"Shriek the lips across ragged tongue,
Convulsing together, Sing violently,

Move the jaw, cry aloud,

Bound up the dead triumphantly
The ragged they come and
The ragged they kill!
You pray so hard on bloody knees.
The ragged they come and
The ragged they kill!
Down in the cool air I can see,"

Rob Zombie- "Superbeast"

Track 11: Hell Hath No Fury

With the dawn came the first of several space-to surface Munitorium transport shuttles. They appeared on the horizon as fat insects, then swooped in low to land just outside Eagle Canyon. Chapter serfs of the Silver Eagles stood waiting with ground transports of their own to carry the supplies to the fortress monastery. As each transport arrived at the fortress, Ruffati would study it through a pair of binoculars, then make notations on his dataslate. His grin slowly widened with each load. His decision to postpone the attack was going to pay off nicely.

Along the river banks, in shallows or various thickened areas of vegetation, the Noise Marines had hidden themselves, waiting for the command to finally attack. Lyre had to admit that Ruffati had chosen his bands well. Noise Marines were not typically patient, but the bands represented here had outstanding discipline given the circumstances. Lyre had positioned himself and Fugue near Monody's camp. Where he could give orders to Monody and Sonata easily, as well as provide them extra protection should the few Silver Eagle Neophytes out on patrol wander too close. Clef had embedded himself with Forlorn Hope at Darren's side. There was still no word or sign of Riff, and Legato and Vamp had gone missing as well.

Across the river, Darren was having the worst of it with Forlorn Hope. His warband consisted of the youngest and most impatient Space Marines, even though it was the largest band that Ruffati had brought with him. Darren kept them under control with either Float or Bliss, which as the names suggested, tended to relax and subdue the ones with narrow attention spans. Darren had been crouching in the bushes, studying the fortress for the best attack strategy with Clef when one of newer bandmates approached him. The boy moved silently, and barely disturbed even the grasses around him. He would make an ideal scout given proper training.

~Hey boss,~ he whispered once he came close enough.

~Noise discipline ya bastard.~ Darren reminded him. He wasn't interested in conversation.

~Just a quick question.~

Darren looked away from the fortress, knowing that he wasn't going to get rid of this kid until he answered something. ~What, and make it quick.~

The young Space Marine patted a trunk next to him. ~What are these wood things with the green bits up top? Never seen one before.~

~...Trees. They're called trees you frakwit.~

~Oh. So that's what they look like,~ he turned, looking up to study the branches. ~Can you eat them?~

Darren sighed heavily in his helm. Hivers. He could always pinpoint the hive dwellers. ~I'll shove this tree down your throat so far it will come out your arse if you do not shut up and return to your position.~

~Yes boss.~

Beside him Clef could barely suppress a chuckle.

~And you shut up. You didn't even know Space Marines could breath underwater.~

~Point taken,~ Clef calmed himself by running his fingers over Forsworns strings.

Darren looked back across the river to where he knew the rest of the Aristocrats had secreted themselves away. He was beginning to see Lyre's minor stroke of genius in not taking his armor with him, and likewise Ruffati's lighter carapace armor. Lyre resembled any one of the pilgrims still left here, albeit taller, but he still blended in well enough. Ruffati was the same. With a monks robe tossed over his carapace, he too was able to move freely between the bands, giving orders as needed. Darren watched as Lyre went to Monody's camp, and knelt before Sonata, as if asking the Battle Sisters blessing, That was another difference in the Aristocrats from the other warbands, and even most Astartes Chapters he had come across. Never would a superior kneel before a subordinate, even in clandestine missions. Yet there was no hesitation on Lyre's part. Darren wondered if Lyre's actions would have been the same if Sonata were a man, would he still take a knee then?

Near the shrine to St. Vera, Sonata turned as Lyre approached her, then knelt gracefully before her. Monody was near, seeing to the last group of pilgrims to leave the valley. Sonata, in keeping with her disguise reached out and rested her hand on Lyre's head.

"I had heard what happened dear Sister," Lyre said, his voice low and unassuming. "Know that the shame weighs heavy on me as well."

Sonata's grip unknowingly tightened.

"It was a sin to have such glory taken from capable hands, and that the other Sisters might not ever avenge their fallen Brothers. Yet I know that you are better than that Sister. I know that you will not let the actions of old greedy men," his gaze flickered to Ruffati for a moment before returning to the ground. "Stop you from claiming what is rightfully yours. Perhaps the heavens hold an answer."

Sonata let go and pulled her hand away. Under her silver mask a smile began to spread, brightening her mood considerably. Her band leader had just given her permission to disregard Ruffati's order and to carry out with the original mission. She turned her gaze upward as the "pilgrim" at her feet rose reverently and vanished into the surrounding trees.

Overhead another transport streaked above the valley, heading for the landing field just outside Vera's Gate. Hundreds of serfs and laborers in dark heavy hoods pulled carts or carried boxes on their backs. A plan began to form in her mind, a risky one, but one that could yield great reward. With a gesture she rounded up the other Sisters, and they all joined in a circle, kneeling for an early afternoon prayer. Sonata began to use the sign-language of Solresol to speak to the other women.

~Our fight is not yet over,~ she set her firm gaze on the silver-masked faces around her. ~Do you truly wish to step aside and let these Space Marines take the stage without us? Shall we always be second in the eyes of our bands? Battledancers of Vortex Kin and Dark Muse, is that how you wish to be remembered? As easily discarded trinkets?~

She had their attention now. Hard, determined eyes met her through every mask.

~I have a plan, to get back inside the fortress, this time we will be unknown and unseen, just as it should have been the first time,~ Sonata pointed up to the sky at another transport. ~We sneak in with the cargo. I care not how it is done, just that we are quiet, and remain hidden.~

Now this was something they could all get behind, band loyalties and rivalries aside. After tossing a few plans back and forth, they set forth on their new mission. Later when Monody went looking for Sonata, all he found was a circle made of silver masks on the riverbank.

Silver Eagle Scoutmaster Sulawesi watched as the last of the Pilgrims left through Vera's gate. The heavy adamantium gate would be closed for good at sundown by himself and a few of his chosen scouts, and then the valley would belong to the Silver Eagles once more, save for one group of guests. Chapter Master Lord Steller had granted Father Monody and his personal guard of Battle Sisters permission to stay the night and rest before their journey. Lord Steller was often generous with traveling members of the priesthood, yet Sulawesi wasn't so sure of his Lords judgement this time.

He made it a personal task to monitor the Sisters, finding it odd that a single priest would have an entire squad of battle-ready Sororitas with him. It was as if they were expecting something, or even worse, were not what they seemed. Father Monody so far had taken a seat by the riverbank and not budged. On occasion on of the Sisters would come and kneel before him, and they appeared to exchange words. Not through voice, but through a kind of sign language. Sulawesi had come to know a good amount of the different kinds of battle signs used throughout the galaxy, but the graceful movement of fingers flowing from one suspected phrase to another was completely new to him. When the Sisters vanished from his sight entirely, he felt a growing sense of dread in the pit of his stomach.

Carefully he issued orders over his vox bead for the scouts secreted away in the many caves and tunnels along the walls of the canyon to monitor and report any suspicious activity. After twenty minutes of no report of the Sisters, Sulawesi began to become uneasy. The Chapter Master had to know about this, but Sulwesi still wasn't certain it was a matter for concern. The women may have found a grotto to explore or even gone about one of the odd female rituals of finding a place to relieve themselves as one group. There was one person who would know for sure.

At key points along the crest of the canyon were "crows nests" where a battle brother would be

stationed to supervise the many cannons and other sensory equipment that protected the fortress. They would have access to the proper scopes and machines to scan the canyon for the missing Sisters. "Sparrow to Crow," Sulawesi subvocalised in his vox. "Can you do a sweep and tell me if you catch sight of the Sisters?"

"Planning on inviting one to stay Sparrow?"

"Don't be vulgar. Scan."

After a moment he had a reply. "Targets located at the copse of trees near the northwest bend of the river."

Sulawesi nodded. So far his theory of a bathing ritual of some sort seemed to hold true, that was the most secluded place in the valley outside of the fortress. "Maintain surveillance of the targets, Sparrow in flight."

Sulawesi left orders with his scouts to continue their tasks until he returned. He knew the canyon as well as his own body, every pore in the rock, every small eddy in the river to the numerous tunnels honeycombed through the canyon walls. Using a crack in the rock, he spider-climbed his way to one of the crows nests and pulled himself inside. "Have they moved any-"

Instantly the smell of blood hit his senses. The inside of the crows nest was carnage. Three Silver Eagles had been positioned here, and they were not weak ones either. Intestine and other offal had been spread across the consoles and weaponry. Sulawesi felt his rage build as he reached for his ear bead to alert the scouts and Lord Steller of the attack. But instead of the familiar blurt of static, there was nothing. "Sparrow to Quail," he called anyway. "Sparrow to Quail?" still nothing.

He raised his bolter and careful stepped across the small room to a backup system. It was a primitive siren, but could get the job done in a pinch. The siren had been destroyed, along with all mechanical components inside the Nest. With a curse to the Throne on his lips, Sulawesi climbed back down from the Nest to the next point where he knew more Scouts were, including his second in command, "Quail."

He reached the hidden hut at the base of the canyon wall, secreted away by the trees. Even before he stepped inside he could smell blood and bile. He opened the door and entered the small rockcrete and stone den. Every wall was covered in gore, the bodies of his scouts were broken and scattered with large teeth and claw marks taken out of them. What had those Battle Sisters and traveling Priest brought with them? The hut stank of the dark forces.

Forgoing all else, Scoutmaster Sulawesi ran to the fortress monastery. Someone had to the warn the rest of the Chapter now that the exterior defenses had been compromised.

~So, what do you feel is the best way to do this?~ one of the Battledancers, Alfaia of Dark Muse asked.

~We slip in right under their noses. With the supplies,~ Sonata answered. She and four others; Viola, Clarion, Veena and Alfaia had taken up a position near the supply train to observe the comings and goings of the fortress. Oppari and the Warsingers of Vortex Kin along with Forlorn Hopes Gertie were in another position doing the same. They had muddied their silver armor at the river bank to camouflage with their surroundings, the deep blue cloaks came in handy as well.

~Not a bad plan,~ Viola commented, handing a Guard-issue pocket telescope to Sonata, its lens tinted to avoid glare from the sun. ~But lets list the pros and cons here. That supply train is being watched from all sides by chapter serfs as well as a few Silver Eagle scouts hiding up in the rocks. I would assume that they have seen us already, but they haven't made a move.~

~They are worrisome.~

~The Scouts are the ones we have to watch out for. We can take the serfs easily enough,~ Alfaia commented.

Sonata watched the supply train of carts move through the trees and toward a waiting loading platform, where they were then relived of their burdens and sent back to gather more goods. The platform was then hoisted up on a system of pulleys and attached to a thick wire that extended over the roaring rapids below. Serfs on either side, with the aid of simple machines and servitors then pulled the cargo safely over the water to any number of loading docks on the side of the spire. The process was quick and effective. Sonata assumed that the cables were then disconnected and reeled in for safekeeping until the next delivery. The crates themselves were big enough for someone to hide in, and that could be their ticket in. ~There's no avoiding it. We will need to commandeer a cart. That will put us one down.~

Viola scanned the rock face before them. ~I can ask Gertie to do it. She has an older and more worn look to her, perfect for a chapter serf or menial. I didn't think she would have made a good deep strike candidate, even though the woman knows her way around a tank, she's slower and more suited for artillery.~

~We still need to find a way to not be seen,~ Alfaia whispered. She had been chosen as the designated spokeswoman of Dark Muses Battledancers. The other two were quiet and obeyed her without question.

Sonata studied the trail through the scope. ~There,~ she passed the tool around to her companions. ~The train passes through that copse. The trees are dense enough to obscure the view from both above and the side. Each cart carries two crates. We may have to make a few trips, so Gertie will need to stay in character, but it can be done.~

~Sounds good to me,~ Viola accepted the scope as it was passed back to her, and put it away in a side pouch. ~I really like this armor.~

~If we do well enough on this mission Ruffati might let you keep it,~ Sonata smirked.

~I doubt that, we're about to off-script in that pink fairies precious performance. If we do well enough on this mission, he might just let us live,~ Viola sneered. ~Anyway, you want to give the signal, or should I?~

~I've got it,~ Sonata activated the touch-pads on her gauntlets. It was a trick that Noise Marines had developed long ago as a means of communicating over the vox. By running her thumb over certain areas on the pads of her fingers, the armor would respond by creating a tone over the vox. From there it was all Solresol. Any eavesdroppers on the frequency would usually mistake it for radio waves in the stray air. Even if they suspected that it was a form of communication, unless they knew Solresol, the information was useless.

Oppari sent back an affirmative by way of a static-like squelch.

~Alright Ladies,~ Sonata called to the fallen women of Chaos Undivided. ~Showtime.~

He had died and gone to the Eye. Horus himself was laughing at Riff's misfortune. He hadn't really survived the trip through the pipes, no, that was just his mind trying to make sense of it all. No, this was a pit of suffering for those that had failed the Gods of Chaos.

Withdraw is a bitch.

He had first come to know the cunt long before. He couldn't remember if it was centuries, decades, or even last week. All he knew was that every time she had visited since, her caresses started out as sweet nothings, a little tingle here, a minor headache there. Just little things that encouraged false confidence. Maybe this time she would be nice, maybe this time she would be forgiving and take pity on his poor abused veins and nerves. But then she would begin to grow more upset with his lack of attention. His senses would blur together or his mind would feel as if it were sloshing from one side to the other. The aches would begin, followed by anxiety and an endless need to fidget or run, as if he could escape her horrible attentions.

Riff was caught in the middle of one of Withdraws tantrums, and it was dangerous this far behind enemy lines. He used his desire to fidget as a means to repair the vox unit in his helm, then listened with ever decreasing hope as the day wore on for a signal of any kind. He had to move from his hiding place once, taking refuge in another darkened ornate alcove as the sun illuminated the stained glass windows, tracing patterns of colored light across the floor.

He still wasn't sure where he was, but from the gossip of the serfs below, he assumed that he was inside some kind of inner keep of the fortress. An ideal spot to be, but also one of the most deadly. As soon as he was found out, and that was a when not an if, every Silver Eagle in the monastery would be all over him.

Riff leaned on a statue of some angelic saint, his head resting between its wings as if the marble were carrying home a drunkard. His hearts thudded in his chest and the cunt known as Withdraw decided to step it up a notch. His ears began ringing, the pitch rising higher with the intake of breath, and fading with the exhale. Inhale "eeeeeee" and exhale "aaaaaa." He bemoaned his aching head and back, when the ringing changed pitch again, and for the first time since landing in that fountain, Riff felt hope.

His ears weren't ringing at all. It was the vox in his helm. One of Legato's signals. Was that frackwit here? Shred if he had to trade in one cunt for another he would gladly trade Withdraw for Legato! Riff opened his own vox and sent back his own relay of vox "noise" and waited for confirmation. Sure enough, Legato opened an encrypted channel.

~Riff, you shatterbrain, you're still alive? Where are you?~ Legato asked.

~Yes, and I think I'm outside the Chapter Masters chambers.~

~Shred! How did you get there?~

~I swam,~ Riff had seen the Chapter Master of the Silver Eagles pass underneath his position a few times already. If he wasn't near living quarters, then it had to be some other important place. ~You got any stimms on you? Mine got ruined.~

~Frak Riff, you could end this whole operation from your position!~

~I am not moving. Unless there are stimms involved. Got the shakes, can't even hold a bolter straight,~ Riff slid off the statues back and sat behind it, concealed by marble and colored light. ~But what happened? Shouldn't the fortress be ours already?~

Legato explained Ruffati's sudden command to stop advancing and to go into hiding until further notice. ~But this is fortunate, between the three of us-~

~Three?~

~Vamps here. Between the three of us, we can covertly secure key positions.~

~Vamp will be useless. He's got too much loyalty in him for the Imperials. He's a liability.~

Legato glanced over at his "bandmate" who hadn't moved from his spot since he had sat down. ~We have...come to an understanding.~

~Kill him so I can have my name back, and then bring me the stimms.~

~You misunderstand, Riff, if you want your stimms, come and get them.~

~And give up my ideal position?~

Legato knew he had the little addict. ~Drugs or Glory you frakwit. You can't have both.~

Riff peeked from around the side of the angel. ~The shred I can't. You have to leave your cozy little nest too. So a compromise then? Meet you halfway?~

~That sounds alright. But we wait on Ruffati's order.~

Riff's dreams of a stimm-induced coma were slipping fast. ~And how long would that be?~

~I'm guessing nightfall.~

Riff huffed and laid down on the floor at the statues feet, high above the passage of serfs and Astartes. ~Frak me.~

The day wore on, the sun climbing high above, completing its ellipse in the blue sky. Transport after transport passed overhead, each one landed and dropped off its cargo then left for more. The Noise Marines were patient. More than a few had popped depressants to calm their bloodlust and otherwise wait out the quiet. Finally as the sun dipped below the edge of the canyon, and the last transport took to the heavens, Ruffati called the bands to order over the vox with a light melodic burst. The Pilgrims had departed, and the chapter serfs would be occupied with sorting and storing the new supplies.

In twos and threes, members of the gathered bands began their clandestine approach, each ready and eager to take the stage. Awaiting the moment to make their entrance, Ruffati, Lyre and Fugue awaited on the river bank. Ruffati requested that Lyre remain at his side. The leader of the Aristocrats had his suspicions, one of which as that Ruffati wanted him close to keep an eye on his tally, and to ensure that Red Widow didn't get carried away before his own plans could come to fruition. The other was that Ruffati wanted to send a message to Warp Lightnings Soul Slave that Lyre was under his protection, and any further conflict between the bands was discouraged.

Yet another possibility occurred to Lyre, that perhaps Ruffati enjoyed the company. Both of them felt the weight of centuries, and had similar experiences. Moreover, each of them were still fiercely loyal to Fulgrim, and held tightly to his memory. Lyre felt the same. The commands, manners and even way of life aboard the Crimson Rhapsody was like a small return to those glory days. Time was a river, and one could not step twice into the same river as its contents were always changing and renewing. But being in Ruffati's company was like taking a sip from those long ago times.

His moment of reflection was suddenly interrupted by a cry from within the fortress, joined by several others, including the deep tones of Space Marines. Someone, somewhere had been spotted, and now the alarm was being raised within the walls. ~Shred, that was fast,~ Lyre sighed.

~No matter, we shall still progress as I had intended,~ Ruffati removed his monks robes and pulled his plasma pistol. Lyre studied the pistol in his hand for a moment and felt a slight shiver go down his spine when he noted that the pistol was of a very old make, and contained several plasma chambers intertwined with each other. He had heard rumors, but in all his travels through the Eye and the Milky Way, he had never set eyes on a revolving plasma pistol.

Ruffati noted the Aristocrats line of sight. ~The rotary kinds don't exist anymore, not even as a larger model. I've never been able to locate another one. If I time it right, I can fire an unending barrage of plasma bursts and never worry about overheating. Granted it doesn't have the range of some of the more powerful plasma guns still in use, but it gets the job done,~ he spun the cluster of coils for effect. ~Shall we go?~

Lyre turned his attention to the task at hand. ~I was thinking to go up the northwestern side, where I had last seen Legato.~

~That will never do,~ Ruffati sighed.

~You have better plans?~

~Of course. I am the Master of the Crimson Rhapsody, and you were a Phoenix Guard. We will go through the front door.~

Oppari waited in silence for her crate to stop moving. It was a Munitorium issue, but not a space-worthy one. Its plasteel sides stank from numerous previous contents, and considering she now lay on a bed of some form of foodstuff, it could have contained anything in the past. Her thin carapace of an aspirant provided some protection against the cold packs keeping the food fresh, and she secretly wondered how the Warsingers and Battledancers had been able to fit inside the crates in their full plate.

Gertie performed beautifully as Viola had promised. The older and heavyset woman had gratefully removed the armor she had been issued, then donned a ragged cloak and dirtied her face with mud from the river. She looked for all the universe like a menial, and even when an overseers lash found her exposed back, she reacted as expected, with a grunt, a plea to the God Emperor, and a slight quickening in her step.

Oppari along with Vortex Kin's Warsingers had waited in the trees as was Sonata's command. When Gertie passed underneath with a cart loaded with several crates, the woman had stopped and ran to the side of the road, squatting in the bushes as if to do her business. That gave Oppari plenty of time to find a suitable hiding place in the crates, while also allowing Gertie to shout at and shame any curious onlookers. The process was repeated several times through several trips, and each time Gertie returned to the staging area to collect more crates, the overseers lash found her back with increasing frequency. That the woman could hold up under such abuse stirred Oppari's own battle lust and fortified her spirit.

Ten years ago Oppari had been a highly decorated Commissar in the service of the Emperor, two months ago she had been collared and chained as a disposable trooper in a penal legion. And now here she was, hiding in a plasteel crate among frozen foods, with the intent of annihilating the holdings of the Emperors chosen sons. Ever since Sonata had shown her the ways of Chaos Undivided, she had felt a sense of liberation in her heart. Her own people that she had fought for and led against many foes had offered her up as a sacrifice to temporarily ease their unfounded fears. If she was to be branded a Heretic, she was going to give them reason for that title.

Along that same line of thought, was the Space Marine known as Vamp. Oppari didn't know the whole story behind his fall from grace, but she could relate to his frustration and grief. They couldn't return to their former lives. Pride and Honor would not allow them to take their own lives, and the only forgiveness they could ask for would be by bullet or blade. She didn't know what path Vamp would choose, but hers was quite clear.

The weak deserved to fall, they deserved to suffer any punishment that the strong could devise for them. The weak wanted to be weak, didn't they?

Didn't they?

The crate came to rest, and Oppari heard the sound of footsteps leading away, along with low voices and the occasional burst of barely-suppressed laughter. She began to shiver, not from the cold, but from the withdraw of the stimms she had become addicted to. Stimms that the Space Marine known as Fugue was attempting to ween her from. The damage had been done, and it was only a matter of time before she became a useless sack of meat despite his best efforts. She didn't want to die. Not yet, not here. Not before she had a chance to track down that damned Inquisitor and show him what a true heretic of his making could do.

Carefully she reached behind her head and pulled the empty ampule from its slot within her flesh. She could smell the rot of her bones, feel her nerves begin to misfire. With shaking fingers she removed another ampule from her side pouch, one of only five left. Would she even live long enough to use all five? ~I don't want to die,~ she whispered, the words when spoken in Solresol were like a prayer, a spell or incantation that seemed to stretch beyond the material world. As she pushed the fresh ampule home in the slot, and felt it hit her system, she couldn't shake the disturbing feeling...and odd comfort, that something had heard her,

And wanted to help ease her suffering.

Any further inquiry was silenced by the sudden harsh sounds of scuffle outside the crate, accompanied by the crack of bolt guns in an enclosed space. Cautiously, Oppari sat up and lifted the edge of the crate. She was in a loft of sorts surrounded by many other crates and chapter serfs. To her right was a large opening in the wall where the cables and small trolley-like cars carrying cargo would enter and leave. Outside the sky burned in the orange and pinks of sunset, from the scrambling serfs and overturned crates, someone had taken to the stage early.

The Warsingers of Vortex Kin had emerged and already begun. They were fearsome women, even in the dirtied white plate of the Blue Rose Order, their faces bore the marks of Chaos and their lovely features were scarred and disfigured.

"As One!" they shouted, then lifting chainswords and bolters to the ready, they began to tear into the serfs around them.

Oppari noted one of the serfs dart toward a voxcaster near the rear of the loft, then took aim with her own bolt pistol and ended his progress. Now the loft was in disarray, crates began to shake and over turn and more Warsingers and Battledancers joined the fray. Oppari climbed out of her crate, taking quick shots as needed before drawing her chainsword and beheading the serf closest to her. In moments the loft had been secured, and all who could witness their arrival had been slaughtered. Veena of Dark Muse stepped to the edge of the loft and using a small mirror, signaled to their bands that an entry had been secured.

Sonata emerged from a larger crate, her wings tucked in tight against her back. ~They will know we are here in any moment. Vortex Kin.~

As one, the women turned, awaiting orders. To Oppari they resembled hounds waiting to be let off their leads.

~Take the initiative and go clean out the gun nests on this side of the spire. Kill anyone you

encounter who is not Chaos Undivided. Lets clear a way for our bands to take the stage.~

Not needing to be told a second time, Vortex Kin readied their weapons and departed from the rear entrance. Behind her, the cables began to move again, and Sonata raised a bolt pistol. Veena echoed her movement by raising a hand to stop her from firing. ~Its Gertie, she's coming up.~

A car carrying the other Warsinger of Forlorn Hope finally crested the lip of the loft, and Gertie stepped out with bags of looted weaponry at her feet and a familiar whip at her side. ~Sorry it took me a moment, I had business to take care of. Go on Sonata, I've got this entrance covered.~

Sonata rounded up her companions and began to head deeper into the Fortress.

As the sun set, the assault was underway. The Noise Marines divided back up into their bands, and each had claimed a face of the spire, initiating an unspoken challenge of the first band to spill Astartes blood. Each band leader had read the flow of the river and alignment of the setting sun and placed their bands accordingly. The river flowed from west to east, with the spire at the center of both the widest and most turbulent area. The Dark Muses had opted for taking the southeastern face of the spire, using the cover of the darkened water to cover their approach. Warp Lightning took the west, riding the currents until they came in contact with the rock, and began to climb. Forlorn Hope along with Clef gathered at the north face, where they had received their last signal from Sonata's Warsingers.

Once the order had been given, Darren could no longer tell his men to be silent or careful. They hit the water with the unbridled glee of a bunch of juvies freed from scholam for the summer harvest. Dark Muse and Warp Lightning seemed not to care for their more inexperienced companions. Forlorn Hope was drawing enough attention to the opposite side of the spire to allow their own actions to go undetected.

Noise Marines scaling the sides of the spire encountered gun nests that were either empty, or their occupants had been slaughtered, causing some confusion but then a mixture of anger and excitement once they discovered that their Warsingers and Battledancers had taken out most of the first line of defenses. Then came arguments over the vox as to whose Warsingers had done the most damage. Once inside, the Warsingers had already taken positions in strategic locations they could both defend easily as well as keep an eye on the field of battle. They began to call out in long tones of operatic Solresol to their bands of enemy locations and armaments.

Once away from Sonata and her childish commands, the warrior women of Vortex Kin began their own campaign of terror. They were nothing as fragile and submissive as "warsingers" or "battledancers," no, They were already in the lethal embrace of the demonic. Much like Their brothers, They had given up their names and identity for the sake of a higher power. They were As One. The fortress has been penetrated, and now They had visions of rivers of blood running through the halls, of bones and brain under Their feet. This was a slaughter that the Deamon of Desire had promised Them.

Clearing up the gun nests on the exterior had only whetted Their appetite for more. And more They would have. Now that news of the assault could not help but spread through the fortress, the Chapter serfs and few remaining Silver Eagle scouts rushed to fortify the Outer Keep to buy their Brothers time to arm and push back from the Inner Keep. As a result, the three women of Vortex Kin found themselves in a darkened hall piled with chapter serfs hiding behind piles of furniture or the odd piece of artillery for cover. Now. Now they could truly be themselves.

"As One," one of the number began chanting. It had been too long since They had been able to claim their true form. These feeble human bodies couldn't contain the press of emotion welling up in each sister entity.

"As One," the sister bodies answered joining hands as they pressed on up the hall, unphased by the odd lasround that found its mark. The brother-bodies were gone, They could feel it. No longer would They join in a frenzy of flesh and metal, of thoughts and dreams. That the brother bodies were gone was a testament to Their weakness. That they had never completely joined "as one" their ego and desires had become their failure and not their savior.

The sister bodies joined hands, the armor on Their forms quickly tarnishing and flaking away under the sudden onslaught of warp energy swelling to bursting inside of Them. As flesh touched flesh it began to bond, bones breaking under the pressure of muscle tearing free from tendons and sinew as it sought connection and comfort of the sister bodies. In the darkness of the halls, the chapter serfs present began to witness the birth of a deamon from the void into their reality.

The three women stood back to back, the armor having fallen away to reveal their true forms. One bent at the waist, as if to pick something up from the ground, then slowly stood, the flesh falling from her bones as her skull, then spine, clavicles, then ribcage ripped free of her skin. Organs and meat fell around her waist as an obscene garment. Her skeletal arms extended to either side and pulled the heads of her sisters free of their spines, then held them aloft where their hollow eye sockets began to drip with the fury of the warp as glowing tears. The two then linked their arms together, merging their bodies with the skeletal torso of their sister. Legs grew longer while their feet split along the path of their bones, allowing a four-footed beast with clawed hands for toes to rise into the hall, while the remaining two perfectly formed legs were held in the air, shifting or rising seductively. In a perverse display, four full breasts formed side by side along the broadened chest of the demon, while the skirt of flesh and organs swelled, bonding with the hips and legs to either side creating a mockery of the female sex with a gaping hungry mouth in the center. The two of the remaining hands and arms grew longer, and whip-like, while the remaining shapely pair alternated in stimulation of the four breasts.

"As...One," the deamon of Vortex Kin cooed, then with the frightened scream of a woman, it dove forward toward its prey, the enticing female legs opened, grabbing and engulfing the man, pressing him tight against its obscene sex. The large mouth opened before him and jagged teeth closed down on his hip. The serf screamed in terror before his voice gave completely under the shock. The mouth opened again, this time securing a purchase on the serfs gut, then bit down through muscle and flesh, exposing his abdominal cavity. The mouth then began to suck the serfs organs from his body while the deamon moaned its delight. The three heads swayed over head, eyes closing in bliss. "Oh yes...more!"

The remaining serfs in the hall opened fire with bolters, lasguns and curses along with a few choice prayers of the Imperial Cult. The deamon finished sucking the organs from within the serf, then the legs opened, dropping him to the ground as a literal shell of a man. Any bursts of bolter fire that struck the demon only succeeded in enabling the beast to further mutate. It mewed plaintively once again, then skittered forward on its fours legs into the nearest cluster of serfs and one Silver Eagle scout. "An Astartes!" it cried, front human legs reaching out and wrapping around the shoulders of the scout. The scout raised his bolter too late, the deamons "mouth" closing over his head. "Such a talented tongue," the deamon cooed encouragingly before biting the scouts head clean off and sucking his organs through his neck.

The demon created of sister-bodies tossed the scout aside like so much trash, his purpose served, then continued on through the halls, looking for more victims.

"Why is there a Deamon loose in the hallowed halls of this sacred fortress?" Chapter Master Lord Steller bellowed to his Company Captains. Around him the decorated warriors shook with barely contained anger at the insult of invasion of their home. "Sulawesi is currently in the Outer Keep, sending back reports of Traitor Marines that have stormed our fortress, and what have any of you done?"

"My Lord, I have dispatched what I have of the Seventh to bolster his efforts, as we speak they are fortifying the Outer Keep. These traitors will be sent back to Horus where they belong before the night is through," one Captain spoke.

"You seem overconfident," the head Librarian of the Silver Eagles Andaman spoke. "Its obvious what they have come for. Our predecessors predicted it, and its why we have kept the bulk of our forces here to protect this fortress."

Steller turned to his Librarian. "We have no evidence they even know of its existence."

"And yet the Traitor Legions are here. What else could they have come for other than the Deamon Fountain?"

The gathered captains grew silent as they weighed the Librarians words. As Silver Eagles they were the sworn guardians of the Deamon Fount. Guilt traveled through the faces of those present as they weighed their fat and comfortable lives in the canyon with their true duty of holding back the forces of Chaos.

"They brought a Deamon with them to search out their kin. We must deny them that at all costs, even down to the last Silver Eagle. If the Deamon Fount is activated, this entire Cluster will fall to the forces of Chaos!" Andaman shouted to his gathered Brothers. "Lord Steller, I request that we send the Champions of each Company to guard the Deamon Fount. They will be our last line of defense in the event that our combined efforts fail."

Lord Steller thought hard on his Librarians words. "It shall be done. We must fortify the Inner Keep, gather our forces and then press outward to reclaim the Outer Keep. These vermin will know the fury of the God Emperor, and we will send their foul worthless souls back to Horus' heel!"

The Captains then began to make preparations, delving into their own vox beads to issue commands to their Battle Brothers. The Fortress Monastery of the Silver Eagles had an unusual layout, one that made it easily defended from external forces. Due to its location atop a tall spire of rock, it had been limited in sprawl. What lacked in breadth, it made up for in height. Like solid tiers of cake made of stone, the fortress was divided into three layers. The bottom layer consisted of storage bays and gun turrets overlooking the river. It was also where the bulk of the Chapter serfs dwelt and worked. The second layer began the Outer Keep, a star-shaped line of walls with towers overlooking the canyon, it was here where the Silver Eagles began to arrange their first real line of defense. Armored doors and even more weaponry embedded in the carved stone made the Outer Keep a difficult prize for any attacker coupled with corridors that made ideal pinch-points and entire stone walls set on immense wheels to create and alter the flow of battle in the Silver Eagles favor.

The final tier, known as the Inner Keep was the home of the Adeptus Astartes Silver Eagles themselves. Their dorms, prayer halls, armories and galleries of sacred relics were all kept safe behind adamantium plated doors and walls constructed of the hardest rock Bessara had to offer. And it was in this inner sanctum that Riff found himself hopelessly trapped.

As encouraging cries came over the vox in the Aristocrats helm, an equally despairing sight greeted him in the halls below. The Silver Eagles were arming, praying and otherwise getting worked up about the invaders in their midst. As much as Riff would have liked to drop a krak grenade into the throng of angry Imperials, he was low on grenades (at least the ones he was sure would work anyway) and even if he managed to take ten of them, the odds were still not in his favor. He would be a little riddled mess of bolts against the wall before he could take a second breath. No. He was not going anywhere until he had some Slaabur. Once he got his fix, then it would be a fairer fight.

He pondered taking a little nap before the rest of the warbands arrived, but then noticed a curious sight. Five recently arrived Silver Eagles in artificer plate had finished getting their blessing or whatever from what he took to be the Chapter Librarian, and then stood before a painting on the wall. After pressing a series of tiles, the painting slid away to reveal a secret passage. Well shred! Of course this fortress was honeycombed with secret tunnels! Riff almost rose his voice in frustration at his own ignorance. He toggled his vox.

~Legato? You got any slaabur?~

There was an answering chatter of bolter fire along with the tell-tale shriek of Sonic Blasters. ~I told you frakwit that if you wanted your stimms, you'll have to come and get them!~

~No problem, be there in a few,~ Riff said as if he were just taking a stroll down to the local convenience mart.

~Riff, I told you to stay-!~

He closed the line before Legato could finish. With the kind of luck the fates only granted small children and idiots, Riff climbed down from his perch undetected by the gathered Astartes. He quickly depressed the tiles and slid into the secret passage himself. As predicted, it was a long and narrow corridor that seemed to follow the exterior of the rooms of the Inner Keep. At intersections with other passages, there were either small stair cases or ladders that led down to the next floor. Riff moved slowly through the dark hall, his eyes filtering the light until he was left with infra red vision. Even then he felt exposed. But Legato was at the other end of this hall, he was sure of it. And where there was Legato there was slaabur. Even better, where there was Legato, Fugue wasn't too far behind, and where Fugue went, there was an endless supply of multicolored means of alternate consciousness.

As his confidence grew, Riff began to move faster. His footfalls and armor nearly silent as he rushed through the halls. It wasn't long before he caught up to the Silver Eagles in artificer armor. They were obviously Chapter Champions, if not Honor Guard for the Chapter Master. He rounded a corner too quickly and one to the rear of the group turned. He pointed an ornate powersword while yelling a curse.

"Heretic! Dog of Horu-"

Riff began to back pedal, reaching for his gun-type Sonic Blaster when he felt something slip between his fingers. A krak grenade, one of the ones he had set aside as being unsure if it worked, dropped from its dispenser and to his feet. More out of panic than planning, he kicked it into the group of Astartes, where its compromised timer caused it to suddenly explode. Riff had no time to brace for the explosion, and searing heat rushed over his armor.

The serfs in the outer keep had little hope to overcome the Noise Marines that had infected their home. They attacked from three different angles, forcing the serfs and chapter scouts from one fall back point to another. The Warsingers and Battledancers of Dark Muse tore through their ranks with ease, leaving their victims gasping for breath in darkened halls under banners and images of their God Emperor. Viola of Forlorn Hope along with Alfaia, Veena, and Clarion of Dark Muse formed their own small squad, forging just ahead of their warbands, opening a path for their bandmates to come through. After cutting down a particularly stubborn gun nest, Viola burst through a set of double doors to find a pleasant surprise.

The serfs had been defending one of the Silver Eagles armories. The walls and racks were loaded with bolt guns, heavy bolters, chain swords, armor, everything that Forlorn Hope could need or want. With a cry of joy she ran through the rooms, inspecting her find when her gaze was drawn to a display case set against a far wall. Inside the case was a Thunderhammer, and Viola suddenly knew what she was going to claim spoils of war for.

The case fell under a brief barrage of fire from her bolt pistol, which she holstered in favor of the massive hammer. As her hands curled around the thick shaft, she felt a familiar ripple of delight move through her. It had been a long time since she had last felt the blessing of her god. The servos in her power armor struggled with the weight of the weapon, and her own muscles began to scream and complain in kind as the brunt of the weight of the Thunderhammer strained on her. But still a smile crossed her features.

Holding the hammer steady with one hand, Viola ripped off her helmet with the other. There. That was better. With a battle cry she ripped the Thunderhammer free of its mounts, the servos in her arms popped and squealed under the weight, but she didn't care. Already her blood began to heat with the gift of Khorne. With teeth clenched she lifted the hammer high overhead, then grabbed the shaft and swung. The force of the blow caused the wall before her to explode in a shower of stone and dust. With a demented cackle, she stepped through, blond hair wild around her head and eyes blood-shot in her thirst for death.

In the narrow hall through the other side of the wall, a pair of scouts of the Silver Eagles stood ready with weapons raised as Viola stepped through the hole she had made. They opened fire, but before they could properly aim, she was already among them, lent amazing speed as well as strength by her god. "Blood, for the Blood God," she spoke through clenched teeth, and swung the hammer. The hammer didn't so much strike the scout as render his midsection to paste. The head of the hammer struck the wall and became lodged there. The second scout rushed her with a combat knife.

Viola caught his wrist and turned it away, breaking it with a small twist. With her other hand she daintily grasped the shaft of the Thunderhammer once more and pulled it free. "Skulls," she brought the hammer around, hand close to the head and into the second scouts shoulder, breaking bones and knocking him from his feet. She then raised the hammer high and brought it down. "For the Skull Throne!" his chest caved in and the immense pressure from the hammer scrambled his innards, causing some to burst forth from his stomach, and others to bunch up under the skin at his neck. Viola let the hammer rest in his corpse for a moment while she claimed the combat knife and began to roughly cut the Silver Eagles head from his shoulders. With an amused and girlish giggle she set his head aside to be collected later, then claimed her hammer once more in search of more trophies in the Outer Keep.

Lyre matched Ruffati's pace behind Fugue. Ahead on the path and in the middle of the turbulent river, the Fortress of the Silver Eagles was in upheaval. The Aristocrat could see the distant form of his Warsinger flit between the towers, her hands as bright sparks as her twin bolt pistols took shots of opportunity to dispatch their foes. The two Long War veterans continued their slow progression to an ornate cable car that had been secured by Forlorn Hope of all bands. It wasn't quite the front door that Ruffati had hoped for, but it was a grand enough entrance and would suffice.

"I am still just a little upset that you signaled Sonata to strike without us, but I can't say that I'm entirely displeased with the outcome," Ruffati sighed as if weary. The cable car was obviously used for high-ranking visitors to the fortress. The inside contained plush lounges and was covered in Imperial icons. Ruffati chose a seat near the middle, horribly exposed but the master of the Crimson Rhapsody seemed to not care.

"It was wrong of you to deny the Warsingers of their desire to serve," Lyre said bluntly.

"Always challenging my judgement to the last," Ruffati smirked. "I welcome it. There comes a point in every ones life where its good to hear an honest assessment."

Lyre remained close to Fugue as the car started its climb to the fortress. For a moment he

scanned the canyon walls. "And what of the scouts we had seen on the way in? They could still be troublesome even after the fortress falls."

"Oh don't worry about them. I have allowed Sharp, the Soul Slave of Warp Lightning to do as he pleases with the forces around the canyon. Considering the harvest awaiting Clef and yourself, I found it to be more sporting."

"And the most effective way to keep the most volatile of your force from slaying each other from the start."

Ruffati turned in his seat. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say that Red Widow is having her fun with you. But you are correct. After finding that Vortex Kin has gone missing along with my errand boy, I don't trust you out of my sight Lyre," he then smiled. "But its a welcome feeling, I haven't been challenged by someone of our caliber in quite some time, and I intend to savor every move of this game of live Regicide."

Lyre didn't feel up to playing any of Ruffati's games, and he was still concerned over the now unknown whereabouts of the other Noise Marine. The other Soul Slave was coming for them, it wouldn't make any sense for him not to. Lyre knew that he could handle his own against this Sharp of Warp Lightning, yet he was unsure if Clef could. Clef was strong and resourceful, but in terms of collected souls he was weaker against the more powerful Slaves.

Lyre removed his earbead and closed his eyes, opening his senses to allow the full spectrum of sound in the night to come to him. Carefully he began sorting through the warcries and chatter of bolterfire, the screams of Sonic Blasters, and enchanting battlecalls of the Warsingers. If Warp Lightnings Soul Slave even so much as breathed heavily, Lyre would find him.

Legato felt as if he were babysitting Vamp. The show and subsequent slaughter had begun in earnest. The Noise Marine followed the calls of the Warsingers, taking joy in slaying chapter serfs as they ran past him, wielding feeble lasguns of many makes and types. Legato dodged showers of blood, feeling that none but the blood of an Astartes could be worthy enough to mar the clean and neat surface of his armor. Vamp trudged along behind him, his armor absorbing the odd lasbolt or two. The fallen Blood Angel refused to even raise a hand in his defense.

"It will be quite amusing if you get slain by a serf!" Legato had called more than once.

"Then they will go to the Golden Throne and receive glory beyond their station for slaying a traitor," Vamp countered even though he wasn't sure exactly what he was thinking. He could have stayed behind, He could slay Legato here and now, and even in heretic plate, joined the ranks of the defending Imperial Chapter. Yet he followed along like a faithful lap-hound, growing ever more enraged at Legato's wonton slaughter of innocents, and feeling ever more outraged that he was allowing it to happen. Even with the comforting tones playing through the vox horns at his ears he could feel the injustice of the Black Rage building within him. Though Legato was a primary target, he couldn't allow himself to reach that point. The Rage would be even worse than his present protest of non-compliance. He would begin killing indiscriminately and nothing save for death could stop him. In the end his brother Blood Angels would be blamed. Losing control now would bring shame upon more than just himself.

Just as he felt that he would finally lose control over his senses, he heard a voice cut through the screams and chatter of bolter and lasfire around him. It served as a beacon in the darkness. Where he felt the cold embrace of the Black Rage pull at his consciousness, the voice cleared the clouds, bringing him back to himself. Vamp focused, locating that one voice out of the destruction around him.

It was Sonata, shouting battle calls in Solresol, keeping track of the enemy's movements for the benefit of her band. Vamp remembered that he had a duty. The former Sister of Battle had become irrevocably corrupted by the demon within her, by those she kept company with, and by the blood of his Primarch that now flowed in her veins as well. This was a battle, and in the confusion he could put an end to both of their suffering with one bolt round. The Warsinger would not suffer, he owed her that. He on the other hand, despite the kind words of Lyre and otherwise helpful attitudes of the rest of the Aristocrats, he would take as many of the Traitors down with him as he could in the name of his Primarch and Emperor.

With the hall cleared of serfs, the Aristocrats pressed onward toward a turn in the hall. At the sound of bolter fire, Legato and Vamp took cover near a wall. The corridor opened into a courtyard of sorts, and there, standing atop one of the minerettes of the fortress, was a vision in blood splattered silver plate. Sonata perched in a precarious position, her white wings open behind her, ready for flight as lasrounds peppered the stone at her feet. Behind Legato, Vamp seized the opportunity and took aim with his bolter. With a prayer of forgiveness crossing his lips in a barely-heard whisper he took aim at her head.

The wall beside the Blood Angel suddenly exploded, throwing off his aim and showering both Vamp and Legato in masonry. Legato rolled away to a safe distance while Vamp raised his arm in defense as most of the wall fell on his body. Out of the gap came several large bodies followed by a slightly smaller one. Vamp began to extract himself from the rubble and found himself surrounded by what had to be Champions or honor guard of the Silver Eagles. One began to slowly rise to his feet when Legato stepped in and decapitated him with a quick flick of his sword.

~SLAABUR!~ came a bellow from another pile of stone. Riff freed himself, then began marching in on Legato. ~Alright frakwit, you have it, give it!~

Another Silver Eagle was more quick to gain his feet and parry Legato's strike. Vamp found himself instinctively raising a weapon in his defense as sword sought to part his head from his shoulders. ~Riff, raise your weapon and start fighting!~ Legato commanded.

~You said you had slaabur, I'm not doing anything until you hand it over.~

~Both of you are useless! One a shatter brain and the other a freak disgrace with delusions of reconciling with those that cast him away!~ Legato used his irritation to fuel his attacks, moving in graceful arcs with his blade, Sonic Blaster at his side, silent until needed.

Riff knew Legato's fighting style by now, and as the Noise Marine parried and toyed with the Astartes, the smaller Aristocrat stepped in closer, his feet matching Legato's steps, entangling them both in a complex and dangerous dance. Where Legato fought to defeat his foe, Riff's hands went to Legato's belt, searching carry pouches and pockets until he found Legato's personal stash of slaabur. Once the drug was in hand, Riff spun away with his prize lifting the ceramic shell in victory.

With Legato and Riff otherwise occupied, Vamp looked across the courtyard to find that Sonata had left her tower for another. Cautiously, he stepped from the safety of the doorway, clinging to the wall as he searched for the Warsinger. It wasn't like her to leave the area, she was known among the band for holding her position until the band had secured theirs. As soon as his heretic-plated foot left the shadows and entered the moonlight, he became suddenly aware of hundreds of weapons being drawn. Once again instinct took over and he retreated back into the shadows, crouching for cover near the crumbling wall. With Legato busy in combat, and Riff getting ready for his fix, there was no one keeping an eye on him. He studied the hole in the wall that Riff had burst through, then decided that his revenge would have to wait in light of another opportunity to be free of these traitors. With his heart growing ever heavier, he slipped through to make his escape.

Legato finished off the remaining Silver Eagle with a skilled thrust just under the lip of the Astartes chestplate, parting electrical components and through to his hearts. With a sharp twist to open the wound, he withdrew his blade, kicking the Silver Eagle to the ground to bleed out. He turned to see Riff with his helmet off, hastily packing a healthy amount of slaabur into the air intake vents on the interior of his helm. Heating elements were located within the vents and normally used for colder climates to keep the wearer in optimal condition. Many Slaaneshi would often recalibrate the settings or install small screens in a tube or ball shape for the express purpose of smoking their drug or stimm of choice from inside the helm. Once Riff's external vents began to huff the tell-tale pink glittery smoke, the Noise Marine clicked his helm back on and began inhaling deeply.

Riff raised a hand and pointed at the hole in the wall he and the Silver Eagles had come from. ~Secret passage,~ a deep draw of breath, ~Takes us right to the Inner Keep.~

Legato heard the click of many weapons, ranging from bolter to lasrifles coming from the seemingly serene courtyard. ~Seems we have reached an impasse in any case,~ he looked around. ~And Vamp appears to be missing.~

Riff stood from his place of cover, then with a sudden burst of speed, jumped back over the rubble into the passage. ~Follow me!~

Legato followed a moment later. The former Blood Angel would find no allies in the Imperials, and no Warband would ever have him. Vamp was as good as dead. Riff guided Legato silently through the halls, up ladders and hidden stairs, giving detailed reports of what he had seen along the way, including how he found the hidden passage. Just as they entered the corridor behind the painting, they saw a figure hunched in the darkness. Legato drew his weapon and looked down the site, then grinned madly. It was Vamp, trying futilely to find a combination in the tiles to let him out of the passage.

He thought briefly about killing Vamp here and now, it would make his mission a lot easier, but then a new idea came to him. He gestured for Riff to lower his weapon, then opened a vox line. ~Vamp.~

Vamp snapped around and raised a Sonic Blaster in Legato's direction. ~Stay back.~

Legato thought for a moment then said. ~I have no intention of stopping you. You will kill me just as quickly as I would kill you. But if you are so insistent on suicide, who am I to stop you? You know what waits on the other side of that door correct? The gathered Captains and Astartes of the Silver Eagles, and you in full heretic plate.~

~I welcome my death.~

~I just wanted to make you aware of your decision,~ Legato then gave Vamp the tile sequence. The Astartes fingers raced over the tiles, then as the sequence was accepted, the door lifted and Vamp removed his helm and dropped his weapons, fully intent on surrendering and leaving his fate to the Emperor, then stood to walk through.

Quick as a lasbolt, Legato darted from his hiding place as Vamp stepped through the doorway. Yet before Vamp could utter one word to the gathered Silver Eagles, Legato's hand reached out of the darkness, and pulled the vox headset from the Blood Angel. With his other hand he tapped the tiles to close the door. From the other side Vamp roared. With the headset removed, his Black Rage returned in full force. Unable to distinguish friend from foe, the slaughter began.

Zither had followed the scent of blood under the twin moons of Bessara. The packed desert landscape bored him and didn't offer so much as a lost traveler to break the monotony. His leather wings caught the air and carried him forward through the blue night, toward his destination. Soon the tall cliffs of Eagle Canyon came into view, and with a simple twist in the air, he climbed higher. Automated sentries sparked to life along the top of the ridge, and large caliber bolt rounds pierced the night sky. As nimble as he was in the air, Zither couldn't hope to outmaneuver all of the rounds aimed at his body. They ripped through his wings and along his chest, reducing the fine leather to tatters and cracking his hardened ribplate. Zither dropped like a stone, but his sacrifice carried him within the canyon walls.

Limus didn't care for the injuries. They would heal, and after he claimed his meal of Soul Slaves, such pathetic defenses would be no match for him. Now that he was within the canyon, the smell of blood grew stronger. He could sense the rage and despair within the fortress much as one would scent a fine meal being prepared in the next room. He fell, focusing his energies from healing the wounds on his chest to his wings, repairing just enough to grant him one last flight to the outer walls of the fortress. Once there he clung to the stone, folding his wings up behind him. With clawed hands and feet he scaled the side of the fortress, then lifted himself up and over the top to a walkway that had been littered with the dead.

He chuckled, knowing that he had found his nights entertainment. The souls had just barely left their warm shells behind, and the scent of feces and other expelled fluids sang to him the deathly tone of the battlefield. Just below him was a courtyard, one of many it seemed. Two lone humans sat within a hastily assembled gun nest, firing away at a corner where a pair of Neophytes belonging to Forlorn Hope had been pinned down. Zither pondered his next move, but before he could act, a brazen Khornate Berserker burst through a massive side gate, drawing an even deeper chuckle from the demon. The Berserker was a woman, with thick blond hair, blood-shot eyes and wielding a Thunderhammer easily twice her size. The humans in the gun nest could not react quickly enough before she was in the air and bringing the full fury of the weapon upon them. She then turned her ire to the pinned Neophytes, who had the good sense to run from her before then became her next victims.

Let the mortals play with the mortals. Zither and Limus had grander aspirations. He could smell it even here, the sweet enticing embrace of the warp. Four. There were four demons here. Odd, he could have sworn there would be only three. The Slaves of the Aristocrats and Warp Lightning. No...there was one more, its scent familiar. His smile grew wider as he placed the scent, then began to move in the direction of his next meal.

It was a sight that confused Lord Steller and the gathered Silver Eagles. Earlier they had sent company Champions away to secure the Demon Fount, and awaited their Brothers confirmation over the vox. Not even twenty minutes later, the door to the secret passage opened again, but instead of their Champions, a lone heretic stepped forth from the darkness. That the passage could be discovered was expected, and there were protocols in place for that event. Yet what the Silver Eagles hadn't planned was for a Traitor Marine to come stumbling from the hidden corridor, dropping his weapons and removing his helm, an expression on his handsome features of self disgust and eyes pleading for understanding. It was this alone that stayed their hands, the unsure nature of the intruder.

Their thoughts were soon swayed when a hand shot from the darkness and removed what seemed to be a voxman's set from the Traitors head. The heretic took on a pained expression, while his mouth opened in a voiceless scream of sadness and regret so deep that the closest Silver Eagles fell into a defensive formation. A bellow came from deep within the Traitor Marines chest, carrying with it the anger and grief of ten thousand years.

"For the Emperor, and Sanguinius!"

Weaponless, the Traitor threw himself into the midst of the still unsure Silver Eagles, some of them caught completely off-guard while still saying blessings and prayers over their armor. In two swift moves, the Traitor liberated a chainsword and bolter from two of the Silver Eagles, and in a return stroke, slew four. The Silver Eagles quickly formed again, raising weapons in defense and falling into firing lines to dispatch the enemy in their presence, but they were unable to account for just how fast this heretic moved!

Even in a hall as grand as this, they were at a disadvantage. They were surrounded by chapter relics, armor, weapons, artworks and gifts from other chapters and noted servants of the Emperor, and in this hall was a madman making fools of them. The Silver Eagles that fired upon the Traitor in purple and black plate risked striking their precious relics. The ones that didn't were instantly set upon by the Heretic. The Heretic paid no heed to the sacred objects of the Chapter. They were only weapons to him. Bits of metal and machinery that could only serve to strike his enemies. His attacks had little skill behind them, but plenty of strength to make up for it. The bolter quickly clicked empty, and was replaced by a halberd from a nearby suit of ceramite on display. The chainsword broke under constant abuse against ceramite plating, and all the while he screamed to the Emperor and the Primarch of the Blood Angels, Sanguinius.

The halberd was a sacred relic of long ago, only to be used in times of great distress and even then only by the Chapter Master or a specially blessed Champion, that the heretic wielded it so skillfully against the Silver Eagles was an insult greater than the invasion of their Fortress. In the space of minutes, ten Silver Eagles lay dead or dieing on the marble floors. This only further enraged the remaining Astartes. A firing line formed under the direction of Chapter Master Steller. The Heretic seemed to excel at close combat, so the reflexive solution was to withdraw and fire from a distance.

The Heretic scooped up a shield from a fallen Captain, then ducking behind it, ran headlong into the line of Silver Eagles. A bolt round struck his knee in a shower of ceramite and blood, but the enemy of the Imperium was unfazed. He tackled a Silver Eagle bodily, sending them to the floor while he collected a power sword and began the melee once more. The Silver Eagles fired upon him, only to have the Traitor spin away to the side and have their rounds impact their Brothers. Steller called for order and to regroup, when bolt rounds not fired by the Heretic began to strike his warriors with deadly accuracy.

The crazed Heretic was only a distraction. Two similarly colored Traitor Marines emerged from behind the wall panel and began taking pot-shots at the exposed Silver Eagles. Faced with a skilled foe on two fronts, the Silver Eagles formed up to allow their Chapter Master to retreat to safety. If he was killed, the fortress was as good as fallen. Steller reluctantly slipped through a pair of double doors, leaving five remaining Brothers behind, it was the last he would ever see of them.

The vox had lit up with requests from the Chapter Serfs for aid in fighting the Deamon roaming their halls. But all those that were skilled in dealing with warpcraft had been summoned to the Inner Keep to defend the Chapter Master, leaving the rapidly falling number of serfs, Scouts and low-ranking Battle Brothers on their own. No amount of barricading, weapons, or hastily called prayers to the Emperor had any effect on the demons erratic progress. It didn't appear to have any set destination. At times it would double back instead of pressing onward, seeking new victims. If anything it was drawn to large clusters of troops, but not too large. The demon could soak up a lot of damage, but even it seemed to have a limit that it carefully avoided. This of course left the leadership of the Silver Eagles in conflict. The Deamon wasn't their only foe, just one of the bigger ones. If they gathered enough troops to combat the Deamon, then the other areas would be left undefended, if they scattered their forces so as not to draw attention to themselves, then it left the entire line weak.

Calls went out over the vox for a possible planned retreat. The decision to surrender ground to the enemy was not an easy one to make, but as their numbers fell, the Silver Eagles didn't have the manpower to hold so much territory, even if it was in the midst of their home. There were multiple threats in the Outer Keep, Traitor Marines, a woman with the power of ten men running around taking heads, and the Deamon.

This decision had fallen into the hands of Scoutmaster Sulawesi. He had survived the carnage visited upon his Brothers by some unknown force in the canyon, and had returned to the fortress via a secret passage to help combat the foe. Now as he gathered what few troops he could to make a last stand, he began to understand the pure gravity of the situation. Chapter Master Lord Steller had personally ordered his return to the Inner Keep, and Sulawesi was determined to bring as many able bodies as he could with him, but the enemy wouldn't find the halls empty and undefended. Just as his men were setting the last of the mines and other booby traps, the Deamon found them.

In the adjacent hall, it tripped a mine that flooded the gallery with purifying flame, and also sent the Deamon through a wall right before Sulawesi's men. They raised bolters as the demon righted itself, dust falling from its horrid form. "So here is where all of you have gone! I've found you," it said as if it had discovered a misplaced bobble.

"And I have found you," another voice, masculine and sinister announced.

Sulawesi searched for the source of the voice, his gaze settled on a lone Traitor Marine standing in the gap of the blown-out wall. And just like that, the Deamon took no notice of Sulawesi and his men in favor of the new arrival.

"You," the demon hissed, all three of the female heads turned to glare at the Traitor Marine. "You have just saved me the trouble of tracking down your miserable hide," one head spat, the voice carrying all the venom of a woman wronged. Another head began to coo and moan. "Do me...please! Show me your strength..."

Zither stepped through, and Sulawesi ordered his men to retreat to the Inner Keep. The deamon was no longer interested in the Chapter serfs, it had found a new target, and Sulawesi knew that the Emperor only smiled once.

The Deamon hissed and lunged at Zither, who stood calmly, allowing the legs and arms to engulf him. "You warp-spit," one head snarled. "How dare you? We loved him!" and still the other spoke. "He was weak...feel how this one has absorbed him...as one...As One..."

Zither freed one hand and reached up, grasping one breast. "You Slaaneshi have such fickle whims."

"Yes! Please! As One! Take us As One!" the gaping mouth at his groin began licking and gently nibbling an an attempt to entice his body to react.

"Take you? I find you repulsive. There is nothing so ugly as a woman that can't make up her mind."

All three heads screamed, the mouth at his groin turned to teeth, but before they could bite down, Zither came up with his other hand bearing a chainsword. With a grip on the Deamon's breast, he activated the chainsword, and rammed it into the mouth, up deep and inside the body of the demon. The heads screamed, at first in surprise but then in delight as Zither worked the sword, spilling the Deamons harvest of organs to the ground.

"You wanted this right?" he pulled the chainsword out just a little, then rammed it back in with a steady rhythmic pounding. The Deamon screamed in pleasure, a pair of hands pressing his head into the cluster of breasts. Zither then opened his mouth, his jaw unhinging to reveal rows of serrated teeth like some deep sea predator. He bit down on the nearest breast, ripping the flesh from the Deamon and swallowing it whole.

The Deamon suddenly shrieked and let go of him, kicking him away and ripping its body as it dismounted from the chainsword. "You...you ate me!"

Zither chuckled again and licked the blood from the chainsword. "I thought you wanted to be eaten out. You better run, I like it better when my prey struggles."

The three heads hissed then the bleeding and broken form of the Deamon began to skitter away. It wasn't healing this time, and the cold realization of that almost broke the spell the three women of Vortex Kin had woven. They then drew together and strengthened their resolve. "We will see who eats whom."

Legato and Riff withdrew from their attack as the Chapter Master retreated from the hall, then took cover behind a pillar. Vamp was making quick work of the remaining Silver Eagles, and they had no desire to be next in his sight. The last Silver Eagle fell and Vamp began to howl in grief and torment. ~Do you think he'll find us?~ Riff whispered

~If you don't shut up he will.~

~You just had to go pull off his vox horns? And you call me the frakwit? Should have just shot him. Get my name back, get that burden off the band.~

~What band? Do you consider yourself an Aristocrat already?~

~Why not? I like them, they've been good to us,~ Riff peeked from behind the pillar to find that Vamp had found a body that was still breathing. He ripped apart the helpless Astartes' armor and then dropped to all fours and bit down on the Silver Eagles exposed neck. The Silver Eagle cried out as Vamp began to drink deeply of his blood. ~Shred me, he's feeding.~

~Then he's distracted. Lets go,~ Legato silently darted from pillar to another while Vamp fed. Riff cursed, then followed soon after. They skirted the outer wall of the hall, growing a little braver once they circled Vamp far enough so his back was to them, casting nervous glances over their shoulder as the Blood Angel slurped away. They reached the double doors that the Chapter Master had fled through, and hesitated.

~Do you think the door has been trapped?~

~He is a great fool if he didn't.~

Riff leaned against the door, the pink smoke still puffing from his exit vents. ~I don't hear anything, think we should risk it?~

~No, I don't think either of us can detect las-triggered bombs, maybe we could...~ Legato froze as he glanced back to the middle of the floor, to discover that Vamp was no longer where they had left him. ~Ah, shred.~

Riff leaned out a bit further to get a better look. ~He's feeding on someone else,~ he reported. If their first encounter on the Crimson Rhapsody was anything to go by, neither of them stood a chance against the Enraged Blood Angel. ~Given one option over the other, I'll risk getting blown to bits over getting eaten. I've got the door.~

Legato stood to the side as Riff raised a booted foot and kicked the door in, then risked a glance over his shoulder to verify that Vamp was still otherwise occupied. This door wasn't intended to be fortified, and it opened easily. However the doors further down the corridor most certainly were. That door was made of heavy carved stone that had left deep grooves on the floor when the Silver Eagles had closed it. ~Shred, we either stay here and get killed by a crazed Blood Angel, or we go forth and set off a trap.~

Riff began walking along the corridor, testing the marble slabs.

~What are you doing?~

~Looking for another way out. I refuse to believe the choice is so obvious. We came in through a hidden passage, why would it be the only one?~ Riff then glanced down at his feet. ~Well frak me.~

One of Lord Stellers guards had gotten injured, and while the wound itself wasn't fatal, it still left a thin trail of sparse droplets of blood on the floor. The trail continued halfway up the corridor, then turned sharply and vanished with a slight smear into an empty space on the wall. ~We found it, how do we get in?~

Behind them they heard sounds as Vamp finished another meal, then began to wander their way, hissing and gargling with mumbles of prayers to the Emperor and pleas for forgiveness. Riff and Legato quickly hid behind the doors they had just opened and stood as still as statues to avoid drawing the Enraged Space Marine's attention. He came within meters of the hiding Noise Marines, then suddenly dropped to all fours, his nose to the marble. Riff watched through a seam near the hinge as Vamp sniffed the trail of blood on the floor, then quickly licked a drop with a small flick of his tongue.

Like a hound, he crawled, sniffing the trail of blood, licking up the bigger drops as he went until he reached the point in the wall where the trail vanished. For a moment he sniffed at the floor, then along a barely-seen seam in the stone, hands flat against the stone. He then paused and blew a huff of air to stir the scent again, and this time he rested his hand on an off-color section of marble. The marble shifted and the secret passage opened. Rising to his feet Vamp roared into the passage "Death to the dogs of Horus!" then ran inside.

Legato and Riff came from hiding and approached the passage. ~He...is a Blood Angel right?~

~Maybe he kept the company of Wolves for too long.~

Ruffati could not go anywhere without an entourage. No sooner had an entry point been secured when Lyre began to notice servants in the purple and white livery of the Crimson Rhapsody join their numbers. Ruffati didn't bother with the small side halls, instead he walked down the middle of the main entry halls lined with suits of ceremonial armor including ancient jump packs with feathered wings that Lyre assumed had been constructed from the giant birds the Astartes rode for sport. All the while Ruffati kept his nose in a dataslate, taking inventory or issuing commands to his personal escort that remained nearby. Fugue kept pace ahead of them, although his scans revealed that most if not all threats had already been dealt with.

~Make sure you pack those up tightly, I don't want one feather out of place. I have the perfect customers in mind for those suits,~ Ruffati commented, pausing before one suit and making a few notations on his dataslate.

Lyre leaned against a pillar, placing Fugue between himself and the end of the hall just in case some small pocket of resistance still remained. ~So you intend to strip this entire fortress bare?~

~Why not? I'll deconstruct the very walls if I can find a buyer for the stone,~ Ruffati handed the dateslate to a waiting footman who them ran down the hall.

Lyre smirked. ~For a businessman, you don't have a very big imagination.~

Fugue took the lead again as they continued up the hall. ~Enlighten me.~

~You have the manpower and the means to claim this fortress as your own. Do you think that was the only supply shipment they would have coming in?~

Ruffati began to smile. ~Do go on.~

~Leave the fortress intact, leave enough of the chapter relics to maintain an illusion, then assign a group of your servants to act as serfs along with a trusted band or two to act as Silver Eagles. Shred, you could even have a steady supply of slaves in the form of the pilgrims that come to worship here. Instead of investing so much time and effort into these hit and run campaigns, you could have a steady supply line.~

Ruffati paused, his hand going to his chin as he thought it over. ~Indeed...it could work...and this would be the ideal location...and which warband would be trustworthy enough to leave here?~ he

smirked. ~The Aristocrats? Dear Lyre?~

Lyre held his hands open. ~You bought me. Not my band. I do not know exactly what it is you have in mind for me and my mistress, but I refuse to involve my band in it. Yet even though I have my reservations, I know that they have grown comfortable working for you, and we have grown bigger under your protection.~

~It would also provide me with an ideal place to keep the Aristocrats at easy reach without risking the lives of the other warbands in my employ. You paint a very tempting picture Lyre,~ they continued walking, Fugue knew that Lyre was placing an unbelievable amount of trust in him to allow him to listen in on their conversation. ~I suppose it wouldn't hurt to give it a try. The Aristocrats and whomever else I choose would be nothing more than figureheads. I'll probably leave Iben in charge, and my servants know their orders.~

Fugue suddenly stopped and stood before Ruffati and Lyre protectively, easily covering them with his terminator armor. ~There is someone coming.~

Lyre could feel the pounding in the stone under his feet. There had always been the steady vibrations going through the fortress from the assault, but now the rhythms grew closer. Ruffati ordered his servants from the corridor and they took cover with casual ease. Before them, from under the high gothic arches, came two squads of Silver Eagles in full plate.

With the Deamon otherwise occupied, Sulawesi had taken this opportunity to summon whom he could to retake the Outer Keep. The corridor erupted in bolter fire, followed closely by the heavy ear-shattering rattle of storm bolters. The Traitors had brought a suit of terminator armor with them and the corrupted soul inside was skilled in using it. But he wasn't the most dangerous one in the hall by far. Behind the terminator stood a Space Marine in carapace armor, easily mistaken for one of Sulawesi's own save for the coloring and the dataslate in his hands. Beside him was a strange sight. A Space Marine, for he had to be due his height and mass, wearing nothing save for a pair of black trousers and button-up shirt, barefoot and wielding a massive red guitar, stepped casually from behind the terminator. His long white hair framed a face so beautiful that it could only be attributed to the Ruinous Powers. Years spent pouring over volumes in the fortress library came back to him in an instant and the Scoutmaster found a name for his enemy.

"Son of the traitor Fulgrim! We are beset by the Emperor's Children!" he shouted. "Our faith in the Emperor will be our best weapon against this traitor!"

The two squads formed firing lines, but neither of the figures in the hall moved or took cover. Instead, the traitor in black turned and opened his mouth wide, letting loose with a scream that could only have been ripped from the bowels of the warp itself, this was soon accompanied by the seething and hungry growl of the damned. It was as if Sulawesi could see the sound as it traveled through the air, corrosive and carrying with it all the promise of pleasure and pain the universe could offer. It struck the ranks of Astartes, where the stone-shattering scream had failed to bring them to their feet, this attack was on another level. Ceramite could protect them from fire, bolts and explosions, but this sound was like a plasma cannon to their very souls. It not only had a physical impact that compromised their armor and confounded their weapons, but it was psychic as well, reaching to their hearts and judging what it found there.

Lyre played a tune he knew well that had served him on many fields of battle in the past. While close quarters fighting lent itself to reverberating concussive attacks, both Lyre and Red Widow preferred the wider range emotional assaults. The weaker ones would lose control of their nervous systems, becoming stationary lumps of flesh only suitable to be finished by the next attack, the stronger ones would find resolve, and that was what his mistress desired. She had gone too long without a good feeding, and now that she was so, so close to having her one million souls, nothing would stop her. Lyre knew better than to fight her when she was in this mood, and he surrendered his body to her whims, his hatred fading away at her sinister embrace.

His fingers caressed her strings lovingly, only to pluck sharply tuned chords that sent stabbing notes into the ears and hearts of his victims. Five along the front line fell, their souls traveling the corridor only to be gobbled up by his hungry mistress. Others tried to retreat, but a shockwave sent through the floor overturned stone and caused three to lose their footing. Lyre snarled then took a step closer, hungry for more. So hungry, so empty. This void in his heart ached to be filled and nothing but the souls of the powerful could soothe him. All around him skulls and souls vibrated, shattering bone and separating the spiritual from the flesh. It was grisly work, but there was a tally to keep, a harvest to be had. Some of the souls were bitter, others were hot with anger, others were sweet and hollow with pleas to the God Emperor of Mankind for deliverance.

Too soon. The harvest was over too soon. Red Widow used her Slaves dual-colored gaze to search for more treats, and found one. She didn't need to expend her powers to harvest this soul, his body had been broken. His thoughts already of death. She found him, the Scoutmaster Sulawesi, supported by a stone pillar in the hall. The Scoutmaster smiled defiantly with his teeth bared as Lyre approached him, Red Widow silent and seething at his side. "A message for your bastard Primarch!" he shouted as three krak grenades fell from his hands.

Red Widow reacted immediately, manifesting momentarily, her many legs holding before them a web created of warp energy. Lyre held his hands out, mimicking the movement of his mistress. He felt the white hot heat touch his palms, but then condense into a ball of light, forcing the explosion back against Sulawesi. He watched as the Scoutmaster burned before him, his flesh melting away and bones turning to ash then dust. Red Widow drew her web tighter, condensing the ball further and adding her own touch with Sulawesi's soul trapped inside. "I'll see that he gets it," Lyre chuckled, then held the ball in his hands until it shrank to the size of a small fruit. At his mistresses command, he tilted his head back and swallowed it. The soul and its accompanying fire burned on its way down, leaving only a pleasant warmth behind, like a hot mug of recaff on a cold night.

Ruffati took up his dataslate again as his servants came from hiding and began to assess the bodies of the fallen. "Shred Lyre, you could have left some of the armor intact."

As much as Legato enjoyed killing Imperials, he was finding a perverse delight in tailing Vamp through the Inner Keep. As the various Warsingers cries faded in favor of the vox to guide the warbands to their prey, more of the surviving Silver Eagles were withdrawing to the Inner Keep. Where Vamp would then follow their scent or battle cries through the many hidden passages in the fortress to their holding points. Riff cackled with glee when Vamp would unexpectedly erupt from an unassuming painting to catch the Astartes off-guard. He was racking up an enviable body count, second only to a Khornate named Viola that had been set loose with a Thunderhammer. The Imperials had retreated to the main hall, a heavily fortified throne room of the Chapter Master and his chosen.

Forlorn Hope was mopping up in the Outer Keep, while Warp Lightning, Dark Muses, and the Aristocrats were either closing in on the Inner Keep, or like Vamp, already tearing through the halls making child's play of their defenses. The Throne Room was heavily fortified, designed in such a way to make it nearly impossible to attack on foot as they were. Hidden gun nests in the wall held heavy bolters that had been successful in mowing down a member of Warp Lightning before the rest of the bands took heed and began to proceed with more caution.

While the other Noise Marines pondered a tactic to break into the Throne Room, Vamp was more than content to patrol the halls nearby. Legato and Riff kept a safe distance from the Enraged Blood Angel, watching him from overhead balconies and catwalks, or even subtly opening doors or creating sounds in a certain direction to lead their automaton in a more desirable direction. All had been going well until they encountered the other bands. Vamp would attack friend or foe, and the shaky alliances that Ruffati had overseen in his chosen bands were of even less concern to the former Blood Angel.

Vamp ran headlong into another set of ornate double doors, bursting through them and into a gallery held by members of Warp Lightning. With a cry to the Emperor on his lips, Vamp closed the distance to the closest one in garish bright pink and burning blue, and used a weapon looted from a fallen Silver Eagle to not only separate the Noise Marines head from his shoulders, but to cleave clean through his body, stopping only once to brace his foot and push the corpse away. The call then went out over the vox that the Aristocrats had turned on Warp Lightning, causing members of the band to leave their positions to seek retribution in the form of Aristocrat blood. This gave the Silver Eagles the opening they needed to make a push to retake the Inner and Outer Keeps. With the enemy now divided, the time was ripe for counter maneuvers.

Warp Lightning, much like Forlorn Hope, was a larger band and it made up a considerable amount of the more skilled force that Ruffati had hired. While Forlorn Hope was composed of mainly Neophytes, Warp Lightning had almost twenty-five skilled and experienced Noise Marines and zealots on their side. Legato and Riff went for cover as the galley exploded in light and sound when the two remaining members of Warp Lightning turned on Vamp. Yet just like the Silver Eagles before them, they never considered just how fast the fallen Angel could move. Soon they lay dead and Vamp continued onward, bursting through another set of doors and into the main corridor before the Throne Room.

Heavy Bolters began firing away from slits in the wall as Vamp ran across the floor. Vamp pulled a combat knife from his side and threw it. The knife passed through the gunslit and into the barrel of the bolter, followed by a satisfying cracking sound and smoke. Like guilty children Legato and Riff followed. At first they had been driven by perverse curiosity, now with both the Silver Eagles and Warp Lighting out for them, it was more prudent to keep close to the crazed Space Marine. As Legato took cover behind a pillar, he noted that he wasn't alone in his choice of hiding place. Leaning against the far wall, as if engaged in nothing more than a brief rest during a stroll, stood Ruffati and Lyre. Fugue was also close, his terminator armor providing both defense and offense for the two Long War Veterans.

Lyre watched as Vamp tore through another gun nest, this time selecting the pole of an honor banner as his weapon, then turned his gaze to Legato. "Did you do this?" he gestured to Vamps voxhorns still in Legato's possession.

Legato straightened up. "I did. Seemed like the best idea at the time."

Lyre nodded. "Well...now you can go put it back," his voice was cold, and Legato could feel the heavy hungering weight of Red Widow lurking just behind Lyre's barely concealed anger. Legato began to feel a slight pang of regret at his actions. He had displeased someone that he had been trying hard to impress, and that stung more than any bolt round.

~Should have killed him when I had the chance,~ Legato hissed as he searched for safe passage to Vamps last known location. Riff stayed behind with Fugue to restock his stimms. Just like the little shatterbrain. He was sure that Lyre would have words with him later about how his actions had caused yet another rift between the Aristocrats and another warband, and that could hurt his chances at claiming his rightful place at Lyre's side. If putting the voxhorns back on that bloodthirsty disaster would please the leader of the Aristocrats, then that is what Legato would do.

Ruffati glanced up from his dataslate. ~Well, at least your little foundling helped to clear the way to our final objective.~

~It would seem so, although I am not pleased with Legato's method,~ Lyre listened to his earbead. The Noise Marines had secured every aspect of the fortress save for what lurked behind the doors before them. ~You had not been exaggerating when you said this Chapter had been weakened. I have not spied one dreadnaught or terminator in the halls. Shred, there have been Imperial Guard companies that have put up more of a fight.~

~I won't say that I'm not curious...perhaps we will discover something after we take control.~

Lyre pulled Red Widow to his side again. ~Then what are we waiting for?~

~Hold on,~ Ruffati sang. ~I have full faith in your abilities Lyre, but I'm waiting on someone.~

Lyre and Red Widow stood impatiently while the sounds of battle echoed elsewhere in the fortress. Fugue never changed position and Riff was surrounded in a cloud of slaabur. Lyre could hear the voices and heartbeats of the Space Marines beyond that huge stone door, if they didn't act soon they would lose their window of opportunity that Vamp had bought them. Just as he was about to move, he heard the tell-tale bark of Sonata's twin bolt pistols along with cries of alarm raised within.

~Seems your Warsinger beat us to it,~ Ruffati glanced up from him dataslate. ~You are right, I was wrong to doubt her resolve,~ he said with a grin.

~I'm going to join her, I will not leave a member of my band to fight alone,~ Lyre left the safety of the pillar and entered the hall to find himself surrounded by the Noise Marines of Dark Muse.

~Please forgive our delay Ruffati. Passage through the halls was made troublesome by a certain Khornate that acquired a Thunderhammer,~ a Noise Marine that Lyre took to be the leader stepped forward from the group. ~Aristocrat Lyre, I am Cannon, band leader of Dark Muse. And I will be your escort in battle henceforth.~

Lyre turned to Ruffati. ~You really don't trust me.~

~Its not just that,~ the master of the Crimson Rhapsody smiled as something flit across his dataslate. ~I have hired Dark Muse to ensure that you do not reach your tally prematurely. I still have big plans for you Lyre, and I have need of your skill. Go on in there, assist your Warsinger, feed your mistress, but I have equipped Dark Muse to ensure that you will remain in my employ for a while longer. In the meantime, I have inventory to conduct, go on and claim your prize, I'll return soon.~

Fugue watched Ruffati walk away surrounded by his servants then to Lyre for orders. Lyre then subvocalized in his earbead. ~I don't believe this fortress has yet fallen. Fugue, take Riff and make sure we are not caught off guard.~

Fugue noted that Lyre said nothing about the safety of Ruffati, but by then the master of the Crimson Rhapsody had already vanished down a side hall. Riff was about to follow Lyre into the final hold-out of the Silver Eagles. Fugue gave his bandmate a smack on the head and gestured for him to follow.

Lyre spun on his heel. Ruffati really had bought him body and soul. But his band would be safe. He wanted them as far away from this mess between himself and Ruffati as he could manage. Red Widow alternated between insult to her claim on her Slave and hunger for the feast before and around her. Lyre made the decision for her and pressed on to the throne room of the Silver Eagles. Dark Muse formed a circle around him, each one standing two meters away, their armor of deep black and electric blue in contrast with the world around them. Lyre caressed Red Widow's strings, enticing her as one would a lover to grant him her power. ~Move,~ he commanded the Dark Muses before him, and to his surprise, they obeyed. They parted before him and took positions to the side as Lyre released the warp-granted power of his mistress.

A combination of light, sound, and warp traveled across the floor as slime, then oozed between the narrow seams of the door. With another note of command, the slime exploded, releasing its pent-up energy in a blast that took the stone slabs from their hinges and frame. Lyre and Dark Muse stepped aside, allowing the massive carved rock to fall as it would. Lyre felt Red Widows presence come over him like a thick cloak or funeral shroud. There was something powerful in this chamber, and she wanted to be the first to feed.

"Showtime."

In the past Lyre would have clung to the walls, in the past he would have sought cover behind several other bodies. But that had been the past. That had been long before he took the life of his first Space Marine, fed his mistress her first soul, felt the power of it invigorate his body and mind. That was long before he learned he finer aspects of Solresol, long before he had been chained and bound with a mask locked onto his face. Now in many ways he was free. The ceramite had been liberated from his skin, his bare feet rested confidently on smooth stone, and his thin shirt allowed him to read the flow and temperature changes in the air around him. The only thing that hadn't changed was the smell. The scent of spent bolts with an underlying perfume of lapping powder accompanied by the thick musk of spilled blood. Lyre could smell the sweetness of flowers blooming in the canyon along with the fresh scent of the river, spoiled by the choking chemical taste of burnt-out servos and compromised chainsword motors. There was also a familiar scent that both soothed and enticed Red Widow, that of the Warp. This scent was for the mind alone, for the mere physical senses of even a Space Marine couldn't detect all of the minor notes and nuances.

The Silver Eagles has a potent psyker in their employ, in the form of the Chapter Librarian. He stood in full plate behind thirty or so of his Brothers, a massive cowl of coils sparking behind and high over his head. Blue warp-light shot through the coils as lightning, which would in turn pick a random subcoil to emit a charge to the Librarians bald head. Lyre almost laughed out loud at the theater of it all. He had been hit by such forms of lightning before, and they weren't pleasant, yet he could see how the annoying pain of it all would spur one into a battle frenzy. Although "frenzy" was never a good word to use with psykers.

Once the doors had fallen, the air came alive with bolts and the occasional plasma burst. As predicted, the majority came for Lyre as he was the most obvious target, however quite a few others took aim upon a silver and white form that darted between the rafters at the roof of the hall. Sonata used her own voice to disrupt the focus and aim of her attackers, then retaliated with her bolt pistols in kind. Decades of rationing ammo had given the Warsinger damn-near flawless aim, and each shot she chose to make was a kill-shot. Dark Muse fell into formation, taking cover and returning fire with Sonic Blasters and Blast Masters, but even in the middle of this symphony of destruction, Lyre still felt unchallenged.

Red Widow came to his aid, placing strategic webs to absorb or disrupt the incoming fire. The air around Lyre began to ripple as if he were a source of intense heat. Slowly the ripples grew more steady, creating geometric patterns as echos from the chords he drew from Red Widow. Some of the chords deflected the bolts coming his way, others caught them. Some of them became visible as streams of plasma became his playthings. These weaklings didn't deserve such a concert of his making. In the past he had performed for Legions, he had performed for his Primarch, he had performed for continents worth of battlefields filled with renegade guard, sentient armor and Deamon Lords. He had driven Khornates into a Blood Fury, and caused Slaaneshi to erupt in spontaneous screams of Desire. He and Red Widow had sang for Deamon Princes and Gods and drew their favor in return.

What in this room deserved a private performance of their caliber?

With an off-handed, even lazy brush against Red Widow's strings, the intricate webs that Lyre had woven exploded outward, cutting into the Silver Eagles around him, slicing off arms and legs with ease. Red Widow quickly collected their souls, scooping them up like spilled candy. Sonata's bolt pistols found others, and the Sonic Fury of Dark Muse finished more. By the time Lyre brought his hand back for another stroke of Red Widows strings, the thirty remaining Silver Eagles had fallen dead, leaving only the Librarian and the Chapter Master.

Lyre stepped forward, the stone warm under the soles of his feet, punctuated by the occasional sharp pebble. The Librarian held a Force Staff before him, chanting prayers to the Emperor. Several of the microcoils struck him at once and he unleashed a blue wave of psychic energy through the hall. It flickered serpent like, along the floor, up a wall, then toward Lyre. This was amateur. The Aristocrat knew from the sound and movement of the burst of its path and how to control it. With a simple note from Red Widow, he elaborated on the vibration and remixed it to his own ends. He caught the energy and contained it, sustained and replicated it until it became a series of halos around his body. "Your notes fall a little flat," he chuckled.

The Librarian raised his Force staff again and his head exploded. Lyre had bought his Warsinger the moment she needed to take aim and end the life of their foe. Red Widow wasn't about to let such a soul go that easily, and quickly caught and trapped it in one of her many webs. Lyre let the halos fall to the ground soundlessly save for a deep bass thrum as each one impacted and dissipated through the stone. There was no one left alive save for the Chapter Master. As expected he was a giant in artificer plate, with silver wings behind him and ornate weapons at his side that had most likely never seen a battle.

Lyre stood in the center of the floor, then raised his right arm in a fist. In the rafters between the honor banners, Sonata saw and recognized this gesture. He was calling her, as one would a falcon. She circled down to him, then touched one of her smaller booted feet to his fist. Lyre then shifted his arm so she could land fully on him. With her weight fully settled on his arm, he looked up to her. ~I can hear that Legato is having a bit of trouble with Vamp. Would you go assist him?~

Sonata nodded an affirmation, then jumped into the air as Lyre gave a sharp flick with his elbow, helping to propel her airborne. In a flash of silver and white, she folded her wings and darted out of a broken stained glass window.

Lord Steller rose from the throne. "Pretty little thing."

"You will meet death on your feet then?" Lyre smiled.

"Not so much as meet death as to inquire the meaning of this," Lord Steller demanded. "My Primarch will not stand for it."

"I care not for your dead Primarch."

Steller began to to chuckle. "You...just invaded? You didn't come here for anything? You know nothing about this place? Or whom my Primarch is?"

"There is nothing to know. It was a weak fortress with much needed supplies."

Steller began to laugh. It grew into the deep soul-felt rumble and cackle of a dead man having a last joke. "You...you don't know? You never-! Haha!"

Lyre drew his combat knife, then advanced on the Chapter Master. "Raise a weapon."

"No..." Steller continued laughing. "My death will seal yours. I welcome it to spite all of you."

"As you wish," with one quick stroke, Lyre slit the throat of the last of the Silver Eagles, yet even as Red Widow gobbled down his soul, she was already calling for more. The Dark Muses formed around Lyre once again and the leader Cannon approached Lyre with a familiar syringe filled with yellow fluid. ~If you don't mind.~

~I have served my purpose then?~ Lyre asked.

~No harm shall come to you, but you must withdraw from the stage now Lyre. Per Ruffati's orders.~

Lyre studied the syringe, then the bodies on the floor. ~My band.~

~Are unfortunately, on their own. Although I personally believe that they will be fine. You have my word that no one of Dark Muse shall harm them.~

Lyre closed his eyes and listened, tracking his bands progress through the fortress. He could hear Sonata and Clef clearly along with the jumbled words from the others, even the distant meditations of Monody still at the shrine. He had faith in them. ~Give me the syringe. I can do it myself.~

~This way,~ Fugue tapped Riff on the helmet, then took position near a door to the Inner Keep.

~I don't see why Lyre won't let us stick around. You'd think he would need all the help he can get for a battle with the Chapter Master,~ Riff complained. The pink smoke coming from his air vents had faded, and while he was still amiable, Fugue knew it was only a matter of time before his favorite test subject began to whine for his next fix.

~Its not just a battle, the Chapter Master may be using himself as bait to lure Lyre and Dark Muse in to a trap. We keep a look out to ensure that we don't suddenly have a Silver Eagle enema.~ Fugue explained calmly, knowing full well that he would probably have to do it again relatively soon knowing Riffs limited attention span.

~No...that wouldn't be pleasant at all...~ Riff agreed. They fell to a comfortable silence, listening to the screams and shouts from the far corners of the fortress. ~Do you think we should stay?~ he asked suddenly.

~Stay?~

~With the Aristocrats,~ Riff looked up at the ceiling where a grand mural showed a multitude of Silver Eagles fending off an army of demons riding a wave of water. ~Legato was saying some stupid shred about moving on. I told him I didn't want to...that I kinda like this band.~

~Legato can move on if Legato wants to. I haven't made up my mind one way or the other,~ Fugue ventured a glance back at Riff. ~And you?~

~I want to stay, I won't stop you if you and Legato want to go. Its not quite your forte, staying put in one place or with one band. We both have worn so many different colors and icons...but I like Lyre and Clef and Sonata. Shred, when was the last time you had a chance to speak with a real chaplain? Find your path again and some words of encouragement? I think this band has the means to stick around, its not a sickle flash,~ the smaller Noise Marine leaned against the wall.

Fugue weighed those words carefully. This little shatterbrain was willing to even abandon him, his lone source of mind-altering chemicals for sake of this band. Riff had found comfort in something that wasn't a drug, and that itself was encouraging. ~I won't leave you Ostinato. If you want to be an Aristocrat, then I'll be an Aristocrat too. Legato can make up his own mind.~

~Thanks Fugue...and I guess you can keep calling me 'Riff', its growing on me,~ he smiled and accepted Fugues offer of a bit of slaabur. ~Maybe thats what I needed...a new start and a new name to go with it.~ he removed his helmet and cleared away the ashes from his last hit inside the heating coils. He then packed the new batch in and put his helmet back on, taking deep breaths.

Fugue heard a sound up the hall, then raised his Sonic Blaster. ~Here they come,~ he whispered.

The stained glass ceiling in the hall above them shattered, revealing in a splash of color a large fleshy shape that crashed to the floor. The Deamon of Vortex Kin landed on its back, Zither's winged form perched atop it and shrieking in a similar manner to a Warp Scream. As One reared its mutated legs and kicked Zither off, slamming him into a pillar lining the hall. It then turned and flicked out one whip-like arm, grabbing a pillar close by, using it to pull itself up to its feet. Zither pounced, wings open and landing square in the Deamon's back, blood-soaked chainsword held low. The Deamon was now missing three of its breasts, the front legs had been cut clean off, but the womanly backside remained untouched save for a few healing scratches caused by the fall. Zither lowered the chainsword, placing the tip between its buttocks, then with another roar activated it and rammed it inside.

As One screamed in concert with Zither, both heads now wearing expressions of pain and panic. This play had gone too far, they were no longer in control. Zither pumped the chainsword, spewing bits of acid demon flesh along the pillars in the hall while slowly sawing his way up along the Deamon's spine. With a final roar, he split the creature in two, then began to feast upon his defeated foe. He consumed his meal quickly and with no grace, his mouth extending wide enough to swallow chunks larger than a man whole. Finally the last piece disappeared down his throat, and holding his distended stomach, Zither slipped away to find a corner to rest and digest in.

Riff and Fugue had remained motionless and silent at their post during this display. Fugue's only movement having been to holster his Sonic Blaster in favor for keeping the violin "Mothers Tears" close. As Zither retreated Riff exhaled a thick cloud of purple glittery smoke that he had been holding in. He then gave the ceramic shell filled with the remainder of the slaabur back to Fugue.

~Frak me Fugue...that's a shredded good batch you came up with this time.~

Legato trailed Vamp through the main hall and to gallery that opened onto a wide balcony which caused even the Noise Marine to pause for a moment to reflect. The balcony clung to the side of the fortress, one side with doors opening to the interior, the other open to the night air with only the odd column to break the view. From this vantage he could look out over the entire canyon, to the silver river below, like a band of liquid metal in the moonlight, to the distant bend beyond which lay the shrine to Saint Vera. The stunning landscape was broken by the cries of the massive avian mounts the Silver Eagles rode, along with the rumble of jump packs. Below and above him stray Silver Eagles were defending the exterior of the fortress against a yet unseen foe.

With a near-silent whisper of air a silver and white shape darted past Legato's position, followed by several eagles and three Astartes in jump packs that had been pushed to their limits. Legato tracked the first shape and recognized it as Sonata in her full Chaos blessed glory, out maneuvering and engaging the Silver Eagles in aerial combat. She was a vision crafted by the gods themselves, brilliant white wings unfolded behind her, while two golden horns curled from beneath her short purple hair. She turned her head and raised a bolt pistol, then with a warp-tainted scream, took aim at her pursuers. Legato watched the graceful curve of her hip and thigh as she spun in the air, folding her wings to fall neatly between two of the Silver Eagles with jump packs.

In that moment, Legato made the decision that no one else would have her. He had been respectful of Lyre, assuming that the band leader had already made a claim on the only female worthy enough in the band, but he was beginning to have his doubts. He had seen no one enter or leave Sonata's chamber, which meant that she was open to pursue. No one else would lay claim to this banshee of the night. With Vamp now forgotten, Legato raised his sonic blaster and took aim at the closest Astartes riding one of the great winged beasts. The weapon screamed, splitting the night air. The eagle shrieked, both rider and mount affected by this strange weapon as the concentrated mass of sound pulverized bones in the beasts wing and caused the Astartes ears to bleed. Both rider and mount tumbled from the sky, falling hard on the stone towers and terraces of the fortress.

Sonata glanced up, her expression one of grief at the death of an eagle. Fine. So the woman didn't want to harm the animals. Legato took aim at the jump packs instead. He dropped one more of them before they returned fire. Legato served as a distraction while Sonata finished the last eagle rider by diving at the beast and running the rider through with her chainsword. She then turned her attention on the remaining jump packs. Legato had drawn their attention, so they were easy enough to find and attack. She ended their threat with two well-timed cracks from her bolt pistol.

Legato left his cover as Sonata flew toward him, white wings backlit by the light of the moon. She landed on the balcony's stone railing, then jumped down. ~Thank you for the assistance Legato.~

Legato opened his mouth to respond, but was then distracted by a sound further down the balcony. Vamp had found a serf in hiding and proceeded to rip the human in half. ~I have a task to complete Lady Sonata,~ his desires would have to wait. There was a time and place for everything.

~Here, let me do it,~ Sonata held her hand out and Legato gave her Vamps vox horns. Slowly she approached the fallen angel while Legato stood behind her, sonic blaster at the ready in case Vamp made a move toward his prize.

The former Blood Angel was bleeding heavily. His movements were becoming slower and a bit clumsy as he lashed out at anything that came near. Sonata put her weapons away, and held the vox horns at her side. Blood had turned Vamps purple armor deep red, as if some part of him was making a macabre attempt to reclaim the heraldry of his lost Chapter. His eyes were fierce and green, the pupils no more than tiny pinpricks, blood stained his lips and chin. It was difficult to believe that he wasn't a creature of Chaos, for if the Black Rage wasn't a work of an intelligent evil, then what would be?

"Ostinato," Sonata said softly in Gothic. Calling his true name had the desired effect, he paused and for a moment some sense of sanity appeared to return. He took a step backward and hissed like a feline. "Calm thyself Ostinato," she moved steadily forward.

In Vamps mind the clouds began to clear. In a world that had been made of darkness, anger and grief, a light had managed to break through. At first he couldn't place where the light had come from, or where he even was, but the darkness was lifting. He heard his name and sought the source, the enraged shouts of his ancestors and Brothers before him began to calm, returning to their soft plainsong choir-like hum. A voice, higher than the others joined them, beckoning him forward, and slowly the red of his world faded, replaced by contrasting colors of blue, silver and white.

Ostinato.

He turned and looked upon the source of the voice, and seemingly encompassing his entire field of vision was Sonata, but she wasn't alone. She wore silver armor, yet her white wings shone with a golden light that didn't come of this world. Behind her rose another figure, wearing a hooded cloak of deep burgundy, the folds of the fabric made a feeble attempt to contain the golden light within. Behind the Warsinger, another pair of wings rose, much larger than her own, each feather and fold like sunbeam that had been captured and given form. So brilliant, so radiant that Vamp dropped to one knee and quickly followed to his other. The wings closed around both of them, washing Vamps soul in warmth and love. An acceptance that he hadn't felt in so long, and even then never to this extreme. This was the brief warmth that was felt in a moment of shared laughter, in a victory cry, in the satisfaction of a job well done. The Black Rage faded completely. Distantly he sensed Sonata draw closer and the vox horns slip over his head and ears. The music and tones began to play, but they were discordant with the warmth of wings around him.

Gradually the warmth faded, and Vamp returned to his senses. The music was the only thing keeping the Rage at bay. He lifted his hands and cupped the vox horns to his ears. "Better?" Sonata asked, resting her hands on his shoulders.

He looked up at her, her wings no longer tinted gold, if they ever had been. What sorcery was that? Did he imagine it? Was it all just a distraction? Slaaneshi after all were known for their glamor abilities, but it felt wrong to attribute such a powerful moment to that form of Chaos. No, there had been something more in that embrace. Unbidden, the memory that Lyre had shared of his Primarchs laughter rose in his mind. There is was, that small golden moment, that same feeling of love and unconditional trust, that sacred bond that could never be broken, was an exact echo of the wings of light that had folded around him...around both of them.

In Vamps heart, his Primarch had spoken, he had not been shunned or cast away, he had been embraced, both he and Sonata had been embraced in wings of unconditional love and acceptance. In that moment Vamp realized that no matter what path he tread, nor actions taken, could he ever lose the love of his Primarch. As long as he was true to himself, his Primarch would laugh along with him.

Sonata took a step back as Vamp rose to his feet, then cast a harsh glance at Legato. Legato only chuckled, malice coming through in his tone. ~So "Vamp," how does it feel to finally have Imperial Blood on your hands?~

Vamp looked down at his hands and licked his lips in disgust. His Primarch had forgiven him, but it would take much longer to forgive himself.

Lyre finished injecting the serum into his arm. Surrounded by the dead, one shadow began to move along the wall before stepping into the moonlight to reveal a Space Marine.

~You must be Sharp,~ Lyre said, the Dark Muses closing around him as he took a seat on the Chapter Masters throne.

~Aye,~ Sharp pulled his ink-black guitar-like sonic weapon before him. ~Servant to my master. Teeth,~ he stepped over or around the bodies of the fallen Silver Eagles, then circled around Stellers corpse. The Dark Muses dropped their hands to their weapons as Sharp drew closer. ~I hadn't thought that one of the Twin Deamons would have needed such an extensive guard.~

~They aren't there to stop you from slaying me. They are present to stop me from slaughtering you.~

Before Sharp could retaliate, a loud impact sounded at the eastern wall. With one mighty slam several bricks fell away along with sheets of marble paneling. A second later there was another slam, this one succeeded in creating a small hole in the wall. Finally the third created a sufficient enough portal for several dusty and battered Noise Marines to pour through along with a woman who casually shouldered a Thunderhammer and stepped through.

Dark Muse closed ranks even tighter around Lyre as Clef and Forlorn Hope spilled through the hole. As more of the Aristocrats appeared, the tension in the air began to strengthen. This was the most dangerous part of any mission, after the enemy had been defeated, the focus vanished, creating vacuum in the Noise Marine's purpose. Some like Riff, handled it with liberal amounts of stimms, others, like Darren and Viola would find comfort in each other. Clef was not like either of them. His mistress wanted more, and her smallest wish was his hearts command.

Clef and Sharp sized each other up in moments. The shaky truce between the Soul Slaves had broken. The mission completed, they could now serve their demonic masters unfettered. It was primal, bestial. Two dominant predators that could not bear to share the same air. Clef bellowed his challenge. His Warp Scream enhanced cry of rage filled the hall, cracking stone and turning the stained glass windows to powder. He brought Forsworn around, her strings burning with blue flame as he ran his fingers lovingly across their length. She was his Mistress, his Lover and his Muse. To show his true dedication to her alone, he vowed in his heart to bring her the head of the opposing Soul Slave and claim the foes harvest of souls for their own.

Clefs shout raised the hackles on the other two Soul Slaves in the room. Red Widow fought for control of her Slave, but something was keeping her from him, something had enabled him to slip from her grasp. This anger more than anything allowed her manifest more clearly. If her Slave wasn't going to move in to the kill on his own, then should would make him move. She was so close to ascending! Frak! Just the few Noise Marines in this room alone would be enough to finally free her!

Sharp responded to Clef in kind by striking a hard chord upon his weapon that created a vortex of light and sound to dispell Clef's broad attack. Clef's voice began to waver, but gained strength once more as his Mistress pushed him onward. Blue flame began to lick at Clefs feet and up his arms, turning the lenses of his helm into bright white orbs. Once again his hands traced Forsworns strings, coaxing from her a sound that was both pleasure and pain, the call of a lost then found love. Sharp countered it with the rage of betrayal that had simmered for decades, his own demonic master began to present itself in the form of a dark storm cloud that held the promise of lightning within. He pressed on, throwing chords of hardship and unrequited lust with undertones of the hopeless grief only known on the battlefield.

Clef suddenly felt Forsworn falter. That last attack had passed right through him and struck her directly. Loss. What did a deamoness know about Loss? His own attack weakened as he struggled to understand why his Mistress would fail him. Was she not a powerful deamoness? That seed of doubt was all it took for Sharp to gain the upper hand. Clef felt his next surge of sound like an incoming shell, whistling through the air but ultimately unavoidable. It struck the core of him, sending ripples of mocking laughter through his veins. All of the failures he had known surfaced in his mind, all of the fair weather friends he had let slip between his fingers, how the band seemed to blame him for the death of Cornet. Clef had only known him for a few hours but his features and personality had been burned onto his heart.

Cornet...

The shame of failure closed on his heart and Clef vaguely felt his body drop to his knees. Sharp closed his fist and the grip on his heart tightened.

~You should have never challenged your better. Boy,~ Sharp sang. With another attack bearing the full weight of Loss, Clef felt Forsworn cry out in pain and attempt to withdraw from him to evade the other Soul Slave. ~You have a pathetic harvest for your equally pathetic mistress, but every little bit helps.~

Clef had never felt so helpless, his body was no longer his to control, and Sharp was readying a final blow to his mistress. How could he have failed so badly? How could a deamoness become so frightened?

Boy.

Where? Who?

Boy, if you don't stand up for her, no one else will.

Who was that? The voice was so clear.

You need her strength, but not as much as she needs yours. You've been going through the motions until now, but now you need to understand what this relationship is between the two of you. To do that you must protect her, honor her, support her. Are you going to let this warp-spit prick molest your mistress?

Clef shot a glance to Lyre, who remained motionless on the Chapter Masters throne surrounded by what seemed to be the entirety of Dark Muse. No, that wasn't Lyre's voice.

~Cornet,~ Clef breathed. For a moment he could picture the former Aristocrat perfectly, standing before him and holding the brunt of Sharps attacks at bay, but he wouldn't hold long.

Wake up Clef.

The world slowed as Clef felt his soul part from his body. He was no longer bound by the limits of his physical sight, and what his minds eye revealed to him would change him forever. He looked to Lyre and saw the arachnid-like form of Red Widow hovering over him, needle-fine webs extended from her glowing abdomen and connected to glowing colored points within Lyre's body-the chakras that he had spoken of on the Crimson Rhapsody. Clef could see the same in Sharps body, where his demonic master Teeth resembled a many-mouthed creature that had bitten down and held to his Slave with locked jaws. He then looked back at his own body, where his chakras were being pulled free of his form. Behind him was Forsworn, but she was no demon. Forsworn was a frightened Eldar female with tears running down her cheeks, holding tightly to him, trying in vain to keep his chakras in place.

Wake up Clef.

~I'm awake,~ and for the briefest moment he could hear a melody play, sweet and soft and comforting. He didn't need the Sonic Blaster now, he could use his own soul's parts to echo that melody. They were his chakras, his colors, and no one else would dictate what he would do with his soul. With no small amount of focus, he vibrated his individual chakras, echoing the melody. He could feel such intense emotions course through him at each one, radiating outward and striking Sharp. Sharp shrieked, then let go suddenly, backing away from Clef for a moment to regroup and analyze this new form of attack.

Clefs consciousness snapped back into his body. He felt heavy for a moment before taking a deep breath and calling out, he sat up from his place on the floor, tears coming unbidden from his eyes within his helm. He felt the aftershocks of his strange attack ripple through him and he cried both in happiness and grief. He could no longer see the demons in the room with him, if that was even what Forsworn was. Regardless of her incorporeal form, she had chosen Clef as her Champion, and he had vowed to protect and aid her.

Clef gained his feet once more, the quick lesson of his out of body experience granting him the ability to see and understand things he hadn't before. He drew his Sonic Blaster before him again, the blue fire now running over his limbs like liquid. Sharp was already launching another crushing wave of Loss and Sorrow to strike Clef before the Aristocrat could attack. Forsworn he now knew was weak to this form of assault to the senses. He had been using her as his shield in the past, but now he stood before her, protecting her from these things. Clef knew Loss, he knew Sorrow. Decades of abuse at the hands of Lyre and Crasis had enabled him to create a psychic armor of sorts to dull the force of these kinds of attack. He drew upon strength from the depths of his soul and felt the fire on his limbs become more tangible. No longer just expressions of warp-light, but real chemical reactions in the materium. It was now that Forsworn helped to guide him. Before he had just been a child with a powerful weapon, but now he had fully awakened. His minds eye was wide open, and all the power of the Warp was his for the taking.

Clef roared, releasing the full fury of his soul. All the flames of his anger surged forth in a thick pillar of red and yellow fire. In contrast, Sharps little attack of Loss and Sorrow was a thin shadow made intimidating by a cloak of fear. The sound-based attack of the immaterium had little resistance against the full impact of Clefs collumn of flame. Yet Sharp was still a more skilled Soul Slave than Clef. He quickly changed tactics to deal with the material attack. He dissipated Clefs flame, then turned his attention back to his opponent. ~So you are just a little more than a disco side-show. Finally, a worthy challenge!~

Clef watched as Sharp began to mutate, becoming more and more like the toothed nightmare of his demonic master. The Noise Marines body began to erupt in many mouths filled with many more teeth, some with tongues licking dry cracked lips, others would extend outward like the detachable jaws of deep sea creatures. Like many deamons, its appearance was only limited by the viewers imagination. The shadows in the hall began to condense on Sharp, and where Clef had at first thought that the halo of a massive lamprey-like mouth behind Sharp was a manifestation of the deamon Teeth, his new found sight showed him that there were now two Deamons in the hall.

The halo closed around Sharp, snapping his body in half and swallowing him down a shadowy gullet. The Soul Slave of Warp Lightning didn't see or even sense it coming. Just as quickly a massive tongue made of the twisted arms of As One reached from the giant mouth and grabbed the Noise Marine's lower torso, adding it to the void. The shadows then condensed and took shape. Large leather wings spread wide as clawed feet sought purchase in the cracked marble.

"And that makes two," Zithers white face formed from the darkness. Using the back of an incorporeal sleeve he wiped at his mouth, then set his dark gaze on Clef. "Now I see why Vortex Kin wanted you as one of their number Clef. Such a powerful psyker is a rare find. Tell me, was it a gift from Forsworn or were you born with it?"

Clef studied the deamon before him with his new sight. He could feel Forsworns hands plainly through his ceramite armor. It was as if she was a thin Eldar wraith just peeking over his shoulder to look upon their enemy while still protected by her champion. The deamon known as Limus had become bigger than when Clef had first seen him take Zither. He maintained a steady waver between the immaterium and materium, allowing his form to travel shadows and the seams in the wall. Clef could see the parts of Limus' soul bound to Zithers weakened body, but the fusion wasn't complete. Even through the constant howl of the warp that Limus created, Clef could still hear his dear friends cries.

~Zither! I hear you!~ Clef shouted.

"But he can't hear you," Limus sneered.

~I can help you fight this monster!~ Clef didn't know if he could even put a dent in the creature before him, but if he could give Zither a chance to fight back then they stood a chance. Limus drew a long pink tongue across his lips and smiled. Another deamon to feast upon and a powerful psyker as a bonus would help him on his way to godhood nicely.

Before the fight could begin, Ruffati along with his servants marched into the hall. "What is this shred? By the Fire, I leave for ten minutes and already the lot of you are killing each other off. Worse than Orks!"

Limus turned to Ruffati, his attention momentarily drawn from Clef. He remembered that pompous voice, and the silent vow he had made on the Crimson Rhapsody. "You...you imprisoned me in this worthless lump of flesh. I will take yours in exchange!" he collected his shadows from the corners of the room and leapt at Ruffati, a mighty vision of leather wings and clawed feet.

Ruffati didn't flinch. An expression of annoyance and incredulous disappointment traced his features for a moment. "I think not," he raised a hand, and with a word and a simple gesture of his fingers, Zither's body slammed to the ground, shattering the stone and embedding the deamon within. "You aren't even worthy of my fury," Ruffati said plainly, using the toe of his shoe to knock aside a lump of marble. "You are a lap dog, and it was my folly to have ever let you free of your chain."

A pair of chains seemed to spring from the air and wrapped themselves around Zither, binding his wings, hands and feet in a tight cocoon of warp-blessed metal. Ruffati brushed the dust from his coat and held his hand out. A servant in purple and white at his side placed a data slate in his hands while Ruffati pulled his glasses from his coat pocket. "Thank you," he scrolled through the slate. "The show is over, the rest of you complete your cleansing sweep of the fortress. Dark Muse, thank you for watching over Lyre. I can take it from here," he then glanced down at Zither struggling against the chains at his feet. "And you. You will be kenneled so you can think long and hard on your actions this night. If you repent and show remorse, I will throw you a couple of bones. Until then, you are my pet, and I will do with you as I please."

Limus snarled through the chains. "I will...eat you Deamon."

Ruffati knelt close and whispered in Limus' ear. "I would love to see you try. A Deamon of Desire is much more powerful than a petty little warp shadow with delusions of grandeur."

Once again Limus roared and tested the chains pausing only when a voice echoed through the hall. "Let him go."

Ruffati only now took notice of Clef. The young Aristocrats body was alive with blue flame and the air around him rippled. "Boy, you had better extinguish your temper."

"Let him go. Or if you won't, undo what you had done. Release Zither from Limus."

Ruffati sighed. "I won't. The pact has already been made and sealed. I cannot release Zither from Limus anymore than you or Lyre there can tear away from your mistresses. Zither was not forced into the contract, if you remember he jumped in willingly and dare I say head-first. Now soothe your aura before I do it for you."

Clef glanced to Lyre, who remained seated on the Chapter Masters throne surrounded by Dark Muse. ~Go on Clef,~ Lyre whispered. ~This is Ruffati's show now.~

By degrees, Clef slowly let go of his built energy and power. With a roar of frustration, he left through the hole that Viola had made in the wall, searching for loose chapter serfs or Silver Eagles to pass his anger on to. But in his heart he vowed to help Zither in any way he could. His friend was a prisoner in his own body to an insane master, and Clef was determined to free him.

Monody studied the stars as they crested the ridge of Eagle Canyon. The shrine of Saint Vera was silent as all of the pilgrims had gone, taking their joyful chants and drums along with them. Before him the pool still glowed from the many Night Pearls that had been left behind, the currents rolled the stones further down the river, creating an echo of the stars above. The Aristocrat had remained on the river bank, at first tracking Sharps movements through the valley as he had tore through the Silver Eagle scouts. Then as the fighting proper had gotten underway, Monody saw no reason to involve himself. His talents lay in the assembly and guidance of the masses. Masses that searched for an answer, or that were ready to give their lives to a cause, or masses that simply wanted a path of their own choosing, even if it meant running to the open arms of Chaos Undivided. There were no such masses in the halls of the Silver Eagles.

As the night wore on, the screams of Warsingers and sounds of bolterfire traveled down the canyon walls. Monody remained in meditation, studying the statue and the clear pool, entranced by the simplicity of the shrine. His moment of meditation was disturbed by the sound of someone moving through the bushes behind him. His hand went to the bolt pistol under his robe. No Space Marine would move so recklessly, but it could have been one of the human members of Warp Lightnings band.

A Silver Eagle chapter serf, haggard and bleeding came from the thick undergrowth near Monody's camp. He collapsed to his knees and called out in desperation. "Father Monody!"

Monody took his hand from the pistol and slipped into character. "My child, please catch your breath, what troubles you so? What is happening at the Fortress?"

The serf gained his feet again. "Father, run! The Traitor Legions-"

Monody gasped, covering his mouth before quickly making the sign of the aquila and muttering a prayer.

"The Silver Eagles have engaged them, but you need to leave this place now!" the serf took two steps closer to Monody and fell to his knees again. The mans ankle had been twisted at an unnatural angle, but he still pressed on to complete his task. "I dread to think of what those swine would do to a servant of the Emperor such as yourself. Please Father, run."

Monody knelt beside the serf. "My child, I have never been one to flee from danger, but for your sake I shall. Let us both go and perhaps we can summon further aid for the Silver Eagles. But first, a prayer of delivery to the Emperor," he pulled the serf pulled himself up to his knees again and crossed his arms to make the sign of the aquila. Monody then placed his hands on the serfs shoulders. "Repeat after me: Our Father, who art on Terra,"

The serf bowed his head and closed his eyes. "Our Father who art on Terra-"

Monody quickly grabbed the mans head and twisted sharply, breaking his neck. The serf fell forward into Monody's arms. For a long moment Monody held him as one would comfort a child until the serf breathed his last and the life left his body. Even after he felt the serf begin to grow cold in his arms, Monody still held him, suddenly ashamed of what he had done. The poor man had fought his way all the way out here in good faith, past an invading force of Space Marines with the sole purpose of finding him and to ensure his safety. The man had lived the last hours of his life with a selfless task in mind, thinking of the security of others over himself.

He had killed a man in cold blood. Not just killed him, but toyed with his emotions and faith before finally taking his life. Did he even have to die? Monody could have kept up a charade long after they were outside the canyon, even parted ways with no one the wiser. How many countless others had he led to their untimely deaths over the centuries? Twisting their faith and love into weapons of his choosing? Monody had always felt that Faith, good strong unwavering Faith was to be rewarded.

Monody finally let the body come to rest on the river bank on its side, then went into his nearly empty tent and retrieved a small trenching shovel. While the battle raged on in fortress further down the canyon, Monody dug a grave for the faithful serf, then laid the man to rest with a final prayer called up from the depths of his memories. Only now did Monody feel the weight of the meaning behind the words. The prayer was more to comfort the living than the dead, and as a consequence it felt as if he was speaking more to himself than in respect for the man he had killed.

Just as he finished putting the last scoop of dirt over the grave, he heard the sound of others come through the trees. These were no Space Marines, they were pilgrims bearing torches and Night Pearls. Shred, Vera's Gate had never been closed, and now pilgrims were drawn back by the sounds of combat. There would be more of them coming and probably enslaved once Ruffati found out. In good faith this nameless serf had come to save his life, and so in good faith Monody intended to carry out the serfs wishes. He met the gaze of the closest pilgrim, and noted familiar burn scars in the light of the moons.

"Redeemer?" the pilgrim asked, disbelief present in his voice. "It is you! My vision was right! We have found you once more!" he gestured back to the pilgrims behind him. Some Monody recognized from his sermons in the canyon, yet others, many more of them were from the fires of Bearing Hive.

In his heart the choice was made. Lyre would have to understand. "My child, you have come very far, but we still have even further to go before we can rest. It is not safe to stay here. Come."

Monody picked his bag up from within the tent, then led the pilgrims from the canyon back out of Vera's Gate, allowing them a moment to refill their canteens at the waters edge. Once he was satisfied that his Redeemed had all safely left, he closed then locked the massive doors. Leading the pilgrims back across the desert sands, Monody wondered if he was ever going to atone for all of his past sins against Mankind.