Editing Story:Another Continuation of LCB (section)

===Epilogue, Part 1===

''Cupido summum supplicium sumendi saepe ex invidia aspera et occulta orta est.''

Her face wore a bored and disinterested expression. The woman, with her long and wavy raven hair, sat languidly in the throne of the judge. Leaning heavily on the right arm of the chair, her chin rested on the palm of an exceptionally well-crafted mechanical arm, scarcely decorated. Over her heart, pinned to her humble black coat, was the badge of the Inquisition, and in her mouth was a long, thin, and ornate pipe – one of the few extravagances she cared to indulge in. She sighed. The smoke that poured from her nose almost reminded Madek of a dragon. And he was in her den.

“Madek,” she began. “Would you be so kind as to explain how it was you managed to lose the two assassins under your auspices? Or perhaps the fate of Vindicare LIIVI’s handler?”

“I would be delighted to: once you explain what you’re doing, sitting in that throne, Inquisitor Silvahla. Awfully young to become a Lord, aren’t you?”

The Ecclesiastical representative looked back and forth between the two. “You two… have a history?”

“I have encountered Madek before, yes.” Her expression remained unperturbed. “And I would be a liar if I claimed he had not wronged me. However, I have since forgiven him his transgressions. Against myself, at least.” She closed her eyes and let off another long puff of smoke from her nose. There was something about this behavior that the ecclesiastical representative found disconcerting. “''Is she… grinning, beneath that?''” The smoke faded, and with it, any hint of amusement. Perhaps it was only his imagination.

“Without our dear Madek,” she continued, “I’d have never gotten this wonderfully convenient arm.” Well cared for mechanical digits drummed lazily against her cheekbone.

Madek’s mechanical eyes narrowed. “Blasphemy upon the holy human form.”

Her eyebrows raised slightly, as though she had heard something remarkably stupid, and it had left her thoroughly unamused. “Charming though your hypocrisy is, Madek, I am afraid that no attack on my appearance or character will get you a new judge. You would do well to dispense with your hostility and provide to us the requested information.”

He remained silent.

“Very well. I consider myself merciful, Madek. You won’t be tortured. In fact, we already know what happened. The Inquisition has performed a thorough search of the quarters of your Callidus, and we secured her records.”

Madek frowned.

Another long puff. “Perhaps you are upset she did not destroy those, as you had ordered?”

Again, silence.

“Very well. I will allow the evidence to speak for itself. In light of it, I do not believe any of our- ah, my mistake –my fellow inquisitors shall find your subsequent purging wont for justification.”

The former inquisitor snapped. “Did you turn this trial into a public spectacle, you witch?”

“Such an accusation, Madek. I would never do that. This is, I assure you, only a formality. There are those within the Conclave who felt it would be best to broadcast your transgressions to your former associates - to ensure there were no ‘misunderstandings,’ as it were.” 

“You actually convened a Conclave just for me?”

“Oh, yes,” her left hand toyed with her hair absentmindedly. “And I am afraid the trial was already held - in absentia. The Lord Inquisitor was not pleased. Much was said, and I'm afraid to report that none of it was good. In particular, the representative of the Ordo Sicarius used some very colorful language that I've never heard from any servant of the Emperor - but I don't doubt his fury came from a righteous place. You should be grateful that he's dealing with your 'friend' in his Ordo, and that I am the one sitting on this throne. He wanted ''you''."

He smirked. "You could have curried favor with a member of the Ordo Sicarius, and you tossed that away for vengeance?" The aging inquisitor shook his head.

"I made no such trade. They granted my Writ of Confidence a year ago." She paused, watching as his features shifted from frustration to incredulity. "You may be surprised to learn that I've been entrusted with a Culexus. I anticipate that my Writ will be renewed again - I fully intend to keep him safe, and risk him only for worthy missions."

The ecclesiastical representative took note of those two jabs. Soft, but deeply piercing. He also took note of Madek's reaction.

"A culexus..." he muttered. "For your first assassin..."

"Unusual, but not unprecedented. I am very good at my job."

As the representative looked between the two, he found there was something about her steel grey eyes which made them look as artificial as Madek's. The way they studied and dissected the heretic's every move. She glanced at the representative out of the corner of her eye. He quickly stiffened and broke eye contact. From the corner of his eye: a subtle frown on her face, hidden by the smoke? He couldn't tell, and didn't care to. She turned her gaze to Madek and continued.

"This may come as a surprise to one such as yourself, but I've found that, with patience, there are very real rewards for playing by the rules."

The repeated jabs, however softly phrased, cut deep. With that, they had finally taken effect. His eye twitched. There was some testiness in his tone. "I've had at least five of your lifetimes of dutiful service-"

Her voice cut him off with the hardness, sharpness, and cold bite of surgical steel. "Not as dutiful as you seem to think, if what I've heard is true. And I believe it is."

"Then they could have bloody told me."

Her hand never stopped toying with her hair. The indifference spread across her face and leisurely slouching body was reflected in her voice. "You should have known. That was your job, after all."

It wasn't reflected in her stare. And the cold light in her eyes really pissed him off. "Want some advice from somebody who did it longer?"

"Not from you," she replied casually.

"If you're sitting on the throne of judgement, then ''judge.''"

Silence. She smiled noticeably for the first time and exhaled sharply through her nose. "Bold as ever. Is my face really that much more painful to look at than the flogging your impudence could award you?"

"Beyond words, witch."

"Yes, I suppose that evil normally recoils in the face of justice. Let us be on with it then - while barbarous heretics like yourself deserve every manner of pain a cruel mind can imagine, I will spare you a drawn out death. You were declared traitoris excommunicate. With the verdict rendered, many of the attendants understandably wanted to wash their hands of this matter. I volunteered to deliver your sentence, and ensure there could remain no presumption of your innocence. Documentation of your sins have been despatched to your contacts already. I trust that you have had plenty of time to reflect on them, and understand what they are. Your most recent transgressions have had little time for reflection. I felt it would be beneficial to compile them into one last lesson for you.”

As the lights began to dim and the servo skull prepared its projector, the smoke poured from her mouth as she spoke. Madek swore she was wearing a twisted and predatory smile. “And really: witch? Please Madek, watch your language.”

----

<tt>Mission [MMCMII] in the service of [Inquisitor Madek].</tt>

“Terra,” said Madek, sitting comfortably in his throne, staring at some artifact in his hand. “The location of a traitor fortress has been identified. You are to eliminate every last occupant. A vindicare will be offering you fire support.”

“Understood, sir.”

“That encompasses the second half of the operation. The details will be provided to your shortly. I must understand if you are up to the task for the first. You are familiar with the Handlers of the Vindicare Temple?”

“Yes, sir.” The camera bobbed down and up once.

“One is operating in the area. I ordered that his vindicare provide fire support for you, and provided the data. He was less… interested, in the elimination of traitorous heretics. They are all of the same mind, the vindicare temple. They look for ‘tactical significance,’ or assess ‘reasonable risk.’ Both are subservient to the spiritual significance of the action. It is our mandate that this heresy be stamped out wherever and whenever it is found. For that reason, I am ordering you to dispatch him for dereliction of duty, and replace him as necessary. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir.” The camera bobbed down and up once.

----

Inquisitor Silvalha’s face, like the rest of her frame, was masked in shadow. Yet there was a soft glow in the corner of her mouth. Was it the pipe? Or was she sneering at Madek, writhing in his seat?

Truth be told, an Inquisitor was fully within his or her rights to execute anyone at any time. But the Officio Assassinorum did not take kindly to the frivolous execution of its agents. And their opinion was given some weight. The galaxy is a big place, after all. An Inquisitor might go a lifetime without seeing another of their kind. Unfortunate accidents or tactical oversights regularly befell those who wasted the lives of the Imperium’s most valuable tools. And many an Inquisitor who encountered evidence of such "accidents" might be willing to turn a blind eye. The waste of valuable resources for unjust causes is a sin of its own, after all.

The video continued.

----

No time was spared. Just the important details. The feed cut to a door being opened.

A bedroom. Generic. Probably a room at an inn. Occupied. A man got up from the desk by his bed. “Who-?” Cut.

The man gasped as he asphyxiated, desperately trying to wrench the hands from his neck. The freakish sound of polymorphine sliding within flesh was audible. Cut.

She checked her appearance against his in the mirror. Perfect mimicry should be almost instinctual upon graduating from the Callidus temple, but it was still good form to check. Cut.

“Vindicare L-I-I-V-I.” A hand held the microphone partially out of frame, attached to a suitcase radio open on the desk, tall antenna practically touching the ceiling. “Report to to the south eastern corner of sector 7. An operative will meet you with details. They will carry the badge of the Inquisition.” Cut.

The sun was soon to set. A vindicare emerged from the brush, rifle at the ready. The camera, leaning against something, stood up straight. A feminine shadow separated from the tree’s. A right hand was raised to eye level, the edges of an Inquisitorial badge visible between the fingers and beneath the palm. “You are to provide overwatch while I infiltrate the chaos base over this hill. No survivors.” She tossed him a Long Las. He snatched it out of the air by the grip. “Whisper Bolt-Discharger. Windows and thin walls only. Don’t start fires. If things go loud or you see daemons, use your Exitus. Understood?” The vindicare nodded. Cut.

A neural shredder was pointed a shaking cultist. Boiling brain matter oozed out of his ears, eyes, nose, and mouth. A sentry turned the corner, into the view of a window. Just as his mouth opened to raise the alarm, his eyes glazed over and his skull split with a mild pop, thoroughly cooked. His fall forward was cheered by the tinking sound of glass expanding and contracting from heat. Cut.

“Thermals indicate they are gathering in the courtyard.” Vindicare’s voice. 

“Roger.” The camera swerved towards a door in the middle of the hallway. Cut.

“The bodies are falling flat. May be going prone.” The camera turned a corner and sidled against a wall. There was a window nearby. A hand holding a small mirror came into frame. Moving closer to the window, it was raised slightly, reflection clearly visible. All lay dead or dying, save one, looking up at the mirror with a maddened sneer. He slit his own throat and fell to the ground, quivering. Silence. “I think we’re done h-.” The air around the bodies began to arc and crackle as the channels cut into the ground, filled with blood, started to glow. The camera shook violently as it took off, running. “Unknown ritual! Fall back!” A glance over a shoulder. Glowing warp energy raced down the hallway, walls proving no obstacle to the immaterium. There could be no escape. It was upon the camera in the span of a second. Static. The feed flickered before it returned, slowly standing up from the carpeted ground.

“Overwatch, do y-.” Her shadow shuddered as her voice died. Whatever the source of her discomfort, it took a handful of seconds to regain her composure. “Do you copy?”

“Affirmative. Tripped, sustained head injury. Escaped blast radius. You?”

“We’ll find out. Let’s report for inspection.” Cut.

----

Medicae paperwork flickered across the screen. Bolded portions were accompanied the voice of some woman reading them.

“Callidus.” “Examined at 1900.” “Signs of chaos taint - negative.” “Injuries sustained - none.” “Highly recommend staying out of the field, watching for symptoms.” “Highly recommend Inquisitor Madek acquire an Almoness Advance from the Order Hospitaller for second opinion and further examination.”

“Vindicare.” “Examined at 1900.” “Signs of chaos taint - negative.” “Mild concussion from fall during escape.” “Recommended three days of rest...” “...satellite imagery confirms vindicare to be outside of blast radius.” Cut.

----

The image went black. The sound of a button being pressed and a mild static typical of cheap, disposable recording instruments could be heard. “Entry 01” appeared at the bottom of the screen.

“I have begun keeping this journal, because I am afraid.”

The voice of the Callidus. Of Terra.

“They told me that I was free of chaos taint. They were wrong. I knew it.” The sound of swallowing.

“After that blast, I was shocked to be alive, unhurt. I thought it was a miracle. But that shocked elation was quickly crushed when I heard the voice. A whisper in my mind.” Her voice dropped to a low hiss.
‘I can give you whatever you want.’

The ensuing silence was punctuated sniffles and irregular breathing. “I should seek the Emperor’s benediction. I know I should. But I fear it. I fear what the voice says it will do to me if I flee it. I fear I am forever tainted. I fear He will reject me. I do not want my soul to fall into the waiting arms of chaos. 

I wish somebody could save me. If nobody can, then may this journal document why I became what I did.” Her hushed voice was choked with tears. ”Forgive me.” Cut.

----

“Entry 09” appeared at the bottom of the screen.

“I have begun dining with the Null. Increto. We must eat together from across the room, but it is still enough. My blood runs cold, and I almost feel ill. But it is the only time when the voice leaves. When I am not compelled to say things I shouldn’t. When I am near her.

She has begun insisting that I call her ‘Sascha.’ Her birth name. How has she clung to it? I do not know. The girl takes me for a friend, it seems. Her attempts at conversation are pathetic, but persistent and genuine. I play along. She is oblivious to my nervous habits.

I feel even more guilty for using her. She’s no assassin. Too well adjusted to be from a death cult. She doesn’t belong here.

But I can’t report this.

Then I couldn’t use her.”

----

Grainy footage fizzled onto the screen. It was Madek, talking to his callidus. “Felix” must have been wearing a wire.

“It’s been three entire weeks, Terra. Are you well enough for a mission?”

“What is the mission, sir.”

“Non-optional. I need you to impersonate the handler again. Lukas Alexander wants him.”

“...Yes sir.”

----

Footage from some nondescript room.

"Specific ranks, alas, I can not divulge, even within these sound proofed walls, and before you say commander, the Inquisition had the walls soundproofed, just in case of a situation like this. Helps to assure no unfortunate leaks of confidential information. Would like to lock me up in the stocks? They have some stocks on the ship."

"Y-"

"It's a good thing your officer is unarmed," said the man turning on his heel, placing a too clean and soft hand on the Governor's table, "He seems the type to resist, fortunately my two comrades are just the type to take him in with a minimum of fuss, hmm, assaulting a fellow officer, my my, what a time at the whipping post for me!" The man turned, a smile on his face.

----

Footage from a Valkyrie.

“Hey. In-... Sascha.” Terra stared at the floor of the craft with a blank expression on her face. Her right eye twitching occasionally.

“Hm?” The false culexus looked over at the Callidus.

“Could you take off that helmet?”

“...Are you okay, Terra?”

“I’m fine. I just like you with your helmet off.”

“But the pilot, and your men-”

“They’ll be fine. Just a few seconds. Please?”

“...Okay.” She thumbed some buttons, released some clasps, and slowly raised the helmet from her head. The men recoiled. The Valkyrie lurched. But beyond the cessation of her tic, Terra had no reaction. She stared into Sascha’s eyes, elbows resting on her knees, chin resting on her clasped hands. 

“If I do anything strange,” the assassin said, “please. Don’t hesitate to do what you need to. Okay?”

Sascha glanced out the window for a moment, wearing a sombre expression of reflection. She pulled her eyes from the treetops and slowly put her helmet back on. The flight became smoother. The men to the sides of Terra relaxed.

“Is something the matter, Terra?” 

“Nothing at all.”

----

The camera looked to the hilltop. A shadow stood behind a tree. The shadow froze, and immediately turned around and began running away. Muffled growls and gnashing were audible. After violently shaking itself from side to side, the camera saw a fist toss a melta charge towards the snow bunker. It retreated behind a tree. When the thunderous sound had passed and the white flash had vanished, it bolted towards the crater and leapt into the steam. What transpired was hardly visible, but one thing was clear - it was flung out, seconds later, landing in the snow, staring at the sky.

The camera leapt from this position and latched onto a tree using clawed hands. They quickly scurried up it with a speed and strength beyond human. It looked earthwards. A form emerged from the steam. Almost human looking. Limbs, a bit too long, a bit too limber. Movement, a bit too graceful. No, this was no human. It was xenos. The Farseer. The target. Her armor and spear were evidence as much.

It leapt down at her. Bolt pistol emerged in frame. A second passed in freefall - lining up the shot. It began to fire. The farseer rolled as the rockets bounced harmlessly off her shield. Spearpoint was raised up. There could be no avoiding it mid air. The assassin landed right on it.

The camera turned to face the farseer, spear blade now covered in sizzling blood. An arm, separated from its body, was visible on the ground. It lashed at her with its remaining arm. She was responding before the movement had even begun. In scarcely the blink of an eye, the grasping hand met the butt of her spear and shoved it violently backwards. Just as the neuro gauntlet seemed prime to touch her pale skin or yank on her foolishly exposed raven hair, the hand began to recede. It fell away, and found itself staring up at the sky once more. The witch shouted something profane, and as it rushed to get up, some invisible force began tearing at its chest. The distinct crack and screech of eldar shuriken weaponry, shattering the sound barrier nearly a hundred times in a second with a constant stream of sharp crystalline projectiles, hinted at the culprit. The battle was decided.

It spasmed and struggled to look up from the ground. The shredded torso was disgusting to look at, the broken ribs and destroyed flesh oozing blood and other strange fluids endemic to the eversor’s system. It attempted to reach for a melta charge, but this was in vain. The farseer stood over it, and so focused was it on its task that it hardly spared her a glance. One burst to the head. The camera was knocked backwards and staring at the sky once more. Another burst. The lens cracked. A final burst. Nothing. The farseer stared down at it with a look of disgust and contempt on her face. It quickly turned to shock. Screaming something else in her profane tongue, she fled the scene. The camera jerked suddenly before the feed was cut.

----

The control room camera was grainy. But it showed what was necessary. The right eye of the Callidus was looking at the comms panel, while the other was focused on the guardsmen. Her right hand was entering an encryption key. The other was pulling the trigger of a las rifle, directed down the hallway.

There were mutations on her left side.

She tore the mic from its holder and pressed it close to her lips. She was screaming something into it, frantically trying to communicate as tears ran down her face. She stopped. Her left hand tossed away the las rifle and seized her neck. Asphyxiating, she stumbled backwards, right hand clawing at the disobedient arm, before falling over, head out of frame, and convulsing on the floor.

----

The lights grew brighter. Madek didn’t need to squint. His mechanical eyes adjusted perfectly well on their own. The first thing the saw was the dispassionate face of Inquisitor Silvalha.

“With justification provided for any naysayers, for the following reasons, we have determined to charge you traitoris excommunicate.

1. Poor maintenance of the Emperor's tools, which were under your care. One was killed fighting an opponent it was ill suited to attack. Another fell prey to chaos. And another defected to the enemy.

2. Reckless use of valuable resources. You utilized resources of the assassinorum in order to confirm all kills when conventional bombing would have been sufficient.

3. An inability to identify heresy in your own midst. For three weeks, your Callidus was turning, and you did not see it.

4. Withholding resources from the Emperor’s finest. Not only did you neglect to provide your null to the Culexus Temple, you failed to train her to parity. What should have been an easy mission became her last, and she failed to fully utilize her abilities. Not even basic skills taught by the Culexus Temple were utilized.

5. Misdeeds against your fellow Inquisitors. Not only myself, but others, who are much less forgiving than I.

6. You have achieved no victories to justify these costs. You have proven yourself to be a net loss. Delusional. Dangerous. And above all: negligent.

Your execution will be held shortly. Please do not embarrass your office further by attempting to escape.”

----

Over the course of the afternoon that the representative had spent with Inquisitor Silvahla, he had found her to be a rather affable character with a dry sense of humor. She was not nearly as haughty as other inquisitors he had dealt with; in fact, she actually demonstrated human empathy, a first by his account. Not only had the woman provided alms to the needy, she even deigned to play a street game with some urchins - offhandedly mentioning that there was a time that she had once numbered among their ranks. It seemed as though, perhaps, she was the sole normal member of the Inquisition.

However, he was beginning to reevaluate that judgement.

There was no doubt in the representative’s mind that Madek was a despicable, contemptible person – and worse yet, a heretic – who perhaps even deserved a grimmer sentence than death; though his death was certainly something to celebrate. Yet even so. Perhaps she was enjoying this ''too'' much. Or maybe in the wrong way. For there was something about Silvahla’s chuckle which sent shivers down his spine. It was like the hiss of some pneumatic machinery; cold, airy, and mechanical. The growing amount of smoke that flowed from her lungs only served to amplify this effect. There she sat, watching the back of a defeated man, head hung low, walk out her door, still coming to terms with his impending execution. And her face was adorned with the most joyed expression she had ever worn in his presence.

“''Emperor preserve me.''”

----