The patrician Lord Swaban Von Hardenberg screamed in agony as Kira finished crucifying him.
‘…the wretched Red Princess,’ he spat through bloodied lips and unleashed a stream of curses at the notorious Rogue Trader’s departing back.
‘It’s not personal, my lord,’ she said under her breath, striding away, bloody implements held in gloved hands. Moving a good distance from the shrieking noble, she paused for a moment to gaze back at her work.
It’s been a long night, she thought ruefully, limbs aching.
Before her wailed the crucified nobility of Courtesa Prime – thousands and thousands of them.
‘After all,’ began Kira Coriolanous, the very last of House Coriolanous, gazing at her atrocity with beautiful blue eyes. ‘Mass murder can never be personal.’
‘…a fitting harrowing of weaklings and traitors,’ the commander had rumbled, glaring down at Kira as he explained her mission. Towering above her like an armoured god, the hulking post-human was gazing at the young Rogue Trader through a glowing projection, the azure light throwing his brutal features into sharp relief.
Kira had glared at him in an angry silence for long moments.
They stood in the holds of her frigate, the Terra’s Stride, gathered in a briefing around the glowing hololith plate, the only source of light in the vaulted chamber.
Young for her station, Kira was every bit the imperial noble. She presented herself garbed like a debonair conquistador, gloved hand flexing on the pommel of her father’s ancient saber. Her girlish face was framed by the high collars of her red long coat, the expensive fabric trimmed in gold, the colour of her hair.
Finally, she responded, disdain in her voice.
‘Are the Adeptus Astartes in the business of delegating lesser missions to Rogue Traders now? I’d never heard of such a thing.’
‘Your performance has been lacking,’ growled one of the gathered kill-leaders and Kira’s blue eyes narrowed.
‘Yes, Princess, you need to shape up,’ snarled another.
The commander raised an armoured hand for silence, staring at Kira’s crimson shape.
‘You’ve been too reckless of late, altering too many of my orders.’
His eyes were pits of blackness as he regarded her.
‘This is punishment detail, Princess.’
Unperturbed, Kira cocked her head haughtily at the gathered killers and raised a gloved hand, palm toward her face. Then, with the other hand, she began to fold her fingers, one by one, listing out her grievances as she did so.
‘You promised me a place at the Terran court. A lie.’
‘You promised me fame serving you, yet all missions are redacted. Another lie.’
‘You promised me a fortune in plunder, yet I grow ever poorer. More lies.’
She was about to fold her fourth finger when she realised the post-humans were making a strange sound. It took her a few moments to realise that they were laughing, chuckling and rumbling in amusement, glaring at her with grim mirth.
Glancing from one slab-jawed face to another, it was the commander that finally answered her unspoken question, a sneer on his scarred features.
‘All you Coriolanous sound the same.’
He chuckled along with his lieutenants for a moment longer.
‘You amuse us to no end, Princess.’
‘I am the last of an unbroken line of Imperial conquerors,’ she began proudly, shaking a gloved finger for emphasis. ‘Dating back to the founding of the Imperium itself, and you think to have me do your bidding like a–’
‘Until your father’s blunder, that is,’ growled the commander, cutting into a tiresome monologue that they had heard all too often during their travels. ‘Getting himself, and the rest of your dynasty, declared excommunicated traitoris and burned by the Inquisition, leaving just a little girl and her little ship.’
‘Yes, until that,’ Kira conceded, bristling.
‘Then you are mine now, Princess, and you will do as ordered.’
The giant post-human folded his armoured hands across his chest and glared at her commandingly, brutal face unsmiling, no humour now.
‘You will crucify these traitors in the name of the Emperor and the High Lords, you will follow my plan perfectly, and you will make it neat.’
In the silence, as Kira glared at him, gloved hands balled into fists, he continued.
‘You will return coated in the vitae of our enemies, or you won’t return at all, is that understood?’
She turned and strode from the chamber in a silent fury.
‘No mistakes, Princess,’ growled the commander after her retreating form.
The commander had then watched Kira and her cutthroats undertake his instructions all through the night. By sunrise, he was standing on a hillside overlooking the mass crucifixion, holding his helm under one arm. Grim and unsmiling, he watched Kira approach him with a stony gaze. Her beautiful face was coated in blood, gore dripping from her limbs with each step, leaving a bloody trail in her wake.
She came closer, hammer in one gloved hand, heavy metal spikes in the other.
‘No mistakes,’ she growled in sarcastic imitation of his voice, moving past the armoured giant without pause, making her way towards the gathered landers on the hilltop.
The commander made no response, staring at Kira’s handiwork for long moments after she’d gone. The young Rogue Trader had indeed followed his plan meticulously, allowing her cutthroats to seize the planetary capital in mere hours.
But then she lingered all night, proving once more that the Red Princess will always do things her own way…
‘Well, in my assessment,’ began one of his lieutenants over the company vox, observing the entire undertaking from orbit. ‘You did order her to make it neat.’
The commander grunted in amusement at this.
Across the fields stretching before the burning capital of Courtesa Prime, Kira and her crew had indeed crucified the treacherous nobility just as ordered, but on her own initiative, they had taken the time to arrange the impaled victims in a very specific shape, visible even from orbit.
A perfect Imperial Aquila.
