The Depth-crossing Ritual

The following article is a /tg/ related story or fanfic. Should you continue, expect to find tl;dr and an occasional amount of awesome.

Heisen eyed off the big man, one of a dozen marines the Kraken had assigned to mind him during their voyage aboard the Battle Barge Herlov. This particular marine had introduced himself as Dansk, but to Heisen they all looked alike; skin so pale as to be alabaster, inky black eyes totally devoid of white, hair, when present, little more than a tuft of ashen blonde. Heisen had started sorting them into two categories: Friendly and unfriendly. So far Dansk was squarely in the unfriendly category. "How much longer until we're in your territory?" Heisen asked, Dansk sighed deeply and responded without turning to face him. "Look out of the viewport, Inquisitor. What do you see?" Heisen glanced out, seeing the usual speckling of white stars on the vast black canvas of the void. "Nothing." Heisen said, with irritation, "I don't see anything." "Look again, Inquisitor. This time with your eyes." He glared at the marine, and looked again out of the viewport. For the briefest flicker of a moment he saw the visage, the stars against the black. Then it dissipated, his eyes watered slightly, and something deep within his psyche twinged. Then he saw it. The stars were an illusion, painted in by his mind's eye and his expectations. What he actually saw was-- "Nothing." Heisen's voice was hushed, struck by some terrifying awe, "I don't see anything." "We sank into the Deep an hour ago" Dansk rumbled. They sat in silence after that, Heisen staring wildly out the viewport, desperately attempting to discern any detail in the black. There was nothing: no stars, no light, not even the roiling whisp of one nebulous cloud against another.

A deep hum interrupted his thoughts, a bass trembling which seemed to reverberate through the ship's hull, and through his bones, splitting his head with its resonate ductility. "What the hell is that?" Heisen suddenly became fearful. "A void kraken?!" "Were it a void kraken we'd already be dead." Dansk tilted his head, "No, it is my Brother-Captain, blowing the horn of hale. He's calling the company together." "Why?" the sound was rapidly decreasing, and with it Heisen's primal fear seemed to evaporate, "Are we under attack?" "My brothers and I must meet. We have a... Tradition." "You mean a ritual?" this was it, exactly what he'd been looking for. Evidence of this chapters deviant nature. "Two words with the same meaning." Dansk moved to the door, his sea green robe swishing gently on the deckplate. "Deciding that is really more my field of expertise." Heisen rose up imperiously, and put on his most commanding voice, an imitation of one he'd heard Lord Gaelan use many times to great effect, "Marine, I will accompany you and observe these rituals." "It would be best for you to remain here." Dansk opened the door and stepped through it, and then tossed back over his shoulder, "You would not survive the experience." The door slammed shut on Heisen, sealing him in with his indignant rage. He took a moment to calm and reflect. Heisen had a lot riding on this venture, he'd put his meager reputation on the line, thrown himself at the mercy of his lord, begged for the chance to uncover the heretical secrets he was sure the Star Kraken hid. It'd began with paperwork, following a requisition trail which began to point to an uncomfortable, but undeniable, truth: the Kraken were overstrength.

Not just by a combat squad or two, either, no that would be forgivable... At best he estimated they were overstrength by several companies. Worse, as he'd delved deeper he'd uncovered more and more: long exposure to xenos presence without inquisitorial guidance, an insane Chapter Master, possibly touched by ruinous powers, several grand pieces of archeotech they never offered to relinquish, strange rituals aboard their ships and unconventional company tactics on the battlefield... His lord had raised an eyebrow when Heisen laid this out, pointed out the Kraken's long history of loyalty, that all marine companies had their peculiarities, that the tech-priests of Mars had been repeatedly granted access to the array, only to have each Magos driven mad by the nature of the Deep which so dampened technological senses. The door was locked. Apparently Dansk had been really determined to keep him from attending their ritual. Rage surged inside him again, and he swung wildly at the control panel, battering his hands, bloodying his knuckles. Then, to his surprise, the panel sloughed off, exposing the mechanism beneath. With a silent prayer of thanks he began to rewire the lock. Biting back on the urge to scream out of frustration as he shocked himself. Heisen had wanted to scream then too, and belt his lord across the mouth. Instead he had shuddered and pleaded. In the end they had agreed on one point: if the Star Kraken were overstrength, they'd have to be chastised. That was it. No orders to assess their loyalty, nor to search for warp taint or question their actions. Just do a head count and come home. How could he be so blind? Couldn't he see? This chapter had to be quashed, before they had the strength to oppose the will of the Emperor... Like those Fenrisian bastards.

Something gave in the panel, and with a groan the door swung open a few inches before freezing in place. Heisen wasted no time, immediately squeezing himself into the gap, indelicately shimmying through, uncomfortably aware of the pressure of the door on his ribcage, and that at any moment the machine spirit might recover from whatever shock he'd dealt it and crush him effortlessly. He took no time to luxuriate in relief once he tumbled out into the corridor. The horn was blowing again, whatever cultish practice these heretics were engaged in would soon begin. He got to his feet and began to jog slowly, getting his bearings, looking for a divide in the corridor he'd always been rushed past. They'd trodden these labyrinthine corridors around his stateroom many times in the last few weeks, he and whatever marine handler had been guiding him. Somehow, no matter how random his chosen course, he always wound up back at his stateroom, with his minder smugly asking him if he was satisfied with this tour. The forbidden corridor, which he'd always been patronizingly guided away from - 'for his own safety' -quickly opened up onto a great hall, towering several decks high. Above his head, strung up to the roof, was the corpse of some great beast. Its body was an inky black, shot through with deep red veins, and from its maw spawned hundreds of tendrils, smaller versions of the powerful tentacles suspended around the monstrosity, each so long it had to be looped back on itself several times just to fit inside the chamber. A void kraken. Just an infant, too, if the reports he'd read were true.

The walls of the modified room - a temple, a mess, a museum? Heisen couldn't tell - were also resplendid with artwork and trophies.He moved slowly through the hall, inspecting each mural. They seemed to be a rough history of the company, each mural depicting a victory over some foe, punctuated at various points by twisted fragments of hull taken from the defeated vessel. Heisen paused, and looked up again at the corpse of the infant kraken. Were these marines simply celebrating their history, or were they dedicating each fallen enemy to the kraken? Had they fallen to idolatry and started worshiping their namesake instead of the God-Emperor? Heisen felt, with increasing certainty, that the latter was true. On the far side of the hall one particular display caught his eye. The etching depicted a vile xeno, one of the fragile beings he'd recently learned were named 'eldar,' standing on the bridge of a burning vessel, a sword held gracefully in each hand. Against him stood a Star Kraken, breach shield as tall as he was raised in defense, a chain axe held ready to swing. The next few images showed their clash, with the eldar finally falling to his knees before the Kraken in supplication, head hanging low as the marine was depicted in the middle of a great overhand blow, preparing to behead the vile creature. Beside this, bolted to wall, was a segment of hull. It was totally unlike the others... It looked smooth, unmarked by weld marks or burn damage, as if it had simply snapped off under pressure. Heisen, fascinated, reached out to touch it-

-uld be seen but not seen a vessel lurking in the depths of the nebulae try to warn corsair but cannot show see impact impact impact it lurches out of the darkness latched on by unbreakable cables tipped with boarding vessels mon'keigh inside us slaughtering the precious cargo impact impact air venting fires inside corsair no quarter given impact impact fear as more board impa-

-Heisen became aware that he was convulsing, twitching on the ground at the foot of the foul fragment of alien hull, his hand throbbing painfully. He looked at it, and bit back a whimper as he saw the charred, melted flesh of his fingers. He put aside questions of the chapters loyalty then and there. No Emperor loving loyal servant of the Imperium would keep something so dangerous, so alien, so... heretical around. Let alone display it! The horn sounded a third, and, he felt, final, time. He hauled himself to his feet and, cradling his ruined hand, and limped in what he was fairly certain was the direction of the source of the noise: the barges reliquary. He rounded the corner just as they were lowering the blast door. Heisen broke into a desperate lope and threw himself under the door, skidding into the chamber and immediately throwing himself behind a statue depicting the Emperor. He held his breath, listening, waiting for shouts of alarm, but nothing came. And then it did. Like voices raised in a rapturous hymn without words, a deep, melodious humming. Heisen risked a peek, and, assured that the marines were all facing away from him, he began counting them. As one last man, a huge man with long grey hair, a swatch of metal bolted over one eye, stepped up to the altar, Heisen amended his count: one hundred and ninety three. Almost two companies worth. If each of the Kraken's ten battle barges were equally as well manned the chapter was more than guilty of exceeding the codex stipulations. Heisen collapsed back against the statue, cradling his hand and fighting back hot tears of vindication. Lord Gaelan would see now. They'd all thank him, honour him, the young Inquisitor who prevented another civil war.

At that moment the marine with one eye, the Captain, Heisen realised, began to speak: "Brothers, we cross once more, from the Emperor's light to the darkness of the deeps." "Emperor protect us." a cacophony of voices replied. "We honour him, and pray that he guides us, our ultimate lighthouse in these murky depths." "Emperor guide us." "Watch over us, and guard as from the insanity of the Deep, as we purify ourselves once more in the void! For we return once more, We: the kraken in the deep!" "In darkness we dwell!" the marines intoned solemnly. Heisen frowned. That sounded awfully pious for a bunch of idol worshipers. He prepared to stand and confront the marines, when an almighty hiss erupted in the chamber. They were venting the air into space! They had known he was here all along, and were attempting to kill him to guard their secret! Heisen roared to his feet and began to yell, but no sound emerged. Or maybe it emerged, but there was no longer any air to carry it. The Star Kraken stood, eyes closed to a man, arms raised above their heads as a section of the dome on the hull retracted, exposing the chamber to hard vaccuum. Heisen felt his skin boil, and his vision began to swim. Deep inside a hatred burned, and he latched onto it. Embraced it. He grasped ahold of the handle on the pressure sealed blast door and gripped it tightly, his will to live fed by his hatred. Once they restored the atmosphere he would declare them traitors! Heretics! They couldn't remain in vacuum for long, he just had to hold on. He would excommunicate the chapter! Order them hunted and purged in every sector! His vision went dark, and something wet slid down his cheek, but the hatred inside him propelled him. He would strike them from every record! So decimate them that even the Fenresian's would remember their fear of the Inquisition! Heretics!

Heretics!

"This is most unfortunate." Captain Isaias bent over the young man frozen stiff against the door, touching his face gently, "An awful way to die." "It may have been fortuitous, Brother-Captain." Dansk pushed his way to the front of the crowd, all murmuring as they observed the dead boy, "I sensed he bore us much ill will." "Look at his face!" another said, "Thats not a rictor of pain, it is hate. Hate unadulterated. He could have caused us much damage." "Better he die like this, a sneak and a spy as he truly was, than dead by our hands!" Dansk yelled, to a wave of agreement. "No." Isaias picked the boy up effortlessly, and laid him out on a nearby pew, attempting to close his eyelids over empty sockets, "No, it is better that he had lived, so that we might win him over and send him home. The Inquisition are like the krill upon which the kraken feed: kill one, and the brood spawns a hundred more to replace the loss." The marines shifted uneasily, finally one asked, "What shall we do?" "Signal Commodore Achab, recall the fleet. We shall have a convocation... Perhaps we have been lax. We cannot function as ten islands, it makes us weak: in our duties, in ourselves and to the codex." "What about the body of the Inquisitor?" Dansk asked, as the marines began departing. "Burn it." Isaias replied after a time, "Burn it, and deny we ever received him. We take care of our own."