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Mason positioned himself back over the side of the rocky boat in preparation for the looming regurgitation that was surging from the pit of his stomach.

“Eating that fish was a bad i-”

Mason’s eyes watered and his stomach churned as watery porridge, mouldy bread and rotten fish all came up in one in a lumpy, creamy fluid which splashed into the churning waters below with some of it decorating the side of the boat that was quickly washed away by the crashing waves.

“Giving you that bucket o’ fish was not one of my best ideas I admit” stated Lynn as she steered the flimsy boat through the rough weather. Mason managed to glare at her before sending his head back over as his throat filled up with the putrid substance.

“Oh don’t look at me like that, I told ya they were rotten !” Mason did not lift his head back over the boat to respond.

“Anyway we’ll hit the coast in an hour or so you’ll be fine once we hit dry land” The rest of the journey was more of the same with Mason’s vomit became more and more liquidised as he body had retched up what little food he had managed to chow down.

Lynn turned off the engine and let the boat drift to the shoreline. The boat gently crashed against the awaiting sand that dutifully moved aside as it ran aground. The beach was desolate with little risk of being seen, to the west laid miles and miles of desolate sand while to the east laid rocky cliff which constantly absorb the assault of the sea. Mason jumped out of the boat first and landed badly sending him sprawling in the sand, Lynn eloquently stepped out of the boat and walked up the beach aways leaving Mason in the sand. Picking himself up and dusting off some sand Mason jogged after her

“I feel better already !” grinned Mason as he put that blasted boat trip behind him

“I don’t know” doubted Lynn “You still look a bit green to me” the two shared a smile before Lynn turned to the east “New Pavus is that way, if we leave now we might make it before dusk”

Mason extended his arm “Ladies first” Lynn snorted and began walking, “I got her” Mason thought “And she knows it”

The city of New Pavus could be seen from miles around with blackened smoke rising from the center of the city and gunshots could be heard throughout the adjacent countryside. The once lush green fields surrounding the city were reduced to a blackened husk where Tillers patrolled weary of an Imperial attack. Two men raised their autoguns unsteadily not actually expecting any action on their shift

“Halt who goes there ?” squeaked a young man

“Lynn Adaso daughter of Tyler Adaso, commander of the Tuk cell”

The two young men looked at each other and chuckled “Ya and i’m Horatio Payne” scoffed one of the boys. Lynn said nothing, did nothing but stare. Thirty seconds passed, a minute, two, with each passing minute the Tillers became uneasy before crumbling

“Alright I’ll call my superior, let him deal with ya”

A round man in an ill fitting uniform strode out to meet them a short while later

“Jensen what is the meaning of this ? i’m to report to O'Connell in less than an hour”

The tiller nervously spoke up “This one claims to be the daughter of Tyler Adaso sir”

The man froze before turning to the trooper “And why in the blazes are you harassing her outside the gates and not escorting her to the command center ?” before the tiller could reply the man turned to Lynn

“My most sincere apologies Miss Adaso but we can’t be picky on who we arm in these trying times, if you would follow me i’ll lead you straight to your father”

“Excellent” smiled Lynn as she walked through the gates with Mason in tow.

Tyler Adaso leaned over a map of the city studying the Imperials movements for a weak link, there wasn’t one. “Bloody Scions” Tyler muttered to himself as he slumped into his chair and lit yet another cigar adding to the thick haze that had enveloped the room. Tyler put down the cigar and rubbed his eyes, he needed more coffee. He hadn’t shaved in a week or so and his facial hair felt coarse to the touch, he pushed his jet black hair out of his eyes which fell just above his shoulders, picking back up his cigar he took a deep puff. Exhaling more smoke into the stuffy room that was allocated to him he picked up his box of cigars and slipped them into the inside pocket of his trench coat. Opening the door to leave for a meeting of the various Tiller commanders Tyler’s jaw dropped along with his cigar as he saw a ghost, his daughter.

Lynn’s eyes watered as she embraced her father who was still shocked beyond words, whether that was due to her emotions or the tendrils of smoke blowing out of the room she did not know and she did not care. Her father smelled of tobacco and aftershave, as usual, Tyler pulled back and managed to compose himself

“Lynn Holy Terra I thought you lost for good”

Lynn smiled “You’ll have to put up with me a while yet dad”

Tyler chuckled “ I think I can live with that” Tyler peered over his daughter’s shoulder “Who’s the boyfriend ?”

Lynn smiled and didn’t bother correcting him “A tag along from the blood fort, seems handy in a fight think you have a use for him ?”

Tyler looked Mason up and down “We could always use more bodies, you know who we are son ?”

Mason nodded “Got a pretty good idea, you are the Tillers, bogeymen, parents tell their children stories about at bedtime”

Tyler chuckled again “True but we ain't exactly hiding anymore, things are heating up around here, once you are in there’s no going back, so whaddya say ?”

Mason took a moment to consider, his mission was getting more and more complicated

“I’m in”

Tyler grabbed him by the hand “Welcome to the cause son, now get yourself to the showers and get yourself a bunk we might be here a while. Lynn come with me, we gotta meeting to head to” Lynn and Mason shared a glance before parting ways which was caught by Tyler. One of Tyler’s cronies showed Mason to the shower and to his new bunk, Mason emerged from the shower to find new clothes and boots on his bed along with a large crate. Opening the crate his jaw dropped as he pawed the hilt of the power sword that sat in the crate alongside a heavily modified autopistol, The sword hummed as power ran along its edge, picking it up Mason spotted a tag attached to the pommel

“I remember my friends and you are pretty up there right now - T.A”

----- Crion, New Pavus -----

Gallus eyes surveyed the city of New Pavus, looking for critical areas and access to the city. He sighed, he had so very little means to lock down the entire the city. There would unseen entryways, for sure, there always were, Scions would have to be deployed to keep an eye out, Blood Fort PDF would have to control access to every gates, critical installations needed guards, counter insurgency was a nightmare. The Valkyrie landed a few minutes after, and Gallus met up with the upper echelon of the Blood Fort PDF. Payne was there, along with a few Lieutenant-Colonels from the unit and a Colonel of the local defence force.

'' Ah! Tempestor Prime, good of you to join us, my forces are already being deployed, I'll leave you to decide where your forces are to be sent, know that all the gates are locked down, a curfew as been established starting at twenty two hundred and my men are scattered around many checkpoints in the city. You should also know that our forces are stretched thin, few troopers on the wall and all that ''

'' Its fine '' said Gallus '' We're not expecting an assault from an external force anyway, it seems the more Chaos-y heretics are stuck in a Hive and the Orks are busy massing a massive army elsewhere, we should be left in peace. As for my troop deployement, I'll have a squad of Scion at each gate helping with the control of the population, every checkpoints will also have a pair of my men to back your PDF. Lastly, I am keeping a reserve force of three hundred Scions with Valkyrie support as a QRF, The rest will lead the snatching missions agaisnt Tiller targets, they'll clear the house and bring you prisoners to interrogate. Anything to add? ''

'' Not much Tempestor Prime, it seems all very sound, my men will do their job ''

The leadership scattered to give out the orders to the men and the briefing was ajourned.



---- Crion, New Pavus, a day later -----

Olaf looked at the PDF squad he was assigned too, they all seemed carefree and relaxed, all the better. Quintos took was talking to a pair of troopers. All of a sudden the man carrying the vox caster jumped to his feet.

'' We got one! Five two three Saint Ruffus's street, move it troopers! ''

Olaf shot a quick glance at Quintos, his rep-mask hiding his confused expression. The other Scion nodded and the pair ran on with the rank and file.

'' What the hell is going on, trooper? ''

'' Buncha traitors in that house right here sarge, we're going to get e'm before they ran for it ''

'' What? We're not even close to start snatching missions! Get back here! ''

But it was no use, the troopers smashed the door aside and began dragging out the panicking civilians. One of the troopers switched off the safety of his lasgun, but Quintos put his armored hand on the barrel.

'' They're traitors! What are you doing? ''

'' Says who, we've been here less than a day, we've barely started getting reliable information and you rush out ready to shoot the first civie that looks at you funny ''

'' We got orders through the vox from our chain of command, it was verified, we're taking them in! ''

Olaf turned to see a trooper smash the face of a relunctant man.

'' No need to beat e'm like that, 'least not until you're sure, all your vehicle and get back to your post. Further snatch missions will be conducted by Scion teams ''

'' If you say so ''



----- Crion, New Pavus, two days later -----

'' I am aware Temepstor Prime, but the Governor Nephew is a very busy man '' said the lieutenant

'' Busy doing what? Shoot random houses on a map and ordering his men to torch them? I barely sent seven team out there and I've done more than what the PDF did. He's going to turn this city on us and create even more opposition ''

'' Yes sir but... ''

Gallus raised his finger and adjusted his earpiece

'' We got another? The Paper Grox? Send two squads, try and get some alive this time, I am aware its usually more troubles than its worth but we need results. Well Lt, this was a pleasant conversation, but I have things to do, I'll be back ''


----- Crion, New Pavus, in front of the Paper Grox library, twenty minutes later -----

The two squads jumped out of their respective Tauroxes and fell into position, splitting into two stacks with a breacher in each. They reached the door only to find it locked.

'' Breacher to the front! '' was ushered from the first man on the stack and the breacher inspected the door. A simple wooden door, locked, no need for explosives, he'd simply smash the thing aside with his ram and let the rest of the stack do their thing. A similar conclusion was reached on the other side and the two breachers coordinated their wrist mounted computers to time their entry right. They smashed the door almost as one and the first stack of each squad rushed into the room, ripping off chunks of the doorway with their bulky carapace armor. Both room were empty, one had a printing press, and the other was the store itself. No living soul could be found.

'' Someone left in a hurry, left us a bunch of pamphlet '' said a Scion

She opened the pamphlet, revealing the picture of a Blood Fort PDF executing a man, the page was also filled with pro-Tiller propagand and anti-Imperium lies.

'' Those idiots gotta be more careful about where they execute the Tillers, this is about as bad as a situation as we can have '' said the Tempestor

'' Agreed, we'll grab a bunch of those and destroy the press, we move in ten, command's not gonna like the idea that the Tillers managed to bug out before we crashed their party ''


----- Crion, New Pavus -----

Narcia looked around her, eyes hagard, most of her squad had died during the Tiller offensive, she had managed to kill one of the bastard and kept his gun as a trophy. She looked up to see a Scion coming her way.

'' Something you want? '' she opened.

'' Heard reports about the guns the Tillers were using, seems you'Re holding one of e'm, we need to figure out what they did to the thing ''

'' Think I broke it when I fought the guy using the damned thing, hasn't fired yet ''

'' Regardless, we can learn a lot from this weapon, hand it over ''

Narcia nodded slowly and lifted her left arm, the stormtrooper picked up the modified weapon and made his way back to HQ. So much for trophies, though Narcia.


----- Crion, New Pavus, Scion command post -----

'' Here sir, found a single weapon used by the enemy, I've seen hit marks and wounds caused by that sir, I'd guess it could penetrate our armor, but I wouldn't bet on it, either ''

Gallus looked at the modified weapon and sighed

'' Can it fire, we'll strap plates on the latest bunch we captured and shoot them ''

'' No sir, the trooper that recovered the weapon said it was damaged ''

'' A shame, start dismantling it, we'll figure this mystery soon enough ''

----- Later -----

Gallus stepped in the armory, where a few Scions were sitting around the dismantled weapon.

'' You asked for me? ''

'' Aye sir, think I've figured out what this is, not sure tho ''

'' What is it? ''

'' Well... Tau tech, the parts that weren't in the lasgun when it was made, at least ''

'' Sure 'bout their origin? ''

'' I compared that to what's written in the reports when we fought e'm, along with recordings of the insurrection we fought on Prima III and the weapons used there, its all eerily similar, except those guys had direct support. These only have mods on their guns ''

'' Could be a cache they looted? ''

'' Of modified imperial weapons? Just like that? Seems to convinient ''

'' Maybe they integrated it themselves ''

'' How? Lasguns aren't complicated weapons, but even guardsmen would struggle to integrate taht kind of tech in their weapons, and I doubt they have many tech-heads on their side, they have their own allegiance... ''

'' So what, it was done by Tau personel? ''

'' Doubtful, there hasn't been any sighting of Tau forces in the area ''

'' Tempestor Secundus Castella mentionned a Kroot, where there's Kroot, Tau aren't far behind ''

'' Usually is the other way around, sir, we saw Kroots operate on their own a few times ''

'' Mhmm, so most evidence points towards direct Tau tempering with these weapons, but not direct support on the battlefield ''

'' Not yet at least, could stay in the back to punch us where it'll hurt the most when it hurts the most ''

'' Agreed, take out as much data as we can from our previous campaigns, battlesuits weaknesses, their weapons, vehicle data we recovered, make sure everyone remembers the setting on the rep-mask we used agaisnt their cloaking armor ''

'' Don't forget the markers sir, that messed us up real nasty in the past ''

Riley nodded

'' Once everything we have is gathered, I'll make a proper briefing and you'll have to make sure everyone is aware of what's going on ''

'' Tau and traitors, sir, we'll need more than PDF to deal with that ''

'' Tempestor Secundus Riley is on his way from his assignement, he'll have a report ready on friendly forces and I'll contact the Guard once I make a decision ''

Colonel Vannon was tired and irritable.

He and his men had finally arrived at Hive Cogger after fighting off the massive Ork DreadMob only to find out that their aid wasn't even needed after all! The siege of the massive Hive had been brought to a rather violent end by the Inquisition and Vannon had been informed in no uncertain terms that he and his men were no longer needed at Hive Cogger.

And so that was how he found himself crammed into the troop bay of a Valkyrie on route to the city of New Pavus. The Tillers were apparently starting to have a real hissy fit and were giving the local PDF and the Scions who were also stationed there a real headache. So far they hadn't launched many major attacks, but their presence was impeding the Imperial war effort on this planet, "So" Vannon mused to himself, "it's up to me to show them the error of their ways." He laughed quietly to himself, drawing confused looks from the Chem Dogs around him. Just as he looked up to respond to their looks his vox clicked on and he heard the pilot of the Valkyrie say "We just received reports of a firefight in the city Colonel. I've been ordered to set her down just outside the city. You and your troopers are to head into the city and lend the Glory Boys a hand. Vannon grinned at the news and shouted to the other troopers "Grab your kit boys and girls! We got work to do!" He scarcely noticed the resounding cheer from the troopers as they scrambled to check their weapons and armor, maybe these Tillers would have some good stuff to loot....

As Vannon observed the firefight between the Tillers and the mixed group of Scions and PDF he had to admit that these Tillers weren't as terrible of fighters as he was expecting. Their fire discipline wasn't all that great, but they were sticking to cover like glue, and their sheer weight of fire was doing wonders to keep the Scions pinned in place. "But" he mused to himself as one of the Tillers dropped with a hole the size of a dinner plate burned through his chest "the Glory Boys aren't too bad either". Any of the Tillers who stuck his nose out of cover for more than a few seconds found himself with a hole burned through his head. Finally Vannon had seen enough and he turned and nodded at Sergeant Karly beside him and as one the Chem Dogs rose and opened up on the Tillers. Vannon smiled in satisfaction as he saw the Tillers began to drop rapidly as his attack tore into the rebels exposed flank. It was over in under a minute and as his Chem Dogs began their traditional post battle looting of the event Vannon strode over to where the Scions and PDF were getting back to their feet and he said "Colonel Vannon of the Savlar 5th. I heard you boys needed some help." He knew he must be a sight with his slightly crazed eyes and chem mask on his face, but strangely enough, he didn't care.

“From the lightning and the tempest.” A stern voice called over the humm of the valkyrie’s engines.

“Our Emperor, deliver us.” A chorus responded, reverberating off of the walls.

“From the curse of the mutant.”

“Our Emperor, deliver us.”

“From the plague, temptation, and war.”

“Our Emperor, deliver us.”

“From the blasphemy of the fallen.”

“Our Emperor, deliver us.”

“From the begetting of daemons.”

“Our Emperor, deliver us.”

“A morte perpetua, Domine, libra nos.”

“Inimici nostri, perpetua morte moriatur.”

A red light shone above the owner of the stern voice. Closing his prayer book, he fashioned his rebreather mask to his face and removed his hat. Holding the brim firmly in his hand, he stroked the aquilla with his thumb as he strode to the back of the craft, slapping the button to lower the ramp, the valkyrie was soon filled with the sound of whipping air as they flew across the night’s sky. Several other valkyries could be seen as he walked down the ramp, getting as far as he could without becoming subject to the wind.

Turning back to the valkyrie's hold, he surveyed his troops. Clad in black carapace armor with a finely crafted brass trim on the edges, rebreathers on their faces, their helmets were fashioned with sloping armor covering the sides and back of the neck, along with curved crests on top that displayed their noble lineage. The same way the helms of their forefathers’ were traditionally built. they all stood, ready to leap at his command.

The red light began to flash.

“Fight with honor.” He said.

A reminder.

A command.

“For the Emperor!” They called back in unison.

With that, they leapt from the valkyrie.

Wind roared past as they silently fell out of the inky black sky. The ground was barely lit by several fires scattered around the swampland that seemed like tiny dots the the falling scions. One by one, they activated their goggles. The pinpricks of fire turning to near unbearable brightness, and the rest of the landscape becoming clear as day.

Including the heretics.

Marking their targets, the scions waited in silence as the ground approached with dizzying speed. Then a faint whisper sounded in their comms.

“Now.”

The night sky lit up a brilliant blue as the scion’s grav chutes flared brightly. At first, the cultists below were blinded by the sudden light. The scions took advantage of the situation, as bright red bolts soared through the air, cutting down several of the cultists before they could react, the laser energy cutting straight through their vital organs. The stern man landed as well. Placing his hat back on as soon as he recovered from the landing, his hat and his decorative chest plate proudly revealed in the light of the lasfire for all to see what he was.

A lord commissar.

Taking aim with his laspistol, he fired at a nearby cultist who had gathered his wits enough to take aim with his autogun. The lasbolt scythed through the air, striking the cultist in one of his glossy white eyes and slicing clean through the back of his skull.

Soon, the element of surprise was lost, and the cultists ralleyd against their attackers. Autogun fire barked as they took cover, and began a firefight with the scions. Both sides took cover behind the large blocks of rock strewn about the cultist’s quarry, and the lord commissar stepped behind one just as a handful of bullets struck the rock behind where he was, sending a shower of stone over the back of his neck. He risked a look out, locking his eyes on four cultists that were huddled behind a fallen block, pinning some of his men down with constant fire from their autoguns. Slipping back behind his rock, he turned to a trio of his men and gave them a series of hand signals. They nodded.

Bright red hot-shot lasfire cut through the air as two of the scions began peppering the fallen block. The cultists hit the ground hard to avoid the deadly rain, leaving the third sion his opportunity. Crouching low to avoid the haphazard return fire, he quickly closed the distance. The cultists screamed as the scion’s flamer erupted in a tidal wave of orange flame, and the air’s stench shifted from rotting flesh to burnt flesh.

A baritone bellow shook the earth, and heavy footfalls thudded against the ground with worrying speed. Out of the darkness, a creature burst forth. A beast more than man, it stood over seven feet in height with dark horns on its head, and heavy hooves on its feet. It pushed past the darkness, around the massive stone it was hiding behind, and rushed towards the flame wielding scion with more speed than should be possible for something that size.

It swung its weapon, a massive club with rusted metal jutting out in jagged forms, in a wide arc, and struck the scion across the side breaking his spine with a sickening crack. The two scions stood their ground firing their lasguns into the charging beastman. It’s charge did not waiver as dozens of laser energy bolts sliced through the creature.

As the beastman continued to surge forwards, a burst of lasfire struck through his heart, finally causing his stride to slow. With his last moments the beast still lumbered forwards, and swung his club wide as his vision blackened, striking the a large block of stone and cracking it in half with its final breath.

The firefight only continued to intensify, as cultist and scion fired back and forth at each other, both sides now fully entrenched behind their blocks. The lord commissar peppered a nearby group of cultists with his pistol, striking one between the eyes and sending the rest reling back behind their cover.

Over the gunfire the roar of a descending valkyrie could be heard. The lord commissar smiled to himself as he saw the aircraft glide behind the cultists, flanking them, before it spun around to unload its deadly cargo. The cultists barely had enough time to comprehend their new threat before explosive bolts rained down on them.

“For the emperor!”

Justicar Freedman’s voice carried over the battlefield as he charged forwards barraging his foes with a furry of shells from his storm bolter as he lead his squadron of power armored knights. The cultists that exposed themselves as they fell back were quickly cut down by the scions’ lasfire, those that stood their ground met their fate at the ends of the knight’s halberds.

In moments, it was over.

“Justicar Freedman, you honor us with your presence.” The lord commissar said bowing his head as he stood over a rotted cultist.

“Our victory gave great glory to the emperor, Lord Commissar. The honor is shared.” Freedman replied, his brow wrinkling as he surveyed the dead.

“A quarry.” The Lord Commissar stated, finally getting long a look at the battlefield. “An active one, at that.”

“Was active.” Freedman replied, a smile on his face.

“Still, a quarry exists for a reason. And why does one need stone?”

“To build.”

“Exactly. This invasion is meant to last. We need to strike again, and quickly.” He said, turning sharply to his men. “Mount up. Those with flamers, stay to burn the bodies. We cannot allow for their taint to spread any further. As soon as all are in the air, we level the quarry. No more stone will be gathered here.”


Ravens flee the field
Wicked in scorched graves
A red moon rises

The ritual begins as it always does

I close my eyes as the light begins to dim as the hatch above me slowly closes. Then the whispers begin to course through my mind. The first few times I heard the whispers I was disturbed by them, but now I recognise them for what they are. They are my ancestors, fragments of their souls that persisted inside the Throne Mechanicum during the long centuries, offering advice and information to each new Scion who dons this warsuit. I have little doubt that mine own voice will join the choir one day, and that thought is surprisingly comforting to me. Outside I can faintly hear the chanting of the Sacristans as they continue to go about the business of readying me for war, and I find myself whispering along with them.

I suddenly feel a moment of disorientation course through my body as the final connections between me and my suit are established. I clench my left arm and the massive gauntlet on my left arm begins to open and close experimentally and crackle with barely restrained energy. I then clench my right arm and I hear a series of thuds and whirs as the Avenger Gatling Cannon that forms my right arm in this suit arms itself, and the auto loaders whine to life. Finally, I open my eyes and behold the repair bay through the eyes of my Knight, and I can feel a deep sense of satisfaction pulse through my body as the machine spirit of my suit realizes the importance of the occasion. We are going to war once more. Around me I can now see the massive armored forms of my siblings as they undergo similar rituals.

Even from here I can see my sister Amanda shifting impatiently from one massive armored foot to another. Even before she became a Scion she was impatient, a trait that has been exacerbated by bonding with a Knight Gallant. I smile faintly inside my own armored suit at the thought. To the right of Amanda sits the still form of my brother's armored suit. The complete opposite of his twin sister, Cassius has always displayed a level of patience that is almost supernatural. He was a natural choice for bonding with a Knight Crusader. Finally my gaze turns to my last sibling Sera. Like her older brother she displays a seemingly infinite amount of patience, but underneath that I can see her restrained eagerness to get to grips with the foe. Our involvement in this Crusade thus far has been minimal, to Sera's chagrin, but that is about to change. I have heard dire rumors of more heretics landing on the planet, and I can stand idle no longer. House Valorn will march to war once more.

At my armored feet I can see the form of Captain Falkon as he supervises the end of the Sacristans ritual. He stands rigidly at my feet as the Sacristans bustle around him crazily. Despite his obvious discomfort he remains faithfully at my side. He is a good man, and most likely better than we deserve, but I know we will need him and his strength in the days to come.

The beastman struggled against his restraints as he saw Garathal approach with a rusty scalpel

“Now, now child be still for father, we are doing work for the Plague Lord himself”

Garathal leaned over the operating table and pressed slightly into the Disciple’s forearm drawing blood, the beast began to panick wiggling and kicking his hooves incessantly, Garathal jumped back and cursed

“I tried being nice” spat Garathal “But sometimes children enjoy being naughty, Rhaegos ! subdue him while I insert the toxin”

Putting down his manreaper and emerging from the shadows the terminator armored astartes placed on arm across the subject’s chest firmly. Garathal leaned back in

“Now before I was rudely interrupted”

He placed the scalpel back into the little cut he had made and dug deeper making sure to nick the many veins that ran just below the surface of skin. Blood pumped out telling Garathal he had struck his prize, turning to approach a needle Garathal inspected the serum one last time before turning to his plaything

“This will hurt a little bit child, try not to bit out your tongue”

He plunged the serum directly into the beastman’s exposed vein which caused the subject to almost jump off the table despite the restraints

“Hold him !” urged Garathal as the Disciple began to convulse as his body tried to reject the toxin. After a few minutes the body settled down but stayed deathlessly still, an armored hand stuck a finger under the cow like ears to find a pulse

“He’s alive, bring in the next one and make sure he is sufficiently sedated this time, I don’t want a bloody fight in here” As Rhaegos carried the intoxicated beastman out Apostle Steele entered the room “My lord we have received word from one of your agents in the field, the message awaits with the pigeons”

Putting down the scalpel Garathal swiftly paced back up from from his undercroft back through his study and out into the courtyard. Refusing to climb those bloody stairs any longer Garathal’s voiced boomed up the tower unnerving some of the caged pigeons

“Laeron get down here with that message immediately” frantic footsteps from above told Garathal Laeron heard him loud and clear the scrawny man ran out from his tower with a piece of parchment in his hand

“The message as requested my lord” Garathal eagerly grabbed the piece of paper so quickly he almost pulled Laeron’s arm out of his socket. Garathal read the message and then read it again and then began reflecting on recent events before he was interrupted by Laeron

“My lord there is more”

Garathal barely looked up “How so ?”

“Well actually there isn’t more, that’s the problem”

“Spit it out birdwatcher”

“Greywatch quarry, they haven’t reported in or changed shifts since last week”

Garathal handed the message back to Laeron, and began to think to himself “Enemies are closing in, we will have to proceed more quickly”. He walked up some steps of his Cathedral to elevate himself above his followers

“Children of the Grandfather gather round ! He calls to us once more, he calls to us to spill blood in his name, he calls to us to open the eyes of the populace here of their foolish worship of a being who rots, ROTS on a golden chair, they worship one touched by Nurgle himself ! So grab your arms children, tonight we march, tonight we educate in his glorious name !”


____________________________________________________


Mason threw the rotting bird out of a blown out window sending it back on its way back to his master, “A tight leash indeed” thought Mason as he turned to make his way to one of the many abandoned rooms in the ruined hotel that made up the Tiller HQ in New Pavus. Finding sufficient space he unsheathed the pow- no HIS power sword and studied how the air shimmered around it’s sharp edge. He made a few arcing slashes, working a sword arm that hadn’t been used in years, reworking his muscle memory he began to practise the old techniques and footwork swirling and striking almost like he was dancing. He spotted a blur and came to a stop with the sword pointing directly at the doorway where Lynn stood astonished

“Where did a farmer’s boy learn all that ?”

Mason shrugged “With a pitchfork ?”

Lynn smiled and approached him wiping the sweat from his brow and ran her fingers through his hair before she leaned and they kissed. Butterflies rose in Mason’s stomach as his dreams finally came true, well some of them anyway. Lynn pulled away and placed a finger on Mason’s lips before turning away

“Mason you are a gak liar”

The thunderous roar of the DoomBlitza echoed for miles through the forests Tybalt. Two dozen ork bikers clad in black leather armor and wicked grins rode with reckless abandon through the once serene landscape. At the head of this pack of green skin berserkers was their overlord Nox Warprider. At the rear of the pack was Gadnuk and Da Doof both mounted atop their own personal steeds.

Gadnuk shouted over to the Doof. “I still don’t get why were doin dis. How’s dis gonna elp us find our Psyka?”

The Doof Shouted barely audible over the roar the roar of engines “I told you, dis git iz ere lookin fer artofaks if we can find deez ol bitz den we might find our psyka.”

Gadnuk shouted “How do ya know dat?”

The Doof laughed in reply sped up towards the head of the pack bobbing between two of Nox’s honork guard Da Ladz of Anorky. Gadnuk shook his head and throttled his choppa forward in a vain attempt to catch up with Nox.

As the biker mob thundered through the forest the landscape around began to change. Slowly the lush green forest was being replaced by ash and long dead husks of trees. The orks roared onward snapping decrepit logs like sun dried bones beneath their wheels. Soon the sky was gone replaced by ash, embers, and the smell of smoke. It was undeniably clear that they had entered the domain of the flame boss Gitburn. As they rode on the source of the ashen sky became apparent in the not so far distance they could see a great cloud of black smoke billowing upwards into the gloomy heavens.

The Warboss Zogface Gitburn stood at the head of the massive pyre. The ork warlord wore a metal welder’s mask and a thick leather smock over his olive drab clothing. Three ork boys with their hands tied behind their backs kneeled before him. Surrounding them all was a mob of nearly a hundred ork boyz, acolytes to Gitburn’s cult of flame. Gitburn began speaking

“Today, iz a good day.”

The mob of orks roared in agreement as Gitburn continued.

“We ave ere three of da loony Dok Kavorkoz’s lads. Dey were stupid and got caught tryin to take me Boss Pole.” Gitburn raised a brass staff with his left hand and the green skins began booing on cue. The staff’s head was an inactive tesla coil and a menagerie of other orky gubbins.

Gitburn continued to rant “What else could be expected Deff Skull runts aint ard enough to take it in a propa fight. But deez gitz are about to learn what happens when you try and steal from Gitburn.” The ork hoisted up his signature burna, a massive device who’s nozzle was a jagged metal face of the ork god Gork. The yellow promethium canister that was attached to the back of the weapon was painted with a crude typeface that read “Gork’s Breath”. With a maniacal laugh Gitburn unleashed a geyser of flame on the Deff Skull infiltrators. Gitburn roared triumphantly as his victims squirmed and rolled, he loved to watch them do the burny dance.

Shortly after the flaming ork infiltrators ceased their screaming and squirming Nox and his mob of nearly two dozen ork nobs shoved their way past the gathered crowd of ork boyz. The masked Zogface was not fond of intruders and spoke with little patience.

“Da zog you gitz want, can’t you see we’z in da middle of a show.”

Nox spoke bluntly “You got something that don’t belong to you, hand over yer boss pole and I won’t kill ya.”

Gitburn laughed and raised his welding visor to reveal his hideous wounded face. His skin was charred black and the bone of his skull was clearly visible, that too burned black by decades of pyrophilia. Gitburn laughed rising to his full height of nine feet

“You know who I am. I’m ZogFace GitBurn and I’m da boss of da dead forest not youz. So you can zog off and die cuz dere aint no way I’m gonna let some theving grot like you walk outta ere wif me boss pole.”

Nox growled and reached for the sluga he had holstered but the Doof caught him.

The Doof spoke with a wicked grin.

“Let me handle dis one boss. He ain’t worth yer time.”

Nox released his sluga and spoke

“E’s all yours”

Git burn laughed

“Whats dis den a Goff Rocker? Or some deff skull who finks imself ard?”

With a jerk of his head Gitburn nocked his welders mask back into to place. And hoisted his massive burna and laughed as a torrent of flame rushed forward at the Doof. The doof rolled across the floor dodging the burst of fire. With a swing of his chest his axe swung around him to face his foe. GitBurn pivoted nearly catching his own men with the still gushing flame and faced the Doof. With a quick rift of the axe the Doof dodged the flame and continued to play as GitBurn shouted.

“Hold still and let me cook ya.”
The Doof continued to play and avoid the fountain of flame with uncanny speed. Soon the Doof’s music grew more wild and erratic and so did his movements. In a rage Gitburn charged straight at the Doof with the jagged bayonet of his burna, The Doof continued to play and deflected the lunge with bladed bottom of his guitar. Gitburn stumbled back and growled at the psychic musician.

“I’m done playin.”

Gitburn turned a nozzle on his weapon and squeezed the trigger. A fountain of flame so bright it forced all those in attendace to avert their eyes. The geizer consumed the Doof and engulfed the Doof and all the music stopped. Gitburn laughed as he continued to unleash his torrent of fire. For ten seconds Gitburn hosed the Doof with his fire, then came a noise. A rising crescendo, slow at first then fast and furious. The flames began to retreat as an unburned Doof revealed himself protected by a shield of psychic energy. Gitburn raged and loosened the nozzle even more on the Doof. The Doof in replied played faster and a stream of musical mana beat back the flame. The streams of red fire and green magic fought against each other both. The tug of war came to an end when the Doof struck a power chord and sent Gitburns flames back into the burna. The promethium tank in the burna ignited and exploded sending Gitburn to the ground in a fiery blaze.

The Doof was knocked down by the explosion, he arose slowly using his guitar as a crutch. The Doof walked over to where Gitburn was and saw the explosion had separated his legs from his torso. Gitburn was barely alive, the hideous ork was now an even more horrific. The sight of their mutilated boss was enough to scare off the gathered mob of ork attendants each not wishing to meet a similar fate. Nox approached the near dead GitBurn patting the Doof’s back on his way. Nox got on one knee to look Gitburn in the eye. The former arsonist weakly looked up at Nox. The warprida spat in the dying orks face and began to pry the control rod from the ork’s back. Nox gave it a quick inspection, it should still be functioning. Nox smiled and turned away and raised the control rod victoriously allowing his honorguard to bask in its shiny glory. They roared triumphantly. Nox smiled and tossed the Rod to one of his ladz of anorky. Nox wrapped his arm around the Doof who winced slightly in pain.

“Da Doof did good today. Tonight we drink in his oner.”

The Orks roared and the Doof cracked a grin, “Grog sounds right tasty right bout now.” Gadnuk laughed “You look like your gonna need somfing stronga, I still gots some of dat fungus wizkee.” The Doof laughed “And ere I thought all Blood Axes were greedy.”

As the retinue made their way to their bike Nox turned to Gitburn. His massive eavy Burna was destroyed but still it was of great interest to Nox. The Mek grabbed it and a few stray gubbins that belonged to it. Nox hoisted the so called “Gork’s Breath” and made his way back to the DoomBlitza.

IronGore trudged through the jungle, the steady sound of the Iron Horde’s march just behind him. The steady thumping of heavy boots only served to heighten the otherwise silent march. The air was thick with silence as the orks walked for miles on miles without seeing anything close to a threat they could sink their spears into. Gort BadStomp sullenly walked next to Irongore, his mouth, previously flapping about with complaints and ridicule, was thankfully shut with IronGore’s promise to let him kill the first hostile creatures they came across if he did not utter one more word.

So, onward they pressed through the jungle and the silence.

The underbrush moved.

Only a few of the orks caught the movement, but Gort’s impatient eyes caught the motion, and soon the massive nob plowed through the underbrush, sending the intruder crashing down into the dirt.

“Tha’ zog iz yer’ problem, Gort!” Snapped Guts as he picked himself off the ground.

Gort glared at Guts, his eyes conveying just how disappointed he was in the lack of a foe to rip his claws through.

“Guts, did yer boyz find anytin’?” IronGore said as he came up to the other lieutennants.

“Yeah, I did. Tha’ boyz found one a’ tha locals. Says he knows where ‘Tha’ Big Rokk’ iz. Sounds like our metal comet.”

“Good.” Said IronGore as he solemnly nodded. “How soon?”

“In a bit. I got tha’ boyz escortin’ him. Thought I’d come first and share tha’ good news. An it looks like iz a good thing I did, else our guide woulda’ been cut ta’ ribbons.” Guts said as he cast a sideways glare to Gort, to which he simply snorted in return.


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


As the Iron Horde passed through the trees, they came across a land full of unusual holes and mangled trees. Occasionally a tree would twitch on its own, sending the horde shying away from its angry branches.

“Tha’ trees are sure in a mood. Don’ fink ‘dey like tha’ idea a new visitors…” Gort said, his eyes wearily scanning the jungle.

“ ‘Dey jus’ aint quite been tha same…” Spoke their guide, “Since Tha’ Big Rokk came up ‘ere. But ‘dey’re still gettin’, along wit’ us greenskins jus’ fine… So far, ‘dat iz.”

“So far…” Guts echoed as he narrowed his eyes at a particularly gnarly black ore oak.

“We’z ere.”

On those words, the horde came upon a sudden clearing. Most of the trees in the area had either had their tops ripped off, or had been completely torn down by the impact of the Iron Comet. In the middle of the clearing, the comet stood. Halfway buried in the ground, it still towered over the horde in its magnificence, for in every piece of shattered bulkhead, bolt, and wire was the potential for another iron spear, another towering monstrosity of a warmahine, another fortress. The possibilities were endless, and they all had sworn allegiance to the ork that could make the most of those possibilities. And so, for a moment, the Horde stood still, in awe of the towering rubble of rusted promise.

A strange, almost laughing sound broke them from their trance. Their eyes looked towards the base of the comet, and fell upon the source. A strange looking creature, with and odd fur pelt. It snarled and foolishly showed its fangs to the horde as it, again, made the strange laughing sound.

“Now, Gort.” Said IronGore, and without a second’s hesitation. Gort marched forwards, his claws clenching in anticipation as his pace quickened towards the creatures.

Thier fate was a forgone, and bloody, conclusion.

Once the Iron Horde moved in to investigate, and secure the comet, IronGore quietly gave his orders to Guts.

“Send a kommando to Ace, an let him know we got tha’ Iron Comet.”

“Already did. Do ya jus’ wanna sit an’ secure tha’ place? Tha boyz might get a little suspicious if they’re jus’ sitting wit no orders.”

“Have ‘em build a scaffold.”

Guts nodded. “Good, that’ll take some time.” and he turned to leave.

“Guts.”

“Hmm?”

“Use tha’ dead wood.”

Guts looked at the mauled, and twitching trees. “Yeah… Good idea.”

=====The Breach, Hive Cogger, Luna Epsilon=====
Rasz’k Xarak walked through the imperial cadavers, studying the faces of pain and dying hope left on their faces. He knew he had done his ancestors proud, for every Imperial he killed, a Tarellian was avenged, or at least that’s how he saw it. The Imperials would return, it was there way, to send wave over wave and man after man until their deed was done, the makeshift defences and bulwarks served well but were now in a state of decay. Having Yelnava Narseen and her tribe wait in the treeline made a good surprise shock assault which was why the ramshackle defences still stood.

“Xarak, the Shas’el is sending us enough material to bolster our position, but they are minimal. Too much air traffic or something.”

“It will have to do, prepare to receive the requisition.” He cocked his head slightly putting his ear to the sky, “That will be all Caledoras.”

The brute like reptile nodded, affording a glance with his good eye to the sky. It was not spoken, but they had nothing to ward off aerial vehicles. I f they were assaulted from the air losses would be… staggering. Where were the Necrons? Surely they had some kind of air support in the region or perhaps it was blocked by the siege. The very siege he had broken and defied this very moment. He wondered how the Necrons came to be, and wondered if any other races had been made metal. He would ask Numek when he had the chance. A low thrum broke his line of thought and grabbed his attention, this could be the assault.

“Everyone brace! Get to cover! Prepare for battle! Go, go, go!” He got into position behind a half melted and scorched tank trap and unslung his rifle pointing it in the general direction of the noise. There was a clattering of claws on pavement and clanging metal as the Tarellian forces made for cover and readied their instruments of war. As the low buzzing steadily crescendoed so did tension and suspense creep through the shoddily raised lines. Seconds turned into minutes and minutes into eternity before the roar of the engines were upon them. Xarak cursed himself as a trio of Tau Orcas came into view over the treeline and the Tarellians relaxed. The Orcas landed in the courtyard of the Breach, the only area large enough to accommodate the transports. Fire Warriors poured from the vessels carrying various materials and equipment, one with a dark teal helmet stepped forward.

“I’m looking for the Grand Chieftain, I assume you're him?” The young warrior was obviously nervous but made great effort to hide it from the scaled beast.

“I am, and you must be the one delivering supplies.”

“Yes, sir. Shas’ui Scordel, reporting, sir.” He internally scolded himself for not starting off with an introduction and gave a soldierly salute trying to save what respect he could before he lost it all.

“Reporting? Are you not just ferrying supplies?”

“Shas’El wants us here to help reinforce, sir.”

“Hm. Then make yourself useful and start fortifying.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Shas’ui gave one last salute before joining his ranks and carrying what appeared to be a concrete like substance. Most supplies went into creating and solidifying the front line, preparing it for an assault from either direction of the wall. Caledoras and Tisareth held the flanks while Yelnava hid in the treeline opposite of the others hoping the shock tactic would work again. The metal and pseudo-stone wall stretched almost half a mile in circumference, oddly looped in certain spots where a crater or destroyed vehicle laid, it was rough, it was effective.
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It had been six days and no sign of any Imperial attack, mist and fog were thick in the air and a macabre silence lay over the land, the far off weapons fire now quiet. Tarellians and Tau both patrolled the wall taking their shifts, some were huddled around makeshift tables and chairs either telling stories or playing some form of game. Others like Caledoras sat around and honed their weapons, itchy to get into combat, to inflict some kind of damage. Something was different, Xarak could smell it, he was unsure of what, but something did not feel right, something wasn’t right.

It was chaos, people grabbed what weapons they had and readied themselves for an assault as the boom of multiple explosives rocked the camp. Only it wasn’t the camp that was under attack, the explosions came from somewhere deeper in the bowels of Cogger, gunfire and shouting could be heard from anywhere in the city, the final battle of Cogger had begun, and the Tarellians would have their share of the fight. Xarak rallied his tribes and marched into the city, there was no speech needed, each knew their place and duty, and that was enough. The force of Tarellians marched down the street before the low rumble and marching of feet was heard opposite them. Xarak witnessed a trio of Malcadors come out of the smoke just long enough for a shell to knock him out cold.

His eyes barely opened, everything a blur. He heard nothing but the thud of explosives landing nearby. He blinked. Screaming, there was screaming, either from someone or from one of the engines flying over head. He blinked again. He tilted his head just as an assault clan rushed forward, immediately cut down by crossfire. One body fell, gasping for air. It tried to crawl away in a futile attempt at self preservation. A stormtrooper planted his boot on the reptile's back and aimed. The look his fellow soldier gave him lasted a lifetime, multiple items racing through his mind. Thoughts of home, family, children. Fear, anger, regret, sadness, acceptance… nothing. Xarak’s vision momentarily filled with hot red light. The stormtrooper made the Grand Chieftain his next target. He closed his eyes.

More lights filled the air and streaked across the field, these ones different. Amber bolts hurled at the Imperial forces, Necron Warriors advanced forward, each a reflection of the other, marching in step, coordinating fire. A pair of fairly scarred claws grasped his chestplate and pulled him out of the conflict, a soft tone was heard in the air, he recognized it as Yelnava’s. It was the last thing to reach his ears before he began to fade in and out of consciousness, the last thing he remembered was watching more of his kin die whilst the Necrons kept their advance.
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=====The Black Sands, Luna Epsilon=====

Xarak woke in a state of perpetual pain and soreness, before he could take stock of his surroundings he reached for his swords, only they weren’t there. Frantically looking he leaned up and instantly fell back down in a fit of agony. Tisareth held him down to keep him from hurting himself further. “Rasz’k, Rasz’k! Stop, you are safe now, the fight is over. Rest, your wounds are heavy.” Rasz’k calmed and swatted his hands away. “How many…” There was a long pause as Tisareth hesitated in delivering his answer,

“583, and we might lose Demerdul, he was in terrible shape when I pulled him out. We would have lost more if not for the Necrons.”

“And what of our iron compatriots?”

“They fared no better than us, no one did. The Imperium seems to have taken their Hive back.”

“Wake me when we return, I will have word with our allies.”

Tisareth nodded and left the Devilfish for the outside where the rest were marching. The convoy had been on the move for the past several hours, travel by air being too dangerous until they reached the coast. They had a long march ahead of them.

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

Numek dropped to one knee and bowed before his Phaeron. “Now, now Numek. There is no need for such formalities between such noble regents.” He motioned with his arm for the cryptek to rise from his stance, “Now, Cryptek, tell me how my flagship is coming along.” Numek’s singular eye shifted upwards as he smirked, some wicked or evil idea seemingly coursing through his mind.

“Words will not do, allow me to show you. I’ve… added something, and I believe you’ll be quite pleased.”

There small tour took them from the small Necron base to the bridge of the Megalith, then to the weapons room, then ending up in the launching bays. Kageros looked through the titanic rooms, easily a kilometer long, large enough to hold an entire invasion force, it unfortunately sat empty, except for the fighters that filled the five hangars. A hangar sat in the middle of the bay, it held a separate form of Scythe. “Numek, what are those?” “Those are a new creation of mine, Phase Sycthes I call them. A large phase-blade is built into the forward wings, using our superior speed, they will carve through enemy aircraft, rarely susaining any damage themselves.” “Will we see them in action?” “Of course.” They returned into the doorway they had just left and making a right where they had previously gone straight, they entered another room of gilded Ivory, this one relatively small with a single console on the wall. Kageros analyzed it carefully, taking less than a second to figure its purpose, it was a directory. Earth caste workers anxiously walked by the towering metal king, some felt brave enough to peek up at their leader. Most among the Tau believed that they worked with the Necrons as part of an alliance, but some of the wiser knew that it was the Tau working for the Necrons not with them, but few rarely voiced it. A skittering was heard behind the duo, sound of tiny metallic legs clattering along the ivory walls of the fortress ship. A small, modified scarab jumped onto Numek’s shoulder and whispered to him some unknown information, to which he seemed delighted to hear. “Wonderful news Kephri. My lord, our surprise is ready, we will continue if you are done with the directory.” Kageros finished his in depth look at the Megalith via the directory, it was about 8 kilometers long and 4 kilometers wide, it was massive, and well armed, but there were weak spots due to its size. “Let us continue on.” When they entered the final room they stood before a huge cyclopean structure, instead of the smooth ivory the rest of the ship resembled, this looked as if it were made of black marble. Intricate hieroglyphs were inlaid on every face of it, each beset with golds and other precious metals. “What is it?” Kageros asked without removing his eyes from the structure.

“A bio-furnace.”

-----Tau Command Post, Yankor-----

"Esteemed Commander Tach'var,
We received your message but were unable to respond, due to active combat operations. However, we come bearing the olive branch of peace, and a sharpened stake of it with which to stab at the Imperium together.

We have been aiding the Tiller rebels in claiming the city of New Pavus, and struck a massive blow to their morale, slaying the Governor's own nephew and heir apparent. Imperial reinforcements will soon be on their way, and any damage to the Imperium will be lost. This cannot be permitted.

Commander, you will undoubtedly be aware of the situation that Hive "Cogger" turned out as. We offer a chance to seek payment for that, to strike at the Imperials' heartland, and even push on from their. I have Cadres ready to mobilise on the Governor's Throne, if we can establish a foothold on Crion. New Pavus is that foothold, and the Imperium is trying to shut the door on progress and righteous revenge.
Will you open it with us?

A push on New Pavus will begin soon with three armies of Tillers, my own elite Gue'vesa troopers led by the esteemed Sub-Commander Vandred, a mercenary company, and a warband known as the Disciples of Decay.
Let us turn this battle from a fight to a slaughter.

Please, Commander Tach'var - you're our only hope.

Transmitted by Shas'O Skyhunter, Commander of Sunstrike Cadre."

Shas’El Tach’var reviewed the message sent just an hour ago. He was pleased to hear that Sunstrike Cadre had many allies of it’s own, perhaps they could be of use to the Coalition. He pondered what his reply would be and how he could assist, the defeat at Cogger still fresh in the minds of the Tarellians.

“Shas’Vre Firerain, report to the command tent at your earliest convenience.” Before he could set the receiver down as Shas’Vre Firerain entered the tent, a half-annoyed-half-apathetic look on his scarred face.

“Shas’El. How may I be of service?” Tach’var turned with a surprised and slightly concerned expression on his face. “How did you manage to make it here so quickly?” “I was outside the tent when you radioed in.”

“I see, I have need of your services. As I’m sure your briefings have made you aware, there is a Tau Cadre on Crion, they are in need of assistance.” He leaned against his desk and lit up a stick filled with some alien herb and offered one to Firerain who denied the offer.

“Sunstrike Cadre if I’m correct? I assume you want me to lead the force. Knowing you won’t want to risk losses but still wanting to help,” His superior took a long draw, and nodded, Firerain’s face as stoic and stalwart as ever. “You want me to lead a Heavy Support Cadre?”

The Shas’El grinned, smoke exhaling from his nose, “Precisely, you see Shas’Vre, 20 years of service together has come in handy,” Firerain cracked a grin before crossing his arms and letting out a seldom heard chuckle.

“So what am I leading and when?” Tach’var tossed a dataslate onto the table next to them, Firerain picked it up and studied it. Tach’var took in another deep draw, “Hop to it and go rain some fire,” smoke pouring from his mouth as he spoke. He turned around as the soldier left and reached for the receiver once again.

“Shas’O Skyhunter, this is Shas’El Tach’Var of the Rix’lan Coalition. We have received your message and congratulate your success the Imperial forces. Fret not for we will hear your call, I have already sent Shas’Vre Firerain, honored hero of the Thardega Campaign.

He leads a force that is as follows: Three modified Manta transports, twelve Skyray Gunships, six Hammerhead Gunships, and a number of fighter and bomber craft.

We’re are sorry for not sending more, but we are recuperating after the defeat at Cogger. We will send reinforcements when possible.”

He finished his message and sent it to Commander Skyhunter, has he did so a commotion began to stir outside, he left to investigate. As he swung the door open he saw immediately what the ruckus was, the strike force from cogger was flying in, Orcas and Mantas landed at the drop zone and disgorged their numbers of dead, wounded, and defeated. One body was rushed to the medical tent, he recognized the half body to be Caledoras’, his left arm’s pauldron engraved with his tribe’s symbol the, sand-stone sun, as well as bearing scorch marks. As the lizard people skulked by, returning to their campsite behind the Tau’s, he noticed that very few bore the stone stone, his tribe must have been at the front of the assault.

Xarak limped forward, being supported by Tisareth, “Shas’El… I assume you already know the story. Where is our Necron friend? I would have word with him.”

“He’s in the Necron base, Kageros has arrived and he’s giving him a tour,” At the words Xarak gave a confused look before coming to the conclusion that this must have been the leader of the Necrons he had heard of. He motioned for Tisareth to join his own tribe and slowly made his way for the front entrance of the Necron base, it was very well hidden. After a five minute hike up the small mountain and a few turns he found the cave entrance that led into the mountain. He tried to remember the sign to get in, he went to the far wall and traced a symbol with his hands, but nothing happened. He tried a different symbol and the whirring of metal was heard behind the stone as the wall gave way into a tunnel. After much walking and directional inquiries he finally found the room where the Necron noble was.

The door opened before him and his eyes caught on the tall frame of what had to be Kageros, he stood next to Numek, the first Necron he saw. He walked further into the room and gazed at the immense structure before him. Kageros began to speak, his metallic voice carrying a more noble tone, in Tarellian, “Welcome Grand Chieftain, it is about time we’ve made acquaintance,” he shifted his sight from the furnace to the lizard, “I am the Phaeron Kageros. What brings you here?”

Xarak shifted tensley under the scrying crimson eyes of the Phaeron, “The metal you are made of, what is it? Can it be made into armor?” “You are asking if we can make you armor out of necrodermis? That we cannot, but I can offer better.” Kageros looked back at Numek and flicked his eyes at the furnace, Numek understood and began working the console next to the ebony building. Xarak knew something was going on, “What is it? What do you speak of?” a roaring was heard and great amber glow was cast upon the room, the furnace had been lit and the newly made mechanics of old kicked and sputtered to life. “I offer immortality, should you or your warriors so choose, this structure is revival of the ones that turned my race into the machine god-kings we are now. For a small sacrifice of flesh and soul you will be reborn a hybrid of Tarellian and metal. An immortal warrior in your own right, a grandiose weapon used to slay the Imperium. That is, only if you accept of course. I know this a monumental decision, and for that I will leave you to talk amongst your people. I will be in the combat information center down here when you have your reply.”

Xarak keenly listened to every word he had to say and was taken aback by what he had heard. He turned and slowly made his way back to the surface, trying to comprehend the Phaerons words. When he resurfaced, day had become night and the many stars were shining, he could make out Crion through the dense canopies of the jungle, a light mist crawling across the moist dirt floor.. After a small trek back to the Tau camp he sought out the medical facilities, he entered to find Tau medical personal patching up Tau and Tarellians alike, albeit the Tarellians taking the majority of severe injuries. He stalked along the main hall looking into rooms left and right until he found the one was looking for. He entered only to find a ghastly sight, there lay Demerdul Caledoras, or most of him. Both of his legs were replaced with bionic, the metal plates on his chest denoting several synthetic organs, his right eye also bionic.

“By the Sacred Sands Demerdul, I was unaware you took so much damage.” The half metal lizard grudgingly turned his head so he could see his commander, it was obvious that he was in immense pain, and every movement saw it worsen. Caledoras hoarsley coughed a couple times before he spoke in a croaking whisper, “Rasz’k, you look surprised I still live. Ha, like I would let an Imperial man-dog take my life. I scoff at the thought,” He tried to laugh again but ended in a painful fit of coughing.

“Demerdul, I have a proposition for you.”

-----Bio-furnace-----
Kageros stood next to his Tarellian counterpart, both of them awaiting the arrival of their guests. Numek anxiously monitored the readings from the furnace and studied it as if it were going to disappear soon. The doors to their left opened, Caledoras and the remaining members of his tribe entered the large room, eyes straying off to the many parts of the room, or Kageros himself. With Caledoras they numbered 56, there faces seeming timid except for Caledoras who did not falter, but could hardly walk. Xarak met his friend with a clasp of the arm, “You are making a great sacrifice my friend, one that I could not ask of any other. You will be remembered.” “Remembered? You act like I’m going anywhere,” he grunted as he limped towards the furnace, his tribe following suit.

Numek waved Kageros over, he whispered some command to Kephri who crawled into the web of wires and machinery above the furnace. “My lord, when we activate this machine, you know there souls will be stripped, and I’m sure that’s of no consequence to us, but this might attract the attention of certain parties. Are you sure you want to follow through with this.” Kageros looked at Caledoras who seemed impatient and eager to get this over with, “Of course Numek, you know the one saying about parties, the more the merrier. Oh, when this ordeal is over I’ll need you in the comms room, I must make contact with our allies, both old and new,” He stepped back before he could reply to get a better view of the process, as unviewable as it was. Xarak gave a small speech to those awaiting their bio-transference before he himself stepped back. Numek glanced at Caledoras who in turn nodded at the Cryptek before facing his own, at least they had a choice in the matter.

Numek initiated the sequence and the blast doors closed, he started working the console more as amber light once more bathed the room. Faint screams were heard from inside the furnace roars. The machinery above the furnace whined and clacked, some tubing shook furiously as liquid metal was pumped into the furnace. Lychguard entered the room carrying armored panels and regal looking garb that tried to mimic that of which found on Tarellia, more brought in weapons that also had resemblance to the one they had brought with them. Each piece of armor and most pieces of the weapons were an earthy pale color, other pieces the same color as the sands found in the Great Deserts. The fire’s roar began to fade away as the furnace completed whatever ancient alien process it had carried out. Everyone was on edge as the blast doors slowly dropped, a heavy mist like smoke fell from inside the structure, red eyes lit up the void and illuminated the casters. Metallic steps were heard in unison marching from the doorway, thick bronze skeletons stood file and rank in the room, the Lychguard began arming the former Tarellians. Each had taken a new form now, not only were they larger, but they had skeletal wings that seemed to function off of some anti-grav technology. On each chestplate where their hearts used to be, was the symbol of the sand-stone sun, the same symbol was on the shields given to half of them. With the shields came large spear like weapons, the others were given axes and a reinforces carapace, each and every one of them cast an eerie red glow from various spots. Caledoras was now even larger than before, he stepped forward as did Xarak, he was unsure if the being in front of him was still the being he was but minutes ago.

“Demerdul?” There was a long pause.

“Didn’t I say I wasn’t going anywhere?”

[Orbit: Crion]

It came with a purr, not a screech or even a rustle of static.
Garth looked up into the dark sky, as his vox headset signal was temporarily overloaded. Across Crion, any broadcasting equipment left powered up also emitted the same brief message.

~ Playtime, ladies and gentlemen.

Be seeing those worthy amongst you, very soon.

As the commissar exchanged glances with Edward, he felt the hairs on his neck raise involuntarily.


*


Brother Innovus leaned on the console with a strange grace for someone built so tall, and regarded Captain Choret with a quizzical air.
Choret knew this, despite the faceless helm his brother wore. It was no longer difficult. After all this time, he just knew.
The captain smiled, "One has to make an entrance, Brother. It is impolite not to make oneself known when arriving at the party."
Innovus shook his head in amusement at his brothers showboating, and regarded the viewing glass of the bridge, "Where, though?"
Smiling, and causing his teeth to glint in the artificial light, Choret pointed his finger elegantly at the map. Where one gesture would suffice, the Astartes offered it with both elegance and the minimum of effort, in stark contrast to his fondness for over-use of language, "We need to dispose of a few things, and make use of the resources provided. Very basic scouting indicates there would be no great issue doing so here. Barely an obstacle."

Innovus stepped away to ready the shuttle crew. As Choret enjoyed the regular deep beat of the sergeant's boots as they faded away, he didn't need to ask.

A journey into the Darkest Depths: Part 1

He was wrong.

For a being of Garathal’s caliber, an infallible prophet, One who the Gods themselves speak to, a leader of fanatics and armoured warriors, it is not an easy thing to admit. He sat motionless as his mind reached out searching for a familiar voice, a familiar sensation. He found it amidst a sea of other trivial distractions, faint at first but it was there, the same voice that led him to the then ruined Cathedral of Blight, the zealot has assumed this was Nurgle’s guidance but in the back of his mind he had doubted himself of that presumption of his, like a uncleaned wound it festered in the back of his mind until he couldn’t take it anymore and he had to know for certain, so here he knelt, searching.

The faint whispers now grew more dominant over the others as the sorcerer focused on his prize, it spoke in a foreign tongue whispering incessantly repeating the same phrase over and over again, Garathal repeated the phrase along with the whispers attempting to master the pronunciation and tone that filled his mind. Upon focusing harder Garathal saw an image flash before his eyes, a body of water followed by a word he understood, the different whispers condensed into one voice and simply said, “Black Loch” before both the image and the voices ceased in his mind.

With his suspicions confirmed Garathal stood up and pondered on both his next action and what he had just witnessed. Scouring what was left of the PDF’s record that remained at the Cathedral of Blight, Garathal found an old report, mentions of a creature lurking in the deep waters of the Lake Arcannus attacking any craft foolish enough to tread in its waters. The trooper who entered the report stated it was a mere myth and was just some fishermen kicking up a fuss to get a reduced tithe on their catch. Yet Garathal knew what he had seen, the Black Loch is no mere myth, Garathal searched for other documents now, maps of whatever population centers remained in this accursed swamp, anyone who would remember such a “Myth” and who might point him in the right direction, who or whatever this Black Loch is, it is powerful and its power would be his.

Kremus brushed himself down and straightened his posture, the great prophet himself requested his presence and he would look appropriate for such a splendid occasion. Proceeding without delay Kremus rushed up the steps of the decrepit Cathedral, taking them two at a time before walking past the two statuesque guards of Garathal, Apostles Galrass and Krel who did not even do any much as look in Kremus’s direction as the cultist timidly approached his master’s study where he now spends most of his days. Kremus placed three light knocks on his master’s door in rapid succession. He waited and the door opened to reveal Prophet Garathal in all his splendor, Kremus stood in awe admiring his lord

That fool Kremus stood with his jaw practically on the floor as Garathal stared at him impatiently

“Are you gonna stare at me until the Imperium our at our gates worm ? Kremus blinked

“Sorry Lord, what can I do to appease you ?”

“You are cowardly, spineless and weak” Garathal said bluntly before continuing “But you may be of some use”

“I will do anything that might appease the Papa Nurgle and assure his dominance over the fools that close in on us” interrupted Kremus

“Silence lest I have your tongue, I have highlighted a number of settlements that may or may not still exist in the surrounding area, find them and question them about The Black Loch, gather the information I require or do not return” Garathal turned his back on the cultist before slamming the door in his face

Kremus stood still for a moment, smiling. He finally had a chance to redeem himself for his failure at Dorn’s Shield, gathering a hood to conceal his dried out and rotted skin, he grabbed a handful of cultists and began his hunt for the settlements.

Kremus crossed a third name off the list, another goose chase, he would never be redeemed like this. One name remained on the list, a tavern of some description called “The Crionian Crab” Kremus folded the piece of paper back in his pocket and hoped to Nurgle that this last location would prove fruitful.

The Crionian Crab sat on a cliff overlooking Arcannus Lake which was calm and reflected the moon’s gaze. The cliff upon which the tavern sat had weathered the various storms that are common to the region better than the tavern itself. Upon inspection patched up holes in the roof and the dusty, cracked windows suggested disuse, Kremus opened the door to be created to a handful of stares from everybody in the room. The bar was sparsely furnished with chairs and tables that have be worn by the passage of time, the men had not fared much better with all of them sporting grey hair or none at all, a radio was set up on the counter but was receiving no signal due to the stormy weather, a frail old man manned the bar

“ Who would you be ? yous not from round here and we don’t get many visitors”

“We’re travellers looking for a spot o’ rum to warm our bellies on this cold night” spoke Kremus as he eyed the room.

One individual sat alone away from the others, He was missing an arm, an eye and most if not all of his teeth, his dirty, shaggy grey hair covered his one good eye and the smell of decay and alcohol from his breath obviously didn't help his vision, Kremus approached the man with his drink in hand

“Greetings friend, looks like you have a few stories to tell” the man jerked up out of his chair slashing at the air a knife

“You can’t fool me, I see ya, I fething see ya !” one of the locals sprung up and restrained the volatile drunkard

“Reg settle down, tis only a few travellers making conversation”
The man know as Reg dropped the knife and brushed a strand of his hair out of the way of his good eye “Aye, whaddya want from me ? Stories is it ?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, specifically about The Black Loch” The locals froze at the name and retreated to each others tables leaving Kremus and Reg alone

“Where did ya hear about that huh ? most folk forgot bout that beast”

“Nortannis, people there couldn’t stop talking about it”

Reg spat “Bunch of pansies, they claim to live in the swamp, they claim to be hard men yet we are all that remain of the true swamp dwellers”

Kremus was growing impatient “Do you know anything about the Black Loch or not ?”

“Do I know anything about the Black Loch ? You are looking at the sole survivor of one of its many attack on my folk, going back 20 or so years now”

“So you have seen the beast ?”

“Glimpses but ya i’ve seen it”

“Can you help me find it ?”

Reg sat up and grabbed Kremus’s glass of rum “All this talking is making me thirsty” he swallowed the substance in one gulp

“What will it take for you to tell me what i want to know ?” pressed Kremus

Reg slammed the glass down on the table “ More o’ those for a start”

Kremus turned to hail the barkeep, he had found exactly what his master sought, he would soon be redeemed.

Farseer Lilliana sat in silent meditation in the temporary quarters that had been set up for her.

Outside she could faintly hear her kinsmen as they bustled around the base camp that they had established deep in Hive Cogger. None of them feared accidental discovery by the mon'keigh, humans were slow to accept that they could be outsmarted, and so the Eldar had been biding their time right under their noses. The forces of Chaos had suffered severely under the Imperiums fury, but they were still strong enough to pose a threat if they were not taken care of. Normally the Eldar would be content to stay here and eliminate their foe at their leisure, but over the last few weeks Lilliana had received some dire visions indicating that the Necrontyr were beginning to make their move. If they were not stopped Lilliana feared what they would do.

She took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. She would need to reach out to the Imperium to let them know of the rising threat, before it was too late. But to who? Who among the Imperiums forces would be most receptive to this information? Lilliana thought deeply for a few moments before she broke into a wide grin. She knew just the right person to reach out to. With the grin still on her face she cast her mind out into the Ether, and began to focus in on the mind she sought.

There! Lillianas spirit self grinned in triumph as she finally tracked down the one she had been searching for. The next few minutes were spent probing his mental defenses, looking for a way in so she could deliver her message of warning. After several more minutes Lilliana found a small crack in the human's defenses, and she breezed through it. "Listen carefully to my words human" she began, and she felt the human's confusion and anger begin to rise. Lilliana knew she only had a short amount of time before she was shoved back into her own body, so she quickly continued speaking. "I have come to deliver a warning to your kind. The Necrontyr are active on this world, and they are building a weapon of immensely destructive power. Use your sensors to scan for the power surges that are being given off and destroy it quickly". Her message delivered Lilliana began to pull her mind back.

As she began to pull her mind back she felt her powers flare to life as she got a flare of insight, and she felt herself smile again. "Oh, and Chaplain Iodius? Your Chapter will recover and become greater than they ever were. Keep your faith and you will be rewarded". With that she pulled herself back into her body and the shapes of the walls around her came back into view. Only time would tell if her words were heeded.

Kremus walked with a puffed out chest and a wicked smile as he escorted his “prize” through the gates of the Cathedral of Blight. Deformed cultist and Beastmen alike eyed the old geezer as he strolled through the courtyard as if he owned the place, not returning any of the glares that were being thrown his way as he sipped on the last of his free booze. The duo trekked up the steps towards the Cathedral itself and entered the repulsive sanctum. Upon spotting the duo enter Apostle Lynx notified his Lord at once

“My lord, the cripple approaches with an old man”

“Tell him I will be out shortly” shouted out the Sorcerer from his study

Kremus curtly nodded to Apostle Lynx who placed his manreaper in front of Garathal’s door

“I have business with the Prophet, let me pass”

Apostle Lynx’s replied bluntly “No”

Kremus growled before backing down and sitting in one of the adjacent, fungal infested benches, Reg slowly followed

“Hmmm, this guy thinks he is hot gak huh?”

Kremus blinked in disbelief “What did you just say ?”

“This priest fella making us wait an’ all”

Kremus was quick to correct the intoxicated fool “That priest fella is Prophet Garathal, favoured by Nurgle himself and champions his cause across numerous worlds, now hold your tongue lest I take it myself”

Reg chuckled “I’m tempted to continue slanderin’ your boyfriend just to see him torture you, without me or my tongue for that matter you ain’t getting the information he so desperately needs, although you wouldn’t think he cares much the way he is keepin’ us waitin’ around”

Before Kremus could retort the terminator bound sorcerer appeared before them clutching his staff tightly as if he was somewhat annoyed or angered. Kremus waited for his Holiness to speak before talking himself as he had been taught to but Nurgle’s chosen never spoke he merely observed for a few moments before Reg broke the silence

“Well you’re a menacing fella aren’tcha” Kremus would have turned pale if his face hadn’t already turned a putrid shade of yellow from the rot.

Garathal tilted his head slightly and chuckled “Finally someone with a bit of backbone, it has been a long long time since someone mustered up the nerve to talk to me in such fashion” he paused a moment while Reg took another gulp of the additive substance before continuing

“While refreshing it is also disrespectful and it shall not happen again” Garathal looked at the slumped drunk expectantly who merely shrugged his shoulders

“Sure sorry eh ….. sir “

Garathal nodded and looked towards a sweating Kremus “Now Kremus what can this waste of human semen tell me about the Black Loch ?”

Kremus sat up nervously “Everything my lord, he claims to be the sole survivor of one of its attacks nearly twenty years ago”

Worms surfaced from the rotting sorcerer’s helm and retreated into an adjacent hole similar to the one from whence it came while Garathal pondered this news “Interesting ….. So the Black Loch is a creature then ? And you say you saw it ?”

Reg blinked and sat up a little “Glimpses but she’s real alright” promised Reg as he raised up the stump of his left arm

“And you can do what ? bring us to where you were ambushed ?”

Reg burped and nodded his head “Exactly, on one condition”

“Which is ?”

“You supply me with a lifetime of booze”

Garathal nodded “Then you shall have it, if you get me the Black Loch you will drown in drink more than you could ever hope to consume”

Reg cracked a toothless grin “I’ll hold ya to that”

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


Despite being highly intoxicated and only having one arm remaining Reg still managed to stir his vessel relatively well through the choppy waters and prevailing winds, only losing control for a moment when he would take a swig from his seemingly endless supply of booze and try to stir with his stump. As they drifted further and further out towards the center of Lake Arcannus the weather around them sinisterly changed, The skies grew darker, the choppy seas turned into churning waters which rocked the sea faring vessel about no matter what Reg did and a thick fog rolled in reducing visibility to a mere few meters from the boat, leaving nought in view bar a few ship wrecks that had decorated the lake for decades or perhaps even centuries. Reg stopped the boat, stepped back from the wheel and fell back into the seat positioned behind him as the boat was thrown around

“This is as far as I will go !” roared Reg over the winds and the lake as he desperately tried to keep his balance and hold onto his bottle like a newborn child

Garathal and his apostles stood up simultaneously

“And how will I get the rest of the way you worn out bottle licker ?”

“All ya need to do is go down, this weather aint natural ya know, ‘tis the Loch’s work”

“Hmmm, remain here our next meeting could be the greatest day of your life or your worst nightmare” with that said eight terminator clad marines plummeted from the boat down through the dark waters to the lake bed below.

While his Apostles switched on some lights built into their suits for illumination Garathal merely shook his staff and green warp fire engulfed his blade despite the depths of which he found himself. The local wildlife scattered before the flame being used to the cover of darkness being this far down provides. Edging forwards they moved in formation leaving heavy tracks in the shifting sands behind them as they tried to tackle the black abyss that laid before them. After a few minutes of fruitless searching something began to nag at the back of Garathal’s brain, not privy to repeat his mistakes he concentrated on it this time and was just about able to make out soft whispers, the same ones that led him here in the first place. Not believing in coincidences Garathal blocked out everything else, any insignificant distractions, anything that could dampen his efforts in his search was cut out of his mind, … and he stood there, motionless for a few minutes, some of the Apostles grew restless while the others knew better. Garathal rose his head slowly and decisively stode west through a wall of reeds without saying a word, his apostles were quick to keep up the pace. They passed what seemed to be a ship graveyard with many ships buried in the sand while others had completed withered away leaving behind only the frames to suggest their existence, some of the ships in “better” condition housed some local predators that ducked and dived every now and then to escape the burning bright light. While his original pace was quick the sorcerer soon began to slow down, almost as if he grew uncertain of the direction of the whispers, placing two mailed fingers against his helm as if the gesture would help him focus.

“A psychic ward” determined Garathal as he strolled around in circles “It has to be”

Regaining his focus Garathal decided to follow the voices as far as they would take him which as it turns out was quite close indeed, the sands rose in a massive mound atop which sat some crumbling ruins. Garathal headed towards the only thing of note in this aquatic nightmare which was also his only real discovery, the ruins. “How inviting” remarked Garathal as he kicked aside one of the many carcasses that littered the ascent to the eerie ruins, he raised a fist signalling his men to fall into a tighter formation and moved up, slowly and carefully. Upon closer inspection the ruins were more ancient than Garathal realised, the engravings had faded via the passage of time although of the few ones that were visible they seemed to portray some armoured warriors and what seemed to be some dragon like creatures, a monument to the Black Loch ? And who were these warriors that fought alongside them ? “Something to reflect on later” decided Garathal before he moved on to survey what must have been statues once upon a time, now ,all it resembled was a lump of stone. It’s once sharp features have now dulled, the facial features had seemed to recede back into the stone leaving behind a plain smooth surface, a tail, jaw and limbs seemed to suggest a dragon but he could not be so sure. The ground itself shook and tore itself asunder as Garathal spun on his heels bringing his staff to bear, he was met with a torrent of whirling sand as something large screeched and roared as it pulled itself from the sand. The Black Loch’s head rose above the veil of sand that it had roused and sniffed out the would be invaders with contempt. The beast’s eyes pierced through the darkness leaving no misconceptions about his presence, it’s head featured two protruding horns out the back of its skull with gills running along its long neck, it let out a third screech to reveal its terrifying maw which consisted of two rows of razor sharp teeth and a forked tongue to boot. Gartathal could hardly believe his eyes, if he still had them. Realising the severe disadvantage he faced trying to fight in melee underwater, Garathal bolted. Apostles scattered left and right to avoid the beast’s blows fleeing as far away from the ruins as their suits would allow them to. Garathal could feel the beast bearing down on him, he was no match for the beast in the water, just leaving the mound upon which the ruins sat the sorcerer spun on his heels and sent a ball of warp fire flying into the beast’s chest as a last ditch attempt to save his own life, the beast staggered and reared before it sent it reeling back from whence it came by the apostles. Garathal could hardly believe it, he was done for and yet it did not pursue them far, it did not leave the ruins, it was protecting something just like the psychic wards, but what ? Garathal had much to ponder and decided to ascent to Reg above who seemed to have been busy if the empty bottles were of any indication.

“Reg” spat Garathal “The beast is indeed alive and well”

Reg raised a bottle in Garathal’s direction “Told ya so slimey, now as to my reward”

For once Garathal agreed with the sailor “Yes onto your reward, I promised you would drown in alcohol didn’t I ?”

Reg nodded “You sure did, now where is it ?” a sense of agitation creeping into his voice

The sorcerer grabbed the feeble man “Have you ever tried drinking sea water ?”

Garathal never gave Reg a chance to answer before he plunged the disrespectful runt into the lake

“Nurgle thanks you for your service, Reg. Apostle Lynx commandeer this vessel and bring us back to the shore, but mark this position out on the radar, we will return here soon this I promised you”

“Sorcerer? Can you hear me?”

The words drifted through the blinding light, barely audible over the sound of two distressed hearts beating hard against a fused ribcage. The Sorcerer tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids felt heavy and his mind was weary. He felt impossibly light, as if he was floating in the void, surrounded by the endless nothing that stretched out beyond perception.

“Wake up, old friend. Wake up.”

The voice was a familiar one, one the Sorcerer had heard so many times before. How long had it been? Years? Decades? Millennia? He couldn’t really tell. Time had become such a fleeting, useless concept since he had ventured into the depths of the Warp.

“Get the Apothecaries in here! And search for the intruder! Leave no stone unturned and no nook or cranny unchecked!”

A faint smile drew across the Sorcerer’s parched lips. It was the voice of a born leader, full of authority and raw power. It was a voice that commanded and inspired at the same time, one that compelled others to listen. He envied that sometimes.

++Lord Sorcerer.++

The Sorcerer’s eyes slid open a little more, reacting to a presence entering his mind. But unlike his previous… guest, this was no intruder.

++I wish for you to wake up.++

He felt cold fingers softly caress his cheek, an icy palm hovering above inches above his skin. Squinting, he could see the frail silhouette of Circe standing over him, her blind eyes shining brightly with every colour in the universe.

He gasped, and opened his eyes.

A mixture of blood and vomit forced its way out of the Sorcerer’s throat, splattering beside him on the cold metal floor. He suddenly felt heavy, as if a massive weight had been put on top of him, until he realised it was nothing more than his own deactivated Terminator Armour that pinned him to the ground. Slowly, it powered up again, the servos in his arms and legs responding sluggishly to his attempts to raise himself from the floor.

“Steady, old friend. Your wounds-“

The Commander sat beside him, holding him steady. He looked surprisingly worried, a wary look dominating his noble features.

“I don’t know what it is you fought in here, Sorcerer…”

The Sorcerer’s head turned, faintly taking in the havoc that had been unleashed within the armoury. Boxes and containers had been catapulted through the room, weapons and debris littered the floor and fully half of the lumen strips had been torn off or were hanging by a thread from the ceiling.

“… and at this point, I’m not certain I want to.”

A shiver ran down the Sorcerer’s spine, only this time, it did not ebb away as it usually did. The shiver became an earthquake, wracking his body and sending him sprawling back to the floor, convulsing as his eyes rolled backwards in their sockets again and the visions bled through the veil.

A pale horse darts through a withered swamp, escaping its hunters

I see you

Souls burn and turn to metal

He sees you

A Hive falls, and rises, and falls again and again and again

We all see you

A bleeding eye gazes over three planets

Soon

Ancient hands glide over frescoed walls

Prepare

The moon waxes once more

WAKE UP.

And suddenly, all became still.

The Sorcerer’s eyes rolled back into place, and he looked into the lumen strips above him. It was then that a message blared over the vox emitters.

"Playtime, ladies and gentlemen.

Be seeing those worthy amongst you, very soon."

The Sorcerer grinned. He grinned widely, a slow rumble forming at the back of his throat. The rumble turned into a cackle, rising in volume until the entire armoury was filled with his hysterical laughter.
As the others in the room looked nervously at one another, unsure of what to do, the Sorcerer’s laughter rose to its crescendo, only to suddenly halt.

“Oh yes, dear cousins”, he whispered to the cold air.

“Playtime, indeed.”

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

++ALL ASSETS++
++PREPARE FOR IMMINENT REDEPLOYMENT++
++ONLY WE SHALL REMAIN++

Part 1


If you stare long enough into the Abyss, the Abyss will stare back

Laser fire and stubber rounds whizzed by Zehk’s head as he approached the entrance to a sunken temple. Ewryht’eikl had instructed him to reclaim similar sites in order to power up some sort of way line, a current in the warp. With that, the Dark Lord could send a small force to Crion without attracting the attention of all but the most keen Psykers. Resistance was nil at the other locations, but Zehk figured that with this one being closer to Hive Cogger, some of the Flayed Legion (defected was Zehk’s assumption; they did not wear the Hand of Lazarus) might have had fled to it to escape the obvious hysteria that was Hive Cogger.

Zehk summoned his combi-bolter, a daemon-weapon that went by ‘Eclipse’, to his hand and sent a lazy spray of mass-reactive bolts into a grouping of cultists hiding behind a downed tree. He need not kill them, but only suppress them as there was more of the New Order behind him who wore their bloodlust on their sleeve. One of those souls in particular was a spawn named Kri, whom was named after the only noise that it could make. The sound in fact, was an almost-certain death sentence to all who heard it. It wouldn’t take the spawn long to pick up a victim’s scent and hunt it down like a ravenous wolf.

Kri barreled past Zehk, smashing trees aside like they were twigs, and leapt to the unfortunate band of cultists. Zehk turned away in content at the carnage. More cultists swarmed out of the entrance of the temple and took cover behind ferrocrete columns, makeshift barricades and civilian vehicles. Zehk’s forces were easily out-numbered 5-1, though Zehk always preferred quality over quantity. Most of the weapons in the cultist’s possession weren’t even capable of piercing power armour. A shrill voice broke Zehk from his war-revelries.

“Was the order not to ‘stay in formation, you dogs?’ “ Zehk’s second-in-command, a traitor commissar by the name of Helga Schäfer. She stood only a few inches above most men, but that might have been a foot in the eyes of her subordinates. Her face was perfectly symmetrical apart from a monocle over her left eye and her hair was pulled back into a perfect bun that was neatly covered by her commissar’s hat. One could venture and say she valued order and perfection above all else. “You know it's irksome to me when you defy your own order.”

Zehk felt stabbed, not by the words, but by her eyes. She had a way of persuasion that didn’t involve her bolt pistol and worked on both cultist and Traitor-Astartes alike. It was unnatural. “I did… Kri! Form ranks!” Zehk commanded, his armour beginning to feel constricted, “And get out of my head…”

“Apologies, my lord,” the commissar said, bowing in an honest way. She stood back up straight and waved her hand towards the temple. By now, the cultists had stopped firing, but remained wary nonetheless. “First rank, raise shields!”

The first line of Zehk’s men, twenty in all, broken into two lines of ten, raised their makeshift shields in a close fitting line. He doubted that they would stop anything above bolter fire, but against auto and lasguns, they would do fine. Schäfer’s ‘command’ squad approached from between the two lines and joined up with their commissar. The squad consisted of a standard bearer, carrying a flag with the Waxing Moon of Ewryht'eikl painted on it, two of Schäfer’s bodyguards and an ogryn with a massive drum.

“Forward march!” Schäfer commanded. The shield wall slowly advanced towards the temple under the guidance of a drumbeat. Schäfer looked to her superior. “Shall we send in the rabble?”

“No, not until the wall is closer. After all, they are the distraction,” Zehk said, unsure if he was addressing the commissar or her men behind her.

“I don't recall sacrificing them as a distraction was in the original battle plan” Schäfer questioned, her searing gaze now uncomfortably fixed on Zehk once more.

“Neither did I, but a higher power has demanded it to be so.”

“Are you referring to the snake?”

“Unfortunately, yes. She wants to be let out. She needs to kill again,” Zehk said, a slight buckling sound emminating from his armour. The piercing look from Schäfer stopped the noise at its root. Truth be told, the daemon possessing Zehk’s body catered to his more primal urges. It made him lose all control of his actions that weren’t ‘kill’, ‘eat’ and ‘sleep.’ It was a blessing and a curse that Zehk wouldn't wish upon any of his most hated enemies. It made Zehk curious as to why the snake was bound to him and not Ewryht’eikl’s Bloodthirster, Raak’tiil. Zehk did not linger over these thoughts long so he didn't warrant unwanted attention from the snake. Schäfer’s voice returned him to reality.

“Do not be around me then. It is not my wish to die in this backwater system.”

“As you wish, Commissar,” Zehk snarled, mindlessly advancing towards the temple. Darkness filled Zehk’s mind and he found himself laughing in unison with another voice. His armour buckled from the immense pressure building inside it. “Suolyn’ne… I release you…”

Can't say I've read it all that's been written, but I found my self skimming the last page and have to say Kharne the Befriender's chapter had me reading before I knew it.
I liked your, Tarellian's. Plus your main character in this chapter was very likeable. The descriptions and flow between the characters and what they were thinking was very nice too and didn't slow down the telling. So an all round good job. Cheers for the read and actually making me care about a Xenos for a change.

This chat is for the story pieces only, if you want to chat with the writers about thier stuff you can do so in our OCC chat here http://www.dakkadakka.com/dakkaforum/posts/list/13800/673360.page

-41 hours before Tiller Assault

Only two went in the bunker.

The Tiller guards outside had only let two men enter - Vandred, who had waved them aside, and a man in somewhat clean rags, who Vandred had identified as 'Mason'. After some grimacing through Mason's distinct stench, they had been let through, and the door shut behind them. The guards would never know what transpired in that bunker. All they were thinking of was the upcoming assault on Highknight Wall which Major O'Connell was planning for. Little did they know of the war being arranged behind their backs.

Now four people stood in the bunker.

The first two were Vandred and Mason, swathed in various robes and other garments. Vandred's kept him obscured and looking like the rest of the Tiller soldiers. Mason's housed a veritable hive of fungus and moss strains in the threads, which the Disciple would cultivate doggedly - his own garden of Nurgle. It was this same garden that he invoked in the bunker.

Laying down the fecund moss in three circles, he muttered in a dark tongue and burned the offerings. The noxious smoke blossomed up, slowly, gradually, coalescing into a figure. A massive figure, clad in archaic Terminator plate. A figure Mason prostrated himself towards, and called his name.
"Garathal! O Exalted Prophet! I bring news of New Pavus."

The Terminator Sorceror shifted in the smoke. He was not real, but the smoke moved with natural, yet unnatural, motions mimicking the Prophet's motions all the way back in the Cathedral. When Garathal spoke, it was both nowhere and everywhere, carried on the tendrils of moss-smoke.

"Mason, my errant sheep. The flock are waiting. What is the New Pavus situation?"

The disciple rose to a knee. "An alliance to push the Imperials out in two days."

"And why do we need an alliance? Are we not capable of taking the city alone?"

"Because of the Tillers," Vandred cut in. Smoke-Garathal regarded the Gue'vesa intently. "The Tillers occupy fully half of the Southern side of the city. Your kind don't do well with the Imperials, but you'll find your aid far better received with the Tillers."

"You speak for the Tillers, yet are not one. Identify yourself, young maggot."

"Sub-Commander Vandred. Auxiliary of Sunstrike Cadre. Bound by duty to help take New Pavus by Captain Nassau of the Tillers - and that's exactly what I'll do."

"And you realise you can't take it alone." Garathal had a twinge of humour in his disembodied voice.

"Not quite. We *could* take the city, besiege Highknight Wall, take the city for ourselves. But I want to turn this battle from a fight to a slaughter. And for that, I approached your agent, Mason, who directed me to you."

"And what's the payment for us? Thrones? Credits? A share of the city? A pathetic peace treaty?" Garathal scoffed. "Such trinkets are meaningless to the Gods."

Mason responded. "Actually, no, my Lord. Vandred has offered us vassals."

"Vassals?" Garathal spoke with disbelief. "How are you in a position to freely give away lives to me, Sub-Commander? And how many?"

Vandred grimaced. "Technically, I cannot make this offer. But what Major O'Connell doesn't know will not haunt him. During the siege, the Jultan quadrant of the city is all yours to depopulate as you see fit. Just that region, and the few hundred civilians in it. Consider that my payment."

"Very well, human. I accept your payment. My Disciples will be awaiting the battle in two days, and descend when your precious innocent allies charge in. We will take Jultan quadrant as our own. Do not send any men in for twenty four hours after, lest they meet the same fate."

Vandred nodded, and produced a pocket holo-projector. He set it down on the hard ground, and the fourth figure appeared. A direct contrast to Garathal's smoky visage, this one was crafted from light itself. The flat flanks of Tau combat armour glowed in the dimly lit bunker. This time, Vandred saluted the arrival.

"Shas'O Tach'var?"

"No. I am his adjutant, Shas'vre Firerain. I will be leading the contingent to support you. Gue'vesa, kindly present your mission commander so we may begin our battle planning."

Vandred coughed nervously. "Firerain, I am the mission commander. Gue'vesa'El Vandred, reporting."

"Oh - my apologies, Sub-Commander. My armies are ready - we just await your orders."

"We filled you in on the situation via vox - you should be aware of the attack we're planning. We need you to attack from the air and outflank the Imperial forces, distracting them. If possible, I suggest we sync our ordnance systems, so my Pathfinders can guide your Seeker missiles from our vantage point."

"A bold plan, human," interjected Garathal, "but where do my men come in?"

Mason replied. "We will attack from the sewer network and air too. Our Beastmen shock troops will ambush and outflank the defenders, whilst our plague drones and rot flies can swarm the skies. If all goes as planned, we can pen the Imperials in, and drop virus bomblets on their heads."

Garathal nodded, the movement lessened by the massive suit of armour. "Solid. I like it." The smoke twisted to face Vandred. "You're playing a dangerous game here, mortal. Your web of alliances will not hold for long."

"Long enough." Vandred spoke through gritted teeth. "Sub-Commander, anything else you wish to discuss?"

"Your cadre is isolated," the Tau said. "We could benefit much, your men and mine. I ask you to consider joining our coalition."

"I cannot make that decision, commander. I will consult with Skyhunter himself, but we must be wary when it comes to protecting our own. The Empire mistreated us. We will not be squandered like that again."

Firerain nodded. "Noted. That will be all." The hologram cut out, plunging the bunker back into dimness.

Garathal's form began to disperse. "Look for us when the sky turns dark with flies. We will not fight for you, but we will take your side. Remember the price you paid for us, Vandred."

Mason picked up the scorched remains of the moss offerings, and consumed them. Vandred's gut churned, inexplicably horrified by the ritual in front of him. He tried to look away from the bizarre ritual. Mason swallowed, and grinned at Vandred.
"You did well. Many of those not touched by Nurgle cannot stand in the presence of one of his apparitions. Much less talk to one."

Vandred bit back a wave of vomit.
"Charmed."

Two men left the bunker. The guards were none the wiser.

-----------------------------------
-00 hours before Tiller Assault

Gallus stood on the top of Highknight Wall. A vox caster lay cradled in his arms, the speaker horn pressed to his mouth. Around him, PDF soldiers and Scions alike had come to watch the fireworks.

The Tempestor Prime had decided to take action against the Tillers directly. Even if it affected him little, Rodrick Payne's assassination was a blow to the PDF's morale. Morale that needed to be regained.
And what better way than a fireworks display? Of course, Gallus had worded it differently.

"Take our stockpile of incendiary missiles, and burn back the Tillers. Make as many runs on their land as we have rounds, and only then do you have my permission to return. I don't want to see any more missiles on those Valkyries, you understand? Good - now give those PDF bastards something to smile about."

His Valkyries were approaching the city. The sound of their distant engines were drowned out by the jubilant cheers of the PDF forces. The corners of Gallus' mouth turned upwards - this was the war he wanted.
He was about to give a rousing cheer himself, when the Scion carrying the regimental standard next to him collapsed, half of his head blasted away. Time seemed to slow down, as the Scion's gloved fingers released the standard. Gallus dropped his vox caster, and caught the banner. He took one look at the fallen soldier, and adrenaline kicked in. His grinning mouth turned into a snarl of command.

"Take cover!"

Slug rounds and bright bolts peppered Highknight Wall. Several PDF soldiers, Salvar Guardsmen and Scions were shot down, the surprise attack giving them no time to react.
The Tillers were assaulting.
Quickly, the defenders were hunkered behind the wall and blasting at the attackers. Gallus hurled a grenade over, and retrieved his vox caster.

"Gallus to Pyrus Squadron - the Tillers are attacking the main wall! Change your target - hit the Tillers!"

The return fire rippled back into the Tiller wave. The lightly armoured rebels were gunned down by the Salvar and Scion soldiers. The PDF tried to match their off-world allies, but their shots never landed close. Their trigger discipline was off, their training forgotten. They were as good as civilians. Gallus hated civilians in a warzone.

"Pull yourselves together, you motherless bastards!" Gallus screamed at the disorientated troopers. "Shoot them!"

A hand grabbed the Tempestor from the back. Gallus wheeled around and smashed his fist into the owner of the hand. He saw the blur of the brown PDF fatigues crumple at his feet. Cursing his own reflexes, Gallus crouched to the man's level.

"Sorry trooper - what was it?" he yelled above the sounds of battle. The trooper mumbled something through his bleeding nose.
"Speak up, son!" Gallus yelled irritably.

"Look up! Aircraft!" bawled the soldier.

Gallus laughed. "Yes, the Valkyries are coming! We'll beat these bastards b-"

"No sir! Not ours!" His eyes were white with fear. Gallus peered upwards. Sure enough, there were no Valkyries. Instead, three gargantuan airships, disgorging dozens of skimmers and flanked by other aircraft instead dominated the skies. He recognised the shape of the largest ships before his HUD did: he had already downed one before on Julla.

Tau Mantas.

Already, he was scrabbling for his vox caster, and fumbling through the channels.

"Gallus to Pyrus Squadron - engage the Tau air force! Leave the Tillers to us!"

The vanguard of the Scion Valkyries began to climb into the sky, and engage the Tau fleet. Gallus didn't notice. He wasted no time in contacting the Blood Fort garrison.

"This is Tempestor Prime Gallus Tauron to Colonel Vannon , Salvar Fifth regiment! Scramble all your aircraft and get to New Pavus now! The Tau are assaulting! The Tau are here!"

-----------------------------------
+01 hour after Tiller Assault

"Getting torn up down there, aren't they?" Blayke muttered to Vandred. "I almost feel sorry for the rebels."

Up in the belfry of an old Imperial cathedral, the Pathfinder team guided shoals of Seeker missiles to their final destination. Vandred was marking his kills with his bonding knife, scoring tallies into a plank of wood. It was a practise he'd fallen into during the Noct'yan War, hunting down renegade Tarellians in the permanent dusk. Already, he'd gotten through three planks, and was well on his way to his fourth.

"Remember - you might not care about them, but we made an oath. We're going to break this siege, and we need them to survive to do it."

"Of course, Sub-Commander." Blayke guided another missile into a stubber team on the far side of the wall. Their broken bodies ragdolled off the ramparts.

From their vantage point, the battle below was just a distant din. No shots came up to them, and they never needed to resort to using their pulse carbines. Instead, they could leisurely mark targets, and let the Seeker missiles from the Sky Rays behind them and the Mantas over them trace their marks.

Vandred's comm link interrupted their routine.

"++Nassau to Vandred! We can't hold this up much longer! We're distracting them well enough, but we need to push forward!++"

"Just hold out a little longer! We need them to commit their entire force! We'll divert some missiles to create some cover for you, but until they send their entire-"
Vandred trailed off. He squinted at the small shapes on the horizon, growing larger by the second. He pulled out his pulse carbine, and looked down the sights. The blocky shapes of Imperial Valkyries swam into focus, coating the horizon. Vandred leapt to his comm bead.
"Vandred to Nassau, just hold on a little longer! They're committing more aircraft! I'll send the order to our allies!"

"++Van, are you still not going to tell me what your allies are?++"

"Wait and see, Captain."
Vandred turned off the comm link, and took a flare from his pack. He pressed a button on the hilt, and penetrating light erupted from both ends. He dropped it down the church tower, falling past the bell ropes, and into a large drilled out hole in the floor. The flare dropped like a meteor, descending into darkness. A faint splash told Vandred it had reached the bottom - the sewer network. He looked down, and watched as a large, misshapen beast snatched it up, and gambolled through the sewers. The message had been sent, and the Disciples of Decay would soon join the fray.

-----------------------------------
+01 hour after Tiller Assault

Colonel Vannon felt the rushing air against his gasmask, and wiped the steaming moisture off his lenses. His Valkyries had scrambled in record time, rushing to support the rest of the regiment in the city. Reports had been coming in thick and fast from his commanding officers in the field.
The Tillers had launched a large scale offensive against the dividing wall. His own men and Gallus' Scions had formed the backbone of the defensive line. The PDF were broken, the chain of command heavy and unwieldy. Rodrick's death had been a heavy blow, one that the Scions had not been able to remedy.

Vannon had felt very proud of his Chem-Dogs. In their virgin battle of the city, the Salvar 5th were holding the line. Whether or not their combat drugs were acting as liquid courage or if their bravery was genuine was irrelevant. They held the line. Vannon would not ask for more than that.

His voice raised above the whipping air.
"Tell the Tempestor Prime that we're almost here! Ready yourselves, boys: this city belongs to the Imperium!"

The Valkyries soared over the outer walls of New Pavus, slowing down as they approached the active warzone. Squadrons of aircraft descended to drop their guardsmen, as the rest of the regiment made strafing runs on the Tillers who were getting to close to the wall. The sponson heavy bolters spat covering fire as Salvar guardsmen rappelled down from their transports, accompanying the spearing lasbeams of the Vendettas' lascannons.

Vannon watched as his Salvar guardsmen pushed forwards, reinforcing the Highknight Wall. Their added heavy weapon teams mowed Tillers down by the handful. The battleline rotated: the first detachment of Salvar troopers, depleted of combat gases, pulled back and resupplied from cargo containers dropped from Valkyries.

The Colonel's own Valkyrie began to descend, and he unclipped his harness to prepare for rappelling. As soon as the carabiner left the clip, the aircraft shuddered violently. Vannon was thrown to the deck, scrambling to get a hold. The pilot yelled something about "-engine jamming, obstruction in dorsal-" but Vannon didn't hear the rest. The Valkyrie spun out of control, the left engine in flames. One of Vannon's command squad tried to grab their commander, but merely ripped off a hunk of fabric. Colonel Vannon lost his grip, and slid off the side of the Valkyrie. For a few splitseconds, he was falling. He just got time to open his mouth and yell before landing on his back. The colonel swore as he felt ribs crack. Painkillers flooded his bloodstream, calming gases sprayed though his respirator, and adrenaline hauled him up. Salvar guardsmen pulled him away, patching up his wounds. Vannon's gaze, however, was fixed on his Valkyrie.

Flies. Flies the size of birds, bristling with coarse hairs and dotted with hideous eyes. Thousands of them. Ugly black swarms of them assaulted the aircraft, driving relentlessly into the jet intakes and clogging the engines. The swarms moved like tendrils, sinuous and lithe, utterly driven and possessed. The Valkyrie screamed like a wounded animal, and with pathetic pop, the turbine shattered, and the fuel tanks ruptured. Vannon shielded his eyes from the explosion, and the Valkyrie was scattered on the streets of New Pavus.

Getting to his feet, he watched the same grisly scene repeated amongst the Valkyries low enough to the ground. Massive, bloated flies flung themselves into the jet intakes, jamming the turbines, and bringing the flyers crashing to the ground. Gunfire did nothing to dissuade the creatures: there were just too many. Heavy bolters destroyed handfuls of them. The swarm just kept going.
Vannon grabbed a vox caster from a nearby guardsman.

"Vannon to all Salvar Valkyries - pull back at once, and form a rendezvous point. Keep your engines clear!"
Gradually, the Valkyries disengaged, setting down in a ruined market square. The guardsmen inside them added their lasfire to the enfilade. Bereft of anything but their bodies, and unable to jam the inert Valkyrie's engines, the flies were near useless against the Salvar. The swarms pulled away, as if by unseen command, leaving the guardsmen to regroup and tend to the crash victims.

Then the Disciples attacked.

From the skies, bloated, swollen Rot Flies and Plague Drones buzzed erratically over the clustered Salvar troopers. The cackling of Nurgle daemons provided the melody to their drone. Vannon broke their song with a sharp call to arms, and the guardsmen fell into firing lines. Just as planned. Grenades imbued with viruses, plagues and other foul concoctions found themselves hurled at the guardsmen, accompanied by the gleeful cackling of the daemons. The packed guardsmen found their respirators dissolved by the toxic gases, and soon their blood ran not with combat drugs and adrenaline gas, but with the essence of death itself. Guardsmen choked on their own fluids by the score. Those who were able to spread out from the killing zone backed away into the rest of the Imperial defence force. Repulsed by the wall of lasfire fired to the staccato rhythm of Vannon's orders, the daemons slowed their onslaught. Fighting back to back, the Scions and Salvar guardsmen held Highknight Wall both ways - from the hundreds of Tillers from the South, and the daemonic abominations from the North. On both sides of the wall, the killing zone stretched out from the defenders, marked out by a thick line of bodies and blood. But with every minute, the bodies were inching closer.

-----------------------------------
+02 hours after Tiller Assault

Shas'vre Firerain stood on the command deck of the spearheading Manta. The sounds of aerial battle were all around him, and he never felt more alive. Consoles active, target locks, missiles away - the sounds of progress.

The three Mantas of Prin'shek Cadre had been especially outfitted for this operation. It held far more fuel and troop compartments, eschewing weaponry for troop transport - relying on the escort craft to provide fire support. Of course, Firerain had not anticipated that he would actually need fighter support, and had requisitioned shoals of Sun Sharks bombers. A tactical error he regretted now.

As his Mantas dropped the first wave of Sky Rays to support the Tillers below, unforeseen Imperial jets had intercepted the Mantas. The second wave, consisting of Devilfish and other vehicles, was mauled by the Valkyries, forcing Firerain to delay deployment of ground troops. Instead, the coalition fought around the Mantas, driving away the probing strikes of the Scion fleet.
A Sun Shark collided with a suicidal Valkyrie, detonating in a sun of promethium and plasma.
A Valkyrie spun to the ground, it's wings punctured and shredded by drone missiles.
A wing of Valkyries engulfed a Remora drone squadron in flame, frying the aerial drones.

Firerain watched the battle unfold from his command deck, feeling the ebb and flow of the tides. With each passing minute, he grew more sure of the battle's outcome. His bombers were not prepared for aerial dogfighting - nor were the Valkyries, which were laden with incendiary missiles, but they held the edge. Firerain was forced to acknowledge there were more of them, and they sliced into his lines like serrated teeth digging into the yielding flesh of the Tau armada. He refused to break though - even if he was losing men, he was still diverting the Imperials, keeping them from wreaking more havoc on the ground. They just needed to hold.

Suddenly, the left flank broke. His Sun Sharks pulled away too fast, evading a hunting wing of Valkyries. That was the opening the Imperials wanted; a pack of flyers descended upon the Manta to Firerain's left. Their incendiary missiles coated the Manta's defenceless hull in promethium, searing away some of the alloy in a spectacular conflagration. Immediately, Firerain knew the danger of the situation, and leapt on the comms network to the Manta's commander.

"Kor'vre, disengage at once - your fuel reserves are-"
Firerain's warning came far too late. A second wave of Valkyries, aimed like a lance to slay the mighty Manta, released their barrage of rockets. The aft fuel compartment detonated, sending the Manta limping and billowing oily clouds of smoke. The Valkyries circled back, amassing around Firerain's vehicle.

The Shas'vre gritted his teeth, and barked down the comm device.
"Fall back. Fall back at once."

The two Mantas pulled back from New Pavus, propping up the limping third, and bleeding a trail of blue smoke behind them. The Sun Sharks followed suite, fending off the lazily pursuing Valkyries. Firerain muttered an unheard apology to the Gue below, and stormed back to his quarters.

-----------------------------------
+03 hours after Tiller Assault

The south side of Highknight Wall was a bloodbath.

Nassau pulled a Tiller into a shellhole, sparing him from a hail of stubber rounds. His brief elation turned to dismay when he realised the man was already dead, headless from a sniper's bullet. With disgust, he pushed the dead Tiller back into the street. The body soaked up more rounds.

Nassau placed a hand on the iron aquila around his neck. "Only in death-"
"-does duty end." A voice behind the captain growled. Nassau flinched in surprise. His hand flung to his modified lasgun, but a gnarly fat paw grabbed his before he could react. Nassau regarded the owner of the hand. The leader of Vandred's hired mercenaries, a big burly man who went by the nickname of Hound, regarded him with an amused expression.
"What? Afraid to see a living man?"

"You... kekwipe," Nassau exclaimed breathlessly. "I thought you were a bloody Imperial."

A laugh from the Hound. "Why would an Imperial risk going over the wall? The only people on this side of the wall are the lucky, and the dead."

"Which are we?"

"We'll have to wait and see," he muttered over the din. "I've been lucky more times than I care to think. One day that'll run out."

The old merc had proven very popular with the Tillers. Whilst the rest of the mercenary warband were either xenos, mutant, or otherwise just unsavoury, their leader had a natural soldier's wit. He said it was from his previous occupation. When pressed to answer, he refused to yield any further.
"I was a guardsman once," he said between drags of an oversized cigar. It seemed so small in his massive paws and bushy beard. "I was given a choice. I chose, and here I am. Was it the right one? God-Emperor knows, but I'm still alive. If he's kept me alive so far, I must have done something right."

Nassau did a recount of his equipment as the man blasted soldiers off the ramparts with his bolt pistol. The mercenary ducked down and slammed another magazine home. Jammed.

"You a pious man?" Nassau asked the mercenary. Hound nodded, readjusting the jammed ammo feed. "How do you do it?"

Without pausing, Hound ejected the cartridge and rubbed the dirt off it. "Do what?"

"Kill them. The Imperials." Nassau sighed. "I mean, we're both fighting for Him on Terra. I know I'm fighting for a good cause - Tobias Payne is a bad ruler, and he'll never give up his post until he dies. Who cares if Horatio is a bastard - he's still got Payne blood in him, and would be so much better. And these kekheads are resisting us every turn. Crion could be so much better: isn't that what the Emperor wants? Happy, working subjects?"

"All the Emperor asks is that you work for him. He's never cared about happiness, and he won't start now. We'll never know what the Emperor wants until it happens. If the Emperor wants us to win, we will. If not, we won't be alive to know."

"But we're both fighting for the Imperium! We're trying to improve it, and they're making it worse by leaving that kekwipe in charge!"

Hound sighed. "Sometimes, both armies are both right and wrong. I've been in your position before: both of us thought we were right, and fought eachother over it. Now I'm here and the others are now dead or missing. It all depends on who survives to write history. Make sure you have the quill."

Nassau readied his gun. Hound, satisfied with his bolt pistol, began to stalk out of cover.
"And how do I get the quill?"

The mercenary leader gunned down a guardsman as he shot Nassau a grin.
"Be the last man standing."

He planted a foot on the rubble and bellowed over the gunfire.
"People of Crion! The Imperial dogs stand between us and taking this damn city! Breach that gate and let them know who owns New Pavus!"

The Tillers were elevated by the man's words, and pushed closer. The Imperials doubled their efforts, pulling more men to focus fire around the main gate of Highknight Wall. Now, with every guardsman that went down, a group of Tillers could stream through the crumbling firewall, and assemble by the base of the wall. Nail bombs and incendiary cocktails smashed against the ramparts. Guardsmen caught in the explosions were either killed, or flung off the wall. The lucky ones fell on the Imperial side, fending off the waves of Rot Flies and Plague Drones. Unlucky soldiers fell amongst the Tillers, and were beaten to death, their corpses cannibalised and looted.

Nassau slid up against the wall. His rifle was nearly dry, and he was out of spare magazines. They were so close now - they just had to breach the wall. He felt around in his backpack for the demolition charge he had saved for this. His hand met with nothing, and his heart plummeted as he noticed the massive rip in the bottom of the pack, and the charge itself stuck in the middle of the killing field. The captain was about to run back out and grab the device, when a Tiller pulled him back.

"It's a deathtrap out there! You'll get torn to pieces!"

Nassau rounded on the soldier. "That's our only way through that gate! We need to retrieve that device!"

"I can help with that!" Hound had sidled up next to Nassau, alongside his other mercenaries. "My psyker specialist, Smoke - she can create a psychic fog screen to give you a bit of cover. You should be able to get to the gate."

"I'll take your word for it," Nassau yelled. He dropped his excess gear and packs, handing another Tiller his rifle. "Tell me when to go."

Psychic energy radiated from Hound's accomplice, and unnatural violet smoke blossomed up from the cracked pavement. Confusion broke out on both sides, each seeing it as a trick of the enemy. Hound pushed Nassau away from the wall into the ether, screaming for him to run.

Nassau grabbed the charge in both hands, and wheeled back around to the wall. Beams of lasfire lanced through the smoke, missing the captain by the narrowest of margins. He kept running. He kept running until a lasbolt struck him hard in the shoulder. He went down, the momentum spinning him as he hit the ground. His hand instinctively grabbed onto the charge, and activated the priming sequence. A ten-second timer began counting down.

Ten.
Nassau tried crawling away, but his arm felt dead - a hole torn straight through the shoulder.

Seven.
Suddenly, another figure charged into smoke, firing away with a bolt pistol.

Five.
Grabbing the demolition charge in one hand, he hurled the device into the gate tunnel.

Three.
The figure swam into Nassau's vision. Hound's shaggy beard.

Two.
He had Nassau by the waist and was hoisting him back to the wall.

One.
The bomb detonated.

The ground shook. Chips of debris shot out from the gate and rained on their heads. The bodies of the Imperials over the gate were cast aside, flung with devastating power. Nassau slumped down, a grin on his pain-wracked features. Hound reflected the grin, and pulled the massive broadsword from his back scabbard.

The Highknight Wall was breached.

Tillers flooded into the breach, and battle was joined.

-----------------------------------
+03 hours after Tiller Assault

As Highknight Wall detonated, a change swept over the daemonic assailants on the other side of the battleline. Their hit-and-run dives and erratic feints morphed horribly into a solid wall of flies, presenting their unnaturally thick carapace a to the guardsmen. The flies were static for once. Salvar and Scion officers down the line called for a regroup, and directed volleys at the daemonspawn. Lasgun fire scored holes in the chitin, flamers licked away at them, hotshot rounds punched through the beasts. Their line did not falter. The Nurgle daemons, true to their creator, were unmoveable, laughing off the lighter fusillades. The Imperial troops stopped shooting. Some units even moved back, supporting the other line, holding back the pushing Tillers.
None of them saw the outflankers, until the horns sounded.

Seven horns. Seven tones. Each ascended in pitch from the last.

A#1
The guardsmen kept firing, unaware of the note.

C#2
The officers called a ceasefire.

E#2
The men paused, confused.

A#2
The air became charged, electrified, violent.

C#3
The daemonspawn took a step closer, and shuffled their ranks.

E#3
Something, some things, emerged from the ruins to the east and west.
Beastmen, braying and snorting.

G#3
The Beastmen charged.
All hell broke loose.

Spearheaded by Plague Marines clad in foul, tainted power armour and mounted on vast, swollen Minotaurs, the stampede of cloven feet and mangy fur began. Stuck between the ruined Highknight Wall and the advancing Tillers, and the blockade of Plague Drones and Rot Flies, the Imperials had little room to avoid the crushing charge. Scion officers called last minute volleys on the vanguard Ungors and Centigors, slowing the advance slightly. The dead were trampled underhoof. Bayonets were fixed.

The massacre began.

Rusted knives and billhooks flashed in the dying light.
Blood painted the ground.
Disembowelled guts tripped up the cloven brutes.
Packs of Minotaurs batted aside ad-hoc firing squads.
Only the drug-fuelled frenzy of the Salvar 5th and the iron discipline of the Scion 85th stopped the Imperial forces being washed away entirely. Only the strongest of the defenders were able to punch holes in the Plague Drone wall, and escape into the city. The rest of those still alive were carried off by Garathal's Beastmen, back to the Jultan Quadrant. Their own dead were dragged away too, leaving only butchered Imperial corpses.
When the Tillers cut through the last of the Imperials holding the breach, they were met by the visage of death, and the echoes of animal screams.

It was hard to tell if the animal screams were of the Beastmen, or the captured guardsmen.

-----------------------------------
+04 hours after Tiller Assault

Tempestor Prime Gallus kept running. They all had. Scion, Salvar, the scant few PDF who had slipped out. Honour meant nothing when you were caught trapped in a closing net. He'd lost track of how many of the foul abominations he had gunned down, or beat down to the ground. It hadn't been anywhere near enough.

He had been on the wall when it blew up. Gallus himself had hit the poor fool who had rushed into the smoke to retrieve the demolition device - not that it had mattered. Someone else had finished the job. His own carapace armour had absorbed the worst of the fall damage, like most of his Scions. In fact, they were the first to plug the breach, and fight the losing battle against the swarming Tiller wretches. Gallus knew they would be dead now - abandoned with the rest of the PDF, and those Salvar and Scions too weak to escape.

A Scion adjutant caught up to the Tempestor Prime, and handed him a vox-caster.
"Tempestor Prime Gallus. Report."

"++Sir, this is Valkyrie 1, Pyrus Squadron. We've cleared the skies for now. Next objective?++"

Gallus regarded the men he had left. He had just under a thousand Scions left, around half of what he'd entered New Pavus with. Enough for Pyrus Squadron to hold. He looked back. New Pavus was as good as lost. With Highknight Wall breached and the unforeseen daemonic assistance, the Tillers had the city in their grasp. Only a new push, with more men and resources, could wrest the normally-insignificant city from the rebels. It wasn't about territory any more. It was about reputation. Reputation Gallus thrived on. Reputation the Imperium thrived on.

He jogged over to Colonel Vannon, the Salvar commander. The colonel was worn, ragged, wheezing. Still, Gallus was impressed when the guardsman greeted him, upright and proud, despite the blood red patches on his uniform. He had been fighting against the daemons from the start, an immovable force against the bestial onslaught. His best warriors had fought around him, their drug-addled brains numbing them to the horrific mutants all around them. More of Vannon's men had pulled out, but far more had perished in the attack. It had mostly been the Salvar and PDF who had been left behind and carried off by Beastmen. They were lost too.

"Tempestor Prime Gallus - I trust you have come to a decision on New Pavus?"

"Retreat." Gallus said bitterly. "We can't take a city like this. I have a thousand men and women. You have, what? Seven, eight hundred? It won't be enough."

"But we just-"

"It won't be enough."

Vannon nodded, swallowing back a sour pang of loss. "Trust this to happen just as we get here."

"It happens. Do you have transport for all your troops?"

"Yes. Our Valkyries landed at the marketplace two streets down. Have your Valkyries cleared the skies?"

"Affirmative - you get on yours first, and we'll follow suit. Where do we head now?"

"Blood Fort; the rest of my boys are stationed there. You'll have room to land and rest there, and we can file the sitrep after."

Gallus shook Vannon's hand. "I like the sound of that."

-----------------------------------
+10 hours after Tiller Assault

Gue'vesa'El Vandred sat on the edge of Highknight Wall. The city had fallen. The banner of the Imperium and House Payne had been burned. The new banner, the aquila and crossed axe-rake and lasgun of the Tillers now flew firmly, illuminated by the dying embers of the old flags.

They had no banners in the Tau Empire, Vandred thought. They had their Sept markings, but very few Tau had defined sigils. Looking at the fluttering Tiller emblem, he felt a yearning. A yearning for one.
The siege had been an experience for Vandred. Never before had he worked with non-Empire, non-hostile humans. And he had upheld his oath. His oath to-

"Busy?" Nassau spoke over the embers of the fire. Vandred shook his head. The captain stood where he was.
"So, about those allies? Who were they?"

Vandred masked his grin. "What do you mean?"

"The Imperials. They were slaughtered on the other side of the wall. Our men didn't do that, and we didn't see who did. Must have been your allies, no?"

"Oh," Vandred lied. "That was the Tau - they were driven back before they could greet you."

"I see." Nassau shrugged. "Just wanted to say how grateful we all are. Myself, the Tillers, the men you've liberated - they couldn't have done this without you."

"It was an oath, captain." Vandred smirked. "We hold our oaths in Sunstrike Cadre."

"Yes, the Cadre," Nassau chuckled. "O'Connell asked about a chance for a full alliance with your cadre, but we both know that it wouldn't look good officially. No chance of you joining us?"

"No chance," Vandred laughed. "I won't leave the cadre. Not when they've got me this far."

Nassau smiled. "Fair enough. I can't ask you join us, but could I ask you to join me in my quarters some time?"

"We'll see."

"Noted, Van." Nassau grinned. He turned to leave. "Your mercenary friend - keep him close. He's a good catch. Keep him on your leash, if you will."

"I'll tell him you said that." Vandred called back.

"No need, he's right here." Nassau laughed. Hound glared. "And Van? You've done good - Horatio wants to see the Heroes of New Pavus himself. Fancy that: meeting the man himself! You'll be told about it soon, trust me."
Nassau disappeared into the night, replaced by Hound and Mason. Mason held a holographic image of Shas'vre Firerain.

"My Lord is satisfied with your tribute, Sub-Commander," Mason said. "He's left for more pressing matters, but he told me to congratulate your cause: Father had smiled on us this day."

"Indeed," Firerain nodded. "Our Mantas were beaten back, but we took the city together. Gue'vesa'El, we will contact you soon about future operations. We may yet introduce you to our network of allies and flourish together."

"Thank you, fellow warriors," Vandred said. "You are welcome to move your forces into the sewers, should you need a sanctuary." Both Mason and Firerain nodded, and with that, they left Vandred and Hound alone.

Hound instead took a seat next to Vandred.
"It always looks worse when you've conquered it. It's not even the damage: it just is. Where's the fun with no battle?"

Vandred pushed for questions. "That's why you became a mercenary? For the battle."

"I became a mercenary to kill, bed and smoke my way to the Golden Throne. I'm not quite there yet." He chuckled deeply. "Nah. I'm here because a great man decided the governor was wrong, and fought the system. He was killed, and someone else completed his legacy. I was sworn to that man, so I swore myself to him who followed his path. I followed that path, and here I am."

The mercenary tossed his cigar over the wall, watching it bounce off of the robes of a statue.
"Hey, you know those Scions? What regiment were they?"

Vandred tried to remember. "I think they were the Eighty-Fifth?"

"Huh." Hound stared at the statue. "Small galaxy."

The stone man was wiry, yet possessed a noble air. A sword was clutched in his hand, gestured to a point in the night sky. Beneath the man, the corpses of Orks, heretics and treasonous Guardsmen were trampled underfoot. The statue was wrong in many places - the clothes were out of date to fit with Crionian custom, the man's height greatly enhanced. But the face was carved perfectly to it's likeness. To the man it was dedicated to. To the man who had an entire city named after him.
The old mercenary smiled as he remembered the statue's face.

The flag of the Tillers waved over New Pavus.

The entirety of Randall’s war band was gathered at the gates of Cogger Hive. The gargantuan steel door was twenty feet tall, adorned in the brass head of the Aquila. Repelling from the top of the door was crews of penal legionnaires armed with plasma cutters. It had been six weeks since the fall of the citadel the Randall’s inquisition had been fighting small pockets of resistance, they proved rather difficult to uproot. Now fairly confident in their clean up work Randall had ordered every entry way into the hive to be sealed.

Inquisitor Garrett Randall looked at his men gathered before him, the stalwart storm troopers, the rugged penal legionnaires, and the indomitable grey knights each standing at attention. Over their heads were dozens of crimson red banners fluttering slightly in the breeze. Randall looked to his left where Captain Kid stood was standing at attention, the Inquisitor turned right and saw Commissar Alenko who rested his hand on the pommel of his hip clung saber. The Inquisitor began approaching a podium so that he may address his men from a point of elevation. As the Inquisitor reached the podium he unrolled a scroll and began to read.

“I Inquisitor Garrett Randall of the Ordo Malleus, through the holy authority of the Inquisition condemn this place. It has been tainted by heresy, blighted by apostasy, and corrupted by the immaterium. In the name of his blessed majesty the Emperor of Mankind I brand any who trespass upon this site as excommunicate traitoris. So let it be”

Randall handed the scroll to Captain Kid. The captain proceeded to the massive door of Cogger hive and with hot wax attached the writ to the door under the seal of the Inquisition. Randall smiled giving a nod to Commissar Alenko. The Commissar bellowed

“About Turn!”

Every soldier made in unison made a 180 degree turn.

“Forward March!”

As if it were a single being the inquisition forces moved in formation and began marching away from the hive. Only one looked back. Inquisitor Randall watched the sun begin to fall behind the massive hive as its shadow enveloped the inquisitor’s retinue.

Later at the inquisition’s camp

The night air was cool and the stars were shining bright overhead, the soldiers were all glad to have true earth beneath their feet and an earnest sky overhead. Even those that were hive born had been made sick by the looming metal walls of the hive. From here Cogger could be seen a void black spire piercing the twilight blue night. Randall wishing to reward his men for their exceptional efforts had procured several large casks of crionian ale from a small town that was not too far to the south. Several of the officers had snuck off to the town to partake in the local inn lured by fables of beautiful Crionian women and stronger drinks.

The only place that seemed to have any degree of silence was Randall’s tent. The inquisitor sat at a table with several folders scattered about on his desk several mark classified and one branded with the holy seal of the inquisition.

That particular folder was a status report from Justicar Freeman. He had made contact with two regiments of Imperial Guardsmen and were searching the swamps for the traitors. The 1st Calian Dragoons and the 49th Redeemers regiments. So far their hunt had only turned up a cultist held quarry and no other trace of the Nurgle sworn heretics.

Another folder was regarding the fall of New Pavus, the separatists had taken the city as their own. Randall was concerned about these rebels, while they were not worshipers of chaos, he feared they might use the ruinous power to achieve their goals. At some point Lord Governor Payne’s nephew had been assassinated. Attached to this document was an invitation to the late Rodrick Payne’s funeral.

Randall looked up from his documents as the Grey Knight Beshka posted outside his tent entered.

“Inquisitor Colonel Raven is here to speak with you.”

Randall smiled “Show him in.”

“At once inquisitor.” Coldly croaked the silver behemoth.

Randall cleared his desks of his documents and set them into his miniature safe unlocked with his thumb print. As the vault door sealed Raven had entered the inquisitor’s war tent.

The colonel removed his hat and spoke “My lord inquisitor.”

Randall raised a hand “Please colonel, I’ve not yet earned the title of Lord Inquisitor. Inquisitor or Randall will suffice.” Randall then gestured to an empty chair in front of his desk.

Raven took a seat and set his hat atop the inquisitor’s table.

“I must say inquisitor, a part of me is surprised we made it out of that metal hell in one piece.”

Randall smiled

“The emperor still has plans for us it seems, but come a hard fought victory merits a toast.”

Randall reached under his desk and produced a fifty-year-old bottle of Vallorian wine along with two glasses. The inquisitor poured a glass for Raven and then one for himself.

“What shall we toast to?” asked Randall

After a moment of thought Raven replied raising his glass.

“To the men and women who laid down their lives at Cogger Hive.”

Randall raised his glass

“May their sacrifice never be forgotten.”

Captain Kid had with a handful of other officers found her way to the village bar. A neon sign read “The Lusty Lark” the sign featured a neon animated woman winking approximately every four seconds. Kid leapt from the truck and smiled, from here she could hear familiar voices shouting and jeering. Several other black military trucks adorned with the red seal of the inquisition were parked in front of the bar. Kid thought the sight hilarious, transports of the Emperor’s holy inquisition parked outside of this sleazy cabaret. The officers that were accompanying Kid had already made their way into the bar as kid approached the swinging saloon doors.

The Lark was filled to the brim with the celebrating officers, Arbitrators from the penal legion, The music was jolly, a five piece Crionian jazz band played at a rapid pace. Games were being played, darts, pool, cards, regicide. At one table Kid saw the familiar face of Sargent Holliday arm wrestling an Arbitrator while men from both of their companies cheered for their champion. Around the main stage crowded nearly fifty men each watching a woman clad only in the distinct helmet of an arbitrator dance around a brass pole. Arbitrator Halouck unmasked by the dancer and intoxicated by the barkeep sighed “I think I’m in love.” Hustling among all the chaos were nearly a dozen waiters fetching food and drink. Kid saw in the shadows of the far corner Commissar Alenko sitting alone at a table.

Kid approached the Commissar and spoke “Is this seat taken.”

Alenko smiled. “I’m actually saving it for this local girl, she thinks I’m exotic.”

Kid laughed and took the seat “Exotic must mean annoying in Crionian.”

Kid grabbed a bottle from a passing waitress and spoke “You sure know how to treat a woman; do you take all the ladies here.”

Alenko smiled “Only the pretty ones.”

Randall and Raven sat in the war tent, they had finished half of the bottle.

Randall began pouring “So tell me Colonel what is next for the 487th Panther Calvary.”

“I want to do one final sweep of Cogger, make sure we didn’t miss any of those heretics. After that someone needs to set up a quarantine.”

Randall nodded “Thorough I think we got them all but it never hurts to check. As for the quarantine I think we can leave the PDF to do that.”

Raven spoke “My men are in need of provisions.”

Randall smiled “Consider it done, I know a rogue trader who should be able to acquire whatever it is you may need.”

Raven smiled “You are generous inquisitor, but I must ask what future is there for Cogger Hive.”

Randall spoke with a sigh “Not a good one I’m afraid, the taint of the warp has corrupted the hive itself, we can’t resettle it for possibility of corruption. The best thing we can do is prevent it from spreading its cancer.”

Raven frowned “It seems like such a waste.”

Randall spoke filling his own glass “There will be greater sacrifices in the wars to come. Come Colonel another toast, to those who do what must be done to keep the Imperium safe.”

Raven took another drink, it seemed more bitter than the last.

Jethro and Amanda had found their way outside the pub, the two sat on a wooden goat coral. The shaggy creatures gathered beneath commissar and captain as Jethro threw pretzels into their eager mouths.

“So Sheppard stands up knocks the dirt away from his uniform and says to the Nova Marine, oh don’t mind me.” Alenko smiled as he reminisced about when he was a cadet.

Capain Kid laughed “He got away with speaking like that to a space marine.”

Alenko smiled “Commander Axton was a rare breed, an astartes built with a sense of humor.”

Amanda shook her head, “Whatever happened to him, your mentor.”

Alenko frowned “I’m not sure, they say he vanished after I was assigned to my own company.”

Amanda apologized “I’m sorry, it sounds like the two of you were close.”

The Commissar restored his smile and spoke “Its fine, I knew once I reached the rank of full commissar I would likely never see him again. But still I would at least like to know where he is.”

Amanda smiled and threw a pretzel into a happy looking goat’s mouth. “When I was a girl growing up my best friend was the neighbor boy named Joseph. We used pretend we were space marines and practice marching like the soldiers at parade. When we turned eighteen we enlisted in the guard. After basic training was over we got assigned to separate companies. We were being deployed to the opposite ends of the imperium. To this day I have no idea if he is alive or not. I know how it is not knowing.”

Alenko reached over and placed his arm around the captain as the main world of Crion hung big in the night sky.

Dorn’s shield, Krius

Lord Commissar Masamune Hattori straightened his dress uniform and frowned. He could find neither wrinkle, spot, nor blemish on it, and as such, he no longer had any excuse to delay his departure to the Governor's mansion. A knock at the door, however, brightened his countenance slightly, as he briskly walked over to his new distraction and opened the door.

“Lord Commissar.” Began his intruder, none other than Tempestus Prime Akio Goya, the man directly in command of the 1st Callian Dragoons.

“You may enter.”

Goya nodded his head as he stepped into the room, he was clad in his carapace armor, save for the helmet, which he cradled in one arm, and a packet of photographs in the other.

“One of our valkyries has returned with coordinates of what we believe to be the plague cultists’ primary base. Permission to strike, sir.” He said, handing the recon photographs over to his superior.

“Larger than expected…” Mused the Commissar as he looked them over, “Very well, I give you full authority to attack their main base. You also have my permission to unlock the armory. Bring as many flamers and melta-guns as you believe necessary. Knock those towers down, and cleanse the area as much as you can.”

“A full extermination, then?”

“Not yet. Hit their infrastructure, and see if we can drive them from this fortress. They will be easier to exterminate if we catch them on the move. Once resistance becomes too strong, pull out. I do not wish to lose more men than we have to, understood?”

“Understood, sir. Am I to assume you will not be joining us?”

The Commissar sighed. “No, I will not be joining you. The Governor is hosting a funeral for his nephew. I am to attend, representing our regiment.”

“I see, sir.” Goya acknowledged though halfway gritted teeth.

The Governor’s antics were distasteful, to say the least, to the majority of the Calian Dragoons. The regiment was founded on the principles of honor, loyalty, duty, and self sacrifice. The same things that Governor Payne seemed to have little regard for. However, the dead should not be dishonored to spite the living, and Lord Commissar Hattori put on his most stern face before announcing: “I must go, to avoid being late. May the emperor protect you.”

“And you.” Prime Goya offered along with a bow before turning to the door, leaving Commissar Hattori to gather his things.

Swords are sharpened
Honor soars to Dishonor
Death rises with dawn

The sun rose over the Jultan Quadrant to illuminate the deserted streets, the demolished buildings and the ghastly scars of battle that plagued the city mere hours ago, Mason eyed the quadrant through a blow out wall from the school that formally acted as the Tiller’s main base of operations. Helping himself to one of Tyler’s Cigars he took in the tranquility that New Pavus now found itself in, taking a drag off the cigar and exhaling the smoke slowly he watched as the smoke drifted off into the clouds. Realising he had just watched the rising Crion sun he focused back on the quadrant to kept an eye out for his “Brethren”. The quadrant itself was lifeless with no signs of habitation whatsoever but Mason knew better, he knew the sewers were crawling with the Plaguefather’s followers but to what end ? He took a great risk in summoning a projection of his master and even a bigger one in revealing his true allegiance to that human pawn of the Tau or Ex-Tau or whoever the hell they were. Every minute the cultist’s spent close to the Tiller’s the risk of him being exposed grew and if they wouldn’t move on from New Pavus, then Mason would. Taking one last drag Mason chucked the cigar out the window, surveyed the city one last time, scratched his bare ass cheek and climbed back into bed to an awaiting Lynn.

It seemed all his years of infiltration and stealth work were put to shame as Lynn turned around as Mason slipped back under the bedsheets, Mason kept his eyes closed in the faint hope that she would believe that he had been asleep the whole time, she didn’t.

“Where’d you go handsome ?” grinned Lynn. Seeing that his ruse had been foiled Mason confessed

“Stole one of your father’s cigars”

“Another one ? you know if you keep blaming the rookies heads are gonna roll, if you are gonna keep on robbing ‘em you better own up to it”

“Fine, no more cigars for me” a few moments passed before Mason cut the silence “ you ever thought ‘bout being a Commissar ? ‘cause you sure gotta way with enforcing discipline lady ”

The retaliation was a swift slap of a feathered pillow to Mason’s grinning yet unsuspecting face. The two love birds sprang up from their slumber and began to pummel each other into hysterical submission, after the laughter had died down they dropped their “weapons” and embraced each other and leaned in for a kiss …….. Footsteps, Mason instinctively dived behind the door while Lynn fumbled for her nearby nightgown, the Tiller did a sweep of the hallway before apologising profusely for barging in on Lynn. Once the Tiller had left Mason emerged from behind the door and grabbed his briefs

“That was a bit too close for my liking” admitted Mason

“You think ? We will have to tell my dad about us soon you know”

“Sure just not right now right ?

Lynn studied her new boy toy “Sure”

The two finished putting back on their clothes and rearmed themselves before speaking again

“So Lynn i’ve been thinking …”

“Whaddya after now ?”

“Well it's my home city Nortannis, rumor has it they went silent after some plague cult rolled into the area I was thinking Tyler might have some contacts he could call upon ?”

“Probably”

“Would you kindly ask him for me ?”

Lynn looked at Mason for a second sensing another lie before answering him “Sure, i’ll ask him”


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

Mason leaned against the wall that formed the perimeter for the school inspecting his autopistol that Tyler had gifted to him, it was light and was highly moddable featuring a fast fire rate and a decent enough clip size, Mason figured he could attach a silencer on the fly if the situation required, “Not a bad piece of kit” Mason said to himself as he held the piece in both hands

“I’ve seen better” chastised Lynn as she approached with ten or so Tillers in tow

Mason stood up eager to hear news of Lynn’s meeting with her father “Whats all this ?” asked Mason gesturing to the other Tillers

“A squad, it seems there is more to Nortannis than we thought, apparently the local cell over there has also gone silent and with a bitta sweet talking to daddy I managed to convince him to allow us to reestablish contact”

“Thanks Lynn this means a lot to me” the two shared a smile for a brief moment

“Grab your stuff, there will be a chimera leaving in 30 minutes”

Grinning Mason went to grab a few herbs from his “garden”, the Master must be informed.

Smoke trailed upwards from the crashed Thunderhawk, its broken form smouldering on Zandriel’s grassy plains. A lucky shot from a Valkyrie had clipped it hard enough for it to come crashing down to the earth only few hours after its escape from Hive Cogger. Kusun stood on top of the transport’s ruined wing, which jutted upwards like a cliff’s edge over a valley. From his vantage point, Kusun could see across the sea of grass, and, for a moment, he took in the vast landscape around him.

Mount Gorgon towered above all else, the volcanic Black Sands surrounding it a visible smudge on the horizon. Some distance beside it, the vague outline of Hive Cogger shimmered in the sun’s light, smoke blackening the sky above it. Imperial transports, only perceptible by their contrails, could be seen entering and leaving the conquered Hive’s airspace, while bulky Mechanicum landing craft, most likely filled with all sorts of reconstruction material, steadily descended from the Imperial fleet overhead.

Hive Cogger. That wretched place continued to be a thorn in Kusun’s side, less for the losses his forces had incurred there and more for the betrayal that had caused them. For that alone he would strip this planet of all life it held. But not before he had made it bleed, and all those who had stood against him.

Kusun snarled. He felt his blood throbbing hard within his veins, as the thoughts of slaughter clouded his visions with streaks of crimson. It was too easy to give in to such cravings, to throw sanity overboard in favour of mindless, endless violence. He had risen above those who had chosen that path, choosing to channel his bloodlust into a cold, murderous efficiency that ended lives as much as it did worlds, and he was not planning on stooping down to their level now.

Which was why he had to stay his hand for a while longer. For now, he had to focus on fulfilling his mission, the very reason he had been sent here, for to lose sight of that would be nothing more than a second failure, one that he could not afford if he ever wanted to return to the Warmaster’s side. But his search had been unsuccessful thus far. The distractions he had indulged in had not only cost him the lives of his men, but worse still had not brought him a step closer to his target.

It was time to change that.

Starting now.

He turned towards the others, who stood and sat around the Thunderhawk’s remains. Mithras and Anlock were already looking at him, expectantly. The Necron Praetorian stood some distance away, but it too had its dead eyes locked on him. The few Marines who were busy stripping the Thunderhawk and the crash victims of their useful parts stopped their activities and turned to him as well, feeling something important was about to happen.

“Anlock.”

The Plague Champion didn’t respond, knowing it to be unnecessary.

“I have no more need of your master’s services. You and your subordinates are free to do as you please.”

Anlock didn’t seem surprised, merely nodding before turning to gather his brothers for the long walk home.

Kusun’s eyes slid towards the Necrontyr, who still stood impassively to the side.

“The same counts for you, Praetorian.”

The Necron did not even bother with any sort of reaction, choosing to simply start walking off into the distance, to wherever his brethren resided now.

As the other groups departed, Mithras limped over towards him, carefully scaling the Thunderhawk’s wing until he stood only a few steps from Kusun.

“The Nurglites’ sorcerer could have helped us find our quarry, Brother. Are you certain that sending his lackeys away is wise?”

“We have relied upon others to do our work for us for far too long already, Apostle”, Kusun snapped, his eyes boring into Mithras’. “And I know better than to place my faith in witch-kin. No. From this point on, we do this the way we should have done from the very start.”

“Does this mean…?”

“It means the hunt is on, cousin. Set loose the hounds.”

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

On the edge of the Crionian system, a rift appeared in the void. Two monstrous jet-black hulls, edged with silver and brass, forced themselves through the tear in realspace, already powering towards their sister vessel’s position. In the bridge of the Omnia Cadunt, the two Repulsive-class Grand Cruisers’ hails echoed.

++FINEM RATIONIS AND MORS INNOCENTIAE REPORTING IN++

++WE HAVE RECEIVED YOUR ORDERS++

++MOVING TO TARGETS NOW++

++LET THE HUNT COMMENCE++

---- Crion, New Pavus, last hold out of the 85th ----

Riley turned towards Matthews, his company pronto.

'' Send a message to the Tempestor Prime, we need a lift outta here, the PDF aren't going to hold for too long ''

'' Been there done it sir, all surviving Valks are already lifting up the others, the Vultures are escorting them, even the Tauroxes are out of the city. They have no way carry a hundred plus extra men. I've also got a message from section two and seven, enemies are coming on both sides, we'll get surrounded and cornered soon ''

'' No choice then, we'll bolt it to the woods, there's no way those heretics will be able to pin us in there. Order our flanking section to pull back first, they're going to clear the way. Everyone else follow, fifth section and my command squad will hold the rear ''

'' What about the PDF, we got about an extra hundred and fifty troopers, along with a couple of chimeras ''

'' In short, we stay and fight to the last, they die, we retreat and bring them with us, the enemy swarms us, we're all dead, we retreat now, we at least salvage our forces. I don't like it anymore than you, but we might as well salvage what we can ''

Matthews grunted and went back to his clarion vox. While hix vox-op was busy handing out order, Riley went back and took position in a ruined shack, opening a vox link to his squad while making a final check up of his hellgun.

'' We're going to be rearguard, we might get engaged, might not, that'll depend on the PDF. If we end up facing Tillers, pin e'm with the volley rifles. give us time to find cover, we'll cover you and so on ''

'' So basic Stygian peel back, sir? ''

'' Aye ''

Matthews voice range in Riley earpiece

'' Sir the order's been given, two and seven have cleared the way, seems we were not completely surrounded, the rest of the sections are moving, everyone should be in position in two minutes ''

'' Relay that timing to the rest ''

The Tempestor Secundus took a look breath. A lot could go wrong in two minutes, but then again miracles have been known to happen... Riley hated that little delay, the incertainty. His training and indoctrination had beaten away most of his ability to feel fear, but the unknown before an engagement had its way to mess with his brain. Riley looked at this chrono display. A minute had passed, something exploded, loudly.

'' I am guessing that was a chimera, how far? ''

'' Four hundred meters, maybe? We'll have company soon ''

'' Keep your eyes out, we might have friendlies coming through. I want two men with hellguns to direct the survivors to the rest of the company ''

It took about thirty seconds for the first trooper to show up. There were about twenty of them, most of them frozen when the two armored shaped rose from the rubble. One trooper raised his rifle, but a quick '' Stand down gakkhead, we're with you, follow us, now '' was enough to make him realised who just appeared.

Riley glanced over his shoulder, making sure all the survivors were follow the pair of stormtroopers assigned to them. Everything was going about as well as it could have, for the moment at least. The appearance of PDF troopers was a sure sign something was about to hit the fourteen men forming the rear guard.

First contact was established a few seconds later, when a squad of traitors came into view.

'' Mark your tagets with lasers, I don't want overlapping shots, these heretics all die in the first volley '' ordered Riley. '' Volley rifles from section five, hold fire ''

Riley took aim at his target, the person in his sights had taken the time to loot one of his men, it seems. Riley gave the order and the little square held by the Scion briefly light up with the colors of various beams. Riley's target was the last to die as the Tempestor Secundus took time to search for grenades to fire on. The looter exploded, ruining his prize for other.

'' Make sure you deny the enemy our gear, section five, pull back now, we'll cover you ''

The men of fifth section had just enough time to dash a hundred meters when the rest of the Tillers showed up. '' Contact! Covering you sir! '' was transmitted across the clarion vox. A barrage of lasers lanced through the traitors, forcing them to keep their head down and allowing Riley's command team to reach their fellows.

'' We got another half a kilometer or so before we link up with the rest of our troops, after that we disapear in the forest, covering! ''

Six additionnal weapons added more firepower to the fusillade raining down on the Tillers. Riley gleefully took time to line up kill shots. Castella might have been right after all, he did enjoy killing the enemies of the Imperium, perhaps a little too much.

'' We're in position sir! Covering! ''

'' Moving! ''

Riley rose up just in time to take a burst of auto-fire. He fell back behind the rockcrete wall. The carapace armor had prevailed, thankfully, and Riley fired a grenade from his auxiliary launcher before sprinting to his men. The same process was repeated a few times before they were out of the city, leaving a trail of traitor corpses as they retreated to the rest of the company. The last group of Tillers still on their heels were quickly slaughtered as half of Riley's Fist sprung into action.

'' That'll do for combat for now '' said Riley '' Now we go as deep as possible in that forest and make the enemy forget about us ''

'' How long sir? ''

'' I'd guess about a day for the Valks to get back at us, meanwhile we'll relay on the cameoline and our skills to disapear ''

'' What about the troopers we rescued? They're not trained, nor do they have our gear ''

'' Assign a Scion to each of them, they'll take care of hiding them if need be ''

I am become death, the destroyer of worlds


The man Zehk threw off the roof of the temple died screaming before his spine split over a downed log. It had taken Zehk exactly one and a half seconds to cross the battlefield and scale the temple. It took hardly the same effort to kill the man. Zehk had willed none of it to happen nor would he have if it was within his abilities. It was unhonourable in Zehk’s mind to attack those who posed no challenge. Such things were qualities of lesser beings, humans, orks, eldar and the like, but it was not beyond the depraved mind of Suolyn’ne. Being forced to share the same cognitive functions was almost as maddening as the screaming Zehk was plagued by before his possession.

Zehk heard the first drumbeat toll as he descended the roof like a force of nature, smashing aside cultists with the force of a hurricane. It puzzled Zehk as to why the snake manifested so violently and volatile when he released than when it shared a consciousness with Lord Ewryht’eikl. Perhaps the snake preferred the intricacy of Ewryht'eikl’s mind than the blunt brutality of Zehk’s or maybe the snake just amplified the personality of its host; either way, Zehk would never know. Reading his own thoughts was like communicating with a broken vox-caster: it was all static. Such was it when the snake was released.

Zehk saw his world begin to move quicker, almost matching the speed at which he could process what was before him. The snake had a habit of causing mass mayhem in the blink of an eye then matching the speed of its enemy. It gave the enemy a false confidence and allowed the snake to feign defeat only to bite the head of its enemy when they faltered or overstepped their abilities.

A chain swung towards Zehk. The snake allowed it to strike his helmet and become snagged. He felt the man at the other end pull with all his might to try and pull Zehk down, but Zehk remained still. The error in the man’s ways was noticed too late as Zehk extended his arm and the snake, only a shadow on the ground to all but a psyker, shot from his arm and ensnared the man’s leg. There wasn't a cry as the snake withdrew violently, tearing the leg from its socket and from the man’s body. The man blinked once before Zehk's combi-bolter blew the man’s body to fragments of bone and viscera. That was the way most of the snake’s victims died. Tortured by the snake and mercifully put down by Zehk.

Zehk’s cultists charged past him as his eyes locked on the pile of gore before him. “Hunger… Consume…” the snake beckoned, its massive length coiling around the gore pile. Zehk felt his body begin to unknit starting at his head and ending at his naval. His legs fused together and grew in length, forming a long fleshmetal tail behind him. His upper body contorted and formed a smooth, scaled body, his upper torso transforming into a monstrous gaping maw. His new, serpentine body thrashed until both him and the shadow of the snake aligned in perfect symmetry. He turned his massive head towards the temple, flicking his forked tongue in the air, tasting the fear his form instilled in the cultists, both his and otherwise. The only cultist that stood unfazed was Schäfer. It wasn't the first possession she'd seen.

“Hunger… Consssssume…” Zehk hissed, his voice synchronizing with the snake’s. “Their fear tasssstesss good… sssssoooo fresh…”

The snake shot towards the temple at an unnatural speed, drawing the fire of almost all the amassed cultists, again, both his and the others. Auto gun fire and Las-bolts deflected harmlessly off his scales, the only damage done was to his temper. Zehk wantonly smashed aside a group of his own cultists that attempted to flee. Schäfer's bolt pistol caught any others.

“Push forward! It's just a damn snake!” Schäfer barked, drowning out the sound of her bolt pistol with her subtle psychic resonance. The snake turned and addressed approval with its body language before advancing into the temple.

Only candles illuminated the temple’s interior. Despite seeing almost constant fighting, the temple was kept immaculate. The marble floor shone reflected the candles and their flickering lights danced on the ceiling. The walls were adorned with tapestries from depicting the great crusade, though something irked Zehk's limited mental functions. Each battle was one that the Loyalists had won, according to written history, but the tapestries showed them as grand losses. It hit Zehk slowly, like a grass snake that bites your ankle. Everything seemed too perfect about the room. His mind remembered Suolyn’ne’s old domain, though he hadn't been there. The room reeked of chaos corruption, in the overly sweet and aromatic flavor of Slaanesh.

From some unseen alcove walked the cultists’ leader, draped in luxurious silks. He wore the familiar mask wore by the other Flayed Legion cultists, albeit his was dedicated to the Dark Prince. His left arm was morphed into the claw of a Slaaneshi Daemonette. His right held a ritual dagger. He took his place behind his altar and turned his gaze to the snake.

“You dare enter this holy sepulcher of Slaanesh!” the leader bellowed, his voice perfectly amplified by the proportions of the room. He lifted the ritual knife above his head and brought it down to his stomach where it stopped not even a finger length from his skin. The leader stared at it dumbfounded. The snake shared the cultist leader’s shock, but was amused at the same time. The cultist leader screamed briefly before his body imploded, staining everything with an arms reach a dark red. The snake looked around for an unseen assassin. It found no assassin, but a toothy grin in the shadows that webbed the ceiling above the altar.

A long slender arm reached out of the shadow and pulled a gaunt, pale grey, two-headed figure from the shadow. It fell to the floor gracefully and pulled the shadow with it, draping the shadow around itself like a cloak. It held out a bony hand and tore open a hole in the fabric of the Materium. Zehk, unaware that the snake retreated back into the recesses of his mind, fell before his lord.

“I didn't come here for the ceremonials, Twiceborn. Time is something I don't have and I have so much to do,” Ewryht’eikl said, gesturing two of his arms toward the portal. Zehk stood at attention and made the sign of Aquila, more of a force of habit than his acknowledgment of Ewryht'eikl’s command. Ewryht’eikl found the gesture more humourous than insulting.

“By your will, Dark Lord,” Zehk said humbly, walking through the portal and into the unknown. Schäfer saluted her lord and hustled the surviving cultists after Zehk. Ewryht'eikl laughed.

“Now that this step is complete… I can go talk to an old friend,” Ewryht'eikl murmured to himself, holding a small blood vial in his hand.

(Part 1)

The Nurgle Citadel, Krius:

“Your watch.”

The cultist grumbled as he blinked the sleep from his eyes. The sky was still dark, with only the barest rays of sunlight peeking out into the cloudy horizon.

“Five minutes. Alright?” He said, looking up at his fellow guard, and absentmindedly picking a few maggots from his arm.

“You said that ten minutes ago. And five minutes before that. Your watch.”

“Fine.” he sneered, snatching his boots up before angrily putting them on and growling under his breath “Not like there’s anything to watch out here…”

“If I had to sit still in this gakhole and watch nothing all night, then you’ve got to sit in this gakho-”

A sharp bark of a lasgun sounded, interrupting the guard as a red bolt of energy sliced through his skull, dropping him to the ground mid-sentence. The cultist, with only one boot on, scrambled for his autogun and looked to the skies. Dozens of blue grav-chute flares lit up the early morning sky as the forces of nurgle scattered for cover.

“Keep the pressure on.” Said Prime Goya, his voice calm as autogunfire and lasbolts whistled by his head. Keeping low, Goya rushed to cover and fired several shots at a nearby cultist, piercing his vital organs and leaving him to collapse into the foul swamp water.

The cultists regained their footing, and began pushing back. Holding their ground as they recovered their startled senses. Bullets flew towards the gathered scions, and even with the protection of their finely crafted armor, several that had not found cover yet were cut down in the lead storm.

A second wave of scions dropped from the skies as a wing of valkyries flew overhead, showering the defenders with cluster missiles and forcing them to dive into cover as the new batch of scions safely found cover before the firefight continued.

“Frag out!” Came a voice over the vox as a krak grenade lobbed over the crossfire, striking the top of the crumbling walls, and sinking into a mossy niche before exploding, sending a hail of shrapnel into several cultists.

Goya took a moment to look over the battlefield, the towering cathedral loomed over the dark morning’s sky, but it was still too far away, and the scions were only at the outer walls of the fortress. “Flight lead, form up with the second wing and give us some cover.” Goya barked into his vox. The shadows of the valkyries darkened the battlefield as they flew away from the battlefield.

“Prepare to move. Ready Meltaguns.”

The scions’ fire slacked, as they readied to attack the walls, leaving the cultists to creep from their positions with growing confidence, and pour more lead into the scion’s cover.

That was when the valkyries returned.

Clusters of missiles flew from the skies with a steady, cracking, rhythm. The cultists quickly rushed back to thier cover, only a few of the braver ones being caught in the initial strikes and being blasted into bits.

“Move, move, move!”

Scions darted through the rain of shrapnel, reaching the wall as the last of the valkyries flew overhead. Molten busts from meltaguns focused on two wall sections, and blasted ogryn sized holes through the outer walls, and scions formed at the breaches, reading their lasguns for the retaliation.

Gruff howls sounded over the battle’s din, and the scion teams were suddenly beset upon by enraged beastmen. Goya slammed himself against the crumbling wall, barely dodging out of the way as a beastigor plowed through the hole in the wall. The screams of an unlucky scion, run though by the bestigor’s twisted horns, filled the air.

Goya aimed his laspistol, and unloaded a dozen shots into the beast, prompting a howl as it thrashed about, throwing the scion’s limp body to the ground. It snarled as blood poured from its wounds, and turned to face the tempestor prime, its milky white eyes filled with rage. Goya tumbled to the left as the beast’s horns crunched into the wall. Rolling into a crouch, Goya pulled out a second pistol and fired. A brilliant amber burst of plasma shot out, smashing into the beast, and vaporizing a hole in its chest, leaving its already rotting remains to collapse to the ground.

Goya did not even have the time to stand as a loud bellow sounded behind him. He rolled away, as a gnarled axe cleaved into the ground, unholy runes glowed a sickly green as the bestigor tore it loose from the muck and bellowed again. Goya wasted no time, bringing his twin pistols to bear and firing another amber burst. But this beast was quicker than the last, and ducked under the deadly plasma before smashing into the mere human, knocking him into the mud. As the beast raised his axe again, Goya snapped off another plasma shot, grazing the beast’s ankle, and prompting words of warning to scroll past the Prime’s vision as the stench of burning flesh filtered through his rebreather. Goya rolled to his feet, taking advantage of his foe staggering in pain, and fired his plasma pistol again.

Red warnings flashed in his vision as the pistol fizzled, energy arcing and striking his hand before he could drop it into the muck, where its power pack’s yellow glow slowly faded. The beast recovered from his wound, bellowing a massive battle cry, and swinging his axe in a wide arc, intent to cleave Goya in twain.

Then its chest exploded.

Justicar Freedman’s storm bolter flared as it continued to rain explosive shells on the encroaching beastmen. The other nine marines joining with him, laying down suppressive fire against the beastmen as they stepped off of their valkyrie’s ramp.

“Take cover, away from the walls!” Goya commanded, holstering his pistol in favor for a meltagun left by a fallen scion, and firing a molten blast into the chest of a nearby beastman, sending its charred remains to crumple against the wall.

“Prime Goya, status?” The justicar asked as his men continued to cover the scion’s retreat.

“Resistance is proving stronger than expected. The beasts are using the breaches to hit our men before we can fire at them. I suggest we thin their ranks before proceeding.”

“That will take some time.”

“My men aren’t going anywhere until this tower falls, sir.”

In the darkness of the void a ship silently sailed toward the planet Crion. The crew onboard its bridge eyed their stations carefully as their ship began to establish itself into a favorable orbit. Their disguise would easily fool the dull witted mon'keigh, but even a fool could be lucky every once in a great while. The crew were confident that such a thing would not happen, but they knew that it would mean their heads if their shielding slipped for even a millisecond. The mistress of their ship did not tolerate failure, as many former crewmen of this vessel had discovered to their detriment, and so they monitored their sensors closely. After 2 hours had passed without incident the ships second-in-command raised the mistress on the communication system and simply stated "We are ready" before cutting the transmission.

As the transmission ceased Succubus Nacyra of the Wych Cult of the Red Grief smiled broadly, but only a fool could have missed the predatory malice in that smile. Nacyra was a predator born, the trueborn daughter of two Hekatarii, and she had been raised in the Cult tradition and way of war since she could grasp a knife. She relished any chance she could get to test her skills against worthy opponents, and this new battle ground promised to test her skills to their limits. This human world was being torn apart by several warring factions, each one unsuspecting of the knife that was poised to embed itself in their backs. The Dark Kin would strike like lightning and sow terror and pain before reaping the rewards of their work. Nacyra's smile did not diminish as she began the walk to her armory.

Along the way she passed several slaves, who were quick to avert their eyes and get out of the way as she passed. The screams of the last unfortunate who hadn't done so quickly enough could still be heard drifting up from the bowels of the ship. The Cults allied Haemonculus was quite skilled, and the fool was being quite expertly kept on the line between life and death, and he would remain that way until Nacyra grew bored of him and had him fed to the Khymera packs. Nacyra brushed past the slaves and continued her walk, and the slaves each gave a silent sigh of relief. It was not their time to die after all.

As Nacyra entered the armory she slowly walked around the rooms perimeter examining each weapon in turn. Some she would run a hand over lovingly, others she passed by without so much as a glance. Many of these weapons were trophies pried from the hands of her vanquished foes, but they would never see use again. To use the weapons of an inferior race was unthinkable after all, and so each remaining weapon would be considered in turn. After some time she finally settled on the same weapons she always did: an archite glaive, her knives, and an agonizer. Her choice made she spun on her heel to head to the gathering chamber, it was time to assemble her warriors

The day could not have been any more perfect for the citizens of Canhock. The sun was shining, there was a gentle cool breeze coming out of the West, and the sky's were a beautiful clear blue. The air was filled with joyful noise. Birds sang and chirped as they soared overhead. Children screeched and screamed happily as they ran and played, men exchanged greetings and debated heartily about every topic under the sun, and women chatted cheerfully as they went about their errands. The city had known peace for the last several seasons and complacency had set in. The omens promised yet another bountiful day for the city and its inhabitants this day. The omens could not have been more wrong.

The first sign that something was off went unnoticed by the carefree citizens. All at once the birds stopped their singing, as if they sensed the presence of the predators that were now converging on the city. The next sign came, and was also completely missed by the people of Canhock, as several of the shadows throughout the city seemed to shift unnaturally, as if they were rebelling against something unnatural inside them. The third and final sign came when the sentries on the city's walks jerked backwards as their heads were vaporized by deadly accurate fire from disintegrators. A few more observant citizens noticed the deaths, but by the time they opened their mouths to about a warning it was far too late.

The screaming began instantly, as the shadows morphed into those of lithe figures clad in skin tight bodysuits, who immediately began to lash out at those around them with their wickedly sharp blades. Blood sprayed in vicious arcs as the killers reaped a terrible toll on the arrogant mon'keigh who had foolishly believed that their pitiful walls would keep them safe. Then the second hammer blow fell. From the skies several blurs dropped from at an impossible speed, and in a flash many more people were suddenly deprived of their heads as the blade vanes of the Reavers did their deadly work. Those who had the presence of mind to duck under the blurs often found themselves convulsing on the ground as tranquilizers from hidden assailants put them on the ground hard.

All across the city similar scenes played out as the Dark Eldar made their presence on this world known. Many people died in terrible agony, cut down by blades from the shadows or with poisoned shards spreading their deadly payload through their veins. Many more were disabled through non-lethal methods and dragged to waiting gunships, doomed to a fate worse than death. And just as suddenly as they arrived, the Dark Eldar were gone. The city was reeling, confused and bleeding. Many citizens huddled in fear, waiting for the next knife cut that would never fall. Canhock had paid a terrible price for their complacency this day, it was not a mistake they'd make twice

The night wind blew the field’s long blades of grass southward. The fields outside New Pavus were silent, save for the storm roiling beyond the treeline. Violent cracks of Crionian thunder echoed in the distance as Vandred looked over to his two silent companions. The Tiller officer, Major O’Connell, had a worried look on his face: his eyes darted around the field constantly looking for anything that would betray an ambush. Captain Nassau seemed much more at ease than the Major, but something in his eyes told Vandred that he was nervous. They had been waiting in this field for over an hour and it was an hour walk to reach the field from their vehicle.
Horatio Payne was not an easy man to meet.

Distant thunder cracked and rolled along the countryside. Major O’Connell glanced at his wrist watch and spoke. “They should be here soon.”
Vandred nodded and the major frowned.
“You will understand why we are cautious. Horatio is more than just our leader.” The major elaborated. He had briefed Vandred on this, but it was no harm to repeat it.

Vandred nodded. “I understand. He is the son of Governor Tobias Payne, and thus a legitimate heir to Crion. The most valid-”

"No," O’Connell shook his head. “That’s only a small part of it. Horatio is a symbol to many of us. He came to us when we needed him most and he did what we thought was impossible. He stood up the robbers and soldiers when no-one else could. He is, for many of us, the only hope for a better Crion. Crion for us lives and dies with him.”

“I see," Vandred remembered Commander Skyhunter, how he had led the cadre and all in it - Tau, Gue, Vespid, Kroot , and more - out of the clutches of the Empire. He knew what the Tillers felt keenly. "He must be incredible man to inspire such loyalty.”

“He is.” replied O’Connell.

“Over there.” said Nassau. Several pairs of headlights appeared from the south, almost lost in the thunderstorm.

Vandred and the Tillers watched as four armored trucks rapidly approached their position. Soon enough, the trucks came to a violent halt feet away from Vandred and his allies. Not a second later, nearly a dozen men leapt from the trucks, each of them carrying rifles. The soldiers quickly fanned out and determined the area was secured. A whistle later, and a man in a green beret disembarked from one of the trucks. The man in the green beret spoke as he approached O’Connell.

“Password.”

O’Connell spoke. “Silence is golden.”

The man in the green beret smiled and shook the Major’s hand. “Welcome home, brother.” He looked over to Captain Nassau and growled. “Pirate.”

“Boy Scout.” Nassau’s reply met the newcomer's.

The man in the green beret looked over to Vandred and spoke. “Greetings. You may call me Seeder, I'm Horatio’s chief of intelligence and security.”

Vandred spoke. “Well met. I am Vandred, the emissary for Commander Skyhunter, and Sunstrike Cadre."

“Now then if you all don’t mind handing my sergeant here your weapons, we can be on our way.”

The Gue'vesa snorted. "With all respect, Seeder, I've proved my loyalty to your cause. My forces were instrumental in taking AHC-02 and New Pavus, and your officers remain untouched by myself or one of my own. You have nothing to worry about."
"And you need not worry, if you hand over your weapons. I'm sure you're loyal - and a loyalist will hand over their weapons."

Vandred complied with some reluctance surrendering his pulse pistol and power sword to the Tiller sergeant. Once disarmed, Seeder spoke as he removed a bandana from his coat. “Now for the uncomfortable part. I have to blindfold you.”
"Security checks?"
"Naturally."
Vandred was more than annoyed but he had come too far to let a blindfold stop him.
“Fine.” said Vandred.

Once blindfolded, Vandred was guided into one of the trucks. The massive military grade engine roared to life and the convoy was off.



They drove for nearly an hour, before the truck came to a stop.

Seeder spoke. “You can take off the blindfold. We're here.”

Vandred removed the blindfold and began to exit the truck with Nassau and O’Connell. Vandred saw that he was in some sort of vehicle depot. Several dozen trucks stood in regimented formation, armed with turrets that held all manner of imperial weapons: everything from heavy stubbers and autocannons, to missile pods and lascannons. Crews of mechanics and captured servitors worked tirelessly to repair the battle damaged trucks.
“Follow me please.” said Seeder.

As Vandred exited the vehicle depot, two things became apparent to him. The first and most obvious was the fact that he was now underground - in some sort of cave. The sudden drop in temperature that Vandred felt during the car ride now made sense to him. Waves of dank moisture clung from the ceiling, and hung lazily in the floodlights. Stalactites dripped water periodically into water butts below, saving the water for the massive pressure hoses being used by the repair crews for cleaning and cooling. The second thing that Vandred noticed was that the Tiller base of operations was an abandoned Blood Dragon ruin. The carvings, the eroded engravings, the architecture were all familar to the Sub-Commander. It was much like the one his Cadre had encountered back on Kalhoon, thankfully without the spiders. The Tiller base of operations was undeniably impressive, he remarked. The Tillers were making use of the ancient fortifications to defend their underground home, and Vandred deduced that the cave system could accommodate thousands of Tillers. An army of them.

Vandred followed Seeder throughout the base, passing several barracks, obstacle courses, armories and other structures whose purpose were unclear. Soon enough, Vandred and Seeder reached a building where two men in green carapace armor stood guard. The two men saluted Seeder as he approached, Seeder quickly returned the salute and spoke to Vandred.
“Horatio is in there, waiting for you. I think this goes without saying, but you are expected to behave, Sub-Commander.”

"You of drone-faith," Vandred laughed, "You have nothing to fear." He passed through the bulkhead.

Seeder sighed as the door shut behind him. “Emperor I hope so.”



The room was plain and had little in the way of furnishings, save a few old book shelves and a large war table at the center of the room. The most noteworthy thing in the room was the man that stood over the table observing its maps. He was perhaps forty Terran years, Vandred guessed: his short black hair was streaked with flashes of grey. He wore plain olive fatigues and a sambrowne belt in which he had holstered an autopistol. The man made a quick note on his map before he looked up at Vandred. He smiled and spoke.
“You must be Sub-Commander Vandred. I am Horatio Payne. Welcome to Drake’s Liberty. We have much to discuss - please, have a seat.” Horatio gestured to a nearby table and chair.

Vandred took a seat and spoke “Thank you, general. I am pleased to finally meet you.”

Horatio smiled, somehow humbled by the statement. “Can I interest you in a drink, brandy perhaps? We liberated a shipment intended for father's- sorry, Payne Manor not long ago.”

The Gue'vesa accepted the small glass. The orange liquid inside glistened in the light. The Empire didn't have brandy. Skyhunter had always allowed his men drink of their choice, but human liquors were unobtainable in the Empire, save for the imitation Amosake. This proper stuff hadn't passed Gue'vesa lips in Sunstrike Cadre. Without pause, Vandred downed the shot glass. His throat burned with alcoholic fire, and he coughed loudly. Payne reacted in alarm, reaching downwards. Vandred spluttered out a cry.
"First time!"
Payne froze. Vandred glanced down through blurry eyes at the general's hand. Instead of an autopistol in his hand, Horatio held a pocket medikit. He breathed out in relief, and began to laugh. The general sat down, placing the medikit back in his uniform, and laughed back.
"First time, eh? Brandy or alcohol in general?"

"In general," choked Vandred. "We don't get your stuff in Sunstrike Cadre."
"Would you like something more suited to your taste?"
"I think this will suffice, general." The Gue'vesa winked, and the general, grinning madly, poured a second glass. Vandred toyed with his drink far slower as Horatio settled down with his own.
“I trust my men treated you well? I hope you will forgive their paranoia, we have had issues with the governor’s infiltrators in the past.”

"A necessary precaution," answered Vandred. "Although I hope it won't be necessary in the future."
Horatio looked at the Sub-Commander. "The future? You think there will be a future between us?"
"I hope so. We have a lot to gain, and from what I see, you could use every gun you can get, no disrespect intended."
"None taken. You helped us crack New Pavus, and have offered no threat. That's all the proof I need." Horatio smiled. "We're glad to have you and whatever your cadre can spare, Vandred."

"Thank you." Vandred said. “I think we need to discuss the city of New Pavus.”

“Agreed. The first order of business is renaming it. We can’t have a free Crionian city named after some Faustian despot. Did you hear the tale of General Pavus the-”

“We want you to fake surrender it to the Governor.” interrupted Vandred.

The request caught Horatio by surprise. “I’m sorry, what?”

Vandred elaborated. “You will retain control of the city, but from the shadows. Allow a token garrison to surrender, but leave some of your men in the civilian populace. This way the loyalists think they have retaken the city and you will not need to fear being attacked. You can mobilise troops in the sewers beneath the city, and create false compartments from it into key points within the city. You'll be in complete control, and the governor's troops will be spread thin holding a city they've already lost."

Horatio shook his head. "I'm impressed by your honesty, Sub-Commander. Unfortunately, we can’t do that. New Pavus was a major victory for the Tillers. It is proof that we can not only win battles, but we can keep the peace and run a stable government. That is both a boon for us, and for our morale, but also against them. We are not the rabble they thought we were. We are the future of Crion, and they must know that. The people must know that. If we lose our hold, we lose what influence the Tiller have. I am sorry, but my answer is no.”

Vandred kept his head high, and replied. "I understand, General. It's your hold, your conquest. What you choose to do is up to you. There's no hard feelings."

"Thank you for accepting this decision. I have no wish to offend you." Horatio reclined slightly in his chair and spoke. “You will forgive my bluntness, but I am still not completely sure why it is that Sunstrike Cadre has taken interest in the revolution."

“Our Cadre is rebelling against the greater Tau Empire. We were being used to hunt down Cadres like ourselves - rogue detachments, upstart commanders, those who knew too much. It's why we have so many auxiliaries. To defeat Tau, they used non-Tau to gain asymmetrical advantages. Until we rebelled ourselves. My Cadre is stranded here on Crion now and our goal is to repair our ship as soon as possible. It is was our hope that you can aid us in our effort by acquiring the materials we need for us, whilst we assist a fellow rebellion. Rebels need to stick together.” answered Vandred.

“Where will you go once your ship is repaired?”
“We are searching for a new home. As far away from the Empire as possible: we will go on until we find a home.”

"I see." Horatio thought momentarily. “What if you stayed?”

"I'm sorry?" Vandred was initially unsure what Horatio was proposing. “Are you suggesting we stay here on Crion permanently?”

Horatio smiled. “That is exactly what I am proposing" He continued. "Your Cadre can make a life here. We will need both farmers, engineers and soldiers when we retake this world and we will welcome you as our brothers in arms. You have earned it for us. You all can have good lives here. If we win this war, you won’t find a better world in this grim dark galaxy.” said Horatio Payne.
The possibility of staying never entered Vandred’s mind as even a possibility. Nor, he thought, had it crossed Skyhunter's.

Dumbfounded, Vandred arose from his seat, “Thank you Gue'vesa'O- my apologies, General. You have given us much to ponder. We- um- we will be in contact soon. Very soon.” Vandred downed the rest of his brandy, and staggered to the exit. He wasn't sure if his head was spinning from the brandy in his blood, or the offer Horatio had offered.

Horatio spoke as Vandred began to exit. “Vandred - I know I ask much of your people. I ask them to risk everything, I won't hide that. But if nothing else, consider the prize. Liberty.”

Vandred exited without another word.

As storms lashed up against the Jagnar Coast, the sun was just peeking over the horizon onto the grey parapets and dripping wet gun barrels of Black Water Bastion. Earthshaker batteries stood bent like trees after a typhoon, and the spires of communication relays glistened with the night's storm. But it had survived the storm, and lived to see the sun. Black Water Bastion stood firm.

Scant acres away, the farmstead stood too. The ancient wooden structure had weathered the storm, and, soggy and miserable, remained upright. Much to Skyhunter's relief. He and his retinue had been holed up in their makeshift home for weeks now, and from the graffiti on the walls to the improvised command post, they had got rather settled down. Even the Riptide 'Thunderlord' had accrued it's own nest in the corner of the building. The Battlesuit pilots slept with their machines - either lying the hay bales next to their steeds, or curling up in the cocoons of the Crisis Suits.

Shas'O Skyhunter had no choice. His body, fused to his battlesuit, existed in a state of half-lumber at times like this. The drone-sense of his XV89 suit couldn't stop projecting various data to the commander. Even when off duty, the Tau's blood ran with data, calculations, tech-thought. Over the years, Skyhunter had learned to process the stream of thought to his subconsciousness, but sleep rarely came soundly, the oblivion of sleep interrupted by ones and zeros. The commander's eyes switched in his slumber as his suit rested against the wall.
Incoming signal.
His eyes flickered open as the hololith caster flickered into life.

"++ Shas'O Skyhunter?++" A cloaked figure, with a thick and wiry beard pushing out from the hood, greeted Skyhunter in as much grace as the virtual projector could muster.
Skyhunter's suit stirred to wakefulness.
"Vandred, my friend. I trust you bring good news."

Vandred nodded. "++New Pavus has fallen. One of Governor Payne's successors is dead, by my hand. The Tillers now hold the city, but they refuse to allow us to hold it in their stead.++"
"Not perfect news. But a blind eye makes a Vespid useless not, so they say. Did they say why?"
"++They wish to indicate their strength at leading. It's good for morale, I gather.++"
"Understandable. Anything else?
"++I have met with the leader of the Tiller rebels; Horatio Payne seems like a good man. A leader of personality, not power. Many Crionians believe he is the best suited for the lordship of Crion.++"
"And is he?"

"++Possibly. He is descended from the current Governor, so he has the right bloodline, which humans seem obsessed with.++" He petted his sword, slung at his hip. "++ But he has the common folk at heart, a trait that makes him well liked. It is my belief that if Horatio were to come into more power and influence, the general populace may see the Tillers as a more powerful force. With that regard, if the Tillers achieve consistency, commitment, and flexibility, they might achieve- ++"
"The snowball effect. Very good, Vandred. Reading up on Aun'vici's 'Essays on Minority Influence', have we?"

"++Perhaps, Shas'O.++" Vandred laughed. "++If the Tillers achieve more victories, and show that they are a strong force, then they might have more supporters amongst the people of Crion.++"

"That may be so, Gue'vesa'El. But the question many of our men ask - why do we help the Tillers?"
"++Kor'El Darkspear's query, no doubt.++"
"And Mirrorstone's." Vandred looked up in slight disbelief. Skyhunter explained. "She might accommodate Gue within the cadre, but outsiders? It's hard to breach stone, Sub-Commander. Now answer me: why does it matter to us who rules this world? We are safe, in neutral territory. Aside from the Be'gel, whom we have already defeated in battle before, who do we raise our guns towards?"
"++We raise our guns to oppose tyranny and corruption, Shas'O. Governor Payne rules Crion with an iron fist, and his taxes will cut into Crion deeply to stop him being amputated from his seat of power.++"
"And that matters because?"
"++Because that is what we oppose. We escaped the jaws of one tyrant. Are we not bound to rescue others from the same fate?++"

Skyhunter nodded sagely. "Good. You understand what many do not. Our needs are important, but for every life we save, we save someone's world. If we get nothing from this, if we free more than our number, we will have succeeded."

"++There is more news, Commander. Horatio has offered us a reward for our service, if we help him sieze Crion from Payne. Settlement.++"
"On one of it's moons? The asteriod belt?"
"++Better. On Crion itself, as part of the populace.++"

Skyhunter paused. He checked his suit's systems, then again. The datafeed was working fine. His ears had not betrayed him. Vandred waited expectantly.
"Horatio Payne offers us fair settlement on Crion for our service?"
"++Yes, Shas'O. For all of Sunstrike Cadre.++"

Skyhunter ran the idea through his head. He hoped of leaving this world behind, taking his cadre elsewhere in the stars, to find a world for their own. But this one? Offered freely for service, to overthrow a tyrant - Aun'chi's grey face popped up in Skyhunter's mind. The losses one Tau could cause, the lives lost on ethereal words. Aun'chi's face merged into the projection Skyhunter remembered of Tobias Payne. The fat governor laughed as Tau and Gue alike were cut down, their blood keeping their ship afloat.

"Tell Horatio he has my interest. I must confer this with the rest of the cadre: I will have no-one fight for this if they choose not to. In the meantime, make your way to AHC-02. Take your men and as many Tillers as your compatriots will allow with you. I have a gift for Horatio Payne."

Vandred nodded, and the hololith vanished. Skyhunter walked to the wall of the farmstead. Through a slit in the wall, he watched as the sun rose over Black Water Bastion.

Two days had passed since Vandred had got in contact with Skyhunter. In that time, Sunstrike Cadre buzzed with trepidation of an attack. Alarmingly so, in fact. Skyhunter had made a note to evaluate both himself and his troops - such readiness to go to war after their service to the Empire was.. curious. But he felt the call for it himself. This felt right. Finally, after so long of the constant drilling and patrols, Sunstrike Cadre would bring their strength to bear against a real target - Black Water Bastion.

Vandred and several score of Tiller rebels had made their way to AHC-02, with Captain Nassau leading the Tiller contingent. The underwater city was key to Skyhunter's plan, and soon, the bathyscaphe bays were thronged with Tillers and Breacher Teams ready to strike. Skyhunter only hoped that his plan worked.
He knew how to siege a location. The trick was doing it quickly enough that the enemy couldn't get reinforcements, and that his own forces were not incriminated. Already, he had failsafes if his plan failed.

The initial bombardment was the fulcrum upon which the operation rested. Darkspear, her seeker drones, and whatever seekers his Crisis suits had on them, would light up Black Water Bastion at key structural points. Weapons arrays, stockpiles, armouries, and communication relays would be targeted here: he had already located all these facilities within the base months ago. He even knew the guard routines, stagnating and predictable - he knew exactly when to strike. His flyers, armed to the teeth with Seeker missiles, would circle far out of range of the base, relying on the extreme range and drone AI of the missiles themselves to find the markerlights. They could strike without even being seen. Maximum impact, maximum distress, maximum destruction.
If the Bastion held out, and any communication relays remained, the attack would have to be scrapped. His flyers would return to Cadre Command on Kalhoon, and the attack would wait another day. For time's sake, Skyhunter hoped that wouldn't be the case.

He and his Crisis teams were unmoving in the tall crops of the farmland. Markerlight drones hung lazily by their side, ready to light up Black Water Bastion with their damning gaze. Metres away, Shas'El Darkspear lay prone, her own markerlight trained on the communication beacons. Skyhunter spoke to her over the comm-channel.
"It is time, Shas'El."

She replied, unmoving from her sniping point. "Are you sure, Shas'O?"

"Yes, Sub-Commander. Unleash the missiles."

The markerlight painted the side of the primary comms tower with invisible light. The light compliment of sentries, as predicted, were unaware that the attack had even begun. Other markerlights lit up Earthshaker batteries and secondary communication relays. Screaming low across the sea, the shoal of Seeker missiles hid away from the Bastion's scanners. A tired guardsman noted the slight electromagnetic disturbance on the scanners, and called his superior officer over. The officer yawned, exhausted, and tapped on the screen, expecting it to be a mere malfunction. As he removed his finger from the console, the faint signal had vanished from it's spot. It had moved closer to their position. Before the officer could even open his mouth to sound the alarm, Black Water Bastion was struck by the wrath of dozens of Seeker missiles.

Ammunition stores for Earthshaker cannons detonated, sending catastrophic chain reactions down the walls of the sea fort. Aerials and antennae were ruined, reduced to blackened and twisted stumps by the pinpoint barrage. Weak points across the curtain wall were mercilessly attacked, broken by the assault. Small sections along the sea wall collapsed and fell into the inky black sea, taking entire squads with them to a watery grave. The lucky ones were dashed to pieces on the rocks. The high tide swallowed them all - alive and dead - into the Blackwater. More seekers fell, methodically targeting up and down the base with ruthless precision. Gunnery crews scrambled to escape off the ramparts, only to be flung off by the shockwave. Guardsmen broke and scrambled to the nearest cover they could find. To the confused defenders, it seemed as if the sky was falling in, lit by molten metal and the endless bombardment of missiles. Maybe ran for the inner bunkers, only to find the bunker caved in - struck with impossible precision. As the last Earthshaker battery burst into orange flame, Skyhunter gave the second order.
"First Wave, attack!"

The bombardment didn't slow up. Instead, the missiles dropped their firing rate, firing randomly and indiscriminately at the base. Their objective had changed. The Bastion was crippled, helpless and alone. They didn't need to do any more damage. They were just keeping the defenders pinned down.
From below the inky sea, bathyscaphes breached the water, swimming up past the dead and dying guardsmen. Their wrought-iron hulls, converted into landing craft, crunched onto the grey sand of the beach front. and the pod doors opened up. Tiller soldiers, freed from the cramped confines of the bathyscaphes, now charged up the beach front into the guns of the stunned defenders. Their undisciplined potshots as they charged took down a handful of guardsmen. Then the defenders fired back. Firing lines of lasrifles cut down Tillers as they swarmed up the slope, sending their punctured bodies rolling down the slope. Rapid moving teams erected heavy stubbers and heavy bolters, mowing down Tiller troops. The Tillers were outmatched - even disorientated, shocked and stunned, the guardsmen were still capable warriors. Trained and desperate, they held the onslaught of Tillers back, the high ground giving them the edge. The black water now ran with thick red blood.

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Captain Nassau ducked as a heavy stubber spun around to target him. Most of the white-hot bullets missed his head. A rogue shot smashed into his helmet. Nassau kept running, threw the ruined helm aside and crouched behind a fallen chunk of the wall. Taking a deep breath, he peered round the corner and shot the gunner with his pistol. The shot found it's mark, and the stubber fell silent. A handful of Tillers ran up to join him, and hunkered down beside their leader.
"Which of you has a damn vox-link?"

"Don't you have one, sir?"

"Look at me! I don't have a damn helmet anymore, gakbrain!"

"I have one sir - patching through to Vandred now!"

Nassau grabbed the speaker horn of the vox caster, and yelled over the storm of bullets.
"Vandred, this is Nassau - do you respond?"

"++ Still here!++" Vandred's voice echoed through. "++What's your situation like?++"

"Pinned down, about two hundred metres away from the breach point. My men are getting torn up out there, Vandred. We need to advance! Can you see what guns they have?"

"++Four or five heavy stubbers, two heavy bolters, maybe a multilaser?++" As Vandred said it, Nassau paused, and looked back at the bathyscaphes.
Their hulls, built to withstand massive pressure, were undamaged. Evidently the defenders hadn't expected the Tillers to have armour. As they were, at the bottom of the beach, they were useless. Unless...

"Vandred, I need you to get those bathyscaphes up the beach to us!"

"++ You what?++" Vandred's disbelief was evident.

"Get the bathyscaphes up here as mobile cover!"

"++Their track units weren't made to go all the way up-++"

"Get them up as far as you can then!"

He heard the sound of Vandred shouting orders to the pilots of the vehicles, and the tank-like beasts lumbered up the slope. They crushed scree under their screaming tracks, and metre by metre, the vehicles made ground. Tillers pinned behind the rocks closest to the sea now moved up, sheltering behind the bathyscaphes as they continued up. Nassau yelled, and ordered the men around him to open fire indiscriminately. Now pinned, the defending fire abated momentarily. Nassau dashed up behind another bathyscaphe, and drew his power sword. They were less than a hundred metres to the defending position.
"Men of Crion, fix bayonets! Charge on my signal, and kill these bastards!"
The sound of bayonets being slotted into place was drowned out by the sound of the tank treads, and the frantic bellowing of the guardsmen. Fifty metres. Nassau drew a brace of grenades from his belt, and hurled them into the Imperial lines.
"Charge!"
The grenades exploded, and the Tillers were on top of the Imperials.

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"++The Tillers have made contacts with the defending forces.++" Vandred's voice came through over Skyhunter's comm-link. "++The defenders are starting to pull back and flee inside the Bastion.++"
Skyhunter grinned. "Well done, keep the pressure on. Pass my commendations on to Captain Nassau." He rose up from the crops. The defenders were too busy facing off the Tillers to notice.
"Begin the Second Wave."

The bombarding stopped. This fact was lost upon many of the defenders, now fighting for their lives against the Tiller rebels swarming the sea wall. High above Black Water Bastion, and blind to the ruined scanners below, scores of Crisis Suits began to descend. Their jet thrusters slowed them down as they descended onto the fighting below, and soon, the Tau had engaged the Imperials head on. Caught off guard by the new enemy, the already embattled Imperial line split, and attempted to bring their weapons to bear on the Crisis Suits. Lasfire glanced pathetically off their armour. Flamers and burst cannons fired back in response, and the defenders were not so lucky. Skyhunter glided over the curtain wall, his retinue alongside him, and joined the fray. His Crisis suit was a weapon in it's own right, battering aside guardsmen and forcing a swathe of them around him. Many attempted to pierce his metal hide with their bayonets and swords, but they achieved nothing. Skyhunter's fusion blades ignited, and soon the scent of charred guardsman and cloth filled the bloody air. Suddenly, the sky darkened, and something landed with colossal force behind Skyhunter. He turned round, and was greeted by the massive form of 'Thunderlord'. The Riptide suit lurched, and fired a string of bursts from it's ion accelerator. Guardsmen on the walls, armed with sniper rifles and trying to pick off the Crisis Suits advancing through their lines, wheeled round to engage the new target, only to be evaporated by the cannon. Skyhunter saluted the giant iridium beast - it rose it's shield in receipt.

All around him, the Imperial Guard line fractured. Gunned down by Crisis Suits, pummelled by the close quarter brutality of Skyhunter and his retinue, and without any hope of reinforcement, many Guardsmen tried to break through the Tiller line and into the sea to escape. Those who were not overwhelmed by the screaming Tillers managed to make scant feet from the melee before being gunned down by Vandred and his Pathfinders, lying in wait in the bathyscaphes. The last Imperials were cornered, and cut down to the last man by the axe-rakes of the Tillers.

As the adrenaline began to wear off, Orca dropships descended, and Fire Warrior teams disembarked into the battered remains of Black Water Bastion. Led by a Crisis Suit with a flamer, they escorted Earth Caste personnel within the inner bunkers to plunder the base's data banks. Tiller and Imperial corpses alike were scooped from the beachfront, and torched by the remaining Crisis Suits. Overhead, the Tau airforce circled like vultures.

Black Water Bastion was taken.

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Captain Nassau, drenched in saltwater and blood, approached Commander Skyhunter.

"So. You're Commander Skyhunter. Vandred's told me about you."

"As has he about you and your commander. I hope he appreciates our gift to him."

"We lost a lot of men for this, Commander. Although they died willing for the cause."

"I apologise for your losses, Gue'vesa. My cadre will repay their sacrifice eight times over. You may hold command over this fort until rights of conquest are confirmed, Gue'vesa."

"My... thanks, Commander Skyhunter." Nassau left the Tau commander, and sat down on a damp wall of sandbags. In the morning sun, the green banner of the Tillers flew triumphantly over the bastion. The Tau had declined to place their own colours beside it. Footsteps splashed closer towards Nassau. His gaze flitted to the owner, and he smiled. Sub-Commander Vandred sat beside Nassau.
"It's done. We have a holding on the mainland."

"Was it worth it, friend?" Nassau said. His hand trembled, gripping onto the sandbag.

Vandred took it and held it firm. "If you win this war, yes. Even if not, they died for what they believed. That was their choice to make, and theirs," he gestured to a pile of Imperial bodies, "and mine. Once you're dead, you're dead. But it's all about what you died for that matters. And I'm sure they died for their belief. That's all you can ask for."

Nassau breathed out, and smiled. "My thanks, Van." He turned to see Vandred's dark coloured face, flecked with grit and dust. "I have a question."

"Yes?"

"Your commander called me a 'Gue'vesa'. What is that?"

"He called you that?" Vandred stroked his beard. "It means human helper. 'Gue' alone is considered an insult within the Empire," he spat on the ground, "but 'Gue'vesa' is considered a good phrase. Respect, helping one another. If he called you that," Vandred rose, "then he considers you, and the Tillers, a worthy ally."
The Fireblade turned a walked away. As Nassau reclined further into the sandbags and shut his eyes, he half-imagined he saw the banner of Sunstrike Cadre next to the Tiller flag.