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Crion. Luna Maximus. Luna Epsilon. Without them, countless lives would be cut short. With them, the Imperium can thrive, able to feed billions of people and fund their endless war machine. These places had once hosted a chapter of astartes, holy angels of the Emperor himself. They were the Blood Dragons, fierce warriors and protectors of His domain, but they are long since gone, leaving Crion and her sister moons as prey to the enemies of the Imperium. Without them, ork armies festered, chaos has spread its taint, cutting Crion off from the rest of the Imperium, threatening to doom entire sectors to starve. In response, humanity has launched its own crusade, aiming to uproot every last traitor, heretic, and xeno that stands against them. To liberate Crion, that is their goal. To fail would cause damage that even an astartes would struggle to grasp.

While the tides of war began to roll, one threat has risen above all others. The tsunami called itself the Dreadmob, a band of orks that brought with it a weapon that could end the crusade before it could ever begin. A gargant, the epitome of ork warfare, a towering structure that only existed to destroy and kill. As urgent as the gargant was, the Dreadmob made matters even more urgent when they set their eyes for the Space Elevator of Luna Maximus. With access to the elecator, the mob could go unchallenged to the very surface of Crion, pillaging and burning their way throughout the planet until it was all a burning husk, a mere shadow of its former self. The crusaders promised to never let that day come.



"Sniper team one. Confirmed target. Team two?"

++Sniper Team two. Locked in sight.++

"Copy that. Firing in three."

Two rounds were fired in unison. Less than a moment later, their target's head was blown clean off. The ork nob never realized it had been attacked.

"Confirmed kill. Pack it up and move on to the next location." One of the snipers said, and removed the goggles from his face as he stood up. "That's the fourth nob we've killed so far. How many more to go, Riley?"

A second scion turned to the first, "Tonight? Five more. Then we have another twelve tomorrow, and we'll see from there. With this many orks down, there's going to be quite the power struggle. And that is exactly what we need. Any other questions?"

The sniper shook his head, "No sir". Riley nodded, and the pair began their way towards their pickup destination. The scions' headhunting had been going on without a hitch. Riley knew it was a simple, yet very effective plan to kill off the ork leaders, sending them all into a chaotic mess of infighting when the greenies all began killing each other to prove who would be next in line. The scion quietly snorted, if there was anything he appreciated almost as much as killing the enemies of the Emperor, it was watching His enemies kill each other.

The pair went on walking in silence, ready for any sudden threats that could appear. The woodlands they went through was empty, and the only other signs of life were echoes of gunfire from the ork camp; proof that the scions' plan was already taking effect. Riley checked his chronometer. 18:92. Good. We're on time. A quiet beeping noise stopped the scions in their tracks; a warning signal for unit in danger, possibly killed. They knew better than to try and send a vox to the endangered unit, in case they were already killed and it only alerted the enemy to more scions nearby. Instead, the pair stalked towards their Imperial comrades, rifles drawn. The pair made good time, crossing the woods with a deadly efficiency few other men could match.

Riley dropped to a crouch, knowing his partner would mimic his actions without a word. Ahead of them stood three outlandishly clothed orks, and two bloodied scions beneath them. "Left," Riley growled, and fired his hellgun into the furthest left ork. The scion next to him killed the furthest right ork at the same time, and the third and final ork barely managed to whirl around before both scions fired into it at once, sending it spasming on the ground. Riley cautiously stepped forwards, ready to fire another shot into the slain kommandoz. A groan from one of the fallen scions made Riley holster his hellgun and attend to the wounded. One of the scions, the sniper of Unit 2, had a gash across his head, and other than being disoriented was unharmed.

"He's unconscious, took an axe to the back. Weaker swing, so the armor shoulda saved 'im" the sniper said, hawking up a glob of spit. Riley nodded, and helped the sniper to his feet. The pair looked at the fallen kommandoz, and Riley was surprised to see that one appeared familiar. "Is that..?"

"Mark off another target. Kommando Zoggorat is a confirmed kill." Riley said and pulled out an Iho-stick. "Now, someone tell the pilot we've solved this mess and our en route again."



Grulkin sidestepped yet another ork's axe and flicked his wrist upwards, sending a knife into its throat. Grulkin yanked the chain to the side, and the right half of the ork's throat was torn open as the knife followed. A step forwards and bite to the other half made sure the ork would die. The kroot shoved the dying brute backwards, and gave a chittering laugh as it tripped on one of its fallen kin.

"Grulkin, right!" Grulkin ducked by reflex, and Ta'lok's warning saved the kroot's life when a spear sailed over his head. The giant hissed and slashed out, sending the blade whistling outwards. A grunt of pain made Grulkin smile to himself and he pulled the chain back, ripping the knife free from the ork. The kroot glared at the ork, which returned the gaze with its beady red eyes.

"Waaaaagh!" the ancient war cry of the ork met silence as Grulkin leapt forwards. The ork raised a spear to block Grulkin's first strike, but it never landed; it was never meant to. However, the second strike sent the knife deep into the ork's skull, and the beast looked dumbstruck as to why blood was pouring into its face. Grulkin used its confusion to his own advantage, and got close enough to rip the ork's jugular with his beak. The kroot ripped his knife free and laughed; today was a day far better than any of those spent hiding by Paynne's mansion.


Meenos threw two knives into an oncoming mek, yet the creature came on. The mercenary reached for his last blade, a bone kukri, having spent the last of his knives. "A new kind a beakie! I likes it!" The mek laughed, and fired off several inaccurate rounds from his mek-gun. Meenos leapt forwards and swung the kukri into the mek's arm. A roar of pain and anger came, but the mek swung his gun towards Meenos. "Let's see how you like me dakka!" It roared, and Meenos barely rolled out of the way before bullets took his place in front of the mek. The kroot swutch the blade to his left hand and drew his laspistol before firing several lasrounds into the ork's chest. It slobbered out an insult to Meenos and fired off more rounds at the kroot, but Meenos rolled to the side once more to avoid the deadly hail of bullets.

Meenos lashed out with the kukri, and felt it connect with the ork's leg. "Oi! Dats me gud leg, ya turd!" As the mek roared it tried using its gun as a club, but Meenos was to quick for the bulky weapon. As the mek lifted his gun from the mud, Meenos raised his laspistol and sent several lasrounds into the ork's head. It staggered backwards, and finally collapsed as its body realized that it had died.


Ta'lok looked down from his perch, watching his kindred feed on the remains of the orks. The sound of flesh ripping off of the bone filled the woodlands, and gave the Shaper a sense of satisfaction. "Another successful hunt, another be'gel party killed," The Shaper whispered, "now, perhaps the humans will be more willing to talk business".

+++Luna Maximus, Khan+++

The bolters' roar drowned out all else. The orks' shouts, the marines' battle cries, even the screams of jets flying overhead. Ulfric Stormclaw let loose a howl of laughter as he sent another ork falling backwards, headless and broken. "And I thought these greenskins were a threat!" He roared, basking in the gore soaked battlefield. The Wolf Lord's gloating was interrupted with a dakkajet crashing into the ork horde in front of him, sending dozens of orks to their graves. Ulfric looked past the smoke and wreckage, seeing trukks and koptaz, among other orkish constructs. Ulfric grinned as he saw one ork larger than any other in the horde. That was the general of this horde. That was the ork that would end the battle. And it was Ulfric's to kill.


Faolan ripped his blade out of the ork's gut, and sent a kick into its screaming maw to finish it off. The Hound barely had time to parry the next ork's axe before it came swinging into his skull. Faolan's next blow made sure the ork never got a second swing, and the marine stepped backwards to avoid the orkish intestines that spilt onto the earth before him. Cearul stepped into Faolan's view, cleaving through an ork's side with his axe, and sent the greenskin to the ground with a swipe from his shield. "The Wolves are holding strong. With our support, the orks will not last another hour."

Cearul nodded, looking out towards the distant battlefield of Wolves and orks. Unlike the Valka Fenryka, the Hounds would be a knife, carving the sides of the horde while the Wolves stood strong against them, forming an anvil that broke the alien tides. Occasionally, a bright flash of a dying vehicle would appear, marking the deaths of orks, guardsmen, and space marines. Yet there was no time for grieving, there was a war to win. Faolan moved past Cearul, and signalled for the rest of his honor guard to follow.

It had been a long walk, but Faolan knew that if they caught the attention of the ork horde as a whole, they would ultimately be cut down, no matter how many of the orks they took with them. It was a fate the Hound did not want to see. Their own target was not to stave off the assault, but to kill one ork, and one ork in particular. A weirdboy by the name of Zogdog, who was able to keep in constant contact with the gargant, a boon that has no doubt helped lead the orks ever closer to the Space Elevator. Fortunately for the Imperium, this ork also did not travel close to the heart of the horde due to a general distrust of its abilities, and also the very real threat of it causing dozens of orks' heads to explode: a common cause of death for greenskins associated with any weirdboy. An unusual precaution among the aliens, but the Dreadmob was hardly a warband to make assumptions of. Their options were to react to its actions, or die. The orks gave no other choice.

Faolan looked down at the horde below from the peak they had found, and took several picts of Zogdog's battlewagon from his helmet. If it continued on its path, it would pass right underneath them, allowing the Hounds the chance to intercept the ork. But for now, the only thing they could do was wait.


+ + Forty-six minutes later ++

Ulfric howled as he surged forwards, trusting his brothers to deal with the nobz he left behind. His eyes were set on the boss, and no other ork would stop him. Only moments ago, the boss had crashed his kustom vehicle against the Wolf lines, sacrificing it to kill several marines. Ulfric vowed to not let it claim any others. The warboss towered over Ulfric, but it hardly caused any concern for the Wolf. Stormclaw was a hunter with countless years of experience, a slayer of kraken, drakes, and the enemies of the Emperor's domain. A single ork, no matter how large, did not worry Ulfric. From the looks of it, the boss had also been close to some of the Gorgons' fliers after they crashed, as Ulfric saw several of the pilots' heads lining the ork's belt. For that, the boss would pay.

Stormclaw struck first, stabbing one set of claws into the ork's side, and rolling backwards to avoid its retaliation. "Dat one stingz a little, ya beakie," the ork rumbled as it lumbered after Ulfric, swinging its axe in wide arcs. "No one will forget da great Bloggob. An' no beakie gunna krump 'im neither" the ork roared. As it spoke it sent its axe crashing down at Ulfric. The Wolf stepped forwards, away from the blade of the great-axe, and stabbed his claws into Bloggob's gut. The boss howled in pain and anger, and knocked Ulfric aside with a swipe from its hand. Bloggob stepped forwards and stepped onto one of Ulfric's arms, pinning it to the ground. The armor whined in protest, testament to the ork's strength. Bloggob laughed and pointed his axe at Ulfric's head. "You fink you can fight? Ha, youz a good laugh, beakie." Before the ork could use his axe, Ulfric sent his other claw into the ork's ankle, repeating the action with inhuman speed until the beast's foot was nothing but bone and gore. Bloggob stumbled backwards, snarling and slobbering insults at the Wolf. Stormclaw was up on his feet in an instant, driving claws wherever orkoid flesh was exposed, forcing the ork backwards at the sudden ferocity.

"No xenos shall harm the Sons of Russ," Ulfric roared, and stabbed into Bloggob's gullet, forcing the blades up into the boss' head. The ork gave glared at Ulfric, but found that it could no longer move either arm. The next, and last, thought the ork had was why the ground was rushing towards him. Ulfric shook the blood from his claws, and turned back to his Wolf Guard. They were finishing off the last of Bloggob's nobz, butchering them with a ferocity much like his own. Ulfric nodded as Bjorn crushed the last nob's skull with a sweep from his axe.

"The battle here is over. The rest of the orks will flee now that they are headless. Such is the way of the greenskin menace." Ulfric said, knowing news of the boss' death would spread like wildfire. The Wolf stooped down and grabbed the slain ork's axe, carrying it in both hands. "Now this, this will go to the halls of Fenris. A small trophy to mark the victory we have had here."



Faolan was the first to make the jump, landing on top of the battlewagon with a groan of protest from the metal underneath him. His brothers landed behind him, and the group set to work with carving through the top of the vehicle to reach its cargo. The Fangbearer carved through the weakened metal with ease, and one by one the marines jumped into the compartment below. Faolan's eyes immediately adjusted to the darkness of its interior, and grinned when he saw a pair of startled looking orks, both of them reaching for their weapons. Faolan stepped forwards, decapitating one and pinning the other against the wall with his blade. A punch to the ork's throat crushed its windpipe, and the Hound only removed his blade once he was sure the ork was dead. From the sounds behind him, Faolan knew that these weren't the only two orks in this room, but that none still lived. The Hounds fell in line behind Faolan as he approached the door to the next room, but it exploded in a wave of green light before he could reach it. Every Hound staggered back from the force of the energy, and Faolan snarled when he saw the source of the attack. An unusually skinny ork carrying an ornamental staff in one hand and a pistol in the other.

Zogdog

"Some beakies on our ride? Well, weez will take care of 'em. Oh, yes we will." The weirdboy whispered, its voice shrill and unlike any other ork's voice Faolan had heard. Before the Hounds could make a step towards Zogdog, the ork aimed his staff at them and sent them all stumbling backwards with another blast of green light. "An' we thought you beakies were good fightaz. Weez ain't seein' it."

Cabhan was the first to charge, aiming to skewer the ork in his claws. Zogdog only laughed, and batted the marine away with a swipe from his staff. Faolan roared at the sight of his brother getting tossed aside and charged forwards, wanting nothing more than to end the weirdboy's life. Zogdog aimed his pistol at Faolan's chest, and fired three rounds into his armor before the marine bowled into Zogdog. Pain flared through Faolan as he felt one of the bullets pierce his armor, but fought on regardless. Faolan swung the Fangbearer into Zogdog's side, but the blade bounced away from the ork's skin with a flare of light.

"Won't be dat simple, ya git!" Zogdog shrieked, and stabbed its staff at Faolan. Before any marine could act, green energy swirled around Faolan, and it took every ounce of the Hound's willpower to not shout out in pain. Faolan faintly acknowledged that he had fallen to one knee, with the Fangbearer hanging limply at his side. The Hound shakily took a breath when the energies disappeared, and could barely cling to consciousness.

Faolan saw Cearul rush forwards to meet the ork, and the pair began a deadly dance of axe against staff. The Hound was too far gone to notice the stormboyz who had landed on the wagon, and had already begun fighting the rest of his honor guard. Cearul gave a booming shout as lashed out at Zogdog in a flurry of blows, but every killing blow was warded away by the alien's powers. Yet Cearul knew that it was draining the ork. Every flash was dimmer than the last, each swing Zogdog gave back was weaker than the last. It had overextended itself, and Cearul was going to make it regret that. The Hound feigned an attack at Zogdog's throat, but pulled back the blow and went for the ork's arm instead. To his vague surprise, the axe cut through, sending the ork's forearm and staff to the ground. Zogdog gave a hoarse shout of pain, and raised its pistol. Cearul stepped to the side and slammed his shield against the ork, sending it reeling backwards. As it hit the wall the pistol barked once in its hands, harmlessly sending a round past Cearul's shoulder. By then Cearul was upon him, sending three blows into the ork's side, and one quick swipe with his shield sent the ork to the ground. Blood poured out of the ork's mouth and nostrils, and a groan escaped its lips.

"Didn't miss, beakie," Zogdog laughed, and nodded to something behind Cearul. Cold dread filled Cearul, and a roar of anger came from his throat when he turned to see a bloody Faolan slumped against the wall, with the side of his helmet shorn off from the bullet.. Cearul turned back to Zogdog, and saw the ork had reclaimed its staff from its severed arm. A wheezing laugh came from the ork, and it looked Cearul in the eye. "Ta-ta, beakies".

The battlewagon rumbled, and was sent rolling from the force of its engine exploded; a final gift from Zogdog. It didn't take long for the flames to spread throughout the entire wagon, and the crackle of ammunition exploding only sped its progress.


"Oh zog me, da whole fing is gone!"

"Da meks will use dis. Dey gotz ta, or dey ain't gonna be meks fer very long."

"Hey! Boss! I found me a beaky! No wait, two of 'em. Musta got krumped by da exploshun. Dey ain't movin', but dey might be breathin'. Dey still got dere stabbaz an' da armor too!"

"Good, good. Weez will take 'em. If dey live, dey go to da pitz. If dey dead, we have somefink more den squigz and grotz fer da firez. An' we still loot 'em. Now, let's grab 'em and get da zog away from here."

The looting party greedily snagged the two marine's weapons, and dragged their newfound slaves West, away from the Wolves' Anvil. Away from the Hounds' brothers.


Cearul felt himself getting dragged by his arms. The vile scent of orks filled his nostrils as his senses began to work again. Cearul opened his eyes to see several orks in front of him, and he heard more behind him. The Hound's eyes darted around until they caught a glimpse of their target. Faolan was unmoving, yet Cearul's helmet told him Faolan still lived. His commander was depicted by a shade of dark red, meaning he was close to death unless someone intervened. The thought redoubled the urgency of the situation, and Cearul made a fist before yanking downwards with his right arm. The ork holding on gave a roar of surprise and pain as its own arm snapped. Cearul felt his other captor let go of his left arm, and the Hound sent an elbow into the alien's side. It whooped as the blow landed, but it gave the Cearul the time he needed to rip an axe off of the ork and finish the alien off in one quick blow. The crippled ork died next when the axe cleaved through its throat, sending the headless corpse tumbling backwards.

Cearul didn't have time to say a word before the rest of the mob was upon him. The marine was a blur, swinging fist and axe into any ork to come into reach. The greenskins hadn't understood their mistake before most lie dead in the grass, soaking the earth in their blood. They had never seen the fury a Hound held, and now they had doubled that by threatening the Hound's brother. Yet the orks were too arrogant in their charge, certain that they could bring down the marine in one colossal charge.

Cearul stepped on the final ork's throat, not willing to let it die from the deep gashes across its body. The Hound let the ork axe slip from his grasp and stooped downwards to reclaim his own axe and shield from a slain ork, and Fangbearer from another. With the weapons mag-locked onto his armor, Cearul walked towards Faolan. "You're not done yet," Cearul growled as he grabbed Faolan's arms and started dragging him, "plenty of caves in the woods. Orks won't notice us there."

Cabhan drove his claws into a tree, tearing through it as if it was paper. "Faolan and Cearul, both gone," he growled, "but where?"

Pryce shook his head, "We have no way of knowing, brother. Our only option is to rendezvous with the Wolves and the rest of our own brothers, and set off on the headhunt anew."

Cabhan turned to Pryce, and detached his own helmet to glare at his brother. "Retreat? And leave the two behind? That is cowardice, we have to follow them." Cabhan's hands were clenched in anger.

Pryce only shook his head, a barely noticeable motion from the power armor. "If we follow after Faolan, the Hounds are leaderless. They must know what has happened, and us leaving with only a hope of finding our lost brothers will only hurt the chapter. No, we can only meet the Wolf lines and let news of this spread."

Emyr spoke up, "The lad is right. Leaving will not help us. It isn't easy to say that, but we have to go."

Camhab growled, glared at Pryce, and donned his helmet. "Fine. But I do not feel right doing this." Pryce nodded, and the pair followed after Emyr as he took the lead.

Cearul looked around the cave, taking in every nook and cranny, familiarizing himself with it all. He would have to know every inch of the cave, for it would be his shelter for his near future. Until Faolan was in a more stable condition, he would not be able to make any sort of journey. To make matters worse, any form of communication they had was damaged from the explosion, and useless in its current state. The Hound looked down to the limp form of his leader, and shook his head.

"The Dreadmob will regret this. To the Emperor, I make this promise."

[Pike-ard, Crion]

The lictor approached the western coast of Pike-ard. It was time. All biomass in Pike-ard and Jorgan were consumed, excluding the trees. That would come later, to reduce losses. Now, the brood had to move on, to a different location. The lictor’s gaze stayed firmly to the west. The hive would move from this continent, to the next.
Analyze Problem
Water. Deep. Aquatic Life. Dangerous. Swarm Would Be Hurt Bad. Adapt.
The Norn-Queen responded to this request. New Eggs were created to combat such a situation. There were ten eggs in total. Only one more thing was needed for them to hatch.
Push Them To The Water
Twenty warrior forms began the long trek through the dense jungle, pushing the eggs through as fast as they could. A small group of rippers and raveners followed them. It took a while. By the time they reached the coast, the sun was setting on the horizon.
Dump Them In. Find A Secure Location For The Brood.
The eggs responded to the water surrounding them by growing and hatching. Five aquatic transport organisms along with five combat bio-forms. The bulky, transports approached the shores and opened their mouths to reveal a massive area to hold tyranid forms. Two warriors entered each organism along with four raveners and six rippers. A large force wasn’t needed here. The brood just needed a secure location for the next step. With the bio-forms inside, the aquatic transports closed their mouths and descended into the dark void of the ocean with the combat organisms surrounding them.

Schools of fish swam away as fast as they could from these unknown monstrosities. Any fish that weren’t fast enough were caught by the lash whips equipped on the aquatic combat forms. They were brought in writhing in agony until they were ripped apart and consumed. A little more biomass could always be used. They traveled like this for a long time.
The forward transport guard spotted a larger fish in the water. It was soon followed by many more. They were fast and thin, about half the size of the transport vessels while just as large as the combat ones. The swarm reacted instantly, all the combat forms closing in on the school of carnivorous fish. The fish outnumbered the combat forms two to one, but the hive had much more adapted organisms. Lash whips tore out at them, snaring one and bringing it in. It tried to fight back, but the snaring tendrils were too strong. It was ripped apart and eaten in the time it took for the rest of the school to close. That was the mistake. The combat forms had advanced too far, and these fish saw easy prey in front of them. A few stayed to hold off the over-aggressive bio-forms while the rest converged upon the transport fleet. They were equipped with nothing but adaptations to hold tyranid land units. And they were all alone.
The fish latched onto the nearest bio-form with their sharp teeth. They punctured through it and got inside at the easy meal. Raveners and warriors were not meant for aquatic combat. They struggled to get away, but were all eaten by the fish. They then continued to gorge themselves on the dead carcass of the transport vessel before they fled. The combat organisms were returning and it was time for them to go. The hive had lost a portion of its biomass, but the fish the brood had eaten earlier would offset that a little. The hurt force continued on its way.

They began to see the ocean get brighter and brighter. The force rose up to the surface to see morning light shining upon a brand new continent to devour. It was time to find prey. The aquatic organisms approached the shore and released their cargo. Their usefulness was now up.
Consume
As one, the warriors, raveners, and rippers attacked what had brought them here as the hive mind demanded. Their biomass was retrieved and the small party continued on its way.

[Blackwall, Crion]

The bio-forms traveled inland until they arose over a small hill to see a sprawling structure in the distance. It was strange, and reminded the hive of the biomass it had consumed upon the other strange planet a long time ago well before the orks.
Find A Secure Location
The party worked its way around the nearby area until a hidden cave opening was spotted. They found that, inside, was a massive open area that continued for so long it could hold the entire tyranid force. It was perfect.
Secure Location Spotted. Commence Phase Two.

[Pike-ard, Crion]

The Norn Queen began the process of creating a water-adapted harridan. With this massive creature, all of the hive’s forces could make it across the ocean with little trouble in very few trips.

[Hours Later at Blackwall, Crion]

As the final bio-forms were unloaded from the vast, fast water harridan, it sank back into the depths of the sea to return to Pike-ard. The full force of the hive gathered in the cave. They were ready for battle.
Scout The Rest Of The Cave. Look For Areas Of Interest.
The Leaping Terror and its four companions set out to scour the rest of the place. It did not take long to find a long crumbling pipe that went away towards the structure. The lictors advanced under the cover of their chameleonic skin and searched for clues of where this led to and what it did. Only when the sounds of voices could be heard did the hive mind realize what this meant. A way into the sprawling complex and most importantly, Prey.
Long Live The Hive.

Randall read the reports that had been piling up for the past few days. Cogger Hive was meant to be a quick and decisive blow to the forces of chaos, this steel hell was anything but. Two new chaos war bands had come to reinforce the flayed legion and reports also suggested that the wretched heretics made an unlikely alliance with a Necron lord. Randall had never had any dealings with the Necrons, he knew only what he read, and that was that they were but soulless machines bent on the eradication of organic life. It struck Randall as odd the Necrons would make any compact with anyone, they must have some great scheme or perhaps they are insane. Regardless any creature that makes compact with heretics will die alongside them. There were reports from the lower hive of sabotage on flayed legion armories and other points of interest. Randall had at first credited these raids to pockets of hive resistance, however these raids were carried out with such precession that seemed unlikely. Good news came in the form of Valkyries, yet another force of guardsmen was en route to Cogger Hive. While Randall appreciated the assistance the massive amounts of guardsmen could prove problematic. This place was a den of corruption, he feared that heresy could take root in the guardsmen ranks. Other members of the ordo would just summarily execute the companies after to avoid all risk of heretical corruption. However, Randall did not agree with such methods as he found them a gross waste of the Emperor’s gifts. He would find another solution, memory wipes perhaps.

It was at this time Commissar Alenko entered Randall’s tent “Inquisitor, do you have a moment?” Randall gestured for the chair opposite of his desk and spoke “Of course, what troubles you Jethro.” Alenko took a seat “Inquisitor I can’t shake a terrible feeling I have.” Randall laced his fingers and rested his elbow on the desk as Alenko continued. “I can’t help but feel our enemy has us exactly where they want us, like we our playing into their hand somehow. It is if we are here by their choosing and not ours. The very thought of this makes me sick to my core, it feels like a knife twisting into my stomach.” Randall spoke “You’ve felt this way since the failed assault?” Alenko nodded “Aye, something about the whole incident seems wrong.” Randall arose and turned away “I’ve had the same fear, this place has drawn the gaze of some foul deity. We must end this madness, remove it from memory and existence. We will take the Citadel tomorrow or we will die in the attempt.”

After his “promotion” the Architect wasted no time in finishing Prophet Garathal's study inside the Cathedral of Blight, which featured the actual study and Garathal’s personal prayer room and a large chamber which ran beneath the Cathedral. Grathal wasted no time in moving into this new, private space, furniture made to accommodate the size and weight of his armor were crafted from a mixture of wood and metal, the desk was buried beneath stacks of books and maps, ancient manuscripts from a bygone age which depicts long forgotten plagues and information about the surrounding swamplands and beyond. One could just make out the surface of the desk in areas where the the paper was less cluttered revealing various notches and scraps suggesting the desk was even as old as the manuscripts that covered it. The chair was equally as old and often squeaked in protest from the weight when Garathal sat in it as the reinforced wood was pushed to its limit. A shrine to the Grandfather stood in the corner where Garathal would often pray for guidance and often receiving nothing but silence. The room itself was dark being lit by candlelight primarily around the desk and the shrine, rusted wall mounted brackets that were set in place from the previous inhabitants had been fixed and used, guiding someone underneath to Garathal's chamber where he brewed terrible concoctions.

Garathal sat in his custom fitted desk examining a book on the various species that once inhabited the swamp which he now called home, whether they still live to this day is anyone's guess as Garathal got the impression the Disciples of Decay were the first ones to enter the deep swamp in some time. While his study was mostly completed the Cathedral itself was not which was the source of the banging of hammers and chisels against fine stone nearby. Such noise was intolerable to Garathal who could neither pray nor study with such a pandemonium of noise, a different kind of banging started however which was much closer than the cultists hammering at the Cathedral, quickly realising it was the door, Garathal's chair gave a squeak almost as a sigh of relief to be relieved of the weight as he answered the door. An annoyed Garathal opened the door to the malformed Architect, “What is it whelp ?” Snapped Garthal “You hammer at my door like a battering ram !” The man, if he could be called such a thing anymore lowered his gaze immediately, “Apologies my Lord, there is a number of things which need to be brought to your attention” “Such as ?” “The work on the outer walls are complete, they are reinforced and completely rebuilt in some areas, that goes for the towers as well. The Cathedral itself is taking shape but it is not yet finished perh-” “I know that fool, the banging of your hammers irritates me to no end” interrupted Garathal “We will work with all due haste my Lord. While the fortress would stand well enough against mass infantry we are terribly vulnerable from the air, I would suggest placing some additional towers around the premises with some anti aircraft guns placed atop of them”. As the Architect was blabbering on Garathal heard a familiar sound, the tapping of Baezael’s staff against the smooth stone floor, the sound grew louder with each passing second, interrupting the Architect for a second time Garathal spoke waving off the man like a pestering fly or maggot “Yes Yes, I will keep such things in mind going forward now begone”.

The shaman glared at the Architect from underneath his hood as the man ran out of the room, not returning his gaze “I see another one has received Nurgle's gift in my absence” “Indeed but tell me of the surrounding wildlife, did they accept The Plague Lord’s gifts ?” Garathal stood aside allowing Baezael to enter and pull up a normal chair which was dwarfed in comparison to Garathal's Baezael replied as he walked “Only time will tell but I have confidence that they will” Garathal tilted his head “What do you mean ? What did you do exactly ? Either they take to the gifts or they don't” “Perhaps for one such as yourself you could force the gifts onto others but The Lord of Pestilence has yet to offer me much of his powers so alas I must be a bit more …… creative in my methods” Garathal sat down in his own chair which protested again with a defiant squek “Details shaman, I want details” “ I infected the ground where some shrubs lied and watched as they took on a darker colour, a creature resembling a deer came to feed on the plant spreading the sweet sickness to the animal. I proceeded to spill the infected guts into a nearby lake where many creatures come to drink and feed, a reptile of some description began to devour the carcass as I left to find more lakes and plants, After finding a few more spots I decided to check the birds in the various trees that dotted the swamp and discovered that they too had been infected, perhaps the worms in the ground were infected also ? I must admit I am not sure but this natural way of spreading the plague has worked before and I am confident it will work again” Garathal nodded “Good, Good continue to observe the wildlife in the coming days if all goes well we shall definitely see a difference”. Both of them stood out of their chairs and began to walk towards the door “Tell that fool Kremus to bring me his most human looking men, I require their services” Baezael slightly nodded his head making the bone charms around his neck clang “It would be pleasure” Garathal turned and closed the door behind him as the tapping of Baezael’s staff grew quieter and quieter.

Voices echoed throughout the unfinished Cathedral, they were only mumbles at first with Garathal struggling to hear exactly what was precisely being said, the voices however the quickly grew into a heated argument and it became clear to Garathal both who was arguing and what exactly was being said with a sigh Garathal took one last glance at Nurgle's shrine before leaving his study. Kremus, the Architect and ten cultists stood outside the Cathedral when Garathal found them, with Kremus being in the Architect’s face “I don’t give a gak what he told ya, he obviously changed his mind now get out of my way runt” the Architect bite back “Bah ! You are just a glorified grunt, another meat shield to be thrown into the grinder, at least I actually pull my weight around here cripple !” Before Kremus could retaliate Garathal stepped in “Enough ! I asked you to send me a few humans and you almost start a brawl ?” Kremus took a very different posture, his back once straightened was now arched and his chest once puffed out was now tucked in. Hisvoice once loud and commanding was now soft and trembling “In my defence lord he di-” “Silence fool do not dare talk back to me” Garathal turned to one of the adjacent cultists “You ! Follow me to my study” turning and stompong back to his study, the cultist scampered after his master. The cultist looked in awe of the shrine dedicated to the Lord of Rebirth in Garathal’s study “Stop gawking at the shrine and pay attention maggot” the cultists snapped out of whatever trance that he was in and straightened his back “There is a city to the south of us in the swamp, Nortannis, you are tasked with infiltrating the city if possible and scope out their defences understood ?” The cultist nodded “Yes holy prophet it shall be done” “You will need a persona, you wont be allowed to just walk straight in as you are” Garathal paused for a moment. “Your new name will be Mason Lee the youngest son of a farmer who has come to Nortannis in search of more rewarding and more thrilling work, i’m sure you can make up the details yourself, now get out” the cultist left without saying a word, Garathal shouted out after him “And change out of those rags, even farmer’s sons have more fashion sense than you”

Mason Lee departed the Cathedral of Blight with an armed escort of beastmen as many of the human followers either died at Dorn's Shield or are helping the Architect finish the construction work, Mason did not mind the beastmen in fact he actually kind of liked them. Sure they could get carried away with bloodlust in the heat of battle but around the campfires at night or when the lads ever find a bit of booze to pass round they make fine companions, they like many other who joined the Disciples of Decay they merely wanted a place to feel welcome and Papa Nurgle does not care who you are as long as you are willing to serve. The roads upon leaving the Cathedral were deserted and overgrown with the swamp trying to claim the pathway for its own, after a few hours walk south the roads became bigger and the path was more beaten showing traces of at least occasional use, upon passing a few travelers who gawked at the beastmen Mason stopped. “I will proceed alone, it should be safe enough from here and we are encountering more travelers the further we go on, we must be near Nortannis” one of the beastmen slammed his fist against his bare, burly chest “May the Plague Lord watch over you comrade” Mason mirrored the action “May he watch over us all” parting ways Mason continued on alone. As he trudged on he encountered more and more travelers however all were leaving Nortannis not approaching it, was something wrong ? After another twenty minutes Mason heard a choir of voices mumbles and through the trees sat the setting sun which still managed to shine through the foliage, the sun was pierced by three dark lines upon squinting Mason realised what he was looking at, the towering spires of Nortannis. Continuing down the path which bended around a hill Mason saw the city in all it’s might, huge walls were erected around the city which were manned by the Planetary Defense Force, by the looks of things Nortannis was in lockdown with the gate shut with a huge crowd of refugees shouting and raising their fists, demanding entry. A single trooper stood above the gate shouting at the gathered crowd “We have already caught seven of you fethers trying the scale the walls since this morning if you we catch anymore we will gun you down and burn your bodies, Nortannis is under quarantine and none of you feths are getting in end of fething story” the trooper globbered out a phlegmy spit with rocketed down to the crowd below. Mason joined the crowd asked the nearest man what was going on “Apparently some Nurgilite Cultists were spotted in the area and Lord Mayor Lawson Barlow shat his trousers and put Nortannis under Quarantine, I lived here all me life I go out to do a bit of fishing and I find meself locked out of me own home what a croc of gak” another man turned around “Barlow ? Dont make me laugh everyone knows those bitches in armor the Order of Stalwart Blades or some rubbish, they are ones behind this” as the men were arguing who was the blame a hooded figure bumped into Mason and continued walking upon checking his pockets he found a piece of parchment which had some writing on it, unfortunate for Mason he could not read and decided to slip away from the crowd and report back to his master.

+++Gore Spawn Campsite, The Black Sand, North of Mount Gorgon, Luna Epsilon+++
Ziinek smiled as he watched the rest of his artillery being brought in… Basilisk’s, Medusa’s, and Thudd Guns being dropped off and unloaded in the middle of camp. Sparks flew as he constantly ground two of his axes together, a tick of his, he was growing impatient. He strode around camp taking stock of what equipment they had, he was not worried about the size of his forces, he knew that any conflict boiled down to the slaughter of the enemy or the slaughter of himself, Khorne would be pleased either way. An empty space near a rather large tent caught his eyes, three of his Chimeras were gone, enraged by this he stormed into the tent and threw the closest man to the ground, pushing axes close to the man’s face, “Gorebaron, where are my vehicles!” Obviously uncomfortable and knowing death might be near the Gorebaron spoke, “My Prince, they are but out on a scouting mission, searching for fresh culling spots.” Ziinek went from angry to joyous in an instant, he withdrew his axes from his Baron’s throat, leaving slight marks, “Well why didn’t you just say so? Have they found anything.” The Baron shifted his weight, slightly uneased by his superiors instability, “They voxed back about five minutes ago, they have spotted a small caravan of barges making their down river, they appear to be traders but have some military elements with them. Ziinek, Ziinek where are you going?” Ziinek merrily made his way over to an idle Medusa and hopped in the driver’s seat, he started the artillery tank and glanced over at the Baron, “Are you coming Baron?” “Where are you going?” “I’m going to meet up with the scouting party and cull the caravan, oh it will be glorious!”
Without further hesitation he began moving the vehicle forward and followed the river up as fast as he could, the tracks of the massive tank creating small trenches in the relatively soft soil. It didn’t take him long before he ran into a couple of the Chimera’s driving his way, Ziinek stopped the vehicle but feet from the others. He popped his head out of the front hatch, as did the Seargants who were more than surprised at the chance meeting, “M-my Lord. We did not expect to see you out here, we were just ret-” “Where are they?” “Where are who, my Lord?” Ziinek rolled his eyes, “Obviously the Caravan you reported, I want to send them to Khorne.” “Yes, of course my Lord, this way.” They all returned to their respective vehicles and began moving back up river, the Medusa struggling to keep up with the other vehicles. They stopped at a point where the river began to narrow, a good choke point for the culling.
-------------------------
Svarne sat on a barrel wishing the day to be over already, he hated the trading business, as did many others. He had no choice though, the Mayor of Arcadis Bay didn’t let people have the freedom of choice, everyone had to do ‘what was good for the Emperor’, he was sick of it. Sick of having to go on the same trade route over and over again, sick of not being able to go out and explore, sick of the corruption that was the Imperium. He just wanted to get away from it all, to let loose his frustrations and travel the stars, not just him, many people felt that way, but no one would ever say it. He glared at one of the PDF soldiers as they walked by, the Mayor had sent them to make sure the people were safe, but they all knew it was just to keep them from fleeing or getting out of hand. There was a panic starting a couple barges up, people began shouting and running, the PDF tried to keep them in line. He leaned over the side of the barge to see what the ruckus was, he immediately saw it, there were military vehicles on the bank, with their weapons aimed at the lead barge.
-------------------------
Ziinek moved to the back of the tank and aimed the gun towards the leading barge, the anticipation got to him as his first shot missed and only capsized the first barge, he went to load another shell but there were none, he had forgot to load the vehicle. “Feth! Feth!” He punched the side of the hull in his fury, his vox sparked to life, “My lord, shall we open fire?” “NO! Leave them to me!” He kicked open the rear hatch and took two axes out, he made his way over to the closest Chimera. The PDF troopers on the other four barges began to fire on them, their shots missing wildy. The back hatch on the Chimera dropped and one of the men walked out, “My lord, look to the second to last barge, this is interesting.” Without another word Ziinek climbed atop the Chimera and looked, one of the Imperial citizens had just finished hacking a trooper to death.
-------------------------
Svarne watched as the massive gun fired into the water, missing its mark but flipping the leading barge in the process. Then the PDF began to fire back on the assailants, some of them began forcing the traders to go and fight, either throwing them over boards with simple tools or executing them for cowardice. Svarne felt the adrenaline hit him, his fight or flight instinct kicked in. a Trooper walked up to him holding a pistol, he knew what was going to happen. Without thinking twice Svarne grabbed a hatchet and swung at the trooper, nearly severing his head, he swung again until it came off. Looking at what he had done he dropped to the floor and vomited. When he stood back up he looked to the bank and saw a rather large figure standing on one of the vehicle, and they were not attacking. He turned and saw the utter anarchy on the other barges, he stood holding his hatchet, “Brothers! Sisters! Fight back, no longer can we let the Mayor rule our lives!” At the sound of his rallying cry the other traders began to fight back, using whatever they could use as a weapon. Slowly and grudgingly they began to take the barges over, either tossing the PDF over the side or outright killing them. Svarne and his trader kin made their way to the front barge where they were confronted by the remaining PDF, eight of them armed with rifles and pistols held the civilians in their sights. Svarne stopped, his grip on his hatchet tightening, he knew that death was next, but not before he would kill them.
-------------------------
Ziinek watched as the Imperials began to turn on the soldiers, losses were heavy on both sides, the killing was beautiful. The simple civilians began to push them back onto the last barge, until there were 8 troopers left. Ziinek would not be idle for this, he lept of the Chimera and threw the axes in his hands, as he charged down the bank he threw another duo of axes. He jumped and landed behind the last four soldiers and began hacking them with his last two axes, one began to run. One of the traders killed the soldier as he fled, this was the same who began the revolt, Ziinek quickly walked up to the man and began looking him over. He seemed startled when he stood from retrieving his simple weapon only to see the Champion before him. The man’s eyes wandered to the string of skulls Ziinek wore. Interested to see what he would do, the Goreprince took the heads of 7 of the PDF troopers and a small rope and walked back to the trader, “Who, are you?” Baffled, he didn’t know exactly what to say, “I-I-I’m Sv-Svarne, I’m a trader from Arcadis Bay. T-these are my kinsfolk and fellow traders.” “Show me why I shouldn’t kill everyone here.” Svarne was caught off guard, unsure of what to do. He made a gutsy move and took the heads and rope from the beast in front of him, “And who are you?” He began to flay the skulls of the troopers and string them on the rope, he fought to hide his disgust at the mangled corpses he was butchering. Ziinek remained silent, to see what potential this man had to him, and if he would pass this test. It was not very long before Svarne finished putting the last of the 7 skulls on the string, he was about to give it to the beast in front of him but something caught his eye. There were 8 skulls on his belt, the string had 7… he looked the beast in the eyes and took the head of the trooper next to him and added it to the belt. He stood and help the string out to the man, he was sweating, he had either just killed everyone, or he had just saved them. Ziinek took both ends of the belt in each hand, then tied it around Svarne’s neck, “Ziinek, I am Goreprince Ziinek of the Gore Spawn Chaos Warband.” Svarne’s eyes widened, gasps and whispers were heard in the crowd behind him. He looked back and got everyone's attention before looking back to Ziinek and slowly dropping to one knee. Svarne had heard the stories of Ruinous Powers and blasphemous Heretics, but here, on Crion… Surely times were changing. Ziinek turned and began to walk away, then Svarne spoke up, “Thank you, Goreprince, for saving my people.” Ziinek smiled behind his faceplate, “Take your barges further down river, stop when you reach the campsite a few kilometers before the smoldering ruins of Federov. Food and provisions will await you there.” “Again, I thank you, but surely you want something of us?” “Indeed, but that will come soon enough, I have plans for you Svarne. Rejoice, I believe Lord Khorne has his eye upon you.”

------ Crion, 85th Command base, Drake's Point ------

The command element of the 85th was gathered once again in Gallus command post.

'' Sir, I can handle those PDF, no matter what the file says about them '' said Castella

'' I am well aware of your skills, Castella, but this is relatively minor compared to the meeting that was called, your diplomacy skills will serve everyone a lot better, besides, I've heard those Blood Fort troops were quite the hothead, I want to enjoy myself on this tour, too ''

'' Enjoy yourself, sir? ''

'' Mhmm, Riley had his fun, now its my turn, aye, those PDF are going to need a show of force to have e'm follow us, I'll be glad to do just that ''

'' If you call that fun... faili- ''

'' There was no failure, our man was extracted, we suffered no extra losses, that was my objective '' Riley interrupted

'' But you let the good Major get away ''

'' With twenty men and and little to no time to plan or blueprints of the objective? It went as well as we could've hoped, besides, we're going back to the city now, we'll have time to capture him, if not, there will be other targets ''

This time Gallus spoke before Castella could answer back '' Make sure that you have some of our men nearby if you're going to capture him, he's a silver tongued bastard and an ex-PDF major, too, means he could sway some of your support to his side, won't have him escape us again ''

'' If he's even in the city... ''

'' It doesn't matter, he's not the only Tiller in a position of power, Castella, make sure you pack war gear this time, I don't want to end up with a broken arm like the last meeting ''

'' Yes sir ''

'' Riley you will oversee our base, until we figure out what's going on at that meeting, I will give you orders then ''

'' Noted, sir ''

------ Crion, Blood Fort Airspace ------

'' Pad's on the viewport, sir, we have the go to for landing, no more than thirty seconds ''

Gallus nodded and grumbled a '' yes '' and sat back in the Valkyrie cargo bay. The gunship landed shortly after and opened its ramp, revealing the bleak fort. The five man squad exited the flyer and fell into a single line, following Gallus. They were met by a few troopers.

'' Uh, you're the Stormtroopers I suppose, the Lord-Commander wants to see you, come ''

Behind his visor, Gallus raised an eyebrow, he knew cold men, but these troopers seemed like something else, following them, he entered the fort itself, comiting the defences and path to memeory, his monoscope recording what might escape his watchful gaze. They arrived at a courtyard, where four men were standing on gallows.

'' For the High Crime of Treason against our Lord Governor Tobias Payne, Master of Crion and Protector of Faith, you are sentenced to death. Any last words? ''

One of the Tillers answered with a '' Long live Horatio! '' and the traitors were unceremoniously kicked in the back, their neck snapping as they reached the end of their ropes. Their executionners walked towards the new arrivals.

'' I'll take it from there, corporal, back to your post ''

'' Aye sarge '' said the man that guided the Scions, and with that, he left, leaving the Stormtroopers and the executionner. Gallus stopped to take a look at the executed traitors.

'' Somethin' wrong? ''

'' No, just curious, how long you had e'm in here? ''

'' Bunch of days, why? ''

'' They had anything to tell you? ''

'' Nah, just lowly footmen, screamed real good ''

'' I am sure they did, alright then, take me to your Commander ''

'' Lord-Commander ''

Gallus grunted and waved the sergeant forward. He had more pressing matters than to deal with semantics, at least the display of ruthlessness worked in the favor of the men of the Blood Fort and Gallus had little doubts they'd be very efficient when unleashed on the traitorous populace.

'' He's in there, your men will have to wait outside, Lord-Commander's orders ''

'' Of course '' Gallus gave the order and entered the room, he was greated by the Lord Commander.

'' Hello ''

Gallus raised an eyebrow behind his helmet, the greeting was almost arrogant in its simplicity he answered back with the sign of the aquila and saluted the Lord Commander with his proper title.

'' Dispense with the formalities, will you? I am aware why you are here and I'll level with you, I am not a fan of it, you're outsiders, coming in to meddle with the affairs of my men ''

'' We're here to seek and destroy the heretics, in that, our goals are the same, and yes, your forces will submit, while you were here playing the tyrants, my men were hunting down and killing forces you can barely imagine, I will not bully your troops, but they will listen to what my men tell them ''

The two men on the side of Samuel raised their lasguns almost at once. Gallus sighed and put his right hand up in the hand, almost as if offering it for the Lord Commander to shake. He twisted his wrist up, revealing the two primed frag grenades in his palm. Crane face went pale.

'' You will die, too ''

'' Will I? This armor has stopped autocannon rounds in the past, its also fully sealed, something your men might want to emulate, furthermore once I throw them on your side, there'll be plenty of obstacle in between me and the explosion, including you, and no, even on max charge your lasguns will not go through the plate before the frags explode. Now, if you'd like us to act like we're serving the same Emperor and Imperium, order your men to stand down, and I'll put away the frags ''

Samuel ordered his bodyguards to put away their weapons and Gallus triggered the grenades off. The Lord Commander roared in laughter as the tension left the room.

'' Maybe you'll be decent after all, I doubt my men will pose much problem to your Stormtroopers if they're the same calibre as you are, however I have news for you. I will not be leading the Blood Fort garrison in New Pavus, Rodrick Payne, the nephew of our good Governor will take the lead of the troops, you'll meet him soon enough, I am sure of that ''

'' Well that'll complicate things a bit, I'll have to divert Scions for security and... bah, nevermind, we'll take care of the man ''

'' I am sure you will, is there anything else? ''

Gallus shook his head and saluted back at the Lord Commander who signed the aquila as the Tempestor Prime left the room. Gallus ordered his bodyguards to follow him.

'' Sir? ''

'' Everything went well all things considered, I am pretty sure they like us, this'll make the whole mission a lot easier, lets go ''

(The following is a collaboration between Chazz, Smudge, and myself.)

The ride to thunda castle’s battlements was silent, save for the continuing battle beneath. Hannibal sat on one side of the orca alongside Guts, IronGore, and Gort. Their bulky frames stooped slightly to keep their heads from knocking against the transport’s celling. Five tau battlesuits stayed motionless in the middle of the craft, attached to a rail in the celling.

The tau escort craft chattered back and forth on their radios, picking their targets and confirming their kills as the orca made its way safely to the battlements. As they began to slow, descending on their drop zone, Mirrorstone’s voice came over the speakers.

“The entrance is thirty meters from the drop zone. Expect heavy resistance on arrival.”

Gort grunted in approval “Wouldn’ ‘ave it any otha’ way.”

“We will cover the flanks. Hannibal, you and your men take the center.”

“Gots it. We’z ready ta’ go.”

The door to the orca opened as it lowered to the ground. The nobs rushed out as soon as it opened wide enough.

“WAAAAGH!”

The war cry of the defenders sounded over the hum of the engines as a mass of orks and nobs rushed to meet the attackers dead on with spears and squig-hide shields. Two orks suddenly fell to javelins piercing through their chests. Guts pulled another pair from his quiver.

Gort and IronGore flanked Hannibal as he lead the countercharge into the defenders, his buzz-saw arm revving with anticipation before plunging it into the feral masses. With ease, he carved his way through their simple leather armor, and cut apart any boy that stood in his way. IronGore and Gort dug into combat right alongside their leader, with IronGore’s spiked gauntlets smashing and stabbing though the crowd, and Gort’s claws tearing through them effortlessly.

As the mob of defenders began to surround the trio, flames leapt though the air, and enveloped the flanking boys. Stepping from the orca, the crisis suits continued to fire their flame, burning precise swathes through the tied up defenders, and leaving Hannibal’s nobs without so much as singed hair. Several orks broke off from the main combat to strike at their fiery foes, but those that were not cut down by Gort’s thirsty claws, met their end at the points of the suits’ fusion blades.

As the brief bloodbath ended, Hannibal turned towards the courtyard, only to find his way blocked by more defenders. This time lead by four loud nobs with necklaces full of skulls hung about their necks. Rage turned to confusion, as the nobs found themselves with several small red dots on their chest. Their confusion turned to horror as a quartet of missiles whistled past the orca, and blasted the defenders apart.

Mirrorstone descended from the sky, looking quite satisfied with her handiwork.

“Nice shootin’” Said Hannibal, as he led his lieutenants forward, though the now cleared path.

As the ork and Tau retinue made their way into the courtyard of Thunda Castle they were not greeted as they expected. Two parallel lines of orks dawned in grey trench coats stood before them. They stood at parade rest with their polished shootas slung over their right shoulders. Gort smiled as he flexed his claws, and stepped forwards to cut the lines to ribbons.

“What in Gork’s name are ya doin!” He bellowed as Mirrorstone’s hand pulled him back.

Mirrorstone spoke “Halt! They’re standing down.”

“Dunno, boss.” Said Guts, uneasily etching the shaft of his javelin with his thumb. “Deez boyz look like tha’ blood axes… An’ ‘dey ain’t ta be trusted. I’z smell a trap.”

“I don't care if it's a trap.” Mirrorstone said “We fight with respect, even for Be'gel - present company excepted. We shall not attack them.”

“Cmmon’, Lemme’ krump ‘em, and we’z can be done wit’ it.” Gort pleaded, his claws itching for more blood.

Hannibal looked at the oddly calm orks and then over to Sub-Commander Mirorstone before nodding, “If dey want ta invite us in, past tha’ defenses, den who am I ta’ argue? We betta’ see what ‘dey gots ta’ say.” With a smile, Mirrorstone began to hover up the steps toward the ork great hall.

As the party reached the top of the steps they were greeted by a nob clad differently from the grey gas masked orks that formed their path, though by his trappings Hannibal could tell he was a Kommando. The kommando looked over to Hannibal and spoke “So here comes da fabled Hannibal, builder of mountains, breaker of clans, stompa of uglies.”

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed. “Ya sure know loads… An’ who’z you?”

The Kommando grinned “Names Gadnuk and my boss would like a word.”

“You serve Big Boss?” Mirrorstone asked.

Gadnuk laughed “Dats just da name da stupid locals gave him, he prefers to introduce himself, come he’s waiting inside.” Gadnuk was about to open the door but quickly turned around “Unfortunately you all can’t come in, just bring your most trusted lads.”

Hannibal turned back to his retinue “Gort, Irongore you’re wit’ me. Guts I need yer’ sharp eyes out ‘ere. Keep ‘em honest.”

Guts took out a second javelin and nodded “Got it boss.”

Mirrorstone spoke “I request to be there also.”

Gadnuk shook his head “Can’t let you in wif dat snazzy suit of mega armor you got on ya.”

Mirrorstone gave a grunt of annoyance before her suit began to shed apart. The suit parted to reveal the stocky Tau officer in a grey bodyglove. “Not an issue.”

One of her men spoke up, the voice unreadable through the heavy artificial speakers. “Sub-Commander, I can’t let you go in there unprotected.”

"I will be fine Sha'rail: I won’t be defenseless.” Mirrostone said, pulling a pulse pistol from the interior of her battlesuit.

Sha'rail seemed hesitant. “You have too much faith in these Be’gel.”

“I know well enough to be on my guard." she barked. "Guard the entrance.”

Gadnuk spoke. “Right let’s head on in da boss is waiting.” Gadnuk opened the door and entered with the party, as the four orks and one tau entered the hall the heavy door croaked shut sealing the sun behind them.

The ork great hall was a dim place lit only by several torches on the walls, and a large hearth, above the hearth was a dozen heads, trophies from various Crionian beasts. Only a few feet away from hearth sat a large round table with about a dozen empty chairs, only two of those chairs were currently occupied on the left sat Hannibal’s arch enemy the dreaded SkullEater. On the right directly behind the hearth sat a larger figure, the shadows swayed around his forum illuminating only vagueness.

As Gadnuk and the guests approached the table the ork spoke “Bout time you ladz got here I was worried da food would get cold, hope you lot like squig pies and fungus beer. Take a seat, I reckon we got some talkin to do.”

Gadnuk sat down I the chair next to the ork. Hannibal looked mistrustful of the ork and spoke bluntly

“So, you’z tha ‘big boss?’“

Big Boss laughed “I hate that name deez feralz are so unimaginative, must drive you right mad. My name is Nox Warprida.”

Mirrorstone regarded the ork with a mix of conditioned anger and grudging respect. “I know of you, Ork. The Warprida pillaged nearly a dozen ships from the hated Empire two years ago.”

Nox grinned “Guilty as charged, you Tau boyz got a lot of dakka on yer kroozas.”

Mirrorstone cocked her head, biting back a savage retort. It was at this moment a crew of Gretchen brought forth a dozen pies and sat them on the table.

Nox smiled a mouthful of tusks “Sit, my grot Gobbles makes da best squig pies.”

Hannibal took a seat and Mirrorstone sat soon after, Irongore and Gort remained standing, ready for the slightest provocation.

Nox swallowed a bite of pie “I’ve heard a lot about you Hannibal, you’ve been a right pain in my side.”

“Glad ta’ hear my efforts ‘ave been appreciated.”

Nox laughed “No doubt, I came to this world lookin fer zog brained feralz and here I find you, a proper mek among savages.” Nox saw Hannibal not eating his pie, so Nox struck his two pronged fork into the pie and took another bite.

“I was once just some two bit Goff mek, fixen choppas on the cheap. Then one day that all changed, the sky spat a great rok of pure power at my door and I became more than Nox, I became the fabled WarpRida. I then brought all the clans of Wuldgrund under my rule. After dat I brought half of the Chardon sectah to its knees.”

Hannibal leaned back in his chair “An’ wot’s tha’ point a’ all dis’ ego strokin’? You invited me ‘ere fer somethin’.”

Nox grinned “I see a lot of myself in you. With the proper guidance you could be truly great.”

Mirrorstone looked over to Hannibal “I don't like where this is heading...”

“I wouldn’t be where I am today if I didn’t have the right boyz backing me.” Noz interrupted. “Zog I’d probably still be on Wuldgrund if it weren’t fer da Doof and Gadnuk.”

Hannibal raised his brow “So wot’cha offerin’, Warprida?”

Nox laughed “I’m offering you zoggin everything. I want to help you along your path, Da IronHorde could be fing of true beauty. In exchange for my mentoring you we’ll join forces and bring dis zoggin gak ole to its knees.”

Mirrorstone lowered her hand on her holstered pistol. Hannibal face contorted with thought as Nox continued speaking “I know you want more den just Crion you want it all. You help me out and I will give you yer own Kroza so you can ditch dis squig gak world.”

Hannibal rubbed his chin “Wot’s tha’ catch?”

Nox smiled “Two fings. One deres someone hiding out on dis world dat I need to kill you help me find him so I can personally put a slug in his skull. Second dis deal don’t got no room fer Tau or any other stinking alien, you work with me you only work with me.”

Hannibal looked across the table at Skulleater “And ‘im?”

Nox shrugged “He failed me he’s yours to do with as you see fit.” SkullEater violently arose from his seat his mega armor croaking as he did, “Dat wasn’t part of da deal you zoggin git grubber!”

Nox spoke condescendingly “Sit down” Nox taped some buttons in his wrist mounted kustom kommand glove and SkullEater against his own will sat down. The ork struggled against the locks in his own suit of armor to no avail. Hannibal couldn’t help but laugh. Nox smiled “So what’s it gonna be Hannibal?”

Mirrorstone's clenched on her pistol but halted as Hannibal began to speak. “I got to admit, a krooza is mighty tempting. But let’s make somethin’ clear. I’z my own ork, I don’ need yer advice and I don’t need ya’ telling me who I fight wit. So zog you, zog yer’ stupid kroza, an’ zog yer’ Blood Axe leftenut. Ya’ stay outt’a my way, an' I won’ krump ya’. But don’ ‘fink for a morkin’ second that I’d be yer’ lacky.”

Nox shook his head “You would rather fight alongside deez soft blue zenoz den yer own zoggin kind! Deez Tau don’t know the first thing of a proper fight, you aint an ork, yer just some two-bit runt from dis Gak hole.”

Mirrorstone growled and drew her pistol on Nox but Gadnuk flipped the table over towards her, forcing her and Hannibal to dodge it.

Nox growled taping at his command glove “SkullEater, be useful fer once in yer zoggin life.” And the feral warlord returned to life and roared as he charged at Hannibal.

Nox shouted as he looked at Hannibal “Stay out of my way Feral, or I’ll kill ya deader den zog!” Nox then pressed a button in the center of his x harness. In a blue flash of light, he and Gadnuk were gone.

Hannibal barely had time to react before Skull Eater plowed into him, knocking him back into a chair, causing it to shatter into splinters.

“Get back in yer’ suit!” Hannibal called to Mirrorstone before noticing she was already rushing for the door.

Skull Eater ran towards Hannibal again, his massive footfalls shaking the ground as he ran, bellowing a mighty “WAAAAAAGH!”

Hannibal leapt to the side, barely avoiding Skull Eater’s power claw smashing where he was a moment ago. Gort shouted his own battle cry as he leapt onto Skull Eater’s massive frame, his claw-hands ripping into the warboss’ mega armor, and sending showers of shrapnel before Skull Eater finally knocked him off with a heavy swing, knocking him into the metal doorway, and bursting it open.

Hannibal rose to his feet, revving his buzz-saw arm as IronGore moved to his side.

“Traita’!” Skull eater bellowed, spittle flying out from his tusks.

“Ya’ left me ta’ rot in tha’ arena fer’ years, Skull Eata’!” IronGore snapped back in a rare display of rage. “Ya’ betrayed me, Not tha’ otha’ way around! An’ payback’s long overdue…”

“I got tha’ arm.” Hannibal muttered to IronGore, getting a snort of approval in return as Skull Eater charged them again, swiping his claw towards the two greenskins, aiming to behead his foes with one fell strike. IronGore barely ducked under the claw, a sharp whistle sounding in his ear as it cut through the air. The whistle ended in a massive clang as Hannibal’s buzz-saw arm struck, lodging itself into the klaw’s mechanics and stopping it a few inches short of the mek’s neck. For a moment, the two struggled back and forth with their mechanical limbs, wrenching the tangled mass of blades nearer and further from Hannibal’s flesh.

“Yer’ a fool if ya ‘fink yer’ gunna win ‘dis tug-a-war.” Said Skull Eater, his armor groaning with the effort.

“I ain’t plannin’ on winnin’ no tug-a-war, ya git. I’z tha distraction.”

Skull Eater had only a moment for a look of confusion before Hannibal shoved the klaw arm as far up as possible as IronGore brought his tankhammer down on Skull Eater’s now exposed torso.

With two anti-tank bombs on the end of the hammer.

Hannibal did not have time to even register the explosion before he was catapulted into the stone wall. His world quickly turning black as his ears rang.

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

Hannibal finally came to, his ears still rang loudly as he opened his eyes to see Guts standing over him.

“Boss. Boss, get up, boss.”

Hannibal barely heard him though the ringing. He shook his head and attempted to stand up. He succeeded in sumbling back down onto his back with a grunt as his battered spine found pieces of rubble to rest upon. Taking stock of his injuries, Hannibal noticed the pieces of shrapnel lodged in his extremities, sticking out of nearly every chink in his iron armor. His eyes and neck were saved if only because his good arm that he threw in front to protect himself was covered in a double helping of shrapnel. The sharp pain of a thousand needles began to slowly grow as the shock started to wear off.

Being more careful, Hannibal slowly rose again.

“How long?”

“You was only out fer’ a few minutes. By tha’ time me, an’ tha’ blueskins took out tha’ rest-a tha’ greycoats, you was already like ‘dis.”

“What abou’ IronGore, an’ Skull Eata’? Gort?”

“Look fer’ yerself.”

As Guts turned to the side, Hannibal could see outside the metal doors first. Gort was there, angrily nursing a broken arm, and hobbling as he walked through the bodies of the greycoat greenskins, his jaw hanging at a strange angle as he grumbled. Most of the dead were clearly filled with gaping cauterized wounds, or were burnt to a blackened husk. Tale tell signatures of the tau that killed them. Painfully turning to look at the inside, the first thing to cross Hannibal’s sight was Skull Eater himself.

Or rather, his corpse.

Taking the directed portion of the blast, even the warboss’ armor could not save him from the anti-tank strike, turning the hardened metal against the bearer. His entire chest was shredded and filled with shrapnel, his face frozen in a look of shock. Turning further, Hannibal looked to IronGore, barely sitting on his own accord with his several pieces of shrapnel struck though his limbs, one arm hung limply to the side, dislocated from his shoulder.

“You alrigh’ IronGore? Hannibal asked after an agonizing walk over to his lieutenant.

IronGore simply nodded as he ripped a large piece of shrapnel from his shoulder, and shoved the arm back into place with a loud pop. “Neva’ betta’.”

Hannibal nodded, barely keeping conscious as the pain continued to grow. “’den ‘dere’s jus’ one more ‘fing left ta’ do before dis’ iz ova’…” he said, his gaze falling on Skull Eater’s body, then to his shattered buzz-saw arm.

“Guts I’z gunna need ta’ borrow one a’ yer’ axes.”

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

The battle continued outside as the orks carved into each other with no end in sight. Even with tau forces firing into the mass of green bodies, neither side moved as more and more orks took the places of the fallen. An immobile battle line of death was creating a steady wall of bodies.

With halting footsteps Hannibal fought though the agony to walk to the edge of Tunda Castle’s battlements. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he surveyed the carnage outside before presenting his trophy.

Raising Skull Eater’s head to the masses, Hannibal used his remaining strength to let out a great call of “WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!” that sounded over the cacophony of battle. As one, the orks stopped fighting and turned to the silhouette of Hannibal standing on the battlements, victorious.

Their battle forgotten, the sea of greenskins bowed to their new master, ruling by rite of conquest.

"Oi!” Came a voice from the green tide, one of Skull Eater’s nobs. “He’s jus’ a mek! Tha’ mek krunped Skull Eata’? I ain’t gunna’ be ruled by some mek! He don’ look so tough! He ain’t bigga’ ‘den me!”

Several voices of other loyal nobs joined in agreement. As they voiced their defiance, the rest of the greenskins backed away carefully, afraid of the coming judgement. Feeling his energy slip away, Hannibal slumped down the wall of the battlements and turned to Mirrorstone.

“Ya’ can shoot ‘dose gits anytime ya like.”

Mirrorstone's marker drones ascended over the battlefield, painting the resisting orks in infrared hues. Mirrorstone gave the order to fire.

As Hannibal’s vision started to fade again, blue flashes signaled the final end of the battle for Thunda Castle.

+++The Black Sands, North of Mount Gorgon, Luna Epsilon+++
Svarne sat and spoke with his people as they floated down river, the hard wood of the barge providing little comfort for any. “Friends, we have a very difficult choice to make that will affect the rest of our lives, and the lives of our family. As you know we have affiliated ourselves with the Ruinous Powers, and turned our back on the Imperium.” One of the elder men cleared his throat before speaking in a hoarse voice, “Well what has the Imperium ever done for us? They force us into labor, they take our money, and they force us to our knees. ‘For what?’ I ask, they take but never give. This is an improvement if you ask me.” Another spoke, this time a woman with her child, “Yes, live in the city may be rough, but what’s to say this will be any better? What’s to stop them from killing us?” A third spoke, “If they were going to kill us they would have done it back there.” Quarreling and bickering soon followed as people proposed courses of action while trying to debunk others. Svarne tried to end it, “Stop it. Stop it!” They stopped arguing and looked to their pseudo leader, “Ok, I understand you all feel differently and that many of you are scared, but we have to lay out the facts. We killed PDF troopers, we sided with Chaos. If we return without them there is no doubt we will be imprisoned, but if we stay we may be no better off.” “Well then, what would you have us do?” “I will stay, to see what this Goreprince has in store for us. I have no doubt that we will be fighting for them, against the Imperium. I am willing to fight, the Imperium claims to be benevolent, but they lie, steal, and take from us. They force us into servitude and I will not go back to living on my knees. I will fight, and anyone who does not want to can take the end barge back to the city, back to servitude.” The eldest man stood, he remained silent for a few seconds as he pondered what to say, “Well, I’ve been alive longer than most, I know what cruelties the Mayor has in store for us, and what will happen if we return. I will stay and fight, it is the only choice, and fortunately it is the right choice.” Another man stood, “I will fight as well.” “But what of our families, they are still in the city, will not they be punished as well?” Svarne thought about this, “I will speak to the Goreprince about this.” “If we can help them, than I will also fight.” “And I” “And I” One by one all present swore to fight the Imperium, they would help Chaos in hopes of finding a better life, for everyone’s sake.
Ziinek sat in the command tent looking over the map of Arcadis Bay, quite the city it was. It’s location on the coast made it a central trading point on the moon, so it was no surprise that it harbored a couple million in habitants, still smaller than the other cities in the system, but formidable no doubt. The city layout had certain building placed into certain districts, the Housing district being the largest, but still extremely cramped, like the other districts. This pleased Ziinek, each shell would have that much more effect, that much more damage, and that much more gore. A scout appeared in the tent and bowed, “Prince Ziinek, there is a string of barges a mile out from camp, shall we destroy them?” “Ney, those are our new recruits.” “Of course your highness.” The scout gave another bow before leaving, Ziinek left the tent soon after. Instead of heading for the river bank he entered Gorebaron Fargun’s tent, “Gorebaron, we have guests, see to it that they are fed and have sufficient provisions, pitch some tents for them to sleep in. There is one among them named Svarne, tell him that he and two others must see me in the command tent when they are ready.” Fargun listened patiently, “It will be done.” “How are you faring Fargun? Is there anything I can do to help?” “I am well, but I’m quite hungry, I wish to help shell Arcadis Bay.” “Then so be it Gorebaron, you shall come with.” Fargun’s face lit up, “Thank you Ziinek, I’ll get to setting up the tents.”
The Goreprince had finished picking the flesh from his last axe as Svarne and two of his companions walked into the tent. Svarne began to kneel and motioned for his companions to do the same. Ziinek turned in his chair to face them, “I’m glad to see you here, it mustn't be easy abandoning your home, and family.” “I wish to speak to you about that, we have many family members and friends still in the city, if I can get them out, I can convince them to join our cause.” “And what do you know of our cause Svarne? You have been but minutes, let me tell you what you and your people are in for, then you tell me if you still want to bring the others into this.” Ziinek spent the next minutes explaining who the Gorespawn were, who Lord Khorne was, and what they were doing here. “You see Svarne, you will not merely be fighting the Imperium, you will be killing, slaughtering, culling, and sacrificing to Lord Khorne. This is not mere combat, you will have to tear people apart, you will bathe in their gore, you will kill without mercy. This is what you are in for Svarne.” Svarne took awhile to fully comprehend everything he had been told, the God he would worship, the atrocities he would commit… against the Imperium. Yes, the Imperium paled in comparison to what he had been told of Chaos, this was the right choice, it would be difficult, but they would assimilate. “Goreprince, I think I can speak for myself and for my people when I say that the Imperium will soon die, they are far weaker than the power you have told me of.” He looked back to his friends, they returned his look and nodded, “Then we will rend, rip, and tear in the name of Chaos, Lord Khorne, and the Gorespawn.” Ziinek gave a wicked grin and pulled out two axes, “Good, now you three will be initiated.” He put the axe blades on Svarnes shoulders, “I, Ziinek Goreprince, name you, Goreknight Svarne.” He pulled the blades back as they cut into Svarne’s flesh, he gritted his teeth but made not a noise. He repeated this process with his companions, and named them Gorepaladins. “Rise Goreknight, this is where your service starts,” He pointed to the map, “Tell me what you know and I will allow you to bring the rest of your people here, we will begin enlightening them to our ways.” “As you wish, my lord.”

Night had fallen on Arcadis Bay, the next Knight would not be so gentle.

“Tha’ Gork was he thinkin’…” mused Gort, in his typical foul mood.

“Shut yer’ zoggin mouth, Gort. Before I punch it shut for ya’.” Ace snapped in reply.

The battle for Thunda Castle was won, and most of the boys were out celebrating the victory, unknowing of the backdoor deal that almost took place. But Hannibal’s lieutenants knew. Together, the five of them talked among themselves as they watched over the body of their leader. The shrapnel that once filled his body now lay on the floor in a bloody heap.

Hannibal had not made a sound since he fell unconscious after giving the order to fire. Even when IronGore removed the shrapnel, Hannibal only offered minor winces of pain in response. Now, with nearly his whole body bandaged, he lay motionless on a bed, only shallow breathing revealing the life he still clung to.

“Refuzin an offa’ like ‘dat?” Spat Gort “We could’a wrecked ‘dose blue-skinned gits, an’ been hallway through wreckin’ tha’ whole planet by now!”

“Yer’ a squig-‘ead if ya really ‘fink tha’ blue-skins would’a been krumped so easy?” said Norrik, images of blue pulse fire scything though his spider rider’s ranks rose to his mind. “ ‘day ain’t no push ova’s. Ya won’ get more ‘den twenty paces from ‘em before ‘dey drop ya on tha’ ground wit’ a big hole in yer’ chest.”

“Least Warprida’ fights like a real ork. ‘Dose blue gits jus’ sit back an’ shoot. Wot kinda’ ork does ‘dat?”

“Me, ya’ git!” Answered Ace with a slap to the back of Gort’s head. “I’z do ‘dat. And dakka iz fightin’ like a proppa’ ork!”

“Well maybe dakka ain’t tha’ way we oughta’ be fightin’!”

“Well maybe I betta’ show you’z why dakka iz how we oughta’ be fightin!” Ace bellowed, lowering his giant gun as it charged with a pale green light.

“Enough out’a both of ya!” Came IronGore’s voice, as sharp and stern as a finely honed blade. “If tha’ boyz hear ‘dis, dey’ll know Hannibal ain’t awake. An’ if they know that…”

“Den iz only a matta’ a’ time before one’a ‘dem wants ta’ be tha’ new boss…” Guts said, finishing IronGore’s thought.

The nobs sat in silence for a moment, each of them thinking of what that meant.

“Bet I’d make a good boss…” Muttered Gort before he was subjected to another slap on the head. “WOT! I know you’z finkin’ it too!”

“An you ‘fink we’z got enough Mork in us ta’ lead tha’ Iron Horde now that Warprida’s wants ta’ krump us?” Ace shot back.

“He’s right, Hannibal’s always been tha’ ‘finker. He’s ‘da one ‘dats got tha’ plans. If he ain’t around, dere’s no way we’z survivin’ a battle against Warprida. He’s got tha’ tech, an’ tha’ know-how.” Agreed Guts.

“Yeah,” nodded Norrik, “but how we gunna’ keep tha’ boyz from knowin’ about tha’ boss ‘till he wakes?”

“Ya mean if he wakes.”

Gort was slapped again.

“Wot we needs,” began Ace, nursing his sore hand. “Iz some kinda mission ta’ get ‘da boyz ‘finkin about. We can stuff tha’ tech tha’ blue-skin’s gave us in ‘ere wit’ tha’ Boss, an’ tell ‘em he’s workin’ on some new projects.”

“Yeah but wot kinda’ mission?”

The room fell quiet as Guts’ question hung in the air, each nob searching for the answer.

“Tha’ comet.” IronGore’s said, breaking the silence. “We’z gunna’ hunt fer’ tha’ comet a’ iron.”

=====Luna Epsilon, Dreadmob===== (Continuation of Gargant Event: Hell Divers/Charcharodons View Point)
The air screamed and the sky darkened as the full might of the Hell Divers Air Cavalry and the Carcharodons air elements soared over the war waging below. The air became more and more polluted as the Skwadrons of Ork Jets came, numbering far greater than the Imperial forces. Colonel Taylor would enjoy bringing death to the enemies of the Emperor, even if victory was not a guarantee.

The Colonel opened up the vox line to the rest of his men, “Alright men listen up, we’ve Orks inbound and the Sharks need escort. I want efforts focussed on clearing a path to the gargant, only then can we focus on the mob itself. Good luck men, and good hunting.” The combined might of Astartes and Guard warplanes drilled a fierce hole into the black smoke of the Ork airfleet, lascannon shots cracked and bolter shots rang, barely audible over the screaming and screeching of engines. They were closing in fast on the target and things were looking good with minimal losses, a small price to pay for the Emperor. The Caestus Rams made their brutal entrance into the gargant marking that their escort job was done for now and the swarm of Vendetta’s, Vulture’s, and Lightning fighters turned their eyes to the rest of the Ork planes.

Taranis opened his vox channel to the other 29 Terminators he brought with him in the Assault Rams, “Brothers, this is the moment we show these feral scum why you do not tread upon the Emperor’s lands. We will show them the folly of their ways.” The light inside the Caestus lit up yellow, indicating they were preparing to breach. “We will exterminate these aliens with the cold fury of Imperial Justice, today they fall.” A massive crack was heard as the Rams opened up with their Magna Meltas, weakening the armor below the Gargants left arm. “Now Brothers! Et Laceraverunt Lacrimam!” The Gargants hull exploded inward as the Rams penetrated its hull with brutal force. The Carcharodons disembarked from their vehicles and instantly began killing everything in their wake. Their roaring and screaming drowning that of the Orks. The Titan Hammer had hit its mark.

Scrap metal rained from the sky in fireballs wreathed in smoke falling to the ground like comets in a meteor storm. The superior weapons of the Imperium made quick work of what enemies they fell upon, the Orks may have had the numbers, but the Imperium had them outgunned. This was reflected as yet another trio of misshapen planes made their way to the horde below, creating gaps that were soon filled with more green. Taylor gave a grim smile as he watched another plane be felled by red bolts of death, that smile soon faded as the Vulture next to his burst into flames and began to plummet, the crew’s screams echoed through the vox, reminding everyone that war was rarely glorious. From below the sky was a mural of blueish-green skies, the belching warplanes of the Orks, the machines of the Imperium, and the light of discharged munitions.

The inside of the Gargant was a flurry of green, grey, and red. The Ork Boyz stood no chance against the battle-tried and voidborn Carcharodons. Taranis gave a look over his forces, they were well off, but they needed direction. “Men! Rally on my position!” He shouted as he charged into middle of the fight and eviscerated a Nob with a righteous fury. “For the Emperor!” His cry was met with deafening roars, growls, and a renewed fight. They were making fair progress, until Mega-Nobs started pouring forth. One of the Terminators from Leiodon challenged the leading Nob, its hulking form charged forward, he began clawing at its armor, rending pieces of it off. The Nob reached out with his Klaw and grabbed his arm and pulled it from his body, the Astartes took a few steps back, looking at the area where his arm used to be, with his remaining hand he took his helmet off and looked the Nob in the eyes, he bellowed before charging at it with renewed fervor. He took bites out of the exposed flesh and kept tearing at the armor until another Nob came over and grabbed his legs, he was torn in half. Taranis watched him spend the last moments of his life de-legging the first Nob. Taranis would not let this be, he raised his arms to the sides, seemingly reaching for walls next to the Orks. His eyes emitting a dark glow, Taranis rent the walls with his mind, turning them into spikes and impaling the Mega-Nobs before they could enter the fight. Taranis and his men carved a bloody path to the Belly Gun of the Gargant, after several minutes of fighting and another two Terminators from Leiodon dead, they finally reached the gun.

Taylor took a good look of the skies around them, analyzing the situation. Air superiority had been achieved, but it had to be maintained as well. He grabbed the pilots vox, “Alright men, good hunting. I want a quarter of all remaining planes still operable to get started on those Ork walkers, I want them dead.” The mass of warbirds descending onto the enemy below was a grand seen. Beginning from one side of the horde and ending on the other swept a tide of missiles, explosives, and other weapons let loose on the towering figures that stood out from the mob below. Orange fire and black wind only added to the smog and pollution the Ork vehicles were already excreting, only worsening visibility. This allowed the Vendetta’s to make several runs with minimal damage, but not all were so lucky. Taylor peered over from the side of his craft and watched as a stray missile from the mob found its mark on a Lightnin’s engine, it entered an uncontrolled barrel-roll and struck a mega-dread, rending it to pieces. It was not long before Orks began randomly firing into the air hoping to strike something or anything.

Taranis dropped the last of the Orks guarding the massive gun, the area was clear for the time being. “Set your Melta Charges on the ammunition stockpiles and the gun breech, set the timers for ten minutes. “Charges set Captain. Charges armed. Charge timers set, we’re ready to go.” “Good, Carcharodons, we must go.” He switched vox channels, “Carcharius, this is Taranis, we need evac immediately.” “Yes, sir. Meet us where the Rams broke through.” Taranis wasted no time in moving out, making sure to pick up the bodies of the fallen as they went. The Orks were closing in on them fast, they had to hurry. The Carcharius was waiting for them at the opening, Taranis started giving orders for the wounded and dead to be put on first. Ork yells and shanties were heard from down the corridor, they were running out of time. The Seargant of squad Leiodon came to Taranis, “Captain, the Orks will be here before we can load and be on our way. My squad and I would like to stay behind, we will see our brothers again.” Taranis spoke to Leiodon as Obesus and Hemiodon finished boarding, “The Emperor protects brothers, you will be remembered, I will see to it.” Taranis stepped on to the Carcharius as it took off, he could see shrinking figures as they fought the Ork hoard that had returned, then he saw nothing as the mid section of the Gargant was engulfed in fire. He looked out over the Dreadmob to see that it marched on, bellowing smoke and pollution, its advance was noticeably slowed, the Hell Divers had done damage.

Garathal sat motionless almost in a trance like state as his mind scoured the vast black emptiness that was spread out before him, like a river any activity would send ripples throughout the black abyss and also like a river no activity meant the water ran smooth, not a trace. As Garathal was about to stand up ripples erupted somewhere in the deep and Garathal rushed to the epicentre where he saw nought but a hand handing over a crumpled piece of paper. Hours of searching and this was his reward ? What could it mean ? While he was contemplating his new found discovery the abyss returned to its calm status leaving Garathal alone. Standing up and turning his back on the shrine Garathal grabbed his staff, opened his door and proceeded into the Cathedral, his Cathedral with his seven in tow. Long benches carved for the masses were lined up throughout most of the Cathedral with a center aisle which ran down the center and to the front doors, a musty carpet was rolled down the aisle which featured many holes no doubt due to the many maggots that follow The Disciples of Decay wherever they go, occasionally one could hear and feel the squish under their boot as they crush the life from one such maggot bur another will take its place in due time. The carpet itself was once a bright luscious green belonging to a noble house on some backwater Imperial world but after the populace began to worship the Plague Lord the Disciples took it for their own, now however after surviving the long and harsh travels of the cult, dirt and grime have seeped into the fabric darkening its colour which suited Garathal just fine. Carvings of Daemons were lined the outer aisles, the humanoid Plaguebearers, the insectoid Battle and Rot flies, the slug like Beasts of Nurgle, packs of Nurglings and even a bloated Great Unclean One from which Nurgle himself takes form. The altar itself is a simple thing, large but simple, made of wood with Nurgle's mark carved into its face it served it purpose, the vast majority of the work was put into the stonework this altar was clearly a last minute addition. Behind the altar on the north facing wall lied a few lines of words scrawled in a sickly green liquid "Buboes, phlegm, blood and guts! Boils, bogeys, rot and pus! Blisters, fevers, weeping sores! From your wounds the fester pours."Garathal took a deep breath and let it all out with a toothless grin, he was finally home a place he could call his own, a place where true believers could come and live amongst those who believe as they do but of course one does not hold onto something unless they are willing to protect it and with that in mind Garathal began to think of a way to try and source some anti aircraft guns, as he mind raced through all the possible locations when the twin doors creaked open to reveal a lone figure, light cut through the shadows illuminating the dust particles within. “Prophet I have news from Nortannis” Garathal nodded towards his study “Follow me Mason let us discuss your findings inside”

Back inside his study Garathal sat back in his chair expectantly looking at Mason who upon closing the door behind him dug his hand into his pocket and produced a crumpled piece of paper, just like the one Garathal had seen but mere moments ago, Garathal snatched it from Mason’s hand and read it eagerly and aloud “Brothers of Crion, the Imperium of man is crumbling and we are the wrecking ball, join our might and fight for your homes ! Come to the Cordova Iron Pub bearing this piece of parchment, the real fight begins soon” Garathal brooded over this a moment “Interesting, very interesting” Mason coughed up “Did I serve you well ?” Garathal looked up from the letter “That remains to be seen, you will gather three others and go to this Pub and gather any information you can on these rebels, I see potential in them” Mason bowed to his master and turned for the door “Where do you think you're going ?” Mason froze and stuttered “I-I-I was going to gather the others” “Get back here, I sent you to scout out Nortannis not to gather me letters, speak” Mason turned back round “The city is aware of our presence and as such have placed the city under Quarrinetine trapping many of its inhabitants outside the city, many were angry and a hooded figure was handing out those letters” “So they were riling up the commoners, go on” “They have high walls behind which they grow food so besieging them isn't really an option, aside from the PDF I spotted an armored female warrior overlooking the enraged populace, thats all I have, its the best I could gather while being locked out of the city itself” Garathal spat “Sororitas, has to be” Garathal sat silently for a moment “Go gather the others and make your way to that pub, infiltrate their ranks if you can, become one of them and they’ll begin to trust ya and if they trust ya then there will be very little information out of your reach” Nodding Mason left to gather three people he thought might be up for the job, ones who could keep themselves under control.

The sun casted an orange glow over the horizon when Mason and his squad approached Cordova Iron Pub, it was a pit stop on the road a place for travelers to rest their heads or get a decent meal. Local Crion folk music could be heard from outside along with laughter and shouting all the signs of a merry time then why was Mason so nervous ? Mason revised his choices for his squad, Logan Reid, Strong build short dark brown hair with some stubble was a prisoner who joined the cult during of the many breakouts Garathal had staged to bolster his numbers, the prisoners either join or be left behind, most joined. Reid himself was a bit unstable but not as bad as some of the others as long as he has a bottle in his hand and he stays calm he should be fine, “just as well they are headed to a pub” thought Mason, “otherwise I wouldn't have brought him at all” His skin was still relatively human and clean so he shouldn't raise any suspicions. Varius Foy, slim build shoulder long red hair, clean shaven was found digging through corpses in a graveyard Garathal used to distract the Imperials, upon discovery he begged to join the Disciples one which Garathal agreed to. Foy doesn't talk much and keeps to himself although most of the cultists find him awkward to talk to, as long as he doesn't start talking to people about his obsession with the dead he should be fine. Clover Dukes the last member of the team, muscular build with a shaved head and a scar ran from her right ear to the corner of he mouth, a former rebel from a planet long brought back under compliance she joined when the Disciples fled the system and while she may turn a few heads for the wrong reasons she is damn good in a fight which hopefully is not what Mason needed but nothing wrong with being prepared. “Right people act normal, grab a beer and keep to yourselves I’ll handle any talking and track down these rebels, keep you weapons hidden not every farmer's boy carries pistols and shotguns” double checking that his weapons were loaded and that he had the parchment Mason and Co. entered the Cordova Iron Pub.

The layer of smoke was so thick that Mason’s eyes almost immediately began to water, quickly wiping his eyes they stolled towards the barman. Looking left and right Mason spied some men leaving their seats in a hurry and turned to the others “You three grab those seats, I’ll get the drinks” pushing his way through the crowded pub Mason found himself in front of a big burly balding man was a groomed moustache and tattoos halfway up his arm which were revealed via his ill fitting and greasy tank top, he eyed Mason as he approached the bar “What are ya having boy ?” Asked the man as he wiped a glass with a dirty cloth “Three ales and a water for meself please” the man scoffed “Water ? If you want bloody water go out and drink from the stream” the man disappeared and Mason took the opportunity to observe his surroundings. The pub was crowded making seeing anything difficult almost everyone puffed at a pipe of some description which didn't help the situation, the music that could be heard outside was now deafening and most people were seemingly having a good time, the man reappeared with four ales “20 quid” handing the man some money and not caring for the spare change Mason took the drinks and brought them over to the table, Logan grabbed his ale and slogged it down while Clover and Mason sipped theirs Varius didn't even look at his. Clover turned to her commander “How are you going to inquire about the rebels in here ?” Mason shrugged “We have to blend in, relax have a few ales and then we will harass the locals” by the time Mason turned back around Logan had finished his own ale and had begun slurping on Varius’ Mason chuckle pd “See Logan gets it” the four of them sat and talked for a while finishing their ales and eyeing potential people with information on the rebels “If i was a gambling woman my money would be on the barman, he overhears things on that bar and he sees everyone who comes in here, if there is one working for these rebels it's him” Clover decided “How about just to be sure you buy the next round” Both Mason and Logan left out a laugh while Varius cracked a fake smile in an attempt to fit in. Clover grunted before wandering towards the bar while Mason took the opportunity to find the toilets, Mason merely followed his nose to find out where they were as the pungent smell of urine had seemed to have seeped into the white tiles leaving a smell emit from the toilets into the main body of the pub. The toilets themselves housed three cubicles, two slender windows and a back door, as Mason washed his hand in the filthy sink he heard the back door open, looking in the mirror in front of him he saw troopers adorned in red storm in, turning and reaching for his hidden side arm Mason saw nought but the stock of a lasgun crack against his nose as the troopers moved into the rest of the pub, Mason collapsed and heard a loud bang from inside, a frontal breach. Whoever had lured Mason here had laid a fine trap one which he blundered into beautifully.

The mind is a curious place.

Bright colours roared noiselessly through the endless sky, stars flickering between neon clouds drifting above an ever-changing vista of memories, hallucinations and nightmares. The Sorcerer stood knee-deep in the middle of an ocean the colour of midnight, its opaque surface twinkling with lights of every colours that danced and died amidst the darkness. Above him, bright streams of water, blood and other, more eldritch fluids crisscrossed with objects and places he remembered from the many years that had passed.

In the distance, he saw the great libraries of Tizca in flames, their forms burning but never yielding to the fire; closer, a ruined Titan lay slumped over its Warp-touched twin, lightning crackling over their ruined weapons and armour; closer still, bodies wearing the regalia of the Adeptus Astartes, Guardsmen, Xenos and other beings drifted motionless in the blackened sea.

The Sorcerer shivered. It was dangerous to enter one’s own mind. Some who wandered too far into their own consciousness were lost forever, their body slipping into an eternal coma as their mind became increasingly detached from reality. Others were driven into madness by the flood of contradicting sensations battering into them, rendering them twitching, mewling wrecks.

But the true reason visiting one’s own psyche was a hazardous undertaking was that one could find more than they had bargained for. Whether it was a vision of future damnation or torment, a trauma from the past that had never quite healed or a single look into the sheer horror behind existence, the end result was always the same.

A sound echoing between mountains of rubble and corpses caught the Sorcerer’s attention. It carried the hint of laughter, mad and deranged, with an undercurrent of violent screaming.

It was here. It was here, in his mind, in his head.

Hunting. Feasting.

The Sorcerer started running, trudging through the black water at his knees towards the source of the sound. Time was of the essence. The longer the daemon was inside his mind, the more of his sanity it could claim - and with it, whatever information it was after. A shiver ran down his spine as he pushed the other, more… uncomfortable alternatives out of his thoughts. He had seen more than once what the Warp-kin did to those who had become their plaything.

How he wished he could erase those memories.

As he walked, the landscape shifted, blurring the lines between reality and imagination even further. The ocean turned to glass, the faces of the dead etched into the surface, azure steam rising through the cracks that formed with each step he took. The temperature changed from scorching heat to cold as the void in a matter of seconds, the wind picked up, fell, roared with the power of hurricanes on storm-planets and then died again, noises, noises of all sorts droned in his ears as he struggled to maintain his grip on his own sanity. The daemon’s cackling urged him onwards, almost goading him, driving him deeper and deeper into the nightmare-scape of his own mind.

The laughter grew louder as the Sorcerer navigated a giant maze of ferrocrete and iron, its form vaguely reminiscent of a fortress-world visited in times long past. He couldn’t tell how long he had been running, only that his legs felt tired and bruised and his lungs struggled to draw in the stale, cold air. He felt the daemon’s presence pushing against the walls of his consciousness, the taint around him almost tangible.

He was close now. That was certain.

He turned around the corner, and suddenly, he stood in the centre of a dark, stone corridor. It was damp, slightly cold, and more importantly – silent. The laughter had gone, leaving nothing more than his own ragged breath echoing in the hallway. Confused, the Sorcerer slowly looked around, his Power Maul drawn and ready to strike, his eyes struggling to pierce the darkness around him as he searched for his opponent. As his eyes slid over the walls and ceiling, a strange sensation washed over him. There was something familiar about this place, but he couldn’t remember wh-

The sound of footsteps coming from the other end of the hall snapped him back to attention. He slid into a small recess in the wall, and waited.

Two figures approached, their armoured boots clattering on the stone floor in a hasty rhythm. From his hideout, the Sorcerer could vaguely make out their forms as they neared his position. The first was clad in bulky Terminator plate, whilst the second wore regular Power Armour. They were talking softly to one another, their accents betraying their superhuman nature. As they passed the recess in which the Sorcerer was hiding, he could faintly hear their whispers.

“-that this will work. And what of the others? We cannot simply leave them to-“

“They know what they must do. What we all must.”

“I will not just let them sacrifice themselves for me. Too much blood has been spilled on my behalf already. I will not-”

“You will, Acting-Captain. I’m afraid none of us has the liberty of choosing our fate. And yours is most crucial in the grand scheme of things.”

As soon as those words parted from the first figure’s lips, time seemed to slow to a crawl.

The Sorcerer heard his own two hearts beating heavily in his chest, his breath coming in ragged bursts. He felt the daemon’s presence again, stronger and more powerful than before. His eyes drifted to the other end of the corridor as the figures’ heavy footsteps thundered in his ears.

Two malevolent red eyes bled out of the darkness, pale fangs glistening softly as the daemon slid out of the shadows. It looked at him, grinning, and then stared at the Acting-Captain who was walking towards the other end of the hallway, oblivious of its presence.

But the other figure was not.

The bulky Terminator armour halted, and turned. The figure peered into the dark, and the Sorcerer held its gaze for a moment. The two Sorcerers, one a memory, one an astral projection, both one and the same individual in one and the same mind.

How curious, both thought.

The memory-Sorcerer nodded, and raised his hand. An invisible barrier formed between them, shielding the memory from any external intervention. Or at least, the Sorcerer hoped it would. As the memory-Sorcerer and Aurelius ran further into the hallway, the Sorcerer stepped into the hallways and turned towards the daemon.

The daemon snarled in frustration, its form shaking with barely restrained rage. Its mad eyes glared hungrily at him, its bare teeth revealing the bloody traces of memories consumed. Even though it had already learned much from the Sorcerer’s mind, the Thousand Son was now denying it its ultimate prize, and it would make him pay for that in blood.

As the beast leapt towards him, its claws reaching for the Sorcerer's face, he closed his eyes and whispered an incantation he had learned over ten thousand years ago on a planet he had once called home.

The world broke apart around him and all was light.

Commissar Jethro Alenko looked off into the darkness the hive’s streets. The flood lights of inquisition’s forward base rebelled against the corrupting abyss of the upper hive, however they barely managed to illuminate ten paces from the compound’s walls. From the darkness Alenko could hear all manner of noises, the distant crack of las and auto fire, the occasional explosion that illuminated the black oppression for seconds at a time, and the hideous howl of yet unidentified origins. Jethro took a deep breath, his rebreather filtering out dozens of harmful airborne particles. Since the Nurgle’s rot had taken nearly two hundred convicts rebreathers had become mandatory to wear at all times, the punishment for any man being caught without a mask was a three days in quarantine without food. Alenko stared deep into the abyssal streets and felt as if a knife had been twisted in his gut. Alenko swore he heard a silent whisper cry from the unknown: a horrid beckoning he would have no part of.

“Under the crimson fog of a winter dawn, a black regiment marched over Iron Bridge. I had not thought death had undone so many.”

The voice of Captain Amanda Kid caught the Commissar off guard. She wore a rebreather similar to Alenko’s only hers was silver to match her carapace armor. Alenko turned to Kid and recited.

“So come now sons and daughters of Mordia, let us strike one final blow against the void and rejoin our comrades forever more.”

Kid removed her mask and approached the commissar.

“I had not realized you were a coinsure of Mordian poetry.”

“It was always a bit macabre for my liking I much prefer the works of Faust.” Spoke Alenko

“Oh, would you care to share one with me?”

Alenko broke his gaze from the black shadowed streets and recited staring deep into the Captain’s eyes.
“I cannot rest from travel: I will drink Life to the lees: as all times I have enjoy'd Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Armageddon Vext the dim upon the void.”

Kid took a step towards Alenko and removed the commissar’s rebreather lingering near him. Alenko continued breath unburdened.

“I am to become a name; For always roaming with a hungry heart. Much have I seen and known; cities of men and manners, climates, councils, governments, Myself not least, but honour'd of them all; And drunk delight of battle with my peers, Far on the ringing plains of Gallor Prime.”

Before the Commissar could speak another word Amanda pressed her lips on his.

3434 watched as 1597 exited the medical tent. It had been nearly two weeks since the failed attack where 1597 lost his leg. Where 1597’s leg was replaced by a crude metallic peg forcing the former Faustian to walk with a limp. 3434 laughed at his friend.
“What in thrones name is that, why didn’t they give you a regular servo leg?”

1597 grumbled. “Apparently, they don’t have anymore regular servo limbs, it seems the storms had first dibs on them. So I’m stuck with this in the mean time.”

34 laughed and pulled a flask filled with contraband from his pocket. 34 tossed the booze to 1597 who immediately took a swig.
Growling at the horrible drink 1597 spoke “thanks for cutting off my leg by the way.”

“Any time friend, any time.”

Jethro and Amanda laid on the small cot in the Commissar’s tent.

“Why didn’t we do this sooner?” asked Amanda

“I don’t know. I’ve thought about this, us for some time. The timing just never seemed right. I was going to say something at the Governor’s ball, but those pesky green skins had to barge in and start killing everyone.”

Amanda laughed “Put a bit of a damper on the mood.”

Amanda arose from the cot and began reattaching the pieces of her silver carapace armor. “You should get ready; Randall’s final war counsel will begin in half an hour.”

Alenko sat up in his bed and spoke “Right I’ll see you on the other side.”

Kid smiled and nodded as she fixed her last piece of armor and exited the Commissar’s tent.

Randall watched as Raven entered the war tent, Randall spoke
“Welcome Colonel, now that you are here we may begin. We have at long last a chance to strike at the heretics headquarter.”

Randall pointed to the hive’s citadel.

“Should we destroy this the rest of these cultist scum will fall to disorder. Our enemy knows this and has consolidated everything they have to defend the citadel. I suspect it will be a hard fought battle, but we stand to finally end this.” Randall began placing down tokens identifying the various units and began to speak. “We will surround our foe, and attack them from all sides. Colonel Raven you have the fastest force so you will flank from the south. Captain’s kid’s storm troopers will advance from the north, they will be our anvil. Commissar Alenko and warden Hoffman will split the penal legion and attack from the east and west. Paladin Utilitarius will lead a terminator deep strike force into the citadel and bring it down from within, using melta charges.”

Raven looked at the battle plan and then to Randall “It’s sound, but our last offensive was equally sound.”

“I think our enemy can only have so many tricks up their sleeve, but yes we must remain ever vigilant our enemy is unpredictable.” Randall arose “What we do here today will echo throughout the Imperium for generations to come, preform your duty for the Emperor.” Each of the soldiers returned the salute “For the Emperor.”

The citadel was the center of the Hive. From here the hive’s lord mayor would govern his uncountable charges looking down upon them from the spire’s balcony. The compound was built to withstand all manner of attack, lower hive uprising, mutant incursion, a coup from the PDF. The citadel lived up to its name. around the single large spire were several other small buildings. The cultists had taken to using them as armories and barracks. Surrounding the complex was a 20-foot-high wall, that completely encircled the mile perimeter of the compound.

Mordecai looked at the approaching inquisition with disgust. From the ramparts he saw his own forces taking positions both in and out of the fortress among the ranks of normal soldiers were the twisted chaos spawn eager for the fight to come. Mordecai looked to the cultists below him awaiting his order. Mordecai growled beneath his porcelain white mask. “Those imperial dogs seek to martyr themselves for their corpse god, I say we oblige them.” The men bellow shouted and jeered in approval. Mordecai looked up at the citadel spire, the inquisition will not interfere with the ritual.

Captain Amanda Kid advanced up the boulevard taking cover behind the Malcador tank the slowly paved the way. Kid kept her head low as the metallic pinking of steel and iron sent sparks and flashes. From Kid’s left a squad of cultists stormed firing their weapons on full auto. The storm troopers returned fire and eliminated the squad, but not before three of their own had fallen. One of the Malcador operators opened the turret hatch and began the heavy stubber allowing the storm troopers to fan out into the ruined buildings for cover.

The underbelly of the citadel.

Five Grey Knights materialize in the flash of an eye. Paladin Utilitarius’s heads up display installed in his helmet read the area was clear. Utilitarius looked to his men, no words were needed they knew their jobs. They split up and headed for their assignments each with a melta bomb in tow.

Commissar Alenko fired his bolt pistol at the oncoming cultists, these ones were a particularly sickly lot pallid flesh and grotesque boils. These were the ones responsible for the out break that took so many convict lives, and the prisoners were eager for a bit of retribution. The penal legionaries advanced aggressively any cultists that had the misfortune of getting too close was met with exceptional brutality. The defenders were so preoccupied with the storm troopers on the north and the wyrms men to the south they had neglected the eastern and western walls almost completely. The penal legionaries were but feet away from the citadel’s walls. Randall saw his opening, the Commissar shouted “Hooks”. The order bounced six times from the arbitrator section commanders, and the penal legionnaires produced their grappling hooks.

3434 swung the hook at his side before sending it flying towards the citadel’s walls. 34 shouted “Hook secure!” as the iron snare latched to the citadel’s wall.” 8516 was the first to begin climbing the rope, he made it about half way up the wall when a cultist at the top of the wall gunned him down. 8516 fell taking with him 3391. 34 dodged the falling convicts and fired his las pistol at the defending cultist. 34 looked to his left and watched as a cultist cut the climbers rope with a hatchet. It was none other than Commissar Alenko who put a bolt in the hatchet wielders chest. At last they had finally reached the top of the walls 34 drew his pistol and short blade as the first of the cultist ran to meet the penal legionnaires.

The fighting on the west ramparts was brutal. 1597 slashed the throat of an oncoming cultist with his curved blade as 3434 kicked another off of the wall. This fight was clearly going in the penal legionaries’ favor, and soon enough the cultists began fleeing into the spire. 7386 an ox of a man hoisted the last cultist over his head and threw him from the wall, the cultist screamed for a few seconds before breaking every bone he had against the harsh hive floor.

Alenko watched as the penal legionnaires celebrated their victory over the cultists, Alenko couldn’t help but grin as he shouted “Alright boys, lets show the rest of these poor bastards what real fighters look like.” An eager roar was let out as the commissar drew his saber and headed for the northern gate with his criminal chargers.

The citadel’s underbelly was a loathsome place, dark, damp and decrypt. From here Utilitarius could hear the muffled fighting between the inquisition forces and the heretics. The occasional explosion would cause dust to fall from the celling. Paladin Utilitarius had encountered three cultists hurrying to get something from the cellar, the Paladin had cut them down before they could learn of his presence. The paladin approached where he would place the charge and set the explosive. Utilitarius opened a psychic channel with his squad and informed them his charges were set, battle brothers Beshka, Fellran, Kellgan responded affirming their task’s completion. Brother Jyorus however made no such check in. Utilitarius attempted to psychically hail the knight but was given no response.

Utilitarius ordered his men to meet him where Jyorus was supposed to place his bomb. Utilitarius was the first to arrive, finding Jyorus dead in a pool of blood.

Fellran approached “That wound was caused by no human forged blade.”
Beshka growled “By Titan I swear vengeance for brother Jyorus. We must find the creature that did this.”

“You already have Grey Knight.”

Inquisitor Garrett Randall removed his sword from the heart of a massive chaos spawn, toppling backwards. High above the battle field was a flicker of light, emanating from the top of the spire. Soon the flicker became a beam of light that reached the celling of the hive. It drew every eye for miles. Randall felt a sharp pain in his head and his nose began to bleed. The grey knights accompanying him shared the psychic phenomenon. Captain Athenar spoke with shock “By the emperor.” Randall regained his focus and shouted “It’s a summoning, we have to get up there now.” Athenar attempted to caste a warp gate to propel himself to the ritual point, but there was some manner of psychic ward preventing him.

Randall opened his com bead, “Utilitarius, we need that spire down now.” Randall repeated “Paladin do you copy, what is your status.” Again static, Randall attempted to contact the paladin psychically but could not get a trace on him.

Utilitarius turned to face the voice, his brothers did not react. Utilitarius gripped his nemesis force sword with both hands. Across from him was a foul red creature armed with a blade of stygian ivory. The beast was a foot taller than the eight-foot paladin, its flesh an ever shifting gradient of black and red, its horns sharp, teeth, and claws razor sharp. Utilitarius moved passed his frozen brothers and cursed at the demon.

“Utilitari ati vak Draigo”

The demon laughed

“You think you can banish me with some words as if I were one of Slaanesh’s cheap harlots or Tzeentch’s sniveling peons.”

Utilitarius growled and charged for the crimson beast the demon grinned

“So it begins.”

Randall cursed “Utilitarius isn’t responding” Randall looked at the bright beam and focused on it so that he might detect its magics. After a few moments of focus Randall called over to Athenar, “We can’t teleport to it, but perhaps together we could teleport a small squad through.” Athenar nodded in agreement, “Those wards are meant to keep out psykers, we could send some non psykers through.” Commissar Alenko stepped forward “Me and my men will go.” Randall nodded “Get your men no more then five.” Alenko gathered five of his best men, Arbitrator Halouck, 3434, 4716, 7386, and 5219. They stood perfectly still waiting for Athenar and Randall to channel the psychic power. Through the combined effort of the two master psykers the six men vanished in a flash of Sanctic light.

Paladin Utilitarius swung his nemesis force sword at the khornate creature. The two blades of corruption and purity made heavy blows at one and other. Utilitarius found his opening after nearly a minute of exchanging blocks with the demon. However, when the blade struck the demon’s hide, it became apparent the beast was not actually there. Utilitarius’s blade phased through the demon, as if there were nothing there. The demon laughed as he returned to being soldi and locking blades with Utilitarius.

“You almost had me. It has been some time since I’ve killed something almost worthy.”

Utilitarius growled and shot a bolt of lighting from his hand at the demon. The creature absorbed the psychic attack with his blade and redirected it at Utilitarius. Utilitarius in turn weathered the blow against his adamantium hull, his ward of endurance ensured he felt no pain from it.

Top of the spire

Mordecai watched with pleasure as the psykers conducted the ritual. Eight psykers stationed at the points of the chaos star painted in blood atop the spire roof. At the center of star was a pyre with a hundred and eighty-four skulls of one hundred and eighty-four flayed men. Seven of the Psykers chanted in demonic tongues while a single orator sang above the others. “Ave Arachus prince of darkness, rise anew so that you may re-forge this world in glorious iron. Show us the path oh grand demon, scion of Khorne. Slayer of Skies, ARISE ARISE.” From the center of the pyre of skulls arose a blood red hand griping a massive thunder hammer. Mordecai smiled underneath his mask as the prince of chaos slowly began to force its way into the world.

Mordecai’s smile turned to a fierce rage as flash of blinding light heralded the arrival of six inquisitorial meddlers. Mordecai shouted “Complete the ritual! Guards!”

Alenko fired three bolts into the torsos of two guards. 3434 drew his lucky shiv and danced around las rifle armed cultist before slicing his throat. Arbitrator Halouck drew his stun baton and began dueling a chain sword armed pdf traitor. 4716 leveled his las rifle at one of the ritual cultists but was gunned down by Mordecai’s broom stock auto pistol. 7386 the ox man charged for Mordecai, with his chain sword. Mordecai drew his sword and shield easily blocking the convicts hardy blow. Mordecai lifted his shield and struck at 7386’s legs sending the man to the ground, allowing the Lazarus’s shield bearer to finish off the ox like soldier. Alenko removed his saber from another cultist guard as he saw Mordecai.

Mordecai locked eyes with the Commissar and flourished his blade and raised his shield that bore the sigil of the flayed legion.

Alenko fired the remaining two bolts he had in his pistol at Mordecai, but the champion of chaos withstood the bolts thanks to his shield. Mordecai swung first Alenko narrowly dodged the long sword. Mordecai swung for the second time Alenko parried the blow but was driven back by its force. Alenko felt himself growing weary, while Mordecai was still fresh and hardened by rage. Mordecai swung his blade at a 45-degree angle, Alenko thought this would be the end for sure, but a memory came to him. Sheppard.

Alenko flipped his saber so the back faced Mordecai and the Blade rested in Alenko’s left palm. Mordecai struck the saber and followed the blade’s curve to the left. This left Mordecai’s face exposed to a bash from the hilt of Alenko’s saber. With all his strength Alenko bashed the side of Mordecai’s face with the Aquila headed pommel. Particles of the champion’s porcelain mask went flying everywhere and the masked cracked all across its face. Mordecai was stunned by the blow and Alenko did not hesitate to press his advantage. The Commissar pivoted to mordecai’s undefended right and ran him through with his saber. Mordecai fell to the floor gripping his side. Alenko towered over him and raised his boot. Mordecai laughed gurgling blood, “I will be with you soon, four fathers. I pray I served you well.” Alenko brought his boot down shattering both Mordecai’s mask and his face.

3434, arbitrator Halouck, and 5219 killed the last of cultist guards. They drew their pistols and began firing at the ritual psykers. Soon enough they all laid dead. And the hand that was slowly rising from the pyre of skulls began to sink back to the hell it came from.

Alenko looked over to his men they were all weary, 3434 laughed “You know, this reminds me of the time…” an explosion cut 34 off, as the building began to shake.

Earlier

Utilitarius locked blades with the demon as the beast snarled “You tire mortal, I do not. Give up now so you may die with some comfort.” Utilitarius roared stepping back from the demon unleashing the full strength of his wrist mounted storm bolter on his foe. The bolts had no effect on the demon but Utilitarius noticed something, one of the bolts damaged the creature’s bone sword that was its source of power. Utilitarius casted Iron arm and made a mighty vertical swing at the demon. The demon struggled to match the Grey Knight’s strength. The force of the Utilitarius and the burning fury of his spirt channeled through the force sword soon became too much for the demon’s blade to handle as it snapped and disintegrated into black ash. The demon snarled “Impossible!” Utilitarius threw the demon to the ground and seized the beasts by its massive horns and began to pry at it. The demon screamed in pain as Utilitarius planted his foot on its spine and with a mighty yank removed the beasts head.

Time was restored around Utilitarius and his three remaining battle brothers saw him finish the beast.

Kellgan bowed “A mighty kill Paladin.” Utilitarius merely nodded and spoke “Brother Jyorus has been avenged. May he never be forgotten.” The knights pounded their breast plates in solidarity. Beshka set the melta charges and began speaking “Charges set brother.” Without another word the grey knights activated their suits’ teleporters and the five of them were gone.

Alenko and the rest of the surviving cons ran toward the spire exits. A pillar crumbled in front of Alenko nearly crushing him. The party climbed over the large pillar to find the rest of the room engulfed in flames. They braved the fire and charged ever closer to the exit. Debris fell from above while smoke arose from bellow. Alenko had nearly lost his way before he saw the great doors of the citadel. Making a final mad dash the Commissar, Arbitrator, and two prisoners made it out of the building just as the final explosions ran out and the once mighty citadel crumbled down and into the lower hive.

Alenko arose to see the entirety of Randall’s and colonel Raven’s forces. As Hallouck, 34, and 5292 arose a slow applause began, and it eventually consumed everyone. Jethro sore and exhausted limped towards Randall. The Commissar began bandaging the slice in his hand where he had deflected Mordecai’s blow. Alenko looked to his left and saw Captain Kid, she had a smile but was not clapping, Alenko could never read her. Randall spoke “You did it.” Alenko laughed “All in a days work for the Inquisition.” Alenko turned to see a hole in the dome where the citadel once stood. The explosion tore a hole in the hive’s celling. Alenko for the first time in months got to see the true blue sky, and it looked like a lovely day.

//Hive Cogger// 487th Panther Regiment HQ

Lt. Hogan runs up to Col. Raven and salutes. He is sweating bullets as he reports the disaster that is the siege. " Sir, We have loss most of 2nd Battalions 3rd Company sir. Lizard men seemed to be allied to the traitors and providing them a break in the siege. And worse sir, The counter attack failed. They are present in massive numbers and are currently fortifying. Captain Jensen and his entire command staff were lost in the attack as well as their entire motorpool. Only Corporal McKee and his squad who were at Battalion HQ for retrofit are left of 3rd Company." Colonel Raven grunted as he chewed on his cigar. This cruddy assignment to help and inquisitor is turning worse and worse. Failure is not an option but he didn't have the numbers to do what was needed. He looked back at his map table as he tried to decided his next move as yet another runner came and interrupted his planning time. " Sir, We have reinforcements from the Air Calvary Regiment that was here, sir. " Colonel Raven's eyes lit up at this news. " Bring their commander here, ASAP. " He then dismissed everyone as he tried again to get a handle on the war front of Hive Cogger. He was just spread to thin. The reinforcements will be a good boost but if latest intelligence is right they are gonna lose the Hive just by weight of numbers the other side has. Colonel Raven then shook his head. "Recall all units. The siege is over. Inquisitor Randall is going to use us as a fast attack force on a push against one of the HQ. We just don't have the numbers to continue the Seige. "

Several Hours later
Colonel Raven mounted on his own Wyrm and then turned to the column of men and women waiting for orders. " Wyrm Guard. Panther Calvary. Men and Women. We are charging into the thick of Cogger as part of a prong attack. This shall cripple the Choas threat. Once we complete this assault we shall work on freeing the rest of this system. " He chews on his cigar for a minute. " This is your moment to prove that we are more than a hammer we are the saviors of Cogger and the will of the Emperor is for us to bring this vile Hive into compliance and free them from corruption. Keep your heads full of the Emperor's light and dash it upon our enemy. Forward and unto Victory." With a wave of his arm, His wyrm lifted off. Behind him his entire regiment drove, rode or flew as they will into the heart of the hive. Using their sheer numbers to do what tactics was failing at. Wyrm riders were providing air and flank support as bikers and buggies cut a swath through enemy lines allowing the Chimeras and Tauroxes to charge straight into the center lines causing devastating damage unto the Choas enemies arrayed against him. The Inquisition's plan seems to be working. This may be the end of one theater of war but their job was far from done.

New Pavus stood strong on the Crionian horizon, the orange sun setting behind the city. Whilst it didn't pierce the sky like Hive Torcan did beside it, New Pavus was a formidable bulwark against the Tillers advance.

The Tillers' tents sat just out of range of the exterior guns, shrouded by torch-smoke and the growing darkness. On the battlements of the South Gate, sentry teams of local militia and requisitioned Blood Fort troopers kept steady watch over the assembly point. They could only watch on as the Tillers watched back, flitting between tents and preparing their weapons for the eventual battle. Their magnoculars would never pick up the activity in the command tent.

Captain Nassau spoke to the hooded man who he shared the command tent with. They perused over the hand-drawn map of the city, over it's various chokepoints, vantage points and kill points. Even for a force twice the size of the Tillers' host, it would be a struggle through the gates. The cramped confines of the South Gate would be easier with short ranged weaponry to bring to bear, but the battle would be at the gates. Nassau nervously directed the man's attention to the gate.

"It means nothing if we can't breach the South Gate. Major O'Connell has given us all the help he can, but if we can't get through, he's stuck in the city. Do you have a plan?"

The man shrugged. "It won't be easy. I can get a few men close enough in the darkness to plant charges on the weak points. The sentries will fall before they can reach the emergency point defense guns, and that leaves the Court of Honours open for the takeing. You can set up a beachhead there, and push through to the Highknight Wall."

"And where will you be, friend?" Nassau couldn't help the worry creeping into his voice. "My men can't take this alone."

"We strike from the sun, Captain."

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

The three Stealth Suits hovered just over the boggy marshland that surrounded the South Gate of New Pavus. Their stealth field generators paired with the cloying night sky rendered them invisible to the sensors of thee New Pavus PDF, as well as the scouts of the Tillers' own army. No-one saw the Stealth Team, save for the eyes in the trees.

Gue'vesa'El Vandred watched the vanguard team advance, and raised to his feet. His Pathfinders squatted behind him, their pulse carbines ready around their waists. Four sniper drones hovered alongside them. He had hoped for some Hammerhead Gunships to break the siege easier, but it would have been impossible to hide the tanks in the dense forest. And it was essential that the Tau kept their involvement obscured: their deal of peace with the Imperium had to be maintained until the Cadre could mobilise again. But Vandred would not forsake his alliance with Nassau.

The Captain's aid in taking AHC-02 had been invaluable, and the Sub-Commander would be damned before he gave up on that. He'd been met with opposition in the cadre, and even the Shas'O had his doubts, but the old Tau relented. He knew as well as Vandred the value of a faithful ally. After all, it had been just such an ally that had saved a younger Skyhunter from losing more than just his legs. Vandred remembered it well.

From his HUD, Vandred could see everything the Stealth Suits could. They had already reached the gate, and we clamping fusion bombs to it. Vandred knew it would be more than enough to shear through the hinges - but there was nothing quite wrong with making sure. What would be a challenge would be keeping the PDF pinned down enough to give the main Tiller army their window. As far as the PDF sentries could tell, the Tillers were still in their tents. Instead, the only thing they could see were cutout silhouettes of resting troopers, old army uniforms stuffed with straw to simulate sentries, and a few handful of Tillers moving between tents. The rest of their forces were hidden in tunnelled-out pits covered in camo nets, closer to the walls. Nassau would be there, alongside his men who toted "experimental" lasguns. In truth, only Nassau and Vandred knew they were lasguns modified with Tau pulse munitions, which were easily capable of punching through even Scion battle plate. Not even the Tillers would know of the Tau's involvement.

The stealth suit Shas'ui gave Vandred a moment's notice, and ignited the fusion bombs
With four great explosions, the South Gate burst open, illuminating the bogs outside New Pavus with a bang. It was as if a sun had exploded over Crion. It was glorious.
The stunned PDF troopers leapt upon their defence guns, watching for an oncoming attack from the front. Pinpoint sniper rounds, guided by Pathfinder markerlights, took out the sentries with silenced thwits. Their corpses slumped over the guns. Blood Fort troopers sprang to the fray, unslinging their own weapons and heaving the PDF bodies off of the guns. More sniper fire downed the trooper amidst the chaos, and the ones with more sense took cover. Their frantic bleating over the vox system would be scrambling reinforcements in minutes.
It was then that Nassau gave the attack order. Tillers streamed into the breach, and blue gunfire flashed down the streets.

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

The Tillers' offensive had gone stunningly. The hastily assembled PDF stood no chance in front of the Tillers' guns, and the beachhead was pumping ammunition and supplies up and down the battleline. Nassau himself was leading the push all the way up to Highknight Wall, straight into the Blood Fort garrison.

Vandred and his Pathfinders had since slipped into the fray, avoiding the eyes of Imperial soldiers and moving through empty alleys and buildings. Where the Pathfinders went, the defenders fell. Pulse rounds found their mark through the barricades and nailing key figures in the defensive line, thanks to the markerlight systems working in tandem with the automated aiming systems in the modified lasguns. The jubilant Tillers push further, slaughtering the defending forces.

As the battle tipped in the Tillers' favour, their own reinforcements emerged from pubs and buildings - hidden Tiller soldiers in the city joined the fray, charging in with kitchen knives and flintlock rifles. Major O'Connell led a charge of his own elite ranks, supporting Nassau's exhausted speartip. The Southern Quarter of New Pavus was being overrun, with the grey corpses of PDF and the black and tan ones of the Blood Fort soldiers marking the wave of Tiller revolution, like debris in the wake of a tsunami. At last, the point of the Tiller assault was blunted on the walls of Highknight Wall. Under fire from Scion and PDF forces, the fleeing New Pavus PDF retreated behind the thick quarter wall, dragging their dead and wounded with them. Less than one in ten of the PDF had fled the slaughter.
The Blood Fort garrison were made of sterner stuff.

The black and tan Guardsmen were cut off where they had defended so tenaciously, their survival dooming them. Behind their barricades of masonry, furniture and bodies, the Blood Fort troopers fired volley after volley into the charging Tiller ranks. Vandred pulled a pair of flash grenades from his pouch, and hurled them into the Blood Fort lines. Two flashes later, and the Blood Fort troopers were reeling, firing blindly over the barricade until their guns clicked dry. When their eyes opened again, Tillers were stood over the barricade walls. Lasgun barrels met their stinging eyes.

Vandred turned his hooded head from the slaughter.

[Intro: Emperor's Children]

Captain Choret breathed, and listened to the sound in the dark. Each breath must be the same length as the last, the same distance apart. Same depth, and with the same purpose. They must be, or it would be wrong.
So focused he had become on the rhythm, that he did not initially notice the pinpoint of light forming in the blackness nearby.
Until he did, and he watched, pleased that the small surprise had not broken his pacing.

Child, you have called me. It is not yet time. The voice was fluting, but like a silk banner hiding a blade, it was given form, edge.
"We grow restless." Choret hummed, his own voice lilting back, no reverberations afforded in the chamber.
You seek glory.
"We seek purpose. Idleness serves nothing. Weakens us." he hissed back softly.
Then I shall give you purpose. Entertainment. Be aware of your surroundings, and I shall provide.
The light winked out, not even an after image to indicate it had ever been.
Choret inhaled, and allowed a small smile as he counted, he had not lost the rhythm.

*

Stepping from the chamber, he padded on bare feet back down the metal length of the corridor. The floor was cold, but he could feel the purr of the engines perfectly. Cutting off that sense by covering his extremities vexed the Astartes deeply. He hated having to wear full armor. At the moment he wore only his thin silk robes and insignia, moving like a cat through the vessel. Many of his brothers did similarly apart from Levvet. He allowed himself a small smile. Levvet was odd even amongst his brothers. The child of the Emperor had been struck in the face by a Xenos blade during the great crusade. Even before the chapter's fall, it had bothered him. Now, well...

Choret paused in his stride, his timing thrown into disarray. He furrowed his brow, and headed toward the loading bay of the ship. Something was wrong.

*

A small group of Emperor's Children stood in full power armour in the loading bay. And unusual sight in a time of peaceful travel.
Beside them was a small Xenos shuttle, Choret fancied it to be Tau in origin from the design, but that was not what held their attention.
Stood like hounds around a weakened animal, they waited for their master, circled around a fallen figure.
"Captain." without raising his head, Innovus greeted him. Choret knew from his voice alone.
"What is this, Brother?" he slowed his pace, savouring the curiosity. After nearly ten thousand years in and out of the warp, being remotely surprised was exhilarating for the captain.
"Xenos scout. Fleeing we think. Like a scared mouse. Or perhaps seeking the rest of its fleet." Levvet responded this time, "We dragged it from the shuttle before it could self detonate, but now it is useless."
"We shall see," Choret's eyes slowly searched the scene for more information, determined not to bore his brothers with tedious inquiry, "you can determine the origin?"
"Already done. A planet named Crion. A point of contention lately, if vox traffic is to be believed."
"Then we have found our next performance, brothers?" the captain smiled.
"It seems so." Innovus laughed, the sound deeply reverberating in his armor.

"And what are you?" crouching low, Choret gazed at the small huddled blue skinned xeno, and with one smooth motion, lifted its chin with an open hand, so that he could both look upon its frightened face, and feel its frantic butterfly pulse against his palm. He tilted his own head and listened with his skin to the panicked, irregular beating, "No, no. This is wrong," his hand tensed, causing the creature's eyes to widen in further panic and the heartbeat to stutter considerably, "such lack of coordination." Gently lowering his hand, he released the tau, allowing it a shuddering gasp for air, having dare not breathed while the marine held it in place.
Choret's face twitched slightly, "Take her to my workroom. I will see if this can't be improved upon. Do not damage her any further." his eyes narrowed at the human guards who nervously stepped forward to lift his new instrument from her crumpled place on the floor.

*

The young tau awoke, free of pain, but restrained against a gurney, and garbed in a clean simple robe, "What have you done, monster?" she flinched from the bright lights of the ceiling, straining to focus her eyes.
Choret at her bedside rolled his head from one side to the other, enjoying the sound of a foreign tongue gripping the words of Low Gothic. He smiled, "I improved you. You had a small, what do they call it? A heart murmur. Every third or fourth beat, a flutter," he pointed to her chest beneath the gown and sheet, but did not touch her, "I fitted a small electrical device which," he inclined his head to the side and back, twice, "keeps it in rhythm. You should find you have more energy now. Less anxiety, too."
The tau watched him silently, and felt her heart beating strongly in her chest. He was right, she felt calmer, and her extremities, warmer. But, "Why?" she asked quietly.

The marine smiled, "You wouldn't understand." he reached over, the smile unfaltering, and put his large hand to her thin jawline again. This time effortlessly clamping it around her throat in a vice like grip, sealing her airway entirely.
As she struggled against the restraints, unable to gasp or cry out, her heartbeat became a crescendo, hammering against Choret's warm palm. He closed his eyes, listening only to the pulse, and continued to smile. The timing was perfect, even if the performance was itself, short.

"Captain Choret?" a young voice from the open doorway brought Choret's private performance to an abrupt halt.
He released his grip on the tau, seconds before the final beat would have played. Slowly pivoting to view the door, he frowned, his temper in check, "This had better be for good reason."
"Your attention is needed, sir. We are within range of the planet Crion shortly." the officer remained stock still, a learned response for many of the humans aboard the vessel.
The Astartes captain straightened up, and strolled leisurely toward the door, "Thank you, I shall head to my brothers now. Clear this up for me, please... Peffken, is it?"
"Yes sir," Peffken closed his eyes, and held back the shiver at Choret being aware of his existence, "do you wish to keep the prisoner, sir?"
"Hm? No, we're done here. Set her loose, dispose of her, eat her, I don't greatly care," Choret waved a hand dismissively, "but Peffken?"
"Sir?"
"Interrupt my entertainment again, and we shall become very closely acquainted." the accompanying smile was enough to bring ice sweat to the back of Peffken's neck.

The young officer waited for Choret to clear the corner of the corridor before he exhaled and slid down the wall slightly. Looking around, the work room was meticulously clean. Instruments and surfaces scrubbed and sanitised, and all waste cleared away. Only the scent of disinfectant and faint tinny perspiration gave clue to there having been any medical procedure that day.

He slowly stepped over to the gurney, where the prisoner appeared to be unconscious, her breathing ragged. He had no particular feeling toward the young tau. It was his first time seeing a xeno up close, and he had at first expected to feel frightened, or exhilarated. But living aboard a vessel with the Emperor's Children. had long since shifted the boundaries for those particular emotions. Instead he just felt ever so slightly slightly curious and unsurprised.

"Looks quite like us," Peffken mused aloud as he kicked the brakes off the gurney wheels, "just less of her." Pausing to place the tau's neat bundle of clothing lightly on her stomach, he began to push the medical trolley along. After a short while, deciding to drop off the prisoner at the loading bay. There she would be considered as cargo, and either dumped or traded off at the ship's next calling point. In some ways he envied her, getting to leave. Seeing the vivid bruising forming around her throat, and still unconscious state, he realised quite how stupid that jealousy was.

+++Gore Spawn Campsite, The Black Sand, North of Mount Gorgon, Luna Epsilon+++
Ziinek, the Gorebarons Fargun and Beltrok, and Svarne stood about a shoddily made wood table with a crudely made map atop it. “You see my Lord, the Guards of this city are corrupt, for but a few thrones spent here and there, I can easily double the amount of barges we currently have, and bring in more of our people.” Fargun asked, “More Cultists is always pleasing, but what use have we of barges?” “I’ve noticed a lack of vehicles here with the ability to travel over water, it may be useful for moving your men over the water to Arcadis.” Beltrok’s face lit up, “I’ve an idea, whats you say that we load the artillery on the barges and float em out on the water, from there we just shell the poor fools from outside the port.” Ziinek shook his head approvingly, “Beltrok, as crude as you may be, you surely know how to carry out our Lord’s work. Khorne bless you Baron. So… Svarne, exactly how much can your barges hold?” Svarne thought to himself, “Well, how much do your tank's weight?” Ziinek stopped and looked to his Barons, each of which looked confused and disappointed in their lack of knowledge. “Hmmm…. Let’s say 75 tons to be safe.” “Okay then…” He did the math in his head as best he could, “Let’s say about four, this will allow us extra weight for people, munitions, and whatever else we may bring.” Ziinek smiled, “How long for you to acquire another few barges?” “Twelve hours tops.” “Then you better get to it if we are to shell by tomorrow night.”

+++Arcadis Bay+++
Svarne and approximately twenty of his followers waited on the lone barge, waiting for Arcadis Bay. Some eager to cause any sort of damage or show of ill-will to the Imperium, while others paced anxiously unknowing of what would happen when they reached the gate. It was an hour later that someone shouted “Land Ho! Arcadis on the horizon!” Svarne stood and peered over the waters, the sun just beginning to reveal its myriad of colors across swells and ripples, land could be seen, and there was Arcadis Bay, glowing like a beacon of false hope to the damned souls of the Imperial Sheeple. Suddenly he was struck with an idea and felt prophetic, he hopped and climbed up a stack of crate and beckoned everyone over. “Men, as you all know, we are about to steal from the Imperium, we are about to lie and bribe our way to victory. We are in a rough spot, we will have to be cunning to pull this off, I do not know if we will be returning to the Black Sands, but we must try regardless. Our first challenge will be the port gates and the Guards.”
----------
The barge slowly crept and creaked its way up the small man-made canal towards the gate that entered the city. About half way there the Guards looked up from there drinks and cards, they shuffled into their positions. “Oi, so what brings you in this time of day?” Svarne handed the man his papers, “Just returning from a long and arduous few days.” “This paper says you are supposed to have five barges and more people than I see.” “Well, I’m sure you would understand that the water out there can get rought, there was a storm,” He handed him a small pouch filled with coin, “and you all look like you could use a drink.” The Guard weighed the pouch in his hand, listening to the clinking noise it made, he smirked back at his compatriots, “I think we could,” He stamped the papers, “Welcome back to Arcadis.”

“Our next challenge will be to acquire another string of barges and supplies, half of you will accompany me on this, the other half will talk to our trusted ones and bring as many of them back here as possible, and any supplies you may find.”
----------
Svarne waited for half his men to disembark from the barge and begin their trip to the residential district before he himself disembarked. He spotted the dock master and went to him first, “Loreg, it is good to see you again.” “Svarne, what a welcomed surprise!” His face became somewhat worried when he spotted the sole barge behind them. “What happened? Where is my brother?” “Relax, relax, he is fine. Look, “ He peered about making sure none were in earshot, “I can’t fully explain what is going on, but I need a favor, I need another string of barges, I’ll pay whatever coin it’ll take.” “I-I trust you have our best interest at heart, you always have. I’ll see what I can do, in the meantime, you might want to speak with the Snake if you need some ‘supplies’ for whatever your doing.” “Thank you my friend.” He returned to his men waiting by the barge, “I want you five to stay here and watch the barge, you five will go talk to whoever you can, convince whoever you can and pay off anyone else, we need food, materials, weapons, whatever you can get, get it. Alright men good luck, meet back here at noon.” It took ten minutes of navigating alley ways and certain establishments before Svarne was able to get an audience with Snake. He was holed up in a small cellar kept away from the eyes of the PDF, except for those he payed to keep an eye on the entrance. Weapons and exotic trinkets of all kinds lined the walls, a small oak desk in the corner with a wirey man sitting behind it, shuffling through papers. “Svarne, it’s been too long, what brings you here today? More pottery? Oh, perhaps a better fishing line?” The small man chuckled to himself. “I want weapons Snake, lasrifles, autoguns, and armor too, whatever you can get.” Snake laughed again, this time heartier and louder, “And what would you do with these weapons? Shoot more fish?” Svarne tossed him a hefty pouch which he caught just above the desk, before Snake could move a hatchet swooped and severed the bottom of the pouch, coins spilling all over the desk. Snake’s face became more serious, he looked to the man by the door and nodded at him, he closed and locked the door. Snake leaned back looking at the currency in front of him, he bore a grin. “Ok, Svarne. Let’s talk.”

“Our last, and most difficult challenge will be getting the people and supplies out of the city before anyone can realize what is happening. May Lord Khorne watch over you all.”
----------
When Svarne had returned to the port with his crate of goods the dock master had finished attaching the string of barges together and was giving them one final overview. One of the Gorepaladins notified Svarne that they were able to secure quite a bit of food, materials, etc. and that they had around sixty people ready to leave with the rest of them. “Good, this is good. But if we’re going to get back in time we need to leave now, I want twenty people on each barge, load the last with supplies. We move out in thirty.” The dock master walked up, “So Svarne, what is going on, you have me worried.” “You should be, something is about to fall on this city.” “What do you mean Svarne?” “Chaos is here, I have met the leader of a warband and he has taken us in. I know it sounds bad, but these men, these Khorne worshippers are not at all how the Imperial propaganda describes them, they gave us food, shelter, everything we need.” “And what of my brother, did he join, willingly?” “Yes, yes he did. Torvald, come with us, life will be better than, than this,” He gestured to the decaying buildings and rotting infrastructure of the decrepit docks, “I give you my word, we are fighting a fight that matters, for our families.” Torvald looked about and paced for a minute, trying to contemplate the sudden turn of events. Gorepaladin Lance beckoned Svarne, “Svarne, we’re ready to leave, let us go.” Svarne stepped onto the barge and turned around one last time, “Come Torvald, for a better life.” He offered out his hand, Torvald took it. Svarne smiled and laughed, “Good man you are Torvald. Alright, let us go, let us depart!”

+++Gore Spawn Campsite+++
Ziinek watched the barges come in very carefully, in the off chance the Imperials had found them out, but luckily for them everything seemed in order, the red flag on the first barge went everything went fine. He followed them down river in a Chimerae to where the cultists had set up their camp by the river. When the barge stopped people immediately began unloading all of their supplies, Ziinek walked over, scaring some, empowering others to work harder, he greeted Svarne with a clasp on the forearm, “I am impressed Svarne, not only have you secured our barges but you bring supplies as well.” “Not just supplies.” He motioned for the Prince to follow him as he walked over to a crate that had just been pulled off the barge, he cracked it open and stepped aside. Ziinek was loooking at a crate filled with weapons and ammunition. “There are two others just like these.” “Good, now tend to your people, I will take the barges back up stream.” “You’re not destroying that city without me.” “Oh? Why so eager?” “Well, while I was there I was able to pay someone to post small flyers around the city, hopefully when that is raised,” He gestured to a red banner bearing the Gorespawn’s symbol, “When we get there I will give a call through hacked vox waves, then more will join us, and the city will burn.” “That was a risky move Goreknight, what makes you think that the Imperials will not catch on? And what of your vox waves, who will break into those.” A short rugged man approached the duo, “I-I will, I have experience with the city’s voxes, I know how to break into the signals.” Ziinek turned his gaze, almost annoyed at the intrusion, “And who, might you be?” “Torvald… your highness.” He gave a timid bow unsure if it were the right thing to do. “And do you have the proper equipment?” “Yes, Svarne told me of his idea so I brought my stuff over. It should work from the barges should we get in firing distance of the city.” “Hmm…. well we should move fast if we’re going to get there by night.”

It was not but an hour later that the string of eight barges was being loaded with artillery, the lead holding the battalions coveted Minotaur. The next three holding Basilisks while another three held Medusas, the last barge was outfitted with command equipment, surveillance tech, and Torvald’s vox machine, the rest of the barge was kept free to hold whatever people would flee the city. Ziinek walked up and down the river bank making sure each barge contained the right vehicles, crew, ammunition, etc. and after he was satisfied with his outfit they set out on their voyage. Mid-voyage the flotilla had the detriment of being caught in a storm. Some of the barges almost capsizing, lightning flashing through the clouds, and rain almost drowning the air. Svarne, barely holding on to a post looked over at Beltrok next to him, just standing there, not holding a damned thing. “Beltrok are you mad? Does this storm not worry you?” “No my young friend, this storm only bolsters my belief that what we are doing is the right thing.” “What do you mean, this storm would seem to serve as an ill omen.” “You misplace your faith Goreknight, our Lord gives his toughest challenges to his strongest warriors, you should feel blessed to be in this storm.” He thought this over, if this were true, then did Khorne actually have his eye on them? If so, he would not disappoint. He slowly planted his feet on the deck, mimicking Beltrok, who only grinned. He then let go of the post and stood tall, he was braving the storm. His bravado was cut short by a wave pummeling the barge, sending Svarne into the pilot house, knocking him out cold.

+++Arcadis Bay+++
When he finally awoke, the storm had gone, but so had the sun, it must have been near midnight. Upon sitting up Ziinek walked over and helped him reach his feet. Chuckling he waved his arm on the horizon and Svarne noticed they had finally reached the city, it was nearing time. “What’s our situation?” “Well, we’re prepping shells and maneuvering into position, luckily there are calm waters, but we must hurry, who knows how long we have.” There was some buzzing and a familiar voice from one corner of the barge, Svarne looked over his shoulder to see Torvald, having already cracked into the vox lines, reading off a piece of paper. Ziinek started piling crates and stood on them, he clicked his vox channel to open so the artillery crews could hear.

“Brothers, sisters, my bloodied kin, born of brass and bone. Hear me, when I say a great event is upon us, as is Khorne’s eye. Khorne! I, Goreprince Ziinek Calisto, brand this city with your mark! I doom its inhabitants to sacrificial slaughter in your name. Let all who wish to serve you come forth, let all who don’t, burn.” With the last words of cold hate and righteous lust for gore, the barges began firing. Fargun handed Svarne a pair of binoculars through which he looked upon the city. A lone tear fell from his eye as he watched his home be destroyed. Anger swelled within him as he remembered all the pain, all the oppression, all the hipocracy of the Imperium, his heart pounded, his breath quickened, “Burn!” Ziinek afforded a glance back and smiled as Khorne’s influence fell upon Svarne. He looked back over the city, screams faintly heard, carried softly by the winds over the sea. The shells creating small marks upon the huge city, but that was ok, they had plenty of ammunition. It was not long before small boats were spotted, people holding up their hands, showing them the flyers that were posted around the city. The skies were clear but a storm of gore and thundering explosions descended upon the domains of the corpse emperor. Whole city blocks were sundered, districts felled in but an hour, the city had not yet fallen, but by the will of Khorne they would all die. The shelling continued through the night, small bands of survivors making there way to the flotilla, the fire of the city creating a false sunrise, it was beautiful. When the sun finally rose, almost nothing was left of the city, Ziinek seemed not joyous, nor angry, just, calm. That was until Torvald informed him that a small band of PDF were holed up in an underground network. “Good, perhaps they will live and tell the Imperium of what is to come. They are like bait, and we are the trap.” Turning, he spoke to the people present, both civilians and the odd PDF soldier, “You see? Instead of helping you or saving someone the Imperial soldiers holed up by themselves, and stood by as your city burned. There is nothing the Imperium can offer you but death. However, we can offer you more.” He stepped off his crates and called Svarne over, “You have had the pleasure of witnessing a great event, a knight has fallen on the Imperium.” The last of the shells were spent, then the flotilla made their way back to the Black Sands, night had fallen on Arcadis Bay for the last time.”

( Post pending until roll is done )

As the fires in the streets of New Pavus died down, searchlights flooded the streets instead, bathing the Highknight Wall with a moat of light. Scion and PDF forces kept their weapons trained over the wall, scanning for any change in the streets. Nothing stirred. Their gaze didn't falter. The PDF who had fled the massacre of the South Gate and Court of Honours were triply alert: once for the Tiller threat, twice for their recent escape, and thrice for the guns of the Scions behind them. The grim elite troopers behind them already looked down on the PDF forces as cowards who had run from the fight. They would not hesitate to punish them should they fail again. Beyond the wall, in the Northern half of New Pavus, the soldiers gripped their guns tighter, and formed barricades and kill boxes in the streets and cul-de-sacs. Ammunition and portable barricades were dourly passed through the city.
In the South, the situation was far different.

The bars and pubs of the south side were packed. Ale and alcohol leaked out from the open doors. Recaf and lho-sticks flowed from sentry to sentry, a jubilant procession of victory. Chants of old hymns and folk tunes heralded the Tiller victory, and the soldiers indulged in the change of the tide. They didn't know when the next attack would start, only that it would. Until then, they would push their mortal flesh to it's limits, drinking, whoring, and cheering the hours away.
Of course, there were exceptions.

Vandred followed behind Nassau into the slums of New Pavus. No-one lived here now, not when the celebrations were several blocks away. The only residents here were the drunk, the dead, and the rats.
The two soldiers reached a corrugated steel door, flanked by two large men with combat shotguns. Heavy bolter emplacements were squatted over before them, their massive barrels keeping ever-vigilant watch over the door. Vandred was glad he wasn't attacking the Tiller command building. Instead, Nassau flashed an iron-wrought sigil at the guards, who let him pass. One of them paused as he began to push the lever that opened the door.

"Who's the other one?" Vandred knew his appearance would raise some questions. It wasn't unusual to distrust a man shrouded by a hood and cowl. The barest hint of his flesh was visible, and that which was seemed just as dark as the cloak.

Nassau kept walking. "What happened to 'don't ask, don't tell'? This one is an ally, and I can vouch for them. Is that sufficient, or will I need to interrogate you too, Brutus?"
Brutus bit his tongue, and pulled on the lever. The deadlocked door swung open, and Vandred and Nassau entered.

Major O'Connell reached his hand out to Vandred as soon as the sub-commander entered the room.
"Before you say anything, I, and the Tiller army, must owe you our thanks. New Pavus would have been nigh impossible without your aid."

Vandred returned the gesture, gripping the Major's arm. "We hold to our debts, Gue'v- sorry, Major." He laughed off the parapraxes.

Nassau interjected. "Sub-Commander Vandred is the infantry commander of a renegade Tau Cadre on Crion. I apologise I wasn't able to give you the details over vox, but we couldn't risk detection. Sub-Commander, would you care to explain your situation to the Major?"

"Sunstrike Cadre disavowed from the Tau Empire a matter of months ago, and made landing on Crion when our skim drives malfunctioned. Our transport craft is hidden in orbit around the planet, but we need to recover an Imperial Warp Drive to repair our own engines. In the meantime, we touched down on the mainworld, Crion, in a region you know as Kalhoon. My Shas'O's men have been scouting the region, avoiding what trouble we can. However, I encountered your Captain here during the battle of AHC-02, and he assisted me in taking the aqua farm. When he contacted me to assist in the siege of New Pavus, many of Sunstrike Cadre were against going to support you. We're anxious to rouse the ire of the Imperium right now. We've bartered a ceasefire out of protection from the Imperial forces whilst we can mobilise. However, far more of us decided to honour the pledge we made, and I took a hand-picked team of warriors to aid you.
I'm afraid it is imperative that our involvement in this battle must be kept minimal indeed. Only us three know of my Cadre's involvement in aiding your troops and augmenting the "lasguns" of Nassau's Tiller host. I advise we keep it that way."

O'Connell nodded. "That would explain the hoods then."
"Yes: even though most of my forces are Kroot or Gue - sorry, human auxiliaries to the Cadre, there are two Tau Pathfinders and all three of my Stealth Suit operators are Tau-born. We can't afford to let our presence be known here."

"Understood. You'll have to stay hidden and support the army from the shadows."

Nassau turned to O'Connell. "Major, shall I let the Sub-Commander know about who we found beyond the wall? The ones I was looking at recruiting?"

"You know I don't trust their kind. At least Vandred's men have some honour. Men who sell their iron for silver and gold?" The Tiller commander spat on the stony floor. "I don't like it. But if Vandred will throw his lot in with them? So be it."

Nassau handed Vandred a copy of a payment for a 'Hotel Brackus'. As Vandred's eyes scanned the piece of parchment, he compiled the data.
"'Initials of Client: S.B.
Room No: 21B
Group size: 5 persons
Stay length: Fourteen days (Leaving on 19 Septum)
Reason of stay: Offering services, combat leave.' What am I looking at here?"

Nassau handed him a second sheaf of paper. Advertisements, both transcripts over local radio and clipped out of recent papers.

"'Soldiers of fortune, for hire. Combat experience in over thirty warzones, with a five man team of trained soldiers from a multitude of backgrounds. Exceptional track record includes successful contracts on Dreygur, Necromunda, Grimdi, and even Cadia itself. No task too big or small: from neighbour to Sector Governor, militia to Astartes, we can carry out a confirmed kill. Hire before 19 Septum to avoid disappointment.' A bunch of mercenaries? What's the connection?"

"These mercs are staying at the Hotel Brackus for another two days. Their skills seem very reputable, and their ability is beyond anything I've seen from a common mercenary. As a small team, they should suit your style of combat well. I'd seriously consider hiring these ones: if you can get over the wall and afford them."

"And if they've not been bought by the Imperials."

"We'll look into this." Vandred declared. "Give me all the data you have on the situation and how to get over Highknight Wall."

Mason awoke to a throbbing pain between his eyes, where his nose had been broken, looking up he could tell he was indoors somewhere. A whimpering to his right made him sit up, he saw the rusty bars and through them many more like it, he was lying on a yellow stained, worn rotten mattress which offered no comfort from the hard ground upon which it was laid, there was a sorry excuse for a toilet where flies swooped in and around it attracted to the pungent smells that oozed from it, a single barred window was on the back wall but it was too high up for anyone to look out, “Prison” thought Mason letting out a sigh. A ray of sunlight shined in form the window illuminating a red lock of hair of someone in the corner, Mason squinted just about able to make out his slender frame, “Varius” there was no reply as two men donned in crimson marched past “Varius, who are they ?” The illuminated strand of hair receded into the shadows and was replaced by a twitchy eye “I- I don't know, imperial most likely” the eye lowered and the strand of hair returned. “What about Clover and Logan ?” Varius did not move this time “Last I saw him he was struggling with the guards down the corridor to the right” there was a pause “And Clover ?” Mason asked “Haven't seen her since Cordova” figuring he had got as much information out of Varius as he could Mason returned to observing his surroundings. Standing up from his sorry excuse for a mattress Mason put his hands between the bars and rested on them, they were in some sort of cellblock with other people, some he recognised from Cordova such as the barman who now sported a fresh scar across his forehead and a few other patrons. Armed guards patrolled the cellblock with the occasional prisoner throwing an insult at them in a futile gesture of defiance, Mason felt uneasy “Something's up” he thought to himself, his eyes darted around the cellblock and the prisoners themselves, “Everyone is too quiet, too relaxed, something is about to happen” the sink behind Mason shifted a little leaving a small gap in between the wall and the sink, confusion and curiosity set in as Mason approached the moving appliance and jumped back half a step when a voice emerged “Hey you, want outta here ?” The voice was soft, feminine and echoed down what must have been a passage behind the sinks of all the cells, “For easy access for the plumber ?” Mason quickly snapped himself back to reality and whispered back “Uhh sure” there was a few moments silence before the voice returned “Great, all you gotta do is snatch a key” Mason continued to eye the sink “Whats the catch ?” “Its on one of the patrolling guards person” Mason threw his hands in the air and looking back at the bars
reconsidering his decision before the voice reigned him back in “Listen, he always takes a sip from the water fountain right outside your cell around 15:43 when he is hunched over pinch the keys from his right hand side on his belt and toss them behind your sink, when it goes down I’ll come back for you” “And what if he doesn't feel thirsty today ? Hello ? Hello ?” There was no answer, whoever that person was now gone leaving Mason to ponder his decision.

Garathal climbed the creaky wooden stairs for the tenth day in a row, each step up the delicate staircase could collapse under him and send him sprawling into the dark abyss below, Garathal swore to one day gut that cultist for forcing him up these stairs. The cultist claimed that the pigeons would only nest in high places and as such this abandoned tower suited them perfectly. “Laeron !” Shouted Garathal if the creaking of the steps did not announce his dreaded arrival that certainly did, “Yes sir” Laeron stood stiff as a board in salute Garathal entered the cramped rookery where the plague pigeons made their home, “Any news from any of them ?” Laeron relaxed and shrugged “Sorry sir the pigeons came back empty handed”. The rookery provided a great view of the surrounding swamplands, Garathal took advantage of this and devised his next move. Thoughts raced through the mind of the sorcerer “Enemies must be closing in and if Cogger is lost so is the only other bastion of Chaos” Laeron interrupted him “Sir, shall we send them out again ?” Garathal did not move but merely muttered something “One down, One to go” “Sir ?” Garathal turned for the stair way “Do what you want with them” and departed. At the end of the tower stood Brother Steele and Brother Krel , two of Garathal's seven “Brother steele, plans have changed I will be conducting the ritual set things in motion” Steele departed without saying a word and his brother Krel fell in behind Garathal who made his way to the large room beneath his cathedral

“What were they thinking putting chilli on the menu two days in a row ? That gak just runs right through me and sets my tongue on fire” “Could be worse Harry, you could be chewing on those miserable rations with those fancy off worlders hunting traitors” “Hmm, true Frank, true anyway better get back to watching these scum, see ya tomorrow” “See ya round Harry” the two parted ways with Harry stopping along his route to take a sip of water. While sipping, he could have swore he felt a tug at his belt but thought nothing of it and moved on. The plan was set and soon it will be sprung.

"Hunter 1, in position."

"Hunter 2, in position."

Searchlights swept repeatedly over the front of Highknight Wall. Nothing passed on the south side without the sentries seeing. The muzzles of their rifles stood sentinel, like statues. Their gaze was absolute - godlike in power and strength. In that strip of light, they decided who lived and died.
At least, so they thought.

A dark object fell into the light pool. Black and tan fatigues clung to the figure, which lay unmoving in the light. Blood spilled from below it. The markings and colour of the body armour identified the man as one of the Blood Fort troopers. His body seemed to move feebly, his arms struggling at something. A voice came from the man.
"Help! Medic!"

Without delay, the barricades on Highknight Wall lifted up, and a fireteam of PDF soldiers moved into the Southern border. They kept their weapons up, scanning the impenetrable darkness of the Crionian night. Even though the Tiller forces hadn't attacked over the last twenty-four hours, the paranoia of the PDF soldiers was just as much a weapon as the Tiller arsenal. They reached the bleeding out corpse: two soldiers went down to assess the body, as their officer oversaw it. The rest took to kneeling positions, keeping their guns trained on the streets. They couldn't keep an eye on all of them.

Just as the two soldiers went down to check the body, the sergeant glimpsed a thin wire running off of the body's arms. It twitched. The arm twitched. An active vox-caster was lying beneath the man. There were no bloodstains leading to the body. It was almost as if the body had just been put there...
"It's a trap!"
The soldiers pulled the long-dead corpse off the tripwire.

EMP and smoke bombs billowed out from the Blood Fort trooper, and the PDF soldiers stumbled through the smoke. Beams of lasgun fire cut through the smoke, missing the PDF soldiers by the narrowest of margins. The troopers tried to fire back, but their lasguns jammed, ruined by the EMP blast. Their vox casters cut off, and only their incoherent screams reached back to the wall. The Scion commander bellowed at the PDF soldiers to reach the gate before he closed it. The sergeant felt something brush past him in the smoke, and he turned to follow whoever it was. Only, what passed him was not one of his troopers.
Clad in dark clothes, shrouded and hooded, the figure turned to face the dumbstruck officer. The sergeant was about to call out the stranger, only to find himself falling to the ground, a pulse pistol round in his gut. More lasfire lanced through the smoke, and the sergeant saw a second dark figure join the first and disappear into the air.

Only two of the ten PDF soldiers made it past the closing gate. The rest were slaughtered. Their corpses lay broken and bored into, their dark blood illuminated by the Imperial searchlights. Their sergeant was amongst the dead, a massive hole blasted into his chest. In the chaos, no-one saw two figures, swathed in black, slip through the smoke and through the closing gate.

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

Vandred looked out over the street. The gaudy neon lights of the "Brackus Hotel" replaced the dim light of the moons above, turning the wet streets silver. Behind him, Gue'vesa'ui Blayke kept a watch over the back door of the dank apartment. The building had been closed for demolition, so the two Tau troopers decided to make camp in the top floor. Their gear was light anyway, but it never hurt to have a command centre. Doctrine must be followed.

The Sub-Commander made a quick inventory of the team's equipment. The pair of them had looted Imperial flak breastplates, a pair of modified lasguns, their own pulse pistols, a handful of EMP grenades, and a fusion bomb. Most importantly was the small crate in the corner. Inside held roughly two thousand counterfeit Imperial credits. Vandred hoped that the mercenaries wouldn't notice their fake payment. Besides, when he could make contact with Sunstrike Cadre, he could refund the mercenaries in triplicate. He just needed them on his side, whichever way possible.

He removed himself from the empty window, holstered his pistol and picked up the crate. Blayke took the hint, and pulled his hood over. The two soldiers headed down the stairs, and entered the Brackus Hotel.

"Greetings ma'am. We're looking for room 21B."

The lady behind the desk clicked through a series of datasheets before dragging up the information.
"It's in the third floor, on your left. Would you like me to put a call through for them?"

"No thank you. We'll take it from here." Vandred and Blayke turned away to leave.

"Wait!" Her voice cut Vandred to pieces. He resisted the urge to whip out his pistol, and turned back around.
"Yes?"

"You're an offworlder, right?"

"Yes," he blurted out in relief. "From Tach'var-"
Vandred baulked, and realised he'd named his actual homeworld, his home in old Tau Empire. If the lady knew where Tach'var was, he'd be-

"Tach'var? Sounds nice. Always wanted to get off world myself. How far away is it?"

"Very. Now good evening."
Vandred cut off the conversation, and headed upstairs.

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

The door to room 21B creaked open. A small man, diminutive and rotund greeted Vandred. Vandred tried to peer over the Ratling - a veil hung within the room, blocking his view. Typical.

"May I help, sirs?" the Ratling mumbled. He wasn't quite sure who Vandred and Blayke were, and the feeling was mutual.
Blayke muttered over to Vandred.
"Who's this? Have the mercs bolted early? Have they been bought?"

"I'm not a patient man." the Ratling groaned. Vandred removed his hood, and spoke to him.

"Yes, we were wondering about a certain contract? Are you the contractor?"

The Ratling grinned. "That depends. What's the contract, and how much am I being paid for it?"

"Your payment depends on the service. Tell us the service, and we'll discuss payment."

"No deal." The Ratling turned away and a gnarled hand moved for the door. As he did so, Vandred caught a flash of a pistol grip.

"You are the contractor we're after, aren't you - the mercenaries. We have need of your services."

The Ratling stopped, and whistled once. A giant of a man, taller than the already impressive Vandred, slinked out through the veil. His beard was unkempt, his arms bared and bristling with tatoos, scars, and muscle.
"Cap'n, these gents are buying."

"How much?" The man growled. Vandred knew not to mess with this animal, and hastily produced the case. The Ratling looked into it, and muttered something to the big man.

"Two thousand Imperial credits." Vandred declared.

"Too little."

"I'm sorry?" Blayke spluttered.

"Too little. We can get far more elsewhere."

"Listen here, we can pay this back in triplicate - six thousand credits. This is just a-"

"Scam?" The two Tau troopers showed the barest hint of panic. This was not going as planned. The man continued. "These are fake 'Imperial credits'. You're not from these parts: no-one uses the word 'credit'. It's Thrones, not credits. And no-one puts 'Imperial' on the front. So you're not Imperial. And you're not from this planet. Which means you're-"
Blayke reached for his pistol.
The mercenary pulled a bolt pistol from nowhere.
Vandred drew his pulse pistol.

Blayke froze, his hand hovering on his holstered gun. The big man grinned, his own gun at Blayke's chin, looking down the sights of Vandred's pulse pistol.
"-Tau." He grinned. "Interesting."
He lowered his bolt pistol. Vandred did the same, leaving Blayke breathing heavily.
"Count us in. I know you can easily pay us more than what you offered. I'll take an offer of roughly ten thousand Thrones worth from you. I know you can pay it, and you can count on us to work until we complete your task."

Vandred sighed in relief. "Good. How many are you? We saw there were five in your advertisement?"

"And five there are. The rest of the group are aboard our own ship out of system, alongside our leader. He'll pick us up when we contact him. Let us pack our things, and we'll do as you ask."

"We're heading over the Highknight Wall. We need a way over."

The Ratling gave an annoyed groan. The man snarled at him, shutting the diminutive abhuman up.
"In what respect? Is our quarry over the wall?"

"Wrong side, comrade. Our men are on that side."

"We're fighting Imperials?" The mercenary's eyes lit up, like a wolf getting scent of prey. "God-Emperor, I've missed that. I thought I'd never fight their ilk again."

"You've fought them before?"

"You thought that line in our advert was exaggeration? 'Neighbour to Sector Governor, militia to Astartes'? Been there, done that."

"Huh." Vandred saw the raw power and animalistic power in the man's eyes. There was strength, brute force, and sheer willpower, but also cunning and intellect.
"We're headed off in five. Get your things, rally your soldiers, and prepare to take a trip south. We'll plan our way over as we go."

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

Two explosions went up at the Northern border of Highknight Wall. Imperial ammo dumps, storing used magazines, jerry cans and faulty rounds, went sky high, creating small but terrifying explosions from behind the frontlines. PDF and Scion troopers scrambled to assemble at the sites of the explosions, ready for a surprise Tiller attack from within the Northern half. The other force watched over the gate entrance, fearing that it was a diversion to leave the gate undefended.
In truth, it was a diversion. But not quite what they expected. No Tillers charged. No shots were fired. Nothing even tried to cross into the Northern half.

Instead, seven figures rappelled over the wall, several hundred metres away from the gate, into the Southern half, unseen by the guards who had all scrambled to the main gate. They left no trace. Seven soldiers vanished into the southern half of New Pavus.

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

When they were far enough away from the border, and safely in Tiller territory, Vandred sidled over to the big human mercenary.

"You said you weren't the leader of this mercenary group? Why do they all follow you? The Ratling called you 'Captain'. "

The man kept walking. "I'm a good friend of the Boss. He's done a lot of favours for me, and I've done a fair few for him. He scratched my back, I'll scratch his. As for the others? Let's just say I'm the Boss's right hand man - they mess with me, they mess with the Boss."

"So, you're - what? His lapdog? His... hound?"

The big man grinned wolfishly.
"You could say that."

Am I... Am I dead?

I hold onto Life
But do not feel it

I see life
But not inside myself

I hear life
But can't hear my own heart

I smell life
But I smell of death

I am... I am dead, aren't I?

Zehk awoke screaming. Every part of his being begged to die, but he knew his fate was already sealed. He was trapped in eternal limbo. There was something bound to his soul. He knew what possession was and this was not it. There was a soul bound to his. A soul wrongfully departed from the realm of man. Like any man, the soul was fickle. It could not decide if it wanted to return to realm of man or wished to stay a being of the warp and as such, its energy ebbed and went. As such, Zehk could never be alive or dead, but frozen between the two.

Zehk awoke screaming. Zehk was no stranger to other voices in his head, but the soul that had been bound to him was more than he could handle. If it wanted to make its presence known, it wouldn't be subtle. It would scream. It would scream to the point that Zehk only knew how to scream. He could remember the last time he spoke gothic nor what gothic sounded like. He forgot what companionship was as his only friend was the mind-rending wail that never ceased. He had no senses left. Everything was taxed to its absolute breaking point, but never broke. If it ever came close to breaking, the screaming would stop and Zehk was himself again, but never for very long.

Zehk awoke screaming. He was in a forest somewhere, surrounded by death. Every tree was barren and the ground was parched. He could see his killer, the one who struck fear into him. It was a tall thing with a long, tattered cloak that was dragged behind the creature in a long train. Zehk could have sworn it was a tail, but it made no difference. He would have struck it if his body had let him, but the screaming was unbearable. It approached him slowly and circled him, inching its long, serpentine body around Zehk. By the time it came face to face with him, he was firmly within its coils.

"Do you know what I am?" the creature asked, its voice as soothing as a lullaby. Zehk scantly heard it over the screams. "I am Suolyn'ne..." Zehk thrashed involuntarily. Suolyn'ne simply coiled around him tighter so he could move nothing but his head. "You hear the voices Zehk… Let me end them. All you have to do is let me in your head,” Suolyn’ne cooed in Zehk’s ear, all the while the voices crescendoed into a banshee’s cry that dragged white hot nails through his mind. He nodded statically, foaming at the mouth. Suolun’ne only laughed at his misfortune and looked him deep in the eyes. Zehk stared back into the blackness of the snake’s eyes and found himself lost… and falling.

Zehk fell for what seemed like hours in the hellish abyss. The voices only grew louder with each passing moment. If Zehk had his bolter, he most assuredly would have shot himself. Desperation grew unhindered in his mind and the realisation that the snake had abandoned him in some hell of the Warp weeded its way into his subconscious. It wouldn’t have been the first time he was outplayed by the empty promise of a daemon. Despite these thoughts, Zehk knew the snake was somewhere.

“I am here, Zehk. Why do you doubt that?” the snake teased, “Do you not believe what you can’t see?”

Through the torture of the voices, Zehk managed to gather his thoughts into a coherent sentence, “Do they not say that seeing is believing?” A hearty laughter filled his ears; it was his own. His own mind now mocked him for his weakness.

“Then open your eyes, Astartes. Darkness is no stranger to you now.”

Zehk looked down and saw that a forest was rising fast to meet him. He looked around for the snake, but could not find her. Green flooded his vision and the impact his power armour was barely registered before his Sus-an membrane activated and threw him into a restless coma.

* * *

Zehk awoke screaming, though the voices had long since left his mind. The scream was a feral war cry by anyone of the mortal realm and a song to those of the Warp. Zehk beamed with an exuberance that not many would have found comforting, especially from one who was as grim as Zehk. He opened his eyes and saw colour; something he had not the appreciation to notice since his possession habits. He knew fully well that nothing here should be visible to him as it was the mid of night and the moon, ever waxing, shone through the trees, illuminating the dirt where Zehk lay on his back.

A twig snapped beyond Zehk’s immediate field of view and he hastily spun to see who dared to approach him. It was a horse rider at first glance, but Zehk’s mind was not so quick to dismiss the fact that the rider and horse were one being. Creatures like the one racing towards him were not unheard of among the leagues of Chaos. They were Beastmen: a blessed-by-Chaos abhuman. This one specifically was a Centigor, if memory served Zehk correct. It seldom did. Zehk was not afraid of them, even if this one showed its hostility on its breastplate.

“Ho now, Traitor-kin. You trespass into the domain of the Shadow Lord. State your business or be gone, lest I resort to violence. I am no stranger to the latter.

”Ease yourself, Child of the Warp. We all serve the same master,” Zehk asserted with two voices, the snake’s and his own. He had dared to assume this ‘Shadow Lord’ was his Ewryht’eikl, but fate saw Zehk as an uncanny guesser. A larger Centigor, nearly as tall and half as stout as a Dreadnaught, laiden in full power armour of an onyx hue, trotted into view.

“Blessed the darkness, you live,” the newcomer murmured. The armoured Centigor cantered over to Zehk and offered an armoured hand to the prone him. Zehk took it and hauled himself up. “Ewryht’eikl predicted your revival and now you stand here. Come, we must notify him post haste.”

“Revival? I was not aware of my-”

“You’ve been dead for several months, Zehk. The Dark Lord has been without strategy since.”

Zehk stared in disbelief. A small exchange of words was shared between him and the snake mentally and Zehk was told that he indeed perished sometime ago. Nevertheless, he questioned the Centigor, “Why should I lay trust in you, Beastman.”

“Because I am your Brother. I am Orelius of the New Order.”

“Lies! You are the foul kindred of the daemons”

The Centigor held out his right gauntlet. On the inside of the forearm was carved a waxing crescent moon, a common sigil and callsign among the remaining New Order Astartes that remained true to the Dark Lord. Very few of those Astartes were left standing and the Dark Lord only employed two to do his dirty work: Zehk and Orelius.

“I have been gifted by the Dark Lord, Brother, as have you. Now come Zehk Twice-born, the gears are in motion in the grandest plan: one that will make the Charadon Crusade seem pale in comparison.”

First Entry!

Such bravery Shas’el Recardo thought as he listen to the conversation between Por’Ui Lortal and the gue'la light cruiser officer. He was in the Command Room listening to the conversation for the twelfth time. Despite the Por’Ui calm demeanor the gue’la was afraid and fired before a proper introduction could be made. “Savages”, Shas’el Li’una said distatesfully interrupting Recardo’s thoughts as she entered the room all the other Tau immediately saluted her.

“The Water Caste are brave, they are aware of these type of reactions but they still optimistically approach each situation the same.” Recardo said not turning around to acknowledge her presence as she motion the others to return to work as the familiar sound of war started.

Despite the loud sounds of ion cannons and the gue’la potent lascannons in the background the two Commanders spoke as if it was a calming melody to them. “Por’ui Lortal was lucky to survive that encounter, unlike the gue’la! They were unlucky when Commander Kenpachi chose me instead of you to make landfall.” Li’una said with a smile on her face as Recardo quickly turn his head perplex by her comment only to see that she was mocking his analytical side again.

“The Greater Good was with you, I must say you were able to complete the mission with few casualties. I am surprise that their Imperial Fleet did not send reinforcements after the Lar’shivre cruiser demolished their light cruiser” he said as he sat down.

“Its simple the Imperium is spread thin, our drones have seen images of nearly every known faction on this planet or its moons.” she said as she sat across from him.

“Why this planet?”

“Recardo your the analytical you figure it out, I am here because the Greater Good wants me here.”

Li’un charisma was legendary! Recardo knew this and when she decided to retire their would be books about it. Her speeches were recorded and replayed in training sessions, he had even used her words himself to motivate his soldiers. There was no way to respond to that statement so instead he nodded his head in approval and watched as her manta made landfall. There was little to no resistance some gue’la farmers pick up there flintlock rifles and tried to fight but, Li’un forces were to much. Few gue’la died as she skillfully out maneuvered them and captured the women and children and used them as tools to create peace, Aun’el Sus’ej had taught her that.

It took only twenty cycles for Li’un to establish the Tau base and during that time Por’ui Lortal had learn a lot from the farmers, despite the fact that they refused to join the Empire.They were in Aelara and only thirty miles south of Hive City Magnaficus, Recardo knew that when Shas’o Emerica Kenpachi arrived that the Hive City would be their next target.

Shas’O Kenpachi is more like a living myth to the Fire Caste, known for using the XV86 Coldstar Battlesuit. He has saved many lives descending from the sky like the ancient tales of the Aun with his high output burst cannon demolishing the enemy or using his marker light drones to illuminate the unknown enemy. They are than demolished by seeker missiles or worst as he commands entire Contingents. He is famously quoted for saying,”Morale is my weapon of choice and with my XV86 I can use my weapon on my soldiers or my enemy.”.

Shas’el Recardo and Shas’el Li’un were expecting him to arrive within the next hour or so that is why they both were in the Command Room. “Shas’el Recardo I apologize for interrupting your studies but Aun’el Tau Sus’ej Orca has been granted permission to land!” the Tau operator spoke with a sense of shock in her voice. Recardo was confused and Li’un smiled before saying, “This just got interesting.”

“Did you say Aun’el Sus’ej? Pull up the image immediately” Recardo order as he had only seen Sus’ej in holographic images. The operator nodded and within moments the image of the Orca ship landing was on display.

“Calm down everyone you all should be proud of your service to the Greater Good. We all were prepared for the arrival of Shas’o Emerica Kenpachi but we are fortunate that Aun’el Tau Sus’ej is here also. We often speak of the Greater Good but when you meet Aun’el Tau Sus’ej you will get a chance to feel it, smell it, and hear it! We all are blessed this day, prepare yourselves for the Greater Good!” Li’un leadership skills and charisma was on full display as she maintain order in the room. Gasp could be heard by some as the image of Kenpachi was seen those unfamiliar with his height were astonished! Two seconds later Aun’el Sus’ej step off of the Orca reached down and grabbed the ground. He lifted a fist full of dirt and grass as if to smell it before letting the wind slowly blow it out of his grip.

“Shas’el Emerica Recardo is the Command Room ready?” Shas’o Kenpachi’s voice interrupted the silence in the command room as everyone was fixated on Sus’ej.

“Yes, Shas’o” Recardo responded trying to shake off his trance like state.

“Shas’el Li’un is the base fully operationally” Shas’o ask well aware of the answer.

“Yes, Shas’o the two Fire Warriors will escort you to the Command room.” she replied.

“I have Aun’el Tau Sus’ej with me, we are blessed this day. The Greater Good has a special mission for us on this planet. We are going to re-establish contact with some lost friends.” Shas’o said as he and the Aun’el made their way to the Command room.

Commander Recardo was no longer confused he was flat out lost. He had reviewed every detail about this planet and every drone scan there were no friends on this planet. Li’un got up and walked over to him and whispered, “I am sorry we had to keep it a secret from you but not all Tau remember the Greater Good.”

Varius was having another panic attack, again. The frail man began to shake uncontrollably, sweat poured out from every pore as the man descended into a jittery wreck, his teeth chattered as he managed to cry out a sentence or two

“S-S-S-She ain't c-coming b-back for us, w-we w-w-will r-rot in here just l-like all those b-b-bodies in the sweet s-sweet ground”

The shaking stopped and Varius stared around the cell as if it was his first time, wide eyed. He shifted from his cross legged position to lie himself down on the hard filthy floor and slowly began to caress its surface.

This was the third time such an fit has happened in the last 24 hours and they are becoming worse and more frequent, Mason told himself, if he gets much worse the guards will notice bringing unwanted attention to this cell and may dissuade certain friends from visiting. Mason looked at the empty shell of a already deranged man, he stopped eating and using the toilet, preferring to relieve himself where he sat which added to the stomach churning smell Mason found himself engulfed in.

They hadn’t talked in what felt like days, Mason gave up trying, whether it was due to lack of energy or patience he could not tell. There was no yard time, no variation to the daily routine, he got his breakfast, a few sloppy scoops of what Mason hoped was porridge, dinner was similar, some gloopy mess although if he was lucky he might have got some loaf of bread before the mold claimed it for itself and since Varius stopped eating Mason made sure he had room for seconds. He spent his day waiting and trying to retain his sanity, something which Varius was clearly losing grip of.

Looking back at his brother in arms he might have felt pity if he wasn't in such similar circumstances himself, a voice emerged in his head, look at him writhing in his own feces like a pig and babbling like a madman, sharing all of our secrets ! he is talking about the prison break now, but what about if he gets caught ? he knows things, knows where the Cathedral is, knows who we really are, he could ruin this infiltration, he could ruin the cult. Mason stood up to stretch his legs and to search his cell for an improvised weapon.

Mason searched high and low but the cell was barren, he contemplated using the bucket but that would be messy in more ways than one. Giving the room one last look over he looked at the sink and had an idea, upon closer inspection the bolt in the top right that had keep the appliance attached to the wall was gone which loosened the one in the bottom right enough to be pried from the wall with whatever strength Mason had left, straightening up the sink again and retrieving his prize Mason stumbled back onto his mattress and slowly began scraping the flat head of the bolt against the floor. He now had a new purpose, something to keep his mind occupied, to create an edge.

Days passed or so Mason thought, he had lost track, he had been “busy”. Suddenly, the deathly silence of the cell block was cut off when a crashing sound was heard from above him followed by the other prisoners cheering, a fight. Almost simultaneously Mason’s sink shifted more so than before, enough for him to fit through, a voice shot out “Quickly, they won't last long!” it was that feminine voice again now with a sense of urgency in her voice. Mason quickly flung the sink out as far as the two remaining bolts would allow and popped his head into the passageway,It was dark, cramped and humid. Dripping pipes lined the opposing wall which already added to the cramped tunnel, the floor was made of some metallic material which was grated revealing the gushing waters below, the only form of light was from the odd grate in the ceiling and while it wasn't much it was enough for Mason and his new friend to navigate their way to wherever it is they were going. Mason turned his head to face his rescuer and was for the first time in a long time found himself awe struck even it was just for a second. She had ebony black hair which was tied back to reveal her sea-nymph ears, her eyes were a soft sky blue,her eyebrows thin and her strawberry lips were alluring. Her figure was almost something from classical art which was clearly visible under her rags which even she made look good and yet under all that she still bore some grime on said rags and on her face, pretty but JUST the right amount of dirty thought Mason, perfect.

“Now if you are done gawking we gotta go” said the mystery woman as she turned and proceeded into the darkness

Mason blinked and realised he had been crouched there with his head sticking in the tunnel, quickly pulling himself in and following her as to not get lost, Varius managed to pull himself through and stumble after Mason. While Mason quickly caught up with his new obsession, Varius was not so fortunate and slowly began trailing further and further behind. Upon reaching a junction of converging paths, she turned to Mason

“You sure your friend is up for this ?”

Mason peered back into the encroaching darkness “If he ain’t i‘ll deal with him”

She shot him a worrisome look before moving on turning right at the junction, some ways down the path she stopped and produced a key, Mason’s key, and plunged it into a rusty red door. With a bit of effort on her part and a satisfactory creak the door opened, revealing a ladder and a source of sunlight, freedom. She began to climb

“Wait, was is the plan once we get up top ?” interrupted Mason

She turned on the ladder “We make a run for the woodlands, that a problem ?

Mason shook his head and turned to look at a pale Varius limp towards them “Not for me”

Varius tried to say something but couldn't get a word out between his coughing fits and him gasping for breath.

“He’s fethed” Mason declared

She turned back to the pair of them “And what shall we do ? leave him here ? Thats too cruel”
Mason nodded “Agreed, go on up and i’ll follow you”

She stayed a moment, she knew what he was about to do, she opened her mouth to protest but closed it and continued to climb.

Mason turned to his former brother who looked back with one twitchy eye, Mason took a step towards him. Varius helplessly raised a hand in defence but was powerless to stop the sharpened bolt that ripped his throat out

++ADDENDUM: All events detailed in this post take place during the final battle at Hive Cogger. Chrono-stamps added for clarity.++


++Hive Cogger, Northern Quarter++
++One hour after wall breach++

Kusun cursed.

All around him, Hive Cogger was systematically being shot, bombed and blasted to shreds. Small pieces of rubble rained down on him from above as an errant shot blasted a nearby outpost. Other explosions thundered in the background, blending in with the sound of gunfire and the steady grind of armoured columns advancing in the streets. The Imperial spearhead was pushing up hard and fast, breaking through the cultists’ defences as it made its way to the citadel.

Which was exactly where he was heading, too.

He and Mithras had been directing the fortification of the Atonement Plaza when the Hive’s northern entrance was blown open by concentrated artillery fire. Malcador tanks carrying Inquisitorial Stormtroopers had rushed through the breach, making quick work of the gate’s remaining defenders and swiftly establishing a beachhead for the Imperials to pour in from the north. Kusun’s own troops, two squads of Astartes and a single squad of Terminators had had only minutes to prepare themselves for the onslaught that was coming for them. They had hastily set up a defensive position at the fountain at the centre of the plaza, while scores of cultists frantically took position in the buildings around it. They were outnumbered, outgunned, out of position and caught by surprise; for any mortal force, that would have been a death sentence.

For an Astartes, all that was merely a challenge.

The initial skirmish had been swift but brutal. The Malcador tanks had rolled into the streets, providing cover for the Stormtroopers advancing behind them while simultaneously turning several of the cultists into pink mist with their battle cannons. The spearhead’s steady advance had been short-lived, however; improvised explosives had rained from the windows above the tanks and bolter fire hammered through their armour plating, destroying the frontrunners in minutes, their iron corpses blocking the road for the tanks behind them.
The Stormtroopers had adapted quickly, however, and soon the windows of the surrounding buildings had flashed white as flash-grenades rolled through the doors. The cultists, while numerous, didn’t stand a chance against the experienced veterans of the Inquisition, and soon shots were coming from all angles, bathing Kusun’s position in las, plasma and stubber rounds.

The sheer amount of fire focussed on them was too much for even Astartes to bear, and Kusun hastily ordered a retreat as his men died around him. The two remaining Terminators were left behind to secure the others’ escape, although that had more to do with them flying into a blood rage rather than planned strategy.

As Kusun, Mithras and the few survivors from their strike force ran from the charnel house that was the Atonement Plaza, a single question had burned into his mind, and it was that same question that drove him through the battlefield towards the citadel.

Why had they not been warned?

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++Hive Cogger, Southern Quarter++
++One hour after wall breach++

“Stand fast, my children! Show them the power of the Grandfather!”

Brother Anlock’s warcry was almost lost in the maelstrom of the battle raging around him, having to compete with the cries of the dying and the screeching sound of bikes and assault buggies skidding around the battlefield. Above him, great beasts prowled in the sky, swooping down on the defenders at breakneck speed, snatching whoever they could get their claws on only to drop them mercilessly back to the earth. In the distance, Chimeras and Tauroxes were rolling in, their passengers setting up forward positions and deploying mortars, adding explosive noise to the cacophony of war.

It had all gone so fast. One moment, he had been inspecting the defences in the Southern Quarter, the next, there was a mighty big hole in said defences, and an avalanche Imperial assault units had roared into the Hive. Bikers and horse cavalry had swarmed into the streets, leaping over barricades meant to stop armoured vehicles with contemptuous ease. The outer defences had fallen swiftly into the enemy’s hands, and now the inner circles, those closest to the citadel, were heavily contested.

One didn’t need to be a seasoned general to know that the battle was going poorly for the forces of the Dark Gods. The static defences the cultists and Astartes had erected were no match for the fast-moving Imperials, and the Plague Marines’ lumbering way of warfare was ill-suited to this kind of battle. The cultists were fighting out of fear for their very lives, the flying monstrosities above them sending many of them into blind panic. The pestigors fared better, albeit only slightly, their natural ferocity and hardiness giving them an edge in the fight against the Imperials.

He could see the battle unfolding from his vantage point atop the stairs of a large complex. This was the last line of defence before the citadel itself, and by the look of things, the Imperials were going to get there sooner rather than later.

Anlock turned to a cultist to his side, who was frantically working on a vox unit. “Any word from our allies?”

The cultist looked at him nervously, his face locked in a terror-stricken expression. “I can’t reach them, Lord. There’s some sort of interference blocking the signal!”

Anlock cursed, venting his fury on one of the beasts circling overhead. One of his bolts clipped the beast’s wing, sending it sprawling to the ground. With some satisfaction he saw a group of cultists throw themselves on the wounded animal and its rider, cutting into the flesh of both with crooked knives and blades.

Still, doubt nagged at his thoughts. He knew that the Imperials were probably jamming the vox traffic, but that did not explain the citadel’s silence prior to the attack. This was clearly a planned attack by the Imperials, so why had he not been warned about it?

He took another look at the battlefield, seeing the Imperials push deeper and deeper into the city with every passing minute. It was time to take matters into his own hands.

He signalled five of his plague marines to follow him and ordered the rest of them to hold their position. He started heading to the citadel, and prayed to the Grandfather that he find answers there.

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++Hive Cogger, Citadel++
++One and a half hour after wall breach++

The square before the citadel's entry was a hive of activity, cultists carrying heavy weapons and munitions scrambled in all directions, desperately erecting barricades to hold off the impending attack. Kusun and his men stormed into the square at the exact moment Brother Anlock and his escort appeared at the opposite side.

The battle was going on bad on all fronts, apparently.

The two groups of Astartes met in the middle, neither greeting the other with more than a curtly nod. The time for pleasantries had long passed.

"I see you have not fared much better against the Imperials", spoke Anlock, as he walked next to Kusun and Mithras towards the citadel's main entrance.

Kusun merely grunted angrily. He was in no mood to talk, especially not with the followers of the Plague Lord.

"They hit us sooner than expected", replied Mithras, ever the more diplomatic of the two Black Legion officers.

"No. The warning came too late", Kusun grumbled, his anger lending more speed to his steps.

"And I intend to find out why."

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It was oddly quiet in the citadel's halls, most of its defenders currently busy with preparing the exterior defences for the inevitable assault that was certain to come sooner rather than later. Only the Astartes' heavy footsteps echoed through the structure as they made their way to the old governor's personal chambers, which had served as the cultists' command post ever since the Hive had been conquered. None of the Astartes spoke, each caught up in their own thoughts on this mess of a battle.

Despite the rage that flowed hotly through his veins, Kusun couldn't help but notice the obvious absence of the Flayed Lord's lackeys. The well-trained Drachen that had followed Father Lazarus everywhere he went, were now nowhere to be found. His humours soured further as the truth became more evident, and he could tell that those following him had reached the same conclusion as well.

Finally, they reached the spire's upper levels, only to be greeted by the emotionless face of a Necron Praetorian standing before the closed doors of the Governor's chamber. A loud screaming could be heard coming from behind the old oakwooden doors, interjected by the sound of breaking glass and tumbling furniture.

The Necron said nothing as Kusun and Anlock passed him. It already knew why they were here. It also knew that the Astartes needed to confirm their suspicions for themselves.

As the two Astartes entered the room, they were greeted by the sight of a single man wearing a white mask howling incoherently as he ripped and tore the chamber apart. The shattered remains of ornate vases and ancient chairs lay in heaps around the screaming cultist, who seemed fully oblivious of their presence.

Kusun, recognizing him as Mordecai, one of Lazarus' lieutenants, barged over to him and grabbed him by his collar, raising the protesting cultist into the air until the porcelain mask was mere inches away from his own face.

"Where is the Father!", bellowed Kusun, the power of his voice nearly puncturing Mordecai's ears.

"Take a guess, gene-breed!", Mordecai cursed back, trembling with barely restrained anger in Kusun's fists.

Kusun snarled and threw Mordecai into a wall, storming after him only to raise him back into the air, this time by his throat.

"Speak, worm, before I choose to end your miserable life! Where is Lazarus?!", Kusun shouted, squeezing the mortal's neck hard.

Mordecai grasped for air, desperately trying to pry the armoured fingers off his neck.

"If I knew, I wouldn't be here, don't you think?", he panted, struggling to get air into his bruised lungs.

Kusun scowled, dropping Mordecai to the floor. There, the cultist started sobbing, his mind clearly broken by the unexpected betrayal.

"He left me... After all I did for him, he leaves me here with the vermin... I even took the mark! I had been chosen, no, destined for greatness! The Flayed Lord-"

"The Flayed Lord has left you to die", Kusun interrupted the man's ranting.

"Your precious Father has left us all to die. But I do not intend to die here", Kusun spoke, the anger dissipating in his body as he walked back to the door.

Anlock turned to Kusun as the Black Legionnaire passed him. "We have Thunderhawks stationed on the landing pad. We can use them to make our escape."

Kusun paused at the door, and nodded. Anlock ran out the door and started to guide the others down the stairs. Soon, only Kusun and Mordecai remained.

Kusun picked up a sword that lay on the floor of the room. It was Mordecai's, who had thrown it against the door in his rage. The cultist still sat against the wall on the other end of the room, sobbing quietly.

"You can still serve, mortal", Kusun spoke softly, walking over to the crouched cultist. "Pledge yourself to the Blood God, and be elevated in even in death. All you have to do is take the blade."

Mordecai looked at him hesitantly, looking at the sword that was offered to him, and the inevitable fate that came with it.

Desperation can make even the worst choice easier.

His hand grasped the blade by the edge, cutting his flesh in the process. As the blood ran darkly over the worn steel, he felt the Blood God's power burn in his chest.

"You know what you must do", Kusun spoke for the last time, as he turned around and headed for the stairs.

Mordecai looked at the blood on his blade, and knew exactly where he needed to go. He picked himself up from the floor and stumbled towards the holding area where the psykers were held.

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++Hive Cogger, Citadel Landing Pad++
++Two and a half hours after wall breach++

The landing pad was under heavy attack when the group of corrupted Astartes and Necron Praetorians reached it after traversing the myriad halls and passages of the citadel. Imperial aircraft and strange dragon-like beasts zigzagged between bursts of flak and tracer fire, unleashing their deadly payloads on the citadel’s defenders before taking to the skies again for another attack run. Part of the landing pad was already on fire, the flames licking hungrily at the hulls of a trio of Thunderhawks that stood nearby. A group of cultists was desperately trying to put out the fire surrounding the smouldering ruins of a fourth Thunderhawk, occasionally ducking for cover as an Imperial fighter strafed above them.

Kusun’s Storm Eagle was nowhere in sight. Kusun assumed it had already taken off to engage the enemies circling around the spire, which he would have approved of had he not been in need of immediate transport. Especially since the Imperials’ jamming devices prevented him from contacting the pilot, which left him with little choice but to go with the Nurglites.

“The Thunderhawks are ready! Get aboard before we all join the Dark Powers in the Warp!”, shouted Anlock over the screeching sound of aircraft swooping in for a bombing run.

The group broke out into a sprint, Necron and Astartes alike trying to reach the waiting Thunderhawks in one piece. Assault craft roared above them, wreaking havoc on the landing pad with stubber rounds and bombs. Two Necron warriors fell to the floor, their shells perforated by a hail of bullets from an Avenger Strike Fighter, while three Black Legionnaires disappeared into thin air as a well-placed bomb landed between them. More of the group fell to the merciless strikes of the Imperials picking on them like vultures, but Anlock, Kusun and Mithras thundered forward, heedless of the casualties, their minds only focussed on the Thunderhawks nearing them with every step.

Only half of the group made it to the Thunderhawks’ ramps, the last of them had barely stumbled into the transports before they took off into the skies. Kusun and Mithras slumped against the cold steel wall, while Brother Anlock and one of the Necron Praetorians took the seats opposite them as their Thunderhawk powered out of the burning wreck that was Hive Cogger, where other events had been set in motion…

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As the three Thunderhawks flew out of the city, a group of Eldar slinked into the shadows, heading silently towards a tunnel complex that would lead them out of the Hive as well. The Primordial Annihilator would be defeated here, and that, for the moment, sufficed. They would deal with the Imperials soon enough.

“Scylla Two, how’s my vector lookin from back there?”
“Scylla Three, vector is lookin fine back here, why we out here by the way?”
“We're killing heretics, what else?”
“You think we have enough for the mish?”
“It'll be enough. We're not levelling the place, we're just showing them what we can do.”
“We’ll be back to give em seconds, for sure.” The three pilots shared a laugh. Banter while flying was common within the Gorgons. It eased the mood, and usually gave them something to talk about once they got back. Command issued a search and destroy order for the forces of chaos that assaulted Dorn’s Shield. That order was being carried out by the three Valkyries remaining at Dorn’s Shield, as the other seven were off transporting troops from the Gorgon H.Q. to Dorn’s Shield.

Eirine leaned on the sponson heavy-bolter and sighed. She was thinking about the horrors that attacked Dorn’s Shield. Even in the dark of the night, she still saw their contorted faces, Eirine was knocked out of her thoughts by an explosion very close by.
“This is Scylla Two, port engine has sustained damage from something. Altitude is dropping. Prepare for emergency landing, I repeat, prepare for emergency landing.” The entire Valkyrie buckled as the pilot wrestled with the controls, trying to regain control. She held onto the heavy bolter and much as she could, but spared a glance at the other gunner, Corporal Pablo. There was another crash, and the Valkyrie buckled to the side. She spared a glance back at the smoking wing, and thought ‘Odd. Where’s the wing?’. She was right. The wing had torn itself from the Valkyrie, and thus causing it to lose altitude at a far greater speed. The pilot did all he could, but the Valkyrie started its nosedive. Eirine could only watch in horror as Pablo was sucked out of the hatch, and plummet to his early grave. Eirine could feel her grip, and her consciousness slipping. It was only a matter of time until they hit the ground. Only a matter of time until they died.
She was right.
It was only a matter of time until they hit the ground.

Eirine woke up to a hand covering her mouth. At first she struggled, but slowed down after the hand eased itself off her mouth. The pilot looked at her with caring eyes, and slowly attached a rebreather to her helmet.
“It’s alright, you’re alive, but we have to get out of here.” He whispered to her. She noticed that his las-pistol was in his other hand, and aimed directly at the open wilderness outside the safety of the downed Valkyrie. “Vox unit is fethed, don’t expect to get picked up. C’mon, we gotta go. The crash might’ve been heard, and Emperor knows what’s out there.” Eirine weakly nodded and tried getting up. She immediately regretted it as her left arm exploded in pain. All she let out was a grunt of pain and glanced at it. A bone was sticking out from where it obviously shouldn’t be, and she couldn’t feel a finger. It was her favourite finger, she mused to herself. She smiled at the pilot as he fixed a re-breather onto his own. Now that she thought about it, this was the first time she had seen him without his mask on in the entire twenty seven deployments she had been on with him. He helped her up, and eased her broken arm over his shoulder.
“Easy there Will, I’m not as tough as I look…” She winced as the pain almost became unbearable. He did as she said, and wince after wince, she finally stood. He helped her out of the Valkyrie, still with one of her arms around his shoulders.

The long walk back began.

Vandred felt the jostling of the Chimera as it trundled over the cracked road. His arse hurt, banging up against the barely-padded seating. The looks of annoyance from the Gue'vesa accompanying him told him he wasn't the only one with a sore bottom.

"Hey!" Vandred called into the driver's seat. "Can't you be a little more careful with this hunk of junk? My arse is sorer than a grox's temper."

The driver, Wires, retorted "I said I could hotwire them, not drive them! Gimme a locked door and a bobby pin, and I'll have that open in a jiffy, but I ain't no treadhead."

Vandred sighed and endured another bump. Hound, the mercenary leader, fought to restrain a grin.
"It's almost as if you've never experienced the joys of Imperial Guard tanks, Sub-Commander." he leered. "Years of riding these beasts makes you tough."

"That may be true, Hound," Vandred said. "But I'd take a Devilfish or Orca over this a thousand times over."

"You're a Gue'vesa, huh?" The driver raised his voice above the roaring engine. "Well, do Tau girls have-"
"Wires, don't cross it." snapped Hound. "These are our employers, and they're paying good. I won't have your crude remarks jeopardise this mission. Otherwise, I'm leaving your sorry arse to kill the PDF leader alone."
Wires returned to the controls, grumbling.

The lead Chimera in the stolen convoy was crewed by Captain Nassau and a team of elite Tiller veterans - men taken from the PDF, deserted Guardsmen, tough farmers - strong sons of Crion all. The other Chimera housed Vandred, his Gue'vesa specialists, and Hound's mercenaries. All of the troopers wore stolen Blood Fort uniforms, either recovered from the initial siege of New Pavus, or from the newly dead ones of the previous owners of the Chimeras.

Tiller intelligence had intercepted a pair of Chimeras, containing Blood Fort reinforcements, coming to reinforce the depleted New Pavus garrison. With a matter of hours to spare, a mock checkpoint had been set up along the road to New Pavus. As Captain Nassau engaged in conversation with the Chimera driver, the rest of the taskforce snuck round the sides of the stationary Chimeras. When Nassau opened up the troop hatches to "do a check on the men inside", they were greeted by Vandred's men, firing indiscriminately into the packed troop bays. Their naked corpses were left at the roadside, and the checkpoint razed to the ground as they left. The stolen Chimeras continued on the road to New Pavus, their mission clean and simple.

A vox message came through from Nassau's Chimera. Vandred put it through to the whole vehicle.
"++We're approaching the North Gate now. Make sure you look convincing.++"

"Of course we do," Vandred scoffed. "We only need to hide the Ratling, and put on our gasmasks. It'll be fine, friend."

Hustle, the Ratling in question, shot Vandred a filthy look as he scurried under the seats, his needle rifle tucked in beside him. The rest of the men inside slid gasmasks over their faces to hide the shrouds over their mouths. They wouldn't be keeping the masks on throughout the mission, but the shrouds were essential. A single glimpse of any of the Gue'vesas' or mercenaries' faces would have them plastered all over Imperial posters.

"++Van, you're far too relaxed about this." warned Nassau. "This isn't just some PDF colonel or major. This is Rodrick Payne we're trying to assassinate. The Planetary Governor's nephew, and heir apparent. He dies, and the governor is left with two nephews and a niece, all unfavourably looked at. And he won't want that one slightest bit.++"

Vandred looked over to Hound. The mercenary leader grinned.
"Finally, a decent target. Bring it on."

Vandred echoed to Nassau. "Bring it on."

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

The pair of Chimeras passed under the North Gate of New Pavus. PDF troopers passed alongside the tanks, toting dataslates, carrying munitions and crates, some on patrol. Vandred saw nothing, other than the few glimpses he could see from the camera monitors in the driver's seat. The rest of the men inside the tank either kept their heads down, in silent prayer, or like the Gue'vesa, checking their gear and adjusting their gasmasks. Hound just stretched, and tested the handle of the massive broadsword on his back. Blood would be spilled. The first Chimera pulled to a halt, and Wires brought the second to a jarring halt. The Chimeras were clamped, and the inspection began.

A pair of PDF troopers sauntered over to the first Chimera. Vandred heard them speaking to the driver, followed by the sound of the Chimera's doors being opened up.
"Just routine inspection, can't have no rebels getting in here - you know the drill."

Silently, Vandred swore. He just hoped the gasmasks would bypass security. The two PDF troopers passed on to the second transport, letting Nassau's Tillers disembark and gather their things. As they spoke to Wires, Nassau whispered to Vandred into his earpiece.
"++There's just a pair of them. Just a quick check, you should be fine - if it goes south, my boys are ready to fight and break towards where Rodrick should be.++"

The Sub-Commander sent two bursts to confirm the message, and listened out for the PDF soldiers. Their footsteps passed right behind him, and he caught a few sentences of their conversation.
"-was on far better jobs than this back on transfer."
"Ha! You were transferred to the Charadon System post-battle - you got to clean up rogue Ork warbands."
"Damn straight. Where did you get landed?"
"I got landed on Fraklygg to train feral worlders. God-Emperor, that was tedious."
There was a brief knock on the rear hatch, and the ramp opened up. Sunlight streaked in, and Vandred felt the glare break on his gasmask. The two PDF troopers looked at eachother, confused and gone out.

"Look lads, we get the joke, and we know you're all ugly sons-a-bitches, but we won't judge. Pop them masks off."

No-one moved. They hadn't planned for this.

"Seriously. Pop those masks off so we can check you. Or we blow them off you." They reached for their lasguns held on their straps. "You. With the broadsword. Take that mask off now."

Hound sighed, stood up, and removed the gasmask. The PDF troopers seemed to relax.
"Good - that wasn't so hard, was it?" He turned away, muttering something about "damned Blood Fort bastards". The other one shone a torch into Hound's face.

"Hey, I know you from somewhere. Come a bit closer?" Hound prowled forward, his face barely restraining a feral snarl. "Wait, I know you! You're-"
Hound grabbed the man's neck with lightning fast reactions, and broke it in one swift motion. He fell limp to the ground, his torch falling loose in his grip. The other PDF officer fumbled for his lasgun, only to stare down the muzzle of the mercenary's bolt pistol.
"Your worst nightmare." Hound snarled, and pulled the trigger.

The sharp crack of the bolt pistol caused pandemonium. Nassau's Tiller troops unleaded volleys of pulse fire into the scrambling PDF ranks. Vandred's Gue'vesa hopped out of the Chimera, adding their guns to the enfilade. As PDF soldiers rushed to defensive positions, Hustle, the Ratling, sniped out vox arrays and emplaced weapons. Hound led the mercenary squad, his bolt pistol cutting down any soldiers too stupid to get into cover. Wires hopped into the cupola of the Chimera, and started laying down heavy bolter fire into the PDF troops.

Vandred slid up to Nassau, hunkered down by the side of a Chimera.
"What's the plan, Cap?"

"Agents inside the city told us Rodrick was holed up in a penthouse a few blocks from the entrance! It's low-tech, to make it more inconspicuous - we should be able to cut the PDF off before they get there!"

Vandred shouted over the gunfire into his vox link.
"Pull away, we're here for Rodrick! Nassau, your Tillers form the rearguard, Hound, take your mercenaries and you and my men can take the van - move out!"

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

"Harding, give me a report. What's going on at the North Gate?"

The Scion sighed. Rodrick Payne hadn't moved from his chair overseeing New Pavus. His eyes were fixed on the North Gate, watching the smoke drift up. Every now and again, when Rodrick thought it was all over, the sound of gunshots would echo up to the penthouse. The panicked civilians had fled, avoiding the gunfight between the Tiller insurgents and Crionian PDF. So far, it was impossible to tell.

"Sir, I must advise caution-" began Harding, before Rodrick cut him off.
"Reports please. I must have reports, so I may send them to my uncle."

Harding reeled off a list of references from a dataslate.
"'Assault began at 13:53. Two Chimera class transports were inspected, containing roughly two squads of Tillers wearing Blood Fort uniforms. Bolt weaponry used, but it's unclear if it was the Chimera's turret mount, or a smaller weapon. All vox casters were disabled in the attack, prompting a slower response from other patrols. Major casualties on PDF forces at incursion, with only three recorded kills on Tiller forces. They vanished into the city after their pursuers fled. Four patrols haven't reported back.' Sir, if I may actually speak?"

"Yes trooper?"

Harding cleared his voice, and used the tone he would use to talk down aggressive Commissars.
"Sir, this position is not safe. I must escort you to the Scion barracks at once, where we can better defend you."

Rodrick scoffed. "Harding, you're a good man - I appreciate the concern. But these are just Tiller rebels! My personal guard should stop them in their tracks, or at least buy me the time to escape. Your Scions weren't able to kill O'Connell and end this mess. Why should I trust in your skills?"

"If you'd actually given us support and let us do our job instead of babysitting inferior troops-"

"Is that insubordination, Trooper? I'll have you-"
"-shut up."
"Did you-"
"Shut up!"
"PRIVATE-"
"SHUT UP!" Harding screamed.
Rodrick closed his angrily twitching mouth, and heard gunfire and screaming from inside the penthouse.
The screams of his honour guard.

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

Vandred battered aside the guardsman. His superior combat training overpowered Payne's so-called elite's, as left him sprawling. A burst of pulse rounds to the chest kept the guardsman down. Around him, the mercenaries and Vandred's Gue'vesa troopers were storming the building, firing close-range volleys at Rodrick's honour guard. They had discipline, Vandred noted. They held the position well, using the main staircase upwards as a bottleneck. Of course, with two of the Pathfinders holding back and marking the targets, their cover was slowly being reduced by the advanced Tau targeting matrix. The mercenaries were far less subtle.

Hound's bolt pistol punched clean through the armour of the guardsmen, leaving them reeling and falling off the parapets. Others which got too close felt the bite of his massive broadsword, lopping limbs clean off in brutal melee.
Others toppled down, sniped by Hustle's needle rifle. Blood dribbled from crisp, clean headshots.
Vulture, the assassin of team, leapt between cover, her lithe Kroot body dodging lasbolts and hurling tomahawks at the PDF.
Wires simply kept blasting away with his plasma pistol, keeping the honour guard in cover. He may have been unable to hit, but plasma bolts were a hell of a deterrent.
The last member of the merc team just crouched down behind cover, keeping her head down, and eyes shut. Her limited psychic energies needed to be channeled, but when active, Smoke's abilities were a force to be reckoned with. At Hound's command, she swept the room with unnatural fog and dust, sending the overtaxed guard detail into cover. The battle quickly turned from a last stand to a hapless slaughter.

Through the smoke, Vulture bounded up the stairs, her billhook slicing through cowering guardsmen. She was a revenant, an avian bringer of death. Hound was far less subtle. His massive bulk loomed over the hapless honour guard, and they barely had time to scramble away before his broadsword cleaved them in two. All the whilst, Vandred and one of his men marked any targets that tried to flee, and watched as they were shot down by the other Pathfinders. When Smoke dissipated her powers, the hallway forward was a bloody mess.

The Tillers, who had been fighting the rearguard, pulled into the building. They fired a few punitive rounds down the street, keeping the patrols off them a bit longer. The Imperial patrols had caught up to the team, trading lasfire down the street. In the scant cover, the only thing Nassau's men could do was try and keep the Imperials back. Bodies of a handful of Imperials lay sprawled on the pavement, but many Tillers had been killed in the defence. They numbered only four of the original ten.

Nassau pulled on a cord, and steel shutters fell over the windows and doors - they had put a few more minutes between them and the Imperial hunting teams. With a wordless command, Nassau ordered the team to advance upwards into the penthouse.

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

"They're in here." Nassau whispered.
The fireteam were stacked up against the corridor walls. Vandred and Hound were at the door, listening to Nassau.
"Who's breaching?" Hound muttered.
"We'll assign a number from one to three between us, and one of my men will choose a number. Whoever's number is picked goes in first."

They muttered amongst themselves, and Gue'vesa'la Blayke held up two fingers. Hound and Nassau looked over at Vandred, who grinned.
"Honour's mine, boys."

The Pathfinders double-checked their carbines and readjusted their shrouds. Blayke placed a fusion charge on the door, and prepared a marker grenade. It was a specialised instrument of the combat cadre - short ranged and only throwable, but perfect in marking targets before clearing rooms and suchlike. Vandred pulled out his pulse pistol and combat blade, and nodded at Blayke. The Pathfinder activated the fusion charge and tossed the grenade through the door.

The plasteel door shattered, blown clean off it's hinges into the room. Chips of debris rained down from the ceiling, and smoke flooded the room. Panicked lasfire lanced through the smoke, carving bulletholes into the walls. Blue bolts of pulse fire silenced the lasguns one by one, the marker grenade lighting up the elite guard for the Pathfinders. When the smoke cleared, Rodrick rose from his desk. His honour guard were slumped up against the walls. Their blood painted where they died.

Vandred grabbed Rodrick by the collar, and dragged him towards the balcony. His pulse pistol shattered the glass door outside. The wind picked up, whipping Vandred's dark cloak around the two. Rodrick was stammering helplessly, struggling in Vandred's grip. His pleas fell on deaf ears. The Gue'vesa shoved the man at the edge of the balcony.
"This is necessary, Rodrick Payne," he spat. "You must die, for the good of the Tillers." He looked back at Nassau. The Tiller captain nodded curtly.

Rodrick begged. "No, please, I-"
He flailed wildly, and grabbed at Vandred's shroud.
Vandred gave Rodrick a sharp shove.
The railing broke, and Rodrick fell.

As the man plummeted, Vandred felt the wind on his face. Confused, he touched where his shroud should have been. Nothing. Too late, he saw his shroud in the hand of Rodrick Payne, broken into pieces on the streets of New Pavus. Rodrick's body gave the Sub-Commander relief.
The mission was complete. Payne was dead, the PDF morale would be broken, and the governor was left without their favoured heir.
Success.

He turned to leave the room, and saw the Scion lining up at shot at him from behind the door.
"Sir!"
A Pathfinder leapt in front of the hotshot round. His light armour was no protection, and he skidded to the ground, a hole torn into his chest. The Scion tried to take a second shot, but Hound leapt upon the man. The big man smashed the Scion to the floor, beating him down with his fists. A sharp stomp to the Scion's head broke his helmet. A pair of widening eyes looked up at Hound as he plunged his broadsword through his skull. Hound wiped the blade clean, and looked at Vandred's exposed face.

"We need to get clear. Now."

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

The route back was somewhat easier. Grenades strung up by the Tillers as they had approached Payne's penthouse exploded harmlessly in the streets, drawing patrols of PDF units to the explosions. There were no firefights, no run-ins. Vandred was glad about that, at least. Two of his Pathfinders had died, alongside most of the Tiller troops. He also had his exposed face to worry about.

He felt distinctly naked without something covering his face and beard. The Scion had seen him. And although he knew that dead men couldn't talk, something felt wrong about the situation. Something had gone wrong.

As the remnants of the fireteam approached the Highknight Wall to rendezvous, a Valkyrie's spotlight passed in front of them. The team ducked behind disposal bins and doorways, hugging the cover available. Vandred dared to glance upwards at the slow-moving vehicle. A squad of Scion troopers scanned the streets beneath them, their legs hanging lazily from the troop bay. Dimly, Vandred caught some of their chatter over the hum of the Valkyrie's engines.

"He's really dead then?"

"Rodrick? Yeah. No-one could survive that fall."

"Good riddance. Fool didn't know how to handle us Scions." There was a slight pause. "Hey, doesn't that make our CO the ranking officer?"

"I guess. I mean, the PDF will be demoralised as hell, and the governor will be mighty pis-"
The Valkyrie passed on, dragging the searchlight with it.

The fireteam moved on, sidling up to the abandoned Highknight Wall. At Nassau's command, rappel lines were cast over the wall, and the assassination team disappeared into the streets of southern New Pavus.

Varius’ hands instantly rushed to his gaping throat as his blood sprayed all over Mason and the floor dripping through the grated flooring and into the gushing waters below. Mason stepped back in an attempt to avoid the red tide but was too late, covered in crimson he proceeded to wipe his crude weapon with whatever rags Varius wore and slipped it into his pocket, saving it for later use. A rumbling sound from the ladder told Mason that his companion had reached ground level, surveying the scene one final time and checking to ensure he did not leave any prints or a trail Mason closed the door to the ladder in on himself and began to climb, the ladder was old, the bolts keeping it attached to the wall were rusted and Mason felt that if he pulled hard enough they would give way and send him plummeting back into the darkness and captivity, putting such thoughts to the back of his mind he soldiered on reaching the top. He took the outstretched hand that offer to help him up and we surprised by the strength she wielded, as soon as he was out she slid the manhole back over the hole carefully as they were directly underneath the walls of the Blood Fort, spotlights swayed over large empty fields where the trees had been cut back, chattering of the men manning the walls could be heard from above

“Did ya hear about Harry Buckland ?”

“That pig ? No what about him ?”

“Stupid bastard lost his keys, Emperor knows where they are now”

“The Sarge will be livid, he’ll have Harry on the night shifts for months”

“Fine by me but if any of those sacks of meat got their hands on them we may have bigger problems”

“Huh, leave them, been too long since the last manhunt let them run i’d happily gun …….”

The voices trailed off as the two troopers patrolled back along the wall, The woman turned to Mason and pointed towards a distant treeline

“Thats where we will be going, as soon as the spotlights passed by we sprint hard, don’t stop and don’t look back even if they shine a light on you keep moving”

Eying the spotlights Mason nodded his head “Gotcha”

The blinding spotlight scoured the empty fields before passing them by, the woman burst into a sprint whom was quickly followed by Mason, the grass was long and uncut making it difficult for Mason to move as quickly as he like, he was panting hard and he did not have much energy left and he was starving. The treeline was looming towards him with each passing step, he would be free soon. His mind wandered to what would happen next, does his mission still stand ? Or is this a chance for a new life ? No he told himself, no doubt the Plague Pigeons would be searching for him and he had seen what Garathal does to deserters ….

Suddenly his shadow was projected in the grass as a blinding white light shone on his back followed by sounds of sirens and both men and dogs barking, the Blood Fort was mustering up for a manhunt. He picked up his pace and finally reached the woodlands, looking up he could just about see his fellow escapee and trudged on to try and keep up with her, the spotlights tried to illuminate the woods but the foliage was too thick with only streams of light penetrating the thick canopy. Long grass turned into slippery mud which did not help Mason much although it did allow him to catch up to the mysterious woman, breathing heavily Mason managed to get out a few words in between he gasps for air

“Where are we going ?”

She wiped some sweat from her forehead before answering “To the coast, we have sympathisers there”

Mason played dumb “Sympathisers ? for what ?”

She stopped at a clearing looking left and right as if lost “Not now !” she turned left decisively “This way”

Barking echoed in the distance which encouraged Mason to push on after the Tiller, “They got hounds on our heels !”

She did not break her stride, she did not even turn around, “Then move your ass !”

The pair came to a little stream where the woman stopped, “Quick, wash your boots we can break the trail”

Mason collapsed into the water dumping his head in, and gulping down as much as he could

“We ain’t got time for this, come on !” her patience obviously wearing thin

“Fine, fine” Mason swirled his boots in the water while the woman crouched behind a nearby tree, turning too late Mason saw a brown flashby followed by snarling. Two hounds had locked onto the woman’s thigh and her arm, Mason’s survival instinct kicked in and he bolted across the stream leaving her to her fate, yet something felt wrong, his heart was telling him to go back, making a split second decision he grabbed a stone and jumped back across the stream and bludgeoned the dog on her thigh caving in its skull and pushing its slumped body out of the way, he turned to the other hound the throw his body behind a swift kick to the dog's midsection sending it flying off the Tiller. The dog wasted no time and lunged on its new attacker sending both Mason and the mongrel sprawling into the stream, Mason braced the dog off with his forearm and fumbled with his free hand for the bolt, his fingers clutched the metal head and plunged it into the dog's stomach and ripped upwards. The stream turned a sinister shade of crimson as the corpses flowed downstream, Mason pulled himself up to see the tiller struggling to apply a makeshift bandage

“Allow me” she studied him a moment before outstretching her mauled forearm, she winced from the pain as Mason tightened the bandage.

“You ran”

Mason nodded “I did”

“But you came back”

Mason looked her in the eyes a moment “I did that too”

“Why ? you could have made some good distance while I acted as dog chow”

Mason finished the bandage and looked at her again, he contemplated telling her his true feelings about her but he decided to take the easier option and lie “How else would I find your friends on the Coast ?”

She grunted, Mason could see she wasn’t satisfied with such an answer, she stood up and raised his own forearm “Let me look at yours” Mason pulled his arm anyway “No time, troopers can’t be far behind let’s go”

She protested “It could get infected, let me just-” “Nurgle watches over me woman no infection could possibly harm me” Mason thought to himself

“No ! We wasted enough time already, come on”

She said nothing and just jogged onwards, annoyed. “Woman” thought Mason, “now I know why I don’t usually bother with them”

They came to an abandoned Farmstead where the woman led him to a small barn where spiders and rodents have made their home, cobwebs decorated the corners and the scuttling of the rats across the rotten floorboards was unmistakable. Many rusted tools were left lying around and a tractor was parked in one of the corners with a dusty sheet only half covering it, if it started at all it would have been a miracle. She led him to some hay that was left behind

“We rest here, we’ll leave at first light”

She got no complaints from Mason who threw himself onto some rotting wheat bales, she threw him one last look before jumping on a bale of wheat herself, exhaustion took over the pair of them and they drifted off into a peaceful sleep … until they heard barking. Mason was up first daring to open the barn door ajar to see a handful of crimson troopers and more mutts “Great” he muttered. The Tiller was up and looking for another way out, the sun was high in the Crionian sky, they had slept in. Hunger gnawed at Mason’s stomach, it was so loud he worried he would give them away, a light tap on his shoulder distracted him from thoughts
“These boards are rotted, we could punch our way through, we could make some noise though”

Mason approached the back wall of the barn and ran his fingers along its moist surface “Nah this is completely rotted, should crumble easily” taking a few steps back he braced his shoulder and charged into the back wall, running straight through it.

The Tiller emerged from the new exit to see Mason pick himself up from a crusty pile of manure from which hordes of flies soared around, she put her hand to her mouth but whether it was to hold her breath or her laughter Mason did not know “Just go” Mason growled as he brushed off as much gak as possible.

They carefully retreated back into the woods towards the coastline

“Well that was one way to mask your scent” grinned the Tiller

Mason couldn't help but laugh and she couldn’t either, they approached each other as if to embrace but the snap of a twig put both of them on edge as a deer bolted past them, as if it were running from something

“Let’s go” decided Mason, trying to ignore what just might have happened but failed and fantasised anyway

The rest of the journey was taken in silence neither of them wanting to address what just happened. The trees receded and gave way to grass and then to sand as they reached the coast

“We follow the coast to a fishing village half a mile or so and we’ll be good”

“Finally might get a decent meal” Mason moaned

“Or a bath” teased the Tiller

They walked ankle deep in the sea to avoid leaving tracks in the dry sand, this is almost romantic Mason thought to himself, if I did not reek of blood and pig gak. The village soon came into view, there was no armed guards, no watchtowers, no signs of Tiller activity

“You sure this is it ?” asked Mason

“Positive, stay behind me and shut your mouth”

A aged, broad shouldered man emerged from one of the houses with two others flanking him, The man sported a shaved head with a thick, silver moustache and tattoos on his neck suggested military service. He wore a stained white tank top which was more of a grey due to some filth or another, he wore green camouflage trousers which were tucked into black military style boots and had knee pad support on his left leg, a hand cannon hung from his hip.

The Tiller rushed to the man “Kamron !”

“What the-” The man embraced the woman with a confused expression before leaning back to take a look at who he was hugging, his eyes widened “By the Holy Emperor and his sons it’s Tyler’s girl, Lynn Adaso !” he embraced her once again

“How are ya lass ? Last we heard you were captured and dragged to the dreaded Blood Fort”

“I was, but I escaped with the help of emm”

Everyone turned to Mason including Lynn, realising he hadn’t given her a name he spoke up Mason, Mason Lee”

“And what are you doing here lass ? The Tarragon cell was wiped out months ago, I only have a few lads left”

“You have boats and I need to reach my father back in Spiri, would you be so kind as to -”

“Bring you there ? Who am I to resist ? If your father found out I refused he’d have my head” he left out a hearty laugh, “Brent ready a boat we’ll be crossing the ocean” one of the men accompanying Kamron saluted his commander and ran to the sorry excuse of a dock.

“I knew I could count on you” smiled Lynn

“You’d better leave soon, those bloody bastards will have the surrounding coastline locked down if they haven’t already” he turned to Mason and grabbed his hand with a hefty handshake “Thanks for setting her free lad, broke me heart when I heard she was captured”

Mason nodded “Don’t Mention it”

“Now go, and Lynn tell your father I send him my regards”

“Will do Uncle Kamron, stay safe” she blew him a kiss which brought a smile to the old warrior

The boat was a simple thing with room for perhaps six people and a simple engine at the back, it would suffice. Lynn jumped in first “Right come on, i’m sure my father would love to see his daughter’s rescuer”

Mason quickly followed and sat himself down “ Thought you’d said we’d get some food here ?

She threw him some half-eaten, half-rotten fish “Sorry s’all I got at the moment, i’m sure my father will be very gracious though, that is, if you are coming with me, when we reach Spiri you can go where you want”

Mason was quick to answer “Got nowhere else to go”

Lynn began the motor which rumbled to life in a puff of smoke “Good let’s go shall we ?”

Dok Kavorkoz hummed in a gleeful bliss as he conducted himself around his lab. The dok hummed as he searched his clutered desk for his lucky hacksaw. The Dok laughed. “What a lovely day for some surgery wouldn’t you say?”

An ork strapped to a table gave a muzzled yelp in reply. The dok laughed on as he found his saw. “I know right couldn’t agree more, such a lovely day, just you me and da voices. Let’s begin shall we.” The Dok turned and shouted “Oi nurse get in ere.”

A grot orderly wheeled in a cage containing a snarling squig. The red orkoid creature was in a feral rage biting at the wooden bars and frothing at the mouth. The dok leveled the saw to the restrained orks forehead. The ork struggled against the leather restraints as the dok was about to make his first cut. Luckily for the patient there came a knock at the clinic’s door. Kavorkoz looked over to the door and growled “Get lost. I’z workin ere“ The Dok turned back to his patient but as he repositioned his saw the clinic door swung open violently.

Kavorkoz turned to see Nox, Gadnuk, and the warpead Doof standing in his now doorless doorway. Kavorkoz swore a quick zog under his breath before adopting a more pleasant tone “Big Boss, how’s it going.”

Nox entered the clinic looking with disgust and intrigue at the lunatic pain boy’s various projects. Nox spoke brutishly as Gadnuk lifted a preserved squig in a jar “Any word?”

The Dok gulped “We, we had some set back. This git aint so easy to find.”

Nox seized the pain boy by his neck and pinned him against the wall as Nox growled “We had a deal dok, I held up my end by supplyen yer lads now I expect you to keep up yer end.”

Kavorkoz writhed and choked “I swear we’z been tryin, but he’s a right sneaky git. I send mobs searchin fer lead and dey nevah return.” Gadnuk spat “Sounds like an excuse, I hate zoggin excuses.”

Kavorkoz struggled for air and croaked “Let me make it up to you.” Nox gestured at the nob and the ork set the pain boy down allowing him to breath Nox was intrigued “Make it up to me how?”

The dok breathed deeply “A few years back I I got my hands on one of dem old dragon boy dreads. It was shot to zog but wif da help of mek Slabkill I waz able to activate da gubbin. I found some scrawny yoof and walloped im on da ead. It was a right pain to get em in and even arder to get him online. But when he took his first steps it twere a fing of beauty worthy of the name Mad Kan. It was shortly after building Mad Kan that I realized I had no way of controlling it.”

Gadnuk laughed “Who’d a thunk something called a Mad Kan would go crazy.”

Kavorkoz continued. “I couldn’t keep da raging Mad Kan around and I couldn’t destroy it even if I wanted to. I let him go on da Black Sands where he could terrorize humiez all day. Recently I figured out a way to wrangle da beast, you see I made a control rod dat should shackle da creature. I was going to use it myself, but dat grub Zogface Gitburn stole da Rod from me, cuz he thunk it a right shiny bit fer his boss pole.”

Gadnuk rolled his eyes “Why should we care about yer Mad Kan, especially if we have to fight zome arsonist ta get it.”

It was at this time a new ork entered the doorless clinic. A pale green creature dawned in black leather armor with a massive guitar saddled across his back. A crude and simple patch across his chest with the words “DooF” The Doof spoke answering for the psychotic pain boy. “Deez Dragon Boyz were dead ard. Dey say twere dem dat stomped da Black WAAAGH of ThundaGore and da Titan of Lordog. When da Dragons vanished dey left there bones behind and now da rats have come to gnaw at dem.”

Nox was intrigued “You’z sayin our quarry has come ere lookin fer something deez Dragon Boyz left behind?”

The Doof nodded and Gadnuk spoke with some irritation. “Why didn’t you just say that then.”

The Doof scoffed “Its called showmanship.”

Gadnuk laughed “No its called being annoying.”

The Doof grumbled and Nox spoke “Da Doof makes sense, plus if dis Mad Kan is as ard as da dok paints em ta be it should be entertaining at the very least.” Nox turned to the Dok and spoke “We still ain’t even.” The dok rose to his feet and nodded as the orks exited his clinic.

The Dok turned around to his enraptured patient and spoke with a smile “Sorry bout dat bit of bad bidness, right where were we? Oh right cap removal my favorite part.” The dok picked up his rusty crude surgery tools and slowly approached his next victim.

Outside the clinic rested a row of ork choppers, the largest and most intimidating of them was the DoomBlitza. A red beast of steel, with a horned head worked in the visage of Mork at its front. Nox mounted da massive war bike and shouted to his men. “Saddle up ladz we got a Psyka to find.” Nox revved his engine with a mighty mechanical roar and sped off, his advisors and honork guard following soon after.