Flesh Sacrifice

“Human Flesh and Human blood is the bedrock of the Imperium.

The Emperor is the soul and Protector of the Imperium.

The Emperor is Imperium.

The Emperor is, then, humanity.

The Emperor is human flesh and human blood

To receive benediction, we must be like unto him

We take sacrament, and we partake of the Emperor

We partake of Human flesh and human blood

We are the Haemavores

Salvation in slaughter!

We fight for blood, we fight for flesh

Let none deny our holy task

We face no horror we cannot surpass, so go forth, brethren of blood,

Smash skulls,

Split muscle,

Suck marrow from the bone

Cry prayers to Him, and Feast!”

(An excerpt from the Lychen battle hymn “Blood for the Emperor”)

Part One:

Commissar Emeline gagged again, but suppressed the urge to vomit. She would be damned before she is
made a fool of in front of her new posting. The bloodied abattoir stink in the transport vessel clung to
the nostrils. The Lychen Guard had been given an entire troop transport vessel to themselves in the
crusade fleet. While unusual, it was understandable; no other Guard regiment wanted to share a ship
with them, and Emeline could fully appreciate why, what with the constant blood rituals and live animal
slaughter on the ship. Emeline passed by yet another rack of meat hooks, the crimson carcases of ribs
and thighs swinging slowly, blood drooling down the wall, into the steel grates that replaced all the floors
on board. The more she looked at the various cuts of meat, the more she suspected not all of it was
Grox…

“Blade enforcer Emeline, I am glad to see you well.” a deep voice rumbled, every syllable like stone
dragged over broken bones. This broke Emeline from her reverie, and she turned to address Corporal
Vash. Vash was a colossus of a man, but man was a word that failed to encapsulate Vash. He was seven
feet tall, and was draped in the shaggy pelt of some kind of bear-like creature. This, like the rest of him,
was drenched in a thick gore, no doubt from some ritual. Belts and chains swathed him, various daggers,
blades and ammunition packs clipped to them at irregular intervals. The largest chain secured his six foot
long eviserator to his back, a badge of office to denote officers within the Lychen. His head was scarred
and tinged red with dried blood, almost masking his tribal tatoos. Of most note however, was the
augmetic adamantine jaws that replaced his own, which almost seemed like they had been attached
with a nail and axes, for the way they seemed to pull at his flesh, drawing blood occasionally.

“You wished to have council with me, Blade Enforcer?”

“You will address me as Commissar,” she snorted, indignantly, “As you will be aware, we will be making
planet fall on Saris within three days, Terran standard. I would like to examine the troops before we
drop.”

Vash smiled (at least she assumed), and said, “Of course…Commissar. Follow please,” before he turned
and marched down the corridor, which, Emeline noted, got more covered in meat and sharp hooks the
further she travelled down it.

They emerged onto a high gantry, which overlooked the Lychen regiment, gathering on the debarkation
bay far below. They all seemed as ragged and bestial as their Corporal, as they practiced fighting in
huddled groups, or hacked at bleeding carcases with great machetes, hunks of meat flying in all
directions. Some were using their metal jaws to bite of raw chunks of protein from the bones, greedily
snapping jaws together in a mockery of chewing. She could hear the priests moving amongst the knots
of men, roaring their bizarre war chant, “Blood for the Emperor…Skulls for his Golden Throne,” was all of
the chant she could hear from her elevated position.

“Corporal Vash, where is the armour?” she questioned, and he gestured behind her, further back on the
deck. Leman Russes drenched in fresh blood were parked in perfect formation, despite the barbaric
appearance they implied, bladed flails and chains riveted to their red-brown hulls. Behind them, open
topped chimeras idled, their crews gutting a Grox in the back compartment of one, emptying its
intestines onto the floor of the vehicle.

“We have been waiting so long to fight the enemies of the glorious Imperium,” Vash muttered wistfully,
“We took many hearts on Prandus IV. You should have seen the piles of bodies we made. Stacked them
three miles tall,” he continued, with a genuine excitement. His eyes hardened, as he noticed Emeline
turn her eyes down, “You think us monsters, Commissar, but we are not. We love the Emperor as much
as any man in the Imperium. Why do you sneer?”

Emeline moved around to face him, “I do not think you monsters. As long as your allegiance remains
with the Emperor and Imperium, I will not find you wanting.”, she lied expertly. Vash nodded, and
seemed to accept this, before he turned to leave.

“I hope we are to your satisfaction. I hope to see you at the feast tonight. Please attend, for it is tradition,
and some of the best strategies of war have been made at the feast of blooding.”

“I will be there, promptly.”, she called after him, inwardly shuddering. She could not fathom how an
entire world like Lychen, could have become ruled by the death cult. How could their society function
like... like this?

Within an hour, she was back in her chamber, with its cool metal walls, and its air scented by incense.
She walked over to her basin, plashing the cool refreshing water into her face, as if it could remove the
stink. She had done a lot to integrate herself into this regiment, some would say too much. She gazed at
her slight, pale face, with the thin tribal tattoos of Lychen running in parallel lines down either side of her
neck, the pattern of the Blade Enforcer, a kind of mediator and judge among the Lychen, which suited
her role fine enough. She clenched her teeth, and felt the adamantine canines that had been given with
her tongue.

Her training at the schola hadn’t quite prepared her for this. On her first day, she had to execute one of
the Corporals, who refused to acknowledge her as a true Commissar. After this, Vash told her, it was
customary to devour you opponent, as a sign of authority to others. She had initially refused, but they
got so angry, she relented, and was forced to eat the man’s arm in one of their ritualised ‘feasts of
blooding’, and was granted the fangs (to aid in her new role). Needless to say, over the past few months,
she became far more lenient in her punishments for insubordination, virtually stopping summary
executions all together.

She took another long look at herself in the mirror, throwing off her heavy greatcoat. Then, finally she
could vomit, which she did. Profusely.

Amid the retching, she considered her position. She was on a ship full of blood and putrid meat, and
surrounded by a pack of insane monsters. Most other people would have squirmed their way out,
begged for another transfer, but not Emeline. This was because in the long months through space, she
realised something. They may be monsters, these Lychen, but they were her monsters.

She looked up, and smiled grimly.

--------------------Part Two.

The hall was cold, the blue ambient like only accentuating the cold she felt, body and soul. The huge
manacles engulfed her small wrists. They appeared made for larger quarry than Emeline. She was
kneeling on the obsidian floor of the chamber, beaten and stripped of her Commissar’s uniform, her face
swollen from all the maul strikes she had endured to the face.

Before her the high oaken desks of the arbitrators reared up from the floor, to tower over her. Either side
of her, two faceless Arbites stood sentinel, mirrored visors removing any humanity in them. A third blue
light flickered on, illuminating an Arbitrator’s desk. From this commanding position, a shadowy figure,
features hidden by the blue backlight, appeared, and took a seat.

“Emeline Constance Irebel. You are an abhorrence. Your actions on Hurin Majoris can not be forgotten,
never forgiven. Especially by my kind.”

The voice was loud, merciless, and carried with a vicious malice, “How do you plead to the charges
brought before you in our last session?”

Emeline was silent.

“You are barely worthy of the Title ’human’. You have shamed the Imperium. You are a monster. Your
silence leaves me little option, other than to purge you with fire, and cleanse you Emperor-forsaken
presence from my sight,” he spoke clearly, his voice drooling venom like an asp.

Emeline quivered slightly, and a single tear rolled down her cheek. An Arbites struck her across the back,
and she changed her expression to one of loathing, and stared into the faceless shadow that judged her.

A mirthless laugh echoed around the hall. ”Yet, I still see the fire in you. I may have a place for you. You
act like a beast, then let you lead beasts,” another laugh echoed, and it penetrated Emeline with a
hideous chill.

“You shall be transferred to the 122nd Lychen Guard. Am I not merciful, Emeline?”

Emeline stared at the shadow, with a bemused expression. He grew angry at this.

“Am I not merciful? Speak!”

She looked at him, and smiled, “You always did a good impression of a human, Darvius.”

Another maul struck her in the face, and darkness descended.

###

Emeline awoke with a start, cold sweat coating her. It took her a moment to realise she was on the
Alhaim, the transport vessel taking her and her Lychen Guard to Saris, even as she was sleeping. Of
course, she could get little sleep during the night cycle. The sounds of animals, and things that weren’t
animals, screaming as they were slaughtered, echoed throughout the ship.
Emeline got up and stretched. She at once heard breathing, deep and quiet. She grabbed for her bolt
pistol, sweeping it around the room, simultaneously grabbing her torch. She swept the torch around.
Nothing.

Wait.

She swept the beam to above her locker. Just a rat. She felt breath on the back of her neck, and spun
around.

“Don’t shoot!” a sibilant voice cried. She didn’t shoot, but lowered her weapon slightly.

“Give me a reason not to,” she stated flatly.

The man was tall, but wiry, his tribal face tattoos marking him out as a Lychen. Long black hair hung over
his face slightly, and his furs seemed ruffled, his armour plates loose. He clutched a bladed laspistol in
one pale claw of a hand.

“I am your aide, Blade Enforcer. I heard you start. Is something wrong? My fellows have not tried to taste
you have they? You do not have to do that until ready, I assure you.”

“How did you… get in here?” she questioned, never dropping her pistol once.

The aide smiled, his metal teeth glistening, “I make it my business to get into places. I’m usually a tracker,
a blood scenter. Is the gun necessary, m’Lady?”

She finally lowered her gun, and smiled, “Impressive. What is your name?”.

“Sparrod. I hope I can bridge the gap between yourself… and my brethren. I appreciate our rites are
unusual to most.”
“Can you do something for me Sparrod?”

“Yes, Blade Enforcer?”

She stepped closer to him, “Get out. Now.”

The orb that spun silently below them was Saris. The grey clouds that engulfed it showed the pollution
the Rebels were pumping into the sky, in a futile attempt to confuse the crusade’s landing fleet. It was
pointless. Even now, dropships from Vahallan, Cadian and Vostroyan regiments were puncturing this
cover of clouds, penetrating the mysterious hive world. Soon, the Lychen too would descend .

Vash moved to Emeline’s side, heavy boots rattling off the grating. “It will be a feast this day. I’ll rip out
their hearts, and devour them in their faces. Blessed be Him on Terra,” Vash was drooling, and Emeline
shuddered inwardly.

“You’ll get your turn soon. Remember: fight with the Emperor in your hearts, and defeat will be
unknown to you,” Emeline orated eloquently.

Vash turned to her, eyes manic and dribbling, “Defeat? Unthinkable! We haven’t had our fill yet,” he
bellowed, before gurgling in an attempt at laughter, and spreading his arms wide.

He spun around, looking away from the viewing port, to his assembled soldiers, roaring in his most bone-
shattering roar, “Salvation in Slaughter!”

The ship shuddered with the deafening response from his men, five thousand human growls and roars
merging into one mighty crescendo of hate-filled noise.

“Blood for the Emperor! Skulls for his Golden Throne!” he bellowed out above the tumult.

Emeline kept her eyes focussed on Saris. She almost felt sympathy for the Emperor- damned rebels
below.

Part Three.

Saris was eternally shrouded in a blanket of stifling acid rain, which drenched everything and everyone.
The sky refused to alter its grey tone, aside from when it flashed a violent violet lightning streak
periodically. Private Henmar loathed this place already. The Cadian 465th had only got there a week ago,
and already Henmar had had to replace his fatigues three times, the harsh rain snatching it away in
acidic spatters.

Hive Primus loomed ahead, a fifteen mile thorn of human civilisation, that wounded the swirling clouds
above. The Sarisian Heretics were barricaded within, but aside from the occasional rocket, there was
little evidence they even existed. Until all the Regiments were on the surface, Henmar was stuck, along
with his fellow Cadians, in this five mile ditch, getting slowly corroded by the sodding weather!

He dared not say anything like that aloud however, not while Commissar Reheinhart prowled the lines,
as straight-backed as a flagpole. Reheinhart the Emperor bothering fether. None could doubt his piety.
Or his mercilessness. He had shot Farg and Benai just yesterday, for not wearing their flak jackets at
morning sermons.

“Soon, my brothers! You will have release to fight and die in the name of Him! For now, let your loathing
simmer,” Reheinhart bellowed out, to no one in particular. Henmar stifled a smirk, as he realised the
irony.
Henmar hopped down from his gun emplacement, and picked his way carefully through the bustling
trench below, heading for Doman’s mortar emplacement. He found Doman huddled around a circle of
Guardsmen, most strangers to Henmar.

“I’ve heard that they were pit fighters in Necromunda. Fought their way out the Underhive, and they
made ‘em a regiment,” said one, a fat bearded Sergeant.

“Whoever they are, we don’t need their sort around on this field. We’d mistake them for bloody cultists
ourselves! What’s a haemavore anyway?” Doman muttered indignantly, absent mindedly whittling a
wooden figurine with his combat blade.

“Death Cult, Dom… who are you talking about anyway?” interrupted Henmar, ignoring the glares the
others gave him for interrupting.

“The Lychen Guard. The bloodied swine on the Alhaim. Heathen dogs, I say.”

“Save your venom, Sergeant. Or will I have to put down the viper in your mouth?”

Silence desended, as Reheinhart dropped down into the trench ,”They may be heathen swine, but I’ll
slay the lot of you if you embarrass me in front of the Inquisitorial delegate! Do we have an
understanding?”

“Yes sir,” they muttered in unison. A lasbolt zipped through the air, entering Doman’s head, just above
the eye. The blood in his head fizzed briefly, before he slumped, lifeless. “An example. Follow it,”
Reheinhart spat, before turning away and walking out of the trench. Henmar followed him, and was
about to do something foolish, when the booming roar of retro thrusters cut through the air.

Both private and Commissar looked up, to see the vast troop transporter wheel in the sky before them,
before settling but a few hundred metres from the Cadian base camp. “Those ritualistic scum! This is our
site!” Reheinhart snarled, stamping off towards the transporter, a dozen or so soldiers following him, out
of both curiosity and fear.
The commissar reached the vessel swiftly, and stood ramrod straight a dozen metres from the hulking
ship. The guardsmen waited for several eerily silent minutes, before the sound of rusting chains and cogs
could be heard, grinding against adamantine in a painful metallic rasp. Slowly, the vast assault ramp
lowered, before crunching into the acid- poisoned soil of Saris. Once lowered, a thin carpet of blood
trailed over the ramp, onto the ground. The stench of butcher meat struck the Cadians all dumb, and all
they could do was listen to the guttural chants echoing from within.

“Blood for the Emperor! Skulls for his Golden Throne! Blood for the Emperor! Taste flesh and part
muscle! All for Him on Terra! The celestial feast may begin anew! Blood for the Emperor!”

The chant repeated over and over, until it overlapped itself and descended into an indecipherable roar,
which grew in intensity. From the gloom, two blood red Russes rolled down the ramp, the crew opening
hatches, spitting blood all around. Insane-looking flails swept around the front, blood fountaining from
them, as if they had been oiled with the ichors of a Grox. After the savage vehicles, a mob of ragged
’men’ stamped down the ramp. Clad in all furs, bone talismans and cruel knives, the warriors howled,
and beat their chests with the butts of their lasrifles, which were also all bayoneted with chain blades
and barbs.

“Show your steadfastness men. These beasts will see that we stand uncowed by such false ceremonies,”
Reheinhart sneered, with a confidence none of the other guardsmen shared.

The savage mass suddenly seemed to part, and something Henmar had not expected appeared. Amid
the Horde, a woman appeared. Her skin was as white as her hair, and her slim features appeared to be
the most beautiful Henmar had ever seen. Her gold etched red Commissarial greatcoat swept about her
with a fluid and almost organic motion as she swaggered towards the Cadians. Faint tribal tattoos coiled
around her face and neck, and slim knives hung loosely from belts around her chest and hips. Yet she
seemed the most fearful to Henmar, even more so than the hulking monster that walked at her side.
Accentuating her petite stature, the bestial giant dragged the regiment's sanctioned psyker by his heavy
barbed collar, tightening the chain around his fist.

It was her eyes that did it. The coldness chilled his soul, as she dispassionately scanned the men.
Reheinhart was barely containing his rage, his angular face reddening. “You, girl! What is the meaning of
this? The Cadian are deployed here. This is my command!”
Vash appeared to snarl, tongue flicking between his metal fangs. Emeline placated him with a gesture,
and stepped forward. “I am in the seniority here, boy. This section of the field is under my authority,” she
stated, in a voice at once authoritative and silken at the same instant.

A flash of recognition passed across Reheinhart’s face, “Emeline? I remember you! We went to the same
Schola! Isn’t it odd how we took so different paths. Me, a respected Commissar twelve years out of the
cadets, and you… how did you explain what you did? All those innocent-”,

“Cease your prating, Reheinhart. I am still the more experienced here,” she interrupted, halting his taunt
mid-flow.

He laughed then, which was unusual for ‘hart, Henmar thought. “Authority? You are disgraced, Emeline!
Rule is mine by default.”

Emeline smiled, squinting slightly through the stinging rain, “All you have ever ‘earned’ has been through
default.”

The male Commissar snarled, before turning to Henmar, unbuckling weapons from his person, before
shoving them to Henmar, “I assume edict seven is still known to you Emeline. Or have you gone
completely native?”

An expression of disbelief crossed Emelines smooth features, “Edict seven? You would invoke the trial by
duel over a damn dropship landing? You are a fool!” she hissed, and turned, but saw only the faces of
the Lychen, encouraging the duel.

“You must accept. He has a feud with you. You must crush it. Crush him,” Vash rumbled.

Emeline turned back, casting off her weapons, even unhitching the lightning claw on her right hand. She
was trapped by her own beastly legion. Reheinhart was the greatest hand to hand fighter in his year at
the Schola. He knew a dozen martial arts, and he knew how much better he was. Damn him.
The two Commissars cast aside greatcoats, and the two guard armies warily closed in around them,
forming a dense ring of bodies. The two warily stalked around one another, arms wide. Emeline lunged,
but her punch was easily deflected, and she was spun around onto the grey soil. He kicked her hard in
the ribs, and she doubled up, before rolling to avoid a swift stamp. She rose quickly, ducking under a
punch he aimed at her temple. Her blow barely connected, and the power it did have was robbed from it
by Reheinhart, who rode the blow expertly, swinging around to backhand her in the back of the head.
Dazed, she stumbled, coughing blood.

The crowd around them had increased, and they all shouted and roared encouragements. Many more
Cadians were approaching, overcoming initial apprehension over the Lychen, just to cheer on their
Commissar.

Emeline double kicked him in the stomach, from her floored position, senting him skidding backwards.
She had an instant to think. She hadn’t the skills to match him, but maybe that didn’t matter. Maybe the
Lychen had taught her something. He ran towards her again, and she realised why the Lychen were so
feared. His fist swept for her face, and she did not flinch, but instead ran at him, full on.

The blow grazed from her accelerating face, as she bowled into him, simultaneously head butting him,
and kneeing him in the crotch. He doubled up, and she stuck upwards, into his throat, with a
outstretched hand, bent like a claw. He flew backwards, but she clambered onto his chest as he fell, and
jumped on his chest. He tried to roll on his back, but she tore at his chest and clothes with bloodied
nails. Grabbing his collar, she drove his head into the floor thrice, until blood whelled up from his swollen
face.

She pulled her face close to his, “Ferocity defeats finesse, old friend,” before she kissed his bloodied lips
mockingly. She rose, as an unholy roar arose amongst the Lychen. Vash flung his head back and howled.
Before she could leave the circle, Vash stopped her with a gauntleted fist, which gripped her shoulder. He
stared into her eyes, his mad eyes blood shot and vicious, “Taste him.”

“What? I am your Commissar, I don’t take orders from you-”

Vash’s fist tightened slightly, “You would dishonour us terribly if you didn’t…Commissar.”
Emeline nodded, and reluctantly turned to Reheinhart, who was crawling away slowly. She leapt upon
him, and bit down on his cheek. She felt the blood well in her mouth, as she pulled back, tearing away
the flesh lump. He screeched inhumanly at this, and punched her twice, which forced her to stagger
backwards. She swallowed hard, resisting the retching reflex with all her willpower.

The Cadian’s stared, horrified. The two forces drawing weapons simultaneously. Before a shot could be
fired, Emeline yelled out, through bloodied lips, “Stand down! Both sides, immediately! He invoked the
edict, he accepts the consequences! We will launch the attack tomorrow! The Lord General informed me
today. Take your vengeance to the rebels! Now, go.”

Eventually, the two forces lowered weapons. The Cadians left the ridge, taking Reheinhart back to camp,
who cursed and shouted incoherently as he was carried back.

“That was a bad idea, Corporal,” Emeline stated to the brute, who looked down at her like a proud
father.

“It was the only honourable finish,” he then gargled his painful laugh, slapping her on the back, “We’ll
make a Haemavore out of you yet, Commissar.”

He then turned back to the dropship to oversee the continuing disembarking of his army. Emeline simply
sat down in the dead soil, clutching her knees, the same way she had when she was hiding from old
Henrick the lecherous Schola tutor, in the old times. The time before she became this…this monster. She
coughed blood. Reheinhart’s blood.

She sobbed, unseen by the jovial Lychen’s, who were even now calling out for a feast to celebrate the
coming slaughter. But not unseen by Henmar, who stood alone in the loose soil, a few yards from
Emeline. She was to wrapped up in her own misery and self loathing to notice, however.

Part Four.
The room was once perhaps a factorium or storage shed, but that didn’t matter. Now, it was an echoing,
shadowy cavern, shadows of machinery growing long in the failing light. A scream, and a surge of sparks
and electricity briefly illuminated the gloom, for the sixth time.

“Your suffering can be ended, my friend. Just tell us where the attack will come,” the voice of Sulvar was
silken, laced with promises of mercy, promises he would never keep. His victim hung by his broken arms,
thick chains securing him firmly to the humming generator.

The man gurgled a thin drool of blood, “I….cannot….tell you something I…I don’t know,” he finished, with
effort.

“Oh come now, we can do better than that,” Sulvar taunted, pulling the lever down with a crank of his
wrist. The generator’s capacitor discharged for the seventh time, a blue white spark of electricity pulsing
down the conductive chain. The captured Cadian hollered in agony, smoke rising from him as his bodily
fluids boiled. The discharge threw harsh light onto Sulvar, revealing his squat body, tanned and oiled,
with swirling tattoos that hurt the soul to look upon. His shaved head, with clipped beard, smiled in
pleasure at the sight of the struggling man. A long, languid tongue flecked out from his mouth, and
licked his sallow lips.

Another distant rumble singled yet more vollies of Earthshaker fire pounding into the Primus hive. Sulvar
laughed to himself. The Imperium believed it was so very clever, striking the walls of the hive from all
sides, trying to deceive and mislead the glorious forces of Saris, into splitting its forces. Both sides knew
that this would be futile if the Sarisians knew where the Imperial Guard would come from.

“I ask again, friend. Where will the attack fall?”

“I-I-I don’t…” the guardsman whimpered.

Sulvar smiled, “Too bad you couldn’t tell me.”

With that, Sulvar grasped the lever again.

“Sulvar! You decadent swine! Where are you? Trust you to run off and hide when the fighting starts!” the
forceful bellow broke Sulvar’s concentration. Suddenly, Haldan burst into Sulvar’s derelict den, Saris’
meagre sunlight flooding in.

Haldan was far larger than Sulvar, at least six foot two, and walked with the confident swagger of
someone who knew they were in charge. His brass helm was reminiscent of a gladiator’s, and glinted
with fresh polish. His deep red greatcoat was equally well cared for, as was the large serrated sword he
clutched, sheathed, at his side. He looked upon the scene before him with annoyance.

“You pathetic slug. Is this the extent of Slannesh’s perfection? A twisted little man tormenting a nearly
dead prisoner?”

Haldan walked over, and confidently shoved away Sulvar from the lever, before putting a las bolt through
the Cadian’s throat. He then turned towards Sulvar, “Perfection in all things. This is the one thing she
asks of us, our beloved Asyxzh. This pathetic attempt at torture is in no way perfect, cultist! Remember
your place.”

Sulvar fell to the floor, prostrating himself before his lord, “Of course, perfect master. I will seek to
emulate your brilliance,” Sulvar gurgled subserviently, licking Haldan’s steel toe capped boots. With a
look of distain, he kicked away the sycophant with contempt.

Haldan turned to leave, calling back, “Oh and Sulvar. We ready the attack today. I suggest you drag your
wretched hide to the north quadrant defence wall.”

Sulvar looked up, startled, “But sir! My lord! How can we know the attack is from the North?”

Haldan sneered again, “You can’t. I have contacts. My spies are perfection themselves, and ensure
nothing is beyond my gaze. Remember this.”

And with that, the traitor lord swept from the room. Disturbingly, however, his shadow remained. Sulvar
looked on, transfixed, as the shadow detached itself from the wall. It was either expensive refractor field
tech, or sorcery, Sulvar concluded, as the shadowy being walked toward him.
“W-what are you doing here? How did you get into the hive?”, Sulvar questioned the figure before him,
who focussed into a familiar visage to Sulvar.

“As I’ve said before, Sulvar,” the figure smiled then, teeth glittering silver in the half-light, "I make it my
business to get into places. Now get up.”

Sulvar rose, and met the dark figures gaze.

“I hope you aren’t slipping into old habits Sulvar. You know who the new master is you serve. He would
be most… displeased at your ’split loyalties’, so to speak.”

“It is but a façade, I serve only he,” Sulvar muttered.

The figure put a hand onto Sulvar’s shoulder, and looked closely at Sulvar, “I am your guide. I’ll see you
get revenge. I’ll see we both do.”

###

The vast force marched onwards, through the toxic earth, guns razed in readiness. The Lychen all were
howling and yelling, pouring blood all over themselves as they marched, praising the Emperor for the
coming feast. The drums that were fixed to the chimeras pulsed out a regular, ominous beat, as Lychen
Guardsmen, stripped to the waist, slammed great bones onto the tortured drum skin, again and again.
With such ferocity they did this, that the bones were replaced regularly, as femur after femur was
shattered to continue the beat.

“Ready, my brethrens in slaughter! Tonight we dine on the Heretic, and the traitor. And it shall taste
good. It shall taste of Justice!” Vash roared from his position in the lead chimera. The response to this
was deafening. Nothing would slow their inevitable charge, when it came. Emeline sat at the back, on
the least bloody chair, checking and rechecking her lightning claw.
Vash turned back to her, savage glee in his eyes. “Come Commissar. Ready yourself.”

She nodded, plunging her soft hands into the basin of gore than stood by her feet. She imagined it was
water, as she splashed it in her face. It was too thick to maintain the illusion, and she felt the blood drool
down each cheek, like hellish tears. She found the smell a little less abhorrent now, she found, and didn’t
spit when some got in her mouth. Maybe she was a monster, just like that thrice-damned Inquisitor
Darvius had said.

The North quadrant defence wall loomed ahead, barring entrance to the hive, all was eerie quiet. Of
course, only the heretic Sarisians called it that. Everyone else called it the corpse wall. Over the six
months the rebels were subjugating Saris, they butchered almost a million men, women and children of
the Imperial institutions; the Administratum, the governor’s staff, even the Arbites. Nothing went to
waste. The gateless North entrance was shored up with the bodies, piled 300 metres high, cemented by
winding barbed wire which twisted between corpses, like a vine twists through old brick walls.

Vash gazed up, in child-like wonder, “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he rumbled, unhitching his eviserator and
bayoneted hell pistol. Emeline was now certain: Corporal Vash was completely, irrevocably, insane. An
admirable quality in this galaxy, Emeline noted bitterly. She also noted how the edges of the road veered
upwards into a kind of artificial valley the further they approached to the ’wall’.

Why was there no fire? Emeline suddenly realised their mistake. To his credit, Vash appeared to realise
this also, as his joy appeared to drain from his eyes. From all around them, brass armoured rebels
appeared over the valley walls, as well as from the top of the corpse wall. A million autogun shots and
lasrifle shots filled the valley, the killing ground. The Lychen roared in impotent fury, firing wild burts of
fire in retaliation. Limbs scythed off from torsos, bullets ruptured bellies. Blood and bodies sprayed
around everywhere, as Lychen and Cadian alike fell like puppets with their strings cut.

Emeline’s chimera swerved, as an auto cannon ripped up the floor on their left, the vehicle almost
tipping in it’s haste.

“We need to clear the kill zone!” Vash bellowed over the deafening noise. A Lychen Leman russ fired at
the meat wall, a fountain of black blood the only reward.

An autogun shell zipped past Emeline’s face, forcing her to duck. “We don’t have time to set charges!”
she yelled back to Vash. Vash looked at her with his blood red eyes, and winked. He swung his eviserator
one-handed, decapitating the pilot of the chimera, before shoving the corpse aside, leaping into the
cockpit. While he gnawed on the former pilot’s shoulder, Vash swung the Chimera back around, facing
the corpse wall. He slammed his iron shod boot to the floor, sending the chimera speeding towards the
wall.

Shots struck the side of the APC harmlessly, as the vehicles barbed front pierced the wall with a squelch.
Emeline knew his plan, and just clung to his belt for dear life, as the momentum flung Vash (and
Emeline), high into the air. Just as he drew a great meat hook from his pelts, they struck the wall.

The hook stuck fast into the soft flesh of the wall, as the two humans struck the wall breathlessly.

“My brethren! We climb today!” Vash bellowed. Many more Lychen roared and lunged at the corpse
wall, pulling their blood-matted hides up the wall using their cruel blades as handholds.

The Cadians had regained some composure on the ground, and steadily pumped suppressing fire up into
the valley walls. However, the enemy mortars still lobbed shell after shell into the now corpse strewn
valley base. Another shell flung Henmar down, but he rolled quickly to his feet, sprinting to the cover of
a Leman russ, which had taken a mortar shell down the cupola, and lay as a mangled wreck in the middle
of the kill zone. From here he could aim at the right side wall. He snapped off two shots which clipped a
rebel, who stumbled from the battlements to the ground below. He ducked, as two bursts of autogun
fire ricocheted off the twisted metal barricade in retaliation.

He swept his gaze over to the corpse wall. To his disbelief, the Lychen Guard were scrabbling up the wall,
like lice on a dead Grox. Lieutenant Gray called out, over the deafening gunfire, “Let’s give the heretics a
taste of Cadian marksmanship lads!”

With that, the remains of C Platoon fired up into left wall, smashing apart the barricades with precision
fire, dozens of lifeless Sarisians crumpling under the onslaught.

Vash flung himself over the top of the corpse wall, flooring two rebels, simultaneously flinging Emeline
clear. Before one heretic could rise, he embedded a hook in the man’s skull. The second stabbed with a
bayonet. Vash took the bayonet to the thigh, but spun around on the spot. The gun, embedded, was torn
from the man’s grasp. Vash bit the man’s helm, crushing both head and helmet with the gory bite.
Emeline rolled, firing her bolter into a cultist, blasting apart the man at the midriff. One fired a glancing
shot, singing her right arm. She charged forwards, sweeping her claw in a backhand, that bisected the
man’s head into three. Refusing to acknowledge death, the body kept firing wildly, before Emeline shot
him through the chest, blowing the corpse clear off the wall. A high pitch fizz resounded behind her, and
she turned to see a cultist with a great glaive collapse, shot by Vash, before he could strike her. Vash
nodded simply, and ducked a hastily raised rifle, hacking the enemy from navel to throat with his
eviserator.

Another cultist lunged at Emeline, who took the charge, plunging the crackling blades of her claw
through his eye sockets, liquefying his brain. Emeline pulled the corpse in front of herself, she blocked
several las bolts, that zipped towards her, hissing like angry cobras. The body disintegrated, showering
her with yet more ichor. This flung her onto her back, sending her bolt pistol skittering away. Before the
cultists could consolidate, bestial shapes lunged from the lip of the corpse wall, slamming into them
unawares.

The Lychen were vicious like no other regiment Emeline had seen in her carreer. They smashed and
stabbed at their enemies, with fist, clubs and jagged daggers, even with their infamous teeth. The
whirring chain-bladed bayonets hacked off limbs and emptied bowels, churning flesh.

The Traitor’s leader on the walls was a great fat beast, covered in piercings. Vash shot inaccurately as he
charged the fleshy mass. The huge maul of the cultist swatted away the eviserator as Vash swung,
slamming Vash to the floor. Vash rolled away, as the maul slammed down, embedding to the hilt in the
soft corpse flesh. Rolling between the slavering leader’s legs, Vash stabbed upwards with his chain
weapon, gore splattering. The man groaned in obscene pleasure, falling to his knees. Vash stood,
grabbing the leader’s head. The fat thing swept meaty fists at him futilely, as Vash twisted and pulled.
Now the Slanneshi filth knew pain, thought Vash, gurgling with laughter, as he felt the neck tendons give
way...

###

Emeline eventually found the Corporal again. He sat on the back of some kind of pig-thing, attempting to
chew something with his fangs, and admiring a blood drenched skull in one hand. She threw some blood
on the old berserker, who looked up.
“Do we have victory?”

Emeline smiled, “Not yet. We have routed the forces here, but they just re-entered the hive itself.”

“We have taken many skulls this day. Blessed be Him on Terra. We‘ll kill them tomorrow. I‘d sooner rest
first.”

“Aye,” she agreed. “That we shall.”

She masked her unease well from Vash, being only slightly green at the sight of so much viscera. She had
assumed that the ’taking of heads’ was metaphorical. This was another thing she was learning from the
Lychen; assumption is worthless in their regard. They were gore-splattered madmen and, she found on
this day, she was just as steeped in blood and horror, she couldn't deny it. Not after what she had done…

Part Five:

Emeline rubbed her eyes for what seemed like the thousandth time. The forward command bunker was
cramped and noisy, but it was functional, and didn’t reek of dead animals and viscera like all the other
Lychen bunkers did, set up among the debris of the demolished corpse wall (though if Emeline had the
chance to reconsider, she would not have demolised it, for the flies and black blood which rained down
on them after it’s destruction were far worse than the usual acidic bile the Sarisians called rain).

The brief respite she now had was consumed with paperwork; noting the dead, deciding on promotions
and other such menial tasks. She was above this, Emeline thought bitterly.
“If I had been assigned to a Cadian regiment, I could order a dozen assistants to do this drudgery,” she
despaired to herself, absent mindedly picking at some raw meat, which clung rebelliously to her silver
fangs.

“If you were in a Cadian regiment yesterday, you would not be here, filling reports. Caffeine, m’lady?”
Sparrod suddenly responded.

Sparrod was like a ghost, so quiet was his entry. Emeline turned, startled.

“What did you say, aide?” Emeline hissed, eyes narrowing.

Sparrod stared, with his deep black eyes, and smiled. “Caffeine. Would you care for some?”

“Yes. But that is not my meaning. Explain yourself!”

“If there were only Cadians in that valley, you would have all died,” Sparrod stated innocently.

“The Emperor was with us. He would not allow us to fail, no matter the obstacle-” she began.

Sparrod moved closer, so close his meat-tinged breath was stifling and Emeline could make out every
detail of his drawn, gaunt face, “Is that what you truly believe?”

Emeline looked down, her eyes lowering “No. The Lychen Guard did commendably,” she admitted.

Sparrod nodded, and turned towards the exit to retrieve the caffeine. Sparrod was Emeline’s only
lynchpin of sanity in this insane regiment. He would meet with Emeline alone nearly every night, to
teach her the various customs and eccentricities of his Haemavore brethren.

Sparrod was nearing the exit, before Emeline called out. “Wait. Sparrod please just answer me this
question. Why must this Regiment be so brutal, so blood-maddened?”
Sparrod turned, considering the question for a moment. “We weren’t. Once. We had always believed in
partaking of flesh as sacrament, all haemovores consider this a central tenant of worship to Him on
Terra. But then, we began to experience the galaxy. We began to fight in its myriad wars, and we realised
something. There is no peace in the stars, no mercy. Civilisations murder civilisations every moment.
Nuclear fires are savaging worlds even as we speak,”

Sparrod’s eyes widened, and his voice raised an octave. “There are monsters out there, Emeline. How
can men fight monsters? Only monsters can defeat monsters. So that is what we became.”

“Vash told me you weren’t monsters.”

Sparrod then cracked a small smile, “We are not all Vash... Now, Caffeine?” he replied cryptically, before
sweeping out of the room.

Emeline returned to her work and her mind wandered. Wandered to places dark…

###

The Plaza of Hermengrad was full to the brim with people. The crowds were crushing, the noise
immense and confusing. Banners to the Emperor fluttered in the sparse summer’s breeze. Today was the
pilgrims exodus. They were going to see Terra.

“It’s certainly a sight to see, isn’t it maam?” Major Carsten marvelled, turning to Commissar Emeline,
who gazed intently through a short telescope at the heaving masses below. She stood upon the vast
ridge overlooking the city, watching and waiting. The rest of the Cadian 102nd were waiting with her,
armed and ready for any signal to engage an enemy.

“Yes yes Major, but remember why we are here," Emeline responded dismissively, not turning to look
upon the Major. "The crusade forces are examining this world for any sign of corruption. No ships are to
take off from this city until we have confirmation from HQ. Voxman, be ready on all frequencies,” she
said coldly, nodding to the crouched guardsman hefting the giant machine. He nodded an affirmative.
Through her eyepiece Emeline could see the crowd, undulating like some living beast. The embarkation
queue bustled, as people tried to shove past one another. She could just make out the arbites and
priests holding the crowd back and a few brief flares of bluish light, as shock mauls struck the over-
boisterous. Suddenly, the crowd surged like a chaotic tide, striking over the line of men blocking their
passage onto the ship. The front row of pilgrims were crushed to death, as the mob flowed over them.

“Something’s wrong,” she warned, as she watched thousands of people draining into the bloated pilgrim
vessel.

“What is it?” the Major asked, concerned, pulling out his own binoculars from his belt. “What are they
doing?”

“Heresy, is what it is,” Emeline scowled. “I believe cultists are storming the vessel before take off. Ready
armaments.”

“What?” Carsten asked, incredulous. As he said this, the sluggish form of the Pilgrim vessel began to rise,
slowly making a turn with it’s noisy, fume expelling thrusters, which belched foul chemicals in all
directions.

“Do as I say, Emperor damn you!” she hissed, shoving the telescope into the Major’s hands.

Confusing chatter was breaking over the vox and the vox-man looked up, “The vessel says it’s got to
many aboard. It must lift off, or they would be overrun with the devout.”

“Have we had confirmation of purity by the Lord General yet private?” she asked flatly.

“No, but the vessel, it’s only-”

“Only a potential chaos cult, being flown straight to Him on Terra! Give the order Carsten!" Emeline
screamed, cutting the guardsmen off mid sentence.
Major Carsten looked at her disgustedly. “They are worshipers. Women and children of the Imperium.
You can’t do this!”

By now, the vessel was in full lift and was drifting higher and higher towards the stratosphere.

“I can and I shall! Don’t make me shoot you Major. Now give the order and shoot!”

###

Hundreds of ruby shafts of light pierced the iron flesh of the metallic leviathan of a pilgrim ship, which
began to list wildly. Missiles flew into its sides like angry hornets and searing blasts from the regiment's
stormsword tore off great chunks of the ship. Fire blossomed from over a dozen ragged holes that were
ripped away from the ship. Millions of auto cannon tracers struck the dying machine, rippling along its
flank like a foul rain splatter. A final stormsword blast ruptured something deep inside the ship, which
detonated with an almighty blast, louder than a thunderclap.

The crowds below hollered and shrieked in dismay, as burning frgments of ship sprinkled the crowd,
several hundred crushed or burned beneath the heavy metal wreckage. Dismay turned to rage amongst
the crowd, and Emeline could almost taste the rage of the crowd, as it began to surge up the hill towards
the Cadians, all their angry shouts coalescing into an indecipherable noise, which rolled up the hill,
deafening in it’s intensity.

“Major. Prepare to defend this position Major," she orderly coldly.

"From who?" he asked, his voice hollow.

"From the cultists of course. They’ve finally shown their true colours. Major? Major!” she bellowed at
Carsten, who still gazed up at the burning entrails of the destroyed pilgrims.

He looked back at Emeline, eyes wide and dazed, and nodded.

“Yes, madam Commissar,” he responded vacantly, still in evident shock.

###

The batteries and gun emplacements rained fire down onto the horde, shredding people with every
shot, so tight was the crowd packed together.

Earthshaker rounds threw a hundred dozen men and women skyward, shrieking as they burned away.
The slaughter lasted only a few minutes. They had almost reached the guard position, but much
reduced. The guardsmen had finished them off with lasgun fired, which stitched red gory patterns
amongst the crowds, blood spraying as they fell.

Emeline herself fired bolt after bolt into the crowd, blowing apart bodies in wet showers of gore. All the
while, she wore the fixed expression of fierce pride, even when she herself was splattered in some
nameless child's innards, as she put a round through the young girl's chest.

Heretics deserved no pity. Not from the faithful, she kept shouting to herself in her mind. Morality didn't
come into it. Heretics deserved no other fate than this.

###

The gunfire eventually died, and a great and terrible silence followed. The foothills outside Hermengrad
were covered in its own people’s dead and all the Cadian’s were silent, solemn. The silence was only
broken by the crackle of the Voxman’s machine.

++102nd. This is command. You have cofirmation. there is no taint in Hermengrad. Repeat, no taint. All
infra and inter system craft are cleared and authorised for take off. The Emperor Protects.++

Emeline turned, humbled and horrified. “The-the Emperor prot-”

She didn’t finish, as Carsten slammed a fist directly into her face, his eyes wild with loathing. She felt
blood, and felt the cartilage break, before darkness took her senses, and she fell.

Part Six.

The road into the vast hive base was wide, and covered in toxic mulch, washed from rooftops by the foul
rain. The Lychen marched, yelling their hymns through hoarse throats. Following this mass of infantry a
dozen charnel-house chimeras, open topped and gory, carrying yet more savages, who howled in the joy
of slaughter. They tossed the bodies of their slain before the tracks of the chimeras, mulching the
remains callously. The Cadian armour took up the rear.

“Have you no respect for the fallen?” Emeline muttered to Vash, who was at her side in the command
chimera. Vash returned her gaze, confused.

“They’re dead,” he uttered simply, as if that explained everything.

Emeline sneered, turning her gaze forward once more. The enemy were quiet. This, in Emeline’s
experience, was never good. Vash sensed something too and lent down to talk with his voxman, Falshak,
who growled something, as he adjusted his helm (made from a slaughtered horse’s skull, Emeline
noticed incidentally).

Vash turned to Emeline. “The stalkers have found nothing ahead. Not even any barricades.”
Emeline frowned. “They must be trying to draw us into the hive. We should go back and consolidate,”
she suggested. A filthy gurgle erupted from Vash’s ruined throat, which was even more chilling than old
Darvius’ laugh.

Vash gripped her shoulder gently. “Commissar. This is what the Lychen do. This is what we are for. We go
where everyone else fails. We kill the enemy, and we tear them apart. We must go in.”

Emeline contemptuously threw off his grip and glared at him, “I am the authority here, Corporal. You are
lucky I have let you lead this shabollic operation this far. Tell me; where is the Colonel?” she hissed, fangs
barred.

Quick as a lasbolt, his clawed hand surged forth, halting mere inches from her jugular.

“Do not test me, Commissar. We forgive a lot, we Lychen, for we are all alike. But we do not forgive
everything. Remember this, commissar.”

His voice rumbled, loud and terrible as an eruption of sulphurous fire. Eventually, he turned away, and
she took a moment to steady herself and stop herself shaking. Her hand firmly gripped her holster,
knuckles white in readinesss.

“We go in,” he boomed, his sonorous voice carrying to every member of his forces. “Your feast lays
ahead my brethren! Take it!” he bellowed across the vast roadway, and his cries were answered by the
thunderous tread of a hundred thousand Lychen, who howled and swung blades of tainted crimson
above their heads. Emeline looked on as the army was absorbed into the deep dark of the yawning,
cavernous Hive entrance. The chimeras stormed forward, the pilots yelling righteous prayers, through
blood flecked lips.

Emeline leapt over to a second chimera, narrowly avoiding being skewered on the hooks over it’s edge,
as the chimeras accelerated, encouraging the infantry ahead to charge forward with greater fervour.

“I’m commandeering this vehicle!” she yelled over the noise of roaring engines, aiming her pistol at the
driver's head for a moment, until he got the picture. She would be damned if she was going to get stuck
in a firefight with that suicidal madman.

Emeline looked up from the deck at the Lychen guardsmen around her. Skulls and scraps of bloody meat
hung from the matted pelts around their shoulders. The sergeant turned from his commanding position
at the front of the chimera and saluted. A great iron mask was riveted into his forehead and upper part
of his face, while his chin and metal jaws could be seen visibly, and they drooled a red saliva, tinged with
spilled guts.

“Boneslicer- I mean, Sergeant Belphagus, maam.”, he hissed in a rasping voice, announcing his rank as
clearly as possible. He drew a hunk of flesh from his packs, taking a bloody bite, before passing it to
Emeline. The flesh tasted of iron, as she dug her silver canines into the meat, ripping a piece free. She
was getting worried now, as her chimera also entered the tar-black nothingness of the hive. She was
starting to enjoy the taste of the flesh.

She looked down at the piece of meat, and noticed something. An Imperial tattoo. Oh Emperor, he
gasped, involutarily gagging.

They really were cannibals.

###

Henmar marched briskly, trying to keep pace with the commissar, who walked with deadly purpose.
Henmar had been field promoted by Reheinhart to be his personal aide. The Commissar seemed even
more viscious than before ‘the incident’ (it wasn’t healthy to mention Emeline’s beating of him, in his
presence). His black greatcoat flapped behind him, as he marched at the head of the Cadian infantry.

“Aide. Take down a note: ‘Upon the conclusion of the Saris offensive, Commissar Reheinhart Magrave
calls for an immediate censure on Commissar Emeline…' what’s her last name?” the Commissar asked
testily, turning his ruined face to Henmar. His left cheek and jaw were gone, replaced by a brutally
functional brazen augmetic, which hummed quietly as he talked.

“I…don’t recall Sir.”

“Well, when we return, we shall find out. Or are you incapable of that simple task, aide?” Reheinhart
mocked harshly, never once breaking stride. He pointed ahead at the Lychen Guard, who were running
blindly into the dark.

“What are they doing? The fools! Recon hasn't determined the force disposition yet. The idiots!” the
Commissar sneered.

“Should I inform the Lord General, sir?”

Reheinhart stopped, and the Cadian 102nd all halted too. He turned to Henmar, “What? And delay the
attack? That’s what these heretic scum want. No, we will follow the heathen Lychen into the hive.”

He raised his voice, so all around him could here, “For we fear no darkness, for we bring the Emperor’s
light! Now sound the order! Double pace! We’ll beat those Lychen to victory today!”

As the Commissar concluded his belicose speech, turned and broke into a sprint. Henmar had little other
option than following the fool into the dark.

Henmar knew he would get them all killed. Henmar had a sudden flash of premonition, and could almost
feel a lasbolt enter his skull and turn his mind to ash. He shook away the treasonous thoughts, running
as fast as his muscles allowed.

###

The darkness was a physical thing, stifling everyone in the army. Even the normally boisterous Lychen
were quite. Emeline could barely see the Lychen around her (though she could still smell them, potent as
they were). The sound of marching had dulled to a slight patter, as the army seemed cautious. Emeline
heard Vash over the comm.

++My brethren. Silence shall surrender us a kill. Remember, be like our sisters in the death cult
Assassinariums on old Lychen. Swift, deadly, and quiet.++
Eerie moans resonated through the blackness, and the clack clack of claws on polished marble. Not
human, Emeline was sure. Steam hissed, concealed from sight, evidence of bulky machinery that still
worked. The noises seemed to get closer, and with them, the patter of light footed things, and things
that clanked and rattled.

“I can’t see a damned thing in here! My Cadians, light up the dark with the emperor’s light! Flares!”
Reheinhart’s sickly thunderous tones stabbed through the near-silence of the hive.

“No you fool!” hissed Emeline, trying to be as quiet as possible as she warned him. It was too late. A
hundred flares burst into light and were cast ahead, throwing the Imperial guard, and the sudden vast
defiler ahead, into a sinister crimson glow.

The daemon engine’s roar echoed throughout the hall, as the twisted thing rumbled forward..

The beast swept it’s huge claws through the Lychen troopers before it, scattering them like wheat before
a scythe. Sporadic fire erupted from all angles, as cultists and Guard exchanged fire from every direction.
The constant firing threw all the battleground into a bizarre strobe effect. Emeline and Belphagus leapt
from their transport, as the giant demonic spider construct fired a burst with its chest cannon, directly
into the open-topped vehicle. The chimera bucked as the shell detonated, flattening everyone with the
blast.

Vash’s chimera swerved to avoid a missile launched by the defiler, the multi lazer puncturing fist size
holes in the daemon’s armour. The thing roared again, striking contemptuously onto the front of the
chimera, as it sped past the monstrosity. The chimera flung through the air, before slamming down, hard.

Emeline was firing into the dark, at the phantom shapes of cultists, that hissed and purred mockingly, as
they fired back with autogun bursts, erupting the ground around her. Belphagus screamed in hatred, and
ran towards the enemy, twin hell pistols filling the gloom with ruby lines of light. Before he reached the
enemy, he suddenly disappeared from view, his wailing growing faint. Emeline crawled forward, and felt
wind beneath her. They were on a bridge.

Just then, Emeline knew what the traitors had planned.

###

“Lascannons! Bring it down!”, Reheinhart yelled over the heavy gunfire all around, the red flares giving
him a demonic appearance. He was the first to notice the cables that swung onto their position. Cables
from which the heretics swung like jungle apes, daggers and shotguns clutched in gnarled hands. He
dived for cover, as a shotgun blast blew a chunk from the masonry behind. He fired forward, eyes
unfocussed in the ruby half-light. A satisfying scream howled out, followed by the thud of a corpse.

The devil construct lurched over the chimera hull, firing wildly all around. A flash of blazing red scorched
past, bisecting one of the beast’s limbs. Unbalanced, it swayed drunkenly, slamming into a group of
Lychen. Most were swept from the bridge, falling to their dooms in the under hive below, yet some clung
onto the beast, hacking futilely with broken lasguns.

The cultists were in close, clubs and knives glinting, as they slammed into the Lychen. Their mistake,
Emeline mused briefly. Emeline could hear the screams and hideous squelches of the dying, and
glimpsed a Lychen embedding an axe into a cultist, while shooting another through the palette, spraying
gore skywards. Emeline felt someone land on her back, knocking the wind from her. The cultist swung
her around, and she could see the things hundreds of piercings, and painful tattoos. A blade descended,
only to be blocked by Emeline’s claw.

Emeline powered the claw, vaporising the man’s hand, before slicing cleanly through his midriff. She
rolled to her feet, barely avoiding a poorly aimed missile from the now constantly rotating defiler. As she
prepared to charge, she saw a cultist raise a pistol. His face exploded, as she put a bolt squarely at his
head. They weren’t trying. Emeline knew why they were only attacking sporadically. She needed to warn
someone, and quickly. They had to get off the bridge.

###

Vash opened his eyes. They were filled with blood. He could hear the screams of the debased, mingled
with the righteous roars of his Lychen. He rose, struggling, and looked up. The defiler was directly over
him, whirling manically, unholy green fumes erupting from every ‘wound’ the Imperials had inflicted. A
nude woman leapt at Vash, two razor whips flailing oddly. Vash raised his dazed hand up, as a whip
coiled around it, digging into flesh. He pulled back, and she was flung forward, meeting his eviserator
half way, her two halves skittering apart gorily.
He laughed his gurgling laugh and raised his hands. “Rejoice, brothers! Feast and be merry, for today, we
die!” he howled in voice, beheading a passing cultist contemptuously.

Why weren't they trying, he cursed. Damn weakling heathens! He needed a challenge.

His vision returning to focus finally, Vash gazed up at the defiler. The metal above him seemed to buckle
and pucker into a daemonic maw, which stretched from the metal and bit his left arm.

He roared in rage, as he was hoisted high into the black air. Into the evil embrace of the death machine.
He struck with his eviserator again and again, chunks of daemon flesh and brass flying from the thing. He
was released, finally, and dropped to the ground with a crack, still clutching the pins of his krak
grenades...

###

Henmar staggered after the commissar, felling a cultist with every shot of his lasrifle. The Commissar was
striding confidently through the enshrouding darkness, which was deepening with the dimming of the
flares. Only the blue glowing arcs of Reheinhart’s power sabre remained a constant source of
illumination, as he slashed this way and that, the sword hissing as it evaporated blood.

Suddenly, the defiler’s legs blew apart and, with a screech of obscene agony, the machine topled over
the edge of the bridge, to be swallowed by shadow.

Elsewhere across the chaotic battleground, Henmar, for a fleeting instance, thought he saw a shadowy,
long haired Lychen, dancing through the darkness with disturbing grace. But then it was gone. He had no
time to ponder this thought anyway, as he flung himself and Reheinhart to the ground, an auto cannon
round roaring inches above their heads. The cannon blasted whickering fragments of metal from a
downed chimera, firing wildly.

Emeline was darting around, avoiding sword thrusts and las bolts, trying to glimpse the bulky objects she
could see hanging from the bridge. This was, of course, unnecessary, as she already knew they were
demolition charges. She also knew what they were intended for.
Emeline fled back in the direction of the hive entrance, screaming orders deperately. “Back! Get off the
bridge! I order you!”, she yelled out, to no one in particular. A stray las bolt snatched her cap from her
head, but she kept running, leaving it to smoulder.

Reheinhart could hear her cowardice, but couldn’t see her, as he squinted angrily, before he called out
into the grim blackness. “You will not flee! You are the Emperor’s chosen. Cowardice means death!” He
was screaming till he was hoarse, eyes frenzied in religious fervour.

Emeline had almost reached the other side of the bridge, when two loud, dull crumps resounded across
the bridge, shaking everyone from their feet. The whole walkway shuddered, making terrible roars as the
tortured metal gave way. The world turned upside down, flipping end over end as she fell. The sound of
the bridge shattering at the bottom drowned out any further feeling. Only silence remained.

Part Seven.

Belphagus was in agony. His screaming descent had stopped abruptly, as his stomach became impaled
on a twisted metal branch of scrap metal. He hung there, like a grotesque mannequin. For how long, he
couldn’t tell, as he screeched curses to the uncaring darkness, his lungs on fire, while his blood felt like it
was coated in razors, as it drove through his hideous wound.

For a surreal moment, he watched the vast bridge glide slowly past him, the armies yelling in confused
panic, before they thudded to the ground, and all the lights on the bridge were extinguished.

Belphagus twisted his head around painfully, peering into the blackness. It didn’t look so far down. With
his remaining strength, he pushed upwards, pulling himself of the ragged metal, which made a sickening
hiss, collapsing his bowels, as he yanked himself free. He dug his hooks into the long vertical pipe that
the impaling spike was coiled around, and, movement by bloody movement, climbed down.
The ground below was damp, and he sunk up to his knees in black filth, which stunk like bile. His knees
gave way, the agony of his bowels forcing the strength from them, and sending him sprawling into the
bile-lake. He desperately scrabbled through the bile lake, nose and mouth filling. After what seemed like
a millennia, he dragged his body from the lake, onto a brittle, crusty ‘land’, which smelled of cordite and
ferrocrete.

Spitting bile, Belphagus took several ragged gasps, gulping down the fetid air, which seemed to
Belphagus like sweet human thigh meat, compared to the abhorrent fluid in that pond. He reluctantly
pulled himself up. He was Lychen, the feared warriors in over twenty sectors. He would not be laid low
by a damn piece of rubble!

Clack clack. The skittering sounds could be heard, faint, but all around. The inhuman things were moving
again. Belphagus heard a near silent splash behind. Then, silence.

He gazed around, vainly trying to adjust to the horrible suffocating dark, which seemed to hug his eyes
mercilessly. Then, suddenly, he could make out a dim, guttering light, which shimmered green in the
distance. He dragged his agonised form towards it, willing his legs to break into a run. If he was to die, it
would be in the light, facing his killers. He drew his las pistol, as he staggered forward, blood trickling
from his myriad wounds like a stream, consistent and life-sapping.

The light came from a small culvert, the hexagonal structure jutting out from the vast hive wall. He
lunged in, gun ready, but found no enemy. Just one small child. He resisted the urge to smash her brains,
and eat the mush. “Who are you?”, he growled.

The child quivered before him, clutching the small candle uneasily. She wore a simple fatigue, with a
stitched aquila on the front. Belphagus softened his demeanour. “Are you hurt? Are their more imperials
down here?”

The girl shook, tears in her eyes. “Don’t. Don’t hurt me. Don’t, please.”, she cried. Belphagus put a finger
to his lips.
“Quite. There are monsters out here.”, he whispered.

The sound of light footed things, crunching ash and sand underfoot. Belphagus spun around, gun
pointing into the gloom. Nothing.

“Stay close, young Imperial.”, he uttered back. He couldn’t hear her. He turned slowly around.

There was no girl. No candle. Only a spluttering luminator globe, which finally flickered for the last time,
before it shut off abruptly. Belphagus was plunged into utter darkness once more.

Clack clack clack. Belphagus roared defiance, as he smelt sulphur approaching, along with a deathly chill.

Throughout the under hive, his yells could be heard, followed by the sound of five whizzing las shots,
followed by an abrupt gurgle. Then silence.

###

His eyes opened, blood filming them, stinging and irritating. He moved, shifting his weight. This brought
terrible pain, and he felt a gash in his chest, warmth pooling around the wound. Blood. Agonisingly, he
pulled himself to his knees. The ground around him was soft, and slick with blood. As he scrabled around
for his eviserator, Vash felt fingers, dead but still warm. The bodies of his comrades must have broken his
fall. His hands closed around a heavy cleaver, and a chain axe, but he couldn’t hear or see his eviserator.
From his leg pouches, he pulled a pack of semi-viscous flesh resin, and plastered it into his hideous
wound. He felt the resin mercilessly tighten around the wound, and seal it tight. He screamed out, voice
a sonorous boom.

This roar of pain caused others to moan out in response. Vash plunged his thick hands into a fresh
corpse, and pulled free the wriggling intestines, and gorged himself, feeling the familiar, satisfying warm
of blood down his gullet. Sated, he bellowed out, “Come! Any who survive! To me! Listen to my voice
and comprehend! We are not defeated yet.”.

“Greetings, master.”, one voice called out, followed by more. He detected twelve able-bodied Lychen,
their voices angry and unbowed. The eight other, crippled Lychen, he found out, in turn, and strangled
them. He could have no weak links. Some other soldiers, he also smelt, in the inky darkness. Cadians,
most likely. He found each of them. The fit were dragged up, and sent to find weapons, while the
crippled, they were quietly taken care of.

The guard were murmuring, discussing vengeance, or just talking to stave of claustrophobia, when a
torturous roar echoed throughout the deep place they had fell.

The familiar sound sent waves of excitement down Vash’s spine. The iron daemon thing had survived the
fall. He vowed to himself, he would slay the thing. Vash called the soldiers around him, to come close.

“This enemy is wounded, and confused. He is more dangerous than before. Tenfold so.”, he uttered in a
harsh rumble, face barely illuminated by the glow stick he had stolen from a corpse.

A nervous looking Cadian leaned forward, into the light, “Then what do we do now? We are stuck, with
no support. The daemon will not rest until it has torn us apart. Sir….what can we do?”, he hissed, his
voice a tortured whisper.

Vash patted the man’s shoulder, and stared with his eyes, alight with savage glee, “We hunt it. We find it,
and kill it.”. Vash laughed his grating laugh, “Throne! It will give us something to do. I left my regicide
board at home.”

The group quietly laughed, somewhat encouraged by Vash’s fearlessness. Either that, or they knew this
madman would lead them to death, and were mentally preparing themselves to die.

Vash was planning the coming hunt in his brutal mind, when a sudden burst of static flooded his
personal comm.
++Hello? Anyone out there? This is Commissar Emeline Constance Irebel. Can anyone pick up this
message?++

Vash inwardly smiled. As tough as a Lychen, that girl, he thought, pride filling his chest.

###

The grand chamber was adorned with gold. Every facet, and fitting on the consoles was also a decadent
gold, polished to perfection. Haldan applauded again, as he once more played back the servo skull pict
images of the bridge battle.

“Marvellous! Truly a master stroke on my part.”

“Yyess, my lord. Masterful. You are brilliant, and potent.”, the serpentine mutant women sibilantly hissed
into his ears, as they coiled over his oiled torso of Haldan. The hooded cultists that worked the controls
remained silent, their jade robes hiding their jealous desires.

“Aremus.”, Haldan called out, absent minded and unconcerned, “Have any of the …Imperials, survived?”,
he spat, barely able to form the words.

Aremus, a vast man, covered in shimmering scale mail, with a golden mask, turned from his console.
“Any possible survivors shall be hunted down by the Abhorrence’s, my virile master.”, the Sycophant
purred.

Sulvar skulked at the rear of the chamber, with all the other adoring warrior cultists, who praised Haldan
for defeating the whole enemy army single-handed (any other view on the victory meant death. Or
worse.). Sulvar hissed under his breath, scowling.
He should be the one being praised. This Haldan upstart. It was Sulvar who had founded this cult. This
Haldan stole his glory. His hatred for him was a physical thing, bitter and malicious.

Good, Sulvar. Your time is soon. My master only desires vegeance for you. You must play the part in this
Sulvar. When the opportunity arises, take it. Gut that egocentric swine!

The insidious thoughts were not (entirely) his, and the force of them made Sulvar’s nose bleed a black
blood. Ever since the Lord of Malice sent his herald here, the psychic messages had got more and more
frequent. He knew what he must do.

He would gut Haldan, and watch him squirm as he died. Sulvar’s grin was spread from ear to ear at the
mere thought.

###

Their was a splash, in the deep dark damp. Emeline felt the bile clod everything. She gagged, and silently
screamed, as she was dumped in the filth lake. The bridge sailed past, sinking to the bottom, not far
below.

Emeline couldn’t breath. She couldn’t breath. Panic gripped her, as she struggled with the cabling that
ensnared her. She broke the surface, and took a lungful of stagnant air. The bridge, as it fell, must have
struck something, and smashed in two. One half had slammed hard, some distance away, while this
section had struck some toxic lake, where molten slag and rainwater met, in the sewers of the besieged
hive. Emeline had swam to a shallow area, and pulled herself free of the black fluid, ripping away the
cabling in the process.

The inhuman clacking played havoc with Emeline’s senses, the faint sounds appearing from everywhere
at once, but faint enough to cast doubt on whether they were real. Emeline drew her pistol, and tried to
turn on her claws, with little success. The scuttling was louder now, more definite.

They were coming. Faint splashes signalled an approach. But from where?
Her claw wouldn’t start. She fired. The flash showed a brief glimpse, or pale flesh, before a scream
erupted from one of them, and a dull splash could be heard. She fired again and again, but the beasts
flitted around between weapon flashes, unseen and indistinct. Emeline’s gun clicked empty. The beasts
began screaming. They screamed in fear, and Emeline definitely heard splashes, as they fled across
water.

A flare burst into life, showering the area with crimson light, as it was cast nearby Emeline. Emeline
briefly caught a glimpse of Sparrod, smiling sardonically with a tattoo less face, before he turned into the
gloom, melting away, into the darkness.

Emeline shivered. She was alone. The sounds of engines dispelled this thought instantly. She replaced
her bolter clip with a fresh one, and spun all around, searching for a target. From the black ‘water’, white
lights shimmered ethereally, like some ancient myth made real. Several Chimeras burst from the surface,
driving up a ash-filled bank, throwing up clouds of white mud, as they emerged, powerful searchlights
blazing. She smiled, relieved, falling to the floor, weeping with joy at the sight. The Lychen always come
back for more, she grinned to herself. Always. The Chimeras all formed a semi circle around Emeline,
except for one, a Cadian one, which instead sped off in the opposite direction.

Emeline hoped that that wasn’t who she feared it was. That insufferable man….

Eventually, she fixed her comm, and called out, to anyone.

++Hello? Anyone out there? This is Commissar Emeline Constance Irebel. Can anyone pick up this
message?++

A gruff, terribly low rumble answered her.

++I hear you Blade Enforcer! It’s Corporal Vash. So glad to hear you survived.++

++It’s Commissar. Anyway, what state are your troops? Do you have any alive?++
++Yes. But they are few. We’re going hunting…+

Emeline held her forehead, ++Don’t elaborate please.++

++Of course.++, Emeline detected his unique snigger at this point. ++I believe you should take control of
the remnants, Emeline. How many are there, of my brothers?++

Emeline considered the question. ++Five or six platoons, at most. Some trakers, but my aide has gone
walkabout. As usual.++

There was a long pause. ++Aide? I assigned you no aide, commissar.++

Emeline’s blood ran cold. ++You must have. You must know Sparrod. He’s been in camp for days. He was
on the ship.++

++My Lady. There isn’t, and has never been, anyone called ‘Sparrod’, in the Lychen Guard. It isn’t a
Lychen name.++

Emeline blinked in shock, and shut off the comm- bead.

Part Eight.

The Plaza was humming with anticipation. The sounds of muttered conversations was deafening, and the
crowd was packed close. Many people screamed exaltations to the heavens. This was the first pilgrim
ship to come from Hermengrad.

Sparrod clung onto his mother’s hand, the one constant in the shifting crowd. He looked up, and saw the
tears of joy rolling down his mother’s face.

“Why do you cry?”, Sparrod asked innocently.

She looked to him, her usually tired eyes lit by a religious fervour, and her words came to her in excited
gasps, “We’re going to see the Emperor, my little sparrow.”

Sparrod smiled at the use of his nickname. This Emperor seems to be nice, if his mother liked him, as she
liked hardly anyone. Not even Racus, from that hab gang, with all his body pictures. Sparrod found him
funny. I wonder if the Emperor will be my friend, Sparrod contemplated, as the crowd surged again.

The smell of incense and confectionary filled the air, tangy but not unpleasant. His mother tugged at him
to move forward, though he could not see what they were queuing for. Was the Emperor down here?

The noise was still deafening, but Sparrod didn’t care. He was with his mother, who carried virtually all
their belongings in a tight canvas sack. Sparrod could now see the line of black armoured men with
shields, which held back the crowd, while priests behind yelled prayers over the noise, flicking water into
the crowd periodically.

A man in a ragged boiler suit shoved through the black suits, and staggered towards the pilgrim ship. A
maul armed blacksuit, slammed his shock maul into the back of the man’s head. The man convulsed,
coughing red blood, before falling like a sack. The weakened security cordon buckled, as another
potential pilgrim lunged at the gap in the shield wal, dragging another arbites down, onto his back. This
dazed pilgrim snatched a maul, before a pump action shotgun barked once. It was loud, like nothing
Sparrod had ever heard before, and he held his ears. The pilgrim staggered to his knees, his waist a torn
hole of ruptured flesh. Blood trickled down his mouth, and he collapsed.
This was the tipping point. The whole crowd seemed to bulge. The front civilians were flung into the
arbites, who buckled, as the second row of pilgrims cascaded over the top of this line. The priests fled
from the human flood, which surged forwards, bodies flipping over bodies. Sparrod felt himself being
swept along, like a buoy in a river. But he clung desperately to his mother, who was scrwaming for order,
as she too was pushed along with the mob.

The sneers and yelled praises of the crowd merged into an ugly moan, as they thundered up the
embarkation rank.

“We are not cleared, please remai-”, Sparrod thought he heard a man say, before he was engulfed. A fat
man slammed into Sparrod, knocking him down, his bond to his mother broken. He looked around,
panicked, and could see his mother, already swept far away, screaming to get back, trying to climb over
the mass of people storming into the pilgrim ship. He shouted to her, tears in his eyes. She couldn’t hear
him.

Every time he tried to get up, a boot or flailing limb floored him. The ship’s embarkation ramp rose
sluggishly. Several people fell from the rising ramp, dull thuds below signalling their individual demises.
The ramp closed, with some unfortunates crushed between ship and ramp as it closed, bodies popping
like ripe grapes, red and bloody.

Sparrod couldn’t think, he was too busy avoiding the crowds stamping feet, but he could hear the vessel
rising, the downwash hot and dry, singeing his hairs on his neck. He gazed up, in wonder. Maybe his
mother would see the Emperor, and he would come back and bring Sparrod back with him, to be with
his mother. The vast vessel had risen a fair distance, his hopes rising with it.

Then, the missiles struck, the firey wounds tearing away great chunks of the thing, signalling the
beginning of its death and destruction. On that day, as Sparrod watched his family, his world, burst apart
in front of him, his spirit died with it.

Evening set in, and heavy rain burst upon the plaza, scattered with corpses. Everywhere, everyone, was
dead. The only light came from the vast pale moon. The foothills were filled with the slaughtered.
Sparrod knew this, but neither saw, nor cared. He wailed in agony. His world died long before theirs did.
Tears streamed freely down his faced, as he kneeled in the dirt, slamming his fists into the grond, in futile
rage. Blood welled from his grazed hands, but he didn’t care, and he screamed for his mother, over and
over.

Why do you cry?

The voice was silken, deep. He stared around, confused, “Who are you?”

A friend. Nothing more.

The voice came from everywhere at once, and the shadows around him seemed to swirl. Coalesce. They
formed into a vast creature, of pure smoke, with vast shimmered shadow wings. The form of the thing
drifted into a different form, as it noticed little Sparrod recoil in fear. Its form became one of an old, grey
haired man, with a kindly face.

The old man knelt down, and embraced Sparrod, who sobbed into the man’s shoulder. “It’s alright now
Sparrod. Let your feelings out. There there.”, the same silken voice soothed.

“They killed her! They shot her up with fire and bullets and-”, Sparrod wept, teeth clentching, as he
pulled away, to stare into the old man’s eyes, “I hate them.”

Th e old man’s eyes turned a deep black, and he smiled grimly, “Good. Use that anger. Tell me, my little
Sparrod.”

“Call me Sparrow, please.”, Sparrod muttered, sniffling.

The mad nodded, “My little Sparrow. Do you want revenge?”

“Revenge?”

“Pay back.”, the man thing elaborated.

Sparrod nodded, mouth twisting in hatred, “More than anything.”

The old man smiled again, small fangs appearing behind his grin, “You are perfect. I know a good person
that can help you. I can get him to help you get back at your enemy. Would you like this?”

Sparrod nodded dumbly.

“Good…Do you know who did this? I shall tell you. It was the Emperor. He betrayed you, and murdered
your mother. He sent his daemons, Khorne, Tzeench, Nurgle and Slannesh to do it. Do you know the
name of the horrible person that did their bidding?”

Sparrod stood, as the man did, and shook his head, tears drying.

“She is called Commissar Emeline. Can you remember that name?”

“Yes.”

“Now, every time you feel angry, or upset, remember, think of her. Focus all your hate onto finding
revenge against her. But keep this hate hidden, for the Emperor and his daemon’s. They will hunt you.”

Sparrod snarled, “Why? Why are they being horrible to me? What did I do wrong?”, he demanded.

The old man held his hand, and leaned forward, to talk to Sparrod, “Because, they are your enemies.
They want you to suffer. Do you want to help us to defeat them? To kill away those daemons, and their
Emperor?”

“Yes, mister! I will! I’ll get them all!”, he promised, bunching his fists.

“Calm, little Sparrow. Not yet. Bide your time. I will protect you.”, the old man gestured behind him, to a
vast man, who emerged from the shadows. He was at least eight feet, this behemoth. His armour was
huge and bulky, and clinked and hissed as he walked forward. The giant wore armour, half black, half
white, divided directly down the middle vertically. His giant helm held no emotion, as red lenses flickered
to regard the tiny form of Sparrod, who gazed in awe.

“He is called Brother Phlaxus, of the chapter the Sons of Malice. You must go with him. He will keep you
safe.”, the old man assured him.

“W-What is he?”, Sparrod muttered, stepping back.

“A Astartes. They are protectors. He will keep you from harm. I have a use for you, and once you are
trained, I shall tell you this purpose. Do you understand?”

Sparrod turned, to look at the kindly man, and nodded, “I understand.

Sparrod walked up to the vast Astarte, and held out a tiny hand. The giant hesitated, unsure what to do,
before his took the hand in his, his vast palm engulfing Sparrod’s whole forearm easily.

“Come. Boy.”, Phlaxus grunted harshly. He looked up at the old man thing, before looking down again,
“Come along…little sparrow.”, he reluctantly added. The marine and child walked off, to be engulfed in
the gloom of the evening.

The old man’s visage evaporated, and his smoky black form rose, and blew away on the wind, his deep
laugh echoing across all of Hermengrad.
###

Hermengrad was not the only thing to hear his daemonic laugh. It carried, far into the void. It even
penetrated the vast Inquisitorial Ramilies Class Star Fort, a vast spaceborn cathedral, which hung in orbit
like a dark moon.

Minval bucked in his seat, as he heard the psychic signal, which slammed into his might like a blunt
cudgel. His withered features twisted in agony, and he spat blood. Eventually, the blast subsided, and the
frost on the walls of his chamber melted away.

Minval activated his comm link, and a cold voice answered.

++What, Minval? This disturbance better be justified.++

++It is, my Lord Darvius. I detected a single warp signal from the surface.++

++Benign?++

++Nay, my lord. I wish it were so. Twas warp craft.++

Over the link, Minval heard the Inquisitor laugh his chilling laugh. Minval’s senses told him this wasn’t
sincere.

++Well, Minval. It would seem that little bitch Emeline is not in quite as much trouble as she believes. I
suppose execution isn’t as much of a necessity now. Monitor this for me Minval. If it occurs again, send
for me.++
++Yes my lord.++, Minval finished the transmission, and clicked off. Minval was quite. He had never felt a
being like that before. A being that thrives on self destruction and petty vengeance. It was, in a way,
worse than any other power in the immaterial he had ever experienced.

There were myths, obviously, of things that lurked in the dark, between the currents, in the very deep of
the warp. Their names and histories were deleted. They never existed. Minval now knew, as they did
him. The thought terrified him.

Part Nine.

The bridge was giving way. Reheinhart knew this, yet he cared not. He fired all around, at the enemy,
who vainly tried to save themselves. They knew what lived in the dark…

Reheinhart shot them in their fleeing backs, watching them fall like dummies, rigid and dead. Henmar
fired around, killing any cultists that got close to the Commissar. Suddenly, Henmar glimpsed the
shadowy figure again, darting toward them.

Before they could react, the man had grabbed the two Cadians by their necks, flinging them backwards
with some force. The two stumbled, landing inside an open chimera.

“Live. And find peace in revenge. For us both.”, the mysterious man said, before somersaulting
backwards, decapitating a cultist with his obsidian glaive. The bridge rumbled again.

“I’ll kill that Lychen dog!”, Reheinhart yelled, trying to both rise from his sitting position, and aim his las
pistol. Henmar immediately saw that the armoured vehicle was their only hope. He slammed the closing
rune on the rear hatch. It flung shut, as the Commissar fired, sending crimson ricochets in all directions.

Reheinhart turned a disgusted glare towards Henmar. “Interfering with Commissarial duties? Under the
principle edicts of the Commissarial rites, I must issue a field execution.”.

In another instant, the bridge screeched hideously once more, before something gave. The chimera
twisted through the dark air, tumbling like a fallen toy in some evil child’s play chest. Within, the
contents of the chimera, and the contents of the crew’s stomachs, flew and slammed all around,
bouncing from consoles and armoured panels. Henmar was flung upwards, downwards, and in other
directions he was to disorientated to recognise. Then, their was a splash, and the freefall was ended.

Their was brief silence, before the lasgun slots began pouring forth the vile black bile of the lake into the
cabin. “Close the holes, damn it!”, Reheinhart yelled to anyone in the cabin who would listen. The crew
of three, along with Henmar, shoved hands in front of the vomiting hatches, the viscous fluid running
between their scrabbling fingers. Eventually, the hatches closed, and the cabin was once more quite,
until the dull thud, as they hit the bottom.

“Gunner, are we on our tracks?”, Reheinhart asked sternly.

The Gunner looked up from the explicit pict slate he was reading, all through the fall, and took his feet
off of the console he had them on, and put out his iho stick. “What? Oh yeah. Probably.”, he said,
unconcerned.

“Well… do you think you could check?”, Reheinhart asked testily, fingering his las pistol threateningly.

The gunner sighed, and moved to one of the viewing ports, “I think we are on our side. I may be able to
get her back onto her tracks though.”, he stated, flatly.

“How?”, Henmar asked, interested.

The gunner gestured to the turret. “Well. I’d just turn the turret towards the sea beck, or whatever it is.
The multi laser should , if overloaded, create a vacuum in the turret. The water rushing in should shove
us over. It would work, but we may get a bit wet.”
Reheinhart frowned, “Define a bit…”

“A lot.”

Reheinhart considered for a moment, then decided, “Right. We’re going to use gunner…”

“Balshan.”, the gunner responded.

“To use gunner Balshan’s idea. Drivers, I want you to be ready on controls when the vehicle tips, and I
want the thing moving. Otherwise, we’re going to all die. But, more importantly, I would die. Now, no
one wants that.”, he declared, without even a hint of sarcasm. Henmar knew the Commissar thought he
was loved by all. He inwardly sighed to himself.

The blast was big. The turret detonated, and a column of black filth flung Balshan backwards, with a
sickening thud. The engines gunned, as soon as the tracks slammed down. The machine burst from the
water, smoke still rising from it’s turret. It halted on the bank. The six lasgun hatches opened, and bile-
water sprayed out in a fountain of filth.

The cabin was filled with thick coatings of mud, and more indescribable things. Reheinhart wiped away
the filth from his eyes, and gazed around, kicking at the four Cadians with him, who gradually roused
themselves from semi-consciousness. “Power the engines, damn you all! Now, now! We shall hunt down
the enemies who laid us low!”

The crew mumbled quietly, before powering the engine again, speeding off into the dark, searchlight
stabbing ahead, flickering since the explosion. I’m going to die, Henmar moaned silently. Storming off
into a hive of heretics, with an unarmed chimera, with Balshan, the worst gunner in the 102nd , and an
unhinged Commissar, of which he had to follow. The image of the lasbolt turning his brains to ash
refused to leave his head. He was going to die…

###
The sound of his pulse was a rapid drumbeat in his mind. Vash moved with a determined gait, down the
pitch black darkness. This didn’t matter. He didn’t need eyes to find this prey. It reeked of hideous,
unnatural smells, and the echo of the metallic beasts crippled talons on the cracked tiles of the under
hive were almost ridiculously loud.

The rest of his hunting party could be heard, moving stealthily around him, hooting and whistling, the
secret signals he had instructed them to use. The group halted, and Vash growled to know how many
charges had been set. Nine hoots told him the answer. He grabbed the remaining charges for himself.

The defiler was in the next chamber, the scents unmistakable. It was moving fast. Vash swept his head
around. He had lost it’s scent.

Angry shouts and screams erupted behind him, followed by the strobe bursts of weapons fire. This
uneven light shot glimpses of the defiler all around. Vash saw a vast claw snap through a guardsman,
another huge flail swinging into several more.

Vash rolled to avoid a missile, which spun insanely, before impacting behind him, a huge section of wall
rumbling and falling, shaking the very ground as it collapsed. Vash roared in rage, as he could hear his
men falling. The beast’s chest cannon fired, blasting apart a section of tiled floor, sending Vash and
another Lychen skittering along the uneven ground. A piston driven claw stabbed down, impaling the
Lychen guardsman, who bellowed insults and curses, as he slammed a sharp cleaver at the iron monster.

The defiler ripped up, dragging the man into the gloom, his detonator falling from his now-lifeless grasp.
Vash caught it in one hand, as he broke into a sprint, the tortured screeches of gears following him.

The gloom was suddenly illuminated, as Vash lit a fuel soaked rag, tied to a metal spar Vash clutched. He
stopped running, and turned to face the defiler. The broken arachnid monstrosity emerged from the
shadows, growling in bloodlust. Vash bared his fangs right back, and growled with a comparable
bloodlust. He was alone now, all others dead. He clutched a great burning brand in one claw, a small
detonator in the other .
His arms were opened wide, inviting, as he roared in defiance, and looked like a heathen barbarian king
from Terra’s ancient legends. The defiler approached cautiously, steam rising from the beast, its engines
growling unnaturally. Vash gazed at its depthless, eternal eyes, which glowed a deep crimson. He saw the
bloodlust in its soul, saw the skulls it had taken, the blood it had spilled. Beautiful images of horrific
bloodletting flashed through Vash’s skull, and for a moment, he was quite.

He fell to his knees, still staring at the thing. “You are a true beast of blooding. You are death, and the
devouring of flesh. I am as nothing to you.”, Vash rumbled, eyes focussing.

He snarled then, as it leaned forward. He could see where it was. The perfect position.

“You should take my flesh, in punishment, as my bloodshed is but a shadow of yours.”.

His metal jaw then almost cracked a smile, as he set off the charges, which were directly above the
defiler. They all exploded, in a sulphurous blast of justice. The cavern supports came down at strategic
positions, slamming down upon the metal beast, crushing chassis and daemonic bone equally. The beast
struggled to pull itself free, limbs flailing uselessly. Vash laughed his gurgling laugh.

“You may have a bloodlust greater than mine,” he paused, pulling something free from his back. “ but my
bloodlust is for the Emperor, you whoreson!”, he bellowed, a sonorous boom of pure hate. He ran
towards the construct, raising the long, sharp glaive like a javelin. Around the javelin, the remaining six
charges bleeped, as their timers were beginning to run out.

He cast the spear with all his might, and the deadly weapon sailed through the murky air, punging into a
soft section of daemon flesh. The monster wailed, trying to pull it free, before the timers struck zero….

Vash struck the far wall with great, bone breaking force, the boom deafened, and the flash blinded, while
the heat singed his pelts. He gazed forward, unfocussed, and could almost see the daemon die, bizarre
coloured smoke twisting in a sort of agony. He didn’t know what happened next, as he fell unconscious…
Part Ten.

The convoy of chimeras juddered along the rough shale, the broken glass of a million windows, and the
refuse of a million sewer pipes, coalesced into a thick grey mud, which both crunched and squelched
under the steel tracks of the APCs.

Darkness retreated before them, as the intense whit beams of the chimera searchlights stabbed the
gloom, guiding them slowly, but surely, up a vast ramp. Emeline looked from her command cupola, at
the vast ramp. It seemed to be made of the compacted debris of hundreds of other tanks, machines and
munitions, all cemented together with the vile grey mud.

How many armies had died down here? How many more would fall? Emeline pushed the thoughts away
with a shake of her head. She was a Commissar, and she was trained to understand; the Emperor will
always, inevitably, triumph. The thoughts were reassuring, and Emeline smiled her silver smile.

The corpse wind from up hive blew again, freezing everyone to the core. The open topped chimeras
were not comfortable, or warm, and the bile still clung to them. The Lychen in these vehicles had had to
hold their breath as they sank, lest they drown in the filthy black sludge.

“Hold long until we reach standard sea level?”, demanded Emeline, and a hulking Lychen, with a
necklace of human thumbs, and ivory tusks screwed into his mouth, tapped into a small console, which
buzzed.

“Four minutes, Blade Enforcer.”, he growled, happily.

Emeline scowled, “It’s Commissar. Don’t make me bite you.”, she smiled as she said it. He smiled in
response, recognising the good humoured banter.

They were nearing their enemies position, and they were unaware. Emeline would enjoy blasting apart
each and every Cult member in turn.
The hive suddenly seemed to open out, a vast vaulted ceiling just visible in the half light. Bizarre
underground streets, with dead lights, and dusty pavements. Everywhere was dusty. Saris must have
been an ancient human settlements, one of the first phase ones. Unlike other hives, this was once an
agri, or mining world. As cities became more rampant, more space was needed. Thus, more buildings
were forced on top of the old ones. The process continued for millennia, until the cities towered miles
high, and pierced the heavens, in defiance of nature.

This section must be the oldest. Faded symbols of corporations long since extinct, covered the dead
plaza. Painted murals, in a dead language, depicted a bizarre blue green planet, which looked like it could
have been an agri world. But the continents were all wrong. In fact, if the oceans were ignored, it almost
looked like holy-

A las bolt snapped Emeline’s attention back to the present. “Who fired?”, she shouted. The Lychen
pointed forward, at the distant red flashes ahead, illuminating the dark streets dimly. The zipping sound
of las fire seemed to be responded too by throaty roars of boltguns.

“Ready yourselves! We will slay whatever opposes us in this city… and we will. Feed on their slaughtered
carcases!”, Emeline bellowed, still unsure how to address her barbarian hordes. She drew her lightening
claw, and sparked the activation rune. After a prayer to its machine spirit, it buzzed to life, a neon blue
pulse of energy arcing around it. The Lychen roared in acknowledgement, engines gunning, as Lychen
frantically scarred themselves in preparation. Emeline beckoned the tusked Lychen over.

“Cut me, please.”, she uttered. He nodded solemnly, taking out a slim knife. He ran a thin scar down her
cheek, from her temple. This, bizarrely, only made her seem more brutally attractive, as she turned to
view the approaching battle, with grim determination… and a certain eagerness. Not only for victory, but
also for something else. She felt a certain satisfaction, when disfiguring her foes. It empowered her.
Maybe that was what made the Lychen seek blood (well, the ordinary ones that is. She knew exactly why
that lunatic Vash liked to butcher and maim.).

She saw the cultists, running frantically around, in deep purple robes, firing wildly. One flew through the
air, from around the corner, spraying blood. Another burst, as a bolt pasted through him, detonating his
midriff in a spray of gore. The chimeras slammed into this retreating group. Some were dragged beneath
the buzz saw fronts of the vehicles, splattering spectacularly. Others rolled aside, firing up at the Lychen,
who lunged over their metal mounts, knives drawn like workers at an abattoir. Their whirring chain
bayonets gutted some, while frenzied bursts of las fire exploded chests and livers.
A cultist, nude from the waist up, charged Emeline, auto pistol raised. She fired once. The headless
corpse toppled back. The tusked Lychen charged forward, impaling several on his ivory barbs, as he
swung his spiked mace into another’s head. One Lychen howled, as a slender dagger entered his eye,
piercing his brain. He fired desperately into the cultist’s groin, blowing it to a bloody mess, before they
both fell. Emeline slashed out, striking another power weapon. The two repelled one another, flinging
their owners apart.

A vast, goat headed mutant, his power spear pointing at Emeline’s throat, stepped up, arrogantly. Tusked
Lychen barred his path, his fat form intimidating, even to this beast of chaos. He swung his mace, but the
thing ducked, and slashed with a backhand gesture, causing the unfortunate Lychen to come apart at the
chest. The man gurgled wetly, before his two halves slid apart, in a sudden gush of gore.

The thing was so fast, it struck her weapon away, bolt pistol smashed and useless. Emeline rolled, to
avoid the goat head’s wide arc, which just missed her. She struck out, catching the beast in the chest,
tracing thin lines of blood across his chest. She had missed. The monster stabbed down, but Emeline
blocked it. The two weapons came together again, this time detonating. Both combatants were flung
from the chaotic melee between Lychen and Cultist.

Emeline rose, pained, her left hand burnt, her hair singed and clogged with ash and visera. She tasted
blood in her mouth. Hers. She looked around, dazed. Everything was so slow, so quite. She watched the
Lychen and Cultists fight, in lethal ballet, slashing and hacking. She could then see the goat man rise,
eyes watering in animal pleasure, blood frothing from his nose and mouth. It smiled, sharp fangs barred.

Then, as if from nowhere, a hideous gale appeared to blow, and the goat man paused, and turned
around. From around the corner, Sparrod walked forward, nonchalantly. He was different. His face was
pale, as pale as a corpse, eyes black. His black mane of hair was half bleached white, and fluttered about
him like an angry cloud. Insectile, black armour shimmered over his torso, glimmering as if wet. A
billowing cloak, of pure shadows, flowed from his back, and coiled all around.

The goat lunged at him. Contemptuously, Sparrod deflected its first, second and third blows, a black axe
of horror forming from nowhere. Sparrod leapt up into the air, spinning, before landing on the beast’s
shoulders.
“My master hungers…”, he whispered, which somehow carried all the way to Emeline, who looked on,
aghast. The dread axe swung in two fluid motions, and the head rolled free. No blood sprayed, as it was
turned black, and the dread axe drank greedily from the cadaver, before letting it fall, shrivelled and dry.

Yet it was not Sparrod, this avatar of destruction, which held Emeline’s gaze. It was the five warriors that
followed that chilled her to the bone.

Black and white. Lethal. They knew no fear. They were fear. They were Malice.

“Come mortals, cower. Your betters have come,” Phlaxus boomed, his voice inhumanly loud, as he
stepped forward.

Part Eleven.

Blood on a field, it drowned everyone, everything, in it’s viscous embrace. Skeletons formed great
breakwaters in this sea. A thousand dead littered the field, their eyes picked out, bleeding…

Vash began to rouse from his beautiful dreams. He was barely conscious, and could see only vague red
and gold and purple blurs, fly past his face. He felt himself being dragged. Vash tried to look at who
dragged him, but saw only the vague ape-like shape of the figure that pulled him along. It smelled of
dead flesh and oil. Servitor.

He slipped back into unconsciousness for the second time…

###
The bolt slammed into the Lychen, and his ribcage burst, flinging blood in all directions. He wailed as he
died. The battle was insane, the chaotic melees claiming victim upon victim. Emeline ran, head down,
avoiding cultist club, and astartes bolter, pieces of flesh splattering all around.

A Lychen leapt at a cultist, biting the face, and pulling free, amid screams of ecstasy. The Sons of Malice
were walking slowly, in a coldly uniform wedge, calmly entering the chaotic street brawl between cultist,
and Lychen. The howls and roars were deafening. Phlaxus turned, a dozen autogun rounds ricocheting
from his armour. He swept his Crosius around, contemptuously, smashing away the chest of the
offending cultist. He fired from side to side, into the melee. He didn’t care who he hit. They were all
enemies of He that Hates all. The bolter’s shells burst wetly amongst the tightly packed crowd, limbs
flailing, as they were shorn free of their owners.

His corrupted crozius, prised from an insane, slain Dark Apostle, long ago, crushed another cultist. The
weapon pasted through bone and muscle with ease, flashing with an eerie red light, as the cultist was
flayed, bloodily.

Sparrod danced between the various fights across the street, slaying Lychen and cultist apart, with fluid
precision and grace. They each withered to dry husks as they fell, life force drained. Emeline risked a
glance back. He was getting closer. She snatched up the serrated blade, of a fallen Lychen, as well as the
bizarre revolver of another Haemavore monster. A cultist surged forward, stumbling blindly, firing a las
pistol in all directions. Emeline fired through his knee, before sweeping her blade across his face, causing
his head to lurch back, skull cleaved.

“Come here, Emeline! I just want to talk!”, Sparrod whispered, his voice louder than a gale, black eyes
glimmering, as he deflected a Lychen, thrusting a bayonet, into a cultist, before severing the Lychen’s
neck with a back hand slash.

Phlaxus swung his crozius in a low arc, gutting or flooring a dozen combatants at once. He stamped down
on the live ones, abruptly silencing their screams. A Lychen leapt onto his chest, sinking meat hooks into
the soft areas of his armour. He looked into the feral man that snarled back, his face a ruin. Phlaxus
threw his head forward, and he felt something break, and the Lychen dropped, limp.

“Amateurs.”, he grumbled, firing into a cultist, that whirled around a huge fail, chanting. His voice
stopped, when the bolter blew the man apart at the seams, in a gory detonation of bone and meat.
Emeline stabbed forwards, embedding her blade in the eye of a cultist. He screeched, and grabbed her,
yelling praises. “Blessed be her beauty… beauty in pain. Our beloved!”, the madman gurgled insanely, his
hands wrapped around her throat, choking her. Suddenly, strong hands gripped the man’s head, pulled
up, and twisted. The man’s head and spinal column slid free, in a shower of gore, drenching her totally in
his entrails. Her saviour smiled, the young Lychen bellowing the Lychen war chant. A gout of flame
spread over the battle, engulfing the Lychen, who turned, burning, and charged off, drawing a short axe,
even as his flesh sloughed off in greasy glob lets.

Emeline rolled, firing at Sparrod, who was vaulting the combats, to reach her. She pulled at something at
her belt, and flung it. Sparrod easily struck the thing, before it hit him. As it was a frag grenade, however,
this didn’t help. He was suddenly flung back by the blast, which also shredded the flesh of a Lychen and
two Cultists. He fell away from view.

“Disengage, my Brethren! To the heavy weapons, in the Chimeras!”, Emeline called out, with as much
authority as she could muster. Eventually, the Lychen pulled back, firing behind sporadically, at the
pursuing Cultists. Few cultists gave chase. They were more concerned by the black and white terrors
behind them. The Sons of Malice poured lethal fire into the crazed mob, blasting apart a chaos slave with
every shot.

The Lychen guard (and the few Cadians that came with them.), reached the rearmost chimeras. The ones
that stored the larcenous and auto cannons of the Lychen. The guns were pulled free of cthe storage
bowels they were kept in, pouring thick blood all over the ground. Other Lychen mounted the chimera
multi lasers.

Phlaxus smashed his weapon down again and again, brain matter splashing onto his blank helm. No one
here was worthy of his efforts. He was shooting his bolter without aiming now, as every shot was a kill
anyway. Brother Hajmar fired his flamer into the mob, melting the faces of a dozen cultists in the
consuming fires. Sparrod was just rousing, his shadowy armour re-knitting itself, as he rose.

“I’ll kill her!”, he hissed, dread axe growing fractionally larger. Phlaxus held him back, with a gesture.
“Nay, dark prince. Remember our primary objective. The daemon Asyxzh, must die. Emeline will be dealt
with. In time”. A cultist fired a stubber, which struck Phlaxus in the temple. He swung backwards,
decapitating the human with but a gesture.
The cultists were fleeing. Phlaxus paused, confused. They hadn’t ran from his marines. Who could they
fear more than them. A searing lascannon beam cleft through Hajmar’s head, burning a perfect hole
through his temple. Even as he fell, a dozen more shots slammed into the marines, forcing them to
tighten formation, to protect Sparrod. The cultists were not so lucky. The auto cannons and laser
weapons exploded amongst them, as they fled, blasting many to the floor, shattering bones and
rupturing flesh.

Phlaxus stared out, to see who commanded the Lychen gun emplacements. A woman, all coated red,
yelled atop a chimera’s hull, swinging her arms, like some goddess of war. Phlaxus shouted to Sparrod, as
the marines fell back, to retreat positions, “You have to admit, she is impressive…. For a human.”.

Emeline looked into the gloom, trying to penetrate the dense blackness with her vision. The marines,
Sparrod. They had gone, melted back into the shadows. “They must be chasing the cultists.”, she
concluded, turning to the most bestial Lychen (a sure sign of authority in this army of heathens).

“We consolidate here. Take the flesh of the enemies if you choose. I need to know where we are, before
I go charging off after those… astartes.”

She looked back, into the deepening darkness, and Emeline considered something. If Sparrod knew her,
and hated her, why hadn’t he made a move? Emeline then realised: He may already have. She just hasn’t
realised yet…

Part Twelve.

Vash was fully awake now, as another electrical surge stabbed up into his nervous system. He looked
around, but could not move. He struggled, but eventually turned his head, to look at his arms. Each arm
was stretched across the two spars of a Y shaped construction, which was propped up vertically, leaving
Vash to dangle, his arms bound by thick razor wire, and thin silver nails driven through each forearm, His
brutal eyes focussed, on the figure before him.

The woman was tall and slender, her skin a well oiled tan shade, while her ebony hair cascaded down
her shoulders and back. Her cruel face was twisted into a grin of sick enjoyment, her electro whip coiling
around her feet, ready to strike him again. She was clad in bizarre brass armour, reminiscent of
gladiatorial armour, as it actually covered little of her voluptuous figure.

She grinned, feral and menacing, “See? See how the Emperor’s finest have fallen. They believed we
could be tamed, defeated”, she lashed out with her whip, the sensation stinging and painful to Vash, “yet
we cannot be defeated. Not while our beloved lives! She will scour you all away, and tear at your souls
for all eternity!”. She was laughing, gesturing to the other prisoners, who whimpered pitifully in iron
cages, all around Vash.

Vash could just make out the uniforms of menials, adepts, and arbites, among the broken men. No
women though, Vash considered, as the woman lashed him again. It was not the pain that made Vash
howl, each time the thing struck, it was the simple fact their was no blood spilt while doing it. Each of
her lashes left no scars, no cuts, and it drove Vash insane. He roared, and snarled and hissed, and
struggled against the constraints.

“You seem angry, little dog. Maybe I should continue? It would be so pleasurable. Observe, weak little
men things, how we can break all of you.”. Vash listened, and knew she spouted rhetoric. She was
deluded. Vash knew that this rebellion survived for one reason only: the Emperor didn’t care about this
little backwater enough. He smiled at the thought, bitterly.

The beautiful woman before him noticed his bizarre grin, and hissed, stepping closer to him, “You
believe you are strong, little man? My mistress rules this quadrant of the hive. She is Gluxor, the
Castratrix. She has torn the manhood’s of a hundred thousand men to shreds. No man can cut her,
Prince Slannesh ensured this.

You will be broken open by her soon enough, when the pit opens. You will not have a long wait, don’t
worry. We will take all ten of you”, she gestured to the other prisoners, “today, at noon. The Castratrix
will then take away your pride, and honour, and bravery!”, her voice trembled, so full of spite it was.

Vash mumbled something, through his slack mouth, his head lowered. She smiled, leaning closer, “What
did you say? Are you begging? Oh, by the four gods, you’re pathetic.”, she mocked, her tone even more
venomous. She moved closer, to hear his whispered words.

“So easy.”, he whispered, as he suddenly threw his body forward, straining against the restraints.
However, his head wasn’t restrained, as it lunged forwards, and seized the female cultist by her throat,
lifting her up in his metal jaws. She was bleeding, and struggled desperately, stabbing at him with
anything to hand, including the metal knives she was intending to torture him with. Vash could taste the
blood, rolling down his throat, and could not resist. He bit down, hard, and she stopped struggling
forever, her legs going limp. He then spat her out, letting her crumple to the floor, dead.

Vash strained and strained, his thick muscles bulging in exertion, until the thin nails were pulled free of
the Y- shaped thing, and he clattered to the floor. He tore at the razor wire, with his metal teeth.
Eventually, through the screech on metal on metal, he ripped the wire free. The area below the pit was
stiflingly hot, and Vash took a few moments to regain his senses. This place looked like the armoury of
the old fighting pit, back on dear Lychen, Vash reminisced.

He could hear the thudding beat of the crowd, in the stalls above, who stamped on their seats, and
cheered, impatient. They wanted a show. Vash walked around, and realised he had no equipment on his
person. No armour, no weapons, not even clothes. That woman’s fellow pit fighters would be coming to
check on her soon. He searched frantically around, tipping over tables and weapon racks, searching for
some arms. He swiftly found his pelt, and swung it around his shoulders, affixing the bone barb, that
served as a pin on the cloak.

As he searched, he spotted a stone safe, emblazoned with a crudely painted Slanneshi mural, which
obscured the more substantial Imperial aquila, which was etched into the stone. He took up a piece of
metal pipe, and slammed it on the lock around the thing, taking only two shots to smash off the lock,
before he flung the safe open. He smiled, as he recognised the preserved bodies. The clocks in their
chests, frozen in their set time. The time the beasts had, before they died.

Chrono-Gladiators.

“Time to see how real gladiators fight, I think.”, Vash muttered to himself.

###

Reheinhart knew they were lost. He would not admit it to his underlings, of course, but that didn’t
change anything. They were lost. The gloom only got darker, the further they passed along the passage.
Plus, the clack clack of talons on tiles never seemed to be far away. It was as if they were being assessed,
examined, by the shadowy things that moved in the dark.

The chimera was slow. The machine had taken a lot of punishment, it’s sides were buckled, it’s turret
mangled (thanks to the useless gunner, who even now, sat on the front of the chimera, smoking.
Reheinhart would have normally shot the little whelp, but he needed all of his men (no matter how
useless). The Commissar looked out of the hole where the multi laser used to be, and glared, blinkingly,
at a huge shaft of light in the distance.

“What’s that?”, Balshan asked, looking almost interested.

The shaft of light must have been caused by the vast comet thing, that was embedded in the grey sludge
ground, blast doors open. Blast doors?

“I’m…I’m not certain. Shine the torch onto it.”, Reheinhart ordered. The white searchlight stabbed at the
metal pod. It’s sides were black and white, and it’s paint was stripped at the bottom. Re-entry burns.

“It’s a drop pod.”

“Marines?”, Balshan asked.

“Not ours, Balshan. The crusade doesn’t have any marines in it’s forces.”

Balshan nearly spat out his iho stick, “Chaos marines! Cultists, fine. Not Chaos marines! They killed so
many during the Daemos campaign. I lost my whole platoon!”, Balshan spluttered. Reheinhart merely
smiled thinly.

“Glad to see you’re finally motivated. I was beginning to believe you didn’t care about this holy crusade.”,
Reheinhart laughed, ironically.
The chimera fell. No warnings, no screech of metal, the floor simply crumpled, as if made of tissue paper.
Luckily, the drop was not far, and Balshan was not thrown too far, only skittering a few yards, before
striking a metal console. Reheinhart clattered backwards, into the cabin, landing squarely onto Henmar.

Balshan rose, dazed and very confused. The walls of this chamber were covered in tapestries of the
Imperium, and all the machinery was shining and well cared for. The most strange think was the people.
The adepts shuffled along, in perfect lines, all looking down, clad in grey robes, with aquila stitched onto
the front in white thread. None of them talked, and they all carried sheets of parchment, taking them to
vast machines, which devoured the papers, before other machines regurgitated slightly different papers,
which other adepts shuffled over, and picked up. The adepts were all doing this, moving backwards and
forwards, purposefully, but pointlessly.

Balshan moved amongst them, shaking their shoulders, trying to get a response from them. They simply
looked into his face, sadly, barely recognising Balshan as human.

“What are you doing! There’s a war on! Get to cover! Don’t you even care?”, he asked desperately,
moving amongst them. He snatched a sheath of papers from an adept, who continued moving, as if he
still had them firmly in his grasp.

“What is this?”, Balshan asked, stunned by the apathy of the adepts.

“That’s the way of the Aministratum, Private Balshan. They are loyal to the Imperium, to the very end.”,
Reheinhart replied.

“Yet they don’t fight, even when the enemy’s on their own doorstep?”

“They are not fighters. They are bureaucrats. These adepts are still doing their Emperor given duty. They
just haven’t got a central command structure anymore. They will carry on, filing and re-filing, until a
Adeptus senioris informs them otherwise.”, Reheinhart responded. He barely cared, until he spotted the
lift, at the far end of the hall of pointless paperwork.
Henmar wasn’t really listening to either of them. He just followed, carrying Reheinhart’s equipment on
his back, clutching a lasgun to his chest. He couldn’t get the image of his mind being shot to ash. He
would die. He skulked after the others, looking around furtively, eyes darting.

“Quickly now! We’ve got to get that lift. Hopefully, no one in the heretic army has realised it is still
connected to the main hive tower!”, Reheinhart uttered, almost excited.

“What about these people?”, Balshan demanded, gesturing at all the adepts.

Reheinhart stopped, “What about them? They are of no consequence . We must go.”

Before they could set off, the three men heard something drop into the chimera behind. They turned,
and could hear the other two drivers screaming, as something was cutting and shredding their flesh.

Simultaneously, the trio drew their weapons. The abhorrences had caught up with them. They would be
ready.

###

The arena was round, and covered with sand. Sand stained blood red, with the death of a hundred men.
The Castratrex ripped down, taking the guts out of another man, and threw him away. She was tall, six
foot at least, and shimmered with glistening sweat. Her hands were silver shears, which cut apart the
pathetic enemy. The enemy here, was the weak willed men of the loyalist contingent of Saris. These men
were stripped to the waist, and cowered as they were killed. Spineless.

They were all broken, and Castratrex’s beautiful female gladiators danced between them, each slice a
disembowelling one. The dark horn sounded again. It signalled the next round of slaughter, with fresh
victims.
For a moment, nothing happened. Slowly, the great iron doors to the arena opened. From within the
arena’s depths, emerged a man. The giant was clad in only a thick pelt, and wielded a hammer and a
huge scimitar. Unlike the other men things, he walked with a confident swagger, while blood dripped
from his many wounds. His body was almost lost under swirling tribal tattoos, which covered his torso.
His smile was a silver bear trap of a smile, as he slowly spun the weapons around him.

Vash walked forward, gazing at the spikes which lined the arena, each one impaling a man through the
crotch, coming out through his mouth. Charming, Vash thought. He could see the giant woman, with
shear hands, and thick tentacles for hair. He gazed about him, at the wary gladiatresses, who circled him.
“Come. I have come to face you, Castratrex! I am Vash. I have heard you cannot be cut. I wish to test that
theory!”, his throaty voice boomed, easily carrying in the humid air. The crowd hissed and booed, until
the Castratrex spoke.

“All talk, Imperial. The prince of excess shall ensure my victory. You will be broken, like the rest, when I
am through!”, her voice echoed, shrill and loud.

The five gladiatrixes leapt at him, blades raised. The first lost her, head, as he swung around. Another
wrapped a chain around his arm. He pulled her off balance, into the path of a third woman’s great axe.
Axe embedded in her compatriot, she drew a dagger. Vash smashed his hammer into one, caving in her
head, as the fifth one lunged with a spear. Vash caught the spear tip with his jnees, and rolled. This
disarmed her, and he evaded the knife woman’s strike.

Vash swept his blade backwards, taking the knifewoman’s legs off at the knees. She toppled, in a
fountain of gore. The spear woman kicked him in the face, but he caught her foot, biting down. She
wailed, picking up a gladiatrixe’s trident. He pulled her, with his teeth, off balance, before hacking down
with his scimitar. Another head rolled.

The arena was silent, save for the sound of Vash chewing, like a dog, on one of the gladiatrixes’ legs. The
Castratrix clapped slowly, mockingly, her claps sounding like a butcher sharpening his cleavers.

She clicked her talons, and sixty cultist emerged at the edge of the crowd stands. These were different to
the ones on the bridge. Where they were naked fanatics, these men looked professional, deadly, faces
covered by gas masks, styled in the form of snarling devil’s masks. They trained long lasrifles on Vash,
aiming carefully.
“We fight, mortal. You die. This is inevitable.”, she smiled, ferally. Suddenly, there was a series of sounds,
like grox being gutted, the roars inhuman and fierce. The crowd stands erupted into panic, as the
frenzied chrono- gladiators leapt into the masses above, gutting spectator and cult trooper alike, in their
unholy fury. Several cult troops were knocked off the stands, by stampeding spectators, who ran for their
lives. These troopers fell onto the spikes, and screamed no more.

The Castratrex roared, inhuman and hideous, before she lunged at Vash. She was so fast, blow after blow
raining down. He fell back, sweating, only just managing the hold off the frenzied strikes. One sliced his
knee, another cut across his back. As she fell, he tackled her to the ground, using strength over skill. He
hacked at her supple body, his scimitar rising and falling rapidly. She wouldn’t bleed. She just laughed,
and punched him in the face, sending him flying backwards, landing heavily on his back.

As she rose, he considered a different approach. He jumped up. She leapt at him. The two met, mid
stride. His hammer slammed into her gut, and she doubled up, collapsing. She began to cough blood.

Vash stood over her, and smiled his hideous smile, “Night night!”, he rumbled, his voice sonorous and
monstrous. He swung the hammer down six times, until he was sure she would not rise. He looked up
from his grisly work, and watched the gladiators tearing through all people arround, and watched the
soldiers panic, flailing, firing wildly.

Vash threw his head back, and laughed, long and gutteral.

Part Thirteen.

The cultist-sorcerer flicked desperately through his tome. Their must be the right incantation here. He
was running, with his broken cultists. Behind them, the four black and white devils walked slowly,
deliberately. Before them, the wiry man with the hellish axe walked, gracefully and deadly, cutting down
straddlers with contemptuous ease.

This was the page. “Narhaarxx torveash caloux barheaz!”, he screamed, shrill and unsure. He was no
psyker, so didn’t know if this would work.
From a place beyond sanity, something listened. It would allow itself to enter the mortal plane. It would
destroy the black thing, that polluted the air. It was a servant of He who Hates, and it could not be
allowed to endure.

Sparrod felled cultist after cultist, dread axe feasting upon their essences each time. He shuddered with
joy, every time one died. The axe whispered to him. It knew what was coming, and it wished to feast
upon it. Sparrod smiled to himself. He would let it feast.

They were deep into the hive, Phlaxus knew this, as he fired his bolter into a group of cultists, shattering
their bodies to bloody pulps in moments. They were close to the main concentration of the enemy. His
group had to be quick. Sparrod must fulfil his promises to the lord of self destruction. A bleeding cultist
vainly tried to raise a lasgun to his shoulder. Phlaxus put a bolt through his mind, and liquefied its
contents.

The air around a scruffy looking cultist, wielding a huge totem, began to swirl. Began to distort. The four
Sons of Malice knew the scent that filled the air. Daemonflesh. The world appeared to turn purple,
before the still- smoking forms of ten Daemonettes stepped into reality, as ten cultists froze and blew
apart, their roles performed. The wide, dusty boulevard was silent, as the last cultists fled deeper into
the hive, their sanity finally broken.

The two groups gazed at one another. On one side, the daemonettes stepped around each other, licking
lips with long, purple tongues, talons retracting and extending impatiently, as their ethereal forms
scorched the ground around them with their coldness. At the other end, the four Sons of Malice stood
perfectly still, silent and unafraid. Three practiced their aims, while Phlaxus unhitched his Crozius.
Sparrod spun his dread axe in wide arcs, dark energy playing around his axe head.

This is not the time. Conserve your energies. These minnows are of no concern to you.

The insidious voice of his master rattled in his mind, and Sparrod felt a great pain, as the psychic force of
them struck him. “B-But master. They are enemies of you.”, pleaded Sparrod.

Let Phlaxus kill them. You must save your power for slaying Asyxzh. Only the banishment of a greater
Daemon can release me. My full power.
Sparrod nodded, praying the psychic bellow would pass, as his nose ran with black blood. Phlaxus turned
to Sparrod, concerned, “Problem, dark prince?”

“Protect me Phlaxus.”, Sparrod muttered, catching his breath, as his master released his mind.

The Daemonettes screeched inhumanly, rattling the ancient windows, as they charged, trailing freezing
warp fire. The Sons charged forward to meet them, firing carefully. A bolt passed into a Daemonette,
blasting out wards, in a blaze of a million colours. One daemon lunged onto a marine’s shoulders,
plunging talons into his collar. He roared, and spun around, trying to dislodge her. She ripped down,
splitting him in two. Phlaxus slammed his bolter into the mouth of one snarling thing, shattering teeth,
before he fired. The daemonette shattered to ash in moments.

Two more daemons were caught by marine bolts, shattering to nothing, howling as they died. Two leapt
a Narn, the biggest of the marines. He caught them in each arm, dropping his guns. S their ethereal
claws rended his armour, and pierced his brain, he jumped forward, crushing them with his weight.
Phlaxus spun around, beheading one with his power weapon, and the body of the thing shrivelled and
split apart, leaking scented oils. Two more daemonettes circled Phlaxus.

Brother Horbane raised his power fist high, as he stared down the daemonette before him. She seemed
so delicate and frail, as she stared at him with beautiful, azure eyes. The eyes were so innocent. How
could he destroy such beauty. The daemonette slinked closer to him, thin tail coiling around Horbane’s
upper thigh. She reached up to his head, and undid the helmet clasps, one by one. His helmet rolled
free, and he smiled at her beautiful features, as she kissed him on the lips. He then felt the horrific chill,
as her long talons slid carefully into his chest, up through the diaphragm, and into his two hearts.

Horbane felt anger, as he could sense his blood freezing. He was dying, but what was worse, he had
betrayed his own beliefs. She was still smiling, and kissing his face, even as he turned pale, his blood
freezing. He slammed his power fist into his chest plate, in the traditional Astartes salute. This both
cratered his chest, and obliterate his opponent.

They were fast. Phlaxus’ bolt pistol fell, severed in two, as he dodged the second’s thrust for his guts. He
slammed his crozius down, hard, only to be blocked by the inhuman beasts. The first jabbed at him, but
he grabbed the second, flinging her into her evil sister. The two things clattered to the floor, hissing and
spitting like vipers in a trap, as they rose. One lunged, whispering alarming secrets of Phlaxus’s past. His
love Roaana, before his ascension. The daemonette seemed to look like her, as she laughed, claws raised.

Phlaxus swung his weapon two-handed. The daemon fell apart at the midriff, spattering him with boiling
devil blood. The other one growled, and charged at him. It boweled him over, and he struck the concrete
solidly. His weapon slid from his grasp, as the thing squatted on his chest, writhing sensuously, talons
unsheathing. Phlaxus snarled, and thrust his fist forward, entering the things bountiful bosom. It howled,
and turned an angry purple, eyes aflame. Phlaxus pulled out before she could react. The monster burst
into a billion particles of multi-hued dust, before Phlaxus dropped the black, venomous heart of the
thing, and rose.

“You could have helped, Sparrow.”, Phlaxus complained.

Sparrod shook his head, bemused, “No, I couldn’t. I though they were the best of your Chapter?”,
Sparrod jibed him casually, as the two set off once more, after the cultists.

Phlaxus scowled at him, “No, I am the best. I have never been bested yet.”, Phlaxus responded.

Sparrod smirked, “That must drive you insane, mustn’t it?”, Sparrod mocked.

Phlaxus nodded, “He who Hates All will provide.”, Phlaxus maintained, confidently, before the two beings
were lost in the consuming darkness of the deep settlement.

###

Emeline’s group rumbled through the decrepit streets, which were still eerily quiet. Emeline gazed
around, at the murels and slogans which covered the walls of the dead buildings. She wished she could
read the language used on the posters, as the images confused her. Humans shaking hands with silver
men, and constantly images of smiling people, as well as the planet of blue seas. This may even be one
of the first human colonies ever.
Her convoy of chimeras rumbled onwards, trying to find a new way through the maze-like undercity.
Bored, she flipped through her vox channels idly. Most were static, while Vash’s was filled with animal
braying, las fire, and his own gurgling laugh, ugly and harsh. The ones after that were static too.

The Lychen, and the ragged Cadians, who had taken to the Lychen way rapidly, cut at scraps of bloody
flesh of their enemies, biting into the meat before tossing it over the side of their chimeras casually.

This confused Emeline. Why did the Lychen way of life appeal to people? She guessed it must be the
letting go of people’s humanity. All the Imperium’s soldiers knew they were committing inhuman acts
every single moment, yet they had to keep up the pretense that they were decent humans. It was a lie,
of course, self denile. Humanity refuses to aknowledge the monster within itself. The Lychen didn’t. They
had accepted who they were, what they were, and that made them free. Emeline knew that the
Imperium acts like it does, on the sinsere hope that the future generations would not have to be like it.
This didn’t make it any easier. She had murdered millions in the name of him, and she was tired of
claiming it was for a greater good. It wasn’t.

She liked it.

A throaty boom broke her from her pondering. It was a battle cannon shot, unmistakeable. Another rang
out, followed by another boom, and another.

“Ready yourselves, my brethren!”, Emeline yelled out across the mob of Lychen, that howled and drew
cruel blades, in readiness, licking bloody lips of all the crimson gore already coating them. The group
rounded the corner, and witnessed a bizarre sight.

A Leman Russ (a Lychen configured Leman Russ), was reversing in small ciecles, firing it’s vast cannon at
the buildings all around, sending masonry flying all around, like some unearthly snowstorm of debris.
The Russ then charged forwards, and fired it’s gun into one of the vast supports for the hive spire. Of
course, the gigantic support was safe from being truly damaged by the shot, but a section of it was still
blow from it.
“They’ll bring the damn roof down on us!”, Emeline muttered, trying to hail the internal vox of the Russ.
When she did, she could only distinguish the howls and angry shouts of the Lychen crew inside.

++Damn this hatch! Warp take it! Arrghh!++

Emeline tried to calm them.

++Crew of Leman Russ 45-3, cease fire! Immediately, by order of Commissar Emeline.++

The screaming and bellowing continued, and the tank fired a wild shot, that struck an old, dilapidated
delivery vehicle in the square, which detonated in a vast conflagation. Emeline decided to try another
method.

++This is Commissar Emeline. Corporal Vash demands that you cease. Now!++

The tank fell silent, gun quiet, along with it’s engines.

Emeline moistened her lips, before continuing, ++Now. What is the problem, Lychen?++

++We can’t get the hatch open. We have been driving around here for at least six hours, alone. Where is
everyone? Something tried to get in, but we shook it off. Our sensors are damaged. We need to see, and
get out of here. We need to feast. Two of us have already been killed.++

++Stay still, and we shall free you. Emeline out.++

Emeline stared at the tank, with it’s sides the colour of dried blood, and pondered. “Graxer!”, Emeline
yelled out, and a hulking Lychen, with a pelt of human skin, and shark fangs driven into his skull,
emerged from one of the chimeras. He was covered with bandoliers, filled with grenades and explosives.
“How much explosive would it take to open a Leman up?”, Emeline enquired. Graxer’s eyes lit up, and he
smiled, revealing golden fangs.

Emeline frowned, “Without killing the occupants, preferably.”. Graxer noticeably sagged, and lost his
smile.

The detonation was deafening, as the mushroom of white fire rose high, shattering the hatch of the tank
instantly. The fire was channelled up during the blast. While impressive, it did little structural damage.
Graxer evidently knew his trade well.

Emelie’s men, however, were not the only ones to hear the mighty blast. The abhorrences were moving
again, claws on the hard floor creating their tell tale clack clack, which echoed all around, as they
approached.

###

The image of Saris’ Primary hive spun languidly, in the heliolithic image generated on board Luthor’s
Spear. The vast Retribution class battleship, flagship of the entire crusade, glided silently through the
void, orbiting Saris, like some vast shark waiting for a sea leviathan to die.

Lord General Mobis was sweating. He could not fail, not if he wanted to live through the night. His
advisors congregated around the vast display, all just as nervous. His chief Astropath sat quietly, head
bowed, oblivious to everyone else’s nerves.

“Any word from the Lychen contingent?”, the General asked his aide, a spidery gentleman, with a a
spineless demeanour to match.

“Nay, my Lord.”, the man said gravely, adjusting his glasses nervously.
“Damn those headstrong swine! They’ve put this whole offensive in jeopardy! He will not like this.”, Lord
General Balhoot moaned.

The sound of heavy boots could be heard approaching, setting down a steady and ominous beat, onto
the metal plates of the corridor outside the viewing chamber. The blast doors hissed, as they were flung
open.

“I hope this is not bad news you have called me here for.”, Darvius threatened, his voice cold and full of
menace. Darvius’ dark jade trench coat whipped about him, as he stormed into the chamber, dark eyes
scrutinising every single person in the room. His clipped short beard gave his angular face even more
sharp edges, his bald head plugged with small cables, that trailed back behind him, disappearing into his
jacket. At his eldow, a tall man, in dark black attire, stood impassive, his rebreather preventing any
reading of his emotion.

“Progress report.”, Darvius demanded.

Balhoot cleared his throat, “Ahem. Our glorius forces have breatched the northern defence quadrant,
and have pierced deep into the heart of the hive.”

“What of the other three contingents?”

“They are still held up by the extensive fortifications in their respective quadrants. Basilisks and
marauder bombers have been deloyed, to destroy any defensive emplacements on the actual south,
west and east gates, but they cannot destroy the actual emplacements on the hive tower itself.”

Darvius seemed impatient, “So. How fares the Lychen and Cadian forces, inside?”

Balhoot gulped down his nerves, and muttered, “We… lost contact with the battle group, moments after
they entered the hive structure.”, Balhoot whimpered, quivering with fear.
Darvius sneered, “Jaxx! Action 12-D!”, Darvius called out, and the dark uniformed man struck Balhoot,
through the heart, with a long blade that slid from his wrist sheath. Balhoot coughed up a trickle of dark
blood, before collapsing.

The commanders stood, dumbstruck, unsure how to react. Darvius scowled.

“I’m not as forgiving as I was in my youth, gentlemen. The Emperor’s Inquistion does not tolerate failure.
You!”, Darvius pointed to the chief astropath, who turned, regarding Darvius with unseeing eyes.

“Yes, m’lord?”

“Do you detect warp presence down there?”

The astropath reached out with his mind. He saw a beautiful, hideous beast, vomiting forth colours,
which were cultists, who drowned the planet with agony. They praised her. Beloved, they cried. A
shadow moved amongst the colours. The lord of Hatred returns, from long exile. He is Shadow, malice.
Loathing.

The Astropath was suddenly flung from his chair, eyes firing blood from them, like a fountain. “Malal!
Malal! MALAL!”, he screeched. Darvius fired his needle pistol into the psyker, silencing his screams.

“It would seem we are dealing with something far worse than insurrection. You there.”, Darvius pointed
to the spidery man, “You will take command of the ground forces. You will sound an advance, if the
emplacements are firing or not, when I give the word, not a second before. Understand?”

The man nodded.

Darvius turned to the Captain’s representaive, “You can tell the captain, to be ready for my signal. If we
get no word from the Lychen Guard, within seven hours, I want the Luthor’s Spear to fire precision lance
strikes, and melta torpedo barrages, into the hive tower. I want the Throne damned devils in that tower
entombed. I want the place turned to molten slag. Are we clear?”, Darvius demanded, receiving a
clipped affirmative, before the representative ran off to fulfil his purpose. Darvius was talking quickly, in
rapid bursts.

This whole crusade may be in jeopardy, if Darvius didn’t act fast. While he was agitated and rushed, Jaxx
remained silent, his rebreather goggles mechanical and expressionless.

Part Fourteen.

Reheinhart fired his pistol, but the things were so quick. They were pale blurs, that darted all around.
Henmar was firing wildly with his lasgun, yelling incoherently, while Balshan fired disciplined volleys,
that, while inaccurate, kept the phantoms at bay.

“Head to the lift!”, Reheinhart yelled, firing backwards as he ran, shoving through the adepts. The two
guardsmen followed, sprinting as fast as they could. Henmar felt the blood pulsing in his head, as he
gasped for breath, pumping his legs with all his might. He could hear the dull tones of the adepts, as the
abhorrences cut through them, hissing and growling menacingly, as they gave chase.

A pale blur lunged up, onto a data stack, trying to overtake the trio. Balshan fired from the hip, his bolt
striking the thing. It toppled, colliding as it fell, with Reheinhart. He flipped head over heels, slamming
into the hard marble. The screams of the dying picked up in volume, though none of the adepts broke
formation.

Reheinhart shook his head, clearing his dazed thoughts, and looked down. The thing before him stared,
lifeless, with a fixed death-grin. The thing was covered in carapace, and had a bulbous head, metal
contraptions forced into it’s cranium. No, this had to be a mistake, he thought.

“Sir!”, Henmar yelled, as he turned, to see the commissar kneeling on the floor, as one of the multi-
limbed monsters leapt over the crowds of adepts. Henmar fired, blasting a perfect, smoking hole into the
beast’s forehead. The device in it’s head shattered, and it’s eyes glazed, before it collapsed. Reheinhart
was forced into awareness, and rose, breaking into a run once more.

Balshan stumbled. He was so close to the lift. He looked up then, and saw an abhorrence that had sped
forward, bypassing the other two men. It crawled down the metal tube, that sprung from the giant
juddering machine before him. Before he could raise the weapon, the thing had closed the gap, and
plunged a vast taloned limb into his chest, pulling it up to eye level. It’s jaws snapped shut once.

Reiheinhart shot the thing above it’s left eye, as it feasted on Balshan’s corpse. It shrieked, and turned
around, to meet the Cadian charged. Henmar fired his gun, blasting away a leg, as Reheinhart fired again
and again, until the thing toppled backwards. They didn’t stop running once.

The abhorrences were mere feet behind now, as the two men fell into the lift. Hemar slammed his boot
on the door control, and the thick door began to slide shut. One creature bounded forwards, talons
outstretched, as the door sealed. The monster thrashed insanely screeching and flailing, as the lift rose.
It made a final scream, before it was caught between two floors, and burst in half, in a gory splash of
alien ichors, splattering the Cadians.

The commissar put two las bolts through the corpse’s head, just in case.

“The Emperor protects.”, Reheinhart gasped, sucking in great lungful of air. Hemar was doing just the
same. Hemar turned to Reheinhart.

“What were those things? Never seen them in a chaos horde before.”

Reheinhart was frowning, “Well, something strange isn’t exactly unusual among the forces of the ruinous
powers, but yes they were unexpected. I’ve only every seen them once before.”

Henmar looked intrigued, “Where?”

Reheinhart grimaced, humourless, like a shark, “Ymgarl.”

###
The monsters surged through the dark, all stealth abandoned. The prey were near. The abhorrences
scuttled with the speed of quicksilver, limbs pounding rapidly, driving them onto their prey.

###

“My lord, the abhorrences have engaged guard contingents in the old city complexes.”, a robed cultist
hissed sibilantly, under his deep red hood.

Haldan stood atop his grand gold throne, helm worn upon his head, gleaming, while the serpent things
coiled around his muscular chest. “Good. What of the cult units in the city?”, he called out, to no one in
particular. He didn’t care who responded. They were all inferior to him. Another cultist looked up from
his pict display.

“I-It has been routed, milord…”

Haldan snarled, raising his pistol, “Why? Why? Why! By whom?”, he growled, firing nearby the cultist,
who flinched.

“They call themselves the Sons of Malice-”, the cultist started, before he fell back, head pierced by a
blast of las fire. Haldan stampped his feet, insolently.

“Not marines! You promised me victory beloved!”, he screamed, to the air.

“Someone, tell me. Has the Castratrix completed her rituals of flesh sacrifice?”

Another cultist cleared his throat, “Nay, most indefeatable lord. We have lost contact with her forces.”
Haldan shot the man through the face, and slumped into his chair, rubbing his temples, scattering the
serpent women. “Everything is going wrong!”, he moaned.

“My lord. Another unit of abhorrences have attacked two Imperials in the unclaimed area sector.”

Haldan barely responded, as he sunk lower into despair, “Umm…and I assume they have taken
casualties?”

“Y-Yes, m-my lord.”, the cultist whimpered, bowing his head in fear. Haldan didn’t bother raising his gun,
but suddenly surged to his feet. “Do you know how expensive those things were to export from Ymgarl,
along with those control devices?”, Haldane bellowed, to the air, “Help me, dear beloved!”, he called out
desperately.

I know the cost, you swine, but you wouldn’t. Scum. Sulvar’s thoughts were bitter, but silent. He was the
cult’s first leader. He was the one who should be adored, celebrated. He cursed his name, as he polished
Haldan’s unused armour, the job of all the lowest cultists.

Soon child. You shall be avenged, at the appointed time. Patience.

Sulvar wept tears of black oil, bitter and coarse, as the psychic message forced it’s way into his mind,
insidious but forceful. He smiled again.

The air simmered briefly, and the smell of evil odours filled the chamber. A blaze of a hundred shades of
fire burst forth, and a being appeared. Everyone in the room, apart from Haldan, instantly prostrated
themselves, and kneeled, faces flat to the golden floor.

Haldan smiled, “Oh beloved!”

The little girl, blond haired and innocent looking, in a small tabard of hemp, with a small aquila stitched
onto the front. The girl smiled, which expanded impossibly, revealing hideous fangs, white and needle
like. “Why have you called me forth, young one? I should tear you apart, for you insolence. But I wont.”

Haldane bowed, “Apologies. But our plans are unravelling.”

“No they aren’t. We are keeping away the rest of the Imperium’s forces, yes?”, the girl-daemon purred,
voice inhuman.

A cultist whimpered, “Yes, oh beloved one. Yes, we are holding off the enemy perfectly.”

The daemon laughed, “See? These imperial interlopers are meaningless. They will be exterminated.
There is one amongst them that worries me though.”

Haldan stared, shocked, “Who? I shall slay him in your name mistress.”

Asyxzh patted Haldane on the hip, bemused, “His name is Sparrod, and fear not. I have taken this into
account.”, the daemon giggled, passing a bizarre weapon to Haldan.

Haldan took the blade, that whispered. Whispered secrets, hideous, sinful secrets. Haldane smiled, as he
felt the long sword’s ethereal power.

“When the boy comes to slay me. You slay him first.”, the daemon ordered, voice becoming iron-hard.

The air shimmered again, and the daemon vanished, as if it had never been.

###
The Lychen fired volley after volley into the horde of alien beasts. The abhorrences clambered over each
other, to reach the guard, who just kept firing, bolts scything down hundreds of beasts. Emeline fired her
new bolt pistol over and over, the bolts bursting among the multi-limbed aliens, ichors spraying in
abstract patterns. They came from all around them, as if bleeding from the very walls. They felt no fear,
as they charged their position, hissing and screaming inhumanly. The Lychen Russ gunned it’s engines,
firing it’s cannon into the mobs of aliens, sending them scattering high into the air.

She could see the abhorrences scuttling over the Russ. Emeline yelled out, but it was too late. The beasts
leapt inside, and the roars of the beasts mingled with the roars of the jubilant Lychen inside. The noise
was brief, and the Leman Russ fountained blood from it’s hatch. The Lychen had lost.

Emeline ducked low, reloading. And praying for a miracle. Little did she know, but this miracle was about
to occur…Part Fifteen:

Borud had been called here, to oversee the defence of the main batteries. Their godly leader, Haldan the
golden, had demanded that the batteries must not fall silent. The Imperials must be repelled from Saris.

Then the delicious blasphemy could begin.

Borud walked confidently, sweeping his vast purple cloak about himself, as he observed the barricades
formed across the front of the entrance into the gun emplacements, that ran along the outside edge of
the vast column of industry, that was the hive.

The barricades were manned by his elite Balhaun. These former PDF had overthrown the old regime,
and brought about Haldan’s blessed realm. Each were armoured in deep blue carapace, faces covered by
snarling respirator’s, formed into obscene gargoyle visages. The Balhaun trained their hell guns into the
darkness of the corridor ahead, auto cannon emplacements ready.

Borud had heard reports, from the Castratrix’s petty rabble, that something was killing them, and tearing
up through to the guns, leading a rabble of ragged Imperial whelps in it’s wake. Borud laughed to
himself. Pathetic cultists. Couldn’t handle a single guardsman. He would be ground into the dust before
Borud’s weapons.
Of that, Borud had no doubt.

###

The abhorrence lunged, and the voxman tried to roll, the thing’s claw puncturing his back. The Lychen
roared, blood dribling from his mouth, as the thing lifted him to level with its own head. The Lychen
snarled, before the monster hissed, biting through his face.

The beasts swarmed over everything, killing guardsmen at every turn. The Lychen were ducked behind
their chimeras, firing sporadic bursts into the alien hordes. The beast that had just slain the voxman,
threw the corpse away, with a casual flick of it’s wrist. The voxman body tumbled through the air, before
landing. A metal piece of shrapnel plunged through the dial on the vox, the weight of the man’s body
spinning the dial to over 400 Hz in frequency, sending out a pulsing wave. The abhorrence screamed, as
the wave tore through its subdued mind.

Emeline fired again, her auto pistol bucking in her hand, as the shot blasted away the hideous face of the
alien, which squealed and fell, as another scrabled to take it’s place. Emeline was backed into the corner
of her chimera, as the monsters hauled themselves up, over the top of the vehicle, to devour the woman
within. Her next shot blasted away a limb, and a monster toppled. The wounded thing pulled itself
toward her, hissing in pleasure, dragging itself on bloodied claws. She fired again, and ended the
abomination’s life.

Graxer leapt into the fray, clambering over the turret of the APC, to save the Commissar. An abhorrence
swung at him, but he leapt back. The talon of the thing took off the Lychen’s knee, in a gory explosion of
crimson fluid. Graxer slammed his hammer around as he fell, tripping the thing. The beast rose, but
Emeline shot the animal through the throat.

The old Lychen looked across, at Emeline, and smiled, biting back pain. “Blood for the Emperor!”, he
screamed, pulling himself over the edge of the vehicle, simultaneously triggering his five melt bombs.
The chimera flipped twice, as the firey detonation dragged a dozen abhorrences and guardsmen, to
oblivion. The blast flattened over two dozen more combatants, as it swept outwards, like a strong gale.
The abhorrence squealed, as the powerful sound wave tore through its implant. The device shuddered ,
spluttered, and died. The whispers of Slannesh died away, and the wild, aroused eyes of the abhorrence
returned to their original darkness. The thing reconnected to it’s promigenetor , to the great oversoul,
that never sleeps. That never ends in its hunger. The abhorrence roared, and swung for another
abhorrence, ripping its implant from its face, in a shower of gore. This process spread, and the other,
non-liberated abhorrences turned their attentions from the Lychen, and charged the freed beasts.

Emeline could only hear whistling, as she finally focussed her vision. She tasted ash, and spat once, and a
second time. Emeline dragged herself through the ashen sludge, digging in her broken nails into the soft
earth, gagging as she swallowed another mouthful of hideous ash. She dragged herself, inch by torturous
inch, out from under the wrecked chimera, spluttering every few seconds as she did so.

The abhorrences tore and slashed. Their fangs clamped through throats, claws tore open bowels, as the
two groups of monsters attacked in a frenzy. The roars were deafening, and mingled with the screeches
of the dying beasts. The Lychen had fallen back, dragging wounded to the relative cover, of the flipped
chimera. It was then that they aimed their weapons, and fired.

Emeline’s hearing must have still been damaged. She could no longer hear the screeches of the
abhorrences. She rose, unsteadily, and looked across the battleground. The abhorrences lay, broken and
twisted, thick as autumn leaves, on the blood slicked ground. Some were smouldering quietly, while
overs were spraying blood in gory sprays. Emeline looked about her, dazed. The Lychen were staring at
the corpses in stupefied wonder, still clutching their guns uneasily.

Emeline stared once more, at the smoking charnel field. “How big was Graxer’s bomb?”, she
muttered,amazed.

###

The echoes were growing in intensity, but Borud was not worried. His men would kill all the enemy
interlopers, perfectly. The consuming darkness ahead was slowly evaporating, as the flickering light of
burning brands approached, along with the bellows and cheers of the marauding horde.

Borud drew his bolt pistol, and armed it, as he looked out into the retreating shadows. Hulking shapes
loomed into view. The crazed creatures were hunched, and bare chested. Their metal faces were dull and
blank, nailed to their bloodied bodies with metal nails. Great buzzing chain blades swung around their
flailing torsos, riveted to their bulky limbs with tight chains, which dug into their flesh.

The beasts charged forwards, screaming incoherently. The Balhaun fired repeatedly, tearing chunks from
the beasts , how just wouldn’t drop. The servitors ticked, as they continued on their mad rush. Several
detonated, as the auto cannons fired repeatedly, into the un-armoured forms.

Borud yelled, “Fire! Everyone fire!”. His men fired even more rapidly, backing away from the barricades,
to a secondary position. The chrono gladiators stumbled over the first barricade. This slowed them, as
they disentangled themselves from the sandbags and barbed wire, sparks flying in all directions. This
gave the Balhaun the perfect position, and the soldiers fired once more, opening up with flamers,
engulfing the monsters in buring promethium.

Borud suddenly yelped, as he realised that the death of these creatures hadn’t stopped the bellows.
“Ready yourselves! For our beloved!”, he hissed, as crazed Imperial survivors plunged over the
barricades, firing wild shots, with captured lasguns. Borud fired, blasting apart one at the waist, in a
splash of gore. He swung his fingers into the eyes of a dazed Imperial, pulling down. The man yelped,
and dropped his gun. Another Balhaun fired into the blinded man, scything through the man’s throat,
blood trickling down the man’s front, the man gurgling, as he collapsed.

Borud fell back, as an enemy tumbled into his front, punching his head repeatedly, before the man blew
apart from the crotch, Borud’s bolt pistol smoking. He could hear, amid the chaos of the close assault, his
men gargling, as something was cutting them down. Borud gazed up, senses confused by the flames that
rolled all around him. A Balhaun staggered forward, face a bloody mess, where something had torn at it.
A great axe suddenly took the soldier’s head from his soldiers, and the man fell, in a spray of crimson
plasma and viscera.

Borud crawled backwards, raising his bolt pistol, in shaking fingers. Before he could fire, the axe swept
out, taking it off at the elbow. A great, iron-shod boot crunched down onto Borud’s chest, forcing his
gasping breaths from his chest, as his mind raced with agony. His vision blurred, but he could just make
out the bloodied, lacerated giant that crushed his chest. The metal-jawed beast smiled, a lopsided smile.

“Blood for the Emperor.”, Vash rumbled mirthfully, and the axe descended
Part Sixteen.

Darvius was alone, on the planning bridge of Luthor’s Spear. His eyes were tired, and transfixed by the
pict images of Saris’s primary hive, it’s cannon’s blaring.

“You Lychen. You could have cost us the entire war. What am I to do with you?”, Darvius muttered. A
shadowy being appeared at his shoulder. He already knew who it was.

“Jaxx. What would you suggest?”

The man’s impassive mask betrayed no thoughts, and Jaxx was quiet for a few moments, as he
considered the question. “The Lychen Guard, regardless of effectiveness, do not fight wars efficiently.
They are headstrong, and often foolish, and are unnecessarily violent, beyond the required minimum.
They should be censured. Or eliminated.”, the acolyte buzzed, in his monotone speech patterns.

Darvius turned, and laughed bitterly, “An answer I would have expected, from one of your kind. Would
that little ’prognosis’ you just stated, have applied to all humankind, at some point? Is that the logic your
kind used, to justify what you did?”, Darvius snarled quietly, “No. I will not censure them. My collegues
once condemned another army of the Imperium, for such blood rituals and barbarism, and I would not
risk another army turning, because of my intolerance.”

“You speak of the Sons of Malice.”, Jaxx stated, the closest he got to asking a question.

Darvius nodded, and returned his view, to the battle unfolding on Saris. He could order the battleship to
fire, and cleanse the hive of cultists and Lychen. It would serve the bitch Emeline right, for what she did.
But, he wondered, was this a test of faith?. Could Darvius dash the hopes of so many, when he couldn’t
be certain he would even destroy the cult?
The astropaths had spoken of someone, a ‘failed angel’, who would turn the tide in this war. Always with
riddles, these psyker scum. That could be anyone on that planet. It could be the bitch, she failed in her
duties as an ‘angel’, a messenger for the Emperor’s word, or it could be anyone of the heretics below,
who had failed in their duties to Him on Terra.

Darvius was broken away from his thoughts, when he realised: the guns of the enemy. They had
stopped. Darvius smiled.

“That old psycho Vash, has done something! What’s happening on the ground?”, Darvius bawled down
his vox set, to the commander of the southern quadrant assault forces.

++The hive batteries have been silenced! We have begun the second wave of assault. The Cadian 101st
are heading the charge! Ave Imperious!++, the jubilant commander yelled down the vox.

“Good work Commander. Break the cult, and destroy it utterly.”, Darvius responded, before turning to
Jaxx, “Jaxx. Tell the captain not to fire. We may yet snatch a victory here…”, he mused, turning back to
the hololith.

###

Emeline’s troops fired in precision volleys, puncturing bodies with every shot. The Lychen resisted the
urge to charge. They were to only kill the cultists, guarding the maglev monorail. The cultists fired back,
in pathetic volleys. The main troops of the chaos horde were fighting outside, and hadn’t predicted a
strike at their heart. These weak willed slave-warriors broke, and fled.

The Lychen leader, Morack, turned to Emeline, eyes pleading. “Fine. Chase them. But return here
promptly.”, she muttered, rolling her eyes. It didn’t hurt to allow the Lychen to sate their urges, in a
controlled manner. But she would not accept the random out bursts that had nearly ruined them, on the
bridge. The Lychen howled, and drew hooked blades nad picks, and tore off, into the dimly lit mid-hive,
some ragged Cadian’s following. They howled, and drew their combat knives, emulating the Lychen.
Her force, her rabble, had managed to fight their way to the mid hives. Here, the lights worked, and the
heating too. It also meant far more cultists. They had fought ten forces so far, and only their better
training and ferocity had allowed the Lychen victory. Emeline found that the Lychen thrived in tight
spaces, where their combat prowess really showed through. She had passed other Lychen bands, roving
about the hive, picking off enemy groups, or avoiding the multi-limbed abhorrences, that stalked the
dark places.

Emeline kicked once, smashing the train’s side window, before she crawled inside the vehicle. She was
followed by Graxer’s apprentice, Folar. He looked with glee, at all the technology in the train.

Emeline turned him, to look in her eyes, “Get this thing moving.”, she ordered sternly. The Lychen smiled
wryly.

“We can do better than that.”, he laughed, before moving off, in search of his tools. Somewho, his
answer didn’t ease her worries in the slightest.

###

The bodies of the gun crew lay strewn around, entrails draped over every surface, like sick twisted
bunting. Vash knawed upon a thigh bone, greedily stripping off the meat, letting it slide noisily down his
gullet, blood trickling down his jaws. His band of ex-pit fighters and slaves huddled in the corner. The
chrono gladiators were all dead, their bodies destroyed by heavy gunfire. Vash was leaning on one of the
hideous, demonic earth shaker cannons, which pointed out of the grand opening, looking out over the
grey skyscape of Saris, with it’s eternal rain storms and black clouds of pollution.

He considered his next step, as he bit down on a human face, ripping back with his fangs, causing a
fountain of blood to pour forth. One of his allies plucked up the courage to approach, and suppressed
the urge to vomit. He wore the faded fatigues of a administration adept, and clutched a hell pistol
awkwardly as he spoke.

“Erm… sir, what shall we do now? W-We have reached a dead end. there are no more chambers leading
from this section, we checked. We have nowhere to go.”, the man mumbled.

Vash looked at him, “The Emperor has provide the flesh. It will empart His divine knowledge within me!
Salvation in slaughter! He will provide both, soon enough!”, Vash rumbled, his voice a resonant boom,
which carried to every corner of the gundeck. He surged to his feet, eyes wild, dropping his meat. The
young man before his raised his pistol, looking around him.

“What is it? Enemies?”, he mumbled uneasily. Vash shook his head, smiling his broken smile, blood
dribling down his cheeks.

“Not enemy. Inspiration! All of you! Help me turn this cannon.”

“Why, sir?”, the man asked. Vash seized him by the throat, and lifted.

“Don’t question me! Now all of you, come here and move this thing!”, he roared, in mirth, dropping the
choking man casually, as he began to push on the hellish cannon. Many men joined in, and the cannon
slowly, painfully, ground around, to face the inner wall.

“We shall carve a path through the hive!”, Vash yelled, his voice a near-animalistic bellow, “Now, load the
cannon!”, he growled, and men scattered to retrieve ammunition for the vast cannon.

The choked man rose, painfully, “You’re insane!”, he wheezed. Vash turned around, eyes wild with
savage delight.

“Of course I am! If I wasn’t, this probably won’t work!”, Vash rumbled. He aimed the cannon carefully,
pointing it at a section of the rear wall, that looked weakest. “Fire!”, he roared, and one of his men (a
former PDF trooper), responded, triggering the artillery piece’s firing trigger.

The thing fired, the boom deafening, the blast flattening all around it, filling the room with choking
chordite fumes. The recoil sent the gun flying backwards, toppling it over the lip of the gundeck, sending
it careening towards the battlefiel, half a mile below.

Eventually, after his ears had stopped ringing, Vash rose, coughing, as he breathed in the smoke. The
dust and smoke cleared, and Vash saw the great ragged hole, blasted into the stone wall. The shell had
passed through several walls, before it had exploded, giving Vash a new path to follow. The slaughter
could begin anew. Vash picked up his great axe, and the hell gun he had found in the Castratrix’s lair, and
charged into the hole, bawling incoherently, firing his gun wildly.

The men he commanded looked at each other. “You first.”, one told another.

###

Haddon stumbled backwards, falling onto his back. He was crawling away from the vast daemon engine,
which reared above him. This dfiler had slain his platoon in moments, claws slicing apart all in quick
motions. Haddon was covered in their blood, and the Cadian backed away, clutching his aquila necklace,
praying through his fearful tears. He was only a conscript, he knew nothing of gods and monsters, the
elder soldiers of the 101st never spoke of such things. He begged the Emperor for salvation, as the thing
advanced, claws snapping menacingly.

At that moment, a vast cannon fell, end over end, from the grey skies, and slammed onto the defiler’s
head. The beast roared once, as the falling cannon shattered it’s casing, and broke it’s wards, flattening
the machine, allowing the Cadians that followed Haddon’s platoon, to fire into the metal beast with
larcenous, ending its blasphemy once and for all.

Haddon eventually opened his eyes, to witness the blazing wreck of the defiler, with his comrades
cheering, as they charged past him, into the hive. Haddon looked down, at his aquila, before looking up
at the grey skies. That was the moment Haddon Relsharn, decided to become a preacher of the Imperial
Creed.

Part Seventeen.

Haldan smiled. He could feel the power of the thing. It crawled within his soul, like a serpent in a burrow.
The blade was twisted and long, and faces pushed their way through the blade, gibbering insanely, while
colis of semi organic things slid from the blade,fusing to his wrist. Never had he felt so connected to
Asyxzh before. He felt like he could almost touch her true form.

Haldan was drooling with delight, as he sat upon his throne, the cables from this golden throne lying,
unconnected. Soon, he would free Asyxzh from entombment, deep within the edifice. Then, she had
promised him, he could stride the battle field, a hundred metres tall, and level battlefields with fire. All
would be perfection. The joy of the hunt would be transcendent.

Sulvar was now working one of the pict viewers, in his Lord’s grand golden throne room, and his rage
was bitter and smouldering. He had a weapon too, he thought. The herald of the hateful shadow had
seen to that. The fat cultist smirked, as he felt the slim, silver dagger at his side. He felt the swirling
patterns engraved upon it. This was a killer of the possessed.

Sulvar cycled through the various pict images of the hive. Most were of empty rooms, lifeless and grey.
Others were filled with images of gaudy feasts, and decadent slaughter, amid fine silver cutlery, and
beautiful tapestries. Sulvar salivated, but reminded himself, he served a new master now. On one screen,
he noticed a vast giant, half black, half white. The thing was smashing through Balhaun troopers, like
they were toys, shattering bone and breaking backs. The crazed marine had his helm torn off, by a
mutant with a great, piston driven claw. The marine spat a globlet of acid in the beast’s eyes, and swept
his weapon around, in a wide arc, splitting the thing down the middle.

The marine must serve his lord, Sulvar realised. It must be Phlaxus the undefeatable. Phlaxus had cut a
wedge-shaped swathe, through the hordes of Balhaun, who fired all around, in confusion. They must
believe there were more enemies. Fools. But there was another combatant. It was the Herald. Sparrod
walked calmly, in the wake of Phlaxus, despatching dying enemies with every flick of his wrist, his axe
biting deep. Sulvar gasped. It was the dread axe. They had come to slay Asyxzh.

Sulvar switched to another image, as was his duty (at the moment). The image was grainy, with confused
shapes stumbling through the smoky rooms. Hellgun fire filled the chamber, and men could be heard,
gurgling as they died. A mad shape staggered into view, spraying the room with another volley of las
shots, as he swung an axe into another’s head. The man thing bellowed, his voice an animal’s. Sulvar
shivered with fright, as he looked at the maps of the mid zones. That daemon man was coming here!

Sulvar was about to yelp out to his current master, like some trained dog, until he viewed where the
madman’s crazed route would lead him. Sulvar smiled.

“You. Cult filth! Sulvar, isn’t it? What do you spy, with your little eye?”, Haldan tittered, insanely, as he
languished in his chair, serpent females, coiling upon him again.

“Nothing, oh magnificent one!”, Sulvar lied, with a smile.

###

The train was just getting faster. Emeline gripped the seat, nails digging into the fabric. “What did you do
to it?”, Emeline yelled, over the noise of the engine, which whined dangerously. The Lychen engineer
had strapped various matal spikes, and pieces of wreckage, onto the front of the monorail, as well as
doing something to the engine.

The Lychen at the helm merely laughed, and slammed the accelerator lever down, with all his strength.
The train was just getting faster and faster, and Emeline could hear the cheers of the Lychen, in the rear
section.

Emeline felt sick, for the twelfth time in two weeks. Throne, she hated Lychens.

###

Vash howled, as he spun around, slamming the cultist from his feet with his axe, sending two halves of a
man skittering away. He fired into another, blazing a searing hole into the man’s belly.

A cultist swept a hammer at Vas’s head. He ducked under the blow, hacking into the meat of the man’s
thigh, causing the cultist to topple. Vash shot him as he fell. His men were catching up, firing ahead of
Vash, into the bewildered, onrushing cult members.
These men weren’t soldiers, merely degenerate aristocrats, consumed by worship of chaos. They were
easy meat. A cultist raised a pistol, as Vash lunged forwards. He bit down on the man’s hand. He felt
bones break, as he ripped backwards. The toff yelped, and fell over. Before he landed, Vash decapitated
him, with a single stroke. Blood fountained, and drooled down the walls.

Vash vaulted another dividing wall, blast apart by the cannon, slamming his boots into a cultist’s face. He
felt something break, as the man toppled back. Vash fired as he fell, pitching several enemy from their
feet, scattering fine cutlery and table cloths. A burst of autogun fire snapped past Vash’s head, blasting
chunks of masonry fronm the wall behind. He flung himself forward, flipping the table in the process.
The men on the table stumbled off, and landed with a dull thud each.

Vash rolled over the table, embedding his axe into one’s head, as he fired into the other, whose torso
detonated bloodily. Vash yanked at the axe, desperately, but he just couldn’t get it free. Reluctantly, he
abandoned it, and ran ahead, lunging through another wall hole.

His first burst took off the Balhaun’s head. The second spun around, and fired. The weapon sent a hail of
bullets Vash’s way. He jumped aside, but one caught him in the stomach. Vash lashed out, knocking the
autogun away with his clawed hand. The Balhaun jumped at him. The two grappled for Vash’s hell gun,
for a brief moment, before Vash yanked his arms sideways, dislocating the man’s arms, before his jaws
closed around the Balhaun’s throat. A snap was heard, and the Balhaun went limp.

Vash looked around him. This was an armoury. Vash grinned, and snatched at various weapons. He took
a power maul, several more clips for his hell gun, and slid another gun into the belt holster’s on his back,
and obscured it with the wolf pelt. Eventually, his band followed him in. But, as they entered, they
realised he had already set off, at a sprint, blood trailing.

Vash was slowing. That stomach shot had been a nasty one. He felt blood in his mouth. His own. It didn’t
matter, he told himself, pushing on, clambering over the next wall.

###

Reheinhart had his eyes closed. The throbbing rhythm of the lift, as it powered up the hive, was
comforting to him. It allowed him to thing. Why had that Lychen saved him? He remembered that the
warrior had wanted him to find his revenge. Reheinhart would oblige. Every vibration was agony, to his
metal cheek augmetic, as it rattled on his face.

Henmar was sat, cross-leged, on the floor of the lift, eyes haunted by the visions. The las bolt passed
through his head, turning his mind to ash. Over and over. Was it this place driving him mad? Or was it
fate? He clutched his las gun tight.

The air became cold. Something was in there, with them. Reheinhart’s eyes snapped open, and he drew
his hell pistol. The little girl had blond hair, and wore the plain linen tabard of a schola orphan, complete
with stitched aquila. The little girl held out a hand to Henmar.

“Will you be my daddy?”, the girl said, sweet as honey, “Do you want to be my daddy? I see your mind.
No family. You want a family. Something to love. I can give you that.”, the girl said, voice growing more
powerful, and sickly sweet. The girl morphed, before the two men’s horrified eyes. She became a lithe,
beautiful woman, nude, from top to bottom, covered in fine tattoos, that coiled around her, and hurt the
eyes. She smiled. It was Emeline. The thing leaned in closer, as Henmar rose, backing away. It licked his
face.

“Ohhh… this is what you desire. Of course. Base lust. My favorite.”, the beast purred, fangs growing
longer, as a forked tongue slid out of the creature’s mouth, and coiled sensuously, around Henmar’s
shoulders. He gibbered, eyes wide in fright. “Tell me. Do you come to destroy one such as I? Or will you
free me from the beloved’s grasp?”, she pressed herself against Henmar, whispering in a husky voice. “I
can show you such things. It would rend you mind. But what is more, you will beg for another sight all
the same.”

A zap and crack rang out, in the cabin. The daemon turned, feeling the burning hole in her perfect waist.
Reheinhart stood, face impassive. “Silence filth!”, he hissed, firing again. The beast burst into multiple
colours, and slid through the gaps in the cabin’s walls.

“You’re no fun… Bethar will eat you now. Such a shame.”, the voice echoed, less than a whisper in the
breeze. The two men looked at each other.

“What’s Bethar?”, Henmar questioned. Reheinhart shook his head, fear in his eyes. Then, a sonorous
roar filled the lift shaft. The two looked down the shaft, through the glass bottom of the lift’s cabin.
Something long, and sinuous, was climbing. This could only be bad.

###

The train kept on going. All the obstacles the cultists set up, all the rail blocks, the Train smashed them
apart. Each time, the Lychen yelled in joy, as a shower of gore and shattered metal followed each
breakthrough. Emeline had vomited twice, on this train, and was still quite green. She just hoped their
destination was worth this.

###

Vash staggered into the open. The holes ended here. He emerged into a wide plaza, marble floors so
polished, they glinted like shimmering lake of obsidian, as they stretched out. Vash searched around. All
the cultists here were dead. Vash swept his weapon around, searching. Nothing, just bodies.

“Come! Face me! I am Vash, and I shall take your skull!”, he roared, out into the dim plaza.

“Really? I doubt that.”, a voice, deeper and more sonorous than even Vash, bellowed back. The vast
marine emerged, wielding his crozius, scarred head shaved bald, and criss-crossed with cuts nad burns.
His eyes burned with loathing. Phlaxus the undefeatable, loomed ahead. He was taller than Vash, by
almost a head, and was far broader, as he squared up to Vash, from afar.

Sparrod appeared at Phlaxus’ elbow. “Shall I?”, he hissed, disinterested. Phlaxus waved him away.

“Nay, go on ahead. I shall face him.”, boomed Phlaxus. Sparrod disappeared, absorbed by shadow, as a
moment of recognition passed across the twomen’s faces.
Vash stopped smiling, “I know you.”, he growled. “Sons of Malice. Filth!”, he hissed, readying his
weapons. Phlaxus simply laughed, a long, patronising laugh, deep and horrific.

“I know you also. You are a failure. An aberration. A monster.” Phlaxus laughed again.

Vash smiled then, “I shall have revenge, Marine!”, he spat, charging.

“We shall see who Malal chooses… Neophyte.”, Phlaxus returned, also charging. Both raised their
weapons, and lunged.Part Eighteen.

Though Vash was loathe to admit, Phlaxus was correct.

###

Vashan ran, his limbs pounding with the effort. Blood rushed around his head, waterfall roars echoing in
his mind. He was sweating, he knew that, but he was little tired. If he had been like before, his lungs
would feel on fire, and his muscles would feel as though torn at the very fibres. The run was over a
hundred miles, and each Neophyte carried a large bag of leaden weights, to make the journey all the
more difficult.

Vashan didn’t care about the strain of the run, as his body barely registered it. The organs, his blessed
masters had graced him with, had already altered him to a vast degree. His bones felt larger, more
robust. He knew that he felt another lung in his chest, as well as increased muscle mass. He had grown in
stature too, and was head and shoulders above the 1st phase Neophytes. He was stage five, and was
stronger, faster and simply superior, to all normal men.

The other runners were closing, so Vashan increased his stride rate, and pounded up the hill, into the
Spartan fighting hall of Haeralgus IV. As soon as his feet slammed into the coarse sand of the hall, he
snatched up the cut down bolter, from one of the many racks that protruded everywhere. He fired, as he
brought the weapon up to his broad shoulder. He snapped off three rounds, and shattered his three
allocated targets, showering the floor of the hall with splinters. As the other recruits bounded in, Vashan
had already climbed the main aerial of the building, which rose through the open roof of the hall, into
the crimson sky.

Vashan felt his excitement grow, as adrenaline flooded his system. His training had done something to his
mind. The Sons, must have reconnected synapses, or other such flesh-sorcery. No matter what they did,
they had given Vashan an unholy joy for physical exertion, and war. He was becoming a true warrior for
the sky lords. The metal blistered his skin, as he dragged his body up the thick metal stem of the aerial,
but his new abilities healed these scars rapidly.

He reached for the last feet feet. He was so close. He strained, and finally, grasped the vast flag that was
embedded in the thick cables at the summit of the metal rod. Vashan yelled with triumph, waving the
flag, with its skull emblem, like a conquering hero on one of the epic tapestries, in the flesh halls of the
Sons’ Fortress Monastery.

From below, Harquez, the Master of Recruits, gazed up at the triumphant neophyte, and smiled,
revealing his blindingly white teeth, his grin charming yet shark-like.

“He would make an excellent astartes. What is your esimation, brother Phlaxus?”, Harquez mused, his
voice resonating, yet fatherly at the same time.

Phlaxus turned his scarred, hardened face, to look into Harquez’s angular features. “He must pass the
Shriving.”

Harquez nodded in confirmation, and left for the monastery.

###

The chamber was dark, aside from the patch of illumination in the centre of the room. Vashan knelt in
the centre of the disk of light. In his hands he wielded two short staffs, that he whirled around
impatiently. He was aware that his peers lurked in the dark, waiting for their time to strike. This trial was
called the coiled serpent. Vashan had be instructed by Harquez, that this would test his reaction time, to
the limit. It was likely that all his peers would strike at the same moment.

To pass the test, he must disarm and defeat all of his opponents, before they could strike him. He spun,
and batted away a clumsy lung, before rapping the enemy across the back of the head, sending him
stumbling into the dark. A staff swept down, and he turned and crossed his sticks, catching the weapons,
before twisting about his torso, pulling the enemy neophyte off balance, before stamping down on his
face.

Someone grabbed Vashan’s mane of raven black hair, and pulled back, seeking to topple him. He rolled
into the yanking action, taking his opponent by surprise, sweeping his left staff onto the bridge of the
enemy’s nose, causing blood to spurt from the wound. This enemy fell back wards, into the gloom.

Vashan felt the air disturbance moments before they lunged. All the neophytes struck at once. Vashan
dropped, deflecting some strikes into the ground, while others he shifted, to strike the guts of other
opponents. Herose, and slammed everyone off balance, before jabbing out, this way and that, with his
wooden weapons, breaking collar bones and dislocating limbs.

“Enough!!”, a voice boomed in the dark. The Illumination in the room rose, and the battered forms of
Vashan’s peers could be seen, moving off.

At the far end of the chamber, Phlaxus stood, impassive and cruel at the same time. Phlaxus pointed to
Vashan.

“you! You shall be the first of these recruits, to undergo the Shriving. Do you accept?”, Phlaxus sneered,
as Vashan nodded eagerly, wide-eyed with wonder.

###

“I am Librarian Varnile. Do not feel unease. I will begin as soon as you have prepared.”, the Librarian
muttered, his voice filled with an ethereal majesty.
Vashan and Varnile were sat, cross-leged, upon the floor of the glass dome, which served as the shriving
room. A pentacle was etched into the hard, cool marble, and the the man and astarte sat within the star.
The Librarian closed his eyes, and raised his palms skywards. Vash did like wise.

“I am ready.”, Vash muttered, determined.

Vashan felt a rush of air. He was falliing! His mind raced, as his legs swung for purchase. He landed on his
side, in a heap of filth and black water. Serpents rose around his, and hissed curses.

“Forsake you corpse! Join us in unbelief!”, the monsters snarled, lunging for him. He lashed out,
slamming a fist into one’s mind, crushing it. The second coiled around him. He felt the crushing agony,
and felt blood vessels bursting under the pressure. “Whom do you serve?”, the serpent hissed.

“He on Terra!”, Vashan bellowed, ripping the thing apart, “Always!”, he roared. The world around him
twisted, and became grey and black. He was atop a great mountain of bones, the bones of a billion
humans. Flys buzzed within his mouth and choked him. The flies swirled around him, like a stifling cloud
of filth and horror. Vashan coughed and spluttered, and flailed his arms.

“What is your life?”, the flies buzzed, in unison. Vashan gagged, and vomited, and fell to his knees.

“Honour! Honour is my life!”, he gasped. The landscape shifted again. A red hot barb of metal scythed
through him, and pinned him to the side of a melting brass cauldron, which eternally leeked foul ichors
over him. A great metal face, Varnile’s, loomed ahead. Blood trickled from Vashan’s mouth, as white hot
agony speared through his system. He could barely hear the brass face, that jabbered in firey tones.

“…fate?”, the head muttered. Vashan moaned, and another jolt of agony seared through his three lungs.
Blood ran from his eyes, as he tried to maintain focus.

“What is your fate?”, the metal skull boomed, burning so hot, that its metal flesh melted away, revealing
a golden skull, grinning menacingly.
Vashan leaned forward. “My duty… is my fate!”, he hissed, through pained breaths. The skull shattered,
and the world shifted again.

The world was flooding, the water pooling around his ankles. It continued to rise, and grow uneasy.
Shapes moved within the deeps. Vashan was pulled down, by his ankles, into the water. His mind raced,
from dread, to pain, to misery, to rage, as he felt himself drowning.

The water beast coalesced, into a great angler fish beast. The things vast jaws opened. “What is your
fear?”, it gargled. Vashan was panicking. Varnile would kill him. He couldn’t find the words, as he
suffocated. Vashan cursed. How could Varnile do this? Why kill him? Vashan grew enraged.

“What is your fear?”, it gargled once more.

Vash roared, and the water boiled away, and Vashan stood upon a barren desert. The fish beast was
stranded, and it’s gills moved up and down, as if choking itself. The thing’s mouth opened an shut
quietly. Vashan slammed his fists into it, twice, three times, fours times.

“What do you fear?”, it gasped. Vashan grabbed the thing, and flung it across the sand.

“I fear betrayal!”, he bellowed. The thing dissolved, and billions of crabs burst from the ground, all
gabbering while climbing up Vashan.

Vashan struck all around him, but couldn’t drag them off. They began to force him into the sand, and
Vashan felt his torso sinking into the desert of his own devising.

“What do you serve? Why do you? What is your craft?”, the crabs gibbered insanely, voices chaotic and
non sensical.

“I serve what is on Mankind. I mean, I serve war. Why do I? For him, that’s why!”
“Him? Explain! Him? Explain!”, the crabs hissed and bellowed, forcing him further into the ground.

“The mankind that is god. He that serves blood shed. No, the Master of Mankind, who drinks the blood
of Imperium.”

“What is your reward?”

“Glory, power. War eternal. Salvation, but with slaughter, and the laughs of the god that loves the music
of death.”, Vashan screamed, desperate, and confused, as the sand entered his lungs.

“Is he man? Or god? Choose! God? Man? Choose!”, the crabs chorused, spinning about Vashan’s head.
Vashan struggled.

“He is man, and he is greatest. He is Imperium. The blood and glory of man. We are like him, but not.
What is this? Free me! FREE MEEE!!!”, Vashan bellowed, at last, and the world went black, while his
resonant screech destroyed the Shrive world.

###

The Neophytes were arranged in the various pews, that filled the chamber of judgement. At the front, a
grand black and white lecturn rose from the deck. The vast Imperial Aquila seemed to grow organically
from the structure, and Harquez appeared before them, and raised a hand, to call silence.

“You neophytes, have been summoned here, to receive a sad truth”, Harquez paused, his voice as calm
and comforting as ever, “You shall not become astartes.”

Vashan felt his stomach rench. His eyes lowered to the floor, as his mind raced. This cannot be, he was
the best here. The shocked mutters of other neophytes built in the chamber, until the chamber was filled
with the ow rumble, or a hundred en despairing. Harquez called for silence once more.

“The following, shall have a place of lesser honour, but honour all the same. You shall become serfs.
Dignity and order shall become your virtues, and you shall cherish them.”, Harquez intoned, before
reeling off the list of sixteen names. Vashan prayed for selection. This was better than nothing.

Vashan broke down, and slaty tears dropped to the cold ground. He had not been picked. He barely even
looked up, as Harquez continued.

“The rest of you. You have failed. But take this with humility and grace. Return to your rooms. There, you
shall be processed, and the geneseed wasted upon your unfit bodies, shall be returned to its rightful
home, in the vaults.”, Harquez growled, his smile,and calm demeanour vanished.

###

Vashan sat upon his bunk, in his characterless dorm room. His head was in his hands. His world had
collapsed. He knew all the other failed astartes, failed angels, were despairing all the same. Each was
alone, an island amid his peers. Most were willing to accept absolution. Vashan could hear Harquez
walking, stamping down the corridor outside. A bolt round sounded, followed by the drop of a body.
Vashan listened to this happen, seven more times. The neophytes had accepted oblivion. Vashan heard
no resistance, to the executions.

Another shot, another drop. Maybe he was faulty, thought Vashan. One shot, then another drop. No real
marine would feel what he felt now. The others, good little acolytes, felt utter despair, and accepted
Harquez’s judgement. Another bolter round, another stifled gasp, before a clumsy drop to the floor. They
were loyal, even in failure.

Vashan didn’t feel this. He felt rage. The more he considered it, the angrier he became. How could they
claim morality? Tey were murderers! Butchers! They were killing loyal subjects of the sky lord. The
Emperor of Mankind was mankind. The Sons were killing the Emperor. Vashan’s rage was growing, as he
heard another neophyte execution. What right had they, to choose who dies, and who lives? Vashan had
made his choice.
Harquez entered the room, and fired, blasting apart the bunk. Vashan wasn’t on it. His perfect hearing
registered the sudden whisper of speeding metal, a second too late. Vashan plunged his length of sharp
ragged metal into Harquez, driving the scrap metal spike, deep into the marine’s collar, between armour
and flesh, bursting the seal, allowing the weapon to slide into the astartes. The metal pierced both
hearts or Harquez, and a lung.

Harquez wheezed, shocked, firing wildly all around. He staggered into the bunk, and tripped, all the
while bellowing incoherently. His bolt pistol slid across the floor, sliding from his grasp. Vashan rolled,
snatching the pistol up. He fired into Harquez, blasting apart his knee, then firing into the astarte’s chest.
A crater was blown from it, and Harquez fell onto his back.

Harquez struggled to rise. He had got to his knees, when he saw Vashan, wild-eyed, and wild haired,
aiming his own bolt pistol at his face.

“You are filth, Vashan! An abhorrence to our order. You are a monster, and a disgrace!”, Harquez spat,
bitterly, blood tainting his prefect teeth, as his cursed like a mad drunk.

Vashan grimaced, “I am no monster. I am Vash!”, he bellowed, and fired, blasting away the marine’s
mind.

###

Vash escaped. But he was not a man, nor beast. Not now. The marines had done a terrible disservice to
Vash. They had given him the unholy urge, and desire, to kill and crush, and to never feel whole without
a weapon, and an enemy to murder. But they had abandoned him, when he most needed guiding. He
was never taught how to control his rage, and violent blood-lust.

In the dark times, when passed between slavers, and gangs, and world after sordid world, and the brutal
trials of life in the underbelly of the Imperium. In those dark times, the eager boy, Vash, was driven
mad… he became the monster he most feared.
He was cast away from polite high gothic society, at every turn. He was shunned, and feared. However,
fate dragged Vash to the one world that understood. The one world that was like him. Lychen. There, he
found salvation… in slaughter. All the while, he vowed terrible vengeance upon the Chapter that
shunned him, that brutalised him, and broke him.

On the world of Saris, Vash found his chance. His chance to enact his vengeance, upon those he
loathed.Part Nineteen.

The two clashed, with a crash like a thunderclap. Vash glanced off Phlaxus, who slid back a few feet, his
feet tearing twin grooves of broken tile, into the marble. Vash bounced twice, before rising. Blood
drooled freely from his mouth, and he roared, his voice mad and low.

“Mongrel.”, spat Phlaxus, as Vash charged again. Vash swept his maul at Phlaxus’ face, but his crozius
instantly deflected the strike, Vash spun around, striking at Phlaxus’ knees, but the crozius was there,
even before Vash knew he was going to strike there. Vash and Phlaxus exchanged furious blows, dancing
deadly motions about one another. Their two power weapons clashed together over and over, which
each time produced a keening crackle, followed by a lightening discharge where they struck.

Vash breathed in ragged breath, choking on blood which filled his throat. His every move was countered,
his every ploy predicted. The two combatants swirled around each other. Phlaxus, for all his bulk, had a
defence as fluid as a monsoon river. He flowed around Vash’s every strike, to deliver his own, each time
more powerful than the last. Vash slammed his maul down, to desperately deflect a killing strike, aimed
at his head. Vash was driven to his knees by the horrendously powerful downward arc. His knees
slammed into the marble, shattering the smooth tiles below him. Vash gasped, as he felt his stomach
tear a little more.

Vash fired a burst of las fire, from his hell gun. The bolts startled Phlaxus, and patted off his armour like
hail. None penetrated, but Phlaxus stumbled backwards, armour covered in tiny, smoking craters.
Phlaxus shook his head, to clear his confusion. This strike had given Vash some breathing space. He was
in trouble. He could not overpower, or outmanoeuvre the marine. Vash would have to rely upon his
depthless reserves of anger, to force a conclusion to the fight.
Vash charged, firing as he did so. Phlaxus moved so fast. He swept to one side, avoiding the gun, while
simultaneously hacking the weapon apart, with a single side blow. Vash staggered, as the two shorn
halves skittered away from him, smoking. He only just raised his maul, to block the follow up strike. This
strike sent him clattering to the floor, and he felt his ribs on his left side break. Vash wheezed bloody
drool.

“Pathetic. Let me show you a true marine’s abilities, neophyte.”, sneered Phlaxus. Vash rose, to his knees,
and struck out with his maul. Phlaxus blocked, but directed the block towards Vash’s maul arm. Vash
looked up, and stareed numbly, as his arm, and maul, parted from him in a gory shower, clattering away,
behind him. Phlaxus kicked Vash in the stomach, sending the Lychen skidding across the vast marble hall,
in a painful slide, that left a thick trail of blood, like some hideous snail’s track of gore.

Vash coughed, the pain forcing away words. Phlaxus, the un defeat able, approached, his crozius
sheathed.

“I was right about you, neophyte. You were an inferior specimen.”, Phlaxus laughed, grabbing Vash by the
legs, swinging him up, onto his shoulders. “See how easily I break you!”, Phlaxus hissed, as he pulled at
Vash’s legs and torso. He felt a crunch, before he threw Vash a good hunred yards, to land, in a clattering
mess, into a altar, further into the grand hall. The sacrifices were cast from the table, in the impact, and
the table splintered under Vash’s mass.

Vash felt a splinter enter his thigh,and out the other side. Phlaxus sauntered, arrogantly, towards him, his
face a dismissive sneer. “Theatrics aren’t my strong point, failed angel, so I will end this now. Malal
shines on me this day.”, Phlaxus muttered, as he stood over Vash, like a colossus of death. Vash’s vision
was clouded by blood, and it gave everything a red tinge. This can’t be the end, Vash thought in his
insane mind.

Phlaxus raised his fists, cupped together, forming a club.

###

Bethar, the betrayal princess, and beautiful horror of the Grasus system, was climbing the shaft. The
daemon was long, it’s skin pale, and covered in small talons. Disturbingly feminine breasts adorned it,
pert and pale, while a long, barbed tongue lashed from the things equine features. Multi faceted eyes
regarded Reheinhart and Henmar. “Climb! We have to get out, above the lift!”, Reheinhart yelled, and
Henmar nodded. As Henmar frantically slammed the butt of his gun at the hatch release, The commissar
fired his pistol through the glass floor, the shots grazing the unearthly beast, which simply hissed a
challenge, and coiled its way further up the shaft. The shattered floor now gave way, and he and Henmar
clung to the sides of the lift. Reheinhart holstered his pistol.

The hatch released, as Henmar struck it a final, powerful blow. The hatch door tumbled down the shaft,
to be caught in the jaws of the beast Bethar. The door was shredded, into melted ribbons of molten
metal, which the daemon gobbled down greedily.

Reheinhart shoved Henmar aside, and pulled himself up, out of the lift, into the upper side of the shaft.
Reheinhart looked about himself, and noticed the service ladder, which snaked around the outer edge of
the lift shaft. He gestured to Henmar, who was dragging himself out of the lift.

“Hurry! Climb!” were his only words, as Reheinhart surged up the ladder, limbs scrabbling like a
madman’s. Reheinhart was petrified, eyes wide in panic. Henmar followed the commissar. He knew this
wasn’t how he died, so was unafraid. Even when he heard Bethar slamming into the vacant lift, he never
even flinched.

Reheinhart stopped his mad climb briefly, to look back. Henmar was following him, and the daemon had
managed to force its wat through the lift. Its vast head now reared, and roared in rage, corrosive venom
spattering all around it. It was stuck. The monster thrashed, and raged, and howled, but it could not free
itself.

“Shoot it!”, the commissar yelled, and Henmar leaned back, and fired, one handed. The inaccurate shots
scattered all around, many striking the unholy beast. The shots fizzed, and the wounds healed on the
beast, as soon as they were made.

“It’s not working sir!”, Henmar yelled, over the throaty roar of the frustrated beast. A tongue lashed out,
and coiled around Henmar’s leg, barbs sinking into flesh. Henmar yelped in surprise and pain. Reheinhart
leant out, and fired his pistol, the red bolts singeing the fleshy serpent tongue, which released him, in
sudden pain.
Reheinhart suddenly noticed something else. “Aide! Shoot the damned lift clamps!”

Henmar nodded, panting, before looping an arm through a rung on the ladder. This allowed him to aim
two handed. He fired a volley, into the first clamp, that clung to the side of the shaft, like an eagle’s talon.
The las bolts superheated the metal, til it grew white with heat, and blistered. The clamp then snapped.
The lift suddenly lurched, and the daemon realised their plan. It reached and strained, pulling slightly
more of it’s palid bulk through the small lift structure.

The beast spat daemonic venom towards Henmar, which patted onto his boots. He shimmied his shoes
off, as the venom took them, burning them to ash. Henmar fired at the second clamp. It heated, and
shattered, molten metal whickering away, as it broke. The daemon howled once more, before the lift
suddenly plummeted, dragging Bethar down with it, howling all the way down.

A few moments passed, before the echoing crash of the lift could be heard. Henmar looked down, to see
a brief flash, as the Bethar daemon’s essence was scoured from existence, with the death of it’s mortal
body.

Reheinhart gasped, releasing his previously held breath. He gestured upwards, and the two began their
arduous climb, to the summit of Saris Primus.

###

The hive was a smear to Emeline now, as she gazed from the speeding train. She had gotten used to the
unpleasant lurches, as the train took each turning far too fast. She didn’t want to interrupt the piolet, a
Lychen called Barvesh, as he cackled, yanking levers while yelling praises to the Emperor.

Emeline strode across, to the chamber directly behind the command cab. There, she found the Lychen
Engineer (or Metal Bladesman, in Lychen battle cant, she was told). She signalled him with a nod. He was
sat, on a metal pue, slicing long grooves into his wrist, before pulling the fine strips from his wrist, and
forcing them down his bloodied gullet greedily. He then sprayed antisep into the wound, sealing the cuts
just enough to stop infection. He looked up whn Emeline approached, and grinned his metal grin.
Emeline ignored his disgusting self-mutilation, looking into his eyes. “Good work on this train. It certainly
has its… advantages.”, she lied. “What is your name, trooper?”

“Galvanner, mistress.”, he muttered, drooling blood.

Emelie sneered inwardly, before she looked back, further into the train. She noticed several Lychen
struggling with a vast crate. The crate was bound with thick chains, and shook, as metallic whines and
groans sounded from within.

She had seen this before, when they had been marching upon Saris. When there had been natural light
to see by, no matter how grey and polluted. “What is that?”, Emeline enquired, squinting, to get a clearer
view.

Galvanner laughed. “Oh mistress! They are wonderous! The Kine machines are pure shedders of blood.
Holy engines of slaughter.”, he slurred, pointing at the crate. “We were lucky all of them didn’t break in
the fall, or sink below the fetid water. One remains.”

“And will this ‘kine’ machine still be effective?”

“My yes!”, Galvanner gurgled in delight, “None can stop it’s slaughter, once unleashed. Except, of course,
the Corporal.” Galvanner muttered, his thoughts turning dark. The group had lost contact with Vash
hours ago. Emeline could safely assume he was dead. No man, alone, could survive this hive’s horrors.

Emeline then realised. “Wait. Galvanner. What are Kine machines? It doesn’t sound like an STC design.”,
she stated, the threat clear in her mellifluous tones. Galvanner nodded eagerly.

“You’ll see sound, mistress.”, he promised.

Emeline’s face turned stern, “Yes, we shall. We’re going to stop soon. The track won’t carry on, up to the
high hive, the map in the command section says so. There is a vast energy drain at the top of the city.
This must be where the leaders of the cult are. I we are to find them, we have to ditch the train.”

Galvanner looked upset, but nodded glumly. “Barvesh! Shut it down!”, he bellowed to the piolet.
Barvesh obliged, slamming the train lever to full stop.

Emeline was flung to the floor, along with everyone else, as they continued at the train’s previous speed.
Emeline shook away blurs of concussion, and looked to Galvanner, indignant. Galvanner shrugged, and
sat back down, to continue mutilating.

Emeline fired once, and Barvesh toppled, a look of surprise upon his face. Emeline walked over to him.
She knew what was expected of her. What disgusted her more, was the fact she wanted to do it, as she
bit into the dead Lychen’s larynx, and ripped free. She swallowed the warm flesh, before yelling, “Do not
test my patience again! I will not tolerate ridicule. Understand?” she hissed the last part pointedly,
staring at Galvanner, who nodded, an almost invisible sign of new found respect.

Time to see what this Kine machine could do.

###

Sparrod was a shadow. Living, and undetectable. He wove between the patches of darkness, despatching
Balhaun with contemptable ease.

One Balhaun trooper staggered out of the gloom, bloodied, and blinded, before he fell apart, bi sected
down the middle. The shados seemed to coalese, into the form of the Herald of shadow. Sparrod.

Sulvar felt a excited chill, as he watched Sparrod dance among the dark places, darting this way and that,
until the unit of Slanneshi PDF were all wimpering sacks of lacerated flesh, begging for release. A release
Sparrod gave to each one, In turn. He was coming.
The golden throne room was in chaos. Cultists bustled around the room, ferrying information this way
and that. All the while, Haldan sat on his throne, his eyes burning molten yellow. His sulphurous gaze
landed upon a cultist. The cultist was standing by a great etched symbol of Slannesh, and chanted, low
and quite.

“Can we release her? Can we free Aszyxh from the grasp of edifice Beloved?”, Haldan rumbled, his voice
inhumanly deep. Then again, he was inhuman now, his skin a deep purple, while spines ran down his
back, in a mane. His right arm was fused with the sword, that had become a sickly growth on his wrist, a
great jutting bone of a blade. It seemed like some vast talon, upon his limb. His tongue was long and
sinuous, and constantly tasted the air as he spoke.

The cultist quivered, as he turned around. “T-The sacrifices are incomplete! One sacrifice is needed, to
be sure. A person of great power must be slain, and their essence consumed by our beloved, prisoner of
the edifce beloved!”, the small man blubbered. Haldan’s vast tail struck out, the barb passing through
the man’s chest. The cultist shook twice, before dying, mouth frothing.

“This is unacceptable! Awaken the edifice! We have no time left to spare!”, Haldan bellowed, through
yellow tusks, that jutted from his maw. Another cultist rose.

“You cannot do that my lord! The edifice will kill her. She is vunerable at present.”

Haldan swept his sword over the man, drawing out his soul, to be greedily consumed by Hellex, the
daemon in his blade. “She is powerful enough to grant methis power! Let none doubt our beloved. To
free her from the edifice beloved, we must activate the edifice. We can make the sacrifice then.”

He then stopped, and sniffed the air, thoughtfully “I can smell him. The enemy is coming. We need the
edifice to win this war against the corpse, and to crush the interlopers. Now. Activate!!”, Haldan
bellowed, his voice a billowing gale of horror.

The cultists sped to fulfil his wishes.

###

Sparrod was in the main hall, where he sensed the presence of two Slanneshi daemons. One seemed
trapped in a prison, a prison of a blade. The other, his target, a vast consciousness, was trapped in
another prison.

He walked forward, uneasily. Where were the Balhaun. They must be fighting the Lychen, he told
himself. The barbaric fools were easy pawns, he smiled to himself. But still, a doubt remained.

Focus! Look ahead. There is your destiny.

His master’s voice slammed through his mind again, and he coughed up black fluid, from his mouth.
Sparrod did as he was told, and gazed forward.

“Now that is unexpected.”, he muttered, in awe, as he looked at it.

###

“Arise! Awaken! Free my mistress. Open the edifice!”, screamed Haldan, who had rose from his throne,
and walked ahead, towards the cogitator banks, sword in hand, laughing manically.

The cultists were flipping switches, and depressing levers. One man was stripped of his cloak, and
slammed into Haldan’s throne, while the cables were forced into his eye sockets, amid terrible screams
of pain and pleasure. Others were forced into his brain and chest, until he stopped struggling.

The whole room shuddered, and Sulvar grew afraid, crawling to the corner of the room, like a scared
ratling. “Awaken, and free her!”, Haldan bellowed.

As he did so, the shutters at the front of the room opened wide, revealing the main hall of the over hive.
The shutters, the eyes of The Beloved, were open.

The Beloved, Warlord Titan, of the Titan Legion Avacitii, took a great step forward, and roared, shaking
the very foundations of the hive of Saris.

And the world grew afraid…

###

Phlaxus stood over Vash, sneering, raising his fists for the kill. Vash lay broken upon the marble floor. His
arm was gone, splinters pierced his flesh, and the gun on his back dug into his spine, causing almost as
much pain as his vast stomach wound.

“How could you have possibly won?” Phlaxus laughed. Suddenly, a vast roar shook the hive, and Phlaxus
turned his head, to see what the commotion was.

“Simple,” wheezed Vash, utilising that split second distraction, to yank the gun on his back, from its
straps, “I cheat.”

Phlaxus turned back, too late, as Vash slammed his meltagun through the marine’s mouth, smashing his
teeth. He activated it, savouring the milisecond of surprise on Phlaxus’ face, before his skin blackened
and flaked away, followed by muscle, bone and brain, until Phlaxus toppled onto his knees, head a
blackened ruin.

The headless marine was kneeling. As he died, his joints seised up. Phlaxus would never rise from his
kneel again. Phlaxus, the undefeatable, was, defeated.

Part Twenty.

The Beloved roared again, it’s grinding metallic voice echoing all around, shaking the walls and floors
around it. The titan took another, ponderous step forward, slamming into a Balhaun Leman Russ,
sending the vehicle skittering off, into the grand hall. The ant-like Balhaun around the god-machine
scattered, yelling and screaming in fear. They charged forward, more to escape the metallic behemoth’s
great feet, than due to any desire to engage the Lychen forces, which were amassing at the far end of the
grand hall.

Sparrod backed away, slightly. This machine was a god-machine. Unstoppable, and invincible.

This is a lie, and you know this. Only I am forever.

The voice of his master sneered, the force still enough to ram the breath from Sparrod’s lungs, who
gasped to regain it.

The foot slammed down, and Sparrod lunged aside, as the massive foot rumbled the floor, throwing up
broken tiles like a blizzard of shattered marble. Sparrod rolled as he landed, and sprung to his feet in
moments. The titan had stopped moving, and instead, several gun ports opened, in the legs of the
Warlord titan.

Sparrod spun his shadow cloak around himself, as the hail of autogun fire and lascannon beams, speared
around him, the gunners struggling to see the shadowy being. Sparrod spun his axe around, and a bolt of
numbing blackness scythed from the weapon, striking a gun emplacement. A brief sucking sound was
heard, before the emplacement went silent.

Sparrod lunged forward, as the titan began to vibrate, a sure sign it was preparing to raise it’s colossal
limb. He landed upon the base of the Titan’s great shin, his shadowy claws finding purchase on a small
golden gargoyle, perched among the garish decoration of the god-machine.

Sparrod swung his weight from side to side, as he climbed, bartely avoiding the lascannon shots from the
other leg of the titan. He was given brief reprive, when the limb finally raised, and he made the most of
it. Sparrod clambered over the twisting decorations of the crenulated limb, as angry buzzing bullets
whizzed by.
Sparrod could do this with relative ease, as he was within the humming void shield of the Beloved. He
mused upon what would soon happen to the people outside the protective shield. A smile creeped on to
his face, as he vaulted over one of the battlements, that ringed the behemoth’s knees.

The Beloved roared once more. A roar of pain, of rage. Of defiance.

###

The Beloved was awake. And it hurt. Agony coarsed through its artificial mind, as keen a hurt as any an
organic life could imagine. The greater daemon slithed through its databanks, like an oil slick in water. It
clung to systems, and sought a release. The Beloved, despite its simple animalistic mind, knew that she
must not be free. Azsyxth must perish.

Such small things below the Beloved, it considered, as it stamped amongst them. They were pale
imitations of war. The Beloved clambered forward, but could not see. How long had it been asleep? How
long had it kept the daemon prisoner? All it knew was its night sight was broken. Instead, the great titan
activated its twin torches. The vast beams of light banished shadow from the hall, and the titan could
finally see.

The ant-beings were storming towards other ants, at the far end of the cramped hall, who piled out of a
bizarre metal caterpillar. A train, the titan recalled, from his old Princeps, Halvonlius. The Beloved
scramed its metal scream once more, as he had nearly grasped the daemon, and purged it from his
machine code.

The Beloved roared in rage, and looked down, towards the warring ants. The titan felt its urge to
decimate rise. The titan stepped forth again, another earth-trembling step.

###

The lights flickered in the throne room of Haldan, and the cultists were tossed around mercilessly, as the
titan rumbled forward. Only Haldan remained erect, laughing, and calling out to his mistress.
“Forward! My blessed bitch princess! Evade the monster, and manifest! We shall praise you like no
other!”, he boomed, his ethereal voice sonorous and utterly twisted. He suddenly stopped, and smelt
the air.

Cogitators sparked, and exploded all around the room, as databank stacks tumbled, crushing unwary
cultists, who all ran around the head of the titan, confused and petrified. Sulvar scrambled on his hands
and knees, drawing his knife, but keeping it close to his chest. His eyes fixed upon Haldan, who was
himself distracted.

“I smell him. The slayer comes, riding on the tailcoat of a war god! How pathetic!”, he sneered, thick
tusks protruding even moreso than before. The chaos lord stamped towards the exit hatch, upon the
golden ceiling of the titan head. Sulvar scuttled after him.

“I wish to serve.”, he whimpered, licking Haldan’s feet. Haldan smirked, before kicking Sulvar in the face.

“Come then, whelp! We dine on devil’s flesh this night!”, muttered Haldan, as he climbed the ladder to
the hatch, Sulvar trotting behind, like a lapdog.

###

The Lychen filed out of the train, that groaned under their weight. As they did, the stench of viscera and
gore followed, as well as a trickle of fresh blood. The Lychen were here. Top hive. Here, they would end
the cult, at the end of a blade.

The monster’s whooped and hollered, brandishing axes, chains and daggers, of wildly differing designs.
Emeline eventually emerged. This time, she had undergone the full Lychen battle ritual. She emerged, in
pelts, and drenched in blood (that she didn’t ask where from). Her hair was ran through with dried
blood, and was dried in such a way, as to give her hair mighty spikes, that struck out from her scalp at
odd angles. She wore a belt of knives, and wielded a long curved powersword in one hand, a auto pistol
in the other. The only remaining Imperial emblem upon her, was the gold aquila emblazoned upon her
carapace chest plate.
She turned, briefly, to Galvanner, who lounged, near to the archway of the train.

“Galvanner. You say with the train. If we need you, and your ‘mechanics’, we’ll call on the vox. I want you
as reinforcements. Understand?”, she growled, menacingly. Galvanner smiled.

“Peeerfectly, mistress.”, he hissed, turning to reenter the train. As he gestured the rest of the men inside,
Emeline couldn’t help but look at his back. Amid the ritual scars, the Lychen engineer had a series of plug
holes, running down his spines. They looked almost like… the sockets from which mechandrites were
attached in tech priests.

Emeline started, coughing back shock. He used to be a tech priest. She turned, and looked at another
Lychen, and saw Necromundan gang tattoos (Goliath, if she wasn’t mistaken). She looked around, eyes
wide. She could see barcodes, from penal colonies, and serial numbers of Arbites. She noticed how some
Lychen walked tall, like Mordians, while others stooped and skulked, more like Salvar Criminals.

The Lychen were oblivious to her shock, as they loaded weapons, and sharpened blades, all the while
howling. Emeline frantically searched for the Cadian allies. They were not there. Only Lychen. Amongst
the throng, she glimpsed a Lychen in a Cadian helmet, before he was lost in the crowd. Was this how the
Lychen recruited? Subvert normal citizens, and turn them into monsters?

Emeline suddenly realised something then, something she had been fighting for her whole time amongst
the Lychen. They didn’t subvert, they accepted. All those people, who didn’t fit into the Imperium’s
perfect image, who were cast out of polite society, by those above their station, came to the Lychen.
Emeline smiled grimly. The Lychen accept humanity for what it was; a beast, bloodthirsty and cruel.
Emeline then felt a reassuring thought. She didn’t mind. She was, now, a Lychen.

Running forward, Emeline drew her sword, and screamed a chilling war cry, as her pelt cloak swept
behind her. The Lychen cheered, and followed, growling and hissing wildly. She gestured to several
Lychen, who laboured with a huge metal crate.

“Release the Kine. Whatever it is!”, she howled, striking the latches of the pen with her sword, each lock
falling from the crate, smoking. Emeline noticed how all the Lychen stood behind the crate, so she
followed suit.

A low growl echoed from within, and the heavy footfalls sounded, as the Kine machine stepped out from
the crate. The metal biped moved like some kind of ape-like creature, pistons moving rapidly, and it
shifted from side to side, as it walked on its great shears of hands, one set on each of its four limbs. The
hum of a starting generator could be heard within the metal beast’s centre. It seemed gaunt, like a wire
frame skeleton, with a huge pair of crushing claws, mimicking jaws on the machine. At the centre of the
thing, a body writhed, pinned their by many sharp needles.

The Kine machine hissed, a metallic screech following soon after. The chains and hooks, that dangled
from it, began to spin and whirl, dancing around each other, in some mad ballet of death.

The Balhaun could be heard, charging towards them, crying out, “For her divine agony!”, at the top of
their lungs. The Kine heard their yells, and bolted forward, a blur beneath its spinning chains. The Kine
could be made out, as it slammed into the balhaun. Their screams were hideous, as the chains either cut
them to pieces, or worse, they were dragged onto the machine, and pinned upon it. After a mere minute
of combat, the machine was already double in size, and looked like a giant beast, composed of half dead
soldiers, that writhed and moaned.

Other Balhaun fired at the Lychen, as they ran past the deadly machine, felling some of the Lychen, who
collapsed, gurgling. Emeline howled out an order, to form a fire step,and the Lychen overseers drew their
whips, bringing the Lychen in line with the new orders. Several more Lychen toppled, as they formed a
stepped line of Lasgunners, a line crouched ahead, a line standing behind.

The Balhaun were getting closer, but there shots remained panicked and inaccurate. Emeline raised her
sword, and thrust it toward the Balhaun.

“Fire!”, she screamed, and the Lychen did so. A torrent of bolts filled the air, like an ocean of crimson
lights, as dozens upon dozens of Balhaun spasmed, and collapsed, jabbering prayers, even as they were
blasted apart. Emeline fired into the mass too, her pistol blasting the jaw of a Balhaun away, in a splash
of red horror. Emeline was yelling devotional hymns, while the Lychen growled their own battle hymns,
low and gutteral.
Amid the sounds of battle, the thud of the artillery could be heard, louder and louder each time. Emeline
paused. That couldn’t be artillery, that had fallen silent hours ago. It was almost… the thudding footfalls
of some great beast. Or, some great… machine. The colour drained from Emeline’s face.

Suddenly, a Leman Russ rolled forward, bouncing along the floor, like some over grown toy, before it
collided with a sewage pipe, and detonated, in a green ball of flames. The combatants paused for an
instant, as the soldiers all realised what was coming.

The Kine machine was oblivious, however, and leapt left and right, lopping off heads and arms, and
dragging more corpses around itself as it did so. The Balhaun threw themselves forward with even
greater zeal now, fear driving them onwards. They clashed in combat with the Lychen, like a wave against
sea defences. Clubs smashed faces, bayonets opened bellies, and daggers pierced eyes, as the combats
continued, to bloody conclusions.

Emeline dodged a clumsy swing with an axe, and fired her gun, blasting a fist sized hole in a Balhaun’s
chest, as she swung her sword around, to take both hands from another. She had no time to cower from
the giant machine, which was coming to destroy them. She was fighting for her own life, dodging sword
thrusts, and lazy las bursts, while she hacked all about her, and fired her pistol till it clicked, now only
good as a club, she briefly thought, as she caved in a naked woman’s skull, as she tried to strangle
Emeline, with tentacled hands.

Suddenly, the hall was illuminated, searing beams of white shone from great lamps, on the back of the
giant thing ahead. Emeline could now see the fountains of blood, that sprayed all around, and the body
parts that fell all around her. She dodged to one side, as a Lychen bit the throat out, of a Balhaun, who
gagged, coughing up blood, before the lychen struck him between the eyes with an axe, splitting the
head like an obscene melon.

The Balhaun were fleeing, the only way they knew; back towards the titan. Most were stamped flat, as
the thing lumbered forward, while others scuttled past, off into the hive’s depths.

Emeline stood then, transfixed, by the metal juggernaught before her. Easily sixty metres, the brazen
beast filled the entire hall’s height. Embedded in its cliff-like shoulders, were a multi barrelled mega
bolter, which spun idly, as well as a vast missile silo. Its huge, loping arms mounted a long laser destroyer
cannon, and a melta cannon. These were complimented, by the vast array of smaller cannons, which
adorned it. This was truly an avatar of warfare, and bloodshed.

The titan took another laborious step forward, followed by a dull boom, as it cracked the marble
floor.Emeline knew they couldn’t defeat it. She knew this. But she would fight it nonetheless.

“Bring up the heavy guns!”, she bellowed out, and Lychen sped off to retrieve their larcenous, auto guns
and missile launchers.

The titan took another shuddering step forward.

The Lychen guns were step up, almost as soon as they touched the ground, triggered and armed.

The giant machine bellowed again, and stepped once more. The kine machine charged forward, wailing a
mechanical whine, blades flashing. It slammed through the titan’s void shield, igniting the corpses upon
its torso. The thing continued on its mad charge, until the titan’s vast metal hoof slammed down, and
crushed the construct, with contemptuous ease. Its foot twisted slightly, to ensure the kine machine was
destroyed, before it readied another step.

Emeline licked her dry lips, before raising her sword high.

“Fire all batteries!” she yelled, her voice hoarse from constant shouting. A hundred weapons roared, and
whistled, and hissed at once, as they unleashed their firey payloads. Missiles swam through the air,
lascannon beams speared forth, and auto cannons growled, as shell after shell was lobbed with casual
abandon.

They all struck, with the force of a flaming comet. The fire of impact ran like liquid flame, all around the
void shield, which hummed an intense blue, as it repelled all the weapons fire. When the tumult was
ended, the titan walked on, oblivious to their weapons.
Emeline felt utter despair then. Until an unexpected occurence shocked them all...

###

The pain was immense. He had never truly felt anything like it. Vash dragged himself, by one hand, nails
bloody and broken, across the cracked marble tiles, a thick trail of crimson gore marking his journey,
across the hall. His breath came in ragged gasps, and each time brought with it, a gobule of flem, mixed
with blood.

He couldn’t focuss, he had lost so much blood. But he would not stop. He dragged himself, onwards and
onwards, inch by torturous inch.

He was dimly aware of bodies, running to and frow around the hall, the sonorous bangs of weapon
discharges strangely muted, in Vash’s mind. Vash could only focus upon one thing within the mess of
coloured blurs and shouts. The metal train, which stood immobile, as chaos ensued further down the
hall.

He was within a hundred yards, before he yelled out for aid, blood spattering from his mouth as he did
so. His stomach wound was open to the air, and stunk like rot, as it pumped out blood. Vash gargled, and
lay still.

###

Galvanner looked out, over the carnage being wrought amongst the Balhaun. He dearly wished he could
be there. His urge to maim was insatiable.

He then detected a gasping moan, ominous in its familiarity. Galvanner leapt from his train, and stormed
out, into the hall. Vash lay still, blood pooling around his waist.

Galvanner rushed to his side, and called back to the charnal train, “Get a flesh tailor! Now!”.
A brief time passed, and Vash was brought on board the train, and was stitched together, as best as
Nered, the regimental flesh tailor, could manage (though blood still occasionally drooled from his
wound). Vash slowly regained consciousness.

Vash could hear the dull booms, of heavy footfalls in the distance, and the horrific bellow of something
inhuman. Galvanner was with him.

“We had though you lost master.”, he gurgled. Vash tried to smile.

“Never. I’m enjoying myself far too much at the moment. Maybe I’ll die tomorrow, I don’t feel like it
today.”, he joked, though his words were pained.

“Why do you not aid the Blade Enforcer?”, he muttered darkly. Galvanner looked down in shame.

“She demanded I remain here, as reinforcement.”

“Well, reinforce then!” Vash hissed, rising slightly from his bed, “You know what to do.”

Galvanner looked into Vash’s eyes, and smiled his wicked smile, before running off, excited.

###

The train began to move, metal squealing under the strain of enertia. The train sped, faster and faster,
until it burst from the track. Galvanner had compensated for this, and the train’s secondary wheels
deployed. The train ran down the marble at an insane pace, accelerating more and more.
The top hatch opened, and Galvanner reared out, cheering and howling in delight. “Faster!”, he called
back down, at the Lychen pilots.

He could see the titan looming, and smiled grimly. “Ramming Speed!”, he howled, drawing an axe, and
waving it like a madman.

“How fast’s that?”, a pilot yelled up. Galvanner merely kicked him in the face. “Faster than this, at any
rate!”

The train thus sped forward, and both it, and the Lychen aboard, would soon face their moment of
reckoning.Part Twenty One.

Reheinhart reached, and grasped the next coarse rung of the service ladder. His breaths were uneven, as
he struggled with the oftimes damaged ladder, which snaked up the shaft. He could hear his aide,
grumbling, as he took struggled with the infuriating ladder structure, several dull thuds signally Henmar
had tripped again, striking his head on the shaft’s ferrocrete sides.

At last, Reheinhart reached the lip, of some sort of door. This was the next exit of the lift. He breathed,
relieved, and hauled himself onto the small ledge. He struggled with the door. Sealed tight. No matter,
he thought, drawing his power sword. He switched the weapon on, and the weapon hummed… before
shorting out.

Reheinhart cursed, and put the blade back into its sheath, instead drawing his las pistol. He looked
down, at the series of LEDs, that flickered on the side of the gun, indicating how many shots remained in
the holy weapon. Only two LEDs winked back at Reheinhart. Only two shots remained.

“Emperor damn it!”, he cursed, loudly.

“Problem, sir?”, Henmar called up. Reheinhart looked back down at him.
“No problem, aide. Now, just pass me up a krak charge, and stand clear.”

###

“So. You come here, to slay my mistress? You will be disappointed, little fool.”, Haldan mocked, as
Sparrod clambered expertly, onto the head of The Beloved, dread axe drawn and ready. The two chaos
champions faced each other, amid a furious lightening storm, caused by the Lychen weapons impactin
upon the vast void shield that enclosed them.

Sulvar hung back, behind Haldan, waiting for the combat to commence. Time seemed to slow, as the two
men lunged forth through the air. One was a riot of garish colours, that leaked from every orifice, the
other was utter shadow. Their two blades met, and a brief nova of flame, burst between their two
clashing weapons, flinging each combatant aside, as the two daemon’s within the blades clashed in
combat similarly.

Sparrod rose first, and lunged, spinning through the air towards Haldan. He swept his weapon around,
almost faster than the eye could see, dashing Sparrod aside, who then spun around, to strike at Haldan’s
back. His blade was already there, knocking the weapon back, in another shower of warp flame. The two
circled each other, trading blows faster than a wasp’s wing beats. A corona of flaming horror swam
around them, as the daemon’s grappled with one another.

Haldan struck out, grabbing Sparrod by the throat, flinging him backwards, who proceded to slam into
the lower laser destroyer, on the titan’s right arm, far below. Haldan screamed in pleasure, launching
himself from the titan’s vast head, plummeting towards Sparrod. Sparrod spun a cloak of shadow about
him, as Haldan struck.

Haldan looked down. His blade was embedded in the ceramite side of the titan’s great arm. Sparrod
lunged, as Haldan flung his tail around, knocking Sparrod’s downward blow, just enough to sent him
skittering away, with a yelp. At last, Haldan pulled his blade free, with a hiss of agonising pleasure.

Sparrod attacked again, trading several thousand blows, and reposes, with Haldan, his speed matching
Sparrod’s, almost exactly. Almost.

Sparrod ducked under a misjudged swipe by Haldan, and hacked down. Haldan hissed, as his fleshy tail
fell, limply, to the ground, far below. Sparrod swept his blade towards Haldan’s spine, but Haldan spun
around, grasping a handful of Sparrod’s hair in the process. He spun around, and slammed Sparrod into
the floor, and stamped down on Sparrod’s head. A crunch was heard.

Sparrod rolled away, face reforming, smiling darkly. The two charged each other once more, as the floor
beneath them became white hot. The Laser Destroyer had fired. Haldan tackled Sparrod, mid-air,
slamming him into the adamantine cliff, of the titan’s shoulder. The two fell backwards, but managed to
cling onto one of the mega bolter’s many barrels.

The titan roared, and took another, inexorable step forwards.

Sparrod, and Haldan, leapt to regain a footing on the long gun. The two snarled.

###

The Beloved couldn’t concentrate. The slimy daemon continued to slither through its metal mind,
cursing it with every breath. The titan bellowed again, firing into the Lychen forces, with its vast missile
launcher, and watched, as vast blooms of orange fire erupted, amid them, turning many to ash.

The Beloved hated this confined space. It was an avatar of war, destined to defeat all, on the field of
battle. The beloved wished to see the sky, and make war under a baleful sun once more.

It bellowed once more, and fired its vast laser destroyer, into one of the hive peak’s support pillars. The
pillar evaporated, in a burst of molten metal, and the whole hive rumbled. Only two more, and the
Beloved would be free…

###
Emeline eventually regained her hearing. All around her were flames, and the moans of the dying. The
titan’s vast weaponry, had decimated her forces in a single shot. She could not think what to do, as she
staggered, dazed, amid the carnage.

“F-Fire again!”, she wheezed, to anybody who would listen. A brief volley of shots erupted from her
broken lines, pattering harmlessly on The Beloved’s shields, dappling the void shields with diffuse fire.
Suddenly, a column of intense red light burst forth, from the vast construct. Emeline flinched,
involuntarily, as the beam stabbed through a ceramite column, blasting a vast hole into the side of the
hive. Emeline felt the cooling (but pungent) breeze, of fresh air strike her face, soothingly. It was evening
outside, and the illumination of the Imperial crusade forces could dimly be made out.

Damn, she cursed. This meant that the crusade fleet would be on the other, light side of the planet. It
would be at least two days, before the fleet could launch an orbital strike on the hive. Too long, for what
was beneath the hive’s summit.

Emeline heard another roar, metallic and loud. This wasn’t the titan’s roar, however. Surprised, Emeline
turned, as the vast train burst through the blazing wreckage, that was Emeline’s battle-line. She only just
leapt to one side, as the speeding train thundered past her. She rose, looking at the vast train, that sped
towards The Beloved.

“Damn you, Galvanner! You mad fool!”, she screamed, only truthfully half-angry at him. She, in fact,
admired the insane engineer, and considered him one of her true ‘friends’, in the regiment. Her thoughts
on the former Corporal, however, never rose above fear, and faint disgust.

Whatever Galvanner had planned, Emeline prayed it would work. She also prayed, that he had thought
through the plan, beyond simply ramming the damn titan…

###

As she would soon realise, this was not the case…

Galvanner yelled in joy, as the train carrened forward, ever faster. The tian was getting closer, and it fired
its huge mega bolter at the metal juggernaught, that bore down on it. Galvanner’s vehicle swerved
between the vast crater, the mega bolter tore up in the marble. Galvanner ducked inside his hatche, as
the marble chips rained down, in a torrent of ceramic pain.

Time ran slow, for Galvanner, as he saw the train moments from striking the void shields. Galvanner was
flung, down, deep into his train, as flames played across the hull of the train. Metal hissed, and snapped,
and Galvaner felt the train shudder, as it passed through the shield, as countless rivets burst out, like
lethal bullets. The pilots attempted to steer the train, as they avoid red hot rivets, that darted around the
deck. One Lychen fell, a small metal fragment passing through his mind, tearing it out, through the back
of his skull. He tumbled to the side, as the train continued to speed forward.

The titan’s raised right foot slammed down, through the rear sections of the train, tearing its roof, as the
front of the train careered into the titan’s left leg. The fron wreckage barbs, riveted to the train, tangled
themselves in the left leg’s tendon-like servos.

###

Vash heard something descending, and jumped from his sickbed, as a vast metal foot lunged through the
roof, with a screech of punished metal. An adamantine toe flicked forwards, trying to free itself. This
flung Vash several meters along the train’s corridor, but did little to free the behemoth’s limbs.

It was stuck.

###

The leg battlements fired, again and again, ripping thousands of holes into the train’s cockpit, and the
Lychen jerked, as the emplacements tore them apart. Galvanner ran down the length of the train,
followed by the fire of auto cannons, ripping through the roof. He sped down the train, lunging behind
the right leg of the titan, before clambering around it, running down the train, jabbering about “Return
Fire!”.
He vaulted Vash, who lay on his front, dragging himself, one-handed, towards the gun cabinet. At last,
Galvanner reached his destination. The rear cargo hold.

On reflection, Galvanner thought, he was glad he had had this stored. Galvanner leapt into the gunner’s
chair, and activated the roof controls. With a growling hiss, the adamantine roof doors slid open,
revealing the form of the Lychen Russ. Autocannon fire pattered off the Lychen tank, as Galvanner
loaded a shot.

“Let’s play.”, he muttered, before he fired. The vast shell cork screwed through the air, and impacted with
a dull thud, before detonating, sending the left leg’s battlements scattering, in a shower of sparks and
masonry, accompanied with the surprised shouts of the Balhaun gunners, before they were abruptly cut
short, by a vast throaty boom.

Galvanner smiled wickedly.

Part Twenty Two.

Sparrod and Haldan leapt from barrel to barrel, as the mega bolter fired, the vast barrels spinning
insanely. Between each lung, the warriors exchanged blow after blow, blades coming together in grim
detonations.

Finally, Sparrod flung both his legs forward, double-kicking Haldan in the ribs. Haldan wheezed, as he
was flung backwards, coming to rest on the flat sheets of adamantine, that made up the titan’s unnatural
shoulders. Haldan swept his blade around, the block Sparrod’s suddenly lunge, knocking aside the
descending axe. Haldan swiftly rose, deflecting dozens of frenzied follow-up strikes, the two combatants
moving with an eerie speed and precision, as if one knew the other’s every move.

Sulvar scuttled up a service ladder, on The Beloved’s head section, and he dragged himself onto the
broad shoulder-deck, crackling lightning whipping about his head, as something else slammed into the
void shield.
Sparrod and Haldan were thrown to the floor, as the titan jerked uneasily, as if its vast limbs were
trapped in a tar pit. The mechanical monster bellowed in frustration.

The distraction was enough. Haldan rose fractionally before Sparrod, and dashed his weapon from his
hands. The dread axe sailed through the air, before embedding itself in the thick deck, dozens of yards
away. Haldan kicked Sparrod in the face, sending him sprawling to the floor.

Haldan laughed, his voice deep and sickly. “Ha! You whelp! You believe my mistress would allow you to
slay her? Pathetic! You, my friend, shall die. You blood’s meagre offering, will awaken my mistress, and
free her from this metal prison. Blessed be her majestic horror!”, Haldan raved, his mouth frothing, as his
eyes glowed an ethereal yellow, baleful and evil.

Sparrod gazed into them. And he laughed.

###

The Beloved could not move. It twisted and pulled, but its legs would not free themselves from the train-
thing below.

The vast titan took out its frustration on the second support pillar, which flashed to molten slag, from
one shot of its great melta cannon. The roof sagged uneasily, metal groans echoing throughout the
chamber. The Beloved was unconcerned, as it spun on its axis, aiming its laser destroyer, at the final
pillar. The daemon lashed out, in its mind, and the Titan suddenly lurched, its cannon ripping through
the side of the hive structure.

The roof made a final scream, before it seemed to slough off the hive, like a snowdrift on a mountain
summit. The vast chunk of masonry and metal slid down the hive, descending through the clouds, down
into the gloomy battlefield of Saris, far below.

The Beloved roared, triumphant, gazing all around, from the peak of the hive, like some ancient heathen
god, surveying its subjects, beneath it’s holy gaze.
###

Haddon, preacher of the Emperor’s truth, strode through the melee’s, unafraid. Ever since he had been
saved from the defiler, a day ago, by the Emperor, Haddon now knew. He was an invincible tool of the
Emperor. He had stripped off his flak vest, and strode amongst the other Cadians, bare chested, his body
covered in crude charcoal litanies. He bellowed prayers and encouragements to his fellow men.

Haddon laughed, as las bolts zipped around him. He was protected by a higher power now, and he would
not be harmed. He spat vitriole at the chaos whelps, cursing them.

“The Emperor is forever, Heretics!”, he hissed, making the sign of the aquila as he did so. A vast bellow of
ruptured metal, suddenly resonated across the battlefield.

Haddon the Holy, gazed up to the heavens, clutching his aquila emblem tightly. A vast, 500 metre chunk
of masonry and metal, descended through the clouds. The nearby cadians screamed, fleeing for their
very lives. All save for haddon. He simply gazed upwards, eyes shining with tears.

“Ave Imperious. The Emperor protects.”, he whispered, as it slammed down.

Thus ended Haddon Relsharn’s brief career as a preacher of the Imperial Truth.

###

Colonel Gravean, on the Cadian 101st, witnessed the vast hive summit, as it plummeted, and crashed,
with an ungodly boom, on the southern defence quadrant, sending a wave of dust, scattering over the
entire crusade army, who looked on in shock.
Gravean spat out his mouthful of recaff, and spun around, scattering his data slates. He turned to the
tech adept, at the main sensorial.

What the warp was that!”, he gasped.

The command squad ran about, grabbing up streams of data, ripping off reams of the information.
Gravean turned to his Vox master.

“How many have we lost?”, he muttered, darkly.

“I’ve lost contact with seven platoon’s, the 8th, 6th, 132nd , 34th, 51st, 16th, and the 12th. I also can’t
hail the 45th armoured brigade, sir. Should I presume them dead?”

“It is your only recourse.”, Gravean groaned, before rising, and moving over to the Sensoria operator. The
tech adept looked up, eyes dead and bionic.

“What did this?”

The tech adept paused, before answering. “We detected several weapon discharges, from the summit.
Two laser destroyer shots, and a single melta cannon shot. The data confirms this accurately.”, the priest
buzzed, in the monotone of an adept of Mars.

Gravean cursed. They were titan guns! They have a damned titan, he thought desperately, before
sweeping around, to engage the vox master.

“I want a message to the fleet. Titan, need orbital strike, directly on the hive’s summit. Got that?”

“Yes sir, but the fllet won’t respond.”

“Oh, and why’s that?”, Gravean snarled.

“They are on the light side. It will take them at least another day to get within long range vox range.”

“Use a damned spook then!”, Gravean bellowed, turning back to the battlefield carnage, as his armies
tried to move around and engage the enemy, around the great fiery debris.

“We can’t.”, the Vox master uttered. Commissar Yorvick stepped forwards, putting his hell pistol to the
man’s temple, face emotionless.

“Why?”, the commissar asked, threat dribbling from every syllable. The Vox master cleared his throat,
uneasily, before continuing.

“Well, umm… the Lord General ordered that, since we were facing the ruinous powers, are sanctioned
psykers should go ahead, in the first wave, and-”

Gravean’s groan interrupted the young Vox man. Gravean’s head sank, as he banged his head upon his
varnished oak table, several times, before continuing.

“I take it, they were in the wave that just-”

“Yes Sir.”, the Vox man answered, anticipating the Colonel’s question.

Yorvick’s faced twisted, in righteous indignation.

“Excuse me. Does anyone of you know where the Lord General’s command pulpit is?”, Yorvick asked,
menacingly. They all pointed up to the hill behind them. The commissar nodded, moving towards the
door flap of the Colonels’s tent .

“I’ll be back in 15 Terran-standard minutes.”, he called back, before moving out, into the blistering, grey
rain outside.

Gravean turned, once more, to the Vox man. “Is there any naval vessels in vox range?”

The Vox master paused, turning to his headset, and mumbling quietly, before responding.

“There’s one. The Escort carrier, Tiberius’ Glaive. It has several wings off Thunderbolt fighters, and
Marauder bombers. Orders?”

Gravean considered this new development. They would have to do. “Send the previous message I gave
you. Do it!”, Gravean ordered,sternly. The vox man nodded professionally, and Gravean once more
surveyed the gloomy skies. He prayed this would work, otherwise the crusade would end here, on this
murky feth hole.

###

Emeline gasped, as the air suddenly thinned, and powerful winds whipped at her face and arms,
stabbing deep through her clothes, seemingly chilling her very heart’s blood. All her Lychen were lying
upon the floor, expecting to be crushed. If she was honest, she was too. Instead, only small fragments of
metal shaving twinkled down, eerily beautiful, amid all this horror.

Another roar, like metal scraping metal, boomed, somehow less loud, now the roof’s echoes were gone.
All around her, Emeline could see the full panorama of Saris’ skies, which seemed beautiful, above the
thick pollution. Stars glittered, and Emeline almost forgot where they were.

She then looked ahead, at the grand titan construct, which twisted on its axis, firing sporadically at the
hive floor, and the clouds below them, stabbing through, to destroy countless lives below.
Emeline had to stop it. Her eyes hardened, determined.

###

“Why are you laughing?”, Haldan roared, as he stood over the defenceless Sparrod, who simply sat
down, laughing, mocking Haldan’s every achievment.

“You can’t even slay me, let alone my majestic mistress!”, Haldan mocked back, ignoring the fact the hive
roof had vanished while he fought. He raised his sword high, yet Sparrod continued to smirk
incredulously.

“You don’t see, do you? I am a facilitator. I am the facilitator. I could never had killed you, as that isn’t my
role.”, Sparrod tittered.

Sulvar plunged in his blade, given to him by Sparrod the Herald. The sharpened fragment of null rod, slid
between Haldan’s spine and ribs, with a hiss. Haldan flung back Sulvar, roaring and gargling insanely. He
staggered, eyes unfocussed. His sword daemon had been driven back, to the Warp. He felt himself
evaporating, his soul flaying apart. He hissed in rage, coughing up a thick gruel of congealed blood.

Sparrod rose then, all humour vanished.

“Malal wishes only self destruction, and utter chaos. He doesn’t care who lands the final cut. You, dear
Haldan thrice cursed… you are the flesh sacrifice.”, Sparrod whispered.

Haldan screamed then, a terrified, wailing scream, which was a keening shriek that shattered the
boundaries of time and space, if even only for a brief instant. Then, Haldan’s eyes blackened, as his sould
was dragged, to feed Aszyxth. The final offering.
The Beloved’s princeps shuddered, as something slid into his mind. His body bulged, and split at the
seams, spilling visera across the floor. Tentacles lashed out, striking out at the panicking cultists, than ran
around the titan’s head. One was snared, and dragged into the rapidly forming mouth, that ripped itself
free of the princeps.

“FREEEDDOOMMM!”, a voice at once delicate, and horrifically vulgar, bellowed, as well as purred. It was
sickly sweet, but also as sour as venom. It was the hiss and growl of a greater daemon of Slannesh, or
the daemon Aszyxth the Beloved Mistress of Agonies undreamt.

All who heard her deadly siren song, wept with fear, rage and desire. All, that is, except Sparrod, who’s
face remained impassive, as he strolled up to his dread axe, plucking it gingerly from the adamantine
deck.

“It is time.”, he whispered to the weapon.

“W-What happens to me?” Sulvar snivelled. Sparrod paused, as if considering the question.

“One day, Sulvar, you will desire revenge against me. My master will provide. And I will be waiting,
providing you survive.” Sparrod replied, before he kicked Sulvar full in the chest. The fat man stumbled
backwards, and toppled over the edge of the titan, with a slight yelp, before a quiet thud could be heard
below.

Sparrod returned his attention to the task he had set out for himself. He could hear mocking laughter,
and hideous screams, coming from the inside of The Beloved’s head, as blood sprayed from inside.

“Come. Tonight, freedom beckons.” he promised quietly to his axe.

Part Twenty Three.

Emeline yelled fierce war howls, which was copied by the Lychen, who charged with her. The Lychen
outcasts were truly amazing, Emeline concluded. As long as their was the prospect of a bloody kill, they
would keep getting up, keep fighting, until the very end.

The Lychen charged with her, towards the towering form of The Beloved, while winded snatched and
tore at their clothes and faces. They had no fear at this point. Only hate. Only sporadic fire opposed
them, auto cannons spluttering occasionally from the remaining leg battlements, the other shattered by
a vast battle cannon shell (no doubt Galvanner’s work).

A Lychen to her side stumbled, as his chest burst in a gory shower. He crumpled, gargled blood wetly,
before falling, the Lychen behind crushing him under iron shod boots. Nothing could stop their advance.
Several more shots stabbed out, blazing amongst them, ripping away torsos and limbs. The small army of
Lychen lunatics charged the void shield. Some approached the shield too fast, and were flayed alive,
even as they ran through it, screaming. Most slowed, as Emeline had hastily yelled out, and they
shimmered through the invisible barrier with little struggle.

Emeline scrambled for cover, behind the shell-ridden train chasis, that clung rebelliously to the vast
titan’s turret wide legs. Their cover bucked uneasily, in part due to Galvanner’s cannon, which blasted
again and again, but mainly due to the legs of the titan, that bucked and shuddered, as they struggled to
disentangle themselves from the ruined train.

Several Lychen Engineers staggered out of the ragged train, covered in blood, but happy. Some, too
happy, as theu laughed, even while clutching their own severed limbs. The gunfire of the battlements
was drowned out, by yet another blast of the Russ’s cannon. It throaty roar, was soon followed by the
sound of metal shearing, and crumbling stonework. The final battlement was down.

The Lychen cheered, slicing faces and licking at the blood, in readiness. Swarming around the titan’s legs,
like angry fire ants, the lychen slammed their weapons and hands onto the Warlord’s hull, desperately
searching for an opening. They slammed fists, and pounded with bloodied heads. They were losing
cohesion, Emeline realised. If she couldn’t get them into battle now, after coming so close, she may lose
them to insanity.

She too sped around the Titan’s left leg, feeling around, for some sort of hatch. The titan bellowed again,
so close that it hurt Emeline’s mind, and shuddered her very bones. She caught her hand on something,
and yelped as it cut her. It was a seam, in the side of the vast titan. She felt a gap. At last.

“Get this open!”, she yelled out, as two Lychen warriors ran up, clutching heavy, barrel-like melta bombs
to their chests. Their eyes were manic with delight, as they clamped them onto the titan.

Almost as one, the Lychen all ran backwards, falling over one another, to avoid the inevitable detonation.

They were not to be disappointed.

###

Reheinhart and Henmar trudged upwards. Ever upwards. The journey had grown steadily worse. Where
before they had been clambering up a ladderin an elevator shaft, they were not climbing a near endless
flight of metal stairs. Every step or two, was rusted away, to a brown stain and little else. These would
come away, as they stood on them, leaving either Henmar, or Reheinhart, to pull themselves back onto
firmer ground.

Henmar barely cared though, as he dodged crumbling steps, or avoided listening to the worrying creaks
that echoed all around. He felt the psychic curse calling ever stronger, the hideous premonition clawing
at his mind. The las bolt, passing through his mind, turning it to ash, with a dull whine. It was inevitable,
and inescapable, and it dragged Henmar’s soul to morbid depths.

“Come, aide! We shall be up at the top soon enough. Then, we can smite these unholy wretches forever.
Then, I can return to Lord Darvius, and have that little bitch Emeline burned alive.”, Reheinhart smirked
painfully, his augmetic cheek still pulling at his flesh, infuriatingly.

Henmar scowled at Reheinhart’s back, once the upstart fool had turned away. What made him think
Henmar wanted to see the female commissar dead. If Henmar felt anything towards her, it would be
protectiveness of her. He hated to think what those Lychen would do to her, when those monsters were
alone with her. Terrible things, or so he had heard from his former friend.
Even if Henmar had wanted to kill her, he knew that to do so, would be very bad for whoever did the
deed. Commissar killers got fast-tracked to the excruciators. Henmar was not that foolish. No one in their
right mind would want want happened beneath the lands of Ophelia VII, within the heretic pens.
Henmar shuddered, despite the stifling heat of the staircase chamber.

###

Sparrod watched, as something vast, and disgustingly beautiful, dragged itself from the titan’s head,
before it calmly stepped onto the broad metal shoulders of the titan.

The daemon was three times Sparrod’s own height. It seemed to be some vast, naked female, with
shimmering, golden scales, so fine they looked like skin. Its face was smooth and beautiful, with eyes
wide and black, twin abysses, to be lost in, forever.

Running down the creature’s shapely spine, were barbs of chitin, which followed the contours of the
being’s body exactly. It’s four limbs bore hideously long, slender talons, black and hard, like obsidian.

One hand carefully clutched a struggling cultist. The daemon brought him up to her face, and gifted him
with a single, passionate kiss. He calmed, and was still, before the daemon slid him into her mouth, and
down her gullet.

Aszyxth smiled sweetly, licking her full, purple lips, with her long, sinuous tongue. Sparrod edged back
slightly.

“So…. You’re the one who has given me such trouble.”, she purred, stepping forward. Sparrod noticed
her feet were eagle’s talons.

She swept her mane of tentacles from her face, and looked Sparrod up and down, hissing with pleasure.
“Handsome, I suppose, in a fleeting, futile way.” she giggled, as she assessed Sparrod.
“I am here to facilitate your downfall… madam…”, Sparrod announced, struggling to find a word to sum
up this abomination.

She laughed then, a shuddering boom, which shimmered the air around her. “Such tenacity, for one son
young!”, she muttered with glee, smiling, to reveal row upon row of serrated fangs.

“I have slain every daemon, and champion, that has ever faced me. I am Aszyxth, the mistress of deaths
desired! I know all secrets, and I am lust made flesh! What are you? Nothing!”, she snarled, stepping
forward again, horns beginning to curl from amid her scalp, curvin backwards, like som daemonic
antellope.

Sparrod swallowed, uneasy, but confident. “My patron shall best you. All becomes chaos in the end.”

“Speak not of chaos to me, little man! I don’t fear your pathetic patron. Who is it? Khorne! Pah, the
pathetic beast, nothing more. Tzeentch? His lies are meaningless, to one who sees the truth, the truth of
desire.”

As she spoke, Sparrod was seised, in her psychic hold, and was raised slightly from the floor beneath
him.

“Nurgle? I don’t fear the ugliness of Entropy. I am forever. Who? Who is this patron, that should threaten
my magnificence?”, she howled, her fangs growing more pronounced.

Sparrod looked up, face twisted in agony. He uttered one word.

“Malal.”

Aszyxth shrieked, and dropped Sparrod in shock, her scales turning a dull white for an instant. “No, no,
no. Lies! Don’t lie to a daemon, whelp! We see all!”
“Then see my truth. The parasite god has returned, Aszyxth.”, Sparrod snarled, before he slammed his
dread axe over his knee.

A great plume of smoke billiowed from the shattered weapon, dragging Sparrods black armour into the
cloud also. The smoke began to spin, ever faster and faster, shafts of blinding white light rippling along
the surface of the cloud. Aszyxth stepped back, hissing, as her lower set of arms twisted, into the shape
of great crab pincers.

“My master serves Malal. He is the darkness. He grows in power, as you grow.”, Sparrod muttered, as he
fell to his knees, the burden of possession lifted from his shoulders. He glanced up, and briefly saw the
outline of vast wings, bursting from the cloud of black smoke.

The air grew thick, and painful, and his nose bled, as the two greater daemons glared at one another.

###

The Beloved howled, its mechanical howl. It was free of the daemon. The vast titan looked out, across
the endless vista of Saris.

Now, it could finally make war.

###

Vash snatched the plasma rifle from the cabinet, at last, exerting all his reserves of strength, to prop
himself up, using his shattered and half-dismembered left arm, while he grasped for the weapon with his
other arm.

He turned, and aimed at the titan’s foot. The azure ball of energy exploded from the weapon, striking the
foot, like a small nuclear blast. The foot was scortched, and sections sparked, as super heated material
bubbled into the exterior of the limb. The leg remained.

Vash cursed, loudly, throwing aside his weapon. He would need a bigger gun…

###

Jerex snarled, as he drew his sword, the golden sheen of the weapon comforting him slightly. His men,
the last of the Balhaun units, were stuck defending the inside of this Imperial behemoth, and he was sick
of it. The only reason he had returned to the top of the titan, was the eerie sounds, and bizarre lights,
that danced up there. It was a daemon war, and Jerex wouldn’t get in the way of that.

He looked around at his men. Their glittering golden armour, with its red trim, shined in the dim
illumination of the titan leg. They were his very best, and would never break. They were too perfect.

The chaos troopers listened out, to the sounds of frenzied scratching and banging, and the growls of
feral things, outside. Daemons, he assumed. Must be.

“Ready yourselves. For her divine agonies!”, Jerex bawled out, and was rewarded with a group yell of
pride from his men, followed by each soldier saluting, with a fist to the chest.

Jerex would be ready for daemons.

What he was not ready for, however, was the main exit hatch detonating, in a storm of whickering metal
fragments, accompanied by a shriek of released gases. The blast threw his men to the ground for an
instant. An instant was all Emeline needed.

###
Darius descended, his thunderbolt humming a dull red, as the atmosphere thickened. His four wingmen
closed in around him, forming a tight wedge around him.

++Ready men. Closing with target, in t minus seven minutes.++

Darius made his last minute checks. Lascannons: Fully charged. Four auto cannons: Full ammunition
quota. Four Hellstrike missiles: Charges set, and ready.

He banked over a bulge in the clouds, as he approached the target. As he did so, he finally was in visual
range. The thing was vast, like some grand giant of ancient myth. The titan stood, defiant, upon the very
peak of the hive, glowering over all of Saris, as it roared, siloetted against the blackness of the upper
atmosphere, an island amongst the rolling sea of cloud beneath the adamantine giant.

++Holy Throne!++, one of Darius’ pilots exclaimed over the vox.

++Damn it Lucy, I said maintain vox silence!++

Finally, his squadron soared into hell strike range.

++Now, ladies and gentlemen! Lets blast this thing to the warp. Hellstrike one, launch!++, Darius yelled
over his vox, before slamming his thumb onto his launch pad.

Five missiles streaked from the squadron, in a perfect V formation, sailing like white darts, trailing fire.
They thudded home, and exploded. A brief ripple of blue light, played across the void shield of The
Beloved.

++Damn! Break off!++

The thunderbolts screamed through the air, as they spread out, to avoid the hulking behemoth, coiling
back on themselves, to made another run.

The Beloved roared, insanely, spinning on its axis. Darius noticed a sudden power surge. It was preparing
to fire.

++Evasive actions! Dodge that thing!++

His pilots barrel-rolled, and looped, as the vast turbo laser fired. Most made it, but Gerrick’s thunderbolt
was clipped. He screamed, as his wing snapped away, and his cockpit burst into flames. His scream’s
turned animalistic, and Darius could hear the sound of meat cooking, and shut off Gerrick’s vox,
watching him glide, blazing, into the clouds, and out of sight.

They were in trouble.

++Command, the titan’s void shield is active! We can’t take it out! What do we do?++

He heard a brief buzz in his ear, then command responded.

++Circle it, Imperious Squadron. Keep its guns occupied. Lets hope the Maruaders have more luck.
Otherwise, only the Emperor can help us.++

“Damn it!”, Darius muttered to himself, as his Thunderbolts made another arcing bank, before peeling
off, to avoid a torrent of light weapons fire from the god-machine. For a brief instant, Darius thought he
saw something glowing at the top of the titan, like two giants wrestling. He shook his head. No time for
distractions.

He was in trouble.

###
At last, thought The Beloved, as it fired another laser shot, at the fast moving darts, that buzzed around
its head. Its tar getters were having trouble tracking the fast moving things, but its other, smaller guns,
were having a better job. It decided, those humans, wielding its secondary guns, would be killed very
last, for imprisoning him. That was, once it could get rid of this damned princeps, who clouded its
judgement, with his constant babbling. He would die took, The Beloved determined.

However, at present, it had the heretics in the sky to contend with.

Part Twenty Four.

Lord General Gravean, had inherited one hell of a mess from his former superior. The massive hulk of
rubble had smashed his forward attack forces on the southern quadrant, while the Lychen reserves in
the north had ground to a halt.

The masses of cultists had somehow regrouped, and were pouring out of the hive in unprecedented
numbers. Apparently, they were chanting about their mistress’ “ascension”, or other such nonsense.
How many heretics occupied the hive was beyond Gravean’s best analysts, and was a question he would
rather not ask.

This counterattack had left the Cadian 101st, still shocked by the loss of their forward ranks, unprepared.
It was in the southern quadrant that the forces of Saris focussed, and the 101st were being pushed back.

Nor only this, but a vast titan was standing atop the very Hive itself, both holding off fighters, and
decimating troop squadrons, with its vast energy weapons.

Gravean needed support for his Cadians. The 465th had moved from the north, to support the 101st, but
he needed more. This was why he had summoned the Corporal of the Lychen reserves to his chamber.

Gravean gazed back down at his chronograph, for the sixteenth time. This ‘honour’, of being field
promoted, had done nothing to make Gravean feel any less stressed. In fact, it had done quite the
opposite.
Eventually, the Corporal, one Corporal Keshak, to be presise, shoved his way into the chamber room. He
and his rabble of Lychen burst in noisily.

Keshak was as feral and savage-looking as all the other Lychen, with pelts fixed to his torso by sharp
wooden pegs, and fangs. He was drenched in fresh blood, which stank a metallic odour. Looking at him,
Gravean had the impression he had seen him before. Keshak carried a vast, curving shield, almost his
own height in length. Though a vast skin was stretched bloodily over it, the shield was unmistakably
Arbite in origin. Similarly, the riot shotgun, the broad chested Lychen clutched in one clawed hand, was
obviously Arbites, dispite the axe head bound to its tip.

The Lychen smiled, his smile metallic. The Lychen also had many barbs, jabing up through his shaved
scalp, giving him the appearance of some kind of ferocious sea enenemy. Gravean noted all this without
comment.

“You summoned me, Lord General?”, the tall beast thundered, his voice surprisingly eloquent, as well as
deep and inherently threatening.

The General took a long sip of amasec, before he answered. “Ah yes. Corporal Keshak. I, and my
collegues, we wondering when you would be entering the fight, on the southern quadrant. As you must
be aware, the Cadian 101st requires all the help it can muster. Wouldn’t you agree?”

The Lychen looked down, as if considering his response. “We, the Lychen, shall not war, until we are
ordered to, by our leader. We wil be happy to kill and maim, of course, but only if it is to bring our
Corporal back to us.”

Yorvick sneered, “You’ll go to war, or I’ll put you on a charge, damn you!”, he bellowed, drawing his bolt
pistol, and aiming it at Keshak’s head. The Lychen in the room snarled and hissed, drawing their
multitude of weapons, and aiming them at the General’s staff, as the various staff members drew
sidearms of all varieties.

“I would not pull that trigger, dark coat.”, Keshak warned Yorvick, gesturing to a virtually nude Lychen
woman, wielding a vast eviserator, who had the weapon trained between Yorvick’s legs.

“Not if you appreciate your manhood.”, Keshak smirked. Yorvick turned an odd red colour, and clicked off
the safety on his pistol.

Gravean was sweating, the beads of sweat trickling down his shaven ebony scalp. He would have to be
delicate.

“Everyone, calm yourselves. No one is going to kill anyone, at this moment. Agreed?”, he calmly
enunciated. All the guardsmen, reluctantly, lowered their firearms. Gravean breathed.

“Right, now, let’s discuss this. Keshak, you are also a Corporal. Since the Lychen here have no Colonel,
and since Corporal Vashan is currently fighting within the hive, responsibility falls to you. Correct?”

Keshak nodded, grudgingly.

“Now, I’m certain that Vashan would desire the most bloodshed to be inflicted, no matter where it is
obtained. Keshak, I believe you will find most bloodshed to be found at the coordinates I have suggested.
Now, will you send reinforcements?”, Gravean asked, threat edging slightly into his voice.

“Of course.”, Keshak muttered, a smile creeping back onto his face.

“Now, to satisfy all parties involved, you will be flogged for insubordination Keshak. Is this clear?”

“Yes!”, Keshak responded, just a bit too eagerly, for Gravean’s liking.

Then go!”, gravean ordered, waving them away. The Lychen blustered back out of the tent, leaving a thin
trail of rank blood in their wake.
“I like him, but why didn’t he just bite my fingers off? That’s what Vash would have done.”, Muttered
Keshak, half solemnly.

“So civilised…”, An old Lychen nodded, knowingly. The woman made no response, but Keshak had come
to expect that from Vorla, the Lychen’s resident Sister Repentia.

Yorvick turned back to Gravean, his face still red. “Those bunch of ill-disciplined savages!”

“Savages, yes. But effective nonetheless.”, Gravean muttered, half to himself.

They may come to rely on the Lychen, he considered, as he turned back to his Hololithic map of Saris’
primary spire. Possibly, for more than simply this battle.

###

The Balhaun and Lychen fired wildly at one another, all cohesion was lost, in such cramped conditions.
Autogun fire and las fire, lit up the dim chamber, as shells and bolts tore through both sides. Shouts and
rushed orders were losed in the tumult, while the strobe effect of constant fire confused all around.

Eventually, one of the stray rounds struck a light, as the gunfight ceased. Moments passed, and
eventually, the secondary lights came online, and the dull illumination was cast over the corpse strewn
chamber. Balhaun lay flopped over consoles, blood drooling carelessly from dead mouths. Lychen
slumped all around, dead in a variety of positions, faces contorted in rage, as they clutched bloodied
knives and daggers to their chests.

The lychen corpse pile moved. One body flopped aside, and Emeline staggered to her feet, retrieving her
power sword in the process. Several Lychen follwed suit, dragging their comrades bodies from
themselves, before taking greedy bites from their former allies. The sound of chewing soon distracted
Emeline, and she gestured for hush.
She gazed around, at the Balhaun bodies. “There should be more. Where did they go?”, she muttered to
herself.

She was correct in her assumption and, unbeknownst to her, Jerex also wasn’t amongst the dead.

“It doesn’t matter, my dear mistress.”, a voice called out from the doorway from which they had come. It
was Galvanner, who looked particularly crazed, with his hair singed.

“What matters, is that we have a titan to slay.”, he grinned, mischief in his voice. Emeline nodded, and
the lychen battle group sprinted up the winding stairwells of The Beloved.

###

The missile sailed through the air, and slammed into the titan’s shin, detonating in a flaming corona of
orange fire. Still, the titan’s leg did not give.

“Damn it!”, Vash cursed once more, dropping the missile launcher dismissively, before dragging himself
back towards the gun rack. One of these guns must be able to damage it, Vash concluded. It was just a
case of determining which one.

###

The Beloved howled its mechanical rage once more, as it fired its mega bolter again and again. These
heretics had stolen Imperial thunderbolts, and now had the audacity to avoid The Beloved’s retribution?
The thunderbolts glided through the vast explosive munitions, that filled the lightening sky with clouds
of brown debris, and shards of arm length shrapnel.

The Beloved could feel something happening above its head. Some great clash was raging, and it hurt
the titan’s spirit to dwell upon the psychic horrors on its shoulders. Hopefully, they would kill themselves.
Right now, it was more concerned with downing the annoying fighters, that constantly buzzed around
him. They tempted his secondary gunners, as the fighters swept in close, pounding hs void shield with las
cannon and auto cannon.

It had had enough.

If the thunderbolts would not be incinerated, they would be shredded, The Beloved considered, as it
armed it’s apocalypse launcher…

###

Aszyxth lunged again, at the daemonic phantom. The shadow master would not have her. She slammed
into the smoky daemon, and the two plunged to the floor. Her pincers closed around something in the
dense black fumes. It was an axe. The greater daemon of Malal flung her back. She sailed through the air,
and landed perfectly on her taloned feet.

“I shall send you back to your master newtered!”, she cursed, snatching Haldan’s sword from the floor,
and held it aloft. Her fould energies poured into the blade, which grew long, and hummed with warp
power. The shadow flew at Aszyxth, still indistinct, but undeniably powerful. It descended, on blackened
wings of night, and slashed down. The two daemon blades met, and a vast detonation rippled from the
pair of daemons, sending all near insane. The blades whirled around, to strike again, and again, and
again, each strike more furious than the last.

The two devils pounced around each other, strike after strike darting out at each other, only to be
blocked by the opposing daemon. Aszyxth finally swept her blade around, knocking away both weapons,
into the clouds below. The clannish daemon saw her moment. She flung herself forth, and grasped the
shadow daemon by its shadowy mane, and flung the thing down, hard onto the titan. The titan moaned
in pain, as the Malalian daemon smashed a crater into the behemoth’s shoulder.

She seised the daemon’s head in one of her pincers, and slowly closed her claw around it. The shadow
devil roared in defiance, but could not struggle free. Aszyxth cackled, her voice an echoing boom.
“I am Aszyxth, the mistress queen of a billion souls! I devoured all the Eldar of the Velshia Crone World!
You are nothing!”

She slashed at the daemon that writhed in her grasp, tearing away sections of it’s essence. Suddenly, the
shadow master lashed its tail, sending its long barbed tail directly into Aszyxth’s spine. The daemoness
howled in agony, but the shadow daemon merely laughed. As soon as she released the daemon, it flung
her aside, and drew itself up to its full height.

The daemoness, Aszyxth, knew that the shadow lord had inflicted a mortal wound. She felt herself begin
to flake away, fragment by fragment. She cursed Malal, cursed everyone, for her own failure. She only
hoped she could banish herself, before…

She was too late. She would not escape to the warp. The shadow daemon pounced upon her, like a feral
wildcat, and closed it’s jaws around her throat. She hissed inhumanly, fire bubbling from her perfect skin
and eyes. She clawed at the enemy desperately, sending psychic bolts coursing down the enemy’s body,
but to no avail. The devil drank her. It shrivelled her daemon corporal form, and absorbed her foul
energies, until their was nought left but ash.

At last, the Daemon King, Hurexpauradx, could shake away the concealing shadow. He was finally
unbound. The daemon stood ten metres tall, and was covered in white tattoos, that constantly flowed
over its black skin. His reptilian head snapped in delight, as it’s scorpion legs chattered in triumph.

Beating its great wings, the Daemon king roared, long and resonant. Horrible beyond words.

###

The lychen began to vomit, as they climbed the winding stairs. They had heard the foul roar, and their
minds were utterly revolted.

###
Darius almost lost control of his plane , as the foul roar emptied his bowels into his cockpit.

###

Gravean suddenly coughed up his lunch, as he heard the echoing roar. He could tell most of his army
were doing likewise. Even Yorvick was doubled up, convulsing repeatedly.

###

Minval staggered around the command bridge, coughing up vile bile upon the tiled floor. Darvius ran to
his side. “What is it, you old fool?”, Darvius enquired, as concerned as Darvius was capable of being.

“Hurexpauradx cometh…”, Minval gasped, before blacking out. Darvius looked up, starting at the Captain
of the Luthor’s Spear.

“Get me over that hive.” Darvius snarled.

The Luthor’s spear lazily spun through the void, scattering attendant vessels around it, as it set a course.

###

Vash looked up, to hear the suddering roar, that rumbled the entire train, even dwarfing the titan’s
mechanical howls.

Vash laughed, his gurgling laugh, as he snatched a grenade launcher from the gun rack.
“I’ll see you later.” Vash promised the daemon, as he aimed the grenade launcher at the titan's shin
plates once more.

Part Twenty Five.

The great beast flung itself forward, letting its momentum carry it over the edge of the titan, plummeting
below. The daemon bellowed briefly, as it passed low over the hive’s summit, before it plunged over, to
descend through the dense grey clouds.

Gravean looked skywards, as the black angel glided downwards, on wings of shadow. The devil swept left
to right, darting over the heads of each army in turn. Each time, the beast snatched away a talon full of
men, crunching them loudly, between reptillian fangs.

“Somebody kill that thing!” Gravean hissed in fright, to no one in particular. His vox master rapidly yelled
coordinates into his speaker grill, mounted upon his shoulder and connecting to his mouth by a length of
sickly tube.

After a few moments, the roar of Earthshakers could be heard, as they opened up. The Daemon King was
fast, and the huge black creature sailed lazily, amid the heavy shells, even as they whistled through the
sodden air. The shells burst amongst Lychen, Cadian and Sarisian alike, flicking broken bodies skywards in
a burst of grey mud and gore. Yet, the daemon continued to flap around the battlefield, arrogantly
mocking Gravean with his indifference.

I am the flesh of agonies undreamt! I am all you rally against and hate! Come, all ye faithful! Strike me
down in vengeance! The more hate grows in your heart, the more my master screams magnificence!

The Daemon King’s voice was louder than all the battle around him, and he swept down, into combat
once more. His talons ripped apart lives with but gestures, his muzzle snorting black vapours, which
clawed flesh from mortal bone.

Hurexpauradx would reap a bloody tally that morning.

###

Darius’ flying squadron banked sharply, to avoid the shells, that detonated amongst them. Lucy’s
thunderbolt corkscrewed, shaking off the brief cloud of flame which had engulfed her. The planes could
get little closer to the titan, an merely swept around its flanks. Any closer, and they would have to
contend with the multitude of secondary emplacements, which riddled the war machine.

However, Darius considered, they would survive little longer under the malevolent influence of The
Beloved’s heavy cannons. Darius stole a glance, down at his sensor banks. He saw something.

++Hey, Marv. I’ve got a weapon on the north flank of this thing, powering up. You?++

++That’s an affirmative.++ Darius’ wingman confirmed.

The titan’s apocalypse launcher was arming. Before Darius could open his vox to the ‘Glaive up in orbit,
he heard the telltale whine of Maruader engines. Damn it.

The vast planes descended from the blackness up above, hulls glowing slightly from re-entry. The ten
Maruaders powered forwards, in tight formation. Where Darius’ squadron swept around like wary
vultures, the bombers thundered forth with engines blazing, like a raptor closing on prey.

++What it bomb boys! That thing’s got an apocalypse launcher, and its voids are up! Be cautious!++

++Can’t break the shield, eh Darius? Don’t send a fighter, to do a bomber’s job! Ha ha!++

Darius would know that smug rant anywhere. Even though Darius couldn’t see Gorgail’s face, he just
knew that grizzled old fool would be smirking his lopsided grin. He would get them all killed.

++Gor, you mad grox-rutter! That thing’s armed and shielded. Go in slow.++
++Hard an fast! That’s the only way to hit ‘em! Before they can respond. Hit ‘em with some high ex, an
watch ‘em blaze. Feel free to marvel.++ Gorgail laughed, roguishly, as his Maruader’s streaked off ahead.

Darius snarled into his vox. ++Right, squad. We stick back here, for now. I’m not having him kill us.
Queries?++

The silence of his vox made Darius smile. His squadron was the most loyal he had yet served with.
Marvian, especially, was trusted, being his brother also.

“Let’s see what Gorgail’s finest can do,” Darius muttered to himself.

###

Gunfire echoed through the titan’s core, ricocheting off metal plates, or sparking as they struck cabling.
The Lychen moved through the machine warily, occasionally ducking back behind cover, as pockets of
Balhaun resistance, and even guncrew, snapped off sporadic shots into the dark.

Emeline had only her power sword with her, feeling that only it was truly necessary, in such cramped
circumstances. Galvanner also lacked a gun, and instead, swung a brutal piece of pipe around, smashing
faces and breaking joints.

Emeline rolled aside, as a Balhaun stuffed a lasgun through a portal doorway, firing wildly down the
corridor behind her. Emeline swept her sword up, severing both the arms of the cultist. He staggered
briefly, before shock put him down.

Galvanner snarled, as he was flung from his feet, by a muscular crew man, ritually scarred. The man
smashed a fist into his face, but Galvanner arched back, robbing the strike of power. He struck the man
once around the head, and a second time in the neck, before plunging a hidden dagger between ribs.
Hot fluid gushed over his hands.
A Lychen leapt forward, slashing a hatchet into the scalp of a crew man. The cultist staggered back,
ripping the weapon from the guardsman’s grasp. He turned, as a long Bayonet plunged into his chest.
The balhaun owner screamed angrily, before firing his autogun, tearing the Lychen apart. In that same
instant, another Lychen lunged, firing his stubber into the Balhaun’s head. The man convulsed insanely,
as the heavy shells tore through his mind, before he stumbled and was still.

Emeline breathed. The area was clear, for now. Galvanner sped past her.

“We’ve got to get to the control centre. The head!” he yelled excitedly. Emeline frowned, and caught his
arm.

“Surely, we can stop the titan, by destroying it’s plasma generator?” Emeline argued. Galvanner just
laughed, shrugging off her hand.

“Well, if we wanted to destroy the hive’s central structure, bringing it down on the armies below, sure.
The head has controls for everything,” Galvanner yelled, over the thundering engine. He grabbed
Emeline by both shoulders. “Trust me, Emel- Commissar. You know us now. This’ll work.”

Emeline smirked then, unusual for her to do, in front of all the men. “Do it.”

###

The Beloved fired all around. At last, its mind was clear. No daemon’s scuttled in the dark recesses. It
would burn the heretics to the ground. Grind their bones to paste, smash their machines to pieces. The
darting planes moved off, behind whispy cloud cover, as more swooped in.

These planes were longer, thicker. They sought to slay The Beloved. The Beloved bellowed angrily, as its
launcher armed. They would pay for their audacity.
The Maruaders released their payloads, which swung through the air, in lazy parabolas, before striking
the void shield. A blossom of fire played across the shield, followed by a shimmer of blue energies. The
shield remained steadfast.

As the aircraft desperately climbed, to evade the titan, The Beloved launched its missiles. The vast
warheads detonated within the flock of metal craft, detonating with an almighty boom, followed by the
ear-splitting crack, as fire ripped across the fomation. Several bombers simply detonated, crumpling to
nothing, while others nose-dived, aflame. I a single volley, the squadron was destroyed.

The Beloved felt a surge of martial pride in this glory. Its moment of triumph was tainted, however, as
the war machine felt something, within. Warriors fought within it, like a malignant virus, scrabbling
within.

Heretics within, heretics without, the titan fumed, roaring insanely. It would have to summon the
defences.

###

The princeps bucked and writhed, in his chair. His body was riddled with tubes, and he bled from the
wounds they made, as he struggled. Hooded cultists gazed upon him in a mixture of awe and disgust,
while they huddled around.

“Kill…the…interlopers,” his weak voice rasped, blood bubbling from his open mouth.

The cultists looked to one another, before they ran to arm themselves. These were the Douchi, Haldan’s
personal servants. They would slay the enemy. Their dark minds considered all the agonies they would
inflict, in the pleasure prince’s name, as they strapped neuro gauntlets to their wrists. The poisonous
talons would make light work of any creature foolish enough to face them. The sinuous serpent women
coiled around the cogitators, eager for bloodshed.

Little did they know, bloodshed was just what the Lychen had in mind…
Part Twenty Six.

Keshak swung his shotgun left to right, blood spattering all around, spraying around him, as if the gore
was in a bizarre dance. He cared not who he struch, his shotgun slamming into the collar bone of a
Lychen, before he emptied the shotgun into a frothing cultist. The cultist staggered back, before falling.
Keshak pivoted on the spot, bringing his suppression shield up, to block an ax blow aimed at his face. He
batted the blow aside, smashing his shield into the fellow Lychen’s face.

All around him the armies fought each other, and themselves. All around felt a burning desire to avenge
themselves upon their fellow men. Keshak felt this surging urge also, as he stabbed his shotgun into
someone’s gut, blasting it to bloody ruins. He knew this was not his will, that made him slaughter all
around him. Though it pleased him to spill blood, he didn’t feel the same joy he usually did.

This must be because he was killing other Lychen, he considered, as his plunged his ax-shotgun into
another man’s head. Their was a squelch, and a crunch, and the man fell. Keshak stepped back, agast, as
he realised he had killed a Lychen. His stunned eyes scanned around, at the carnage. The battle had
become a murderous brawl, with no cohesion or sides to the conflict. Man slaughtered man, in petty
vengeance, for non-existant wrongs.

Keshak looked upwards, at the vast blackened form of the Daemon King. This was his doing.

###

Hurexpauradx was ascendant, unstoppable. He laughed a sickening laugh, as he soared over the field of
battle. Such exquisite destruction, such mindless vengeance. The daemon king roared, and descended.

He struck the defiler, as it lay about itself with metallic pincers. The daemon engine toppled, screaming
bestially. Hurexpauradx sunk his talons into the metal of the creature, ripping outwards. Acidic blood
poured from the wounded beast, which dug it’s own claws into the daemon king’s torso. The two things
grappled, and fell into the insane rabble, that had once been an army. Several sickening pops were
heard, as the daemons rolled over the crowds, crunching bones and organs wetly.
Devil-fires raged, infernal and agonising. They played across the two battling beings as they brawled, like
flames across a film of oil. At last, the daemon king struck out, with his stinger. The putrid, venomous
barb delved deep into the defiler. The Defiler screeched inhumanly, firing its chest cannon furiously. The
heavy shells tore through Hurexpauradx’s stomach, smoke coiling from the blasted wound. Slowly, the
wound re-knitted, shadowy shapes reforming the cursed flesh, even as the daemon king bear hugged
the top of the spider-like mechanoid. The shadow devil ripped upwards, and the striken defiler came
apart at the waist, in a shower of molten colours, that bubbled from the wound.

The daemon’s pale tattoos blazed a victorious white, and the monster howled in triumph. Turning
towards the top half of the defiler, Hurexpauradx snarled, and flapped over to it. Descending, the
monster plunged its grizzled muzzle inside the ruined daemon engine, and a sound of sloppy chewing
could be deserned (if anyone had been sane enough on the battlefield to notice). The daemon king’s
markings blazed white once more, as it drained the daemonic essense from the defiler. The cursed
energies spread throughout the monster’s form, and it expanded, growing to thirty metres during its
daemonic gluttony.

He was ascendant, and invincible. The world would tremble.

###

++Marv, Lucy, Drax! Bank damn you! With me!++

The last four thunderbolts banked sharply, artfully dodging the barrage of missles that vomited forth
from the titan’s launcher. The titan bended slightly at the waist, and opened its gun arms wide, whilst
bellowing. It almost seemed like a defiant taunt towards Darius, the flight commander thought. Darius
sneered contemptuously, and spun off, vertically.

++What are you planning?++ Marv shouted down the vox. Despite the aprehension in his voice, Darius
was pleased to observe the other three thunderbolts following his lead, bolting void-wards in a near
perfect V.
++I’m gonna try something. Now, are you all ready?++

The pilots all voxed a noisy affirmative. Darius smiled grimly. This better work.

###

Gravean banged his head on his fine oaken desk for the fifth time. Why was this happening on his watch,
he moaned silently. His Commissar looked sidelong at him, but remained silent. Must remember to
disguise my outside actions, Gravean chided himself.

He was right to despair, however, as he gazed across at the utter chaos, that had once been a battlefield.
Everyone was fighting everyone else, regardless of faction. He couldn’t get anything (Other than endless
screams of “Traitor!” and “Curse you”, as well as more incoherent shouts and screams.) on the vox
system, so was effectively stranded upon his small hilltop command tent, watching his armies fall apart
at the seams.

“What is your suggestion Yorvick?” Gravean mumbled, barely able to speak. The old commissar paused
in consternation, before responding.

“Decimate the trouble makers. One in ten, lined up against the wall, and shot,” the man explained
proudly. Gravean sneered at him.

“One problem with that solution, my friend… they’re all trouble makers! And they’re doing a damn good
job of decimating themselves anyway!” Gravean roared back at the Commissar.

“How can I fight madness?” Gravean despaired, collapsing into his padded chair. Yorvick was silent,
unable to provide an answer. Suddenly, the vox hissed with static, before activating.

“Message from the fleet sir. It’s The Inquisitor, sir,” the vox master informed him excitedly.
“Put him on loud hail.”

The vox master rushed to fulfil Gravean’s demand, fingers working the complex controls easily.

++Lord General. I do not believe we have met. I am Darvius. Now, don’t talk, just listen. I am aware of
your armies falling under something’s influence, and you will not be held accountable…yet. The fleet will
help you destroy this anomaly.++

“But, my lord, it is a devil, and-”

++It is an anomaly, do you hear me! What did I say about silence? Now shut up and listen! The fleet will
be launching warheads into the atmosphere.++

There was a pause.

++Psyk out Warheads. A full payload. This should disorientate the anomaly for sufficient time, for your
forces to eliminate it. Understand?++

Gravean nodded fearfully, before remembering it was a vox, and vocalising his response.

“Y-Yes sir! It shall be done!”

###

The stairs were endless. Flight after monotonous flight of rusting steps spiralled up the vast, cone-like
stair chamber. The two Cadians trudged up the stairs, hand over foot, with chests streaked with rust
stains and blood, from the various cuts incurred while climbing the steps. Unavoidable, what with all the
ragged edges of metal that protruded.
How old was this stairs, Reheinhart considered briefly, after which, he glanced back at his aide. The
guardsman was pale, and a haunted exppression never left his face. He looked like a man resigned to
death. It made Reheinhart shudder.

Henmar glared up at Reheinhart, as he crabbled on all fours, up the decaying stairs. All his poise and
regimental rigidity had left him, and now he crawled like some wild dog. Why should Henmar care? He
was a dead man anyway, his visions coming more rapidly and frequently now, the futher he climbed. As
if he was heading towards destiny.

The Emperor protects, Henmar scowled. The Emperor also forsakes.

###

The lychen edged upwards, inside the titan, weapons held tightly to chests, knives drawn and ready.
Ominous moans rang out inside the machine, echoes of the warlord’s angry bellows. Mingled within this,
if one cared to listen, was the sound of hissed orders, and the hum of powered weapons.

The first robed cultist yelped as a Lychen fired into his chest, blasting apart his ribcage. The others had
scrabbled over the man’s corpse in seconds however, energised neuro gauntlets whirring eerily. The first
two plunged into a Lychen trooper, stabbing needles into his throat and face before he could draw his
daggers. He shuddered and bucked, as electrical energies surged through him, and he died. Even as he
slumped to the floor, the other Lychen were up and firing, filling the chamber with energy and light
bolts.

Emeline darted to one side, avoiding a clumsy lunge by a rabid Douchi. Emeline slashed back-handed,
across the back of the cultist’s head, punishing him for his folly. The power weapon seared through flesh,
with the sound of a roast pig being sliced, decapitated the man in a single stroke. The Douchi yelled in
fevered tongues, as they surged towards them, again and again.

Galvanner swung out with a pipe, smashing one in the face, spraying whickering bone fragments in all
directions. He then bit the cultist’s arm, ripping off clumps of muscle, in a gory fountain. Suddenly, he felt
a singeing agony in his back, as if five points of pure fire had slid into his spine. Reacting instantly, he
swept his makeshift club backwards, smashing the wrist of the Douchi who had stabbed him with the
gauntlet, simultaneously shattering the gauntlet’s spines in the process.

Galvanner coughed, as his world began to swirl. He only wished to rest, to collapse to the floor. He
couldn’t feel the floor, and he could only see light. He vomited, and tripped over.

Emeline noticed Galvanner collapse, and saw the murderous Douchi standing over him, smiling insanely,
as he drew a knife. It was too far to reach, Emeline realised. She was too far away. With an almighty
effort, Emeline flung her power sword two-handedly. The glowing blade sailed through the dim air in a
glittering arc, before it passed the Douchi. The Douchi turned, and stared at her, shocked, then slid apart,
his body sliced in two, diagonally. Organs spilled onto the floor, all over the prone Galvanner.

The lychen roared in fury, as they grappled with the Douchi, blade to spine, and lasgun to robed
stomachs. The Douchis yelled as the lychen killed them, and gurgled as the Lychen gutted their still
moving corpses. Emeline drew two knives from her belt, and ran forwards towards Galvanner. She
slashed one cultist’s throat, before spinning and cutting through soft tendons behind the man's knees,
which came apart with the sound of snapping cable.

One Douchi staggered in her way, with an single arm, the other hanging bloodily at his side. She dropped
her left hand knife, as she flung out her hand to catch the man’s energised talon. The man was as strong
as only the insane could be, and forced her to her knees, as she struggled to pull his hand from near her
face. At last, with her right hand knife, she plunged it deep into his sternum. This elicited a single
stunned gasp from him, as the air spewed from his chest. He then collapsed.

Emeline grabbed Galvanner, one hand under each armpit, and dragged him forward, just as the last
Lychen ripped the tongue from the last Douchi, who screamed in pleading agony. The Lychen responded,
by shooting him through the back of the head.

“We have to get to the control room!” Emeline yelled out. “Help me with him. Come on!”

The remaining six Lychen hoisted him up, onto their shoulders, and the band rushed forth, towards the
head chamber. Before Emeline ran off after them, she heard a noise in the gloom. Sobbing.
“Curse you! Damn you all to the warp! You can’t kil me Sparrod. I clung on. I survive. I’ll get you,” a
snivelling voice said.

As Emeline moved forward, into the slight gloom of a gun port, she saw a fat, half nude heretic, covered
in tattoos that hurt the eyes, nursing a broken leg, in the corner of the room. Emeline glanced around
the room, and quietly picked up a fallen las pistol.

Sulvar looked up, and stared into Emeline’s face, with hate-filled eyes. The two stared at each other for
long moments, before Emeline raised the pistol and fired. The bolt struck him between the eyes. A thin
burn spread across his face, along with a look of confusion. As Sulvar realised he was dead, his eyes
rolled backwards, and he clattered to the floor, like a marionette with no strings. A thin trickle of blood
dribbled from his gaping, dead mouth.

Emeline spat on his corpse, before turning and running off to catch the others up. Thus, Sulvar, slayer of
the great Haldan of Slannesh, Beloved of Aszyxth, was slain.

###

The Beloved swivelled once more. Where had the heretics gone? The cowards fled. He could not
concentrate, not with his Princeps panicing like this. The intruders were working through its body, even
now, and The Beloved bellowed in futile rage.

It had no enemies. No heretics to purge. No war. A truly terrifying thought to a titan.

It was then, that the titan turned its metal helm upwards. From the heavens they came. The Beloved
could do nothing but watch.

###

The thunderbolt formation accelerated, faster and faster, as they dived straight downwards, directly
above the titan. They had to time this exactly right. Darius suspected the titan had weaker top shielding.
This theory was about to be tested.

++Wait…++ he voxed. The distance evaporated, even as he watched the altitude dial spiral downwards.
Only a couple more seconds.

++Now, hell strike two. Launch!++

The four thunderbolts fired, heavy missiles detaching expertly, powering downwards with an unnerving
velocity, before impacting. The shield shuddered, and appeared to split, as the explosion blossomed
vastly. Lucy, Marv and Darius spun to either side of the fire bloom, but Drax was not so lucky. The fire
bulb blossomed, engulfing his craft with nuclear flame. His vox briefly screamed, before a secondary
explosion rumbled through the now unprotected titan.

The behemoth staggered, moaning metallically. Such was the force of the strike, The Beloved actually
inadvertently ripped itself free of the train, before it regained an uneasy footing. The titan swayed
precariously, smouldering about the shoulders. The apocalypse launcher sagged, blasted apart and
useless.

###

The grenades detonated uselessly against the invincible shin armour of the titan. Vash roared in fury,
fury at his own failing. He had used nearly every weapon in the rack, from plasma rifles, meltaguns, and
missile launchers, to grenade launchers and flamers. Nothing worked.

In sheer desperation, Vash pulled out the last weapon on the wrack: a las pistol. He cringed, but aimed
the pistol anyway. He snapped off two bursts, which struck the armour with a series of sharp pings. At
the same moment, the titan shuddered, and the shield burst apart. Vash was showered with debris, as
the titan stumbled, and the entwined train mechanisms tore apart from the train, freeing the titan.

Vash stared at his pistol, and then at the smouldering titan, dumbfounded and incredulous. “I’ll be
keeping this!” Vash muttered to himself, storing the las pistol at his side proudly.

Part Twenty Seven.

The doors to the chamber were smashed off their hinges, as the Lychen burst in, guns blazing. The few
remaining cultists jerked comically, as the las bolts passed through them. The golsen room shone
beautifully, every surface as reflective as a mirror.

Galvanner mumbled, as conciousness returned to him slowly. Emeline followed the soldiers soon after,
and was taken back by the glittering magnificence of the control room. Only the limp bodies of the
cultists marred the chamber’s perfection.

The throne of the Princeps was filled by a withered creature, his palid flesh paper thin and translucent.
Scrawny bones could be seen protruding through the skin, and they moved with each ragged breath of
the man. His eyes were filled with tubes and cables, and wires protruded along his spine and neck. Each
wound seemed infected, and oozed a yellow pus.

“HERETICS! KILL THEM, FOR EMPEROR!” the being boomed, his voice having a volume unwarranted by
his current state. These were not his words, Emeline determined.

“You are a chaos devil, and we shall slay ye, in the Emperor’s name!” Emeline screamed, raising her
pistol.

Galvanner lunged, batting aside her weapon. “That isn’t going to help,” he informed her, his voice
laboured with pain.

“YOU NOT CORRUPT ME!” the deranged voice howled, so loud that it caused physical pain.

Galvanner turned to Emeline, his features glowing with a dark joy. “Do you see Emeline? It is still loyal!”
“No, Galvanner, it is a daemon. Daemons lie.”

“CHAOS FILTH, LEAVE!” the voice rumbled, shaking the whole chamber, sending them clattering to the
floor.

As the group regained their feet, Galvanner pulled Emeline to one side. “Look! This isn’t a daemon
talking! I’ve heard voices like this before, in my…previous proffession,” Galvanner admitted solemnly.

Emeline frowned, confused, before she suddenly realised, “This is a machine spirit? You mean it has
survived?”

“Yes!”

“KILL!”

The titan room shuddered again, and the room sealed shut. As the six Lychen ran to try and pry open the
doors with their guns, the vents in the floor began to leak green coolant vapours.

Galvanner looked around, panicing. “Titan! Stop this! You’ll freeze us to death! We are you allies, your
friends,” he tried to sooth. The princeps merely snarled, and spat at them.

“CHAOS LIES. PRINCEPS KNOWS YOUR LIES!” the voice hissed.

Galvanner lunged forward, striking the Princeps across the face, again and again, until he moved no
more. A hideous howl shook the entire machine.

“Calm! Calm!” Galvanner yelled, as a thin film of frost gathered over him. He didn’t have long.
“What’s happening Galvanner?” Emeline enquired, unnerved by the creeping trails of ice, that crawled
up her arms. She shivered uncontrollably.

“I-It c-can-n-not u-u-uderst-tand m-me. Y-You have t-to connect m-me to t-the titan,” Galvanner
managed to gasp, as he fell to his knees, the cold too much. Emeline nodded painfully. She knew where
he must be connected, and she knew those sockets in his spine were the place to plug him into.

The two staggered forward.

###

The thunderbolts spun again, as the titan fired wildly with its cannons, straight beams stabbing outwards
in random directions, inaccurately. The thunderbolts glided between these clumsy strikes, firing their
cannons into the unshielded behemoth, scoring deep smouldering grooves into the machine with every
pass.

The machine was distracted by something, and Darius couldn’t help but silently thank the Emperor for
this luck. His luck, however, was about to change rapidly.

The clouds below him surged upwards, turning a filthy black as they did so. The daemon. It rose. The
daemon king burst from the clouds, beating his vast shadow wings furiously. Lucy spiralled to one side,
as the beast soared past her. The monster twisted in the air, catching her tail wing in his talons. Darius
watched, sickened, as the daemon leapt onto the cockpit of her thunderbolt. The daemon king’s great
arm plunged through the glass of the cockpit, yanking Lucy free. The daemon pushed off from the
planes, slamming it into an insane spin. The plane flipped, end over end, through the dense clouds.

++Emperor’s teeth! What’s that?++ Marv screamed, banking his fighter sharply, trying to turn, to get a
shot at the monster.

He fired at it, but his shots passed through it like a dagger through silk, but did little damage to the beast.
Darius was stunned by events, and he throttled back, causing his plane to climb. He managed to look
back, to observe Marv’s fate.

The devil simply glided past Marv’s thunderbolt, as it made a sweep. It tore a wing from his thunderbolt,
ans it spiralled out of control, colliding with the hive spire’s summit.

Darius couldn’t comprehend what was happening. The beast had killed all his boys. Darius watched, as
the daemon king devoured Lucy greedily, blazing white once more. Grim-eyed, Darius swung his
thunderbolt around. He’d give this warp-spawned filth a fight. This was one thing he was certain of.

###

Vash dragged himself out of the wreckage, pulling himself painfully along, using his one remaining arm.
Vash growled in frustration, as he made slow progress over the marble tiles. His spine was dislocated,
and he would be crippled until he could fix it. Vash knew this.

The titan roared again, rattling the ground, making Vash moan in slight pain. This current situation just
wouldn’t do, he thought to himself. Vash writhed on the floor, until he got in his desired position. With
an unholy crack, Vash gripped his hip, and rammed it up. A pain, like a white hot needle, drove itself into
his lower back. Vash bellowed in agony, spitting blood and thick saliva. Once more, he gripped his other
hip, in a vice-like grip, and yanked it upwards too. This elicited a second painful howl.

He felt feeling returning, slowly, as his proto-astartes physiology began to take effect. He lay there,
panting like a beached porpoise, for several minutes. The wind pounded his body, snatching at him with
freesing fingers of pure cold. The pain of the wind on Vash’s naked torso was eventually replaced with
the pain of bruised and battered legs. His legs.

Vash rose, slowly and painfully, rising to his full seven feet of pure brutality.

The great warrior threw his head back, and roared a long, joyous howl, to the unforgiving black void.
###

The battlefield was utter chaos. Utter destruction. The battle had descended into an insane brawl to the
death, with every soldier attacking every other soldier, in a murderous frenzy. Keshak simply struck all
around him with his ax shotgun, blasting and hacking with abandon, uncaring of the enemies he fought.
One doubt clung in his mind. This bloodshed was not correct. What was this slaughter for? Slaughter for
slaughter’s sake, is conscious mind told him, as he beheaded a multi-limbed mutant, that thrashed
gruesomely before it died.

Keshak could remember nothing. Not the joy of slaughter, nor the feeling of despair. He felt lost in the
destruction, as if it was an end in itself. There must be more, his mind argued, as he slammed his shield
downwards, onto a prone cultist. The man’s head rolled away, as the shield slammed down with a
deafening finality.

What was he? Keshak knew he was some sort of creature, but he couldn’t think. He could only kill.
Keshak stuffed his shotgun mussle down a Lychen’s throat, and fired. The man’s guts burst outwards,
wetly. Keshak merelt swung his shield around, knocking the corpse away, as he searched for a new foe.

His confused mind span with a million half-glimpsed thoughts. He remembered a song, a hymn.
Slaughter was… salvation. Yes, salvation, he remembered.

He began to yell it over the tumult of the battle, his voice carrying surprisingly far. His voice was a howl
of desperate despair, as he felt his mind slipping below the depths of madness, as if he was drowning.

“Human Flesh and Human blood is the bedrock of the Imperium.

The Emperor is the soul and Protector of the Imperium.

The Emperor is Imperium.

The Emperor is, then, humanity.

The Emperor is human flesh and human blood!”

He heard other Lychen howling the chant, their voices turning the hymn into a dark choral exaltation.

“To receive benediction, we must be like unto him

We take sacrament, and we partake of the Emperor

We partake of Human flesh and human blood

We are the Haemavores

Salvation in slaughter!

We fight for blood, we fight for flesh

Let none deny our holy task

We face no horror we cannot surpass, so go forth, brethren of blood,

Smash skulls,
Split muscle,

Suck marrow from the bone

Cry prayers to Him, and Feast!”

The Lychen fought back to back now, fighting their way into a circle of steel and flesh, and righteous
anger. They fired weapons all around them, at the shifting masses. Great swathes of the enemy fell
before them, yelping like common beasts, as the white hot bolts passed through them. Any man or
woman that got close to the circle was sliced down, by vast eviserators and glaives, or skewered on sharp
hooks. The Lychen continued yelling the war chant, as they tore great chunks of flesh from their striken
enemies.

In the centre of the circle, rising on a mounting pile of bodies, stood Keshak, bellowing challenges, and
firing his shotgun left and right.

###

Gravean gazed through his monocular, across the sprawling slaughter, and picked out a single combat, in
the very centre of the horde. A single Lychen stood atop a mound of corpses, striking out at whoever
came near. What was even more interesting, was the fact a circle of lychen defended him, pumping shots
into the insane rabble, that circled them.

Probably for the first time in history, the Lychen were the sane ones.

Gravean shivered. As he lowered his monocular, he turned to his vox master.

“How long before the strike?”

The vox man cleared his throat. “Thirty minutes my Lord.”

Yorvick looked pale. The unflappable commissar feared only one thing in the galaxy, and that was psyk-
out weapons. He swallowed painfully, and sat down, sweating. Though Gravean had never experienced a
psyk-out barrage, he knew it wasn’t good.

Gravean looked out across the plateau of death once more, at the corpse mountain, with its champion
straddling it. Gravean could only hope the Lychen could hold onto their new found, and baffling, sanity.
Once the warheads were launched, they would undoubtedly need it.

###

The Luthor's Spear came about, weightless in the void. The vast structure turned, so its huge ivory-white
prow faced the grey orb of Saris. Throughout the ship, claxons sounded, and ratings rushed around,
yelling rushed orders. Gunners were whipped, backs bleeding from viscious lashes, as they arduously
pushed the tower-sized torpedoes into cavernous cavities, before great chains slowly pulled vast
adamantine blast doors closed.

Sirens wailed, and psykers across the entire vessel sealed themselves into dense void chambers, and null
crypts, cutting themselves off from the horrific warheads.

Darvius observed all the preparations from his command platform, high above the bridge. Layla, his
acolyte, and his minion Jaxx, stood to either side of the grim faced Inquistor.

“Remember this day Layla. It is History. This day, I shall cleanse a world. Do you think I am justified?”
Darvius questioned her. Layla looked at him, unsure.

“The daemon must die. But is there no other way? You could send all those troops insane.”
“If they knew what they faced, they would go insane anyway. Launch!” he bellowed out. The entire
vessel shuddered, as the torpedoes fired.

Through the great view screen, the three Inquisitorial members watched, as the howling warheads
streaked downwards, towards the planet. For good or ill…

Part Twenty Eight.

The great daemon swept forwards on wings of utter blackness and horror, its terrible voice rumbling
disgusting syllables. The Thunderbolt streaked towards it, las cannons blazing. The daemon twisted from
the collision coarse with the plane at the last minute, coiling through the air as the red beams slashed its
belly.

Darius barrel-rolled, avoiding the Daemon King’s vast barbed stinger, as it darted outwards. Darius
cackled insane jeers down his vox, even though no one could hear him. He was a broken man. His boys
were all dead, and he was soon to follow. Life had lost its danger, now that the very worst it had to offer
had already befallen Darius.

His plane screamed, as it looped upwards sharply, before it descended upon the daemon from above.
This time, he fired his auto cannons, which rattled against the monster’s hide. This did little, other than
distract the devil, while Darius jabbed his control downwards, sending his thunderbolt spinning, tail over
nose, downwards. This manoeuve scortched the Daemon King’s torso, as the afterburners of the plane
thundered into the beast’s heart.

Hurexpauradx hissed painfully, as parts of his smoky essense fell away. As the thunderbolt swung in for
the third time, the daemon struck. Hurexpauradx lunged, seising the plane’s tail in a vast talon, as it
screeched past. He swung it around, before letting go, causing the craft to tumble gracelessly through
the dark skies.
The altitude monitors were going insane, as the dials swung from left to right. Darius fought his bucking
throttle, wrestling the craft back into position. Before he could readjust to his new orientation, the beast
was upon him, great claws plunging through the adamantine hull of his thunderbolt like butter.

The world below Darius spun insanely fast, dizzying to the grizzled old pilot. He clutched his aquila
pendant, muttering prayers of fortitude and might.

“As I walk through the shadow of Heretics, I shall not falter! I shall not fall. I am His will, as He is mine!
With it, I shall banish darkness, leaving only light!” Darius screamed, his voice getting stronger, despite
his desperation. The daemon raised a bloodied talon, to silence the heartfelt prayer, when it felt
something. Something wrong.

From the star-filled heavens, two stars detached themselves, descending in firey contrails towards Saris.
Hurexpauradx managed a single bellow, before the warheads detonated, mere metres from the dense
clouds below. The clouds warped upwards, dragged into the vast purple glimmer the weapons produced.
Then came the keening screech.

###

Emeline slid the last connecting cable, deep into Galvanner’s spine port. The tube gurgled wetly as it
entered, sending Galvanner into violent spasms. He had told her about this, and she was unconcerned
by his spasms. This meant he was connected.

Finally, Emeline allowed herself to pass out from the cold of the chamber, which still sent cobwebs of
frost running across her body. It was down to Galvanner now.

###

Galvanner woke. His eyes snapped open, startled by the sudden lack of frost. He was upon his back, and
he felt cool stone beneath his spine. He rose slowly, taking in the sights around him warily. He was in a
clearing, in a dense forest.

Galvanner sprang to his feet, pulling the rags he was dressed in about himself. He was inside the mind of
the titan’s machine spirit. It was common knowledge that machine spirits were programmed around
animals. Galvanner simply had to remember which one. He turned around twice, scanning the tree line
around him. It was then, he heard the snarl.

It was deep, gutteral, and utterly bestial. Galvanner remembered the animal. Galvanner spun around,
but was too late. The vast bear surged forwards, faster than the eye could follow, and ploughed into
Galvanner. The ragged black pelt of the bear was the only thing the Lychen saw, before the beast drove
the wind from his chest, sending him skittering across the rocks painfully. Galvanner wheezed, licking his
bloodied lips, before rolling aside. In the same instant, the bear titan slammed into the rock beside him.

The beast’s arm, large as a sentinel’s leg, swatted to its side, flicking Galvanner into the air, before forcing
Galvanner to the ground once more. Galvanner edged backwards, mauled but alive. The two combatants
circled, staring into each other’s faces. The bear’s face was vast and inhuman, all saliver fang and snarl.
Galvanner was grim-faced, and determined.

“I am not your enemy. I am Imperial”

“DAEMON LIES!” the animal’s frothing maw uttered, barring huge yellow canines threateningly.

Galvanner merely smiled, and allowed his silver tentacles to unfurl from his back. In this world, his
mechandrites were restored, and they swayed abscent mindedly, as if in a light breeze.

“I will make you understand, titan. First, stop the coolant. Now!” Galvanner roared. The bear lunged, but
Galvaner was quicker this time. A cable shot out, thudding into the bear’s throat, as another gripped a
front paw. As Galvanner twisted in the air, dodging the bear, he yanked the cables. The titan bear
toppled, end over end, down the side of the stone plateau the two being fought upon. The sudden gain
in weight dragged Galvanner to the edge, despite his desperate exertions. Red-faced, he peered with
dread, over the edge, into the deep dark.
The bear bellowed, trying to free itself, even as it dangled like a landed fish. “Stop struggling! Climb the
tendrils, you stupid beast!” wheezed Galvaner, who had sunken to his knees, due to the Herculean effort
of holding the metres long bear titan up.

Gradually, paw by paw, the beast dragged itself upwards, yanking on the cables (which, at some point,
had grown much thicker) with inhuman effort. At last, the first of the bear’s paws slammed down on the
edge of the chasm, claws digging into the hard granite.

Galvanner stood back, allowing the thing to haul itself to it’s full height, blocking out the pale sun with its
bulk. The great bear looked down, and raised a vast paw, snarling. Galvanner raised his tendrils.

“If I wanted you dead, I could have let you drop. Now listen,” Galvanner explained, slowly, in a low voice.
He knew how easily titan spirits were roused to anger.

The bear roared. Fine, the hard way then, Galvanner sighed.

###

The sound. All could hear the sound, and it dragged the mind from its wits. Gravean staggered, his world
spinning around him. He couldn’t see where he was. The ground bubbled around him, steaming with
green vapours. His hands were skeletal, when he looked down upon them. Gravean screamed, and threw
himself to the floor. Unbeknownst to him, this was a sensible move, as a las bolt whizzed overhead.

Yorvick was squeeling like a woman, and firing all around him, executing all the men around him, who
either mewled on the floor, or ran around, spitting at everyone. As Yorvick did this, he was tearing his
tunic and great coat from his body, tearing away ragged scraps of fabric.

“Scorpions! Everywhere! Daemon infestation!” he quailed again, still firing all around, until his gun was
empty. Even then, the now semi-clothed Comissar began to sway and staggered, swinging his empty
pistol like a brutal club.
Gravean screamed, as he felt his mind unravelling, like a tapestry ripped down in anger. Colours flashed
before his eyes, and a wailing shriek filled his ears. He gased skywards, at the purple bruise, that marred
the sky with its ugliness. The warhead’s detonation raged like an inferno, a swirl of varying hues, like a
minature eye of terror.

“In the darkness, the blind man is king. In the madness, a madman is sane. In the darkness, the blind
man is king. In the madness, the madman is sane. In the darkness…” Gravean blubbered down the vox,
as he ducked aside a clumsy strike from Yorvick.

###

Blood for the emperor, that is all Keshak knew, as he struck out with his shield, knocking another enemy
from the pile of bodies he bestrode. He howled in joy, drooling another’s blood down his chin, swinging
his ax shotgun in brutal arcs, severing limbs with every stroke.

Blood was all around, and swirled around him in a vast torrent. Keshak reckoned he could make out each
droplet that danced around him. In the droplets, he saw a billion different reflections, of himself, and
everyone of them was fighting one another. His mind was being submerged in bloodshed and madness.
He shook his head once, and realised, he had no whirlwind of blood around him at all. His Lychen were
all howling around him.

“Blood for the God Blood Emperor! Blood for the Bloodgod Emperor! All hail!” the haemovores yelled
ecstatically, dancing around each other, as if in some kind of ballroom dance. Vorla, the Lychen sister
Repentia, was dancing, slowly, and beautifully. She spun around on one tiptoe, before laughing
manically, and falling into a cultists arms. The two kissed, a long aching kiss, as she swung her eviserator
upwards, between the man’s legs. The pair continued the passionate kiss, even as the man began to split
apart, drenching her in viscera.

What was going on? Keshak considered this question, for as long as it took to cast aside his spent
shotgun, and draw his long machete from his belt. By then, Keshak was conserned only with slaughter.

++In the darkness, the blind man is king. In the madness, the madman is sane. In the darkness-++, the
vox hissed, on all channels.
If Keshak had been at all aware of his surroundings, he would have smiled at this irony.

###

Vash stood before something vast. It ranged upwards, almost out of his filed of vision. At its summit, a
golden light shone heroically, and filled Vash with an almighty pride. A warm glow tingled like honey,
filling his mind with joy. It was Him. He could see Him. Reach out and touch.

It was the Emperor. His limbs found knew vigour, as he sprang up the steep steps of the golden throne.
He stumbled, and crawled up the vast pyramid, hand over foot. He noted that both his hands were
there, and he was encased in thick Astartes battle plate. Vashan roared in triumph, pulling himself
through the thick rubble of the dias steps.

As he slammed his hands outwards, scattering rocks, he noted how the stones almost looked like faces.
Or skulls. They were skulls. Vashan reached the pinnacle, and fell to his knees with a gasp. The brass
throne was vast, and reared up like some insidious god, the metal twisted and bloodstained. The
Emperor rose slowly. Vash could only register the beast’s red torso, even as it seised him in it’s talons.

Vashan squeezed his eyes shut, as the Emperor brought him level with His great muzzle. Hot breath
scorched Vash’s face, as a bone rattling laugh rumbled from the Emperor’s muzzle.

Without a word, the vast Blood-God Emperor yanked Vash’s left forearm from his torso, in a shower of
gore. Vash wheezed in agony, struggling in a futile effort. Slowly, meticulously, the Blood-God Emperor
peeled away Vash’s power armour, piece by piece.

Failed Angel. Failed Angel!

The Emperor’s voice was mocking, and shook reality itself with its volume. Vash screamed in anger, as
the daemon Emperor held him by the throat, crushing the life from him.
Remember, bloodied child. Remember! I own your soul. Remember. Beware the mortal, and his minions.
Don’t let the Goge rise. Anger fuels anger. It makes you strong.

The beast’s voice was deafening and dragged Vash’s mind into bewilderment. At last, Vash struggled
free, slamming a fist into the Emperor’s face, even while he kept his eyes riveted shut.

Suddenly, the air was clear. The vision was ended. Fresh, altitude drained air flooded his punished lungs
and throat.

Vash shook his head from side to side, like a shark devouring a seal. He looked around, at the world. It
seemed to swim with a billion colours, which each confounded the senses more that the last. Vash
staggered slightly, disorientated. Through the haze of madness, he could make out something, shifting
through the sky on uneven pinions.

It was the daemon king. The devil swooped and spun lazily in the air. The beast seemed confused, lost,
and enraged. The daemon king roared, as he shimmered and flickered, like a hololith wracked with static
interference. His grip on the materium was waning.

Vash bellowed to the wind, throwing his arms wide, in a challenge posture. The shadowy form of the
daemon flickered, before it wheeled in the cold void-like air, driving itself towards Vash. The monster was
intent upon slaughter, and it hissed in feral rage. Vash stood still, unflinching.

Vash stood, with his wolf pelt swathed around his shoulders like some heathen barbarian king. He drew
the laspistol he had clutched with him since the train, and smiled. He had conquered fear long ago.

Part Twenty Nine.

Emeline retched, long and hard, shaking herself into some sort of consciousness. The chamber was no
longer frozen, she noticed with relief. Emeline rose painfully, stretching her aching limbs. Most of the
Lychen were alive. Two lay still, unmoving, while the others paced around slowly, las guns raised warily.
Emeline didn’t blame them.

“You Lychen! Why are the armour slits sealed?”

The four Lychen looked her way, before padding over to her. “Something detonated outside. This Titan
seems shielded somehow mistress,” one of the silver fanged soldiers muttered to her.

Emeline nodded in acceptance, before she gazed over at Galvanner. He sat perfectly still upon the golden
chair, long metal tendrils entering every assess port on his body. Emeline swallowed hard, her body filled
with a cloying dread. She stepped forwards.

“Galvanner? Are you alright?”

“GALVANNER. NO,” a dull, metallic voice rumbled, from deep within Galvanner’s vocal chords. He didn’t
raise his head to look at her.

“Who are you?” she whispered, half expecting the answer already.

“ME? I AM WAR.”

###

The screaming. It was inhuman, and clawed at every fibre of the mind. Vash shook his head again, in a
vain effort to clear his thoughts. The world continued to swirl around him, like some bizarre carnival ride.
The only constant in this swirling menagerie was Hurexpauradx, who shimmered and flickered.
As the daemon approached, Vash noticed how the devil was merging with everything it touched. Clouds
were dragged into its shadowy embrace, along with some kind of Imperial fighter craft, which jutted
from the monster’s gut eccentrically. The daemon had lost control of its physical vessel. It gave Vash a
slim chance.

As it neared, the air thickened, and Vash felt a strong gale, buffering against his chest, forcing him
backwards slowly. He fought it, his thick muscles straining with an unholy effort. He fired his pistol, the
red bolts merely passing through the daemon ineffectually.

With a roar that muted the tumult, the black devil slammed downwards, with a force of a billion eons.
Vash was flung backwards like a toy soldier cast aside by a spoiled child. He was cast nearly the entire
diameter of the summit. Vash desperately grabbed outwards, snatching the edge of the hive just in time.
The Corporal dangled for a moment, the ground lost beneath him.

With great effort, the man dragged himself from the precipice, collapsing onto his face in relief. The
daemon king’s roar snapped him to attention immediately. Vash flinched, expecting his soul to be flayed
from his body. He eventually opened his eyes. The daemon was howling insanely, clutching its great
head, even as its flesh ran fluid. The monster was dragging itself forward, across the marble tiles. The
tiles themselves twisted, merging with the behemoth which polluted them. The daemon waded through
the tiled floor, as if it was some unholy quagmire.

Vash ran forwards, frantically searching. He snatched up a hefty broadsword as he ran, swirling it around
his head. The Lychen howled in anger, in utter hatred. Suddenly, he stopped, jerking violently, like a
rabbit caught in a snare. Vash screamed, but no sound passed his lips. His nose ran with black blood, and
his face turned a vile purple, as if all the blood from his head was being forced out. It was the daemon. It
was lashing out.

Foolish man. You have no idea of my power. My power. My power. I am the darkness in men’s souls. I am
the instinct of man, to pull down civilisations! You think you can cast me down?

Vash couldn’t answer the monster, as he sank to his knees under the psychic onslaught. Even
unfocussed, the daemon was still impossibly powerful. Blood dribbled pathetically from Vash’s mouth.
###

The Emperor protects, that is what they always say. Darius would not falter, he was the faithful. He knew
gods existed. He had seen them take everything from him. His friends, his squadron, his life, his sanity.
All except his faith. His faith could not be taken by this daemon.

Darius clutched his aquila tight. His fist drew blood, as the metal pendant dug into his flesh. He yelled his
mantra into the uncaring air around him. The world about his head had gone insane. His plane was
jabbed into the black and white devil, like a knife in an infected wound. The air was filled with swirling
colours, and arced lightning that blinded him with its unending strobe horror. He was bleeding from
every orifice, and his legs were hideously burned from a fuel fire.

Darius didn’t care. He was the faithful.

“As I walk through the shadow of Heretics, I shall not falter! I shall not fall. I am His will, as He is mine!
With it, I shall banish darkness, leaving only light!” Darius continued, tears streaming down his face. He
gazed upwards. The daemon’s vast barrel chest engulfed his vision, like the sky itself had become flesh.
He was directly below the beast’s chest, angled perfectly. This was destiny, Darius determined.

The flight sergeant looked around, while chanting, at his remaining controls. Only one button was
functioning. The ejector chair release.

Darius smiled, before he gazed upwards, snarling.

“I am the Emperor’s spear! I banish shadows! Receive the Emperor’s grace!” he howled joyfully, before
slamming his fist downwards. The chair fired upwards, on a column of fire, dragging Darius with it. He
bellowed his wife’s name, as he plunged into the devil.

“Lucy!”
###

Vash watched, as the thunderbolt appeared to detonate, firing an object into the daemon king. The
object plunged into the daemon’s corrupt form, embedding in the cursed flesh. He felt the daemon hiss
in agony, momentarily losing concentration. A moment was all Vash would get.

With a Herculean effort, the guardsman arched back, and flung the broadsword with all his might. The
blade spun through the air languidly, covering the twenty metres between the two combatants with
ease. Mere inches from the daemon king’s head, the blade halted, and fell.

The daemon laughed mirthlessly, and began to raise itself to its full statue. As it did so, it tore great
chunks of masonry up from the floor, only for it to be absorbed into the daemon king’s ever expanding
body.

You fail again, Vashan of the Infractus militia, neophyte and failed servant of the Sons of Malice, Imperial
guard whelp. Now see true power.

The voice of the daemon drove the air from Vash’s lungs, and rattled his jaw painfully. The leering
daemon took a single step forward. With a speed undreamt of, something changed.

Hurexpauradx screeched a keening cry, as The Beloved’s vast leg slammed into the devil’s side. The
monster staggered, falling onto its side, hissing a challenge. Vash forgotten, the daemon lunged,
slamming into the god machine bodily.

The two gargantuan beasts stumbled backwards, vast limbs interlocked in a mortal embrace. The
Beloved spun on its waist axis, flipping the daemon over, before slamming a great foot downwards, to
crush the devil’s head. Hurexpauradx was too quick, and slid aside like an oil slick, before clambering
onto the titan’s bane blade wide back.

The beloved roared, as the daemon’s talons dug deeply into the adamantine shell of the god machine.
The Beloved rotated, increasing in speed, until the titan itself seemed like a partial blur. This rotational
force flung the daemon from it, casting it from the hive’s summit. The winged monster swept its wings
about, arresting its fall.

###

The Beloved was finally free. Free to punish the unholy. The shadowy target jinxed to one side, pre-
empting the titan’s searing turbo laser. The daemon sailed around the thick red beam, before slamming
into it again.

The mega bolter blazed, tearing a chunk from the daemon’s shoulder. The flesh came away like leprosy,
dripping blackened blood, that fizzed as it bubbled forth from the wound. Hurexpauradx howled,
loosening his grip upon the metal giant. The Beloved slammed its two arm cannons together, crunching
the daemon between them. Before The Beloved could snap the abomination’s spine, the thing scrabbled
up, onto its shoulders.

The Beloved sensed the daemon, as he jabbed his venomous barb into the titan‘s head, over and over
again.

###

Emeline hit the deck once more, as the sickly black barb plunged through the roof again, tearing through
the roof like a scythe through a wheat crop. The barb got closer to Galvanner’s prone form each time,
each stroke bringing his demise closer. Emeline would not allow it.

“Shoot the stinger as it comes in! Maximum charges my Lychen!” she screamed over the relentless
noise.

The lychen tensed. A moment later, the stinger slid through the head of the titan. One lychen was caught
by the barb, which lopped off a limb with contemptuous ease. The lychen gurgled, before he shrivelled
unpleasantly, and fell to the floor, as a dry husk. The others avoided the blade, firing into it’s dense
corrupt flesh. Emeline fired her pistol repeatedly, adding her fire to the the other three Lychen. The red
beams riddled the barb with burning holes, until it splattered in two, in a shower of daemon ichors.

A hideous bellow echoed out, and the beheaded tail retracted. The ruined stinger fell, embedding itself
into the thick deck plate, scant inches from Galvanner’s Princeps throne.

That was too close.

###

The daemon howled a warcry, as he slashed and beat his fists upon the titan’s hull. The Beloved tumbled
forward slightly, before jerking backwards sharply. This flung the daemon from it, causing Hurexpauradx
to crash into the marble floor, scoring a sixty foot groove into the hive summit.

The Beloved spun around, with a speed unheard of by titans, and slammed a vast metal hoof
downwards, onto the daemon king. The shadow daemon caught its foot in his arms, and strained, trying
to push the foot from it’s chest. Enevitably, inexorably, the great foot edged upwards, by the force of the
daemon.

###

The psyk out warheads finally extinguished, with a small sonic boom which blew away the clouds around
Saris. For the first time in six years, the people upon Saris could see the light of morning breaking across
the sky, making the sky shimmered an asure hue.

The combatants below paused briefly in their bloodshed, to gaze upwards, at the high summit of the
hive. Atop the pinacle, which was now wreathed in the firey corona of Saris’ only star, two beings fought.
Like gods from legends, the two battled. One, a vast grim warlord, as immovable as a monolith, wrestled
with a being that pulled away the blinding glare of the sun, creating the twisted siloette of a great bestial
vulture or bat.
The armies were mute, groggy from the lingering effects of the warhead, and stared in wonder. The duel
would decide the fate of this world, and every soul who viewed this battle knew this to be true.

###

The Beloved strained, great gears within its leg squealed, as it tried to crush the daemon. It felt itself
tipping, ever so gradually, backwards, as the daemon pushed up, in an attempt to release itself from the
crushing embrace of The Beloved’s foot.

Galvanner tried to soothe The Beloved’s fury, telling it that it should trust in something called the Vash.
The Beloved cared nothing for the Vash. It was a war machine, and it would win this war. A shuddering
mechanical roar sounded across the dawn skies of Saris.

###

Vash rose, slowly. His mouth was full of black, dried blood. He spat bitterly, before rising to his feet. The
daemon lay upon it’s back, grappling with the leg of The Beloved. The air was fresh, but tinged with the
cloying scent of sulphur. Vash vowed to end the daemon’s foul stench.

Vash charged, bellowing in his own, unmistakable rumble. He surged over every obstacle, vaulting
corpses and darting around wrecked trucks and tanks. Nothing would halt him now. The half-crazed
Lychen leapt over the crushed kine machine, hesitating for a second. He reached down, and pulled with
all his superhuman might, yanking one of its gory chains from its wrecked chasis.

Vash approached the daemon cautiously, slowly whirling his chain, sending the long blade at the end of
it into an eccentric figure of eight. As he approached, the shear heat of the daemon’s abhorrence
scorched his flesh. Vash grimaced, swallowing down the pain, as his skin blistered. His wolf pelt blazed,
and he threw it from his shoulders, letting it smoulder in a heap by his side.

You won’t do this Vashan. You’re too weak. The daemon taunted, gargling with strained laughter, most of
its concentration upon the descending foot, rather than Vash.
“I shall. In the Emperor’s name.”

Ha! The emperor you and your herd of beasts worship, he’s no Emperor. You know of who I speak. The
Blood God…

“Blasphemy!” Vash roared in rage, swinging the chain around. The blow tore a ragged chunk from the
arm of the daemon. The foot lowered under this weaker grip. The daemon king hissed in frustration.

Curse you, blood whelp! I can help you! Help you get vengeance. You wan’t vengeance, I feel it in your
heart. Your daughter… what they did to her, what they made her do. Terrible. I can help you crush her
oppressors!

Vash bit back tears, as his eyes narrowed in fury. He swept the chain around again. Another chunk of
meat sloughed bloodily from the daemon’s arm. The foot was almost upon his chest now. The daemon
wriggled and hissed. It was desperate.

Why banish me? You know I can never die. I am forever, as long as destruction reigns! I am entropy. You
cannot destroy the force of destruction. If you strike me down, I will become more powerful than you
could fathom! Would you risk that?

Vash smiled. “I’ll take my chances.”

The blade at last pased through the limb. The arm of the daemon flopped wetly to the floor, as the
titan’s great boot plunged through the daemon’s form, splintering its chest, and bursting foul organs of
white bile. With a crunch, the daemon’s back shattered.

A voice, like a million screams in a gale, rang out across the entire hive. Hurexpauradx’s death shriek was
evn heard aboard the Luthor’s Spear. Minval bucked in his psyker couch, frothing at the mouth, in an
elated spasm.
The daemon king was desperate. His essense was coiling, even now, from the failing mortal incarnation.
He could not reenter the warp, in his weakened state. Now now, during a chaos infestation. The rival
daemons would devour him. He had to escape banishment. Reaching out with his essense,
Hurexpauradx found the only solution.

###

Galvanner bestrode the mighty bear spirit, and surveyed the beautiful forest glade around him. The titan
was triumphant. Suddenly, however, the clouds thickened in the sky. The sun descended , and dusk fell
over the forest. Galvanner felt sick. A familiar sickness. Hurexpauradx was here. He had come for the
Lychen’s soul.

The tree’s began to wail, and collapse into hideous filthy piles of sludge. The rocks they stood upon
began to crumble, as the daemon’s essence leaked into the titan’s consciousness.

“LEAVE. HURRY,” the bear snarled grimly. Galvanner nodded, leaping down. This was The Beloved’s fight.

The trees parted, as a vast black bat swooped downwards, and lunged towards Galvanner. The bear
surged forwards, taking the brunt of the bat’s death plunge. The two creatures grappled briefly, before
the bat bit the bear upon its arm, and flung it aside casually.

Galvanner shuddered, and edged backwards, as the bat’s head turned slowly towards him. It smiled,
revealing row upon row of razor sharp fangs.

“Mistress! Now mistress!” Galvanner hissed, as the bat flapped its pinons, and flew towards him, jaws
open. In one instant, Galvanner was standing before the fangs of the fiend, the next, he had vanished.
The bat hissed in frustration, before the bear plunged into it again.

###
Galvanner, free of the chair, fell forwards, gasping for air. As soon as he fell into Emeline’s arms, and out
of the chair, the lychen fired. A dozen well-aimed bursts of red light blasted the princeps chair to dull
shards of gold and plasteel. The chair sparked once, they deactivated.

Emeline found that Galvanner was still holding her. She found she wasn’t repulsed by his touch, and she
held him just as tight. The two fell to the floor, relieved.

###

The beloved shuddered, as the daemon fought it, thrashing around in the titan’s electronic mind.
Hurexpauradx was trapped. The Beloved determined that it would be forever, as it shut down system
after system within its mind. Every sub routine, every piece of code. All was being deleted.

The Beloved reckoned, before it finally self terminated, that it could discern the hollow, agonised scream
of Hurexpauradx, caged like a beast, within The Beloved’s dying systems. At last, the daemon king’s
short-lived reign of terror was ended. The Beloved had finally won, it considered, as all went blank.Part
Thirty.

Jerex crept around, keeping to the little covewr available outside the titan’s armoured embrace. He and
Kalan, his last Balhaun, were hiding. It would not be long now, he considered, until the glorius rebellion
would be nought but dust.

Jerex gripped the pommel of his sheathed sabre even tighter. The Slannesh worshippers had promised
him glory, yet nothing glorious remained on Saris. It had all been quenched in the fire of war. Hatred
stirred in Jerex’s gut, for both the Imperium and Chaos. Both were liars, both crushed his dreams.

“Touching,” a faintly mocking voice called out from the shadows. Startled, the two elite soldiers snapped
around to the direction of the call, training their hell guns onto the potential enemy.

Sparrod emerged from the shadows, hands in the air. A wry smile covered his face. “Don’t worry, friends.
I’m not your enemy. As you can see, I am unarmed.”

“What do you want?” the gruff voice of Kalan enquired, scarred face twisting in contempt and intrigue.
Sparrod merely turned slowly toward Kalan.

“It’s not about what I want, but what you want. I’ve seen the way the ruinous powers have treated you,
the Imperium too. Most… impolite, shall we say? Now, you have very few options left to you. My master
and I offer you an alternative: revenge.”

Jerex smiled, lowering his weapon. Kalan, ever the faithful underling of Jerex, did likewise. Jerex liked
where this strangers argument was going. “We’re listening, ‘friend’,” Jerex lightly mocked.

“My master is the lord of hatred, and revenge, and justice. Of course, first we must escape this blasted
place.”

“How?” Kalan mumbled.

Sparrod’s smile, if it was possible, widened even more. “Oh, I have a plan. First, however, I have a little
friend to visit.”

The smile made Jerex shudder.

###

The rusted blast door swung open, as Reheinhart slammed aboot into it. The rusted door clanged as it
swung to it’s widest opening, and the two Cadians were suddenly struck by the wind, and near blinded
by the suddenly daylight. The very roof of the hive must have been ripped away by some great force.

Henmar was still confused as to what Reheinhart, in all his wisdom, expected to do up here. Henmar
privately believed the Commissar was still obsessed with vengeance, and would do anything to see
Emeline laid low.

Henmar could still not shake the feeling of imminent death. His mind turning to ash, as a las bolt
destroyed his thoughts in one flash of light. Henmar was going to die, and he suspected it had something
to do with Reheinhart.

Looking up, Henmar noticed how the Commissar had become agitated, as he glared at the bodies
around him. “Look at this blasphemy Henmar! Look!” Reheinhart screamed, gesturing to one death
Lychen. The corpse appeared to be wearing (an albeit ragged and torn) Cadian uniform.

“The Lychen have murdered fellow Guardsmen, and in their audacity, they even wear the death men’s
very garments. Did they think that I would not notice this?” Reheinhart bellowed, his face disturbingly
pleased, despite his evident anger. He had found his excuse.

“I will find Emeline now, and strip her of her office! Oh, she’ll swing for this! Her tribunal will see her
disgraced. Come aid!” the Commissar ordered, before storming off at pace. What he hoped to achieve
with a deactivated powersword and alas pistol with only two shots, Henmar didn’t know. Nor, on
reflection, did Henmar care.

###

The fresh dawn air tasted of ash and blood, but at least it was a cold breeze. Emeline lead the way, as the
three Lychen followed, supporting Galvanner, as he slowly regained his momentum. Eventually,
Galvanner simply walked with the others confidently. He passed by a corpse, and drew a small knife. He
chopped off the ring finger of the cadaver, and shimmied off the deep obsidian signet ring, which
plopped into his hand.

As he greedily devoured the finger, he called out to Emeline. “Catch!”

She turned, as he threw the ring to her, catching it deftly in one hand. She smirked. “What’s this for?”
“A trophy of war, mistress,” he smiled. Emeline held his gazed for a moment, before turning forward
again. She slid the ring carefully onto her finger. It was very beautiful, she conceded. Perhaps she would
allow herself to keep it.

“Did Vash let you take trophies?” Emeline chided.

“You can ask him yourself.”

Emeline paused. “Vash is still alive?” she hissed incredulously. Galvanner nodded eagerly. Great, she
thought with bitterness.

“He very much alive. In fact, Vash slew the daemon itself, in a manner of speaking,” Sparrod informed
her eagerly.

Emeline nearly leapt with shock.

Emeline stopped, looking to her far side. “Stop, everyone stop.”

The group dutifully did so. The eyes of Emeline and Sparrod met, as the man walked calmly towards her,
arms outstretched, unarmed.

“Good day, blade enforcer. I thought I had lost you. Your aide has returned.”

Emeline raised her pistol and aimed at his heart. “Get back, or by the Emperor, I’ll frak you!” she hissed
through silver teeth.

Sparrod flicked a long strand of ebony hair from his face, and smiled. “Always with the threats. That is
how you and your kind always act. Always the stick, never the carrot. I’m not threatening you.”
“You are a heretic, you are scum, now stand back!” she growled, clicking her pistol onto auto fire.

“Do you not know who I am?”

“No!”

“Oh, come now! You can do better than that.”

Emeline paused.

Sparrod’s expression turned to a snarl. “You, sweet Emeline, killed my family and everything I was! I was
only seven! Have you forgotten your genocide so soon?”

Emeline turned pale and ghost-like. “ Hermengrad…” she gasped, looking downwards at her feet in
shame.

“At last, she remembers! I saw you murder everyone. Maybe not personally, but you gave the orders. I
swore, on that day, you’d pay. My master gave me wisdom and insight. He made me age and develop,
gave me an adult body, to better destroy you with.”

Emeline looked up in anger, raising her pistol. The other Lychen did likewise. “You come to destroy me?
You have failed, I have you exactly where I want you: down the barrel of a lasgun, you scum.”

Sparrod then laughed, long and hard. This confused his five enemies, who temporarily lowered their
guns.

“Why are you laughing?” Emeline demanded.

“It’s just, you people can never understand. I am not going to destroy you. I am a facilitator. He’s going to
kill you.” Sparrod chuckled bitterly, gesturing over Emeline’s shoulder. As she did, a fat las bolt scythed
through her gut, in a small fizzing detonation. Emeline gargled and sighed in shock, falling to her knees.

The other Lychen snapped their guns around, to aim at this new threat.

“Do not target me! Lower oyur weapons! Official Commissarial business!” Reheinhart bellowed out as he
strode up to the group, Henmar in tow.

The lychen lowered their weapons, slowly. They were brutal, but not traitors. If a servent of the
Imperium as high ranked as this Commissar told them to hold fire, they would oblige.

Reheinhart swaggered up to Emeline, his pistol smoking. He kicked her in the ribs, sending her clattering
to the floor with a yelp. He raised his pistol to her head.

“By order of His Holy Commissariat, I find you guilty of treason and sedition, Emeline. May you burn in
the fires of the deep warp!” he spat.

Galvanner had seen many things before, and done terrible things before. But nothing was worse than
this, he realised. He could not, would not, allow this! Galvanner sprung forwards, snatching two axes
from one of his lychen compatriots.

Reheinhart turned, noticing the Lychen, who ran screaming at him, axes raised. He desperately dropped
his pistol, and drew his powersword, in one smooth motion. He deflected the dozen or so frenzied strikes
of Galvanner with ease, while drawing his combat knife in his other hand.

Finally, Reheinhart struck forwards, taking Galvanner by surprise, slicing the Lychen around each thigh,
causing him to stagger backwards painfully. Galvanner paced slowly around Reheinhart. The commissar
was a master duellist and a perfect swordsman. Galvanner was an engineer, fighting on pure adrenaline.
He knew he could not defeat Reheinhart. But he would fight him all the same.
“Give up Lychen. I have no quarrel with you. You know I am the better fighter. You know I will win. Why
fight?”

Galvanner snarled, revealing his fangs. “Because someone should,” he stated simply, as he lunged
forwards. The two exchanged several rapid blows and ripostes, until Reheinhart spun inside Galvanner’s
guard, and sliced his side. Galvanner gasped, and fell to the floor, kneeling. Galvanner spun around
desperately, swinging his axe at Reheinhart’s head . The man simply blocked it with his sword and
slashed Galvanner’s wrist with the knife. The axe dropped slowly to the floor.

Galvanner struggled to his feet, edging away, pacing around Reheinhart warily. He struggled for breath,
as blood drooled from his mouth lazily. He took one look into Emeline’s eyes. She was losing
consciousness, but she managed to return the gaze. She nodded to him; she felt the same way he did
about her.

Galvanner smiled weakly, before swinging his axe double handedly at Reheinhart. The commissar side-
stepped this clumsy blow. And hacked off the arm. With his free arm, Galvanner clutched at Reheinhart’s
uniform.

“Any last words, traitor?” Reheinhart sneered. Galvanner thrust his head forwards, and bit into the
Commissar’s face, tearing the bionic cheek prosthetic away in a shower of gore and bitter defiance.
Reheinhart yelped, and Galvanner spat the implant to the floor contemptuously.

“S-Salvation in Slaughter!” Galvanner gargled through a blood filled mouth, grinning like a desperate
madman. A moment later, Reheinhart dropped the Lychen, and swung his sword downwards,
decapitating him. The body fell limply.

Henmar watched this event in a sort of slow motion. The pieces fit. He knew his destiny. This is why he
had become the aide to Reheinhart. The cadian cast his weapon aside and jumped Reheinhart from
behind, enwrapping him in a crushing bear hug. The hug ensnared both the Commissar’s arms, and the
political officer could not free himself from the powerful grasp of Henmar. Reheinhart wheezed and
struggled, his legs kicking futilely below him. Gasping for every breath, Reheinhart spat curses and
screams at Henmar, but to no avail. Henmar was acting on impulse, and squeezed more and more.
Reheinhart turned a queer purple, and began to breathe more shallowly. “This is for Doman, you
fether!” Henmar whispered in his ear, before he suddenly yanked his arms in further under the
Commissar’s diaphram. At last, Reheinhart stopped squirming, and Henmar dropped the limp man,
before spitting on the body.

Henmar looked around tearfully at the three Lychen who stared around him, dumbstruck. Henmar had
done the very worst thing. The excruciators on the Crusade ships would rend apart his soul for this.
Henmar looked down. His destiny left a way out. Reheinhart’s pistol lay upon the ground, with one shot
left. Henmar kneeled and lifted the pistol to his temple, sobbing all the while. He depressed the trigger. A
bolt of light passed through his mind, turning it to ash, emptying his mind of life. The destiny was
fulfilled. Henmar flopped onto his face and lay still.

###

Emeline’s vision blurred, the agony in her stomach too much to bear. She gazed, bleary-eyed, at the
Lychen who moved towards her. Suddenly, the lychen all jerked and bucked, before clattering to the
floor. Lasbolts scythed through them callously. Two Balhaun emerged from the shadows, smirking
triumphantly as they loweredt heir smoking lasguns.

Sparrod appeared in Emeline’s vision, grinning like a madman. He then knelt down to talk to her.

“I always plan for every eventuality. You see, I have you know. You have no support, no hope. I could
leave you to bleed out, up here in the thin atmosphere. Or, I could fake a vox transmission, calling for
incendry bombs to level the area around the titan, and hence incinerating you. I’ll leave you to guess
which one I did,” Sparrod explained joyfully, before rising and gesturing for the Balhaun to follow him.

All Emeline could hear, as she lost consciousness, was Sparrod, humming a happy tune as he sauntered
off.

“Come, my friends. Let’s leave this dreary place. It does so dampen my pleasant disposition,” Sparrod
mutterly lyrically, as the three disappeared into the shadows once more.
Part Thirty One.

The planes dived like great raptors, sailing on gusts of wind, and thermals, before gunning their jets. The
planes thundered forwards, trailing a firey comet-tail of backwashed heat.

++Stay in formation. This is a clean up job. Not theatrics.++, the stern voice of the wing commander
barked, as the marauders moved into a rough V formation.

The rubbled hive peak loomed ahead, growing larger in their view every second, as the vast velocity of
their engines thrust them forth. The titan stood, like a fallen god, wreathed in smoke and ash.

++Prepare your incendries ladies and gentlemen. Time to cleanse the hive’s summit. Give them a taste of
Imperial justice. Burn the heretics!++, he screamed down the vox. At the commander’s bellowed order,
ten bombs were flung ahead of the bombers, the shallow parabola sending them crashing to the floor of
the hive peak.

With a roar like the wail of a warp spawn itself, the fuel ignited, in an intense golden orange corona. The
Bombers sliced through the rapidly expanding fireball, as it blossomed like an obscene flower of flame.

++Area clear. The Emperor protects.++

With that, the formation of fighters turned skywards sharply, and disappeared into the cloudless
heavens, leaving the peak to blaze.

###
Vash saw only flames. They licked around him like startled, snatching hands. He jumped aside, as
another eruption of fire burst skywards. Smoke clogged his eyes and lungs, causing acrid tears to run
down his cheeks. He retched up phlegm, before he staggered forwards, trying to ward away the fire’s
deadly embrace.

He noticed something, amid the blazing wreckage all around. A body. Not a body, but something else.
The body moved, and moaned lightly. It was alive. Vash knew her face.

It was Vella. Little Vella! How had she got here? Vash had no time to question how his daughter had got
there. He had to save her. Vash rushed to her side, and inspected her wound. Her stomach pumped
blood all around, pooling around her sickeningly. The blood fizzed as it touched the fires that burned all
around. Vash had to do something.

“I’ve got you!” he bawled, as he snatched her up with his arm, slinging Vella over his broad shoulder.
Vash moved to one side, avoiding another flash of blazing fuel, which swam to his left. Vash tried to
move off, but felt something on his leg. It was one of the bodies.

The corpse was a commissar, clutching at Vash’s leg desperately. He dragged himself on his belly like a
worm, his legs ablaze. The charnal stink of roasting flesh was potent, and Vash repressed the urge to
devour. He had to escape, and save her. He would not fail her again. Not like last time.

“She must die, you brute! She must die!” the man screamed, through a torn mess of flesh that may once
have been a mouth. Vash snarled, and stamped down on the man’s head, hard, feeling a small crunch.

Vash ran, heedless of the fires that ripped at his legs and lower body. He felt the fire, as it stripped away
small layers of flesh. He continued his run, kicking aside ruins, that burned with a smouldering glow. His
breath came in rasps, as he felt his lungs faltering in the heat, as they tasted ash.

At last, he found a door. The rusted blast door swung open with a kick, as Vash scrambled into the portal,
into the cool blackness of the stairwell. He dimly heard Vella rousing, her voice a weak rasp, as she
slipped in and out of consciousness.
“Y-Y-You… saved me… you-”

“Don’t talk, my little blood maiden. Father’s here. It’s alright, you’re safe now,” he rumbled, his voice
losing it’s usual menace. He saw hope, and his tears streamed down his face freely.

“Vash… what are you… talking about? Why are you naked?” the girl said. Wait, not a girl. A woman.

Please no, Vash prayed silently. His eyes glazed in despair.

###

Keshak had waited here for hours. It had been hours since the battle of insanity, and the Corporal sat
upon the ruins of the corpse wall, abscent mindedly biting upon the liver of a butchered heretic,
savouring the still-warm juices, as they splashed across his lips and tongue. He gulped down each chunk
of gore-soaked flesh with relish.

The Lord General, still recovering, had told kasha to take command, to accept their deaths. Keshak did
not, could not, believe Vash had died. Not Vash. Keshak did not know what he would do without Vash.
Keshak knew he was no leader. He couldn’t inspire, not like Vash. Keshak knew he would never rise to
leadership. He was a warrior, nothing more. Why Vash had him made Corporal, Keshak couldn’t guess.

Keshak took one final glance at the looming dark chasm, of the northern gate way. Keshak noticed
movement. Through the blackness, a giant came, smoking and retching. As Keshak ran closer, he noticed
the giant’s nude form was blistered, and partially burned. Slung over his soldiers, a frail woman dangled,
drooling blood onto the man’s vast shoulders.

“My lord! I knew you’d survive the slaughter! Salvation in-”

“Take her. See that the flesh tailors fixe her. I don’t want her dead. Go,” Vash rumbled, his voice
dispassionate and drained. His usually firey eyes were watery and dim. Keshak caught Emeline, as Vash
dropped her carefully into Keshak’s arms. Keshak nodded to Vash, and moved off.

Vash waited until Keshak had left, over the the blasted ruins of the corpse wall. Vash had been sure it
was Vella. All these years, and still the visions never left him. He thought he was free of them. In battle,
they usually went away. In slaughter, he could be saved from them. But not now, he considered bitterly.
They always crept up upon, went his mind was free of the thoughts of murder.

Murder and Vella. His only two passions. Vella was gone, and that hurt Vash more deeply than any
massacre or war. Vash fell to his knees, letting the pain of his flesh and lungs claim his conscious. The
hulking warrior bent his head down, and sobbed.

###

The great mass of soldiers stretched across the battlefield in several great lines, running parallel to one
another. Each of the six great lines was composed of every fighting Imperial soldier on Saris. Each line
funnelled into a small tent, with three exits. The first opening shepherded the soldiers into the tent, for
psychic evaluation, by the fleet’s own Gamma Psykers. The pale, dour eyed creatures looked into each
and every soldier’s soul, and each time whispered into the ear of the hulking Commissars that
accompanied them.

Each soldier was either herded to the right exit, and back to their regiment. Some, a small number, were
ushered left. To the left, shots were heard, hell guns firing at a regular pace.

Lord Gravean sat on his command couch, which was set up in one of the tents. He observed each entrant
with faint interest. He and Jorvick had been the first to undergo the psyker tests. Jorvick, to his credit,
had not hesitated to draw his pistol and fire, as he found out about his psychic corruption . Gravean still
remembered how the old man had fallen, dignified even in his deathly collapse, blood drooling from his
nose and mouth.

Gravean watched, as the lychen calmly walked up to the smal desk, from which the Psyker stared,
unblinking, into each man’s sould. Gravean had never seen the lychen so calm, it seemed so at odds with
their bestial appearance.

The psyker stared at the latest Lychen guardsman, eyes narrowing. The psyker then leaned over to the
Commissar.

“Left!” the man bellowed, and the Lychen wandered out through the left hand exit. Three shots
sounded, the snap of hell guns immistakable. There was a thud, then silence.

Another lychen stepped up. This one, unusually, was female. The woman was near naked, swathed in
nothing but stitched rags and scraps of dead flesh. The psyker stared at her, like all the others. Again, the
psyker moved to speak with the Commissar.

“Right!”

The girl nodded, and walked off, head bowed, as if in prayer. A head hood obscured all but one of her
eyes. Deep purple, her eye seemed to glimmer, as it caught Gravean’s sight. Such a waste, he considered,
sighing slightly. One so beautiful, in a chorus of monsters.

Then, the largest Lychen stepped into the tent. Vash stepped into the tent like some image of death. The
man was entirely naked, and covered in flesh burns and blood, as well as a coating of ash and grime. He
strode forwards, his eyes intent and threatening.

“Test me, psyker,” Vash rumbled happily, his voice a deep resonant boom, punctuated only by him
picking at his great bear trap maw with a knife, flicking out small chunks of dried meat and grissle.

The psyker looked up at him. The psyker tried to stare, but tore his eyes away at the last moment. The
psyker then turned to the commissar, speaking quiet words to the man.

“Right!”
Vash smiled, and the psyker shuddered involuntarily. Vash then stood to attention, performing a mock
salute with his left stump. The giant then walked calmly from the tent.

Gravean listened out, and could just heard Vash bellow to his Lychen. “Where is the flesh and amasec?
We made a great slaughter this week! We are the haemovores! Now, cry prayers to Him, and feast!”

The bellow was greeted with the mass cheer of the lychen beyond the tent. Gravean smirked. Keshak
was right. Vash was the glue that held this force of Lychen together. This troubled Gravean greatly. Not
least because, by rights, the Lychen should have a Colonel. What had this Vash character done?

No matter, Gravean concluded. He wins the crusades victories, and that is what counts. At least, that’s
what Gravean hoped.

###

The judging lasted several hours, and hundreds of soldiers were executed, to curtail the corruption in
their souls. After several hours more, the great troop ships lifted off, in plumes of fire, punching up
through the grey clouds.

All that remained was the priestly delegations, that moved amongst the dead in packs of three, swinging
censors, and mumbling holy rit, as they consecrated each death of a loyal Imperial subject. From a
distance, one such gropu was observed.

Jerex lowered his monocular, and turned to Sparrod, unconvinced. “Priests? Really? WE’re heretics.
Perhaps something more… similar to us would be more fitting Sparrod?” Jerex questioned, his voice
patronising.

Sparrod looked up from his crouch, and smiled at Jerex. “I appreciate the irony, but this is necessary. The
Imperium would not suspect it’s priests were heretics, would they? They are incorruptible, apparently.
The troopers won’t stop us, especially if we’re unarmed.”
“Unarmed!” Kalan gasped, clutching his gun. “We’d be defenceless!”

“Calm yourself. We will not be discovered. Now, I need you to get the robes from those priests. And try
not to get them bloody,” Sparrod responded easily. The two Balhaun looked to each other, and nodded.

###

The hive of Saris shuddered briefly, as the lance strikes cut great smoking wounds into the structure. The
metal groaned obscenely, as it crumpled and bent under it’s own weight. Great tower sized torpedoes
plunged from heaven, and burst among the mortally wounded hive, blasting great chunks from the city.

The city tumbled in upon itself, crumbling to ash and twisted metal spars. More lance strikes blazed from
the Luthor’s Spear, melting the metal into white hot molten lakes, which bubbled, consuming the rubble
and ash in flames.

Marauders circled the bubbling morass, firing auto cannons and high explosive bombs into the deadly
mix. Great gouts of flame pierced the surface, like a last defiant bellow before its death.

Saris, Hive primus, was dead.

The crusade would move on.

###

Darvius observed the devastation from his command pulpit, his eyes cold to the destruction. In the fires
of the hive’s death, new life would spring, he was confident. It not, then Darvius little cared either way.
The Inquisitor turned from the observation screen, to regard Layla, who stood pristine before him, all in
white. It took all his mental fortitude not to admire her body.
“You wished me to inform you of the current state of the crusade, post Saris sir?” his interrogator
questioned.

“Yes yes Layla. In summary, as I have a lot to organise. Proceed.”

Layla nodded, and scrambled through her extensive notes hurriedly. “Right. Firstly, we have currently lost
one third of our current fighting forces on the ground, due to this incident. The Cadian 101st particularly.
This may seem bad, but bear in mind half of the guard contigents were not deployed for this offensive,
so we still have a viable combat force. I would personally recommend we pass by Galahar with the
crusade. There is a resupply depo in that system, and I’ve been told, a small contigent of the Mailed Fists
Astartes Chapter is currently serving in the outer system.”

“Mmm… good. I will petition them on arrival. What of the titan?”

“The mechanicus have managed to get it aboard before the bombardment, to their credit. However,
they have not been able to activate it. Some have said it’s spirit has been killed, while the psykers are
claiming there is a daemon aboard it. I find both suggestions unlikely, but I have ordered a quarantine of
the titan’s chamber aboard this vessel.”

Darvius’ expression grew dark.

“Something wrong my lord?” she enquired, moving slightly closer, Darvius shook his head.

“No Layla. Have a scribe make a fuller report. Now, leave me,” he ordered, gesturing away dismissively.
Layla frowned, but obeyed, leaving the chamber.

“All of you, leave!” he shouted across the observation deck. The room cleared within moments, leaving
the inquisitor alone. With a clap of his hands, a large cylinder slid from the room, to encapsulate Darvius.
Safely within the null chamber, he activated the comm relay, built into his throne. It flushed static for a
moment.
++My dear Darvius, I trust you are well.++, the voice rasped through the vox channel, old and rendered
slightly mechanical by the machines buzz.

“Quite well Tyrianus, but pleasantries are unnecessary. Also, is the code name required also? I thought
this was a secure line?”

++It is, it is, I assure you, but you can never be too careful. I know all eyes watch me. It has made me
cautious, you understand. Caution is never futile. Now, my dear Darvius, were you successful in your
acquisition?++

“In a manner of speaking.”

++Define this please.++, the voice questioned, irritably.

“The titan’s body was found, but the machine spirit is damaged.”

++You cannot have the beast without the mind! It is essential!++

“Apologies… Tyrianus,” Darvius said, with forced meekness.

++This is almost a disaster Darvius. Remember how I am helping you in your little ‘project’. Do not fail
again. Of course, the second phase of the plan must come into fruitition now.++

“What has changed since last we spoke?”

There was a pause. ++A great many things. There has been upheavals. Your Inquisition has become
agitated recently. Overall, it could be the Black Crusade, but more locally, I would say it is the cell of
Xanthians discovered on Besopin. They are becoming more careful. I loathe careful in others. It makes
me paranoid. You must take the crusade to Talaheim swiftly. My agents have lost contact with the colony
there. The plan is under threat.++

Darvius gulped involuntarily. “Nothing must be found on Talaheim! I can’t get there instantaneously
though Tyrianus! I need to travel through Galahar!” Darvius pleaded, his pleading voice sounding almost
convincing to Darvius himself.

++ Very well. But make haste to Talaheim. A shadow draws over it, and I know not what. It could ruin
everything.++

“Very well my lord. I look forward to our next meeting.”

++You’re no sycophant, so stop doing a poor impression of one Darvius! Tyrianus out.++

Darvius considered his words carefully, as the null chamber rose. Things were coming apart at the seams.
Damn those lychen. Darvius was determined now, to find a way to get them killed. Talaheim would do
nicely, he thought with a viscious smile.

###

Emeline awoke, her head swimming. She was in a blindingly white room, and she suspected she had had
surgery, as she still felt the numbness of an anisthetic. Painfully, she sat up, looking down on her wound.
Though crude, the stitching was skilled an solid. Emeline noted how the wound was sealed, yet still
managed to trickle with blood. Lychen surgery, she concluded with a wry smile. It was odd how she was
no longer disgusted by the Lychen. Perhaps she had come to terms with the horror, or perhaps she had
realised how the Lychen functioned. Unity above all else seemed their ethos.

Emeline knew they would deny it, but she knew the lychen were not the senseless butchers they
portrayed themselves as. Their ways were ritualised to such a degree, slaughter had become a natural
extension for every emotion. Love was expressed in violence, hate was in butchery. Pleasure was pain.
They were not insane, but they simply had a new take on the universe. Perhaps humanity died in the
fires of the Age of Strife, but hadn‘t realised it. Maybe all humanity would become like the Lychen one
day. Emeline smiled, as she now knew she had become one. At least, she told herself with relief, the
lychen would never become hypocrites.

“Have you healed, madame commissar,” a voice rumbled. Emeline turned, to see the hulking form of
Vash entering the medicae room. He wore his full ceremonial plate armour. The armour was brazen, and
gilded with golden details. The armour was stylised in the form of a skinned human, the contours of
human musculature gliding over the man’s vast bulk, giving him the appearance of a skinned corpse. Of
cpurse, blood drenched the armour, and a thick wolf pelt was slung over his shoulder.

“I have, Corporal. I trust you are well. Did we find victory?”

“Of course Blade Enforcer, I mean-”

“Blade Enforcer is an acceptable term. Just don’t use it in front of the Inquisitor!” Emeline smiled. Vash
smiled back, his smile always managing to appear lopsided and cruel. His eyes, however, seemed fatherly
and had lost much of their rage.

“When will we be slaughtering in His name again Vash?”

Vash looked glum. “We have at least a month. I don’t know how we shall cope.”

Emeline stared for a while at Vash, as he rose, and patted her shoulder with his vast bionic arm, which
was already stained with blood.

“You’ll get your entertainment somehow,” Emeline concluded. Vash nodded, and left the room.

Emeline lay back down on her bed, letting unconsciousness take her.
“Salvation….slaughter…” she mumbled, before she fell to sleep.

From across the ward, Sparrod watched, and smiled his silver smile.