Once again, the people of Slawkenberg were celebrating, for the golden age the Uprising had promised them had come.
This day marked one whole turn of the planet around its star since the Uprising had broken their chains and brought them freedom from the Imperium's cruel oppression. While they still followed the Imperial calendar in official documents (for, as the Liberator had said, they must never forget the threat of their former overlords), the local year was still the unit of time most people used in their lives, for obvious reasons.
At the head of the ranks of troopers clad in crimson carapace armor were the chosen elite of the Unified Slawkenberg Army, who had been given the privilege of wearing the brand-new power armor the Bringers of Renewed Greatness had designed in recent months. Even to the uninitiated, it was a marvel of engineering, its motion fluid despite its bulk. According to public announcements, it had already been used to great effect in the cleansing of Emeli's Gift of the various beasts that lurked within the sprawling hulk.
And yet, this armor was by far the lesser of the boons the Bringers had delivered to Slawkenberg in the days since the arrival of Emeli's Gift. Freed of the dogmatic restraints of their Mechanicus masters, the toil of the Bringers had achieved a miracle. In their laboratories, they had crafted a wondrous serum, capable of healing any and all ills. This Panacea, named after an ancient myth of Old Earth (for they should not forget their roots, even though Mankind's homeworld had been transformed into the seat of Imperial tyranny), could heal any wound, cure any sickness.
It was the sort of wonder that, before the Uprising, had been said in whispers to be available to the lords of the Imperium, a priceless resource jealously reserved for the high and mighty. But when its existence had been announced, the Liberator himself had declared that its blessings would be made available to the entire population. Tens of thousands had been recruited and trained for this, taught the basics of medicine and how to operate the Panacea injectors designed by the Bringers. Great facilities had been built where the life-giving serum was brewed in vast quantities – for even though a single injection of the Panacea was enough to heal most ills, meeting requirements across the planet was a towering challenge, and one that the Liberation Council had risen to meet.
Disease levels on Slawkenberg had receded since the Uprising and the steady increase in the standards of living, but the Panacea had all but wiped them out. Along with delivering the Panacea, the newly trained medics were also charged with teaching preventive behaviours to the population, supported by educational public broadcasts on the subject.
Along with that, other educational projects had been set in motion to combat the general ignorance the Giorbas had forced upon their subjects. One of them had been the construction of a museum in Cainopolis open to all. Within it, alongside objects of cultural and historical significance that had been seized from the private collections of nobles during the Uprising, were those items from Emeli's Gift that had been judged innocuous were displayed for the people of Slawkenberg to admire, along with the borgs' best guesses as to their nature and origin. Images and preserved remains of some of the xenos beasts the brave troopers had faced in its depths were also presented, though it was an open secret that the scariest ones had been vetoed from display, to avoid traumatizing the children parents were bringing to gape at the gathered curios in childish wonder.
From the other side of the curtain separating me from the stage, I could hear hundreds, thousands of voices whispering in excitement. They were representatives from all across Slawkenberg, chosen at random from their communities by Jafar's bureaucrats and shipped to the capital as part of the celebrations. In a few moments, I would have to walk out there and give a speech to them, which would be broadcast live all over the planet. In truth, I had barely prepared for it : by now, I felt like I could have given it in my sleep. For now, I treasured those few moments of relative calm and isolation.
Officially, the current planet-wide festivities were to celebrate both the one-local-year anniversary of the Uprising and the (more or less) successful claiming of Emeli's Gift. Of course, there were still entire city-sized sections of the Space Hulk left unexplored : four months was far from enough for the USA exploration teams to map the entire behemoth. But enough of it had been cleared that the borgs had been able to get to work and bring the monstrous amalgam of vessels closer to Slawkenberg, where it could serve as an overpowered if unconventional orbital defense station.
I felt a little bad for the troopers who had been done the job once I'd left, though certainly not enough to go back. At least they hadn't encountered anything sentient, and the beasts they did face had been less deadly than the ones I had managed to stumble on while they were still asleep. After the corpses of the chitinous monsters had been recovered, Tesilon-Kappa had assigned a small cadre of magi biologis to the task of dissecting them and learning as much as possible from them.
I had subtly inquired as to the nature of these studies, and been reassured that their only goal was to learn how best to kill them should more Tyranids show up in Slawkenberg. Given that it had taken the full might of the Ultramarines to defeat the Great Devourer when it had last struck in force, I wasn't holding high hopes, but maybe they'd figure something out that could buy me enough time to run should a splinter fleet arrive in the system.
As for the soldiers themselves, I had made sure they were all suitably rewarded, both in brand new medals I had personally handed to them and in promotions and monetary rewards. According to Jurgen, they were currently in the process of doing their best to spend their entire pay in the capital's bars, gambling houses and other establishments of pleasure – although I somehow doubted they were going to pay for any of their drinks, not with the stories they had to tell.
One thing I had noticed since the Uprising was that the locals were all too willing to seize any excuse to party, which after generations under the Giorba's rule I could hardly blame them for. Besides, organizing the festivities kept the Slaaneshi cults seconded to the Handmaidens busy (managing planet-wide celebrations, it turned out, was quite the logistical feat). Given that the last time a Slaaneshi organization on Slawkenberg had nothing to do, it had resulted in a new Daemon Princess ascending to the Realms of Chaos, I felt ensuring the followers of the Dark Prince spent their time cooking food, brewing alcohol and orchestrating parades was for the best.
Besides, I was forced to admit that they had plenty of reasons to celebrate. The Panacea had worked beyond my wildest imagining. When I had told Tesilon-Kappa to make the miracle substance available to the entire population, it had been with the unspoken goal of crippling the planet's economy and keeping the borgs busy for years to come trying to accomplish the impossible. After all, I knew the Imperium had access to healing technology that, while not on par with the Panacea STC, could eradicate most of the diseases ravaging the under-hives, but economic concerns prevented that from being feasible. Since the borgs couldn't exactly tell their glorious Liberator he was being a fool to his face, not after I had made sure the announcement was as public as I could make it, I had fully expected the borgs' efforts to implement my absurd suggestion to slow Slawkenberg's ongoing economic boom to a crawl.
Clearly I had underestimated the knowledge of the ancients who had designed the Panacea, because they had made sure producing the stuff was far easier than I had thought possible. With the cure for all diseases and injuries becoming freely available to everyone, productivity had increased again, according to the latest figures from Jafar's clerks. The USA troopers deployed on Emeli's Gift had also benefited from the stuff greatly : to hear General Mahlone talk about it, casualties would have been ten times higher if not for it. About the only thing it couldn't heal was missing limbs, but it did make grafting a vat-grown replacement limb much easier.
All in all, the Panacea was a wondrous piece of technology that, in the hands of the Imperium, could have saved the lives of uncounted billions of Guardsmen, let alone its impact on civilian lives. Which meant my decision to pass it off as the borgs' own discovery had been the correct one, because when (not if) word of its existence spread beyond Slawkenberg, only the fact that it had apparently been created by hereteks would keep us safe from an unstoppable legion of skitarii sent by tech-priests hell-bent on getting their grubby mecha-dendrites on the technology.
By comparison, the human-sized suits of power armor were almost disappointing in their mundanity. Not that they weren't incredible in their own right, of course : they were to carapace armor what it was to wet parchment. I had no idea how it compared to the suits worn by the Angels of Death, but I was reasonably certain they surpassed those of the Sisters of Battle in every way (though I wouldn't have bet on the USA's Khornate thirst for battle being greater than the bloodlust of the Sororitas).
Tesilon-Kappa had offered to build a prototype for my own personal use, but I had redirected their focus on equipping the troopers bravely risking their lives on the nightmarish labyrinth of ancient vessels sent to the system by a Daemon Princess instead. While the thought of better protection was a tempting one, it wasn't exactly something I could wear under my clothes like my carapace armor, and I had enough of a conscience left to want to give the poor bastards stuck with that duty the best chance of survival I could, even if they were Khornate heretics. The borg leader had accepted my stated reasoning without question, though they had still extracted a promise that I would let them build a suit for me at some point in the future, once the situation on the Space Hulk had stabilized. Which it had now, so I could expect a reminder from them soon.
As for the other schematics contained within the database, the borgs were very enthusiastic about starting work on them too, but I had put my foot down on it for now. Until the Panacea was completely integrated in Slawkenberg's society and the power armor assembly lines were complete, there wouldn't be anymore wild discoveries. Even after that, a reasonable amount of time would need to pass in order for our cover story that it was all the result of the borgs' own research to be even slightly plausible. That way, I had managed to buy myself some time before facing another headache. Of course, I had no idea what a 'quantum-entanglement based ansible system' or a 'multi-purpose automated worker-engine' were supposed to be, and Tesilon-Kappa's over-excited ramblings hadn't clarified things at all. But my guts told me neither of those were going to make the Mechanicus any less likely to kill us all in order to obtain them.
As I stepped out onto the stage, I reflected to myself that despite my misgivings and sabotage attempts, things were going well. Too well. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, bitterly certain that when it did, it would do so with devastating force. However, not even in my most paranoid imaginings could I have guessed what form it would eventually take, which was for the best : had I then known the depths of danger I would soon be forced to face, I would have run off the stage screaming in terror in full view of the pict-casters, which would hardly have suited my fraudulent reputation.
Ancient and priceless devices englobed the room in a field that prevented all recordings, psychic activity, remote scrying, energy weapons discharge, noospheric access, vox communication, and much more. An antique chandelier was the room's sole source of light, and paintings by masters from half a dozen Sectors hung on the walls, the artworks rendered disturbing by the flickering shadows dancing across their surface.
Seated in a circle of antique leather chairs were six of the most powerful men and women of the Segmentum, each of them the proud bearer of an Inquisitorial Seal, signifying their membership of His Divine Majesty's Holy Ordos. The air within the windowless room was thick with intrigue, and though none of those present appeared to be carrying weapons, only a fool would have thought this was truly the case – not that the worthies gathered here needed weapons to be among the top one percent of the most dangerous humans to have ever lived.
What in the Emperor's name am I doing here ?
Amberley knew the answer, of course. It didn't take an Inquisitor to figure it out, but such was the sheer ridiculousness of the situation that she was struggling to come to terms with it.
She had come to this world following the tracks of a cartel trafficking in forbidden alien artefacts, in her function as a member of the Ordo Xenos. The planet was far from the main Warp routes in the Sector, but close to enough semi-stable passages to make it valuable to local merchants.
Then, when she had pulled out her rosette to intimidate the merchant into telling her everything about his contacts in the black market, the man had instead acted like she was a guest late to the party, and politely ushered her into this room before going back to manning his shop. She had followed him out of cautious curiosity at first, but had barely been able to conceal her shock when she had recognized the people already present as Inquisitors themselves. And these were no ordinary Inquisitors either, if such a thing could even be said to exist.
Apart from her, the youngest Inquisitor in the room was at least three centuries old. She knew all of them by reputation and the names they chose to use (not their birth ones, of course), though this was the first time she had met any of these illustrious elders in person. They were some of the most powerful Inquisitors in this part of the Segmentum, each one a veteran of countless battles and intrigues against the multitude of forces that threatened the sanctity of His Imperial Majesty's dominion. Networks of operatives stretching across Sectors told them all that they learned, teams of Acolytes did their bidding, entire private armies moved at their command, Lord Sectors paid heed to their suggestions, and worlds burned at their decree.
They had all that power, and yet they spent their time bickering like children, playing paranoia-fuelled games of influence against one another and leaving heaps of broken lives in their wake. At least that way they kept each other in check, mused Amberley. Better these shadow wars of conspiracy and politics than the madness and mayhem of open warfare. She had only heard rumors of the latter, of course, for the Ordos kept their shames even better hidden than their secrets. But when the Inquisition went to war with itself, the results were as devastating for the greater Imperium as one might expect of a bunch of ancient fanatics with immense resources and unlimited authority battling it out.
Amberley, who was still very young by the standards of the Inquisition, felt very much out of place at such a gathering. Judging by the glances the other attendees were giving her, it was clear they thought the same. Likely, they had assumed she was here as a representative for someone else, the one who was supposed to take her seat but who had been delayed (and who, Emperor willing, wasn't going to barge into the room any second now and ask who was this upstart in their chair). After all, how else could she have learned the location of their secret meeting ground ?
She didn't know for sure she would be killed if the other Inquisitors realized she was here by accident. But she also didn't know for sure she wouldn't be, if only because of the sheer embarrassment her stumbling on this place represented for them. So she was going to do her best to play along with their expectations until she could get the frak out of this room, off this planet, and back to something sane and safe, like tracking down the traffic of xenos artefact across the Sector.
"If there are no more unexpected guests," said a tall, dusk-skinned woman Amberley was fairly certain was Inquisitor Lorquai, a veteran xenos-hunter and one of the prominent voices arguing for the importance of dealing with the Necron threat, "then let us begin. We are gathered here today to discuss the recent events in the Slawkenberg system, and the death of our colleague Fyodor Karamazov at the hands of the renegade Ciaphas Cain."
"How certain are we that is what happened ?" asked a man with two augmetic eyes glowing from within a face that was more scar tissue than not. This was Lord Inquisitor Morteshadow of the Ordo Malleus, who according to legend had plucked out his own two flesh eyes in order to face the Infernal Duchess on Nerkteniat III without losing his soul a hundred years ago. He was a fanatical Puritan, who regarded even the use of sanctioned, Throne-bound psykers with distaste.
"Before the flagship exploded, Karamazov's astropath sent out a message summing up what happened," explained Lorquai. "It didn't have a set destination, but was encrypted with standard Inquisitorial cyphers, and my astropath choir deciphered it. According to that last transmission, the ship's wards were breached by sorcery, and the leader of the heretics boarded alongside a bunch of elite soldiers who tore through the defenders. While the bulk of this force attacked the Exterminatus deployment bay in order to prevent the planet's destruction, the leader went straight for Karamazov himself and killed him in single combat … something which was broadcast to the entire planet, as Karamazov was ran-preaching live to them at the time."
Nobody missed her last-second word swap, though nobody commented on it either.
"For all of Karamazov's flaws, he was still a good fighter," said Lorcus Phrecht, frowning. Like Morteshadow, Phrecht was a member of the Ordo Malleus, but there the similarities between the two men ended. Phrecht was a psyker of considerable power, and dark rumors whispered accusations of Radicalism – though none of them had ever been proven to the satisfaction of any of the three Conclaves that had been called to stand in judgement of the thin, wiry, and innocuous-looking man who sat directly opposite Amberley. "Yet that leader was convinced he could defeat him alone ?"
Amberley had to keep herself from sneering, even as she agreed with the older man's point. 'Flaws' ? The man had been insane. Like a parody of an Inquisitor taken straight out of a heretic's nightmares and let loose upon the Imperium. He had killed far more innocent than guilty, and while the concept of 'acceptable losses' was a core tenet of the Holy Ordos, there was a point at which one had to wonder if just randomly killing people wouldn't be more effective than whatever method it was Karamazov had followed. The only reason he hadn't been killed long ago was because, for all his madness, Karamazov had been possessed of a certain cunning to go along with his ruthlessness, and had been a fierce fighter besides.
"Apparently so," replied Lorquai. "What do we know of this 'Ciaphas Cain' ?"
"Frustratingly little," replied a woman with porcelain-white skin and a nasty scar on her throat that explained her voice's rasp. This was Kaliad Shayn, a member of the Ordo Hereticus and famed Witch-Huntress, who had fought alongside members of the Adeptus Astartes on several occasions and was most often active on worlds that either stood on the verge of open warfare or were already fully in its grasp. "He's a recently graduated Commissar, and the Commissariat doesn't take kindly to anyone else trying to investigate its members, even fallen heretics like him. Given that he was assigned to Slawkenberg a mere handful of years before the planet rebelled, however, I have my suspicions."
"What 'suspicions' ?" growled Tannenburg, a famous Witch-Funder of the Ordo Hereticus, whose black leather cloak couldn't have announced his identity more loudly if he had a servo-skull flying around him loudly shouting 'Here is an Inquisitor' from a vox-speaker. "It's obvious what happened. This Cain was a heretic in disguise all this time, who slipped through the Schola's net. Why else would a new graduate be assigned to a PDF force on such a backwater ?"
"There were some irregularities in the assignment that my people uncovered," conceded Shayn. "Apparently, he bribed the adept in charge to obtain the post."
"Something no true Commissar would have done, as such assignments are for the weak, the old and the infirm," declared Tannenburg. "There, mystery solved."
Personally, Amberley felt there was likely more to the story, but she wasn't going to draw attention on herself by mentioning it out loud if she could avoid it.
"Now," continued Tannenburg, "what do we do about it ? Slawkenberg isn't that big of a loss, but what Karamazov did is another story. That fool has weakened the Imperium's position in the entire Sector with his actions. The Militarum is still reeling from the purges his Acolytes committed. We have already suffered the consequences of that on several fronts as the enemies of Mankind take advantage of the confusion to push back. We've already lost the Desolatia system to the Tyranids, and half a dozen uprisings that should've been crushed by now are still laying waste to infrastructure and the rule of His Holy Majesty because the officers supposed to lead the Guard against them were executed by Karamazov's goons. This cannot be allowed to continue."
"Agreed," nodded Shayn. "At least all the Acolytes in question died with their master in Slawkenberg, so we won't have to track them down in order to appease the Militarum. In the meantime, Lord General Zyvan is the highest-ranking survivor of the Imperial Guard in the region. Our best bet for stability is to ensure his ascension is as smooth as possible."
"Zyvan ?" snorted Phrecht. "The man is a brute. He is a good commander in the field, I will grant him that, but that doesn't mean he's qualified for the highest echelons. He has no experience with the calculations and compromises required at Sector level."
"I think you underestimate him," riposted Shayn. "He's capable of being pragmatic when needed, and doesn't throw away the lives of his troops like that inbred imbecile Chenkov."
The two Inquisitors quietly stared at one another. They were very good at it, Amberley had to give them that. She had met gang lords and xenos-lovers who would have started begging for mercy if subjected to such stares. She had practiced her own, of course, every Inquisitor had to be able to make someone sweat simply by looking at them and saying nothing, it was tradition, but she wasn't nearly at that level yet.
"And what does the young lady have to say ?" asked Lorquai, diplomatically cutting through the tension before things could escalate.
Thanks a lot, Amberley cursed inwardly, not appreciating being put into the spotlight just so that two high-ranking members of the Ordos didn't start calling each other names like children in a Schola playground.
"I am only here as an observer," she said out loud. Which wasn't even a lie, when you thought about it. "But supporting Zyvan seems to me like the best out of the options available to us. Even if he proves unequal to the task, he can always be replaced later. Right now, any course of action is better than doing nothing."
There was a moment of silence as the other five looked at one another, then nodded one by one.
"Then we're all in agreement," said Morteshadow. "What about Slawkenberg ?"
"What about it ?" said Shayn derisively. "You said it yourself : it's a backwater, and losing it is hardly a blow to the Imperium. Throne, maybe having their vacation spot lost to heretics will motivate the rest of the Sector's elite to properly do their job. The heretics got lucky in fighting off Karamazov, yes, but luck can only take them so far. No doubt somebody will have to get around to reclaiming it at some point, but we have far more pressing concerns."
"This is a mistake," warned Tannenburg. "Giving the corruption time to fester will only make it more difficult to expunge."
"It's only one world," dismissed Phrecht. "In the grand scheme of things, it hardly matters."
As she took in the others' reactions to the psyker's words, Amberley's blood ran cold as she realized they all agreed with the sentiment. To them, one world was nothing, unless it was somehow important to the rest of the Imperium – and from what she'd heard, Slawkenberg hardly qualified for that. Yet still, it was an Imperial planet, and its people were going to be left in the thrall of whatever foul powers the rebellion served.
Eventually, Tannenburg conceded the point with a nod, and stood up before walking out. One by one, the Inquisitors followed, until Lorquai departed, leaving Amberley alone. She immediately got up and calmly walked outside, nodded to the merchant, and exited the shop.
A quick look around told her that the other Inquisitors had already left. Good. Now Amberley could get off this world and forget this ever happened. There were other trails she could follow in her pursuit of the xenos artefact trafficking ring. It wasn't like her path was ever going to cross that of this Ciaphas Cain, after all. She was a member of the Ordo Xenos, and she was going to make damn sure not to get anywhere near Slawkenberg, lest the other members of this group – and most importantly of all, the Inquisitor she had accidentally replaced, whose representative's suggestion the other five had followed without question – catch on to her deception.
"Esteemed Archon, I have come in answer to your summons," intoned Hierarch Sarevok, kneeling before the shadowed throne of his liege.
Kneeling in this room was always uncomfortable, due to the carpet of stitched together infant canids that covered the floor making it quite irregular. The Haemonculus the Archon had commissioned it from had ensured the beasts were without vocal chords to avoid their constant yapping disturbing discussion, but they could still feel pain, and writhed under the sharp edges of Sarevok's armor, fruitlessly trying to get away from him.
The carpet was not the only example of the flesh-crafter's arts in the room. Vileheart's throne was composed of the bodies of defeated rivals, at least three of which were his kin to the Hierarch's knowledge. They were kept alive by various injectors and the constant, background agony of the room's other living furniture, as well as the dozen of pain-slaves hanging from the ceiling, their exposed flesh covered in weeping wounds where the Archon had struck them.
"I have received word from the galaxy beyond our dark realm, my servant," said the figure sat upon the throne. His ancient voice was an unpleasant rasp, dripping with cold malevolence and limitless cruelty. Such was the voice of Sheev Vileheart, who had risen to the rank of Archon over the broken and screaming bodies of his defeated rivals. "Do you remember Aurelia's triumph of some time ago ? The one where she took on our dear Supreme Overlord's challenge to poison the entire mon-keigh so-called empire ?"
The contempt in Vileheart's voice was thick enough to serve as armor against the claws of the Haemonculi's lesser creations. Of course, Sarevok's master would never have dared to make his feelings so clear in public, but here, in the heart of his Kabal's stronghold, he felt free to express his opinion of the Supreme Overlord and his former confidante obvious.
"Yes, my lord," the Hierarch replied obediently. "The tale of it spread across the entire Dark City, and reached even those as lowly as I was at the time."
"Oh, right. That was before I took pity on you, wasn't it ?" The Archon cackled, the sound of it making the pain slaves in the room flinch. Sarevok remained impassive at the unveiled barb. Suddenly, his master's amusement vanished as quickly as it had appeared : "It really annoys me, how much that bitch profited from it, you know. Even now, she keeps that little mon-keigh toy in her vault as a reminder to us all of her great deed."
In truth, Sarevok thought his master was exaggerating. It had been many years since the Lady Malys had orchestrated the destruction of a mon-keigh forge-world, claiming the Panacea, one of their precious technological relics, from the ashes in the process and denying the vermin its supposed ability to heal any kind of injury, sickness or poison. At the time, it had been quite the coup, but that was already old news. Malys had already fallen from grace, having been exiled from his court by Vect after he'd grown bored of her (or, perhaps, feared her potential as a rival for his position). Since then, however, she had clawed her way back to a position of power few Archons could equal – and, though Sarevok knew better than to say it out loud or even think it too often, Sheev Vileheart was not among them.
Which, come to think of it, was probably why the old monster was so obsessed. Envy was a powerful thing, and served as one of the primary motive forces of Commoragh, along with hate, spite, cruelty, and the ever-present need to inflict suffering on others in order to placate She-Who-Thirsts.
"But here is the thing, little Sarevok," continued the Archon, clearly savoring the moment. Aurelia was so proud of her achievement, but I have learned that another copy of this 'Panacea' has been found. More than that, it is already being used to heal the pathetic afflictions of millions of mon-keighs."
After so many cycles spent as Vileheart's right hand within the Kabal, Sarevok was well-versed in the ways of the Dark City, and he immediately understood the implications of his master's revelation.
"If Lady Malys were to learn of this …"
"She would be furious, wouldn't she ? But while it'd be amusing to watch, I have other, grander plans."
"If I may ask, my liege," Sarevok dared to say, betting on his master's good humor to avoid reprimand, "how did you learn of this ? I hadn't even heard a whisper of a rumor on that subject."
"A little clown came and sang for me," replied the Archon, and the Hierarch shivered despite himself. Even here, in the Dark City, the servants of Cegorach had a certain … reputation. By edict of the Supreme Overlord, they were to be left alone as they plied their strange craft in Commoragh, just as they were untouchable aboard the hated Craftworlds.
"I see. Then it won't have escaped someone of your towering wisdom that they told this to you in order to manipulate you into attacking this world." He didn't phrase it as a question, knowing better from long and painful experience.
Vileheart scoffed. "Obviously. But don't worry, my faithful servant. I don't intend to just go charging straight into things."
"Of course. May I ask how your great self intends to baffle the mon-keighs' feeble minds and overcome whatever scheme the Harlequins are weaving ?"
"You may not," the Archon snapped back, glaring at Sarevok with suspicion. "That is for me alone to know, and you will have plenty to keep you busy in the mean time. The Kabal of Murderous Death must be prepared for another hunt. Muster our warriors and assemble our fleet. Contact the Incubi and the Wyches of the Tainted Kiss and bargain for their services."
"As you will it, my lord." Sarevok replied, bowing deeply in contrition. He had to fight his every instinct to expose his neck to his master, but managed it thanks to years of practice.
"Get out of here," ordered the Archon with a wave of his left hand, the right closing in on the throat of the nearest pain-slave, eliciting a pitiful whine of anticipatory pain. "I need to refresh myself, and then I will get to work."
As Sarevok departed, he caught his master muttering to himself, before the screaming started :
"I will show them all. First that 'Liberator', then the whore, and finally … that loathsome upstart."
AN : If you hate Sheev Vileheart and want him to die, then I have done my job. If you are wondering how the Harlequins learned of the Panacea and what game they are playing, well, you are going to have to wait quite some time, but I believe the joke will be worth it in the end. For now, be content to know that Cain is going to have new enemies to face, and of the kind that can absolutely be fought without any moral compulsion whatsoever.
I thought long and hard about what to name the Dark Eldar Kabal. I looked over the list of canon ones, I perused the codexes, and even checked the Dark Elves from The Old World for inspiration.
Then I remembered just what kind of story this is, and once I had stopped laughing, I knew what I had to do. Behold, the Kabal of Murderous Death ! Fear their immense cruelty and the terrible dark depths of darkness that lurk within their dark souls !
Yes, this Kabal's theme is : "what a thirteen-years old trying to be edgy thinks sounds cool". Unfortunately, I somehow don't think Cain will find the joke funny. Also, real fans of the Cain series will have recognized a certain name in that last scene : I look forward to seeing if anyone catches it and what it might imply for our dear Liberator's future.
The Space Hulk may seem to have been secured and repurposed quite quickly, but in Soul Drinkers, a handful of Techmarines (if not a single one, it's been a while since I read the series) manage it much more quickly.
Also, Amberley has finally shown up in this story ! I am sure that her final thought in her scene absolutely won't become something she will look back on with deep, deep regret in the years to come. Finding a way to get her in play was challenging, but I think I have figured it out. By the way, every single Inquisitor in her scene is a canon one, because I couldn't think of any funny names and so decided to use some of the one-note Inquisitors of canon (who have one mention in all the lore and then are never brought up again).
And just so we are clear, Slawkenberg being a utopia as a result of Cain trying to sabotage its defenses while staying alive is part of the story's joke. Anyone taking what's happening in this story as a political position will be met with the most devastating eye roll I can muster.
Zahariel out.