The signal appeared as promised.
Xalma felt the unbelievable burst of power above ground, the same power that had awakened within her, the same power that had hurled her life from one living hell into another.
Two days earlier, after witnessing a desperate, life-or-death struggle in the cold corridors she had called home for years, something inside her snapped. What followed was the violent awakening of her telekinetic might. In the bloody chaos that followed, she clashed with her captors and unleashed the new found strength with a brutality she herself could scarcely comprehend, tearing many into bloody mesh by literally turning them inside out.
It was an experience that was both horrifying and intoxicating. After a brief period of excitement about being finally freed, the fact that she was stuck with the others soon sank in as her escaped captors had fortified the only known exit with heavy fire power. The fortunate thing was that at least there was enough food and water to last for a while.
Instead of being hailed as a hero by fellow captives, Xalma became something else entirely: A thing to be feared. Her once-invisible existence had transformed into a living nightmare in the eyes of the others. She saw the terror in their eyes whenever they looked at her. At times, she began to hear their thoughts bleeding into her mind.
Witch. Psyker. Monster.
As the standoff dragged on, their previous captors brought reinforcements and began sending specialists: better equipped warriors specifically coming down to eliminate her. That much she could glimpse from their minds. But the underground was her world. She alone knew many narrow tunnels that could only be accessed by her tiny frame.
What came next became a lethal game of cat and mouse. All she needed was a clear line of sight from a distance, and death followed. One by one, the kill teams fell, torn apart by a power they could not compete against in such an environment.
As for Xalma, the more she killed using her power, the more she started seeing things. Unreal things. She began to witness a lot of strange phenomena during the long pauses between attacks, when the siege fell into uneasy silence.
At first, there were fleeting glimpses of unfamiliar organic shapes lingering at the edges of her vision, vanishing the moment she shifted her focus. Then came the sense of being watched, not by enemies hiding in the darkness, but by something ancient and vast, lurking just beyond the limits of her perception. Then, stranger things started happening; Sometimes shadows seemed to move independently of their sources. Reflections in shattered glass lagged half a heartbeat behind movements. At times, she could swear she heard whispers, too soft to be understood yet heavy with intent. They did not speak to her, but around her, as though the world itself was listening.
The little sleep she had offered no relief, her dreams were crowded with distant lights burning with impossible colours, and the distinct impression that something truly colossal was stirring beyond the darkness, a feeling akin to sensing a snake of unimaginable scale uncoiling where no lights shone. When she woke up, her hands sometimes trembled, shaking with power she did not remember calling upon. The air itself felt thinner around her, stretched and strained as if reality was growing tired of pretending nothing was wrong.
She told herself it was exhaustion, the cost of survival. Yet deep down an uneasy feeling crept up on her, a feeling that something terrible might happen soon, like one of those unreal things would leap out of the shadows to swallow her whole, or worse.
It was long after another bloody skirmish that she found herself truly exhausted, sitting in the cold gloom and surrounded by the stench of death, when something different happened. Another spectre had floated into view, but this was the first unreal thing that had looked nice. It had the outline of a pretty girl, glowing faintly in the dim hall and even appeared interested in her …handy work.
In a surprising development, the pretty spectre approached her and started communicating. Xalma talked to it, and now she waited for the promised signal.
A spectre claiming to be the living saint?
She was unsure if everything wasn't a hallucination of her own crumbling mind until the moment when a power lit up outside, shining like a blinding beacon to her still-developing psychic senses. While she was still dazed, muted explosions informed her of the actions above ground. Eventually, that same sense of overwhelming power she had felt from earlier approached, closer and closer it got until it was right outside the hall.
Xalma stared at the entrance and could hardly believe her own eyes. There, poorly illuminated by the failing glow globes, stood a pale-haired young lady who looked more like an angel than a person. She wore a plain white robe with a grey cloak, and on her feet was a pair of vivid pink slippers, Xalma's favorite colour. Xalma had heard stories of angels, and this person perfectly fit her mental image of such divine beings. The angelic lady smiled and nodded before starting to approach. It was then that Xalma remembered the whole floor was covered with a layer of bloody gore—her handy work, and those vivid pink slippers were going to be soiled because of it.
Just as Xalma began panicking about being responsible for the mess, she witnessed the filth on the floor parting before those pink slippers, pushed aside smoothly by the same force she herself only knew to apply with violence. Where the lady stepped, everything parted cleanly, peeling and retreating in an orderly tide, leaving behind bare flooring in an unnaturally pristine condition. By this point, Xalma could definitely tell her visitor was the source of that resonating power from earlier, and even now an overwhelming force radiated from the angel, but not in a threatening way.
Stopping just in front of Xalma, the lady squatted down and they came face to face. Up close, Xalma took note of her flawless features and silky, silver straight hair flowing in the dim light.
So pretty.
'Hello, Xalma,' her visitor greeted in a calm, feminine voice that was almost identical to how the pretty spectre had sounded in her head. Xalma could not help but ask a question.
'Are you… are you really a living saint?'
'That's what they said,' the lady replied, and in the next moment a light sparked around her head and bloomed into a glowing halo, lighting up the gloomy hall like a miniature sun. Xalma's eyes widened at the display of divine-like power.
The halo's golden brilliance chased away all the shadows that had been lurking in the edges of Xalma's vision, filling her with a sense of protective warmth. The living saint reached out with an open palm, and in it was a glowing bird seemingly made of light. Xalma's jaw dropped as she received the life-like manifestation.
The little girl watched with wonder as the spectral bird jumped up and down, feeling its impossible yet tangible weight on her palm. When she reached for it, the bird playfully hovered around before eventually settling down, letting her pet it for a few moments before dissolving into the thin air.
Fully convinced, Xalma finally gave her belated greetings.
'Hello, Syrine.'
* * *
'Hello, Syrine.' Xalma said.
It was the first time I saw the slightest hint of a smile on her little face. As she looked at me with starry-eyes, I found myself confronting a blind spot in my knowledge in the lives I had lived: how to properly deal with children.
Totally clueless on how to establish a connection with a girl at her age, I reached a hand out to Xalma but she flinched and avoided contact.
With her mind opened up to me, I saw what happened in her thoughts. She was ashamed of her current filthy state and afraid that she might sully me, a living saint.
An easy fix with the tricks I have learned.
Smiling, I flexed my powers again. The same cleansing psykana that had kept my hands and feet immaculate poured over Xalma. She looked on with bewilderment as her grimy skin and hair, and even her oversized shirt, were all scrubbed clean by precise application of telekinetic force.
That done, I applied another process, one that had previously erased even the faintest trace of blood from my hand—a quick blast of miniscule warp fire over her skin, cleansing and ionising any lingering residue, removing every last hint of blood. With that she was cleaned up to the best of my cheating abilities, until a proper bath.
I reached out again. 'I am here, as pinky promised.'
Instead of taking my hand, Xalma looked at me with a "I still cannot believe this" face for a while before simply jumping into my embrace. Like a scared kid of her age, she started weeping into my shoulder.
This felt strange, it was as if I suddenly had a daughter. I never had children of my own, couldn't afford any back on old Earth. There was this popular saying of my time: Unless you can provide a proper environment for the next generation, not having children is also being responsible.
Why spend all that back breaking efforts to bring sentient life over, only to have them suffer the same normie grindy fate?
Unlike boys that could be managed like younger versions of myself, since I would at least know how they tick, small girls like Xalma were a total mystery to me. So I simply let her cry while taking note of the occasional explosions that were still happening overhead.
After a while she stopped crying and asked, 'what will happen to Xalma now?'
I sighed internally. If she was my child… Similar to last time with that kid back at the Scholastica Psykana, none of the many scenarios that went over my head were satisfactory. In the end I thought about the outside world that was the furthest place from being a fairyland, and decided to be brutally honest for her own sake.
'Xalma, listen carefully. What I am about to say will affect you for the rest of your life,' I explained and she nodded. Her tiny face illuminated by my halo was an expression of intense concentration that I wasn't sure could appear on the face of a child.
'You have powers, psychic powers. That makes you a psyker, marking you as special. You are different from most people. While some might call it a gift, this power will quickly become a curse unless carefully managed. From now on, never kill people unless your life, or someone else's life which you care about is on the line.'
'On the line?'
'That means in danger.'
'Why?'
'A psyker who misuses their powers will be labelled as a threat, a bad person. If you become a threat, a lot of people will try to kill you. Then there are things …on the other side of this universe that might try to get to you.' I paused, thinking about the threat of daemonic possession and looked Xalma in her eyes. 'Know this, if things get really, really bad, I might have to kill you.'
There was shock on Xalma's face, but I continued, hammering the importance of my point. 'That's something I never, ever want to do. So promise me, promise from now on you will only kill with your powers when there are no other ways.'
After hearing my full statement, her expression quickly changed from being shocked to one of determination. She nodded while holding out her little finger again.
'Xalma no like killing too, pinky promise to Syrine.'
I completed the hook, physically this time. 'Promise accepted.'
A complete smile finally appeared on her little face and she hugged me again. I held her while standing up, to my geneforged arm she might as well have weighed next to nothing.
'Say, how did you learn my name?' I asked, curious about how even a slave girl who was kept underground could have heard about Syrine. A mental scene appeared in her mind; I saw her prone in the dark, secretly listening to broadcasts when the slavers were keeping up to date on the civil war and its aftermath.
'News.' Xalma said matter-of-factly.
I nodded. 'I see. Now, let's get you and the others out of here.'
The journey back to the surface might be a bit rough for timid people due to the darkness, all the scattered gore, and the stench. But with my halo, convincing the rest of the captives should be a piece of cake.
* * *
Draeg woke up alone in his car with his cheeks still burning. After clearing the brief grogginess, the man jolted to his senses to a cacophony vibrating around the area. He looked outside, caught a glimpse of flyers passing over and heard explosions in the distance.
What the hell?
He had no intention of sticking around to find out where Mercy had gone or what had happened to that important operation. Draeg started up his car and immediately drove away. Pulling onto the highway, he picked up his personal communicator and with a shaking hand, called his brother.
Dral didn't pick up. He then tried Lyssa, then Skell, even Rurke, the scary butcher. No one picked up.
Just what in the Emperor's name happened?
As he sped down the lonely highway, a few vehicles suddenly came into view, their headlights glaring.
'What the..?' he squinted his eyes and made out the silhouettes of the oncoming vehicles with a shock.
Tanks.
They were definite military tanks of some sort, squarish and large. Worse still, the leading tank was blinking its headlights and blaring out warnings in a female voice with laud hailers, asking him to stop. Draeg even saw a figure on top of the vehicle's cupola training a weapon on him. He had no choice but to comply.
It was only when the tanks got close enough that Draeg recognised some of the iconography on the dull silver tank—the fleur-de-lys of the Adepta Sororitas. He winced.
What are the Sisters of Battle doing out here?
Two armoured female figures stepped out of the leading tank and approached Draeg, vehicle headlights picking up the gleam of menacing bolters and other weapons. The leading Sister wearing a decorated helmet reached the side of his car just as Draeg lowered his window.
'Evening, honoured Sister,' Draeg greeted the woman, already sweating again.
The Sister did not answer him, instead she took a look at Draeg and asked in a pitchy voice distorted by her helmet, 'what happened to your face?'
'These cheeks?' Draeg's mind started spinning, but before he could conjure a story, he found himself compelled to tell the truth and words simply escaped from his mouth. 'A girl slapped me twice.'
The Sister went still for a full second before asking, 'what girl?'
Draeg kept talking, unable to control his mouth. 'She went by the name Mercy, obviously not her real name. Silver straight hair, silver eyes, incredibly beautiful and dressed plainly in white robes…' Panicking, he recalled with horror what Mercy had said to him.
You can't lie and will always confess your sins to uniformed and authority figures.
'You what? What did you do?' the Sister asked, her already stern tone turned colder still, now laced with a hint of anger.
'I… I tried to make her mine. She warned me but I went ahead and this happened.'
The Sister lifted her visor, revealing an enraged, youthful face, and demanded, 'your name, citizen.'
'Draeg, Draeg Beldran.'
'Where is the girl who slapped you?'
'She left me back at the site.'
'What site?'
'A few miles back there, where the organisation I served kept our slaves and human stock.'
The Sister went silent for another second before speaking again. 'Assuming you are telling the truth, citizen, tell me why you are so forthcoming.'
'Mercy did… did something to me.' Draeg found himself shaking, drenched in sweat and kept talking despite the nightmarish development. 'For now… I can't lie to the armour you are wearing.'
The Sister took out a small data-slate and worked on the device before showing it to Draeg. 'Is this the Mercy you mentioned?'
Draeg looked at the screen and felt all the hair on his arm raised at a portrait of the very same girl who had slapped him, only here she was sticking out of the opened hatch of the same type of tank in front of him, and there was a blinding halo around her head.
He gulped, still shivering and nodded. 'That's her.'
'What did you do to her again?'
'I … tried laying my hands on her—'
Before Draeg could finish his words, he was dragged by his collar and handed a few savage gauntleted blows, blood splattering inside the opulent limousine.
After lashing out her anger, the Sister spoke into her vox. 'This is Palatine Dominae, we have apprehended primary suspect Draeg Beldran.'
* * *
Tollian never would have guessed where he eventually ended up tonight—strapped into a seat onboard a gunship, being in close proximity to people who were clearly leaps and bounds above him in status and power.
Moments ago when Tollian boarded the Inquisitorial gunship with Master Saigonn and the pale man, his expectation was shattered again. Inside the passenger compartment of the flyer were two rows of seats with just three passengers. Strangely, on the row to his left sat just a small boy wearing some sort of customised harness on top of more harnesses. On the right row were the other two passengers, one was a trooper with a big gun and the last person was a young man who immediately caught Tollian's attention.
The young man was quietly striking rather than overtly handsome, with sharp features softened by youth and a head of dark blond hair worn in a way that suggested he rarely bothered to tame it. With a pair of striking blue eyes that carried a calm, measured focus, he had the kind of presence that seemed to belong under the spotlight. That impression was quietly reinforced by his fashion. He wore a long, dark coat of worn leather that draped easily over his clearly toned frame. Beneath it was a thick black and grey shirt with the subtle presence of concealed armour. It was clear he was being deliberately restrained, wearing only dark or neutral colours. Then there was the utility belt of pouches and a huge sidearm that spoke of combat readiness. The finishing touch was on his chest, a small yet sizable silver pendant of the stylized "I" of the Holy Inquisition hung in open display.
Nothing about the young man shouted outward authority, yet the combination of everything about him suggested he was the kind of person whose name would one day be spoken with weight. Though he appeared about similar age to Tollian, it was abundantly clear that an unimaginable gulf between worldly experience and access to resources separated them. Set side by side, Tollian was not even certain they would appear to belong to the same species, and it made him question his own life.
As the hatch door closed behind them, the loud engine growls outside were abruptly cut off by the excellent sound proofing of the passenger compartment. Master Saigonn and the pale man stepped inside. Against Tollian's expectation, the young man remained seated.
Wait, could it be…? Tollian suddenly had this premonition, a hunch that was validated a second later as Master Saigonn gave a light bow and greeted the young man. 'Interrogator.'
By the Throne, he even outranked Master Saigonn. That and "interrogator"?
Tollian felt a numbing sensation creeping into his mind and had this strange feeling, like he was a stage extra who had wandered onto the spotlight of some stage meant for powerful, important people that was hidden from the masses, a place he did not belong in and had absolutely no business being present.
'Kael.' The young man casually acknowledged Master Saigonn before turning to Tollian. Despite facing no outward hostility, a pressure that was more intimidating than all the cred-leeches he had faced pressed onto him, and Tollian's legs started shaking despite himself.
'Tollian Caulven,' the young man directly addressed him, snapping the scribe to his senses. 'I am Interrogator Amael Frieden of the Holy Inquisition. Relax, interrogator is simply my rank within the Ordo, it does not dictate that interrogation is the only manner in which I engage with others.'
Damn, he even sounds handsome, Tollian thought as he lowered his posture and responded. 'I am honoured to be in your presence, Lord Interrogator. How may this humble scribe be of your service?'
Amael gestured to the empty seat on his right. 'First, be seated, we are taking off.'
Tollian hesitated for a second before reluctantly sitting down beside the interrogator. Then he worked clumsily on the seat harness with shaking hands until the trooper beside him reached over and helped to secure everything for him. While being secured, Tollian saw the pale man seated across the other row far away from the little kid, and Saigonn seated on the left side of Amael. With the unsettling seating arrangement settled and everything secured, the gunship climbed smoothly before speeding towards an unknown destination.
It was the interrogator who broke the short silence. 'Please, describe to us your interactions with Miss Mercy.'
What? This felt strange to Tollian. Why the Inquisition would want to know his history with a kidnap victim was beyond him. But who was he to refuse?
Inside the gunship's passenger compartment, surrounded by the most powerful people he had ever come into contact with, Tollian told his story. Everyone, including the strange kid, listened quietly as he spoke.
Strangely, it felt somewhat therapeutic for Tollian to have people simply listening intently to him, and the whole setting was so ridiculous that everything felt unreal despite the motion of a flying gunship informing him otherwise.
Tollian's story was brief, and he talked with nervous haste. The unconventional crowd simply looked at him in silence the whole time, nobody interrupted. As he concluded his tale, Tollian gathered his courage and asked Amael the burning questions in his mind, 'my lord, may I be so bold as to ask what is happening here? Why is the Holy Inquisition involved with this?'
The interrogator blinked before replying, 'Miss Mercy is a more important figure than she let on to you, and her kidnapper is tied to a substantial criminal organisation. Ensuring her safety is imperative to the various powerful factions with heavy stakes involved. That is all I can tell you.'
Tollian had little time to feel vindicated with his proven hunch, and he asked again, 'is she going to be alright?'
Amael nodded, 'I will have you know that we have deployed all available assets. Rest assured we will locate Miss Mercy. I am pretty certain she has the Emperor's blessings and would overcome this event relatively unscathed.'
Despite that scary title, he is surprisingly empathetic. Tollian found himself thinking.
They eventually landed after a short while. The hatch door opened, they all got out and Tollian stepped onto terra firma again, right into a scene of carnage. They found themselves in a site full of abandoned buildings, and it was apparent a big fight had just happened.
Burning wrecks of vehicles littered the area, with the bodies of what appeared to be gang members strewn about. Among the wreckage were cloaked figures in crimson hoods moving with quiet purpose, combing the scene for survivors. These hooded figures carried a myriad of weapons, and all their faces were hidden behind respiratory masks. Though they showed no hostility, there was something in the precision of their movements that deeply unsettled Tollian. Combined with the presence of unknown flyers hovering loudly overhead, the assault on his senses was overwhelming, leaving the scribe with the unmistakable feeling that he had stumbled into an active warzone.
Dazed by what he was experiencing, Tollian simply followed his group with Amael leading in the front. They met up with a leader of the crimson hoods, a female with a metal human face for her mask. Amael conversed with the female leader for a bit and she joined them in their journey, eventually reaching a stairway leading underground. Strangely, at the entrance were four kneeling servitors, each of them had their right arm replaced with a massive gun.
Miss Mercy is somewhere around in this mess? Looking around nervously, Tollian saw some surviving gang members being rounded up in a corner nearby, guarded by terrifying, towering figures that were impossible to be human. Just as Tollian felt his mind was about to overload from what he was witnessing, he heard Amael stating, 'we arrived just in time.'
Tollian turned and saw everybody looking at the staircase, and for unknown reasons the previously kneeling gun servitors stood up and were moving aside, seemingly making way. Then the darkness of the night recoiled as light erupted from below in a sudden, searing bloom, it was as if a second sun had ignited beneath the earth. Tollian gasped and staggered back as the golden brilliance stabbed into his eyes. Instinctively he raised a hand, and for several heartbeats he could do nothing but stand half-blinded at the incredible sight.
Peeking through his fingers, Tollian saw a female figure silhouetted by a blinding halo ascending up the stairs. The divine brilliance of her halo reminded him about how all the saints and the God-Emperor were depicted on the walls of churches. It was so bright he struggled to make out the details of her face, but his instincts screamed that he was in the presence of an actual living saint.
As Tollian strained to maintain his composure, Amael stepped forward and performed a deep bow. The interrogator was until this point the most powerful individual Tollian had met in his life bar none, yet in this moment he was bowing like a respectful subordinate. Tollian hastily looked around and found everyone bowing as well, so he quickly joined in on the act. Then he heard the interrogator confirmed the glowing figure's identity with a simple greeting.
'Lady Syrine.'
That's the real living saint! Tollian winced while maintaining his bow, unable to process the fact that he was suddenly being this close to the saviour of his planet.
'Hello, Amael.' The saint replied with a voice so familiar Tollian thought he was losing his mind, but what she said next made all the breath leave his lungs.
'Tollian? Why are you here?'
Impossible—Trembling, Tollian looked up, and as his eyes adjusted to the glare, the fabled saint came into clear focus for the first time. It was Mercy, the same girl who he had risked everything to meet again. She was as he remembered, impossibly stunning with the same attire, wearing the same pair of vivid pink slippers he gifted to her, but looking even more enchanting with that golden halo of divinity radiating from around her head.
In a flash, his mind rewinded tonight's events all the way back to when she had teased the truth.
Didn't you already guess my name?
* * *
Shoo.
The gun servitors moved aside as ordered, clearing the way for me and the liberated slaves ascending up the stairs.
As expected, the rest of the slaves, mostly decent-looking girls, simply fell in line when I approached them. Many of them even became hysterical, weeping uncontrollably after witnessing my halo, a testament of how thoroughly the Imperial Cult had instilled belief in the God-Emperor's divinity among the general populace.
After gathering everyone, we began our journey back to the surface. Xalma wanted to walk by herself instead of being carried out, saying she wished to leave this place by her own feet. Holding her hand, I led in the front, my halo serving as both illumination and beacon.
Skell's servo-skull came in handy; I had it tailing at the back of the group, viewing through it making sure no one was left behind. While walking back, I briefly communicated with the Skitarii forces led by Kira on the ground. The journey took a while as we moved at standard human speed, but eventually the final staircase was within sight.
Even with simple, straightforward psychic senses, I could see there was a welcoming party waiting for us up there, and Fulton's familiar power resonated among them. I told the whole group to wait below and went up with Xalma to have a look first.
As we climbed the final flight of stairs, I could sense the little girl's nervousness as she hadn't seen the sky in a long time. I reached the top with Xalma hiding behind my back, meeting mostly familiar faces, and to my relief Thaberus was absent. Leading the group was Amael, then Kael, Zaki, Kira, Fulton, Rantor ... and Tollian?
Seeing the young scribe bowing in Amael's group, I asked out loud in disbelief. 'Tollian? Why are you here?'
Tollian lifted his head and our eyes met. He did not reply and simply stared at me with a mortified expression, like a man who had seen a ghost in broad daylight. Awed, surprised and shocked, his emotions were stretched to their limits, and as before his thoughts lay open to me: The last few hours of his life replayed quickly in reverse before abruptly cutting to nothing. Overwhelmed by shock, he fainted.
I saw everything; him being lost with no home to return to, his courageous attempt of reporting my "kidnapping" to the Magistratrum, meeting the Inquisitorial agents and opening up to them. Then meeting up with Kael, and talking to the intimidating Interrogator Amael. Tollian was scared shitless, but his unshakable desire to see to my wellbeing had carried him all the way here, and him finding out I was the living saint all along was too much for his nerves.
In slow motion Tollian's unconscious body pitched forward, poised to fall head first into rock solid ground. Rantor was just behind him, the stormtrooper noticed the pending disaster and moved in to help but was a step late.
Shit. I reached out and with my telekinesis held Tollian briefly in the air, just long enough for Rantor to intervene. Everything happened in a flash, just mere seconds after our eyes met, and that created a small commotion. Rantor checked on Tollian and quickly delivered the predicted verdict—fainting from shock.
Why is Tollian here? My mind went spinning, the Machiavellian side of my mind delivered an unsettling answer: It was possible that the Inquisition could be looking into using Tollian as a form of leverage to manipulate me. At any rate, displaying any overtly friendly attachment to him, or anyone else for that matter, might be unwise.
Turning to Amael, I played the part of a distant associate by asking calmly, 'Amael, why is he here?'
'Witness protection,' The interrogator replied flawlessly. 'He was looking for you and attempted to report a figure that turned out to be an established criminal.'
'Syrine, is he your boyfriend?' whispered Xalma who appeared from behind my back. Even she was impressed by Amael's dashing appearance and charming prince-like looks.
'No.' I answered and moved her to the front and told Amael, 'we will discuss this later.'
'Everyone, this is Xalma, the child psyker I mentioned,' I told the small crowd before turning off my halo.
'Fulton, Kael, please assess her.' I gently pushed Xalma to the two of them before turning to both Amael and Kira.
'A sorcerer showed up earlier in dealings with the Syndicate, he escaped my attack and left two dead acolytes over there. I also have forty two freed trafficking victims just below the stairs.'
'What is the situation on your side?' I asked.
'All hostiles around the perimeter have either surrendered or been neutralised, a small number of them might have escaped,' reported Kira. As the ranking Skitarii Alpha on the field she held command of all the Mechanicus forces present. 'We have also apprehended the lone female sniper at the location you mentioned.'
'Herlindya has arranged Magistratrum transports for the civilians that should be arriving soon, they will be taken care of,' Amael said with the tiniest hint of pride of his girlfriend's efficiency before continuing. 'Just moments ago Palatine Dominae reported having apprehended Draeg Beldran while on the way here. As for these Syndicate members, the Inquisition would like to have the custody of the four lieutenants if they are still alive. We will gladly let the Mechanicus decide the fate of the rest, since they contributed the most to this joint operation.'
That probably meant being made into servitors.
I glanced at the surviving members guarded by the Thallaxii and saw Skell within the group. 'One of the lieutenants is a rogue tech-adept, still alive over there. I have also commandeered his servo-skull. It contains quite the amount of miscellaneous data which I am sure will aid in further investigations.'
'A rogue adept,' said Kira as she glanced at the prisoners, 'Dominus Cykell would gladly admonish such a heretek who deviates from the teachings of the Omnissiah.'
As we finished our talks, I turned around and found Rantor taking care of Tollian who was still unconscious. Meanwhile Kael was speaking to Xalma, with Fulton observing apprehensively. From the psykers' guarded reaction I knew he could tell how powerful the kid was, perhaps she reminded him of the other girl who went berserk in his youth. Xalma was looking between the two men when she suddenly pointed at the sanctioned psyker and exclaimed excitedly, 'you, you have the gift too. Same like Xalma!'
Fulton nodded. 'Yes, child. We are kin.'
'The girl seems remarkably emotionally stable despite what she must have experienced,' Kael observed.
Xalma turned her attention to Zaki, who had been silently standing nearby. 'Boy, who are you?'
'That's Zaki,' I answered and picked the boy up. He was equipped with a custom harness now.
'So you can turn it off?' I asked Zaki, and he nodded eagerly, happy to show off. I carried him a short distance away from the group before saying, 'show me.'
Zaki pressed a switch on his chest and the result was immediate. For a brief moment, I was hit with a false sense of being a mundane human again, Fulton flinched whereas Xalma almost dropped to the floor from experiencing the effects of a mild null field.
'That's enough,' I said. Zaki pressed the switch again, and the null effect wore off and he was suddenly a normal boy again.
'Zaki has the anti-psyker gift,' I told Xalma while putting the boy down, 'he can stop you if you go overboard or lose control of your powers.'
Zaki walked over to Xalma and reached out. 'Let's be friends.'
'We can be friends, but Xalma not touching you,' the little girl said with a cheeky expression. Looking at the kids, this moment almost felt like a scene from an alternate, grim dark kindergarten version of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.
I turned to Amael, 'what's your plan for Tollian?'
'What is your wish for him?' the interrogator asked back instead.
Now the Inquisition is aware of him, there can be no escape.
I thought about my interactions so far with Tollian. Truth be told, while he seemed decently intelligent, I had a hard time imagining the scribe surviving in the front line under Amael.
I turned to the overseer instead, 'Kael, are you able to provide a relatively safe position for him on your side?'
The older gentleman nodded. 'I can give him a chance. The various agencies under my supervision can always use a capable body with a loyal soul.'
'Promise me that there'll be no drastic memory wipes or alteration. I don't want him to be stranger when we next see each other.' That was about the best I could do for Tollian.
'As you wish, my lady.' Kael replied with a light bow.
There was a buzz, and Amael listened to his earpiece before declaring, 'the cardinal has returned, his shuttle is currently somewhere above us.'
I looked up at the night sky and from the vast sea of stars, picked up the glares of a descending spaceship.
The Baron Pope is finally back.
Just then the familiar rumbling of Rhino tanks could be heard approaching from a distance, I turned around and saw them rolling into the area. The Sororitas have arrived.
My brief walk in the city was truly over.
* * *
Seated in a corner inside a Rhino transport tank, Tollian's eyes were downcast and fixed on the pair of vivid pink slippers on his lap.
He had regained consciousness just in time to witness ranks of Sororitas bowing before the living saint. In the blurry aftermath, he had learned from others that back when he was worried sick about her, Syrine had single handedly taken down half the criminal organisation Draeg belonged to.
Speaking of Draeg, Tollian was sure he had caught a glimpse of the cred-leech, his face was swollen with blood and he was being held inside one of the Battle Sisters' tanks. Tollian saw that incredible sight as the Sisters were loading several other criminals onto their vehicles. He also saw a large group of girls, said to be victims of the criminals, being escorted onto a fleet of Magistratrum transports that arrived shortly after.
In between the mess of the after actions, Syrine had taken him aside to speak to him.
'I am sorry,' she said, 'for bringing you into this.'
'No.' Tollian found himself refuting her statement without hesitation. 'Meeting you has been the greatest blessing ever for me, else my body would be floating down the river by now. Thanks to you, my debts are settled and I also saw things that I would otherwise have never witnessed with my own eyes.'
'I see.' She nodded, looking at him with her depthless eyes. Tollian had a sudden revelation: if the psyker could read his soul like a parchment, as the one blessed by the God-Emperor, could she do the same? Wait, does that mean all this while—
He froze. Syrine gave him a knowing smile, took off the pink slippers under her feet and returned them to him.
'Thank you, Tollian.' She said and turned around, disappearing into the crowd of purposeful people.
'Mister Tollian, we have arrived.' A Battle Sister broke his reverie, bringing him back to the present, her gauntleted hand pointing at an opened side door.
'Thank you, blessed Sister.' He nodded, held up the pair of slippers and exited the Rhino tank.
Tollian found himself standing outside one of those intimidating buildings that civilians couldn't even approach without the risk of getting shot. There under the morning sun an unremarkable looking man stood at the entrance.
Tollian carefully put away the vivid pink slippers before approaching the man, saying out loud what had been instructed to him.
'Greetings, Master Saigonn sent me.'
The man nodded. 'Welcome to Task Force Vigilum.'
ADVERTISEMENTREPORTA NOTE FROM WONG40K
+++ Message Log +++
I hope you enjoyed the story, please comment, favorite, or leave a review if you have time to spare. Thanks!
Extra large chapter for ending of the mini arc, so large I even got admonished a bit by my beta reader.
As mentioned I will be taking a break, need to have some space and time to work and plan out the details on the upcoming chapters.
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V3 CH.8 Notes
1. Anti-psi Inhibitor — The harness vest on Zaki is an anti-psi inhibitor, able to neutralise his anti-psyker emissions when activated. This concept was seen on Wystan Frauka, one of Inquisitor Ravenor's retinue. Wystan's setup was on his neck, which also can be turned on or off.
+++ End of Log +++