'Two more on your left, Leondris,' the message floated to him from Satris above, more of a psychic impression that his mind gave meaning than actual words, a completely silent exchange to the perceptions of the mon-keigh. The steady thuds of the human's crude movement echoed to him quickly, enhanced by the heavy boots they wore clanking upon the thin steel walkway above him, and they came into view shortly after. They wore the standard uniforms of the guards that constantly patrolled this city and carried lasguns held in the manner bored guards do; virtually clones of the countless other guards they had passed in their advance through the narrow streets and pipe-ways. The men passed over where Leondris squatted in the shadows beneath the walkway completely unaware an Eldar Striking Scorpion was mere inches beneath their feet or that the rest of his shrine, that of the Hissing Claw, lay hidden around them in every direction.

'We need to move. We are running out of time.' The Exarch, Larencas, signaled in the same fashion, with the message meant for everyone rather than aimed at a specific person, as Satris had. They had made planetfall undetected nearly thirteen hours before and began advancing toward their target immediately, their target, the top of one of the many tower-mansions belonging to the human lords here. To hide their presence from the mon-keigh however, they made their advance slowly for the seers were clear that the humans must never know of their actions this day and that only those within the target may fall by our blades. Leondris kept himself low to the ground as he moved out from his position beneath the walkway to join the rest of his Shrine.

"One minute to the patrol lapse," Veltaren whispered when they all came within distance to hear him, his voice made less noise than a mouse so this was quite close, "then we have ten minutes to climb thirteen stories. Aim for the second window from the left. Vision deviation is minimal."

No one questioned his directions. The Exarch had assigned him the task of figuring out their best time to ascend and they trusted his judgement. There was no noise, no movement, as they waited for the time Veltaren designated and when it came, on the mark of the second, all ten of them exploded upward in a flurry of practiced mirrored motion. In the darkening night they were but deep green shadows dancing along a wall as they grasped the smallest of ledges, pushed upward with surprising strength from their lithe forms, crossed over, leaped, and crossed again. They used each other for leverage and boosts as much as the building and as the allotted time reached its end and a searchlight began its cross against the wall, the second window from the left deftly clicked shut. Only faint whispers upon the wind marked their passage. The psychic imprint of 'all clear' issued forth from Orothorn.

They found themselves in a dark room containing an assortment of tables, chairs, and sofas. It seemed a lobby of sorts or perhaps a lounge but the only thing that mattered now was that no one was within and someone forgot to lock the window. The Exarch pressed against their minds causing them all to turn their heads to look at him although physical sight was not needed for the message he gave. We were within the target area now, not only were we permitted to use lethal force but it was expected against everyone, there would be no survivors above the thirteenth floor. A soft hiss filled the air of the room as their chainswords flexed their teeth in anticipation, his war-mask was firm upon his mind, and the sound put a faint smile upon Leondris' face. They needed no other command to begin their work and they each slipped from the room splitting the full squad into pairs that traveled loosely close to each other. It was Satris that paired with him.

The two Eldar warriors moved quickly down one of the hallways not already taken by the rest of their Shrine and arrived at a set of wooden double doors. There is no easy way to open doors unnoticed, you never knew if someone could simply be looking that direction within, too many random factors but they heard no conversation or movement from the other side. They prioritized speed over stealth twisting the handles and stepping inside in one fluid motion, shuriken pistols raised and scanning the room for potential threats. What awaited them on the other side was a scene of carnage and horror. The room itself was a large dining hall, a long series of connected tables dominated the center with small alcoves dotting its edges filled with their own arrangements; three ornate chandeliers hung from the high ceiling which still emitted light although much of it was blocked by the blood that caked their surface. Countless corpses littered the room, some still in their chairs but most scattered across the floor, but it was the manner in which these humans died that caught the Striking Scorpion's attention. In the depths of their war-masks the gore barely even registered as abhorrent yet some of these humans were bloated to a grotesque degree, their abdomens split open and intestine spilling out showing absurd amounts of food stuffed within, seeming to imply they died from their stomachs rupturing from the inside out as if they had stuffed themselves so full they simply popped. It seemed an unreasonable thing to think that one could eat so much that your stomach would explode in such a manner but both of them had seen things far stranger.

Moving further into the room they proceeded with the utmost caution, weapons held at the ready and senses straining for any sign of danger. Not all of the corpses had died from gorging themselves with food, most of those found in the alcoves had died differently, the nudity of their corpses along with the manner of their wounds betrayed the reason well enough. It would seem while those near the center were overcame with desire to eat, those at the edges became overwhelm with a desire for each other. Deep claw-like gashes mangled their forms and most still held the flesh of their... partners, in their mouths from where they had bit chucks from one another in a vain effort to sate their bloody lust. Some bodies were but mounds of ruined flesh and one could only imagine how exactly so much blood covered the walls or how it arrived upon the chandeliers. Bending knee Leondris examined one of the more intact corpses closer, flipping it over he saw what he sought clearly enough, the foul symbol of She Who Thirsts was carved into the back of the woman's neck and as if sensing that someone now gazed upon it the mark emitted a soft pinkish glow. He felt his spirit stone press coldly against his chest as he let the corpse rest in its original position and stood again. Satris had found similar evidence on the one he had inspected yet as they looked at each other a sharp alert rang out from Satris, a psychic warning sent faster than any verbal content could ever be.

It was enhanced instinct that moved him, muscle memory built from a thousand hours of training and war, placing his chest flat upon the bloodstained table while in the same movement kicking backwards with his right leg aimed just above where the knee cap should be on the average human. The sick popping noise of broken bone was his reward for the action and using the table as an anchor he twisted around allowing himself only a fraction of a second to analyze his assailant. It was one of the men from the nearby alcove who stared at him with an outstretched hand even as the force of the Eldar's kick snapped his leg in two. By all rights the man should be dead, a large chunk of flesh was missing from his neck, blood painted the majority of his nude body, and it was riddled with deep gashes, yet he was not. His face was one of pained yearning, his fingers ground to the bone like sick claws reaching for him, but in his eyes Leondris saw a hint of sorrow. The chainsword flicked forth and separated the man's head from his body in a clean cut.

Leondris turned back to Satris and thanked him as the man's body fell to the ground again. The Scorpion's armor had been speckled with blood but such things did not even register within his mind.

"We cannot chance another like him," Leondris stated plainly knowing full well Satris already knew this, "take the heart and head then we will continue."

And so they did. The two Eldar pierced each heart and separated each head; they found three others who still moved as the man who attempted to attack Leondris had. Then, as silently as they had come, they moved on.

The Shrine moved up through the tower in their pairs, finding similar scenes to the one found within the dining hall all the way. It was a grim work putting down the remnants of this cult's activities but one that must be done and as such, they took joy in doing. The seers had foreseen the touch of the Ruinous Powers upon this world, had foreseen what would come if the ritual being performed at the top of this tower reached its completion, and as such they had dispatched the Shrine of the Hissing Claw to stop it. For it was the purpose of Craftworld Il-Kaithe to battle against the forces of Chaos whenever possible. It was this purpose that gave the Craftworld direction, what made the majority of its population walk the Path of the Warrior, yet also what made its population disturbingly small. Leondris considered it strange that he thought of his home even while he plunged his hissing blade into the heart of a mon-keigh. A psychic pressure hit them then, forcing a chill up their spines and bile to fill their throats, shortly after it started their Exarch called for them to gather on his position.

Most of his Shrine was covered in human blood when they met at the base of a stairwell. A fresh corpse cooled on the floor, its chest ruined by the Exarch's Scorpion Claw, yet unlike all those they had encountered thus far this one wore flak armor and a lasgun was scattered on the other side of the corridor. It seems that they had finally found the ones behind all of this. With the Shrine gathered again their psychic forms melded together guided by the intense battle focus of the Exarch - there was no need to relay instructions. Silent as phantoms they snaked up the staircase with the burning rage of Khaine filling their bodies in anticipation for the killing to be done just ahead. The staircase led into a small room that led out onto the open roof of the tower. This lord's tower-mansion was far from the largest even within this city yet it still towered above the structures in which the majority of the populous reside and gave a near clear view of the night sky. Luckily for them the door leading out to the roof was already open and none of the cultists were looking their way, although they might not see the Shrine regardless even if they were, seemingly too focused upon the events taking place at the roofs center. From where they crouched Leondris could hear the arcane chanting from one of the cultists, presumably their leader, although the psychic pressure that the ritual would no-doubt be emitting was pushed off by the presence of their Exarch.

They could feel the Exarch giving them commands: Baranseth, Orothorn, and Faenor would handle the left side, Lonaer, Calroth, and Fanrian would take the right, with Isenmore, Asutar, and Galandair sweeping through the middle to dispatch any near the back of the roof. Satris and Leondris would be with the Exarch focusing on clearing a path to, and killing, the leader of this foul ritual. The Shrine looked at each other, identical in their armor and helms, yet in their psychic link they were all so very individual, so very close, and they each knew that there was a real chance one of them would not walk away from the next minute. They nodded in unison and began their grim work.

Rushing from the room the cultists were still unaware of the Eldar presence until the first of them screamed as a chainsword tore up under his back plate to eat into his heart. The roof exploded into a flurry of motion and noise as the humans reacted and the Eldar pushed forward. There were far more cultists here than Leondris had first expected there to be, nearly thirty in total as far as he could count with a simple glance, yet already twelve were dead from their surprise strikes. Isenmore, Asutar, and Galandair were making good progress with clearing the middle of the roof and a path to the cultist leader was already showing. The leader himself was not what Leondris was expecting either, he had seen leaders of Slaaneshi cults before and had expected either a human no different from another save for an aura of charisma or a mutated pink thing of grotesque allure, yet the one leading the ritual wore purple robes, wielded a long golden staff in one hand with a ruby dagger in the other, and burned with the iconography of the Changer of Ways. Why did this Slaanesh cult have a sorcerer of Tzeentch?

The Exarch pushed forward through the gap unto the roofs center with Leondris and Satris following close behind. At the roofs dead center was a rectangular stone slab laid at waist height; it, and in swirling circles around it, eldritch runes burned with a purple glow as the sorcerer chanted his incantations. Even without feeling the psychic pressure of the ritual it seemed that it was nearing its completion. Leondris leapt over a small bank of flowers that had wilted in the presence of such warp energies and squared off with one of the cultists roughly six feet from him. He was a normal looking man if you ignored iconography branded onto his face.

The cultist's lasgun was already raised and at this range the man took no time to aim simply holding the trigger and allowing the gun to spit it's fury in full auto. Leondris could have dodged to the side, could have danced to avoid the beams, but time was of the essence so instead he trusted in his armor and rushed forward with shuriken pistol raised to spit its own retort. He was struck four times by the las-shot, once in the right thigh with the three others riddling the right side of his abdomen, yet his heavy wraithbone plates held strong only blackened from the hits. The force of the shots did stagger him however slowing his advance yet, in the space of his stumble, blue crystal shuriken spun out from his pistol aimed at the man's less armored legs. They cut gashes along his thighs and shins in eighteen places making the man yelp in pain, his cringe jerking the lasgun from his target and making the rest of Leondris' approach easy. As the Scorpion drew close the man attempted to shove aside his pain and level the lasgun again but Leondris bashed it from his grasp with his left pistol-carrying hand and in the same moment stabbed forward with his right to put his chainsword to work.

It hissed its hunger until it dug into the man just above the waistline. The cultist screamed as it tore through him, his intestine spilling out as the chainsword quickly worked its way up and under his flak vest, the spinning fang-blades opening it from the inside out. Leondris pushed through up into his windpipe continuing into the man's skull before erupting from the top of his scalp in a spiraling shower of gore; the Striking Scorpion stepping past and continuing his advance even as the ruined mess of a corpse still worked it's way to the ground. Firing the remainder of the shuriken pistol clip to ruin the shoulder and head of another man attempting to fire upon Satris he assessed the situation: his Shrine was making good progress into the cultists, less than a minute had passed since they had arrived yet already nearly two thirds of the humans were dead yet those alive had opened fire in earnest forcing them to dance and dodge between the small amounts of cover available on the roof. The Exarch had focused his efforts upon the sorcerer but before he could reach him was tackled by a hulking mutant of a man brimming not only with mutation but also crude cybernetic enhancement, his Scorpion Claw was making good work on it's muscular form but it refused to die easily and it's pure strength in the tight area they were fighting had forced the Exarch on the defensive. The eldritch runes that marked the ground glowed even brighter with malign light and it was with dread that Leondris realized the death here was only feeding the warp energies and hastening the rituals completion. The sorcerer had to be stopped now!

Running Leondris slipped under the guard of a cultist as it attempted to intercept him with a bayonet thrust. Using him as an anchor the Scorpion leaped onto his back, twisted, then pushed off, rocketing him into the air above the stone slab and sending the cultist he had leapt from fumbling to the ground. He crouched mid-air and brought his chainsword down hard in a vertical cut at the sorcerer but the purple robed man dodged with astonishing speed. Using arcane enhanced speed and strength the Chaos sorcerer launched into a blurred exchange of parries and strikes with the Eldar warrior who quickly pressed the advantage until the human pulsed with darklight. Leondris' mind screamed and his body shot straight as every muscle tensed in a moment of pure agony as he suffered under the effects of the Chaos puppet's spell.

The sorcerer laughed, his voice gravel being ground to dust, and grabbed the Eldar by the neck hoisting him into the air with surprising ease. He continued his incantation as he slammed Leondris upon the stone slab forcing the air from the Eldar's lungs even as his body continued to tense and convulse under the Warp's foul touch. In his mind Leondris felt the Exarch cry out to him as he finished the hulking mutant by crushing the thing's skull with a blow from his Claw and a sharp bloody rage coursed through Leondris' being giving him only the briefest moment of control once again - but a moment was all he needed. He issued the psychic command to his gear, the quickest of quick actions, and even as his body and mind returned to agonizing convulsion the bandiblasters upon his helm spit forth lightning upon the sorcerer.

The sorcerer cried out in pain as the lightning burned him biting off the last words of the incantation as his own body locked up in pain. Rage boiled in his eyes and he brought the down the ruby dagger plunging it through the wraithbone plated armor and into the Eldar's flesh just barely an inch beneath his rib cage on the right side. Leondris would have cried out if he had not already been in the throws of agony yet when the dagger tasted blood the runes surrounding them burst in a flash of continual light.

"What?" the sorcerer said looking at his hand around the dagger planted into Leondris' flesh as if it was the hand of another, "no! I did not specify the-!"

The statement was cut short as a pillar of blinding purple light erupted upward from the stone slab engulfing both of them. The sorcerer screamed, his voice growing ghastly, hollow, and increasingly distant as if his soul was being torn from his body. Leondris could not scream, could not move, could only flounder uselessly in agony and terror as his world exploded into a storm of mind-tearing colors. His last moments filled with the screaming maws of thirsting daemons and what he only distantly recognized as the burning touch of Kaela Mensha Khaine before being whisked away into sweet darkness by the echoing laughter of a mad god.