I glanced to the woman aside me, her body trembling somewhat though there was the discernible effort to steady herself for the oncoming fight. She was gracious enough to bestow me the full answer I sought in a previous query. Sadly, I knew not the name nor the man associated with it, and if it was possible my face would have demonstrated the apt blankness. "... I've no idea who that is. A serial killer by the name, perhaps, but there's nothing of him in the annals that I know of," was my reply to her under breath as I steeled myself for the daemon.
"Whoever he was, it is no longer a he; it is an it, a daemon enthralled in the service of Nurgle. He is rife with disease, see that you take care."
"Fool," I summarily describe Jacob Frye, my tone heavy and incredulous, accentuating the term with the denigrating shake of my head. "He's here for us all, he's sworn to destroy all that I represent and afflict poxes where he can!" I shouted towards the stubborn, ignorant man, "You speak of pride, stow yours and listen!"
By the Emperor Above, if there was a opportune moment for a resounding "I tried to tell you.", this was it.
Firstly, the daemon that once was Jack the Ripper mounted a diatribe in respect to his failed legacy designated toward the Frye twins; clearly he had a vendetta toward the two. I half-listened as I scoured the premises for anything that would be of aid, the same that Jacob would make note of. But my eyes ultimately rested upon one thing that stood out among them all. To me anyway. The mask the daemon had doffed and adorned the dead guardsman with, did it have meaning to the creature? Perhaps, just perhaps this fell in line with the idea that burgeoned in my mind's eye.
Then came the declaration of Jack the Ripper's joining the forces of Chaos. So yes, I, Inquistor Gregor Eisenhorn, was endowed with the fully authority of my office in all matters xenos, mutant, and especially Chaos regardless of what young Jacob Frye would have to say. This concerned me all the same, reasonably and justly so. The time and place had no relevance to the matter.
"Distract him if you can," I murmured to the one more likely to be receptive of the twins Evie Frye, "His form cannot be destroyed as is. Something binds him here, something of importance; think!" My last words were a howl nearly drowned out by the din that was both the daemon's loving declaration and admiration for Grandfather Nurgle. The flies descended upon us and I kept the smoldering blade close to my face, the only exposed flesh I had. I was truly grateful for the layered, excessively posh outfit I was adorned with.
As to the matter of the daemon's presence: daemons could only manifest via possessions or great sacrifice from which they could emerge from tears in the fabric of reality, their true form manifest for all to see. This was a hodge-podge possession, geared towards the carrion flies en masse and it was through reasoning that I realized the insects' corpses weren't merely enough, there had to be something more, something that tied its presence to the Materium.
For now I had a start, the mask that clasped the surely sloughing flesh that was once the Krieger's face. If this was not the key to exorcising the daemon's presence, I'd have to come to rely on the Fryes to ferret out the true source.
"What?" I uttered incredulously toward the boy who had the gall to both pickpocket me of the stubber pistol (again) and verbally reprimand me of my pride. Pride? The retrieval of the stubber pistol from earlier, under mutual understanding between I and Scott, smacked nothing of pride but duty; I was to ensure that nothing of the Imperium falls unto the hands of xenos, mutants, and heretics. Jacob demonstrated pride himself when he attempted to turn me away from the daemon, from my duty under flimsy reasons of the daemon being strictly here for he and his sister. A menace they would have grave difficulty curtailing without my knowledge and ability. The slingshotting of his mentality was astounding, it bore me a venue to consider greatly at a later time. For now I relented under the reason that there was no reasoning with a fool and moved for the masked corpse within the doctor's chair, my power-sword leveraged in front to avail myself of the offending flies as I made my way.
There was one thing I was sure of that was to come out of this encounter, following its end. Jacob Frye would understand what it means to cross an Inquisitor, no, the Inquisition itself.
I saw the girl's actions, as she worked to maneuver the tank to the room's center. The idea was admirable, the effect surely effective in way of distracting the creature. Just one problem: the daemon surely would not relent and allow her to do just that. It was this in mind that I redoubled my efforts to reach the carcass-laden chair, my intent fully being that of dousing the grimy mask into the plasma flames of my power-sword.
I willed every ounce of hope I could muster in the Emperor's name that it worked.
@Ringmaster @Ellya @DapperDogman
