OK So I'm still on my break but I figured I'd share this with all of you These are some deleted/alternate scenes that never made it into the story (all from the later bits I'm afraid I didn't keep the early drafts) some range from a simple paragraph to a couple pages. Just a little something to hold you over to the next installment.
beslubbered is a relative thing
“So now what?”
Cyrillic looked up from his book. “Now what, what?”
“You still have Iben’s VOX?”
“Don’t even bother, we’re just beslubbered.”
“Sure but I’d like to know how beslubbered, I mean beslubbered is a relative thing.”
Cyrillic considered the words for a moment. There was a certain truth to that, he conceded.
Sighing he set his book down and went through his rucksack. A moment later he pulled a boxy hunk of metal set with dozens of knobs and dials. He placed the VOX receiver in front of him and flicked a switch.
Static filled the room.
Ignoring the numbness in her legs she picked herself up and walked over.
+…Buenos…noch…broadcasting live from the scene of a grizzly murder has…coming up through the Western Territories…the latest in a series of political mishaps caused by the militant organization…has gone homicidal casualties are in the…+
“Militant, that’s us go back!” She cried.
Cyrillic raised an eyebrow but twisted the dial back.
+…being hunted down by a joint PDF and Marine taskforce. Several bases of operation have already been located and destroyed, including one hidden disturbingly close to the Marine’s CC. As of two hours ago newly elected Planetary Governor Nigel Hephris released a declaration stating that from this day forwards it will be the policy of this nation to respond to any and all recidivist and secessionist activities with lethal force. Jerry as you can see the devastation behind me, I don’t think he was exaggerating…+
Cyrillic flicked the switch off.
“See?” He muttered. “beslubbered.”
“Well at least we know how beslubbered.” She paused a moment and her eyes wondered back to Lijew. “I don’t think we should stay here.”
“What gave you that impression?”
“Sarcasm doesn’t become you.”
“Something has to.” Cyrillic replied then glanced at his chronometer. He let out a cough. “It’s just as well kid.”
The Assassination of JFK
“November 25, 1963 Three Days after the Assassination of President John Fitzgerald Kennedy
Boston Lemuel Shattuck Hospital
15:22
‘So,’ Doctor Thomas Mitchell paused a moment to consult a notepad then the television set blaring behind me then , damn I’m in good hands, myself ‘…Mr. Heirs why don’t you tell me what brings you here.’
What was it you ask that brought me to a lengthy red couch in the psychiatric ward of a Bostonian hospital in 1963? Madness! Disillusion! I screamed my reasons, I sought counsel. Doctor Thomas Mitchell scribbled furiously. He risked only the occasional glance at the television set. Carpenter hands, steady and attentive.
“Why don’t you...tell me how all this confusion began? Start from the beginning.”
Confusion I almost said. I wasn’t confused I was depressed! Long standing beliefs quashed beneath the massive boot of oppressive deities. I say it now and I shall surely be forced to repeat myself: I am the Roman Christian, underappreciated and in the midst of lions.
So I considered the beginning and wondered what is he asking for? True I could read his mind but then I’d be denying myself; if a little school boy could master mea culpa, why not I? So what indeed? Should I begin with my traumatizing birth? How from the beginning I was to be a slave to be thrown away in a war without a thought to modest wants or needs. No! That was the beginning but not what Doctor Thomas Mitchell, looking all spiffy in his white lab coat and black cotton trousers (casual Friday my ass I can assure you with the utmost certainty it was a Wednesday, Thursday at the latest), was aiming for.
Too far back, I reasoned, I had to go forwards but only a little bit. Was it the war? Oh I suppose it had something to do with that. Perhaps a sense of worthlessness, after all you aren’t just thrown into battle with a being that and I quote “imprinted its horrific visage in the racial memories of all living things” and not come away unscathed. Was I wrong to be wary of my callers who so nonchalantly threw me into the heat of battle before I’d milked my phantasmal mother’s breasts? Can I be blamed for siding with their unruly (putting it lightly) creation. I let you be the judge.
I take a deep breath. Yes it was most definitely the war. Endless ranks of what? No they weren’t Chinese- they were beslubbering metal warriors from hell that had problems dying haven’t you been listening?
‘Ah.’
Spurious scribbling, mental instability is suggested. I find myself questioning his fee.
‘Why don’t you tell me about your involvement in this,’ He paused to straighten his glasses and smiles smugly, ‘war?’
A skeptic perhaps but his eyes didn’t drift towards the television. I had an audience, it was time to impress.
“They were called the Ygnir, a breed of metallic monstrosities hell bent on cleansing the galaxy of all life. I was a soldier in the war to prevent that from ever happening. ”
I’ll take the time now to point this out. It was 30,000 years ago, my oratory skills had yet to come into full bloom. Was it shoddy? Yes but allow that I was a…lost sheep at the time. Somehow I was far too concerned with my place in the universe to give much of a damn about the intricacies of language.
Doctor Thomas Mitchell allows himself a small chuckle. ‘Well Mr. Heir on behalf of every living species in the galaxy you have my thanks.’
Almost sixty-five million years and finally, I get a thank you. It must have been a god damn record.
‘Though if I may present a small query, what was their primary motivation, these sentient machines. What made them want to kill everything?’
I licked my full lips, (disguise, full succulent lips, taught thighs, chiseled torso if I’d been a woman I would’ve wanted me) then crossed my legs. Doctor Thomas Mitchell set down his notepad. Here was a man of learning and intent.
‘Kill isn’t exactly the right word, more like harvest,” I explained then added, “Not so much the bodies as the souls.’
‘I see and to what purpose?’
‘To appease their Gods, the C’tan.’ I replied without pause.
He spouts another ‘Ah’ and for all his monosyllabic words I ponder this question: Where did you attend? Still, you know me, I’m a sport.
‘The C’tans; vile monsters near God-like that once sucked the life from stars but decided we little specks of light tasted better. Flavoring as you know makes or breaks a meal.’
‘Ah humanity, cuisine of the gods, Jesus preserve me, I’m flattered.” He paused to marvel at his wit. ‘I wonder what I’d taste like eggs and bacon and black coffee; I imagine we’d vary from person to person. ‘”
Suddenly Janis Verdelect, demon-prince of Slaanesh herald of twenty-three daemonic legions and former underling of Lucifuge Rofocle strained his bloody jaw until the barbed wire sealing it slid through the holes drilled in his head and loosened enough for him to speak. Lucifuge paused to look at him.
“You wanted to say something, comment? Make an observation?”
“You sold out because of what some mortal said,” He paused to vent his rage, a steamy mist that rolled off his eyelids like fog, “almost 30,000 years ago?”
“No mere mortal friend, a psychiatrist!” Lucifuge allowed a smugly smile to spread across his bleeding lips and began pacing the circular confines of his chambers again. Verdelect followed his movements across the piano wire floor and spat bloody phlegm that dripped between the black threads and fell into the roaring furnace hundreds of feet below.
“You’re insane.”
Lucifuge laughed and detached his head and began juggling it. “It comes with the territory!” He shouted hysterically from a grinning mouth that sprouted from his chest. “What do you think I’ve done here friend? Think I got any niceties any comforts? I’ve been down here friend for a long time. I got a cult who went behind my back to…attack… the very thing I would’ve enslaved. I got a world with nothing, atheists to the darkened core. Had a replica of the beslubbering Nightbringer living right next door with pals and goodies and guns, I nearly pissed my pants in 83’. But wait! I don’t have pants!” Lucifuge roared his amusement.
“You had a chance to come back. You spat on it.”
“And I’d do the same again.” Lucifuge growled then replaced his head. “Think I’ll kneel to that be-atch again you got another thing coming.”
For a moment the two stared at each other, king and prince, then the rusted iron stake of the cross began to twist and Verdelect gnashed his teeth as his body began to wrap around its rusted dimensions. Then with a flick of the hand the barbed wire resealed his mouth and Lucifuge continued.
“So there I was deep down in the bowels of Boston, on the couch of a psychiatrist, talking to a man who had dubious beliefs regarding my mental stability. Was I deterred? No! I informed him of my current (then anyways) inclinations regarding my tenuous masters.
‘Well Mr. Heir,’ he said softly with a subtle hint of amusement, ‘I confess, it has caused me much duress to find out we are not alone in the universe and I wonder what other Gods or Goddesses (this from a devout Catholic!) might transcend the confines of our physical realm. As for you’re less than tangible symbiosis with these fickle creatures I can find no reason why you should not pursue your own happiness in these matters. I liken it to a spousal abuse case, if they’re no good for you why stay?’
Sound advice, I found that has withstood the test of time.”
The sound of stretching muscles, tearing skin and breaking bones filled the chamber. Somewhat softer were grunts of pain. They did not however, come from the bloody mouth of Verdelect and Lucifuge leaned his head to the left to regard Jias, former battle brother of the Dread Angels who hung from the ceiling by two industrial sized nails that he’d personally hammered into his hands. After of course, he’d stripped him of his armor.
“What do you think boy?” He shouted upwards. “Sound like good advice to you?”
Corruption Of Jias
, I had mine. You crusaded across the stars in the name of a living corpse that sucks the life out of his charges. I carried out the will of an insane dream created by an insane people for insane purposes. We are everything alike, practically twins.”
Jias pointed an accusing finger at the daemon. “You lie! Wretched servant of Chaos all you speak are lies!”
“Maybe once but no more!” Lucifuge thundered then stood up and dropped from the tree. He landed with a soft crunch and the snow was stained instantly red. “I’ll give you a brief history boy,” he said as he approached the Marine who slowly backed away, “I was born, I killed a amphetamine parrotload of life and then I rebelled and then I served another thankless god and that has been the cycle of my life, until now.”
Jias swung round and assumed the combat stance. “Who’s there?” He shouted as his eyes searched for the source of the voice.
“That’s what I always liked about your killin’ kind, always ready for a fight!”
The air around him erupted into cruel laughter.
“Show yourself! Throne damn you show yourself!” Jias yelled as he circled the tree, staring into its black womb, scanning its leathery leaves for signs of movement.
Suddenly the branches parted revealing a corpse crackling with electricity perched upon the Corsent’s twisted limbs. Jias took an instinctual step backwards, his mind registering what the abomination before him for what it was.
“Daemon!” He cried.
Lucifuge gazed down from his toxic throne and spread his bleeding hands. “Guilty.” He decreed.
Jias swallowed as he felt the daemon’s unbridled power. “Why are you here monster? What do you want?” He bellowed as his muscles tensed for what would surely be an apocalyptic and final fight.
Lucifuge looked towards the bleak sky and shouted so that the heavens seemed to shake, “Freedom!”
Jias’ face twisted with the deafening sound but he stood his ground. Above the clouds suddenly darkened and the wind picked up. The grass seemed to echo a horrid screeching dirge in his mind. An outcast he may be but he knew the dangers of daemon kind on the loose. His ears were ringing. He brought his armored gauntlets up.
“Freedom,” He repeated just as loudly, “from the shackles, the ball and the chains, the bindings, the restraints. Freedom from this forsaken sphere of earth, the wretched dirt, these sandy confines.” He rose from his wooden throne walked the length of a gnarled limb then knelt down and spoke softly, “and you should too.”
Jias clenched his fists then his brow furrowed, slowly his lips moved. “Why…what do you speak of monster?”
“Open your ringing ear boy; listen to the bells and my righteous beslubberin word.”
“A daemon speaks only lies!” Jias spat then charged the cackling form high on its throne.
He barely covered three feet when the Daemon’s arms shot through the air and seized him by the throat pulled him upwards and held his ton and a half form aloft.
“I didn’t come here to play nice boy, didn’t come here to be gentle! Time for all that has long past.”
Jias tried to gasp as the corded fingers grip grew tighter. Lucifuge seeing the defiance in his eyes pulled him close and softened his visage.
“You know what I see in those fiery globes? Kindred spirit boy. You and I were not so different.”
“We’re nothing…alike.” Jias managed.
Suddenly Lucifuge’s eyes went alight and his face melted away to reveal Jias’ own broad features. “What was it I felt? Relief, if I could ever admit it.” He spoke, mirroring Jias’ earlier thoughts.
Jias’ face turned furious and despite the daemon’s firm grip he threw an armored fist that caved in the daemon’s chest. Ribs were inverted and organs spilled out but all Lucifuge could do was make a smile that went up to his ears and revealed a mouth filled with rusty nails instead of teeth.
“I know what you’re thinkin boy and I tell ya denial ain’t your thing. You sowed those seeds I’m just reapin em. You’re a tool boy
Alternate Scene Cyrillic Shoots Catherine
For a while she curled up alongside the frozen corpse, wrapping a stiff arm across her chest. The decrepit villa provided little in the ways of insulation but the snows had abated and she wasn’t going to freeze to death just yet. She could still see herself in the mirror and she felt a hand move unconsciously to the round hole just below her eye. He had good aim she had to admit. Even with her faithful reptilian pet ripping at his legs he’d still managed to plant a round in her face, just below the eye and then dispatch the beast.
He strode past her mistakenly deceased corpse and rolled his friend over. He whispered a few unhearable words and placed arms at bloody sides. He gave her the same rite and she ceased her breathing for the sole purpose of hearing what he had to say.
He laid a hand on her eyes and closed them. He said, “You wouldn’t have liked it here anyways.”
Then with a muttered side he shouldered his rifle and marched off. She lay on the cold wooden floor; eyes closed until the crunching of the snow subsided and then got back up and probed the new mark upon her flesh.
