Trouble was brewing in Cassandron.
With the departure of the Imperial Navy's battlegroup from the Subsector, the shipping lanes on which the hive-world depended to import the food for its billions-strong population had been cut off by pirates. The flow of supplies had first slowed down to a trickle, before stopping altogether. For now, the stores of foodstuffs kept by the nobility as a precaution against disturbances to the flow of supplies had been enough to keep famine at bay, but even the lowest underhive scavenger knew these stores couldn't last forever.
What little local food production existed was being expanded as quickly as possible, the Administratum's protests at this violation of Imperial doctrine quickly silenced, but the corpse-starch production facilities, orbital gardens and mushroom farms couldn't hope to match the needs of the hungry world. The hives were holding their breath, waiting for the inevitable explosion of violence as hunger overcame caution and the first food riots started.
Then, as if sent by the God-Emperor Himself, a fleet emerged from the Warp into the Cassandron system. At first, the SDF feared that this meant the shadow cartels had come for Cassandron at last, but that fear vanished when the first vox-messages reached them, replaced first by confusion, then hesitant, disbelieving hope. For the Rogue Trader Areelu Van Yastobaal had come with a cargo full of nutrient paste, and the technology needed to make more out of whatever materials could be thrown into the machinery.
As soon as the news reached Cassandron, the spires of the planet erupted in a flurry of frenzied communications. Eventually, a reply was sent, inviting the Lady Van Yastobaal and her entourage to a meeting in Hive Primus, the planetary capital, where the Governor himself would welcome Cassandron's savior-to-be in a grand ceremony which would be broadcast all across the planet in order to calm down the plebs. Vox-speakers across the hives announced this, propping up the meeting as a miracle that would save Cassandron from the specter of starvation.
Thanks to the ansibles, people rejoiced all the way back on Slawkenberg, where there had been concerns that the fleet would arrive too late, and find a world populated only by the dead and cannibals. Even if some scoffed that the great Liberator needed to hide behind his latest ally, it was generally agreed upon that this fiction would help ensure that supplies were distributed in a timely fashion.
Besides, surely the Liberator had a masterful plan to help bring Cassandron into the arms of the Protectorate, using his peerless diplomatic skills.
I ducked under the claws of my assailant, and fired a shot with my bolter right into its misshapen head. As it burst apart, I turned in place on instinct, just in time to bring my chainsword to bear and cut another wretch in two before it could gut me.
Having bought myself some space, I took a look at the melee that had engulfed the large audience chamber where our party had been supposed to meet the Governor of Cassandron. Between the moonlight streaking down through the glass ceiling and the torches set into the pillars of the gothic architecture, there was more than enough illumination to see clearly – not that the picture was all that pretty.
The Imperial Commander himself was lying dead on the floor, ripped to pieces by the first clutch of the pale, diseased-looking mutants which had suddenly erupted from a number of secret passages. A shame, that : for all of the five minutes I had known him, he had seemed much more tolerable than Caesariovi Giorba. Certainly not the kind of individual to do something stupid once he realized the Rogue Trader he had invited to his private domain was accompanied by the Black Commissar of Slawkenberg – Throne, what a stupid name – especially once he was reminded that we were the ones with the fleet in orbit which massively outgunned his SDF.
Suture and Hektor were fighting back-to-back, tearing into the horde and keeping it away from a group of terrified nobles and the borgs and administrators we had brought along with us to deal with the actual work of setting up whatever accord was eventually signed. Areelu was among them, making sure none of them panicked and did something stupid, whether that was running away in the case of the locals, or try to help by summoning a daemon or something else equally likely to backfire for the acolytes of Tzeentch.
Not that the Protectorate diplomatic party was entirely useless. Even the Tzeentchian bureaucrats Harold had brought with him to help organize the food distribution were all veterans of the Uprising, and they had all pulled las-pistols and were firing at the mutated horrors with a precision that wouldn't have resulted in too harsh a punishment during the Schola Progenium's live-fire shooting exercises on death row criminals. Krystabel too was especially precise with her shots, though given the 'enhancements' her body had received as a result of her frequent possessions by Emeli, that wasn't surprising.
Malicia and Jurgen were also diving into the fray, my bloodward ripping the Nurglite mutants (their allegiance to the Dark God of Decay clearly proclaimed by their appearance) to shreds while Jurgen was either reducing their skulls to pulp with deliberate applications of telekine power or firing with his high-powered las-rifle.
The squad of Van Yastobaal's household guard we had brought with us hadn't fared nearly as well. They were all already dead, having been overwhelmed during the panic of the battle's crucial first seconds, where nobody knows what is going on and instinct and luck are the only thing separating the quick and the dead – well, that and power armor. I ruefully thought that USA troopers would probably have served us much better, even if their presence might have given the game away too soon. I wished I could say this would be the last time I put political considerations above my own safety, but even as I fought for my life, I was bitterly aware that was all too unlikely to be true.
Naturally, I really, really wanted to run and join the area protected by two Space Marines, but unfortunately, I couldn't be seen retreating from these wretches. The servo-skulls which had been broadcasting the meeting were still flying around : if I gave ground, the recording would be all over the planet in minutes, and more importantly aboard the fleet in orbit, and from there to Slawkenberg and the rest of the Protectorate.
The Liberator didn't run, and while I would have gotten away with ordering a general retreat out of the room and back toward the transports which had brought us here, they were too far away for that to be practical, and I didn't know the area well enough to be sure moving elsewhere wouldn't end up bringing us to a worse position. At least the audience room had plenty of space for us to manoeuvre, and clear lines of sight to shoot the mutants which, fortunately, didn't appear to carry ranged weapons – or, indeed, any weaponry at all besides their claws and fangs.
Their presence here didn't make sense, some part of me reflected while the rest was busy trying to stay alive. These wretches were clearly all but mindless, their brains rotten by whatever 'gifts' Nurgle had bestowed upon them. Yet they had made it here, in one of the highest spires of the entire planet, right in time to attack our welcoming party.
This reeked of a conspiracy of some kind (among other, equally unpleasant things). It seemed my theory about Nurgle's influence taking root on Cassandron as a result of the hive-world being cut off its food sources had been more on point than I'd imagined, and the metaphorical and literal rot had reached all the way to the Governor's household.
Suddenly, another bunch of pale mutants arrived, and we all became hard-pressed to stay alive, let alone move out of the room. By now, I could dimly hear the sound of fighting elsewhere in the spire : whatever plot had led to this assassination of the Governor was clearly unfolding through the rest of the spire as well.
I cursed as one of the freaks suddenly leapt over the rest of its fellows and landed right next to me, a sudden display of strength and agility that took me nearly completely off-guard. I raised my left arm just in time to stop the monster from tearing out my throat, but its claws instead cut through my uniform and into the flesh beneath. As my arm was split from elbow to wrist, I found myself, in the instant before the pain hit, really wishing I had come in my suit of power armor after all, and Horus take the diplomatic implications.
Then the pain did hit me, and the distraction it caused might very well have been the end of me, except for the fact that my attacker (and, indeed, every single one of the pale mutants in the chamber) suddenly froze, looking at the blood pouring from my wound and onto the intricate carvings of the floor – which resembled nothing more than a drainage system, directing the red liquid toward what at the time I thought to be some kind of evacuating pipe, probably leftover from a previous Governor who executed his enemies in this very chamber.
Gritting my teeth through the pain, I loped the wretch's head off with my chainsaw, before fumbling for one of the Panacea injectors I always carried on my person. Doing so with one hand out of commission and the other holding onto my weapon was easier said than done, though, but thankfully I was spared from the indignity of accidentally cutting myself with the whirring teeth of my own blade by Jurgen's sudden presence at my side. Looking back the way he'd come, I saw the remains of several mutants who'd had the bad luck of standing between my aide and my wounded self : clearly Jurgen had decided that the time for holding back had passed.
"Steady there, sir," he said, his voice calm despite the chaos of our situation.
He jammed an injector into my wound, and the pain immediately receded (the ancients who had designed the Panacea had clearly known that twitching in agony could result in tearing injuries back open, and taken steps to avoid the issue). Within a few seconds, my forearm had regenerated, leaving me somewhat light-headed from the blood loss, but not so much that my survival instincts couldn't keep me focused on the situation at hand.
"Thank you, Jurgen," I gasped, flexing my hand and moving my arm to check everything was back in working condition (which, of course, it was). On the whole, letting my relief show was probably a good idea, as I didn't want the lunatics around me to start thinking I was literally invincible and immune to harm – if they thought that, they wouldn't try as hard to protect me.
"You're welcome, sir," he replied, before handing me my bolt pistol, which I took with a nod of thanks.
The two of us stood back-to-back as the mutants, who by now had overcome their strange stupor at the sight of my blood (which in hindsight really should have concerned me more, since I wasn't exactly the first person they had hurt in their attack) and were advancing toward us with renewed madness. Some of them were even drooling, although that may have been venom for all I knew.
I cannot say whether we would have managed to deal with them all, though I would have put good odds on it, especially as Malicia was making her way back to us with gratifying speed, clearly terrified at the realization that I had gotten hurt under her watch, and the thought of the punishment Emeli would inflict upon her if I got killed. Yes, the mutants looked to all be focused on me for some reason, but that left them open to being hit by a counter-attack by the Astartes and USA troopers. It would all have depended on whether the three of us could hold the line long enough, and while that wasn't a gamble I enjoyed having to make, we might just have managed it.
However, before the wretches could reach us, the floor suddenly exploded in a shower of stone shards that sent the horde reeling back, and a figure emerged from the hole, moving with the kind of grace and speed I associated with Malicia's kin. As the dust cleared, I saw that it was a woman – and, based on the shape of her exposed ears, not a Drukhari, but a human, although clearly no ordinary one either.
She was beautiful, with skin pale like marble and long, tressed black hair. What little clothing she wore was made of gold and precious stones, and wouldn't have looked out of place at one of the Handmaidens' less public celebrations. But it was her mouth that drew my attention, covered as it was in red blood – my blood, I realized, which had somehow flowed down through the floor and onto her face.
For a moment, I thought she was some ally of the mutants, a leader or champion of some sort, although her body didn't show any sign of the rot which festered on the others. Then she caught one of them by the throat, effortlessly lifting it up so she could stare into its eyes despite her lithe frame.
"Nergalite filth," she hissed, her eyes – which were the same color as my blood on her chin – flashing with inner light. She spoke Gothic with a strange accent, different from the dead Governor's or any of the locals I had met so far. Yes, it was a strange thing to focus on, but I can tell you, every eye in the room was on her in that moment. "Begone from my sight."
And just like that, the creature withered away and turned to dust, its mouth opened in a silent scream. Seconds later, the rest of its kin started screeching in pain or horror as the same happened to them, and within moments, none were left standing.
There was a pause as everyone processed what had just happened.
Despite her beauty, there was something distinctly inhuman about her. It took me a few seconds to realize what it was : she didn't show any of the minute movements that all humans do all the time, the small shifts and adjustments in posture. Her face was the same, completely devoid of the micro-expressions so much of my ability to read people depended upon.
She turned toward me, and it was only my long, unwanted experience with facing beings capable of killing me in an instant that kept my terror from showing. Without a word, she took my left arm in a surprisingly gentle grip and raised it to her mouth, before starting to lick the blood that covered it, moaning softly in what I could swear was delight. This close, I could see her teeth in detail : they were human standard, except for the canines, which grew in length several times when she started licking my blood.
"Such clean, potent blood," she whispered. "It has been so long …"
Now, ordinarily I wouldn't have objected to such an intimate gesture from such a beautiful woman, but not only had she just demonstrated her sorcerous prowess by incinerating scores of mutants in one moment, I was also all too aware of the looks Areelu and Krystabel were sending in my direction. Areelu especially was toying with one of the rings she wore, which I suspected was much more dangerous than a standard piece of jewellery. Given how close to the target of the Rogue Trader's ire I was, I felt defusing the situation was in my best interests, lest I be caught in the splash zone.
"Now, miss," I began, fighting to not let my nervousness show. Whatever else, I could be certain this woman was a predator, and you didn't show any weakness to her kind, not if you wanted to live. "I'm grateful for your assistance, but I'm afraid I need all my blood where it is."
She cocked her head, her eyes locking onto mine. For a moment, I felt as if I was going to be swallowed into their crimson depths, before my self-preservation instincts kicked in and broke whatever mental manipulation was going on. All too aware of how close to me she was, I gently shook my head and clicked my tongue disapprovingly, not too differently from how I'd reacted to Zerayah doing something wrong during her shortened infancy.
She blinked, clearly taken aback by my resistance, but didn't turn violent.
"She doesn't have a heartbeat," said Hektor, reminding me once again that, even though Space Marines were mostly known for their incredible strength and martial prowess, the God-Emperor had also raised them above common Mankind in many other, subtler ways. He was approaching me with his chainaxe held not quite in an aggressive position, but anyone who'd ever seen him fight knew that meant very little given the speeds at which he could move when needed. "Neither did the freaks."
"I am nothing like these scum," the blood-drinking lady spat, turning to glare at him. To his credit, Hektor didn't seem intimidated, but then he was a two-and-a-half meters tall transhuman killing machine who had fought in some of the galaxy's worst wars for a hundred centuries.
Of course, it was only then that help arrived, as the doors of the audience chamber boomed open to reveal a score of guards in ornate but practical armor, led by a tall, dark-haired man who couldn't have embodied the image of a warrior-aristocrat better. He held an activated power sword in one hand, and judging by the tainted viscera on his armor, he had been fighting the same kind of plagued mutant as us moments ago.
"Hektor ?" I asked, my hand subreptitiously moving back to my holstered bolt pistol.
"No heartbeat for any of them either," replied the World Eater.
I don't mind admitting that I briefly considering ordering him and Suture (who had stayed near Areelu and the other civilians all that time) to charge the newcomers and kill them all. But I didn't, which probably was for the best in hindsight, all things considered.
"My Lady Akivasha," the noble said, awe-struck. "You are awake."
"Vlad," replied the now named Akivasha, finally taking her hands off my bloody arm as she turned to glare at the newcomer. "How did you allow this invasion of our demesne to happen, Regent ?"
"We would appreciate an explanation of what is going on as well," I said, sounding as unworried and calm as I could fake under the circumstances, "if that is alright with you all."
"And who are you ?" he asked, with suspicion but no outright hostility.
"My name is Ciaphas Cain." I saw his eyes widen in recognition, and couldn't stop myself from adding : "You may have heard of me."
As it turned out, he had. And, luckily for all of us, his reaction to finding himself face-to-face with the Arch-heretic of Slawkenberg wasn't to open fire first and ask questions later, which, given my and our party's state of exhaustion, I was grateful for (though Hektor, at the very least, seemed ready and eager for another round).
Instead, the aristocrat introduced himself as Vlad Volkihar, Regent of the Volkihar Coven. None of that meant anything to me, but I nodded as if I knew what he was talking about, something I was well used to do from far too many meetings with the Liberation Council. Then, at the command of the terrifying pale lady (who was still staying entirely too close to me for comfort, despite the looks Jurgen and Malicia were sending her), he asked us to follow him into a more secure location.
Moments later (and after a quick chat over the vox with Mahlone to stand down the fleet's batteries and redirect the descending reinforcements to actual landing platforms rather than the more direct routes they'd planned to use, during which I learned that the servo-skulls' feed had turned to static the moment the attack had begun), we were standing inside a windowless chamber, closer to the center of the spire, which I could tell from a glance had served as the space for countless meetings of no doubt great importance to the planet's affairs over the millennia since the spire's construction.
On the way, I'd learned that whatever Akivasha had done to the Nurgle-corrupted mutants had wiped out the entire attack force throughout the spire, a level of power which left me trembling in my boots. It wasn't that the cults of Slawkenberg couldn't have done the same, but that would have taken them time to prepare, whereas she had done it on her own and instantly.
Once we were all set up, the explanation we'd been promised began. According to what Vlad Volkihar told us, an entire race of immortal, blood-drinking mutants had ruled Cassandron from the shadows since before the planet had become part of the Imperium. And, from what I remembered of the records Areelu had gotten for me on our way to this system, they had done a better job than most non-Vampire Imperial nobles.
I was, sadly, not that surprised by that realization. Disappointed, yes, but not surprised, and that fact was perhaps more disturbing than anything else about the situation.
Hektor had been the first one to use the word 'Vampire'. According to him, it was a very, very ancient legend from Old Earth, about monsters that drank the blood of the living. The only reason the World Eater knew it was because it was often used in the Eye of Terror as an insult to the Blood Angels, whose gene-seed suffered from a flaw afflicting them with a thirst for blood capable of overwhelming them and driving them to attack both their allies and even civilians.
I was certain that was utter nonsense, of course. The Blood Angels were among the most famed and noblest of all Space Marine Chapters, with a history of impeccable service that stretched back all the way to the First Founding itself. If they had such a thirst for human blood, then the Inquisition would have had something to say about that. I didn't think Hektor was lying, but he was clearly repeating some piece of heretic propaganda the Traitor Legions had come up with during the Heresy in an effort to justify their rebellion against the Emperor.
In any case, our host had confirmed that this was indeed their name for themselves, though they used a variety of euphemisms in most circumstances, and using it was regarded as something of a social faux pas. After all, they didn't want to risk anyone outside their sphere of control realizing what was going on in Cassandron.
At first, I had been sceptical of the Regent's claims that the Covens had ruled Cassandron from the shadows for thousands of years, but then I had realized it actually made sense. We were, after all, in the Damocles Gulf, far from the galactic centers of Imperial power. With the presence of Imperial authorities so diffuse in the region, that a breed of mutants had seized power on a human world without anyone noticing wasn't that surprising, especially since Vlad assured me that the Covens had no intention to expand beyond Cassandron, nor of doing anything which might draw the attention of the Imperium on them. They, quite reasonably in my opinion, were of the belief that, should their existence be uncovered by the Inquisition, the Holy Ordos would stop at nothing to wipe out their entire species, even if it meant burning Cassandron to the ground.
I couldn't help but think that the arrival of a bunch of heretics from a planet whose rebellion against His Holy Majesty's kingdom had become famous through the Sector might ever-so-slightly disturb their perfectly understandable efforts to stay under the radar. Sure, we had brought Cassandron food it desperately needed (although truth be told, the situation wasn't nearly as catastrophic as I'd feared, the Vampires apparently having gone to great lengths to keep their prey population fed). But that wouldn't help the Covens much once the Inquisition arrived to punish the planet for consorting with heretics and found out about the mutants running the place.
Fortunately, the presence of Akivasha at my side had kept the Volkihar Regent from choosing the most obvious option to maintain his people's secret and kill us all. As it turned out, Akivasha wasn't just an 'Ancient' of the 'Volkihar Coven' : she was also something called a 'Paragon', which, from context, I deduced was some kind of title of honor granted only to a few Vampires. She had also been asleep in a tomb beneath the Governor's audience chamber for centuries, and her awakening was clearly being regarded as some kind of good omen by the Vampires – like an esteemed ancestor or Living Saint returning to help them in their hour of need.
And, since it had been my blood, accidentally spilled into what I now knew to be the feeding drains carved into the floor, which had caused her awakening, I was granted a share of the respect the Volkihar Coven held for her. From Vlad's explanation it was clear that the whole thing was more than a little mythological for them, their ancestor-worship having become codified over the course of millennia in the way of all such belief systems – which was refreshingly human of them.
My entourage accepted that explanation without question : of course their Liberator's blood could awaken an ancient Vampire from her centuries-long slumber in mere moments. Given who and what they thought me to be, they might genuinely have been offended if the Vampires hadn't found my blood special in some way.
I, however, was more sceptical, and suspected that the blood of any of my Slawkenberg's cohorts would have done the trick, charged as it was with regular uses of Panacea. Then again, there were few people in the Protectorate who used the stuff as frequently as I. While my use had decreased since becoming responsible for making sure Zerayah didn't go off and eat the Segmentum, I still took a dose regularly to help deal with the ulcers and headaches of my situation.
Of course, I couldn't exactly suggest that out loud, especially since we didn't know much about the Vampires' biology (although Basileus-Zeta had made his interest for the subject clear). For now, though, we had more pressing concerns, such as the Nurglite incursion that had nearly ended my life.
"The Brood of Nergal came from the underhive," Vlad was explaining, a scowl on his face. "They shouldn't have made it anywhere near the spire, but they had inside help. One of our Coven betrayed us and let them in, probably in some attempt to take advantage of the resulting chaos to further his prestige and power."
Oh, brilliant. It seemed not all Vampires were smarter than the typical Imperial noble after all.
"That traitor also must have concealed their numbers from us," Vlad continued. "We have no idea how many more are hiding in the warrens, meaning that we need to launch a purge. Lord Cain, I apologize again for the disturbance, but I fear I must ask you and yours to remain within the spire while your people coordinate with ours to set up the food distribution while I prosecute the cleansing of Hive Primus' depths."
On the one hand, the thought of staying in the upper hive while the Regent did the dirty work was very appealing. On the other, not only would that not fit with my image, it would leave me surrounded by a bunch of blood-drinking mutants, at least one of which was still sending me disturbingly hungry glances from time to time.
At least in the underhive I could shoot at anything threatening me without causing a diplomatic incident.
"I'm sure Harold can manage that on his own, and probably do it better without me hovering over him," I declared with a smile in the direction of the Tzeentchian bureaucrat, before refocusing on Vlad. "I think I'd much rather join you in this little cleansing expedition of yours."
"Why would you go this far ?" asked Vlad, one eyebrow raised. "Merely repaying you for the supplies you've brought will already put us in your debt."
I hadn't managed to keep up the charade of the Liberator this long by failing to take advantage of such a straight line. I sighed theatrically, as if disappointed in the Vampire's cynicism, and replied :
"If you can't accept that we'd help you simply out of the goodness of our hearts," which, speaking for myself, I most certainly wouldn't do, "then consider this : we have declared ourselves as enemies of Nurgle since years ago. While all other faiths are welcome on Slawkenberg and Adumbria, the God of Decay is anathema to all civilization, be it the Covens or the Protectorate. Letting his influence grow here can only threaten our own interests further down the line."
"… I can understand that," said Vlad. "But are you sure your forces can help us ? While I have no doubt of your martial prowess, Lord Cain, the guards you brought with us didn't fare well against the Brood. And even such potent warriors as the rest of your company," he gestured in the direction of the two Astartes, the Drukhari Wych, and the psyker in the room, "their small number will prevent them from being of much help for an operation of that scale."
That was, of course, perfectly true. Given the sheer size of a typical underhive, a handful of combatants, no matter how skilled, couldn't hope to have much of an impact in what we all assumed at the time would be a search-and-destroy operation targeted at groups of the Nurgle-corrupted Vampires we'd faced. If the Brood had possessed some kind of leader, then they would have been the perfect kill-team to direct at them, but as far as we knew the Brood were leaderless – except for, maybe, the Volkihar traitor who had brought them to the spire.
"That would be because we left our most capable forces in orbit, and brought only a lightly armed escort – except for Hektor and Suture, of course – as a gesture of good will," I explained, before seeing an opportunity to ensure my future safety and sighing regretfully. "In hindsight, it was a mistake, and one which cost us good men."
There. Now, the next time I had to come down in foreign territory, it was all but certain someone else would suggest bringing the USA regardless of diplomatic considerations, without me having to do it myself and risk looking afraid.
"All soldiers of the Unified Slawkenberg Army are clad in their own suit of power armor," I continued, not missing the brief stiffening of Vlad's posture at the casual statement.
It was easy to forget, given how much time I'd spent away from the Imperium and into the madness of Slawkenberg, but human-sized power armor was rare. To my knowledge, only the Sisters of Battle used them for their main infantry forces, and outside of the Guard, even flak armor was usually considered top-of-the-line equipment.
"In addition," I finished, "they all are trained to operate in a multitude of hostile environments, and while I don't think we have built a replica underhive yet, I feel the inside of a Space Hulk will be a suitable replacement."
"Ah. Well, then, in that case, I would be a fool to refuse your assistance, since you're offering it so graciously. And I assume you will lead your forces personally ?"
"Of course," I replied with a smile, knowing that I had no other choice. Still, I wasn't too worried.
Not only would I be accompanied by Jurgen and Malicia (with Hektor leading the USA troopers), I would be inside the Liberator Armor, so I was confident my personal safety was guaranteed. The corrupted Vampires we'd faced would be no match for the borg-built suit, nor would any of the other monstrosities that usually dwelled within a underhive. The worst danger would come from the risk of a hive-quake burying me under several hundred tons of rubble, but I trusted the Liberator Armor's sensors and my own instincts to see me through that peril – and besides, if I was lucky, I might even be able to use that excuse to avoid getting deep in the fray.
You would think that, by now, I would know better than to make such assumptions. My only defense is that, by that point, it'd been a while since I'd been in actual, dangerous combat, and the fact my plot to avoid danger during the void battle in Adumbria had worked had me cautiously optimistic that my luck might have turned.
The events to come would, of course, soon most thoroughly disillusion me of that foolish notion.
Mannfred Volkihar cursed silently as he walked through the dark tunnels of Hive Primus' depths, one hand on the weapons he carried while he kept a wary eye on his surroundings, just in case any of the degenerates who dwelled there were stupid or desperate enough to attack him.
It had taken months of careful, deliberate work to pave the way for the Nergalites' infiltration of the spire. And before that, years to ingratiate himself with the wretches, ever since he had discovered the existence of that small remnant of the fallen Coven in the depths of the underhive, during one of his expeditions (of which he had oh-so-unfortunately been the sole survivor, ensuring secrecy).
Manipulating the disgusting freaks into thinking he sympathized with their plight and could help them get revenge had been long, arduous work, but the likes of Nergal's Brood were no match for his wits. And if a few Volkihar Vampires who were poking around near their lairs had mysteriously disappeared, well, such things happened all the time in the underhive of Primus. It was why only the lower members of the Coven ever made their domains there.
Mannfred had thought the arrival of the off-worlders the perfect timing to unleash his 'allies' : the Coven's leadership would all be gathered in the Governor's spire palace to keep an eye on the proceedings, and the guards would be at least partially distracted by the strangers in their midst. With his authority as the Regent's Progeny, manipulating a few patrol schedules to ensure things went smoothly had been the easiest thing in the world. And as soon as he'd confirmation that his intended targets were slain, he would assume command and lead the purge, first of the spire, and then of the underhive nests, which his peerless investigation skills would have promptly discovered. The fleet in orbit would have made things a tad more complicated, but nothing Mannfred wasn't confident he could handle.
And now, it had all fallen apart. Not only were Vlad and Isabella still alive, one of the Ancients had awakened from her slumber. Damn that Cain ! His interference had ruined everything. Mannfred refused to believe that it was all coincidence. The Black Commissar's reputation had reached all the way to Cassandron, and Mannfred didn't doubt for a moment that Cain's infernal masters had guided him to the hive-world just in time to foil his plot. Not only was he now forced to flee his Maker's retribution, but Cain had doubly earned the gratitude of the Volkihar Coven, both by bringing an alleged solution to the looming food crisis and by returning one of the Coven's Ancients to them.
The mere thought of someone pledging their service to the Dark Gods filled Mannfred with disgust, for the same reason he'd always secretly held Vlad in contempt. What was the point of power, if you only held it at the sufferance of someone else, be they Ancient or Ruinous Power ? For all the power he held (and truly, that power must be considerable, to have defied the Imperium so blatantly and lived to tell the tale), Cain was still naught but a slave to the Archenemy.
Yet even a slave could be dangerous, as Cain had so disastrously demonstrated. Mannfred's plans were in tatters, Vlad had discovered his treachery, and off-world troops were descending from orbit to join the cleansing expedition in the underhive. Mannfred's supporters in the Coven had turned on him without hesitation – he hadn't even tried to go to them for aid, knowing how they'd have welcomed him. Consorting with Nergal's Brood was one of the few unforgivable sins of the Covens, and by being caught red-handed, Mannfred had lost every protection and privilege that'd been afforded him due to his station as Vlad's Progeny. He had barely managed to grab a few valuables and weapons before making his escape.
Mannfred would have his revenge, though. There were still Nergalites in the depths he could find and rally against the new Protectorate-Covens alliance. Yes, victory in an outright conflict was likely impossible, but targeted assassination might still be in the cards. Vlad's arrogance would force him to lead the inevitable purge from the front, and a warlord such as Cain was unlikely to be far behind.
And once they were dead … well, he would think of something, he was sure of it. The chaos would bring plenty of opportunities for someone as cunning as him to seize.
In the end, he was Mannfred Volkihar, the one true lord of the Volkihar Coven and all of Cassandron. And he would have what he was due.
AN : Yes, Mannfred, I'm sure you will manage to use an apocalyptic threat to accomplish your own selfish ambitions. What could possibly go wrong ?
I have a file describing the society, powers, and nature of the Vampires of Cassandron. Once this arc is complete, I might post it on the SB thread as an Informational threadmark (but not before, since I might need to adjust stuff for story purposes).
Speaking of the SB thread, if you are reading this on FFnet or AO3, I really recommend checking it out. A LOT of Omakes were written by my readers since the last chapter.
I had to cut some stuff from this chapter because it didn't flow like I wanted, and in order to get it done in time for this fic's first year anniversary. Speaking of, here is to many more glorious adventures of the Liberator ! Don't worry, the stuff that didn't make it in (like a more detailed explanation of what the Covens and the Brood of Nergal are) will be in the next chapter.
As always, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I look forward to your thoughts, comments and suggestions.
Zahariel out.