[Icarus Athrasuriel]

CHAPTER 1 - PART 2

It was dark and wet in the ventilation pipes. It was like swimming through a stream of manure, and I had to wear my rebreather to avoid inhaling the gases floating around. At each turn, I had to hesitantly locate Kelt again, and follow his track. It took me a while, but eventually I came to a dead end, and clambered out. I surveyed the corridor hurriedly, seeing carcasses piled up everywhere. For the first time since I boarded the traitor ship, I felt sickened by what had taken place here. No false god could be worth turning into this for. I was filled by hatred for what Kelt had done, and more so, hatred for Kelt himself. I would make sure that he paid with his life. Stepping over a body, I forced open the door opposite me, and slid inside.
I found myself in what seemed to be a control room, with many joined decks rising upwards towards the top of the ship. Pistons and consoles littered the deck, jutting up through the floor then back down. I was well and truly in the bowels of the ship, and I had to weave and climb over various obstacles. There was no sound, and I began to have doubts about my psychic abilities (Though now I would perish such a though). I was assured, however, that I was correct by the ringing of a man running across one of the upper decks. “Kelt, this is Inquisitor Erendalios!” I had shouted, “Repent your unforgivable sins and I will make your death quick!”

There came no reply for a moment, and I began to move towards a staircase when Kelt shouted, “Never, Akrais! You cannot win! Khorne shall drink your blood, Nurgle shall infest your flesh, and Slaanesh, yes, the almighty and most holy dark prince, will revel in your pain!!” I moved on, the heretic's insane ramblings all too familiar. You see, Kelt was a servant of Slaanesh, that much I know, but somehow he seemed connected to both Nurgle and Khorne in some way, though I had not yet fathomed how. Only now do I recognise my folly.
I climbed the steps to the next deck, and stayed low as I heard Kelt running, nearby, it seemed. I moved slowly now, stowing away my needler, and draining my force sword of it's energy. Silence fell upon the deck. Neither me nor Kelt could have told who was hunting who now, trapped in here, with nowhere to go. It was, as they say, an endgame. It continued for a while, as I became more and more aware of the work of the Chaos Gods upon this place. Only Tzeench did not seem to be involved in this conspiracy, though my forbidden knowledge of the Great Architect told me that, although not directly, he must be involved somehow.

Then, as we stalked each other, the first mistake was made. Kelt pounced on a shadow. I knew instantly where he was from the sound alone, and leaped onto a rusting piston. I moved swiftly towards him, finding him ready with a bolt pistol. I dived to the side to avoid his fire, and ran round behind him, going feet first between two pipes and kicking him in the back. He fell flat on his face, and the pistol slid across the floor and under a console. I raised my force sword, now crackling with energy, and cut down, but Kelt was surprisingly quick, and he rolled onto his feet before my strike landed. I turned now, and looked into his dark, blank eyes. His face was mutilated by self inflicted gouges. I was surprised he could talk. For a moment, I was captivated by his features, his slick, combed over black hair, his face and eyes, all catching my eye. For a moment, I was under the spell of Slaanesh. A moment to long, I reckon now. He struck fast as a snake, knowing that I was caught in his web. I broke out of it, and ducked just as his blade moved to decapitate me. I think that the daemon blade had shaved the tops of my hair off, as it was slightly shorter when I showered later.
And so we engaged in a duel of lightning fast strikes and equal blocks, ducking and weaving. I could not tell when it was Kelt striking or when I was battling his blade. Indeed, I could barely tell when it was me or my lively sword making the move. Occasionally I would attack his mind, but each time it was blocked by some aura emanating from his blade. Kelt would do likewise, but his psychic powers were far less powerful or refined than mine were, and non made it past my ever vigilant guard. It seemed like our fight lasted forever, a dance of epic, and deadly, proportions.
Eventually, when the fight seemed to be going on forever, Kelt made a mistake. I took advantage of it, no longer thinking, instead acting on my trusty instincts. He tried to get below my guard, but I had initiated my attack a fraction of a second before him, and I lopped off his sword arm as he struck. The sword flew out of the now lifeless hand, sliding across the slick floor and over the edge of the deck. I kicked him against a pipe, and knocked him to the ground. He lay there, propped up against a decayed piston, cradling his stump, but smiling still, as though enjoying the pain. I stepped towards his, sheathing my sword. I knelt opposite him, lifting his head with one of my hands.

He began mumbling his insane prophesies of doom again, but I silenced him with my will.

“Tell me,” I asked, “about your plans”
“My plans?” he had laughed, leaking blood from his mouth.
“What do you mean, your plans? Of course they were your plans! Your plans to appease your false gods!” I roared, my steel cold rage finally being let loose, my hatred of Kelt flowing fully through me.
“No, they are not my plans. I was but a tool of my gods, in a plan stretching back a decade..”
“Describe it to me!”
“No, not even I understand them fully, Inquisitor...” he said, gurgling an attempt at laughing.
“Tell me now,” I said, focusing the full power of my will upon his unguarded mind.
“We -- we planned to destroy...”
“I know that, you have done so.”
“Yes...yes...victory against the false emperor!”
“No, you have not won,” I quietly assured him. He was growing pale now, the blood draining from his body. “Who commanded you?” I pressed, without the will, knowing that he probably would not yield anything to me.
“Nobody,” he smiled. I could see in his eyes, the first sign from those dark pits, that he lied. I concentrated my will.
“Who commanded you?”
“No – no,” he tried to resist, but I could see it caused him discomfort not even Slaanesh himself could enjoy.
“Who commanded you!” I roared, standing and drawing my sword.
“Araskel!” he screamed, and then his head fell limp. I lowered my sword, a dark silence falling on me. Not many living men knew the name of Araskel. I did, but more so did Icarus and his Captains. Araskel, Renegade Captain of the Storm Marines 1st Company. I thought he was dead.
I was wrong.