Daemon Vanguard

Tags: Warhammer 40k, Inquisitor, Khornette, Space Marines, Orks, Action, No smut
Commissioned by: ELH
Length: ~14k words

---

"Augur scan activity has spiked and worsening." Spoke an astartes company captain through vox-channel.

On the receiving end, the inquisitor heard and drew a fast conclusion, one no doubt his Astartes escorts would agree with. What the chaos cults had set out to do in the governor's manor was close to completion. If the noises coming from behind the great doors leading to the main atrium were anything to go by, along with the numerous corpses littering their way in, they were at the heart of the cult in this forsaken hive city.

With no second to spare, the inquisitor and the four tactical marines with him rushed to the doors' sides; were the gunshots and fierce combat on their way here not enough of an announcement of their arrival, their heavy steps would have surely been. In silent coordination, one astartes kicked the door open before moving aside. A second threw in a grenade, just as lasgun and slugger fire blindly poured out the door. A deafening blast led to smoke and chaff blasting out, and the guns to be silenced. With thermals, bolters, and faith, the four astartes and the inquisitors rushed in; though certainly not a match for the Mark VIIs of those beside him, Ignatus Pattern armor certainly aided against the damned as well.

The holy sound of bolter fire broke through the room in bursts, to then abruptly end shortly after. Simple corrupted humans, cultists, with not a chaos space marine to be found left the massacre to be target practice at best. Without the smoke to have time to dissipate, the inquisitor approached the circle of still warm bodies -- or what pieces the bolter fire had split them into. There it lay by the center, a suit of armor now scattered about, seconds ago hovering in the finishing stages of the summoning ritual. But, victory didn't last long.

The shield was missing. Bringing his finger to his ear once more, he tapped into vox.

"A cultist escaped with one of the artifacts." He said. "All exits are covered, I presume."

"They are." Answered the captain. "You'll know if they see anything."

Afterwards, the inquisitor turned to two astartes. "Guard these." He said, before turning to the others two. "With me."

The two stepped closer in acknowledgment. Already the smoke had dissipated enough to give a semblance of vision without thermals. Despite the spacious interior of the atrium, all doors were locked and barricaded, though certainly not enough to stop space marines. All, save for one at the far back. Catching hint of the situation, one astartes took point, heading towards the door.

Astartes, inquisitor, astartes; such was the order in line as they entered. A narrow corridor reminiscent of a space hulk, not an area with terrible traffic in mind architecturally. Not long after, however, they reached an end connecting to yet another wide area. Colorful, of great patches of grass and small cobblestone roads with lush flowers and shrubbery of all kinds lining their sides. Luxurious enough to be a garden of Eden to the common rabble.

"Another surge--" Attempted to alert the captain, only for it all to fall to static as a screeching noise pierced through the sky.

Like a sudden blackout, all turned dark as night, the sun snuffed out. Distorted stars stamped over a blurred mixture of purple and red nebulae barely hid the images of claws and maws all over the sky. Realspace had merged with the immaterium, at least for a few seconds before it all returned to normal.

"...Shit." Cursed the inquisitor, breaking into a run up ahead into the garden with the two marines.

His confirmation came in the shape of a sight not too many steps ahead, that of a dead cultist over a bloodied patch of grass. A few steps ahead of him, the shield lay shattered into a hundred pieces.

"The daemon is loose." He announced through vox. "Find it, but Emperor almighty do not harm it."

"Not to harm it? Have I heard right?" Asked the captain.

"It's a daemon from a shield. Receiving blows is how it gains power. If it gets out of here everyone will try to kill it and fail miserably."

"Understood."

At a glance, the corpse revealed little. Self-inflicted wounds and blood loss. Without a trail of blood leading here, the wounds had to be fresh. It seemed too little time for blood loss to have been the cause of death; the summoning must've consumed his last breath. Still, closer inspection revealed hints. Blood stains hidden among the grass leading away, no doubt the daemon who had spread it, but it only begged the question:

Was it trying to run away?

It must not be so powerful. If this body was the only sacrifice, then perhaps that daemon is far, far weaker than what the cultists would've hoped for.

"Squad Apollyon reports contact with the daemon." Spoke the captain, news the inquisitor had been dying to hear. "They've managed to corner it in the cellar."

"On my way." He answered. "Have a team prepared to collect the rest of the artifacts."

That was all the confirmation he needed. So weak it was, that it could not break through a cellar's walls to escape, or phase out of realspace. Without delay they departed, leaving the corpse to rot.

Past the garden, past a few rooms and hallways, they came across more of their kin, more marines awaiting by a staircase leading down below. Their vibrant colors could be picked up; blood red as base covering most of their armor, with a bright white for the pauldrons and all manners of detail, and a great red V branching into a horizontal line at each end. White gold it seemed, the palatine aquila on their chest still glinting despite the signs of combat and extended deployments.

Daemon Vanguard. A fitting name for their chapter, founded in so perilous a time for their sector after Chaos had taken root too strongly for comfort.

At the bottom of the staircase, another marine awaited. At the inquisitor's arrival he removed the great plank keeping the door shut, and then stepped aside as he opened it. Against the darkness within, he and his two escorts turned their bolter lights on and marched in, seeing nothing but bottles for the time being.

Then, from the side the daemon jumped out at the inquisitor. Quick reflexes allowed the inquisitor to intercept it, grabbing it by the neck and keeping it at a distance as it wildly flailed its claws towards him with killing intent. The two marines aimed their bolters, their lights illuminating its figure enough for the inquisitor to gain a clear proper look at its form.

Reddish skin and whitish horns, characteristic traits of a daemon of khorne. Still, lesser in power enough to have the appearance of a human than an atrocity to be expected from greater beasts. Most curiously, however, it had the looks of a woman with long white hair, dressed in simple rags.

---

His steps echoed out loud against the cold metallic surface of the ship's flooring, his Ignatus pattern armor still on him for a not so distant purpose. A few steps ahead, the captain stood cross-armed -- or at least as much as their armor would allow -- in front of a console of flickering lights and video feeds.

His armor, orante and decorated as a company captain's would be. A cape hanged by his pauldrons sporting the chapter's colors and emblem, and over his red helmet a white crest ran from front to back. By his waist rested his power sword and over his backpack his iron halo. Elements earned over centuries of service; Tullius, of the third company of Daemon Vanguard.

Crewmen walked one way to the other within the titanic room as well. Computers and machinery lined the walls on multiple levels, with a cacophonious echo to flood as perpetual ambient noise in the expanse. Up ahead, a vault door stood tall. Still, despite the gargantuan size of the vault, it still took up little space; it had been set up in the cargo bay of a strike cruiser, nothing to scoff at in size.

"Any updates?" Asked the inquisitor upon arrival.

"Inability or unwillingness, the daemon has made no attempt to break out in the last hour." He answered, still fixated on the console. "Seals and structure are all at full integrity."

"I see. Has the kitchen sent what I asked for?"

"Yes." He said, to then pause for a second before turning his head partly towards him. "I still have to question this decision. Why are we not figuring out a way to kill the daemon instead?"

"Killing it will only send it back to the immaterium to run the risk of another cult summoning it in more favorable conditions. Keeping it trapped in realspace is the best course of action so far, is it not?"

No response. Still, though he did not show approval, nor did he speak a complaint, turning his head back to the console once more.

"Open it up, we're going in." Ordered the inquisitor.

Silent, Tullius extended his arm to the screen and pressed a button, immediately flooding the room in a red and orange hue from the intermittent lights all around. The inquisitor and the captain then left for the vault door, which door violently whirred as alarm sirens rang out. Around them, crewmen and a few more marines approchaed.

Half a dozen bolts as thick as a man's torso retracted. The great vault door slowly creaked open outwards, revealing behind a hallway ending in another of such doors. The two advanced, entering with a few other crewmen who carried a cart and a few folded objects with them. With the last one stepping in, the vault door shut, and the one in front began to open in similar fashion.

Well illuminated it was for a vault. The room came to view. There was nothing in it, a prison, save for the prisoner herself sitting against a corner; the daemon of khorne. The captain and the inquisitor led the way in, as understandably aversive as the crew was to get any closer to such unholy being, till behind them the vault door closed shut.

Three men stepped to the center of the vault, unfolding and placing down a table and two chairs on opposing sides. A fourth man dragged the cart forward, to then take out and place over the table a dish.

Pancakes, recently made, gaining the silent judgmental gaze of not only the captain but of the khornette as well.

"Sit down." Invited the inquisitor, though the daemon returned no reply. "You are free to remain on the cold floor, however. It's entirely your call."

Past a moment of silence, the daemon scoffed and made her way to the chair. Once sat down, she gazed in disgust at what lay in front of her.

"What is this?" She asked. Curious, her voice resembled a woman's just like her body. No guttural speech, distortions, ethereal echo, or anything alike.

"What the crew eats at these hours." Answered the inquisitor. "You will do so as well."

"...Revolting."

"I find it hard to believe a daemon like you ever had human food before to tell. Now, eat."

Nothing. Defiant, to the bitter end. Would've been annoying, had the inquisitor not figured it'd be just as tedious to get anything out of a daemon. That they were able to talk normally like this was a blessing from the Emperor in itself. Still, the daemon shifted glances from the inquisitor to the captain to the crew. Something was on her mind.

Without warning, she grit her teeth and brought her hands to the table edge in an attempt to flip it. A keen eye and quick reflexes, however, allowed the inquisitor to drive his hand down onto the table and stop the attempt on the spot. It had brought him to lean closer to the daemon, staring at her dead in the eyes. The daemon attempted no further acts.

Calm and collected, silent and tranquil, the inquisitor brought his other hand to a fork and cut a piece of the pancake stack before lifting it towards the daemon.

"One bite." He firmly stated. "Open up."

Eye twitching in disgust and anxiety, the daemon gulped down what shame her current situation brought. Taking a deep breath, she opened her mouth.

All in the room stared silent as she bit down on the pancakes and chewed. Though initially disgusted, the inquisitor's thoughts turned true: Her eyes widened as she froze in place, revelation hitting her tastebuds. There was no use in hiding it. Past the attempt to suppress it, all could tell that she had found delight in the food. As a final test, the inquisitor left the fork on the table and stepped back.

The daemon then grabbed the fork, and began eating of her own accord. Messy and uncivilized in her manners, though still a favorable outcome.

"What's your name?" He asked.

Gulping down, she spent a few seconds in hesitation. "...Ember."

"Very well. My name is Primus Secundus Tercius, and you will refer to me as Inquisitor Tercius. Cooperate, and I'm sure we can afford to give you a few luxuries."

The daemon, on the other hand, seemed too busy messily chomping on what had been brought for her.

Taking into consideration what he had sought to achieve, Tercius considered it a success.

---

The great vault doors opened once more. The captain and the inquisitor walked in, though with four astartes following close. The khornette within watched with ever skeptical eyes, sitting over the chair by the table.

"The next task will need you out of this vault for a while." Said Tercius. "Test our patience, and we'll weld this vault shut with you in it and forget you exist. Cooperate, and I'll see if I can make your stay more comfortable. I hope it's not too difficult a decision."

Pancakes alone would not tame such a beast. Though the food had been extremely helpful in that regard, still those eyes hid scorn and anger against the imperials. Perhaps, confusion and skepticism as well. A good enough evolution from days past, though by no means one to be careless with.

"So, will you cooperate?"

"...Yes." She answered.

"Yes, what?"

Eye twitch.

"...Yes, Inquisitor Tercius."

"Excellent choice." He said, to then nod at two of the marines.

The marines stepped to the daemon, both with restraints in hand. One binded her by the wrists, and another tied her legs so as to make agile escape an impossibility. With all done, the Tercius and Tullius led the way, two marines followed, then the daemon, and finally the two remaining astartes.

They marched out the vault, eyes of all the crew and marines fixated on them as they passed. Their path led out of the room, past a few corridors and hallways till they arrived to a place in particular which only confused the daemon further.

A locker room.

"What...?" She asked.

"Readings are getting worse on the vault each passing day." Answered Tullius. "You're radiating warp energy at an alarming rate, enough to be picked up despite the vault being designed to not let it through."

"In low gothic, you stink." Added Tercius. "That vault's getting cleaned up while you're out here as well. In any case," he turned to the captain, "are all teams in position?"

"Yes."

Tercius then walked over and took Ember's arm, guiding her further in. In the next room, only her and the inquisitor remained. He removed the restrains on her wrists and legs, to then point at a shower in particular. There, necessary items had been arranged.

"Take a shower." He ordered.

But the daemon did nothing. Judging by her blank expression and gaze, the inquisitor could only conclude it was not out of defiance or being contrarian. It was something else.

"Hey." He called. "Have you never taken a shower?"

Must've been quite the insulting phrasing, though her lack of negative reaction only implied worse things. A frown in confusion formed after her silence, still staring at the shower.

It took quite the titanic effort to not sigh out loud. Emperor almighty, it was gonna be a long day.

He took off his gauntlets and left them aside, to then lead the daemon towards the shower. There, he turned it on and gauged the temperature, finding it fitting enough; not like a daemon would care, assuming they line up with a human's preferences in the first place. Next, he took off her rags, though given their atrocious condition it was quite the surprise that they had not fallen on their own yet.

"Go in." He ordered.

Ember stood there, looking at the falling water. Timid, as if, or perhaps simply too confused to do it too fast, at least till she stepped in of her own accord. From there he ran his hands over her hair, quickly dampening it enough. He took the shampoo, poured a bit in hand, then put it on her hair, to start scrubbing and scrubbing. Somehow, the daemon did not react; in fact, a quick glance at her expression revealed quite a sight: Aimless gaze, not a shred of resistance against his actions, and zero hints to anxiety or negative thoughts. Were he more of an idealist, he'd even suspect she was enjoying the scalp massage.

That oughta do it, for the hair. Next he grabbed the soap and a sponge; all things considered, for a daemon's coarse skin a metallic soap or even a firefighter hose would be necessary, but this daemon in particular seemed unlike the others. Soft skin, much like that of a human's if not even moreso. For a daemon of Khorne, it was enough of an anomaly to be alarming; she was no daemonette at all, or anywhere close in alignment to Slaanesh to have such traits. All things considered, showering a daemonette would be russian roulette with a semi-auto given their tendency to spark lust. So far, however, he felt no temptations.

Soap dampened, then rubbed on the soft sponge. Then, he took her arms and scrubbed. Again there was no resistance, letting him to as he pleased. Why though, he asked himself. Did the pancakes lead to ideas that he'd not harm her, thus need not resist? Bogus, if daemons of Khorne indulged in violence. Was she just that needing of a shower, that the feeling of cleanliness was enough to let him do such alien things to her? Only Emperor knew, but now was not the time for such questions. Back, front, legs, all over cleaning it thoroughly. Enough of an adult he was to not turn into a stuttering paralyzed mess at the naked figure of a woman, as demonic as it was.

Shampoo, done. Soap, done. Now, he helped her rinse, seeing the filth run off into the drainage till only clean water remained falling down. Rinsing, done, thus he turned off the shower and put a towel around her.

"Inquisitor?" Asked the captain through vox. Couldn't blame the concerns; a minute-by-minute update would've been justified when handling a daemon alone.

"So far so good, surprisingly enough." He answered with a finger to his ear.

"Copy."

A look at where he had left the rags showed what he had imagined the first day this plan had been made. Those were no replacement for clothing. They'd have to be incinerated, to say nothing of what warp shenanigans must be imbued in them. Chances were that they were a greater danger than the cursed artifcats recovered from that cult time ago.

But the plans for the daemon involved something other than simply leaving her naked. Another change of clothes had been prepared. After drying her, he stepped off for the folded set and brought it over.

"These will be your new clothes." He said, gaining no complaint from Ember.

Perhaps she really didn't have much to complain; though utilitarian and with fashion as secondary priority, they still were leaps ahead in quality to what she once had. He needed not clothe her, as she quietly took each piece and put it on. Underwear, trousers, socks and boots, undershirt, jacket, so on and so on. In fact, compared to the normal ratings in the ship, these still were somewhat pleasant to look at. In short notice, she was all dressed up, inspecting herself and what feeling her clothing gave her. A hunch told him that she liked the change quite a bit.

"How do you feel?" He asked.

"...Clean."

On its own, a pleasant smirk grew on him. Afterwards, he brought a finger to his ear.

"How's the vault cleanup going?"

"From what the crew says, it's as bad as I imagined." Answered Tullius. "It'll take great part of the day. The apothecary wants to run some tests on you, though."

"What for?"

"Warp exposure, and I'd recommend following through with his request. More than a few are growing wary of what you're doing with the daemon."

"Are you doubting my judgment, by any chance?"

"Irrelevant. Even if I agreed, there's benefit to showing everyone there's nothing to alter your better judgment."

Tercius snickered. "One can't be too paranoid about these matters. Everyone is in their full right to be wary. The daemon's been cooperative enough that we're done here ahead of schedule, so we'll keep an eye on her and see how she behaves until the vault is clean. Once all is done, I will check with the apothecary."

"Understood."

---

"...Everything's in order." Said the marine in his distinct white armor, placing a vial of blood down on the table. Rather than relief, however, his voice betrayed a hint of disappointment.

At the statement, the inquisitor got up from the surgery table. Monitors and implements adorned the somewhat small room, needles and scalpels and bonesaws littered most tables, and to the one his clothes rested on the inquisitor marched.

"I hope your fears have been proven wrong, Ridian." He said, putting on his shirt.

"Or the warp has affected things in ways none of my tools can pick up. I pray to the Emperor that it is you who is correct here."

"Trust my judgement, that I do what I do primarily over finding it necessary to do so."

"Necessary?" Asked the apothecary, turning to face him. "I've heard the rumor that you aim to make the vault more comfortable. For a daemon, no less. What is necessary about giving that abomination those luxuries?"

With his trousers on him and already buttoning up his jacket, the inquisitor paused to look at the apothecary.

"The nature of that daemon necessitates those luxuries. Harming it empowers it."

"Then why are we not burying the vault under a dead world comparable to Tyran?"

"You know as well as I that any reasons I can give you won't be to your liking."

"Then at least tell me you have contingency plans, should things go terribly wrong."

"The vault is in cargo for a reason. We'll dispose of it on a dead world if the worst happens. I assure you, if anything goes wrong, I'll get rid that daemon myself."

Ridian kept silent. Past a few seconds, his gaze shifted aside to the console with Tercius' medical record.

"I'm expecting the crew to face no warp-induced mutations. If any act up, there will be only one possible source."

"That'll do, Ridian. That'll do."

---

A week later...

"Straight vertical line, come on."

"Verti...what?"

"Up to down."

Such was the instruction given from the inquisitor to the daemon, who now sat with a puzzled and pained look while holding a pen in hand. Tercius, Tullius, and Ridian stood by, not within the vault but rather in the immediate vicinity outside. Inexperience in calligraphy showed to a painful degree, holding her pen in a death grip, pressing it against the paper too strongly, and her lines resulting in a mess of mostly thick straight lines repeatedly drawn over themselves.

'E'.

'M'.

And now, the straight line which would start the letter B.

"Good. Now, two semi-circles at the right of it."

"Huh?"

In quick fashion the inquisitor took his pen and drew a B at the paper's corner.

"Like that."

"Why are we teaching a daemon to write in low gothic...?" Sighed the captain.

Semi-circles, they were not. By low finesse or comprehension, it turned out to look more like two triangles instead. Still, the letter could be half-undertsood, making it an acceptable deviation for the inquisitor.

"Now the first letter again." He said.

'E'.

'R'.

Though expecting a next letter, she met the silent watch of the three towards the paper.

"That's your name alright." Said the inquisitor. "Good job."

"Good... job..." She whispered to herself, finding herself aimlessly staring at what she had done. Somehow, a certain warmth she could hardly explain surged from within.

"What was the purpose of this, again?" Asked Ridian.

"Well," said Tercies, taking the paper to look at it up close, "she seems to cooperate well enough with what we ask, and doesn't cause any ruckus when out of that vault. We're gonna let her out for a while."

"You're getting way over your head." He retorted, his heavy steps echoing as he approached face to face with the inquisitor. "This thing isn't a critter, it's not a pet, it's a daemon. One you're letting out into the ship for no reason."

After a pause, the inquisitor turned to the apothecary, standing defiant against him.

"Do you believe that the safety of the Imperium is 'no reason', Ridian?"

"How does this make the Imperium any safer?"

In response, the inquisitor pointed at the daemon.

"Has it killed or injured any of the crew? Has it corrupted any of our minds? Bury it under a dead world, and you'd be hoping the Imperium no longer exists before it finds a way out with a thirst for vengeance, or someone simply stumbles upon it and frees it."

"And how do you know it's not simply trying to gain your trust?"

"That is what we're trying to figure out here. She'll still return to that vault. Do not take me for a fool."

Nothing. No words were exchange for those few seconds, till the apothecary turned aside and departed.

"Don't involve me in this project of yours anymore." He said as he walked away. Tercius and Tullius followed him with their eyes, as did Ember who quietly shifted glances from one to the other, puzzled.

---

Fire alarms rang out loud throughout the corridors. In hasteful response, Tullius ran through the metallic hallways past others in equal rush, heavy steps clanking in violence and reckless abandon. Past turn and twist, he arrived to his objective: an airlock closed shut, that of the inquisitor's quarters. Beside it a few crewmen stood, desperately tinkering with the fire alarm controls, each well equipped for firefighting. With such noise, it turned inevitable that the crewmen would notice his arrival.

"It's malfunctioning, we cant lift the lockdown!" One said, stepping aside as he nudged the others away as well. There, they allowed space for the captain to advance and check the controls.

"Is the inquisitor still inside?" Asked Tullius.

"Yes, he's trapped!"

No time for careful action. Tullius took the control panel and pulled, tearing it off and throwing it aside as sparks flew one way to the other by the snapping wires. More sparks emanated as he pulled and switched wires, till the airlock slammed wide open in the blink of an eye. Tullius then rushed in, just to halt in place as he stared at that which caused it.

There he stood nonchalant, Tercius, lighting up a cigar with the violent flame of a pan over the stove. His demeanor betrayed his lack of apparent care for the flames scattered across the room. Most worryingly as well, close to him by the kitchen counter stood Ember, sporting a look of shame Tullius would've never expected from a daemon of Khorne. A second later, Tercius returned to her and dropped his hand over her head.

"You fucked up." He said.

"S-sorry..." Answered Ember.

Past a few seconds, Tercius spotted the captain, still standing quiet.

"What's this all about...?" Asked Tullius.

"This?" Said Tercius. "Tried to teach her how to cook pancakes."

Silence. The inquisitor then took an extinguisher close to the counter and killed the flame with a burst. Then, he calmly walked over to the other flames in proximity, snuffing them out in equal manner.

"You had an extinguisher ready." Observed Tullius.

"Yeah."

"You... knew this would happen."

"Not really, I just prepared for the chance."

Too many things. Too many damn things the captain wished to say, none of them terribly polite. A daemon in the captain's quarters. A fire. The inquisitor's knowledge of the risks he nonetheless took. Not a single hint of communication as to what he had planned.

No. It'd be useless. He'd not budge, he'd not listen. Incompetence or malice, nothing would change even if he communicated it all to his face.

Somehow, it felt less like incompetence. Emperor knew an inquisitor and a daemon alone with each other would result in the death of either.

A loyal inquisitor, that is.

Swallowing his absolute fury and indignation, Tullius stepped out of the room, the crewmen watching it all with stupefied looks.

---

"Apothecary." Called Tullius, opening the airlock and arriving to the dimly lit room.

On the other end, the apothecary sat at a table with his back to the airlock, writing on and on. He quietly turned his head to glance the visitor.

"Need something?" He asked.

"Regrettably." Answered Tullius, stepping in with the airlock closing behind him. Following a few steps, he arrived to Ridian's side. "I imagine you've already heard."

"There was a fire an hour ago, yes. What brought it?"

"The inquisitor was with the daemon in his quarters."

Though the news would've made him open his eyes wide, now it only made Ridian furrow his brows in unsubtle disappointment. A sigh escaped him.

"Gone mad already, has he?" Asked Ridian.

"Too mad for the safety of this ship. He's tainted by Chaos. We must get rid of him."

What expression of disappointment had been directed at the inquisitor moments prior, now surfaced once more.

"I don't know what's more tragic. Us plotting mutiny, or my fears about the inquisition being true."

"Are you with me, then?"

"I certainly wish it had not come to this. Are you certain the crew will be with us in this regard?"

"Ask yourself if they'll support an inquisitor who deals with daemons, rather than those who kill them."

"What about the daemon? It'll no doubt defend that inquisitor."

"She was put in the vault again before I came here. Knowing the inquisitor, this might be one of the last times she's in there. It's now, or never."

Left in silence, the apothecary pondered on and on. Then, he stood up, decided.

"Let's go. The quicker, the better."

---

The airlock slid open, welcoming in two sets of footsteps clanking into the ship's bridge. Tullis and Ridian marched next to each other forward, past crew and holograms of stars and nebulae towards the inquisitor they could see on his seat. Though the inquisitor had been with his back towards them, the approaching steps alerted him enough to turn to face them, slight surprise befalling him enough to raise an eyebrow.

"Has something happened?" He asked as the two astartes arrived to him.

"There is something we need to talk about, inquisitor." Said Tullius. "It's about the daemon."

Sinking in his chair and resting his hand on his head, Tercius made no effort in hiding his disappointed sigh. "I'm not made out of patience."

"Nor are we." Said Ridian. "Our task was to stop a cult from summoning a daemon, and now you're teaching it to make pancakes."

"Excellent specimen, is it not?" Smirked Tercius, though his irritation still was undeniable. "Can listen to what she's told just fine. Can't say anything about her skill, though."

"Your quarters are no place for a daemon. Nowhere but that vault is."

"It must return to that vault and never come out again. It needs to be buried." Added Tullius. "Enough was risked when you let that daemon loose. Taking more risks is out of the question."

"Enough." Firmly stated Tercius. "The plan is set and we'll follow it through. I'll not tolerate deviation."

"There was enough deviation the moment you started playing cultist with that thing." Retorted Tullius, low and icy in his voice. The subsequent pause allowed the eerie silence which had formed to reign, as all other crewmen had fallen quiet to look on in curiosity and worry.

"Your concern is touching. Get back to your post."

"This isn't a request. That daemon is going back into the vault, one way or the other."

Dead silence. Rather than words, in response Tercius stared with indignation and abhorrance, his eye twitching at the captain. "Space marines should be loyal." He muttered, quietly and subtly his hand making its way to the bolt-pistol by his waist. At the same time, Tullius' and Ridian's hands twitched, their own bolt-pistols in mind just the same.

Yet, the moment had been interrupted by a pinging noise from the console, accompanied by an intermitted red flashing icon. Though the three remained quiet and still in stand-off, Tercius soon enough moved his hand and pressed on the button's console.

"Ork warship coming towards us!" Shouted a crewman from a video feed appearing in hologram display. "Port side!"

Shock settled in, hardly able to let the interruption sink in. In haste, he reached over for another console, a vox channel, slamming his hand over the all-broadcast.

"Battle stations!" He shouted. Almost immediately a cacophony grew from the earlier silence, crewmen running one way to the other and voices echoing about. Flashing red lights flooded the room with the alarm ringing out, one no doubt sounding all throughout the ship. With his announcement through, Tercius turned to Ridian and Tullius, who looked on just as shocked. "Mutiny will have to wait, don't you think?"

Tullius let out a rough sigh, almost a garbled mutter of words as he clenched his fist.

At that moment, another video feed appeared through the holograms and caught the three's attention.

"I'z been lookin for ye, spess muhreenz." Shouted an ork, his jaw almost entirely a slab of metal sharpned into serrated teeth. Yet, his cry of aggression quickly turned into a vigorous laugh. "Ya'z not even a spess muhreen, humie! Ahahahaha!"

"What do you want other than a beating, ork?" Asked the inquisitor. Though it'd be idiotic to think of diplomacy with greenskins, there was no harm in trying to pry whatever they thought of from their own mouths. More often than not, they cared not for secrecy.

"Caught whiff of yer artifacts. How bout ya hold still fer a sec?"

As abruptly as the feed had started, so it had ended.

"Guns free! I want that warship torn into pieces!" Shouted the inquisitor through vox. Still, little could their guns hope to accomplish; though formidable were those of their strike cruiser, and no doubt would they defeat the ork warship of comparable size, they'd need time and proper firing solutions to do so. Knowing the orks and their recklessness, they'd have too small an opportunity to work with before they got too close for comfort. Seeing as they knew of the artifacts, these orks were no amateurs. "Helmsman, full speed ahead!"

By his command, all felt the slight tug back as the engines maxed out, accelerating them further. Tercius stood up and walked aside, Tullius and Ridian following suit to end at the edge of the balcony-like structure holding the main consoles and the command's throne-like seat. From there, Tercius caught glimpse past the great adorned windows the speck of light moving afar. Soon it intensified in an all to obvious sign: The ork vessel had set its engines to full potential as well.

Vibrations. Sudden, quick, reverbrating; volleys of macro-cannons accompanied by the glint of the lance weaponry aimed at the dot in the void. In short notice the projectiles disappeared, but as quickly as they went, so too came those of the orks afar; some passed by in the blink of an eye, while others struck the ship's shields, lighting up the void in a bubble around the ship before harmlessly dissipating into nothingness.

"I'll let you enjoy your continued authority." Said Tullius. "For now."

Seemed like taunting. Even if it wasn't, Tercius still half-took it as one, even if a greater share of meaning rested in a threat. Still, brushing the remark aside, he looked out at the warship once more. "They're going too fast, we won't warp out in time. Prepare for a boarding."

"I will have my astartes ready." He said, to then walk away. Tercius and Ridian then exchanged glances before the apothecary followed suit, leaving the inquisitor on his own.

In due time, they left the room; after following them with his eyes, the inquisitor returned eyes forward.

The warship was already insanely close. What orks lacked in finesse and agilty, they more than made up for in pure thrust. To move this hulking beast of a strike cruiser out of their ramming course would take more time than they'd be given. Time ago, it was a simple dot, and now, its atrocious aesthetic of rusting metal smashed together with a smoking collection of engines slapped to its rear could be seen. Whether a trick of his mind or actual ork shenanigans, Tercius could somehow hear the WAAAGH!! from afar. The moment approached; Tercius walked back to his console and opened Vox once more.

"Blast shutters down! Brace for impact!"

The whirring cacophony of grinding cogs and motors pierced ears, signalling the shutters descending over the viewing ports of the strike cruiser. Little by little as the warship approached, they obscured sight out of the ship, soon enough blocking view of the ork warship itself and only leaving to imagination when it'd truly impact.

Then, as the shutters closed fully, the ship shook in enough violence to throw everyone not strapped in off-balance to the ground. Lights flashed, some even shattering; whatever had not been bolted to the ground swung aside, and the ship howled with the deafening reverb of twisting, bending, and shattering metal. Impact. In haste Tercius stood back up and ran to the console, but before he could even do anything, a holographic display showed a video feed of a department head.

"This is cargo," he shouted past the noises threatening to drown him out, both static and cacophony afar, "half of our department is gone! The warship crashed right into us, and the rest of the levels report breaches!"

Another crewman's shouts close to the department head, unintelligible from Tercius' position, gained the head's attention. In the head's pause, already lasgun fire could be heard along with yelling of both humans and abhumans. "Orks!" Shouted the head. "They're boarding us!"

That department. Had to be that damned department, leaving Tercius to curse to himself.

"...Cargo, what's the status on the vault?" Asked Tercius.

"The vault is gone! It's been fucking vented!"

So it happened. But, it wasn't as bad as it could get. In fact, it could get much, much worse. The risks were obvious. Perhaps they were not risks, but rather certainties. A vault, spaced. Orks, no doubt dying to loot it. A daemon of Khorne, gaining power through received violence.

And certainly would Tullius and Ridian be extremely upset about the news. Knowing what they were about to do before this happened, his career prospects didn't look too bright, assuming they survived the orks.

The orks would be unwitting sacrifices to the daemon. It'd spell the doom of them all, and another daemon loose would not aid the Imperium in its already dire situation. Even if he were to run, Tullius would put a stop to it in short, deadly notice. One way or another, he had to recover Ember.

---

Once more into the fray, the inquisitor had equipped himself for battle. Ignatus pattern armor, helmet obscuring his expression; bolter in hand, inquisitorial power sword on his waist, and bolt pistol as well. A squad of astartes accompanied him, nine tactical marines with their sergeant, all holding onto the bars above them as the tram shook one way to the other in its hasteful trip through the strike cruiser's interior.

The cargo department was no longer their destination, however. The orks had pushed through, having overwhelmed the few armed crewmen that could be assembled in such haste and forced them to retreat. He couldn't blame them. Cargo was lost, and the orks had began invading the next department.

The tram then began grinding to a halt, arriving to a certain department. Stopping fully, the doors opened, and the marines along with Tercius rushed out.

Hydroponics. Already could hints of violence and screaming be heard, signalling the greenskin approach.

Though its entrance seemed humble in size, past it and a few corridors splitting into many, they arrived to the main growing area. Titanic in size, enormous, reaching far high and wide with great displays of green shown past greenhouses and glass panels. Towers leading up to the ceiling scattered here and there, along with storages and growth chambers the size of small houses. It even had multiple levels, with quite a few catwalks and elevators enabling access. Hydroponics had to be of such size, if it ever hoped to keep the crew well fed. Still, the noises had turned clearer, with the sight of retreating crewmen both armed and unarmed greeting them.

Tercius and the marines rushed onward. The small plan was certain: The orks would be overconfident in their advance. Greet them with bolter fire, exploiting their shock.

As they passed those armed ratings, they halted their retreat and timdly advanced with those who just arrived. A rallying sight was a squad of astartes, enough to have them rejoin the fight. Soon after in the distance, once the great crowds of imperials had passed them, they saw the greenskins approaching en masse with guns blazing. Most shots, not even aimed, but instead fired aimlessly just for kicks.

Bolter fire echoed throughout the department, the astartes and the inquisitor opening fire immediately. Several orks fell in an instant in the middle of hydroponics, some turned to a pink mist and others in such close proximity to one another that one round fell multiple. As expected, their overconfidence had been shattered, stopping in their tracks to desperately throw themselves aside and run from cover. Element of surprise now gone, Tercius and the others did the same, rushing to cover as ork bullets began to fly their way.

Battle lines drawn. Bolter and lasgun met shoota throughout the department, the first true defense against the tide before them. Still, a tactical marine squad was hardly a tenth of a company's worth. Reinfrocements would soon arrive; soon, if he could gauge it correctly, but not yet, as the walkways high above still were desolate. Looking back, more and more greenskins poured out from cargo, though little by little more astartes arrived: Another tactical marine squad approached, though not to join them where they were, but rather to rush to the side out of sight. Flanking.

Shoota boyz and slugga boyz were the first wave, though there tercius spotted those who arrived now. Great guns, equipped almost too much, hardly able to carry them on their own but still rushing forward and plopping them down. Lootas, with their machineguns. Seeing as he was not a prominent target of fire, Tercius took aim and landed a shot on one of the lootas, only to attract the attention of all others, forcing him back to cover by the volume of fire.

But then, a constant stream of guns roared out from above. Distinct, heavy, a repeated holy hammering; looking up high, he saw them arrive and set up. Devastators, their heavy bolters wreaking havoc upon the orks below. Fire against Tercius and the tactical marines below diminished thanks to the suppressive barrages, allowing them to peek out at their leisure and pick off their targets one by one.

Didn't take long before the orks reacted. New ones had arrived from the rear, signalling their arrival with smoke and rockets as they suicidally jumped high in an errant trajectory. Storm Boyz, heading straight for the devastator and dodging their bolters as they flew in.

But Tercius saw another trail of smoke appear from the imperial lines, quickly intercepting one of the storm boyz and striking him down, continuing its path to the ork lines. More and more trails appeared in equal manner, each to land among the orks with no subtlety; impact came with a deafening clank and violent vibration felt even from where he was. Assault marines, a full squad of them now neck-deep in orks. With their disrption, the ork guns had been silenced, even if temporarily.

"Advance!"

The order came from the sergeant, as Tercius saw, raising his chainsword towards the enemy. Without hesitation the rest of the squad answered, rushing out of cover forward under the protective fire of the devastators. Almost half a company was here, forty marines carrying out the Emperor's will...

...Or so Tercius would hope, as the cursed idea of His angels facing bloodshed to 'rescue' a daemon gnawed at his soul.

"I commend your bravery, inquisitor." Spoke Tullius through vox, surprising Tercius. Not only that, he could almost hear his voice from elsewhere close; looking around, he found the captain with his squad over a walkway gazing at him. Ridian as well was there, next to the captain. "A little cherub told me that the vault is gone. I trust you're ready to face pain and misery to redeem yourself of that failure, here and now."

"...As the Emperor would ask of me." He answered, even if begrudgingly.

"Then your goal is in that ork warship now." He said, confirming Tercius' fears. "You can take squad Apollyon with you, as I'm sure you know the risks of boarding a warship. They'll arrive shortly."

"Charmed." Answered the inquisitor, to then see the captain and his men depart to the line.

Kind. Too kind, in fact. Knowing him, he'd have locked him in his own quarters to deal with these matters himself. Granting him command of a squad after losing the daemon they had sought to contain was beyond the opposite. Something was on Tallius' mind. Most likely, almost to an obvious extent, he'd wish to keep tabs on his target, putting a squad around it.

Squad Apollyon. Yes, the ones who had captured the daemon. Of all squads in the company, they'd most likely be the most upset about the situation. This didn't look great, but going alone would be even more of a suicidal task.

Didn't take long, before Tercius saw yet another tactical marine squad arrive in haste. Multiple tram systems connected to hydroponics, and so they appeared from elsewhere, arriving to him.

"Inquisitor." Greeted their sergeant. "Captain Tullius has us at your disposal."

"...Yes." He answered, uncomfortable and skeptical. "Has he let you know of our current goal?"

"Recover the daemon from the orks."

How kind of Tullius to let them know this early. Glancing back at the line, the imperial forces seemed to have begun pushing the orks back.

"Cargo, then." He said, to then rush on with the rest. The squad followed suit, taking a little detour to the sides of hydroponics.

Past tower, past building, past enough distance to imagine themselves arriving to the ork line's flank, they approached a structure's corner. Tercius peeked out just to see greenskins a fair distance away, all too distracted shooting ahead to notice them. With a gesture of his hand, he signalled the squad forward, an act the sergeant relayed. He then took aim and fired, as did the marines with him advancing from cover to cover.

The orks had been taken by surprise again, but there was no effective cover for them in quite an area; shot from the front and shot from the side, they understood their situation enough to begin a retreat while blindly shooting back. Couldn't even call them incompetent; not given the luxury for their lootas to set up, and with devastator fire and assault marines raining from above, retreating was the most competent decision they could make. And so, Tercius and Squad Apollyon pushed their advance.

They turned around. The orks turned around, for some reason; at first he didn't know, but a great loud WAAAGH!! gave Tercius quite the hint. Not only were they returning, they were rushing onward rather than standing to shoot, and more and more ork reinforcements came out en masse. Then, he saw them among the greenskin ranks, the cause:

Nobz.

"Stand your ground!" Shouted Tercius, halting their advance. Without the order needed, all guns opened fire.

Boyz fell left and right, though the tide could not be slowed. For every bolter, an ork fell, if not a few, but despite his attempts at accuracy, one ork boy always took what shot was meant for the nobz. Some orks now were covered in red, just to be shot down with the same easy, but three more took his place; there was just no slowing them down. A click announced Tercius' magazine running out, but with how close the orks were, his sword would turn out to be a better choice than attempting to reload.

But then, they liquefied; a deafening and blinding barrage, one devastators could never hope to match, tore through the advancind orks from the side and massacred them. It had been enough shock and awe that Tercius had covered his head with his arm, but as he lowered it to look at the side, he saw none other than one of the company's two dreadnoughts. Its assault cannon smoked, its steps clanked out loud with the floor, its presence could not be denied by neither friend nor foe. Still it fired its cannon again against the rest of the orks who turned tail and ran, stomping forward without sign of slowing down.

"Even the mightiest ork will fall." It spoke out loud, its monotonous and cold voice reverbrating through its vox speakers.

A rallying sight, for behind the dreadnought he saw yet another tactical marine squad pushing onward, even the devastators up high moving out to advance. Three tactical squads, one assault, and one devastator; half the company was here, along with what crewmen arrived as reinforcements. Hundreds of lasguns accompanied dozens of bolters. With the orks running away through the great hallway to cargo, all gave chase, Tercius and Apollyon squad included.

Ammunition still poured into the hallway, corpses both old and new of human and ork littered about. The cavernous space left all noises to echo to an almost painful extend, the path extending onwards almost too much for comfort, but still in due time Tercius and the rest got to the other side. There, they arrived to a high balcony extending for a hundred meters aside, orks throwing themselves off it down below; they'd rather take their chances in the high drop, than face certain death that followed. The cargo elevator that would have taken them down would've been too slow for their taste, but two squads of tactical marines and the dreadnought rushed there nonetheless, as did a great part of the armed crewmen. The assault marine squad descended in their smoking manner from so extreme a distance, and the devastators held the balcony to prepare their heavy bolters and lascannons. Tercius and squad apollyon soon reached the balcony's edge, to see the carnage down below.

A green tide. What number of orks they had seen paled in comparison to those below. Half of cargo now was taken up by the ork warship's front. Out of it, more and more greenskins flooded out like a dam breached, though still they faced tenacious defence by the rest of Daemon Vanguard. Three more tactical marines, an assault squad, a devastator squad, and the second dreadnought facing off against a deffdread; the second half of the company stood their ground. So too did he spot Tullius down in the thick of it, power sword in hand and bolt pistol in the other, slicing and shooting what stood in their path.

But they were still too many. Tercius knew well that this perhaps was the path of most resistance, of most risk.

And the warboss was not there either. Something was wrong. Perhaps it was one of those warbosses that didn't feel like doing simple ork boy work?

Or perhaps the orks within the ship were dealing with Ember.

In any case, trying to force themselves in through the breach would do them no good. Wasteful in time, ammunition, and life.

Until, the idea came to Tercius' mind. There was an alternative. What better to do than board them in return? Impatient as the sergeant was, he was already walking with his men to the elevator.

"Stop." Ordered Tercius, gaining the gaze of the sergeant. Even if a helmet obscured his face, Tercius knew well that skepticism reigned in him.

"Are we not meant to board the warship?" He asked, tone giving away what doubts he had about the inquisitor's motives.

"We'll take an assault ram into the bridge of their ship.

Though silent and judgmental, the sergeant gave it some thought.

"...Very well." He answered, to return to his side with the rest of Apollyon.

---

A mixture of relief and smugness festered within the inquisitor, as he and Apollyon entered the Caestus Assault Rams. Five marines in one, five marines and him in another, Misericordia systems interlocking with their armor. Though normally it'd only prove operable with Space Marines, Tercius' nagging to the company's tech-marine had proven its worth: One of the ten clamps had been modified for him, his belief that one day it'd prove useful turning out to be true.

But other than those two emotions, so too did distress surface; he was just a human, about to go through an astartes boarding action. The modifications had truly been nothing more than nagging, as he had zero experience with such things. The others seemed calm and collected, as much as they'd be for what awaited them. Some, silent. Others, whispering a prayer to themselves.

Though the interior remained almost pitch black save for the dim illumination, the ruckus alone signalled the airlock opening to space. Then followed the roaring of the engine, and the pull back of the acceleration just for the ram's systems to keep him in place.

One more time, he ran the plan through his head. The warboss was nowhere to be seen on the field, therefore he must be at the back. The vault had been taken by the orks, most likely taken to the warboss. Several scenarios could exist, though they all demanded a similar approach.

Board two rams, and breach into two different points of the warship. Then, find their objective.

If the daemon is still locked, then kill the warboss and have the rest of the orks be in disarray, as most of them would surely be too busy in boarding action to defend.

If the daemon is loose and fighting, exploit the chaos to kill the warboss and attempt to subdue the daemon.

Emperor help him.

The hull had begun to be intermittently struck; guns directed at it, yet unable to pierce. Still, the ram shook; even if not lethal, the ordinance of ork was enough to beging altering its course.

"Fifteen seconds." Hissed the vox caster, relaying the pilot's voice.

The hits became harder and faster. The shaking worsened.

"Ten seconds."

The pull of acceleration skyrocketed. Engines pushed to max, giving a sudden respite int he form of relative silence as the ork guns took time to adapt their leading.

"Five, four..."

All held on tight, Tercius included as a sweatdrop slid down his brow.

"Three, two..."

The unmistakeable constant vibration of the magna-melta at the front of the ram echoed out throughout the hull. It'd weaken the warship's hull, to allow them to punch through.

More than boarding, it was planned crashing.

"One..."

Violent movements and almost injuring shaking took over, all pulled forward as velocity halted, a deafening cacophony of chaos and destruction ringing out as the front collided with the ork warship. The Misericordia held on, preventing the inquisitor from liquefying within his armor against the front head-first, but it was all still reminiscent of a dreadful crash of vehicles at max speed. Disorientation, almost concussion by the abrupt and sudden halt; he had no augmentations to help him. Past the armor, past the bolter, past the training, he was only human after all.

And as quick as the chaos began, so it ended, all turning to silence.

The clamps let go. The marines readied themselves, for the ramp-like front to slam open. The five then rushed out into the hardly lit surroundings, flashlighs on their bolters turned out, securing a perimeter. Tercius, however, took a few seconds to recover himself, as if his soul had jumped out of the ship on impact. After a moment, he grasped his bolter firmly and stepped out, though the eerie silence had been enough of an alarming sign. Looking around at the atrocious architecture, he confirmed his doubts.

There was nobody around, other than them.

"Sergeant." Called Tercius through vox. "Seen anything so far?"

"Nothing." He answered.

"Keep advancing. We'll regroup further ahead."

"Copy."

"Inquisitor?" Asks one of the marines.

Turning aside, he saw him pointing his bolter at something, illuminating it. He and the others approached, to see that it was the corpse of an ork. It could've have been from imperials, as they had not even set foot this far yet. Ork infighting? Most likely, knowing how orks were. Perhaps the warboss making an example, though its injuries were focused on the troat. Signs of many slashes. Certainly didn't add up, if signs of death by greenskin usually pointed to getting chopped to pieces or mauled beyond recognition.

Or it had been Ember. Dreadful, that she could not land a hit on him time ago, and yet now she's killing multiple orks.

There was a blood trail leading away, as well. Their only hint for the time being; there was no trusting orks to make comprehensible ship layouts to guess a path. Throughout seemingly endless cavernous the first footstep echoed, followed by others as the group made their way forward.

After a few meters, the second ork corpse came to sight. Sitting against the wall, claw marks in vital areas, and a small pool of blood after time of bleeding out. The trail of blood still followed on.

"Inquisitor Tercius." Spoke the sergeant through vox. "We're seeing some ork bodies with claw marks of some sort. We think it's the daemon's doing."

"We're seeing them here as well." Answered Tercius. Quite the surprising notice, if the other assault ram had ended up that far. Whatever it was must've had quite a bit of time. "We'll focus on regrouping before going in deeper. Can you pick us up on sensors?"

"Yes."

"Alright. Let's form up."

Sensors. They seemed to be further down the ship in a particular direction; cardinal directions would not work in space, bothering not to even imagine them used. Not like he remembered the difference between aft, fore, port, and starboard in any case. It mattered not the name, he still had a direction, one the group followed down the spiky corridors.

Noises. Abrupt, sudden, echoing afar like a series of impacts.

"It's the warboss!" Shouted the sergeant, gunshots and combat hissing through the inquisitor's micro-bead along with a loud 'WAAAGH!!' from the same voice that greeted him back on video feed. "They have a weirdboy as well!"

"On our way!" Replied the inquisitor, breaking into a run that the astartes followed in kind.

Somehow, only ork corpses greeted them on the way. None with signs of combat with space marines, turning it all more and more eerie to imagine, though the noises of combat served as distraction as they approached. They got louder, and louder, and louder, till out of a corridor they entered what looked like a mess hall.

A mess, it was, either by destruction or design; they could see the rest of their squad on one end, and the orks on the other in a firefight, and having exited through the minimum certainly did not help. Other than that, lines were blurred; there was no frontline, no positions, nothing as all ran one way to the other, Warboss chasing the kiting astartes and smashing all cover in his path.

Immediately the arriving marines opened fire on the orks while Tercius shot the warboss. A titanic beast of his own right, all rounds against the warboss turned ineffective. Built like a tank in both muscle and armor, even his power klaw to catch a round as if it had been a shield, the bolter rounds hardly did more than dent; it'd take quite a lot to break that armor and land it on flesh. Still, as aware as it was, the warboss caught notice of the new arrivals.

"Mistah Krumpmind!" Shouted the warboss. "More spess muhreenz!"

"Iz got em!"

An audible surge of energy caught Tercius' attention. Turning to the source, there he spotted an ork with a staff: the weirdboy, channeling whatever WAAAGH!! atrocity above him forming a vortex of green with a mess of debris surroinding it. Before he could react, the weirdboy had thrown it their way, a wrecking ball of scrap and spikes glowing with power like a miniature green sun.

"Scatter!" Shouted Tercius. None dared disagree, all marines in proximity running in their own direction and just narrowly avoiding the crushing weight of the attack. However, on contact the sphere burst shrunk as if imploding, only to then explode for good. A second later, Tercius felt an inescapable pull:

Venting. Whatever it struck had formed a breach, sucking all out into another segment of the ship already in vacuum, ork and marine alike. He had nowhere to hold onto, though chances were his suit would've not been strong enough either. In the blink of an eye, he was sucked screaming into the breach.

---

Slab, rebar, metal, pipes and wires torn apart, holes and caverns punctured through ship plating; sucked in, the inquisitor flailed as he spun, striking at each bend and obstacle of the tube-like breach. Eventually, by pure dumb luck he managed to hold onto a solid protrusion off the plating, though two orks and a marine followed without much luck. They didn't hit him, but they fared worse as the left sight elsewhere through another breach as he saw. 'Saw' might've been too favorable a description. It was all pitch black. Save for the sparks here and there of cut connections, there simply was no illumination.

He had ended up in another room, also rapidly depressurizing. The actual hull breach into space must be more distant than he imagined, but the internal damage had led to that breach reaching so far in. Still he was threatened to be sucked out, but little by little pressure stabilized close to zero, ending that phenomenon he and others had affectionately dubbed space wind.

The damage here was too extreme. Nothing recognizable remained other than the structures of the ship. Even the gravity generators, or what the orks had as equivalent, had stopped working for this area. Holding onto the protrusion, he was left floating, and even as he let go nothing moved from where he had been left.

The micro-thrusters attached at varying points of his armor activated, pushing and turning him enough to land against solid footing. The magnetic qualities of his boots activated, keeping him in place.

His bolter was gone. Pity. At least his bolt pistol was on his waist, as was his power sword.

No idea where he was. No idea where to go. No idea what to do, other than a very vague objective that was better said than done. Turning his night vision on, he looked about. This wasn't that big of a room. A dead end one, if the opening on a wall was a doorway of sorts rather than a third breach. Only one way out, now.

With slow steps as magnetism eased and strengthened, he crossed the doorway with bolt pistol in hand. Already he saw something floating about afar, moving ever slowly in zero-g close to the ceiling. He approached it, and as image quality improved, he could tell it was a dead marine. Inevitably, the signs of ork attacks showed, though upon closer inspection Tercius noticed particular wounds. One in the chest, which hinted as to what might've drawn so much blood from the neck as well.

His gene-seed had been extracted. The apothecary, however, was in the captain's command squad. Were they here? The frontline had not advanced this far; he could hardly even hear the noises of combat.

...

What a time for paranoia. Still, it was only paranoia when one was wrong. Figuring the risks favored a choice, he turned his suit sensors off and advanced.

Noises, again. Muffled by the lack of air, turning into slight echoes and vibrations. Abrupt to start, dead giveaway of impacts of both brute force and gunshots. Could be from stragglers in the mess hall, or could be reinforcements from either side. Only Emperor knew.

Seconds turned to minutes. Slow. Too damn slow it was, to walk in these conditions. Running was out of the question. To walk down a simple corridor turned into a titanic effort; he could simply not imagine combat taking place like this, and yet it was known that Astarted had found themselves fighting more than once outside ship hulls.

Orks. Corpses, sparse and few at first to then increase in quantity littering the hallway. Must've been those of the mess hall, though their deaths only spelled worse: Claw marks. Passing them, he came to see more and more, be it ork boy, gretchin, and Emperor almighty, even a nob was there. Shortly afterward, he crossed a doorway, just to end up at the very same mess hall he had been sucked out of. Now, it was desolated of life, only orks and a few marines lying over the ruined area.

But still many orks had claw marks, bloodied and grotesque.

"Inquisitor."

The familiar voice froze him solid for a second. Quietly turning his head about, he found the one he had imagined a short distance away: Tullius.

With his bolt pistol aimed at him.

"Captain." Answered Tercius. Any false movement, and he'd lose a limb, if not his life. Then again, not like he wouldn't lose it if he kept still for long.

"You see it, don't you? All around us." Said Tullius. "These orks. My men were not the ones to kill them."

"I am aware of the fact."

"Then you are also aware that the daemon has grown strong."

"Regrettably."

A silent pause ensued, the void taking over as ambience to a deafening degree.

"Great men will die because of this."

"They don't have to. We are close. We can recapture the daemon."

"I need, inquisitor. We can. I'd want to see that daemon captured so much, in fact... that I can't let you risk another failure."

"Is that what you sent Apollyon to me for, then? To just keep me on a leash and then lead you to me, and get rid of me as if I had been an ork casualty?"

"You brought this on yourself. You were the only one in the whole ship who didn't want that daemon buried. Now, it's loose. I hope you understand that I can't risk it all happening again."

"Pity." Said Tercius, muscles readying themselves for action. Little hope he had of coming out not profusely bleeding, but little else could he do.

"Goodbye, inquisitor."

"Goodbye, captain."

Then, gunshot. The explosion rang out against the walls in the void, for then to follow an arduous scream in pain through what vox had been left open.

Tullius' hand was mangled, his bolt pistol gone, a shot having come from elsewhere. Tercius snapped his eyes and aim at whoever had taken the shot, though his eyes widened at the sight.

Red skin. White hair. Horns. Crewman's clothing, with a tail sneaking out from behind. It was Ember, holding a bolter with smoke from the barrel dissipating into the vacuum. Unlikelier still, beside her a few steps back approached an astartes in white armor, Ridian holding his belly hunched over as bloodied as he was. Neither Daemon nor Ridian seemed to treat others with hostility, and Ember's bolter even looked to be Ridian's.

"What in the Emperor's name..." Muttered Tullius, holding his arm in pain.

Ember then swung her tail forward, using her whole body in the throw for an object to land between Tercius and Tullius.

The warboss' head, lifeless and showing grievous wounds. That alone left the inquisitor and the captain in absolute stupefaction.

"Emperor forgive me for uttering these words, but the daemon is friendly." Said Ridian, his words choked and gasping, pain and effort clearly noticeable in his voice.

"What happened?" Asked Tercius.

"Command squad got split. Me and the others managed to link up with Apollyon, but were getting overrun by the orks just for the warboss to show up. Then, the daemon shows up and starts killing the orks until we got the upper hand on the warboss."

It wasn't outside the realm of possibilities, if only just in power. That sudden allegiance to the imperials raised doubts, even past all Tercius had seen the daemon do, but what else would he believe if Ridian said so? Looking back at Tullius, he seemed in quite the disbelief; though he couldn't gauge an expression with the helmet obscuring his head, that he stood hunched over holding his arm while breathing heavily, looking on at the daemon, only hinted as to what must've been going on in his mind.

"Where are the others?" Asked Tercius.

"They should be here shortly." Answered Ridian. "They went out to get those who were vented by the breaches."

For a second he had forgotten they were in a vacuum, just by seeing Ember so casually standing with plain clothes. No wonder she did not say a word so far, either. Just as that realization crossed his mind, Ember stepped his way, gaining the attention of the three. Calmly she walked over, arriving to him with a confident grin and her tail slowly waving from side to side, and stood there without an attempted word.

Waiting for something, he figured. Not many things crossed his mind as to what they'd be, other than one in particular. Could it be, though? Perhaps. Indecisive and unsure, he slowly raised his hand towards her, an act which had not erased her grin. To then lower it and pat her, ruffling her hair, only intensified it further as well as the movements of her tail.

"...Good job." He said. Who knew if the noise could reach her.

His fears had been proven wrong. Though powerful, even if her physique showed zero changes, Ember proved to be quite loyal after all. From there, Tercius turned his head to Tullius.

"I hope you can put aside your thoughts of mutiny, now."

The captain sighed in agony, lowering his head.

"The warboss is dead." He said, announcing it through all channels. "Clean up the rest."

---

Slow steps moved back, coming to a halt in the near pitch black darkness of the warship's corridors. A mekboy looked on at the hallway's end obscured by the darkness, with big shoota in his hands and tellyporta on his back. Focused. Alert. Trembling, almost. Now, only silence reigned, one in which the drop of a pin could seem deafening. Unnerving, terribly so, making the mekboy unable to unglue his eyes from the corridor.

As for why, he knew it all too well. Whatever killed the warboss, was after him. It was no humie. It was no space marine.

It was something else, lurking in the shadows.

A noise, echoing afar. Footsteps, as if.

"Waaagh!!" Cried out the mekboy, immediately opening fire down the hallway. A continuous warcry in continuous barrage, the flashes illuminating the hallway partly. "Zog!" He cursed, stopping his shooting just to break running away down the dark corridor.

Twist, turn, corner past corner in the claustrophobic architecture, he eventually saw life anew. More orks running in the opposite direction, to his great relief: Three shoota boyz, a weirdboy, and a nob with a 'uge hammer.

"Dat fing's behind me!" Shouted the mekboy, only to stupefy the nob as everyone halted.

"Wot? It's behind US!"

"...Huh?"

In the unintended pause, they could hear the noises once more. Footsteps, very much afar, but the echoing left it undiscernable as to where it came from. Ahead? Behind? None could figure it out, all staring at both sides with clear anxiety in their faces.

A flash of light and a deafening bang rang out, followed by a whistling and then an explosion right in the torso of one of the boyz. After a shout in fright and covering themselves from the gibs, the shoota boyz and the mekboy began firing down the hallway.

"Krumpbrain! Fling me!" Ordered the nob.

"Wot?!" Asked the mekboy, halting his firing.

He thought he had heard wrong. A stupid plan. But, he had heard right, and the weirdboy had obeyed, using his powers to fling the nob towards the darkness with a loud 'WAAAGH!!' fading away with distance. The sight of a nob flying through the hallway like a missile silenced the boyz' guns in surprise.

"Ya snotling!" Shouted the mek, running ahead. They couldn't lose a nob. They'd all die for sure without him in the group. "That fing killed the warboss!"

What an atrocious distance he had been flung. He kept hearing the nob's warcry, great impacts of his hammer, but so too the noises of shooting from what took one of their boyz. But other than the flashes, he couldn't see much other than the immediate vicinity.

Then, it all turned silent.

"Nob!" He called. "Nob!" He shouted, but no response.

He saw him. He approached running, but the nob was on his knees on the ground. Getting closer, he saw the aftermath: One of his arms was missing, he barely held himself up with the other, his hammer was on the ground, and a considerable puddle of blood formed under him.

"Grot! Zogging grot!" Shouted the mekboy, grabbing him by the back of his clothing and trying to get him up. Behind him arrived the rest; the boyz and the weirdboy. "Ya thought you'd stomp it good when the boss coudln't--"

Flash. Bang. Whistle.

The Nob's head liquefied. The explosion sent the mek aside, sending him to the ground with a concussion. Another bang, another whistle, and it struck someone he couldn't see. The mek quickly wiped the nob's blood off his face and looked from the ground, just to see who it had struck:

The weirdboy. He was already going nuts, much to the horror of the other boyz. Floating, most of his body mangled, shouting guttural gibberish with light coming out from his mouth and eyes growing stronger by the second.

What'd happen was all too obvious, sending the mek and the boyz in panic. All desperately tried to run away -- crawl, in the case of the mekboy -- but already too quickly the weirdboy exploded in a furious green warp-vomit, punching all away.

Blunt trauma. His last days, thought the mekboy past all the damage. He could barely keep conscious. Not even Ork physiology could tank that much punishment. His vision was blurred, but already he could tell far behind him that there was no movement. The other boyz were dead. Everyone was dead. Everyone but him...

...and what he saw slowly approached from ahead.

Humanoid in figure, but a humie it was not. Horns. Tail. A boltgun. The silhouette alone was enough for him to know who it was.

Much as he loved a good fight, this was not about to be it. They were being used for target practice. No, he wasn't about to stay here and die. With what little strength he had, he struck his chest with his clenched fist and activated his tellyporta, sending him away with a lightning strike where he had lain.

The silhouette's slow walk continued uninterrupted, till it arrived to where the mekboy once was. For better or worse, the weirdboy's energies stuck to the wall, acting as makeshift illumination as if radioactive waste had been splattered about. There she now was, Ember, standing and inspecting the aftermath while puffing a cigar.

Inquisitor's favorites, as she had come to learn. Even in a pancake fire in his quarters, he'd smoke one. Very kind of him to give her some, and kinder still to give her his power sword she now carried on her waist. Although, perhaps it wasn't as much kindness, as it was his aversion to let her use the cursed sword they had recovered from the botched summoning. It didn't matter. To choose from the inquisitor's own sword or some other weapon, she'd always pick his.

Raising her finger, she put it to the micro-bead in her ear she had been gifted as well.

"Got a few shootas, a nob, and a weirdboy." She said. "Mekboy ran away."

"Pity." Answered the inquisitor on the other end. "Console says there's a marine close by, must've been one of those who got vented and knocked unconscious, but he's still in the warship. Find him and plant a marker beacon. Tullius and his boys will take it from there, so come back and take a rest."

"Of course, Inquisitor."

As calmly as she had arrived, she departed.

---

What a mess of a day. Mutiny. Orks. A loose daemon. He had been used to those three, but never in the same day. Emperor knew he just wanted to rest; so badly, in fact, that a cold metal floor seemed like a bed of roses in comfort. Luckily, he needed not sleep in such place, findinding solance in the comfort of his own bed's sheets. So soft, so warm, it almost made him drift immediately.

But he heard a near silent noise, just by chance. Movement, to then be felt as something seemed to be under the covers. At first he suspected his own mind drifting asleep, but with alerted senses he kept hearing and feeling whatever it was. Something was here, in his own quarters. Quickly he reached for the light on his nightstand and turned it on, lifting the blanket at the same time.

The intruder under the blanket turned out to be Ember, looking at him silently and almost in surprise, similar to the inquisitor. He couldn't be that surprised; she was let out of the vault for good after that display against the orks, and even had access to his quartes, but that she snuck into his bed is what struck him weirdest.

"...Can I sleep here?"

The question left him in silence. He knew not how to answer. The situation was ridiculous, and he should've thrown her a blunt and immediate no even if she wasn't a daemon. But, was there a reason to say no? Daemon, but proven loyalty. Pulled her weight, killing that warboss and a few others. All she had asked for in return was a pat on the head, and this. Were she a guardsman, she'd have gotten commendations and medal if not sent for training to be an inquisitorial stormtrooper by the inquisitor's own recommendation, turned into his retinue.

And all she asked was this.

Figures if she wanted to attempt something on him, she had far too many chances already. With a puff out of his nose, he turned the light off and made himself comfortable again; taking it as agreement, Ember huddled up next to him. He had no nervousness or anxiety over the act; with how touchy the daemon was getting, cuddling against him like a girl onto a supersized teddy-bear, he thought nothing of simply having an arm wrapped around her. Now, there was only silence.

"...Inquisitor Tercius?" She called in whisper.

"Just call me Primus." He answered in sigh, exhaustion evident.

"Pri...mus..."

What an occasion, to refer to him through his first name. Already memories of the first day had arrived, when he had commanded her to refer to him only in rank and last name within a vault. More than a few things had changed. Back then, she'd have never imagined it'd end up like this. Ridiculous. And yet, here she was.

"Have I... done a good job?"

"You keep wondering that?" He asked, to then gently plop his hand on her head. "Yes, you saved us quite a bit of misery with that warboss. Kind of saved my life too, since the captain would've shot me had you not shown up. He wasn't too overjoyed about that, though."

"Maybe he shouldn't have raised his gun at you."

A low chuckle escaped her.

"What, are you gonna shoot whoever tries to harm me now?"

"Yes." She answered, immediate and blunt without a hint of joking in her tone.

Though still sporting a slight smile, his humor turned partly to surprise. To hear that of a daemon towards an inquisitor really left him disoriented for a second. But, if she had said it, and even proved it, could he really deny reality?

What a mess.

Ruffling began anew. The daemon moved, leaving his side to gently climb over him, ending with her chest pressed over his and their bodies lining up one over the other. Much as he didn't care for trivia he'd not find much use in, he had found out at that moment that daemons, or at least Ember, had a heartbeat. A fairly strong one, reminiscent of a human in fairly emotional situations. If her breathing was anything to go by as well, escaping from her mouth in almost unheard sighs each time, perhaps something intense was going through her mind.

He needed not see. He could already picture it well enough through his other senses, the daemon looking at her in the darkness of the room. No hostility, no sadism, nothing of the sort as even her weight on him pressed softly. She was not pinning him down, he could nudge her away at any time, but perhaps choosing not to left her to assume acceptance, leading to quite curious thoughts.

But it mattered not what she thought, for him. He knew with full certainty anything in her mind would not cause him harm. If she wanted to kill him or hurt him, she had too many chances to do so. Rather, he knew what was in her mind, letting her try to take initiative of her own accord.

Soon enough, her breathing could be heard closer and closer. Without him doing a thing to stop it, her lips grew closer until they came into contact with his own. So, that's what she had sought. Returning the gesture in kind, he embraced her and softly pulled her closer to him, returning the kiss.

---

Cybernetics. Wires, metal sheets, sensors. The procedure had finished, and all that remained was for the sitting captain to test his new hand. Tullius clenched it into a fist, opened it again, and fiddled his fingers to see that all worked as it should, much to the relief of Ridian next to him who put his tools aside. Nothing fancy, not terribly aesthetic, but it needed not be; it'd still be covered by what armor he'd have on deployments were it flesh and bone anyway.

"I am thankful that your idea of taking the ork's klaw as new hand didn't last." Said Ridian.

"Maybe if I had killed it myself." He answered, to then stand up. "Otherwise, what's the point?"

Disappointed at the reasoning, Ridian let out a sigh. At the same time, Tullius turned and crossed the airlock out of the apothecary's clinic with Ridian behind him, just to halt in place.

"...What has the daemon been up to, so far?" He asked, turning his head to Ridian.

"Last I heard, in the kitchen making pancakes and befriending the cooks."

"No fires?"

"No. Might've improved to the point she's not a hazard to the ship."

"What about the inquisitor?"

"Haven't seen him leave his room today."

Ponderous and silent, Tullius' gaze lowered as it returned forward.

"We'll pay him a visit." He said, to then walk away. Ridian, in turn, quickly caught up to his side.

"Still suspicious of that daemon?" Asked Ridian. "Look, of course I'm not fully convinced, but we all saw what she did with the orks. She even saved my life -- and the inquisitor's, when you tried to shoot him."

Stopping in his tracks, he turned his head to Ridian.

"I don't know." He answered. "I don't know what's going on anymore. I'll only go check on him, that's all. No matter what happens, I'll get some clue as to what in the Emperor's name happened these days." He then resumed his march. "An inquisitor and a daemon teaming up and helping a chapter fight the orks... Would you expect the chapter master to believe the report?"

"I can't say I would, were I in his place."

After twist and turn of corridors and hallways, after trips through elevators and tram systems, they arrived to the inquisitor's airlock. The airlock opened for the captain, to see inside the inquisitor quietly reading a book with a recently emptied cup next to him as the lamp over the desk illuminated the text. The inquisitor didn't seem to mind the arrival, enough for him not to even turn to feign surprise. Given what animosity the captain had displayed at him, even a murder attempt, Tullius could only take this as a blessing.

"What can I help you with, captain?" Asked Tercius, turning the page of the book.

"I only wanted to check." Said Tullius, stepping inside. Though he planned on saying more, he turned silent in curiosity as his eyes fell over the book itself. "Will we be chasing after more daemons?"

"No. In fact," he said, to then close the book and hold it, looking at its empty cover, "we might not have a problem with daemons for a while. With Ember, in particular."

"Why? What's in that book?"

"Her name."

Silence. An abrupt pause where none of the three said a word.

"...You mean, that daemon's name?" Asked Tullius. "Her actual, real daemon name? How did you get it?"

"She... gave it to me." Answered Tercius with just as much confusion in his tone.

Though once more the three fell silent, after a few seconds Tullius shook his head, lifting his palms and turning aside to depart without a word. Ridian follow Tullius with his eyes, watching that display of almost disappointed resignation to the circumstances, to then shift glances back at the puzzled inquisitor.