Long shadows dance across the vast storage chamber as blueish witch light arcs between the outstretched fingers of the two psykers. Patches of frost crackle across the stained rockcrete floor. Kron leans back and his eyes close as the light grows and envelopes him. The raw red savagery of his wounds, slowly recede into unbroken pale flesh. Silas arm embraces Kron as he drops back into unconsciousness.
Prose, moaning, crawls feebly towards the glow, muttering prayers to the Emperor.
The light fades and winks out.
Prose collapses with a sigh like a punctured steam line.
Damaged servos whine and squeal as Lucius rises slowly to his feet. His robes are a scorched, fluid soaked mess and he smells strongly of burnt plastics.
He throws out an arm pointing the cracked lens of his battered lamp pack at the huge double doors at the north end of the chamber. The cog and skull symbol of the Mechanicus priesthood is centered in the beam.
“There-in lies the generatorium, meatbag!” His voice is filled with scratched static as it booms from his vox grill. “Pray thee, lead us boldly into its holy spaces, oh courageous flesh sack.”
Lazerus and Stig scowl at his display. Lazerus flashes hand signals to Stig and they spread out to check the other two egress points into this storage chamber. Curtis eyes shift with distrust at Kron and Sila as she falls in behind Lazerus.
Stig stalks slowly between the dark stacks of stolen cargo, his lamp beam exposing imperial aquilas and shipping numbers and branded into a variety of alien woods. He shines his light around a corner and standing starkly in its glare is a young man, naked as on his 1st birthday. The man squints into the light. He covers his eyes with a upraised hand and his goods with the other.