Date: 271.914.M40, Day of Union [local]
Location: High Kings Grand Palace
Planet: Korzakol III (pop. 39.7 billion)
Late evening summer sun blazed through the ten foot high windows that ran the length of the richly decorated hallway. Outside, over twenty thousand acres of pristine private gardens and managed hunting grounds were going into shadow as the sun gradually lowered behind the mighty peaks of the Himmelbergs.
Between each of the wide windows ancient marble busts of long-forgotten dignitaries stood on their plinths, the carving so exquisite as to be near lifelike. The hallway was positioned on the forth floor in the High Kings Grand Palace. Placed halfway along its length, the largest set of doors was the main entrance into the Debzinger, the vast, warehouse-sized throne room of the High King. The doors themselves were huge things made of solid silver, every inch crowded with delicate etchings of important scenes from the royalties history, a large imperial eagle dominated the design, with a wingspan the width of the two doors.
Seb Vorschal walked along the ludicrously expensive carpets of the hallway towards the group of ten royal guards stationed outside the doors. A huge amount of noise was coming from the open doorway into the hallway. The largest reception in centuries was being held today, and the Debzinger was nearly full to bursting with politicians, royalty, rulers, diplomats and other such people from neighbouring systems, as well as everyone who was anyone from the planet itself.
Ten shot glasses filled with Belsanz, the local alcoholic beverage of choice if you wanted to loose all feeling in your taste buds quickly, were sat on the silver tray that Vorschal was carrying. The guards ignored him, after all he was just a servant, that was until he stopped and turned to face their sergeant, a man in his fifties with short grey hair and a beard, saying,
“A drink for each of your men to toast the Day of Union, compliments of the Palace Master.”
Momentarily taken aback, the sergeant quickly regained his composure and turned to his men, saying with a wide grin, “Gather round lads, free Belsanz.”
In short order all ten men were stood around Vorschal, each having collected a glass of the black liquid and slung their autoguns over their shoulders. The sergeant raised his shot glass and proposed the traditional Day of Union toast,
“To those who died for union”
“And to those who maintain it this day.” chorused the nine soldiers before all ten knocked back their drinks in one, placing their glasses back on the tray then ambling back to their positions.
The sergeant smiled at Vorschal again, and then frowned slightly. A second later realisation dawned and his eyes went wide in fear,
“You frakhead.” He wheezed, before dropping to the floor stone dead, along with the rest of his squad who all followed suit within two seconds without making a sound.
Vorschal smiled, the soldiers had all collapsed out of sight of the thousands milling around inside the Debzinger. He squatted down beside the sergeant, depositing the tray on the floor and acquiring the sergeants’ autogun. He then reached into the inside pocket of his formal black servants suit and retrieved a small device, a simple grey box with a number pad. Into which he entered a code, the box started buzzing quietly.
“Come on, come on.” Urged the poisoner as the box continued buzzing for several long seconds. He furtively glanced up and down the hallway, which was still empty of anyone but himself and the ten bodies. He looked at his chrono, what was taking so long? Silence fell inside the Debzinger and then he could hear the High King begin giving the toast,
“To those who died for union.” Called the vox-enhanced voice from through the doorway.
The buzzing stopped and a light at the top of the device turned green. Vorschal smiled again, looking up at the windows lining the corridor.
“And to those who maintain it this day” came the booming response from the assembled masses inside.
At the same moment the huge window directly opposite the doorway exploded into the hallway, small fragments flying everywhere, a couple pieces slicing across Vorschals unprotected face, leaving him with several shallow cuts.
Within twenty seconds at least two dozen men had come through the blasted window on grav chutes, landed and were in position around the doorway. The sounds of their arrival had been completely hidden by the roaring applause coming from inside the Debzinger. They wore dark green carapace armour and had respirator helmets on, hellguns strapped tightly to their chests.
Two of them had instantly moved over to and slammed Vorschal onto his back, one pinning him in place while the other pointed a hellgun his face and asked,
“Name?”
“Not for three days pay and a kick in the balls.” He answered quickly.
The soldier pointing the gun nodded and stopped aiming the gun at him, waving for the other man to stop pinning Vorschal down. He then turned and left Vorschal to get up by himself, asking a trooper who was reading an auspex,
“Do we have lock-down?”
“Yes captain.” Came the reply, without looking up from the auspex.
The captain then turned back to Vorschal, who had managed to pick himself up by now, taking a fake Inquisitors rosette from one of his pouches and holding it out to him.
“You know the plan Seb.”
“Yes I do, Captain Actus.” Answered Vorschal, taking the proffered rosette and depositing it into a pocket. He dropped the autogun he’d taken to the floor and weaved through the troops and through the silver doors into the Debzinger. The crowds were mostly bunched at the far end, towards the elevated throne on the far wall, but the huge room was still stowed-out. The cheers and roars of applause were still continuing, and Vorschal weaved at a quick walk through the teeming crowds with ease, gradually making his way to his allotted position for what was to follow.
A few minutes later, just as he had reached his place about two thirds up the length of the Debzinger, right in the core of the tightly packed audience, a voice that wasn’t the High Kings’ boomed out over the speakers placed along the chambers walls,
“In the name of the Emperor, this planet and its populace are now under the control of the Inquisition. High King Samu-Yerero and his line are hear-by relieved of all authority.”
A second later the startled expression on the High Kings face vanished, along with his brains, as a sniper round blew up the top half of his skull. Vorschal knew without looking back that the shot would have come from the main doors.
The crowds cried out in shock at the death of the High King. Vorschal braced himself for the inevitable mayhem that was now seconds away. The voice boomed from the speakers again,
“The ruling classes of the Andario sector have been found negligent in their duty of ensuring the protection of the Imperiums property and its people. For this crime, you shall all be executed for the good of the Imperium.”
Vorschal down counted in his head; three, two, one.
The noise level shot up higher than it had been during the earlier cheering, as nearly two thousand dignitaries, planetary governors, nobles, politicians, industrialists and military commanders were hit by the severity of their situation. And just to add to the sense of chaos, the only exit was now guarded by forty inquisitorial stormtroopers with hellguns, who had just started opening fire.
The panic was instantaneous, some rushing towards the exit, some trying desperately to get away from the gunfire, dozens were trampled to death in the first minute. Vorschal simply lay about himself with his fists, fighting himself a clear path to the throne. And violence between the victims sprouted up everywhere, random punch-ups started and old scores were settled. And during all this, anyone who came within range of the hellguns was cut down mercilessly.
Gunfire from weapons belonging to some people in the crowd were going off as well, adding to the death toll as people fought not to be crushed in the surging bodies. Vorschal came across a man, a diplomat of some sort by the looks of his attire, who had some how ended up with undoubtedly someone else’s guard-issue laspistol. Vorschal broke the mans arm and shoved him down to the floor to die under hundreds of swarming feet, relieving him of the laspistol as he fell.
The acolyte then proceeded at a slightly better pace through the crowd, towards the throne. The other royals and dignitaries who had been stood around the High King had either taken further shots to the head themselves, or had disappeared into the crowd, which had surged up the steps and milled around the throne itself.
He stumbled into a small gap in the surge of bodies, within which a navy and guard officer were duelling with sabres. Vorschal shot the navy officer in the side of the head. The guard officer grinned viciously at him and nodded thanks for the assistance, then turned and melted into the surging crowd again, which promptly refilled the space now that there was no combat occurring.
Forging onwards up the packed steps to the throne dais, Vorschal continued to shove, punch, kick and fire indiscriminately to clear a route. Having broken a real servants nose and shoved him to the side, he found ahead of him a pretty young noble lady, battered and bruised, yet staunchly being protected by a personal bodyguard who fired wildly with two autopistols at anyone who got too close or he didn’t like the look of.
Seb quickly grabbed the stumbling servant back and dragged him in front of himself as a meat shield, fired at the bodyguard, scoring solid wounds to the chest and left arm. The guard shouted in agony and fired back with his good arm, three bullets impacting in the human shields chest, while the forth went wide and blew out the skull of a priest stood beside Vorschal.
The return las shots despatched the bodyguard permanently. Dropping his now dead meat shield, Vorschal leapt forwards, snatching up one of the autopistols to replace the run-down laspistol with his right hand, while his left grabbed the terrified young ladys wrist firmly. He yelled at her to be heard over the mayhem continuing around them,
“You’re coming with me!”
He yanked her forcefully along behind him as they continued the last few meters to the throne, she screamed and wailed at him, struggling to release herself with her free hand. Ignoring her complaints, he continued to forge their way up the final steps, until the two of them were crouched in the small gap between the back of the throne and the rear wall of the Debzinger.
The girl was shaking uncontrollably, fear shining bright in her eyes as she stared at the blood-splattered man in servants clothing next to her. Vorschal stared back at her for several long seconds, a slight frown on his face. Eventually he simply nodded, placed the autopistol into her still-shaking hands and said,
“Stay here, shoot anyone who comes near that isn’t me. Okay?”
After a moments pause, she took a proper hold of the pistol and nodded furiously, still shaking quite badly. With that, Vorschal stood and moved around to the front of the throne, punching in the face a servant who was attempting to rob the High Kings corpse. The man stumbled backwards, tripped and had a PDF officers drawn sword pierce through his back and straight out his chest. This took the officer by surprise, knocked over by the body slamming onto his weapon, sending them both flailing to the ground and under the crush to die.
Meanwhile Vorschal grabbed the High Kings body and unceremoniously dumped him off the throne onto the floor. He then proceeded to climb up and stand upon the thrones seat, affording him a clear view out over the madness below. Hundreds of corpses littered the hall, many survivors had grouped together and were in the relatively calm area between the chaos on the tightly-packed steps and the kill zone of the stormtroopers firing range.
Satisfied that enough had happened, he reached into his pocket and retrieved the fake inquisitors rosette. He gathered his thoughts and calmed his mind. Then, quiet as a whisper, he uttered,
“Stop.”
Silence fell instantly, everyone had frozen on the spot, their bodies forced to enact the powerful psychic command.
“Look at me.”
All present turned to face him where he stood atop the throne, holding the rosette out for all to see. Vorschal smiled pleasantly at them before continuing,
“I am the Inquisition. And I hereby judge that the ruling classes and commanders of the Andario sector have proven themselves worthy once more by the forced removal of their weak elements.”
Still they all stared and listened in silence, they were no long under his psychic influence, but his oratory skills were playing their part now,
“Within two years war will come to the Andario sector. You must be ready. As has been done here today, you must all remove the weak elements of your organisations, to purify them for the coming struggle. For only the strong can survive, and you have all proven yourselves strong enough this day.”
The audience started muttering quietly as he paused again; meanwhile the stormtroopers had formed into an honour guard on the inside of the entrance to the grand hall.
“As the seat of power within the sector, the Korzakol system will now be under the governance of the new Lord General. From this moment onwards, you may all consider every world of the Andario sector to be under martial law.”
Vorschal could be very confident that the previous Lord General Belkon wouldn’t have survived the events that had just occurred, as he had had many enemies, both political and career-based.
“Lord Major Dragheim, are you present?” he called out to the audience. No answer came, so he continued through the list of the most senior military personnel.
“Lord Major Gotung, are you present?” the silence continued, the audience on tender-hooks to find out who their new ruler would be.
“Sector Fleet Admiral Vyal, are you present?” Vorschal sighed slightly, to project the appropriate outward air of regret. However, his master would be pleased with the deaths of the four men at the head of the military in the sector, all had been political animals with little interest or skill in their particular fields.
Satisfied that he had done all that was required, Vorschal pointed over the crowd below him to the huge doors at the opposite end of the Debzinger, most turned to look at what he was gesturing at. There they saw, walking up between the honour guard of inquisitorial stormtroopers, a man entering the chamber. He was tall and slightly built, wearing the black uniform common of military staff officers in the Andario Sector, his black hair was crew-cut in an attempt to disguise the fact that it was starting to recede and a neatly trimmed goatee portrayed the air of authority missing from his narrow, gaunt features.
Vorschal took a depth breath and made the loud proclamation, using a small amount of his psychic ability to boost the volume for added effect,
“In that case, by the order of the Inquisition, Senior Tactical Strategic Advisor Cornel Jericho Norhouse is hereby promoted with immediate effect to the rank of Lord General and, by dint of martial law, to the position of acting Lord Sector Andario.”
As Norhouse reached the head of the honour guard, the stormtroopers turned and marched in step with him up the long length of the Debzinger. The crowds parted to let them through, a small smattering of applause gradually growing as it dawned on them all that this was their new lord and master, a man who technically answered only to the Segmentum Governor and the High Lords of Terra themselves.
Meanwhile, as the crowds were distracted, Vorschal got down from the throne and turned round to retrieve the young noblewoman, only to find her stood beside the throne with the autopistols muzzle, pressed against his chest.
“Ah.”
“You are no Inquisitor!” spat the girl vehemently, her voice nearly drowned out by the clapping and cheering surrounding them, making Vorschal the only one able to hear her words.
“I never said I was.” Replied Vorschal truthfully in a calm voice before adding, “Drop the gun.”
He added just enough psychic pressure into the words for the command to be followed instantly. A surprised look appeared on her face as the gun clattered to the marble floor of the dais.
“Now then,” continued Vorschal, taking the ladies hand, “you will come with me quietly and we shall leave.”
He hadn’t used his powers, but she nodded acceptance anyway. They disappeared into the crowd just as the honour guard made it to the top of the throne dais. Before Norhouse stepped up to the throne itself, he stopped briefly to stoop down and take the sceptre of his new office from the dead fingers of the High King.
Satisfied, the new Lord General sat down upon the throne which was now his. He took in the throng before him and felt the weight of his new position come down heavily upon his shoulders. He began his first official speech,
“Much loss and suffering has occurred here this day. Yet this is but a miniscule fraction of the loss we would have suffered had change not come this day, for a most vile and abhorrent alien race will attack us within two years time. They will show us no mercy in their quest to conquer the Andario sector, and so in return we must be able to give them no quarter and scupper their plans. You will all be given quarters within the palace for tonight, as I am calling a grand council for tomorrow for which attendance will be mandatory. My staff will de-brief you on today’s events once you have left the Debzinger. Only the fit and the walking wounded may leave, the rest should be left where they are and will be attended to by the palace medicae unit.”
He paused, the men and women in the audience showing all manner of expressions on their faces; hatred, approval, dismay, fear, shock and satisfaction.
“You are dismissed from the Lord Sectors’ presence.”