Secret War: Warhammer 40,000 by Ben Agar (romantic novels to read .TXT) 📕

I still couldn't understand; why was I so damned special? As Elandria said in the eyes of any assassin, excluding Castella, what I did in the Twilight Bar was idiotic, beyond idiotic; shouldn't that act be enough to make Glaitis believe me a liability not worth any more effort and leave me to die?

Was all this because of who my father was? Serghar frigging Kaltos was it that she believed his immense skill and ability was hereditary, and perhaps it even was. Still, surely she could have taken an apprentice of a younger age, which would be far easier to brainwash and would be less likely to suffer any crisis of conscience. She took me in when I was eighteen, which is ridiculously old for any starting apprentice. Children, usually as young as five or at the oldest ten, were the typical age for assassin training; perhaps she believed my father had brainwashed me already? Or being forced to scavenge and murder among the ruins of Varander during the Chaos incursion destroyed any semblance of my humanity. Well, if she counted one of those she was wrong on either, I could not help feeling some pride in.

As I had said earlier, I had always found it impossible to understand Glaitis, and just as I was beginning to believe I finally had her pegged, she pulls this stunt. It seemed trying to understand how the woman's mind worked was akin to understanding the infinite miasma, which was the warp. Like the immaterium, I suspected that it would drive one insane in the process.

I sighed, and that act brought back the pain; I was buried so deep in my thoughts; it had acted somewhat as anaesthesia. I grasped out for the alarm hanging from my fluid feeder with a lack of coordination I couldn't believe, and I felt more and more depressed with each missed grab; now it was beginning to sink in that my once swift coordinated hands were lost, maybe even forever. I dared not even think how long it would take for me to earn back such skill if I ever could. I needed to summon someone, anyone, to my aid. I could not lie here with this pain any longer. But I could not help wonder why no one had come to check on me after I had screamed at Elandria.

Finally, my bandaged fingers found the button, my thumb pressing down with all the strength I could muster, and perhaps I had pushed for a bit too long, but I wasn't in the condition to care.

I lay back in my bed, gasping for breath, my tear-blurred eyes gazing up at the eternally white tiled ceiling, and I only had to wait a few seconds before my door opened and someone stepped through. I was not sure who, as all, I could make out was a white blur.

"Mr Kaltos!" cried the man who I could only assume to be medicae Feuilt as he ran to my bedside. "Oh, God-Emperor! I need help in here, now!" he roared, and I had no idea why there was so much urgency in his voice. I was just in pain; I was always in pain; what could be so bad? But I could not think on it any longer as suddenly darkness took me once more into its sweet embrace.

 

I dreamt again, though, unlike my last; I was aware it was a dream; the first portion was a sparring match of unarmed combat, non-contact against a beautiful young woman with long brunette hair who I knew was Elandria.

I was winning quite convincingly, leading her attention with quick high hooks, jabs, and crosses, allowing my low and medium kicks to bypass her defences with ease.

She was smiling and laughing in utter, genuine joy that I would never see from the real Elandria; even though she was losing and my own heart sang with happiness, I felt alive. I felt free; it was intoxicating. I could do this forever, but as I knew this was a dream, I also felt horrible heartache, knowing that she would never be this way in the real world.

But at times, my sparring partner would briefly, inexplicably transform; sometimes she was Glaitis, sometimes she was Castella, sometimes an attractive blonde woman who I had never seen before. Always one of those four and with each switch, I would feel my emotion change, from Glaitis I would feel suspicion of such strength it made me sick to my stomach, with Castella came to a strange uncertainty my heart turned into ice and leapt it in my chest but not in a fearful way. It seemed to bring even more happiness than when it was Elandria. When it was a bizarre feeling that was alien to the blond woman from her and me, I felt fear, the great fear that made my attacks sluggish and my feet heavy but also an extreme familiarity. Like I had known her for my entire life, but yet I had not, what I felt from her was the strangest of them all.

Then I dreamt that I was back on Elbyra, once more a scavenging orphan among the ruins of Varander, I was so heavy and ached all over, every footstep being a horribly fought battle against screaming limbs, I wanted to stop to sit and rest, but my body moved with a life of its own. My eyesight boarded with white, and I couldn't raise my attention; it was fixated inexplicably down to my feet, and the rubble which I walked over and I felt my mouth move but could not hear any words from my lips.

I had dreams. No, I had nightmares many, many times when living in the ruins of Varander. Nightmares which I could only suspect to be repressed memories of the horrid acts I committed in my desperate fight for survival, acts that I could never, ever admit of doing to anyone. But here I could remember them all, my mind sifting through them like a pict reel. My eyes burnt, and tears flowed freely down my face, and my sanity slowly degraded away.

I begged for the images to stop! I pleaded! I even prayed! But they would just keep coming over and over again, seemingly with more glee as though my mind did it to spite me, and still my body kept walking over the debris, left foot, right foot, left foot right and despite it being a dream, I could feel my bare feet meet the cold, hard rockcrete.

Then I fought, I began to fight against my body and my mind with every ounce of my will. It was like trying to stop a ship spinning out of control through the black nothingness of time and space, but I never halted. I resisted and resisted for what felt like hours then days ignoring the images which forever flipped through my mind's eye. But for every second I fought, I felt more pain until it transcended into unimaginable agony. My mind and my body seemed to scream to say that the suffering would stop if I just stopped resisting, but I kept fighting and fighting, never giving up, for I knew that if I didn't, I would be stuck in this hell forevermore.

Finally, my feet slowly, slowly, painfully came to a halt and immediately I collapsed, falling onto my face and gasping out for breath and agony. Then the images stopped, and my pain: forgotten, replaced with such joy that I got to my knees roaring out to the heavens; it was the first time seeing the sky, which was so crisp, so blue, so beautiful that it took my breath away and I wept.

I had won! Although I was not sure what I had won precisely, then the sky disappeared, and everything faded into a shining eternal white.

The shining, eternal white turned slowly receded into the white-tiled ceiling of the medicae facility, and my sight cleared further, revealing the three faces looking down at me, each expression hidden behind medical masks. Still, I could make out the concern from their eyes; they were saying something, something I could not hear.

I wanted to laugh, smile to say that their fear was unwarranted that I was fine but found myself unable to do anything; then I felt my eyelids grow heavy, and I blinked once, then twice, and the third stayed shut. I slept, but this time I did not dream; all I saw was the peaceful nothingness of black.

Never had I slept so soundly, never had I felt so at peace.

I also had a deep sense of satisfaction. I had earned this rest after going through that hell; I had more than made it.

But somewhere out in that thick black, I could hear voices barely audible at first, but it was similar to Castella's prayer; the voices seemed to slowly approach, closer and closer until I could listen to the conversation.

Two voices, one which I recognised instantly belonged to Glaitis I could tell without a shadow of a doubt; her tone was haughty and deathly cold, even more so than usual and sent shivers up my spine.

"Did he pass your test?" demanded Glaitis.

"Yes," answered the other, the voice was distinctly female, as soft as silk and echoed ominously. It was alien and monotone but held indescribable wisdom; just from that one word, I could tell the speaker held knowledge of the forbidden so much so that it would drive anyone else insane. "He has remarkable willpower for a M-."

"Don't you dare call us that!" snarled Glaitis with such rage it made me flinch. "We are neither your pawns nor anyone else's!"

"Your position here seems to contradict your words, Glaitis human; you are but a pawn of fate as is everyone else. I am but fate's messenger I exist to make sure all will run its intended course, for I am the only one with strength and tact enough to do so."

Glaitis let out a growl of frustration which was so out of character I wasn't sure what to think.

"You are just as arrogant as the rest of you're kind!" she roared.

"Do not pretend to be able to lecture me on arrogance, human," said the voice as though scolding a child. "You cannot imagine what I know, what I have seen, what I have done you are but a mere child; you are like all your kind! Nothing! It isn't arrogance to state so; it is a fact, simple fact."

I listened in shock; I wasn't sure if this was real or just a dream; perhaps these two talked at my bedside? I tried to force myself to be awake but found I was unable, as though my eyes were weighed shut.

"Y-you almost killed him," stammered Glaitis and I had never heard her sound so weak and timid. "Your test almost lost you, your newest pawn."

"But that is all he is," said the voice, and I could almost feel the contemptuous sneer with the words. "A pawn to use as I please, it is all in the name of fate, and even if he dies, I still have you, do I not?"

"Y-yes," sighed Glaitis, utterly defeated. "Yes, you do."

What was this? Who or what was it that could speak to Glaitis with such influence and power? Had Glaitis made pacts with the ruinous powers? Why the hell did I hear all this?

But worst of all, I felt with sickening certainty that they were talking about me.

"It is good that you learn your place," said the extremely tall, thin form as it seemingly materialised out of the black. Its armour was esoteric, form-fitting and utterly intimidating. From its alien shaped helm, two small, glowing, lifeless red eyes seemed to stare straight at me, piercing into my very soul.

Glaitis had shown me picts and taught me of them, but I had never seen one with my own eyes, an Eldar!

"Now you see what your 'mentor' indeed is Mon'Keigh, see how she is nought but my