When Carlisle's mining pick struck the rock wall for the 237th time, dark purple veins suddenly spread like a spider's web across the surface. He stumbled back, watching the granite layer expand and contract like the wall of a living organism. His father's dying whispers echoed faintly through the ventilation ducts: "The blackstone is alive… it's waiting for our blood debt to be repaid…"
Three meters away, old miner York let out a choking cough, the neural collar around his neck sparking with electricity. Carlisle rushed to steady his convulsing body, only to find worm-like crystalline clusters writhing beneath the skin on York's neck. "By the Omnissiah…" York's pupils began to crystallize. "I hear singing… from below…"
The clanking of Mechanicus overseer boots echoed from the far end of the tunnel. Carlisle grabbed his bloodstained pickaxe and hid York under an abandoned mining cart. When the overseer's spotlight passed over him, Carlisle feigned striking the rock wall, his sweat-soaked back pressed tightly against the cold stone. Behind him, a fresh crack oozed a viscous purple glow, like molten honey.