Editing Story:Love Can Bloom (section)

===Chapter Four===


Farseer Taldeer pursed her lips to suppress a grunt of pain as she probed at her wound. Blood crunched, as she dragged at more of the half crystalline clotting. ''Maybe I won't die yet,'' she thought, ''maybe first I'll turn into a crystal like the other old men. Make an interesting landmark for the Imperial colonists,'' she reflected bitterly. ''Then, picked apart by mon-keigh for purposes of romancing each other.'' 

The runestones still lay, bounced across where they were. From time to time, her attention waned from her wounds to glance at them. The ground splits, the mouth smiles, the fall is good. Sweet fruit in dead mouths. The love of the enemy. Walk through fire. 

''For once,'' she wondered as she picked off the choice stone from the stone of the blind man seeing, ''wouldn't it be nice if they would say something like, enemy troop movements, allies position, things that would be practical?''

She arose, picking up her helmet, and putting it on.

"That only increases your target profile," she froze, her helmet half on. It was like being snuck up on by your own shadow.

"Aren't you quiet," muttered Taldeer, as she finished placing her helm on, "And aside from that, why should you care what my target profile is like?" It seemed strangely wobbly. She felt along the chin, seeking for the pins that held it in place.

"It is harder to maintain unit integrity and speed if we draw conflict to ourselves," The Vindicare set down the lasrifle carefully, as he approached Taldeer. Taldeer for her part was doing her best to ignore him.

"'Unit integrity'? Forgive me for desiring a little independence, but I'd rather not depend upon a sociopathic mon-keigh," she tapped her helm, "I'm going to need this."

"Really."

"Yes."

"It has taken damage."

"So?"

The Vindicare stepped forward, as Taldeer turned around slowly. The sky was turning darker by the moment, not that either of them would care, she mused. Was he trying to intimidate her with his height? Well, she thought, gripping her spear, she was not about to be pushed around by something that hadn't even been born by the time she had killed someon- 

The Vindicare reached forward, placing a single finger on the helmet. He pushed it slowly, ninety degrees. She saw the hints of his psychic signature through the wraithbone, as LIIVI stepped back. 

"Did your strap break?" 

"Very well," said the Farseer, removing the helmet and setting it to the ground to her side, "You don't have to demean me." 

"And the... Wings?" 

"They stay," She would not toss away her soulstones so easily. Taldeer raised her head, then glanced to the horizon, "Where do we go then... Suppose you hadn't thought of that, did you?" 

"I have thought of that. Since I have failed my original assignment, and as of yet the planet has not been secured, standard Imperial protocol concerning Xenos Farseers would result in-" 

"They'll hunt me with killteams."
A nod.

"Awfully kind of them, concerning everything," Taldeer crouched, placing her palm on the ground, "I wonder if it's Sturnn," she muttered, her hands playing through the cold ground, winding and dancing. She closed her eyes for a moment, and nodded. 

"I have a direction," she paused a moment, biting her lower lip before glancing at the assassin, "You are coming with me, right?"

"Yes."

"Good." ''They'll have a torch to follow.'' 

The dirt was dispersed, the shell casings buried, and the helmet left hanging from the wretched root that watched, the last drops of blood crystallizing upon it. 

----

Mildilv leaned back in the chair, staring at the concrete ceiling. "I estimate half dead." One of his entourage shook his head. 

"Standard morale dispersal, sixty three percent break." 

"Just the officers, maybe two beyond that--" 

"I get it, it was a bad idea to send the men after him, but I thought after all he is--" 

The fingers were wrapped around Alexander's eye and gently tugging before the pain hit his brain, and he was face to face with Mildilv's angry eyes set in the emotionless plastic face. 

"Do NOT end that sentence. You did more than just kill, maim, ruin, demoralize, or damage equipment and personnel, you have ARMED him. With a LASRIFLE." 

Ardrin sniggered. Alexander fell back, his eye watering, his hands snatched over it. 

"What?" 

"It's a lasrifle," muttered Ardrin, "Most armors just get a blister. If he's using that, it's an improvement over that bleeding huge exitus." 

"What does a laser do?" Mildilv turned to Ardrin, shaking a barrel out of his sleeve. 

"Emit-" Began Ardrin, uncertain now as the assassin's attention was turned directly towards him.

"EMIT HEAT, quite capable of vaporizing water by the by, a main component of our bodies, I believe the heat the average militarized laser puts out is 500? Sure, 500 degrees Celsius, we'll aim low," Mildilv scratched behind his ear, producing a small power pack, bits of fake flesh still hanging off of it. 

"Now, what do you suppose happens when, oh, ten cubic centimeters of human flesh gets evaporated?" The leads plugged into the barrel with ease, as Ardrin made to move out of his chair, finding two pairs of hands on his shoulders, the assassins at his back. 

"Wanna find out?" Said Mildilv taking aim with his ad hoc laser at Ardrin's face, held in place. 

"I-I-I--" 

"You're right!" Mildilv said, thumbing the powerpack, as the barrel warmed to lethality, "I'm expecting an explosion too, as human flesh and blood is evaporated, with no place to escape to but out! Well, usually. If you're lucky, there'll be a hole in your face for it to fly out of it, or maybe this thing'll disperse across the surface, frying the whole thing. I suppose we won't know until the experiment is completed then, huh?" 

Governor-Militant Alexander set his carapace armored arm in front of the barrel. 

"I don't recall giving you permission to fire upon my men." 

"Hmph," Mildilv flicked the barrel, prematurely discharging what weak energy gathered into the arm. The steel glowed red hot, forming a temporary bubble, before fading away. "True. The lasrifle CAN be resisted by armor, a heavy scarf, or even a particularly bad case of fog. But sometimes it blows through both, in the case of lucky moments of inductive heat, using enough juice, or simple Grace of the Emperor. However, an open joint," Mildilv set the barrel down, returning to his seat as the two face dead associates returned to their ranks behind him, "an exposed eye, a rough patchjob...these can all be broken by a lasrifle. A rare feat for even the most accurate of marksmen, but a possibility. And he will never run out of ammo now. Please," Mildilv bit through his false lip, his teeth meeting with a hard click, looked up, and with trepidation in his eyes, "I'm going to have to tell the Inquisitor."

"You ''said'' he'd just starve to death anyway."

"Maybe he'll just shoot any new Vindicare we send down to support you, and take their rations? No, no, this is unfortunate, but I do not wish for this damnation on my soul." He stood from the table, false blood dribbling from his false face.

"Where are you going?" Governor Militant Lukas Alexander rose from his chair, grabbing Mildilv by the shoulder.

"To die, probably." The disguised man brushed off the Governor's hand, and walked out of the command bunker. 

----

"We are heading towards the Ork lines."

"I know," The horizon carried heavy clouds, pregnant with rain and storm, ready to match the distant horizon's flashes of light and distant ordnance.

"Do you have allies among the Orks?" Taldeer gave the Vindicare a look.

"No. I managed to manipulate some Orks, that is true," Taldeer waved her hand in the air, "I can hardly do that again."

"The killteams."

"Yes."

Like the noise of stones crashing into each other, the war thunder rolled through them. Softly shaking the ground.

"It's not--"

"A mission type in the Vindicare Dictum, is to initiate conflicts between two opposing forces. It will be done."

"Oh."

A deep resonating cry echoed in the distance, as a rock whizzed end over end in inexpert circles over the heads of the pair.

"You have experience in this then?"

"Negat-- No. I mostly dealt with affairs of the state."

"Which means?"

"Discouraging sedition and treason. Recently I've been employed in combat support."

Taldeer nodded, and then picked up step to get beyond the assassin. 

Ahead the choirs of the battlefield roared its welcome. 

----

The Inquisition of the Imperium of Man is quite possibly the most powerful organization across known space. By its whim, heresy is dictated. By its need, armies march. By its judgment, planets burn. The Space Marines, undisputed, mighty warriors, the grandchildren of the Emperor of Man bow to the whims of the Inquisition, even if they do bite and champ at the bit. Inquisitors step the range of Holy Terra's Throne, to the Black Library of the Eldar, to the interior of the Eye of Terror. What would have a man damned and executed for heresy the Inquisitors engage in. They are the unchallenged and ultimate authority. 

A horizontal river fell upon the ten thousand Liberators of Kronus stood to ranks, as the Valkyrie landed on the pad set before them. Full dress, immaculate, even those imprisoned, all stood to their full attention. Not a one wished to be found wanting. 

Governor Militant Alexander stood in the front, waiting unwavering as the dropship settled down before him, whipping water into his eyes and coat. He had to look good. Not just his own fate, but that of his world rested upon it. 

Cherubim fluttered out, carrying multilasers in their bellies, as the nine foot bulk of sacred, artifice armor stepped out. 

Gilded gold wrought across the ceramite plate, inscribed with prayers of benediction and psalms of wrath. At his waist hung a power sword, its wraithbone sheath clacking against the ceramite in the wind of the storm. Lightning flashed, picking out the bionic eyes under the hood. He glanced behind him, as two figures appeared, a techpriest, and someone in a robe--
 
Who repulsed the Governor. "No," he whispered, staring, as the cowl of the robe turned left, and right mechanically as it proceeded down the steps. 

The Inquisitor glanced across the assembled ten thousand veterans of the Kronus Liberators, and turned aside to walk to Alexander, who was frozen in terror. He had felt this before, this terror that sapped at the very soul. 

Lukas's reverie was interrupted by the Inquisitor's hand. 

"Get rid of them," He grabbed Lukas's shoulder, "And cease your cowardice." 

The nausea grew as the abomination drew closer, maintaining a respectful step behind the Inquisitor. Lukas nodded, every hair standing on end, and turned to his Commissar, whispering in his ear, "Dismiss the men."
 
The Commissar started bellowing out orders, as Lukas led the Inquisitor back to the command bunker, ruing the treachery of the Vindicare.