Warhammer 1. Wind of Chaos

Changebringer 

Chapter 1: The Winds of Change

To Question the Emperor's Will is to Embrace Heresy 

_-Warhammer 40,000 page 134_

Sera let her head fall back against the wall. There was a slight metallic clunk as she struck the cold metal of the space ship hull. Sera opened her eyes slightly and peered around the cavernous hold of the Imperial ship. Row upon row of sick and wasted psykers all in various stages of distress sat chained to the walls of the ship. Men and women, old and young all brought together by the gracious and holy servants of The Emperor, the Inquisition. The chains were a bit much. Sera doubted that she could move much under her own power even if the heavy iron manacles were removed.

Sera wondered if any of the innumerable prisoners she now surveyed had tried to fight back, to hide, to run or even take up arms against the Imperial agents who had taken them away. Probably not, she hadn't, why should they? Sera tried to maintain her sanity, no easy feat in a place such as this. She studied the statues and relieves that decorated the hold. How many psykers these baroque monstrosities had surveyed with their cold, empty eyes? The style of the relief alternated between a kindly, sad faced angel and a mocking skull, the cruel duplicity that was the galaxy spanning Imperium of Man.

Sera found her moment of introspection interrupted. An iron tipped boot jabbed her leg. She looked up and found herself staring into the metallic eyes of a tech-priest. There was a slight mechanical click as the bionic eyes focused on her, surveying her, sizing her up. After a pause the technician spoke, an awful sound, harsh and metallic, like biting down on aluminium foil, "_Yes, you look healthy enough. The captain demands the services of the able-bodied._" The tech priest paused, then added, "_as you can see there are fewer to chose from then one would have hoped,_" the tech-priest gestured at a psyker who's body as if on cue gave a sudden uncontrollable twitch, and whimpered in his misery. If his face still had the ability to show expression, he would have glared.

Sera managed a brief smile, "I'm flattered," she said dryly.

The sarcasm made a slight whistling sound as it flew over the tech-priest's head. "_Indeed you should be, it is not often that an imperial officer decides to show such blatant disregard for protocol._"

"I imagine that must be most distressing for you."

"_Impudent little mutant._" Sera's eyes widened at the crude, derogatory term for a psyker, bitter and hateful even when spoken by an artificial voice. Without another word the Tech priest shambled closer to Sera, unlocked her chains and led her through the mass of human cargo towards her destination.

Colonel Garcin Sartre was a man known for taking risks, the sort of man who would not rest easy if his head were not squarely on the proverbial chopping block. Granted, he needed something to add depth to his existence, certainly the management of a small garrison in the backwaters of the Eastern Fringe would not fill the void in his life, the only high points of his career involved screaming slurs at the Tau diplomats who periodically visited his garrison promising a new and greater life as a citizen of the Tau empire. Sartre had made a point of threatening every beaming, soft-spoken alien that delivered this message with bodily harm if they did not immediately remove themselves from his sight. After more then a quarter of a century of this, the Tau were beginning to stop sending envoys.

Sartre could hardly have cared less. He did not live for his duty. He lived for something quite different all together. Sartre had struck a deal with one of the captains of an infamous black ship of the Imperium. The outpost was in need of labourers to perform the menial tasks that Sartre and his men could not be bothered to do, cooking, servicing equipment and whatnot, all the tasks and trivialities that no self respecting conscript could be bothered to do. More importantly Sartre intended to take a mistress, as did many imperial officers. Granted having a few dozen psykers lying around did involve some inherent risks, but that was nothing that a few suppression devices couldn't take care of. Besides, it was not often that such an excellent source of untapped labour just floated by…

Brother Logan of the Alpha Legion 14th company raptor squadron squinted through the light rain at the imperial garrison roughly a kilometre away. He clumsily tried to wipe condensation from his helmet's eye slits. He fumbled with his helmet's comm. link, trying to make sure the ancient technology was still functioning. It was, of course. Logan was just impatient. A few minutes later a voice rang out over the Vox net. "This is brother-captain Hykal Ghorn all units stand by, the decoy has been deployed, repeat the decoy has been deployed." Logan groaned, brother Ghorn had the mannerisms of a 20th century radio personality. Steeling himself, Brother Logan prepared for the battle ahead.

Sera awoke in a daze. She fought to get her bearings straight. Clearly she had been drugged, most likely by the tech-priest who had taken her away. Her world slid into focus and the sounds around her began to become decipherable. She was in a room in a small, prefabricated bunker. A few shadowy figures were seated at a table a few meters away. One she recognized as the captain of the black ship where until recently she had been incarcerated. The other wore an imperial officer's uniform complete with a powersword, which hung, deactivated, at his side. The two men appeared to be discussing her.

The ship's captain glared hostilely at the officer, "we're on thin ice Garcin; we had better not be caught."

Colonel Sartre shrugged, leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the small table, squarely in front of the captain's face, "you worry too much captain."

"Do I? Men like us have forfeited their lives for less."

"My friend, please, more then likely someone has already sent a detailed report to some inquisitor or another detailing my sins and exactly why I should be put to death. That report, however, will not reach the ears of anyone important until long after I am dead. That's bureaucracy for you.

"There are elements of the Imperium that do not waste their time with regulations and processes. Elements that act quickly."

Sartre nodded, "indeed there are, and they are far too busy with uprisings, Ork and Tyranid incursions, important things. A backwater imperial colonel taking a mistress and a handful of labourers is hardly a great priority."

"You are stealing them from the emperor's table!" the captain tried to pound the table for emphasis, but Sartre's foot was in the way.

"Then the emperor will have to learn to share." Sartre laughed at his clever joke.

"What if the psykers fight back?"

"Indeed, I was waiting for you to ask that." Sartre paused for effect, "I have a Culexus assigned to my command.

The captain's eyes widened significantly, "Impossible."

"Psykers find their presence particularly unbearable; he'll keep them in line."

The captain was on the verge of commending Sartre when a clearly unsettled guardsman burst into the room. "Colonel!" he shouted, the guardsman saluted clumsily, still panting.

Sartre, clearly irate at being addressed so directly shot the guardsman a look before acknowledging him. "What do you want?" he growled.

"Sir! Our scouts have sighted a transport; it refused to respond when we hailed it."

"Your point, guardsman?"

"Sir, she bore the eight-pointed star."

"By the emperor," Colonel Sartre groaned, "Not them." Regaining his composure Sartre turned back to the Guardsman, "Kill it." He ordered.

"Aye sir, it should be in range of our Basilisks now."


	2. Mayhem

Chapter 2:Mayhem

All is Dust! – War cry of the Thousand Sons 

The imperial garrison mobilized in an instant. Within a few minutes every man had armed himself and the newly purchased slaves were herded into a nearby barracks. The three basilisk artillery pieces under Sartre's command were hastily readied. The spotter for one of the Basilisks stared fixedly at the Rhino troop transport, heavily burdened by spikes and eldritch chaos insignias, through his binoculars. He grimaced and barked orders at the rest of his crew "adjust ten degrees right and open fire." The spotter wondered why the rhino hadn't moved. The traitor marines were obviously waiting for something, probably setting up for an attack. _Bastards had picked a bad place to hide, _he thought.

The basilisk gunner responded to his order, "pounding firing solution in 3…2…" the earthshaker cannon fired prematurely but the aim was true, the heavy shell thudded into the side of the Rhino transport. There was a brilliant burst of flame as the armoured behemoth's stores of fuel detonated. Every guardsman held his breath, and waited.

Brother Logan watched the rhino transport explode, the dancing orange flame reflected in his glassy eyes. He primed his jump pack. There was roar as the turbines surged into life. Captain Ghorn's order rang out over the Vox net, "Alpha Legion; advance!" Logan nodded to his squad mates and the raptors rose into the air in unison. He heard a soft beep over the roar of the turbines that indicated a ping on his auspex screen. Probably designating the exact coordinates of the enemy artillery. Logan had better things to do in midair; he had seen more or less where the shot had come from. He armed his meltagun and scanned through the failing evening light for a clear shot on the enemy basilisks. To his left one of the other raptors fired his melta first. The beam stuck the base of the cannon, where it attached to the chassis. The shot ignited the vehicle's store of ammunition and the basilisk exploded throwing the two crewmen on the rear-loading platform from the wreck like flaming rag dolls.

Another basilisk pivoted slightly as the hull-mounted heavy bolter began to fire at the circling raptors. Logan urged his jump pack to move faster, trying desperately to make himself a harder target to track, heart pounding, Logan managed to reach the side of the attacking basilisk and out of the field of fire. Two of Logan's battle brothers were not so fortunate. A shell struck one raptor's jump pack, the machinery exploded in a brilliant burst of crimson flame. Another raptor was hit in the head; there was a spray of crimson as the chaos marine's skull shattered. The dead man's jump pack continued to carry him steadily towards the ground where his corpse landed in a dishevelled heap. Angered by the loss of his battle brothers Logan fired his meltagun into the broadside of the attacking basilisk. The beam lanced through the hull, tilting the forty tonne war machine on it side before it detonated.

Snarling with battle rage Logan engaged his jump pack again, expertly alighting on the loading platform of the last remaining basilisk. He tossed his meltagun aside and swung his chainsword at one of the crouched crewman. The blow had been meant to decapitate but the man stood up a moment before it connected and the chainsword instead slit the man from shoulder to hip in one fluid slash. The other crewman grabbed for his lasgun and tried to impale Logan with his bayonet. The stab deflected harmlessly off Logan's armoured body. Logan swung vertically at the terrified guardsman who raised his las rifle in a petty defence. There was a flurry of sparks as the motorized teeth of the chainsword cut through the guardsman's rifle. Logan followed through with a swift punch with his spare hand. There was a crack as the space marine's superhuman strength snapped the guardsman's neck. Logan drew a melta bomb. He slammed the charge onto the basilisk's hull and primed it in one practiced motion. Logan leaped from the basilisk a few moments before the charge detonated. Logan grinned slightly; he always liked to set his charges to explode quickly. The remaining five men in Logan's squad had finished sweeping the immediate area of imperial resistance.

Logan got on the vox net, "This is raptor squad, the artillery is silenced and the area secure, mission complete, awaiting orders, over."

Ghorn's reply came half a minute later; Logan could clearly make out the sound of gunfire in the background, "well done raptor squad. Casualties?"

Logan sighed, "two confirmed down captain."

"Proceed towards the main compound. There is moderate imperial resistance, check your targets and be cautious and we should make it out of here alive." After a pause he added, "Expect enemy reinforcements from the black ship at any time, Lord Jailis and his men have secured the lower decks and one of the hangars but even so, be ready for anything. You have your orders, Ghorn out."


	3. Sera

Chapter 3: Sera

Damnation is eternal

_-Warhammer 40,000 page 132_

The battle raged long into the night. Within hours of the disabling of the imperial basilisks Alpha legion infiltrators had surrounded the compound. Outgunned, outmanoeuvred but by no means outnumbered the imperial guard fought like madmen, but they were slowly losing ground to the Chaos marine's slow, methodical advance. Brother Logan darted through the narrow alleys between the imperial bunkers. He had left his squad behind long ago, now he was operating on some base animal instinct that commanded him to push further.

Logan knew full well that he didn't have a psychic bone in his body, probably not even enough to receive the messages from a telepath. Still he could have sworn he heard a voice, soft and sibilant calling to him, begging for him to come to it.

Logan rounded a corner and came face to face with a startled guardsman. The soldier began to raise his rifle to shoot but Logan was quicker. Grabbing the guardsman's head in his massive fist he slammed the man's skull against the side of a bunker. There was a sharp crack as both the masonry splintered and the guardsman's helmet shattered. The guardsman collapsed in a heap. Logan bent down and plucked a grenade from the guardsman's prone body, hoping it would be useful later. Logan surged forward, what had begun as a whisper had grown louder. The voice urged him towards a particular bunker. The words were garbled and incoherent but it was enough for Logan to understand.

He stood before the steel plated entrance to the compound's command bunker. Logan drew his last meltabomb. Logan stepped back from the door. To his surprise Logan had not encountered another hostile since the unfortunate guardsman in the alleyway. Most likely the imperial guard had placed all its forces along the front and left the interior unguarded, so much the better. Logan watched as the meltabomb exploded in a brilliant flash of light, leaving a cloud of vaporized masonry.

Logan squinted slightly as the bright lights of the bunker's interior flickered and blinked, reeling from the damage the explosion had wrought. When the dust cleared Logan surveyed the room. At the other end of the single room bunker stood a man in an imperial naval officer's uniform, he had his arm around the neck of a slender young woman dressed in tattered rags. He held a bolt pistol to her head.

"That is quite close enough," snarled the officer, "one more step forward and this one's a corpse," he gave the young woman a jab with the barrel of his gun. Logan was surprised at her; she did not struggle or even take much notice of the man who now held her life in his hands. She appeared strangely detached from the here and now. Seeing that Logan had hesitated the officer smirked, "I see you can't bring yourself to take a life in cold blood, eh?" he cackled mirthlessly, half crazed, "You heretics are all the same, cowards, of one stripe or another. You want to kill; I'll show you how it's done." The officer began to point his pistol in Logan's direction. The instant the woman was out of the officer's field of fire Logan grabbed a small dagger and hurled it at the officer. The knife landed squarely between the officer's eyes burying itself up to the hilt. He slumped, a shot from his pistol discharged harmlessly into the ground.

Sera felt the ship captain's grip slacken and his body grow limp. The corpse slid slowly off of her. Sera glanced behind her at the prone body at her feet. Then she looked back to the chaos marine who had saved her life. The hulking ebony armoured warrior seemed to be surveying her with interest. "Well," she said flatly, "that was harrowing."

Logan studied the young woman like a painting, drinking in every detail of her form: her slender, graceful physique, her long copper coloured hair, Logan paused when he saw her eyes; they had no white region, only a deep golden-amber coloured iris that surrounded her pupils. Eyes like a bird of prey. Logan was grateful that he had not removed his helmet, the raptor mask helped to conceal his surprise. After some time he addressed Sera, "You are a…"

"A psyker," Sera interrupted, "yes I am. Not that it matters, you _are _going to kill me anyway."

"What?" said Logan, slightly taken aback.

"You are a traitor marine, yes? I was of the impression that gunning down the unarmed is one of your fortes."

Logan managed a brief laugh, "Yes, I am sure you think that."

"Do you mind me asking what that means?"

"It means, my dear, that if I intended to kill you anyway it would be imprudent of me to take the trouble to place a dagger in the skull of the man who held you hostage, which I assure you is no mean feat."

Sera shrugged, "Fair enough." There was a long pause; even through the blasted hole in the bunker wall the roar of the rapidly approaching battle seemed very distant.

Logan broke the silence again, "What is your name?" he asked, almost shyly.

"Sera," she replied, almost as a whisper, "and yours?"

"Logan," he said wistfully, "Brother Logan." There was a sharp crackle of electricity and the moment of tranquillity came to an end. He saw Sera's eyes widen before he wheeled around. An imperial officer, a colonel judging by his peaked cap and metals, had activated his powerfist and swung at Logan.

Logan turned to late to be able to evade the blow. The crushing, disruptive energy of the powerfist surged through him. The force of the blow sent Logan's armoured form sprawling, blood filled his vision and his world drifted in and out of focused. His space marine anatomy desperately tried to keep Logan from losing consciousness.

Garcin Sartre snarled maliciously as he swept the traitor marine aside with his power fist. Content that the heretic was out of the fight he turned his attentions to Sera. He swung the cumbersome weapon at Sera but she nimbly dodged out of the way. Adjusting in time Sartre caught Sera with a vicious blow to the solar plexus with his spare hand. Sera doubled over, gasping for breath. Sartre kicked Sera over, knocking her onto her back while simultaneously drawing his bolt pistol. Sartre raised his pistol, pointed it squarely at Sera's face, and fired.

Sera heard the shot, smelled the dank odour of gunpowder, but the bullet never came. It was as though for but an instant, she wasn't there. Sera glanced behind her; she saw a small hole where the bolt had impacted. Sartre fired again, then again and again. Every bullet passed through Sera's body as though she were made of air. Sera felt a sudden rush of power; she had felt but a fraction of the power offered by the warp, the power that had rendered her imperious to injury. Sera ignored the crushing pain in her abdomen, she rose to her feet. Sera closed her eyes and submitted to the power of Chaos. Crimson daemonic flames surged about her; Sartre yelped in pain and dropped his gun. There was a hiss and the acrid smell of sulphur. Sartre's gun dissolved into a silvery pool of molten metal on the hard stone floor. Sera reached out her hand and bolts of crimson light shot from her fingertips. The bolts passed through Sartre with no immediate effect.

Then he began to bleed. It began as a trickle, a small stream from his nose and mouth. Then the flow began to intensify; thick rivulets of plasma began to flow freely from his eyes and ears. Sartre tried to say something but he gagged. The colonel collapsed to his hands and knees, clutching desperately at his throat then, with one massive wracking cough, his body fell limp.

Sera let her arm fall to her side. She stared in horror at the dead man, the man she had killed. Sera felt a wave of sudden nausea wash over her.


	4. Culexus

Chapter 4: Culexus

_The Assassins that form the Culexus Temple are chosen because they have, or appear to have; no presence in the Warp, there is just a void. They are, to all intents and purposes, soulless_ -p. 30, **Codex: Witch Hunters**

The din of battle drew inexorably closer. In the space of a few hours the Imperial guard had been reduced to a mere pocket of resistance. Granted those who survived by now had either surrendered or were fighting like daemons. Logan ordered an armed escort to help extract Sera from the compound. Had he been alone Logan would have gladly charged into the increasingly one-sided battle but presently he could not bring himself to put Sera in harm's way. Logan was well aware that most humans were not capable of wading through hales of lasblasts.

Logan was about to doze off when he heard Sera let out a scream. The young woman was doubled over, clutching her head, her face contorted in anguish. Logan was on his feet in a heartbeat, he was halfway across the room to where Sera, now on her hands and knees, was shrieking in pain when he saw a shadowed figure standing in the hole that had once been the doorway to the bunker.

The figure was clad entirely with a tight fitting black suit, save for his head on which was perched an almost comically oversized helmet with a single large circular eye opening which was now closed. The figure radiated palpable waves of terror and malignance. A culexus assassin. The Culexus were psychic nulls, black empty soulless husks, devoid of any vestiges of humanity. The very presence of the so-called psychic abominations could invoke unspeakable terror in even a non-psyker. Needless to say a more attuned psychic would be that much more susceptible to the culexus's miasmic presence. Logan spread his arms protectively in front of Sera who now willed herself to regain control of her body. Logan could almost feel the assassin's helmeted face twist into a cruel smile at his pathetic display. Then the abomination spoke. A voice like a thousand needles in Logan's heart. "Stand aside," he said plainly.

Logan grabbed for the hilt of his chainsword. Without further response the glass eye of the assassin's helm, the Animus Speculum opened. The hilt of the chainsword felt like ice even through Logan's gauntleted hand. Logan managed to draw his sword and hold it in his quivering, unsteady grip. There was an electric hum as the motorized teeth began to whirr. Logan fixed his gaze on the dimly glimpsed humanoid face behind the Animus speculum. He could see a single eye, white and baleful with a light blue film over it. Logan steeled himself. A thousand lifetimes of combat had exposed Logan to horrors that would make an ordinary man's blood turn to ice, but this was too much to bear. The assassin waited, willing Logan to overcome his fear and make the first move.

Logan obliged, firing his jump pack he hurled himself at his enemy. Logan swung his chainsword, cleaving the air where the abomination had stepped out of the way. Logan rounded on his foe, readying himself for another attack. There was a burst of emerald light and in the hands of assassin appeared what appeared to be a long scythe. A scythe encrusted with gold, circular hieroglyphics. Necron hieroglyphics. _So this is how it is then_, thought Logan. There had been reports of a new kind of soldier in the Necron ranks, creatures that filled the air around them with an aura of dread. These creatures were said to be born from traitor culexus assassins. This Necron weapon only served as proof.

Logan swung again at his abominable foe. This time the Culexus did more to deflect Logan's attack. He expertly parried Logan's clumsy, desperate slash with the scythe. The Necron metal severed the chainsword in a hale of crimson sparks. Nonetheless Logan swung the shattered hilt at the assassin. This time the hit struck home. The weight of the marine's fist and the sword's hilt delivered a crushing blow that sent the culexus staggering. Reeling indignantly from the blow the assassin cast aside the war scythe and launched himself at Logan. The assassin dug his clawed hands into the marine's armour. At first Logan thought this a pathetic gesture, but then he felt a stabbing pain where the Culexus placed his hands. It was as though his life was being torn from his body. Fruitlessly, Logan fought to dislodge the frenzied assassin.

Sera watched the battle in helpless terror. The terrible presence of the culexus was multiplied tenfold for her. She could see the black void where the man's soul ought to be. At the same time she saw Logan, his faint, non-psychic soul a mere flickering candle in the warp. Like the light of a distant star. Sera watched the culexus's void extinguish that light. Then Sera felt a sudden surge of strength: a force strong enough to tear through the veil of the culexus. Sera drew every ounce of strength she had and directed it clumsily at the assassin. The effect of the raw psychic energy was tremendous, a hammer blow to the wiry form of the abomination. Seizing his chance Logan fumbled for a weapon to use against his vile foe. His hand found the grenade he had plucked from the guardsman in the alley. Acting quickly he primed the grenade and shoved it into the eye of the Animus speculum. In his mind Logan counted the three seconds before the grenade would detonate. In one motion he dislodged the Culexus assassin from his body and shoved him back. In a heartbeat decision he wheeled about and flung his armoured body in front of Sera, wrapping her in an enormous bear hug.

That same instant, the grenade along with several volatile components of the culexus's equipment, exploded. The shrapnel pinged harmlessly off Logan's armour. Slowly, gently, he released Sera from his embrace. The presence of the culexus had vanished in the deafening roar of the detonation. Somehow, the bloody ruin of the man's upper torso and the fizzing shards of the animus speculum were less then intimidating. For what seemed like an eternity, the two stared at the blooded heap that was once one of the most feared beings in the Imperium. The din of battle had vanished, and the Vox net was filled with the chatter of information from various squads, all reported great success. The compound had been taken with ease; unfortunately, they had been unable to draw troops away from the black ship, which by now had been completely commandeered by the Alpha Legion strike force. At length, Logan turned to Sera, "Come, we are leaving this system, the agents of the false emperor will come after us, after you. We must not be here when they arrive." He added, pointing at the culexus assassin's war scythe, "If that means what I believe it does, then we may all be in grave danger." With that, Logan and Sera stepped out of the bunker and into the open air.


	5. Crysothemis

Chapter 5: Crysothemis

_What is the Terror of Death?_

_That we die, our work incomplete_

_What is the Joy of Life?_

_To die knowing our work is done- _Warhammer 40,000 page 78

Sera had tried desperately to assemble the pieces of her life, which had been not shattered, but instead cremated and scattered across the land in a circular manner. She only dimly recalled the journey from the small, unnamed imperial garrison to her new home, the Tau controlled world called Crysothemis. Sera perceived the journey as having taken roughly a week, however the inherent time dilation resulting from warp travel could mean that anywhere from a day to a century could have passed in the material universe. Sera had found accommodations along with the countless other psychic souls freed from the black ship within the bowels of the colossal alpha legion battle barge called _The Leviathan_. The ship had originally been named _The Emperor's Malice_ but had been re-christened during the Horus Heresy. Sera expected her accommodations aboard the ship to be more pleasing then a small, darkly lit hold furnished with an old rotted cot. Instead, however, Sera was forced to share an old, rotted cot.

The conditions on Crysothemis were quite the opposite. The planet was small, roughly a quarter of the size of Terra and covered by slender freshwater lakes and soaring rainforests. The planet's inhabitants lived in large, compact cities that extended a quarter kilometre beneath the surface and several kilometres into the air. Crysothemis's cities were connected by a dizzyingly complicated web of monorails that stretched endlessly across the ocean of trees. The population of the planet consisted of a nearly equal number of Tau and humans, the latter having a slight numerical superiority by a negligible few thousand individuals. Crysothemis was safely within Tau territory, but humans, usually deserters, cultists and mutants attempting to flee the wrath of the Imperium could often find a rouge trader to ferry them to the planet, for a price of course. The Tau had welcomed the humans with open arms, particularly when lord Jailis of Alpha Legion had humbly asked the Tau leadership to use the planet as a base of operations. Seeing this as an opportunity to build relations with the traitor marines and also being aware that Alpha Legion had enough ordnance at their disposal to reduce a healthy chuck of Tau space to a smouldering ruin the Tau had offered the legion sovereignty over one of Crysothemis's cities. The Tau did not regret the decision and Lord Jailis had become a respected man among the Tau. In a nutshell, Crysothemis was a fine example of the rewards of tolerance.

The chaos city, christened Acheron was marked by contrast between the burnished metallic Tau dwellings and the leering, eldritch spires of black stone home to most of the human population including the chaos marines themselves. Sera had been painlessly inducted into the chaos community. Logan had pulled strings to ensure that Sera could have a flat of her own, (coincidently one that was close to his). Sera also received employment, of sorts from a nervous Tau diplomat who had announced shortly after her arrival on Crysothemis that the Tau Earth Caste was searching for psykers willing to act as subjects for research into what the Tau called the psychic "phenomenon". At a threatening glance from Sera the diplomat had of added that there was "no danger at all to the well being of the parties involved" here the diplomat gave a nervous laugh, "all this is for the sake of greater progress and greater understanding between our two races, all for the greater good." This was Sera's first encounter with the Tau mantra "the greater good." Sera had accepted the Tau's offer and was due for a series of medical examinations in a few weeks. All was well in Sera's life for the better part of a month.

One night Sera was awoken by a slight rap at her door. She was not surprised to find that Logan was her visitor; he stopped by her flat with fair regularity, what surprised her was that instead of being clad in his usual military fatigues the marine had opted instead to don his power armour. Sera stood there in the doorway looking at Logan for the longest time in silence. "Sera," Logan said quietly, "the chaplains are holding a ceremony for the men killed in the… raid. I think it would be best if you were to be present." Sera nodded, she was acquainted with the men called the chaplains. They were not true chaplains of course, all of Alpha Legion's chaplains had either been killed or renounced their rank during the Horus heresy, they were simply devout members of the chaos cult who had opted to fill the spiritual void in the lives of the traitor marines.

Without another word, not even stopping to see if Sera was following, Logan started solemnly off down the corridor. After a moment of deliberation Sera followed after him.

Sera found herself seated next to Logan in a cavernous cathedral located several stories beneath the ground level. The cathedral was furnished with rows of stone pews all set before a granite altar. From floor to ceiling into the walls were carved recesses each of which contained a gilded statue of a hydra, the symbol of Alpha legion, clasping an ornate sphere decorated with the insignias of the four chaos gods. One such statue rested on the cathedral's altar. A quick look around the hall confirmed that all of the Marines had, like Logan donned their power armour for this event. After a moment of silence a hooded cultist stood before the altar. "Brothers!" the orator shouted with a voice like fire, "Today we gather in honour of those who have given their lives for the long war. Those champions who have given their lives so that we might one day, gods willing, see the false emperor be cast down." The speaker drew from within his robes a small scroll, "it is to these seventy nine men that we dedicate this humble monument."

_Seventy-nine men,_ thought Sera. This was the first time she had heard the death toll of battle that had won her freedom and the freedom of countless psykers aboard the black ship. Even for the veteran chaos space marines, the casualties had been light. As the orator read aloud the names of the dead a long procession of female cultists, each carrying a small urn passed solemnly down the aisle, leaving what Sera assumed to be the ashes of the departed at the altar. The cultists vanished almost as quickly as they had appeared, just as the orator finished the list of names. There was a brief silence before a new figure appeared at the altar. A hulking figure in daemonic power armour decorated with a bulky fur mantel. Logan, sensing Sera's confusion whispered that the man in power armour was none other then Lord Jailis himself. Jailis carried a large sphere, like the ones on the other monuments in the cathedral in his gauntleted arms. He placed the orb reverently in the outstretched claw of the hydra sculpture. At length Jailis relieved the orator of his position, "This sphere shall hold for all time the ashes of our fallen brethren but their spirit shall live on in all of us. We shall carry on their incomplete work and honour their memories. Those of you who would offer your comrades you farewells are free to do so now." With that, Jailis withdrew from the altar. Almost as soon as he left a few of the marines who had lost squadmates of friends shuffled up to the altar. Logan, who had lost two members of his squad, was among them. Almost without thinking Sera followed him. She watched as the chaos raptor placed his hand on the carved, steel sphere, his helmet concealing any outward emotion he might have shown. Out of imitation when Sera stood before the altar, she too placed her hand on the sphere.

Sera felt a sudden twinge of pain as her bare flesh touched the metal but she did not withdraw her hand immediately. When at last she removed her hand from the orb and permitted the next mourner to pay his last respects she glanced briefly at her palm.

There, burned into the palm of her right hand was a jagged crescent with a small circle in the centre. The mark of Tzeentch. For a long time Sera stood, staring at the mark that shone clear as day upon her flesh. Then she heard a voice, soft and sibilant that seemed to come from everywhere at once and nowhere at all, "you are destined for great things, Sera, great things indeed."


	6. Raid Pt 1

Chapter 6: Raid

_Do not strike until you are ready to destroy your enemy utterly and then attack without mercy, destroy all vestiges of resistance, leave no one to stand against you-_ Tactica Imperium, Codex Imperial Guard page 4

Lord Jailis's flat occupied the highest point of the tallest, most imposing chaos tower in the city. From the inner sanctum, furnished with brooding gothic artefacts, Jailis could survey his domain through several floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows depicting the insignias of the nine traitor legions. The view was, distorted, but still breathtaking. It was Jailis's way of gaining a brief escape from the drudgery of his life. The hour was early and Crysothemis was just beginning to be bathed in the eerie blue light of the planet's ancient sun. "My Lord?" the query had interrupted Jailis's trancelike state.

Jailis wheeled about to face the speaker, "Ah, Brother Logan."

"Yes, Lord."

"I understand that you have something to report regarding the most recent engagement?"

"Yes, lord."

"I apologize for not granting you an audience sooner, the Tau requested that I account for my most recent actions, politics, you know, most tiresome."

"Yes my lord."

"Well, get on with it."

"Yes, during the raid on the imperial terrestrial garrison I encountered one of the abominations of the culexus temple."

"Yes, Ghorn told me; while I commend you on besting such a foul servant of the false emperor I doubt that you have the nerve to waste my time simply to have me offer you congratulations."

"The culexus was in the possession of a weapon of what I believe to be necrontyr origin."

"Did you recover this weapon?"

"Sera," Logan called. Sera entered the sanctum bearing the Necron weapon. She handed the scythe to Jailis, who appeared more interested in her then he did with the warscythe.

"Lord Jailis of Alpha Legion's 14th company at your service," the nearly seven foot tall armoured figured bowed deeply.

"A gentleman," Sera observed wryly.

Jailis gave a hearty laugh, "surprised I imagine."

Sera was about to respond when a loud klaxon sounded in the distance. Through the sanctum's windows Sera could see the skyline illuminated with crimson warning lights. A moment passed where Sera scarcely breathed. A frantic cultist stumbled into the room. The sirens had begun to abate so that coherent orders could be given now that the city was alerted. "My Lord," the cultist bowed low, "unidentified transports have tripped our outer defences."

"Imperials?" Jailis asked sharply.

"No my Lord, these are skimmers, Eldar pirates most likely."

Those two words spurred Jailis into action, "If we are facing the Dark Eldar then we must act quickly. Logan, rally your raptors, we meet our old foe in the skies, arm yourselves with only what you need, the Eldar thrive on preying on those who cannot defend themselves so I want every civilian who knows which end of a gun to point at the enemy armed."

"Scout," he addressed the cultist, "track down brother captain Hykal Ghorn and his chosen, have them spread out across the towers and repel any who attempt to enter from the rooftops. While he's at it, have him get the Vox net up and running as soon as possible, send for Tau reinforcements."

Sera was dumbstruck by the chaos lord's sudden change in demeanour, "and where will you be in all of this?" she asked audaciously.

Jailis gave a hawkish grin, "In the thick of it." With that, twin sets of lightning claws extended from sheathes on Jailis's gauntlets.

In a few hours the dark Eldar were upon them. The narrow meandering streets were soon swarming with combatants. The militia had set up a series of barricades in the city alleyways to deny the enemy places to hide. Into the larger streets were deployed the company's supply of armoured support. Sera stood on the rooftop of one of the Tau buildings watching the iron behemoth's roll ponderously across the streets. Even so high above the ground the predator tanks were monstrous. Logan's battalion was making final preparations at the rooftop armoury, Sera watched the men prepare.

The raptor jump packs, typically only capable of maintaining a soldier aloft for a short time had been modified by the Tau earth caste to be capable of extended periods of flight. The raptors were to provide close support for the Tau gunships once they launched. Logan looked up at the sky as a black, baroque skimmer screamed past overhead, slicing a keen path through the fading twilight sky. Tau sentry guns fired a few shots at the skimmers but found that they were moving too fast and were too manoeuvrable to track efficiently. The ground beneath Logan's armoured feet began to tremble. A fissure appeared in the building's construction as part of the roof retracted to reveal the entrance to the Tau hanger. The roar reached a deafening crescendo as a Hammerhead gunship began to rise from below. With a burst of blue-white flame the gunship sped off into the sky in pursuit of the Eldar transports. Logan grinned maliciously, "We shall not let others take all the glory! Onward brothers, for the dark gods!" A chorus of mad oaths and the scream of activating jump-packs greeted Logan's ears. With that, Logan's squadron shot off into the sky, followed shortly by another Tau gunship.

Hykal Ghorn found himself in a bit of predicament. The Eldar had landed their forces on the roof and the tower was quickly being overrun with shrieking alien warriors. His chosen were slaughtering hoards of them, but they were too many, and the aliens were picking his men off, one by one. Two of his chosen remained. There was a sickening shriek that might have been a battle cry, a dull _thunk_, and brother Andres slumped forward, an Eldar blade lodged in his throat. Ghorn masked his fury and sorrow at the loss of one of his comrades, "Joke's on you bastards! That's one soul that you'll never claim for your sick masters." Brother Voltaire looked uneasily at his superior, wondering silently if this might be a bad time to incite the wrath of the enemy, unless Ghorn just wanted to be done with this standoff.

If that was Ghorn's intention he succeeded. The Eldar charged through the dark haze of vaporized masonry. Voltaire gritted his teeth and held his chainsword in front of him in what he hoped was a heroic display. Ghorn on the other hand waited calmly as the enemy charged. When the Eldar soldiers were nearly against the barrel of his combi-bolter he clicked a secondary trigger. With no more then a moment's delay the concealed vial of promethium fuel in Ghorn's weapon ignited and a jet of white-hot flame erupted from his weapon. The sound of the Eldar death screams echoed in Ghorn's helmet. Letting his arm fall Ghorn surveyed the hallway, now illuminated by the burning corpses of the Dark Eldar, hoping that he had slain them all. He hadn't. Voltaire doubled over, coughing and sputtering as his space marine, third lung strained to filter out the acrid vapours from the cocktail of caustic chemicals that fuelled Ghorn's flamer.

He never saw the creature that ended his life. A terrible eldar hunting beast, vaguely feline clamped its jaws down on Voltaire's head. Ghorn unloaded his combi-bolter into the creature that now held the still convulsing body of his battle brother in its teeth. The bolter rounds punched a string of fist-sized holes in the beast's hide. Seeing that the creature was dead, Ghorn dropped the magazine from his bolter. The cartridge clanked noisily to the ground and Ghorn reached for a fresh clip. His hand froze as he scanned the darkness. Several pairs of luminous eyes, bloodshot and cruel stared soundlessly into his. Ghorn exhaled calmly, staring death in the face. His hand moved from his spare ammunition to a melta bomb. Calmly, he primed the bomb as the beasts stalked closer. Ghorn spoke into the Vox net, almost a whisper, "Now I have become death, the destroyer of worlds." There was a brilliant burst of light and flame, and Ghorn, along with his foes, was no more.


	7. Raid Pt 2

Jailis fought like a daemon. Mangled and scorched corpses, some of them with wounds still pumping blood littered the alley where Jailis made his stand. Yet the eldar sill came to him. Wytches, some of them terrible experts in their art, eager to prove themselves against this seemingly invulnerable foe dissolved before the mad warrior. Jailis stared without feeling at the spasming corpse of an eldar warrior, still impaled on his lightning claw. He was disappointed that the warrior had worn a helmet; he relished the sight of seeing an enemy of the chaos gods perish, the corpse slid to the ground with a wet thud. Jailis thumped his chest in triumph; there was a hollow clunk as his mailed fist struck the daemonic armour. "Is this what has become of the old foe?" Jailis mocked, "You prey so willingly on the innocent and the helpless but scores of you fall before a single worthy foe." A wytch, enraged by Jailis's taunts flung himself at the armoured warrior. Jailis simply held out his lighting claw and allowed the eldar gladiator to impale himself on it. Jailis scanned his surroundings, the alley, littered with sprays of blood and mangled bodies, was now silent. Jailis strode confidently out into the streets.

His mighty predators crushed dozens of unfortunate attackers under withering hails of gunfire. High in the skies the Tau gunships struggled to pursue the far more manoeuvrable eldar raiders. Even so, the raiders were only able to run for so long, and they were being picked off by the Tau railguns, one by one.

Then came the counterattack. Several eldar skimmers turned about in the air, discharging thick bolts of black light into the oncoming gunships. The Tau reacted too slowly. The darklance lasers tore into the burnished, yellow hulls of the Hammerhead gunships, several of the Tau weapons platforms came crashing to the ground, throwing up clouds of . With the Tau almost routed the Raiders began to discharge their cargo. Eldar warriors repelled down from the skimmers, landing on the rooftops. Jailis heard Ghorn's last words ring out over the Vox net. The Chaos lord hung his head as an explosion rocked a nearby tower. Ghorn's melta bomb. Black masonry rained down on the streets below.

Jailis heard the crackle of electricity behind him and wheeled about just as a heavily armed and armoured eldar warrior brought a large glaive, buzzing with electricity down where until recently he had stood. An Incubus, Jailis thought fondly, finally some sport. Compared to the other eldar, who attacked with near feral ferocity, the Incubus advanced in a slow, methodical manner. Jailis was so busy studying his foe it nearly cost him his life. There was a short, electric whirr and a hale of splinter like projectiles shot from an attachment on the eldar's helm. Jailis rushed forward, shrugging off the blinding pain, and rammed a lightning claw into the Incubus's stomach. Lifting the struggling alien from his feet, Jailis flung him over his shoulder. There was a sickening crack as it collided with the wall of a building. There was a chorus of similar electric whirrs and Jailis turned in time to see several more incubi fire. This time the pain was too intense. Jailis staggered forward, trying to take a swipe at one of his foes. He fell short. Jailis's vision tunnelled, his limbs refused to obey him. Every part of Jailis's body and mind fought against the pain. He let out a long groan and his world went black.

Logan soared through the evening skies. Waves of eldar hellions and scourges poured through a series of webway portals, their arcane weapons opening fire on the combatants below. Logan's Raptors charged to intercept the airborne foes. A hellion took a sweep at Logan with a jagged glaive. Logan ducked expertly under the clumsy strike and with a swing of his crackling powersword, severed the eldar's skyboard in two. Logan smirked as the shrieking eldar plummeted towards the streets below. "See you in hell bastard!" he shouted at the rapidly shrinking black dot. The remainder of the hellion squad fell in around Logan's embattled unit. Logan whipped the buzzing powersword about, the weapon dismembering more eldar with every sweep, a whirling dervish of hellfire. Logan kicked hard at the chest of the last hellion. The taloned feet of his raptor armour dug through the eldar's mesh armour and soft flesh. For the longest time the two hung there, then with one motion, Logan drew his bolt pistol and unloaded a clip into the alien's unshielded head. The shattered carcass dislodged itself from Logan's claws and plummeted to earth. The skies were clear for the moment. They did not remain so.

There was a roar of engines and a small fleet of reaver jetbikes tore through the air, sending the raptors squad spinning. Growling and swearing, Logan turned to face the attackers. The reavers were advancing for another assault, several of them brandishing chains, or long cruel looking blades. Logan loaded another clip into his bolt pistol, wishing very dearly that he had armed himself with a larger weapon. The reavers hurtled towards Logan's squad. Logan gritted his teeth and fired his jump pack. The reavers, for all their agility, passed harmlessly beneath Logan and his squad. The jetbikes ground to a halt in midair and rounded on the raptors. The moment of hesitation cost many of the eldar their lives. "Raptors! To the hunt!" Logan shouted, his battle brothers charged the eldar, eagerly revving chainswords drawn. The eldar jetbikes, however, proved to be more formidable. Several of Logan's squad mates were cut down by a hail of splinter-projectiles, even those who managed to connect with their foes found that reaching the rider behind a veritable wall of spiky protrusions and the armoured chassis of the eldar jetbikes. Logan dug his powersword into the hull of one of the bikes and quickly wished he hadn't. The alien vehicle shuttered and groaned as the arcane machinery ruptured beneath the fiery touch of Logan's weapon. There sickening crack, then Logan's world became fire.

Sera watched entranced from the rooftops, she saw Logan clash with the black shapes of the eldar jetbikes. She saw the brilliant blast of fire as one of the bikes exploded in midair. She saw Logan falling. Sera's blood ran cold. As far away as he was, Sera could feel that Logan was unconscious. Time seemed to slow about her. Visions flashed before Sera's eyes, she saw Logan's cermite armoured form smash into the city streets. She saw bones shatter like glass. Blood and nightmares raced through her thoughts. Then, quite unexpectedly, it stopped. The world seemed frozen in place now. Without a trace of alarm, Sera whispered, "no." There was a rush of colour and sound. When Sera came to her senses, she saw Logan, drifting like a feather onto a nearby rooftop. Sera breathed a sigh of relief.

Then Sera felt a stab of fear in her heart. Shadows were moving all about her. Sera felt a blade press against her throat. A voice, wheezing and phlegm laced, "Well then, look what we got here." Sera glanced in the direction of the voice. She stared into the deep sunken eyes of an eldar mandrake. The alien's face was wrapped in thick, black bonds, which covered most of his visage, leaving only a small bare patch for his eyes. "Mon-keigh, female by the look of 'er. What ya think we should do with this one?"

Another mandrake laughed; a bitter, gasping sound. Sera swallowed nervously and felt her neck graze against her captor's razor thin blade. "I say we have a little…" he ran his gloved hands over Sera's face, she grimaced at the alien's touch, "fun with her. If you've never heard a human scream you're missing out on something, you are."

"I say we take 'er in." The first mandrake spoke again, "Lord Murad 's pay'n good for anything we catch."

A third mandrake spoke, "He wants _gladiators_ you imbecile, this one looks like it could barely lift a blade, those big ones though, the ones in the armour, Murad will empty his purse to the last coin for a handful of those."

"So just kill her then? Seems like a bit of a waste don't it?" the second mandrake said, somewhat annoyed, "Mon-keigh or not I think I could find some use for her."

"You assume," whispered Sera, "that you are going to leave this encounter with me alive." The first mandrake was about to laugh and slit the woman's throat when he was enveloped in black fire. He let out a cry that was mercifully short, then was no more. Sera rounded on the remaining mandrakes. She was unsure exactly how many there were, the eldar seemed to be made out of the shadows themselves, where once she thought she saw a mandrake there turned out to be nothing, meanwhile mandrakes materialized in places Sera never would have imagined. That however, was irrelevant. The eldritch mark of Tzeentch on Sera's hand began to burn. Runes within runes began to etch themselves into the flesh around it. If there was any pain, Sera did not feel it. The mandrakes charged, their deadly skills honed from years of murder and mayhem in the streets of Comorragh were about to be brought to bear on the mad psyker. These skills, however, were not enough. Flames, manifested as twin serpents darted about Sera, striking with dizzying speed at the attacking eldar, each time felling another alien warrior. In moments, they were all gone, and only a few blackened corpses remained. Sera fell on her hands and knees. She watched as the spidery runes on her body faded and vanished. How long she kneeled there, panting, she was not sure. She was roused, however, from her trans by a pair of steel-toed boots in front of her. Expecting to look up into the face of a space marine Sera lifted her head eagerly. Her hopes died in her chest. Before her stood the grotesque form of a Haemonculus.

The eldar torture-master sneered cruelly down at her. From within his robes he withdrew a small chest, only about the size of an ordinary shoebox. The eldar placed it in front of the petrified Sera. The chest, embroidered with images like screaming faces sent shivers down Sera's spine. The haemonculus whispered something in his language. The lid of the chest gave a slight shudder. Then it burst open.

Staring into hell itself could not have prepared Sera for what she saw. Visions of numberless psykers like herself clawed their way into her mind. Sera saw women raped and brutalized, men torn asunder, children boiled alive in human blood. She gazed into the darkness that is the crucible of malediction. Even the omnipresent warp seemed to abandon her, forcing her to watch the horrible visions. Sera clutched at her head, tearing savagely at her own flesh. Anything, she thought, to remove the terrible visions. How long the phantoms coursed through Sera's mind she could not say. All she knew is that she wanted release, escape, anything to be free of the nightmares. Oddly enough, she found she wanted Logan. She remembered how his armoured form had enveloped her when she faced the culexus. Just as the monster had blotted out the warp, his armoured form blotted out it. If only Logan would be there, there would be no fear. With that last thought filling her mind. The darkness overtook her.


	8. Captured

Chapter 7: Captured

_Pray they don't take you Alive- _Codex Dark Eldar

When Sera finally awoke, she wondered briefly if she actually had. The waking nightmares induced by the crucible of malediction were gone. Replacing them was an only somewhat more reassuring darkness. Sera felt the cold steel of shackles on her wrists. She felt a soft, almost silken blindfold across her eyes. She felt a rough leather muzzle over her face. She felt a cold, stone, wall against her bare flesh. She struggled for a moment, pathetically rattling her bonds. Her wrists ached where the metal had bored into her flesh during her unconsciousness.

When at last the echoes of rattling metal faded Sera heard a laugh; haughty and self satisfied. "Ah, the human awakens." Sera tried to face the voice, which, given the echo, the blindfold and her own disorientation, might have come from anywhere. "You must forgive me if my speech is in anyway faulty," it said in perfect gothic. A pause, "I pick up only so much from my _guests._" Sera struggled a little more, this time she felt a gloved hand grab her arm. Sera shivered, "Now, now little human, there is no reason to fear. I suspect that you will enjoy your stay in my… custody. I know _I_ will." Sera tried to speak but the leather muzzle kept her mouth closed. After a moment, Sera felt rough hands removing the gag. "There we are. I don't see why I thought I'd need that. You aren't going to bite me."

Sera spat in the direction she judged the eldar's face to be.

The voice spoke again, clearly annoyed, "of course there is that."

"Who are you," Sera demanded.

"Ah, how rude of me, I am Yorath Maddox, high haemonculus of the Cabal of the Laughing Skull, subservient to his Excellency Lord Murad himself."

Sera gave a dejected groan.

"And what, my dear, may I call you?"

Sera looked up, attempting to meet the haemonculus's gaze, but said nothing.

"Use your tongue, human, or I shall cut it out."

"Sera," she said.

"Sera?" repeated the haemonculus.

"Yes."

"What then, Sera, do you suppose I will be doing to you here?"

"Torture, probably, the manner of which I'd rather not guess at."

Yorath sighed, "Of course I am…you know, human, there was a time when we who chose the path of the haemonculus saw our work as a sacred duty. We are the ones guarding our people against the predations of Chaos, no easy task, for daemons relish the taste of our… refined souls. Our efforts are far more potent, I might add, than those worthless baubles and charms our weakling cousins indulge in. She-Who-Thirsts, you see, is content to leave us be so long as my colleagues and I slake her hunger for souls. Her hunger for pain and sorrow" Sera could hear Yorath's heavy footfalls as he paced the length of the cell. "Of course, there are those of my trade who no longer remember their… duty. They think this is a game! A sport even! There are also those, such as Lord Murad, who indulge so willingly in the very depravity that led us to The Fall." Yorath suddenly seemed very old, "I wonder now, why I ever became involved in this filthy business." Sera felt a soft prick on her neck. Without warning the slight prick became a surge of agony.

Sera screamed and writhed, her body slapped against the stone wall as she tried to shake off the agonizer. After what might have been an eternity, Yorath withdrew the torture device. "Oh yes, that's why." Sera shuddered uncontrollably. "Impressive, no?" The haemonculus caressed the spot where he had placed the agonizer, "psykers make such excellent playthings. You hide behind your daemonspawn gifts, you think yourselves invulnerable." Yorath chuckled, "that makes it all the more gratifying to watch you tremble."

"The blindfold, you see, is constructed to debilitate psykers," Yorath explained "otherwise I think you would have roasted me like those mandrakes, for which I congratulate you, by the way, you've saved us the trouble of paying them."

There was a grinding sound as the heavy cell door opened. There was harsh metallic clangour as the haemonculus scrambled to attention, hastily concealing his tools in the progress.

"Yorath" a new voice called.

"Your Excellency."

"What are you doing here?"

"I am applying the inhibitors to this psyker my lord, as I have with all the others, just as you asked."

The Eldar lord growled in annoyance, "well then if you're done I want you to take stock of our new arrivals. I think a tournament of sorts is in order, the fallen humans will make excellent attractions."

"What, my Lord do you hope to gain."

"Prestige! Surely you've seen the creatures the hunters have brought in, Vect himself could not do better."

"You would win your cabal a place within the dark city then."

"Unfortunately, Vect doesn't have the same appreciation for blood sport that I do. Sixty psykers ought to do to garner us a domain of our own."

"Our… clients… also wanted psykers did they not?" Sera detected a hint of distaste in the haemonculus's voice.

Murad swore something in his alien language, "Paying off Vect comes first, tell our 'clients' that we'd be more then willing to capture a few more humans if they're interested in a long-term partnership. In the meantime I think its high time the preparations for the tournament got underway. We can deal with all this business nonsense later."

"What do you want me to do with this one," the haemonculus jabbed Sera with a long finger.

Sera acted quickly. Deciding to test the power of the eldar inhibitors she tried sending a simple thought, a suggestion, into the mind of the eldar lord. The blindfold made it difficult to focus but Sera felt her suggestion enter the alien's mind. Almost immediately the lord spoke, "I think I'll keep her as an attendant."

The haemonculus growled in perturbation, "lucky bitch," he muttered under his breath as he unlocked Sera's shackles, "a human, how tasteless."

"Get her into something presentable, I need to make an impression on Vect's ambassadors."

This latest order, also a psychic suggestion, seemed to push Yorath over the edge, "At what point," he said, "did your most senior haemonculus become a servant _for_ your servants."

"The same day," Murad said menacingly, "that he was executed for disobedience."

Somewhat cowed, Yorath grabbed a slightly smirking Sera, and led her off through the passages of lord Murad's labyrinthine ship.

An incalculable distance from Murad's ship, in the deepest recesses of the catacombs beneath the shell of a world that was Terra, Inquisitor Doyle of the Ordo Malleus fought long and hard to remain attentive, not an easy task as he listened to his superior rebuke him for the loss of one of the black ships in Ultima Segmentum. Indeed the breakdown in security was not his fault; the security of the ships couldn't be less of his business. He did not, however, feel so strongly about this that he was willing to correct the Will and Word of the Emperor, the inquisitorial highlord.

The highlord was a man who made it his business to appear intimidating. His shining artificer armour, trimmed with pale white and black fur, the array of whirring cybernetic implants clearly visible on his shaven skull, his pointed, ramrod goatee and even the small flock of servo-skulls buzzing about him all gave the man a daunting look. "And furthermore" boomed the highlord, "I would like to know, why the damnable ship was anchored in the first place!"

"That was due in part to an… indiscretion on the part of the garrison commander."

"I wish the son of a bitch had survived! I'd love to skin him alive for the trouble he's caused," literally shaking with rage the highlord swatted a servo-skull that got in the way, the gilded skull sailed across the room and shattered against a wall. "And why has it taken so long for your agents to apprehend the traitors responsible for the raid?"

"The heretics fled into Tau space, it was impossible to attack openly without inciting the wrath of their empire."

"You are wrong, Doyle, there is no such thing as 'Tau space' their lands, indeed all that is, was, and ever shall be belongs to the emperor, you would do well to remember that!"

"Forgive me, I misspoke, in any event the greyskins offered amnesty to the traitor marines. Whether or not this indicates a growing sense of alliance between the xenos and the traitor marines is unknown."

"See to it that this act ends badly for the aliens, teach them the price of siding with heretics and mutants."

"I shall my lord."

"No, you will not."

"But my lord, did you not ask me to…"

"I want you to track down the heretics responsible and teach them the meaning of imperial cleansing, the aliens can wait."

"That may be difficult, by now the heretics could have found refuge in the Eye of Terror."

"You seem to think failure is an option, inquisitor. I do not care if you have to march into the maw of chaos itself you will find these heretics or you will die trying."

"Yes my lord, I will order battlefleet _Gothic_ to remain on high alert until further notice, there may as well be another black crusade coming."

"Your zeal is impressive, Doyle, perhaps you will not fail after all."

"Many thanks, my lord, I shall begin the hunt shortly. The Emperor Protects," Doyle crossed his hands over his heart in the symbol of the twin headed imperial eagle.

"The Emperor Protects."


	9. The Sacrifice

Chapter 8: The Sacrifice

_If a man dies that another should live, that man's spirit shall eat at the emperor's table- _Warhammer 40,000 pg 49

Sera had begun to sense the limitations of her blindfold. With some effort she could sense her surroundings, particularly the locations of living creatures, which appeared as soft, flickering lights. Sera watched Murad's obscene tournament progress, grateful she could not see all the blood spilt. Seeing the firefly soul-lights dim and vanish was almost painful enough. With each death, the Eldar crowd erupted in cheers. The nature of the victim, human or alien, was irrelevant. All that mattered was that the blood flowed.

Logan let the split corpse of an alien fall. Suspiciously, the Eldar seemed intent of giving Logan and the other captured marines a fighting chance. They had given their captive gladiators a wide selection of weapons. What little good they did, most were intended to be used with more finesse then the marines could muster and most clumsily broke their own blades, making them easy prey for the eldar gladiators sent to fight them. Logan watched blood pool around the corpse of his foe. He looked down at his chest, bare where the Eldar had forcibly removed the cuirass of his power armour and covered with shallow gashes where his opponents had managed to land blows. Logan doubled over, his space marine anatomy straining to keep him battle ready. He raised his head weakly, gulping in air. He watched as an eldar warrior drove a trident into the chest of one of his battle brothers. The crowd roared again, Logan struggled to his feet, reaching for his xenos weapon, ready to cut down the still gloating Eldar.

He never had the chance.

A dull, hollow tone rang through the arena. At once every voice fell silent. The series of luminescent stones that supplied light to the coliseum dimmed. There was a flourish of what might have been alien music. Lord Murad, seated comfortably in his opera box spoke. Whether the amphitheatre was completely silent or the alien used some means to make himself more audible Logan was unsure, regardless, when Murad spoke, all heard. "Behold," the lord shouted with practiced bravado, "the two finest warriors the race of man could spare for our amusement today." There was a murmur of sadistic laughter in the hall. Logan found himself temporarily blinded by a bright spotlight. Gradually Logan's eyes adjusted to the light. He glanced at the Eldar Lord's box. In the shadows he could barely make out Sera's form at the alien's side. Logan quivered with nameless rage. "But my friends," Murad's voice lowered to almost a whisper, yet it remained audible, "would you not feel cheated, if you left us unsure who among these two survivors is the most able specimen plucked from the imperfect womb of their race?" Logan knew what was coming. Laboriously, her rose to his feet, adrenaline began to course through his tiered limbs. He swung his blade in a few short figure eights to reacquaint himself with its weight and balance. He wondered briefly who this last survivor was, the faces of several of his battle brothers flashed in his mind's eye. The stadium lights flared, once more filling the arena with a hellish light. Logan saw the hulking outline of one of his former comrades across the arena. Though the distance was great, he recognized the man almost immediately. Jailis.

Gods no, thought Logan, not him.

"And now my kin, we shall see the true champion! To the death!"

Jailis strode towards a petrified Logan, the remains of his cloak brushing the ground behind him. "Well brother," Jailis said as he approached, "may the best man win."

The severed head of a Tyranid Broodlord seemed such a grisly trophy to be placed on display on the bridge of _The Anhinga_. Yet to Shas'O Sci'ye it held a special meaning. When she was but a lowly Shas'la fresh from basic training she fought in a great defence of her home planet against the dread Tyranids, the ethereal lord Aun'vre Tehm'shel had coordinated the defence. When the tides of war turned in favour of the Tau, the ethereal made grand display of "finishing off" a supposedly dead Broodlord. The wounded tyranid leapt to its feet just as the ethereal drew within striking range and eviscerated the unfortunate Aun'vre. In that moment the Tau were routed, but even as her comrades panicked and fled Sci'ye took up the fallen ethreal's honour blade and struck down the Tyranid with a single blow. So impressed were her commanders by this act of unrivalled heroism Sci'ye was made exempt from trials usually required to become a commander and promoted within five years to her current rank. The tyranid's skull was in the last stages of decay by now and was hardly an inspiring thing to behold. The Ethereals however would have rather that she had enshrined the honour blade, as it would have served as a monument to the fallen Tehm'shel and certainly did not give off such an unpleasant odour. "Shas'O?" spoke a somewhat timid voice.

The voice belonged to an equally timid crewman aboard the Tau ship, an air caste Kor'la. Sci'ye stopped admiring her trophy and smiled reassuringly at crewman. "I am she."

"Shas'O, the alien craft belonging to the eld'ar that attacked Crysomis has been sighted by long range scanners. They appear to be stationary."

"How long until we are range of the ship?"

"Soon, assuming it does not flee."

"That is good news then."

Once more, the crewman appeared uneasy, "many of my comrades, myself among them, question the wisdom of this attack. They believe this ship would be put to better use in other, more vital conflicts."

"I understand," Sci'ye said, trying to remain civil towards the Kor'la, "that my decision is an unpopular one, however it is imperative that these pirates be brought to justice and their prisoners freed lest they continue to plague the empire."

"There is more to it then that, is there not Shas'O?"

Sci'ye shot the crewman a venomous look and his brief display of audacity vanished like a water in a sieve. He cringed pitifully, as though expecting Sci'ye to decapitate him like the Tyranid she had slain five years ago. "One of the prisoners taken by the El'dar was a human named Jailis." Sci'ye drew back the collar of her robes and showed the crewman a long mass of poorly healed scar tissue, "This is where he and several of my fellow warriors performed the sacred ritual of Ta'Lissera, the ultimate display of respect among warriors, the bonding. He is a brother to me now, and I shall not sit idly by and allow him to die as a slave to depraved and wicked beings. You may call it a…premonition, but I fear that I may already be too late…"

Sci'ye's fears of his impending death however, would have seemed odd to Jailis. "Get up, Logan!" he shouted at the chaos marine at his feet, "I have known you long enough to know you are not down yet." Jailis hauled a dazed Logan roughly to his feet, "We owe each other that much, to die fighting, to die with honour!" Logan staggered about drunkenly. As soon as Logan regained his balance, Jailis was on him again, the alien blade in his hand became a blur of flashing metal and searing pain. For every blow Logan parried, two more seemed to find their marks. At last, seeing that his foe was thoroughly beaten Jailis kicked Logan onto his back. The solidly built marine landed heavily on the gravel floor of the arena. Blinded by dust, blood and sweat Logan stared up at his mentor, who seemed to be playing the part of his executioner as well.

Then Jailis did something very peculiar, he glanced up at the opera box where Lord Murad, Sera, and Yorath watched intently. He felt Sera's sightless gaze in him. Jailis's hands began to tremble. Logan, disarmed and on his back, stared up in amazement as Jailis listened intently to a voice that, apparently, only he could hear. "Logan," Jailis said slowly, "I'm going to do something now, something I don't believe you are going to like. But before I do I want to give you a final order. Are you listening to me?"

Logan nodded dumbly.

"You will not die in this place, and neither will _she_. You must flee, to the last safe haven for lost souls like us: to the eye of terror. I have seen but a glimpse of a future, if you remain here, in the Tau lands you will surely die. You must take Sera with you, into the heart of chaos itself. You two have great parts to play, I however," Jailis fingered the hilt of his blade, "do not." He plunged the xeno weapon into his heart; his face became one of absolute tranquillity. Logan rolled out of the way as Jailis's corpse fell on the spot where he had lain. Once more, the crowed roared its approval at the fresh spilled blood.


	10. Interlude

Chapter 9: Interlude

_Know Your Duty! - _Warhammer 40,000 pg 45

Guardsman Heller inhaled deeply the heady smoke from his lho stick. Already the narcotic was beginning to affect his brain, his thoughts became scrambled, senses dulled, this was the _only_ way to survive prison guard duty. The makeshift prison held one of the Eldar mystics known as a Farseer. Drugged and thoroughly restrained the alien witch would later be presented to the inquisition. That time would be soon; Inquisitor Doyle had landed recently, supposedly to commandeer the regiment. Nearly all the regiment, save for Heller and his fellow watchman, Oscar was at roll call. Heller would not have traded places with any of them for the world, just standing in front of a bad tempered inquisitor was about as safe as walking up to a commissar with an Eight pointed star painted on your face. Oscar looked puzzled, "So that one there is an Eldar right?"

"Aye, 'tis."

Oscar gave a thoughtful grunt, "doesn't look too evil does she? Kinda pretty if you can get past the pointy ears."

Heller laughed hysterically, "Boy, don't let the Priests hear you say that," his voice became a cruel parody of the regimental chaplain's high drawl, "_Now son, don't let your soul wander in dark places. The alien is a most in-sid-i-ous enemy. The filthy Xeno fails for it cannot embrace th' emperor Bless His name!_"

Oscar laughed in spite of himself, "Yeah, its true, he's a hick."

"Oh ho ho ho! The old hangman would give you a whipping if he heard you say that!"

"I know Heller, but, look at her," he pointed at the captured farseer, "hard to think she's out to kill us all."

At that moment, there was a soft hum, like the drone of an insect, and half a dozen eldar forms materialized around the two guardsmen. For an instant, time seemed to stand still. Thirty seconds later the two guardsmen where dead, alien knives lodged in their gullets, the so-called warp spiders had vanished along with the recently captured farseer. Just another perfectly executed mission.

Farseer Mahea lay panting on the wet grass some one hundred meters from the human encampment. Standing over her was the beaming face of one of the warp spiders. "Are you well, Farseer?"

Mahea propped herself up on her elbows, trying to save some kind of dignity, "As well as can be expected. I am pleased that the craftworld saw fit to rescue me."

"Your vision is vital to the future of Altansar. Yours is a sacrifice we cannot allow."

"You flatter me, young warrior; I ought to have foreseen my capture."

"Call it a lapse and let us get moving. I'd rather not be caught by a mon-keigh patrol. After working so hard to find you."

If Colonel Cyrus Baudin had ever felt more nervous in his life, he could not remember when. Cyrus was a balding man in his late seventies, solidly built with deep, luminous blue eyes and ash coloured skin. The expensive juviant drugs he took to prolong his youth barely compensated for the premature aging from the stresses of leadership. He certainly looked his age. He watched Inquisitor Doyle survey his soldiers as they lined up for roll call. The inquisitor drank in every detail, perhaps straitening a piece of equipment here, flicking off a near invisible speck of dirt there. Every time he did so Cyrus felt outraged at the inquisitor's disrespect. "Inquisitor?" Cyrus asked as Doyle stared down a clearly frightened guardsman.

"What, _Colonel_," Doyle sneered.

"I believe you have inspected my men long enough, if you would be so good as to tell me the purpose of your visit."

"I am inspecting your men, _Colonel,_" Doyle roughly straitened the helmet of the nervous guardsman, "because our enemy is an inconspicuous one and I _will_ not have agents of chaos within my own ranks."

"The priests and commissars have seen to the spiritual well being of _my_ men, I would trust each and every one of them with my life, and my soul."

The inquisitor smiled at having caught Cyrus in what he perceived to be his verbal trap, "You are mistaken, Cyrus, these men do in fact belong to me," he produced a gothic scroll from somewhere in the many folds of his inquisitorial vestments and read aloud, "'In the name of the most holy inquisition and by the divine mandate of our most beneficent, gracious, magnificent etcetera etcetera… Immortal Emperor of Mankind I the Will and Word of the Emperor do hereby declare the four-hundred-and-seventy-third Cadian Regiment of the Imperial Guard under the jurisdiction of Inquisitor Doyle of the Ordo Malleus' if you wish to read the wording you are free to do so," Doyle presented the scroll to Cyrus.

The aged Colonel held up a hand to dismiss the offer, "I trust the word of an inquisitor. Am I to be returned to Cadia? I would very much like to see my daughter again."

"Not at such a time, your experience with the workings of the regiment may be necessary, thus I will keep you as an advisor. I warn you, do not shirk your duty."

"Forgive me, Inquisitor."

"Please, Doyle."

"Sir?"

"I hate to be so damned formal all the time," he said, almost a whisper, "It becomes taxing."

Cyrus nodded slightly, "How may my regiment be of service?"

"Tell me, what do you know about the Tau doctrine towards heretics?"


	11. Fury

Chapter 10: Fury

_Dark dreams lie upon the heart_

Logan's eyes burned from lack of sleep. He reminded himself that there was nothing wrong with him, as a space marine he could function for several hours without sleep without any adverse affects. Not that the Dark Eldar had not provided him a chance. They wanted him at his finest for what the guard who hauled him off to his cell termed "the grand finale." In the gloomy cell, lit by a single hovering lantern stone, Logan traced the near completely healed scar tissue on his torso where Jailis had managed to land blows. For the first time in his life, the traitor marine felt true guilt. Jailis was a legend in his own right. The world of Crysothemis was his legacy; a glimpse of the universe as Jailis would have had it. What the hell did any of that mean now? A single word floated across Logan's consciousness: Sera. For the longest time he searched for something to connect it with. His breath began to tremble; he remembered how she had fixed her gaze on the chaos lord. "Gods," Logan nearly began to pray but soon realized he had forgotten how.

The cell door creaked open. Logan scrambled pathetically against the wall of his prison; normally the coming of his jailors was preceded by ominous footfalls. Surprise, it seemed was much worse. The alien jailor raised an arcane device to his lips and spoke something in his own tongue. There was a short hum as the device processed the information. A second or two later a synthesized voice spoke, "Human, the time has come."

Doggedly, Logan rose to his feet and stepped into the passageway.

Sera sat uncomfortably on the stone floor of Murad's opera box to the left of the alien warlord. He absently stroked her hair as he watched the seats of his great amphitheatre fill. Sera cringed every time he laid his heavily bangled hand upon her. Sera tried to find Logan, but her powers were diminished since her arrival on Murad's hellish ship. Whether it was a belated effect of the inhibitors or just lack of rest Sera could not tell. After a few minutes Murad spoke, "My kin, welcome one and all to the finale of _my_ tournament." The alien laughed. "Of all the thousand horrors of the galaxy there is none more terrifying then the dread hive fleets that the humans call 'tyranids.'" Sera had a terrible feeling that she knew what would happen next, "Of these savage beasts, there is none more deadly then the living engine of destruction known as the Carnifex."

_Impossible,_ thought Sera, _he can't possibly mean for Logan to fight one of those monsters._

"Behold! The chitinous shock trooper of the great devourer."

Logan stood in the centre of the arena, listening as the dark eldar lord spat his grandiose blather in his alien tongue. He could pick out a few words: "mon-keigh," human; "Carnifex;" "Tyranid" that was all he needed to know. The eldar had armed him better this time around, one of the incubi's coveted punisher glaives. Even so it would not be enough. Wall on the far side of the arena began to open into massive, stone double doors. Behind them stood rows of sturdy, steel columns: Bars in a cage. In the gloom Logan could barely make out the shifting mass of the alien. Logan knelt, he tried to pray, but wasn't entirely sure how. Jailis had procured a copy of Lorgar's scriptures for each of his soldiers on Cryothemis. Logan's copy was probably still collecting dust in a desk drawer in his flat, assuming the building hadn't been destroyed in the fighting. The iron columns gave a horrible grating creak. The deafening roar of some ancient machinery grinding to life filled the arena as the columns receded into the floor. Logan swallowed and clutched the alien weapon a little tighter. "Gods…" he whispered, "guide my blade true, grant me the strength to strike down the enemies of the true path. I shall know…" he stopped himself before he completed the slogan "I will know no fear"; glad he had not given voice to that mantra of the false emperor. Staring death in the face as he was, it would probably have been best _not _to blaspheme against the chaos gods. He twirled the punisher in a series of arcs, watching the powered glaive leave trails of blue light in the heavy air.

The alien behemoth stepped forward, its hoofed feet pounding into the lose sand of the arena. The carnifex had no need to stalk forward like most predators, anything large enough to crush a land raider like a chicken egg could hunt however it felt fit. This one decided to charge. The beast took a swipe with one of its six-meter long scythe like forelegs. Logan a felt force like a freight train cleave the air above his head. Logan dove between the beast's legs and drove the powered glaive home into the beast's underbelly. The punisher cut deep into the alien's armoured body. Black ichor sprayed from the wound. Roaring in fury the carnifex shifted its massive weight and slashed clumsily at the human form beneath it. Logan scrambled out of the way, but his luck did not hold for long. One massive claw drove into Logan's unprotected shoulder. Logan howled in agony. The alien drove its claw deeper, skewering the struggling marine and dragged him out into the open. Blood filled Logan's mouth. With a howl of exertion Logan tore the talon from his body. Logan' space marine anatomy began to work its magic, healing the massive wound in his shoulder. The towering Carnifex unhinged its jaws, its mouth opening wide enough for a man Logan's size to comfortably sit inside.

For a while the beast stood there, its mouth open and Logan staring transfixed at it. Then the carnifex began to scream. A terrible, screeching roar like grinding metal, a sound that made Logan cringe. In ten millennia of unending war, Logan had seen a tyranid screech like this before. And he knew exactly what it entailed. Logan threw his sinewy bulk to one side, even as the stream of bio-plasma crashed into spot where he had stood a moment ago. Logan felt something crack under his bulk. Looking down he saw what it was. Severed neatly in two, and still fizzing feeble blue-white sparks was the eldar punisher.

Murad was having trouble enjoying the spectacle, which was a shame; a full grown Tyranid Carnifex fit for the arena was a rare find. _At least_, he thought,_ it'll be alive for another day._ The chain that bound his human captive to the eldar's wrist jerked unpleasantly. On the floor, in a small puddle of her own vomit and saliva Sera's body convulsed and shuddered. Above the roars of the Tyranid in the arena and the cheers and catcalls of the crowed Murad heard his prisoner's light whimpers and wet gurgles. "What the hell has gotten into her?" Murad swore elbowing his haemonculus to get his attention.

Yorath studied the human, and shrugged inconclusively, "Psykers aren't supposed to like the presence of Tyranids, even so it she shouldn't be acting up like this…" He cocked his head and planted a kick squarely in Sera's face. "Shut up you damnable little beast," he bellowed." In response, Sera's body began to convulse more violently and her screams began to grow louder. "That's it, time I silenced you for good."

Murad turned on his haemonculus his eyes widening. Yorath drew a dagger from his belt. Sera turned her sightless eyes on him. Even through the blindfold, Yorath felt her baleful gaze burn into his soul. He slashed with the knife, aiming for the throat. Sera moved like lightning, ducking her head into the path of Yorath's swing. Yorath's blade raked across her face, from one eyebrow across the nose to the opposite cheek. Grunting in annoyance the alien took a moment to realize what he had done.

The silken blindfold fluttered to the ground. The shallow cut across Sera's face neatly stitched itself up, leaving no trace of its existence. Sera eyes began to open. The haemonculus began to step back, his limbs began to quake too violently for him to hold the blade and it clattered to the floor. Sera rose to her feet and strode towards the rapidly retreating haemonculus. Calmly, she reached out and placed her hand on his breast. She felt the alien's heart beat furiously beneath her hand. For a moment, he stood there, twitching pitifully like a doomed rodent in the grasp of a serpent. Sera withdrew her hand and the haemonculus crumpled to the ground, little more then a withered sack of flesh and bone.

Murad fumbled for the gun he kept concealed in his ornate throne. He had nearly pulled it out of the armrest as Sera strode up to him. Daemonic chains burst from the stone throne: two binding his hands, two binding his feet, and one encircling his throat. Barely able to breathe he looked into the amber coloured eyes of the human who now held his life in her hands. "…No…" he choked out. The chains tightened with dizzying speed, ripping through the eldar's garments and the soft flesh and bone beneath. The dismembered carcass sagged lifelessly and Murad's head rolled off onto the stone floor with a fleshy thud.

Paying no heed to the two dead aliens Sera strode to the balcony overlooking the arena. Logan still ducked and dodged around the Carnifex's lethal blows but his strength was fading. Sera drew a deep breath and howled. Her voice carried across the arena and hundreds of eldar turned to stare in her direction. Silence fell. Even the carnifex ceased to pursue its quarry. From the depths of the ship came a chorus of daemonic howls. Then all hell broke lose.


	12. Flight

Chapter 11: Flight

_**In the darkness a blind man is the best guide. In an age of madness look to the madman to show the way**_

"What the hell do you mean you 'lost the ship.'"

"Shas'O, be reasonable. We both know the El'dar raiders utilize sophisticated teleportation devices, they probably detected out presence long ago and decided to flee."

Sci'ye clenched and unclenched her fists as she paced the command deck of _The Anhinga_ occasionally stopping to look out through the vast viewing window that served as one of the ships walls. Beside her a nervous Kor'la desperately hoping to evade the ill tempered fire warrior's wrath. "Then they are lost to us now?"

"Would that it were not so, Shas'O." Sci'ye covered her face with one hand. The Kor'la rocked back and forth on his heels pensively, "we knew… that the chances of saving Him were… not good. You and he are Ta'Lissera, bonded warriors, yes? He lives in you, and in your comrades and their descendants. He is not truly lost." The crewman gave an absurd Cheshire cat smile, which gradually faded as he saw that Sci'ye's mood did not improve.

"He is dead… yes… by now he must be. This is about revenge now Kor'la."

The crewman took an involuntary step back, "How selfish of you commander! You walk the path of O'Shovah!"

Sci'ye seemed unfazed by this blatant attack on her character, "As I said before, the Eld'ar are a threat to _all _the empire. Perhaps you did not see the destruction they unleashed upon Crysothemis? The epsilon garrison suffered terrible losses, both in soldiers and in armoured support. Nearly a quarter of the human population _including_ the human marines were either captured or killed. To say nothing of the damage to infrastructure." Sci'ye craned over the significantly shorter Kor'la, who swallowed nervously.

"Apologies. Shas'O."

Sci'ye was about to say something but the instrument panels began a series of soft beeps, crying for attention. The Kor'la shuffled over to the nearest consol studied it for a minute or two then turned back to Sci'ye. "Shas'O? I believe we have found the ship again."

Minutes later, Sci'ye and her strike team were preparing to board the alien ship. A dozen Tau soldiers, all of them experienced and well armed. Admittedly, Sci'ye was unnerved by the lack of fire from the Eldar. It was as though the whole damn lot of them were asleep at their posts. Or more likely, dead. What the hell was going on in there?

There was dull crack and a flash of blue light as the breaching charges activated. Sci'ye climbed through the port hole into the eldar ship. And stepped into a nightmare.

The few remaining light fixtures that had not been shattered now flickered and sputtered, giving off and eerie strobe light effect. Periodic bursts of blue and gold lightning rippled through metallic parts of the walls, Sci'ye was thankful for the grounding in her armour. Perhaps it was the flickering light or the feeling of uneasiness but Sci'ye could have sworn she saw the walls contort into leering faces and hissing reptilian maws. Every time these phantasms were properly illuminated, however, they vanished. "We shouldn't be here, Shas'O, this place is evil…" a voice hissed. Sci'ye held up a heavily armoured hand to silence him. The fire warrior gave a clearly audible gulp and fell silent.

Sci'ye had heard something above the uncertain groans of her soldiers and the crackle of electricity. A shuffling, skittering sound from somewhere below. "Check your targets and prepare to return fire. It is possible that there was a slave riot, so watch for potential friendlies."

The skittering was coming closer now; more of the fire team was beginning to peer around in the ominous gloom, scanning the darkness for the source of the noise. As it drew closer the sound suddenly seemed to be coming from above the team. Sci'ye held her breath and stared at the ceiling, the instruments in her armour vainly trying to filter out the light from the brilliant surges of lightning. There was a sickening, grinding sound as the metal began to twist and contort itself, opening into a perfectly circular hole in the steel ceiling. Stunned by another electric surge, Sci'ye did not see the multi-limbed form fall to the ground.

The creature was hunched over, but it still stood about as tall as any of her fire warriors, Sci'ye's crisis suit towered over it. Other then its height, nothing else was constant about the creature. Its body twisted and mutated before her eyes. Colours spread across the creature's body like ink in a glass of water and changed again just a quickly as they appeared. No less then three mouths dotted the beast's body, periodically belching pale red and blue fire. Sci'ye reached out to touch the thing, her curiosity getting the better of her. The horror shrunk away from her armoured touch, hissed, and belched a jet of fire in her direction. Small klaxons sounded in her helmet and a small glyph flashed in the helmet's heads-up display, indicating that it was not advisable to stand in a jet of fire.

Sci'ye kicked out, planting her armoured foot in the creature's hissing maw. Her kick sent the horror spinning down the hall where it landed with a wet thud and a flash of daemon fire. The daemon looked ready for a counterattack, but it never got the chance. Sci'ye's fire team opened fire. Bolts of blue light impacted the anarchic form. The creature shuttered, and evaporated in a burst of white mist.

Sci'ye panted as she stared at the empty space where the daemon had stood a moment ago. A light flashed in her Heads Up display announcing that her armour was administering a shot of adrenaline.

The Tau fire team pushed deeper into the ship. All the while hellish screams, strange skittering sounds and what sounded like birdsong echoed around the barren halls. Sci'ye kicked open an ornate set of double doors and stepped through. She stepped into the pandemonium that remained of Yorath's coliseum. Great avians swooped and circled around the high ceiling, picking off the few surviving Dark Eldar with jets of multi coloured fire, tusked, ray like creatures swooped low along the stands, horrors like the one Sci'ye faced stalked the grounds. By now the remaining soldiers had given up and abandoned ship or been killed, even so a few desperate stragglers had seized a few of the exotic eldar splinter rifles and opened fire on the daemons. The dismembered carcasses of countless eldar that littered the stands were testament to their ultimate failure. The Carnifex was dead, its charred, skeletal remains were scattered across the arena. Floating several meters above the ground, above the corpse of the Carnifex was a black armoured figure. At first to Sci'ye's muddled senses he looked like Jailis, but even from this distance she could see that this man was different. The marine struggled vainly against the unseen hand that kept him suspended Sci'ye heard a voice in her ear, faint, but clear and undistorted, clearly not one produced by a squawking vox. "Why have you come here?" Sci'ye fiddled with her vox, picking up varying degrees of static, the voice spoke again, "please don't bother with that, I have no need for your machines." The voice was feminine and surprisingly calm for someone trapped in this daemon-infested ship.

"Who are you?" Sci'ye whispered, hoping that whoever the voice belonged to could hear her. Sci'ye felt suddenly nauseous. She realized she was no longer where she was before. She was on the other side of the coliseum; she could still see the burnished gold-yellow armour of her squadmates across the room, the vox net was suddenly filled with her fire team's alarmed chatter at having seen their commander disappear into thin air.

The voice was close, no longer disembodied. "I am called Sera. You came here to find Jailis, yes? He is gone now." Sci'ye hung her head, she had dragged her crew and her men through hell for nothing.

A slender woman stepped out of the gloom. Over much of her flesh were writhing spidery runes. "This saddens you. But he died for a cause. Many more of us will die if we do not get off of this doomed ship. The daemons proved to be... more trouble then I anticipated."

"How do you..."

Just then Sci'ye caught a glimpse of the woman's eyes, deep luminous amber orbs, eyes that saw things more strange and terrible then Sci'ye could have imagined. "Know? I know many things. You might say it's my job to know."


	13. Homeward Bound

I suppose now is as good a time as any to put in an author's note. In any event:

Thanks to my staple read/reviewers Maugen Ra, Emperor Bass Exe and verystrangest you guys rock.

New readers I hope you like it. Special thanks to Gizamaluke and The Mindwarrior for the kind word (and for sticking up for Chaos)

Then come the complaints… Well I suppose this is to be expected. Please note that if I change nothing in my story on your account its just because I disagree with you and not because I'm an insular jackass I _DO_ in fact read my reviews and all logical statements are duly noted.

Jericho- I can see where you're coming from with the complaint about the Tau. But on the games workshop site it _does_ say that cooperation with aliens is one of the many doctrines implemented by Alpha Legion in its raids. I decided that this was not limited to simply hiring a few Kroot mercs and using an Ork incursion as cover for their operations as they did in DoW (yes I know DoW is not pure canon but I'm not getting into that now). On top of that some of the first humans the Tau encountered were outcasts and renegades, and given that the Nightlords operated on the Eastern Fringe for the longest time it is possible that they encountered chaos cults, even marines.

Imperial Soldier- Your subtlety astounds me. The most ignorant, naïve thing you can do when looking at Warhammer lore is assume that there are "Good Guys" and "Bad Guys". With a few exceptions everyone is evil. Yes that means the Imperium too. For gods sake just look at the "Thoughts for the Day" printed in the corners of the rulebooks and whatnot. As to your blatant non-sequiter about the Emperor's children, the weakling followers of Slaanesh perpetuated their atrocities against the people of Terra at the behest of self-styled Dr. Frankenstein Chief Apothecary Fabius Bile. Fulgrim would likely _not_ have been a daemon prince at the time and even if he was he would slowly be losing his powers due to his distance from the warp, as Angron did during the first Armageddon war. Nor ought the Emperor's children be used as a representative for all of Chaos. After all, the other legions utterly crushed them in a civil war in the Eye of Terror. Kharn the Betrayer's little rampage was the most famous event in that little spat.

Of course that's a moot point anyway since to my knowledge I have yet to use the words "Emperor's Children" in my story thus far. This is about Alpha Legion for the moment, which specifically distances itself from the other Legions.

Chapter 12: Homeward Bound

_It is not the horrors of war that trouble me but the unseen horrors of peace_

In the deep jungles Tech Adept Stribog stole silently through the decaying overgrowth. He was close now, exactly three-point- five-oh-one kilometres north by northwest of Colonel Cyrus's headquarters. The adept's mostly mechanized brain needed no further direction. One of few remaining fleshy portions of his body shivered in the cold. He cursed the weakness of his organic form and drew his crimson cloak tighter around him with one of his flickering mechadendrites. The cloak was clasped with an inconspicuous token of the techpriest's heresy: the simple image of a dragon's head. There were few, if any, who recognized it as the insignia of the dreaded cult of the Void Dragon, outside of the cult itself of course. Stribog bemoaned the fact that he was not born one of the favoured sons of the Star-Gods, one bearing the dread pariah gene. Nonetheless, he would serve the true machine gods as best his fleshy body would allow.

The Adept stopped quite abruptly. "O holy star god! Lord of all machines! I have come as thou had asked to this holy place. Grace this humble form with thy presence!"

There was a surge of unimaginable energy through the feral jungles and several of Stribog's implants began to register as malfunctioning, the vision in Stribog's bionic eyes flickered in and out. When at last the machines became fully functional and his vision returned the mighty statuesque form of the C'tan Deceiver hovered before him. The entity stood precisely three and a half meters tall; the techpriest's implants assured him of that. The creature's skin was like burnished gold, its eyes more resembled flickering flames then a human organ and its vestments swirled about it on howling ethereal winds. An array of neatly curved horns extended behind its head like some macabre hair. It spoke with a voice that resonated throughout the muggy forest, "Ah, you are prompt and discreet, mortal, of this I approve."

"You are most gracious O holy machine god."

"Indeed, now, how close is the good colonel to finding our quarry?"

"Colonel Cyrus and the Inquisitor have pinpointed a world known as Crysothemis. It is to there that the servants of the old enemy escaped."

"Excellent, see to it that the humans take plenty of prisoners, we shall need more to replace the herds we lost."

"Will I receive aid in my endeavours? The daemon worshippers are not to be trifled with."

"Hardly, if the humans cannot crack a paltry chaos world then they aren't worthy enough pawns to be troubled over."

"If the daemon spawn are victorious however… then I…"

"Come now, little human, you do not think that you are any less of a pawn then the good Colonel? If you have any interest in self preservation then see to it that you do not lose."

"I see-"

"Silence, I sense something…" Stribog's bionic arm ceased to obey his commands. He or rather it reached into the folds o his robe and drew his bolt pistol and open fire into the trees."

The shots sailed with unnatural accuracy through the brush. There was a string of small explosions and a howl of pain. The C'tan floated off in the direction he had commanded Stribog to fire, the vegetation withering as he passed. "Farseer! Run!" called an alien voice through the trees.

A white robed figure raced out of the undergrowth towards Stribog. Acting swiftly his servo arm shot out and grabbed the fleeing Eldar. Mahea struggled in the Techpriest's metallic grip. After a moment the Deceiver emerged from the tree line, floating before him was the limp body of a warp spider. "Such a pitiful display, Eldar, is this what has become of the spawn of the Old Ones?"

Mahea jerked fruitlessly against the servo's icy grip, swearing something in her own tongue. "Shall I destroy her my lord?" Stribog hissed.

"Just a minute, just a minute, I want to have some fun first." The Deceiver's long fingers plucked a tiny glistening spirit stone from the aspect warrior's armour and let the limp cadaver fall. As the body impacted the wet earth the helmet popped off, and Stribog caught a glimpse of the wasted flesh and distorted features. The Deceiver played with the gem like a cat with a mouse, rolling it about in his hands. "Amazing really, how your kind can keep your souls in these unassuming little stones. I suppose you think, in some small way, you live forever." The C'tan stopped playing with the spirit stone and held it steady in the palm of his hand. Suddenly his hand snapped shut and there was a crack like bones grinding. He turned his hand over, and let a column of glittering dust fall. "This one… will never see your precious craftworld again."

Mahea's body fell limp in Stribog's grasp, tiny glistening tears formed in her eyes. "So much sorrow… so much anger… so much fear… yes… Eldar are the most delectable of meats."

A new resolve seized Mahea; she lashed out with every ounce of will in her body. Psychic lightning coursed through Stribog's body, wreaking havoc on the machinery imbedded in his flesh. Mahea leapt over the shuttering heap that remained of the techpriest. The C'tan began to charge forward, his body drifting effortlessly over the jungle floor, but Mahea was faster. Gradually the gap between the two widened and the C'tan at last gave up and drifted off.

Sera found Crysothemis much as she had left it. Though a few towers were toppled, lonely shards of shrapnel still littered the scarred asphalt and there were a few places in the back alleyways that still smelled of death the city was still inviting enough. Tau earth caste utility drones buzzed about overhead and construction teams had erected scaffolding around some of the soaring black spires. Sera was pleased to find her flat untouched structurally, a Tau surveyor had assured her of that. She was glad she had nothing of value; the raiders had stolen nearly everything that wasn't nailed down or on fire. She meditated on this, sitting on her bed, watching the glistening golden hulled drones buzzing around an adjacent building, their dizzyingly complex claws patching up a hole in the dark stone where a stray dark lance beam had penetrated from one end of the tower to another. The jungles around the cities were still being combed for the crashed husks of alien gunships and transports in hopes of finding the crews. Tau who survived in the dense jungles returned as heroes. As to the surviving Eldar… Sera knew that the bodies of scores of Eldar hung from hooks or impaled on spears from the tops of towers. Some were more recent then others.

Sera heard a heavy fist slam against the wooden door several times. She knew that the knock was simply an alert, not an entreaty. The door swung open and Logan walked in, un-armoured, but still imposing as ever. Sera opened her mouth to speak but Logan interrupted, "Sera, I need to know something." Sera nodded slightly, urging him to continue, "The Jailis I knew would not have done…what he did. He was a great man, an amazing man… but he would not have taken his own life when he bested me in combat. I wonder. What did you do to him?"

"Would you believe nothing?" Logan surged forward his first raised and Sera scrambled backward against the head of her bed. "I didn't do anything to him, I just begged him not to kill you."

"What?"

"I asked him not to kill you, that's all I did, Logan I swear. I didn't want him to kill himself." Her frantic words ran together into a barely comprehensible stream.

Logan's shock seemed to overcome his rage. He withdrew, shaking his head. He looked ready to say something for a while, but couldn't. At last the myriad thoughts coalesced into a coherent phrase, or something approaching it, "Why?" Sera lay shuddering on the bed, she mouthed something but no words escaped her lips. "Why damn it!"

"Logan," a sharp, synthesized voice cut in. A marine in fatigues stood in the doorway. His head was shaven and his skin was lightly tanned. Little else was visible behind the bulky rebreather/ Vox apparatus that covered his mouth, nose and most of his lower face. "Logan," he spoke again, "Brother Sergeant Logan of the raptor cult?"

"I am he," Logan turned to salute the brother marine leaving a visibly shaken and wide-eyed Sera panting on the bed. "What do you require of me?"

"The other officers and I are trying to determine who, if anyone, ought to take up the mantle of leadership now that Jailis has… gone to his reward."

"If anyone, what do you mean?"

The marine shook his head, even though the rebreather masked his expression he was clearly displeased, "Some of us… believe that we have lost too many to operate effectively and therefore must join with another cell, which creates a problem in and of itself, the only cell _I _believe we might still be able to contact is in Segmentum Pacificus."

"Our company has not lost so many. Other cells have functioned admirably with less."

"Logan, you know full well those cells were rabble rousers at best. We administer an entire world not to mention a tenuous alliance with the aliens."

Sera cut in, "The Tau are an asset, the aliens are many things but deceptive they are not, they will honour our pacts as long as we do."

The marine growled, a sound like boiling water through the synthesized Vox, "Forgive me for being so direct but what puts you at liberty to speak of such things."

"I am a psyker, brother…" she cocked her head, "Shiro? That is your name yes?" The marine took an involuntary step back. "I see I was correct, in any event the Tau I have met are sincere enough. At worst they see us as an erratic, if effective force to weaken the Imperium without costing them lives."

Shiro nodded approvingly, "Your friend has talents, Brother Sergeant Logan."

"Yes…" Logan glanced at Sera, his animosity beginning to fade, "She does."


	14. Ultimatum

Chapter 13: Ultimatum

Compromise is akin to treachery 

"Now understand, I am being generous by simply allowing you an audience."

"For that, good inquisitor you have the thanks of The Empire, certainly we might come to an understanding…"

Doyle held up his hand to silence the Tau diplomat. "You are not here to gain a compromise you are here to receive an ultimatum." Cyrus watched the Inquisitor handle himself, watched the pompous looking man become a fearsome omen of doom before the alien emissary, with quiet contempt. He hated Doyle, hated him for hijacking his regiment, hated him for keeping Cyrus around as little more than a figurehead, hated him for the callous inconsideration with which he treated the troops, just hated the man. But the inquisitor for all the trouble he caused knew how to intimidate. With any luck the Tau would back down, making the heretics on Crysothemis easy pickings. They had Astartes among their number, yes, but Cyrus had a regiment.

"What is the nature of said ultimatum Inquisitor?"

"Do you know what a virus bomb is, alien?" The Tau blinked and his fists clenched quickly, but he said nothing. "On this ship, and others like them there are enough to kill every living thing on your world. Of course, it's not that simple. First, once the atmosphere is thoroughly saturated every living thing will begin to decay- don't grimace, the process is quite quick- in just a few minutes every living thing is reduced to little more then a mound of organic slag. Then comes the firestorm, you see the gasses unleashed by the rapid decomposition are terribly volatile, and soon the whole of the world is scoured, sterile… cleansed. The weapon is antiquated by current standards, but you might say that I'm a traditionalist.

"And why is it you have not used such weapons on us already."

"The heretics in question, the seed of heresy which may well cost every being on your world its life, are less useful to me dead."

"Somehow I assumed it was not due to your infinite mercy."

"Do not tempt fate, alien, taking the heretics alive is not so important to me that I would not put your world to the torch if your people were in my way."

"Your demands?"

"You will not interfere with our purgation of this city," Doyle pointed to a marker on a hololithic map, "or anywhere else wherein the heretics have taken root, might I add that it would be in your best interest if your government expunged said heretics on its own.

The diplomat swallowed, sighed, then spoke, "With some reluctance, on behalf of the Tau Empire I accept. The Tau Empire washes its hands of her dealings with the fallen humans on Crysothemis."

* * *

"The Tau have not abandoned you!" Sci'ye slammed her armoured fist into the meeting table set up in what had once been Lord Jailis's inner sanctum. The room was in a sorry state. A jetbike had crashed through the stained glass window decorated with the hydra of Alpha Legion skidded across the room, smashing furniture and artefacts and leaving a scorched trail across the floor. The wreckage had been removed but the floor still bore the scars of the terrible impact. 

"Not abandoned us? Tell me, 'commander', how have you not abandoned us? Where are the Tau fleets, where are T'au's gunships, where are her soldiers, some of whom had the honour of being trained by Jailis himself? They are no where to be seen, 'commander'." Sci'ye glanced at the nearly headless corpse the Tau diplomat who had come with her to deliver news of what transpired aboard the imperial ship, then back to the bolt pistol in front of one of the half dozen or so seated squad leaders.

"I…"

"You do not bare the blame for your government's actions, but do not for a minute try to justify them." A second sergeant, one clad in the imposing armour of a chaos raptor, cut in.

"Very well, I'll be frank, my hands are tied, fire teams can attempt to evacuate non-combatants, perhaps we could provide weapons if you are lacking in that regard, soldiers are out of the question, if the Inquisitor discovered that we were aiding you…"

The second squad leader nodded, "We understand, you have your people to look after, as do we, the good will is appreciated. However, assuming the enemy attack is repelled…"

"As well it should be," another seated sergeant thumped his armoured fist against his breastplate with a reverberating thump.

"… What is stopping the Inquisitor from laying waste to the planet anyway?"

"Because he's bluffing," a woman, swathed in light robes spoke, "Logan, the inquisition does not want corpses, it wants prisoners, we are too important alive; we all are. He will kill every thing else on this world before destroying us."

"That is hardly encouraging to the Tau, Sera," Logan said, swiveling to face her.

"He won't kill them either, Inquisitor Doyle is an imprudent man, an arrogant man, but he knows that the false emperor does not rule here, he knows that burning this world will cost him dearly.

"Are you certain?" Sci'ye asked.

Sera tapped her temple with her index finger, "Always."

"You may find the Tau leadership to be less easily convinced."

"Hardly a problem, what this boils down to is us against them, veterans of ten millennia of endless war against a mob of diminutive white shield conscripts, perfect, I was just getting bored." Logan took his bolt pistol off the table and checked his ammunition; finding it full, save for the bullet formerly used to kill the bearer of bad news, he holstered it, "oh yes, I think I will enjoy this."


	15. Invasion

I've been gone for a while but now i'm back. For good this time. I hope to have changebringer done in a week or so. Enjoy

* * *

Silence reigned in Acheron. Long, wailing wind gusts sand through the deserted streets. The bustling market stalls lay deserted with only a few incorrigible rats foraging in the empty streets and squares. Imperial bombers strafed through the city, riddling the black towers with holes but doing only superficial damage. Sera stood on the roof of a Tau style command bunker, watching the Cadian gunships flying their raids. She closed her eyes…focused…inhaled. The world became veiled in a reddish glare. The rushing bombers seemed to crawl across the sky. Slowly, deliberately, Sera walked to the south side of the compound. The red glare vanished and the bombers returned to their normal speed. An instant later a flurry of bombs hammered against the north side of the compound, leaving a string of glowing craters. At last, content that their work was done, the planes flew off into the horizon. The sun itself seemed to go dark, the brooding shadow of an imperial capital ship settled over the city. Sera turned and fled into the compound. The Valkyries were inbound.

Sera walked through the reinforced blast doors into the command post as though they were made of air. An aged Tau strategist and a sergeant marine whom Sera did not recognize stood around a chart table, bathed in the green glow of the holograms.

"Your instruments are wrong," Sera said, gesturing to a trio of flashing red triangles on a tactical map of the city.

The Tau opened his mouth to protest but the marine laid an armoured hand on his shoulder and nodded for Sera to continue.

She strode up to the table and struck a few keys. Nine red circles appeared at several points on the map. "this is where they will land, there are far more than your instruments show."

The Tau looked puzzled, "you are certain?"

"The future is unwritten."

The gray-blue skin of the Tau became slightly red, "_that's _your answer? You would have me make decisions on prophecy?"

The marine spoke, "your council is appreciated, friend, I know the danger you leave yourself in but these, are my battle brothers, and my people. I have never known a psyker to lead astray.

The Tau sighed and massaged his temples. "If you intend to stop the advance at each tower you will need to divide your forces…heavily. Set traps if there is time, as for the civilians."

"There are no civilians," the marine said, "we are prepared to fight to the last."

Commissar Myrrh's Valkyrie touched down on the unsettlingly inviting landing platform and discharged his squad." He took a last dreg on his cigar and chucked it aside. "alright men, time for some thrilling he-roics."

A collective hurrah rose from the men. He drew a whirring chainsword and charged through a black curtain that hung in the entryway into the chaos tower.

It was dark inside, but not so much that Myrrh could not see. The long corridor was crisscrossed with countless others. A guardsman on Myrrh's right muttered, "I don't like this, perfect place for an ambush."

Myrrh revved his chainsword and the protests stopped. "Give me a light," he barked. A guardsman threw a flare into the gloom of an adjacent hallway. A moment later the flare began to glow red. The eerie light reflected off the scowling mask of a chaos raptor's helmet. Myrrh stifled a gasp. "Son of a bi…" the roar of turbines downed out his voice.

Logan threw himself shoulder first into the nearest guardsman. He raised his power sword to finish him but saw that the impact had already been fatal. Logan wheeled about and decapitated the nearest guardsman. In his heads up display a small icon noted that the heat and exhaust from his squad mates' jump packs were becoming hazardous in the confined space. The platoon commissar was barking frantic orders to his nearly routed soldiers. He tossed his chainsword aside, drew two stubbers from shoulder holsters and opened fire into Logan's armored body. Most of the slugs pinged harmlessly from the armor, but several shells pierced through. Logan launched himself forward and thrush the clawed boots of his power armor into the man's chest. Logan felt the commissar's ribcage splinter and crunch under his massive weight. The guardsmen fell in moments. One of Logan's squadmates began running towards the launch pad- a melta bomb in hand. His hand was moving to prime it. Logan launched himself forward and tackled the marine as he neared the threshold. A hail of autocannon shells from the Valkyrie whistled over Logan's head. "This war has enough dead heroes," he growled. The hail of shells stopped. "Fall back and prepare for the next wave."

"Colonel Cyrus's Valkyrie touched down on another tower, the inquisitor and a techpriest with him. A storm trooper strode onto the landing pad and saluted.

"Sir, the tower is secure, we uncovered some kind of bunker, where the noncombatants are hiding."

"What have you done with them?" Cyrus asked.

"My men have them secure. Otherwise, nothing sir. We were told to take prisoners."

Cyrus nodded, "show me."

The stormtrooper showed them to the depths of the tower into a large, brightly lit room lined with scowling, often tattooed civilians.

"This is all of them?" Doyle asked.

"I doubt that, sir." The stormtrooper said, "chances are they have the rest somewhere else, either evacuated or in other towers."

One of the prisoners shoved a guard aside and lunged for Cyrus, a steel shard in his hand. Cyrus caught the man's wrist and expertly twisted his arm around. The Crude weapon clattered to the floor. Cyrus twisted the arm again and he dropped to his knees. The man snarled and struggled against Cyrus's grip. From the line of prisoners a woman made a sharp, audible gasp.

Doyle examined Cyrus's assailant, "is this one of the ones from the black ship?"

The techpriest examined him, the machinery in his body clicked and whirred as he scanned the man, " affirmative."

Doyle looked disappointed, "is she," he nodded towards the woman who had cried out.

Again, the machinery whirred, "negative."

Doyle drew his bolt pistol, flipped off the safety and fired.

The wall behind the woman's head was suddenly splashed with crimson and chunks of fractured bone. The man made a little sound, something halfway between a growl and a whimper and struggled in Cyrus's grip. Doyle turned to the techpriest, holstering his still smoking weapon. "Round up the ones from the ship, keep them separate."

A soldier burst into the room, the array for a vox set visible on his backpack. "sir, landing parties three, five and nine have failed to report in and landing party two has reported heavy casualties.

Cyrus shot Doyle a glare but the inquisitor shrugged it off, "very well, rally your remaining men, we shall root out this filth."

Cyrus checked the ammunition in his pistol but Doyle stopped him. "No, you stay here, I want you to oversee processing of these heretics." Cyrus gritted his teeth but grudgingly returned the magazine.

Cyrus stood alone with a few token guards and the techpriest with his small flock of servitors. Doyle had every right to marginalize him like this, and that just made it worse. Maybe it was the taint of these heretics but Cyrus felt the strong urge to put a bullet in the inquisitor's smirking face.

"My lord," the synthetic voice of the techpriest spoke. Cyrus had nearly forgotten the techpriest was there, "the task is complete." Cyrus glanced at the technician, maybe it was his imagination, but he seemed to be speaking not to him, but to one of the servitors.

Before Cyrus could say anything an unearthly voice replied, "well done, Stribog, at last, the great work may begin anew from this world." The servitor's form seemed to ripple like a reflection in a pool of water before Cyrus's eyes. There was a surge of light, bright as any sun.

The humble mechanized body disappeared, replaced by a statuesque, horned form. Ethereal garments blew about the humanoid shape. Cyrus could not run, he just stood, enraptured, half in horror- half in wonder at the C'tan. The creature spoke again, "ah… fear…" the creature lashed out at the two guards closest to it. An instant later they fell, withered sacks of flesh. Yet the guards and prisoners alike seemed unfazed they all continued staring at the gold skinned abomination. Cyrus drew his pistol and fired into the thing's back. A string of explosions appeared on the metallic skin. A string of impotent clicks informed Cyrus that his clip was empty. The creature turned around, not pained, not even annoyed, it was amused. The creature's arm contorted into a lance-like point. He raised its arm, Cyrus could not muster the will to run. The lance arm shot forward and Cyrus's world turned black.


	16. Nightfall

The last-ish chapter of my first Fanfiction. In a week or so I'll probably go back over this story and give it some major editing. 

I'm going to post ideas for my next project on the "think tank" forums in the next few days. Until then, enjoy.

* * *

Chapter 15: Nightfall

_Curse now the death in vain_

Codex: Space Marines (4th Edition), page 77

Farseer Mahea and her escort crept through the city streets, darker than normal thanks to the unnatural eclipse of the mon-keigh ship.

She glanced at one of her rangers. She admired the stoic purpose of his dark, almond shaped eye. She told him of the danger, that their task was all but certain doom. She also told him it was necessary. That had been enough. Here was an Eldar who had not set foot on the sacred surface of the Craftworld in ages and now he followed her to certain death at the hands of the deathless foe. A tear glistened in Mahea's eye.

* * *

The Tau tactician sighed at the tactical maps as units failed to report in and were presumed lost. The red specks representing imperial units made their steady progress into the towers.

The marine sergeant at his side spoke, "That tower, tell me what's happening there, it was crawling with them a moment ago," he pointed to a tower on the map that displayed nothing but the blank green outline of the building, devoid of any activity.

The Tau stroked his chin and examined the map, "they moved on perhaps, either that or the instruments are failing." He punched a few keys and shrugged.

"Evil," Sera whispered.

The sergeant glanced at the corner where she crouched, eyes closed. "What do you mean?" 

"Death…" her voice trailed off. Her eyes burst open, her breathing became ragged; "there is something in that tower, something terrible."

"They're called guardsmen," the sergeant growled, watching the enemy advance.  
Sera shook her head, her body began to tremble and her breathing became more erratic, "Nothing…nothing…nothing… can't… be stopped… tombs… so many…death," she cried between sobs. The Tau began to take steps away from her; he stared at her like she was a savage animal about to pounce. "Logan, I-I-have to see him… where… Logan," she wept. 

The sergeant secured Sera's neck in the crook of his elbow and squeezed. Sera struggled a little and fell unconscious. He sighed and laid her suddenly serene body in the corner. He glanced at the Tau, "she'll come around in an hour or two," he assured. "Tell me what we can do about that tower.

* * *

The humans followed dutifully behind the floating form of the deceiver. Lambs to the slaughter, thought Stribog. Fifty humans or so, their fleshy faces twisted in foolish grins, their pitiful minds entranced by the presence of a god. 

The Deceiver led the shambling procession through the tower. The C'tan lifted one and arm and a wall split open leaving a massive hole at street level. The monstrous entity seemed lost in thought as it scanned the streets. "Yes…" it said, more to itself than to Stribog or any of the followers. "this seems to be the place."

The C'tan made a sweeping motion and the charred husk of a predator tank sailed across the street. There was a surge of emerald light where the tank had lain and the asphalt began to split apart. In moments there was a perfectly cylindrical abyss large enough to drive a tank into in the middle of the road.

One by one the thralls watched to the edge of the pit and threw themselves in. The Deceiver seemed to be grinning at the macabre spectacle. Gauss technology within the ancient Necron shaft fired, disintegrating the bodies of the humans and transmuting them into flares of life energy.

* * *

Power conduits sparked into life and green lightning shot through long buried Necron machineries. The earth around Acheron began to boil. Whole blocks of urban sprawl collapsed as long buried necrontyr architecture rose above the surface. Sinkholes swallowed acres of jungle all the while basalt monoliths, pulsing with emerald light rose upward like teeth of an unfathomably large beast. Mahea crouched on the roof of a Tau building, watching the ancient enemy rise anew on Crysothemis. Stormy clouds roiled in the sky, obscuring the mon-keigh craft. The elongated skull motif with blazing, illuminated eyes glared down from every dark obelisk and eldritch tomb. The skeletal, metallic bodies of necron warriors materialized across the broken city, unsettlingly close to Mahea's force.

Without betraying a hint of panic, a dozen rangers took aim and a dozen rifles fired in unison. Several shots pinged off the bodies of the necrons but many more found their mark. A few fell. The rangers launched another salvo at the nearest pack of necrons. More fell. The front line of necrons raised their weapons. "Run," Mahea ordered. The rangers did not take long to oblige, even as Mahea turned to flee she saw many of the fallen necrons crawl to their feet and rejoin the battle. A scream split the air as one of her rangers was caught in the necrons' fire. Cloth, armour and flesh evaporating in seconds. Giving thanks to her race's celerity, Mahea and her remaining rangers ran.

* * *

Logan launched himself from the crumbling tower, ignoring the havoc on the vox from the men still trapped inside the collapsing structure. HE fought to find a safe landing. His armoured body pounded into the roof of a Tau building, leaving a deep indentation. 

All around him the necron architecture rose up from beneath the crust. Fires blazed where power lines had been broken. Some force, just beneath Logan's consciousness, called to him, beckoning him. Obediently, he made his way to it.

* * *

Wraiths swirled about the command post. The embattled Sergeant parried the stabbing claws and electrified tails but even his super human body could not stand against the mechanical creatures. He slammed his crackling power mace into a wraith's leering skull. The blow struck home and the machine split open in a flurry of green sparks. He turned to face another. The necron lashed out with its barbed tail. The sergeant leapt back but tripped over a prone body. The marine's armoured bulk slammed into the ground. A wraith hovered over him, its metallic skull seemed to glow with triumph. The tail drove into his chest, twisted, gouged, and withdrew leaving a yawning hole in his torso. The sergeant's vision began to blur, he looked at the prone body, the decapitated body of the Tau. His dieing vision noticed a faint red glow. Sera strode serenely through the room, the wraiths that circled the fallen marine like carrion birds seemed not to notice her. She glanced in his direction, made a motion with her hands, and the two wraiths collapsed, lifeless metal husks. She stopped where he lay, looked down at him with cold dispassion. She stepped over his body and walked toward the door.

* * *

Doyle's Valkyrie crashed in the middle of a road, the instruments belching static. Sweat and blood blurred the inquisitor's vision. He crawled from the crash, drawing his gleaming force sword. There was a rustling sound as a moving carpet of scarab constructs bubbled up from cracks in the street. The mechanical insects slid like water past Doyle and swarmed onto the downed plane. Green light shone from their carapaces. A moment later, the Valkyrie detonated. The force of the blast hurled Doyle onto his stomach. He looked up and stared into a nightmare.

* * *

The Deceiver growled, its voice reverberating in the air. "These will not be enough to rouse the host…" a human screamed as the gauss energy in the pit flayed him alive. "I think a greater feast is in order, if the great work is to come to pass."

Stribog seemed to understand. There was static as the techpriest activated his vox. "This is colonel Cyrus to bridge, Cyrus to bridge." The techpriest's voice was a perfect imitation of Cyrus's controlled baritone. "The heretics will overrun us," he paused, "we have no options left… commence with the exterminatus, I will try to evacuate as many men as possible."

Another crackling, "yes sir, the bombing will begin in seven hours." The voice on the other end paused as well, "may the emperor guide our souls."

The vox clicked off. "This world will burn."

* * *

Doyle stood, his hand drifted to the rosarius on his chest, he watched the last of the grisly procession, a guardsman, leap to his death. The hovering xeno-entity turned to face him. Doyle blinked and the scene changed. He found himself in the quarters of the inquisitorial highlord. The Highlord glared down at him, "you have failed me, Doyle."

"My lord, forgive me… the men of the guard could not crack the heretic bastion," He stuttered.

The highlord began to walk forward, "you have failed me, Doyle."

The inquisitor's hands began to tremble, his force sword clattered to the ground. The highlord was close now, Doyle could hear the man's train of servo skulls whirring. "Forgive me," his voice cracked, "it was not my fault."

A sibilant voice spoke along with the highlord's this time, "you have failed me, Doyle."

The highlord's voice faded but the other continued, "Death…fear…food." The highlord's image vanished, replaced by that of the Deceiver. The Xeno grabbed Doyle by the neck, lifted him up and his world went black.

* * *

Mahea watched the C'tan discard the shrivelled body of the Mon-keigh. She sighed, one less body between her and the Yngir. She squinted through the smoky haze. A crimson light, faint, but still visible pierced the gloom. A human female, barefooted and swathed in light robes walked through the darkened streets, indifferent to the destruction. "Farseer, a fallen human approaches," a ranger pointed to an empty street where a form, clad in power armour and bearing a glowing power sword made his wa towards the C'tan. "Orders?"

Mahea pondered the two humans, "wait, I foresaw this… leave them be. Wait for fate to grant us an opportunity."

* * *

Logan made his way towards the unearthly call. He passed through the Smokey screen cast by a flaming predator husk. A burst of red light stung Logan's eyes. A humanoid figure stood unarmed before the enormous gold bodied mass of the Deceiver. The C'tan reached forward to grab the figure but another brilliant burst of light shone from its outstretched hand. "Godshit," Logan swore, he recognized the figure. Sera.

Logan raised his sword and prepared to charge. He felt a harsh whirring sound and something streaked across his vision. Stribog's whirring mechadendrite scored a deep slash into his armoured pauldron. 

Logan rounded on his assailant. The techpriest's mechadendrites raised in a fan above his head like serpents ready to strike.

Logan thrust his power sword toward the techpriest's chest but a mechadendrite hammered down onto Logan's sword arm, deflecting the strike. Logan leapt back and fired a burst from his pistol into Stribog's chest. A string of fiery bursts were testament to his accuracy. Stribog recoiled, the tentacle like mechadendrites flailed madly and a growling static came from the techpriest's Vox. Logan readied his sword and prepared to drive it home. 

A long shining claw burst through the asphalt grasping for a handhold. Logan knew what was about to happen. The Flayed one began to pull itself out of the ground and began to stand, all around Logan; other flayed ones were rising to the surface Logan unloaded his bolt pistol into the risen necron. The Creature's chest exploded and it crumpled. He turned on the others; with a practiced sweep he decapitated one that had managed to free its torso. He drove an armoured foot into the elongated skull of one as it struggled to pull its body to the surface. The creature's "neck" broke and the head began to dangle lopsided from the body. A free necron swept at him with its long claws. The blades scratched harmlessly off Logan's power armour. Logan impaled it on his power sword. The skeletal machine convulsed, then fell still. Nine or ten necrons had fully risen and stalked towards where Logan stood. They encircled him and began to close in, savouring the small snatch of fear they elicited, even from Logan's disciplined mind. He fired his jump pack and sailed high above the metallic monsters. He primed a krak grenade and chucked it into their ranks. The explosion hurled the spindly skeletons back. Even as Logan returned to the ground he saw some begin to rise. Logan hammered into the asphalt, struggling to keep his balance. The Necrons were making their way to him. Sweat and blood filled Logan's eyes. He cut down the nearest necron with an arcing slash. There were too many. He tossed another grenade and watched as the Necrons shrugged off the blast. He turned to run and stared squarely into Techpriest Stribog's metallic face. He drew a plasma pistol, decorated in Martian symbols. There was a sudden crack and a dull fleshy thud. A dozen elder rifle shots discharged into Stribog's torso. The adamantium plate carapace deflected some of the bullets, but it was not enough. Viscera and shattered machinery dangled from the fist sized hole in Stribog's chest. A wet gurgle escaped from the vox and he pitched forward. Emboldened, Logan fired his jump pack and alighted on the roof of a partially collapsed building, safely out of the reach of the flayed ones, for the moment at least. A thought crossed his mind, "Sera."

* * *

Sera stared stoically into the eyes of the ageless C'tan. Every time it struck an unearthly force held it back. The Deceiver lashed out again. Once again the burst of light repelled it. The creature howled in its fury, "Your defences will not hold for long. You cannot escape; one way or another you will _die_ here."

Warp fire surrounded Sera's form, conviction shone in her delicate features, her hair and eyes gleamed in the firelight. The air behind her began to churn and boil. An avian shriek split the air. A form filtered into being. A vaguely humanoid creature, no less than three metres tall, winged, taloned, with the head of a bird of prey. In its yellowed talons it clutched a staff, the size of a tree. A greater daemon of Tzeentch: a Lord of Change. The Deceiver laughed, "this is the best the warp-spawn can muster?"

The Lord of Change let out another avian shriek.

"Very well then," the C'tan rushed forward, its metallic arms transformed into shining lances. The two monstrous entities clashed. The unearthly snarls of the C'tan and the eerie howls of the Greater daemon echoed about the newly risen necropolis.

Sera ignored the clash. She scanned the rubble. With a gasp she found what she was looking for. She ran to Doyle's body. The flesh was pulled tight across his bone; the skin and hair were a rotten ash gray. His eyes had rotted, leaving two black glaring pits in their place. She pushed the pile of flesh aside. There was a howling scream, Sera glanced over her shoulder to see the Lord of Change spit a gout of golden fire into the Deceiver's face. The C'tan recoiled and swung one of its lance-like arms upwards in a vicious uppercut. The gleaming lance punctured the daemon's head.

The Lord of change fell forward, its impact kicking up clouds vaporized masonry. Sera turned back to the corpse. It was then that she saw her prize. The inquisitor's force weapon, its blade glowing in a soft white light. She took a deep breath and grabbed the hilt. The blessed weapon's metal burned like fire. She screamed but held fast to the blade. The white light flickered and slowly changed to a sinister red. The small silver Aquila imperialis that adorned the hilt glowed red hot and dripped to the street, a puddle of molten metal. There was a harsh clanking sound. The remainder of the flayed ones gathered around Sera, their baleful green eyes flaring. Sera took an involuntary step back. An enormous black shape careened into the machines.

"Hydra dominatus! Glory to Alpha Legion." Logan's bulk crushed the first necron in a flurry of green sparks. He drove his sword into the skull of another. He glanced back, "Go Sera, I will hold them back." He whirled around and hacked another flayed one in half, "Dominatus! Dominatus! Drive the enemy back!"

Sera turned back to the C'tan. The Deceiver hovered towards her, it gave a cruel laugh. Sera steeled herself. The Body of the Lord of Change began to dissolve, evaporating into a blue and gold mist. The Mist blew around Sera, encircling her and the force sword in her hand. Sera charged, she leapt forward, sword held high. The Deceiver reached out to parry the clumsy attack.

Mahea watched the girl charge. She took a deep breath. "Praise Asuriyan if this works," she whispered. She reached through the warp, her mind swam in the turbid spirit waters. She found her bearings. She saw the human seer, frozen in mid air. A light seemed to shine from her. Mahea glanced at the spot where she knew the Deceiver to be. There was only a black void, an emptiness where its soul ought to be. Mahea shuddered and walked up to Sera. She looked into her face, the human's eyes were narrowed, focused. Mahea sighed, she doubted the woman had held a weapon before in her life. Gently, like a fencing instructor Mahea adjusted Sera's grip, her posture, and finally tilted the angle of the slash. 

The spell faded and Mahea blinked as her mind returned to her body. Sera's guided slash drifted perfectly under the Deceiver's parry. The force weapon slashed perfectly across the Deceiver's necrodermis. Sera landed awkwardly and fell onto her hands and knees. She glanced back at the Deceiver. 

The Xeno entity hung there, suspended in the air, its eyes wide. Sera realized that the ethereal mist around her had dissipated. 

Spidery, twisting runes etched themselves into the Deceiver's metal body. Burning in crimson fury. The runes began to cover every inch of the exposed body. Finally on the C'tan's forehead etched a wavy crescent. The mark of Tzeentch. A force like a hurricane burst forth from the place where sera's blow had connected. White light flowed from the gash. The C'tan thrashed in the air. Suddenly, the roar stopped, the Deceiver fell, a lifeless metal husk.

* * *

Just a disclaimer, though I rarely know what the hell I'm talking about I _do_ know that according to fluff a greater daemon can only be summoned through possession of a living host. I decided to ignore that, just thought I'd throw that out there. 


End file.
