Chapter 63: Bonding Protocols
Kian mused that Silentium's explanation sounded a lot like modifying the "back-end files" of a game's server. But wouldn't rewriting the physics of reality create a conflict? A "Materium Bug"?
He took the heavy screw from the Psyker, preparing to make it float. Silentium kept whispering, feeding him the wisdom of the void.
"First, you must locate the object's shadow in the Empyrean. It is easiest when the Materium version is clutched in your hand."
Kian shifted his vision. Indeed, as his fingers gripped the cold iron, his soul perceived a dull, grey, unremarkable shape in the swirling indigo mists. That was the screw's Warp-projection.
In the Beyond, everything was either a formless grey blur or a kaleidoscope of shifting, predatory colors. It was chaotic and difficult to navigate. Only souls—living spirits—shimmered with a distinct, brilliant light that was easy to track. Finding a soul-less object was like looking for a specific pebble in a hurricane, unless it was right next to you.
"I have it," Kian said. "Now what?"
"Focus your intent on that shadow. You will begin to sense the 'Rules' that bind it. Then, you must forcefully rewrite them."
Kian obeyed. He concentrated his mental energy on the tiny screw-shadow. Suddenly, a flood of data slammed into his mind. He "saw" the rules: Gravity. Friction. Mass. Density. A chaotic web of universal laws was laid bare before him. He felt as though he was looking at the very source-code of the galaxy.
Silentium's voice echoed again. "Now, use your power to subvert those laws. Be warned—the Physical Reality will resist. You are using the Warp to fight the Materium. It is a battle of will. Since it is only a screw, you should be able to win."
A second later, the screw in Kian's hand began to rise. It wobbled, then hovered steadily in the air.
Silentium let out a breath of genuine surprise. This man had learned to bend the knee of gravity in minutes. It had taken the Psyker years to master the same feat. Truly, Silentium thought, he is a favorite of the Silence.
Kian held the screw in the air for thirty seconds before a sharp, stabbing pain blossomed behind his eyes. The screw dropped with a clink, and Kian's vision snapped back to the grey pipes of the Underhive. He felt dizzy, his ears ringing with psychic feedback.
Silentium nodded, looking somewhat relieved. "Ah. So you are mortal after all. Your mental capacity is barely three times that of a commoner. You cannot yet hold the threads for long."
The Psyker adopted the posture of a Grandmaster. "You have achieved initiation. Now, you must grind. You must harden your soul through repetition."
He handed Kian a heavy industrial pipe—ten kilograms of solid iron. "When you can keep this suspended for thirty minutes without fainting, I will teach you the next tier."
Kian took the pipe. He knew what lay ahead: a long, exhausting grind for proficiency.
Silentium's expression shifted, turning into a nervous, eager grin. He rubbed his bony hands together. "Now... about the reward? You promised me something 'potent'?"
Kian decided not to hold back. He reached into his satchel and pulled out a bottle of Sanctified Amasec.
Silentium stared at the bottle, his brow furrowed. "Booze? Master Voss, I asked for a relic, not a drink."
"Don't let the packaging fool you, kid. Take a sip. One drink, and you'll never want anything else."
Silentium opened the stopper with deep suspicion. He took a cautious gulp.
His entire body went rigid.
The "Holy Spirits" were made from Kian's potato-vodka, sanctified at the Imperial Shrine. The taste was crude, but the effect was divine. The liquid fire surged through his system, instantly vaporizing every trace of Warp-corruption in his mind. His Mental Clarity spiked by 10 points—effectively doubling his cognitive power. He felt himself bathed in a brilliant, golden "Holy Aura," as if the Master of Mankind himself was standing behind him.
Silentium began to shake, his eyes glowing with a soft, golden light.
"By the Throne..." he whispered, his voice finally clear of its neurotic jitter. "This is... incredible! I feel like if those Daemons tried to whisper to me now, I could punch their teeth through the back of their heads!"
Kian patted his shoulder. "Easy there. Don't waste it. One sip lasts twenty-four hours. Keep the bottle hidden."
Silentium hugged the bottle to his chest like a starving animal.
The next five days were a blur of production and training. Kian remained in the Sanctum, managing the fermentation vats and pushing his psionic limits. He began taking a daily sip of the Sanctified Amasec himself, using the +10 Mental Clarity buff to extend his training sessions.
By the end of the week, his HUD flickered with new data:
Strength: 15 | Endurance: 16 | Mental Clarity: 21.
Psionic Skill: Can now levitate five heavy bolts for thirty minutes simultaneously.
During his rest period, Shiv returned from the Fertilizer Syndicate. He handed Kian a bundle of 5,000 scrips—the bounty for the skins and manifolds. Shiv then stood there, looking uncharacteristically nervous.
"What is it, Shiv?" Kian asked.
"Boss... I've been thinking. Now that we have a home... a real territory... I want to start a family. I want to buy a contract for a woman. It'll cost me about five hundred scrips."
In the Underhive, "marriage" was often a matter of purchasing an indenture-contract or a debt-bond from a labor-pool. It was a grim transaction, but for a man like Shiv, it was the only way to find a partner in the sludge.
Kian didn't hesitate. He pulled 1,000 scrips from his stash and slapped them into Shiv's hand.
"Take a thousand. Find a good woman—someone who can work the vats. Use the extra credits to buy furniture. Build yourself a proper hab-room in the brewery extension. If you're going to build a legacy, don't do it in a cardboard box."
Shiv was nearly moved to tears. "Boss... I... I won't fail you!"
That evening, Shiv returned with a young woman named Mara. She was soot-stained and thin, but she had a kind face—certainly more feminine than the "muscle-bound hags" found in the Spire's military hovels.
Kian ordered a celebration. Sansa, the Joels' mother, slaughtered three of the Gilded Harriers Elder Silas had sent. She stewed them with fresh greens and root vegetables. Kian opened a bottle of Sanctified Amasec for the table.
For the laborers and the Joels, it was likely the most luxurious meal of their lives. They laughed, they ate until they were stuffed, and the brewery rang with the sound of genuine human joy.
Kian watched them from the shadows, a cynical smile on his face. He could feel the cohesion of the group tightening. By giving them a home and a family, he had anchored their loyalty more effectively than any bribe ever could. They didn't just work for Kian Voss anymore; they were a Tribe.
I should probably find a woman for Silentium too, Kian thought, looking at the Psyker who was currently trying to teach the ten-year-old brother how to levitate a spoon. Maybe that'll stop him from trying to 'back-door' my Sanctum locks while I'm asleep.
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