"No explanation will matter after we begin,
Unlock the dark destroyer that's buried within,
My true vocation and now my unfortunate friend,
You will discover a war you're unable to win,"

-Disturbed, "Indestructible"


Track 07: In the Service of a Darker Purpose

Clef and Zither rode unchallenged down the boulevards toward Bearing Hive. The fighting had moved elsewhere and the only forces left to hinder them were small clusters of Guardsmen or local PDF that had managed to survive the battle thus far. Forsworn was far from satiated, taking the Imperial base had only served as an appetizer whilst Bearing Hive held the promise of stronger, more worthy souls. The slums were a dismal place, with the hive proper rising overhead as a constant reminder of ones status and rank. A collection of various pieces of burnt equipment littered the streets, like gravestones of past battles. Clef and Zither made sport of them, weaving between wrecks or jumping the bikes over others, all while Clef followed his inner compass that would lead them to Lyre and Red Widow.

They jumped the remains of a fallen Chimera, when Clef suddenly stopped. Zither made a sharp turn on his bike and returned to Clefs side. "What is it?"

~We're not alone.~

Zither drew his bolter, then pulled alongside Clef, facing in the opposite direction. Clef silenced the bike's engine, and listened as Lyre had taught him. One by one he filtered out all sounds, seeking the one that had alarmed him. There was the ever-present background crackle of flames, distant screams for mercy, the occasional crump of artillery. Even the voice of Red Widow cutting through his thoughts.

Underneath it all, he could hear whispering. Sacred words and invocations hastily strung together in a bid for protection. Forsworn growled in his grasp. This kind of magic was anathema to her, and she was not yet strong enough to counter it. Clef stroked her stings to reassure her, and scanned the street for the source of the whispers. They were coming from behind an inverted Rhino. Clef made a quick battle sign to Zither, and both trained weapons on the Rhino.

Clef sent a deep note racing along the ground that flipped the Rhino over, while Zither opened fire once the Rhino cleared the ground. A man wearing carapace armor dove to the side, seeking more cover. Embolded, Clef and Zither started their bikes once more and gave chase. The man, his working now disturbed and undone, gained his feet and began running.

Forsworn growled again as Clef howled. This man was fast, and he was well trained, a far cry from the lumps of frightened meat they had encountered so far. Clef wondered what kind of augmentations the man had, or what Guard unit he could belong to. He outpaced the Assault Bikes well enough, but no mere human could keep up that pace without help. Zither took the left and Clef remained on the right, sending the occasional burst from Forsworn to guide their prey to a desired direction. Finally Forsworn had enough and sent a sharp shock through her Aristocrat. Clef gasped sharply then laughed to himself. "Alright Forsworn, I get it. No more playing with your food."

As Clef moved in for the kill, he realized his mistake. This was a trap, an ambush, and his fool head was about to get them both killed. "Shred!" Clef shouted as a melta gun erupted nearby and fired, the blast taking out the front tire in a sudden burst of heat and rubber shrapnel. Clef let go of the handlebars as the bike dropped sharply to the right. Flashes of memories of the maneuvers he had practiced with Forlorn Hope flickered across his mind, guiding his movements.

As the bike fell, Clef grabbed the seat and lifted his leg before it could become pinned. The machine, now off-balance, slammed into the pavement. Instead of falling to the ground, the Aristocrat remained upright, standing on the bikes side as it slid along the street, spitting sparks as it went. By reflex he shot a quick wide burst toward the area the melta blast had been issued, both as a retaliation and a deterrent against any further attacks. Even though he never saw his adversaries, he was rewarded with two souls.

Energized again and with Forsworn now fully focused, he searched for more targets. The bike came to rest, engine still thumping in aggravation. Zither had taken cover and was exchanging shots with a previously unseen sandbag embankment. With Forsworn at his side, Clef knelt, grabbed the handlebar and twisted to feed a little more fuel to the abused machine.

The Assault Bike roared to life again, the back tire catching the ground as Clef simultaneously pulled upward on the handlebars, rocking his weight to the back tire of the bike. With his left foot braced on a riding peg over the back tire, and his right foot raised above above him to control the gears, Clef went for broke and sent the bike roaring back up the street on one wheel. He hastily coaxed another attack from Forsworn. The deamoness responded to him eagerly. One strike on the strings and the sandbags embankment exploded as if he had set a krak charge. Another harsh slap and the two black-clad humans in hiding froze and began to violently convulse as his mistress' energy ripped up and down their spines.

Clef stopped the bike, then brought the front rim to rest on a few stray sandbags. The front tire had been a waste, but the rim was still intact. His fingers traced Forsworns strings as he dismounted and advanced on the fallen men. They weren't PDF, and they wore no Guardsmen uniforms that he could identify. Curious and against his better judgment, he picked one up and lifted him from the ground. The human was a foul twisted thing, with none of the grace and creativity that Chaos troops maintained. No, this was a mass-produced horror. A human with thin almost translucent skin, cables went from a backpack unit to various areas on its head and body. Along the side of his neck was a tattoo of a serial number, and embedded in his forehead was a brass plate in the shape of a stylized "I."

Zither broke cover and joined Clef. ~Hmm...seems you caught yourself an Inquisitor. Well, maybe not a full-blooded Inquisitor, just one of his retinue.~

~An Inquisitor?~ Clef remembered that Lyre and other members of the band had mentioned them at one time or another, but they never really treated them as a threat. A fun chase, but not a threat. Clef dropped the man, still twitching. His soul was a weak sheltered thing. Pity. It would never satisfy his mistress. Clef instead raised a foot and stamped on the mans head, then did the same for the other to ensure these masses of meat wouldn't surprise him again. Without missing a beat he returned to his bike to see if he could repair the damage.

Zither covered him as he went to work on replacing the tire. As Clef removed the repair kit from under the seat, he noted a man standing in the middle of the street almost a half-kilometer in. Strangely enough, this street in the Hive was almost entirely clear. No other sandbag embankments, no wreckage. The man wore a long black coat that was in contrast with his blond hair. Chains hung from his waist, binding a thick book that hung at his side. He met Clefs gaze and across the expanse, Clef felt Forsworns desire burn inside him. That was a soul worth the hunt.

Zither followed Clefs line of sight, then leveled his bolter at the man. ~That, without a doubt, is an Inquisitor.~

~Save your ammo. A bolt-round wouldn't make a dent on that soul,~ Clef looked away and back to his work. ~Cover me while I make repairs.~

~There is only one of them.~

~Forsworn senses no tenseness in that man, nor any fear. If we continue any further more of his retinue will come out of hiding,~ Clef knew that tactic. On more than one occasion, he had played the part of "bait" himself to draw overzealous foes into an ambush. The trick was to provide a tempting enough target to distract the prey. It was a tune Clef refused to play. ~If he fires in our direction, it's only to entice us to move into a more favorable position for his men in hiding.~

Zither raised his head as a piecing angry and lonesome cry echoed through the slums. The Inquisitor heard it as well. He made a simple gesture and retreated, his chance at Clef having been lost. "That was-"

~Red Widow, and she is not happy,~ Clef finished his repairs then mounted the bike once more. His good humor having faded, once more he and Zither went at all speed toward the towers and Lyre's call.


Kakaphony. That name hung in the air between Lyre and the newly encountered Noise Marines like a foul stench. If there were three before him, then there was bound to be more in waiting. That had always been Tosarian's favorite tactic, to bury his opponent in bodies. Lyre pulled Red Widow before him, ready to thin their numbers before they had a chance to attack. Ruffati had said nothing about the presence of other Noise Marines on the ground, and if that pink-eyed freak had arranged this just to offer Lyre back to his former captors, then Lyre would finish his quota of souls here and now.

Legato, Fugue and Ostinato reached for weapons when they saw Lyre reach for his, and that would have been the end of the three of them, had the remains of the drop pod behind Lyre not expelled one last belch of flame, sending more shrapnel into the air. The Aristocrat spun on his heel in time to see Luminous, the leader of Worlds Aflame erupt out of the burning hull of the drop pod. His flaming wings unfolded around him in a spectrum of orange, yellow and blue.

"So this was your game Aristocrat? Sabotage the drop pod to kill me? And here I see you waiting with more of your cowardly band!" Luminous roared.

Lyre did note that Kakaphony shared a similar color scheme. "I wasn't aware you were still breathing."

"My band...all gone," Luminous lifted his powerfisted hand. Slowly the flames crept down his arm and ignited his armor. "I won't slay you. Not yet. First I will rip off your arms and legs, and make you watch as I eat the hearts of the rest of your band, saving that smug bitch Warsinger for last. And then, that weapon will be mine."

For the moment Kakaphony was forgotten. Red Widow demanded Luminous' soul, and Lyre, as her slave, had to comply. Luminous screamed his battle cry, not quite a Warp Scream, but as close as a Doom Siren coupled with augmentations could produce. From his side he pulled a burning chainsword. He thumbed the activation rune and immediately flaming sparks spat in a wide fan from glowing red teeth.

Lyre answered with a chord from Red Widow, a localized blast of sorrow and hate centered on Luminous' gut. Luminous took the blast full-on but kept coming. Before Lyre could strike with another attack, Luminous was upon him. Luminous brought his flaming chainsword down, cutting clean through the shoulder strap holding Red Widow in place. Lyre cursed and drew his combat knife, an ancient weapon gifted to him by Fulgrim himself when he became a member of the Phoenix Guard. To this day it was still as brilliant and sharp as the day his Primarch had placed it in his hands.

For a moment Lyre let go of Red Widow, knowing that she was still attached to his side via power cables, and raised the combat knife as Luminous tried to behead him with a return stroke. Lyre turned the knife and caught the chainsword. Both weapons sang and spat sparks before Luminous reversed the direction on the chain to free it from the blade. But Lyre anticipated this, he quickly adjusted his grip, then rammed the combat knife in the narrow gap between the bladed chain and its protective housing. Lyre twisted, and cut through the chain links, also popping the housing open.

The chain broke free of the sword, the motor in the hilt spinning futilely as the housing came apart. Lyre grabbed the chain as it spun away, using a slight motion of his wrist to wrap the bladed chain once around his left palm, binding the combat knife to his hand, leaving the rest to hang whip-like in the air. Red Widow dropped to his side, and he stood before her protectively. Luminous threw away the remains of his chainsword, and howling a prayer to the gods of the Warp, he advanced on Lyre.

Lyre brought the chain around once, its burning teeth leaving light trails in the air. The chain struck Luminous across his chest, melting and ripping the ceramite. "You seem to forget your place," Lyre hissed. He brought the chain around again, this time with a quick draw back that cut Luminous' powerfist from his arm. "I have walked the stars with Lord Fulgrim," he brought it around a third time, the chain wrapped once, twice, three times around Luminous' neck. "I was at his side when he accepted the Warmaster's orders. And you think I would consider you, of all filth, a worthy enough foe to require cowardly tricks?"

"I...I yield!"

Lyre's grin broadened under his helm. "Red Widow. I offer this soul to you. Feast my Mistress," he pulled back on the chain, teeth and raw power cutting Luminous' head clean off in a burst of flame. Red Widow's power surged through Lyre, her maw clamping down tightly on this morsel of life energy. Luminous' death scream echoed around them. Still wreathed in light and flame, Lyre spun to face the three members of Kakaphony, ready to add their souls to his tally.

Fugue suddenly grabbed Legato and Ostinato, then pushed them to kneel, then took a knee himself. Lyre hesitated for a moment, Red Widow seemingly amused by their offering. They were an unusual trio, in the deep purple and stark black of Kakaphony. Ostinato seemed harmless enough, the smallest and more abused of the three. Fugue was a giant to rival Elision, clad in Terminator plate equipped with a blast master. At his side, wrapped in chains, was a unique case, bound in leather made from the skin of the damned. Lyre couldn't guess was it contained, but it made Red Widow curious and equally nervous. Legato was the neatest of the trio, his armor tidy and gleaming despite the carnage around them. He carried an air of lethality around him as thick as the glamor granted him by the grace of Slaanesh. He cast a glance back at Fugue, insulted at being forced into such a submissive position.

Fugue was the one to speak first, his voice deep and respectful. "Forgive our ignorance. When you said 'Lyre', did you mean Lyre of the Twin Deamons, Cornet and Lyre?"

"Aye," Lyre hissed. Legato's manner suddenly changed, turning his gaze from Fugue to Lyre.

"We meant no offense by mention of Kakaphony. It is simply the last band we belonged to, and a bad reputation is better than none," Fugue continued.

"Then why are you here?" Asked Lyre as he returned Red Widow to his side. After inspecting the broken shoulder strap, he replaced it with the chain he had taken from Luminous' chainsword.

"Kakaphony is no more," Legato said bluntly, finally connecting the events in his mind. "Tosarian is dead, and the band broke up."

Lyre was both gladdened and disappointed by the news. He no longer had to keep looking over

his shoulder for old foes, yet he had wanted to be the one to strike the final blow on Tosarian. "How?"

Legato answered once again, his tone eager. "Fell in battle against an Inquisitor named Markus Sorrel."

Lyre slowly calmed, the heat of battle fading, and Red Widow growing impatient in being denied a meal. Softly he said, "To your feet, no more of this shred. We are Twin Deamons no more. Cornet was laid low by the Black Templars."

Ostinato caught the bare trace of emotion in Lyre's voice as he rose to his feet. "If I may, how many Black Templars did it take to slay such a legend?"

Now that was something that Lyre had never bothered to think of. That his Brother was gone had been more than enough for him. He remembered a sea of black helms and coal red eyes, he remembered the fall, and of finding the boy. He did a quick mental calculation using his memory as a reference. "One hundred. One hundred Black Templars to slay him."

Legato looked up at Lyre, unsure if he had heard correctly. "A full company of Space Marines to slay one deamon? Slaanesh and Lord Fulgrim be praised," his gaze darted to Red Widow. "Then...that means his contract-"

"Has been filled," said a new voice behind them.

Fugue, Ostinato and Legato turned to see a young Space Marine in purple and yellow with a golden Coronet on his left pauldron approach on an Assault Bike. Behind him on another bike was a Night Lord.

Clef pulled up alongside Lyre and surveyed the bodies of the fallen White Consuls and Luminous. ~Decided to have a snack on the way down?~

Lyre glanced at Zither, who dismounted and offered his bike to the Aristocrat leader. ~We have a mission to complete.~

~And who are these three?~

Lyre glanced back at Legato, Ostinato and Fugue. ~Strays.~

~Are they coming?~

Lyre took a moment to mull it over, then said, "If they desire it, they can consider this an audition."


Sonata spun on her heel and brought her bolt pistols around. Twin barrels spat bright yellow-white bursts, all but lost in the flames of the Hive around her. Oppari also turned, her steps more measured compared to that of the Warsinger's. She picked a few targets, her own stolen bolt pistol shattered the air around her with her shots. And still they came.

The Imperial Guard combined with elements of the PDF, were driven forward by a Commissar Abbadon himself would have been proud of. They pursued the Aristocrat in earnest. As predicted, they had been drawn to the sounds of chants and screams from the various Warsingers in the Hive, each one relaying movement and commands to their bands. Sonata kept her course, navigating by the tall imposing structure of the defense tower before her. Her jump-pack was a dead weight on her back, and Oppari a constant companion. Everywhere the Hive burned, and everywhere was the delightful confusion of chaos.

Oppari's bolt pistol clicked empty, and the penal trooper began to run, reloading as she went. Sonata tossed her a clip of her own precious bolts which her companion caught easily, before spinning on her heel again and returning fire. Sonata's steps were light as lasblasts flickered past her. They needed to find cover, or at the very least a way to lose their pursuers. Using Oppari's suppressing fire, Sonata reloaded her own weapons and scanned the street looking for a possible escape route.

"Are you through toying with the corpse meat Warsinger?" a loud yet clear voice echoed down the cramped streets.

Sonata turned toward the sound of her bandmate. "Monody!"

A sound that she had mistaken for the steady rumble of flames began to intensify. For a moment it seemed as if the filthy streets themselves had risen up and begun to rush toward her. One by one faces began to appear in the dirty masses. Oppari hesitated, unsure if the horde before them was a new threat. Sonata stowed her pistols, then ran toward the oncoming crowd.

"Part before your mistress!" Monody called. "Welcome her with open arms and embrace her love and charity!"

The filthy masses of burned menials and others that had gotten caught up in the cogs of industry parted around her as if she were a rock in a stream. Standing atop a pile of rubble was Monody, shouting commands and platitudes in equal measure, and the former Reborn, now named Redeemed, gathered at his feet. He held his hand out as Sonata came closer, then drew her up onto the pile of rubble with him. Further up the street the Imperial Guard and Monody's Redeemed met in a frenzy of lasbolts and screams.

"That should keep them at bay," Monody chuckled. "See? It was just a minor midair disaster."

"Monody I could hug you," Sonata was grateful to see her bandmate again. She felt stronger and more confident now that she was reunited with even one of her fellow Aristocrats. "Have you heard from Lyre?"

"Not yet. I know Clef and Zither are in the slums giving the White Consuls a good chase. I've sent some of my Redeemed to guide them and scout ahead."

Sonata read the tide of the battle. Then she remembered something that she had seen before the Guard had shaken her down from her former perch. "I have a better idea. Recall your masses."

"What do you have in mind Warsinger?" Monody asked with a smile in his tone.

Sonata pulled her chainsword free. "We aren't going to let Lyre have all the fun now are we?"


Lyre and Clef sped through the slums on their assault bikes. The remains of Kakaphony and Zither followed in a Rhino that Legato had looted when their old warband folded. As they moved through, hidden elements of Chaos infantry and even a few of the Black Legion that had dug in and were hiding came out to begin the push anew. They were the loudest, most visible force on this side of the slums, and that made them an ideal target for the White Consuls.

Lyre only had one goal in mind, and that was the tower before them, hanging overhead like an ancient monolith that erupted fire at the sky. They were well within the limits of its range now, and defenses at the base of the structure were strong as he expected. Hidden in the streets and avenues were an untold number of White Consuls, and they had fortified their position well. Lyre could see why the Black Legion was having difficulty holding and keeping its ground.

But he and Clef had one advantage that they did not.

The vox had gone dead. No static, no distant hum of machinery, dead. From their uncoordinated movements, and the erratic firing patterns of the towers above them, Lyre could guess that the Imperials were having as much, if not more, trouble with their communications. The Imperials would be reduced to line of sight, while the Noise Marines had another method of communicating.

Clef was the first to flicker out a pattern of color in Solresol, each pulse so quick and flowing that even a trained Space Marine would have trouble keeping pace. In a moment, he heard the answer all of them had been waiting for.

Echoing above and around them, through the roar of the flames, came a voice, a single note loud and shrill. It was answered by another, then another. One by one the Warsingers added their voices to the dust-filled forge-world night. Dark sirens united by one purpose. Lyre felt his heart lighten when he picked Sonata's unique tone amidst that of her sisters, and he relished in Red Widow's surge of jealousy.

Using Solresol battle cant, the Warsingers relayed Imperial troop positions to their warbands, an entire opera of strategy played between them as the Noise Marines combined with the Black Legion renewed their assault on their Imperial foes. Lyre and Clef urged their assault bikes onward as sounds of combat broke out around them. Lyre listened to the roar of the flames for the one voice of their Warsinger. Trusting in her guidance, they moved between pockets of fighting toward their goal. Legato's Rhino rumbled along behind them, pausing at times to flush out groups of Imperial Space Marines. Lyre couldn't help but chuckle. Sonata was leading them right up the center, one of Lord Fulgrims favorite tactics from days long gone.

Sonata suddenly called out a warning, and Lyre brought his entourage to a halt. Red Widow purred at his side, already anticipating her next meal. He and Clef sat side by side, cautious and studying the debris-strewn streets around them. Clef suddenly flashed red and orange in quick succession, followed by slowly fading red. Lyre looked to his left as indicated and saw one of the Aristocrat's trail markers. Two large dumpsters overturned and set end to end.

Half expecting to find Sonata, Lyre called out, but was instead greeted by a small man wearing the remains of shackles and torn clothing of a chain gang. He smelled of smoke and burnt skin. The wretch slowly approached the Aristocrats' band leader. Lyre kept Red Widow at the ready, curious yet cautious. The man smelled of his own filth, yet still stumbled on, his fear consuming him but some deep well of strength and determination enabled him to close the gap. He dropped to his knees two meters away from Lyre, bowing with eyes down-turned and offered a scrap of fabric to the Noise Marine.

Ostinato emerged from the rhino at Lyre's request, then approached the man and took the scrap of fabric from him. After inspecting it to ensure it contained no secrets he gave it to Lyre to examine. Lyre unfolded the fabric to find a confusing arrangement of symbols, colors and numbers. To anyone other than a Noise Marine, it would have been easily dismissed as an oddity, nothing more. Yet Lyre recognized it as an expression of Solresol, using limited resources to convey a complex message. The Aristocrat band leader read the fabric, then addressed the still trembling man.

"Monody had sent you?" Lyre asked.

"Y...Yes...my lord..." the mans voice was weak from a lifetime of breathing in foul air.

"You have further information for me?"

Confidence seemed to return to the wretch as he nodded. "I was a menial in the maintenance tunnels for many cycles. The Redeemer sent me to guide you to your destination."

"The Redeemer? Monody?" Clef couldn't help but chuckle. The man risked a venom-filled glance at the young Aristocrat. Instead of anger, Clef was filled with curiosity. This human had been pushed to such a breaking point that even an obvious servant of Chaos Undivided like Monody had been seen as a redeeming angel, and in the glance Clef knew that the man would defend his band mate as such. For the first time Clef wondered how he must appear in brilliant purple and yellow, with a bright golden coronet on his pauldron astride a massive Assault Bike. Frightening, yes, but as a savior?

Lyre folded the piece of cloth neatly and stored it in a side-pouch. "We need to reach that tower. Can you get us there?"

The man nodded. "We must move quickly," he rose to his feet then paused for a moment, looking up and down the deserted street to orient himself. He then ran to a street corner and knelt. Pushing aside layers of accumulated dust and debris, he uncovered a massive chain. "Here, my lords. I cannot open this hatch on my own."

Once again Lyre waved his three new grunts over. Legato and Fugue tugged on the chain. It took the combined efforts of two Space Marines to shift the massive hatch, and the third to support them and fully open the passage. Lyre peered into the newly-uncovered tunnel, then issued his orders.

"Zither, I give you command of Fugue and Ostinato. The three of you will remain here with the Rhino and Assault Bikes to defend this hatch. Signal Sonata if there is any trouble. Clef, Legato. You two are coming with me," Lyre then spoke to the man. "Lead the way."

Ostinato gave Zither a scrutinizing glare then said "Guess you're not one of his favorites either."

Lyre ignored the comment, and to Zithers credit he didn't take the bait. Clef was second down the hatch after the menial, followed by Legato and Lyre last.

The tunnel was never meant to carry water. Lyre would guess that the last time it rained on this planet humans were just beginning to explore the Lunar surface. This was a ventilation shaft, designed to funnel trapped gasses from deeper in the Hive and expel them to open air. The menial pulled a rag from somewhere on his person and wrapped it tight around the lower half of his face. Lyre could read on his HUD that the gasses coming up from below were highly flammable and toxic. Without needing to be told, both Clef and Legato checked their ammunition and grenade dispensers to ensure that no stray sparks would ignite the air around them.

The menial led them deeper, past fans meant to move the air and past smaller vents and grills that led even deeper into the underhive. Surprisingly the only sound was of the footfalls of their guide. As Noise Marines they had long ago mastered the art of moving without sound, even the ever-present grind and whir of servos in their armor had been muted to near non-existent levels. Lyre had learned that skill from the Jesters. Nothing would ruin a performance faster than an unexpected sound from offstage. Likewise, the echoes and rumbles of renewed fighting above turned the tunnel into an echo chamber. Ghostly whistles and distant explosions further added to the gloom.

The man used no light, only a sense of familiarity to guide him, while the Space Marines at his back used various filters on their optics to find the way through. He led them at a steady pace in one direction.

Lyre used his position at the rear to gauge Legato. The Noise Marine had slipped into the chain of command seamlessly, and already Lyre was beginning to relax his guard around him. He had yet to see him without his helm, though it was more of a personal preference than anything. Lyre had always felt that he could not gauge the true worth of a friend or foe without looking into their eyes. Red Widow on the other hand didn't seem to mind. To her Legato was just another potential meal. Lyre supposed that he could take comfort that at least the deamoness approved of him. If he drew Red Widows attention, then he was a formidable warrior indeed.

Clef held Forsworn at his side, his steps measured and confident, yet not overtaking their guide. Clef had always been light on his feet, his movements unpredictable and uncompromising. He still had much to learn, and many impulses to control.

The menial stopped at a metal grill, easily the height of a Space Marine and heavy enough to stop a Leman Russ tank. The human placed his hands on the bars and sighed. "I don't remember this being here. It was probably placed to prevent infiltrations such as these."

Lyre studied the grill. It wasn't going to move without drawing attention and it was likely booby trapped. "Is there another way?" Clef asked.

"It would take some back-tracking, but perhaps one of the-"

Lyre raised his hand for silence. Clef shushed the menial then took a defensive stance along with Legato. Lyre let go of Red Widow and let her hang loosely at his side, then reached up and removed his helm. The air hit the back of his throat hard and his third lung began working to remove the toxins he breathed. Enduring the slight discomfort, Lyre closed his eyes and listened.

Behind the distant pounding of artillery echoing down the tunnel, Lyre could hear the low moan of air flowing through connecting tunnels. He focused past that, to the irregular fearful heartbeat of the menial and the more steady confident beats from both Clef and Legato. A smile of amusement tugged at Lyres lips when he realized that the three of them had unknowingly synchronized their heartbeats and breaths. That thought took him back. It had been rumored that Space Marines in a squad would synchronize their biorhythms, but it had never been fully studied.

Pushing thoughts of the past aside, Lyre continued to narrow his focus, pushing his senses to the limit as he scrutinized every brush of air and every small thump. He concentrated so fully on the vague sounds that he almost missed it. To Clef or Legato the light squeak and grind could be easily dismissed as one of the many fans they had passed through to this level, but Lyre knew it for what it was; a back-mounted power unit.

Lyre pushed his helm back on, then went to another smaller grate in the wall and effortlessly pulled it free, making quite a racket in the otherwise silent tunnel. ~Be vigilant. We are not alone down here. There are Subjugators in the sewers.~


The battle raged in the slums. The White Consuls harassed the scattered forces of Chaos Undivided with their superior numbers. In any other theater, against any other threat, the Astartes would have been victorious, Bearing Hive would be saved, and the battle would be remembered as another crushing blow against the Great Enemy. The Codex Astartes was filled with great wisdom, tactics and techniques to combat any foe.

Except this one.

Urban warfare was a specialty of the White Consuls. Only they had the dedication and discipline to carry out such complex and intricate maneuvers. The unknown was the worst part of urban warfare. Surrounded on all sides by familiar architecture turned nightmarish by the constant uncertainty. This was a battlefield that was nothing but cover, the enemy could hide anywhere. Traps and ambushes could be sprung without warning, every building contained unseen snipers or armor. It took cunning and tenacity to succeed in such conditions. For the past few months they had played cat and mouse games with the Black Legion, laying waste to entire tiers of the slums in their efforts to end Bearing Hives suffering. And always there were masses of pitiful humans stumbling and sobbing in their wake.

Brother Captain Calax of the Fifth was not going to let the Great Enemy gain any more ground. Already traitor Space Marines advanced behind a wall of flame, slaughtering all whom survived the inferno. Their howls and warp-tainted cries pierced the air around him. It was as if the Traitor Marines had brought a piece of Hell with them. Still the White Consuls pressed on. The Scouts of the Tenth kept a constant line of communication and troop movements to Calax's command tent, even as the communication with their orbiting battle barge Triumphant Fury had been lost.

Leaning over a holo table in the center of the tent, surrounded by his sergeants, Captain Calax read the lay of the battle. One of the scouts had recently arrived, bearing unwelcome news. Areas of the slums that had been cleared had once again become hotbeds of dissent. Now instead of fighting the Black Legion, a new force had arrived under the cover of the recent destruction of the orbital platform, bringing with them some kind of foul sorcery that was turning the population of Bearing Hive against them. Already the scouts were reporting clashes with large groups of armed civilians, and while they were easily put down, for no mere human could hope to combat an Astartes, the smaller episodes distracted from their final goal.

In short, Calax was realizing that his front line was becoming thin and porous. The lay of the battle had changed, the numbers of the enemy were now unknown, as were their motives. Calax had instructed his men to encircle and flush out the enemy with a cleansing sweep, just one small maneuver away from changing tactics to a full-on purge, but after the introduction of the new forces, this left his line weak, and surrounded on both sides. Traitor Legions to the front, and Heretics to the back.

Calax drummed his fingers along the sides of the holo, causing the ghost-like image to flicker under his touch. The Codex Astartes did list a tactic for this very scenario, but he was loathe to issue the order, and he was sure that if he did, his sergeants would be equally as loathe to obey him.

"Brother Xeres, is squad Micah still at full strength?"

"No Brother Captain, while clearing the southeast corner of Splintertown, they encountered an enemy Rhino. The Traitor Marines aboard claimed three Brothers before squad Micah was able to regroup."

"Was this before or after investigating the drop-pod fragment?"

"After, Brother Captain."

Calax began drumming his fingers along the edge of the table again. "Black Legion?" he asked, the name tasted foul on his lips.

"Brother Captain, if I may?" the scout present spoke up. Calax glanced up as he began to speak. "The Rhino is one of the only things that have remained stationary in the past few hours. While the Great Enemy's movements have been fluid in an effort to thwart us, this is one piece of armor that has not moved. It is crewed by two members of the Emperors Children, and a Night Lord. I was unable to determine if the transport had broken down, or if it serves as a command hub."

"Knowing the Great Enemy it could be both," Brother Xeres quipped.

Calax once again studied the thin line on the holo, the squads had lost too many to hold that much territory. They needed to regroup and redistribute. Slowly he rested his ceramite-covered fingers on a silver ball at the tables side. By lightly stroking the smooth surface he shifted the view of the map. They were just in range of Bearing Hive's defense towers. The towers had avoided firing down on the slums since both the White Consuls and Subjugators had engaged the enemy there. Calax shifted his gaze to a line just inside the range of the defense towers. A Planetary Defense Force fortress and barracks had been established there as a means to fight off any invaders that had thwarted the defense towers. The Battle Brothers of the Fifth weren't going to like what he had to say, but this was their best option.

"Brother Xeres, Brother Farid, Brother Nexus, tell your men we are withdrawing to the PDF fortress at the west of Bearing Hive."

"Captain, a withdraw?"

"The Codex Astartes does allow for this action. If we stay and attempt to hold this line, our only recourse is a war of attrition. Once at the PDF fortress we will be able to regroup. Yet we are not leaving this ground to the enemy. As soon as you are dismissed, I will contact the Skitarii Generals of Bearing Hive and notify them that our Astartes are out of range and they can begin shelling the Slums at will. I have a feeling that they will find this outcome favorable."

The sergeants gathered around the holo accepted this order with heavy hearts, each of them had been longing to see this action to the end, it seemed to cheapen their efforts to order a withdraw on the cusp of victory.

"And furthermore," Captain Calax traced along the surface of the silver ball again. "I will notify them of this damned Rhino as their first target."


Lyre, Clef, Legato and the menial, who had yet to cough out a name, moved quietly through the sewer systems of the underhive. The tunnels were small, cramped and at times the Noise Marines were forced down on hands and knees to navigate them while their guide only stooped and sloshed along. They were still in the surface areas, having yet to encounter the massive cisterns and cesspools that always accompanied every Hive structure. Strange beetle-like creatures with smooth domed tear-drop shaped shells and long pointed tails scurried away from them as they moved, overtaking the occasional rat.

The tunnels finally opened into a large darkened cistern filled with drainage from one of the slums manufactories high above. With no other path or walkway around, Lyre and Clef raised their mistresses high and waded into the mire. The filthy chemical laden water rose nearly to their chests. Legato reluctantly offered an arm to the menial to hold onto as he entered the water after the Soul Slaves. Several other drainage tunnels opened into the cistern. "Stick close to the outside wall, there's a large open drain in the center," the menial instructed. "Take the third tunnel to the right and continue northeast.

Lyre checked his HUD to verify that they were moving in the right direction, then felt something glide past his leg. He raised a first to bring his group to a halt. Clef suddenly vanished below the surface of the water with a frothy splash.

"Shred!" Legato shouted, letting go of the menial and drawing his pistol-like Sonic Blaster. The menial swam through the chemical-laden water before grabbing hold of Legato's backunit to keep above the surface.

Lyre remained still, one hand holding Red Widow above the filth, the other reaching for his knife, he carried no other close combat weapon. He could still sense Forsworn, and he could still sense Clef, but until he sighted his enemy, he wasn't going to risk a blind assault.

Clef suddenly broke the surface, in a fury of froth and filth. He held Forsworn close and as soon as he could raise her from the water, he let loose with an angry and insulted chord. The water itself fled from his vicinity, rippling as his energy repelled it away to reveal all manner of trash and foul sediments. The water sloshed to the walls before falling back in place and closing in on the Noise Marines once more.

~Clef! Compose yourself!~ Lyre shouted, fending off the wave of brown fluid. Red Widow began to grow more irate and upset in his grasp as the filthy water washed over her brilliant red surface.

Legato was the next to vanish under the surface, and their guide along with him. Lyre moved along the outer edge of the cistern as Legato unleashed a flurry of sonic pulse shots under the water, turning the still filth into a bubbling cauldron of grime. Lyre reached Clefs side and stood with him near the wall. Red Widow was not happy at being soiled and Forsworn was already glowing brilliant blue in her rage.

~I think the ladies have something to say,~ Clef panted.

Lyre could feel his mistress tearing at his sanity as she struggled to over take her slave and claim her own vengeance. He rested his fingers on her strings and she calmed just a enough to allow him to attack. As one, Lyre and Clef ripped down the strings of their weapons, creating a shockwave that pushed the filth back. The loud warp-spawned screams of their demonic mistresses echoed off the walls of the cistern, forcing the fluid up the sides and back into the surrounding tunnels.

As the water and filth was repelled, it revealed Legato in the grip of a Subjugator in Terminator plate. Totems of teeth and bone hung from his weapons, a loincloth made of a crocodillian pelt complemented a chainsword with serrated ivory instead of metal teeth. Lyre was impressed that something of that size could move so easily and swiftly under the water. With his cover gone, the Subjugator threw Legato to the ground and turned on the two Soul Slaves.

"Bastard sons of Fulgrim! I will send you back to your place in Hell!"

"Is that a promise?" Clef asked with a sneer.

The Subjugator raised his arm and fired his under-mounted bolter. Lyre and Clef parted and without the power of the demonesses to hold it at bay, the water came slamming back into the cistern. Lyre gave a pulse to propel himself upward before the water crashed in fully. While in the air he returned Red Widow to his back and drew his combat knife. He came down where the Subjugator had been. Instead of his blade finding the back of the Subjugators neck, it came down in the knee joint of his right knee. Even underwater, the Subjugator kicked out, slamming Lyre in the head and sending him backward and momentarily stunned.

Clef was nowhere to be seen and Legato only just kicked to the surface and gained his feet. The Noise Marine was bleeding freely from his side where Lyre noted that several teeth from the Chainsword had broken away and embedded in his armor. Lyre pulled himself to his feet and scanned the surface of the water. Red Widow was livid, she wanted that soul and she wanted it now.

Once again there was a sonic pulse under the water, but it didn't come from Legato, this time the Subjugator erupted from the center of cistern and flew several meters into the air. Legato raised his Sonic Blaster and hit the Subjugator three times before Clef erupted after him. As Clef rose upward, the Subjugator fell. Clef shot his foot out, catching the Imperial Space Marine under the chin. The terminators head snapped back sharply, and he weakly raised his arm to fire at Clef. This time Lyre added his own pulse charges to Legatos. He caught the underside of the Subjugators helm, and the Space Marines helmet came loose.

With his own decent, Clef planted a foot on the Subjugators chest, pinning him down under the water. Not to be out-done, Lyre rushed forward and reclaimed his combat knife, then moved to make a killing blow.

Then something happened that he couldn't quite explain. For the space of a breath, his eyes met Clefs, and he could sense Forsworn churning under the surface of the young Noise Marine. Both Forsworn and Red Widow wanted this soul, both of them had fought for it. Suddenly Lyre and Clef were no longer Aristocrats, they were no longer bandmates, they were two predators fighting over the rights to a kill. Clefs hand covered Lyre's on the combat knife, and as one their urge to kill turned on the other. Clef had the advantage of youth and speed, and Lyre possessed superior experience and skill.

This soul belonged to Red Widow,

This soul belonged to Forsworn.

Lyre caught and trapped Clefs arm before he could twist the combat knife and deliver the killing blow, in turn, Clef let his foot off the Subjugators weapon arm to allow the Imperial to fight back. Lyre headbutted Clef, Clef kicked Lyre. Both went tumbling into the water once more, Clef with a foot in Lyre's gut, Lyre with his hands around Clefs neck. The Subjugator kicked free, amused and invigorated by this welcome turn of events.

Clef kicked Lyre hard in the gut, his newer and more powerful armor overcoming the ancient patchwork that Lyre wore. Before Clef could celebrate, he felt Lyre's blade enter his own side through a bad repair made sometime in his armors past. Once free of Clef, Lyre turned to once again deliver a killing blow to the Subjugator, only to find their prey was no longer pinned to the cistern floor.

As one Lyre and Clef broke the surface, weapons ready, to discover Legato standing victorious over the Terminator. Instantly, the bloodlust left both of them. The demonesses withdrew from their slaves, each shying away from their own folly. Lyre felt a little shame in that he had lost his head around Clef, and Clef felt guilty that he had exploited his knowledge of Lyre's weaknesses.

Legato ripped the bone-toothed chainsword from the cadavers grip and raised it high. "Do you two mind if I keep this?"


Following the disciplines of the Codex Astartes, Brother Xeres monitored the withdraw of his forces to the PDF fortress. As predicted the Astartes under his command were reluctant to leave such hard-won ground to the enemy, but the promise of support from the defense towers encouraged them to vacate hastily. As expected the Black Legion sensed their fallback and harassed them on their way, screaming obscenities and insults, yet they were very careful themselves not to overstep and get pulled into an ambush or killbox.

The field command center was broken down, chapter serfs performing much of the labor as the remaining White Consuls and even a few squads of Subjugators exchanged information. The Subjugators already had an established command in the underhive. The myriad of tunnels and sump systems were like a second home to them, and thus far they had denied this territory to the enemy. Xeres bid them good hunting as they departed, then joined the rest of his Company's withdraw.

The PDF fortress was as uninteresting architecturally as any other structure outside Bearing Hive's walls. It served primarily as a barracks and training ground, with defense walls and primitive towers down its length. Already Captain Calax began preparation for distribution of his forces within the fortress, which squad would be best at defending which face, where to instruct the serfs to erect the command tents, and to inventory the medical stores.

This of course left the small matter of notifying the base's commanders of their arrival. The vox system was down planet wide, and surface to space communication had yet to be restored. Yet short range was still functional. Calax sent a few of the serfs that he could spare along with a scout and a trusted honor guards of his inner circle. In any other case, they would have been more than enough to announce the arrival of the Fifth and to establish command.

Brother Xeres took point in his command Rhino at the head of the column. Movement was slow going at times, and at others as swift as conditions allowed. The scouts identified possible ambush points and kill zones, and the White Consuls would either avoid the areas entirely, or lay down enough suppressive fire from the Rhinos to discourage any possible attackers. More units and squads were joining the migration steadily, and Xeres monitored losses and possible redistribution of forces.

Two kilometers outside the PDF fortress, in a dismal district of the Slums known as Pumptown, the largest assault on Imperial forces in months began. An army on the move was a vulnerable one, even more so when dealing with urban conditions where the enemy could literally be anywhere. The attack was signaled by a call. A voice, powerful and feminine ripped down the streets, stirring the dust-choked air. Brother Xeres noted that the serfs were becoming nervous. The effect of that one lone call had shaken them. Women always had the most distressing screams, even more so when backed by the Warp. The streets and buildings were too quiet, too still.

The White Consuls had their weapons ready. Every auspex was seeking the enemy, every eye scrutinized doorways and windows. The attack began as a rush, a pattering like distant rain eventually gave way to a triumphant roar. From every building, every storefront, every house, they came running. Menials in various stages of decay, some with horrible chemical burns or missing poorly amputated limbs, others with bleeding cuts on their bodies that would never heal. Clothed in rags, clothed in metal or simply clothed by the dusty rusted air itself. Each one bearing the mark of Chaos. These were Bearing Hive's forgotten. The souls that had given their lives to the Machine God only to be cast aside once they were deemed unfit for labor. They had gathered here in Pumptown. Xeres registered hundreds, then thousands, then tens of thousands. Soon their sheer number was overwhelmed by their sheer volume. Slowly Xeres began to piece together the attacks on his Astartes, the patterns and nature of the assaults.

The menials had all been coming here, the attacks on his many squads in the slums were only opportunistic. Even now, they met the White Consuls not from the front or side, but behind. The Forgotten came running, their bloodshot eyes and decaying mouths open in a battle cry as they marched on the PDF fortress. Brother Xeres quickly read the lay of the battle. If this rabble reached the PDF fortress first, they would gain a tactical advantage and access to Bearing Hive, rendering all Imperial efforts moot. But if the White Consuls gained control of the base first, then they could further deny Chaos control of the Slums.

In either case, in half an hour the Skitarii Generals in the defense towers were going to blow the Slums to the Golden Throne and back.

All around the White Consuls began to open fire into the surging mob. Some of the Forgotten turned to fight, still others rushed past them. The Astartes weren't even the primary target of this horde, they had been rendered down to a minor obstacle. Heavy Bolters all around chattered, turning the rioters into pulp. Captain Calax issued the order from his Rhino at the center of the column, and the column pushed ahead at speed. Captain Calax was determined to deny this rabble the PDF fortress even if that meant blowing it up personally. Their goal was in sight, and nothing would keep him from it.

Nothing, except her.

The mob parted and flowed around a fixed point in the street ahead, showing supreme discipline for such a rabble. Xeres urged the column on, weapons taking shots of opportunity around the command Rhino. As the column drew closer, he felt his hackles rise at the sight.

She was clad in blasphemy and fear. A fallen sister of the Adepta Sorroritas, where once her lips would sing the praises of the Emperor and his fight for humanity, only words for the gods of Chaos remained. How bitter she seemed, so foul that not even the Forgotten around her dared to come close. Her armor was purple and black. A brilliant yellow plume of stiff hair and feathers arched from a beaked helm, common to the ancient makes of Space Marine armor the Traitor Legions seemed to favor. Her right shoulder and left leg bore the large repair rivets of post Heresy makes. Her left shoulder pauldron was emblazoned with a golden coronet icon. In her left hand she held a chainsword, already slick with blood, in her right, a simple brass bolt pistol with black accents.

Xeres didn't slow, instead he ordered the Rhino's driver to plow right over the abomination. The cursed woman didn't move. She tilted her head back and screamed. The sound was unlike anything Xeres had heard before or since. It penetrated to the depths of his soul and sank its claws there. Instantly the crowds folded around her, and instead of the Rhino coming in contact with her armored frame, it impacted against multitudes of Forgotten, their blood and bones crunching under the Rhino's tracks, offal and meat gumming up gears in the undercarriage.

Suddenly, she was on top of the Rhino. Her chainsword growled as she brought it around, cleanly decapitating the Battle Brother on the heavy bolter. Xeres pushed his body aside and screaming a litany of cleansing, turned his bolter on the Warsinger. She danced and spun away from his shots as if she were only playing at war. The Rhino bucked as it ran over more bodies, tossing Xeres back into the interior. For a moment he listened for her tiny feet. All around him he could hear the sounds of many hands striking the sides of the Rhino. He was about to climb back out of the hatch and finish the job when he looked down, and saw that she hadn't gone without leaving him a parting gift.

A second later, the pair of krak grenades that Sonata had tossed inside exploded.

Halfway down the column, Captain Calax witnessed the lead Rhino's destruction, then ordered the remaining Rhinos to fire on the Warsinger. In the space of a few breaths she claimed the lives of two more Battle Brothers before once again diving into the crowds. The fortress was just ahead. The Warsinger, like the rest, had served as a distraction to keep them from their objective, and Calax would see Brother Sergeant Xeres avenged.

As the column entered the final stretch toward the gates, the wall of the fortress came to life, firing into the surging mob and opening a path for the speeding Rhinos. The gates began to open in anticipation of their arrival. Heavy bolters and stubbers sent many of the Forgotten to their deaths. Brother Sergeant Nexus and his command Rhino was the first inside the gates. Immediately what was left of his squad formed up and gave suppressing fire for the other Rhinos. With near-textbook precision, the remainder of the White Consuls Fifth Company entered through the gate, formed up and returned fire, positioning themselves around the internal courtyard.

The gates then began to close and the chatter of the heavy bolters on the walls fell silent. The Forgotten outside never began their assault. Instead they began cheering.

"Captain! Look!" Brother Nexus pointed to one of the defense towers overhead. It was no longer filling the burning sky with plasma fire or explosive wrath. It had gone silent. Calax felt a rumble under his feet, that was echoed by deep fissures and cracks forming along the surface of the mighty tower. With a bright flash of white light, the structure exploded, sending debris and shrapnel over Bearing Hive and raining down on the Slums. The chapter serfs sought refuge in the Rhinos, while his Astartes raised arm-mounted shields to defend against the deadly fall.

"By Guilliman, how did they manage that?" Brother Sergeant Nexus breathed.

"Ah, that would have been Surreal Scream," said a voice at Calax's side. "Looks like they got the first one."

Captain Calax paused for a moment. The voice and cadence of speech was unfamiliar to him. He turned and performed a quick head-count of his forces, and felt shocked to note that they seemed to have doubled in number. Someone whistled behind him and slowly he turned, already knowing the outcome.

Along the walls, both above and below were Traitor Marines, covered in spikes and foul symbols, and sitting astride assault bikes. Standing directly before Captain Calax was a Chaos Marine in the same deep purple as the fallen Sister of Battle, with the same accents in brilliant yellow, and the same gaudy golden coronet on his pauldron. Only now did Calax see the blood in the courtyard that he had mistaken for rust. This fortress had fallen hours ago. Piles of the dead lay in corners and these filth were happily raiding the store houses. The heavy bolters on the walls had been turned and now faced inward, sighting in on the remains of the White Consuls Fifth Company.

"Forlorn Hope, and the Aristocrats bid the White Consuls welcome!" Crasis shouted. "You're a little late to the party, but at least you brought enough entertainment for everyone!"

"Filthy dogs of Ho-"

As one, Forlorn Hope and the White Consuls opened fire on one another, and above it all, Crasis laughed and laughed.

Outside the gates, Monody congratulated his masses on a job well-done, both the Redeemed and the Forgotten cheered, and turned their bloodlust on the fallen tower of Bearing Hive.


~So what are we doing here?~ Ostinato asked for the fifth time.

Zither felt his patience begin to wear thin. ~For the last time. We stay until either Lyre gives us further orders, or conditions deem otherwise.~

~The vox is dead,~ Ostinato picked up the receiver and slammed it back down again to illustrate his point. He had removed his helm, letting his thin greasy hair spill to his shoulders. His jaw was firm and square, with a slight cleft in his chin, but his cheeks and eyes had the hollowness of a Space Marine on the last dregs of a stim binge. Fugue in contrast, sat toward the back of the rhino, wearing the shadows to hide his bulk. ~He couldn't contact us now without giving away his position.~

Zither turned in the drivers seat to glance back at Ostinato. ~You are underestimating them.~

~Strange words considering that you aren't part of the Aristocrats,~ the Noise Marine shot back. ~Not one of those horrible coronets on your shoulder, and Lyre treats you like any other trash. You're not part of the band either...ergo, you have no reason to stay put.~ he leaned back on a bench inside the rhino, and pulled a small metal pipe from a pouch at his side.

~No Slaabur, not yet,~ Fugue growled from the back.

~I'm not daft. Just some tobac I took off a dead Imperial Guard officer,~ Ostinato filled the small pipe, then lit it with a match. He took a deep draw and exhaled thick grey smoke into the small transport.

~That is not tobac,~ Zither leaned back in his own seat and put a foot up on the metal dashboard.

Fugue growled again. ~You know that Burn isn't supposed to be smoked. Ruins the effect.~

~Ruins one effect, but not the other,~ Ostinato exhaled another cloud of noxious smoke.

~You would kill an equal amount of your brain by wrapping your lips around the Rhino's exhaust pipes,~ Zither gave a wave of his hand to shoo the smoke away.

~Oh? Is that so? Is that what the Aristocrats errand boy thinks? Really? Look at you, with your clean white skin, straight black untangled hair with nary a speck of ash or dust? Have you ever fired that weapon at your side? It's nice and clean too. Here, let me put some mud on that clean face of yours so you can blend in,~ Ostinato leaned in while taking the last drag off his pipe, then tried to dump the spent contents on Zithers hair.

Zither snapped around and knocked the pipe from Ostinato's hand. ~Shred off!~

~Ah! Or what? What can your tidy arse do? Come, I want to know, show me!~

Ostinato was right in some ways. Zither's skills had began to lag during his time on the Crimson Rhapsody, and these Noise Marines had been in combat recently. They were still on a war footing, and it would take more than a few hours and a smoke to get them to stand down. Anything could set them off. ~Frak, just smoke your pipe, try not to stim up so much that you get killed.~

~Me get killed? Oh that's grand talk coming from a Night Lord. Tell me, did your Primarch raise a fist in his defense or did he just lean over and spread his cheeks for- ~

"Shut it!" Fugue roared from the back. "Listen you frakwits!"

Zither and Ostinato calmed their rising tempers and listened. Their enhanced Noise Marine

senses picked out a slight whistle coming from overhead. ~Incoming!~

~Shred! Get this rhino moving!~ Ostinato shouted.

Zither jumped back into the drivers seat. To save time he tossed it into neutral, allowing the rhino to begin rolling before he started the engine. As soon as it turned over, the Rhino was on the move. The vehicle's machine spirit roared in aggravation, then increased its pace as Zither shifted gears. Behind them they heard, then felt a heavy impact. Ostinato grabbed an internal support bar and held on as the Rhino shook from the impact and the road rippled with the force. Zither remained focused on the road ahead, even as it turned to a ribbon of asphalt. The Rhino bucked along the road, tossing Ostinato around in the cabin while Fugue remained eerily braced and stationary in the back.

There was another incoming whistle just as Zither reached open road. This time they were not as lucky. The shell hit and the transport rolled over onto its side. Zither counted two full rotations before he was thrown from the drivers seat, his body slamming into Ostinato and piling them both against Fugue.

For a moment there was silence as the three listened for any other incoming shells. "Shred," Ostinato whispered. "We should have kept moving, shred, shred, shred."

~Calm down Ostinato,~ Fugue grumbled. ~We'll flip the rhino back over and join up with the Black Legion. Legato and the Aristocrats can meet us there.~

"Shred, shred, shred!" Ostinato pushed Zither away and in two quick movements, crossed the interior of the Rhino and opened the side door which was now above them. He then reached up and pulled himself free.

~Is this common for your bandmate?~ Zither pulled himself off Fugue.

~He's a bit high-strung, but useful,~ Fugue waited until Zither had peered through the hatch and pulled himself through before following.

They could hear no other shells coming their way, and the surrounding streets were void of all life. But the defense towers began to pummel other parts of the Slums, sending up huge clouds of rust and ash to add to the already cluttered air. Visibility without the aid of auspex was down to a pathetic fifty meters. ~Lets hurry and get this thing turned over.~

~Not yet!~ Ostinato spat. He stood near the underside of the Rhino. ~The shredding promethium tanks took a hit. Not going anywhere until I can repair it.~

Zither held his weapon at the ready just in case. ~You're an Enginseer?~

~Something like that,~ Ostinato began searching the surroundings for anything he could use. "Ah shred, shred, shred..."

Fugue took up a position as well. He shared Zither's sense of unease. It was too quiet here. Even after such an intense shelling, it was too quiet. Then from the south came a slow and steady rumble. Both Zither and Fugue turned their attention to the streets. ~They don't sound like Space Marines.~

~They aren't,~ Fugue answered. ~In addition to the White Consuls, many Imperial Guard troops were brought here. They dug in, but as long as they weren't disturbed, they wouldn't come out to fight. Seems they are trying to escape the shelling as well. Ostinato, make it quick.~

"Shred, shred, shred, shred..."

Zither took a quick peek back the Noise Marine to find him surrounded by little bits and scraps of metal that he was meticulously piecing together. ~Just fill the hole with armor sealant and we can be on our way!~

"You don't frakking understand," Ostinato raised a small sheet of metal. "Armor sealant dofa do kela nade."

That was a dialect that Zither had yet to learn. The sounds of the incoming Imperial Guard grew louder, accompanied by the stuttering growl of armor. ~I count...three, perhaps four hundred.~

~Sounds about right,~ Fugue knelt in the dusty street, then placed the chain-wrapped case before him. He spoke in a language sacred to Nurgle, the translation of which was lost on Zither, but Ruffati would probably know. The chains fell free from the leather, and Fugue opened the case to reveal an Instrument of Destruction, one of only a handful left in the galaxy.

It had the shape of a violin, but that was just the form that Zithers limited perception could attribute to it. The wood surface appeared to have been burnt at one time, char marks like flames graced its ash-grey panels. Yet it breathed, the surface subtly rising and falling as warp ripples formed in the air around Fugue. The strings were living things, like tendons over arches of bone. The front of the violin held a natural defect of the wood, a knot shaped like a tear-filled eye. He then removed the bow from the case, a wondrous piece of black ivory, curved and tight and strung with silver-white hair. It needed no rosin, and the Noise Marine in Terminator plate lifted the violin to his bare chin, standing ready.

"Shred, shred, shred," Ostinato chanted, placing the last piece of metal on the tank before diving back into his little stash of junk.

Out of the dust, the Imperial Guard came running. They were nameless, faceless humans. Covered in dust and attempting to outrun their own fears. Lasguns were leveled at the Rhino, and Fugue rested the bow on the strings. Immediately the air filled with the harsh tang of warpcraft, even as Fugue drew the bow across the tendon-strings, Zither watched in amazement at the display of power.

The air filled with a sharp sound, like hundreds of needles created of warp-light, then the entire front line of the oncoming horde suddenly burst like sacks of puss or blisters. Skin ripped open spilling rotten bones to the ground. The cries of battle turned to shouts of disgust and surprise and the subsequent ranks tried to both avoid and retreat from the pink and white bloody masses on the ground. Fugue placed his fingers, then drew the bow back on a return stroke, filling the air with another series of sharp needle-like pitches. Each one seemed to penetrate deeper into Zither's sanity until he involuntarily shuddered.

The subsequent ranks of Imperial Guard retreated, each one having been cursed with some disease that killed them painfully and quickly. One group became a cluster of tumors, others were covered in pox or bark-like skin. Still others erupted in bone spurs or other vicious growths. Men began to vomit blood, their organs becoming liquid and puss-filled before meeting their deaths.

Just as quickly, the oncoming army was repealed, without one shot having been fired. Fugue lifted the bow from the strings, and listened for any other attackers. The curious had been driven away by the sight of their mutilated dead, and fled to find another avenue of escape.

~Got it!~ Ostinato said cheerfully, then lit up another pipe, this time with some kind of yellow crystal inside that seemed to help dispel the warptaint in the air. Zither watched as Fugue returned the violin to its case with another phrase sacred to Nurgle, and locked it once more. ~Are you going to help me roll this Rhino back over, or will you just stand there and mourn your lost pride?~

Zither shook the past events from his mind and replaced them with more pleasant thoughts of burying his ceramite-plated fist into Ostinato's greasy face.

Once the Rhino was upright and on the move again, Zither settled into the drivers seat, and headed south-west toward the last known location of the Black Legion's command post. Ostinato and Fugue had returned to their places, and had picked up where they left off. The Rhino's treads went over the puss-filled remains of the Imperial Guard, bones and skulls cracking under them, adding to the already uneven nature of the road. Zither tried not to look too much out of the front armorcrys windshield. For all of his decades with the Night Lords, nothing could have prepared him for the current reality of riding through the streets over the decaying bodies of the diseased and rotten. The smell permeated every pore of his body. Never had he felt like such a novice.

Ostinato joined him up front, taking a seat on the passengers side and propping a foot up on the dashboard. He packed his pipe again, then lit it just as a rotten skull that had become lodged on the exterior of the drivers side popped from internal pressure. The windshield and side window were now covered in pulpy red and yellow masses of putrid flesh. Zither activated the wipers which only succeeded in smearing the mess around, making it even worse. Ostinato watched with amusement as Zither fought to keep his gag reflex under control. He held the pipe out to the Night Lord.

~Here, it will keep the nausea at bay, and make it so you don't care anymore about what you see.~

Zither side-glanced the pipe, then took it as a wave of rotted blood washed over the side of the Rhino from a pot-hole in the street. He inhaled deeply, and true to Ostinatos word, the urge to vomit faded, along with his ability to give a frak about the bones getting ground under the Rhino's treads. He turned on the wipers again, turning the windshield into dust-caked streaks of gore. "Shred," he stated.

"Shred." Ostinato seconded.


It took the combined might of both Legato and Clef to budge the last grate. The battle with the Subjugator Terminator was only the first in a long string of attacks. Some had been ambushes, others had been fought across huge chemical-laden chasms. They had lost their guide in the first battle, which left them only with dim auspex readings and Lyre's enhanced sense of hearing to lead them on. Red Widow and Forsworn were now engorged on their recent crop of Space Marine souls, which had gone a long way to repairing the rift between Lyre and Clef since the first Terminator. They since had worked out a switch-off system to prevent anything like that happening again. Legato acquired another bolter to add to his Sonic Blaster, the ivory chainsword, a plasma pistol, and more bolt-rounds than he could reasonably carry.

Lyre had led them to a system of maintenance tunnels underneath their target tower. They had followed the sound of the immense shells, hauled from massive stores for delivery to the many cannons on the defense tower. Moments ago they heard and felt a loud explosion that could only be attributed to the destruction of one of the other towers. This spurred them onward in the spirit of competition and the desire to not be completely outdone by Surreal Scream. Using the tunnels, they had bypassed most of the internal defenses and left the Subjugators behind them in the sewers.

The grate finally lifted free, its welds popping under Clef and Legato's efforts. When they pushed it aside, it refused to lay flat, it's circular shape now twisted. Weapons ready, the three Noise Marines emerged into a long hall with brass-plated floors. Glow globes flickered overhead, providing sparse illumination and generous amounts of shadow to move in. To their right was a large hexagonal bay filled with winches that pulled huge chimera-sized shells from the beds of cargo transports and loaded them into one of two large lifts that carried the shells up the tower.

~This would be a good place to plant some krak grenades, provided we still had some,~ Clef mused.

~We'll go higher, and see if there is a cogitator station we can use,~ Lyre searched for a path they could take in relative secrecy.

~Wait, I'm a idiot,~ Clef said suddenly. ~Legato give me some of those bolts.~

Legato tossed him a sickle clip. Clef caught it, then knelt behind a pillar. Lyre and Legato watched curiously as Clef unloaded the bolts from the clip, then arranged them in a tight circular shape. He then dismantled one bolt completely, and leaving the explosive inside the shell. He made a small modification to the impact pin. ~Fret taught me how to make a bolt-rounds into a makeshift krak-mine. It has to do with the pin setting.~

~Neat trick, but even a full belt of bolts wont set off one of those shells,~ Legato smirked.

~My goal isn't to detonate a shell, its to provide a distraction while we ride one of those elevators up to the top of the tower. From there we shut it down,~ Clef used some medical binding tape to strap all of the bolt rounds together. ~Now I'll go put it on the shell cradle for that elevator there, and you two can make a run for the other one when this one gets jammed,~ he picked up the bolts and stood.

Lyre reached out and grabbed Clefs shoulder. Firmly he removed the roll of bolts from Clefs arm, then held them out to Legato. ~Showtime Legato.~ Legato stared at them dumbly for a moment. Lyre said nothing, more but Legato understood plainly. Now it was time to earn his place. Lyre already knew that Clef would gladly place the mine, but the leader of the Aristocrats wanted to see what Legato was made of. Legato accepted the mine, and after a moment to study the layout of the loading bay, he began his journey.

Menials and servitors of all makes swarmed around the equipment, while Tech Priests in rich red robes oversaw operations or conducted prayers and blessings in the name of the Machine God. Once Legato was out of sight, the two purple and yellow Aristocrats began to pick their way across the

bronze floor, making full use of every darkened corner and play of light.

~How long is the timer on that mine?~ Lyre asked

~Provided he sets it in the right place, he could have a thirty second head start once the shell is loaded into the cradle,~ Clef took cover between a pair of transports. Lyre examined the transport beds to find a large shell that had been freshly blessed by the Tech Priests. Prayer seals and papers had been fixed to the nose along with dedications to various Forge Masters. Lyre and Clef exchanged a glance, then climbed aboard the transport and took refuge near the shell.

Legato knew that sneaking across the floor would do him no good. Instead he hid behind a large crate and waited for a Tech Priest to walk by. Quick as a whisper, he drew his combat knife and buried it deep into the Tech Priests back, snapping its artificial spinal column before silencing the beat of its artificial heart. Before a flood of fluids could give away his position, Legato removed the Tech Priests red robe and dumped the body inside the crate.

Across the bay, Clef chuckled in silent approval.

Legato pulled the robe over his armor, silently thanking Slaanesh that the Tech Priest had been large of frame. This wasn't just an effort to please the band leader of the Aristocrats, but also a form of worship for his chosen God. It had to go perfectly, and he would show his gratitude with a perfect performance. Taking on the sway and stumble of the Tech Priest, Legato crossed the floor unquestioned, past transports and filthy menials that reeked of gun oil. He stopped at the massive lift and studied the prongs of the cradle that would carry the shell. Placing the mine on the front of the cradle wouldn't work, it would have to go near the rear for maximum effect.

Pulling the mine from under the red robe, Legato neared the edge of the lift. The cradle was attached to thick chains that ran along the interior wall of the lift. The prongs rose from slits cut in the floor, part of a safety mechanism designed to keep the shells from falling down the shaft. Legato crossed this section of floor, pretending to make some kind of praise to the Machine God, even though the very action ground against his principles, and set the mine neatly on the next series of prongs to rise from the floor.

He then vacated quickly.

Lyre and Clefs transport began to move, and the two Aristocrats tucked in close to the shell. Legato crossed the floor, and walked alongside the transport still wearing the red robe. As the shell was unloaded from the transport, Legato personally oversaw the cranes and winches that lifted it from the bed of the vehicle. The menials were not going to argue with a Tech Priest. Lyre and Clef lay face-down on the top of the shell as it was placed in the cradle on the lift, then carefully rolled behind it to avoid being seen. Legato personally activated the lift and the Noise Marines were carried upward with the shell.

An explosion sounded on the other side of the bay, bringing the menials and Tech Priests to attention. In the confusion, Legato reached up and grabbed the bottom of the cradle as it moved upward, then joined his fellow Noise Marines at the top of the shell. Clef helped him up with a hearty smack on his shoulder. ~Pity you didn't stay to watch.~

Lyre reached out and grabbed the chain on the lift. ~Both of you, start climbing. They will stop this lift as well to contain any more explosions.~

Clef and Legato began climbing after Lyre. As predicted the lift halted. Down below there was another explosion, much louder than the first, followed by several more. Clef ventured a glance below him to see a wall of flame come rushing up the interior of the shaft. ~I didn't think the mine would be that powerful!~ he began climbing faster.

~It wasn't,~ Legato answered smugly, climbing just as quickly. ~The mine was a perfect distraction, and served its purpose to draw attention away from our intentions, however I purposely overloaded the plasma pistol I had looted and tossed it onto the back of a transport carrying another shell. We won't have to worry about solid-state munitions for a while.~

Clef looked up to Lyre. ~Can we keep him?~

Lyre kept climbing. ~We'll see,~ but he had to admit that Legato was a breath of fresh air to the Aristocrats. From his mannerisms he seemed to be around Clefs age, and the brotherly competition between the two of them was encouraging, even if it needed to be kept in check in the future. Never had Lyre felt the weight of his ten thousand years of age so acutely. As another shell exploded further down the shaft below them, sending shrapnel and flames to nip at their ceramite heels, Lyre mumbled words that came from deep in his heart. "I'm getting too old for this shred."

They emerged from the lift into one of the main loading chambers for the tower's guns. The Skitarii and Tech Priests were already on guard from the surprise demolition of their sister tower. As soon as the Noise Marines hauled themselves over the lip of the shaft, several Skitarii turned and opened fire. Lyre and Clef answered in kind. Red Widow and Forsworn filled the room with a grinding chorus of misery and hate. The organics that were left in the Mechanicum's warriors either imploded or exploded, depending on whether Forsworn or Red Widows caresses reached their audio receptors first.

Legato drew a pair of short powerswords and entered the battle like a dancer. Every step measured, no movement wasted, each sweep of his arm calculated and refined. Skitarii fell around and before him like a child's discarded toys. Even in the urgency of the moment, Lyre found a breath to watch this prospective band member. He was symmetry in motion, where one blade found a Tech Priests throat, the other matched it, arcs of arterial hydraulic fluid and lubricants framing and complementing every shift of his feet and every flash of his blades, yet not one drop marred his armor.

Clef, not to be outdone, pulled Forsworn around and let off a series of sharp bursts, claiming and equal number of foes, but without any of Legato's poise and grace. One twisted and turned as if made of beauty and discipline, and the other entered the fray like a hammer, slamming foes hither and yon in spectacular sprays of internal fluids. Lyre soon found himself without any opponents of his own, but was content with that outcome.

With the tower's internal defenses otherwise occupied, Lyre searched for the main control hub. He followed runes through brass-lined halls, over huge cogs set into the floors that were used to turn the main guns, and heard the sound of an ancient cogitator. Using Red Widow he forced open a door and paused in wonder for a moment.

The room was filled from floor to ceiling with small rotary dials made of many kinds of precious metals all set into a series of numbered panels. Each dial contained ten small holes numbered from zero to nine with a small lever that would tick away until the dial returned to its neutral position. Along the ceiling ran a track made of brass and copper, and suspended from the track on the far side of the room was a Tech Priest that seemed to be more machine than man. His primary mechadendrite extended from his back and hooked to the ceiling mounted track, emerging from every cuff and sleeve of his robe were numerous jointed smaller mechadendrites, each tipped with a soft wad of cloth. Fastened to the Tech Priest's head was a curved vox horn, that connected directly to his ear.

A light tone sounded, and a series of numbers began to recite from the vox horn. The Tech Priest engaged his ceiling track and began moving along the wall of rotary dials. Each jointed and padded mechadendrite fitted themselves into various holes, rotated the disks to a predetermined number, then went onto the next one in the series. He moved quickly, mechadendrites extended and crawling spider-like along the wall of panels. As he left each dial, it clicked the appropriate number of times as it reset back to its original position. Overhead, the smaller guns and weaponry began to fire away.

Somehow Lyre thought that his task would have been more difficult. Raising Red Widow, he fired off a sharp burst that impacted the Tech Priest and shattered him into pieces. Red didn't even want part of his soul, the Tech Priest was just another in a long line of menials, and she had better taste than that. Lyre settled for stepping on the vox horn as it began to recite another series of numbers. The last of the rotary dials fell silent, as did the tower's guns. He never intended to destroy the tower as Surreal Scream had done. This tower and everything in it would prove useful once Bearing Hive was overtaken.

He stepped back into the hall and saw Clef and Legato still making a mess of the Skitarii. ~Clef, let Forsworn have her fill, but leave some alive for the slavers. Legato, head higher and slaughter anyone you find manning the guns.~

Forsworn and Clef answered back with a growl while Legato ran for the nearest spiral staircase. Lyre continued up the hall until he found a balcony that opened to the outside. He killed the few Skitarii and Tech Priests there with ease, then stood near the edge overlooking the Slums. Allowing himself a bitter smile he pulled Red Widow around and ran his fingers lovingly over her strings. With every signal light in his armor turned up on full illumination, he began to play, announcing to the Slums and Bearing Hive that the second tower was now in the control of the Aristocrats.

The melodies, full and rich fled from his fingers, dancing in the air and creating twisted shapes in the minds of all who heard them. It had been too long since he had allowed himself a moment to indulge in his favorite past time. He and Cornet would often play together at the end of a successful battle, each one ripping the skies with tales of their deeds and praises to both friend and foe. Their melodies would call their bandmates home and invigorate those still embroiled in difficult skirmishes.

A second melody added to the first, and Lyre was even more fully lost in the moment when he heard the hard grind of Forsworn's voice accompany Red Widow. Clef had found another balcony, and joined Lyre in his performance.

The deamonesses complemented each other perfectly, sending conflicting emotions into the hearts and souls of those around them. Red Widow and Forsworns combined voices echoed over the rooftops and between the starscrapers, driving emotions of dread and hope into the ears of all who listened. And everyone listened. All over Bearing Hive tear-filled eyes turned skyward in curiosity and fear, Commissars grew silent mid-sentence and servants of Chaos offered praise to their gods. At the PDF fortress, Crasis paused in his slaughter of the White Consuls, and closed his eyes to listen. Sonata sat beside Monody in the thick of his Redeemed, and turned toward the tower with tears building in her eyes. Zither, Fugue and Osinato likewise halted in their progress toward the remains of the Black Legion in the Slums and looked to the tower as if for direction, while Legato turned an envious gaze on Clef. The battle had been brought to a standstill.

In the distance the sky began to boil. The atmosphere had already been churned up by the remains of the orbital defense platform, and now it began to burn anew. The hull of a massive transport began to break through the pollution clouds, and Lyre didn't even need to open his eyes to see that it bore the heraldry of the Crimson Rhapsody. Scores of fighters and several Storm Birds escorted the craft down toward the base on the outskirts of the Slums. With the two defense towers out of the way, the fighters pushed forward into the narrow undefended corridor clearing a path through the slums by dropping missiles and bombs.

Lyre allowed Red Widows voice to fade as the huge transport touched down. Forsworn's soon left as well, sent to drift between rust below and polluted clouds above. Bearing Hive had been taken, but the performance was still only in the second act.


Ruffati sat calm and unconcerned aboard the Swansong. He had heard over the short distance vox of the Aristocrats' performance, and it was a suitable opening act for his arrival. Soon he too would have a part to play, yet awaited his cue. He was a little put-off that the final touchdown had been delayed by several hours, but the Noise Marines he had sent down had more than made up for it by neutralizing the Imperial forces damn-near single-handedly.

He ran his hand along the Swansongs manuals, lightly teasing the ivory and bone surfaces of the keys. The pedals at his feet vibrated softly under his shoes. He could hear the brass and winds sections softly breathing, the choir along the flanks as they coughed and moaned. Behind him the door of the heavy transport opened on to the landing strip of the taken Imperial base. Servants and staff stood ready and clean in purple and white, equipped with rebreathers to ward off the rust and pollutants in the air.

"Iben, is the Swansong ready?" Ruffati asked one of the child-like demonic faces that decorated the panels of stops at his side.

"She is ready for her entrance, Master."

At his word, the Swansong rumbled forward, deep bass notes pounding through her massive frame, her track plates sounded like a pair of dismal xylophones on the ramp and then rockcrete of the landing zone. Armor and munitions transports formed up around the Swansong, escorting her toward the Slums. Behind the Swansong came no fewer than thirty Rhinos, each containing ten Space Marines. They too formed up alongside the Swansong, a loud and horrible mass of discordant screams and warp-tuned sounds. The mutated Baneblade turned off the runway and headed for the Bearing Hive.

The Swansong brought the Warp with her in the form of the most sophisticated Warp Amplifiers. Seated at the front, below the main Sonic Lances, was the unassuming form of Ruffati. Wearing a simple purple three piece suit with long tails on the back of the jacket, and armored only in his faith. He cracked his knuckles, pulled a few stops at his side and began to play.

There were no words in either human or eldar tongue that could describe the many sounds that came from the decks and pulpits of the Swansong. It was as if someone had taken the stench of a corpse and coaxed a symphony from it. The crunching of maggots and gnashing of teeth against bone coupled with the death rattle of a saint. The choirs were sadness and grief given a stage to express their fears, the screams of mothers of slain children and lone commanders on the field of battle surrounded by their dead comrades. The strings screamed with the rage of a betrayed lover, the drums pounded with the desperation of fists on a locked door.

Yet the Swansong did not only sing of the broken and damned. In equal portions there were notes and emotions that spoke of warm bright days surrounded by loved ones. The joy and excitement of a first kiss, the smell of a fine meal, the contentment and blindness of faith sustained. Sensations of serene moments or the touch of a lover.

Lyre felt a shiver move through him and even Red Widow shied away from the cacophony of emotions and sounds coming from the Swansong. Standing on the balcony, Lyre felt the loss of his legion once again. A mixture of joy and happiness from serving at his Primarchs side, to betrayal and despair at being cast from it. Brotherhood never to be felt or had again, surrounded by marble, purple and gold ceramite, laughter and promises before the fire. All gone. All destroyed, all wasted, never to be felt again. Cornet was all he had left of that glorious past. His true Battle Brother through thick and thin. A soul mate that had been reduced to ash and memories in some nameless Hive.

He felt a tug on Red Widow's strap, then turned to see Clef, holding tightly and pulling him backward. At first Lyre thought that Clef was trying to pull him away from some unseen enemy, but then took stock of himself. He stood on the outside of the railing of the balcony, one foot held over the deep abyss below, and the other soon to follow. His hands were outstretched to the Swansong, as if he could catch and hold that brightly colored and loud machine grinding slowly through the Slums. Like a rush of cold water, he realized that he had fallen under the Swansongs spell, and almost took his own life in his grief.

Clef didn't speak, only held firmly to Red Widow until Lyre could steady himself on the ledge again. He climbed over the railing, then took a few cautious steps back from the edge. Clef rested his hand on Lyre's pauldron, putting himself between Lyre and the edge of the balcony as a precaution.

"Such a powerful weapon. Creating a warp ripple to infect the minds of all that can hear or feel its presence," Legato whispered. "I must meet the one who wields such perfection."

"You'll get your chance," Clef finally let go of Lyre. "Have you come around?"

"Yes," Lyre looked up to Clefs fierce helm. A thought flickered at the corner of his mind, but escaped before he could fully catch it, enhanced Space Marine cognitive functions were useless when it came to warp whispers. "Thank you, I'm fine now, and fortified against any future effects of the Swansong." Lyre welcomed Red Widows bitter re-emergence in the back of his mind. "Is the tower secure?"

"Yes. Monody sent a bunch of his Forgotten here to defend it," Clef looked back out over the Hive just as the Swansong fired its Sonic Lance, breaking open one of the massive walls defending the interior of Bearing Hive.

Lyre then gave Clef and Legato's shoulders a heavy smack. "Then what are you waiting for? Shred off. There's an entire Hive cracked open and waiting for you."


Rubato guided the Salamander over the last rust-colored hill on the outskirts of Bearing Hive. Checkpoints had already been erected by Ruffati's men while the Black Legion Space Marines finished securing the Slums. Taben had slept for most of the journey, yet as they neared the former Imperial landing zone, he awoke and grew more animated.

The Swansong had returned to her place overlooking the slums of Bearing Hive, surrounded by many temporary habs in Ruffati's purple and white. News of Taben's return, and the successful conquest of the next major Hive north of their position, brought morale even higher. Ruffati enthusiastically greeted his assumed lost pilot with open arms and a public gift-giving ceremony.

From his place atop the bands newest Rhino, Lyre watched with interest. The Aristocrats had gained three new potential members, Ostinato, Fugue, and Legato. Yet as he watched Ruffati greet and make much of his returned pilot, Lyre knew that man was the more dangerous of them all. He didn't rule his servants through fear, never whipped them or abused them. He ruled through kindness and reward. In turn, Lyre knew the human crew of the Crimson Rhapsody would lay down their lives for Ruffati. Every last one of those purple and white-clad humans would fight like demons to defend their master, and all he gave them in return were fat, happy, long lives.

The newly appointed Captain Adek spared some of his men, the ones that been entrenched in Bearing Hive before the assault began, and gave them orders to report to Tausu of the Razor Fists to secure the Hive and any Titans left standing.

Fret and Elision had not returned with Taben, instead Rubato had delivered a message written in Solresol, and Lyre felt his heart grow heavy as he read it.

Fret was taking a hiatus from the band. He had found something that had piqued his interest and he wanted to explore it to the fullest. Elision had likewise discovered a new thrill. Of what kind the message didn't say. He only hinted at three possible new band members, but they needed training and outfitting first. Fret closed the letter by saying:

~Lyre, don't get too comfortable on the Crimson Rhapsody. Get your act together, and work on getting our own Battle Barge. When you've got all that worked out, come find me, because what I have here is a complete game changer. In the meantime, Rubato has agreed to take my place in the band to help with equipment and other needs. He's another student of Ha'king, use him wisely. See you later.~

Lyre read the final lines, then rolled the parchment up and tucked it back into its letter tube. Rubato stood before him, a dufflebag with his few belongings slung over a shoulder. He sized up the seemingly meek tech adept before asking, "You are willing to travel with the Aristocrats?"

"I am," Rubato answered in a pleasant and clear voice in contrast to Fret's guttural growl. "Meister Fret had briefed me on some of his duties. Equipment maintenance will be no problem. I am also skilled at information gathering and even infiltration into enemy compounds," Rubato bowed. "Although I look forward to the opportunity to learn more and expand my horizons."

Lyre nodded. He knew that Fret and Elision wouldn't leave them without good reason, although their loss would be felt. "You are certainly doing us a favor. Thank you very much Meister Rubato. It's a thankless position, but you have arrived in our hour of need."

"Oh please. Call me Kilroy."


"Clef? Clef, ya dead yet?" came a familiar voice over the vox.

Clef came to with a sharp intake of harsh forge world air, then immediately began coughing as grains of rust and shrapnel lodged in his lungs. "No...not yet," he coughed again and reached for his helm, and after pulling it on, took in deep filtered breaths. How anyone who wasn't a Space Marine could live here was beyond him.

"Shred. Better luck next time."

"Fret? Where are you?" Clef studied his surroundings. "For that matter, where am I?"

He stood in what appeared to be a snipers nest on top of a building in the slums. Forsworn was at his side, fat and silent from a night of feasting. Around him the Slums burned, and war carried on in the far corners of the Hive.

"Me and Elision crashed in a Hive north of your position."

"Frak, I'll get a transport and come get you," Clef held his head in a vain attempt to get his mind to clear.

"There is no need for that Clef. I don't have much time here before the Imperials find my position, but I needed to tell you a few things before I go," Fret sighed heavily in the vox. "I made a promise to someone here that I would stay and see this action through. So I won't be returning to the band just yet. But I wanted to tell you to be careful. And to watch your back and the band's. Keep an eye on Lyre and support your bandmates. Don't get comfortable in Ruffati's arms. It's a great way to dull your senses and ambitions. Don't let Lyre get comfortable either."

"Fret, you've been there my whole life with the band. Where are you going?" Clef ducked behind the sandbags as a shell passed overhead.

"You fool. I'm following my dreams and ambitions. Something you should have by now," Fret chuckled. "And if you don't, its time to make some."

Clef remained still behind the sandbags, stale ash and rust lingered on his tongue. His dreams? Did he have dreams? Was a Soul Slave permitted to have personal aspirations? Lyre just seemed to drift in and out of battle, with no real direction. What was it that he wanted?

"Take care Clef. Take care of those you call your own," the vox went dead, leaving Clef to his thoughts.

The sounds of battle didn't call to him as much anymore. What had he been doing when he passed out up here anyway? He remembered running the streets with Legato, he remembered catching up with Zither and the others. Something about Crasis and Sonata. With meditation the memories would return, but for now there were only strange lights and sounds. A Space Marine was supposed to have a perfect memory of everything that had happened to them, but there were still large gaps in his mind even years afterward. Maybe there was something wrong with him after all.

"Clef! Are you up there frakwit?"

Clef leaned over the sandbags and the side of the building to peer down into an alleyway. Zither sat astride an attack bike, looking up at him. Once he was satisfied the area was clear, Clef climbed down the side of the small building, and sat down in the sidecar. "Thanks Zither."

"We're pulling out of the Hive. Lyre sent me to find you."

"Pulling out? But the battle hasn't been won yet!"

"We weren't supposed to win it," Zither engaged the gear on the bike and began rolling up the street. "We were here for one purpose, to secure a landing and delivery zone for Ruffati to deliver supplies. That has been done. Supplies are delivered, and now we are pulling out."

"Shred," Clef cursed.

"Don't worry, there will be plenty of other opportunities."

Zither pulled onto a larger road and joined the exodus from Bearing Hive.


The noosphere was just as Fret had left it, a burned decaying mass of data and scrapcode. Gone were the data pools and fields of fractal blooms. Where subroutines once drifted through sane skies, they now fled before sentient and malicious spirits. Yet he still walked the charred landscape unafraid. With Morbid Overture at his back, nothing could threaten him. Overtures steps were his steps, and his thoughts belonged to her.

Her. How comforting. His steps were Hers.

They stopped at the remnants of the grove of data trees. Where he had pushed Acutus under the liquid streams of knowledge with his boot. The streams were gone now, dried up and evaporated away. But all was not lost.

Fret knelt and removed from his robe a small handful of fertile data-dirt created from his experiences, and the new knowledge that Morbid Overture had shared with him. This compost fed off scrapcode and dissolved the more ordered doctrines of the Machine. It was something new, something different and refined. From it sprouted a pair of brilliant green leaves, simple in their appearance, but crafted to endure any further attempts to destroy this place.

Fret scraped a small hole in the ground, then placed this compost and fragile growth into the dead structure of the noosphere. The two leaves became four, then eight, a shoot reaching higher and higher into the dead poisoned skies. Fret smiled and faded from the noosphere. In his search for balance he had found a much more potent element to base his work upon.

Harmony.