Chapter 321: The Fisher Never Goes Home Empty
Everything was in position. Silentium sat cross-legged and began casting.
Warp energy flowed out of him, and the ritual circle on the isolation chamber floor responded. The array began to shift, to build —
A crack of sourceless thunder, and the portal opened.
It stood in the air like a wound — a colour that didn't quite exist in the visible spectrum, something that registered in the brain as dark purple but wasn't, not quite. The kind of colour you couldn't focus on directly.
Silentium, visibly tired from the casting, pointed at the opening.
"There. A stable Warp-side channel, connected and holding. Now we wait for something to take the bait.
Look at the diameter — only small-scale entities will fit through. Minor daemons. Nuisances. We can handle those without breaking a sweat."
Both of them settled in.
Half an hour passed. Not a single thing came through.
Kian stared at the portal with mounting suspicion.
"Where exactly does this thing open to? Did you accidentally connect it to the Warp equivalent of an empty field? There's been nothing for thirty minutes."
Silentium scratched his head.
"Honestly, the exit point is randomised. I have no idea what's on the other side."
Another half hour. Still nothing.
Kian was starting to get restless. He'd come here to fish, and fishing with no bait and no chum was just sitting underground.
The fisherman never goes home empty. Even if all he catches is weeds, he catches something.
Then it hit him.
"Oh for — I didn't bait the hook."
Of course. You wanted big fish, you chummed the water first. Opening a portal and sitting there expecting daemons to wander through uninvited was like setting an empty trap and being surprised nothing walked into it. Daemons weren't stupid.
He had Silentium close the portal, and the two of them rode the elevator back up to the Underhive to gather materials.
An hour and a half later, they returned.
This time they'd brought a generous quantity of suitable bait — remains of the fallen, various morally ambiguous refuse — and Kian had taken a knife to each piece and carved inscriptions into them.
Brothers, we're launching a raid! Come join us! Ten days of unrestrained pillaging in the human hive city! All are welcome!
Grand paradise establishment now open. All preferences accommodated. Satisfaction absolutely guaranteed. Come experience the finest in decadence!
Premium souls, minimally processed. One bite and the agony blooms across the palate — pure, exquisite corruption at its finest!
Bait properly laid, both of them unfolded their portable stools, sat down, and cracked open a bag of sunflower seeds.
The change was immediate.
Less than a few minutes in, something came through the portal.
"Oi oi oi! Someone said raid? I'll take point!"
Both of them leaned forward.
The entity was large — crimson skin, carrying something resembling a katana, expression set in a permanent aggressive snarl. No markings of any of the Four Powers. Wild daemon, unaffiliated.
Silentium was experiencing what could only be described as spiritual eye-irritation — the baseline psychic contamination that came with looking at a daemon directly. Both of them were shielded by strong willpower and pre-applied Coolant Balm, so it stayed at the level of mild discomfort.
Kian spat a seed husk and pressed the A button.
The flamer fired. Golden psychic fire engulfed the crimson daemon. It screamed, thrashed, collapsed, and dissolved — cleanly and completely.
The katana didn't dissolve with it. It clattered to the floor of the isolation chamber.
"The daemon's body is pure Warp energy," Silentium noted. "When it dissipates, so does the form. But that blade is material — it came from somewhere physical, inside the Warp."
"Right," Kian said. "The Warp isn't purely energy. There's matter in there too. Strong enough daemons can drag entire planets through — that's how daemon worlds form."
They resumed their sunflower seeds. Another daemon came through.
Again, no markings. Another wild one.
"Excuse me, is this the paradise establishment? Does the guarantee apply to — I have very specific preferences, I should mention. I identify as a female-spirit in a male-adjacent presentation—"
Kian cut in immediately.
"We're all out of everything you asked for. But we do have a dark-skinned, golden-crowned, magnificently aloof hostess who will absolutely ruin you. Interested?"
"Dark-skinned and aloof? That's my weakness—"
He pressed A.
The daemon expired in a blaze of golden flame, presumably satisfied.
They settled into a rhythm. Every three to five minutes, a daemon came through. Every daemon got the flamer. The isolation chamber floor accumulated a growing pile of exotic material objects — weapons, armour fragments, staves, miscellaneous implements of unclear purpose — all of it destined to be offered to the Emperor's Shrine once catalogued.
Eventually Silentium's reserves started showing the strain. He looked genuinely worn.
"I'm almost done. One more. Last one, then we close up."
The words had barely left his mouth when the final daemon came through.
This one landed, looked around at the aftermath — the piles of abandoned daemon equipment, the scorching marks on every surface, the massive flamer turret pointed directly at it — and started laughing, loud and contemptuous.
Kian had just pressed the reload trigger — the flamer was cycling to a fresh fuel load, one or two seconds — and found himself involuntarily pausing.
"Why are you laughing?"
The daemon snorted.
"I laugh because you have no taste.
You lure daemons to their deaths in a box. No sport. No challenge. No chance of survival. That's not entertainment, that's just murder with extra steps.
You should have set up obstacles. Let us attempt the gauntlet. Those who clear it go free. Those who fail, burn. That's interesting. This is just embarrassing."
Silentium elbowed Kian.
"...He has a point, actually. Are we being a bit unsporting? Should we give participants a fighting chance?"
Kian considered it. The daemon also had a point about customer experience — a venue with no exits didn't attract repeat business.
He happened to have brought a stack of light reading up from the surface to pass the slow moments. He slid them through the safety slot into the isolation chamber.
"Alright. Here's the deal. You read all of these without suffering a fatal psychological event, you walk."
The daemon picked up the stack and scanned the titles.
Strike: The Mary Sue Chronicles. Ultra-Freeloader Husband. Ultra-Freeloader Husband 2.0. Ultra-Freeloader Husband 3. Sheep Village Freeloader Husband. Pure-Hearted Cockroach, Hot Hot Hot. Pure-Hearted Mosquito, Hot Hot Hot. SpongeBob Freeloader Husband. Goatee Grandpa, Don't Be Scared — I'm the Lopsided War God. All Sheep Rise — Behold the Great Lazy Overlord. I've Held Bear Ridge Alone For Ten Thousand Years. My Life Is Yours. Dead Before I Give It To You.
The daemon set the books down.
Its eyes had gone flat.
It looked like something had reached in and quietly removed its will to exist.
Kian asked, "Any last words?"
The daemon closed its eyes.
"None. Please. Quickly."
Fwooosh.
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