Editing Toyhammer (section)

=Chapter 21=

"I refuse your reality, and substitute my own." - Battle Psyker (Primaris-Beta) Adham Barbaris.

"OI SEZ, WOT AR' YOOZE GONNA DO ABOU' MADORK GUNNA FOINDIN' OUT YOOZE GONE AND STOL' 'IZ WAAAGH!-GUN?"

"WHAAAAT! ?"

My ears were ringing from the pain of overpressure and concussive force of having said WAAAGH!-Gun go off in my face. It was like someone had grabbed my head and shook it until the insides were a fine slurry, then dropped it from a great height. I could barely hear the Ork, who was now showering me with his spit, and that wasn't helping with my vision, either.

Okay, that was it, I thought as I summoned an umbrella between myself and the spittle spout. Not doing that again, unless I have the WAAAGH!-Gun pressed up against the Rose's forehead. Or after someone's given me a pair of earmuffs.

Aloud, I was cursing and coughing as I backed away. "Goddammit... ow... fuckin' ow... why the hell do I keep doing this? You would think that I would learn... but noooo!"

I turned around as someone tapped me on the shoulder. A greenskin pseudo-psyker – a 'wierdboy' - was talking to me, with Zara and the others fast approaching behind him. The hulking green... well, Ork (they all pretty much looked the same, barring personal decorations and replacement limbs) was mouthing something with his gob, yammering on and giving me another small shower of spittle as he shouted at me. No inside voices, these orks. Good thing my house was more like a huge complex of large squares for them.

I shook my head clear, and arched an eyebrow. The ringing sensation was finally starting to fade from my ears.

Finally, it reached a level where I was able to speak normally. "What is it?"

The confused, distressed looking Ork was now apparent in his conspiratorial worries. "Oi sez, Big Boss, dat dun' yoo fink dat Madork Gunna's gonna pack a roight proppa fit if 'ee foin's oot you'z gone an' uzed his WAAAGH!-Gun?"

Oh. This was trouble. Orks were savages when it came to almost any standard of civilization, but they still held a 'code of honor'. Being 'Right an' proppa Orky' was important to them. As their Big Boss, I had to act accordingly. Especially since I was smaller then they were, at the time.

I shrugged.

Time to do things to Orkish way.

I grinned. "If 'ee complains, just give 'im a good stompin'."

The two Ork wierdboyz thought about this for a moment, before nodding in their approval. One chuckled.

"Correct, Big Boss. Personally, I would doubt you being a proper Boss if you did not undertake such a course of action."

All heads turned to face the scholarly Ork known only as 'Black nose Skoola Boy' (apparently because his long hooked nose kept on rubbing against the ink of the books he read).

He raised one eyebrow at me as I – and others – stared at him in confusion. "What is the matter? Orkoids are allowed some measure of intelligence, you do realize?"

"I was not aware you could assemble a coherent sentence, actually. Congratulations for the evolutionary leap, greenskin." Deadpanned Zara.

The blue-painted Ork grinned back. "And I was not aware the Eldar had any sense of wit. Congratulations for the evolutionary leap, pointy-ears."

"My my, beginning a sentence with 'and'?" Zara 'tsked'. "Y-"

"Guys?" I interrupted. "A little focus here? I'm all well and good for you fighting, but can we do that to the cultists first?"

Fighting amongst each other was the last thing I wanted to see happening amongst us.

The scholarly Ork (one hell of an oxymoron there) parodied a salute. "Affirmative, Big Boss, back to business, then. So long as it does not trouble you, Farseer."

"Agreed." Zara sighed. "You are the mon-keigh's underlings, aren't you? So listen to your 'Big Boss' and do as you're told."

"Ah, but I'm quite certain you are also quite comfortable with the notion of Mickey becoming your... heh, 'Big Boss'."

I hurled an empty magazine at the Wierdboy, which made a rather satisfying clang as it bounced off his head. "Would you two kindly shut the fuck up, so we can fight the cultists and not each other?"

In unison, the coalition of psykers turned to face the enemy. Namely the purple haired psyker that had been trying to recruit me. Possibly by shotgun wedding.

The Rose was disoriented, but was recovering quickly; as evidenced by her staggering to her feet, just in time for Zara to force-blast her away and into the air. Hurled through the ink-black sky, the Slaaneshi cultist crashed into the crowd of Chaos cultists as they tried to regroup.

"Much better." I chuckled, gathering what passed for my powers to generate a quartet of force rings. They were ripped right out of a book series I had read, written by a J Butcher, and when triggered they sent a blast of force that bowled the recovering heretics over. More shouts and screams of panic were inevitable; the forces of Chaos seemed rather fond of the use of combat spikes.

Zara blinked a few more times, then pinched her nose. She blew against it to equalize the pressure inside her ear to the outside world, like a diver.

I raised an eyebrow as I threw away the silver rings. "How was that?"

"..." Zara turned away, and underneath the faceplate I somehow knew that she getting uncomfortable.

"C'mon..."

"No praise for you... you must enjoy taking every opportunity to embarrass me, don't you?"

A shrug was given in lieu of an answer."Kind of."

"Well, mon-keigh, I enjoy taking every opportunity to slap you. Hard." I could feel the forced smile behind her faceplate.

"That wasn't too hard to figure out, Zara. You were a bit too small to slap me, though."

"Mon keigh." The Farseer warned me, pointing at the Slaaneshi cultist as she parted herself from her companions.

I chuckled. "Yes, dear. I know."

Slap.

Zara's slap made me stagger away from her, not to mention that my cheek felt like it was on fire... wait... okay, it was on fire.

I quickly patted out the flames.

With the fuming Farseer right beside me... I turned to her. "I think I deserved that one."

"Damn right you did." Chuckled Zara's Howling Banshee persona.

"Can you do that to me?" Cheerfully requested The Rose, from about ten meters away, as I finished reconstructing/reloading the WAAAGH!-Gun.

Zara pointed at the Slaaneshi cultist, and patted me on the head. "Mon-keigh."

The Rose's face was priceless as I leveled the gun at her. A blend of shock, anticipation and... envy?

Zara dropped a pair of earmuffs over my ears.

DAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKA

I shifted my aim a little, to compensate for the muzzles rising as the psykers around me followed suit with their own, more 'conventional' firearms.

DAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKA

Nope. I lowered the gun a little. The shots (mainly rocket propelled grenades from the bigga dakka gobs) were drifting too far up.

DAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKA

"A little to the left, I think!" Shouted a voice behind me. Skoola. "They're running away now."

DAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKA

"HAHAHAHAHA! This is starting to get fun!"

DAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKA

I had found the secret to the use of a WAAAGH!-Gun: Use ear protection at all times.

Zara nodded her agreement as she walked back to me, her shadows splitting and then rising, gaining volume and shape to become the more aggressive of her personas.

"That was quite a good show, mon-keigh. I do believe you have demonstrated Orkish techno-barbarity at its finest." Chuckled the Ranger, giving me a rare smile.

"Quite impressive." The Howling Banshee praised. "I think I shall add that to my recordings."

"That was noisy, mon-keigh. Such discordant aural pollution is fitting for that barbaric weapon that you are holding." Deadpanned the Bonesinger. I just grinned back at her.

"Not nearly as bad as you are, though."

I ducked under the second slap, and turned to the other Orks.

"How about you two, huh? Think you guys could join in?"

"We'ze no good wifoot the rest o' da boyz, Big Boss." Mumbled the wierdboy known as Mogorp 'eadrunna.

Skoola Boy gave a noncommittal shrug, before hefting his massive cleaver/choppa.

"True. Our more potent psychic talents cannot be properly utilized without a sufficient number of orkoids to supply the psychic fuel we require, so for the moment we shall act as your retainers, Michael."

Nodding in agreement, I turned to face the cultists then advanced. The three of us formed up, with the two Ork wierdboyz palming their big choppaz in their hands as I opted for more simple 'normal human' scale bolt pistols.

"I'll be damned if I let some Orks are the only thing 'guarding' Michael." Muttered Aramis, stepping forward to stand at my left as our slow walk became a trot. Porthos and Athos were at his side, and readying their weapons.

It seemed like Porthos was still missing his arm, and had replaced it with a windmill made of bladed weapons and chainswords, powered by a gatling gun's motor. Even idling, the tips of the heavy weapons lazily orbited the shoulder joint of the Grey Knight, and I suspected that, when activated, the spinning blades would be quite... effective.

As an aside, I wondered if he hadn't so much replaced his arm with a substitute as he had upgraded his abilities for close combat.

"Good to see you so... well, Porthos."

"No worry, Michael. My flesh-and-blood arm is still all right and proper, so I'll be fine as soon as we're done. It's just such a pain to grow back an arm while still in the mindscape, you know."

"And to do that, I'm guessing we just have to take out those guys, then we're home free?" I asked, nodding at the confused Chaos psykers.

Librarian Vasili nodded his hooded head as we broke out into a run. "Aye, lad. They die, we get out."

Now, at that stage, someone from the Chaos side managed to get out a snarling challenge.

"WE ARE THE AGENTS OF CHAOS ITSELF! TZEENTCH THE MASTER OF PLOTS AND PLANS! KHORNE THE LORD OF BLOOD AND BATTLE! NURGLE THE FATHER OF PLAGUES AND PESTILENCE! SLAANESH THE PRINCE OF PLEASURES AND DECADENCE! NONE SHALL STAND AGAINST US!"

It was the Sorcerer, the one that had sent us here in the first place when he had done something to Batel's step-father.

Only now, in the full light of the illuminated battlefield and without the panic of trying to not get myself killed, was I able to fully appreciate just how fucking scary this guy really was.

He strode forward, clanking along with the heavy footfalls made by the ceramite boots of his jet-black power armor. I would have said that it was much like that of the other Chaos Space Marines, but this one was... odd. Instead of having bare armor decorated with what-have-yous, the former Astartes-turned-Chaos-Sorcerer was striding forth in a jet-black robe, which reminded me of the veteran Dark Angels that had ended up living with me. Quite different from the last time we had met, the robes concealed all identity but for his chest, which contained a single glowing eye.

"Quiver in terror before me, you ancient fools, you hapless slaves and... wait, what the hell are Orks doing here! ?"

There was a rare instant where both Chaos, Eldar and Imperial factions acted as one in a massive group shrug.

For once, the Chaos Sorcerer was the first to react. "Never mind that! I am Lucian Belavich, the Shadow Caller, servant and sorcerer of the Dark Gods, of Chaos Undivided! You shall fear me! I shall rend the flesh from your bones, I shall feed your souls to the lords of Chaos! Your house shall rot along with those Tau! FEAR ME!"

I raised my hand. "We've gone over this already, haven't we?"

"SHUT UP!" He hotly demanded.

Athos gave an offended 'humph'. "There's no need for that, Belly! Just making sure that we're not repeating things."

"GRRRAAGHRARHAAAARR!"

"Oh my." The Zara deadpanned. "And I had thought that this one would have at least orkish intelligence."

"How insulting, Lady Farseer." Skoola Boy sighed. "Starting a sentence with a conjunction, how uncivilized of you."

"!"

"Wot? Stop usin' dose big worrs, Skoola." Mogorp whined, drawing back one of his smaller choppas. "Dat' kay-oss saucer-er sprung a leek, mefinks."

"I wonder if he could twirl his head around? It might make an impressive display."

"I wonder if he could make things a lot easier for all of us and just have an aneurysm?"

"YOU SHALL FEEL MY WRATH! LISTEN TO M-*CLANG!*

Clutching his obviously pained head, the Space Marine glared at us. "WHAT THE WARP WAS THAT! ?"

The choppa had bounced off his face, having been hurled into a perfect flat arc by Mogorp. It now spun lazily through the air as the Sorcerer staggered back, and fell to the ground. His fingers flexed, and the claw part of his 'Power Claws' snapped into place.

"THAT'S IT! NO MORE TALKING! I'M GONNA KILL YA!"

A Seer councilor chuckled as he readied his witchblade. "Oh, and what are you going to do about it, then, spikey boy?"

"Dat ain' spikey boy, pointy ears. Spikey boy iz Madork's 'next-best-bra-"

Mogorp was unable to finish as the claws tore into the fabric of space, and was shredded open into a glowing aperture of darkness. Daemons ripped at the portal, widening it enough until they were able to stumble into reality, or faded into existence as the dozen or so Chaos psykers stepped up to face us.

I licked dry lips. Mine, by the way. "Oh. Shit."

"Meh, sure, say what you want." Chuckled Danilov, who was already starting to empty his dual bolt pistols into the fray. He was methodical in that regard, firing off a pair of shots with one pistol, stepping forward to a reflection of his initial firing stance, and then snapping off a second double-tap.

Justicar Amadeus briefly glanced at the Inquisitor, who shrugged. "Go ahead. I know you like it."

A nod, then the hiss-buzz of a voxcaster being jacked up to full blast. "ORDO MALLEUS, ATAAAAACK!"

The Grey Knights roared in response.

"Psykers of the Emperor!" Shouted an Imperial Sanctionite. "FORWARD!"

"Seers of Ulthwe!" Zara cried out, charging forward with her black-and-bone white host. "TO BATTLE!"

I decided that I would participate as well, but could only find one appropriate thing to say: "And us! LET'S GO, BOYS!"

The two Ork Wierdboyz cheered with me, and our oddball trio ran to re-join the rest.

The world went still for a brief moment, before there was an attention-requesting cough from inside my mind.

Right. It was Zara, her voice not heard, but thought. Typical of the Eldar; No respect for one's privacy. As if she were drawing on a giant chalkboard, a diagram appeared in the still air in front of me. This is the battle-plan.

We are here.

Small circles appeared. Green for the two Orks. White for humans (Librarian Vasili, five Grey Knights, Raquel, Danilov, Ishabeth and two Sanctionites). And an aquamarine color for the Eldar (The half-dozen Zaras and the two-dozen of the Seer Council and their own derivative personalities).

Then, we have daemons appearing around the Chaos psykers in this area here, twenty meters ahead of us.

A giant circle was drawn in front of the group.

The plan is for the Grey Knights, Vasili, the Orks and any combat-oriented derivative personalities to create a wedge formation to break up their formation, to allow confusion to spread. Protect my Bonesinger aspect, as she will be able to construct obstacles that will prevent the daemons from flanking us while we prepare for phase two of the attack.

Drawn in a dotted yellow line, a triangle composed of the combat psykers plunged into the heart of the enemy formation.

Michael and the others are to begin generating weapons. This area is a gestalt psychic ley-cluster, so the daemons are not weakened by their numbers. Inverse Daemon Law is not in effect. I repeat, Inverse Daemon Law is not in effect. Be careful out there."\

Then, the faux-reality that we were in sprang back into motion.

Whoa. Active strategic planning. Cool.

Thank you.

Zara's back burst open with a pair of radiant black wings made of wraithbone. She, and the other fliers, leaped into the sky to meet the flock of daemons that soared above us, the two forces clashing in a dance of blades and power.

Immediately, I slowed my pace, and dropped back as the assigned guardians charged forward, raising my bolter and pouring cover fire for the others. Behind me, the Imperial psykers not suited for a direct combat role began to focus their energies on supporting the combatants. I recognized their faces, but soon enough my attention was ripped away to elsewhere.

With a humming that shook the ground, the land to either side of us began to transform, turning into a forest of spikes and other nasty hazards – no doubt the bonesinger's method of keeping our flanks safe.

The fact that ribbon-like appendages were also shooting up and cutting daemons into little pieces was also helping. A lot.

Slowing down to a jog and crouching down for less exposure, I began thinking. What did we need? The answer came to me as Ishabeth stomped on the ground, and from beneath her rose a minigun, which she handed over to a pair of Sanctionites. Another stomp had the ground rise, a slightly off-kilter box. The sudden flare of light and woosh-woosh-woosh of launching rockets told me that she had summoned a box of unguided missiles, and they were now arcing rather erratically into the charging Chaos forces.

The strobe and rumble of their detonations was all the answer that I needed.

We needed weapons... no, not simple bolters... we needed support weapons.

My own part in the battle started with the calling up of heavy weapons for the weirdboyz, who were tired of having to make do with their rather short-ranged implements. While lacking in the talent of making these weapons, it seemed like they were more than capable of holding their own in a fight.

Eagerly switching out from their crude choppas to 'ded shooty shootas', I found that the two ork pseudo-psykers were grinning madly as they each seized a replica of Terminator assault cannon and began spooling up the massive barrels.

Laughing, they strode off with their guns blazing at the enemy.

Mogorp was howling with laughter as he reduced a trio of daemons into mincemeat. There was a terrible, keening screech as they died, but it only managed to catch a rather enthusiastic taunt from the ork: "CRY SOME MORE!"

I fixed the earmuffs tighter over my ears, my own weapons (now a pair of bolt pistols and the trusty power maul) strapped firmly onto my back and in the two (formerly empty) pouches that had been wrapped around my waist as I followed behind Skoola and Mogorp, picking my way through semi-disintegrated daemon-bits while we sniped (or obliterated) whatever had decided to come our way.

Speeding past us, Space Marine Librarian Vasili was boosting his way into the fray as his newly acquired Assault Pack sent him hurtling into the center of a daemon horde, the eye in a storm of his psychically constructed swords of light that were orbiting the massive Astartes. Each burning blade was twisting around him as he roared exultations to his Emperor, whirling in bright and fast ellipses as he marched through the tide of daemons, his pack flaring to lift him above a particularly massive (yet still recently deceased) foe.

The whirlwind of swords abated for a second to allow one of his longswords to launch forth, impaling a daemon, then detonating after the bright sword had plunged into its chest.

From his left came a densely packed group of daemons. I licked my lips, and sighted in with the newly constructed bolter that I was trying out. It wasn't like the others, I had to admit; with the much more destructive (at the very least a greater area of effect), the 25mm shells were a combination of the 'current' grenade launchers and their heavier payloads with the smaller-caliber grenade launchers of the 41st millennium. I dropped a pair of those high explosive shells amongst the advancing horde, sowing destruction as the formation broke apart with the multitude of explosions that were suddenly springing up from the ground as the grenades landed between their feet.

A terrifying screech came from above, followed closely by a flock of a half-dozen winged daemons plunging downwards from above, buzzing wings and mantis-like claws whipping around as they landed amongst the Seer council. One was immediately smashed back into the air by a Grey Knight's rising boot, and then peppered with bolter fire as it tried in vain to recover from its sudden return to the sky.

The majority, however, slipped past the counter-attack and the screen of combatants, diving forwards into the much squishier psykers behind the armored Grey Knights. What ensued was too fast for my eyes to follow, but I did see the aftermath: an Eldar Seer's neck was snapped as they felt their arm ripped out of their socket. Shock and blood loss would finish the job. A heartbeat later, two mantis-things were down in brutal vengeance. Several Howling Banshee aspects carved their way through to their base personalities, and the grim fight was over when Zara slammed her spear into the ground, bolts of lighting arcing off it like a tesla coil and frying the remaining daemons.

Skoola Boy thumped me on the shoulder, sending me staggering off to the side and bringing me back to the here and now. "Oi, Big Boss! C'mon, dere's a ded big scrap goin' on, and I wanna try out this new spinna-shoota dat yooze gave us, Big Boss!"

Mogorp was already doing that, emptying the huge ammo bin that had been mounted onto his back.

The Grey Knights were advancing with similar abandon, with Porthos at the left flank (probably something to do with how he was haphazardly swinging his new Windmill of Doom around), his whirling blades carving a bloody pathway made up of the weaker daemons, closely followed behind by Athos with his halberd to finish off any wounded, with the massive bulk to his right that was Aramis, who was blazing through the monsters ahead of him with the heavy bolter that he had constructed at the beginning of the charge. Each shell was predictably accurate, and flared into bright flame as their incendiary payloads burst open inside of their targets.

Combat really got hectic as the bulk of the Eldar psykers and their secondary personalities joined the fray, their bonesingers' hastily made robotic constructs acting as a shield of wraithbone skeletons that kicked and punched their opponents, dragging them down by way of sheer numbers to allow the more skilled and powerful Seer councilors to finish off their opponents.

Zara in particular favored the use of psychic force blasts, which threw her enemies around like rag-dolls, often setting them alight while they were in mid-air simply for the humiliation that they would suffer on the way down.

A trio of Imperial Sanctionites – Ishabeth and two others - were also making progress, with the former using walls of what looked like shredded paper to absorb and disperse attacks from the more longer-reaching of the Chaos attacks.

"Sanctionite Elrik, you have targets to your left and front!"

The short psyker had a madman's grin as he held the newly constructed minigun, his partner-in-battle Alfons clipping on the ammo feeder. Taking the minigun rig together, the two hefted the massive weapon onto its mount and pointed the weapon's rotating barrels at the advancing pack of daemons. It was a familiar design to me, having used them a little while ago. Each of the six barrels were about the length of my arm, and would spit out a single slug about as big as the tip of my pinky.

At somewhere in the region of a thousand meters per second, thousands of bullets at a time.

With the pack of Chaos hounds barely twenty feet away, the two began pouring a lead-based river of destruction at the fleshy daemons that approached. The firing of the minigun was best described as a combination of the sounds of an earthquake, beehive and chainsaw that had been blended together to create a buzz/hum sound which... well, made me want to piss my pants. Mostly because I wasn't holding the trigger down.

Ducking down low, it was there that I too joined the fight.

A spider-crab-wolf daemon dropped down in front of me. It was hairy, had a lot of legs and far too many teeth for my comfort. The four bright yellow eyes fixed onto me as it turned in my direction. Spreading its legs out in a combat stance, it snarled and then exploded as I launched a grenade down its throat.

Bad idea.

The hard exoskeleton? Yeah, that just made the thing an even bigger grenade. I only managed a surprised yelp before being peppered with fragments of armored skin. A dozen or so cuts instantly sprang up over my body, making me feel like my skin had just been set on fire.

I landed heavily, with bits of spider-crab-wolf daemon landing all around me.

Someone shouted, approaching as they called out to me. "Dammit! Michael, are you alright?"

A hand grabbed me, drew me up and back onto my feet. It was an Eldar Ranger, one of the subordinate personalities. Rather than a long rifle, this one seemed to prefer a longsword/shortsword combo, and used them effectively.

"Hold up. Aren't you guys meant to be snipers?"

The camouflaged warrior shrugged. "Multiclassing." He said, glancing behind me as a scream came from that direction. "More of 'em. Stand back, mon-keigh."

Leaping forward, the lone ranger ducked and weaved his way through the advancing daemons in a deadly and graceful dance of death, his sword flickering out to nip off a leg here, an arm there, stab an eye or an ear, and generally caused a lot of havoc among the more fragile daemons. They screeched and retaliated with their usual ferocity, but I managed to frag a pair with a grenade before they could cause any harm to the ranger-swordsman.

As he continued on into the distance, I noticed that more and more were turning towards me.

Well, the grenade-usage was useful and all, but... Of course, that meant that most of their attention was now focused on me.

"Shit."

Pulling out both bolt pistols (having hurled the oversized bolter at the nearest foe), I leveled them at the advancing abominations, resisting the urge to either throw up or curl up into a little sniveling ball.

Instead, I let my senses become enveloped in the noise and the bright flashes of light that were the report of the twin bolt pistols. No wonder the people of the 41st millennium were so keen on dakka. It made them forget, it made them safe from the horrors that were leaping at them from the other end of their barrels.

A second spider-crab-wolf daemon landed on my back, curling its hairy appendages around my neck. I let out a strangled shout, and tried to shake the thing. It was the size of a large dog (if you cut off its arms, which was something I was more than enthusiastic of doing), and with proportionally large legs. Not to mention the various other extra bits that would never be found on an animal more than four miles away from ground zero of a dirty A-bomb.

With a bright flash of pain, I felt it pressing one of its fangs against my neck.

Seeing my plight as I was spinning about in a circle, someone shouted out. It was incoherent. It was possessive. It was fucking scary. Raw warp-stuff filled the air.

The scent of roses filled the air, choking it with the pungent perfume. Rose petals themselves followed, like an angry swarm of bees. They were like a storm of red and purple and pink, blotting out the senses with their vibrant colors, strong scent and the buzzing of their passing.

Something behind me screeched, and I realized it was the spider-crab-wolf daemon. The weight was suddenly gone, and it was thrown over my shoulder to briefly appear as the rose petals were channeled into every orifice. Eyes, nose, mouth... all were punctured and filled with the paper-thin petals. I could see that the daemon was literally choking on them. Then the roses themselves began to bloom out of its skin, blood red flowers that burst out of its back. Chunks of its exoskeleton corkscrewed through the air from the force of the blossoming, bloody flowers.

I almost threw up as one landed on my chest. "Ew..."

"My my, so squeamish already?" Teased a familiar voice. I felt a familiar presence behind me, folding her arms around me and pressing her chest to my back.

"Oh, you wouldn't believe what other Slaaneshi cultists would do for their pleasures, dear toy. For one, it involves much more amusing fluids." Recounted the Rose, nuzzling the back of my neck like a doting lover.

Which, of course, she was far from being. Doting, yes. Lover? Hell no.

"Big S says I could keep whatever toys I wanted." She murmured into my neck, as if by way of explanation, and then turned me around. Her usual expression of carefully teasing amusement was gone. Gone gone gone.

"So guess what, dear toy? Once this is over, once everyone's all dead, you're mine."

Instead, her wide, empty eyes were set above a grinning face as she looked down at me. Hair cascading down around her, the battle around us continued on without

"You know what that means, right? It's going to be real fun! Pleasure without limit, without rest!" She laughed, then the Rose leaned harder against me, pushing her face closer to mine. I was starting to give way, leaning back to stay away from her. Soon enough, she was practically on top of me, either hand pinning my elbows to the ground.

"And we'll be together. By ourselves. Wouldn't that be wonderful, dear toy?"

Ugh. Tempting as it was... no thanks.

I gathered my knees underneath her, and kicked out. The hundred pound bundle of tightly coiled muscles above me was propelled into the air, launched much like a catapult's ammunition as my legs went from horizontal to vertical in a rather rapid fashion. She was flipped up and over my face, landing in a sprawled heap somewhere 'above' me.

"Oh, I've always loved flying, dearest. Perhaps we can try it some other time? I do know a winged daemon who adores being ridden."

Snarling, the buzz of the chainsword now in my hands shook my arms as I swung it about experimentally.

"Shut up, will you? If you want to screw around that badly, why don't you just fuck this chainsword, huh?"

The Rose's eyes lit up as she gave me a Cheshire-cat grin."I'd be delighted to."

"Oh for the love of..." I facepalmed. Really dug myself into that one, didn't I?

Giving up on any witty repartee (which, when I thought about it, would have only encouraged and delighted her), I simply decided to decapitate her with the humming teeth of the chainsword in the most viscerally satisfying manner possible.

Feeling the eyes of the Orks upon me, I went for the only battle cry acceptable for anyone with the name Big Boss 'o Da Boyz.

"WAAARGH!"

We met, and the Rose's petals were streaming past us. My vision blurred and my nose began to clog up. Dammit! Gunning the tiny but powerful engine of the chainsword, I swung weakly forwards. It was an easy strike to dance around, and she retaliated by deftly knocking the chainsword out of my hands with a dropping axe strike of her heel.

I went for a punch, which she simply grabbed, twisted out of harm's way, and then used as leverage to draw me close, and mashed her mouth against mine. For an instant, I couldn't feel anything. Literally, nothing could be sensed. All the pain, strain and aches of my body disappeared. Fatigue and tiredness disappeared in an instant. Then... Oh God, it was wonderful.

Pleasure surged through my body, accompanied by her own moan of ecstasy. Her leg snaked up and curled around my waist, letting her climb up so that we were eye-to-eye. Heaving chest and snatched breaths made my cheeks burn as her arms wrapped around my neck.

Then we were suddenly hit by a bolt of lightning. Or something bright and flashy, anyway. I didn't have time to take notes while I was stumbling back from the sudden attack.

Dirt and shards of flash-fried grass whizzed past my head.

"Ah, you survived that, mon-keigh." Quipped Zara as she blew smoke from her smoking Singing Spear, and walked over to me.

I stared at the small black crater where the Rose had been standing

… whoa.

Then I remembered just who had struck who with a bolt of lightning. I turned to Zara.

"That wasn't what it looked like."

She shrugged. "It looked like a Slaaneshi cultist seducing you, trying to claim you for her own while you were trying to fight her off."

"In that case, then it was exactly what it looked like." I straightened out my buzzing, Einstein-esque hair. They were sticking out from the electrical current still dancing about in the air, and I swear I could taste a coppery tang to the air I was heaving in and out.

"Good. Nice headbutt, by the way."

"Buh?"

The less pointy end of Zara's spear helpfully closed my open jaw, and – slightly miffed – I turned to the crater.

"Lightning?"

"Lightning? Yes. With a touch of wind and fire, might I add."

There was a giggle from behind us.

"Oooh, that was fun! I feel tingly all over now." A diabetes-sweet murmur of pleasured delight made my spine tingle as I turned to Zara. "Can we do it again? Maybe we should all stand around in a circle and have it happen in the middle! But don't add the fire, it dries my skin out really fast..."

I sighed as I reached behind my back.

"Y'know, I kind of expected that. Catch."

Tossing Zara a reloaded bolt pistol, I drew my own. In unison, we both emptied the contents of the Space-Marine grade side-arms into the Rose's face.

Predictably, she called up her whole field-of-petals thing and detonated all of the mass-reactive rounds before they so much as touched her pale purple skin. Laughing and dancing on the spot, she wove a protective mesh of rose-petals about her, each bolt round she caught blossoming into a ball of petals.

"That is getting rather boring, dear toy. I do hope you can come up with something more original. Doing the same thing over and over again is so drear-"

The thrown bolt pistol was ducked under, but then she was smacked over the head as the second caught her on the forehead.

"Owie..." She complained, holding up both hands to press down on the bump the five kilogram weapon had left on her head.

"Okay, time to play something else."

A barrage of razor-sharp petals came our way. They were forming complex patterns as they came at us, each one glowing a bright color as it passed by, and each successive wave of brilliantly colored petals made way for another dizzying mosaic of color and death. Through the curtain of blazing petals, we dodged and weaved through tiny gaps left by the expanding spheres, falling back and advancing as we could.

Zara blasted a few away, but more came before her concentration could be gathered for another petal-clearing blast.

"Aww, fuck this!"

I let my attention slip for a brief second, and paid for it by having a half dozen petals slice past, tearing open a large chunk of my leg.

But that had been enough.

"Move, Zara, MOVE!"

The giant brick (or paving tile, considering its dimensions) – two hundred feet square by twenty – slammed into the ground where the rose petals had come from. As it touched the ground, a great gust of wind threw me back, and my balance teetered, threatening to let me fall. The localized earthquake was more than enough to finish the job. I fell onto my back, and lay there as the dust and dead rose petals settled around me.

Just... just a little rest...

Shake. Someone was shaking my shoulders.

"... mon-keigh? Mon keigh! Wake up!"

Slap.

"Michael!"

I shot up into a seated position.

"That h-*THUNK*

Ow.

Zara and I clutched at our foreheads, now freshly pained from the sudden impact.

"What in Khaine's name was that for, Mi-er-mon-keigh?" Zara demanded.

"Why do you lean over someone when you're trying to get up? Like, right in their faces! ? That's just asking for a forehead tap, Zara." I answered sharply, still dusting off chips of brickwork from my clothes.

The Farseer sighed, and went for her spear, picking it up and then dusting off her tabard. "Well, excuse me for being concerned about you, Michael!"

Wait a second...

"Did you just call me Michael?" I asked.

A flustered Zara – now that was rare – ripped off her helmet and snarled at me with cherry-red cheeks as she brought the full force of her personality to bear. She shot at me a pained glare, and gestured wildly with her spear. "O-of course! It is your name, isn't it?"

Trying to pacify her, I attempted to justify myself. "... the last time someone with your face called me Michael, it tried to kill me, remember?"

She vented the contents of her lungs, whirled around and stormed off.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid mon-keigh! Alright! I'll take it back!" Turning back to face me, she approached, each sentence's weight enhanced by sharp gestures and an almost pained expression on her face as she screamed at me. "Bloody hell." She spat. "You just got your primitive arse saved by me, and this is what passes for the thanks I get? I've seen Slaaneshi cultists before. It's like... what was it that you mon-keigh call it? Drugs? An addiction. You would have lost everything, you idiot! A person who surrenders himself to Slaanesh no longer becomes himself... they become just like an addict, caring for nothing else but their next pleasure. You would have become a slave. You wouldn't be... you."

Zara fell silent, and her cheeks deepened as she half-turned to look away. I stepped forward, and gingerly put a hand on her shoulder. She didn't push it away, so I just left it there.

Unsure, I weakly apologized. "Zara... I'm sorry."

Slap.

Left cheek. Ow. She was fast.

"That, Michael, was for making me worried."

The Farseer then enfolded me in a hug.

"This, Michael, is for making me worried." She whispered. "And don't you ever do it again."

I returned the hug, and could feel that the much younger-looking persona of Zara, rather than the veteran Farseer, was the one with her arms around my neck. I'm pretty sure that the Farseer still hated me.

We stayed like that for... I'm not sure how long, but it was long enough.

I knew that when the large brick exploded.

"That was worrying for a second, there. But anyway, I got out, dear toy!" She chimed, but then her laugh choked into silence as she saw the two of us. The Rose was standing in the mass of rubble, more or less unharmed, but her expression was frozen still in confusion.

As she stood there, taking in what she saw an processing it, I saw the amused, almost childish demeanor of the Rose of Slaanesh fade, melting away like ice under a blowtorch.

What was underneath was... scary.

Her body was alight with a strange aura as she stood, a dozen different motifs – from flowing tribal slashes to hard edged lightning flashes - and patterns crisscrossed her purple skin. Eyes like the glowing heart of a furnace burned bright purple as she strode forward, her trail marked by the rising brambles.

"So, you'd rather play with that old hag, rather than me?" She asked, completely unaware of everything else around us as she stepped out of the rubble. "I mean... don't take this the wrong way, but I offered you my body, my pleasures. A world's worth of wonders could have been yours. But... you refused me. You – instead – take this Eldar crone and choose to play with her?"

Confused, the Rose cocked her head to the side, her eyes locking onto mine, unblinking as her wide-eyed stare bored into me.

"All of Chaos had prepared itself to accept you as another of its own. You could have become immortal, and all pleasures would have been at your fingertips... but... you refuse it for her? I mean, really? If it had been that failed excuse for a witch, or even that newly inducted Sororitas... warp damn it, even that bespectacled tech-adept... but her? I mean... all considered, the size difference and... well..." The Rose stopped, unable to continue as she just resorted to gesturing vaguely at the Farseer.

"HEY!" Indignant, Zara jammed her helmet back on and pointed her spear out at the Rose, an offended tone to her voice.

The Rose tilted her head to the side. I expected her playfulness to come again, for her to smile and again earnestly enjoy the psychic 'guerre a trois'. But instead, her soft features sharpened into a frown. She gestured once, a sharp flick of the wrist to point her open palm to Zara.

"I'm done playing with you, crone."

Zara snarled.

From where I stood, a few things started happening rather quickly.

Her armor paled into a light brown, sharpening at the edges. In her right hand appeared a single curved scimitar; a Mirror Sword of the Howling Banshees. Stretching out her other arm, a new weapon also grew out of the wraithbone palm; a slender shuriken pistol, her preferred sidearm. Out of Zara's back flared a complex device, made up of both wings and a heavy pack that crackled with energy.

"Are you ready, Slaaneshi whore?"

"Are you done playing with your wraithbone toys, hag?"

The pounding pulse of invisible force slammed into the Rose, throwing her into the air. Another slammed her back down into the ground, then two more rapid 'punches' of psychic force basically made a fine impression. On the ground, that is.

Then, the Farseer leaped forward with a swift movement that seemed too fast for someone who had just become encumbered with so many pieces of equipment. A blink later, she had disappeared into a halo of light.

I saw the Rose's face freeze for a moment, before the Warp Spider's jump generator dumped Zara right above her. The sword flashed, but the Slaaneshi cultist had managed to move her neck out of the way, only to fall victim to a heel drop that would have snapped anyone else's neck.

The two landed heavily, with Zara's shuriken pistol already spitting out a stream of razor-sharp discs. One shuriken cut off a corner from the brickwork that she had emerged from. As it fell, I swear I saw my own reflection in the newly sliced face.

Rose petals swirled through the air, but many were swallowed up by the sudden appearance of a dozen warp portals, the jump drive on her back crackling energy as Zara forced open a maze into the reality of the mindscape.

"DIE!"

She thrust at a portal beside her, and another portal in front of the Rose suddenly ejected a sword.

Rolling away, the Rose returned the favor, pushing a stream of roses through the portal.

Zara was already gone. She ducked and weaved through the attacks, simply not being where the attacks landed as she sent herself through a maze of portals and passageways, twisting through the flumes and apertures in a dizzying display of Jumping.

"Can you keep up with me, you Chaos begotten witch?"

"Can you keep up with your master, you saggy old bitch?"

"WHO SAID MICHAEL WAS MY MASTER! ?"

I facepalmed as the Rose began laughing, and Zara realized what she had just said.

Stopping for a moment, she snarled as she steadied her aim.

Then a dozen rose petals shot forth into her, preceded by a dozen cracks appearing on her chest and legs.

At the back of her armor, a dozen blood red flowers burst out in a grisly spray of fine red crystals. It seemed that it took all of a few seconds for the pain to register, Zara's throat managing a strangled cry as it realized what had happened, and then the Farseer dropped to her knees, before falling, face down onto the floor.

The Rose smiled at me, and stepped out from the rubble of the giant brick.

"See? A broken doll is useless, right? That means you can play with me now, right?"

Aw, fuck.

I had long ago established that trying to shoot at the Rose with regular pistols and 'low velocity' slug throwers was a futile gesture. But then again, I hadn't tried a grenade launcher before then.

"Hey, hey! Listen! Why aren't you lis-"

The stroke of the trigger was accompanied by a sound that could be written down as 'Phwoomp!'

A heartbeat or two later, the Rose was palming a 40mm grenade shell in her hands. Its detonator was sliced neatly off, and lay at her feet.

"Short. Stubby." The Rose observed as she held the shell in her hand, then giggled. "I hope you're not representing yourself here, dear toy."

I snarled as I cast away the useless grenade launcher, but then she disappeared, a dozen booming impacts shaking the ground, blinding me as the dust whipped past my face. The Rose of Slaanesh was gone; by the her-shaped hole in the ground, I figured that she had been pounded into the earth, and wasn't getting up anytime soon.

As soon as I felt that it was safe, I ran over and crouched over Zara, gingerly trying to get her into a position from where I could assess the wounds that had ripped through her armor with such ease. It wasn't easy, getting her psycho-reactive armor to turn itself over. Between her state and mine, Zara may as well have been a statue of granite with her wraithbone armor locked up into a self-preserving freeze, and myself having to continually concentrate on other things, my hands kept on slipping over the smooth plates of her second skin.

Her back was covered in some kind of red crystal, and with a sudden chill I remembered that Eldar blood didn't scab over, but instead crystallized. Just as Zara's had.

"Damn."

Zara... did she have a last name? I wondered if she did. Farseer Zara was all I knew of her. Her personalities... well, they were scattered all around, weren't they? The battlefield had become infinitely huge, now. The two dozen coalition psykers against the many Chaos psykers... we could have spread out over an area so huge now, seeing as I could see flashes of lightning and the destructive whirlwinds of fire in the far, far distance.

Quickly, I dropped a ring of walls on either side of us, boxing the lot of us in.

Behind me, Zara let out a tired sigh and fell back down. "M-michael."

Her voice filtered through her helmet, shaky and distorted. I realized then that one of the rose shards had clipped her mouth, and most of the helmet's right 'jaw' had been shorn right off.

"Can I take the helmet off?" I asked her.

There was a slight, weak nod, which sent me scrambling to pick at her neck, where the helmet was held in place.

"Alright, alright... calm down."

Halt. My hand jerked back as if it had touched white-hot metal. That was a challenge there. It didn't tell me anything, but somehow I knew that something had just stopped me from working the catch. Wraithbone, after all, was psychically activated, wasn't it? It wasn't too far-fetched to think that you had to do the psychic equivalent to hurdles to open it.

This time, I pressed my palm against her neck. Open.

Nothing. Zara's shallow, pained breaths continued to seep out of the ragged hole on the side of her helmet's faceplate. Anger shot through me, heating my cheeks. I snarled and gripped the clasps tighter. Open. Now.

The psychoplastics peeled away, as if it were butter under a blowtorch, my hands revealing a bare neck; it was bleeding along one side, a choker of red crystal marking where the rose-petal had passed. There was a strangled cry from Zara as the helmet was eased off her, and then coughing. She supported herself, her elbow sliding under her to prop herself up, refusing to grab onto my shoulder for support. She looked up at me, and froze. I knew something was wrong, and turned around, quickly scanning my s-

Damn!

Standing right behind me, The Rose observing the two of us with a detached curiosity as she again cocked her head to one side, in the universal gesture for confusion.

"Why do you care for her so much, dear toy? Your broken doll is useless to you. The last time you two interacted, she presented a slap as a gesture of affection!"

Soft, supple arms wrapped around my neck, a delicate hand caressing my jaw. "I haven't hurt you... yet. I offer you many things, dear toy. I offer you my body, I offer you pleasures beyond compare."

A flexible tongue began to lick at my ear, her soft bites setting my earlobe ablaze. If she could make me shake and tremble like this just from nibbling on my ear, then... what could she do if I were a volunteer? If I decided to have her, here and now? What pleasures c- Dammit, Michael. Focus! FOCUS!

"I heard that you were called a 'governor' by the Imperials." Her voice – soft and playful again – whispered in my ear as I tried to reach for Zara, her hand stopping me mid-motion. "Of the two trillion inhabitants of our galaxy, there are maybe two million such individuals who can claim such a title, including yourself."

She slipped around me, graceful and limber. "Of those two million or so, I have met four face-to-face, and killed one."

Reaching up, my hand was pressed against her face. I couldn't resist. Her eyes were enchanting. Literally. My body had become frozen. Unable to move except for what she allowed.

"Those four could – theoretically – order an entire world to bow down or burn. They decide the fate of billions across entire star systems."

I was allowed a voice again.

"And your point is?"

"That, with the 'Imperials', they mock you with their label. You command... what? A house? Yourself? You have no authority, you have no power. Not now, anyway." She purred.

"Let me guess: with you, I will have that power?"

Her smile widened.

"Exactly, Michael."

My name slid off her tongue, dripping with sweetness and sensuality, with promises and pleasure only a single monosyllable away. I closed my eyes, trembling as a shock of pleasure raced up and down my spine. Just what could she do?

Curiosity and carnal need pushed and shoved all other thoughts from my mind as she climbed on top of me, her arms wrapped around mine.

"You, Michael, shall be the greatest Governor of all." The Rose murmured, as if lost in her own world. She was talking to herself, I realized. Plans and promises dribbled out of her. "Entire worlds will be doomed by your command, a billion voices shall scream your name. Stars will bow or burn by your command. Power greater than that of any lapdog psyker of the False Emperor or the dead Gods of the Eldar will be held in your palms."

I managed a smile, through the haze of her enchantments. "All for the right price, I assume? That's... tempting."

Her eyes and smile widened, her hips were grinding against my stomach in anticipation. "Yes... yes..."

I interrupted her. She was losing focus; my arms were free, now.

"So, tell me... why don't you have this power yourself?"

"Slaanesh has not yet seen it fit to allow me such power, as I have already come at the limits of my strengths." She explained. "You, however, have the capacity to wield such powers."

"That makes me think, though. What's in it for you?"

"Me? My price is simple: A place at your side, and in your bed." The Rose giggled. "I may not have power to match your own, but I feel that you should be a very... interesting man to be about. That counts for a lot. Nobody else is quite like you, Michael, not anyone that I've ever met before. You aren't zealous like those Space Marines, you are your own man, aren't you? I love that kind of man, and sadly enough, until now they've all been rather fictional."

I shook my head.

"And all I have to do is sign here, initial there?"

A brief flash of confusion crossed her features. "... what?"

I drew my head back, a-

"Get away from them!"

A kick sent the Rose into the sky, traveling at a velocity most seen in the trajectories of artillery shells. The shockwave caused by her sudden acceleration kicked up a dustcloud going in all directions, choking my already taxed lungs. My nose felt like it had just missed being lopped off in a dramatic and violent (not to mention bloody) manner.

The younger, much more emotional Zara lowered her leg, which still crackled with eldritch energies, and dropped to her knees. She was breathing heavily, and it showed. I wasn't sure about the absolute mechanics about this, but it seemed like she wasn't exactly swimming in psychic power juice at the moment. The most fitting analogy that cropped up in my mind was that the girl had almost suffocated herself while trying to blow out a candle.

I gulped as I stood back up. "W-whoa."

To think that, in all the times that I had met her, she seemed so... weak. Well, I guess it was because I had been somewhat of a shoulder to cry on, so she had absolutely no reason to... err... overreact to me... but... I gave out a long, slow sigh.

Looking at her now, she wasn't quite in the casual garb that I had seen her wearing recently. Instead, she had a black suit of wraithbone armor. Nothing fancy, just... well, it was the armor the 'Guardian's used, right? It appeared to be a cut-down version, without any embellishments, a helmet nor, it seemed, any weapons. A blank slate armor, if I could call it anything.

"Just what are you, anyway?" I hurriedly forced the rest of my question along, before the worried Zara could become worried about the implications of the question. "I mean, everyone else had a job or something... but I haven't figured you out. Just what are you?"

Young-Zara blushed. "I was... I'm... well..."

She took a deep breath, slowly falling to her knees as she let it out. "I'm nothing. I only exist for the reasons of holding memories that the other personae do not wish to hold on to."

A pensive look flashed across her face just before the younger Zara clenched her fists and stood back up.

Her voice was – now that the adrenaline had faded down – shaky and uncertain. Almost familiar. "M-michael. Please h-help me... I mean... the Farseer. I'll... I'll go call for help."

I nodded , and as the slim dark shape disappeared into the twilight's gathering darkness, I bent down to scoop up the battered Farseer. "Hey... Zara? You aren't dead yet, are you?"

The wounded persona made a noise between a cough and a snort of derision. "Saved by my emotional baggage personified." She growled. "How... embarrassing."

"Get a therapist." I suggested, shrugging. Reaching underneath her armpits, I lifted her up onto her feet, draping an arm over my shoulder so that I could support her until she could stand by herself. Even this action caused Zara to radiate an aura of agitation. She clearly wasn't happy about this; you could feel it in the air, like having to stand in stinging rain. "Can you walk?" I asked. Even so, my eyes were scanning the distant horizon.

All considered, I was actually surprised that the Rose had not already shrugged off this attack and had made another pass at me.

… but, y'know what? Seems like whoever decides what happens in my life just loves to prove me wrong sometimes.

"Michael! Hee~ey!"

Dammit...

"Zara. Projectile weapons don't work, neither does dropping things on her. I don't think las-weapons will even hurt her. What else is there?"

Her eyes fixed upon my hand.

Alright. No more projectile weapons.

I reached into the ground, my hand clawing into the dark earth below.

Following behind me as I pulled my arm back out, the jet-black chainsword was soon gripped firmly in my hand as I drew it out of the earth, almost five feet long and weighing in somewhere around the twenty-pound region. It was light, as far as the AK-47 of mechanized close combat weapons went; made of more brittle materials than its real-life cousins, I never intended for this particular one to be a durable weapon, anyway. The blades hummed with anticipation as the backs wing shroud resonated with the buzzing motor. It was a grey color, and bore no markings.

Holding the snarling weapon in both hands, I stepped between the Rose and Zara.

"Still trying to protect that broken doll?" She asked, tilting her head to the side. "Perhaps you enjoy a broken woman? Oh, if you do..." The head rolled back, and a throaty laugh sent my spine tingling.

The Rose licked her lips, her eyes bright.

I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth. The stance changed from a ready stance to a crouch. I straightened one leg, lifting it into the air, then stomped on the ground, sending my consciousness through the earth beneath. This world was malleable. Some rules of the universe could be bent. Others, broken. Right now, I was taking a leaf out of the attack patterns of alchemists. A dozen fists made of compressed earth burst out from underneath her, but the Rose had already leaped up into the air.

Another stomp sent a half dozen roughly formed longswords shooting up to join the sky-walking Slaaneshi cultist, but as the heavy blades hummed towards her lithe body, the Rose twisted with an uncanny flexibility, managing to avoid each blade as they passed by.

She landed with the grace of a cat, her palms slapping against the ground as her knees folded up beneath her. Bent over and crouched down on all fours, she looked up at me, face grinning with insane ecstasy as her hair finally caught up with her.

There was a soft, amused giggle. "I didn't know you could do that."

I shrugged. "Me neither."

With all considered, I was probably just as surprised as she was, that visualizing and then willing what you wanted to happen would actually work. Now, without missing a beat, I slapped both hands onto the ground.

There was a single command as I visualized what was going to happen. "MASH!"

A line appeared in front of her, separating the two of us. They then shot off at right angles, glowing trail marking the square boundaries of this new attack. The earth bulged as a square section of the ground flipped up, hinging on the edge closest to her, and the heavy brick flopped over to slam down on the Rose.

She was dancing back, having escaped the artificial jaws, and then were chased by the miniature mountain range of swords that followed after her, still too slow to catch up with their target. The Rose landed after drifting some distance, her toes skimming the ground for a few feet, throwing up a trail of dust, before landing on the ground.

Then the Hammer of Michael struck home.

It was a tank. A Leman Russ carbon copy, at least, of my first contact with the 41st Millennium. The shell of one, that I had constructed in the sky. The three thousand foot drop made it a little hard to aim, so instead of slamming down from above like the wrath of a vengeful god, the tank simply landed beside the Rose, its solid mass compressing the ground beneath it. The ground shook as an artificial earthquake as a tank at near-terminal velocity slapped the earth, knocking both the Rose and myself onto our knees.

More miscellaneous items fell: Giant fruit the size of small buildings (from 8th Grade art), a rather mangled bust of myself, a rather realistic wooden replica of a hand grenade the size of a helicopter...

I stopped caring after the play-dough collection began to rain down, crude parodies of cars, airplanes, people and various other objects that I had tried to replicate with the soft, malleable plasticine dough.

The Rose landed atop an airplane, which had both wings broken off but the tail-mounted engines intact.

"Is this what I think it is, dear t-"

She stopped, realizing that I wasn't where I had been standing.

The shimmering black wings of the Swooping Hawks was definitely not something designed to be used while you're not in Aspect Warrior armor. It was like getting a wedgie, except that it encompassed your whole body. Luckily, I wasn't going nearly as fast as I had seen some of these particularly hardy Eldar warriors had in the twists and turns of their dogfights.

Instead, I was going at a steady forty miles an hour when I lowered the humming chainsword just enough to catch the Rose's face in a high-speed fly-by.

Rip and tear. The chainsaw bit deep into the gnarled wood that she had placed in the way, and was ripped out of my hands as she brought down the staff onto the shroud. The weapon shattered, and I tumbled through the air, fighting for control as I wrestled with the desperately flapping wings. It took me a hair-raising five seconds to regain something resembling a coherent flightpath, and crashed into a play-dough airplane.

Alright, one more bad idea off the list.

Stumbling out, I had about a heartbeat's worth of warning before a massive rose-stem – cut down to a fine spear-tip – plunged halfway into the soft dough behind me.

Crouching down, I roadied it as far away from that thing as I could, keeping low as the Rose sent more barbed lances as thick as my wrist through the air. What the hell was she thinking, anyway, trying to stab me with these massive weapons?

It wasn't until the first rose-petal fluttered past my face, as big as a dinner plate, that I realized that she was taking advantage of my allergies. I coughed, spluttered, and then breathed a sigh of relief as I managed to palm a rebreather over my face. It was something of the same model as the one used by the Kasrkin, except more portable. I knew, however, that this would mean that time was at a premium.

The power sword was the next option, rising out of the ground at my command.

Hefting the katana-shaped weapon, I pulled it free and turned to where the black roses had appeared from.

The Rose was grinning, her eyes blank as she too began to bring up weapons around her; slender rapiers and stiletto knives all the way up to broadswords and battle-hammers that a Space Marine would have had trouble lifting. I noticed, as the shining white weapons were pulled free from the ground, that each had a flower theme to it.

Gathering around her, they shot into the sky, and then it began to rain weapons.

The first was a trickle of knives, each one falling from the sky. I side-stepped one, only to suffer a near miss from another. Steadily, the blades became larger as I fought to keep my concentration away from the obvious question: What was happening to Zara?

Obviously, I had now become her target, and right then...

A sword slipped past my attention, and went right through my thigh. I didn't even have time to scream before a second one passed through my palm, pinning that to the ground as well.

The Rose was advancing upon me again, as I struggled to keep still and not collapse.

"So, dear toy... heh, Michael." She licked her lips with the tongue of a snake, before flashing a wicked smile. "I was rather... disappointed." A three-foot long sword fell between her feet, and she rested her hands on the pommel, leaning forward to do so. The Rose grinned at me, her eyes flashing with an evil light. "I'd have thought that someone who had managed to survive old Belavich would have had more talent." She straightened up, inching forwards, getting closer and closer as I tried to act. Pain and my transfixed limbs were paralyzing me as surely as any poison.

"Instead, I have this disappointing fight. You didn't even scratch me." She giggled, finally reaching my hand, and licking my blood off the blade. Seizing the sword, she pulled it out of the ground, and held it tenderly in her hand.

"I honestly have no idea why my Prince Slaanesh wished of you." The Rose shrugged, grabbing my wrist. The pressure of her tight grip was powerful, and more blood flowed from my palm as she held it to her lips. "No real power, nor any skills. You have some idea of the pleasures of life, but not very much." She twisted my wrist around and around, and I realized that she was just playing with me for the hell of it, for the pain that she inflicted in spite.

"I do wonder..." She sighed, pulling her hands away from the sword's pommel and pulling out a small knife. Its blade wasn't larger than my index finger, made of mirror-smooth steel. And, most importantly, The Rose's eyes fixed themselves upon my neck. I found my breathing shallow and fast, just like Zara's. Pain and terror was rushing through my body, and I struggled just for my eyes to follow her movements, let alone resist.

"I do wonder..." The Rose whispered, repeating herself, as she pressed the flat of the blade against my neck "If he will be satisfied with just your head?" As my eyes widened, they began to search for anything that could save me, scanning everywhere. All that I noticed was that she was gently rocking back and forth as she held the short sword between her thighs, her breath coming to her faster as she licked her lips, sweat starting to form on her brow as her rocking hastened. I realized where the pommel was, what it was pressed against.

Oh God, she was getting turned on by this.

"Or... perhaps your heart?" The blade trailed down, leaving a line of fire as its tip traced a curved line from my throat down to my chest.

There was movement behind the Rose.

Someone's heel drop hit her in the small of her back, driving the sword up into her.

A scream of both ecstasy and alarm filled the air, pounding at my ears as the knife flashed, slashing a line from just above my heart to my right shoulder. The sword in my thigh cracked, and fell apart into petals of red as I stumbled, finally able to land on the ground.

"That was for the Farseer."

Zara the Howling Banshee stabbed her left foot into the ground and then brought her right around, the appropriate boot snapping the Rose's head round, then spun again to kick her away with her left leg.

"And that was for Michael, bitch."

"GWAHAHA! Dat'z more loik it, pointee eahs!" Drawled the Ork wierdboyz, their twisted and battered gatling guns in their hands.

"I do presume that this isn't a new and potentially dangerous combat style? Recalling correctly, a sword is supposed to be held in one's hand, correct?"

"JUST SHUT UP AND BLAST HER." Growled the towering Avatar of Zara, her glowing red skin crackling as she brandished the massive Wailing Doom, her earth-shaking footsteps getting closer as she pushed past the two Orks and hurled the weapon.

The Rose struggled, jumping up onto her feet as she recovered, and managed to move out of the way of the howling blade. It struck one of the tanks that I had tried to drop on the Slaaneshi cultist. There was a flash of light, and I glimpsed hell for a brief moment before it all disappeared, leaving just a crater of ash.

Wraithbone spread through the ground, zig-zagging into an unescapable webwork of white lines on the black earth. The Bonesinger's instrument (it looked like a bagpipe, but only the Eldar knew what it was called) cast its shrill tones into the air, enchanting and terrifyingly beautiful as the black robed woman advanced.

The air beside the Rose shimmered, and a portal the size of a basketball appeared. She turned to look into it, but a red gauntlet shot out, punching her in the head. The wraithbone shot out of the ground, moving in three dimensions, and wrapped around her ankles as she recovered from the sucker punch. For a brief moment, I could almost laugh at her pain if it were not for mine.

"Boom." Whispered the camouflaged form of Zara the Ranger as she stroked the trigger of the oversized weapon in her hands. The ringing in my ears took a second to fade, since 'sniper artillery' was the best way to describe its size and effect.

The Rose's violent movements meant that she lost her left arm to the shot, rather than her head. That earned a 'tsk' of disappointment from the Ranger. A monomolecular shuriken sliced open her thigh, and she screamed in fury as more Zaras – the ones that could fight plus one – advanced upon her.

Assailed with a mishmash of combat styles that covered everything from medieval age sword-swinging to modern sniper tactics, she went berserk. Wings sprouted from her back as horns began to spiral out of her temples. Fingers lengthened into claws as the Rose began to transform into something very unlike the woman that had tried to tempt me.

Someone flipped a trio of missiles to punch her out of the sky, and I saw at least one lance of las fire rip across her chest. A cannon boomed just after one of the wings disintegrated, shredded by the flak. Around us, the Zaras prepared and then fired cannon that I could fit my head into, each shell pushing the Rose back, little by little.

The Rose screamed, a screech that tore at the mind. But Zara – all of her – kept on fighting. Reality began unzipping behind her as she warded off the attacks, before a final lance of light pierced her shoulder.

Hissing at us, her blazing eyes drowning in rage, the Rose whispered.

I shall be back. I shall claim my prize, and none of you shall deny me.

"Come and try, Whore of Slaanesh." The Zaras replied. "For we will deny you of anything. Except the consolation prize."

Another, vaguely phallic missile hissed out, and was slashed apart before it could blow up in her face.

The Rose snarled once more, and then retreated into the portal.

I fell over, exhausted. A few Zaras crowded around me, before one pushed past. One that was familiar; the dark haired, timid bearer of all their mental trauma.

"Where is everyone else?" I asked, looking around for anyone that wasn't Zara.

"Keeping daemons and sorcerers busy while we took care of this one." Answered Zara the younger.

She draped one of my arms over her shoulder, and pulled me up to my feet. Together, we limped my tired body over to Zara the Farseer. When we got to her, I was worried; she was chuckling. As I was laid down beside her, Zara the younger looking over our wounds, I asked her what was the matter.

Weakly, she shrugged. 'Oh the irony' were her last words before one of the Zaras stabbed me with a needle, and I blacked out.

Again.

But this time, it was different.

The darkness was comforting, promising nothing more than rest and silence.

Escape.

Unfortunately, it wouldn't last.

I awoke to Vincent (not very high up on the list of things I'd like to wake up to, but at least he wasn't trying to eat my face), who was slapping me in the face, his bespectacled mug a study of concern.

With him treating me like that, I headbutted him, just for petty revenge, and then fell asleep again from the dizzying pain in my forehead. That guy had a hard skull, let me tell you.

The next I saw of him, he was clutching his forehead, pained but obviously relieved. "Gah. Ow. Okay. You're awake."

His face was smudged and smeared with blood in some places, his clothes damaged and bandaged up in a dozen different places. A quick check revealed that my body, however, bore none of the wounds that I had taken when in the mindscape.

I looked around. We were inside my house, with me on the couch. Just... just how much time had passed?

"How long was I out? Where is everyone? What happened?"

Vincent chuckled, and took a deep breath: "In order; about an hour since that psychic kamikaze by Batel's... er... father." He said the word hesitantly, as if afraid to associate the young girl with such a monster. Glancing around, he sighed. "Everyone is... everywhere. We're cleaning up the wounded and the dead, or catching some rest. Most of us are okay... or at least are going to be... that little girl... she's like... uh... y'know, a Pally? Like she can do Righteous Lay on Hands and... well, bring you back from the dead."

I paused, looking at him in confusion. My voice ventured into more familiar territory; "Okay..."