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"And so do we. I can take you with me to the next coordinates," you offer Elias. "If we're lucky, they'll have the long-range vox-" the words roll easily off your tongue "-you need to contact whoever else you need to contact. If not, I'll make another hard point, and we'll move on to the next. We might also find someone who can reach the Governer's Astropath." Whoever that is.
The title at least is pretty self-explanatory thanks to the same strange thing that enabled you to know the language here: a telepath who's mind can reach across the stars, more or less. You think. Words and concepts and mental images dance briefly through your head, but you shove them away for later, when you have the luxury of considering them in depth.
(The idea though, of sorcerers numerous enough to be a normal part of human society, to have jobs in the military and communications and—it's exiciting. That *everyone* seems to at least be a Window—also exicting. For all the bitterness and loss that threaten your mental state, the future is. Exciting.)
Elias turns the ring on his finger as he considers your words, and then nods.
"Very well," he says. "Your idea is as sound as any other. The last I knew, the next nearest coordinates are—" He provides two strings of numbers that you instantly memorise and fix on.
"Before we lost the long-range vox, there were still five of my brothers at those coordinates," Davus informs you. "Along with at least a company of Arbites. Sergeant Heriod Megalus is in command."
"I expect things have changed in the last hours," Elias says grimly. "They have not had the likes of Calvara to cover them." The two of them glance toward the now-unconscious woman; you have never entirely looked away.
"They also haven't had me, yet," you point out.
"They will. Davus, you are in command," Elias says.
"She's unconcious now, but if she comes around, don't let Calvara do anything stupid," you add, before grabbing Elias' shoulder, and teleporting to the coordinates. There is something in your vision when you do. You dismissed it before, when it was there and gone almost too fast for even *your* perception, but this is a greater distance, and though it takes no more time in reality, your *perception* of it is an entire microsecond longer—more than enough time to see a *beacon*—one that, once acknowledged, remains within your perception. It is at once useful in that you can use it to instantly plot relative vectors (rather than taking seconds of your relative perception) and annoying in that it is *always there.* You can ignore it, but that doesn't make it go away.
Ugh.
You also decide to add twenty-five metres of elevation when you arrive, and you're glad of it when you see the chaos below.
The first thing you notice, of course, is the horde of daemons, a mix of the nasty miasma-ridden and the violently bloodthirsty, all armed to the teeth. Cursed flies swarm about the rotting ruins of what was once probably a perfectly nice grain mill, and you watch for several long seconds (minutes) as the four standing space marines cover the retrieval of and retreat with their fallen brother by a double-handful of soldiers—Arbites, apparently—back behind a solid door in the one remaining intact building.
Elias takes the relocation like a champ. He also doesn't blink at the way you're holding him up with your technique—good. He's over freaking out, and reached the 'this might as well happen' stage a lot more quickly than people usually do around you. You're not sure whether to be pleased or disappointed; maybe you can be both. Pleased that your current colleague can roll with the punches, and disappointed that you'll have to work a little harder to needle him.
Although he takes a little longer to assess things, Elias has his radio—vox—out within seconds.
"Sergeant Heriod Megalus, this is Inquisitor Elias Fuzeyr. Prepare for teleportation arrival."
"Negative, Inquisitor, we're pressed on almost all sides, there's nowhere for a force to land," comes the reply in a light tenor, hoarse with shouting.
"Do not worry, Sergeant," Elias replies, smiling with grim pleasure. "That problem is about to be solved. Brace yourselves."
That's a cue if ever you heard one, and so now here it is again, big damn heroes time. And the line of daemons closing in on the space marines (space marines! In power armour! Like something out of a movie or a game!) is *just* far enough away that, yes, you think it's time for *Red.*
"I don't think I've shown you this one yet," you state conversationally to Elias as you raise a finger, and begin concentrating the reverse curse energy. It was super-effective last time, with only a handful of the biggest, ugliest daemons surviving the blast—barely. You don't see any of that kind here, just scads and scads of the weaker sort, the kind that would barely even ping your radar most days, if it weren't for their outstanding numbers. Even as you prepare your technique, the marines down below—and actually no few of the Arbites, now that the wounded marine is behind the lines—are taking them out with laser guns and what almoat look like… machine grenade launchers??? It's so sci-fi, it's great, you wish—
Well. You wish a lot. You have regrets, as few as they are. Right now… right now you need to focus on cleaning up someone else's mess, as usual. Same shit, different millennium.
The rise of power takes seconds, and your hair swirls with it, your eyes glitter and glow, and Elias is back on the radio, yelling,
"Brace for impact!" in his most authoritative tone. It's pretty effective. The space marines brace themselves, and you? You let loose.
For a second, red light fills the air, and a thousand angry cursed screams echo, as the entire front line of the daemons is wiped out in one fell swoop.
You're good at fell swoops.
The radio—*vox* damn it—crackles and a gleeful cackle comes through.
"I don't know how you arranged a precision orbital strike Inquisitor, but it looks like you have plenty of room to land now," the Sergeant says. You can *hear* the vicious grin in his voice.
"We will be there in a moment," Elias says, and then looks at you again. "A veil first I think."
"Pay attention now," you say, as you cast it over the intact building and the cleared area you just made. The Sergeant's voice comes across again:
"Inquisitor, respectfully. What the hell is that?"
"A defensive measure," Elias replies. "A barrier that daemons cannot cross. We are landing now; prepare yourselves." With that, he cuts off the radio, and nods to you. You wait a second longer—just enough to tweak Elias' proverbial tail—and the teleport down near the marines. Out of arm's reach, but not weapon's; not that it matters either way, with Infinity. But they haven't given you any reason to disrespect them as warriors, and so: the distance.
"Sergeant Megalus," Elias says, nodding to the armoured figure that you assume must be said man; you don't know anything about their rank markings, but you easily memorise the differences between this man's armour and his fellows.
"Inquisitor," the Sergeant acknowledges, with a return nod. And—"
"You know, you can keep shooting them through the veil," you comment, before he can say anything else. "Laser guns and those machine grenade launchers—"
"—bolters," Elias cuts in.
"—those, will both go right through it." Even as you say this, you are watching the daemons continue to come through the nearby portal in groups of ten or more—and it is *very* nearby, this group is practically right on top of it.
"This is Gojo," Elias says, gesturing at you. "Call him an… Inquisition resource." You scoff; you are nobody's damned resource. "He is the source of both this barrier, and the 'orbital bombardment.'" Under his helmet, the Sergeant—pale haired like Davus, but darker skinned, and with the same deep set eyes—looks at you with eyes first wide, and then narrowed suspiciously.
"An Inquisition 'resource' you say," the man says. His fellows, being of an obviously practical nature, have already begun shooting through the veil. One shouts with joy at the way he can mow down daemons without concern for reprisal. It's almost cute, if a man in towering power armour can be called 'cute.'
Now then…
[] Time to close that portal. Before something big comes through.
-[] Let Elias handle the debrief; you don't actually care.
-[] Threaten a debrief of your own when you've taken care of business.
[] The portal can wait; a few dozen or hundred daemons of this level literally means nothing to you. Besides if you wait, something big might come through and entertain you for a little while.
-[] Take over the debrief *now*; it's best that you control your own narrative.
-[] Watch Elias and Megalus without blinking while they debrief; Elias can control the narrative, but you won't let him be comfortable with it.
-[] Actually, someone should check on the people in the building.
[] Something else? (Write in.)
The title at least is pretty self-explanatory thanks to the same strange thing that enabled you to know the language here: a telepath who's mind can reach across the stars, more or less. You think. Words and concepts and mental images dance briefly through your head, but you shove them away for later, when you have the luxury of considering them in depth.
(The idea though, of sorcerers numerous enough to be a normal part of human society, to have jobs in the military and communications and—it's exiciting. That *everyone* seems to at least be a Window—also exicting. For all the bitterness and loss that threaten your mental state, the future is. Exciting.)
Elias turns the ring on his finger as he considers your words, and then nods.
"Very well," he says. "Your idea is as sound as any other. The last I knew, the next nearest coordinates are—" He provides two strings of numbers that you instantly memorise and fix on.
"Before we lost the long-range vox, there were still five of my brothers at those coordinates," Davus informs you. "Along with at least a company of Arbites. Sergeant Heriod Megalus is in command."
"I expect things have changed in the last hours," Elias says grimly. "They have not had the likes of Calvara to cover them." The two of them glance toward the now-unconscious woman; you have never entirely looked away.
"They also haven't had me, yet," you point out.
"They will. Davus, you are in command," Elias says.
"She's unconcious now, but if she comes around, don't let Calvara do anything stupid," you add, before grabbing Elias' shoulder, and teleporting to the coordinates. There is something in your vision when you do. You dismissed it before, when it was there and gone almost too fast for even *your* perception, but this is a greater distance, and though it takes no more time in reality, your *perception* of it is an entire microsecond longer—more than enough time to see a *beacon*—one that, once acknowledged, remains within your perception. It is at once useful in that you can use it to instantly plot relative vectors (rather than taking seconds of your relative perception) and annoying in that it is *always there.* You can ignore it, but that doesn't make it go away.
Ugh.
You also decide to add twenty-five metres of elevation when you arrive, and you're glad of it when you see the chaos below.
The first thing you notice, of course, is the horde of daemons, a mix of the nasty miasma-ridden and the violently bloodthirsty, all armed to the teeth. Cursed flies swarm about the rotting ruins of what was once probably a perfectly nice grain mill, and you watch for several long seconds (minutes) as the four standing space marines cover the retrieval of and retreat with their fallen brother by a double-handful of soldiers—Arbites, apparently—back behind a solid door in the one remaining intact building.
Elias takes the relocation like a champ. He also doesn't blink at the way you're holding him up with your technique—good. He's over freaking out, and reached the 'this might as well happen' stage a lot more quickly than people usually do around you. You're not sure whether to be pleased or disappointed; maybe you can be both. Pleased that your current colleague can roll with the punches, and disappointed that you'll have to work a little harder to needle him.
Although he takes a little longer to assess things, Elias has his radio—vox—out within seconds.
"Sergeant Heriod Megalus, this is Inquisitor Elias Fuzeyr. Prepare for teleportation arrival."
"Negative, Inquisitor, we're pressed on almost all sides, there's nowhere for a force to land," comes the reply in a light tenor, hoarse with shouting.
"Do not worry, Sergeant," Elias replies, smiling with grim pleasure. "That problem is about to be solved. Brace yourselves."
That's a cue if ever you heard one, and so now here it is again, big damn heroes time. And the line of daemons closing in on the space marines (space marines! In power armour! Like something out of a movie or a game!) is *just* far enough away that, yes, you think it's time for *Red.*
"I don't think I've shown you this one yet," you state conversationally to Elias as you raise a finger, and begin concentrating the reverse curse energy. It was super-effective last time, with only a handful of the biggest, ugliest daemons surviving the blast—barely. You don't see any of that kind here, just scads and scads of the weaker sort, the kind that would barely even ping your radar most days, if it weren't for their outstanding numbers. Even as you prepare your technique, the marines down below—and actually no few of the Arbites, now that the wounded marine is behind the lines—are taking them out with laser guns and what almoat look like… machine grenade launchers??? It's so sci-fi, it's great, you wish—
Well. You wish a lot. You have regrets, as few as they are. Right now… right now you need to focus on cleaning up someone else's mess, as usual. Same shit, different millennium.
The rise of power takes seconds, and your hair swirls with it, your eyes glitter and glow, and Elias is back on the radio, yelling,
"Brace for impact!" in his most authoritative tone. It's pretty effective. The space marines brace themselves, and you? You let loose.
For a second, red light fills the air, and a thousand angry cursed screams echo, as the entire front line of the daemons is wiped out in one fell swoop.
You're good at fell swoops.
The radio—*vox* damn it—crackles and a gleeful cackle comes through.
"I don't know how you arranged a precision orbital strike Inquisitor, but it looks like you have plenty of room to land now," the Sergeant says. You can *hear* the vicious grin in his voice.
"We will be there in a moment," Elias says, and then looks at you again. "A veil first I think."
"Pay attention now," you say, as you cast it over the intact building and the cleared area you just made. The Sergeant's voice comes across again:
"Inquisitor, respectfully. What the hell is that?"
"A defensive measure," Elias replies. "A barrier that daemons cannot cross. We are landing now; prepare yourselves." With that, he cuts off the radio, and nods to you. You wait a second longer—just enough to tweak Elias' proverbial tail—and the teleport down near the marines. Out of arm's reach, but not weapon's; not that it matters either way, with Infinity. But they haven't given you any reason to disrespect them as warriors, and so: the distance.
"Sergeant Megalus," Elias says, nodding to the armoured figure that you assume must be said man; you don't know anything about their rank markings, but you easily memorise the differences between this man's armour and his fellows.
"Inquisitor," the Sergeant acknowledges, with a return nod. And—"
"You know, you can keep shooting them through the veil," you comment, before he can say anything else. "Laser guns and those machine grenade launchers—"
"—bolters," Elias cuts in.
"—those, will both go right through it." Even as you say this, you are watching the daemons continue to come through the nearby portal in groups of ten or more—and it is *very* nearby, this group is practically right on top of it.
"This is Gojo," Elias says, gesturing at you. "Call him an… Inquisition resource." You scoff; you are nobody's damned resource. "He is the source of both this barrier, and the 'orbital bombardment.'" Under his helmet, the Sergeant—pale haired like Davus, but darker skinned, and with the same deep set eyes—looks at you with eyes first wide, and then narrowed suspiciously.
"An Inquisition 'resource' you say," the man says. His fellows, being of an obviously practical nature, have already begun shooting through the veil. One shouts with joy at the way he can mow down daemons without concern for reprisal. It's almost cute, if a man in towering power armour can be called 'cute.'
Now then…
[] Time to close that portal. Before something big comes through.
-[] Let Elias handle the debrief; you don't actually care.
-[] Threaten a debrief of your own when you've taken care of business.
[] The portal can wait; a few dozen or hundred daemons of this level literally means nothing to you. Besides if you wait, something big might come through and entertain you for a little while.
-[] Take over the debrief *now*; it's best that you control your own narrative.
-[] Watch Elias and Megalus without blinking while they debrief; Elias can control the narrative, but you won't let him be comfortable with it.
-[] Actually, someone should check on the people in the building.
[] Something else? (Write in.)