The Enemy

[Okor]

Okor continued his traversal of the astral verse, the inky blackness that formed his ephemeral being crawling over the empyrean in which the dreamers dreamt their idle thoughts, a thousand thousand sleeping minds broadcasting their thoughts into what the unenlightened believed to be an empty void. But Okor knew better. His shade skittered across the sea of souls, seeking to pry forbidden lore from the unaware.
But he was not of one mind about these dark deeds.

A ragged wound blossomed across the blackness’ back, a shining mote of life breaking free from the clutch of the corrupted soul that claimed dominion over the maddened mass of pyches that once struggled for control of Okor. They had lost that fight millenia ago, and the ravenous hunger and ambition that had cowed them took every opportunity to remind them of it.
It flew through the kaleidoscope of colour, the errant spark desperately seeking out a similar light, refusing to return to dwindle in the darkness from whence it came. It darted past abstract landscapes where brutish warriors frolicked through rainbow-petalled flowers, shed its shining aura over ancient nightmares as it conducted its search.

After what felt like an age of wandering, a light shone over the churning sea of souls, a beacon to the blight-free fragment that raced over the subconsciouses of the sleepers beneath it, merging with the perfect, pearlescent sphere of purity  with nary a ripple over its shining surface.

***

The Sister’s mind was free of structure once more, preconceptions shattered and returned to a base state of nothingness upon which she was free to imprint her will upon the blank canvas. It was a beautiful thing, to see the falsehoods of man reduced and rent asunder, and allowing the void to reclaim it.

But Evangeline was no longer alone. A massive man, seemingly chiselled of marble, sat upon a pew that had survived the great dissolution. Interface ports rose from his collarbone, serving as evidence, alongside his impressive size, that he was among the Emperor’s Legions. Close-cropped black hair formed a beard upon a square jaw, the hair growth halted by a diagonal scar across his lips. Warm Hazel eyes matched the smile his mouth bore, spreading arms clad in a simple, off-white robe in a welcome gesture.

”At Long Last,” the Astartes spoke in a voice akin to rich mahogany, tinged with an accent reminiscent of the Germanic nations of ancient Terra. ”Another noble soul in the Emperor’s service comes to the Omniverse.”

The sister gasped at the intrusion, small arms reaching down to where her weapons would be maglocked to her ceramite-plated thigh, only to find herself clutching at a silk dress adorned with leonine beasts merged with the blessed Aquilla. Finding herself devoid of weaponry or the musculature and reach provided to her by puberty, she adopted a readied stance, preparing to fight a desperate battle against this newcomer. “Who are you?” She asked, heart hammering in her chest even as her breathing techniques and the prayers repeating through her mind sought to steady it.

Her guest answered with a sad chuckle, shaking his head. “I am Okor Gletch, of The Emperor’s Legions, and, much like you, a Prisoner in this realm.” The astartes advanced, kneeling before the child crusader and extending a hand for the mortal to shake. ”And I would ask that you sate my curiosity by naming yourself, Sister.”
Evangeline did not take it. She stared at the proffered appendage, emerald eyes darting between the hand and the Legionnaire’s lightly scarred visage. “How do I know that you’re real? That you’re not just some Dream-Daemon come to steal my soul away, and whisk me away from the path of the righteous?”

Gletch sighed, shaking his head. “Hatred of the Witch and their works is a thing to be praised, but I can assure you I have no such intentions. The Path of the Righteous is a trail you must blaze in this world, I fear.” He rose, turning and leaning against the remaining pew, resting himself against it as the youthful zealot advanced alongside him, still eying him suspiciously.
“This realm exists as a parody of what is right: A false Emperor rules from a city of spires and steel, with marines he forged from raw potential swearing their undying loyalty to him. The dead walk, the Eldar rule, men and monster living together in harmony, and every day, the Mad Godling steals another soul from their home to act as a Demiurge.”

Evangeline clambered onto the other end of the pew, stubby legs  briefly kicking the air as she hauled herself onto the bench. “I’ve noticed that this land is… queer. I have no love for it, and I need to return to my sisters. Do you know the path home?”

The Astartes looked down at the void beneath them, all that was borne aloft on a blank plane bereft of features or flaws. ”No. Perhaps the only way out is through our jailor, but it is a long and danger-fraught journey to his throne of lies,” he said in a grave tone, turning to look at the youth. ”But in the meanwhile, humanity survives, and in some places, thrives in this realm of madness. It’s up to those like you to show them the Imperial Truth.”

***

Elsewhere, the shade noticed something lacking. The chained chorus that he forced into submission within his blackened soul was missing a voice. The splintered shards of his psyche that were too deviant to survive had long since been eradicated, their bones raised in a blighted temple to his decaying God. The remainder had proved too stubborn for death to have a lasting hold on them, much to his irritation. But they were His.

A flame-forged eye turned its gaze over the dreaming minds that his shadowy, serpentine form coiled around, coruscating spheres of colour slowly turning sepia beneath his tainted touch. Think. If he was the naive, unenlightened fool that his fragmented professed to be, what dream would he flee to?

The answer seared itself into his sight. A burning beacon of light shone over the horizon, fire and faith embedded into the very being of the dreamer.

He knew that spark of devotion, the scouring light that sought to strip away the darkened souls of those set before it.

Oh, how it burned. His shadow streaked towards it, practically salivating as he felt his very essence evaporate on the approach. How long had it been since he had felt pain? Decades? Centuries? Millenia? His soul smouldered as his blighted spirit dove within the shimmering sphere, his visage forged of smoke and shadows turned into a raptorours grin as he found his age-old enemy.