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Astaroth laid on the ground. Sweat rolled down his scarred back like metal's condensation.
“I know you can do better than that," Polynices tutted from the corner of the eye. His impression still moving through the routine.
“You are not my Sargent," Astaroth focused to keep his voice even, despite how desperate his lungs were for more air.
"not yet!" Polynices beamed, and Astaroth rolled his eyes. “just 50 more, come on now. When did the grump start giving up?"
"I have not given up," Astaroth dragged a hand over his face. Only to drag more salt in his eyes.
"so? Are you feeling ill? do you remember who I am?" Polynices stood over Astaroth, book still in hand.
"None can forget you," Astaroth grumbled. Even with the peeled skin of Polynices side, his lips still quirked up. Most of his golden curls had grown back.
"Aren't you sweet," Polynices tapped Astaroth's forehead with the book.
"the thorn is remembered,"
"and what do we think of you who will prick your fingers again and again for that sweet rose," Polynices said proudly. Astaroth thought about swiping out Polynices's legs. Instead he sat up, ducked his head, got his arms around Polynices' knees and and rolled forward. Polynices was tossed, but did not fall. For a half moment, he was startled, then he squeezed his legs around Astaroth head, and rode the fall.
"So you're not done!" Polynices was then rolled. As Astaroth let go of one leg, Polynices twisted around and smacked Astaroth with the book. "you're risking the material!"
"I did not hit you with it," Astaroth blinked, holding Polynices' leg in a bar.
"It could have fallen, look a page is wrinkled."
Astaroth had planned to get Polynices head in a hold, but with the book pressed into his face he decided not to. He did in fact want to know what else the book had to say, and the normal work out would be easier than wrestling Polynices. More so, it would not have as many abrupt loud noises. So he let go and put his hands in the air.
"good," Polynices gently tapped Astaroth's nose with the books spine.
"Have you even done all your reps?"
“Where was I… right…. Apothicarian Moriviel theories that the more regularly one feeds the less likely they are to fall to the rage-“
“Didn’t he-“
“Don’t interrupt,” Polynices wagged a finger, “Moriviel began experiments in the 5th Company, with approval of Captain Gabvriel. He started Dividing the men in four groups, one who had triple servings, then double, standard and then increased fasting.”
“I know-“ Astaroth was hushed again. Instead of fighting he went back to the routine. Lunges, high jumps, weights and more all done in such clean order they appeared to be one long dance.
“The study was scheduled to take place over a year. With check ins directly with Moriviel every other week. As well as updates from Sargents and comrades. Notable incidents were reported on immediately. The fasting group had the hightest level of fatalities in combat. They also had decreased kill rates and were in general described as irritable, and or depressed. 45% were killed in battle, 23% succumbed to the rage on the field and 10% fell to the rage on ship. Only 20% of those fallen to the rage had to be culled. Standard group…dadaduh normal rates ya know-“
“you skim, now?”
"We know this," Polynices carried on.
"I know-"
“Normal group in battle had 15% chance to rage, of which 70% culled. None fell off duty, though normal meditations of the rage were taken - which is true for all groups. Double rations had clear improvements in combat, but also had increased interpersonal conflicts. 30% died in combat, 20% chance to rage, 75% culled.“
"How did they acquire this much blood?" Astaroth asked.
"You know," Polynices didnt look up from the book.
"The donation supply would not sustain," Astaroth stopped when he saw Polynices expression. "How would /that/ be allowed?"
"Well… people are eager to matter," the book closed around Polynices finger.
"There are many ways to matter," Astaroth's scowl cut up his face.
"Correct but… many are not content to bare their place. So they find other ways to meaning. At least this service will strengthen others,"
"Us, strengths us." Astaroth stared at Polynices and slowly the gaze was returned
"You want another way?"
"Yes,"
"And I'm the idealist," Polynices's bitter smile sweetened. "We can figure that solution later,"
Astaroth grunted and went back to the routine.
“Triple rations - and you'd think the former group had enough signs yah? Well I guess they were happening at the same time. Another thing we can fix, anyway - In combat they performed the best, however 30% within five minutes of combat were showing symptoms similar to the rage. Weapons dropped, fighting with teeth and hands. This rate continued to rise throughout the combat, and even as they were pulled from the field subjects turned on each other. Moriviel was called in for support and was mauled. When the ship returned to the Tear his corpse was a paste smeared over the shuttle.”
“The report put that in?” Astaroth grimaced.
“Yup, well, they said it with more words. Do you prefer ‘fragments of the femur could be found underneath 6 of the subjects nails,’?"
"Gritty paste,"
“what differentiated these symptoms from the rage were the bestial changes. Their teeth were replaced with rows of points. Pervious dull teeth could be found scattered across the battle field. Facial features were distorting, lips turning black as well as around the eyes, nostrils flares, hair growing more rough. Later tests showed their eye sight had rapidly decreased but their hearing and sense of smell had increased ten fold. Chaplin Zuriel had the whole group culled and purified all the equipment. He then commented, ‘The Angel gave us this struggle, and any scheme to out wit our source will reap cruel reward. We are burdened with his hope, as we are burdened by his vengeance. No dam will hold, so forge the river,’ oof, next page has pictures of Moriviel’s ‘veterans’ I’ll let you skip that-”
“No, show me.” Astaroth was already up, ready to grab the book if Polynices tries to hide it.
“Okay… so you know, Morviel had many experiments, so some of these were from before the large scale one. Then people behind Zuriels back tried to… recover… the brothers who fell to the rage after the cull. So they got sent to the death company like this…” Polynices handed the book to Astaroth. Locks had been screwed into their jaws. Bridles punched through their cheeks, skin torn from where the men had struggled to break free. Their hands were chained behind their back, cuffs around each finger and bolts going through the knuckles knuckles. The men’s eyes were noted to be yellow, but the pictures were washed black and white. Still he could see the bulging veins and blood stained cornea. Blood dried around their rotting fangs. Clawed fingers splintered and caked in gore.
“By the throne,” Astaroth’s teeth clenched.
“Can you imagine how The Angel would react to this?" Polynices took the book back, flipping through the rest of the report.
“They cannot even hide their fangs,” Astaroth could still see the men. As if they were laying on the floor before him, teeth bared, given no other option but to charge into fire. Left to be nothing but mange ridden dogs. It would be better to be striped and made to walk unarmed then to let the world see his fangs.
“I know he must be a wise man, but… I’m not satisfied with the answer. We already know what happens in loss of control. All this did was confirm prior reports hadn't been metaphoric. This was pointless torture," Polynices moved to throw the book, then carefully set it down. Even if the contents were horrid, someone had spent hours binding the book.
"So why did we read it?"
"Because we need to know how we've failed,"
"We are barely infantry,"
"Which gives us time to prepare. The Angels have been working on this for as long as the chapter has existed. If we're to help anything we must dedicate ourselves to it fully, even if we will be fools before anything helpful,"
"Inspiring," Astaroth sighed.
"I know," Polynices beamed.
Astaroth kept on, teeth clenched. He can feel his fangs catch in the groves of his gums. Supposedly his gums would get used to being stabbed. All he knew was constantly tasting blood helped him numb to it, even if it made his dreams rancid.
"It would be good to learn a better way to deal with this," He slowly admits.
"Even you're focused on reaction," Polynices groaned, and rolled off of Astaroth's back.
"If it was a burden of The Angel himself, I do not think we can end it," Astaroth sat up on his knees.
"But why did he have such a burden?" Polynices moved in front of Astaroth.
"The Emperor's will,"
"But why?" Polynices leaned in, terribly close. Astaroth could see every stripe of color in Polynices eyes. Deep browns licked with iridescence reds and gold.
Astaroth blinked, "must we know?" Which made Polynices slump away, cool air filling the space between them.
"We have no word from the Angel or the Emperor that this is a curse of good meaning. Merely that it is a matter of fact, and one we are trying to cope with in a variety of ways. I see no comfort in thinking the emperor willed it. Even if we cannot change it, shouldn't we try?"
"Perhaps…"
"You're making a face,"
"To think we can achieve such things, does not fit in my understanding of humility."
"Humility isn't letting sand cake our eyes. Are you truly scared?" Polynices did not goad with malice. It was surpise. So moved Polynices had to take up Astaroth's hands in his own. "I am not saying we will Be masters. But truly, do you trust people like Moriviel?"
Astaroth's frown deepened, but he squeezed Polynices hands. "We promise caution?"
"Of course," Polynices's promise was sealed in a kiss along Astaroth's knuckles. "now, want to play swords?"
"Play," Astaroth scoffs, "will I be taking another one of your teeth?"
"nope! unless we do a swap," Polynices grinned. One of his fangs already had a crown. Astaroth felt terribly guilty for breaking the tooth, but Polynices wouldn't let it be anything but a laugh. It had hurt terribly, but he liked the shiny cap.
"I am sure Mikael will love that," Astaroth rolled his ey es.
"Hello again great priest of the perfect blood. Yes I lost a tooth again, but this time I took the boar down with me," Polynices play talk was louder than his conversational, and Astaroth felt his ears burn as those training in distant parts of the gym too look at them.
What would happen if GW hired me to make a proper astaroth book:
- more time showing time with the 10th company
- figure out which time period astaroth appeared in, scout when Dante is 200? The head chaplain is someone else in Dantes early years, but not sure when it switches.
- ART CLASS
-Astaroth: calligraphy, sculpting, poetry, sand/rock gardens, slowly slowly paints realistic portraits but doesn't let anyone but his teachers see them
-Polynices: impressionist painting of landscapes and people, fashion - jewelry, both for combat gear and just wearing around, frescos in a psudeo medivael manuscript style with weird creatures and everything
-more time with other squad members in general. Astaroth has always been a bit introverted but he'd have more friends than just Polynices
[I need to learn the ritual of getting ones armor/black carapace. recs/snippets welcome]
Astaroth held onto the Ruby armor, looking up at the rooms through its reflection. Shapes ballooned and fell, making the vaulted ceilings dramatics swooping. From one angle his face took up the whole sheen, another he was just a smear amid thousands of details. It reminded him of- One of his squad- his old squad- dead now, who painted in a style like this. As if a whole person was a blob of paint to drag across the canvas. Those were gone now. Astaroth took up the shin guard and began to clean it.
A blood thrall stood at the opposite end of the room. His blood thrall. Astaroth didn't look at them. It felt wrong to be looked at the way this mortal did. What had he done to deserve such a gaze? He'd brought this up, with his Sargent, Polynices and the Thrall themself, all said it was his right. He is a Blood Angel, a full fledged astartes. Even if he was not half the man of a Sargent, he was still more than any mortal could imagine. If they did not look at him with such reverence, they would be fools. The thrall was trusted enough to assist him, not just reviver.
Plea to be hired by GW/future plotting:
A long drawn out process of Astaroth starting to rely on the thrall. Only for them to die. Either in a completely mundane fashion, without the grandeur he wanted for someone he cared for so. Or by someone who fell to the rage while on ship. Both scenarios could happen as well as he ages. Technically could happen multiple times over several thralls but - I think best is first thrall kept at a distance only to die by a falling comrade. Second thrall is overly kept safe, while also not allowed to get closer. Astaroth is pushing himself further however and the thrall has to force himself to rest and begins to get trust and fondness. Then dies old.
These could be some of the first bones he starts to keep as well. He wants to find a way to honor them, so that even once he's dead people will know these were the remains of an honored mortal.
The old death could also be a final offering. Drink completely so the life is not wasted. Astaroth might even refuse and then feel horrible after. Lonely and missing the person who had become so habitual to his life. Eats dead corpse clean tot he bone.