The figure strode out from the crowd, not needing to push aside or
sidestep anyone as there was a sudden serge of panic among the assembled
civilians. There was a masses stampede to get as far away as possible from
the black robed intruder, and wails of terror filled the air.
Shocked Arbitrators, ones who had managed to hold their ground and not flee like the civilians, raised their shotguns and screamed out orders to halt. Without braking stride the figure waved a hand at them, tearing their weapons from their hands and crumpling them in mid air with an invisible force. The Arbitrators now in turn fled, despair and terror getting the better of their training and fortitude.
The three psykers, momentarily stunned, managed to snap out of their stupor and throw up a psychic shield around the platform. A hazy bubble of electricity encased them and the others upon the platform, protecting them from farther attacks.
Or so they believed.
The figure stopped at the threshold of the bubble and looked it up and down, as if deciding what to do. Taking the moment of respite, the others upon the platform drew weapons and started calling for assistance on their comm-links. The figure stopped studying the bubble and looked up at them each in turn, smiling as if a joke had been told and no-one else understood it.
I wouldn't bother.
The three psykers mouths' dropped open in shock, realising their shield was nothing compared to the power of this being. Each of the officers in turn swore as he realised communications were down and useless. Rakash was the only one who seemed in the slightest bit calm, as opposed to the High Judge who was cowering in his throne- powerless and trapped.
"Looks like we're outmatched," Rakash stated with a sad smile, "I wouldn't even bother trying to fight."
The others then noticed he hadn't even moved an inch or drawn any weapon.
"Are you mad?" bellowed Erinstein, red faced and face streaked with sweat and tears, power maul held in his left hand and a heavy duty auto snub in the right.
"No, I just have a measure of common sense," Rakash replied with a hint of mirth. He looked down at Wild, who seemed to be convulsing in agony. Fighting a battle from the inside, perhaps? Rakash knelt down beside him, but did not touch him. "Justice is coming," he whispered to him. Wild's spasms seemed to abate a little, though Rakash couldn't be sure if that was a good or a bad thing.
The figure, decided, merely stepped through the barrier as if it was a fountain of water. Panicking, one of the three psykers conjured up a fireball and threw it at the robed figure- only for it to be caught in mid air and extinguished by the unseen force. Nearly as one, all three of them fainted and collapsed to the ground like puppets with cut strings.
Erinstein, Kierson and the squad of Arbitrator Elite who stood with them all opened fire upon the figure. Snub bullets and scatter shells struck the figure repeatedly, shaking it around and tearing shreds off the cloak, and the figure seemed like it was going to fall to the ground and die. All rounds expended, firing ceased and each of the Arbitrators peered through the cloud of gun smoke their weapons had created.
There stood the figure still, robes tattered and ruined, but still fully intact beneath. Raising one hand, there was a slight pop of pressure in the air and all eleven of them passed out and fell to the ground with a thud of finality.
Rakash at the figure locked eyes, as if passing words between themselves through the air.
"Rakash? Colonel?" whimpered the High Judge from atop his throne, "what is this madness?"
Rakash blinked and smiled. Looking up to the High Judge, he merely gave a satisfied and admittedly smug expression. The robed figure nodded, and then threw off the black robes.
What he saw was so much worse then what he imagined.
Chapter 3 – Uncloaked
Sweat poured freely down his face, mingling with tears of pure terror and fatigue. It had been twelve hours since the unrobed figure had taken the High Judge away. Twelve hours of questioning, probing and interrogation. And he was old, at least two hundred years old- though there had been some surgery involved to keep him healthy. Still, there was so much a man could take- and his limits were being sorely pressed. Sat on the cold floor and against the wall, he was not restrained in any way over then by the aura of malice that told him if he moved he would sorely regret it.
The stranger was huge, nearly seven foot tall and broad shouldered. Though still nothing compared to Wildthing, this man oozed fear like a strong cologne. His face was craggy and grim, with a heavy jaw and high brow. His short cropped hair was blazing red and orange, as if dyed to appear like flames. Maybe it wasn't even dyed? It was hard to tell in the poor light, but it seemed natural- though in a very unnatural manner. His eyes were a light brown, though they too seemed to burn with in inner flame. Every now and again it seemed that they too were red, though it was possibly just his imagination. He wore a simple grey robe, with the torso armoured with a solid carapace breastplate with a large I engraved upon the front. A small flamer was mounted upon his left shoulder with a mind control unit linking it to his skull, and a large sword was sheathed at his right hip. A bolt pistol was holstered at his left hip.
There was at last a respite from the questions, and the man withdrew from the cell. For a while at least. The High Judge took the chance to have a look around at the man's companions, of which there were three that he could see, who stood in the cell with him talking amongst themselves- but obviously keeping an eye on him at the same time.
One was a short man, slight of build and frankly rather bony. Despite that he looked slick and clean, and maybe even handsome in a weaselly sort of way. Maybe thirty years standard, not counting any treatment he may have had. He had short and gelled back brown hair, slightly stubbly chin and cheeked and narrow sly brown eyes that darted all around the room. His clothes looked worn but expensive, loose brown trousers and a leather jacket. His boots were equally worn yet highly expensive. There were a few pieces of makeshift armour plates strapped onto various parts of his body by leather straps, which also housed spare ammo clips. He carried a pair of short barrelled auto pistols with drum mags in loose holsters on his belt. The man looked every bit a hired gunslinger or bounty hunter.
The next was a tall and gangly man with troll-like features. He was extremely thin and fragile looking, let limber and toned. The High Judge didn't doubt for a moment that he was a lot stronger then he guessed at first glance. He was the muscle of the trio. That was about it though, he mused, as he looked very primitive and stupid. Age was impossible to tell. His face was flat- his nose broken, his jaw jutting out and scars adorning nearly every part of his face. Ritual scars by the looks of them. His eyes were close together and squinted. His hair was long and unruly, stained brown by blood from the smell of it. Red tattoos adorned his face, arms and chest that were all bare skinned. He wore a pair of standard administratium issue combat fatigues, brown stained and torn up almost beyond recognition. His feet were bare and covered in muck. He carried a standard issue laspistol at his right hip and held a wickedly sharp looking glaive in his left hand, pole down and rested against the ground. He had several backup blades adorning his belt as well. A primitive warrior from some backwater world. The High Judge was surprised he even carried such a basic weapon as a laspistol. The third and final companion was a tall woman, maybe twenty years old. She wore very basic brown robes and had her long brown hair down over her shoulders and back. Though very modest looking, she still struck the High Priest the most. There was something about her that made him keep looking at her, something that made him feel extremely uneasy. She glanced at him, an angry tint in her deep brown eyes, causing him to shudder and look away. When he was sure she had turned away from him again, he took another quick glance. Despite her modesty, that girl was striking. Maybe even beautiful, if she but tried. Her skin was soft and white, and her features delicate. He was sure he could see a hint of her curves under the robes. He did not doubt that she was any less deadly then either of her companions, if not much more so. She carried a long staff that carried no ornament bar a single line of silver that ran from end to end, and as she rested it upon the ground it was over her six feet of height in length. The way her nimble fingers gripped it displayed her proficiency with it. She also carried a short sword at her left hip, nothing special looking about it. She didn't appear to carry a firearm at all.
The robed giant returned, an even grimmer look on his face. Glancing at the High Judge, he nearly snarled in contempt. The robed woman gave him a questioning look, and there was a pause as the two of them locked eyes.
"Well, I wondered how long it would take," the woman stated flatly, masking her own anger a lot better then her senior.
"Our time with the High Judge has run out," he spat out for the benefit of the other two, "we must hand him back over to the Adeptus Arbites or declare charges. Charges that we have no true evidence to back up."
"So that's it then?" the short gunslinger asked, "we just hand him back over?"
"That's what I just said," the giant replied with a hint of malice, "though I hoped for more, we at least have ruled out one possibility..."
He then turned to the High Judge and offered his hand down towards him. Gripping it, he was pulled to his feet.
"You have been found pure of heresy, though your reliance on politics rather then evidence is most disturbing. I pray you mend your ways in the future, for everyone's sake."
The High Judge, though insulted by this man, merely nodded. He was too tired and achy for anything more. The tall gangly man walked up and gripped him by the elbow, his fingers vice like in their strength.
"This way," he grunted, his accent appallingly strong and brutal. He gestured towards the doorway, and half lead and half dragged the High Priest from the cell.
Questions burned through his head, such as who these people were and why they had detained him. Who could have the power to do such things?
The High Judge knew better then to ask.
* * *
"Lord Marshall, our esteemed visitor has arrived."
The Marshall looked up from his paperwork and noted the look of fear upon Herdish's face. Bracing himself, and making sure that the guards hidden behind the secret doors dotted around the office were ready and in place with a quick vox-query, he nodded back to his aide to allow entrance.
The massive man strode into the room, nearly bowling Herdish off his feet as he scampered out of the way, and the room seemed to darken and shrink in his presence. His face nigh unreadable bar for a faint frown, he glanced around the room quickly before locking eyes with the Marshall. Fidgeting comfortably, the Marshall realised he'd stared directly at each and every secret door in the room.
"Marshall D'Ladvair," the man addressed the Marshall with a slight tone of distaste. The Marshall smiled, either not noticing the distaste or wisely choosing to ignore it.
"Indeed I am, my lord, I am honoured by your presence. Would you honour me farther with your title and name, so I am better able to address you?"
Smiling thinly, the giant laughed darkly on the inside. The fool did not know who he even worked for yet, and still he could smell his fear as plainly as he could smell the sweat his deodorant didn't quite mask.
His badge of office hit the desk with a thud.
"I am Wilhelm von Hiest of the Ordo Malleus, Imperial Inquisition."
If the Marshall was scared before, now he was close to passing out from terror. He couldn't even talk, though for now talking wasn't necessary. Only complete and utter understanding.
Von Hiest sat down at the Marshall's desk and began his questioning, but not before he heard the faint thud of each and every guard hidden in the walls hitting the floor.
"You and I have business to discuss, Lord Marshall..."
Shocked Arbitrators, ones who had managed to hold their ground and not flee like the civilians, raised their shotguns and screamed out orders to halt. Without braking stride the figure waved a hand at them, tearing their weapons from their hands and crumpling them in mid air with an invisible force. The Arbitrators now in turn fled, despair and terror getting the better of their training and fortitude.
The three psykers, momentarily stunned, managed to snap out of their stupor and throw up a psychic shield around the platform. A hazy bubble of electricity encased them and the others upon the platform, protecting them from farther attacks.
Or so they believed.
The figure stopped at the threshold of the bubble and looked it up and down, as if deciding what to do. Taking the moment of respite, the others upon the platform drew weapons and started calling for assistance on their comm-links. The figure stopped studying the bubble and looked up at them each in turn, smiling as if a joke had been told and no-one else understood it.
I wouldn't bother.
The three psykers mouths' dropped open in shock, realising their shield was nothing compared to the power of this being. Each of the officers in turn swore as he realised communications were down and useless. Rakash was the only one who seemed in the slightest bit calm, as opposed to the High Judge who was cowering in his throne- powerless and trapped.
"Looks like we're outmatched," Rakash stated with a sad smile, "I wouldn't even bother trying to fight."
The others then noticed he hadn't even moved an inch or drawn any weapon.
"Are you mad?" bellowed Erinstein, red faced and face streaked with sweat and tears, power maul held in his left hand and a heavy duty auto snub in the right.
"No, I just have a measure of common sense," Rakash replied with a hint of mirth. He looked down at Wild, who seemed to be convulsing in agony. Fighting a battle from the inside, perhaps? Rakash knelt down beside him, but did not touch him. "Justice is coming," he whispered to him. Wild's spasms seemed to abate a little, though Rakash couldn't be sure if that was a good or a bad thing.
The figure, decided, merely stepped through the barrier as if it was a fountain of water. Panicking, one of the three psykers conjured up a fireball and threw it at the robed figure- only for it to be caught in mid air and extinguished by the unseen force. Nearly as one, all three of them fainted and collapsed to the ground like puppets with cut strings.
Erinstein, Kierson and the squad of Arbitrator Elite who stood with them all opened fire upon the figure. Snub bullets and scatter shells struck the figure repeatedly, shaking it around and tearing shreds off the cloak, and the figure seemed like it was going to fall to the ground and die. All rounds expended, firing ceased and each of the Arbitrators peered through the cloud of gun smoke their weapons had created.
There stood the figure still, robes tattered and ruined, but still fully intact beneath. Raising one hand, there was a slight pop of pressure in the air and all eleven of them passed out and fell to the ground with a thud of finality.
Rakash at the figure locked eyes, as if passing words between themselves through the air.
"Rakash? Colonel?" whimpered the High Judge from atop his throne, "what is this madness?"
Rakash blinked and smiled. Looking up to the High Judge, he merely gave a satisfied and admittedly smug expression. The robed figure nodded, and then threw off the black robes.
What he saw was so much worse then what he imagined.
Chapter 3 – Uncloaked
Sweat poured freely down his face, mingling with tears of pure terror and fatigue. It had been twelve hours since the unrobed figure had taken the High Judge away. Twelve hours of questioning, probing and interrogation. And he was old, at least two hundred years old- though there had been some surgery involved to keep him healthy. Still, there was so much a man could take- and his limits were being sorely pressed. Sat on the cold floor and against the wall, he was not restrained in any way over then by the aura of malice that told him if he moved he would sorely regret it.
The stranger was huge, nearly seven foot tall and broad shouldered. Though still nothing compared to Wildthing, this man oozed fear like a strong cologne. His face was craggy and grim, with a heavy jaw and high brow. His short cropped hair was blazing red and orange, as if dyed to appear like flames. Maybe it wasn't even dyed? It was hard to tell in the poor light, but it seemed natural- though in a very unnatural manner. His eyes were a light brown, though they too seemed to burn with in inner flame. Every now and again it seemed that they too were red, though it was possibly just his imagination. He wore a simple grey robe, with the torso armoured with a solid carapace breastplate with a large I engraved upon the front. A small flamer was mounted upon his left shoulder with a mind control unit linking it to his skull, and a large sword was sheathed at his right hip. A bolt pistol was holstered at his left hip.
There was at last a respite from the questions, and the man withdrew from the cell. For a while at least. The High Judge took the chance to have a look around at the man's companions, of which there were three that he could see, who stood in the cell with him talking amongst themselves- but obviously keeping an eye on him at the same time.
One was a short man, slight of build and frankly rather bony. Despite that he looked slick and clean, and maybe even handsome in a weaselly sort of way. Maybe thirty years standard, not counting any treatment he may have had. He had short and gelled back brown hair, slightly stubbly chin and cheeked and narrow sly brown eyes that darted all around the room. His clothes looked worn but expensive, loose brown trousers and a leather jacket. His boots were equally worn yet highly expensive. There were a few pieces of makeshift armour plates strapped onto various parts of his body by leather straps, which also housed spare ammo clips. He carried a pair of short barrelled auto pistols with drum mags in loose holsters on his belt. The man looked every bit a hired gunslinger or bounty hunter.
The next was a tall and gangly man with troll-like features. He was extremely thin and fragile looking, let limber and toned. The High Judge didn't doubt for a moment that he was a lot stronger then he guessed at first glance. He was the muscle of the trio. That was about it though, he mused, as he looked very primitive and stupid. Age was impossible to tell. His face was flat- his nose broken, his jaw jutting out and scars adorning nearly every part of his face. Ritual scars by the looks of them. His eyes were close together and squinted. His hair was long and unruly, stained brown by blood from the smell of it. Red tattoos adorned his face, arms and chest that were all bare skinned. He wore a pair of standard administratium issue combat fatigues, brown stained and torn up almost beyond recognition. His feet were bare and covered in muck. He carried a standard issue laspistol at his right hip and held a wickedly sharp looking glaive in his left hand, pole down and rested against the ground. He had several backup blades adorning his belt as well. A primitive warrior from some backwater world. The High Judge was surprised he even carried such a basic weapon as a laspistol. The third and final companion was a tall woman, maybe twenty years old. She wore very basic brown robes and had her long brown hair down over her shoulders and back. Though very modest looking, she still struck the High Priest the most. There was something about her that made him keep looking at her, something that made him feel extremely uneasy. She glanced at him, an angry tint in her deep brown eyes, causing him to shudder and look away. When he was sure she had turned away from him again, he took another quick glance. Despite her modesty, that girl was striking. Maybe even beautiful, if she but tried. Her skin was soft and white, and her features delicate. He was sure he could see a hint of her curves under the robes. He did not doubt that she was any less deadly then either of her companions, if not much more so. She carried a long staff that carried no ornament bar a single line of silver that ran from end to end, and as she rested it upon the ground it was over her six feet of height in length. The way her nimble fingers gripped it displayed her proficiency with it. She also carried a short sword at her left hip, nothing special looking about it. She didn't appear to carry a firearm at all.
The robed giant returned, an even grimmer look on his face. Glancing at the High Judge, he nearly snarled in contempt. The robed woman gave him a questioning look, and there was a pause as the two of them locked eyes.
"Well, I wondered how long it would take," the woman stated flatly, masking her own anger a lot better then her senior.
"Our time with the High Judge has run out," he spat out for the benefit of the other two, "we must hand him back over to the Adeptus Arbites or declare charges. Charges that we have no true evidence to back up."
"So that's it then?" the short gunslinger asked, "we just hand him back over?"
"That's what I just said," the giant replied with a hint of malice, "though I hoped for more, we at least have ruled out one possibility..."
He then turned to the High Judge and offered his hand down towards him. Gripping it, he was pulled to his feet.
"You have been found pure of heresy, though your reliance on politics rather then evidence is most disturbing. I pray you mend your ways in the future, for everyone's sake."
The High Judge, though insulted by this man, merely nodded. He was too tired and achy for anything more. The tall gangly man walked up and gripped him by the elbow, his fingers vice like in their strength.
"This way," he grunted, his accent appallingly strong and brutal. He gestured towards the doorway, and half lead and half dragged the High Priest from the cell.
Questions burned through his head, such as who these people were and why they had detained him. Who could have the power to do such things?
The High Judge knew better then to ask.
* * *
"Lord Marshall, our esteemed visitor has arrived."
The Marshall looked up from his paperwork and noted the look of fear upon Herdish's face. Bracing himself, and making sure that the guards hidden behind the secret doors dotted around the office were ready and in place with a quick vox-query, he nodded back to his aide to allow entrance.
The massive man strode into the room, nearly bowling Herdish off his feet as he scampered out of the way, and the room seemed to darken and shrink in his presence. His face nigh unreadable bar for a faint frown, he glanced around the room quickly before locking eyes with the Marshall. Fidgeting comfortably, the Marshall realised he'd stared directly at each and every secret door in the room.
"Marshall D'Ladvair," the man addressed the Marshall with a slight tone of distaste. The Marshall smiled, either not noticing the distaste or wisely choosing to ignore it.
"Indeed I am, my lord, I am honoured by your presence. Would you honour me farther with your title and name, so I am better able to address you?"
Smiling thinly, the giant laughed darkly on the inside. The fool did not know who he even worked for yet, and still he could smell his fear as plainly as he could smell the sweat his deodorant didn't quite mask.
His badge of office hit the desk with a thud.
"I am Wilhelm von Hiest of the Ordo Malleus, Imperial Inquisition."
If the Marshall was scared before, now he was close to passing out from terror. He couldn't even talk, though for now talking wasn't necessary. Only complete and utter understanding.
Von Hiest sat down at the Marshall's desk and began his questioning, but not before he heard the faint thud of each and every guard hidden in the walls hitting the floor.
"You and I have business to discuss, Lord Marshall..."