Warhammer Secret War (Warhammer 40,000)

[Adrassil]

Going clockwise: It's Marcel Torris, Attelus Kaltos, Elandria and Garrakson.

Another drawing from left to right it's Garrakson, Elandria and Attelus.

Chapter 1

Gunfire. Las and solid projectile alike ripped down the corridor, stray rounds punching holes through the wooden walls, showering us in pouts of exploding dust, which engulfed much of the hallway in a thick, white haze—forcing my colleagues and me into cover. Two of whom, Jarvus and Callague, never made it. A las round burned through the side of Jarvus' skull as the ex-guardsman desperately dived. Callague was dead before he could even move, the poor bastard almost cut apart by the intense fire.

Cursing, I blindly fired my autogun from the corner into the dust-obscured corridor. 'Spray and pray' is the technical term, and I wondered for the hundredth time why I had joined this line of work. No way in hell could I get a clean shot; my only hope was to pin the assailants.

With a quick-fire signal to Garrakson behind me, I slipped back, and the ex-guardsman took my position.

"Fire in the hole!" he sang out in his oddly melodic voice, and with a grunt, the middle-aged man hefted a tube charge down the hall.

The hefty clatter of falling debris preceded the explosion's deafening roar.

Without hesitation, Elandria and I slid into the corridor. Side by side, we sprinted through the dust and debris, firing our auto guns from the hip. Two unfortunate gangers buckled and collapsed under our withering fire—a pair of darkened figures stunned by the grenade's force.

At the last moment, we dropped our weapons and fell upon our enemies—Elandria drawing twin monomolecular enhanced blades from the sheaths on her back. I drew my mono-sword from its hip scabbard. Elandria let out a spine-chilling cackle, dodged a ganger's clumsy blow, and then countered with a deft slice, relieving him of his head.

Not in such humour, I parried a ganger's stabbing knife and kicked my boot's knife into his shin. The man's agonised scream became gurgling as I stabbed through his chest, and I kicked the convulsing idiot off my blade. Immediately, I was forced to duck the next Hammer's wild swing of the butt of his Lasgun. My blade arced into his left hip and through to his right shoulder. The man gurgled blood and then fell onto his back.

Beside me, Elandria finished the last ganger, disembowelling him with a quick slice of Setsukia, then decapitated him with Katrina.

She and I worked well together, but our combat styles could not have been more different. I was taught the way of the combat pragmatist: to do anything and everything to win, to fight with quick, brutal and practical techniques.

She fought like a gymnast, with acrobatic and fanciful techniques I initially found contemptuous. But I could not deny that she was skilled, very skilled.

She had yet to reveal what school of assassins she was taught in, but I could hazard a guess.

Elandria enjoyed killing. To such heights, it disturbed me, and her obsession with decapitating her victims was unnatural hence why she wielded twin blades: Setsukia, for blocking and wounding. Katrina, specifically to decapitate. She fought while amped on combat drugs, which I was taught to do too, but detested. If you relied on enhancements, what good would you be without them? I supposed that was why her fanciful style was so effective.

I do not enjoy killing; I do it because needs must be in a professional manner, and I take pride in my work. I am Attelus Xanthis Kaltos. I am a mercenary, and that is that.

Despite her ruthless, bloodthirsty nature, Elandria was an attractive young woman. At times, her beauty held me in awe—her skin was deathly pale, and her straight brunette hair was jaw-length. But I was wise enough to know a girl like her was only to be looked at, not chased. Being so indoctrinated by her cult, all she would ever know was the mindless urge to kill. It was quite depressing, really.

The four that fell to our blades were the last; another three had taken the brunt of the blast.

'Good work, you two', said Garrakson, his heavy boots crunching on the debris as he approached our backs.

Elandria and I turned to our colleague. Elandria was tense and shaking, and as she spun, she almost toppled over. Fortunately, Garrakson was smart enough to stand out of range of Elandria's blades; she was hugely unpredictable when in such a state.

I shrugged. "All in a day's work," I said, trying to sound nonchalant. "We must be getting back before the local Magistratum arrive."

Garrakson grimaced slightly. "Or the damnable Arbites."

"C-cut the chit chat s-shall we?" said Elandria, her voice being painful and needy. "Our master will be wanting to hear of our exploits.' She was twitching madly now, another reason I kept off stimms; the withdrawal was intense.

"What?" said Garrakson. "Our exploits being that we lost even more good men chasing yet another dead end?"

I sighed; Garrakson's words rang true. I had been part of Taryst's army for half a year, and so far, this had to be the most horrible, thankless job I've ever had.

Taryst, a famous Rogue Trader, is well known throughout the Calixis sector as a master of trade and business. Who, for an unknown reason, was waging war against the gangs of this Hive world: Omnartus. So secret this struggle was any mercenary who joined had their mind blocked from psyker intrusion. That was over two thousand men and women. Emperor only knows how even he could afford it.

"What are we to do about Callague and Jarvus?" I said, starting down the corridor and past Garrakson, although I already knew the answer.

Garrakson sniffed, causing his scarred, square-jawed face to contort. "Do what we always do," he said, shaking his head. "Leave 'em; we don't have the time, kid."

"Just for a change, huh?" I sighed. "Poor bastards. I hope that the Magistratum treat them well."

"Why does it matter?" asked Elandria, despite a drug-induced withdrawal, approached her with such feline grace she seemed to float. "The dead are dead; it does not matter how well you treat them."

I sighed again. No matter how many times I explained it, she still didn't understand.

Garrakson sniffed again, but this time, he hawked up a wad of phlegm and unceremoniously spat to the floor. "Alright, kiddies, we split up," he said. "Elandria go south-west-"

"Yeah, yeah," I sneered. "We know the drill: I go southeast, and you go south, meet at the base at eighteen hundred, we know."

Garrakson shook his head with a bemused smile. "How long has it been now?"

"One hellish half of one hellish year," I answered, though I was not sure either.

"Hellish? Hellish?" said Garrakson. "Now that's the damned understatement of the damned century. Alright then, just move out now if you know the bloody drill, so frigging well."

And we did it, yet again.


I ran out of the building and into the polluted, darkened streets. My black flak jacket whipped and snapped in my wake.

I did not need to check my wrist chronometre's compass to know I ran southeast. Ever since I was a child, I had an innate sense of direction. With only my wits, I could find my way through the thickest bush on my homeworld, Elbyra.

As I silently moved, my thoughts wandered. Half a year ago, our squad numbered ten, but with the losses of Callague and Jarvus, we're now reduced to four.

The fourth was Torris, an ex-Arbitrator. He was wounded in our last incursion; the poor bastard lost an eye and then got knifed in the guts. His condition was still uncertain. I was not into praying, but I was tempted to do so for Torris.

It was quite depressing, really, seeing your colleagues killed off, one by one. Was it like this to serve in the Imperial Guard? Perhaps I should ask Garrakson one day if I ever remember to.

Better do it sooner rather than later; Garrakson may be the next. Or perhaps me.

I shook away the morbid thought. The morale of Taryst's army was at an all-time low. We may be mercenaries; throne gelt was a good incentive for us. But Taryst expected us to give up our lives without telling us why.

We were human as well if we had a cause, a meaning! It could make us fight all the harder.

My anger started to well, and my jaw clenched. What was the point of implanting us with psychic blocks if you don't give us any information to protect?

But I was no stranger to secrets and sabotage. Everyone has an ulterior motive. I had learnt my lesson of 'trust' from my dear old dad, my dear old frigging father.

I sighed. Too many memories suddenly flooded back. I shook it away; now was not the time for sentiment.

There was never any time for sentiment.

I turned a sharp corner, out of the alleyways and into the main streets.

We were meant to meet at the base at 1800 hours, but I intended to get there sooner. I felt I needed to speak with the employer, who was a mother figure to us and more of a mother than my own ever was. Her name was Glaitis. She saved me after my first futile assassination attempt. Glaitis taught me the way of the assassin in more detail than my father ever would. And she knew my father, my real father.

My brow furrowed, and I sped up my already fast pace.



She never looked up, and she never seemed to need to as I entered her office.

"Ah! Attelus Xanthis Kaltos. What is it that brings you to my humble abode, my apprentice?" said Glaitis. She was a tall, harshly beautiful woman, and I couldn't help my gaze gliding over her. Glaitis sat at her desk, long legs crossed. Her cold blue eyes studied a data slate intently.

My jaw clenched. I hated it when Glaitis used my last name, and she was well aware of it. It was part of her constant testing, which drove me nuts. It was to anger me so I could learn to control my anger- I almost always failed.

I swallowed the anger, and nervousness replaced it. A nervousness that overtook me when in Glaitis' presence.

"I-I am here to advise you of-."

The sharp snap of the data slate suddenly shutting interrupted me, and she fixed me with her piercing gaze.

"No stuttering, young one, unless it is an act! You are to be confident! Precise in your words and your demeanour, and stand up straight! Your posture is utterly horrendous!"

I did as told, holding back an annoyed sigh.

"Now, Young Attelus, you may start again."

"I am here to advise you that we have lost two more members of our squad."

"And who were they?" she said, her gaze falling to her data slate, uninterested.

"Callague and Javus."

"They are of Taryst's ilk," she stated.

I nodded, already knowing what she was about to say.

"If they are not part of our own organisation, I do not care, and you know this as well as I do. Come out with it, then. I know you, child. Tell me the actual reason you are here."

I let out a heavy sigh, hoping that it didn't sound too fake; right now, I was testing myself to see if I could hide the exact reason why I was here. "The men are losing morale-"

"I am well aware of the state of the morale, my apprentice," she interrupted. "You are just here to seek guidance for your own melancholy. Am I correct in my assumption?"

I hissed air through clenched teeth, hesitating my response. Damn it, outwitted yet again!

'Yes...'

She smiled a steady and starkly rare expression.

"At least you have learnt from my teachings the value of deception, young Attelus, but yet not the proper technique. As I told you when we first began your training, your father had taught you the basics of close-quarters combat, swordsmanship, and ranged weaponry. But he had neglected the more subtle arts of an assassin's trade."

My jaw set at the mention of my father.

"Do not do that!' she hissed. "That is one of your many tells, young one. You do when you are annoyed or angered. Remember, I have taught you time and time again: 'Give nothing to your enemies or your allies.' That proverb was handed down to me by my master, and now I hand it down to you. Do you understand what it means, child?"

"Yes." I barely said rather than sighed. I started regretting coming here.

"Good!" she sat back in her chair. "Now, tell me. What troubles you, young Attelus."

Her voice softened; she seemed legitimately interested. It had always taken me back to how she could change from a harsh, berating teacher to a tender, kind-hearted, motherly figure in the blink of an eye.

My heart skipped, and I suddenly found words hard to form. When she changed like that, it would always give me a strange tightness in my chest, and I had no idea why.

"I- I hate this!" I managed to blurt. "We have been here for six months, and we have nothing! Nothing! Just more corpses and questions! It's hard every frigging day is the same! A new lead we are sent to track down and- and! We are only to find a new dead end!"

"I know," she said softly. "I know it is hard."

"But you know what else?" I snarled. "I get the suspicion that frigger Taryst knows more than he lets on! That he could give us information that would allow us to do our jobs, but for some idiotic, selfish reason, he holds it back! I don't know why, but I have my ideas!"

Glaitis placed her elbow on her desk and cupped her jaw in her smooth, tender hand. A slight smile played over her full purple lips. "Really, young one?' she cooed. "And pray tell, what are these 'ideas'?"

I stiffened; I said more than I should have. But I did not stutter. I looked Glaitis straight in the eye and said, "That the information would damn him, that he is desperate to keep it secret so much, that if it were even slightly leaked out, his life would be jeopardised. That he could be branded as a heretic and a traitor." I sighed. "That's why."

My attention dropped to the carpet, and I waited for her response.

After what seemed an eternity, she finally said, "I have to say, my young one, I am impressed."

"What?" I said, looking back up. Of all the responses that were the last, I had guessed.

"Yes, that you would have at least a little tact to figure out makes me believe that. Finally, my lessons seem to be getting through to you. I, myself, had come to suspect Taryst for quite some time, but for you to figure it out all alone," she laughed.

I stood, seemingly frozen to the floor. Never had Glaitis complimented me like that before.

"Th-thanks?"

"That, young one. Is the true key to survival in our...line of work," she said. "The first rule, 'know your enemy'. It is a simple and obvious statement, but you have learnt its true meaning."

I winced with a curse, finally realising...

"You have it, child."

Her smile turned cruel.

"Everyone is your enemy."


I leaned on the dirty, smoggy alleyway wall and smoked a lho stick. My colleagues were yet to arrive, but I did not mind. I was early, allowing me time to do what I do best: think.

It was frigging typical of Glaitis to retract a compliment. After her words filtered through my numbed mind, pride started to well within me. My posture straightened, so straight, I stood taller than ever before, but then she said.

"But do not let it go to your head, young Attelus, Xanthis Kaltos. For though I am not sure when you began to suspect Taryst. In all likelihood, it would be far too late."

"What?" and I was back to being hunched again.

She stood and approached me from around her desk; I could not help my eyes running up her lithe, full-figured body.

Glaitis shook her head; she knew, she always frigging knew. "By now, Attelus, if you were alone, working out in the field, and it took you this long to suspect your employer? You would be dead; you did well, young one, in this endeavour, but next time..."

"Frig!" I snarled and sighed: "Try doing it a little quicker.".

"Indeed, and remember this piece of advice, young one and remember it well: 'Trust nothing, suspect everything.'"

I nodded wide-eyed.

"I will," was all I could manage.

"And Attelus, as much as I try to encourage you to try...think a little less. Do think on my words now," her face turned dark. "Think on them long and hard. Now leave. I have much work to do."

I took the Lho stick with my index finger and thumb.

"Trust nothing, suspect everything," I said. The irony was that Glaitis meant herself, too.

Is this what it meant to be an assassin? Being some paranoid, psychotic, schizophrenic, trusting no one, not even yourself?

I sighed out smoke; it reminded me of my father, how he would act when some slightly suspicious stranger walked past our home, and how he reacted when anyone but me came close. For the first time in a long time, I felt something other than anger at my father. I felt sorry for Serghar Kaltos.

Was he the product of this 'training'? No, I was beginning to think it was brainwashing. Was this why my father neglected to teach me the 'subtle arts?' He did not want me to be a lonesome monster like him?

I took the Lho stick and eyed it; I used to be a chain smoker. They helped me in my darker days. At Glaitis' instruction, I had quit (which seemed hypocritical as she encouraged the use of potentially deadly combat drugs). Still, since we came under Taryst's employ, I drifted back to the dirty habit, a coping mechanism indeed.

Was the life of an assassin what I truly wanted?

I tapped the ash off the Lho stick and put it back in my mouth.

I didn't know what I wanted anymore.

I inhaled the sweet smoke and took the dying smoke between my index finger and thumb. Exhaled and flicked the stub onto the rockcrete ground.

I kept leaning against the wall, not moving to step it out. Elandria did it as she emerged from the shadows.

"Lost in your little world once more, eh?" she said.

"Not lost enough to miss your clumsy approach."

I could not see her expression behind that cold, featureless mask, but I could hazard a guess.

Elandria was many things, but socially intelligent was not one of them.

She stood for a few seconds, trying to make a coherent comeback, and the best she came up with was, "Why is the son of Serghar Kaltos smoking Lho? Does he think himself too good for the rules?"

My jaw set. I tried to keep my father's identity a secret, but Glaitis had to go and tell Elandria. Perhaps it was yet another 'test', but what that bloody woman wanted to test was exactly a mystery; was it my patience? Or my combat skill when I lost my patience?

I sighed contemptuously, and that riled her up.

"What does that mean?"

"It means what it means," my tone insultingly melancholic.

"Yeah!" she snarled. "Well, let us see what it truly 'means' when I separate your head from your shoulders!"

And she reached for her blades.

I grinned, then, in a blink, slid into a combat stance and drew my sword.

Then Garrakson suddenly seemed to appear between us.

Elandria and I yelped in fright and leapt back.

"That's enough, kiddies," he said. "I think that we've had enough violence for today."

Then he turned to me. "And kid, if you want to sheath your blade in her, may I suggest using your 'other' blade instead."

I felt my face go hot.

"What?" demanded Elandria, her wide, beautiful green eyes switching back and forth between Garrakson and me. "What is this 'other blade' you speak of, Garrakson? Attelus Kaltos only wields one. Is-is it the knife in his boot?"

"Try a little higher, missy," said Garrakson, and I blushed even worse.

But she still didn't get it.

Garrackson sighed. "Alright, let's get moving, kiddies. We've got exploits to report."



My face still seemed on fire, and Elandria was still confused. We slipped south toward the 'back way.' The entrance is designated to us dirty dogs of war. We were not good enough for the public entry.

Elandria and I walked on Garrakson's flanks into the dirty, barely six-metre-wide alleyway. We were aware of the cameras watching us—thirteen of them perched about five metres up on the grim, grey walls. I reminded myself of them every time, just in case.

We came to the entrance, a well-hidden set of double doors. Garrakson tugged open the panel hiding the keypad and typed the access code.

Elandria and I kept watch, which was fine with me. My back was to the gorgeous assassin. In my immature embarrassment, I could barely at look her and counted myself lucky. Her indoctrination had given her a naiveté of such personal matters.

Actually, on second thought, I was not lucky at all. Luck had abandoned me long ago.

I hissed a curse. Then, I could not help but grin and shake my head.

Abruptly, I was brought into reality by the slight hissing of the opening doors, and we silently slipped in.

We walked into what was once a maintenance entrance, now a highly secure, fortified maintenance entrance.

If there was a literal embodiment of Taryst's paranoia, this was it. Mercenaries crawled throughout the ten-metre wide, hundred-metre-long walkway. At every three metres were waist-high rockcrete walls. It was on a sharp incline, so each wall overlooked the last and twelve small balconies jutted from the walls: ten metres overhead. A sniper crouched in each; their Long Las rifles tracked us as we walked.

I hated the place. I would always try to find some way to sneak or fight through without getting evaporated by billions of last, solid projectiles and high-velocity hot shot rounds, besides stealing a uniform or complete camouflage. I came up nil; it was as close to impregnable as I knew. It would take hundreds, perhaps thousands of Imperial Guardsmen to storm it, and their casualties would be horrendous, but it would work...eventually. That or an entire company of Space Marines, but even they would suffer: a high yield hotshot round punches through power armour with ease.

Elandria and I silently walked through the crowd of highly armed and armoured mercenaries. But Garrakson seemed to greet each frigger in frigging turn. He knew them by name and stopped for idiotic small talk with them. I was almost glad at Callague's and Jarvus' demise; the walk would have been even longer with them.

After twenty long minutes, we arrived at the end. Here, two servitors, both with autocannons for arms, stood constant vigil at the doors.

They slid open, and Colonel Barhurst walked out. The grizzled old bastard approached with a warm grin and outstretched arms. But he was contradicted by the ten grim, faceless Stormtroopers escorting him.

"Ahh! Garrakson, my good friend!" Barhurst exclaimed. He was well into his two hundred, but the use of extensive and expensive rejuvenate treatments kept him looking in his mid-thirties. Though a heavily scarred and beaten man in his mid-thirties. According to my research, he was one of Taryst's longest-serving allies. He abandoned his duties as a Colonel in the Tamarsk 30th to join the Rogue Trader; so wanted by the commissariat and Inquisition for dereliction of duty. But thanks to Taryst's goodwill and huge influence, he eluded justice so far.

I never liked Barhurst; the man was sycophancy incarnate. Taryst was the real commander. All Barhurst did was carry on the Rogue Trader's commands, and when asked to do anything himself, he would pass it on to others. He was charismatic and friendly, but it was an obvious facade. How Taryst couldn't see the incompetence of his second was quite beyond me.

"How goes the hunt?"

"Another dead end," said Garrakson; the contempt in our squad leader's voice was well hidden but not from me. "And we lost Callague and Jarvus."

Barhurst made an exaggerated frown; it was like an alien making a sick parody of human emotion. 'Sorry to hear that, my friend. Master Taryst is up in his grotto waiting for you."

Then Barhurst turned to Elandria and me, smiling smugly. "And you two know the drill."

I sighed, yes, I frigging know, do you need to remind me every single time? I thought, and my teeth clenched.

Hesitantly, I unstrapped my sheathed sword, placed it on the nearby table, and slipped off my wrist-mounted throwing knife compartments. I then took my autopistol from my shoulder holster, and lastly and most hesitantly, I took my right boot, which contained the hidden knife.

Elandria did it with even more aversion than I: letting go of her twin swords, her autopistol and her knife.

"Good!" said Barhurst. "You can head on up now."

And just to make sure, we had to file through a metal detector.

Every single damn day for six months, we went through this shit. Saying it was quite depressing was a frigging understatement.

I might have to start on Obscura just to get over this monotony.

I shook away the thought. I have seen the damage that the drug can do. I have been through the damage it could do, and I will never go through that again.

Never.


In silence, we rode the up elevator the three hundred stories of Taryst's tower. On a hive world like Omnartus, buildings of such excessive calibre were almost a given. I was from an Agri world, though it was not without great cities of its own. Varander, the capital of my home country, Velrosia, was a bustling, beautiful metropolis. Varander sat on the north coast of Lake Varander. A lake was so large it could be classed as a sea. I spent the majority of my teenage years living there.

I missed Varander. The last I had seen the city, it was reduced to rubble.

Then, there was Varanier, the capital of Elbyra's largest nation: Maranger. That was a fantastic city, harsh and sparse. It was a metropolis of granite and grit, an embodiment of its people.

Neither city was on terms with even the smallest of hives. Many packed ten times the population of Elbyra into an area the size of a Varanderian suburb.

Omnartus was dead. Millennia of intense colonisation, mining and pollution had destroyed its ecosystem. But when we rode this elevator, it would make my dreary days worth it. As we rose high enough to emerge from the pollution, I would glimpse the might of nature. That despite humanity's wanton destruction, here still held a beauty of its own. The sun dominated, and in the distance, the peaks of Omnartus' many mountains broke through to the clear air like icy white islands in a sea of black and brown. But despite everything, each mountaintop contained life: a one-in-a-million plant, it had the sheer power and audacity to survive in below-zero temperatures. That it thrived despite the odds was a testament.

Of course, I kept this romanticism private; no self-serving mercenary should be like this. Despite having seen so much death and grim darkness, I still held onto slight aspects of my sixteen-year-old self, the foolish, naive me, before being forced to find out how horrible it is to live in this galaxy. That was why I was having second thoughts; I was beginning to doubt whether I could handle the damage this life could cause, physical and mental.

No, the damage it will cause.

I sighed, attention stapled to the world outside, hoping like hell my back facing Elandria and Garrakson was enough to hide my emotions.

Then it happened what I dreaded most: the end of the journey.

"300th story; Master Taryst's living quarters," said the elevator's pre-programmed, monotone voice as the ascent abruptly stopped. "Restricted access, retinal scan required."

My jaw clenched, and I looked up, seeing the three cameras crowding the elevator with their damnable presence.

Surely Taryst was watching the feed? Surely, over the dozens of times we have been up here, the Rogue Trader could discern who the hell we were?

I could tell Garrakson shared my teeth-grinding frustration. The ex-guardsman stood and waited for about half a minute. Then, with a heavy sigh, he pushed his face into the scanner.

"Employee 568, identified as Jeurat Garrakson," said the computer. "Access granted."

The doors slid open, and we filed out.

We entered Taryst's lavish living quarters, with Elandria in the middle and Garrakson and me on her flanks. Red dominated Taryst's little world, a deep, bloody crimson.

The windowless corridor was five metres wide and about fifteen in length. At the end was a thick crimson and gold curtain. I had never been through those curtains. Taryst would always meet us out here. I knew Garrakson had, and I was sorely tempted to ask the ex-guardsman but could not pluck up the courage. Well, he and Glaitis.

Two straight-backed guards stood in front of the curtains. They were in golden, ostentatiously emblazoned carapace armour; they held equally fancy hellguns. I had never seen their faces nor talked to them, but I could not help but admire their discipline and stoicism.

Curiosity ate at me. What was beyond the curtains? It could be anything: a secret shrine dedicated to the Ruinous Powers? Or perhaps a den of sin and hedonism? (That could be a shrine to one god, but I would rather keep from uttering its name)

But I was not sure if I wanted to know. No, I wanted to see, but whether I should was an entirely different question.

I was finding Ignorance was very much bliss in this galaxy (which is ironically against Glaitis' teachings)

I sighed. It was far too late for that; I had long passed that event horizon. Short of having myself lobotomised, there was no going back.

Just like my dear old damnable dad.

"GREETINGS MY DEAR FRIENDS!" The deep voice abruptly boomed, and the boss himself flourished out of the curtains.

I winced, not in fright but contempt. Every time, Taryst would greet us this way. And every single time, it smacked of utterly forced, fake enthusiasm.

In all honesty, I had come to suspect Taryst of withholding secrets right from my first week of employment, and how could I bloody not? Even if I had told Glaitis then, it would have been too late in her lofty opinion.

"My friends!' he echoed as he approached us. "My friends!"

Taryst stood over two metres tall. Was big-boned and corded with muscle; he cut an intimidating figure.

His strong-jawed face was plain. His tanned skin was complemented by a finely maintained black moustache and goatee. His smile glaringly bright and like his greeting, fake.

During the months, I noticed Taryst had aged; now, there were bags under his eyes and wrinkles here and there. Being utterly paranoid all the time would do that.

I wouldn't trust him as far as I could frigging throw him.

"Attelus, Jeurat!" Taryst cried as he came close, his two guards in tow. He paused at Elandria and, with surprising dexterity, eclipsed her hand in his, then lightly kissed the back of it. "Mamzel Elandria, what news have you brought me today?"

My jaw set as I saw Elandria's pale skin blushing like mad.

Garrakson cleared his throat; he was the only one used to the Rogue Traders' over-the-top extroversion. "My lord, we have arrived at yet another dead end."

Almost violently, Taryst let go of Elandria's hand. He stood and turned on his heels; his back faced us. "And Callague, Javus?"

"I am not sure, sir."

Taryst spun on Garrakson. "And what does 'I am not sure' mean?"

Garrakson shrugged. "I don't know, sir, meaning that they are either still lying in the pools of blood we left them in or in a Magistratum mortuary either/or."

His dead tone shocked me so much that my jaw dropped.

Taryst grimaced slightly and, for a second, looked at his three hundred years.

"I-I am sorry to hear that."

Garrakson stayed stoic, kept his gaze locked to Taryst's.

Taryst flinched away. "And as well as no news on your target?"

"Zilch," answered Garrakson. There is no sign of this Brutis 'Bones' yet, sir; he is quite the enigma."

Now that is the frigging understatement of the millennia, I thought.

"Then what exactly happened?"

Garrakson sniffed. "They went immediately hostile, sir, ambushing us as we entered their base of operations, even with our cover. We managed to fight our way to their cogitator bank but found the memory all wiped. I haven't seen such ferocity since I fought in the guard, sir. From what I gathered if we captured and tried to interrogate one of the hammers, we would be wasting our time. They were like cultists, sir. This Brutis "bones" must be getting very influential in the local gangs if they will fight for him like that. The crazy bastards."

Taryst looked desperately at Elandria and me.

"And you two agree?"

Elandria nodded and blushed to the floor. My jaw set again, and I said simply, "Yes."

I could not bother with more detail; I just wanted to get away from Taryst.

Taryst grimaced disapprovingly.

"Alright, another dead end it is then!" he exclaimed with forced humour. "And quite literally, too!"

The only one laughing was Elandria, both Garrakson and I, not so amused.

"Okay, then. Thank you all for the update, and I apologise for Callague and Jarvus; they were good men." Then he turned away and began to return to his curtains. "Dismissed, all."

"Oh, and young Attelus," he said, suddenly stopping his tracks and making me halt in mine. "Come! I very much wish to speak to you!"

That was the last thing I wanted to hear.

 

[Adrassil]

I sighed while watching Taryst disappear between the curtains. I needed a drag of Lho almost as much as I did not want to follow that literal embodiment of psychotic paranoia.

I slipped out my ceramic box of Lho sticks from my flak jacket pocket, eyed the two guards, and slowly began to open them.

They just stood there silent, deathly still.

I carried on, my attention fixed on the guards, more interested in what they would do than in the smoking itself. I opened the case, tugged out one lho, put it in my mouth, and pulled out my igniter.

I hesitated halfway through the movement, expecting the guards to do something.

No, still motionless.

I shrugged and lit the Lho.

I inhaled the smoke and sighed it out, gladdened that my stupidity did not cause my torso to be bisected by laser fire and that perhaps paranoia had not entirely taken Taryst's mind...Yet.

I did not understand why Taryst had those two standing there. I had only seen such ostentatious bodyguards accompany planetary Governors or Lord Generals; perhaps he wanted to state that he deserved such charges as those great and mighty servants of the Imperium? Being a great and almighty Rogue Trader and all.

Well, actually, perhaps so. At least, unlike many Lord Generals and Lord Governors out there (especially the latter), Taryst had earned this power, this prestige. This was according to the research I had garnered, but I would not put it past Taryst to have that doctored.

I took another inhale and blew out the sweet smoke. Why do you want to talk to me, Taryst? So many reasons flew through my thoughts, each more obvious than the last and even more dodgy than the one before.

I pulled out the Lho between index finger and thumb, eyeing those still guards again, and found I envied them. Life for those two idiots seemed so simple; you stand and guard. Did they have to worry about political intrigue? No. Did they have to worry about their master's constant berating at even the slightest of mistakes? Somehow, I doubted it.

Alright, enough loitering, I thought, putting the Lho back between clenched teeth. Let's get this over and damn well done with.


I walked toward the curtains slowly, casually. Hands in the pockets of my flak jacket and the lit Lho hanging out the corner of my mouth.

I was almost there when a massive, golden-gloved paw was suddenly held right in my face, making me stop.

"Excuse me, sir," said the left side guard with forced politeness, the voice vox enhanced. "Would you be so kind as to dispose of the contraband?"

My brow furrowed heavily, and I sighed, annoyed but unsurprised. I took the Lho stick by thumb and index finger and handed it to the guard.

"And the container as well, sir?"

Barely containing a groan, I snapped it out of my pocket; the movement was so swift and smooth that the guard took a few seconds to notice it was right in his face.

And why don't you chop off my balls while you're at it, huh? I thought sorely.

"I-I thank you, sir. Now you may pass through, and you will have your Lhos returned when you leave."

I glared up at the much taller guard. I frigging well better, I thought as I passed through the curtains. Or you may be waking up a eunuch.

That is if you are not already a eunuch.



I emerged into the living quarters and quickly took in my surroundings. It was a much smaller area than I at first thought, ten metres in width, fifteen in length. The crimson-red walls were lined with gold. Placed nicely in the room's epicentre was a tasteful, beautiful white (with gold lining) marble water fountain with three wide, red couches around it. A small side table set at each armrest, all covered with expensive liquor bottles. The couches were arranged three metres from the fountain, but otherwise, the room was utterly and strangely empty.

The door at the opposite end of the room was most prominent. The adamantium door contrasted the rest of the decor; it was hard not to notice. It was quite interesting that Taryst did not even bother hiding it; perhaps it was a fake door, perhaps? Or perhaps I was looking into it a bit too much.

"My friend!" yelled Taryst as he leaned back on one of the couches. " Come! Take a seat. I have amasec of the highest quality and cigars! Relax, we have much to discuss!"

I didn't move an inch. "No. But I would castrate someone for a smoke of Lho."

"Sorry?" Taryst's eyes widened.

The corner of my mouth twitched, idiot!

"Hmm, sorry, do you have any Lho to smoke?" I rephrased it as smoothly as possible.

Taryst's look of shock disappeared. "Yes, young Attelus, come, sit. I have plenty."

I sighed and hunched in defeat, beginning to approach. I really didn't want to move an inch, but I saw little choice in the matter. Taryst's over-friendliness was getting on my nerves.

Taryst leaned over his couch, opened one of the draws on his table and took out a rather fanciful box.

"Here, take as many as you want, young Attelus," he said, sliding the box open and holding it out to me.

My jaw set. Why did he have to continually call me 'young Attelus'? Attelus would just do, I knew that I was young, I did not need to be constantly reminded by someone else besides Glaitis. She still called me 'child,' a rather dated title seen as though I was twenty-three frigging years old.

Keeping my annoyance again silent, I nodded thanks and drew out two, meanwhile pulling out the igniter.

I smiled, finding it funny that the guards outside would make me give up my lhos but forget my igniter, which could do more damage. I was skilled in that aspect; my father had taught me how to turn anything into a potentially lethal weapon, even lighters. He was an equally avid smoker of Lho as well.

"You still stand, young Attelus, come and sit."

"Thank you, sir, but I would rather stand," I said, trying for the soft yet forceful tone that Glaitis had taught me.

Taryst shrugged. "If you wish it rather."

I slid one of the Lhos into my mouth and lit it, drawing the smoke deep. "Yes, thanks, but now, might I ask why you called me here?"

"Ahh yes, my young friend," said Taryst as he suddenly got off his seat and moved to another table, opening a drawer. "I have been studying into your records, your curriculum vitae."

My eyes turned into suspicious slits. 'And how exactly did you get your hands on my "curriculum vitae"?'

"I had a young friend of yours look into it for me; you know, the one, the young friend under my employ, the young friend who you had secretly hired to look into my past for you."

I winced. "Vex-"

'Vex Carpompter' confirmed Taryst as he pulled out a data slate from the table's draw, "the ingenious young hacker. How very audacious of you, young Attelus, to try such a trick under my very nose. You would have gotten away with it as well, but for-."

My jaw set yet again. "Reasons you will not divulge?" I finished.

"Exactly!" he grinned. "You are smart, young Attelus, too smart for your own good, it seems, using the very person who inspects the system to check the information."

I was not sure what to do. Was Taryst going to kill me?

Vex even had almost unlimited access to the cogitator systems of Taryst's whole corporation. Actually, I had forgotten entirely about my under-the-table agreement with the infamous hacker. It had seemed like such a small request, and it seemed even smaller after the pathetic results.

"No young Attelus I am not going to kill you if that is what you are thinking," then his eyes turned into evil slits. "I was tempted to before, though. Very tempted."

My brow furrowed, I was beginning to dislike where the hell this was going. "You were tempted to until you saw into my files, right?"

"Answer me this, young Attelus," said Taryst. "Did you act on the volition of your teacher or your own?"

I hissed through my gritted teeth. I hesitated in my reply, seeing that my life may depend on my next sentence, so I chose my words very carefully and told the truth.

"No, Glaitis did not ask me to do it, not directly anyway. I was acting under her teachings."

"And does she know of your attempt at espionage?"

"Again, no, not that I know of anyway."

Taryst smiled and fiddled his data slate with a large thumb. "I see young Attelus; your answers confirm what your records state. I can see that you are nothing like your ally, young Elandria, she is a blunt instrument, she knows very little besides how to kill people in a very gory, all be it, very pretty fashion. You, on the other hand, are a far more subtle instrument of infiltration, espionage, and assassination in your very, very short career. You have done it all, have you not?"

All I have done very well, I shrugged, trying very hard to sound nonchalant and keep the welling pride from my tone. "Yes and no; I have been on many missions, but mostly the more menial stuff. I have done some infiltration, but most of what I know Glaitis has taught in the theoretical, not the practical."

"She doesn't believe you ready yet?"

"Yes," I answered, knowing I should not be divulging such information, but my instinct for self-preservation was overwhelming my instinct for keeping secrets. Also, Taryst probably knew this already. "I did not start my training of the 'finer arts' of the Assassin's trade until my employ into mamzel Glaitis' mercenaries."

"I see, how about a test young Attelus, the ultimate test to see if you are finally ready. I want to employ you."

I raised an eyebrow; this was something I actually saw coming. "Tch! You want me to spy on Glaitis, you?"

Taryst raised his eyebrow, too. "You seem surprised despite your forward guessing."

I'm surprised that you're so damn predictable, I wisely refrained from saying.

"Young Attelus, do you truly want the life of an assassin? One living always in the shadows? One of death and thanklessness? Or would you rather a life of meaning, a life of profit, a life of happiness? I can get you that, a way to escape, a way to get away."

I glared at Taryst. Was this a coincidence? Just as I was beginning to doubt, Taryst came to me with this request and gave me such an incentive.

I did not believe in coincidence.

Also, I could not help but remember my previous conversation with Glaitis: ' Trust nothing, suspect everything.'

Did she guess that Taryst would pull such a stunt? Or did she already know that he would?

If either were the truth, there would be no way in hell I could hope to keep it a secret.

Was it, again, potentially a coincidence?

I genuinely hoped that it was.

Taryst looked at me with an almost sympathetic expression. "I know what it was like to be your age, not to know who or what you are. It's hard, young Attelus, to take your time in making your decision, but I have to ask that you make up your mind before you leave. Though my indecisiveness was of a completely different subject, the struggle is the same."

I sighed. Could I betray Glaitis? The woman who had saved my life, who had taken me in, cared for me, and taught me everything she knew—potentially destroying six years of hard work and struggle?

It was for freedom, which I was not sure would be worth it; this was a harsh universe. I was beginning to believe that the term 'freedom' could only be used with irony, that it, ever being literal of use, was forever lost.

"No."

"Excuse me?" asked Taryst, seeming almost bemused.

"No, I can't do it, I-I just can't."

"Why?" carried on Taryst, beginning to sound forceful.

"I have my reasons," I said, sounding more timid than intended. I was not expecting such a change in Taryst. He seemed almost childish, almost sulky.

"No! I know why!" he snarled. "I have heard of how you act around her, like some little, pathetic, love-struck puppy! Can't you see that she is using you like some mindless pawn! Like a slave!"

"What?"

"You have two ears and are smart. Apparently, you know exactly what I said."

"You- you think I am in love with her?"

He just glared at me.

I scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous! She's three times my age! And Like a mother to me, that -that's disgusting."

He grinned. "To be honest, I don't blame you, young Attelus; I would be head over heels for her as well. If she was my type, of course, beautiful, intelligent, confident, deadly."

"Sh-shut up!" I meant to snarl but instead whined, and I felt my face flush.

He shook his head. "So, can't you see this is unhealthy? That it is all the more reason to do what I ask?"

I swallowed. "I can't. I just can't, Taryst. Do you know what you ask? What will be the consequences if I'm found?"

Taryst nodded. "I do. I researched your employer before I hired her services, and your death would be...Very painful indeed, but if you succeeded, the reward would be worth it!"

"How?"

"I would make you rich! And you could go back to your home planet and live an easy life of luxury and wealth. A life of freedom and meaning."

I gritted my teeth. 'Trust nothing, suspect everything' The meaning of that motto was double-jointed, to say the frigging least, Glaitis, I knew she meant herself as well; she could, in all truth, never be trusted, ever.

I knew why Taryst would ask me to spy on her. He was paranoid and psychotic, but from time to time, I could not help but suspect that Glaitis had some hidden agenda that was far, far bigger than me, bigger than even Taryst's corporation.

I could only guess how large that goal was. I was a pawn in that plan, yet every time, a strange, powerful feeling made me deny it—some foreign and strange feeling.

Was that feeling love?

"Take your time, young Attelus," said Taryst. It is a hard favour to ask, but I understand completely."

"No!" I stepped forward. "I have made up my mind!"

'And?'

And I answered without hesitation and with the truth. It felt good, to be honest, to be genuine for the first time in a damn long time.



I left Taryst's quarters, trying hard to mask my haste. On the way out, I had almost forgotten to retrieve my Lhos. Lucky for the guard, I didn't.

I caught the elevator and twitched in impatience the whole ride down, tapping the tip of my boot on the floor.

I had told Taryst, no.

The rogue trader had taken the answer in due course and did not try to convince me otherwise again. Perhaps he had known that he could not change my mind, or he didn't care. The look in his eyes almost exclaimed the former, seemingly accusing me of foolishness and cowardice.

Perhaps I was a coward and a fool. But I was not about to risk my life for what could easily be a lie. There was no guarantee that Taryst would keep his end of the bargain; the odds would not at all be in my favour.

Afterwards, I had tried to levy some information of Vex's fate from the Rogue Trader, but to no avail. Taryst was too smart to be coerced into slipping on his words.

As much as I hated to admit it, I liked the little nerd; I did not wish to see him dead over such a trivial matter.

Actually, why I was still alive was a wonder in itself. Taryst had more than enough reason for shooting me, just on the grounds of trying to infiltrate his systems and even more for flat-out refusing his request. Letting me live would make sense if I found Vex dead; it would send the message: "Do not cross me again, young Attelus, or this will be your fate."

It would indeed, I would not be crossing him ever again.

Despite myself, I could not help smiling my evil smile; the sentence went through my thoughts as a perfect recording of Taryst's voice, everything from tone to demeanour.

When the elevator reached my intended level, I slipped out the sliding double doors and ran down the corridor, heading to the northern side of the building that was where Vex's office was. Nimbly, I dodged and weaved my way through the many of Taryst's employees in the road.

It took me only five minutes to reach the cogitator workers section. I had earlier learned the layout of the lower floors (the ones I had access to anyway) and the quickest way to get here or there, just in case.

I fast-walked through the lines upon lines of cogitator banks, each with a thin, decrepit serf sitting, typing madly. The clicking sound turned into a crashing as thousands upon thousands of fingers pressed keys. The noise enveloped the entire two-hundred by three-hundred-metre cavern in its near-deafening cacophony.

I fought the need to cover my ears and started to approach the entrance to Vex's office.

I paused near the door. I was cool and calm, my face set in determination. If Vex were dead in there, it would make little difference. It was just another death, and one more did not matter in a galaxy this vast. It was not my fault; Vex had accepted the bribe; it was his fault for going through with it. If he were truly as smart as he claimed he was, he would have told me to shove it.

But maybe it was my fault; how old was Vex? Fourteen? And if so, perhaps it was his youthful ignorance that had made him take the job, and then it would indeed be my fault.

I sighed and reached for the door but again hesitated as I realised something that made my guts churn. I wasn't armed! Who was not to say that someone wasn't standing over poor Vex's corpse, a silenced gun trained at the doorway, waiting for me to enter? I glanced about. They would not need to silence the weapon; I doubted that even the roar of a bolter could be heard over that racket.

"Oh, this is depressing, really!" I exclaimed in frustration, so loud that even a few of the nearer serfs looked up from their work and glared at me in disapproval.

I grinned as an idea hit me.

"Hey, everybody! You know who is a damnable frig wipe!" I yelled even louder and with even more looks of anger. "Oh, come on! Can nobody can guess!"

"Shut up!" said one as he got off his stool.

"Shut up, huh?" I grinned at the man. "Huh! Shut up, really? He must be a really big frig-wipe if he beats Taryst!"

Now, that got more attention, which was exactly what I was looking for, so I stepped through the door and found it.

Vex stood alone, utterly unharmed, inspecting one of his many Cogitator units with an intense expression. His attention snapped to me as I intruded into space, and his eyes widened with surprise.

"Hey, Attelus, I didn't- Gak!"

Bang!

The "Gak!" was him getting cut off mid-sentence by me, grabbing him by the collar of his tunic and the "bang!", me slamming his back against the wall.

"Wh-what did I do?" he whined in his pitiful way, well as whiny and as pitiful as one could be when being suffocated. But Vex achieved it better than most would.

"You little bastard! You frigging little bastard!" I snarled, accompanied by another violent slam. "You told them!"

"I don't know what you are talking about," he gurgled back. "Told them what?"

My anger turned in on itself as I pulled him from the wall, spun him about and smashed him hard against the nearest Cogitator.

"Were you born an idiot, or did you lose the brain cells along the damn way!" I snarled. "Our agreement, remember? The one where I paid you one thousand throne gelts, and you would check the systems to look into Taryst's past, remember? Remember!"

Each 'remember' was accompanied by a violent shake, which threw around Vex's head like whiplash.

Vex could only gurgle back, his face almost turning blue.

I let off a little pressure, a little.

"I don't know!" he hoarsely managed, and then tears started to well in his eyes. "An agreement that I look into the system? I don't remember it, by the Emperor I swear! I swear!"

Then, the tears started to flow freely down his face. "I swear!"

It was then that the realisation hit me. Then guilt followed, and I let go of Vex's collar. Still crying, the young hacker slumped onto the floor and curled up in a fetal ball, whimpering pitifully.

I stumbled back; Vex's mind was messed with, and his memories of the incident were erased by some warp-touched freak! I should have realised it, damn it! Taryst had psykers place the blocks on our minds! Of course, he would have them for other uses!

And I had just strangled an innocent person who did not know why. Even if Vex had remembered our agreement, it would have been plucked from his memories without any knowledge.

I cursed; this was all my idiocy, my fault. I should have remembered that Taryst had psykers; how stupid was I to forget-

I cut myself short as my eyes widened in epiphany. But one reason why I had done it was because of the blocks! Vex had told me that they had done it to him as well! I was no expert on those warp-touched. Perhaps, with their knowledge of how they had placed, the block knew they could have bypassed it. That is, assuming Vex had even been blocked at all.

I looked down at the whimpering and shuddering form. My brow furrowed heavily. I started to feel a potent and almost intoxicating mix of contempt and rage begin to well at the pit of my gut. How pathetic! I felt the overpowering urge to kick the kid while he was down.

Teach him to toughen the hell up.

Don't make this any worse than it is if Glaitis finds out, I thought, forcing down the rage, the contempt.

Then I turned and stormed out the door, leaving the pathetic foetal form of Vex to writhe in its self-pity.

It would also explain how Taryst knew I was having second thoughts.

I was right. The damnable Rogue Trader had also left me a warning—and through Vex! It was even worse than if I had found him dead. I winced as the words echoed through my thoughts: " Do not cross me again, young Attelus, or that will be your fate."

But this time, the ominously similar-sounding voice of Taryst laughed.



I sighed. I stood in my shower, the high-pressure water crashing against my thin, pale, but solid body.

My usually rigorous daily training lasted five hours with a fifteen-minute break between each hour. It was disciplined and harsh, like my father had taught me. It seemed my daily regime was the only thing I kept consistently disciplined.

The schedule was: the first two hours were dedicated to swordsmanship, the next two to unarmed combat, and if I had the time, I went to Taryst's shooting range, spending the last hour practising firing drills. Both Garrakson and Torris would almost always be there so that I would go for the company as well.

That was before poor Torris got maimed, of course.

I winced as I remembered. Again, I forgot to visit my comrade in arms at the medicae! That would be, what, the fifth day in a row? I couldn't even recall that either.

Throne, my limbs ached! Today was certainly not the first, but hopefully, the last, where I would neglect my regime. I'm not saying I didn't train; I did, but I worked way too hard and had ignored stretching before. After I had retreated from my crime scene, I retrieved my weapons from security and went straight home to my hab block. Immediately, my sword was out, and I slashed the air in a blind and rusty rage. My years of training and discipline were thrown out the window. I barely lasted half an hour before I was gasping for breath and weak from exertion.

But my anger was all but spent.

I was an idiot, a complete and utter idiot! I had no excuse to beat up on Vex, even if he had willingly told me I should have seen his treachery coming and planned for it in advance. 'Trust nothing, suspect everything" Those words could not be more accurate now!

No, I had to lose myself in my anger. I've had that problem ever since I was a child; something would happen that would anger me, and I would hurt people badly.

'A blind rage', I heard it called once; I could not recall who had said it exactly.

It was as if something had taken over me. I would lose control, and all I would do was hurt the one who had done me wrong, no matter what.

My father taught me how to control that side of myself and curb it if it occurred, and I had learnt it well. But with Vex, I slipped into that abyss for the first time in a long time, going on six years now.

That I did remember and that I remembered well.

Poor Vex Carpompter, he did not deserve my wrath. All of my repressed anger from the last six months was almost taken out on the kid; he was lucky I didn't kill him.

No, I thought. I was lucky that I didn't kill him.

I shuddered at the thought, and the soothing feeling of the constant stream of hot water disappeared entirely as a horrible sensation of sickening guilt welled in my guts.

Taryst was right! Sudden rage overtook me, and I punched the tiled wall. Blood intermingled with water, and pain erupted through my hand.

I am a coward! A bully who takes out his anger on those weaker than him because he is too scared to take it out on those over him!

That is the very definition of cowardice.

Sighing, I turned off the faucet. I tried to ignore the agony of my left hand and my dullened, aching limbs. But I could not ignore that both were of my own volition and idiocy.

It was quite depressing, really.

I walked out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around my waist, my face foul.

I caught a glimpse of the form standing in my room, and that was all I needed to see. In the blink of an eye, I snatched up a nearby knife, about to let it fly.

But I stopped mid-movement and felt my face flush as I saw that the form was Elandria, who was also aiming an Auto pistol at me.

"Drop it," she said.

I immediately did as told.

"Now kick it over to me."

I looked at her with hooded eyes; I had bare feet damn it! But gingerly, I kicked the knife at her, which bounced and rolled over the carpet.

"Mistress Glaitis wishes to speak to you," she informed in her emotionless voice. Her mask was off, so I could see her just as emotionless, pale, attractive, heart-shaped face. The gun was still pointed at me.

My embarrassment disappeared as my eyes widened in fear. My palms were suddenly wet with sweat. I had guessed my teacher would want to talk to me, but I was unprepared for it.

"J-just let me get changed," I stammered as I scrambled to gather some clothes from the many that lay about, and I could not help but be embarrassed at the messy state of my living quarters.

"You have three minutes," she stated.

"Okay, but, uhm, can I, uhm, have some privacy, please?"

"No."

I sighed, and then the sudden and impatient twitch of the Auto pistol made me jump and search all the faster. She had me, hook, line and sinker, or for want of a better cliché, I was caught out in the cold. I never felt so exposed; that was why Elandria was an actual assassin, and I was not. Though she lacked my training in deception and espionage, she knew how to catch those at their most vulnerable, and she certainly had succeeded with me.

However, I could not help but wonder what would have happened if I had thrown the knife. I may have got her; she had not reacted to me until a full second after I had stopped the throw.

I would have let it fly without hesitation if it were anyone else besides her and Glaitis. Perhaps that was why Glaitis had sent Elandria; she knew I had a weakness for the fairer sex, a weakness that she could exploit, a weakness I needed to eliminate.

It took me two minutes to hurriedly slip on my clothes from the floor, smelling, day-old tunic. I had tried hard to hide as I put it on and had succeeded with admirable grace.

I nodded to Elandria and walked out the door, but she followed me down the apartment building's corridor.

"Where are you going?" I asked over my shoulder.

"With you."

My jaw set. "To escort me, right?"

'Yeah.'

Barely, I kept the fear from my face; if Glaitis was having Elandria guard me, the master assassin was meaning business.

I swallowed, really meaning business.

It took us twenty long minutes to arrive back at Glaitis' base of operations, and all the way, I had Elandria holding her auto pistol in my back. Every single step made me dread more and more whatever Glaitis had in store for me. I struggled to hide the fear even with my back to her. The stress of suspense was almost overwhelming as my heart thudded in my chest. I had never bothered to garner any information from Elandria, knowing it was futile. I doubted that Glaitis would have told her anything, and Elandria answered everything I tried to say with mindless monosyllables. It was not entirely out of character for her, but it was doing nothing to help my nerves.

We rode the elevator up to Glaitis' office. Taryst had given the master assassin the top floor of one of the Rogue Traders' many separate buildings surrounding his central tower. Naturally, she is the leader of a very professional and well-off company of mercenaries; she only got the best for her living quarters.

The elevator arrived, and the doors slid open. Immediately, I was prompted out with a shove of Elandria's pistol. My teeth on edge, I hesitantly complied, and we entered the foyer beyond. It was no more than six metres wide, a corridor. At each side and lining the stark white walls were long, black leather couches, and our boots echoed over the polished back marble tiles. The contrast between hers and Taryst's quarters could not have been much more apparent.

Glaitis never kept any guards, which showed her arrogance in her abilities—entirely justified arrogance. She has survived for this long, and I have also seen her skills firsthand, which are quite breathtaking. I gritted my teeth as Taryst's words echoed through my thoughts. I was not in love with Glaitis! And he was a fool forever thinking so.

A woman sat at the end of one of the couches, her smooth, long legs crossed together as she reclined back. Her high-boned, youthful, and attractive heart-shaped face was on the profile, and her large eyes studied a data slate intently. Her long, violet-coloured hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and relief washed over me as I saw who she was.

Castella Lethe didn't look up as Elandria, and I approached her, "tsk, tsk Attelus, what have you done now?" she sighed with a smile as she bounced her crossed leg.

Despite my anxiety, I could not help but grin. I liked Castella; she was always charismatic and friendly and had a fun, dry sense of humour I could appreciate. If any woman I would be accused of being in love with, I would rather her than Glaitis. She was also confirmed to be Glaitis' successor if the master ever fell, and I agreed. Castella was an excellent choice; she was extremely extroverted and confident and held almost everyone's respect in the company. Except for Elandria who seemed to despise Castella because I could not, or cared not enough to comprehend.

"Completed yet another assignment, I see," I said, trying to slow my advance, but Elandria was intent on not letting me.

Castella snorted. "Of course, Attelus, would I be here if I hadn't?"

I shrugged. "Goes, without doubt, Castella. I was actually making sure that you were not some fear-induced mirage."

"Wow, Attelus. If you are that scared, shall I say a little prayer for you?"

I frowned and furrowed my brow. "I was actually hoping for a more proactive form of help."

She shrugged, pouting her full lips. "What could be any more proactive than the divine intervention of the Emperor of Mankind himself? Ohh, wait, you don't believe in that thing, do you? Oh well, never mind, you're screwed then. Bye!"

Before I could make a coherent reply, I got shoved through the glass double doors, and I could not help but wonder. Why the hell was she just sitting out there?

 

[Adrassil]

As before, Glaitis sat at her desk, reclining her long, lithe form back in her leather chair, feet planted on her desk. She looked positively relaxed, but her piercing blue-eyed glare said otherwise, and I had to fight to keep myself from wincing under its intensity.

My breath caught in my throat as I saw her, and my heart sped. She was, she was-.

Then my jaw set. Taryst was right! Glaitis must know; she must've used it to manipulate me! Why had no one in the company ever mentioned it?

Glaitis would have ordered them not to, of course. My fear was replaced by giddying disgust, and I reconsidered my decision on Taryst's proposition.

"Mamzel Glaitis, here he is, as ordered," said Elandria behind me, her smooth, soft voice flowing like silk. But the pistol never relented in sticking in my back.

"I can see that, thank you, Elandria," said Glaitis. "Good work."

I glanced over my shoulder as the pistol finally let off. Glimpsing, the young assassin bowed slightly- likely she had never noticed Glaitis' sarcastic tone and turned to leave.

"Stay, Elandria," ordered Glaitis as she sat forward, leant her shoulder on her desk, and cupped her smooth jaw in the palm of her hand. I have a task for you, which I will tell you once I deal with him."

"As you order," said Elandria.

Then Glaitis turned her glare on me, and I met it, although it took all my willpower to keep from flinching.

"Why did you do it?" she asked bluntly, and despite myself, I flinched. I had expected her to fly straight into a rage-fuelled lecture, saying things like: 'You have disgraced our company!' Or 'your idiocy could have cost us our reputation!'

I hesitated. No matter how hard I tried, Glaitis always outwitted me, which was infuriating. In all my years under her tutelage, I could never predict what she would say or do.

"She asked you a question, worm! Hurry and answer!" I flinched at the sudden words that erupted behind me, and even Elandria started in surprise.

I clenched my teeth, recognising whom the voice belonged to and turned to see Darrance approaching. He was one of Glaitis' most senior employees and a right bastard, the epitome of arrogance and snide superiority. I knew nothing of where he came from, but I could hazard a guess, and my guess was this: he was some son of some member of the Imperial Hierarchy who had squandered and spoilt Darrance and thus created this monster. How and why Darrance became an assassin was beyond me; perhaps the governor got sick of his creation and threw him out into the cold.

Despite my dislike for the ponce, I could not deny his skill. Neither Elandria nor I had any idea he was in the room until he chose to reveal himself.

My jaw set as I turned back to Glaitis; this just emphasised how much I had to learn.

"Yes, young Attelus. I did indeed ask you a question," said Glaitis, an evil smirk curling her full lips. "Has a feline stolen your tongue, by chance?"

I could think of a no more fitting cliché at that moment.

"Hey, Darrance," I managed through clenched teeth, but I kept my attention fixated on Glaitis. "I see you have returned from your assignment as well, and so I assume it was a success, then?"

"I am not here to waste time tarrying words with a fool like you!" snarled Darrance. "Mamzel Glaitis asked you a question, and you will answer, or so Emperor helps me, I will-!"

"Darrance," interrupted Glaitis. Her eyes were attached to my own, and her voice was soft, but its warning was evident. But I could detect slight amusement in the words and her eyes. What did she find so entertaining? My audacity of taunting Darrance, who was three decades my senior and who could potentially beat me in a fight with his eyes closed and one arm tied behind his back? Or perhaps the sheer idiocy. Either way, I was making progress.

The senior assassin said no more.

"Now, child, please, would you finally decide to answer my question? Why, indeed, did you beat up on poor little Vor?"

"I believe it is pronounced Vax, mamzel," corrected Darrance timidly.

"Oh, yes. Sorry. Indeed it is. Why did you beat up poor little Vax?"

"Vex," I corrected gruffly.

"Sorry, young one?" she asked.

"Vex! His name is Vex," I said impatiently. She cared so much about the poor kid that she would forget his name.

No, I corrected it. Glaitis' memory was almost photographic. No way in hell she forgot, especially when she was only informed a few hours ago. She was testing me again.

I glanced sidelong at Elandria; my fellow squad member must have informed Glaitis of my meeting with Taryst and Glaitis. Glaitis must be testing to see if I had betrayed her.

"Hmm, indeed," said Glaitis as she sat back, tapping her perfect nose with an index finger. "I know you, young Attelus. To all but the most educated, you seem...chaotic, strange, random. But you really are not; there is some method to your madness, some surprisingly sane reasoning as to why. Funnily enough, nothing like your father, who was always as straight and narrow as anyone could get. That is a trait I can admire, one that would help you if you ever meet the requirement of making yourself a full-fledged assassin...That is if you live that long, of course, but for me, it makes you predictable."

I smiled. Now I knew the game, so I could play, but I decided I could not tell her. If I confirmed her of Taryst's proposition, it would take away any potential leeway I may have in the future, and so I followed one of her many teachings: " The best way to lie is to tell the truth."

After hissing out through clenched teeth, I said, "The little bastard told."

"Told? The little bastard told whom? And of what? Answer straight, young one! I begin to tire of your meandering!" Glaitis snapped, making everyone but me flinch in fright.

"I had made an agreement with Vex a few weeks ago. I paid him to search the systems for more detailed information about Taryst's past. Just in case, but I came up with nil for anything of any use. Taryst hides his tracks very, very well."

"And so you were stupid enough to be surprised when this young hacker betrayed you? So you strangled him right in his very office? Right, where dozens of witnesses could see you do it?"

"Pretty much," I said, trying hard to keep my cool and to keep any remorse from my voice. "I let my anger overcome me. I was idiotic, stupid and foolish. I make no excuses and am ready to face my punishment, mamzel."

"Punishment, young one?" sighed Glaitis, and she could not hide her rising ire in her voice. "Believe me, Attelus Xanthis Kaltos, you will face punishment. But for now, you escape it; we have far more important matters to attend to."

"What!" Darrance and Elandria exclaimed together incredulously, and I could not help but smile. This I had actually seen coming—both Darrance and Castella just suddenly being here, Glaitis earlier saying that she had a "task" for Elandria. I had gambled on this and had won, and I could not help but wonder if Glaitis knew this, and that was why she was so flustered—knowing the game, indeed.

"Quiet, both of you!" she roared. "I like this no more than you do! We have this task, and we are to act before Taryst can know, and we need all of us to do it!"

I grinned and asked, "And what is 'it' that we have mamzel Glaitis?"

Glaitis' eyes narrowed. "Information 'it' is, child. Information on the whereabouts of this 'Brutis Bones.' The man that Taryst seems so desperate to hunt down."



Elandria and I sat in silence in the back seat of the old Hesuitor 89. We watched as the hive outside drove by. It was midnight, but the hive's lighting conquered the darkness in a blazing haze of artificial day, and the hustle and bustle of traffic had not abated.

A hive city like Omnartus never slept. Imperial bureaucracy was everything. It was more important to the survival of mankind than the Magistratum, the Ecclesiarchy, the Adeptus Arbites, the Imperial Guard or even the Adeptus Astartes. Everything rode upon its ever-turning cogs. As long as Omnartus lived, millions upon millions of serfs would sit and type upon their cogitators every second of every day, monitoring countless upon countless lines of information.

It hurt my mind that more counted on them than those who fought for the Imperium, than those who gave their lives in the war. They say that they fight for their Emperor, but in all honesty, it is so this organised chaos can survive.
To say it was quite depressing is an understatement of the millennium and many more millennia to come.

I could only thank goodness that I wasn't one of them.

Besides the countless bureaucrats coming and going from their daily drudgery, Many were partygoers wishing to temporarily alleviate their boring lives with a foray into the nightlife. We were driving through Omnartus' night district and at its peak. I wore a high-quality silken suit with a white shirt, black blazer, and black pants. Castella had told me it was the latest in men's fashion, and yes, I had noticed many in similar attire along the way.

Elandria sat next to me and was stunning. Her black hair was tied back, revealing her beautiful high cheekbones. Somehow, her pouting in anger made her even more appealing. Also, she was wearing make-up—a first for her since I had met her six months ago.

I sighed, placed my elbows on my thighs, intertwined my fingers together, and began relaying Glaitis' plan for the umpteenth time.

After the master assassin's revelation, Castella burst into the room immediately, grinning almost from ear to ear.

"Ah yes indeed, information retrieved by yours truly, of course!" said Castella, with an exaggerated bow. "You can all thank me later if you like."

Initially, Castella's entrance took me back, but sudden revelation replaced this, and I turned to Glaitis.

"So I see that you have been doing your own extracurricular investigating while under Taryst's employ, master?" I said.

Glaitis grinned. "Why, of course, my young apprentice?" Then she looked at Castella. "And do not take all the credit for yourself. Do not forget that Hayden had as much of a hand in it as you did."

Castella hunched forward with an animated pout. "Pah! Details!" Then she grinned slyly. "And now I'm betting that you are wondering how I knew what you were saying, right?"

"No," said Elandria. "We can all see your earpiece quite clearly."

Castella grimaced with another extremely animated expression that made me smile.

"Pah! Details!" she repeated.

"All right, enough of your clowning," sighed Glaitis, but I could hear the amusement in the master assassin's voice. "Now we move on to business."

"We have located through much investigation the possible location of Brutis Bones," Glaitis said. "All evidence points toward a bar in the night district of the hive as his base of operations. It is highly popular with the locals; it is named "The Twilight Bar."

Castella let out a derivative snort, which made me smile all the more; I could not have agreed any more. "The more I hear that name, the cheesier it sounds," said Castella.

"Yes, I know," sighed Glaitis. "But the bar provides an almost perfect cover for the gang leader; it is high class, quite sophisticated and-."

"And so it wouldn't be believed by anyone looking because it would be too obvious", I cut in. "What do they call that? That's right, a refuge in audacity."

"Indeed, young one," said Glaitis. "Taryst, being the utter genius he is, had left that area for last in his investigation, as you and Elandria may know."

"Yes," said my squadmate, and to my surprise, I could detect an undercurrent of annoyance in the young woman's voice. Elandria did not like being left out of the loop. In all honesty, neither did, but I could hide it, and by then, I was used to it.

Glaitis could also tell Elandria's dislike, emphasised by the master assassin's patronising glare.

Glaitis moved on. "Thanks to Hayden Tresch's hacking ability. We were able to get a full layout of the plans for the bar." Glaitis pulled out a control wand, and with a flick of her wrist, the lights died, and a giant, sophisticated hologram sprang out from the middle of her desk.

"It is located on the far North-West end of the night district's main street, the Dawn of Ages Boulevard. As you can see, there are three entrances, the main being on the south-east of the Dawn of Ages Boulevard. One is placed on the northern side and the other on the south; all are guarded constantly and all are watched by surveillance cameras. The security is very tight indeed as befitting such a leader."

I shrugged. "But I'm guessing no tighter than any other club in the district, so they don't draw suspicion."

"Indeed, and it is no match for us at all," said Glaitis. "Here is my plan, Elandria. Both you and Attelus, both of you dressed satisfactorily for the occasion, will enter the bar via the front entrance, posing as legitimate patrons. As a dating couple, of course."

Beside me, Elandria stiffened in obvious distaste, which made me more upset than I cared to admit.

"But, mistress," I said. "If you send in Elandria and myself...with our activities, together with over the last six months, the odds of them knowing our faces would be higher than if you sent in Castella or anyone else."

Glaistis smiled. "Of course, and that is what I gamble upon. Viewing your entrance into the bar will spike up the suspicions of the ones running it. They will not turn you and Elandria away for fear of spiking your own suspicions. I believe that you two will be very, very closely monitored indeed."

My jaw set. "So we are the distraction, then?"

"We never miss a beat, then, do we, child?" she said. But that beat was about as subtle as an explosion. Yes, you and Elandria are the distraction once inside. I want you both to-."

"Start a bar brawl?"

Glaitis frowned. "Yes, child. Start a bar brawl, and we need a big one, indeed. One that will distract the vast majority of the moody hammers acting as bouncers, so both-."

"Darrance and Castella can slip in unnoticed and plant bugs in the bar? But why not just have us plant them? It would be easier."

"Actually, child. I was going to say that Darrance and Tresch do it. While what you say is true, what we are not sure of is the surveillance in the bar. It is well hidden. But what we do know is two elite assassins in syn-skin body gloves will move unseen, we just need you to distract the hammers for long enough to do it. Also, we don't want them just placed in the bar itself but in the back rooms, too. Otherwise, it would be just pointless, wouldn't it?"

I shrugged; it made sense. But why was Glaitis doing this? I knew Glaitis, and she would only move if this information were one hundred per cent confirmed. She never did anything halfway. I suspected she wanted to plant these bugs so she could find the reason why Taryst was so desperate to find Brutis Bones, but there had to be more.

I set my jaw.

"So, there is the plan," said Glaitis. Whether you take it or leave it is immaterial; we are doing it. I have transport ready for you both in the parks and suitable clothing. After, of course, you take a shower, Attelus! You smell like you haven't washed in days! Dismissed. And Castella, make sure that you go over the details with the lovely couple for me."

"As ordered, mamzel," said Castella with a bow, and I frowned in annoyance as we all turned for the door.

"Oh and, young one," called Glaitis at my back, making me freeze. "Do not for a second believe that you are off the proverbial hook. You will face your consequences one way or another, and you will keep that in mind, understood?"

I swallowed noisily, "y-yes mamzel."

"Oh, and young one, stop interrupting me mid-sentence. You are not doing yourself any favours."

"Y-yes, mamzel."

"Good, now leave before I make you leave."

I did as ordered and quite hurriedly indeed.

"We are here," growled a voice knocking me from my reverie. Darrance glared over the driver's seat at me as the car was coming to a stop. The senior assassin's face was foul.

I grinned. "Yes, thank you, good driver," I said in my best-up hive accent. "We must really be getting to the party. Chant us, dear?"

It was Elandria's turn to glare at me. "What are you doing?"

"Why getting into character, my dear."

"Well, if you call me 'dear' again, you will find yourself sorely lacking a head."

I grinned even wider. "Well, good luck with that endeavour, my dear. Since you lack the proper appliances to pull through with said threat."

Elandria started in remembrance. Both of us were unarmed so that we could go through the bar's detectors. Then she smiled. "I have not tried it with my bare hands yet, 'dear.' But then there is always a first time for everything. Isn't there?"

"Shut up, you two and get moving!" snarled Darrance. "I have yet to get into position, and I will not have this mission ruined by your unresolved sexual tension!"

I flinched in embarrassment and moved quickly. I opened the door of the old limousine, swiftly got out, walked around, and, like a gentleman of old, opened the door for my 'date.' All the while, I fought the urge to cover my eyes from the blaring lights.

Elandria clumsily climbed out. She was still unused to wearing Stilettos, and I frowned as I wondered if it was wise to send her instead of Castella. I offered her my hand, which she reluctantly took.

Gently pulling her out, I placed my arm over her shoulders, pulling her close and steadying her walk as we moved down the street. Almost immediately, the old Hesuitor violently drove off, leaving a cloud of exhaust in its wake.

"W-What are you doing?" she said, though only slightly struggling.

"Making sure that you don't fall on your face, my dear," I answered and then cried out theatrically and so loud that many a passing pedestrian looked my way in bemusement: "Oh Emperor forbid! That my lovely date would slip and break her nose on our very first engagement, I would never hear the end of it from Father! Oh, Emperor forbid!"

"Lovely?" she said wide-eyed, and we started to approach the bar.



When I saw the long line of potential patrons waiting for entrance into the Twilight bar, I barely stifled a curse. I hated waiting in lines; it was my anathema. Well, one on a long list with many more.

I sighed. Then Elandria, my arm still over her shoulders, glared at me.

"What's wrong now?" she growled.

"Nothing, nothing," I said lightly. "I am just so entranced by your-."

"Shut it!" she snarled. "Your 'character' is even more annoying than you are."

I smiled patiently. Elandria's constant grumpiness was beginning to get on my nerves. "May I ask you a question, my dear?"

"No," she pouted, "but I know you will, anyway."

I grinned. "Now that you have said that, I will. Have you ever done undercover operations like this? You have always sat out our earlier missions as reserved reinforcement."

"No."

I frowned. It was evident from the start that Elandria's skill set seemed more militaristic than that of the other assassins of our organisation. Seemingly, the cult that trained her neglected to teach the complexities of civilian infiltration in favour of the battlefield and stealth specialisation. Hence, she could barely place one foot in front of the other while wearing high heels or act like a high-class hive citizen for more than three seconds.

I sighed. "I guess that answers a few questions, yes. But could you, at least try, to be in character when we line up?"

"But I thought we were to make them suspect us as being undercover?"

My jaw set. Why was she so insistent on antagonising me so? Actually, I suspected she wasn't doing it on purpose at all.

"That is true, but it does not mean we can't be professional. We are gambling on them, knowing our faces, and even if they don't, the fight we start will hopefully suffice for the distraction, even without the extra attention. Perhaps acting convincingly may cement any suspicion of our position in Taryst's private investigatory force."

"Whatever," was her reply, causing my anger to rise. But before I could reply, we arrived at the end of the line. It was depressingly long. I did a quick headcount of the crowd of young, ostentatiously dressed, pretty people and found that approximately sixty locals in total waited for the huge hammer acting as the bouncer to let them in.

Inside the bar, the music blared, and the boom of the bass line tingled my teeth.

Despite being called a 'bar,' the Twilight Bar resembled a club first and foremost. Prior booking was a must to gain access, and thanks to Hayden Tresch's hacking expertise, we were on the list—under aliases, of course.

That made me wonder how long mamzel Glaitis had actually known about this club and its connection to Brutis Bones? Just judging by how long this line is alone, a booking needed to be made at least a week before guaranteeing entrance.

Perhaps Tresch had not hacked into the system at all? Perhaps they had made the booking legitimately? But if that was the case, why act now?

I could hazard a myriad amount of guesses. But the most obvious was, once again, that Glaitis was testing me, and whether it was a test of my abilities or if I betrayed her was another question entirely.

Or perhaps I just needed to get it through my thick head that the universe didn't revolve around me and my idiocy.

"Attelus Kaltos, stop it," Elandria's voice abruptly ended my revere. "Stop leaning on me."

With a start, I let off my weight, feeling my face flush in embarrassment. "S-sorry about that."

"Lost in your little world once more were we, dear?" she said with a contemptuous sneer that seemed to exclaim my idiocy and hypocrisy at once.

The corner of my mouth twitched. I needed to learn to keep myself from being lost in my thoughts. I shrugged.

"Oh, I do apologise, my dear. Oh, how my idiocy knows no bounds. Please forgive me! Please do!"

Elandria gritted her teeth and then turned away. I grinned, which made her shut up, and I took another comprehensive look across the crowd again.

I flinched midway through as I saw two young, gorgeous women eyeing me with enthusiastically flirtatious gazes through the crowd.

I felt my face turn bright red. Then, I tore my attention away toward the three surveillance cameras watching us from above. Castella had informed me of their positions during her in-depth briefing earlier, but I wanted to see for myself, just in case.

When I looked back, the two women looked at me luridly. I tried to avoid their eyes by looking down at my wrist, Chron. In all my research into Omnartus' culture, I could not recall reading about the local women being so obvious about their attraction despite the guy of interest having another woman already under his arm. Perhaps they had a sixth sense? Could they just tell by instinct that Elandria and I were not a real couple?

I looked sidelong at Elandria, who still had her attention away. My jaw set, or perhaps she was just making it so frigging obvious it wasn't funny.

I sighed and reached into my pocket for my lhos. It had been a while since my last smoke, and the cravings were getting to me.

I lit the Lho clenched in my teeth, using the activity to try averting my attention from the two women, who were still looking even now. The line then finally made a step forward, and I began to tap the tip of my shoe on the rockcrete sidewalk.

I am not a partyer; I am an assassin who kills people for a living. And being the dangerous job it is, and I would quite like to live past my twenties, I spend every waking hour training, making sure I have the necessary skills to live to see the next day.

The line was speeding up. Already, we had made another step. I glanced over my shoulder and, to no surprise, saw that five more had lined up behind us, and as I did this, I accidentally caught the eyes of another young woman.

I flinched, turned and sighed, hunching animatedly, and then Elandria looked at me.

"You're strange," she said.

I looked at her sidelong, exhaled smoke and slipped my ceramic Lho casing back into my pocket. I was used to Elandria's extreme lack of subtlety, but it took a long time to acclimate.

"Yeah, well. Tell me something I don't know."

"There are many things I do not understand, like how, after so long training in martial arts and weaponry, your posture could still be so terrible."

I immediately straightened. Elandria had a point. If I were to act as an upper-class hive citizen, I had to stand like an upper-class hive citizen who was stereotypically straight-backed and refined. Both traits I sorely lacked. Perhaps that was the real reason those two young women were looking at me so intently; they must have found my bad posture entertaining, so I inwardly cursed. That had to be it; no other reason could explain it.

"There, is that better?" I growled.

"Now you are just overdoing it."

I sighed and went back to being hunched again.

 

[Adrassil]

According to my wrist chron, the wait in the line lasted only fifteen minutes, but it felt like a whole frigging hour for me. Did I say I hated waiting in lines? I did? Good, so now it's doubly emphasised.

When we stood between slight steps, I tapped the tip of my shoe on the rockcrete and the whole way, I smoked Lho as my attention darted around like quicksilver. About halfway through the line, Elandria hissed at me, "Really, could you stand still for more than three seconds?"

I blew out smoke and replied simplistically, "No."

She kept quiet afterwards; perhaps Elandria was smarter than I gave her credit for. Perhaps she was aware it was an intended ironic echo of her catchphrase, and then I made a mental note that I should make use of her 'whatever' more often.

Once we had finally reached the end of the line, I whispered in Elandria's ear, "Let me do the talking."

"Whatever," she hissed back. "Just be careful not to knock out the Moody Hammer with one of your nervous twitches."

I pursed my lips; that wasn't a bad idea. I had yet to devise a decent plan for starting this brawl. Looking over the line alone, I decided this task would be easier said than done; sure, I could easily pick a fight with one patron, but initialising the needed chaos would be challenging. The majority of the patrons were upper-class dandies who I doubted had ever taken part in a full-on bar brawl in their pampered lives. If it was a lower hive bar, well enough said, really.

We approached the colossal Hammer standing at the door. Despite his low-browed, vat-grown, square-jawed appearance, many of his kind had his hooded, beady eyes gleaned a slight modicum of intelligence. He wore a suit dissimilar to mine, and he held a data slate in his vast, meaty paw. I quickly noted the large, black tattoo on his neck, which showed he belonged to the "Greasers", a local gang who was one of the first our intelligence had reported being reeled into Brutis Bone's little alliance. The holstered laspistol was barely hidden under his blazer, the microbead in his ear and not just that, but two more huge hammers stood inside the club's shadowy entrance.

The Hammer smiled a surprisingly welcoming, toothy smile and gave us both friendly nods. "Sir, Mamzel, may I ask that you state your names, please."

"Indeed," I said. I may have put on a hammy performance earlier for Elandria's sake, but as Glaitis taught me, the true art in undercover acting is subtlety. To not get carried away and not let stereotypes rule your mindset, but that is, of course, unless the role calls for it, "I am Autius Davian-Meggs, and this lovely young woman is Riculia Harviad."

As I said this, the Hammer scrolled down his data slate. "...Sir Autius Davian-Meggs and mamzel Riculia Harviad, you are indeed on the list. Welcome to the Twilight bar, and may you enjoy your time here."

"Thank you, and we will," I smirked slightly as Elandria and I entered the club. I was not surprised at the doorman's professionalism and politeness; it would be a given for a club this high up and well known, but the colleagues in the entranceway did not share the doorman's friendliness. I could feel them glare at us, suspicious and unyielding, with bulky arms folded in an 'intimidating' fashion.

I pretended to ignore them, assuming they wouldn't treat their regular customers in such a fashion, or else their 'bar' would have closed down a long time ago. The evidence so far pointed to this being increasingly a Brutis Bones operation.

This could also prove that our rival organisation knows our faces at least.

I glanced over my shoulder at the doorman and saw him talking intently, his index finger against the microbead in his ear.



We followed through the three-metre-wide corridor; the hologram planning had proven right; the hallway curled subtly to the northwest. The steel walls dulled down into a dark crimson, metallic sheen, and the walls trembled in time with the bass line. The way the building is a little advanced is that the main entrance's corridor splits the club in half, starting from the southeast and ending in the northern corner. According to the information gathered, the west side of the building was the private area for the VIPs and the east general club and bar.

"So? Do you have any kind of plan yet?" Elandria hissed right in my ear, her soft voice causing me to start slightly from my thoughts.

"Some semblance..." I said, twisting my pinkie finger in my ear.

"Which means nothing?"

"No, it means what it means: 'some semblance,' I'll think of something, I'm...Adaptable."

"Adaptable? Is that what you are calling it now?"

Before I could reply, my pocket vibrated, and swiftly, I reached in and slid the small listening device into my ear.

"We're in," I said, though I knew that they would already know.

"Good work," Castella's voice came from the tiny speaker. "Where are you now?"

"Still in the corridor, not yet through the second security station, the one with the metal detectors," I said. "I find this place very interesting. This is very...Pretentious, I can almost smell the pretentiousness in the air."

I heard Castella giggle on the other side. "What do you expect when it's called the Twilight Bar?"

"Well, I expected that the main corridor would be darker and be more of a reference to its namesake; perhaps the building itself hates what it's called so much, so somehow, through sheer force of will, rejected it."

Again, Castella laughed. "Alright, alright, you know the drill; you have four of these devices. Make sure you drop one in this corridor and another at the second station on your way to the other two. Keep with you and Elandria so we can communicate with you inside."

"Yes, we know, we know. Didn't you just say that I knew the drill yourself?"

"I did, but as you know, one can never be too careful, you know, just in case. Good luck, and may the god-Emperor's virtue be with you."

Then she cut the link.

I immediately halted, slipped off of Elandria, and pulled one of the listening devices out from my pocket. I removed the back adhesive and stuck it against the wall. The advanced little piece of tech immediately camouflaged itself in the wall's colour and texture, all but invisible to the naked eye.

"One down and just one to go," I said, standing back to full height and offering my arm back to Elandria. "May we move, my dear?"

Elandria begrudgingly took it and growled, "If you call me 'my dear' one more time-"

I sighed. "Yes, I know, I know I will be sorely lacking my head, I know."

We walked through the detectors without consequence; the listening devices were made from a rare and expensive Plasteek that was all but invisible to most scanners.

The two huge hammers posted at the checkpoint were just as affable as their colleague at the door. With the combination of my quick hands and Elandria's aid, I successfully placed the listening device at the checkpoint. When we entered the club itself, where dozens upon dozens of dancers jumped and leapt to the music, a massive orgy of activity that seemed to move like white caps on the sea, rising and falling, rising and falling, it was almost entirely dark. The only light source lasers beaming down onto the countless cavorters, projecting patterns, and numerous different patterns changing from flowers to even the Imperial Aquila. It was quite an amazing sight to behold.

Quickly I changed my tact, glancing over the crowd, my brow hooded in concentration and noticing three more gangers straddled through the people, each eyeing Elandria and me with distinct suspicion. I barely held back a sigh. I knew they were low-hive gangers; I knew that they were muscle, but they wouldn't know subtlety if hit over the head with 'A Guide to Infiltration and Espionage.' However, it is an utterly terrible and pretentious book that the author (whose name I cannot recall) he blatantly did not research, it would help these idiots' skills in that field by leaps and bounds. That wasn't saying much, of course.

Then it hit me, it frigging hit me, and the realisation caused me to sigh and place my face into the palm of my hand; if these gangers were this pathetic and it had taken this long for Taryst's 'elite' to find this place.

I didn't want to begin to think about it; it was depressing, just damned depressing.

But, actually, perhaps that was it. This 'bar's' security was so stupid and sloppy that it wouldn't stick out from the rest of its ilk, or was I just over-analysing it?

I didn't know, and I didn't care anymore.

"What the hell is wrong with you now?" demanded Elandria. Her raised voice was barely heard over the music, but I could listen to her well, her words enhanced by the bud in her ear.

"I hate my job," I groaned, my voice muffled into my hand.

"What?"

I dropped my arm back to my side and said instead. "These guys are complete idiots."

Elandria smirked. "Please, do tell me something I don't know," she said. I see three Hammers in the crowd, two armed with laspistols and one with a high-calibre auto pistol, all in torso holsters, right?"

"Hmmm, interesting," I said.

"What?"

I gestured with a lazy hand, a slight indistinct movement aimed toward the Hammer with the autopistol.

"See? His pupils are dilated, and even in this terrible light, it is obvious his skin is a shade lighter than his norm, that Hammer is scared, very scared."

"Scared of what?" asked Elandria, then a big, evil grin spread across her symmetrical face. "Scared of us?"

I shrugged. "Hmm, perhaps that seems logical. He may be a survivor, a survivor of one of our many skirmishes against Brutis Bones' organisation over the past months; he may even be the one whom they had learnt our identities from."

Elandria grimaced in utter disgust. "A survivor! We were thorough! We let none escape!"

"See! It is that exact attitude that would have allowed for his escape in the first place, but we can turn this toward our favour, though it also looks like we will have to reevaluate our plans."

"Why?"

"Because we will both die if we don't. If we make one wrong step, even try slightly to start a fight, he will shoot us; he's as twitchy as a frigging Obscura addict on withdrawal."

"Even shoot through a crowd of civilians?" she smirked.

I sniffed and glared at her sidelong. I knew she was ruthless, but I was hoping that there would be some line for Elandria.

"Perhaps, but that is one risk I am unable to take; at first, this was to be innocent fisticuffs against other club-goers, but if we are to do anything, we will have to take care of that Hammer first."

"Kill him?"

I grimaced. "If it comes to that but-"

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and a cold shiver slid down my spine. The air temperature dropped dramatically, and the once enthusiastic crowd halted its partying as everyone shook in instinctive terror.

I had felt this before, and I knew what it was.

Elandria turned to me, her eyes white with animalistic fear. "Psyker!"

My earpiece suddenly came to life, and Castella's uncharacteristically urgent voice erupted over the mic.

"Attelus! Attelus! Cough if you copy, damn it!"

I quickly complied.

"Good! We have two new additions to the line outside, and-and the people they are just-just parting, letting them through, I!-I can't make out their faces but-but-!"

The line began to fizzle and crackle, warping Castella's words into indecipherable syllables, then entirely descended to static.

I felt my heart beating a thousand miles a minute and the fear! Oh, the fear! The adrenaline was pumping! But still, I shivered in the unnatural cold, and then I noticed Elandria, who looked at me in utter terror, whose lower lip shook, and her body wavered.

"Why-why, are you smiling?" she stammered.

"I'm smiling?" I asked, genuinely bemused. "Well, I guess I would now that everything is going according to plan, to my plan anyway."

I don't know if you thought I had forgotten about Taryst's little psyker cadre or if you had forgotten, but this, this I had seen coming, yes.



I knew I had to act; perhaps that time was short, so I moved. Dodging and weaving through the frozen club-goers within milliseconds, I reached the Hammer with the auto pistol; the ganger was never able to react to my advance as his glazed eyes stared dumbly to the ceiling, his mouth gaping open in severe shock.

I smashed my elbow straight into his solar plexus, which impacted in a sickening "crunch!" and the Hammer let out a feeble gasp for air, his torso bending in under the force. I gritted my teeth and followed on, punching him in the kidney, then the ribs; finished him by sliding to his flank and delivering a brutal, low side kick, snapping his knee inward and causing the Hammer to let out a strangled howl of utter agony. I now had his Auto pistol in hand (which unsurprisingly already had the safety off), and I fired one round into the ceiling, yelling out at the top of my lungs, "Down, everybody, down!"

Luckily, the crowd was not so frozen in fear that they could not acquiesce to my request, and with frightened yelps, they did as told, all except the two remaining bouncer Hammers, who were only now numbly reaching for their weapons.

I shot them both, one through the head and the other in his chest, the shots accompanied by even more screams of terror.

"Damn it, what the hell are you doing?" demanded Elandria as she retrieved one of the corpses' Las pistols and raised it to cover the entranceway.

"Improvising," I replied.

"Didn't-didn't you just say that 'everything is going according to plan'?"

"All according to one plan, yes."

"Then it isn't improvising, then is it?"

"Whatever," I sighed. I found the unconscious Hammer's three backup ammo clips and slipped them into my pockets.

"So what is it that you improvise now, oh you magnificent bastard you?"

I looked over my shoulder at her, shocked. Was that an actual joke? A backhanded compliment, perhaps? Or something else entirely?

"Cover the door for me, would you? I have unfinished business to attend to."

"Then what the hell will I do when that Psyker gets here then?"

"Pray too, that Emperor of yours!" that was my reply as I turned into the corridor leading to the VIP area, my confiscated autopistol raised and ready as I advanced.

I had not forgotten about Taryst's psykers. I had an idea in the back of my head that this little independent operation of Glaitis would have been tracked, but that also begs yet another question: why would Glaitis have played this move?

She must have known of Taryst's psychic allies and was aware that without taking the proper precautions, we would have been found out. I could hazard a myriad of guesses as to why, but now was not the time to do so.

As the corridor began to curve southward, I heard it; sudden and deafening gunfire reverberated within the passage. I gritted my teeth, risking a look and what I saw made my eyes widen in fear.

One Hammer had lost his mind; he fired his stub automatic limply and indiscriminately into the crowd of terrified, screaming VIPs, two of whom already lay dead.

The man was grinning mindlessly, foaming from the mouth, and his body moved loosely like a marionette. This was definitely a psyker's work, and this would have been nightmare fuel unleaded if I had not seen it many times before. Without breaking stride, I shot him; I shot him straight through the face; the back of what was once a Human's skull exploded out into a cone of gore, the thick, red matter coating anyone near, and the body dropped like a sack of spuds.

I left the corridor and out into a cacophony of cries as the VIPs all saw the small, skinny bastard who held a smoking autopistol walking right through their midst.

Are you really scared of me? Didn't I save all your hides? I thought Glaitis had once said that being a hero was overrated, and once again, she proved to be right, and I kicked the corpse as I walked through. "Shame about the face," I muttered.

I came to the door, which led to the 'restricted' area and studied the lock. It was one of your typical password-encoded things, and to the consequential cry of many an onlooker, I raised my pistol, turned away, covered my face with a forearm and blew out the lock with one deafening pull of the trigger.

I kicked the door open and was forced to throw myself back into cover mere milliseconds before the torrent of Las fire cut through the air. I had managed a glimpse of the lone Hammer, the lone Hammer with crazed eyes, who stood six metres down the corridor, who still kept spraying on full auto despite my absence, and whose insane screams of fear I could hear well over the rounds. He had no cover, nothing.

I only had to wait several seconds for the fire to stop and hear the familiar hiss of emptied Las weaponry, and then I stepped out.

"You idiot!" I roared and put two rounds through his torso. Of course, the psychic presence could explain his idiocy and the other's fear. I could see my breath steaming and the ice on the walls; I grinned. Thank you, Taryst. You are making this way too easy.

I kicked open the door at the end of the corridor and entered into what I remembered from the schematics a larger room and found it was a recreation room, which was already held and makeshift fortified by three more of Brutis' Bones mooks. I was almost caught unawares, unprepared for an organised defence, and immediately forced back into hiding as they opened fire. I had accounted for the psyker's presence to be more lasting, and at times like this, I would kill for a grenade or manstopper rounds; they would easily blow fist-size holes through the table which they had turned over. It looked like it wasn't going to be so easy after all.

I briefly leaned out and fired off my last three rounds, forcing the Hammers to duck behind their table. Ejecting the empty clip, slamming a fresh one home without hesitation, I leaned back out. Even now, I am not sure if it was skill or luck that the cause of me managed to scalp one of the Hammers as he rose from hiding, but either way, it shocked his comrades into submission long enough to allow me to sprint the distance and shoot them both through their faces at point-blank range.

I vaulted over the table and retrieved a laspistol from one of the corpses; after checking that the charge gauge was full, I moved on now with a big grin.



The shots reverberated in the confined corridors as I fired two point-blank rounds into the Hammer's chest, and my front kick followed on, colliding into the limp corpse and propelling the dead Hammer into the next of his colleagues in line. Both bodies fell to the floor in a mass of writhing limbs and screams. While lunging over the screaming Hammer and the corpse pinning him, I shot the next ganger as he was bringing his stubbrevolver to bear. Still, the fourth ganger in line was thinner and more nimble than the others as he slid past his collapsing ally and lunged into a hook punch intended on smashing in my head. In an inner-outer block that pushed the attack off course, I blocked the fist with a forearm, augmented his momentum, and caused his punch to connect straight into the rockcrete wall instead. His hand broke with a sickening crack, and the Hammer bellowed out in utter agony, a bellow which became abruptly cut short as I pistol-whipped him in the base of the skull, causing his forehead to follow after his fist in cracking against the hard surface.

He also wasn't much taller than I was, so hence an effective human shield, and just in time, I hooked my arm around the man's neck and turned the limp form to face the next aggressor as he opened fire. The human shield took three rounds from the Hammer's autopistol (I could only thank the Emperor that none of them wielded shotguns). Jarring the corpse with each and almost caused me to let go before I managed to shoot the hapless team killer over the shoulder of his murdered workmate.

The next Hammer, an older and horrifically scarred monster, attempted to follow my example as he roughly shoved his traitorous ally's corpse toward me to mask his advance. Still, I slid out of the way, pushing my back against the wall, and the two dead men collided with each other, falling to the floor in a heap. The large ganger was then on me and threw a deceptively fast hook that I barely managed to back peddle out of the way from. He was actually pretty good, much to my surprise, and my attempt at bringing my pistols to bear was interrupted by his follow-on, a right jab that I swayed under and then an uppercut I narrowly sidestepped. The next attack was a lunging back fist that sent me back-peddling even further and almost made me trip over the corpses that I had left in my wake.

The Hammer stopped his assault and glared at me balefully, one of his eyes milky white, the other a piercingly bright blue.

"Put those pistols away," he grunted as he cracked his knuckles. "I see you are a worthy opponent, so let us truly see who is the better fighter."

I sighed and complied, dropping my pistols to the floor with a clatter.

"Hmm, right," I said. "But first, just one question: are you, by chance, Brutis Bones?"

"No, I am-"

Before he could continue any further, I knelt, picked the pistols back up and shot him five times; the first exploded out his guts; the second blew a ragged hole in his chest. The third burst open his right bicep, the fourth hit him in the thigh, causing him to spin around so his back was facing me, and the last ripped out the base of his spine, and he fell straight to the floor, flat on his face. I knew it was overkill, but these 'Honour Before Reason' idiots were usually tough bastards, and that was the only way I could make sure he wasn't ever getting back up. Taryst wanted Brutis Bones alive, so I would have made an effort if it was him.

I sighed again and wondered how the hell such an idiot could have lived as a ganger. I casually lowered my laspistol and put a neat black hole through the forehead of the Hammer, who was still struggling to escape from under his dead ally.

I felt dirty. Sure, I could have eventually beaten the idiot if I had done the honourable thing and fought fair, but that would have wasted time, and time was one thing not on my side.

As I moved through that maze of cramped, brightly lit corridors, the closer I came to the area I guessed was Brutis Bones' quarters. More and more, a feeling of unease grew in the pit of my gut that almost the very air disturbed my very being, and with that feeling, it became more and more evident the lack of any psychic activity around me. Only one thing off the top of my head could explain this phenomenon: the presence of a blank. A person whose very existence nullifies the activities of the warp around them, dissipating all psychic abilities at a certain radius. It would explain Taryst's apparent need for an army to track down this enemy, even with the cadre of psykers at his beck and call. But there had to be more to it than that, even with the blank here making this place all but invisible; why hadn't Taryst just captured a lowly Hammer and had one of the psykers delve into their mind? Was Taryst so paranoid at having the activities of his psykers found by the local authorities so frigging overwhelming?

That also begs the question, how the hell could Taryst know my thoughts so well that he could tell my doubts about my job? Perhaps the answer lies in the "blocks" placed in my and all my fellow mercenaries' minds; perhaps they allow the psykers to read our thoughts without giving any hint? Was that even possible? I didn't know. But if it was true, it only confirms that Taryst didn't want anyone outside his organisation knowing of this hunt and the complicated precautions he was prepared to take to keep it that way.

Then 'paranoia' was a frigging understatement.

But this 'answer' was just fuel for many more questions: why did Glaitis allow her apprentice to be implanted with these things? Why would Glaitis have both Elandria and I along to this operation if Taryst could have his psykers read our minds? And I will not say that it was "because she didn't know" idiocy; she knows, she knows everything. I can say that with an amount of conviction that I hadn't felt in ages. Perhaps she wanted to have Taryst reveal his organisation by forcing his hand? But then why would she want Taryst to show himself in the first place? Could Garrakson know more than he lets on as well? He was our leader and longtime senior in Taryst's company?

But most importantly, what was the cause behind all this paranoia and why the hell was so much effort going into tracking down this low-life gang leader?

The answer to that I could hazard a myriad amount of guesses upon.

I reached the end of yet another corridor; stopping at the edge, I pushed my back against the wall and glanced around the corner.

Two Hammers stood guard at the doorway situated halfway down the next hall; both were bulky men, both held autoguns, and both glanced about with nervous expressions.

Without hesitation, I stepped out and vacated the nearest ganger's brains out the side of his skull with one autopistol round. The other turned to me in almost admiral discipline, attempting to bring up his autogun to fire.

He managed it halfway before my las shots killed him; one blew through his ribs, and the other blew out his neck.

I ran on, unloading and reloading my smoking pistols on the move, then pushed my back against the wall next to the already open entrance. I could not help but think that perhaps this was a little too easy, and you also may be wondering why I am doing this. Why, it is simple, and it is not what you may think if I bring in Brutis Bones, finally, Glaitis will see me worthy and promote me to full assassin-hood. Well, that would be a bonus, but no. I am and have never been a particularly ambitious person. I have no dreams of ascending Glaitis and taking her blood-soaked throne (the metaphorical one, of course, but at times, I have wondered). No, I just wanted to have this frigging job done, finished so we can move on to something else. I hated this crap and was frankly sick of it; that is why I am throwing myself blind into the Wolves Den, killing anything and everything in my way like a Hitman on heat. The poor Hammers who stood in my way were just the instruments for me to take my anger and aggression out on, almost like Vex was.

I physically winced at the thought and felt the guilt I had suppressed over the earlier hours boil back to the surface. I swallowed hard and forced it back down. I still had plenty more frustration to go around,

Now, with that finally explained, I took in a huge breath and slipped through the doorway. My pistols raised and covered the interior. The room I emerged into was large, at least eight metres in length and fifteen in width, a brightly lit rockcrete cave. Barren to an extreme, and there were twelve thick, square pillars, six along the diameters of the room. It was empty except for the one figure who stood in sight, right at the epi-centre. He had his back facing me, but I could see the heavy carapace armour he wore.

"Brutis Bones, I presume?" I said, covering him with my guns.

No answer; the man just stood deathly still and stayed silent.

"Hmm, right. I'm not going to bother to say for you to surrender. This place looks like it's been built specifically for a firefight, isn't a coincidence, is it?"

Again, he replied with silence.

Something inside me snapped. "Don't you give me the frigging silent treatment, you bastard! Do you have any idea the crap I have been through to find you!"

"I can't believe that so many of my guards were killed single-handedly by a kid," the man said abruptly. "A foolish kid playing at games far too large and complicated for him to even begin to comprehend."

I wasn't sure how to reply; what he had said hit quite close to home.

"And nope, sorry kid, I am not your Brutis Bones; he is in another castle, you could say."

I gritted my teeth, widened my eyes and tightened my hands on the grips of my pistols.

"How the hell do I know that you actually are him and not just lying?" I asked, struggling to keep my voice neutral; if this wasn't Brutis Bones, then Glaitis' intel must have been misled; no, I sincerely doubted that. If this were Brutis Bones, she would know, and if this man who talked to me now isn't him, then it would just reinforce that this is one of her feints used to force Taryst to show his hand.

The man shrugged. "You can choose to believe or not to believe, kid. Either way, it's the truth. Now, I may not be him, but that doesn't make me want to live any less."

Then he spun, as quick as lightning, and he held a stubb revolver raised and firing.

All I could do was lunge, diving behind the nearest pillar just in time. But I was not fast enough to dodge the one round which skimmed my left shoulder, the sharp pain erupted up my arm, and I yelped out as I hit the floor.

Getting into a crouch, I pushed my back against my pillar, cursing savagely. I had his back wholly covered, and yet the bastard still got the drop on me!

A few more shots rang through the vast room; then there was silence, the only sound the ringing clatter of empty shell casings falling to the floor.

"You really are him, aren't you?" I said.

"Maybe, maybe not," the man replied.

My reply was me suddenly leaning out slightly and wailing off four shots in his general direction.

"Well, either way, you're fighting me now, and either way, you are going to pay the consequences!" I said as I lunged out into the open, my guns blazing.

I ran, sprinting sideways and fired my pistols at my opponent, who ran with me. The bellowing, rudimentary, consistent and combined sounds of our weapons discharging over and over echoed throughout the interior with a horrible, deafening cacophony. They tore into the decor, which wrought in a new and far more interesting scenery of bullet holes in the rockcrete walls and pillars.

Making it to the next pillar and leaving the clatter of spent shell cases in my wake, I pushed myself up against my cover. I lent outlet off a few shots with my Laspistol, then I spun to the other side of the rockcrete cover and neatly caught my enemy off guard as he attempted the same manoeuvre. The man barely made it behind his colonnade as I opened fire. Then, without hesitation, I moved, running toward the other side in an attempt to bridge the gap while I wailed away with my pistols to keep the bastard pinned to prevent his reconciliation.

Without hindrance, I found the other side of the same colonnade that my opponent cowered behind, pushed myself against the pillar, then slid out, pistols raised and found the man had gone.

I snarled out a curse, turning just in time to catch him as he came around the other side of the pillar and desperately knocked his raised stubb revolver's aim off course. The round once meant to cave in my skull shot off, its fate only to create yet another smoking crater in the wall, and I followed on, kicking out viscously at the man's groin. The man sidestepped the attack with almost contemptuous ease and attempted to bring his gun to bear on me again. My inner-outer block smashed the shot aside, after which I opened up with my autopistol.

Despite the shot being point-blank, the man still managed almost to dive out of the way; instead of exploding his ribcage, the round impacted against his shoulder guard. Its kinetic force caused him to turn in mid-lunge, and he hit the floor clumsily, I could clearly hear him gasp out his lungs ejected air with the impact.

I didn't hesitate, shooting once! Twice! Both hit him as he rolled across the floor, but that was all I could muster before he made it behind the next pillar, and my pistols clicked empty.

Sliding around the first colonnade, I knelt and began reloading; I had six clips left, four for my autopistol and two for my las. Along the way of my massacre, I had pilfered them off the corpses of my many victims, and I could also hear my opponent following suit along with his pained gasps and grunts as he performed the task.

"You know," I said as I slammed home a fresh clip into my autopistol. "You would be dead if you weren't wearing that carapace."

"I know," he replied, and I could not help but be surprised by the sadness in his words. "You're good, kid. I'll give you that."

"I know," I echoed back.

"Perhaps even good enough to kill me," he went on, "and that I actually wouldn't mind; I have lived a long life, kid, killed a lot of people I really wouldn't mind. Going out with one final blaze of glory."

I grinned. "Well, if you're so keen to die, why don't you just step out and make this easy for me?"

The man sighed. "You and I know I can't do that; your boss, Taryst, wants me alive, doesn't he? There is more at stake here than one old man and his lowly life; my mission demands that I live amongst the populace of Omnartus to complete it, so I can't give up; I can't let you kill me or anyone else."

It was my turn to sigh, "And what the hell is it that is exactly at stake?"

"More than you could imagine."

Something in those words made sudden indescribable fear crawl up my spine, fear even more potent than the presence of the blank, fear even more potent than the psychic activity of earlier.

"W-what do you mean? Who the hell are you?" I managed.

"I'm nobody, no one. But I know who you are; you are what I said you were earlier, nothing but a kid, a kid caught up in games far too complex and adult for him. Just some poor, innocent kid who's been thrown into this mess and for what I am about to do, I am truly sorry."

I gritted my teeth; somehow, the fear was even more potent than before. My heart shuddered in my chest, and my hands began to shake uncontrollably.

"Sorry? W-what the hell are you sorry for?" I demanded.

"For this."

I heard a beep, the brief, pure sound of a button press. It was small and nondescript, but somehow, it held more weight than any of his words.

I flinched in fright as I heard a nearby small section of the wall slide open, revealing the darkened room beyond. What stepped out from its depths made my heart turn to ice.

"I am truly, truly sorry."

It stood at three metres tall, its enormous bulky body utterly corded with a musculature not at all possible for a normal human being. It was naked except for a torn old loincloth; its pink, swollen skin was covered all over with countless hideous scars; both its hands had been severed at the wrists surgically replaced with two huge, razor-sharp axes, and its teeth filed into ugly incisors.

The Arco Flagellant didn't make a sound, no roar from its smiling maw, as one would expect from such a monster, and that somehow made it even more terrifying. Silently and with grace belying its bulk, it turned its attention to me and lunged for the kill.

Despite my utter terror, I still managed to dive out of the way of the Arco Flagellant's charge. I landed and neatly rolled into a crouch and turned in time to see it practically eviscerate a frigging three-metre-thick solid rockcrete pillar with just one swipe of its huge axe. It then shoulder barged straight through, carrying on as though it was nothing. The wanton destruction showered the surroundings with chunks of rockcrete and an explosively ejected cloud of dust.

This was one enemy I couldn't defeat; this thing was so far out of my league that even if I were fully equipped with armour, everything, I would be nothing but a speck to it. Even less of a nothing than that damned pilaster it had just destroyed with nought but its forward momentum and its shoulder.

I crawled to my feet, a clumsy and hard action as my sweat-slicked hands almost slid out from under me twice. The task of getting up must have taken me no more than a few seconds but felt like a lifetime; any second, I expected the thing to bear down on me to deliver the killing blow, but it never came. Once up, I turned and ran. I ran like the coward I am.

My heartbeat was so fast my chest hurt, and my whole body shook so hard I was in utter agony. I sprinted as quickly as my aching legs could go, but still, I never felt it was nearly enough.

I made it out the door and turned right, the way I had come and barely a millisecond after the Arco Flagellant crashed the entranceway.

I never looked back; I didn't dare. I just ran and ran as my arms flailed about like curtains in the wind; my breaths came out as agonising rasps. Every step I made felt like a million more, and I never looked back, but I could feel its presence behind me, tailing me, descending on me like a predator about to pounce upon its prey. With every step I took, I expected to feel its axe cut through me.

Those corridors seemed to go on forever; these were the corridors which mere minutes ago I had slaughtered my way through, and I now ran for my life through them. Terrifyingly I almost tripped over many of the dead gangers I had killed. Yet, even in my fear-fueled state, I was able to see the irony that falling over one of them meant falling to my demise.

When I finally made it out of that maze, my body almost ejected itself out the door, out into the club beyond, and the relief that washed over me in reaching it here was completely and utterly unjustified.

But despite myself, I slid to a stop and turned to look back and found the monster wasn't there, that somehow, someway, I had lost that inhuman thing in the maze, as the corridor behind me was completely and utterly devoid of life.

Perhaps it wasn't as manoeuvrable as I was through those sharp turns, so it had lost its way? And I was too busy mindless in my flight ever to notice?

I glanced around and, to my complete horror, found that the partygoers hadn't moved an inch since my earlier exit; they all stood gaping and staring at me with terror-milked eyes.

Something deep down inside me said that the Arco Flagellant would never be lost. That it would hound me until I was dead, or it was, I knew soon, very soon, that it would come down that corridor and massacre anyone and anything in its path, these people included. I could leave them, run and run, leave them to be slaughtered, delaying it further so I could have a slighter semblance of a chance to escape.

And why not? They were nothing! The sons and daughters of haughty, arrogant, corrupt aristocrats and bureaucrats! Whatever the galaxy would never mourn them, they were nothing, just dozens of lives among trillions more.

But yet they were innocent, these people, these men and women, they had come here to dance to enjoy themselves. To forget their worries and find some slight joy in this Emperor-forsaken universe, millions of people die every day, whether killed by the numberless Xenos that ravage humanity on every front or those of our petty species, the insignificant members of humanity like myself. Perhaps I could conquer my cowardice and work for once to prevent even just a few of those millions of souls instead of being a contributor. If I died, and even if one of them survived, they would remember the small skinny bastard who gave his life to protect them, That my sacrifice would mean something to someone.

I was wrong; I was the nothing I had died inside almost a decade ago when war had ravaged my world, my country, my home. When war separated me from my mother and forced me into a world of ruthless scavenging, a life, toiling away for survival amongst the ruins among the rest of the beasts I-.

It was then that I noticed that despite everything, I had kept hold of my pistols.

I smiled, bowing my head, and felt the tears abruptly swell in my eyes and roll down my cheeks. This was the first time I had cried in a very long time, and boy, did it feel good. I thanked the Emperor that I had my answer, and seemingly almost on cue, I heard the repeating, quick-fire plodding sound of the Arco Flagellant's running at the end of the corridor.

I raised my pistols and cocked back the Hammer of my auto; perhaps this was the retribution for what I had done to Vex; perhaps this was my vindication for my selfish cowardice.

The smile never left my face even as the creature bared down upon me, and my shots hit ineffectually off of its thick hide.



A voice, womanly, low, soft, beautiful voice spoke in the impenetrable black. It was a familiar voice, one I felt I knew well but could not recall to whom it belonged. It came off somewhere distant, far, far out in the blackness.

Was this death? Was what the church of the Ecclesiarchy taught about death complete crap? Was death just this black void of nothingness?

I had never believed it. My mother was highly religious, but I never was; we were opposites. We were so similar in our personalities but different in our beliefs; we would clash countless times, verbal fights of stunning ferocity on both sides. Now I think back at it, it was a miracle that the Ministorum never found out about my Heretical words. That my mother loved me enough never to tell them.

I believed that the Emperor was never the god that people proclaimed him to be, but a great man whose wisdom and power were indeed God-like. But how could he ever have wanted this for us? All the suffering, all the death? The rampant poverty, the chaos, the mindless religious fanaticism in his name, the millions of planets dedicated to the hives of organised chaos and the meek, brainwashed bureaucrats who knew nothing but their small boxes and the Cogitators at their fingertips, our whole encompassing bureaucracy?

If this were indeed death, I wouldn't mind; I felt safe here, truly free, just floating in this black, in this nothingness, and that voice, that beautiful, beautiful, soft voice—oh, I could listen to that voice forever.

Slowly, though, the voice came closer, as if the person it belonged to silently walked toward me through the black.

I wasn't scared—never was I scared—and I could start making out the words that became more explicit as the voice came closer. What was it that it said? It sounded like a prayer of some kind. The prayer, like the voice, felt familiar, but I couldn't quite recall what it was.

Then it stopped, the voice gone, and my heart emptied at its absence. Was I supposed to spend the rest of eternity without its comforting words, without its company?

Wait, my heart? What?

"Attelus," whispered the voice in my ear. "Open your eyes."

Without hesitation, I did as told and found myself alive, lying in one of the many beds in Taryst's medicae facility and that the voice had belonged Castella. She sat at the end of my bed, her hands clasped in prayer against her forehead with her elbows on my duvet.

She was so beautiful, and to see her there filled me with such indescribable joy at being alive.

I tried to open my mouth to speak out to her through my dry, cracked lips, but all that I could manage was a pathetic rattle as though my body had forgotten how to talk.

She stopped praying and looked at me. Her eyes were red with tears, and it hurt me to see such beauty marred. But her smile, oh her smile, was a smile of indescribable happiness, one of great relief, a smile that showed the weight that had left her shoulders.

I tried to move my hand to beckon her closer, but my whole world became racked with pain at the effort, utter agony, which made me close my eyes and grunt out in response.

It took me until then to realise I was covered from head to toe in bandages and see the drip cord fed into my arm.

But she got the hint and leaned closer, nearing her ear toward my mouth so I could speak, and I said, "Stop praying; I'm trying to sleep."

Castella threw back her head and laughed aloud; it was a sweet sound, a beautiful sound from a kind person who seemed to utter nothing but sweet sounds.

She laughed so hard she had to wipe a tear from her eye, and she sat back down on her chair.

"It's good to see that you are still yourself, Attelus," she said.

I tried to smile, but even that hurt.

"You have been out for a long, long time, my friend," she carried on.

"How...Long?" I fought to say.

Her eyes widened into a pained expression that told me I really didn't want to know.

"I...See."

Her perfect face suddenly curled up, and tears ran down her cheeks. The change in emotion was so fast that I didn't know how to react.

"Th-thank you," she squeaked.

I couldn't manage to ask what she was thankful for, but she still answered.

"Thank you for proving to me that you still are a good person. Ever since I had first met you, I knew you weren't like the rest of us, that you weren't evil, that you still cared for more than just yourself. Thank you for proving to me you still are human," she sniffed heavily and wiped away her tears with her forearm, "after-after what you did to Vex I began to doubt you, I had begun to believe that you had devolved into the monster, but I see now that doubt was unfounded. You stood alone, Attelus, against an impossible enemy; you willingly put yourself on the line for the good of others, you-you."

She couldn't continue her sentence as she tore back up again.

"And-and thank you that now I know no matter what happens, no matter how hard it is, you will still be that good, kind, compassionate person inside. I just regret that we couldn't have got there in time to save you earlier, and for that, I am sorry, Attelus, I am truly, truly sorry."

Even if I had been able to speak then, I couldn't have; I was taken aback at her emotional outburst, never in all my career that I would have ever suspected that Castella cared for me so much, never.

She was always a friend, the only person I could talk to with humour and trust, who saw me as a person and not some know-nothing apprentice.

But then I realised something; I couldn't recall at all what had happened in that club after the Arco Flagellant had charged me; how the hell had I survived? What exactly had happened? Had any of the club-goers escaped?

Castella sniffed again, and as if reading my mind, she said, "You did it, Attelus. You held off that monster for long enough that those people could escape; you went one-on-one with an Arco Flagellant long enough that Elandria, Hayden, Darrance, and I could stop it before it could cause any more damage. If you had died, Attelus, your sacrifice would not have been in vain, and I swear I'm telling you the truth; I know you aren't the most trusting person in this world, but believe me, on this, be proud, Attelus."

She sniffed again, but this time it had humour in it, "When we took you to Taryst's medicae facility, they said there was no way you would survive, that you would die within hours, but I knew you were stubborn, and you held on, you lived and-and most importantly, thank you, thank you for living, thank you."

Oh, how I dearly wished I could reach out and comfort her or even thank her, but everything was so hard, so, so hard, I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore; I blinked once, then twice, then I embraced the sweetness of sleep.