'Oh,' said Attelus. 'Hmm, interesting, yes.'

Torris, who towered over Attelus in his blue flak armour, exchanged a glance with Delathasi, she was as tall as Torris, but she was as slender as Torris was bulky. Both were dark-skinned, but Torris was far darker, his jawline square and seemed squarer due to his growing beard.

'Insane more like,' said Torris. 'That sword ate souls, right?'

Attelus eyes fell to the floor. 'Y-yes.'

'Well, maybe that sword damaged his soul? It could've damaged his mind as well?'

Attelus shrugged. 'Perhaps? I was wondering why Commissar Tathe had come to Karmen's chamber to ask me questions about Adrassil.'

'Your world has an interesting history, Attelus,' said Delathasi. 'What is it like?'

'Elbyra? Or Velrosia? Agri world. Kingdoms and aristocracies mostly. We're a backwater, in all honesty. Our only claim to fame is...was the Elbyran Imperial Guard contingent. Some beautiful places, though. My home city of Varander, the Velrosian capital, is...was still one of the most pretty places I've seen in my life. But...well, that could be due to my bias, so...'

Attelus pursed his lips and shrugged again. 'And you think Dellenger is telling the truth?'

Torris nodded. 'Or he thinks it's true, which is more likely. That's what happens when you are delusional.'

'Hmm, makes sense.'

Delathasi and Torris shared glances again. 'Uhm, Attelus, what are we going to do next?' said Delathasi.

'...I will give you guys a debriefing tomorrow. But I've talked to autarch Arlyandor about how we are going to exit the webway without the Guncutter and without drawing much attention to ourselves.'

'But how are we going to prevent Inquisitor Enandra from becoming suspicious?' said Delathasi.

'We're way too late for that,' said Attelus. 'Managing to travel to and from the Gothic Sector in a few weeks, which is an impossibility with warp travel. Unless we lay low for months and months somewhere until we get in contact with her and, well, we can't afford to do that.'

'I'm pretty sure she already knows, anyway,' said Torris. 'So, I'm guessing you're finally done with sulking in your chamber or alternatively sulking in Karmen's.'

Delathasi frowned at that.

'I am,' said Attelus. 'I'm back in the game now...I'm sorry about that.'

Torris growled, and he mussed Attelus' long hair with an armoured paw. 'Ahh, I shouldn't be so hard on you after what happened. Good to see you're back on track.'

Attelus smiled. 'It's good to be back, Marcel.'


Militia-man Voltdun once again looked out across the plains of hills that surrounded Port Suffering. He breathed out and wiped the sweat from his balding head for the hundredth time. He'd been born and raised in Port Suffering, the only city and port of call for the Imperium on Iocanthos. Voltdun stared out for a few seconds more before beginning on his patrol again. Voltdun didn't understand the constant patrols; the local savage tribes wouldn't dare attack Port Suffering because it was neutral ground, and its existence was important for the entire world. Maybe they made fools like him patrol the wall in the burning sun, so the port lived up to its damned name.

Voltdun frowned and looked to the sky; it was less than a year away before the Imperium comes to Iocanthos to collect up the Ghost Fire Pollen to produce it into combat drugs. Voltdun was tempted to try and beg the ship's captain to allow him to join the crew.

Anywhere would be better than living in this shit hole of a world, by the God-Emperor. Voltdun made sure to pray for this every day since the Ghost Fire Pollen was taken about four years ago. His boots clanging on the steel walkway, Voltdun shouldered his lasgun and glanced down into Port Suffering itself. It was midday, and the city was milling with his fellow colonists and the local savages who lived here. The colour of browning rust seemed to cover every inch of every building of this place.

He supposed he should thank the God-Emperor he was born here instead of out in plains and-

The thought of the plains made Voltdun look back over them and...

The Militia-man froze as figures began to appear over the top of a taller hill about two hundred metres away. It took Voltdun a good few seconds to get the brains to finally reach for his scope with sweaty fingers that now seemed buttery and limp. When he managed to place it to his eye, he saw the group had grown, in the lead was a short, long-haired lad in a black coat, a sword sheathed at his hip, on his right was a beautiful blonde woman in a black bodyglove and his left a pretty red-haired girl in a grey bodyglove. Then a big, dark-skinned man in blue flak armour and he carried a large metal box between a tall, pale man in a bodyglove, a tanned man in what in a storm coat and a military hat.

'W-who, w-what?'

The young man in the lead raised his hand, and it made Voltdun focus on him again and-and...

He was holding between black-gloved fingers a sigil that looked like...looked like.

Then Voltdun's entire being seemed to freeze despite the overwhelming heat of the sun.


Under-consul Adept Kolmoroff sat in her small, austere office, her augmented eyes looking over yet another calculation report of this year's haul of Ghost Fire Pollen on her beaten, steel desk. It was a report by Adept Sotol. Kolmoroff would have rolled her eyes if they were not circular glowing orbs of red. Sotol would yet again be at least five hundred tons over or under the actual amount; he was a fool, but that was the reason why he was transferred here, Port Suffering, and by extent, Iocanthos was a dumping ground for the Administratum's "best." and "brightest" for centuries, which included, or at least she believed, her grandparents, who were shipped here from Fenksworld decades ago. But she had strived to be the best she could be in the name of the all-mighty God-Emperor of Mankind, and that was why she was in charge, even if that meant, by proxy, she was the de-facto mayor of this thrice-damned city too. With her slender, wrinkled fingers, she checked over Sotol's report again. Her mind whirring through the mathematics like the cogitator she had that worked fifteen years ago. The thought made her glance at the ancient, battered thing going to rust in the corner of her office. It had worked for her predecessor and his predecessor. She had considered sending a request for a replacement or for a Tech Adept to repair it on many occasions. Still, she knew how slow the cogs of Imperial bureaucracy moved first-hand; she would likely be long dead by the time the replacement arrived. The relationship between the administratum and the Adeptus Mechanicus was turbulent at best.

She found that Sotol's calculations added to where she thought initially and dumped the report aside in the 'Calculated' box on her desk. She wanted to dump it in the rubbish, but despite how incompetent he was, she liked Sotol, the naive but the friendly young man was a bit of a light in this oppressive, cramped building. He'd only been here since being dumped off with the prior shipment of Ghost Fire Pollen. She wondered how much longer that enthusiasm would last.

Kolmoroff reached for the next report; adept Toltin's when the vox unit built into her desk buzzed, making her jump and drop the folder in a shower of paper. She looked at the buzzing, blinking vox unit for a good eight seconds. There were no scheduled meetings with any of the Ashleen Warchiefs this day. She could only think of a few reasons why she would be called like this; some local fool had done a stupid thing or a horrible thing that she was not qualified to deal with. No magistratum or Adeptus Arbites left criminal investigations to the administratum and the damned militia. This was the last thing she wanted nor needed.

With a sigh, Kolmoroff finally pushed the "accept" button.

'This is Adept Kolmoroff; what is it?'

'Mamzel,' it was sergeant Vettok of the militia, the fear in his shaking voice was almost palpable; he was in charge of the daytime wall patrols. 'We've gotten us a situation.'

'Of course, we do; what is it?' she would have guessed a bar fight or a stabbing in a botched mugging, but the call is from the wall patrol made those assumptions go away. Was it the Ashleen finally deciding to attack Port Suffering? That thought made her heart skip a beat, by the God-Emperor, she prayed not.

'M-mamzel, you won't begin to guess, but it's the Inquisition!'

A pain shivered through her so hard and fast she almost took her finger off the button. 'Th-the Inquisition? I had no word of their presence on Iocanthos!'

'Y-yas, mamzel, but it seems they're on the planet doin' secret frig. They want ta meet with ya.'

Kolmoroff groaned. 'Yes, yes, send them here.'

She tore her finger from the vox unit before the sergeant could reply. This was the last thing she needed now.


From the entourage of about thirty-five, only three of them followed Kolmoroff into her office, and as they walked in, Kolmoroff's augmented eyes soaked in their every detail like she would a report. One was a pretty young man with pale skin and long dark brown hair parted on the right side, so it covered most of the left side of his sharp, sculpted face. It wasn't just his looks that made him eye-catching, but the stark contrast between the darkness of his hair, his red lips and complexion; it was exotic as almost no one on Iocanthos looked that way. The way he walked as well, in the most smoothest, confident of gaits, seemed almost inhuman. The wild felines stalking birds on the roofs of Port Suffering held nothing to this young man, and it dawned on Kolmoroff he was easily the most dangerous individual she'd even met despite his shorter stature and lighter build. She had shared court with many, many brutal, ruthless Ashleen Warchiefs over the years. Warchiefs who carried the shrunken skulls of their many kills from their belts and scars from countless fights coating their bulky, muscular torsos. But contrasted by the pretty young man's slouching posture, which not as bad as an administratum adept who spent his life hunched over a cogitator, it was quite still noticeable; it detracted from his presence and looks considerably.

But she should not have been surprised as he was an Inquisitor. He wore a black armoured jacket over a pair of blue pants and a grey bodyglove. A sword was sheathed on his left hip and a pistol holstered in a shoulder rig.

And yet, he seemed so young, maybe twenty, twenty-three, but his hazel eyes with purple bags beneath seemed to show a weariness and wisdom. That, and the huge, ugly scar on his left cheek, which he obviously intended to hide behind his thick fringe of hair, but was obvious to Kolmoroff's enhanced gaze. She'd received the augmentation by a Tech-Priest when she was placed in charge of the administratum on Iocanthos; he had been working on something on routine maintenance on Port Suffering at the time and decided to make them for her as a sign of respect for her position and the strange...friendship? She had made with him. They were a work of art and had never failed her over the decades since.

The second was a woman who seemed in her early twenties; she wore a black bodyglove which bared her shapely, youthful body to the world. She was beautiful, and she was more than aware of it; her face heart-shaped and seemed to epitomise the stereotypes of soft femininity. Her long blonde hair tied into a topknot, but Kolmoroff could spy the small amount of black regrowth at the roots. By contrast to the young man's smooth steps, her short steps were feminine but subtly haughty, arrogant, as if she had been born and raised in high society. Her big, blue eyes would have been nice if not for the fact they seemed hard and ruthless, like the embodiment of the nightmarish and cruel rumours the Inquisition were known for. As if she was more than capable of horrible acts in the pursuit of her agenda. Hanging from a strap over her shoulder was a boltgun of all things.

But Kolmoroff could see the very well hidden, almost indistinct lines of false flesh on her features. If Kolmoroff had any doubts, they were Inquisition; they were gone now as such advanced and skilled surgery would have cost an incredible amount of Throne Gelts.

The third was a soldier, a warrior, a leader who should have been in charge as far as Kolmoroff was concerned. Tall, well built and as the young man was pretty, the soldier was handsome, almost ludicrously so, his face was scarred, but the scars added to his looks rather than detracted from them. He seemed to be in his late forties, his tanned skin weathered, and his wide, easy smile crinkled it further. He wore a peaked hat, tilted on his greying, black hair roguishly and a storm coat lined with red and his shoulders covered with golden pads. Beneath was his battered, old but well-maintained carapace armour with an Aquila on the chest. And black tunic.

He seemed exactly what Kolmoroff would imagine one of the infamous Commissars of the Imperial Guard she had heard so much about. He oozed charisma like the woman oozed ruthlessness and the young man radiated dangerousness, despite the sword sheathed at his hip and the intimidating silhouette of his uniform. The warrior's presence seemed to cleanse any unease from Kolmoroff, and it took all her willpower to pull her attention from him.

For the life of her, Kolmoroff had no idea what to say to these three strangers, so she just waved for them to sit in the rickety wooden chairs. They did, and much to Kolmoroff's non-surprise, the young man took the middle chair, and the warrior and the woman sat on his left and right, respectively.

'H-how can I aid an Inquisitor of the Holy Ordos?' said Kolmoroff, unable to hide the quiver in her voice.

The young man lounging in his chair looked surprised, then he exchanged glances with the warrior and the woman.

'Oh,' he said. 'I'm not an Inquisitor, sorry for the misunderstanding.'

And he floundered around inside his jacket to reveal a small "I." emblem.

Kolmoroff would have raised an eyebrow at the young man's strange awkwardness if it was not for the visor replacing much of her face. 'Then what are you? You seem like an Inquisitor to me. Or you used to, until now.'

'Uhm, thanks? But I'm not, I'm a Throne Agent,' said the young man, his voice deep, soft was almost soothing and a little nasally, probably suffering from pollen fever. 'A high-level acolyte to an Inquisitor. I'm Kaltos, senior Throne Agent of the Ordo Hereticus. This is Throne Agent Kons and Throne Agent Tathe.'

'Ordo Hereticus? That term means nothing to me, young man. I am guessing you specialise in finding and destroying heretical elements?'

'Yeah,' said Kaltos as he put the emblem back in his jacket pocket. 'You know, it's High Gothic and all that shit.

Kaltos' face flushed as he red as he seemed to realise his mistake. 'S-sorry about my swearing.'

Kolmoroff could not help smiling; this Throne Agent Kaltos was warming to her. 'It is fine; I have been in the presence of mass-murdering warlords and brutal warriors, your use of "shit" is nothing compared to what they say. And I thought it was High Gothic. I do attend services regularly, which you Inquisition people wish to know, do you not?'

Again, agent Kaltos shared glances with Kons and Tathe. 'Yes, of course. That's excellent, yes.'

'Now,' said Kolmoroff, unable to keep her gaze from Tathe for any longer and glad the good looking Throne Agent couldn't tell. 'Would you allow me the honour of telling me why you are here?'

'We cannot give you the details,' said Kons, and Kolmoroff could not help turn to her. Her deep voice seemed to project into every inch of the room and rang with incredible confidence; she leaned back in her chair, arms folded below her ample chest. Her blue eyes seeming fixed to Kolmoroff, and she had to fight the urge to wilt beneath it. There was something else behind that gaze, something more, something that made her seem even more dangerous than Kaltos. 'We can tell you we were dropped here two weeks ago out in the mountains to investigate one of the tribes for suspected heresy.'

'I was never made aware-'

Kons raised her hand. 'We had a cell of acolytes infiltrate the tribes a while ago, and we received an astropathic communication reporting this via their own astropath. So we were dropped off here by our master to take a look ourselves. We were almost ambushed, and we lost our acolytes and the astropath; we managed to wipe out the attackers. It turned out one of the leader's lieutenants had...made pacts with the enemy to gain enough power to overthrow the warchief. We killed the lieutenant and his lackeys.'

'You...cannot tell me which tribe this was?' said Kolmoroff.

'Nope, sorry,' said Kaltos with a shrug.

'What about the reason why you cannot?'

'We can't tell you that either,' said Kaltos.

'All that you need to know is that we hope you do not speak of this,' said Tathe; his voice was so deep it seemed to reverberate Kolmoroff's ribs and poured into her ears like the smoothest of caramel. 'To anyone, not even other agents of the Inquisition if they come knocking.

Kolmoroff found herself unable to reply as she echoed his words in her mind.

'Mamzel Kolmoroff?' said Tathe. 'Are you okay?'

Okay? That was a strange word Kolmoroff had not heard that term before and, now she thought about it, all three seemed to have similar accents; they had a twang which rose at the end of many sentences and their "I's" in the middle of some words sounded a bit like "u's" and some "a's" sounded like "o's". Their sentences almost strung together in one fast blurt. It was nice, almost cute. Kolmoroff had never heard such an accent before; it seemed they were all from the same world, maybe even the same section of that world.

'Adept Kolmoroff?' said Kons, and it brought Kolmoroff back to reality.

'Oh! My apologies; I got lost there for a little while. Yes, of course, mamzel Kons.'

'You swear upon your soul?' said Tathe.

'Yes-yes, of course, Throne Agent Tathe.'

They sat in silence for a good five seconds studying her, and Kolmoroff fought the urge to wilt from them. She meant it, more than meant it; they were agents of the most Holy and powerful institutions; an oath to it was as good as an oath to the God-Emperor himself. She would take this to her grave, no matter what she was put through.

'Okay,' said Kaltos, a light smile crossing his red lips. 'Thank you, mamzel Kolmoroff. Now, onto other things, we need access to your astropath and a place to stay...'

Kaltos drifted off as he looked to Kolmoroff's cogitator. 'We could get you a replacement for that, easily if you wish, mamzel Kolmoroff.'

Kolmoroff scoffed. 'I will not be bribed, young man.'

Kaltos frowned. 'I...I wasn't trying to bribe you, mamzel. I can see you were genuine in your promise. I apologise if it came off that way, I just want to help you in any way I can. Is there anything you wish us to look into while we're here?'

It took Kolmoroff a while to respond, taken aback by the young man's genuine candour. He was nothing like anything she imagined an agent of the Holy Ordos would be like.

'No, I cannot think of anything, thank you, young man. If I think of something, I will get in contact. Now excuse me, while I organise your rooms at the refectories...'