It occurred to Nickoladze, as he paced waiting for the triggerman (the one who would set the explosion off) to meet him at the agreed place, just how much Antov Petrosky's words had stung. He was right of course; the acts of today would make him an enemy of his own state…he had turned his back on his family, friends and even his race.

I Nickoladze Lyovov…am no a servant of His Majesty, I am on my own…no not on my own, I have my traitor brothers. I can be so much more; I am becoming so much more. In just one week I have accomplished things I only used to dream of. Antov was right as well, I can also feel the power of the warp overtaking me, it is a good pain! A strong pain, but it makes me strong also! To succeed you must surrender something, surely my humanity is worthless anyway…all my weaknesses, my reservations, everything that made me…human.

"Long life the rule of the Imperium".

That was it! The phrase, it startled Nickoladze from his dreaming…he scrambled to think of the correct reply…

"Rule is only as strong as its people's belief in its strength, weaken that and the rule weakens with them."

Nickoladze became tense, he had been edgy ever since Antov's melodramatic exit a few days previous but with no word from Miloslev or Volya he could only keep to the plan to appease his newfound God. Blood for the Blood-God, Skulls for the Skull-throne!

"But, my friend, what would we raise in its place?"

"I do not deal in building, merely destroying…"

Destroying life, destroying others lives…Antov recognised this to, he knew what we were becoming…yet he would rather have died than turn his back on those who play him with puppet strings. His faith was strong, but I was blinding also.

"I see we work in the same line of business…"

The faithful-turned-faithless, realised this was it…his next phrase was to find out how the bombing had gone. He knew it had gone off, but he was a through man, how well it had gone was just as important. The reply to this would make Nickoladze feel…better, to some degree. To know it was over, the first stains of blood to cover his hands, the first of many, he could feel warmth running through him…it was then a matter tying up loose ends and leaving before suspicions arose – it was not yet time to reveal the extent of the corruption on this world.

"Do tell me. How goes the business?"

Apprehension was filling Nickoladze from his boots upwards, he could feel it rising…trading place with the sweat running down his back.

"Business is booming!"

The two, seemingly, friends shared a laugh that only they could understand. But, the fight had now hit extra time, he knew the longer he stayed the more dangerous it would become…still they do say you should mix business with pleasure. With a thirst for death in his mouth he placed his arm around his partner's shoulder sharing the joke and with a sudden tensing of the forearm he crushed his throat and left him to choke to death. Loose ends…they're everywhere.

"Business is booming…that's a good one…" he mused as he left for his transport.

The explosion ripped out from beneath a parked transporter and flared out across the area in the blink of an eye, a vicious growing fireball that immolated soldiers and civilians alike, blasting everything aside. Flames of chaos rippled along the floor like blood from a fresh corpse…scorching the ground and leaving a dark reminder of the unholy in its wake. The transporter itself, what was left of it, was flung through a nearby shop-front scattering sharp edged plas-glass into mobs of stunned customers and passer-by's shredding flesh and snuffing lives. The habs upper levels collapsed when struts vanished as metal walls were melted and vaporised. The whole facility shook as the explosion rolled outwards and eventually dissipated, leaving a trail of flame and smoke…and dead, the fires quickly took hold, and spread. The survivors started to pick themselves up off the floor, unable to believe their eyes. The lights cut out as the main power cables were shorted by the multitude of burst water pipes.

Trooper Cadiz was first on his feet, his Arbites training giving him the psychological wherewithal to act first and deal with his fear and confusion later. Dotted around the various hab-levels were communication points where troopers could inform command central of shift changes, report disturbances and in this case, call for backup.