Disclaimer; I don not own any rights to the Warhammer world, all rights belong to Games Workshop. I merely add this little piece of my mind in the hope that the WH 40K world grows a little larger.AN; I wrote this some time ago, but since I started playing the game WH40K; Dawn of War, I thought it would be nice to share this with anyone willing to read it. It's not beta-read, but it looks quite all right. Let me know what you think. Mu-san

Only fear

His eyes darted from one side of the room to the other. He felt an artery pulse on his temple, and he tried to calm his beating heart. He started to recite the daily rites of his order, but somehow the religious texts didn't lift his spirits up as they normally would. The words somehow seemed to obstruct his throat and he had to swallow a few times before he felt comfortable again. What the hell was wrong with him? Why did he fear the shadows that seemed to be everywhere, why was he nervous and frightened in his own room, after checking twice that he was alone?

He didn't trust his eyes anymore, or the sensors that were telling him that he was alone in this section of the spaceship. His heart told him very different things. He was never alone, it was always with him. He never really knew where, but he was sure it was there. Always just outside his field of vision, not matter how quick he turned. But he was sure of it. He reached inside the pocket of his jacket, and felt the cold steel of the laspistol. No one will harm me, he nervously thought. He would be just fine…. His hands were slightly shaking, and his temple was pulsing harder than ever. He didn't know it, but everyone on the transport avoided him. He was shunned, because they were sure that he was crazy…

What was that?

He immediately jumped up, drawing his pistol. His heart was beating like crazy, his breath coming in irregular, sharp stitches. He was sure that he heard something, but…where did it go? His eyes scanned the room, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

Am I going crazy, he thought? He sat back down against the wall, fitting himself in the corner facing the entire room. Slowly, he tried to put the gun back into its holster again, but his hands were shaking too violently, so he placed it on the floor next to him. He buried his face in his hands. Small beads of sweat were trickling down his forehead, and he felt dirty. He had been in his room for the last two weeks, only leaving it to get some food and drinks when the mess hall was empty. He didn't want to leave his room, because something was stalking him.

A dark, looming shadow was after him, constantly a few paces behind him, never leaving him, never coming closer. He felt his eyes burning in his back, giving him an excruciating feeling of pain, guilt and despair.

But he had nothing to feel so guilty and ashamed about! He was a loyal member of his order, The Order of Purity, and the bishop sent by the Ecclesiarchy even came last year to praise their order, for all its excellent work on converting the heretics on Vendar IV after the purification made by the imperial forces. His mentor even praised him especially, for all the hard work he had done. So why was this feeling of terror upon him? He couldn't understand!

The front of his stained shirt was soaked with sweat, and started to stick to his chest. He slowly rocked his body back and forth, repeating the rites of purity under his breath.

"O beloved Emperor, please grant me the strength to make it through this night, please…."

His voice trembled.

"Please let me live…"

He wanted to say more, but the rest of his words simply didn't come. Only a shallow breath passed his lips. For what his mind perceived days ago his eyes now were looking at. Well, a part of it anyway. His eyes were drawn to glowing red orb, a great unblinking eye. It almost seemed to be radiating malicious energy, and he felt it burn on his retina, scorching the very nerves in the sockets. He blankly stared at the burning light in front of him, too paralysed to move, too stunned to remember the gun on the floor next to him. All conscious thoughts had left him, and only his ears managed to catch the last sounds of his existence, a single word that seemed to be uttered by the glowing light in front of him.

"Pssssssyyyyyychhhhhheeeerrrrrrr…….."

- ∞ -

Inquisitor Malas was waiting in an abandoned corner of the shipping dock, waiting for his 'parcel' to arrive. He felt slightly nervous. In all the years he had trained and worked under the Administratum he had dealt with the special branch of assassins on several occasions, but usually with the Vindicare Section, the assassins expert in long distance sharp shooting. He had even done an assignment with the gruesome Eversore assassin, an almost inhumane beast fuelled by horrid chemical cocktails to give him enormous strength or unbelievable speed. Malas shivered slightly, remembering the fearsome sight of the Eversor, with a skull-like mask and all sorts of tubes sticking in his very flesh. But he was a little afraid of the task that now lay before him.

The Officio Assassinorum contacted him three weeks ago about the purging of Celtus Prime. They told him that in response to the threat of rogue psychers going undetected past the investigations of the inquisitors they would sent him a Culexus assassin, capable of picking out the tainted and dangerous individuals. Now Malas had only heard vague stories about the Culexus, but one thing stood out clear; they were by far the worst creation of the Officio Assassinorum. Malas found a few datasets on the various assassins, and was horrified even at the schematic drawing of the thing.

On its head (which was little more then a real, white skull) was placed a deadly device, a small warp generator that could generate a blast of raw energy capable of destroying almost anything in its path, which looked just like a great red glowing eye.

Malas pulled his cloak a little tighter. For one of those 'things' was at this docking station this very minute, and he was supposed to meet it….

Suddenly he felt an indescribable chill run down his spine. Out of the shadows behind him came a dark, shadowy figure, with a burning eye, that seemed to draw all the light of the cargo hall to it. Malas felt nauseous, and his vision started blurring. He felt the world spin, and almost passed out. Then luckily he remembered the protocol, pulled out a small datasheet that showed two small, red glowing symbols, and held it in between the shadow and himself. Immediately he felt the nausea draw away, and he could see straight again. The assassin silently stood before him and patiently awaited his orders.

Malas understood now how this assassin was so effective against unregistered psychers. They don't fear it because of the deadly weapon it carries, or its unnerving appearance. No, the feared this creature, because it embodied fear itself. Its greatest weapon was a paralysing terror, something you could do nothing against. The psychic hood in his clothing had protected him to some degree, but it certainly wasn't enough. He felt weak and cold sweat made the palms of his hands clammy. He wouldn't even begin to imagine what this creature could do to unprotected psychers, people who are even more vulnerable to its presence.

Malas straightened his hat and signalled the assassin to follow him. He walked to his ship, feeling the assassin almost glide behind him like a drifting shadow. He shivered once more. He could now explain why the transport only brought back a number of dead bodies, and a few gibbering idiots. Even transporting this creature was a dangerous business. Malas remembered seeing the list of victims, and he recalled that one of them was a member of a religious order. Not able to suppress his curiosity, he turned to face the creature, gathering what strength he had left.

"Explain to me why the young monk had to die, he was a loyal servant of our Emperor, and h—"

But his resolution drained from his speech, as did the colour from his face. The assassin was directly behind him, and its face was only a few inches from the inquisitors. Its weapon-eye seemed to burn like an unholy inferno, and slowly without moving its mouth it gave its explanation to the inquisitor.

"Pssssssyyyyyychhhhhheeeerrrrrrr…….."

The inquisitor stared blankly at the assassin, then turned round again and started walking. Mad, he thought, it killed a loyal servant of a religious order, simply because it thought he was a psycher?

But then he remembered the words of the political attaché of the Officio Assassinorum, spoken to him before he set out to meet the assassin.

"The end justified the means my friend, the world is a safer place thanks to us all."

Another violent shiver ran through him. Let us pray that we will never be in its way, he thought. But somewhere he knew that it was a futile little prayer. Deep down he knew that this monster would do what it saw fit. Without discrimination, regardless of rank of believes. For a moment he felt a surge of pity for the souls on Celtus Prime, the assassins next victims. No one deserved to die like this…

- ∞ -