was now absolute. Anyone sent to investigate would simply vanish into the sumps.
Yet, despite the temporary safety, Raynor felt no peace.
He was now a traitor of the highest order. He had harbored a xenos, engaged in high-level smuggling, orchestrated the murder of Space Marines, and incited a mass rebellion. If the Sons of Medusa realized what had happened, they wouldn't just send an investigator—they would bring a fleet. They would call for an Exterminatus to cleanse the world of his stain.
And even if the Chapter didn't find them, the Hive Fleet would. The Abyss Hatching Pool was a beacon. It meant the Tyranids had already taken root. Soon, the sky would darken with Mycetic Spores, and the planet would be stripped to the bedrock.
Raynor looked up at the jagged hole in the hatchery ceiling. The darkness of Necromunda felt more suffocating than ever.
He clenched his fist, a cold resolve hardening in his gut. Staying was no longer an option. He had to lead Sarah away from this world before the Chapter's vengeance or the Hive Fleet's hunger arrived.
They needed a new hiding place. They needed to leave the planet.