"Johno…" Corrin whispered, tears beginning to from once again. The sullen form of Johnson stood before him. His eyes were set, showing no emotion. He raised a bolt gun.
"Die, non-believer!" He roared in a voice not his own. Corrin dove to the side. Bolts exploded all around him. He had to get out of there, He wouldn't hurt Johnson again, though how he had survived their last encounter he didn't know.
The gates of the camp were just around this cell block. He had to get there. He broke into a dead sprint. He heard bolt fire following in his tracks. The bolts were closing. Fragments of earth dug into his foot. He couldn't run anymore. He wheeled around. The bolts stopped.
Johnson stalked slowly forward. His eyes were formed into slits. His opened slightly in an insane manner. Corrin wouldn't flee anymore. Johnson slowly raised the gun once more. "It's come to this, friend?" Corrin asked solemnly. Johnson breathed in and out harshly, his expression never changing.
"Corrin, what the Hell are you doing?" Someone yelled. He felt a large form push him aside. There were two blasts; one from Johnson, the other from beside Corrin. The bolt flew right where he had been seconds earlier. Someone had saved him.
Johnson roared in pain and clutched his knee as a bolt immobilized him. Corrin looked at his savior. It was Grange. "We've got to go!" The Martian uttered urgently. He took Corrin's arm and dragged him away.
Corrin threw one last worried glance at his friend. Johnson lay on the ground, looking up at the two fleeing men. Pure hatred was drawn across his face. "Stop struggling Corrin!" Grange sighed. He turned. The Adept was dragging him closer and closer to a Thunderbird.
"Halt prisoners!" An Imperial inside said defiantly. Grange promptly shot him down. Several others flooded into the vehicle after them. Grange walked to the cockpit and signaled Corrin to follow him.
The cockpit was clean and precise. Imperial technology was certainly their pinnacle. Grange took his place in the captain's chair. "Sit." He said flatly. Corrin did so. The Thunderbird hovered several inches from the ground and span around. Corrin jumped. Johnson stood just outside, his white eyes staring straight into Corrin's.
"Take off, now!" Corrin said fearfully. Grange slammed his fist onto a button and pulled back on a lever. The ship rose and began to soar across the sky.
Shots from below panged off of the hull. The Thunderbird shook. The so called 'vox caster' buzzed.
We know you can hear this. Prisoners, you are being trailed by two Thunderhawk Gunships. They are prepared to shoot you down if you do not land immediately and return to your cells++
Grange pressed a small black button, which subsequently became a glowing red. "Frak you!" He bellowed. The red light evaporated. "Never should an Imperial bastard underestimate an Adept of Mars!" He said proudly, more to himself than to Corrin. Two missiles screamed towards the ship. It lurched upwards and fell back.
Corrin watched in awe as Grange maneuvered behind the two gunships.
Damn it sir, they're behind us!++
Two huge beams of red death spat from the las-cannons on the head of the ship. A huge explosion filled the view hatch of the Thunderbird. Corrin smiled. "Good work!"
Grange nodded. The clouds engulfed them. They were free.
Grange pressed several buttons and took his hands from the controls. "He was your friend?" Corrin half nodded as he thought of Johnson.
"I don't understand…he…" Grange held up his hand.
"The Emperor, to his followers, is a perfect man. As all others know, no one is perfect. He is not any exception. He has the same dark intentions and evil thoughts as all of us." Grange sighed. "In your studies of the Imperial Army, have you ever heard the name…Riktus?"
Corrin nodded. "He is the Emperor's most trusted psyker, other than that little is know besides that he is feared throughout the Eastern World."
"Right," Grange continued. "He is sometimes referred to as the 'Dark Controller.' He is a perfect example of the darker side of the Emperor." Corrin tilted his head. "Before invading an Empire, the Emperor calls upon Riktus. He lets out a stream of horrific power into his troops." Grange gritted his teeth. "With a single wound, some enemies become mindless servants of the Emperor. He gives the men of the Imperial Army a charisma that drives men to insanity. He controls their minds."
"They call them the Treacherous Souls. They march the battlefields with the Army until the campaign is over, keeping the armor and embroidery of the enemy in order to inspire fear and loss of faith." Grange shut his eyes. "Then, after the campaign ends, they kill them…all of them."
Corrin sat bolt upright in his chair. "How can they be freed?"
"No one ever has. They say the only way...is to kill Riktus himself."