…
... and so I found myself hurtling through the packed streets of Emodora First, chasing a scummer I was sure would lead me to the answers I desired.
I remember yelling to people to get out of the way, even when I was pushing them to the ground, or vaulting over their fallen bodies, my long black cloak billowing out behind me. I held my old auto-pistol in one hand, my other helping me weave through the thick crowds. I cursed my luck once again - it had taken me most of the morning to find the man I needed to talk to, and once I did, it happened to be as the same time as the local Minitorium shift transfer, and when he had been found, he darted into the ant-like masses.
My prey turned into a lane – one of the thousands buried deep into the city – my Sight told me, and I gave chase, almost tripping over some Administratum adept, and followed him into the shadowy lane. Seconds later I burst out into another avenue. This one was slightly quieter and t
People say Imperial cities are all the same. This is not true. Each has its own feel, its own presence.
Even though the scummer was faster than me, I was confident he would not get away, no matter how long it took to catch him. I had a taste for his soul now, and would be able to follow its wispy trail throughout the city for hours.
*
I blended nicely into the crowds, just another imperial dreg minding his own business. Long, dark coats were all the rage, and mine was no exception. My features are quite bland, nondescript, which suit me fine. Times of vanity have past, my job more important. I bare many scars, even then (more now), but who doesn’t these days?
I had finally caught up with the scummer – he had thought he had escaped me and was now hiding down another dank street lane. I stopped running and walked easily amongst the city-dwellers; running would only tell him I was still hunting him. I moved silently into the dark lane, rubbish lay strewn everywhere and a rusted power-bike sat abandoned near to his hiding place down a shadowy exit built into the wall. A shame, I thought, looking at the bike.
The scummer must have realised I was there, as he darted out of hiding suddenly and thrust a blade at my face. I dodged it and forward swiped my gun across his face, breaking his nose. He yelped and crumbled to the ground. I kicked away his knife and kicked him in the gut for good measure.
‘Hacan Buller, you’re almost a hard man to find,’ I said.
He cursed at me, holding his damaged nose. Blood flowed freely down his face and onto the mucky ground.
‘Now, this time you will tell me what I want to know.’ His surface thoughts suddenly turned to fear. Good, he knew what I was talking about. ‘That night, in the warehouse, what happened?’
‘You broke my nose, you...’
I thumbed the activation switch on my pistol and put it to his head. ‘The truth, Buller. Now.’
Fear raced through him once more, and I could sense he was giving up.
‘The bodies....five of them...’
I pushed the gun forcibly into his skull. He yelped in pain. ‘I know this. Before they died. When he was there!’
At the mention of ‘he’ Buller almost whimpered and a shocking fear cloaked his thoughts. I winched slightly, drawing away from him. What would do this to hard-time thug?
This had been the first real sign that we were dealing with a proper heretic. I say proper because I have seen plenty of imitators, rep-killers and such-like. But this one was the real deal. Five heavily armoured, highly trained Custodians had been slaughtered by one assailant.
How do I know there was only one killer? I suppose I have to explain. Know that I am loyal to the God-Emperor, as I have said. I use my Skill for the good of mankind. Some still do not believe this. Governor Thracus trusted me, like many others, and I ask you to do the same.
I have a Skill. It has several faces – I can ‘sense’ people after being close to them, and so I am able to track them. I can read people emotions. When a human feels fear, pain or terror before death, or if some form of psychic ability is used, I have an image of the past burnt into my brain. If someone murders another, I can see it happen, but only after the event and within close proximity to it. The image goes hazy after a few days, and soon vanishes, as if the souls of the dead have finally been sucked into the afterlife. I have other abilities, but these are my main ones and the most painful. The others are, well, undeveloped and unreliable.
For some strange, yet universal reason, every place – be it a church, hab unit, shop-space or warehouse, that someone has been killed in, seems tainted. It’s as if the soul of the building, or room, has been corrupted or changed. Like the dead linger, ever haunting for retribution.
Yet I know that most go screaming into the warp, praying for forgiveness that they will never receive.
Since I was young I knew I was different. Weird. Or Wyrd, if you like. I have other-worldly abilities, a psyker of sorts. It is my curse and my gift. It is also the reason I am so good at my job.
Usually I can go to the site of such an event and gleam the faces of the culprits and the dead (even when the face of the dead is then unrecognisable).
I am lucky the Governor discovered my abilities before the Black Ships did. I am his tool. His secret. His weapon.
There was one problem with this case, however. Usually by now I would have identified the murderer, thanks to the Governors Astropath snatching their profiles from my mind, but I could not do it here. Something smudged the image of the killer, and prevented me to See his face. All I knew was that only one man, one beast, had murdered all these people. I saw all of the victims in crystal clarity. Each of their deaths had been visiting my dreams most nights. All twelve of them. The last five were the bloodiest, most horrid, deaths.
‘It...something came to the warehouse. People were with it. It was evil...frost everywhere...then screaming. The pain... pain in my head.’
I was confused. Had I hit him harder than I intended? ‘What do you mean?’
He looked up at me, eyes streaming with tears. ‘The pain in my head!’ Suddenly the tears turned red and white hot pain shot through me. Buller screamed in agony and started to convulse. I backed away, trying to shut out the pain, and then I backed out. My last thoughts were of a laughing man with burning eyes.
*
It must have been a few hours later when I awoke, my head thumping and dried blood sticking to my face from a nose bleed. What had happened? My thoughts were jumbled spikes of pain in my head.
I unsteadily got to my feet, wiping the flakes of blood from my face. Buller. What had...?
I looked down and saw his lifeless body lying on the ground – his back arched backwards unnaturally, and his face frozen in a mask of pain. There was something more going on, something bigger than just a random killer on the loose. Buller had been killed and I was left alive, why? Again, I had more question and fewer answers. I angrily stooped to pick up my discarded gun, and pain once more shot through my head. I cursed, holstering my gun and looked to my chronometer. Evening. Indeed, the sky was slowly turning dark above me and there was a chill wind.
I decided then to go and meet Jebidius Croon, a man who always seemed to have answers. I could have gone back to report the attack to the Governor, but my lack of headway in the situation was only annoying him. So Croon became my next destination. Maybe I should have just headed back to the Palace and things would have worked out different, I’ll never truly know. At the time I had no idea what I was heading into. Hindsight is a beautiful and terrible thing.
*
By nightfall I was standing in a thin corridor with a low ceiling, waiting outside a thick-looking plasteel door. A dim blue light-orb lit the dingy hallway, making it hard to see.
A large beater stood next to me, casually gawping at a vid-slate in his hand. He barely noticed I was there anymore after my entrance – recognising that I was one of his bosses ‘mates’ – A safe face. I had forgotten his name, but I knew it once, when I was working for his boss, Jebidius Croon. Of course, at the time, I was working undercover (tracking down a drug trafficking thief that had turned to violence when stealing someone’s creds) and had been one of the gang. But, as it turned out, I decided to keep my links to Croon after the job. As I had managed to keep my real identity a secret, I thought having one more informant would do no harm. I never thought I would start to see him as a form of ‘friend’. I liked the man, even though he was a small-time crime lord.
The thing is: I know his kind. I feel a sort of ease around them and know their world. My father was low level drug-dealer in the slum-schemes of Emodora First, and my childhood was surrounded by tab-addicts and petty criminals. At the time I knew nothing of the world, living deep in the dark niches of the city; barely eating every day as my father slowly turned from dealing to addiction himself. Eventually he crossed the wrong crime-boss and he was found floating in the Emodora river-course – a boated dead body.
The plasteel door hissed open, hinged on small pistons, and a shadowy figure edged into the corridor. ‘Salis Cray,’ a croaked voice said, ‘he’ll see you now.’
‘Thanks, Havalar,’ I replied. Havalar was Croon’s ageing assistant. The data-keeper and doorman, as I knew him. Salis Cray was one of my pseudo names, not my real one, but Croon knew me as such, which suited me fine.
Havalar led me in, his augmetic limbs (both arms and legs) whirring as he moved. I walked into another dull decorated hallway and followed the old wiry man to another door, which opened into an altogether different world from the one I stood in moments earlier; I crossed the dull-metal threshold and entered into a form of private club. The colours hit me first, with deep reds and oranges smothering my senses, almost drowning out the thumping background music. Not many night-haunts like this existed on Emodora, which showed Croons relative wealth – or connections – within the underworld. The place seemed quiet, with only a few patrons sitting at the equally opulent looking bar which was hiding at the back of the club, nestled between crimson shrouds and bright, comfy looking seating areas.
Jebidius Croon sat airily within one of the affluently furnished booths, his arms spread along the edges of a red couch, his infectious smile splitting his lean face. He clicked his fingers in a swift gesture as I closed, and before I stood before him, a stunningly beautiful servo-girl elegantly placed my favourite drink upon the circular table beside Croon. The Talvic brandy, a dangerously seductive drink, almost looked at me as I sat down across from Croon, who wore a knowing smile; it had been awhile since I had had a good night out, and I was tempted to indulge with my drink-bud – even after the day I had endured. Especially after the day endured.
‘Well, well,’ laughed Jebidius. ‘What have I done to be graced by the pleasure of a visit from you?’
I grinned at him. I wanted this to be as casual as possible; he already had his suspicions about me I was sure, so I didn’t want to push too much – even though I yearned for some answers. He may not have had any info, but I had to play the game. ‘You know me, I get an itch and I have to scratch it.’
‘Scratch away friend,’ he said, gesturing to the glass holder filled with Talvic. He was wearing high end garpe, a silken shirt obscured with a vibrantly coloured light overcoat. If I was all the rage with my long coat, he was a mirror of the upper-classes.
‘Indeed,’ I answered before drinking. He toasted his drink to me and the strained conversation between such associates began.
I will not bore you with the ins and outs of our long conversations; needless to say it was like old friends meeting, with an undertone of intrigue. Both of us respected each other, but one did not fully trust the other.
As the night drove on, the exclusive, underground club of the crime-lord slowly filled with patrons. Looking at them, I remember that most were either wanted heretics or petty thieves; had I not valued Croon’s help I could have had a Marines-war-worth of fun arresting everyone. Instead, I listened to what Jebidius had to say.
‘Well,’ he started, fidgeting with his already perfect brown hair. ‘From what I have heard there has been an official Inquisition investigation happening within the city. They could have been here for a while, working under-cover as they always do.’ I inwardly snapped to attention. I had not known an Inquisitor was there; even the Governor had not spoken of this. Had he known? ‘Something to do with the Killer – you know, the beast stalking the city?’
I nodded, holding back the realisations in my mind, playing it as simple as I could under the circumstances. ‘Aye, I’ve been hearing of the Killer. Not of Inquisition, though.’ I let it hang.
Croon looked up at me, a look in his eye (I’m sure he knew more, now, than he had let on). ‘Well, I’m sure it’s true. My men have seen the signs, and we have silenced some of our projects because of it. I’d rather lose money than die.’ I nodded knowingly again, encouraging him to continue. He did. ‘Watch yourself friend, this is different, I have a feeling an Inquisitor is close; it makes sense, what with a dangerous killer around that no one can seem to find or stop. Maybe our good old Thracus decided to call in tougher muscle, eh?’
I nodded. He had talked about many things that night, but those words hit home the most – probably because they were true, and my heretic-friend was trying to help me, I guess. Again, please do not judge me for talking to heretic scum for information; I was doing so to benefit the Emperor and His followers.
We talked for a while longer, the club eventually bursting at the seems with clientele, a veritable army of people opposing their Emperor’s wishes. I know such fiends are out there – I have to associate myself with them from time to time – but having to mix with them always burns the mind. It’s too much like visiting the past, delving into my childhood; seeing my father...
He was the first spirit I saw.
I still remember the shock of reliving the death of my father as he was held under the dirge-waters, gulping to his death. It was by chance I walked close to his death-scene, innocently looking for him. The shock of the psyker images almost killed me; but I was lucky to be saved by an Imperial Investigator: the now Governor of Emodora First.
Another story to be told, I am sure. If I live long enough, I may tell it one day. But this is not the time. As I have explained, I had spoken to Jebidius Croon, and he had informed me of the fact the Inquisition had been investigating within the city. He had little info on the Killer, but I had a feeling I needed more from my old friend/ganger.
‘Before I go, I need the nullifier.’
Croon looked at me. His thin, immaculate features seemed to come to a decision. ‘That’s a hard piece of equipment to come by, never mind loan out at a moment’s notice.’
‘Yes.’
‘It’ll cost you,’ he said, twitching his head, ‘but I guess cred is no problem?’
My grey eyes stared into his. ‘No problem. As ever… friend.’ I added the latter word almost unwillingly.
The nullifier was a Xenos device that blanked out other psykers within a localised area – that can stop powerful beings from burning out my mind. The problem is that it also silences my abilities, leaving my mind raw (and giving me one hell of a headache).
Yet someone had killed Buller and not with a bullet; and I felt it was my best type of security for now. I also had a feeling it was what was needed to stop the Killer. I doubted I could match either enemy in straight fight.
Croon thought for a moment then said, ‘yes. Okay, I’ll get it for you. Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be back soon.’ He then left me alone to wait for his return.
I will not tell you how I received the device – a hand-sized opaque stone, which seemed to flicker differing colours every hour – for it will incriminate someone I trust. It took Croon several hours to get the device delivered, and so we talked long into the night. Eventually, I was given what I wanted, what I needed.
Soon I stood outside Jebidius Croon’s establishment in the whipping wind and cold droplets of rain, holding onto a package containing the nullifier. I stuffed it into the inner pocket of my coat and then pulled the said coat close as I prepared to walk to my speeder.
It was then that I was attacked for the second time that day.
*
A barrel of a gun-weapon was forced into my back. ‘Move slowly toward the blue transport on the side street.’ It was a deep, dangerous voice. I had no choice to obey, and was about to walk towards a sky blue vehicle until a shout arisen from the entrance to Croon’s secret club.
‘Drop it canker or I’ll open a new face-hole for you.’ The burly beater, Vid-slate boy from earlier, had followed me out – making sure I made it to my speeder safely I guessed; Emperor bless Jebidius for his thoughtfulness – and now stood yards away, aiming a small handheld las-pistol at the man pushing a gun into my ribs.
Some unseen beam or bullet suddenly hit vid-slate boy in the head, his body crumbling under the shocking impact. As he fell, the loiterers around the scene screamed and yelled, realising someone had been shot.
The distraction was all I needed.
I twirled around, punching the weapon out of my assailants’ hand, and pushed him to the ground. I caught a glimpse of his tough exterior and combat-bodyglove, signs of a tough gakker that was not to be tangled with, and bolted towards the mass of bodies that made up the night-streets of Emodora First.
Chaos and confusion reigned as I belted through the crowds, using them as shields against my attackers. Suddenly my breast pocket heated and glowed out of the folds of my long coat. The nullifier seemed to be reacting to psyker-force. I know now that without it, I would surely have perished there and then.
I sprinted along a thinning concourse looking for escape routes. My speeder was surely watched, and probably trapped, so I ignored that avenue and decided to find another mode of escape.
A laser-beam singed the tails of my coat as screams arose behind me. The original assailant had taken up the chase. My heart lurched as my breathing suddenly became laboured and panic attempted to burn into my being. I had lost control of the situation and I was being hunted through the very streets that had been my arena for generations. It felt alien, out of place.
It was then that I decided to fight. This was my world. My city. Whoever chased me would not force me into a corner like a sludge-rat.
Whatever alcohol left within my body seemed to evaporate as my mind cleared itself (as best it could with the nullifier so close), preparing itself for the action ahead. I pulled out my auto-pistol from its holster as I ran, and thumbed the activation switch on its smooth gunmetal side.
I turned into a small lane – not unlike the one I had started my day in – and jumped in behind a rusting waste-container. Its load light blinked red, indicating it was full and ready for pickup. It’s funny the things you remember under stressful situations.
My assailant skidded to a halt at the entrance of the alleyway, a dot at the feet of giants, the surrounding buildings standing miles high around us. He was clever, I thought, as he dodged into the ceremite shadows, giving me an impossible shot. I fired anyway, just in case I was lucky.
‘Imperial Inquisition!’ he yelled at me. ‘Stand down and repent, heretic!’
As I have said, I am many things, but I am not a heretic. The Emperor is my guiding light. I may have given in to the man then and there, under differing circumstances, but when he labelled me a heretic my mind closed. Heretics are generally shot rather than brought in quietly, which also decided my thoughts for me.
I edged slowly backwards, away from the waste-dispenser and towards the dark recesses of the lane. My pursuer poked his head out of the shadows and I shot at him, my pistol barking echoes in the thin lane. I missed. I knew more of the waste-units lay dotted amongst the shadows, and so I used them to hide my escape.
But the man chasing me would not be undone; like a haunting spirit he followed my every footstep, never truly losing sight of me. This man was a high-grade Inquisitorial operative and he was always going to the hard to shake.
Soon I was running out the other end of the dark lane, moving once again into the main street of that sector.
Shots clipped the paved ground next to the transport-lanes as soon as I sprang into the street light. I jumped this way and that, hoping the unseen sniper would become confused and miss me. Now not only was I being hunted down on foot, but an unseen foe was watching me through crosshairs. Suddenly, a man in front of me crumbled to the ground, and something splashed across my face and jacket. Blood. Instead of hitting his mark, an innocent in front of me had been gunned down by the sniper. Maybe the sniper thought it was the right course of action - possibly in the hope that I would become one of the fallen.
The Imperial Inquisition will have its way. No matter what.
I was lucky. I survived the torrent of shells. The sniper had turned into snipers, from the amount of shots that sprayed around me, felling anyone unlucky enough to be close to me. Scores fell before me as I scrambled onto the lower vehicle-lanes, ducking hostile fire and swerving between ground mobiles.
Yes, in the confusion, I had stumbled onto the main vehicle-lane along with many other Emodites, causing several street vehicles to swerve away from myself and the unfortunates before me, who in their panic rushed this way and that.
One grav-car, some private vehicle, leapt into the air above the streets and into the sky-lanes and collided with a bulk-carrier. The screech of metal on metal still scratches in my dreams. I am sure I saw the fear in the private vehicles driver (or it could be my imagination playing tricks; I like to think so) as he swerved passed me and upwards to his doom. Sparks burst from the colliding vehicles as they clashed and tumbled towards the opposite building in a rolling mid-air death-dance. The final collision into the building – some Administratum office – sounded like grating flicker-glass and was followed by a deafening boom. A bright ball of fire erupted from the crash scene, suddenly lighting the sky-lanes and street.
I am glad I had the nullifier at that point. The images of such close deaths would have been too much to bear.
I fell to the ground, praying for survival, as the heat of the blast tore across me. As you may have guessed, I did survive, with a few burns, as the sky-lanes and street disintegrated around me.
I feel this was my fault. Had I not ran into that street, maybe this catastrophe would not have occurred? No, I know it would not have happened.
Still, the human instinct is to survive, and that was all I was trying to do.
I lifted my head, then body, and looked upon the destruction. The flow of traffic had stopped there, with several smaller crashes ringing out across the cityscape in the distance as the backlog of vehicles tried to evade the crash. The fierce collisions had seemed to put off my attackers for the time being, the snipers losing their target in the explosions and with my on-foot-attacker seeming to vanish into the crowds. I decided to make my escape as quick as possible, hoping my luck would hold.
Amongst the screams of the dying and the screeching of the shocked, I ghosted through the apocalyptic smoke that belched from the main crash site, which caused the street to dampen into a choking darkness.
I coughed and spluttered as I ran through to the clearer parts of the street. A young noble, draped in rich off-world leathers appeared before me in his slim, charcoal coloured motorbike. Its long, eloquent hull screamed creds and power. And speed.
I moved towards him, holstering my pistol, as the man tore off his flight-goggles. ‘Wow, did you see that?’
‘Yes,’ I said, as I pushed him off his ride.
‘What th-,’ he mumbled, surprised, as he fell.
‘Sorry, important planetary business.’
I was on the bike instantly, my arse barely touching the padded seat before I turned the throttle, accelerating the bikes jet-like engines to full power away from the mess caused by my flight.
Suddenly, a military-type land speeder burst out of the smoky-haze and darkness around me.
It seemed I had not lost my enemies after all and so the chase began in earnest once more.
Air slammed across my face and eyes as I sped through the night streets of Emodora First. My sight was blind due to the whipping wind that whistled across my senses. Luckily, my augments helped me perceive my whereabouts: digi-implants within my wrists communed with the bike-machine’s spirit, thin fibre-tubes that attached themselves to connectors on the bikes control panel, focusing my outer senses to the stark environment around me.
I thrust through the road-lanes at break-neck speed, determined to outpace my foe that followed within the landspeeder – the speeder itself seemed to be equipped with linked assault weapons that fired hundreds of deadly projectiles minutely. I’m sure the biting death that spat from the cannons clawed at my end-wings, aiming to disable the motors that powered the bike. Alternatively, they could just be aiming to kill me, which seemed more likely. I gunned the bike forwards, its costly engines growling fiercely as I weaved in and out of the ground traffic. Luckily I had fled into a quieter part of town, with less vehicles and barely any sky traffic. Yet really, that only meant that my enemies had a chance of hitting me.
On que, a shot slapped across the bikes slick side, narrowly missing my tight gripping leg. I banked left, dodging a lumbering PDF truck, riding the hit. My digi-senses picked up damage; the bike seemed to be losing power.
I find it hard to describe the images that were fed to my brain from the implants – if you have not experienced it yourself, it is hard to explain. I’ll try my best. It’s like seeing everything while also looking at a control-screen. Within a green haze I could make out the blurry images of the street before me, as if I was looking through night-binocs, all the while data was streamed down the left side of my vision telling me how the systems of the bike were working. Harsh, dream-quality images.
A red blinking on the right-hand side of my vision tried to put me off my flight. The warning sign that there was a fuel leak. There are times I wonder at the Holy Emperors humour – does he intentionally make life hard for His own amusement?
I was indeed losing power and the traitor-forsaken landspeeder began eating up the ground between us.
I think I panicked slightly. I don’t usually lose my nerve, but then again, I didn’t normally have the Imperial Inquisition on my tail as I raced through the night streets. I pulled the speeding bike to right, straight into one of the busiest streets in the sector. Maybe I could evade them in the busy vehicle-lanes, i thought – also, sky-lanes were situated above here, so there was a chance the landspeeder could not pass. The forces grappling my unprotected face etched pain across my skin, the strong wind and ice-cold rain adding to the terrible sensation. My mind was already foggy due to the nullifier and at that point I almost blacked out. I did lose control of the bike, however, over-steering its engines and banking wildly across the lanes.
I was lucky not once, but twice, within seconds.
Had I not lost control within that very moment, I am sure the Imperial agents behind me would have blown my ride apart. The assault-cannons fire kissed my flanks, a hairs breath from a kill-shot. Also, with my too-sharp manoeuvre, I managed to narrowly miss a second landspeeder that had been bearing down on me from the higher sky-lanes.
My bike doubled back on itself and I was suddenly charging through the night against the flow of traffic. Fear fired my senses once more and finally,clarity returned.
The chase had brought us into a busier street, as I have stated, and there was still large amounts of traffic flowing through the dark streets of Emodora First at this late hour. A tall ground-carrier emerged out of the gloom – a dull green image to my digi-connected senses – heading directly for me. Its square hull promised a messy end for my fragile craft (and body), and even though I was losing power, I was still throttling along the avenue at a frightening speed.
I looked at the digi-screen: now two speeders were on my tail, the front one firing its rapid weapons. I pushed the bike to its limits and careered towards the large carrier. Suddenly, the front cabin of the carrier was riddled with bullets and it veered out of control. The avenue was broad, three lanes wide, with a thick ceremite divider between the opposite street. The ground-carrier bucked, its front tires blowing out, and it swayed over in its side, crossing into the middle of the street. It was going to hit me.
Adrenaline and fear pumped through my veins and my brain tried to figure out a way to survive. Mere seconds later I saw a small space between the road divider and the tumbling vehicle in front of me. Would I fit through? Seconds later I had no choice, so swerved up to the barrier, my knee a hairs-breath away from being torn to shreds. The carrier turned over and over towards me as I gunned the bike into the opening. As I belted through the carrier exploded, putting off the landspeeders chasing behind and almost throwing me off the bike.
I had made it through! But only just. Then I came face to face with the wall of the traffic behind the ground-carrier who was trying to stop before hitting the flaming ruin. I skidded to a halt and wheeled the bike around – back towards the ground carrier and with the flow of traffic. The transport crashed into the ceremite wall and ripped through it into the oncoming traffic on the other side. Before I was hit by traffic coming towards me, I hit the throttle switch and accelerated forwards, the bikes engines rattling worryingly. A car skidded to a stop behind me, stopping in the space I had sat in moments earlier. Suddenly, the second landspeeder appeared in front of me through the smoky haze of the carriers’ demise.
The street ahead branched off to the left, opposite to where the transport had crashed through the dividing barrier and the giant buildings around me opened into another broad avenue. The speeder flew forward, guns blazing. I gunned the bike towards salvation, while trying to evade bullets and burning debris littering the road.
I roared down the exit ramp onto a quieter avenue, the Inquisition speeder still hot on my tail. Suddenly my top-end bike started bucking, swaying and stuttering out of control. The digi-senses flashed in warning: the engine was low on fuel and damaged. With what power was felt I rushed past the traffic and took a tight turn into back street, a turn the bulkier landspeeder was unable to do. Swiftly I edged my damaged ride down a deserted ally. The night’s dreadful sounds reached my ears – the almost deafening roars of the crashes within the other street, the rain now pelting down around me, and the aching beat of my heart. So close. Too close.
Suddenly another military landspeeder fired around the smoke-obscured corner in the street. It eased off its speed, and then angled toward my position. My subconscious clicked in recognition: the first speeder from earlier.
I sighed, yes, sighed, before jumping off the bike, my digi-augments instantaneously slipping out of the crafts control panel. Rain hissed off the over-heated engines, I remember, as they slowly powered down. I turned away from the bike and bolted through the curtain of polluted water, down yet another dark side-lane, bullets peppering the road behind me
It would take more than luck to escape the Imperial Inquisition it seemed.
*
Rain beat steadily off the ground as I ran through the grim darkness of Emodora Firsts backstreets, and it almost kept up with the rhythm of the thudding shots from my pursuers as their bullets cracked off the same streets before me. I ducked into a sheltered alley, one that the speeder could not follow into and me hid from its gun-sights due to its overhanging roofs. It took me a while catch my breath – I was fit, but the nullifier and the hard chase had took its toll. At some point I had lost my bearings, which I was not used too within my own city, but again, I had never been hunted to fiercely in my life.
I checked my personal auspex, but something seemed to be jamming the signal – maybe it was the nullifier or the weather; but hindsight tells me now it was probably the Inquisitorial Agents. All I could do was try to escape my hunters, then I could find out where I was.
Slowly I edged my way through the dark back-streets while the weather continued to worsen and thunder mixed with lightning appeared to join in this evil night. I could hear the whining engines of two – possibly three – landspeeders overhead as they searched for me, and once or twice I was sure an on-foot-agent was close by, but I melded into the background, using all the guile and wit I remembered from my youth from the slums. The nullifier also did its work, hiding me from my would-be assailants.
Eventually, in the small, almost silent hours of the night, I was confident I had lost my pursuers - the nullifier had calmed down an hour or so previous, so whatever psyker force that had been used previously was out of range, or had been at least been stopped. Once I felt confident I moved out into the busier streets and realised I was not far from one of my ‘safe-houses’, so decided to head there and rest up for a few hours – I badly needed time to think and relax. My body ached all over from the chase and I was shivering due to the chilly temperatures of early morning and several hours of being out in the rain.
Just before dawn the rain eased as I wearily trudged across Hepthora Avenue and was about to turn down a side street leading to a small hab unit I used occasionally during undercover investigations when something caught my eye: An Enforcer van sat across the street from the entrance to my flat-unit and a private, unmarked, vehicle was parked right outside. I could see figures moving in and out of the building. I immediately stopped walking and backed in close to the buildings corner. I peered up at the window of the hab – the light was on. Someone was already in my secret apartment and they were being brazen about it. There seemed to be no attempt to trap me here either; it was as if whoever was looking for me thought I was going to be somewhere else.
Therefore, my cover had been blown. It didn’t take a Telepathic to figure out who had come across me. Somehow the Inquisition had found out about me and seemed to be hunting out my every haunt and hideaway. I knew then that every one of my safe locations in the city would be being watched. The inquisition never worked by halves, always smothering every possibility in its investigations. I had always tried to emulate them in my own enquiries, always tried to act with their overbearing authority. I know now that my attempts were pitiful and nowhere near the scale on which the Inquisition works. I am left humbled by the brutality and single-mindedness of their work. Like a tsunami covering a whole world – there seemed no escape.
What was I to do next? My private, authoritative world had been invaded. I was, at the time, at a loss as what to do. Weariness assaulted me, my brain a thick soup of random thoughts. My body ached with the pain of the nighttime chase and all I wanted was a hot scrub and a soft bed. I was sure then, as I am now, that if the inquisition caught me I would never see a soft resting place again. Still, I leaned heavily on the ceremite wall of the hab-tower, wondering at my next port of call. Something must have happened to the Governor, either that or he had somehow betrayed me – but for what reason?
As I moved away from the hab complex, heading back into the dark shadows of dawns light as it cast its morning glare across the city, I realised that my unique position within the Emodora System had been terminated. Surely if the Governor had been able to protect me, I would not have been savagely pursued through the now receding night before? No, I had been named a heretic for some reason – probably to cover up for some of the Governors transgressions – and I was expendable.
And so I turned into the shadows, realising my worst fears: I had lost my post, my integrity, my life.
And worst of all, any thoughts of finding the Killer stalking the city left my mind, the space left to be filled with my own fear and need for survival.
*
Excuse my flippant use of Imperial Gothic, sir, I do not mean to unnecessarily twist the truth, or make excuses for my behaviour, all I mean to do is try and tell it like it was – to show you how the true events unfolded. I am no good with words; the Governor always had servitors and savants to do such work for me. I guess I will have to get used to doing all my own work now.
However, I digress once more. I mentioned that all thoughts of the Killer escaped my mind, and that all my energy was in escaping my hunters. I am sorry to say that was true for a few hours that fateful day. All up until I came face to face with one of Emodora Cities communal Vid-screens. These mighty machine-screens are used for daily sermons and public addresses. I had grown used to Father Gaimen’s loud lectures each day. His face, hundreds of metres high and wide, would conduct daily prayers to His Holy Emperor – ensuring the people of Emodora would be touched as the day started and finished by their Protector.
The mighty vid-screens were also used for general addresses and in times of emergency to placate the public. Finding my own face staring back at me was fairly surprising, I can assure you...
It was about an hour or two after finding the Inquisition agents at my flat-unit, and I had managed to sneak into one of my old Administratum hab-offices. I needed time to sit down and gather my wits. I knew it was dangerous, but no more so that walking the streets.
Morning had arrived and the sun had started its circuit of the world. The streets once more filled with activity – the Day Shift was just about to begin as Emodora First awoke for another day in the service of the Emperor. Yet, this day, instead of Father Gaimen’s early sermon, there came an emergency address from Governor Thracus himself.
I had walked towards the small window of the office I was hiding in, hearing nothing within the building – this unit had been closed down several months ago for rebuilding works – but the empty halls soon rang with the echoing sound of my broken voice screaming at the world, and the noise of my fists pounding off flicker-glass windows. The glass prevented me from hearing what Thracus was saying, but my image flashed on the screen along with a list of sentences. Each sentence proclaimed every crime I had committed against the Imperium. Yet, until then, I was sure I had never committed any such crimes.
They described how I had killed twelve Imperial citizens in gruesome manners. They described how I had become a foul heretic and had blasphemed against the Emperor. They described how I was the Killer. They described the one I had been pursuing until only a day before.
After the rage had been screamed out of me, I slumped against the thick flicker-glass window, tears blurring my vision. I lost all hope then. How was I to escape this trap, this lies?
My grief was suddenly interrupted by a gust of wind. Strange to have wind within an enclosed room, I thought at the time as I turned from the window. The quiet atmosphere of the small office room I inhabited cooled and my breath abruptly misted in the air. The nullifier flared within my pocket and clawed at my brain.
The door to the office ghosted open.
‘Funny, how the tables turn,’ a rasping voice said. ‘Funny, how one minute you are at ease with your existence, and then everything changes the next.’
A shadowy figure stood at the doorway; I could not get a decent look at them for my tears had frozen to my face.
The voice continued, ‘Funny, how the hunter can become the hunted. How I love watching the dust-emperors followers destroy one another. Its well, such a… chaotic existence for you, is it not?’
I had no answer.
*
The figure moved into the room, I would say it walked, but that would somehow be wrong. It seemed to walk and float at the same time. There was something otherworldly and terrifying about its movements that echoed the weird change in atmosphere. It was soon bathed in the light that diffused through the window and I saw something I will never forget. That I cannot forget.
It had been a man once, I am sure (it did have the correct outlines), but there was something wrong about it. I still think of the word ‘puppet’ when I think about it. I realise now how good a description that is. The silhouette of a man stood before me, but the man had the face of a daemon.
The eyes burned with ageless hatred – windows into a dread-hell – and I cowered before them. The muscles across the face seemed to twitch and turn of their own violation, making it look like they were in constant movement. I could not look at such a thing for long, so turned away. The aura of such a monster almost made me vomit. I shivered due to the metallic cold that orbited the beast-man.
‘Ha, you rightly cower at my presence,’ it started, ‘everyone has had such a reaction to me. I am a god here, amongst such… cattle. Worry not mortal, you will not be one of my sacrifices for now, I have use of you yet, and I wish to see if you die by the hands of the corpse-being’s minions also. It amuses me so.’
Believe me when I say I tried to show bravery in front of the foul being, but my answers could only be blurted out ‘…its you… the Killer…’
The puppet-being suddenly backed away from me, shaking its foul head. ‘Ah, you are wise to use your… nullifier. An interesting word for it. Wise or… lucky?’
I could not bear to be near such a creature, yet what was it? A foul thing of chaos I am sure; some form of possessed human possibly? Whatever it was, it frightened me and almost paralysed every muscle in my body. The nullifier began burning through my jacket, wrenching me from my fearful daze, and I involuntarily jumped up.
‘Yes, you feel my pain. You say killer? Interesting. I merely pray to my Masters and you condemn me for it? Fools, every one of you.’
As the being spoke I hurriedly tore my long coat off before the nullifier burned through to my skin. It must have been working to the limits of its power to halt the powerful beings power. The orb bounced along the floor along with my smoking jacket. Strangely, the smouldering stopped almost instantly as the cold atmosphere gripped it. I looked at the Killer, the chaos-thing, and I shivered in the cold.
It looked back, deeply, and moved towards me, its arms held ridged by its side. ‘Your soul interests me, human, and I will be there when you die to taste it. You have sought me out to vanquish me for so long and now when you meet me you shiver and cower like a fool; how does it feel?’ It waited shortly for an answer, and then croaked off an evil parody of a laugh. ‘You are condemned and you will die. I will follow you, now, and watch you as you are caught and killed. Killer, Killer. How pathetic.’
Suddenly the beast hovered before me and I was backhanded with such force I flew across the room, colliding with a desk. Its touch felt so cold, yet it burned. Winded and aching for breath I slipped to the floor. Moments passed before I could attempt to stand, but I knew then that my assailant had left – the atmosphere had changed and the warmth had returned to the room.
My heart pounded within my chest and I dry-vomited nothing but air. The burn on my face pulsed painfully. How could such a blasphemy live within my city? I seemed unable to stop it, such power it had! How could anyone face off equally with a daemon and believe that it could be defeated? Hopeless. It had been a long time since I had felt so small, so helpless.
Not only was I helpless to fight this being, but my standing within the city had crumbled to nothing but a heretic – I could not call on anyone to help me, in fact, the same people I called allies the day before were now hunting me.
I felt condemned. I was already a dead man and the Emperor had failed me. Emodora First had been my city for forty years and within hours it had been stripped from me – not only from a daemon-spawned being, but also from the very forces that were supposedly there to protect the Imperium from such things. My upbringing had been harsh, my adulthood had been challenging and I had seen many horrors in my life. But this, this I could not bare.
I steadied myself and looked around the room for the nullifier, the only real weapon I had against the Killer and the inquisition. A thought struck me then: It had seemed to be a daemon-thing within a human-puppet, so, would it not be susceptible to human means? What I am trying to say is: Would a big enough gun hurt it? Foolish thoughts of hunting this being down crossed my mind – I had the Psyker skills of hunting such things, but if I attempted to go down such a dangerous task would I would have to get rid of the nullifier. No, that was not an option.
The basic human condition is that of survival, to continue living, and my mind switched into such a condition. Evade the Inquisition, and the Killer, and then leave behind the city forever. But I could not to that, even though every strand of my being wished to run in fear, I could not leave my beloved city to rack and ruin. I decided to let someone know of what had happened and decided to try and hunt this abomination that threatened the city – the world even!
As I scooped up the nullifier its usual dull pain returned at a touch and I hesitantly left the room. At every step I seemed to thaw and my body slowly returning to its normal temperature, leaving a wet glean of defrosted sweat across my body – a distasteful reminder of the dangerous encounter I has just survived.
I had only one option – go the Governor, tell him of the Killer – of what it really was – and hope he sided with me against all of my enemies.
With my hastily thought of plan as a companion, I descended the stairs of the building and back into the glaring eye of Emodora First.
The Inquisitor and his retinue were waiting at the doors.
*
A powerful looking man stood confidently before me. He wore full carapace armour and his face was covered in a frightening mask – a look of terror was etched into the gold-metal, ending in an evil sneer and fang-filled mouth. His voice was augmented to exude strength and authority, the noise grated into my hearing and senses.
‘I expected this would be much easier, but you have turned out to be quite hard to find,’ said the Inquisitor, his red knee-length cape billowing slightly in the morning air. Five dangerous looking agents surrounded me then forced me to the ground, slamming my face off the hard surface. Lights danced across my eyes, and I admit I nearly fainted there and then. Dazed, I was bound and forced back onto my feet. One of the Inquisitorial agents searched me, taking my weapons and the nullifier. He handed the nullifier to the Inquisitor.
‘Take him to the command centre,’ he said as he looked at me, ‘clever idea, using this Xenos weapon against me – another crime to add to your growing list. Take him away.’
I was then roughly dragged into the back of a small transport vehicle and the door was slammed shut behind me.
I was finished, it was the end of the chase, and my life was over.
*
Not long after my capture, I found myself chained to a hard metal chair in a plain, dark room. I realised then that my interrogation would start soon, probably followed by a slow, agonising death. The room smelt faintly of rust – or was it mould? – I was not so sure. Expectations of pain and humiliation roared in the quiet interview chamber and it seemed to drown out most of my thoughts. Believe me when I say that I almost completely forgot about the dread feelings that the Killer gave me just thinking about what an Inquisitor could do.
I expected to stay there, sweating, for hours, the Inquisitor prolonging the dread anticipation, but that was not to be. Not long had passed before the door gently slid open and two figures entered. One was the Inquisitor himself, the other I recognised as the man who tried to catch me outside Croons street-club. I was surprised to find the Inquisitor interrogating me, I thought it was usually his agents who had first go – obviously I was a special case.
‘We have no time for formal introductions, investigator,’ he started, putting his hands down across from me, ‘so you will tell what I need to know.’
I looked up at him, the movement hurting by bruised and burnt cheek, and said, ‘what have I done to deserve this? Why have you set me up?’
He still wore his terror-mask, yet this time without the nullifier, I realised he used not only bionics to alter his voice, but psyker power. ‘I am an Imperial Inquisitor, heretic, and you will not question me!’ The sound hit me like a punch – I jumped back in the chair as best I could, my bonds cutting into my wrists and ankles. Such force! Such power! My own psyker powers identified that he had exceptional talent, and that had he started to use it to probe my mind.
I screamed in pain as he tore through my meagre defences and wriggled through my thoughts, my dreams, my life…
I remember blacking out; the human brain – even one such as mine – cannot withstand such an assault. I awoke several minutes later with someone pulling a needle out of my arm. I was groggy for moments before whatever drugs had been put into my system had their affect. The searing pain continued to shoot through my head and I could taste coppery blood in my mouth. The Inquisitor paced around the room, waiting impatiently for my senses to return.
‘Good, I don’t want you dying on me yet. The Governor has been telling the truth, and I can use you.’
I shook my head as I reply and shrugged my shoulders.
He laughed, a horrible raking rattle, and said, ‘I need your powers of deduction – your witch-powers – to help me solve a problem, before you are executed as a heretic.’
‘Why…’ I stammered, ‘you owe me that.’
‘Fair enough investigator, fair enough. I work for higher powers, for the Emperor, and I am doing his work. I cannot have any loose ends, not here, not now. Think of this as a noble sacrifice to the God-Emperor himself.’
At the time, and now, I really didn’t understand his methods or understand his warped mind. His powers must have gone to his head. But I had no option and I had to comply with his demands. ‘What must I do?’
‘I need you to find a certain something for me. You can track psykers with your powers, yes?’ I nodded, knowing he had already gleamed this from my brain. ‘Good. What do you know of daemonhosts?’
*
At the time I knew nothing of daemonhosts. I could not believe something so vile, so evil, could exist. To have a human soul be consumed by a daemon and for the latter beast to be trapped in the body of the human host is unforgivable. Yet, for it to be planned and executed by an Imperial Inquisitor is even more abominable. I walked aghast through the halls of the Inquisitions operations centre, barely unable to comprehend what was happening around me.
By then I had been told of my mission – my final act as an imperial investigator and as a living human. The Daemonhost had used its terrifying power within the building it had confronted me only hours previous, and I was to use my own powers to track it. Then the Inquisition would move in and destroy the monster. I was then to become the scapegoat for its reign of terror upon Emodora – the truth would be too much for the loyal citizens across the world to handle.
Deep down I could see the Inquisitors point, as the citizens of the vast Imperium did – and still do – need to be protected. Not just physically, but spiritually. However, as I was half dragged into an awaiting car-transport, I still had a feeling that something was not right. Not everything slipped easily into place. I was supposed to be on the same side as my would-be executioners and somehow I did not feel the Governor would give me up so easily – he had his flaws, but selling out on a loyal subject was not one of them.
I had to comply with the Inquisitors demands, however, to survive. At some point there would be an opening – a chance – to escape. No matter how slight the chance of survival may be, I clung to the thought like a shield.
Soon I was back at the vacant building I had been captured in, slowly searching my mind for the traces of the real Killer. It was not hard to find. Not this time. At the previous crime scenes I could not detect its psychic resonance – but this time it engulfed me like a tidal wave of energy. I could see the traces of its power like bright wispy clouds, snaking all the way to the Daemonhost.
‘Well, can you see the daemons traces?’ asked the Inquisitor.
‘Yes.’ Its trail led straight to Emodora Spaceport. I already knew the beast was waiting there – but I decided not to tell the Inquisitor, he may have disposed of me there and then. ‘I can follow its scent.’
He looked at me, his sneering mask angling towards my direction. ‘Well… let us follow, yes?’
I nodded and made my way towards the exit.
‘Oh, Investigator,’ the Inquisitor whispered, ‘do not try to trick me in any way, for you really have no chance. Understood?’
‘Indefinitely.’
We left the building, and began the search through the busy streets of Emodora First. This time I did not blend in with the crowds – my car was sandwiched in-between two armoured PDF transports, and we were circled by two military landspeeders. No, this time as I travelled throughout the concourses of my city, people and vehicles stopped and pointed at the strange convoy, wondering who – or what – moved so brazenly across their great city.
As we travelled I sat in the back of the car wondering at my future, and trying to work out why the Killer had decided to let me follow its trail.
The walkways of fate, and the savage truth, lay within the Emodora Spaceport. We hurtled through the city to our destiny. I admit that fear entered my soul sitting in the back of the transport with an imperial agent holding a gun to me, knowing that worse foes were awaiting us at the end of the journey.
My voice quivered as I directed the driver towards the spaceport, the gruff agent next to me smiled as I spoke – thinking it was he who scared me. He was mistaken, by then it was only the Killer that truly frightened me. His face smiled within my mind and his eyes burned.
*
How can I describe Emodoras Spaceport? Such a sight to behold! Its towering platforms and spiral towers dwarfed the largest buildings within the city. I have always been taken-aback looking at it. The many landing ports climbed into the air like jutting mountain ledges and hundreds of shipping traffic landed and departed every few minutes like Emorian wasps surrounding buzzing around their nests.
I was pushed out of my reverie by my guard – Chaser, I called him, for he was the man who had chased me through the streets (I think I offended him by escaping previously – and now he followed my every move and breath) – and pointed towards the entrance to the spaceport.
‘Where is he?’ demanded the Inquisitor, appearing suddenly next to me.
‘In there,’ I said, pointing towards the port.
‘Do not be clever with me fiend, tell me his whereabouts within the spaceport!’
I realised then that the Inquisitor was referring to the abomination as ‘He’, as ‘Him’. It did not sit well. I expected the Inquisitor to treat the beast with less respect, less humanity. ‘It is hiding within the top spires of the spaceport, inquisitor - the very top.’
He turned and I could feel his eyes bore into me from behind his mask. ‘He better be, he better be.’
We moved into the port swiftly, the distant roaring sounds of powerful engines dimmed suddenly as we crossed the threshold, the Inquisitors agents – around twenty of them – swarming around us. I admit it was quite impressive the way the Inquisition calmly took over the spaceport. There was no covert operation here, as the Inquisitor thrust his rosette in the face of all before him. He became God-like, the crowds swiftly parting before him and casting scared and weary looks in our direction. I heard gasps of recognition as people saw my face: the traitor, the Killer. My fear ebbed slightly then, in the face of such erroneous feelings. Would they even believe the truth anymore?
The Killers eyes suddenly flashed in my mind, and solid fear once more consumed my thoughts.
Soon we were aboard a lift, taking us to the heady peaks of the Spaceport.
The air within the lift seemed to simultaneously frost over and sparkle with energy – with two psykers in such close proximity (the Inquisitor stood behind me, breathing down my neck) and with the heightened anticipation of the confrontation ahead, there was always going to be an atmosphere. Just then, I thought back over the last few days, wondering at how I managed to get myself into such a situation. Everything had felt so normal until the Killers murdering spree – it all started around then – but something still did not sit right with me about the Inquisitor. How had I been brought down from a System wide Investigator, at the top of his game, to become a psychopathic killer and heretic? Why was I chosen out of the millions that lived on Emodora? I understood that the Governor would fear an Inquisitorial backlash if he did not fully cooperate – and with our background, I doubted he would give up on me without a fight. No, this whole scenario must have originated from the Inquisitor.
So, I thought, what other connections did the Inquisitor have with the Killer? And why was the daemon letting me track it so easily?
The lift stopped. A mechanical voice told us we were on the top floor and the automatic doors opened. We had come to the pinnacle point of the space port and from the lift we viewed a large cylindrical observation deck. From what I remembered from my times here it was cut off from most of the port and used only by staff. The Killer had chosen his spot well.
‘After you, heretic,’ said Chaser, nudging me forward with the end of his pistol.
The chill air immediately hit my lungs, and wispy, freezing air entered the lift. I was pushed forward, and immediately I slipped on the icy floor, almost losing my balance due to my hands still being clasped behind my back. Chaser grabbed me, and with one hand on my shoulder edged forward. A twin lift sat next to ours and it opened to reveal yet more agents who expertly fanned out into the freezing sphere-like viewing platform.
It felt like I was in a dream – the two lifts opened into the centre of the platform and surrounding us were massive, reinforced, viewing windows. I could see ground to orbit traffic blasting upwards on all sides, not even the ice particles on the windows could truly obscure my view. Around us misty freezing air swirled elegantly, circling our movements. The eerie silence was broken only by the sounds of the Inquisitorial agents crunching the ice on the floor and thumbing activation switches on their weapons. The only other furniture I could see was a few desks scattered around the room with disconnected cogitators sitting upon them. The Killer was nowhere to be seen, but I could feel his presence. Across the platform I could see dead bodies and I could feel their deaths. Already the Killer had started his foul work. Parts of the ice had frozen red.
‘Where is the Beast?’ asked the Inquisitor, his mask angling towards me.
‘Why, my friend,’ a disconnected throaty voice sounded, ‘I am everywhere.’
Everyone stopped moving and scanned across the room with their weapons. A cool sheet of fear washed down my back as I was held helplessly still.
‘Show yourself fiend!’ yelled the Inquisitor. I could feel the use of his powers like pins stabbing into my brain.
‘As you wish.’ With that the daemonhost fell from the ceiling in front of the Inquisitorial troops. It looked as if it was swimming in the air as it moved to the floor and stopped inches from the metal, its head bowed. Its head suddenly snapped up revealing glowing eyes and a sneering face. Those same eyes that had been watching me in my mind. I had the feeling it was smiling as us.
The troops opened fire, the sound of their guns roared across the dome. The daemon through out its hands as if batting flies away from its body – wherever the Killer signalled a man was thrown forcibly back. Bodies, damaged and broken, were soon flying backwards and forwards across the viewing platform. Their cries suddenly cutting off as they slammed against the reinforced glass and gunmetal walls. Its power was amazing! I felt the rawness of it explode around me, and desired to be so powerful.
Chaser pulled me down as one of the troops passed overhead. I could feel the psychic powers growing within the dome, like a storm rushing to life. The Inquisitor edged closer to his foe, potent energy crackling off his hands – he was indeed a strong psyker. He thrust his arms out and lightning energy rushed out towards the daemonhost. The sparkling energy hit it hard, but only pushed the Killer back a few feet. Some of the remaining troopers managed to hit their target also, but somehow the daemon shrugged off both attacks. With an inhuman cry it seemed to grow taller and began glowing with a sickly green energy. Oh, to have the nullifier now, I wished.
‘No good human, I have grown in power too much for you. You will be one of my final killings in offer to my Gods, and soon the circle will be complete.’ Red energy shot out of those fiery eyes hitting the Inquisitor square in the chest. He crashed through one of the desks and disappeared into the smoke and freezing mist.
The room had begun to defrost, and ice ran into water. My head rang with all the energy and I shouted out in pain and anguish as I saw the dead souls of the troops being sucked into the daemonhost. Chaser could hold me no longer – and had more pressing matters being one of the only surviving members of the Inquisitorial strike-team. He let me go and fired several shots off in the direction of the Killer.
The pain grew in my body and mind. It was as if my minds-eye had been opened to unfathomable power, and I glimpsed the writhing hell of the Warp. I strained against my bonds – pulling power from the other dimensions – and snapped my metal chains. The shock of breaking out of the near unbreakable bonds closed off my link and I found myself back in the viewing platform. My wrists hurt from the exertion, and I was soaked to the bone from the melting ice. I looked around: steam swirled around the dome, the psychic energies playing havoc with the internal atmosphere. I could see the Killer finishing off the remains of the Inquisitorial troops – blood mingled with ice as the dome turned red.
I turned to see the Inquisitor striding toward the melee, his chest a smoking ruin of armour and blood. ‘Beast, you may have broken my hold upon you, but you will not run from my wrath!’ He pulled out what looked to be some high-powered plasma weapon and fired supercharged energy at the daemon. Unbelievably the Killer dodged the blast, its otherworldly reactions giving it some form of super-speed.
‘Ah, Thorcius, always so pigheaded, always so sure.’ said the daemonhost.
‘You will not defeat me, scum, for I am no novice either!’
The fighting stopped as the two foes faced each other – one hovering above ground, arms out-stretched and crackling with warp-energy; the other holding a plasma gun forward in smouldering robes and a frightening mask. I still did not know who my true enemy was, but I was beginning to understand.
‘I do thank you for bringing me back from the warp, Thorcius, it was ever so kind,’ started the daemonhost, ‘but I need you no-longer. My rituals on this world have increased my powers ten-fold, and soon the warp shall be unleashed – I will rule this world and all upon it!’
Rage built within me – and I had my answer. The reason I was framed, so simple and obvious now, was that this Inquisitor Thorcius had turned from the Emperor and created an abomination – the Killer – and had somehow lost his control. I was to be the one who was to get the blame for his ambitions, his power-greed, after the true Killer was destroyed. No man was supposed to wield such power, and it looked as if Thorcius, to me the true Killer and orchestrater, was finally realising this as he faced off against his creation around the dead bodies of his strike-team.
The Inquisitor answered the daemon, but I did not hear him, as I scuttled and slipped across the floor in search of a weapon. My shaking, cold hands soon gripped a las-weapon. As I stood the fighting began once more – physically and mentally. I blocked out as much as I could.
Pain suddenly spread through my side and I fell to the watery floor. Chaser appeared in front of me. It seemed the daemonhost had not killed everyone. He pointed his gun at me, murder in his eyes. ‘You will not escape me this time.’
In the split second I had to live, I done all I could and opened my mind once more to the swirling powers in the dome. Immediately power flooded in and I pictured Chaser being blasted away from me. As he pulled the trigger he was lifted into the air and hurled towards the reinforced glass of the dome. He hit it with such force he crashed straight through and plummeted downwards to his death. It happened so fast he had no time to scream until the ground miles below was rushing towards him.
Immediately, violent sounds and whipping winds entered the viewing dome. I closed my mind again as I staggered to my feet, my wet cloths flapping fiercely. I could see the lifts off to my left, and decided to make my escape.
As I edged towards the lifts I saw the Inquisitor stumble towards me, the Killer laughing behind him, power surging around its body. Thorcius’s mask had been torn off to reveal his bloodied face. I could only see his petrified eyes amongst the blood.
‘Please, help me!’ he screamed as he edged towards me in the gale.
After what he had done, after the deaths he had caused, after the mistakes he had made, he did not deserve to live.
I pulled up my weapon and shot out his knee.
The Inquisitor fell to the floor, splashing on the remains of the water. Just as he fell, the other windows blasted outwards – no doubt due to the psychic energies and howling winds – and I was almost thrown from feet. The lifts were close and I edged towards them. The Inquisitor screamed behind me but I did not look back – I just focussed on getting to the lifts and escaping with my life. Within moments I lay next to my destination and I hauled myself into it, scrambling for an activation switch, hoping I hit the right one.
I looked back into the storm-filled dome. Broken glass and swirling energies encircled the Killer as he hovered in the air, untouched by the violent atmosphere around him. In one had he held the still living body of the Inquisitor by the throat. The daemonhost turned its head and looked at me. It smiled. I fired my weapon at the abomination, the shots wildly missing their target, until the doors closed.
The sounds vanished as the lift descended. I lay upon the floor gulping for air, trembling with cold and fear. But I had survived.
*
I was an Imperial Investigator, and I lived on the law abiding world of Emodora. I do miss the sights, sounds and smells of Emodora First. I did not kill anyone unless they defied the Emperor. I am no criminal. I do not pretend to understand the ways of the Inquisition, for they do work in mysterious ways. What I will say is that Inquisitor Thorcius had turned from the righteous path and followed the ways of Chaos. He used his authority to frame an innocent man to hide his own crimes.
The Killer is still loose upon my homeworld, and intents to keep it for himself. I do not think I have the strength to defeat him. My new-found powers have helped to shield me from him so far, along with and I have used the last of my influence in the city to secure a ship off-world. I cannot trust anyone here. I know the Killer will soon take this world – a darkness is coming and it is only a matter of time before the end...
My name is Sebastian Glain, and I plead with you – help me save my world…
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