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inquisitorradcliffe · 7 years

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Burn the Witch

First Place reward for @jdlegacy from the Recruitment Drive contest

Radcliffe’s revolver banged in his hand as another body dropped. He spun, arms swinging around to bring another target into his crosshairs and fire again. His revolver clicked dry. Radcliffe swore and danced back into the cover of a stone plinth. Lasrounds peppered the plinth, sending plumes of masonry dust into the air with each strike. The Lord Inquisitor opened his weapon’s cylinder with a flick of his wrist. Spent shells fell out, cascading down to jangle as they struck the tile floor. With practiced ease, Radcliffe reloaded and flicked the cylinder back into position before swinging out into a kneeling position and firing again.

“Leave some for the rest of us, Lord Inquisitor.” Radcliffe frowned as his vox bead crackled and Inquisitor Dolman’s smug voice came over the link. Dolman was a member of the Ordo Hereticus, and offensively stereotypical of its agents. He wore a tall, wide-brimmed hat at all times with a brown leather greatcoat that had the collar turned up. He carried a Condemnor patter bolt gun and enough anti-psyker trinkets to put a Culexus assassin to shame. The only redeeming quality about the man was his service record and the few choice souls that made up his retinue, all of whom seemed to find the man as irritating an insufferable as Radcliffe did.

“If you hurried and caught up, you might not be so reliant on my generosity,” Radcliffe shot back. He had no intention of saving any glory for Dolman. That wasn’t the game he played. If the Hereticus inquisitor wanted a share of the victory he would have to fight harder for it.

“Heads up, boss.” Remus’ voice came through a moment before a rocket screamed into the air. It spiraled towards Radcliffe on a tail of grey smoke. Radcliffe raised his arm to shield his face and the rocket detonated on a telekinetic barrier. Smoke and fire rolled around the Lord Inquisitor, but apart from a hot wind ruffling his coat, he was unharmed.

“Can someone get that fekker?” Radcliffe snapped. He was beginning to grow tired of this. The deeper they made it into the basilica, the more opposition they came across. Radcliffe launched himself forward, leaving the stone plinth for the safety of a marble support column. He peered out for a moment, taking stock of what lay ahead.

The corridor widened out ahead at a cross junction. Service platforms ran overhead, almost invisible against the high, domed ceiling. A number of cultists, their eyes dark and empty, had their guns trained down at the strike team, red beams of las stitching the air. Radcliffe, for the briefest moment, caught sight of the rocket launcher as the man toting it hefted it up onto his shoulder again.

“Incoming!” someone cried just before the launcher belched its payload at them. More tile and masonry flew into the air as the rocket blew a crater in the center of the corridor.

“I said can someone-”

“Patience, Lord Inquisitor,” Dolman chided. Radcliffe would strangle the man if they survived this. “We have it.”

“Damn well you better,” Radcliffe muttered. A moment later and fire boiled across the upper catwalks and Radcliffe heard the three distinctive percussive blasts as grenades went off. Cultists were thrown from their perch, falling to their deaths with unnerving silence.

“Target neutralized, Lord Inquisitor.”

“Much appreciated, Mister Danforth,” Radcliffe replied. He turned on his heel and whistled sharply. On cue, the rest of his team broke cover and sprinted the remainder of the corridor until they were all backed up against a set of ornate double doors. Thatch stepped forward, holstering his inferno pistol so he could plug into the door’s security pad. The techsorcist had the lock undone in a matter of seconds. Radcliffe pressed he vox bead in his ear. “We’re in position, Dolman.”

“Understood, Lord Inquisitor. We are-” Static burst across the link, causing Radcliffe to flinch.

“Say again, Dolman. You’re breaking up.”

More static. It hissed it waves that receded periodically to allow the sound of gunfire through. Gunfire and screaming. Radcliffe nodded to Thatch. “Open it.”

The doors squealed as gears engaged and massive hydraulic rams recessed into the floor pushed them inwards. The sound of gunfire and the horrid screaming, before only audible over the vox, now flooded out and engulfed them. Radcliffe ducked inside, mind already roving forward to assess the situation before the rest of his team followed him in.

He was met by a mental barrier of immense force. It was blunt and unwieldy, the result of a combination of untrained minds accumulated into one gestalt force of will. They were the source of the screaming and their wailing was a symptom of Dolman’s work upon their physical form.

There were hundreds of them, all chained together via metal collars around their necks. Their eyes had been removed, scorched out to leave nothing but blackened sockets. Whether this was intentional or the result of some warp power was uncertain. They were on their knees, pale, shriveled bodies trembling as they sobbed and wailed. They were wretched, and Dolman sought to end each of their wretched lives.

He killed without mercy as he marched down the line, executing each psyker in turn. They died effortlessly, their heads evaporating into red mist and grey matter. Each passing resounded i the warp as a violent shriek. “Dolman what are you doing?” Radcliffe shouted. “Stop!”

“The Emperor’s work, Lord Inquisitor!” Dolman replied. “You may join me at any time.”

“Stay your hand you ignorant man!” Radcliffe shouted. The air was growing unnaturally cold and each death only pushed the temperature down further. Radcliffe could feel a growing pressure. The veil between the warp and reality was failing. “Dolman!”

It was too late. There came the sound of shattered glass and for a moment everything froze. Tendrils of glowing haze bled into reality from a point just above Dolman’s head. They shone with impossible colors and seemed to coalesce into something greater. Then it all exploded. Dolman was tossed backwards like a rag doll, sailing through the air until he struck a stone pillar. The sickening crunch his body made indicated to Radcliffe the man would not be getting up again. The psykers, those that Dolman had not yet killed, simply ceased to exist, evaporating into a cloud of bloody mist that swirled on the sudden wind. It rose up and condensed until the blood was a shimmering, floating pool recessed high into the vaulted ceiling.

“Boss?” Orval’s voice over the vox link betrayed the slightest hint of panic.

“Kill anything that comes near me,” Radcliffe instructed. Thunder peeled overhead and lightning flashed inside the blood. Then it began to rain, warm and sticky.

“Lord Inquisitor, what do you need of me?”

“Danforth?”

“Aye, Lord.”

“My orders stand for you as well, Mister Danforth. For the Emperor.”

“For the Emperor, Lord.”

Radcliffe looked up at the blood cloud as it spit down on him. The warm fluid ran down his cheeks and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. The cloud seemed to sense his defiance, and the light sprinkle turned into an absolute deluge. Something moved within it, something large and with wings. A giant claw, the fingers gnarled and grotesque, pushed through. The blood strained at first, as if it were a membrane. Then it broke, popping like a bubble. It fell from the ceiling to swamp the floor.

And the bloodthirster fell with it.

The daemon landed with a heavy thud, tiles shattering under its hooves. The force of the impact caused a shock wave to ripple across the blood pools. Wings, leathery and scaled like a dragon’s, unfurled from its back as the bloodthirster stood to its full height. The whip in its left hand wreathed and snapped with a mind of its own. The axe in its other hand pulsed with arcane power. Radcliffe drew his force sword, already acutely aware the wraithbone’s abilities would be of little use against this foe. The bloodthirster roared, shaking the building with its primal bellow. It stared Radcliffe down with eyes that glowed like hot coals. The challenge was unmistakable.

Radcliffe’s grip on his sword tightened. “Let’s see what you’ve got then.”

The first blow nearly drove his sword from his hands. The whip only made things more difficult, snaking about to try and snare and disarm. Radcliffe counted himself blessed to have sparred with so many Mechanicus armed with dendrites. He stomped down hard on the whip, wincing internally as he registered the fleshy feel to it. A downstroke severed the whip in two.

The bloodthirster roared. “Ĭ̡ͯ ẅ̢̝́į̄ͮl͓ͪ͟l̥̠͝ c̳᷈̎l̫͂̏a̍ͬ᷅i̼̺ͫm̲̏ͅ ŷ᷇̌o͚̜͕u̺᷊͆r͐᷆͠ s᷁̆͝k̥͊ͬu̓̅᷇l̿̋͘l̶̝̥ f̶ͤ͡o̶̳̙r̼̐̏ Ḵ̙͂h̙᷉͒o᷈̆̃r᷁͏᷈n͂̿͗ȅ͊᷃.ͥͣͯ“ The thing was clearly not used to Low Gothic, and it showed in the way it spoke. It raised its axe. The other hand, now free with the loss of its whip, reached forth to grab the Lord Inquisitor. Radcliffe threw himself to the side just in time to avoid being grabbed.

Something exploded on the beast’s back, prompting the bloodthirster to shriek in pain. It stumbled backwards, turning as it looked for the new threat. “I’ll keep it distracted, my Lord.”

“Danforth?”

“Don’t take too long. I’ve only got three charges left.” Radcliffe spied the man ducking between support columns. He paused once, exposed halfway between points of cover, to release another charge. It was square, the size of a small briefcase. It spun through the air, arcing up and over with Danforth’s expert throw until detonated in the daemon’s face.

Radcliffe looked around. They were running out of time. The longer the bloodthirster was allowed to exist, the stronger its tie to reality became and the harder it would be to banish. Radcliffe reached out mentally, testing the waters as he probed the daemon’s defenses. As he expected, his mind was rebuked. Khorne’s servants always boasted a number of safeguards against psykers.

But flying chunks of masonry were a different story. Another bomb went off, drawing another frustrated scream from the daemon. Radcliffe focused on a long piece of marble, jagged and dangerously spear-like. It was longer than he was tall, and judging by the difficulty he had lifting it even with his prodigious mind, weighed in the neighborhood of several tons. The third and final bomb went off.

“My Lord,” Danforth said, urgency in his tone. “Any time now.”

Radcliffe flung his improvised missile with all his might. The bloodthirster seemed to sense what was happening and turned to face the Inquisitor, but too late. The marble spike impaled the beast through its tainted heart. Blood, black and steaming, fountained forth as if released from a great pressure. The daemon began to thrash about in its death throes. More pillars collapsed under its wild charge until it fell to its knees and toppled over, dead.

Silence fell.

“Are we done?”

Radcliffe coughed powdered marble from his lungs as he turned to look for his erstwhile assassin. He found him secreted up in the rafters. “Yes, we are done. Mister Danforth, are you okay?”

“Aye, but....”

“But, Mister Danforth?”

“But Inquisitor Dolman is...”

“Dead,” Radcliffe said. He felt that nothing of great value had been lost with the man. Dolman, and the rest of his bloody Ordo, could rot in hell for all he cared.

“Yeah.”

“His body will be collected during cleanup, as will the rest.”

Danforth nodded his understanding. “So what does that mean for me?”

“For you, Mister Danforth?”

“Only one left. Inquisitor’s dead. Teammates’re dead. I’m the only one left.”

Radcliffe paused, looking towards the man standing solemnly over his former employer’s corpse. “It means only one thing, Mister Danforth.”

“And what’s that?”

“You work for me now.”

#drabble #400 Follower Recruitment Drive #Taggert Danforth #jdlegacy

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