The deck shook. The floor disappeared from under Amon's feet before he could activate his magnetic boots. The next strike hurled the Space Marine and his companions against the opposite wall. Ceramite groaned under the pressure.
Warning runes flickered on the visor of his helmet, but the power armor protected the sorcerer from any harm. The slaves, however, were less fortunate—their bodies crumpled like sacks onto the steel floor.
Amon paid no attention to this. Their lives were worthless compared to his own.
"Bridge!" Amon barked into the vox. "What's happening? Report!"
The vox remained silent for several long seconds before erupting in static and noise. Finally, through the interference, came the voice of Flavia, a former Astra Militarum officer and now the privileged prisoner and captain of the ship.
"An ambush by loyalists. The Black Templars' cruiser, Holy Banner, is firing on us. Eighty percent of the void shields are down."
"Templars…" the sorcerer hissed, and ordered: "Prepare the ship for warp travel immediately! We'll escape these Imperial dogs."
"Impossible," the captain replied curtly. Despite the distortion caused by static, Amon clearly heard the mocking tone in her voice. "I have a strange feeling that won't work. And in a direct firefight, we won't last long. Trust my experience, heretic—this time, we're done for. Pray to your Dark God. You'll meet him soon."
Amon flinched, as if struck. How could he have missed this?! The sorcerer had been sure he'd broken the officer's will long ago. Yet she had been gathering her courage all this time to betray him at the worst possible moment.
'Cursed mortal cur!' Amon seethed inwardly. He quickly scanned the other frequencies. Just as he suspected. The captain had shut off all communication except for the private channel and likely isolated the bridge. He had to convince her to change her mind while there was still time.
"Listen to me, Flavia," Amon began gently. "We've been traveling together for a long time. I've never harmed you, have I? You've had the best cabin, the best rations, protection. Do you know why? I've always respected you and your skills.
I'm sure you'll think of something and get us out of this. And then, I swear, I will free you and drop you off on any Imperial world you desire. If you wish, we can visit your home. You will be free. You'll see your family. And the life you surely think of as a nightmare will end. It will return to the way it was."
The captain was silent.
"Do you want to go home, Flavia?" the Space Marine coaxed after a brief pause.
"You're right, Amon," the captain finally responded coldly. "We have indeed been traveling together for a long time. And I know the worth of your words. I won't lift a finger to save us. It's time for both of us to pay the price. I for my cowardice and betrayal, and you—for the millions of lives you've destroyed. It's a shame I had to serve you for so long. May the Emperor forgive my soul!"
The false gentleness slipped from the sorcerer. He no longer held back.
"When I reach the bridge," Amon growled, "you will die in agony!"
"I'm already dead. The day I came aboard your ship," Flavia replied in an icy tone. "And today, you'll die too. I hope it hurts. Goodbye, sorcerer."
The vox went dead. In impotent fury, Amon slammed his fist into the wall, leaving a deep dent. At that moment, another impact rocked the Dark Truth. A crimson light filled the corridor.
An emergency siren wailed piercingly, but even it could not drown out a far more terrifying sound—the sound of adamantium being torn apart. Amon clenched his teeth painfully. He had heard it too many times to mistake it.
A boarding torpedo had struck the ship and was now gnawing through the bulkheads and decks, carrying its lethal payload.
'The ship is beyond saving,' Amon thought quickly. 'The bridge is too far. Fight my way to the shuttle? Useless, they'll shoot it down. An escape pod, camouflaged among the debris? And then what? There's only one option left. Tnekh'kar.'
Amon shuddered.
Tnekh'kar, the Warp Worm, stood out even among the Neverborn. A nightmarish entity, whose appearance drove mortals to gouge out their own eyes and spend the rest of their days drooling, never sought souls to feed on.
Instead, Tnekh'kar enjoyed when his prey willingly crawled into his maw. When summoned into reality, the daemon offered to swallow his victims in exchange for swift transportation to any point in the galaxy. In many cases, he fulfilled his promise, but often simply digested the victim in his vile gut.
The safety of the journey entirely depended on the daemon's hunger and twisted sense of humor. Tnekh'kar's services were unpopular even among the most insane sorcerers and only called upon in hopeless situations.
'Like mine,' Amon thought. 'But there's no choice. I must reach the sanctuary on the lower decks. That's where I'll perform the ritual.'
The sorcerer darted forward, cursing both the slaves of the Corpse-On-The-Throne and the Dark Gods alike.