Chapter 20: Assassination

In my line of work, I find myself asking a certain question a lot. "Is this going to be what finally kills me?" When you've put in centuries of service and been to as many fronts as I have, it's something you can't help but wonder. You've seen so many of the enemies of man, from Tau to Necrons to Orks, that you can't help but sit and morbidly ponder which one is going to snuff out your tiny, pathetic life. Every time I end up facing another army, I wonder if this is going to be it, and somehow I survive. Sadly, I think I may have finally figured out that it may be the oldest enemy we've ever had. Chaos.

"You look troubled," my Shadowseer "friend" said. I gave a grumble in response. The Colonel had managed to get someone on the horn to approve the Eldar's presence. The good news was that I hadn't been ordered to kill the thing, something that would've resulted in my own death, as well as the deaths of dozens of other troopers. The bad news was that now I was behind enemy lines on a Chaos controlled planet, having been led there through a hidden Webway passage. By this prick.

"Name one reason I shouldn't feel troubled right now," I hissed back. "How many millions upon millions of Chaos worshipers are on this planet?" A small part of me really just wanted to blow the Shadowseer's face off, double time it back to the Webway, and make up a bullshit excuse for how the mission had gone wrong.

"Tens or hundreds of millions," the Eldar said cheerfully. That part of me wasn't so small anymore. "Patrol ahead, duck to the side."

We were in a major military encampment outside the planet's capital city. It was a disquieting sight. Hundreds of thousands of Chaos cultists in full Imperial Guard kit, their armor and weapons battered and worn, but still functional. Here and there, there was a mutated cultist that towered above the rest, or crawled on the ground oozing slime as she went. Favors of the Dark Gods to show their pleasure. Or punishments to show their displeasure. With Chaos it's hard to tell sometimes. You'd think being turned into a crawling and groaning lump of flesh would be a punishment, but some of these pricks joined up just so that Nurgle would jerk off on them and give them one of his million and one STDs.

Occasionally, I saw the disquieting sight of a Chaos Space Marine. Towering a good half a meter above me, they idly marched through the camps, forcibly shoving aside all those who got in their way. More often than not, this proved to be fatal to the unfortunate bastard who got in their way. Most of them were randomly assorted, bearing the marks of minor warlords that I didn't recognize, alongside the symbols of their former legions. I did, however, recognize a group of Thousands Sons. Two sorcerers leading a dozen odd Rubric Marines in the direction of an armory. Judging by the blood stains, they had just killed around a hundred people and were looking to resupply on munitions.

What was most disquieting, however, was the conscripts. Wearing the clothes of hive citizens and laborers for the most part, minus the odd one who had strapped a random piece of Guard armor on, they were being transported in by the truckload. Many gleefully sat in the backs of those trucks, singing praises to their new gods. Many were bound, sobbing as they were hauled off, begging for the Emperor to save them, or at least grant them a quick death. Either way, they were all being armed. The luckier ones got lasguns, of poorer make than the regular Chaos soldiers, but still lasguns. The ones after them were given old and rusty autoguns, sometimes only just a pistol and two or three magazines of ammunition. The rest were given whatever sharp objects the Chaos quarter masters could find. Spears and swords, and when those ran short, pitchforks and kitchen knives.

The others and I were sticking to the edge of the camp, where we were only running into standard patrols, as we made our way towards the center of the camp. The Shadowseer's psyker powers had erected some kind of a haze around us. So long as no one got close enough to touch us , and so long as the Harlequin had perfect concentration, we were invisible. I had a feeling that it wasn't going to last long though.

"I really wish we could've gotten more info on this son we're looking for," Zamora said. She was behind me to my left, and my wife was behind me to my right. Closer to the enemy camp, something that would let her do more damage with her heavy bolter should something go wrong. "All we got was a couple of pictures and a description of his bodyguards. Helpful, but I'd like to know what he's capable of."

That made two of us. This kid was the child of a woman who had a prominent place in my nightmares. There wasn't much of a chance that he was her equal in any field, but that didn't mean that I was feeling better about it. If he had come out of that human shaped Daemon, we were all going to be in a bit of a world of trouble. "I would've liked to know what personal skills he has, as well as any potential quirks we could've exploited."

I gave Zamora a small grin. I had never forgotten what she represented. A woman who was a symbol that not all blue bloods were stupid and idiotic people. Granted she was a bit of an exception to the rule, but I still held it high up above my head. If only so that I had a counter example for all of the other stuck up twats that I had to deal with in my life.

Zamora was a heck of a lot older than she looked. She couldn't be too much younger than I was, only a few decades at most, yet she looked like she was in her early thirties. A side effect of being born into wealth no doubt, her family could afford the best treatments. Her hair was bright blonde and tied up into a short ponytail, one that barely scraped her carapace armor.

I had mixed feelings about that armor, it was a little too colorful. The crest of her family was present on her right arm, noticeable even though the paint had worn away quite a bit, and there was a fair bit of gold gilding all over it. On her shoulder pads, on her torso, even a bit on the sheath of her firmly buckled power sword.

Thankfully, the rest of it was fine. The original armor had had tassels and ribbons that, apart from being an eyesore, had been prone to snagging. They had long since been ripped off. And while the gold on her armor shone brightly when it was clean, she had adopted a policy of viciously rubbing dirt into it before every mission. I thought it was too much of a hassle to bother and personally would've just ripped it off, but she made it work.

"Well, there is one thing we do know for certain," I replied. "He really wants to live up to mommy dearest. Wants to make her proud." I looked at the horde of Chaos warriors and conscripts again. They were moving with an almost desperate ferocity, doing everything they could to prepare themselves for the next battle. Aside from the conscripts, transports laden with ammunition, fuel, and other supplies were rolling into the base by the dozens, each packed to the brim. Most rolled to a stop and began to unload their cargo, but a few sped off in the direction of a distant mountain range. A mountain range that, the more I looked at it, looked a bit like a Titan. I looked away.

"It would explain a lot. I think he's rushing things in order to impress her. They aren't exactly on a strict time table, not that you'd know that from the way these people are acting. Nothing's coming their way to disrupt their operations," I said.

"Aside from us," my wife said. I let out a laugh. My wife was around as old as I was, and about as pretty. Hair that had long since gone to white, her face was heavily lined and betrayed her age. Though if you weren't looking at her head, you'd be forgiven for thinking that she was younger. Her body was firm and strong, her thick armor hiding the fact that the majority of it was chrome. Her hands were the only metallic part of her that was showing, and both of them were clasped around a belt loaded heavy bolter, connected to a heavy backpack that she was carrying without issue. She had a tired and wary yet spirited smile on her face, a smile I had grown to take a good deal of comfort from.

"True, but they don't know that," I said. "If they knew someone was coming, they'd be on higher alert. They'd have search parties. No, they're rushing things to make junior look good. With any luck, that'll make them sloppy." I glanced at the Eldar. "How much further? And what exactly is this place we're heading to? I don't see any strongholds that he'd be operating out of."

The Harlequin gave a shrug. "Not much farther, and truth be told I'm not certain what it is. When I first scouted out the area, they were starting to do some digging, but there wasn't any other form of construction. It could have been...oh dear." They had reached the front end of the camp, the swarm of Chaos servants was thinning out, and they had a much clearer view of what was in front of them.

A deep pit, one that sank at least ten stories down, was at the front end of the camp. Ramps and pathways lined the sides of it, providing a means to walk up and down it, but there was no one in it. No one alive anyway. Hundreds if not thousands of corpses were in the pit, and very few of them were in one piece. All were impaled on spikes, a few intact bodies on multiple spikes, while the rest had had any body part big enough fitted on single spikes. Up and down, on every level of the pit and on quite a few of the walls, there were spikes. And at the very bottom of the pit were even more bodies, enough to have soaked the bottom of the pit in blood. Not enough, however, to hide the five symbols at the very bottom. The four symbols of the four Chaos gods, all surrounding the eight pointed star of Chaos Undivided.

"It's a ritual site," the Harlequin said softly. "Unless I'm mistaken, a ritual site for Daemon princehood."

"Fucking Chaos," I swore. "Gotta make everything as messed up as possible because that's the only identity they and their demented gods have. They probably threw in a couple dozen babies in there after they amputated all the limbs and fisted each other with them, so why the fuck not?" It disgusted me. When you really stopped and thought about it, that's all Chaos was. Attempting to commit more and more vile acts, simply because they were vile and it inspired them. For all their bluster, power and influence, they and their gods were little more than primary school children who had just learned how to swear. It was pathetic. I was certain the ritual could've been done without half of the corpses that were down there, but either the Lord or her son had felt the need to show off how vicious they were. You know, just in case everyone had forgotten, or had been left alone for five seconds and had developed an independent thought.

There was a solid line of infantry, gun emplacements, Leman Russes, and fortifications that fully encircled the pit. Thousands of men ensuring that nothing went anywhere near it, Under normal circumstances, getting into the pit would've required a long, grueling battle that would have dragged on for hours. As it was, they were able to easily slip through a gap in the defenses and continue towards the pit. A few cultists turned in confusion as we passed by, but with a wave of his hand, the Shadowseer had them looking the other way at a noise they thought they had heard, but actually hadn't.

"Looks like no one is allowed in here," Zamora remarked, "not anymore anyway, now that it's dug and decorated." I blinked as I realized how right she was. Once we had stepped through the iron wall of soldiers and armor, there was nothing between us and the pit. It was an almost idle stroll we took towards it, our scanning eyes not spotting anything. With the exception of a small group at the very edge of the pit.

We all came to a stop, weapons at the ready, but we didn't fire just yet. It was the Chaos Lord's son all right, a man with stupidly long black hair that freely cascaded down over his armor, which was covered with Chaos seals painted on with blood. He had a proud, wild look to him. A gilded plasma pistol and power sword were at his side, looking rather out of place with his rather worn armor. Most likely he had taken them off of dead nobles as trophies.

The four around him were Chaos Space Marines, each from a different legion. A Noise Marine, Plague Marine, a Khornate Berzerker, and a Thousand Sons Sorcerer. "The reports were right, he has a bodyguard for each of the four gods," I said. "Fucking pretentious twat."

"The sorcerer will be the greatest threat," The Shadowseer said, a little bit of tension in his voice. It looked like it was taking him more effort to maintain the illusion than it had before. "We must act fast, before he detects us."

Nodding, I pressed my finger to my ear. Normally, that would be where I would keep my micro-bead, something that would get one kilometer of distance before it lost its value as a communications device. Now, I had a Vox that I could easily fit in the palm of my hand. Nearly two centuries of service, and only now was I important enough to get a high tech, compact model like this. "Going now," I said.

"Enjoy the show," my sister's gleeful voice responded. "We're back at the Webway waiting for you. In the meantime, this." There was a tiny noise that echoed over the Vox link. The sound of a detonator being pressed. There was a deafening explosion from the direction of the city. Metla charges had been planted in one of the largest refineries, and now it was being reduced to a column of fire and smoke.

Even from this distance, I could feel some of the heat from the explosion. All around, the occupants of the camp were reacting to it. Many were screaming in outrage and anger, a handful praised Khorne for the challenge, and one brave fool I could only just barely hear screamed "THE EMPEROR PROTECTS! THE EMPEROR PROTECTS THE EMPEROR-" before she was cut off by what sounded like a bolt pistol being discharged.

We continued to move forward, doing our best to ignore the heat, coming into earshot of the son. He and his bodyguards were all distracted by the geyser of flame, with the exception of the Plague Marine, who cheerfully continued to stare at the pit, singing a hymn about Papa Nurgle. No doubt hoping that Papa would be jizzing all over the galaxy again, and could he please, please get some in his eye.

"Now of all times," the son growled. "Rebels, must be them. Holdouts of the corpse emperor. Mother will be here soon, everything must be perfect." My blood ran cold. What had he just said? Ok, we were doing this quick and then getting the fuck out of here. "You two, take as many men as you need and take care of whoever did that." He pointed to the Plague Marine and Noise Marine as he spoke. The Plague Marine broke out of his hymn, looking at the son.

"My Lord, your mother bade us that we guard with our lives," he said happily. Fuck's sake, the spawn of Nurgle's curdled seed were unbearable, always acting like Papa had just given them a puppy, when in reality he had given them a bag of dead rats. And then taken a shit on it. "We have many men who can handle whatever measly rabble have risen up against us. Let us be content with their handling of matters."

The Berzerker let out a sound of disgust. "Sloth, nothing but sloth . The enemy shows its face and you're content to let them do as they please. Disgusting." The Plague Marine only gave a good natured laugh in response. The Berzerker growled, before turning his attention to the son and kneeling in front of him. "My Lord, I am not him. Permit me to go, and I will bring you back every last one of their miserable heads." His armored hands curled into fists. "And the head of his coward, if you will permit me."

"Oh, if only it were that easy," my wife said bitterly. I've yet to have a single day where I regret standing by her side.

"Enough!" the son said angrily. "You are all under my command, per command of my mother." I had to bite back a laugh at that. Way to show them that you deserved to have your commands treated with respect, that would eliminate any and all possible accusations of nepotism. "You will go and you will slaughter those who had defied me, who have sullied my name. You four have all stood idle ever since we took this planet in my mother's name. I have grown bored with this. You all claim to be the greatest champions of Chaos, yet you sit idly here. I will have no more of it. Go and prove your worth, or else don't come back."

Idly shrugging, the Plague Marine checked his bolter before marching off in the direction of the blazing inferno. The Noise Marine followed right after, cackling softly to himself as he heaved his Sonic Blaster. "Now then," the son said, addressing the two remaining Marines, "I'll have no further insubordination from the two of you. Stick close and do as I say. I'll be speaking to mother when she-WHAT!?" He glared at the Thousand Son Sorcerer, who was no longer paying attention to him. He had turned about and was looking in the direction of the main base. Right at us.

"He knows," the Shadowseer hissed He grabbed the sword at his side, drawing it. "I will go forward and distract the Marines. Strike the deathblow while I have their attention. It should be simple while they are attempting, futilely, to find their mark with me." Oh sure, killing two Traitor Marines, simple. It wasn't like the few times I had ended up killing one, it had gone through entire platoons before I had gotten to it. Except that was exactly what had happened. Still, I had no choice here.

"Well, this is it," I said, as the Harlequin leaped forward, flicking his belt as he did. A dozen holograms of the Shadowseer appeared, each identical to the original. All of them flipped, backflipped, and leapt around the Marines, all of them cackling loudly and swiping with their blades.

The Sorcerer had drawn his bolt pistol mere seconds before the Shadowsweer had struck, and was able to start taking shots at the holograms with one hand and blasting dazzling globs of psyker based lighting with his other. I had seen my daughter do something like that, but not with the same power and intensity as the Sorcerer was managing. The Berzerker was slower on the update, and the Harlequin had left a gaping slash in the Khorne worshipper's shoulder before he had his chain-axe in hand.

For a second, I was mesmerized by the Shadowseer. The holograms were incapable of harming anyone, but the Marines couldn't tell the difference between the holograms and the real Shadowseer. As such, they would either open fire or swing at what they thought was the Eldar about to strike at them, only for the attack to go through thin air. And then a power sword would tear through the armor on their back, searing flesh.

"Dear," I hear my wife say, as I forced myself to look away. "Zamora and I will hit the Sorcerer from the front. Head behind him and take out his power pack, that should make him an easy target for the filthy xeno." Without saying a word, I move to follow her suggestion. I didn't need to say anything, because she knew when I thought her ideas were good. And I always thought her ideas were good, because she had yet to come up with a bad one.

The Marines were good and distracted by the Shadowseer's dance, so they didn't notice us moving to either side of them. Even if they had, they most likely would've kept their concentration on the much bigger threat. Each of them had half a dozen long deep slashes in their armor, which blood was trickling out of. The Berzerker had lost control entirely, and was viciously screaming a mixture of unholy chants and swear words as he swung his axe wildly. He never landed a hit on the Eldar and came closer to hitting his own ally more than once.

I was just getting behind the Sorcerer when he was hit by a combination of both heavy bolter rounds and plasma bolts. The combined assault managed to eat through the armor covering his bolt pistol hand, snapping bones and burning flesh so viciously that I could actually smell the nauseating scent of bubbling meat. His pistol falling from his now useless hand, the Sorcerer turned, burning with fury, upon the pair that had crippled him, and raised the palm of his good hand. Only for the Harlequin to drop down from above, planting both feet upon his foe's shoulder, and drive his sword up to the hilt in the Marine's bicep. The bolt of lighting he had conjured went wide.

Grinning at the Marine's restrained hiss of pain, I contributed my part. Taking aim, I let loose a full auto burst. Within seconds, twenty shots had pierced the power pack on the Marine's back. Durable, they were meant to take punishment, but even they had their limits. Sparks erupted from it, and the Sorcerer began to move much slowly, as if his armor was now slowing him down. I shifted downward, now aiming at the dead center of his body mass, planning on putting the rest of my power cell into his vital organs. But before I could fire, a viciously hot streak of blue plasma darted past. As it did, it went directly through the power line connecting my hellgun to its power supply backpack. It fizzled and died.

Whipping my head in the direction of the shot, I saw the son, smirking as he aimed his plasma pistol at me, standing no more than half a meter away. That had been a critical mistake on my part. I had assumed that he would be like his bodyguards, more too concerned with taking out the Shadowseer to pay me or the other two much bother. It seemed that he had been content to stand back and let his lackeys deal with the Eldar. It was enough to make me wonder if he was actually his mother's son, because I knew for a fact that the Chaos Lord would've personally waded into the thick of the fight and ripped the Harlequin's head off.

"I'll permit you five seconds of last words," he said smugly. "Five seconds to call out for your corpse Emperor, and beg for-" I didn't let him finish. Acting on pure instinct, I dropped my hellgun and charged at the little shit. He had been so wrapped up in his speech that he was only able to get one shot off as I charged, and it went well over me. I slammed into him and wrapped my arms around his waist, shoving him forward. Right in the direction of the pit. We both went over the edge.

As we tumbled over, we both hit the uppermost ramp, were carried forward, and fell over the brink to the next ramp down below. The son loudly squealed in pain with each impact as we bounced further and further down, while I forced myself to stay quiet, even as sharp aches began to blossom all over my body. On the fourth ramp, the son had gotten ahead of me and bowled right into a set of spikes, smashing through them and coating himself in the blood of his victims. It was something I made a point to laugh loudly at, even as I fell through the wreckage we left behind.

As the pain built, I told myself that it was preferable to a plasma bolt to the face, which is what would have happened if the son had been smarter. If he had just shot at a vital area, I'd be dead right now. But he hadn't, he had disabled my weapon so that he would gloat. He had ignored number 128, and the principles behind it. He had lost his chance to kill me quickly and without a fight, and I was going to make sure that was the last mistake he ever made. I was going to make this bitch an entry.

Finally, after what seemed like a very long time, we reached the bottom of the pit. Groaning, both of us struggling to our feet, moving slowly as we attempting to fight through the pain. The son's plasma pistol was long gone, most likely dropped on one of the upper ramps, so instead he drew his power sword, the weapon flickering to life. As he did so, I unhooked the power pack that had been connected to my hellgun, and hoisted it over my head. I had to get rid of this now that it was dead weight, so I might as well be productive with it. I threw it at him.

Blinking in surprise, the son slashed at the incoming backpack, sliding it in two. It was a very impressive display of precision sword work. It was just a shame that the backpack had been soaring directly at him, and the fact that it had been cut in half had done very little to change its trajectory. Even if the blow had been strong enough to force the two halves to the side, there simply wasn't enough room for them to change direction at a speed that would matter. As such, both sides caught him right in the torso.

He fell to the ground, swearing and clutching at his side as he did, while I drew and ignited my own power sword. Not saying a word, I charged toward, bringing my sword up over my head. Imagines of cutting the little prick's head off and ending this all in one fell swoop filled my mind. Sadly, the boy had managed to get himself on one knee and was able to parry my blow. A sense of dread filled me as I saw his technique. It was a very formal and very stiff technique, the little brat had obviously never seen battle before now. None of the fluidity or refinement one would expect from a veteran sword fighter. He had, however, performed the move very quickly and precisely, so while he had seen little actual combat, he had no doubt drilled in the art of sword fighting for years. Kind of the opposite of me.

Grinning as he realized that he had staved off a deathblow, the son got fully to his feet and began to press a counter attack. Our swords became a blur of blue and grey, sparks flying as they clashed, and I found myself slowly being pushed back. Whatever the boy lacked in experience, he made up for with enthusiasm. It was all I could do to keep up with him, parrying blow after blow, receiving no time for me to launch a counter-attack.

I grimaced as I barely deflected a blow that would have taken my leg off. I hated melee combat with a passion, I hated how one mistake would lead to my life being snuffed out of existence. And as much as I hated to admit it, I wasn't as young as I used to be. Even with life extension treatments, age was starting to take its toll on me. I could feel fatigue starting to build up from the strain of the fight. I couldn't beat him in a fair fight. So I improvised.

I waited until he struck at me with an overhead blow, meaning his blade would be well away from his body. Then, as power field struck against power field, I kicked at his groin with my cybernetic foot. Hard. He doubled over in pain, but had enough foresight to stumble backwards, maintaining a guard. That was fine, it hadn't been my plan to charge him while he was distracted by pain.

Taking one hand off my hilt, I swiped down at my belt. My grenades were still there, including my krak grenades. As my hand passed by, there was a loud click. Roaring, the son charged forward, hacking wildly with his sword. I drew one of the grenades with my free hand, raising it to my teeth as if I was going to rip the pin out with my teeth. He reached me before I could do anything to the grenade, so I dropped it to get both hands back on my sword.

Our blades clashed, and we found ourselves face to face. "Coward," he hissed. "You fight with no dignity. Your false god-" I would have had no tolerance for this shit on a good day, but it was even worse right now, when I had to move fast to keep my plan from backfiring. Tilting my head back, I slammed my helmeted head into the son's bare one. I felt mildly dazed from it, but I got off a lot better than the son, whose nose had let out a loud crunch as it was hit. Once again, he staggered back, clutching at his face.

That was it, I was out of time. Turning, I threw myself as far away from the son as I could. Hissing, the son glared at me through his blood stained fingers, confused and outraged at my approach. Then he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Something that was lying right at his feet. The krak grenade I had dropped. With the pin half a meter away. Mainly because I had removed the pin before I had even drawn the grenade. There was an unbelievably satisfying look of understand and terror as he realized how badly I had played him. I thought nothing would ever stop the sense of satisfaction I got from that. For about five seconds.

I've heard hundreds, if not thousands of krak grenades go off, but for some reason or another, this one seemed to be louder. It echoed, reverberating all around me, hanging in the air. I couldn't tell if it was the result of some foul sorcery or if the pit just naturally channeled echoes that way. Either way, there was no other sound audible over the sound of this grenade going off, with the exception of the thumps that followed afterward. All three of them.

I forced myself not to howl with laughter. Both of the little shit's legs had been blown clean off, landing around a body length away, each in opposite directions. I had to admit, the cunt added to the decorum rather well. I wondered if he appreciated the irony. He was howling and twisting on the ground, screaming "MOTHER! MOTHER! KILL HIM! THE VILE WORM!" Normally I would consider a legless man screaming for his mother to be a sad affair. But for this guy? It was fucking hilarious.

I took in his wounds. I could reasonably call it a day there. The blood loss and shock from losing both legs was a guaranteed death sentence for most humans. Augmented ones and those who had been transformed by the Ruinous Powers were the exception, and this boy clearly had too few notches under his belt to be either. I could just walk away and be content.

But that was what stupid people did, and I would sleep a lot more soundly knowing I had decapitated the little shit. Better safe than sorry. Without a word, despite how tempting it was to vocally mock the fuck, I charged forward, ready to deal the deathblow. I had gotten two steps before fire raked the ground in front of me. I craned my neck up. A few dozen cultists were leaning over the edge of the pit, raining down las fire on me. There were too far away to be particularly accurate, but there was still a solid wave of lasers between me and the Lord.

'FUCK!" I swore, doubling back in the direction I had came. Even though I was well out of effective weapons range, some of these shots were coming far too close for comfort. My mind scrambled for ideas, knowing I had no way of firing back, until I saw a glint of gold near the wall of the pit that I was rapidly coming up on. The son's plasma pistol. Reasoning that it would be better than nothing, I desperately scooped it up, took aim, and fired a few shots at the cultists. I think I took the arm off of one, but the rest of the shots went wide. I too was out of effective weapon range.

"Guardsman!" said a voice. Craning my neck to look directly upward, I saw the Shadowseer descending at a controlled rate, a strange aura around him hinting that he was using his psyker abilities to do so. Both Zamora and my wife were falling at the same, safe rate as him. "We must go!" With a flourish of his hand, the same masking field that had protected us on the way in covered all four of us. With another flourish, we all began to rise up.

"Did you get him?" Zamora asked, her voice hard to hear over all the fire that was still raking where I had been seconds before.

"Both of his legs," I said, feeling frustrated. "He should be dead, but there's always a small chance he could pull through. I don't like leaving things half finished, we've gotta make sure he's dead." If I had just had a few more seconds, the bastard's head would've been merrily rolling about at the bottom of the pit, a fitting addition to his mother's summer home.

"We will leave when he is dead," the Harlequin said sternly. Another flick and we all landed on a mid level ramp. Another flick and a shallow opening appeared in the pit wall, just large enough for us to all squeeze in. "They will not be able to see us, not even the opening," the Harlequin said, entering the hole and gesturing for the three of us to follow, We did hesitantly, looking down into the pit as we did.

The son's cries of pains were growing weaker and weaker, as were his thrashings. He was mainly lying still, minus spasms that his body was beginning to make. Telltale signs that he was going into shock. Cultists were pouring down into the pit, some pushing and shoving so fast that many fell from the upper ramps, the ones unlucky enough to not hit another ramp dying as they landed at the bottom of the pit. The Plague Marine and Noise Marine from before were at the head of the throng, having returned from the decoy and violently shoving aside any cultists who got in their way.

All of this was drowned out within seconds as the roar of an engine filled the pit. Looking up, I saw a Thunderhawk, heretical runes painted all over it, arcing over the pit before descending into it. The second I laid eyes on it, I felt a horrible gnawing feeling in my bones. Not just an uncomfortable feeling, it felt like there were tiny creatures chewing away at my marrow. A horrible feeling of dread followed right after. "It's her," I whispered, more to myself than anything else. Hastily, I produced a pair of magnoculars I had brought along just for this mission and looked into them, being treated to an enhanced image of the scene taking place below me. It was like I was right next to them.

The Thunderhawk landed, its bay door opening, and three figures stepped out. Two Thousand Son Sorcerers, and a smaller woman that ran out ahead of them. I could never forget her, even if I wanted to. Her shoulder length hair billowed behind her, a look she made look much more intimidating. Her son's long hair had looked like a pretentious boy trying to look cool, with her, it gave her a wild look, almost feral. Her armor was pure onyx black, only given color by the Space Wolf helmets she had in place of shoulder plates, and the marks of all four Chaos gods and the eight pointed started painted on her breast plate. Notably, Khorne's symbol was bright green, as if it had been drawn with Ork blood. Oddly fitting.

Two things struck me the most though. First and foremost, the Chaos Lord did not seem to have aged a day. Her hair was still a striking blonde where there was not dried blood, and her face was as unlined and young as a thirty year old's. Despite that, there was something wrong about her face. Or rather, the way it was fitted on her body. It was the hardened face of a warlord, one I had seen many times, but it had a thin look to it. As if it wasn't actually her face, but merely a mask she was wearing. Something seemed to be lurking underneath it, waiting until the curtain was raised on it.

This was nothing compared to her arm though. I had heard stories about it, but now I saw it for myself. A long, thick thing that looked like it had been slapped onto her. A fiery red, it was unarmored and stretched so far that it dragged along the ground as she moved. It ended in a hand that had four fingers that all ended in sharpened points and looked like it could easy snap a Warboss' neck.

The Chaos Lord knelt next to her son, her demonic arm cradling up as she looked down silently. After a moment, she began to talk to the two sorcerers she had brought with her. I couldn't hear what they were saying from this distance, but after a few back and forths, she began shouting at them. Immediately, they moved to opposite sides of the pit, while the Lord looked at her son again. Reaching down with the human hand, she pressed her palm against her son's forehead, and there was a glow of Warp energy between the two. After that, she laid him down, stood up, then looked to the heavens, he arms open.

She began to speak, and I almost jumped out of my skin as her voice echoed through the pit, magnified by an unholy power. "Khorne the mighty, Nurgle the indestructible, Tzeentch the wise, and Slaanesh the free, I call upon you. I have served you faithfully for many years, converted many to your holy cause and slew countless who would oppose you. I now ask your favor."

As she spoke, the Thousand Son Sorcerers knelt down and began to chant. They dipped their fingers into the blood that surrounded them and used it to draw runes on the ground in front of them. The bottom of the pit came to life; the symbols of Chaos began to glow with their own light. Sickly green for Nurgle's, blood red for Khorne's, dazzling blue for Tzeentch, stunning pink for Slaanesh, and a gaping, all consuming black for the eight pointed star.

The air itself grew heavy as the ritual continued. I could feel the presence of something, some sort of all powerful creature that was watching. I had felt this presence once or twice before in my life, when I was fighting on worlds that had long since fallen to the Archenemy of man, but never had I felt it to this intensity. Raw, undiluted power resonated all around me, and I knew I was in the presence of the only things to ever truly rival the Emperor in power. Many others had tried, but they all fell short to this.

If they wanted to find us, they would. The Harlequin could do nothing to protect us if the attention of even one of the gods wavered. All we could hope for was that we would be too small to attract their interest. Zamora and my wife were praying, the Harlequin was muttering something under his breath, and even I would have been begging for the Emperor to save us if I had had enough wits about me. As it stood, my gaze was fixed upon the ritual taking place.

The Chaos Lord's voice rose to an even higher pitch. "He is young, but he has served you well. This planet that I stand on was brought into the glory of your light because of him. Billions of servants delivered unto your majesty. I ask you for little. I merely ask that you give him what you have promised me. Life eternal." Raising her hands above her head, the Chaos Lord began to speak in a tongue I couldn't understand and I hoped I never would.

The intensity of nearly everything increased. The symbols glowed more brightly, the chanting of the Lord and the Marines grew louder, and even the gathered cultists started to sing their depraved hymns. It all felt like a thick blanket pressing in on me, smothering me. Then, with a deafening crack, a bolt of pure Warp energy came crashing down from the sky, enveloping the son and blinding me.

I forced myself to stay quiet as I recoiled, biting down on my tongue to do so. When the light hand vanished from my eyes, I put the magnoculars to my eyes again. My heart was pounding in my chest. She had tried to turn her son into a Daemon Prince. The Chaos Lord had most certainly earned her Daemon Princehood a long time ago, but her son was a bit more of a grey area. He had conquered this planet, that was true, but it had been with an army his mother had given him, and even then that didn't come within a twentieth of the number of planets his mother had taken. He was an overconfident fighter with little experience too. There was no way he could become a Daemon Prince...right?

My eyes took time to adjust, and with the odd glowing that had settled over the pit it took me a minute to find the Chaos Lord and her son again. The Chaos Lord was standing still, looking silently at her son, who didn't even vaguely resemble his old self. Out of his body, which was only vaguely humanoid now, an explosion of body parts had sprouted. At least a dozen writhing tentacles, a trio of shrieking heads, five long appendages that ended in mouths, legs that were twisted and bent. All of it part of the same howling, raging beast.

It felt as if a weight had been taken off my shoulders. I wanted to laugh. The Chaos Gods had not been impressed with the boy after all. He hadn't become a Daemon Prince, only a mindless Chaos Spawn. "That'll do it," I whispered, just loudly enough for the others to hear. "The only value he has to her is as an expendable shock troop now. Mission successful. Let's get back to the Webway and get the frak out of here." I was about to lower my magnoculars, but hesitated.

The Chaos Lord had stepped forward, raising her demonic arm, and had plunged it into the very center of the Chaos Spawn that had once been her son. It writhed and thrashed against her assault, but a few more strikes from the hand ripped it apart, and its struggles became weaker. One last one took off all three of the heads, and the thing lay very still. The Chaos Lord stood over what had once been her son, and did something I had never expected from her. She began to cry.

It was baffling to watch. The woman who had burned nearly fifty worlds, slain untold billions, was openly weeping over her son. Not merely crying, but sobbing. The amassed forces were in shock, having no idea how to react. I saw all of them exchanging confused looks, openly questioning this display from their leader. Then, the Noise Marine began to approach her from behind, readying his Sonic Blaster. It wasn't hard to understand what he was doing. He thought his leader was weak and was preparing to remove her.

This proved to be a deadly miscalculation. The second he had raised his weapon, the Chaos Lord spun around on the spot. Her demonic arm struck out, stretching to nearly twice its normal length, and closing vice like around the Noise Marine's neck. The Marine struggled desperately, dropping his weapon in an attempt to claw the arm away, but with a vicious tug, the Chaos Lord separated his head from his shoulders.

Turning now upon the Plague Marine, who actually took a step back in fear, she roared, "IT WAS YOUR DUTY TO PROTECT HIM!" before lashing out with her arm again. The arm tore through the center of the Plague Marine's armor as if it wasn't even there, striking a total of three times and utterly eviscerating the former member of the Death Guard legion. Both failed bodyguards dead, the Chaos Lord glared all around her, as if looking for her son's killer in the crowds. Tears were still streaming freely down her face, but the sorrow was overwhelmed by rage now. A rage I recognized I knew all too well, a rage I myself had felt. The rage of a parent that had been wronged.

"I speak now to the man who murdered my son," she said. Even though her voice was still magnified, it was disturbingly calm. "I looked into my son's mind before he passed. I saw everything that happened. I recognize you." My breath caught. "I recognize you." I never thought three simple words could strike pure terror into the very core of my being. Yet here I was. My heart frantically beating and my breath coming in short erratic breaths. She recognized me. She recognized me. Emperor on his Throne save me.

"All those years ago, you attempted to wound me," she continued. "It was a pathetic attempt, you didn't even scratch my armor. The Space Wolf behind you was a much more challenging target. You were like an ant back then, not worth the energy it would take to step on you. I made an error back then, and I intend to correct it." A small part of my mind took a good deal of pleasure in the knowledge that her hubris had lead to the death of her son. But it was a very small part of me. The rest of me was utterly terrified.

"23rd EDR? I must admit I have never heard of it," she continued. "A different unit from your first one. It doesn't matter though. I care not for your comrades, only for you. I will find you. And pain? Whatever you think you know of suffering, of agony, of wishing that you were dead, nothing will compare to the fate I have in store for you. I will ensure that every last one of my men recognizes your face, and that you are to be brought to me. Alive. And you will beg for death. For mercy. Mercy that I will not grant you for centuries, not until every last bit of vengeance within me has been satisfied. Pray to your corpse god all you wish, Imperial. But he will not hear you. There is only me."

I dropped the magnoculars. I couldn't breath properly. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. And yet it was. Images of whatever the Chaos Lord would do to me when she found me flashed through my head. Terrible fates, every last one of them, and yet they would all pale into whatever sadistic plans she would have. Hesitantly, I looked at the plasma pistol in my hand. It would be quick. A moment of pain and then I would be forever out of her grasp.

A mechanical hand closed around my wrist, gently but firmly. "No," my wife's firm voice said. "She isn't getting to you. No matter what." With her other hand, she grasped my shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. "You're going to live and she's going to die. That was the plan. That was always the plan. I am not telling our daughter that her father killed himself. I will tell her to tell our grandchildren that we helped kill a Chaos Lord regardless of how powerful we thought she was. Understand?" I nodded numbly.

"We need to go, now," Zamora said, more to the Harlequin than two me or my wife. "Before they start searching." If she was afraid, she was only showing a little of it. I admired that in her, but right now I could barely register it.

"Agreed, come, before we all reach our final climax," the Harlequin said. One last flick and we were out of the hole, rising upward. The Webway gate wasn't too far away, and once we were through it, we would be in friendly territory. I couldn't focus on that. All I could properly understand was one single thing.

She was coming for me.

She was coming for me!

SHE WAS COMING FOR ME!

SHE WAS COMING FOR ME!