Extremis Diabolus

[Rahvin_Dashiva]

Hey, this is a story I've been working on for the last couple of days, just thought I'd post it up here, see what you think...


Extremis Diabolus



Lucius spun round, throwing himself down behind a broken wall section as the gunman opened up with his lasgun. He tried to ignore the bright strobing flashes of las bolts streaking above him, clutching his own weapon, a much-used necromunda pattern lasrifle covered with scrapes and scratches, tightly to his chest. Fumbling at his comlink, he struggled to make his voice heard above the screaming wail of lasfire around him. “Boss, we’re pinned down! I’m at the west entrance with Phil, but there’s a guy covering the doorway! We need help if you want us in there with you!”

He huddled down behind the smashed wall, the sharp smell of las shots mixing with the cloying, thick smoke from Phil’s cycling cannon as the mutant returned fire. The noise was deafening, and he clamped his hands over his ears to block it out, sinking into the rough rock of the floor. He hoped his boss was having an easier time at the east gate. Then again, considering his boss, maybe he didn’t.

* * * * * *


“Come out come out, you loyalist filth! My blade thirsts for your blood!” Rahvin stalked through the destroyed chambers of the abandoned building, a dark giant moving in stark contrast to the still, dead ruins of the castle, bellowing challenges to his unseen foe. “I know you are here, Fury! Cease your pathetic hiding and let us finish this!”

The buzzing of his comlink was almost lost in the echoes of his enraged cries, but the insistent, tinny static emerging from the device was impossible to ignore. He halted by a grey column of half broken stone as he listened in growing anger, half his attention never leaving his surroundings, scanning for any sign of life. He swore to himself, trembling in rage at this newest piece of bad news. Screaming in anger, he whirled round and smashed his sword through the column, the daemon-possessed metal tearing through the stone, reducing it to rubble and dust, the spirit bound to the sword echoing his scream.

He forced himself calm, staring at the powdered fragments of stone scattered over the cold rock of the floor, pushing the anger out of his mind, leaving him with clear logic and reason. The anger did not leave completely though, it never did these days, it remained with him, nestled at the back of his consciousness like a hot splinter, eroding his resistance. It was getting harder and harder to fight the anger off. No matter. He could do nothing about it now.

Rahvin made himself concentrate. Lucius, that infernal imbecile, was pinned at the west gate, along with his pet mutant, Phil. For a moment he debated leaving them and pressing on alone, but he knew he would need them, no matter how inept they were, if he managed to find the ever-elusive Fury. He activated the comlink and brought it to his mouth, saying just two words before stalking down the destroyed corridor, his thirsting, eager weapon held by his side.

* * * * * *

“Hold him.” The voice that came over the comlink was sharp and angry, telling Lucius that his master had not found any resistance at the east gate. He leaned over to his left, risking a shot as he motioned hurriedly for Phil to move to him. He waited for the mutant’s nod, then shuffled back, creating room. The gunman behind the arch began firing again, responding to the movement and sending a shower of las bolts towards them. Lucius waited for the shots to stop, then signalled to Phil. He lifted his lasgun over his head, resting it on the top of the increasingly fragile wall, and squeezed the trigger. Phil started running as the first of the red bolts cracked out over the rubble-strewn ground, making the gunman step back into cover or risk a hit from the blind fire. He stopped firing when Phil was safely behind cover, conserving his precious ammunition.

“What did the master say?” asked Phil, securing his disproportionately large cannon to the strap around his shoulder. His voice was thick and sibilant, as was to be expected when it was emerging through a mound of writhing tentacles.

Lucius hushed the mutant, then replied in a whisper, “We have to hold this guy here until the boss can get to us.” He looked at the mutant. “Any suggestions?”

Phil didn’t reply for a moment, staring forward with glazed eyes, then he nodded to himself and lifted his weapon, squeezing the trigger just long enough for the rusty barrels to start to rotate, a shrill clanking whine filling the air for a second before Phil released the trigger.

“I knew there was a reason I kept you around.” Lucius motioned for the mutant to get ready, before creeping around to the other corner of the wall. When he reached the broken, crumbled edge he looked back, seeing Phil crouched ready with his gun.

“Now!”

As one they both stood, opening fire on their assailant and driving him deep into cover behind one of the columns of the arch. Phil’s heavy stubber shot streams of heavy tracers at the arch, each shot creating a small crater where it hit, tearing up the terrain with its hugely inaccurate fire, the recoil proving to much for even Phil’s prodigious strength to hold. Lucius shot with more accuracy, trusting Phil to keep the gunman pinned down and contenting himself with shots at any exposed part of their enemy, making him huddle closer down in the shadow of the arch to avoid the laser bursts and the destruction unleashed by Phil’s cannon. The gunman tried to return fire, blind firing round the arch, but quickly withdrew after a round from Phil nearly blew his hand off at the wrist, creating a crater in the dusty stonework instead.

A monstrous voice that Lucius knew all too well boomed through the ruins, echoing off the bare, smashed walls. “At last, something to kill!”

Lucius saw the shadow of the gunman change as he stood up and turned towards the source of the voice, but before he got there there came a hideous ripping noise, like canvas being torn. Lucius turned his head as he heard a horrible gut-wrenching scream and saw a thick gout of blood spray out from the now slack figure of the gunman, painting the walls the bright crimson colour of blood.

When he looked back again, standing to see over the low wall, the gunman was gone. Where he had been stood Lucius’ master, darkly imposing in his massive suit of armour, silhouetted against the smoke and flames, the two halves of the gunman discarded at his feet, lying in a slowly spreading pool of dark blood. The stench of death and gunfire filled the air, an unholy combination that at once repulsed and attracted him.

“What are you just standing there for?” asked his master, a satisfied tone in his voice now that blood had been spilled. “Well? We’ve got more killing to do yet!” With that he turned and walked back into the building, disappearing into the haze of smoke that wreathed the archway.

Lucius turned to Phil. Lowering his voice he said, “He’s fething mental, he is!”

Phil nodded his agreement, and lumbered off into the smoke, his cannon held out before him like a charm to ward off evil. Not that such a thing would work now, thought Lucius, not when they were the evil, anyway.


* * * * * *


He turned away from the bank of monitors, staring into the faces of his companions. The muted light from the screens gave everyone an eerie appearance, even the normally jovial twins Fyrahn and Hyrahn. Their round faces were set in masks of anger that seemed so out of place with their characters.

“You all saw that.” He said, his voice filling the room. “We might have left, taking the sceptre with us and leaving them with nothing. But not now! Now they have killed one of ours, we will hunt them through the bowels of this god-emperor-forsaken place until not one of them is left standing! No matter the cost, they must be stopped!”

He paused, taking in the angry nods of his assembled group. “However, protecting the sceptre is still our first priority. It cannot be allowed to fall into chaos-tainted hands! However much we desire vengeance, we cannot, must not, let it get in the way of our holy duty to the Imperium!”

The assembled warriors nodded once more, none wanting to speak in the deathly silence that swallowed their leader’s words.

He spoke again, his voice lower, but filled with command. “Glix, I want you and Tryel to take the sceptre. Get it out of here and guard it with your lives. They may have other followers that we are unaware of.”

The two he named moved forward, Glix taking the sceptre from it’s perch on the top of a cogitator and tucking it into her pack as Tryel hefted his bulky lasgun and moved to accompany her. They left in silence, ghosting down the empty corridors.

When they had gone, he turned back to the rest. “The sceptre should be safe out of here. Now. We cannot let the heretic escape this place unpunished! He must be brought before Imperial justice and destroyed! It is our holy duty before the God-Emperor of Mankind to do so!”

This time his assembled followers did speak, letting forth a rising roar of approval that echoed off the bare walls of the room. He let the sound die down before continuing.

“I trust you all remember the team assignments?” He waited for them to nod. “Good. Team A will go left, and take up positions on the eastern side of the building. Team B will do the same but on the western side. Teams C and D will come with me to the main chamber. Jarll, get the team moving up to support Kral. Tell them to return to the main chamber immediately. Let them know about Kral.”

Jarll, a thickset man clad in thicker armour, including a helmet mounted comm unit, nodded and turned away, pressing a hand to the unit on the side of his helmet.

“Flanking teams, do not engage them directly. I mean it. Take as many shots as you like, but if they return fire, relocate. You will have no support. Your job is to herd them into the main chamber and then attack from behind. We will do the rest.”

The teams nodded, checking their assorted weaponry and adjusting their armour.

“All right. I think that about covers it. Move out! We’ll see you in the main chamber. Oh and Jarll, at least try and leave some for the rest of us.”

The ex-soldier grinned, lifting his lasgun, a bulky triplex pattern, and waving to them as he left the room. The rest of them quickly followed, filing out to their respective destinations.

* * * * * *

Lucius hung back, keeping distance between the menacing figure of his master. He could never decide whether the rewards for an operation like this were worth the cost of having to work with Rahvin. He could be slippery and subtle as hell in the upper hive palaces, worming his way into their nobility, insinuating into high-class society with such ease. He would use his incredible powers of persuasion and his immense charisma to slowly but steadily sway the planet’s rulers into supporting his rise to power, while all the time working with the filth and scum of the oppressed populace until the whole planet was seething time bomb waiting to explode. He would trigger that bomb, but by that time he’d be far away, never connected enough to the event to let anyone identify him, such was his cunning.

Let him onto a battlefield, though… Then he became a whole different person. When the bloodlust took over him he became like a wild beast, a tempest of destruction, revelling in the slaughter and the violence and the blood. That was the person Lucius was scared of, deep in his bones. He could live with political machinations, however subtle. But if that same mind were turned exclusively to killing… It made for some dangerous missions, for both sides.

He turned to Phil, speaking in hushed tones so as not to disturb his master. “So what does this “Sceptre” do, anyway? I mean, it can’t be like a superweapon or anything, or it’d be in a vault not a crumbly old castle. What do you think?”

Phil looked over at him, the tentacles that hung where his mouth should have been writhing with his motion. Whatever he might have been about to say vanished though, as Lucius caught a flash of silver armour between two columns.

Stopping instantly, he turned towards where he had seen the flash, but before he got halfway a blinding beam of light shot in front of him, eating into the decaying rock of a wall by his head. If he hadn’t stopped to look at the flash… He dismissed the thought as he dropped to the cold stone floor, bringing his lasgun up to his shoulder and scanning the rubble for any signs of the enemy. He risked a quick glance over his shoulder and saw Phil crouched behind him, the smoke wreathed barrel of his cycling cannon tracking over the ruins. Rahvin though, was stood, legs braced, in the middle of the corridor. His horned head was thrown back as his eyes swept the surrounding rooms and rubble.

“Come out come out wherever you are,” called Rahvin, his voice mocking. He slowly sheathed his sword, the gnashing teeth along its edge falling silent. He spread his arms, wide enough to touch each wall of the corridor, if they had still been standing, and letting their attackers see he was unarmed. He stood there for perhaps a minute, the silence heavy and oppressive, each second dragging on for hours.

A bright beam of energy lanced out of the shadows, briefly illuminating their surroundings before blasting into Rahvin. It hit him in the chest, the energy splashing over his armour, driving him back a step, before his arm whipped down then up in the blink of an eye. In another second the trigger was pulled on his pistol, an explosive bolt catching his attacker in his stomach and blowing a great gaping cavity in it before the man fell to the floor behind the low wall he must have been using for cover. The sound was deafening in the silence, a loud booming roar that echoed on far past the event, disappearing down twisting corridors as Rahvin laughed quietly to himself.

“Is that the best you can offer me, Fury?” he asked suddenly, all his cold mirth gone, his harsh voice carrying over the broken walls and empty rooms. “One puny man, to stop me? Me?” He began to stalk over to his victim, holstering his bolt pistol and drawing his sword once more. Each time he came to a wall there came a loud crash as he smashed through it with his weapon. “If you keep sending them,” Crash. “I’ll keep killing them!” Crash “They are all going to die anyway, Fury! You hear me!” Crash. “All of them! This planet is ready to fall, Fury! And there is nothing you can do to stop it!” He was stood over his victim, a writhing man in thick carapace armour, complete with a helmet. There was a jagged hole in his stomach, dark blood pumping slowly out of it to pool beneath him.

Rahvin ripped the helmet from the man’s head, tearing out the microbead comm set and bringing it to his mouth. “I know you can hear me, Fury! I know you have my sceptre! Make it easy on yourself and give it to me now. That way I don’t have to kill each and every one of you first. Although I might anyway, just for amusement.” He stepped away from the dying man, speaking into it one last time before tossing it to the floor.

* * * * * *

Helthor crouched desperately in the shelter afforded by the hip-high piece of broken masonry. He heard the enemy leader speak, shouting to Helthor’s master, tones of anger and exhilaration thickly laced through his harsh voice. Helthor clutched his shotgun to his chest, trying to block out the voices, trying to disappear into the cold, bare rock of the floor.

When the echoes of footsteps reached him, moving towards him, Helthor squeezed his eyes shut, trying to pretend it wasn’t happening. It didn’t work. The footsteps came closer and closer, stopping next to Jarll’s wheezing form, scant feet from Helthor. He heard the heretic rip something from Jarll, and he only realised it was his comm when the heretic started to talk again, the voice emerging, thick with static, from the ear piece he wore. He frantically tore it off, trying to make no sound so as not to alert the heretic.

That didn’t work either. The heretic spoke one last sentence and threw the comm into the rubble. Helthor gripped the stock of his gun as he heard the heretic begin to walk towards him, the heavy footfalls echoing ominously around the area. He pressed his hand to the silver Aquila hanging around his neck, mouthing a silent prayer to the emperor before re-wrapping it around the trigger guard of the shotgun.

The footfalls stopped a few feet from where he was hiding, creating a tense silence that hung over everything. Gritting his teeth, Helthor tried to block out the words coming from the unseen figure of the heretic.

“I know you’re there, little man. I know…” The voice was low and cold, infesting him with fear. “Why do you serve, little man? Why serve him? Why obey the non-existent directives of a throne-bound corpse? What guidance can such a thing offer? What aid?” Helthor tried to ignore the suggestions, knowing they were questing for gaps in his faith. They would find none. His faith was absolute!

“What answers can your false Emperor offer you now, in you time of need? Do you think this was his will for you? Do you think so mighty a being could possibly spare a mere instant to consider one as low as you? Fool.”

The word echoed quietly around the blasted room, burrowing into Helthor’s perception, soft and insidious. It took him back, made him question, made him doubt. It made him see.

“No!” he cried, exploding up from his crouch and twisting to level the shotgun at the huge form of the magus. The dark figure was enclosed in lacquered black power armour from the neck down, studded with spikes and trimmed with gold. Twin horns protruded from his desiccated skull, curling forward to frame a maw that was all sharp, pointed teeth. Jet eyes lurked behind his sunken sockets, seeming to see into Helthor’s very soul. He squeezed the trigger and shut his eyes, screaming in defiance, as he pumped shot after shot into the heretic. He kept pulling on the trigger even after the weapon had ran out of ammo, a dull click the only evidence of his action.

He tentatively opened his eyes. The smell and smoke of the shot wreathed the area, assaulting his senses with their oppressive sensations. The smoke slowly cleared, and he saw, with horror, the slowly forming image of the magus. Nothing should have been able to survive that… nothing… eight shells at point blank range… nothing…

He was still staring in mute incomprehension as the point of the daemon sword punched into his chest, a thousand tiny mouths gnawing at his insides. He screamed in agony as the sword was ripped out, only to stop abruptly when the edge whipped through his neck, silencing him forever.

* * * * * *

“I’m coming for you Fury.”

The words coming from the comm echoed around the large chamber, strong despite the distortion and static of the comm unit. Flanked by the twins, he stood at the crest of the dais that dominated the back wall of the chamber, and extended a good ten meters in as well.

He looked over the two teams preparing his ambush, noting their efficient movements. They had barricaded the main entrance, a pair of twenty-meter-tall oaken doors, and had secured the two side passages, one in each back corner, with heavy iron bars found in an unlocked store room. Benches had been upturned to create a path leading straight from the main doors to the dais, and it was these that his team was sheltering behind now, waiting for the heretic to break into the room, before they opened fire from both sides.

The stage was set…

* * * * * *

Lucius followed Rahvin down the long, wide corridor, gesturing for Phil to hurry up. The mutant was flagging, the burden of his huge cannon becoming too much for even his unnatural strength to support for much longer.

“Boss,” he began, “It’s Phil, he can’t keep going at this pace for much longer.”

Rahvin ignored him, striding up to the end of the corridor, a pair of huge double doors, before turning to face Lucius.

“We’re here now anyway. Rest, if you need to.” The words held a trace of scorn, as if he himself never needed to rest for anything. Rahvin turned and unsheathed his sword, staring at the old wood of the doors.

Phil almost collapsed down to the floor, and Lucius followed him, albeit more slowly. He didn’t want to appear weak, especially not to this master. He leaned back against the bare stone of the wall, closing his eyes.

He was startled awake when Rahvin spoke. “He is in the next room.” There could be no doubt who “he” was. Fury. The man Rahvin had baited and chased across an entire subsector. The man who had come so close to stopping Rahvin’s machinations once before, and who now kept up the hunt incessantly.

Lucius climbed to his feet. Well, he would stop today. He would die today.

“You still have those grenades?” asked Rahvin, turning to face him.

“Yeah, two frags and a smoke.”

“Give them to me.”

Lucius unfastened his grenade pouch from his thigh and passed it to Rahvin. Phil stood up, his cannon held ready, the barrels already beginning to cycle. “How many are there, boss?” asked Lucius. If there were more than five or six, they were in trouble, even with the element of surprise.

“At least a dozen, more likely a score.” Rahvin’s voice was disinterested as he wedged the grenades into cracks in the doors, as if he had been reading out kraii scores instead of announcing their death sentence. Then again, knowing his boss, he’s have a way planned to get them out of this mess.

“Stand back,” came Rahvin’s voice.

Lucius obeyed and stepped well back, pressing himself against the wall, ready for what was sure to be a bloodbath.

“Three.”

Lucius clutched his lasgun, switching the selector to semi-auto.

“Two.”

He heard Phil’s cannon cycle up, the rotating barrels shrill in the almost silence.

“One.”

Lucius looked away from the doors and braced himself.

[IBBoard]

Sounds like a good start, unless you're going to leave it as a rather strange cliff-hanger. The language works well, although there's a couple of minor grammar points I noticed in there. Also, you could probably do with mentioning who "he" is at least once in the start of the fourth section before you start just calling him "he".

The language works well, though, and you've got just enough description to set the scene but not too much so that a reader feels you're over-describing and getting no-where.

I'd be interested to see where the story goes from here

[Rahvin_Dashiva]

Whoops! Almost forgot I posted this thing here. There is more. The "He" in the fourth section is delibreate. I didn't want to let the reader know who "he" actually is. They can probably guess, but I didn't want to mention it directly. (don't ask why, it was sort of spur-of-the-moment)

Here's the rest:




The doors exploded with a deafening blast, pieces of shattered wood flying everywhere and forcing his men into cover. A hulking shape in black power armour strode through the smoke and fire, drawing and firing his pistol in one action. Vyrell stood up at the wrong moment and caught a bolt in her stomach, sending her flying back into the wall, broken and bleeding. Lyrahh jumped up to take a shot, but before she could do anything a lasbolt cracked out of the smoke and took her high in the chest. She folded, crumpling to the ground as more of his team stood, too many to kill at once, a good twenty-five men and women, all armed and armoured. They opened fire on the magus, who was still walking steadily towards the dais, but the shots stopped in mid-air, dissipated by some form of energy field.

He turned to Kryllex, his psyker, as a deformed mutant lumbered out of the smoke, raking the benches, and his people, with high calibre shots from a massive, belt-fed cannon slug from its shoulder. “Is the field psychic?” he asked above the screams of his subordinates.

Kryllex nodded, sweat beading on his brow. “Yes, but the psyker generating it is incredibly strong. A field this size shouldn’t be able to stop that amount of firepower.”

“Can you break it?”

“Are you joking? I can’t even disrupt it. I’m out of my league here, lord. The thing controlling that field is a beta level psyker, at least. It’s all I can do to keep it from detonating on us.”

“It could do that?”

“Yes. It’s a telekinetic force shield. If the psyker is strong enough, it can be made to expand explosively. It will basically rip us all apart, just with the pressure.”

“Damn.”

The magus was almost at the foot of the dais, his followers close behind him, keeping within the shield as they finished off the rest of his team with short, brutal bursts from their weapons. The magus looked up at him. His jet-black eyes glinted in the half-light afforded by the smoking torches, and flaming, torn benches where las rounds had set them aflame.

The magus holstered his pistol, waving a finger at him. “Got you, Fury. No running for you now.” The magus drew his daemon sword, levelling it at him. “Why don’t you come down her so you can die like a man.”

He replied by drawing his glittering falchion from its sheath on his back, holding the heavy blade before him in a guard position. “Why don’t you come up here to get me?”

* * * * * *

Rahvin launched himself up the steps of the dais, his armour creaking as the servomotors in the legs were strained by his leap. He reached the top, barely a meter from Fury, and used his momentum to power an overhead blow, aimed to smash his opponent’s head open. An instant before it landed, Fury’s blade appeared below it, stopping the strike inches from his face.

The two stood, immobile. Rahvin glared into Fury’s eyes, trying to destroy him with will alone. A pity he was not a psyker. But he had others to do that for him. He spun back, just avoiding a sweeping slash aimed at his throat.

Rahvin stepped close with speed belying his stature, and hammered at his nemesis’ guard. He struck again and again, but each time Fury’s blade was there to deflect the blow, twisting and turning in silver arcs. No matter how hard he tried, Rahvin could not penetrate the silver web, the falchion appearing wherever he struck to parry or block. Fury, damn him, never moved from his spot, his feet remaining rooted to the floor as he thwarted every attempt Rahvin made to strike him down.

Snarling viciously, Rahvin lashed out with his booted foot, kicking Fury’s legs from under him and sending him sprawling to the floor. Taking advantage of his opponent’s disadvantage, he stepped in with a heavy slash, aimed downwards to cleave Fury from head to toe as he lay on the floor. Fury, however, had other ideas. Rolling swiftly, he avoided the strike, getting smoothly to his feet.

“You need to try harder than that if you want a chance of killing me, Heretic.” Fury’s voice was light, as if he were enjoying the conflict.

Rahvin snarled. “You haven’t seen anything yet.” Leaping at his enemy, he felt the power of the daemon bound to his sword flood into him with his attack. Suddenly the tide was changed, with Fury on the back foot, trying desperately to parry the magus’ chaos-infused strikes. Rahvin smashed aside his opponent’s guard, sparks flying where the two weapons met, and battered the brass pommel into Fury’s jaw.

Fury staggered back, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. Rahvin stepped in, unwilling to lose his advantage, and hammered his armoured fist into Fury’s gut. Fury doubled over, grunting as the wind was forced out of his lungs, and his falchion dropped from suddenly limp fingers.

Rahvin drew back, extending his sword to rest in the hollow of Fury’s throat. “Never underestimate the power of Chaos, Inquisitor.”

Fury regained his feet, standing straight, seemingly unaware of the sword point nestled at his neck.

Rahvin beckoned with his free hand. “Now be a good little Inquisitor and give me my sceptre. I know you have it.”

* * * * * *

The corners of his lips twitched upwards in a tight smile. “I’m sorry, Dashiva, but you’re just wrong. I sent the sceptre away from here as soon as I heard you were here. I couldn’t risk it falling into your unworthy hands, could I?”

His opponent snarled, digging the point of his weapon harder against his neck. “You wouldn’t.”

He chuckled lightly. “Oh yes I would, if only to see that expression on your face.”

The magus screamed in defiance, the pressure lifted from the sword point for just a moment. A moment was all he needed. Ducking and rolling to the side, he grabbed his falchion and came to his feet beside the heretic.

Seeing the heretic’s followers turn towards him, bringing their weapons to bear, including that monstrous cannon that had made such a mess of all his people, he sprinted for the cover afforded by one of the pillars dotted around the chamber. Just as he reached it, the mutant opened up, high calibre shells pounding the ground beside him and blasting chunks from the old stonework of the pillar. The noise was deafening, a sonic assault, punctuated by the sharper, quieter cracks of a lasgun.

He dived to his left, coming to rest behind a fallen pillar with pieces of shattered stone flying about his head. He heard the magus roar, and the booming report of a bolt pistol filled the air. He looked over at the dais, and saw the limp form of Kryllex, his head leaking thick, viscous matter where he had been burned out by the enemy psyker.

He cast around him as the thought suddenly struck him. Where was that immensely strong psyker? He could find no trace of it.

The thoughts were forced from his mind as a bolt shell exploded scant inches away from his face, showering him with bits of stone and shrapnel, leaving his ears ringing. Steeling himself, he waited until he next heard the cannon stop, presumably to reload, and burst out from his position, dashing towards the door at the back of the chamber with shots flying all around him.

A lasbolt scored his thigh, just below the plate of armour covering his upper leg, and he faltered, wincing in pain. Dragging himself onwards for a few more steps, he ducked round a corner and found himself face to face with the door. He quickly opened it and darted through, limping down the corridor as fast as his injured leg would allow.

He heard Rahvin scream, and his voice echoed down the narrow, bare corridor as he spoke. “Damn you, Fury! You’ll not leave this place alive!” He paused, but screamed a last word at what seemed to be the top of his lungs. “Semirhage!”

He hurried faster. His leg was starting to unwind, losing some of the stiffness from the wound. He didn’t know who or what Semirhage was, but he knew it would be best to get out of this place before it arrived.

He felt the explosion before he heard it, and was thrown roughly to the floor as the roof collapsed violently inwards behind him, throwing up a huge cloud of dust and smoke. As he scrambled to his feet, he risked a look over his shoulder.

A pallid figure with glowing balls of wychfire where its eyes should have been, surrounded by whipping gales of psychic energy descended from the ragged hole in the roof. A lone horn protruded upwards from it’s sunken skull, framed by a mane of thick, greasy black hair. Its body was hammered through with brass icons, and the hand it extended lazily toward him was skewered by a brass spike half a foot long.

Daemonhost.

* * * * * *

Semirhage stared in contempt at the pitiful mortal scrabbling to escape down the corridor. What was the point? It was only going to die in a few years anyway. It might as well let the daemonhost have some fun with it first.

The daemonhost sighed as it loosed a bolt of pure telekinetic force down the corridor, blasting pieces of rock from the wall beside the fleeing human. Such a stupid species, forever trying to escape their fate, trying to cheat death. So short-sighted. Death would come for them all eventually.

It floated down the corridor after the human, throwing telekinetic blasts before it. Each blast blew holes in the rock walls and floor of the corridor, dust and stone flying into the air with a shrieking boom.

It would have some fun with this human.

Then kill it, of course.

* * * * * *

He scrambled down the corridor, narrowly avoiding the powerful psychic bolts that the daemonhost flung at him. He was totally outclassed. The thing could kill him at any time, he knew it. It was just toying with him.

No more. He would not run any longer from the enemies of the Emperor. He would fight. Turning, he slid his hand down to the shin holster he wore, drawing his gun, a compact derringer with one fat, man-stopper round. He braced himself, taking in the surprised expression on the abomination’s face, and fired.

The gun bucked in his hands with a roar, sending the heavy bullet hurtling towards the daemonhost.

It never got there. The bullet stopped dead in midair, revolving slowly inches from the daemonhost’s head. The thing reached up and took the bullet between two hooked fingers. It studied it for a moment, then dropped it to the floor.

The sound of the bullet bouncing off the floor echoed in the absolute silence of the corridor, breaking the astonished surprise that had frozen him in place. He turned and sprinted away, dodging round a corner and almost running straight into a door. Panicking, he dashed through it, throwing it shut behind him. His footfalls echoed on the solid stone of the floor as he ran through this newest section of the castle, dodging from room to room. He flinched as he heard the door explode behind him, but kept going, flitting from wall to wall. He fumbled his comm. From his pocket as he ran, bringing it to his mouth and depressing the button.

“Ryzor! I need extraction! Now!”

The voice of his pilot emerged in reply, heavy with static and disruption. “Understood, Sir. What’s your position?”

He took cover behind a crumbled arch and studied the auspex built into the gauntlet of his armour. “I’m on the south side; the nearest exit is about halfway down the building. How soon can you be there?”

“Are you kidding, boss? This is me here. I’ll be there in two minutes, tops.” The pilot’s voice was full of confidence. “How many with you?”

He ducked and ran across the room behind the arch, pressing up behind the next door. He daemonhost was getting closer. “None. They’re all dead. We lost this one, but with any luck, Glix and Tryel should be out there somewhere with the sceptre.”

The pilot’s reply was incredulous. “Everyone? How? There were only three of them, right?”

“Wrong. They had another. A daemonhost. Beta level psyker at least. That’s what’s chasing me now, so get your ass over here!”

“Roger. Glix and Tryel are with me. Be waiting at the exit for you.”

He returned the comm to his pocket and moved away from the door. He had to get to the exit. He took a deep breath and started running.

* * * * * *

Ryzor exchanged long glances with Glix and Tryel. Everyone? They couldn’t be. But Fury had said they were. Damn. A daemonhost. Beta level psyker. Damn.

He guided the craft, a boxy drop-ship designed to hold twenty passengers, plus equipment, down toward the castle. The ship was ungainly and heavy, but it was well armed. Two servitor-crewed autocannons protruded from stubby wings either side of the craft, and a missile launcher was mounted under the nose. One side was open, both to allow passengers to board easier, and to let them fire from the craft.

He set down in front of the exit, just a small opening in the ground by the crumbled stone wall of the castle. He trained the craft’s weapons on the opening, ready to support the Inquisitor if anything went wrong.

Keeping one eye on the sensor readout, he turned to his passengers. “You guys want to give some covering fire? If that thing chasing him is strong enough to kill the entire team then I think he may need some backup.” He laughed nervously, at odds with his usually gregarious manner. “Plus, we’ll need all the guns we can get.”

The two just looked at him, silent pain and loss shining in their eyes. They readied their weapons tough, and from their manner, it seemed they were ready to exact their own personal vengeance upon the thing that had killed their friends.

Friends… Ryzor hadn’t known any of the team that well, having only started on with the Inquisitor a few standard weeks ago. The man, whose real Identity had been unknown to him at that time, had contracted him to provide on-planet transportation for his team, had even thrown in a fortunes worth of upgrades for the transport, on top of the hefty fee.

The mission he had been hired for went pretty well, although he didn’t think so at the time. He had adjusted quickly. They had found the objective, what he later discovered to be the sceptre Glix had tucked securely in her pack, with no resistance. The moment the Inquisitor had grasped the sceptre, though, all hell had broken loose. Ryzor had piloted the transport into a live pick up zone to rescue the team, shots pinging off the hull. He had been scared out of his wits at the unfamiliar and terrifying experience, flying through experience and instinct rather than any conscious effort.

Fury had apparently been impressed with his efforts, as he had asked for his continued service. Ryzor had agreed, and still didn’t know why. But he was here to stay now, as if there was anything he had learned it was that it was damn hard to get away from an Inquisitor.

He cut off as movement flashed in the corner of his eye. He turned his head towards the exit in time to see Inquisitor Fury burst out, running at a dead sprint toward the transport. Ryzor gunned the engines, feeling the ship vibrate as the cyclic engines powered up. His eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of the thing following Fury. Pale, dead skin contrasted with black robes, and a single, curved horn the colour of old parchment thrust up from its head.

That wasn’t what he noticed though. The thing was floating. It hovered a few feet above the ground, wreathed in a nimbus of warp-spawned winds as it hurled bolts of pure force at the fleeing Inquisitor.

He turned back to the controls, trying to black out the abomination approaching him. As soon as he felt the dull thud of the Inquisitor on the deck he fired up the engines, the ship shaking with the revolutions of the turbofans. He tracked the ships’ guns round to pinpoint the daemonic creature, and tightened his fingers on the trigger. The signal reached the servitors a millisecond after being sent, and another millisecond saw streams of high-calibre rounds tear into the creature, churning up the ground around it. He rotated the craft to face it, and pressed another button. A frag missile shot from the launch tube on a tail of smoke and flame, smashing into the daemonhost back and enveloping it in clouds of smoke and dirt.

He elevated the nose and lowered the thrusters until they were pointing at the battered earth beneath the ship. He was preparing to fire up the main thrusters when he heard a low, insidious laugh echo around the ship. He looked back towards the viewport slowly, dreading what he might see.

The daemon thing hung there, suspended in midair by powers beyond his comprehension, ravaged by the punishing firepower directed at it, but not destroyed. Or even hurt. The thing’s body was torn to shreds, great rents in the flesh with gruesome, sickly light spilling out of them. One of it’s arms had been severed at the elbow, and a gaping crater was blasted in the centre of it’s chest. It just laughed though, the impossible sound penetrating ship, helmet and mind, sounding madly inside the passengers’ heads.

The laughter changed to words. “You think simple bullets enough to destroy me? I was old before time began. You cannot kill me. Though my feeble host has been broken I live on, and I am unharmed!” The creature began to float towards them, crackling arcs of electricity flashing around its hands.

“Go! It cannot be killed by conventional means! We must leave, now!” Fury’s voice was strained and forceful, and Ryzor obeyed at once, powering the thrusters up to maximum. Their shrill whine filled the air as the craft tilted upwards almost torturously.

The scream of the engine was drowned out for a moment by a creaking bang as the floor beside them exploded violently upwards. Ryzor glanced sideways, and saw the daemonhost glowing in midair, it’s hands sreathed in wychfire. He stared in horror as the creature thrust it’s arms out, sending bolts of howling blue fire hurtling at them. The very air seemed to wail at the pyrokinetic blast, and Ryzor squeezed his eyes shut, knowing what was about to happen.

* * * * * *

The blast struck the ship halfway down it’s length. The impact crumpled the thin plates of the ship, the scorching heat blistering the paint and fabric inside. The failing engines made one last attempt at flight, but the blast had weakened them too much. A tiny stream of fuel leaking from a ruptured cable ignited.

The explosion ripped the ship from the air, throwing it violently to the ground. It dug a deep gouge in the earth, burying itself with the force of its crash. Secondary systems continued to spark within the destroyed transport as the screams of the dying faded below the crackling flames.

Semirhage drifted sedately towards the craft, held aloft by the eldritch power of the warp. Its cold, dead eyes scanned the wreck, as it reached out with its powerful mind, searching the destruction for any sign of life.

Nothing.

The daemonhost smiled. It reached into the ruined ship, refusing to let the growing inferno touch its host. Grasping the Sceptre, it floated back, hanging a few feet from the ship and watching as the flames consumed it all.

Soon its master would be there. Soon it would have to give up the Sceptre. Soon. For now though, the daemon was content to bask in Sceptres influence, torrents of raw warp energy pouring through the frail, dead body of it’s host.

Soon.

Not yet.

[IBBoard]

Just quickly checking the forums from work to make sure nothing's gone crazy, so I'll read this later but I just read your intro comment: Maybe it would be best if you gave him some brief description before calling him "he". Even just "the silhouette in the shadows" would let the reader know that it's a new character without giving away who it might be, but it would let them know it's someone new.

[IBBoard]

Finally got a chance to read over the story. I don't know if it's because I haven't read the first half for a while, but there's certainly some interesting twists in the second half. I didn't get the impression that Fury was an Inquisitor for one thing!

Also, unless I've got the ordering of the psyker levels wrong, you might want to up his level a bit. Inquisitor Ravenor is a Delta level latent psyker, so Beta isn't anything too impressive, especially when it's supposedly warp spawned.

The speech between the Magus and his psyker seems a little too informal. While the meaning is good, the words don't convey the fear and malice that I'd expect for powerful Chaos leaders and psykers. Possibly a bit too Guard and not enough Chaos. The Daemonhost's thoughts were well done, though.

Story-wise, there's at least one time where I'm not sure why you've got a divider in there. The story seems to flow on, and I don't think it changed view point, but you've separated it as if it were a new scene.

[Rahvin_Dashiva]

The psyker levels were based off games worksop's descriptions (Alpha can rip titans in two with a single glance, so beta will still be pretty powerful )

The Inquisitor is speaking to his psyker, not the magus.

I'm pretty sure I've changed PoV every time there's a divider, but point it out and I'll see about it.

Thanks, though !

[IBBoard]

Maybe I just got confused by all of the names I think I thought the Magus was talking to someone. Perhaps it was the reference to mutant that threw me. I'll try to re-read it later and see.

As for GW's list of psyker levels, I've never actually seen one. I just assumed that psyker levels would work like radiation levels (alpha is feeble, beta is a bit dangerous and gamma is rather dangerous). It also allows them to add additional levels more easily as they discover that "rips a titan apart" suddenly becomes rather weak compared to "rips a solar system in half accidentally with a sneeze".

If you can tell me where you got the levels from then I'll see if I can dig out my copy of it and add it to the Encyclopedia. Or if you want to add it as reference material then that would be great

[Rahvin_Dashiva]

The 40k ruklebook has an info box about Alpha level psykers. They are as powerful as it is possible for a human to get. They can "control armies with a single word, tear minds to shreds with a glance, and rip a battle titan in two with a simple flick of their wrists"

It's in the background section in the middle of the rulebook.

Delta level psykers are like a candle next to a volcano in comparison, and they are classed as really powerful.

[IBBoard]

Don't remember seeing that, although then again I didn't really read the background section as a lot of it was normally just a re-hash of things I'd picked up elsewhere. Unfortunately I can't find my copy of the rulebook at the moment (neither 3rd nor 4th edition). I can find my first and second edition ones, but not the later ones!

I still think GW named them the wrong way round, though. Alpha level just doesn't sound more impressive than gamma or delta

[Rahvin_Dashiva]

They followed conventional naming. Alpha is always dominant (Alpha wolf in a wolf pack, for example). Alpha is the first and usually the best thing. I will admit, though, that if they'd kept the greek alphabet for the rankings, but gone the other way, Omega-level sounds more powerful than Alpha-level (although there would be a lot of badly named level below Omega )

[IBBoard]

Within organisational hierarchies it makes more sense, but not within a classification of strength.

I can't actually think of any example other than radiation at the moment, but you don't tend to get "Beta Male" mentioned much, just that they're not the Alpha in the pack/group. Alpha male is more a one-off assignment than a ranking. And you wouldn't need to go to Omega level, just as high as is needed (like with radiation which only has alpha, beta and gamma) with the last letter being the most dangerous until they decide someone can actually be more dangerous than they previously imagined.

But anyway, that's got very little to do with the story My only suggestion is that you possibly change it to "he must be a gamma, if not getting close to a beta" or something similar so that people who don't know the hierarchy get it in the correct order.

[Rahvin_Dashiva]

As far as I know, the rankings go:

Alpha (as powerful as it's possible to get)

Beta (stupidly powerful)

Delta (powerful)

Gamma (above average)

Don't know any below Gamma

[IBBoard]

But the greek alphabet goes alpha, beta, gamma, delta, which would put Ravenor, who Eisenhorn considers a very powerful psyker who "increased" to delta level, as the lowest level they seem to have mentioned. I'll have to dig out my rulebook and read it - I now know where it is (buried in the wicker basket-hamper-thing we're using as a TV stand and being used as additional structure )

[Rahvin_Dashiva]

Whoops! Yeah, you're right. Gamma and Delta should be switched round. I still think the power ratings are about right though (with maybe a raise from "above average" for Delta)

I don't think GW has mentioned other levels of Psyker. Below Delta-level psykers they are not really give a level. Oh well...

[IBBoard]

I'm working my way through the old stories, and I've finally posted Extermis Diabolus. I have just noticed that multi-chapter fiction without chapter title (I broke it in to pages, which the site calls "chapters") don't actually show links from the chapter list page, though, so I'll have to fix that soon!