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‘Look, Amahlee. Open your eyes, and really look!’ I cry as my former friend glares at me with a murderous look. ‘We are the same; we must purge the heretic, the traitor and the witch! I haven’t forgotten; I still hate them all! Can’t you see? I am still myself. I am still Helixis. My eyes are open now. I am no longer blind; let me remove your blindfold and guide you to the truth!’ I plead.
Amahlee grips her sword tighter and clenches her teeth. I can tell, even from so far away. I know her too well. The only way she will ever see the truth is if I open her eyes myself. Before she springs into action, she will call me a heretic or a traitor, but she still does not see that we are the same. We are serving the Blood God in serving the Emperor with such zeal. I still have time to show her.
‘Heresy,’ replies Sister Amahlee as she springs forth.
I shiver in excitement and smile as adrenaline rushes through my veins. I allow the zealotry forced into me, forced into every single sister of battle, to take over. My fingers tingle with anticipation as I let my desire - need - for blood guide me. Even while we fight, I can still show her and satiate my sanguine thirst. I can give her what she wants to see: proof that she is as bloodthirsty as I am.
I lick the blood spatter on my lips; the taste is all I need to erase the lies of the Schola Progenia, and I raise my sword and turn my back to her.
I let the bloodlust wash over me. He does not care from whence the blood flows so long as it flows.
I know Amahlee is coming for me, but I need more time. I strike at the cultist next to me. The man glares in rage and a red line forms on his cheek. He lifts his blunt sword and strikes back at me. My power armour is no match for him; I barely flinch. Instead, I slice his sword arm off and slash across the maimed man’s throat, lopping his head off. Like sharks smelling prey, the cultists fight each other now, but I stand, restraining my need to kill as much as I can. I pick the head up by the hair and turn to Amahlee, who stops just out of reach.
A sister of battle does not hesitate. I know she is cursing herself. I only have this moment to remove her blindfold. I must try.
‘We have always served darkness and chaos. The Blood God isn’t our enemy. He is the one who allows us to save the Imperium. Without war, we would not serve; our purpose would be to remain in our convents and preach like frightened children. The God of War, Rage and Bloodlust guides us so we may retake what belongs to humanity! Open your eyes, Amahlee! The blood must flow to save humanity!’
Amahlee stares at me. Rage still burns in her emerald eyes, but she stands idle. Maybe she is beginning to understand.
I want more blood, but I cannot. I know I am close to opening her eyes.
‘Join me,’ I whisper as I throw the head at her. She dodges it. Why? I am confused. Is this not what she wants?
‘Never!’ she shouts.
I’ve lost her. I prepare to fight my friend. She closes the gap as I raise my sword. She screams like a berserker. She would have made an excellent beserker. There is nothing I can do.
I lick my lips again, tasting the coppery wetness of the cultist’s blood. I no longer need to hold back. I embrace the need and smirk as her sword arcs through the air and clashes with mine.
‘Blood for the Emperor!’ I’m ginning now, taunting her, ‘skulls for the golden throne.’
I push her away with the strength bestowed upon me by my new Lord. She stumbles back into the crowd of cultists now surrounding us. The cultists turn their frenzied attacks on the woman in the silver and red armour sporting an Aquila on her chest. They strike her with their blunt weapons. Half a dozen cultists converge on her, but she fights and easily purges four. The other two push her back toward me. Amahlee snarls as she tries to recover her balance, but it's too late. I am blinded by bloodlust.
Far in the dark recesses of my mind, I want Amahlee to join me. My desire is overpowering. I had held the euphoria at bay, but I can no longer; I must embrace it; the time has come. My vision sharpens as I breathe in the scent of blood, sweat and death. I can only see Amahlee. As she stumbles, I sprint at her, a cry on my lips, and my sword hits the weak spot between her chest plate and her abdomen, piercing through her body.
Crimson oozes and spurts. I quiver in excitement, but I need more from her. I let her fall to the ground as I extricate my blade and place it next to her.
‘Now you see!’ I shout as I slice my cheek with my combat knife. A crimson drop falls into Amahlee’s open emerald eye.
‘You have to see!’
With my short blade, I carve her eyes out, a semblance of calmness falling over me. I don’t like it, I need more blood, but first, I must show her. I place her eyeballs on my sword and turn my combat knife on my left eye. It hurts, but pain is good. I pull my bloody eye out and place it next to the other two. I carefully put one of Amahlee’s eyes into my eye socket. Now she can see, we can both see.
‘Blood for the Blood God, skulls for the skull throne!’