Everard calmly walked towards the boarding torpedo, hardly paying attention to its cramped space and terrible smell. At his stature, he had to crouch down, the ceilings were tailored to the average human height. It was not designed for comfort, just functionality. Just like the Imperium.

Inside the torpedo, one could only wait for combat, or for death. Everard was naturally a patient man, and over two centuries of service in the Inquisition had only honed those skills. However, he had always found that patience strained when waiting for combat. Waiting for the first bolter shell to fire, or for the first enemy to die. This kind of over-eagerness for combat could drive a lesser man insane. Fortunately, I am no lesser man.

The interior of the boarding torpedo was crowded, with the rest of the navy arms seated around Everard. They sat and chatted idly, preparing themselves for the horrors that they would face.

To his left, Kessian was seated. Gently disassembling and reassembling his hell gun. As a Storm Trooper, especially one in inquisitorial service, it is important to be able to do basic field repairs and checks on equipment. Mostly due to the fact that deployment areas of Storm Troopers are generally light years away from proper Mechanicus factories or repair yards. A gleaming bayonet was placed on the muzzle, solid adamantium, a gift from Everard. Without glancing at him, Kessian muttered a quiet "Sir" and continued to pay rapt attention to his weapons.

In contrast, Media was merely looking around the interior of the boarding torpedo, ignoring the view ports and the faint image of the heretic cruiser. At only twenty five years, she was an infant, and had only had a handful of previous deployments with the inquisitor. Still fingering her Psykic inhibitor as a nervous habit. Unlike Kessian, she looked up at Everard, causing him to smile slightly. Somewhat reassured, she started to quietly hum Imperial prayers and songs, to calm her uneasy spirit.

Still, the inhibitor ring was absolutely vital to Media. If it were disabled or removed, the consequences would be dire. Even sanctioned Psykers were in grave danger if they were present on a corrupted vessel, facing demonic and heretical forces. Exponentially so for unsanctioned ones. Everard hummed slightly to himself.

Something that even the most radical and unstable of Inquisitors would protest. Bringing an unsanctioned Pskyer, who has never truly fought a battle against Chaos, into the heart of madness. I would be declared mad by my peers, perhaps I am. The dangers of the warp are incomprehensible, let alone the consequences of what I am about to do.

"Media, are you absolutely confident in your abilities to locate Ballel?" Everard's serious voice brought Media out of her musing. Her eyes flickered with uncertainty.

"I think so. I feel his presence in the warp. It is a flickering light, dim at one moment and bright at another. At least I think it's him. And the ship is large, so I cannot locate him precisely, only his general whereabouts." Media quickly added, "But he is still by the command bridge, his presence stays there."

"And what of the other heretics? Surely there must be a sizable force on that crusier."

"I am sorry Inquisitor, but I cannot sense any others." Media added, a tad ominously.

Everard grunted his thanks. He was not a conversationalist by any means, and wasting words was something lost on him.

"Attention boarding crews, this is Captain Macclesius. The heretic vessel is disabled, but still dangerous. The overconfident and foolish die first. Remember, keep you wits about you, keep your faith in Him, and kill as many of those damned traitors as possible before you greet Him." The voice paused, his pitch turned low and dangerous, "for over a decade,we have chased this traitor across the Imperium. Countless xenos, mutants and heretics have opposed us during this righteous journey. We have emerged victorious in every instance! From the jungles of Bethan, the deserts of Nuban, and to the space of Fortune, truly He is with us! Now, the culmination of a decade of work, a decade of struggle and a decade of sacrifice. Him and his whole Emperor-forsaken cult are going to die! For the Emperor! For the Imperium!"

The boarding torpedo exploded into noises praising the Emperor, cursing the Heretics and shouts of eagerness. They were ready.

Everard looked towards where the voice came from, "Launch the torpedoes Captain." And without another sound, the torpedoes were launched at a rapid speed, towards their final confrontation.


The actual launch was smoother than anticipated. Only a sudden jerk, and release from the torpedo locks was any indication that they had begun to move. Small side view ports were only a nominal help in tracking their progress. Only the small, yet slowly increasing size of the heretic cruiser was any help at indicating how much longer the journey would take. The automated servos would make gentle corrections in their flight path at Media's urging.

"We need to move left, only slightly. Towards the largest tower of the cruiser." And the torpedo responded, its engines compensating and gently changing its trajectory. All else was quiet in the vacuum of space.

The speed the torpedo moved at seemed almost leisurely. The enthusiasm and resolve that Macclesius first inspired had worn down after minutes of silence.

Everad only closed his eyes. Ignoring Media, ignoring Kessian. This was as good a time as any to relax, the proverbial calm before the warp storm. Emperor knows that I haven't had a chance to relax in months.

Then the torpedo shook with a sudden impact, silencing Meida's quiet rambling and startling Everard. The arms men were visibly distressed, tensing at the possibility of dying in the cold vacuum of space, everything out of their control. Helplessness was something that no man wanted to feel. Their auxiliary defenses must still be functional, we must be close. Everard grimly smiled, something that he was doing far more often as of late. I suppose peace for more than a few fleeting moments is all that I am entitled to. However, the men are worried, perhaps a few words will strengthen their spirits.

Everard looked around the torpedo, looking at each of the men, "Warriorsof the Imperium, listen to my words."

At once, the everyone looked at him. Eyes snapped to attention, ears opened. "Macclesius has already told you; for a decade, we have hunted this vile heretic. For a decade, he has avoided the Emperor's justice. Countless loyal citizens have suffered at his hands! Countless planets have fallen to fear and heresy! What you were not told, was the importance of his death. The cult Arcadia has spread far more rapidly than any other cult-scum in the entire segmentum. If he escapes today to spread this heresy, uncountable billions will die a fate worse than death!"

Everard took a deep breath. Public speaking is the job of a confessor, not an Inquisitor. "But we are here for a reason. The Emperor has guided us on our holy task. Every victory is a sign of His blessings and favor. He does not abandon us, His servants, in times of need! With Him at our side, we are invincible!"

The navy had countless idioms for its members. Two centuries of service to the Emperor will teach a man some that are dark, some that are humorous, and some that are abstract. Everard raised his voice, choosing one of the shorter ones, "The Emperor points and we obey!"

At once the arms men repeated, "Through the warp and far away!" Completely appropriate for swabbies. Everard gave them a small, but genuine smile.

"Warriors of the Emperor, today we fight! Kill! and if we die, we die standing! For the Emperor!"

"FOR THE EMPEROR!" the voices were nearly overwhelming. Faith and fury can motivate a man to do amazing things. Weapons were pulled out, and prayers were sung. They were ready for war. I hope that I am as well.

The explosions increased in tempo. A bulkhead strained with the pressure, denting the upper compartments. Still, the men were unwavering. The lights inside the torpedo turned a dark amber, causing the occupants to stand up. Fingers lightly drummed the stocks of las guns. Bayonets were clipped to barrels. A humming sound was all the indication given before the light turned a fluorescent-green. The whole torpedo shook violently, causing its occupants to stumble around. The torpedo impacted, its war head penetrating deep into the cruiser's hull. Drilling arms extended, cutting around the entrance way. The sound of drilling bores into its adamantium hull were dampened to a dull whine. Only seconds had passed, before the torpedo immediately stopped, its nose opening, and exposing all those inside to the horrors of a daemonic vessel.


Everard was the first to step outside the torpedo. Luckily, the rebreathers provided blocked the smell of the vessel, something that Everard was immensely grateful for. Even with no visible light source, the corrupted vessel's interior was not dim. The walls and flooring was covered in flesh. Pulsing veins and arteries covered the interior in a blue and red membrane. It was like standing in the stomach of some ungainly creature, it even looked as if the flesh quivered slightly at the presence of the intruders. When Evereard walked through the passageway, it expanded. towards him. Most likely to reach out towards us. Disgusting filth.

The arms men carried themselves professionally, ignoring the grotesque sights. Everard was impressed. Ignoring the corrupting nature of Chaos was something even he struggled with, however, they were understandably nervous. "Take care to remain close to one another. Those who are isolated are the first to die. No matter what you encounter, remember we are here to kill a heretic, nothing more." Everard knew it was common knowledge, but even a casual reminder of the mission could the difference between a man driven to insanity, and a loyal servant of the Emperor.

At once, they organized themselves into small fire teams. Everard and his small retinue would be leading the incursion into the vessel. When Media entered the vessel, the walls visibly shook in protest. A faint groaning could be heard from the bowels of the vessel. "Watch yourself. Pskyers are a valuable prize to those who worship Chaos. Be on your guard Media, for you are the most vulnerable to it."

She nodded, acknowledging the threat without another word. Smart Girl.

"This vessel is alive, Inquisitor, " Media began," and I can read its lay about as if it were written on a data slab. The passage way in front of us leads directly to the effective command bridge. We have bypassed several large rooms which had served as barracks." She paused, as if in thought, "Although the entire ship is strangely empty. And I sense no response to our presence, no movement of troops or anything. The other torpedoes have entered the engine rooms, life supports and docking bays. They have met no resistance as of yet, and are working to secure the areas."

"Then we must be cautious. Chaos is rarely anything but dangerous, be on your guard." Everard commented. Without further pause, he walked forward. Kessian followed with a lazy gait, closely eyeing his footing. Ever step brought them closer to the gates of hell itself.


Any Inquisitor worth his gear knows the dangers of Chaos, which is why Everard was especially cautious. Still without battle. This makes no sense, but when does Chaos ever truly make sense. It was puzzling, and Everard hated puzzles.

The hallways of the ship grew dimmer, but broader. Whereas at the start, only three men could stand abreast, now easily five could. The constant march of boots on a fleshy surface echoed throughout the passage ways. Everard's hand lay on the pommel of his power sword, ready to draw it at a moments notice.

"Ah, Everard Gerage. A pleasure to see you again." A rich, deep voice rumbled through the hull of the ship, "Continue onward, my friend, into my sanctum. Find me."

Everard's skin prickled with hatred, he sped up his pace, "Ballel, your death will be most satisfying. Your mewling slaves lie dead, only a handful of your heretics remain on isolated planets. Unlike them, I shall not grant you a swift death."

"Always the most amusing of banter, my dear Everard. However, did you not think it unusual that no one else has greeted you thus far? Why you have gone so far uncontested?" The voice sounded vaguely amused.

"I do not pretend to know what thoughts go through your craven mind heretic! Your thoughts are blasphemy! Your existence is an insult to His light! Only your death will grant me satisfaction!" Everard declared. His confidence leaves me wary. What has he planned?

Ballel's chilling laughter rebounded throughout the entire ship. "Oh foolish one. I sacrificed all those weaklings to further my own strength! With their blood, I have transcended mortality!"His voice dripped with malice, "And your sacrifice will be the greatest of all. Come to me, feel the glory of CHAOS UNDIVIDED!"

Everard's brow broke into a cold sweat. Daemonhood? Impossible! Such a transformation should not be possible! "Men, hurry! We have little time before this heretic corrupts the entire sub sector. Failure means the damnation of billions of souls!"

He broke into a full sprint, his body augmented by his power armor propelled him at speeds impossible to normal men. Each step brought him closer to the heretic, and closer to his final retribution. It was not long before he had out ran his entire retinue and guard compliment, but Everard paid this no mind. The only thing that matters is in front of me. The corridor's fleshy decor seemed to grow in size the closer he went to the bridge. Arteries began to ooze the blood which they carried. Ballel must be worried, he has increased the rate of the blood flow. I have even less time that I thought I did. Frak.

"Everard!" Media's voice was faint, far away, "Wait for us! You cannot defeat him by yourself! His power grows every second, please, wait!"

He merely grunted. There is no time.

The hall way ended, surprisingly, there was bare metal on the floor and walls. No flesh or foul blood, although it was a bare hall way now. It was dark, only the faint ceiling lights provided a dim outline. Yet in this darkness, Ballel merely smiled. His inhuman body twisted in anticipation of the flesh and blood he was going to feast on.


The hallways lead to a large circular room. A central command throne was seated on a raised platform. It had a circular vase on its dais, with chains bolted to the flooring, and the entire assembly shook slightly. Although the throne itself was clean, the surrounding area was not. The ground was layered with skulls, blood and artifacts of daemonic power. The area glowed, pulsed and surged with unholy energies. Surrounding this was a semi-circular row of archaic machines. The faces of screaming men and women replaced their view screens. No doubt to run this damned cruiser.

He walked forward, scanning the command bridge for a sign of Ballel.

"Ah Everard, how pleasant of you to join me" Ballel's voice mocked Everard, "it is saddening that your corpse-Emperor cannot save you now"

Everard turned around. Ballel's figure appeared before him. His body was hunched, as if in pain, but covered in a bloody cloak. A single long and sinuous arm ran out of the cloak, it had blades for fingers and dripped with blood. Although his eyes could not be seen, Everard knew Ballel was watching him.

"I would be most displeased if your pathetic retinue disturbed us, so I have taken the necessary precautions in order to stop them." Without a gesture, a power field separated the command bridge from the passage way. Everard cursed, his chances of victory were slim enough with retinue. "Although you may hate me, I greatly respect you. It takes tenacity to pursue one such as myself. I would ask you to follow me, but that would be a waste of time for the both of us."

"Curse your vile ways heretic! Your very presence offends me!" Everard began, but huffed slightly. His eyes glazed over, Ballel was intrigued, "I need to know one thing before your death."

Ballel merely tilted his face, a visibly bloody and sharp smile appeared. Everard continued,"You betrayed your family, your profession and dreams. Why? What drove you to this madness?" His voice broke out, barely a whisper, "Why did you betray me?"

Ballel merely chucked,"Oh foolish apprentice, did you forget when I first chose you? How your eyes gleamed with wonder, with happiness when rescued from the orphanages?"His voice grew twisted and cruel, "I needed your love, loyalty, devotion in order to gain this power. Every action you did, every though you had, I molded you. You are everything that I could have hoped for in an apprentice, so I wish to thank you before I kill you."

Everard merely looked at him, cold hatred in my eyes, "I have already decided to kill you, but you did not answer my question. Why?"

Ballel hummed, then was silent. Everard tensed, waiting.

"Because of power. If I sacrificed you to the dark gods, then I would transcend mortality. I would have truly unlimited power. Unrestricted by the unwritten rules of the Inquisition. I would have freedom from the corpse-Emperor's service. I would be a GOD!" Ballel's laughter rang through the bridge, cruel and mocking.

Then die. Everard charged, power sword raised over his head. Ballel lept back, faster than he thought possible. Everard pulled out his Hell Pistol, firing. Ruby red lasers seemed to impact Ballel, but all he did was chuckle. Impossible! Even ceramerite can be penetrated by this weapon!"

Everard closed the distance, holstering his pistol. It would not help him in this fight. Sword swinging, he struck Ballel's neck, only for his bladed hand to intercept. "If only you had your pathetic retinue with you, then maybe you would have a chance" Ballel taunted, " Even your apprentice is not as large a failure as yourself. She is far more powerful than you will ever be, maybe I should have chosen her." Ballel countered with a flashing of his arms, claws flying though his cloak. Everard countered desperately, but it was a losing battle. His rosarius would not stop Ballel's physical attacks.

Everard silently roared his frustration. He needed help, or he would die. His boot kicked Ballel away from him. He can block power weapons? What manner of sorcery is this? He said only a psyker could harm him. I need Media.

He braced himself for Ballel's opportunity to attack him. His only option was to wait for the rest of his retinue to arrive. Without warning, Ballel launched himself with corrupted legs, tackling him. His bloody cloak fluttering around him. Everard almost gagged. Ballel's face had changed greatly with the corruption of his body. Rotted flesh dripped from his face, his nose was gone, replaced by a sunken hole. One eye was blood red, the other a deep purple. Everard was disgusted. "Behold the power of Chaos undivided. Four blessings from four dark gods! perfection through power!"

Pain. Inescapable pain. Ballel's bladed arm penetrated his shoulder blade, between his pauldrons. He gasped, fiery agony coursed through his body. Ballel continued to laugh. He was succumbed to madness, pure madness. To think that I once trusted this heretic.

With his other hand, he launched a desperate punch at Ballel's jaw. Although this would have sent a normal man flying, it merely knocked Ballel over. Rushing to his feet, Everard glanced at his ruined shoulder, and useless arm. His power sword lay in front of him, but he could not use it effectively with his non dominant hand. He narrowed his eyes. The power field must be disabled if I am to escape. The must be connected to a power source in order to function. Disrupting the power field while the ship is disabled will cause problems. The link between the power station and all vital systems passes through that junction. If stopped, it is possible for the geller field, warp drive and weapons stations to fail.

Everard grabbed his sword with his left hand, and slowly backed away from Ballel's prone form. Waiting for the attack.

"Everard!" Media's voice broke his focus. He turned and saw Kessian fingering his hell gun, eagerness to do battle against a corrupted Inquisitor almost made him smile. Media was directly behind him, her eyes furrowed and brow sweating. Her eyes were concentrated on Ballel's form. Perhaps she is holding him down. The rest of the arms men waited behind them.

"Media, if you're holding this bastard down, keep doing it." Media's face scrunched, sweat and blood leaking from her eyes and ears."I'm trying, dammit! Hurry Up!"

Nodding his thanks, he rushed to the center command throne. Climbing the steps as rapidly as his tired body could carry him. Without thought, he jammed his power sword through the throne, shattering the vase in the process. The electrical discharge blew him away, causing the ship to groan in protest. The power field immediately dissipated, and the lights dimmed as the ship reverted to emergency power. "Fool, do you know what you have done?" Ballel's mad voice rang out, "You have unshackled my ship. MY SHIP!" He rose, causing Media to fall over in pain. Her blood leaking onto the floor. "It will devour our souls! I cannot control it any longer!"

Kessian fired immediately, targeting Ballel's eyes. The high powered lasers vaporizing their target. Ballel roared with pain, and collapsed, covering his face with clawed hands. The arms men fired with their las guns, dozens of lasers continued to mark Ballel, adding to the smell of ozone. Everard merely looked down, and smiled. The Bastard should be dead. If not, Macclesius will blow this damned ship to the warp.

A black cloud rose from the remains of the throne, shaping itself into a vaguely humanoid form"Ballel, you have failed. Your Soul Is Mine!"

The las guns stopped firing. Everard looked shocked. Smoke descended on Ballel, the ground it touched transformed into the same fleshy substance as the hallways. The smoke muffled Ballel's cries, smothering in a black cocoon. It swirled around him, highlights of purple, and red flashed in this storm of darkness. A sign of daemonic possession!

"Stay back, all of you!" Everard shouted. A look of panic on his face. "Call Macclesius, destroy this ship! vaporize the remains! This taint cannot spread!" He did not wait for a reply.

"HE-HA-HA-HA!" The voice, raging like a storm, almost burst his ear drums. Blood leaked from his ears, Everard closed his eyes, focusing on the threat of death rather than the pain. Some of the arms men lie on the ground, either dead or unconscious. Either way, the combat power of his group was significantly reduced.

"Ballel's slavery has ended! Your corpse-Emperor will not save you Mortals! Your souls will only add to my powers!" The fleshy tumor burst, and out came the daemon. His form was impossible, beyond mortal comprehension. It was vaguely humanoid, albeit slightly taller than a space marine. It was covered in a dark chest piece adorned with the screaming faces of previous victims. The eight pointed star of chaos was proudly displayed. Long arms extended from the armor, bending impossibly compared to a normal creature, with a twisted staff in hand. It had the face of a bird, with a blade-like beak and black eyes. A daemon of Tzeentch. Thankfully not a greater daemon.

"You're the daemon possessing this ship? One of Tzeentch " Everard cursed, "Ballel's foolishness knows no bounds." Everard raised his power sword, grimacing in pain."Come Daemon, meet the Emperor's fury! Fall back into the darkness!"

The daemon's black eyes looked at Everard, it's staff moved quickly. Warp fire spewed from the end, launched at an incredible speed. The hexogrammic wards on his armor prevented the worst of the damage, but it was still blisteringly hot. The daemon looked on in annoyance. It's staff shifted, like water, into a jagged and corrupted sword. Daemons of Tzeentch are not known for their ability to fight in close combat, however, they are rarely this forward. It must be planning something.

Everard made his way down the stairs of the command throne, trying to keep closer to his retinue. The daemon simply lunged forward at a startling speed, causing Everard. He raised his power sword in a sluggish attack, which was easily batted away by the possessed body of Ballel.

"Everad, move away!" He knelled as fast as he could, and a warm feeling passed over him, but the daemon howled in agony. His corrupted body appeared to be burning away, disintegrated by a golden light. "Kill it!"

Everard heard the sounds of las fire, and the heavier whine of Kessian's hell gun. His eyes focused on the daemon, he got up slowly.

"FOOLISH!" The daemon roared, "YOU CANNOT STOP CHAOS!" The golden light began to fade. It's body began to materialize, limbs slowly regrowing. The las fire was completely ineffective at stopping this.

Media collapsed from the struggle, her psykic inhibitor ring shattering. Without pause, the daemon unleashed his hellish warp fire. Kessian managed to roll away, however, several arms men were caught in it. Their screams of pain were fortunately short lived. Knowing of the ineffectiveness of his weapon, Kessian charged, bayonet raised to impale the possessed Ballel. Instead of retreating, as a daemon on Tzeentch should, it charged forward. Kessian was taken by surprise, and was almost thrown away from the force of the charge. He instead pushed his feet into the fleshy ground, digging into it with his combat boots. The sword - cane of the daemon was parried quickly by Kessian.

Each time the daemon swung it's weapon, Kessian was ready to react. His experience in combat was paying dividends, yet low-handed tricks were not above a minion of Tzeentch. It forced Kessian backwards with Psykic power, and triggered the activation runes of Kessian's grenades. The Daemon roared its triumph as Kessian was erased from existence. The explosion shook the entire bridge, and the shock from the blast caused Everard's injured body to collapse.

Everard was losing consciousness. The arms men continued to fight, but against this foe, it was meaningless. The rapid fire of las guns eventually ended. His vision swam with black dots, yet he fought it back. Forcing himself to remain awake, until his inevitable death.

The vessel shook. The impactsfrom lance batteries shattered the super structure of the vessel. Explosions ripped through the decks of the cruiser, gutting it. Glaring klaxons, and alarms attested to the damage that the Imperial captain had dealt to the corrupted vessel. Macclesius has avenged us. Emperor bless his soul.

He struggled to stand, yet all he could do was kneel. Pitiful. He could not even hold his sword. All he could do was face his death with a glare on his face, and a prayer in his heart. Emperor forgive me for my failure. I could not banish the daemon, I could not stop the corruption of Ballel. I wish only to atone for these failings with my death, and the death of the enemy.

"It is over daemon. Your corrupted self will be banished back into the warp." Everard's icy voice broke the silence of the bridge,"Even if you come again, the warriors of the Emperor will stop you again, and again, until the end of times. I may die this day, but my sacrifice will be mirrored until the end of time by countless other heroes. You may speak of power, but there is no force that is greater than the courage and faith of humanity."

The daemon laughed, "You speak of things you do not understand. Chaos is everywhere, and has existed far before your precious Imperium. It bides it's time, waiting to strike. Not you, nor your false-Emperor can stop Chaos. We are GODS!"

With that said, the daemon walked forwards. Everad's pride prevented him from falling down again. Each step the daemon took was slow, his doom approached. It snorted, as if amused by Everard's hatred and disgust,"You were not difficult to defeat, nor was your retinue. If you represent your Inquisition, I pity the future of your Imperium in the near future."

"I care not for your pointless banter, if you wish to kill me, so be it. I will not beg for mercy from you, scum." Everard closed his eyes, ignoring the presence of the daemon. A final, if childish, insult to it. How droll.

A burning sensation was by his throat. Most likely his blade-staff. Still, Everard did not move, or open his eyes. He merely waited.

"EVERARD!" Media's voice broke out, panicked. The blade was swiftly removed. He opened his eyes, watching how Media stood in front of the personification of hell and terror. Pride welled in his stomach, Well done girl. Fight until you cannot any longer.

She launched all manner of warp attacks. Psykic lighting that could melt ceramerite only burned its skin. Hellish frost blasts did not deter it either. Each attack caused Media to shake, blood dripping from her eyes and ears. Still she attacked, no longer able to use the purifying power of the Emperor's light. It was lost to her the moment her ring shattered. The daemon countered her attacks easily, as warp-based sorcery was one of it's strengths. Yet even then, Media struggled valiantly, holding off a daemon that many better trained psykers would have been able to. However, Everad was troubled by this. Attacks of the warp will not harm those who come from it. The more she uses those powers, the harder it will be to resist.

Explosions continued to shake the cruiser, but destroying a thoroughly corrupted cruiser took far longer than Everard would like. The supporting struts and columns collapsed under their weight, the ground shifted to compensate for the stress of constant bombardment. Despite these distractions, he continued to watch his apprentice battle the daemon, unable to help in any way. Helplessness is an alien feeling to me. He tightened his hand into a fist. I do not like it.

Media began to cry out desperately, her soul was being torn by the corrupted Ballel. The stress of using warp energy for prolonged periods of time usually ended in the death of the wielder. Everard winced, but could do nothing. Her body crumbled, her limbs dissipating like sand in a storm. Even through this physical and mental anguish, her eyes shone with a righteous hatred, never glancing away form the daemon. "I may die daemon. But so shall you!"

It merely laughed, amused by her struggles. "Truly, humans are contemptible beings. Struggling against the inevitable, doomed to fail. How pathetic." It raised a corrupted hand towards her, and gestured slightly.

Media screamed. It was a sound that could not be made by those untouched by the warp. It was calm and aggressive, primal and civilized, one of both pain and joy. It changed pitches, from a low growl to a high squeak. Everard Shivered.

The ship groaned in protest. Media's psykic powers and Macclesius' assault proved to much for the aging cruiser. It's decks ripped apart in a spectacular fashion. Atmosphere was vented, the ship was ripped apart from secondary explosions. All Everard felt was a sense of peace. I have done my duty to the Emperor. I have served him until death. I do not regret anything.

The warp is anything except predicable. The destruction of the warp drives drew the vessel into warp space. The ripples from Media's unleashed psykic potential had brought the attention of the dark gods. Even more so when she had fought one of the daemons of Tzeentch. Malevolent energies bent the fabric of space. Time, space and logic meant nothing to them, no place was safe from their power. Everard would be written as another fallen hero, one who died in His name. Nothing could be father from the truth.


Everad's eyes opened slightly. His vision was blurred, his body was in pain. He could not even move his body. All he could see at the moment, was a group of silhouetted figures, basked in an outdoor light. He heard a gasp in front of him. Sounds female, how strange. Perhaps I have entered the Emperor's rest. His hall of heroes for His servants. Everard smiled, this was proof of his devotion and loyalty to the Emperor, that his sacrifice would be rewarded.

Then his eyes adjusted to the scenery. Instead of a human woman, it was a blue xeno. One with wide eyes, an open mouth, and a growth over it's head. And there was a crowd of them. Everard could only gasp in horror. His muscles tightened, but he could not move.

Other xenos crowded around him, looking at his battered body. Some looked like the a mix of a human with an amphibian, others were like the jelly fish that existed on temperate worlds. Even in this den of xenos, he found the faces of humans. Heresy!

He struggled to remain awake, to fight resist what these Xenos would do to him. But he could not, his body simply shut down. Before he lost consciousness, his last thought was 'Frak Me'.


This is the second chapter, which came out reasonably early.

I appreciate the time and effort that people took to read my story, and to review it if they felt it was worth their time. It really means a lot to me.

BTW I do not own Mass effect, nor Warhammer, they belong to Bioware and Games work shop, respectively.

Thanks for reading.