So, I May Be A Daemon (Warhammer High)
Foreword
At the moment, there only exists a prologue. Expect more to arrive.
Now with its first chapter!
This'll eventually just be cut off, considering the second chapter just got uploaded.
Prologue
"There! Near Cadia a temporal anomaly. Unlike anything I've ever seen!” A Cadian in black armour and red fatigues pointed to an indistinct blob on the terminal monitor to his right, displaying the results of numerous scans taken in and around points of conflict for the Imperium and its enemies.
“That’s just a Warp storm Jefferson. Remind me why I requisitioned you and not just your equipment?” Investigator Conroy van Vonvolkvan of the Ordo stared at his subordinate, resisting the urge to put Bolter round through his skull, to see the brains of the incompetent guardsman before him splattered over his equipment. "No, it’d be better to wait out the pain of his incompetence" he thought. He swiped dust off his pauldrons, unable to see what he was doing for they created a collar around his head. A slight click was all that would indicate a rail along the back of his cloak; it was the only thing that kept his armour together, else his pauldrons and cloak would fall to the ground and he’d be left in bare Inquisitorial Power Armour revealing it to be little more than the armour of a Neophyte.
“Milord, you requisitioned me because I designed this equipment.” Sergeant Jefferson of the First Mars, was a man in his early twenties, with a distinct lack of an organic right leg. He and his men clearly hadn’t slept for days, given the Chimera’s stench of black coffee. “You requisitioned the Phobos’ Fury me, and my men because of our expertise with machines. It is honestly surprising that the Dominus allowed this, given how the First-"
“I need someone to transmit something to any ship near the Cadian system now.”
An effeminate voice reached the Inquisitor from behind the Vox station, “What’s the message my lord?”
“Send a ship to Cadia, loaded with as much recording equipment as they can fit and at least three Techpriests.”
“Yes my lord.”
"Also inform them of our arrival within the month, accounting for Warp travel" he added as a side to the Commwoman He leaned towards Jeffersons station, and glared at the abnormalities upon the display; the Inquisitor slapped Jefferson on the back, “Congratulations Jefferson. You have just found the first temporal anomaly in a decade.”
Chapter 1
So this chapter comes in about 4 parts, character limits eh? Probably won't be the last time this happens --AsterixCodix
Las-bolts hit the outer walls of the Cripple Corner, as high-explosive rounds flew out from shattered windows, taking chunks out of various storefront visages. This almost weekly exchange in the Underhive of Macharia featured, this week, the Saints of Sin attempting to siege the turf of the All Macharian Rejects. The former being the usual class of Chaos Cult that would rise to prominence, only to be shut down by a gang within days. The latter consisted of those who maintained the Hive’s Manufactorums.
“Jack, get your lamenting ass out from behind the bar, and burn these bitches, or start pouring pints!” barked Idrom Vacuous, the resident squat mechanic, as he replaced an empty HE magazine from his Kai pattern Autogun, with one etched with a small flame. “Your one to be cracking wise, squatting down like that” returned a vaguely distorted voice from behind the bar, “bear in mind that one precisely aimed lasbolt could send us all to the Warp and back. Who's idea was it to make booze out of promethium and that Fenrisian shit? Because they're getting the first pint if we survive this. Where in the Warp is that booze anyway?”
A metal mask fitted with a respirator and damaged voice modulator along with a stark white, red trimmed trench coat hood, hid and protected his face as he looked over the counter and witnessed the destruction of the concourse leading away from the bar. “That's it! One tank will have to do” he frustratingly muttered under his breath, as he affixed a half empty tank of Squats Breath beer to his wrist mounted flamer, before reaching for his own Graia pattern Autogun. He slid over the bar, his trench coat having opened to reveal the body armour beneath, as he unloaded an entire magazine into an unlucky trio of cultists. He dived under a window, having ejected the half empty clip, before he inserted one filled with a combination of hollow point and armour piercing rounds.
A bright white flash accompanied the sound of a storefront collapsing and screams of the heretics bringing a roar of approval from the besieged Rejects. A motorbike in Rejects colours careened around the corner screeching to a halt in front of the bar. A rather tall man in an armoured trench coat lept off the bike, and ducked down behind it. "Where is everyone else?" He barked in disgust, seeing no one besides Idrom Vacuous and Jack Laments in the bar.
"Either dead or making a move to burn down their 'church', we're all that's left otherwise."
"Well, looks like I have to clean this shit up myse-" The biker was interrupted by a crackling in the air, causing it to heat up almost exponentially. A rogue las-bolt missed its intended target and struck a bottle of wine imported from Prospero. "That was a damned Millennium Twenty-Three vintage!" He screamed as he stood, drawing his antique double barrelled shotgun from within his trench coat, taking shots at the source of the las-bolt with his plasma pistol. With one fell swoop, he burnt a hole through the chest of two cultists, before he unloaded one barrel of his shotgun one handed, shredding the armour of three and then unleashing the single explosive round from the second barrel into the head of a three armed, bird masked cultist with a heavy stubber. He ducked back down to reload his weapons, a faint glow of fire emanated from behind his bike. He swore under his breath; "I swear to god, if they shot the tank..." Then aloud to the remainder of his crew: "Get ready to make a move up. Jack, get ready to burn em"
"Ya might want to turn around Giz."
"What, why?" As he peeked over his bike, he saw a column of flame rising, escalating this gang clash, into something worthy of the Arbites attention. "Oh shit. Gents, stash anything that ain't exactly legal. Literally any empty keg in the back. Shove this in there as well" Giz barks at his remaining men, as he tossed his plasma pistol through the window. As he turned back around, having loaded only solid slugs into his shotgun, he aimed back towards the cultists, his eyes drying up from the heat. And as suddenly as the flame ignited it died down, to reveal a teenager, dressed in a trenchcoat that faded from red at the bottom to yellow then to white, like a flame.
Cultists approach the flamecloaked teenager, arms raised, some raising literal arms, covered in a blue flame. A gutteral laugh came through a skull mask, as the teenager swung a punch at one of the cultists. A wave of black flashed up his left arm as he punched a hole through his targets clothing. A smell of singed flesh indicated the edges of the hole having been cauterised by, seemingly nothing. From nowhere, this masked teenager drew a pistol, unrecognised by everyone witnessing the situation.
Everyone, except Giz. "The kid just, pulled a plasma pistol, out of nowhere!" His usual composed and controlled thoughts, had been cast aside, replaced by his attempts to comprehend the events unfolding ahead of him. Sirens grew ever deafening as the Arbites Land Speeders drew near. Giz, seeing this as his chance to finish off the cultists, vaulted his bike, and charged forwards towards the massacre. With a slide between the legs of one, he fired a solid slug into the eye socket of a heretic ahead of him, and before he fired directly upwards, through his targets chin and skull. He reloaded, wiping the sprayed blood from his eyes, to see the teenager, ("no he can't be, he's, as tall as a Neophyte...") punch through the stomach of a final cultist, before he levelled his pistol at Giz's head. "Whoa whoa whoa! You can put- well, stow away the pistol, the Arbites are nearly here." he hurriedly stated, as he shoved his shotgun back into its holster, within his trenchcoat. "Ya might want to ditch the mask too kid. You going to put that thing away or not?"
The Land Speeders arrived at the blood drenched scene. Seeing two individuals having a discussion, with one of them at gunpoint, an Arbitor barked "Lay your weapons down now!" with a booming voice and slight lisp.
"Situation normal, send clean a up team. Authorisation Adeptus Astartes Legionem Damnatorum. Identification Araes Cassius"
A faint murmur sounded from the lead Land Speeder, as they ran the details through their systems. "Affirmative. Sending clean up team. Sorry sir."
Chapter 2
“What the Warp is an Astartes doing in the underhive? Are they purging without informing us? Is this some kind of training exercise? Was it just a teleportarium malfunction that brought him here?” Thoughts akin to these ran through the heads of the desk Arbitrator and her co-workers around the entry hall, as they witnessed a teenager, what must’ve been an incredibly young Neophyte and a young man enter the courthouse, followed by a nervous group of their co-workers. None of them wore manacles of handcuffs around their wrists. “Welcome to the courthouse my lord, though I must ask, what is the purpose of bringing this… retinue of yours?” inquired the Regulator.
Regulator Velutarian was at the head of the group, now with his helmet in the crook of his arm, displaying an acid scarred face, with a sensor array in place of a left eye. His right was a dark, almost black emerald green. His voice echoed throughout the atrium, which drew the attention of any Arbitor that had not yet noticed the collection that had entered the room.
“Well, we had to leave someone behind to clean up the bar. Who better to do so, than the man who brews the beer?” responded Araes, his mask now attached to the belt of his trench coat.
With his face now uncovered, he was almost an exemplar of physical perfection; he had a sharp jawline, smooth skin, strong cheekbones and a slightly turned-up nose. His eyes clearly burned with a passion; they faded out from his pupil to sky blue bordering the sclera, from a deep purple. In the bright light of the courthouse, his hair gave the impression of a dwindling fire, showing ember coloured locks of hair beneath an ashen black. He gave off an air of suspicion and alienation, as if the world around him had changed in ways he couldn't yet determine.
“Yes my lord, but why a pair of hivers?” Velutarian wasn’t used to escorting their sort into the courthouse without handcuffs around their wrists, most criminal hivers were executed in the field unless theirs were the pettiest of crimes, and those were dealt with by the Orpo. He glanced back at the pair of hivers, either side of Araes.
The datafile identified the younger hiver as one Jack Lament, a rather ironic name given his generally good luck according to appended notes and witness statements.
In one hand, Jack carried a mask, with a deactivated HUD, that would detail everything from temperature, to the fuel level of something. “probably illegal” thought Velutarian, to the integrity of a pair of respirators.
On his back was slung an autogun of some description, and along his left sleeve lay a rail of sorts with a pair of pins attached to the ends of the rail, each by a small hinge.
His hair was an electric blue swept across his left eye, covering both ears and reaching the base of his neck at the back. His one visible eye had a trio of scars running across it, reminiscent of those left by a xenoform’s clawed hand on a hapless soldier, alongside a blood red colouration to his iris.
“It is doubtful that these two have ever even seen a sun.” Velutarian thought to himself.
“Is that a problem officer? Surely it wouldn’t mean much?” questioned the teenager, his open trench coat displayed a variation of the standard Macharian loadout: a set of flak armour worn beneath, and an array of laspistols, spare power packs and a hip flask in holsters and pockets along the inner lining of his trench coat.
“No, not at all(!), it’s just strange how you aren’t in cuffs.”
"On a different, less passive aggressive note," Giz coughed through "Velutarian" before proceeding to ask "how exactly did you pull that magic, pull-shit-outta-midair, punch-through-people's-chests-and-cauterising-the-wound shit?" aiming this question towards Areas.
"What? Oh right, my Power Fist and Plasma Pistol. A little thing called Archaeotech my friend, allows me to do this," he said as a Power Fist materialised around his left arm, an energy field rippling up from his clenched fist.
"Right, well, please refrain from doing that in here my lord."
“Well, you’re going to have to put up with this Velutarian. Remembering I can do this at will. Can I just call you Vel?” asked Araes, as the Power Fist de-materialised, receding into the trench coat's cuff.
With a deep sigh, signifying his annoyance at dealing with a pair of teenagers, he said “If. You. Must.” through gritted teeth.
“Great! Now, I must ask, where exactly are we?” Araes asked, to the bemusement of his retinue.
“Hive Primus, Macharia, Cadian System, Segemetum Obscurus. But, I'm sure you already knew that, my lord.” answered the Arbitrator on desk duty, eager to have something interesting occur. “Oh, where are my manners? Rhilia Bowerand, at your service my lord.”
Rhilia was perhaps the greenest of Arbites in the Hive Primus precinct, having been inducted a month prior. Her armour showed little to no signs of wear indicating either her lack of experience, or her dedication to maintaining her equipment, “Or both.” thought Araes. The trooper’s lengthy, auburn hair was kept in a ponytail, to avoid any difficulties when removing or putting on her helmet. She had fairly soft features, covered by very little in the way of make-up. Her eyes shared their colour with the ceramite of her armour.
“Areas Cassius, at yours. Now, what's the fastest way to Terra?” he inquired with all the patience of someone with very little time on their hands.
“Well, a vessel bearing the markings of a branch of the Ordo Investigatorum is due to arrive within the week, so you could hitch a ride on that?” suggested Rhilia, trying desperately to hide the nervousness and awe in her voice. Even the men and women of the Adeptus Arbites know fear and awe, when Astartes are concerned; they just hid it better than most, usually.
“Ordo Investigatorum. I guess that could work. Any idea as to the day they're due?” asked Areas, the impatience receding from his voice.
“Let's see here… Oh! You're in luck, their ship just arrived at Hive Secundus, followed by a second one? This can't be good…” Rhilia’s voice betrayed her, revealing to all those present her fear.
“Right… Well my lord, you'll be getting your ship back to Terra soon enough.” Stuttered the Regulator. He cleared his throat, continuing “In the meantime, we need to sort out this business involving that bar of yours Mr... Garret Zekiel.”
“Yeah, and the payment for wiping out a cult! Don't forget that!” Giz added hurriedly.
“Of course, all in due time. Now, if you'd kindly follow Enforcer Ryt.” Velutarian said, acclimating to some sense of normality. Giz followed the Enforcer towards and down a corridor, tripping on his way out, until of sight of the others. With almost comedic timing, a Vox went off from behind the desk. Rhilia prepared to answer before it activated on its own, relaying it's message through the Precinct’s PA system.
“Hive Primus Arbites Precinct, this is Investigator van Vonvolkvan of the Ordo Investigatorum. Prepare to receive me and my retinue within the next hour. Emperor protects”
“Well, this should be fun.” Jack muttered sarcastically, before asking "What in the name of the Emperor is the Ordo Investigatorum?".
Chapter 3
“So, long story short, the Ordo Investi…. The Ordo is effectively the watchmen for the watchmen, and more?” summarised Araes, simplifying the answers provided by his current company.
“Pretty much. They themselves report directly to the Emperor, Malcador and the Primarchs,” summarised Rhilia.
“So, what does this guy with the most pretentious name in the history of the Imperium, want with some random Hive world?”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” with a shrug, Rhilia tidied her desk, to the sound of Arbitrators inspecting every nook and cranny for dust. An Investigator’s surprise visit, warranted caution and the cleaning of the Courthouse. “Chances are they're here to collect soldiers caught tampering with their equipment to chuck into the Martian army regiments,”
What into the name of the Holy Emperor is going on… Ordo Investigatorum, Investigators, Imperial Guard on Mars… Araes had spent ten years of his life, serving the Emperor in his Legion of the Damned. I died - is that even the right word? - as some kind of Primarch ripoff before I was even born and this is the most confusing thing I've encountered. This, this can't be… Malcador’s dead, and the Emperor is effectively rotting on his throne… I… I should just play along - is that the right word… I don't even know anymore…- this is just way too confusing, he mused. “So, I don't suppose someone could enlighten me as to what the date is? Warp travel has a funny way of messing with my internal clock. You know how it is,”
“It is January 1st-” Began Rhilia,
That's slightly reassuring. Just a day travelling in the warp? I should be fine, right? Granted I came out in entirely different sector than the one I was headed to. Then again, why is everything so… Different? thought Araes.
“M32. 253,” She finished.
That however, is the COMPLETE OPPOSITE OF REASSURING! He took half a step back, before catching himself, he inhaled sharply, in an attempt to better comprehend what he’d just been told So I've somehow gone back in time? Wouldn't be the first time a Legionnaire's done that. Well… what the hell am I supposed to do… can't exactly just jump into the Warp and magic myself into Power Armour on the front lines… he thought as he tried to maintain his composure. His hair seemingly darkened, the ember coloured locks appearing to recede.
His voice wavered slightly “what… What is known about the Legionem Damnatorum?”
“Um, besides you being a part of it my lord, basically nothing.” Rhilia answered, as she searched digital databases on her terminal. “Well, nothing that I have clearance for. My best guess is that they're some special ops guys, like the ancient Sass of Britannie, - I think that's what they were called. Not sure though, that long ago is kinda lacking in the detail department -”
“Frankly, it’s a surprise so little is known. There’s speculation that they’re the remnants of the two lost Astartes Legions, they could even be the result of a failed experiment by Archmagos Dominus Belisarius Cawl to try and improve the Astartes geneseed.” Provided Vel, making use of his vast yet useless knowledge gathered from the texts of madmen. Spending the good chunk of 20 years as an Arbitor, he’d ‘acquired’ texts that broke the Imperial Truth and read them extensively, to try and find what out why so many would defy the Emperor. Granted, Catherics tend to get off scot-free but still. At least these lunatics have a good taste in literature, even if they worship it; those Catheric services are just tedious and what’s with all the standing and sitting? “But why do you ask? Surely you know what you’re own organisation is?”
“Of course I do Vel, it would do you vel to relax a bit.” quipped Araes, having regained his composure. Of course, you’re partially correct. Just look at the Fire Hawks chapter. Wait, they don’t exist yet… Well, the point stands. He thought, having a conversation with himself, contained within his head. But damn that was lame, seriously “it would do you vel”? What the hell was I thinking? This probably… His hair ‘brightened’ slightly.
Vel groaned at the poor attempt at a pun. “No matter what the rest of your organisation is, we still don’t know why you are here?” he asked, wanting to get as many answers out of the teenage whatever he is before he could offload him onto the Investigator.
“I have no clue, I guess I miscalculated where’d I’d come out of the Warp.” Araes answered, quickly regretting his choice of words. His eyes brightened in alarm, to the point that they might be visible in the dark.
“If you came out of the Warp, where’s your ship?”
“He appeared in front of the bar in a pillar of fire. I mean, seriously, a pillar of fire. Either he teleported into the hive from some passing Leginem Damna… LD ship and this was his training, to get back to Terra or whatever. Or he lives in the warp and that pillar was a rift he created to enter the hive to grab one of the best pints in the sector. He still massacred muties and Cultists as if it was second nature.” Piped up Jack, having sat on the sidelines for most of this exchange. He was content to sit most of the conversation out; the less attention the better was his personal motto. Unfortunately, as a bartender, that rarely happens.
“In any case,” Araes interjected, desperate to change the topic off of him, “is anything known about this Investigator? He seems to be a bit… odd, for lack of a better word”. He wanted to garner as much information as possible, if he was to travel to Terra with the aficionado of wide pauldrons.
“Well, besides his apparent penchant for pauldrons rivalling those of Cypher-” began Vel.
So I’m not the only one who noticed, that. Wait, Cypher? How old is that escape artist?
“-He recently requisitioned a modified Chimera with a squad from the 1st Mars. Supposedly, he’s obsessed with Warp tides, trying to find a way to utilise them to manipulate time-”
Well, this’ll be an interesting trip.
“Beyond that, he seems to be slightly obsessed with daemons and trying to find a correlation between them, and time travel. So far, he’s found nothing. By all accounts, he’s a bit eccentric,” he finished.
This will definitely be interesting. Looks like I could be the proof of his hypothesis. Araes could hardly conceal his worries, given how his fiery features adjust themselves to express such a change of emotion. His irises died down, to appear almost black in colour; the ‘embers’ in his hair followed suit. “So, any indication as to when that Investigator is to… Vel, why in the Warp are you saluting”?
“That would be because of me Mr Trenchcoat,” a deep voice laced with authority interjected before Velutarian could even begin to respond.
Araes turned towards the source of the voice, and saw an individual with large pauldrons, a red cloak, and black power armour beneath. He was flanked by a pair of Imperial Army Soldiers in red fatigues and black armour affixed with a toolbelt filled with various tools and side arms. Both carried modified lasguns, that of the one on the left featured a grenade launcher affixed to the side, and a triad of barrels. That of the one on the right, featured a holo-scope, with a variety of lenses that, Araes assumed, could be slotted into the sight to increase the magnification. The underside of the barrel, had a small lighter welded to the end, with a red pipe that lead to a small canister marked ‘flammable’ secured to the rifle stock.
“I am Investigator Conroy van Vonvolkvan. And you should show some respect to authority,”