Grim Repast (Warhammer Crime) by Marc Collins

Author:Marc Collins [Collins, Marc]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2021-09-24T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Correspondence from the Abyss

Probator Drask,

You will forgive me the overly formal language, I am sure, as I am certain you will forgive the intrusion into your living quarters. Such as they are. I have walked this city as a wraith might, as a spectre, and have seen its many squalors, yet I fear I have never before encountered something quite as sad as the sorry state of your lodgings. Is this what the stipend of a probator provides these days? I have sat at your table, to leave you with my words, and I am disgusted by you.

Can you conceive of that, sir?

I have seen much and done more, yet it is the effrontery of your existence that offends me. So much chattel shares this city with us, and we are forced to watch you as you crawl and scuttle. You move through the veins of something greater than yourselves like ship’s vermin. Rats, waiting to flee, and we see you! Across the face of this world, you writhe and you gaze about with your dull grox eyes, and you do not understand! That is perhaps the worst thing about you. That there is so much bounty laid before you and you cannot imagine what to do with it. Vermin in the valves of an engine. Insects upon the head of a pin. We watch you dance… and we wonder at what sport you make.

How does it feel to know that you will never find me? You may have thought yourself close, but there was never any true danger in the game. Not even while the House of Grace burned. I expected you to run as it is in the nature of beasts to run. Have you seen grox in a stampede? There are few things like it. The dull, animal panic, blossoming into understanding, evolving as the fear takes them.

What will they see in your eyes when the fear takes you? I have wondered that for the duration of our game. I have not yet decided if I will leave your eyes still in your skull.

You cannot contend with the legacy of ages. With history as it is written. With the blood and flesh and hunger of generations. Others have tried and all have failed. I have watched and I have waited. You cannot imagine for how long. Tradition is the rod at our back and it is the cage that binds us. I have waited and endured for so long at the indulgence of others. Now, though, now is the time for masks to be shed. For fresh eyes.

My time will come. Red in flesh and sinew. It is already upon us. False prophets cannot rule the hearts of the faithful. Not with half measures and doubt. I will show them. I will break the cycle of mediocrity.

One day you will understand. You will see, for the first time and the last, and when you have been illuminated, then I shall grant you the greatest gift of all.

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