Tortured Souls
By: Chase Hillock

	Jet black stretched off as far as the man could see. The occasional devotional banner hung from the vaulted ceiling thirty meters above him and suspended from the cold metal walls his only decorations down the massive hallway. He could smell incenses of all kinds, from myrrh to rosemary to the rarer veval and borgir. The musty scents wafted from censors carried by hundreds of servo-skulls. As he walked purposefully onwards, the thought about the morbid constructs flitting, buzzing, and clicking as they swarmed all about him. Servo-skulls, to his knowledge, were the skulls of devout servants of the all mighty Emperor, taken from their bodies after death had claimed them. Their skull was then engraved with religious script and fitted with anti-grav unit, small robotic arms, and had a specially grafted mind impulse computer device melded with the person’s brain. These implants into the person’s original brain kept the memories, faith, and soul in the servo-skull. The rest of the machinery incorporated into the brain were programmed with a single task be it recoding, broadcasting, message taking and delivery or even fighting. The hundreds of cranial constructs continued to fly about the nave as he passed under them. He wondered if his head would ever be subjected to such a thing. What an honor it would be.
	He came at last to the double doors at the end of the nave. The servitor, half qusi-living-human half programmed machine, saw him approach and activated the breathtakingly etched doors that stretched up to the ceiling. The doors swung open on screeching, millennia old, hinges. The air displaced by the opening doors fluttered the frail mans blue robes. Pressing on into the chamber, the man cleared his throat. The room he entered was one hundred meters across in all directions. The chamber was filled wall to wall with row upon row of servitors linked, wired or built directly into consoles and other more complex machines. A figure in a scarlet habit turned to the new comer, metal hoses and grills filled his hood, one jade glowing lens fixings the new comer in its glassy stare. With the rest of his face hidden in the darkness of his hood, the tech priest beckoned the man over with a wire-inlaid hand. “Your lord’s message.” the tech priest’s chest mounted vox-unit stated in a mechanical monotone.
	“Thank you. May the Emperor guide you in your work, Enginseer.” Colis replied taking the message slate. The adeptus mechanicus priest said nothing more and turned back to his task of monitoring the servitors. Colis slowly turned about to head back to take the message to his master. The leviathan doors were still open and he passed back out into the musk filled nave and set off to find his master and deliver the message.
	He looked upon the gold etchings and murals on the iron shod doors. The all to familiar scenes shone out in the scarcely lit hall. Every panel was from the beginning of the 10,000-year history of the galaxy spanning Imperium. Colis remembered each of the great panels in turn. 
	The top most panel depicted the Emperor himself, surrounded in his golden glow, the tangible holy radiance permitting from him. He was at the head of his army of untold billions massing to reclaim all of space in the name of mankind. 
	The second was the Emperor and his twenty sons. He had these perfect and all-powerful beings genetically created, but as they were in-route to him, each infant son was scattered to worlds far and wide. During his crusade he found his long lost sons, each now fully grown, training each to command a legion of Space Marines made from the genetics of the founding son. The marines called their founding fathers “Primarchs” and fallowed them unquestioningly.
	The third panel was the most elaborate and detailed panel on the set of doors. It portrayed the Emperor at the end of his crusade, the galaxy under his divine rule. The section of gold and gems set into the mural were awe-inspiring. Thousands of planets were set in the background with devout citizens, soldiers and marines placed in there millions in the foreground. Centered was the Emperor himself, his gold and silver gleaming armor inlaid with precious stones and his logo, a twin headed eagle spread across his chest and again over his gauntlets, knees, and elbows. His primarch sons were around him in full battle attire each one radically different from the next, all painstakingly detailed and lifelike in the pane.
	With foreboding and gut clinching sickness he looked at the fourth panel. It was a hideous panel, the evil it contained overwhelming any attempt to artistically portray it. This section held eight of the Emperor’s sons, all demonically altered, led by his strongest, most successful son, Horus. The son he dubbed “War master”. The son he gave command over half of the crusade’s armies to. The son that brought thousands of worlds under the Emperor’s rule. But with his marines in arms by his side and the triumph of the crusade in his heart he craved more power. With this thought on his mind, evil Gods and daemons corrupted him, turning him for their evil gains. Horus quickly swayed eight of his fellow brothers and their space marine fighting legions to his evil cause. Most came willingly, wanting to usurp the almighty Emperor and destroy all that the crusade had fought to obtain. Others were tricked into damnation, not grasping the fact until it was too late. Thus the Great War began, the Imperial Civil War, the dreaded Horus Heresy.
	This was the fifth portion. Brother fighting brother, marine fighting marine. Horus and his fallen, with the foul gods of Chaos behind them, killed billions and razed thousands of worlds in their push towards holy Terra itself. Which laid the heart of the Imperium itself and the mountainous fortress-palace of the Emperor himself. Not much is known about the months long siege, but in the end, the Emperor found Horus and they clashed in a battle of the titans. Both dealt each other grievous wounds, the duel dragging on for a dozen hours or more. In the end the Emperor came out victorious. With the loss of Horus, the demonic war master’s armies fled into the warp rift known as the Eye of Terror. 10,000-years later they are still lurking in that rift, launching revenge raids into Imperium held space. 
	The sixth and final panel showed the Emperor’s ascension to god-hood. His body in ruins yet he still lived after the fight with Horus. The wounds he received were mortal indeed. He was placed in a magnificent golden stasis throne that preserves his life. In this throne he has remained vigilant over mankind these last 10,000-years.
	Colis’ heart swelled as he looked upon the effigy of the God-Emperor and he muttered a prayer under his breath. He turned as the colossal doors finally slammed shut behind him. Colis rushed back the way he had come. Shuffling up the nave towards the mammoth ship’s master quarters. He pulled out the data slate with his left hand, a glint flashing off the gold bionic arm as the pale light reflected from it. His old frame had several such mechanical upgrades and repairs. They helped him live longer, and with his mental upgrades, he could remember anything and everything. Due to his bionics and his long life, Colis had become quite paunchy. His bald, wrinkled head shining with sweat, his two chins lolling with every step he took, Colis continued to take the message from the planet below to his lord and master.
	As the scribe waddled down the hall to the living chambers, a deep guttural voice boomed out from a pitch-black corridor. “Colis!” a voice the sound of a tank shell going off thundered. The sage jumped, his fat taking a second to react to the old mans movements. A monster of a man towered over Colis. The 386-year-old little man’s eyes met two fiery orbs of deep blue ice set into a fairly slim angled face crested with burning red hair. That was all of the man he could see, the rest of him was clad in a massive suit of master crafted artificer armor. The armor was deep blue, banded with golden trim. The whole suit was covered in etchings of prayer quotes and other holy script. The letter “I” was picked out in perfect white, the initial of his order. The Imperial Inquisition. The massive blue clad inquisitor stood two and a half meters tall and dwarfed the little scribe.
	“He..here my lord,” Colis stuttered as he produced the slate he was sent to retrieve.
	“Thank you my old friend, Tech-magus Myron Hess voxed me and said you were on your way back. I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s been what? Fifteen years now? And I seem to still give you a start,” the Inquisitor smiled taking the slate.
	“Yes my lord, fifteen years, three months, eighteen days, forty-eight minutes…….”
Colis was cut off by his masters booming laughter.
	“Oh come now Colis, if I needed you to be technical I would have asked,” the Inquisitor replied as he turned to read the slates encrypted contents. As he read his face drew taught with hatred and a burning sense of duty. Turning to Colis with his eyes narrowed he hissed “Get my retinue to meet me in the docking bay in one hour.”
	“Might I ask what has caused such a drastic mood change in you my lord? I served your master and mentor for over two centuries and your actions are very much like his, Emperor rest his soul.” Colis finished by making the sign of the Aquila over his heart. “And as such I well continue to serve you, Lord Maximillion Veers.”
	Inquisitor Veers, of the Ordo Malleus, the Daemon hunting branch of the Inquisition prepared to read the message. He started, “To fleet staff, Colonel Luther Krav of the 13th, 15th, 18th, and 22nd battalions of the Death Korps of Kreig reporting. We have reached the hive city Noltan. My recon and scout squads I sent in to the city to locate the over 3.9 billion population or any indication as to there where abouts haven’t returned for three days. Something is a miss. We can smell the pall of death of a mass scale and the stench grows daily. Please let any Inquisitorial operative in the fleet know of the happenings here. I wait for further commands. Luther Krav out.” Veers then added, “I well make planet fall with my chosen staff and lead the Death Korp in. Tell Grand Master Octavious to have his Grey Knights ready and on standby.”
	Clois nodded and exclaimed, “I well relay the messages at once my lord, and your staff and I well be in the hanger bay in one hour!” And with this he hurried off. As the scribe scurried down the hall as fast as his ancient legs would carry him, Inquisitor Maximillion Veers flexed his gauntleted hands. He turned and headed to get his sacred and blessed weapons and tomes. A smile crossed his face. ‘Finally, a chance to bring the Emperor’s divine fury to the dark powers of the warp once more.’ With this holy thought on his mind he went to prepare for war.