Unknown Location, Galactic East
“Nimo, Nimo damn it! Here!”
He turned on his heels, roaring and sliding with the las pistol in his hands. The shotgun blast had been closer than he’d assumed a symptom of his current state of utter disorientation. He steadied himself and ran towards the voice. It was friendly; one of his trusted lieutenants, Haderach.
Haderach was a tall, brutal man with a thick streak of nihilist, sadist and genius through the very core of his being. He fitted his calling perfectly – hired muscle of the highest calibre. He wasn’t cheap, and that, besides what Nimo had witnessed, assured him of the skill of the man. He wielded a shotgun like most surgeons wielded a scalpel.
The train junkyard was cold and foreboding, and now the twin moons of the accursed rock had risen fully in the sky, reflecting beams of light into the place. Thick shadows formed on the other side of giant piles of wreckage, making escape perhaps easier were it not for the bright avenues of light between carriages. There would be no way of efficiently escaping from this place.
“Options?”
“I’ve killed three of them, and I saw the body of the one you dispatched.”
“The dogs are all dead.”
“Well, where from here then?”
“The exit hatch is currently shut – we think they’ve been monitoring our vox traffic, and it doesn’t take a genius to work out what we were talking about.”
“What about Marius?”
“The contact?”
“Yes – have we heard anything?” hissed Nimo. The edge of nervousness was palpable in his voice. He needed this win. Too much was riding on this – too many giant, fat, Imperial bonds.
“I’m getting something on command chatter…. He’s ‘pathed in. He saw the place being compromised – they knew the meeting sector and monitored arrival paths. He saw them before they saw him. He still wants to exchange. He’s suggesting we still go while the iron is hot.”
“Wait… What? He wants in here? Frakking hell…..”
Nimo rubbed his chin and adjusted the goggles on his face. It was a gamble, certainly. The place was crawling, but they’d killed four of the interlopers and they didn’t look like arbites or local PDF – these were heavies for some local criminal or worse, some trade rival who was also on the trail of the prize and wanted the Inquisitorial reward for himself.
No gamble, no payoff, as his old man had always said.
“Well, Nimo?”
“Tell him yes. Have you got any explosives?”
Hadrach grinned at the stupidity of the question – of course he had explosives.
“Brilliant. Plant some and bring down those three coaches over there. We’ll try and make it look like we’re blowing ourselves a route out of this place. I’ll take vantage on top of that rubble. You take the other side; we’ll try and catch them between a rock and a hard place.”
“Fine by me,” grinned his enthusiastic companion.
Hadrach moved quickly across the open courtyard formed artificially by the old train carriages. Nimo pulled himself onto the top of one ruined hulk, and secreted himself behind a bent access hatch. He watched as Hadrach secured the explosives, before hurrying away from them to sit opposite Nimo. Nimo looked out across the yard, unable to spot any his pursuers, even though he knew they’d still be out there somewhere.
Hadrach signalled over the vox, slightly less subtle than before.
“I’m blowing a way out of the graveyard – I’m injured and need immediate assistance. No sign of muscle. Living dead in vicinity unsure of their proximity – when you see the explosion, come in and pick me up. I’ll be sprinting through the debris to emergency evacuation point three. Tango confirm?”
“Tango confirmed.”
Without warning the carriages erupted in gouts of explosive flame. The rush of force hit the access hatch, knocking it hard against Nimo’s knee. He cursed, before realising that the rouse had seemingly worked. Voices were shouting from across the yard, before the thunder of heavy boots against the rails. They were coming into the pincers of the trap.
Overhead, Nimo could hear the rumble of VTOL engines approaching quickly – the Bloodied Rose, his prized atmospheric lander. The large skiff came about overhead, circling menacingly like a brutal imperial eagle. The voices gained urgency as they came across the junkyard. They were moving quickly, Nimo could see them now. Hadrach flicked his hand to signal to hold, to which Nimo nodded.
They weren’t in the trap yet – not just yet. The Rose came about, the rumbling engines blowing a dust cloud up in the courtyard which fanned the flames – it distorted the whole scene, perhaps troubling Hadrach and Nimo but crucially meaning their more numerous foes would struggle as well and they didn’t have the advantage of height.
Nimo’s face dropped, however, at the sight of an RPG snaking through the dust cloud.
The grenade exploded, the flash and shock making Nimo shield his eyes.
The vox came alive.
“I’m going to frakking kill you Nimo, kill those cretins!”
The scorched nose of the Rose danced into view through the dust, still glowing from the impact yet thankfully still airborne. Nimo didn’t need a second order, and neither did Hadrach. Their weapons burst into life. It was unfair, brutal, cold but very decisive.
There wasn’t anything left as the dust began to settle. Overhead the Rose cruised in leisurely circles above the bodies of the fallen as Nimo and Hadrach searched the bodies quickly and without any care for the dead.
“Here, Nimo.”
It was a distinctive face, tattooed and cold. The dead eyes were blue, bold and true. The tattoo was an Imperial litany on the tyranny of wealth. A man Nimo knew by the name of Falvio di Nochi. The man who’d sent him on this little errand. He’d been watching him all the time, moving through his contacts and onwards with the search – waiting for the opportune time to strike. And he had trusted Falvio – folly, now, Nimo understood. He sighed and closed the eyes of the old vagabond traitor. He would have to keep his guard up if even his oldest friends were turning on him.
“Boss…” said Hadrach, pointing to the entrance to the courtyard. A solitary figure had appeared in a simple leather jacket and tough, durable work boots. He carried himself tall and just warily enough until he assessed the situation and lack of weapon discharge; as he crossed the distance to Hadrach and Nimo he seemed to walk with incredible purpose.
“Marius?” Nimo chanced as the man came into earshot.
“Yes, Nimo, I am Marius. You have what I requested?”
“On board the Rose.”
Marius looked at him quizzically, as if the mention of the Rose meant nothing to him. Nimo adjusted immediately.
“The Skiff overhead, Lord, as you requested.”
“Ah, excellent. Tell me, Rogue Trader Nimo, what this endeavour has cost you this far?”
Nimo looked slightly puzzled at the question.
“I’m not sure what you mean, Marius.”
Marius smiled – and Nimo looked into his face. Marius had sharp features, well defined and handsome. They were reptilian, cold and precise. The assurance with which Marius moved was all the more obvious as to why, now.
“Is there something you’re not telling me Marius?”
“Answer the question, Nimo, and I’ll let you leave here alive.”
Marius parted his jacket, revealing an Inquisitional symbol.
“It’s cost me enough, Inquisitor.”
Nimo’s voice was filled with a sadness he himself hadn’t expected.
****
Hydroponics Bay, Fahrech; Hope is the Last Resort of the Insane
Maya simply kept moving. There wasn’t much else to do. She’d chanced having a few hours of respite in nightmare ridden sleep. It was enough to keep her moving and upright, but it didn’t feel like rest. She dare not sleep truly and deeply, not in this insane charnel house. It was as if the boundaries of the hydroponics bay constantly slipped through reality. No matter how far she felt she travelled in one direction, it never seemed to be far enough to reach one of the exits into the main station. The fields had almost become endless, and now it had begun to grate on the edges of her admittedly ragged sanity.
It wasn’t just the lack of sleep that was beginning to take a toll. It was the lack of food and the intermittent water supplies that she found. There had been ample watering hoses and sprinklers across each of the fields, but she struggled to find them without any particular reason. They had been in simple squares, every few hundred meters in each direction from any given sprinkler. This no longer appeared to be the case.
The hungering creatures had at least abated their relentless assaults. The paranoia still ran thick in her mind and in her veins, but the actual attacks had stopped. She had also found some small arms; an autopistol with several spare magazines and a roughshod revolver and a box of thirty bullets. The revolver was thick and brutal, a weapon just like her hand scythe – brutal, simple and effective. The autopistol was considerably more refined but no less deadly – the gun could spit bullets at a rate to make it more comparable to a chainsaw designed to rend a man in half, at distance.
She smiled as she found another group of security officers. They carried standard combat packs – which meant they likely had ration kits on them as well. She slumped down, raiding them quickly. Two had water bottles, which were full. She slid them onto her belt, and continued into the packs. They had enough rations between them to last her a few days. What had possessed the security officers to carry such supplies, she didn’t know. Perhaps they had anticipated they would be spending some time in the hydroponics.
She moved quickly away from the bodies, staying low and thin between the thick stalks of crops. The tall stalks kept her hidden, which was useful. The overrun growth of the vegetable patches only left her exposed as they weren’t tall enough to hide her. If she was exposed, it meant the creatures could see her from further away, and that meant she would end up dead. She looked up, through the great domes, into the vastness of space. The thin layer of atmosphere in the ceiling, used to damp further the harmful rays coming through the domes was still intact. The clouds were still forming and the thin atmosphere had a hue of light, pleasant blue.
She sat and quickly ate one of the energy bars, feeling it slide down her gullet. She was getting painfully thin. It surprised her just how quickly her frame had emaciated itself. Her ribs were pushing through her skin, her spin ridged and spikey through the thin skin on her back. The scars from where she had been careless in combat showed all the more prominently on her taut skin. She was a shadow of the young woman she had been when she had first arrived on the station. Her eyes were terrible now; sallow, sunk into her skull and filled with an infinite sadness.
She moved on, looking for a corner in which she could construct some basic shelter. A corner of fencing looked inviting – the back of it looked out onto wide fields, but the fencing was thick, multi-layered and reached up to head height. She used her scythe to hack down several quick sheaths of stalks, which she bound together loosely with one she spat on and worked until it was flexible. She tied a few of the sheaths and arranged them in a loose semi circle, completing the shelter against the thick fence. Overhead she could seethe station begin to turn away from the star of Fahrech, meaning that night was soon to fall on hydroponics. She gathered what little she had with her, arranged it loosely behind her to provide some cushion from the hard corners of the fence and fell into a light sleep.
Her sleep was riddled with nightmares, dark and creeping. She ghosted over fields that were fertile and green on some distant world she’d never seen before. She flew gently and quickly over the rolling hills, the greenery lush and verdant. The scene was so innocent, as if from another age, that it made her heart ache. Then the massacre began.
The greenery began to die, wilting underneath a filth ridden blanket of miasma. Vomit streamed from a dying black star that crushed the life below. The liquid rushed across the fields, consuming everything in its path, burning the fauna down to bare soil. The earth itself seemed roil against the unnatural fluid as it flowed unevenly. Bubbles of disease burst out of the ground. The planet was being consumed as the black sun continued to spew its guts onto the planet as it danced around its destroyer.
At the epicentre of the decay, at the very point of impact where the dark viscous water had hit the earth, a hand clawed through the ground and up into the air, clawing like a new born. The hand clawed further, pulling and grasping, dragging and wrenching; a pallid, gaping sphincter birthed from the soil, gaping and burping green gas into the air. From the throbbing flesh a figure began to emerge, covered in liquid detritus. The flesh of the figure was thin and pale, the veins underneath prominent and thick. The figure coughed into life, breath the seeping gas that came out of the earth. Maya swooped downwards, towards the figure that was barely breath – the figure turned and Maya looked in horror at her own visage.
She awoke with a scream, tears flooding down her face.
Silence surrounded her for what seemed like an age. There seemed so very little point in continuing now. This never ending field of madness was going to claim her at some point, whether it was one of the damned beasts, hunger, thirst, or any number of possible injuries or infections. This place had been slowly sapping her resolve and now she felt there was simply nothing else left to give.
She let her fingers run down the rugged steel of the revolver, before bringing the gun up and into her mouth. She closed her eyes whispering slowly to herself even as the barrel forced her mouth into unfamiliar patterns, and pulled the trigger.
****
Adeptus Mechanicus Quarter, Fahrech; There Are Ghosts in Every Machine
++ You will yield, Magos-Militant. The conclusions are obvious, even if the calculations are not ++
++ Incorrect ++ spat Eirick, fuming, ++ The calculations are too imprecise. I will not authorise a militant action ++
++ You will yield Magos, because your authority is rescinded. The Magos-Maintenum has agreed and the logic of the decision is flawless. Mars will support our decision once this situation has been resolved. You will step down, Magos. ++
The Skitarii bristled closer to the Magos, snarling. They were like starving jackals surrounding their prey. There were a few of them, and Eirick knew he couldn’t fight them off with them around him like this, even with his massive servo harness. They had the advantage, they had numbers, and they would kill him. He could virtually taste their desperation. Ominissah damn them, he figured. If they wished to spill their blood on a blind crusade into the darkness of the station without due course of process and calculation, then so be it.
++ I will yield for the good of solidarity and our unity. You will need my focus and calculations to help dictate the flow of battle. ++
The Skitarii seemed satisfied with his answer and backed down. Their agitation seemed unwarranted though to Eirick – perhaps supplies were dwindling, and perhaps they needed to secure some of the sacred machinery open to perversion in the rest of the station. But this didn’t warrant the lunacy of open warfare across the station. They needed to scout out the bottle necks in the station, the former crew and the prisoners. Sending out servitors, some of the smaller cherubim and nephilim first through the vents would help them to establish the situation.
From there tactical calculations would allow them to plot optimal attack paths and to spread into the station and purge through to the sacred machinery. But no luck – the Skitarii wanted blood, their choler was up.
He turned and left, leaving them to their anger. Eirick knew he couldn’t win the battle directly. He would have to work around them – somehow. He sighed as his dataslate bleeped up with the latest list of defects that were creeping into the servitors and machinery. He sighed. It was getting worse. Constantly, they were slipping and degrading. The sub-routine programs would go first. Then the core routines would begin to break. They wouldn’t simply stop working; however, they would continue to run erratically. Behaviours would become bizarre.
Some would walk into the end of corridors and continue walking until their legs wore away to stumps. Some of the machinery would run until it broke, cogs flying everywhere and flywheels worn down to bare metal. Some would run so fast the holy oil and unguents would ignite and the machine would burst into flames. It was as if a pandemic nightmare of mechanical faults was sweeping the entire station. They wouldn’t admit it, but the Magos of Fahrech were fighting a losing battle. The flames of faults were getting too strong, too great, across the whole station.
++ Magos-Militant Eirick, a moment please. ++
Eirick turned, disguising his glower by setting his eyes back to neutral red and his vox unit to steady.
++ Yes Magos-Maintenum, ++ he said flatly, pressing down his fury at his impotence in the face of the Skitarii.
++ Are you convinced the course of action suggested by the Skitarii is correct? ++
Eirick controlled his ire and responded with a level head.
++ The Skitarii have their own way to deal with the present situation. ++
++ That statement did not indicate your agreement with the course of action. Do you as their Magos-Militant do not see this as a mutiny against the command structure? ++
Eirick breathed in deeply and tried not to rise.
++ The disagreement was subject to passion on both sides. Rational thought from the Skitarii swayed my decision. I have other tasks to attend to – I will let them perform preliminary reconnaissance before I assist with the search and destroy operations across the station. More data to perform tactical calculations will increase the chances of success of future operations. ++
++ Logical, Magos-Militant. Logical. ++
++ I have tasks to attend to, Magos, if I may ++
++ Go, Eirick, go, I’ll not keep you. ++
Eirick bowed his head reverentially, touched the Cog on his chest and moved towards his quarters. Damn the Magos, and damn the Skitarii. They were risking the whole operation. He would have to act, and decisively. He reached his quarters at pace, and reached for a thick red case, inside which lurked his most prized possession. He closed and locked the door to his quarters behind him, careful to ensure the door was secured. He slid heavy bolts open at the top of the red case and intoned the Ritual of the Destroyer as he did so.
He didn’t intone the words lightly – as the case opened, his eyes filled with the sight of his bolt pistol. He ran his fingers along the side of the weapon, noting its deadly precision and brutal efficacy.
He could countenance the rebellion of the Skitarii no longer.
****
Hydroponics Bays, Fahrech; Hope is the Last Resort of the Insane
The barrel had spun one bullet round. The hammer had clicked and swung into the back of the bullet. The bullet had simply died in its cell, the powder of potential not igniting. Maya was breathing deeply, drawing huge breaths to drown out the shock at the lack of the explosion in her mouth. She took the weapon out of her mouth, coughing and spluttering.
She wasn’t sobbing but the tears rushed down her face streaking the filth that caked her cheeks.
“What am I doing…” she whispered, barely able to understand her previous intentions and actions. She put the gun down, slowly, and let it rest in front of her. The nightmare had passed but like the sun flashing on her retina the images still flickered in front of her eyes in intense bursts of imagery.
She slung the weapons into the belt around her hips and stood slowly, testing her aching limbs. She’d slept well, and felt thoroughly rested. She took a swing of water which was somewhat insipidly warm from her own body heat and then finished a ration bar.
She suspected that some intelligence was guiding the creatures and simply toying with her nightly, making sure that she lost her sense of bearings each night so she could no longer walk towards one of the edges of the bay. That seemed like the most rational suggestion – that, and a severe distortion of time on her part due to the shock of the situation meant that she simply couldn’t rationalise where she was and that meant she hadn’t made it to the edge of the place.
With this in mind, she had scored a number of marks into the fence in the direction of her travel. She had slept on the marks, with them to her back, to ensure they weren’t interfered with. When she checked back for them, she immediately noticed the marks had been seared away, only cold but obviously previously molten metal remained behind.
“It’s too easy Maya,” a voice echoed from somewhere on the plains, “You’re so game and feisty. As I devoured your baby, I could taste its spirit, just like yours, so angry and flaming hot. I’ll enjoy consuming you, just like the child.”
“Show yourself, spirit!” she roared, screaming and kicking the fence in rage. Her breaths became short and ragged as her rage took her over, leaving her a fuming wrenching mess.
“Oh come on dear Maya, don’t you remember my voice… Ha. I like this body, you know. Firm. Masculine. Strong. It’s all such a terrible shame it is falling to pieces.”
Maya looked around, turning quickly on the balls of her feet. She had her scythe out in one hand, heavy revolver in the other, trying to spot her tormenter.
“And I appear. Tell me Maya, do you recognise me… I recognise you. I have all his memories – and in the long days in the cells, during the beatings and the torture it was what he clung to, and because of that, it’s what I cling to. See he had the warding tattoos but they broke that, and they put me inside here with him. As his sanity eroded he clung to that memory like a man shipwrecked at sea, holding onto the last floating piece of his ship. It gave him strength. And then it gave me strength.”
The figure emerged from the shadows, a desperately pale imitation of her partner. It was him, certainly – the face, while rotten, pallid and shrunken was definitely his with the proud features and noble brow. His hair was retreating up his scalp as the skin pulled taut. His gut, previously flat and youthful was now distended and bloated and stunk of rotten flesh and excrement. Maggots crawled through his flesh, allowing further detritus to flow out of the holes they wriggled in the flesh.
She vomited with the shock of the sight, falling down onto her knees. She was barely able to lift her head as he approached her, smiling.
“Don’t worry Maya,” he said, yanking her to look at him, face to face, by her hair. He picked her up easily in one hand, holding her by the throat.
“I won’t turn you into one of them. I’ll make you just like me.”
****
Adeptus Mechanicus Quarter, Fahrech; There Are Ghosts in Every Machine
++ You will not step through the breach, Skitarus Glaavius. You will halt this action. I will no longer authorise your actions. ++ Magos-Militant Eirick stated matter of factly. His weapon was hefted firmly in his hands, aimed directly at the gathering skitarii.
Glaavius began to turn. He was a tall man, firmly built with several cybernetic replacements. His arms were augmented with reconstructed fibres to make his muscles more effective. He had lost his jaw and part of his skull on a forsaken battlefield, many light years from here, which had all been replaced with heavy mechanical parts. His ribs down his left hand side were all metallic too, along with his augmented heart and lung. All in all, he was far more mechanised than man.
“Eirick, you will back down. We’ve discussed this,” Glaavius replied. He turned, not aggressively but his weapons were quite clearly within reach and fully loaded and prepared for a fight. His skitarii bristled with confidence at his response.
++ I cannot let you leave, Glaavius. This is a rash course of action, dictated by base human need. The Ominissah will provide us with the correct guid- ++
“Really? Will he Eirick, hmmm? Will he? I doubt it very much. We’re dying in here – no matter how much flesh we replace because of its weakness, we’re dying in here. You’re helpless to stop it – and the supplies that will save us re-“
++ You will stop. You will co-operate. Or I will prosecute you to the full extend of my authority as a fully vested member of the Brotherhood of Mars. ++
“Ha. Fool.”
The voice was no longer that of Skitarus Glaavius. It had taken on a dark sinister tone, one filled with anger and loathing.
“You don’t even understand what you’re dealing with here.”
Glaavius smiled as he disengaged the locks on the main door out into the station.
++ Desist. Now. ++ insisted Eirick, his bolter locked onto Glaavius.
“You’re all dead and defunct. You simply don’t know it yet.”
The doors released, and a howling host charged into the corridor.
****
In the bleak void of space I watch and wait. Time is ticking and I am patient enough to watch this little opera unfold. I am fond of the greatest of tragedies. I enjoy watching our heroes fall, because inevitably we are all destined to fall. It is what we do at our peak, what great impregnable good we commit in the short time we have with our peak powers that influences how we should be remembered.
I once thought I had reached the peak of my prowess and I accepted that from that point I would suffer degradation in my ability.
How wrong I had been.
In the bleak void of space I watch and wait. Time is ticking, and I am patient enough to watch my greatest plan unfold before me. What great horror I might inflict will outweigh the consequences of this great work. When I first tamed the beast – or at least chained it to my will – I knew I had committed an impregnable good for it still had that insatiable appetite.
I once thought I would never learn the reality of my role in all of this confusion and mayhem and I accepted that perhaps I would go unfulfilled.
How wrong I had been.
In the bleak void of space I watch and wait. Time is ticking, and I am patient enough to watch this catastrophe unfold before me. There’s always a need for blood, and no matter how much is shed there’s always an unstoppable pounding for more. When I saw the cost of the reckoning I counted it well, and for each sin assured I will stop an ill or more.
I once thought that the end would never justify the means, no matter how great the good achieved at the end – the cost should always justify the end.
How wrong I had been.
This is my greatest work, a great role meant for a leader and visionary that would be consecrated in the blood of martyrs for the greater good of the Imperium. My vision is absolute on this matter.
I will not be wrong on this matter.
****
Unknown Location, Galactic East
“We should stop bumping into each other like this, Herald.”
The voice was feminine, sultry and firm. It cut the air with a sound quite like silk being torn. A thick lipped grin passed her face as she patrolled around her prey. Her prey was a firmly built, stocky, male figure dressed in a long jacket, a thick hood and a large travelling pack under which was slung a large ornate hammer. Behind him, a smaller figure shrunk away, lurking behind the much larger silhouette. All around the crowds in the train station were bustling, barely noticing the rising conflict in their midst.
“You should stop following me everywhere I go.”
People flowed between the three of them moving at what seemed like slow motion. Time and air thickened all around the both of them.
“That’s why I’ve always liked you. You have a sense of humour.”
“And I suppose this dance will continue then?”
“Forever, I guess, until you’re dead. Or, I suppose, the off chance I die. That could happen. I can die…. Ha ha. I am, of course, talking theoretically. You won’t stop me, Herald.”
“And you didn’t come alone?”
Rain rattled the thin roof overhead, causing a permanent hiss in the giant hall. Trains vibrated the tracks as they raced through the station causing them to almost hiss their disgust at being trodden over. Other trains squealed as their breaks brought them to a stand still.
“Why bring a knife to a gun fight?”
Overhead in the heights of the roof figures flashed in the shadows. The roof was several storeys high, and the seventeen platforms meant the roof overhead ran a great length over the combined width of the tracks. Power lines ran over several of the tracks humming with the electricity passing through them.
“Let’s not make a great thing of this, then.”
Two white glowing eyes appeared in the hood. Behind the hood, the second figure slipped their hands within their robe
“So be it.”
The two figures moved virtually as one, both drawing their weapons at the same time – the female figure drawing a sword, the other drawing the hammer from their back. Their weapons met and rang out a fierce blow that echoed across the entire station. There was no panic initially as the two of them exchanged parried blows at a speed none of the humans around could comprehend.
All around the station lithe black figures dropped into the milling population. Screams began to echo as the figure behind the two fighting and fierce combatants pulled out a thick black pistol and sprayed liberally into the crowd, chasing the black figures. Civilians caught in the fire were torn apart as bursts of automatic fire cut a bloody tally through the crowds.
The screaming quickly reached a crescendo with the violence. The two figures locked in mortal combat swirled, their respective hoods flicking back to reveal their faces as the third figure remained committed to gunning down the lithe black clad figures. Where the bullets found their target they ripped the target limb from limb as if they had been crafted specifically for the task. The combatants in the centre of the carnage whirled once more, and their faces were fully revealed.
First Inquisitor Junious, Herald of the White Child.
Vaith Osis, Mistress of the Seven Sects.
The hammer, Reprieve, glowed with white hot fury as it slammed against the blade Insanity. The two of them clashed, grimacing trying to give no ground to the other. The obvious strength of Osis showed through, as she was able to shove Junious backwards sending him scattered backwards into the citizenry behind him. He recovered easily from the blow, ducking under a fatal strike from Vaith who decapitated a passer by with a brutally clinical blow. Junious responded by pummelling her backwards with a blast of white psychic energy, which threw her through three people, bowling all four of them to the floor. Vaith responded by killing all three in lightning speed, leaving the bodies behind as she stood up to face down the Inquisitor – who clearly had different ideas.
“Kely, lets move!”
The third hooded figure saw Junious move and without another word followed him as quickly as the Inquisitor pushed his way through the panicked crowd. Vaith composed herself, signalling to the others that were with her for them to follow her after the Inquisitor.
“Get him, kill anything in our path. Spare no one and nothing.”
Her unequivocal orders increased the bloodshed exponentially. All around the lithe black figures began to kill without mercy, to thin the numbers of the people in the station. Junious and Kely kept running, dashing between groups of people and through the flows of people coming into and leaving the station hub.
Behind them, Vaith kept pace with them, dodging easily between people, slashing and maiming those who were stupid enough to get in her way. She leapt onto the side of one of the trains, flipping herself onto the top to allow her an easier route to sprint and get ahead of the fleeing Inquisitor and his companion. She quickly narrowed the gap as Junious and Kely ran, getting well ahead and forming a barrier between Junious, Kely and a beckoning train some distance ahead.
“This is getting tedious, First Inquisitor…”
“Then let’s end it.”
Junious swung Reprieve in a murderous arc, aiming for Vaith’s head. Vaith ducked, forcing Junious to follow through with a pirouette, the hammer still swinging. It hit the side of a cargo box, smashing the metallic crate with a burst of psychic energy and pure impact. Vaith responded with a kick to the back of the Inquisitor as he shuddered from the impact. Junious was flung bodily into the side of a train, smashing the windows with a thunderous crash. The assassin followed through with jumping strike with her sword, which was deflected by Junious with a desperate lunge using the body of his hammer. Vaith smiled her cruel smile as the two locked in a grimacing contest.
“I can smell your fear, human.”
“I can smell your flesh cooking.”
Behind them, Kely, Weapon of the White Child, unleashed a bright flash of white light which hit Vaith and flung her across the station. She smashed brutally through a train carriage, catching her leg on the way through which spun her wildly through a bundle of power cables which sparked furiously before she smashed limply into a firm ferrocrete wall. The wall itself cracked underneath the weight of the hit, shedding a skin of masonry onto the fallen assassin.
Kely nodded at Junious as she pulled him up. Behind them, Vaith’s accomplices were drawing in quickly.
“I think it’s time for us to leave,” said Junious, breathing deeply. Kely nodded her agreement. They picked up the pace again, running for the train. Behind them, the black clad figures seemed disinterested in the First Inquisitor as they raced for their down Mistress.
Vaith was already picking herself up, her arm broken and dislocated at the shoulder, her flesh blackened and puckered, and her ankle quite clearly snapped. Her ribs also seemed disfigured, as if some of them had simply caved in under the impact, but still she rose on her good leg, steadying herself with her good arm.
“They’re leaving, Mistress.”
Vaith spat on the floor, all of it pink with blood. She coughed, retching up a mouthful of blood.
“Leave him. If Nine Eyes wants him so bad, they can send out their own. We waste no more blood on them.”