Mercy Cain The Liberator 3
The news spread through the Cainite Protectorate like wildfire. Mercy, the beloved daughter of Ciaphas Cain, had done the impossible—venturing into the heart of Commorragh to free human slaves and deliver them to safety. The tale grew with every retelling, the facts embellished to mythic proportions. By the time it reached the edges of the Protectorate's influence, it was said that she had single-handedly faced down a Haemonculus coven and outwitted an Archon, all while walking unscathed through the shadowed streets of the Dark City.
To the people, Mercy was more than a savior. She was a symbol of their hope, a beacon of strength that promised a brighter future. She embodied the Protectorate's ideals of liberation and defiance against tyranny, and many began to whisper of the day she might take up the mantle of leadership after Cain.
Public gatherings were held in her honor, banners bearing her likeness unfurled in towns and cities. The chant of "Mercy's light! Mercy's fight!" echoed through the streets. The rescued slaves, still acclimating to their newfound freedom, spoke of her with awe, describing the golden-haired girl who had given them a second chance.
"She's just like her father," many said, though in truth, many believed she might surpass him.
Cain stood on the balcony of the Protectorate's central fortress, addressing a crowd that stretched as far as the eye could see. His uniform was immaculate, his signature commissar's hat perfectly tilted. He held his arms wide, projecting an air of paternal pride.
"My people!" he called, his voice carrying effortlessly. "Today, we celebrate a victory not just for the Protectorate but for humanity itself. My daughter, Mercy, has shown us all the power of courage and compassion. She has proven that even in the darkest places, hope can prevail!"
The crowd erupted into cheers, their devotion to both Cain and Mercy palpable. He allowed himself a small smile, bowing his head humbly as the adulation washed over him. "It is not my leadership that makes this possible," he continued, voice full of feigned modesty. "It is the spirit of our people and the future leaders like Mercy who will carry our dreams forward."
The cheers grew deafening, and Cain waved to the crowd, his face the picture of benevolent pride.
Cain's smile remained perfectly composed as he turned from the balcony, but inside, he was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack. He strode down the hall toward his private chambers, ignoring the salutations of guards and officials.
Oh, Throne, oh Throne, oh Throne...
This is it,
he thought, the mental equivalent of wringing his hands. This is where it all unravels. A direct intervention from the Chaos Gods? In Commorragh? Of all places? And my daughter is the one leading the charge? Throne, I should've known this was coming.
As the door to his chambers closed behind him, Cain collapsed into a chair, tugging off his commissar's hat and tossing it onto the desk. His mind raced, a tangled mess of fear, paranoia, and grudging admiration for Mercy's audacity.
The Chaos Gods, for Emperor's sake! She made a pact with the actual Warp-spawned horrors! Slaanesh, Khorne, Tzeentch—all in one go! Who does that?! Oh, I'll tell you who—someone who inherited my damned flair for diving headfirst into trouble!
He rubbed his temples, his thoughts veering into darker territory. And let's not forget the God-Emperor. Oh, yes, He's definitely behind this. No way does something this disastrous happen without Him getting a good laugh at my expense. He's been waiting for this moment ever since I ditched the Commissariat and set up this Protectorate. Probably sitting on His golden throne, grinning ear to ear, thinking, 'Let's see how Cain deals with this one!'
Cain groaned, running a hand down his face. And what about the Chaos Gods? They're not going to just let this slide, are they? They'll want something—souls, sacrifices, or worse, they'll want to keep helping. Mercy might have them wrapped around her little finger now, but when has Chaos ever played fair?
A sudden thought struck him like a bolt of lightning, and he bolted upright in his chair. Wait. What if this was their plan all along? What if they're grooming her for something? Oh, Throne, they're probably laughing themselves sick in the Warp right now. I'll bet Tzeentch is already thirty schemes ahead, and Slaanesh is just licking its chops, waiting for me to make a mistake.
Cain stood, pacing the room like a caged animal. "This is fine," he muttered aloud, his voice tinged with forced calm. "This is fine. I just need to... stay calm. Act supportive. Look like the proud father. And maybe—just maybe—I can steer this ship away from the Warp-borne iceberg heading straight for us."
He paused, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His own eyes stared back, wide with barely suppressed terror.
"Or," he muttered, "I'm completely and utterly screwed."
Despite his rising panic, Cain forced himself to take a deep breath. One step at a time, old boy. Play the long game. Mercy's a good kid. She'll handle this. And if not... well, I'll just have to fake it until the Warp swallows us all.
With that, he straightened his coat, slapped his commissar's hat back on, and prepared to return to the facade of the proud, confident leader. Inside, though, Ciaphas Cain couldn't shake the sinking feeling that his carefully built world was teetering on the edge of disaster—and the God-Emperor was watching with a smirk.