There was a desperation in the air for the Tau, a choking feeling that gripped their throats and lungs. Forced to hold a position which ran contrary to their conventional doctrines of warfare while slowly being zeroed in by the heavy guns of the Lehman Russ tanks threatened to break the fighting capacity of El'Vira's cadre. Little did she know that it was more than just her unit's fighting prowess being put to the test. Elsewhere, a group of ethereals debated wheather it was wise to continue letting them do so.

"Enough, Vre'Img. You have given Shas'O Diamoto's cadre enough scrutiny since the incident with the Chaos Daemons." Aun'Vre Kivang grumbled with a sigh. "You waste our time from more important matters, such as actually acquiring Deimos III and pacifying it from the Gue'la rule."

Kivang was still young compared to his fellow ethereals but old enough to carry some responsibility. In other words, his authority was not enough to influence all that he would have liked but it was just enough to get him yelled at. Like Diamoto's cadre, he too came from Sa'cea and ironically, so did Img though he wondered how the traditionalist and honorable Sa'cea ever managed to produce a grox such as Img.

"Respectfully, my fellow Aun, we cannot tolerate our commanders who may put the lives of our Firewarriors and their allies needless into danger, especially when they are in clear violation of the sound tactics already laid out in their training." Img asserted. The others on the council nodded. Kivang wanted to roll his eyes. The majority of the ethereals on the council were young and, he noticed, were good friends of Img. One only needed to mention "preserving the Greater Good" and they all would have their chins wagging though not having the wisdom to truly discern what that meant.

"All of our commanders must make decisions that will cost the lives of our troops. This is an unfortunate and hated fact of war. Diamoto's tactics may be unconventional but he achieves the objectives we ask, often outnumbered and in situations that usually warrants more cadres to be dispatched than just his own. Which I must note, you are the one who usually authorizes his missions while allowing no further hunter cadres to assist."

"I do this because I want to minimize the influence he may have on other commanders." Img snapped. This prompted inquisitive looks from the other ethereals. Their sagely demeanor and pursed lips demanded an explanation even if it went unspoken.

"I suspect that Shas'O Diamoto harbors within him the influence of the Mont'au and for a commander to have such tendencies, it cannot be allowed to taint others who may pick up on his poisonous actions."

"This is a grim accusation, Aun'Img. It is also without merit. Unconventional tactics alone mean nothing." Vre'Kivang replied flatly.

"Yes, but remember the last commander who suggested similar tactics? His traitorous deeds still continue to cost us as pockets of our Firewarriors break away from the Greater Good-"

"Similarities is still not proof. Are you suggesting that Diamoto may have sympathies for this...fallen commander?"

"I have no proof of that but it's a possibility. Nonetheless, we must still monitor him. If his whole cadre is staunchly loyal to him first instead of the Tau'va, what would happen if he went rogue...or joined the traitors' enclave?" Vre'Img challenged. There was silence for a long moment within the council chambers. Vre'Kivang, while understanding the gravity of what his peer was getting at, was still quietly relieved he still held seniority over this council.

"These are all important concerns, Vre'Img." Kivang started. "But now is hardly the time. We will keep watch over Diamoto's cadre but in the meantime, do not interfere with O'Diamoto or El'Vira's handling of the battle. It serves the Tau'va to pacify Diemos first. Then we will decide what to do with the Shadow Lance."


The Sisters of the Argent Shroud continued pouring over the raised hill from which Building 83 sat on. Down the slope, the treacherous xenos had set up their classic gunlines to rain missiles, rail and pulsefire. And despite it all, their faith in the Emperor was allowing them to prevail. They needed to get the building back and reinforce their Sisters inside. The usual reported status transmissions had fallen silent for over a month now. Beyond liberating the building from the enemy, they would have to investigate what happened.

But first things first. They continued to rain bolts which lit the night with red trails of fire into the makeshift defenses the Tau were crouching behind, be it ruined buildings or the woodline just below the muddy path that led up to the building. Another salvo of plasma pulses screamed from the woods. A few simply slammed and dissipated off the Sisters' ornate adamantium armor, leaving the faithful within staggered but otherwise unharmed. Most crushed through the holy alloy and sent the wearer to the Emperor's side. The losses were inconsequential. The orders came in to advance just in time for the Tau pulse rifles to fall mostly silent save for a few stray guns. Only the missiles continued to fall from the sky as the Sisters of Battle boldly advanced, their weapons continuing to fire as they were joined by the roaring engines of their rhino transports.

Ominously, they noticed noticed far more of those eerie, thread like, light blue beams starting to emerge from the dark and highlight their locations.

The Sisters pressed forward, keeping in time with their Rhinos as the pintle mounted flamers warmed up their heating elements in anticipation of the slaughter ahead. Had the Tau simply started to withdraw like they so often did? If so, why were the markerlights holding steady on them?

The ground just off to their flanks seemed to explode as if two artillery rounds had landed simultaneously next to each other. When the wet dirt and ruined grass settled, the Sisters spotted two Tau battlesuits staring back at them. Their design was like no other crisis suit they had been briefed on. These two were a head and shoulder taller than a standard XV8 battlesuit and were far more heavily armored. Camouflaged in the same blue, black and gray pattern of the Tau they had just been fighting, the machines raised their duel heavy weapons, ventilation ports already spinning as the guns warmed up.

The Tau resumed their storm of fire just as the XV9 Hazard suits unleashed a torrent of hellfire from their fusion cascades, incinerating warrior and vehicle alike. Overhead, a shoal of Sunshark bombers began to drop their payloads on the Lehman Russ tanks behind the ridge.

Shas'El Vira watched on, wondering if this was the turning point. Her gut told her the Gue'la were not finished with their surprises yet.


Diamoto was hauling himself off the floor when his questions turned into desperation. Judging from the sounds overhead that went skittering across the floor with fleshy slaps against the hard ferrocrete, it wasn't a question of whether or not there was something in the air vent, it was a question of what had just escaped it. The commander did not like being blind in the pitch dark. Despite having no vision to go by, Diamoto raised his pistol in front of him and drew the blade from its sheath, holding it in his other hand. He forced himself to steady his breathing. He didn't know what else was in the room but he didn't need to give it a hint that he was also there.

The lights flickered and then went on. Diamoto cursed the biological instinct to blink as the light burned his eyes. Squinting through the tears, the commander looked to his crisis suit only to be horrified at the realization that something else was already inside the cockpit. And what an ugly thing it was.

The Shas'O was not an Earth Caste scientist but he knew that this Gue'la had a very prominent mutation. Every human he had seen had two arms. This one had four. Gnarled, grotesque scars criss crossed every inch of its skin, fresh pink and red ones intersected and cut over gray and clammy old ones. It wore a long, eye burning pink sarong from which four dagger hilts poked out from the waistband. Its head was bald and just as ruined with scars as the rest of the body was. When it grinned under its two sharp, fierce eyes, two rows of jagged teeth were exposed as well as a serpentine tongue.

"Normally," the thing purred obscenely from its perch in the command cockpit. "I prefer to kill up close and personal, with my hands." It waggled and flexed it four hands at once and let out a giggle. "But I'm always for new experiences. Tell me, what do you feel when you fry your enemies from inside this thing? Does it even please you?"

Diamoto could only stare as the monster began to caress and feel inside his crisis suit, finding all the proper controls. The guns began to shift and move as the fiend watched from the open cockpit, enjoying every look of discomfort on the Tau's face. Finally, it found the main controls.

"You're no fun, you don't even fight back. Watching you vaporize better make it worth it then. Your race is too stoic. Ooh! Maybe I'll feel the fine particles of your blood rain on my face when you die!" the fiend hissed with glee.

The machine blarred something in the Tau language which was complete gibberish to the champion's ears.

"Oh? What an interesting language you have, what does it say?"

"'Unauthorized presence detected. Initiating purge.'" Diamoto replied.

The chamber lit up with a bright light as the reactor sent a massive electric shock through the entire cockpit. Diamoto could have sworn the fiend was screaming with as much pleasure as it was pain but...how could anything do that?

The Tau struggled to pull the still smoking body out of his chair when the butchery was over. The Shas'O didn't know which he was disgusted with more, the fact that he had to touch the thing's body or the fact that it had been all over his command chair. That ugly task done, Diamoto made himself comfortable and began to reactivate the controls, ergonomic interfaces lighting up for him. He set the rolled up scrolls aside in the chamber, already cramped to begin with and told the machine to press forward. Back to the mission. He made sure to step on the thing's head as he left.

"That was anti-climatic." he grumbled to himself.

He couldn't have seen its hand twitch as he left the room. It twisted into a rude gesture.


How many heartbeats is eternity?

Who knew how long that darkness lasted. Maybe it was a few seconds. Maybe a few minutes. Each heartbeat was a millenia even though Miguel knew they were only a second at most. The guardsman no longer knew which terrified him more, some primordial fear that made man more aware of his fragile mortality when alone in the dark that was as silent that was silent as the grave or the fact that there was a stray voice speaking in his head? Was there a daemon in his head? Has his lack of faith made him vulnerable to the Ruinous powers? Or even worse, was this the first sign of the madness that had overcome the Wretches he had fought past and slaughtered? Was he too going to lose his mind?

He desperately reasoned that madmen do not wonder if or acknowledge they are mad. He clung to this moment of clarity just in time for the servo-skull's eye sockets shone again. Both he and Gunther involuntarily let out a ragged sigh of relief.

"We can see again." The ogryn announced, joy thick in his voice.

"Praise the Emperor." Miguel replied, more out of habit than out of devotion before realizing there was no time to lose. While he still had this clarity he needed to capitalize off of it. It was what the Commissar would have wanted, that much was certain.

"Come on, we need to keep going." Miguel stated, ordering Gunther along as much as he was his own ankles.

The corridor continued on as narrow as ever. Miguel had to lean forward just slightly while Gunther was completely hunched over and mincing his steps as his flanks dragged along the walls, impeding his full range of motion. This went on far longer than either were comfortable with. Miguel was also growing tired with Gunther muttering under his breath.

"Silence and noise can be equally terrifying."

"Gunther, I need you to stop talking." Miguel grumbled, his lasgun never leaving his shoulder as he watched the corridor from down the barrel.

"But I'm not talkin." the ogryn protested.

"Yes you are, stop."

"I is bein quiet. You must be hearin other things, Mig'el." Gunther suggested. The shorter guardsman's brows dipped in worry before narrowing together. Maybe he wasn't hearing intelligible voices anymore but now they had become muffled whispers, nothing he could understand but they were there nonetheless.

Stay focused, Miguel. Stay focus. Maybe you'll hear the voices but you don't need to do what they say. You just can't give in to the temptation.

The two continued on and on. Miguel was starting to think that there would be no end to it. Gunther too was becoming impatient. The discomfort in his joints from constantly being crouched over and waddling did not help either.

"We's been doin dis fer a long time." Gunther allowed himself to grumble.

"What purpose does this shaft even serve?" Miguel joined in, thoroughly infuriated.

"Duh techpriest would know." Gunther shrugged.

"Right, well we don't have one with us."

"...do you hear that?" the ogryn asked after some contemplation.

The two strained their ears as Miguel searched to hear what Gunther was talking about. Silence reigned in the cramped shaft with only the faint hum of the servo-skull's motor joining their heartbeats in their ears.

"Wait," Miguel whispered. "That...that sounds like crying."

"Dats not good."

"Probably a Wretch. Be ready for trouble." the guardsman warned as he returned to his old stance with the rifle shouldered to his rifle. The two continued on cautiously but determined to overcome whatever foul company they shared. Each step was made as quietly as they could until they came upon a shadow cast in the crimson glare of the servo-skull's lights.

"There, ahead." Miguel whispered, finger inside the trigger guard and ready to fire.

The weeping figure was curled up in the shaft, head buried in its hands. The two immediately sensed something was different about this one Wretch. For one, despite the grime and muck, they could tell that the person was wearing what had once been expensive robes, all with intricate designs etched into the cloth. A cap of some sort sat utop the person's head like an oversized fez. Sobs continued to wrack the through the shaft.

"...I dun think it can hurt us." Gunther whispered in Miguel's ear. The guardsman powered through the ogryn's teeth shattering halitosis.

"I don't know, in these cramped spaces it might-"

"Please don't kill me." the person squeaked. The voice sounded feminine.

"Who are you, identify yourself!" Miguel ordered, lasgun pointed directly in front of him and at still sobbing newcomer.

"I'm...I'm Lusana." the woman whimpered, finally peeking at them. Her face, while tearstained, was partially obscured by a banded cloth that covered her eyes. This too was laced with more intricate designs. All at once, it hit Miguel.

"You're a psyker, aren't you?"

"I...I was an astropath here. They wanted me to send messages when necessary. Also, they kept me around to...to listen." And what a sorry looking astropath she was. Her robes were dirtied with holy maintenance oil, gratuitous amounts of dust and grime, not to mention other splotches on her robes suggested she may have been near someone getting slaughtered before she ended up in the shaft. She had a small frame, her cheek bones were starting to stand out on her skin and in the silent dark, one could hear her stomach growl.

"Listen to what?"

"You know...changes in the Warp."

"And how is it that you're all right and everyone is not?" Miguel demanded, growing more suspicious.

"But I'm not all right! I'm scared, everyone is! Oh god-emperor save us! I'm tired of being scared all the time." Lusana sobbed.

"A psyker that hasn't completely lost her mind in a building full of everyone else. I don't like this. You, get up!" Miguel ordered with a jab of his rifle.

"But it's not my fault! You have to believe me, Miguel! I just ran away before everything happened!"

Miguel sputtered when he realized he hadn't told her his name yet. "Stop reading my mind!" he snapped.

"Please! I just want to be safe!" Lusana wailed.

"You will not be unless you come with us or you make me angry! Even if you're a sanction psyker you're still a psyker and we cannot trust the mutant! Now get up, you're helping us get out of here!"


Diamoto turned his thoughts to what was going on above ground. Who knew how much deeper he had traveled. He stopped counting the levels after too many doors ended with him having to mop up the human refuse to attacked him more often than not with bolters and heavier weaponry. Those that were so far gone that they actually tried to attack his suit with his bare hands he simply walked over, not caring if he crushed them or not. He had not heard anything over the transmissions for a long time and his absence of the battle was starting to weigh heavily on his conscience. When was the last time he had spent this much time away from the rest of the cadre? And what about El'Vira? He was surprised she had even been transferred into his cadre. Surely, the Water Caste kept proper records that was available to the Ethereals and commanding Shas'Os. Wouldn't they know of the past he shared with her?

Focus, focus. Be still and unyielding as deep water. Win victory by victory, each task for its own time.

Rounding a corner, Diamoto strained his ears to hear something different from the usual background noise of distant, tortured cries and thrumming, groaning machinery. There was a flicker of a familiar red glow and the commander happened upon another derelict servo-skull floating in the center of the room. It had taken some damage. Sparks occasionally sizzled and escaped from a sizeable, jagged crater in the machine's temple and instead of hovering steadily, it wobbled and staggered about in a ballpark position in the air. Leaning down, Diamoto listened to a noise coming from the drone analogue.

"Computer, try to clear up the audio coming from this source. Search for possible translations in the Gue'la language." the Shas'O commanded. After a brief pause, a modified audio and text transcript appeared in front of him as he heard it in his own language.

"...We've done all the research we can. Every expert we could pull from the Ordo Xenos, Hereticus and Malleus cannot identify the origins of this artifact or what it serves but the fact that any psyker that enters this place immediately becomes on edge is a sign that there is something more to it. While it may not have a clear alignment to any of the recognized chaos gods...perhaps we may have to search deeper in the tomes that are usually forbid-"

Diamoto shook his head. The Gue'la may worship a corpse and inefficient machinery but he had to admit they knew far more on the fiends in the warp than the Tau did. He did not envy them on the ways and misfortunes that such knowledge was gleaned. The somber side of him said he was in way over his head. The Firewarrior declared he had to keep marching on no matter what. His onboard sensors warned him that danger was rapidly approaching.

An explosion rocked Diamoto around in his cockpit as it dawned on him that his suit's shield generator failed to adequately deflect a missile. The commander snarled in frustration at the controls as his displays fought to stabilize. Finally righting themselves, he soon found himself staring at yet another skitarii servitor, appropriately lugging a missile launcher over its shoulder. Diamoto casually noted the displays indicating superficial damage to the suit. He was more bothered to find that his comms relay had been compromised. His weapons coming back online, the Shas'O readied to fight back.

Diamoto stared in bewilderment as a heavy plate fell from the ceiling and crushed the combat servitor underneath it. He was going to take the opportunity to further curse the shortcomings of the Gue'la when he realized that there was a very familiar, and very disheveled, ogryn and guardsman on top of the metal slab. The abhuman's incredible bulk had finally overcome the weight of the years wearing the shaft away.

"Gue'vesa," Diamoto started, the confusion suffocating any sense of authority he was trying to convey. "What were you doing in that overhead ventilation shaft?"

"Whoa...fancy finding you just as that thing gave way. I thought it was another tremor. And what happened to you? Did you stand in front of a manufactorum exhaust pipe?" Miguel inquired with a raised eyebrow, noting the crisis suit's recent soot besotted and cracked appearance.

"That is none of your concern. Do you still have the skull drone?"

"Yes, its right here." the guardsman grasped the floating skull as it descended down to them.

"Very good. We can continue. It is good to see that you have survived. I was expecting I would have to rescue you."

"Ha, the Hammer of the Emperor does not need to be rescued." Miguel retorted as Gunther finally stood up, revealing the trembling, quietly sobbing mass that was Lusana who had been hidden behind his bulk the whole time.

"You have found other survivors?" Diamoto asked curiously.

"Sort of. She's a psyker. You can't trust them."

Lusana suddenly grasped at her head, nails scratching at her temples as her face contorted in agony. In her mind, she saw a horrific finger viciously tearing into ferrocrete.

"God-Emperor save us! He's going to break it! He's going to let it in! He's going to let it in!" Lusana wailed in horror. Gunther stared at her, his frown showing that he was rather disturbed by all of this.

"Is she suffering from a state of madness?" Diamoto asked curiously. While he had heard of these human "psykers" the database the Tau had on them was scant as best.

"This is just a psyker having a moment." Miguel grumbled.

"We have to stop him! He'll let the Warp in! Make it stop, make it stop!" Lusana screamed.

Elsewhere, Durnis and Sister Nymia watched the pict recordings. There was a fourth champion down in the holds with them and Lusana's rantings were not simply nightmares. Her words had an uncomfortable semblence to reality.