Cadia Secundus, Cadia, 06:16 (Cadian Time)

The sun rose over the mist-covered valleys of the central highlands of Cadia's southern continent, a serene locale relatively untouched by the industrial hand of the imperium despite the world being the second most heavily-fortified in the galaxy.

Osvat Radu Zeleska knelt in the dew-covered grass and listened, eyes closed and with one ear up. The early morning air was so still he would not have thought there was a war on. The present fighting was far away to the north-east, several hundred kilometres in fact, only on good days when the wind was in the right direction did the faintest rumble of the heaviest artillery barrages reach as far as the southern continent. The war however was of no concern to Zeleska. Little people fighting insignificant battles that would have no more an effect on the imperium's affairs than a newly-sprung child could, Zeleska and the other acolytes of the inquisition were the real masters of the galaxy; their rule through fear ensured that the God-Emperor's reign endured.

Brushing the stalks of grass, Zeleska felt the dampness on his fingertips. He parted two of them and watched as they came back together, themselves entwining and each sharing their moisture with the other.

Beneath his tall, lace-up hunting boots were tracks that lead away through the field; freshly made. Zeleska had seen them immediately but had chosen to wait, wishing to widen the gap between him and his quarry and allow it to gain ground before closing in. He was doing what he loved best, besides women and drink. The pleasures hunting granted were immense, there was no greater thrill than stalking the target, sometimes for days on end before taking its life in a spectacular display of marksmanship; Zeleska himself being noted amongst the inquisition's ranks as a crackshot with any man-portable weapon in the imperium's arsenal. And once the target had been brought down Zeleska would be swift to add a fresh pelt to his immense collection, today however he would not be taking a pelt rather he would be taking a scalp belonging to his most favoured quarry; the abhuman.

Time to move on, Zeleska rose from the partial cover and carried on through the knee-high grass. Very soon his breeches were soaked through and his fine leather boots creaking, it was no great discomfort to him, he was used it being well-acclimatised to long hunting trips. His father Marcus had frequently taken him along with him starting at the age of seven. On the young Osvat's eleventh birthday his mother had suddenly left his father, remarrying and taking the name Zeleska. Osvat did not stop hunting.

Father, I wish you could see me now, she how strong I have become, Zeleska thought, he had never seen his mother's new husband as his father, not even when he had fed him to his very own pack of cyberhounds. Zeleska knew his real father would understand even if he had not been here for him.

There is nothing nobler than carrying out the Emperor's will by hunting down and exterminating all that is impure. Know that I will not rest until each and every single subhuman degenerate is hunted down and purged in your name, father.

And this very subhuman would shortly be following the rest of his kind Zeleska smiled. In his hands he held an ancient sporting piece, older than the imperium itself, and one of his most treasured possessions along with his art collection. The rifle was a single-action, rotary magazine design, had a handcrafted wooden body, double-set triggers and a special downturned bolt facilitating the use of optics; today though Zeleska had chosen to fire over open sights. In his belt he had exactly twenty-eight cartridges, twenty-eight rounds of 160 grain .264 calibre left in the entire galaxy, but they would be twenty-eight shots well-used. Such rare ammunition was treasured for its stopping power, stability in flight and resistance to wind deflection and was perfect for long-range shooting. The rifle's name, long-winded and awkward, was difficult to pronounce being neither High Gothic nor Low Gothic but in an ancient language called Germanic that originated, as had everything human, from Holy Terra. Steyr Mannlicher-Schoenauer, the name did not roll off the tongue smoothly like the Gothic language did. Zeleska liked the Mannlicher but he liked it more when it spoke and an abhuman died.

For the past day and a half Zeleska had been in pursuit of the loosed abhuman, one of many kept in cages on his private vessel, an inquisitorial cruiser called the Zarkaniy that resided in one of Cadia's dockyards up in orbit. On foot for the duration he nevertheless refused to tire, keeping up a steady pace. To his approval so did she.

Zeleska's companion had remained in his shadow ever since they had started, never flagging, never complaining; she was perfect. Kora, not her real name but one granted her by her former master, a high-ranking inquisitor Zeleska did not know, followed him obediently as she had been trained to. It had taken time to coach her into obedience. He had had high hopes for Kora and wanted above all for her to succeed where so many others had failed, when she did so Zeleska wept tears of joy.

The former assassin was a perfect specimen: loyal, beautiful and tireless, both in the bedroom and out in the field, perfect in every way. There was no-one else Zeleska wanted by his side when on the hunt.

This was the first time Kora was away from the ever-present and ruthless eyes of Zeleska's bodyguard, it was only her and him, at least that was how it appeared to her. His men were watching from afar, they were always watching for any threats, any signs of treachery. The rifle Kora carried, a brand new clone near-identical to the Mannlicher but rechambered for the military .338 round was placed in her ownership as a means of tempting her, Zeleska had even let Kora load her own ammunition, smiling to himself as always, not that he intended to actually let her fire the rifle, it was all a big show to goad her into trying for him. Every little ploy would be inevitably stalled by the little hitch Zeleska himself was responsible for and that was the rifle's firing pin, he had ground the steel down enough that the weapon would not fire. And if Kora tried it she would incur his wrath.

"Come, Kora, we are gaining," Zeleska increased his pace. "I promised you a kill and I shall deliver."

He did not expect a reply. That was another thing, Kora never spoke unless spoken to and Zeleska liked it that way. Often he would look at her whilst she sat there obediently doing nothing. It gave him enjoyment, knowing he had power over her.

My my, prey of mine, you begin to tire, Zeleska's eyes gleamed on seeing the fresh tracks leading through the mist-covered wood turn and head uphill. The quarry was trying for the high ground, it was getting desperate.

The earth underfoot gradually hardened with rocky inclines springing up through the thick treetops. Piles of loose stones dislodged underfoot by the galvanised Zeleska trickled back down the slopes. Higher and higher he climbed. The Mannlicher was now slung over his shoulder with him holding one hand out for balance, he could sense, feel the gap closing.

It was then something happened that Zeleska had not anticipated, the sounds of a river were growing louder, no, a much greater noise was seeping through the gulley; the sounds of falling water.

Well well well, Zeleska found he could go no further when the path he had followed ended in a sheer drop, one of dizzying proportions. A waterfall cascaded from a point in the cliff a good hundred feet higher, falling all the way to an unseen pool lost in the spray and flowing in lazy, meandering curves down into the woods at the bottom of the valley.

"Our quarry eludes us," Zeleska said loudly above the roar when Kora was by his side.

"Observe," he pointed at the river in the distance, it would be a simple case of backtracking then following the river down to the valley floor. Once on a level plane the abhuman would find its pace slowing to a crawl and would have to regain the land, providing fresh tracks for its stalkers.

"Come, it is downhill from now on," Zeleska smiled and hitched the Mannlicher higher up on his shoulder.

Kora, despite hearing him, was rooted to the spot, her gaze on something Zeleska had not seen.

"Ah," he saw what had grabbed her attention. One of the monstrous spires that dotted the planet's surface had just been revealed by the lifting fog. It was several klicks, many in fact, to the east. At half a klick high it was tall enough to brush the sky. On overcast days its sharp point would be invisible, lost in the clouds.

"That is a pylon, there are thousands of similar constructs here and there," Zeleska took Kora by the shoulder and guided her away from the precipice.

"They are none of our concern."

In a dreamy, docile state Kora kept on her master's heels, her mind had been strangely drawn to the construct and could almost feel it beckoning to her. She found herself wanting to move closer, to get right up to the smooth surface and touch it. Oddly this was the first time that her master had not dominated her thoughts, his presence being replaced with an insatiable curiosity. Underneath it, something familiar stirred, a little voice, cowed and frightened, whispered urgently run, run, run! Uncannily the voice was her own. Little pieces of her past life, like she was flicking through the pages of a book, dribbled into her consciousness, they was only fragments and did not form a clear picture; but her head, after being submerged for so long underwater, was nearing the surface. And there was something about that pylon.

With the cliffs to their backs, the two hunters made the descent from the valley slope in little time, working their way around to the fast flowing river that spat out from the rocks and continued on a downwards gradient. In this time Kora saw less and less of the man in front of her, not literally as she was still close behind, but as a companion. She began to wonder who he was and why she was following him or for that matter what they were in pursuit of. Glancing up through the treetops she saw the smooth, elegant construct looming over her and felt the tug again, no, more of a gnaw now. She dearly wanted to make for the pylon as if it would provide some form of salvation from the inescapable position she was in. There was a problem though, him.

Conflicting thoughts all jumbled together polluted Kora's head, the feeling akin to hammers pounding on sheet metal all at the same time. Confusion as the surreal fantasy she had inhabited fell away layer by layer until all that was left was the pylon and its call.

What am I? Where am I? Whose hands are these? Kora stared down at the rifle she was holding, a sporting piece ill-suited for combat. Around her trees grew at awkward, twisted angles, their bodies ensnared by parasites, giant vines originating from the ground entwining the trunks in a tight lover's embrace. The image of the trees ensnared by the vines stirred up images of Kora and the inquisitor with him doing things to her, humiliating and degrading, all so he could exercise control over her, such was his obsession with power.

Never again, never again, Kora's grip tightened on the rifle, she wanted to beat the inquisitor around the head with the stock and keep beating him until he was obliterated; make him an unperson as he done so many others. The ache in her groin and legs brought on hot tears of rage, a spasm in her neck and a twinge of a muscle in her cheek fanned the flaming anger that slowly arose inside her. Her hands were now hurting from holding the rifle in such a tight grip.

The inquisitor was twenty paces ahead but did not look back, he never looked back always his mind was on the hunt. Kora would make him pay dearly for his negligence. Stopping she knelt in a gap between the trees and slowly drew the rifle's bolt upwards and back a fraction, revealing the polished round resting in the chamber. Gently so as not to produce too great a noise Kora pushed the chamber closed and took aim at the inquisitor's back. Hearing her increasing heartbeat she calmed the rising tempo and exhaled slowly before waiting for him to find a gap in the trees.

Now, placed the blade sights squarely on the inquisitor's centre mass Kora gently squeezed the trigger.

Click.

The sharp unnatural sound, out of place in the forest caught the inquisitor's attention instantly.

"Kora!" he shouted whirling around, but Kora had already taken off.

Weaving through the trees Kora shut her ears to the compelling voice behind her only hearing the crash of boughs underfoot and the whipping of dead branches in her face, sharp and stinging. Furious at her bungling Kora cycled the rifle's action, catching the unfired round before it could fly free and turned, intending to loose an un-aimed shot back at the inquisitor. She heard the same impotent click as before and frowned. Her lips drew back in a silent snarl, the inquisitor's tampering was no doubt the reason, she had been given a disabled weapon; the entire hunt had been a farce.

Distant cracks pursued her flight uphill, the inquisitor's men, among them the hideous Argus and Lenz, were moving in. Each rifle shot, a loud crack preceded by a bang as it passed closeby, was a warning. Nobody would shoot to kill, only the inquisitor.

Cresting a ridge Kora burst through a thick cluster of branches and tore through a field of tall grass. The monumental pylon, a narrow, pyramid shape towered above Kora, an entire kilometre high and half as much in width. She did not know what would happen when she reached it, whether it would grant her salvation or damnation.

"Kora!" Zeleska, at the head of his six-man bodyguard, caught a glimpse of the running figure climbing up the embankment at the far end of the field; Kora was making for the pylon. Zeleska used to knowing her inside and out was confused and not a little unsettled, especially as he was certain, more than certain, that she was completely docile and under his thumb. He had even tested, at great risk to his own life, her loyalty before leaving the Zarkaniy.

He had sat her directly opposite him and ordered her to shave his face, during this he had gently begun talking about her past life, past acquaintances of hers, for the purpose of gently goading her into assaulting him with the razor. More and more he taunted and belittled, deriding each and every other person she had held dear, all the while expecting to feel the warm blade bite into his skin and the wetness of his blood. He had smiled widely when he saw the tears in her eyes. Not a single hair was left on his chin.

"Kora!" Zeleska held up a hand to stay his bodyguards when they spotted her.

"Do not shoot!" he slung the Mannlicher on his shoulder and moved cautiously over to Kora as his bodyguards spread out behind him.

"Kora?" Zeleska's eyes flicked up at the smooth grey surface then down to Kora again. She was standing stock-still with her back to him and had one hand resting on the monument's surface. Spying the fallen rifle, Zeleska kicked it away and reached a hand out.

"Now listen to me. Listen to me," Zeleska spoke the activation phrase he had used on her during the conditioning process. "Remove your hand, Kora, from the pylon and turn around to face me."

No reply, no acknowledgment, Kora was dead on her feet.

"Your master commands you."

Zeleska's fingers closed around her arm and gently pulled, what he got then was a screech filling his ears, an alien wail tearing at his nerve-ends. Invisible hands picked him up into the air and hurled him backwards, landing ungainly he saw through a blur his bodyguards had all fallen and were lying motionless around him.

"Kora…" he reached out to her once more but found himself blinded by a bright green light.

Now facing him, Kora's arms were wide, her feet floating far above the ground, her body encircled by the light. When she spoke it was not in her own voice but rather rasping, hollow and utterly inhuman. Her eyes, normally wide and dark were now glowing green.

"I am Shesmet, the alpha…"

Her eyes fixed on the cowering Zeleska, "and your omega."

Green lighting crackled around the previously dormant pylon. The being known as Shesmet vanished.