Editing Toyhammer (section)

=Chapter 10=

"Hyoo mahst dai nao..."

"W-what are you talking about!" I looked at the girl in front of me. The sudden declaration of 'you must die' was certainly a way to throw a person off. But really, what threw me off was not what the strange girl had said, but who she was.

The unfortunate girl was as I remembered her, in that dream... no, in that vision. She was divinely beautiful, with a flawless form, her hair swung in silken strands of purple that danced over smooth, light brown skin. Her body was wrapped up in simple clothes, with a jet black shirt and blue jeans with some sneakers. She could have been a goddess of teenage desire, but... I got the feeling of her being almost ashamed of her self, or simply too shy to show it. Her arms were crossed over her body, hugging herself as she advanced.

"Hai mahst kheel hyoo."

Her murmured and badly mangled words were almost inaudible.

Vincent was slapping the side of his head - in a twisted version of percussive maintenance - to see if he could hear her right. He looked at me and caught my eye, then pointed all five of his fingers into a 'beak' of sorts, and waved it back and forth, his fingers pointed at his mouth. Italian sign-language for "What the fuck?". Russel Peters, thank you for that addition to Vincent's non-verbal communications repertoire. I shook my head in response to that. No idea.

"Uh... why?" My voice was shaky – afraid – and working hard to try and get something intelligible out.

"Hy hwan choo kou bhak." She sighed in her butchered English, her whispered voice almost in despair as she advanced towards us. "Haai hwant choo gho baahck." Needle-fine teeth showed as she spoke.

The girl swayed on her feet, as if delirious and about to collapse, although I could see that she was strong: Both her hands were clutched to her chest so tightly I could see the white knuckles through her light brown skin. One delicate step placed her at less than ten feet from Vincent, the miniature scouting party in my satchel, and myself.

The Imperials had ducked inside, and were now cursing and reciting litanies in their 'High Gothic', while the Eldar were scrambling up and trying to get their sights on to her. The Tau were confused at the excitement, probably because they had been stuck in a corner since the Markerlight incident. Vincent didn't seem to be bothered by her (apart from the normal confusion of seeing her start to whimper now), the packet of flour still in his hand as he tried to identify her.

I was entranced.

This purple haired slip of a girl moved with an unnaturally graceful gait, much like the Eldar that I had met in the past, but her footsteps sent my skin tingling. Everything seemed to haze around me as something akin to a strong smell hit my senses. My nostrils flared in the sudden assault to my senses, I was forced to squeeze my eyes shut as they began to water and throb, and I felt bile rising in my throat. Instantly, as if a small voice had whispered in my ear, I knew why this was happening.

Chaos. The Ruinous Powers that Be.

Vincent glanced aside as I gasped for breath, seeing the girl take a few more tentative steps closer. We were both backing away. His stance was lower now, centering and lowering his center of gravity for a fight. The Imperials in my satchel swore on several of the Emperor's anatomical features and armor parts (for the Guardsmen and the Space Marines, respectively) as the satchel swung around behind me.

"Uh... Michael... you know this girl?"

"From that vision. Sacrificed to Chaos." I managed to gasp. Vincent's reply was a faint 'aw...shite'.

The girl was in tears now as she passed by the shelves of spaghetti. MacTavish was howling at the vox, calling for backup.

"Hym sho shorreh..." She sobbed. The girl pulled back her white knuckle hands, to reveal a dagger.

Well, sorry my ass. Sunlight reflected off the mirror-smooth blade.

My eyes were forever burned with the shape and form of that weapon. It was a simple blade, straight edged and tapering in an exquisite curve to a fine point. The guard of the dagger looked like the typical Chaos symbol of an eight-pointed star, but in the center this time was an eye. The apologetic attacker's hands were covering the rest of the weapon, but I didn't need the rest to completely terrify me. The guard was enough, resting in the middle of the weapon. That eye blinked at me.

Cold terror filled me. It wasn't like in the movies that I watched. That fear seized up my limbs. I wanted to scream, but I choked. Fingers shook and clenched uncontrollably, my feet felt like they were welded to the ground and my breathing as fast as hers.

She ducked her head down into a run, her feet carrying her across the floor. I was too slow to dodge her tackle. The cultist hit me high in the chest, sending both of us down into the ground. My satchel was ripped off and cast away as we struggled on the ground. I was bizarrely reminded of Not-Zara's attack, although that time the attacker had been a lot more... composed. She was sobbing and crying as I tried to wrestle the knife out of her hand. Even with her one slim limb against both my hands, she was surprisingly strong. I gasped for breath as her left elbow dug into my ribs.

Vincent was swearing and shouting something incoherent, running over to the stack of shelves beside him.

"Haim shoo sorreh..." She repeated, over and over as she apologetically attacked me, her blade hovering inches from my face. I felt the daemonic weapon touch my left shoulder, and felt its fire-hot touch sear my flesh. I cried out in pain as the blade began to slip into my flesh.

"Hy hwant choo gho bahk. Bahk choo nohmaal."

She wanted to break free of Chaos. By striking a deal with Chaos. What. The. Hell.

"Sorreh..."

My vision began to blur at the edges as a new push stabbed the daemonic blade further into my shoulder, a dark ring closing around my sight. The taste of rotten eggs and the smell of brimstone was being burned into my senses as my skin sizzled from the touch of daemonic metal. My arms were starting to tire – I wasn't some kind of action hero, or even fit – and this girl was putting her entire weight into pushing the blade into my shoulder.

"Gue'El Vin'cent! DO SOMETHING!"

Vincent moved in my tunneling vision, his right arm whipping around behind me.

The blade in her hand roared and leaped back from me, moving to defend its user, almost dragging the girl along with itself as it did.

Spaghetti and two halves of a perfectly sliced tin can was liberally spread around the aisle. The taste of tomato sauce filled my mouth, and the feel of slimy noodles dripping down my face. The smell of Italian herbs and the sight of the blade whipping up and away managed to reboot my senses.

"Ah, fuck it." Vincent muttered as the psychotic girl rushed him, hefting another object.

The bag of flour sailed lazily through the air. I knew, instantly, that it would never hurt the girl in tears. Her hand again moved, dragged into motion by the knife, and shredded the flour bag in two neat cuts that sent the four pieces slamming into the floor.

White powder filled the aisle, and I almost tripped on my own feet as I scrambled to get away. Vincent's hand coiled around my hand and dragged me upright. He shouted some warning, giving me a 'get back!' gesture, and threw the burning scrap of paper that he had lit with the lighter in his other hand into the cloud of flour as he shifted his head into his denim jacket to cover himself.

The fireball that resulted with the igniting flour filled the air with the roar of an explosion, setting off smaller fires with the more flammable materials around it, and strangely enough the smell of burnt toast reached my nose.

Well, that's Vincent for you.

Behind me, the girl screamed in surprise as the fireball engulfed her.

I felt the heat as I fell to my knees, trying desperately to propel myself away. Vincent threw himself back and landed bodily beside me, rolling slightly before crashing into a stack of cans. He was clutching his left hand as he tried to bat out the flames that licked at his sleeves. No way was a normal human walking away from that without a few burns.

As the flaming mass parted, I sighed. No normal human.

"Emperor protect us..." The Guardsmen muttered. His prayer – whatever it may have been – was quickly cut off as I snagged the satchel and pulled it up.

This was a girl who had been granted perfection by the Chaos Gods. Of course they would protect their... investment.

I turned back as Vincent and I tried to scramble onto my feet. The alarms were screaming now, and water was starting to pour down from above.

The girl was standing there, her burnt arms still crackling with energy as she looked up at me with hollow eyes. Across her body, glowing lines of energy were beginning to break out of her skin. Water sizzled where they touched those lines. She gasped – whether in pain or something else – as Chaos powers poured into her. The girl fell to her knees, shivering in pain. She gave out a high pitched, almost whistling cry.

"Michael! We..." Vincent grabbed me by the sleeve. "... are..." He hefted another object from the shelves – a can of pumpkin soup – at the girl. "...leaving!" It was shredded into nothing before it got within two feet of her, although some of said soup was sprayed all over her face.

While that was happening, we were bolting away as fast as our legs could carry us without slipping.

RUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUN!

I was running on adrenaline and instinct right now. My left arm felt like it had been set on fire, and I felt like I would be nursing quite a few bruises later on – if I survived that long. Vincent was just running like hell, but I could see that his clothes were badly scorched by the flour-bomb. All around us, water was pouring down as the sprinkler system dumped years old stagnant water down on our heads.

We reached the end of the aisle, slipping and skidding, with Vincent was running like hell with me stumbling along just ahead of him. I almost slipped and fell as we slid into the main aisles and past the mini-butchery – even from such a short sprint. Vincent squeezed out a few words as he fought for breath.

"I... am... not... made... for... this... sorta... thing!"

A quick turn into the frozen foods section brought us out straight into the checkouts section. We saw the empty checkouts, their operators long ago evacuated, and picked our way through. Once out, we got to the final corridor – a ten foot span where everyone packed up and went after paying. There was a crowd trying to push through the double doors at one end, trying to escape the trouble of explanations.

Funny, that when we came in here they seemed huge, but now they were far too small for our liking. I looked around, seeing Vincent's well worn pickup truck only a hundred yards away, but with the crowd, the door and the sheet of glass in between us, it was far more than just that.

Glass? Wait a second...

"Vincent! Anything heavy, in this trolley!" I dragged a fallen trolley back onto its wheels, and pulled it back to the counter, where I began to pile in the heaviest groceries as I could.

"Huh?" Vincent looked at me with his 'are you high?' look, then followed my gaze. "Oh."

A sixpack and a watermelon was quickly added to the load. I pulled off my satchel, and opened it up at the nearest checkout.

"You guys, try and weaken a spot on the window!" I pointed at the glass sheet nearest to us, and got a few nods in response.

The Shas'vre hefted what was known as the 'Fusion Blaster' on his Stealthsuit. The Space Marine Scout beside a swearing Ranger picked up a rocket launcher, loading a missile with a needle-like tip. Sergeant MacTavish himself was busy hefting his sniper rifle into position, shouting us a warning.

"Heretic's right there! I'm taking the shot!"

Behind us was the girl, stumbling along in a mix of elfin grace and drunken staggering as she advanced, her sentient (there was no other explanation for what the blade had done) blade pulling her along. The Tanith scout-sniper leveled his weapon, and stroked the firing stud.

Crack!

The sniper's lance of red light split the air as MacTavish hung half-out of my bouncing satchel. There was the satisfying yelp of surprise, but no doubt the long-las blast had been stopped by whatever powers protected her. The knife screamed in rage as it swung around wildly, its mirror-smooth metal stained black by the heat.

Beside MacTavish, the other scouts were chattering away into their headpieces and communications gear as they pumped as much firepower into the window as they could – it wasn't doing much, with their light weaponry – and I could make out their reports as their voices overlapped each other.

"Shas'vre, adjust your focus! We are simply melting holes in that glass!"

Crack! MacTavish's shot glanced off the bubble of energy now protecting the cultist.

"This is Scout Marine Ventorez, we are in need of assistance at vector 40-203-994..."

The dakka dakka dakka of the Scout Marine bolters tore chunks off the glass.

"We are probably only ten-twenty checks out, over! It only took us four minutes to drive here in Vincent's vehicle!"

Blue pellets of energy spewed forth from the Burst Cannon of the Tau Stealthsuits, melting small holes into the glass.

"Chaos cultist! The girl that the mon-keigh saw in his vision!"

A krak missile blasted a chunk of glass the size of my fist.

"That heretic's getting closer!" MacTavish roared, his sniper rifle not caring for aim anymore, simply pumping as many blasts into the girl's knife as possible before it got to us.

"Mount up, Rangers!" A Ranger shouted, stowing away his rifle and grabbing his spotter. He threw her into the satchel and jumped inside. I grabbed one of the Tanith scouts, and he followed the Rangers in.

Vincent grabbed onto the trolley's bar, and I grabbed the other end. We both charged forward with the two-hundred pound load in front of us. The glass had been pockmarked by explosions and outright melted in others. Our combined weight and speed met with the glass. There was the sound of a terrific impact, the crunch of steel on cracked glass.

For a moment, I felt resistance, but the glass yielded. We smashed a hole just big enough to drive a Mini Cooper through, and I felt falling glass cut at my face and back. The trolley slammed into the railing at the edge of the sidewalk, and we tumbled to the ground.

We had gotten outside in one piece.

Picking ourselves up, we glanced at each other for a moment, then back into the store, and then started running as fast as we could.

"Well... we've caused quite the scene now, huh?" Vincent quipped between gritted teeth. We were skirting the edges of a mass exodus made up of panicking shoppers, with squealing tires and cursing people all fighting for a way out. I nodded grimly, and we both hurried towards Vincent's car.

"Incoming!" The Tau Shas'vre warned. I turned to look.

The girl was far faster than I thought she was. Either that, or the two of us – a rather lazy artist who barely had any exercise in his lifestyle and a computer technician that didn't propel himself faster than a swift walk on most days – were simply that slow.

She was gaining ground on us, and Vincent was starting to lag behind.

Suddenly, my mind ground to a halt.

Stop running! Stand and face her!

My feet twisted themselves into a skip on the asphalt, and my body did a pirouette one-eighty, turning to face the surprised cultist with a cry of surprise. What the hell am I doing! The occupants of my satchel were swearing and cursing in their native tongues. Her knife seemed equally bewildered, screaming out in rage or frustration - I did not know - but scream it did.

I saw hesitation pass through the eyes of the Cultist as she barreled towards me, knife raised.

Charge her! Get the knife out of her hands! It controls her!

We crashed into each other as I suddenly leaped forward, and I grabbed onto her knife-hand as we fell to the ground. My wounded shoulder was filled with an agonizing pain, but I managed to keep her down – this time, I was the one pinning her to the ground.

Yoza... is that you?

Good luck, Mon-keigh. That's all I can do for you now. The rest is up to you.

Zara... you utter bitch.

"Guys!" Gritting my teeth, I shifted my weight to let the miniature soldiers out of their bag. "Get. The. Knife!"

Instantly, they began to scramble from their pockets in my satchel, and swarmed up my torso. The Tau Stealthsuits – being jetpack equipped – were the first to get there. Second were the swift and agile Eldar, then at their heels were the lightly equipped Tanith scouts, and finally the Scout Marines.

All leveled their exotic weapons at the knife.

"The knife! Don't hurt the girl!"

The stealthsuit Shas'vre was the first to fire, his fusion blaster searing a deep gash on the perfect steel. The knife screamed and struggled, whipping around and lashing out at the scouts. An Eldar Ranger screamed as his left arm was caught in the tip of the blade. Blood boiled as the rest of the daemon knife was battered by the rest of the team.

"Break, damn you, break!"

I tried my best to keep the knife down, flailing my arm up and down to try and smash it out of her grip. The cultist-girl squirmed around underneath me, trying to get herself loose. She was still trying her best to kill me, it seemed.

Finally, one shot from a lasgun struck the eye of the knife. The weapon screamed in agony, the sound accompanied by the psychic ripple that stunned my entire body. I froze, my entire body refusing to move as the knife began to twist and deform from the rest of the scouts; they had seen how the blade had reacted when it had been shot in the eye. A fusion blast lanced through the hilt, piercing the eye. The blade snapped as it twisted into a horrifying new shape, and fell to the ground. The girl's hand slackened in a sigh of relief, and she dropped the rest of the knife. Her hand was burned and scarred as it uncurled, most unlike the flawless skin elsewhere. The girl gave a shudder and passed out, a half smile on her lips.

I rolled off, the stinging pain of my shoulder wound throbbing madly as I saw Vincent running towards me. Now that I had a good look at his face, I saw that he had lost some of the hair on the left side of his face – his eyebrow most prominently – and would be sporting quite a few burn scars there for a while. He pulled me up to a seated position, and began to look at the scouts.

Many were wounded, with the Eldar Ranger cradling a missing arm as his squadmates moved to help. Two others were dead on the ground. In the struggle, we had also lost a leg from the knee down on one of the Scout Marines, another with a stab wound that cut through his lower right torso, and finally one with an arm twisted completely the wrong way. The Tau Stealthsuits had written off a stealthsuit to battle damage – the armor was locked down now, so the fate of its pilot was unknown – and the rest were heavily battered. We also lost three of the Guardsmen – two nearly cut in half by the knife, before bleeding out as the knife had lashed out at us, and the third was crushed by the pommel of the knife.

By a long stretch, my injuries were far less. Running on adrenaline, I hadn't even noticed that I also had a few more nasty cuts on my arms and face, all shallow enough that I didn't have to worry for the moment. Now that I was coming off that high, I felt each and every ache and sore, and the creeping throb of my left shoulder as well.

As for the girl, she looked battered – bruised at best - but otherwise unharmed. I felt anger, that these good warriors had been forced to give their lives for us – for her and myself – because of her stupidity. Those Ruinous Powers were not child's play...

The bark of a pistol interrupted any other thoughts. Vincent and I both turned to look at the alleyway connecting to the carpark. I saw a man, his face obscured by the white bandana over his face. He was dressed in a crimson hoodie and black pants, the smoking pistol still in his hand. He had fired in the air, and now he lowered the weapon, holding it 'gangsta style' - on its side – to point at us. His boys were similarly dressed, but were armed only with wicked knives and crude clubs, and I could only assume that he was their leader.

My stomach dropped as I saw the symbols crudely painted onto his chest. They looked vaguely like a triangular figure-of-eight, with the top neatly split open to the sides, and bisected by a line. The Mark of the Blood God.

Frying pan. Fire.

You all know how it goes.