Editing Toyhammer (section)

=Chapter 17=

Thought for the Day: "When in doubt, shoot it again." - Kasrkin saying

Holy crap.

Emma – the creepy little girl that had stalked us in a supermarket – stepped forward with her spear of burning light.

Her black hair was now highlighted with a golden aura, her lightning blue eyes flaring as she focused on her target; the damned father of Batel. Her free hand was held out in front of her, twisting and turning in a series of graceful gestures that somehow controlled the mass of thread that was shooting out to wrap around the Chaos troops.

Slipping between the cultists, a single thread wrapped around a Chaos Terminator and hurled him into the air. More were being picked up by the golden threads, cut in half or simply squeezed into a pulp.

The Chaos forces retaliated. A lance of energy – a lascannon from a Chaos Predator– shot out to the young girl, but a simple flick of the wrist refracted the deadly beam to pass just over her shoulder.

I glanced across to the daemonhost that had just tried to hand me my ass on a silver plate, and saw was something that made me want to both throw up in disgust and cheer in victory at the same time. He was being beaten back as more threads wrapped around his corrupted flesh.

Through the haze of pain that was creeping over my senses, I felt something... alien. Something else other than light was being seen through my eyes.

The overweight man that was now a monster was struggling, trying to break the thin threads that bound him.

Emma shifted her stance again, her spear still at her side. It was difficult to look into the brilliant light that shone out of the slender shaft of what could only be described as holy essence. She held it in her left hand, allowing it to fall to her side as her other hand wrapped around the half-visible threads of light that she controlled. Another series of bright spider-silk exploded forth, whipping out in complex patterns, zigzagging randomly to weave around the flailing arms of the daemon.

One whispered past my face, and I saw what lead each thread; a small bird, wings spread out as it arced up. Its beak opened. The hot noon-time sun blinded me as it screeched a cry and climbed up, trailing golden light, into the sky.

The thread dove down from above, wrapping around an arm. It twisted around and around, then shot out to tighten the invisible string, which bit deep into the corrupted flesh.

Calmly, the little girl was steadily adding more and more of her bright golden strands to the task of imprisoning the daemon's host. Its distorted voice was something horrible to listen to, even as the Chaos sigils burned onto its skin began to smolder as they touched the threads of light.

"Such a weak hold..." She muttered, tightening her dainty fingers into a fist.

Two voices screamed; one was the voice of the monster's body... the other... the other was a malevolent shadow, a distorted echo. I curled up as the voice scratched at my ear-drums.

My ears felt like they were bleeding, my gut churning as I fell to the ground. Now it was changing, the nature of the pain. All was still, and then something was set alight. The agony was spreading; now my body ached as I scrambled to get away from the screaming vortex of Warp energies, before a strong hand seized my collar.

"MICHAEL! UP! UP! UP!"

A jerk pulled my t-shirt into my neck, choking me, and I was pulled to my feet.

"C'MON, BOY! SLEEP'S FOR THE DEAD!" Miles roared.

Behind me, Miles raised his rifle. The snap-bang sound declared its discharge, the 5.56mm NATO round punching a small hole in a spider-like Chaos walker. He grabbed the vertical grip set into the barrel shroud, and shifted his aim, and fired into the ground, creating a large crater on the lawn, which had once been where a Chaos Champion was shouting to rally the panicking troops.

Right now, it was a rather reddish brown smear in the green grass surrounded by some rather chunky bits of Chaos Marine.

His hand went down to the two holsters at his hips, and it came up bearing a pistol – Vincent owned a BB gun version of this... an M9 pistol, wasn't it? He spun it around in his hand, passing it to me grip-first.

"You have sixteen shots," Miles explained as he pressed the weapon into my palm, his nimble fingers flicking a small catch at the back of the slide to reveal a red dot. "just point and click, an' watch out for recoil!"

I nodded mutely, and raised the pistol in between two shaking hands. Looking down the U shaped rear sights, I lined it up with the single bright green dot of the foresight, and aimed carefully at a Chaos Rhino trying to escape.

A few Tau Fire Warriors began sending a volley of plasma fire out to a group of a dozen Chaos warriors, keeping them pinned. The white-hot bolts splashed off the ancient ceramite armor of the traitors or vaporized blades of grass. The return volley of bolters barked in a loud response, the high explosive armor piercing shells punching through armor and detonating inside of soft bodies. Red gore decorated the dull blue armor of the Tau soldiers, but they pressed their attack, felling a Chaos Marine as the plasma burned through his thick armored hide.

There, I realized something.

Fuck aiming.

At their scale, I was holding a semi-automatic cannon.

I stood above the gathering battle, and pointed straight down at the heretical supersoldiers.

Firing three quick shots of (for them) half meter wide shells into the group at near point-blank range was devastating the Chaos troops. Each gunshot – a sound much like a metal ruler being slapped onto a desk – was loud enough at their level that it deafened what Marines weren't simply obliterated by the lead slugs. The remainder scattered as I brought my shoe down on the panicking heretics.

Looking at the remaining Fire Warriors, I saw one tapping the side of his helmet, and an antennae springing up from his oversized backpack.

Another epiphany slapped me in the face.

Communicate! I needed to get in touch with the rest of the groups. Fishing around in my pockets, I pulled out the modified bluetooth headset the Adeptus Mechanicus had given me.

"This is Michael! Faust, are you there!"

"Faust is gone, Governor Michael!"

I did a double take. Over the past few weeks, the General had been one of the few people who had been able to direct the disorganization of the various armies into something resembling a united cause, and now... he was dead?

"General Faust is dead! Who is this?"

"This is Vox-operator Amira Sulein, Cadian 918th, Governor Michael! General Faust and some of the general staff were hit when a Chaos Defiler managed to get in to the command group's position. The general and the majority of the staff are wounded, but alive. We've evacuated them to the Monastery (the domain of the Space Marines), and are coordinating from there!"

I felt myself sigh with relief.

"Alright, can you tell me what's going on around here?"

"Uhm... its a little... complicated. Most of our forces been fighting an engagement here for the past thirty minutes, and anyone that isn't are currently moving to reinforce our lines, so command's swamped while we're all trying to re-organize this... alliance. Hold on, sir... company B, platoon 3, command requires you to lay down suppressing fire to cover platoon 4's advance... yes, pin them down, platoon 4 advances, then sweep around and flank them. Apologies, Governor Michael... well, the battle's going within the acceptable losses threshold, and we're driving them out."

A whistling sound told me that I was being shot at.

There was a Chaos tank – a Predator – that was traversing its turret to fire at the single Land Speeder mowing down cultists with its heavy bolter. I shot it once with the pistol, which caused the tank to spin around and fishtail, and a second shot luckily managed to penetrate the rear-armor of the tank. The turret came blasting off, twisting haphazardly through the air as munitions and combustibles exploded inside.

A decidedly unsubtle shift in the air caused me to turn.

Emma was gathering more energy now, with her opponent sending bolts of lightning, the was simply slapping them into the ground with a precisely timed counter, sometimes even sending the bolts of warp-lightning back into the Chaos ranks.

I could feel it as a slight wind that was gathering, blowing towards her.

The world went still for a moment, and the young girl hurled her lance of light.

From where I stood, the psychic wake left behind by the holy weapon was all too visible for my eyes, a ripple in the air, and then the screaming started; it wasn't something heard, but instead was something that I could feel, from the core of his being as the daemonhost turned towards us and launched its final attack.

Emma's voice boomed as she gathered warp energy, and I could see the sudden realization, the shocked expression of someone who had just been slapped.

"GET BACK! EVERYONE GET BACK!"

The black and purple cloud struck me squarely on the chest as Vincent, Alice, Miles and a dozen other voices all screamed my name.

The pistol fell to the ground, nearly crushing the Fire Warriors that I had saved.

I followed the weapon on its journey down.

"Get the hell out of my way!"

The blow had landed on my face. The first time. The last time.

My knees had buckled. Face twisting and body twisting. The backhand blow hurt.

I had fallen to the ground, limbs splayed out.

The wooden panels of the floor was speckled with tears.

Crying. I turned.

Crying in the corner. Someone behind me.

A sister. My sister.

I remembered.

A vase. A mistake. Grandmother's gift.

Destroyed. Shattered.

Her forearms. Bruised.

Angry patches... Purple. Yellow. Discolored skin.

Eyes ringed with red. Nose running. Face despairing.

Sobbing as she tried to hide herself.

Rough hands grabbed me. Thrown me aside.

More blows. Not directed at me. At her.

Screams. Pained.

More blows. More pain.

I gnashed teeth, kicked up legs.

Jumped on his back.

Held on for dear life.

A bellow. "JACOB!"

The voice. Angry... and sad.

Grandfather. Bursting in. Shouting.

Screaming. Arguing.

The room froze.

I see grandfather, walking stick in his hand. T-shaped and about made of the wood of the mahogany tree he had climbed so many times in his own childhood, the man was leaning heavily on it. He was barking orders, his voice allowing no room for argument. Quickly, my father was ejected from the house.

Warmth. My sister and I were enfolded in warmth as he held the two of us, walking us both out of the room and into the living room. The living room that would become a battleground in a decade or so.

"So this is your grandsire, mortal?"

A clawed hand seized my throat, choking me. Yanked up off the floor, I was thrown against the wall. The blue scaled hide flexed, drawing blood from my neck as its claws dug into flesh. I looked at my younger self, still wrapped up in my grandfather's protective embrace.

The sorcerer smiled as his daemonic pet held me down. Its true form was a horrible thing to behold. There were no eyes on what passed for a face, only a grinning, red-toothed maw that dribbled unimaginably disgusting fluids. Its scaly blue skin scraped against my jaw.

"A precious memory, mortal? Or is it a traumatic one? Both? No matter."

Its hands squeezed. I gasped for breath as the claws tightened.

This wasn't real, I thought. This can't be real...

"Ohhhh, but it is..." The Sorcerer chuckled. "And I shall show you nightmares that are unimaginably real. Every prickle, every cut, every terror shall be as if your own." Another bony blade was pressed against my right temple.

Burning hot, the sharp claw slashed a horizontal line across my brow. Nonchalantly, the daemon followed the Sorcerer's orders to bisect it. Blood trickled down, forcing me to blink. A diagonal slash, now, and the blue hand was now moving to slash out another one. I realized what was happening. An eight-spoked wheel of Chaos.

HE WAS DRAWING ONE ON MY FUCKING FOREHEAD!

Sacrifice? I kicked and punched, weakly but enough to be able to shift around, avoiding the clawed hand that would have completed it. No doubts about it.

"Now, now." Frustration was edging into the Sorcerer's voice, even though he was mocking me. "Just. Sit. Still. And. It. Won't. Hurt. Too. Much!"

A last slash completed the straight lines. I kicked out, and managed to catch his arm. The Sorcerer's pet reacted immediately. More appendages – clawed limbs – shot forward to hold me still.

"This is a very delicate operation, mortal. I advise that you don't move."

Claws stabbed into my left shoulder – right where the daemonic knife had slipped between my rib and collarbone not more than a few hours ago.

I didn't know how long I screamed, but eventually I collapsed against my bonds, exhausted.

The daemon was laughing. Its voice I recognized; unreal, inhuman and... it was uncanny. Dammit. It could have just trapped me like this a long time ago, but only chose now because...

Again, the burning came as claws caressed my skin. All thoughts vanished as pain wrapped its scorching hand around my mind. It was tracing a circle around my forehead. The Horror of the Warp stopped short of completing it, the sickly grin returning to its face.

The Sorcerer chuckled as he tore open a hole in the wall. Beyond it was a storm of grey and black.

"Any last words? I hear it is a tradition amongst those that you condemn." A malicious chuckle. "You may consume him after he has spoken, pet."

I tried to speak... tried to kick away... there was a sudden blur from behind the daemon.

"Oi, suzy!"

CRUNCH.

My grandfather's walking stick smashed into the side of the Horror's head, and as the wooden shaft shattered, the daemon was hurled into the ground. A kick sent it skittering across the floor, and it crashed into a closet.

Someone knelt beside me and grabbed my shoulder.

"You alright?" There was a male figure, outlined by the overhead sun. The scene around us had changed; the cramped kitchen had given away to the college courtyard, where I had spent many an afternoon sketching the people around me.

"Hey? Michael?"

I punched my rescuer in the face.

"WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU!"

The Eldar Farseer and Warlock had left behind two guardians, copies of their consciousness and talents, to watch over my soul. I angrily tried to stand, but a wave of dizziness put me back down.

"We had not the slimmest chance of defeating the dark spellcaster." Copy-Zara quipped, prodding the squirming Copy-Yoza with her toe as the cloned Warlock cradled his face."It is fortunate that he departed."

I sat there, back against the wall, gasping for breath, looking up at the two Eldar that were supposed to be my 'angels' of some sort... something clicked in the back of my head.

Wait... Suzy?

"Seriously? Modern Warfare?" I craned my neck as I asked the Warlock's doppelganger, remembering the stitches both Vincent and I received from laughing at that in-game scene. Warm memories flooded my mind; competing against Vincent and the P1 server players, challenging my techno-illiterate sister, the cutscenes lived through Soap and... and...

"Recovered? For primitives, you seem to be very fragile." The Eldar Farseer's mind-clone sighed.

I touched my neck, and looked at my red palm as I drew my hand away. The sight of bood made me dizzy –especially since it was my own.

"Yeah, that would have hurt a little." Copy-Yoza quipped, kneeling down to inspect my wounds. He pressed a palm against my forehead, and I could feel a gentle warmth coming from the bloodied palm of his hand. The black-haired alien glanced over his shoulder."But forget about it. The daemon's getting back up."

The daemon, enraged, snarled as it advanced. Its shape was becoming less refined now, as it hissed at us like an irate cat. A ball of flesh, trailing appendages as it was propelled by a pair of spindly legs. Three clawed hands were fixed irregularly around its body.

"Tzeentchain Horror. The blue kind. Its gone berserk." Yoza informed me. "I can fight it, but not destroy it; that's got to be your job."

"Why me?" I asked.

"This soul is yours... you 'own' this memory, mon-keigh." Zara's snapped at me. "It is possessing you. We can help, but only you have the power to exorcise yourself... On an unrelated note, both of us have got next to no power left."

"Aww, shit..." I palmed my face. "How the hell am I supposed to kill... it?"

The two guardians nodded. I swore.

"Imagine a weapon – pick any you're familiar with." Yoza advised.

"I'm not familiar with any kinds of weapons!"

Yoza tapped his chin thoughtfully as the Daemon closed in on us again.

"... hmm... I say... duck."

We both threw ourselves aside as the blue Horror charged past. Zara sent it on its way with a blast of wind to its back, propelling it into a wall.

"Michael!" Zara snapped at me.

"WHAT!"

"Go for a lightsaber." He advised.

"No! Its bad enough as it is with you guys and your weapons!"

"Then why not a chainsword, like you mon-keigh seem to like using?" Asked the Farseer fasimile, her voice heavy with irritation. She crouched down low, the daemon barreling towards her, and then jumped high. Passing harmlessly below, the surprised blue monster was given a kick in one of its spindly ankle, which tripped it up.

The three of us ran away.

"Too heavy." I countered, as soon as we were a safe distance from the stunned daemon. "I'm not trained to use one!"

"A witchblade, perhaps?" Yoza pondered.

I shot him a confused look. "Can I actually use that kind of thing?"

"Good point." The warlock's copy admitted. "Spear?"

"Uh... maybe?"

There was an exasperated sigh from Zara.

Yoza shrugged. "Hmm... just experiment with them, I suppose."

Dammit. A blast of air from the Farseer managed to throw the Horror off course, away from bowling me over.

Calming my panicking mind, I tried to think. Okay. First of all, something simple...

Wait.

Ugh... I've been an idiot, haven't I?

The daemon came at me, howling words that hurt the mind to listen to. It closed in, and I swung my weapon around. I let it go, lobbing the weapon into its face, and ducked out of the way.

It screeched – high pitched and in agony – as it crashed into a fire-extinguisher. Running far faster than I could swing, the combined impact was more devastating than I expected; broken and bleeding, the daemon fell backwards as it wretched up a few of its pointed teeth. The impact jarred my wrist, and I felt my grip loosen on the fire extinguisher. The red tube dropped away.

No time to pick it back up.

Kicking up and onto my feet, I backed away.

I made one, didn't I? I could simply make another.

A second one appeared at my feet, and I snatched it up.

"Don't let up!"

The Daemon belched, igniting the air in front of it as the warp-fire shot across the gap between us. I threw up my fire extinguisher, and pressed down on the stud. A white cloud burst out, and swallowed up the fireball.

Copy-Yoza shrugged. Zara's copy facepalmed. "Should have expected that."

More fireballs came, and for each one I simply gave it a good squeeze of fire suppressant and the warp-fire attack simply petered out. More came, and more were extingui-

Ffft FFFFFT.

Squeezing the two 'bills' of the valve release, in a futile effort, I tried to will the fire extinguisher to expel more white powder. Of course, none came. The cylinder was empty.

"F F F F F F F F F F F F F ~"

I hurled the spent extinguisher at the daemon, who simply batted the red metal tube away, sending it through a wall.

Grinning in triumph, the Horror charged.

Need a new one, here!

Rolling, Imaginary Fire Extinguisher Number 2 bumped against my ankle.

I picked it up as the blue monstrosity leaped.

Zara and Yoza both sent blasts of telekinetic force at the daemon. I could see it slow, but still the blue Horror was charging at me, fanged maw gaping wide. It tried to leap again; this time the two copy-Eldar sent the force down. It crashed just short of my toes.

Drawing back and swinging in a downwards chop, Imaginary Fire Extinguisher Number 2 came crashing down onto the monster's head. The daemon screeched as I raised it again, the trusted weapon of mine, and smashed the base of the red cylinder into the many teeth of the Horror.

I lost track of time, and how many swings I took.

Remembering a saying, I screamed it out. "IF IT BLEEDS, WE. CAN. KILL. IT!"

Bleed it did, as I swung again with Imaginary Fire Extinguisher Number 9, crushing the last of its teeth.

Again, pulping flesh.

Again, crushing bone.

Again, snapping fingers.

Again, breaking knees.

Eventually, I grew tired, screaming and smashing with all my might, and the Horror had long ago stopped twitching under its own power.

Yoza's copy blinked a few times. "... well... that works. Now I know why Zara calls you mon-keigh so... brutal."

Zara coughed. "That was the most barbaric, inelegant, reckless kill I've ever seen, mon-keigh."

Breathless, I crawled away, at the verge of tears as I watched the blue mass of rapidly decaying flesh turn to dust. I didn't care that the kill had been inelegant! It was dead! The thing was dead! How elegant it was doesn't matter!

I turned to the two guardians.

"G-get me out of here! NOW!"

Both nodded, hesitation marring their understanding.

"Door's right that way. However, I cannot follow. That way is... outside. It will not be like here." Zara spoke, and then hesitated.

"You will have to fend for yourself outside of your mindscape." The ghost of the Warlock explained as he jerked his hand at the rift the Sorcerer had opened. I nodded, and sighed.

"Well... I can give you a better chance at surviving..."

"Do it."

"Ready?"

"Yes." The floor dropped out from underneath me.

I managed to catch the looks of both Zara and Yoza, who were smiling and waving at me.

Goddamn Bipolar Eldar...

I was lying on the ground. Huh. The smell of flowers and grass swirled around in a bouquet of sharp aromas, twisting their way around the meadow that I now found myself in. The fact that the sky above was bone white would be worried about later, when I had time.

"Michael?"

Whose voice was that? It was shrill and worried, close to panic as it danced about my ears. Left, right... it was coming closer. I braced myself.

"Michael?"

Closer... The echoes that shrouded the voice's identity were fading. I stood up, and found myself feeling feather light as my arm and hand lit up with a pattern tattooed onto it with lines of red. Blood red. It was like someone had made electronic circuits out of my veins and arteries. I was wearing a shirt – sleeveless and a light grey color – with cargo pants that reached my knees. Sneakers rounded off my apparel. A trio of belts wrapped around my waist. One went through every loop, while the other two only hung off one. Attached to those belts were a series of pouches.

Odd... I looked up as the voice called out again. Inflection, pitch... whoever was looking for me had just spotted their quarry.

"Michael!"

I realized who the voice belonged to, where I was and why.

"MICHAEL!"

Little-Zara, an aspect of the Eldar Farseer's being and the incarnation of her every insecurity and worry (packaged in an admittedly very cute metaphyiscal shell) tackled me down, into the soft grass and bright flowers, scattering dandelion parasols everywhere.

Were it not for the fact that I had just lost consciousness a few minutes ago, it would have been a much more enjoyable experience.

Her hips rubbed in an agonizingly pleasurable manner against mine as she buried her face into the crook of my neck, seeking both physical and mental comfort. I patted her ivory locks, and waited for her slight sniffles to stop and give way to more relaxed, deep breaths (again, something in the back of my mind told me that I was enjoying the secondary effects of that breathing a little too much.)

She whimpered softly, and pressed herself against me, her gasping breaths warming my neck.

Scratch that last thought. This was a pleasant experience regardless of the circumstances.

Little-Zara, as I (and the rest of Zaras) called her, was keeping herself wonderfully restrained for someone who was not supposed to have any emotional control. Instead, she was simply breathing rather quickly as she wrapped her arms around me. My imagination was having a lot of trouble remembering that she was still clothed. Head out of the sewer, Michael!

I ran a free hand along her black hair, and was surprised from what I saw. She had changed since our last meeting. Her hair was now shorter, much like a pageboy cut. The Farseer's wardrobe had also changed; a plain white blouse and baggy cargo shorts.

"Uh... nice to see you too. You've... changed."

As the words left my mouth, I regretted it immediately. Little-Zara was the ultimate pessimist, remember? She was the definition of 'extreme mood swinging'.

The mass of worries squeaked as she teased her shortened hair, stuttering as she tried to tie a thought together. Tears began to stream out of her face. "B-but... I just... it was... I... for you... I... you don't...?"

She curled up again, her arms curling defensively around her torso, looking up at me with pitiful eyes.

"Michael...?"

"Hold on!" I gently pressed my index finger to her lips, silencing her mid-sentence. It seemed now her words were gathering at her cheeks, bright red as they were. "Look, its... different. Not in a bad way, okay? So just... stop crying... it hurts (me!) to see you cry."

Indeed, my mind wasn't quite able to equate the bitchy Farseer with the young Eldar woman sitting on my lap.

Her eyes blinked in surprise as she looked at me. Little-Zara's hair shifted, revealing the too-sharp ears typical of Eldar as she nodded slightly.

"Okay... first things first... What just happened?"

"Y-you were attacked... t-th-that daemonhost... uhm... uhm... I think The Farseer could tell you... b-but... the daemon made a l-last attack... forced all of the p-psykers into his mindscape."

"What about you? Aren't you... like... supposed to be kept safe and sound or something?"

"She is." Drawled an aggravated voice.

I turned and looked around, hoping that...

"Well hello, mon-keigh. Enjoying your cuddle?" Teased THE Zara.

Well... shit.

They could have been sisters, were they not actually aspects of the same person. This Zara was the personality that (unfortunately) I had the most interactions with: The Farseer. Armored in form-fitting wraithbone armor and warding sigils, her weapons and badge of office – a shining spear and ornate shuriken pistol - were held loosely at her sides.

"Still flirting with lil' insecure me?" Teased the Howling Banshee aspect, her long hair a dark red color as compared to their natural black color. She was a blood thirsty go-getter type, and her single, exquisitely curved power sword was testament to that as she held it in its scabbard, her arms wrapped around it.

Behind these three stood at least a half dozen more Zaras.

I spotted a near-invisible Ranger rise from the long grass, her head shaved except for a thick white queue of hair that came off the top of her tanned scalp. She sat down, and began attending to her long rifle. I found it hard to focus on the shifting figure before me, dressed as she was in the camouflage robes typical of Ulthwe scouts.

Kneeling down at the top of the small rise was a bone-singer, completely wrapped in her bright blue robes, with a straw-colored hat that darkened her face in its shadow. Goggles covered her eyes, the yellow lenses reflecting the light. Perhaps feeling my eyes upon her, she turned and nodded to me. For a moment, I was given a brief flash of a smile as the bone-singer turned away.

A musician sat beside the bonesinger, clothed rather scantily in a white cloth that wrapped around her waist, matched by a gold-thread chest-wrap. She was holding a strange instrument in her hands, idly plucking at its eight humming strings. Bright golden hair sprang from her head in a single tail, tied off at her neck and at the tip, near her ankles, by jet-black ribbons.

Behind her stood a healer, her amber-haired head wrapped in the hood of long white robes which were marked with red triangles at the borders. She was making her way forwards, a series of small pouches and bandoliers of vials that made her look like a classic Mexican bandit clinking and rubbing against each other as she clung to the white staff that she carried.

The ground trembled as an Avatar of Khaine marched around, her burning skin leaving the ground behind her scorched dust. Flames danced and flowed in place of hair, running the length of her spine. Her spear – a version of the Wailing Doom – crisped anything that it touched. A shattered piece of the Eldar God of War, Kaela Mensha Khaine's female counterpart looked down at me, the normally chunky features smooth and refined. I felt myself wanting to run away and hide.

But I didn't. They were all Zara, in her every aspect. Gentle, rude, outspoken and quiet, they were all aspects of the Farseer.

I swallowed.

Whoa.

"The Eldar psyche is much different from you primitive species, mon-kiegh." Farseer Zara quipped, as the Ranger aspect sat down and began adjusting her long rifle.

Split personalities. More evolved. Uhh huh... yeah, right. Sure. Lets go with that.

"Okaaaay..." I ventured, before looking around. The Zaras had . "We can discuss who is more evolved than who when we get the hell out of this mindscape."

The Farseer's head whipped around, and transfixed me with their glare. Multiple sets of eyes (and one pair of yellow goggles) locked onto me.

"... so... uh... ladi... lady? Ladies? What now?"

"We find the others, of course. Its the obvious course of action, is it not, mon-keigh?" The Farseer aspect smirked, her lips widening and her eyes narrowing at the edges, curling her face into the typical, mocking mask. "The daemon's attack has transported the majority of the psykers among our group... we have to find them, lest they fall prey to whatever wanders these locales. It appears that the daemons are... dream eaters. They recall traumatic memories, and then feed of the emotions generated."

I held up my hands, palm facing away from me, in a 'whoa, stop there' gesture.

"Let me get this straight: everyone's trapped inside their own personal nightmare, and only a few of us have broken free of it. Can any of you tell me where anyone else is?"

"Obviously." Farseer-Zara coldly replied, glowing rune-stones floating just above her palms. She looked at them for a brief moment, before opening yet another portal. "We must depart. No doubt Yoza and the stronger psykers among us have already moved on... the others will have to be rescued from their own minds and memories."

"Alright then... how can I fight?"

"You will not. We shall handle this. You, however, need to wake up." She gestured offhandedly at me, and turned away.

The ground dropped out from underneath me again, the flowering meadow replaced by a black void.

For an instant, I could see Zara's shocked expression.

Something had gone wrong.

"Aw hell."

I started falling.

There was – again – darkness.

A crackle. Something like a PA system squeezed out a message.

"Korin, respond."

There was a 'yeah' of acknowledgment.

"Check #190398, there was a spike in the Gellar interference in her hold a few minutes ago."

"Alright, alright. Lets see if the frakkin twistie blew out her bean or anything."

There was light. A door creaked open, and suddenly the rest of my senses returned to me. The floor was filthy, covered in rotten food and other waste. A figure, dressed similarly to a Storm Trooper and covered with purity sigils, stepped inside.

"Hey, twistie." He prodded something in the corner with his toe. "Helloooo, witchieee. Ya' hear me?"

Silence.

"Aw, frak this."

A swift kick. In the corner, something whimpered. The brute instantly drew a baton of some kind, as if suddenly... afraid? He was inching away now, and I could see his shaking thumb desperately searching for the activation switch.

I stood up, and looked at the bundle that he had just roughed up.

Wrapped in black restraints and covered with white and gold prayer scrolls and hexagrammic wards was a young woman, nearly unrecognizable under the mass of scrollwork and bindings was under. Her head shifted, mussed hair drifting out of the way as dirty, too-pale skin showed.

I recognized her. Her face half-covered by the heavy slab of metal wrapped around her like a hood, but it was definitely her. Blank eyes gleamed under the glare of the lamp belonging to 'Korin'.

"Ishabeth?"

The crackling baton was pressed against her neck. Eyes snapped open, and the girl began to writhe inside of her bindings.

She didn't scream. I didn't think she was even strong enough to do even that. Eventually, she simply collapsed and 'Korin' dashed out of the door.

"Ah, the nightmare of a Black Ship." The Sorcerer chuckled. "Some of my apprentices had talked to me of this. Culling psykers of to feed their corpse-god."

I closed my eyes, clenching my hand into a fist.

Here we go again.