The tank filled with green liquid was tightly fused to Rayan's flesh. Thick metal tubes inserted into his spine and brain stem made its removal no easy task. Yet, for the Apothecary, this was just another procedure.
Carefully, the Apothecary severed each connection, injecting healing compounds to prevent Rayan's demise from blood loss.
"No! Don't!"
"Kill me, just kill me! But leave it alone!"
Rayan screamed and thrashed, his desperation raw, as though his own flesh were being stripped from him. The sight of his terror laid bare what was unmistakably true: that tank, to him, was more precious than his life. He could die, but losing the tank? Unthinkable.
Unperturbed, the Apothecary finished the procedure, holding the tank before Foros, who watched Rayan's demeanor change. The once-fevered zeal was drained; his eyes grew hollow, staring emptily as if his very soul had been severed.
"What is your mission?" Anreda asked again.
Rayan's gaze was fixed on the tank, ignoring the question. When Anreda moved to strike him again, Qin Mo intervened, saying, "Beating him will only bring him pleasure."
Seeing Rayan's wretched state, Qin Mo deduced that this was no ordinary fallen warrior—he was twisted, corrupted by Slaanesh, his body craving ever more sensation. Such minds, twisted by insatiable lust, find pleasure even in agony.
"Return it to me…" Rayan rasped.
"If you can take it, it's yours." Qin Mo released the paralyzing restraints binding Rayan, freeing him.
The freed warrior staggered towards the Apothecary with trembling steps, no longer the deadly predator but a dying wretch. When he reached for the tank, a shove sent him sprawling, helpless.
"This tank," the Apothecary observed, "it's more vital to him than an organ, like lungs that breathe air…"
His words rang true. Rayan now lay gasping, utterly powerless, his remaining strength extinguished, so much so that even a child could end him. Crawling to Foros' feet, he lifted his head in painful supplication, "Please… for the sake of what we once shared… return it…"
Foros merely looked down at him, unmoved.
Rayan's suffering grew, and finally, he knelt, his forehead striking the floor in defeat. "I beg you… help me…"
"Look at yourself," Foros spat, his foot pressing down on Rayan's head. "What have you become? A beast begging for scraps, stripped of all pride!"
"I am… whatever you say I am," Rayan murmured, still fixated on the tank, "as long as you return it to me."
The stark contrast between Rayan's former self and this fallen creature was now apparent. Anreda stepped forward, taking the tank and crouching before him, saying, "Tell me what I want to know, and it's yours."
"Ask… ask anything!" Rayan's nod was frantic.
"What is your mission?"
"The ritual… perform the ritual!" Rayan stammered, his delirious mind spilling fragments of his purpose. "Huron… he's allied with Abaddon… Huron… he gives Abaddon… a gift…"
"What ritual? What gift?" Anreda's voice hardened. "Be clear, or I will destroy it."
Rayan's words faltered as the last vestiges of his strength ebbed. He lay splayed upon the floor, breathing shallowly as he stared at the tank like a fish gasping out of water.
Qin Mo's thoughts shifted to Lucius, the Champion of Slaanesh—a soul lost in sensation, his weakness revealed only in his dependency on his own flask. If the flask was gone, so too was Lucius.
"The gift… a sorcerer…"
"And…"
Rayan's mouth moved, forming disjointed words that took shape slowly, each one wrung out painfully from his throat. His listeners pieced together his tale.
Two years past, Rayan's Red Corsairs ravaged an Imperial world, only to find it transformed—a warped landscape of writhing flesh, earth coated in a crimson pall. There, a lone sorcerer emerged, declaring, "Bring me to the Black Legion's master. I will channel the Gods' dark power into the galaxy."
Now barely conscious, Rayan mumbled, "…that's what he said. He knows countless rituals… I know not the purpose of this one…"
Qin Mo processed this revelation. The sorcerer, this twisted ally of Abaddon, promised not just rituals but a conduit for the Gods themselves. The Black Crusade could now bend toward a fate more terrible than any before. With each step, Cadia and humanity would teeter ever closer to annihilation.
"Prepare your Chapter for Cadia," Qin Mo commanded Foros. "Your blades are needed there far more than in Talon."
Foros, sensing the dread gathering in the Cadia system, answered readily, "Yes, at once." Yet a shadow crossed his face. His Chapter had long been the Emperor's outcasts, shunned by the high lords of Terra. Their alliance with Talon would only darken their reputation in Imperial eyes.
"Do not worry yourself," Qin Mo's gaze softened. "Once you reach Cadia, the Lord Castellan will welcome you as brothers-in-arms."
His doubts eased, Foros lifted his communicator, "Chart a course for the Cadia Gate."
Then, with solemn resolve, he looked to Qin Mo and declared, "If ever Talon faces peril, my Chapter will return, no matter how far we may roam."
Qin Mo nodded, concealing a faint smile. Talon's defenders included two Star Gods; no force short of the Chaos Gods themselves would breach it. Nevertheless, he returned Foros' gesture with a nod of acknowledgment.
As he turned away, Qin Mo issued his next command to Anreda. "Send Adam to Cadia at once."