It had been weeks since Bael had seen his own reflection, wary of new horrors on an unfamiliar face. Now safe in the darkened cavern, he removed his helmet. He felt gooey remnants of skin pull away from his face, stuck to the helmet's lining. The damp air stung his exposed nerves.

The lull was interrupted by a sudden migraine radiating from behind his eyes. He fell to his knees, static threatening to overtake his consciousness.

DEVOTE YOUR EARS DREDGEN

I BRANDISHED YOU EXPECTING CONQUEST

"I'm closer than ever." Bael's voice felt like crushed glass in his throat. "My followers have discovered a Weapon of Sorrow—"

YOU WERE OUR WEAPON

YOU SUPPLANT YOURSELF

Bael was thrown to the floor by a gravitic wave. A shrill squeal escaped him.

"Not just a weapon—a Hive forge," he blurted. "Capable of making an arsenal worthy of your might."

Bael felt the crushing weight lessen. He struggled to his knees.

"We could tithe hundreds of Lightbearers to you with those weapons," he wheedled. "I just need a little more time—"

TIME IS ABUNDANT PATIENCE IS NOT

A WEAPON IS NOTHING WITHOUT ITS WIELDER

YOU WILL NOT DISAPPOINT US AGAIN

The gravitic pressure dissipated, along with the migraine. Bael's heartbeat settled back into a steady rhythm.

Instead of relief, Bael was flooded with emptiness. VI was right—he already craved his oppressor's return.  

He rose, rededicated. He had a legacy to secure.