II

Vicious Ancients

The mechanical hooves of Lord Varlogo Ashsinger's daemon-engine mount pounded against the soil of Roque VII's lush landscape. His yellowed eyes were drawn upward from behind his diabolical skull shaped visor to the towering drill spires forged by the followers of the corpse-god. Toxic ash spewed from the mouth of the tallest spire causing all life within kilometers distance to wither and die. Beneath the powerful drill engine lie catacombs a thousand kilometers deep, well out of auspex range. Varlogo and his war band known solely as the Knights of Blood had joined in this expedition with the promise of war, plunder and rape. So far his men had the pleasure of ending the lives of thousands on this frontier world, but Varlogo would not be pleasured until he found a glorious bout against one of the Emperor's finest, a Space Marine. Samuels had promised him such, yet the champion of the blood god waited for the incursion to begin.

The Juggernaut he sat atop powered forward with speeds that toppled the trees as they passed by. Varlogo held the bag of severed human heads with a death grip in his right hand and the reins of the daemon engine with his left. Why the daemon-host that Samuels entrusted with an overseer's position had asked of him to find a new refugee colony every night and sever their heads while they still lived Varlogo would never know. It was a fun but menial task, thought Varlogo, especially since they are going to such a wasteful purpose such as sorcery.

The night sky above Varlogo changed from navy blue with white speckles to a brownish-red that that radiated with unholy energies. The sky changed into an aurora of colors that should not exist, signifying to the Khornate Champion that he grew closer to his destination. The Daemon axe, Rynau, that Varlogo had slung over his shoulder hissed as it sensed the presence of his hated enemy.

"Soon my friend," spoke the Knight of Blood "Soon you will feast on the Slaaneshii's blood."

The forest cleared to reveal a clearing of dried dead earth. A tall gate forged of otherworldly metals blocked his path to the drill spire. At the entrance two large daemon engines blocked his path, their black and steel frames fashioning cloaks of flayed flesh and skewed skulls. They hissed as the Lord approached. Varlogo pulled back with his black gauntlet forcing the Juggernaut to slow to a trot. His brass hooves clanked against the cracking earth as if it were made of metal, not dirt. One of the daemon engines crawled forward on long spider like limbs and spat cryptic word-like hisses at the Khornate lord.

"I bare offerings to the daemon-host." shouted Varlogo, his voice carried by the vox in his black and red armor. He held a burlap sack high, a viscous fluid dripping from the blackened bottom. Flies swarmed around the sack, desperate to taste its horrid contents.

The daemon engine withdrew and the gates opened almost automatically. Varlogo smiled beneath his mask and entered the hellish encampment.

The cold emptiness of the void gives home to no other form life like the tyranny. The monstrous, chitins creatures jumped from world to world, firing thousands upon thousands of spore pods carrying trillions of animalistic soldiers to annihilate every last life form and absorb all minerals the planet could expend before it was nothing but a burning shameful husk. Skyfall was going to be a prize to the Hive Fleet Kha'lei. The vanguard of the hive fleet could finally see the jewel in the crown and all its resourceful glory.

The hive ship, the head of the serpent, mother of the spawn lings, roared in hunger at the sight of the orange dot off in the distance. If one sees, then all see. The soundless void filled with the vibration of noise as the entire vanguard fleet roared in premature triumph. The noise abruptly ended however, the massive eye of the hive ship blinked as it received commands from its mother. This planet is vital for the hive fleet to devour, and because of this, a creature of legend must be birthed. With a moan of pain, innumerable man-sized spores were vomited from the underbelly of the hive ship followed closely by a succession of spore pods carrying the DNA of a vicious ancient.

Admiral Priscus Michel of the Novamarines entered his bridge and immediately extended his hand for the mug of hot recaff with fresh grox milk. The servitor that delivered the large mug motored backward, its daily routine completed. Priscus sipped the hot brownish fluid, the heat normally too hot for a normal human, soothed the throat of this descendent of Ultramar. He released a sigh of enjoyment at this simple pleasure the skipper of the vessel Triton's Web had grown all too comfortable with.

"Admiral on deck." Shouted the Vice Admiral, clad, full in the red armor of a Techmarine. Marine and guardsmen alike stood and made the sign of the Imperial Aquila over their chest in salute.

"At ease." He spoke sitting in his chair and drinking from the large mug crafted by the hands of a pauper child of Calavan. The Vice Admiral followed close behind with purpose and disciple in his step.

"All systems are functional, Thracius?" asked the Admiral

"All systems functional, Admiral." Spoke the Vice Admiral with a voice so deep it could be determined through the vox of his red helmet crafted on Mars.

"Bring up bow visuals." Said Priscus placing his cup down. The display screen that covered the entire front wall of the bridge flashed showing the void of space. "Stern, starboard and port in that order."

"Aye, Admiral." Spoke the officer controlling the screen.

As the screens changed the two high ranking marines spoke to one another.

"How long until the Xenos come into contact, Thracius?"

"75.98 hours in counting, Admiral." Spoke Thracius sternly, his gaze not breaking from the view screen.

"Doesn't give us much time does it?" sighed Priscus running his fingers through his shoulder length dirty blonde hair.

"No, Admiral, it doesn't." Spoke the Techmarine emotionlessly. "The Ordo Xenos crafts just entered warp space 17 hours ago, if the warp plays along and the fleet has a smooth ride we shall be seeing reinforcements within the next two weeks."

"Thracius old friend, you know as well as I that the warp is a fickle bitch. We'll be lucky if we see them by the turn of the century." Laughed Priscus

"I am pleased to see your sense of humor is not dulled by the situation any, Admiral." Said the Techmarine "I have studied much of the astronomicon and I believe that the machine-god and God-Emperor will guide the vessels to our side quickly."

Priscus let a frown break through his pleasant demeanor temporarily before rebuilding it with a clever quip.

"Do you always act so stern, old friend? I swear the way you handle ever situation is like an equation. Even just us talking. If I didn't know any better I'd think you were a servitor that got switched to Fifth Company by mistake." The Admiral chuckled at his joke but Thracius let no slight of emotion be seen.

"Oh relax, I'm only joking." Smiled the Admiral.

"War is a joke to you, Admiral?"

"Forgive me for using humor to stay sane in times of high stress."

"That is where faith is to be subjugated. Not clever jesting."

Before Priscus could reply an Imperial officer turned and shouted at his Admiral worriedly.

"Admiral, picking up a large energy signature 10,000km off the bow and closing at 300naughts a second."

"Impossible," charged Thracius, his deep voice resonating throughout the whole bridge "Check that again and have a techpriest inspect the grand auspex."

"Aye Vice Admiral, lord." The officer played with the controls but the energy signature appeared yet again and all that had changed was the size. "Admiral, multiple energy signatures closing at 300naughts a second."

"Bring it up on the screen!" bellowed Priscus. His eyes widened at the swarm of green and blue creatures forming a wall nearly 5,000km away from the fleet wall. "You said they were 76 hours away, damn it!"

"They are Admiral; I swear it on my life. These are spores."

"Admiral I have 5 other vessels on the vox line awaiting your command." Spoke the Rear Admiral.

"What?" questioned Priscus ignoring the Rear Admiral.

"4,000km." spoke the officer.

"Spores, some sort of troglodyte lower life form. Usually used as shields or-"

"Admiral Michel what are your orders?" barked the Rear Admiral

"Or what Vice Admiral?" shouted Priscus.

"3,000km and closing Admiral."

"Bombs." The words fell heavy out of Thacius's mouth and crashed onto Priscus's shoulders with the dead weight of a dreadnought.

"Throne be damned, Admiral! What are your orders?" Shouted the Rear Admiral. Sweating heavily, Priscus rectified himself and began barking orders to his crew.

"Arm primary guns Beta 12 through Gamma 13. Aim and prepare to engage. Rear Admiral Ampelius," Ordered Priscus. "Bring up skipper's for Void's Cry, Emperor's Child, the Grim Singer, Impregnable and the Independence. Activate reverse thrusters at full speed."

"Admiral that will pull us to far into Skyfall's atmosphere, we'll be caught in the gravitational pull." Retorted Thracius with graveness in his voice.

"2,550km and closing."

"I know what I'm doing Thracius." Spoke Priscus.

"Admiral, I strongly advise-"

Thracius was cut short by a crackle of the vox line. "Admiral," spoke Ampelius "primary vox is online. Ready on your command."

"Thank you Rear Admiral." Nodded Priscus signaling Ampelius. "This is Admiral Priscus Michel of Triton's Web. Prep all reverse thrusters, arm all forward cannons and engage upon my command. Reversing will rob the enemy of their speed and hopefully give us a chance."

"Priscus I beg of you stop this." Said Thracius worriedly. "This is suicide!"

"I've heard enough from you Thracius." Barked Priscus.

"1,500km and closing."

"Rear Admiral!" shouted Thracius "Disengage rear thrusters, punch the forward thrusters now before this lunatic gets us all killed."

"Disregard those orders Ampelius." Interjected Priscus "Are you daft? Need I remind you who the superior officer is here?"

"No," growled Thracius "but I could be reminded who the superior mind is."

"1,250km and closing"

"Get this man off my bridge!" shouted Priscus, "Connect me back to the Vox Rear Admiral."

"Aye, Admiral." Replied Ampelius.

Two large combat servitors marched up to Thracius, clutching his forearms with their mighty power claws.

"Get your bloody hands off of me!" Thracius shouted with venom, twisting and throwing one servitor to the ground, his servo-arm smashing into its skull and shattering it into fragments of gore and metal. Free of its grasp, Thracius twisted upward and slammed his palm into the jaw of the still living servitor snapping the vertebrae and ligaments in its neck killing it instantly.

"All systems check across the board." Shouted Priscus over the vox.

"Void's Cry, standing by." Spoke the elegant pilot.

"Impregnable, standing by." Spoke the Death Korp. Captain.

"Independence, ready and standing by." Replied the old and gruff captain.

"Emperor's Child, standing by." Repeated the soft female voice of the captain.

"Grim Singer, standing by." Spoke Admiral Marcellus "I hope you damned well know what you're doing Novamarine."

"As do I." replied Priscus under his breath.

"750 and closing, Admiral!"

Thracius had finally freed himself of the claws of his slain captors. With tenacity and vengeance in his step, he unsheathed his power axe and leapt at his Admiral.

"Fire everything!" shouted Admiral Priscus as his former friend charged at him, and the bridge erupted with mutinous gunfire.

Billions of squid-like spores surged toward the slowly reversing ships. Their speed greatly outmatching any star fighter the Imperium could produce simply by being jettisoned from their womb with violent force. Like the sperm cells attempting to create life, they swarmed at their large target; their only reason for existence was to protect very precious cargo that lay within the spore pod.

With only a few hundred kilometers left until they've breached the wall of titanic ships that guarded Skyfall. But as the ships reeled back in terror, one belched a las beam that obliterated a dozen spores and struck a spore pod, annihilating it in a miasma of fiery ooze. Before they could even react hundreds of las beams and massive shells pounded into the spores causing chain explosions amongst one another reducing them to half their number in an instant. Several more beams shot and struck the pods, reducing it and its valuable DNA cargo to ribbons.

In attempt to save the remaining pods, the spores surrounded their packages in tight groups in hopes that their petty sacrifice will absorb most of the human fire. As planned, scores of the amorphous creatures died in vain attempt to protect the pods as bolts and las beams disintegrated their insignificant bodies with ease.

One spore cluster deviated into one of the smaller Imperial escort vessels. The spores detonated on impact, penetrating all of its Void Shields with enough force to shift the vessel upward. The spore pod proceeded to crash into the Imperial Escort ship and cause massive chain reactions within the ship's damaged reactor. The small, yet vital, vessel erupted in a ball of blue plasma utterly destroying the ship and its spore assailant.

Thousands of other spores without a pod to escort went off course and into the nearest ship to them and exploding with high concentrated force. The Imperial vessels continued to reel back as the spores struck vital relays, weapon turrets, penetrated hulls, and in some cases managed to find their way into hanger bays where they detonated damaging or disabling fighter ships and slaying scores of crewmen in gaseous or acidic explosions.

With the Imperial ships distracted by the squid-like suicide bombers, three pods and their escorts managed to survive the onslaught of the blockade and began entry into Skyfall's atmosphere. The flames of reentry decimated the remaining spores leaving only the pods to survive. As they finally entered the thermosphere, the pods automatically began sensing the atmosphere, gathering up information through massive nostril like holes to create the perfect creature for fighting in this kind of atmosphere; one that adapts.

The pods separated as the ground grew closer; soon they were not even within visible range of each other. Mere kilometers from crashing down to earth for the first time, the creatures inside each pod moved and prepared for its violent and abrupt birth.

Priscus's bolt pistol shot into the arm of his former friend, penetrating through his shoulder pad and barely grazing his flesh, exactly what Priscus wanted. A brief moment of panic filled Thracius forcing his choleric charge to a halt. Before Thracius fully recovered from the recoil, the bolt round detonated in his shoulder, cleaving his arm violently off his body and sending him crashing to the floor, screaming in pain.

"I said get him off my bridge!" yelled Priscus, but before anyone could do as he commanded, the ship lurched knocking all those not sitting to the ground, with the exception of the Astartes, their enhanced inner ear function giving them enough balance to bare such an impact. However even the Astartes lost their grip as the ship lurched again and warning klaxons fired all around and a gruesome red light washed over the entire bridge.

"Man positions!" shouted Priscus, the only one standing thanks to his tight hold on his command chair. He quickly spun it around and sat in it, bringing up the vox control while many others were barely recovering. "Ampelius, connect to primary vox link."

"Aye, Admiral." Grumbled the Rear Admiral barely regaining his footing.

"This is Admiral Michel of Triton's Web. All units engage forward thrusters to maximum or else the planet's gravitational pull will take us in."

Priscus spared a glance at his old friend, who lay armless on the ground, a stump of meat where his left arm should be. He let out a sigh of contempt before turning to his own crew.

"Engage forward thrusters to maximum," He said calmly. "And kill these damned flood lights."

A collective "Aye, my lord." Responded. Priscus almost let himself relax when he noticed, and felt, the ship still, slowly, pulling backward.

"Forward thrusters at maximum." He repeated.

"They are Admiral," a voice spoke out.

"Ampelius, connect my vox signal to the Magos." He said with worry in his voice. "We're not out of the woods yet." He said to no one in particular.

"You've killed us all, fool." Spat Thracius attempting to stand in the pool of his own blood. His advanced physiology allowed his shoulder to already clot.

"Magos Aurel," Priscus spoke into his vox bead while giving Thracius a deathly stare "Status report."

"Poor, my lord. We've taken heavy damage and multiple casualties." Replied the techpriest before taking a long mechanical inhale.

"How badly damaged are the rear engines?"

"I'd say," the Magos breathed heavily again "They are in need of some healing, but they're nothing a few days of hard work and prayer couldn't fix."

Priscus's blue and bone gauntlets clasped over his head in resentment. How could I have been so reckless, he thought. Then suddenly and idea struck him.

"Magos," the Admiral said springing up quickly. "Do you remember how we escaped the Eldar Pirates back in the Crux system?"

"Aye, my lord." He wheezed "We placed several Melta charges in the damaged reactor core and… no. No we're not. Not again."

"Yes we are Magos. Its either that or we all personally assure the death of millions." Replied Priscus.

"We lost fifteen men and a half dozen servitors last time. There's no telling what that will do with a damaged stern."

"If we don't Aurel we're all going to die, guaranteed." Priscus replied with a grim tone. "How long do you need to properly initiate this procedure?"

"Comfortably? About a half hour."

"How long until we're fully at the mercy of the gravitational pull, Ampelius?" said Priscus turning to his Rear Admiral.

"Estimated: 12 minutes and 34 seconds Admiral." Replied Ampelius with worry.

"How about uncomfortably, Magos?" said Priscus through the vox.

"Maybe a quarter hour?" replied the wheezing Techpriest.

"Make it ten minutes." Spoke Priscus, the threat of annihilation evident in his vocal tension, "And pray that the Emperor is watching us."

"Damn you, Michel!" shouted Aurel with a loud wheeze. He turned on his pulpit to view the gothic garden of ancient machines that engulfed the majority of the rear quarters of the ship. Aurel turned a dial on his breastplate, tuning the vox built into his throat to frequency of all workers of the engine rooms followed, and spoke with determination.

"Brothers and sisters of the Omnissiah," he began. "We are currently in great peril, and the survival of this ship and the planet we orbit lies directly within our grasp. We must grab hold and take the Imperium to victory again. All non-servitor personnel report to your nearest armory and equip yourself with as many Melta charges as you can carry. Mechrites Atellus and Xantion, escort a group of Industrial Servitors to reactor room Zeta 2, disable and disconnect it. Then, all personnel, report to rear thruster Stigma Phi and await further instruction. Make haste, and may the machine-god be with you."

With silence and determination, the servants of the machine-god did as they were told as if there was nothing wrong at all. Dozens of workers and Tech-priests flooded into the lower arming chambers. They swarmed around prepping Space Marines, the warriors preparing for emergency disembarking if things go awry. Their personal lockers were invaded by the personnel and their krak and Melta charges were robbed from them. A servitor grabbed a stock marine's Melta bombs and was met with some heavy resistance.

"Damn you, you little runt, that's mine!" The servitor ignored the marine "Hey! I'm talking to you!"

With anger the marine punched the servitor crushing its skull and letting the mindless cyborg die with out mercy.

"Pesky thief." Spat the warrior.

"Brother Terentius," spoke a calm voice approaching the machine's corpse. He was a tall, tan man, his body was limber for a marine and his face was relatively aged, an unusual trait for a marine as well. He was completely bald, save for his scruffy stubble. "That drone was no thief, it was merely following protocol. And your choleric outburst is not the behavior of the Emperor's Finest, you know that too well Terentius."

"Aye, Sergeant Appius." Said Terentius with his head held low, scolded by his commander.

"Brothers, remember, these weapons are property of the Emperor's military, if they need be confiscated then you shall forfeit them, understood?" boomed the tall sage to his squad.

"Aye Sergeant." Relayed the warriors.

"Prepare yourselves brothers, we could be making planet fall much earlier than predicted." Spoke Appius

As the valiant warrior spoke more words of righteousness to his battle-brothers, servitors and engine bay personnel collected packs full of remote detonated Melta bombs along with krak grenades, stripped missile fragments, and highly devastating demolition charges.

Within the next few moments the squad had been fully armed, clad in bone and blue ceramite, and prepared for war. Appius lead his men through the underbelly of the ship, using the closest access points, portals and catwalks to make it to the drop pods in the next few minutes. The Novamarines and Skyfall could not afford to lose any of their ground-based fighting power, chiefly the Adeptus Astartes. Terentius spared a glance down the catwalk; meters below, what looked like hundreds of techpriests, servitors and ratings clambered about the ships interior in a calm orderly manner, each carrying enough explosives to punch a clean hole through any given Imperial Fortress. Admiral Michel had always been a rather unorthodox, to say the least, Commander but his results were never less than satisfactory. The chapter master would not have given him the keys to the Novamarines' most prestigious war-vessel if he was not trust worthy. Despite the suicidal nature of this specific maneuver, Terentius had not lost faith in his commanding officer: yet he was not entirely heartbroken to be high priority for evacuation.

"Terentius!" shouted Appius behind helm of blue and bone with an expression as grim as his tone, "This is no time for day dreaming, boy."

"Aye, Sergeant. Apologies Sergeant." Stammered Terentius, hefting his massive plasma cannon and marching quickly to catch up with the rest of his squad.

Terentius was young and naive but a skilled warrior. He climbed the ranks faster than any other soldier in his company's history. Though his tactical prowess and skill with plasma weaponry were high, his maturity was obviously lacking, something Appius feared would end him or worse, end another.

Squad Appius marched above the engines and turbines of the lower starboard wing. Beneath them were dozens if not hundreds of cybernetic drones, techpriests, and engineers of various classes, acting almost unknowingly of their impending doom. The Mechanicus created the perfect workers, ones that show little to no fear or emotion in times of crisis. They were emotionless and dead, yet brilliant people. This, however, worthy sacrifice to advance the works of both the Emperor and their beloved Machine-god.

The two young Mechrites, Xantion and Atellus arrived briefly after the horde of workers and drones carrying thousands of Adeptus Astartes and Imperial Navy explosives. These aspiring Techpriest walked carefully along side their massive servitor companion. Long, tubular potentia coils linked the two to the servitor mentally and physically, allowing them to control his massive steel limbs that held precious cargo as if it were their own.

Aurel turned on his levitating chair, his scraggly robotic limbs guiding several servitors and techpriests to shut off and on primary valves to stop the flow of fuel to the thruster they all stand before. With these fuel lines shut they can easily fill the damaged thruster with the explosives ejecting them into space enough for them to "safely" detonate behind the ship. If Michel's tactic was not simply luck the first time, then the force of the colossal blast will push the ship far enough out of Skyfall's atmosphere to successfully escape being dragged down to the planet below. Aurel wish he could say he had doubts about this procedure; however there was no time for questioning a tactic in a do-or-die situation such as now.

The Magos stepped from his chair, four long, spindly, mechanical legs extended from beneath his long crimson robe. Bracing himself on his long, cog-shaped halberd, the master Techpriest descended from the catwalk to the crowd below, sparing a glance at his chrono as he did so. He was behind schedule. If this dangerous feat was to be successful he'd have to cut a few corners, ones that only the machine god could forgive him of.

He held his hands against the large metal door that separated the chamber from the thruster. With a nod to his subordinates he began quickly chanting a psalm only those capable of discerning binary chatter could interpret. To unmodified ears, the psalm was nothing more than a repetition of bothersome and noxious screeching and wailing, like a rat being electrocuted by an ancient computer. Several of the close rating had to cover their ears to stop the pain or the blood from leaking, for the others; they held their heads in quiet prayer.

After several, long, painstaking seconds steam released from a slim crack in the door's center. A gust of wind seemed to blow from the inside of the creaking ship, and out into the former vacuum within the turbine. A few moments of this gale force gust passed the Magos standing affront of the door, eyes shut and gripping his stave. Soon, the bay was quiet again and the doors completed their opening ritual.

"Quickly my children." Said the sickly Magos, his shrill voice carried by his external vox throughout the chamber, "Place the explosives in the engine's center with haste and clear the chamber and prepare for violent impact."

With little prompting the workers, engineers and drones rushed into the chamber in organized chaos. The Magos held his head low, aware of what he was about to do for the sake of an entire world. He saw Xantion and Atellus working their way as fast as their legs could take them into the engine's core. Aurel placed a somber hand on the on Xantion's shoulder, a look of worry across her face. "I am sorry, my child." He murmured continuing on his spidery legs back to his chair.

By the time he had reached his chair Xantion and Atellus had finally made it into the thruster. The Magos looked to his subordinates at the ground level and gave a somber and emotionless nod, with on returned from them as well. In this brief exchange, Aurel observed several of the workers escaping form the thruster; he had convinced himself that those who escaped were more than half. Aurel pressed a button on his chair's arm and flipped several switches. As he did this his Techpriest performed the exact same psalm used to open the engine for maintenance. The door was half shut before most of the occupants of the thruster realized their fate was, quite literally, being sealed. The ratings and techpriests all dropped the explosives and darted the seemingly endless trek to their only window to life and freedom. The servitors were blissfully ignorant of their doom, something many of the other's wished they had. Xantion watched the people stuggle, even her own associate Attelus struggled to undo his nerve-binding potential coil. Xantion did nothing, knowing nothing could be done.

Few escaped the closing door before only a sliver of room between the two chambers was left. One brave rating attempted to slide between the two several meter thick doors, the rest simply prayed or pathetically begged for freedom. The rating became stuck as the doors shut between him. He struggled, his pants ripping and skin being cut deep by the mechanized locks. His arm finally reached the end, his body turning bright red as he screamed curses out of agony. Aurel watched the young lad's fingers touch the air of the ship's interior one last time before the psalm was completed and thousands of tons of psionic pressure closed the door forever. Blood sprayed form the crevice with violent force, drenching the emotionless techpreists as they walked away from the gruesome scene, leaving the severed forearm behind in pool of giblets and blood.

"Damn it Aurel! Status report!" belted the admiral in Aurel's built in vox.

"Completed Admiral." Said the Magos sternly.

With no hesitation, Aurel imediately reopened the damaged thruster, the thousands of kilograms of explosives jettisoned rapidly into the nigh-vacuum of space, taking the unsuspecting and innocent souls trapped inside with them.

Mere seconds after launching into space, the timed explosives detonated causing a massive chain reactions with the nearby bombs eventually leading to the destruction of the damaged plasma generator at the center of it all; the collective force from the expanded a kilometer wide, easily catching the massive Space Marine battlebarge in the epic blast. The entirety of the crew of the Triton's Web felt the volotile impact, tossing them around the interior quarters of the ship like a child's plaything. Though, for a brief moment, the force of the blast was stronger than Skyfall's gravitational pull, allowing the stressed thrusters enough time to push out of the thin atomosphere and return to its safe, orbital position.

It felt as though the crew gave out a collective sigh of relief at the zero-g's they were slowly beginning to feel disappeared. The bridge of the Web as well as the aft of the ship roared with victorious applause. Michel let loose his breath for a moment before watching as several, much larger Combat Servitors and several Navy Officers dragged away the bloodied traitor, Thracius, from the bridge and to the holding quarters where he would await trial from the Masters of the Chapter. Michel no longer felt triumphant, a trusted friend and first mate had betrayed him; attempted to take his life.

"Are you quite alright my Admiral?" asked Ampelius approaching his admiral.

"Quite fine." Replied Michel, with a faux smile "I suppose in light of recent events you are now Vice Admiral, Ampelius, congratulations."

"Right," now Vice Admiral Ampelius smiled and gave a grateful nod to his superior.

"I, um, have some business I must attend to in the aft. Keep the bridge for me Vice Admiral." Michel turned and exited the bridge, clenching his fists and grinding his teeth in frustration and anger. Thracius was not known for his subordination, and always felt, stubornly, he was the wiseset in the room. But to attack Michel, over a disagreement of his orders? It was as if he was planning this for some time, and was just waiting for a time to strike.

Michel punched the sheet metal walls of the corridor where he now stood, his powered gauntlet easily tearing and denting the metal. The Admiral stood there somber, and angry, feeling not only betrayed but foolish. What stuck to his mind the most, is if a traitor so easily slipped through his ranks already, how many more might there be?

Varlogo Ashsinger's mount slowed to calm trot as he rode through the fiery, hellish encampment. All around him he felt the strong influence of the dark gods, corrupting the mining settlement that once belonged to the Imperium of Man. What remained of the Imperial influence here was little more than a parody of its former self. Corpses of the workers and security strung across the buildings of the encampment, their innards spreading across the perimeter of the buildings from which the hung; a warped, twisted decoration celebrating the triumph and power of Chaos. Servitors that worked here have been re-purposed and outfitted with vile, daemon-possessed mechanical limbs. Tents fashioned from flesh and bone littered the facility, each home to up to five armor clad monsters that could only technically be labeled "Space Marine".

Ashsinger rode past a series of gaudy, elaborate tents. Horrific, nausiating music could be heard from the center of this section of the camp. Such noise could only be produced from the instruments the Slaaneshii worshipers so hilariously called weapons. Rynau hissed and the flat of the ax-blade seemed to warp into frightening, hateful faces. Ashsinger placed his hand on the grip of the ax up by his shoulder, hushing it as a mother would an upset child. Rynau could hardly stand the presence of Slaanesh worshipers but went bloodthirsty at the sound of their sonic weaponry.

At long last Ashsinger arrived at camp belonging to his warband, the Knights of Blood. He rode his steed to a large, crudely made metal corral where three dozen other Juggernaughts were nested, eagerly awaiting battle. One of his soldiers, clad in the black and red armor of his warband climbed grabbed the reins from his chieftain and tied the monstrous, daemon-engine steed into the corral. As soon as Ashsinger dismounted the steed went into a frenzy fighting with all its might against the brave soldier who took the reins. Varlogo smiled a bit as he heard the soldier being crushed beneath the might of rampaging brass hooves.

Varlogo passed many tents on his way to the primary facility at the center of the encampment; the massive smokestack acted as a beacon, spewing hot toxic ash into the air. The Khornate chaos lord was met with the respectful gaze of all of his followers, each maintaining their chain-axes, armor, bolters, steeds or bikes for the upcoming slaughter. Though each seemed to honor his presence, none of his black and red Knights dare look him in the eye for fear they may entice his wrath. Ashsinger reveled it the mutual fear of his men, it meant that no one would dare cross him and try to usurp his position as Lord of the Knights of Blood. However unlike Varlogo himself, who beheaded his former master in open combat without armor to prove he was truly worthy to rule.

Two massive metal doors now blocked Varlogo's path to the facility. Both of the massive steel doors bore defiled insignia of the Imperium and Adeptus Mechanicus. With little struggle, Varlogo pushed the doors open, a loud creaking piercing the deafening silence within. Most of the heavy industrial mining equipment had been removed leaving the ground floor of the facility open and shroud in darkness, save for a skylight that lit the very center of the room. Within the spotlight, like a dancer on stage, sat the daemon, a child by physical appearance but her- its age far surpassed the collective age of every marine in this camp. The girl-thing looked up with glowing, blood red eyes that only seemed to darken her raven hair and bone white flesh. She sat in a semicircle drawn in a mixture of bone meal and blood. The red paste formed several glyphs in a seemingly random, senseless pattern that scattered all around the semi-circle.

"At long last, I was beginning to believe you had lost your way."" she spoke with a smirk, her eyes traveling to the gruesome bag of severed heads held tightly in Ashsinger's grip "I assume those are tonight's batch."

Ashsinger said nothing as the towering, crimson warrior approached. He tossed the bag at the child, landing a few meters short before landing with a soggy thud. The Knight snorted at the daemon, causing her to melodramatically frown.

"That's not very nice now is it?" pouted the daemon-child, reaching for the bag with a disturbingly long reach. Ashsinger glared down at the daemon with disgust through the eye sockets of his skull helm. He was about to exit when Rynau hissed and vibrated more intensely then it had in ages. Ashsinger gripped his weapon, somewhat calming it as he turned quickly, his black, fur mantle dancing behind him. Two figures clad in the power armor of the renegades entered the room. The one to the right wore the traditional colors of a Thousand Sons' Aspiring Sorcerer. Ashsinger recognized this man as Valerio, the second in command of Samuels. His gauntlets were unreasonably sharp at the fingertips, each knuckle encrusted with a different type of alien, and most likely magical, gem. His body was wrapped in an elegant silk robe that swayed like fluid as he moved. A force sword sit sheathed at his hip, one talon-like hand on the hilt, the other swaying beside him as he marched. His helm was elongated downward and smoothly, with small slits along each side for the rebreather. The almond shaped lenses glow green and appeared to be lined with thick black paint like that of a conceded maiden. His horns, like other members of the Thousand Sons shot straight up, though his were longer, smooth and sharp along the edges. He walked with an arrogance and pride in his step only obtained through millennia of study of dark arts. In the crook of his arm he held an elegantly carved box made of steel, the glyphs on the floor matching those on the box.

The man on the left, too, was all to familiar a face, he'd only heard of this vile monstrosity in legends but the tales were so distinct that no one could possibly mistake this warrior's crooked, ear-to-ear grin for any other than Lucius the Eternal. Lucius stood half a meter taller than Valerio, his height given to him by his mutated legs that take the form of a cloven beast of ancient lore. His armor was black and trimmed in a fleshy pink, like an infected wound, and seemed to show reflections of anguished faces locked in eternal suffering. His power pack was rigged with injectors that pumped powerful combat drugs into his system constantly, leaving the warrior forever in a state of euphoria or ecstasy. His face could strike fear into the bold and drive the weak minded mad, riddled with scars and stitches like and old doll hastily put back together. His ominous smile was unnaturally wide and filled with rows of sharp teeth like that of an cannibalistic predator. His eyes met Ashsinger's, the two star-crossed enemies by religion alone. The hatred flowed between the two rivals for seemingly endless moments, when in reality it was mere seconds. The two denizens of the dark gods passed Ashsinger, Lucius refusing to break eye contact with Ashsinger, or break his sinister grin.

"I assume we are prepared?" asked Valerio to the daemon-child.

"Indeed, and not a moment too soon." She said pointing at the sky through the skylight. "The stars are almost out of our favor. We must make haste."

Valerio said nothing, but instead removed his blade and unhinged his elaborate helm, revealing a bald, aged face of a soldier who lived long past his time. Half dozen wires attached themselves to Valerio's skull, undoubtedly all for use of psychic powers. He placed the box in the center of the semi-circle and twisted a few nobs on the short ends. the box opened to reveal an unearthly blue light. What was causing it, Valogo could not see. Within a few moments, the two began placing the severed, rotting heads on each of the nine glyphs. The two then took a meditative stance and began chanting.

"And what brings you here, berserker?" spoke Lucius, his voice dripping with sadism. "I thought your kind despised this kind of activity. That is anything that doesn't involve murder."

"I brought the skulls." Snapped Ashsinger finally removing his hand from the grip of his axe. "Without me this ritual would not happen."

Lucius scoffed and returned his gaze to the ritual. "If that makes you feel better about being errand boy, say whatever must be said."

Ashsinger boiled with fury and swung his black fist at the leader of the Emperor's Children aiming to crush his skull in a single blow. His hand was stopped by Lucius' own, stopping the blow with minimal resistance. With a bellowing laugh, a red vine seemed to emerge from Lucius' armor and wrap around Varlogo's arm, ensnaring him, despite his unfeasible strength. Just as Varlogo tried to struggle free and retrieve Rynau he noticed the gleam of Lucius' stainless rapier positioned at his abdomen. Lucius chuckled, slowly pulling Varlogo into the blade, penetrating his armor with ease.

"ENOUGH!" barked the daemon with two voices, one a child's and one not of this realm, the whites of her eyes turned red as a result of her anger "I will end both of you and cast your souls into the most hellish reaches of the warp if you do not cease your childish behavior during my ritual!"

Lucius' tendril released its grip on Varlogo and sheathed his blade, more out of respect for the dark arts than fear of the daemon. Varlogo cracked his neck and snorted, turning to the semicircle as the daemon and Valerio returned to chanting the chaotic psalm in tandem.

After a few moments of chanting a spectral breeze filled the massive room chilling the space marines within despite the extreme conditioning of their power armor. Seconds later an ethereal light danced between one severed head to the next. Ashsinger now saw the significance of the placement: they formed a serpentine shape, symbol of Tzeentch. The semi-circle began growing brightly, before firing a powerful beam of light into the night sky from the steel box and off into the void, forcing Lucius and Ashsinger to shield their eyes. Valerio and the daemon child seemed too entranced to be effected, still quietly chanting the psalm. Bizarre, unnatural noises filled the room, voices coming from all angles. Ashsinger spared a glance up at the skylight. As he stared blankly into the unfiltered warp Ashsinger felt something he'd not felt since he was a mere child: fear.