This story is an unofficial story based, without permission, on the Warhammer/Warhammer 40,000 intellectual property owned by Games Workshop Ltd.
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 leaders 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 its 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! Well 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 planets 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 hed be far away, never connected enough to the event to let anyone identify him, such was his cunning.
Let him onto a battlefield, thoughthen 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 killingit 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 cant be like a superweapon or anything, or itd 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 hadnt 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. "Ill 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 mans 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 dont 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 Helthors 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 wasnt happening. It didnt work. The footsteps came closer and closer, stopping next to Jarlls 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 didnt 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 youre 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 Helthors 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 Helthors 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 rangenothing
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.
Hive World Terra