The foul air of the Underhive, thick with the faint scent of blood, flooded into Klein’s lungs, bringing an unprecedented sense of reality.
Klein realized once again, with absolute clarity, that he had crossed over.
He had crossed into a world of magic and miracles, of wizards and knights, of priests and scholars, of elves and dwarves, of swords and guns, a world protected by four gods of love, life, wisdom, and courage.
In this world, the believing heart was magic itself.
In this world, the Demon King sat enthroned in a palace atop a high mountain…
There was just one problem.
By the sacred hook of the Emperor, this was fucking Warhammer 40k.
There were no swords and magic here.
There were only chainswords and Warp psychic powers.
“Klein.”
The voice of Inquisitor Katarinya Greyfax broke through Klein’s scattered thoughts.
The young female inquisitor was crouched in the shadows of a Hive City alley, five Tempestus Scions standing at her side.
Greyfax’s psychic goggles shimmered faintly, reflecting the building hidden within the Underhive garbage mounds beyond the alley, the very source from which that faint bloody scent was wafting.
“Use your talent.” She turned her head to look at Klein and gave the order.
Klein’s talent, or rather his predecessor’s talent, was divination.
His predecessor had been an Underhive street fortune-teller, skilled with the Emperor’s Tarot.
This poor, unlucky wretch had died amid the chaos of gang warfare, was recovered by the Corpse Guild, and was about to be thrown into a fermentation vat, to become a meal on some worker’s table along with other corpses, recyclables, and industrial byproducts, when Klein resurrected in his body.
It just so happened that the cult Greyfax was pursuing was deeply connected to the Corpse Guild, and she crossed paths with Klein just as he had escaped from it.
As a psyker, she sensed the true nature of Klein’s divination ability.
Klein possessed prophetic psychic talent, capable of peering into the future to a certain degree.
Greyfax appreciated Klein’s talent.
This fledgling inquisitor chose to recruit Klein as her retainer and personally taught him how to wield his gift.
Klein took a deep breath, steadied his mind, and began to exercise his psychic talent according to Greyfax’s instruction.
He pressed his palms together against his brow.
“Blessed be the light upon the Golden Throne; blessed be the beacon that parts the sea of souls; blessed be the watcher beyond the veil.
I pray for one clear glimpse through the gray fog of fate…”
Klein chanted the improvised prayer, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.
Greyfax was not surprised.
Psykers who had not yet mastered their gifts often needed words, shouts, and rhythmic phrases to assist themselves.
Using a structured prayer to anchor a psyker’s thoughts, as Klein did, was a common and relatively safe method.
“…By the light of the Astronomican and the will enthroned on Terra, let this servant see what has been hidden, and read the path that has not yet come…”
As the chanting continued, Klein felt a burning, painful sensation and a golden light radiating from his back.
Within the darkness before his eyes, intricate, chaotic visions began to emerge.
He saw blood, cleavers, bone-chopping axes, chainsaws, raw red meat, gore, crushed corpses, and butchers wearing ferocious masks.
Klein opened his eyes, looked toward Inquisitor Greyfax, and described what he had seen.
“The Corpse Grinder Cult.” A smile that could only be described as cruel spread across Greyfax’s face.
Her long pursuit had finally yielded results.
The cult that lurked within the Hive City, that craved the taste of warm blood and flesh, that hunted for sustenance through slaughter, that worshipped the Lord of Blood, she had finally caught them.
According to Klein’s precognition, both the cult’s leader and the profane icon of the Blood Lord they venerated were here.
“Once this mission is over, I will take you away from this Hive City.”
“Your talent still requires tempering.
Otherwise, it may end up harming you instead.”
Greyfax looked at Klein and said:
“You may become my apprentice.
If your performance proves exceptional enough to earn the recognition of my other colleagues, you might have the chance to become an inquisitor.”
At this, Greyfax smiled.
“Or if I happen to die on some mission, you can inherit my Rosette and receive a battlefield promotion.”
Greyfax was sincere.
She was a psyker powerful enough among ordinary mortals, particularly adept at probing the hearts of men with her psychic abilities.
She had examined Klein’s will, and within it she saw only a blazing golden radiance, as if he were a living saint.
Greyfax believed this was proof of Klein’s sufficient loyalty to the God-Emperor.
The corner of Klein’s mouth twitched slightly.
It was indeed a favorable option.
In Klein’s memories from his past life, this Inquisitor Greyfax would later be captured by the Necron known as Trazyn the Infinite, whom people called the “Figurine King,” and reduced to a piece in his collection.
It was not until the Fall of Cadia that the Figurine King would toss her out like a Pokémon, and she would later take part in the resurrection of Roboute Guilliman.
If Klein could choose the right moment and avoid being captured by the Figurine King alongside Greyfax, he had an almost one hundred percent chance of inheriting Greyfax’s Inquisitorial Rosette and becoming an inquisitor.
At last, he could leave this damned Hive City…
The months he had spent struggling within this Hive City had already drained Klein, body and soul.
Greyfax made a gesture, and the five Tempestus Scions, along with Klein, rushed out of the alley’s shadows with her, storming the structures hidden among the refuse mountains…
A little more than ten minutes later.
“Destroy those blasphemous objects, conduct a thorough purge, and then burn this place to the ground.”
Gazing down at the massive, grotesquely mutated corpse of the Corpse Grinder cult leader sprawled on the ground, Greyfax issued her orders.
Though Klein had expected that these cultists, who barely qualified as a proper Underhive gang, would pose no threat to Greyfax and her Tempestus Scions.
He had not anticipated it would be this effortless.
Even the cult leader, whose body had been warped and mutated by the influence of Warp forces, had been dispatched in a single blow from Greyfax’s bolt crossbow.
Klein even suspected that Greyfax’s earlier insistence on him performing a prophecy had simply been to train his precognitive abilities.
Hmm?
A flurry of chaotic images flashed before Klein’s eyes.
He saw blood surging, saw Greyfax’s back, saw a cleaver…
Klein saw himself fall beneath the cleaver.
Almost immediately, Klein took a few steps forward, edging closer to Greyfax’s side, trying to find some semblance of safety.
“To the Lord of Blood!
To the Lord of Flesh!”
A piercing shriek rang out.
From the pool of blood burst a cultist brandishing a cleaver.
Shit!
The cultist had actually been aiming for Greyfax,
but Klein, having adjusted his position because of the prophecy, now stood squarely between them, directly in the path of the cultist’s cleaver.
Klein recalled what Greyfax had just said…
“Your talent still requires tempering, or else it may turn against you and bring you harm…”
The cleaver hacked into Klein’s body.
The cultist’s head was blown apart by a nearby Tempestus Scion.
The scene matched Klein’s prophecy exactly.
Klein’s throat worked.
His body collapsed heavily onto the ground, falling beside Greyfax.
Greyfax watched this unfold, a flash of astonishment crossing her face.
She crouched down, looking at Klein, whose body had nearly been carved open by the cleaver.
“You…
you foresaw that cultist.
You knew there was danger, yet you still chose to protect me?” Greyfax’s eyes lowered slightly, disbelief threading through her voice.
She had always thought Klein was a loyal man, but ultimately he was from the Underhive, and a psyker besides…
she had never imagined his loyalty would run this deep.
Klein’s throat worked.
He desperately wanted to say that he had been completely screwed over by his own precognitive talent.
His evasive movement toward Greyfax’s side perfectly fulfilled the prophecy of him being hacked to death by the cleaver.
If he had stayed put, he would have been fine.
A flicker of chagrin crossed Klein’s face.
Now he had to go back again.
Greyfax’s expression shifted with emotion.
She seemed to interpret the chagrin on Klein’s face as a desire for final confession.
Greyfax unfastened an Aquila pendant from herself, pressing it onto Klein’s chest.
“Whatever sins you wish to confess, you have already atoned for them with loyalty to the Emperor.”
“Child, the suffering of the mortal world shall depart from you.
The Emperor shall warmly embrace your soul.”
“May your soul return to the Golden Throne.”
Hearing “return to the Golden Throne,” Klein gave a bitter smile worse than weeping.
His throat moved a final few times, spitting out slurred, indistinct words.
Greyfax froze.
She…
thought she heard what Klein said at the very end…
“Fuck you, Big E…”
No, surely she had misheard…
Heat.
Scorching heat flooded Klein’s withered frame.
Upon the Golden Throne, Klein’s soul let out a silent shriek within that desiccated corpse.
Fuck.
Back again.
Klein was back upon the Golden Throne once more.
(Translated by yourtl.app)
Note: Warhammer is an extremely vast universe, so if you notice any lore-related mistakes or lines that feel off, feel free to leave a comment and I will correct them when I can.
I will occasionally include glossary notes to briefly explain certain lore elements mentioned in a chapter, though these will be fairly rare as they take additional time to put together.