Love Can Bloom - The Complete Edition: A Warhammer 40K Heretical Fanfiction

Chapter I - 1

"Exitus Acta Probat: The Outcome Justifies the Deed." - Dictum Vindicare

The Vindicare creed is that enemies of the Imperium of Man die ignoble deaths. No trials for these heretics, no recognition of any ability they hold, not even a record of their order to be killed. A quick, surgical procedure, a reflexive, impassive, reaction to eliminate an enemy that leaves behind only the slightest of blemishes, soon to be hushed up and covered for fear of prompting more invisible, bureaucratic executions.

Traitors and rebels may gird themselves for the unlimited waves of guardsmen crushing their towns underfoot, continent disintegrating orbital bombings, and fearless, unstoppable, merciless space marines. Yet, how they quail when oh so casually, their honoured leader, god figure, demagogue, idol, chosen one, noble general, great hero, neighbour, friend, mother, father, child, or beloved fall lifeless, a dark hole in their foreheads.

"Do not fail," came the command through the assassin's spymask.

Most munitions that this assassin had dealt with previously have been subsonic, quiet, subtle machines that he is expected to keep hidden and assemble on-site; other dogmas stated that all weapons had to be popular with those populations that were to be affected, to show the Emperor's judgment came from the people.

And then there was the Exitus rifle. Tough enough to break a terminator's Tactical Dreadnought Armor, quiet enough to not wake the baby you are using for a fire brace. It is immense, huge and unwieldy, a full one point eight seven meters long when fully de- ployed, nearly as tall as the man carrying it, weighing eight kilograms unloaded, a full nine when loaded.

"One shot is all I need." The Vindicare replied.

By all means, Governor-Militant Alexander should have dispatched a Culexus. Whatever psychic blasphemy the witch unleashed, would have been stifled by the sheer terror generated by it. It was as close to a monster a human could get and still be beloved by the Imperium. But only just.

Lukas Alexander hated those things. That's why the Vindicare had been dispatched. That, and a tangible reminder of the consequences of failure.

"Standby for drop order." The sighting array switched through the spectra, finally settling on human normal. The Vindicare enjoyed those brief moments when the targets were confirmed.

Eldar.

Perhaps a one and two five-meter tall one. The neck doesn't break easy, little bone. Very flexible. The Primary was having trouble with its helmet, and the Vindicare waited.

A combat mission was free of the various restrictions, implications, and extenuating circumstances that were far too often glued to it. A swift kill was all that was necessary.

"Appears injured," he murmured into the mouthpiece. Just in case Lukas was listening. He was a paranoid man, the Inquisition playing both sides in the conflict between Astartes and Imperial Guard. Better to assuage the Governor that he was following policy.

"All the better. Drop her," The commander had no appreciation for the moment. Orders were orders. His finger was on the trigger-

"Wait, something's happening-" "I...Can't."

"What do you mean you can't? Soldier? What's going on?"

Lieutenant Ardrin shot a glance at the monitors across the screen, running down the various cryptorunes that festooned the archaic mechanicals, "The Techpriest checked every last one of these things for flaws in their machine spirits, so I KNOW there is nothing wrong with you. What is the difficulty?"