Chapter 1 - Into the Hulk
A Kiri Havelock Story
NOTE: Unlike the other stories on this site (which were crafted first and foremost as stories), this is based on a RPG session set in Imperium Maledictum. Which means the main beats are set by the players, the GM, and the dice — and then a story is crafted afterwards. If that’s your jam, I think you’ll quite like this. If it’s not, then try one of the other stories.
NOTE: Kiri’s backstory is here, if you’re interested!
The hololithic display in Inquisitor Harcane's war room painted the Amalgam Seven in sickly green light. A twisted mass of ships, fused together by the warp's cruel geometry, drifting between star systems like a corpse between tides.
Kiri Havelock watched it rotate, noting entry vectors and structural weak points. Old habits from Glascoynin-V, back when she'd broken into Nobles' mansions and haunted the combat teams training in her father's palace. Now she was boarding space hulks for an Inquisitor.
That life felt like it belonged to someone else now.
"Your work on Persepolis exceeded expectations," Harcane said. "The Genestealer cult has been purged, root and branch."
Kiri caught Gen's slight smile. The administratum scholar loved things properly documented. Purged, root and branch. Nice and tidy.
Except Kiri knew it hadn't been tidy. It had been messy and brutal and she'd crashed a shuttle through a hive wall.
"Amalgam Seven," Harcane continued. "Space hulk. Imperial transponder codes. Genestealer biosignatures. Interrogator Vile went dark three months ago. We want her intelligence back."
The hololithic zoomed to a cargo bay.
"In and out. Two days. Biohazard rebreathers, auspex scanners, melta charges for emergency extraction." Harcane's eyes moved across each of them. "If the infestation is too extensive, fall back. We'll virus-bomb it." She paused. "But I expect you can handle this."
It wasn't a question.
"Who's flying?"
Seraya's voice cut through the corridor as they filed out.
Kiri kept walking. Said nothing. Headed straight for the hangar.
Behind her, she heard Gen's autoscribe whirring — the little scholar recording everything with that eidetic memory. Glume humming something off-key. Normal sounds. The sounds of a team that had somehow survived Persepolis together.
Even if Kiri had crashed a shuttle doing it.
The new shuttle gleamed under the hangar's lumens. Classic Imperial gray, reinforced hull plating, atmospheric engines that could humble a hurricane. It was a far cry from the wreck she'd left smoldering after having punched through a hive wall.
Kiri ran her hand along the hull as she walked up the ramp. The machine spirit hummed under her touch — content, ready, eager even. Good. She could work with that.
"Pre-flight checks," she called as the others boarded.
Gen settled into the navigator's seat, her autoscribe already sketching diagrams of the shuttle's interior. Glume examined something in a vial, holding it up to the light with his augmetic fingers — new acquisitions from Persepolis, like Kiri's pistol.
"What is that?" Kiri asked, despite knowing she'd regret it.
"Combat stimulant," Glume said cheerfully. "Gartherian berzerkers use it for pain tolerance. The molecular structure suggests—"
"I don't want to know. Just don't drink it."
"Ingest it, actually—"
"Still don't want to know."
Glume shrugged and pocketed the vial. The man was a connoisseur of the strangest things — drugs, poisons, obscure weapons, exotic foods. Kiri had seen him sample corpse-starch rations and describe the flavor profile like he was tasting wine from her father's cellar.
Deeply unsettling. But he was built like a tank and fought like a grox, and he'd saved them more times than Kiri could remember.
Seraya stood near the hatch, staff in hand, psychic energy already crackling faintly around her like static before a storm. The psyker's shaved head caught the lumens' light, and her unnerving stare swept the shuttle once before she gave a curt nod.
Ready.
Kiri ran through the pre-flight checklist. Engines: green. Life support: green. Shields: green. Weapons: green.
Everything looked good. The Inquisition didn't skimp on equipment. Not as plush as the gear she had in her old life. But it worked well and hadn't been given as an apology for parental abandonment.
"Everyone strapped in?"
Murmurs of assent from the back.
Kiri sealed the hatch. "Flight control, this is shuttle Tertius requesting departure clearance."
Clearance granted. The shuttle hummed as it lifted.
Her fingers found the controls like they were part of her body. Throttle, pitch, yaw, thrust vector. This was where she belonged. Not in some palace playing political games. Here, in a pilot's seat, there were no games. Just physics and skill and the machine spirit's cooperation.
The shuttle glided through the launch bay and into the black.
The Amalgam Seven loomed ahead like a wound in space.
Two hours into the flight, Seraya spoke.
"The inferno pistol. Why that weapon?"
Kiri kept her eyes on the viewscreen. "It's practical."
"Short range. Loud. Expensive." Seraya's tone was flat, analytical. "You already have a holy bolter."
Kiri's jaw tightened. She adjusted their trajectory, avoiding debris.
"Yes I do."
"So not buy something practical? Like more armour."
Kiri adjusted their trajectory slightly, avoiding a piece of debris that the auspex had flagged. Her knuckles turned white against the controls.
"My father gave me a plasma pistol," she said finally. "Custom work. Family heirloom. My brother took it when I left."
Silence for a moment.
"So this is replacement," Seraya said.
"No." Kiri's hands tightened on the controls. "It's a reminder. That I don't need anything from him. I bought this myself. With money I earned. It's mine."
Seraya nodded once. Said nothing more.
From the back, Gen's autoscribe whirred. Glume hummed something tuneless.
The Amalgam Seven filled the viewscreen now, its twisted hull catching starlight in strange ways.
"Landing in five," Kiri called.
She brought them in smooth and clean. No walls involved.
The cargo bay smelled wrong — rust, stale air, and death.
"Throne," Kiri said, pulling her rebreather up. The auspex showed no life signs, but the graffiti on the walls made her head hurt if she looked directly at it.
Gen was already examining them, her autoscribe whirring. "Tzeentchian," she said quietly. "Chaos cult markers. The Inquisitor didn't mention Chaos."
"Maybe she didn't know," Kiri said. She pulled out her auspex and activated it, sweeping the bay. No life signs. Just them and the dead air and the graffiti that seemed to writhe when she wasn't looking directly at it.
"Or maybe she did," Seraya said darkly. The psyker's hands were already glowing faintly with power — some defensive ward, probably. Kiri had learned not to ask about the details. "And decided we didn't need to know."