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Inquisitor Amberley Vail knew she was doomed.
She’d known coming into this that the odds of survival were low—the Chaos cultists was too many, their ritual too far along. This was a job for the Ordo Malleus, not the Ordo Xenos.
Yet Amberley and her retinue had been the only ones close enough to interfere. According to her new Psyker (Rakel having passed years before) there was no time to lose. Not for the first time, she wished Jergen was still alive...but he wasn’t. Mott, Pelton, Zamelda—all the old faces were gone for one reason or another. Just like Ciaphas.
He’d said he’d be waiting for her after the end, but it looked like she was going to miss her appointment.
“Inquiiiiiiiisitooooooor...” the sing-song voice was disturbingly sweet, musical. Tendrils of psychic power slid over Amberley’s mind, trying to gain a foothold, but she’d been trained to resist. Even as her eyes swam and blood poured from her nose, Amberley stayed herself. Of course, it wouldn’t matter in a minute or two, since the Greater Daemon was about to rip her soul to shreds.
The monster had already gutted one of her retinue and drained three more to empty husks. The only ones left were her pilot and savant, who lay bleeding on the floor, staring up in awe and rapture at the daemon. It stood four meters tall, horrifically twisted and inhumanly beautiful, in the center of the abandoned warehouse the cult had used for their summoning.
“Come out, Miss Vale...” the daemon purred, hooves clopping on the floor as it sashayed along. “We have something to discuss, you and I.”
“What do you mean?” Amberley asked, playing for time. The daemon obviously knew what pile of crates she was hiding behind, so masking her position wasn’t going to help. Her left arm and leg were already broken, and her Displacer Field emitter was sparking and useless. If only she could get to the satchel holding their last few vials of holy water...but it was across the room, directly behind the daemon. With her busted leg, it was taking all Amberley’s willpower to stand, let alone run.
“You know what about,” the daemon purred, seductive and venomous. “Ciaphas Cain! His soul was supposed to be mine, girl! Mine to twist and shape and mold into a perfect servant of Slaanesh...but no, you had to take him away from me!”
Amberly joined the dots, remembering her late lover’s memoirs.
“Emeli DuBoir?” She asked, fumbling another power cell into her dead bodyguard’s Hellgun with one bloody hand. It would be useless, she knew, but damned if she wasn’t going to go down fighting. “Ciaphas killed your mortal form dead before he even knew I existed! I’m not the reason you failed.”
“Maybe not,” the daemon said, leaning over the crates to stare down at Amberley with lustrous green eyes. Its long tongue coiled down, licking at the blood on her arm and making her head swim with its closeness. “But revenge by proxy is an old tradition, and it will certainly make me feel better.”
“Feel this!” Amberley snarled, whipping around with the Hellgun braced one-handed against her good shoulder. The weapon blazed on full auto, hard to aim but impossible to miss such a large, close target. The powerful lasbolts that would’ve blown a mortal to pieces only seemed to annoy the daemon, which blinked down at her in childish pique.
“Naughty girl!” With a snarl, the daemon raised one of its four arms, this one tipped with a crablike claw. “I’ll just have to tear you to pieces before I feast on your soul!”
The claw came whistling down, and Amberley fought to keep the gun up, teeth gritted as she pulled the trigger. Adrenaline made the world seem to slow, her final moments stretching on for ages as she stared death in the twisted, slavering face.
Sorry, Ciaphas, she thought as the lasbolts pattered uselessly off Emeli’s violet skin. I can’t meet you at the Throne after all...
Suddenly, arms wrapped around Amberley and yanked her down, almost making her drop the Hellgun in surprise. She yelped as she fell backwards, only to be caught by the waist and shoulders, as though dipped in a dance. The rough treatment should’ve jostled her broken bones, made her scream in pain...but it didn’t. Her bloody knuckles, burning lungs, shoulder aching from the recoil...they were all gone.
Amberley’s eyes cleared and she gazed up at her rescuer. She blinked, then blinked again, mouth hanging open in shock. She had to be dreaming, or concussed, or suffering some dying hallucination.
She knew that face, even after so many decades. Those eyes, dark and sparkling with mischief, shadowed under the brim of his cap. That strong chin, the wry half-smile playing about his lips. Even the smell of lasgun oil and tanna leaf tea was so real, so achingly familiar.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said, in a voice she’d never forget.
“Ciaphas?” Amberley asked, and it was not a squeak. Her mind was boggling, unable to take it in. “You’re—”
“Dead?” The commissar chuckled, rich and low, vibrating through his chest where it pressed against Amberley’s. For a man she’d seen buried with full military honors, Cain seemed very much alive. In fact he was younger, stronger, Ciaphas Cain in his prime. It was as though he’d stepped out of the first day she’d seen him across that ballroom on Gravalax.
Well, not the exact same. He was missing the sling he’d worn that day, and the old Ciaphas hadn’t sported giant black wings. They arched protectively above Amberley, and the midnight-colored feathers shone with an unearthly light, hiding them from the world. His whole being was wreathed in that golden glow, soft and warm and comforting.
“Uh...I mean...” Amberley struggled for words. She was used to the impossible, but this was beyond her wildest imaginings. “Aren’t you dead?”
“Of course I am,” Ciaphas said with a rueful smile, “I can explain later, but first—”
Cain leaned down to steal a kiss. His lips tingled like an electric current was running through them, and the familiar taste of Ciaphas made Amberley melt into his arms.
The Hellgun finally dropped from her hand, clattering to the ground with a distant, muffled sound, and Amberley wrapped her fingers around the lapels of her lover’s greatcoat like she never wanted to let go. He licked gently into her mouth, the way he always used to, and it was so real and true and right that it was like he’d never even left.
“Mmmm...” Ciaphas hummed. He pulled back from her lips with a hazy, warm look in his eyes. “Emperor, I’ve missed that...”
Suddenly, the ethereal quiet that had enveloped them since Ciaphas’s arrival dissipated like a popping bubble. The world fell into place again, the smell of death and blood and the hiss of an enraged daemon.
“Sorry,” Ciaphas said, straightening and pulling Amberley upright. She wobbled a little when he let go, but she was an member of the Holy Inquisition and she was going to stay on her damn feet. “I guess time’s up—have to go deal with the ex.”
“You...y-you...” Emeli stammered. Its jaw hung open so wide its long tongue lolled in the floor.
“Yes,” he said casually, turning to face the daemon that loomed above them. “Me. We’ve established that.”
“Ciaphas?” the daemon asked again, still utterly stunned. It stumbled back, scattering the crates that had hidden Amberley from view. Not that the inquisitor was on its radar anymore.
“That’s Saint Ciaphas to you,” Cain snapped, wings flaring as he hopped easily over the remaining meter-high obstruction. “These things aren’t just for show.”
Amberley leaned back against the wall, head reeling. Since when had Ciaphas of all people been canonized? The daemon seemed similarly nonplussed.
“You…you were a liar!” Emeli screeched in outrage. “A coward! A hedonist! An amoral, self-serving slut!”
“Guilty,” Ciaphas said with a shrug. Watching him take the accusations without even flinching was even more bizarre than seeing him with wings. “Though I gave up the last bit ages ago. Unfortunately none of that was a dealbreaker, or I’d be retired by now.”
“You...” Emeli babbled, backing up again. “You’re like her! Celestine! A daemon of the Anathema! Your soul was destined for the Prince—”
“Emperors outrank princes,” Ciaphas snapped, striding forward. “You tried for my soul and you failed. Get over it!”
His greatcoat swirled in an unfelt breeze. The sword he drew was a thing of light and glory, almost too dazzling to look at. He pointed his blade at the daemon in an obvious challenge.
“Now,” he said, “do hurry it up, Emeli. I’ve got a lady waiting.”
The great monster howled in rage and sprang at Cain with unnatural speed. Ciaphas brought up his sword to block a strike from the creature’s claws, then another and another, fending off blows from all four upper limbs with almost contemptuous ease. He’d always been an exceptional swordsman, but this was beyond any mortal skill Amberley had ever witnessed... beyond any Eldar or Astartes, for that matter. The daemons of Slaanesh were faster than any living creature, but Ciaphas seemed more than capable of holding his own.
Amberley picked up the Hellgun again, never taking her eyes from the battle. She could try to help, of course, but she knew when a fight was too much for her. Whatever Cain was—saint or ghost, angel or daemon—he was in a completely different league now, and he needed no distractions.
“You bastard!” Emeli snarled in bestial fury, lashing out at Cain with its tongue. The slimy appendage wrapped around his sword-arm, immobilizing it. The creature chuckled and began reeling him in to devour.
“No tongue on the first date,” Ciaphas snarked back. He drew his pistol in a blur of movement, taking a quick snap-shot. The beam burned with holy fire and severed Emeli’s tongue in a spray of foul-smelling ichor. The daemon screamed in pain and rage, lashing out with its tail.
Ciaphas leaped into the air, wings easily bearing him aloft before the blow could connect. Claws snapped as he dodged, flying rings around the daemon and taking potshots wherever he could. Each hit left smoking craters in its wake, reeking of sulfur and making the monster screech. Unfortunately for Emeli, the ceiling was high enough for Cain to completely evade her considerable reach, and frustration was clearly growing by the second.
In fact, it dawned on Amberley that Cain wasn’t just fighting... he was toying with the greater daemon. None of his shots had yet hit vital areas, and the inquisitor knew that he had better aim than that, even as a mortal. The commissar could’ve finished this in moments and yet...
He flashed a look at Amberley, and she could see a bright flush on his face, eyes dancing. Dear Throne the man was grandstanding, showing off like a teener on the scrumball pitch when his crush was watching! It was so incongruous the inquisitor couldn’t help but choke out a laugh.
Unfortunately, that sound attracted Emeli’s attention. The daemon whipped its head around, hissing, and picked up a crate that must’ve weighed at least a tonne.
“If I can’t have you,” Emeli screeched, “at least I’ll have your bitch!”
The crate hurtled at Amberley, but her legs were healed now. More than healed, she felt strong, fast, vital in a way she hadn’t since she was twenty... perhaps not even then. The inquisitor threw herself out of the way and the crate shattered against the wall, filling the air with shards of flying wooden shrapnel.
“NO!” Cain yelled, and it wasn’t a cry of terror but a command. Light enveloped Amberley, and while she could feel the debris striking her back, there was no pain at all.
Well, it looked like Amberley was involved now. She snapped the Hellgun up with her now-healed arms and fired a short, controlled burst. Four meters of raging daemon didn’t make for a difficult target, and this time the bolts had a noticeable effect. The wounds she left in Emeli’s flesh were far smaller than the craters Cain had blown in it, but Amberley was less charitable with her aim, striking the creature between its top pair of breasts.
Emeli howled in bestial rage, bounding towards Amberley, but Cain had obviously had enough. He swooped like a diving bird of prey, digging his sword in between the monster’s shoulder-blades, so deep the blade punched its way all the way through the creature’s torso.
“Not again!” The daemon wailed, tumbling onto its knees. Its claws scrabbled at the ground, determined to get to Amberley out of sheer, dying spite.
“Oh, frak off!” Cain snapped, yanking his sword back out and beheading the daemon in a single contemptuous stroke.
The monster dissolved, still wailing, its body turning into sludge. Amberley could see the twisted-together corpses of the unfortunate cultists who had made up Emeli’s physical form before they melted into slurry.
“That should keep her down for a century or two,” Cain said, holstering his weapons. He hopped down off the gooey mass, shaking out his wings and looking at Amberley with concern. “You alright?”
“More than,” Amberley replied, looking down at her previously broken arm. Aside from the blood on her sleeve and skin, there wasn’t a single sign of injury, and she felt strong enough to take on a Carnifex hand to hand. “That was impressive.”
“This promotion has its perks.” Ciaphas grinned, hands on his hips and eyes glinting. He looked confident and a little bit smug, just as Amberley had remembered him... but something was different, beyond the obvious changes like his sudden youth and the nimbus of holy light. There was an easy, relaxed feel to his posture, free of the slight tension he’d always carried, which nobody but Amberley had ever seemed to notice.
He wasn’t afraid anymore.
That was a shock. Even in their most private moments, or places that seemed to offer perfect safety, Ciaphas had always been on edge. Paranoid, albeit rightly so. He was certainly braver and nobler than he’d seemed to believe he was, but that courage was not an absence of fear. Rather, it was the ability to overcome that fear when needed.
Of course, Amberley had her own paranoid streak. She hadn’t reached her third century by trusting in appearances, and when something seemed too good to be true, it usually was. She needed to be sure, and for that she needed a distraction.
“My men,” she said, looking over Ciaphas’s shoulder at the two survivors. “Can you-“
“Yes, of course,” Cain said, turning quickly and walking towards the two half-conscious men. He bent down, golden light enveloping his hands and sinking into their skin, closing their wounds in moments. Amberley made her way across the room while his back was turned, reaching down to grab the satchel of supplies.
“They should be fine,” Ciaphas said, propping the two men up against a crate with surprising gentleness. “Their minds need a bit to recover, but I started that healing process too. They’ll sleep for about a day, then be right as rain.”
“Good,” Amberley said as she slipped a vial out of the bag and into her pocket. Cain turned to her just after she dropped the satchel. “That thing, Emeli... it said you were a daemon.”
“Well,” Ciaphas reached up to rub the back of his head in a surprisingly bashful way. “That is a matter for intense theological debate. The kinder term is ‘Living Saint’.”
“Like St. Celestine,” Amberley said, nodding. The wings, the healing, the golden light... it all seemed to track. Of course, the nature of Celestine, Sabbat and their fellows was one of the many subjects that the Inquisition disagreed on, and Amberley had never taken a side in that particular conflict.
“Pretty much,” Ciaphas admitted. “I don’t interact with her often, or the others for that matter. I don’t really tend to fit in with the rest.”
“How did it even happen?” Amberley asked, walking forward. His presence was so bright, so calming... normally creatures of the Warp were freezing cold, but Ciaphas filled the air with thrumming, all-encompassing warmth.
“Some damn fools on Tallarn started worshipping me as an embodiment of His will,” Ciaphas said, raising an eyebrow at Amberley. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that?”
“Well...” it was Amberley’s turn to look awkward. “Only after you died and I was editing your memoirs.”
“For publication,” Cain said, dryly, “Thank you for that by the way. But yes, thanks to those frakheads, the vagaries of the Warp, my undeserved reputation and the Emperor’s sense of humor, here I am. My lifetime of service extended indefinitely.”
He sighed theatrically, a certain air of bemusement blended with resignation. Honestly, with Cain’s ridiculous mix of great and terrible luck, it didn’t seem much more far-fetched than the rest of his eventful life... or existence? The man was dead, by his own admission, which was definitely making it difficult to find the right terms.
But he was also a self-admitted creature of the Warp, much like the monster he’d just slain. Chaos often fought itself, and with the wings, the potential for complex trickery... she had to be certain it wasn’t a Tzeenchian plot.
“Ciaphas...” she said, stepping into his space. She gazed up at his warm, soft eyes, so deep and entrancing.
“Amberley,” he whispered, lifting one hand to brush her cheek. His gloves were suddenly gone, and his skin tingled just as his lips had, pleasant and calming and energizing all at once. He leaned down, eyes on her lips again. “I-“
She splashed the whole vial of holy water in his face.
Ciaphas jerked back in startlement, sputtering in a very unsaintly way... yet his skin didn’t burn and he didn’t scream. He just blinked down at Amberley, shocked and bewildered and very, very wet.
“Just had to be sure,” Amberley said, embarrassed but unrepentant.
“Understandable,” Ciaphas admitted wryly, pulling a glimmering handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe his face. “I wouldn’t trust this either, to be honest.”
But now she did. This was Ciaphas, her Ciaphas, real and solid and here. A tension deep inside Amberley snapped and she practically collapsed against him, wrapping her arms around that broad chest and burying her face in his coat.
“Do you have any idea,” she gasped, feeling wetness against her cheeks, “how much I missed you?”
“Yes,” Cain said softly, hugging her close. His wings wrapped around them, shielding her from the world. “I missed you too, every second.”
“Why didn’t you come back before?” Amberley asked, fighting down sobs.
“I couldn’t,” he said, “manifesting is difficult, and I don’t exactly get much time off... but you were in danger and the walls were already thin here, so I could follow Emeli through.”
Of course. Saint or daemon, it seemed they followed the same rules. Given that the Living Saints only seemed to manifest at major battles, it was a literal miracle he’d showed up at all. But that meant...
“You’re going to disappear soon,” Amberley said, flatly. Cain certainly hadn’t taken a host body, so that meant his time in Realspace was limited. She held him tighter, suddenly afraid he’d vanish any second.
“Normally I’d already be gone,” Ciaphas admitted, stroking her hair. “But it’s different with you here. Easier. I have a good few hours before I have to go back.”
That was a great relief. A few hours was so little time compared to the decades they’d missed, but Amberley was willing to take what she could get. The tears were starting to fade from her eyes as she craned her neck to look up at him... Saint or not, Ciaphas was still ridiculously tall.
“Easier?” She asked, licking her lips. Her mind was at war with itself, struggling between the rational inquisitor and the woman in love. This was an invaluable opportunity to learn about the Immaterium, but it was also Ciaphas, here and real and everything she’d been longing for. “Why-“
“You read my letter,” he said, leaning down. His lips hovered centimeters above hers, and she could feel his warm breath on her skin. “You know why. You know I love you.”
The words came so easily, words he’d never had the courage to say in life. His lips pressed against hers, soft and smooth, warm and tingling.
“Say it again...” she whispered. Her arms twined around his neck, arching up into his touch. “Please-“
“I love you, Amberley Vail’,” he said, softly. “I have always, always loved you.”