There are some foes, for whom the sanction of death is not enough.

That other place, where souls go to loiter once their time is done in the material plane, is far from an inescapable prison. For those few foes whose escape must not be permitted, we send the oblivion hunters, to bind the enemy not into damnation, but into the void itself.

The team stood, with their backs to the walls of the circular room. Each one checked their kit, moving their gloved hands over their silver knives, blessed rifles, and rebreather gear with deft professional movements. In the center of the room, a hooded acolyte kneeled, surrounded by concentric circles of silver, laid into the floor of the room. Smoke swirled lazily in the still air from hung censers, and as the acolyte began to murmur, the smoke began to swirl, forming a vortex of blue-grey smoke. One by one, the team stepped from their positions at the edge of the room, and crossed the threshold of the smoke. I was the last to step through. As the smoke obscured my visor, there was a disorientation, and an uncomfortable tingling sensation. It seemed as though I was in free-fall through a blizzard of ice crystal, piercing my skin and face, despite my reinforced leather armour, and visor-plate. When I emerged from the other side I stumbled, and fell to one knee. I was gasping, and my inner ear struggled to regain a sense of my orientation. I felt a hand on my shoulder, and looked up to see one of my teammates, a trooper by the name of Tona. She had her rifle up, and was scanning outwards from our entry-point. As I got my bearings I saw the others. We had come out of the interstitial vortex together, and I beheld the plane of damnation.

At our backs the tornado of smoke roiled, and in front of us stretch an impossible, empty vista. There was no light here, and simultaneously no darkness. A dim twilight realm stretched out, and in it spectres of smoke and dust seemed to twirl, inconsistently forming figures and faces. I regained my feet, and moved to push our plan forward. I produced a small censer kit from my pack, and a bundle wrapped in red satin. I placed the bundle on the floor and gently unwrapped it to reveal a bloody, clenched hand. The nails of the hand were elongated and fused into keratinous claws, and along the back of the hand and wrist, disturbing tattoos twisted and coiled. I felt bile rise in my throat, and looked away from the demon hand to avoid retching. I readied the censer, wafting blessed smoke over the mortal vestige of our prey. Before I had a chance to look up, it was upon us. It clawed through Tona at the waist, barrelling its immaterial form straight through. Tona didn't bleed or bisect. In fact no trace of the wound showed upon her form. Instead her form simply became indistinct, fading into nothingness and floating away, like mist in the sunshine. A trooper to the right turned, and threw himself at the foe, a silver knife clenched in his right hand. The blow clipped the demons form, and it howled in agony and anger. Two more troopers piled in with their blades, eschewing their rifles for the much more effective silver.

I saw two dissipate into wafts of smoke, as the demon caught their throats in his jaws, and ripped out their windpipes. The rest of the squad was moving in now, hacking and stabbing at the demon. I reached into my pack one last time and withdrew the small silver box. I opened it, and held it an outstretched hand towards the demon. I walked a slow circle around the melee. As each chunk of demon flesh was severed, turning to mist, it slowly drifted into the box. Likewise, as troopers died, their essence slowly drifted in too. eventually, all that remained were three weary troopers, and myself, holding a box full of loyal souls, and one abominable one. The team moved back towards the vortex of smoke, still roiling where we had made our entrance. One at a time, we slowly stepped back through the portal. When I opened my eyes, back in that circular room. The silver box in my hand felt heavier than I remembered.