Chapter Three: Web of Deceit
The information he'd torn from traitor minds was damning. The xeno filth was spread further and deeper than even the High Lords had suspected, infiltrating multiple Imperial Navy fleets and stretching into the higher echelons. Eversight Soulflayer grinned under his hood. This wasn't just a minor cleansing; this was a full-blown hunt.
As Faithful Death surged through the warp towards the nearest compromised fleet, Eversight briefed his retinue in the dim war room. Each Deathwatch Marine's face was set with grim anticipation. Brother Daedric Thorne adjusted his shuriken catapult, muttering, "Can't wait to see the looks on their faces when we tear them apart."
Eversight's voice was a low, almost gleeful growl. "We're about to shake up the Imperial Navy, gentlemen. Make it messy, make it loud, and leave no doubt as to what happens to traitors."
Their target was the Iron Bastion, an Imperial Navy battlecruiser stationed near the Voidstar Nebula. According to the flayed knowledge taken from the traitors the ship is crawling with sympathizers who'd allied themselves with the Drakar'va. The battlecruiser loomed in the void, its metal hide scarred by years of battle and marred by the infestation within.
They entered under the pretense of "routine inspection." Captain Jerad Locke, a tall, narrow-eyed man who practically oozed contempt, met them with forced politeness. His gaze flicked over the Deathwatch Marines, clearly uncomfortable with their towering presence.
"Inquisitor, we welcome the Inquisition's oversight, of course," he said with a strained smile. "But rest assured, Iron Bastion is as loyal as any vessel in the fleet."
Eversight's gaze pierced him, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm sure, Captain. The Emperor's loyal servants tend to avoid fraternizing with Drakar'va scum, though."
Locke's forced smile vanished, replaced by a simmering anger. "I don't know what you're implying, Inquisitor—"
"Oh, I think you do," Eversight interrupted, his arm shifting to a claw, subtly twitching in Locke's direction. "Now, take me to the officers' deck."
They moved through the halls of the Iron Bastion, tension radiating from the crew. Some of the junior officers seemed genuinely shocked to see the Inquisition aboard, but others wore expressions that bordered on panic. Eversight's Eversight ability honed in on faint tremors of guilt, the slight shift of eyes, the nervous twitch of hands.
When they reached the officers' deck, Eversight's instincts were proved right. A knot of officers, barely hiding their discomfort, clustered around a console. Locke shot them a quick, sharp look, which only confirmed Eversight's suspicions.
"Gentlemen," Eversight sneered, taking a slow, predatory step forward, "do any of you care to explain what you're hiding?"
The tallest officer, a man with piercing blue eyes named Lieutenant Harl Vern, shifted uncomfortably. "We… I—Inquisitor, we were just… reviewing ship maintenance logs."
The lie was weak. Eversight's eyes glinted. "Soulflay," he commanded. His arm shifted, reaching toward Vern's head with long, clawed fingers. The lieutenant screamed as Eversight tore into his mind, peeling back his consciousness layer by layer, sifting through images of clandestine meetings, xeno rituals, bribed captains, and whispered secrets.
Eversight threw Vern's limp body to the floor, disgust in his voice. "Well, boys, looks like we've got ourselves a nest of heretics."
The response was immediate chaos. Captain Locke backed away, scrambling for his las-pistol. Eversight's retinue was faster. Brother Kaelen Voss raised his Storm Caster gauntlet, plasma bolts punching through the officers before they could draw their weapons. Blue, blazing plasma seared through flesh and bone, turning the officers' screams into echoing howls.
Brother Garran Striker roared with laughter as he fired the Fury Spitter, explosive rounds shredding apart traitors who tried to flee. "Run, little heretics! The Emperor's justice is catching up!"
Eversight turned to Locke, whose defiant gaze had turned to naked fear. The officer's weapon sat on the deck at his feet. He stepped forward, his arm morphing into a wicked blade. "Captain, did you think you'd escape judgment? The Emperor has no mercy for traitors." He drove the blade into Locke's chest, absorbing the captain's life and all the knowledge of treachery he harbored.
One officer remained, cowering behind a console, clutching his hands in desperation. "Please, Inquisitor… I was only following orders."
Eversight sneered, his red eyes blazing. "Orders from traitors are not orders to be followed." He raised his arm, now in the shape of a flamer, and unleashed a torrent of fire. The officer's scream cut short as flames consumed him, leaving nothing but smoldering ashes.
With the officers purged, Eversight addressed the stunned crew of the Iron Bastion over the vox, his voice chilling in its menace. "To those who stand loyal to the Emperor, continue your duty. To those who betray him…" He paused, letting the silence grow heavy with dread. "I am coming."
The purge lasted hours. Eversight and his retinue moved through the ship, hunting down every last conspirator, their methods as brutal as they were effective. The hallways became abattoirs, the walls painted with blood and charred remains. Drakar'va sympathizers fell before them, some begging for mercy, others fighting with a desperate fervor that only prolonged their suffering.
Brother Raxus Ironmaul took particular pleasure in tearing through the heretics with his Void Lash, each crack of the whip punctuated by sprays of blood and screams. Brother Azrael Tyvor's splinter rifle whispered death, poison-tipped rounds striking at vital points with chilling precision, leaving victims gasping in agony before death took them.
When the slaughter ended, Eversight stood amid the remains of what had once been a proud vessel, his satisfaction cold and final. The Iron Bastion had been cleansed.
As they returned to Faithful Death, Eversight mulled over the knowledge he'd gained from Locke and the others. The infiltration was indeed vast, spanning multiple fleets and overseen by a shadowy figure known only as "The Whispered One." It was clear this was no small operation—it was a coordinated conspiracy against the very heart of the Imperium's Navy.
He convened his retinue, briefing them with a twisted grin. "We're in for a hunt, gentlemen. A grander one than we thought. The Whispered One is out there, and we're going to drag them out by their entrails if we have to."
His Deathwatch Marines grinned back, their anticipation palpable.