Nathaniel stalked down the long corridor in absolute silence, as was the norm for the Psyker. Although he and his Overseer had a tenuous relationship, which at times only bordered on friendship they rarely spoke to one another. Nathaniel had always figured that it was the big mans way of keeping himself distant should the ultimate sacrifice have to be made. Secretly Nathaniel thanked him for it; it made the mans duty easier for the both of them, outwardly he resented the lack of open companionship from Victarius.
He'd passed through the maze-like corridors of the Hyperion many times and during his time of service he'd learned the quickest routes to his destination. His face was filled with dark thunder has he picked his way to back to his own office and quarters after another tiresome meeting with Commander Dariel, the plans for the Aris 412th regiment that Nathaniel had control over had changed once again, and they'd be departing from the Hyperion via Valkyrie in forty-eight standard Terra hours. A tactic that suited him and his regiment perfectly fine; if they were due to land anywhere near any of the key objectives of the War; a battle trait that the 412th were exceedingly good at. Instead their new orders were to throw themselves at an objective that had nothing to do with the strategic importance of Tuelles war. It seemed like a pointless exercise and Nathaniel couldn't help but take it as a personal insult for his team, and the loss of life that would undoubtably come from the bizarre assault
"Sir, do you mind?" Asked the deep voice of Victarius. Nathaniel had been so deep in his ire that he'd not notice the Overseer stop.
Nathaniel turned, looking over his shoulder to see what the issue was. He rolled his eyes and nodded as he saw the obvious distraction. For all his finer qualities, Victarius was still only human, still male, and still had the need for passion.
"Fine," Nathaniel granted him permission to speak with one of the female members of the guard. It wasn't like Victarius to take long with making further arrangements with women, and the Psyker understood the fickle nature of love within the Imperial Guard, you took what you could get and enjoyed the moment. Anything that lasted longer than your tour was an added bonus. Knowing that his presence during these hook-ups was nothing more than a hinderance, Nathaniel continued his walk back to his office; waiting around the corner for Victarius. Leaning against his staff he waited patiently for the man to conclude his affair.
It could be dangerous to be seen without his Overseer, Nathaniel knew this. Any one of the passing guardsmen could question his actions and take their arms against him and be well within their rights to do so; yet somehow, despite everything, he had managed to earn the trust, respect and fear from his most of his men. A potent combination, but one that had served him well.
Yet all was not well, a sudden disturbance; a shift in the attitude of the air caused him to peer up from his musings. "Victarius, hurry your busin-," Nathaniel called to his wanton Overseer, but his words were cut off before he could conclude.
A sharp pain hit him in the back of the head and he heard something clattering to the floor; his vision clouded white, searing with agony. When his vision cleared the view of the corridor confused him with twisted angles, it took a breath or two to realise that he'd been sent sprawling to the floor. The searing pain exploding form the back of his head made it obvious he'd been assaulted from behind. Nathaniel tried to turn to see who'd dare such an outrageous action against one such as he; but the motion failed as a heavy leather boot connected with his stomach. The Psyker coughed, the air forced from his lungs. A low groan followed a second kick, accompanied by the sound of cracking bone sending this correcting vision swimming once again.
"You dare to have had me flogged; you arrogant prick!?" Came the demanding question from common tongue. A mistake on account of the conscript that spoke them, the voice could only have one owner; one troublemaker. The voice was from the front of him; Grim had accomplices with him.
"Too afraid to lay a finger on me yourself?" Nathaniel wheezed through the dizziness, his hand groping the corridor for his staff, the respite while Grim was ranting about having been punished by order of a woman who didn't belong among the 412th allowed him to recover; only briefly. The taunts spat about Keeva angered him beyond the pain he was aching with. From the floor of the corridor the Psyker looked up; watching the Conscript carefully, still trying to learn who his friends were. He'd know them by sight and already had assumptions to their identity; nothing that could be proven. Yet.
As Grim drew closer the fallen Psyker stretched out his hand, and with great effort called for the Power of the Warp to return his precious staff to him. Winching beyond all his limitations he managed to get to his feet. The prickling of his spell still caught in the air like the wretched smell of sulphur, his fused fingers tightened around the shaft of the spear-tipped staff. His gaunt eyes locked on Grim, and he felt blood trickling down the back of his neck that he couldn't so anything about now his hand was filled again.
With words filled with resentment the Psyker spoke, his arm held taught; spear tip pointing, to the man who'd had him attacked. He could see that long awaited fear in the conscripts eyes, even with the torpor coursing through his veins the Psyker could still direct his wrath, though with greater effort. Sweat from the effort of calling forth the Warp, mixed with the blood, it stung, but that was little compared to what he'd do to the Conscript. His anger and resentment from all the frustrations, from all his trials directed towards the now uncertain man before him.
"Give me one reason why I shou-,"
"Don't even think about it, Sir." for the second time in as many days the Psyker felt the cold, hard metal of his Overseers bolt pistol.
Instantly Nathaniel calmed, the fury diminishing from his expression. It was then that he noticed the wild crackling of the tip of his staff, vibrant lightening arcing; threatening his fellow guardsman. It instantly died and the Psyker stumbled where he stood. Victarius quickly moved from holding the Bolt Pistol out to Nathaniel, to help keep the dangerous man righted.
"Leave. Immediately." Victarius ordered the frightened Conscript. Grim and his accomplices, quickly fled the scene.
Nathaniel lent heavier against his staff, and if not for the large man now at his side again he'd have toppled back onto the floor; the last of his strength diminished; returning the pain of his broken ribs tenfold. On top of that his head was pounding from having been whacked by something solid, but that was nothing after expending so much of his energy needlessly threatening Grim through the torpor. Nathaniel felt a weakeness to his very core, and wanted nothing than to collapse where he was stood. Somehow he felt the strength of the other man around him, half dragging, half carrying him to the Hyperions infirmary. The Psyker was unconscious by the time he arrived