Sarco Funerus writefaggotry

Sarco did not know where he was. It was cold, and dark. Silence surrounded him, except for the telltale hum of a gellar field. The last thing he remembered... an Eldar titan, swinging at him with its massive sword. He had stayed to fight it so Engerand would have time to plant the explosives and destroy the alien shrine. Had he died? Was this crushing darkness what awaited the living when they passed beyond the veil?

+++Subject awakening+++
+++Administering stimulants+++

Green text appeared in Sarco’s vision and he recognized that it was similar to the tactical feed featured in his sons’ helmets. The primarch was jolted awake and only then realized that he had previously been half asleep. What was going on? His mind was still fuzzy from his slumber. Whatever stimulants were being used on him, they did not seem to be working as he felt himself drift back to a comatose state. He would have been content staying that way for a while, but a golden figure appeared in his mind’s eye. It spoke to him.

“My son.”

“Father?”

“My son, you must awaken. You are needed urgently.”

Sarco’s mind was still too groggy to fully comprehend what was going on, but he knew he must heed his father. He dragged himself from rest and once he was sure that he was fully awake, the tactical feed appeared once more.

+++Subject awakened+++
+++Performing system diagnostics…
…
…
+++Diagnostics complete+++
+++Gravity cannon: fully armed+++
+++Power claw: fully armed+++
+++Plasma generator output: 100%+++
+++Armor integrity: 100%+++

The tactical feed disappeared and, for a few moments, Sarco’s vision was filled with green symbols streaming past. He cursed himself for not learning binary when he had the chance. Suddenly, the data disappeared and Sarco was given sight again. He had a grainy view of a dark room. On the opposite wall were several monitors displaying vital signs. Sarco’s own, he realized. Standing before him was a golden figure, highly visible despite the gloom of the chamber around him.

“Father.”

Something was wrong. Sarco heard himself speak, but his words came but a fraction of a second after he spoke them. His voice sounded mechanical, and was louder than it should have been.

“What has happened to me?” Sarco asked. He could not move.

“My son,” responded the Master of Mankind, “The injuries you sustained fighting the Eldar phantom were dire.” His tone was grim, almost scolding. “You almost did not survive. I did my best to save you, but there are some things that even I cannot do.”

“Father, what do you mean to say?” Though he would never show it, Sarco was worried.

“You have been placed inside a dreadnought chassis of my own design. You will survive your injuries, but you will never be able to leave it.”

Sarco was in shock. He would never again feel the wind in his hair, or feel the thrill as he impaled a xeno warrior with his power spear. He would never again be able to scale a burned-out building to gain a vantage point for the battle raging below.

“What of my legion? What of my sons?” Was his next thought.

“It took you five years to become well enough for me to put you in the sarcophagus. In the meantime your legion campaigned with me.” Five years!? What had happened in the galaxy in that time? “We brought a hundred systems into the Imperium’s fold.”

“And what of my brothers?” Sarco asked.

“There has been no lack of strife among your brothers while you were recovering. Oramar has been accused of tampering with xenotech. He has been called to stand trial at an uninhabited world called Nikaea. We are on our way there now.”

If any of his brothers were tampering with alien technologies, it would be Oramar. The primarch of the XII legion was an odd one for certain. Before Sarco could continue musing on the possibilities of Oramar’s behavior, a harness that he had not noticed before was released from his chassis.

“The council is in five days. We will arrive on Nikaea in two. Come, Sarco, I must show you how to use your new faculties to their full extent.