I. The Smell of Rotten Flesh

The smell of rotten flesh flooded Faeraesh's senses as she walked into the her sister's laboratory. She'd always hated that disgusting niff, though familiar. But even if she tried to hold her breath so much as posible; the essence of dead bodies and chemical mixtures penetrated to her bones.

Although the roof was totally glass-made, beautifully decorated with dark gothic watermarks; the light was quite dim. Maybe something that others may not notice, since there was no sun shining in Zarghan City's cloudy sky. But somehow, that room was always sunk inside a particular veil of darkness, barely lighted by the retroilluminated biotanks, filled with a green colored liquid. The bodies inside were resting in some kind of induced coma, with wires and tubes inserted in their entrails. Most of them were once humanoids. Now they were just...

—... Monsters—she whispered without hidding her disgusted expression.

Faeraesh's followed the noise of soft voices, next to a central tank, within which was a shapeless creature. It's grotesque mutations prevented to guess which race it belonged to. Just an horrible doll made of flesh, fluids and steel.

—Welcome back, sister—. That familiar voice came from Foruvhyr. In the past, it was easy to figure out their kinship. They were quite alike, some centuries ago. They both shared the same pale skin, white haired braids and one particular genetic mutation: heterochromia iridium. A gift, or maybe just a fancy whim from nature. Faeraesh had her right eye black colored, and her left one golden colored. Foruvhyr had the opposite color combination.

Nevertheless, Foruvhyr had changed, indeed. She had several tubes surrounding the head and shoulders, as long she had no more hair. Her left arm had been replaced for a brand bionic one, having now four pairs instead of two. Everytime Faeraesh saw her sister, her changers became more radical. The most she tried to transform herself into a lab's monster; the less she looked like an eldar.

—I still recognize your voice, at least...—. Faeraesh talked calmy, trying not to show her disaproval.

—Well, I just made some updates—. Foruvhyr tried to smile, but it seemed that her face was too tight to express anything but constant pain.

—Is this what are you working on now?—. Faeraesh looked to the giant tank and changed the topic. — What is it?

—My last child—. Foruvhyr took a step toward the creature and fondly caressed the container's glass She was totally taken with it like a proud mother —. Isn't he beautiful?

—I can't tell.

—I'll name him Talos. Like the dead star. Because you will be death for everyone, wouldn't you, my dear?—. Faeraesh couldn't tell if she was talking to her... or "him".

—He only seems like a new weapon to me. As long as it works in the battlefield, it's fine.

—Oh, but he'll have many other brothers very soon, sister. You will see...—Foruvhyr  enraptured continued carissing the glass —. So much suffering... So much pain to become... Something grander... Something marvellous...—Her twin wandered when her sister had also lost her mind along most of her body—. That would delight Him...

—... "Him"?—Faeraesh raised an eyebrow —. What do you mean?

—Nevermind—she cut, finnaly turning to face her sister—. What do you want, Faer? You aren't here just to walk out your Kabalite armor, are you?

—No, I'm not. New mission abroad. We're sailing tomorrow.

—No way. The process isn't complete. I need a few days more to...

—You had enough time. We're sailing tomorrow, and this "Talos" will come with us...

—NO!!—Foruvhyr interpused herself between her sister and the tank, all her arms wide opened as a threatening spider—. He's not ready! If you interrumpt the gestation he will die! He isn't prepared to breath in a atmosphere more than a few minutes...

—A few minutes is what I need to get the target. You can clonate what remains of it later, and keep working on...

—YOU WON'T KILL MY CHILD!!!

Faeraesh kept a tense child, looking how desperated her sister was. She didn't know how to feel about it. Angry? Worried? Or maybe just... disappointed. Foruvhyr was becaming a shame to her race. If it was on Faeraesh's hand, she would have been executed on the spot. But Foruvhyr was still a good warrior and a geat alchemist, and could be useful to her porpouse. It was worthy to stand her whining a little more.

—I'm not asking you, Vhyr. It's an order—she said with monotone voice. —And you know what will happen if you disobey. There won't be more "childs" for you, my dear sister...—Faeraesh step on her twin, and softly passed her fingers across her face.

—... Yes, sir—Foryvhyr looked down, feeling defeated.

—Fine. Also, prepare the Wracks. We'll need them too—said Faeraesh, as a goodbye.

While she was waling outside, she could hear desperated mad screams along several things breaking down and smashing against the floor. Faeraesh smiled wickedly.