Ciaphas Cain: Choose Your Enemies

‘You never did,’ I riposted, somewhat ungallantly, and swung my chainsword at a shapely calf studded with shimmering scales, the knee surmounting it roughly on a level with my face. The blade whirled through the plundered flesh of which it was composed without leaving any trace of its passage, muscle and skin knitting together instantly behind the whining teeth, and I took an involuntary step backwards as the unspent momentum tugged at my balance. Actinic light flared as Jurgen triggered the melta, at point-blank range this time, and a small char mark appeared for an instant before vanishing without a trace.

Emeli laughed again, with a trace of vindictive glee. ‘You see? You can’t hurt me at all any more.’

‘I wouldn’t be too sure about that,’ I said, out of sheer bravado rather than any conviction, I must admit. The last time she’d taken physical form, getting close enough to her to bring that body within Jurgen’s warp-dampening aura had allowed us to inflict a modicum of damage on it, but this one seemed utterly impervious to the effect of his gift.

An insistent little thought began to scratch at my synapses. If that was true, and Jurgen really wasn’t a threat to her any more, why had she instructed Fulcher to have him killed? There had to be a reason…

‘I would,’ the daemon said, with a degree of preternatural smugness which should have been infuriating, but which the glamour surrounding her somehow rendered strangely endearing. ‘And when I’ve consumed these completely, I’ll be invincible.’ I glanced apprehensively behind her to the pile of spirit stones. All were infested with the creeping darkness, the majority of them more than half engulfed already; a few had gone almost entirely black, with only a few faint flickers of light still clinging on desperately in their deepest recesses. Her voice became low and seductive, caressing my very bones with its cadence. ‘It’s not too late, you know. We can still be friends. Let bygones be bygones, come and play with me. You know you want to.’ And part of me did, I have to admit – lured in by those seductive rhythms.

But most of me didn’t. I’d seen what happened to mortals foolish enough to trust in the promises of daemons before, most recently the ones whose mortal remains she now inhabited.

‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘but I’m not interested in those kinds of games. If you had a regicide board, on the other hand–’

I took another fruitless swipe at the leg in front of me, with the same disheartening lack of effect as before. A peevish expression appeared on the daemon’s face, and with movements as lithe as the most skilful of dancers she raised her leg and stamped down at where I was standing. The deck plates beneath the metre or so of soil covering them buckled from the impact, creating a small, but somehow elegant, crater. If I hadn’t dived out of the way at the last moment that would have been it for me, reduced to a small stain, but as it was I rolled and came back to my feet, cracking off a couple of shots from my laspistol as I did so. Which, predictably, did nothing beyond annoying her, but if that was the best I could do for the time being I’d just have to settle for that.

‘Avaunt, in the Emperor’s name!’ Vekkman bellowed, giving up on the bolt pistol, and charging in with the crackling staff, swinging it as though it were a blade. At the same time Amberley, now acting in concert with her fellow inquisitor, triggered the jump pack of her power armour, soaring into the air, and emptying the magazine of her storm bolter full in the daemon’s hideously alluring visage.

For a moment I dared to hope that their combined might would somehow be enough. As Vekkman’s sorcerous weapon struck, the flesh of Emeli’s leg grew momentarily insubstantial, evanescing into sweet-smelling vapour, and the barrage of explosive projectiles pureed a couple of eyes and a flawless cheek. Then, with a shriek of rage, she lashed out with one of her tongues, striking Amberley from the air; the impact crazed the ceramite of the armour’s breastplate, and sent its wearer crashing to the ground.

My heart seemed to stop for a moment – but inquisitors are made of sterner stuff than most, and after an eternal second or so Amberley began to stir, the servos of her suit making harsh whining sounds as the damaged joints ground against one other in her efforts to rise.