As the discussion continues, Dar's attention is drawn to a news reel nearby. Not because the news itself is all too interesting (a report on war from Barasbine, a local hive world, with the report showing a band of refugees leaving the planet), but because of a familiar face in the crowd - the Beloved. What's more, he actually winks at us...
...and just like that, another portal appears. Ill at ease, I recite a quick prayer to the God-Emperor for guidance in weaving our way through these riddles within riddles and pass through.
Portal world #9
We find ourselves in a broad city street at night. After getting our bearings we recognize where we are: the lovely Sinophia Magna. Remarkably, the city seems to be in an even more advanced state of decay compared to when we last visited. I take a moment to reflect upon the genius of Imperial engineers, for surely true genius is needed to ensure this many structures still standing despite the lack of maintenance and constant exposure to the harsh environment.Not quite knowing what to do, we head in the direction of the Folly, as that is really the only landmark we recognize. If this world resembles the others we have been through, something will probably happen. Never the most trusting lot, the citizens of Sinophia have apparently become even more paranoid than before. We see no one out in the streets and many doors are bolted shut. As we pass another one of these, voices are heard inside. I suggest it might be time to gather some information, and Lazarus breaks the door open. Inside, what appears to be a family cowers in fear, screaming out in terror as we enter their abode. Disturbingly, they renounce the Emperor over and over, but beyond that we are unable to make heads or tails out of their mad rants.
We walk on. The same stars are missing as in portal world #8. We notice what seems to be dark shadows following us on the roof tops. Reminiscent of a certain dear and near cult, they vanish when we look in their direction. And sure enough, we notice religious symbols that have been desecrated and several signs and markings of our beloved Pilgrims of Hayte.
Nearing a crossroads, we hear what turns out to be the drunken ravings of what appears to be a preacher. Given our earlier experiences, we are rather surprised to discover his outbursts and chants to be praise of the God-Emperor (hail be to him!) and disavowment of the ones who curse his name. As it turns out, he's a former imperial guardsman called Quenas Styles, who arrived on Sinophia on a refugee ship from Barastine...no points given for guessing who else was on the ship. Apparently, the Quorom, not exactly the most devout to begin with, entered a bargain with the dark gods on the urging of the Beloved. The results are clearly on display in the city. Mr Styles shows clear evidence of being tortured and his wits aren't all there.
Evidently, Haarlock is in power in this version of our future as well. He has, however, refused to come to the aid of Sinophia. The reason is simple: the populace allowed his tower to be razed. Could there be a more clear and simple definition of evil? Simply, the complete and utter lack of compassion due to a small personal slight?
Mr Styles urges us to go to the Saint's Bridge "if your faith is strong to see what becomes of those who believe". Seeing no other course, we leave the poor, brave drunkard to his misery and head towards said bridge.
When we arrive, the statues of the saints have been defiled in the most horrendous of ways. A grisly display of grinning corpses greet us, strung out along the bridge. Despite all we have been through, and despite knowing this is but a possible future, the sight makes my soul revolt and cower, wanting nothing but to be away from this foul place. A hand written sign indicates why these poor souls have been put on display - "bow before your new masters or die". It is hard to tell which future is the worst...
We spot a familiar figure up ahead. It is Constantine, the arbitrator we put in charge of the planet's security when we left. He's grown older - and it is clear he has lost his way. He spits vitrol and poison at us, accusing us of being Haarlock's pups. Suddenly, his mouth grows into a gigantic maw and a black shroud surrounds him, and we finally see what the shadows that have stalked us are made of as they swarm from the bridge towards us.
I recognize them as twilight stalkers, a xeno species who has been mixed with humans and insects to create a truly heretikal breed. They ensnare their victims via webbings and use poisons to weaken them. Luckily, the fight isn't the hardest we've faced, and as soon as the stalkers are down, the shroud around Constantine falls away. Acadia turns her bolter towards him, a grim look on her face. The weapon roars into life as it spins up, shells slamming into the former arbitrator's twisted body and ripping pieces of flesh from it. His body slumps to the ground - and a new portal opens behind it. Sparing not a single more glance at this nightmarish world, we enter.
Portal world #10
We find ourselves in a tattered and primitive hut, this time with no physical body. Leathers make due as a roof. A woman is in the midst of labor, a midwive urging her on. Both wear tribal symbols of sorts, which I do not recognize. It is clear we are on a primitive world. The birth reaches its end, and a baby boy emerges into the world.Suddenly, the scene blurs before us. We see two adults and what appears to be a shaman, with what we recognize to be the boy from the birth scene playing besides them, but now he's around 3 years old. The shaman has a grim look on his face, while the parents try to argue their case. Suddenly, the boy's toys start floating into the air, much to the chagrin of the parents. The shaman turns towards the parents, saying something in a guttural voice. The parents acquiesce, tears streaming down the mother's face. The primitive grabs the boy and drags him towards the forest nearby. We somehow follow. The boy protests, but is of course no physical match for the adult. In a clearing, the shaman hefts an ax, his intention clear. Suddenly, the boy's eyes light up as he stares right into the face of his captor. The man looks disturbed, making warding signs as he stares into the air - and then his voice rises into high pitched agony, as his flesh ignites and sloughs off him.
Another time lapse. The boy is now 8-9 years old, and makes a living on the streets of what I realize is Port Suffering on Iocanthos. A pitiful sight, he stretches out his cup towards bypassers, begging for change. A man swathed in black robes stops before him, pitches a coin into the cup as he pulls back his hood - Erasmus Haarlock stands before us. He reaches out his hand towards the boy, who studies it with a solemn look on his face before accepting it.
Later. The boy is now 15 years. We are in a chamber. He is being tortured by men in robes with the insignia of the golden spider. This is not the first day he finds himself in this chamber, nor will it be the last. The boy screams out, more out of habit than anything else. I catch a glimpse of his eyes as he stares sightless before him. It is like looking into the Warp. Chaos. Lunacy. I shudder.
Later yet again. The boy is 18. He is somewhere underground, in a cave, crouched over a book, laughing in a soft voice to himself. He pulls himself up, a paradoxical mixture of the grace of an acrobat and the awkwardness of the handicapped. He lopes along the tunnel, the gait eerily familiar to us. Of course, we knew already. The boy is the Beloved. The Beloved is the boy.
He gathers outcasts around him, cajoling them, threatening, commanding. They become a band of the truly misfit, and we already know who they are. The Pilgrims. The mad prophet reads. I recognize every last text. Haarlock. His legacy. His enemies. The Widower. Mara. Everything. The last thing we see is our arch enemy boarding a ship heading towards Quaddis.
Portal world #11
Once again in our physical bodies, we are thrown onto a blasted hill top. The air is hot and humid, a haze covering the landscape. All around us, we see nothing but endless jungle. We no longer care to check the portals as we go through, but this time, something is different. The portal is still open, and we can see the Tesseract through it. More chillingly, the iron daughter is weeping within.There's also another difference - we can feel hunger. Near mad with hunger, we devour the rations we luckily still carry. After sating our immediate needs, we notice the portal hisses and crackles. It is set in a stone arch of sorts. Curious, we try tossing a coin into the portal. It disappears. Dar catches a lizard nearby, tossing it through. It turns into fine red mist. Right.
Looking up at the sky, we see a dark and unsettled shadow ringing the sun. It does not appear to be a natural phenomena. Pondering our next move, Potter notices a band of what appears to be natives approaching us from the forest, clad in crude gear typical of primitive tribesmen. Putting everything together, I recognize where we are. Dusk. Perhaps the deadliest planet in the sector, where pretty much everything is out to kill you. Lovely, just lovely.
The natives do not seem aggressive. We let them approach. Their leader speaks Low Gothic in a stilted manner. He informs us that the old lady has sent them to fetch us. It is time. We must come or wait idly here while events unfold. With a shock, I recall the legend of the Old Hag of Dusk, said to be powerful enough to make a squad of alpha psykers into her playthings. She is also known for her vast knowledge. I inform the cadre of this, and we agree to be taken to the Hag.
We walk into the jungle, prepared for a tiresome march. But suddenly, time space folds and we appear near an ancient space craft. A woman who looks older than the sector itself sits nearby. Impenetrable shadows loom near her, clearly not natural. She beckons us closer.
She holds a chain in her hand, leading into the shadows. A tail briefly appears, and with a shudder I realize she has chained the daemon prince we released back into the Warp on Sinophia. If we ever had plans to assault the Hag directly, she has certainly proven that despite our skills, we would be no match for her.
She tells us that Erasmus came to her, long ago, frustrated beyond belief, and asked for her help. He had tried to turn back time in countless different ways, but always, the universe seemed to throw some foil into his way. He had to give her something (the crone cackles and points towards a gas canister near her stool), and in return, he was able to enter the Dark Star, from whence he will soon return.
I ask her how we can stop him. The hag stares directly at me, and I feel the weight of eons pressing down on me. "I can tell you", she says. "But you must give me something. You must give me your knowledge. All of it. It will never return". I stand slack-jawed, my mind a blank. She turns towards Potter. "I only need something from one of you", she crows. "Will you give up your power? Or perhaps you Acadia, will give up your physical prowess, becoming as weak as a newborn babe?"
None of us respond. My mind is racing. The fate of the sector and indeed the universe hangs in the balance. Will I not sacrifice myself (for sacrificing my knowledge is equal to this)? I am ashamed to admit it, but I cannot. Or perhaps I would have been able to, given time...but Lazarus steps forward. The Hag chuckles. "Ah, the steadfast arbitrator, leading the way as always...will you give me your insight? Will you stand being unable to solve even the simplest of riddles, seeing nothing and yet knowing what you have lost?"
Lazarus stares at the old woman, steel in his eyes. He nods. "Get on with it" he says. The Hag laughs cruelly, beckons him forwards, stares into his eyes. Lazarus falls to the ground, a shrill cry emitting from him, as we all realize he has lost part of himself. Will he still be able to lead us? It likely does not matter, as our time in this world grows short.
In what I intend to be a harsh voice but which comes out as a croak I ask the crone how to stop Haarlock. She smiles and responds "It is simple. You must simply go to the Portal before it is time and stop his return. Another will enter. To stop him is to stop Haarlock. It is but the simplest of riddles, though I fear Lazarus here would not solve it any longer."
The Hag laughs again, mockingly. "Ah, all of the Empire of man...and you are the best? Tell me, will you not need more to end this? I can offer you more. I just need a little something in return. But a bauble. A trinket." Acadia looks at the sorceress in disgust. "Just get us back to the portal old woman. I cannot abide being in your presence a minute longer."
For a moment, I fear our temperamental soldier has gone to far. The witch's laughter stops abruptly, and she eyes Acadia for what seems like an eternity. She stares back, flinching not at all. "Very well", the Hag says. "It seems there is hope for the Empire" she stops and spits at the word "still."
And suddenly, we find ourselves back on the hill top where we entered through the portal. Acadia gasps, sweat bursting from her forehead. "I swear, one more second and I would have bawled like a baby...that is one seriously scary old lady". The dark shadow around the sun has grown darker still. We know who is coming. Haarlock. The old monster returns, to enslave us all and bring doom to the Light.
And suddenly, out through the portal, our Beloved appears. In tow is another one of the gigantic daemons we faced on Mara, as well as a former mercenary clearly turned demonhost. He laughs. "Are you here to greet Father as well? To usher in the new era? To stop him cold in his tracks? To penetrate the mysteries of the Beyond? Options, options, so many options..."
"But of course, you have not the insight to do anything but to blindly follow your Beloved (he cackles) God-Emperor, do you? You realize you worship a corpse, sitting on a dead world on a throne of decay? Ah yes, the folly of man is indeed plentiful."
Lazarus glares at him, the disgust plain on his face, the resolve still there. "Let us decide the fate of the world right here then fiend. No more talk."
And the world turns mad.
