Deamon Slayer

"I didn't believe it was true when he proposed to me; but it was! To this day, I can't understand what he sees in me. But it's not hard the other way around, so to speak."

--Fiona McAllen, later Fiona Yarrick.

Commissar General Rolf Yarrick stood watching the manifold spires of Infernus Hive through the thick view-glass. It was fifteen years since the Space Outlaws of the Omega squadron had come and gone. Their six-day blitz was already the stuff of legend, and Yarrick could do naught more but agree. Quietly, to himself, he wondered what had made them so focused on their goal; to destroy Lord Kevlinn. It couldn't have been what he'd told them. They came from another world, Terra, and thus would not care much for a distant Imperium. But they had cared, and why, Yarrick knew not.

That of course; they hadn't killed Lord Kevlinn, but they had destroyed what he'd accomplished and they'd helped regain Armageddon. The planet was currently being repopulated and it was in need of a new government system. That was why Yarrick was still there, along with fifty of his staff. He had a faint idea of what it would be like, but not the absolute and minute details. Trying to ignore his political doings, he thought of the Dark Lord instead. It had been too easy to defeat him. Perhaps it was just a lucky shot on Yarrick's behalf, but still... So they had been four to one, and yet, something felt wrong. No Berzerker would ever do so and certainly not the Lord of them; retreat and use as base tactics as a thermo-detonator, would they? It seemed so wrong. Kevlinn had counted on that; he had been prepared. He had been prepared to lose Armageddon. He had a greater plan, but what? Yarrick rested his head against the cold, thick glass of the view-port and sighed.

He looked down at his left forearm and saw the scar from the knife that had made him blood brother with Grand Commander McGranth. It was a fine gesture and Yarrick enjoyed the friendship with the Space Marine. They trusted each other unswervingly.

Yarrick looked up and saw that Armageddon's yellow sky had turned red. It was closing on night now: an entire day given over to tedious politics. But, Yarrick concluded, it was neccessary to make Armageddon work again. The Imperium needed Tempestora's tank factories, the oil from the Deadlands, the ore from the Fire Wastes and much more.

He turned to his left and saw Irwin ambling out from the meeting room, Skuli skampering along behind him. Irwin had kept his promise and lost weight, though somewhere on the way, he must have found his comfortable weight and kept to that. That led to that he still was a bit plump but with his squat body, it didn't look out of place. It fitted him. His hair was now steel-grey with a salting of white at the temples, though the bushy moustache he'd grown was black. Yarrick believed he coloured it, though he didn't have the heart to ask. The little man was after all in his early sixties.

Skuli, on the other hand, had aged just as much as Yarrick: none at all. His skin had perhaps taken a slightly darker tone than it'd had twenty years earlier. Otherwise, it was the same little mutant as always. Yarrick had been adamant that the rest of the officers were to get used to Skuli and it had been done so. Skuli no longer used clothing with a cowl.

"What are you thinking about, Rolf?" Irwin asked softly.

"The Dark Lord," Yarrick replied silently. "He was up to something... He's not done with us in a long while..."

Irwin nudged Skuli and told him to fetch something. Irwin then turned to Yarrick again. "Perhaps you should focus on the new governing system of Armageddon instead, sir?"

"That is what made me think of the Dark Lord, Hendrik. How did he keep enough humans alive without making them cultists, because he did keep them alive and they are still loyal. That is what puzzles me, Hendrik."

Skuli came back with two beakers of caffeine and Irwin took one gratefully as did Yarrick. "I believe that we shouldn't even contemplate that, Rolf," Irwin said softly, but with a determined tone underneath. "No sane human should." Irwin went silent a moment and sipped his caffeine. "No sane, loyal human," he added.

Yarrick took a deep swig and nodded. It was true; no sane man should try to understand the tactics of the Etherdark's followers. He decided to aim the politics some thought instead. He wanted to finish the ruling system firstly and today if possible, even if it so would take all night. Yarrick knew they would have to have a military junta ruling the first fifty or so years, and he knew whom the High Lords wanted for that job: Commissar General Rolf Yarrick; himself. But they desperately needed something to replace the junta with and it wouldn't be as corrupt as Armageddon's ruling system before the Dark Lord's rule, which had been a rule of blood and mayhem. He had a wacky idea of something to keep it all in check. Yarrick gave his empty beaker back to Skuli, who also took Irwin's.

"Hendrik, call together the others. We'll finish this tonight."

The squat man nodded and went off to collect the other officers and commissars of the Callidussian regiments and the new-minted Armageddon Steel Legions. Yarrick himself went back into the conference room and stood himself before the great map covering the wall. It was a map over the southern Imperial systems. There was Armageddon, of course, and the Secondus system, Cathay, Morrokk and... Terra. Terra he knew the Omega Squad Outlaws had come from. He wondered what they did now? They had been younger than him, so they probably had families and busy lives. That Lexicanum Edd had seemed bright. Perhaps he'd won an award or something, despite being a witch.

Yarrick turned round and saw Irwin sitting down next to his own seat. Skuli hid in a corner of the room, trying to blend with the shadows. He also saw how the other officers came in; Colonel Kinthas of the Callidussian, Commissar Thurs, General Mikain of the Armageddon, Commissar Grauberger, Lord Commissar Kileth who was sent there on the Imperial Commissariat's behalf and a Zampolit Voshkov. These were the ones Yarrick new more personally. The others, so many as they were, he knew as associates and comrades-in-arms, but not as friends.

Grauberger sat down and put his hands on the table, rolling his thumbs. He sat next to Yarrick on the opposite side of Irwin. His hair was white now, one of his hands bionic. He was old, older than Irwin, and still in service. Yarrick admired his grit and duration, but one day Grauberger would break and that would be completely and sudden. Yarrick had gotten on good terms with him, though he still had a hidden disgust for Grauberger's arrogant ways.

Colonel Kinthas sat down next to Irwin. He was a tall, powerful man in his early forties with a genial way that seemed out of place with his fierce appearance. His face was covered in scars, many of them ritual as he came from a northern part of Callidus where ritual scarring was common practice. Yarrick trusted the man very much. They were both the same age and had a similar childhood, although Kinthas hadn't lost his parents to the Dark Lord.

Next to Grauberger, Lord Commissar Simen Kileth landed his corpulent bulk. Yarrick knew him from communiqées and not much more. However, he seemed to be an able man although much bound to paperwork as he undoubtedly was, considering his state. Yarrick doubted there was a wilier politician than Kileth in the entire Imperium. Kileth was nearly one metre ninety but his girth belied his actual height. Yarrick guessed him to be in his early fifties. He had a healthy tone to his round cheeks and seemed eternally calm as he reclined in his chair. Not even a psyker would've been able to tell his true feelings, Yarrick concluded.

Yarrick looked up and saw Michail Voshkov close the doors and then find no chair left for him.

"Highly peculiar..." Yarrick heard the Moskvanian political officer mumble before leaning his weight against the wall. Voshkov had been transferred to Armageddon for but one reason: to imply that the Moskvanian government system was the one way to rule. Voshkov as a person wasn't pushy, but his profession called for it at times. He was nearly two metres tall, well built and had the distinct heavy nose and red-blond hair of his people: an archetype Moskvanian. The one thing that made him out as a zampolit and not a full commissar was the laurel and star insignia on his cap, instead of the winged skull that the Imperial Commissariat used. He was in his mid-thirties and Yarrick knew him since many years back. His face seemed a tad thin, but Yarrick guessed it to be because of his austere life. In a way, Voshkov was as much opposite as one could get from the sumptuously living Kileth.

"Gentlemen," Yarrick addressed them all. "I sincerely hope we can end this... concern today. And, I might say, that it is now we will start dealing with how Armageddon is to be ruled. For real." Yarrick made a deliberate pause here. He wanted to see their reactions. Not much yet, but he didn't expect any either.

"Now, we do not want the same thing over again, do we? The last government Armageddon was ruled by had been much the same for nearly a hundred thousand years. And then came the Reign of the Dark, as we all know. The thing is that the Dark Lord had better control over the populace than the Imperial Governors ever could have dreamt of. And, gentlemen, before you start arguing; Lord Kevlinn had a happy workforce. He need not use whips. Hear me? They never even noticed the change from Imperium to Etherdark. It was smooth, flawless and unexpected. Not as violent as we'd think. Also, the Imperial governing system had been corrupt for a longer time back... much like Moskva was before the Revolution. The people were opressed and the nobility grew fat on the hard labour of the... what was the nice word you used to describe workers, comrade Voshkov?"

"Proletaires," Voshkov replied.

"Yes, the proletaires." Yarrick said and nodded. "It was laid out for a new Proletaire Revolution; this time on Armageddon. But it never happened. Why? I can give you the answer easily, gentlemen: they had no discipline or a charismatic and driven leader. Instead, and excuse me for my blaspheming, their salvation came from the Etherdark. Ironic, no?

"Now, as said, the old governing system was, and is, corrupt. It can't ever be put to use again. Therefore, I've worked out a new system. I got the idea after a visit to comrade Voshkov's wonderful homeworld Moskva."

Yarrick saw that Voshkov couldn't hide his soft smile. He'd touched the right button on him then... Now for the others as well.

"I sincerely hope you're all sitting comfortable, as you will be in for a long explaination, my friends," Yarrick said and smiled. He threw a quick glance at Voshkov by the wall; who shifted uneasily, and on the bulky form of Kileth. He seemed to be asleep, but Yarrick knew better. The lord commissar was listening to every word he was saying.

"The one thing we must have is an Imperial Lord. I have gone through some of the major influential families in the Imperium... and discarded all. I need a family untainted by the corruption of power. Thus, I made my choice amongst the merchants of Charvia." Yarrick noticed, in the corner of his eye, how Grauberger became suddenly very interested. He was, after all, from Charvia, the same world that was the home of the Black Templars Space Marines. "I will reveal the family in time," Yarrick added after a short pause. "Before they get to rule, we will however have a military junta leading Armageddon. Unluckily, for myself, the High Lords are adamant that I should lead this junta..." Yarrick let out a sigh, which was met by a slight chuckle from the assembled men.

"Now, this Imperial Governor, or Lord, should not be bound by other things than that the tithes are collected in time and the qouta of Imperial Guard filled. Thus, each of the eight major hives will be ruled over by a seperate Hive Monitor family for each hive. The Adeptus Administratum will choose these, as they have check on such things. Also, each of these hives is to have eight High Noble houses, nine if we count the Hive Monitors. Should the Monitor family in some way fail, the Adeptus Arbites may remove them and install a High Noble family instead."

"But," Commissar Thurs interrupted. "This system, it is very much alike the one that Armgeddon had once. Besides, it seems you have it pretty much planned out, Commissar General."

"Yes, in fact I have. I just see this as an example. A sound example, though. You may come with comments later," Yarrick replied smoothly. He took up where he'd left. "Also, each hive will have one hundred and forty four Noble families. They will each be responsible for a part of the hive and answer to a High Noble family. They are to make sure that taxes are paid and such. Then come two hundred and eighty eight Houses Common. These will be the servant families of the Noble families, though not the High Noble families. Two Houses Common per Noble family.

"These are the cogs of the governing system of Armageddon. Together with the workers and clerks by the billions that form Armageddon's populace, they will make this world flourish once again. Now, they all need economical stimulance. All worlds need such to work. Thus, I have the idea of having so called Guild houses, or Merchant families. Two hundred and twenty four Merchant families and sixty four Merchant Lords-"

"Excuse me, Yarrick," Kileth interrupted. "Why Merchant Lords?"

"Someone must ensure concurrence is upheld, and keep from monopoly creation, no?"

"Yes, so?"

"The Merchant Lords will, in my ideas, have the power to split up cartels and such, with the Imperium behind themsleves. They will, however, not be able to create monopolies themselves. The Merchant Lords will just be priviligied Merchants, and I hope we can make this a circulating rank, so to speak."

"Sounds good..." Kileth said silently and nodded slowly. "But, what about Law enforcment? All Hive worlds have problems with that."

Here's where I've got you all, Yarrick thought to himself.

"That is why I made my trip to Moskva..." Yarrick said softly. He gave a slight smile and was met by interested eyes. "Moskva is, as you all know, a highly industrialised world. Crime should be rife. Alas, it is not. Moskva has an incredibly low crime rate. Why is this? It puzzled me, until I found the obvious answer..." Yarrick fell silent to even further heighten interest. "What institute has total control of all affairs? Which organisation makes sure that crime is kept low, and that the Arbites do their job? Who makes sure that the council of governors stays loyal and isn't corrupted? The answer, gentlemen, is the same as the answer to our question of how to control Armageddon once the junta is used up, so to speak.

"The answer lies within the Naroddnyj Komissariat, my frie-"

"Are you seriously suggesting another planetbased commissariat?" Kileth interrupted. "The Imperial Commissariat has already sheer hell in keeping sure that the zampolits of Moskva doesn't stray!"

Kileth didn't notice that Voshkov's glare behind him. And if he did, he ignored it.

"An Armageddon Commissariat is the only way to remain in control, Kileth," Yarrick replied smoothly.

"Yarrick! Sincerely, there has to be another way!" Kileth was now standing up, his bulk shaking with restrained rage. "You have no idea of how much work it is behind it all, do you? You're not more politician than the Dark Lord himself!"

"Watch your mouth, Lord Commissar," Grauberger growled.

Kileth threw a sidelong glance at Grauberger and spat, "Frekk you!"

"Kileth, please," Irwin said softly, "calm down. This is no good for your health-"

"You," Kileth bellowed and pointed a stubby finger at Irwin, "shut up!"

Irwin went silent. Yarrick couldn't take how this man was treating one of his best friends and turned to look Kileth straight in the eyes. Few could withstand his cool, penetrating gaze, but Kileth persisted. Yarrick was amazed.

"Kileth, listen. The Armageddon Commissariat would be self-sufficient considering administrative things. We would only have to make sure they use the same teachings as us, perhaps modified to fit Armageddon's nature as a Hive world."

"I've been trying to tell you that that is what clogs up the Commi-"

Kileth suddenly fell backwards and landed with a crash on the floor. The entire collection of officers was dumbstruck at the sudden happening. Skuli was fast on his feet and inspected Kileth as he lay gasping for air on the floor.

"Heart attack?" Kinthas asked and voiced everyone's suspiscions. Skuli shook his head. He touched a spot on Kileth's chest with his sturdy digit, scraped a bit and took it up and showed it to those that had flocked around him. Irwin saw immediately what it was.

"Colonel Kinthas, get a medic, now!" Irwin shouted and the Callidussian colonel scurried off. Irwin knew needle weaponry when he saw it.

In the mean time Yarrick, Grauberger and Voshkov had found out why the Moskvanian zampolit had had no seat. An unknown man had dressed up as a Steel Legion officer, sat down with the others and waited for the right moment to strike. His shot had been well placed and timed. The compact needle pistol had lost no force over the short distance across the table.

Now, Yarrick was leading the chase on the Dark servant. Grauberger and Voshkov weren't far behind. The cultist was damned quick, but Yarrick evidently had height on his side and kept up with his pace.

The cultist rounded a corner and came out into the entrance lobby of the council room. The lobby was packed with people and the cultist didn't hestitate to shoot at the civilians and militaires. He felled two generals and five colonels with quick and silent shots from his needle pistol. He dove out of the lobby, Yarrick not far behind, shouting to people to get medics quick and to get out of the frekking way.

As Yarrick got out on the gantry, he just saw the cultist toss a woman and a child out of an elevator and go down one level.

Yarrick ran over to the railing of the gantry and looked down. He saw the cultist run out down below. The street below wasn't as packed as this one and it wasn't so far down. Yarrick swung a leg over the railing.

"Yarrick, no!" Grauberger shouted as he saw his commander jump over the railing and down. He reached the railing at the same time as Voshkov and saw Yarrick run after the cultist.

"You must admire comrade Yarrick's courage, comrade Grauberger," Voshkov said in his rich Moskvanian dialect.

"You should know, Voshkov, that there's a very thin line between courage and madness," Grauberger mumbled silently. He turned round and ran over to another elevator, gently pushing aside the woman who'd come out of it together with her husband. "Excuse me, mississ. Commissariat business," he said and dragged Voshkov into the elevator.

One level below, Yarrick was chasing the cultist. He had drawn his bolt pistol, the weapon that once had belonged to his mentor. But he couldn't fire here, in risk of hitting innocent people.

"Stop!" he shouted for all the help it would do. "You are only prolonging the invitable, heretic!"

The cultist turned hard round a corner and ran down some stairs. Yarrick didn't think twice on running. He took a giant leap into the air and landed hard on the cultist's back. The two rolled in a heap down to the foot of the staircase. The cultist was first up of the two, but a firm grip around his ankle felled him flat. The Etherdark follower rolled round and looked up into the grim face of the commissar general. Yarrick sat down on his chest, putting the cultist's wrists under his knees, preventing him from moving.

"Let's have a talk, scum," Yarrick hissed and placed the bolt pistol against the cultist's forehead. "Who sent you?"

"Frekk off, Imperial dog!" the cultist spat hoarsely. It seemed someone had conducted some amateur surgery on his larynx.

Yarrick pushed in the bolt pistol slightly. "Who sent you?" he repeated.

The cultist seemed to recognise whom the man sitting astride him was. "You of all people should know!" he growled and then spat a vad of blood in Yarrick's eye. Yarrick removed it with a gloved finger and then leant closer to the cultist.

"Way wrong answer, scum!" he hissed and pulled the trigger of the bolt pistol, smearing the cultist's brain over the street.

Seemingly pleased with having done his duty, Yarrick stood up and holstered his bolt pistol. Voshkov and Grauberger had finally caught up with him now.

"Well, that was neccessary, now was it?" Grauberger said in his disturbing, haughty way.

"He was a cultist, Karl, not a leader. A minion. They know nothing of worth. Besides, I think I know where he comes from."

"A minion with needle weaponry?" Grauberger sneered.

"You'd be amazed at what they can get their hands on, Karl," Yarrick returned smoothly

"Tell us who sent him then," Voshkov said simply.

"Probably a still active cult in the Underhives, serving indirectly under the Dark Lord. Voshkov, inform General Mikain that we might have to flush out the underhives, ASAP. And get someone to clean this up."

Voshkov left and Grauberger was just to follow him, when Yarrick grabbed his arm. "Karl, wait, I want to talk to you."

"About what, sir?" Grauberger asked.

Yarrick seemed thoughtful for a while, and then spoke, "What do you think of the Armageddon Commissariat?"

"Soundest idea you've ever had. And frankly, Rolf, most officers present most surely did agree with you. Kileth just overreacted."

"Good," Yarrick said and fell silent. He studied his surroundings and spoke again. "What do you think of Infernus hive?"

"Nice place. I especially like the Opera House. Well," Grauberger added, as an afterthought, "at least when they've rebuilt it... I might go there when, and if, I retire."

Yarrick nodded thoughtfully. "Very well... What would you say of early retirement?"

Grauberger just stared at his commander. "Wha-?" he managed.

"I wondered what you would think of early, or whatever, retirement? It is, as a matter of fact, way past your time, Karl."

"I have considered it, Rolf. It is just..." Grauberger sighed, "I have nowhere to go to once I've retired."

"You do," Yarrick replied simply. "I said I had checked Charvia's noble families and that included the Graubergers; your family. You might be arrogant, but you are sound folks. What would you say of retiring as a commissar, only to become an Infernus Hive Merchant Noble, eh?"

Commissar Karl Grauberger didn't know what to say.

It was a week after the incident with the shooting and Lord Commissar Simen Kileth had just awoken from his unconsciousness. He was sitting up in his medical cot, Commissar General Rolf Yarrick sitting on a chair nearby. Yarrick wasn't in uniform and that lead to a more open conversation between the two. Kileth had excused himself several times for his behavior, as he now had been able to study Yarrick's data on how the new Armageddon ruling system was to work. In the past week, Yarrick and the other politicos had been working hard on working out a governing system, based on Yarrick's ideas. The same went for the Armageddon Commissariat. But that was not the matters they discussed now.

"Are you saying I was minutes from death, Rolf?" Kileth asked and shifted uneasily.

"If Skuli hadn't seen that it was 'needle work' and not a cardiac, as all others thought, you'd be very dead, Simen." Yarrick replied softly.

"Skuli..." Kileth mused. "That's that mutant of yours, right?"

"I know it seems like heresy, but Skuli is one of my best men."

"No, no, I wasn't thinking of that, Rolf," Kileth said excusingly. "I was going to say that we need more men like him... psychologically."

"I see your point, Simen," Yarrick said and smiled.

The two were silent for a while. Kileth shifted his bulk again.

"'Needle work'?" he asked.

"Needle weaponry," Yarrick replied. "Loaded with choke toxin. It was slowly filling your lungs with fluid."

"I'll be damned," Kileth muttered.

"You almost were, weren't you?" Yarrick replied with a wry smile.

Kileth chuckled. "The Commissar Yarrick I've heard of isn't gifted with such a caustic wit. When did this appear, Rolf?"

"Recently..." Yarrick answered. He was about to add something when a low rumbling cut him off. Yarrick looked around and then stared at Kileth.

"What the hell was that?" Yarrick asked.

Kileth smiled warmly and put a hand on his big belly. "I might get nourishment through the infusion, but it doesn't give my stomach anything to work with. What I wouldn't do for a hearty meal right now..."

"I think you'll do fine in losing some weight, Simen," Yarrick replied and rested his head in his hands. "Don't you?"

"Even fat people turn hungry, Rolf," Kileth replied with a grin. Yarrick nodded his assent. "What's the matter? There's something on your mind, isn't there, Rolf?"

"Indeed there is," Yarrick replied and looked troubled. "You see, Simen, the junta will of course govern Armageddon until the government system is stabilized. Alas, the Armageddon Commissariat goes into the works in a few years. It was fairly simple to arrange, see. It has a programme laid out to train officers of the Armageddon Steel Legions to political officers, as well as taking full-fledged commissars from the ranks of the Imperium. It even has an army of clerks ready. But what it doesn't have is a leader, a chief commissar. There, we are found wanting. And I need an able politician there, not a warrior."

"I follow you, Rolf," Kileth replied as Yarrick looked at him.

"Now, that it isn't to be a warrior effectively rules me out, no? Besides, the Imperial High Lords wants me as leader of the junta those fifty years, curse their hides. I persuaded Grauberger into retiring and move here with his entire family, and become a Marchant Lord of Infernus that the Imperial authorities could trust. But I need an even more able man as chief commissar."

"Your man; Irwin. What about him?" Kileth suggested.

"Too old. Too unimaginative," Yarrick replied with a sigh. "No, I need a wily politician, if not the wiliest. Lord Commissar Simen Kileth, what would you say about ruling the Armageddon Commissariat?"

Kileth was stunned. "I- I don't know what to say..." he mumbled.

"Your life wouldn't change much," Yarrick tried.

Kileth was silent a long while. He scratched his double chin in deep thought. After a few minutes he spoke.

"Ah, what the hell?" he said and smiled. "I'll do it, but you must stand for a dinner in Infernus main spire resturant Templum Diynos."

Yarrick clasped Kileth's plump hand tightly. "Whatever it takes to convince you, Simen. Whatever it takes."