The Shadow War Chapter 2: Mind Over Matter

The Shadow War, Chapter 2: Mind over Matter

Eldo watched the pict tapes with quietly suppressed rage, flicking from shot to shot with pure hatred burning in his veins. Three separate channels were showing exactly the same footage, recorded by the six servo-skulls hovering around the carnage. For the fourteenth time, he watched the Arbites Rhino flip and implode, while to its left, a building exploded outwards in jets of purple flame. There was no sound.

With a wave of his hand, all three screens froze at exactly the same point, three different angles on the same moment.

Eldo frowned as his own face stared back at him from the central screen, while to each side he stood further back from the camera, which focused on the storm of objects that formed the whirlpool around him. A second later, he picked out the face of a child, screaming as the Rhino came crashing down, and let out a cry of his own, roaring, wrenching sound that shattered the silence. Coruscating flames danced from his fingers and the screens melted away to nothing.

***

Inquisitor Van Baalen was not having a good day. With Wolfe dispatched on his mission to Antor he had expected at least a brief respite, and by rights, he was entitled to it. He couldn't remember the last time he had had more than a few hours rest. By this point, he was running only on stims and adrenaline. Skjor's words came back to him.

Heresy never sleeps, Ernst. Neither can you.

And neither, it seemed, did it appreciate a job well done. No sooner had Wolfe been dispatched and the first phase of the investigation begun, he had received the vox summoning him to Iago Secundus. With less than three hours until he arrived, he couldn't afford to rest. The doors to his meditation chamber swung open, and he didn't need to look up to know who it was. Only Hansfeld knew the pass-code.

“Report?” he predicted, voice level.

“Yes, sir.” Hansfeld began, and stepped into Van Baalen's line of sight. The diminutive acolyte handed him the parchment and retreated back into the shadows, until he was nothing more than a darker shape among the darkness. A light snapped on over Van Baalen's head, but still he couldn't see Hansfeld. The acolyte had something of a knack for disappearing. He waited in silence for Van Baalen to finish reading the report.

“What in creation are they playing at?” the inquisitor whispered, rising from his chair and trying in vain to see Hansfeld. He had a strict no-technology policy when meditating, and had removed his auspex, leaving him blind. For the first time, he regretted it. “What are they trying to do to me?” he yelled vociferously, clasping a hand to his head and crumpling the message with his other hand. Within seconds, Renfield had darted into the chamber, rifle up.

The intrusion was unwelcome, but Van Baalen couldn't help but feel relived at his bodyguard's promptness.

“What's the problem, sir?” Renfield enquired, his young face illuminated by the glowing scope of his long-rifle. At a wave of Van Baalen's hand, he lowered the weapon, but the inquisitor could tell he was still alert, expecting a target to materialise at any moment. Unlike Hansfeld, he was not yet used to Van Baalen's explosive outbursts.

“The problem, acolyte Renfield, is that we've just been given more fething work to do.”

“Sir?”

“More work, Renfield, and not even anything remotely interesting. Rouge psyker tearing stuff up on some planet none of us have ever heard of. This isn't even my fething Ordo's job!”

“Sir,” Hansfeld uttered calmly from the darkness, “just read the other side.”

Van Baalen did so, and after a moment, his thunderous frown faded.

“Oh, that's interesting.” he chuckled, “Very interesting.” Leaving the others in silence, he strode for the bridge.

***

“Eldo, I know what you did.”

“Feth off.”

The knocking at the door grew louder. Eldo snapped his fingers, and fire formed between them, playing across the surface of his scarred hand. It didn't burn, but it itched, like a fly crawling over his skin. He turned to the door.

“I said, feth off!” Eldo went back to his drink, and downed another glass before stopping. He was halfway through pouring another when the voice spoke again.

“You know, with half the spire after you, you really should lock the door.”

At this, the handle of the door turned, and Eldo leapt to his feet, hands splayed, flames still dancing, awaiting direction. He remembered coming in, and turning the key. The door was almost certainly locked. And yet, it swung open, as easily as if it were stirred by a breeze.

Almost instantly, Eldo knew something was wrong. A silence seemed to enter the room with the hooded figure who crossed the threshold. The flames that had danced along his palm flickered out. The hooded figure came closer, seeming not even to walk but glide, and when he spoke, it was in tones so measured Eldo wondered if he was hearing or just feeling the words. Again he tried to reach for the power, but it would not come. The flames did not answer. He was without his only weapon.

“I know what you did.” the figure said again.

“I did nothing.” Eldo replied, his voice icy. “Now get out of my house.”

“We both know that's a lie, Eldo. You're not a violent person, but we both know what you did. All those people who died. Who burned.”

Eldo wheeled to face the gliding shape, and wrenched back the hood. Beneath it, the face was sallow and white, not quite alien but not entirely human. Eldo resisted the urge to bloody it.

“I did nothing.” he growled. “That wasn't me. And if you were there, you know that.”

“I know exactly what happened. Because it was all you, you that did the killing. But it was me who made it happen. And now, I'm going to walk away, and you're going to do it again.”

***

“So, let me get this straight. An ordinary citizen, who has no previous history of sudden violence, dissidence or even psychic ability suddenly goes crazy and levels half a hab block, before vanishing again?” Van Baalen could not believe it.

“He was a known latent, but no, he's never actually used his power. He wasn't a threat. Until today. We don't have a motive, or even any idea how he got that powerful, but he did. All we've got to go on is this.” The Arbite handed Van Baalen a data printout, which the inquisitor studied for some time. After a moment, the judge pointed at the graph. “A sudden drop in psychic potential before the event. Our best psy-analysts cant make anything of it. I was hoping you'd-”

“I know exactly what you were hoping, sergeant. I'm afraid I'm going to have to disappoint. Contrary to popular belief, the Inquisition doesn't know everything. Besides, this isn't exactly my field.” Van Baalen almost laughed at the understatement.

Give me a tyranid, he thought, at least I get how they work.

Why the Ordo Hereticus was unavailable was beyond him, some bureaucratic nonsense no doubt. The only thing Van Baalen was certain of was that none of this made sense. Psykers going dark then exploding. He had no idea.

“Yes, sir.” the judge muttered, “Of course, sir. I'll leave you to it, sir.” He backed away hastily, and by the time Van Baalen looked up he was gone.

He reached for the vox caster and sent a single sentence back to the shuttle.

“Send the Rat Pack.”

***

Eldo counted the seconds as the hooded figure left, and resigned himself to what was coming. He hastily packed a sack with what he would need: a laspistol, a knife, what food he could carry and some water tablets. As he reached the seventy-first second, the roiling power of the Warp surged back through him, the blank space no longer empty. Just like last time, the fire coursed through him, boiling to the surface and surging at the tips of his fingers. He finally understood what had happened earlier, but derived no comfort from the knowledge. People were still going to die, whether it was his fault or not.

Here we go again.

And the power burst forth, tearing apart the walls and flowing through into the street beyond. Eldo ran, knowing the Arbites would soon be on his tail and shooting to kill.

***

The Rat Pack swarmed through the hive, each individual creature part of something larger, a collective intelligence. Small, vermin-like Xenos that had earned Van Baalen his reputation as a radical, and in his opinion, were worth every derisive word, stabbing glare and open threat from his fellow members of the Ordo. They were his eyes and ears, their hive-mind simulated by a control sphere constructed by his xenobiologist, and while their use was frowned upon by some and mocked by others, they were too stupid to be dangerous and too valuable to be exterminated.

As the Pack slipped unseen through the dark and hidden places of the spire, they fed every scrap of information back to Van Baalen's ship, painting a holographic model of the city and everything within it. Within an hour, the inquisitor had a map of the first event in complete detail, and with every second, he grew more and more frustrated.

He had discerned nothing useful from the scans, no clue or hint at to what caused the psychic outburst. While it was not exactly his area of expertise, he had still expected to work something out. Anything that might give him a clue. But so far, nothing. He turned to face Hansfeld, who had remained tactfully silent.

“Hansfeld! Any bright ideas?” he shouted, and the acolyte looked up at him blankly.

“I'm just as in the dark as you, sir. This is why I enlisted for the Ordo Xenos, after all. Psykers are mad buggers, the lot of them. Nothing sensible or logical about them.”

“I know, Hansfeld, you don't need to remind me. I really can't see how we're going to get anywhere here. You might as well take the afternoon off. Go and fix your gun or whatever it is you people are supposed to do.”

Van Baalen barely heard the explosion over Hansfeld's chuckle, but the instant fires that sparked into life was unmissable.

“On the other hand...” he muttered, and pulled Hansfeld back, ignoring his protests. “Fire up the engines, and let's go bag us a psyker. I've no idea how or why he's doing this, let's just bring the bastard down.”

***

Eldo was running, running north with the fires leaving a trail of smouldering buildings in his wake. And corpses, too, but he wasn't going to count them. Not yet. He took a left, screaming at the top of his voice for the crowd in font of him to scatter. Only a few heard, and the rest were hurled aside and burned to ash.

It was no good. He could run and run, but as long as there were civilians in the way, he was a danger too them. Earlier, the power had consumed him, he hadn't cared, but this time he was in control of his mind, if not his body. He watched as if from far away as his hands unleashed another burst of flame, and looked away before it reached its target. Ahead of him, a squad of Arbites had pulled up and were hastily deploying a barricade. He prepared for the worst.

Behind the squad of judges stood the one place he might be safe, and the one place he might be eternally damned. He wasn't sure which option he was most hoping for, only that he had to reach the temple. The Temple of the Emperor Ascendant.

With a savage roar he came into rage of the Arbites and saw the fires flare, heard the shotguns ring and felt nothing as he tore them apart.

***

Renfield waited in the rafters of the temple, and found himself idly examining the immense stained glass window. At the foot of the altar, he could make out the huddled mass of the psyker. Kneeling in blood-soaked rags, skin cut and burned, crying and praying for the Emperor's mercy, Renfield wanted to pity him.

He was sure that if Van Baalen was aware of that, he'd shove him on the first ship back to his regiment, or worse to a Penal Legion. He had been picked because he was the best, but from what he had heard from the other members of Van Baalen's crew, any sign of weakness would see him replaced.

“It's a big galaxy.” they said. “We're all replaceable.” they said.

Renfield realigned his long-rifle's sights over the stricken form of the psyker, and pretended not to notice the increase in his heart rate as Van Baalen strode into the temple. Hansfeld followed the inquisitor, a metre or so behind, and Renfield knew that somewhere in the temple, the two death cultists, Caine and Abel, were waiting should things turn sour. Renfield had yet to see the pair, twins, in action, but he'd heard enough to know that if there were here, there was a clear and present danger to Van Baalen. And by extension, himself.

The inquisitor's drake-skin cloak gusted around him as the temple doors slammed shut, and when it had settled, the point of his ornate power sword was held at the base of the psyker's neck. Van Baalen raised the sword, and the psyker convulsed with another sob, throwing out his arms as if to embrace the alter. He stood slowly, and still Van Baalen's blade did not fall. Renfield didn't know what was staying his hand, but kept his sights on the psyker's forehead just in case. He'd seen the mutilated, charred and dismembered corpses outside, and had no intent to let the situation repeat itself.

He felt only the slightest touch as he was pushed from the rafter, plunging to the temple floor below.

***

“I repent!” the psyker pleaded, “Oh Emperor, I repent.” Van Baalen could not bring himself to bring down the blade on this helpless man, this wrecked shell of a human being. He was genuine in his repentance, and Van Baalen's way was not the needless taking of lives. Besides, the psyker, if trained, could be useful.

“You have killed men.” Van Baalen stated coldly. The psyker convulsed again.

“I had no control. It was.. I don't know what it was. There was nothing, a gap in the power, and I got angry, I don't know why, and then it came back and broke free and oh Emperor have mercy on me I repent!”

Van Baalen stepped back from the broken man, and tried to put the pieces together. If the psyker's power was blocked, it stood to reason that any return of it could herald a surge like the one earlier. But he had no answer as to what could have caused such a blockage. There was no demonic involvement, of that he was certain, and if there was any Xenos artefact that could hold back the Warp, he would have surely have found it.

His auspex caught a flash of movement as Renfield fell, and Caine darted from the shadows to catch him. The assassin moved with lightning speed and set the unconscious sniper to the floor, before leaping deftly to the column and scaling it, as Abel leapt from the other side of the room to protect Van Baalen, her twinned power swords flickering into life. Caine reached the shadowy spot Renfield had fallen from and voxed down to Van Baalen, his voice almost silent.

“Nothing here, sir.”

Before Van Baalen could reply, the temple doors swung open, and he was greeted with what he could only describe as a worst-case scenario.

“Well, feth.” he heard Hansfeld mutter.

In the fading light, a throng had gathered outside the temple, carrying all manner of weapons. A few held lasguns or antique firearms, but most held only blades and torches. At their head stood a hooded figure, whose mere movements seemed to stir the crowd into further hatred.

Van Baalen felt the icy chill of a Blank, an emptiness in the energy around him, and finally understood. Blanks could, by nature, cause terrible anger by mere proximity, and this one, seemingly the hooded figure, had managed to channel this anger against the tortured soul at Van Baalen's feet. The same Blank that had blocked and then unleashed the psyker's power. This man was responsible for the death of hundreds.

“Citizens of Iago Secundus, this man is a killer.” the hooded figure declared in a perfectly calm tone. He raised a gloved hand and pointed at Van Baalen. “And this man would defend him. Degenerates defile the Emperor's light, His holy temple. Cast them out, cut them down! Kill the traitors!”

The frenzied mob took up the chant, and as one surged into the temple. Van Baalen counted maybe eighty, but more would follow. He solemnly engaged the vox.

“Hold the line. Lethal force authorised.”

As one, Caine and Abel leapt forward into the crowd, and just as instantly limbs and bloody started flying. Each wore a smile that soon became red, and each took killing to an art form, each blow or strike a blood-soaked prayer to the Emperor.

The two of them would delay the horde at the gates, but with the Blank alive, more would be drawn to the slaughter. Van Baalen activated his power sword and began cutting through the horde, every strike a death and every death a heresy. Death in the Emperor's temple.

But it had to be done.

He methodically killed his way through the throng, and searched for the Blank, but with no result. Scanning the fighting during a brief lull, he searched for the hooded figure, and picked him out on the far side of the crowd. Purposefully, he once more began wading through the raging citizens, only killing where he had to, but every time he got close, they would shift around him, and he would be further separated from the target.

Eventually, Van Baalen broke free of the mass of bodies and picked out the Blank. This time, though, there was no point trying the direct approach. Instead, he turned his vox amplifier to eleven and raised his sword.

“Citizens of Iago Secundus, I am an agent of His Holy Inquisition, and I command you to leave this place. Disperse before the Emperor's judgement comes down upon you.” The words seemed to break the Blank's illusion for a moment, and a grim realisation dawned on the sea of faces. As one, they bolted, cramming through the door and jamming as they tried to press through. As Van Baalen had expected, Caine seized the chance, and he watched as the death cultist skilfully destroyed the Blank, planting a bolt from each of his crossbow through the Blank's eyes before launching a spinning kick with his bladed boot, dropping the Blank to the floor.

Van Baalen felt the heat return to the room and the hatred subside, and sank to his knees on the blood-soaked floor. He murmured a brief prayer to the Emperor, and as a token, reached out and closed the eyes of the nearest corpse. Climbing back to his feet, he could not help but feel something was still amiss. Something he hadn't realised.

“Damn.” he whispered as the truth dawned, and he turned to the psyker. As he expected, the Blank's death had once more unleashed the power coursing through his veins, and he was visibly glowing. A hellfire burned behind the Psyker's eyes and smoke poured from his nose and mouth. Van Baalen threw himself to the ground and awaited the blast.

***

Eldo felt the power surge back, just like before, but this time it was even stronger. The blood and death and fire around him sent him spiralling into rage, and he searched the room for a suitable target for his anger.

Of course. The Inquisitor.

As the power boiled inside him, turned his insides to ash and his thoughts to fire, Eldo heard voices calling to him from a million miles away. Such soft voices, calling him to the light

“Yes. Yes, come to me. Embrace the power. Yes.”

Eldo smiled. The Emperor himself had spoken. The inquisitor would die, and he would be redeemed. The idea of salvation coursed through him, and ecstatically, he stretched out his hand, formed a pointing finger of His judgement at the cowering inquisitor, the heretic.

There was a noise like a thousand silences breaking, and Eldo fell into beautiful, euphoric oblivion.

***

Van Baalen looked up, and saw the fires die in the psyker's eyes, and saw the hand that accused him fall limply to his side. Abel and Caine stood behind him, and Hansfeld had faded into the shadows, but someone had shot the psyker. Otherwise, they would all be dead.

Renfield stepped from the shadows at the edge of the temple, into the light of the setting sun that streamed through the window. His long-rifle was still smoking, and a single tear rolled down his cheek.

“It had to be done, sir.” was all he said as he walked past them and out into the empty street.

Hansfeld emerged from the shadows, and stepped forward to take a place behind Van Baalen. He gestured after Renfield.

“You think he'll be ok?”

“Emperor knows. The first time is always the hardest. But we've got enough stone-cold killers.” Van Baalen inclined his head towards the silent assassins waiting in the corner. He couldn't help starting to count the corpses that defiled the temple. “Maybe what we need now is a conscience.”