Heinrich Drakkenhorst looked through his papers one last time. Everything seemed to be in order, but he still checked for the third time to reassure himself. Summoning an entity from the warp was no mundane task, even for someone as experienced as himself with the Immaterium. Even the tiniest error could prove to be his undoing and damn his soul for all eternity.
Ismaraël entered the room without a sound but Drakkenhorst immediately felt the presence of the daemonhost. Ismaraël shared the body of Darius, a former priest of the Ministorum. The host’s body was of medium height and had pleasant, if not beautiful features, enhanced by the aura of the daemon. Ismaraël only wore the simple white frock of a Ministorum initiate and could even pass as one provided he could hide his white feathery wings.
“Is everything ready?” Asked the daemonhost.
Drakkenhorst left the papers on the desk and turned to face Ismaraël.
“Yes. Yes, it is,” he said, reassuring himself again.
They both walked to the summoning pentacle. A pentagram had been drawn with red chalk onto the floor of the room. White candles were disposed at the end of each branch, basking the pentagram with light. In the centre of the pentacle, Drakkenhorst had sketched the aquilia symbol of the Imperium, a ward of protection against the creatures of the warp. Litanies of faith had been written onto parchments blessed by the priests of the Ecclesiarchy were disposed all around the pentagram.
Drakkenhorst was satisfied with his preparations. No less than five layers of protection would prevent the daemon from attacking him. It would be impossible for the daemon to break them all before he could send it back into the warp.
On a pedestal before the pentacle rested the book that made this all possible. The Liber Daemonicum had been hard to acquire and the Magus Smertzin, its previous owner, had proven to be a dreadful enemy. The hunt for Smertzin had been long but he had finally been brought to justice and the book had come into Drakkenhorst’s possession.
“Remember, Heinrich, the entity you are about to summon will be less than happy to be brought here. It will try to kill you or harm you in some way,” said Ismaraël.
“I know that well enough. Do not lecture me again on that Ismaraël. The daemon will be angry and short tempered as are all your kin, but I must learn more about entities like yourself.”
Drakkenhorst turned away and opened the Liber Daemonicum to read the passage concerning the summoning of entities from the warp.
While his attention was focused on more pressing matters, the daemonhost drifted to the pentacle and slightly moved one of the parchments covered with the litanies of faith. By doing this, the daemon had broken one of the circles of protection. The sudden rush of raw energy struck Ismaraël, but of it was all dissipated by the daemon, knowing that his plan was near completion.
Inquisitor Heinrich Drakkenhorst of the Ordo Malleus now faced the pentagram with the Liber Daemonicum opened before him. He took a dagger from his belt and ritually cut one of his fingers. After letting five drops of blood fall into a bowl of holy water, he placed the bowl at the centre of the pentacle, taking great care not to disturb any of his protections.
“Maliël, I call upon thee. Answer and come before me. Magna Eternae et Sancti Immaterium Spiritus. In nomine Dei Imperatoris, veni Angelis Maliël.”
A blurry form appeared in the centre of the pentacle right were the bowl had been placed. Its form seemed to be made from pure light. Two feathery wings like the ones of Ismaraël protruded from out of the celestial being.
“Who calls upon Maliël? Who dares disturb me in my duty?” There was a pause. “What? A mortal? You are foolish to have summoned me.”
The entity began to walk through the pentagram towards Drakkenhorst, becoming more material with each step. From out of the blurry form, Drakkenhorst watched many features of the entity take shape. He saw that it wore a white robe underneath a suit of ancient and ornate armour. The skin and hair of the daemon were golden and his eyes were endless pits of blackness. In its hands it wielded a sword menacingly.
Suddenly, the materialising entity backed off in pain after striking one of the protective barriers.
“Don’t try anything against me Maliël or you will suffer. Now hear my proposal. I know of your duty and I wish for you to help me.” Informed the Inquisitor. Gesturing towards the sword on the desk behind him, Drakkenhorst continued. “You and I have the same purpose. We both hunt down the servants of the Dark Powers. What I humbly offer is the chance to work together, I have in my possession a sword touched and blessed by the Emperor of Mankind himself that would prove an acceptable vessel for you.”
“What makes you think I would accept the proposal of one such as yourself that dares to disturb me?” demanded Maliël. “The thought that you even believe I may help you makes me pity your stupidity even more.”
“I’m saddened that you do not see the benefits of our co-operation. Willingly or not, I shall enlist your help in my quest.”
“I am more than happy to see you try,” said Maliël, laughing softly.
Drakkenhorst returned to his desk and respectfully drew the magnificent sword that lay on it. The guard of the sword was the two-headed eagle of the Imperium, its wings spread wide. The blade itself was engraved with various blessings and litanies of faith, as well as praises to the Emperor of Mankind and another aquilia symbol. The sword was said to have been given to the Emperor himself as a show of loyalty and vassality by the people of Ymral during the times of the Great Crusade. The Emperor had blessed and returned it to the first Imperial Commander of the planet as a sign of allegiance. The sword became the symbol of authority on Ymral until it was lost during the days when Ymral had been torn apart by the corrupt planetary governor and his family. Drakkenhorst had recovered the sword from the depths of the governor’s palace when the planet was being overrun by the traitor legions of Chaos.
“For the last time, I ask you, submit yourself willingly. This would make the process far less painful for you,” advised Drakkenhorst as he held the sword in both hands.
“And again I tell you mortal, no one can bind me to his will. Try to disprove me if that is what you wish, but it will be your death.”
“Very well, you leave me no choice,” said the Inquisitor.
“This is the most dangerous moment of the whole ritual, thought Drakkenhorst. This is the point in the ritual where I have to lower my defences and let the daemon through so that I can imprison it into the sword.”
Carefully Drakkenhorst lowered two layers of protection against the daemon. Maliël strode closer, smiled and brandished his sword toward Drakkenhorst.
The Inquisitor began reciting the ritual of bounding when he realised that something was terribly wrong. Maliël was closer than it was supposed to be and the daemon was trying to break down another layer of protection. “The litanies of faith are not working,” thought Drakkenhorst in a moment of panic as the daemon made short work of the two remaining layers of protection. Maliël was far more powerful than Ismaraël had said.
Drakkenhorst gathered his spirit and calmly started the ritual of banishment.
“In nomine Dei Imperatoris, Pater Humanum, Vade Ret…”
In an instant, the Inquisitor realised it was too late as the daemon broke the last layer apart and surged forward.
Before losing consciousness, Drakkenhorst caught the smiling face of Ismaraël looking on in glee.
When Heinrich Drakkenhorst regained consciousness, he found himself floating in a void. He turned around, looking in all directions but saw only darkness wherever he gazed.
“You’re awake, good. We have much to talk about.”
“Who are you? And where am I?” Drakkenhorst demanded.
“You don’t recognise me? I am Maliël and this is your mind, my dear friend,” said the daemon as its shining form materialised before the Inquisitor.
“What? Are you saying that you possess my body?”
“Yes, but your defences are strong and it will take some time before I have control over your body but I eventually will, you are no match for me. I am intrigued by your memories however. I have looked over them continuously whilst I waited for you to wake. There are very interesting things I have found among them. You are a strange one; you seem to understand at least partially, what I am and you endeavour to know more. All of it is interesting, though what interests me most is Ismaraël, a cunning one, but not very surprising considering his master. Do you know this is all his doing?”
“Yes I know, and Ismaraël will pay for what he has done to me. It will suffer, as soon as I banish you from my body.”
“Mortals, you shouldn’t be so quick to punish. Look more closely at what has happened and you’ll that that he has helped you. You wanted to know more about our kind and you shall. What better way to learn than by sharing your mind of body with one of your so-called Emperor’s daemons?”
“Do you mean you’re willing to share knowledge with me?” asked the Inquisitor, barely able to mask his excitement.
“Yes, at least some of it,” said Maliël.
Blackness returned to Drakkenhorst.
On a hill under moonlight, with the summer breeze blowing and refreshing the night after a hot day, dozens, maybe hundreds of men and women, were sitting and talking to one another under the stars.
“Who are they?” inquired Drakkenhorst.
“Be silent and listen, you shall see in good time.”
A decision was made among those gathered before the Inquisitor.
The desecrating of the world was soon to reach a critical point. Humanity’s survival was at stake and those present would not be able to guide it to its destiny. There was only one solution, the dreaded one, the last resort. If it succeeded, then mankind’s future would be assured. But if it failed, then humankind would be doomed to destruction. None of those gathered on that hill could see any other solution. Mankind was destined to become a psychic race one day in the distant future and without proper guidance, it was doomed to destruction.
Drakkenhorst watched as each of those present on the hill agreed to the plan. He watched them as they sacrificed themselves. In the warp, he watched them gather and merge into a single being. From their memories and knowledge, Drakkenhorst watched as a saviour, a last hope for humanity was born. The freshly conceived being knew its task and understood there would be no second chance.
As the young spirit immersed itself within the body of an unborn child, it pondered about the future that was yet to unfold.
Darkness returned as countless ages passed in the space of a second.
As the darkness subsided, Drakkenhorst saw that the child had grown and aged beyond the reach of humans. Drakkenhorst was a witness as the child led great armies across the galaxy, uniting humanity under his rule.
The Inquisitor realised what he was witnessing as soon as the child’s most trusted son, Horus, fell prey to the powers of Chaos and began the Great Heresy.
Drakkenhorst was on board the Warmaster’s ship when the future of humanity was being decided in one gigantic confrontation. The success of the child meant survival for mankind, and failure would lead to damnation and death. The day for which the child had been born had come.
The Arch Traitor was defeated but the child was mortally wounded before Drakkenhorst’s very eyes. The child feared his task would never be completed, and Drakkenhorst shared in the fear. If the child died, then all he had sacrificed would have been for nothing. Thousands of years of effort would have been wasted. The child would fail his many fathers and mothers who had placed faith in him. But above all else, he would have failed those for whom he cared the most, humans, those he was created to protect. The child could not allow this to happen.
The child condemned himself to an eternity of sorrow and pain for the sake of Mankind. He had himself imprisoned into the Golden Throne by his servants, from which he could watch over his children. This came as a great cost to the child. To sustain himself, the child had to devour the ones he was supposed to protect and educate, the psykers of humanity.
Drakkenhorst became aware of something that was unknown to the child. After the Warmaster dealt his deathblow, the child’s soul had been cast into the warp. Even without his soul, the child remained alive and his consciousness hanged onto his body by the power of the Golden Throne. The souls of the thousands psykers that were sacrificed to the child daily only served to make up for the loss of the child’s soul.
In the warp, the child’s lost soul became another child, cast adrift on the tides of the warp, an infant waiting birth to fulfil its own destiny.
Drakkenhorst watched on in joy as the great work of the trapped child survived the Great Heresy. The Kingdom that had been built with sweat and blood from the ashes of the old world thrived, and even without its master, it became the greatest empire in the galaxy, spreading to over a million worlds. Countless billions worshiped the trapped child of the wise men and women of old as a god, the saviour of their race, the one to sacrificed that had his life to save theirs.
Disgust filled the Inquisitor as the Imperium was besieged by enemies from without and from within. From the outside lurked the Traitor Legions, those who declared loyalty to the Warmaster, and countless alien races like the Orks, the Eldar, the Tyranids and the K’Nib, who were bent on enslaving or destroying humanity. From inside lurked the temptations of Chaos. To those easily tempted, the Dark Gods promised power, wealth and, immortality and many fell prey to their lies.
Faith and belief were potent emotions and like all emotions, they could shape the Immaterium to an extent. The faith of the Imperium quickly became a source of great power for the Star Child, the soul of the trapped saviour of mankind.
The powers of Chaos had minions and servants to corrupt mortals and increase the flow of emotion they fed from. In time the Star Child gave birth to its own minions. They took the form of angels, protectors and guardians of the Star Child, waiting for when it would awake to restore harmony in both the warp and the material world.
Maliël appeared again in front of Drakkenhorst as the past slowly faded away.
“One day,” began the daemon, “the Saviour of Mankind will die. The Golden Throne cannot sustain the child forever. When this finally happens, his consciousness and soul will be united again and the Star Child will be born.
Then the greatest war ever fought shall begin.
The Star Child will attack the Gods of Chaos and try to assimilate them. That was the thing it was created for. To bring back harmony to the warp is its destiny, the only way to save mankind and allow it to grow and become a fully psychic race. The trapped child believed that he would nurture humanity until he and his servants would be able to harmonise the warp by thought alone. His near death at the hands of his favoured son caused his destiny to follow twisted paths, and now the Star Child seeks to complete the trapped child’s task.”
The words rested heavily on Drakkenhorst, but the daemon had not yet finished.
“Chaos is the enemy of mankind, but it cannot be denied nor destroyed. Every human, from the saint to the lowly criminal carries a little Chaos within himself or herself. Some suppress it, others succumb to it, but only a few are able to acknowledge it for what it is, a part of their being. Light cannot exist without darkness, life cannot exist without death, peace cannot exist without war, and the same is true for Chaos. Used carefully it can be a force that could drive humanity forward.
There is no way to destroy Chaos, as it is a part of humanity, as much as the trapped child, the Emperor, is. Only those who acknowledge it and tempered the Chaos within them can find true peace. They see Chaos as it exists in its true form were immune to its seductions.
The Star Child will wage war on each of the Chaos Gods and merge them into itself to create a new harmonious warp entity, made from the soul of the Emperor and the Chaos gods. Only then will the psyche of mankind shall be harmonised, fulfilling the destiny of the Emperor, and allowing mankind to become a psychic race.
Perhaps the Star Child will succeed, maybe it will fail. There is no way to tell, the future is not written. Chaos shall never allow itself to be turned back into the harmonious warp that it once was. Chaos thrives on discordance, madness, insanity and wars. These give the Chaos gods their power, and they will never tire of it.
And even then, old enemies from a time long past, enemies of all life, gods of the stars, who hate and fear the Immaterium and its denizens, have returned to prey on the young races. The future is far from decided.”
Without warning, Maliël spread his wings and flew from Drakkenhorst in great haste.
The Inquisitor followed the daemon’s distant form until he stood by Maliël again.
Maliël was looking down towards the flow of souls in the warp.
A great battle must be taking place on the other side, in the Materium. Both the daemon and the human could almost taste the blood and sweat and sense the despair, the fear, the courage, the anger, the comradeship and many other emotions flooding in from the other side.
Many of the souls had belonged to faithful soldiers of the Imperium, souls who would strengthen Maliël’s master, but they were all flawed. No was free from the taint of Chaos, which made every living being a potential victim to the daemons of Chaos. The thought saddened both Drakkenhorst and Maliël, most of these souls were once faithful followers of the ways of the Emperor and only a few could be saved from the clutches of Chaos.
Maliël knew the daemons of Chaos would soon to here to harvest the souls, just as Maliël’s kin were doing even know. Maliël’s kin were nowhere near as strong or as numerous as the daemons of Chaos but if they could save only a few of the souls then it would already be a victory. What Maliël and his kin lacked in brute strength and numbers they made up with cunning. The warp was tumultuous and it was easy to hide once you have struck.
The scene was filled with the bellowing of beasts.
Drakkenhorst knew that the daemons of Chaos were coming this way. Their position had been discovered and there was no time for Maliël’s kin to save more of these poor souls, destined to damnation at the hand of the Chaos gods and their minions.
The Inquisitor tried to escape but Maliël compelled him to stay and witness the events that were soon to unfold.
The daemons that were coming were daemons of Khorne, the strongest daemons of all, but the most easily tricked.
Acting instantly, Maliël ordered for the retreat and commanded a small group of Seraphim, warrior angels, to hide themselves in the tides of the warp.
The daemons of Khorne thundered after Maliël and his kin as they retreated.
Some of the Seraphim and Avenging Furies turned on their heels to hold off the daemons while the others retreated with the harvested souls, many dying as they were swarmed by the tide of Bloodletters and Flesh Hounds. At the command of Maliël, the deadly Seraphim charged into the rear of the Bloodletters. Several of the daemons of Khorne were cut where they stood before they could defend themselves, but the bloodlust of the servants of the Blood God took over and they hold on, fighting with renewed anger.
Maliël himself joined the fight and left Drakkenhorst to witness alone.
The Seraphim were no match for the Bloodletters and by fighting himself, Maliël could turn the tide of battle in their favour. Maliël charged towards the exalted daemon that led the Bloodletters.
The huge servant of Khorne wielded a massive axe with great ease, countering Maliël’s initial blow with even greater ease. The exalted daemon struck back against Maliël, nearly decapitating it.
Maliël feinted an attack and watched as the daemon parried and followed through with a blow that would have cut the angel in two if he hadn’t been prepared for it. Maliël lunged under the daemon of Khorne’s guard and drove up with its sword. The Khornate daemon tried to parry the sudden attack, but failed to.
Around him, Maliël saw his kin finding hope at the sight of their leader cutting down the strongest of the enemy.
Within minutes, either Maliël or the Avenging Furies had killed all of the Bloodletters and Flesh Hounds.
Now that the daemons had been dealt with and the harvesting of souls could continue. Maliël looked around him and saw that a dozen of his kin had been cut down for all of the daemons of Khorne. Maliël’s kin were too few to allow such losses no matter how many of the daemons of Chaos they killed. Harvesting souls to nurture the Star Child was difficult enough, but with fewer numbers, it became an even more difficult task.
Maliël steeled himself to the task ahead. There was much to be done and whatever was done would not change the balance of power in the favour of his kin. Maliël remembered the prophecy of the Star Child’s awakening that he had told the foolish Inquisitor. Smiling, Maliël thought of the time when the Star Child would lead it followers to defeat Chaos once and for all. When the day finally comes Maliël would be ready.
Looking back at the flow of souls, Maliël ordered the others to be wary of another attack before he returned to the speculating Inquisitor.
“Now you understand what we are and what we stand for. You must also understand that I cannot allow you to live with that kind of information, do you? We shall indeed work together but not in the way you intended. Your body shall be my vessel, not the sword that you prepared for me. Together we shall indeed strike at the heart of Chaos, until the day when the Star Child needs me. There is much work needed to uproot the worship of Chaos in the Imperium and the body and mind of an Inquisitor shall be very helpful to me.”
Drakkenhorst’s face was white with fear, whilst Maliël looked down at him.
“I shall not allow it. You may be a daemon and a servant of the Star Child but my body is mine alone and you shall have no place in it! I shall fight you to my last breath,” said Drakkenhorst as calmly as he could.
“Why are you so hostile to me when I only wish to help you complete your goals? It is only logical that I should dominate you since I am the most versed in the knowledge of Chaos.”
“Yes, but you are not Chaos. Your essence is of the Star Child with no trace of Chaos. You may know about Chaos but you don’t understand it or feel it in the same way we mortals do. I understand only too well now the need for humanity to acknowledge and temper the Chaos within itself. Instead of fighting Chaos, humanity must accept it, not as the directing force of our existence, but as something that exists within us. We must learn to live with it and temper it.”
“That you understood that is one thing, but to apply it is another, my mortal host.”
Without another word, Drakkenhorst opened up a way into his mind for the raw energies of the warp. Chaos flowed into him like a tsunami once the barriers of his mind were down. The Inquisitor fought against the powers and began shaping it to his will, turning it into a weapon against the daemon that possessed him.
It was tempting to allow himself to be carried by the flow, to allow the power to direct him instead of directing it. Drakkenhorst’s body sweated heavily as he tried to direct the energies.
A voice within the power he harnessed became more pressing, asking him to surrender himself, to submit to the power instead of trying to direct it.
It was like trying to channel the ocean to do what you wanted it to, thought Drakkenhorst, refusing to give up.
The energies became a gigantic spear of power.
Drakkenhorst directed it straight at the daemon.
Maliël saw it coming and brought up his defences but the spear passed through them like they did not even exist.
The impact sent Maliël’s form spinning wildly from the Inquisitor.
Drakkenhorst seized the moment and chanted the incantation he intended to use to trap Maliël into the sword.
Drakkenhorst woke up and seized the sword lying on the floor beside him. A faint glow from the sword confirmed that Maliël had been bound successfully. He touched the blade itself and heard the daemon whisper to him.
“You mastered the Chaos within yourself, I am very impressed. It is an achievement few mortals can ever hope to achieve. You are worthy of my assistance but don’t think it will come without a price. I am not that easily beaten. If you lose your resolve or ever falter in your duty, I’ll make sure you pay for it.”
“There is always a price to pay, Maliël. I learned that lesson long ago,” informed Drakkenhorst wearily. “I am ready to pay it. The price is nothing to me compared with the combat against the forces of Chaos.”
Ismaraël approached the Inquisitor, still smiling enigmatically. He helped him to his feet though Drakkenhorst held onto the blade like his life depended on it
“You know I should punish you for doing that to me Ismaraël. But I won’t, you have allowed me to see things I would have never imagined.”
“Then maybe it is time I talked to you about my master, Tabris, the Archangel of free will,” offered Ismaraël.
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