The silence in the Patriarch's lair was absolute. The psychic taint that had saturated the very metal of the chamber was gone, leaving behind only the stench of xenos ichor and the quiet hum of power armor. The mission, against all odds, was a success.
Corvus placed his helmet back on, the action sealing him once more within the stoic shell of an Adeptus Astartes. His voice, filtered through the vox-grille, was laced with a formality that couldn't quite mask the profound shift that had occurred. "Our objective is complete. We must return to our extraction point."
"A fine idea," Rimuru agreed cheerfully. "I'm quite ready to leave this place. It has a distinct lack of proper accommodations."
With Rimuru's unerring sense of direction, the journey back through the iron labyrinth was swift and silent. The Hulk, now cleansed of its primary psychic consciousness, felt truly dead. It was no longer a hunting ground, but a colossal tomb adrift in the void, a monument to a thousand forgotten tragedies. This quiet transit gave the Space Marines time to process.
As they navigated a narrow gantry overlooking a chasm of tangled wreckage, Sergeant Cassian, who had been brooding in silence since the Necron encounter, broke formation. He stepped in front of Rimuru, bringing the procession to a halt. The other two marines tensed, but Corvus held up a hand, allowing it.
Cassian stood before Rimuru, his massive form a wall of blue ceramite. He didn't remove his helmet. "Xenos," he began, the word still a curse on his tongue, but stripped of its earlier venom. "I was hostile to you. I viewed you with contempt, as my doctrine demands." He paused, the words clearly a struggle. "My brothers and I would be dead. This entire mission, a failure. My judgment was flawed."
He slammed a clenched fist against his breastplate, the sound echoing in the silence. "By right of arms and the debt of life, I am bound to you. My life is yours to command, should you ask it."
Rimuru looked at the giant, zealous soldier before him and saw not a threat, but a man of profound, if rigid, conviction. He smiled, a gesture of pure, disarming warmth.
"Don't worry about it," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "You were just being cautious. In my experience, that's a good way to stay alive. Besides, we were working together. Let's just call us even."
The Sergeant stood motionless, unable to process the casual, complete forgiveness. He had offered a life-debt, a sacred warrior's oath, and this being had brushed it aside as a simple courtesy between colleagues. He gave a stiff, jerky nod and fell back into formation, his mind quieter, but more confused than ever.
They soon reached a vast, shattered hangar bay, open to the void of space on one side. Docked near the edge, held in place by immense magnetic clamps, was their vessel: a Thunderhawk Gunship. It was a brutal, angular craft, less designed and more brutally forged for war. Its hull was scarred and pockmarked, adorned with purity seals and icons of the Imperial Aquila.
"Now that," Rimuru said with genuine appreciation, "is an impressive-looking ship. Very… functional."
<
"Come," Corvus gestured. "It will take us from this cursed place."
The interior of the Thunderhawk was as spartan and brutal as its exterior. The troop bay was lined with metal benches and weapon racks, the air thick with the smell of promethium fuel and sacred incense. As the boarding ramp sealed behind them with a heavy thud, sealing them in the red, tactical lighting, Rimuru felt a profound sense of transition. He was now truly leaving the isolation of the Hulk and entering the Imperium of Man.
Corvus moved to a small console at the front of the bay. "I must send an astropathic message to my superiors," he explained, his fingers moving across a series of worn-looking switches. "I must inform them of our success, and of… our guest."
"Will you tell them the truth?" Rimuru asked, his tone light.
Corvus paused, looking back at him. "The full truth would not be believed. It would be… misconstrued as heresy or madness. But I will not lie. I will report that the mission was successful due to the intervention of a previously unknown power, a sentient entity of unclassifiable potential." He turned back to the console. "I am requesting passage to a secure location where a proper dialogue can be established. A Deathwatch Watch Station on the edge of the Segmentum. They are the specialists in dealing with your… kind."
The engines of the Thunderhawk roared to life, shaking the entire deck. Through a thick, armored viewport, Rimuru watched as the colossal, grotesque form of the Space Hulk receded. He was in open space now, a vast, star-dusted tapestry of black and diamond. It was beautiful. In the distance, a swirling nebula of violent, impossible colors churned like a storm in the sea of stars.
"The Eye of Terror," Corvus said, noticing his gaze. "A wound in the fabric of reality. The domain of the Archenemy."
As the pilot's voice crackled over the vox, announcing their imminent transition to warp travel, Rimuru felt a sudden, unpleasant pressure.
"Engaging Geller Field," the pilot announced.
A low, humming vibration filled the ship, and a faint, bluish shimmer seemed to coat the interior walls for a moment before fading. Outside, the stars began to stretch and distort.
Then, they plunged into the Immaterium.
The viewport became a nauseating tunnel of pure, chaotic color and screaming shapes. But it wasn't the visuals that caught Rimuru's attention. It was what he could feel. The "four loud voices" he had sensed before were no longer distant. They were right here, pressing against the hull of the ship like ravenous predators against the bars of a cage. He could feel their raw, untamed emotions—rage, ambition, despair, lust—a cacophony of pure, malevolent consciousness. He could feel lesser, sharper things, too—daemons, clawing and biting at the thin shell of reality protecting them.
For the first time since arriving in this universe, Rimuru's smile faded completely. He now understood Corvus's grim warnings. The Warp was not just an energy source or a medium for travel.
It was Hell. And he was flying right through it.