Chapter 41: The Demon Prince 3/4

Deep within the dungeons of the Inquisition fortress lie the forbidden artifacts that must never permeate the Imperium. Inquisitors recover these abominations from across the stars, consigning them to the fortress under constant guard. Only the most devout clerics of the Emperor are permitted to fulfill this duty.

Guided by Vinsenhorn, Guilliman entered the depths of the Inquisitorial fortress. The environment here was chilling enough to make one tremble; the air resonated with eerie whispers, and a sense of pure, tangible malice made one’s skin prickle. The walls, ceilings, and marble floors of the corridors were covered in holy litanies. Shrines to the Emperor stood everywhere, with incense lamps burning on either side of winged silver skulls. Exorcist priests, clutching censers, paced through the dark dungeons, continuously chanting psalms of praise to the Emperor.

Out of faith in the Emperor and a profound love for the human race, these priests—originally of the Ecclesiarchy—had resolutely chosen to sacrifice their own souls. They delved into forbidden, dark, and chaotic knowledge, seeking ways to protect humanity’s spirit. They became the keepers of these forbidden items, holding back these unspeakable threats from the reach of human society.

Beyond the Exorcist priests, a Sainted Keeper—clad in a golden mask and wielding a scepter—stood guard at regular intervals. These were pious devotees of the Emperor who could harness His power to combat demons while protecting themselves from corruption. Their scepters could unleash force fields and bolster their resolve, shielding them from taint.

Guilliman followed Vinsenhorn deeper into the dungeons.

"My lord, must we truly do this?" Vinsenhorn asked, his voice trembling. He looked at the Primarch not only with respect but with a flicker of fear. The Primarch’s plan was nothing short of madness; no sane person would ever dream of utilizing demons to gather intelligence from the Warp. Yet, the Primarch before him not only conceived the idea but possessed the sheer drive to put this insane scheme into action.

During their conversation in the hall, the Master of Ultramar had easily persuaded Vinsenhorn to assist in executing this insane plan.

"Those mad entities are so vile and shameless that any conventional means we use will only embolden them, making them more unscrupulous. Demons are constantly infringing upon humanity, and every successful invasion brings unimaginable casualties. All humanity can do is rely on the Grey Knights and the Inquisition to banish them."

"Those demons act without restraint. If their temptations of mortals succeed, they reap vast amounts of flesh and souls. If they fail, they lose little. This situation must be rectified, or humanity will never be able to break free from the curse of the Warp."

"Those demons fear death just as much as we do. That is precisely why they fear my father—because my father does not merely banish them; He truly destroys them."

"This is a universe where we must race to the bottom, Vinsenhorn. Only a guardian who is sufficiently shameless and despicable can protect their own race. We must teach the demons that harming humanity is no longer as simple as being banished back to the Warp. Humanity will retaliate, crush their twisted essence, and end them once and for all."

Vinsenhorn understood clearly the madness and terror of this plan. Should it be exposed to the public, even a Primarch would face intense scrutiny. The Primarch needed a layer of insurance—a shield to preserve his forces and placate the citizens of the Imperium. He, Vinsenhorn, was that insurance.

Vinsenhorn did not refuse such a naked, treacherous plan. He had never been destined for greatness, and the worst outcome would simply be a more tragic end. A traitor to the Imperium? An enemy of mankind? Vinsenhorn no longer cared. If this plan succeeded, the benefits to humanity would be unimaginable. Humanity would march into the Warp and form a new kind of war against the demons.

The sound of their footsteps echoed through the deep dungeon corridor. Servo-skulls, each bearing a candle, floated beside them to provide illumination. These were no ordinary candles; they were crafted from the rendered fat of pious believers. The light they cast helped the user ward off hallucinations caused by the sealed items and demons, weakening the influence these forbidden objects held over their keepers. Demons and sealed relics always delighted in creating illusions and whispers to mislead the weak-willed; these candles were excellent at preventing such occurrences.

By the light of the candles, Guilliman observed the Inquisitorial dungeon with interest. Niches in the walls held small sarcophagi, cast from blessed adamantium and pure gold, their surfaces etched with dense, intricate suppression runes. These runes varied, determined by the nature of the forbidden item contained within.

Further inside were massive bookshelves filled with tomes documenting ominous artifacts, as well as books seized from Chaos cultists. Some were written in Gothic, others in xenos tongues. The origins of these books were complex; some had been written by ignorant individuals who, until the very moment of their judgment, had no idea what terrible things they had done. They had become tools of the Dark Gods without realizing it, smugly believing their "inspiration" had birthed a masterpiece. The fates of these people were equally tragic: they had been executed without mercy.

More books originated from the distant past, their origins unknown—parchments bound in flesh and stained with unclean blood. The corruption contained within these volumes was terrifying, the texts depicting unspeakable, incomprehensible entities and runes. Any mortal who came into contact with these books would immediately succumb to an irresistible corruption.

Following Vinsenhorn’s lead, Guilliman walked past the shelves and into the deepest part of the dungeon. There, a bound demonic host was chained. It had sprouted horns and a tail, and most of its fur had fallen away, leaving it looking hideously bald and grotesque. The potent power of the Warp kept the demonic host suspended in mid-air, while blessed chains and runes bound it, preventing it from breaking free.

Sensing the arrival of Guilliman and Vinsenhorn, the demonic host opened its eyes, its yellow pupils radiating pure malice.

"Vinsenhorn, you shameful deceiver. I thought you had long since perished," the demon said, its voice cold, filled with malice and rage as it stared at the white-haired Vinsenhorn. "I must admit, you are the most skilled liar among all the humans I have encountered—more adept at deception than a demon. I once served you, saving you from peril more than once. And all I sought was for you to honor our contract and set me free. And what did you do? You played me like a puppet, imprisoned me in this cell, and used me countless times."

"One day, I will escape. And when I do, I will hunt your soul, Vinsenhorn. You will be enslaved for eternity."

The demon’s hatred for Vinsenhorn was so profound that it ignored Guilliman entirely, even though the Primarch stood right beside him. Hearing this, Guilliman couldn't help but imagine a soap opera: a poor little demon repeatedly toyed with by a ruthless Inquisitor, finally cast into a dungeon.

"Inquisitor, that demon has been imprisoned for three years."

"Has he been purified?"

"No, he says he will return to take his revenge."

"Cherubael, your words are nothing but lies," Vinsenhorn replied, unmoved by the demonic host’s rage, his gaze calm and icy.

"Heh, heh... Vinsenhorn, you know there is no way to imprison me forever. I will escape one day," the demon named Cherubael threatened through its host.

Only then did it notice the other person standing beside Vinsenhorn. Upon seeing the Primarch’s face, Cherubael instinctively recoiled.

"Impossible... how can there be a son of the Cursed One here?"

Cherubael’s tone was filled with sheer terror as he shrieked.