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

really, truly idiotic of Taryst to have the same password for his files as well as his security doors, and I wiped away the blood from my split lip with a forearm then tried 'garraksonj', but that as well got 'access denied.'

Sighing, I refrained from trying again with "garrakson" or 'jeurat' the security measures in this I could only safely assume to be in the extreme. If I got it wrong even once more, anything could happen; the cogitator could self-destruct or instantly wipe all the memory; either way, it wouldn't be very beneficial.

Not very beneficial at all.

I stepped away from the desk, pushing off it with a violent, frustrated movement, then glanced back over the room, and as I did, I don't know, something about the place just suddenly gave me the creeps.

The only thing that interested me was the other door, and I walked over to it.

As I came close, the door opened automatically and hesitantly; I stepped through.

What greeted me on the other side was row upon row of supplies kept in shelves lining each wall in what must have been decades worth of food, water and just everything, spanning the length of a vast underground corridor.

"By the Emperor," I said in no small amount of awe as I walked on, looking along the row on my right, I had no idea what to search for, but it was interesting just to look.

I stopped and peered closer at one of the containers; it was made out of a clear plasteek which allowed me to see my reflection.

To say I looked frigged would've been the understatement of the millennia; my face was battered, almost beyond recognition swollen and black and blue with bruises the blood from the cut on my cheek had dried, clinging to my face like a tattoo.

In all honesty, I was surprised that my face wasn't worse; after going through such a severe beating, I was lucky to have all my teeth, and I was tired, by the Emperor was I tired.

I turned away and began to make my way back to Taryst's quarters and stumbled through the door, then threw myself onto the bed and immediately fell into a deep, deep sleep.

I dreamed, and everything in the dream seemed to spin forever like I was walking through a whirlwind, and I felt as queasy as all hell as my feet clumsily carried me as I stumbled through the rough, barren terrain.

For what seemed like hours, this went on and on, and I could hear voices, seemingly hundreds of them from surrounding me; it was as if the spinning vortex was made from these that seemed to whisper in a chaotic, incoherent cacophony.

But sometimes, I would hear coherent parts, words which I could understand words said in harsh, accusatory tones.

"Coward!" the voice of my father would hiss.

"Heretic!" my mother would wail.

"Liar!" came Olithre's.

"Useless!" snarled Glaitis.

At every word, I'd stop in my advance to try to pinpoint its source inside the whirlwind, but no matter how hard I concentrated, it still alluded me. It must have happened dozens of times, just those four accusations breaking through the wall of incoherency.

Then one word would break through a word that wasn't repeated before I instantly knew its source.

"Pathetic!"

I spun and found that she stood with me, right inside the whirlwind.

"Elandria?" I said, taking a step toward her.

She was wearing the dress she wore when we went to the Twilight bar so long ago now; she was beautiful, almost obscenely so even with her tears black with mascara running down her face.

"Elandria!" I cried and ran to her, my heart lunging in my chest, but as I came close, her brown eyes suddenly snapped straight into mine with such intensity that it made me stop in my tracks, and she asked, "Why did I die, Attelus?"

I stood staring at her, my mouth agape. "I-I."

"Why did I have to die, Attelus Kaltos?" she said, her bottom lip quivering. "What did I do to deserve a bullet in the back? I don't understand it."

Tears suddenly welled into my vision; what was I to do? Tell her the truth? That Glaitis had ordered her dead because she had found some shred of her humanity?

I couldn't do that; I just couldn't bring myself to give her such a heinous truth; call me a coward, call me whatever I don't care. I reached out and took her in my arms.

But I couldn't think anything could manage was; "I-I don't know, El."

"No," she said no, my shoulder. "No, you know."

Violently she tore from my embrace. "No, you know exactly why I died!"

"I don't, El, please!"

"It's because of you!" she yelled. "You killed me!"

My heart sank. "No, El, I didn't kill you it w-!"

"Shut up!" she shrieked. "Stop making excuses! You know you killed me! You did this to me! You killed me! YOU KILLED ME!"

Before I could reply, I was suddenly hurled clear off my feet and into the air from the share force of her scream and was quickly hungrily engulfed by the hurricane, which began to spin me faster and faster over and over again.

I closed my eyes and screamed, but the roar of the tornado utterly eclipsed my scream, and it seemed I got torn apart.

All of a sudden, the hurricane was gone, my feet now inexplicably on solid ground, I had stopped. To describe how being spun through the air at such a speed, then halting was horrific in the extreme. I fell to my knees, gasping for air, my vision a blur, my guts churned with sickness, and I felt as if all my limbs were dislocated.

It took what must have been a few minutes for my vision to clear, but it felt like hours, and slowly wobbly, I finally managed to climb onto my feet.

I instantly recognised where I was; the interrogation room where I talked to the man known as No One of Consequence was identical down; this also included the chair with its back facing me, but anything that sat in it, engulfed in darkness.

My heart thudded in my ears as a fear far stronger than I had ever felt before almost overwhelmed me. I could not help but believe it was Elandria sitting in that chair engulfed in the darkness. I couldn't face her again; she was right; it was all my fault if only I could've done everything differently if only I could have saved her if I'd known.

I turned away from the chair and looked to the one-way mirror; I saw myself looking back at me; everything was unsettling; who knew what could be peering at me on the other side of that glass? But despite myself, I began to approach it; seeing the look of extreme apprehension on my thin, I reached out to place the palm of my hand onto the glass.

As I did, the darkness suddenly engulfing half the room seemed to flicker into light in the mirror, it lasted less than a millisecond, but I was able to catch a glimpse of what was in the chair.

What I saw made my fear transform into a panic, an extreme panic that sent jolts of pain through my very soul, the panic which made me spin and run to where I remembered to door to be.

The door was there, but there was no mechanism to open it to my heart retching disbelief. I glanced over my shoulder and saw with dawning horror that the darkness began to slowly spread itself bit by bit to engulf the entire room; it moved haltingly as if in some sickeningly unnatural stop motion.

I turned back to the door; the terror caused tears to well into my vision. I screamed, smashing my fists against it, begging for someone, anyone, to open the door for me.

Despite the pain echoing through them over and over again, I bashed and screamed, but no matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, the door always stayed shut.

I never looked over my shoulder, but I could feel it advancing on me, and with it, the fear and anxiety increased simultaneously.

Finally, I stopped as I knew it was about to fall on me, and I reached for my last shred of courage then turned to face the darkness as it took me into its horrific embrace.

I stood still, not even daring to move—my ragged, anxious breathing the only identifiable sound in the room.

Then I felt the hand, the slimy hand slide slowly, almost tenderly down my cheek.

I clenched my teeth and tried to move, to raise my hand to push it's away, to kick out at it, but it was as if my hands and feet seemed made from stone; I could only cry out in disgust and fear then the light flickered on.

I was face to face with a corpse that had been rotting for a long, long time; its eyes were missing its flesh, a horrific green with half of its face hanging off.

I screamed, but my scream cut short as its fingers cold, rotten fingers wrapped around my throat like a vice.

The lights then began to flicker on and off again, now violently as though done by a belligerent child. Then the corpse's mouth slowly opened and opened and opened until it was gaping open so far that no human could ever manage, and I could hear the sick, slow popping of its bones.

In all honesty, my fear almost was forgotten as I watched the sheer ridiculousness of it, almost jaw-dropping. Its open mouth suddenly snapped forward, engulfing my vision in darkness.

 

 

With a scream, I awoke, sitting bolt upright in my bed.

I glanced around to see that I was in a room a small room that was a complete mess with clothing and books, all sorts of junk strewn about with varnished wooden, and through the window, the sunlight poured through the cream coloured curtains.

Shocked, I jumped out of bed. I knew this place; I knew this room.

I approached the window, manoeuvring through the mess with finesse and, with a violent motion, jerked open the curtains. The view that greeted me was stunning the huge beautiful lake of Varander and the hilly city itself; this was without a doubt this was my city, my house, my room.

"Attelus?" called a voice that I knew immediately identified as my mother's. "Attelus, I'm coming in!"

The door opened, and she stepped in a concerned look on her pleasant face.

"Attelus, are you, okay I heard-"

She was interrupted by me embracing her hugging her like I never hugged anyone before.

In all honesty, in the back of my mind, I knew it was a dream, but sometimes times I truly, truly missed my mum. I still didn't know whether she was alive or not when the chaos invasion engulfed my world. But it would be the most realistic to say she is most likely long dead.

"Mum!" I cried, hugging her all the harder.

"A-Attelus! Let go; I can't breath!"

I immediately did as told. "Sorry, mum, I didn't mean to..."

"It's alright, son," she said with a smile. "You just need to know your own strength after all that training with your father but is everything okay? I heard a scream."

"Just a nightmare, mum," I assured her, shaking my head. "Just a nightmare."

I turned to look out the window again, out to the view of Varander; the last time I had seen the city, it was rubble destroyed almost beyond recognition to see it in its former glory was soothing.

"Well, it sounded like a pretty horrific nightmare, son," she paused. "Attelus, are you okay I've never seen you be so intent on the view before."

I smiled and waved her away. "I'm fine, mum. Don't worry so much."

"Okay," she said hesitantly. "Oh, and I'd like to say, why did you replace me?"

My brow furrowed in bemusement, and I turned back to her, "what?"

"Don't 'what' me, my son," she said with slow deliberateness. "Why did you replace me with that Glaitis bitch?"

I gaped, unsure what to say, completely caught off