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Oh heavens, your periode of slumber definitly seems to have arousd your fury brother.

Okay, its been a while since I've been on and a while since I've written anything 40K-ish, but I wish to let my fan(s) know that I will be back and will be writing more, I'm just not sure when.
I don't often finish what I start, but I have every intention of finishing Mordecai's story-arc and even of doing another.

It doesn't end here...

Glad to hear that you are still alive! Will wait for moar

Only just saw this last night but I really quite enjoyed it. Found I couldn't stop reading it as I was really getting into it. I also read the other five stories linked in the first page and found them to be a good read. If and when you post any more of Mordecai's story I will definitely be reading it.

The Fall: Chapter 2 - Fall of the Razor Descent

The Razor Descent hung in low orbit as sunlight flared over the rim of the planet below, marking the beginning of a new day; a day of war.
Benjamin Mordecai stood with his hands clasped behind his back, basking in the light of that sun, tall and proud, and fierce with anticipation.
"Prepping a Valkyrie to take us to Medrogus Lunaris' merchant district," Anton spoke, stroking his chin thoughtfully as he did, "Captain Osbourne reports no movement as of yet. He intended to bail out at sunset yesterday, you know..."

"Osbourne knows it will take more than a military blockade to draw Lamal out," Mordecai returned, "I will need to confront him personally."
"Then we had best move soon," Pious Anol strode up to the pair, walking with a gait that suggested military prowess despite the old priest's age, "And get to the confronting."
Both men nodded their assent, their faces set in grim determination.
A silence crept over the bridge, and was broken only when the lights flickered and the deck shook beneath their feet.

"What was that?!" Benjamin demanded.
Anton stumbled to his command pulpit and examined the readings, "The Prison deck has just gone silent." He stated firmly.
"The Daemon," Pious murmured, "I should have maintained his bonds better..."
Another quake shook the deck as an ethereal voice rang out, "I'm coming!"
"I can't raise Engineering," one of the bridge crew yelled.
"Decks seven to twelve have gone dark," another shouted over the confused chatter that now infested the bridge.

There was a distant, screaming wrench of metal against metal, and then the bridge shook once more, violently this time.
The crew could only watch as their view of Jurdani Secundus below began to enlarge, the ship slowly tilting towards the planet's surface.
"The engine rooms are non-responsive, my Lords, we're losing altitude, fast!" one of the bridge officers called.
Benjamin had no words as the features of the planet below began to grow before him; he saw Medrogus Hive off in the distance, it's spires scraping the clouds themselves, he saw Bleakpoint, it's rusted old spires long out of use, he saw the Imperial Highway, where he had battled against the Dark Eldar not so long ago.
And then the glass before him was sucked away, and he, along with Pious, Anton and the rest of the bridge crew, were sucked out into empty air.

The world around him seemed to slow, then.
The screams of the crew were muted, the ship above him seemed like a ridiculously long way away.
The only thing that was truly clear was the voice that rang through his head.
"Benjamin Mordecai...your ship is lost...your Acolytes are dying...and you are falling. Tell me, has it all been worth it?"

In a searing ball of candescent light, the Razor Descent exploded in blue warpfire, raining chunks of debris down around the Inquisitor as he fell.
He had lost.
Benjamin Mordecai, Interrogator to Inquisitor Isabelle Lucent, now Inquisitor in her place, closed his eyes, and fell into the infinite blackness behind them, to save himself the pain of falling to his death.

***

Havard Lamal turned away from the vox-screen, emitting a monotone chuckle as he observed the looks upon the faces of his captives.
Both Mon'Wern'A and Fenton Muir were now bound to chairs, both bore brutal wounds from the beating they had been given.
In Fenton, there was outrage and the promise of vengeance, but the Tau simply let his head hang, closing his large, red eyes slowly.

"You have failed," Lamal stated plainly, "Benjamin Mordecai, and all he stood for, is dead; and the only ones left to mourn are two pathetic Acolytes who will very soon be joining him in damnation..."
"Let me out of here," Fenton began slowly, "And I'll end you myself."
"I wonder at that..." Lamal pondered, "How much will it take to break you? Let's begin with your greyskin friend here..."

Mon'Wern breathed in a deep sigh, almost consigned to his fate as Lamal strode forward, lifting his sword to strike.
As much as Fenton struggled, he was still bound to the chair; helpless, defeated.
His only hope now was a single Mercenary girl.

***

"Movement inside!"

Rennard Osbourne grabbed the magnoculars off Drevan Stubbs and peered through them.
Something was definitely moving within the tinted glass front of the building.
Rennard had barely enough time to shout "Down!" and hurl himself below the parapet of the Aegis bulwark before a bolt of pure psychic energy shattered the glass front of the building and seared over his head.

"To arms!" Commissar Zachary Herse barked, lifting his bolt pistol from it's holster and taking aim.
The Psyker was a miserable construct to look upon; He had been a man once, but the flesh and skin of his chest was sunken, and the tips of his open ribcage poked out through the stretched flesh.
His mouth had been sewn together, his ears were mere holes in the sides of his shaven head, his eyes smoldering with psychic energy.
His feet were absent from the stumps of his ankles, and he floated above the hooded, masked figures pouring out of the front of the building, their primitive autoguns raised to fire.
Rennard Osbourne had two-hundred and fifty-five men; the enemy had a Psyker of unknown strength and a force of unknown strength.

"Scout sergeant..." Rennard spoke quietly into his vox bead.
"Sir?" Lyra Medara voxed back after a brief crackle of static.
"Take your boys," Rennard murmured, "Take position on the rooftops, prizes to whoever takes out that Psyker."
"Understood." Lyra shut off the transmission.
Rennard racked his combat shotgun and raised it, aiming along the barrel.
He smiled a little as the sound of two-hundred and fifty Lasrifles being raised reached his ears.

For a brief moment, all was silence between the two forces; The Psyker, his arms outstretched and his sealed lips forming a sick mockery of a smile, stared directly at Rennard, who's teeth were gritted in a determined snarl.
"Fire!" Commissar Herse roared, the sharp crack of his bolt pistol was joined by the echoing thump of Osbourne's combat shotgun, and soon after both were drowned out by the vicious exchange of Lasfire and autofire.

The first shot Rennard fired took a large chunk out of the shoulder of a cultist; the second caused the face of another to explode in a gory cloud of organic matter and shards from the man's respirator.
Beside him, Veteran Sergeant Drevan Stubbs fired off expertly-placed shots with his Plasma Pistol, methodically selecting his targets and picking them off through the haze of lasfire and screaming.

A shot fired by Sergeant Heskon of Tenth Squad lanced into the Psyker's midsection, causing fragments of his ribs to ricochet off and embed themselves into the cultists around him.
It looked as though it would be an easy victory; then the Psyker lashed out.

A bolt of purple-tinted lightning lashed out of the deformed man's hands, striking Sergeant Heskon in the chest before he had time to duck, and causing a ragged scream to escape the man as his body erupted in Warpfire.
Seemingly without jumping, it spread, rapidly consuming all twenty-five members of Heskon's squad and reducing them to burnt-out, screaming wretches, their armour and clothing bonded to flesh.

"Squad Masken!" Osbourne barked into his vox bead, "Pull out before that fire spreads to you!"
Masken complied, his squad pulling back to another defensive line.
Osbourne began to wish he hadn't placed his Scout Sergeant at the feet of the Psyker's fury as he lifted his combat shotgun to fire again.

It had seemed like an easy victory not moments ago, but now more cultists were pouring out of the building, and were rapidly closing the gap between the Guardsmen and themselves.
"Fix bayonets!" Osbourne roared, drawing his combat blade and firing his shotgun with his free hand.
Then the enemy were upon them, bearing sickles and cudgels and other crude weapons, flooding over the Aegis wall placements and swarming the Guardsmen.

Throughout this, the Psyker looked on with a baleful gaze.
Osbourne grasped his shotgun by the barrel and clubbed a cultist over the head with it, causing the man to go down with a sharp crack.
He turned, kicking another cultist into the dirt and stamping on him before lancing his blade into yet another hooded cultist.
Veteran Sergeant Stubbs let out a cry as he was bourne down under the weight of a heavily-built cultist.

Osbourne hacked and stabbed his way through the throng of respirator masks and laborer coats and pressed-in Guardsmen and screaming bodies to reach his friend, but he could tell without looking that he would be too late.

As he reached the large Cultist, the world seemed to slow down for Rennard Osbourne; the sounds of the wounded and dying, and the brutal exchange being fought around him all became muted.
He could smell the heated stench of cauterized Las-wounds, could feel the hard rockrete beneath his feet, could see his own breath misting before his eyes.
He dropped his combat blade, gripping his combat shotgun in both hands as he approached the large cultist; the man was wielding a heavy-looking hammer.

He rose, turning on Osbourne with a hefty swing.
Rennard countered with the barrel of his shotgun, ducking low and aiming a jab with the butt of the weapon at the cultist's gut.
The man grunted, stumbling backwards, and Rennard stepped in, racking his shotgun and firing point-blank at the man's masked face.
Headless, the body slumped over, quite dead.

Rennard's attention was completely on his old friend now.
Drevan Stubbs lay on the ground, his infected arm, taken in the Tyrannid invasion so long ago, lay severed alongside him.
"We had a good run of it, didn't we, Renn?" The Veteran Sergeant uttered weakly.
"We can fix you," Rennard murmured through the muted sounds of the battle around them.
"I think that part of me died long ago..." Drevan nodded to the infected arm lying alongside him, "What filled it's place was slowly devouring me from the inside-out...now it's gone, and I can die in peace..."

"Whoever heard of Chaos doing a Guardsman a favor, eh?" Rennard choked through teary eyes.
He didn't offer to pick his life-long friend up; that would only put Drevan in more pain.
Instead, Rennard Osbourne offered his hand out, and almost choked as he spoke, "Tell me if they have pubs on the other side, yeah?"
Drevan smiled, grasping the offered hand and shaking it, "Will do, Renn...take care of the boys for me."
Then he was gone.

"You take care now..." Rennard muttered softly, closing the veteran's eyes for him, before standing.
A shadow loomed over him; the Psyker.
"This was your fault." Rennard snarled through gritted teeth.
"Loss is necessary in war, how many men have you slain today? Do you not imagine that they have friends, also?"
"I don't care about them!" Rennard bellowed, taking up his shotgun, "They chose their path, and denied the Emperor! They deserve whatever I give them!"
"So you would decide fate for them? Tell me, how are you truly better than them?"
"I didn't make the first move." Rennard stated simply, pumping off two shots into the Psyker's sunken chest cavity.
The wretch groaned in pain, yet the shots seemed to have little overall effect.
Rennard felt his feet leave the floor as the Psyker's eyes began to glow.

Air rushed into the Captain's ears, mere seconds before his back met hard rockrete with a loud smack.
He slid down the strut that had so abruptly stopped his flight, and curled up in a wretched ball on the ground as indescribable pain began to build in his chest and head.
"Warpfire will consume you, Captain. Your insurrection has ended; it is too late for you now..."
Rennard lifted his head, the Psyker loomed over him, eyes glowing with malice.
A blur of black and red crossed his vision.
The Psyker fell to the ground, screaming as black ichor oozed from the open wound that now opened the teeth on one side of his mouth to the war-torn air.

Meera Shanton stumbled back, clapping her hands to her ears as the scream pierced her mind.
Rennard curled into a tighter ball, crying pitifully as the noise tore up his mind.
Around them, Guardsmen and Cultists alike all screamed and cried in unison as the mental scream threatened to rend all of them asunder.

***

Scout Sergeant Lyra Medara adjusted her scope, reloading and easing back into her position atop the roof of a hab block, her long-las resting on the building's parapet.
She squeezed one eye closed, forcing her heartbeat to slow.
Her finger squeezed the trigger lightly; another cultist dropped.

"That's twenty-six." She voxed.
"Nineteen, Ma'am." Movan, one of her best scouts, reported, "One of these days I'll outshine you, Sarge."
"The day you do, Mov, you're welcome to take on the amassed forces of chaos by yourself, with my best wishes." Lyra chuckled.

"For a kiss, maybe." Movan sounded hopeful, but Lyra's attention had already been diverted by what she spied through her scope.
Captain Osbourne, curled up in a ball against the wall of a hab block, the Psyker who had slaughtered squad Heskon standing over him.
Lyra changed her position, adjusting her scope and sighting the Psyker through her scope; a clear aim.

She saw the woman from Inquisitor Mordecai's retinue carve a deep gouge into the man's face, saw the Psyker's sealed lips rip open, and heard in her mind the mental scream ripping her soul apart.
Tears welled in Lyra Medara's eyes; she wanted to cry, to simply curl up and die.
She gritted her teeth, forced her heartbeat to slow, squeezed the trigger.

And sighed in relief as the Psyker's head exploded in a red mist.

***

Rennard Osbourne, Captain of the 12th Jurdani Tygers, slowly opened his eyes as the sound of raised voices reached him.
"We have our own wounded and dead to attend to first, not to mention re-organizing and restocking supplies!"
That was Commissar Zachary Herse, his commanding voice was enough so subdue any man.
But not any woman; "This takes priority! The Inquisitor may be dead, but we must see his mission through!"
That was Meera Shanton, a member of Benjamin Mordecai's retinue.
Osbourne's eyes widened, and he sat up abruptly; "The Inquisitor is dead?!"

"Captain-" Herse began, but Meera cut across him sharply.
"I'm not sure, but Lamal broadcast our ship blowing up on every monitor in the Governor's Palace."
"What about the Governor himself?" Rennard inquired, but Meera only winced and shook her head.
"Dead, for a long time, by the look of it..."

Rennard frowned, standing shakily, "Then we must respond, fast. We are all that stands between Lamal and complete control."
"Captain, with all due respect, we should take this to the Courts before we act." Herse began, "We cannot simply-"
"Those would be the same courts that are controlled by a senior Inquisitor in the event of the Governor's death?" Meera frowned.
Herse looked set to argue, but Rennard spoke first; "The Acolyte is right, we have to finish this."

Silence descended; Meera nodded and turned away, walking into the settling dust and the morbid calm that so often followed a harsh battle.
With the Psyker killed, the enemy's resolve had broken, and those that had remained were easy to pick off.
Commissar Herse moved up to stand by Rennard, folding his arms.
"I could shoot you, you know..." the Commissar murmured softly.
"Would you, though?" Osbourne replied, "Could you, truly? After we fought so hard for this victory today?"

Herse moved his hand to the grip of his Bolt Pistol, then slowly shook his head, his hand dropping back to his side.
"Not today, no..."
Rennard Osbourne only nodded, crossing back over to where the body of Drevan Stubbs lay.

Please feel free to comment and give feedback, guys.

If there's any way you think I can improve my work, I'm all ears.

NOOOOOOOOOOOO! Damned that infernal traitor to the sventh circle of the abyss and beyound! The death of the In inqusitor will not go unpunsihed!
Now that my inner zealot has raged in grief let me congratualte you on a very, very well done chapter! The tension was superb and the ship scenes where a fine moment of story telling to!

Ah, taking time pays off...

I won't reveal anything of the next chapter due to spoilers, but I will ask that you reserve your righteous rage, brother.

I never let my rage rest, too many heretics, xenos and daemons roam the universe

The Fall: Chapter three: A New Day of Pain

"Benjamin....Benjamin, wake up! Hear me!"

The voice offered comfort, calm, love, a release from the consuming darkness.
He went to it, basked in it's warmth, attached himself to it as a moth might stray to a bright light.
"We will talk when you are awake." The voice demanded, and then Benjamin was awake.
Cuts and bruises lined his arms and chest through torn fabric, the left side of his face was bruised and bloody, but he was miraculously unharmed.

He forced himself to his feet, putting most of his weight on his bionic arm.
The wreckage of his ship smoldered around him, and not far away, two men sat upon a pile of rubble, watching quietly, both marred with much the same injuries as he was.
Benjamin nodded to Pious Anol and Anton Gambit, and both men nodded back.
"We were ready to bury you, lad." Anton said in his grizzled tone.
"What stopped you?" Benjamin inquired, frowning slightly, the sand around him whipped his flesh and stung his wounds.

"The same thing that woke you up, most likely." Pious observed, "She told us to let you know; follow the humming."
"She?" Benjamin asked, dumbfounded.
"Aye," Anton nodded sagely, "She says she's alive, and for you to go to her. We...can't follow."

Benjamin nodded quietly, closing his eyes; he could hear it now, the humming, warm and gentle. It made him forget all his hurts and worries.
He followed it, into the wind, and the sand, and the new day of pain.
Isabelle Lucent was alive, and all was not lost...

***

They marched through the star-lit streets of Medrogus Lunaris; grim men and women marching to their deaths.
The Governor's Palace, it's walls once white and pristine, now seemed almost gray and malicious.
At the head of the column, Meera Shanton fell into easy step beside Captain Rennard Osbourne; the young Acolyte and grizzled Veteran sharing a look of determination and acceptance in death.

For her, she was avenging the death of her master, her comrades, and the crew she had served with.
He was avenging the death of a dear friend, the meaningless slaughter of countless Guardsmen, and the corrupting influence that had claimed his lover so long ago.

"Look," Meera observed, "The battlements are deserted."
"Because they're luring us in." Osbourne replied, the Acolyte nodded slowly.
"Well," He continued with a hefty sigh, "We're outnumbered, outmatched and generally outplayed."
"Best not keep them waiting, then." Meera smirked darkly.
"Present arms!" Commissar Herse barked, the sound of just under two-hundred survivors of the 12th Jurdani Tygers stood to attention, their Lasrifles held in front of them.
Just under two-hundred men and women, ready to die.

***

He stood at the window, overlooking the assembly of his army, prepared to repress the oncoming Guardsmen waiting outside.
His breath rattled through his respirator as he steadied his heart rate.
He felt the formidable presence approaching behind him, but he did not turn to meet the steely gaze he knew was focused upon him.
"The pets you granted me failed, Seraphos," Havard Lamal spoke in a bitter monotone, "The stranded Archon and your pitiful Fallen One are both dead."

Even standing tall and regal in his emerald-green power armour, the rogue Inquisitor only came up to the Aspiring Champion's chest.
"Let us hope that fate is kinder to you, Lamal, lest I be forced to arrange your termination if you slip." Seraphos' reply was a low growl.
"Let us not forget, Seraphos, that it is I who is keeping your Church concealed and supplied," Lamal let the threat hang in his words, "Such a terrible shame if that suddenly had to stop..."

"Mark and measure your words carefully, Lamal," Seraphos warned, "You are as bound to Uriah as I am."
"We will see..." Lamal muttered in a low tone, turning back to the window.

***

The muscles in his arm ached, but he continued.
The grinding of metal against metal hurt his ears as he pulled another heavy piece of the ship's exterior out of the way.
"You are close now, so close..."
"I know," He murmured, "I'm coming..."

Benjamin Mordecai forced the last piece of flotsam away, breathing hard as he observed what lay before him.
The room; Lucent's secret room, the one he had never entered, intact and undamaged.
"All this time, you were watching over me..." He gasped, "I never went in, not once."
"Once you enter, you will have questions, and you may not like what you find..."
"I'm ready." He asserted, tapping in the ship's central override code.
Somehow, the cogitators were still functioning, and the door clanked open on it's heavy gears.

The room was small, it's thick walls condensing it's true size.
It's walls were lined with weapons from varying parts of the Imperium, as well as other, less-familiar weapons.
But on a low table, right in the room's center, were several items that Benjamin had never thought to see again, not since that fateful day...

Lucent's armour, converted from that of an Adeptus Sororitas, took up much of the table, a gleaming gem set into the center of the chest-piece cast a dim red glow over the room.
Beside the armour, in it's case, was Lucent's old sword; viciously curved like a scimitar, but it's design was undeniably Eldar in origin; It seemed to hum with life.

But what attracted Benjamin's attention the most were the pictures; they had been scattered about by the ship's turbulent fall, but their contents shocked the Inquisitor as he gazed upon them.
A woman, her dark hair falling between her shoulders, clad in a swirling red dress and holding an infant in her arms.
Beside her stood a tall, slender man who resembled Benjamin, and a young boy that he recognized as his brother, long-lost to him back on Galespire.

"You're holding a child..." He said in disbelief, "That's my brother next to you, which makes you..."
"Your mother, Benjamin, and believe me, I would not have left you if I could avoid it..."
Benjamin stooped, gathering up the scattered pictures and not bothering to wipe the fresh tears out of his eyes.
"Why couldn't he come with us?" He demanded suddenly, anger, joy, fear and a dozen other emotions all rising up at once, "Why did he have to remain behind?!"

"He was too petty, Benjamin; your brother never thought beyond where the next meal was coming from; I could not allow his survivor's instinct to turn into greed..."
"So instead he had to die?!"
"I warned you that you would not like what you found," Lucent's soothing voice now carried a tone of rebuke, "But now is not the time, Benjamin; you must focus on the present, not dwell on the past..."

"I have questions..." Benjamin said, wiping his eyes and steadying his voice.
"I thought you might..."
"How did we survive the fall?"
"I harnessed the power of the Warp to spare you and your fellow Acolytes, as well as this room, I...could not spare the power to protect the crew, I am sorry..."
Benjamin nodded slightly, "My psychic ability was never mine, was it?"
"You have some minor proficiency, just enough for me to harness and channel my attunement through your's...It was a necessary lie."

Again he nodded, acceptingly as the pieces all fell into place, "One last thing..."
"Go ahead..."
"In all this time we've been speaking, I have not once seen you...Tell me, Inquisitor, where are you?"
"My light illuminates the darkness of this chamber..."
Benjamin's eyes widened as he fell to his knees, his hands cupping the glow from the stone set in the center of Lucent's chest piece, "Then..."

"During our excursion to Craftworld Lletya, when it was still brimming with life...this was their gift to me, a chance to fight Chaos beyond death..."
Benjamin shook his head slightly, "Then you knew you were going to die, all that time..."
"Yes."

Benjamin gently unclasped the stone from it's indent, cradling it in his hands like some almighty god cupping the spark of creation.
"Keep me safe." She commanded, as if she were speaking in his ear, and Benjamin complied, slipping the soul-stone into a pouch at his belt.
"This is your inheritance, Benjamin, my sword and my true identity. I will not live much longer, but my memory will live on in you..."
"How long do you have?" Benjamin asked, feeling a lump form in his throat.
"Until Lamal is dead..."

***

Fenton Muir lifted his head feebly as the cultists left their holding cell.
His left eye was swollen shut, a streak of red dribbled down from his right brow, and both cheeks ached from the purple bruising that adorned them.
He forced himself not to think about the damage to his ribcage.

He moaned, forcing himself up onto his hands and knees, and glanced over at Mon'Wern.
The Tau was in a similarly bad state; his flat, gray face was speckled with blood and inflamed with purple bruising.
One of his arms was broken at the elbow and his topknot had been severed.
Not only had Lamal beaten the Tau, he had taken his pride.

"You haven't said a word since we got caught..." Fenton croaked through dry, cracked lips.
"The shame...my shame...all my fault." Mon'Wern replied sullenly.
"Tell me." Fenton suggested, and the Tau's eyes met his for a long time before he eventually sighed, nodding.

"I was once Shas'Vre Mon'Wern'A," the Tau began, "A great leader of the Shas, the Fire Caste..."
"What happened?" Fenton asked gently.
"It was long ago, there was a great tear in the world, it's very fabric ripped open and unspeakable things poured out..."
Fenton's face was grave as he spoke, "A warp portal..."
The Tau nodded.

"I ran," Mon'Wern cast his face downwards, "I ran from my men, my family, my Sept. Ran and never looked back."
"Your shame..." Fenton concluded, the Tau nodded once more.
"In my eyes, you've more than made up for it," Fenton grinned, "All through that torture, you didn't scream once."

Mon'Wern offered a meek smile.
"Now," Fenton growled, rising to his feet despite the pain, "Seeing as no-one's coming to our rescue, we might as well get ourselves out."

***

They stood at the top of a steep, rugged canyon, gazing down at the mist below that obscured the bottom.
"That's no natural mist," Pious concluded, "The sun is burning hot, no natural mist should exist at this time of day..."

"What's down there?" Benjamin asked tentatively.
"That which caused your fall..." Lucent replied, "And I'm sorry, but you must face it alone..."
Benjamin drew his sword, the blade hissing from it's sheath, before Anton put a hand on his wrist.
"Keep safe, Lad." He nodded.
"All this time, you knew, and you never said a word..." Benjamin met the Admiral's eyes.
"She said it was for the best, can you truly blame me?" was the older man's only reply.

Benjamin finally returned the nod, before twisting his arm free of Anton's grasp and descending into the canyon.
The climb was steep, his muscles practically screamed with pain, and the cuts adorning his arms blazed as the dust-ridden wind whipped at them, but Benjamin Mordecai persevered.
His world became cold as he descended into the mist; a voice laughed softly, echoing around this new world of barren rock that the sun did not penetrate.

A figure emerged through the fog as Benjamin reached the canyon's base, black talons scraped the icy rock as he brought his sword to bear.
The creature that had once been an Eldar Ranger opened it's arms wide, the blue glow of it's eyes glinting maliciously.
"Welcome to the folds of death, Inquisitor!" It greeted him in a chorus of voices from one throat.
"You were once Zil'Lath Fleet-Runner," Benjamin announced, "One of the surviving remnants of Craftworld Lletya."

"This is merely a shell," the Daemon hissed gleefully, "Oh, how he screams inside me, begging for death."
"Then I will honour his final wish," Benjamin snarled, dropping into a ready stance, "And I will cast you back into the darkness..."
"Use my name!" The Daemon laughed cruelly.
"K'Vas S'sarok," Benjamin uttered through gritted teeth, "I defy you!"

The Daemon swept towards him, black talons lashing out.
Benjamin went low, deflecting the Daemon's clawed hand off to one side and spinning, his sword cutting a slashing arc and tearing off the Daemon's foot.
It screamed in fury, turning on him as he came up.

He ducked instinctively, a bolt of warpfire flying over his head.
The Daemon's taloned foot caught him in a swiping kick, cutting three gauges across his cheek and flinging him into the canyon's wall.
He never let go of his sword.

Benjamin came back to his feet, lashing out with a short-handed thrust as the Daemon came at him again.
K'vas veered off, but the sword carved a long gouge in it's chest, black ichor spilling from the wound.
The creature swung it's arm out in fury, but Benjamin was ready for it, deflecting the hand by launching his fist into the Daemon's wrist.
He sheared off it's arm in one smooth strike.

The creature raised it's head to the heavens and screamed, the noise shattering Benjamin's mind and causing all his injuries to flare up in pain.
"Defy it..."
His eyes lit up with fury, he lifted his sword and thrust it, with all his strength, through the tome bound to the creature's chest into it's heart.

The possessed Eldar erupted into molten warpfire, collapsing in on itself as the wind picked up and the fog receded.
Benjamin closed his eyes against the unnatural light, until suddenly it was gone.
He slowly opened his eyes, to see only the book impaled on the end of his sword.
The sun shone down on him, causing sweat to bead on his neck as he reached out and plucked the book off his sword tip.

He opened it, and found all the pages to be blank; all save the last.
It had only two words written on it, the gratitude of a pained soul, finally laid to rest, "Thank you".

***

It was late afternoon when the Inquisitor ascended from the canyon, and he emerged to the distinct crackle of a vox-caster.
"The Inquisitor emerges victorious!" Pious formed the sign of the Aquila over his chest as Anton began clapping.

"Never doubted you for a second, Lad." the Bridge-Admiral grinned as he turned back to the Vox-caster.
"Where did you find that?" Benjamin asked curiously.
"Back in the wreckage," Anton explained, fiddling some dials on the caster's panel, "Mostly intact, trying to raise a signal to Medrogus Hive right now, but as you can probably tell, reception isn't so good..."

"Keep trying," Benjamin ordered, "If we can contact Inquisitor Einhart..."
"Already on it." Anton replied distractedly.
"I assume the Daemon is dead?" Pious raised an eyebrow, he had recovered his old Eviscerator from the wreckage, but it was missing most of the haft, and the blade was bent at an odd angle.
"See for yourself." Benjamin handed the old priest the tome of binding, it's contents raising a chuckle from Pious as he found the back page.
"Well I'll be," he murmured thoughtfully.

The Vox-caster crackled, making them all jump, before a voice rang out over the speaker.
"This is Medrogus central," the voice uttered, "What happened up there? We saw the Razor Descent just drop out of the sky..."
"All good down here," Anton answered, his grizzled grin dropping after a few moments; "We couldn't save the crew, there's only three of us left. We'll need transport."
"We have a battle to finish." Benjamin finished off.

This pleases the sons of Fenris! A great saga indeed

Good to see you approve.
Just a shame more people don't comment like you do, Trond.
I feel like you're my only source of feedback right now.

Well seeing how Dakka ficton can be EXTREMLY slow at times I would not worry about the lack of comments, look at the amount views your story gets. But yes, people really should take the time to comment if they like a said pice of work. But rest assured, knowing Dakka they would howling in anger if it was something bad you posted
Btw do read my latest rambelings if you get the time some day

Somehow, old friend, I find myself agreeing with you.
There are quite a few views, though, so I guess I'll settle for that.

Another awesome part, was a great read. Can't wait to see more.

The Emperor provides!

You'll have your wish soon enough...

Hey all.

Don't worry, the final instalment of Mordecai's first saga will be completed, but it may take a little longer than expected.
I wouldn't hold your breath for anything until the new year.

Castra

You take as much time as you need to finish Mordecai's story, it's such a good read I'm sure we would all rather you finish it in your own time rather than rush it out and you not be happy with it or forget something important. I'll stick look forwards to it regardless of when the next part is out as I've enjoyed every part so far.

A cautious wind blew
Upon my throne
As if reluctant to disturb me
All on my own

And so I strained
At the bonds upon which I depend
And said, ever so softly
"I will return, my shadowy friend..."

-Castra Tanagra

If that is the beginging of something new I am liking it

Not just yet, old friend...

Bah dont tease me! I need more of this awesomsauce to help my own stories along

Hey Castra, a silent reader finally sharing his thoughts. This is indeed a fine story you have here, and the characters seem genuine in their interaction with each other so it flows very nice.

P.S Second that teasing. Don't leave us hanging for too long after a ryhm like that.