Chapter 3: Trick or Treat, Inquisitor
Gregor stood resolute as the sun dipped below the horizon and night flooded the town. The streets, so recently filled with revelers, were now empty aside from the Inquisition squads on high alert. Mutters of prayer and the hum of activated power weapons cut through the ominous silence.
A blood-curdling screech rent the air. Spinning around, Gregor glimpsed a shadowy, emaciated form briefly silhouetted against the moon before it disappeared over the rooftops. More shrieks and cackles erupted from all around them. The things lurking beyond sight were growing bolder.
"Steady, brothers," said Gregor calmly. "Abominations will find no purchase here." The space marines and priests tightened their grips on bolters and staffs.
A scattershot of impacts struck Gregor's armor. Looking down he saw small pieces of eggshell and gobbets of rotting fruit sliding down his chestplate. He glanced up; the inn's upper windows were now filled with leering faces. They hurled more refuse with gleeful cries.
"Your tricks do not amuse us, vermin," growled the captain of Gregor's guard. He raised his bolter to fire a burst at the specters mocking them.
"Hold," commanded Gregor, placing a hand on the captain's barrel. "Waste no ammunition on these illusions." The faces dissipated into vapors before the bolts could connect.
A child's shrill voice cut through the darkness. "Trick or treat!" Gregor turned to see children in skeletal costumes gathered around a priest, hands greedily extended toward his robes. The priest backed away nervously, brandishing his iron warding rod as the "skeletons" closed in.
"Back spawn!" roared Gregor. He snatched up the nearest child, a boy whose face was painted into a death's-head rictus. Gregor held him aloft, noting the very solid weight. "You all have the smell of the warp about you. Now where do these offerings go?"
The boy grinned viciously. "To the old ones below, Inquisitor. If you wish to meet them yourselves, just keep wandering where you shouldn't."
With surprising force, the boy lurched from Gregor's grip and scampered off, his bony compatriots in tow. Before they disappeared into the darkness, the "skeletons" turned back and sang in eerie unison "Trick or treat, smell our feet, we shall see where the night will lead..."
Gregor muttered a warding prayer. Events were quickly spiraling beyond his control. They needed to find the source of this planet's darker power before the older, crueler traditions began at midnight. He hoped the Emperor would grant them enough time to see the dawn.
...
Deeper among the shadowed buildings, the nature of the tricks grew more sinister. Screams echoed from narrow alleys as Throne Agents were set upon by shifting, writhing things that clung to their flesh and dragged them into the dark. Gunfire and flame brought no release.
On the central square, a circle of robed figures had gathered around the wicker men. Gregor approached warily, bolter leveled. The robed figures swayed and chanted in an unknown tongue, feeding pulses of eldritch energy into the wicker constructs. The trapped, flaming faces of the wicker men twisted in agony.
With a crackle of light, the tallest wicker figure began to move. It leaned down, still burning, and pulled a loose cobblestone from the street. Stone ground on stone as it etched strange glyphs in a circle around the cultists. Sickly warp flames sprang up around the markings.
Gregor sighted down his bolter but hesitated. To open fire could unleash forces beyond their control. The sorcerers' protection rituals were nearing completion as the wailing wicker men shuddered above them. All the while, the chanting continued as foul shapes obscured by wreaths of smoke took form around the arena.
The decision was made for Gregor as a chorus of bovine groans erupted from side streets feeding the square. Gregor turned and felt true fear. Lumbering down the narrow lanes were pale figures the size of Astartes in bloody butcher aprons. Horned skull masks concealed their faces, but nothing could hide the unnatural hunger in their movements toward the living guards in their path.
Chainsaw revs and flames flooded the darkness as monstrous, white-eyed daemons wearing the flesh of ancient Terran fears joined the slaughter.