1. Any vessel, capital ship or lowly fighter, that fires upon The Finality will be destroyed at once. Ouranos, he claimed of himself, had demonstrated an aptitude and capability for such wanton destruction in singlehandedly destroying the Thousand Sons’s fleet.

2. Callant Blackgar and Lucene Flint must board The Finality. If they do not do so together, all in the vicinity will be killed at once.

3. Any forces that accompany Callant Blackgar and Lucene Flint will be matched in kind, with The Finality’s defensive response escalating to match the invasive force. Any that accompany the aforementioned pair can be assumed to be doing so in futility.

1. There will be no escape from The Finality, except in the circumstance that Callant Blackgar wills an ally to escape. In such a circumstance, a teleportarium device will be conjured by Ouranos nearby, and that ally can be removed from the scene of combat, by force if necessary. This will not apply to Lucene Flint.

4. The innards of The Finality are ever-changing. Attempts to locate Ouranos’s command bridge from beyond will fail, or if successful, will prove only temporarily so. This compounds upon Point 1), in dissuading external aid from firing upon The Finality, and reinforces Point 3), in that Ouranos’s command bridge will not reveal itself to any group until only Callant Blackgar and Lucene Flint remain.

5. Light will return to Ixaniad only when the Darkness claims Callant Blackgar.

By these rules, and these rules alone, the fury of the Holy Inquisition may clash with Ouranos, Warden of the Abyssal Oubliette.

***

All forces that were initially dispatched to handle the Thousand Sons’s fleet were recalled before Ouranos dictated the above to us; us, in this case, being the entirety of my fleet as well as The Dawnshadow. After his explanation, I contacted Lycia, and she and I agreed that this was not The Dawnshadow’s fight. This was an ending made for me alone, yet if there was to be an Ixaniad Sector beyond this encounter, The Dawnshadow could not risk itself for me.

After that conversation, I put the call out through Coldbreed—“Invasion forces to launch bay three.” I knew that the call would summon those that I did not intend to field in this fight; Mirena, Galen, Castecael. I also knew that Zha would join me on the journey down to the launch bay, being at my side in the bridge, with Bliss. However, before departing on what I suspected would be a one-way trip, I made sure to speak with my captain. “Caleb,” I called to him, turning from the bridge’s frontal viewport and, for a time, putting The Finality behind me. He looked up attentively. “You and your father have served the Inquisition well for more than a century. I have but one final request of you, and it is not to squander your life or the lives of your men in opposing the Rules of Engagement as our foe has outlined on my behalf.”

“You would ask that I not fulfill my duty to the Throne?” Caleb frowned. “I see, far beyond these walls, an enemy of humanity that needs destroying. And as captain of this fleet—”

“I will destroy him. You have my word of that,” I said, and then furthered my conversation in thought; I had never so-spoken to him with my mind before, ever content to speak with my captain aloud. But desperate times called for desperate measures. +She does not know it yet, but you will, while I am gone, answer to Inquisitor Trantos. And if I do not return, I ask you serve her in my stead, for as long as you deem her worthy, or as long as she asks of you.+

Caleb’s eyes briefly flicked to Zha, who undoubtedly caught his glance but did not then understand it. But he quickly returned to looking to me. “As you say, Inquisitor Blackgar. It has been my honor to serve you and, in doing so, bring a greater honor to my family,” he said, and then shot himself into a fine, militant posture, where once he had been hunched over a cogitator terminal. In such a refined stance, he saluted me, and declared, “Ave Imperator! The Emperor Protects!”

“The Emperor Protects,” I agreed, and saluted him in return—far from customary for an Inquisitor to ever salute a naval officer. But, as I had come to learn, I was not a very customary Inquisitor. “We must make haste,” I then said to the two Inquisitors at my sides, and in uniform agreement, we departed from the bridge. I suspected I would never see Captain Caleb Vakian again, but if I did, Ouranos would have been dead. I very much hoped to see my captain again.

I said little on our journey—though I sensed the multitudes unspoken that both Bliss and Zha wished to say to me—and instead thought deeply about how I would turn Zha down, reminiscing, again, on my final conversation with Thaddeus Scayn all those long and storied years ago.

“And if I say no?”

“I’d be sorely heartbroken.”

Such hope I had for Zha, that to waste her upon Ouranos would be a greater ruination than any the bastard could craft for me. And yet, surely, I was an equal source of pride for Scayn, in being his protégé, as Zha was mine. I had not shirked from Abseradon; could I really, then, expect her to turn away from Ouranos? Perhaps I could not expect such a thing, but I so very greatly desired it.

“Watch him, Penitent. He knows not of what he seeks.”

Well, Scayn had been right about that.

As we made our way through the unending corridors of the ship that had been my home for almost two centuries, I found myself looking to Zha on more than one occasion. What would it cost her, if not her life, to board The Finality? My hubris had cost me an arm, and later an eye. To me, Zha was still the young girl that had found my retinue after the Thantalus incident; could I ask her to sacrifice so much of herself in my fight? I looked to Bliss, and I found that her usual joviality was long-since departed. There were no smiles upon the faces of either of the women who had, for so much of my life, been known for the joy they beamed out. But there was no joy today.

Upon our arrival at launch bay three, I found my usual cadre waiting for me, with Silas, Varnus, and Lucene awkwardly positioned among those they knew would not be joining us. Before I could speak to any of them, Bliss tapped me on the shoulder and said, “I’ll just be a minute.”

“Right,” I nodded, understanding that she was going to fetch her stash of equipment somewhere nearby. Without another word, she left to prepare herself. When she had left, I turned to the rest, and greeted them, “My friends.”

“We have a plan for skinning this bastard, Cal?” Mirena asked in response, straight to the point.

Painfully, I nodded, and then said, “We do. You…will not be joining us.”

Fire erupted in Mirena’s silver-steel eyes, as I knew it would, and her fists clenched at her sides. “Like hell!” she roared, and stepped toward me, but Castecael held Mirena back with a hand to her chest. “Let go of me, Cast! Cal! There is zero chance I don’t join you in there!” she shouted, to which I shook my head. “You bastard,” she hissed through gritted teeth. “No. Not after everything. There isn’t a world where you venture into this darkness without me.”

As a tear fell from my one, solitary eye, I answered, “There’s this one. I need you out here, with the fleet. In your fighter.”

“Ouranos said he’d shoot anything out of the sky,” Galen noted.

“Only if it opened fire on The Finality,” I added, and then turned back to Mirena. “Which you will not. Instead, you’ll scan every last inch of that ship and find the bastard wherever he’s lurking. And even if his position may change to shield himself, you will find him, and keep finding him, until he makes the mistake of appearing in front of our lance batteries.”

“Didn’t you just tell Vakian not to—and I quote—squander himself on this battle?” Zha asked me.

I nodded. “I also told him to obey every order you give him, because you will not be joining us either, Ms. Trantos.”

“What?” she shrieked. It was the loudest, shrillest, and angriest I had ever heard her. “Why the hell not? It’s my battle plan, it’s my strategy of attack, it’s my everything!”

“And I am immeasurably grateful for your insight in that regard,” I nodded. “But you’re a savant, Zha Trantos. Ouranos, we believe, is a savant. I don’t need you to out-fight him and his forces; that’s my job. Out-think him. You might be the only one that can. You all need to understand that my life is irrelevant; killing Ouranos is the only thing that matters here. We cannot allow our emotions or our bonds to interfere with that. We all have a part to play, and Throne Almighty, we’re going to give it our all today. On that note, Castecael—”

Stolen story; please report.

“Yeah I figured,” she sighed. “I’m in no hurry to die, Cal, and I understand that I’m a better use for you out here than in there. But don’t pretend I’m happy about it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I acknowledged with another nod. I then turned to Galen. “Galen, I once promised you battles that could not be won without your aid—”

“Which is why I am eager to fight in this one with you,” he assured me.

“I do not expect a Knight Castellan to find maneuverable combat in the halls of an enemy vessel,” I explained. “As I can no longer fulfill my promise to you, I hereby relieve you of your duty to the Inquisition,” I told him, and was promptly met with an ironclad fist to my power-armored face. Power armor or not, the blow still knocked some lights into my eyes, and I stumbled away.

“You son of a bitch,” Galen hissed, not unlike Mirena, as Silas pulled him away from me. I held up a patient hand, inviting the rest of my allies to cool off, Silas included.

“I was wondering which of you would come to blows over my decisions,” I admitted, righting myself. At that point, Bliss, clothed as a Callidus Assassin, reappeared nearby, noticed that I was going through the rounds with the rest of my retinue, and decided it was not her business to intervene. She instead retreated deeper into the launch bay, joining the groups of Sisters, Scions, and Tech Priests that were joining me for our invasion. All but the Tech Priests gave her a wide berth, even the Red Hunters.

“I imagine we’re all thinking about it,” Mirena growled, to which Castecael and Zha both nodded. Galen, then out of Silas’s restraint, paced around the scene, trying to cool his thoughts. “What about them?” Mirena asked, gesturing to the trio I had not spoken to, and then to those deeper in the launch bay. “You telling them to stay behind?”

“Any who wish to serve the Throne another day may do so,” I declared.

“Like anyone here would prefer that over dying by your side, Cal,” Mirena seethed.

“And if that is true, their lives are best spent aboard The Finality, rather than beyond its terrible hull, where your lives are better put to use,” I said. “I’m sorry, I am, to deny you this…this thing, this terrible thing. This opportunity to die by my side, as you think you deserve. But all any of us deserve is to die in service to the Throne, and only as long as in that service we are. For some of you, death may not come today. But it will. Take it then. I am sorry I may not join you at the end. Zha, the whole fleet is yours. Use it as you see fit. But I would recommend preparing an Exterminatus on all our vessels, probably Cyclonic Torpedoes. If, Throne forbid it, but if I fail to kill Ouranos, he still must die. Blow The Finality to hell if I am lost.”

“Why not just lead with that and move on with our lives? Why board the damned ship at all?” Galen shouted, then some distance away.

“It would take too long,” Zha answered, to which I nodded yet again.

“That’s right. An Exterminatus takes time to prepare. Ouranos did not say when I am due to board his ship, but I get the sense that if we sit here staring at him for too long, he will start picking our fleet apart. And we don’t have the means to defend against a space hulk’s full array of weaponry,” I said. After that, Mirena stormed past me, brushing into my side and forcing herself on. She would not have had the strength to move my power armor aside if I did not let her, but I had no reason to keep her here, save for to say goodbye. And her eyes said that in spades, if coupled with rage and despair. “You have your orders, my friends,” I started, but Galen cut me off.

“Mine are what? Leave?” he asked, and I think he was of half a mind to punch my face in again.

“If that is what you wish, Freeblade, yes,” I said.

“And as a Freeblade, what if I were to board that vessel on my own?” he suggested.

“If you can find the resources to do so, you may. But you will be shot before you take manpower or transport from the Inquisition,” I answered. “May the Emperor watch over you all. Good luck,” I finished, and made to proceed, but Zha shot a hand to my chest, holding me still. I looked to her and found her eyes closed, but racing beneath their eyelids. She was thinking, and fast as she could.

When her eyes did next open, she glowered toward me, and said simply, “5.3%.”

“Is that in reference to something?” I wondered.

“When we devised our means of transport here, yes. I believe you contributed 5.3% of the mental processing between us both. Which is to say, you can think like a savant 5.3% as efficiently,” she explained, lowering her palm from my torso. “Or, another way, you might have a 5.3% chance of out-thinking him too, Inquisitor Blackgar. Don’t neglect that, for your sake and the sake of the Blessed Imperium. Ouranos will die in this operation; we will make sure of that.”

“Yes, he will,” I agreed, and was then allowed to walk past Zha at last, stepping up to Silas, Lucene, and Varnus. “You should move to your units. I will have words for them all as well.”

“I shall, but I first need a word in private with your Inquisitor-savant,” Varnus replied, and, after a gesture inviting him to step to Zha, moved past me to her.

“Farewell,” I said to those of my retinue, glancing behind me to see their soured, but sorrowful, faces. Faces which I would not ever forget. I also saw Varnus handing a parchment to Zha, but paid it no mind; their business was their business. In that, I departed behind the pace of Silas and Lucene, letting them lead the way and get some distance on me, that they might arrive at their respective units before I would. In time, Varnus finished his discussion with Zha—the latter of which left the launch bay in a hurry, prompting Galen and Castecael to follow after her—and joined his own unit of Tech Priests ahead of me.

It was then that I cleared my throat and, having spent days thinking about what next to say, called to them. “Agents of the Inquisition and the Holy Imperium, we embark now on a mission most perilous. Death is no certainty, but it is likelier now than it has ever been in our service thus far. In light of this, those of you that served with me on Arctoros 5 have been given a vial of sleek, silvery liquid. It is recommended you ingest the contents of this vial if your life is at an end, and to provide such a mercy to your compatriots if they cannot do so themselves. It will not kill you outright, thanks to your rejuvenat, but we believe it will counteract the machinations of our long-ago foe. But enough about that past; we must turn our gaze to the present.

“This is an assassination mission. Though heavy defensive opposition is expected, we are only here to kill a single man. Once completed…well, escape is no guarantee. All manner of terror and torment may break loose upon the enemy vessel should we succeed. But when we succeed, if we can hold out for reinforcements, they will come. Our foe lurks on the vessel’s command bridge, but the location of that is at this time unknown, and it has been suggested that through means most heretical, this information, once learned, may be prone to change,” I explained, and then shook my head, sighing. “In other words, we’re boarding an enemy vessel filled to the brim with enemy forces to find and kill someone located in an absolutely unknowable position. We anticipate encounters with forces Xenos and Daemonic alike, and possibly even human, albeit heretical. If you see someone or something that is not currently present on this bridge, shoot it or stab it. There will not be time for question or hesitation. For specific operational orders, refer to your unit leaders.”

Though I had given volumes of thought to what to say next, I still found it not so easy to say. I hesitated, biting my lip, and then at last continued. “I am north of 250 years of age, and have spent every second of my life in service to the Throne. I expect this trend to terminate during this operation, and it’s only fair if you expect the same of yourself. As many of you know, I formerly served as a Commissar in the Militarum, inspiring soldiers like yourselves to throw themselves into the fire against impossible odds. Now, even as an Inquisitor, I find myself needing to do that again. These odds we face today…are not survivable. Anyone who boards The Finality is likely to die upon The Finality. And I have gotten too many of my men and women killed. It’s not very Inquisitorial, and far less Commissarial, but if any of you do not wish to die in futility by my side, I will not ask you to, not before boarding. So if you value your life more than your service to me and to the Golden Throne, I will let you leave this bay and I personally will not think any less of you, though I will recommend you find Inquisitor Trantos, and seek her guidance or abide her suggested penance. But if you board The Finality with me, if you fight with me, and if you die with me, I can promise you…”

A pause.

Again, I bit my lip and shook my head, though the hesitation was far shorter than before.

“I can promise you nothing. There is nothing you will achieve on that ship worth your own life, save for the completion of the mission, and we may not even achieve that. We may all go there and we may all die before our target does, but we will have at least bought time for our allies to blow the ship to hell in our wake. Glory? Valor? Some intangible, unknowable force of will or recognition of status? There isn’t any of that on The Finality for any of us, as our operations are secret, by necessity. Not a soul in all the Imperium will know what happens today, save for us. But our enemy? Our enemy will know, yes; if we are to die, then we will die fighting, and it shall be such a fight that no psykanic-ritual or mind-trick or basic therapy will ever spare the foe of the trauma of having crossed us. If we are to fail, than we will haunt our foe eternal, and any horror they ever could conjure will pale against what we have done to them. I know this, because in a quarter-millennia of life, I have never known Agents of the Throne as great, vibrant, and furious as you. Our fury is the kind that burns into the blackness of the void and scars it far and wide, our light His light. And if casting the heretic unto damnation is good enough reason for you to meet your own end, well, it was good enough for me to become an Inquisitor. So, to each of you: Life? Or furious, violent, merciless Death?”

I received my first response from a Tempestus Scion—not Silas—who rested the butt of his newfound Bolter on the deck and knelt before me, leaning the blocky handguard near its barrel against his neck while he crossed hands into the Sign of the Aquila upon his chest. Though verbally silent, the message was clear, and spread throughout the rest of the bay, uniformly, across Scion, Sister, and Tech Priest, with Silas, Lucene, and Varnus joining in the motion as well. Even the Astartes answered in the same manner, as did the singular Callidus on her own some short distance away from the rest.

Death.

***

Ms. Trantos,

If you are reading this, I have either perished, or have gone for Ouranos's vessel, leaving you in charge of all of my assets. Varnus, I assume, has given you this parchment, as I ensured I would not remember its existence, let alone its contents. You are the only one that can be trusted with what I write below, more than even I can be. So pay attention, and good luck.