I am not a Heretic.
The dark, moist corridor may have been intimidating to a weak man. And it scared the hell out of me, the first time I saw it. It grew on me, however, as the hall became my own. I gave myself to Chaos soon after the Heresy. As I watched Primarch after Primarch retreat (This is not a deserving term.), I was conflicted. We were the servants, the soldiers and sons of the God-Emperor. But we still slaughtered them as they would have done to us, with no honor or mercy. His Divine Majesty was even said to have struggled in killing his favored son, Horus. But we, brothers, did not do such a thing. We killed each other just the same, for some supposed "cause" that justified the murders.
We're all traitors to the Emperors name, any who deny it are the true Heretics. But not me. I am not that fool who denies himself truth in his own eyes, from his own dry, desperate lips. I do not feed the gods of Chaos with my greedy wishes and wait in my joy for them to take their price. This game we play, this sick and twisted game.
I reached the bloody door at the end of the corridor. Perhaps bloody isn't the correct word. The blood was long dry by now, as the day it had been etched was with the creation of this ship. Which is the Descendant Feather, if I might add. I was "blessed" with quite an optimistic group of cultists, you see. Practically shared stories before we went to bed. Anyhow, the door itself opened, revealing my commander, clad in a red robe with a large single,silver line that ran down his sleeves and leggings, respectively. I rather liked his outfit, and my own is very similar. Instead of red, however, mine is a mix of black and pink. It's taken some laughs, but the bloodshed helps.
"Ah. Cultist Mortane, come and sit with me. The slaves told me you had requested an audience with my Glorious presence", said the Commander as he sat upon a dark throne in the sacrificial chamber.
I housed my plasma pistol beneath my robes, and I thought it likely the Commander and even more devious thoughts. It did not bother me, at the time. We do tend to underestimate those we despise.
I walked toward one of the several chairs that made a semicircle while facing the throne. I sat down slowly, painfully aware of how much power I gave him. Other than two slaves who were cleaning the chamber, we were alone.
"Well, Mortane? Could, ACCHT! Ahem, could you speak quickly? My pleasure maiden awaits my gratifying embrace."
He continued to cough loudly. The Commander is a strong, calculating man, but to anyone who hadn't known him, he'd appear sickly. Hmph. That's the fool gets for pledging himself to the Chaos god of disease, Nurgle. I had to be quick about this. The ship is confined to strict schedules, and the sacrifice of a traitor was occuring shortly. Pricisely the fate I hoped to avoid.
"Sorry, Commander. I'll be fast. I've asked you here to make a request."
"ACCHT! Oh, don't tell me your to shy to get your own pleasure maiden? Your high enough in rank to be taken seriously. Just don't tell her about that time you bunked with Headen!" .
Anger rose in my heart. My nostrils flared. I took all that time, made sure I did everything right. With my patron god, Khorne, I become angered easily. And this is probably the most devastating outcome of such a condition.
"To the warp with this! You are so despicable, such a repulsive monument of your god! You do him justice. And as such, you will recognize why this is your final, mortal day."
I rolled forward from my seat, unholstering my plasma pistol. As I came into kneeling position, I fired 5 consecutive shots directly at his unprotected head. Though I don't ever consciounsly access my innate abilities, my aim was true. The energy burst when making contact with his face, and the recoil caused him to fall forward. I actually think he was in mid-cough.
"May the Emperor have pity on your tainted soul. And Nurgle, at that."
I looked around. The slaves glanced from me to the Commander. They went back to their cleaning. Good men. I turned to enact the rest of my plan when my throat became sore. Then, it flared as if a match had been struck inside of me. I was instantly fatigued, my legs became utterly useless as I collapsed onto the ground. I grabbed for the back of the chair, but my arms wouldn't respond. My face slammed into the ground of the cold, metal floor.
The Commander sneezed. He rose up from the ground, his face burned from the pistol's impact. I strolled down toward me.
"You know, I was just joking about the pleasure maiden. You couldn't have gotten one on your own. Slaves, get him up. Throw him in the cells, schedule a torture session in the east quarters. And don't let anyone make an appointment for these chambers in the next two days. Oh, and Father Nurgle is not pleased."
I was conscious, but I might as well have fainted. The slaves dragged me through the corridors, by the legs of course. I could here the stunned remarks of Cultists passing as I was pulled into a damp cell. I was a good servant of my patron, I respected my higher-ups, and I was an intimidating presence when I felt like it. I suppose that has something to do with my genes.
I suppose I should come clean. I'm one of the many grandchildren of the God-Emperor. I tried to mask this, but it was pretty obvious that shortly after the Heresy. The forces of Chaos welcomed me with open arms. I could almost here them snickering, insulting His Glory. I was foolish, to think it would be any different with them. Like I said, we're all traitors to His name. He doesn't ask of us to be perfect, but we do him injustice in even that. We try to match him, to overcome his reputation. Though, I must admit, I was very devout to my god until I realized how idiotic this whole war is. I still fear Khorne, and I still respect him. You'll know why, soon.
I don't remember how long I laid in that cold cell. Though, I think the slaves might have moved me a couple of times. Probably couldn't tell if I was still alive with my face to the floor. I gradually gained the feeling in my arms back. I opened and closed my hands, moving my fingers to see how flexible they were. I still felt numb, but I was able. I began to feel how strained my neck was from being dragged through the corridors. It ached. Finally, I felt my freezing toes come back to me. I bent my legs and stood, slowly and pathetically. I stumbled and fell back to my knees. I noticed my throat still didn't feel right. I tried to whisper something, but it never came out. I speculated the recovery of my limbs was intentional, as was my involuntary silence.
I looked around, finally escaping my self-pity. I stood this time with little struggle, gathering my anger. The cell contained a desecrated toilet whose bowl was cracked and broken on my sides, a large, metal door that kept me inside and the surrounding walls. Oh, and a rather comforting blanket to serve as my bed. I inspected myself, looking to see how much they stripped me of. I was left in my leggings, though my plasma pistol was not there. I probably dropped that back in the sacrificial chambers. My feet were left unprotected against the chilling touch of the metal floor. I stepped back onto the blanket. I had no weapons, and what little magic I knew wouldn't help me here. I am a servant of Khorne; without a weapon or something to take my hatred out on, I'm useless.
So, I sat. It was the only plausible thing to do. And I waited, for what I suspect was a couple of hours, until a cultist came to my door. He pulled back the slate of metal that kept me from seeing out and let them see in.
"Mortane, I thought you'd be in here. You aren't scheduled for torture for another day. I suspect I will be done having my fun with you by then."
The door opened, and the figure behind it was all too clear to me. Cultist Vernack. Follower of Slaanesh. I'd head rumors about him rewarding slaves if they let him personally "interrogate" prisoners. I didn't have time to be tortured twice. And best of all, I was still mute.
"Come now Mortane, isn't there anything you'd like to say before I start? Don't worry, I'll leave enough of you for the Commander to play with. Just not too much."
He strolled toward me, unsheathing a short blade from his right hip. He licked his lips as if he could taste what was coming. To him.
I pounced at Vernack, knocking the blade out of his hand. However skilled he was at torture, I was better at killing. I grabbed his neck with my right arm and punched him in the gut with my left. He was spitting up blood and fashionable insults. I grabbed his left leg and hoisted him into the air above me. He violently shook around to break free, but it was far too late for that. I don't play with my food before I eat it. I brought him down, his back joining my left knee. He fell, sprawled onto the ground. I took the blade from beside him as he moaned, and finished the job.
I kept the blade, running through the captivity quarters. Many slaves were in my way, but few of them lived. I was overcome by bloodlust and hatred, becoming an insatiable creature who I imagine was quite revolting. Everything turned red as the blood of the fallen was spread across my face. Though, there was no subtlety in this assault. The speakers overhead sounded alarms and alerts to my position. The Commander knew I was coming. Good, I thought. It won't be long now.
Last edited by Heresy Lexicon; 03-07-10 at 06:06 PM.