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8,544 Posts
Discussion Starter · #1 ·
Welcome to the year's fifth

For those of you that are unfamiliar with HOES, here's how it works:

Each month, there will be a thread posted in the Original Works forum for that month's HOES competition. For those of you interested in entering, read the entry requirements, write a story that fits the chosen theme and post it as a reply to the competition thread by the deadline given. Each and every member of Heresy Online is more than welcome to compete, whether your entry is your first post or your thousandth. We welcome everyone to join the family of the Fan Fiction Forum.

Once the deadline has passed, a separate voting thread will be posted, where the readers and writers can post their votes for the top three stories. Points will be awarded (3 points for 1st, 2 for 2nd, and 1 for 3rd) for each vote cast, totalled at the closure of the voting window, and a winner will be announced. The winner will have his/her story added to the Winning HOES thread and be awarded the Lexicanum's Crest award for Fiction excellence!


The idea with the theme is that it should serve as the inspiration for your stories rather than a constraint. While creative thinking is most certainly encouraged, the theme should still be relevant to your finished story. The chosen theme can be applied within the WH40K, WHF, HH, and even your own completely original works (though keep in mind, this IS a Warhammer forum) but there will be no bias as to which setting is used for your story.

As far as the theme goes, please feel free with future competitions to contact me with your ideas/proposals, especially given that my creative juices may flow a bit differently than yours. All I ask is that you PM me your ideas rather than posting them into the official competition entry/voting threads to keep posts there relevant to the current competition.

Word Count

The official word count for this competition will be 1,000 words. There will be a 10% allowance in this limit, essentially giving you a 900-1,100 word range with which to tell your tale. This is non-negotiable. This is an Expeditious Story competition, not an Epic Story nor an Infinitesimal Story competition. If you are going to go over or under the 900-1,100 word limit, you need to rework your story. It is not fair to the other entrants if one does not abide by the rules. If you cannot, feel free to PM me with what you have and I'll give suggestions or ideas as to how to broaden or shorten your story.

Each entry must have a word count posted with it. Expect a reasonably cordial PM from me (and likely some responses in the competition thread) if you fail to adhere to this rule. The word count can be annotated either at the beginning or ending of your story, and does not need to include your title.

Without further ado...

The theme for this month's competition is:


Entries should be posted in this thread, along with any comments that the readers may want to give (and comments on stories are certainly encouraged in both the competition and voting threads!) 40K, 30K, WHF, and original universes are all permitted (please note, this excludes topics such as Halo, Star Wars, Forgotten Realms, or any other non-original and non-Warhammer settings). Keep in mind, comments are more than welcome! If you catch grammar or spelling errors, the writers are all more than free to edit their piece up until the close of the competition, and that final work will be the one considered for voting. Sharing your thoughts with the writers as they come up with their works is a great way to help us, as a FanFiction community, grow as a whole.

The deadline for entries is Midnight GMT, 31 May 2016
. Remember, getting your story submitted on 22nd will be just as considered by others as one submitted on 11th! Take as much time as you need to work on your piece! Any entries submitted past the deadline will not be considered in the competition, regardless of whether the voting thread is posted or not.

Additional Incentive
If simply being victorious over your comrades is not enough to possess you to write a story, there will be rep rewards granted to those that participate in the HOES Challenge.

Participation - 1 reputation points, everyone will receive this
3rd place - 2 reputation points
2nd place - 3 reputation points
1st place - 4 reputation points and Lexicanum's Crest

If you have any questions, feel free to ask in this thread.

Without further nonsense from me, let the writing begin!


16 Posts
1,019 Words
He felt warm, the feeling of numbness spread rapidly through his body. The pain would come soon enough. He felt the warm liquid flow down the front of his body; he did not have to look down to know it was blood.

His enemies’ sword rammed into his stomach, he was certain it had went all the way through. He smiled, staring into the face of his attacker. They had fought for what felt like hours, but it was only minutes.

“We now share the same fate…you fool…” His aggressor spat, blood now dribbling out of his mouth.
“Aye, but mine was met knowing victory.” He replied.

He was dead, that was certain. It was only a matter of time before the loss of blood claimed his life. While his attackers stab landed into his stomach, his sword remained lodged in his enemy’s heart. Still entangled it was as though time stood still.

Drayus used his left hand to push his enemy off his sword, both swords coming free of their new meaty home. He quickly fell to one knee grasping his stomach, the pain had started.

His enemy Brehov, a chaos worshiping bastard fell onto the ground landing on his side. Gasping for air he stared at Drayus. “I know my god will accept me, will yours after todays actions?” he questioned, hard to speak due to the amount of blood in his mouth, the life visibly leaving his body.

“His will be done. My life means nothing for the great plan of His carries on without me.” Drayus replied.

Brehov took one last deep gasp of air, and then fell silent.

It had been only three days since Drayus landed. His squad was tasked with gathering intel on Brehov’s movements. The crazed lunatic had converted and militarized a large number of civilians using the promises of peace after the wars ended.

The room now silent, Drayus set his sword down beside him, still on his knees compressing the wound trying to stop the bleeding. He knew it would not save his life, he could only hope that his victory would bring forgiveness.

Drayus was never meant to be in this place, he was ordered off world days ago. He had a gut feeling, different from the one he had now, that kept him from leaving. It made him disobey direct orders and toss every oath he had taken away.

He had tracked Brehov closer than he had in the previous days. He waited till the time was right, and confronted the maniac. He hoped with his death that the cultist revolution on this planet would end with no more civilian casualties.

The door at the end of the hall opened and disturbed his thoughts. He looked up, the sound of foot steps getting closer.

“Well, never thought to see you again.” A deep voice said. It sounded familiar and it only took a second for Drayus before memories of his childhood came rushing into his head.

“Why….why would you…be...apart of this?” He questioned, struggling to breath let alone talk.

The figure walked up only a few feet from Drayus. “I see you killed him, that’s a shame. Not a lot of followers out there as dumb and gullible as he was.” Stated the figure as he kicked the corpse “Glad I don’t do the cleaning around here.” He chuckled

Drayus stared at the figure, anger now visible on his face. Had he not been mortally wounded he would take up his sword. He knew it was a fetal thought, he was as good as dead and too week to do anything.

“I am very shocked; you know I have eyes and ears everywhere myself. The fact that the big bad Drayus ignored orders…” the man said, walking in a circle now around Drayus “THE AMAZING DRAYUS! HE WHO NEVER FALTERS!” He shouted“undermining direct orders…”

“Maybe, but victory will be assured with my death. What will come from yours? Brother.” Replied Drayus

“Dam you have not changed a bit.” Said the man “I have, A LOT mind you. If only we had time to discuss it.”

“Well, do give your bother the honor of a final conversation with his kin before he passes on.” Said Drayus, anger still visible but curiosity also. “Decius, tell me why you chose this path. Why have you forsaken all that you stood for?”

“DON’T CALL ME THAT!” Decius yelled “That is not my name! Not anymore!”

Decius stopped pacing in front of Drayus. “You do not need to know anything about me brother. Just know this, victory is circumstantial, right now I am victorious. You will be dead soon, and I will be on my way. As we speak more than just this planet succumbs to the dark gods will. You chose a losing side brother.”

“It is not too late, join me. He forgives! You know the Emperor will rule forever, you can not change that. I might die, but hundreds of thousands will take my place.” Pleaded Drayus.
“Wow, never would I have thought to see you beg. Even for your own kin, it’s kind of sad big brother.” He chuckled

Decius removed his laspistol from his holster on his right hip, letting it dangle in his hand.
“Well, I should let you rot, but I have to get going. Lots to get done, I am sure you understand.” He said as he raised the pistol pointing to Drayus’s face.

“WAIT!” yelled Drayus

“What now! I am trying to be nice brother, do not test my patience.” Replied Decius with a grin on his face.

“You never answered, what will come from your death? What happens when you’re gone?” he questioned.

“More will take my spot I suppose, same as you. Now come on do that prayer thing you do, its quite entertaining. Maybe this time he will show up and save you!” Laughed Decius

“I just hope my victory will warrant forgiveness.” Stated Drayus as he pulled his right hand from his stomach, now clenching a frag grenade.

“There will be victory in my death.”


1,547 Posts
Death from Below

Death from Below
Brother Emund
(1065 words)​

# INPUT: Sanguinem Devorantem, Blood worm; Blood devourer (Literally): Local (Ushilles Primus); “Anounza rufu usiku”, The bringer of death in the dark #

The General remembered watching a Holo-flick once. It was about an Xenos race invading Holy Terra. They had lain underground and undiscovered for a Millennia and when the time was right they swamped Terra’s defences. They were ultimately defeated, not by the heroic forces of The Astra Militarum, or even the venerated Space Marines or the legendary Custodes. The Xenos were defeated by tiny bacteria in the air that humans were immune to. The invaders were destroyed, every last one of them.

It was a good flick, with a good ending.

This time however, the Imperium were the invaders, and this was Ushilles Primus, and not Terra.

Captain-General Wulfheah Stonier placed his head in his hands and sighed. It had been a very long day and night was coming.

The night. He had travelled the Cosmos but had never experienced anything like the nights on this Emperor-forsaken planet. The warmth coming up from the lush, moist soil, the scents of the plants and flowers, the subtle noises from the creatures that ventured out to live and hunt, and of course, the absolute certainty that by morning many of his men would be dead.

Pistons were hammering against his temples and acid heartburn seared his throat. He subconsciously checked his feet and was reassured to see that he was on the solid metal deck of his command Leviathan.

Of course he was, unlike his men outside in the trenches.

It had all been going so well. His grand plan so meticulously formulated, was now falling to pieces.
It began well with precision attacks from aerial and orbital forces followed by selected razing of strategic areas of importance; transport hubs, supply depots and the like. Then Space Marine strike teams from the Death Spectre Chapter went in and neutralised the enemy command elements. Finally, the Guard landed and the main ground assault had begun.

He grinned to himself when he remembered the Squeaky, spindly Eldar garrison being overwhelmed within a few hours and then being driven back to their fortress which lay deep within the jungle. Their ships were shattered and their lines of retreat negated. It had been a great slaughter, a great rout.
He raised his empty glass.

Ushilles Primus; Deathworld. The clues were always there, but he had chosen to ignore the blatantly obvious.

“Wine,” he barked. “I need more wine, and not that Munitorum bilge you have been slipping me, I want the Xenos stuff we captured.”
His batman stepped forward with a green onyx bottle and poured him a healthy portion of the sweet Eldar wine.

A staff officer, resplendent in his blue dress uniform, gave a tactful cough. Stonier turned around. He had completely forgotten about the man.
“Ah Cumafon. I thought you had gone.” He grinned and then took a long sip of the intoxicating liquor.
“Sir, Sergeant Fulrad is here.” Stonier raised an eyebrow. Not exactly protocol, but what can one do when dealing with Space Marines? They were a force unto themselves, necessary, but regal pain-in-the-backsides.
“Show him in,” he paused. “Cumafon, we are to be alone and must not be disturbed.”

The Generals quarters were built deep inside the Leviathan. Stonier’s were modest and clean and free from ostentation. It was his private retreat and only the most important guests were allowed to enter.

Feared and revered in equal measure, a Death Spectre marine was always an intimidating sight. Clad in black power armour that bore the marks, dents and rents of a thousand conflicts and bearing the white skull and black scythes emblem of his Chapter, the sergeant needed no introduction.
Even the General faltered when he entered, but only for a few seconds.

The Sergeant reached up and with a slight hiss of escaping gas, removed his Corvus helmet. Stonier faltered momentarily.
Where the marines face should have been was now a mass of scar tissue, stitches and wires. Augmentics replaced his eyes and a Vox piece covered his upper and lower jaw. Any humanity had long been erased by some form of melta weapon.
He dipped his head slightly.

“It is dire General.” The Sergeants voice was a metallic rasp. Stonier stood up and walked over to his writing desk. He placed his glass down and turned to face his visitor.

“Are they withholding the truth from me Sergeant?”
“They are. It is not the Xenos, it is the...”
“Worms, Sergeant. Yes, I know, the worms.” He turned to a map that was laid out before him. It showed his dispositions and the large hexagonal structure in the centre which signified the enemy stronghold.
“I can do nothing for you.” The Sergeant continued. “I can overcome any enemy that I face toe-to-toe, but this. I have no answer.”
“Sixteen thousand men on the first night.” Stonier turned abruptly. “Nearly an entire Division taken from me in one night and since then…”

“We are leaving.” The Sergeant interjected. “We shall regroup on our battle-barge and await re-deployment. I have lost three squads already and I will not lose any more.”

“It was to be my crowning glory,” the general continued, appearing to ignore the Space Marine. “The high-point of a shining career. Fifty years in the military, fifty years. “He shrugged his shoulders and picked up the wine glass. “All of it destroyed, wasted, undermined by the tiniest of things. They sense body heat; they sense our blood. A worm can suck a man dry in a matter of minutes. The unfortunate individual is already dead before he realises what is happening. They bore through the strongest materials, they can move through air and water, Emperor-damned, they can apparently fly as well!”

“I shall leave you to your commiserations General.” The Space Marine nodded. “You know where we are.” The Sergeant turned to leave.
“Yes General.”
“What would you do?”
The Death Spectre shrugged his shoulders and then replaced his helmet.
“The right thing General.”

The holo-flick showed an avian pecking at the Xenos remains as it crumbled into dust. Stonier wondered What his fate would be?

The Laspistol felt heavy in his hand and the barrel was cold against his temple.
“To the victors the spoils?” He mused.

Ushilles Primus: D+25; Casualties: KIA - 154,818, WIA – 0, MIA - 0


623 Posts
Echoes of Immortality

Word Count: 1095

Sister Superior Lyra peered into the shrouded depths of the Undercity from kilometers high above. From the highest spires of the Cathedral of Martyrs, endless miles of the Hive City Aurelian stretched out before her as if the brushwork of some elaborate artist. Yet one glance into the teeming streets, the surging crowds writhing below as if nothing more than a massive fortress of vermin, reminded her just how real everything was. Dilapidated ruins and slums arose from millennia of ancient gothic architecture, plagued with polluted atmosphere and deteriorated living conditions.

“Squad Angeliki,” Lyra whispered into her comm. link. She could almost feel the relentless gale of the storm caress her raven hair. Fresh rain slipped into the cracks of her power armor and made her bronze skin beneath her black carapace almost cool to the touch.

“Squad Angeliki,” Lyra repeated. “Are we ready?”

Aretha breathed into the channel. “Superior, I am ready.”

Aedon sighed, Lyra noted her anxious tone. “All vital and weapon signs green, Superior.”

Lyra caught Letha’s shadow writhing across the ceramite floor of the pulpit as she physically prepared herself. “In the Emperor’s Light, let him find none of us wanting.”

Beroe chuckled in that quiet way she did. “I am ready to execute his will.”

Celandine raised Angeliki’s banner into the nexus of lightning and thunder above. “The banner shall never fall so long as I draw breath. Even if death silence my holy voice, Him On Terra shall see my broken corpse, but will boast with pride of the untarnished banner billowing over it.”

Echo joined the pleasant choir of laughter. “I am ever at your side, Superior. Let us see Him On Terra’s will carried out over this blighted sea of heresy.”

“Grapples!” Lyra called. She marched over to the edge of the pulpit and snapped a grappling hook in place over the railing. She looked down again into the abyss that she would soon be dropping into. She watched Angeliki go about their work in silence as they installed grappling hooks for each member.

Lyra snatched up the thickened rope coil and flung one leg over the railing until her feet were planted on the other side of it. She ignored the hundred foot drop beneath her and signaled for Angeliki to fall into position.

“Rappel!” Lyra commanded. In one moment her eyes were shut, then the next the entire world spun around her in a rapid descent. The blurred outlines of her Sisters cut through the heavy pollution in the air as they dived deeper into the depths.

The seconds seemed like long minutes, and the minutes passed as if the earth was frozen in time. The Cathedral of Martyrs faded into the night sky and was replaced by the irreverent destruction of war. Lyra felt her rapid descent taper off and her armored boots gently scrap against long abandoned ground. She detached from her scaling device and her hands immediately wrapped around her bolter.

Beroe made to stand beside her. “Enemies from every direction! We’re already surrounded!”

“Angeliki, engage!” Lyra squeezed off several rounds into the hundreds of undead corpses creeping out of the mist. Two of the rounds detonated, causing a plague zombie’s intestines to blossom from its torso in a flower of blood and vaporizing another’s cranium. The third embedded itself in the crooked leg of another one, but failed to combust.

Angeliki thundered in unison. “Remissionem Per Ignem, Veniam Per Mortem!(Absolution through fire, forgiveness through death!"

“Aedon, suppressing fire!” Lyra fell onto one knee and cut down several figures limping toward her.

“Clear the way!” Aedon said as she pressed the trigger on her heavy bolter. Angeliki scattered away from her kill zone as the heavy weapon rattled violently in her grip. The endless tide of moans on the air was drowned beneath a tide of death that pulped corpse after corpse.

“Advance on the objective!” Lyra shouted.

Echo’s chainsword arced through the air, severed offending limbs and heads that came too close to gnashing her armor. Mass-driven rounds burst from her bolt pistol and further widened the trail of death left by Beroe’s fire.

Angeliki advanced into the seething horde even as it closed around them on all sides. Lyra made encouraging shouts as the combat degraded into closer and closer quarters. She loosed a round into another zombie and watched it detonate the foe’s spinal cord in a gory mess. Another charged her on her left flank, which she neglected, and dragged her down to her knees. Echo’s blade roared as it sliced through brain matter and bone and toppled her assailant.

Aretha’s flamer sent up a roiling wave of flames that consumed everything it touched. The decaying flesh of the living dead simply evaporated wherever she aimed her pilot light. In the chaos, Lyra found the smile on her face amusing at the banner billowing over their heads.

“Target sighted, Superior.” Beroe pointed through the ashen fog toward a remnant of the ruinous powers.

“Welcome, daughters of the Emperor, preachers of the purity of mankind and the instrument of Him On Terra’s everlasting retribution. O how my abode must be such an eyesore to you righteous souls. It is nothing more than a reflection of mankind in-and-of-itself, no? Washed in the filth of squalor, born in the ruins of devastation, and plagued with blindness…”

Lyra grimaced. “What heresy is this? Sisters, I want that Astartes killed!”

Bolter fire echoed across the ruins and stitched death with reckless abandon. The Thousand Son in the midst of the undead horde unleashed a salvo of ignited rounds toward the sisters. Each round streaked past Lyra, but the abrupt explosion of flames, gore, and debris temporarily robbed her of her senses. When her eyes finally snapped open, she realized that she lied in the midst of a smoldering crater. Aretha’s remains.

Angeliki picked themselves up and redoubled their fight against the undead, but the shadow of the Sorcerer receded into the fog until it vanished.

“Remember this: the festering wound shall always fell the warrior, no matter how strong. The darkness in the immortal soul shall consume until all light has been driven away. There is no stopping this.”

Lyra hawked and spat, even as she favored her lower ribcage. “Go ahead and flee, Sorcerer. There are places that not even your Dark Gods can reach. If the mere presence of his voice alone is enough to make them tremble in undisguised fear, then woe onto your false gods, heretic. Soon they shall choke on their own blood for once.”

90 Posts
Not sure this worked out as I'd wanted it. Still...

Insubordination- 1100 Words

“And you’re sure it’s clear?”

Agrav sighed, crossing his arms. “Yeah. Swept it this morning, swept it again at noon. Swept it just now.”

The security chief wasn’t a patient man. Luc Ferragno knew that he was annoying him with the repeated inquiries, but damn it, he was the President-for-life of Challic Primaris, and he needed protection.

“And it was clear?”

Another sigh. Agrav didn’t actually roll his eyes, but Ferragno could feel the exasperation emanating from the man. It was almost tangible. “Yes. It was clear. Like I said.”

“Fine. Fine. Okay.” Ferragno nodded quickly. Why wouldn’t he trust Agrav? The man had kept him alive throughout this whole damned rebellion business so far, foiling several assassination attempts. A good man. Still…

Agrav could see that, no doubt. He stepped forwards, the tall man bending down slightly to come to Ferragno’s level. “Sir, would you like me to find an alternate venue?” he asked, that damned impatient half-smile on his face. Ferragno hated that. “No! It’s fine.” he snapped, turning back to the door.

It was fine. He needed to stop being so paranoid. Taking a deep breath and adjusting the heavy chain of office draped around his neck, he stepped forwards and pushed open the door.

There they were. The Mechanicum representative, Arch-Magos Vonnsen. General Macueen of the Imperial Guard. And last, Confessor Stonn, he who had broken free of the oppressive Imperial Cult, brought his revelation of the true, personal worship of the God-Emperor to all. The three, his most valuable advisors, stood up from their seats around the big round table.

Ferragno glanced around the room. Nothing there. Just the bookshelves, packed with leatherbound volumes, and the big wood-surfaced table. No windows. No other furniture, apart from the chairs. Nothing to hide.

The door shut behind him with a loud clank. Ferragno started, hand going to the pocket of his robes, where he kept his little snub-las. But it was just the security chief coming in after him, luckily.

Hell, he had to calm down. With a sigh, he relaxed, and stepped forwards to take his seat. As he dropped down into the chair, his advisors mirrored him. “All right. What news?” the President-for-life asked, glancing at General Macueen.

“Rebels hold sectors six, seven, and nine. Quickly gaining a foothold in eight.” the general stated, bluntly. “And they still have Secundus Hive. We-”

A series of loud crashes. Several books dropped from the shelves around them. Ferragno jumped up, snub-las in hand. “What’s going on?!” he shouted, hysterically.

Macueen sighed, as soon as the crashes subsided. “We couldn’t stop themtaking the PDF base in sector seven. They’ve got tanks, artillery, anti-air. We may have to evacuate to Tertius Hive, sir.”


It wasn’t Ferragno who’d spoken. Stonn had lurched out of his seat, the young confessor’s eyes bright. “Evacuate? The God-Emperor’s divine hand will guide us out of this, if we but believe!” he cried, finger lashing out. “Your failure betrays your lack of faith, Macueen.”

The Arch-Magos’ mechadendrites whipped about, his vocoder trilling in binary. He’d never dream of turning away from the God-Emperor in his guise as the Omnissiah, clearly, and couldn’t imagine the general’s choice. Ferragno shared the astonishment- Macueen, an apostate. This explained it, why the purges had done nothing, why the Guard had reported only failure after failure. Why the rebels held three hives and were receiving reinforcements from offworld. It made so much sense.

Macueen had claimed to see the light, but they’d been deceived. “No, sir, no-” he began, hands up, palms forward. Ferragno shook his head. No, there’d be no pleading this time, no reprieve for this pitiful excuse for a man. “Agrav.” he said, motioning to the former general with his snub-las. “Would you?”

“No, President-”

“Gladly.” replied Agrav, his big stub revolver coming up. A loud bang sounded out, and in an explosion of red and pink, half of Macueen’s face disappeared. Another couple books fell off the shelves, thumping to the floor; the corpse slumped to the side in its chair.

Ferragno couldn’t get used to that. No matter how many of the executions he watched personally, the gore still nauseated him. Still, it was his duty, as the Confessor said- one couldn’t order death without being willing to see it.

“Another purge, I think.” he said, dragging his gaze away from Macueen’s corpse. Stonn nodded. “A good idea, sir. We must weed out the unfaithful in our forces.”

The Arch-Magos looked at Stonn, vocoder beeping. All was well. The President-for-life put away his snub-las, realising that it was still in his hand. “Alright. Confessor, would you interview the officers in the Guard?”

“Gladly.” replied Stonn, echoing Agrav’s earlier words. Ferragno nodded. “Then we meet again tomorrow. Bring me a list.”

He turned on his heel, Agrav pulling the door open for him. Striding out, he smiled. It was a good day.

Something made a loud bang. It wasn’t the door, this time. No, that was the same bang that had emptied Macueen’s skull. Agrav’s stub revolver.

The floor came up rather quickly. He hit it hard, with a soft groan, and curled up into a fetal position, seeing Agrav’s boots. With a surprisingly great deal of effort, Ferragno looked up to the security chief’s face and found one eyebrow raised in odd curiosity. Not something he’d ever seen on Agrav’s face before.

There was a shout, and the door behind the security chief opened. Confessor Stonn appeared, gilded and blessed shotgun in hand, but Agrav’s revolver rose up and discharged twice. The young confessor was dead before he hit the floor, gaping holes in his chest and stomach.

Ferragno tried to ask Agrav why he’d done this, but a low moan was all that issued from his mouth. The Arch-Magos stepped out of the room, then, and trilled something at Agrav.

“Yes.” the security chief replied, voice mechanical and flat now. “Hold on.”

He disappeared from Ferragno’s field of view, but returned a moment later carrying a limp body. Agrav’s body.

It wasn’t Agrav that had shot him.

The not-Agrav put the barrel of his revolver in the body’s mouth, lifting it up to the man’s proper height and taking care with the angle. After a moment, he discharged it once more. Dropping the body unceremoniously, the not-Agrav turned to the Arch-Magos. “Ready?”

Another shot rang out, into the Arch-Magos’ arm. A trill of pain, and then not-Agrav dropped the revolver and disappeared.

Clever. This bastard was clever…

Luc Ferragno, President-for-life of Challic Primaris, rolled onto his back and expired there upon the floor.
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