Hey guys. Just wanting a bit of feedback on the beginnings of a short story. It's set in the Warhammer 40k universe and is kind of dark, so be warned. And since I'm terrible at choosing names I just used my own for one of the characters for now. * * * * * * * The priest was a daemon. Her eyes closed, Jestilla inhaled the scent of hot ashes mixed with the pleasant smell of her wedding cake and the aroma of cologne her fiancee had splashed on a little too strongly. It reminded her of...of something...something that made her head hurt. “Are you alright my dear?” asked the priest. His voice was happy and he was well spoken, with just a hint of a highborn accent coming through. “Can we begin this glorious celebration now?” He asked. “After all, it is a rare occasion indeed that someone with my kind of background is able to perform the duties of the church.” Daemon. The sight of him was the last thing she wanted to see when she finally opened her eyes. She was standing at the front of a grand cathedral, dressed in a white wedding dress that fit well over her athletic, graceful frame. A veil covered her frizzy red hair and fell lightly over her face. The daemon priest towered over her, clad in ornate power armor, dark green with a sickly purple trim and covered in glowing runic script that seemed to dance and flow, changing form before her eyes. An eight-pointed star that made her head hurt just looking at it sat atop a burning staff in his right hand. But the worst was his face, the pallid flesh and his terrible smile beaming out at her as if this was the happiest thing he could be doing right now. Her gaze made it to his eyes and she wished that she had never looked upon them. A tight, bright red iris surrounded blackness that she could barely tear herself from. He stared past her into the distance, unfocused, as if she wasn’t quite there. The daemon fetched a prayer book from a nearby pedestal and began flipping through quickly, his gauntleted hands somehow nimble enough to turn each individual page. “Oh where to begin?” He asked himself. Jestilla glanced behind her at the nearly empty rows of seats. This wasn’t the way she remembered it. There were more people. As if triggered by the thought, a half dozen people dressed in fine clothes appeared in the seats and smiled up at her. A few even had tears in their eyes. A girl who looked familiar but that she couldn’t place waved and mouthed “You’re so beautiful.” “Outstanding!” the daemon exclaimed. “More guests are always welcome.” He finished flipping through the prayer book and tossed it aside. She watched it burst into flames as it fell, disintegrating completely before it hit the floor. “Should we wait for the groom?” he asked. No groom? Jestilla glanced to her right to the empty spot that Marcus should have occupied. A thought jolted through her mind. No! Don’t think of him! “No!” she accidentally said, throwing a hand to her head as a stabbing pain shot through it. The daemon chuckled. “As you wish my dear.” He cleared his throat and began to speak, his voice rising to echo around the cathedral. “Dearly beloved!” He began, his free hand moving in time with his speech. “We are gathered here today to bear witness to the union of Jestilla Atilla and...” he trailed off and turned to her, his gaze focused above and beyond her. “What did you say his name was again?” He asked, his smile becoming slightly wider. “Ngghhh..” Jestilla grimaced as pain flared in her head again. “I’m sorry I didn’t quite catch that.” He leaned in closer and the glow of his eyes flared. “Ahh! Marcus!” She cried, faltering and nearly falling over from the pain. “The union of Jestilla Atilla and Marcus!” the daemon shouted to the small crowd. They clapped politely, the sound barely reaching Jestilla in the front. The pain subsided and she recovered as the daemon continued, reciting familiar words about matrimony and duty to the Emperor. “Jestilla.” a voice, not much louder than a whisper, came from her right. She looked over and Marcus was there. Just as she remembered. Full dress uniform tailored to fit him perfectly. A small assortment of medals hung from his left breast. His name-tag shined on his right, but the name was...smudged out, unreadable. She looked to his face, round and cute, and to his eyes, glowing a soft blue. Glowing blue? Marcus had green eyes... Her eyes widened with recognition. “Drakk?” she asked. Something seemed to click in her mind and she quickly looked around “Where am I?” He smiled down at her, the boyish face of her fiancee contrasting sharply with her memory of the person now speaking through him. “You are trapped in your own mind Jestilla. You were captured. Do you remember?” He asked quietly. He eyes darted back and forth as she searched her mind. “Yes. I was on Port Malfion, infiltrating a chaos cult. They had something. Something vitally important. I...I can’t remember what it was...” Drakk brought a hand to her cheek. “It’s okay. We can worry about that later. Right now you need to listen to me. Can you do that?” Jestilla nodded and he continued. “Okay. Zuriel is searching your mind. I don’t know what for, and it doesn’t matter right now.” “Zuriel?” She asked, searching her memory again. “I...I know him.” Jestilla’s eyes opened wide as she suddenly understood. Tears sprang forth and began to run down her cheeks as the full horror of the situation dawned on her. “Oh by the Emperor...” She said. “Drakk help me! Get me out of here! Please!” “I am trying Jess, but you are so very far away.” “Don’t let him take me Drakk!” She hissed. “I won’t. I promise. But I need time. You have to keep him at bay until I get there. Remember your training.” Jestilla quickly nodded. “I know. I remember.” “Excuse me but we are trying to have a wedding here.” the daemon said, scowling at them. He had finished his speech and now his attention was on the couple in front of him. He leaned toward Drakk and recognition suddenly appeared on his face “Brother! So glad you could make it.” “Zuriel.” Drakk spat back. “You are no brother of mine! I am coming for her and I’m bringing the fury of the Emperor with me.” Zuriel jerked back as laughter erupted from him. He threw his free hand in the air as he exclaimed, “The FURY of the Emperor! The GLORY of the Emperor! What next, the incontinence of the Emperor?” His smile faded and his face turned to cold fury as he leaned in again. “I have been hearing about the fury and glory of your pathetic excuse for an Emperor for ten-thousand years and after one-hundred centuries I grow tired of your pointless threats.” Zuriel reach out and lifted the groom up by his neck until his feet were kicking wildly in the air. He held him straight out at arms length as a wicked grin spread across his face. “I’ll tell you what’s going to happen brother. I am going to take your agent here, your most trusted companion, and I am going to violate her.” He turned towards Jestilla, his eyes flaring, searching for but not seeing her. “You heard me my dear. I am going find you and do things to you that would make even a Chapter Master weep.” His grin got wider and Jestilla had no doubt that he was telling the truth. “Things that would make him beg for mercy and cower like a beaten dog.” He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before replying. “And I am going to enjoy it.” Drakk hissed something from behind clenched teeth. “What’s that brother?” Zuriel asked, turning to him. “Emperor damn you Zuriel.” He managed to get out. Zuriel brought his staff up and touched the eight-pointed star to Drakk’s forehead. “Go away now.” He said with a grin. Black lightning erupted from his staff and the form of Marcus simply disintegrated into the air leaving nothing but a few ashes that were drawn upwards until they disappeared. Jestilla recoiled in shock at the sight. Fear buried itself in her chest and she backpedaled a few steps, turned, and ran down the aisle, two hands holding her dress off the ground as she went. Guests lined up down the side, clapping and cheering as she sprinted by. Their smiles and congratulations were just as she remembered from four-hundred years back when she had married her first husband Marcus, now dead for over three-quarters of that time. She waded through thrown rice as laughter echoed loudly through the cathedral, following her as she barreled through the front door and out into the night. “Run Jestilla! For when I find you I am going to break you! I am going to tear you apart! I will rip open your very essence and feed your soul piece by piece to the gods of chaos while your Emperor watches on in horror!” And she ran.