Hey dakkadakka, I've been working on this for a while and wanted any and all feedback, good or bad. Anything on improvements are especially appreciated.
Now Updated with a long over do chapter 2
Edits: grammar, and names given to people who weren't supposed to have them.
Chapter 1
A snowflake, the first of winter is falling to the ground below. It is unique as all snowflakes are, and as such is beautiful. It holds in its tiny form everything that is right with the universe. By simply starting a journey across the sky that countless others of its kind have have both started and completed in the past it captivates the beholder. It’s random, gently swaying and swirling path from the heavens to earth, holds not only the eye however. Its journey holds within it the most terrible secret of the galaxy.
Life is fragile. Be it beautiful or repulsive, comforting or terrifying. Life, the greatest gift of all, is fleeting, and can disappear at a moment’s notice. When this thing of beauty lands, it could melt, it could break or any number of horrible things that cannot be thought of when considering this glorious creation of nature.
Thoughts such as these do not cross the mind of someone watching the snowflake dance across the sky however. Instead one’s mind is usually filled with hope, and thoughts of dreams yet to be realized. It is in these thoughts that anyone can find solace, and hide themselves away from the strife of their existence or create plans to better themselves. Observances of this beautiful act playing out do not necessarily have to result in one or the other of the formerly mentioned conclusions though. One might simply be enjoying the simplistic beauty of the machinery of the universe continuing its function. In short, the observer might simply be taking solace in the fact that life is carrying on.
It is amazing to think that so many thoughts can form from watching an ice crystal fall from a grey clouded sky to land on the ground, only to melt in most cases seconds later.
On the planet of Asylus however, this is not the case.
There is no joy to be brought by this snowflake. No lofty thoughts of the future, or contemplations of dreams to be realized as this snowflake tumbles to the ground. There is no observance, no eyes filled with hope to witness its descent as it floats over a burning city of the damned.
So great are the flames covering the beautiful city it travels toward, with its towers of red crystal and silver statues raised in worship to the emperor of mankind standing alongside beautiful white buildings of ancient construction, the plans for which as long gone as the people who created them, that the formerly grey overcast is alight with a hellish glow as the city burns. It appears for all the world that the sky is ablaze.
The crackle of the flames adds an ominous background to the thump of artillery, and the hard banging echoes of bolters firing. Overshadowing it all is the screams of pain from the dying innocents, which in turn are drowned out by the shrieks of pleasure from the inhuman monsters prosecuting this war against beauty and innocence.
Through this all the snowflake continues its journey to the earth. Whether by chance or divine intervention, this small symbol of life, and hope tumbles on, determined to complete its trip. Perhaps, some overseer of life has seen fit to bring some hope back into the life of a mortal. Maybe this snowflake will find its way into the path of a child who has given up on life with the coming of the invaders and the destruction of all the innocent youth held dear?
No.
The snowflake tumbles down amongst the ruin of the city square before the former Lord Governors office. The aforementioned now hangs from the balconies he once enjoyed the view of his city from hundreds of feet off the ground, a symbol that the war is over.
The snowflake lands amongst the scattered debris of ruined buildings and the remains of the fallen, red and bronzed garbed soldiers and civilians alike. It falls, as if guided by some macabre prankster onto the cold unblinking blue eye of a young girl.
She is no older than five years old, with short blonde curls, and wearing a white dress underneath a heavy fur coat to keep out the winter cold. Only a week before there had been announcements of snow clouds moving in. She had known delight, as only a child can, that maybe, just maybe enough snow would fall for scholam to be cancelled. Alas it was not to be. Instead she lies before a statue of the Emperor, sword in hand and an oath of protection carved on his base. She lays amongst the dead soldiers, hand in hand with her mother, a look of shock and horror plastered across her oh so young and innocent face, a massive hole having obliterated her tiny chest. She lays there, her innocence frozen in a puddle around and intermingled with those alongside her with a question frozen in her mind for all time.
Why?
The statue looming over her has no answer, only silence as the snow continues to fall.
Several blocks away two children run for their lives through the burning and broken city to avoid the same fate.
The older of the two, a boy with raven black hair cropped close to his head with a determined face home to eyes of grey, pounds his way down the street panting hard, as he drags a smaller child by the hand after him.
“Come on!” he yells, “They’re coming!” his voice is surprisingly deep for someone who can’t be more than eight years old. The child who is half running and half being dragged is likewise panting for breath, though her task is made harder by the sobs she cannot control. “Mama, papa, they killed them Raz! The bad men killed them! What are we gonna do?” she whimpered. She was maybe six, and several inches shorter than the boy pulling her along. She was dressed similar to the dead girl except her hair was albino white and hung to her shoulders. The boy didn’t answer but kept running, the sound of heavy boots crunching not far behind them spurring him on faster. One thought kept pounding through his head ‘Have to get her to safety. Have to save Genevieve.’ A tall task considering the monsters hunting them.
He shuddered as he ran, remembering the beasts that killed his parents not minutes ago.
They’d been sheltering in the manufactorum, east of the governor’s palace that their father had until recently worked in. The four of them were huddled around a small fire, trying to heat a rations can. The crackling flames cast eerie shadows on the brass pipe covered walls. There was no sound besides hushed whispers and the crackle of the fire.
They’re parents. Maria and Raum, were in hushed discussion while the children kept an eye on the food. “It’s not good Maria. There hasn’t been anything on the comms, civilian or military for days. We might be all that’s left.” He kept his voice low, leaning in close so only his wife could hear his words. Ever since the invasion had started nearly a week ago their lives had been consumed by chaos. The governor had announced that the situation was well in hand, and had spoke placating words for nearly a half hour before an aide had urgently rushed up to him in the middle of the live broadcast and whispered something to him. A grim expression had flickered across his face before forcing a smile and concluding with ‘May the God Emperor protect.’ The screen had gone back to its emergency broadcasting after that.
Hours later, the forces of chaos, as had been identified by loose lipped soldiers and refugees from the city outskirts, had overrun the frontline and were pouring into the city sweeping aside all resistance before them. It was with those reports and the ensuing pandemonium that the family had packed whatever food and water they could and made for the manufactorum, reasoning that with its armored walls and heavy doors they would be safe. For the next few days that had bunkered down in one of the smaller assembly areas talking in hushed tones, and listening to the reports of the ongoing war from a scavenged comms pack.
“No” responded Maria, “There has to be others, like us hiding, waiting for help.” She was of equal height to her husband, with both possessing black hair and grey eyes. Raz, or Raziel as was his full name, looked strikingly like his father with both possessing square jaws, straight noses, and perfectly spaced eyes.
As much as Raziel looked like his father, Genevieve was as different from her mother. Where Maria had black hair, a narrow face and sharp features, Genevieve possessed white shoulder length hair that framed her soft face, full lips, and silver eyes. An unknown defect the doctors had declared at birth, though a beautiful one, one that her family considered a blessing from the Emperor.
Raum, shook his head in despair. “I don’t believe so. I think we are the last Emperor fearing souls in the city.” Maria, her anger growing snapped back, “We cannot give up, I will not give up. Help is coming I know it.” Raum held up a hand to calm her but it was too late. Her voice had raised, and both Raziel and Genevieve had heard the exchange. Raziel as ever kept calm not losing his composure at the thought they might be doomed. Genevieve however was on the verge of hysteria. Her emotions always got the better of her.
She gave a small sniffle that echoed in the dark, and was on the verge of all out crying when she felt a comforting arm around her shoulder drawing her close. She looked up from the chest she found herself leaning on, into the caring grey eyes of her brother. He gave a tight lipped smile and whispered, “It will be alright Genevieve. You’ll be safe, I promise.” She relaxed a little feeling safer. She even began to doze a little, having her brother to lean on and the fire to keep her warm she couldn’t help but let the drowsiness drag her down.
Several hours passed before the sound of metal scraping on metal jolted her from her doze. She shook her head trying to clear the grogginess sleep had brought with it. Her head finally cleared enough for her to understand she was submerged in darkness. The fire must have died.
The sound came again closer this time, and punctuated by voices. She began to panic, her breath coming in panicked hikes. Suddenly a hand closed on hers and she resisted the urge to cry out. “Hush, it’s me.” whispered Raziel. She struggled to contol her breathing. After what seemed like an eternity she finally regained enough control to speak. “Did you hear that?” she whimpered. “Yes. I think the invaders are looking for survivors.” He whispered. “Wait here. I’m going to wake mama and papa.” His hand left hers and she felt the panic return as the darkness consumed her lonely frame again.
She heard him crawl over to where their parents slept, Raum snoring lightly, and tried to shake them awake. “Mama. Papa.” he whispered. “I heard voices. They’re getting closer.” To punctuate his point the scraping sound came back, at its loudest yet, this time accompanied by the tramping of heavy metal boots.
By now Genevieve’s eyes had adjusted to the dark so she could see her family moving about. Raum sprang to his feet, waking his wife who had been sleeping next to him in the process. “Whats happening?” she asked groggily, as lost as Genevieve had been upon her awakening. “Quiet! They’re coming!” hissed Raum. “We need to move now!” The voices from the hall stopped instantly with that proclamation. The tramping of boots halted as well. Only foreboding silence filled the space where terror had been seconds before.
They all waited, not talking, not moving, not even daring to breath. Each member of the family anxiously hoping they had been passed by. After what felt like an eternity, but in actuality was only minutes, Maria broke the silence. “Are they gone?” she asked. They were the last words she ever spoke.
A bang, impossibly loud in the confined space they hid in, announced both Maria’s death and their discovery by the monsters. The bolter fired its deadly payload and with the muzzle flare that came with the weapons firing, both Genevieve and Raziel were able to see the world around them with perfect clarity.
The shell took their mother in the chest, forcing her to simply cease to exist. She burst like an over ripened fruit causing the air around them to be filled with a pink mist as the scraps of Maria landed on the floor. Genevieve cried out, partly in grief, and partly at what else was revealed in the strobe of the guns muzzle flare.
Standing in the main access way to their shelter was a being from her darkest nightmares. It was built like a man, yet stood head and shoulders over her father, who in his own right was a tall, well built man. The murderer was encased in power armor, like that worn by the space marine chapter that called this world home, a mix of bight purples and blues with silver trimming, the instrument of death held out before him in a single outstretched arm still smoking from its single shot. The armor as well as his weapons, were not pure like the aforementioned Blood Specters’, instead they were draped in what could only be human skin. Adding to the image was his left arm encased in a claw like weapon, that now ignited was wreathed in small steaks of lighting arcing across the surfaces of the four blades that protruded from the weapon. The lighting cast an eerie blue grey glow across the room. This light allowed her to see the beasts head. It was then that she finally couldn’t help but scream.
It had no face. This monster had a shaved head, glowing purple eyes without iris’s, sharpened teeth… and no face. The musculature, tendons and nerve endings were all exposed to the elements.
Behind the monster were several of his cohort, each in similar armor with their own festoons and fetishes. They however were only armed with guns identical to the one used to murder her mother. It was to his fellow nightmares that the murderer turned to as her scream washed over him. A sigh of pleasure escaped from between his teeth, and his facial muscles contorted in the approximation of a smile. “Ahhh. I knew I tasted innocence in the air here” he hissed. His voice was like the last breath escaping from a dying man. He took a step further into the room. He stopped to survey what he found, letting his eyes linger on each of them in turn so that they may know their doom was upon them. It wasn’t until he came to Genevieve that a smile once again split his face. “What have we got here? Such a pretty young thing. So unique…” he approached, stopping only once he was towering over her. Fear held her rooted to the spot. He holstered his gun and reached to brush away the tears that were streaming down her face.
Raziel leapt at him, hoping Genevieve would run in the seconds he was attempting to buy her with his life. With dizzying speed the monster turned and almost casually batted him across the room with the back of his hand. “Uh uh uh.” The beast tittered. “She’s my plaything now.”
Raum stood frozen and helpless as his son lay injured, and probably dying, on the floor. He could only watch as the murderer once again reached towards his beloved daughter, this time taking some of her tears on his finger tips and bringing them to his mouth. An elongated worm like tongue slid out from between his teeth and consumed his daughters’ tears.
The beasts’ cries of ecstasy echoed around the room for long seconds. “Yessss.” He finally hissed. “Such innocence, you will be by greatest gift to the prince of pleasure. Thaddius!” he snapped “Detain her for transport, she’s coming with us.” “Yes lord Kraven”, responded one of the beasts before stepping forward while slinging his bolter to comply.
Kraven closed his eyes reliving the sensations that had wracked his body upon tasting Genevieve’s tears. It was then that Raum struck.
He was galvanized that this creature had touched his daughter and he had done nothing to stop it. Like a coward he had stood there and let this disgusting thing taste his daughters innocence. Fury welled up, hot and uncontrollable, within his chest. Before the monsters lackey, Thaddius, was even halfway across the room Raum loosed a cry of rage and leapt at the faceless nightmare, the small knife he had concealed up his sleeve now clenched tightly in his fist.
Exquisite. That was the only way to describe the sensations that had surged through him upon tasting this mortal’s innocence. Kraven knew he would never taste the like again, and even as he thought about the sensations he had experienced only moments ago he felt the ache of their absence. All experience, no matter how wondrous, is fleeting. The child’s tears were no exception.
This life of experience that fled to quickly was both exhilarating and frustrating at the same time. Exhilarating because of the rush each battle brought, each surge of ecstasy brought by every twinge of pain, and most noticeably the flood of emotions that comes with the tasting of innocence. Frustrating because no matter what he experienced it came and went in seconds. The endlessly teasing nature of it had led to acts of self mutilation that no mortal could ever conceive even in the darkest of their nightmares. Kravens body was a latticework of old and new scars from cuts and burns. But it was never enough. Every wound only brought about a momentary surge of feeling in his otherwise dull universe.
This had led to the removal of his face. Kraven had hoped that by exposing his nerve endings to the elements he would have attained a perpetual state of sensation. In this he was to be wrong. At first the sensations were indescribable, to the point that he was delirious with the state of constant pleasure and pain. In time though, even this faded. The wind stopped bringing its unbearable burn, the rain no longer felt like drops of acid on his face, and everything in between simply ceased to be felt. From his minds point of view, he might as well have been dead.
Yes every sensation was fleeting. But this child promised to change all that. Oh he had such plans for her. The prince of pleasure would surely grant him the most exquisite of experiences for this gift, new and never fading. Lost in these thoughts he never saw the knife aimed for his neck.
The knife raced towards his neck, aimed at burying itself in his jugular. Had it been aimed by a skilled warrior it might have succeeded. As it was the knife buried itself in the iron hard muscles of his neck failing too so much as nick a major blood vessel.
Kraven opened his eyes and smiled, savoring the experience the pain brought before it left. The mortal lost his grip on the knife as Kravens hand shot out and lifted him off the floor by his throat. Raum could then only cough and splutter as he reached up and withdrew the knife with a sigh of pleasure. “Thank you little man” he said, “that was wonderful if fleeting. Perhaps you might enjoy it as well?” He then drove the knife into the mortals’ chest with a crunching of bone. He didn’t stop once he hit organs, instead he pushed the blade all the way out Raums back, enjoying the look of terror on his face as his arm halted bicep deep in the dead mans chest cavity.
Raum coughed up a mouthful of blood and expired. Kraven frowned, his plaything no longer of interest, and flung him away.
Distractions dealt with Kraven returned his attention to the girl. A smile forming on his face as he thought of the emotions that had to be surging through her. He envied her for that. The smile froze half formed on his face however when he saw that the spot she had stood in was empty. He turned to Thaddius expecting to see her struggling against his grip. He was greeted by a circle of blank helmets. His men had been distracted by the audacity of the mortal that had dared to attack their lord, and thus allowed the girl to escape. Rage at their ineptitude tinged his vision red.
“Where did she go!?” he roared the pipes in the walls rattling in their fixings with the ferocity of his rage. His men gave weak shrugs or simply didn’t answer. He clamped down on his anger; they would be dealt with later, for now he would force the injured boy to speak, and reveal where the girl had run. He would have his prize.
Only the boy wasn’t where Kraven had left him either. Anger overpowered him. He unsheathed his lightning claws and with two quick steps rammed the activated blades through the skull of his nearest warrior. He savored the sensation that came with the kill as the aroma of burned brain matter filled the room. He withdrew the blades and allowed the body to fall to the floor with a metallic thump.
“Find them!”Kraven screamed, murder burning in his eyes. The nightmares leapt to obey.
The siblings had raced though the manufactorum, past the desiccated corpses, and ruined machinery, down the dark corridors, and as far from the nightmares as they could.
Raziel needed to stop. His ribs were grinding together, and he was positive one of his lungs was punctured. But to stop now, with the sounds of pursuit so close behind would mean death for him, and worse for Genevieve.
The thought filled him with renewed resolve. He would not fail; he would save his sister, and keep his promise. And so he ran on, hand in hand with Genevieve attempting to find salvation in this city of the dead and the damned.
Their frenzied flight, wrought with horrific sights and barking bolters forming fresh craters inches from his head, led them to the center of the city. They ran towards the governor’s palace hoping to bar themselves inside, and hide till help came. They made it as close as the center of the square before the palace when Genevieve tripped over the child lying before the statue of the silent Emperor and bowled into the back of Raziels legs sending them both sprawling to the blood and snow covered ground. Raziel leapt to his feet and was attempting to drag Genevieve’s sobbing form from the ground when a metal shod boot crunched into his ribs and sent him flopping to the ground at the feet of the statue of the Emperor.
He couldn’t move. His existence ceased to have meaning besides the pain that consumed him. He could barely breathe. Each breath ground ribs together, and when he tried to take a deep breath he only succeeded in coughing up blood. Genevieve screamed, and sent blades of ice ripping through his soul. Raziel attempted to sit up only for spasms of pain to tear through his body and force him back down. So he laid their watching the snow somehow fall from a sky that appeared to be burning. It was then he saw that it wasn’t only snow that was falling.
The sky was weeping tears of flame, each falling like a comet toward the city. In the same moment he noticed this he a heard a rush of activity and orders being barked out by the voice he recognized as Kravens, the orchestrator of all the bloodshed. The pain was causing Raziel’s consciousness to swirl though and he couldn’t make out what was being said. An unbearably loud roar filled his hearing and he finally forced the pain down long enough to allow himself to rise up on his elbows.
A flying monstrosity, boxy in form with stubby wings and daubed in the same colors that the violators of his home wore, was descending rapidly into the square. As it drew closer to the ground Raziel that it wasn’t entirely machine but had organic components as well such as weeping orifices and mouths filled with razor teeth working open and closed again as the ship halted its descent, hovering a meter above the ground.
All around the city the tears of fire were impacting the ground, and the boom of their arrivals were quickly followed by heavy weapons fire. The crunch of a heavy boot on snow snatched Raziel’s attention away from the monstrosity before him and back to the armored figures filing into its belly. He saw Genevieve struggling in one of the warriors grip.
They locked eyes for a moment abject terror frozen on her features, and a look that begged forgiveness for his failure plastered on his own. In that moment of connection he knew that she understood, but could not forgive. Raziel felt his soul die in with that look. All he could do was mouth “I’m sorry.” as his lungs had begun to fill with blood and speech was no longer possible. And then she was gone. His world tilted alarmingly as a cold metal fist closed around his throat and lifted him bodily off the ground.
He found himself eye to eye with the the faceless monster, Kraven. “You gave us quite a run around boy.” He hissed in his face. Raziel couldn’t speak, even if his lungs were operable Kravens grip was iron and tightening with each passing second. So Raziel didn’t try to speak, instead he spat a mouthful of blood in his face. Kraven hissed in pleasure as the substance found his nerves and forced them to sing with pain. “Not nice boy. I could have given you a release from the pain I know you’re in. Your un-tuned senses are obviously not able to comprehend that all experience, even the pain, is what it means to be alive, truly alive. But alas the point is moot; I have my prize and lack the time to give you a truly sensational death. As such, I will leave you to your final moments with this scrap of knowledge, your sister will suffer. Oh her screams will be exquisite, perhaps even heard by the dark prince himself. Body and soul my young friend her death will be simply beautiful in its prosecution. In that I truly envy her.” The last was whispered, a forlorn look in his downcast purple eyes.
Raziel attempted to reach Kravens eyes, desperate to gouge them out, to inflict some sort of harm on this beast that would defile the embodiment of perfection that was his sister. Before he could reach however Kraven dropped him in a heap back to the ground. Time seemed to slow as he landed. The ground shook. Skinny for his age and no where near as bulky as his tormentor, the ground shouldn’t have even noticed his arrival, let alone shook. Then the gunfire began.
Raziels heart drummed slowly in his chest, keeping in time with the steady blasts of gunfire directed at Kraven and his ship. Guns sounding identical to the ones wielded by the monsters who stole poor Genevieve from him continued firing from outside his field of vision. Their bullets sparked off the side of the floating monstrosity, and created deep craters in Kravens armor. Kraven roared and fired his weapon in reply, all the while backing towards his ship. One of his men leaned out of the hold with one hand while the other clenched the door way. The ship was beginning to lift off. Still firing his weapon Kraven took hold of his lackey’s hand and allowed himself to be hauled into the hold. The drop ramp closed, forcing Kraven inside.
A heavy boot, similar to the one worn by Kraven and his men crunched down next to his head. Only this boot was brass. On the verge of consciousness Raziel followed the boot up the leg and all the way up to the owners face. Before reaching it however, he saw that the armor was brass with red trim, and more importantly it was pure. There were not fetishes, no cloaks of flesh, no taint.
The armors owner possessed a stern face, hard eyes and close cropped white hair. His creased forehead was studded with three gold studs. From what little Raziel knew of the asartes this marked him as important somehow, indeed the other similarly armored warriors seemed to defer to this marine. “Apothecary.” the marine called out, his voice soft yet threatening, similar to a thunderstorm rumbling in the distance. Ironic, given how far away he sounded to Raziel at that moment. Several seconds later a marine in white armor, appeared at the marines shoulder. “Yes my lord?” asked a voice rendered metallic by the helmet he wore, and sounding further away still then his companion.
The marine that had first found Raziel never removed his eyes from his own. “See that this boy does not die Sendrini. Asylus has seen enough death due to our negligence.” Sendrini nodded in reply, “Your will be done Captain Karael”. These were the last words Raziel heard before his body finally gave into the pain of its own shattered form and darkness rose to meet him.
The snow continued to fall.
Chapter 2
-Days Later-
Raziel lay in the medical wing of The Cerberus, strike cruiser of the Blood Spectres. His broken frame tossed and turned amid sweat stained sheets dreaming Emperor knows what. He was alone in the sterile and brightly lit room, a tray of blood coated instruments that the apothecary had used to save his life under the orders of his captain.
Both the aforementioned men, killer and life giver, stood at Raziels bedside. “He will live apothecary?” whispered Capron. The apothecary nodded, too busy wiping off the blood that coated his forearms and chest to form a more eloquent response. Capron didn’t press for more, it was enough that he would live. And if he lived, he could fight. After the casualties suffered planet side they would need fresh recruits. The first company had paid a steep price to reclaim their home world from the Innocence Breakers chaos marines. His fists unconsciously clenched at the thought of the violation the traitors had brought to his world. All the dead civilians, the ruined capital city, his blood boiled at the thought. And then there were the astartes casualties. Twenty-one dead fifteen more who would never fight again, three of which came from the vaunted terminator elite including veteran sergeant Dalien.
Sendrini sensed Caprons ill humor and laid a placating hand on his armored shoulder. “We will have our revenge my lord.” Capron shrugged his hand away. “Aye, we most certainly will.” he snarled. Raziel moaned in his sleep instantly dispelling the anger he felt. They had to look to the future, not dwell in the past. All they could do was learn from it and move on. And the boy laid out before him was the first step on that road.
The boy was strong. He hadn’t begged the chaos marine for his life. He had defied him to the end, the boys courage was admirable, as was his fortitude for surviving the wounds he suffered. He would make a fine marine. Still…doubt nagged at the back of Caprons thoughts. The boy was less than a fraction of his own age and yet he had already seen more than some full fledged asartes had in years of service. Knowing this, one couldn’t help but wonder about the boys mental stability. No. Capron crushed the doubt. The boy was alive, and would no doubt thirst for vengeance on the defilers of his home. Capron would stay with the boy while he healed, and personally oversee his induction into the scouts squad, and from there ensure that he one day became a full fledged asartes. Should the child be found wanting somewhere along the road to joining the Blood Spectres however…Capron would end the boy himself.
Raziel remained oblivious to these thoughts and continued to dream.
He was alone. Raziel stood on a rocky outcrop surrounded by darkness. He couldn’t see anything, and instead relied on his other senses.
He heard the gentle sound of water lapping at stone. He smelled Iron, thick and cloying in the air. He knelt down and ran a hand over the surface he stood upon. It was smooth to the touch, broken sporadically by holes he refused to explore with his finger. His skin crawled merely touching the outside. Raziel stood and began to wonder if he was dead. Had his wounds finished what the monster, Kraven, had started? No. He refused to accept that. If he was dead then where was the Emperor, the golden lights and his parents beckoning him home? Something chuckled in the dark at these thoughts. Raziel wheeled around, desperate for answers. “Hello?” he questioned. “Hello young Raziel” breathed a voice deep and grating, as though the speaker was barely able to form the words due to some disfigurement. It was close enough for him to feel its breath on the back of his neck, but when he turned there was no one there. Fear welled up in Raziels chest. “Who are you?” The voice returned, behind him once again.
“My true name would be impossible for you to pronounce young one, instead you may call me Soulreaver.” “Soulreaver.” Raziel let the name roll of his tongue, feeling the import behind the names meaning. “Do you steal souls? Is your name accurate?” he questioned. The voice laughed. It boomed all around him, echoing for long moments before fading to nothing. “Ah! Such an intelligent creature Raziel. I didn’t think you would know the meaning of the word, it is old and so many mortals today don’t understand the old languages. But to answer your question, yes, in a sense that is what I do but not entirely. You see to steal a soul would be to take without permission from and unwilling victim. I do not do this. Instead I offer a fair trade in exchange for the soul. I give the mortal exactly what they want. In your case…revenge” “Are you a god?” asked Raziel, the fear gone with opportunity presenting itself to him. The voice chuckled dryly. “Not as such no, merely the faithful servant of one.” A pinprick of light was building in the distance growing steadily brighter as the exchange continued.
Raziel pondered this. “Do you server the Emperor?” a snarl echoed out of the dark. “No. I do not. Do you?” The question hung in the dark for long moments before Raziel formed a response. His shoulders sagged, “I don’t know.” Coldness suffused his body. Hours ago he would have answered yes immediately, but now? After the death of his family, and the abduction of Genevieve? He simply couldn’t believe that a god who cared for his servants would have allowed these horrible things to happen. Thoughts that no child should have to ponder ran through his head. He felt cold. A rough clawed hand rested on his shoulder, easily swallowing a good portion of his upper arm with its size. He flinched at its touch before relaxing as he realized the hand meant him no harm. “Let me ask a better question my young friend. Does he deserve your loyalty? Was he there for you when you needed him most? Or did he allow your sister to be taken. Were you not moments from death at the feet of a statue dedicated to his benevolence? Where was the divine intervention to save what you cared about. Where were His angels of death when your world was dying?” As the voice went on it grew louder more impassioned. “The Emperor doesn’t care about you boy. All he cares about is that you remain loyal. He demands it but offers nothing in return but his damning silence.”
The light was still growing. Colors began to reveal themselves as Raziel felt himself carried away by the voices words. The water lapping at the rock was red, as was the sky. The ground he stood upon was the same color as bone…no, it was bone. The light grew, revealing that he stood upon an island of skulls. He looked to his shoulder. A stone grey hand tipped with brass talons, easily large enough to wrap around his head and crush it rested upon his shoulder. The voice whispered again. “Now you see. Yes, it’s there in your soul I can taste it. You understand what I offer you. The Astarte’s will make you strong. They will arm and armor you and make you a war god amongst men. But for all that, you will still be mortal. Just flesh and blood as breakable as you were when the followers of the pleasure god found you.” The hand gently turned Raziel to face its owner.
Raziel found himself facing a kneeling monster straight from the deepest depths of hell. It was easily twice the height of the nightmare that stole Genevieve from him. It was a hulking slab of muscle, with great wings of nightmare black furled behind it. It knelt on legs with backward joints that terminated in brass hooves. Like its predecessor however it was the face that held Raziel transfixed. It’s face was like a bulls structurally, with great horns of brass curling from either side of its head. It smiled revealing rows of razor teeth. The expression didn’t reach its blood red eyes. Thoughts of revenge smothered any fear he might have felt at the sight.
“I can give you the power you need to avenge dear Genevieve Raziel. I can give you that and so much more. When the time is right, you will be given the power to burn worlds, and create oceans of blood with immortality giving you eternity to do it. All my master asks in return is that every kill you accomplish, every skull you take, and every soul you send screaming to hell…you do it in his name. Your soul will belong to him my young friend, but with immortality, what good is it anyway?” The last part was ignored, and Raziel fell to his knees, ambition burning in his oh so young face. “I swear my allegiance to this new master.” A ripple of unease creased his features as reason struggled to assert itself for a moment. “Who is it though? In whos name shall I drown this galaxy in blood?” The beast laughed by way of answer, as the light in the distance grew to enormous proportion revealing itself to be the sigil of the Blood God before exploding and sending Raziel screaming back to the mortal realm.
He found himself lying in a brightly lit, white room amid sweat stained sheets. His breath came in shallow hikes and it took him a moment to regain his composure. A heavy hand rested on his shoulder seeking to calm him. He jerked around to face the source, teeth barred in threat and found himself facing the marine who had saved his life. “Easy boy. Your safe now.” He whispered. “Where am I? Who are you?” retorted Raziel. The marine removed his hand from the childs shoulder, “I am Captain Capron of the Blood Specters Space Marines first company, and you are aboard my strike cruiser The Cerberus.” He looked Raziel in the eye before continuing. “Now, who are you and who was it that the traitors took aboard their ship?”
Raziel lowered his eyes not willing to relive the experience. Resolve built in him as a voice whispered in his mind
-Truth will gain his trust, and for now that is what you need.- “I am Raziel Krieger, and that girl was my sister.” He told the story of his survival. He told Capron how he and his family had hid during the invasion, and how they had inevitably been found and what had transpired at that point. He told him what Kraven had said he intended to do and it was at that point that Raziel lost his composure.
Tears streamed down his face, “Will she be alright? Can we save her!?” Now it was Caprons turn to look away “I…no. Raziel I don’t believe that she will. The great enemy is not merciful to those they capture. The best we can do is pray that she has met the Emperor before suffering.” Anger surged in Raziel heart at this easy dismissal of his sisters life. It was quickly placated by the voice from earlier –
calm yourself Raziel, listen to him. He will soon help you take your first steps along the path to vengeance.- Capron looked up again, “We cannot save her…but I can offer you the chance to seek retribution from those responsible for her fate.” Raziel smiled as laughter filled his head.
: 1850
