Chapter 337: A Day in the Life of the Chief Void-Deputy
Once the daemon had been fed both courses — liquid and offers of solid — Kian decided the entertainment had run its course. A single golden lightning lance crackled down and obliterated the creature on the spot.
Ever since receiving the Emperor's protection, his lightning lance had turned gold, carrying an anti-daemon property.
Against stronger daemons, the strike inflicted agonising pain. Against weaker ones, it was an instant kill.
This particular Changeling daemon had left most of its body outside the Gellar Field; only its mouth had made it through. One lance strike scattered its essence into nothing.
The moment the daemon died, the warped deck plating snapped back to normal. Kian sighed wistfully.
"Such a perfectly good toilet, gone just like that. I was thinking we could keep it around — designate it as the crew's official latrine. What a waste."
Nova decided Kian was certifiably unhinged. But he'd proven himself — personally banishing a daemon on his first patrol was more than adequate. She saw no reason to keep babysitting.
"Fine. I acknowledge you, mrow. Patrol once daily from now on, until we exit the Warp."
She bolted. Kian continued the sweep with his squad.
Over the next four or five days, Kian ran one patrol per day and spent every remaining hour in the gravity gym, training like a madman.
Each patrol turned up one or two daemons without fail.
Some possessed crew members. Others fused with physical objects, becoming twisted amalgamations of flesh and iron that killed and destroyed indiscriminately.
The density was remarkable — two or three confirmed daemonic contacts per sweep, every single day.
Kian also discovered that he was the only person aboard who could actually hurt these things. The rest of the crew had no effective countermeasures whatsoever.
The warship did have a chapel. Kian paid the shipboard clergy a visit.
Every last one of them was a fraud — not a single priest who could sense the Emperor's favour radiating off Kian, let alone channel any real power against daemons.
In fairness, this wasn't surprising. Inquisitor Trasolh belonged to the Ordo Hereticus. His primary mission was rooting out internal corruption and sedition. Daemon-hunting was outside his operational scope.
Kian — a hero unit capable of dealing true damage to daemons — had single-handedly plugged Trasolh's most critical capability gap.
Which raised an obvious question: how had the crew dealt with daemon incursions before he came aboard?
Today, Kian's patrol route took him past the engineering bay. He grabbed one of the grease-stained Mechanicus adepts and asked.
The answer was beautifully simple:
"It's quite straightforward, my lord. Any daemon that squeezes through the Gellar Field is already severely weakened. They kill a few hundred, maybe a few thousand people, and then they leave on their own.
We carry over seventy thousand souls aboard this vessel. Losing that many is not a significant setback.
If the losses are heavier than usual, we simply recruit replacements at our next port of call to fill the vacancies."
Kian could only tip his hat. Outnumber the daemon. Wait for it to get bored and leave. The solution was peak Warhammer.
Callous as it was, Kian still took his duties seriously.
One full patrol every day. He and Silentium swept the corridors with their Warp-sight active, and every daemon they found died to the golden-flamed Demon-Cleaver before it could do meaningful harm.
The result, after just a few days, was that most daemons were cut down before they'd even had time to cause trouble.
Four or five days of Warp transit, and the Staff of Censure's casualty count stood in the single digits.
This earned Kian a reputation that spread through all seventy thousand souls on the ship like wildfire.
On a typical Warp crossing, the death toll was triple digits at a minimum.
This man arrives, and fatalities drop to single figures? He was practically a saint.
The only blemish on his record was his... unconventional methods. When he caught a particularly interesting-looking daemon, he had a tendency to toy with it to death.
Some of his techniques were sufficiently extreme that they left lasting psychological impressions on the crew members who witnessed them. A few sailors reportedly began feeling sympathy for the daemons.
On the tenth day of Warp transit, Kian's patrol was interrupted by a message from Inquisitor Trasolh.
The Inquisitor's face appeared directly on Kian's helmet visor, his tone calm and measured:
"Count Voss. The fleet will exit the Warp tomorrow. There's a matter I need to discuss with you. Please report to the bridge."
Kian acknowledged, then flashed a grin.
"My lord, quick question — do you want to see a crab squat, double peace signs, and the thousand-yard stare with eyes rolled back?"
Trasolh blinked, completely lost. He also noticed that the background on Kian's end was extremely noisy — it sounded like a fight.
Kian didn't wait for an answer. He switched the feed to his helmet cam and transmitted the live visual.
Trasolh squinted at the image. Kian was in the hangar bay. In front of him stood a servitor whose legs had been replaced with mechanical crab-limbs and whose hands had been swapped for industrial pincers.
The servitor was possessed. A daemon had taken control of its body. Its two massive claws were raised high in the air — and yes, with the pincers angled just right, they did look exactly like double peace signs.
As for the rolled-back eyes: Kian's retainers were circling the possessed servitor with long-handled shock prods, jabbing it at irregular intervals. Each jolt made the daemon-servitor's eyes roll back in spasms.
The possessed daemon shrieked with every prod. The retainers roared with laughter, poking it again and again like children tormenting a caged animal.
What should have been a terrifying possession event had been turned into a sideshow attraction.
Inquisitor Trasolh's composure cracked slightly. He recalled Nova's report about the floor-mouth incident...
"Ahem. Yes. Well. In any case, Count Voss, please resolve the situation and report to the bridge for a briefing at your earliest convenience."
The comm cut out. Kian watched his boys have their fun for another moment, then decided enough was enough. He drew the Demon-Cleaver from his back.
Golden psychic flame engulfed the blade. He leapt, bringing the sword down in a single overhead arc.
"FOR THE EMPEROR!!"
CRUNCH.
The golden blade split the possessed servitor clean in two.
The surrounding flight crew and Enginseers broke into spontaneous applause.
Kian slung an arm around the shoulders of the hangar's chief Enginseer and leaned in.
"Tell you what, Father. From now on, I'll prioritise your section during my patrols. I guarantee no daemon will defile the Omnissiah's creations on my watch.
In return, you give me priority access to your maintenance services and technical resources. Deal?"
The Enginseer's head bobbed like a rattle drum.
"Deal deal deal!"
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