The Shattering, Chapter 64

Something stirred beneath his ribs, a slow warmth that flared at the edges of his thoughts. He strode down the corridor, passing beneath torn cables and flickering lamps, each step echoing on the buckled metal. A grin tugged at his lips, unbidden. The last time he had seen Nareena, she had been little more than ashes in the wind, murdered by the Rangdan while she lay asleep. Now he held the memory of her wink in that nightmarish realm. A swirl of red skin and black horns. The same bold gaze he recalled so well.

Shells clanged off his shoulders, chipped at his boots, or burst in stray flashes that left only scorch marks along the walls. He neither flinched nor slowed. Another group of armored giants thundered into view, their heavy footfalls shaking the deck. Their rifles roared, muzzle flares strobing the corridor in orange bursts. Thragg raised an arm as if swatting away smoke. The projectiles ricocheted, spinning off in whirling arcs. One giant lunged, sword wreathed in sizzling sparks. Thragg sidestepped the strike, placed a hand on the man’s breastplate, and shoved. The armored figure flew and crashed hard against a bulkhead, gauntlets scraping for purchase.

There came a shout, distant, distorted by the klaxon that pulsed overhead. More giants advanced, each helm shaped in grim facades. Thragg brushed their weapons aside, ignoring the sparks that danced across his arms. A rocket-propelled charge impacted at his feet, flinging shards of metal and smoke against his shins, but he pushed forward without pause. Bodies slammed into walls as he cleared the passage, some of the soldiers slumping to the ground, stunned. Others lay pinned beneath twisted beams. The corridor filled with the groan of bent plating.

He reached a junction where the overhead lights had failed, the darkness broken only by sparks and muzzle flashes. A line of giants gathered, rifles pointed. Their triggers clicked in unison and thunderous booms roared as a hundred bullets were unleashed all at once. Thragg watched them with a calm stillness, then walked past. He pressed no further attacks. Their efforts to halt him had become a ritual, futile and desperate. He sensed a flicker of confusion behind those impassive visors, saw it in the way their weapons trembled in frustration and confusion–not fear, however. 

They must have known how hopeless it was. Yet they did not relent. It was actually rather admirable. It almost reminded him of the Viltrumite Ethos. 

He followed the winding path of charred walls and scattered debris, his footsteps measured. He saw the swirl of dust in the stale air, each particle caught in the strobing alarm lights. A overhead speaker crackled, a half-formed announcement dying in static. Loose cables danced along the ceiling.

He paused to glance through a rectangular viewport, the void of space rippling with distant muzzle flashes. The planet below smoldered in patches of warfare, and through the layered reflection in the glass, he noticed the faint trace of a smile on his own face. That single moment of recognition—his wife’s features in that swirling rift—lingered in his mind. The horns, the wings, the shimmer of crimson skin, and a gentle wink that held no fear. It was still her. The shape of her mouth, the tilt of her chin. For an instant, she had smiled at him, as if inviting him across that impossible threshold.

She was alive. She had to be. It didn’t make sense. But Thragg–somehow–knew that to be true. Nareena, his beloved wife… she survived. 

Another group of giants clattered toward him from a side corridor. One ignited a blade that spat arcs of blue-white energy. Thragg stepped forward. The blade struck his forearm, sparking but leaving no wound. It felt warm, however, like any other flame. He brushed the weapon aside and set his hand on the soldier’s shoulder, easing him away. The warrior hit the deck with a thunderous crash, armor plates scraping. Others rushed in, attempting to flank him with half-broken swords. Thragg turned, knocked them aside as if they were children playing at war. He left them dazed and groaning. Some struggled to stand, cables snapping from their armor’s joints.

He kept moving, each stride taking him farther from the scorch-marked corridors. His gaze drifted upward, past the rolling smoke and tangled pipes, to the broken ceiling panels. 

In the quiet spaces between the alarms, he let the image of Nareena fill his thoughts. That single glimpse had banished his certainty of her death, replaced it with a fierce spark of possibility. Maybe she had transcended the frailty of mortal flesh. Maybe she had found some new domain. He recalled the small curve of her smile in that swirling gateway, recalled how she raised a hand and blew him a kiss. 

Did she teleport away somehow when the Rangdan blew up their home? Did she die and conquer some slice of the afterlife for herself? With the sort of hijinks she often got herself into, anything was possible. Just maybe, it’d been a mistake of his to ever assume that his wife had died. He should’ve just searched for her. 

A scattered volley pinged off his back. He took no notice beyond a small shake of his head. More hopeless attempts, more battered guns. He’d lost track of the things they attempted. Of course, whenever his instincts flared at some exotic weapon, he listened, but such times were exceedingly rare. Some of the giants fell to one knee, weapons dropping from limp fingers. Others slid down the walls, exhaling ragged breaths through cracked helms. Thragg stepped over them, mindful not to crush limbs or send them flailing into the jagged edges of wreckage. They made no personal affront on his person or his family–at least, not any that he knew of. Thragg did not look at them and see enemies, just obstacles that had to be moved out of the way, but not destroyed.  

Somewhere far from here, in a place no mortal should walk, his wife still lived. He found his lips curving again, a quiet sign that refused to vanish.

He advanced through a solid blast door, two meters of solid material felt like liquid when he surged right through. Emergency lights trailed his path, painting every step in pulsing red. The flicker caught the motes of dust swirling behind him, a chaotic swirl of debris. A final pair of giants stood at the corridor’s exit, each battered and uncertain. They each carried cackling axes. He noted the dents and cracks upon their armor that resulted from his gentle handling of them–as gentle as he could, anyway. Thragg stepped forward with an even stride, and they did not bar his way. They charged without hesitation, roaring like warriors. Thragg caught and broke their weapons, before pushing the both of them away. 

They tore through the nearby walls and out the other side. 

He left them behind. The clang of ruptured plating, the hiss of vented atmosphere, the echo of relentless gunfire—a chorus of war that mattered little now. A single vision blazed in his mind. She was out there, in some cursed dimension of crimson skies and dark wings, but with the same eyes he remembered.

Ahead of him was a large, ornate door. This one was different. Though, why, he could not tell. There was an odd presence here. Thragg was no psychic or mystic, but he’d lived a life of war and death for thousands of years and with that experience came a sense of sorts, which granted him some insight into the realm beyond the senses. Behind the door, Thragg knew, was something greater than the armored giants and the men and women who fought with them–similarly inhuman and alien, like himself. 

Thragg of Viltrum, we are close. Nashara said. We will find what we seek on the other side. Once I have access to their data center, then our task shouldn’t take long. 

Thragg nodded once. A simple gesture. Then he pressed. The door did not merely open; it gave way in a ruin of splinters and twisted beams. Thick slabs of reinforced plating cracked apart, tumbling in a thunderous collapse. He drifted through the rising dust, pieces of the door clattering off his shoulders and arms. The chamber beyond opened into a wide command bridge. Consoles lay in rows, their displays flickering with half-dead readouts. The air hung heavy with the smell of ionized metal and scorched wiring. Loose cables sparkled in red emergency lights.

Figures stood around the central dais. A few wore battered armor, plates blackened and dented. They froze at the sight of him, silent, weapons slack in uncertain hands. And then, standing in the midst of them, rose a man far taller than any giant Thragg had faced so far. The broad plates of his ornate armor gleamed under the overhead lights. He held a mace in one hand, its head sculpted with symbols that glowed faintly. His face showed neither scars nor ornamentation, just a bald crown and coppery skin that reflected the harsh luminance. His eyes fixed on Thragg.

Thragg hovered a few inches off the ground, arms crossing over his chest. The man’s presence reminded him of Argall, that faint sense of energies beyond flesh. Something in the air prickled with raw possibility, like a rising static charge. Thragg spoke a single word, voice low. “Interesting.”

“Hear me, invader; I am Lorgar Aurelian, Primarch of the Word Bearers Legion, son of the Emperor of Mankind and the deliverer of His great work.” The giant’s reply echoed in the cavernous bridge.He lifted the mace, pointing it across the length of the chamber at Thragg. The weapon hummed, arcs of power dancing around its head. A few nearby officers sank into cautious stances, eyes darting between Thragg and their lord.

Lorgar’s voice rumbled on. “You have entered my vessel, assaulted my crew, humiliated my sons and warriors, and now you stand before me. Who and what are you? What is your purpose? What master do you serve?”

“You speak names and titles that mean absolutely nothing to me.” Thragg answered. “My purpose is knowledge and I shall have it. I serve no master. And… as for my name, I am Thragg of Viltrum. I am a Viltrumite, though I suspect that name means nothing to you as well. Lower your weapons, there is no need for further violence. But I will cast you aside if you attack.” 

Nashara had begun drinking in their data and information the moment they entered the command bridge. It was only a matter of time until the Reaper got exactly what they came for. 

“You expect me to believe that you tore your way through my ship, endangered my crew, and attacked my sons, in search of information?” Lorgar said. “What could you possibly want to know so badly, mutant?” 

In any other time in his life before he awoke in this strange new universe, Thragg would’ve already torn the giant apart for his insolence and insult. Thragg was a pure-blooded Viltrumite of a noble and powerful lineage, purposefully bred for war and battle and death and leadership. To refer to him as a mutant was an insult to all who aided in his creation and an insult to his achievements. Now, however, Thragg found it amusing. And so, he chuckled. “I believe I am under no obligation to tell you anything, but yes. I did all of that for simple information.” 

Lorgar scowled His lips flattened. The muscles in his jaw tightened, a clear sign of restrained anger. The staff officers standing by their stations shifted with mounting unease. One near the helm took a step back, boots scraping the floor, as if preparing for a new clash. His eyes narrowed at Thragg’s hovering form. “So be it.” 

Thragg sighed when the giant and his sons charged him. 

Lorgar roared and slammed his mace down. He was clearly faster and stronger than the other armored giants by a great margin, but… it didn’t matter.