Turning Point -Warhammer 40k Fan Fiction

Chapter 7 - Cetus

Two weeks ago:

         Inquisitor Ahriman Tycos leaped over the scattered debris lying at the bottom of the war torn abandoned high-rise.  Deep in the bowels of Hive Tysanus, only small pockets of light penetrated from the higher levels, shrouding most of the area he traversed in darkness.  The corpses of his once brave retinue lay all around.  A few of the more unfortunate were still dying; their trembling moans a lament for their cause.

         Ahriman’s prized power sword, Eridanus, latent with his own psychic power, cast a dancing blue light in front of him as the runes flickered from discharge.  The distinct smell of ozone filled his nostrils as he overstepped more rubble at his feet.  Massive amounts of psychic energy had recently been unleashed in the vicinity, ensuring Tycos that he was on the right track.  As if to confirm this, small chokes of laughter echoed from the large oval shaped courtyard nearby.

         Switching the grip on his beloved weapon to his left hand, he quickly checked the chronometer on his belt.  Five hours had now gone by since the initial confrontation and ensuing chase.  While only a few of his band had perished during the brief but fierce struggle in the Arbites containment area, many more had fallen during the chase of the man once known as Cetus Faramond.  Now, only Ahriman and the possessed Cetus drew breath.

         Cetus Faramond grew up a privileged noble in the colossal Hive City of Tysanus.  Never knowing true struggle or having to raise a hand in labor, the spoiled boy turned his abundant time and attentions to the occult mysteries of Chaos.  Notated in his inquisitorial files, Cetus became a fully fledged cultist and practitioner of the ruinous powers by the age of seventeen.  By twenty, he participated in what would later become known as the “Sacrifice of the Privileged” on Tysanus.  Twelve thousand nobles and elite members of high society were slaughtered from an overt and brutal ritual sacrifice executed by Cetus and his devout cultists.  Cetus’ own bloodline were victims of this immense ceremony.  Six years later, Ahriman had finally tracked Cetus back to his own home world, gathering his cult deep in the ruined bowels of the hive.

         Waiting patiently for a clear lock on Cetus’ location, Ahriman and his retinue entrenched themselves in the society of Hive Tysanus.  To the Inquisitor’s own regret, it had taken them too long to finally uncover his whereabouts.  Cetus had achieved his ultimate goal.  Some eighteen miles from where Tycos stood now, Cetus had sacrificed his entire cult to summon a Daemon from the Warp.  Possessing him as soon as the ritual ended, the bonding of the man and Daemon left Cetus unconscious in the middle of a huge circle of blood.

         While Ahriman and his followers scrambled to the location, the local Arbites were able to take the comatose man into custody.  Reports reached the Inquisitor of extreme vomiting and even fainting from the unfortunate officers who had gazed upon the obscene drawings and forbidden characters written in blood around the ceremonial circle.

         Although his pilot had pushed their shuttle to the limit of its propulsion, it was too late.  Minutes before they arrived, the man once known as Cetus had awakened.  Nothing was left alive inside of the Arbites containment building.  Many in the surrounding blocks were either unconscious themselves or dead.  Following the trail of blood and viscera from the ill-fated Arbites, Ahriman and his faithful entourage were ultimately led to this courtyard in the deep innards of the Hive.

         Making his way to the center of the dark courtyard, he began to turn in a circle, looking for any sign of the monster.  Laughter echoed once again, seeming to originate from all around him and yet nowhere at all.

         “Show yourself Cetus!  Let us put an end this massacre!”

         Bracing himself for a reply or an attack, the Inquisitor started to become impatient as a minute or two went by without sound or movement.  Gripping Eridanus in both hands, he readied himself for the coming duel.  Inciting ancient litanies against the dark forces of Chaos taught to him in the academy, he centered himself and drew carefully upon the power of the Warp in measured quantities.  In anticipation, the discharge emanating from Ahriman’s psychically powered sword flared, resulting in a multitude of sparks shooting out all along the sharp blade.

         Movement from his left caused him to instantly jump and face the approaching figure.  Most of his clothes either burnt or ripped apart, the nearly nude figure of Cetus stood a couple of yards away from the Inquisitor.  More than half of the flesh on his body was severely charred.  Ahriman didn’t know if that was from the bonding with the Daemon, or the result of the prolonged chase and the ensuing battle.  Most of Cetus’ long dark hair was gone, leaving only small patches sprouting from the top of his head.  Even in the absence of a major light source, Ahriman could see that the Daemon-man’s eyes were fully red, all of the blood vessels ruptured.

         The Daemon-man opened its mouth to speak.  Its lips did not move, yet the Inquisitor heard clearly and understood the words. 

         “Inquisitor Ahriman Tycos, this one knows you well.  You have spent many lifetimes pursuing that which you do not know.  You bask in ignorance, and bathe in pride.  Come here, and let this one take away all of your fear and self loathing.  This one will fill you with darkness!”  Disheartened, Ahriman realized that the speech was actually spoken out of order.  The fact that he still understood everything the damned creature had said chilled his soul.

         “Heretic!  Traitor!  In the name of the immortal Emperor of Terra, I dispatch thee!”  Raising Eridanus above his head, Ahriman charged the Daemon.

         The creature bellowed laughter at the quickly approaching Inquisitor.  Eridanus shrieked down from overhead and Cetus met the sparking blade with a taloned hand.  Swiping with his other arm, the sharp talon extending from a once human hand tore deep into the armor protecting the Inquisitor’s abdomen.  Metal and cloth shredded from the blow.  Ahriman deftly shifted his weight backwards to prevent the Daemon’s counterattack from mortally wounding him.  Even with all of his training and quickness, Ahriman was still left with a deep and painful gash across his chest. 

         Although bleeding quite freely, Ahriman saw that the talon that had blocked his sword thrust was chipped and broken.  New hope swelled inside of Tycos.  The bonding process, still in its infancy, apparently left the Daemon in a somewhat weakened state.  Had it been given a few more hours, it would have been able to gather its immeasurable power.  Ahriman knew that now was most likely his only chance to best the creature before it could escape and reign terror upon the citizens of the Imperium.

         Taking a few steps back, Ahriman circled the Daemon, frantically probing his mind for a strategy.  The vile creature stood at rest, smiling at him as he licked some of the Inquisitor’s blood dripping from his taloned hand.

         Ahriman leaped forward with a cry, aiming the end of his sword at the Daemon’s lower torso.  Barely moving, the depraved monster parried Ahriman’s charge quicker than lightning with his talon.  Before Ahriman could move back into a balanced stance, the possessed man instantly riposted.  The Inquisitor scarcely moved his sword in time to block the razor-sharp talon.  The force of the strike, combined with his awkward footing, sent him sprawling backwards to the cold, hard ground.  All of the air in Ahriman’s lungs was forced out when he contacted earth, causing him to emit a strange grunting noise.  Struggling to find a way to breathe, he finally noticed that Eridanus was no longer in hand.  Gasping hard, he blindly searched the ground around him with his arms, keeping his eyes trained on the approaching Daemon-man.

         “This one thinks that you are done… Inquisitoooor.”  The vile creature made an extra effort to draw out his title.  “Your blood is weak, like your entire race.”

         With a verbal curse, Ahriman finally spotted his sword several yards away from where he lay.  The Cetus-Daemon stood above him, slowly moving in for the kill.  He knelt down until his face was only inches away from Ahriman’s.  Fighting hard to keep his gorge down, Ahriman convulsed several times from the smell emanating off of Cetus.  It reminded him of both death and the burning parts of an old engine.

         “Strong… enough… to stop your kind,” Ahriman said as he struggled to hold off the Daemon.  Summoning all of his mental strength, he channeled psychic energy between his hands to push the Daemon off of him.  Blood exploded out of his nose from the sheer effort, but the Daemon stood in place on top of him.  A crackling shield of electricity formed between them, as the Daemon held off his psychic push.  Not willing to give up and die, Ahriman held his focus, willing himself to draw more energy than he had ever tried to.  A stabbing pain began to swell inside of his head, causing his sight to blur.  He groaned involuntarily as immense pain blossomed all through his body.  The Daemon still stood atop of him, amusement on his face.

         With one final grunt, Ahriman expended the last of his mental energy into his effort.  He felt something inside of his head tear, and realized that he was moving.  Seconds later, as his head cleared a bit, he discovered that he was no longer in the same spot.  Despite his aching body, he propped himself up to find out what had happened.  A small series of static discharges still danced in the place where he had been lying a few moments ago, now at least ten yards away.  Out of his field of vision he heard a strange gargling noise ahead.

         Every muscle in his body protested as the Inquisitor rose to his feet.  Taking small steps one foot at a time, he walked over to where his sword Eridanus was lying and grasped it into his right hand.  Mustering his bravery, he walked forward into the darkness to find the source of the sound.

         Only a small distance away from the clash with the Daemon-man, he approached some scattered, ancient ruins.  Tycos saw with great relief what the noise had been.  Impaled on a couple of large metal spikes that had rusted and broken through the years, was Cetus.  The barely human creature writhed in agony as it tried desperately to pull itself free from the sharp metal that may have once served a fence.  Trying to picture how it happened, Ahriman guessed that the force of the psychic explosion must have sent the newly bonded Daemon airborne, only to land here.  The smiling Inquisitor said a quick prayer of thanks to the Emperor.

         Limping over to the frantic Cetus, Ahriman saw the rising panic in his once again human eyes. 

         “In the name of the Immortal Emperor of Terra, I dispatch thee, wretched spawn of the warp!”  The Inquisitor raised his rune-etched sword to the creature’s throat and readied the killing blow.

         Almost ignoring Tycos entirely, the broken man clawed at his mortal wounds.  “He’s gone.  He’s gone!  Not now!  No, not now!  Come back to me, my Lord!  I can still find him!  I can still find Vintros!  I can still do your work!”  Cetus continued looking up, spewing cries of mercy in vain.  Ahriman shook his head and spat in disgust.

         “Oh, you’ll see him again, real soon.  As he feasts on your soul, tell the damned Daemon that I will find him and destroy him!” 

         Finally turning his attention to the Inquisitor, Cetus trembled as he spoke, “Ahriman Tycos, the ignorant tool of the great corpse!  You shall find him, but in finding him you will find your death!  All praise to Athos!”  As the name of the accursed name was spoken aloud, a strong wind blew around them, scattering stones from the tops of decayed walls.  The bleeding, dying man cackled weak laughter that echoed through the dark ruins.  Dark blood began to run from his eyes.

         “Perhaps, but your death comes sooner!”  Ahriman thrust the sword through the man’s neck and into his head.  Immediately, Cetus’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, and dark blood flowed out of his mouth, nose, and ears.  Pulling hard, a wet sucking noise accompanied his sword as it slid out of the dead man’s head.  The grotesque corpse fell limp on the spikes.  For a moment, Ahriman could swear he almost heard laughter as he wiped the clotted blood off of Eridanus. 

         Slowly making his way to a small set of stones on the ground, he took a seat on the nearest one.  Checking his gear belt for his communicator, Ahriman found it in pieces.  Sighing, he turned his hand over and let the remains fall to the ground.  It was going to be a long walk back to his ship.