Ophio moved through the ship's compartments. Psychic interference had long since cut off all the lighting, leaving only emergency glow strips along the foot of the walls to flicker occasionally, spilling faint, intermittent blue light.
Pipes hung loose, swaying in the draft. The air reeked of scorching, blood, and something he had never encountered before—a mixture of burning incense and rotting flesh that stung his nostrils.
Fortunately, his helmet's built-in night vision let him navigate the treacherous terrain as easily as level ground.
In his green-tinted vision, the rivets and pipes on the bulkheads stood out as clearly as relief carvings. His boots landed precisely on each floor plate, avoiding loose decking and dangling cables without making a single unnecessary sound.
After passing through several narrow corridors, Ophio reached the deepest part of the Lower Deck.
The space suddenly opened up. The vault overhead had been altered beyond recognition, its original framework of pipes torn apart and replaced by some structure woven from bone and metal.
A chilling presence permeated the air, and beneath that vast structure stood an enormous altar.
The altar was assembled from various metals, its surface densely engraved with runes. They writhed slowly in the darkness like living things, each movement giving off a faint blue glow.
Four curved stone pillars rose from the altar's center, their tips converging to form a cage-like framework. A pale blue curtain of light flowed within it like liquid.
A Thousand Sons warrior was imprisoned on the altar, bound within it by chains burning pale blue.
Those chains were clearly not physical constructs. Condensed from pure psychic energy, they wound around the Thousand Sons warrior's limbs like liquid flame, passing through his shoulders and collarbones to his waist, then coiling from his knees to his ankles, pinning him firmly to