Victory.
To the USA troopers defending their foothold in Skitterfall against the hordes of the Infected and the daemons, victory came when the plague-ridden flesh of the city's inhabitants faltered and failed, crumbling down on the ground. As the vox-network returned to functionality, they heard of the Liberator's triumph in the palace, and roared their praises of Cain to the clearing skies. Among them, the Ravager Hektor, covered from head to toe in Infected guts, lowered his weapons, and laughed with delirious joy as the realization fully hit him that the battle was over, and the Nails still weren't biting.
To the daughters of Valhalla who had held the line at Glacier Peak against the Infected hordes for months, victory came when Colonel Kasteen voxed them and, after a series of code words were exchanged to confirm her identity and that she wasn't under duress, told them the source of the evil besetting Adumbria had been destroyed. Within minutes, the news spread to the civilians, who wept and gave prayers of thanks to the God-Emperor for their deliverance. Those who were more aware of where their salvation had truly come were more circumspect, worrying about the future even as they too cheered for the source of the Infection's defeat.
To the people of Slawkenberg, victory came when the image of the Liberator emerging from the crumbling lair of his foes, holding in his arms the child he'd rescued from that den of evil, reached them through the ansible. Within hours, that image was put on every screen and print-sheet on the planet, along with numerous stories of the USA's brave efforts in Skitterfall. Celebrations of thanksgiving to the Powers took place across the planet, and preparations immediately began for a proper triumph upon the Liberator's return.
And within the halls of the Liberation Palace, work continued apace to make sure the wheels of government continued to turn smoothly, while Tesilon-Kappa gave the order to begin building a new Liberator Armor to replace the one lost in battle at once. This was the first off-world victory of the Liberation Council, and all vowed that it would not be the last.
For under the leadership of Cain, the banner of Liberation would spread across the stars.
As she slowly returned to consciousness, the first thing Regina became aware of was the pounding headache in her skull. The second was the feeling of the silky sheets around her body, and the comfy mattress underneath it.
She blinked, trying to force herself awake, and took stock of her surroundings. She was laying on a large bed, in a room whose lavish furnishing couldn't completely hide the metal walls, ceiling and floor, nor could the thick carpet mute the distant sounds of an engine, which Regina recognized as signs that she was on a ship.
Now she remembered. After their victory at Skitterfall, the USA had begun their withdrawal back to orbit, so that the Slawkenberg fleet could bombard the city to destroy any lingering traces of the plague. Regina had accompanied them, then she had joined in the celebrations taking place all across the ships …
A door opened, revealing Krystabel walking in with a glass of water in one hand and a Panacea injector in the other, while wearing far less than would have been socially acceptable if there'd been anyone else present.
Ah, now Regina remembered. Well, if she hadn't already been damned in the eyes of the Imperium before, she definitely was now. And the worst part was, she wasn't sure she'd do anything differently if she had the chance to go back. After months of increasingly desperate battles to keep the survivors of Adumbria alive against the Infected hordes, she had really needed to de-stress, and couldn't help but feel she'd deserved to enjoy the celebrations of the last evening and the night that had followed.
She drank the proffered water gratefully, before looking at the syringe with an eyebrow raised. She recognized its contents, having seen it used plenty yesterday, but she couldn't think of why Krystabel was handing her a Panacea injector right now.
"Really ?" she asked. "For a hangover ? Isn't that overkill ?"
Krystabel shrugged. "Rank does have its privileges, but in this instance it has nothing to do with it. You were in a Nurglite-infected zone just yesterday, and we've enough of the stuff to spare that every soldier who was deployed there is getting a shot today on Cain's orders. Better safe than sorry when it comes to Nurgle's vile tricks, he said."
With a grimace, Regina conceded the Handmaiden's point and picked up the injector. The design wasn't that different from the stimms she'd been taught to use in the Guard, and within moments her headache faded away. Despite herself, she couldn't stop a little groan of relief, which made Krystabel's smile grow fractionally wider.
"Thanks, I needed that. Speaking of Cain, where is he ?" With the fog of alcohol clearing, Regina's memories from the previous night returned, and she fought down a blush. "I, huh, I didn't imagine him being here last night, right ?"
Krystabel laughed at her embarrassment. "No, you didn't, though I definitely see why you'd think he couldn't possibly have been real." She sighed dreamily, before becoming serious again : "He left us to rest in peace once we were done. Really, that man. He needs to learn to relax more instead of being so focused on his duty."
That wasn't how Regina would've described Cain, but she guessed it made sense that Krystabel would see him like this. The Handmaiden was clearly enamoured with the Liberator, and Regina could see why.
"So, what happens now ?" she asked.
"First, we're eating breakfast and cleaning up," replied Krystabel matter-of-factly. "Then we're returning planetside : from what I hear, your Regiment is eager to get you back."
"I was more talking about … everything," Regina said weakly. Somehow, her Astra Militarum training hadn't covered this exact scenario. "What will happen to Adumbria now ?"
"I think that's one of the things Ciaphas wants to talk about with you today. Even with the Infected gone, Adumbria cannot return to the Imperium, and neither can you. You do realize that, right ?"
"I do," sighed Regina. "I thought about it, of course, but it wouldn't work. Assuming we managed to even get word to the Imperium, which would be a challenge in itself, they wouldn't believe us. They'd think it a trick to spread the plague, and I can't say I'd blame them, since that's definitely something that bastard Adrien would've done."
The thought of that despicable wretch, who had betrayed his entire world to the Plague God in exchange for power despite already enjoying the comfy life of an aristocrat, filled Regina with anger and disgust. She'd known that Imperial nobles rarely lived up to the standards the God-Emperor expected of them, but this was a new low. By all accounts, Adumbria's last Governor had been more or less competent at his job, or at least had known to leave actually running the planet to the people who were trained for this sort of things while enjoying the perks of his privileged position : when the filth-worshipping heretic had made his move, the Governor had been among the first to die.
"And if, by some miracle, we managed to convince someone important that no, we aren't infected," she continued, "then how are we supposed to explain it ? Hiding your intervention wouldn't hold up to the slightest amount of scrutiny. And once our collusion with you is revealed, it'll all be over."
Part of her wanted to blame Cain for cornering her like this, but the simple truth was, they'd all have been walking dead without Slawkenberg's intervention anyway. At least now her Regiment and the survivors of Adumbria actually had a future to worry about, which was more than they'd before the USA flotilla had arrived in-system.
"Exactly," nodded Krystabel. "But you don't need to worry, Regina. Much as we of the Liberation Council don't like the way the Imperium is run, we recognize that there is strength in numbers. And even in its current diminished state, there is much Adumbria can offer us in return for our assistance in recovering."
"And what's to stop you from taking everything you want and leaving Adumbria to its fate ?"
"Other than the strategic importance of this system's position at a Warp crossroads ?" smiled Krystabel. "Come on, now. You know the Liberator wouldn't allow it. The ideals of the Liberation do not allow for slavery, and that is what such a thing would be."
Emperor help her, but Regina believed her. After seeing Cain emerge from the collapsing building as the skies cleared of corruption and the Infected and their daemonic allies fell apart all around them, it was difficult to see him as anything other than a righteous champion of the people.
My office aboard the Fist of the Liberator was smaller than the one back on Slawkenberg, but still large enough for my needs, especially when considering how much of a premium space was at on a starship. I had taken refuge there as soon as my alcohol levels had lowered enough for my survival instincts to kick back into action and scream at me that remaining in the same room as an Imperial Colonel might not be the best move for my long-term prospects. After a quick nap, a strong cup of recaf and a dose of Panacea, I'd thrown myself into work so that I'd have an excuse if Krystabel or Regina came by.
I blamed Krystabel for the whole thing, but at least her involvement should mean Emeli wouldn't be angry about it. As for myself, I could hardly complain : Regina was a fierce red-headed beauty in her own right, in a different way than the Handmaidens of Emeli. The time we'd spent together had been very pleasant indeed – and not something I'd ever have considered while sober.
Fortunately, the after-action reports of the USA deployment at Skitterfall had provided me with plenty of reading material. I had also taken the time to look at the recording of my confrontation with Gurug'ath, which had been witnessed and recorded by multiple troopers and was already being compiled into an appropriate video for diffusion back on Slawkenberg.
Unlike the Imperium, the Liberation Council didn't believe in keeping the existence of daemons secret from the population (at least those which weren't aligned with any of the Powers currently worshipped on the planet, since seeing a Daemonette would probably put some of the civvies off joining the Handmaidens' latest party). But I'd still put my foot down and demanded that the final product be thoroughly checked for any lingering spiritual influence before public broadcast. I did not want some poor soul to be enslaved by Nurgle as a result of seeing something they weren't meant to and starting a cult to the God of Decay right in the middle of Slawkenberg, since such a group would see my gruesome death as the best way to please their malevolent deity.
In the meantime, the recording had helped me clarify just what had happened during the gap in my memories. Gurug'ath's voice was full of static on the recording, which made sense given its unnatural source, but the words were still understandable.
'Inevitable', the bloated thing had said before my freak-out. Merely listening to the word sent a shiver of dread down my spine. How violently I had reacted made sense now. That word had haunted my nightmares for years on and off, accompanied by visions of what I feared the path I was forced to walk would lead to, sooner or later. Except whenever that happened, whenever I woke up in a cold sweat with the sound of my own demented laughter echoing in my skull, I always had to swallow it down along with a bottle or two of amasec. This time, however, I'd had the perfect outlet for my frustrations in front of me.
The whole thing about me threatening Nurgle directly was admittedly a tad more worrying. I could only attribute this utterly uncharacteristic proclamation to my subconscious keeping up the act for the audience of troopers, Jurgen and Malicia, but it was still a bad sign for my mental health. It had worked out this time, but it all too easily could have ended in my grisly demise. I had to get this under control, but it wasn't as if I could go to a chaplain for help … Huh.
There were still followers of the God-Emperor on Slawkenberg, weren't there ? And maybe being visited by the Liberator to ensure that their freedom of worship wasn't being infringed upon could lead to me speaking with a priest in private. I couldn't really confess the full truth, of course, but maybe talking about the nightmares would help. And the only priests of the Imperial Creed left on Slawkenberg by now were the ones with both an ironclad faith in the Throne and enough good sense and kindness to avoid being purged along with the bulk of the Ecclesiarchy, so they wouldn't spread what I told them in confidence.
It would be risky, but going crazy wouldn't help my survival prospects either. In any case, it was something to consider at length, before making any real decision.
"Sir," Jurgen called out from outside my office, pulling me out of my musings. "There's someone here to see you."
"Send them in, Jurgen," I replied, knowing that anyone my aide hadn't politely turned away was someone I really ought to meet.
Then the door opened, and a two-meters giant covered in scars and a simple white robe entered my office and stopped before my desk.
Ah. Yes. Somehow, in all of yesterday's excitement, I had completely forgotten about that report I had received while fighting my way through Skitterfall that a surviving Ravager had been found.
And due to that lapse, I was now in a room with a Khornate transhuman killing machine whose warband had called themselves the Ravagers. Jurgen and Malicia were right here, of course, neither of them having indulged in the celebrations, but I didn't want to bet my life on them being able to react faster than the Ravager could tear my head off. There was a reason Space Marines were the Imperium's greatest warriors, and somehow I doubted falling from the Emperor's Grace and embracing Khorne had caused the giant's martial prowess to diminish.
Which meant that it was time to bluff, and pray that for once my fraudulent reputation would actually be worth the trouble it brought. Plastering the best smile I could fake on my face, I stood up and extended my hand to the Chaos Marine.
"Hello, sir Hektor. How nice to meet you !" I lied shamelessly.
It was rare for Space Marines to feel awkward when meeting someone, rarer still when meeting mere mortals. However, having seen the recording of the Liberator facing off against a Greater Daemon of Nurgle, Hektor was certain there was nothing 'mere' about that particular mortal.
Unlike the many, many human rebel warlords Hektor had encountered before, Cain hadn't succumbed to the madness that affected far too many devotees of the Pantheon. In fact, if he hadn't seen the recording with his own eyes, he'd have thought him an utterly ordinary if comparatively tall male human. The only source of active witchery in the room came from the Liberator's aide, though thankfully the Nails were still kept quiescent by his injector collar, and didn't bite at a psyker's proximity as they usually would.
Hektor could also, through senses cultivated by an eternity spent in the Eye of Terror, sense the touch of the Dark Prince on the Drukhari bloodward who stood next to the desk, her alien eyes focused on him, her hands casually resting on her weapons. He had fought her kind before, and knew to be wary of her. Part of him wondered if the reason he'd survived so long with his injuries was so that Khorne could put him near Cain as a counter to the Slaaneshi-branded xenos : it would explain why the Lord of Skulls hadn't punished him for escaping the Nails so far.
Alright. He could do this. All he needed to do was navigate a conversation without offending his host and benefactor. It should be simple enough. It wasn't as if the last time he'd had a peaceful talk with someone had been thousands of years ago – oh wait.
Khorne, grant me strength.
"Lord Cain," Hektor greeted the human warlord with a bow, taking his proffered hand into his own and shaking it carefully – if he accidentally broke it, then he would be lucky to walk out of the room alive, and he refused to die in such a stupid way – before releasing it. "I am Hektor of the Twelfth Legion. It is an honor to meet you."
"The honor is mine, I assure you. I must confess I always wanted to meet a Space Marine, though this is hardly the way I thought about it happening when I was younger," said Cain with a small but sincere smile.
Right, the soldiers he'd spent the last evening socializing with (and hadn't that been a strange experience in its own right) had told him Cain had been raised in one of the Imperium's Schola, to be a Commissar of all things. Given that Hektor's only knowledge of the red-sashed officers was seeing them shoot their own men trying to run away from him, he still found it difficult to believe the Liberator had ever been one.
"You belong to the Ravagers Chapter, right ?" asked Cain.
"Not exactly," explained Hektor. "I am a member of the World Eaters Legion; the Ravagers are – were, now – merely the warband to which me and my brothers attached ourselves. It's quite common among the Traitor Legions : after the Heresy, our chain of command … fragmented."
'Fragmented' certainly was a word to describe the utter madness of Skalathrax and the decades of carnage that had followed as the Legion Wars raged in the Eye of Terror. Even the rise of Abaddon at the head of the Black Legion hadn't really ended the internecine slaughter of the Traitor Legions : it had merely reminded them that they shared a common enemy in the Imperium.
"Legion ?" asked Cain, frowning. "I was under the impression that Space Marines groups were called Chapters."
"Right, I forget how much the Imperium hides from its own people. Basically …" Hektor then launched into an explanation of the breaking of the loyalist Space Marine Legions into Chapters at Guilliman's orders following the Heresy.
When he was done, both Cain and his aide were hanging on his every word, clearly fascinated by what, to Hektor, was merely ancient history, but to them was something straight out of myth. The xenos, on the other hand, appeared supremely uninterested in the old squabbles of primates.
"It seems a bit of an overreaction on Guilliman's part," mused Cain, "but I suppose I can see where he was coming from. Thank you for explaining, sir Hektor. By the way you speak of it, can I assume you were actually alive during these events ?"
"Well, I didn't learn about the Legions' breaking until much later," admitted Hektor. "But I was alive during the Great Crusade and the Heresy, yes. There aren't that many of us left these days, especially among the World Eaters, and of course even those remaining aren't exactly great at record-keeping, what with the Nails driving us crazy," he gestured to the cables growing out of his skull.
"Is that what those are called ?" commented Cain. "Apologies, I haven't had the time to read Basileus-Zeta's report yet. I thought those were simply decorative."
Hektor chuckled.
"No offence taken. I understand you must have been busy. I'm not sure what their technical name even is, you'd have to ask an Apothecary," not that there were many of those left in the World Eaters' ranks either, "but we always called them the Butcher's Nails. Right now, this collar your tech-priests put together for me is injecting me with Panacea to keep them quiescent, but without it, they inflict constant, ever-growing pain, and the only way to stop it is through violence. After enough time, they also make it so that violence is the only thing we can enjoy anymore." He breathed in deeply, enjoying the fact that the act wasn't immediately followed by a pang of agony demanding he put the oxygen to use by killing something. "It is a relief beyond words to be freed of them, and I am in your debt for this."
Hektor bowed his head in a show of gratitude. When several seconds passed without acknowledgement, he glanced back up, only to see Cain staring at him with his mouth wide open and a horrified expression on his face. Looking around, he saw Jurgen had the same look.
"I – this." Cain took a deep breath. "Alright. I am calm. Were these things forced upon you by your enemies, or Gods forbid, the Emperor ?"
Ah. Now Hektor understood. He had spent so long enduring the Nails that somehow, he had forgotten there was a very good reason the World Eaters hadn't been the most celebrated of Legions even before the rebellion.
"No, we did it to ourselves," he hastily explained. "Our Primarch, Angron, had these implanted in his skull when he was a child, before the Emperor found him and reunited him with us. When we saw how they had changed him, we sought to emulate him."
"But why ?!" Cain nearly shouted, aghast. "Why would you do such a thing to yourselves – wait. I remember hearing that Space Marines are made from the children of death-worlds. Was that already true in your time ?"
"Yes, it was. The process of creating an Astartes requires the subject to be young enough to withstand the physical alterations. I am no Apothecary, so my knowledge of such things are limited, but I know that attempts to turn adults … didn't work out well for anyone involved." They either died horribly, or far worse, they became Kor Phaeron.
"Oh, well that explains everything then," sighed Cain, collapsing into his chair. "Of course a bunch of juvies given superhuman strength and made to slaughter the enemies of Mankind without adult supervision would make stupid decisions."
Hektor opened his mouth to protest, then remembered that his entire Legion had basically jammed inferior copies of an archeotech pain-engine into their skulls in the hope that it would make their broken father figure like them, and promptly closed it. Maybe Cain had a point here.
"How did you even manage between battles ?" asked Cain. "The Ravagers were always on the move from one star system to another; that must have involved months of transit without anyone to fight but each other … oh."
"It was first blood duels in the fighting pits, mostly," replied Hektor. Then, because he had a feeling lying to Cain, even by omission, wasn't a good idea, he added : "But even these only helped so much. There was a lot of, let's say, friendly fire accidents, both with the human members of the Ravagers and among ourselves. You can resist the Nails for some time, but sooner or later, the urge becomes too much."
There was another moment of awkward silence.
"Well," Cain rallied, "I am glad you are freed from that. And while I hope it doesn't need to be said, if you kill someone working for me, I will very cross with you. Understood ?"
"Understood. I promise you that so long as this," Hektor tapped his collar, "continues to work, there won't be any accidents."
And he meant it, too. Being freed from the Nails wasn't a dream come true, because the Nails had taken his dreams from him long ago, but there was precious little he wouldn't do to keep that freedom. He was fortunate that so far, Cain appeared to be more pleasant to work for than the Chaos Lords he was used to dealing with : not once in the entire conversation had he threatened to cut off the Panacea Hektor's collar needed, even indirectly.
"I came here today to express my thanks for your intervention and that of your tech-priests." Slowly, Hektor knelt, lowering his head in submission. "Now that the Ravagers are no more, I would pledge my loyalty to you, if you would have me."
"I … well. This is unexpected, but not unwelcome. I accept your offer in the spirit in which it is given. I'm sure we'll have plenty to discuss in the future : I'm very interested to learn more about the Imperium's distant past. For now, however, please report to the borgs for a new suit of armor and a set of proper weapons. I doubt it'll be as good as what you're used to, but it's got to be better than nothing."
Right, that was another change from his time in the Ravagers, or most of his time with the Legion to be completely honest, that he'd have to get used to. Having a proper logistical branch organization to support the troops, instead of packs raiding for supplies and forced to scavenge their own dead for replacement armor pieces and weapons. The thought of how long it'd been since Hektor had been part of a warband with a proper Apothecary or Techmarine was frankly depressing.
"As you will, lord," said Hektor, before standing up and departing, relieved that this had gone well.
Five days after the Cleansing of Skitterfall, the deal between Adumbria and Slawkenberg was formally signed in Glacier Peak, the new planetary capital. I had been there as the Slawkenberg signatory, of course, while Regina Kasteen was acting as the Governor of Adumbria, mostly by virtue of being in command of the largest military force on the planet. To my surprise, she didn't seem angry at me for the events that had happened on the Fist of the Liberator, although I didn't believe Krystabel's claims that she was looking forward to a reoccurrence.
The population had been all too happy to acclaim Regina as Vice-Queen of Adumbria (Harold had been the one to suggest the title, both to mark the separation from the old aristocracy and to imply a degree of subservience to Slawkenberg). In a way, the Imperial Colonel had effectively achieved the dream of countless Guard commanders before her : being made Governor of a planet they'd conquered, with their Regiment retired from active service to act as their honor guard and enforcers.
Sure, Regina didn't have any experience with running a civilian government, but neither had I when the Uprising had happened. As I had told her when she'd confessed her doubts to me, her new duties would start relatively small due to how few Adumbrian civilians were left, and scale up from there as the planet recovered. And in the meantime, the Liberation Council's bureaucracy would be all too happy to provide assistance.
And anyway, she couldn't possibly do a worst job than the Giorbas.
The ceremony had been small in scale, due to the fact the planet was still recovering from a Nurglite apocalypse, but based on what I'd seen and what Krystabel had reported to me (because of course she'd already managed to set up networks of informants, I didn't know why I was surprised), the people of Adumbria were genuinely supporting of the accords.
Looking back at the general terms (we had kept things simple to avoid wasting time in pointless minutiae, which would probably come back to haunt us at some point), I could well understand why. Especially since the civvies had no idea they had been rescued from certain doom by a bunch of heretics : the public announcements had been remarkably vague as to our origins, merely naming the Slawkenberg task force as envoys from a non-Imperial world, which this far to the galactic east could mean any number of things. The truth would inevitably come out as more people interacted : I knew for a fact Krystabel was planning to start a branch of the Slaaneshi cult on Adumbria, and the Tzeentchians and borgs would inevitably establish their own local enclaves as part of the treaty.
Essentially, Slawkenberg would continue to provide supplies to Adumbria while the planet built back its infrastructure. Fortunately, while its value to the Imperium had laid mostly in its position at a crossing of Warp routes, Adumbria could produce its own food, and its rotationally locked nature meant that agriculture didn't depend on seasons (though the locals had obviously needed to adapt their practices to this unique environment).
A set of ansibles would be given to allow communication between the two planets. The technology to produce Panacea had already been shared with the locals, with their few remaining tech-priests all too willing to pledge themselves to the Bringers of Renewed Greatness if it meant having access to such incredible technology (which, given what their world had just survived, was understandable).
Then there was the meat of the deal, the greatest boon for the Liberation Council and something I could already tell was going to cause me no end of headaches in the future. The hundreds of merchant vessels abandoned in orbit were given unto the Liberation Council, to be repaired and refitted as both cargo transport for the future trade between the two systems and much-needed reinforcements for the Slawkenberg fleet.
The borgs were already drawing up plans for orbital shipyards, as well as training centers for the workforce they'd need to recruit from Adumbria itself (by now, there was almost no available manpower left on Slawkenberg itself). That meant that once Adumbria's population recovered, there'd be plenty of work for everyone who might otherwise have been left destitute, since Adumbria's status as a trade world was well and truly frakked.
It also meant, to my quiet and unspoken horror, that the Liberation Council would have the means to spread its ideology to other star systems far sooner than the decades I had expected it to take to build up the required shipyards and star-faring vessels. And with our first expedition being a resounding success, I dreaded to think of how I could convince the Council that no, defeating the rest of the Imperium in the Damocles Gulf wasn't going to be as easy as taking over a world they'd already given up on. Anyone with any sense would've understood that, but then if the rest of the Council had any sense they wouldn't be heretics in the first place.
The existence of the ansibles meant that the Liberation Council would keep in touch with Adumbria's new government in a way the Administratum could only dream of, but the planet would be officially independent – which, given how much its population needed our support, was nothing more than a polite fiction everyone involved had agreed upon. Apparently, the whole thing was already being called the Cainite Protectorate back home, and by that point I'd given up on even trying to change it. My only way out of this mess would involve changing my name, face, and most likely genetic code if I could manage it anyway.
The only argument I could think of that might convince the Council to wait before trying to expand this Protectorate further was that, if the Administratum had done its job, then every ship in Adumbria was blacklisted from every civilized port in the Sector as a potential carrier for the plague which had caused the system to be declared Perditia in the first place. So unless we were sailing to rescue of a star system in as dire straits as Adumbria had been, any efforts to subvert faithful Imperial worlds was doomed to fail. And really, what were the odds of that happening ?
No sooner had I had that thought that I remembered how dire the Imperium's position in the Damocles Gulf had been made by Karamazov's incompetence. Throne knew how many other worlds were in desperate straits, and willing to accept any aid, even if it came from heretics like ourselves. And, having branded this expedition at least partly as an effort to help our beleaguered fellow humans, I had very effectively trapped myself if we ever received word of another star system calling for assistance we were at least theoretically capable of providing.
I consoled myself with the knowledge that at least I had prevented the creation of a Nurglite stronghold in the Sector, which had been the reason I'd gone on that insanely dangerous expedition in the first place. Regardless of how much trouble this Cainite Protectorate idea ended up being, not doing anything and allowing Gurug'ath to claim the planet as a daemon world from which to spread the Infection to the rest of the Damocles Gulf would undoubtedly have been far worse.
Besides, the repairs and retrofits of the merchant ships would keep the borgs happy and occupied for years to come with work that was unlikely to result in reality being sundered by untried technology. And maybe, just maybe, I would get really lucky and one of those expeditions would provide me the opportunity to fake my death and run away from all this madness. The more Warp-capable ships were around, the better my odds, after all.
All in all, I told myself, this whole Adumbria affair had gone about as well as I could reasonably have expected. To my great relief, Hektor had spent most of the last few days talking with Ygdal and training with the USA. Apparently, he needed to re-learn how to fight properly, without merely following his instincts and forsaking all defense in order to get to the kill (and the associated release from his never-ending pain) faster.
I was perfectly fine with him having fun with the USA, since that would keep him far away from me. He'd been far more polite and calm than I'd expected when we'd met, but I couldn't get the fact that he and his entire Legion had volunteered to get these awful implants into their skulls out of my mind. Seriously, how had anyone ever thought this was a good idea ?! I could only hope that the Emperor had only learned about this too late to stop it, and that the Heresy had erupted before He could do anything about it.
As for the girl I'd rescued from Nurgle's altar, she was doing well. We were keeping her in isolation just in case, but Basileus-Zeta assured me her vital signs were all good. I'd contacted Jafar back on Slawkenberg using the ansible and told him to see what his magi's divination rituals could figure out about her.
By the time those of us not staying in Adumbria to help with the reconstruction made it back home, hopefully he'd have some answers. I didn't know much about infant care, but I knew such isolation wasn't a long-term solution for ordinary children. Of course, the girl was obviously not ordinary (though I had no idea just how extraordinary she was at the time, and a good thing too, or the added stress would have made managing the whole diplomatic shindig even more of a nightmare), but the same principle probably applied.
The entity that called itself Gurug'ath slowly pieced itself back together in the Sea of Souls, the disjointed fragments of Warp energy that made up the Baron's infernal consciousness weaving themselves into something that resembled a mortal soul in the way a virus resembles a healthy cell.
Then the mind became aware that it was being restrained. All at once, the patterns mortal minds forced upon the formless entities of the Warp snapped into place, and Gurug'ath found himself wrapped in silver chains, their thorns digging into his essence, making him bleed into a bowl of black stone laid beneath his suspended body.
Around him were gilded walls covered in sensuous iconography, and the air reeked of perfumes, drugs, and other substances meant to conceal the frailty of flesh and the inevitability of decay. He could hear screams of pain and pleasure, and moans that were not of despair.
This was not the Garden, where he should have arrived following his banishment. This wasn't even the Formless Wastes, where he would've expected his essence to reform had Grandfather Nurgle decided he needed to be punished for his failure by making the humiliating trek back to the Manse. Which he would've fully deserved : not only had he failed to kill the faithless Cain, he had also lost the last egg of Legienstrasse, which had taken so much effort to recover from the Cacophonous Tower's destruction on Opis.
Yes, for losing the last remnant of the Assassinorum's greatest folly, Gurug'ath deserved to spend seven centuries making penance before being allowed back into Grandfather's good graces. But this was not the Formless Wastes. This was the Realm of Slaanesh, and he should not be here.
"Hello, Gurug'ath," purred a feminine voice that dripped with threat (and in the Sea of Souls, that was no metaphor : he could see the holes in the floor of calcified Aeldari souls the drops were creating).
He knew the voice's owner before she stepped into view, disgustingly pristine and radiant. The newest Daemon Princess of Slaanesh, the upstart who had led the Legions of Excess in capturing the Space Hulk she'd delivered to her mortal servant, returning the seventh-cursed Panacea to the galactic board.
"Emeli," Gurug'ath spat. "I should have known."
"Yes, you really should have. You tried to hurt my beloved," she hissed. "You tried to kill him. Worse, you tried to break that which makes him so beautiful, and drag him to your level. You are going to pay for that."
By all the pustules of Nurgle, she was serious, Gurug'ath realized. This wasn't a game she was playing, nor a long-term scheme to increase her influence in the Materium. She actually, genuinely loved that mortal.
The Baron'd always known the Slaaneshi were obsessed beyond reason, but never like this. It was one thing to have affection for one's mortal slaves, in the same way a mortal might regard a cherished pet, but this ?
This was madness. Unnatural, foul, abhorrent madness. For all of Cain's insults to Decay, this was a blasphemy against the whole of Chaos. That none of the other Powers seemed to realize that was yet more evidence that Nurgle was the greatest of them all.
"I will let you go soon," promised Emeli with a smile that revealed her disgustingly perfect white teeth. "My beloved gave you a message for your master, and I don't want to stop you from delivering it."
"This should not relieve you, however," she whispered. It had not, for Gurug'ath was no fool. "Because it means I will have to work on you intensively, to make sure you understand the depths of your folly before I have my servants throw what's left of you into that rotting Garden."
"With Grandfather's blessing, I am beyond torment," replied Gurug'ath defiantly. "Do your worst."
Emeli smiled, and for the second time the Great Unclean One felt fear.
"Oh, I will."
AN : You can thank the OST of Pathfinder : Wrath of the Righteous for the speed at which this chapter was written, along with Youtuber HSHAZAM OST for compiling a playlist of that game's music. For some reason, listening to it really helped getting the creative juices flowing.
That being said, don't expect me to keep this up. This chapter was mostly cleaning up the threads left hanging from the stuff that happened in the previous chapters, so it was easier to write than usual.
Having Hektor explain what the Nails are to Cain reminded me of how incredibly frakked-up the backstory of the Twelfth Legion is. And now Cain's suggestion that it was the grimdark transhuman equivalent of a bunch of teenagers doing piercings in unsafe conditions is stuck in my head (ouch, bad metaphor).
I considered going with Cainite Dominion for the name of Cain's burgeoning stellar empire, but thought he would rather avoid the tyranical implications. 'Protectorate' sounds much nicer, doesn't it ? And after all, the Glorious Liberator fights for the good of the people, not for his own self-aggrandizement !
And yes, the word 'Cainite' comes straight from Vampire The Masquerade, though I like to think it's obvious enough I'd have come up with it on my own.
Big thank you to everyone who wrote sidestories for this fic on the SpaceBattles thread. With that being said :
OMAKES FOR THE OMAKE GOD ! FANART FOR THE FANART THRONE ! OFFERINGS FOR THE MUSE !
Next chapter : Cain's triumphant return to Slawkenberg, him learning what the child he rescued exactly is and gives her a name (which I have already decided on), and we check in on what Amberley has been doing for the last ten years.
Zahariel out.