A/N: BEFORE I CONTINUE (for my own reminder) I owe the balling Story pic to IllusiveFall (artist, not FFnet name). The artist likes my story enough to make sketches of several characters, and they are beautiful. The day I got a message saying someone was drawing fanart of my story, I was giddy for hours. Look the artist up. Great work, awesome person. And very patient since I was a lazy bum and waited months to a) post the picture, and b) credit the artist.
Second, huge shoutout to Disciple of Ember. Been a constant in-depth reviewer, have had several PM chats about the story, and more recently has been proofreading and giving feedback on some of the more pivotal chapters in the story. DoE has saved you guys several headaches from writer-stupidity.

Obligatory reminder- if the chapter shows up in ALL BOLD, check your format. If you are on PC and are reading in Mobile mode, it shows up all bold. No idea why. Scroll to the very bottom and switch back to desktop/tablet mode.

Reviews-

tar- ...thanks? It was supposed to be a bit weird. It's one of those moments I've been planning for FOREVER, but once I sat down to write it, words not write good.
BrotherDreadnought Titus- Ha! Shortening your name does not hide your identity, honorable battle brother! The best answer I can give you for your question is: He's hearing blood and smelling heartbeats. Do what you will with that knowledge.
Ksgrip- Eh, Most people that get possessed don't really remember the possession thing. That's kind of the point. The host is subverted by the spirit. As for the ending, I didn't say it has no moment of redemption. He's not dead yet.
ErnestShippinglane89- You know that moment when the player brags to the GM about how he's not had to burn any Fate Points in the Dark Heresy campaign, then immediately takes a sniper round through the skull and has to burn 2 to avoid dying? I'm not saying that this story's review section is Deathnote, but...
kyro2009- Things happened. There may have been some daemonic influences. Or maybe they all just had a bad case of the Rage Virus.
Disciple of Ember- I have a buddy who plays the crap (pun intended) out of Nurgle forces in tabletop Warhammer 40k. Highlight of our gaming history is he took a Nurgling model and discovered its open hand fit perfectly around a toothpick he had use to convert a scythe for his plague marine lord. So his Chaos Lord has a Nurgling swinging from his scythe like a sloth. It's amazing. Further comment on your review are in the PMs we've done, so, you know.
Cyclops101- Woot! You'll love this one.
Kenshin327- I honestly kind of don't know how to end a chapter smoothly. This particular story just kind of sprints from one scene to the next. Finding a good stopping point is hard.
Imsodevious13- Yup! Next chapter will be a bit shorter, but I might be able to bounce it out soon.
Shadow- Yay!


Hound's Call

Louk picked himself off the floor, wiping the blood from his upper lip in confusion. This wasn't the cells. This was the… witch's room. Her personal room in the locked-away hallway. Why was he here? And why the hell was his head swimming like a newblood in a pleasure den?

A long, explosive sigh burst from his lungs, stretching out with creeping fullness until it exhausted itself. His fingers ached around the tips, a ferocious pressure pinching at his bones. His idle curiosity lingered for a moment, fascinated by the new sensation that didn't quite make sense, until he looked down at his clothes and realized they were filled with bullet holes and rends. Blood slicking his sleeves and pants. He patted himself down, felt nothing. Odd.

Not as odd as waking up in her room. Using an arm to steady himself, Louk pushed to his knees and glanced about. She was here. His own curiosity vanished in an instant as he leapt to his feet. Forgetting the thundering questions that kicked about in his addled memory, he came to her side and fought to suppress the weighty pit that punched into his gut.

He had known she was sick. He had not known it was this bad. Her skin had taken a ghastly hue of white with yellowed discoloration around her features. Sweat beaded on her forehead, trickling freely down the curve of her nose and tracing lines across her gaunt cheekbones. Hesitant, uncertain pants shook her tortured body, shoulders shivering with each exhale. Even her crystal clear eyes had faded to a dull, watery softness. Bone-thin hands clecnhed and released fistfuls of bed sheets, kicked and tossed into messy piles around the edges of the bed and hanging onto the floor. Her lustrous red locks lay matted to the pillow, imprinted as a biological specimin on a Magos Bilogis's examination board. As his shadow fell across her, a bleary-eyed gaze drifted lazily across to transfix him where he stood. He had seen her in agony, he had seen her in pain and fear and anger. Even on the torture table, he had seen the strength of her spirit. That was gone.

She was so pitiful.

She was dying.

Louk's heart did not beat for what felt like an eternity.

"I'm here," he whispered, lungs failing to offer more. Cupping a hand carefully under her skull, he lifted her just slightly and leaned in to press a hesitant kiss against her lips. Her lips struggleld to return the affection, but in the end she merely lolled in his grasp. Fresh tears welled in her eyes, and her shame broke through the miasma clouding her expression. A weak hand tapped against his side, and he eagerly took her hand and held it close to his heart.

"I am so sorry" he told her. "What can I do? There has to be… I can go talk to Helsing. He'll know something. He can…"

Her weak, insistent pulls guided his hand away from his chest, crossing over to rest against her bloated belly, swollen and distended to the point he could see the veins clearly under her skin. A twinge of anticipation clawed at his gut as she drew his hands closer. Icy tendrils siezed at his spine, slithering through his nerves, flooded his thoughts with a haze of sensations that made as little sense as his presence in her room.

The small amount of effort drained the witch of her energy, but not before she placed his hand on her belly, and he felt it.

Louk could recall with almost perfect clarity the happy moments he had experienced in life. There weren't many, but they were unforgettable. That time he and Mouline had stumbled upon an abandoned cart of fresh fruits. When Helsing introduced Louk to his private manse and the staggering armory the Inquisitor kept in his vaults. The day that Lieutenant Jones had been forced to apologize to him after he had saved half her platoon from an abush and landed the killing blow on a renegade Rogue Trader that had made a deal with an Ork Warboss. Those had been the best moments of his life.

They felt utterly meaingless in the face of the frantic little drumbeat emanating from her womb. Louk's thoughts crashed together, forgetting his questions and curiosity as one terrifying fact finally struck home to him.

"I… I can feel it." His breathing hitched. "Gods, I…"

His tongue failed to move further. Standing in awed silence, Louk listened to the machine-gun heartbeat and smiled. The headache drained away like a bad case of congestion. The pressure in his fingers retreated into the forgotten recesses of his awareness. The tiredness settled on his shoulders like a warming cloak as adrenaline bled out of his system. For the most sacred of seconds.

The witch had drifted to sleep. Her expression remained twisted and pained, but he sensed the calmness overtake her. The easing of her struggling spirit as it accepted a short respite. Content in the knowledge that he was here, watching over her.

Then a tremor rippled through the air, and the distant muffled groaning of steel bending reminded him that all was not well on the ship. That was why he was here. The ship had come under attack. He was here to protect her.

"I won't leave you again." He kissed her forehead and retreated to the corridor.

Sergeant Nicolai offered Louk his sidearm. "You weapons are in Helsing's laboratory. Here. You need this should trouble come."

"If trouble comes that you all can't handle," Louk started, checking the power pack on reflex before inspecting the weapon's sights, "then I'm well and truly up the waterfall."

"Da!" The burly Thracian chuckled. "Your sense of humor is not lost to us. That is good, tovarisch."

They waited for several minutes behind the Thracian line, standing next to a hard-coded vox receiver that had a dedicated channel to Helsing. The last transmission Nicolai had received claimed that Helsing had assembled the rest of the team and set off to secure the bridge from intrusion. No orders had followed other than the standing one: hold at all costs.

They were so far locked away in the bowels of the ship, Louk doubted anything could ever find them here. Not anything mortal. He knew the stories of the creatures of the Warp, and what happened to ships that were caught in the Warp with their geller fields down. If the ship had suffered sabotage, then all sorts of creatures could prowl the corridors. Creatures that did not need maps to find things.

His attention snapped up when the ominous chime of the elevator echoed down the corridor. It had never felt so sinister and suspenseful before, but in the baited silence of their situation, it may as well have signalled an impending enemy charge. The Guardsmen shifted ever so slightly, solidifying their shieldwall, bracing their lasguns tight to their shoulders. There were twenty of them blocking the hall. Plus Nicolai and himself behind. Nothing was going to get past that. Louk spared a single moment to cast a look back down the passage. Where were the Eldar? He had forgot to ask if they were confined to their individual rooms or secured in the common room.

"Contact front!"

A figure clad in noble's robes burst around the corner from the elevators, arms windmilling comically as he nearly overturned in his frantic attempt to not lose his balance. Oswald hardly paused at the sight of the shieldwall. His eyes danced across the Guardsmen's faces for a heartbeat before locking gaze with Louk. They burned wild and crazy, a manic grin creasing his face.

"Louk Shannegh! They're coming for you! Louk!"

Louk hesitated, his pistol lowering a fraction at the man's warning. Oswald started running towards them, hands tucking in to shrug off his robe. He did not know how to respond to the man's presence.

The Thracians did. Nicolai had not even opened his mouth to give the order when one of his troopers loosed a two-shot burst. Their orders were explicit. Just a fraction of a second after the first shot, the rest of the squad unleashed a precise, disciplined volley into the oncoming nobleman.

A blinding flash of light seared Louk's vision, accompanied by a thunderous crack of exploding energy. Ducking reflexively behind his arm for protection, Louk cursed and turned away. Even as he did, he tossed his sidearm back up to a shooting position, but held his fire. There were men in the line of fire. Ears ringing, he took a step to steady his balance and started blinking away the bright spots clouding his vision. The dull thumping of lasgun fire pounded in the distance, warning him that they were under attack. Then came the screaming of men in pain. Each shattering voice pierced the fog around his ears, twisting like a knife in his brain. With each scream, the shooting grew quieter, more sporadic.

The knife whistled towards his throat. Louk could not see it, but he could feel its approach, hear the screech of air parting to its razor-sharp edge. Ducking low and away, Louk evaded the attack and shoved his borrowed laspistol in the direction of the attacker. Unable to locate the body, he held his fire and flipped it end over end, catching the barrel and turning his thrust into a wide swing to clear space. His attack gave him no room to breathe. A second knife blade darted for his leg. Guided by pure instinct, Louk hurdled the knife and kicked out, catching the edge of a rustling fabric. A heavy presence smothered against his back, sliding across, and vanished in the other direction. Nicolai let out a gurgling cry behind him.

Silence. No sounds except his own breathing, the dripping of blood from open wounds. He could taste the blood in the air, strong Thracian blood. The rattling clatter of a failing air filtration system down the corridor, eeking out its last moments in stubborn duty.

Gradually, his eyesight cleared to a vision of carnage. The Thracian Guardsmen were strewn about the corridor, bodies slashed to ribbons. There was a craftsmanship to the spread of death, the placement of their cuts. He could feel the lone heartbeat, strong and measured, already slowing back down from the burst of action. He could hear the blood roaring through his veins.

When the knife came, he dodged. Twisting just outside the lunge, striking the assassin's wrist with his pistol butt. The bone cracked audibly, not broken, but bruised. Louk tried to snake his arm inside the man's reach, bringing the laspistol right against his chest, but the man's other hand pushed the barrel aside at the last second, disrupting the shot and sending a scarlet bolt lurching down the corridor.

No words were exchanged. Louk quick-stepped backwards, clutching the pistol close to his chest, snapping off shot after shot at his attacker as the assassin rushed after him, lashing out with his two knives to parry his aim away time and time again. They weren't combat knives, he noted. Curved skinning blades, expert at parting flesh, but not so much for stabbing and goring. These were precision tools. That was good for him.

His boot contacted against a Thracian corpse. Rather than scramble to keep his footing, he let himself drop to the floor and rolled, snatching at the soldier's fallen lasgun as he did. The fixed bayonet remained clean and sharp as ever, always expertly maintained by the Thracians. He braced against it to leap back to his feet, just in time to avoid a low backslash by the assassin, and whipped the butt forward, cracking the man in the knee with too little force to hurt, but enough to stagger him to the side.

Then it was Louk's turn to attack. Foregoing the elegance of the bayonet, Louk gripped the rifle by the barrel and swung it with both hands, aiming to smash it into his opponent's chest. The sheer weight of the weapon would do all the work. But the assassin countered, slipping under the blow like an eel. White-hot pain lanced through Louk's side, then the assassin was at his back. Rotating with his swing, pushing the pain aside, Louk shifted his momentum and elongated the swing into a full-spin, nearly caving in the man's face. A last-second dropping to one knee spared the man his immediate fate, but a wild off-balance kick still scored against his chin and snapped the assassin up and back. Hardly enough to cause real damage, but it bought Louk a breather.

His side wasn't burning anymore. As quickly as it had appeared, the heat slipped away under a rolling blanket of chilliness. A cold liquid-like sensation crept outwards from the cut, a sensation that Louk recognized in an instant.

Gods damn it.

Words would be wasted, there was no talking with a creature like this. So Louk hurled the rifle in the assassin's face and dove after it, cracking his shoulder into the man's chest and driving him to the deck. One of the knives clattered out of sight. The other buried itself in the meaty flesh of Louk's upper arm. He screamed through his teeth as he sought out the man's eyes, grabbing at his wriggling head and driving his thumbs for the soft sockets hidden there. The assassin panted harshly, his only sign of effort. The knife withdrew, and caught Louk in his other side.

The strength drained from his arm as the cold overtook his shoulder. Knowing he had a few moments, Louk punched off of the man, separating to arm's reach, and drove back down leading with his elbow. Pinned to the floor, the assassin could only twist his head to the side, earning a hard blow to the side of the head. Louk rebounded quickly, throwing himself up again, but his breath failed him, lungs constricted and taut from the cold creeping in from both knife wounds. Letting out a rattling sigh, he drooped back on top of the man, landing a weakened punch that glanced off man's knife blade and pounded into his chest. His torso was going numb. His arm barely responded. Damn it all, he thought darkly, even as he struggled to roll off the man and pull away. The assassin allowed him to retreat, slowly rising back to his feet and following with a slow plodding pace. Louk considered crawling for another weapon, even though he knew it wouldn't work. He wasn't moving fast enough. He didn't have a chance.

It wasn't supposed to end like this.

He had known it might. Many nights he had pondered how it would go down. This felt wrong. It was supposed to be quick, brutal, and with allies at his side. Not bleeding out on the corridor of a gods-damned tradeship.

"Pathetic," the assassin hissed.

Louk did not bother trying to spit out a retort. Keeping his good arm tucked under his chest, he reached feebly for a lasgun with his numbed hand, knowing the careless kick that would send it skidding out of reach was just moments away. It came with predictable savageness, launching the lasgun away in mocking torment. But the foot remained in front of his hand, arrogantly poised for him to stare at in helpless horror.

His functioning arm launched out and hooked into the rim of the man's boot. Using the assassin's own strength as a fulcrum, Louk spun on his hip and kicked out with both legs, aiming for the man's hip and a potential disabling strike. His feet did not find their mark. The assassin blocked one foot with his hand, couching the impact and pushing it up and into the air. The other foot crashed into an armored knee. Before Louk could try to reposition, the man heaved upwards and dragged Louk up until only his shoulders were touching the ground.

"You used to be better than this." The assassin wearing Oswald's face snarled, an expression that did not fit quite right on the patrician face. "You used to be a challenge."

Shoving Louk's feet forward, the assassin flipped him over onto his stomach and pinned him to the ground. The knife blade kissed his other arm, drawing a fine bloody line down the length of his arm. Louk snapped his head back to try and draw blood, but the assassin merely leaned back onto Louk's legs.

"Who are you" Louk demanded. His lungs burned with the effort of drawing even simple breaths. The tightness constricting his chest made everything hurt.

"There was a time I would have thought that question an insult." He grabbed Louk by the back of his neck and threw him against the near bulkhead. Arms numbed, Louk sank into the unforgiving metal and studied the assassin, wracking his mind for a name, a face, anything that might tell him who this was. Not that it would matter.

"There was a time I would have given up my right arm to be compared to you. You worthless brat!" A backhand smashed into his face, knocking Louk's vision blurry. The assassin's temper flared hot, his blood rushing in his veins, thundering like an oncoming storm in Louk's ears.

"I don't know you, asshole."

"Yes you do, Lucas." The assassin dropped to his haunches, a cruel smile breaking out on his face as Louk's eyes widened a fraction at the old name. "We knew each other very well, in the Fold."

That couldn't be true. Louk had counted the dead, when they were done. Fifty eight bodies out of fifty nine. One they hadn't found, but there was the arm, and the smelting vat. He had been as good as dead. Louk's stomach would have grown cold, or maybe it did, but the paralytic prevented him from knowing the difference.

"Everyone I knew in the Fold died. That cell was burned to the ground."

"Mostly burned to the ground." Letting out a small sigh, almost teasing in its daintiness, the assassin slouched and sat against the bulkhead beside him. He was so close, if Louk had a working arm he could have chopped the man across the throat and ended him then and there. But he didn't, and the man clearly knew what he was doing. Anyone from the Fold knew their business. His careless-like twirling of one of the poisoned daggers spinning in his fingers was mechanical and elegant, to the trained eye. This was a man who knew exactly how long the paralytic would last. And he was in no mood to hurry the end.

"You know, I was so jealous of you when you came to us. It took me years to learn how to kill. I was good, but I had to learn. I was a student. They made me do things that left scars I still haven't quite lost." He turned and flashed Louk a white-toothed grin. "But you were a damn natural. I knew the moment I saw you, they had brought in the real thing. A real, unfiltered, unapologetic sociopath. The kind of bastard that would turn in his girlfriend for murdering just to prove how tough he was. You remember that one, right? What was her name?"

"Go feck yourself." The cold hatred burst to life in his heart. Louk's skin crawled, and he understood that this man was not talking about something he had heard. Somehow, he had been there.

"Mouline. That was it. Now, that was a pretty dame. Hard to believe she grew up in the gutter, with that smile and the curly hair. It was a real shame we had to take that one apart. Bit of cleanser and some makeup and she could have been servicing the boys like a champ."

"I am going to kill you" Louk growled. The words were empty, meaningless. It didn't even fuel his rage at the man's careless regard for her death. Louk concentrated on his fingers. He could almost wiggle one. Or maybe he was imagining it.

"Sure you are. At least you still have your bluster."

"Who are you?"

"Hm…" the assassin gently tapped his head against the bulkhead. "Well, obviously I am not… this person. There was an Oswald. I killed him right after he boarded the ship. Rather good fellow, incredibly naive. He was almost embarrassingly easy to do away with. But me, the real me. I am your brother, Lucas."

"I never had a brother."

"Not your flesh-and-blood, no. We were brothers in bond. In purpose. The three of us, Lucas. Don't you remember? You, me, Kyle. The called us the Trinity of Blood. Now it's just you and me. After the Flostak debacle, well, Kyle lost his way. Tried to jump the gun, force our plans on his own. The fool got himself killed on some backwater penal colony I'd never heard of. Kairn. Surely you heard of it."

"What are you talking about, Flostak? I'm not from there. It was destroyed years ago."

"Of course it was. And you did a magnificent job hiding this long. Love how young you've kept. Your boss must have spent a planet's ransom on rejuvenant treatments."

"I'm not every thirty years" Louk growled. Doubt fought equally with his uncertainty. What was this man rambling about? None of the names sounded familiar… but they did. But that wasn't possible. He was fully aware of the passage of time. Everything added up.

The assassin shot him an odd look, scrutinizing him for signs of his seriousness. "My, he really worked a number on you, then. That false savior of yours. You are one hundred and thirty years old, judging by my count. What did he do, toss you in a cryostasis module?"

"I… you're lying. That's not possible."

"Why would I bother lying?" The assassin lifted his knife and brushed it against Louk's cheek. "It's not as if you are going anywhere with this knowledge. If I wanted to lie to you, I would have much more interesting things to say."

"I can't be from… that can't be true. I would have remembered it."

"Clearly, something has altered your memory. Your Inquisitor is a witch, yes? Wouldn't be surprised if he put some tricks over on you." He gestured to the locked doors. "Then again, you could always ask them."

"Ask who?"

"The Eldar. They were there too." The assassin's smile froze for a moment, lost in ghastly memories. The sight sent a wave of nausea washing through Louk. Like all the bile in his gut had forced itself into his stomach and was attempting to breach back into his throat.

"You don't really think it was a coincidence that they were on Iora, do you? That we were there. It was all part of the plan. He said you would come. That we would find you again on that backwater sump world."

"The Eldar," Louk whispered, his lungs faltering. His ring finger on his left hand was twitching just barely, almost imperceptibly. He could feel it. The paralytic was weakening. "What do you mean? They were from Flostak? How?"

"Eldar do live quite a long time, you know. Centuries, providing they don't get themselves killed. There's two in particular of this group," He offered a non-commital shrug, "I would assume they are still here. Final casualties were not available to me. But the two that I knew. The two that you knew, we saw them on Flostak. Hell, we were their welcoming committee when they were dragged off the boat and we escorted them down to that bastard Druchii's laboratory the bosses had set up."

"Druchii. The other Eldar. We-"

"We've worked with them for centuries, Lucas." The assassin frowned. "Blood, they really did make you forget everything. Bet you don't even remember that asshole inquisition agent we took out. His name was… what was it, Kane? He came snooping around that last load of Eldar, and we handed him off to the Druchii. You have to remember him, and if not that, then that smoking hot Eldar bitch-warrior you worked over. She was the fierce one, the only one dumb enough to keep resisting after we'd cowed the others. I still remember what you did to her, Lucas. She was the only thing I ever saw tough enough to last an hour in your hands. We made a game of it, you and I. Trying to make her scream. She never did."

A memory flickered in the edge of his awareness. Blood on his hands. Sweat dripping down his bared chest. A bloody face hidden by loose strands of fiery red hair. She smelled sweet and earthy, even after spending hell's knew how many months in the slave pens of the ships. Mouth pressed firmly shut, defying his rising anger. Scalding blue eyes challenging him with her arrogance and stubbornness.

"Oh gods." Louk wanted to scream. The memory slithered free from its locked room, each step grating against his mind. The gap widened, and more memories trickled after it. Not many, just few and scattered images. A tall, dour man with violet eyes and a grim expression. Dark caverns lit by flickering lumens and the multi-armed monstrosity flitting about the place. He saw Mouline's terrified expression, her agony gazing up at him, but he wasn't standing on a ledge, overlooking her execution. His hand was around her throat. His blade drenched in her lifeblood. The sting of repressing mnemonics battled against the memories, fighting to stifle them and push them back into their holes. He felt the staggering fury of his own mind at war with itself. Guided by the blocks Helsing had implanted within him. Planted for his own good, Helsing had told him. Planted to make him forget.

"I would guess she is still around" the man continued, ignoring his internal struggle. "Bitch like that would never die. The Druchii would find her far too entertaining to kill off. You remember her name?"

"They called her Lidrana," Louk stated, his voice flat and hollow.

"Yes! So you do remember."

He remembered how she had bucked and squirmed in his grasp, her naked body lashed to the metal examination table, furiously straining to escape as he had slaked his anger on her defenseless body. The overwhelming shame crushed down upon him. He hardly noticed when his fingers curled into a weak fist.

"I hurt her."

"You hurt a lot of people, most of them deserved it. Some didn't, but what's the point of killing if you can't have a bit of fun with it?" The assassin rose to his feet, stretching his legs in obscene disregard for the death surrounding them. "It would be a mercy to put you out of your misery here and now. But I have orders. And you remember that our orders are absolute."

"What orders?" Louk glared up at him, willing himself to relax his fingers even as he made slight shifts, trying to gauge how much of his arms he could feel. The pressure on his chest was already draining away. Like a bad congestion finally broken. "What do you mean, you aren't going to kill me?"

"Lucas, Lucas… don't you remember? You are special. You were given the ultimate gift. Stole it from me, some still say. Not that I blame you. I have learned to appreciate what I have been given. But as for you… you must remember this on your own. We serve a higher master. The Lord of Hell himself set this path for you. He had marked you since the day of your birth. He set your steps, he guided you to the Fold. He trained you, molded you, crafted you into the beast you were. Even after your little act of rebellion, your falling away, he knew where you would go. He sent us to Iora to draw you out of hiding. He sent me to this ship, knowing I would prepare the way. The Lord of Hell knows all, Lucas. He is infinite, and filled with visions of the future. This is your destiny to bear."

"You talking about this?" Louk tapped his stomach, indicating the steel around his spine.

"That is merely the conduit. You are the host, Lucas. And one is coming now who has the key."

"That's bullshit. You're alone. Even if you were onboard, we would have detected if you brought others along from Iora. That's why you passed the scrutiny. Because you were only one person."

The man pointed to the strobing alarm lights. "And for all your training, all your vaunted talent, you never were one for strategy. Do you think I broke the ship from the Warp at whim? What gain could I have from freeing us into the middle of nowhere, into the dark space between systems? There was always a plan, Louk. The Lord of Hell planned this all down to the most exquisite detail. We exited the Warp in a system with a lone planet, hospitable, but unsettled. It's name is unimportant, I can assure you, as you will not live long enough to see it. But what is important, is who else was here waiting for us."

"So you had pirates waiting for us?"

"Pirates?" The assassin laughed, his voice rising tinnily. "To call these pirates is to call the Imperium a handful of united worlds. You should consider yourself doubly-blessed, Lucas. For those that have boarded this vessel are gods. Ancient warriors stride these halls now. Beings of age unfathomable, and power immeasurable. Beings that could conquer whole worlds by themselves."

"I get it, they're powerful." Louk could feel both of his arms again. He could see the rends in his clothes, but the blood beneath had dried. It almost felt like he hadn't been scratched at all. Hell, he felt stronger than he had when this whole thing started. "But I'm not alone either."

"Aren't you?" He turned away from Louk, inspecting the carnage in mockery. "Your friends here are dead. The others soon will be on the other side of the ship. The only one not here or heading to the bridge is your dear friend Lieutenant Eulogy. She got better, you know. While you were locked in the brig. Almost started to wake up. That one is a pity. Reminded me of your Mouline a bit. Beautiful girl, highly intelligent. The only mistake I made on this mission. See, I looked at her and thought she was a naive, foolish woman who could be manipulated through flattery and flirtation. How was I to know she was the only in one in this pathetic crew of yours that would actually see through my noble disguise. She had me pegged from the first meeting, I think. So naturally, I had to kill her. Thanks be to Blood she had far too much pride to inform your superior. No, she thought she could get close to me, take me down on her own. Then you came along and spoiled my perfectly good assassination attempt on her. I even let myself get shot for that one. Damned nuisance, it was. All's well, though. I sent some hired hands to put her down in the medical ward. Wouldn't want her to have an inglorious death wasting away in a vacated ship. That would be impolite."

"That attack was for me," Louk growled. With the assassin's back turned, he dared to shift his legs tighter, coiling his muscles.

"Yes, those worthless thugs were there as a smokescreen. To keep you busy. The lieutenant's death was my responsibility. It should have been. But she had the good sense to try and dodge. Then again, at the medical ward, you happened to show up and keep her alive. I swear, if it wasn't for our master's careful planning, and your clear obliviousness to the grand scheme, I could think you were doing all this intentionally. Trying to fight our plans as if you thought you had a choice. Really, Lucas. You might as well stop struggling You had wanted this once. Begged for the opportunity. Killed for it. What possibly could have changed that in you?"

"You forgot the obvious, asshole."

"Did I?" The assassin glanced back over his shoulder at Louk. Amusement creased the corners of his mouth.

"You murdered Peppe."

Louk lunged forward, shooting from his position like a rocket out of a launcher. He slammed into the assassin, hurling them both full across the corridor, and cracked painfully into the far bulkhead. The air was driven from them both, but Louk felt the battle-rage growing. The bloody haze churning in his mind, redness clouding his vision. He could hear the man's heartbeat, taste the blood in his veins. He knew exactly what he was going.

Keeping his body pressed against the assassin, Louk stomped down on the man's foot and grabbed onto his right arm with both hands. Keeping his foot down as an anchor, Louk straightened and yanked down, cracking the assassin's shoulder joint on his own. He felt the tendons and muscles tear. A knife stabbed furiously into his back, but the tingling cold barely registered. Nor did the assassin's gasp of shock as one arm went limp and useless.

"I AM GOING TO KILL YOU"

Louk took a step back to clear space and launched a ferocious series of punches. Each one was aimed at the man's face. There was no clever strategy, no carefully placed barrage to maximize hits. Just blow after blow after blow, catching a defensive forearm more often than not, shattering his knuckles mercilessly against the assassin's vambrace. The assassin could only hold out so long. Each fist that got through crashed into his unprotected face. Pinned to the wall, he could only defend and pray Louk would run out of steam before he ran out of consciousness.

When his fingers had gone numb, refusing to tighten, Louk changed tactics. Fumbling with the man's unbroken arm, Louk snatched the knife by the blade and heaved. It cut deeply into his flesh, slicing into the bones of his fingers with ease, flooding his hand with the numbing paralytic. But his furious strength bent steel, and the blade snapped after a few seconds. During those second Louk weathered a ferocious series of kicks, absorbing each one through sheer anger and rage. When the knife broke, he tucked his hand in close and stabbed with the shard, aiming for the assassin's throat. The man took the opportunity and dove, sliding unevenly under the blow and dragging the remains of the blade across Louk's thigh. Blood poured in its wake.

Hurling the knife blade after the assassin, Louk snatched up a fallen lasgun and oriented the weapon. Before he could squeeze off a shot, the assassin threw the other half of the knife. The jagged edge of the blade connected with the lasgun's power pack, slicing through wiring and disrupting the charge. A warbling tone rose from the pack. Louk hurled it away before the pack burst apart in a muted explosion of raw energy.

Then the assassin was on him again. He had recovered the other knife and plunged it into Louk's arm, twisting roughly to sever the muscle and silence his impulses. Whipping around the other way, he dodged Louk's punch and repeated the strike on his other arm. Both were clinically precise, expertly place. Even with his speed and refreshed strength, Louk staggered under the attack. In mere heartbeats, it was over.

"I admire your tenacity." The assassin sheathed the blade and pushed Louk roughly in the back. Unable to use his arms for support, Louk stumbled to his knees. "If anything, my respect for you is growing. The old Lucas I knew would also have fought this hard. You might not have the skill anymore, but you have the old fire."

Blood was flowing from them both. Louk's heart still hammered strongly and without hiccup, eager for more. His soul screamed for him to continue the fight, even without his arms. More. More blood. He needed to taste it.

"Peppe... that was the little street girl in the bowels of the ship, yes?" The assassin shrugged. "It was a bit dramatic, I admit. But you have to admire the theater, Lucas. She saw me one too many times down there. Started putting the pieces together. I was going to kill her anyway, so it hardly was a bother. She was a screamer." The cruel smile began to reappear. "Kept calling out your name as I cut her. I swear, she was expecting you to come through the door and save her right up until the moment she expired. Made it better for me, you know. That kind of hope kept her alive longer than she should have lasted. And you know as well as I do..." he pressed his face close to Louk's, "how delectable that moment is. The moment when they finally succumb, finally realize that there is no way out. You used to get off on that. I did."

He patted Louk on the cheek. "I wonder though, how you recovered so quickly just now. Are you dosing again? Lucas, I would be ashamed." The man circled around to his front. "That was always your greatest downfall. Every protege has his weakness. Yours was the drugs. All of that talent, and you dulled it with your immature habits. That was the one thing that kept you from realizing your full potential. Let's see what's in your system."

Without warning, the assassin lunged forward. His lips pressed over Louk's, not in a kiss but in a savage tearing of teeth as he bit into Louk's lip and drew blood. Louk's reflex kicked in and he bit back, trying vainly to catch flesh, but the assassin retreated with a teasing smile, Louk's blood in his mouth. Close. It had been so close. He wanted it. It taunted him.

"Ah, I remember this taste." The man licked his lips suggestively. "Clean, mostly. No drugs, but I do sense something… different in your blood. Your testosterone is greatly increased. You were dosing, I can sense the faint markers. But your…" His voice trailed off, fading away as a look of surprise blossomed on his face. "Oh Blood, they did it. The bastard made it work."

"What…" Louk spat the blood out of his mouth, "are you talking about?"

"He actually did it. The experiments worked." The assassin closed his eyes and looked up, a rapturous expression clouding surprise. "Oh, blessed am I, for I will witness the incarnation. They actually did it, you fool. You breeded with one of them."

"I… what?"

"The whole point of the project. The whole reason the Fold exists. All of those Eldar prisoners. Hundreds of them, tested and projected upon. We had been going about it all wrong. The Druchii made it work."

"Made what work?"

"The prophecy."

"You're crazy. There is no prophecy."

"The Son in Blood who betrays his kind, The Voice Unspoken betrayed by her kind, Cleaved by fate to paths not trod, In solace together begets the bride, The Executioner rises to claim his birthright, Two become one become Three, Worlds end when the Reaper walks free"

The assassin spoke the words with the surety of a long-memorized incantation. Louk did not recognize it, but the words gave him pause. The rage beating in his skull fluttered, enticed, reacting to the words like a dog offered a treat. He felt the rush of eagerness tunneling through him. Even as the thought unnerved every fiber of his being.

"He never told me to expect this. This changes everything." The assassin grabbed Louk by the sides of his head and kissed his forehead. "You truly are the one. Where is it. Where is the child? Which of these rooms ha-"

A lasbolt exploded out of his face, spraying Louk with scalding gore. The assassin collapsed against him, pressing him down to the deck. Surprised, Louk pushed the man off and gasped for breath. His arms screamed in protestation as the muscles responded stiffly, as if he had stretched them overmuch. And the coldness from the paralytics were making itself known again.

Lieutenant Jones leaned against the bulkhead, holding a laspistol in a shaky hand. Her face was gaunt and pale, with harsh bags under her eyes and skin stretched over her once picturesque face. Her uniform had been hastily donned, there were buttons undone and her scabbard hung loosely from her belt. Hair flowed messily down her shoulders, unkempt and bedraggled. She looked a fright.

"Reaper," she mumbled, her gaze wavering. Stumbling to one knee, she braced herself against the bulkhead and began easing her way closer, clinging to the bulkhead for support. It was clear she was weak. She should have been back in observation at the medical ward. Judging by the blood on her clothes, the medical ward was hardly a safe haven right now.

"'bout time you showed up." Louk sucked in a long breath and tried to sit up. He couldn't muster the strength. "I was beginning to think you weren't going to swoop in to steal the glory."

"I owed that bastard." She slumped down to her haunches next to him, looking out over the fallen Thracians with an expression of mixed anger and sorrow. "This was all his work?"

"You really knew he was the bad guy?"

"I had suspicions."

"And you couldn't think to share them?"

"I was confirming my suspicions before I started a witch hunt." She wearily checked the charge on her power pack. It looked badly depleted. "I would have reported him after our dinner had you not shown up and bungled the whole thing."

"You would have been dead if I hadn't been there. He's the one that killed Peppe."

Her gaze flicked over to him. Louk did not expect the expression of sympathy and apology on her face. "I am sorry for that. I knew you were… close with her."

"She was an idiot." Louk nearly choked on the words. "Closest thing to a little sister I ever had."

The Praetorian started heaving. Louk was worried for a moment, then he realized the lieutenant was chuckling despite her evident pain.

"What's so funny?"

"You look like shit" she said.

"As do you."

They both laughed weakly, each one struggling to let out the absurd moment of brevity. When their laughter simmered, Eulogy glanced up at the warning lights. "What is the situation? I don't know anything except that we are under attack."

"You know as much as I do. I was in the brig."

Her look begged for explanation. Louk knew better than to bring it up now. Instead he reached limply for a lasgun. "Well, I'm done."

"No, you are not." Eulogy struggled to her feet, the effort visibly exhausting her. Her slim hands tucked under his shoulder blades. "Get on your feet, soldier. We have work to do."

"I've been stabbed, shot, and poisoned" he grumbled.

"Rub some fucking dirt on it" she snarled, her exasperation and tiredness bursting past her normally tactful language. "Nicolai's men were tasked with holding this passage. Now it's up to us."

"Just give me a minute." Louk tried to bring his arms under to prop himself up. They responded sluggishly, refusing to hold his weight.

"Here." She dragged him up against a bulkhead to brace and shoved a lasgun into his hands. The familiar glint of steel in her eyes showed itself, and, despite everything, Louk was glad to see it. "When you stop feeling sorry for yourself, help me stack weapons."

He wanted to say something, to snap back a witty comment, just like they had in the old days, but the ominous ding of the elevator alerted them both that someone else had arrived. Eulogy stared down the corridor, her jaw working slowly as she ran through the scenarios in her head. Stepping to the middle of the corridor, she drew her sword.

Then the newcomers rounded the corner, and Louk's courage was swept away in utter horror. First came the horde. Dozens of men dressed in rags and makeshift armor, wielding an assortment of brutal weapons ranging from clubs to lasguns. Each one had an infernal mark branded into their flesh, a mark that both burned his eyes to look at but also drew his gaze with hypnotizing clarity. Several sported unsightly mutations of the flesh, from flesh hooks in place of limbs to chitinous plates of flesh covering their unarmored forms. They were a rabble of the Enemy. Wretched scum that had sold their bodies to the powers of the Gods.

But behind them, came the true monsters.

There were three of them. Stretching to the very ceiling of the corridor, clad in ancient plates of dark blue ceramite armor, armor that glowed with freshly drawn blood and runes of power. Skulls and trophies hung from bandoliers and belts, fetishes decorated their armor. Each one wore a helm of sapphire, grotesquely masked in the image of horned beasts, braced by burning red optics and tooth-like respirator grills. They carried weapons as large as a man, and their footsteps rang through the din of the mob like the clarion call of war drums. Bathed in the bloody red lights of the alarm lumens, they flickered in and out of sight, half present, half elsewhere.

The assassin had not lied. These were servants of the Gods, but so too were they gods themselves.

The lead monster stared down the passage at them both. His attention made Louk want to curl up into the shadows and hide. Even without a face, the snarling horned beast-mask threatened violence and sure destruction. Louk had fought monsters. But he had never fought anything like this before. He knew that his lasgun would not even discomfort it.

The lieutenant raised her sword, aimed at the monster, and she stood straight and tall. The slim blade seemed to glow in the passage, even without its power field activated. For the briefest moment, she straightened her spine and Louk saw the old Eulogy, the one he had seen just weeks ago, before the attempt on her life. The proud, defiant Imperial officer that had stared down fiends of all kinds with nothing but her bolt pistol, power sword, and unwavering faith in the God-Emperor. She was magnificent.

"In the name of the Golden Throne, I abjure you!" Her voice, though weak and faltering, filled the passage. The horde slowed to a shuffle, and coarse laughs broke out from their ranks. The monsters said nothing. "You do not belong here, servants of darkness. There is nothing for you here except death and ruination. The God-Emperor stands with me, and I shall not falter. Begone!"

For a heartbeat, a precious intangible beat in time, the horde halted. A ripple of unease spread through the mutants, and they glanced back at the monsters behind them for orders. Lieutenant Jones stood firm in the center of the passage. Sweat dripped down her face, her legs shook from the effort of standing, her eyes burned with fever. But the fierce belief radiating from within her flooded Louk with confidence. With hope. He checked his lasgun and took aim down the passage.

Then the monster lifted his arm, holding a massive chained blade that sputtered to life with the grinding of gears and the gluttonous chewing of loose flesh still hanging from the blade. "Glory to the one that brings me her head! Leave the other alive."

Eulogy offered Louk a passing glance, her grim determination solidifying like a death mask. "Kill any who make it past me."

The horde charged forward, whooping and hollering as they came. Lasguns and pistols were thrown carelessly to the deck and they came with blades and improvised weapons. The lieutenant took a step forward, then another, limping forward to meet them. Her laspistol discharged, fanning across the horde and placing rapid shots at head level, dropping several before the power pack ran out. When it did, she tossed the pistol aside and took her sword in both hands. Louk shouldered his lasgun and began to fire, sighting carefully away from her to take down any on the edges. Despite the numbers, he conserved his shot. He only had so many, and the horde was numerous.

When all of their combat came at range, directing fire or gunning down hordes of soldiers, it was easy to forget that Eulogy Jones had studied swordsmanship since her childhood. Raised on a world where the nobility still fought duels, where honor often was satisfied at the point of a sword, it was customary for all males to train in the art. As an only child, Eulogy had taken that responsibility for herself. She had applied herself to it with the same fervor she later applied to her officership in the Praetorian army. She had paid, begged, traded and exchanged favors for tutelage under some of the finest mentors on her planet. Against a skilled opponent, she was a ferocious foe.

Against a mob of unskilled peasants, she was a force of nature.

The mob slowed just before it hit her, each warrior wanting the glory of the kill. Eulogy dove straight into the crowd, using their own numbers against them, her blade flashing out freely in a target-rich environment. Every swing drew blood, whether in severed limbs or ended lives. She turned aside blades and sent them crashing into others. She countered wild hampered swings with savage thrusts. The crowd wallowed around her, those closest being push inside their own reach by the ones behind, all of them clamoring to strike the blow themselves. One by one, she thinned the herd.

A few broke away, lunging for Louk, caught up in their bloodlust. He dropped them easily, in between snapping off careful shots into the backs of the horde circling the lieutenant. Three came at him at one point, noting his incoming fire and moving to silence him. Louk killed two before they reached him, and bayoneted the third as he leapt to knocked the weapon aside. His lasgun disappeared under the man's corpse. Louk cursed and struggled to his feet, his arms moving as if in slow motion. Slowly, he lurched forward for another weapon. His head swam, growing dizzy from a sudden burst of nausea. Staggering, he skidded to the ground and groped for another lasgun. This one had almost half the power pack drained, but it could still shoot. Lying on his side, he awkwardly braced the weapon and resumed firing. The monsters were watching him. He could tell, as unreadable as their masks were. They were watching him. They knew who he was. He defiantly shifted his aim and fired a shot past the crowd, striking one in the shoulder pauldron. The monster did not move. It did not even attempt to avoid the shot. It allowed the high-powered lasgun bolt to strike uselessly against its ceramite.

By the time the horde changed tactics, half their number had fallen. Few enough remained that they understood their predicament, and as one they backed away from the bloodied lieutenant. Eulogy found herself in the center of a dozen men, leaning heavily on her sword panting for breath in the opening she had been given. Her uniform was torn in several places, blood trickling and pouring down her body in equal measure. But her eyes turned to the monsters standing down the corridor, and she offered a predatory smile.

"Be patient," she told them. "I'll deal with you once these vermin are done with."

The monsters said nothing.

One of the mutant creatures took a step forward, brandishing a sword of his own, a rusty scimitar with a jagged serrated edge down close to the hilt. He muttered something to the others, and they all maintained their distance.

"I offer you one chance to surrender," she grunted, picking up her sword and readying it in a dueling stance. "Drop your weapons and submit to the Emperor's judgment."

Louk did not know if her words flowed from true faith or manic fervor. But when the mutant charged forwards, bringing its scimitar overhead in a two-handed chopping motion, she lurched to the side and split its flesh from ribcage to hip, releasing a fetid spray of brackish blood. The mutant tumbled to the floor, joining its comrades in death. The lieutenant regained her balance, struggling to remain steady on her feet. A dreadful silence spread through the corridor. Even Louk held his fire, and the mutants all stood still as statues for a horrifying moment as one of the monsters stepped forward. He did not advance all the way, simply took a single step. Every head turned to observe. Louk flicked the charge on his lasgun to full power.

"Your courage is commendable, slave of the Corpse-God. It would be wasteful to let your adequate talent die here in the bowels of a doomed vessel. I extend an offer for you. Renounce you-"

"I'm sorry," she took a sharp breath as two of the mutants, imagining a gap in her defenses, rushed forward from opposing sides. Eulogy took a single step back and spun about, power sword flashing at chest height. The mutants crashed into each other, toppling in a pile while their heads rolled in opposite directions. The lieutenant took another breath, straightened up, and continued speaking as if there had been no interruption. Her legs wobbled unsteadily, her arm shook from the effort of holding her sword. But her defiance burned bright as a plasma's core. "But when I offered you a chance to surrender, negotiation was not on the table."

The monster said nothing, either amused or shocked by her insolence. It stared down at her for several long seconds, and Louk was reminded of a children's tale he had heard about a little girl fighting a giant.

"Kill," it growled at last.

The remaining mutants surged forwards.

Louk fired in short bursts, not worried about conserving his shots anymore. He gunned down two on her left, the high-powered bolts ripping them into hissing chunks of meat. Darting across, he caught three mid-charge, reducing them to bloody ribbons. Then his power pack hissed dryly, and he cast about for the next lasgun.

The remaining four hit Eulogy at the same time. She skewered the first through the heart, sidestepping his body and pulling the blade free even as it ended his life. Two more barrelled into her before she could recover, abandoning their weapons in favor of more brutal tactics. The impact of their larger forms bounced her away, sending her skidding across the carpet of dead with a breathless shriek of pain. Her sword remained lodged in the dead man's torso.

Before they could follow, she had scrambled to her knees with a bloody hatchet in hand. She threw it from barely an arm's span away, and the blade bit halfway to the shaft into a mutant's chest. It recoiled away in pain, only to be knocked down as she lumbered into it, dragging her right foot awkwardly behind her. With both hands on the hatchet's shaft, she ground the blade deeper into its chest until it expired with a bubbling cry.

The third mutant leapt on her back, wrapping a suction-mouthed tentacle arm around her throat. She hissed out a frantic breath as it pulled her over onto her back. The once-female creature held a simple club in its other hand, and it beat ineffectually at the Praetorian. The fourth moved to stand on top of her, holding a spear in both hands, poised to take them both. Before it could, Louk took its head off with the first round of his newly-acquired lasgun. The falling body jostled them both, and freed the lieutenant to push to the side, landing on one knee with the tentacle still squeezing her throat. Her face was blueing, eyes popping wide in their sockets. Ever the combatant, she snatched up the first weapon her fingers touched and stabbed. It was a simple knife, not terribly sharp or large. But when slammed repeatedly into an unarmored face, it did the trick. Eulogy let out a silent scream of fury as she stabbed the creature over and over, reducing its face to a pulpy tentacle grip slackened, though it did not release. Not until she gripped it with both hands and pried it away. Staggering back to her sword, barely able to remain on her feet, she took up her weapon and faced the monsters.

Monsters that still had not moved through the entire thing.

The elevator chimed again. This time they heard the shuffling of dozens more joining the fray.

"It's better this way" she coughed, wiping blood from her face with her dirtied sleeve. A hard breeze could have knocked her over, she trembled so. "I don't have the facilities to take you all prisoner."

Taking as deep a breath as she could manage, she limped forward, closing the distance to the monsters. The one observed her approach with almost passive interest, its only acknowledgement of her being that it slowly reached up and unsealed its beast-mask. Pulling the snarling horned helmet free, it stared down at her with cold black eyes, its face a deathly shade of white, silky black hair matted to its skull. Its features may have been noble once, with proud cheekbones and a sneering mouth. Its skin was taut as dried parchment now, teeth curved ever so slightly into a mouth of fangs. It was the face of a god, and it was terrifying.

Lieutenant Eulogy Jones raised her sword in salute. Summoning the last of her strength, she picked up her speed and threw herself forward with a battlecry as old as the Imperium itself.

AVE IMPERATOR

The monster curled back its lips and spat. It happened like lightning, a thick wad of dark fluid that struck Eulogy in the face. Her shout dissolved into a choking cry as she lost her balance and stumbled blindly forward. Louk could hear the sizzling of flesh, could smell the blood boiling as it made contact. As quickly as it had happened, it was done. She staggered to a knee, her blade missing the monster entirely.

Then the monster laughed. It had a harsh, unforgiving growl of a laugh, each sound scraping against Louk's ears like hot sand. Taking a slow step behind her, the monster growled a command to the incoming wave of mutants in a tongue that Louk did not understand.

"This is a champion of the Corpse-God" the monster said. Freed of its helmet, it had a sharp and piercing voice. The kind of voice that demanded attention and respect, on pain of terrible retribution. "Look upon her and take note."

The mutants eyed each other uncertainly, but at the monster's orders, did so. Shuffling forward, they spread through the corridor, mindful of the others. It galled Louk to see the monster was treating this as a lesson. He pulled the trigger of his lasgun, but the weapon clicked empty as well. Bile rose in his throat as he began crawling for another.

"This wretch slew many, even in this sorry state. It is fueled by delusions and lies, but it still has great strength."

Eulogy lunged for the voice. Even blinded, she could follow sound. Not daring to take a hand away from her blade lest someone disarm her, she suffered with seething screams under her breath as she sent her blade towards its mark. The monster casually grabbed the sword by its blade and tore it from her grasp, hurling her to the ground as it did. It spun down the corridor, landing near Louk's waiting hands. He scrambled to grab it and began pulling himself back to his feet.

"This foolish woman is a pathetic mortal. She has no power. She has not graces. What is your excuse?" The monster's gaze trailed through the mutants, and they shrank back in terror. "We have gifted you with graces and power in equal measure. Yet you squander it with your petty bickering and fears. Had I a thousand like this, I could take a planet. Let this be your lesson."

The monster grabbed Eulogy by the base of her neck and lifted her into the air. She struggled helplessly in the grasp of his powered gauntlet, not pulling at the thumb closing her throat, but holding onto his arm for leverage as she swung a weak kick that reached high enough to connect with the monster's gorget.

"We are gods."

The monster hurled the lieutenant across the corridor. Her body slammed into the bulkhead with a sickening crunch, and she crumpled bonelessly to the ground.

Its lesson finished, the monster faced Louk and began striding forward, careless of the dead it trod upon, each armored step crushing bones and flesh. The rest of the mutants and monsters followed, though the mutants seemed more interested in looting the dead than anything else. Louk held the sword out between them. He knew it was hopeless. He was no swordsman, and he was certainly not able to kill one of these monsters. Not on his own.

He tried anyways. The monster sidestepped his swing and grabbed him by the wrist. The armored gauntlet contracted, and Louk screamed as the bones in his forearm and wrist shattered. The pain was exquisite. He could taste the blood flood over his broken skin. He could hear this monster's heartbeat and smell the blood hidden behind its flesh. Pangs of longing surged through him, and he lashed out with his other hand, scoring his nails across its face, but his nails failed to draw blood, and Louk howled in frustration.

"I sense you" the monster told him. It picked him up by his shirt and dropped him onto the deck. Standing confidently over Louk, it drew a dagger that seemed laughably small in its oversized gauntlet. It was a dagger made of white stone, with four blade tapering to a single point, each blade twisting around the length of the knife in concentric patterns. A massive uncut sapphire adorned its pommel. Louk had never seen it before, but the sight of it sent a wave of horror snapping through his mind. It terrified him. His howl faded into a terrified silence, and in the base of his spine, he felt the heat growing.

"I have waited a long time for this" the monster informed him, dropping to a knee. It held the knife over his chest, pausing a moment to mouth words of ceremony or ritual. Louk heard nothing, but his ears cracked and bled in agony. Half the world went silent as a shrill ringing erupted in one eardrum. "But I have found it. I, Vladimir Draculesti, come before you, my lord." It pressed the hilt of the dagger to its forehead. "Harvester of Souls. Breaker of Corpses. Betrayer of Sanguinius. I have come to release you. I have come for my ascension!"

The blade hurtled downwards.

This was the kind of death he had expected.

The blade punched through his skin, and a thousand fires spread through his body. Every fiber of his being was swept up in a rushing blaze. He screamed. The steel around his spine cracked, and the hunger surged out of it. The anger was set free.

His vision went white. His remaining ear heard nothing but the catastrophic screeching of tearing metal. His world devolved into fire and pain. Deep in the pain, lost in the crackling of soulfire, he heard the laughter. Voices calling his name. Both names. Louk Shanneh. Lucas. Reaper.

Then fragments of the door crashed into the far wall, flattening two mutants into paste. Searing purple warp fire flooded into the passage, engulfing the nearest in hungry tongues that stripped their flesh and melted bones in mere seconds. Screams erupted through the assembled mutants, barely heard over the barking crash of lightning strikes.

The laughter faltered. Louk grabbed weakly for the gauntlet holding the dagger, twisting his head away to the source of the explosion.

The witch strode into the passage. Her mouth was distended in a primal shriek, blasting waves of warp-force into the closest mutants. White-hot light burst from her skin, bathing the corridor in hellish fury. A howling gale rushed past her, throwing her hair in a thousand directions, tossing bodies aside with snatches of her attention. Gouts of flame erupted from her hands, and struck one of the monsters in the chest. The monster howled, tossed backwards by the impact. A too-loud crunch echoed over the carnage, and it slid to the deck, motionless.

"Worthy foe" the monster called Vladimir said, his black eyes travelling from Louk to the witch. Abruptly he stood, leaving the dagger in Louk's belly. Drawing his massive chainsword, he advanced on the witch, her back turned as she stalked into the middle of the corridor, forcing fire into the cowering mutants. Louk tried to shout a warning, but his tongue refused to move. His lips forgot how to form. The dagger pulsed inside him, and with each repetition he felt his strength draining away.

The chainsword struck out with speed that defied human ability. Almost as fast as the Eldar. It hacked down to take her in the shoulder, aimed to cut her in half before she could retaliate. It should have been easy.

She dodged. Missing her shoulder, the massive blade slashed across her arm, drawing a spurt of blood across the deck. The chainsword exploded in a burst of white shards. Staggering backwards, the monster growled and reached for another weapon, hardly slowed by the unexpected resistance. Rotating slowly to face it, the witch fixed it with an unforgiving stare. Her expression was lost in the blinding light radiated from inside. Her brilliant blue eyes drowned in a piercing soul light that burned away the shadows, wilted the monster even as it stood before her. It stood almost twice her size, but it withered under her fury.

Her hand lifted up, and the monster floated into the air, snarling and lashing out with his hands. There was nothing human in her movements. It was as alien as the daemons he had seen. With a savage pull, she threw the monster down the passage, sending it flying dozens of meters, crashing through mutants like a wrecking ball until it skidded to a stop near the end.

"Kill" he cried. The command was received, and the remaining mutants charged.

Then the witch drew close to his side.

She stood over his limp body, blood streaming from the wound on her arm, driving them back with screams that warped metal and set bodies alight. Lightning crackled around them, exploding incoming fire and shooting off to obliterate any who ventured close. He felt her pain, felt her fury. Felt the aspect of death itself fill the hallway with her wrath. The dagger in his belly continued to burn, sucking away his lifeforce, draining it into the screaming voices tearing at his spine.

More doors burst into the corridor, and Eldar poured into the fray. The black-clad warriors pounced upon the mutants, bringing them low without weapons. The Eldar did not need weapons to kill the wretches before them. Lidrana led the charge, Louk's kopis crackling with energy as she cleaved a tall mutant in twain. The last standing monster moved to match her, a colossal axe held in two hands. She changed her assault and rushed to meet it.

Before they could clash, the red alarm strobes abruptly ceased. Nominal lighting returned, blanketing the passage in a warm yellow glow. The witch's power faded. Her lightning flickering away, the winds calming to pool about her feet. She tottered unsteadily. Louk clutched the dagger in both hands and wrenched it free. It felt like he was tearing out his own ribs. The pain nearly made him pass out.

"Leave this place" Lidrana growled to the monster. Behind her, the other Eldar warriors collected lasguns and blades. The monster had a bulky pistol on its hip, but Louk doubted it could draw it and fire before she was on it. Whether or not she could kill it did not matter. The ones behind her could.

The monsters understood. They backed away, arms held at the ready.

"I will have my ascension" the monster snarled to Louk. His coal-black eyes sucked the light away from his face, the one shadow in the bright hallway. "My time will come yet."

The Eldar kept their weapons trained even after the monster disappeared behind the corner. The elevator doors opened, closed, and rode away. Only then did the Eldar relax.

Louk struggled to a sitting position. His lungs burned. Every muscles protested their duties. He felt the laughter lingering in his mind. He heard the names playing over and over in his head. Louk Shannegh. Lucas. Reaper. Voices he had never heard before mixed the words together. He tried to shut them out, to block them away. The steel around his spine still radiated heat. When he placed a hand on his back, the skin was cold.

Lidrana's scowling face came into view. She wrapped her arms carefully around the witch, who stood motionless, eyes closed, swaying in an imaginary breeze, and gently guided her back into her room. Rising to his feet, Louk attempted to follow, but found his way blocked by half the Eldar. Rhaegar challenged him with the Praetorian's own sword, his expression grim and disgusted.

"Leave" he snapped. "You have done enough."

"I need to see how she is." Louk put his hand on the blade. The power field remained unactivated. If the Eldar hit the button, his fingers would be sliced right off.

"She is poisoned." If there had ever been a measure of friendliness between them, it was gone now. Nothing remained but hatred. Hatred and disgust. "You did this to her, monkeigh. Leave."

He stepped back. Several of the Eldar had spread out to unlock the remaining rooms, escorting their kin into the passage and directing them to take up arms. Only the child remained hidden, carefully hurried into the witch's room. It refused to look up at him as it passed. Louk sighed quietly and extended a hand. He did not have a choice.

"I am not leaving, but I will help hold this position until Helsing gets here with reinforcements. Give me the sword. You can have any other weapon here, but the sword belonged to her." Louk tossed his hand towards the Praetorian's body.

Rhaegar shook his head. "We will not remain. Stand aside, human. We will escape this cursed ship. Whether you must die is in your hands."

"I'm not going to let you leave. You don't know what's out there."

"Should we stay here, to be attacked again and again?" The Eldar lowered his sword and tapped the corpse of a mutant. "We all felt the horrors come to this ship. It will not be long before creatures come here that these weapons cannot stop. We must leave."

Anything else Louk would have said had to wait. The elevators dinged again, this time carrying the distinct tone of the bridge-direct shaft, and with that came the tramping of boots on deck. These were ordered, heavy. Coming in numbers. The Eldar reacted immediately, ducking behind cover, training the Thracian lasguns on the far corridor. Louk grabbed for a weapon and moved to the center. He did not know who these newcomers were, but they did not sound like the mutants.

Inquisitor Helsing rounded the corner first. The was not wearing his power armor. There could not have been time to put it on. Instead he had worn his ordinary battle gear, and it showed. Blood coated one of his arms from a slash across the upper arm. Bits of his armor had been chipped off from bullet impacts or tearing weapons. His power fist hummed menacingly, its fiery blue field licking at the air. The Inquisitor took the corridor in a glance, noting the dead and the living, the Eldar and the lone human.

Behind Helsing came Penance and the Praetorians, along with a squad of naval armsmen. The armsmen cursed and lifted their weapons at the sight of the Eldar. Louk lifted his hand to order their weapons down.

"Drop your weapons" the Inquisitor shouted, his voice taut and furious. The Praetorians obediently lifted arms, sighting on the Eldar, while the armsmen rushed to the front and raised shields. Penance stood in the front of the line, her shotgun racked and ready to fire. One of the Praetorians broke ranks and rushed to the body of their fallen lieutenant, a medical kit appearing in his hands. The only one in the corridor that wasn't aiming a weapon.

The Eldar refused to obey. Lidrana returned to the corridor, the kopis held in a tightly clenched fist, her other hand holding a fragmentation grenade. "Lower yours, Inquisitor. We do not need to kill you."

Neither were in the mood for word games. Leaving their parties at a safe distance, the two stalked forward to speak, and Louk rushed to place himself between them. He could read the battle-rage in their expressions. Either one was ready to issue a killing order.

"Easy," Louk said, pushing his arms in front of them. Helsing shrugged his arm aside; Lidrana pushed it away with the edge of the kopis. That did not stop him from physically interposing himself between them. "We're on the same side."

"You were never on our side." Lidrana flicked the kopis up to press against his throat. He refused to step away.

"We don't have to be." Helsing had stowed his pistol, but the power fist remained threateningly active. He growled something in the Eldar's own tongue, which earned a fierce rebuttal from Lidrana. Lost to the context of the conversation, Louk remained as in between them as he could manage, with the sword never leaving his throat.

After several exchanges, Helsing took a single step back. The pressure released from Louk's neck as Lidrana also lowered the kopis. Neither appeared any less hostile.

"Monkeigh speak in nothing but lies" Lidrana hissed.

"I would say the same about your kind, Eldar." Movement disturbed the human lines. Dunk'er trundled through, dragging a heavily laden trolley. Eldar weapons and armor had been hastily thrown onto it. "But I don't have time for your arrogant bluster. The ship is lost. As must as I would rather be off this vessel, I claimed responsibility for you, and that is something I cannot abandon. Load up!" He turned back to the humans and waved for them to put down their weapons. "And let's make space."

The hulking Ogryn came to a stop in front of Lidrana. He was bleeding from a dozen high caliber wounds, but the tough abhuman hardly seemed to notice. Dragging the trolley around to her, he offered his innocent smile and waved to the Eldar.

"I brought da guns. Da Inquis… da Incuz… da boss says to take 'em."

Lidrana scowled up at the Ogryn for several long seconds. The Eldar made no motion to accept the offering. Louk took a careful step back.

She slowly reversed her grip on the kopis and handed it to Louk. The unspoken command was issued, and the Eldar warriors lowered their weapons and hurried forward to claim their gear. Louk watched in fascination as they picked through the pieces and donned armor without needing assistance. Each piece molded to their black suits, attaching as if by magic, leaving each warrior fully armored within moments. The blue plates shifted into place, leaving them fully covered, and their tall black helmets covered their faces entirely. Lidrana donned hers last, offering one last withering glare to Louk before hiding her face from view.

Their weapons were large as lasguns, but with smoother construction and more elegant curves. There was little noticeable difference between them, but the Eldar seemed to know which belonged to each, and they took their weapons with certainty and pride. Several suits of armor and weapons remained after they had picked through their pieces. Louk said nothing. The thought triggered a memory, and he stepped past the Eldar and went into his old room.

The box was still there. He grabbed it and returned it to the passage, tucked close to his hip. Lidrana noted it, her helmet twitching in his direction. Before she could demand it, he handed it to the nearest Eldar warrior. The Eldar assembled, clearing space off the top level of the trolley to bring out the witch. She was in a bad way, but they refused to let Louk any closer. Her pained groaning made his ears burn.

"Now then," Helsing tapped his free hand impatiently on his hip. "You Eldar, fall in. You want out of here as much as we do, and I have the access codes to get us out."

"We are not your prisoners anymore." Lidrana aimed her rifle at the Inquisitor. Helsing's steely grimace showed no hint of his reaction to the move. He stood still as marble, brooding eyes locked with hers, waiting for her to back down. When she did not, he pointed past Lidrana to the witch.

"Yes, you are. You may resist if you wish. You may try and fight your way out. Perhaps you might even find the hangars and board a shuttle. But know this, Eldar. I have seen where we are. I know what we are facing. If you go on your own, you will all die. And Louk won't be there to rescue your soul stones from the monsters that rampage through the ship."

Her weapon did not waver. Behind her, Louk saw the faintest flicker of unease ripple through the Eldar. He did not need a psychic mind to sense their thoughts. Lidrana lowered her rifle, no doubt scowling behind her mask. "When this is over, we will be free."

The Inquisitor did not deign to reply. Gesturing for Louk to follow, he started back towards the elevators. The Praetorians fell into formation around them, their rifles swivelling through the corpses. Two had lashed their uniform jackets between their rifles to form a makeshift stretcher for Lieutenant Jones. Mullison walked alongside them, holding an IV drip in one hand, swabbing her injuries with the other. Maybe she was still alive. They certainly seemed to hope so.

As the elevator doors slid open, Louk tucked the white-stone dagger into his belt and licked his lips. His hands tingled with energy. The bone in his forearm popped back into place, and everything felt right again.

Everything felt

Hungry