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Description
A wooden cross is the prime symbol for repentance for any citizen on a Church world. And none on the world of Cumula, one of the holiest sites in the edge between Segmentum Obscurus and the Gothic sector, would question the acts that the local established forces of the Order of the Argent Shroud committed. The world was in the line where raw Chaos energy poured from the Eye of Terror towards the Gothic sector, and so there were many cults and heretics that arose. The Sisterhood performed an exceptional role in containing the threat, working alongside the members of the Arbites that patrolled the hives to stamp out many heretical uprisings. Many hundreds of power-hungry traitors, insane heretics and desperate criminals were burned, shot and publically executed in the effort to keep the Chaos threat down.
But despite the best efforts of the two groups, the Chaos uprising still occured. Even though the Planetary Defense Forces were mobilized and the 488th Cadian Regiment being deployed to quell the uprisings in the Hive Cities, the heretic masses still managed to summon hordes of daemons onto the world.
The cross bumped, waking the man nailed to it as the Servitors carried the massive object made of sanctified wood into the main chamber. There, a figure in exquisite gilded armour of a silver colour, with the Inquisitorial sigil on the chestplate worked at a console, manipulating levers and moving chains. Sixteen other figures walked into the room, pulled along by collar and chain, connected to a rail above their heads.
The man and the cross were moved into place of a circle. The silver-armoured figure puffed a small cloud of smoke out of his mouth from the lho-stick, and flicked aside the stub. The large, wooden thing was moved into place, and the silver-armoured figure moved into the impaled man's field of vision. Upon the smoker's face was a scowl of disgust. The man on the cross looked up, silently pleading 'Why?'.

As if satisfied with something, the armoured one turned back, and kept working at his station. The wooden frame of the cross was taken up in the arms of Servitor stationary systems, and the tug of gravity shifted till the hair of person affixed to the cross dangled down, as did his head. To the ones with collars around their necks that were being forced into position he looked like some ancient religious figure, suffering for them, fixed to that cross with nails of purest steel.
The armoured man turned, opened a book and set it down upon the table. From the corner of his eye, the man nailed to the cross could see that it was something of heresy; the runes inscribed in dried blood on the pages hurt to look at, and even as the impaled man looked away, the pain carried on stabbing into his eyes like a physical force. The silver-armoured man made some strange gestures, as well as speaking in some kind of tongue that was unfamiliar, and wrong. Over the sound of sobbing from the chained figures, and the strange chanting of the silver-armoured man, and through the struggling breaths of the man on the cross himself, gunfire and screams sounded through the closed door at the end of the chamber, before it burst open and the sounds of battle tore through fully. A woman in armour of silver bearing a red-lined, scorched and bloodstained Bolter rifle in her hands advanced forward, a disgusted scowl present on her features.

Canoness Alysia was a businesslike woman. She had always purged the heretic in the most efficient of ways, cracked down on treason swiftly and subtly, then with brutal zeal, and she was not one to tolerate any dissidence within the ranks of her subordinates and equals alike. So when the Radical Ordo Malleus Inquisitor Drakyen had arrived on the world in which her Chapel was located, she was infuriated. By the time that she returned to her Sisters, disheartened and having endured a lecture by her frightening superior, the Ecclesiarch Rovulen, the Inquisitor had already begun experiments of his own. The few reports he gave, as many holes as they already had, painted far too disgusting a picture for the Canoness to stand. Time and time again, she had to reassure her Sisters that her own anger was for her own failings, and not direct contradiction of their Order's nature of selfless help and near-silent devotion and duty. Now, however, the Ecclesiarchs and the Administratum adepts and all that stopped her from getting to him were dead. Killed by the tides of Chaos that had flooded their world.
She advanced through the room, and levelled her Bolter Rifle at the Inquisitor even as her Sisters behind her moved and secured the doorway. Six sisters, not including the wounded Taralia with her Heavy Bolter held the doorway. Daemons were purged and blasted back into the Warp, and the ichor of the Chaos cultists splattered along with their red entrails on the walls of the Inquisitor's building. He didn't look up, or stop his chanting. Only when she had her Bolter against his forehead did he pause. All within the room sensed a cold dispersal of some sorcery. Drakyen was not amused, at all.
"What in the Emperor's name do you think you are doing, Inquisitor?" she hissed out in fury before he could speak.
"I was about to proceed with a final experiment. One that has the potential to save us all." he said, not at all pertrubed by her heavy-caliber armament being held to his head.
Feral screams sounded, and Alysia turned, and blanched at the sight of a huge daemon charging towards her sisters. Just as she raised her gun for a shot, a searing beam of light flew through and melted a hole right through the large, charging daemon. It collapsed, and with a small bang of chaotic energies it dissipated and bled back into the Warp. Alysia whipped her head back, and saw the Inquisitor with his index finger raised, a small ring glowing with heat on it.
"Is that what I think it is, Inquisitor?" She asked, turning back to provide long-range support for her subordinates.
"Yes, it is a Digi-Weapon. I found it in a Necron Tomb World. How it got there, I'll never know." he said idly. "Now are you going to let me do this, or do you wish to die today?"
For a moment, she considered. As her Sisters' prayers and litanies ceased to be replaced by howls of pain, she turned to aid them. "I hope you know what you're doing, Inquisitor. For all our sakes." she finally spat out in disgust, before advancing again and rejoining her Sisters.

The man affixed to the cross cried out, or would have had he any voice. Instead, he only gave the mute rasping sound which consisted of the entirety of what he could do. Cold, lancing energy pierced his body, though when the man looked down he saw that he was unblemished and unharmed. Pitiful and pained screams echoed from the chained figures in the center of the room, and as the Inquisitor kept chanting and murmuring strange words in the cursed tongues of sorcery, they began to die. The second from the left screamed, before his head jerked to the side until it flopped down, dislocated from his body. An eerie golden-purplish light of hues not meant to be seen by mortal eyes leaked out from the still-standing corpse, until it was drained and dropped as far as it could until the limp corpse was slumped on the floor, head and neck still being pulled up by the collar around it.
The third from the left expired too, giving a scream as its head was set ablaze. Again, that substance leaked out in the same manner as it had with the previous. Simultaneously, the last on the left and the fourth on the right died, shrivelling up and curling in on themselves as they hung from the chain around their necks, their screams muffled by their own flesh which they bit in pain. One by one, the rest of them died, and the unknown substance for which those captive heretics had died floated into the air between their now-lifeless bodies and the man affixed to the cross. The pain within the man's form spiked, and the mute rasping noise again sounded from the man as his face was distorted in pain. Drakyen waved his hand, starting up a new chant, and reached out almost as if he were to grab the large, swirling ball of substance that hung in the air. As he moved his arms, chanting in the tongues of sorcery all the while, the substance moved through the air towards the man until it touched his flesh.
Immediately, the man again fell to untold pain, though his mute rasping was drowned out by the loud crackling which sounded from the substance. That one point had felt as though it was being actively electrocuted, as well as being frozen. All around it, the man's senses told him that he was on fire, but he couldn't see due to the brilliant, harsh light which the ball of substance exuded. As more and more came into contact with his flesh, the pain increased tenfold, then a thousandfold as it enveloped over all of him. Eventually he was submerged, and as he felt his flesh burn and bubble and spark, his vision fell to darkness.
Drakyen continued his sorcery until the energy was successfully input into the subject's body. He pressed a button on the console behind him idly, and the chains affixed to the rail dragged the corpses off to unknown places. The Inquisitor turned a page of the tome before him, and raised his hands, with lightning crackling and frost forming around his hands as he began to manipulate the form on the cross, and the energy within it.
The unconscious body on the cross began to shift and shudder, before the cross started to be tugged upwards by the man affixed to it. Gravity reversed, and the man's center was tugged up by the inverted forces. And then, his body started to change. Beaten, bruised and malnourished flesh changed, shifted and grew. The pale, grey-tinged flesh gave way to strong muscle of a deep black hue. The tips of his fingers lenthened, narrowed and hardened until they formed into flesh-tearing claws. The man gave a final howl of pain as the Inquisitor finished his sorceries, and gravity reasserted itself. And the man awoke, with deep hunger in his mind.
He freed himself from the pathetic thing. The nails that formerly held him down were no contest to his massive strength. He got up, and immediately he tasted the foul, arid stench of the daemons of Chaos. He jerked himself forward, to what he sensed was sustenance. Small, twinging pains originated from his hands and feet, but he ignored these. His gaze and his attention was fixed on the sustenance charging down the hallway.

The Canoness had turned when the man on the cross gave that unearthly, bone-chilling howl of pain. But what she turned and saw was no man. A monstrosity had made its way off the cross which lay soaked with blood and charred with raw power. And it was charging at her. She muttered a hasty prayer to the God-Emperor and turned to face the charging thing. The sanctified Bolter rounds that flew at it were utterly shrugged off and the thing was barely hindered in its approach of her. Shamefully, she closed her eyes and awaited her death, only to feel nothing save a gust of wind that lightly blew her hair aside. She opened her eyes to see the thing gone.

He had leapt up and pushed himself off the wall into the charging food when the woman in front of him did not budge. And then, with the daemon-food charging at him, he began his feast. The first driblet of sustenance had oozed out of the dissipating form of a Bloodletter as it charged, and was torn asunder by his claw. The energy of it bled out, and that same substance bled into him, energising and invigorating the daemonized man. He gave a keening roar of satisfaction, before he lunged, biting down and drinking in the energies of the daemon as it was dissipated. The Chaos swirled about him, before it bled away, finding its host soul-energy gone. He continued in his feast, and daemon after daemon was dissipated, and their energies devoured. A slash to one's head, and feeling it burst under his hand. Energy bled into him and tingled as it soothed his searing flesh like a cool, implacable drop of liquid spreading and quelling a flame. Another daemon died as he lunged and bit down on its reptilian head, and again the glorious energy bled into his form and sated his form's hunger slightly. More was needed. From what he could see through the haze of daemonic rage and hunger, many more daemons were coming. Had he any muscles in his face at that time, the man would have grinned in delight.

While his creation's rampage was being held back by the tides of Chaos daemons that previously had been pouring against the tight-knit group of Sisters, which the Canoness was heading, Drakyen was busy packing away his equipment and sealing the book in a warding container. He finished his clearing, and advanced forward until he with his baggage, which itself was being handled by a Servitor, was at the Sisters' line.
"Come. Let us leave in his wake, while he is slaughtering them and hungry." Drakyen casually said, and started forward just as the click of Alysia's Bolter rifle sounded and he glanced to see her disgusted form holding it to his head in tranquil fury.
"Are you insane? What if it turns on us?" she hissed out the questions. The Inquisitor smiled.
"He will not turn on us. He hungers for raw soul-energy. As you may see, he has a preference for the soul-energies of the followers of Chaos." he said casually, smiling at the figure on the other side of the Bolter being held to his head. "As for my own sanity, it is quite intact. I knew what I was doing. He-"
"It." Alysia interrupted him. "It. It is a foul daemon and its very existence is a blasphemy."
Drakyen grinned. "He. He will not turn on us. Do not worry yourself about my work. I knew what I was doing." the Inquisitor said, before hefting his bag again and moving her Bolter away from his head with a gauntleted finger. "Do not doubt my competence, Canoness. I can assure you, it will be your undoing. Now come. Let us leave." he said, and started to walk forward through a blood-soaked corridor.

He burst out the doors and leapt through the air to latch himself onto a winged one. Their combined weight brought them down to the ferrocrete ground, and as he bit down into the thing's neck, it burst underneath him even as the energy bled into his body. He straightened slightly, before lunging forward again at a mass of Chaos cultists wearing the sigil of Tzeentch. Tearing them apart, the man found that their energy was different. More blue than anything else, and it had a distinct crystalline tinge to it. The man tossed and turned his head, trying to sense where more food was. Finding none, he threw his head back and roared in frustration, feeling the burn within his flesh come to a crescendo before it intensified, and his muscles felt as though they were tearing themselves apart. He squeezed his eyes in pain, collapsed to his knees with his head and hands held up, and howled in pain. When it receded, he was smaller. And as he held them out in front of him, he saw that his hands were human. He was normal again. Shakily, the man stood to see a group of silver-armoured figures approach.
He recognised the Inquisitor Drakyen, as well as the Canoness Alysia. What they were doing here, before him, was beyond his knowledge. He simply took a reverent knee before his strength failed and he collapsed sideways. The last things he saw were Alysia's face, disgusted and slightly pitying, and Drakyen's dismissively indifferent own. Then he fell into black, smothering, dreamless unconsciousness.

Description
A wooden cross is the prime symbol for repentance for any citizen on a Church world. And none on the world of Cumula, one of the holiest sites in the edge between Segmentum Obscurus and the Gothic sector, would question the acts that the local established forces of the Order of the Argent Shroud committed. The world was in the line where raw Chaos energy poured from the Eye of Terror towards the Gothic sector, and so there were many cults and heretics that arose. The Sisterhood performed an exceptional role in containing the threat, working alongside the members of the Arbites that patrolled the hives to stamp out many heretical uprisings. Many hundreds of power-hungry traitors, insane heretics and desperate criminals were burned, shot and publically executed in the effort to keep the Chaos threat down.
But despite the best efforts of the two groups, the Chaos uprising still occured. Even though the Planetary Defense Forces were mobilized and the 488th Cadian Regiment being deployed to quell the uprisings in the Hive Cities, the heretic masses still managed to summon hordes of daemons onto the world.
The cross bumped, waking the man nailed to it as the Servitors carried the massive object made of sanctified wood into the main chamber. There, a figure in exquisite gilded armour of a silver colour, with the Inquisitorial sigil on the chestplate worked at a console, manipulating levers and moving chains. Sixteen other figures walked into the room, pulled along by collar and chain, connected to a rail above their heads.
The man and the cross were moved into place of a circle. The silver-armoured figure puffed a small cloud of smoke out of his mouth from the lho-stick, and flicked aside the stub. The large, wooden thing was moved into place, and the silver-armoured figure moved into the impaled man's field of vision. Upon the smoker's face was a scowl of disgust. The man on the cross looked up, silently pleading 'Why?'.

As if satisfied with something, the armoured one turned back, and kept working at his station. The wooden frame of the cross was taken up in the arms of Servitor stationary systems, and the tug of gravity shifted till the hair of person affixed to the cross dangled down, as did his head. To the ones with collars around their necks that were being forced into position he looked like some ancient religious figure, suffering for them, fixed to that cross with nails of purest steel.
The armoured man turned, opened a book and set it down upon the table. From the corner of his eye, the man nailed to the cross could see that it was something of heresy; the runes inscribed in dried blood on the pages hurt to look at, and even as the impaled man looked away, the pain carried on stabbing into his eyes like a physical force. The silver-armoured man made some strange gestures, as well as speaking in some kind of tongue that was unfamiliar, and wrong. Over the sound of sobbing from the chained figures, and the strange chanting of the silver-armoured man, and through the struggling breaths of the man on the cross himself, gunfire and screams sounded through the closed door at the end of the chamber, before it burst open and the sounds of battle tore through fully. A woman in armour of silver bearing a red-lined, scorched and bloodstained Bolter rifle in her hands advanced forward, a disgusted scowl present on her features.

Canoness Alysia was a businesslike woman. She had always purged the heretic in the most efficient of ways, cracked down on treason swiftly and subtly, then with brutal zeal, and she was not one to tolerate any dissidence within the ranks of her subordinates and equals alike. So when the Radical Ordo Malleus Inquisitor Drakyen had arrived on the world in which her Chapel was located, she was infuriated. By the time that she returned to her Sisters, disheartened and having endured a lecture by her frightening superior, the Ecclesiarch Rovulen, the Inquisitor had already begun experiments of his own. The few reports he gave, as many holes as they already had, painted far too disgusting a picture for the Canoness to stand. Time and time again, she had to reassure her Sisters that her own anger was for her own failings, and not direct contradiction of their Order's nature of selfless help and near-silent devotion and duty. Now, however, the Ecclesiarchs and the Administratum adepts and all that stopped her from getting to him were dead. Killed by the tides of Chaos that had flooded their world.
She advanced through the room, and levelled her Bolter Rifle at the Inquisitor even as her Sisters behind her moved and secured the doorway. Six sisters, not including the wounded Taralia with her Heavy Bolter held the doorway. Daemons were purged and blasted back into the Warp, and the ichor of the Chaos cultists splattered along with their red entrails on the walls of the Inquisitor's building. He didn't look up, or stop his chanting. Only when she had her Bolter against his forehead did he pause. All within the room sensed a cold dispersal of some sorcery. Drakyen was not amused, at all.
"What in the Emperor's name do you think you are doing, Inquisitor?" she hissed out in fury before he could speak.
"I was about to proceed with a final experiment. One that has the potential to save us all." he said, not at all pertrubed by her heavy-caliber armament being held to his head.
Feral screams sounded, and Alysia turned, and blanched at the sight of a huge daemon charging towards her sisters. Just as she raised her gun for a shot, a searing beam of light flew through and melted a hole right through the large, charging daemon. It collapsed, and with a small bang of chaotic energies it dissipated and bled back into the Warp. Alysia whipped her head back, and saw the Inquisitor with his index finger raised, a small ring glowing with heat on it.
"Is that what I think it is, Inquisitor?" She asked, turning back to provide long-range support for her subordinates.
"Yes, it is a Digi-Weapon. I found it in a Necron Tomb World. How it got there, I'll never know." he said idly. "Now are you going to let me do this, or do you wish to die today?"
For a moment, she considered. As her Sisters' prayers and litanies ceased to be replaced by howls of pain, she turned to aid them. "I hope you know what you're doing, Inquisitor. For all our sakes." she finally spat out in disgust, before advancing again and rejoining her Sisters.

The man affixed to the cross cried out, or would have had he any voice. Instead, he only gave the mute rasping sound which consisted of the entirety of what he could do. Cold, lancing energy pierced his body, though when the man looked down he saw that he was unblemished and unharmed. Pitiful and pained screams echoed from the chained figures in the center of the room, and as the Inquisitor kept chanting and murmuring strange words in the cursed tongues of sorcery, they began to die. The second from the left screamed, before his head jerked to the side until it flopped down, dislocated from his body. An eerie golden-purplish light of hues not meant to be seen by mortal eyes leaked out from the still-standing corpse, until it was drained and dropped as far as it could until the limp corpse was slumped on the floor, head and neck still being pulled up by the collar around it.
The third from the left expired too, giving a scream as its head was set ablaze. Again, that substance leaked out in the same manner as it had with the previous. Simultaneously, the last on the left and the fourth on the right died, shrivelling up and curling in on themselves as they hung from the chain around their necks, their screams muffled by their own flesh which they bit in pain. One by one, the rest of them died, and the unknown substance for which those captive heretics had died floated into the air between their now-lifeless bodies and the man affixed to the cross. The pain within the man's form spiked, and the mute rasping noise again sounded from the man as his face was distorted in pain. Drakyen waved his hand, starting up a new chant, and reached out almost as if he were to grab the large, swirling ball of substance that hung in the air. As he moved his arms, chanting in the tongues of sorcery all the while, the substance moved through the air towards the man until it touched his flesh.
Immediately, the man again fell to untold pain, though his mute rasping was drowned out by the loud crackling which sounded from the substance. That one point had felt as though it was being actively electrocuted, as well as being frozen. All around it, the man's senses told him that he was on fire, but he couldn't see due to the brilliant, harsh light which the ball of substance exuded. As more and more came into contact with his flesh, the pain increased tenfold, then a thousandfold as it enveloped over all of him. Eventually he was submerged, and as he felt his flesh burn and bubble and spark, his vision fell to darkness.
Drakyen continued his sorcery until the energy was successfully input into the subject's body. He pressed a button on the console behind him idly, and the chains affixed to the rail dragged the corpses off to unknown places. The Inquisitor turned a page of the tome before him, and raised his hands, with lightning crackling and frost forming around his hands as he began to manipulate the form on the cross, and the energy within it.
The unconscious body on the cross began to shift and shudder, before the cross started to be tugged upwards by the man affixed to it. Gravity reversed, and the man's center was tugged up by the inverted forces. And then, his body started to change. Beaten, bruised and malnourished flesh changed, shifted and grew. The pale, grey-tinged flesh gave way to strong muscle of a deep black hue. The tips of his fingers lenthened, narrowed and hardened until they formed into flesh-tearing claws. The man gave a final howl of pain as the Inquisitor finished his sorceries, and gravity reasserted itself. And the man awoke, with deep hunger in his mind.
He freed himself from the pathetic thing. The nails that formerly held him down were no contest to his massive strength. He got up, and immediately he tasted the foul, arid stench of the daemons of Chaos. He jerked himself forward, to what he sensed was sustenance. Small, twinging pains originated from his hands and feet, but he ignored these. His gaze and his attention was fixed on the sustenance charging down the hallway.

The Canoness had turned when the man on the cross gave that unearthly, bone-chilling howl of pain. But what she turned and saw was no man. A monstrosity had made its way off the cross which lay soaked with blood and charred with raw power. And it was charging at her. She muttered a hasty prayer to the God-Emperor and turned to face the charging thing. The sanctified Bolter rounds that flew at it were utterly shrugged off and the thing was barely hindered in its approach of her. Shamefully, she closed her eyes and awaited her death, only to feel nothing save a gust of wind that lightly blew her hair aside. She opened her eyes to see the thing gone.

He had leapt up and pushed himself off the wall into the charging food when the woman in front of him did not budge. And then, with the daemon-food charging at him, he began his feast. The first driblet of sustenance had oozed out of the dissipating form of a Bloodletter as it charged, and was torn asunder by his claw. The energy of it bled out, and that same substance bled into him, energising and invigorating the daemonized man. He gave a keening roar of satisfaction, before he lunged, biting down and drinking in the energies of the daemon as it was dissipated. The Chaos swirled about him, before it bled away, finding its host soul-energy gone. He continued in his feast, and daemon after daemon was dissipated, and their energies devoured. A slash to one's head, and feeling it burst under his hand. Energy bled into him and tingled as it soothed his searing flesh like a cool, implacable drop of liquid spreading and quelling a flame. Another daemon died as he lunged and bit down on its reptilian head, and again the glorious energy bled into his form and sated his form's hunger slightly. More was needed. From what he could see through the haze of daemonic rage and hunger, many more daemons were coming. Had he any muscles in his face at that time, the man would have grinned in delight.

While his creation's rampage was being held back by the tides of Chaos daemons that previously had been pouring against the tight-knit group of Sisters, which the Canoness was heading, Drakyen was busy packing away his equipment and sealing the book in a warding container. He finished his clearing, and advanced forward until he with his baggage, which itself was being handled by a Servitor, was at the Sisters' line.
"Come. Let us leave in his wake, while he is slaughtering them and hungry." Drakyen casually said, and started forward just as the click of Alysia's Bolter rifle sounded and he glanced to see her disgusted form holding it to his head in tranquil fury.
"Are you insane? What if it turns on us?" she hissed out the questions. The Inquisitor smiled.
"He will not turn on us. He hungers for raw soul-energy. As you may see, he has a preference for the soul-energies of the followers of Chaos." he said casually, smiling at the figure on the other side of the Bolter being held to his head. "As for my own sanity, it is quite intact. I knew what I was doing. He-"
"It." Alysia interrupted him. "It. It is a foul daemon and its very existence is a blasphemy."
Drakyen grinned. "He. He will not turn on us. Do not worry yourself about my work. I knew what I was doing." the Inquisitor said, before hefting his bag again and moving her Bolter away from his head with a gauntleted finger. "Do not doubt my competence, Canoness. I can assure you, it will be your undoing. Now come. Let us leave." he said, and started to walk forward through a blood-soaked corridor.

He burst out the doors and leapt through the air to latch himself onto a winged one. Their combined weight brought them down to the ferrocrete ground, and as he bit down into the thing's neck, it burst underneath him even as the energy bled into his body. He straightened slightly, before lunging forward again at a mass of Chaos cultists wearing the sigil of Tzeentch. Tearing them apart, the man found that their energy was different. More blue than anything else, and it had a distinct crystalline tinge to it. The man tossed and turned his head, trying to sense where more food was. Finding none, he threw his head back and roared in frustration, feeling the burn within his flesh come to a crescendo before it intensified, and his muscles felt as though they were tearing themselves apart. He squeezed his eyes in pain, collapsed to his knees with his head and hands held up, and howled in pain. When it receded, he was smaller. And as he held them out in front of him, he saw that his hands were human. He was normal again. Shakily, the man stood to see a group of silver-armoured figures approach.
He recognised the Inquisitor Drakyen, as well as the Canoness Alysia. What they were doing here, before him, was beyond his knowledge. He simply took a reverent knee before his strength failed and he collapsed sideways. The last things he saw were Alysia's face, disgusted and slightly pitying, and Drakyen's dismissively indifferent own. Then he fell into black, smothering, dreamless unconsciousness.