#tervantias the archmachinator | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

noelle666 · 28 days

Text

Heinrix van Calox - a collection of headcanons

I was thinking about headcanons for Heinrix for some time after rewatching his romance dialogues for several times (to search details I might've missed), thinking about his life before the events of Rogue Trader. So I am making a little collection of them.

Warning! These thoughts are fanfiction/headcanon, some of them may be close to what we see in game (or maybe even repeat some events), some of them related to my RT Noelle (because they are in relationships and of course it is a great base for fan thoughts) and maybe to Maarden too. So please don't take them seriously. =) I think I'll be adding new thought to this post from time to time if I come up with something new.

As I mentioned in this post it was not necessary to remove Heinrix's psyker implants he recieved after completion of his training - he was stripped down of them because Calcazar wanted to test his new acolyte, to see if he is good and strong (and maybe stubborn) enought to recover himself.

Heinrix doesn't waste his powers on small things, like shaving, but he is very picky about his hair (as Tanakia mentioned in chapter 5), so he controls his haircut.

He sees dreams almost every night. He tried to use different technics to sort of "discipline" his slumber because even after many years he still from time to time sees dreams about his past which trigger different emotions he would like to forget on one hand, but on the other they make Heinrix overthink the events of his whole life. This overthinking and analysis makes him "alive", it reminds him he is not emotionless servitor but his longing for home and sisters can be very distractful. Over the years Heinrix learnt not to dive deep into those thoughts.

Heinrix's and Noelle's hearts literally beat in unison but only under specific circumstances: when two of them are together and no one else is around or if one of them is nervous and the other one is near (the heart beat of the one who is calm sort of affects the other one's). Heinrix knows about this detail, he noticed it during Commorragh events: he thinks Tervantias the Archmachinator did something to both him and Noelle. Probably during his experiments he somehow learnt the interrogator has feelings towards Lord Captain (maybe Heinrix was screaming Noelle's name while being tortured and/or something else related to her, or maybe the haemunculus used Idira's telepathic skills to read Heinrix's mind before putting his monstrous device on her). At first Heinrix was worried that such effect could cause a lot of trouble especially if it is permanent and can work on long distances, so he started his observation and research. After discovering that only some conditions are needed to trigger this unison effect, Heinrix felt some relief (but he is still cautious and makes notes about anything unusual).

Heinrix is a tactile and a touch-starved person. Most of a time he distances himself from physical contact because it is not necessary at his work field, plus during his psyker training the discipline was very strict: don't touch if you are not allowed, dont speak if your are not asked, don't look if you are not ordered to do so. He thought he got used to it; even brief contacts with women who were his short-term lovers, did not trigger strong emotional reaction and desire for developing long serious relationships (mostly both parties from the very start new it is only an affair and all were comfortable with it). In the situation with the rogue trader Noelle von Valancius everything was different: she sincerely wanted to know Heinrix better, step by step, she sincerely started to sympathize with him after learning what he had to go through, she saw him as a human being with his own desires and feelings and never treated him as the Inquisition's tool. When Noelle kissed Heinrix at her Magnae Accesio ceremony, the interrogator felt something he never felt before, a pure bright feeling, so strong it could've broken you into pieces and revived the moment after. At this very moment he wanted time to stop, he wanted to never let Noelle go (warmth of her body and lips were something he desperately needed as he realized some time after) and at the same time he experience fear which was as strong as this new emotion born thanks to a woman next to him. Heinrix tried to use all his discipline skills to put out the flames in his chest but eventually realised he failed. Between the ceremony and Commorragh events, Noelle and Heinrix played regicide couple of times, and after each party he was holding Lord Captain's hand in his hands for some time and then he was kissing each of her fingers. In responce Noelle was caressing his cheek: a little gesture, but very important for someone who wanted to feel real human warmth, real touch. After some time, when the two of them developed stronger and deeper relationships and starded to share a bed, Heinrix allowed himself to satisfy his "touch hunger" during long foreplays (and Noelle was not against it, on a contrary - they both enjoyed mutual touches with hands, fingers and lips).

Neither Heinrix, nor Noelle never could've thought their first intimate moment would be spent in one of the most cursed places of the galaxy, but both of them agreed - now or never. The place was not the most comfortable: no proper bed, eyes are everywhere, the time they could've shared together was terribly short and both of them were not in the best shape, so they had to act as fast and cautious as possible. Heinrix noticed bruises and scars on Noelle's body (the result of Tervantias and Malice's "surgeries"); this view broke his heart, he couldn't hold himself: he started covering Lord Captain's wounds with kisses while using his powers for healing. Noelle felt cold breath of Heinrix and asked him to stop and to not wasted his talent on her, especially after the torture he survived, but the interrogator only shaked his head: "I cannot just look at you and do nothing. I know we do not have much time now, but please, allow me to heal your wounds. I promissed to help you and be here for you and this is a part of it". In the end, when Heinrix finished his job, they still had time for intimacy. When Noelle and Heinrix were spending their first "proper" night together in Lord Captain's quarters, the interrogator inspected his beloved's body: he was looking at her silently and very attentively checking if all her wounds are healed and to make sure he hasn't missed one.

At first Heinrix didn't really like a company of Maarden: the interrogator found the pyromancer annoying because of his almost endless desire for chatting. After some time two psykers became more open and friendly towards of each other: Maarden explained why he acts as he acts and reduced the degree of his blabbering and Heinrix helped his "collegue" with some technics when Maarden's telepathic powers became stronger. From time to time Maarden was allowed to enter the interrogator's quarters and talk to him on different topics while two of them were drinking recaf.

Heinrix bears a great amount of self hatred. He learnt to suppress it over the years, he almost forgot about it but the problem was always there. Noelle's attitude towards him, her strong empathy, love and sympathy opened old wounds, cleansed them and helped them to start a process of healing: Heinrix slowly started to understand he can show his "weak" sides and not to be judged. Noelle become his "home", her quarters now are the safest place, hence when the "breach" happened whole Heinrix's being, his instincts automatically led him to his beloved's room. He experienced animal terror when Lord Captain was not found in her quarters, he started to call her mentality even understanding it will have no effect since he is not a telepathist, but the sound of her name in his head brought some comfort and helped the interrogator to focus for some time and not be swallowed by ice.

#rogue trader #warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #heinrix van calox #headcanon #fanfiction #von valancius #oc

17 notes · View notes

xenodile · 3 months

Text

twitch_live

OKAY now that dog baby is fully vaccinated and I've had some lunch, it's time for MORE ROGUE TRADER

I finished chapter 3, so now we're going into chapter 4 and we're gonna party with our fellow big shot, Calligos Winterscale!

Last time's recap, spoilers for chapter 3 ahead:

Last time, the gang got abducted by Dark Eldar and taken to Commoragh, the infamous Dark City No One Escapes From, for the sake of Failboy Dipshit Marazhai's political machinations. After getting tossed out like yesterday's garbage, the Rogue Trader was saved from the brink of death by a mysterious Harlequin and told to find her companions and a way out.

Finding a shred of favor with a snakeman named Malice, von Valancius received basic medical aid and set out to earn her place in the arena and search for her friends by killing a human rebel called "The Commissar". Along the way she finds Abelard, who has been artificially aged a few decades by some horrible Drukhari monster, and Argenta by the Commissar's side. Claiming he has an escape planned, Argenta talks the Rogue Trader into siding with him to defeat Malice and take control of the hideout.

However, after defeating Malice and going through the Commissar's mysterious portal, Abigail, Abelard and Argenta find themselves in the arena and thrown to the wolves along with the rest of the Commissar's troops as he looks on with a smug grin.

Though the Rogue Trader's retinue manage to survive the arena, they are no closer to escape, but they at least have a new lead. Some high ranking Drukhari by the name of Tervantias the Archmachinator has apparently taken an interest in the Rogue Trader and wants to see them. With nowhere else to go, the Rogue Trader and company proceed to the charmingly named Anatomical Opera to meet their new patron.

Tervantias is a haemonculus, a grotesquely augmented cyborg and master of biological engineering and reconstruction. After putting the finishing touches on the Rogue Trader's recovery, Tervantias explains. Von Valancius and her retinue were gifts to him from Marazhai, and he in turn created the brain maggot that was used on the Rogue Trader in Marazhai's trial. With his curiosity about how the Rogue Trader survived for so long satisfied, Tervantias makes her a deal: fight in the arena for him and assist in his plans, and he'll make sure they're fighting fit with a patron to to keep them.

He also reveals he's a massive piece of shit because the Rogue Trader doesn't have the option to say no. Tervantias has Cassia imprisoned so he can study her Navigator mutations and refuses to let her go, Pasqal was "discarded" after Tervantias finished experimenting on his augments, and Yrliet is still missing. There's also a space marine in a cage in the next room.

While the Lord Captain isn't keen on servitude to the fleshcrafter, the mysterious Harlequin appears again and tips her off that if she plays along for just a little while, he'll be able to help her escape. So the Rogue Trader and co set about finding their missing allies.

Yrliet was captured by a pair of Drukhari that have been forcing her to torture captives in hopes of breaking her spirit stone and converting her. Outraged, the Rogue Trader snatches the knife from Yrliet and uses it to kill one of the Dark Eldar, leaving the other too stunned to act. Yrliet confesses that she lost faith in von Valancius after seeing a piece of her craftworld mounted on a wall of the captain's quarters, and reached out to Marazhai for information about her kin. Though Abeldard and Argenta disagree, the Rogue Trader forgives Yrliet. It was not her intention to see them all captured, only to find her own people, so Abigail doesn't see it as a betrayal, even if Yrliet herself does.

Pasqal is found in the corpse dump, struggling with having been forcibly grafted with xenos augments and his existing systems tampered with. Seeing the desecration of the Omnissiah's work as heresy, Pasqal believes he doesn't have the right to live, as surviving with alien technology would be sacrilege. The Rogue Trader manages to give the Magos a stern talking to that convinces him to not give up and survive, and he rejoins the party.

Now five strong, the Rogue Trader's retinue continue exploring their sliver of the Commoragh, finding the monster that attacked Abelard, a pain engine. After beating it down, Pasqal is able to tear out some valuable components that will hopefully be able to restore the Seneschal's stolen years. They also travel to the pit and exact vengeance on the traitorous Commissar, where Argenta proclaims to all his deceit, rallying the fighters under the Rogue Trader's banner. With a base of their own, the party is ready to get to work.

Bringing the pain engine's parts to Tervantias, the Rogue Trader bribes him with powerful augments taken from various arena beasts and Drukhari fighters to restore Abelard's youth, and with some fast talking, gain custody of the imprisoned Adeptus Astartes.

Though reluctant and belligerent at first, the Rogue Trader manages to get a rise out of the savage Space Marine, convincing him to join her retinue. His name is Ulfar, of the Space Wolves, and the prospect of getting to kill more xenos has him all smiles. Now a full group, the Rogue Trader and her retinue head to the arena.

Before they step through the portal, Argenta asks the group to stop so she can ask the Lord Captain a question. Does she trust the Sister of Battle? When answered yes, Argenta makes a confession.

She killed Theodora von Valancius.

During the initial attack on the voidship, Argenta rushed to Theodora's side, only to discover her handling a cult artifact, the same as the ones the party would later find on Rykad Minoris, same as those Argenta herself saw on Salis Prime. Shocked and outraged that the woman she admired was in fact a heretic, Argenta shot first, killing the Rogue Trader and her bodyguard. While she does not regret Theodora's death, she laments killing the innocent man that only did his job and leaving his son an orphan. Unable to bear the guilt, she asks if the new Rogue Trader will still allow her to serve. And naturally, the Rogue Trader says yes.

Up this time against Marazhai and his new masters, the arena champions, the party tear through the Drukhari with brutal efficiency, much to the audience's dismay. The arena champions, defeated by a bunch of mon-keigh? What an outrage!

When the Rogue Trader returns to the Anatomical Opera, Tervantias is in a tizzy, reprimanding the Rogue Trader for her success. The plan was she and her retinue would fight against some unblooded combatants and get roughed up, doing their duty in the arena and showing deference to Tervantias's rivals. Instead, she killed all their champions and now they're out for blood, including the haemonculus's, so now he needs to get out of dodge. Revoking his patronage, he tells the Rogue Trader to get lost because he's busy packing his bags.

Spying an opportunity, the Rogue Trader convinces Tervantias to release Cassia, since he can't afford to bring any specimens with him while he's on the run.

Eager to see her love interest again, the Rogue Trader rushes to open the containment pod Cassia was trapped in, but the combined trauma of her imprisonment and the overwhelming stimuli of escape prove too much for the Lady Navigator, and she loses control of her third eye, bombarding the Lord Captain with raw warp energy.

Terrified and distraught, Cassia implores the Rogue Trader to run, but she refuses to leave without Cassia and tries to calm the berserk Navigator. Immediately the Lord Captain is overwhelmed by Cassia's infectious emotion, feeling her dear friend's overwhelming despair and frustration, full of self-loathing and bitterness. As the Rogue Trader buckles under the strain of Cassia's power, she feels Cassia's belief that the only way to protect her captain is for her to die.

Not accepting such a tragic outcome, the Rogue Trader musters what strength she has to charge through the torrent of warp energy and kiss Cassia. Once the initial surprise wears off, the Rogue Trader's embrace soothes Cassia, and she is able to close her third eye. Her first instinct is to scold Abigail for being so incredibly reckless, the ruler of a protectorate should be more responsible about her safety! The Lord Captain answers honestly: she could only think of saving Cassia, and professes her love.

With her final and most precious companion rescued, the Rogue Trader is again visited by the Harlequin, who offers them an escape route. If they enter the arena a final time, they will face a particularly high ranking Drukhari that opposes Tervantias. Should they triumph, the Harlequin will incite a riot that give the Rogue Trader and her allies to escape through a portal.

While the plan works, the party ends up in a different part of Commoragh, in the midst of yet more Drukhari. Believing they have once again been deceived, Yrliet speaks up when the party discovers a tortured Aeldari Farseer. The Harlequin speaks vaguely that there are yet more of Yrliet's kin imprisoned ahead, and she begs her elantach to help her.

Being a magnanimous sort, the Lord Captain agrees, and the party travels through one of the upper spires of the Dark City. Along the way, they discover that the Drukhari abducted a number of Farseer's from Yrliet's craftworld and have been experimenting on them to find ways to gain psychic power of their own. Finding only one Farseer that has not lost their mind, Yrliet demands he give her an answer about how Crudarach fell.

Theodora van Valancius deployed a ship carrying some kind of disease into Aeldari territory. When the warriors of Crudarach destroyed it, enough of it landed on Crudarach to infect it, poisoning the world itself and forcing the Asuryani to abandon their planet. Yrliet asks how the Farseer could have failed to predict this, what alternative could have merited this outcome and is met with a terrible answer. They made a mistake. They foresaw utter annihilation if they did not flee into the Koronus Expanse, and simply failed to see the destruction of their world at mon-keigh hands.

With her curiosity at last sated but her faith in shambles, Yrliet thanks the Rogue Trader for her aid, and swears to use her knowledge of the webways to help the party escape Commoragh.

After a few more battles and a final stand off with Tervantias, the party escape through the lone webway gate in all of Commoragh, and arrive on Janus. Finally able to take a breath, the Rogue Trader is able to contact the voidship and everyone returns home.

But all is not well! While the Rogue Trader was away, the Cult of the Final Dawn has kicked things into gear, and Lord Inquisitor Xavier Calcazar is on the war path! Her fellow Rogue Traders, Incendia Chorda and Calligos Winterscale fair no better, as Drukhari have stolen the star that sustained the capital of Incendia's domain, and Calligos has also gone missing right as the call to arms was sounded! Now the Koronus Expanse is embroiled in full scale conflict!

Before any of that is addressed however, the Rogue Trader must deal with a personal matter.

Lady Cassia, looking particularly stern, demands an audience with the Rogue Trader to discuss matters of great import. Once in private, she declares that while she may have feelings for the Lord Captain and vice-versa, they are simply not meant to be. She is the heir to House Orsellio and Abigail the ruler of a great dynasty, eventually duty will drive them apart. Better to end things now before they regret it. But Abigail protests, asking if that's really what Cassia wants for herself, if duty and happiness are mutually exclusive, and saying it again: She is hopelessly in love.

Cassia's stern demeanor breaks, and she tearfully demands what the Lord Captain could ever love about a monster. A hideous mutant that is feared and reviled among her allies, who will only grow more deformed the longer she lives. A dangerous curse that drives men mad, steals their wits and destroys their souls, condemned even by her own family as a threat to everything around her. She loves the Rogue Trader, and for that reason they must not be together, for Cassia knows that her presence will only bring further suffering.

But Abigail is not dissuaded. One by one she lists off everything she loves about Cassia, has loved from the day they met, and will love every day they are together. Though still distraught, Cassia can see the purity and warmth in the colors of her partner's soul, and her fears abate. The future may be uncertain, but she knows that the Lord Captain will see it with her, no matter what.

And so the adventure continues...

#Rogue Trader spoilers #Warhammer 40k #Xenostreams #vtuber #pngtuber #twitch #let's play

0 notes

rats-and-robots · 2 months

Text

Hi. This is gore for gore's sake. Dead dove. Do not eat. I am not kidding. Please trust me. Read the tags.

With that said;

Tervantias the Archmachinator, for all his pride, knows he isn't perfect. For all he boasts, there is always more to learn. New instruments begging to be tuned to his songs, his ever-changing collection of pitches and tunes. And yet his claws always ache to primal urges when something refuses to fall into place.

Bones crack and crunch.

Blood bubbles out of the poor thing's nose as the beast above it buries into its gut, coating its snout with gore.

Claws press at yet-unbroken flesh to give leverage as it pulls at muscle. It twists its head and yanks. Once. Twice. A third time and the meat comes free.

The body of the prey lay motionless, save for the motions of its predator. A sharp snort through reptilian nostrils and the beast lifts its snout to throw the meat back into its gullet.

The arena is filled with chatter and meaningless laughter about the show that has just finished. A few souls glance anxiously his way as he leans forward, towards the display. His head still, but his ever twitching, ever moving body continues its motions.

So that creation needed... Just a touch of tweaking. A metal hand taps rapidly on a flesh one, like the dancing legs of a spider. Interesting.

His mind is already spinning, never stopping, but it churns just a touch faster. A third hand raises to his face, metal claws slipping in and around the wet musculature. The sting is but a strum of a string to the symphony of sensation that plays in his whole self. A background song of pain and ache and burn and pleasure to every movement he makes.

Someone speaks to him. He mutters some words to appease them and urge them to leave him alone, his pitch eyes never leaving the beast and his imperfect creature's corpse.

He steps back, his gaze finally ripping away. The same gaze turns into a flurry of movement, twitching this way and that as he considers, contemplates... Not really looking where he is going but moving with a grace unusual even to those around him. His own... 'kin', would he even deign to call them that. He pushes a finger through his cheek-flesh-muscle and groans softly as the fresh puncture sharpens his thoughts.

He has an idea for how to improve his design. He'll need certain parts, though. And they are no cheap thing to get. His servants will scavenge what they can, but...

He slides back into his sanctum, his home, his orchestra hall. A sigh pushes out from his chest, the red muscles of his torso glistening as it relaxes ever so faintly. Frantic movements become more organized. His claw retreats from the wound in his face, a mere bead of blood expressing itself from the muscle. The sounds around him, the ever so faint hiss of mechanics, the groans of pain, the mad laughter, the... Everything. It's too much to put to words. It's not perfect. Perfection is such a boring state, anyways.

Claws slide through his hair, smearing the faintest of red through the silver, and three other arms make silent but strict orders to those around him. He has work to do and he will lose himself in it for a few hours more. First, however, is the poor soul who happens to be closest to his claws. He does like to think himself immune to the frustration of failure; a savage, beastly emotion so beneath one as he. Unfortunately, 'likes to think' does not make something a fact.

He moves without seeing, lips pressed into a thin line. A sharp jab silences the flesh-thing, a single tool cutting through armor, skin, flesh, fat, muscle, tendon, and cord. The screaming becomes hollow gasping. Viscera of veins bulging like blue and red spiderwebs, yet not quite bursting as he peels back layers. Cuts that look jagged, yet expertly avoid any major vessels to curb excessive bloodshed.

Yes, the scene is gory... But too much blood spilled would make this far too messy. What's the point in art if you can't see it? In music muffled under cloth so thick to drown it out? It's a song he has played many times before, one that may not carry the same joy as the first listen, but still instills him with some level of calm. So many layers of excess in these beasts, yet it was Aeldari who birthed Sai'lanthresh?

Epidermis peeled from dermis peeled from fat peeled from muscle. Tendons quietly clipped to free spasming and contracting musculature from bone. The creature wheezes and thrashes, but his cuts remain precise. This is no experiment, no delicate procedure. This is but a collection and dissection. No need to restrain or subdue the thing, much less waste any of his toxins to still them.

It twists and falls off his table. He merely blinks and turns to place the extracted muscles into a secondary pan. His claws click quietly and he glides around the table to pluck their spasming form off the ground, setting them back on the table. Some organ has burst so fluid and mucus leave a slime trail from the ground to the table. The stench is but a rise in the chorus and he clicks his tongue. Blood has begun to spill more readily, ripped from its veins by the thing's thrashing. All the more reason to finish quickly and--

The door beyond his curtain is opened, then closed. His lips peel back from his teeth in a grimace, but he chooses to feign ignorance of the visitor. He moves to instead begin extracting bone, the creature letting out a whistle-like noise as it arches... Then falls still. Shock, likely. Normally, he would reawaken them with a jolt or an injection, but his attention is more on the light footsteps drawing near to him as he recognizes them.

Ah...

This could be interesting.

"Aezyrraesh." He clicks his teeth with the name.

"Frustrated, Tervantias? At least this time your new experiment made it to the finale, ah?" The Dracon's words carry amusement and taunt, but it bothers him none. His eyes stay on his little project, only a slow blink to even acknowledge the man had even said anything.

"What do you want?"

"..." That isn't the response Marazhai had wanted, this he knows. The pause and the faintest sound of grinding teeth only confirm that, "I need a favor. A control worm--"

It's such a pathetic request that the haemonculus laughs. His head tilts up and finally twists towards the Dracon, "Is it truly so hard for one pathetic worm to find another?"

Marazhai seethes, lips curled back in a snarl, but catches himself, "I need one of custom make." His eyes flick over the haemonculus as the conductor straightens his back, "One for the mon-keigh who continues to predict our movements."

Tervantias tilts his head, contemplating this. Beneath him, without assistance, the creature under his claws expels its life and its previous meal. Boredly, he looks down at it, then carelessly hooks a finger under it and flips it off of the table, back to the place it had previously occupied on the ground. The smears left behind reek of bile and pus. He waves to an assistant to clean it and the body up, "Why should I waste my talents making something for some mon-keigh creature?"

Marazhai's jaw clenches, "The Reaving Tempest is falling out of favor and respect--" Tervantias turns towards him slowly, head tilting, mechanics twitching, muscle glistening, "--w-with the other Kabals because of its meddling, and if that happens then--" the haemonculus draws closer to him, one hand spinning a syringe of some kind, another cutting a fresh laceration into his own skin, the final two sliding behind his back, "--then... You do as well..." Marazhai doesn't realize he's been shrinking away, slowly stepping back until his heel hit the metal of the other table.

Marazhai has always been such an entertaining plaything. Had another been chosen as Dracon, he might not be so bold to approach the second of his patron's command. But that faint glimmer in the back of his eyes as the haemonculus towers over him. He was not one to own, but to be owned. He just has yet to realize it.

"Reason for you, yes... But I can find another patron. This bothers me little. So I will ask again." He leans over the shorter drukhari, his half-lips sliding into a smirk, "Why should I make this... For you?" The bloodied hand that left a deep cut in his pale skin comes forward and presses up under his jaw, the blooded finger swiping across the pale skin of his cheek and leaving a broken smear of red.

Marazhai squirms like the very wriggling grub he desires to commission from the Archmachinator. But his tongue swipes across his sharp teeth, "I could bring you more parts for your beasts," the hand tightens and Tervantias's expression doesn't budge, "gift you the others of the mon-keigh's crew," white hair falls in a cascade onto Marazhai's shoulder as Tervantias tilts his head one way, "...what else would you have from me for such a simple little request??" Marazhai hisses up at him, hands bracing on the table behind him.

"I will have both of these things... And I will have a revisit to your anatomy, Dracon. You ask me to lower myself to such a task and so you, yourself, shall also be lowered."

With a twist of his wrist and a swift strike, the haemonculus stabs the syringe into Marazhai's throat. He revels, for a second, in the shocked gag before his thumb presses the plunger down. He leans in, watching the green liquid color veins and open them up, spreading faster as Marazhai's heart quickens. He slides the tool out and sets it aside, watching the puncture hold the fluid well.

"Let us begin. Don't act as though you will not take pleasure in this." He loosens his grip, but his other hands abandon their post behind his back to come forward and begin to carelessly remove his armor, "You requested these depths before." He motions with the hand previously holding the syringe to a servant of his.

Marazhai hisses and curses him, his hands clawing at the haemonculus's arm, but... Tervantias knows he isn't really giving it his all. His blade is easily in reach, after all. Another table is brought forth, this one angled upwards. The Dracon's back hits the metal and hands swiftly secure him down.

The Archmachinator hums, pleased, and moves away to collect his tools, taking his sweet time as Marazhai fights the inevitable flow of the toxin. It's somewhat impressive that he hasn't screamed yet--

...Ahhh...

There it is. A smile twists the exposed muscles of his face into a grimace as the toxin finds Marazhai's heart and the man's scream rips through and echoes in the air of his Opera. His eyes slip shut for a moment, contemplating his options as his newest specimen thrashed and cursed him. He could check on his previous addition to the young man. See how well the new tissue was settled in.

He opens his eyes and turns to look at his subject--no longer Marazhai to him, but another project, another song to compose. He is on his back, it will be no small task to cut through his body to get to his spine. All the more fun. His claws wrap around three tools; A saw of some make, two clamps, and a gun-like machine.

His claws are his scalpels. He sets upon the man with practiced ease. Without fanfare, a Y-incision is cut. Skin peeled back. The gun-thing is put to use firing pins through the skin and into the table, holding him open like the wings of a beetle on a collector's wall.

Just as with the pitiful creature before, Tervantias ignores his subject's thrashing. This one is restrained, though, and it makes for easier cutting of muscle. Not for extraction, of course. No, this one will have to be put back together.

Sheets of muscle are pinned as well, the rippling striations and folded groups reminiscent of bird wings. A glance upwards as Marazhai stills. His eyes are distant, his jaw clenched tight. Drool trickling down in a steady stream from one corner of his mouth. Tears bead up in the corners of his eyes. He must be desperate not to let them fall. It isn't the cutting doing this to him. No, he has been wounded so before, gutted thoroughly before. He would not shed tears, even in pain, for something so simple as a wound.

No, it is the toxin. Causing certain glands to release more than they should. We, as humans, would call similarities to these releases as adrenaline, dopamine, endorphins. Tears simply follow suit and his drool is but a by-product. Marazhai is feeling everything... Tenfold. No, twenty. A hundred, if not ever more.

A whimper spills from the proud Dracon and Tervantias laughs, "So soon? A proud beast turned to mewling. And I've not yet touched your guts."

"Wh-what did you... What did you do to me...?" The tone was meant to be that of anger, or even fury... But desperation comes instead. He does not admit his sick delight in the haemonculus's claws.

The Archmachinator does not respond. Instead, the saw comes to its duty. It slices away the bone of the man's ribcage, eventually allowing their release on the subject's cavity. Marazhai gags on his screams. They bleed, in spades, they bleed. It spurts in wet fountains, painting the tool and the metal and gore of Marazhai's flayed hide.

"You make a fine distraction, Marazhai." His voice, calm and even, still cuts through the buzz of the saw. He stops only when he can remove the sternum as if a simple lid on a specimen jar. He sets it aside. His claws gently move through the man's organs, testing the connective tissue that holds them in place, his flesh hand soiled by the blood of his ribcage.

"A pathetic Dracon, but a deliriously fine specimen." He expertly carves one organ from the others, without disrupting its function. He twists it delicately to set aside, then moves to another. Again. And again.

And he speaks as he does it, "Truly, I have considered bartering with your sister for you. Every new request she has..." He slips metal fingers around Marazhai's heart, feeling its rapid pulse, unable to beat any faster. He leans over, "Your name dances on my tongue."

He pulls on the organ, watching the thick veins and arteries pull like a wet rope out of his body, blood drooling from any little nick in the membranes. He tilts his head, eyes flicking up to Marazhai's face. His turquoise eyes have paled with pain. Nearly a silver-blue. His pupils are mere pinpricks as he just stares back at Tervantias.

"You are no leading figure. You are but a toy." He presses the organ to his lips, teeth taunting the ever-moving muscle. His tongue slides over it. He could easily bite. Simply resurrect Marazhai after he bleeds out... But the expression on his face... He cannot help but revel in it. Blank. Obedient. Malleable. He chuckles, the sound reverberating in the opera house, before setting the heart aside.

He considers Marazhai's form for a moment. Almost mechanical, how his organs' connections--veins, nerves, tissue, and arteries, all--bend like cords back into his body. He can see the shimmer of his modification in the pool of blood that is the man's chest cavity, all but emptied of viscera. He turns to a small device, a pump of sorts, and begins to drain that pool, letting him have a closer look.

For all his fun, he does have a goal. His claws gently run along his spine. Tilts his head one way... Then another. The augment has bonded quite nicely. Though there is a bit of misalignment here... He clicks his metal claws and picks up a pair of forceps, cutting open the thin membrane protecting the shimmering white nervous augment and holding it open with the forceps. Delicately, he pulls four inches of tiny wires like worms out from the soil of Marazhai's tissues. They squirm in his grasp like them, too, searching to grasp onto something, anything. He moves them slightly upwards, and they shoot back in, spreading out and settling again.

Marazhai's right arm will function just slightly better. Not that the man would notice, nor appreciate it. Not that Tervantias does it for his benefit. He does it to see it put in its proper place. He releases the forceps and continues his slow examination of the spine through the chest. One nerve-set at a time.

His long hair falls into the cavity one strand at a time, a trickle of white stained with blood.

Marazhai groans above him. A claw flicks and stabs into the man's thigh, drawing that groan into a raspy moan. A thin tongue slips out and licks fresh moisture onto exposed fangs, but he says nothing. He continues his observations, but slowly drags that claw, carving the shape of the muscle beneath into the flesh. Marazhai's voice pitches slightly higher, cracking.

"I knew you would find yourself enjoying this." Metal clicks and chemicals hiss. He injects more of that concoction into the man's shoulder, causing him to spasm. His wrists strain at metal and his flesh tears at the pins--though they hold. His knees draw upwards, stopped only by two of the haemonculus's hands to keep them out of the way. He acknowledges it no further, but leans back a bit. One by one, he pulls the organs back to their places. Slides a fluid along them to repair connective tissues he had expertly severed. Pain slowly ebbs away from the man and he whines his protest.

"Be silent. This is for my enjoyment." He looms his face close to Marazhai's, "Not yours." A taunting smile, and he returns to his task. Diaphragm folded back into place. Bone seamlessly mended back to bone. Muscle tissue reattached. Marazhai began to snap insults at him, just now feeling the height of the second wave of the injections, but they have no sting. Flesh returns to its place, and no scar is left behind. He trails a finger down the man's chest, then flicks it away, snapping for a servant to release the man's binds.

He hears rather than sees Marazhai's body crumple off of the table as he turns his back.

"You will have your control worm, Dracon Aezyrraesh." He waves a hand, "Put your armor back on and crawl back to your Kabal. I will send you word when it is done."

"You fucking bastard, you can't--"

"I took my payment, Aezyrraesh. Be grateful I did not take more. I would happily risk your sister's wrath for more."

Silence. Well, as silent as the Anatomical Opera would allow in its gullet. He tilts his head as he plucks an egg from a jar, pulling various syringes and tools from different shelves to begin modifying the embryo within.

Silence is interrupted. The attempts that Marazhai makes to move under the influence of his toxins are amusing to listen to. He silently adds finding an extension to the toxin's effects to his eternal list of projects.

He doesn't even glance over his shoulder as he hears Marazhai finally move to attempt putting his armor back on. He knows the man desires attention, even a look of disgust or annoyance, and he will deny him even that. He will bask in the man's suffering for it. He does tilt his head a bit as he hears a heave and a splatter. A groan. He chuckles despite himself.

Marazhai hisses a final insult before stumbling towards the curtains, towards the exit. What a shame. He had somewhat hoped for some begging. He can only laugh to himself at the thought of Marazhai goring himself later to try and chase what he had given him. To satiate himself. His eyes finally turn, easily finding a hole in the curtain to watch Marazhai's back as he shoves himself through the door out.

His backplates are crooked.

Tervantias clicks his fingers in a snap, "Someone clean up that mess."

#cw gore #cw fictional self harm #cw vomit #cw surgery #cw body horror #cw sadism #cw masochism #cw noncon #as... consensual gore is definitely a thing in this universe to this species #tervantias the archmachinator #marazhai aezyrraesh #tervantias/marazhai #sub!marazhai #man *I* need a cigarette after this #lmk if i need to add more tags #i think i covered it all

32 notes · View notes