Once again, Slawkenberg heard the words of Inquisitor Fyodor Karamazov, and the people knew fear as the madman told them that, for their sins, their entire world would burn. The Inquisitor was still broadcasting from his ship, detailing the mechanics of Exterminatus at length when he wasn't ranting about the supposed sins the planet had committed against the God-Emperor that warranted such total annihilation. By now, most had stopped listening, apart from a handful who were either forced to by their duties or morbidly curious as to how far into insanity a supposed agent of the Throne could sink.

There had been no speech from Cain this time, only a brief public announcement by the Liberation Council that their leader was on his way back to Cainopolis, that there was a plan to stop the Imperial madman from destroying the planet, and that everyone should stay calm and cooperate with the authorities. It was short, and without any detail as to how this miracle might be achieved.

Still, there was no panic. All across the planet, work stopped as people returned to their homes to be with their loved ones should the worst come to pass. Temples filled up as hundreds of thousands moved there to pray, some to the new gods they had been taught about, some to the distant Emperor they still refused to believe had abandoned them for daring to dream of a better future, some to whoever was listening, promising to pay any price so long as their loved ones were kept safe. But most of all, they prayed to their hero, their champion : to the Liberator, that he might deliver them from peril once more.

By the time the transport settled on the landing platform of the ex-gubernatorial palace, the stark terror I had felt at Karamazov's proclamation of his intent to subject Slawkenberg to Exterminatus an hour ago had receded to a gibbering, terrified voice at the back of my mind that I could force myself to ignore. Of course, the only reason I wasn't screaming and running for the deepest hole I could find (not that it would help) was that, right after the start of Karamazov's broadcast, I'd been contacted by Jafar telling me Krystabel and him had a plan to save the planet, which required my and Jurgen's presence at the Council's headquarters.

I had really wanted to ask for details, but caution had held me back. There was a chance the Imperials were listening in on our communications, in which case talking about the plan on the vox could ruin my only chance of survival. Instead, I had ordered a flyer to my position as fast as possible, and impressed upon the pilot how urgent the whole thing was. He certainly had taken my orders to heart : if not for how I had much more important things unsettling my stomach, the speed of our return trip might have left me nauseous.

I had thought that Exterminatus, the destruction of a world, was something which required careful deliberation in all but the most urgent of cases, not something any Inquisitor could declare on his own in a fit of pique. Certainly my old tutors, when they had mentioned this terrible tool in the Imperium's arsenal, had made it clear that it was something only deployed in the direst of circumstances, where the planet in question was irrevocably lost or its continued existence posed an urgent threat to the rest of the Imperium. Either they had been mistaken, or Karamazov didn't think the rules applied to him. Considering how he'd acted so far, I was tending toward the latter option.

This wasn't the attitude I'd expected from an Inquisitor. How could Karamazov do this ? Slawkenberg had to be brought back into the Imperial fold, yes, and rebellion against the Golden Throne, however justified, couldn't be tolerated – especially since I knew damn well the Uprising had been supported by the servants of the Dark Powers. But to go straight to Exterminatus after the first military defeat, one that frankly speaking had been caused by Imperial incompetence rather than heretical cunning ? That was unthinkable. I would have thought Karamazov was bluffing to convince us to surrender, except one of the first things he'd said in his (still ongoing, I quickly checked, did the man never shut up ?) broadcast was that 'only the God-Emperor could grant salvation to our miserable souls'.

The moment the flyer landed, Jurgen and I got out of our seats. I gave a perfunctory thank to the pilot (if we all lived through this, I would make sure to learn his name and give him some kind of commendation, as that really had been impressive flying, but at the moment I was rather distracted) and rushed outside. Jafar was there waiting for us, and he gestured for us to follow him, the three of us walking briskly through the corridors. The building felt oddly empty, most of the workers having left to be with their families.

"You said you had a plan," I told the head paper-pusher without preamble. "Explain."

"Lady Krystabel and I talked after the madman's proclamation," the cultist of Tzeentch said without a hint of irony, though I suppose he had never ordered a planet's destruction. "We believe that by combining the efforts of my acolytes with her sisterhood's most experienced members, we can use sorcery to teleport a group of warriors aboard the Inquisitor's ship in orbit. Once there, Gods willing, they can stop the Exterminatus. We've been preparing for it since then."

It was a bold plan. It was also heretical, and almost guaranteed suicide for those who took part in it. But unfortunately, it was also the only shot at survival we had. I had considered ordering the few crafts we had in orbit to try to stop the Pyroclast Retribution from firing, by ramming the ship if necessary. But while I was reasonably certain the crews would have obeyed that order (their families were on the planet, after all), a quick moment of studying the situation in space had made me realize it would be pointless. The Pyroclast Retribution had more than enough conventional firepower to annihilate our vessels : there was a reason why it had escorted the troop transports on its own.

As for Jafar and Krystabel starting the preparations without asking for my approval, time was of the essence, and comms security had prevented them from asking for it. Even in the Guard, such a show of initiative would have been approved by any officer knowing his business.

"How many people would you be able to send ?" I asked.

"With the help of sir Jurgen to power the ritual, around twenty."

Meaning that my aide wouldn't be one of those sent across, I realized. A shame : his powers would have been very useful in the confined spaces of a spaceship.

"A ship like that must have a crew of thousands," I pointed out. "How are twenty soldiers meant to do anything ?"

"We asked Tesilon-Kappa about that," replied Jafar, who I must admit was pretty spry for a bureaucrat, keeping up the pace without any sign of effort. While not as out of shape as most Administratum drones I'd met, he wasn't particularly muscular either, and I wondered whether it was adrenaline or the gifts of his infernal patron which were helping him along. "They have volunteered to be part of the boarding party, and think that they can use their skills to assist."

"I see." For a moment, I dared to hope that I would make it through after all. Then Jafar spoke up again :

"Of course, the so-called holy wards around the ship would normally make this all but impossible with our resources, but with a soul of your stature among the boarding party, such obstacles will be swept away."

I nearly fell on my face as his words registered.

"What do you mean by that ?" I asked, barely managing to keep my voice level.

"Lady Krystabel was contacted by her mistress while we were making preparations," he said. "She told her that she'll assist from her side of the Veil, but you need to be part of the ritual for it to succeed, so that the blessings of the Dark Gods favor our efforts."

I wanted to scream and curse Emeli, but I held my tongue. There was no getting out of this now : I was going to have to be part of this suicide mission, and I wouldn't even have Jurgen with me to crush anyone in our way to bloody paste.

On the other hand, while the thought of boarding an Inquisitorial ship rightfully filled me with terror, my chances of survival might actually be better than if I stayed here. At least I would be able to do something, as opposed to simply sitting down drinking amasec and waiting for the end while trying to come up with an excuse the Emperor would accept before He hurled my soul into the Realms of Chaos. And even if the mission failed and Slawkenberg was destroyed, I would still have a chance, however remote, to hide aboard the Pyroclast Retribution and escape.

I was going to do my damn best to prevent the Exterminatus from being fired, of course. I may be a selfish, deceitful coward who had broken his oaths to the Golden Throne in order to save his miserable hide, but I had to draw the line at letting billions of people die in fire just so that all traces of my sins would be consumed in the flames. However, if the operation failed, well. No point in throwing away my life for no reason.

The three of us arrived in the room where the ritual's preparations were taking place. A ritual circle had been drawn on the white stone floor, and fourteen cultists stood around it at regular intervals : eight wearing the cerulean robes of Tzeentch's acolytes, who were soon joined by Jafar himself, and six the much more revealing clothing of Emeli's Handmaidens. Krystabel was among them, and she nodded at me with a very pretty smile as I entered. I returned her nod, knowing that for all I knew Emeli was looking through her eyes now (and wasn't that particular revelation worrying).

As he took his place at the sixteenth and last position around the circle, Jurgen looked at me like a kicked canine, and I felt compelled to lay a hand on his shoulder.

"I'll be careful, Jurgen," I said, which was perfectly true. "Don't worry : I'll be back before you know it."

He nodded silently, then closed his eyes and started to meditate. I turned to look at the rest of the group within the circle : apart from Tesilon-Kappa, there were eighteen USA troopers in full carapace armor. Mahlone had chosen the best of his soldiers for this, and it showed. Each of the twenty troopers was a hulking brute of a man, giving me the unusual experience of being smaller than everyone around me. All of them were carrying weapons for close-quarters combat, and stood at attention as I approached.

"You all know what is at stake," I told them. "Though this will be far from easy, our plan is simple. Once we are aboard the enemy ship, we will follow Tesilon-Kappa's guidance to sabotage its Exterminatus capabilities. Once that is done, we will use the ship's own evacuation methods to get the frak out of there and back to the planet."

"Make no mistake : this will be the most dangerous thing any of us has ever done. From the moment we arrive, everyone outside this group should be considered an enemy to be dispatched with all haste. We will need to adapt to unforeseen circumstances and threats on the fly, surrounded by enemies that will outnumber us a thousand to one, and we will need to move quickly, lest it all be for nothing. But I have faith that together, we will succeed, and save this world from the madman who threatens it. Any questions ?"

There weren't any, meaning I couldn't delay this any longer. Still, my training as a Commissar forced me to add :

"Know that if you fall this day, it will be as heroes, and you will be remembered for as long as Slawkenberg stands." I closed my eyes, and said : "Begin the ritual !"

Again, there was a sense of growing pressure as Jurgen drew upon the limitless energy of the Warp, sending it flowing through the circle. The eyes of the other witches began to glow as they changed guttural words that were just on the edge of being recognizable – then there was a flash of something that was light in the same way the Daemon Princess Emeli was the same woman I'd met what felt like a lifetime ago, and the Materium fell away, a cheap painting kicked aside to reveal the horrific majesty that lurked behind it.

It lasted an instant; it lasted forever.

I saw things I cannot describe as everything I was and could ever be was hurled through the Immaterium, until I sensed a barrier in the distance, one that pretended to be golden but was merely cheap gilding laid over blood-red rusted iron. As I approached, I felt a sudden fear that I would smash against that barrier and be broken to pieces, scattered across the Sea of Souls.

Suddenly, I felt a presence watching over me, keeping the other predators at bay and tearing at the gilded light that stood before me. I knew at once that this was Emeli, protecting me and opening the way. For a timeless moment, I felt the fire of what she felt for me, its warmth threatening to consume everything that I was.

Then the insanity of the Empyrean abruptly vanished. As my senses returned, I found myself standing in a corridor, surrounded by metal vibrating to the noise of distant engines. The gravity was subtly different from Slawkenberg's : I was on the Pyroclast Retribution. The ritual had worked.

Then I realized that I was alone. There was no trace of the USA troopers or Tesilon-Kappa around me.

Frak.

My hand reached for my comm-bead before stopping. The borgs' goodies were good, but if I was worried about comms being intercepted from orbit, then the risk was far greater here. The Imperials wouldn't even need to decrypt the transmission : merely detecting it would tell them someone was aboard who shouldn't be. I left the comm-bead on receiver, although I was hoping that any others who had successfully made it to the ship would be smart enough to realize the same thing I had.

Alone, I drew my weapons and cautiously started to walk. My hive-rat's senses didn't hear anybody close by : I seemed to have been lucky enough to end up in an unoccupied section of the ship.

I emerged from what I now realized had been some sort of maintenance passage running parallel to the ship's actual corridors, and into a small antechamber, where several passages met before a pair of heavy ornamented wodden doors. The High Gothic engraved atop the doors indicated that this led to the ship's chapel (or at least one of them : given that this was an Inquisitorial ship, there were probably more across the decks).

The doors weren't completely closed, and I could faintly hear a voice coming from the other side. It sounded vaguely familiar, and after a moment I realized why. Not believing I could be so unlucky, I cautiously approached the entrance, intending to take a look through the interstice between the massive wodden doors to confirm what my intuition was telling me.

So intent was I on not making any sound that I missed the small puddle of candle wax dripping from the chandelier lighting up the room. Just as I was bending over to put my eye against the opening, I slipped, and instinctively threw my hands up to catch myself. Unfortunately, the doors in front of me were very well-oiled, and the end result was that they slammed open with a thunderous boom, while I stumbled directly into the room as I tried to restore my balance.

The chapel of the Pyroclast Retribution was a typical example of Gothic architecture : a single, long nave with rows of uncomfortable-looking pews, held up by pillars decorated with scenes of triumphant angels at the top and burning heretics at the bottom. At the end of the room was a ten-meters high golden statue of the Emperor, in His aspect as the Judge : the statue's face was set into a wrathful scowl, and His gauntleted hands held a greatsword pointing down. At the foot of the statue was an altar, and there, standing before the altar and staring at me with wide, bloodshot eyes, was Inquisitor Fyodor Karamazov himself. A servo-skull floated next to him, and it slowly turned to look at me as I stood there, petrified.

Then I remembered that Karamazov had still been broadcasting when the ritual had taken place. Meaning that, right now, the entire planet could see me. I was still trying to process that thought when Karamazov shook himself of the shock of seeing me first :

"You," he said, putting more hatred into that single word than I'd have thought possible. "Ciaphas Cain."

Of course he recognized me. He probably hadn't known my name when he arrived in the system, unless the astropaths had been able to send a much more detailed message than I thought possible under the circumstances, but he had to have watched the broadcast I'd made in response to his initial proclamation. Meaning that, unless Karamazov had been stupid or arrogant enough not to send any information back to the rest of the Imperium (which, given his actions so far, I gave fairly good odds), my part in the Uprising would soon be known to the Commissariat.

"Inquisitor Karamazov," I replied as if I'd just dropped in for a spot of tea and a game of regicide. "I've come here to stop you from destroying Slawkenberg."

He laughed. "Do you expect me to believe that ? I know your kind, heretic. You care nothing for the lives of your followers. You came here seeking the glory of killing me, so that you could earn the favor of your dark masters."

"You think I care about glory ?" I replied incredulously. "Glory means nothing to me. I don't want to be here. Just like I don't want for Slawkenberg to be threatened, for everyone on it to risk death because you can't handle how badly you have frakked up."

"You dare ?!"

Karamazov drew his power sword and charged. I fired with my bolt pistol, but my shot was blocked by a shimmering field : the Inquisitor had some kind of personal force field keeping him safe from ranged attacks. I barely had time to holster my gun and take hold of my chainsword with both hands before he reached me.

"You will die first," he spat in my face. "The rest of your miserable rebellion can watch me kill you, and know that they are next. None are beyond the reach of the Emperor's judgement !"

He pulled his sword back for another blow, which I blocked, before launching a riposte he battered aside. As we duelled beneath the Emperor's stone gaze, the Inquisitor continued to rant, but I tuned him out. Every bit of my focus was needed simply to stay alive. I was taller than Karamazov, but he had the advantage of experience and a fanatic's strength. More importantly, his weapon was just plain superior to mine.

Every time our blades clashed, some of my chainsword's adamantium teeth flew out, damaged by the power sword's energy field. If this continued, before long my weapon would break completely, and I would be left with nothing but my bolt pistol and harsh words to defend myself with. My suit of carapace armor wouldn't protect me from a power sword : if it came to it, I was doomed.

Drawing upon every ounce of my training by my old Schola tutor Miyamoto de Bergerac, I caught Karamazov's downward strike. The sword was so close to my face I could almost feel its energy field against my skin, and with a shriek of terror I twisted my chainsword around the blade before hurling it from Karamazov's hands and sending it flying through the air.

The flow of adrenaline coursing through my blood drove me onward. Before the Inquisitor could react I struck with all my strength, sending him stumbling backward with his guts spilling from the eviscerating blow I had just landed. He caught himself on the altar at the foot of the statue of the God-Emperor, staring at me with wide eyes, before his own power sword fell point first through his skull, pinning him to the altar and killing him instantly.

I panted heavily, my heart beating as though I'd just run through one of the insane training courses I'd designed for the USA even if the fight had only lasted for a minute at most. Once I'd recovered, I sheathed my chainsword and walked toward the altar on which the Inquisitor's corpse laid. A pendant hung across his neck, in the shape of the Inquisition's stylized 'I', its chain severed by the blade that had killed its owner. Pushed by some nameless instinct, I picked it up and pocketed it.

"Lord Liberator," said the servo-skull at this point, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

"… Tesilon-Kappa ?" I asked after a few seconds, because I couldn't think of anyone else who might contact me like this. "Is that you ?"

"It is," the skull confirmed. "I am glad to see you are well : when you didn't rematerialize with me and the rest of our party, I feared the worst."

"So did I, when I came to alone," I told them honestly. "I'm glad you made it through as well. Where are you ? And come to think of it, how are you talking to me right now ?"

"To answer both of your questions : the soldiers and I have reached the engineering deck and disabled the tech-priests there. Using the consoles there, I have bound the ship's machine-spirit to my will : I see everything the ship sees. It is quite exhilarating, if mentally exhausting."

Well, that was good to hear. I didn't know much about how starships worked, but maybe they could move the ship away from Slawkenberg so the Exterminatus ammunition couldn't be fired –

"I have set the plasma reactor into overdrive," Tesilon-Kappa continued. "It will detonate within twenty minutes, which will be before the Exterminatus is ready for deployment. I advise you to leave before then, Lord Liberator."

I held back from screaming at Tesilon-Kappa, knowing that alienating them would risk my only chance at getting out of this ship alive.

"Do you have access to the ship's schematics ?" I said instead. "Can you tell me where to go ?"

"We are moving to the landing bay one deck below your current position," they replied immediately. "I can see a transport we can use to get off the ship : judging by its markings, it belonged to the Inquisitor himself, so none of the crew will dare nor be able to get onboard without us. This servo-skull will guide you there. By my calculations, there should be just enough times for us to get clear."

No sooner had they finished talking that alarms started blaring through the entire ship as their sabotage of the plasma reactor triggered them. The servo-skull began flying away at speed, and I ran to keep up with it, sparing no further glance for the skewered corpse of Fyodor Karamazov.

Krystabel stood on the landing platform, a smile on her lips, as she watched the gunship descend from the skies. Even from this distance, she could tell it was more advanced than anything she had ever seen on Slawkenberg, though there would be need for some cosmetic modifications before it could be a steed suitable for the champion it carried.

Around her stood the other members of the Liberation Council, as well as an honor guard to greet the Savior of Slawkenberg. She could hear the sounds of celebration emanating from all of Cainopolis as the people rejoiced that their doom had been averted. The whole planet had witnessed the Liberator's duel with Karamazov, heard his fury as the mad Inquisitor had promised to make the world into a monument to the ruin his vile kind would inflict on all who dared rise from under the Imperium's crushing boot. And then, they had seen the fireball in the sky as the ship had been destroyed. Thankfully, Jafar had thought to broadcast Cain's survival immediately, before the thought that the Liberator might have sacrificed himself to save them had time to settle in.

With the threat of Exterminatus removed, the agents of the Council had returned to work, in order to address the most pressing concerns while the rest of the planet celebrated. The Guardsmen who had surrendered were being brought into temporary detention camps until more permanent accommodations were ready. With their base in the mountain resort empty, the USA had started moving the gear they had left behind with the seized transports, adding the tanks and heavy vehicles that had been stranded to their arsenal.

Before the Pyroclast Retribution had detonated, its crew had fled, a rain of escape pods that were even now plunging across the planet like a rain of meteors. The USA had mobilized to capture those survivors before they could get far from their landings, lest they go to ground and become a new threat for the population.

Meanwhile, in the void, Slawkenberg's defence flotilla had moved in immediately after the destruction of the Imperial flagship. A couple of the transport ships had been far enough away from the Pyroclast Retribution to avoid damage and were well on their way out of the system, but the remaining three had been caught in the blast and were in the process of being boarded. While they lacked firepower of their own, their capture was the first step to spreading the creed of the Liberation Council beyond Slawkenberg.

There was much left to do, but for now, Krystabel wanted to enjoy this moment. Such was the way of Slaanesh, after all. Krystabel knew her mistress was watching through her eyes : she could feel her presence through the bond that had been forged between them in the House of Remembrance. That bond had only grown stronger now, her participation in today's great work bringing her soul closer to the ineffable glory of the Empyrean.

When they had performed the ritual, she had sensed the added weight of millions of souls praying for salvation, granting even more power to the working. It might have succeeded without it, of course, but at the very least the unexpected support had lessened the strain on Jurgen, as well as made her mistress' self-appointed task of safeguarding her beloved's spirit during the journey easier.

Krystabel didn't think the Liberator had planned for it to happen, exactly. But she knew how the people of Slawkenberg would react to the miracle that had saved them, once the rush of relief had passed and they had time to think. Especially with the preachers of her and Jafar's creeds making sure word spread of how that deliverance had been achieved. They would flock to the true gods, whose champion had stood between them and obliteration.

The boarding ramp of the gunship came down, and out strode Ciaphas Cain, flanked by the USA troopers who had survived the operation. The contrast between their damaged wargear and his impeccable attire spoke of the Liberator's martial skill – Krystabel wasn't so foolish as to disregard the prowess of the USA, even if their devotion to the God of War made them unimaginative boors.

She knelt, along with everyone else on the platform.

"Welcome back, my lord," she said.

Slowly, painfully, the mind that called itself Fyodor Karamazov awoke. Memory was the first thing to return, and with it came the burning sting of failure.

He was dead. Cain, the heretic, had killed him. A flash of phantom pain ran through him as he remembered the renegade's chainsword ripping him apart.

He had failed. The heretic yet lived, and if Cain could reach him in the middle of his ship then he doubted his servants would be able to stop him – for how could they succeed where one such as he had failed ? And so, instead of being purged by fire, Slawkenberg would continue to exist, a tumor within the holy body of the Imperium.

He opened the memory of eyes, ready to prostrate himself before the Golden Throne and subject himself to the judgment of the God-Emperor.

But there was no radiance, no divine fire ready to purge the unworthy and remake the blessed so that they might stood at His side and share His vigil for all eternity. Instead, there was smoke and bone, and the sounds of decadence. The air reeked of scents he couldn't identify, but knew to be unholy.

… this wasn't the Golden Throne.

"No," said a voice like knives cutting through silk. "It isn't."

A figure moved in front of him. It was impossibly tall, larger than the Titans he had once been graced with the chance to witness crushing the enemies of the Throne. His mind refused to process its appearance, showing him only a pair of emerald eyes shining wickedly amidst a sea of roiling shadows.

"Hello, Fyodor," it said. "I am Emeli, and you tried to hurt my beloved Ciaphas."

"God-Emperor," he muttered, forcing the words out, "protect Your faithful servant's spirit …"

"The Anathema isn't here, Fyodor. He won't help you."

"No ! I have spent my entire life serving Him ! I have killed thousands of heretics in His name ! He would not abandon me ! You lie !"

"I have no need to lie. Call for Him all you like. He will not come. Not for you, who has killed so many innocents."

"There are no innocents, only degrees of guilt ! All who died at my hand did so for His glory !"

"Is that so ? Then I guess you must be guilty too. Else why would you be here ?"

No. No, this couldn't be true. The daemon was lying. All daemons lied, it was all their kind did ! He knew this to be true !

"But … but …"

"Oh, don't worry." The abomination chuckled coquettishly. "You will have all the time in eternity to understand the magnitude of your failures."

As the small, pathetic specter that was all that remained of Karamazov's soul was dragged to its doom by her daemonic servants, Emeli giggled to herself. Such a thoughtful gift her beloved had sent her ! Breaking Karamazov's delusions would be a rare pleasure : Inquisitors were usually far too drab and lacking in imagination to end up in Slaanesh's domain upon their death. But someone as self-righteous and obsessed as Karamazov was another matter entirely.

She needed to do something nice for her dear Ciaphas to thank him for his present. She didn't want him to think she was ungrateful, after all ! Maybe send another of her Handmaidens to him ? He certainly had enjoyed Krystabel when they had met in that nice disguised temple he'd built for her. Or perhaps that would be too repetitive ?

Oh ! Oh ! She had the most delightful idea. It would take some work, but her beloved would really appreciate it ! And besides, with the power of love, what couldn't she accomplish ?

AN : And so ends the story of Fyodor Karamazov, whose early death may or may not end up having massive repercussions of its own for the Imperium. Cain's reputation grows alongside the assets of the Liberation Council, while in the Warp Emeli is determined to continue HALPING.

Lots of people reacted to my wondering if this was still a crack fic last chapter by pointing out that 40K is, by default, a crack setting, and I should keep going on as I have. Thanks you all for the support.

Concerning the duel between Cain and Karamazov : in canon, Cain's swordsmanship is credited to the days he spent practicing during his slow descent toward Perlia, then his time training with the Reclaimers (combined with a lifetime trying to run away from danger and ending up fighting opponents way above his weight class). In this timeline, Cain has spent the last few months having regular matches with followers of Khorne who were getting increasingly stronger thanks to his insane training schedule.

That's all for now. I hope you enjoyed reading this latest installment of dear Cain's misadventures. Next chapter will contain Emeli's thank-you gift to Cain : I look forward to your theories as to its nature and how it will make Cain scream internally.

Zahariel out.