A great fleet was amassing at last, the various ships of the Seraph gathering, pleasure seeking Slaaneshi warbands and pirates joining the fleet. It was a mismatched flotilla, brightly coloured pleasure-barges alongside scarred old warships that had travelled the Eye of Terror for millennia. Some of these ships were alive now, like living organisms as devoted to pleasure as their occupants that scurried like parasites inside them, launching fighters as though they were children. Ships had grown great pincers of metal, and new weapons that fired bolts of energy and sorcery had often simply grown over time. A fleet that would have been called a Black Crusade had it been directed at the Cadian gate, a truly dangerous threat.
It could not be hidden, and Dagon had already increased the strength of his outermost garrisons and patrols. The Tzeentchian D'Karreth had done the same, and was pulling back a smaller fleet from taking an unimportant world to defend her young empire which could be swatted aside like an insolent insect by the forces amassing. A mortal stood little chance in creating an empire here against daemons and hers would not survive in the opinions of all of her uncaring neighbours. Pirates in nearby areas that had been lawless and free were moving away, worried that this fleet was to pacify these places and destroy them.
The Vermillion Knight did not have an intelligence network, but he did have scryers. Psykers were dishonourable, so he used tortured captives that could be put to use like any other slave. He was aware of the fleet, but had no idea it was being readied to destroy him. How could he? As far as he was aware, few knew of his existence or cared, and the Seraph was not among them.
Had he known, he would have welcomed the battle. A chance to slay the pathetic servants of the Flesh God was never to be ignored.
Where did a Doomed One live? A homeless traveller by definition, it wandered, driven by its desire for vengeance alone. Kheléqui was more complex than that, as were all Doomed Ones. To willing give ones soul takes more than rage, and it was for this reason he was a servant of Malal rather than Khorne.
Kheléqui had been betrayed by the Imperium and the man he had trusted, Inquisitor Helghast who had taken him in and trained him in the ways of his order. Inquisitor Helghast, who had destroyed his homeworld Scylla because it was tainted by chaos, and only saved one man. Helghast, who had hidden this from him.
Kheléqui hated chaos for what it did to people, what it made them do and for taking their souls. He hated the Imperium for the same reasons.
Here he was almost happy. A place were humans lived free of both, atheists living on a single world, hidden from the Imperium and from chaos in a useless area, surrounded by dead worlds, gas giants and empty systems, universally ignored. He did not interfere with them, but he came here when he had nothing else to do but wait and watch the people. He watched them with envy of their freedom, sadness as he was reminded of his own world and rage at those who would kill them.
They possessed good technology, enough for a comfortable existence, but they had abandoned warp capability. They knew what was out there, and for that precise reason wanted to stay here.
Kheléqui no longer slept, but as night came he lay back and stared up at the cruel stars, as beautiful and deadly as Slaanesh itself. It was cruel universe that took men's souls. He had given his to take them back, but he did not see himself as a martyr, and if any others did he would be disgusted at them. To call someone a martyr was to be envious of them; any who was jealous of a Doomed One was a fool or a madman.
Kheléqui sighed to himself, and looked at the glittering lights of the people below, his changed eyes unable to display the strong emotion he felt.