My nerves at the meeting of the Liberation Council that took place after the Ork Warboss' death were even more tense than the last one, which was something of an achievement. But at least I'd had several days to get used to the idea of the greenskins' approach, whereas these new invaders had caught us all completely by surprise when they had shown up right on our proverbial doorstep.

Tesilon-Kappa was attending through a hololithic projection, as was Krystabel, since the two of them were still in Emeli's Gift and the Academy respectively. After the death of Korbul at my hands had broken the morale of the Ork attack on the capital city, I had returned to the war room, accompanied by Jurgen, who still looked paler than usual from his efforts against the xenos psykers but stubbornly refused to leave my side, barely accepting the services of a medic while I worked.

There were some good news, I saw on the planetary map. Thanks to the weapons shipment I had sent their way, the Valhallans had successfully driven back the Ork warband which had attacked their camp with minimal casualties. There were still small pockets of the greenskins scattered about, and of course there was the question of what the Guardsmen were going to do now that they had guns again, but all those could wait. The armada of transports running through Slawkenberg's atmosphere on a direct course to my location could not.

"We don't have much time," I began without preamble. "For now, the Orks are handled. I would much rather we chase them down and wipe them out completely before they have time to go to ground in the countryside, but unfortunately, we have a new enemy to deal with."

I nodded to one of Mahlone's aides, and she pressed a rune on the console, and the image of the hololith shifted, showing what had caused the General to urgently call me back a few moments ago. The image didn't look like a ship so much as a collection of spines and edges hammered together by some demented sculptor who probably had too much black in their wardrobe and didn't spend enough time in the sun. Several smaller voidcrafts hung at its side, reminding me of lesser beasts around an apex predator, waiting for its scraps while also cautious not to draw its hungry gaze upon themselves.

"These vessels suddenly appeared on our auspexes twelve minutes ago," began the General, taking over the briefing now that I'd gotten everyone's attention. I was quietly impressed by how calm he managed to look, although given he was a Khorne worshipper maybe it was excitement at the prospect of a fresh enemy to face he was masking, not abject terror like myself. "Immediately after, they released a group of atmosphere-capable engines, which we believe to be a combination of troop transports and gunships. These are moving fast, and are on a straight trajectory to the capital. It is obvious that they are of xenos design, but the records the USA has access to don't contain anything even remotely like them."

"These are Drukhari," said Krystabel, with what I could only describe as hunger on her face.

"Pardon ?" I asked, the name meaning nothing to me. Judging by the looks on the faces of Mahlone and Jafar (Tesilon-Kappa's had too much metal in it for me to be able to read as easily, though they were surprisingly expressive for a cog-boy generally speaking), they were in the same boat.

"A sub-faction of the Eldar race," the leader of the Handmaidens explained. "Commonly called the Dark Eldars by the Imperium due to their many depredations." Which, coming from a cultist of Slaanesh, really was saying something. "They feed on the suffering of their victims, drawing the strength to deny the Dark Prince their own souls from the agony of others. Their entire society, if you can call it that, is based around capturing slaves to bring back to their hidden city and torture until they die, just so they can sustain their own miserable existences a bit longer … not that they don't enjoy it as well."

I blinked, as my mind processed the sheer absurdity of that statement. I wasn't stupid enough to think we lived in a fair galaxy, of course, but the existence of an entire race of xenos who literally existed solely to torture others to survive was a bit beyond the pale even by my standards. I tightened my grip on the table, to mask the trembling in my fingers.

"Then now more than ever, our first priority must be the safety of the civilians," I said, because that was what they were expecting me to say after such a revelation.

"If they are responsible for the shroud that kept Lady Emeli from warning us about them, then there must be witches in their ranks," buzzed Tesilon-Kappa.

Krystabel shook her head. "The Dark Eldars don't have psykers. It would take too long to explain why, but they don't make use of psychic abilities at all, relying on their technology instead. I don't know what blocked the Lady from detecting them, but it wasn't that."

"Worrying as this might be," and it was, you can believe me on that, "that is a question for latter," I cut in. "Judging by the speed of their transports, they will be here in less than an hour. Krystabel, if these xenos are enemies of the Dark Prince, can your Handmaidens call for aid from the Empyrean ?"

"They aren't 'enemies' of Slaanesh, my lord," she corrected me with a smile. "They are prey. The souls of all Eldars belong to Slaanesh, and they are no exception. Should we call upon the Dark Prince's help against them, I believe our calls would be answered promptly." Her smile faded. "Unfortunately, I don't think we will be able to make it in time to assist you."

"You are right, Krystabel," I said, switching my gaze to the planetary tactical map, which showed only a few scattering of red icons showing the last known positions of the remaining greenskins. "Still, given the situation with the Orks, the journey north should be safe. Make your way here in force, as fast you can, please. Even if you cannot arrive in time to help us, you might still be able to rescue our people should we fail."

And maybe, just maybe, rescue me along with it. If these Eldars sought to take prisoners to torture, then there was a chance, however small, that I would still be alive by the time Krystabel and her acolytes arrived. I wasn't going to bet my life on it, of course, but better to have that extra bit of insurance and never need it than the reverse.

"Of course, my lord," she replied with a solemn expression, although I could see a glint of worry in her eyes. No doubt she was afraid of Emeli's reaction should I die on her watch. She needn't be, of course, since by that point the truth of my nature would have been revealed and the Daemon Princess would be more interested in punishing me for my duplicity than her for her failure.

"If the Handmaidens aren't available, then perhaps my people and I can be of assistance," said Jafar. "We do have our own expertise in such matters."

To his credit, he didn't do anything as obvious as glance in Krystabel's direction or anything like that : if he was still playing the heretical equivalent of office politics, he was at least being subtle about it. But then, he was in the city along with me, so it made sense for him to do everything he could to ensure we won the second battle against invading xenos of the day.

"We aren't summoning the Neverborn to fight our battles for us," I replied swiftly, before anyone could get any ideas. That would be like jumping out of the flames and off a cliff, as far as I was concerned. I couldn't say that, though, since they might realize what I really thought about this whole 'blasphemy against Him on Earth' thing they all had going on. "Summoning them in sufficient numbers to make a difference would take too much time."

"Then we'll have to do this the old-fashioned way," said Mahlone. Which, much to my own reluctance, I was forced to agree with. Then I noticed Tesilon-Kappa not exactly fidgeting, but doing a good impression of it.

"Is there something else, Magos ?" I asked.

"There is," they admitted. "It isn't directly relevant to the defense of the capital, but I believe it might affect the greater tactical situation. When the Orks approached, we sent our ships to the other side of the planet so that they'd be safe. This led them to presently be not too far from the Dark Eldar flotilla."

"Yes, and if they even try to engage, they will be annihilated," I told them. "What is your point ?"

It shouldn't have been possible for someone as heavily augmented as Tesilon-Kappa to look sheepish, but somehow they managed it, or perhaps I was just imagining it.

"While Emeli's Gift provides a great deterrent against orbital engagement and shields the capital from orbital bombardment, even it cannot protect the whole planet at once," they began, clearly trying to buy time.

"Yes, we are all aware of that," I said. "That's why we have the shelters planet-wide, so that the really important thing, our people, can be safe while we deal with the threat in the void. It's not perfect, but it's the best option we've got."

It wasn't something any of us liked to think about, me least of all. But the simple fact was, a Space Hulk was simply too big to move around carelessly. Its sheer mass was capable of influencing the tides all on its own, and any mistake could result in the kind of catastrophe that left continents ablaze and the atmosphere choked with ash and dust.

"I've been recently informed that my brethren stationed aboard the ships we liberated from the Imperial oppressors have been working on some side projects during their personal time," Tesilon-Kappa continued. "Their posting made them especially sensible to this issue, and they sought a way to remedy it."

Something cold stirred in my stomach. I had a feeling I knew where this was going.

"Get to the point, Magos," said Mahlone. "We don't have much time before the enemy arrives."

"Yes, yes. Apologies. What I mean to say is that there is currently a prototype, untried weapon aboard the captured Imperial troopship renamed the Fist of the Liberator. Based on the data of its construction, I believe it could be of use in this situation."

I briefly considered it. This was twice now today that the borgs had unveiled a surprise like this on me, and while the suit of armor had ended up working out fine (while the USA might eventually have killed Korbul, that wasn't certain, and it wouldn't have come without a heavy price, given the suit itself was going to take weeks of work to repair), there was no telling whether this would work out just as well or not.

On the other hand, it would be just my luck to survive the raiders on the planet only for their ships to release some kind of toxin or other parting gift that killed us all anyway. Imperial Exterminatus took time to deploy, which was why I was still alive despite Karamazov's final tantrum, but the Eldars were well-known to possess technosorcery that worked in completely different way to the sacred machines of Mankind, and after Krystabel's description I wasn't putting anything past them (although I would soon come to learn how woefully inadequate my imagination was in that regard).

In the end, there were too many unknowns, so I chose to kick the can down the road for my future self to deal with. Seeing that I was going to do my damned best to keep his skin intact, that was the least he owed me.

"Make preparations to use this new weapon on my command," I ordered Tesilon-Kappa. "Once we've dealt with the situation on the ground, we'll see how these ships react, and I'll decide whether to use it or not then."

"As you command, Lord Liberator," they replied with a slight bow.

Of course, had I known then what would come from letting the borgs play with their latest toy, I would have ordered them to dismantle the thing at once and to the Warp with the risks of a Dark Eldar parting shot; or, at the very least, I would have asked for more details. But at the time, I was quite reasonably far more preoccupied with the raiders already planetside.

The meeting ended soon after, and those of us trapped in the middle of the Dark Eldars' target prepared as best we could for their arrival. Units that had been dispatched to the city's edge to stop the Orks from entering were recalled to the palace, but Cainopolis was huge and had been built for tourism and the Giorbas' ego, not to facilitate military redeployments. Which had served us well during the Uprising, but now meant that only part of the troopers made it to the palace by the time the xenos gunships became visible on the horizon.

They moved far too fast for our few anti-air defenses to lock onto : all firing would have accomplished was waste ammunition. Looking at the screen, I saw that the xenos crafts carried an array of vicious-looking weaponry, but to my relief their pilots hadn't decided to bathe the city in flames (or whatever unholy equivalent their cannons were capable of unleashing). Then I remembered Krystabel's explanation and realized the reason for that was probably so they could enjoy the agony of as many of us as possible in person, and my relief withered and died.

They finally opened fire once they were near the palace, tearing huge holes through the outer walls through which the transports could pass in order to disgorge their cargo of murderers and slavers. The pict-recorders in the landing areas went dead, either destroyed or shut down by the xenos' technosorcery, and leaving us with a map of the palace showing their entry points.

"Well then," I said, twirling my chainsword in a theatrical gesture and doing my best to look unconcerned. "Let us be about it."

Our strategy, such as it was, was rather simple : the troops already in the palace would do their best to harass and hold back the xenos from reaching the shelter entrances in the lower levels, hopefully using their knowledge of the terrain to gain the advantage, until the flow of reinforcements from the rest of the city overwhelmed the raiders and forced them to retreat, or the Handmaidens arrived and we could escalate through the use of sorcery. And while the clerks and adepts would remain in the war room, I had instead chosen to join one of the teams roaming the labyrinthine corridors of the palace for the enemy, with Jurgen insisting that he was fit to join me, although he still looked distinctly paler than usual.

Counter-intuitive as it sounded, my paranoia was telling me that staying in one place was a bad idea. These raiders had apparently spent thousands of years preying on human worlds : I had to assume they knew how to identify a priority target by now, meaning that the war room wasn't so much a safe zone as it was a big, juicy, immobile target. At least by going on the offensive, I could exert a measure of control over my own fate instead of just sitting in place and waiting for the inevitable assault, the troopers were determined to give their lives to save mine if need me so my efforts to hide behind them would be less noticeable and wouldn't hurt my heroic reputation, and there would be a lot less witnesses if I needed to make a run for it.

And if you think that sounds like a daft idea, well, looking back you would probably be right. But exhaustion was beginning to take its toll on my mental state, no matter how well I hid it from my supposed subordinates or how much excellent recaf Jurgen provided me. I had been awake for twenty hours by that point, and my sleep the previous night hadn't exactly been peaceful, haunted by images of green-skinned, red-eyed monstrosities. That the USA troopers were still fighting fit was a testament to the unexpected effectiveness of the brutal 'training' I'd designed for them with the intent of breaking their spirit.

In hindsight, my state of fatigue might also explain some of what happened later that day.


As Amberley crept through the corridors of a grand palace, she could hear the sounds of battle in the distance. The cruel laughter of the Dark Eldars was mixed with the sound of las-weapons and defiant battle-cries that were clearly of human origin, both echoing through the corridors of the unfamiliar building.

She'd only the vaguest idea of where she was going. That accursed Eldar clown had vanished moments after they'd left the transport, leaving her alone on an unknown world at war.

With the Drukhari having rushed out to hunt, leaving the barge had been relatively easy (well, as easy as sneaking around a bunch of murderous xenos hell-bent on pillage and torture could ever be). Judging by the opulence of her surroundings, it was clear she was in some Imperial-built center of governance, although there was an unusual lack of aquilae and other emblems of Imperial authority.

She was clad in simple clothes, which the Harlequin who had brought her to the transport had provided to replace the rags in which the Dark Eldars had dressed her unconscious form. It was the kind of habit that would go unremarked on thousands of worlds : combined with her training, she would be able to melt into any crowd, so long as she could find one. Which, given the messages warning all civilians to seek shelter that were still being broadcast on public announcement screens, was going to be difficult.

The Inquisitor was making her way through a room filled with desks covered with abandoned paperwork and clerk working stations when she heard a noise. She leapt underneath the closest desk, but she hadn't been quick enough. The squad of Dark Eldars who had just entered the room had seen her, and they promptly converged on her position, chuckling malevolently as they did so. One of them kicked over the desk she'd been hiding under, sending sheets of paper flying, and she scrambled to her feet and away from them – but there was nowhere to run.

"Hold on," said another of the dark-clad monsters. His words were translated by the device he wore around his throat : when raiding, the Drukhari wanted to be sure their prey could understand their taunts and vivid descriptions of their inevitable doom, but they didn't want to sully their tongues by speaking the language of their perceived inferiors. "Isn't that Vileheart's recent acquisition ? How did it get out ?"

"Does it matter ?" riposted another. "Let's drag it back to the barge. The Archon will be pleased with us … but not with it," he added with a sneer.

The one who'd spoken first advanced toward Amberley, raising a blade dripping with venom that burned holes in the carpet. She steeled herself. She could get out of this. It would be dangerous, but –

There was the familiar sound of a bolter firing, and the xenos' leering face vanished from its shoulders. Before she'd time to blink, its companions were turning toward the other side of the room, where a score of soldiers in crimson were advancing.

The firefight that followed was short, but brutal. The xenos' rifles fired monomolecular projectiles coated in poison that pierced right through the troopers' armor (which, she noted, was of a far better quality than was typical of most Planetary Defense Forces), sending a handful convulsing to the ground, but the rest kept coming on regardless, and soon the Drukhari had been reduced to twitching piles of steaming gore.

The soldiers double-tapped them with gratifying thoroughness, then immediately attended to their wounded comrades. To Amberley's amazement whatever was in the injectors they were using appeared to do the trick. Knowing what kind of venoms the Dark Eldars tended to use, she'd already written off the wounded as lost, but within moments they were tentatively rising to their feet – except for one, whose skull had been perforated cleanly and who remained on the ground, clearly beyond anybody's help but the Emperor Himself.

The leader of her unexpected saviors approached her, and she prepared to flash her Inquisitorial electoo, which was embedded in the palm of her hand. Given her state of dress, it would probably take some time for the locals to realize that yes, she really was an Inquisitor, but fortunately this wasn't the first time she needed to pull off something like that.

"Are you all right, miss ?" he asked in a soothing tone, no doubt taking her for a traumatized civilian.

Amberley got a closer look at him, and froze in recognition, all thoughts of activating her electoo vanishing like snow in a Tallarn desert. Somehow, she could hear that accursed Harlequin laughing at his own jest. For there, clad in ornate crimson carapace armor and holding a gilded bolt pistol in one hand and a chainsword in the other, looking like he'd just stepped out of a painting of a heroic warrior, was Ciaphas Cain, the renegade Commissar who had spearheaded a rebellion against the Imperium and killed one of her fellow Inquisitors in single combat.

Well. At least that answered the question of which planet she had ended up on, if nothing else.


The young lady looked frozen in place, which was only to be expected given the situation she'd just been into (and, though it had saved her life, the sight of her attackers being put down probably hadn't helped either). I didn't know how she hadn't gotten to the shelters in time, but with millions of people in the capital, I supposed it was inevitable some would slip through the cracks, no matter how efficient the planetary bureaucracy had become since its forceful restructuring.

Slowly, she unfurled from her crouching position against the wall, her height nearly matching mine (which was rare even among people who, unlike the majority of Slawkenberg's population, hadn't grown up with some degree of malnutrition or another). She was beautiful, with shoulder-length blond air and eyes of a most arresting blue set in a face that, even with the stress of the current situation, managed to still be lovely.

"It's alright," I told her as gently as I could while still holding my weapons. "You're safe now. Can you tell me your name ?"

"I … I am Amberley, lord Cain," she managed to say. "Amberley Vail."

"Miss Vail, you really shouldn't be out here right now," I said as gently as I could while my blood was still pumping from the engagement, however brief it'd been. The ease with which the xenos' weapons had punched through the troopers' armor hadn't exactly been reassuring, and I was all too aware that but for random chance (I would've said the grace of the Emperor, but I doubted He was willing to intervene in my favor at the moment) it very well could've been me laying dead on the ground. "Why didn't you go to the shelters ? Are there other people out there in need of help ?"

She shook her head. "No, just … just me. I wanted to check on someone, and I missed the shelters closing, and then … and then …"

She wrenched out a sob, trembling with mixed terror and relief, and I gently patted her shoulder after holstering my chainsword.

"There, there," I told her. "You are safe now, I give you my word."

Which wasn't worth much, but nobody here knew that except me. She didn't seem entirely reassured, which given that there were still more xenos around showed fear hadn't completely addled her, but she did nod shyly. Without making it obvious, I escorted her to the middle of our formation as we continued our sweep of the palace. That way, I could make it look like I was staying close to her out of concern for the civilian lost in a war zone, while conveniently letting the troopers take point without making it obvious or damaging my reputation for leading from the front.

We'd been lucky so far : apart from the group of warriors who'd cornered Miss Vail, we hadn't encountered any of the raiders. Judging by what I was hearing in my vox-bead, the rest of the defenders weren't nearly so fortunate, with reports of all manners of horrors being unleashed, from difformed mutants possessed of hideous strength to packs of beasts that were only partially material and, in one particularly vicious skirmish, what the sergeant in charge swore was a mobile torture engine.

We were making our way out of the administrative chamber when the sounds of battle suddenly rose from another room further ahead. Before I could say anything, the troopers were charging toward the noise, and I was left with the choice of joining them or staying behind and being left all alone. Reluctantly, I picked the least bad option and followed, making it look like my hesitation had been for Miss Vail's sake. To my slight surprise, she kept up with us easily, fear no doubt granting her vigor far beyond what her day-to-day life required of her.

The sight that greeted us was as grim as I had expected, but that was just about the only thing about it that didn't surprise me.


Sarevok breathed deeply, revelling in the high of battle as he stabbed his blade down into the heart of a downed Incubus of the Shrine of Sharpened Spite, finishing the warrior off. The battle had been short and brutal, the Incubi reacting to the betrayal with commendable alacrity (defending their employers against treachery was, after all, quite literally written in their job description) but ultimately proving no match for the Hierarch's careful preparations.

While betrayal was a way of life in Commoragh, to strike during a realspace raid was anathema to the principles of the Dark City, for the Drukhari depended on a constant flow of new victims, and without it their entire civilization would collapse. But if there was one lesson Sarevok had learned in all his years serving Vileheart, it was that only the weak clung to principles. The strong took what they desired and did as they wished, and if they couldn't deal with the consequences of doing so, then they had never been strong in the first place.

Looking around, the Hierarch saw that he was surrounded by the dead, with only two other souls in the room yet eluding the embrace of She-Who-Thirsts. Incubi and Hekatarii laid on the ground amidst pools of Eldar blood, its thick and rich scent almost intoxicating all on its own.

The Hekatarii's assistance had been easy to buy, given that Vileheart had relied on him to hire the Wych Cult of the Tainted Kiss in the first place. It certainly hadn't been cheap, however : in addition to several favors to be discussed at a later date and quantities of resources and slaves, the Succubus who had been chosen to lead the circles assigned to the raid had also bartered for the lives of two of Vileheart's top prizes : the Inquisitor his agents had captured by random chance while setting up the raid's preparations, and the mon-keigh leader of this world. How she had even known of the former's existence, Sarevok had no idea : it was a weakness in the Kabal's security he'd have to close once he ascended as its new Archon.

Letting go of such valuable prizes was painful, but well worth it in Sarevok's opinion, as his chances of turning the Kabal's own warriors to his cause had always been shaky at best. If there was one thing Vileheart excelled at besides murdering those who possessed what he wanted for himself, it was instilling fear into the hearts of his subordinates.

And besides, there had always been the chance the Succubus wouldn't survive to claim her reward, even if he wasn't stupid enough to sabotage his own usurpation attempt by scheming against her anymore than was expected (not plotting anything at all, even if only as a precaution, would rightly be seen as a mortal insult).

Given that Malicia was crumpled and bleeding against a wall, her chest rising and falling unsteadily, he might not even need to use any of these plots after all. If she did live, Sarevok still intended to pay the promised reward : he would need allies to cement his control over the Kabal of Murderous Death, after all. But he wasn't going to help her. If she died from her injuries, well, then she was too weak to be of any use to him anyway.

For now, though, it was time for Sarevok to claim the one prize he'd been pursuing for centuries. With a wide smile on his lips, he approached the downed form of Sheev Vileheart, who glared at him.

"Sarevok, you despicable piece of effluent," snarled Vileheart, still managing to talk despite the hole in his chest and sounding as prideful as ever. That would soon change, Sarevok promised himself. "What do you think you are doing ?"

"Replacing you as leader of the Kabal, of course," replied the Hierarch (soon-to-be Archon), savoring the look of hatred in his former master's eyes. "Is that not our way ?"

"Do you think you've won ?" Sheev spat, every word accompanied by a mouthful of blood. "Even if you strike me down, I will return, and my vengeance –"

"No," said Sarevok, revelling in Vileheart's look of outrage at being interrupted. After so many years of playing the obedient servant, the feeling was exhilarating. "You won't. I know all about the safeguards you set to avoid the maw of She-Who-Thirsts, Sheev, and I have found an appropriate counter."

He brandished the weapon he'd kept hidden for months, moving it from his private quarters aboard the Dark Tormentor to the barge just before the raid, and Sheev's eyes widened in recognition.

In Commoragh, where the mighty could cheat death thanks to the Haemonculi's services, the quest for ways to make sure your enemies stayed dead when you killed them was never-ending. The arm race between killers and necromancers had gone on for thousands of years, and both sides had produced some truly fascinating wonders and horrors during that time. What Sarevok held was one such wonder : an Anima Devourer, forged by the now-extinct Coven of Extinguished Hope.

To the naked eye, the Anima Devourer didn't look like much, though there was an undeniable artistry to the way its myriad blades clicked and whirred together around Sarevok's fist. But he could feel the weapon's raw malice, its hunger for the soul of its wielder.

Anyone killed by the Anima Devourer would have their essence wrenched from their flesh and, instead of being cast into the Sea of Souls where it would become the playthings of the Adversary until the Haemonculi could pull it back into a new body, it would be utterly consumed by the Warp-born entity shackled at the device's core using technology that had long been lost to all of the Aeldari Empire's fragmented remnants. Such had been the terror the Coven of Extinguished Hope had inspired when its ability to create the Anima Devourers had been revealed, they had been utterly wiped out by a coalition of various Kabals, Shrines, Cults and rival Covens.

The mere possession of one of the devices was enough to earn death in the eyes of the other Kabals, out of fear it would be used against them. Which, of course, meant most major Kabals had one hidden away in their most secret vault, while Vect flaunted his collection openly, secure in the knowledge nobody could do anything against him. But even the Supreme Overlord was cautious of actually using the accursed things.

Obtaining one had taken Sarevok decades, and more blood and pain than he cared to admit. But it had all been worth it for this moment, when he could see the fear dawning in Vileheart's eyes.

"You would go that far ?" croaked the Archon.

"Of course I would !" Sarevok sneered. "I know, Sheev. I know it was you who orchestrated the downfall of my family while I was only a child, leaving me in the streets. I know you only took me within the Kabal of Murderous Death because it amused you to have the scion of your old enemies as your servant. I have known for centuries, but I kept my peace, climbing through the ranks until I stood at your right hand, waiting for the right moment to strike ! And now … now it ends."

As he moved to strike, all of Sarevok's attention was focused on the downed Archon. Despite everything, Sarevok refused to underestimate Vileheart, and was wary of any last trick the Archon might possess. He also wanted to savor the kill, and fix it in his memory for all eternity.

So focused was he that he only heard the noise of new arrivals when it was too late. At the last moment before his blow landed, Sarevok turned aside, just in time to see a score of mon-keigh in crimson armor bursting into the room. Before Sarevok could do anything, they pointed their weapons straight at him and opened fire. The strength of their focused fire drove him back, away from Vileheart.

No. No, it couldn't end like this ! He wouldn't accept it ! He hadn't even claimed his vengeance yet !

He was going to be the Archon of the Kabal of Murderous Death ! He was –

The armor around his neck cracked and broke. There was pain, hot and crude, and then, briefly, darkness. All sensation fled, leaving only the memory of existence and, for the shortest of eternities, the horrifying thought that this endless silence might be all that awaited.

Then, a voice.

"Hello, little Sarevok."

Oh. Oh no. No no no no no no no …

"Oh, yes."


AN : This chapter is another case of my original draft being split into two, with this chapter being the first half. The other half is already at around 4k words, though, so you can expect the resolution of this arc to be published promptly.

I initially planned to have another epic duel between Cain and Sarevok. Then I realized having him unceremoniously gunned down mid-monologue was funnier, and also meant I didn't have to contrive a reason for him to be on his own. Speaking of Sarevok, it turns out that 'Hierarch' is both a title used by the right-hand man of an Archon and that of the Incubi leaders (like Succubi are for the Wyches). I'm almost certain that is the result of someone at GW messing up in the last few decades : from my own research, the title of Hierarch is mentioned first in the 3rd Edition DE Codex. There, it is used in the right-hand fashion. Given that this story hearkens back to 40K ancient, parodic roots, I feel the coincidence appropriate.

Also, Tesilon-Kappa was the one to mention the prototype weapon their people had been working on. By which I mean, I hadn't planned it at all, but someone on SB pointed out that the Dark Eldars had gone on the other side of the planet from the Space Hulk, which was the same thing the Council's ships had done, and things escalated from there. Combined with last chapter's armor, this might give Cain paranoia over the borgs keeping things hidden from him to surprise him, but a good rule of thumb for this story seems to be "Does this make the great Liberator suffer ? If yes, then go ahead."

I hope you enjoyed this chapter and look forward to your comments and ideas.

Zahariel out.