Dark Heresy: The White Chamber

[Seiji]

"Vates!" Despite whatever failings they might have with one another, they were still comrades in arms. Zayin reached out with psychic tendrils, massive extensions of his own arms and hands, but found nothing but air. Vates had fallen too far, too quickly.

Looks like you're on your own, mate, he thought grimly, turning his attention back to the battle at hand.

They had rushed forth through the breach in the bulkhead, and were now fighting, effectively, with their back to a wall. Except, instead of a wall, they had a massive nothing behind them. In essence, pressing their back to a wall that would kill them.

Alarius let loose his wrath. Pure zeal and rage had overtaken him as he danced his death-dealing dance, his blade rending their xenos foes. It was like visual poetry, and for a moment, Zayin had been mesmerized. Then the krak grenade went off, obliterating a Dark Eldar Warrior's torso, and Alarius turned to him, two more grenades in hand.

He nodded to the Eversor and caught them in mid-air, tearing away the spoons with his mind before turning towards the hole in the wall, Dark Eldar pouring through. He launched them into the mass of aliens and cackled wildly as the grenades detonated simultaneously, sundering their armour with fragmented fury. He was then between them all, his Psystaff filled with psychic energy, turning it into a deadly force weapon. He swung wildly, his staff smashing into and batting the Eldar away. Lack of visible damage told little of what carnage his weapon caused; underneath armour panels, flesh was cooked and broiled, bones turning to jelly and organs turned into useless pulp. At every smash, his weapon channeled psychic power.

Catching movement from the corner of his eye, he made a grasping motion and yanked up one of his fallen foes in time to use him as a shield, catching a smattering of fire along it's backside. He grunted as he felt the sharp sting of enemy fire dig into his left leg and shoulder; the shield wasn't perfect. With a roar, he sent his impromptu-shield hurtling in the direction of the fire and yelled out to his comrades.

"Regroup! We must regroup!" He fell back onto their treacherous platform, tearing up the metal ground beneath his feet as if peeling back the skin of an orange, bringing it up above his head and completely closing off one section of the hall they had just come from. A Wych leapt at him as he took a moment to breathe, and he angrily swatted at it with the back of his hand, his mind unleashing enough telekinetic force to slap it away and out into the nothingness of the sphere.

He slid to one knee, bracing himself on his staff, and breathed heavily. He had drawn too much from the warp, and too quickly. He was exhausting himself, and while he only needed a minute to regain composure, a minute in this fight would be more than enough to do him in.

 

[Karsikan the Berzerker]

"Throne Dammit!" Alarius cursed as realization had caught him, Vates had the only vox caster, with the exception of Julius, and with the Zayin exhausted they had no means with which to communicate with the rest of the group. still they had a moments reprieve though Alarius was still mindful of his earlier attack and did not for a moment let his guard down.

"Throne knows what fate has befallen Julius and Vates, Or the other group. It seems we're on our own Zayin," Alarius stated, hatred barely concealed in his voice. He laughed Ironically to himself, if the Dark Eldar were foolish enough to kill him they would be in for a surprise indeed.

 

[Asmodeus]

[bg=#666666]

Silence... the still moment of an aftermath... only ringing in the ears, the smell of cordite and the salt taste of blood in the mouth... as if all the celestial bodies of the universe had frozen in pirouette.

The silence was not sudden. It seemed to build behind the noise, gathering power like some phantom creature till finally it unfurled beyond the grenade blasts and the crack of lasfire. The carnal screams of the Xenos faded and all was lost behind smoke and adrenal numbness.

Zayin and Alarius were slumped on the edge of the abyss, their bodies cut with fire, their breaths catching. But no fresh attack came. The twisted metal that Zayin had thrown up neither shuddered nor broke. It took them a few moments to register the silence.

On the deck below, two figures emerged into a corridor and raised weapons at each other, fingers straining on the triggers. But slowly, Julius lowered his rifle and the gesture was returned by Vates, who switched off the lazer-sight on his pistol before finally crumpling into the guardsman's arms.


In the orgy chamber, Slyen laid against the bulkhead, his knife trembling in his adrenaline-flooded hand. But nothing more came from the smoke and blind-clouds. He heard only his own breath rasping in his lungs. And further away, Jericus and Garen were back to back, the mangled heaps of the Grotesques lying around them. Just beyond the smoke they could see the crewmen of the Acherade hung on the walls, their heads drooping as they were finally granted rest. It was like being in the midst of a frozen congregation, a thousand souls trapped in prayer.

There was no sign of the Haemonculus or the other Dark Eldar, but Jericus's augmented hearing could just pick up the traces of swift footfalls moving away through the corridors.

He stepped forward and his bionic eye focussed on the empty stone slab at the end of the chamber, crossed with a latticework of blood.


* * * *


On the other side of the ship, a faint crackle on the vox-casters roused Julius and Vates as they lay poisoned in the corridor. Through the ringing in their ears they heard the faint voice of the Elsinore's Captain.

"... I repeat, Arbitrator Vates, respond now. You have five minutes till threshold."

Vates's slurred, his body numb and his heart beating with shallow aches as he tried to fight the poison. "Vates... here... coming back..."

"We've detected a ship leaving the starboard cargo bay. Non-Imperial. We don't have any ordnance left to fire on it. We'll send a message to Fleet Command."

Vates grunted an acknowledgement, even though he knew it would be pointless. The Dark Eldar would vanish like teardrops in the rain.

"And I must also report..." continued the captain, his high and Voidborn voice changing tone slightly, "Your comrade, Eli Gaunt, did not survive treatment. The wound carried a daemonic infection and our clerics had to terminate. May the Emperor take his soul."

Grief mixed with the poison in Vates's heart and beside him Julius lowered his head.

"Get back here, Acolyte. We're leaving," the Captain ordered, and the transmission ended.


And it was only a few seconds before the message from Julius's team arrived.

"Arbitrator, I have regrouped with Garen and Slyen. We are heading to rendezvous now. But Pius.... Pius is gone."


Something broke inside of Vates and a part of him slipped away into darkness, lost beneath the echoes of war and alien laughter.

[/bg]

END OF CHAPTER TWO​

​

 

[Asmodeus]

[bg=#666666]

Episode Three:
THE SIGURD DESCENT

Sheol XVII was a name known to any who would ponder the path of heresy in the Calixis Sector. Though classed as a Penal Colony it was something closer to a Forge World in design. Owned by the Mechanicus, the planet was a single giant installation that processed heretics with machine-like efficiency.

The purpose was to extract information, to carve away the detritus of human flesh and leave the ore of blueprints, accomplices, confessions and plots. Those who broke early were put to good use, turned into Pretorian Servitors, chrono-gladiators and berserker assasins. Those who took longer were reduced to slurry and fed intravenously to the remaining prisoners.

The world was a machine, and it never stopped churning.

But few knew about the fourth moon that orbited Sheol XVII. It was a barren rock that held only a few scattered installations which were home to more sophisticated instruments of torture. In dark citadels high-profile heretics were locked in psychic nightmares, their minds adrift in dreamworlds, fantasies of earthly reward, of victory, of toppling the Emperor and indulging the carnal delights of daemons. No one here would be lucky enough to leave as a servitor. Their minds could never be released from the deceptions they were under, and so they were dead the moment they arrived.

It was in just one of these installations, in the highest chamber of a dark tower, that Inquisitor Conway had taken residence. He was overseeing the interrogation of known Evertore accomplices and coordinating the actions of his various Acolytes.

The Inquisitor's bionic eye roved over the reports of the Acolytes, who even now were sat around the table with him. An electical storm was blazing outside, shaking the tower and scouring the moon's surface. It made the two candles on the table flicker.

They had been lit in remembrance of Eli and Pius.

"My student has learned much," Conway's scratchy voice mused. "These are powers beyond my teaching. Veiling Daemonhosts and tearing ships from the Warp? My, my..." He breathed through his teeth and clicked his tongue as he pondered.

Over by the window, Vates sat apart from the others and stared into the storm. He had been silent since the return to Sheol XVII and Jericus had taken over most of his official duties, including thanking the crew of the Elsinore for a less than hospitable trip. The defeat on Cloister and the loss of Eli and Pius had struck him deeply. It was not just a failure as a leader, but something more. Eli had always been his lucky charm, a soldier he could rely on to keep the Emperor smiling on them. And Pius... though Vates had never trusted him... had shared the fire that once burned in Vates.

Those candles on the table were for two friends... two men who didn't have to die (and he could only pray that Pius had been lucky enough to receive death).

"And the Eldar seek him too?" rasped Inquisitor Conway as he pulled aside grey strands of hair. He was a gaunt figure but strong like a gnarly tree. His voice and his gaze were insidious ones, designed to get under the skin and expose your darkest secrets. The Acolytes never felt truly comfortable in his presence, and they guessed that Conway liked it that way.

"It is a good thing I kept Eli ignorant. The Xenos torture will yield nothing. But be wary, Acolytes. It is not for idle reasons that the Dark Eldar hunt the Evertore."

Conway stared into the darkness, tapping his slender fingers together as he thought.

"Yes... most cunning, my student, most cunning," he whispered, as if his voice might somehow reach the Evertore across the depths of space. "We failed before we even begun."

[/bg]

 

[Tain]

Garen regarded the Inquisitor wordlessly, the candle flames dancing like wraiths in the lenses of his mask. Garen was relatively quiet when not on mission, where it was necessary to communicate frequently. But around the Inquisitor, his silence seemed more like reluctance than force of habit. His thoughts lingered on their lost comrades, more than the Evertore or Inquisitor Conway's dry musings.

The Xeno poison had been flushed from his veins, but not without his fair share of torment beforehand. Antitoxins and blood purifiers were not the most hospitable devices in the Imperium's medical arsenal. Luckily the poison had not set in to cause any damage that could not be repaired, much to Garen's relief. Unlike Eli. Unlike Pius.

He gave a rueful half shake of his head, plagued by idle musing on what he could have done differently. If he had gone on the planet's surface, would Eli have suffered his fate? If he had given just a little more, would the Commissar have been taken to suffer horrors unknown? Garen gave a grit of his teeth, quelling the storm that was raging in his chest. Such thoughts gave him no credit and did no justice to any of the lost or surviving. Eli and Pius died doing the Emperor's work. Arguably the most worthy work of all. They would be remembered for so long as any of the acolytes drew breath... and the acolytes' victories would be their own.

He looked forward to the day he could toast the victorious dead.

But now his eyes searched the Inquisitor with a mixture of curiosity and revulsion behind the anonymity of his mask. He spoke of Garen's lost comrades as though they were forgotten remnants to be discarded. Despite every sensible caution, he found himself spiteful of the man. It was as though he had no idea what they had suffered on his behalf. Two men had died horribly, or would hopefully eventually die... and their payment for the ultimate sacrifice to the Emperor was Inquisitor Conway's idle musings and a diminutive candle for each. The situation was bigger than any of them, and death could find any one of them on a whim... but he had already made up his mind. They had to be victorious, no matter the cost. Eli and Pius would never rest peacefully until that moment.

The permeating silence was murderous. Everyone else seemed just as disinclined to speak as Garen was. He did his best to keep his voice even, keeping the emotion stored away for another time. "My Lord Inquisitor, what would you have us do next?"

 

[Karsikan the Berzerker]

Alarius sat wordless across from garen, reflecting on those that had been lost. He hated them enough being associated with the dark god of his parents obsession, but to slay claim two of the emperor's men as well. He resolved to not mourn their loss, but to honor their sacrifice to the emperor within his death-art, he planned to crucify his next few victims, to hang them and slowly shatter their bones, rend their flesh, and carve their names in his victims chest before giving them the release of death...yes...that would do well to honor them. Let them know that they can kill a servant of the emperor, only to have his brothers unleash their fury upon them.

 

[Vay]

For the first time among the over acolytes Severus' face was visible, deep scars lined his completely bald head and his face bore the branding of one of the many Death cults that prevailed in every society of the imperium. The light of the two candles played over his expressionless face as he contemplated those lost. In past before he had been given the honor of serving the Inquisitor he had known death, death had been his to wield and he had wielded it alone. Death was no stranger but to have it claim a comrade was something new, to have comrades was new. Death had spoken, the job needed to be done, and done quickly. Thats why he was here, thats why he hadn't disturbed Pius and Eli's rest by the side of the emperor by breathing their names and there was one inescapable fact. It could have been him, he had been surrounded and exhausted but he had not been taken, he owed his life to the Emperor yet again and would repay with service.

 

[Darkness]

Even though Julius was the one less afraid of looking at the Inquisitor to be sitting the closest - Since he looked like a much worse version of his drill sergeant -, he still didn't dare to look at the man, Julius couldn't feel professional enough around Conway to look him in the eye without feeling like he was being interrogated, the guardsman concluded that whoever taught Conway his ways didn't need to say much to get what he wanted out of people.

Talking was out of the way for him now, and he frankly wasn't in the mood, there was poison still in him, most likely, and it numbed him, but the death of Eli and Pius was probably what was doing the job. It wasn't so much that they were his teammates, but that Eli was another guardsman, and the commissar was always doing his job of telling Julius what to do about his appearance, now he was free to stop shaving, but he felt guilty doing that, no, disrespectful was the word.

While he looked outside into the rainy skies, a reminder came to him, he remembered the abyss, but maybe the poison, or his lack of attention recently made him forget if they had found out why that section of the hulk was missing, and then the logs of the ship's captain.

"Sir," he said, raising his head to the Inquisitor, but avoiding his eyes, "Sir, did anyone find out about the missing sections of the hulk?"

 

[Asmodeus]

[bg=#666666]

It was a matter of opinion as to which of Inquisitor Conway's eyes was more unnerving - the bionic one in its pit of scar tissue, or the organic one with its sleepy, half-closed lids. Whilst most men's eyes got wider when they were stimulated, his seemed to go the other way entirely, shrinking to the space between dream and reality. And perhaps somewhere in this was the source of Conway's menace - for if a man with half-closed eyes could preside over the deaths of thousands, what more might he stir to were his eyes fully open?

"Missing?" echoed the Inquisitor, toying with Julius's word as if were some piece of arcana. His gloved hand nudged the data-slate provided by Jericus. "From your reports, I surmised that the Evertore had destroyed what was inside the abyss."

His bionic eye swivelled, followed by his head, as he turned his gaze from Julius and looked at each of the Acolytes through the flicker of the candles.

"Do you have an alternative theory?"

From somewhere deep below, in the prison chambers of the citadel, the faintest trace of a scream reached them. But then the storm picked up again and shook the tower with wind and acid rain.

[/bg]

 

[Vay]

"If it was destroyed where was the debris, the..." Severus quietened himself under the unnerving gaze of the inquisitor. He had other questions such as why would the evertore risk stranding himself on a space hulk with Dark Eldar on his tail. No a simple detonation would not suffice as an explanation, but perhaps Conway knew this and was testing them.

 

[Darkness]

Julius cleared his throat, looked at the Inquisitor's immaculate uniform, and the sign of the Inquisition on his chest, then he looked at Conway's eyes, he'd seen scarier things, and fought them and killed them, his only regret having been not giving them more pain, but he wasn't sadistic enough to think that for too much, after all, he was only supposed to shoot down whatever came charging at them.

The guardsman fixed his position on the chair, he opened up his legs and sat with slightly more comfort, he still wasn't sure all the poison was out of his system, thankfully he'd have some drinks to sweat it out.

"We weren't able to do proper research, sir, the eldar ambushed us before we had managed to find anything, well, conclusive."

He looked down, Vates was the one who was good with words, he needed more time to search for words in his vocabulary that didn't offend someone's job, or color or their mothers and sisters.

"I uh," he stuttered, he didn't know if the feeling on his gut was dark eldar poison or Conway's gaze, "I admit I don't know much about the warp neither do I wish to know, and I could be entirely wrong, but maybe the hulk made the warp jump, just not the entire hulk."

 

[Asmodeus]

[bg=#666666]

There was silence in the wake of Julius's comment, if silence was really the word for it. The electrical storm was still raging outside, each strike like the snarl of some beast waiting to take them. And down below there were more screams. The storm seemed to be interfering with the control-helms of several prisoners, bringing them out of their dreams and into half-waking nightmares. It was as if the citadel was a single entity suffering from uneasy sleep.

Lord Inquisitor Conway rose from his seat at the head of the table. His garb was like his personality, a veil of black and gothic bronze that caught the candlelight. Everything about him seemed scratched and though not yet seventy he walked with the hunch of someone in their triple-figures, one hand upon a aquila-tipped walking cane. The Acolytes watched him shuffle to a side-table where a number of data-slates, cruel-looking torture implements and stacks of faded papers rested. He had one finger against his lips, a long nail probing the flesh as he contemplated.

After a long time, he answered, "A not entirely ignorant premise." Then he straightened slightly, his voice sounding out to Julius. "So be it, Guardsman. We shall see what answers Sigurd IV yields. I have a contact there: Krieglanze. He will know the flightplans of the Acherade and the other trade vessels. Perhaps there is a reason the Evertore chose that ship. We shall convene on Resia in a month's time."

The Acolytes rose, some quicker than others, and collected their helms and weapons. And as they did so the Inquisitor's hand closed around one of the stranger looking devices on the table, a gauntlet wreathed in viscious blades. He remained facing the wall as he spoke. "And tell me, Acolytes, who shall lead you in this next endeavour?"

Some of the gazes drifted, another silence settling over the room. In the corner, by the rain-drenched window, Vates did not move. He remained watching the storm for a few moments, his mind lost as darkness swirled behind the eyes. But then, like a sailor washed ashore, he seemed to return to them. The Arbitrator rose and faced the room, bowing to Conway's back.

"We are prepared, my lord," he said, his soft voice at odds with the storm and the choral screams below.

Conway's hand relaxed.



* * * * * *

A week later, a Mechanicus vessel from from Sheol XVII slipped through the naval blockade of Sigurd IV. It had arrived in orbit two days ago to find a fleet of Imperial Frigates in the shipping lanes. It seemed the Hive World was in a state of war and all trade routes had been shut down. But this particular Mechanicus vessel had two very persuasive pieces of cargo. The first was a platoon of newly-built Combat Servitors pledged to the Planetary Governor, and the second was a group of seven individuals bearing the sanction of Inquisitor Conway.

There had been little argument since then.

The vessel touched down amidst the western manufactoria of Horthus Hive, prime city of Sigurd IV. Beyond the ash wastes to the north, they could see the smoke of war, but this was as close as they were allowed to get, even with Conway's authority behind them. And so, after thanking the Mechanicus priests for their hospitality, the Acolytes left behind the manufactorum and set out on foot. They headed deeper into the hive, seeking out the drinking hole where their contact, Cobier Krieglanze, would be waiting.

[/bg]

 

[Tain]

The sunlight reached the denizens of Horthus Hive only after passing through a thick layer of haze. It was mostly from the exhaust of tremendous manufactorums which lined the Hive from the topmost layer to mid and lower, but thanks to the constant pounding of artillery, cordite and ash were also partly to blame. Overall it gave the world an orange tint, even when the planet's sun was at its apex. The haze wasn't the only thing cluttering the skies of Horthus Hive however, as an endless stream of air traffic lazily swam overhead in crisscrossing lines with nothing more than the dull and constant white noise of air being blown. One could almost pick out the various ships and designations, and spend hours upon hours speculating what the purpose of each was... perhaps the Imperial equivalent of cloud watching.

At the lower levels, it was more of the same though on a reduced scale. Passenger vessels and personal transports sped through the air between the towering structures. Pedestrians went about their business across gangways and bridges which spanned the gap between structures at the higher levels of the Hive. Unnoticed by many of the uncountable numbers of Imperial citizenry, a motley group of individuals stepped smartly across the span of one of the bridges, disappearing into the alleyway between two larger structures.

The alley itself was riddled with various shops of dubious credibility, with names such as "Emperor's Mercy: Payday Loans" and "Imperial Capital." Glowing signs sought to snare the senses and tempt patrons into unnamed establishments, bolstered by lewd pictfeeds and contemporary art that wasn't altogether vague-- just vague enough. Peddlers remarked on the virtues of their surplus items, likely overstating or forgetting to mention certain side effects. It was a sweet piece of real estate, if one was into illicit activity.

Garen was alert and wary as they moved through the crowds. He stuck out like a sore thumb of course, between his gas mask, Krieg helmet and the blatant carapace armor he was wearing. Between his outfit and the others, most of the citizens were steering clear of them, some even going so far as to turn and walk the other direction with their shoulders hunched and heads down. But for each one that turned away, a pack of five or more would be waiting around the next bend to stare them down. Stimheads, musclebound augmentation abusers, regular old hive scum... they did not cower away as the others did. They were entranced by the specialized equipment the group was carrying, a far cry better than your typical stubber or autopistol. They were just far gone enough to believe they might stand a chance to make a smash and grab.

And they apparently didn't know certain death when they saw it.

 

[Karsikan the Berzerker]

Alarius strode beside Garen, He wore his black habit, and seemed more a humble pilgrim than the instrument of the emperor's wrath that he was, every once in a while someone would catch a glimpse of the skull mask beneath his hood and quickly run away. He laughed to himself slightly, only a heretic need fear the emperor's wrath.

"So," Alarius addressed the other acolytes as they headed past a particularly brutish group of Scum "Does anyone know who this person is we're meeting?"

 

[Vay]

Severus blended well, better than most of his companions, battle scared bodyglove approximating the overalls many of the workers wore, one might think we was merely higher up in the hive than typically allowed for those of the lower levels but for that his bodyglove was make from far better quality materials and covered his face for better camouflage. The other thing that set him apart was the longlas slung over his shoulder and even though he gave the impression of being at home in the ancient and overcrowded hive he never took both eyes from his precious weapon for long.

He had saved it from the bowls of the orgy chamber and spent hours performing every ritual he knew using up much of the holy oils he bought before departing to serve Inquisitor Conway, but he could not cleanse it of the filth completely, so while on the Adaptus Mechnicus ship he had beseeched the followers od the machine god to help restore his weapon and they had done so and it gleamed as the spirit within regained vigor. He would not let such a weapon out of his sight.

"He is a contact and no doubt can find us better than we can him." Severus said in reply to Alarius's question. It was a situation he was familiar with from many secretive customers. "So we just need to find the person looking for us."

 

[Karsikan the Berzerker]

Alarius turned his head to Severus "I mean what of his character, what kind of person is he? trustworthy or a convenient associate. Emperor willing it is the former," a decent size group of children approached the acolytes, and all Alarius needed to do was give them a glare to send them scurrying, "sad really," he remarked on the situation before continuing on. The area was becoming rougher, less friendly, ganger scum were everywhere, it almost looked like a gang fight was about to break out, the air was heavy with intensity

 

[Warmaster Death]

The streets were alive with throngs of citizens, despite all the destruction and the tense nature of the political climate.

Illigitimate sales and black market dealings went on all around them, and the machine senses of Cain Jericus recorded them all, from the prostituted and her clinet in a dark alley to the black market weapons dealer informing a would be customer of the merits of the banned Tallaxian patter hand cannon, compeltely skipping over the reasons it was removed from manufacture, such as its habit of exploding in the weilders hands.
Cain Jericus chuckled as the customer bought the device, a rusty, mechanical sound the other acolytes hadnt heard since before the Acherade incident.

Cain had remained silent but for giving what orders needed to be given, and the Tech Preist was releived when Vates re-assumed the position, the Artificer much more comfortable taking orders and finding solutions than giving orders and asking for solutions, let alone dealing with intercine conflict.

He had however, also been listening to the conversations of his comrades, and their queries about their contact.

"Adminstratum and Mechanicus records show Cobier Kreiglanze as of averaged hieght and weight, a specialist in Las weapons and pistols. of his history i could not gain access, even with Inquisitor Conway's authority, its level of classificaton is high indeed, but from what little i could find, decryot and decypher, Kreiglanze follows the Imperial Creed Devoutly, although there were small portions referring to narcissism, i concluded that Imperial records were kept deliberately vague, so as to better enable the agent to move from world to world and better infiltrate the common masses, as such we will know of his loyalties and afflictions when we meet him Acolyte Santoro" Caine ended the assessment almost chiding his fellow acolyte, though his right hand slipped into his robes, closing around the shoulder holstered hellpistol as his left hand moved to grip the haft of the chainsword he had machined in the reletive downtime between debreifings, its ornately machined and engraved basket hilt was designed to perfectly encompass his large augmentic hands, and its engine was improved, although when activated its roar was at least twenty decibels louder than standard.

 

[Vay]

Severus was almost surprised at Alarius' response though Cain's mechanical voice sounded before he was even done smiling at the other assassin's seeming naivety, Severus' experience had shown him thew were all 'convenient associates' even those one was force by situation or convenience to use more than once. "More secrecy, this job is beginning to feel like home." Severus commented, "Did you at least get his face Cain?"

 

[Tain]

Garen remained silent throughout the conversation between his fellow Acolytes, besides a barely perceptible turn of his head which indicated that he was listening to every word. He would glance at them in such a manner from time to time in between searching their surroundings with a scrutinizing gaze. The incident on the Acherade had left its mark on him; he did not want to be taken off guard again. They were but a mere handful of souls, and thus for each one of them dead, the Emperor's work was that much more difficult to finish. They couldn't afford careless losses or mistakes.

His eyes traced up the towering surfaces of the buildings surrounding them, reaching so high into the air that they were nearly deprived of sunlight. A window or observation room would dot the structures at random, and he was overtly conscious of how exposed they were. Though it was an Imperial world, the Arbitrators could not be everywhere at once, and it was already being proven that this was not your "High Gothic" neighborhood.

They rounded another bend, following Vates into an intersection which would lead them to the dead end where their destination rested. Garen's head snapped from the buildings, Hellgun seeming to glide from its slung position on his shoulder and place its forestock into his waiting offhand. He hesitated. Vates had wordlessly outstretched an arm to halt the group from further action. Garen slowly slung the weapon into its original position. He would have to activate the charge pack anyway, which would cost him valuable time. His hand fell to his side instead, discreetly unbuttoning the holster which held his laspistol.

"Step aside. We're here on official business for Inquisitor Conway." There were fifteen of them, all male. Twice more than their own numbers and then some. Garen's eyes darted over them with autonomous movements, taking note of various details and characteristics with a practiced eye. They were of varying builds, though each was relatively fit and well muscled. Some were holding makeshift blunt instruments, while a few others had firearms... semi-modern autoguns, from the look, with a shotgun or two spread out in the group. They were aiming at the Acolytes. Garen noted with some confusion that they appeared to have been waiting for them...

A wiry but taut man with a shaved head spoke with a sneer, eyes hidden behind the reflective lenses of his goggles. His voice was slick as oil. "Inquisition, huh? Well, what a coincidence. So are we!" A few of the brutes snorted or snickered.

The one who spoke, presumably their leader, darted his tongue to lick his lower lip and outstretched his hand with a smirk. "In fact, by order of the Inquisition, we're going to have to requisition that fancy kit that you have there. Now."

Garen tilted his head slightly, then turned to regard his companions. The orange sunlight glinted in the lenses of his mask.

 

[Karsikan the Berzerker]

The Eversor practically disappeared leaving his habit behind to fall to the ground, within an instant he had eviscerated one of the gangers, exposing steaming gore to the grime of the hive outside, these fools were too pathetic to even attempt his dance of death with, another had tried to flee upon seeing the horrific fate of his comrade. He only succeeded in prolonging his death, Alarius fired a single shot of his autopistol through the back of the Ganger's knee, bringing him crashing to the ground before leaping upon him and severing his head with one swift motion of his wrackblade and held aloft his prize for all to see, It's expression a twisted mix between Agony and Mortal Terror. He gazed into the terrified eyes of his trophy, his skull mask seeming to smile mockingly at it as it tried desperately to scream.