---
Cassian's boots thudded against cold metal, the sound bouncing off bulkheads, swallowed quickly. The rosary rested heavy in his pocket, its faint glow a thin tether to the dead Inquisitor's last will. His mind somewhere else.
Behind him, Faevelith's footsteps were quite like most of the time. She glanced over once at the Pariah child swaddled in a tattered cloak, but the girl's face was turned away, hidden beneath a hood. Stillness hung around her like a shroud. No cries, no movement beyond the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest.
Cassian finally slowed. The corridor split, giving way to a steel ribbed doorway. Inside, lights flickered over an improvised medicae bay. Not the real one too many wounded there. This one had been set up in a storage hold, converted on the fly.
Two tech priest adepts worked at consoles. One turned as they entered. His face was partially obscured beneath layers of ceramite and optic lenses. The red glow of his mechadendrites flickered as he bowed his head slightly.
Cassian spoke first. "Report."
The tech priest's voice had that tin-can resonance, modulated and emotionless. "Vitals of the pariah are steady. Blood pressure low but stable. Respiratory unremarkable. No infection. No signs of warp contamination."
"Psych eval?"
The other tech-priest responded without turning. "Inconclusive. Neural scans show… suppression. Not damage. Something deeper. Subconscious shielding mechanisms. Possibly trained. Possibly instinct."
"Trained?" Faevelith arched an eyebrow, stepping closer to the girl, who stood motionless near the wall. "Trained by who?"
"Unknown. Memory clusters are dormant. We suspect conditioning. Possibly from birth."
Cassian studied her. The child hadn't moved. Her hands remained folded beneath the cloak. Her breathing was shallow.
He lowered his voice. "She doesn't flinch much."
"She doesn't do anything," Faevelith said, walking around her slowly. "I've seen statues with more presence."
Cassian just hummed at that.
"Can she hear us?" Faevelith asked.
"She can hear everything," Cassian said quietly. "Watch this."
He stepped forward, no sudden movement, just a shift in position, and let the metal toe of his boot slide against the deck. A sound was barely above a whisper. The girl didn't look, but she stiffened. Only for a breath. The tension passed like a ripple through still water.
"She's watching," he said. "Even if she never lifts her head."
Faevelith folded her arms. "That's not instinct. That's training."
Cassian turned to the tech-priests. "Where's the reading?"
"Blank." The mechadendrite shifted, tapping the auspex. "As expected. No soul resonance. No light. No echo."
"Of course," Faevelith muttered. "She's a null. I can feel it every time I get near her."
The tech-priest hesitated. "Magos… it is not standard procedure to house such anomalies near ship infrastructure. We request guidance." He hesitated before saying, "Should I suggest an extermination protocol?"
"Guidance?" Cassian's voice turned cold. "You want guidance? Here it is: keep her alive, keep her sedated if needed, and if any of your cogitators so much as whisper the word extermination, I'll reprogram your lobes myself."
The silence that followed was absolute.
Cassian's hand found the rosary in his pocket. Still warm. Still glowing faintly. He crouched down to eye level with the girl. She didn't meet his gaze. But he didn't expect her to.
"We're taking you to the bridge soon," he said softly. "I don't know if you care. But you should know."
Her head tilted slightly. Barely noticeable. But it was there.
"You're not alone anymore," he added. "Even if it feels like it."
Still no answer.
Cassian stood. "We'll get her checked again after we deal with Orar. Keep her here until I say otherwise."
One of the tech priests bowed. "Understood, Interrogator."
---
Inside the cramped briefing room, the hum of servitors and distant chatter filtered through the bulkheads. Bast sat at the head of the table, face drawn and tired, rubbing at a thin scar along his jaw. The others Whent, Farron, Santos gathered around, faces tight with exhaustion and something deeper. Regret.
Cassian laid the rosary on the table. "The Lord Inquisitor died here. Fighting to the last breath. We owe him more than a token victory."
Bast's voice was low, almost a growl. "The operation's only beginning. Reports from the upper floors say the our forces are edging closer to outright conflict. Command structure is fractured."
Whent's eyes narrowed. "Two imperial forces turning on each other. Perfect chaos for the traitors to exploit."
"Which means," Farron cut in, "we've got more than just cultists to worry about."
Cassian folded his hands. "We need to coordinate, fast. Fragmented forces bleed will us dry."
Suddenly, the comm panel beeped sharply. Bast answered, voice clipped. "Report."
A vox operator's face flickered to life, strained. "Lord Bast, the orbital strike is scheduled in forty minutes. The admiral demands swift compliance."
Bast's jaw tightened. "Confirm collateral damage risk to surviving prisoners?"
"Minimal, Sir," the operator replied. "Facilities are compromised beyond repair. Evacuation impossible."
"Evacuate as many as possible, try your best, prioritise healthy individuals over weak and injured; they would only be a burden. Over and Out." Bast ordered swiftly.
---
That night, as the bombardment rumbled in the distance and distant screams echoed, Cassian stood by the viewport, the Pariah girl silently seated beside him.
Both watching the spectacle, as no one would get close to the pariah. So her responsibility for now lied with Cassian. Both lost in there own thoughts.
---
Broadsword 1-1
Orar 51st Lightning Interceptor squadron
"Broadsword Actual, Overwatch Wilco. Intercept a bomber flight vectoring towards friendly convoy. Coordinates..." Flight Leftenant Erica Astra pulled her control stick and banked to the east. Her agile fighter obeyed like an eager puppy and easily settled into a new course. Behind her, the rest of the squadron followed suit, forming into a wedge formation.
"Broadsword Two, Broadsword Actual, confirm orders." Erica's XO – Leftenant Korolev asked over the vox.
It wasn't like Victory Bay's locals to question orders. Yet, the Flight Leftenant could understand his concern and she shared it. The new orders carried them to the east straight at the source of the Chaos sorcery that dominated the skies in the form of a purple wound in reality itself. The Emperor damned thing was connected to the ground via pulsing tentacle made of wriggling energy that made it painful to look in that direction.
The warp storm in orbit above that location – an abomination made of unspeakable things, didn't help either. Yet, the 51st had their orders – to disobey was treason and that had only one outcome.
"Broadsword Actual, Broadsword Two, orders confirmed. We're to intercept enemy bombers and provide CAP for a ground convoy." Erica repeated the orders, which came straight from the general.
"May the Emperor watch over our souls." Broadsword Three Leftenant Orlin Kovac muttered a prayer over the vox.
"The Emperor protects." Erica answered just as quietly. She looked at her instruments, at the side of the cockpit, just so she didn't have to stare at the purple tendrils of energy undulating over the horizon.
"Broadsword flight – don't look straight at whatever is happening over the Deimos Peninsula." The Flight Leftenant ordered. She didn't think that her men were dumb enough to stare into that madness, but she wanted to make sure.
Erica started muttering prayers to soothe her nerves and keep her mind off what was happening to her world, while her eyes never left the instruments.
It didn't really help.
The flight was just a few minutes of the target area, when the sensor suite of the Lightning whined, announcing high energy disturbance that made it hard to detect anything.
"Broadsword Flight, Broadsword Actual. Are you experiencing auspex disturbances?"
"Broadsword Two – detection range is at fifty percent and rapidly decreasing."
"Broadsword Three – mine just fell to twenty five percent and it's not moving from there."
"Broadsword Actual, Overwatch. Be advised – we're experiencing interference. Auspex detection range just fell to one third. Please advise on enemy location." Erica informed command
"Overwatch, Broadsword Actual. Be advised – we're detecting four boogies vectoring on the convoy. Course..."
As command gave her the vector and distance of the enemy, Erica typed it into the flight cogitator. Four blinking red dots appeared on her sensor screen showing the estimated locations of the enemy.
"Flight profile and sensor sweeps estimate four Marauder Bombers." Overwatch declared.
"Affirmative. Target is four Marauders." Erica answered.
"Good hunting, Broadsword Actual. Overwatch out."
A few minutes and multiple small course corrections later, Erica finally got the enemy on sensors. The bomber's targets too – the later were hard to miss when they were the only moving thing on the ground.
"All Broadswords, hit the afterburners and engage at will." Erica ordered as her flight screamed far above the guard convoy. The bombers were almost in effective range – they would have had a clear shot even earlier if it wasn't for the disturbance that all but guaranteed a visual range dogfight.
At least that wasn't too big a problem this time – Broadsword flight had already expended their missiles while dueling with Chaos fighters for air superiority in the vicinity of Victory Bay.
The enemy detected them almost at the same time and split – two bombers dived, while the rest pulled up.
"Broadsword Flight, Broadsword Actual. I'm taking the low pair. Eliminate the rest and reinforce."
"Affirmative."
"Willco. The Emperor Protects."
The Flight Leftenant put her fighter into a sharp dive. This was going to be tricky – ideally she would be able to take out both bombers on the first pass, however that wasn't something she could count on. If even one of the traitors managed to lock on the convoy, they would be able to kill it.
Erica grit her teeth when her flight suit tightened around her as she sped down and the gravities affecting her started mounting. Soon enough, the targeting cogitator gave a pleased beep as it locked on the leading bomber. Erica smiled viciously and pressed the trigger. Her wingtip mounted lanscannons spoke and a pair of blinding beams of coherent light bore through the air.
"One down." The Flight Leftenant muttered after her target vanished from the sensors.
She looked up from the instruments at the fast approaching bomber she was flying at. The enemy craft lit up as it's auto-canons and bolters opened up in an attempt to swat her out of the sky. Erica answered with a burst of her own auto-canon, which unfortunately went wide.
The enemy's return fire became more accurate and bolter rounds pinged off her armored wings – the tiny explosions making her plane shake.
Erica glanced at the charge – just a few more seconds and she could fire her primary weapon again. She sent another burst of shells at the bomber, missing again as it banked right.
A ping announced that lanscanons were up and Erica pressed the trigger. The ponderous bomber had no prayer of evading this salvo – not at practically point blank range. Two lances of boiling energy speared the enemy craft just in front of the left wing, slicing it open as its own momentum drove it through the beams.
Then the ordnance cooked off and the bomber disappeared in the middle of a colossal explosion.
"Broadsword Flight, Broadsword One. Sound up." Erica ordered and pushed her Lighting into a steep climb.
"Broadsword Two, scratch one boogie."
"Broadsword Three, the heretics are dead."
"Good. We're on CAP until the convoy is in friendly territory. Broadsword Actual, Overwatch. Enemy bombers killed. Broadsword Flight is providing escort for the convoy. Over."
"Overwatch, Broadsword Actual. Well done. Carry on. We'll keep an eye for enemy fliers. Over."
Erica glanced at the convoy speeding on the highway below. She hoped that it carried something important enough to justify pulling her squadron out of the furball above the capital. To her utter astonishment and confusion, the convoy braked and started turning around. What in the Emperor's name…
"Broadsword Actual, Overwatch. The convoy is turning around, please advise." Erica hissed into the vox.
"Overwatch, Broadsword Actual, wait one."
Erica was left fuming as the convoy of chimeras sped back towards the Deimos peninsula.
"Overwatch, Broadsword Actual. The convoy is going back to retrieve a pair of stranded stormtrooper platoon. Provide CAP. We'll vector support when available. Over."
Why did the stormtroopers go back to retrieve the same maniacs who had been "accidentally" killing them for the last couple of weeks? What did she do – offend the Emperor himself or something to deserve dealing with this?! Especially when they could be orbitally bombarded at any moment now.
—
Word Count: 2090
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