warhammer 40k - another insanely great/cool/dumb part from "the first heretic"

A curious drip, drip, drip ate at her attention, drawing her glance to the deck by the creature’s sluggish body. A greasy, opaque plasm dripped from the muscled folds of its serpentine lower half, bleaching the steel decking where it fell.
‘Full speed ahead,’ said Sylamor, and swallowed before another purge took hold.
Orfeo’s Lament trembled - ever the eager huntress, ever the keen explorer - and increased her pace. The storm swelled in the oculus before them as they cruised closer to its edge.
‘Have the flagship’s augurs managed to measure the afflicted area of space?’ she asked.
Thousands upon thousands of solar systems lie within the Great Eye.
She froze, cheeks paling. ‘I... I heard a voice.’
‘Ignore it,’ ordered Argel Tal.
You could sail your mortal craft for a hundred lifetimes within its depths, and see no more than a shadow of its full glory.
‘I can still hear it...’
Argel Tal growled, deep and low, his head tilted towards the creature. ‘Do not toy with their lives,’ he said. ‘You have been warned.’
None of them will survive this journey. You are a fool to believe they will.
‘Did... did it just say...’
‘It said nothing,’ Argel Tal interrupted her stammer. ‘Ignore the voice. Focus, Janus. Attend to your duties, and leave all else to us. I will not let the creature harm you, or anyone in the crew.’
She does not believe you.
‘Be quiet, false angel.’
She knows you lie. You hear her heartbeat, as I do. She is terrified, and she knows you are lying to her.
Across the bridge, two menials vomited over their consoles. Another fainted at his station, with blood running from his ears in a slow trickle.
‘Will this keep happening?’ Sylamor asked Argel Tal, careful not to look at the creature over the warrior’s shoulder, and hoping her voice wasn’t shaking.
The Word Bearer didn’t answer immediately. ‘I believe so,’ came the eventual response.
One of the helmsmen jerked in his seat, cracking his head against the back of the throne. Through clenched teeth, he managed a thin wail before falling into a seizure, kept in place only by his restraint harness.
‘Medicae team to the helm,’ ordered the captain.
Sylamor’s patience was close to its end when one of her adjutant servitors unplugged itself from its post and began to painstakingly crawl across the floor. The servitor in question had no legs below the thighs, having had them surgically removed in order to better remain at its post at all times. When it detached itself from its bronze cradle and started clawing its way over the decking, Captain Sylamor watched this unprecedented behaviour for several stunned moments. The augmetic servant trailed wires and cables from its spine and severed legs, viscous oil leaking from its nose.
‘Blood of the Emperor,’ Sylamor cursed under her breath. ‘Stand back, everyone. Stand back.’
She put the servitor down herself with a single pistol round to the back of the poor thing’s head, and ordered two deckhands to remove it at once.
Vox-officer Arvas turned to his captain as she passed on the way back to her throne. ‘Do you hear that?’ he asked her.
‘A contact? Another vessel?’
‘No.’ He held his earpiece, face darkened by concentration. ‘I can hear him, captain.’
Mounting irritation overrode her unease. ‘Hear who?’
Janus had known Arvas for over a decade, and on one night in particular four years ago, she’d known him - and four bottles of silver Yndonesic wine - regrettably well. Despite that lone indiscretion, he was one of her most adept and loyal crew members. ‘Tell me who you hear, lieutenant.’
He tried to retune his console, twisting a row of dials. ‘I can hear Vanic dying. He screams, but not for long. The rest is white noise. Listen,’ he offered her his earpiece. ‘You can hear Vanic dying. You hear him scream, but not for long.’
She hesitantly reached to take the earpiece. Standing next to Arvas, Vox-officer Vanic gave her an attempt at a smile. Discomfort was written across his fat features.
Arvas unholstered his sidearm and pumped four rounds into the other man’s stomach. Blood, stinging and hot, flecked Sylamor’s face as Vanic collapsed screaming to the deck.
‘Now you hear it,’ said Arvas.
The captain had no time to react - a blur of dark grey shoved her aside. Before she’d even blinked, Arvas was kicking and dangling above the ground, held aloft by Argel Tal’s fist around his throat. The ship shivered around them as if it shared the crew’s disquiet.
As he was strangled in the warrior’s grip, Arvas’s fingers scraped across Argel Tal’s faceplate with all the ferocity of a cornered beast hoping to scratch out its killer’s eyes. Sweat-smears painted across the eye lenses.
The medicae team reached Vanic’s side in time for him to die at their feet. Arvas had been right - Vanic hadn’t screamed for long.