Chapter 10

023.M42

Vespor, Huldah subsector, Syntyche sector

She stopped relying on the compass hours ago, and the terminals long before that. The cogitators were useless. Hissing with static, the machines spirits corrupted, nothing could be gleaned from the antiquated black marble and gold devices. Rampant magnetic fields cut across the palace and any long-range transmissions. She had been fortunate; her quarters held a safe room. Long after the screams had died away, she emerged into an altered reality. Bloodied handprints smeared the floor and walls, testament to the fate of those people who hadn't found shelter. It was pointless to dwell on what happened to them. For all the pandemonium in Pytren Hive, the noblewoman kept her composure. She blamed it on the Holy Ordos' command.

Sabine's orders were to wait at the Grand Venue. It had been beautiful once. Now the mist peeled the frescos overhead, tainting the holy images. Wind blew in from shattered stain glass windows, while rare veradite busts – overturned in the confusion and terror – lay crumbled on the floor. The slender black case which had transmitted the order – drawing her away from other responsibilities – lay smashed on the black and white tiled floor. Viciously grinding the heel of her boot into the electronics, Sabine turned to a cracked mirror, brushing back a lock of white hair. She would remain composed. She was the picture of elegant hive nobility; even if her tresses were in a dismal state. Having a tantrum would do no good for her image. The Imperium had already taken so much from her. Sabine would not let them take her maturity in this situation.

The situation was horrid. Nightmares made real flew through Vespor's atmosphere, downing transport crafts attempting to flee. Pleas for help in the palace went unanswered as monsters stalked their mortal prey. The invasion jarred memories from Sabine's past as a Throne agent. Back then there had been comrades guarding each other and a fiery Inquisitor who refused to back down. They had fought when the Syntyche sector fell under the xenos threat, and they had won, if it could be called that. Her friends' deaths haunted Sabine even now. Now a different menace had come, one she was ill-equipped to deal with. The daemonic had breached the palace with the swirling mists, pulling people under its bilious currents.

A screech rang up the Grand Venue, pennants rustling from the inhuman sound. The noise sent Sabine ducking into a shadowy alcove for refuge. Her hands trembled as she checked the laspistol's charge. She had found the weapon with Greta, the half of Greta that could be identified. Another screech, much closer this time, made Sabine crouch.

Sabine resolved that if Saeger's contact did not arrive by the next quarter cycle, she would go. The Grand Venue was not safe and her life was worth more than meeting an Inquisitor, even if this one served her former master. The noblewoman straightened and risked a glance down the Grand Venue. Sabine thought she was free of the Lord Inquisitor's influence after all these years. She swallowed her anger at her naivety. The black case mocked her from the ground and picking it up, she furiously threw it across the hall in disgust.

Something approached out of the mist. She raised her laspistol, old skills dominating each movement. In her youth Sabine had been an excellent shot. Age hadn't diminished that. A shadow moved furtively through the coiling fog, its outline wavering in and out of the lumen globes light. Sighting down the barrel, her index finger tensed on the trigger. The outline solidified, turning into an armoured man. Sabine forcefully exhaled and stepped out from the alcove.

The man halted at her sudden appearance. He tensely raised his hellgun. Sabine sardonically wondered if he thought a noblewoman in a tattered maroon dress was a threat.

She spoke, "During times of galactic deceit."

"Stating the truth becomes a revolutionary act," the man finished the code phrase. He produced the rosette of his high office without flourish. Scars patterned his black armour, attesting to the encountered fights to make it this far. Sabine saw the jagged facial tattoo and it sparked a bitter memory. Anger tinged her words.

"Gren," said Sabine. She lowered her laspitol but did not holster it. "I remember you when the Black Ships came. Now here you are, all grown and the lackey of Lord Saeger."

"You are?" His voice was guarded.

"Sabine D'Ebanne, the wife of the governor. I remember when you escorted one of the psykers to the Black Ships. You might remember a little girl in white who held a doll." Sabine's lips curled in a cruel smile at Gren's unease. "Lord Inquisitor Saeger ordered me to support you in your mission."

"Us," he corrected. "Margorach, you can come out. I don't think she will shoot you."

The skull-helmed Eldar emerged from the mist. Sabine snapped her laspistol up, mentally berating herself. She would have never allowed herself to be surprised in her younger years, especially by a xenos. It would have been wiser to have never responded to Saeger's message.

"You ally with the Imperium's enemies?"

"He is a friend, and you will point your laspistol elsewhere." Gren's tone was cold. "He's the one who's kept me alive, and he'll protect you as well. Providing you don't kill him, of course."

Sabine sniffed disdainfully. "Why doesn't he talk?"

"Not until there is need," the Death Jester replied with a civil voice. Sabine raised her delicate chin and, with a forced air of indifference, turned her back on the Harlequin. She could not look too long at the Eldar. His fluid movements produced a swirl of crystal shards which hurt her eyes. Turning north, Sabine walked briskly as her heavy skirts swished over the floor. Her heels crunched over fragments of glass. She heard Saeger's henchman follow, each step a thundering noise in the eerie stillness. The governor's wife did not care if the Eldar followed or not, she just wanted to get away from the Grand Venue.

"My sources confirm that this incursion stems from the palace. You have to take us to its heart, Lady Sabine." Gren raised his eyes at the pennants snapped in a sudden breeze. He did not feel any wind in the vast foyer. "The Lord Inquisitor entrusted me with this mission."

"What do you think the cause is?" she asked.

"A treasure of my people is behind this calamity," said the Eldar.

Margorach's words sent a cold shiver through Sabine. Treasure. One of Atomy's favourite pastimes was to collect trinkets, the same pastime that had brought him trouble in the past. She thought of Atomy's treasure house and the collection amassed over the years. She carefully moved around a fallen pillar, questioning her husband's absence. The subsector governor hadn't been seen since the beginning of the catastrophe.

Tall doors stamped with Pytren Hive's insignia rose from the dark. Beyond was the governor's throne room, but Sabine did not lead them there. Instead, Sabine turned left and continued down the Grand Venue. Colonnades flanked them. Portraits of past governors and officials lined the walls, the oil running down the canvases. Wide enough for a ceremonial procession, in better times the Grand Venue had seen many. Mist lay heavy on the tiled marble. The marble, buckling and pliant under the fog's touch, reminded Sabine of toughened flesh. The wind howled through cracked windows, carrying the scent of charred wood and flesh.

Sabine stopped walking, pressing her hand to the wall for support. The treasure house came to her mind. Dread entered her chest and coiled around her heart. She looked to Gren, about to speak when Margorach hissed, "Hide!"

Gren found cover behind a partially collapsed column, pulling Sabine down next to him. The temperature dropped sharply. Frost patterned over the floor and raced up the pillars. Pressing his back to the soft marble, Gren gripped his hellgun. Sabine held her laspistol in shaking hands. When she looked for the Eldar, he was gone.

"He left us," she whispered, each breath a plume of white. She could not stop trembling as panic entered her voice. "He left us!"

Gren placed a finger against his lips and shook his head. Taking Shadowseer Carrenad's pouch from his belt, he reached in to remove the wraithbone runes. Glowing a vibrant blue and pulsing with life, the Inquisitor prayed they would work.

A hunched, shuffling monstrosity shuffled down the corridor. Its smell reached the two humans before they saw it. A noxious reek of offal and burnt cinnamon choked Gren when he breathed. Sabine shook uncontrollably when she caught sight of the spawn. Her mind refused to acknowledge the thing in her palace. Ropes of saliva dribbled from the spawn's mouth, and when it paused to sniff the air, congealing saliva pooled around its hooked feet. Its form wavered in and out of the material realm as it swung its massive head from side to side.

Sabine felt like her bowels would give. Panic and fear overwhelmed her mind. The governor's wife was ready to run, to scream madly, and to tear at her white hair. Smaller things infested the spawn's ragged pelt, crawling along the russet fur, giggling maliciously. Gren's hand began to burn as the runes worked to mask their souls from the fiend.

Margorach struck when the daemon was almost upon them. Spinning down from the dark ceiling, his flip-belt aiding him, his great scythe cleaved down. The Death Jester sliced through the thick neck in the moments when the being straddled the realms. Pirouetting as he landed, each movement a burst of scintillating crystals, Margorach swung around with the shuriken cannon barrel raised.

"Margorach." Its voice sounded of thunder and broken glass. "How nice to see you again. My brethren look forward to greeting you. Give your troupe my regards if you make it back to the Webway."

The spawn's tongue lolled as the body dissolved. Its link to the Materium severed, the spawn's body shrivelled, and smoke began rising from its body as it dissolved to mucus and pus. Gren drew a shaky breath and tucked the runes back into their purse. Lurching into the corridor, he came alongside Margorach. The Harlequin kept his eyes fixed on the acidic puddle.

"It knew you," said Gren.

"All daemons know the Rillietann as we know them." Margorach said no more and Gren did not press. Staggering toward the duo, Sabine looked at the Death Jester for a long time. She nodded to him, just once, but the action was enough.

"My husband's treasure house," said Sabine. A wavering cry echoed in the air until it ended in a wet crack. Somewhere not far off the sound of jaws crunching bone floated to them. "Stym collects odd trinkets. Sometimes the extraordinary comes into his hands. If you are looking for this relic, Margorach, your greatest chance is that it's in my husband's treasure house."

She made an effort to stop babbling. So close to death and worse, Sabine was shaken more than she thought possible.

"Will Governor Atomy be there?"

"That is the best gamble to where he is. I trust my husband's foolish hobby has brought down my hive city and all Vespor."

"Your husband might still be alive," offered Gren without much conviction.

"My husband is an idiot." A sneer graced Sabine's full lips. "What Atomy did he did to himself, and because of his foolishness, Vespor is close to being damned. He was always weak, especially to the defence of his family. Now everyone else is paying for it."

"Where do we have to go?" Gren shifted his weight, watching the mist coil around the group. Watching, waiting, and listening to every action.

"Up," she replied.

"With Pytren Hive twisting on itself, we don't know if the walls will start attacking us," Margorach chuckled. "Shall we hurry? We have to stop this infestation or else you mon-keigh cannot become heroes."

Tucking a sweat-damp coil of hair behind her ear, Sabine led the way. While Saeger's adjutant did not seem to share his master's ideals, Sabine knew Inquisitors were at heart merciless. She did not want Vespor put to the torch any more than she wished daemons to infest her home. Her stride quickened until she was running, and Margorach and Gren were too.

Kel's ability to fly the Stormbird was at best mediocre. It was not her fault; Kel hadn't been given time to fly it on her own. She had no clue how far she could push the craft. Kel suspected the Inquisition in general did not give its agents much time for mission practice. The pilot guided the Stormbird into the roiling storm clouds, praying to Isha in every moment. Cold sweat covered her skin.

The Stormbird's engines whined in protest as its spirit conveyed annoyance through the blinking console lights. Like its occupants, the Stormbird was not happy with the half-breed. Only Dram seemed to be on Kel's side, commenting on the sensors readings or quietly offering a word of support. The ping-backs from Vespor's surface were odd. One moment the ground was less than seventeen thousand miles below; then the sensors read there was no ground. Kel tapped one of the augurs and wondered if the Tech-Priests actually maintained the craft. When the Stormbird passed into the stratosphere the Stormbird stopped rattling, but flying became more difficult.

"Can you see in this?" asked Dram.

Murky fog coiled over the vessel. Sensors and augurs on the dropship were almost blind and Kel could not see the ground below. Her hands gripped the controls tightly. Just her luck. Turbulence buffeted the vessel, throwing its occupants forward, harnesses keeping them in their seats. The Stormbird juddered again. Ursula started praying, calling on the saints to help the idiotic half-breed guide them to safety. Kel wanted the bitch to bite her tongue.

"Are you locked on to Pytren Hive's coordinates?" the Inquisitor called over the roaring engines. Through the dropship's canopy, red and violet hues tinged the grey clouds.

"I am. We're still eight thousand miles above it. Now we're six thousand. Wait… twelve thousand." Kel pulled on the controls as another shudder rocked the craft. "There's a lot of interference from below." The small topographic map flickered with static. Pytren Hive's vast dimensions bathed the cockpit in a ghostly green. A flashing blip of yellow identified the governor's palace. "I'll be lucky to find a spot to land the Stormbird in this fog."

"You'll manage, Squints." Dram's chuckle was at odds with the tense situation. "Then we'll all do our jobs. Which reminds me, Inquisitor Kith?" The ex-Guardsman looked over his shoulder at her. "What is the mission objective?"

Ursula's prayers ceased and she watched the Inquisitor. Amara Kith considered telling them nothing except to follow her orders without question or dispute. But their spirits were low, and she knew deceit would not work in her favour. It was better to speak than to remain quiet.

"We are hunting the Dark Mother." Amara licked her lips. "The order for this undertaking came from the Lord Inquisitor of the Syntyche sector."

"Divine Emperor, protect us in our trials," Ursula whispered, and then swore as the Stormbird swerved violently. "The witch is on Vespor? Truly?"

"She is, Sister Ursula."

The battle maiden's reply was drowned out as the Stormbird's engines changed pitch. Amara Kith's team were brutally slammed forward into their harnesses as the craft was pulled backwards. Alarms shrilled as red light bled into the cockpit. The console lit up as warning runes flashed. The turret servitors opened fire on the threat. On the pict-screen overlooking the dropship's stern, gun fire lit up the dark, exposing in brief flashes the beast holding them.

Wickedly curved claws ripped into the Stormbird's tail, slicing into plasteel armour. A sinuous shape neither wholly bird nor serpent held them. Its hooked beak opened in a thundering shriek as the bolt rounds passed through its ethereal flesh. Great pinions beat quickly as the daemon struggled to fly with the dropship, unwilling to let its prey go.

Kel threw all power into the engines. The craft juddered wildly, fighting against the daemon's grip. The daemon's whip-like tail crashed into one of the turrets, crunching the metal, glass and flesh into nothing. The second gun turret quickly followed. Talons pierced the hull as the Stormbird was wrenched from side to side. A pipe crack open in the back compartment, spraying coolant across the walls and deck. Objects not bolted down flew; a spinning wrench hit Ursula's shoulder. The woman cursed as pain burned across her arm.

Amara Kith shouted over the shrilling alarms, "Kel, cut the engines when I say!"

Too terrified to say anything, Kel nodded. Amara's hands curled into fists, her senses dulling. The alarms' shrieks faded, the reek of coolant and sweat diminished, and colour vanished as the Inquisitor brought forth her silence. Having never used her ability to this scale, she was uncertain it would work. Neither did she know the effects on her body, but a crippled body was better than death. Survival was all that mattered. She had to make it to Pytren Hive. She had to save Katea.

The silence rippled over the Stormbird. Screaming in pain, the daemon's claws slipped off the Stormbird.

"Cut the engines!"

Gravity pressed down on them unrelentingly as the Stormbird dropped. New alarms clamoured in the cockpit, Ursula's voice rose in frantic prayer, and the unnatural clouds rushed past. The wind howled as the dropship plummeted as if laughing at them. Dram gritted his teeth, looking at the ceiling. Amara Kith focused her nullility, grounding it in catechism.

The daemon will not harm me for I walk in the God-Emperor's light. She concentrated on the blessed stillness and kept the enemy at bay. They who serve will dwell in the glory of the Imperium.

In the pandemonium, Kel watched the altitude gauge's dropping numbers at her stomach churned. She dimly made out the hive city as they fell, spires and forge manufactorums piercing the thick clouds. Under eight thousand feet and with the vessel shaking, the half-breed almost lost her nerve. Kel slapped a panel and the engines roared to life. The sound was glorious, muffling the fading alarms. The Stormbird's narrowly missing a metal advertisement before Kel levelled them out. Dram clapped his hands while Ursula kissed her rosary beads. Relief flooded the cockpit like a balm, but the Inquisitor could not have a respite. Amara Kith could not let go of her silence – not now, not until the mission's end. She did not know if fear caused her to shiver or something else.

"Approaching Pytren Hive," Kel said. Realising the magnitude of what she had signed up for, the woman wondered if her cell was still vacant. She swallowed the bile that rose up her throat.

Pytren Hive emerged though the murk like a pict coming into focus. Its lights blazed, the lucent glow exposing dark shadows in the mist. Leviathans moved through the miasma, and Kel kept the Stormbird at a safe distance from the palpable threat. Twice she circled the spire, searching the governor's palace for a place to land the damaged vessel. When she could not find one, and nerves taut from avoiding the beings in the mist, she was forced to guide the Stormbird lower.

A large plaza presented itself. Kel artfully avoided crushing the few trees and hedges. The plaza was deceptively normal against the lurid backdrop of the hive city. Harnesses were released and weapons were checked.

"With no gun turrets, the Stormbird's a sitting anatidae. The engines are okay but I have to check the hull. If it's compromised I can't promise the safest flight back to the Iridescent Blade." She cycled down the Stormbird's systems but kept the engines warm. "If I come under attack, I'll have to take off and circle the hive."

Kel started at seeing bright green eyes too close for comfort. A wave of nausea gripped the half-breed, stomach clenching and throat constricting. She was certain it had nothing to do with Pytren Hive and everything to do with the Inquisitor looming over her. Terror overcame Kel as her sickness intensified. Like an infection, it built in her body until Kel was visibly shaking.

"You will do no such thing." Amara Kith's hand rested on the pommel of her sword. She pointed at Dram who stiffened under her gaze. "Dram, you'll remain here. Defend the Stormbird if it's attacked. Do not allow Kel to take off."

"We should have brought more support if this was your plan." The man checked his hellpistol's charge, clipping its compact power pack to his ammo belt. "This really is a suicide mission." He nearly spit, checking the action as Amara Kith frowned.

"Your mission is sanctioned by the Holy Ordos, the highest of Imperial authority beneath the Emperor. Plans change, Guardsman." Her words held an unspoken threat. She wiped the beaded sweat on her brow. "Sister Ursula, ready yourself. We will go to Pytren Hive."

Turning away from Dram and a sickened Kel, the Inquisitor exited the Stormbird. Her commands were appropriate and her will was firm. She thought it was her imagination when the mist swirled away at her approach. When she saw the damage done to the craft, the woman winced. A dull click to her back alerted Amara that the servo-skull had followed its mistress. The automaton's frontal bone was cracked from being tossed about in the Stormbird.

"I'm not being unreasonable, am I?" she asked the servo-skull. It regarded her in silence. She looked over the Stormbird again. If she hadn't used her ability, they would all have been killed. Breathing deeply, a flash of pain lanced through her side. Amara's breath left her lungs in a choking whisper. Fumbling for her autoinjector, Amara slid a vial into its hold.

She sunk to her knees, nostrils flaring and eyes wide as the pain intensified. Her concentration slipped, blackness lapping at the edge of her vision. The mist curled toward the woman. Noises became too loud; distant cries sounded like howls, glass breaking a cascade of rocks down a mountain. Amara Kith forced the needle through her black duty armour, depressing the autoinjector into the crook of her arm. The blue liquid drained from the glass vial. The fog retreated from the shaking woman. In increments the pain diminished. Amara focused on capturing the silence, breathing fitfully as it was restored to her.

Nineteen vials of rejuvenate. Looking up at Pytren Hive and the palace at the top, Amara hoped it was enough to keep her alive. She was about to face a figure of distant legend and heresy. She would find out what happened to Katea, and confront a woman rotting the Syntyche sector. Burdened with the knowledge, the Inquisitor began to doubt. She closed her eyes as she stood.

I will give a pound of flesh if it means I can find Katea, she prayed silently.

"Milady Kith, lead and I follow."

Ursula strode down the Stormbird's ramp. She dismissed what she had seen; preferring to believe the Inquisitor had knelt to pray. Holding her bolter in a sure grip, Ursula's helmet displayed her surroundings in a luminous green. Amber target markers shifted as the Sister of Battle scanned the area. She trusted Inquisitor Kith in all decisions. When they found and slew the Dark Mother, Sister Ursula's sins on Isfarena would be absolved. She would attain grace and rejoin her sisters with pride. The success of this mission was her main concern.

"We ascend to the governor's palace. The God-Emperor will guide us in our task." Amara Kith racked the arming slide of her bolt pistol.

They marched into the mist and the hive. The red light winked from the servo-skull's eye before they were swallowed in the darkness. Only Dram saw the Inquisitor and Sororitas depart. He leaned nonchalantly against one of the Stormbird's landing gears, raising an eyebrow as the half-breed ran out of the craft. Kel retched in the bushes, holding her stomach as tears tracked down her face.

"I should have brought more grenades," he muttered to himself.

The relic's power was a thunder hammer from a distance. On Vespor it became a burning sun in the mind. The pain flared, fire racing along neural pathways and beyond the physical senses. Sorcerer-adept Ibni held the Warp vortex open with difficulty. Bending on one knee before the gateway, head bowed and eyes bleeding, Ibni grasped the slender thread connecting back to the Khermuti.

"This miasma," said Noph, noting the mist swirling around them. "Is this from the Warp?"

"The relic," replied Ahriman. He looked down the vast and dark corridor, seeing future possibilities play out. His mental wards, under duress from the relic's emanations, were not as strong as he would have liked. "Unlike the Kianemure relic, this one is not shielded. Its unchecked power plays havoc."

"My nose!" one of the children cried. The sorcerer turned at the noise. Neferuaat crouched in front of the urchins, dabbing frantically at the blood dribbling down their faces.

+Keep them silent.+ Ahriman's order made Neferuaat flinch. The Dark Mother looked at him, nodding once. Bloody tears tracked down her pale skin, grotesque against the veins. She gathered her psycurium veil close, glad for the feeble protection it offered.

+Noph, leave a Rubric Marine to guard Ibni.+ One of the Rubricae marched stiffly to Ibni's side, bolter ready. Ahriman gestured to the remaining sorcerer-adept whose helm was a crested serpent. +Heqet, a kine shield.+

They began to march. Noph commanded the nine remaining Rubricae. The Astartes flanked the small cabal as they walked into the mist. Neferuaat and her children kept to the middle, Heqet one step behind as Ahriman walked at the head. The Great Ocean washed over him and in its water the sorcerer felt the aether's filth. The air shimmered about the group as Heqet manipulated the kine shield, his psychic senses strained against the Warp beings stalking the halls and tree-lined avenues the group traversed.

With a ferocious hunger, the seer stone guided Ahriman. It sang in high, crystalline notes to where the part of the relic waited. Ahriman held back from blindly rushing to his goal. Akin to a dry forest waiting for a spark, Pytren Hive could become an inferno. One misuse of psychic power could send all to ruin. Ahriman saw the hazards, from folded pockets of time to the rifts opening into other realms. He advanced with caution, letting his mind's sight show him the path.

+Great one,+ Noph sent. +Where are we in the hive?+ Dividing his attention between the Rubricae and his surroundings was more difficult than he would admit. The Great Ocean seethed one moment against the hive city; next it was quiet. It unnerved Noph.

The seer stone trembled in Ahriman's gauntlet. Ahriman let his mind flow down the dark halls and shrouded chambers of the governor's palace, a skiff on stormy water. He plucked memories and emotions from the swirling mist to ascertain where they were. He followed the gossamer cord the seer stone created, untapped power running along the coiling thread. It trailed through gloomy rooms, coiled up grand staircases, and slithered across vast squares. It passed through a door of cold iron and glinting silver before Ahriman lost sight of it in a blazing light connected to it.

+Above us,+ answered Ahriman, his mind's eye stretched as far as he dared. Pain throbbed at the back of his skull in hot bursts. +It isn't much farther.+

Neferuaat looked up. +It's a fire. A fire burning at the top of the hive.+ A starburst of light raced through her skull. She tasted blood in her mouth. One of the children, Rais, gripped her hand tightly. He felt her pain as keenly as if it were his.

The Dark Mother was right. At the summit of the palace was a beacon. Gathering around it were the dark and heavy auras of daemons. Ahriman's primary concern was remaining hidden from the unbound daemons. With no true name to bind them, speed and cunning were needed to skulk past their gaze. The hallways were lifeless as the coterie passed. The dull thuds from the Rubricae's footsteps were swallowed in the heavy air. Cracked lumen globes offered weak illumination, pooling white effluvium making the light look as if it were submerged just below the surface of the water.

Another flare of pain preceded a vision of fire. Ahriman saw armoured warriors overcoming a fire, clawing at the others to survive. Blinking quickly as the images faded, the warlock continued to follow the path of the diaphanous thread. Passing under a triumphal archway, Ahriman paused at the edge of a grand chamber.

Once it had been the governor's Hall of Mirrors, a chamber that delighted the hive nobility. Now it was a shadow of faded glory. Tapestries lining the walls were scorched and ruined, and the floor pitted and cracked. Puddles of blood patterned the marble. Neferuaat blinded her children to the sight, whispering for them to trust her. The mirrors which had lined the walls were shattered. Refracted dimensions glinted across the mirrors' surfaces. It was dangerous to look into the shards for too long.

A freezing aetheric wind passed through Ahriman as he crossed the chamber's threshold. He saw the white plume of his breath through his grille as frost crept across the cracked floor. As the cold grew inside him to a freezing degree, Ahriman knew what it meant. Gripping his staff tightly enough for the servos in his gauntlet to whine, foreboding spun webs in the sorcerer's thoughts. The seer stone quivered. In a moment of crystal clarity, Ahriman knew this moment.

Jollana's sending was coming full circle. This moment, preordained and fixed in Time's flow, could only be faced, not avoided.

+Prepare!+ Ahriman's command rushed through the others minds.

Noph commanded the tactical knowledge of the Rubricae. Moving into a defensive half circle, the soundless Rubricae raised their bolters. Their thoughts hissed in the sorcerer-adept's mind, and Noph felt sweat break across his brow. As a surge in the Warp's energy cascaded over him, his grip on the Rubricae faltered. The ghostly light in their green lenses dimmed, brightening as the puppet master regained control.

Ahriman approached Neferuaat to pass the seer stone to her. The air began to crackle with electricity. It arced from the mirror shards. Capering shadows darted across the distant ceiling, slithering down the crumbling hive walls.

+Find the relic. Once you have it return to the Warp vortex. Do not delay.+ Ahriman reached into the woman's mind and showed her the thread to follow. Blue and green hues churned inside the orb. +Heqet, ensure she finds it.+

Ahriman watched the Thousand Son sorcerer-adept, the Dark Mother, and her brood vanish back into the mist. He turned back to the chamber, watching the electric arcs grow as the smell of burning ozone filled the Hall of Mirrors. A lightning strike flashed, followed by a hard bang that displaced the fog. The mirrors shattered further, dusting the air in glittering shards.

The past and present collided as Ahriman saw the sending from Jollana made flesh. Clad in black power armour heavily edged in gold, the man dominated the room with his presence. A tri-barred "I" was worked into the black surface; holy litanies scrawled on parchment protecting the Inquisitor's soul. The mortal drew his force sword at Ahriman, ochre eye lenses worked into a helmet shaped like a roaring lion. The chill fled from the Chaos sorcerer, replaced with fiery adrenaline.

"In the name of the Holy Ordos and the God-Emperor, you will submit to the Imperium's judgement!" Lord Inquisitor Saeger's words thundered across the hall, losing none of their ferocity from the vox-grille. Through the holy wards of his armour, he could feel the very evil from the butcher of Inno.

"I will take his head if you give the word, my lord." Canoness Preceptor Loren's voice whispered in Saeger's ear over a private comm-channel.

She stood to his right, sword drawn and body tense. The Canoness gave her gratitude the Salva Nos teleportation array had brought them to bestow the Emperor's wrath. Surely the Emperor had quickened the Warp travel just as He guided them safely to Vespor and Pytren Hive. She viewed the assembly of Saeger's might.

The Lord Inquisitor's Celestine bodyguards; two Ebon Chalice squads flanking them while a contingent of storm troopers stood with Confessor Dimitri. Hunched next to the Confessor was a shivering arco-flagellant, subdued with its pacifier helm in place. Loren regarded her foe, righteous hate filling her heart.

Ahriman would have laughed if he could have found the humour. The Inquisitor's numbers were insulting in this clash. Bringing his mind into the higher Enumerations, he felt time shift. "Who of the Emperor's lapdogs challenges me?"

"The Lord Inquisitor of the Syntyche sector challenges." His aiming reticule locked on to the arch-heretic, and Saeger grinned wolfishly under his helmet. "For decades I have tracked your path, and I will be the one to allot you justice. The Ordo Hereticus suffers not the witch to live and upon my pledge to the Throne, today will be your last!"

"Your judgement is of a hypocritical and weak mortal." Ahriman drew on the Great Ocean's power, the aether swirling about him. "You have so-called witches in your own ranks," Ahriman pointed his staff at the witch hunter's force sword. "Do you not?"

The thin blade that balanced Fate plunged downwards.

"Blessed are those who keep faith in Him," roared Lord Inquisitor Saeger. "He who dies in the glory of the Imperium will be forever venerated!"

Loren led the charge, her Celestine squad opening fire as the battle maidens rushed forward. Confessor Dimitri shouted a word and, with a murderous howl, the arco-flagellant awakened. Veins bulged across scored flesh as drug injectors pumped reaction and aggression narcotics into the arco-flagellant's body. A kine shield rippled, absorbing the impacting bullets. Noph raised his hand; the Rubricae raised their bolters and fired. Two storm troopers screamed as enchanted flames wreathed them, melting skin and charring bone.

One of the Rubricae strode forward, khopesh in hand. Moving faster than the eye could track, the Rubric Marine slashed diagonally, cutting one of the power lashes from the arco-flagellant's arms. The penitent gave a powerful bound, crashing feet first into the sapphire breastplate. The Rubric Marine rocked back. Dropping the khopesh, the spirit silently raised its plated hands, grabbing the arco-flagellant's neck. Inferno bolts howled through the air, finding targets as quickly as the Ebon Chalice warriors dodged. A trio of them charged Noph. The Sororitas froze as Noph turned toward them. Paralysed, an invisible force took control of their bodies. Noph threw the battle maidens through the air with a contemptuous flick of his hand. The telekinetic blast crushed them against the far wall, their crumpled armour becoming their tombs.

Ahriman's mind was already moving even as the Inquisitor's warriors charged. His crafted a fatal thought, throwing it through the aether as a keen-edged knife. It fragmented against the mental barrier Inquisitor Lord raised. Shielded by the man's faith and psychic defences, Ahriman could find no cracks. Snarling in anger, the sorcerer pulled back to launch a different attack.

The Lord Inquisitor struck first. Saeger's force sword, a blazing light cleaving the air, cut upward. Ahriman blocked the strike with his black staff, quickened his movements and pulled away from his advesary. Lightning crackled in the space between them, summoned in Ahriman's palm. It arced from Arhiman's fingers to Saeger. The force sword absorbed the white forks and did nothing to slow the man's charge.

"You took the rightful toll from the Black Ships that day!" Saeger's sword ripped Ahriman's tabard. "You damned the souls of Inno. With the Emperor's providence, I will finish my duty."

Prescience kept Ahriman one step ahead of the fanatic's blows. A kine shield deflected the first strike. Ahriman twisted aside the second blow, feeling the sword cut across his aura. Ahriman felt the blade across his flesh as if it had hit true. Blood dripped down his arm. Ahriman sought an opening to attack but even without the heightened reactions of an Adeptus Astartes, the madman proved he was not inept.

A shoulder guard crumpled under Ahriman's telekinetic blow. Saeger sprung forward undeterred, his sword slashing the air where Ahriman had stood a moment before. The warlock sensed the unbound fervour of the man's soul, tasting it as bitterness on his tongue. Ahriman struck a ringing blow against the lion helmet with his staff.

"With an Inquisitor Lord like you it's a wonder that this whole sector hasn't been destroyed by flames." A black gauntlet caught the staff. Sanctified parchment slips began to burn. Across the sudden link, Ahirman could read the ambition and dedication of the Inquisitor. He knew the extremes the man would go to in eradicating Chaos.

"To destroy you, I would burn the whole Syntyche sector." The Warp energy channelled through Ahriman's staff passed into Saeger; he bit the inside of his mouth against the pain.

"Is that a challenge?" A sliver of power enhanced by the Warp saturated Materium, and Ahriman manipulated the composition of the floor.

The Lord Inquisitor fell to one knee as the floor buckled under him. He rolled out of the path of a bolt of lightning. Marble ripped apart. Then Saeger was defending, his armour shielding his body, his mental powers guarding his mind from Ahriman's attacks. He saw Canoness Loren and her Celestine squad attack one of the Rubricae. Anointed blades and blessed bolts brought the armoured giant down, opening rents across the ceramite plate. The arco-flagellent fought on with its remaining power lash to bring down the undead Astartes that tried to choke the life from the Ecclesiarchy servant.

They could win yet. Saeger could hold a victory over the eternal enemy. Lord Inquisitor Saeger's heart lurched in his throat when he saw the heretic souls pulled back into the armour. The metal knitted together, sealing the dust and spirits of the Thousand Sons once more. The arco-flagellant hissed at the Rubric Marine, its muscles bunching to jump again. An inferno bolt caught the penitent in the back. Flames licked over its abused flesh until the arco-flagellant was no more.

Canoness Loren's scream echoed over the vox. Saeger could not find her in the frenzied combat, but her screams rose until they were abruptly silenced. He prayed, his hand gripping his sword. He sent his power into the blade's core. The Emperor was with them. He would not abandon His faithful servants in their darkest hours. Claws scrabbled at the crumbling walls of Saeger's mind. He heard whispers from the arch-heretic. Images pooled in his consciousness that would not leave. Saeger yelled, a furore overcoming him as he stood.

"I am the hammer. I am the point of His spear." Saeger's force sword cut Ahriman's left greave. "I am the sword in His hand. I am the gauntlet about His fist." The holy litanies burned across Saeger's armour. The Inquisitor Lord blink-clicked a rune in his helmet's display; an absolution sent to the Salva Nos. He fought on. "I am the bane of His foes and the woes of the treacherous. I am your end!"

Ahriman sensed the Lord Inquisitor reaching into the Warp, drinking from it like a man dying from thirst. Saeger's force sword turned the dark red of beaten metal. Ahriman channelled the Warp through his black staff. Thick frost patterned the floor, rose up his armour, and across the joints. Manipulating the electric current in his body, Ahriman twisted lightning through the air and threw it at Saeger. The holy runes on Saeger's battered armour flared. Black lacquer peeled and holy seals burned yet Saeger barrelled on, his aura a maddened crimson.

Fate may have called this battle, but Ahriman would determine the ending. He cleared his mind. Blood flowed through his body in concord with the aether's shift. He became a thought rising above the waves and whirlpools of the Great Ocean, mind balancing his humours and aligned his physical self, for balance was needed if he would win this battle, in this place and time. The aether surged through Ahriman. Psionic energy froze his flesh and boiled his blood, power that obeyed the will of its wielder.

+Cover.+ Urgency tinged Ahriman's command.

Ahriman's hearts beat once. Time slowed as the warlock loosened his spell. The powerful words rang out from silent lips, given purpose and terrible form. A wave of fire, riding on the Great Ocean's currents merging with real space, crashed down from above. It consumed what it touched, insatiable and unstoppable.

Far above the Hall of Mirrors, Margorach paused. He felt Pytren Hive shiver as a canine would shake to dislodge a flea-nit. The rune on his necklace burned as it felt the rush of power. Sabine halted, looking in fear at the Harlequin.

"What can you sense?" she whispered.

"Arduous fate drawing close," he answered.