Assassination Attempt (40k Fanfic)
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The throbbing and humming was a constant companion. It had long ceased to be an irritant, if indeed it ever was, for the dark figure in the black synthskin bodyglove who now crouched behind an ornate, pitted gargoyle. The weathered decoration afforded the figure an excellent and concealed perch from which to view the massive, vaulted throne-room below.

Yes, the constant noise of the immense engines, which drove the dark Chaos privateer ship the Ruin of Narcissus, had almost become a friend. They were certainly the only constant, the only immutable factor which remained the same during the five long years of blood, terror, and death the figure had endured. All for this moment. She had had a name once, this dark figure, who was obviously feminine despite her extensive scarring. Her name had long since been trained, beaten and burned out of her in the Becoming-Halls of the Most Holy and Dreaded Officio Assassinorium of Terra. Taken from a
remote planet in a forgettable solar system at two years of age, she had been since turned into one of the most proficient killers the Imperium could produce- an assassin of the Throne. She had made her fist kill at 8 years of age (A planetary leader of some sort, with
a taste for children, if she remembered correctly- there had been so many, even the first life she had taken blended with all the rest). So she had killed, as she was trained to do and instructed to obey. Countless lives were cut short with the sure, swift movements of her supple hands. It was good, glorious work, all in the name of the God Emperor.

The monster before her had no such excuse. As he sat on his throne of living organs, holding court, she shivered in hatred. She had been chosen for this task, not only for her proficiency with meting out death to the enemies of the Emperor, but also for her solid,
unshakable faith in Him and his vision for Mankind. The masters of her Ordo had reasoned that she, above all of her sisters and brothers of the Temple, would have the resiliency needed to complete her task.

Five years... She recalled the first days of her mission- being taken aboard the massive, mile spanning ship and masquerading as just another prisoner of war, another faceless piece of meat to the reaving Chaos masters of the ship. Those had been uncertain days-
there had been every possibility she would simply be merely killed outright for sport or by chance. But she had made it on board, one of a million slaves taken to keep the ship running, and to provide blood and meat for the obscene rituals the masters of the ship
practiced. She was able to make good her escape from the slave gangs, with her ingenuity and the aid of the Holy Drug Polymorphine, and she disappeared into the immeasurable reaches of the ship's inner workings.

Despite the vastness of the star-cruiser, she was forced to move lairs often. Over the course of five years of living in the most hostile territory possible, she had learned that traitors and heretics were not the only foul things which dwelt, and were attracted to the horror of this ship of Death... She did not shudder, as others might have. She was as still as the statue she was hidden behind- but her mind wandered. This would not have been
normal for her discipline psyche either, and was probably due to the intense pain...
but she would not look down at her hands...

And so she had lived, for five hellish years. The intelligence she had gathered, moving clandestinely around the ship and observing, was invaluable to the struggle against Chaos. Many fell plans were thwarted, billions of lives were saved because of what she was able to get back to her masters. The Ordo Malleus had been able to add many names to its Repositorae Daemonomicon, and new arms were being manufactured on Mars, specifically to exploit the weaknesses she had found in the works of Chaos. It was good holy work. But these were all secondary to her primary purpose.

The message had come to her with the last batch of slaves brought onto the ship, some three days ago. It came packaged in a human body-the carrier would not have known he would be serving the Emperor is such a holy task, for fear of discovery and interrogation.
Following protocol and signs that had been arranged by her masters, she discovered and neutralized the carrier (a man of approximately 45 standard, with white peppered hair and the stink of fear and piss about him) and retrieved the message from his entrails.

She did not question the order which brought an end to her five years of covert life.

She had immediately prepared, reviewing the information she had on the target, despite the fact it was imprinted on her memory in perfect detail since the day she was briefed.

Lord Corpulus Wrath. Once one of the Emperor's finest, now fallen so far... Target height, 10.012 units high, weight, 456 points heavy, etc... She went over the raw data, and then the specifics- (daily routine, known habits, preferred weapons and fighting style), and then the exotics (known daemonic consorts, rituals and mutations "gifted" to him by his dark and terrible patrons). All this and more she sifted through, making sure she had all pertinent information at hand. Then she strapped on her bodyglove from the small stasis kit she had, and set out.

She was started out of her reverie by a commotion down below, in the throne chamber. She looked down just in time to see smears of red where bodies had been dragged away by slaves. The lapse was inexcusable, but her gaze was drawn once more to her hands.
Ragged red stumps seemed to sneer back at her, white bone winking like an eye in the middle of the now-rotting mess that were her wrists.

The awful wounds had stopped bleeding almost immediately after her hands had been removed, thanks to her augmented immune system and clotting agents artificially inserted into her blood. The pain would normally have barely registered (once, as a neonate, a pain-servitor had methodically broken every bone in her body over a three-hour period to test her endurance. She had still been able to shear its head from its body when given a weapon) but these were not normal circumstances. The weapon which had made the...amputation...had left toxins in her flesh, mortifying the healthy tissue before she could regenerate or push it out. It took a great deal of effort to stem the tide of putrification at her wrists. She knew that she would be with the Emperor soon, but she also knew she had to complete the task set before her.

Her original plan had been to terminate him in his private chambers- after long months of diligent observation, she concluded that was the place least likely to receive visitors. At least, visitors who would leave again once they had entered. Thus, she had crawled through a service duct and had up through a blood-caked drain. The manhole which covered it had thin slots, but she was able to writhe through by dislocating bones and compressing organs, and she had been taught. Everything had been going according to plan. She had caught him immersed in some foul and bloody work, full of screams. She had lined up her digital sleevegun, and the microdermic needle had struck sure and true. But the virulent poison it contained did nothing at all to the fallen star-warrior. He had turned, shivered once, and shook off a toxin that she had once seen fell a Squiggoth.

His facial expression never changed, the giant scar across his face never so much as twitched- he simply took up a great scythe laying on an altar nearby, and with incredible speed, separated her outstretched hands from her body. Only a timely explosion from what she assumed was an Imperial bombardment (judging from the uniforms dressing the sacrifice meat adorning the corpses splayed at the foot of his throne below) allowed her the moment she needed to slide back out the way she had came.

She had run back to the relative safety of her current lair. Hunting parties roamed the ship, searching for her in addition to repelling boarders and patching breaches. The Imperial attack could not have come at a better time- apparently the God Emperor had not forgotten her yet. So she meditated, stopped the spread of disease as well as she could, and assembled her AVI III rifle as adeptly with her toes as she could have with her fingers.

That had been three days ago- she had not moved from this spot, knowing he would eventually return here, to solidify his strength with his armies. She had rammed two metal hooks into the meat of her stumps- one to steady the gun, and the other to depress the trigger. Rifle ready, she waited, and evaded every attempt to detect her. He knew she was out there. But she was like a shadow, and she knew she could not fail.

Now the time had come- if she waited a few more days, the flesh of her arms would liquify and she would no longer be able to support the rifle without her flesh tearing. Helmet aside, he was standing, extolling the virtues of the dark gods to the assembled horrors arrayed before him, followers snared and enthralled with his awful might and terrible majesty. He was close to achieving the mantle of Daemonhood, she knew. He needed to be stopped here. She raised the rife, and carefully aimed, timing her breathing and steadying her body with the beats of her heart- beat, breathe, beat, breath, squeeze, breath, beat...

The shot rang out, a flash of fire barked out from the darkness surrounding the gargoyle. She was momentarily blinded by the puff of smoke the high-cal round gave off as it rocketed towards its target, but when it cleared...

He was standing still, hand wrapped around a steaming and smoking shell, halted before his forehead.

His eyes met hers, and she knew she was dead.

Already she could hear the crunch of boots and the whine of power armor servos as his minions rushed to capture her. She could not be taken alive- she would betray the Emperor and her race with what she knew. They would extract it directly from her mind. That, she could not allow. Dropping the rifle, she quickly pressed her teeth in a complex sequence with her tongue, releasing a small pill from the top of her palate. Commending her soul to the Emperor and begging his forgiveness, she bit down and sighed as the world went black and the gas did its work.

Light.

Harsh, white, lifeless light.

She opened her eyes and stared. And Lord Corpulous Wrath, Chosen of the vile Warmaster himself, master of the reaving ship Ruin of Narcissus, stared back.

Image from- http://users.tkk.fi/~pbuchert/pics/nurgle.jpg