The chamber was shrouded in both darkness and silence.

The remains of Watch Captain Servais and the Sororitas Honor Guard that flanked it were motionless. Watch Captain Cearr gazed at them for some time from the chapel door. His adversary in the Deathwatch was gone and Watch Captain Cearr felt no joy. His Battle-Brother was removed from the service of the Emperor and Watch Captain Cearr felt anger. His anger wasnt directed at those that had ended his Battle-Brothers life but instead at his Battle-Brother himself. Their rivalry would never be settled. Their contests would cease to be. Whatever laurels Watch Captain Cearr would earn from now on would be hollow for his Battle-Brother would no longer be able to see his success. He stepped into the chapel and approached the bier that held the body of his BattleBrother. Leave us, he said sternly. His tone made it clear to the Sororitas that it was a command not to be questioned. They withdrew from the chapel without a word and left both Watch Captains in silence. The section of the Thunders Word that served as the armory was well stocked. Forge Master Morgan studied the recovered gear of Watch Captain Servais enacted the rites and rituals required to return each piece to its proper state. His Artificer Power Armor had suffered the worst of all his gear. It had been breached a dozen times and stuck a half hundred more. It was a true testament of the skill of the Techmarine that had crafted this particular suit millennia ago. How the machine spirit continued to function after the death of its occupant was a mystery to Forge Master Morgan but he was determined to restore to all its original glory. The Iron Halo awarded to every Watch Captain had failed at some point during the battle that claimed Watch Captain Servais life. Though only a simple expenditure of energy from Morgans Potentia Coil was all that was needed to restore it functionality. His weapons, each one a great work of craftsmanship, were laid out on the bench before Forge Master Morgan. He ran his cybernetic hand over each one feeling every grove and every joint. The machine spirits of the weapons practically sang to him. Each one exalting the deeds it accomplished in the hands of Watch Captain Servais and extorting Morgan to cleanse them once again so that a hero as great as Servais would wield them once again. That is except the Guardian Bolt Pistol that Watch Captain Servais wielded. This particular machine spirit sought only to return to the Deathwatch data vaults to be enshrined with the glorious deeds of Watch Captain Servais. The Helmet Picter for which the Raven Guard are known housed within it revelations that were as great as it was terrible. As Forge Master Morgan addressed the needs of the unique machine spirit that governed its operation, he learned that his Watch Captain had prepared for his own demise. Within the venerable device all the images and conversations collected by Watch Captain Servais regarding Sister Sabathiel and the mission surrounding her appearance were kept. The rites and rituals of cleansing the machine spirit awoke the final words of Watch Captain Servais, words that carried his final orders. The Apostate Cardinal he was sent to eliminate, the same cardinal that was suspected of both seducing and corrupting Mirael Sabathiel, had offered a mocking truth prior to his demise. The truth was that Mirael Sabathiel had corrupted him, not the other way around as was thought. She worked at the behest of an agent of Chaos most foul and most cunning. Erebus, a most irredeemable creature, sought the corruption of the Jericho

reach. His plan called for the sacrifice of an entire Shrine World to the Chaos god Slaanesh as well as the complete corruption of an Eldar Craftworld. The two simultaneous acts would grant him and his followers access to the Eldar Webway that lay dormant with the Jericho Reach. If successful the entire crusade would fail as the agent struck dozens of worlds at once. A new Eye into the Warp would be torn and an entire sector would be in dire peril. Watch Captain Servais died making sure his Battle-Brothers would know what he had learned. A task Forge Master Morgan would see too personally. Within the Apothecarium Brother Navarre saw to the storage of Watch Captain Servais Gene-Seed. The life blood of all Space Marines and their respective chapters, Gene-Seed ensured that a chapter could continue to serve the Emperor and his Imperium. Apothecary Navarre placed the Gene-Seed within the medical cogitator to examine it for any corruption or mutation. The former was of great concern to Apothecary Navarre for he did not witness the retrieval of Watch Captain Servais Gene-Seed. The Astartes that called themselves Grey Knights had extracted it when he was slain. They claimed that they could not let his Gene-Seed be lost to his chapter. That he had fought with honor and courage that had earned their respect and would not let anything befall his legacy. At first Apothecary Navarre had feared they had switch his Gene-Seed for some unknown purpose but he had affirmed its origin as Watch Captain Servais. Now he looked for possible corruption and much to his delight found none. Such close examination of the Gene-Stock of a Raven Guard caused Apothecary Navarre to discover something unsettling, mutations. The Melanchromic Organ had become unstable which resulted in a gradual change in skin, hair and eye coloration over decades. The Raven Guards ivory skin, black within black eyes and jet black hair are all caused by this mutation. That was only minor in comparison to discover that this Gene-Seed would not support new Mucranoid and Betchers Gland organs. The Gene-Seed was flawed on a fundamental level that must plague the entire chapter, something that Apothecary Navarre keenly understood. His own chapter the Black Templers had long ago lost the ability for their Gene-Seed to reproduce the Betchers Gland and Sus-an membranes. Apothecary Navarre pressed delete on the medical cogitator. Watch Captain Servais legacy would return to his chapter unblemished by his findings. What you propose is folly, exclaims Chaplain Yngvar. Our own Watch Commander has ordered us returned to our vigil. We must obey his wishes. As expected from a Space Wolf, sneers Kill-Marine Elyas. Always eager to come when he is called, with his tail between his legs. Both Chaplain Yngvar and First Company Veteran Skold rose to their feet. Forge Master Morgan and Sergeant Gregor stepped between their Space Wolf Brothers and Dark Angel Brother. Enough! yells Apothecary Navarre. Stop bickering like neophytes. Our Watch Captain is dead and our mission in jeopardy. Our Watch Commander is correct in his wisdom to return us to Erioch and our proscribed duties. He was wise enough to send us Brothers we share a bond closer than duty with. For us to discuss anything else is tantamount to heresy.

Their anger dealt with Chaplain Yngvar and First Company Veteran Skold took to their seats once more. Mea culpa, says Kill-Marine Elyas. I did not mean to slight your honorable chapter Brothers. But there is something you are all forgetting. And what is that? replies Chaplain Yngvar. It is a dizzying task attempting to remember all the secrets a Dark Angel keeps. Why dont you enlighten us as to what we have forgotten? Watch Captain Servais told us before we accepted this mission what it would entail, says Kill-Marine Elyas calmly. Each one of us listened to his words and agreed that the risk to the Jericho far outstripped the risk to ourselves. He told each one of us that we could very well be branded renegade. Brother Elyas let that word hang in the air until it sunk in. Renegades, continues Kill-Marine Elyas. It is not whether we heed our Watch Commanders call or not. We decided already our path. Now we must chose to walk it to its end. Brothers our Watch Commander is not here nor does he know the things we do. The traitor Erebus seeks to bring about the destruction of an Imperial World and with it the subjugation of the Jericho Reach. We can not allow this servant of Chaos to create another front from which launch Black Crusades. I for one will not fail in my Vigil over the Jericho Reach. The only question that remains Brothers is, will you? The three vessels that had fought the Eye of the Abyss hung motionless in the void. Each one had suffered egregious damage at the hands of that foul and vile manifested creature and each were in the midst of repairs. The Grey Knights had kept their proclaimed truce with their Deathwatch adversaries despite the fact the Chaos spawned ship was defeated and gone. Watch Captain Cearr had called several meetings with his Battle-Brothers to discuss options concerning these unknown Astartes but alas it was to no avail. They could not agree on a course of action and each argument his Battle-Brothers presented were sound in theory and strategy. For the first time in his career Watch Captain Cearr had found himself plagued by indecision. His gut told him to attack the perceived threat but a small voice inside him cautioned him to temper anger and uncover the truth of his foe. It was like the arguments of old between himself and Watch Captain Servais, but instead the fighting was within his own thoughts, an argument he wasnt sure he could win. As it turns out he didnt have too. The Grey Knights Strike Cruiser, Righteous Dawn informed him that he and his Battle-Brothers were to be given an honor allowed only a precious few, knowledge of their existence. Watch Captain Cearr understood the implied threat; they had just narrowly escaped being mind wiped or worse, complete and utter destruction. Justicar Maligante, as the Grey Knights commander called himself, also extended his thanks for aid rendered by Watch Captain Cearr and his Battle-Brothers against a common foe. His thanks was carried one step further. He offer to Watch Captain Cearr, that in the future should the need exist for agents trained in combating the warp be needed, Watch Captain Cearr would only need to ask and they would come. A gesture not lost on the Watch Captain and his Battle-Brothers. The Righteous Dawn exited the system shortly thereafter leaving the Watch Captain the unsavory task of dealing with his wayward Brothers as he was dispatched to do.

Brother Pellas open a channel to the Horizons Pride if you please. Its time we bring our Brothers home, said Watch Captain Cearr, his voice full of resignation. As you command, replied Brother Pellas. The serfs moved quickly to perform the command given to them by Brother Pellas only to turn and stare at the Brother with concern. Brother Pellas moved to the nearest console to discover the source of the serfs silence. Brother Pellas turned to Watch Captain Cearr, his normally stoic gaze broken by a frown. They have left the system, said Watch Captain Cearr without the hint of surprise. Yes, replied Brother Pellas. That is not all. Brother Gregor and Brother Skold had not yet returned from the Horizons Pride. I had expected as much when I gave them permission to go speak with their wayward Brothers, said Watch Captain Cearr. How long will the repairs to the warp engines take Brother Pellas? One of the few things on the Thunders Word not damaged during the battle with the Eye of the Abyss was the Warp Drive. A fact that the Watch Captain and Brother Pellas were keenly aware of, but he wasted no time informing his Watch Captain. I could take weeks Watch Captain, replied Brother Pellas. Ill see to it myself. Watch Captain Cearr nodded to Brother Pellas before exiting the bridge. Brother Pellas had given him the excuse he needed not to pursue his wayward Battle-Brothers. Hopefully they would finish what they came here to do before he found them again. The command decks of the Horizons Pride were shrouded in darkness as the cruiser skirted the lashes of the roiling warp storm. In the faint, green glow that emanated from the chattering monitors and terminals, Kill-Marine Elyas cast a brooding and heavy shadow into the dimly lit chamber. He stood implacably before the swirling and oily images of fire and warp torrent that swirled and stirred across the main viewscreen. His battle scarred face was hidden under the folds of his course hood, his long flowing robes hanging heavily over his deep black power armor. A starburst of red shone out from where his right eye should have been, the eye having been replaced before by a bionic implant. A cursed place, indeed, said Kill-Marine Elyas. His voice was like gravel. He rubbed his left hand over his unshaven jaw and let his index finger touch the corner of his ocular implant. Despite the implant being some of the best bionics available to the Astartes, he had never become accustomed to it. The angular and cold touch of metal on his face made sure that he could not forget the vengeance owed to the renegade Space Marine who had gouged out his eye; there was no crime more heinous that that of a traitor. At last, Kill-Marine Elyas turned from the gyring and curdling warpmire of the Maelstrom, looked over the heads of the crew who were busying themselves at the various terminals on the bridge, and smiled faintly at the obscured captain of the Horizons Pride Diaz Lan, his bionic eye easily picking Diaz Lan out of the darkness. This is our fate, Captain, said Kill-Marine Elyas. Prosecute repentance today, for tomorrow we all may each come face to face with the Emperor. We all must answer for our own sins, replied Diaz Lan. Yes, Captain, interrupted Forge Master Morgan stepping out of the darkness. His gazed leveled on the Rogue Trader just long enough to unsettle the man before he turned to his Battle-Brother.

Verify the integrity of the warp shields and lay in a course for the Tyrine system, just inside the fury of the Maelstrom. The scene that greeted Forge Master Morgan and his Battle-Brothers as they strode down the landing ramp of their Thunderhawk filled their souls with nausea. Their gunship had crunched down onto what must once have been a bustling plaza in the center of a white stoned city, nestled elegantly into the side of a Tyrinian valley basin. Tall, angular mountains aspired into the heavens on one side while the valley dropped away into a wide, meandering river on the other, and the city showed every sign of having been affluent at some point in its history. In the center of the plaza, just beyond the nose of the gunship, was a fountain; it was a statue surrounded by a pool of liquid. Even from the ramp of the Thunderhawk, Forge Master Morgan could see that the figure had once been a representation of the Emperor. It had never been beautiful or even competent, but its purpose and the motive of the primitive artisan who had produced it could not have been questioned. But now its form was quite changed. It was daubed in bright colors, and strange symbols had been etched into it; script had been scrawled across its base and hacked out of its surface with blunted blades. A long, broad sword had been hammered through the figures chest, clearly rupturing the mechanism of the fountain and causing the water to stream out of the wound as blood. Some kind of amplification system had been riveted to the side of the figures head, and a howl of hideous noise oscillated out of it, filling the atmosphere of the plaza with the scream of ecstatic souls. Looking more closely, Forge Master Morgan realized that the liquid in the fountain was blood. In fact, blood slicked the flagstones of the entire plaza. The city streets were running with it, as streams of bloody water flowed down the mountainsides from the cathedrals on the peaks towards the ruddy river below. Without saying a word, Sister Sabathiel vaulted down out of the Thunderhawk, leveled her bolter and blew the fountain apart, sending bloody shards of masonry raining into the side streets and silencing the daemonic noise. Suffer not the heretic, she muttered, as though explaining her action. The rest of the Kill-Team passed no comment as they swept their gaze around the perimeter of the gaudily colored plaza, securing it in their minds. There was a suggestion of movement in a couple of side streets and the Kill-Team responded instantly, bracing their weapons and leveling them ready for combat. Hold, said Forge Master Morgan firmly. As they watched, a few tentative people started to emerge from the buildings and streets around the edges of the plaza. They were ragged, ritually scarred and blood drenched, and their eyes shone with a dull, lunar light. Their movements had no urgency, as though they were intoxicated, and they appeared to be utterly unconcerned about the presence of the two meter high, cloaked and power armored warriors standing before them with braced bolters. The tentative few gradually became a tentative group and then a crowd. It seemed that people were pressing into the plaza from all over the city. They all looked stunned, as though teetering on a state of rapture; their eyes were wide and their pupils dilated. Forge Master Morgan realized that this was more than merely shellshock or trauma. The atmosphere in the plaza was shifting towards hysteria, and the crowd seemed to view the

Astartes with hunger and anticipation. They had been drawn to the plaza by the blaze of fire that came down with the Thunderhawk and after a matter of seconds, the plaza was teeming with people; the Kill-Team was surrounded. Do you bring the Voice of the Emperor? echoed from the throng. The sound was almost a chant, arising from many mouths at the same time, as though practiced or drilled into them. There was little music, but the voices seemed to rejoice in their spontaneous harmony. We bring vengeance and justice, growled Chaplain Yngvar, restraining his trigger finger until Forge Master Morgan had taken the lead. Are you the Keepers of the True Faith? echoed the throng again. Forge Master Morgan watched the crowd for a moment, weighing up its mood and its movements. Yes we are, he said finally. He singled out one of the men at the front of the throng, whose face was lined with self-inflicted scars and whose chest carried the carved, blood crusted sign of Slaanesh. You have seen others like us? The Voice of the True Faith has passed amongst us, answered the man, his eyes widening in a mixture of fear, awe and excitement. This Voice has instructed you in how to behave with proper piety and devotion? said Forge Master Morgan. Yes, Lords of the Word. We have been graced by the presence of the Keeper of Faith. He remains amongst us always, answered the man. He is like us? asked Forge Master Morgan. Yes, Lords of the Word, answered the man. You will take us to him, commanded Forge Master Morgan. He turned from the bloodied Tyrinite and saw the venom burning in the eyes of Sister Sabathiel, Apothecary Navarre and Chaplain Yngvar. Each one barely containing their rage at the blasphemy of this mobs existence. Patience, Brothers, righteous purification can come later. For now, there is a chance of vengeance. The Kill-Team paused at the end of one of the long boulevards that opened up into the wide courtyard before the gates of the towering basilica dominating the mountaintop. The squad stopped to survey the lay of the land before entering the open space, their suspicions having been raised by the atmosphere of the city itself. They stood, magnificent and colossal, amidst the crowd of Tyrinites that had followed them through the streets, chanting and howling with delight at the second coming of the Voice of the True God. I do not like this, said Kill-Marine Elyas, staring up at the awesome edifice before them. Even with the massive gates closed, and even from the other side of the wide courtyard, the Kill-Team could hear the chanting of heretical preayers and sonorous cacophony that echoed around the interior of the cavernous building. lift us with the boon of pain, to turn the galaxy red with blood and feed the hunger of the gods! The muffled words wafted across the square. The journey through the streets of the sprawling city had been long and enlightening. The buildings were beginning to crumble through a combination of neglect and violence;

they had been transformed from simple, pious dwellings of pilgrims and penitents into gaudily colored and decadently arrayed abodes for hedonists and pleasure seekers. Images of the Emperor had been desecrated or torn down and left in pieces in the dirt. Crude statues of unspeakable things had been hastily erected to replace them. And everywhere was the relentless howl of ungodly noise, piped through amplification systems, tumbling out of the cracked windows of the gaudy abodes, or simply yelled out of the lungs of the people that staggered through the streets. The effect was a barrage on the senses. Eldar! The cry came from behind Forge Master Morgan and Kill-Marine Elyas as the rest of Kill-Team started to move in response to the sighting. A line of heavily armored, red and gold Eldar warriors had appeared abruptly in the plaza before the cathedral gates. Looking closely, Forge Master Morgan realized that there also seemed to be some kind of child with them, shepherded along in the middle of the formation, as though for protection. For a few moments, they appeared unconcerned or unaware of the KillTeams presence. Instead, they were busying themselves planting charges around the frame of the gates. Suffer not the Xenos, exclaimed Chaplain Yngvar as he spun his Crozius Arcanum ready for battle. His patience for the terrible afflictions of this fallen planet was already exhausted, and the appearance of these vile, xenos creatures only made Tyrine more disgusting. He would see it burn. All of it. Purge them! yelled Sister Sabathiel, sharing her Battle-Brothers thoughts, with her bolt pistol aloft in one hand and her chainsword in the other. With that, the Kill-Team broke into a charge across the plaza. The bolter shells punched into the gates of the basilica, behind the Warp Spiders, chipping out shards of shrapnel and making the Aspect Warriors spin. The impacts shook the gates and sent booming sounds echoing into the nave beyond; so much for the advantage of surprise. Adsulata slid instinctively in front of Ela, shielding her from the sudden barrage from the other side of the plaza. A squad of black clad, powered armored Space Marines was storming toward them, with their weapons blazing. Looking around her warriors, Adsulata saw that the Warp Spiders were springing away from the gates, abandoning the thermal mines that they had been planting as they braced their weapons ready for the fight. She scanned the surroundings, but could find nothing that would afford them any cover; they were completely exposed, standing before the gates of the basilica like red and gold targets for the monkeigh warriors. Her immediate instincts were to get her Aspect Warriors clear of the site; they could blink through a series of warp jumps over to the side of the plaza and then take the fight to the Space Marines from a better position. But then there was little Ela; she could not make the jumps and Adsulata would not leave her alone. There was nothing for it but simple to exchange fire. As though sharing the same thought processes, the rest of the Warp Spiders suddenly opened up with their death spinners, sending sprays of tiny, explosive projectiles

screaming across the plaza. They had formed into a line in front of ElaAshbel, shielding her from the fray. The Space Marines simply charged at them, ignoring the volleys of fire as though they were impervious to the weapons of the Eldar. The death spinners projectiles just seemed to bounce off their deep black armor. They were yelling battle cries in the crude, ugly tongue of their species, and behind them Adsulata could see a pressing crowd of bloodied and gaudy Tyrinites, squealing with pleasure at the violence that was unraveling before them. A shriek of pain made Adsulata turn. At the end of the Warp Spider firing line, one of the Aspect Warriors dropped to his knees, clutching at his throat. Blood bubbled and jetted from the open artery, spraying over the white flagstones before the figure slumped forward into his own blood. As the Warp Spider fell, Adsulata realized that its wound must have been caused by a blade, not by a bullet. She scanned the flanks quickly and saw that they had more to worry about than the charging Space Marines. Out to both sides of the gates, she could see spinning cyclones of daemonettes whirling into the materium. Already, there were three lithe and nauseatingly graceful figures working their ways towards the Eldar position. One of them had paused at the end of the line of Warp Spiders to lick the blood of the fallen off her foul blades. At least for more cyclones spoke of worse to come. Two more Warp Spiders shrieked as hails of bolter fire punched through their slim bodies, throwing them back against the gates of the basilica and leaving them crumpled, shredded and ruined in heaps on the ground. Adsulata checked behind her and saw Ela standing calmly and unmoved. Her sapphire eyes glistened with ineffable, distant fires, and her smooth face betrayed no signs of emotion, even as her honor guard was slaughtered around her. The Arachnir could not believe the composure of the infant. At that moment, the great gates of the basilica burst open and a hail of bolter shells lashed out of the yawning space within, accompanied by the roar of tens of thousands of raised voices. The sound wave was like a tsunami crashing over the Warp Spiders and throwing them off balance. In the distance, the pressing crowds in the street behind the black clad Space Marines returned the rapturous noise as though it were a sign from the gods themselves. Adsulata could hear them flooding into the plaza in their thousands, raising their voices and their weapons in tune with the grotesque noise that crashed out of the basilica. As the blast of sound and air threw her off her feet, Adsulata just had time to turn and see a rampage of red and black Space Marines emerging from the shadows of the cathedral, their weapons blazing. A female monkeigh clad in armor perverted with symbols of Slaanesh directed their fire down upon the black clad Space Marines. Without knowing who they were, the Arachnir realized instinctively that these were different creatures from the Astartes that had charged through the plaza; so pungent was their stink of Chaos. The great gates crashed back against the massive stone walls, crushing the thermal mines that the Warp Spiders had set into the hinges, triggering a huge detonation that blew the immense doors into the air amidst an inferno of radiation and flame. Rolling back up to her feet, Adsulata saw that the Eldar force was spent. Her Warp Spiders lay shredded and dead on the white flagstones, bathed in the fires of their own thermal charges. Monkeigh warriors stormed towards them from in front and behind, trapping

them in a lethal crossfire of bolter shells. To either side danced the sinister and deadly forms of daemonettes of Slaanesh, and all around were tens of thousands of mammalian cultists, all of them baying for blood. In the very heart of it all stood little Ela. She seemed tiny and innocent amidst the fury and brutality of unrestrained battle. The corpses of her brethren were strewn around her feet, and their blood was gradually soaking into the hem of her long cloak. Yet somehow she remained untouched by the sullied reality of the combat. Bolter shells, projectiles and blades just seemed to slide past her, as though they could not find purchase in the pure form of an infant. She stood unmoving, with her brilliant blue eyes shining like distant stars. Adsulata nodded a sorrowful farewell to her charge just as volleys of shells punctured her abdomen from both sides at once. The impacts seemed to balance each other, leaving her standing upright before the gates. But then a daemonette slid past and swept her blade through the Arachnirs knees, severing her legs and sending her crashing to the ground. Lying in amongst the corpses of her Warp Spiders, with the last of her long life bleeding out onto the once white flagstones of a forsaken world, Adsulata lifted her face to see Ela one last time. I have failed you, my Farseer were the last thoughts of Arachnir Adsulata. ElaAshbel turned and walked slowly towards the yawning entrance into the cathedral. Thousands of stinking monkeigh were rushing past her, pouring out into the plaza to join the fray. But they paid her no attention at all. She moved through them like a little fish swimming upstream, heading up the main aisle towards the orator in the apse. For a brief moment, Ela realized that the coincidence of forces in the plaza implied the machinations of a great intelligence. She could not believe that all those various warriors, daemons and cultists had converged on that point at that time by accident. It had been arranged in order to thwart her mission. She put the thought aside as the crowds began to part before her and she saw the towering figure of Erebus for the first time in real life. He was just as he had appeared in her vision. Standing behind the crumbling remains of the font, the massive, power armored warrior-god looked down on the little infant seer and laughed. And so it was that the seer child, the ehveline of Kaelor, walked hand in hand with destiny, taking it with her like a crippled caradoc, guiding it through the quagmires of the present like a Farseer. She passed slowly through the ugly confusion of the basilicia, parting the congregation like water around a finely honed blade. Until finally, ancient before her time, and possessing the prescient fortitude of her forebears, the infant seer stood her ground before the monstrous form of the Dark Apostle. And looking down upon her tiny and frail figure, the giant warrior of Chaos roared with ridicule and mirth, throwing back his head and yelling his laughter into the crude Blood Dome above. His daemonic patrons had warned him of the power of the Sons of Asuryan, whispering promises of carnage and bloodshed on an epic scale, pushing thoughts of legions of Aspect Warriors and of the Avatar of Khaine himself into the roiling fury of the Apostles mind. Yet, in the place of these blood drenched.

There were none to witness the events that transpired before the mutilated altar of the Emperor of Man, and yet it was there and then that the myriad futures of Kaelor resolved into a single path. The decisive moment had nothing to do with the thwarted plans of the decadent and treacherous few, which burned like the fires of Vaul in the plaza beyond the great gates, smoldering in the corpses of the valiant Warp Spiders. The moment came in a blink of an eye. As the mirth of the daemon warrior subsided, and he cast the gaze of his blazing eyes down onto the hooded form of the Ehveline, mocking her with his intensity of purpose, the once and future Farseer of our fate reached up her hands and slid the hood from her head. And that was the moment. Ela of Ashbel looked up, with her glittering sapphire eyes shining with the radiance of the eyes of Isha herself, and she met the cursed gaze of the monstrous Apostle. It was transfixion. In that instant, the great gates of the basilica slammed shut and sealed with powers beyond the whit of any to open, leaving the infant and the monster alone in the cavernous space within. They stood unmoving, like a grand fresco from the golden era of legends, holding each others will in the clutches of their souls. The moment stretched out of time as the fury of battle rose and abated in the plaza outside. What passed as a fraction of an instant passed simultaneously as an age; the deep and mysterious minds of the two adversaries amplifying time into impossible durations. It cannot be known what the darkest of Apostles saw in the soul of little Ela. It had been conjectured that the visions she gave to him challenged his faith to its core, riddling the Master of Faith with doubts and uncertainties that turned his will against itself and drove the perverse monkeigh to new heights of fury and rage. Whatever it was that Erebus saw in the glittering, sapphire eyes of the Ehveline, it turned his laughter into fury and drove him ranting from the surface of Tyrine on that very day. But this victory came at such a cost. When the infant seer finally lowered her eyes from the font, there was only darkness in her sight. Even the ruddy, red light that flooded down from the Blood Dome had vanished from her view. There was nothing. Reaching her hand to her face, Ela traced her fingers over her cheeks and found them slick with liquid. Blood was seeping out of her ruined eyes like a torrent of tears. Erebuss twisted mind had lashed at her soul and her eyes, granting her visions of such horror that her very being had rebelled against them. And it was with these horrors in her mind that Ela of Ashbel, the Ehveline of Kaelor, struggled back through the warp portals of her fallen Warp Spiders, stumbling and staggering under the weight of her efforts and under the ineffable, terrible pressures of the future. The Tears of Blood: The Chronicles of ElaAshbel, vol.2 by Deoch Epona, Craftworld Kaelor. The Dark Apostle Erebus had fled; the heretic Miriael Sabathiel was slain by the hand of her own ancestor and the blasphemous throngs of Slaanesh worshippers were spent. The Kill-Team had thwarted the ritual but at great cost. Sergeant Gregor had fallen to the press of cultists throwing their bodies against his heavy bolter fire until they drowned him in their blood. The Adeptus Sororitas honor guard fared no better, each one dying protecting their charge. Their mission was completed and they departed the planet Tyrine

forever. The maelstrom would finish what it started with the once glorious Shrine World. It would swallow the planet and its people into the depths of the warp, never to release it again. But it would be a hollow victory, the purpose of its fall having long since been averted. The Kill-Team returned to their vigil and Sister Sabathiel parted ways once and for all. Each of their stories would unfold in the decades to come Forge Master Morgan -