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Into the Breech: Deployment of the 487th Lunar Venatorii Panther Calvary Regiment: Outside Hive Cogger

Down in a large Devourer Dropship, the Regiment landed as a whole. Quiet this landing was not, and the Regiment moved its array of animals. The roar of Wyrms and engines could be heard as well as the neighs of horses. Over Two thousand men and women disembarked off the transport. The Various variations of Turoxes and Chimeras, rolled off the ramps as the beast masters calmed and gave over their charges to the riders. Motorcycles of all sorts high tailed down the ramps around the others. Each Company and Battalion moved into a battle line formation. Several of the Chimeras looked odd with extra antennas.

The cultist's vox communications started going in and out as static flooded the air waves. This regiment knew its business even as disorganized it looked to outsiders. There was yipping and yelling as people rode to their designated spots. Over a Hundreds of Horses, Wyrms, Bikes, Buggies, and Sentinels made up this Calvary regiment. Everyone was wearing a dizzing array of leathers and Carapace armor. The coloration was Dusty reds and charcoal blacks in a variety of different patterns. They all wore patches of a roaring Panther head. Almost before the regiment was completely formed a Flight of Wyrms took off to enter the hive. Their job was reconnaissance and maybe a little bit of dropping bombs. The horses were the next to leave, and these left in total silence. They left in squads to approach the city by stealth, they were to hit points all along the walls of the hive. This was to be a multi front battle. The lightest of the army was taking the furthest points. They were going to appear to be a much larger force and they were already pretty big. Only the Command Salamanders and their escort bikes were left of these companies as they rolled out.

The next leaving was a great split of forces as what looked like two full battalions of Buggies, Sentinels, Motorcycles, and Salamanders Split to either side of the hive with their orders. They we to hunt down and cut supply line and wreck any resistance. This hive will be subjugated to the Imperium. They were going to use every trick in the book to do so. 1st Battalion went left while 2nd Battalion went right. They moved in a kind of synchronized movement that spoke of deep planning. They were to be a siege force.

The last to move out was Fourth Battalion. These were the Chimeras of War. Four of the five companies moved out as one mass towards the center of the hive and the main entry way. They were heavily armed and ready to be in the thickest fighting. This was the Armored Calvary section. Armed with Multilasers, Autocannons, Heavy bolters, and Storm Bolters, they prepared to shred any resistance. Any may face one of these forces but all fighting like they were makes it hard to form a solid line against them.

The ones that were left behind immediately started building a basecamp in case of a long siege. These were the medics, the engiseers, and all the support troops. They could fight but their purpose was to make their fighting arm more effective.

Immediately upon reaching the city 3rd and 4th Battalions ran afoul of the traitors to the Imperium. The narrow passages of the Hive provided only so many avenues of attack and the enemy was prepared. Immediately the Chimeras came under heavy fire and small groups of isolated horse troops were disappearing. The Regiment had grown too confident that they were facing the normal disorganized rabble of civilian cultists. But it turned out that a clever man might be leading them. Several have died or disappeared. Even a couple of Chimeras have been damaged to the point of retreat.

It was chaos of warfare that ensued though that was ironic on who was causing that. It was if the entire hive was attacking them. Missiles and bullets flew everywhere. Several Companies and platoons became isolated and had to retreat on their own, taking casualties. Guardsmen and women were not only getting injuries but dying and having to be left behind as they retreated to open other paths. The wyrms unfortunately didn't see how well placed the barricades were nor spotted the cultists who were wearing dark enough clothing to blend into the dusk attack.

The Samaritans of the Support Company immediately rushed out to save who they could. The cries and screams of the injured could be heard as rescue operations occurred.

This would not be the end of the regiment though. The first forces pulled back but made way to find new routes of attack. Colonel Errmanno himself called off further attacking until other routes were found. They caused some damage but not much and definitely not enough.

" You Slackers. Is this how the best Calvary unit in the Imperium performs. Retrieve your wounded get back here and then attack again but this time use your damn heads," Colonel Errmanno Raven was an overly large man, but his bellow was loud especially over the vox. He was of average height and a slim build, though he was defined in his musculature from years of hard training as Guardsmen. He rose through the ranks as a survivor, and he made sure his men were intelligent, independent, dependable soldiers that could survive as well. He knew not all would make it but some and if he did his job right most will. His high fade cut hair bristled with sweat from his earlier attentions of taking care of his own beast, not an easy task. He was originally a Wyrm rider himself and still was, with a beast that he raised and hatched himself. He had a reputation for being an analyst and being courageous when called upon. His leathers were well worn and only the Dark Green outline of the Black Panther patch denoted his rank above the rest of the regiment. Another thing odd about him was his connections to the Forgeworld that supplied his men with equipment. His Brother was a Magos there, and his brother supplied him with a piece of equipment that usually go to Skitarii to ride into battle with to protect him, A Taser Lance. Otherwise he was equipped fair average for a Colonel, Including a Ceres Pattern Bolt pistol, Light Power Armor, Mordian pattern power sword, and an array other devices and weapons.. He also had bionics but that wasn't apparent to the naked eye so much as his brother did him well at getting his brother the best he could offer. That was one of the reasons his regiment was chose to escort a Forgeworld Expeditionary Fleet. He had them trained on their homeworld in the same sector, where these beasts roamed and only the best could tame one.

The air was filled with screams as Hannibal was operated on.

In the safety of his workshop, he had managed to put together a suitable arm together from the scrap of the battle, taking one of the Kan’s smaller buzz saws as a replacement for a the hand, before the loss of blood required immediate surgery. Immediately he wished for a well-practiced doc at his side, and instead, had to talk his lieutenants though the basics of the procedure himself. Thankfully, the procedure was simple. Unfortunately it was also incredibly painful.

Ace held down Hannibal as IronGore struck more exposed nerves with the tools, causing Hannibal to scream in agony and clench Ace’s arm hard enough to draw blood.

“Zog it, Gore! Be careful!” Snapped Ace as he strained to keep Hannibal still.

“I am bein’ careful, ya git.” IronGore said in as calm a manner as possible, keeping his hands steady as he attached the arm. “I gotta hit tha’ nerves. It’s how tha’ thing is hooked up. ‘Ere comes another.”

Hannibal stiffened and cried out again, gnashing his teeth together and stifling his cries though gritted teeth.

“Well don’ hit any more of ‘em then ya’ have ta’. ‘E’s already gone delirious on me. Asked me to go find some squiggoths.”

IronGore paused for a moment, his green brown wrinkling in confusion. “We don’t got any squiggoths.”

“I know. Dey’re only on tha’ big moon, an I don’ ‘fink we’z gunna-“

Hannibal screamed again, and latched onto Ace’s arm with renewed fervor, who let out his own howl of pain in turn.

“Oi! Warn me next time!” Ace barked. “If ‘dis goes on much more, I’z gunna need a new zoggin’ arm!”

“Almost done.”

“Good.” Ace replied, as he readjusted his grip on Hannibal. Silently, he prayed to Mork that it truly would be over soon, and that Guts was having a better night then they were.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Guts took a moment to categorize this night as the worst night he had ever lived though.

If he would live through it.

Ordered to tail the retreating forces of Skull Eater, Guts and a handful of commandos set out with high hopes, and fantastic initial results. Not only did they find the retreating army, but they also laid eyes on Skull Eater himself, confirming his survival at the battle for Iron Skull Fortress. Unfortunately this gift of good fortune turned into a Pandora’s Box, as several of the commandos were blinded by glory lust, and decided to take down Skull Eater themselves.

Armed with javelins against the whole army’s worth of firepower, the commandos never stood a chance. The orks were cut down only a few steps into their initial charge. Guts, and the few commandos with enough sense not to go through with such a suicidal plan were soon spotted, and rushed to escape. It was now that Guts was oddly thankful for the years spent hiding from Neroz’s search parties, as it gave him the skill and experience needed for a chance of survival in the ensuing chase.

His fellow commandos had no such experience.

Bullets sprayed all around the jungle at the fleeing commandos darting though the trees as a section of Skull Eater’s surviving horde perused them. By sheer numbers, the bullets cut down the commandos, leaving none but Guts alive. Guts stayed still, hidden in the branches of a tree, and silently wishing for Skull Eater’s boys to leave. One by one, they did, until only a small handful remained, but as their numbers decreased, their wariness increased as their eyes darted back and forth watching for any movement. Guts slowly pulled out a javelin, as he eyed the group again. A single boy seemed warier than the rest, and was quick to point his rocket launcher at the slightest shift in breeze.

Guts froze as the wind unexpectedly picked up, tossing the leaves back and forth. The rocket launcher boy looked up, his eyes caught by the motion, but now were fixated on Guts. With a sneer, he aimed at Guts and fired.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Hannibal stood at the wall, his mechanical arm was fully functional, and hung at his side as he surveyed the battle damage. The bodies had been taken away, stripped of all weapons and armor before being tossed into the burial pits. The scrap had been sorted into massive piles all around, but still left in the courtyard.

Hannibal stared at the gaping hole in the wall. The planes’ collision not only ripped the wall open, but the shock of it broke apart many of the metal supports, rendering the front wall nearly useless to another powerful attack. The scrap that surrounded him was useless for such a task. The supports needed to be thick, and forged that way. This scrap was too thin. And patching the wall together with it would be a waste of good material for a wall of subpar quality. The wrong material for the wrong job.

Looking out though the jagged hole, Hannibal saw a figure approaching slowly. In a few minutes, Hannibal could make out that it was Guts, limping back towards the fortress, a number of shrapnel wounds in his leg. After a few moments of conversation, Hannibal ordered Guts to rest. Alone again, Hannibal sighed. The commando’s failure was unfortunate, but Skull Eater’s demise was required. He would be a thorn in the Iron Horde’s side as long as he lived, and he had already lived too long.

Hannibal turned to the grog hall to rally the boys. They would have a busy night before the next morning.

Come sunrise, the Iron Horde would march again.

Feubrn raised his eyebrow behind his mask as he caught sight of Imryll, Dranc and Fallacy sat around a small table, the latter holding a small information crystal while reading what seemed to be a hard-back paper book.

“What are you three doing?” he asked as he headed over, “Is that the book you brought back from the ruins?”

“Yes,” Imryll nodded, “Fallacy has been working on the language for three days now.”

Feubryn blinked. “Three days?” he said in shock, “What could be so difficult to understand? 'Me smash demon' means they fought the ruinous powers, 'me shoot xeno' means they fought an alien race, and 'Me kill heretic' means they fought each other.”

“Incredibly enough,” Dranc mused, “Their language actually seems to have somewhat more in the way of nuance, if Fallacy is to be believed.”

“But it's still the deluded scribblings of a human with a lump of ceramic metal where his brain should be,” the Great Harlequin chuckled, “It can't be that difficult to decode.”

Fallacy looked up. “I have spoken,” she began quietly, “In more languages than there are stars in the sky. I have hissed hysterics to the warrior-covens of the Sslyth. I have told tales in the Eastern fringe, in the language of the Tau. I have growled the dead language of the Krork at their degenerate ancestors and narrated to the Necrons in tongues they have not spoken since before they were made of metal. But these human languages,” she took a deep breath, “All. Sound. The Khaine. Damned. Same!”

Imryll and Dranc inched away slightly.

“I mean, really!” Fallacy continued ranting, “This language manages to use completely different grammatical norms to dozens of other languages spoken by these squabbling apes, but still manages to sound just like them in practice! How is that possible? How do they tell the difference? It completely throws off my attempts to translate it because I keep mixing words and sounds up with one of the other barely-constructed verbal codes they have the nerve to refer to as languages, so I end up with sentences that make no sense!”

“How curious,” Dranc sounded amused, “Twice now, we have found ourselves confounded by the simplicity of humans.”

“It makes sense, I suppose,” Imryl agreed, “As a race, we mastered complexity long ago. Simplicity is the only challenge left to us.”

“There has been a disproportionate amount of Eldar who have thwarted themselves by over-complicating things,” Feubryn stroked his chin, before turning to Fallacy. “But how do you know so many languages?”

“I hear my local library is rather well-regarded,” she deadpanned.

“Fair,” he acknowledged the point.

Their discussion was put on hold as Cuddio appeared behind Feubryn, the Master Mime's mask showing a face full of urgency.

“...” He looked at the four expectantly.

“You have news?”

“...” Cuddio nodded.

“Those bugs we planted are already showing their worth, I see,” Feubryn stroked his chin, “We need to expand that network, as soon as possible. What news is there, my friend?”

“...”

“That is troubling,” Dranc cut in, “That space elevator is the only means the Imperial forces have of getting to the moon.”

“Yes,” Feubryn frowned, “Troubling indeed. Was there anything else?”

“...” Cuddio shrugged.

“It's fine,” Feubryn shook his head, “We could not expect to get much information from an out-of-the-way city like the one we have infiltrated. Even knowing that there is a large Ork attack massing against the Spaceport and that some form of unified Imperial response is mustering is enough. We know that the vast majority of the Imperial forces will be concentrated there,” he looked at the others, “We need to consider our next move.”

“...” Cuddio reasoned.

“A valid plan,” Feubryn agreed, “Taking the opportunity while they are distracted to expand our information network and infiltrate them further could grant a considerable intelligence boon.”

“However, it means we are relying on the Imperium to win their battle,” Dranc countered, “If this Ork assault is such a grave threat, we could consider assisting, to ensure there are more bodies to throw at the real threats.”

“Also reasonable,” Fuebryn nodded.

“On the other hand,” Imryll cut in, “The Imperials are not likely to tolerate our presence here once they learn of us. Perhaps it would be better to let them bleed themselves against the Orks so they are in less of a position to waylay us in the future.”

“Practical as always,” the Great Harlequin complimented, “Fallacy? Do you have any input?”

“No, this is ultimately your show, High Avatar,” Fallacy shook her head as she continued to pore over the book, “I will follow your lead on this, whatever your decision… on that note, I have it!”

“You have translated it?” Imryll asked curiously.

“Yes,” Fallacy began to speed-read through the book, “Hmm. Mostly just records of battles by a Space Marine chapter called the Blood Dragons. They have killed plenty of Orks, and also an unfortunate number of our Craftworld kin,” several sets of unseen eyes narrowed behind masks, “Oho. This is interesting,” she began to read aloud.

“987, M32, Ichabar.

In an effort to increase our pool of initiates Chapter Master Kronmen had ordered me to the feudal world of Ichabar. The Codex places no hold on how many Neophytes we may boast so we intend to take full advantage. Ichabar had been classified as a level three death world plagued by feral green skins, a perfect training ground for my company. As such I took the entirety of the tenth with me.

The first few weeks were fine Bolter drills, jungle training, mock battles however things turned when I got a report from Sargent Tecumseh who was out training the scouts how to be proper riders. They had come across odd ruins; they did not seem Imperial in nature. Curious and adventurous I ordered squads Dread Wyvern and Steel Drake to join me and Tecumseh’s squad in investigating these ruins.

We cut through the dense foliage with our combat blades and entered the mouth of this tomb. The catacombs were grim the air stirred with a horrid wrongness however I would not leave this place before knowing what made it so onward I pressed. We approached a hall on each side was a glass vat caked with dust. I approached the glass seal and wiped away the ancient debris and saw a visage. It was a skeletal thing made of steel it eyes long since dead.

Believing there was still more to learn we pressed onward until we entered what seemed to be a throne room. Another iron skeleton sat atop and throne looking down upon us around us were over a dozen more iron corpses. At our feet was a green glass ankh I took a step forward and then something happened. The glass Ankh flickered to life and the green glass veins that fed to it began to glow and began feeding to the iron men. I watched as the king atop the iron throne as his eyes came to life in a aura of green and his undead guard too arose.

We fought a long and bloody war for Ichabar one that cost me my eye and the lives of far too many of my charges. We called for reinforcements from Drekkar and we were answered by the 1st and 6th. We forced the machines back to their tombs and we slew every last one of them, we destroyed their lair. May the universe forget these loathsome machines.”

They all contemplated the words, silently.

“They fought the Necrons,” Imryll sighed, “As if the Great Enemy and the Great Devourer were not enough, the thought of having to contend with the oldest of our foes once more fills me with dread.”

“Anything else?” Feubryn asked.

“Yes, actually. Here's an interesting tidbit,” the Solitaire began to read aloud again.

“219, M33.

Master of the Forge Worjech Ivo has returned from his quest to Ironwrath. He says his search for the ancient forge has been completed. The world was said to be infested with the filth of green skin with the assistance of the Mechanicus Master Ivo purged the world of the orks and the Mechanicus has already began restoring the manufactorums. The Mechanicus has promised to keep us supplied so long as this world stands.

Among the many things Ivo returned with was a sword, a saber that was said to belong to the White Scars Captain Naran Vettar. He presented the blade to Chapter master as Kronmen’s gene seed could be traced to the famed Naran. Kronmen felt some guilt in taking the blade as he felt it should go back to the white scars. After some light convincing on the part of Worjech the Chapter Master decided to keep the blade.”

“I'm not sure I understand,” Feubryn tilted his head, “What is so interesting about some human's barely-forged machete?”

“It holds symbolic value to the Imperium, especially the Space Marines, and it may still be here,” Dranc cut in, “If we found it, it could be useful as a bargaining tool with the Imperials.”

“Perhaps,” Feubryn sounded unconvinced.

“The last relatively interesting part seems to cover the chapter's end,” Fallacy continued.

“287, M33,

This will in all likelihood be my final entry as the orks have come for us. I have fought the orks for over half a millennium and now I will meet my end at their hands. The ork warlord announces himself as Dekrun BlitzaStinka. Were it this filthy creature alone we would have no cause for concern, but the ork has rallied untold millions of its kin their ships block the sun itself.

Chapter Master Kronmen has gone missing and the council of Dragons are arguing over how to proceed. Captain Shang of the second would have us fight to the last and forbid the orks from taking our home uncontested, Captain Helmvar of the 8th would have us flee to ensure our chapter lives on. We can not reach a decision I fear the orks will be at the gates of Drake’s point at any moment. All we can do is hope for a miracle.”

She looked up at them, “The rest of the pages have been torn out.”

“Hmm,” Imryll seemed deep in thought, “That is interesting. The part about the Chapter Master going missing.”

“How so?” Feubryn asked.

“One of the things our network picked up in Ros Hannoi, High Avatar,” Imryll explained, “Local human folklore has it that there is a vengeful spirit lingering at the peaks of the mountains on the satellite they call Luna Epsilon.”

“You believe this 'vengeful spirit' could be the missing Chapter Master mentioned,” Dranc finished.

“I believe it is a possibility,” Imryll corrected him, “One that we should investigate further before we consider committing to it. But if there truly is a seven-millennia old spirit, or even a human there, the things they could tell us about this world and it's secrets would far outshine any dusty old tomes.”

“Hmm...” Feubryn stroked his chin in thought, “I will need to think on this. Fallacy, for now, I want you to see about creating a translation matrix for this language. I imagine it will come in useful in the future. Everyone else... stay alert, and stay prepared.”

Volund approached the old dreadnought with reverence and respect, the old veteran was more lucid now its miu was repaired and multiple minor systems restored that had long failed and fallen in to disrepair and decay of the ages. Its booming vox arrays now recalibrated it finaly spoke. "you bear ice, you bear the frost. The time of ice and fire has come. " volund looked down at the hell frost pistol, a relic only a few iron preists could maintain. "what do you speak of, the old legends of the Wotan?" "wotan , they once served the dragons. Loyal. Lords of men upon crion. They remember the past. No beware the great fire that will burn hotter than all others. The fire that will turn even the mountains to ash. " the dreadnought spoke and then decided to hold its silence.

The fire has come for crion. Ice has come for crion. The battle has begun.

3434 watched the Malcador Tank explode taking with it a dozen convicts and a arbite handler, it was no sooner that Arbitrator Halouck shouted to his charges “Get to cover.” And so the penal legionnaires slowly began to be pushed back by the barrage of cultist fire. In less than a minute the penal guardsmen were either behind some form of cover or dead. From the wreckage of the Malcador spilled fourth a single storm trooper the wounded tank operator clutched his side as he fell into cover behind his wrecked vehicle. 3434 looked over to the wounded storm trooper and then to 1597. “I’m gonna need some covering fire.” 1597 looked at the storm trooper “You gonna risk your ass for that feth wipe?” 34 growled “just do it.” 1597 grumbled before shouting “COVERING FIRE!” from behind cover the legionnaires began firing blindly at the cultist’s postion giving 3434 enough time to rush over to the wounded henchmen. The carapace clad trooper grunted in pain as 34 lifted him over his shoulder and carried him to safety. 3434 sat the trooper down by 9176 who once ran a humble clinic on some hive a million light-years away. The medic removed a syringe from his trappings injected the trooper with it, the tank operator seemed to calm as the liquid hit his veins. Arbitrator Halouck spoke into his wrist “Magister 5 is down we require reinforcements.” No response

The suppressive fire seemed to anger the cultists as their auto guns seemed to strike with renewed wroth. The rain of bullets began to eat away at the legionnaire’s cover and several more prisoners were picked off. Halouck shouted “This is operator Halouck Penal squad 37582 requesting immediate assistance, taking heavy casualties.” One of the prisoners began to flee, but before Halouck could detonate his collar he was mowed down by the hail of fire. A bellowing voice came over Halouck’s vox “37582 stand by for deep strike” not a second later eleven grey knight terminators appeared from nothing.

The chaotic flow of battle came to a sudden halt as the sons of Titan took the field. They took their first steps towards the chaotic encampment without breaking formation after their second step one of the braver cultists began to fire. The bullets never reached the grey knights adamantium plate as the shield generator installed in the crux terminates deflected primitive projectile. With another step the rest of the cultists began raining auto fire upon the grey knights to no better effect. At the head of the formation Paladin Utilitarius drew his nemesis force sword from the mag lock on his back. The paladin saw the fear in the cultists eyes and grinned to himself as they unloaded their weak munitions on them. Utilitarius rose his sword and shouted as he charged “For the Emperor!” and his fellows returned with a glorious call that struck a righteous fear into the hearts of those sworn to ruinous power.

The cultists broke ranks before the Grey Knights struck at the first of them. Those who were unlucky enough to be on the front lines were cleaved by the Grey Knights psychic blades. The cultists threw their arms up in resistance but met their grizzly end. The whirlwind of halberds devastated the cultists of the flayed legion.

Utilitarius looked up the boulevard as removed his blade from a traitor’s corpse. He saw a massive human firing a double barrel shotgun at the cowards fleeing the fight. The cultist champion bore many scars on his breast, he wore cargo pants like those worn by the PDF, a pair of blood stained boots, and a gas mask. In the champion’s left hand was the sawed off and in the right hand a massive sickle sword. The cultists feared their overlord enough to stand their ground. The champion saw Utilitarius and raised his blade at him.

Apothecary Myrmidon raised his wrist mounted storm-bolter at the champion but Utilitarius lowered his arm, “I will show this one the Emperor’s fury personally.” Utilitarius flourished his sword to remove the coagulating blood on the sword’s flat. The champion hoisted his sword over his head and charged for the Paladin. Utilitarius gritted his teeth and tightened his hands around his sword. The cultist had jury-rigged his rusted salvaged blade to have a power-field capacitator at its hilt, but the ruinous power had wormed its way into the once sacred technology as the once blue blade glowed a unholy blood red. Force sword met power sword and bolts of power crackled and crashed as the blades collided. Thee cultist was by far stronger than your average human, but Utilitarius was abnormally strong even by the stoic standards of astartes. With a ground shaking roar Utilitarius struck at the champion. The warrior of chaos attempted to block the blow but his curved blade shattered as the grey knight brought his weapon to bare. The blade continued downward diagonally parting the champion from his left shoulder to his waist.

Utilitarius roared as the heretic’s corpse dropped to its knees. The regrouped cultists broke once more and fled deeper into their territory. Utilitarius spoke to his men “Let them flee, they have no true escape, let them spread word of what happened here.” Utilitarius looked back at the burning tank and dead penal guard, it would be some time before the human forces are ready to push, it would be unwise to continue without their support. Utilitarius opened a vox channel with inquisitor Randall “The heretics flees.”

The doors into the inner sanctum of Sunstrike Cadre Command slid open, and a Fire Warrior emerged onto the deck. Holographic projections illuminated the demi-spherical chamber, bathing the walls in pale blue light. Few heads turned to face the messenger, with most of the occupants working intently on their consoles. Very few of the workers were actually Tau - only about a quarter of them had their grey skin lit up by the screens. Various Human and Jokaero auxiliaries instead operated the devices, monitoring the vox channels and feed from other Tau recon parties. As he marched up the rows of screens, the Fire Warrior glanced across at various streams coming in.

---os Hannoi taskforce secure, maintaining covert obs---

---ar. Waaagh! Hannibal suffering major losses - enga---

---'vesa'El Vandred reporting all-clear in AHC-02. Ti---

---ack Water Bastion remain unaware of Taskforce Ultr---

The rows ended abruptly, feeding into a centre node. A holographic map of Crion hung in the empty space, with icons marking along it's unreal surface. Fio'El Mirrorstone rose from her chair, and address the Fire Warrior. The trooper saluted.
"At ease. You've no need to salute, trooper."

"Understood, Sub-Comman-"
"Don't. I'm just the base commander until Skyhunter gets back. Just serving."

The trooper shifted awkwardly, cut off and hesitant. Mirrorstone sighed. She had gone several hours without her last flooding of stimulants - she made a mental note to dismiss herself from her station. She already knew she'd doubled her recommended quota.
"As you were, Shas'la. What was it you were reporting?"

-------------------------------------

"A Kroot?" Skyhunter's voice was laced with tension.

"A Shaper, commander." Mirrorstone spoke through gritted teeth. "Our outer defences picked it up. It's heading straight toward the coordinates where we asked the Imperial delegation to meet."

"Have you considered that this Shaper might be an emissary of the Tau Empire? Do we know anything about his arrival?"

"Nothing. He comes without a retinue, or any kind of support element. He could be with the Empire, but I don't think so. This is a diplomatic mission, sir." Mirrorstone sighed. "Truthfully, commander, I don't know."

"Why did our drone defences not blow this Kroot into pieces?"

Mirrorstone turned her gaze from Skyhunter. "The marker drones marked it, but I didn't authorize a missile strike. I didn't know what to-"
"Fio'El, you are in command of the garrison. You command the cadre in the absence of myself, or Sub-Commander Vandred. I need you to assert yourself. Did you do the right thing?"

She faced Skyhunter again. "Yes. I did, Shas'O."

Skyhunter's face was obscured, but she felt a grin spread over his grizzled face. "Good. What is your plan?"

"Aren't you going to give me orders, sir?"

"That is my order. Your plan - you are in command, Fio'El. Tell me your plan."

Mirrorstone straightened up, and broadened her shoulders out. She was easily one of the physically largest Tau in the cadre, having been tempered by constructing and dismantling the various outposts and fortifications Sunstrike Cadre had needed in their crusade from the Empire. Her hands cemented behind her back.

"I'll see what this Kroot wants. If he poses a threat to the cadre, or brings the Empire on us, I will ensure he doesn't leave in one piece."

-------------------------------------

Ta'lok's whipcord limbs propelled him through the woodland. Up ahead, in a vast glade, the ramparts of the Tau base stood erect from the tree stumps. The Shaper halted, sidling up to an ironwood tree. His keen eyes meticulously analysed the situation. The gap between the camp and the woodland was barren. The grass just short enough to deny cover, the gap too wide to sprint. They'd see him coming. A rush of chemicals worked through his body as he watched the camp. Why was he afraid? He wasn't here to fight - just an emissary of his employer. So why did he feel so naked?

Thoughts suppressed by the sprint through the forest came bounding up. He was expendable - why would Paynne care if he was killed off? His pack of Kroot would be told about how their Shaper's hubris got him killed - the Tau would not recognise Ta'lok as the Gue emissary, and the Imperium would not care a jot. Ta'lok considered returning to Paynne, and telling him how the Tau were a menace to the Imperial forces. Sure, the Imperium would lose hundreds of men, and the Tau would be wiped out. Did Ta'lok care?
The Shaper looked again at the ramparts. Two soldiers approached eachother, and laughed together. When they removed their helms, Ta'lok saw one grey face, and a pink one. A Tau and a Human. There was no difference aside from that. Unity. Comradery. If the Tau weren't that xenophobic, maybe he'd stand a chance. 'What could possibly go wrong?' Ta'lok thought.

He edged one gnarled foot into the open glade, and kept marching into the open space. Immediately, the ramparts were alive with troopers, scrambling into firing slits, and readying weapons. The Human and Tau warriors knocked shoulders and stared Ta'lok down. The tree stumps around the glade split open and marker drones dived around Ta'lok, like sharks circling their prey. Ta'lok kept walking until he was mere metres away from the walls. A stocky Tau marched to meet him, staring at the Kroot from the walls. She was tired - Ta'lok could smell it.

"Halt, Kroot. State your name, allegiance, and your business with Sunstrike Cadre. Make it quick."

Ta'lok stared the Tau in the eyes, not daring to look down, yet daring the commander to do exactly that. He wasn't surprised when she didn't. Intimidation. Ta'lok thought, A tactic many use, but it can be so easy to shatter. A direct route will be best.

"Shaper Ta'lok, working under Governor Paynne of Crion. A name you know well, for better or worse. As for my business, the Governor has given me a variety of missions in my time on Crion. To get to the point, I am sent here to negotiate with the leader of your cadre, and reach terms both parties find agreeable." At the mention of not serving under the Empire, a few of the soldiers' shoulders slackened, yet their fingers remained on their triggers. They needed convincing. "I have proof that I work for the governor, and am no spy for the Empire. If you'd let me grab it." Ta'lok waited for a nod from the Tau in front of him, which reluctantly came. The Shaper slowly pulled out a small item from his pocket, and held it in the air for the Tau to see. It didn't take long for her to recognize it as the bug she had planted in the governor's room to listen in on his conversations. "I apologize for the property damage, but it was not where it belonged. So, I brought it home. Now, I don't believe I caught your name." Ta'lok hoped that she was willing enough to hand that out; he needed a foothold if he could get any leeway in a debate, and it would be a small start.

She was silent for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to address his request. "Fio'el Mirrorstone." she barked, "Kroot, come inside. We need a few words with you." Ta'lok nodded, and followed after the retinue of armed guards.

"We will not stand idle if any Imperial makes a move against us. We will not throw the first punch, but I promise to you Ta'lok that we will throw the last." Mirrorstone growled, pounding her fist against the table. "I'll put it simply. Leave us alone, do not interfere with us, and we won't bother you."

Ta'lok nodded slowly, "Paynne has no interest in attacking you. He has his own matters to attend to, and has no wish to start a war with the Tau. Nor does he want to let loose other Imperials upon you, but he was very specific when he says that he will not tolerate you making Crion a permanent home for your cadre. He will allow you to live here for the time being, but you must move on eventually. He also wants your cadre to not make itself a target, or he will have no choice but to take a hostile approach." Ta'lok looked at Mirrorstone's eyes, trying to find any signs of a reaction from her, yet only anger and determination showed. Impressive, few can hide their emotions so well, yet there is still the scent of tiredness, mixed with doubt, perhaps. "So, it seems we understand each other, to an extent then? No war, and no stepping on one another's toes."

Mirrorstone nodded, "I do have an offer for you, Ta'lok, and your kindred. I make this offer only once, the Skyhunter Cadre would like a pair of eyes and ears within the Imperium. If you tell us what the Imperials are up to, we will make sure you are well rewarded, and your supplies of munitions do not run short. Regardless, assuming our relation with Paynne does not falter, we can provide you a shelter in case the Imperium casts you aside."

Ta'lok considered this offer for a moment, toying with the idea like a cat does with a defeated mouse. He chose his words carefully, "I will provide information about Imperial activities, but I am not one for backstabbing allies. I will not provide information for the sole purpose of harming my employers, but there are still things I can share that you may find interesting. Be warned that most of the Imperials are not accepting of my kind, and refused my presence at their latest meeting between leaders. Some even reached for weapons, so I doubt I will have updated reports on every faction," Ta'lok smiled, "unless Paynne finds himself generous with his own information, of course."

Mirrorstone nodded again, and gestured to the guards behind Ta'lok, who opened the door, letting light pour into the room. "I am glad we made a deal, and I grant you leave. You will have ten minutes to evacuate the premise before our drones are reactivated. Spend your time wisely."


The guards watched as Ta'lok walked away from their headquarters, and were astonished as he practically molded in with his surroundings as he left, leaving no traces of his departure. Within moments, it was if the Shaper had never visited.

The needles tore a hundred holes throughout her flesh. Each drug brought with it new nightmares: horrors that only darkest creatures of the immaterium can match. She slammed her fist against the walls of her glass vat in vein. All of this was to the infinite amusement to her captor, who cackled a horrid laugh a grotesque wheezing that passed for a xeno’s horrid joy.

Captain Amanda Kid awoke in her tent gasping for air and drenched in sweat. She ran her hand through her short wet hair and looked over at her chrono she had gotten nearly five hours of sleep a personal record. She could hear gunfire in the distance a noise she had long been numb to. The battle had reached yet another stalemate both sides entrenched, Inquistor Randall had ordered the men to rest as he would need them at their best when it came time to make their final push. Kid waited little time before putting on her armor and heading outside.

The inquisitorial war camp was alive, wounded were being carried to medical tent, soldiers cleaned weapons and polished armor, Storm troopers and penal legionnaires broke bread and shared war stories.

Commissar Jethro Alenko approached the captain with a ceramic mug of caffeine. The Commissar spoke handing Kid the mug “Good morning captain, at least I think its morning, can never tell in these damn hives.” Kid eagerly took the cup and drank from it, it tasted like dirt. Alenko spoke as Kid downed her beverage “We’ve made some progress since last you were awake.” Kid smiled “How? Was I fighting in my sleep again?” Alenko laughed in return, “Were that the case our enemy would be long dead. The Grey Knights pushed the traitors back, however their encountering more elite enemy infantry, nothing they can’t handle but we’ve slowed to a crawl. Randall has called for a council it will begin shortly.” Kid finished her drink and spoke with a gasp of refreshment “Lead the way.”

The war council was quite informal it had all the usual members Commissar Alenko, Captain Kid, Captain Athenar, Warden Hoffman, Paladin Utilitarius, and Justicar Freeman who had only recently returned from his mission at Drake’s point. Randall wore his black carapace armor with the holy seal of the inquisition on its breast over that he wore a tattered black trench coat. Randall Spoke only semi formally “To be blunt progress has been much slower than I like, these heretics are proving to be a stubborn lot. However I just received news that should turn the tides of war in our favor. A regiment of imperial guardsmen has by some miracle of the Emperor has made planet fall around the Hive.” “Who are they.” Asked Kid. Randall stole a glance at his paper and replied “The 487th Lunar Venatorii Panther Calvary. Wyrm riders.” Alenko spoke “We could definitely use the extra men, but I would advise caution this place can corrupt.” Randall nodded “My thoughts the same, that is why I am sending Captain Kid to make contact with their commander to ensure there is nothing to fear from them.” Kid disliked the idea of being taken away from the battle to play diplomat but she would not complain. The Captain nodded to the inquisitor and Randall concluded “Excellent make ready we will make our final push soon.”

Kremus blindly fired his Lucius Pattern Mk22c Combat Shotgun over the makeshift barrier towards the oncoming forces of the rotting Imperium, Kremus heard a few cries of agony as his projectiles found their mark. Risking a glance Kremus raised his deformed head when one of his pale milky eyes spotted the Imperial guard retreating, his fellow mutants cheered finally getting revenge on the ones who scorned them all their lives but Kremus wasn't convinced and stood his ground just as he was ordered to do “Hold the barricade you curs ! Hold !” Despite his commands some of the adrenaline fueled cultists charged after the fleeing imperial guardsmen only to be reduced to a bloody pulp as mud, blood and dirt sprouted from the ground where the shell landed, a second one shell from the approaching predators hit the ground sending the few cultists that were still unharmed fleeing. Cursing Kremus ordered the retreat, they didn't have that kind of firepower. They retreated to a nearby building which used to belong to the adeptus arbites and which was once a formidable structure. Now however it is a crumbling ruin like much of the city, whether that was due to the separatist uprising or the Imperial attack was up to debate. Dust fell onto Kremus’ shoulder from the one half of the roof that was left, “Rights lads, when I say hold, I mean fething hold ! The Imperials have us on the backfoot and they have more numbers, think ! Why would they retreat ? Why ? Think for once in your lives before throwing your life away -” a shifty cultist stepped forward with all the various boils on his body bubbling and pus oozed out of every pore “What is it ?” Snapped Kremus annoyed by the interruption “Grandfather has granted me a message for our master” Kremus considered this a moment, the Imperial predators were advancing on their position quickly which they could not take out and messages to their master must always be delivered with haste, “We’re moving out, grab anything useful and let's go” gathering anything useful from the station they set off to find their master.

Prophet Garathal stood atop a mound of dirt which overlooked the crowded field. His Terminator Armor was rusted and the cape that hung from his shoulder’s was ridden with maggots. The armor itself was quartered with a pea green and steel gray colour scheme. The Prophet’s helmet featured a single horn which was slightly cured in to center of the forehead, it had a T shaped slit for vision and breathing purposes and on either side of the slit near the cheekbones were holes were maggots were that emerge and submerge themselves giving one nightmares to think about what lay beneath the helm, similar to the horn on his helm two horns adorned his knee pads. His staff was long which thins out at one end and broadens out the the other. At the broad end lies a scythe with green runes etched upon its surface and drips crudes poisons and diseases, near the end of the scythe where it connects with the body of the staff a circle is carved out where the symbol of nurgle resides constantly have a sickly green aura.

The last of the women and children were being brought to Garathal as he observed the foolish humans. “Fools ! Grandfather Nurgle is generous to those in his service, he will make you more powerful than you can even comprehend and you dare to refuse him ? The one who makes sure your crops don't rot, the one that makes sure your cough goes away, ungrateful cretins !” Garathal stepped forward with his arms outstretched raising his staff high in the sky “Whether you enter his service service willingly or refuse his wonderful gifts, all shall receive Nurgle’s blessing” an aura oozed out of Garathal’s staff which spread towards the hundreds of humans in captivity, when it reached the first few humans they began coughing viciously. Soon a chorus of coughing echoed throughout the fields. Once the coughing died down another chorus rang out, the thundering sound of autogun fire. As the last of the humans were eradicated, Garathal heard footsteps approaching, turning he saw Kremus alongside a cultist blessed by Nurgle “What is it now Kremus ? Does the hive still hold ?” Kremus bowed “No Prophet, they sent in heavy armor we couldn't penetrate the thick plates” Garathal was silent a moment “Prophet if I may this one here says the Grandfather has a message f-” before Kremus could finished Garathal swung his staff diagonally from high right to low left splitting open the adjacent cultist’s stomach littering the floor with his innerds. Picking up the man’s intestines it read where words were carved into the flesh “The people of Crion yearn for my gifts, spread my children, spread my gifts to this world” the cultist collapsed and became one with the dirt. “Seems we have a new purpose my children, gather up your things, the Lord’s work is never done !” Shouted Garathal as he began to survey what was once a field of dead humans was now a field of the rising dead, one by one they rose stumbling towards their own homes, towards the armies of the Imperium.

Captain Kid blocked the glare of the sun with her armored wrist. This was the first time in weeks she had been out of the hive. After a few minutes of her eyes adjusting she could now see the world in more clarity. In the distance she could see the Venatorii camp, though the lodging was temporary it must have been a massive undertaking due to its scale. Began the long walk from the stairs that exited the hive to crionian earth below.

Kid had walked for nearly twenty minutes when she saw a trio of riders coming. It was not long before the wyrmsmen were upon Kid, the trio blitz around the storm trooper and encircled her. The three creatures looked menacing, two were black scaled with red scales that accented the flanks of their long bodies. The third rider was mounted atop a deep blue beast who’s hide was marked with freckles of white.

The lead rider spoke from atop his blue steed “State your name and business here.” Kid replied examining the fearsome mounts “My name is Captain Amanda Kid, emissary for Inquisitor Garrett Randall.” The rider dismounted Kid could see by his patch he was a sergeant. The sergeant offered Kid his hand and spoke as the two shook “My name is sergeant Jacob Holiday, it’s a pleasure to meet you mam.” Kid spoke griping the sergeant’s fist “Well met sergeant, how much further is your camp, I will need to speak with your commander.” Holiday replied “Not but another ten minutes walk on foot. I will accompany you.” The sergeant looked over to one of his subordinates and spoke “Take Azula here and inform Colonel Raven he has company.” The rider pounded his fist to his chest and the three wyrms and two riders were off.

As the sergeant said it was only a ten-minute walk to the camp. Kid saw the hastily built stables that would temporarily house the dragon-kin mounts, they walked by tables where groups of men played cards and drank, they passed patrols of riders overseeing the camps welfare. At the center of the camp was a tent much larger than the rest. Holiday looked over to Kid and spoke “Before you head in I’m afraid I will need to confiscate your side arm.” Reluctantly Kid relinquished the hot shot las pistol. Holiday continued “And that knife in your boot.” Kid removed the nine-inch blade and handed it to the sergeant. Holiday smiled “You can head right on in.”

Kid entered the tent, it was lit only by a few candles. She examined the holdings and noticed it to be a bit on the simpler. She saw the colonel facing away from her looking in the mirror. The man’s neck and checks were covered in shaving cream and in the colonel’s left hand was a straight razor. The colonel spoke friendly but didn’t turn to Kid “Captain, I thank you for your presence.” Kid spoke “Colonel Raven, the honor is mine. We appreciate your sudden arrival; it is a gift from the Emperor.” Raven wiped the shaving cream away with a rag and spoke “A high praise madam, however I think the Emperor could do a whole lot better than our humble regiment.” Kid smiled “Regardless we are glad to have your support.” Raven gestured to a table and some chairs and spoke “Sit, I reckon we have much to discuss.” Kid sat and began recounting the war for Cogger Hive.

In the time Kid spoke Raven had lit a cigar. The colonel had seen the taint of chaos before, he knows what horrors it may have on the minds of men. Raven spoke “Captain I know what the effects the arch enemy might have on my men, should any of them succumb we know what must be done.” Kid spoke “I have lost dozens of men to the taint, it is never easy but it must be done.” By this point Kid was comfortable in allowing the Venatorii to assist them. Kid spoke “We are planning a final push against the heretics, your men will prove invaluable. We can discuss this further at our forward camp.” Raven grinned we will have our camped pack by night fall, we will join you shortly there after.” Raven called outside the tent. “Holliday” the sergeant shortly appeared. “You and your men are heading out with the captain.” The sergeant pounded his fist to his chest. Kid bowed her head to Raven and exited the tent.

Garathal awaited atop a hill overlooking both the treeline his cultists were lurking in and the stretch they must make to the fort Dorn’s Shield. As the last of his cultists reserves made planetside he raised his hands and produced a green flame and sent it across the night’s sky illuminating the frenzied cultists who charged at the signal. The fort stood silent almost as if it were unimpressed by the cultist's shabby display until simultaneously ranks of las fire lit up the cultist's ranks felling them by the dozen, eager to attain his prize Garathal continued the attack, he just needed to reach the walls and pass on Nurgle’s gift to just one man and it would spread like wildfire. At first it would appear as a mere cough, a common thing, perhaps their skin would take a sickly tone. After a couple of days their skin would tighten revealing their veins underneath and their hair would begin to fall out. In the next phase there skin is paper thin, the teeth will begin to rot as the last strands of hair fall out, their cheeks sunken in, the eyes and most of their internal organs will now begin to rot until finally Nurgle welcomes them with glee and they begin to crave flesh.

Kremus emerged from the treeline sprinting and shouted in Nurgle’s name like all his brothers, such a warcry has struck fear into many poorly equipped and poorly trained Planetary Defense Force causing them to run and flee, but behind their wall they were fearless. When Kremus began his charge the warcry that he and his brothers mustered was deafening now as cultists dropped left and right it was a shadow of its former self. Before Kremus knew what hit him he felt a burning sensation in his right thigh which brought him crashing into the dirt like hundreds of others before him.

The cultist's did not manage to spread Papa Nurgle's gift however, they did not even reach the walls. The systematic firing lines that the Imperials had set up were cutting down the cultists as they tripped over their dead comrades trying to reach the walls for their master, what they lacked in efficiency they made up for in fervour. 50% of the original force of cultists were dead now, cursing Garathal ordered the retreat deciding to cut his losses rather than throw more men at the Imperial’s formidable defenses “Flee you fools flee back into the trees towards the swamp” a red ball of flame sparked to life in Garathal’s hands which he sent flying through the air to signal the retreat. Whether they were charging towards the fort or the treeline the cultists were being torn to shreds. Only a handful of cultists survived that participated in the first attack, 65% of Garathal's cultist’s more or less had perished, retreating with his plague marines and beastmen intact Garathal would never be so blunt in his dealings with the Imperium on this world again.

When Kremus awoke he was being dragged through the dirt and his leg was aflame, red lines shot through the sky in unison and dropped the shrouded figures left and right. As his vision cleared he began to grasp the situation, retreat. The word left a bad taste in his mouth and struck fear into his heart when he began to wonder about how his would punish him for such failure turning his head he saw the two cultists which have been dragging him and the decrepit treeline that they have been racing towards, “just a little farther now Kremus” reassured one of the cultist’s between his heavy breathing “We are almost ther-” the cultist’s head rocked back as a shot from a lasgun pierced through his skull dropping him on top of Kremus. The other Cultist let go of Kremus and ran “Filthy Cur, I will have your head !” Spat Kremus as he dug his fingernails into the dirt to try and pull himself out from under the rotting corpse, freeing his one good knee he dug that into the mud freeing himself. Grabbing the dead mutant’s poor excuse for a rifle he slowly picked himself up, leaning heavily on his newly acquired walking stick and began shuffling back towards his brothers, and that coward.

“Marvellous, isn’t it?”

Lord Breacher’s voice thundered through the armoury, echoing softly in the room’s high domed ceiling as the Terminator armour-clad Iron Warrior walked towards the Sorcerer, who stood at the far end of the room.

The Sorcerer had been staring at one of the fresco’s decorating the walls, trying to decipher what it was they had once represented. If anything, he’d learned that the ancient Blood Dragons had quite the obsession with them, as they seemed to adorn practically every surface of this base.

“I’ve seen better”, the Sorcerer replied starkly.

The old Iron Warrior chuckled. “Tell me, Sorcerer, will there ever be a planet whose art meets your standards?”

The Sorcerer smirked as he turned towards Lord Breacher. “There was one planet that did. But then someone couldn’t keep their dogs on a leash, and well…”

Lord Breacher slapped him on his shoulder pad, laughing heartily, and motioned him to a workstation.

“Take a look at this, Brother.”

On the workstation sat an ornate curved Power Sword with a hilt in the shape of a dragon, and an equally ornate shield with a dragon crest. They were exceptionally well-crafted, their magnificence seemingly unaffected by the ravages of time and entropy.

The Sorcerer picked up the sabre, balancing the weapon in his hand before making a few swipes with it. It was light as a feather, well-balanced and razor-sharp. Its Power Field crackled pleasingly as it trailed through the air.

“A fine weapon.”

“Most certainly”, Lord Breacher spoke, as he picked up the shield and held it before him. “Their artisans knew their craft well. It’s a shame they weren’t as inventive when it came to naming their companies.”

“How so?”, the Sorcerer replied, curious as to what the Iron Warrior knew of the ancient Blood Dragons.

Lord Breacher merely pointed upwards with a mischievous grin. The Sorcerer traced his companion’s finger to a magnificent fresco that covered the entire ceiling, with at its centre the icon of the Blood Dragons. Just below the icon was a banner that carried the company’s name and number.

“The Ice Drakes?”

Lord Breacher laughed. “Rather disappointing, wouldn’t you agree?”

The Sorcerer was about to reply when a sudden cold washed over him, sending a shiver down his spine. He looked at Lord Breacher to see if he felt it too, but the Iron Warrior seemed fully oblivious to any change in temperature. He also didn’t notice the Sorcerer’s lack of response, as a message came over his personal vox.

“Apologies, Brother”, Lord Breacher spoke, as he turned his vox off. “It seems I have matters to attend to in the Generatorium. It’s a miracle any of the machinery here still works in the first place.”

The Sorcerer didn’t respond, his psyche already busy mapping the room for any threats. He barely heard the Iron Warrior’s heavy footsteps trailing off into the distance over the sound of his own two heartbeats, until the armoury’s heavy doors slammed shut, snapping him back to reality.

It was at that moment the Sorcerer realized the armoury was completely empty, filled only with an uneasy silence. The air grew cold, a thin layer of frost rapidly forming on the surface of his armour. The lights began to flicker, slowly at first but eventually flashing on and off in rapid succession. Moments later, the lights at the other end of the room dimmed, slowly covering the room in darkness.

Eventually, only a single light remained. The Sorcerer stood uneasily in the pale, artificial light, his breath forming thin vapour trails. He gritted his teeth as he prepared himself for the psychic threat that was encroaching on him from the darkness. He raised his voice in challenge, the words laced with controlled anger.

“I know you are there.”

The room seemingly gasped as the Sorcerer’s words resounded softly in the cassettes of the domed ceiling of the armoury. A tiny light appeared in the dark, and the Sorcerer squinted as he tried to get a glimpse of his opponent.

In the darkest corner of the room, an entity bled out of the shadows, two red eyes shining brightly, a crooked grin forming across its face as its form wrested itself free from the darkness.

“Oh, my dear Sorcerer…”

The Sorcerer’s twin hearts stopped beating for a second when he heard the entity’s voice. His eyes opened wide as he laid eyes on the figure stepping into the light.

“…is that how you greet an old friend?”

In the pale light of the armoury stood Acting-Captain Aurelius.

=====Blood Dragon Site, Tybalt, Luna Epsilon=====

Numek paced around the Blood Dragon Ruin trying to comprehend exactly what was on these walls. To the unimaginative mind or a quick glance it was but pictures, but Numek knew that was not the case. No, he knew there was a story, a purpose, a left behind instruction. A Lychguard approached Numek,
“Cryptek, the equipment has been assembled and the urn is ready to be processed.”
“Good, make sure it is a thorough scan.”
“Yes, Cryptek.”
The Lychguard ordered some of the warriors to lift the pieces of the urn and place them into the device, which resembled a kind of glass box. Numek went back to staring at the walls while the Lychguard began scanning the shattered pieces. He went through the standard protocols, but found nothing. All of the sudden a faint whirring was heard over a certain section of the Urn. Numek turned and approached the machine, that pattern was very similar to something. He looked at it with renewed zeal as he realized that this urn operated much like a Tesseract Labyrinth. He somewhat rejoice in his findings until it hit him that whatever this Murrogg was, he was a very powerful Psyker. Numek moved to the altar and examined every detail and every inch of it, but it was just stone. Then he went back to the mural where the Astartes banished the foul beast. He studied the mural over and over again but to no avail.
“BAH!” Numek kicked over some equipment in his anger, “All I see is some Astartes magically shoving a dragon into an urn!”
“Perhaps you should look harder…”
Numek turned to see who had addressed him but found nothing but darkness. Numek readied his stave, but to no use as he couldn’t see anything. Before he had time to react an azure inferno engulfed the air in front of him.
“Who is there?”
“I am a Prophet, here my words...”
“What is it you have to say?”
“These murals are beyond you, but destruction is not…”
“What d-” Before he could speak further the flame vanished and he awoke. Apparently at some point he had fallen to the floor, his Guard picked him up.
“Are you ok Cryptek?”
“I am fine… I just… I need to think.”
With that, he entered the portal that led to his laboratory. He looked through the window at the Megalith, he could only see the very front. They had finished the superstructure and frame on time, now the difficult times were upon them. Alas, he could not do much, he had already given the orders on what to build… build…
“That is what I will do.” Numek began assembling his tools quite frantically.
“The murals may be beyond me, but my trade is not.”
He began working on a template, it took a crescent shape, but looked different.
“The skies will darken and fire will rain upon them.”
Numek wondered if these would help their friends in Cogger, but the 3 Oppressor Flights and extra men Grulahk sent should do... for now.

The first signs of attack was the massive green ball of fire soaring through the air. Sgt. Eirine was one of the first onto the wall, and one of the few who saw the massive giant in the middle of the swarm of bodies rushing towards the walls. As one, they all let out an unhuman battle cry, one that rang in the inside of Eirines ears. And the Imperials responded in similar fashion. As one, the officers of the Gorgons gave the order to fire, and night became day again. Las-fire tore through the cultists ranks, and soon, the overwhelming tang of las-guns firing became louder than than the heretics’ battle cry. As more and more troopers awoke and ran to the walls, more and more cultists fell. Soon, the tide faltered, then stopped altogether. As if signalling to the remaining forces, the giant hurtled another fireball through the air. The remaining cultists fell back under the wall of lasers, they left the wounded, who were either trampled to death or hit again and again by the las-fire.

The moment the last cultist ran back into the treeline, the officers of the Gorgons assembled kill teams. Each of these teams were given full armour, covering them head to toe with flak armour, facemasks with rebreathers and flamers. They had fought devotees to Nurgle before, and they knew what danger would arise if even one person was infected. As such, the bodies that were strewn across the lands between the walls of Dorn’s Shield and the surrounding forest were summarily burnt, cleansing the taint from Imperial soil. Whatever few living cultists remained were burnt alive.

Captain Estares, the commanding officer of the 5th company contacted the Lord-General by the next day, and made sure that the General knew exactly what they were dealing with. Going off several reports, a giant led this rabble. A giant that most would believe to be a Traitor Astarte. After a quick debrief, Lord-General Henri McFallus thanked the Captain and ended transmissions.
Henri turned to Ben, who had heard the entire conversation and raised a furrowed eyebrow.
“Chaos taint on the planet? I thought the Inquisitor had the Space Elevator under lock-down? How the bloody hell did they get here then?” Ben asked as Henri caressed his moustache.
“I do not believe these are the same heretics. The ones that the Inquisitor is battling did not worship Nurgle, and it is highly unlikely that two different groups would be fighting at the same time right next to each other. No, I believe a new threat has arisen from nowhere, and that the Inquisitor should be informed immediately.”
“Ugh, do we really need to involve the Inquisition with this? You know what they do to the poor guard regiments attached to them…” Ben groaned.
“Of course I do, but we cannot fight a war on two fronts. We must focus on the real threat here, rather than just fighting amongst each other. Now, get me an astropath to contact the Inquisitor. We will decide what to do next together.”
“Yes sir…”

Iodius cast the thought of the Meeting from his mind once more. He had acted in an undesirable way, and he assigned himself forty days fasting in repentance. Other than that, his mouth was left bittered after the encounter with the Hounds, and had lost any and all respect he might’ve had for them. All they were in his mind were over-zealous mongrel whisperers, nothing more. He did not attempt to recall anybody else, for somewhere deep in the mental archives his bionic eye had made, was a recording of the entire meeting, and he would explore it later. Right now, he had a more important agenda. He knew what he and the Stone Wardens had to do. Three Thunderhawks, packed to the brim, roared into the landing pads of the Space Elevator, and two of them disgorged their loads. The locals watched in awe as sixty, armour clad Astarte warriors marched down the streets of the elevator. To see one of these, nigh immortal god-kings, awe-inspiring, but to see sixty of such beings? The very thought would make grown men weep. Iodius marched at the front of the column, followed by Techmarine Strates, and Iodius’ command squad. They came to the walls, and Iodius looked over it in disapproval. He had been in countless wars against the green tide, and this petty excuse of a fortification would not last ten minutes. He turned to Strates and nodded, he knew exactly what to do, and no words were needed. The Techmarine ushered something in binary, and another sixty beings marched down from the last Thunderhawk. The servitors marched in unison, the silver of their bionics shining bright in the harsh Crionian sun. As one, they began unloading the two cargo shuttles of their load and hauling the black rockrete to the wall. Within the day, construction on the wall was well underway.

Iodius had removed his helmet. He had spent the last eight hours expertly placing and chiselling at the half tonne slabs of rockrete. Sweat poured down his grizzled face, and his hair was damp with the stuff. He watched as a pair of veterans climbed up the stairs to the top of the partially built ramparts and place a mounted autocannon and accompanying ammunition. They began setting up the weapon, and feeding it the ammunition that would most certainly be needed in the coming battle. His vision was torn away from the progressing wall towards a man approaching Iodius.
“Commander. What is it you wish to ask?” Iodius did not remember the mans name, so addressing him by his rank will suffice for now.
“Lord, I wish to ask where you will want my troops to deploy along the wall.” The man asked.
“You will not deploy along the wall. You will deploy within the city. When the orks penetrate the wall, which they will, you will be the first line of defence. It is there where the training their training will be tested.” He leaned down to be eye level with the man. “Make sure they do not disappoint me, or it will be on your head.” The man looked terrified. He was not only just threatened by a Space Marine, but perhaps the most terrifying of them. A Chaplain.
“Y-Yes Lord. They will not fail you!” The man gave a short bow and hurried off. Iodius felt like smiling, but could not bring himself to do so.

Southern part of the wall

Two Space Marines carried another crate of ammunition down by a sewage grate. Jirel played back the transmission to his master in his head.

“Mi’lord, plans have changed. The forces of the Imperials have been halted by an unseen ork uprising.”
“Not unseen Jirel, everything is going just as I planned. Where is the horde going now?”
“It is approaching the Space Elevator as we speak. The Imperials are harassing it as best as they can, but they are far too numerous to be halted completely, just slowed. At current speed, they will arrive at the Space Elevator in four days. But the green tide will break once they reach the walls. Our brothers have dug in like a leech, and they will not let go of the it until it is over.”
“The orks will win. We will make sure of it.”
“But lord, the orks do not have a big enough army. To breach it, they will need thousands of orks.”
“Tens of thousands actually.”
“Exactly. They do not have such numbers!”
“But they will. They are starting to snowball. Should we let it catch, and perhaps give them another advantage, they will beat the followers of the corpse-god followers. Hide ammunition caches by the southern grate. I will send one of my followers to inform the greenskins of this. Make sure it is ready.”
“It will be done, Mi’lord. For the Dark Gods.” The communication ended.

Jirel shook his head and continued. He picked up a discarded tire and threw it against the ammunition. He and the rest of the Enlightened had gathered scrap metal and discarded furniture and used it to mask the trap. So far, all had gone well, and nobody suspected anything.
“Jirel. We have company.” The other Space Marine with him remarked as he continued stacking tires innocently. Jirel turned to face two mortal troopers. They stank of sweat.
“Mi’lord, we noticed that you’ve been here for the past hour, and we were wondering if you needed any help?” The two young men shifted in position as Jirel rose to his full height.
“No. Leave us.” He said sternly. The men seemed content to leave the gaze of the Space Marine, and they both went to turn away, but one of them stopped.
“Is that ammunition there? What have you tw-“ The Guardsman was stopped as Jirel reached out and snapped his neck. His compatriot fell back in terror and fumbled with his lasgun in an attempt to stave off the giant. Jirel smirked at its futility and stomped down on his head. He wiped the blood and brains off on the man’s uniform and picked him up. He grabbed the other fallen man and threw them behind the pile of debris. Jirel looked at the other Space Marine.
“We need to camouflage this better. Next time it could be an Astartes that finds this.”
“Agreed. We build over it. There are some slabs over by the keep. I will retrieve them.”
“Good. Inform the rest.”
“It will be done.”

Prophet Garathal kept on marching as he had been since Dorn’s Shield, that was two days ago or so he thought keeping track of the sun and the moon. Of the cultist's remaining a few died of exhaustion, mainly the humans and mutants. The beastmen, plague marines and the Prophet’s seven apostles stood strong. Garathal was expecting an Imperial counter attack on his ragged train but none came, a good thing to thought Garathal, his enemies must never know how weak the Disciples of Decay were at this moment, they must show a force of strength to their enemies and recuperate in the shadows. Upon reaching a peak atop one of the many rolling hills that featured throughout the province, Garathal noticed the local fauna on the horizon change which he reckoned to be the swamp “Come brothers, only a little farther, Nurgle’s refuge awaits, where metal rusts and wood rots” pointing his staff towards the horizon,encouraging his weary band ever onwards.

Near the rear of the train lay Kremus who was slumped over Drelos’ shoulder, “In service to Grandfather Nurgle foul fumes come with the job but this minotaur takes the cake” “Be grateful” said Baezael shutting the cultist up “I could have him lay you down, let you struggle up this hill, no doubt it would please the Lord of Decay to no end” Kremus could just about make out the Beastman shaman as Drelos stomped up the hill. The shaman was donned head to tail in the same pea green as the rest of the cult with the robe being tattered near his hooves and his arms, revealing his sickly yellow, leathery flesh and matted hair beneath, it bore a hood which has various engraving along the brim representing Nurgle. His staff unlike his master’s was simple, a wooden staff that was carved by Baezael himself. Atop it laid the skull of a ram’s head much like his own with Nurgle's symbol carved into its forehead, he attached a small bit of leather to where he hand often frequents when he is walking such as now. Beneath the ram’s head were various trinkets and charms that were sacred to his people which clanked against the wooden shaft as he walked which irritated Kremus to no end. Baezael broke the silence “Brooding over your revenge against the one who ran away ?” Kremus clenched his fists “Aye, think I might take it nice and slow, drawing out his entrails and hanging him with them so the men can use his corpse as target practice” Baezael chuckled “Perhaps you will find a message amidst the entrails” Kremus shot a glare “Very Funny”

Quickly after entering the swamp Garathal felt a presence, minor at first so much so that he could have missed it but as they ventured deeper and deeper he began to notice it more and more until eventually it broke into whispers. Following the words Garathal picked up his pace striding through deep, murky waters in his terminator plate leaving his other minions to navigate around such deep waters, only his similarly armored Apostles kept up ensuring his protection at all times. Cleaving through little trees and shrubs in his way Garathal cleared a path through the foliage getting ever closer to the source of the whispers,leaving his apostles to follow in the wake of his destruction. After losing the main body of his forces leaving only himself and his apostles, Garathal stopped at the base of a hill atop of which stood a few crumbling walls with vines and other growth which had claimed the walls as their own via the passage of time,mthe hill itself was made up of slippery wet mud out of which stuck thin dead trees which could perhaps act as something to pull oneself through the mud, but for one of Garathal’s size that wasn't an option. Garathal turned to face his followers, “I will be venturing up to the top,Brothers Galrass and Farthac will accompany me, Brothers Rhaegos, Klyn,Lynx,Krel and Steele rally our forces here, we must regroup and prepare for Imperial retaliation”. Sticking his staff deep in the mud, Garathal began to make the climb digging his feet ankle deep into the mud to try and gain some footing while the climb was slow this way it was reliable and he would not slip while doing so. Upon reaching the top Garathal discover a big gaping hole in the wall which allowed easy access, the whispers were strong and loud here however still he proceeded until he reached a point where they were almost deafening, it was at this point where he knelt and prayed to the Lord of Decay, for forgiveness for his foolish actions at Dorn’s Shield, for guidance on what to do next. Suddenly the whispered stopped and he saw nothing, a moment went by then two,three then a flicker of activity burned into his mind for a split second before it was gone as quick as it had came, following this he saw a hive besieged by the Imperium, close by the ragtag troops looked like cultists and by the orange uniforms they must have been a penal legion. Garathal searched across the void trying to find a location initially finding nothing, try harder Garathal said to himself, searching some more he found it, Luna Maximus, Cogger.Garathal sat there for a long time so long that he had sunk deep into the mud, when he emerged he was giving orders left and right “Get some men to scout out this swamp and find some materials, this will be our new bastion from which we will spread Nurgle’s wonderful gifts, this shall be a cathedral for those who walk Nurgles path, this shall be a Cathedral of Blight. Signal our brother's in space send some aircraft, we are going on a trip.

For too long I have sat on the sidelines wallowing in my grief as my kin fought and died on this ball of dirt. For too long I have been little more than a figurehead, a symbol of the Council of Seer’s support to the Warhosts of Iybraesil. No longer. This thought keeps echoing in my head as I swiftly dart from cover to cover alongside a squad of Guardians. The excitement in the air is palpable, every warrior from the lowest Guardian to the mightiest Exarch feels it in their bones. It is the calm before the storm, the lull before the fury of the storm is unleashed upon all that are in its’ path. It is only recently that I arrived in this place, named Cogger by the denizens of this planet, and already I can feel myself coming to life once more. Before I was a shadow of myself, a wraith content to lead my forces from the rear, as many of my fellow seers are content to do, unwilling to involve themselves directly in battle. I will do so no longer, Khaine’s Battlelust burns in my blood, and this time I am happy to answer its’ call. This night Hive Cogger will drown in the blood of the scions of Chaos, those who would dare sully the universe with their presence. Their very existence is repulsive, and this night it will be my pleasure to destroy them. I reach out with my mind to locate the spirits of those who are leading the other raids upon the enemy. One by one I touch upon the minds of Raela, Viksanis and Doreal. Proud Warlocks all, their presence will help ensure our victory this night, and I allow a grim smile to cross my face at the thought of the destruction that we will wreak this night. I am surrounded by my kin, and I have a blade in my hand. For the first time in a while, I feel truly alive, and it is glorious.

As I crouch in the archway of one of the human’s habitation buildings a Ranger appears out of the shadows next to me to deliver a report. With a jolt I realize that it is Thirianna. For a time after the events of the “Charadon Crusade” as the humans call it, we were friends but over the last couple of years we have drifted apart as I chose to withdraw into myself and take care of my daughter. Occasionally I would hear rumors of her exploits out in the wider galaxy, but other than that I had no word from her at all. As she comes to a halt Thirianna fires off a rapid series of hand gestures, unwilling to risk being overheard by potential sympathizers to the cause of these cultists. The Rangers’ sign language is a complex thing, known only to a few outside of their organization, and I am one of the lucky few who has learned it while on the various Paths. The report itself is simple, up ahead there is a warehouse that is being used by the enemy as a supply depot. Destroying it will impair their efforts in holding back the forces of the Imperium’s Inquisition, who we have seen signs of nearby. While my forces have had no contact with the Inquisition, I have received several reports from my kin of heavy gunfire being heard from higher up in the Hive, signs that whatever their purpose is, they are pushing hard against the cultists. I acknowledge Thirianna’s report with a nod and then she seems to melt into the shadows once more. If I hadn’t seen her with my own eyes just a few seconds before I would have sworn that there was nobody there. I turn to the leader of the Guardian squad that is accompanying me and with a gentle push I pass along the information to him, along with our plan of attack. After listening carefully to my words he nods and turns to issue the same orders to his own squad, and as one we begin moving once more.

The warehouse itself is a disappointing sight. I didn’t really know what to expect from human construction, but even for them this building seems like a dump. The walls are bare adamantium, covered in strips of peeling paint, and a few guards are sitting outside of it near a fire. Even from my hidden position the smell of the cheap alcohol they’re swilling hits me, and it takes all of my will to keep myself from heaving at the horrific smell of it. Despite the smell, I send a prayer of thanks to the Gods for their inattention. Their laxity will make it pitifully easy to eliminate them, and I can only hope that the others’ raids are going just as well as ours is. I turn to the Guardians who are operating the weapons platform and I give them a nod, and a second later a plasma missile is fired into the human’s midst with a pierceing shriek. One second there was a sizable group of the human’s sitting around the fire, the next all that was left was a smoking crater and the smell of singed flesh begins to fill the air. As the noise finally begins to fade the rest of the Guardians raise their weapons and wait, knowing that the humans inside the building will quickly be moving to investigate the disturbance, and I raise my pistol alongside them. We didn’t have to wait long, as the door to the warehouse slammed open, and another group of the cultists spills out from it with weapons at the ready. They scarcely have the time to look upon what remains of their comrades before the air is filled with razor sharp death. All around me shuriken catapults sing their deadly song, and the cultists begin to fall at an alarming rate, with holes gouged out of their flesh by the razor sharp disks. As my weapons joins the choir I can feel the battle lust pulsing in my veins, and a feral grin splits my face, and I want to howl with joy at the feeling. I raise my singing spear and I point it at the apparent leader of the cultists, who is trying to usher his remaining charges into cover behind the wooden crates that litter the area, and I feel a rush of energy as my powers answer my call. Time seems to slow as I gaze upon the strands of fate that are attached to this man. There are ones where he and his men are victorious over me and my kin, but there are many, many more where he dies alongside the rest of them in this dark, dingy place, and it is one of those fates that I pull to ensure that it comes to pass. After doing so I pull myself back to my body and I watch with grim satisfaction as the shuriken sent his way seem to be drawn magnetically to him, and a millisecond later he falls shredded to the bloodied concrete. It doesn’t take long after that for the rest of the cultists to be tracked down and executed, and shortly thereafter my kin and I fade into the shadows again, having placed a series of explosive charges around and within the warehouse. The Great Enemy will not be receiving those supplies, and the thought makes me smile yet again.

The news I receive back at the temporary basecamp that was established gives me even more cause to smile. All of the raids we launched met with great success, and by the reports that I received from Raela and Viksanis, the cultists seem to be reeling from the blows that they have been dealt. But I remember to remind them, and my other warriors that we cannot let ourselves become complacent just because of our easy victories so far. It only takes one little event for the vagaries of fate to turn on us, and I urge all of my warriors to be on high alert, this so called “Flayed Legion” will not take our attacks lying down, and I know that a reprisal will come sooner or later, it is only a matter of time. I cannot see when though, those strands of fate are dark even to my sight, and despite my happiness, I am worried.

++HIVE COGGER//INQUISITION CAMP++

Nightfall at Cogger was an exercise in insomnia and waking nightmares. The perpetual glow of distant artillery, the faint screams of the dead and dying, and the omnipresent fear of a random explosion to snuff out one's light combined into a terrible place to rest. Commissar Jethro Alenko rubbed one eye hard as he walked back to his tent. The grinding warfare was a staple of siege warfare, and there was no fortress so convoluted, vulnerable, and yet impenetrable as an Imperial hive city.

His eye caught movement to his left, an unusually hurried pace in a camp for the weary and the wounded. Instincts kicked in, and his pistol was drawn without more than a moment's thought, his eyes narrowing as he peered into the darkness. He could sense the movement rather than see it, and slowly raised his plasma pistol to point up, as if firing an artillery. The others might be upset about their sleep being interrupted, but paranoia was the first skill taught to all commissars.

The pistol kicked in his hand, lofting a ball of blue plasma up into the night sky. It would deteriorate long before striking anything of note, but if there was one characteristic common to all plasma weapons, it was their painful brightness.

In the brief, harsh flash of the shot, Alenko saw a cultist crouched by the first tent, knife in hand, shielding his eyes vainly from the brilliance of the weapon.

"Heretics!" Alenko shouted.

He lowered the gun and fired a second shot, and the cultist dove for cover, narrowling dodging the searing blue blast as it plowed into a ferrocrete wall and lit up, bathing the area in angry light. At least ten of them were there, dressed in dark-colored rags and carrying the simplest, and quietest, of blades. They turned as one, unprepared for discovery, and ran back towards the city at a frantic sprint.

"Heretics! Heretics in the camp!" The pistol flashed a warning, dangerously close to overheating in his hand. He scowled, staring at the faint shapes fleeing the camp, marking the one cultists trailing behind his fellows, and set his jaw. The gun flared once more, burning his hand through the glove with a harsh sizzle, but the ancient weapon held. The ball of plasma collided with the mud to the cultist's left, bursting in a searing bubble that threw the man to the side. He hit a prefab wall and went down hard, his crude and rusty blade flying from his hand.

The two biggest legionairres fell upon him in an instant, snapping his knees with brutal kicks and cracking each rib in turn. They wrenched the cultist's arms behind his back, and one of them raised his foot to deliver a fatal shot to the cultist's neck.

"Hold!" Alenko was striding towards them, his eyes a mixture of righteous rage and indignation as he held the pistol out to his side, allowing it to vent into the cold night air. "Stand him up. Stand him up! I want to know what he came for."

* * * *
++HIVE COGGER//SALVATION PLAZA++

The 487th flooded into the plaza in force, launching grenades and wild snap-fire to drive the cultists back. After hours of exchanging fire, the cultists retreated clumsily in the face of the advance, diving through boltholes and retreating through the maze of half-destroyed buildings which surrounded the plaza. Wyrms shrieked overhead, forcing the cultists to take cover in the ruins of their own barricades as the soldiers advanced.

"Bonemen!"

The cry came in the gap between shots, filling an eerie silence on the battlefield. There was no alarm in it, nor was there cheer. It was a statement, and it became a chant from within the buildings and beneath the streets.

"Bonemen! Bonemen! Bonemen!"

With a sudden chill, it became apparent that the cultists had not taken cover from the soldiers and wyrms. They were sworn to the Flayed Legion, veterans of the furious melee at theMaw, and would not be dislodged while living. They were taking cover from something far worse.

They stalked from the ruined buildings in perfect step, crushing debris and corpses with each footfall. Gleaming ivory forms lit by the strobe of incoming gunfire, towering monoliths with skull-like faces and slender limbs. They might have been ghouls had they ever lived, or statues had anyone deemed to call them art. But the long weapons hanging from their arms cared nothing for aesthetics or appearances as they raised them in a single, massed motion. The air grew still, as if the moon itself shied away from what was about to be unleashed.

The sky lit up in crackling amber, arcing in angry trails which reached out for tank, soldier, and beast alike with a tremendous roar.

The wyrms reacted first, animal instinct warning them a heartbeat before the machines released their fury. The lead wyrm took a blast across the chest, scales falling in a gentle powder to the ground below, but the beast turned hard and cleared the remaining bolts. The skies cleared, and the automatons brought the brilliant curtain of energy crashing down onto the soldiers massed in the street. Men vanished under the storm's fury in seconds, reduced to component particles in a frenzy of xenos firepower. The returning shots ricocheted harmlessly off of the machines' metal forms, and where the lasbolts melted away metal, it reformed anew seconds after. The machines, with their blank, glowing stares and perpetual death grimaces, seemed neither to notice nor care.

They took a single, precise step forward, and fired again.

Shouts rang out, commands of retreat and covering fire as the plaza was bathed in amber light once more. The line broke, melting back towards the fortifications at the city's edge, and the plaza was yielded to the Necron "bonemen" amidst the wild cheers of a hundred heretics.

* * * *
++HIVE COGGER//SUB-LEVEL THREE++

The Chimeras rode at a blinding speed through the rubble of Hive Cogger, crushing the offal of war beneath their treads. There was no indication of stealth or subterfuge, not this time. The ornate dragon on the sides of the tanks warned everyone of whom was on the move: the Drachen, followers of the Dragon and disciples of Father Lazarus. And atop the lead tank stood Lamech.

His rusty, primitive bionic arm gripped the turret hard as the tank churned through the underbelly of the city, and the dust and debris clicked as it pattered off of his white skull helmet. But beneath that veneer, a wet mass of open flesh and muscle stared ahead in seething rage. No mortal has ever survived the Mark they said, but survive it he had. It took him an hour to muster the courage, fortitude, and insanity to finish stripping the skin off of his face, but neither the blood loss nor shock had killed him. He endured, and when he was able to stand he did so with a new fire in his damned soul.

Now he and his favored elite tore through the city as the dragon would: with roaring fire and scything claws. There was no hope of sniffing out the slippery xenos, they had to drive them out on a tide of anger and blood. And so they rode, this time towards a warhouse so recently ruined by the vicious aliens. Lamech's fist tightened as he recalled the eldar warlock, standing bathed in psychic light, a taunting target.

He was so enraptured in a fantasy of revenge that the first shot nearly tore his throat out.

The barrage of shuriken dug into the turret as he ducked down, snapping his head up to catch sight of an eldar weapon vanishing back into the second-floor window of an old, decrepit structure. Lamech roared without words, bloodlust overtaking him in an instant, and he flung himself from the turret, unspooling his barbed electro-whip as he ran. Around him, the Drachen disgorged from their tanks with cries of fury and shouted prayers, peppering the building with slugs. Lamech pointed and shouted, finally finding words, and the Chimera's autocannons swiveled as a shower of xenos fire dropped the first few Drachen.

Heavy guns pounded a relentless rhythmn, blowing giant holes through the building. From the lower levels, a pair of guardians rose from cover and leveled their guns. The surprise on their faces at how fast the cultists had closed the gap was not evident through their helmets, but it showed in their sudden snap-firing. Lamech slammed his metal fist into the eldar's breastplate, and was rewarded with a satisfying crunch as the material gave way. Above, the building groaned and began to crumble as the tank guns dismantled it brick-by-brick, showering the street with debris and alien bodies.

There was no hesitation in this action, and no confusion. It was pure human rage, gathered and directed into the xenos line.

Lamech sneered as the eldar leader, clad in sleek, smooth armor, cut his way through two of the Drachen with a slender blade. The xenos moved with an unnatural grace, darting his sword between armor and man, and back out again without pause. Lamech hurled himself forward, spinning the whip wildly in his hand before the tendrils snaked out.

The eldar caught the whip on his blade and ripped it from Lamech's hand without pause. It spun on its alien heel, dropping the sword into a merciless cutting posture, and swung it downwards at the suicidal cultist's head. Lamech reached down for something, anything, and his hand closed around a shining crystal embedded in the fallen eldar's chest armor. It felt solid enough to deflect the blow, and heavy enough to bash the thing's head in, and he raised it before him like a shield.

The eldar's strike halted in mid-swing, inches away from the shining crystal in Lamech's hand. The faltered strike cost the xenos balance and interrupted an otherwise flawless kill. The hesitation proved fatal as a Chimera's autocannon shredded the eldar from the waist down in a frenzy of large bullets.

Lamech raised the spirit stone to the flickering light of flames, turning it slowly as if he were an antique dealer admiring a purchase. He didn't know what it was, not really, but the eldar's reaction told him enough.

A malicious grin split the skinned flesh around his lipless teeth as words hissed from his throat.

"Oh, now I've got you..."

He ripped a knife from the bandolier around his chest, and forced the slender stone into the empty holster with some effort. It distorted the leather, but it shone clearly and would be unmistakable in a firefight. If it meant something to the xenos scum, he would force them to give it up, or to strike very, very carefully.

With a howl, he snatched the whip up and snapped it loudly over his head. "Strap the shinies to your armor! We're going hunting!"

* * * *
++HIVE COGGER//INQUISITION CAMP++

Molor stared down the barrel of Alenko's pistol, the sharp stabs of pain from his injuries fading in the place of fear and the certainty of death. He had prepared for this, they all had, but it did not compare to the feeling of being broken in front of the enemy. The raid was a suicide mission, but it had such promise. The penal legion corpses all bore the blocky Imperial collars, and it had not been long before mishandling had discovered the explosives within. Mordecai had gathered them that same day, and tasked them with entering the camp, finding the controls, and ending the enemy with its own tools.

They had failed.

He licked his lips, but his tongue was too dry to do anything. The commissar was saying something, he could see the man's mouth move, but nothing was registering. Molor was thinking about the name. He didn't know what it meant, or for how many untold eons it had swam through the Immaterium, but he could feel its eyes on him now.

"Pa..pah..." He found some saliva and swallowed hard, gathering his remaining strength into his lungs. "Pah'kyr'vull-"

Alenko struck him with the pistol, cutting off his words and forcing his teeth to bite hard into his tongue. But it didn't matter. He didn't need to finish, just needed to get the entity's attention. It fed on fear, savored despair like fine synth, and he had been taught its name in case he was ever capture.

Two sets of gnarled, black fingers slowly unfolded from the cultist's mouth, reaching up and out until the rotted nails had an icy hold on the man's face. The penal legionairres recoiled, swearing loudly as Molor's limbs went limp and he looked to the sky above. With a broken shriek and a sudden snap, the hands tore his skull in two. His body fell to the ground, and the hands vanished into the Warp with a sharp crack.

7 Hours Ago

The inquisitorial war council was well underway.

Warden Hoffman slammed his fist to the table, “We have the heretics corned let us advance up the center and crush them with are superior force.” Colonel Raven shook his head “Advancing up the center would be a mistake; our enemy has had plenty of time to dig them selves in charging head first would be a slaughter.” Warden Hoffman laughed “My charges would lead the way, I bet they’re eager for some retribution after the stunt those heretics attempted to pull last night.” Captain Kid spoke “I’m with Hoffman on this, advancing up the center would be the quickest path to victory.” Commissar Alenko added “We don’t need to throw everything we have into a center charge, we should split our forces and flank our enemy.” Randall seemed intrigued “You have a plan Commissar?” Jethro nodded “Of sorts.”

The commissar leaned over the table where a map of the upper hive sat. He placed a line of black tokens on the map and reached for more as he began to speak. “Our enemy is sending everything they have to prevent us from advancing. As Warden Hoffman said the bulk of our force will advance up the middle as the enemy would expect. All of our heavy armor up front” Jethro set down the tokens representing the penal legion and inquisitorial storm troopers. “What our enemy won’t be expecting is to be hit from their flanks.” Alenko sat the token that represented the Venatorii forces on the left flank while he placed the token that represented the grey knights on the right flank. “Raven’s men mounted atop their wyrms should be easily able to break through the cultists line on the left, while Captain Athenar’s task force would be small enough to slip through and reek havoc on the right.” Alenko put more tokens representing Raven’s men behind the line of black tiles. Once Raven’s men are through they will fan out behind the enemy preventing their escape. Then the center and right forces will push forward and we will have our foe in a full route.”

Captain Athenar smiled “A classic hammer and anvil maneuver.” Captain Kid studied the map before confessing “I like it.” Hoffman nodded “It is acceptable, provided the Colonel’s men are up to the task.” The colonel nodded “No task too great.” Randall spoke “So we are settled, we strike in six hours ready your men.”

Now

Commissar Alennko walked up the boulevard. In the first hours of the attack they had encountered heavy cultists resistance, but soon enough that resistance had faded away. As they marched deeper behind enemy lines they encountered only stray pockets of cultists. Now they were met exclusively with silence. The only noise that was here was the sound of inquisitorial boots, and the grumble of imperial war machines. The sound was oddly foreign, though Alenko had heard all these sounds before, they melded ill with this place. Alenko knew he was the intruding on something unholy. It was not long before Raven’s men and the Grey knights caught up with the primary force.

Colonel Raven dismounted his wyrm and approached Alenko and Captain Athenar, as Athenar spoke “We met only limited resistance.” Raven added “Same on our end. Have the cultists fallen further back then we anticipated, perhaps to better fortify the citadel?” Alenko eyes widend as he realized their blunder, but before he could voice it Captain Kid’s voice came over the Vox. “We have movement.”

Kid watched the auspex from the cabin of the Malcador tank as dozens of blips approached from all sides. Soon the blips doubled in number and then again doubled.

Alenko uttered “It’s a trap.” Not a moment later hundreds of beasts emerged from their places of hiding. They came from buildings and sewers and every shadow lurked with a pair of twisted eyes. The creatures had no uniform nature to them save that each was horrific. Alenko looked to one razor teeth, horns, blades for arms and a single cyclopean eye.

The Imperials wasted no time firing at the foul chaos spawn, but the creatures wasted even less charging them. A storm trooper fired his las gun at the creature only to be charged and impaled by its scorpion like tail. A penal legionnaire drew his shiv and dashed for the nearest beast, with some luck he struck the beast and planted his blade in its skull. The prisoner’s victory was short lived as another equally horrid creature with the hands of a crustacean pried him in two. One of the beast charged for the tank that held captain Kid. With razor claws the hell spawn shredded open the Malcador’s armor side, its reward was a buck shot from Kid’s shot gun. Commissar Alenko linked to all voxs and ordered the retreat. A demented thing charged for the commissar but was cut off by a wyrm rider. The creature beheaded the wyrm with a swing of a rusted axe, the creature then lifted the rider over head with a tentacle. The rider squirmed and freed his left arm, with that he drew a grenade from his belt and detonated it killing both him and the beast.

The loyalists were in full retreat, though they disengaged their nightmare was far from through. A chimera struck a mine and blew the treads clear off. At this time a mob of cultists revealed themselves and attacked the fleeing Imperials. The Imperials had no choice but to continue to fight their way back to their base camp and fall victim to all the traps that lay in their path.

Prisoner 1597 fired at the enemy behind him whiled dashing forward, one carless step and the steel teeth clamp down. 1597 fell and screamed in agony as the bear trap dug into his flesh. 3434 saw his friend, he wouldn’t leave him like this. 1597 screamed in pain as 3434 attempted to pry the metal trap out of the flesh of his leg. It was no use not without the trap’s key, 3434 drew the hatchet he took from the 8591’s corpse. 1597 shouted “No don’t!” but 34 ignored his request, the hatchet came down on 1597 just below the knee cutting him to the bone. A second swing and 1597 was free. 34 lifted his friend over his shoulder and carried him to the where the rest of the fleeing convoy was fighting.

It was another hour of hellish fighting before the loyalist reached their camp. A dim bastion of hope in an ever darkening hell.

An emergency council was called all the members were wounded to some degree. The silence was heavy. Randall spoke “We have lost only a battle, but the war goes on. You all exemplified honor and bravery today and for that you should be proud. We can not let our enemies demoralize us, we must remain vigilant. I wish I had good news to offer you all, but I don’t.” another heavy silence fell before Randall spoke again “At approximately 1532 Crion time the planetary garrison of Dorn’s shield was assaulted. After a short battle that was a decisive victory in the defenders favor it was confirmed that the attacking force was dedicated to Chaos.” Captain Kid spoke “So that’s it than, everything we’ve done here has been for nothing.” Randall arose “Heresy must be completely purged from Crion now and forever. What we have done here is completely necessary. We can not allow heresy to have any foothold on Crion. So I will see every last these apostate scum dead, and once I am sure every one of these mutineers have ceased breathing I will send this damn hive to oblivion!” Randall regained his composure “Justicar Freeman I am sending you and your squad to assist in the purging of these scum, track them and destroy them by whatever means. When we are finished here we will join you in your hunt.” Freeman pounded his fist to his plate. Randall continued to speak “Rest now, you all earned it.” Silently the war council exited the Inquisitor’s tent, all except Commissar Alenko.

Randall spoke first “Its not your fault Jethro, you had no way of knowing.” Alenko spoke sadly “So many died, if we would have advanced up the center we might not have lost so many.” Randall spoke “Jethro you have two options. You can sit and wonder what you could have done better, wonder about how many men you could have saved so they could die somewhere else, wonder why the emperor let you fail. Or you you can get mad, plot your vengeance and fantasize about how you will make your enemy suffer at your hands. I only have room in my army for the second kind of man.” Alenko pondered on those words for a brief moment before standing to leave the tent.

The reports did not cease flooding in. All clear from the patrols, no risk of Imperial retribution, the Blood Dragon excavation teams were hauling plenty of resources from the ruins, and the training of the Cadre's Fire Warrior teams was proceeding as normal.
The Ros Hannoi detachment was on indefinite stand-down protocol, following the pact with the Imperium. However, Skyhunter had still insisted on keeping them stationed and reporting from Ros Hannoi, and kept them shielded from the Imperium's hawkish gaze.
Gue'vesa'El Vandred had since returned to Cadre Command, bringing news of AHC-02 and the Tiller's movements. Skyhunter and Shadowbrand's away team was still stationed on the outskirts of Black Water Bastion, although Skyhunter had confirmed that they were finding their deployment untenable and hard to justify for much longer. They would return soon, but would maintain a brief comm silence in response to a recent influx of troops into the fortress.

That would have been joyous news for Fio'El Mirrorstone, if it hadn't been for a certain two reports. And in the absence of Skyhunter to give orders, her job would become a lot harder.

Mirrorstone, Vandred, and Darkspear all stood around the holographic map of Crion. Two sigils were lit in brilliant red hues, contrasting to the normal blue. The leering grin of Waaagh! Hannibal in the north, and the axe-rake of the Tillers in the west. Darkspear regarded both sigils with a wary eye. Mirrorstone sighed, and prompted the meeting.

"Sub-Commander Vandred. You bring word from the Tillers?"

The man stretched out, his dark face wincing as his wiry body pulled taught. "Yes, comrade. Captain Nassau has called upon our aid to support him in a siege against the Imperial City of New Pavus."

"Do you realise the issue with that?" Mirrorstone interjected. "We have pledged allegiance to both factions. We cannot take sides. Your capture of AHC-02 was successful, because the Imperium didn't associate us with it. But this? This is far different, Gue'vesa - there's no way we can move to war with-"
"So you would have us break our oaths?" Vandred spat back. "We can't decline Nassau. He reached out to us, and I gave him my word. If we keep back, and avoid straight conflict, we can aid the siege, and get them inside. Once that happens, our job is over."

"You're playing a dangerous game, Vandred. Whoever we support, we betray an oath. Frankly, I'd rather not antagonise the Imperium. The Tillers are less of a threat to us."

"I fought alongside the Tillers. They treated us with honour and respect. It would be dishonourable not to repay them the same."
Vandred sighed. "Here's my proposal - I take a light reconnaissance cadre to mark up weak points of the fortification, set down demolition charges, and sabotage what we can. We wear nothing affiliating us to Sunstrike, and use enhanced Imperial weaponry with networked markerlights. If we equip marksman units with Kroot sniper rifles, we can even take out sentries without drawing attention to us." He looked approvingly to the two other commanders. Mirrorstone didn't like the idea, but she had to be diplomatic. Mirrorstone looked to Darkspear.

"You've been quiet on this matter, Kor'El. Your thoughts?" Inside, she wished he'd side with her. She was disappointed.

"The plan works, if you're willing to do it yourself. I can arrange an Orca to drop you off at the Tiller field camp."
Vandred grinned, his teeth stark against his face - Mirrorstone ignored it.
"Okay Gue'vesa - prepare to take no more than three score troops to support you. Take only what you need, and keep our hands clean. I will inform Shas'O Skyhunter of your objective." Vandred nodded, concealing the grin splitting his face.
She returned to Darkspear. "And what was your report?"

Darkspear pointed at the sigil of Hannibal, only a matter of miles away from Cadre Command, in Avarqwell. "Our allies ran into a bit of a problem assaulting a rival ork boss known as SkullEater. If we want to keep our allies alive, we should aid them, before they destroy themselves trying to take down SkullEater."

"What threat does SkullEater pose to us?" Mirrorstone replied. Scepticism dripped from her tongue. "Why should we destroy a force which means no threat to us? If they come, they will fall on our walls and be repelled like any other greenskin warband."

"Sub-Commander, this boss is supported by an off-worlder. The brutality of a feral ork alongside the cunning of a foreign ork? We should be concerned. This is no normal Waaagh. They've been massing in the forests, cleaving through the woods. Their Waaagh is so large that my own recon flyers have seen their path. If we want to destroy them, now is the time to do it." Darkspear received a nod from Vandred. Both eyes were on Mirrorstone. Pressure fell onto her. She cursed herself silently.

"Fine," she said. "Prepare the majority of Sunstrike Cadre, and send word to Hannibal. Tell him to begin the assault on SkullEater. We will do the rest."

All three Sub-Commanders saluted one another. Vandred and Darkspear left the meeting room, and Mirrorstone fell onto her chair. She just hoped that her choices were right.

"What's the matter", Aurelius spoke, his familiar voice sending a shiver down the Sorcerer's spine. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Hell itself shrieked as the Sorcerer instantly unleashed his powers against the shade. Great arcs of lightning launched through the room, immolating the shadows in which the figure bearing Aurelius' face tried to hide. The Sorcerer barely heard its laughter over the sound of his own voice screaming in disbelief.

"Come now, Sorcerer? Can you not appreciate a good joke?”, Aurelius laughed, as he sidestepped another Doombolt heading his way. He darted across the room with contemptuous ease, weaving between the lightning unleashed from the Sorcerer’s fingertips, his red eyes flickering wildly against the darkness of the shadows.

The Sorcerer replied by flinging a container in his direction with telekenisis, which Aurelius dodged by leaping over the impromptu projectile with an unnatural elegance. He was about to follow up with another witty remark when the Sorcerer’s Power Maul slammed into his face at hellish speed, sending him flying into the container. Not a second later, the Sorcerer was upon him again, his eyes shining a bright, hateful blue. A devastating blow struck Aurelius’ abdomen, knocking the wind out of his lungs, but he kept laughing, even as blood began to run over his lips.

A Power-armoured fist wrapped itself around his throat, clenching tightly as it heaved him up against the container. Aurelius looked upon the Sorcerer, a wide smile still across his face even as his body struggled against the psyker’s iron grip.

“Who are you?!”, the Sorcerer’s question was filled with a mixture of genuine confusion and boundless hate.

The figure laughed, coughing up a gob of blood. “I am Acting-Captain Hadris Aurelius, of the Ultramari-“

Before it could finish its sentence, the Sorcerer slammed the shade into the container again, nearly cracking its skull in the process.

“DO NOT LIE TO ME, DAEMON”, the Sorcerer hissed, his psychic overspill manifesting as small bursts of lightning flashing around his armour. “HADRIS AURELIUS IS FAR OUT OF THE REACH OF YOUR PITIFUL KIND.”

The shade smirked, and stared the Sorcerer dead in the eyes. “Ah yes, the Acting-Captain’s mysterious disappearance. Only a footnote in the Charadon Crusade, but an interesting one to say the least”, it spoke, a hint of amusement in its eyes. “Even my master does not know where the strands of his fate lead to.”

The Sorcerer cast him a quizzical look, which seemed to amuse the figure even further. “You don’t understand, do you? Why my skin is the same as your precious Acting-Captain’s. How I know of what happened in the Charadon system”, it continued, his eyes glinting malevolently.

“But what if I showed you... this?”

From a pocket on his belt the pseudo-Aurelius produced a single item.

A syringe.

The Sorcerer’s eyes widened as a horrible realization dawned on him. The sample. The very first sample he took from Aurelius. The sample that was stolen by-

“My master”, the shade grinned, blood still dripping from his bruised face. “Now tell me, Sorcerer…”

Aurelius’ eyes darkened, his skin paled and tightened around his bones and great fangs sprouted from his mouth as he raised himself up from the cold, bloodstained floor.

“What exactly is it you did to the Acting-Captain?”

And with a feral growl, the daemon Aurelius leaped towards the Sorcerer, both physically as psychically.

The night’s sky was lit up by the light of Hannibal and his welders working on a massive scaffold that surrounded two of Hannibal’s projects. Large plates of scrap metal were pulled upwards before they were welded, and riveted into place over massive joints to colossal limbs, all according to Hannibal’s vision. Mid construction, it was difficult to tell what sort of metal monstrosities the twin would become, but it all fit in his mind, as he welded, riveted, and barked instructions through the night. Come daybreak, his visions would become reality, and he would revel in the sight of his creations wreaking havoc on Skull Eater’s lines.

“Boss! ‘ey, boss!” Called a boy to Hannibal. Hannibal lifted his welding helmet, and turned to look at him. It was one of the sentries. Since the attack, he had to place sentries outside the wall breach, now that the gaping hole meant that only someone with a death wish would patrol on the battlements.

“Wat iz’ it?”

“We’z got company, boss. It’s tha’ blue-skins.”

“How many of ‘em?”

“Jus’ one, boss. Dey sent some sort’a little flyin’ robot.”

Hannibal’s eyes gleamed in the dark. “Really, now?”

*************************************************************************************

The ground thundered with the sound of heavy footfalls as the Iron Horde marched through the jungle. The sunrise gleamed red off of their iron shield and spears. The more superstitious boys called it an omen from Gork, that a red sunrise means oceans of blood before mid-day. This only proved to further excite the Horde, as jeers and shouts could be heard occasionally over the march. The army was practically giddy. Not only would it undoubtedly be a great fight, but it was for revenge. The enemy had already proven themselves worth the effort, and now they were going to see who truly was best.

The excitement was palpable.

Smoke billowed as Hannibal kept up with the boys on his bike as he rode alongside his fellow nobs. Even Gort’s sour disposition was lessened by the upcoming battle. War was in his blood, and as the battle drew nearer, he could not help but beat his metal claws against the frame of his bike-chariot, matching the rhythm of the march. His teeth bared as his heart raced, eager to dig his claws into the green flesh of the enemy.

After a few hours marching, the Iron Horde came face to face with Skull Eater’s forces inside a massive fortress.

“Thunda’ Castle,” as it had come to be called by the orks, was once an ancient stronghold long lost to the jungle. Who built it first was something the local orks either did not know, or just did not care about, as they happily bolted more and more armor onto it, turning it into a ramshackle fortress of incredible size. As the Iron Horde encroached onto the fort, alarm horns sounded, and the doorways soon flooded with Skull Eater’s orks.

“Tha’ blue-skins were right, eh?” Came Ace’s voice as his truck pulled up next to Hannibal. It was the same one they captured from the Skull Eaters before, and its cannon sat still, generously oiled and ready to rain death on a moment’s notice. “Didn’ fink ‘dere were ‘dat many of ‘em.” He said, tightening a strip of cloth over his healing arm wounds.

Hannibal nodded. There were indeed many orks, judging by the looks of their clothing and weapons it was clear that Skull Eater had been busy recruiting from the fallen warbosses’ tribes. His eyes narrowed as he recognized an unknown tribe among Skull Eater’s ranks, and wondered if the northern tribes had fallen as well. It was clear to Hannibal that his forces were outnumbered nearly two to one, but his jaw merely clenched with resolve. He would have Skull Eater’s head on a pike this day, and be rid of this thorn in his side.

“Gort.” He said, calm in the face of the oncoming storm. “Get tha’ boyz ready. We’z goin’ in.”

Gort grinned as he tapped his chariot twice, signaling Speedy to gun the engines and run him across the front lines of the Iron Horde.

“Get in line boyz! ‘Dis iz it!” He bellowed over the roar of the engine. Orks obeyed under his harsh voice, falling into place and locking shields one with another, and sticking their spears out front, forming a solid line of iron towards Skull Eater’s army.

“Let’s go, boyz!” Gort shouted, and as one, the Iron Horde marched forward.

Hannibal grinned as he saw his army in action. Turning to one of his nobs, he spoke with eager eyes. “Give tha’ signal. Bring ‘em in.”

Putting a large horn to his lips, the nob blew, sounding a great deep note that carried across the battlefield. A cheer rose from the Iron Horde’s ranks, as the thunder of massive footsteps joined the chorus of their march. From out of the jungle strode two giants of war. Massive metal feet crushed the underbrush as they marched forwards. One was given a giant metal shield on its arm with iron letters riveted on baring the name “Da ‘Eadsman,” and an equally sized axe on the other. Among many other weapons, the guns that had once belonged to the jets that assaulted Iron Skull fortress had now been bolted together to form a colossal chain gun that rested on its shoulder.
The metal monster’s twin was similarly designed. A shield on one arm fitted with an array of metal balls and spikes among its own name “Da Guardian,” and a javelin the size of a full grown black ore oak on the other. On its shoulder sat a weapon of unknown destruction. A creation of Hannibal’s vision, and covered with wires that sporadically arced in a pale green light.

Hannibal’s heart soared as he gave the order with a toothy grin.

“FIRE!”

The ‘Eadsman’s monstrosity of a chain gun roared to life, drowning out the sounds of the march as hundreds of shells flew against Skull Eater’s horde in an instant, ripping though the battle line in a furry of hot lead and blood.

Kans and other ork walkers moved towards the Iron Horde, shielding their lesser green-folk from the death rain, as they spat shots from their machine guns and rocket launchers. Many of the bullets deflected off of the shield wall, but the rockets struck home, and began to blast chunks out of the formation. As Gort shouted over the battle’s racket to reform the ranks, the Guardian took aim with its prototype custom cannon. Electricity arced all around the cannon for a brief moment before a large ball of pale green energy soared from the barrel with a hollow roar. The energy flew towards the oncoming kans, as it made contact, it did not slam into the Kan as much as simply pass through it, disintegrating the kan silently, leaving nothing but a few untouched pieces to clatter to the ground, glowing green on the edges that where closest to the energy ball.

The energy flew a little further, burning halfway through another kan before suddenly collapsing in on itself, transforming from the large pale green ball to a small bright green speck in seconds, before it lashed out in a violent explosion, ripping the nearby ground apart in a brilliant display of light.

Hannibal watched all this with a sickening gleam in his eye. He grinned wide as he witnessed the explosion, and eagerly called up to the Guardian’s pilot. “Again! Fire again! Take out tha’ kans!”

The gunners were more than happy to oblige, and soon Skull Eater’s ranks were being pumped full of energy blasts, and shells from the two iron giants. Ace had his trukk move closer, and ordered his boys to join in on the attack, blasting with their personal weapons as the trukk’s cannon lobbed explosive shells on the enemy.

Even though the death and destruction, Skull Eater’s mob still moved forward. Wither they were confident in their vastly superior numbers, or afraid of their leader’s wrath if they did not fight, they still pushed forward. They closed the gap quickly, rushing to the shield wall as fast as their legs could go. For a brief moment, the shield wall held, and the green bodies where met with a wall of iron and spears. But then the chaos broke. The spirit of the fight was too much for the Iron Horde to bare, the song of gunfire and weapon clashing against flesh called to them, and the Iron Horde’s formation broke as they rushed into the Skull Eater’s forces with a blind vigor. Ork against ork, the battlefield became a tangled mass of green bodies clashing together with axe, spear, and shield. The order of the front lines fell to chaos, and soon it became difficult to tell who on the front lines belonged to whom.

Hannibal watched as the order of the phalanx had been cast aside, and now only the chaos of battle remained as a great symphony of war played across the battlefield in gunfire, weapon strikes, and cries of the living and the dead.

It was beautiful.

Hannibal shook himself from his awestruck stupor, and refocused his mind. “Hit tha’ back row!” He shouted over the din to Ace “Tell tha’ big ‘uns to hit tha’ back row too, so’s we don’ hit our own boyz!”

“On it, boss!” Ace confirmed, as he continued to fire green bursts of energy into the foe; although, this time he aimed towards the back row of Skull Eater’s forces.

Hannibal turned to the horn wielding nob before ordering “Give tha’ signal!”

The nob put the horn to his lips and gave two short blasts and one long, prompting Gort to laugh in excitement.

“Oi! It’z about time!” He said, as he, Hannibal, and the rest of the biker nobs drove around the mob to flank Skull Eater’s forces. On the other side of the battle, Norrik and his spider riders, now clad in iron plates for both the riders and the spiders themselves, heard the sounding of the horn and moved as well. Encircling the giant mob, they moved toward the middle to press on the horde’s flanks. As the nobs squeezed the triggers on their bikes, blasting heavy bullets into the mob, spider riders wearing Skull Eater’s colors rushed towards them, tangling them in a fast paced melee as spider and bike jousted back and forth.

Hannibal swerved to the side, dodging out of the way of a spider’s vicious bite before raking his saw arm against it, sawing off some of the spiders legs before coming up and ripping through the rider’s body as he drove by, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. Gort roared in revelry as he dug his claws into any foe that dared to come close enough to reach. Speedy ducked under spears and fangs as he weaved through the foes, doing his best to provide ample targets for Gort’s bloodlust.

Norrik’s riders met a similar resistance, spider against spider, and rider against rider. Norrik’s forces had the advantage of armor, but the other riders had the numbers. He rode quickly into the melee, swinging his spear with the precision of a hundred battles, he cut off a foreleg of a nearby spider, and taking advantage of its momentary imbalance, plunged his blade into its gasping maw. The rider pitched forwards has his mount thrashed about in its death throes. Norrik gave his spider a well-practiced nudge, and the beast tore into the exposed rider with its fangs, severing his spine and ending his life.

As the battle raged, Hannibal managed to pull back for a moment and observe. Over the clash of battle came the unmistakable growl of ork jets riding on plumes of black smoke as they crested over the horizon.

“We gots planes, boss!” Shouted Ace as witness the encroaching enemy. “Were’z tha blue-skins?”

Hannibal smiled as he looked to the sky. “ ’Dere already ‘ere.”

Crion's sun was blotted out. The grotesque shadows of the frenzied mass of orks were extinguished, their darkness overwhelmed by something far more. Their confused porcine faces twisted to the sky. Their jaws gawped. Hannibal screamed out over the confusion.
"REFORM THE PHALANX!"

The Invincible Retribution had come.

A Tau Manta, just one of Sunstrike's vast armada, loomed over it's prey. Under it's vast wings, entire shoals of Orcas, Razorwings, Sun Sharks and Barracuda attack craft dived to attack. The clustered orks below fought to breach Hannibal's reforming shield wall, throwing themselves at the slab shields. Their choppas cut rents in the metal, their hammers caving in the walls, their sluggas blowing out chunks of ork-forged iron.
It would not save them.

Markerlights, aimed by Pathfinders from circling Orca dropships, guided pulse bombs from the Sun Shark bombers, blowing handfuls of orks asunder. Other markers instead aimed at the great fortress of SkullEater himself, letting the great teeth of the Barracudas sink in and tear it apart. SkullEater's orks, and Hannibal's own, were packed like fish in a can. Under the shade of the great Manta, bright flashes illuminated the battlefield. Each one heralded new screams, new sights - it seemed to the orks below as if the world itself were reeling and quaking from the horrific bombardment. Then the Manta's troop bays parted, and the battle was joined.

Crisis Suits fell like comets onto the ork line, their twin flamer mounts spitting fire behind them. Their jets halted just over the ork hordes beneath. They fired. Rampant flame leapt through the greenskins, coursing through their bestial bodies. Hannibal bellowed for his boyz to pull back, letting the fire breath freely through SkullEater's own. His front ranks obeyed, still clutching their shields up. Burning orks charged their lines, maddened and scorching: the cold steel phalanx pushed them back in. The flamers continued to burn. Mirrorstone looked from above, and smiled.

"A success, I think." she barked to Darkspear. The Air caste Tau said nothing. Mirrorstone returned to her instruments. Four drones hung around her, their markerlights deactivated for now. She wanted them ready for when she joined the combat. The battle was going well below: the Crisis bomb tactic had worked well, and after the initial strike, they had pulled back beyond Hannibal's defensive line. The Orcas were starting to land, reinforcing the ork battleline with pulse fire and markerlights. SkullEater was nowhere to be seen. Mirrorstone strode into the troop bay of the Invincible Retribution, and hopped into her Battlesuit.

Darkspear's voice rang in her ear.
"You're going down there?"

"I can't see SkullEater from here. I trust my own markers to find that wretch."

"Suit yourself, Fio'El." Darkspear snickered for a moment. "Just be aware of some reading on my sensors here. Electronic activity coming in on the east."

"Understood." Her suit juddered into life, and she dropped through the exit hatch, her drones trailing behind like a flock of baby geese after their mother.



Mirrorstone hovered beneath the Manta's shadow. Already, the damage done to SkullEater's massive Waaagh! was resolving itself, and the orks were rallying. From her new vantage point, she could see the battle more clearly. Ex-Boyz of Nogrod's warband hurled curses at the sky, trying to seek vengeance for the destruction of their camp. The assimilated warbands of Boss Koregog were less vengeful, focusing more on the shield wall penning them in. But SkullEater's own boyz were not going out quietly.
Already, they had taken the charred corpses of their fallen comrades and were breaching the shield wall. Instead of massing against Hannibal, SkullEater was applying massive force onto the left flank. The line was beginning to crumble, as the orks began their breakout. From her lofty heights, she ordered the deployed Tau to reinforce the flank. At her word, three wings of Crisis Suits arced over, roasting the most vicious of the greenskins. As they staggered through the flame, pulse fire from entrenching Breachers tore the Nobs apart. But Hannibal's casualties, and the vast size of SkullEater's host, still left the coalition outnumbered. Mirrorstone knew that the only way to bring this battle to a swift end would be to end SkullEater himself. Her markerlights hopped from target to target, sweeping through the largest orks like wildfire. Finally, they settled on the beast perched on top of a pile of corpses, toting a cruelly spiked battleaxe and clad in hulking Mega Armour. His bloody jaw spat out foul spittle and orders to the swarming creatures around him. Mirrorstone looked closer. The necklace of cracked skulls around his trunk-like neck confirmed the beast.
Boss SkullEater was in her sights.

"I have a lock on SkullEater! Prepare seeker missile batteries to fire on my m-"

"Overruled," Darkspear interjected. Mirrorstone began to retort, when the Early Warning Override on her suit began to scream. "Aircraft inbound." Darkspear's tone was clipped and precise. In the cockpit, he always was. "Commandeering all available fighters and missile systems."

"No, I have a lock on SkullEater! We can end this now!" she shouted. "We can spare a few missiles, surely?" SkullEater's eyes fell on her, daring her. "Take the shot!"

"Look." Darkspear's command forced her head to face the scrambling fighters. Buzzing swarms of Dakkajets, Chinorks, Deffkoptas and Bommas hovered around their vast cousin. Bristling with guns, shedding armour plates from it's lumbering hull, propelled by myriads of jets, propellers and air balloons - the Sky Fortress limped through the sky. Already, it's rudimental artillery stained the air, alongside the contrails of flyers. "This is the Big Boss - SkullEater's off world ally. And this is his host. We're outnumbered." Darkspear paused, relishing this fight. "These bastards will not take the sky from us. I need everything I can get."

Mirrorstone growled in anger, and watched as SkullEater leered at her before retreating into his walls. His boyz fought harder, the false eclipse giving them courage. The line buckled.
"Fine." sighed Mirrorstone. Her suit began to dash through the sky, her drones painting shoddy ork craft moments before barrages of seeker missiles ripped them apart. "Strike from the Sun."

Tau fighters were scrapped by rampaging Stormboyz mobs, dropping grenades into their path. Stormboyz took off from the deck of Chinorks and the Sky Fortress, only to paint the sky red when burst cannons ripped them apart. Deffkoptas sawed through unwary flyers, their buzzsaws shredding the armour plate. Mirrorstone's own markers, alongside those of some Sun Shark bombers, lit them up. Explosions bruised the sky.
Bombers of each race dived over both the Sky Fortress and the Invincible Retribution. Corpses of slagged aircraft ploughed into the superheavies' hulls just as often as the bombs did. The Manta's point defence guns were blasting away, ruining the shoddy ork fighters with mechanical precision. On the other side, the crude flakk guns on the Sky Fortress peppered the Tau craft with simple weight of fire, flying through literal walls of lead rain.

Mirrorstone glided into the path of the Sky Fortress, and scanned it's rough-shod hull. The hulk's plating was literally falling apart, raining onto the battle below. The armies were slaughtering eachother, the drab coloured Tau only barely resisting the swarming orks. Even the Crisis vanguard were hard pressed. For the first time, Mirrorstone was glad for the alliance with Hannibal. Despite being outnumbered, they were the only thing holding SkullEater's swarm at bay - and Mirrorstone would break the deadlock once and for all.

Another plate fell off, finally revealing a path into the fortress. She dashed in, avoiding the web of pipes and support rods, aiming for the ramshackle command bridge. Four mega-armoured Nobs stood around a throne, guffawing and chanting at the ensuing chaos. A gnarled hand tapped at buttons from the throne. Mirrorstone landed on the bridge. The Nobs turned to face her, hefting their power klaws. She grinned. Her Battlesuit was weaponless, as they knew well. But they forgot that the Battlesuit WAS a weapon.
They learned far too late, as their bodies fell off the parapet and through the bottom of the airship.

Mirrorstone shook off the gore coating her limbs, and returned to face the shrivelled ork in the throne. It was ancient, with its flesh hanging off: like its malign cunning. This was the 'Big Boss' Darkspear had mentioned. It's lipless mouth turned up and grinned at Mirrorstone.
"And wot are you gonna do? Kill me? Dis ship can run wivout me. I've fought worse than you, ya pathetic runt hiding in dat armour. Kill ma ship? You ain't got the dakka. Dis is da airship dat destroyed Vergengrad, da great Imperial city on Alemaigne! Run back home, fishy - you ain't beating da Big Boss! No-one 'as, and no-one will!"
He reached for a kustom-mega slugga, and blasted it at Mirrorstone. Her neuroweb jammer fried the safety limiter on the gun, igniting it's power core and blowing Big Boss' hand off. He yelped in anger, clutching his smoking wrist. Mirrorstone sauntered over to him.

"You're right. But you just let me scan your entire ship. I know EVERY weak point of this ship. I know that there's no way off this ship. And now my marker drones have painted each critical target for the entire fleet." She lifted off from the ground, and hovered in his face. "You might fly under the sun: we strike from it."

Explosions rippled across the Sky Fortress. Big Boss glanced at the exterior cameras, and looked on in horror as Barracuda wings shot past the ork fighters, and aimed like a spear at the structural weak points of his great creation. Railgun fire tore through the plating like wet paper. Entire sheets of metal were slagged, plummeting below. Another engine failed, falling to two Barracudas hunting it. Mirrorstone pulled out of the rapidly disintegrating death trap, her drones zipping behind. The ork fleet, now realising the tide was turning, was thrown into disarray. Some craft went out in a blaze of glory, crashing into Tau fighters and sending both craft spiralling to Crion. Others turned tail and broke, returning from whence they came. Some of the orks on board the Sky Fortress, seeing hope down below, grabbed makeshift parachutes and jumped overboard. Those who actually had working parachutes were cut down by the waiting Razorsharks below. Across the Tau comms channel, Darkspear's voice dripped with barely contained satisfaction.
"All fighters, proceed all out attack. Bring the bomber down onto the orks below. Make them pay."

More explosions rippled across the Sky Fortress' hull. It dipped, falling in the face of the Invincible Retribution, feebly trying to stay upright. Big Boss frantically hammered at buttons. It was useless. He felt his guts turning as the writhing sea of orks swam up to meet him.
Big Boss got a last chance to scream before the Sky Fortress smashed into SkullEater's horde.



The ground battle was still raging on. The air battle was won, the efforts of Darkspear's air caste repelling the vast ork aerial assault, but the combined forces of Hannibal's boyz and Mirrorstone's soldiers were still locked in a standstill with SkullEater's horde. Many of them had been crushed by the falling Sky-Fortress, but they kept fighting around it's burning husk. Volleys of pulse fire and waves of savage choppa blows tore through SkullEater's main host. In return, they fought back with tooth and nail, sheer muscle and rage smashing into Hannibal's boyz. Their morale was flagging: Big Boss, SkullEater's off world sponsor, was dead, crushed in his own Sky Fortress. But whilst SkullEater yet lived, their spirit would not break. The battle raged on.

Mirrorstone touched down onto the bloody earth. Her Crisis Suit bodyguard were burning a path through the ork masses with fusion blade and flamer, fighting towards Hannibal. The ork was lodged in the centre of the scrum, hacking and blasting at anything not in his colours. Mirrorstone walked towards him. Without command, the Crisis Suits cut into the battlefield like a hot knife through butter, and approached Hannibal. The boss paused mid-swing, and acknowledged the hulking Battlesuits around him. He battered his good hand on his chest, and spoke.

"Dat was a good plan, bluie. Appreciated."

"My thanks, ork," she barked. "But this battle is not over yet." Hannibal cocked his head. "SkullEater fled inside that Blood Dragon ruin - he's holed up in there now. Root him out, and you never have to worry about him again."

Hannibal grinned. "Oh, I'm aware. I was just waitin' for my allies to join me in goin' in."

"What allies?"

"You, ya blue-skinned git." Hannibal winked. "Ya didn't think I was going in there meself, did you? You come wiv, and help me flush 'im out. One thing - he's MY kill, understand?"

Mirrorstone had no choice but to accept. "Understood, Be'gel. A small taskforce will accompany me inside. Once we get you to SkullEater, he's all yours."

Hannibal grinned. "Now DAT'S what I like to hear!"

They both turned and looked through the throng of clashing orks. The maw of the ruined Blood Dragon fort was waiting. SkullEater was waiting.

Warboss SkullEater entered the jagged gates of Thunda Castle. The orks that were stationed here looked at him, he could see the beedy red eyes’ of his men, judging him, questioning his worth, each glare branded him a coward. The once mighty SkullEater; champion of Gork, slayer of the Zurn RokGob, the would be overfiend of Crion, now but a pathetic husk of himself.

SkullEater reached the stairs that led to his inner sanctum, there a trio of nobs waited for him. One of Korgog’s old Lieutenant’s, a shaman from Nogrod’s clan, and last his own underboss. They stood in his path, the boss shouted “Out of me way you gitz.” One of them spat, “We don’t think you got what it takes to lead no more SkullEater.” One laughed “cowards can’t fight propa.” Another spoke with a wicked grin as he drew his knife “We thinks its time for a change in leadership.” They charged at SkullEater a lethal mistake.

The enraged warlord grabbed his former second by his throat, he broke his spine with the hydraulics of his klaw. He threw that corpse at the shaman pinning him to the floor. The Bloody’s old ork was seized by his arm, SkullEater then proceeded to live up to his name sake by biting into the side of the ork’s head removing, flesh, bone and brain. Skull eater then walked over to the pinned shaman, the ork begged for mercy as the warboss brought his steel boot down on his head, flattening his face and ejecting gore from either side of his head.

SkulleEater turned to see dozens of orks around him. The boss spat out the fragments of the lieutenant’s scalp and skull “Any of you lot think you ard enough to take on da mighty SkullEater.” Silence. “NO! Then get back to zoggin work, and you hear anyone questioning my leadership, you tell them what appened ere right now!” The orks all scurried off to preform their commanders will. With a growl Skulleater turned and proceeded up the steps to his inner sanctuary.

SkullEater was at last alone. He knew not what to do, without Big Boss’s air force he didn’t stand a chance. The ork unleashed a feral growl and kicked over a fire pit. However, SkullEater was not as alone as he thought as a voice spoke from the shadows “Dis is why we can’t have nice things.” SkullEater raised his big shoota “Who da zog said dat!” A match was struck and cigar was lit, the dim red light revealing only vague details about the orks face. SkullEater growled “I said who da zog iz you!” With an exhale of smoke the ork stepped into the light. “Names Gadnuk, and Big Boss ain’t too happy with you.”

Before Prophet Garathal and his disciples departed their new found home, there was a number of issues to be seen to, Kremus dragged his bad leg through the mud that was smeared all over the courtyard over to his master “My lord, we have found some quarries that were abandoned much like this outpost but they seem to have hit a snag, they cannot figure out how to get the stone up here, getting it up a steep slope is hard enough but with loose footing from the mud it-” “Silence worm, stop wasting my time with such nonsense and get Drelos and Kalnar to lift them up, patch the hole in the wall and reinforce the others, the cathedral shall be built in the center and I want all the towers along the wall rebuilt and the insides cleared out. I want a reliable way up this hill, carve a staircase out of stone up to the main gate which also need to be remade and make sure to add a preservative to the wood otherwise it will rot, I only want one entrance, one weakness in the structure which we must remain vigilant of. The Barracks,mess halls, armouries and training grounds shall be placed around the Cathedral itself and I want a private study to be made which adds onto the Cathedral, accomplish all this and I shall be pleased” bowing Kremus hobbled away barking orders to two cultists who were standing around and chatting. Garathal turned to his bodyguard who was as silent as the grave “Apostle Galrass gather the Apostles and tell Brother Anlock to gather a portion of his plague marines, we move out in 10 minutes”. Stomping across the busy Courtyard Garathal managed to find Bazael surrounded by his beastmen kin and where the went, swarms of flies followed. “Shaman, Nurgle has need of your warriors, particularly the Pestigors, gather a party and have them group up A with the Apostles” the beastman nodded “It will be done at once my lord” Baezael turned to leave but Garathal was not done “Nurgle has entrusted to you with the knowledge to spread his gifts, you shall use them. Spread his gifts to the local fauna and wildlife, when I return from my trip I want to feel at home” kneeling the shaman grinned “With pleasure my Prophet”. Departing for the clearing made for the thunderhawks, Garathal and his party embarked to Hive Cogger to see the state of these Cultists and whether they are worth his time.

As his little fleet approached Hive Cogger Garathal managed to get through to someone on the ground “Who dares to approach Hive Cogger which is conquered in the Flayed Lord’s glorious name ?!” Garathal would have rolled his eyes but they had rotted away long ago, he turned to his Apostles “Nothing worse than a cultist who doesn't know his place” turning back to his vox Garathal retorted “Nurgle's chosen has arrived clear a few landing pads, I have brought a few friends” cutting off vox communications Garathal peered through a slit in the side of the aircraft, the hive was covered in darkness except for the fires of the imperial’s camped outside and the fires of battle that raged inside the hive itself. It was clear to Garathal that the cultists have the odds stacked against them especially against Imperial armor luckily Garathal has brought just the thing for the tin cans, a nice bargaining chip thought Garathal .The Disciples of Decay landed on the rusted space that was cleared for them on which stood dozens of cultists holding up their autoguns with a nervous yet viperous demeanor. One cultist stood out from the horde “Who dares to encroach on lands that fly the Flayed Lord’s banner ?” Simultaneously the three
Hatches of the Thunderhawks opened spreading forth a foul aroma followed by flies and maggots which hit the wave of cultists like waves against the rocks, the cultists backed off from the pungent smell which they found to be intolerable with some coughing uncontrollably. A booming laughter emerged from the center Thunderhawk as Prophet Garathal emerged with his anointed seven in tow. From the left emerged the Chaos champion Brother Anlock and his plague marines, the champion’s body was bloated with his yellow skin having rotted and his hair has fallen out long ago, he armed himself with a Bile Spewer, Papa Nurgle's version of a flamer which can spew out his toxic substances to foes. While the plague marines themselves sported a variety of weapons they all had the same thing maglocked to their hip, the dreaded plague swords. These rusted blades drip with the diseases of their master and on,y the most devout in Nurgle's eyes shall be worthy of bearing them like his glorious children who call themselves plague marines. From the right emerged the beastmen cultists whose armor was salvaged from anything they could find and weapons were generally autoguns while the more bloodthirsty beastmen had clubs or sharpened metal poles. The cultist spoke up again “What is the point of such an entrance ? If you are here to take Cogger from us yo-” Garathal laughed again “Take Cogger from you ? Run along and inform your master of my arrival before my patience wears thin” the cultist stood firm as did Garathal “My lord is in a meeting at the moment he shall not be disturbed” ignoring the cultist Garathal spyed the Governor’s Spire which towered over all the ruined buildings that were littered across the hive, presuming that their leader was holed up in the spire Garathal turned to his followers “Anlock you have command of the beastmen hold this platform, Apostles with me” the eight giants in terminator armor marched straight through the sea of cultists who parted before the mighty Sorcerer, the cultist who tried to stop Garathal at the landing platform followed him “I suppose I could escort you to Father Lazarus, my lord” Garathal could tell that last part wasn't easy for him to say “Very well, but hurry along you rat you have delayed me long enough”

The Prophet entered the once exquisite tower, he could imagine it in it’s splendour as fragments remain of its once rich past, muddied carpets, finely carved marble pillars who stone was brought from halfway across the Imperium, paintings and ornate suits of armor that once adorned the walls were now mostly plundered, the cultists taking off with the armor and the paintings have been taken down and used to keep the fires going. Taking a flight of stairs Garathal looked out onto Hive Cogger, or what was left of it. The spire stood over everything in Cogger giving one a superb vantage point to see the various skirmishes that were happening throughout the husk of the once great hive. Many buildings were crumbling and in one section the orange jumpsuits could clearly be seen, “so close” realised Garathal, “things must be worse than I thought”. Reaching the top two large doors lay at the end of the corridor which obviously must of been his destination, red carpet ran from the top of the stairs to the twin doors, whether the carpet was red originally or whether it was stained with blood was anyone's guess, as Garathal was getting closer and closer voices could be heard from inside but they stopped as he grew closer, his footsteps giving him away. The cultist stopped at the doors and turned to talk to Garathal once more who shoved the cultist aside and pushed the twin doors opened with a satisfactory creak.

All heads looked to the door as a massive figure waltz through the door followed by seven others similar to his size, his held a scythe with a glowing symbol of Nurgle, if that didn't give his allegiance away then his bodily odour definitely did. Standing Father Lazarus bowed “My lord, it seems today is full of suprises not one but two guests today” he gestured to the edge of the table nearest to the doors please make yourselves comfortable” Garathal walked to the edge of the table but remained standing due to his massive frame with his apostles in formation behind him, he took a moment to observe the other members in the room. At the opossite end of the table sat Father Lazarus who seemed small compared to the terminator clad marines that stood in the room, the man himself sported a Colonel’s Coat which has has seen better days with an artificial blue eye, to his left sat a necron which surprised Garathal not that he would show it, it’s burning red eyes stood out in the dimly lit room, it’s main armor was white which looked similar to ivory in appearance and trimmed with obsidian black, amber energy surged through the necron along with gold accents on various pieces of his armor, he remained silent. Noticing Garathal's glare the Necron spoke up “I am Grulahk of the Kageros Dynasty, we have an agreement with Father Lazarus and thought it would be only fitting to attend” Garathal nodded showing that there was no problem. Across the table from the necron sat two marines behind them stood their ten terminator clad brethren, the taller of the two spoke up “My name is Mithras and my friend here is called K-” “Kusun” spat the other marine cutting his friend off. Mithras was the taller of the two he sported no hair on his face or his head and wore the iconography of the Word Bearers while his friend had a rebreather with a long scar running across his face with a red knot on top and wore the colours of the Black Legion. After some quick observations Garathal introduced himself “My name is Prophet Garathal and I have come to this sector to spread Grandfather Nurgle’ gifts to the fools of the Imperium and release them from their false belief in the rotting Emperor. I am here to see if an alliance can be formed and from the looks of things you could use all the help you can get” Father Lazarus sighed and slumped back into his chair “Honestly Cogger is not the reason I am here it is just a mere stepping stone, these cultists are a mere tool to be used to help me with my true goal of finding the amaranth” that piqued Garathal's interest “What is this Amaranth exactly ?” Father Lazarus shrugged “The chaos gods are not always clear with their messages, but I Will figure it out” “I see” Garathal’s tone suggested he was disappointed at the lack of information on the Amaranth. Mithras spoke up next “You are not the only one searching for something, we seek another warband who call themselves The Remnants, if you help us find them we will help you find the Amaranth and perhaps with Cogger’s Defenses aswell” Father Lazarus considered this a moment “Very well, you help me and I’ll help you” Garathal turned to Mithras “Is there a sorcerer in this warband ?” “Why yes, yes there is, have you had dealings with him ?” “Not quite, while I was praying to the mighty Lord Of Decay I felt a disturbance, a flicker in the warp, sorcerer’s can make such disturbances” Kusun rose out of his chair “Did you manage to track it ?” Garathal shook his head “No, as I said it was but a flicker if it was a sorcerer he must be powerful, powerful enough to hide his presence from me but if he appeared to me for a second perhaps his concentration was broken and if it happened once it may happen again, I will keep a lookout for this sorcerer” satisfied Kusun sat down “And what do you want in return ?” “I may need your help in the future, if I do I expect you to do so, agreed ?” Kusun eyed the rotten sorcerer before Mithras broke the silence “Agreed” “Excellent” grinned Garathal “As for the Amaranth I intend to spread my cultists throughout Crion and her moons, If I am successful I shall make inquiries and if they know anything I will send them your way” Lazarus nodded “You have my thanks” Grulahk spoke up for the first time “While all this this great the Imperium of Man is still knocking on Cogger’s door, My Dynasty is willing to provide troops and advice to defensive formations in this regard. In return we ask that the Imperials be keep away from the Yankor region and maybe in the future if we need any supplies” Lazarus agreed “We can grab the imperium’s attention provided we hold here” Garathal spoke out “I would also be prepared to help Crogger in fact my troops are waiting outside, before you accept my help Nurgle's gifts are for everyone not just the Imperials, your cultists the will receive them just as much the encroaching armies of the Imperium will” Father Lazarus agreed “As I said, they are but a tool do what you like in fact we have a few medbays where our men are too injured to fight perhaps Nurgle could make use of them” Garathal almost squealed in excitement “Most definitely” Lazarus stood once more “Very well my lords if that is everything I still have a hive to defend, we are all helping each other and hopefully things go well” Father Lazarus nodded and departed through the twin doors behind him.

With nothing left to be said Garathal left the way he had came back to Brother Anlock and his waiting forces “Brother Anlock mobilise our forces and coordinate with the cultists here you are tasked with pushing the foul Imperium back and to gift them with Nurgle’s delights” Anlock slammed his rusted breastplate “Yes my Prophet it will be done”. Moving on Garathal quickly found numerous medbays, well if one could call them that. These makeshift centers where more of a place for men to die rather than to get help with men crying out on beds or laying up against walls. Picking one who wouldn't shut up Garathal plunged the curved blade of his staff into the stomach of the cultist ripping his guts out onto the cracked tiled floor, the body collapsed but slowly rose again and stumbled towards a fellow cultist and bit down hard on his neck spreading the infection further. Garathal moved on to the next medical center and repeated the same process Garathal sliced one man open and moved on until all the centers had been visited. Upon returning to the platform where Anlock and his thunderhawks were stationed the once whimpering group of cultists were now a ravenous horde of zombies awaiting a command “Brother Anlock you have the Command, May you carry Grandfather's favour” “May he favour us all” Garathal jumped back on his Thunderhawk and returned to his holy Cathedral, for he had plans to set in motion.

Siege of Hive Cogger by the 487th Lunar Venatorii Panther Calvary Regiment[u]

Colonel Raven was fuming at the traitors that set up cunning traps but they were not the only cunning ones here. After the aborted extending of the Inquisitor's control, he went back to his basecamp which was looking more permenant by the day. The encampment grew larger and larger with stalls for each wyrm and horses, as well as facilities to house all the people involved with their care. It was turning into a mini city of its own. His various Battalion and Company basecamps were doing the same as he tracked their progress over vox. He had his three pronged plan already moving forward and the side tracking of the Inquisitor's plan actually helped one prong. Sgt. Holiday bringing Captain Kid here was a good thing.
1st and 2nd Battalions has now completely encircled the great Hive. Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Jones of First Battalion reported several attempts by the Cultists of trying to breach the siege.

The Cultists were trying to transport stuff in and out of the city via a variety of civilian transports. These were no match for the heavy weapons carried on the fast attack platforms of the Lunar Venatorii. One interesting incident was when the Cultists led a breakout attack against and encampment and was killed to a man during the attack. In the Hive they had advantages of terrain, outside it was the guard. A group of cultists tried a charge into the heart of First Battalion encampment to get chewed up by the timed bursts of Heavy Bolters and Heavy Stubbers for each encampment of guard had time to entrench themselves and set up a series of anti infantry and anti armor deenses. Even a couple of Anti air platforms at each encampment was run by the senior gunners of each formation.

The cultists hit the siege outpost at dawn, a long stream of screaming lunatics led by a towering Ogryn with chaos stars etched into its skin and heavy metal plates strapped to its chest. Under heavy fire they reached the outpost's edge, trampling over their own casualties or diving behind their friends' bodies as shields. The ogryn threw soldiers back from his path like they were insects, roaring with rage as it stormed through the first line of defenders, swinging a light pole back and forth in great sweeping motions.

A dark shape flashed overhead, and a wyrm's claws grabbed onto the giant metal shoulder plates, lifting the ogryn off of its feet with a mighty yank, the light pole falling from its hands. The wyrm flapped its wings hard, carrying the giant ogryn as high as it could before the beast could retaliate, and released it a heartbeat later, sending the ogryn sailing into the ground. It hit hard, sending up a spray of mud and bloody spittle amid the sound of shattering bones. The cultists paused in their advance, shock taking over their minds as the wyrm circled once overhead and roared. As one, the cultists turned, retreating back into the hive and abandoning their dead to the field.

The Hive looked odd with a ring of encampments around it. At each of the compass points was a Large encampment each unique to a Battalion. At the North and South was the combined Elements of 4th and 3rd. At East and West was either the First or the 2nd Battalions. Between each major encampment there was a series of satellite encampments each run by a company in the nearest Battalion. Patrols was left up to the mass Calvary of Bikers and Horses of 1st through 3rd, each with an escort of a Flight of Wyrms and one Fast attack vehicle section that included Sentienels and Tauros Buggies. Fourth was setting up the entrenchment for each battalion and company providing complements of true infantry. This was a major effort.

So far the effort not only stopped Convoys of food and supplies down to a trikle for the Heretics, it also caught an interesting piece of information of reinforments to the enemy. The enemy had more of their "bonemen" enter the city. This "Bonemen" were definitely xeno tech, but not completely invulrable. Two of their flying platforms were destroyed by the Melta Lances of the Elite Wyrms of 3rd but a price was payed to stop even that much. Multiple Wyrms are now on recovery and up for bionic repair due to the damage these advanced xeno robots.

3rd Themselves though was able in their retreat from the Choas Spawn and "Bonemen" attacks inside the Hive, to set up and ironclad Basecamp. Elements of 4th with their heavy weapons on Chimeras and Tauroxes were able to clear a couple blocks of traitors and the Flights of Dragons set of a series of nests on the roof tops. One Flight of twenty actually made it back to the Inquisitor's camp and got orders to back up Captain Kid's Element. Apparently that Capatin made a good impression on Colonel Raven. He actually took charge of the Hive Basecamp himself.

After the ambush with the Choas Spawn that killed Private Fredrick Jenkins, The Wyrmriders and Horse Troops had heavy fighting back to their line. Lucky for them while soldiers of 3rd were battling out of the trap that the Inquisition soldiers had led his into, that and the aborted taking of the plaza where 'bonemen' attacked his men. 4th using their Chimera's flamers to clear a few square blocks of all opposition. And 3rd retreated and reinforced the Line 4th had set up.

But not all news was good. His Vox warfare section fowled up badly. They didn't interfere with the Cultist's Communications but disabled all long range communications in the Regiment. To speak to each other they were relying on runners and short range voxes set up at every encampment. This had the Colonel enraged. Especially because everytime they try to communicate long distance a weird message repeats. "The Stars will Bleed."

Moon #2, Hive Cogger

I’ve often been told that there’s no feeling quite like the one that you get just before a battle is to start. That feeling of foreboding, the electricity that seems to build in the air as the timer begins to tick down, the sense that this is just the calm before the storm, and that very soon all hell will break loose. That is the feeling I have right now, as I supervise the preparations for my regiment’s move to Hive Cogger. The only way I can describe it is controlled chaos, Guardsmen and flight crew run past me loading ammo, medical supplies, weapons and spare parts into our Valkyries in preparation for the trip to the Hive. Word has begun to filter in from the regiment stationed outside the Hive that the situation is far more serious than originally anticipated, and so High Command has ordered me and my boys to the Hive to render assistance. “Assistance”, I snort bitterly as I remember that that was the exact word that was used when my role in Cogger was laid before me. What good does High Command expect that a fething air-cavalry regiment will do in a Hive? Those things are most assuredly NOT conducive to the Elysian way of war, and High Command has to know this, so why are they sending us? Do they doubt the loyalty of me and my men? Is that why they are sending us off to this potential death trap? I shake myself fiercely, banishing those dark thoughts to the recesses of my mind where they belong. Now is not the time for me to begin to doubt, doubt leads to hesitation, and hesitation leads to death. As the controlled chaos continues to unfold around me I clench my fists in silent defiance to the dark thoughts that continue to plague me, when the time comes I cannot be found wanting. I’m jolted out of my dark thoughts when Sergeant Jacobson taps me on the shoulder and says “Sir? We’re just about ready to roll, the men are assembling near their assigned transports, and you might want to get moving if you don’t want to be late for your prom date.” The sergeant grins as he’s saying this to show that he’s just teasing, and I return his smile with one of my own. When I do he gives me a crisp salute and jogs off to where the rest of his squad has assembled in front of one of the crimson-armored Valkyries. Jacobson is one of the best commanders this regiment has, and I have a feeling that he and his men will be crucial in the upcoming war. Time and time again he has turned down a promotion to a Platoon Command, content to lead his squad of Veterans. As I turn and begin to jog over to where my own command squad is assembling the feeling of foreboding returns, and I can’t help but wonder what’s going to be waiting for me up there at Hive Cogger.

As the last of the Valkyries settle down on their landing gear outside the Imperial Base Camp set up outside of Hive Cogger that feeling of foreboding still hasn’t gone away. If anything, it has grown even more during the flight over here. We’ve settled down a short distance away from the camp, hoping to avoid any potential misunderstanding with the forces that are already stationed here. We voxed ahead to warn them of our arrival, but you can never be too careful, anxious and trigger happy sentries tend to shoot first and then ask you questions while you’re lying on the ground bleeding. Settling down a short ways away from their camp will let them digest our arrival safely and send out some scouts to meet us and bring us into the camp. I gesture to the disembarking Guardsmen around me to settle down to wait for our new allies. We don’t have to wait long, only a few minutes after we first set down we can see several figures approaching us, and as they get closer their image clears to reveal several Guardsmen mounted on what appears to be giant Wyrms. The Guardsmen around me begin to whisper as the riders get closer, some with excitement, and others with fear. As they get closer I take the opportunity to study them. Each man is clad in carapace plate, with face concealing helmets, and underneath it they are wearing what appears to be leather of some sort. Each individual is armed with a lance and a hot-shot laspistol. The Wyrms themselves are no less impressive, each one exuding a sort of restrained wrath, like a ticking time bomb waiting to go off on some unfortunate foe. The lead rider removes his helmet to reveal a shockingly young looking face and says “Ah, you must be the new arrivals. I’m Sergeant Holiday, and I’ve been sent to escort you boys to the main camp for a meeting with the boss. Pick up your kit and when you’re ready we’ll head out.” As I turn around to issue the necessary orders to my men, I find that they had already picked up their gear and are staring at me with anticipation and without another word we begin to set off with the Wyrm Riders towards the main camp, which slowly gets closer as we begin walking. Behind us the Valkyries begin to slowly lift off and begin their own trip towards the main camp, to set down near the motor pool that we saw as we flew over. The sight banishes the anxiousness that has been gnawing at me for a little while, and I smile softly. The Emperor’s Helldivers are here, and we will bring death to the enemy.

=====Yankor, Luna Epsilon=====

“This is Shas’El Tach’var of the Rix’lan Coalition, I am broadcasting this message on Tau radio waves. I have intel indicating your presence here in the Crion vicinity. If you are part of the greater Tau Empire, then you are an enemy. If you are working with the Imperial vermin on this planet, you are an enemy. If you consider yourself an enemy of the Tau Empire and the Imperium, then we will be willing to provide support. You may reach us on this channel to negotiate a meeting.” Tach’var left the communications room with a renewed fervor, he relished in combating the Imperium. He thought back to when he was just a Shas’ui serving under Harax when he was a Shas’vre. Thardega was a gritty battle, he still remembered the campaign, but it had been 10 years, and he had seen new exploits. As he walked down the hall he spotted a particularly regal figure closing the distance, it took a second for his eyes to focus and recognize the figure as Kageros.
“Kageros! What brings you here?”
“Ah, Shas’El, it is good to see you.” His cheery tone quickly faded into a grave one, “Do you know where Grulahk is?”
“He is attending a meeting with the leaders of several Chaos factions, he should be back soon.” He looked over Kageros’ expression, “What has happened?”
Kageros looked a little hesitant but then spoke, “A massive Ork Waaagh has made it’s way towards Voor’Han. I had to recall Rak’than’s fleet from Prin’sheks orbit to help stave them off, but it is a war of attrition we are slowly losing. We need to pull our resources out of Crion to combat this threat, unfortunately, the Megalith will be abandoned.”
Tach’var thought this over for a second, he knew opportunity when he saw it, and this was quite the opportunity. “Perhaps not Phaeron,” This caught Kageros’ attention, “If I can talk to Harax I can convince him to send at least half a Tio’ve to Crion. You can take Grulahk’s fleet-” He was cut short by a metallic voice. Grulahk had arrived.
“What about the fleet?” He turned towards his superior, “Kageros, it is good to see you, too what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Voor’Han is under assault by a massive Ork Waaagh. I came here to pull our forces back to help defend.”
“Abandon Crion? I have just established an alliance with several Chaos factions here, one of them being the Flayed Legion. Do you require the whole fleet?”
“We will see, our friend here was explaining his plan to me.” Both Kageros and Grulahk eyed the grey-skinned Tau with curiosity. The Shas’El felt a little uneasy under the crimson eyes of the metal men, “Well, abandoning this facility would mean abandoning the Megalith. I can talk to Harax and convince him to send a few Cadres here. If you could leave your Canoptek elements and a few phalanxes, we could continue progress on the Megalith and honor your agreements.” A fourth voice rang out, “You will need a Necron command element to stay behind and oversee the work, I volunteer.” The others turned to see Numek walking towards the group, Kephri perched on his shoulder. Grulahk then spoke, “I can leave most of our canoptek elements here. I will also leave a Harvester for you Numek. I will also leave half of our air forces and a legion here to honor my agreements.” Kageros thought for a bit, “That sounds like a plan, Tach’var, you will come with us, I’ll arrange a meeting with Harax on the way.”

=====Rix’lan Command Center, Prin’shek=====

Tach’var was anxious about how the meeting would go, but his proud stride wouldn’t show it. He walked down the hall and stopped at the door leading to the meeting room. The guards at the entrance opened the doors and Tach’var walked into the grand room. It was cylindrical with a large desk towards the back, facing the door. Directly in front of the desk are 2 chairs that face it. Around the room are 6 chairs lining the walls. Behind the desk a hardened figure looked through various papers, a scar running down the right side of his face through his eye. Harax looked up and stood, he and Tach’var saluted each other before each taking a seat. Harax was the first to speak, “Kageros messaged me ahead and told me of your plan. It’s… interesting.” Tach’var looked at the empty chair next to him, “Where is Shas’El Melek?” “His fleet is currently helping the Necrons with the Ork problem, it is far worse than I thought. Had to hire some friends to help.” “Friends?” Harax gave a gruff chuckle and gestured to the window, there was a large encampment a few miles out. “Tarellians. I’ve invited their leader to meet with us, they’ve been a great help against the Ork threat, and given their past… I think they’d volunteer to fight the Imperials.” Only a few seconds passed before the door opened, a reptillian figure entered the room, he was clad in a dark bronze colored armour with etchings on it. “May I introduce Grand Chieftain Rasz’k Xarak, he leads the Tarellians helping our cause.” The broad shouldered reptile spoke in a surprisingly deep voice, “My kin are willing to fight for those willing to pay, the Tau have proven reliable clients. The desert wastes of this planet are similar to those on Tarellia, it almost feels like home.” Harax spoke next, “Xarak, my subordinate here has an opportunity that I think you may relish.” Tach’var took his chance, “I am needed to help defend a certain item on one of the moons of a planet called Crion. We also have needs to mount an offensive, we mean to assault the Imperials.” The word brought an unholy anger into the Tarellian’s face, “Damned those blasted creatures! What they did to my people will be repaid in bones and ashes!” “Name your price.” “To the Frozen Planes with prices, my kin will gladly kill the Imperials for free. Promise me Imperial skulls and I will fight free of charge.” “Fight with me, and I guarantee your kin will have their bones and ashes.” This put a wicked grin on Xarak’s face, his serpentine tongue flicked across his lips and his nostrils flared, “Let us not waste time, I will bring three Warbands to the war effort.” Harax stood, “I will match and allot you three Cadres. Good hunting Shas’El, may your battles bring glory.” The Tau saluted each other then parted ways, Xarak left to meet with his kin.

=====Tarellian Encampment, Prin’Shek=====

Xarak was sharpening his swords when three of his Chieftains walked in. Among these three were Yelnava Narseen, Demerdul Caledoras, Tarja Tisareth. “Please, sit” They obeyed and took their places on some mats that had been placed in the Command tent. “I have grand news, you’ve been chosen to follow me on a task. Our Tau friends have offered me a mission, I accepted and have chosen you three and your warbands to accompany me.” Demerdul was the first to speak, “How much are they offering us? It better be good pay.” Xarak looked at the brutish lizard, “We are completing this mission free of charge,” The chieftains began yelling angrily demanding the reason for such treacherous behavior. Xarak snapped his jaws at the three quelling their complaints, “They offer us a payment for grander than goods, or money. They offer us a chance to avenge our Ancestors and the tainted plains on Tarellia. They are offering us to spearhead an assault on the Imperium of Mankind!” At hearing this, the others began showing a different kind of anger. Tarja spoke, “Xarak, we will fight with you, and we will claim revenge.” Xarak’s face claimed a pose of resolve,”Bones and Ashes my brothers and sisters. We move out immidiately.”

A Day Or Two Later

=====Yankor, Luna Epsilon=====

Numek stood at the treeline of the clearing where the Tau forces were coming in. He looked up and watched as dozens of Orca’s and Mantas rhythmically dropped into the clearing, unloaded their troops, vehicles, and equipment. Tach’var was among the first to touchdown, his gallant stride unmistakeable. As Tach’var made his way over Numek couldn’t help but notice the bronze and dust clad aliens deploying with the Tau. Tach’var greeted Numek, “Greetings Numek, I’ve come with reinforcements.” Numek kept his skeptic gaze fixed a particularly bulky reptile walking towards the two, “What exactly have you brought?” “I’ve brought 3 Cadres ready to fight,” He turned around to look at Xarak and wave him over, “I’ve also garnered the support of some Tarellians Harax hired out.” Xarak made his way to the Tau commander, he was talking to someone, but he couldn’t tell who or what. As he got closer he could tell that this figure was quite larger than the Tau, it was a Necron. Xarak stopped in his tracks and stared at the being, he was told they were made of metal and wielded emerald fire, this one seemed to be made of bone and gold. Numek returned the lizards stare, “I am Cryptek Numek, I am leading the forces on this planet, I was unaware that Tarellians would make an appearance.” Xarak began to speak, making a point of not showing his curiosity, “I see, I am Grand Chieftain Rasz’k Xarak, I have brought a trio of my most experienced Warbands to help cull the Imperial vermin that lie here.” “You will fit in very well around here, come both of you, I have already developed a plan.” Numek, Tach’var, and Xarak stood around a table with a holographic map of Yankor on it. Numek explained to Xarak what exactly they were doing here and how they fit in with the scheme of things. He outlined an area where the Tau would set up their base and an area where the Tarellians could make camp. After that he explained the Hive Cogger situation and his plans for assaulting it. Xarak spoke up, “The Tarellians will set out immediately for the assault.” “How many do you plan on sending?” “All of us.” “Then I recommend waiting a few hours so you can approach at night, that will give you an advantage.” “Thank you Boneman, I will brief my people now.”

=====Outside Hive Cogger, Luna Epsilon=====

Xarak and his Chieftains formed a group at the front of the War Party, they halted movement. From their position they could see what appeared to be some light vehicles, walkers, and biker squads. Xarak looked to Yelnava, “I want you and your warband to hold back in the treeline, there will surely be more to come, when you hear the signal, strike.” He looked back to the small bunker where the humans lay like sheep and the depot where the vehicles were. There were no more than ten in the bunker and 30 at the depot, this would do as a sacrifice, he once again looked back, but this time to Demerdul and Tarja, “Brothers, when I give the signal, you may attack.” Demerdul looked almost happy about the impending death of the humans. Xarak stood and looked to his flanks, he began a very deep breath before bringing a frightening roar to bear, he was then joined by hundreds of his comrades as they charged forward. Xarak removed his swords from their sheaths as he ran towards the bunker, the humans inside were scrambling for weapons, a bright beam of light came from one of the windows and hit Xarak’s breastplate, he laughed as his armor hardened at the exposure to heat. The other Tarellians made quick work of the walkers and tanks with their scorch weaponry while the others dispatched the bikers fairly quickly. When Xarak barged into the bunker he began shouting in Tarellian, “By the Great Deserts!” He took off a Guardsmen’s head and cut another in half, “You will all burn!” Demerdul ran full speed at another human and smashed him into a wall, crushing his chest. The Guardsmen were dead, and by the looks of it this was either a communications or command element. Xarak put his weapons away and walked out of the bunker and began giving orders. “Began shoring up the area with whatever you can find! We will be ready for the Imperium when they come! And Come they will brothers, you will have your blessed revenge at long last!” Crates, debris, and everything else was used to make defenses, but there was only enough to make a hasty defense, their next battle would be a rough one.

Hive Cogger slept uneasily that night.

Around the Hive, campfires and lumen strips twinkled softly in the dark night, as the Imperial positions kept a firm eye on the battered Hive and its occupants. The dead from the cultists' failed attempts at breaking the siege still lay where they had fallen, their blood glistening lightly in the pale moonlight.

Kusun stood on a half-broken terrace overlooking the city. He had temporarily taken residence in the Governor’s mansion, along with his subordinates and the Apostle. The latter was currently trying to contact the Omnia Cadunt to relay his orders, although his attempts were hindered by some unknown issue with the vox network.

Kusun heard the old wooden door behind him creak open, followed by sluggish murmuring. His eyes drifted towards the door. The door was opened softly, revealing the haggard form of one of the sentries. The cultist, a man of around forty Terran years, looked as if he had not slept for days, dust and grime having settled in his greyish beard and filthy hair. The man’s eyes sluggishly focussed on Kusun, opening wide once the man fully realized who he had just run in to. Without a word, the man hastily turned around and went back through the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Once, Kusun might have considered that to be funny. Hilarious, even.

Now, it merely filled him with disgust.

He had never enjoyed fighting alongside mortal forces, and this rabble was certainly not warming him up to the idea. They were weak, pathetic. Most of them had nothing more to bring to a battlefield other than their fanatic conviction, and even that evaporated more often than not once battle was truly joined.

They were pests. Rodents.

Expendable.

And he knew that the ones who were leading this little uprising thought so as well.

He gazed across the city again. I should have flattened this miserable rock from orbit when I had the chance, he thought, as his fingers idly trailed the skulls hanging from his belt.

Hive Cogger was a mess. And now, it was becoming a rotten, decaying, disease-ridden mess, thanks to their new… ‘allies’.

He would have to keep a close eye on the Nurglites. Their methods, while despicable, would be more than effective in the cramped corridors of the Hive should the Imperials manage to breach the outer walls. Someone had to keep them in check, however, for the followers of Nurgle had a tendency of extending their ‘gifts’ as eagerly to their enemies as to their own allies...

He sighed, and looked up to the cloud-filled sky. That flicker in the Warp was, for the moment, the only lead on his quarry he had. It would be best to stay on the Nurgle sorcerer’s good side – for now.

I see you.

Startled, Kusun turned around, only to find no-one behind him. His eyes moved slowly across the terrace, looking for the source of the sound.

I can see them, too.

Again, the voice came from behind him, but again, there was nothing there. Kusun gritted his teeth, his hand reaching for his axe as he spun around like a cornered jackal, looking for the intruder.

He sees you, Kusun Zhaqar.

A shiver went down Kusun’s spine, and he looked upon the moon that now shone brightly against the night sky.

And the moon waxes.

Rain pinged off the hull of Garathal's thunderhawk which would have rusted and corroded the paint and outer surface of the craft, if it wasn't already rusted. The rusted hull of the aircraft entered the mists of the swamp where visibility was limited to a few feet in front of ones self and they now relied on their sensors and scanners for safe passage. Kremus’ voice started talking in Garathal's ear much to his irritation “My lord we have done as you commanded, steps have been built and the construction of your cathedral is well under way, we ha-” “Silence fool, let me land and I will witness your efforts myself” despite the harsh weather conditions the pilot managed to land the aircraft perfectly and offload his passengers. Garathal disembarked from the thunderhawk to the courtyard with was bustling with cultists heaving stone or rotted wood that had taken up residence when this bastion was abandoned, Drelos and Kalnar were hoisting stone up the hill, they seemed to be enjoying the exercise. The hole in the northern wall was patched up and some of the crumbling towers along the wall have been knocked down and were being rebuilt, the rotten wooden gate was torn out and replaced with a new door which was much thicker and was reinforced with steel and when closed the face of a smiling demon was formed. Upon a raised platform sat his Cathedral which featured many symbols of the Lord of Pestilence and his demons carved into the stone and was the central structure, the foundations for the other buildings that would surround the keep have been laid but no work had been done to them, yet. Kremus dragged his leg up the steps which led to the Cathedral where his lord stood, admiring the structure “My Lord, what do you think ? Have we pleased your worship ?” Garathal ran his hand along the stone “It is too clean, Nurgle’s slimes must oozed from this place, who is responsible for this construction ?” “One of the cultists my Lord, he claimed he was a stonemason before joining our cause” Garathal nodded “Bring him before at once” bowing Kremus went to search for the stonemason. Garathal watched as a bald burly man slowly stepped up to the Prophet with a face of terror, his arms were hairy along with his chest, he sported a thick beard and his hairless forehead was saturated with sweat, his deep green eyes looked straight to the floor as he stood there waiting to be spoken to, at least this one knows his place remarked Garathal before continuing. “So you are the stonemason ?” “Yes milord” and you are responsible for all the stonework that this place has undergone ?” “Yes milord” “The carvings, the repairs, the Cathedral all of it ?” The man gambled a look up to his lord and nodded “Yes milord” Garathal touched the stone again staying silent for a moment, “You do good work stonemason” the man left out a sigh of relief and smiled “Thank you milord” “Father Nurgle is pleased with your efforts and has decided that your work shall be rewarded” before the man could react Garathal clutched his skull and began whispering, softly at first but then he began to raise his voice and tighten his grip, the man’s skin began to bubble and rot, boils and pus began to sprout from all over his body, the hair on his arms and chest fell out and the colour in his eyes diluted to a milky white, in replace of the sweat on his forehead now sat the symbol of Nurgle burned into his flesh which was still sizzling and then Garathal let go letting the man fall to his knees. The surrounding cultists stopped working and watched in awe as their comrade was transformed, taking a moment to recover Garathal spoke up “Nurgle has bestowed his gift upon you for your fine service which you will now continue to do under the name of the Architect, your task is to make this bastion formidable enough to stand against our enemies for a prolonged period of time,if you need any material,go bother Kremus” the Architect scrambled to his feet “Yes milord, you have my thanks” Garathal nodded and turned to the crowd that had gathered for the transformation “Get back to work you curs”

Kremus limped over to the tree where the woodcutter’s axe was embedded deep into the ancient bark smearing its razor sharp edge in thick sap, grabbing it he made his way to the North Eastern tower on the wall. The tower itself was in the middle of being torn down in order to be rebuilt and a small crew had been dispatched to tear it down, his crew. As Kremus reached the top of the stairs which led out onto the wall he saw him, laughing and joking with the others who donned faked smiles and smashed another block out of the wall of the tower. Upon seeing Kremus approach he dropped his smile and all went quiet, turning the man looked in Kremus’ direction “Kremus did you get more w-” Kremus slammed his fist against the man’s jaw send both him and some teeth flying. Kremus turned to his crew “Pick him up” scooped up by his coworkers the man was helpless against the assault that Kremus laid down on him, punches landed left and right particularly to the midsection until he heard a few cracked, the ribs. He slumped back down again spitting out blood in an attempt to beg for his worthless life, Kremus kicked him in the mouth dislodging any teeth he had left “Pick him back up” lifting up the drooling cultists Kremus grabbed his axe and began to make small incisions all over his body before finally driving the axe through his knee which cut through flesh and bone which dropped the cultist to the floor “Hold out his other knee” spat Kremus as he raised the axe over his head, through the combined might of Kremus’ strength and gravity the axe made a satisfactory chunk into the rockcrete on the floor of the tower, a clean cut. “Right chuck his body and his legs over the wall and into the river, I am sure the crocodiles are hungry for flesh and this donkey-caves blood will draw them from all over” he turned to leave as his men went to work but stopped at the doorway “And clean up the blood, better if no questions were asked about this” satisfied Kremus went about his business, he has had his revenge and his name will be feared.
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Brother Anlock had one last look over the map that the Brotherhood of the Red Banner had provided him of the various alleyways and narrow streets of Hive Cogger that would prove vital to his task, rolling up the map Anlock left his makeshift tent out from which stood three strikeforces blight, rot and pestilence. Strikeforce blight consisted of his own plague marines, Nurgle's own creation and the strikeforce he had the most confidence in. Strikeforce Rot consisted of cultists which were mainly beastmen but some humans survived Dorn’s Shield, this was the strikeforce he had the least amount of confidence in. Finally Strikeforce Pestilence consisted solely of Pestigors and he was fairly confident that they would be effective. “Right you have your orders, get to it and make the Imperium bleed hehe” Anlock chuckled at that last part and formed up at the head of his own marines and marched. The Strikeforces disappeared through the narrow streets and alleyways to their targets clearing the once crowded courtyard in seconds.

Prisoner 4239 clutched his lasgun and pointed it at the shadows, the cultists have pulled back farther than they thought, 4239 turned to 4301 and whispered not to attract attention from the Arbitrator “Think we finally broke them ?” 4301 nodded his head “From what our failed push ? Ya we definitely shook them keep your eyes on the bloody road” 4276 chipped in “They will never be as shook as you were when you saw those bonemen charge at ya” a few of the lads chanced a grin. 4301 turned around with a mad gleam in his eye “Say it to my face you bastard” 4239 grabbed his friend by the shoulder “Turn around or you’ll be seen” before he could get a response he heard a shout from behind which sent shivers down his spine, it was Arbitrator Carron “Shut up you pieces of gak and keep your eyes open, this is too quiet and I don’t li-” a series of violent explosions cut the man off as the crumbling buildings that once laid dormant along the roadside was now cutting off their escape and separated them from their tanks and heavy armor leaving the infantry fend for themselves. Following the deafening explosions the only thing that could be heard was the panting of the prisoners followed by Arbitrator Carron’s orders “Form a circle, form a bloody circle” the man pulled out his sword and looked around to see no one move, pushing the closer prisoner to him into a circle he shouted again “Form a fething circle you scum” the prisoners did as they were told and they waited and waited, nothing happened, no ambush no nothing, they began to disperse when they heard laughter all around them. 4239 heard lasfire from a nearby alleyway, another ambush ?From the battered buildings to either side of them emerged Nurgle’s finest, his plague marines, Anlock leaned out of a window and and sprayed Nurgle’s rot down on the helpless prisoners who fired blindly up into the air in the general direction of the vile raining liquid. 4239 watched as 4276 was drowned in the gut retching substance. Plague marines rushed out amidst the chaos, wielding their rusted blades and proceeded to slice off limbs yet leaving the men themselves alive, rolling in agony on the floor. 4239 fired five shots at an approaching marine before a rusted blade pierced him through the back. Arbitrator Corron fired his laspistol into the chest of a marine that lunged at her which dropped the marine to one knee, laughing the marine rose again, ignoring any pain and proceeded to decapitate the man. Rockcrete showered marine and prisoner alike as imperial armor ploughed through the collapsed building creating an exit point for the penal legion and an entry point for the tanks, seeing this Anlock called the retreat “Fall back, I said Fall back” retreating as quickly as they came, the crews of the tanks began to climb out of their armor to evacuate the wounded and unknowingly bring the plagues of Nurgle into the heart of their encampment.

Back at his tent Anlock looked over the reports, the Pestigors managed to leave some of them alive, they had killed more than he would have liked but it was acceptable. The cultists on the other hand killed every last one of them, no survivors and they lingered too long taking losses from the tanks that broke through their trap, unacceptable, and an example must be made. Leaving his tent he approached the cultist who had the command and without saying a word grabbed him by the skull, gouging his eyes out in the process and twisted, snapping his neck. The other cultists took a step back in shock and to avoid the pool of blood that was spilling out over the floor and grew bigger when Anlock ripped the dead man's skull off his shoulders, this will do nicely, needed a new blight grenade Anlock said to himself as he looked up to the surrounding cultists “This is the price for insubordination, do not disappoint me again” clipping the head to his belt, Anlock retired to his tent, he had more battles to plan.

+++Gorekings Warbarge+++
The Goreking Ganzer, sat upon his throne of skulls, his way of keeping his kill tally. He was washing his great axe with blood when the doors to his throne room opened. He had a fleeting moment where he considered bathing his axe in fresh blood, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him, for now. Ganzer stood and his voice boomed through the room, “State your business fool.” This caught the serf by surprise who stumbled and dropped the dataslate he was holding, he quickly scrambled and picked it up, the object almost fumbling out of his hands a second time,
“M-my apologies K-king, I bringeth g-great news.”
“And what beith such great news that you interrupt my sanctification?”
“I-I have found n-new grounds ripe for the c-culling, oh great King.”
”Speak vermin, my axe grows hungry.”
“There is a s-system called Crion, i-it is in a state of m-much strife, many C-Chaos forces are already p-present.”
Ganzer contemplated this for a while. If this was true, he could obtain much favor from Lord Khorne… and create a larger throne. He would not fall for a trap so easily, if it were one. No, he would have someone else fall. Ganzer sat down, “Bringeth me the Goreprince Ziinek, now.”
“Y-yes oh great King.” The servant tried to get to his fleet but slipped in a pile of blood. He hit the floor and spared a glance towards the King, a mistake. The King grabbed his great axe and dismounted from his throne.
“Your insolence and incompetence is worthy neither of this chamber nor Lord Khorne!” With a single swoop from his blade the cultist fell in two. He tossed the upper half, still writhing in agony, towards his throne. He walked to the still half open door and leaned out, his Gore Storm honor guard standing their crimson vigil, “Fetch me Goreprince Ziinek, I haveth need of him.” “Your will be done, King.” Ganzer nodded before walking back to his throne.

Goreprince Ziinek made his way down the great halls of the warbarge. All six of his axes clanging against his battle beaten power armor. He was close to the King’s hall, his Gore Storm guard stood outside. As he approached one of the Terminator clad men took a step forward, “Goreprince Ziinek?” “The one and bloodied.” “The King expects, you may enter.’ Without so much of a word he pushed the large brass doors open, it was a dimly lit hall that led to a pile of skulls, a throne sat upon it. As he walked closer he could see that the king was flaying a skull, the owner lying in front of the pile.
“I haveth need of you Goreprince. A path of glory you may tread, should you accepteth my task.”
“Of course my King, what would you haveth me do?”
“I have received word of a possible system in need of culling. I want you to taketh your men and see if it is worthy of my presence.” “Your will is my path, oh great King.”
Ganzer shoved the now clean skull into the pile beneath his throne, “Now go, prepareth your men and I shall send the information to your Navigator.” Ziinek left the hall for his ship, he would prep his men for their glorious assignment, he was chosen for a reason, he had the artillery needed to bless the land with raining gore. A grim smile crept along his face as he began running to his ship. They would leave for this Crion as soon as possible, the culling would not wait long.
+++Warp-space, Ziinek’s Warbarge+++
Ziinek and his advisors sat around a holo-map of the planet and it’s moons. According to the intelligence received the primary fighting was in two central locations, one surrounding a Hive city and the other near a Space Elevator. Ziinek pondered his moves, as enticing as the hive seemed, there was far too much, and they were but a battalion. They would land near, and let whoever dare come to them, but first, a sacrifice must be made. “There, were the two rivers meet north of the great mountain, there is a city there.” “What about it my prince?” “That is where our sacrifice will be made. When we reach orbit I want our first and second companies to start digging out a fortified position. Have the two artillery companies land a few miles north of the city, tell them to prepare and await my command.” “As you wish my Lord.”
+++The Black Sands, Luna Epsilon+++
“My lord, progress goes well with our position, make your sacrifice be great.” Ziinek turned off his communicae and joined his Disciples at the front of the formation, now that they had no problems to worry about, their sacrifice may begin. To either side of the prince were 3 Chimerae, 6 Medusae, and 3 Basilisks, They began their warpath to the city of Federov, Ziinek chuckled at the thought of the Imperials screaming and pleading for life, they would die as they lived, like pigs. He couldn’t wait to feel the shock wave of the munitions and the rain of gore that would follow. “Everyone, double-time it, you don’t dare keep Lord Khorne waiting do you? Forward!” It was but half an hour before the city was in sight, the interim of impending slaughter was titillating, but he must be patient if he is to fully cull the herd. “I want the Chimerae to encircle and block of all exits that are not the main gate. Artillery set your targets and when I give the signal, level the city.” He and his disciples walked towards the main gate of the city, then stopped about 100 yards out. He raised his hand and as he did he could already feel Khorne’s blessing upon him, filling him with an inhuman rage and strength. “For Lord Khorne!” His hand fell and the shelling commenced. His disciples stood in front of the gate and killed any and all who left it, Ziinek grabbed 2 of his axes and charged into the city. It was a writhing hellscape, mangles limbs and gore stained the walls, the smell of explosives wafted through the air and the still living littered the streets. He charged through with a zealous mission, he butched everything and anything that moved, men, women, children, animals, all left alive were being mercilessly culled. A shot from a basilisk landed close to him catapulting him through the air, he took this opportunity to throw his axes at more living targets as he flew. When he landed he retraced his steps sheathing his axes but always brandishing two. After he could see no more living and as his rage began to subside he made his way to the front gate. The shockwaves still reverberating through his armor, it felt glorious, the screams still in his ears. He walked past his disciples they fell in line behind him and as he walked by one of the tank commanders they shouted over the sound of guns, “Should we stop my Lord?”
“Is the city level yet?”
“Not quite my lord, bu-”
“Then level it.”