The Only One

In the deepest bowels of Absalom's palace on Skandra Prima lay the royal infirmary, hidden away beneath the earth and protected by impregnable walls of ferrocrete, to ensure that the royal family would be safe and protected while recovering from their ailments. Its current occupant was none other than Kierstenn Alkrantz-Vaughn, the queen of Skandra. She lay on the white-pillowed gurney motionless, unconscious, while her husband, Absalom Vaughn, stood above her as an anxious guardian. The pale white lighting of the room accentuated the deathly pallor of her once gleaming fair skin and cast deep shadows on her beloved king's face, giving him a haggard, tired appearance that mirrored his inner exhaustion. His defeat at the hands of the False Imperium, the hellish warp storm that had consumed his realm and now, the risk of losing his soulmate were taking their toll on the Primarch, draining his endurance and stretching his sanity thin.

It has been two weeks since the queen had first fallen ill; starting with symptoms of nausea and abdominal pains, the sickness soon escalated to fevers, vomiting and bleeding of the pubic area. Her body was weakened and she could no longer walk unaided, while she lost weight rapidly, raising concerns of malnutrition. Eventually, the court doctors and the IIIrd's apothecaries decided to place her in stasis to prevent further aggravation of her condition, with surprising success. However, the cause of her malady still lay undiscovered.

The silence was broken by the chamber's airlock doors opening, their seals unlocking with a distinct sound. In walked Cyprian Wiez, Absalom's Equerry, followed by the Legion's Primus Medicae, Jakobi Margrohl. The Apothecary had been tasked with studying his lady's disease and determining a potential cause and, if possible, a cure.

“Father” spoke Cyprian. “We-”

“Have you found out what caused this, Cyprian? Speak the truth, please” Absalom interrupted his son, his gaze not leaving Kierstenn's face for a second.

“We have a novel theory, yes. Not thanks to Margrohl, however. As it turns out, his science was incapable of producing the answers you desired”

“Is slandering him necessary to your explanation, Cyprian? I doubt it is. Get to the point, or leave me alone with my wife, if you will”

“Forgive me, sire” Cyprian bowed his head as an apology. “As I was saying, I gathered my fellow members of the Zaubrisus yesterday, in order to confer about our lady's predicament and its potentially metaphysical origins. You see, given the influence of the Immaterium upon our worlds at present, it would not be unheard of for her condition to be psychic in nature.”

“You mean to say that Kierstenn has been corrupted, mutated by the Warp? That she is now… tainted, by it?”

“Yes, sire”

“And what proof do you have? If you do have any, that is?”. Upon hearing Cyprian's theory, Absalom's face seemed to adopt the shade of his surroundings akin to a camouflaging predator, turning a sickly grayish white. He stood up from his seat and approached the two Astartes.

“We took the liberty to ask the Apothecary to allow us to use certain psychometric scanners on the Queen. While regular medical scanners would hardly pick up on any traces of psychic activity or taint inside her, our tools are not subject to such limitations. And indeed, they bore fruit…”

Cyprian handed Absalom a dataslate containing the pict-captures produced by the devices. Pictured in them was the outline of a female body that Absalom understood to be Kierstenn's. Details such as internal organs or the skeleton were not visible; instead, the pict seemed to display her psychic aura, her vital energies flowing inside her corporeal form. The flow of energy was visibly distorted around her body, as if it were faintly tugged inwards by some mysterious form. As Absalom glanced to her abdomen, where the uterus would normally be visible, he saw the source of the distortion, and the root of the evil had was tormenting his beloved

It was what seemed like a semi-coherent figure, the outline of an entity in fetal position. Whatever it was, its anatomy matched no other images of fetuses the Primarch had seen in his life. Turning to look at the screens behind him, he saw a detailed scan of his wife's body, but no creature was in sight.

Absalom's hands shook, his breath got caught in his throat and he felt bile rise from his stomach, common symptoms of the very shock whose grasp he believed himself beyond. In the months following the warp storm's manifestation, he had witnessed many occurrences where creatures of the Warp had attached themselves to his people and men akin to parasites. As it turned out, not even the Queen was safe from their grasp.

“What… what can we do… for her?”

He turned to the Apothecary, his eyes feral with a mixture of fear, anger at the misfortune that had befallen him and, above all, grief beyond measure, welling up inside him and crushing his hearts to splinters. “I will not let her die, I will not allow this”

Margrohl could not bear to look his father in the eye. For the first time in his long life as an Astartes, he felt truly powerless, a pitiful, weak child that could never hope to influence the events unfolding around him. Jakobi Margrohl felt utterly useless as he mumbled these words under his breath:

“There is unfortunately nothing I can do, Father. Whatever being is plaguing her, were it preying on her body, I could deal with it, excise it. However, this situation is beyond my skills. Forgive me”

He had expected his Father's cruel words, his rejection and disappointment at this failure of a Medicae, however what came next shocked both Astartes present, as Absalom, letting out the howl of a wounded, anguished beast, grabbed the Apothecary by his plate's gorget before flinging him to the nearest wall. As he stumbled to his feet, the Primarch's foot connected with his power-armoured ribs. The ceramite shell cracked and shattered, while he felt his ribs break under the force of the kick and his lung deflate and collapse as it had been pierced through by bone splinters. Another kick hit him square in the stomach, sending him flying across the room, where he fell unconscious, blood pouring out of his mouth.

Cuprian watched in solemn silence as Absalom turned away from Margrohl's broken body, stumbling towards his wife's bedside. There, he fell on his knees and wept, his cries echoing in the room. The sight reminded Cyprian of a scene whose variations he had witnessed countless times during the Crusade; civilians crying at his feet, pleading for help as their loved ones were dying. Help that they knew would be meaningless, for they were already beyond saving. Was this truly how hopeless his father felt? This kind of pain was foreign to his transhuman mind. He walked up to Absalom, standing behind his back.

“Why to me?” he heard Absalom whisper in between sobs. “Why to us, my love? We were so happy together. We still will, we will be happy. The two of us. Together”. He reached out to her, caressing her face and running his hand through her hair.

Cyprian let out a soft cough, to announce his presence.

“We can try other methods, messire. Study arcane rituals, psychic methods of exorcism. Whatever the risk, it cannot be worse than her current situation. Just give the word, and we will begin”

Absalom looked up at his son, his eyes bloodshot, shining with fresh tears. To see a demigod reduced to this basest of states was a true marvel.

“Do whatever it takes. You have my express authorisation to do anything you deem necessary for her survival. I care not if we damn innocents, if hundreds or thousands die, their lives do not matter to me. Only hers. She is the only one I cannot lose.”