When Malicia had chosen to take Sarevok's offer of helping him kill his Kabal's Archon despite the obvious risks it entailed, she had done so only after careful consideration. At the time, it had seemed a well-calculated gambit, with the potential to not only propel her to rulership of the Tainted Kiss but also to secure the Coven's advancement along with her own. And while the Tainted Kiss' association with the Kabal of Murderous Death had benefited the Coven, there was no denying the simple fact that Vileheart was a very easy creature to hate.
It had been a mistake. Not just going along with Sarevok's ploy, but joining this raid in the first place. Everything had gone wrong, despite Vileheart's attempts to claim it was all part of his plan, and now here she was, lying bleeding on the floor of some mon-keigh hovel, having just watched her employer blasted apart right before her eyes.
Well, at least the mon-keighs hadn't noticed she was still alive. Vileheart had proven himself useful for once, drawing their attention by loudly laughing at the sight of his would-be usurper's demise. Every gun was aimed at him, not that he looked afraid of them in the least.
"I have some questions for you, xenos, and I advise you to talk and not waste either of our times," said the one who seemed to be their leader, based on how the rest moved around him and how different (yet still primitive) the pistol he held looked. "What happened here ?"
Vileheart stopped laughing, and sneered.
"I recognize you, he said. You are the leader of this world's vermin, aren't you ?"
"Indeed. I am Ciaphas Cain, the Liberator, and I have the honor of leading the Liberation Council. Now, since I have introduced myself, don't you think you should return the favor ? Not that I expect much in the ways of manners from uninvited guests, of course."
"Foolish mon-keigh," the Archon spat. "You have doomed yourselves and you don't even know it. But I suppose I should tell you, just so that you can despair at your own folly. I am Sheev Vileheart, Archon of the Kabal of Murderous Death, and it is by my will that your pitiful world was attacked by the greenskins."
"From where I am standing, your plan doesn't seem to be working that well," Cain pointed out. "Unless it somehow involved you bleeding to death surrounded by your dead allies, in which case I think even the Tzeentchians would laugh at you."
"That vermin," he pointed at Sarevok's corpse with his chin, "attempted to kill me and claim my power as his own … but you stopped him."
"An easily corrected oversight," retorted the mon-keigh, lifting his weapons threateningly. "Or do you think you can do anything but die in your state ?"
"Die ? I am beyond death, worm ! You may kill this flesh, but I will live again," ranted Vileheart. "And when I do, I will return to this miserable world, and wipe it clean of your miserable kind."
"Will you now ?" said Cain, his voice suddenly much lower. Around him, Malicia saw that the troopers' grip on their weapons was tightening. "Even after it ended so well the first time ?"
"Yes," declared Vileheart, more blood pouring from his mouth as his agitation aggravated his injuries. "I will return with far more forces, and this time we will not stop until nothing is left of this world but a poisoned wasteland over which the screams of the dying shall echo forevermore ! I will make slaves of your people, and boots of your children's skin. And you, Cain; you I will make watch as I throw your brutes into the arenas of the Dark City, to be cut apart for the entertainment of their betters. You will see each and every one of your companions die, and then and only then will I give you the mercy of death !"
"No, you won't" said Cain, his voice cold as the grave. He took a deep breath, and softly spoke one word :
"Emeli."
Malicia's pained breath caught in her throat. That simple name was sending shivers down her spine, and the shadows in the room suddenly seemed to have grown longer, while the temperature had plummeted. The blood pooling on the ground frosted, and a spiking headache added to her list of agonies. Even the mon-keigh soldiers looked around uneasily, and the one unarmed female who was with them for some reason stared at Cain with wide eyes.
"I call upon you, beloved," he continued, face taught with an emotion Malicia couldn't identify as he slowly walked toward the Archon. "In the name of the Dark Prince and the bond we share, I offer you this wretch, and asks that you ensure his shade never returns to haunt the living."
"What are you doing ?" asked Vileheart, and for the first time since the Hierarch's death there was fear in his voice.
"Ensuring you don't escape your rightful punishment," replied the mon-keigh warlord, and rammed his chainsword through the hole in the Archon's chest before triggering the blade. Vileheart screamed, briefly, then fell silent, his body continuing to twitch for a few more seconds before going still.
The unnatural pressure didn't abide with his demise : if anything, it grew worse. The mon-keigh soldiers looked around warily while clutching their weapons. One of them glanced in her direction, and she froze as his rifle immediately snapped up toward her and he called out :
"There is one still alive over there !"
"Then finish them off," replied the leader dismissively. "We still have -"
"Wait."
Before the horrified eyes of every soul in the room, the gutted corpse of Sheev Vileheart rose to its feet. Its flesh was running like molten wax, and within a few of Malicia's pained heartbeats nothing remained of the Archon's features. The ruined armor he'd worn into battle fell away like a discarded shell, revealing a humanoid figure of flowing purple biological matter, in whose skull a pair of blazing green eyes opened.
After a brief moment of shock, the mon-keigh troopers made to aim their weapons at the horror, but Cain dissuaded them with a single gesture, his sharp gaze fixed on the monstrosity.
"Hold. Emeli ? Is that you ?"
"Ah, beloved," said the voice coming out of the Archon's corpse. "I should've known you would recognize me."
"Well, it is still disturbing to see you like this, I must admit. I'm afraid that I much prefer your usual look."
It laughed, a melodious sound that was entirely at odds with the vessel it was puppeteering. "Dear, sweet Ciaphas. Always so honest. There was no need for such solemnity between us, you know."
"It felt more appropriate," he replied, sounding nervous, like a Kabalite unsure whether the Wych he fancied really enjoyed his courting gift or was just toying with him before eviscerating him. "Asking you for a favor like this …"
"Oh, beloved," it crooned. "That was no favor at all. I promise you, that fool will never come back to threaten our people. But now," its burning gaze suddenly turned to Malicia, pinning her in place under its infernal weight, "let's talk about you, hmmm ?"
Malicia didn't quail under that gaze, but her reaction wasn't far from it.
"Malicia Mortalyss," Emeli purred, and the Succubus twitched as she heard the entity speak her name. "Third Succubus of the Tainted Kiss Wych Cult."
"Do be afraid," the Daemon Princess continued, her enjoyment of Malicia's terror obvious. "Your former employer has made me very, very angry by going after what is mine. But rejoice : he is the one who will suffer my displeasure. So I won't drag what passes for your soul out of your body and take it back with me to the Realms of Chaos to add it to my growing collection of fools who dared threaten my beloved Ciaphas."
"You-you won't ?" asked Malicia.
"Recent events have shown that I cannot protect my beloved as much as he deserves from the Realms of Chaos, and my Handmaidens have other duties they must perform for him. You will serve him as his bloodward. You will protect him with your life, knowing that if anything happens to him, the worst torments of your Dark City will pale compared to what I shall inflict upon you. Admittedly, an Incubus would be more used to such a task, but you proved yourself stronger than them, if nothing else," the being gestured at the corpses strewn across the room, where her sisters had fought alongside Sarevok to defeat Vileheart's guards. "And in return for your loyal and faithful devotion, you will be spared from the Thirst."
"You can't do that," said the Succubus before she could stop herself. It was one of the very pillars of Drukhari existence, an unchangeable fact that, no matter how much they pretended otherwise, was the very foundation of their entire society.
"I am one of Slaanesh's favored," replied Emeli, her voice smooth as polished bone. "I can do whatever I want in the name of my love."
Love ? Love ?! Briefly, Malicia's gaze turned away from the daemonhost to stare at the mon-keigh leader in shock. What manner of depravity was this man capable of, to make a creature of She-Who-Thirsts refer to him with such affection ? What unspeakable horrors had he performed to earn the favor of such a being ?
And why, in the name of all the Dark Muses, had Vileheart thought it was a good idea to raid the planet he was on ?! No, even that bastard would have balked at such a prospect, even for a chance to show up Aurelia Malys. He couldn't have known about this, meaning he was incompetent, not suicidally arrogant. Not that it made much of a difference in the end.
Emeli was still looking at her, waiting. There was no choice, not if she wanted to avoid sharing Vileheart's fate – and while the Archon might still be able to return to Commoragh, as this was hardly the first time the Haemonculi had to resurrect a noble lost to creatures of She-Who-Thirsts, the Succubus had no such arrangement in place.
Swallowing her pride, Malicia bowed her head.
"I will do as you command," she said.
"Of course you will," said the creature, before laying its right hand at the base of her throat, moving too fast for Malicia to have time to react. "This will hurt."
The contact burned Malicia's skin, but it was nothing compared to the flare of agony that followed, engulfing her entire being and blacking out her vision for a moment. Despite having endured terrible injuries in the arena without every crying out, she screamed then. When the daemonhost pulled its hand back and her consciousness returned, a purple mark was left branded on her pale skin. It was a symbol she recognized with horror : the Chaos Mark of Slaanesh, the Doom of the Aeldari and Devourer of Souls.
Such was her fear at the sight, it took a moment for Malicia to realize that the Thirst was gone. For the first time in her centuries of life, she felt satiated, without the edge of anticipated starvation that always remained, even after the most intense feeding session. The relief was so intense that it took her a moment to notice that her injuries were gone as well, her skin smooth and unmarked where it had been torn and bleeding moments before.
She looked up at the being that had saved her life and damned her forever in the eyes of her kin, and saw that the possessed body of Sheev Vileheart was falling apart, cracks spreading across it as it failed to contain the power of the entity puppeteering it.
"It seems I am out of time," mused the creature, turning its burning gaze back to the mon-keigh leader. "Take care, beloved. I still know not what the shadow that hid these wretches from my sight was."
"I will," Cain replied, showing absolutely no fear in the face of a being which could end him with a thought. "Thank you, Emeli."
With one final giggle, the daemonhost fell apart, ash spreading on the ground. Malicia heard the relieved breaths of the soldiers as the psychic pressure vanished.
"Well," said their leader, turning his gaze on her after looking at the ashes for a few moments, an unreadable expression on his face. "I cannot say I saw that coming. I suppose I'll be relying on you, then."
Slowly, aware of the fact she was being watched by a score of very nervous troopers, Malicia stood up. Pushing down every instinct alongside the rage and humiliation she felt at the motion, she bowed deeply before her new employer.
"I cannot say I expected this either," she said truthfully enough. "But I shall do my best to prove worthy of this … honor bestowed upon me."
The slight twitch of Cain's lips told her that he knew exactly what she really thought of that 'honor', and was enjoying her discomfort and humiliation immensely – as expected from someone who'd earned such favor from the Hungering Goddess. For now, Malicia would play along, because she simply had no choice.
But she would keep an eye out for any way out of her predicament, and on the day she found one, Cain would pay for this outrage. She'd keep him alive, if only so that she could kill him herself if – no, when she broke free.
She swore this to herself, trying to ignore the voice at the back of her mind mockingly saying she was only trying to make herself feel better.
The Envenomed Dagger was a small frigate, its hull marked with the emblem of the Kabal of Murderous Death. Like the rest of the Kabal's fleet, it hung in the void above the mon-keigh world, having disgorged its cargo of warriors to the planet below. Unlike most of the fleet, however, no one was returning to it from the surface.
The frigate's two pilots were completely alone aboard the spaceship, having been chosen to stay behind as part of the endless dance of threats and favors that kept the society of the Dark Eldars turning. There weren't even any slaves they could amuse themselves with : at the Archon's insistence, the holds of the entire fleet had been emptied before their departure, so that there would be more space for fresh captives. It had made the journey here difficult, as the grip of She-Who-Thirsts grew stronger and stronger the longer they remained in the Materium, but Vileheart had a way of teaching his subordinates not to defy his orders, however stupid they thought them to be.
What was happening on the planet wasn't clear, but it was obvious something had gone very wrong. Judging by the panicked messages from the retreating raiders, the mon-keighs had used some kind of sorcery to call forth a powerful servant of She-Who-Thirsts, which had devoured Vileheart's soul, or Sarevok's, or those of his entire Incubi retinue. Or there had been an attempted coup by the Hierarch, or a purge of the Kabal by the Archon …
The point was, something had happened, and now what was left of the entire raiding force was running back to the ships. In a way, they were fortunate to be left with only each other, since the round of promotion-seeking murders had already started on the Dark Tormentor. The Kabalites who had made the trip aboard the Envenomed Dagger were either dead or had decided to go aboard the Dark Tormentor to try their hand at murdering their way up what remained of the Kabal's hierarchy.
"One of the local ships is moving toward our position," said one of the two pilots. "And the mon-keigh on the planet are trying to talk to us."
"We might as well listen," suggested the other with a sneer of disgust at the thought. "It might explain just what in the Depths just happened."
A moment later, a mon-keigh voice echoed from the speakers, proud and confident – not a tone of voice the Drukhari were used to hear coming from mon-keigh :
"This is Ciaphas Cain, leader of Slawkenberg's Liberation Council, addressing the Drukhari vessels in orbit. Your leader is dead. I sent his soul to the Realm of Slaanesh myself. The rest of your troops are either dead or fleeing.
Leave this system, and never return. Tell your brethren, in whatever dark place your kin calls home, that Slawkenberg is protected, and that such will be the fate of all trespassers.
I know you won't listen to my words, despite the defeat we've dealt your kind on the surface. You think yourselves safe in your ships, away from the stronghold. So I shall demonstrate that no, you aren't safe from Slawkenberg's wrath."
The pilots snickered. What did that mon-keigh think that small vessel could do against their fleet ? It didn't even look to have any weapon bigger than an anti-asteroid laser cannon –
There was a flash of light, and the screams of a billion voices shaking the very darkling souls of the pilots. When their vision returned, the Dark Tormentor was split in two pieces rapidly falling down into the planet's atmosphere, and a crack in the fabric of the cosmos shone where the flagship had been but a heartbeat ago. A quick look at the sensors confirmed that, whatever that weapon had been it hadn't left any of the crew alive either, and the two pilots had a feeling they knew exactly where the souls of their Kabal peers had ended up.
The two pilots exchanged glances.
"So, back to Commoragh ?" asked the first.
"Back to Commoragh," confirmed the second.
Working together better than they ever had before, the two pilots began to turn the Envenomed Dagger around, back toward the Webway Portal the Archon had opened within this system for the duration of the raid. Mercifully, the dark gateway was still there, meaning that at least one part of this entire operation was going as planned (the portal had been opened at great cost and effort, and was supposed to remain open for an entire fortnight before shutting down).
The rest of the raiding fleet did the same, staying well clear of the Dark Tormentor's wreckage as they left. Their return to the Dark City would be far from the triumph they had been promised : with all of its leadership gone, the days of the Kabal of Murderous Death were numbered. The moment the news spread, its rivals would come to tear its holdings apart and plunder its resources for themselves. Their chances of surviving there were slim, and depended heavily on how much of the Kabal's treasure they managed to steal ahead of the rest to buy a place into another Kabal.
But at least in the Dark City, they could only get murdered by things that made sense, like poisoned knives, splinter shots, dark matter, or, if they got someone really angry at them, the occasional miniature black hole. Not whatever doomsday weapon these crazy mon-keigh had built.
Victory was theirs, and though it was a glorious thing, there was much aftermath left for Jafar and his people to deal with. Thousands had been displaced from their homes on the capital's outskirts, their habs laid waste by the rampaging Orks : the duty of caring for them while the reconstruction was ongoing fell on the bureaucracy's shoulders.
The damage the Dark Eldars had inflicted upon the palace was the perfect opportunity to remove the last traces of its old aesthetics (which, as was typical of anything constructed at the Giorbas' command, had tended rather to the gaudy and the over-ornamented) too. There was also talk of trying to figure out a way to get the USA fitted with a proper air force, as the handful of transports and converted civilian aircrafts that made up its air fleet at the moment would have been completely useless had they tried to engage the xenos gunships in combat.
Still, the Chief Clerk had managed to steal a moment of peace amidst his many duties, which he was now using to center his thoughts and consider all that had happened with a clear head.
He had sensed Emeli's brief manifestation all the way in the command center, recognizing it at once from the hour of her ascension, which had briefly bathed the whole planet in daemonic energies. The psychic pressure of the Daemon Princess had also been felt by every Dark Eldar still fighting in the palace, their shock allowing the defenders to gain the upper hand in a score of engagements. Combined with the flow of reinforcements pouring from the rest of Cainopolis and their fear of sharing their leader's doom, that had been enough to break the foe, who had fled back to their transports and left the city long before the Handmaidens' arrival.
When he'd introduced his new bloodward, Cain had made it clear that he hadn't seen the Dark Eldar's enslavement (for that was what it was, however ironic) by Lady Emeli coming. Jafar believed him, but the swiftness with which the Liberator had adapted to this unforeseen development was yet another display of his mastery of intrigue, for a true mastermind needed to be able to adapt to the unexpected.
By contrast, Jafar was much more sceptic of Cain's claims that he hadn't been aware of the weapon the Bringers had built aboard the Fist of the Liberator. No matter how good his act of being completely taken aback by the weapon's destructive power had been, it was obvious the Liberator had known all along. The idea that the borgs could build something as devastating as the weapon had proved to be without either Jafar or Cain knowing about it was ridiculous. Which, of course, begged the question of why Cain would act as if he'd been surprised by the reveal.
The only reasonable explanation Jafar could think of was that the Liberator didn't want the Bringers of Renewed Greatness to be aware of how much he knew about their operations. Which only made sense, of course, now that the Chief Clerk thought about it. Cain was playing a long and delicate game of balance between the Council's various factions, and keeping them in the dark as to the full extent of his knowledge and abilities was undoubtedly part of that.
It was the same with the Valhallans. Jafar had been surprised when Cain had ordered the captive Guardsmen be armed so that they could fight off the Ork warband advancing on their prison camp, but to his surprise they hadn't immediately escaped once the greenskins had retreated. Instead, they had offered their expertise in rooting out the Orks before they could dig in and become much more difficult to fully purge. Their officers had presented their proposal as coming from the deep hatred their people felt for that particular xenos breed, but Jafar could see the machinations of the Liberator at work, drawing the Imperials ever closer to joining their cause.
Once again, the Chief Clerk was left in awe of the Liberator's schemes, like a child who has only just learned the basic rules of regicide watching a master play. The feeling only reinforced his determination to increase his own skills until he finally reached the distant stage on which Cain played. By now, his old desire of turning the Liberator into a puppet ruler had mostly faded, although if the opportunity presented itself, it would only be right for him to do so, as Slawkenberg must be ruled by the most cunning mind possible if it were to survive.
Until then, he needed to sharpen his wits and increase his mastery of Tzeentch's arts, so that he could avoid losing standing compared to the other members of the Liberation Council.
On the day following our unexpectedly easy victory against two separate xenos incursions, I awoke with a pounding headache, the consequences of having only managed to fall asleep after getting blackout drunk in my quarters. I was only able to get up to tackle the aftermath thanks to what could only be described as frivolous use of life-saving medicine. While I couldn't claim to understand the minds of the Dark Age of Technology men and women, I was fairly certain curing hangovers hadn't been the Panacea's intended use.
I had managed to get more or less used to Emeli using Krystabel as a vessel during our little render-vous (which was a horrifying enough thought in itself, and didn't bode well for the fate of my immortal soul). But the sight of that Eldar's corpse being reanimated like this had been disturbing in an entirely new way. I hadn't even known she could do something like that – but then, I hadn't really known whether she could do what I'd asked her to do either.
Fear, exhaustion, and, to my own vague surprise, genuine fury at that wretch Vileheart's threats had pushed me to do something I had never considered before. Calling upon Emeli like this had been a gamble, especially given the mysterious shadow Krystabel had talked about and Emeli had mentioned herself. I had half-expected for nothing to happen when I had called her name, thinking that at the very least making it look like I had a plan to prevent Vileheart's resurrection (because of course the race of pain-fuelled predators would be able to come back from the dead, why not) would keep people from panicking long enough for me to figure something out.
Instead, not only had the soul of the Dark Eldar lord ended straight into Emeli's claws, but I had ended up with a brand-new bodyguard. Much as my every instinct rebelled at the prospect of letting a xenos stay close to me, let alone one whose entire species depended on the torment of others to survive, I couldn't reject a gift from Emeli, not without drawing her ire, and this latest demonstration of her power had been a clear reminder of how much of a bad idea that would be.
Malicia was terrifying, though there was admittedly a certain degree of dark amusement to be had from the fact that, however scared of her I was, she appeared to be even more afraid of me due to how close I'd looked to be with a Daemon Princess dedicated to her race's nemesis. Still, her fear of Emeli was understandably greater still, so she looked very determined to keep me from harm, which I could hardly argue against.
And her knowledge of the Dark Eldar society could potentially be useful, in case some other faction decided to try their hand at attacking Slawkenberg. Given what had happened to the leader of the last attempt, I couldn't see why anyone would risk it, but knew better than to take anything for granted. There hadn't been time for her to tell me much, but what little I'd learned already made me a lot more understanding of the reasons why the Inquisition kept such things from the general public. If nothing else, it certainly must cut on the use of sleeping aids and soothing medicines.
Jurgen and Malicia weren't exactly going along well, but the Valhallan had reluctantly conceded to her presence eventually, making it clear that their respective duties didn't intersect : he was my aide, and she was my bloodward. Given that I could hardly imagine Malicia helping me with paperwork or bringing me recaf while I worked, that was probably best for all involved. I'd given Malicia a suite next to mine in the Liberation Palace, convincing her to leave me alone after letting her do a sweep of the ex-Governor's quarters to check for traps, poisons, and other threats.
Of course, there was the matter of the rest of Slawkenberg's reaction to Malicia's presence to consider. Only the soldiers who had participated in the battle of the Liberation Palace had actually faced the Dark Eldar, but she was hardly the most reassuring-looking creature in the galaxy. Krystabel had suggested I assign her to do some public work, like assisting with the delivery of emergency supplies to those displaced by the damage the Orks had inflicted upon the capital.
I was almost certain she'd been joking, though judging by the look on Malicia's face at the suggestion it would apparently have been torture for her. Which, given what I knew of Drukhari 'civilization', I supposed made sense.
To address that problem, I had made up some groxshit for the masses in my victory speech, in between spouting platitudes about how, through the bravery of the USA and the ingenuity of the borgs, we had triumphed over two of the great evils the Imperium used to threaten its enslaved worlds into compliance. In what was possibly the single biggest lie I had ever told since landing on this miserable planet, I claimed that upon witnessing the returned spirit of the Lady Emeli, Malicia had seen the error of her kin's dark ways and pledged herself to the cause of the Liberation Council, receiving Emeli's blessing to stand at my side and protect me from all who sought me harm.
Somehow, it had worked, according to Jurgen's report of the rumors' mill. The Succubus wasn't going to feel welcome anytime soon, but at least that should prevent name-calling and stone-throwing. Not that I really cared about her being subjected to either, but I did care about needing to clean up the bloodshed that would inevitably ensue, as she'd already demonstrated her martial prowess against a cluster of greenskins who had gone to ground within the city's outer perimeter, much to the amazement of the troopers.
Meanwhile, the borgs had already sent naval ships to recover the pieces of the Drukhari flagship that had fallen into the ocean. Combined with the various prizes taken from the xenos' corpses, Tesilon-Kappa's people were very enthusiastic about their future studies. I had reminded them to be very careful, as there was no telling what kind of booby-trap the Dark Eldars had placed inside their gear, and was almost sure they had heard me over their own greed for precious xenotech.
I had personally congratulated the borgs who had worked on the Fist of the Liberator's weapon, giving them medals along with the rest of the ship's crew for their heroic action. I had also made it clear that if they or anybody else tried to run that kind of weapons program without proper authorization again, I would have them stripped of their augmetics and dumped in the uncharted depths of Emeli's Gift. Which might seem a bit of an over-reaction, except for the fact that the weapon in question had left a scar on the very fabric of reality, one that showed no sign of healing (if such a word was appropriate) any time soon, and that the weapon itself had been built around a salvaged Warp Core from one of the destroyed ships of Karamazov's retribution fleet.
As far as our auspexes could tell, there was now an unstable portal leading to some other, unknowable realm of existence (it wasn't the Warp, the borgs were almost certain of that) where the Drukhari flagship had been. It blazed with light like some kind of false-sun, bright enough to make close inspection difficult. Thankfully, the anomaly appeared to be immobile relative to Slawkenberg's sun (a tidbit of knowledge which had caused me to suffer a lesson about the movement of stars relative to the greater galaxy, which if nothing else had filled me with a renewed sense of my own insignificance in the face of the immensity of the cosmos), so it would be one local year before the planet got close to it again.
In the meantime, the local astronomers were going to have to deal with the fact that there was a new star in the night sky. There was a fierce debate raging among them as to what to classify and call it, and I wasn't convinced Jafar had been entirely pulling my leg when he'd told me his people had needed to get involved to keep the discussions from turning bloody.
I had to admit I was impressed by the way the USA had handled themselves during the crisis. Defeating the Imperial expedition had been laughably easy due to the incompetence of its leadership, and I had expected things to go very differently against a real enemy. Instead, the troopers had held their ground against the Orks, and chased off the Dark Eldar raiders with minimal casualties. Most of the credit for that went to the Panacea, which could heal any injury short of mutilation including the cocktail of toxins the Dark Eldar employed, but there was no denying the USA had demonstrated discipline and martial prowess that wouldn't have shamed any Imperial Guard Regiment I could think of.
While that was good news, since it meant I hadn't been carted off to Commoragh in chains to serve as Vileheart's plaything until he got bored, it was worrying in the long term. Instead of being terrified by their first taste of real combat like any sensible person (or a coward like myself) would be, the Khornate lunatics were revelling in what they saw as a glorious battle, and hungered for more. For now, the hunt for the fleeing greenskins would keep the troopers busy, and there was always the purging of the unmapped sections of Emeli's Gift to keep the most bloodthirsty occupied, but eventually they would get bored, and if there was one thing from my Commissariat training that applied in my present circumstances it was that a bored trooper was a danger to himself and everyone around him.
At least I could console myself with the thought that none of those recent events had negatively affected the Imperium in any way. If anything, our defeat of the xenos had made this corner of the galaxy safer for Humanity as a whole, by removing two separate alien threats. It probably didn't make up for the Guard forces lost to Karamazov's mad crusade, but it was a start, and hopefully by the time my luck finally ran out and I had to explain myself to the God-Emperor I'd have some additional arguments to justify not being thrown into the Realms of Chaos for Emeli to find.
And while I had been surprised when the Valhallans had asked for permission to leave their compound, I'd soon realized it was merely a con to buy as much time as possible to disappear before we started hunting for them. Eventually the charade would be revealed, at which point I would make a grand speech about how disappointed I was in the lack of honor of the Imperium's lackeys, who had taken advantage of the second chance I had so generously offered to them. It would damage my reputation for infallibility a little, but I was confident I could handle it.
All in all, I decided, things could have gone a great deal worse, and I should be able to relax ever-so-slightly for the foreseeable future, confident that all urgent issues had been dealt with.
I was, of course, completely wrong, but in this case ignorance was probably a blessing, as it kept me from screaming and banging my head against the nearest wall until I cracked my own skull open.
So. It seemed the Holy Ordos had underestimated the threat posed by Ciaphas Cain, and rather severely at that. He was no common heretic, that was for sure : Amberley could only take the fact that her identity as an Inquisitor had stayed secret despite being so close to him as a miracle from the Emperor. She'd departed the Liberation Palace once the emergency had passed and the shelters had opened, claiming to want to reunite with her family.
Cain'd let her go without any issue, wishing her all the best and promising that the Liberation Council would look after the people of Cainopolis (how he'd managed to say the name of the capital city with a straight face, she'd no idea). She had thought it a trap at first, but after several days of carefully looking over her shoulder for trails and finding none, she had to accept that either Cain had bought her acting, or he was playing a long game of some kind. The fact that the Succubus hadn't recognized her as Vileheart's prize captive had been nothing short of a miracle, given that even the raiders had done so earlier. Amberley had some skill in making herself look like someone else, but she didn't think that would have been enough to trick a Dark Eldar.
Obtaining supplies had been easy : the government was handing food, water and other basic necessities to anyone who asked in the aftermath of the destruction the Orks had visited on the city's outskirts before their defeat. By pretending that her own home had been among the destroyed buildings, she'd been able to get access to the temporary housing set up for the displaced. After sleeping in the sparse but clean accommodations provided, she had begun her investigation of what was going on here.
She'd even found a small temple to the God-Emperor operating in the capital's suburb, entirely in plain sight and run by a genuine priest of the Ecclesiarchy. Admittedly, the congregation wasn't especially numerous, but the fact it was clearly allowed to continue its activities was shocking to say the least.
She had entered one of the public libraries, a concept that had honestly baffled her at first, until she'd realized the cults ran all the libraries and thus controlled access to knowledge. Except, as far from the tomes she had read, the knowledge inside hadn't been altered in any way to subtly guide readers down the path of Chaos, reinforcing the hold of heresy upon the planetary population.
And really, that hold didn't seem particularly strong at the present, despite the fanatical loyalty the people showed to their glorious Liberator. Admittedly, Amberley hadn't visited any other world which had fallen from the Emperor's Light, but she was ready to bet none of them resembled Slawkenberg.
Not only were the texts made available to the population as accurate as such things tended to be on backwater Imperial worlds, the open public lessons of the Bringers Of Renewed Greatness didn't contain any tech-heresy she could discern (apart from the mere fact that they shared knowledge the tech-priests of Mars considered sacred and reserved to the initiated, which Amberley had always seen as more of a ploy to protect their technological monopoly than a genuine article of faith).
All the stories of people being snatched off the street, never to be seen again, dated from before the rebellion, when the despised Governors had let their thugs roam free, hunting down anyone who dared even utter a whisper of disapproval for the appalling way the planet had been run. There were no tales of 'spirits' being called forth, no mass conversions to the worship of the Ruinous Powers,
And yet, she couldn't forget the sight of the Archon's corpse rising, possessed by what had to be a powerful daemon of Slaanesh, which had called Cain 'beloved' (although if Cain genuinely believed a daemon was capable of love, he was much more foolish than he looked) and bound a Dark Eldar fighter to serving him under pain of eternal damnation.
Cain had the favor of a newly ascended Daemon Princess of Slaanesh, while at the same time enjoying the complete loyalty of the local armed forces, which were clearly under the influence of Khorne (although they were much more disciplined and less kill-crazy than the minions of the Blood God she had encountered before). And unless she missed her guess, the whole planetary administration was slowly being turned into a Tzeentchian cult from the top down.
Only the followers of the Plague God were denied a seat at the table, instead being the target of vehement denunciations in the sermons of every creed she had encountered. In the slowly coalescing faith of the local heretics, Nurgle was the god of despair and acceptance, whereas the Liberation Council preached Mankind's ability to forge its own future, one where each day was brighter than the last.
She needed to continue her investigation. This was far more important than the trafficking ring she had been tracking down before her capture. Cain had all the markings of a Warmaster of Chaos in the making, and while it had been centuries since the most infamous holder of that title had stirred from his exile in the Eye of Terror, the Imperium had more than enough other problems to deal with at the moment. Because, although the Liberator might not have a fraction of the sheer power of the Despoiler at his disposal, he had something arguably even more dangerous.
As an Inquisitor, Amberley was well aware of how subtle the corruption of the enemies of Humanity could be, but while Chaos cults weren't her expertise she had encountered enough of them during her career to realize how abnormal the situation on Slawkenberg was. When a cult (or, as was the case here, a coalition of several) managed to overthrow the rightful rulers of an Imperial world, things always descended into anarchy, backstabbings, and unspeakable horrors unleashed upon the population through Warpcraft. Yet there were none of these on Slawkenberg : instead, cults of opposing Powers were cooperating, sharing spheres of influence with what looked like less in-fighting and politicking than on a typical Imperial world.
The followers of Khorne ran the army, the cultists of Tzeentch the bureaucracy, and the worshippers of Slaanesh were doing charity work, organizing parties, and working to increase the standard of living. Meanwhile, the renegade tech-priests maintained the planetary infrastructure, helped develop industry, and had developed a miracle cure for all diseases which had been made freely available. There was no denying that the people of Slawkenberg weren't just happier now that they had been under Imperial rule : they were also more productive, and the planet as a whole had become much more valuable under Cain's leadership than the vacation world it had previously been. And as far as Amberley could tell, this so-called 'Liberation Council' had accomplished all of this without summoning hordes of daemons or using any kind of infernal sorcery whatsoever.
The implications of it all were very disturbing. While the Despoiler and the Traitor Legions he commanded could compel people into joining Chaos through fear (and, in the most depraved cases, sorcery), this gentle heresy had the potential to spread like wildfire across the worlds of the Imperium. And though the elder Inquisitors whose meeting she'd accidentally stumbled into months ago had been confident Slawkenberg's rebellion was confined to a single star system, Amberley knew the renegades had seized several Warp-capable transports thanks to Karamazov's catastrophic crusade. For now, their efforts were focused on Slawkenberg, but how long would it be before their ambitions extended beyond their borders ?
Something had to be done, and fast. Killing Cain seemed like the most obvious course of action : it was clear that the Liberator was the pillar on which the entire alliance of Chaos cultists rested. Without him, the entire thing would come crashing down, hopefully in a succession crisis that would cripple the threat the system posed to the rest of the Imperium.
Usually, that would be a job for the Officio Assassinorum. Technically speaking, they could only be dispatched by a vote of the High Lords, but the Inquisition had its ways, especially when heretics and xenos were concerned (it was only when the target was still part of the Imperium that the vote was politically important). Unfortunately, Amberley had no mean of contacting them : if there were still astropaths on the planet, the Liberation Council was keeping them safely locked away.
So, in the end, she would have to do it herself, which considering how close she'd been to him, was quite infuriating. At the time, she'd been afraid of turning him into a martyr, but now that she understood more of Slawkenberg's unique brand of blasphemy against the Golden Throne, she realized he was much more dangerous to the Imperium of Man alive than dead.
It wouldn't be easy, especially now that he had a Dark Eldar Succubus soul-bound to ensure his continued existence. And even if she succeeded, her own survival was very unlikely. But it was her duty to the Emperor, and Amberley Vail would not shy from it. It would take time and preparations, but in the end, Ciaphas Cain would die by her hand.
For now, though, she needed to find a job. She couldn't remain dependant on the Liberation Council's generosity forever, if only out of pride. More to the point, it would help build her cover to approach her target. Fortunately, Amberley was a woman of many talents, and she'd played many roles during her career as an Inquisitor. Maybe something like a professional singer ?
Lord Rotkiv of the Endless Agony Coven whistled a joyful tune as he worked. The melody was nicely accompanied by the collection of groans, moans, and quiet pleas for mercy from his caged gallery of test subjects (although really, after the time they had spent in his care the only mercy they could hope for was death, not that he was ever going to give it to any of them).
On his operation table, the Haemonculus' latest subject (a pile of bleeding meat that, at some point, had been a musician of Craftworld … Biel-Tan ? Alaitoc ? He didn't remember) twitched feebly. Rotkiv tutted in disapproval : he'd expected a much greater reaction from the symphony he was playing on the subject's nerves at the moment.
A sudden noise from his collection drew his attention away from his squirming plaything. With a frown, he walked through the labyrinth of his possessions, arranged according to a system that made sense to him alone. The closer he got to the source of the sound, the clearer it became : it was a repeated, insistent tapping of bone against glass. His hands moved to one of the many devices hanging at his belt which could be used as a weapon in a pinch – one such as he wouldn't bother carrying anything so crass as to be only useful in combat, after all.
Soon, Rotkiv reached the source of the noise, which was amidst the pieces of those lesser Drukhari who had begged him for immortality. Had some vermin slipped past his many, many defenses, and was now vainly trying to get access to the frozen treats in their lockers ? If so, he looked forward to cutting it open, as no ordinary beast could have made it through the traps and defenses surrounding his laboratory.
He strode on, his eyes piercing through the gloom with ease – every Haemonculus worth the name had experimented on themselves, and perfect dark vision was among the most basic of enhancements their august brotherhood was capable of. This was where he stored the body parts of the members of the Kabal of Murderous Death who had made accord with him.
Despite the number of different Kabals whose members had hired his services, Rotkiv remembered that particular contract well, for there was a dark creativity within Vileheart's soul that had impressed even him. The dread glory of the old bloodlines truly manifested within Sheev, and Rotkiv had taken great pleasure in the artwork the Archon had commissioned from him – like the living carpet of his throneroom.
Come to think of it, hadn't he heard that the Kabal of Murderous Death was going out to raid –
The Haemonculus' thoughts were interrupted by a sudden noise from his left. The sound was something between a shriek and a sigh, and felt like a pair of rusted daggers being stabbed into his ears. He recoiled from it on instinct, raising a staff that could rip all the blood out of someone's body with the same technology it also used to take biological samples from subjects.
The exsanguination field did nothing to the creature which rushed toward him, slapping the device out of his hand and breaking his wrist in the process, before lifting him up and smashing him against the opposite wall. Pain blossomed into Rotkiv's chest as razor-sharp claws punched through his bloody lab coat and into his guts, but the agony was something the Haemonculus easily ignored, made distant as it was by millennia of life and self-experimentation.
Instead of wasting time screaming, he took a good look at his attacker. It was huge, but lithe, and appeared made of stitched body parts and flowing shadows. Two emerald eyes blazed within its skull, which was covered in what Rotkiv's experienced eyes took only a moment to recognize as the stretched, flayed skin of Sheev Vileheart's face.
Behind the monster, he could see the shattered remnants of the containers which had held the flesh of the Kabal of Murderous Death's leadership, ruined beyond any hope of recovery.
"Hello, Rotkiv," it said through a pair of lips that were entirely too voluptuous compared to the rest of its body. "The Dark Prince has been waiting for you for a long, long time."
"This is not possible," he protested weakly, as black blood poured out of his wounds and mouth. "You cannot be here."
And it was impossible. If daemons had been capable of entering Commoragh, the whole of the Dark City would have been lost thousands of years ago. The entire pocket reality in which the capital of the Drukhari existed was warded beyond anything the lesser races could even conceive of, and no amount of effort was ever spared in maintaining and reinforcing these protections, for every Dark Eldar knew the doom that awaited them all should they fail.
"All things are possible through the power of love, little Haemonculus," purred the daemon. "And it is in the name of my love that I've come to end you and all your works."
"I don't understand," gasped Rotkiv, as its claws buried deeper into his chest.
All around him, he could see his precious laboratory being destroyed as rampant Warp energies caused complex, priceless equipment (some of which predated the Fall and had been acquired at the cost of entire worlds' worth of suffering) to malfunction. In their cages, things that had been denied the release of death for longer than some of the galaxy's sentient races had existed sighed in relief as oblivion beckoned.
"I know," said the daemon. "But you will, though it will not help you."
Then there was pain, darkness, and greater pain still – and this time, Rotkiv of the Endless Agony did scream, just as his uncounted victims had screamed over the ages.
AN : And so the Palpatine expy falls, and so does the creator of the carpet of living puppies. You may now play the galaxy's smallest violin to express your grief at their passing; party hats and balloons are also appropriate.
Malicia Mortalyss, Third Succubus of the Tainted Kiss, is a character from the Caiphas Cain audio drama The Devil You Know. I couldn't find an official transcript of the audio drama, so I wrote her name using the edgiest spelling I could think of.
Fun fact : in the first draft of this arc, I considered replacing Malicia by Maless Darkblade, who is a character of a short comic from issue 63 of Warhammer Monthly. And yes, that character is a genderbent version of Malus Darkblade from Warhammer Fantasy as a Dark Eldar. I recommend you check the comic out yourselves, if only for a laugh.
Fun fact number 2 : while finishing this chapter, I realized that by all rights, Malicia should recognize Amberley as Vileheart's captured Inquisitor, and tell Cain as much. But I didn't want to throw away my plans for Amberley and start over, so I adjusted things so she didn't see her during the journey instead (which, since the Tainted Kiss wouldn't lower themselves to guarding prisoners, I feel makes sense).
That being said, feel free to write what would've happened if the Succubus had recognized the Inquisitor. I know people have been looking forward to more Cain/Amberley interactions. I promise there will be more in the next chapter, now that the pesky issue of two xenos invasion forces has been dealt with.
Speaking of something else absolutely unrelated to the next chapter, I am looking for suggestions for an Harlequin name. For some reason. If you have a funny (but not "universe-breaking" funny) suggestion, please leave it in the comments/reviews.
As always, I look forward to your thoughts and suggestions on this chapter.
Zahariel out.