As the shield blinked away, Attelus fell to his knees. He stared at the five Plague Marines as their inscrutable lenses stared back. He'd failed in killing any of them, no matter how hard he'd tried. His power sword would slice through their bulks before he was forced to dart back and into desperate dodging and darting. He'd cut them countless times, but none of those attacks were anything but shallow, meaningless wounds. He never got the time to land a more damaging blow. Shallow, meaningless wounds that'd already long slurped closed. A good metaphor for how pointless and idiotic this endeavour was. How pointless everything was.

Attelus wanted to beg them to shoot him, to spare him from this hideous demise, but the Plague Marines just watched as the ravening hordes fell upon him. With all his will, Attelus raised his sword to slice his own throat, but then cold, clammy fingers eclipsed his wrist. He was too weak to fight back.

+I'm sorry, Attelus. That I could not do more. I'm so, so sorry,+ said Faleaseen just before he began to scream.

Soon, Attelus found he could no longer scream, and by the Emperor, he wished he still could.

Hayden Tresch sat, glaring at the wall. He had no idea how long he'd been like that, but he'd become lost in the strange, unnamable colours that would blotch and flow across his vision. It sent a pleasing shiver beneath his skin. The daemon was silent for a long time, but now Hayden could feel its presence constantly. He swore he could even hear it breathing in his ear despite the fact daemons didn't need to breathe. It should've been scary, but the breathing was comforting. At times, the memories of his many kills would float through his mind, and with it came the pleasure he'd always denied feeling. He knew the pleasure would be tenfold if he were out there killing. It made him truly wish he was free.

Hayden finally closed his eyes and breathed through his nose. He would chase perfection by setting himself challenges for every shot. He'd shoot between the 2nd and third of the right side ribs. Or through their open mouth.

Oh, how Hayden wished he was free!

The dying lights brought Hayden back to reality. His mind still swirled, and as he blinked, he looked at the door.

Then came screams and the sound of gunfire.

With screams erupting from his throat, Attelus awoke into all eclipsing pain, and he writhed on the cold stone floor.

+Attelus!+ begged a voice. +Attelus, please calm down!+

Attelus couldn't do anything but writhe more, and his screams grew into shrieks. He enclosed his head in his arms, even though he didn't believe he still had arms or a head. He rolled into a foetal ball, wept, and shook like never before. His shrieking became gasping mulling.

+I am sorry, Attelus. After such a horrific death, you would be better off to stay dead. But there is still much left to do. So much.+

Finally, Attelus opened his eyes. Through his hazy, white-ringed vision, he found night had eclipsed the cathedral and all around him, countless undead corpses covered the walls, so high there was no sign of the stained glass windows. They had been joined together in a dark green gunge. They'd already mostly decomposed. Flies encased the air above them. Their combined droning seemed to finally filter into Attelus' ears.

'F-Faleaseen? That you?'

+Yes. Are you...+

She was going to ask, "Are you alright?" But the absurdity of the question made her shut up.

'How...how long have I been...gone, for?'

+Nigh on twelve hours now. It took me a long time to rebuild your body after...after...+

Much to Attelus' shock, Faleaseen sobbed. +I cannot imagine what you went through.+

Attelus began to make the arduous journey to his feet.

+It was not just the time I used to restore you, but I had to wait for a good two hours,+ said Faleaseen. +The servants of the Plague God did not bother to follow Inquisitor Enandra, and the rest performed some kind of ritual with the Plague zombies that turned them into monstrosity. I am guessing that it's a seed to make more of their plague spread faster. But I am not an expert on the ways of the Plague God and its servants. Once they had finished, they left in their mutated gunship.+

'Does that mean I'm infected now?'

+No, I have made you immune to such things.+

The corner of Attelus' mouth twitched. As far as you know...

'Did Satiristine and the others...?'

+I do not know. My available radius from you is limited, and it is taking all of my meagre remaining strength just to stay with you now.+

Attelus nodded and stood, but his legs instantly gave out from under him, and he fell hard. The pain made him cry out, but then he began to laugh. It was a dark, bitter barking.

+What is so funny?+

'It's funny because now I know for a fact, but in the worst possible and the most confirming way, that I'm immortal. The irony. The frigging irony. By the Emperor, this is shit.'

+I have to say it again, Attelus, but I am sorry. I am so, so sorry.+

Attelus started to stand again. 'I know you are, but words only mean so much, Faleaseen. Things are getting bad, really frigging bad, now. We need you and your people to mobilise and finally fight, and now...'

+Yes, you are correct,+ said the Farseer without hesitation. +I will have the Autarchs begin mobilising the forces of Dalorsia immediately.+

Attelus found his feet. 'Good, it's about frigging time-'

Then panic hit him, and he began looking around him.

+Your sword is behind you, to your left.+

The panic died away and turned; it lay in the gunk with only the hilt sticking out. Attelus snatched it up and pressed the activation stud, causing the gunk on the blade to vaporise.

+I would say you are lucky the enemy didn't take it. But a sword designed for you would be useless to them and I would say you have long ago run out of luck.+

Attelus wanted to point out that only three years ago, Faleaseen had snidely dismissed "luck" as "an abstract arbitrary" thing. He'd wanted to do so numerous times but couldn't find it in himself for some reason.

With a sigh, Attelus began walking. He wanted to walk, but his body refused to allow his legs to move faster than slow motion, his shoes shuffling on the stone.

Attelus kept his attention downward. He didn't want to look at the mounds of corpses around him. It made him feel even sicker, and even to one of the faithless like him, such horrid...desecration was disgusting, to say the damned least.

For what seemed an age, Attelus descended the rest of the convent. It wasn't long before his legs wanted to collapse again, so he was forced to use his sword as a lean-to. His whole being shook, shook so hard everything hurt, most especially his hands. Attelus was useless. It was like he'd aged into an old man. Reviving him would prove a massive waste of time and energy if this didn't go away soon.

+The trauma will pass, Attelus.+

'W-will it? Unless you can erase that from my memory completely and utterly, I don't see how it could.'

+Maybe not, but the intensity of the physical symptoms will.+

Attelus stopped; he found it hard to breathe, and his chest echoed in agony. It was like his lungs had been tied up with thousands of rubber bands. Attelus wasn't sure if it was from the exertion or the anxiety. Just the thought of being surrounded by those damned corpses made him want to fall to the floor and cry his heart out.

Hopefully literally.

Eventually, Attelus found the ground floor and headed for the door toward the lower levels. Even through his hazed, frigged-up mind, he remembered the layout of the place. But then a thought hit him. He was no longer wearing his re-breather.

'Faleaseen, why can't I smell the stench?'

+I have blocked your brain from processing smell. That is one of the many reasons you are finding it hard to breathe.+

Attelus nodded and approached the reinforced double doors. He tried to open it, but his sweaty, shaking hands slipped off the latch.

He sighed, and it took him three tries to grip it, but it was locked.

'Of course,' he groaned, and he placed his palm against the lock. 'Faleaseen, please.'

+Will do.+

He only had to wait about half a minute before the lock clicked.

'Thank you,' he said and opened the door. It was made from reinforced steel, and he struggled to open it in his weakened state.

He finally managed to get it far enough to squeeze through a gap, but even getting through that was hard, much to his frustration.

With a growl, Attelus managed to pop through into the corridor but almost lost his balance in the process. The stone interior here was free of corruption, much to his relief. Like the upper floors, there were alcoves every few metres. It was obviously designed to be used as cover in a fight, but the shadows they created seemed to hide a whole army in them.

'This is humiliating,' Attelus gasped as he struggled to close the door behind him.

+I'm sorry.+

Attelus wanted to whine more but stopped himself. Faleaseen must've felt guilty enough and-

He froze; here he was, empathising with a Xenos. A frigging Xenos, never would he have ever imagined this would have happened. Never in a million years.

Now, it was confirmed that Attelus might have just managed to live a million years.

He shuffled down the long stairway and came to a "T" junction. Attelus knew that left led to the dungeon, but he hadn't been right yet.

So Attelus began hobbling rightward. Even his innate sense of direction might not help him find the entrance, especially if it's hidden.

'Frig, I hate everything,' he muttered.