Yes'ruch stared at the human as he dangled the headset in front of her, "Why do you want me to do this? I do not know what your Inquisitors are like."

"If you don't, we're all dead anyway," the Victor said, his dour expression unchanged.

The Black Guardian was unsure what ramifications speaking with this "Commissar" would have, but the alien seemed to think they were in dire straits if she did not. Commissars were known to be feared members of the mon-keigh hierarchy, though beyond their apparent disregard for the lives of other humans (a trait she genuinely admired), their tasks and responsibilities were beneath her interest. Taking the comms, she turned the switch on and spoke clearly, "Yes, Commissar, what is it?"

The human on the other end seemed to be taken aback as he fumbled for words, "Inquisitor!? This is Commissar Jacobson of the 4063rd Recovery Regiment. I was informed that you would be visiting our installation here on XGN-T34-85."

"That is correct," she replied.

"To uh, that is, it is my duty to inform you that our sensors have detected an energy pulse near the landing zone you were scheduled to dock at. Such things are fairly common with aging war equipment of course, but there may be damage to the landing pad or atmospheric controls in the area."

Yes'ruch glanced at the human standing next to her and then looked down at the moon below. Although they were now many miles above the surface, the scored hole from the plasma charges along with the zig-zagging trenches where connected tunnels vanished under piles of collapsing rock were clearly visible. "Commissar, we were the ones responsible for that energy pulse."

"Could you repeat that?"

"We detonated charges underneath the landing zone. The tunnels are collapsed."

"What!?" the comms went dead, leaving Yes'ruch sitting there in silence. Beside her, the Victor human looked as though he were about to faint, holding his face in his hands and giving an ill moan.

"…You told him that?" he muttered through his glove.

"A crater visible from space would be difficult to hide, human, why deny it?"

The comms popped to life again, the Commissar's voice firmer, "Why, Inquisitor, did you deem it necessary to annihilate half of our subterranean complex?"

Another male voice yelled in the background, "I'm going to shove their goddamned melta bombs so far up their asses they'll be shitting slag for the next-"

"Clam up, Bradley, or I'll..." there was a shuffling sound, "issue you ten days of probation and… mandatory workplace sensitivity training? Oh, right, they're Sororitas."

"In answer to your question, Commissar," Yes'ruch interrupted, "Your negligent regiment built their installation over top of a... xenos... colony." She tilted her head towards the Victor as if to confirm that her nomenclature was correct but he was too busy massaging his brow and staring into the middle distance to notice.

"Excuse me?" the Commissar replied.

"Your kind knows them as Necrons," she continued. "Had your regiment been up to standard you would have known of their presence and dealt with them sooner. We found their infestation to be severe and initiated quick, decisive action."

"Necrons? Here? That's absurd."

"As far as I can tell, Commissar, the only thing absurd about it is how you and your men are still alive."

There was a brief pause as the human behind her gasped.

"Xeno, do you want them to open fire on us?!" he whispered frantically.

"It would be a mercy at this point…" she replied.

The speaker on the comms crackled for a moment before the Commissar's voice echoed throughout the bridge again, "Inquisitor, are you threatening an Imperial officer?"

"I am saying that, by the size and density of the Necron forces on your moon, you should have been overrun. Our intervention and the work of your Lieutenant Victor saved countless lives."

"Lieutenant Saunders? THAT GUY helped you?"

"What does he mean, 'that guy'?" The Victor said, his indignation apparently overruling his fear for a moment.

Ignoring him, she replied, "Yes, the assistance he and his men gave us was instrumental in averting the attack and neutralizing the threat."

"I uh… I see. Well then, um, we're proud to have sent our best. Might I ask what he's doing aboard your vessel?"

"He and his forces needed to be evacuated before the charges detonated. The Lieutenant Victor and his surviving comrades shall be returning to your installation shortly."

The Commissar grunted, "Surviving? What do you mean surviving?"

"The Necron forces on the landing zone were substantial and we took heavy losses. To be frank, Commissar, if it were not for your Lieutenant Victor's aid we would all likely be dead, yourselves included."

"That… I'm sorry. I didn't realize…" the static of a heavy sigh came over the speaker. "Very well, Inquisitor. I apologize for my harsh tone, but the insinuation was not—"

A lasgun shot came from the cargo area along with fierce yelling. The Victor nudged her on the shoulder and began thumbing frantically towards the door.

"Then do not insinuate with me again, human," Yes'ruch said sternly. "Your negligence cost lives, both your men's and my own. I shall return your Lieutenant Victor to you under orders to improve protocol, and I pray for your sake that I find your men more fit for duty when I return for inspection."

"Yes, Inquisitor, again, my apologies-wait, 'human'?"

Another shot rang out, this one fired into the hallway. A scorched bit of metal was torn from the interior wall, blasting the floor with a shower of heated sparks and bits of debris. The Victor grabbed his pistol and ran through the door, cursing and shouting the entire way.

Yes'ruch leapt from the chair, holding the microphone close to her warmask, "I must go."

"Wait, what's going on in there!?" the Commissar shouted.

"There is no time, Commissar. Walk in the… God Throne's… Golden Terra."

Tossing the headset before he could respond, Yes'ruch bolted out the door, vaulting the detritus that filled the corridor back to the cargo area. As she burst through the doorway she found the mon-keigh sniveling in the corner. One of them was dead. Another was nursing a bruise while the others held their lasguns at the ready. Palmarias stood with his witchblade outstretched, one of the Black Guardians at his side holding a fresh wound. The armor was already beginning to mend it shut, but the other Black Guardians each aimed their shuriken catapults with precision, prepared to mow down the humans.

The Victor tried to wrestle the Alex's lasgun away in a desperate attempt to stop the bloodshed. The two quarreled, striking and beating each other as the other humans watched their foes in nervous apprehension. Yes'ruch steadied her catapult, aiming squarely at the humans, but found herself reluctant to pull the trigger. Every tumultuous emotion in her breast was screaming for action but a voice in the back of her mind, the ever-present whisper she tried in vain to drown out, still came through: Wait.

Palmarias stepped forward, his blade singing in the air as he twirled it idly, savoring the high of battle, "I shall kill you all myself and commend your petty souls to the void that birthed your miserable species."

Infuriated, the Alex wrenched his gun away from his commander's grasp, "I'll give you a void, you witch!"

He fired his pitiful gun, las pulses spraying out as he shot from the hip at Palmarias. The Warlock pulled away, drawing his shuriken pistol as the shots were reflected by his rune armor. As he shot back, the sheen of light across his chest wavered slightly and one of the las shots found its mark, cutting a burning slice into his stomach.

"Look out, Sir!" One of the humans near the Alex shoved him out of the way, the shuriken passing through his own flimsy armor like it wasn't even there. The monomolecular blade tore into his body, through his armor again, and straight into the hull of the ship. Over the human's cries and the growl of the injured Warlock, every Eldar ear caught the tell-tale sound of hissing air escaping into the vacuum of space.

"You killed him," the Alex spat, the corpse of his comrade bleeding into his lap. "You son of a bitch!"

Palmarias reached down to find his stomach freely bleeding onto the metal floor. He pulled his hand back, his wraithbone gauntlet now drenched in his own blood. "Fire!" he cried. "Kill them all!"

The Black Guardians' turned nervously to one another, each acutely aware of what might happen if their shurikens pierced the damaged hull too many times.

The Warlock slammed his bloody fist into the ground, "I said fire!"

"You'll kill us all alright," the Victor said. The Lieutenant was panting and blood oozed down his nose from where the Alex had struck him. He placed a hand over the razor-thin hole in the wall, "How many… petty souls would that be?"

"Too many," Yes'ruch said, stepping between them.

The Warlock waved his pistol with an unsteady arm, "Get out of my way."

"You are dying, Palmarias," she said, kicking the weapon from his hand. "You need to return to the ship."

He gave a wet cough, choking and hacking in a manner completely unbefitting an Eldar leader. He instinctively tore his warmask off, the blood inside drenching the entire faceplate. His lips and teeth were cascading red, but the only stain she saw was that of fear; the universal Eldar fear of death.

The Warlock tried to swallow but spit out another mouthful of his own blood onto the floor. "Yes… damn it, yes, take me back."

"As you wish." Turning on her heels, Yes'ruch started back to the bridge, her boots leaving red footprints behind.

As she stepped through the door, the Alex caught her, "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

Yes'ruch turned slowly and found the Alex's dark expression eerily familiar, as if he reveled in the slow death his shot inflicted. Meanwhile, the Victor had wiped the blood from his nostrils and, in his disheveled commander's uniform, looked more ragged than any mon-keigh she'd seen before.

"Humans, enough lives have been lost. We will relinquish this vessel as soon as we have returned."

"Returned?" the Alex said. "You're our prisoners, xeno." He stepped back and kicked the Warlock on the ground, causing him to groan through bloody teeth.

"Don't get any ideas, our station's guns are still trained on this ship," the Victor added. "We just need to give them an excuse."

Yes'ruch chuckled but the Alex was quicker than she expected and slammed her in the gut with the butt of his gun, "Quiet, witch."

"You think…" she gasped, "Your comrades are the only ones watching this ship?" The Black Guardian straightened up, backing through the doorway, "Our ship has been watching this system for weeks. A dozen brightlances now wait to tear this hull to pieces."

The humans gave each other a baffled look before the Alex smiled, "You're bluffing."

"Would you like to find out?" she said. The two still held their weapons, their comrades behind them murmuring to one another warily as they continued to watch the Black Guardians before them. While they deliberated how much they wanted to die in a broadside of brightlance fire, Yes'ruch walked through the corridor and back to the pilot's chair. Turning the comms off, she engaged what thrusters remained operational and the ship began to thrum loudly, moving away from the moon.

She caught the clomping of boots behind her as the wavy form of her vessel just came into view. The scout ship held a steady low orbit over the planet, and just as she suspected, its cloaked weapons lined up shots on the rudimentary human vessel. The Victor strode past her, his jaw agape as the immense form of the ship loomed steadily closer, its hull opening like a tear in the fabric of reality to accept the broken human war machine into it. His laspistol swung absently by his side, almost dropping. The Alex looked awestruck as well but nonetheless held his barbaric weapon at the ready. He was by far a better trained soldier than his superior and Yes'ruch quietly wondered just how the humans decided their chain of command.

"By the Throne, that thing is enormous…" the Victor said, pressing a hand against the viewing screen. He turned to her, breathless, "What is it?"

"It is called the Se'laman Thesria. Be grateful, human, for few of your kind have ever seen an Eldar vessel this closely."

The Victor wrinkled his nose, "The Salmon Tessa?"

Yes'ruch sighed, "In your hideous mon-keigh parlance it translates to The Keeper of the Seven Keys to Ascension, Book II: Hemispheres."

"Hmph, a fancy name for a fancy tin can," the Alex added. "Any Imperial war vessel could rip those pretty streamers it calls bulkheads apart in a single salvo."

"I would invite you to try," she tersely replied, "but we are about to request docking clearance."

Both humans' heads spun so fast she thought they'd snapped their own necks, "WHAT!?"

She didn't reply, letting the scene speak for her as they neared the opening. Her mind touched those of the landing crew as the ship slowly moved inside, guided by their directions. Lines of Black Guardians patrolled the corridor, each with their eyes cast on the incoming ship. War Walkers and grav-tanks were wrested from hangers, their weapons at attention as their pilots silently took aim with their computers on the transgressing mon-keigh vessel. The black and bone motifs of their armor gleamed under the omnipresent yet nearly sourceless light emitted by the ship, its hull seeming to radiate a passive energy inside like a warm spring sun. The broken ship pulled into an empty hanger, one of many, as Yes'ruch suddenly recalled this was all supposed to be a mere training and reconnaissance mission.

Clumsily, the ship touched down, it's damaged wing sagging onto the landing strip like a hamstrung leg. Black Guardians arranged themselves in formation around the disabled hulk, its rear door struggling to open after being half-welded shut by glancing blows from the Necron gauss weapons. Yes'ruch returned to the cargo area with the two humans clutching their weapons like children holding security blankets, following her closely. She found two Black Guardians kicking the ramp down, its hinges grinding and groaning with every inch it was forced. Finally it slammed into the dock. The instant sight of a hundred shuriken weapons pointed right at them froze the already frightened mon-keighs in their tracks, and she could hear the pounding of their hearts.

A troop of Black Guardians immediately ran aboard, forcing the humans to their stomachs while the wounded and dead were hurried off the ship. Palmarias was carried away, his breathing weak. Yes'ruch watched as they moved him between the looming war machines. So long as they got him to the hospital wing in time, he might survive. She watched as spirit stones were gathered from a pair of Black Guardians who were not so lucky. Both succumbed to their wounds from the moon's tunnels, including the man she dragged back from arming the bomb.

"A mon-keigh vessel? Palmarias certainly has not lost his flair for unusual entrances." Yes'ruch looked up. It was another member of the Warlock Council, Emerseth.

"Palmarias was lucky to escape with his life," she replied, her psyker voice strong. "And his reluctance to heed my warnings cost two of our Black Guardians theirs."

Emerseth strolled aboard the vessel, stepping on one of the cowering humans pressed against the floor by the barrels of his soldiers. "You are one to speak of warnings, lost one. As I recall, I warned you not to dally with the practice of farsight while not treading the Seer's Path."

She bit her tongue. Emerseth was the more even-keeled member of the Council, but with Palmarias injured and the blood of two Eldar on his hands, she could sense even his patience was being tested. Looking over the cargo hold, the Warlock groaned, "So, some of the vermin are still alive? Are you looking to adopt them as pets?"

"No, more like…plants."

"Plants?"

Yes'ruch motioned to the one in a coat, his already bloody nose being shoved into the hard floor by an armored boot. "This human commander is cooperative. He is, for the moment, useful for keeping this planet under observation."

"And useful for telling his Imperium's forces that an Eldar ship is in their space, observing their planets."

Yes'ruch shook her head, she knew it would be an impossible task to convince the Council that human conspirators were necessary to safeguard, of all things, a lifeless gas giant. They would slay the humans and likely exterminate the entire moon installation before moving on, surrendering this whole sector to a hideous fate.

"Lost one, I am astonished." Emerseth said. "What in your perverted visions concerns you so gravely that you would stoop to consort with the mon-keigh?"

"I cannot tell you, Emerseth."

The Warlock strode forward, his hand ever so slightly brushing his robe from the hilt of his witchblade, "Cannot? Or will not?"

"Oh that I could, Warlock, but it is a vision that I alone must bear." Yes'ruch turned a weary gaze towards the mon-keighs, their fear and pain at the hands of her people only a slight comfort, "You cannot see all that I have seen, and to reveal any part without the whole would only drive you along a doomed course."

"Lost one, two Eldar died today, and I believe it was in no small part because of your machinations." Emerseth laid his palm firmly on his witchblade's grip. "I am going to have to explain to the Council the reason for their deaths. I am going to have to tell two grieving families that they died because you saw fit to stray for your wayward predictions." He lowered his head, the warmask imposing a harsh presence on her mind, "This is your last chance to redeem yourself."

Reluctantly, she lowered her mental barriers. His warmask linked to hers and she could see his baleful face in her minds' eye. "I will show you, under the strict conditions that you allow these humans to return to their moon unharmed and do not speak a word of this to the Farseer."

"Your actions do not place you in any position to be making conditions, lost one, and your queer attitude and pastimes lend you no favors."

Yes'ruch stepped forward, walking over a human lying on the ground as the Warlock followed. She felt the color drain from her face as a dozen Black Guardians accompanied them, their shuriken catapults at the ready. Apparently the humans were not the only ones with their freedom on the line. She led Emerseth and his entourage through the lower levels of the ship, each passerby seeing her more or less being taken prisoner by her own master. She could feel their condescending judgments in the air, her attenuation to their thoughts magnified by the warmask. Every one stuck like a knife in her gut, adding to the litany of scandal her presence evoked.

Eventually they reached the upper decks, where the meditation rooms and viewing portals lay. She'd spent many years in rooms like these, contemplating the future before the luminescent faces of the planets and their magnificent suns. It was in a room much like these she made the discovery that led her here in the first place. The vision she dismissed long ago.

"Here, Emerseth," she said, motioning towards one of the portals. Its frame glowed in welcome as she entered, the wraithbone sensing her psychic presence. "Cast your runes, see the future that will befall us if you murder those humans."

The Warlock stepped forward and saw the enormous surface of the gas giant XGN-T34. The planet stretched before them like an ocean, swirling clouds and raging storms of hydrogen and helium expanding far into the distance. Its orange light filled his warmask as he gave a questioning look towards her before reaching for his rune pouch. Pulling out the wraithbone shapes one by one, he began to cast them, his mind slipping between perception and reality as he saw the path before them. The images flashing in his mind were like background static to Yes'ruch, though she could tell the other Black Guardians in the room couldn't sense it. It was a kinship she felt only with those who travelled the Path of the Seer.

The runes hummed in warm light as they circled Emerseth, twisting and aligning themselves according to his divinations. He was not nearly as adept at Seeing as the Farseers, but it was something all Warlocks were able to manifest to some degree in order to conduct battle. As he reached for his fifth rune, the others contorted, their order twisting into something unnatural.

"I… don't understand," he said audibly, his psychic voice still communing with the runes. They danced before him, the fifth twirling around the planet in the viewing portal.

"But we destroyed them. The mission was successful. We… Isha's tears!"

She could sense his tension, his urge to see more. The Warlock was pulling too deeply from the Warp and his powers strained the limits of his own mind. One of the runes threw itself against the viewing pane, the wraithbone cracking and hissing before bursting into flames. Emerseth staggered backwards, catching himself on a small table and nearly knocking it over. The Black Guardians behind her jumped at the sight of their Warlock being overwhelmed. Yes'ruch could see the confusion on his face as clear as day through the warmask, his emotions laid bare by this sudden upset. Slowly he regained his composure, pulling himself upright and gathering the remaining runes which had fallen to the floor.

"Well?" Yes'ruch asked. "Did you see the horror that awaits?"

"I saw…"

"And the humans?"

The Warlock looked at her as though she'd grown two heads, "After seeing what I have seen, their fate still commands your attention? Are you daft?"

"Pragmatic, Emerseth. I know you do not trust my foresight, but you must let those humans go. Too many Eldar lives are at risk."

The Warlock shook his head but replied, "Fine, very well, let them return. Though if these visions are true, it would be more merciful to kill the now than subject them to the things I have witnessed."

"Without them, those horrors will encompass more than just a few planets."

"I hope all our sakes you are right. Besides, even if they do inform their Imperium of our whereabouts, we will be long gone before any reinforcements arrive."

"You…you would have us just leave!?" Yes'ruch did a double-take, "Why!?"

"Because…" The Warlock stepped forward, looking intently at the planet beneath them. "We are going to need a bigger ship."

The Naglfari hung in the air over the lowest precipice of the Gypsy Road tower, wearing its night shields like a skirted storm cloud. Warriors of the Kabal of the Iron Maiden stood in rows along the edge of the skiff, their chain belts secured to the rig, ready for flight at a moment's notice. Auroq, Archon Irons' Sybarite, watched from the gun at the bow, hoisting the dark lance to and fro as he scanned the tower with the targeting sensors. Behind them, sitting on her deck chair, the Archon caressed the barrel of her blaster in anticipation. Her reluctant Canoness swayed beside her, giving a nervous look over the edge of the grav-craft to the harrowing fall that would await should she lose her balance.

"Afraid of heights, my dear?" Archon Irons purred. A small box beside her echoed her statement in the mon-keigh language as she reached for two chain leashes on the arm of her chair. Fastened to them were a pair of broken Sisters, clad only in the written litany of sins they'd committed, each affixed to their bodies by wax seals. The Archon had to admit, these "Sororitas" had a certain flair for torture and humiliation.

The Canoness returned to her usual stoic demeanor, "Death would be a blessing for me."

"Not at all, Athena," Archon Irons chirped, pulling on the chains. The two Sisters, drugged and hallucinating, clambered towards the Archon. They crawled like animals to her feet where they gently caressed her armored boots, each one rubbing her cheeks upon them like a cat. The Archon smiled broadly, "You are about to kill 'xenos', yes? You mon-keigh like killing xenos."

The Canoness gave her a stern look as the box repeated her words, "Not as thralls, daemon."

Erinyes reached beside her and pulled up the Agonizer, its tip grazing one of the almost naked Sisters at her feet, causing welts all across her back. "What was that?"

The Canoness lowered her gaze, "Nothing… my Archon."

"Wonderful," she said, placing the whip down beside her once more. "Do try to cheer up, you and your Sisters are in for such a treat!"

Canoness St. Claire returned her attention to the scene below, "We are to be your shock troops, correct? With any luck we will find the Emperor's peace before the night is through."

"Some of you will, I have no doubt," Erinyes said. "But first you will witness the beauty and the majesty of the Cult of Claws in action." She yanked the chain of one of her pets, pulling the crazed Sister into her lap. "What mon-keigh can claim to have beheld such a spectacle before?"

The Canoness swallowed but said nothing.

"I mean as a spectator of course. Plenty of your kind have been torn to crimson shreds by the Cult but those hardly count. You will get to savor every emotion, every tumultuous display as they seek revenge on Salendrid."

Canoness St. Claire rested her hand on her hip and the other on the pommel of her power sword, "Just who is this Salendrid?"

"That, my pet, is an Eldar matter."

"Apparently not, since you need our help to kill him," the Canoness quipped.

Archon Irons leaned forward in her seat, causing the Sister in her lap to fall out. Crossing her hands across the butt of her blaster, she rocked back and forth on the rounded barrel between her legs, giving the Canoness a wicked grin. "My, my, you do have quite the viper's tongue. How about this, when the night is over and I am lying in my old chambers once more, I will tell you about Archon Salendrid and the little game he ran."

The Canoness's curiosity got the better of her before she could hide behind her usual stone cold expression.

"Of course, this would imply certain… favors."

Archon Irons ran her steel-clad finger down Athena's jaw, causing her to flinch. Narrowing her eyes, the Archon licked her lips in anticipation of the night to come as she sized her up.

Canoness St. Claire recoiled away, backing into the railing by the edge of the stern, "In my nightmares, monster!"

"Come now, do you think I let you keep wearing that armor just for functionality?" Erinyes replied. She stood up and approached the Canoness, leaving the two almost naked Sisters by her chair. Athena shuffled away but the Archon grabbed her and forced her close, one hand firmly grabbing her armored ass, and the other holding the pulsing darklight tip of her blaster to her face. "And what did you call me?"

"N-nothing, my Archon."

Wrapping her arm around her neck, Archon Irons grabbed the Canoness' hair and yanked her head back. Gasping in shock, she was stifled by Erinyes' burgundy Eldar lips. Her kiss was toxic, and Canoness St. Claire felt the life being drained from her as the Archon literally took her breath away, sucking her tongue into her mouth. It was as if she were stealing a piece of her soul.

Her impulses contented, Erinyes released her captive, letting the Canoness sink to the floor of the grav-craft. She wiped away a bit of the human's blood from her lips before slipping into her chair once more. Looking up, she spotted Reaver and Hellion gangs skirmishing across the skylines. Their occasional jots of splinterfire and the jinking of the bikes and skyboards made for passable entertainment as her plaything recovered. The Archon smirked as a passing Scourge claimed one of their numbers, plucking a hapless skyboarder from his mount with its talons and carrying him off into the dizzying heights of the city spires.

Then the mood shifted. The skirmish above stopped, the pilots fanning out as one, beckoned by their mistress to make way. Erinyes felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end; her Sisters would be deployed soon. From above, a wave of grav-craft began to circle the tower, falling out of the distortion of the webway like a plague of locusts. Skyboards and jetbikes whirled around, their weapons fixed on the enemy gun emplacements. The occasional Raider and Venom filled out the spindly attack force, each loaded to the brim with Wyches of the Cult of Claws. The Gypsy Road now certainly knew it was under siege but strangely they made no attempt to rout this assault.

Erinyes raised her hand, "Bring us down, helmsman. The Sisters should be along shortly."

"Yes, my Archon," he replied, lowering the Naglfari to the road below. The streets were empty, with the casual pedestrians long since driven off by the feuding Hellions and Reavers above. All that remained were the guards of the Gypsy Road, though more Kabals still loyal to Salendrid would surely lend their aid at any moment. At least until they were certain that the Gypsy Road were no longer holding their leash. Eldar loyalty tended to be as capricious as their temperaments.

A crack of darklight rang out and everyone looked up. The swirling tempest above erupted into chaos as splinterfire and dark lances blasted the side of the tower. Disintegrators lining the spires immediately fired back, mowing down the stragglers with their plasma shots. These weren't the casual dunces the Archon was used to seeing in a Kabal's ranks, but veteran soldiers, methodically pelting the most dangerous targets with unrelenting streams of superheated matter. Warriors supported by splinter racks laid down withering shots from the higher floors, and a wing of Gypsy Road assault craft reared into the air, protected by the high walls of one of the many courtyards.

The Cult of Claws still had the advantage of speed however. Wyches leapt from the Cult's Raiders with startling precision, landing on the enemy porticos and decks, cutting the warriors to ribbons with their infamous hydra gauntlets. Erinyes smiled as the first of the purple Gypsy Road Raiders fell from the sky, its engines flaming as it crashed into the streets before them, illuminating the faceless helmets of dozens of warriors cowering behind covering walls.

"Alright," she said, looking over the burning wreckage, "it's time we make our move." Erinyes tapped the side of her deck chair, "Glaucon, release the pigs."

The sound of distant motors rumbled through the breathlessly high towers around them. It wasn't the shrill cry of a grav-engine but the chugging, lumpy sound of the mon-keigh vehicles. Erinyes cast a glace over her shoulder to the Canoness who looked as though she were going to be sick. In the distance, painted war machines rolled forward, with banners unfurled and prayers affixed across the armor like parade floats. Erinyes nodded to the Canoness who, with a nervous look, stepped off the grav-craft. The Naglfari rose into the air once more, its engines silent as it wafted about, giving all aboard a good look at just what the Archon's new "Haemonculus" had cooked up. A dozen tanks of varying sorts rolled in formation, escorting a number of the Sisters on foot. From their armor to their vehicles, each was clad in dark purple and blood red, accented with trim of tarnished gold. It was a stark contrast from their previous piercing silver and Erinyes had to appreciate the melodramatic change. It showed commitment.

Lumbering behind the formation of rolling tanks were the Grotesques, each one a former Sister, their features as twisted as the dark heart that lovingly carved them. Mixed in with their numbers, however, were several hulking machines that made the Archon's heart skip a beat. They were abominably ugly, brutish things, like walkers. They carried an enormous flamer on each arm along with buzzsaws and chain swords affixed to the promethium engines. The pilot wore only a simple robe, their body plugged into the machine from behind by a dozen thick wire braids. There was no armor, no protection at all, and the remains of the previous occupants were left to coagulate on the metal grate that supported the crucified Sister. Every so often one of them would flinch, their pilot letting out a pained and exhilarated gasp that made Archon Irons grin with delight.

"I had no idea the mon-keigh were so creative when it came to torture!" she said out loud, pointing at the machine with the tip of her blaster. "What do they call that?"

"I have not the faintest, my Archon," Auroq replied from the bow. "Personally I find it droll."

"You never were one for the baser arts of torture and humiliation," she said, still peering over the ledge. "Ah, these humans are after my own heart. Ready now, they are about to attack."

The Sisters hunkered down behind their war machines, ready for the signal as the Gypsy Road guards lied in wait. Though the road that lead to the Iron Maiden's old lair was by no means as well defended as the other Kabals who called this spire home, it was still carved into the tower in such a way that it could be held by a small force. What's more, the new occupants seemed to have wasted no time settling in as new battlements were jutting from above the main gate.

Archon Irons tapped a sensor on the armrest of her chair, "Kylendris, the Sisters are in position."

A crack was heard in the distance and the Naglfari glided back, giving a panoramic view of the tower's base. A faint shriek was heard, followed by the rupture of four of the battlements in a symphony of explosions and plasma. Purple armor with the limbs still inside sprayed across the road as the first layer of protection was stripped away. Moments later the Razorwing Jetfighter zoomed across the sky, its dark lances firing wildly as it jinked away from the flurry of disintegrator shots coming from the upper levels.

Canoness St. Claire drew her power sword, holding on to the frame of one of her metal boxes for support as it slowly rolled, "Forward, my Sisters! Cleanse this befouled ground with His holy flame!"

The formation charged like a wall of steel, the spiked dozer blades on the front of the machines tearing the battlements down and crushing the front gate. A hail of splinterfire erupted as soon as the mon-keigh cleared the gate but it was no use against such thick plates. The tanks stopped as their turrets flared to life. Three heavy flamers swiveled effortlessly back and forth, spraying their payload over the hapless Gypsy Road Eldar below. The jellied flames rolled right over whatever cover they tried to take and boiled them alive inside their own armor. Steam and smoke were all that remained as the merciless Sisters rolled forward in tight formation. Next, to the Archon's dismay, a line of tanks fired three streams of melta into the side of the tower, carving long divots into the barricaded door before bulldozing the entire wall down.

The Grotesques barreled through the opening first, pulverizing anything alive inside until their victims bodies were nothing but scraps of meat. The Sisters themselves however were more methodical, each squad using their flamers to burn out a room before sending its occupants in to systematically clear the survivors with grenades and bolters. Some Sisters carried melta weapons, which Erinyes despised, as the mon-keigh had no reservations about making a door where they felt one was too well defended.

"It seems our home will be liberated in no time at all," Auroq said, watching with well concealed amusement.

"Yes, but now the repairs will take ages," the Archon moaned. She tapped a sensor on her deck chair, "Canoness, if your Sisters punch one more hole in my beautiful tower, their bodies will be used as the mortar to fix it."

There was a pause as the box beside her slowly translated the sentence, then a tense, "Yes, my Archon."

"Good," she replied. Turning to her helmsman, she wafted her hand upwards. The Naglfari rose straight up, dodging the disintegrator shots still bristling from the tower's lower levels. The upper portion however was clogged with the fresh dead of the Gypsy Road, their warriors being picked over by some Hellions by the Cult of Claws. As the Raider moved closer, the Archon stood up, her warriors unchaining themselves from the grav-craft and moving behind her in two rows. Stepping off the Raider, she trod lightly on the corpses of the poor defenders, their bodies making a fine red carpet for her arrival.

Archon Irons stepped through the main opening to the upper portions of the tower. She'd been here only a handful of times, but like any aspiring Eldar, knew the layout of her adversary's lair by heart. The ordinarily pristine curtains and flowing carpets were now stained with the blood and liquid poison of hundreds of dead warriors and sycophants. Some still clung to life, their wails strategically placed so that the survivors could fuel the bloody power from pain her kind extracted in the heat of battle. The Archon and her entourage stepped over bodies and discarded weapons, strolling to the throne room as if it was Erinyes' own coronation.

Two massive cathedral doors came into view, open to a grand room of marble and lined with the dazzling light of glowing pearls. Contained in each was the soul of some sentient being that had at one point slighted the Archon of this tower, each eternally tormented by the crushing pressure of their prison. She could feel their pain roll over her like the waters of a warm bath as she entered and took a moment to bask in her accomplishment. About a hundred Wyches lined the room, which accommodated their numbers and then some. Encircling the throne was Succubus Chariath, escorted on all sides by her Bloodbrides. Surrounding the throne with glaives outstretched were a handful of Incubi, their ranks closed around their master with a duty and loyalty no other Commorrite possessed.

"My Archon!" Erinyes bellowed, bowing deeply as she stepped upon the throne room floor, "How delightful it is to find you unharmed."

"Erinyes Irons," Salendrid growled, standing from his throne, "What in Vect's name are you doing here?"

"Resuming my throne, of course," she replied. "And catching a front row seat to watch the Cult of Claws exact their revenge."

"Your throne!?" Salendrid coughed, breaking into a hearty laugh, "Oh, 'Archon', you really have got it twisted."

"Silence," Chariath demanded, pointing her lightning claw at the Incubi before her. The heavily armored warriors locked ranks, their lethal weapons at the ready.

"You would do well to remember who's house this is, Syren," he shot back. "And as for you, Erinyes…" he drew his blast pistol, "Do you have any idea how much pressure I spared that pathetic gang you call a Kabal?" He pointed at the walls, gesturing to the pearls containing his former adversaries, "I gave you a home, protection from the innumerable dangers this city possesses, and this is how you repay me? Storming my home with a band of Wyches out for blood, a band of crazed mon-keighs, and those shiftless vagabonds you call your warriors?"

Archon Irons held her blaster and took careful aim, but no matter how she lined her shot the Incubi seemed to stand in the way as if they knew her every move. "You killed Lady Arataire, Salendrid. As the new sponsors of the Cult of Claws, offering to help in their revenge is the least I can do."

"About that," he said, his voice low and dark, "I believe there was a misunderstanding between our two organizations." He turned Chariath who, to Erinyes' surprise, was still not tearing the Gypsy Road Archon to shreds. "Syren, it is my understanding that the Coven of the Didactic Cave refuses to uphold your regeneration contract, correct?"

Chariath lowered her claws, "The contract was between them and your Kabal on our behalf, not us directly. They are… adamant about this."

"Then it seems without my say so, your Succubus remains deceased," Salendrid said matter-of-factly.

"It was your hand that killed my Lady," she replied, raising her weapons once more, "And I shall extract our revenge in full."

"There is no need for that, Syren." He said, raising his hand. "I shall authorize your regeneration contract and have the Haemonculi return your Succubus to you. Certainly this carnage is toll enough for the inconvenience of a few… terse and heated words between us."

Archon Irons sneered, "You must think Chariath a fool to fall for such a simple ploy." She raised her blaster and prepared to pick off the closest Incubi.

"Wait," Chariath said, "What assurance do I have that you will keep your word, Salendrid?"

The Archon steepled his fingers, "Why, I have a member of the Didactic Cave right here, ready to deliver my orders at a moment's notice."

Erinyes raised an eyebrow as Salendrid gestured to a far door. From behind it stepped a Wrack with a metal claw for a hand, escorted on either side by a Grotesque.

"Glaucon?" she mouthed almost silently as he stepped into the room.

"My Archon," he said with a bow, the metal mask on his face reverberating his speech, "We have begun repurposing the lower levels, as you requested. My master says these new accommodations will be adequate to begin the creation of your Grotesques and any regeneration process you require once the equipment is in place."

Salendrid grinned, "You see? Lady Arataire shall be returned to you once more."

Chariath looked to the Wrack and Salendrid, then to Archon Irons. Erinyes' blaster lowered as much as her jaw as the shock of what was taking place hit home.

"I find your terms agreeable," she said at last.

"Fantastic, Syren. I will be sure to inform Lady Arataire of your unwavering loyalty in seeing her returned." He motioned towards his own bodyguards, "Your sense of duty rivals that of even the Incubi."

"I… thank you, my Archon," she said, bowing low. Every wych in the hall did likewise, their presence no longer a threat to the master of the Gypsy Road.

Archon Irons gritted her teeth. Her victory was so close she could taste it and now it was slipping through her grasp. In anger and frustration she cried out, firing her blaster at Salendrid. One of the Incubi immediately stood in the way and their armor was vaporized by the blow. No sooner did the guard's corpse hit the ground however than Chariath was at her neck, lightning claws a mere breath from her pale skin.

"Do not attempt that again," she said.

"I thought… we were your sponsors," Archon Irons said.

"You are," Chariath replied. "I have no quarrel with you, Erinyes. But the Gypsy Road is our sponsor as well, and if it is a choice between the two…"

"You would be doing us both a favor, Chariath," Salendrid said. "The Iron Maidens know nothing of loyalty or gratitude, and her continued existence is a disgrace to my own good nature."

The acting Succubus turned around, "I cannot kill my own sponsor."

"Of course. As I said, your loyalty is daunting," he purred. Raising his blast pistol he added, "So allow me."

Archon Irons felt a tug on her armor as she was forced backwards. One of her warriors fell in the way, taking the darklight shot to the chest as she stumbled back towards the door.

"Haha! What's the matter, Erinyes? Lost your taste for violence already?" Another darklight shot cracked down the hallway, claiming another of her warriors as she sprinted towards the patio. Vaulting the bodies that lay strewn at her feet, Erinyes cursed and spat the entire way, launching herself out the door.

Though Salendrid was on her heels, she was forced to pause at the sight that greeted her once in the open air. Hundreds of grav-craft from a dozen smaller Kabals circled the tower, their weapons combing the parapets and spire towers for hostiles, waiting for the order to engage. The march of Incubi behind her shook her back to her senses and Erinyes leapt onto her Raider still lingering over the balcony.

"My Archon," Auroq said, gripping the bow-gun. "We are surrounded, what happened in there?"

"Get us out of here!" she replied, scrambling against the deck railing. Her warriors slung themselves over the railing as Salendrid ran out to meet them, escorted by the Succubus and his Incubi guards.

"Come now, Erinyes, can't you at least die with dignity," he said, reaching to his belt.

She took a snap shot at him as she frantically waved her pilot on. The Naglfari lurched forward and Salendrid tossed his present aboard, letting out a chuckle as the Raider slipped out of sight. Erinyes watched the familiar orb roll to and fro, desperately trying to kick it overboard before it exploded in a haze of ozone and electromagnetic waves. The haywire grenade shuddered through the Naglfari's engines, overriding the controls and sending it careening at full speed through the webway. The helmsman frantically tried to correct the course as everyone aboard held on for dear life. The two Sisters that were chained to the deck chair fell overboard, strangled by their own collars. Looking back, Erinyes saw the other Kabals in pursuit.

"Helmsman, bring us down! We need to lose them in the lower city!" she ordered.

He smashed the console with his fist, "The controls are fried, she won't respond!"

The Naglfari's engines shrieked to their breaking point as it plowed through the webway, higher and higher. The console gradually reactivated and the helmsman threw the craft into a spiral, sending it down one of the wraithbone tubes that made up the many arteries of the webway. Commorragh thinned below them, its massive spires dwindling into a vast and endless sprawl as the Raider tore through the shifting connected passages. The Gypsy Road sycophants however refused to give up the chase. There was blood in the water, and Erinyes knew there had to be a bet on claiming her head.

The walls narrowed around them with every turn, the familiar gallery of webway portals revealing themselves to the precarious crew. Each one seemed to stretch forever down a twisted avenue or lead to the inky blankness of Realspace. Erinyes cursed and pointed one out that seemed familiar. The helmsman swung the Naglfari around, its aethersail cracking at the strain of the maneuver as the ship hurled through the void, dragging its occupants into whatever fate awaited them beyond.