Dark Inquisition

Hive Primaris - the original seat of high government before the planet fell to Chaos. It was similar to most Hives of course, however it differed in that its size was exponentially larger than that of the average Hive City. A fact that made it a valuable target and the key to controlling Triton Tertius; its vast armouries, fields of manufactorums and huge population all valuable assets in the Great War. Situated upon one of only a few tectonically stable regions across the globe, the expansive forest of metal towers reaches up towards the murky sky. Belching out great plumes of chemical waste, these ugly talons hooking into the dark clouds can be seen for kilometres across the charred, volcanic landscape. On the day that the city was first taken by the Ruinous Powers of Chaos, the screams could be heard for miles - and they had continued for days. Now, those citizens who remain in the city fear for their lives, most used as slave labour or recruited as cannon fodder. Each night, some are taken and their screams of fear and terror echo those of the insane who claw at their eyes in a vain effort to remove the horrors they have witnessed.

Hastus Zuriel had once been a simple labourer, working for twenty-five years toiling to his physical limits to provide for his wife and children. When Chaos had come upon the world, falling unto the city mercilessly, he had thought himself blessed to survive the initial onslaught. However, he and his family scraped a meek life for a long time, suffering indignity, disease and starvation as well as occasional brutality. Yet still they prevailed against all the odds, hiding and scavenging. In fact, little did Hastus know, but portents long before his birth had predicted such a situation would arise and that a man much like himself would rise up from the ashes of ruination and overcome the terrible oppression. In one glorious uprising, he would have managed to retake the city through weeks, perhaps months of guerilla warfare - disrupting the Great Enemy from within whilst the Imperial Guard assaulted from without. In the last final battle of the City it was predicted he would fall in combat against a dark foe - he would die a martyr whom inspired the entire planet to liberation. The time when that would come to pass was very quickly approaching.

Unfortunately for Hastus Zuriel, his family and the entire blasted planet, the winds of time and fate conspired to lead him down another path. Hastus was a tall, broad man with defined cheek bones and rugged black hair. His clothes were dirtied rags, torn in some places and malnourishment was blatant. Despite this, muscle was still prevalent across his form. His face was contorted into a primordial snarl and he wrestled furiously against his binds - for he was chained quite securely to a chair, which in turn was bound to the floor. His form was soaked in blood - not his own, but that of his family, all of whom now lay butchered around him. Their faces were twisted visages of fright and agony. Yet there was a sickening tranquillity about them. Finally they could rest and would no longer suffer the waking nightmare they had faced living in the city. Unfortunately their souls would not be saved; a far darker purpose awaited them.

As opposed to Hastus' struggling and snarling, the other living figure in the room was quite still and calm. Inquisitor Solistilius stood over him, watching with mild amusement at the man's efforts to free himself and avenge his beloved family. Hot blood dripped from the top of the man's head and over his face. The sacrificial blade in Solistilius' left hand was a short, jagged tool made of a dull metal. Taking hold of Hastus by the throat and holding him still with strength unbecoming of the foot shorter man, the Inquisitor began carving symbols into the former Manufactorum worker's flesh whilst muttering incomprehensible words of dark power; words which made Hastus' head spin and caused his skin to crawl. As the fifth symbol was still being jaggedly sliced into his abdomen, Hastus shivered with a deep and primordial fear - the fear of what was unnatural and could not be understood by his mortal mind. Yet he did not look away from the Inquisitor's deep, unblinking black eyes - a feat not yet achieved by any other who had ever been in his position. Indeed, Hastus Zuriel was a strong soul. This is what made him an ideal candidate for the ritual.

The room was small and cramped, littered with the markings of a previous life. Clothes, books, pictures and all manner of homely devices were cast aside or piled up. In one corner, the rotting carcass of a long-dead person seemed to watch on with resignation as the ritual continued. In one skeletal hand it clutched an old service pistol and in the other a small book of the Ministorum's Decree. The skull was pierced by a single bullet hole. Long dried brain and tissue splatters coated the wall behind the corpse. The candles which provided the only illumination in the room flickered as ethereal winds flustered their yellow flames. Hastus gritted his teeth in an admirable effort to contain his moans of anguish as Solistilius cut again and again into his flesh with practised skill. What clothes the man had been wearing had been reduced to scraps barely clinging to his frame. Blood pooled around his grubby, bare feet and the Inquisitor's dark military boots. It was hot and sticky, both from Hastus and his family, all mixing together, joining the scent of the rotting body to create a powerful reek of death. Hastus choked and coughed up vomit, spittle and blood into his own lap which slopped onto the floor in a slimy, regurgitated soup. Solistilius finally cut into the middle of his victims' chest which had remained, until that point, unblemished. With the utmost care he carved the Rune of Voiding - it was a large, complex symbol which was cut deep. The sacrificial blade scraped against Hastus' ribcage on more than one occasion, eliciting an agonising wail as the man's willpower slowly began to be overwhelmed by sheer pain and emotional devastation. After he finished creating the Rune of Voiding, Solistilius stood back for a moment, seeming to admire his work as would an intrepid artist having finished his latest masterpiece. Hastus glared up at him, eyes full desire for murder and vengeance. Pure hate. Perfect.

Hastus Zuriel's head quivered and fell limp as the last vestige of the would-be hero was drained from his mind and body. However the hate remained. The bloodlust prevailed. The insatiable desire to kill and destroy lingered like an afterthought. Blood dripped ominously from his nose onto the pool in the floor, like a trail of lost comrades rejoining their brothers. Drip. Drip. Drip. Solistilius calmly affixed various chains to the empty shell, entirely focused on the task at hand. The suicide victim in the corner stared onwards without so much as stirring, the empty pits where its eyes once resided unable to turn away - for even in death, some never find respite from the horrors of the living world. Some of the chains were simply strapped to Hastus' body, whereas others pierced his flesh and connected some of the symbols. The Inquisitor opened a small pouch on his belt and removed something. It was a holy parchment. A purity seal. This one was deeply corrupted however; its once venerated words of honour and faith long since twisted away by runes of darkness and death. Solistilius heated the wax seal under a candle until it burnt his fingertips and then seared it into a circular wound on the body's right arm. The skin bubbled and steamed for a second and then the seal stuck, held by something a little more than mere wax and heat. It clung to the flesh like a parasite. Solistilius raised his and arms continued to apply various dark iconography and similar warding devices such as one padlock which he pierced through the throat. As he did so he intoned the incantations of binding, washing the empty shell and himself in further blood.

Then the Litany of Servitus was spoken as the Inquisitor paced around the chair, almost singing the words like a poem. Finally, he recited the Wards of Entrapment. For indeed, an echo of Hastus Zuriel awoke once more in the body which began to twitch and spasm. However, Hastus was but a shadow whilst something else took control. Wails shrieked from the warp - the dead Zuriel family's souls being ripped from their salvation and poured into the growing power within the Demon Host, sacrificed a second time to appease the entity being bound into the body. Solistilius approached the end of the Wards, his chanting seeming to take on second, third and a million other voices all speaking at the same time yet remaining individual. The skeletal onlooker in the corner slumped over, bone face downwards, as if not daring to witniss the result of this dark deed. "In servitutem abduco, I bind thee fast forever into this host," Inquisitor Solistilius decreed, "Awaken, Xadosesonon - Reaper of a million souls. I rebirth you into this realm bathed in hate and blood. You are called upon to return from your millennia long slumber and reap a tally for the Dark Gods once more."

The Demon Host slowly rose to full height - the simple bindings that had held Hastus Zuriel to the chair no obstacle for this creature. It towered over the Inquisitor and looked down at him impassively, its very presence radiating malevolence. "Xadosesonon," Solistilius addressed it. It looked around for the first time, taking in its surroundings, before returning its gaze to the one who had summoned it. "I know you, human. You are Solistilius," it stated, "One-thousand fifty-three Terran years prior to this our paths crossed on the field of battle. My own Demonic minions banished by the Grey Warriors of the corpse God as you and your own master Hycleus unleashed magicks which saw his name cursed and physical form incinerated. Yet you endured the persecutions of your quivering peers." "That is correct," the Inquisitor concurred, "Now I serve the same powers which you do. And now you shall serve me, in all things." "It has been long since I crossed into this realm. An intriguing development." Its voice was far changed from that of Hastus. It was now greatly deepened and each word seemed to contain a thousand whispers just beyond mortal comprehension. "I am bound to this vessel and your command. At our first encounter you had little understanding of the greater scheme which was unfolding. Now I see you as a much altered mind. Curious how it is not the path that lays behind which has shaped you; rather what is yet to come will determine your present. I shall do your bidding," Xadosesonon decided. Despite its power, it had no choice in the matter, but that it seemed to desire this for the moment was fascinating in itself. Of course, its opinion mattered not for the ways of Daemons are not for men to be so arrogant as to assume they understand. Not even one as vaunted as an Inquisitor. Perhaps it enjoyed the irony of one who assisted in its banishment was now undoing that action. "Your words are veiled, Xadosesonon. You speak in riddles and I am not so foolishly tricked into enacting the designs of your kind. When I desire your unique insight I will demand it," Solistilius snapped. "Come now. There is much to be done."

The Inquisitor trekked through the narrow, winding streets that connected the lower Hive. The sounds of battle were omnipresent and explosions coloured the murky sky as artillery shells impacted again and again upon the void shield protecting the city. Powerful technology from times long since forgotten by all but a scarce few, unmatched by much else surrounding them. However, it would fail in time. Solistilius knew this to be a certainty. Whether the renegades, cultists and magicians who had banded together in a loose force would successfully defend this place was uncertain and overall inconsequential. All that mattered is that they did so long enough for greater plans to be fulfilled. After all, Inquisitor Solistilius had not arrived by coincidence. The whispers of ethereal creatures and the hastily scribbled words of a madman in an ancient book had seen that his purpose here may lead to consequences far grander than he could yet appreciate. Behind him strode the Demon Host Xadosesonon. It walked like a man, looked like a man and yet there was undoubtedly something terribly inhuman about him. Even a mewling half-wit child could sense that should one encounter the pair.

However the people they had encountered were few and far between. The scarce living they'd seen had made best not to draw the attention of these two beings. However, not all inhabitants of the city were entirely spineless. Solistilius stopped in his tracks, hand resting on hilt of power sword. Xadosesonon halted in sync with its master, standing a step behind the Inquisitor. From several buildings around them, hooded figures crouched tentatively measuring up the two men they had surrounded. Slowly they revealed themselves from all directions, until the group encompassed them in a rugged circle. Crude rifles and blunt weapons were raised in anticipation, none sure of how to proceed. Their crimson robes and mix of metal plate and flak armour spoke of men and women from several walks of life. Workers, soldiers, doctors and secretaries, errand boys and paupers alike all stood here. Yet now they were more than that. They were united in a cause and belonged to something that they did not merely blindly worship; rather, they now belonged to a cause that they could see and become a part of. Yet they were not formidable. Most were unworthy of serving the darker powers.

One of their number stepped forward, approaching the undaunted pair. "I am Karavok, leader of the Cult of the Harbinger. In the name of the Dark Gods, surrender yourselves or suffer execution." The Inquisitor regarded this man. He was slightly taller than himself and had most of his face obscured under a dull metal mask. He carried a Lasgun. "You would presume to command me, Karavok? You are leader of nothing and unfit to speak of the Dark Gods. You know nothing of the universe beyond this city and I, Inquisitor Solistilius look upon you and find you lacking." Karavok was momentarily taken aback, glancing at a few of his followers in a silent plea for help yet none was forthcoming. No sooner had he returned his gaze to the imposing man he had planned to make his prisoner or perhaps even sacrifice, Solistilius had drawn his blade and in one fell movement sliced open Karavok's belly. His mouth fell agape and he dropped to his knees as his guts spilled onto the floor in front of him. He raised his Lasgun, hands shaking. Solistilius removed it from him with ease and discarded the simple weapon.

Another member of the cult hurried forward and knelt before the Inquisitor. "My lord, forgive us for our sins. The legends of your kind are true... we must repent in the face of our saviour that our eternal souls may live on and join the beloved Emperor," he pleaded. "In death we shall be absolved." Solistilius decapitated the man without a second thought and the body slumped to the side. "The Emperor is a rotting corpse with no power over the living. Is there not a single one of you so-called cultists; worshippers of the Dark Gods, worthy of a place amongst the renegades and heretics that at this very moment are fighting on the ramparts so that this city may remain liberated from the mewling tyrany of the corpse-God's servants?"

There was silence for a moment as the cultists wondered in bewilderment what the wisest course of action was. Then one of them stepped forth. "If I am to die then I will do so on my feet," he sneered as he hefted a large, two-handed blade. "I was raised as a soldier and in life the Imperium gave me nothing. In death I expect no more," he admitted as he approached the Inquisitor.

Solistilius smiled even as Xadosesonon stared on disinterestedly. The cultists with their autoguns and their simple hatchets and blades watched with contained panic, and perhaps a degree of hope, as the tallest and the strongest of their company squared off against the Inquisitor - a man whose stature was the stuff of stories. The man swung his large sword without breaking a sweat although Solistilius deflected it with ease. His opponent circled and came at him with another series of blows and Solistilius deflected them all still. There was a pause and then the large cultist adjusted his stance and the way he held his weapon. Then he attacked again. This time it was planned rather than simply gauging the skill of his opponent. He even forced the Inquisitor back a step with a surprisingly skilful move before the experienced swordsman disarmed him and swept his feet from under him. The tip of the Inquisitor's cutlass pressed against the fallen man's throat ever so gently. "I will not beg for my life," the man spat. "Do what you must."

Solistilius looked upon him for a moment and then sheathed his sword. "You have proven yourself over the rest of this rabble. For that you will have the privilege of serving me. Xadosesonon - kill the rest," he instructed the Demon Host without taking his pure black eyes off of the one who had dared to fight him as he clambered to his feet. Xadosesonon did not wait to enact the command and he raised his arms. Several of the cultists brought their weapons to bare as the Host rose into the air. Fire burned from his eyes and he roared in tongues not of the material plane of existence even as dozens of bullets dissolved against his own ethereal protection. One by one the cultists screamed as warp flame engulfed them. One ran in terror, yet there was no escape from the reaper of a million souls. Within seconds twenty three men were reduced to heaps of blackened bones and even those then crumbled into ash and then the ash into nothingness. Their souls; their very life energy poured into the Demon and it took their life force as its own. One stray bullet that had managed to cause damage to the meat prison Xadosesonon inhabited disappeared as the stolen life force rejuvenated the physical form. The surviving cultist warrior stood in awe of the display of power, now believing he understood why he had survived the initial invasion and why he had been driven to turn traitor from the uniform he swore to serve. All so that he may bare witness to horrifyingly tangible power at work and that he may be a part of something far greater than he could have ever hoped for in his previous life.

"What is your name, warrior?" Solistilius asked. "Titus," he answered, hastily adding, "My Lord." Although he stood well above average height, he was not taller than the threatening Demon Host and nor did he feel greater in presence than the Inquisitor who stood head and shoulders below him. "Then come, Titus. Serve me well and perhaps you will live to see tomorrow."

At the walls, over five thousand renegade soldiers fought furiously to combat the reclamation force of the Imperium. Three regiments of Cadian Imperial Guardsmen and two tank regiments, with air cavalry support. As the void shield flickered and burned away, squadrons of Valkyries and Vendetta gunships swarmed over the city. They utilized their powerful weaponry to clear staging grounds and began disgorging elite units. The discord caused by this airborne assault created vulnerabilities in the renegades' defence lines and battle tanks seized the initiative. They blasted through ferrocrete and plasteel fortress doors and rumbled into the once-noble Hive city.

Within the next few hours the warriors of chaos were forced to retreat further into the city as the Imperial forces secured a solid foothold. It seemed like victory would be inevitable for the Imperium. Nonetheless, the chaos forces dug in and fought on remorselessly. The tallest spire in the city was host to the leader of the chaos forces. The sorcerer Jaegan Malathras had elevated himself to the self-styled ruler of Triton Tertius after conquering it a year before. It was from here he had practised all manner of foul rituals, using the vast resources at his command to acquire anything he may need. In the long run it was an unwise course of action as rather than striking out at the Imperium, he had allowed them to simply recover from recent warzones and assemble a task force to reclaim the world. Indeed, Malathras was a powerful sorcerer, but by no means was he a particularly laudable tactician.

He knew the city would fall unless he intervened personally, however there were greater matters at hand and he could retreat to another city with his personal retinue. There he would continue his arcane studies and assign one of his lieutenants to the counter-attack. They'd be better prepared next time. Besides, what was one city in the scheme of things? Even though it was the capital. His subservient besieged him to join the battle and stop the enemy assault before it gained too much momentum. Malathras honestly couldn't care less for the fate of this city - let the Imperium waste their soldiers reclaiming it. He was more than safe in this place for the time being at any rate.

That thought only added to his surprise when he was hurriedly approached by one of his Astartes. "My lord sorcerer," he addressed, "Our defences have been breached." Malathras spun with a mix of surprise and anger on his face. "Imperials? How?" He demanded. "No my lord," the traitor marine replied, "This foe uses the Demonic against us. The mortal guards cannot hold." "Their lives are inconsequential. Whoever dares to assault me shall perish all the same. Assemble the others, my study must not fall," Malathras ordered. The traitor nodded and rushed out. A moment later he collapsed back, dead in the doorway from a single wound to the head that left little damage to the armour. It was a rare weapon of precision. A needle weapon.

A mortal man much shorter than Malathras stepped into the room, walking over the dead Chaos Space Marine. He held his needle pistol - an ornate and extremely well-maintained weapon - low but ready to fire in a moment's notice. He was clad in battered black-plated carapace armour and from his left shoulder a tattered red half-cloak hung loosely. Behind him entered a dark skinned man whose features were hidden between hooded red robes and a half-mask made of bronze metal. The warrior held a large sword, but sheathed it in favour of the dead traitor Astartes' fallen boltgun. Lastly came an imposing figure - tall for a human. Yet its presence made Malathras' skin crawl and instantly he knew that this was the Demonic threat of which his underling had spoke of. A Demon Host; and a particularly powerful entity it seemed. Of course, it was the first man - shortest of the trio - that interested him the most, for he was the apparent leader of this entourage who had so audaciously fought their way into the heart of his defences. He turned to face the man, gripping his psychic staff firmly in his left gauntlet.

"Jaegan Malathras," the leader said knowingly; his voice purpose-laden and scrutanising. "You own a world and wield the powers of the warp with skill and yet you sit in your pretty palace and squander the vast resources at your disposal. I am here to relieve you of your resources and soldiery that they might be put to proper use. You will submit to my will or face execution." Malathras was taken aback by such demands from a mere mortal. Whilst it was clear that his was a man of considerable knowledge and skill - for were it not so, this situation would have never arisen - Malathras had lived for several centuries and had not done so through bending to the whims of mortals. "And who is so bold as to presume to command me?" He inquired, venom coating his words. "I am Inquisitor Solistilius," the man answered sternly, "And you are a hapless, cowardly fool." Malathras was vexed at being so callously disrespected within the sanctum of his own domain. Nonetheless, he ignored the comment for the moment and instead pried for information. He was acutely aware of the Demon Host's barely restrained power. "You are no servant of the Imperium," he observed. "How is it that you come to know my name, mortal?" The deep black orbs which served as the Inquisitor's unblinking eyes stared unflinchingly at the sorcerer's helm. "I was there at the slaughtering on Darnen IV. I saw what you did and how you betrayed your brothers. Indeed it was I who planted the demon weapon which corrupted your faith and even now is sheathed at your side. Your former brother-Astartes were an obstacle in my plans which you efficiently removed," the Inquisitor explained. "How is that possible? The slaughtering on Darnen IV was over three hundred years ago," Malathras said with disbelief and curiosity. "Such intricacies of my travails are not of your concern, sorcerer," Solistilius retorted. "I know your ploy, Malathras. You stall for time and information in the hopes that your guards will arrive before you are forced into my ultimatum. They will be too late, I assure you. Submit or die."

-----

Inquisitor Pious Hunt stood in contemplation with his eyes shut tightly. His breathing was regulated in an exercise that brought clarity to his thoughts as he meditated on what was soon to come. It would be a dangerous battle, however one of utmost importance. His quarry had evaded him for many years but now that the sub-sector had rallied enough forces together to invade the planet, he would have his righteous vengeance. Servitors skittered around him, monotonously intoning pre-battle rituals and appeasements to the machine spirit of the power armour which they were encasing their master in. The armour was crimson red and adorned with sigils of fire and retribution - for such were the tools of his position as a Witch Hunter of the Ordo Hereticus.

The servitors finished attaching the thick armour and Hunt opened his hazel eyes. A servitor handed him his helmet and he carried it in one hand as he walked purposefully towards his retinues' lodge - a special section of the Dominator class cruiser Persecution of Judgement. It was Hunt's personal vessel, designed for up-close engagements with the enemy where he may bring justice to heretics personally, be it from the bridge or part of a boarding team if necessary.

Within the lodge he found them all making their own pre-battle arrangements as was their custom. To his left stood five Stormtroopers, the leader of which was Sergeant Benedict. They were priming their bulky hellguns with hot-shot powerpacks and recalibrating their mechanisms a dozen times to ensure perfect performance in a fire-fight. Their explosives expert, Rennard, was preparing Triplex Ultima high-yield melta charges. To his right stood Nilus, a crusader and highly skilled warrior who wielded a power sword alongside a bulky suppression shield. Further along was Castigator Rastel was chanting a prayer to the Emperor for his blessing in battle. In one hand he held a waving censor which filled the air with the intoxicating smell of burning oils. His other hand held a formidable Eviscerator. The gigantic chainsword was deactivated for the moment, however Inquisitor Hunt knew it to be a deadly weapon which had messily cleaved even the most heavily armoured foes in twain. Alone near the end of the lodge-barracks was Jerethia. The Calculus Logi was a short woman who sported several bionic attachments that she might best carry out her duties as a combat engineer and the vast source of information held within her augmented mind was supplemented with the ability to calculate and process sensory input at incredulous speeds. Hunt had found her to be an invaluable asset in matters both of the machine and the problematic. Yet, she was not the most solitary of his retinue. That fell to Enzara, the penitent psyker bound to his service. She was showing her age, having served with Hunt since his first mission as an Inquisitor when he had judged her redeemable amongst the ashes of a heretic coven. She had been only a child then and because of the horrors she witnessed so young she has the tendency to unnerve people for her manner as well as her mental mutation.

Next to him hovered his ever-present servo-skull. It was an exemplary example of such a construct, with its once bone-surface having long since been coated with kinetic-resistant plating. He'd seen it shrug off a bolt round once and still be functional after sustaining critical damage. Its artificial eyes were an array of pict-recording devices and optic clusters with cyclic views including infra-red amongst others. In place of a jaw it had a small laser weapon.

Almost as omnipresent as the servo-skull was Interrogator Cirrus who stood loyally behind his mentor. Cirrus was a tenacious warrior and persecuted the traitorous with a great deal of vigour. Hunt admired the much younger man's desire to bring the Emperor's justice to those who would violate the sacred laws of his realm or dare to betray it. Yet his aggressive nature was a cause of concern for Inquisitor Hunt; it made the Interrogator ferocious and daunting however it often clouded his judgement in combat. Despite this, his apprentice showed great promise and perhaps in a few more decades his impatience and fury would be tempered by experience. Only then would Hunt even consider the idea of elevating him to the status of full Inquisitor.

"I look forward to plunging my blade through the traitor's chest," Cirrus remarked, clenching a fist in the air to accentuate his words. Hunt turned to face his acolyte with a scornful expression. "Were it so simple then there would be no need for men like us. A simple soldier can kill his enemy, Cirrus. Men like us are needed to combat those who will not simply die to a mere blade - those who have turned their back on the light of the Emperor. Make no mistake, though he has lost his faith, the man we are after serves the ruinous powers which grant him arcane knowledge and has been careful to ensure his longevity for centuries. We are not the first to attempt to bring him to justice. The last who pursued him made the mistake of trying to capture him and paid with their lives. He shall not be easy to destroy." "But we will destroy him," Cirrus promised.

------

Malathras shook his head slowly and a low, harsh chuckle that had an artificial edge to it through the sorcerer's vox in his helm filled the otherwise silent room. There was an explosion somewhere miles below on the outside and the shock-wave was felt as the slightest vibration inside the great chamber. "Inquisitor," Malathras said, "You greatly underestimate my abilities." No sooner had he spoken a psychic blast erupted from his force staff, however almost as quickly Xedosesonon had thrown up his own psychic shield around the trio. The sorcerer's blast dissipated against the warp shield and Titus felt a shiver run down his back as the exposure to psychic powers lowered the temperature of the room. The others hardly noticed it, yet for him this was his first experience of psychic energies and it shook him to his soul. "You will have to do far better than that, Malathras," Solistilius remarked. The sorcerer sneered and summoned greater depths of power and held out his staff. Ether lightning coruscated around its head, which was a leering demonic face, and a bolt of raw psychic rage shot forth. The Demon Host's shield was broken under the onslaught and vanished. The bolt struck the Demon Host which dropped backwards without so much as a sound. Titus' eyes widened and he raised his stolen boltgun. Clamping his index figure around the trigger the weapon kicked furiously yet he wrestled it under control with his formidable strength. The former soldier was unused to such a powerful weapon, yet with his own skill at arms at this range it was nearly impossible to miss. Shell after shell should have hit the sorcerer, yet Malathras was protected by more than armour. He maintained his own warp-sustained protection and the bolter rounds seemed to evaporate mere inches from him.

Malathras raised his free hand and a rapid secession of purple bolts shot forth, forcing the pair to run for cover. Where the sorcerer's attack impacted - the walls, tables, the floor - the material was eaten away, consumed by raw warp energy. Xedosesonon rose, the great tear rent in the middle of his body already repairing itself as it stood again. Flames burst from its eyes and sent warp fire towards the sorcerer and the deadly attack burnt through the ethereal barriers and scorched ceramite plating. Given the chance it would have soon melted away the sorcerer's power armour, had he not sent another psychic blast with a contemptuous wave of his staff which knocked the Demon Host back and crashing into the wall where it left a crater in the thick ferrocrete. A normal man's body would have been splintered under the impact, but what had once been Hastus Zuriel was now far more durable. Xedosesonon's flesh was battered and bloody, yet bones snapped back into place and it tried to replenish itself, yet its reserves of rejuvenating power were waning.

-----

The Vendetta gunship Skyhammer was Inquisitor Hunt's choice of airborne transport. Its reinforced armour-plating was midnight black and bore the symbol of the Inquisition on all facings. It soared through the air over the Imperial Guard regiments and their tanks far below. The void shield protecting the city had fallen and they were seizing the initiative. Dozens of attack wings flew alongside the [i]Skyhammer[/i]. As the assault group shot through the great rents in the void shield they fired away with missile salvoes and bright beams of energy from Multilasers and Lascannons which scored dozens of infantry and vehicle kills in minutes. The Valkyries and Vendettas carrying elite drop troops hovered as their human cargo rapelled to the ground or onto key buildings to establish a beachhead within the city. As the drop troops and their transports spread through the drop zone in a shock assault to carve out a perimeter, the Inquisitorial Vendetta broke off from the main attack, accompanied by four Lightning strike craft escorts. Their flight took them ever further and higher into the Hive city, for their destination was the epicentre. However Hydra flak tanks and anti-air batteries quickly drew a bead on the audacious strike force. The sky was filled with hundreds of rounds of tracer fire and the pilots of the aircraft struggled to avoid the sheer amount of munitions being shot at them. However they were hand-picked veterans of hundreds of low-atmosphere battles with additional bio-neural interfaces allowing them to better control their craft - technology afforded to them by the Inquisition.

They let loose with missiles and lascannon beams which annihilated a dozen anti-air emplacements during their ascent over Hive Primus. It would make the job of getting back much easier if they had to put an emergency escape into effect. With parts of the void shield still flickering high above them it wouldn't be as simple as flying up and outwards. Unless they were successful in their mission and could also deactivate the void shield entirely, the only way back to safety would be the way they came. They neared their destination; the main spire, which loomed six miles into the sky. From well-hidden hangars concealed as delivery bays - something they may well have been in times passed - two aircraft sped towards the Imperial wing on an intercept course. Their speed defied logistics and within seconds they had pounced upon the escort group. The first two Lightning's were consumed by warp flame which spurted from frontal weapons mounted on the Doom Wings. They could not hope to outrun the chaos fighters, so the two remaining Lightning's broke off and engaged them in a dogfight. They'd sell their lives dearly and without regret if it meant that the Inquisitor would arrive safely to complete his mission, having had thoughts of fear and self-preservation psycho-indoctrinated out of them many years prior. Dying in the service of the Inquisition meant that their names and deeds would never be commemorated, yet that did not matter. They would die doing their duty with supreme excellence until the very end.

Skyhammer tore through the skies towards its destination. Ancient servitor-manned turrets on the private landing pad hissed and turned to destroy this approaching threat, yet before they could even let loose one shot the trio of twin-linked lascannons on the Vendetta gunship blew them apart in fiery explosions, sending wreckage plummeting thousands of metres downwards. It hovered over the landing pad as dozens of chaos soldiers filed onto the platform, firing lasguns and other assorted small arms at the gunship. Even as the chaos soldiers began loading tube-missiles, Skyhammer rotated in mid-air and the armoured side door slid open on hydraulics to reveal a figure behind a tripod-mounted heavy bolter.

Inquisitor Hunt's visor view quickly picked out each hostile, assessing threat levels and marking them out for extermination categorically. Jerethia's own enhancements increased the speed and accuracy of these calculations via her link to the Inquisitor's HUD. She also calculated optimal firing patterns and included variables such as enemy response time, the extreme altitudes and potential for error - slim though it was with Hunt wielding the weapon. All this tactical information was assimilated into Hunt's brain through a neural implant in less than a second. His power armour enhanced his strength such as to compensate for all the recoil of the huge bolter and without a single hesitation he pulled down on the trigger. He moved the weapon, which barked like a hundred-strong bull-grox stampede, over the enemy platoon and after fifteen seconds he had used over a hundred rounds and nothing remained alive on the landing pad.

Skyhammer touched down for scant moments as Inquisitor Hunt and his retinue disembarked. They stepped over the slaughtered soldiers of chaos and hastily entered the main spire as their transport took off, its crew not wishing to remain a static target. Inquisitor Hunt lead from the front with his inferno pistol held at the ready. Cirrus was at his right with his bolt pistol and power sword drawn whilst Nilus guarded his other flank. Sergeant Benedict and his storm troopers formed the rear. Castigator Rasel was uncharacteristically silent as he advanced next to Jerethia and Enzara. His Eviscerator was sheathed over his back in favour of his plasma pistol for the moment. The report of a bolt weapon echoed from behind them, hitting one of the stormtroopers. Fortunately he was saved by his carapace armour and the fact that the ill-maintained ammunition had failed to detonate. The retinue turned to face the threat: a chaos space marine who tried to fire again however his weapon jammed. A second later he dropped, full of holes, the ancient ceramite not able to withstand the fusillade of overcharged hellgun shots.

That was not the end as more traitor astartes were drawn by the sounds of weapons and they appeared at the end of the corridor, ancient boltguns roaring as they send shell after shell towards the intruders. The stormtroopers returned fire, taking cover in the crenelated ferrocrete walls. Sergeant Benedict raised his hellgun. He sighted a traitor in his scope and watched as his target ducked around the corner. When he next appeared, Benedict instantly placed two quick hot-shot's through his helmet. The traitor slumped down without a word. It reminded him of Palovieus when he'd shot a traitor astartes in the head. The chaos warrior hadn't even been wearing a helmet and despite a point-blank hit, Benedict had watched him proceed cut down a dozen Guardsmen afterwards before a plasma volley vaporized him from the waist upwards. Suffice to say it was a lesson well-learned. He smiled inwardly as he saw Rennard do the same with his hellpistol before retreating behind cover with a glance at the explosives he carried in his free hand. His men had learned well from him.

With a thought, Hunt switched to the internal vox channel. "Sergeant Benedict, time is of the essence. Your squad will form a rearguard, with the exception of Rennard. I require his demolition expertise. You are to hold this position with your lives - I do not wish to complete my mission and find myself cut off from behind." "Aye my lord," Benedict replied with his gruff voice. "You have my word that no traitor shall get past me whilst I still draw breath."

Leaving the sergeant and the other three storm troopers under his command, Inquisitor Hunt lead the rest of his retinue further into the complex. They had landed one level below where he knew their intended target would be at this very moment - the governor's quarters. To call them such was a horrible understatement, for it was a veritable bunker at the top of a tower. It would take considerably powerful explosives to gain entry. Fortunately, Triplex Ultima pattern melta charges were precisely what they needed and they had them by the dozen. Even the rarest of equipment was a simple matter to acquire for an Inquisitor of his standing.

They advanced down a corridor which lead to an antechamber. The less combat-orientated members of the retinue took cover whilst the rest assembled in a standard door-breaching formation as Rennard placed a circular krak-charge between the two doors, which were most likely several inches of thick plasteel. There was a tense three seconds as the krak charge beeped a warning before detonating, blowing a large, jagged circle in the door. Rennard chucked a stun grenade through the opening and it had barely gone off before Cirrus rushed through before any one else could make a move and bolt shots resounded from within. Hunt cursed his acolyte's impetuousness and hurried in after. He found the interrogator reloading his bolt pistol having killed six sentries - chaos soldiers - who had all been blinded. However an imposing chaos space marine revealed itself from where it had been waiting in an obscured corner. It was unperturbed by the stun grenade due to its genhanced senses and swung a vicious chain axe at the acolyte who could not parry in time. The serrated teeth ate through the bonded ceramite and armaplas of Cirrus' carapace armour. He fell back with a scream as blood leaked from his chest.

Inquisitor Hunt wasted no time in aiming his inferno pistol at the chaos astartes and reducing him to molten slag in a matter of seconds, the flames playing over the charred remains for awhile after. He turned to his acolyte and found he had survived. It seemed the Emperor had smiled despite the interrogator's foolishness and the wound was not critical. He let Cirrus apply synthskin to the torn flesh with a grunt of pain before he pulled him up by the throat. In his power-armoured grip, Cirrus weighed almost nothing. He struggled in surprise, his feet desperately searching for ground which they would never reach.

"You fool!" Hunt scorned. "I have put too much time into your training for you to cast your life away so recklessly. By the Emperor's grace you survived that attack. Do not waste His benevolent mercy, for no man is so charmed as to be granted two second chances for their own idiocy." He dropped Cirrus who gasped for breath and spluttered momentarily, despondent and angry at his master's disappointment in him. He'd prove himself to his mentor and make up for it, he swore it under his breath, though he was no less upset over the incident as he shakily got to his feet. The acolyte watched the rest of the retinue pass him by; each of their disapproving expressions wounding him more than the chainaxe had.

-----

Solistilius returned fire with his needle pistol, hitting Malathras in the leg. The sorcerer ignored the wound, for although the toxins were capable of felling even the monstrosity that is an astartes, he was sustained by warp essence which could allow him to survive damage that would kill any normal astartes many times over. Malathras produced another doom bolt which glanced him in the flank and he toppled, gritting his teeth. Titus emptied the rest of the boltgun's magazine towards the sorcerer and Malathras simply laughed, though he grew impatient in the continued struggle. "Come Inquisitor," he beckoned, "This shall not be resolved by sorcery and guns. Face me as a warrior," Malathras challenged, drawing the demon sword from his side. As it left the sheath which was imprinted with sigils of restraint that kept the entity bound within the blade in check, the demon howled at its freedom, though it was a sound heard only to its wielder. The blade was pure blackness and yet it did not even have a reflection. It was a dark blade; a deadly weapon that could cleave even the dense skull of a Carnifex in half.

Solistilius was sceptical as to whether this was genuine. He rose from his position of cover cautiously and to his surprise the sorcerer seemed genuine. He and his kind were often given in to treachery but it seemed Malathras had grown prideful and perhaps even arrogant in the past three centuries. They would be unlikely to defeat the sorcerer whilst he still used his powers and it was only a matter of time until his troops broke through the doors which they had sealed behind them with enchantments and warp seals. The three of them may be able to best the seemingly overconfident astartes in close combat, even though they faced a warrior armed with centuries of experience and a powerful weapon. A lesser man may regret even setting events in motion so that his present foe would possess such an advantage, however Solistilius was above doubt. His unshakable belief in his actions was what had got him this far, after so very long. He drew his cutlass and activated the power field. The blade began to shimmer with a faint luminescent azure sheen. Next to him, Titus unsheathed his greatsword and Xedosesonon morphed its body to have long talons protruding from the forearms, which glistened with warp energy.

They advanced on Malathras who adopted a defiant combat stance. There was a moment as the combatants gauged each other and then Solistilius pounced. He swung his blade but was parried with such force as to knock him off balance even as Titus swung low. The Sorcerer dodged and slammed his staff into Xedosesonon, repulsing him. They continued fighting, swords clashing and none landing a telling blow. They had Malathras on the defensive however. The sorcerer was incredibly fast and his dark blade gave his blows great strength. He deflected Titus and Solistilius only to have Xadosesonon's warp enhanced strength hold his staff arm at bay even as he sent an arm into the sorcerer. It would have disembowelled him yet Malathras was faster still and narrowly parried, sending the arm-blade into the thick ceramite of his pauldron where it cut deep but left only a superficial wound. He knocked the Demon Host back but could not avoid Solistilius slicing out with his sword, cutting into his side in a glancing hit. Titus brought his sword around to decapitate the astartes who stood over a foot and a half taller. Malathras took the blow on his helmet, chipping it. In response he smashed the head of his staff into the man and he crumpled down, blood trickling from a fracture on his skull. With a lunge, Xedosesonon swept his arm-blades through the staff, slicing the force weapon in half. Malathras discarded it and swept his dark blade down through the demon host's shoulder blade and midway through his body before withdrawing it to deflect Solistilius' blade once more as the Host slumped to the floor.

"You are finished," Malathras observed. "Your servants lie dying around you and alone you have no hope. I thank you for this weapon, it is of the highest calibre for such an artefact is not easily obtained. Few men can claim to have caused their own demise three-hundred years in the making, Solistilius. Perhaps you can take some meagre pride with you to oblivion." "You are wrong, sorcerer," Solistilius declared. "My end shall not come on this day." "Truly it is a delusional mind which cannot accept its own death when facing it," Malathras commented. "Come then, Inquisitor, we shall see if you can defy the inevitable." No sooner had Malathras spoken than the great doors to the chamber exploded violently and they were thrown to the floor.

-----

Inquisitor Hunt had been furious with his acolyte and he would most certainly discipline him after the mission was completed. For now he pushed it from his mind and focused on the task at hand. They had ascended to the governor's quarters, the highest part of the main spire except for the void shield emitter and its vast power array. All that stood between them and their target were these doors. Fully reinforced ceramite and adamantium, several metres thick. These blast doors were thicker than the side of a Land Raider. They had fought their way through several chaos space marines and two dozen chaos soldiers who had also seemingly been trying to break through. Indeed, there had been dead traitors along their path before the Inquisitor and his retinue had begun killing them. They had dispatched their foes with typical remorseless fury and such was the skill of his entourage that none had suffered anything more serious than a flesh wound. Rennard had immediately started affixing the melta charges as the rest of the retinue stood vigilantly watching for any traitors who had survived their assault.

Enzara approached him. "My lord, this entry is sealed by forces greater than adamantium," she murmured, her characteristic tone was void of any emotion. "Witchcraft?" He inquired. She nodded slowly. "Undo it and be swift about it," he ordered. Rennard stepped aside as the slender psyker stepped forward. He was used to her presence but did not enjoy it all the same. He backed away from her, detonator in hand. He was even tempted for a moment to activate the explosives and destroy the despicable witch. Still, she was useful, if she were not then her presence would not be validated. She placed her hands on the doors and murmured words that no one could quite make out. A halo of light danced over her body and she channelled it through her hands into the door. There was a sound like an electrical discharge and then she stepped away, the light fading. She sighed deeply and turned away from the door, looking incredibly haggard. "The enchantments were strong," she rasped, exhaustion plain in her voice. It had drained her to remove them so hurriedly. The retinue quickly got to a safe distance before Rennard blew the charges. The sound was comparable to being at ground level when a Warlord Titan took a step. The combatant members of the retinue surged forward into the breach, massing into the incredibly expansive chamber which appeared to have been converted into both a throne room and a study, sporting more foul iconography and blasphemous items than Hunt had ever seen collected in one place. It was a museum of unholy contents. He knew some Inquisitors who would relish the chance to study such tools of the Great Enemy, but not him, for to do so was to invite madness and corruption. The smoke cleared and they saw several figures at the other end of the room. One was easily identifiable as their quarry: the dread sorcerer Jaegan Malathras. The blood of billions of innocents and nearly half a space marine battle company were on his hands and he would pay dearly. On top of that, killing an Inquisitor was high treason, something which had happened one hundred and fifty years before. Inquisitor Hunt would take no such chance and he pulled a grenade from his belt. It was a special, rare piece of equipment - a psyk-out grenade - and he pulled the pin, throwing it towards the sorcerer who was rising from where had been knocked down by the shock wave. It detonated next to him and the shards of anti-psychic properties embedded themselves in him and he collapsed to his knees in a daze.

-----

Titus was truly surprised by the explosion. His mind raced and all he could hear was ringing. He clutched the side of his head and winced. His sword had fallen from his hand and he could barely make anything out. His hands quested for it, hoping to have a means to defend himself. Then his fingers felt the handle and clusped his fingers around it. His head pounded and his conscience screamed at him, willed him to get up - get up and survive! With a groan he forced himself to his feet. The chamber was clouded with dust but he could just barely make out figures advancing through it towards them. He blinked and turned to seek out the Inquisitor, wondering if he had made a mistake in ever following him. On the other hand, if he had not, then he would have died, though it seemed that was about to happen anyway.

Solistilius stood. There was a cohort of newcomers entering through the dust as it settled and he knew an Inquisitor when he saw one. They were outnumbered and his two warriors had suffered serious injury. It was prudent that they hastily escape. The Demon Host was struggling to get up. It was down on a single knee and its body seemed to have been nearly cut in half through one shoulder to guts. If the creature which he had summoned failed him now then he would curse its name for all eternity. As if in response to his thoughts it forced itself up, silent as if oblivious to the pain. Of course, Xedosesonon was a powerful creature and no physical injury caused it suffering. But the Host body had its limits and was only held together through warp energy at this point.

He looked around, searching for something. He would be surprised if this hive had not been installed with an emergency escape for the governor. His eyes were deep black pools of darkness and yet there was a reason behind this mutation. For the first time since arriving on the planet he blinked and when he reopened his eyes, the world was bathed in unnatural light. Time seemed to slow as he regarded the world in an entirely different way. He saw what was not obvious to the naked eye. He saw echoes of the past, like misty ghosts of times long since forgotten. He watched as the time echoes of a man wearing the trappings of a noble lord - possibly the first governor of this hive millennia ago - as he was lead hurriedly by orderlies towards a wall. They smashed a hollow panel which revealed a control panel. He watched, focusing on the governor's hand movements as he input the four-digit code. When the dead governor had finished, he and his entourage stepped through into the wall, disappearing entirely.

Solistilius blinked once more and he was thrown back into real-time. His vision returned to normal and he ran towards the secret panel, Xedosesonon and Titus following behind with effort. A few shots flew past them from behind but they did not pause to try and fight back. Solistilius input the code sequence and the wall hissed on ancient hydraulics as it lowered away into the floor, revealing an elevator. Ancient lumo-globes flickered into life as the trio stepped on. The elevator's servitor was little more than a skeleton covered in bionics, however it registered life forms and began the ascent with crooked movements as it worked the controls. The last thing Solistilius saw before the throne chamber disappeared from view entirely was the Inquisitor and his retinue surrounding Malathras.

-----

Inquisitor Hunt unbuckled the Null Rod from his side and activated it. Enzara had remained outside due to the anti-warp field the obsidian rod projected due to the great discomfort being in its presence would cause her. Rennard had remained with her as it would not bode well to allow her to be killed should Benedict fail and enemy reinforcements arrive. The other figures that had been in the room ran at the sight of them, leaving their master where he had fallen to the psyk-out grenade. Castegator Rastel saw it unfit to allow the other heathens to escape and he raised his plasma pistol, rapid-firing several shots but the distance was too great and the battle-priest was not an excellent shot. The other heretics would be rounded up and perish once the city was back under Imperial control anyway, and their quarry was the priority.

Malathras seemed vaguely aware of what was happening and sluggishly pulled a bolt pistol from a holster on his site. Cirrus swung his power sword and cut the arm off at the elbow before plunging his blade through the sorcerer's heart on the reverse thrust. He twisted the blade before wrenching it free with a grunt of exertion. The traitor was not finished however and knelt with his head lowered, blood dripping from the stump of his shortened limb.

Inquisitor Hunt reached down and took hold of one of the twisting horns that had grown out of the sorcerer's helmet. With ease he pulled it free from the armour, revealing the sorcerer's head for all to see. His features were hard and gaunt, with one side of his face a patchwork of old scar tissue from a burn wound. "Jaegan Malathras, former Codicier of the Dark Sons chapter of Adeptus Astartes, you are hereby charged with committing genocide, high treason, practising sorcery, aligning with the Great Enemy, the destruction of three Hive cities, the betrayal of your own chapter - killing forty-seven Dark Sons - and the murder of one Inquisitor Ixos," Inquisitor Hunt recited, having memorised each of the sorcerer's crimes years ago. He could continue for hours, going into detail about his crimes. But there was no point. "I hereby find you guilty and sentence you to death," he declared.

Malathras looked up, his features contorted in pain as he tried to draw on his psychic abilities to save himself and kill the man in front of him. Malathras looked the Inquisitor in the eye and leered. There was a pause, then Inquisitor Hunt raised his inferno pistol and pulled the trigger. Jaegan Malathras screamed in agony as he burned. "Such is the fate of all heretics."