The Unholy Legions of Anti-Sanctus Chaotica, a Warhammer Online Destruction Regiment, The Awakening of Lyllien Weiss Part 5

((PLEASE NOTE! Due to my increasing hatred of the last part of this story, I have lengthed it slightly adding what I felt was a better ending to part 5. Enjoy and warning: It's still NSFW. Catch the first four parts! Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 & Part 4. ))

It had been two days since the slaying of her parents by her hand and already Lyllien felt slightly lost. Tzeentch had sworn that he would guide her slightly, but she knew that to gain His favour she was going to have to survive on her own wits. Luckily she found just the place to hide.

The house had been abandoned for at least a week. She had heard her father claiming that all sorts of rituals had been taking place there and as such, all people that had lived there were convicted and pulled for questioning. Lyllien couldn’t think of a better place to start.

“It’s perfect! You’re so smart!” cooed Turik.

Inside, the house seemed ordinary enough, save one room where Lyllien could literally feel a rush of magic floating about the air. Bloody runes and messages in daemonic tongues were scrawled all over the walls accompanied by crude daemonic faces carved into the wood.

“Oh they’re so cute!” exclaimed Xen. Lyllien sighed happily and sat in the middle of the room. A rough, smudged outline of a magical circle was stained in the floor boards beneath her. She could feel the power coursing through her body and she giggled in excitement. This was the right path. Her Lord would be so proud of her! Content, she fell asleep curled up with her book and her father’s skull with Xen, Turik and Syd murmuring to each other quietly.

~

The loud noise of boots stomping on wood woke Lyllien up from her slumber. In a daze, she looked around confused. The sound was coming from just outside the room she was resting in, and before she could get to her feet, the door swung open revealing two witch hunters.

There was a brief pause as they halted and stared at the young girl, frozen in place at the intrusion. This did not last long.

“Lyllien!?” exclaimed one of the men, recognizing her as the daughter of Frederick. Quickly she got to her feet, only to stop in place as the other had his pistol aimed at her head. He quickly cocked it, daring her to move. Scarcely breathing, she quickly tried to calculate her odds.

“Be wary, love,” Turik cautioned.

“It’s his blood to be spilled, not your own,” reminded Syd.

“Their coats look chewy, but don’t choke on the buttons,” warned Xen.

“What is the meaning of this, you wretched girl?” spat the older witch hunter with his gun pointed at her. “I highly doubt that I need to tell you what happened to your parents. You smell of chaos and blood!” The man strode quickly towards her and slapped her with the butt of his pistol. She collapsed on the ground, next to the skull and the text she had been covering with her body. The witch hunter that knew her name… Heinrick, she recognized… cried out in surprise as he saw the tome. Lyllien reached out her hand and started to pull it to her, but the other man stepped on her hand causing her to cry out loud.

“Lyllien, you stupid girl!” Heinrick shouted. “What in Morr’s name is wrong with you? What did you do!?”

“You fool-“ she started to say, but was interrupted by a surge of almost paralyzing pain. A low moan of agony escaped her lips and she tried to hold back her tears. She wasn’t strong enough yet… Not yet… Gingerly she reached for the skull, only to have her hand pinned to the floor by the witch hunter’s sword. Compared to the pain she had just experienced it was nothing and she mentally separated the flesh wound’s pain from herself and turned her fear into anger. Their souls would be her toys and their flesh her dinner.

The witch hunter snarled and opened his mouth to retort, but was interrupted by a loud screeching echoing through the house. The templars turned to see three large ravens darting through the doorway followed by two more of their order. Before Heinrick could react, the birds were at his face, savagely pecking and scratching the flesh off his bones. His screams echoed around the room and Lyllien drank in his suffering, feeling renewed slightly.

By the time the servants of Sigmar had finally killed the ravens, Heinrick was beyond helping. His mutilated visage both sickened and excited her; one eye pecked out, the other dangling by a nerve against his twisted and bleeding flesh. He wept, fumbling around with one hand and the other attempting to shove the eye back in its place. His efforts proved fruitless as the socket had been shattered, and no amount of force would squish the organ back. Heinrick’s resolve fascinated the girl and she made mental notes on his tolerance. She could hear Syd mumbling about his limits and she wondered how much more the man could take before finally passing out. She knew she had to try it later.

“Enough of this! Curse your daemonic tricks, heathen. There is no question to your guilt,” the man hissed. Lyllien simply looked up at him, her hand still pinned to the floor with his weapon. Her expression was indifferent which infuriated him more. Deep in her gut she felt a fluttering of fear, but her friends whispered encouragement.

“I die… by my Lord’s will!” she managed to say. Her words, pleasing her master, managed to pass by her lips without too much physical pain. In response to her words, the witch hunter flushed and his face became a mask of rage. Roughly he pulled the weapon from her hand and raised it.

“Your soul be damned! Sigmar will-" The templar’s words were cut off suddenly as a loud bang sounded from behind her. Before she could twist herself to see what caused the noise, she felt a burst of power surge by her and throw one of the witch hunters against the wall.

“I do not think so,” replied a soft voice behind her. Taking the opportunity, she quickly snatched up the book and the skull and scuttled backwards, away from the certain death the witch hunter offered her.

“Marcus! You finally show yourself,” one of the warriors of Sigmar sneered.

Without saying anything, the man named Marcus stepped into view from behind her, placing himself between the girl and the witch hunters. He was gaunt with dirty robes and wild hair, but exuded power. In one hand he held a twisted staff crafted out of materials Lyllien couldn’t even recognize with horrific symbols carved on it that excited her. Lyllien could sense the touch of Lord Tzeentch on him and she felt comforted being near one like herself.

“Eric, you amuse me but I promise you that you shall meet with your false god soon. Tzeentch demands this girl and what He wants, He shall surely have. As a pawn you have proven yourself useful, but that use runs out as of now.” Marcus didn’t wait, puncturing the end of his sentence by lashing out with a large tentacle-like coil of magic. It struck fast and hard, cutting into the witch hunter’s flesh with intensity that seemed to surprise even him. His companions rushed into the battle to clash with the magus, guns and swords at the ready.

“Your hand, dear one,” Turik whispered. Lyllien looked down at the hole through her skin and cried aloud. She had been aware of what had happened, but on seeing the damage she recoiled at the bloody mess it had become.
“Do not fear! Listen…” Turik murmured something quietly and Lyllien felt herself calm down enough to remember some of the things she had read in the text. Calling upon her power she wove a spell of healing, sealing the hand back to normal. Looking at the bloody, but whole hand, Lyllien felt tears coming to her eyes. Her Lord surely blessed her! Such gifts… Such things she could weave. It took her breath away.

A shout from Marcus brought Lyllien back to the matter at hand. Two witch hunters had been taken down in such a grisly manner, even the zealot was shocked, though she had no time to dwell on it. Eric, the head of the templars was still living, locked in close combat with Marcus sword to staff; a dagger lodged in Marcus’ hip.

Forgetting her handicap she cried out, but was immediately beat back by the pain. Summoning all her strength, she pulled herself to her feet and ripped the dagger from Marcus, then quickly cast a spell of healing on him. The witch hunter looked at the girl shocked and Marcus saw his opening, and summoned the daemonic tentacle again, this time piercing the other man’s heart. Eric tumbled to the ground a moan of pain escaping his lips. Marcus turned to the girl, torn and bleeding from the blades of the men of Sigmar and he collapsed on his knees breathing raggedly.

“Such an age! Such potential! Your power… I’m… jealous. It was… exactly how they described.” The magus slumped forward and Lyllien propped him up, dropping her bauble and the book to support the stranger. As soon as she could, she summoned the remaining power she had to heal as many wounds as possible; her power draining quickly. She cursed her weakness, but managed to heal him enough for the bleeding to cease. He looked up at her gratefully. “Truly, you will serve the master well. I trust you received the book.”

Lyllien looked at the magus in shock. She started to ask, but caught herself before the words left her mouth. She was already tired from the battle and didn’t need to hurt herself further. The magus looked at her and smiled. “Yes, I know of the book. I was the one-“

A loud bang echoed through the room and Marcus called out in pain and surprise, blood seeping from a hole in his chest. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed Lyllien’s suspicion: the witch hunter was still living, albeit barely, a smoking pistol in his hand. There was no way she could heal the magus’ fatal wound in time.

Furiously the zealot got to her feet and dashed over, knocking the gun from the man’s hand. With a scream of frustration, she grabbed her dagger from her belt and repeatedly stabbed the dying templar until he was no longer gurgling or twitching. How dare he rob her of a possible companion? How dare he murder a man of Tzeentch?

“Lyllien… Please …”

The girl immediately stopped what she was doing and turned to Marcus, who had collapsed on the floor. He looked at her imploringly; his hand stretched out to her, clutching a pouch brimming with parchment.

“No time. Please… Take this and go…”

Kneeling down beside the dying man, she took the pouch from him and tied it on her belt. “But…!” She stopped and gritted her teeth in pain, then pointed to the book questioningly. Marcus looked at her and shook his head. “No… time…! Take it and go! Down the trapdoor I entered in. The book will answer your questions… You must… follow my instructions. Tzeentch… be with you, Lyllien Raventongue…” Marcus’ eyes closed and he fell limp.

“I hear them…” Turik said urgently. “More filthy witch hunters to do wicked things to you.”

“I liked him,” Xen said sadly. Lyllien thrust the dagger into her belt and stood quickly. Indeed, she heard the approaching men as well, but she felt remorseful. If only she had been stronger. Then Marcus would have survived. He could have helped her. If only…

“So much blood… Delightful…” Syd moaned.

“Shut up, it’s time to go,” Xen hissed back. Lyllien nodded and turned to see the open trapdoor wide like a gaping maw. It had to be better than the alternative she figured, and quickly jumped down without even looking.