Merely Daemons
Trooper Lazslo of the Cadian 512th regiment crept forward slowly. He was jumping at every shadow, at every creak of the floor boards. His entire squad had been wiped out, only moments ago. He didn't even see what did it. Some vague suggestion of a female figure, a harsh wind that blew by and suddenly his entire squad, eight troopers and his sergeant, were dead, eviscerated. He shuddered as he stepped of their bodies.
Trooper Carti, the flame trooper of their squad. She was a beautiful woman, one that Lazslo had dreams of proposing to one day. A fool's dream, but then again, Lazslo was fool. Now his dreams lay shattered at his feet, killed by something that he didn't even see.
Trooper Jarnim, just a standard rank and file trooper like Lazslo. Cannon fodder. He certainly looked the part now.
Sergeant Paulkon. A strange fellow. He had a strange accent, obviously not from Cadia. Still, he was alright for a sergeant and Lazslo was sad for the poor soul.
Another shadow crossed his path. Lazslo froze as his blood followed suit. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck come to attention. By the Emperor, he thought, what was that?!
He continued walking slowly. He stopped only to take the laspistol from his sergeant and replenish his own ammunition. Whatever that thing was, he would try his hardest to kill it.
Something crashed behind him. He whirled around and saw nothing. There was nothing in the hallway. No dressers, no glass, no windows, no bodies, no stairs….no bodies. That thought turned in his head again and again until it finally hit him. Their bodies were gone. They just disappeared. Lazslo shook and took off in a random direction.
He ran. Lazslo ran for minutes, for hours, for days, for kilometer after kilometer, and yet he never moved. He never changed his position. He stayed right where he was despite running in every conceivable direction. The only thing in the hall, a picture of a grotesque old woman of some noble descent, was his single point of reference. He never moved closer to it or further from it.
The shadows kept moving about him, drawing near and then fleeing into fellow shadows. Lazslo cursed and stopped running. Suddenly, he was close to the portrait. He could see her face, her putrid, awful face. He continued to stare at the portrait, mesmerized.
Then the woman began to move. Her face contorted and shifted. He cheeks grew thinner and boils were sucked back into her flesh. Her crooked, yellowed teeth became straight and white. Then they slowly came to a point. Her hair turned from black and stringy to wavy blond locks. She went from horrible to beautiful and the entire time, Lazslo stood where we was. Inside, he screamed, but outside, he couldn't move. A single word floated across his mind. Chaos.
Chaos.
That's right, he was here to fight chaos. And by the Emperor, that is what he would do! He broke free of his hypnosis and was gratified to see that the hag of the old picture had returned. He looked down the hallway and saw nothing. Not even shadows.
Not even bodies.
Lazslo moved down the hall and quickly came to an intersection. He made a right and found himself face to face with a cultist of chaos. Lazslo's blood was up and he was quite sick of the mind games that these twisted maniacs had been playing on him and his regiment, so he shot the man dead before he could breath another foul breath.
"Slaanesh…" sighed the wretch and Lazslo shuddered at the name. Men were not to know of those foul things. Lazslo kept shuddering for a while, but he finally calmed himself with a little saying his Ma would always tell him.
Your nightmares, darling, are merely daemons. They are nothing but dust in the wind. They don't exist and they can't hurt you. They are merely daemons. And we both know daemons don't exist.
That's right, Lazslo thought, the things that these psychopaths worship are just daemons, figments of the imagination. Only the Emperor protects. He smiled as he kept walking.
The missing bodies still chewed at his mind.
Still, he kept on walking. Nothing he could do about it now. All he had left was to continue clearing this old manor and meet up with another squad. He'd be considered a jinx for being a lone survivor and no one would want them in their squad, but of course, those in the Munitorium wouldn't care and would assign him to a squad anyway. The sooner he found a squad to join, the better.
Those shadows seem odd.
They had been assigned to take this manor of an old noble family. The family was actually one of the first to start worshipping those dark, false gods. It was this family that had started this planet's descent into chaos. Lazslo suddenly felt a distinct pang of hatred for this family and fired an entire charge pack of laser bolts into the portrait nearest to him.
After he was done, he saw it was the portrait of the old hag, but now with a burned hole rather than a face. He could still see her wiry black hair and her filthy, fat neck, but here boil filled face was gone. He was grateful for that.
Then the worms poured out of the hole. A huge swarm of fat maggots with actually mouths of sharp teeth poured out of the hole and onto the floor in front of Lazslo. He screamed and took off, only to find that yet again, he couldn't move despite running. The maggots kept pouring out and filling the space around him. They leapt at his ankles and bit, drawing blood. Then they crawled into the holes they had torn into his flesh and continued consuming him from the inside. Lazslo tried to scream, but his lungs were already full of the squirming maggots. His eyes rolled into the back of his head.
Then we found himself standing in front of the portrait of the old hag, her face still reduced to a charred hole in the canvas. Lazslo screamed and then ran down the hall, suddenly able to move again.
Day swiftly turned to night and out of the windows, Lazslo could make out the fires and glow packs of his regiment's encampment. He even saw a small group of troopers playing a game of the Emperor's Tarot and another pair playing regicide. He marveled that he could be facing the horrors in the manor while his fellows calmly played their simple little games outside.
He kept moving, occasionally using his mini-vox to call out to other squads. Something must have been blocking the signals, because he received no answer from anyone. He thought….or hoped it was just dust. But what if it wasn't dust. What if it was that hag, playing with his vox, targeting him with her foul magic. What if…
Your nightmares, darling, are merely daemons. They are nothing but dust in the wind. They don't exist and they can't hurt you. They are merely daemons. And we both know daemons don't exist.
Lazslo's heart slowed considerably after those words crosses his mind. He would be fine, he thought. I had weapons, some of the best the Imperium has ever produced, short of those given to Space Marines. Lazslo may not be an Astartes, but he would fight like one and he would leave this manor alive.
Still, the shadows don't seem quite right.
He banished such thoughts and kept marching.
After what felt like hours of marching, Lazslo attempted to fall asleep. He found himself sitting in a small room attached to the outer hallway. He shut, locked and barricaded the door with a few desks that he found in the room and started unpacking his kit. He ate a few corpse-starch ration cakes and tried to ease his frazzled nerves by reading the back of the packaging again and again.
"Soylen Viridians are the best ration pack for the trooper on the go," he whispered as he read, "Made from one hundred percent organic material that suits the dietary needs of every human being. Soylen Viridians is also the proud supporter of the largest hospital planet in the Imperium…" He was cut off by a loud crash from out in the hall. His throat went very dry and he had to drink half of his canteen to swallow the lump of tasteless rations.
The banging continued, growing louder. Lazslo could only assume that whatever was causing the banging was drawing closer. There was a rhythm to it, as if it were footsteps. Lazslo chastised himself, thinking it would be ridiculous for someone's footsteps to make such noise.
The banging grew louder and louder, and it seemed like it would never stop. How far was this thing to begin with and how is it getting louder? Lazslo frantically thought. Nothing could be so loud and fit in the hallway. Only a Titan could possibly so noisy. Yet, the banging continued to grow. Its beat matched that of Lazslo's racing heart and soon it blocked out all other thoughts that attempted to cross his mind. His body shook and his fingers tightened around the wrapper and the ration bar until it was powder sifting through his fingers to the floor. He looked at the pile of dust and saw that it was shaking along with the beat. Soon, his entire body was lifted and fell back on the floor in time with the banging.
It was still growing louder. Now it was all Lazslo could hear and he couldn't even remember living without the banging. It must have been growing for hours, for days, for week. Lazslo could almost feel his sanity slipping because of it. He tried to pray to the Emperor, but he couldn't find the words. Even if he could, he doubted the Emperor could hear him, because the banging must have been loud enough for the entire cosmos to hear.
Nothing.
The banging stopped, right at the peak of its crescendo, the sound ceased and Lazslo thought that he had died. Maybe, he thought, maybe I'm going insane and it was just in my imagination. He started giggling after that. Soon that giggle turned to an uproar of laughter, filling the room he was curled up in with a sound greater than that of the infernal banging. He continued laughing until his throat was dry and he coughed up blood.
Then, there was a knock on the door.
"Who is i-i-i-i-t?" Lazslo asked in a singsong voice. Another knock followed and Lazslo again asked. A third knock came this time, but it was no mere knock. This time, an armored fist broke through the door.
Time froze as Lazslo marveled at the size of the first. Even his head was smaller than the gauntlet that was now frozen in time, pushing shattered wood from the door. The armor was painted bone white and the knuckles were adorned in gilded spikes.
Time slammed back to normal speed and with it, the hand grabbed the edge of the hole it had made and ripped the door clean from its frame. The giant hand threw the door aside and revealed the giant that possessed it.
Lazslo felt his bowels turn to water at the sight of this monster. It easily stood at eight and a half feet tall, though it was in the shape of a man. It was armored head to toe in a white and black suit of power armor. The shoulder pads were enormous and were decorated in ornate and chaotic designs of purple. Even the symbols put there were painful, mind-breakingly so, to look at. In fact, the entire suit was painful to see, as the symbols were placed everywhere upon it. Lazslo tried to break off his gaze, but the same symbols that were eating his sanity were so captivating that he couldn't resist staring at them.
The helmet was white with black symbols placed along the brows. The purple eye pieces regarded Lazslo with a steely gaze that terrified him more than any bare eye could. Upon its head sat an ornate purple and gold feather, most likely signifying some sort of rank.
At once Lazslo knew what it was. It was a Space Marine, an Astartes of legend. However, he also knew it was not one of the Imperium's. With a horrifying quickness, he knew that he would die. He knew that this monster of a man, once one of Mankind's greatest warrior, was now one of its greatest enemies. A fallen angel, a Chaos Space Marine.
Time once again sped away like a land speed and the thing roared a challenge to Lazslo. He quickly respond by grabbing his lasgun and firing on full auto at the giant. Every single one of the sixty laser bolts hit the things chest, each one capable of tearing a normal man's leg off, but not even the paint was removed from the strikes. Lazslo dived aside and tossed away the spent weapon, knowing his death was mere second away.
The thing pulled out a great sword containing hundreds of metal teeth. It roared to life and the teeth began spinning fast enough to seem to disappear. They cut the air so finely that Lazslo could still hear them whipping the air over the sound of the engine. With a single stroke, the monster sawed the barricade of desks in two and it marched into the room.
Lazslo pulled out his laspistol, but he knew it was in vain. The weapon wouldn't even slow down the brute. The marine stepped forward slowly, seeming to savor the fear coming from Lazslo. It started to chuckle, a deep throaty sound that made Lazslo cringe. Lazslo kept stepping back, matching pace with the giant until he hit the wall. Now he panicked in earnest and he felt himself lose control of his bodily functions. He began sobbing like a baby. What was before him now was no mere daemon, but death incarnate.
Then the giant stopped. His sword still growled, but the giant himself paused. Then it barked.
"I can smell your fear, mortal!" screamed the giant through vox-amplifiers in its helmet. "I will take great pleasure in sending you to my master, Slaanesh, so that she may feast on your soul for eternity."
At the name, Lazslo cringed. This ended up saving his life as he doubled over right as the chainsword made for a coup de grace. Now that the giant was off balance because of his misplaced stroke, Lazslo took his chance and dived between its legs. He rolled to his feet and bolted out the door.
He didn't turn to look back and he didn't need to. He could hear the infernal banging return in full as the giant pursued him down the hallway. He heard the banging grow and he knew the giant would catch him before long. He then decided to take a leap of faith and jumped out a nearby window. He knew he was at least two hundred feet up, but at the very least, taking his own life would be less painful and should the heathen marine be correct, his soul would be saved.
The air rushed about his head for a second, but was cut short as he crashed into one of the few turrets that line the outer walls. He was fortunate enough to not only hit a turret, but to also land inside the tower rather than on one of the ornate spikes lining the outside walls of it. He heard the marine scream in rage, a sound that would haunt Lazslo forever. It filled his soul with dread and he knew that should he encounter the marine again, it wouldn't hesitate to destroy him utterly.
Lazslo looked about him and decided that this would be as good a place as any and promptly fainted.
He woke up hours later to the bright light of the planet's red sun filtering down. The light painted the entire landscape a soft shade of orange, which seemed to only add to the feeling of absolute wrongness given off by the manor. Lazslo reached for his kit, but found none, having left it at the room he had tried to rest in last night. Now he was hungry and even thirstier. He knew he was in trouble now. This planet was hot and if he didn't get water soon, he would probably dehydrate. He needed to link up with another squad or at least get out. He'd rather face a commissar's bolt pistol than be subjected to the horrors like that of yesterday again.
He opened the trap door and dropped down into yet another hallway. He wasn't sure which way to go, so he flipped a gild throne. It landed on the Aquilla, so he decided to go right. The hallway, like every other hallway, was remarkably bare. There were no desks, dressers, suits of ornate and ceremonial armor, no trophy cases, no portraits, no…
No bodies.
In fact, the only thing that was in the hallway was an enormous amount of dust. The dust floated gently down from the ceiling and was about an inch think of the floor. As Lazslo walked, he could see himself leaving a trail of dusty footprints. He had to move quickly, or else the marine of some group of cultists might track him down.
The light was actually quite strong coming through the windows, yet the hallway was no less gloomy than any other he had walked in. The light seemed to stop inches after entering the window. It was as if the shadows were purposely attempting to keep out the light.
The shadows don't seem quite right.
Lazslo shook his head. That's nonsense, he thought to himself, It's just a trick of the light. The dust is causing a lot of shadows. There are no daemons that wait to devour my soul. There are no gods other than his Imperial Majesty. The only dangers are real ones, not the ones in my head. The ones in my head are merely daemons.
Your nightmares, darling, are merely daemons. They are nothing but dust in the wind. They don't exist and they can't hurt you. They are merely daemons. And we both know daemons don't exist.
"You hear that!" He shouted suddenly, surprising even himself, "I am not scared of you, house! I do not fear the monsters that lie in you closets! There are no monsters here!"
Lazslo felt immensely better after that outburst and soon found himself jogging down the halls. He finally came to a stair case and began the climb down. Here, he was careful. The staircase was full of corners and shadows. There occasionally was a mirror or portrait along the walls. At one point, he stopped to look at a mirror. He barely recognized himself. His face was plastered in dust with only two steaks a bit cleaner than the rest. He reasoned that those were the streaks left by the tears of fear he had shed the previous night.
That's when the wrongness made itself known. It started as a bit of unease that grew quickly into a headache. Lazlo studied the mirror and saw something odd. Though it was rectangular, only two of the angles were right. The other two were much too large to work. Yet, it kept a coherent shape. His eyes watered and he tasted iron in his mouth. He forced himself to look away and continue down.
One flight later, he found himself standing still, looking at a portrait of the old hag with wiry black hair. Her face was gone, replaced by a charred hole.
This can't be! The other portrait I destroyed was in the hallway dozens of floors up! How could it be here? I must be going insane, I must be going mad.
He ran down the next few flights, drawing his laspistol as he leapt down the stairs. He refused to look at the walls any longer, deciding that it would only bring misery. He kept his eyes down and focused only and climbing down the stairs.
He finally reached the bottom and began moving down the next hallway. He had to be near the base team or at least an exit. He noticed solemnly that there were no windows on this level and the entire place was lit only by dim, dusty glow lamps that had probably been on for centuries. He kept his laspistol leveled and moved forward.
Then his ears began to bleed. He didn't know why at first, but soon located the source. There were three cultists waiting beyond a corner and they were talking in some foul tongue that caused him pain. He decided to end their miserable existence for the sake of his ears. He burst around the corner and fired off three rounds, each finding their mark in the chest of the cultist. All three dropped like sacks of grain. He gave a silent cheer and quickly searched them for weapons.
He found one had a lasgun and he picked it up. It used to be a guardsman's. He could tell right away because it was standard Mars-pattern that only the Munitorium produced. He looked for the serial number to figure out which regiment it was from. He saw the area was covered in dust and he blew it away. He read the serial number and dropped the weapon.
It had been his name.
That's crazy. There was no way that the serial number read TREN LAZSLO.
He cautiously picked up the lasgun again and reexamined the serial number. It clearly said "TR3N L02210"
See there, it didn't say Lazslo, it was just a trick of the light. Tren, old boy, you are scaring yourself over shadows and dust.
Your nightmares, darling, are merely daemons. They are nothing but dust in the wind. They don't exist and they can't hurt you. They are merely daemons. And we both know daemons don't exist.
Lazslo composed himself and searched the bodies for extra charge packs. After finding two, he moved forward yet again.
He had no idea what time it was or whether it was day or night. It felt like he had been wandering for hours and he was dead on his feet. He found another small room and crept inside. This time, he hid inside a wardrobe rather than sleeping out in the open. He hoped that at least he'd be a bit harder to find this time around.
His dreams were haunted by the faces of his fallen comrades. Again and again, he saw their shadows being cut down by other shadows, shadows that were warped and evil and wrong and yet vaguely feminine. The shadows seemed to both move like an old, distorted holo-drama and like a real person would. The shadow's arms ended in claws, but they still seemed to natural. It was all very surreal and Lazslo found himself crying as he woke up.
He fell asleep again, but this time he dreamed of the giant. He was running and running but he couldn't get away from the monster. The marine caught him again and again, laughed at him and let him go to chase him down again. Again and again, Lazslo was picked up, dropped and was chased by the banging sound and the trembling earth. Even when he was lifted, the banging did not cease and he felt himself shaking even when held perfectly still in the hand of the giant.
He woke slowly and thought he was still dreaming. The banging persisted and so did the trembling.Odd dream, I just won't wake up, he thought. Then he realized that there actually was a banging and the entire room was trembling.
The monster is back.
He sat perfectly still and stopped breathing. He sighed softly as he realized the thing was at least one floor above him. He was miles from the staircase, so he had a while before the marine could get to him. Despite this, Lazslo still was panicking a bit and he began to ventured down the hallway again.
The banging continued though, but this time, it stayed the same. There was no crescendo nor decrescendo. Lazslo slowly realized what that implied. Filled with horror, he thought That means that the Astartes is tracking me through a floor. Then Lazslo ran.
The banging increased pace, but never changed its volume. The thing was going to chase him down through the floor and find him on some stairwell. His only hope was to get out of the manor and into the camp before that thing could find a way down. He tried to run faster, but found that his fear had already driven him to run as quickly as he could. Still, the banging followed him without any hesitation.
Lazslo knew that soon, his body would tire and that he would collapse. He knew that once that happen, the giant could kill him at its leisure. He refused to let that happen. He started to think of a plan to get out of this situation, his panicked mind working at light speed to survive.
He suddenly skidded and turned to run the other way. For a second, the banging softened, subsided completely and then continued as it had, following yet again.
Lazslo did the same thing again, with the same result. Ten more times yielded the same result. Lazslo wasn't positive what would happen, but he figured that this was a good delaying tactic at the very least.
Then he had an idea. He simply stopped and so did the banging. He thought that at the very least, he could get a break. The only options the giant had was to wait for him to move or go to find another way down, giving Lazslo time to escape. This was probably the best pla-
The roof collapsed with a thundering roar as the giant jumped down hard enough to drop down into the hallway. Lazslo was petrified for a second as he saw the corrupted Astartes land on its feet. It pulled out an obscenely large bolt pistol and aimed it for Lazslo's head.
"Pathetic mortal, you think that you could escape I, the great Fulgrim!" it shouted. Its voice was such that Lazslo found himself snapped out of his trance and found himself running yet again, just like in his dream. However, this time, the giant didn't pursue. It merely laughed and aimed its pistol.
Lazslo heard the bark of the weapon and stared in disbelief as his adrenaline addled mind saw the bolt pass him in slow motion. He could see the three jets propelling the shell forward and he could make out the explosive tip. He saw the bolt collide with a blow of falling masonry and pass all the way through before exploding into a million white hot shards. Lazslo rolled as the bolt exploded and he managed to dodge the shards.
Luck seemed to favor Lazslo as he found an intersection a few feet away. He dived into it and kept running even as the second bolt was fired from the monster's weapon. He charged down the hall and didn't dare to look back. He wasn't surprised when the banging resumed. Lazslo felt his entire body tense up, but he knew he had to keep moving if he had any chance to live. He knew he would be overtaken and he knew that he would die here. He had worked so hard to survive, but here he would die. With that realization, he decided that he wouldn't die without a fight.
He stopped and turned, standing his ground against the charging monster.
The marine stopped, shocked that such a pathetic excuse for a life form would dare to confront him. Amused and somewhat interested, he holstered his pistol and barked at Lazslo.
"Why did you stop, mortal? I was quite enjoying the sport."
"If you enjoy sport so much, then why don't we make this a challenge?" Lazslo shouted, startled by his own confidence.
The giant laughed, throwing its head back. When it returned its gaze to Lazslo, he asked, "Do you mean a duel, mortal?"
"My name is Tren Lazslo and yes, I do challenge you to a duel."
"Well, we Children of the False Emperor do enjoy a challenge," the marine said, laughing as he did. "Fine then. I will let you use one clip of lasgun fire to try and kill me. I will not even move a muscle as you do. If you fail, then I will eviscerate you where you stand. The same applies if you run away."
Lazslo raised his weapon to his shoulder, aimed at the giants head and pulled the trigger. The bolt of light glanced off the armored scalp and not even the paint was scratched. Lazslo grinned as the heretical Astartes kept his word and stayed still. He then prayed to the God-Emperor that the masonry on this manor was shoddy and fired into the stone ceiling above. All fifty-nine of the remaining bolts struck the stones, causing them to tumble down between him and the Astartes. He began running away as he heard the monster scream in rage and frustration as its prize was yet again lost.
Lazslo smiled, but ran anyway, knowing it wouldn't be long before the monster found him again.
Lazslo slowed to a walk once he was satisfied that he was safe. He hadn't heard banging in at least an hour, so the monster couldn't be too close. He still kept his lasgun drawn and he reloaded it quickly.
The new hallway he found himself in was equally devoid of items as every other hallway. The only points of interests were the windows, which were just tiny slits that he couldn't even see out of, and a great deal of shadows.
Shadows that didn't look quite right.
There were a few arches that supported the hallway and Lazslo approached each one cautiously. In his three standard years of being a guardsmen, he has learn the Imperium's foes loved to ambush, especially chaos. Each arch was devoid of life, however, and he soon found himself lost in thought. He kept remembering his old squad and already he was missing them dearly. Especially Carti. Alizebeth Carti.
What a girl she was. He was going to propose to her. She, of course, would never accept. She was of noble blood from some other planet that Lazslo had never heard of. Apparently, she was placed here as a form of bail after her father was found guilty of embezzling Imperial funds. Once her five years were up, she would leave the regiment and then live a long and prosperous life of being a noble's daughter.
Still, Lazslo still felt like he had loved her and now that she was gone and he had time to think about it, a void filled his soul. He swore he could still hear her voice whispering in his ear.
Lazslo, come find me…
Just the wind, He thought. Just stress and the wind.
Tren, save me…I'm in pain…find me….
Lazslo shook himself and kept trudging onwards. Still, her voice persisted. He kept thinking that he had gone mad and did his best to ignore the cry for help. He set his jaw and moved silently.
Help! Help me, Tren! Please!
Lazslo shut his eyes and was immediately assaulted by images of Alizebeth being tortured by the shadows he had thought he saw kill her. Shadow claws stripped flesh from her body and she screamed as various vile looking fluids were pumped into her. Even as Lazslo opened his eyes, her screams still rang in his ears.
He refused to let himself be tricked by wind, stress and shadows.
Shadows that didn't look quite right.
Shadows the looked wrong and vile and evil and had arms that ended in claws.
Shadows that frightened him and attracted him at the same time.
Shadows that haunted him, that hunted him.
Your nightmares, darling, are merely daemons. They are nothing but dust in the wind. They don't exist and they can't hurt you. They are merely daemons. And we both know daemons don't exist.
Daemons don't exist.
"But they do."
The words hung in the air for a minute while Lazslo slowly realized he had said it. He smacked himself to clear his head and looked down at the gun with his name on it.
He smacked himself again and tried to remember that the serial number was not his name, but it was only a trick of the light. Of course, he knew it wasn't. He knew it was destiny. He knew he was going to die here and that there was nothing to do about it.
"You have to relax, Lazslo."
The voice came from nowhere. Lazslo turned and saw a horrible apparition of his two squadmates. Jarnim, his best friend, and Sergeant Paulkon. Both were bleeding heavily from their heads and Lazslo saw that their scalps had been removed.
"Lazslo, you have to relax and do what you must," said Jarnim. "Kill yourself."
"And don't you be thinkin' 'bout not doing so, lad," said Paulkon in his funny accent, "If the cultists kill ya, or the daemons get ya, you'll be tortured like us. Slaanesh is not a kind mistress."
Lazslo shivered at the name. "Wh..Why? Daemons don't exist."
"Oh yes they do, lad." Paulkon replied.
"They are not just bed time stories to scare little kids into behaving. Didn't you see the shadows? They are daemons. We were kills by daemons." Jarnim said. "Don't you believe us, Tren. Don't you trust me?"
"I don't believe you. I don't trust you. You can't exist! I refuse to believe you exist!"
"You kin refuse to believe the truth all ya want, laddie, but that don't mean it ain't the truth." Paulkon said.
Jarnim approached Lazslo and embraced him. "I know you want to cling to life, friend, but trust us. It is better to die by your own hand by the hand of chaos. I'm here to save your soul and you best listen to me."
Lazslo felt sick as his friend hugged him. He could feel the warmth of his friend and he could feel the very real blood dripping onto his cheek from his friend's exposed skull. He knew at once this was true, but he still refused to kill himself.
"I'm sorry," Lazslo whispered as he shot both of his friends with his lasgun. The apparitions disappeared as they were struck and were replaced by two cultists clutching their wounds as they fell to the ground dead.
An illusion, all of that was an illusion. There were no ghosts and there are no daemons. Just insanity and cultists. Lazslo began laughing again and scratched at his cheek. When he looked at his hand, he saw blood there. He sobered up immediately and moved onwards.
He knew he was close. He would survive. Lazslo could practically taste the freedom and the smell of a medium-rare grox steak waiting for him when he returned to camp. He started jogging in anticipation. Oh, the stories he could tell to his friends. Not that they would ever believe it, of course. Him, outsmarting a heretical space marine? That was so silly that even he couldn't believe it. Still, the truth is the truth, whether you believe it or not.
Like that there are daemons and the shadows that cut down your squad are still after you.
Lazslo shook the thought from his head and found himself face to face with another horrible sight. It was the portrait of the hag with the wiry black hair. He grabbed at his hair and pulled it in disbelief.
"NO! NO! NO!" he shouted. "It can't be back! No! NO!"
He grabbed the portrait from off the wall and threw it down the hall. The frame broke into three pieces and the painting itself turned to dust.
Lazslo started to laugh again. Yet another supposed daemon was conquered.
Your nightmares, darling, are merely daemons. They are nothing but dust in the wind. They don't exist and they can't hurt you. They are merely daemons. And we both know daemons don't exist.
The dust wouldn't settle. The shadows kept it moving. The dust began to take shape. It grew into a round human body, comically large. A fat neck settled on top and a head, even larger, formed upon it. The head sprouted black wires for hair, but the face wouldn't form. Instead, thousands upon thousands of sharp toothed maggots took its place. The hag began to move towards Lazslo who was still laughing.
He picked up his lasgun, giggling all the while. His face was one large smile, his body trembling and his arms steady as he took aim. He emptied a clip into the hag. She didn't stop for a moment.
He tossed aside the spent weapon and walked backwards, giggling all the while.
Daemons aren't real. Daemons aren't real. Daemons aren't real. Daemons aren't real. Daemons aren't real. Daemons aren't real. Daemons aren't real. Daemons aren't real. Daemons aren't real. Daemons aren't real.
Daemonsaren'trealDaemonsaren'trealDaemonsaren'trealDaemonsaren'trealDaemonsaren'trealDaemonsaren'trea
He found himself backing into the apparition of Alizebeth, who had all of her skin this time and in fact had her entire weapon kit, a flamer with a promethium fuel pack. She looked at him, shed her weapon and disappeared. Lazslo didn't even pick up the flamer. He simply kept walking backwards whilst drawing his laspistol. The hag stepped over the promethium tanks and he fired at it. The hag caught on fire instantly, causing the millions of maggots to scream in pain. The sound was unearthly and horrifying. Still, Lazslo couldn't stop laughing.
Once the hag had burned down the dust again, Lazslo moved onward. He didn't fear anything anymore. He would be able to escape, or he would die trying. As far as he was concerned, he couldn't care less which happened. He just wanted to escape from this house.
That's when the banging began again. Lazslo smiled in glee as the noise rose and rose in a horrifying crescendo. He turned to face his attacked. There were no weapons this time as the monster ran at him. Lazslo drew his laspistol, but only because it was expected. He fired off two shots as the monster rushed forward, but he knew it was useless. Finally, he could leave this house.
The marine hit him like a train and carried him backwards until they hit a wall. Lazslo felt ribs crack and bone fragments tear into his organs. He still smiled in glee as the monster grabbed him by the throat and lifted him to eye level.
"You maggot. You worm!" roared the beast. "I will destroy you with my bare hands if I have to." Its grip tightened.
Lazslo found just enough strength to speak. "Please, lord," he said, giggling, "Let me see your face."
The monster laughed and said, "Fine then, maggot. I will show you your master's face." It tore off its helmet to reveal a scared face, cut with obscene symbols and mind bending shapes. His tongue was like that of a lizard, long and forked. He spat on Lazslo's face and Lazslo felt the acid burn through his cheek. The pain was almost joyful and he smiled wider.
"Fear me mortal, for I am your end!" roared the marine.
"I fear nothing." Lazslo said giggling and he used his free hand to put the laspistol against the giant's forehead and pulled the trigger. To his utter surprise, the giant dropped instantly.
Lazslo spat on the fallen giant and explored his new second mouth with his tongue. "I hope your master feasts on your soul tonight, Fulgrim of the Emperor's Children!"
He emptied the clip into the marine's head and kicked it for good measure. The head cracked as his kicked it, causing the corrosive venom in his saliva and blood to eat away Lazslo's boot and skin on his foot.
Marching on without anything covering the flesh of his right foot, he moved onward, leaving a trail of bloody footprints from the fallen giant.
Daemons aren't real.
The shadows aren't real. They are merely daemons. And daemons aren't real. Just like dear old ma said. No daemons, no gods, only the emperor.
Only that isn't true. Nonononono, there are daemons. Daemons killed my friends and now the will kill me. Oh yes, now they will kill poor Tren Lazslo. I will die, with the gun with my name on it in my hands.
I simply can't wait.
He was in the last hallway now. He could see the open door to the outside only two hundred meters away. He had made it. He was free.
The shadows kept following him as he approached the door. He had slain an Astartes. He had banished the ghost of the old hag. He has passed the trial and now he will be free!
He made it! He walked out the door into the red sunlight. Camp was only a twenty minute walk from here. He could almost taste the grox steak already. He turned on last time to look back at the house.
The shadows stared at him. The shadows became a single shape. It was almost human at first glance. It's skin was pink and purple. Its face and form was feminine and so was the manner in which it moved. The right arm ended in a tiny hand. The left possessed a giant claw that looked like it was grafted on from some monstrosity from some ocean. The mouth was full of razor sharp teeth, and yet Lazslo felt strangely at ease.
"Do you know what I am, mortal?" Asked the thing, never moving its lips.
"Yes." He said, giggling. "You are a daemon. So you don't exist! HAHA!"
"Oh, but I do exist, poor Tren. Don't look so surprised. I've been following you. I must say I'm impressed. You've killed six of my master's cultists and one of the most devout followers. Not to mention, you killed the daemon of the old mistress of this house. Very, very impressive."
"Well, I try, miss Daemon." Lazslo said, his grin cemented on his face.
"You certainly do, Tren. Won't you come back inside? We can make a deal, I think."
Lazslo suddenly sobered up. He was filled with fear again. "My soul…"
"Yes, exactly! It's like you read my mind, Tren," the daemon whispered, "I want your soul. But I could promise you power and riches and a life as long as you could possibly want. Whatever your heart desires, I can give it to you. All just for a single soul." Her voice sounded like honey, like the voice of a long forgotten lover.
Lazslo stood dumbstruck, clueless as what to do. How could he deny a daemon? He had no power here. Her claw could tear him apart. He had to agree. But…his soul would be gone forever. He would be damned to suffer forever at the hands of her dark master.
"It's mistress, actually. Well, We're not sure what exactly Slaanesh's sex is. He can never make up her mind," crooned the daemon. "And yes, I can read your thoughts. And I think you're right to fear me. This claw could kill you. In fact, it killed all nine of your friends in a heartbeat. They were worthless, but you…I kept you alive. You could make an excellent soldier, an excellent leader for Slaanesh."
Lazslo cringed at the name and the daemon laughed at him harshly. "Sla…Slan…" Lazslo stuttered, unable to say the twisted word.
"Slaanesh." The daemon said, delighting at the visible pain that crossed Lazslo's ashen face as she said it. "He is the Chaos God of excess and pleasure. Doesn't that sound nice? A life of excess, but in the service of a higher power. Even when you die, your soul will be treated to a great number of excesses, pleasurable and painful. Of course, at that point, you won't care if it is pleasure or pain. You'll love it all the same."
"I refuse, foul temptress. I serve the Emperor!"
"Hahaha, pathetic fool. You think that corpse that rests upon your golden throne is truly a god? You have not witness the power of a true god. Name anything, and Slaanesh will see to it that you receive it."
"I desire nothing from you, wretch!"
"Oh so very loyal," the daemon sarcastically said. "It's a shame that you have so little imagination. Nothing? You want nothing from me? You lie. I can see into your heart. I can see your deepest desires."
"You will never tempt me. I am not the most holy of men, but I still am dedicated to the Emperor."
"But I can bring her back."
"Who?"
"You know very well who," it whispered sweetly.
"I'm afraid I don't."
"I'm afraid you do, but since you are too 'devout' to say it out loud, I'll save you the trouble. I can bring Alizebeth back. Wouldn't you want that? Under Slaanesh's graces, you two can live together for millennia and rule over your very own planets and armies."
"No. She is at rest now and I refused to disturb that peace."
The daemon threw its head back and laughed cruelly. "You think she is at peace? Even now, Slaanesh devours her soul and subjects her to eternal torment. I can spare her that fate should you choose to join us. I can save her. You can save her. Not only would you be with your beloved forever, you would have saved her from a fate worse than death. That is so romantic, it almost makes me want to cry." The daemon smiled at him cruelly.
"Of course," it added, "If you don't take me up on the deal, then she'll have to burn and suffer forever. And it will be all your fault. I know you're a 'dedicated' man, Tren, but will you be able to live with that guilt until you die?"
Lazslo stood there and thought for a long time. He looked at his bleeding foot, now only muscle. He stuck his tongue through the hole in his cheek. He looked at the myriad of nicks and cuts and scars from the last two days of running. He looked at the scorched hair that was burned when Alizebeth's ghost donated its flamer to protect him. He looked at the serial number on the stock of his lasgun which now clearly said "TREN LAZSLO."
He looked up at the daemon and was frightened. He knew this was the end. He couldn't allow Alizebeth to suffer. His life was over and he would soon become the thing he hated and the thing that he had been hunting and killing in the very halls that had brought him here. He was filled with dread. He had to do it. For Alizebeth.
Your nightmares, darling, are merely daemons. They are nothing but dust in the wind. They don't exist and they can't hurt you. They are merely daemons. And we both know daemons don't exist.
"You know that isn't true, Tren. I am right here."
"I accept."
"I knew you would. Come inside and we'll begin the ritual." The daemon walked inside the manor, it's long blue tail swishing as it did. Tren Lazslo, defeated, followed it in.
Your nightmares, darling, are merely daemons. They are nothing but dust in the wind. They don't exist and they can't hurt you. They are merely daemons. And we both know daemons don't exist.
He turned to the world he was supposed to save and closed the door.