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by ownddwqo

I do not write any of these stories, they were written by someone else, I claim no credit for the story, I just post it here because I am too lazy to actually read them and just listen to them. This is not written by me, this was written by The Plauge Dragon , you can find them on space battles or on Ao3 under the name The Plauge Dragon.

34. Chapter 34

Our little detour took nearly a whole week more of time and effort. With Rylanor's permission and at Felecia's insistence, a contingent of the ship's cogboys went down to recover the Ancient Astartes' former mechanical body. Felecia was so enthralled by the not-so-shiny piece of technology from the Imperium's height that she didn't even notice Amberley walking on eggshells around the other woman. I was becoming increasingly concerned for Amberley's blood pressure, all these shocks to the system and uncomfortable truths revealed to her couldn't be healthy. Some of the 609th seemed amused by her skittishness, though none of them knew the reason for it of course; having everyone nervous about our regiment's Techpriestess wouldn't do anyone any good. By the time the Dreadnought chassis was ready for transport and last rites said for the wargear left behind, Karamazov's battleship had arrived to rendezvous with us in the Isstvan system. It was my first time getting a proper look at it from the bridge of Orelius' vessel, and I was left in awe. The Lord Inquisitor's personal ship was nothing less than a Retribution Class battleship! Fittingly, considering the Lord Inquisitor's personality and preferred actions, it was named 'Mercy of The Emperor'. As it transitioned in from the Warp fully, I noticed something I brought up to Fyodor.

"Aren't these battleships supposed to have escorts?" I asked; again I was no Naval Commissar but everything I knew firmly stated that such grand and expensive vessels, often irreplaceable, always came with a variety of lesser ships to act as scouts and defensive screens.

Fyodor just shrugged nonchalantly. "Unnecessary and wasteful. My tech-priests decided to swap the sensors out with another, more innovative design at my own insistence. The defenses have likewise been upgraded, so that the Mercy can act on its own. My tech-priests enjoy my protection, allowing them to improve upon and tinker with my ship as they please." Here he scowled. "Needless to say, many of the Tech-Priests that serve me are those I rescued from being tried for the 'crime' of innovation. So long as they take all proper precautions and do not dive headlong into true heresy, I see no issue with them trying to improve Humanity's technology."

As I and those of us watching on the bridge absorbed that reasoning, Felecia started applauding wildly. "I LIKE YOU ALREADY!" Oh wait, it was Maggy applauding. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Amberley start twitching; hopefully it wouldn't become a nervous habit.

The Lord Inquisitor, having grown used to the fact that Felecia was occasionally the mouthpiece of the Xeno god that the Mechanicus unknowingly worshipped, just smiled and nodded. "Thank you for the compliment. There were some complaints of course, but it worked out in the end." He paused, looking at the possessed cog-girl. "If I may, I'd like to talk with Miss Tayber now." With a small shrug, Felecia's body slumped for a moment before straightening into the more familiar pose and mannerisms of its original owner. Fyodor's next words were aimed towards her. "You said you had recovered an STC for a water purifier? That rumor made it to my ears, and I must say I'm genuinely eager to hear more about it as better infrastructure systems would greatly enhance many of my efforts."

"I… I did." Felecia said a bit nervously, still unaccustomed to a LORD Inquisitor treating her with curiosity and deference. Her natural honesty kicked in, and she clarified things for his benefit. "Well, more like I blacked out and was suddenly holding it…"

Here I interjected, putting my two throne gelts in. "Maggy made it from scrap metal after he spent a good few minutes waxing nostalgic about the one we found in Mayoh's undercity. He also mentioned something called a Mark 10 'Ocean Scrubber'."

Again Karamazov paused, then shrugged. "You know what? I'm not going to question the Machine God. Now, let us see about beginning the transfer of our personnel and materials over to my ship, so that Trader Orelius can go about his business."

With that, we all went to the hangars. Others were filling up with the members of the 609th, as we would all be transferring to Karamazov's ship as newly inducted assets of the Ordo Ciaphas. God-Emperor, that was still odd as frak to think of, nevermind to utter aloud. I enjoyed the fact that Amberley didn't mind sitting next to me on the shuttle across; she was too focused on staying away from Felecia who was happily chatting to an interested Karamazov about the specs on the water purification plant whose STC she'd 'found'. As soon as we were all securely aboard the Mercy, I could sense the Warp opening as Orelius' ship made its departure. I couldn't blame him for leaving so quickly with hardly a farewell, as all this time spent dealing with the Inquisition and its needs must have cut severely into his profit line. I wished him luck in his future ventures now that he was no longer slowly dying, and prayed we'd see each other again as he'd proven to be excellent company(1).

Once we'd disembarked and ensured that the 609th's unloading was going smoothly, Fyodor led us to the bridge. I imagined that after being away from it for so long between his investigations into myself and our rushed detour to Isstvan, he was eager to ensure that his greatest asset was running smoothly. As we went through the corridors, I was struck by the fact that the crew members that bowed as Karamazov passed were smiling genuinely as they did so. I could taste the admiration, loyalty, and even love they all had for him. What was more, he paused many times to inquire after certain members of the Battleship's crew, calling them by name and showing genuine concern for them. It seemed a miracle that someone with that much power and so high up within the powerbase of the Imperium still made time for the menials serving under himself in the Emperor's name. I couldn't help but think that many Commissars and Guard Commanders could benefit from the Lord Inquisitor's example(2).

Upon arriving at the bridge, I saw the obvious captain accompanied by a very familiar young child who was currently dragging around a stuffed Grox. The man seemed to be doing his best to humor the child, but an active bridge was no place for a juvie. They turned as we stepped out onto the command deck, with the captain giving a relaxed smile of welcome and the young boy's eyes lighting up in joy. Beside me, I could feel a similar joy coming from the aged man beside me.

"Ah, Arydel." Karamazov said, his features and voice showing a rather grandfatherly amount of warmth. I felt a pang of envy which I quickly smothered, refusing to begrudge the child from receiving the sort of warmth and care I myself had lacked in my own upbringing.

"Grandpa!" The boy exclaimed gleefully, running up to him in excitement. I expected perhaps a fond head pat or something similar, but instead the two embraced. I felt the fondness coming from the watching crew, and my own heart welled at the beauty of such genuine affection. Of course Amberley gave voice to something that was puzzling me about this Arydel's pronouncement.

"I thought you said he wasn't yours." Amberley inquired of the Lord Inquisitor, who looked up from the child to smile at us.

"I unofficially adopted him. The poor child was an orphan, under the care of a priest that was so corrupt that the local Chaos Cults saw him as an asset." Karamazov explained, picking up the child easily; for all of his years, Fyodor kept himself fit and as spry as many men that were decades his junior. "Arydel, these are the people who will be working with us." He explained gently to his young ward. The child's eyes locked on me almost immediately, face gaining a nervous twinge as he insistently tugged on the robes of the man holding him.

"Umm… Grandpa…"

Fyodor gave him a sympathetic look, patting his head in comfort. "I know, I know. Don't worry about him. He's far more than what he appears." It was then that Jurgen decided to get closer to the boy, peering at him curiously. To my great surprise, the child didn't seem to react that much, just scrunching his nose up in mild distaste. Based on other Psykers when encountering Jurgen, I'd expected far more of a reaction.

"You smell bad." He bluntly told Jurgen with all of the innocent yet brutal honesty of a child, but that was it. No screaming or fainting, no homicidal fits. All young Kyrus did was wave his hand in front of his nose, as if trying to banish the miasma of Jurgen's odor. Karamazov chuckled in fond amusement, while beside me Amberley muttered about Blanks not being what they used to be.

Jurgen didn't even seem to hear the boy, instead leaning in to peer at where his nightshirt was loosely slung over one shoulder. My aide blinked, then turned to the Lord Inquisitor. "Why does he have 'property of Cain, do not touch' written on his shoulder?" He asked, voice curious. Immediately everyone turned to look at me, and I almost wished the Warp would swallow me up at all the attention.

"So that's what your mark looks like to a Blank… Interesting." Karamazov mused. The child's eyes went wide and he again tugged at his adopted grandfather's robes, once more drawing his attention.

"Blanks are the people that are supposed to hurt those like me, right?" Kyrus asked innocently, as if he was remembering some recent lesson.

Karamazov nodded, smiling with genuine fondness at his ward. "Most people like you, yes. You'd be correct, Arydel. However, you're extra special, so it'd take several of them to even cause you mild discomfort."

"Oh. Okay. If you say so grandpa." Kyrus said, accepting the explanation with complete faith and trust in Fyodor. It was almost sickeningly adorable, and in the back of my head I heard cooing. I couldn't help but let some of my incredulity burst out at this.

"This is an Alpha Plus Psyker?" I asked, eyebrows arched. I mean yes I'd seen the child before, but still. This was nothing like what I'd have expected from a Psyker, let alone one as powerful as the young boy held securely in Karamazov's arms was supposed to be. Part of me would continue to not fully believe that Kyrus could actually be as dangerous as everyone said, at least not until I'd personally seen him in action later(3).

"Looks can be deceiving." Karamazov replied with a pointed look towards me, setting the kid down. Fair enough, I certainly wasn't what I appeared to be either, and that was true even before I'd been damned by She Who Thirsts. Idly I'd wondered if anyone had ever thought to give the thirsty Dark Whore a good cup of tanna(4). Looking back down at the child still clinging to his robes, Karamazov's features turned stern while retaining their kindness. "Now Kyrus, I'm almost certain it's past your bedtime. Were you up here bothering the captain again?"

"... I wanted to know how you were doing." The kid said, staring at the floor and scuffing the toe of his shoe across the deck plating in embarrassment. All the while he kept one hand tangled in Fyodor's robes, obviously taking comfort from the contact. Damnit, there was that cooing noise in the back of my head again!

The Lord Inquisitor chuckled and again gently patted the child's head. "I appreciate the concern, Kyrus. It does my heart well to hear your care for me. But I assure you, despite my age I am quite capable." Karamazov said reassuringly, eyes sparkling with joy as the boy nodded. "Come on, I'll make you some hot chocolate and read you a story." At that the young walking weapon of mass destruction let out an excited whoop and flung himself back up into Fyodor's arms, who headed back off of the bridge while Amberley and I stared open mouthed at the sight of a man capable of ordering the deaths of worlds acting like an overindulgent grandparent. Felecia was too busy happily darting about and being allowed to explore the bridge of a real honest-to-Emperor Battleship to notice anything else that we all were doing. Jurgen just muttered that he needed to keep a thermos of hot chocolate on hand as well as tanna now, "For the young sir."

Frak it, the universe continued to make no Emperor-forsaken sense! At least I wasn't alone in my confusion as Amberley was right there with me in it.

Karamazov returned about forty minutes later, finding us in a lounge set off of the bridge meant for the crew to take quick breaks in. He really seemed to have prioritized turning the Mercy into a comfortable place to live and work in. "Sorry about that. Making sure that young Kyrus feels cared for is important to me; I really have become fond of the boy in a short amount of time." He said, chuckling sheepishly before lifting a dataslate he was holding. "While I was heading back here, one of my Acolytes conveyed a bit of information they gleaned about our upcoming mission. It seems that the planetary unrest was started by…" He paused in his reading and stared dumbfounded at the screen. Through my senses, I could feel disbelief and resigned despair war within his soul. "I… what? This… this was sent correctly, right?" Fyodor muttered to himself, double checking what he'd read and I could feel the sense of resigned despair grow.

"Inquisitor?" I asked, concerned for what had so dismayed the man. He snapped out of it, breathed in, then shared the information with us.

"...A two percent tax increase on incense and votive candles." Karamazov revealed, totally deadpan. Now it was Amberley's and my turn to stare dumbfounded, while Jurgen (who'd pulled out a thermos of tanna and some snacks for me from somewhere while we'd waited) just arched an eyebrow; Felecia, the only one besides myself willing to risk the snacks pulled from Jurgen's myriad pockets, merely kept stuffing her face. Fyodor nodded in mournful confirmation, absentmindedly accepting the cup of regular tea that Jurgen helpfully handed him. The Lord Inquisitor sipped at his tea, using it to fortify himself and nodding his thanks to my aide before continuing. "Needless to say the local Ecclesiarchy was vocal in their condemnation of this 'egregious secular overreach', condemning it in their sermons. Since then, the situation has completely spiraled out of control. The governor promised to not enact the tax for the sake of unity and peace. But by then they were accusing him of heresy, inciting the faithful to acts of violence. So he had to crush the resulting riots, which were again condemned. And then… revolt." Karamazov sighed, draining his cup of tea and setting it down as he collapsed into the comfortable armchair across from us. His every emotion and gesture spoke of someone so completely done with this groxshit, and I marveled anew at the willpower that kept him sane without resorting to executing everyone who looked at him crossly. At that moment he wasn't a Lord Inquisitor, but a worn out old man complaining about the stresses of his job to his acquaintances. "And this is why I can't stand the echelons of the Ecclesiarchy. They probably thought that they'd have to cut back on the feasts…"

"Sir?" Jurgen asked, speaking aloud the concern all of us were feeling. It physically hurt, seeing such a good and noble man ground down by the greed and shortsighted stupidity of others. Fyodor just sighed again then smiled reassuringly at us, waving off our concerns.

"Sorry to lay this all upon you four. I've had a relatively negative opinion of the upper levels of the Ecclesiarcy since my mentor died(5)." As he made to stand, the scrawny scribe-looking man I'd noticed when first meeting Lord Karamazov scrambled in, looking for the Inquisitor I assumed. I noticed that he had a lit sandpaper cigarette clenched between his lips. The sight was both familiar and surprising to me. Sandpaper cigarettes were common in the Underhive and amongst gangers who didn't expect to live overly long. The purpose behind them was that the rough sand and grit on the inside of the paper roll would absorb the narcotics held within the cigarette; then once the tiny bits of sand were inhaled during the act of smoking it they would get stuck in the nooks and crannies of the throat and lungs, prolonging and enhancing the effects of said narcotic. It was fairly effective, but absolute murder on the vocal cords and could easily take years off of a person's lifespan if they abused them too much. I would have thought that an agent of the Inquisition would have access to far better ways of becoming intoxicated in some manner, but if it worked for him who was I to judge? Based upon Fyodor's pleased look upon seeing him, I surmised that at least he was in enough favor to receive the medical care needed to counteract the worst aspects of his habit. "Ah, Dominique." Karamazov greeted him, giving the apparent scribe a name I could now associate with him. The scrawny, hairless man nodded and handed his lord another dataslate, which Karamazov accepted readily. "Reports from Perlia?"

This Dominique's voice was as unpleasantly raspy and coarse as I expected it to be, while also somehow being high pitched. "Yeah Fyodor, I got 'em. The Magos Biologis you assigned to the project wants to perform more tests regarding the usage of that purple water."

Perlia? Purple water?! Oh frak, they were talking about the water I'd 'blessed'! Hopefully the results of these tests wouldn't convince Lord Karamazov that, Emperor's approval or no, I was too dangerous to be allowed to roam free.

Unconscious to my panicked thoughts, Fyodor just nodded as he skimmed over the contents of the dataslate then pressed his signet ring to the appropriate scanner to give it his authorization. "I see, thank you Dominique. Order my approval, please." The man snapped the dataslate back into his long fingered hands, and seemed ready to race back off to the astropath before he noticed me staring. Karamazov also noticed and smiled, gesturing to the man. "This is Dominique, my longtime friend and associate who has recently been promoted as a full Inquisitor of the Ordo Malleus. And I suppose through his service to me, the Ordo Ciaphas as well now, not that serving more than one Ordo is unusual for him. Apparently he also serves the… Ordo Supernovae(6), correct?"

The sallow faced man just nodded, puffing away at his cheap means of intoxication. "Right, Fyodor."

Ordo Supernovae? That was a new one for me. "Maggy?" I asked.

Felecia's body slumped then shrugged, eyes glassy and voice booming. "DON'T LOOK AT ME. I DON'T KNOW."

Dominique just arched a hairless brow and turned to his superior. "Should I be concerned, Fyodor?" The third apparent Inquisitor in the room asked in his raspy voice.

"No, Dominique. I'll tell you more later, it's a recent and rather interesting development." Karamazov stated, before standing and heading back out towards the bridge. "Now, let us be off. We have another mess to go and clean up."

After that we went our separate ways to get prepared for the Mercy's transition into the Warp. Amberley went off to check on her own retinue while Karamazov said he was going to bed. Felecia went to assist the Mechanicus contingent with ensuring the Gellar Fields were up to snuff. And Jurgen and I of course returned to where the 609th were settling in. The regiment was quite happy to be on the battleship; unsurprising since the barracks and facilities assigned to them were far larger and more accommodating than their berth on Orelius' ship had been. The Rogue Trader had done his best to keep my people comfortable, and the Mercy of the Emperor simply had more room and resources to devote to a full regiment. That, and having the thick hull and guns of a full Battleship protecting them was a nice bonus. Needless to say, morale was high and the troops and officers were both eager for our next action. I made my rounds, still touched by the trust and devotion the Valhallans offered me, then retired to my own rooms. Sitting on my bed, I expanded my mind and soul to cover the ship as it breached the barrier between Materium and Immaterium. About half an hour after we entered the Warp, Karamazov came into my quarters, soul burning with curiosity.

"Did you need anything, Fyodor?" I asked the Inquisitor, still finding it hard to believe that a man of his exalted position had all but insisted I call him by his first name. In response he just stared at me for a long moment before speaking, voice soft and questioning but with just a hint of threat behind it if he didn't like the answers he received. For all of his goodness and kindness, by no means was Fyodor Karamazov soft or weak, something I would see demonstrated many times during our association.

"Kyrus says that there's a daemonic sheen over the Geller field. One of intense potency, yet not attacking it. If anything, he describes it as possessive, protective. Would you happen to know anything about this, Ciaphas?" Judging by Karamazov's tone and way of speaking, the child must've been spooked by my power and he was unamused by that fact. Again I felt a small pang of envy that Kyrus had someone to protect and care for him in his childhood. While I'd certainly been 'protected' in the Schola Progenium, being cared for was another matter; the instructors there were meant to create the Emperor's most loyal servants, not see to the fears and wants of orphaned children. I swallowed the bitter envy down, feeling ashamed that I would resent a mere child for having been lucky, and took it as another sign of my flawed character(7).

I shamefully bowed my head in apology. "Apologies, Lord Inquisitor. I tend to create a sheen of my power above the gellar field while in the Warp, and yell at things to frak off."

"I see…" Karamazov nodded slowly, stroking his beard in thought. "To have a Favored Daemon Prince claim a vessel as their own and guard it with their power would certainly deter many lesser Warp predators. An additional Gellar Field in essence, one perhaps even better suited to the task than the actual device itself. So, should we expect any threat to the crew?"

I shook my head firmly, denying the likelihood of anyone on the ship coming under the predation of the daemonic. Still, it was better to temper expectations. "Probably not, unless one of the Four Fucks decides to personally intervene."

At this Karamazov seemed startled out of his assessment, blinking his bushy brows as he stared at me with a lack of comprehension. "Four… fucks?"

Right, that was my own personal term for the Ruinous Powers, and I hadn't exactly spread it around much yet(8). "The gods of fuck your sanity, fuck your health, fuck your life, and fuck you literally." I explained.

He blinked then gave another slow, thoughtful nod. "Ah. Yes, that isn't an inaccurate description I suppose. I might have to use that in the future, though not around Kyrus obviously." Karamazov mused, then gave me a stern glare. "If Kyrus gets nightmares from you and your ability, I will be personally booting you to the Golden Throne to burn for a bit." He warned, soul screaming sincerity and promise behind his words, before leaving my quarters without another word.

…Damnit, I was so glad that man was on my side. I'd have hated to see what he was capable of when he was against you(9).

As I was not kicked in the ass by an irate Lord Inquisitor the next morning, I assumed that the Alpha Plus Psyker wasn't having any night terrors; at least, ones that could be traced back to me at any rate. Over a private breakfast in my office, Karamazov explained that Kyrus' abilities needed to be trained better before the boy could be of use as anything other than a walking Exterminatus. This meant that it'd be quite some time before he'd be useful for our misadventures. Unsurprisingly, Fyodor intended to make the most of that time to give young Kyrus a well-rounded childhood along with his training. This struck me as a novel idea; perhaps being treated kindly in addition to whatever protections this so-called 'Mark of Cain' I'd applied to the young lad gave would result in somebody considerably less barmy than the average Sanctioned Pysker. I was somewhat less enthused by Karamazov wanting to bring Kyrus around every now and then to help him get used to me, but while I might be a walking pile of heresy and self-interest, even I couldn't bring myself to be a dick to a child. As our journey through the Warp progressed, safely and rapidly thanks at least in part due to my own efforts, the young Psyker of prodigious power became used to me and was soon nattering my ear off with questions about the Schola Progenium and what it was like being a Commissar. This state of affairs seemed to amuse Lord Karamazov mightily, as well as Dominique whenever the scratchy voiced man was around (I noted that he never lit his sandpaper cigarettes in the child's presence).

Speaking of Inquisitors, Amberley and I had a bit of a breakthrough in our rather awkward relationship, and this occurred somehow in spite of me being totally honest and transparent.

I was alone in one of the lounges on the upper decks after a meeting with Lord Karamazov, staring out the window of the modestly appointed chamber. Of course it was shuttered closed with heavily armored panels, as one did not simply leave any opening that uninvited company might come in through during Warp travel; the Navigator was the only one not flying blind while in the Warp. Well, the Navigator and myself, as while the shutters blocked my physical vision they did nothing against my other senses. Of course no semi-sane Navigator would dare peer out into the tides of the Warp idly, as doing so ran the risk of attracting unwanted attention from daemons and other immaterial predators. But as one of the biggest Warp predators there was, I had no such limitation as any daemons attracted to our vessel were either sent running or consumed if they got too close by the skein of my power covering the ship. Nor would I be driven mad or possessed by what I might see, as the Warp was now more comforting to me than reality; a further sign of my damnation in my eyes. So there I was, staring out through adamantium plating at phenomena only I could bear witness to, swirling a tumbler of amasec in one hand as I sat in the dimly lit lounge, when the voice that had so captured my attention during that first meeting upon Gravalax spoke up behind me.

"What do you see, Ciaphas?"

I turned my head to see Amberley standing there in the doorway, my breath taken away as she was illuminated from behind by the light of the corridor. She was wearing not one of her dour uniforms or grim (yet flattering) bodysuits, but a dress. Heavier and more modest than the one I'd seen her wearing during our first meeting, back when I thought she was just a lounge singer, but seeing her in casual dress rather than the trappings of her office was a delight. I prayed to the God-Emperor that it meant she was warming back up to me and feeling more comfortable in my presence again; I'd sorely missed the easy communion we'd found before my revelation of my true nature.

Still, she'd asked a question, and I hated to keep a lady waiting. Thinking hard, I struggled to put it into mortal terms. "It's… The scent of colors, rolling by in a wave of feeling and an ocean of taste and sound. All through it swim great underwater predators, gliding through dreams and nightmares while…" Suddenly I burped, cheeks flushing red while Amberley stared incredulously at me. "Sorry. A few Slaaneshi daemons got too close to the shield I'm keeping up over the Gellar Field. They taste like fine amasec mixed with potent narcotics."

She looked at me with an unreadable expression before speaking. "So, the other servants of your master are not exempt from your powers?"

I scowled at that and angrily drained the amasec I was holding before meeting her eyes with my own. "I have no master or mistress save He On Terra. Those who willingly serve the Dark Whore are beneath my contempt."

Amberley blushed then, looking away and I felt shame radiate from her soul. "I… I'm sorry, Ciaphas. That was uncalled for. You've already more than proven that you're a loyal servant of His Divine Majesty. I just have trouble comprehending the sheer absurdity of your existence. Truce?"

That drew a sincere, fond smile out of me. "Always, Amberley. I hope you know by now that I couldn't bear you ill will even if I tried, and that I hold you in only the highest esteem." That left us both blinking, and me looking down at my empty glass wondering what the frak was in that amasec. Did I actually just say my thoughts aloud without any self-editing or teasing them around to come across in another way?! What the frak?! I did my best to ignore the faint sound of excited squealing in the back of my mind, trying to figure out why by all the green hells of Catachan I'd been unthinkingly open and honest with the object of my affections.

The most attractive of the Inquisitors I was acquainted with just stared at me for a moment, then went over to the well appointed bar in the lounge. There was nothing particularly fancy or expensive there, but Karamazov obviously went to great effort to ensure his crew's comfort and relaxation in their off hours. Amberley selected a rich amasec similar to the one I'd been enjoying, and got another tumbler before walking over and sitting beside me on the couch I was inhabiting. I couldn't help but breathe in, savoring the scent of Hegantha flowers from her perfume but more importantly basking in the light of her soul. God-Emperor I had missed her every time we parted. I should have probably been concerned at being so besotted with a woman I still barely knew, but how could you not know a person intimately after having literally peered into their very soul?

She poured herself a glass and then poured me a refill before taking a sip of her own drink, staring ahead as if she was trying to picture just what lay beyond the armored shutters. We sat there for some minutes, slowly sipping our drinks in somewhat comfortable silence before she quietly spoke. "Ciaphas. Be honest. I arrested you, interrogated you, threatened your friends… What do you really think of me?"

…Frak, looks like I'd have to keep being honest. "I think you're the most beautiful, faithful, strong, enchanting woman I've ever met, and it's no wonder I'm in love with you." Oops, went a bit far, didn't mean to let that last bit out. Que the awkward backing away and running for the door screaming at any moment.

Except, she didn't do that. She just stared at me with wide eyes and open mouth, as if I'd just suggested that the Omnissiah was actually a Xenos god with the soul of a canid… oh wait. Amberley gaped like a fish for a bit before finally squeaking out some syllables. "Love?! You're in love with me?!"

Well, in for a penny, in for a throne gelt. "Absolutely, completely, and totally besotted, Miss Vail. I fell in love with you the moment I saw you, heard your lovely voice, and above all felt the purity of your faith and strength of your soul. I'll admit I'm a bit surprised myself as I've not been one to get so… attached so quickly before. I think it might in part have something to do with my new nature. I'm obsessed with you, every sense and thought is absorbed by you. Everything you are is perfect to me. I want to write an epic ballad proclaiming your beauty of body and soul. I want to spend every second of the hour staring into your eyes. I want to consume and be consumed by you. I want to do every little thing you tell me to do. Do you want the Despoiler's head on a spike? Give the word and I'll charge into the Eye of Terror with a blade in my hand and a song in my soul. You, Amberley Vail, have conquered me entirely." I gulped in breaths I no longer truly needed, cheeks blazing in embarrassment at my sheer audacious honesty. In the back of my head, the squealing had been replaced by the sound of someone rapidly consuming popcorn.

Amberley stared at me, trembling with a mixture of disbelief, fear, and just the tiniest smidgen of interest. I clung to that last bit like a lifeline, hoping that my honesty wasn't sending a melta-torpedo right into my chances of courting this fascinating and dangerous woman. After all I was well aware of how insane I sounded, and any sane woman would be filing a restraining order with the Arbities; of course as an Inquisitor she had a lot more options than simply filing a report with the local law enforcers. Instead she just stared more, slugging her drink back, and refilling her glass as she composed herself. It made sense that she was made of sterner stuff. Taking another sip of her refilled drink, she let out a wry chuckle and a smirk. "Perfect? Really, Ciaphas?"

I nodded earnestly. "Absolutely. Frak, I told as much to the Dark Whore herself, that she could never be perfect because she wasn't you."

She sucked in a breath, and I could feel warmth blooming within her. "Flatterer. As if you'd really say right to the Fourth's face that a mortal woman exhibited more of one of it's domains more than they themselves did."

I pressed the Aquila over my heart. "I swear by the God-Emperor that it's the truth."

When I wasn't struck down for blasphemy, I think Amberley began to believe me. She looked down, voice soft. "...You really did say that, didn't you? And what did Slaanesh say in response?"

Again I breathed in, and more boldly than I ever had before forged forward with the truth. It was both exhilarating and bowel-clenchingly terrifying being so open, and I kind of liked it at the same time that I utterly hated it. "She said I should claim your soul for my own, draw it into myself and fully possess it, make you mine in that manner. I told her to frak off. If I did that, it wouldn't be real, wouldn't be true. And even though I know it's a fool's hope… I still want you to feel for me as I feel for you."

Amberley sat there, flustered and looking overwhelmed. "Ciaphas..." I silenced her with a gloved finger pressed lightly to her full lips, my own eyes conveying understanding and affection. "Don't, Amberley. You don't have to say it. I know. How could you possibly feel the same way towards a man you barely know, let alone a Daemon Prince? I don't expect you to return my affections. Simply being around you and serving you is enough, and I will never force you or ask for more than you're willing to give. This I swear to you. For now, let's just enjoy this moment and this amasec. Alright?"

Slowly she nodded, giving me a small smile which I returned broadly, and we returned to our drinks, sitting side by side in companionable silence(10).

That wasn't the only time Amberley spent together during our week long voyage, and I treasured every moment with her like it was purest auramite. However, all good times must come to an end, and we had duties to see to as soon as we exited the Warp. With little fanfare, we arrived in the system which had called for aid and were promptly greeted by a Battle Barge.

"Okay, this is definitely overkill." I said, staring at the Astartes Warship which was easily a match for our own 'Mercy of the Emperor'. "Two battleships for a minor revolt?"

"That's seen as a waste?" Rylanor asked, face quirked in a scowl. He was there on the bridge with the rest of us, being shadowed by several of the Lamenters.

"We simply cannot make many new Battleships. The technology for most of their designs has been lost to us." Karamazov admitted sadly. Dominique nodded along solemnly as he puffed away at his sandpaper cigarette, and Felecia mournfully made the cogwheel sign the Mechanicus used to pray to the Clockwork Emperor as she thought of what had been lost to Humanity. Of course she immediately brightened, probably thinking about how Maggy, the True Omnissiah, was going to hook her up with all of the technological goodies.

Rylanor let out a series of frustrated sounds, fists clenched and eyes squeezed shut as if in pain. I could feel his continuing disappointment at what the Imperium had turned into after ten thousand years. "Okay, does anyone need me for anything before I go and scream into the bulkheads for a few hours?" He asked blandly. It was obviously a rhetorical question, but one of the Lamenters raised a hand anyway which caused the Ancient Loyalist to quirk a brow. "Yes, Canary Children(11)?" He grumbled his words out with a questioning tone, every line of his face practically screaming that this had better be worthwhile or he'd be teaching them how they did things back in the old Legion days.

"Honored Ancient. We… we wanted to know. What would The Angel think of us?" The yellow-clad Astartes asked hesitantly, both fearful and hopeful.

The grumpy old Space Marine just let out a grunt and shrugged. "You know what? Fuck it. Tell me your deeds, and I'll let you know what the Buff Bird would think of you." The assembled Astartes began prattling off what their Chapter had accomplished, as Rylanor left with them to the adjacent crew lounge.

"...If they don't kill him, he's going to get asked all about Lord Manus by the Reclaimers." I mused, knowing by now after the months spent with the Lamenters how Astartes felt about their Primarchs; well, those that hadn't betrayed or otherwise been massive douches to their sons at any rate.

Karamazov nodded in agreement. "Undoubtedly. He is likely either the oldest or second oldest living Astartes; I am not sure if Bjorn the Fell-Handed of the Space Wolves is older or not. Few indeed can be said to have seen the Primarchs and God-Emperor with their own eyes while He and they walked amongst us."

I also nodded to indicate my affirmation of his statement. The Schola taught about the Venerable Space Wolf Dreadnought, who had walked besides the Primarchs and the God-Emperor, and would happily(12) tell the tales of the Early Days of the Imperium. "So do you think they knew each other? Rylanor and Bjorn?"

"Not impossible, but unlikely as the Emperor's Children worked most closely with the Iron Hands, not the Space Wolves." Karamazov replied, before turning on the Vox and speaking clearly and authoritatively into it. "This is Lord Inquisitor Karamazov, answering a request for support. Who am I speaking to?" He asked, polite as ever. The vox soon crackled with a reply.

"This is Captain Gries of the Reclaimers Chapter, Lord Inquisitor. We thank you for your support. We are surprised you were able to arrive as rapidly as you did."

Karamazov's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Yes. Our vessel seems particularly blessed as far as being able to brave the dangers of the Warp goes." He shot a glance towards me with a smirk before returning his attention to the Vox with a scowl. "Was this whole thing really started over a two percent tax increase over candles?"

From his answering sigh, the Space Marine felt the same way about this farce as Fyodor did. "Yes."

Karamazov breathed in, walked to the side of the bridge, and lightly slammed his head against a bulkhead several times before coming back to the vox caster. "I see. Thank you for the confirmation, Captain. Now, this may be an odd request, but do you have a spare set of power armor?"

There was a long pause, before the voice responded with clear contempt. "Why do you ask? Do your lapdogs not have any?"

Oh dear, Fyodor's teeth were gritted and his nostrils flaring; it seemed that the Reclaimer had hit upon a sore topic. "The Lamenters are not my 'lapdogs', Captain." Karamazov explained testily, clearly willing to defend his allied Astartes against any sort of prejudice they might encounter. "And no, they are adequately supplied. However, we have been unable to find a set for an Astartes we recovered during our journey here."

There was another pause, before the question we'd been dreading was asked. "What Chapter?"

"Not a Chapter. A Legion." Karamazov replied honestly, albeit while skirting the issue somewhat.

"Legion?" I murmured. Come to think of it, Karamazov had mentioned something about Traitor Legions and Loyalist Legions of Astartes when we'd arrived at Isstvan as well as something about hundreds of thousands of Space Marines, but my mind had not fully absorbed the information yet. It was just too incredible to fully comprehend those sorts of numbers, when even most Guardsmen would go their entire lives without ever seeing an Astartes. Not to mention the fact that I'd been quite distracted by the buffet line of intense emotion permeating the whole of the Isstvan system. So the idea of a Space Marine 'Legion' was still foreign and unfamiliar to me. Seeing as Karamazov was busy on the Vox, his long-time assistant Dominique answered in his stead.

"Oh for frak's sake, Cain. Didn't Fyodor already explain this? Okay, listen closely this time. Before Lord Robute Guilliman created the Chapters, the Space Marines were in Legions of one hundred thousand or more." Dominique answered my question a bit testily, exhaling a long plume of noxious smoke as he did so. Similarly to when we'd visited Isstvan, I tried to imagine that many Astartes, and simply couldn't. It was hard to imagine armies of superhuman warriors when in the modern Imperium there was less than one Space Marine for each of the worlds which owed allegiance to the Immortal Emperor.

Gries' surprise came through clearly even with the distortion of the vox. "An Ancient?" Unsurprisingly considering what I'd so far learned of the universe's sense of timing, at that very moment the doors opened to reveal a rather irritated looking Rylanor.

"Speaking." He stated gruffly into the vox. "I hear you lot are from Ferrus' stock. You all didn't slack off after ten thousand years, right? Otherwise he'd be slapping you in the face and telling you to forge faster, unless you wanted Vulkan's boys to beat you." I and the Lord Inquisitor stared dumbly at Rylanor, as was the crew and the other observers with us. A Space Marine Captain commanded up to a hundred Astartes, a force that could bring entire star systems to heel; to speak so casually to one was unheard of. However it seemed as if Rylanor was well and truly out of fucks to give(13). In response to the following silence from the vox, the Space Marine from a time of legend just heaved a sigh and again pinched the bridge of his nose. "Please tell me you haven't all become humorless boulders. Even Dorn would be disappointed were that the case, let alone Uncle Ferrus."

Karamazov just flushed crimson and shamefully turned his head, coughing into one hand out of an abundance of embarrassment. "I apologize, Rylanor, but…"

"Oh for FUCK'S SAKE!" The old Astartes roared, sending most of us jumping a bit; I admit to enjoying how Amberley's jump of alarm wound up with her in my arms. It seemed as though Rylanor had finally reached the limits of his patience and as he later called it 'ability to stomach bullshit'. "Fuck it! Just fuck all of it! I'm telling them!" He pushed Karamazov aside, albeit gently so as not to break any of the mortal man's bones. "Listen, and listen here you little punk. If you're a bunch of humorless assholes, I'm going to have to come over there and beat your asses in forging weapons while making jokes at your Primarch's expense. And believe me, I worked with him. I have a LOT of puns, jokes, and snarky remarks saved up. Do not test me, youngin'."

HOLY… FRAK. I could only stare open jawed at that verbal beating, and most of the others there could only do likewise. Proving Rylanor's fears about the Reclaimers' sense of humor to be well founded, Gries just mechanically demanded his identity with restrained anger. "State your name and Legion. Now."

"Rylanor, Ancient of Rites, last Loyalist Astartes of the Emperor's Children Legion, and one pissed off mother-frakker." Rylanor growled, continuing to speak before the other Astartes could interject. "Yes, I know what happened, and it pisses me off to no end. I want to find the grox-fucker I called father and shove him through a meat grinder, but if what I've learned about the Ruinous Powers is right, then the perverted bastard would like that." Without another word, the vox cut out. Rylanor just spat in aggrieved frustration at it. "Frakker. Ferrus would be so disappointed."

Dead silence settled over the bridge as we all stared at him. I lifted the hand that wasn't busy holding Amberley to my side up to my mouth, coughing into it to clear my throat, before proving yet again the quality of the Schola's public speaking training by stating the blindingly obvious. "You seem to be in a bad mood."

Rylanor held himself stiffly, nearly vibrating in rage as he snorted in disgust. "Apparently along with all the other groxshit that they've had heaped upon them, these other so-called Space Marine 'Chapters' don't like the Lamenters because they wouldn't accept an Iron Halo. Which they didn't accept because they saw themselves as failing to protect civilians and unworthy of it. So I'm a little angry right now, Hellboy(14)."

…Yeah, I could see the Lamenters doing that. Honestly, they were much too hard on themselves. "I see. And what did you tell them, about what their Primarch would think of them after you heard their various deeds?"

Rylanor wouldn't meet my eyes as he responded to my question, and I could taste deception upon his words."I told them Sanguinius would have loved to have them in his First Company, serving him directly and honored as his chosen warriors."

My eyes narrowed; I'd become somewhat fond of the Lamenters and like Karamazov was coming to regard them as 'mine', so dealing with them dishonestly was a quick way to get on my shitlist. "You're lying." I declared archly. The Ancient Astartes just heaved out a sigh of long-suffering then grunted out another response.

"Fine. I held back because I figured that telling them Sanguinius would cry, kneel before them, declare himself unworthy of them, and then parade them around as the best of the best non-stop while constantly bragging about their kindness and determination to help the citizens of the Imperium to the rest of the Primarchs and The Emperor would make them think I was exaggerating." There was no lie in his words this time.

Karamazov turned his head towards me, eyebrows arched in curiosity. "...Ciaphas?"

I swallowed, realizing that if Rylanor really HAD told the Lamenters all of that then their dual-hearts would have likely stopped out of shock. "He's… he's telling the truth now, Lord Inquisitor."

Karamazov nodded, a satisfied expression on his face. "That sounds like what anyone with common sense would say about them, based upon their record and attitude. Now, let us visit the Reclaimers and see if we can clean up this mess."

From Rylanor's grumbling and Gries' reaction to there being an Emperor's Children Astartes with us, somehow clearing up any mess didn't seem likely.

Well, they didn't shoot us out of the sky as we approached at least. That was probably a good start. Rylanor was with us, as he still wanted to meet the Reclaimers and maybe get that spare suit of power armor he needed. As we landed in the hangar and departed from our craft which had carried myself, Jurgen, Amberley, Karamazov, Rylanor, and Felecia (And technically Maggy I guess) over to the Reclaimers' Battle Barge, I could see many of the gathered serfs watching us intently. Not only them of course, but also dozens of Astartes watched our every move; whether it was to get a bead on the Emperor's Children Marine in their midst or because they were staring at someone who had seen The Emperor before Horus decided to do a slight bit of treason was unknown to me. When we finally came to the hangar bay's inner doors, there were two Marines waiting to greet us. As the leader of our contingent, Karamazov went forward first.

"Honored Astartes." He said, bowing politely.

The Marine in ornate armor and without the mechadendrites of his companion spoke, no emotion in his voice. "Lord Inquisitor Karamazov. We were expecting someone… taller."

This set Fyodor to fuming nearly instantly. "If I ever find the bastard who started that rumor that I sat in THAT thing…(15)" Karamazov spat out before composing himself. "But no, I am Lord Inquisitor Karamazov. What you see is what you get."

"Your clothes seem quite simple." The other Marine in rust red armor stated.

"I find clothes meant only to convey one's status to be annoying, impractical, and uncomfortable." Karamazov stated calmly. "A casual civilian getup is much more useful and comfortable." There were nods from the two Astartes, evidently they were pleased by his frugality and practicality. The Lord Inquisitor continued on, moving the introductions along. "You are Captain Gries, I presume?"

The one in the ornate armor nodded. "Indeed. Besides me is Brother Drumon." Another mechadendrite moved into view and twitched, waving at us. Felecia waved back with her own mechadendrite.

"A Techmarine…" Rylanor mused, walking past the rest of us to stand next to Karamazov in front of the Reclaimers. "I take it you worship the Ommnisiah?" In response, Drumon made the sign that cogboys usually did, causing Rylanor to nod. "That would be a yes, then."

Gries stared piercingly at our Astartes companion. "So you really are an Ancient?"

In response, Rylanor shrugged and grumbled. "If ten thousand years as a Dreadnought makes you one, then yes." The other Astartes gave him odd and suspicious looks, causing him to scowl in annoyance. "What?"

"You appear to be in possession of all of your limbs." Drumon pointed out mildly, although I noticed his fingers twitching as if they longed for a weapon. Again Rylanor just shrugged, and this time pointed at me.

"A recent event. The Commissar did that through some sort of biomancy."

"A Psyker in the Commissariat?" Gries asked, both curious and accusing. It was at this point that Fyodor stepped back in.

"Ciaphas has… special circumstances, approved by both myself and the Emperor's own Custodes." Karamazov stated resolutely. "Which, as the commander of this mission, is admittedly something you should probably know. And perhaps your Techmarine as well. Assuming of course, that you are willing to have them read in on your unique circumstances, Ciaphas?"

I nodded stiffly. I'd rather the Astartes know I was on their side if and when I performed an act of Heresy. "Of course, Lord Inquisitor. Honored Astartes, could you possibly be persuaded to get Rylanor some armor?" I requested politely.

"Or at least let me make my own. I know my way around an Iron Hands forge." Rylanor grunted, arms crossed over his chest.

Gries' look was utterly poisonous as he stared at the older Space Marine. "Let me make this clear, Emperor's Child. The only reason I don't have you gunned down like a rabid dog is because I don't need any headaches with the Inquisition, and you caught my interest by cursing your own Primarch. If you had any loyalty to the vile traitor, you would not have dared utter such. However, my tolerance of your continued existence is incredibly thin. So tell me, how would you know anything about our forges? And why by the Gorgon's name would I ever let you use one?"

Rylanor seemed amused if anything by the Captain's threats. "Understood, young one. As for knowing my way around an Iron Hands forge, it was standard practice between our Legions before Fulgrim went insane." The Ancient Loyalist replied, shrugging nonchalantly. "Forge exchanges were common. As for the second question, I believe that Uncle Ferrus gave me a lifetime pass."

Well that certainly stunned Gries into silence. I was suddenly reminded that I was in the presence of someone as old as The Imperium itself, perhaps even older. Maybe I could use that to diffuse the palpable tension in the air. "What was he like?" I asked, causing everyone to look at me.

"Ferrus?" Rylanor asked regarding who I was referring to, which I confirmed with a nod. "Well, he was gruff, blunt, and had an absolutely biting sense of humor. I believe that The Emperor referred to him as a 'troll' once."

The Reclaimers were obviously conflicted, no doubt fighting between their disdain for him as an Emperor's Children Legionnaire and their awe at the fact that he personally knew their Primarch. The latter seemed to win out, as Captain Gries visibly swallowed his pride in order to inquire further. "What… What else can you tell us?"

At this Rylanor turned morose and sighed sadly. "A fair bit, considering how close he was with my own Primarch. I still can't believe that Fulgrim would kill him, even after the bastard betrayed his own sons. Knowing the Pheonecian, I'd have thought that he would have tried to sway Uncle Ferrus to his side out of a desire to not have to fight him."

Rylanor's obvious sorrow at Ferrus Manus' fate seemed to further break down the barriers between the Marines, as Drumon responded with his own mournful tone. "According to our Chapter's legends, that was what occurred. Primarch Manus assumed that Fulgrim saw a weakness in him, and rejected his pleas of alliance entirely. It was after that which the Traitor Primarch slew our father."

"Damn it, he would." Rylanor groaned in dismay, before shaking himself out of his melancholy. "Enough of this. I know no words can mend this rift between us, so I have a peace offering as it were." As he spoke a power loader was carrying a large shipping container out of our rather large shuttle, setting it down on the deck. The Reclaimers looked it over curiously, then let out exclamations of shock when the crew opened it. Within, refurbished and shining like new after the Tech Priests of the Mercy had spent every available hour of the last weeks ministering to it, was a Dreadnought, a rather familiar one.

Rylanor smirked at the wide open jaws of the other Astartes. "Like I said, I USED to be a Dreadnought. I have no need of that body any longer thanks to the Commissar. So I'm giving it to you, little cousins. Contemptor Class, recently developed and top of the line before that cunt Horus took leave of his senses. I've been assured by the Mechanicus aboard our Battleship that they don't make them like this anymore. It is an utterly priceless relic, which is superior to other Dreadnoughts in almost every other way; faster, stronger, and with shielding. I know how Uncle Ferrus and his boys felt about the flesh being weak and all, so I figured you'd appreciate it."

By the Emperor, I think Drumon was actually drooling, or at least would be if he had the capability! Gries just stared intently at Rylanor, before giving a single curt nod. "A priceless gift, as you said. It will serve one of our venerated ancients well. You have our thanks… cousin."

And with that, some small, miniscule part of a wound torn open ten thousand years ago with a betrayal of brotherhood healed a tiny bit. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

From an internal memo circulated amongst the crew and passengers of the Inquisitorial Battleship 'Mercy of the Emperor':

ATTENTION. To all crew of The Emperor's Mercy and the Valhallan 609th Regiment. It has come to my awareness that there is currently a betting pool regarding "when Commissar Cain and Inquisitor Vail will hop into bed already". This is a gross violation of their privacy, and below your dignity as servants of the Emperor. That said, put me down for three thousand throne gelts for less than a month. Daddy needs himself some more sandpaper cigarettes.

Signed, Inquisitor Dominique

"IS IT SANGUINALA ALREADY?" ~ Attributed to Venerable Dreadnought Graxon of the Reclaimers Chapter upon being presented a new chassis.

1: While Orelius had to maintain his activities as a Rogue Trader, including ensuring the continuation of his Dynasty after Ciaphas healed him enough in order to do so, he always made time for Ciaphas and myself. The former in gratitude, and for myself out of our longstanding and mutually beneficial association. Needless to say he remains one of our and the Ordo Ciaphas' staunchest allies and friends.

2: During Ciaphas' several stints spent teaching or advising new Commissars, Officers, and the like, he made a point of trying to instill Lord Karamazov's philosophies and practices within them. Coming from a 'Saint', this led to a great upswing in Fyodor's influence, much to the dismay of his detractors within the Holy Ordos. Needless to say, they did not make things easy for poor Fyodor.

3: See the "Starkiller Incident" in Inquisitorial reports for details on Kyrus' first combat action.

4: At this time, Ciaphas was unaware of the aforementioned incident in which Jurgen had introduced Slaanesh to the "pleasures" of tanna. See the relevant Inquisitorial Incident Report for more details.

5: At the time, Lord Karmazov had not fully revealed what he had uncovered. When he did…

6: At the time, I still had no idea what the Ordo Supernovae were actually formed to fight and guard the Imperium from. I would eventually learn the hard way upon Periremunda just what these hidden heroes fought against.

7: Ciaphas… Damnit, I need to go give that man yet another much needed hug it seems.

8: At the time of this writing, referring to the Ruinous Powers as "The Fucks" is now standard Inquisitorial practice as mandated by the God-Emperor's Decree.

9: As has been previously stated, Lord Karamazov is in no way soft or weak for all of his kindness and noble character. I have personally witnessed him beating a corrupt priest to death with his bare hands, after having determined his guilt beyond any shred of doubt of course. His record for rooting out Heresy is spotless, while maintaining the lowest collateral casualties and damages of any other Inquisitor within the history of the Ordos. Among Cultist cells, he is known as "The Emperor's Hound" and among the Emperor's truly faithful as "Bane of the Unrighteous"; both of these are titles he proudly bears without touting them.

10: It was at that moment I became fully aware of just how strongly Ciaphas felt for me, and perhaps when I began to tentatively return his feelings to some small degree.

11: Rylanor has gained a reputation for giving people various nicknames; whether it be from affection or exasperation depends entirely on the individuals in question.

12: Bjorn's weeping of joy at having not just been woken up again to, in his words, 'tell stories to yapping empty headed young pups', but in order to be able to fight once more after his extended soak in Cainwater would thoroughly dispel Ciaphas of that particular notion.

13: Truly, after ten thousand years, Rylanor was utterly without fucks to give. He even wrote a song about how little of a fuck he gave anymore. I'll admit to finding some amusement in it.

14: A reference to Ciaphas' status as a Warp entity, with the Warp often being compared to a hell dimension. I'll admit, I got a chuckle out of this nickname for him.

15: A rumor spread about Karamazov is that he sees walking as beneath him, and rides an ornate walking throne into battle. Considering his nightmares, this is a rather personal insult to him.