Deception of the Righteous

[Death and Gravity]

The thick, wet grass of the shrub lands rustled softly as the guardsmen crawled forward on their bellies. The platoon trudged in silence, pushing against the soft earth with their knees and elbows. The sun was still low in the sky, and the air smelled of dew, wildflowers and ozone.

The scream of numerous jet engines broke the silence. The lieutenant shouted something. Black ceramite boots crashed down all around them. Shouting broke out all around as the guardsmen kicked over onto their backs and raised their lasguns. They were far too late, as the weapons of the Sisters were already trained on their prone bodies. Bolters roared and flashed. Flamers vaporized the morning dew, and set the field ablaze.

With one swift strike of her boot, Canoness Magdalene caved in the skull of one of the traitorous soldiers that was trying to hide in the tall grass. She looked to her Palatine, who shouldered her massive Eviscerator and quickly scanned the area with her auspex. The Palatine nodded once quickly.

“To me my sisters!” Magdalene shouted. Her jump pack screamed to life again, and she took to the sky. The palatine and the squads of seraphim followed her. They soared quickly over the battlefield toward the Guard headquarters. They could see the battle raging below. Sisters charged forward in lock step, blasting through the Astra Militarum positions as lasgun fire reflected off their armor. A convoy of Immolators disgorged Dominions at the top of a large hill, silencing the enemy heavy bolters there. In a distant ruin, Retributors fought a desperate holding action, pinned down by the heretics’ lone Baneblade.

The Canoness and her sisters passed over the outer perimeter of the guard HQ. Glittering red beams lanced into the sky all around them. Magdalene felt a sudden heat on her cheek. The golden light of her rosarius glowed faintly over her bronze skin, intercepting a lasgun beam. The Emperor’s providence had been all that stood between her and death from a lucky shot. Her dark eyes blazed with fury, and she silently renewed her vow to crush the heretics in the Emperor’s name.

She spotted her target, and signaled. Like doves the Seraphim formation wheeled gracefully in a swift arc. Reorienting into a steep dive, the sisters rocketed toward the earth. Their armored bodies struck the ground like hammer blows, shaking the encampment with the force of their arrival.

Magdalene slammed onto the concrete road behind the traitor general’s Leman Russ. The pavement cracked from the landing. She raised her twin inferno pistols, and two blasts of incredible heat seared through its armor. Deep within, the blasts ignited the internal ammunition stores. The tank exploded into a massive fireball. Guardsmen standing near it were burnt and thrown through the air by the blast. Much of the general’s elite guard was thrown into disarray.

As if in answer, an even larger explosion rocked the battlefield moments later. Far away, the mighty Baneblade was finally silenced by a resounding chorus of rockets from the Exorcists. Its vast, smoking ruin would soon serve as cover for advancing Retributors.

The Guard were not yet broken. Nearby, a squad of Storm Troopers rallied. Their hellguns raked across the armor of the Canoness, flash melting marks into its surface. One of them raised his plasma gun, his feet planted firmly at shoulder width. He brought the weapon parallel to his line of vision, taking careful aim through the iron sight. As she turned to face them, their bodies were ripped apart by the chain of an Eviscerator, it’s huge blade tearing through them with a single broad swipe. Palatine Victoria stood behind the fallen bodies of the heretics, the teeth of her weapon soaked with blood. Magdalene acknowledged her with a nod, and the two sisters rushed toward their true target. The General and his command squad, barking orders in the midst of the chaos, were only a short sprint from them now.

The Astropath looked sullenly toward the Canoness. His face was drawn, and his deep black eyes were sunken. He turned to the General and spoke in a thin, steady voice, “Our death approaches Sir.”

The General slowly turned. His wrinkled, liver-spotted skin was covered with profane tattoos and brands, and arcane runes. His bald held bore a large, blue chaos star. He grinned manically, and his green eyes were bright.

“Canoness!” He shouted, “We’ve been waiting for you.”

The Canoness slowed, and held her inferno pistols ready as she approached the general. “If you just wanted me to kill you, you should have surrendered. We could have had an orderly execution.”

He spread his hands, “We have our part to play, and I am playing mine.” He closed his eyes a moment, looking toward the sky. “My Lord has such plans for you. It is my joy to die in the fulfillment of his will.”

Magdalene stepped forward, and pressed the barrel of her inferno pistol to the traitor’s forehead. “Order your men to stand down, now.”

The General’s grin quickly changed to a disdainful scowl. “They will fight to the last breath, I guarantee it.”

Palatine Victoria stood to her left, her Eviscerate poised to strike. Her eyes burned with contempt as she watched each member of the command squad. The roar of battle continued all around them as the Seraphim annihilated the remaining elite of the traitor guard.

“Very well heretic. Now accept the Emperor’s mercy.” She squeezed the trigger of her weapon, melting a wide hole through the traitorous General’s head. His corpse collapsed, landing on its knees, then tipping back and coming to rest in the wet grass. She took a deep breath, savoring the scent of justly-burnt flesh.

With a loud shout, the Palatine rushed toward the remaining command squad. The Astropath briefly sighed. Victoria’s Eviscerator swung out, cleaving him and the medic in half. The ragged torso of the Astropath landed face first in the grass, and his legs collapsed on top of it. The medic’s parts landed a short distance away, thrown by the force of the blow.

The Canoness levelled her pistols and quickly fired. She burned holes cleanly through the chests of the Vox Operator and the Master of Ordinance. They were dead before they could react. The partially-melted Vox-caster squealed loudly for several seconds, and then was silent.

Magdalene quickly surveyed the area. She shouted to the Seraphim, “Continue your work sisters. Kill the heretics, in the Emperor’s name!”

She nodded to Victoria, and the two of them took to the sky again. They looked over the entire battlefield. All around them, the Adepta Sororitas were destroying the last islands of resistance by the Guard. The ground was littered with the corpses of fallen soldiers, most were Guardsmen. Many Sisters also lay dead or dying among them. It was a decisive victory, though costly.

The two of them touched down in the soft grass near the extraction zone. Palatine Victoria’s armor and cropped blonde hair were caked with the blood splatter from her Eviscerator. She looked to her commander, “The battle is won.”

“Yes,” The Canoness hesitated, “We should return to the convent quickly. This is the work of Tzeentch, I have no doubt of that.”

Her Palatine nodded quickly in response, then looked back toward the waning battle. She then turned to look at Magdalene. Her eyes were intent. “Are you unharmed, Sister?”

“I am well,” Magdalene said. “This world stinks of heresy. I’ll be glad to get home.”

“As will I, Sister.” Victoria said softly. “I only hope you’re wrong. It is already a great tragedy when an entire Guard regiment turns from the Emperor’s light.”

“We will see,” Canoness Magdalene said. “Tell the Sisters to take some of the traitors alive. We’ll turn them over to the Inquisitor for interrogation. Books, documents, personal belongings, and anything else that may be tainted shall be burned.”

“It will be done.” The Palatine and Canoness nodded to each other, then Palatine Victoria activated her jump pack, flying to quickly carry out the orders. The Canoness turned and prepared to organize extraction.

[Death and Gravity]

“We should just go,” Char said. He wiped sweat from his brow with a thin red cloth. His skin looked jaundiced in the yellow light of the manufactorium. His gray work shirt was stained the sweat of the past several hours, spent monitoring temperatures for open vats of molten metal. Behind him, one of the fabricators released a gout of steam, whooshing loudly.

Ted slowly turned up the pressure dial, watching the gauge closely as he did so. “Don’t you need to get back to the catwalks?”

“They have four other menials watching those temps,” Char said. He raised his hand, with four fingers extended. “It’s covered.”

Ted stood up without turning to face him. He touched his hand to his chin as he looked up and down the fabricator. “Techpriest Mathius wants all the fabricators at ground level recalibrated. I’m swamped.”

Char rolled his eyes. “Mathius would recalibrate the whole damn manufactorium if he could get away with it. Twice.”

Ted patted the large, bronze casing of the fabricator, then leaned in to whisper his thanks to its machine spirit. He then walked forward to the next in line. A servitor was walking back and forth between the huge machines, carrying shaped plasteel plates from the output of one to the input of the other.

Ted closed his eyes and leaned close to the fabricator. He solemnly asked for the machine spirit’s forbearance, and opened the control panel. He began to examine the gauges. He recited a passage from memory, “Every task is important; every job is service to the Emperor.”

“This manufactorium is going to pump out the same number of armor vests if we’re here or not. Look around,” Char made an expansive gesture, “They don’t care. Nobody cares.”

Ted did not look around. “I think you may be the worst person on the entire planet.”

Char grinned. “You love me.”

“Give me an hour to get this row of fabricators finished. Then we’ll go.”

Char slapped him on the back, “You won’t regret it. See you in an hour.”

Two and a half hours later, Ted stepped out through the manufactorium’s south gate. The street was dark, with only lights from windows and a very distant, pale green moon for illumination. Tall gothic buildings rose up all around them. These were mainly manufactoriums for various other goods of all types, though some were warehouses, distribution centers, and other necessary support structures.

A small car pulled up to the curb next to Ted. It was short, with rounded features and two small round headlights at the front. The car was painted a deep shade of purple, with gold trim. The windows were tinted, concealing the occupants. The back door opened, and Char, now wearing a red silk shirt, beckoned to him from inside.

Ted stood on the narrow sidewalk. He opened his mouth slightly, closed it, and blinked. He peered into the back seat. “Char, how did you get this?”

“Darvan sent it for us. I told you before, he’s a great guy,” Char said simply.

“A great guy,” Ted said. He looked at the car, then looked surreptitiously up and down the street. “Are you really sure about this?”

“This guy has everything. You’ve got nothing to worry about it.” Char looked at him sternly, “Don’t be a coward Ted.”

Ted sighed and climbed carefully into the car. The seats were plush, and extremely comfortable. He pulled the door closed, which was immediately followed by the click of the door locks. As the car pulled smoothly away from the curb, Ted looked toward the driver, but they were separated by a pane of black glass.

Ted sighed heavily. “Char, how did we get invited to this?”

“Relax,” Char said. “Arisa is going to be there. You know the red-haired girl that works with the smelters? Bright green eyes, great legs?”

“I don’t think we’ve met,” Ted said flatly.

“See, this is exactly what you need: Girls and lots of ale.”

“Ale,” Ted said. “I should bring ale, shouldn’t I? That’s the proper thing to do. I have two rations left.”

“Forget it. Darvan doesn’t even care about rations. The ale there is so much better anyway, you won’t even believe it.”

“Well,” Ted shrugged. “Some ale would be nice.”

Char laughed and punched him lightly in the shoulder.

A short time later, the car pulled up in front of a tall apartment building in the upper east side of the residential zone. The locks popped open, and Char quickly stepped out of the vehicle. Ted followed suit.

The building was unlike anything Ted had seen before. There were a few short steps leading up to the entrance. On either side, there were wide ceramic planter boxes containing real flowers in soft, black soil. The façade was an immaculate white, and a large brass knocker adorned the steel door. A huge, muscular doorman stood just inside the entrance, holding the door open for them.

Char smiled as he walked in, “Thanks Lars, great to see you.”

Ted gave him a small wave, and quickly followed Char.

Char strode to the back of the entryway, which led to a small elevator. It was remarkably small, suitable for only perhaps a dozen occupants at a time. There were a pair of brass doors that slid smoothly in from the sides, fully enclosing the elevator between floors. Above them was a dial with a single hand, indicating the current floor. There was a tall control panel to the left of the doors, with buttons for each floor. Char pressed the button for the penthouse. The doors closed, the elevator ascended quickly and smoothly, and the doors opened again at the chosen floor.

The pair stepped out of the elevator, and Ted was immediately struck by the scent of heady incense in the air. The music was loud, and unlike any sanctioned Imperial hymn he had ever heard. The tempo was fast, with a powerful beat and distorted vocals. The white carpet was soft and thick, and the walls were adorned with abstract artwork.

The penthouse was huge, and filled with people. Most were in pairs or small groups, talking and drinking. Some were dancing. Ted recognized none of them.

Char threaded his way through the crowd to a small bar with three barstools set in front of it. A tall woman stood behind it, tending the bar. Char asked her for two mugs of ale, then leaned in and whispered something to her. She smiled and poured ale from a large, clear bottle into two steel mugs. Char took one and handed the other to Ted.

Ted looked at the drink. It was dark brown, rather than pale yellow. He brought the mug up to his lips, and cautiously sipped. The flavor was strong and bitter. He felt a warmth spreading slowly through his body. He quickly took another drink, gulping the expensive ale. He felt a sudden light-headedness moments later, followed by a pleasant sense of relaxation.

Char smiled broadly, “Good huh? I told you.”

“That’s…” Ted said, “That is really good.”

Char walked casually away from the bar, and toward the middle of the large living room. A group of people were dancing nearby. Their eyes were closed, and their movements were slow and sweeping, at odds with the frenetic beat of the music.

A beautiful woman with bright red hair danced at the center of the group. She had impossibly fair skin, accented with light freckles. She was wearing a low-cut green dress that clung to her curves as she danced. Her every movement was graceful, sensual. At any moment, her hands seemed poised to draw attention to a different aspect of her body, from her long, flowing hair, to her bust, her narrow waist, her hips, her long legs. If she had asked, he would have torn his heart out for her.

He watched her, barely breathing, no longer hearing the music. Minutes passed, or hours. He felt Char jostle him, and he blinked several times as he slowly refocused his attention.

“Beautiful isn’t she? I knew you’d like her,” Char said. “You should go dance with her.”

“Very funny,” Ted said.

“I mean it. I bet she’ll like you,” Char said. He held his hand out to Ted. “Take this, it’ll help.”

Ted looked down, and saw a small capsule in Char’s hand. It had a thin, clear shell containing a white powder. Ted stared at the pill.

“I uh, I don’t…” Ted said slowly.

Char took Ted’s hand and dropped the capsule onto his palm. “Relax and just take it. Trust me.”

Ted looked at the pill. Then he looked up toward the dance again, but something else caught his eye. Beyond her, in a dim corner of the room, there was a man sitting on a lone barstool. He was perched on the edge of it, leaning forward with his feet on a rung of the stool. He was tall and thin, and wearing a finely tailored black suit. Over the suit, he wore a long coat that draped down behind the stool. He had a large nose, and small, sharp eyes. A group of beautiful young men and women sat on the floor around him. It could only be Darvan, the host. He completely ignored the people surrounding him. His penetrating blue eyes were instead focused, unblinking, on Ted.

Char gave Ted a light shove. “What’s the problem?” He hissed.

He looked at Char, and down to the pill in his hand, then at Darvan, and again at the dancers in the center of the room. One of the straps of her dress had slipped down from her shoulder. There were two muscular male dances on either side of her, shirtless. The dance had become increasingly lewd, as the dancers pressed up against each other and groped each other.

He turned to Char as if to speak, but words died in his throat. His stomach constricted. He could feel eyes watching him from every direction. His mouth was dry, and his tongue felt large and heavy. He stared at Char. He had never seen a heretic before.
 

[Death and Gravity]

Grandmaster Drystann Cromm of the Fourth Brotherhood, Keeper of the Augurium, stood on a barren rock outcropping. The sky was black, and the ground was the red of congealed blood. The terrain was lit only by the random flashes of lightning. A fast, hot wind blasted every surface, and thunder echoed from the plateaus all around him.

He gripped his halberd tightly in one hand, and extended his psycannon with the other. He listened carefully for the slightest noise that could be heard beneath the storm. His swept his eyes across the horizon, searching.

The wind suddenly died, and the storm became silent. He turned around quickly, and saw a woman standing in the open, lit by an internal illumination. She looked thin and frail. She wore the drab brown clothes of a poor hive world denizen. Her dark, curled hair was unkempt and fell loosely around her shoulders.

“Leave me!” He shouted.

She shook her head, and looked away.

He strode toward her, but it did not appear to bring him any closer to her. He shouted again, “I have no interest in your proclamations, witch!”

She looked at him again, sadly.

“Why do you seek to torment me?” He demanded. He closed his eyes and focused. He tried to call down the fury of the warp upon her, but it seemed to slip from his mind’s grasp. “When I find your body I will deliver the Emperor’s judgement.”

“Why do you not see?” She asked in a soft voice.

“I do not need the guidance of heretics. Speak if you must, and be gone.”

“I speak but you do not hear,” She said, “If you ever choose to listen, then remember that the soul is the key.”

“I do not need your riddles either. I swear I will burn your soul and cast the ashes of your shattered mind across the warp.” He advanced toward her despite the futility, carrying his halberd across his chest.

She was silent for several moments, and then spoke quietly, “There is no power within me, or in you, to stop what’s coming. I wish that it could be otherwise.”

“More riddles,” He growled, but she was gone.

The world faded into blackness, and Cromm opened his eyes. He found himself staring into the face of his battle-brother, Librarian Thoros Urvael. They were alone in the dim light of the strike cruiser’s sanctum sanctorum. From behind the alter, the statue of the God-Emperor of Mankind cast its shadow over them. The sweet scent of incense filled the air. Ritual bells chimed with an almost hypnotic rhythm, their soft notes barely audible over the dull rumble of the ship’s engines.

Thoros peered into Cromm’s eyes. “What did you see?”

“I saw the witch,” Cromm said. He stood, casting off his grey hood as he did so. He walked over to the alter, and lit a candle in the center. He picked up a small vial of sacred oil, and sprinkled a little over the flame, which leapt and crackled in response.

Thoros got up and stood just behind him. “Were you able to discern anything new?”

“Nothing.” He said a brief prayer under his breath. “The vision was like the others.”

“It may be just that, a vision from the Emperor. Holy guidance for a mission to come.”

“No,” Cromm said. He turned his gaze upward toward the statue’s face, and then down to the candle. “I am being contacted through the warp. And I can find no wards or psychic disciplines that will block it.”

Thoros lowered the hood of his own robe. “You have a powerful mind, but even the strongest of us isn’t invulnerable.”

Cromm looked over his shoulder at Thoros, “Speak frankly, brother.”

“I’m not implying anything,” Thoros said, as he put his hand on Cromm’s shoulder. “Don’t let this psyker disturb you. Whoever she is, she must intend to encounter you if she’s sending these visions. You can deal with her when you find her.”

“The visions are becoming more insistent, and the pawns of Tzeentch have begun moving openly. They must be connected.”

“No matter what plans might be unfolding, our task is to slay the daemon and purge the heretic. Anything beyond that is in the hands of the Emperor.” Thoros reached past Cromm, and took a vile of sacred oil. He carefully tipped the small bottle, letting a few drops fall into the candle’s flame. It blazed brightly as it consumed the oil.

“No mercy for the misguided,” The Grandmaster recited. He made the sign of the Aquila over his chest, then stepped back from the alter.

“The Emperor protects,” Thoros said.

Cromm turned toward the exit, and Thoros followed him.

[paulJam]

enjoying your work Death and Gravity. keep it up.

are each of these part of the same story?

[Death and Gravity]

I'm glad you're enjoying it. This is all one story. Things will start to converge before much longer.

 

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Char was standing uncomfortably close. “Ted, you need to take it. Don’t look at me like that, it won’t hurt you.”

Ted looked Char in the eye. “Do you even know what this is? We have to get out of here.”

“I vouched for you, I told them you could handle it. How long have we been friends? Just relax,” Char said. Ted showed no reaction. Char looked around the room, and the color seemed to drain from his face. The tone of his voice changed. “Ted listen to me, you really don’t want to disappoint these people. You need to take that pill or we’re both going to have a problem.”

Darvan was still staring at then, his face showing no emotion. Near the center of the room, the erotic dance was still progressing. The dancers were rubbing their bodies together in a steady rhythm, their eyes were closed.

Ted’s pulse was racing. His eyes darted around the room. There was a large window to the right, revealing the night sky beyond. The penthouse was at the top of the tallest habitation structure, overlooking the other buildings around it. The rooftop of the nearest building was dimly visible below the towering spire.

Ted closed his eyes a moment, then looked at Char again. He spoke in a low voice, “Char listen to me. I am getting out of here. You should come with me. But either way I am leaving, right now.”

“Ted stop,” Char said. Ted was already turning to leave. Instantly, Darvan was on his feet. His black coat flowed behind him as he walked purposefully toward them. Ted walked toward the exit, his eyes focused straight ahead, ignoring everything around them.

An ear-piercing shriek rose from the center of the crowd. Ted jumped at the noise, then shook himself and continued toward the exit without looking. Darvan did not acknowledge the sound.

Everyone else in the room turned and looked, and froze at the sight. The larger of the two male dancers, now fully nude, had a massive, bloody gash from his shoulder going upward, across his throat. Blood pumped from his carotid artery in large spurts. He grasped as his neck for a moment, gurgling, and then collapsed.

The woman grinned, her bright green eyes and white teeth sparkling in the lights of the dance floor. She turned quickly on her heel to face the other male dancer. She raised her hand, showing her unnaturally long fingernails. With a quick swipe, she sliced through the man’s flesh, cutting deeply into his neck. He too grasped at his bleeding throat, gasped, and collapsed. She closed her eyes and shivered, her face an expression of pure ecstasy.

The room was briefly silent, and then a loud cheer erupted from the crowd. Many of them tore their clothes. Several people around the dance floor fell to their knees and begged for her attention, offering to give her anything she wanted of them.

It was the cheering that finally caught Ted’s attention. The shriek had only intensified his commitment to escape, but he could not ignore the sudden celebration. He had to know what the heretics were cheering for. And so, he turned.

The moment he did, he saw that Darvan was only a step behind him. Ted took a sharp breath in, and his muscles froze. He felt cold. His mind went blank.

Darvan reached out and placed a hand on Ted’s shoulder. Long fingers curled around his arm. With sudden force, Darvan shoved him to the ground. Without even glancing at him, Darvan stepped quickly over Ted’s prone form and continued toward the door.

As Ted lay on the floor attempting to process what had just happened, there was a loud crashing noise from the doorway. A brilliant white flash followed, with the deafening noise of a thunderclap. Smoke poured through the room. There was frantic shouting. Bodies rushed in every direction. There was more crashing. Someone tripped over Ted in the commotion. A series of sharp cracks rang out over the din.

A deep, loud voice rose up from the intruders, “In the name of the immortal God-Emperor of Mankind, all of you are guilty of blasphemy, heresy, and high treason. You will surrender and submit to interrogation. Resistance will be met with retribution.”

As storm troopers quickly went to work arresting the heretics, Ted remained on the ground, resigned to his fate. He suddenly became aware of another shape crouched on the ground beside him. He turned, and his gaze met bright green eyes hovering over him.

She spoke quietly, “Look at me. I have a message for you. You’re going to be arrested. After that, I want you to take the weapon and bring it to me. You’ll know when the time comes.”

Ted tried to speak, but she drew back, and disappeared into the rapidly thinning crowd. A moment later, a thick, gloved hand grabbed his arm and roughly hauled him to his feet. He was spun around, and cuffs were slapped around his wrists. The storm trooper shouted in his ear, “Against the wall, heretic!” He felt a hard shove, and he stumbled forward. He lined up with the other detainees, facing the wall.

He felt various hands passing over him, first frisking him, and then counting him. He felt a shock maul press into his back as he was ordered to stand up straight. The room quickly quieted down, and then he heard heavy boots walking deliberately along the row of prisoners.

The deep voice from earlier spoke again, reciting a long list of charges, pronouncing a sentence of death for each one. He walked from one end of the line to the other and back as he did so. He eventually stopped a short distance from Ted.

“Pathetic. This must be the ugliest pleasure cult I’ve ever seen.”

“Yes Lord, very ugly,” A thin, creaky voice answered enthusiastically.

“Yes… except her. She doesn’t look like she fits in, does she?”

“Indeed Lord, very unusual.”

They walked further down the line, “You aren’t like the common heretics, are you? That body you inhabit doesn’t even belong to you. We have ways of dealing with you too, daemon.”

She spoke with a voice like honey, “I’m innocent, I promise.”

The Inquisitor scoffed, and spoke to one of his cohorts. “Daemonhost. Classified as lesser pleasure daemon. Sanctus Daemonium IX Protocol is required. Handle with all necessary precautions.”

“I swear it shall be done, Lord.”

“Bring them,” The Inquisitor said, and walked away.

There was a sudden flurry of activity as the detainees were shoved and prodded into motion. A storm trooper shouted “Move!” The line remained dreadfully silent as they shuffled out through the door, toward the waiting Inquisitorial transports.
 

[Death and Gravity]

Three days later, after the initial processing of the heretics, Lord Inquisitor Byron held a meeting with his retinue in the central tower of the Inquisitorial outpost. He paced back and forth behind his desk, his heavy boots padded slightly by the worn carpet, scratching his chin slowly with one hand as he did so. His red cape flowed gracefully around his silvered power armor as he strode back and forth.

 

The Inquisitor’s elderly Autosavant, green cowl lowered to reveal the thick white hair beneath, stood next to the desk with his back to the small window, watching Byron. Vasilie the Interrogator and Dr. Cohen the Chirurgeon sat in the stiff chairs in front of the desk. The pale, bald Warp Seer stood behind them, staring off into the distance. Sergeant Hendrickson, a veteran of the Inquisitorial Storm Troopers, stood on his own in the corner, leaning against the wall.

 

“My initial interview with the cult leader was fruitful,” He said thoughtfully. “This is more than a simple pleasure cult. As we suspected, Tzeentch is involved. A follower of Change would not be leading a Slaaneshi cult unless there were a larger plan.”

 

Lokan the wizened Autosavant, nodded sagely, “Yes Lord, most certainly.”

 

Interrogator Vasilie expression gave little clue to his thoughts, but his dark eyes followed the Inquisitor intently. He sat forward in his chair as he spoke, “An exchange then? Some kind of trade between Tzeentch and Slaanesh?”

 

Dr. Cohen thoughtfully tapped the wooden arm of the chair with her index finger. She spoke slowly, mostly to herself, “A trade between the chaos gods? Are they capable of such a thing? Maybe. Interesting.”

 

“Possibly,” Byron said. “It would explain them working together like this. Although if that theory is true, it doesn’t tell us what they’re after, or how to prevent it.” He paused briefly, “Werner, have you consulted the Emperor’s Tarot?”

 

The Warp Seer nodded, and answered in a hollow voice “I have Lord. The signs were the inverted Inquisitor, the inverted Star, the Hulk, and the Knight. I believe these to be warnings for us specifically, to beware a xeno threat, and that we should seek aid from outside. The entire system, perhaps the sector, is at stake. I can see no more.”

 

“Thank you, Werner. But why would the Inquisitor be inverted?” Byron said.

 

Werner seemed to be looking through him as he answered, “Perhaps it is our doom, Lord.”

 

Veteran Sergeant Hendrickson, wearing his dress uniform with an impressive cluster of medals, spoke up “If we are doomed, why would the holy Emperor send a message like that to us?”

 

Werner raised his hands, the deep forest green sleeves of his robe slipping up to his elbows as he did so, “The mind of the immortal Emperor of Mankind is beyond our reckoning.”

 

Hendrickson shook his head, but said nothing.

 

“Regardless of that,” Byron said, “We need to do all we can to use this warning. I will seek allies immediately. Considering what we already know, I expect we have a terrible battle ahead of us. Lokan, organize the interrogation of the cultists. Vasilie, I’m assigning you to interrogate the daemonhost.”

 

“I’m honored Lord,” Vasilie said. He paused for a moment before continuing, “I will see that we learn everything it knows. Though I had assumed you would wish to handle that personally.”

 

Byron half-smiled. “I have a more difficult task ahead of me. The ringleader Davran will be my responsibility. He is a disciplined, experienced cultist of Tzeentch. I suspect breaking him will take my full attention. But do not misunderstand me, interrogation of the daemon will test you as well.”

 

Vasilie looked directly into the Inquisitor’s eyes, “I will handle it. The daemon will regret the day it was summoned.”

 

“I have no doubt.” Inquisitor Byron nodded quickly, and the others quickly filed out of his office to see to their duties.