Chapter 4
003.M42
Hyeinsa, Syntychia subsector, Syntyche sector
The rank stench of garbage and feces competed with the stifling heat in the bowels of Monte Iolcus Hive. Mouldy odours rose up from mulch piles as waves of heat rippled in the air. Fresh wind from the upper spires was rare, cooling the atmosphere for blessed moments until the oppressive heat returned. Mildew grew on rusted pipes while flecks of water dripped into pools of slimy filth. Even hive rats refused to drink from the scum ponds formed this far underground. Metal chutes reverberated as trash from the hive cascaded down to join with other piles. A continuous tide of refuse from the world above, scraps from Imperial denizens who never thought of or saw the drama unfolding under their feet.
Perspiration rolled down Gren's tonsured scalp. In small trickles it tracked down his neck, joining with other rivulets to snake disgustingly down his backside. The weight of the flak armour he wore did nothing to stave off the heat, the heavy fabric of olive fatigues drenched in sweat. He craved a refreshing cup of water; he would have drunk from his canteen if it were it full. Used up hours ago, the man let the bottle bang hollowly against his hip. Passing a hand over tired eyes, the Interrogator looked at the group behind him. Concealed behind one of the larger trash piles, five people waited for a servo-skull to return from its scouting mission. The reek of body sweat rolled off the others, tinged with the stink of fear.
They were being hunted.
Lost in Monte Iolcus' depths with no map and auspex broken, Gren ordered everyone to move with heightened caution. Bolt rounds were to be fired only if an enemy was openly sighted. Lasguns were to be kept charged and ready. Food was rationed in accordance to how much was truly needed. No one would play the role of a hero to die a martyr. The lives of others depended on Gren's immediate leadership. It was not a role he enjoyed.
Amara Kith splashed through a fetid puddle to squat next to Gren. Her blonde hair, twisted throughout with braids, was matted by sweat to her scalp. "I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing. You know you aren't to blame."
"I lost the map. If I-"
"And I broke the auspex cracking it across Yunus-bek's brainpan for us to escape. Stop it. We'll all get out of here alive and make our way to the extraction point." He smiled, the gesture offset by his facial tattoo.
"If Yunus-bek and his band don't find us first," the girl added darkly. "He can sense us. He's a psyk-thug, built for things like this."
Gren swallowed his rejoinder by the arrival of his servo-skull, the tiny automaton zipping around the heaps of rubbish on its anti-gravity drive. Its return brought the group out, eagerly waiting for the information it gathered. Hastily, the servo-skull's clicks and beeps detailed what lay ahead as it wove back and forth in midair. The Interrogator's usually expressionless face constricted with anxiety.
"We move now. Everyone mark their compass point westward. Don't stop for anything. The designated landmark you need to find is a mining platform." Gren rattled off the orders while he checked his lasgun's charge. "The platform's disused but its scaffold moves up to the next level. You see it; you climb it to the next hive level where we regroup."
The urgency in Gren's voice was unmistakable. The Interrogator's team complied with speed born of years working together. Amara hefted a duffle bag over her shoulder until Gren tossed it aside. Dead weight, he explained, something no one needed as the group darted, ducked and vaulted over piles of garbage. The servo-skull led the way, scanning areas they raced through. One of their compatriots swore as his boot caught against a jagged shard of metal. Another wrenched the first's foot free, leaving the boot behind as they continue the death run.
Yunus-bek came from nowhere out of the filth, barrelling into Gren with bone-crunching intensity to drag him to the ground. Half of his face covered in dried blood, Yunus-bek's bullish features contorted in primal rage as he smashed block-like fists into Gren's flak armoured chest. Forearm raised to ward off rib-crunching blows, Gren's free hand scrabbled for the combat knife strapped to his webbing. His mind reeled from the attack's suddenness. Yunus-bek's refused his opponent any quarter. Gripping Gren's face in a calloused hand, Yunus-bek smashed the back of the Interrogator's head into the tar-black ferrocrete.
Others appeared behind the burly man, a savage gang bedecked in grey fatigues and bristling with weaponry. Whooping in perverse joy, the grunts skidded and jumped down the rusting piles of metal and filth to engage in close combat. Burnt ozone hung in the air as lasguns discharged. The heavier thud of bolt rounds echoed oddly in the depths. Engaged with their survival, Gren's underlings were unable to assist their leader.
Only Amara saw Yunus-bek brutalize him. Quick enough to escape detection and small enough to hide behind a corrugated sheet of metal, she huddled out of sight with the servo-skull. It bobbed frenetically, powerless to fight off its master's attacker. The child's vision turned scarlet. Ignoring the electronic buzz from the servo-skull Amara pushed it aside, wrenching something from the junk pile she passed. It felt heavy in her gloved hands, metal-based, but she was too busy running at Yunus-bek to think what it was. Her body moved without conscious thought. The only truth Amara knew was Gren would die if she did nothing. The unit needed him for all to survive.
She swung her weapon – a corroded pipe – at Yunus-bek's unprotected backside. Bones crunched. The pipe struck into the left side of the man's ribcage. He grunted like an animal, massive hands loosening the stranglehold around Gren's neck to see his new opponent. Chest heaving from her run, Amara raised her arms to swing the pipe again only to have it shot from her hands by a wayward lasbolt. It span uselessly through the air to land in the heaps of trash.
"I remember the first time I saw you. Puked up your whole lunch on the ship's velvet carpet." Yunus-bek laughed, his statement punctuated with a fist crashing into Amara's stomach. She twisted through the air, impacting against a compost heap. Rising from the Interrogator's prone form, the psyk-thug kept his head low and advanced on the child. "You think you can take down Lord Saeger's right hand man with a Chimera's exhaust pipe? Nice try, brat, but maybe you'd stand a chance if you took off your dog collar."
She wheezed for breath, weakly struggling with the psy-collar locked about her throat. Sweaty fingers dug at the space between skin and metal to wrench it off. She knew to never attempt to remove it – Saeger would lash her – but desperate times created desperate measures. Streaking past Yunus-bek's head, the servo-skull sharply turned and propelled itself forward to ram into the thug's cranium with its own. The brutish man snarled, lashing out at the automaton.
"Don't touch her!" Blood and saliva dribbled down Gren's mouth. He launched himself at Yunus-bek. Backhanded by the man, the Interrogator stumbled into the festering waste.
"You're both brats. Time to learn what life's like outside of the Lord Inquisitor's security. In the real Imperium, things get a little rough. Thought I was done in with the auspex, huh? Guess what, you little grox turd," he tapped the side of his skull, "the psyker in me knew where'd you be after that knock. I thank you for that, Gren. How do you want your little playmate to go down?"
The keen edge of a vibroblade caught Gren's eye. Its wicked curve could slice into ligaments and tendons, carve bones and deflesh the unfortunate under a professional's touch. A steel-toed boot kicked out, breaking Amara's right arm before the psyk-thug pressed the blade against her cheek. She smelt his breath; saw too clearly the pores on his skin, the animosity in his eyes. Seized by pure terror, the child only whimpered.
+Unsanctioned fatality in training simulation Verant-6. The simulation will now disengage. Repeat, unsanctioned fatality in training simulation Verant-6. The simulation will now disengage.+
Over the droning alert sweeping through the falsified bowels of Monte Iolcus Hive, a klaxon brayed. The flash of red emergency lights kept time to the deep note. Sub-routines activated. The hololothic panes flickered and died, leaving the gunmetal grey and silver panelled walls of the training deck. Vents issuing noxious smells ceased, replaced by the roar of turbines cleansing foul air and expunging the rest into the planet's atmosphere. Everything which registered to the five senses had been artificial, everything but the weaponry. The opposing units stepped aside as a medicae team raced through a bulkhead. People were beginning to register the training simulation's deviation from protocol.
Lying in a pool of widening blood, trickling to congeal in the narrow gaps between the floor panes, agents on both sides had fought and died with grim certainty. The Imperial Guardswoman Gren employed, Mora, died with her throat torn open; not before eviscerating Yunus-bek's ganger with her bayonet. Nedehv's sharpened teeth held shreds of flesh from the Guardswoman's throat.
From the viewing station, technicians monitored the vital signatures of the survivors. Gren hobbled quickly to Amara, the back of his head caked in blood, each step sending a lance of pain spiking behind his eyes. At the Interrogator's approach, Yunus-bek backed away, still holding his vibroblade. Looks were exchanged; a self-satisfied smirk from the psyk-thug unaffected by the dark intent in Gren's eyes.
"This is not good," Gren muttered to Amara, checking her broken arm. She clutched it tightly to her chest, biting her lip to keep from crying out.
"Yunus-bek." The deep baritone of Lord Inquisitor Saeger rolled over the training deck like thunder.
Right knees touched the deck; hands were splayed in the devotional sign of the Imperial aquila the moment Saeger emerged beyond the bulkhead doors. Behind the Lord Inquisitor came his honour guard, Adepta Sororitas of the Order of the Ebon Chalice, armour as black as a raven's wing, their cloaks alabaster-white. The psyk-thug bowed low, in time for his forehead to meet the strike from Saeger's polished black boot. Hurtled back, Yunus-bek crashed on to the deck, another rib broken. A silent howl of pain replaced his smirk. No one dared move or think of offering aid. Yunus-bek forced his body to move and bent one knee to his master, face averted.
"My lord?"
"By what right do you bring a blade against my acolyte? Do clarify for I wish to understand what drove you to take this training drill to such extremes. Come now, your answer." Met with silence, Saeger beat the ganger across the skull with his fist. "A hundred lashes from the electro-whip and complete submersion until near-asphyxia is your punishment. Consider it a light chastisement. You may be a penitent psyker, and you may do my bidding, but only when I say you will as the lowly hound you are, Yunus-bek."
Saeger snapped his fingers. Two Sisters grabbed Yunus-bek and dragged him away. Following their squad leader out, Yunus-bek's underlings bowed deeply when they passed Saeger. The Hereticus Lord Inquisitor did not acknowledge their existence and a silence filled the training bay.
Pacing across the floor with his snowy cloak billowing behind, Saeger bellowed, "'Imperfections and failures in the faithful shame the God-Emperor. We cannot cast these weaknesses at His feet and pray forgiveness for we must strive to emulate Him.' What I witnessed in this case fills my spirit with weakness." His shadow fell over Amara and Gren. "Gren, shall I enlighten you to what your failure is?"
"The return of my unit to the extraction point without detection. The failure of the mission in which the God-Emperor deplores."
"Wrong," Saeger thundered. "You failed to make the proper choice. You did not purge your foe when the opportunity was presented. The first encounter with Yunus-bek could have ended with his death, yet you fled. Furthermore, Interrogator, you ruined your equipment, bringing about your directionless flight. Never falter; never hesitate to exact vengeance on those who would kill you. 'A man is useless if he cannot act; worse yet to flee by which he exposes himself a coward.' I expect to see courage in the future, Gren."
"Gren was keeping us alive! He kept us alive until Yunus-bek tried to kill him," Amara erupted in anger, refusing to watch her friend be disgraced.
Saeger's hooded eyes turned on Amara. "Were you given permission to speak, acolyte?"
"Yunus-bek deserves death. He should die. He tried to kill Gren, he almost did!"
"Silence," the Lord Inquisitor rumbled. "I am judgement in Monte Iolcus Hive. I am law across Syntychia. I am the sole voice for the whole of the Syntyche sector by which others measure their will. Do not infer you know better than I, child. Never infer."
A collective hush settled on the gathering. Furtive glances were given in Amara's direction. One of the Sisters quietly chanted a prayer for the child's forgiveness on her outburst. Let the electro-whip flay her back and let her go without nourishment for a week in penance, Amara Kith glared at the Lord Inquisitor and shook with rage. Her chest hurt from the brute's punch, her broken arm flared, yet she remained unrepentant.
"Why should Yunus-bek deserve life? He tried to kill Gren."
Saeger's eyes narrowed to slits when he saw the damaged psy-collar. It held back the girl's trivial powers, but the attempt of removing it was not lost to the elder man. Saeger's deep frown grew longer.
"What are you looking at, Lord Saeger?" Gren gingerly touched his bald pate to stop a flash of pain.
"Nothing, Gren. I am looking at utterly nothing." Saeger swept from the training bay with his honour guard.
Amara kept vigil over Gren. Her broken arm was fixed in a sling, powerful analgesics numbing the pain. The Interrogator slept quietly after his examination. The apothecary, finding no true damage that bed rest could not fix, ordered the Interrogator to remain overnight in the sanatorium. Hovering next to Amara was the servo-skull, its bionic eyes dimmed. Amara knew when she slept it would continue to guard Gren. There was no telling if Yunus-bek or one of his unsavoury cronies might attempt a reprisal.
Stifling a yawn, the girl turned to the machine. "If he wakes up, tell Gren I'm at the baptisterium."
Clicking a response, the servo-skull floated above the seat the child vacated. She was in dire need to cleanse herself in every sense of the word. After Yunus-bek came at her with his knife, the urge to wash was overpowering. What if his psychic taint infected her? Amara imagined a cloud of filth milling about her as she walked the busy halls, with everyone privy to the sight. Once she crossed the silver threshold into the baptisterium, she grew less conscious.
She went about her business in the silence of the empty vault. The chamber of the baptisterium, hewn from rough granite and free of grandiose artwork, was lit by dozens of silver candelabras. Candles' light reflected off the water's surface of the small baptismal font, water reportedly brought from the Throneworld, mined from the icy wastelands and purified in the presence of the highest Ministorum clergy.
Plaguing thoughts turned inwards. Saeger's voice came to the fore. Why had the Lord Inquisitor decreed her worthless? She hardly had the chance to become anything. Amara knew she was far from 'utterly nothing'. Being wholly useless and falling out of favour was unthinkable. How would she fulfill her vow to find Katea then? Amara Kith would prove her merit. Unbuttoning her over robe and hanging it on a peg, Amara stood before the sole font, a massive block of black marble, the double-headed eagle etched in gold at the bottom of the deep basin.
Taking the silver grail from the font's edge, she dipped it into the water and poured the cold liquid over her body. Her smock clung to a rail-thin body and a back lashed by the electro-whip more times than she cared to admit. Gren hadn't always convinced Saeger to let him take the lashings for Amara's disobedience. "Nipson anomēmata mē monan opsin," the child whispered, dousing her face in the holy water again.
The spiritual impurity pooled about her feet, dirtied water trickling into a drain. A second dousing cleaned the sweat and dirt from her face, the third sealing the Imperial trinity. Amara repeated to herself how sorry she was having gotten Gren in trouble, rocking back and forth on her feet before the font's still water. She clutched the grail, using it to anchor her thoughts. She loathed Yunus-bek. Hadn't Lord Saeger said she needed to steel her anger to have it take her far? What did she need to sacrifice to prove her worth? Touching the reinforced psy-collar, her restricting leash since first coming under the Hereticus Inquisitor's tutelage, the child hit her fist against the hard stone in an explosive outburst.
"It's not fair. Yunus-bek deserves to die," she nearly screeched into the darkness of the empty baptisterium. Awkwardly, Amara dried herself best she could with her good arm and left the baptismal font. Reciting a final benediction to the God-Emperor she left, only to find a Sister waiting beyond the baptisterium.
The woman curtly nodded before speaking, "Amara Kith, Lord Saeger will see you." Pivoting on her heel, the Sister of Battle marched away, leaving Amara to follow her quick pace. In the Inquisitor Palace, situated on the tallest spire of Monte Iolcus Hive, its inhabitants were afforded a wondrous view of the world beneath them. Close to the stratosphere, Amara saw space barges lower to the docking yards, viewed stately yachts of the spire nobility, and watched the forming of polluted thunderstorms wrack the lower hive levels.
The Inquisitor Lord held court in the grandest of chambers. Behind doors panelled in gold, emblazoned with portraits of Imperial saints, Saeger waited. Monte Iolcus Hiveguard opened the richly detailed doors, admitting Amara and the Sister of Battle before closing them firmly. Saeger's offices were palatial in splendour for the people he held audience with. The need to impress upon supplicants' his power was paramount. Gold veins threaded the highly polished black marble floor, reflecting the people who walked across it. Oil paintings worth more than what many made in a single lifetime graced the walls with Humanity's pious. Above, the ceiling was a frieze of the God-Emperor battling the Primordial Enemy, Horus's body crushed under a golden foot.
Upon a thick blood red carpet, Saeger sat behind a grand desk from which he dispensed judgement. Parchments spilled over the table where, quill held in one ink-stained hand, Saeger furiously composed letters on sheaves of vellum. At the same time he dictated orders to one of his scribes. Cherub servitors flew on high, depositing correspondences and quickly removing parchment on the desk, carrying thuribles which spilled incense smoke into the air.
"My lord," the Sister bowed. "Your noviate's arrived."
Saeger placed his quill down. The great windows behind him showed the resplendent night sky of Hyeinsa. The Sisters of the Ebon Chalice flanking the Lord Inquisitor stood at attention. Ministorum clerks and petitioners, Sisters of Battle and servants, all halted and on a silent command Amara never heard, departed the chamber. Saeger's doom-laden gaze pinned Amara in place.
"Amara Kith," his voice made her tremble. "The God-Emperor calls you to a higher task. It is an undertaking of vast, singular importance wherein the wheels of justice across this sector will be put into motion. Any weakness in you shall compel the strength of your spirit to grow. The betrayals against you will be paid in the blood of others."
The girl's chest swelled. Here was the chance to affirm her worth to the Lord Inquisitor. "What do I need to do?"
"You trust your educator, do you not?" Saeger came round his desk, the hem of his white cloak swishing.
"I do, Lord Saeger. I was in the wrong today, but I see that now."
"'Without will we are nothing. The Emperor's Will guides us. Through His wisdom, we avenge the hallowed blood of innocents.' The God-Emperor's chosen you for this unique obligation. No one else can do it, child."
Amara's green eyes glittered. "Will it help in my revenge?"
"Certainly, dear girl," Saeger's smile was benign, his countenance the opposite of that morning. "Nothing's done blindly in the service of the Emperor and His Imperium. For what comes next, you must have implicit trust in my actions."
Someone came through the door. A null-sense hood came down over her head before she saw who it was. Blinded and silenced, the girl instinctively thrashed until Saeger's heavy hand descended on her shoulder. Stilling herself, Amara was picked up and carried a short distance. She deduced it to be a Sister of Battle when her hands touched curved armour; then something pricked the back of her neck. Sleep claimed Amara, and when she woke, it was to a warm and fatherly voice quietly droning.
"The delicate process of genetic splicing takes much time, effort and various resources. In our work to create weapons against the enemies of Mankind, the Adeptus Astartes rank chief in this fold." The chirurgeon, face hidden behind a surgical mask and goggles, spoke in unfamiliar terms. "Lesser warriors are made based around the same principles of combining various genetic sequences from tissue samples. For the case of the subject brought before us, she will be the first."
Amara, blinded by a tripod of light, was held to a surgical slab by metal restraints. The powerful blend of drugs given through intravenous feed stopped the natural process of panic and fear. Her thoughts were muddled. Passing into a soporific sleep, she seemed frail to the arachnid mechadendrites sprouting over the shoulders of the chirurgeon, each point holding a surgical tool with refinement.
"This task won't be simple," the chirurgeon continued to the few sitting in the medicae amphitheatre. "We aren't merely cutting out the innate ability of what makes this child a psyker, we are replacing it with a nullifying facility. In a spiritual sense, we shall carve a hole into the essence of a being, a pure hole devoid of corruption for the Emperor's work. By the Imperator's Will, let this undertaking be blessed."
Surgery began quietly. Saeger's apothecaries and chirurgeon focused on reshaping the genetic map and manipulations in mind and flesh. They worked a mixture of alchemy and science, a grand machination of two realms meeting as one in Amara's body. Re-forged on the very atomic level, her blood was vacuumed out of her frail body, readmitted after undergoing its own unique treatment. Her heart suspended in a state of undeath; the finesse lasers of neurosurgery sliced into the white folds of her brain.
In states of abscission, body carved open and her genetic coding modified, Saeger shadowed Amara in protection. The gestation laboratory where he stood sentinel was suffused in a calm blue glow, the readout screens on the databanks and hums of the machine-spirits the only sounds in the enclosed chamber. A hiss of pressurized air from the single entryway admitted the primarius chirurgeon.
"You keep a man of my station waiting longer than he should." Saeger scowled at the individual. Hidden in the thick red and white robes of his vocation and old beyond his years, the man moved as though he were young and spry. Tapping out rune codes with deft fingers which wielded a las-scalpel with extreme precision, the chirurgeon examined complex charts and numbers. Opposite him and housed within a medicae tank, the young pre-pubescent girl floated.
"She's come along remarkably well, taking right to the genetic coding. In all intent and purpose, this is a success. The first engineered Pariah, every molecule fine-tuned to her body." He cross-examined another set of papers. "With training she'll be able to use the null ability at will. Liken it to a lumen turning on and off, if you will forgive the crude comparison, Lord Saeger. All she need do is focalizing – perhaps a trigger word or a passage which gears her to use the ability without knowing she's shaping it into being."
Saeger gazed at Amara suspended in the chemical mixture, breathing through an apparatus as needles pin-cushioned her body. "The passage of Saint Deretimus springs to mind. A long time coming to fruition, these Pariah gene experimentations. We have to establish the ability works before Amara is placed in harm's way. In my great experience, one needs to see it effectively used to hail it as a result, Caphis."
The older man tutted. "Don't look to me. I merely work the flesh, muscle and bone. Do you know how difficult it was to use the limited genetic material for this?"
"Of course I know." Saeger's tone was hard ice. "How rare it is to find the Pariah gene in this far-flung empire. To imagine the cost of its extraction from the Culexus Temple..." He touched his golden aquila broach. How many of his agents, seeded with skill, hadn't returned from their mission? "I need this to work. Such an effective weapon to bring against Chaos, a righteous force unopposed."
"Similar to the fabled Sisters of Silence and the lore surrounding them?"
"Aye." Saeger bowed his head at the mention of the once elite sisterhood. "Their blood would have been used but with your consultation, a Blank's encoding isn't as effective in terms of brute force as a Pariah's. Amara will be a hammer to use against the heretic, her body the weapon against worshippers of false gods. She is the path which leads to the arch-heretic and by means which my crusade will render justice."
Caphis's liver-spotted hands made the sign of the aquila. "I pity her. I was there, administering her and her cousin, and now to be involved in this... God-Emperor, if she ever knows my involvement-"
"She never will," Saeger promised. "Remember your oath given as Inno died. You take everything to your grave, Caphis."
In states of perception, Amara's sense of time was grossly displaced. Weightlessness accompanied her whenever she walked around the small medical chamber. Four white walls became her world; she never questioned 'why' to Saeger's will in this arrangement. One morning when she woke the sling on her arm was gone. An evening when she opened her eyes, a tattoo inked in gold of the Imperial aquila adorned the underside of her left arm. The greatest thing she noticed was the sudden absence one day of her psy-collar. Her questions to its removal went unanswered by the hooded aides. She never saw their faces.
Each time she slumbered, something changed, noted in increments' when Amara regained consciousness. Something was being pulled from her with utter certainty. Colours grew flatter and sharp sounds became muted. Even the taste of the nutrient paste grew bland on her tongue, its once pungent odour no longer noted. She traced the surgical scars on her brow and wondered how they came to be there. Other times, her senses returned to a state of normalcy but never to when she wore that hateful collar.
The final time Amara woke in her small cell, Saeger waited at the open door. Wizened features fixed the child. He beckoned her to follow. Amara did, letting Saeger bridge the silence. He explained she was now a human purged of psychic capacity. It its place, twined to her very core, was the rendered opposite of what was vile and hateful to the Imperium. Her test, the Lord Inquisitor declared, was to scrutinize her ability. She accepted the knowledge with the proper devotion of an Imperial servant having purpose. They stopped before a door covered in holy parchments and golden wards.
"Converse with the penitent," Lord Saeger pressed a simple button on the wall. The door slid open. "Remember the catechisms of Saint Deretimus to vent your wrath into his mind. He shall repent."
Carved into the psyker's forehead, blood still drying, the Imperial aquila reminded Amara of the one branded on her. The man was a skeleton held together by old skin and the barest trace of muscles, a too-weak chest rising and falling in ponderous breath. He smelt horrible, of the corruption in all heretics and unwashed for days. Despite the frailty of his body, his eyes burned with fire. Amara remembered the same blaze in Katea's. Hunched over his sleeping pallet, the abused human twisted his feeble neck upward to greet the child entering his cell.
"They send a child to do the work of men." He mockingly made the sign of the aquila. "Do you even think for yourself, girl, or do the bidding of masters hidden behind glass and smoke without conscious thought?"
Amara began her catechetic recitation. "'The daemon and warp spawn have become your fathers, and you carry out the daemon's desires...'" The pallid colour of the man drained away when the girl looked upon him. He curled into himself. She no longer smelt him as she had when entering the prison.
"They bring a witchling," he cackled, head lolling back. "A witchling against a servant of the True Gods! The irony of your actions speaks louder than the screams of the condemned! I know you hear me beyond these walls, I know, I know!"
"'When the daemon lies, it speaks its native language, for it is a liar and the father of all falsehoods. Because you have rejected the word of the God-Emperor, He has rejected you.'" Blisters appeared on the man's weathered skin, widening red eruptions he scratched at with dirty fingernails. Amara no longer heard her voice, deafened to sound and the heretic's wails as he beat his palms against his brow.
"I die in truth, a truth you fail to see!" Froth flecked the psyker's mouth as his eyes bulged, the light bleeding away in rivulets down his cheeks. Colour leeched from Amara's vision; the only shade remaining was the burning vitality of his eyes.
"'Yet because I tell the truth, you do not believe me. In nomine Imperator Rex et spiritus vindicare!'"
"It burns, you burn, you damned child you burn everything about me!"
The man's flesh smoked under the null-pressure. Hands covered his face to hold it together. Amara continued her recitation, watching as the psyker kicked and thrashed and died slowly, burning up inside. It ended when he finally laid still, his body curled into a blackened foetal position. Only then did she fall silent and, sluggishly, her senses returned.
Bits of flesh flaked off the heretic's corpse as a servitor dragged it away. Amara imagined what she could do to Yunus-bek given the opportunity, and liking the vision, smiled. Her mind considered a grander dream. To turn this ability on the armoured nightmares who abducted Katea and complete her revenge. Her failed promise could be put to rights. She smiled at Saeger when he came. He reciprocated with pride and admiration written on his aged face.
"Another training simulation is underway, Amara Kith. I believe you will be far more capable for this next one."
"Check the Monte Iolcus Hive levels B-64 through E-12. She couldn't have gone far from the hive. A global scan of Hyeinsa and the surrounding hives shows nothing." The comm-link in the Interrogator's ear beeped once in confirmation before going dead. Gren's contacts, scattered throughout Monte Iolcus, set off in their duties. Exhaling quietly, Gren removed the comm-bead and leaned back in his chair. He stared blankly at the screens before him. Each displayed a live view in the various parts of Monte Iolcus Hive, none which remotely interested Gren.
A solid month of fruitless searches yielded nothing. Last seen in the hospice, Amara simply vanished after that. The security logs brought up nothing. Gren held a healthy suspicion the recordings had undergone tampering. He suspected foul play as the worst case, the psyk-thug being the obvious candidate. Yet the man and his ilk were off-world before Amara's disappearance. Personal informants confirmed this. If murder was not a probable solution, abduction was the only explanation. Only unmasking the miscreant remained. Once Gren solved who it was, the individual would be very much dead.
Pressure welled up behind his eyes, the beginning of a stress-induced migraine. A specific vox-chime sounded. Automatically reaching out to activate the message, Gren was notified the Lord Inquisitor would see him immediately. A concerned whine from the servo-skull, always close to its master, drew a smile from the man. The Interrogator looked hellish. Dishevelled and with little sleep, dark circles ringed his eyes. Faint scars and discoloured bruises still existed from the psyk-thug's attack.
"I know what the meeting pertains to and even without sleep, my resolution is firm. I won't be coerced by anyone."
Leaving his rooms in the Inquisitor Palace, Gren quickly made for his master's offices. The swelling crowd of supplicants, barred by the Monte Iolcus Hiveguard, hissed disapproval when Gren threaded through them with ease, allowed entry to the inner sanctum of the Lord Inquisitor. Respectfully, those of Saeger's entourage let the Interrogator pass until he stood before his teacher. Touching a hand to his forehead, then to his chest, Gren waited. Not many were present; Inquisitors currently on Hyeinsa were in attendance as was the Cardinal Astral of the Syntychia subsector. Witnesses to the moment when Gren would join the fold of the Inquisition.
Gren thought Saeger's timing was the worst. Gren hadn't bothered coming dressed in his finest, his simple black habit offset in its plainness by Saeger's ornamented garb. Wearing a red cape trimmed in black ermine fur, the joints of Saeger's power armour whirred quietly as one arm rose in benediction. Lord Inquisitor Saeger appeared every inch the regal ruler in all but name of the Syntyche sector.
"Your tenure as an Interrogator under my guiding hand is coming to a close. Your future is bright in service of the Imperium and the God-Emperor's vision for Mankind. Gren, it will be with pride for the Ordo Hereticus when I ordain you into its ranks."
"I haven't decided upon the Ordo Hereticus, my lord." Spoken without hesitation, Gren met the other's eyes unflinchingly.
Saeger's beatific smile vanished under his white beard. "Pray to the saints' boy, what ordo are you considering?"
"The Ordo Xenos has need." Whispers swept through the assembly. A knowing look or two passed between Inquisitors while the Sisters of the Ebon Chalice remained stoic.
"The threat within is the greatest faced by Mankind!" Saeger's open hand balled into a fist, a single finger pointed at his student. "The foul xenos can be purged by the Astartes, by the Guardsmen, by those who openly take arms in vigilantism against their encroachment. You will be a Hereticus man, so I decree it, Gren!"
He expected this. Gren thought of all possibilities to save face, decided against it, and settled on a blunt answer. "You have always allowed me to speak my mind. I will not shirk from it now. My application stands for the Ordo Xenos."
"I forbid it."
"Is this anger directed at the fact you would no longer have reign over my actions, Lord Saeger?" The words caused one Inquisitor to chortle before turning it into a coughing fit. Another tisked at Gren's choice of words.
The Lord Inquisitor's face became a mask. "We will speak further on this at a later time. This is your last task as my Interrogator. Should you fail, as my other pupils who fell in the line of duty, you will surely be forgotten. Pray you do not, Gren, for the Inquisition will be made the worse for it."
Once more, the rank stench of garbage and feces. Again, the mouldy odours. Together with the relentless heat, Monte Iolcus Hive endeared itself to those hidden in piles of trash. Only now the hunt was real, as tangible as the polluted sewage and garbage festering under layers deep and miles high of steel and iron. In the swollen intestines of the underhive, a war game in the L-16 hub was tracked from the Inquisitor Palace, distantly removed from its verdict.
Survive. Each action undertaken, no matter how abhorrent or vile, sanctioned. Twelve hours in which to live or die, to attack or defend, but with the ultimate goal to stay alive. That was Lord Inquisitor Saeger's edict before sending both teams out into a no-man's land, where even scavenger bands did not travel.
The servo-skull patrolled the perimeter of the chosen base site. Gren and his pitifully small unit dug in, fortifying. A small location hidden in the larger detritus of the hive's garbage, cobbled together from rusted wires and barrels. The fuel contents sloshed inside as they were rolled into position. Huddled in the lee of two gaping corridors, wide enough for a Rhino to pass, the fort was easy to miss. The roadways, one curving westward and the other north, had barricades deployed in criss-cross segments. Should Yunus-bek's team sweep though the area in their search, Gren's team might escape detection. If not, the cordons on the cracked ferrocrete could hold opposition long enough for the heavy stubber gun to be used.
Indebted to Hager, a man as heavy-looking as the gun he carried; Gren ensured the others held their lasrifles ready. Each person checked their flak armour and reserve ammunition.
The Interrogator's decision to wait might have seemed cowardly to some, but to others it was an obvious tactic. The chances of being found by Yunus-bek were sharply decreased if they masked themselves. Lay low, keep silent, remain hidden; simple plans rarely collapsed unlike the complex. Creating a base, even one where catwalks above allowed for quick escape routes, offered a better chance to outlast the competition. The ladders, unsound metal soldered together hastily, provided the sole way up to the scaffolding.
Saeger had recalled Yunus-bek's team for this death game. The psyk-thug mimed a bolt hole through the Interrogator forehead when he caught Gren looking at him. Glancing down at the chronometer set into his sleeve's cuff, Gren tapped the glowing blue readout. 0754 hours. Less than five hours until this ordeal was over. All of them could leave alive. He hated the thought of having someone else die; Mora's death clung under his skin, an unwanted weight and memory.
"Movement on the west road," the sentry whispered across the vox-link. Weapons raised in unison, safety locks disengaged with harsh clicks. The heavy stubber ground about on its pedestal to face its target. Something crested the road and piles of trash, the servo-skull leading—
Gren held back from darting from cover. He never held miracles in high regard, but he breathed a heartfelt prayer as Amara Kith walked around the rusted wreckage and cordons. She cautiously followed the servo-skull in the underhive bowels. Somehow, though the guidance of the Emperor, she was here, looking the same when Gren last saw her. One of the team called for her to halt; coded signs flashed back and forth before Amara was admitted into the security beyond the barricade. She found herself suffocated by Gren, her face scrunched against his flak armour.
"Emperor's grace, you're back." Gren examined her closely. He patted Amara down for tracking devices or injuries. "I have questions, but first and foremost, where did you come from? Who took you? Where did they take you?"
Amara became reclusive. "I came from... the N-hub, I think? I can't remember much. I started walking, moving up since there's nowhere else to go. I met no problems. See, I'm armed." As proof, she showed a slug gun. "But I don't know who gave it to me. How long was I gone for?"
"A month." Gren saw the disbelief on her face.
"A month? Are we in the training simulation again?"
Hager spat over the barricade wall, leaning on the heavy stubber. "Far from it. Everything's real this time, kid, and you'd count your blessings for finding us before Yunus-bek found you. They're out there hunting us again."
The name brought a scowl to Amara's lips. While she drank and ate, Gren informed Amara what had transpired in the month since she vanished. The Interrogator kept her close and engaged in simple conversation, hoping to draw her out. She replied in clipped tones, keeping her thoughts guarded. Everyone's intent was similar, who knew if and where the psyk-thug was close enough to hear them. As though the thought invoked Yunus-bek, it happened.
"Light shattered, rampant scum in the machine. I repeat, light shattered-" The vox-link dissolved in white noise, sentry dead.
The attack happened instantly. Gren froze. Hager yelled, bringing his heavy stubber round to face the northern tunnel. The throaty roar of motorbikes filled the air, sending wild reverberations across the underhive. Overunned, they were overrunned. Gren was powerless to stop it. Readying his lasrifle and taking a position close to Hager's heavy stubber, Gren sighted down the northern corridor.
Only the bikes were not using the cracked roadways. Evading the barricades, the opposing troops were driving their heavy motorbikes over the high waves of wreckage.
Gren yelled the retreat across the vox, knowing it was death to remain and fight. The unit complied save Hager who, bold and wanting to settle Mora's death, continued firing the heavy stubber. The first motorbike revved over the wall of debris. Its ganger occupant gave a mad war cry, a flaming bottle held in one hand. Smashing it against the heavy weapon, both gun and Hager became an inferno. Hager screamed defiantly, hands fused to the stubber's triggers, bleeding the gun dry in death. Gren emptied his lasrifle's pack while running, throwing the weapon away when its cell died. Amara kept pace next to him and tried not to show her fear.
Pushing Amara ahead of him, Gren threw the child at one of the ladders. He barked the order for her to climb. The stench of diesel tainted the hive air as more motorbikes careened into the base. Amara swore when her stub gun fell from her hand, tumbling uselessly into the garbage. Fires raged unchecked across the fort, detonating the fuel-laden canisters. A bristling wave of heat and deadly shrapnel exploded in all directions. Amara cried shrilly and nearly lost her footing on the ladder. She pitched to the side before straightening and continuing her ascent.
Gren saw the psyk-thug register their climb up the ladder. "Keep going," he panted to Amara, pulling himself up. She was already safe on the hive scaffolding, looking at the butchery beneath her feet. The fire entranced her, terrified her and held her in place. "Get higher. Keep running, you stupid girl!"
Light of Terra, none of them would make it. Nobody would survive. The Interrogator had no idea where his team was. Below was a charnel house where friend and foe were difficult to distinguish. The ladder shook; Gren looked down to see Yunus-bek climbing. Hoisting himself over the edge of the scaffold, Gren impelled Amara to move quickly. A meaty fist latched on Gren's ankle. The Interrogator looked down in shock at Yunus-bek's bestial face. He kicked for the man's head with his free leg, missed and tumbled on his back. Yunus-bek came at Gren, all reasoning lost under the psychic clamour in the man's bloodshot eyes. Madness held sway over him, insanity driven by the need to win, the competitive urge let loose until absolute oblivion of his target was achieved. Yunus-bek smashed a heavy knuckle downwards. Gren managed to twist his head away from the first blow, barely dodge the second, caught by the third. His nose cracked and bled under the assault.
Adrenaline flooded Gren's body. Unaware he was moving, the Interrogator pulled back his left fist and delivered a haymaker blow, breaking Yunus-bek's jaw. A bone snapped in his own hand. Yunus-bek howled in fury. The bastard was tough, his bulky frame absorbing everything. Amara, spurred to action, jumped Yunus-bek. Her hands struggled to encircle his neck and choke the life from him.
She mouthed words Gren never heard over the fire's roar, a litany or prayer. Her actions, whatever they were, caused Yunus-bek to erupt on to a new plane of psychosis. She leapt off him, tumbling awkwardly to the catwalk. Yunus-bek grunted, unbalanced as changes spread across his body. He was burning, blazing fiercely inside. He ripped open his flak vest to expose bleeding sores erupting under his flesh. He crashed against the railing of the catwalk, screaming as liquid fire coursed though him. Amara heaved herself to her feet with a ludicrous grin, charging the psyk-thug. He was the only thing she focused on in the unbound chaos.
A simple push, a final touch, and the deed was done.
Heartbeats measured the psyk-thug fall. Yunus-bek's team watched transfixed; Gren's were held by shock. Yunus-bek fell until rusted pipes caught him, cruel barbs spitting him like a wild boar, tearing into flesh and muscle. Flayed alive, the psyk-thug dangled as the smoke from the fire choked whatever life remained in him, dripping blood sizzling in the flames.
Yunus-bek, the right hand of Saeger, was dead. High on the rusted skywalk, a child grinned and peered over the edge on cut hands and knees. Gren was safe. Amara Kith limped over to where her hero was, watching him pull himself upright, wiping the dried blood from his nose. Long moments passed until Gren found the proper words.
"You killed him. Are you happy?"
Amara nodded. "Yes. He was trying to kill you. I couldn't let him do that."
The affirmation in her eyes sickened the Interrogator. Gren raised a hand to slap Amara before, realising what he was about to do, lowered his arm. "You shouldn't have done that. When word of this reaches Lord Saeger, he will... you've placed yourself in a precarious situation, Amara."
In silence they descended. On the ground, Gren's unit gathered to him while Yunus-bek's kept their distance. The Interrogator watched them, the shadows twisting and dancing as the flames continued to smoulder. Presently, the roar of a transport vehicle rumbled in the confines of the underhive. Cresting a ridge of slag, a Rhino bearing the Inquisitorial Seal appeared, headlights shining across the murky gloom. Stopping before Gren's combatants, the ramp dropped with three Sisters of Battle emerging. Gren pushed Amara behind him as the battle maidens marched swiftly to them.
"We are here for the child, Interrogator. Give her over and there will be no need for punishment." The lead Sister's hand fell meaningfully to the chainsword at her waist. Amara broke away from Gren and went to the Sisters of Battle. Escorted quickly into the Rhino, Amara peered over her shoulder once before the ramp closed. Engines gunned; the sound ominous as the transport rolled away. The Interrogator let the heat of the engines wash over his sweat-soaked form. Watching the Rhino move off, his lips curled slightly. His servo-skull floated alongside, gibbering.
"No, I would have panicked before. There's no need to now." A questioning beep. Twisting his hand, the Interrogator held up a palm-sized auspex. "They didn't bother to check if she had a tracer on her. I can follow her this time."
Others volunteered but Gren went alone, giving strict orders for his team to make it back to the hive proper. Taking one of the functioning motorbikes, he hunted the Sororitas Rhino while the sensor led the way. Flying alongside the motorbike, the servo-skull followed its master. The duo passed forgotten tunnels and ruined junctions in Iolcus's depths, pursuing the Rhino into areas which hadn't seen true light in centuries. The path forward was uncomplicated with the Rhino, far ahead, having cleared the way of debris.
The path fell away beneath the pale headlights. Gren broke suddenly, the motorbike's tyres squealing in protest. He hurled himself from the saddle of the machine. Rolling on the ferrocrete, flak armour giving little protection, Gren saw the motorbike plummet down and crash into the lower plate three hundred feet below. Gulping in lungfuls of stale air, the Interrogator quietened his breath, resolving the uneven rhythm of his heart.
Wiping dried sweat and grit from his face, Gren quietly laughed. "The Emperor protects."
The servo-skull's eyes provided the only light this deep underground. By it Gren saw the depression before him. A true pit where half-collapsed buildings rotted and refuse piles grew, stanchions and support pillars half-buckled under the massive weight they held. Not a sound was heard of the Rhino. He consulted his auspex, the thermal bloom that was Amara stationary.
"She's here somewhere," he muttered, drawing out his bolt pistol. Skirting the lip of the mammoth pit with his familiar, the Interrogator halted when he felt the flow of cool air cut across the wall of heat. A fresh wind from above was impossible this far below; he followed the stream and was led to a large series of turbines. They spun lazily, housed behind thick wire mesh. For these to be operational while the rest of the hive fell into neglect meant someone required their existence. The barest frame of a plan formed. Knowing there was little time, Gren knelt and withdrew from his webbing's satchel an arcane device. Not manufactured by Imperial hands, certainly not something an Inquisitor-to-be should have, he held it carefully.
"A gift from friends," he answered when the servo-skull clicked. "Now, there is something only you can do for me. Ready to hear the plan?"
Pincer claws took the xenos apparatus. Given its commands, the servo-skull powered over the direct center of the pit. Gren stared hard at the auspex in his hand, then across at the automaton which dutifully waited. Exhaling a deep breath, the Interrogator thumbed the detonation switch of the alien device. He winced as the full-force of the electromagnetic pulse was unleashed. The wave destroyed the security network it undeniably encountered, washing away pict-feeds and audio receptors, drowning a world of machines with routines and sub-routines into nothingness. The discharged wave caused the auspex screen in his hand to crack, components fried. Gren marked the place where his servo-skull fell into the pit, its internal processors destroyed. If luck were on his side, he would return and claim it.
The turbines stopped. Approaching the mesh with a small cutting torch in hand, Gren worked quickly. Peeling back a corner of the thick interlocking wires, he slid under them and into the expansive tunnel behind the turbines. Then, not knowing where he was going, Gren started down the ventilation shaft.
Before the electromagnetic pulse triggered far above, Lord Inquisitor Saeger was in conference with Caphis. The pict-feeds of Yunus-bek's death proved Amara Kith's capability to work under extreme duress. In the chirurgeon's office of test tubes and databanks, the men reviewed the battle knowledge. The young girl was sequestered in the gestation laboratory, held within the medicae vat after her physical assessment.
Chirurgeon Caphis bore grave tidings. "An issue has arisen, one I didn't foresee."
Saeger's eyes sparked. "What did you find?"
Caphis proffered a data-slate. Snatched from his hand, the chirurgeon began to shake. It took effort to keep the quiver from his voice. "The degeneration of her cellular structure, it appears. Every time she utilizes the ability, her cells decay. The longer the child uses it, the more rapidly the putrefaction spreads to infect other cells in her body. This response physically manifests with her vital organs aging at an accelerated pace." He dabbed at his brow. "It could also move to be seen physically, should she use it extensively. The only effective way to treat it is for Amara Kith to undergo rejuvenate treatments."
"Is there a means by which this can be halted?"
Caphis found his palms sweaty. "No, I cannot. The gene sequence has finished encoding. You're asking to rip out everything in the child until not even her original DNA remains. The subject's life will be terminated if you decide upon that. She'll have to undergo rejuvenate treatments to sustain herself for the duration of her... life. However long that will be for."
"What if she's too far from a source?" Caphis visibly jumped when Saeger's gloved fist slammed down on the metal tabletop. "An Inquisitor can be far from the civilized worlds of the Imperium. It takes decades to return to proper Imperial-held space. Shall I have her age and die, all the time and effort put into this for naught?"
Caphis winced under the verbal barrage. "What would you have me do, my lord?"
"Find a solution." Saeger gripped the chirurgeon's collar, dragging him close enough for flecks of spit to pattern Caphis's face. "You shall find a solution. I will provide the means necessary. You will undoubtedly discern a solution to this vexing problem."
"Injections," Caphis coughed the sudden answer from a dry mouth. "She can receive injections to off-set the decay until she reaches a proper medicae center for correct treatment. It would-"
The blue lights died, the medicae ward and the underground bunker plunged into darkness as klaxons wailed. Saeger's breath caught in his throat, senses alert. His laspistol found its way into his hand. Apprehensive minutes passed until the klaxons were silenced. Emergency lights flickered to life, banishing shadows into the deep corners of the room. The chamber was bathed in a troubling red glow. Over Saeger's protected vox-channel the first reports came in, indicating a forced entry into the complex.
"Make these injections possible," Saeger uttered, releasing Caphis's collar. "Do what you need to, but make these a reality." He left to take command; issuing orders to have Inquisitorial storm troopers seal the compound and secure the perimeter.
Shaken by the sudden disorder to his highly structured world, the chirurgeon scuttled into the gestation chambers, searching for supplies by the weak light. Caphis reacted poorly in times of crises. His once steady hands shook while gathering tumblers and cell sheets, vials and needles. Floating in quiet stupor, Amara was blissfully ignorant to events beyond the glass of the medicae tank. Caphis wondered if she dreamed, revisiting memories of the fire-burnt cell she had been pulled from, the way she was sent tumbling into the reinforced cage with the other psykers or even—
"Keep quiet and don't move. If you do, you'll be dead. Understand?" The bolt pistol's cold muzzle pressed against Caphis's temple. The chirurgeon's frantic movements stilled, hands slowly raised. Feeling the pressure ease, the older man watched one much younger circle around, gun trained on him. The stranger in sweat-stained fatigues and flak armour drew up close to the medicae container, free hand brushing along the console. Sudden disorder now became complete turmoil. Caphis's tremors returned.
"How did you get in here?" His eyes darted about the chamber until he saw the broken air duct. "Oh," he chuckled, looking again at the man. "You're Lord Saeger's student. Did he summon you here?" The man's face twisted upon hearing the Lord Inquisitor's name. Realising his mistake, Caphis blanched. "Spare this old soul. I only did as I was ordered!"
"Get her out of this thing," the Interrogator ordered, brandishing his sidearm.
"I cannot do that," the chirurgeon's fear of Lord Saeger was greater than his Interrogator. "She's in the middle of a delicate process."
"Get her out of there right now!" Roaring the words, Gren brandished his bolt pistol and advanced on Caphis. Under the red lightning, the Interrogator's face contorted into a daemon. "So help me if you don't remove her from that container your brains will be spattered on the wall!"
"There is the famous anger an Inquisitor should have. Well done, Gren, exceedingly well done." Saeger's voice brushed through the air. His laspistol jabbed into the small of Gren's back. Engrossed with Caphis, Gren forgot his surroundings. Saeger, hiding beyond the laboratory for the intruder to reveal themselves, watched Gren willingly place his neck into the snare. The Interrogator spat on the floor in fury.
"What's happening here? What alchemy is being done?"
Saeger's voice becalmed the rising storm of emotions. "You must make a choice. Forcing you in difficult decision making has always been your flaw. I cite a perfect example: why do you think Yunus-bek attacked you whenever the opportunity presented itself? Would he have the nerve unless ordered by his superior?"
Gren cursed his failure to perceive it earlier. Too blinded by the concern of others well-being, he hadn't delved into other possibilities. "You told him to."
"To press you into making difficult decisions. Death is always the last option you consider, never the first, and yet when pressed who bore the brunt of taking someone's life? Amara did. It was never intended for her to kill him. That was solely meant for you. Yunus-bek was hiver scum and worse, a relapsed psyker. He served whatever cause I gave him and when that was finished, he served with his death." Saeger allowed a pause. "Her lost innocence is your burden, Gren."
"And what is this now? Why is she in here?"
Snarling at his Interrogator's words, Saeger jammed the barrel of his laspistol to Gren's temple. "Some things are best left unknown. Mind your next words."
"Will she be unharmed?"
"'A child's purity is compromised only by the weakness in others.' You have the makings of one of the finest pupils ever schooled by myself." Saeger laughed. "I kept back nothing which was profitable to you. Now it is time to make a grave choice with your schooling."
"What might it require?" Dead weight in his hand, Gren allowed his bolt pistol to drop to the floor. It clattered hollowly on the metal.
"You are presented with two choices, young man. The first is after you become a member of the Ordo Xenos, you shall continue to toil under my hand in secret. The second, should you refuse the first, is to take this elegantly crafted pistol I have pressed against your head and use it on Amara. I would hate to have you make a choice but," Saeger smiled, "life is inherently full of complex choices."
The Gren she knew and the one standing before her were vastly different people. The change in attire had little to do with it. Armoured in a fine set of black carapace trimmed in silver, a cloak of mail drawn over his left shoulder and a laspistol at his waist, Gren became the quintessential dashing image of the Holy Ordos. Emblazoned on the chest plate of his armour was the sigil of the Inquisition. His tonsured hair was oiled to a fine sheen, tattoo freshly inscribed, and face healed of blemishes or bruises. How he comported himself was another. The air surrounding him was restless, posture no longer relaxed. When he smiled, it unsettled Amara how it never reached his eyes and lit them.
"How do I look?" Gren turned from the mirror and gave a small flourish with his cape.
"Like an Inquisitor," Amara replied blandly.
"You could feign excitement for today. It won't kill you." The light counter failed without Gren's smile. In his stateroom, time falling away before his rise to the ranks of the Holy Ordos, Amara wanted to greedily keep every second to herself.
"I'll try to smile for Lord Saeger. He wants to make a show of it." Before her surgical procedure, the depth of emotion Amara felt when looking at Gren was endless. The worship of a hero who never faltered against the odds, someone she trusted in the gravest of situations. Now those emotions felt withered, as though partitioned. It should have disturbed her but the child did not know how to name the complex knot of sentiments in her head or heart.
"I brought you something." Forced cheer weighted Gren's steps as he crossed the room. Opening a small strongbox, he pulled out his deactivated servo-skull. Thumbing the switch under the occipital bone, the automaton activated, floating toward the girl. "I had to modify a few parts, but it's the same as before. Take care of it for me."
Amara clutched the servo-skull protectively. She started protesting when the sharp rap of armoured knuckles on wood announced the Monte Iolcus Hiveguard, come to collect Gren. Ranks closed around the Interrogator and child, escorting them to the main lift which brought them to the highest spire plaza. Ordered rows of Inquisitors and their entourages, of Adepta Sororitas and high-ranking Ecclesiarchy, of privileged spire nobility, waited before a viewing stand. Ringed off by mighty plinths, chemical fires burned at the tops while the black and gold pennants of the Inquisition snapped in the wind. Dusk fell. Lord Inquisitor Saeger raised his hands to the star-lit night, finishing a sermon.
Gren hugged Amara. "I will always protect you. Never doubt that, Amara." Impulsive words, a heavy promise. Lord Inquisitor Saeger called his Interrogator's name. The applause from the assembled was unbound. Many knew the man when he first came to Monte Iolcus Hive as a boy. As many called him friend now. Gren ascended the platform and the host of new responsibilities' awaiting him.
He knelt to accept the rosette of office. The most powerful weapon an Inquisitor held in their arsenal, now belonging to a member of the Ordo Xenos. Illustrious speeches were given, a blessing to the masses, then the people began to disperse. The servo-skull was tightly held in thin arms, Amara's last tenuous link to Gren as he descended the steps of the viewing stand. Lord Inquisitor Saeger, towering in his power armour, was already conversing with Gren to the details of his first mission.
"An Imperial colony was plundered a year ago by Chaos Space Marines…"
Amara noted the ever faithful Selina gazing at the newly-made Inquisitor with delight. Jealously blazed hotly in Amara, enough to rip the ragged doll from the prophetess' hands and fling it over the edge of the spire. Then the intensity of the sentiment waned to nothing. A trio of retreating backs was to Amara, who stood alone and utterly forgotten.
She looked up at the blazing night sky above the Monte Iolcus Hive. Wavering pollution caused stars to wink in and out of existence. Crouching with only the servo-skull to lean her weight against, Amara swallowed the building emptiness she felt. The God-Emperor listened to all prayers, did He not? Were her prayers able to reach him now? Or was she incapable of being heard, with the hollowness inside her denying His power? Not having an answer, Amara Kith knew only the regret of her hasty decision.