Editing Toyhammer (section)

=Chapter 12=

Thought for the Day: "Mercy is a luxury we can ill afford when at the brink of Oblivion." - Anon

My shoulder pulsed a wave of pain through me as the car hit the driveway, jolting all of its occupants around inside. Vincent eased his foot off the accelerator, and pulled up into the strip of concrete that connected the road to my house's garage, but stopping halfway.

I climbed out, the stained-red flour dusting off my shoulders and hair as I hurried to open the garage door. That short trip served to remind me of all my injuries in the past hour or so. I was still dizzy from the pain of a few blows to the head, my left shoulder had been stabbed and my right arm was burning with pain. I had a lot in the way of scratches on my elbows. My right knee had been scraped raw, and I had pulled my calf muscles when I was scrambling to my feet back on the parking lot.

Rattling on its rails, the large metal sheet eased up to allow the battered pickup to drive inside. As it rolled past me, I saw the unconscious cultist flopped over in her seat. A shot of pain reminded me again of what had just happened. She had been given a sentient knife... a sentient, daemonic knife that had tried to kill my friends – Vincent and the mini-scouts – and ended up attracting followers of the Blood God in the mix as well.

We had survived – maybe only just – and managed to limp away without any lasting damage to Vincent nor myself... but as for the scouts...

I picked up a rag from a nearby bench – an old t-shirt I remember from when I was... what, eight? - and dusted myself off. Spaghetti and semi-dried sauce, flour and... blood. My blood. The cultist's blood. The blood of a Scout. I don't know who it belonged to... I didn't care from whom it had come from. Blood had been spilled, and the Cultist was to blame. We had lost over a third of the scouts that had been sent out to follow me. Their comrades, however, still reassured me that their souls were now at rest.

The Eldar mournfully carried the soul-carrying gems – little red teardrops to me – inside of a special pouch. There, they would rest, and find paradise. The Imperials saluted the passing of their comrades, some of them grimly thanking me for giving them the opportunity to fell a Titan-scale daemon. It was a better death than many of their past comrades had, they said. The Tau simply mentioned that their comrade had given her life for The Greater Good, and that they would honor her memory by continuing on with their tasks. I was thankful that the other Tau casualty – the one with the locked-up suit – had only been battered into unconsciousness. He would recover.

I managed to clear away some of the half-dried blood on my shoulder, and the pounding pain of it didn't help. I stumbled slightly on my feet as I turned around to the door.

Crossing to the other side of the garage as the pickup's engine sputtered and died, I opened the large door that connected the garage to my house. It opened up to the hallway, which had – since I had left this morning - become a staging area for my miniature army. They were also very noisy.

Space Marine Captain Eizak and the other Imperial leaders were by far the most vocal, with the Tau and Eldar close behind. At least they aren't ripping each other to smaller shreds. But then again things were a little loud in here, so when I tapped my knuckles on the doorframe, everyone whipped around with weapons drawn.

I blinked as soon as I saw the sheer volume of potential destructive power leveled at my face.

From the heavy weapons of the Imperial Guard and the Eldar to the massive railgun mounted on the Tau Hammerhead and the simply absurd Demolisher Cannon on the Space Marine Vindicator, and all the way down to the individual weapons – the automatic grenade launchers of the Space Marines, the Tau pulse weapons, the Eldar monomolecular shuriken launchers... all those weapons would have really hurt individually, not to mention as a group of several hundred assorted weapons.

I ducked.

Vincent – who had staggered out of the car and was now standing behind me - quietly swore to himself and held his hands up. "Wuih... kalian sinting, ya?" [Translation: Wow... you guys are crazy, aren't you?]

Silence reigned.

"Now... what in the Emperor's name were you doing, just barging in like that!" Canoness Samisha shouted up at me. I was vaguely aware of Vincent shuffling away at that point.

"Well, I'm kind of bleeding right now, and there's this great big hole in my shoulder!"

"Its only a stab wound, Michael!" Shouted Sergeant Vinters.

"Like hell it is!" I replied, but regretted it immediately as my shoulder began to protest. Some of the psykers in the crowd flinched.

"Look, for me its something serious! I mean, I just got stabbed! With a knife!" My shoulder was pounding with the exertion, and I was running short on breath...

Vincent gave a loud cough, the 'a-hem' that told me that he was either needing a cough drop or a lot of attention.

"Mike? Yeah... hate to interrupt you, but we kinda have something else to worry about." Vincent had managed to manhandle the girl out of the car, and was now standing with her in his arms. I gave the miniature warriors a 'wait here for a second' gesture and moved as quickly as my battered body could get itself over to Vincent and help with carrying the girl.

Between the two of us – although, with my shoulder it was more me steadying Vincent as he manhandled the cultist - we carried her limp form over to the couch. Normally, it acted as a 'truce zone' for the minis, where anyone could simply watch the various TV shows and sometimes movies that I put on.

Due to diverse interests and the willingness of the various forces to become violent to see the shows that many had become almost psychotically affectionate towards, I decided that they would have to book their shows, and in case of conflicts, I had to dumb down their conflict-resolution methods from 'last one to die' to 'paper scissors rock'... until I realized that Silverite and his constant request for Mythbusters would be fulfilled due to his psyker abilities to preempt the actions of his competitor. I then tried rolling dice, until Yoza's sudden upshot of wins told me telepathy was at hand here.

Finally, I had to settle that we were going to have to elect someone without any real allegiances nor addictions to TV. So that's when Shas'O Firestrike came into play...

Until he found out about Gundam and other Japanese mecha series, especially Appleseed.

Dammit.

"Hey, Mike! Mike, don't pass out on me now!"

Ten minutes, one psychic slap/jumpstart from the combined efforts of Yoza and Zara and a glass of ice cold water tipped on me later, I had managed to mumble the location of my medical supplies. Then I passed out for a little while longer, but now I was awake and being dressed in bandages as Vincent followed the instructions of the Imperial Guard medics.

"There, done." He tied off the bandage, to the approval of the medics, and left me alone.

I turned to watch the Cultist, her face screwed up into a frowning mask of someone having a very bad nightmare. Her unconscious form simply slipped into place, her arm falling down to hang off the couch. I quietly placed it across her chest, and found strands of her purple hair floating up into my face, rising from her escaping breath.

Again, I was reminded of what she was, despite the lives that she had just cost us already. She may have been a semi-crazed but still apologetic attacker, but she was still a very scared teenager, who had gotten in way beyond her depth. As she sucked in another breath, I could see how the Chaos Gods had lured her in. Remembering to before her summoning, she had looked rather plain compared to this girl before me. Her physical form was now that of a goddess. Her rich, tanned skin shone a dull bronze color. Dark purple tresses licked at her shoulder blades when down, and her heart-shaped face would have looked beautiful were it not for her expression. I also noted that she looked as if she had come from the middle east. I checked myself when I realized I was brushing hair from her face.

'Goddess of Temptation' came to mind here. Except that she kind of smelled like toast and burnt bacon.

Rising up reluctantly, I turned to see that most of the armies had followed us, their weapons held cautiously at their sides. Zara looked up at me, drifting up on her skimmer. It was a vehicle with a scoop shaped hull, and a platform on top, which she stood on. Her helmet was held at her side, and her face was set into a grim expression of barely checked emotion. Emotions of rage, confusion... I looked down to see her face.

"She is a spawn of Chaos, Mon-keigh." The Eldar Farseer stated.

I remained silent, but nodded mutely.

"You have invited a servant of the Ruinous Powers into our house." The tone was like that of 'You have just killed my sister'.

Anger boiled, and I felt my jaw muscles tighten as the psykers and the leaders closed in on me.

"... my house, Zara. My rules. You have said yourself that you would observe them."

"Irrelevant." She cut in. "You have brought in a Chaos worshiper into your own home. She is practically a beacon for all manner of Warp-beings."

Justicar Amadeus looked up at me as well. "Nothing good has come from attempting to 'rescue' a Chaos cultist. Best be to give her the Emperor's Mercy and be done with it."

I knelt down in front of them and snarled as I slammed a hand down on the coffee table. Eldar warrior and Space Marine alike teetered on their balance, fighting for footing.

"I'm not going to go around and just murder someone!"

Another voice cut into the conversation.

"Its not murder! She has been touched by Chaos, Michael! Its mercy for what she will become!" Commissar Tomas snapped. "I have seen far, far too many Chaos worshipers fall to their own dooms from such mercies. You have let her live too long!"

"Michael, listen to us! We have been dealing with the followers of Chaos for decades, if not centuries." Librarian Vasili joined in. "They sow nothing but destruction and insanity! You shall reap nothing but ruin and corruption if you let her be."

"Shut up! I'm not going to kill her!" I hissed back. "We haven't given her a chance!"

"She doesn't deserve yet another one, Michael!" Canoness Samisha cried out. "Her chance came and went when she opened herself for the Ruinous Powers!"

"We are now at war with forces too terrible for you to comprehend." Justicar Amadeus shouted. "We cannot afford such mercy for any of its victims too weak to take the correct course. That kind of mercy will destroy us; it weakens us and saps our resolve. Even now, we are divided." His broad gesture enveloped all those present. "Put aside all such thoughts, Michael!"

I turned to Vincent for help. He was now sitting on the kitchen stool, holding the looted pistol thoughtfully in his hand. He looked at me, and then glanced at the Cultist. I glared at him. Guiltily, he turned away and busied himself with hunting down what passed for medical supplies in my house.

Breath hissing quietly from my nostrils, I turned to everyone.

"But... how are we going to cover this up?" I turned to Commissar Tomas and the Imperials. "If an Imperial Citizen was found to have hidden a Chaos Cultist – even the dead body of one – would you investigate?"

"Of course. And that is your point in its entirety, isn't it, Michael?" Librarian Vasili mused, nodding his tentative understanding. "We cannot risk exposing this era to ourselves. However, we also face the dilemma of letting this Cultist live. If we do so, we risk even more than mere exposure."

"Unless you want to each be running for your lives. If the local authorities... you'd call them Arbites... things would go sour, faster. They'd take her in, they'd experiment, seeing as they'd probably never have seen anything like this before. What do you think would happen then, if someone gets it in his or her head to try and replicate the circumstances of her little 'ritual'?"

"But Michael, surely you can't just..." Commissar Tomas' quick glance at the basement betrayed the thought.

"What, feed her to the Orks! Would you do that to one of your own?"

The Commissar took a visible step back.

Vincent coughed violently. I shot him a glare, which he returned with a confused expression.

"So, Michael, if you have a goal then you must have a plan to achieve it, I presume?" Zara asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Now it was my turn to be defensive.

"I... I don't know."

Feeling defeated, I looked at the assembled leaders, who were looking at me with tense expressions. They were used to seeing me more or less knowing what I was doing... I think.

"Maybe now, the Odro Malleus can be of use to you?"

Ordo Malleus Inquisitor Iosef Danilov strode up in his greatcoat, his two 'aides' flanking him. Both looked to be on par with most Space Marines, without all the armor.

I blinked a few times. Vaguely, I remembered him being the leader of the Sisters of Battle and the Grey Knights, but...

"When did you pop up?"

"From the very beginning, boy."

Oh. Right.

"You were the one who sicced that Leman Russ on me, weren't you?"

"..." Behind the Inquisitor, the female bodyguard politely put a hand over her mouth as her male counterpart grinned. The Inquisitor's cheeks visibly brightened.

"Never mind. Can you exorcise whatever daemons might be in her?"

"If she does have a daemon possessing her, we would already be dead. Artefacts of Chaos are what will cause her end, Michael. You must strip her of any such Icons, and from there we can work on for any... clingers."

"... you want me to strip her!"

Vincent found a convenient surface and applied his head to it, going at it steadily with a metronomic precision, he began to bash a small depression into my wall.

"... How about we just call Alice?"

In the end, time was of the essence, so it was decided that I would do this under the supervision of the Hospitalers squad – basically doctors and nurses – from the Sisters of Battle, some of the Eldar who had before been healers, and a few Guardsmen medics. Oh, and lets not forget that the Ordo Malleus – Grey Knights and Inquisitor's retinue - were standing by to purify any taint.

"Where first?"

"Michael, she has a necklace. Take it away." Dalia, Inquisitional attache, informed me. I had been given her to act as my instructor, so that I wouldn't have to listen to two dozen instructions at the same time from twice as many voices.

My fingers felt around the Cultist's smooth neck, and I finally found a clasp behind. Fiddling with it and fumbling it a few times, I managed to get the thing off.

"Good. Just toss it to the floor so Raquel may inspect it."

Nodding, I did so. Rahquel was a Repentant Witch, a former near-heretical psyker that had asked for forgiveness through atonement. She would be the first to touch any of the potential Chaos Artifacts, with a failsafe bomb in hand.

I would feel sorry for her, if not for her enthusiasm for the job.

"She's there. Next we have an earring, left ear... uh... I think we'll leave that for the Seraphim." A quick exchange over the vox sent a squad of winged Sisters closing in on the earring. "Moving on... try her left forearm over there, seems like a bracelet around her wrist."

My hands began to move that way, moving straight from neck to wrist. The prick of a chainsword made me stop just as I was about to reach a third of the way.

"Watch yourself, boy."

"... sure."

Lifting my hands over her chest, I quickly moved my hands away from the berserk buttons. Or mounds. You know what I mean, right?

"A little to your right, Michael."

I seized a wrist, and found the bangles that was being referred to. They slipped off easily enough, and I saw that they were simply a cheap plastic thing not really made for anything but decoration. Nonetheless, I tossed it to the ground.

"Hey!"

"Sorry, Rahq~"

The cultist's right hand slapped me across the cheek.

It was as if a thunderbolt had just struck me.

My head whipped around, with Dalia screaming into my ear as she clung desperately onto my collar. I managed to steady myself before she could fall off. By the time I got my attention to the other matter at hand, the air was filled with stern cries and the sound of turning turrets.

"NOBODY SHOOT! EVERYONE, STOP!"

All the assembled forces stopped, thank the Emperor and whatever deities are around to help me.

Surrounded by miniature soldiers and by one rather stretched looking man, I'm guessing that the girl would be rather freaked out right now.

"Hyuu..." She breathed in her whistling speech. Blood red eyes were dilated, almost like a person on a high. "Hwerr? Hwerr ish..." Her unfocused eyes snapped to me. She yelped, and jumped back – the Sisters and Banshees had long ago vacated that spot, so nobody was hurt. I again shouted everyone to keep from opening fire. The Cultist was now trying to make herself as small as possible, considering that she had a large number of guns pointed at her.

"Dem!" She screeched, pointing. "Dey isssh leetle mhonssters." Already, the girl was close to tears. I tensed, wondering what was going to happen.

"The only monster here is you, young one." Zara quipped from her skimmer.

I stood up from my half-crouch, ignoring the burning sensation on my cheek. I tried to reassure her.

"Hey, hey... calm down, we're not going to hurt you..."

"... unless you try something." Vincent finished for me, standing behind the kitchen counter, pouring a glass of water for himself.

"... hyuu... hyuu ahr... zat mahhn..." The girl had – for now – stopped trying to get away from me and was now sitting on the couch. Why did she know me?

"hween hy sahmonned kay-osss..." She whispered. "hyuu hwerr therrre..."

When she summoned Chaos. I was there. I remembered. My first out-of-body experience, peering through a tear in space and time. I had watched her, crying and weak, spill blood – her blood – on the Mark of Chaos, summoning the Ruinous Powers. Something I'll never forget.

"hannd... hrii-man sayd... hiff hy kheel hyuu... hy cuuld bhee fhreee... hannd... hee sahmonned thaat hnaif..."

And... hreeman? Who was that? Well, whoever he was, that guy had put a bounty on my head. The reward? Freedom. So now she had a lot of reasons to try and kill me, like she had with that knife. The sentient, daemonic knife that had cut into my shoulder and was now keeping my left arm below shoulder level.

I nodded, and stepped forward, but suddenly the girl yelped and tried to bat me away.

There was the sound of a pair of bolter shots, and there was a small explosion beside her. The Cultist yelped, and crashed back down into her seat. She was on the edge of panic, but it seemed like she had enough self control to not go screaming her head off.

Once more, I shouted for everyone to stop pointing their guns at the Cultist, however good an idea that was.

"Be thankful for him, child." Justicar Amadeus rumbled. "He is the only reason you still live. I think it fair to say that were Michael to meet his end, I would also assume that you will, too."

"The shiny mon-keigh is quite correct." Zara quipped. "The only thing standing between you and destruction is the naïve mercy that is the big mon-keigh."

"...hreely?"

"Yes, really." Vasili sighed.

"What is your name, little one?" I was surprised at Canoness Samisha's soft tone, compared to her usual harsh, drill-sergeant commands.

"Hy ahm... hy ahm..." She hiccuped, and then continued on. "Mhai neehm issh Bhathel."

I swear, everybody paused and blinked for a second there. Her mangled speech was hard to understand, sure, but this was nigh incomprehensible.

"Excuse me?" Croaked Vincent.

"Bhathel."

"..." More silence filled the room. I blinked a few times, wondering what the hell was she talking about.

"Bha - th - el."

" … … … … "

Vincent passed her a paper and pen. "... could you write that down for me?"

B-A-T-E-L

She passed it to me, and I read it out.

"Alright, thanks... Batel... am I saying it right?" I asked.

Mutely, she nodded her head.

He stepped back, to the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. Vincent looked up, and went to the window.

"Alice." He reported. Then blinked. "Wait... why is her hair all white?"

I frowned, jumping up out of my seat and walking over to the window. Indeed, Alice had cut her hair shorter and was now such a light color that it looked white.

And on her shoulders and peeking out of her bag were a dozen Sisters of Battle.