Familiur Facez

The ships roared as they scoured the outsides of the massive hulk, their pilots often forced into precarious manoeuvres due to parts of it simply dislodging and flying off. The passengers did not seem to mind too much. They were used to much, much worse. The vessels were of imperial design, but without any distinctive markings. The Ordos did like their secrecy.

Finally, they once again found the functional bulkhead door and, one by one, delivered their cargo. The first to deploy was a squad of returning visitors, their power armour of faded gold not exactly helpful for a stealthy approach.

Captain Drachen did not have anything of the sort in mind, thankfully. Ignus and Mathias, along with the rest of their squad, seemed to be quite relaxed, as well, in stark contrast to the rest of the force. With them deployed a quite eye-catching individual, flanked on all sides by armoured stormtroopers, their armour black, without a mark.

He was tall, muscular and radiated an aura of absolute authority. Bald head covered by a stylish hat, dark brown skin illuminated by the faint lighting in the area, his look was completed by a suit of deceptively simple armour, augmented by both the Omnissiah and Emperor both. Or were those two the same? Not even the techpriests could agree. Drachen turned towards him:

"Initial thoughts, inquisitor?"

"I feel your secrecy about the inconsistencies in the reports I have read is still quite... suspicious."

"All will be made clear once you see it. I swear on my soul."

"That'll do for now. Men, secure the perimeter."

As the troopers dispersed, the second force arrived. Clad in power armour rivalling that of the space marines, the sisters marched in perfect formations, proudly bearing the markings of the Ecclesiarchy. Their armour was mostly white, with crimson highlights. Most wore helmets, but not the one in the very front.

Regulation-short, brown hair moved slightly in the air flow of the hulk, while her dark brown eyes almost shone in the darkness. Her look was fierce, determined, ruthless. The training of canoness required it, Drachen was sure. She walked towards the inquisitor, bowed her head ever so slightly, then spoke, her voice surprisingly pleasant to listen to, though he was sure that could change at a moment's notice:

"Order of Merciful Wrath reporting, inquisitor."

"Good to hear, Serena. One more to go."

The last dropship brought with it mostly more stormtroopers. Then, a dozen more figures emerged from its insides. Their power armour was dyed silver, etched with prayers to the God-Emperor. Their weapons were akin to mighty halberds, but far more than just that, attuned to the powerful minds of their users. Storm bolters were attached to their wrists. Two of them carried different armaments, in size similar to heavy bolters, but much deadlier against their hated foes.

Their leader's armour could be considered a relic of the Imperium, a suit of tactical dreadnought armour, exquisitely crafted, his helmet a shining gold:

"The Ordo Malleus, reporting. Point us to the daemonic and we shall do the rest."

"As always, it is a pleasure."

They started moving shortly thereafter, the inquisitor and Drachen at the very front:

"Your unwillingness to discuss this matter, even through inquisitorial channels, perplexes me."

"I was unsure whether what lies within wasn't too dangerous even for such eyes. You will have to be the judge of that."

The man sighed:

"I shudder to think what horrors lie within."

"Whatever you are imagining, it is not accurate. Trust me."

"At least I know you are trustworthy. I checked thoroughly."

They reached the final corridor before the entrance to the insides of the hulk. The downed ship from so many months ago had been repurposed into a gate, complete with a small, currently-unmanned guard tower. The troops stopped and moved for cover, staying out of sight. The leaders assembled. Serena, the canoness, began:

"Seems weak enough, we could blast through."

The only terminator among them replied:

"Nay, we would attract unwanted attention. This must be done stealthily."

"This is certainly problematic. Captain, what do you," he turned around to see Drachen was not with them, "think?"

Already on the way to the gate with the rest of his squad, the captain nonchalantly spoke back:

"I think this makes everything a lot easier."

"Have you gone mad, you will be spotted!?"

"It speeds up the process."

Before any of the others could move to intercept, he was already at the gate and bashed on it a couple of times. From the other side, voices could be heard, the first rough:

"Oy, Ellen, someone'z knockin'.

The other still rough, but with a female touch:

"Well, go see who it is, Zogog. We're kind of busy here."

"Ohz, alrighty then."

With a light whistling, the ork climbed the tiny guard tower and looked down, a little confused:

"Wot? Space marinez?"

Ignus took the lead:

"You sound surprised."

"Oh, yeh. Youz lot usually don't be knockin'. What can wez do fer ya'?"

Drachen answered:

"We're here on a... visit, I suppose. There's more of us, but they're paranoid."

"Dunno' wot dat word meanz, but heck, come in! Oy, Ellen! Drop da' scizzurz and 'elp me open this zog."

"Visitors and no gunfire? That's new."

The wyrms motioned towards the rest. Reluctantly, they all followed suite, confused to the point of being speechless. The inquisitor merely stared at Drachen and seemed to nod knowingly.

Slowly, the gate slid sideways and the ork greeted them with a toothy grin:

"Worrrr, there be a lot of ya'. Oy, welcome to da' Big Rok. Feel at 'omez and stuff."

In the corner of the makeshift guard post, a blonde human was giving a haircut to an eldar, whose crimson hair almost flowed down to her waist:

"How did you even fit this in that damn helmet?"

"Centuries of practice and a specialised training course. I also dabbled in origami."

The group moved through, most of them rather dumbstruck. Drachen took note of a 'No Burnaz Allowud" poster plastered on the wall. A smart restriction, that one.

They gazed at the city below from the viewing platform. It was akin to a mad dream. Tau, human, ork, eldar, even tyranid. All coexisting, somehow. A small squad of gaunts seemed to be getting drunk off some beer. Several stands sold imperial charms, while others sold iconography of Tau'va. In the distance, a large, four-legged beast seemed to act as a bus for a school's worth of laughing children. It all seemed... too perfect.

"What a wretched hive of fools," exclaimed one of the knights, "a daemonic evil could prey on them in an instant!"

As soon as he finished his sentence, a band of daemonettes in green dresses marched onto the scene, carrying many boxes of various colours. Their leader, wearing an especially spacious hat for her tentacular hair, shouted:

"Have no fear, the cookie patrol is here!"

Another of the knights had only one thing to say, in a very blunt, dumbstruck manner:

"What."

They descended down to street level, the inquisitor remaining silent. They soon became the centre of attention. The merchants tried to convince them their aquillas were of the finest quality, the passers-by watched them with a hint of curiosity. One tiny daemonette made a potentially fatal mistake and came closer to one of the knights. With a smile, she asked:

"Mister, do you want some cookies?"

His aura changed so rapidly that it made her flinch:

"Flee, seductress, or feel my wrath!"

She stumbled backwards, spilling her cookies, before getting back up and running off, crying. The knight seemed pleased with himself. Drachen wanted to facepalm, but the helmet got in the way. The inquisitor sighed, just as the other daemonettes closed in, with less benevolent intent. The knights immediately assumed a fighting formation. The leaders shouted at each other:

"What's the big idea, bucket heads?! Scaring little Lilith like that!"

"She should know better than to approach the Malleus!"

Drachen started pointing to nearby rooftops and alleyways, where local defence forces were already gathering, from those of fire, to superbly bred bio-beasts. Discreetly, the inquisitor commanded the other troops to distance themselves from the knights.

Suddenly, the entire area shuddered, as something violently burst through the fabrics of reality, forcing its way into the materium. The daemoness was nearly twice as large as some of the nearby buildings, covered head-to-toe in exquisite jewellery and possessed four separate arms, as well as a rather redundant number of barely-clothed breasts. Her face had serpentine features, to the point where her jaw unhinged as she shrieked:

"Pathetic mortals! Which one was it, Lilith?"

It was then that they noticed the tiny daemonette from earlier, sitting on one of her shoulders. Still sobbing a bit, the little thing pointed.

The knights began to notice how much the odds were stacked against them. The snarling pack of beasts wielding organic cannons may have had something to do with that. The greater daemon alone made it a bit of an uphill battle, really. The offending knight soon found himself alone, as the others took several discreet steps away from him. Unamused, he commented:

"Good to know I can always count on you, brothers."

The keeper roared terribly, then addressed the offender:

"Give me one reason why I should not erase you from existence, lapdog!"

As he took a few breaths to try and muster a response, another sound filled the area. Two separate screams, one terrified, one having the time of its life. The daemoness looked over her shoulder and her eyes went wide. Something was heading straight for her face. She narrowly avoided the projectile, if one could call it that, and then just watched on.

To spectators, it surely was a spectacle. To see the kaptin of the BRPD not only surfing the air, but surfing it on top of a terrified nob of a stormboy, now that was something special. Their fatal journey could not last much longer, on account of structures existing, and so, the kaptin decided to leap into relative safety, landing on the beast-bus, much to the kids' enjoyment.

He got back on the ground just as the nob flew through a structure's wall. Turning to a nearby fire warrior, he adjusted his hat and asked:

"Oy, wot'z in dere?"

The explosion reached his ears sooner than the response, but he caught it anyway:

"Some old munitions, captain."

A few chunks landed not too far from them. With a toothy grin, Gorasho exclaimed:

"Now dat'z wot Iz call propa' rokkiteering! Hurr," finally turning around to see all the commotion, and so many new faces, he exclaimed, "oy, wot be goin' on 'ere, then?"

"Well, captain," the keeper hunched over slightly, "this pack of brutes scared poor little Lilith! I feel a decapitation is a fair punishment to ask for!"

"Oy, come onz, Moira," he waved towards Drachen nonchalantly as he passed, "look at 'em! Buncha' 'umie squigbrainz, all new on da' Big Rok. Youz can't get worked up over stuffz like dat. Ruinz yer bootiful hair."

As soon as he said that, several strands seemed to fondle her cheeks:

"Well, I suppose you're right... but I demand an apology for little Lilith!"

"Oy, dat won't be a problem," he turned to the rest with a nervous look, "willz it?"

The daemoness gently put her little devil down on the ground and she gazed up at them with those giant eyes of hers. The knight seemed to stare back for a while, fighting his contempt. The inquisitor intervened:

"Do it. Now."

It was as if the words were chainswords coming out of his mouth:

"I'm... I'm so... sorry."

The little one almost immediately lit up into a cheerful state:

"That's okay! Would you like to buy some cookies?"

He intervened once more, kneeling down almost to her level:

"What flavours do you have?"

She turned to the inquisitor with glee:

"Ooooh, lots! What would you like?"

"Something... simple. Ideally without any rituals involved."

"You're in luck," a brown box seemed to materialise in her hands, "we've got a human recipe! It's got chocolate and stuff."

"How much?"

"Two shinies."

He reached down for a pouch tied to his waist, picked out two coins and placed them in her hand. She smiled and handed him the box:

"Thank you, mister!"

She hopped off like a bunny. The denmother watched with a satisfied look:

"Good to see some of you have functioning brains. Very well, I shall not trouble you today. But know this," her gaze shifted back to the knight, "if we meet again on the same terms, I will shove that pike of yours up your," said with quadruple air quotes, "holy passage."

"By the Emperor," the knight whispered as the daemoness licked her lips with three separate tongues. She chuckled maliciously, before turning away and vanishing back into the immaterium, with a bang. The rest of the cookie patrol dispersed as well, ready to sell more questionable treats.

Gorasho wiped some sweat off his brow:

"Oy, youz lot lucky I'z gud at dramatic entrancez. 'Aven't seen 'er 'ere in a while," he turned to Drachen, "and fancy seein' youz 'ere again. Back fer more jungle-clearin'?"

"I'd rather not, captain," he turned to his own, "everyone, this is captain Gorasho Pain, head of the Big Rok Police Department."

"Oy, ya' butcha'd the name! Anywho, youz a mighty weird lot. Lot of ya got kurvez, too," most of the sisters were perplexed by the word's actual meaning and started whispering to one another, "whyz you 'ere, almost gettin' stomped?"

"That was my doing," he straightened himself out, "I am Ezekiel Brask, inquisitor of the Ordo Xenos. I was intriqued by the numerous reports surrounding your 'rok'. They do not do it justice. The others with me are Serena Balraz, here for Ordo Hereticus."

"Hail," she bowed.

"And Brother-captain Beren, sent by the Ordo Malleus."

The terminator merely nodded.

"Worr, lotsa' long wordz," he guffawed, "so youz sightseein'?"

"To simplify to the point of idiocy, yes."

"I'z got a boy just fer dat!"

"That would be most helpful."

At the top of his lungs, the kaptin shouted:

"Senior kadet Snogrot!"

The call echoed throughout the hulk as Gorasho waited with a confident grin. Sure enough, within a few moments, a nearby manhole cover was torn violently from its hinges. A big, green head popped out, and on top of it, a black squig:

"Youz called, kaptin?"

The nob responded as if this were the norm:

"Oh, yeh. Dese boyz 'ere need a tour guide. You'z it."

"Oy, Iz alwayz wanted ta' be a guide, kaptin!"

"Gud, cuz ya betta' do it propa'," he turned back to Ezekiel, "and youz lot 'ave a gud larf and stuff. I'z got some more stuff ta' do, so see ya lata'."

He walked off just as Snogrot pulled himself onto the surface. With an almost maniacal grin, he asked:

"Oy, shallz we?"

Snogrot did his job rather well, showing his speechless tourists the many sights Big Rok could offer. He could have showed them anything at all, really, since what he considered normal, was utterly nonsensical to the guests.

First, a brief trip through the many bars and pubs, a compulsory visit to Joe's, even a look into one of the local breweries. They spotted a set of finely-dressed orks, gentlemen and what seemed to be a unique strain of tyranid, sampling the brew and nodding enthusiastically, while speaking in forced accents. Save for the tyranid, his was quite sincere.

After a quarter of the stormtroopers were feeling quite tipsy, they came upon the Gearhead quarter, where invention was king and jealousy for the Metul Punchiez(TM) brand was the norm. Speaking of said only-slightly-lethal toys, a huge neon sign hung above the largest building in the area. A sack of teef casually fell out of one of its windows and a street brawl began over possession of its contents. The winner was the mek with enough brains to just vaporise the opposition from afar.

While they were checking out some of the squig processors, mighty structures that they were, a set of shadows flew above them. Ezekiel watched, most intrigued, as a flight of daemonettes made extremely precise manoeuvres in the air, from sommersaults to something akin to an aerial dance. Even more perplexing, however, was the eldar watching them from above:

"Good, good," she screamed, "now do it faster! An enemy will not wait for you to just swoop in! Iril, no slacking or I don't sign your pict today!"

"Eeeeek!"

"Oy, Miriana! Keepin' 'em on short leashy-bitz?"

She looked down:

"Oh, quite! And don't think they don't love it! Isn't that right, girls?"

"Yes, farseer!"

The group resumed their march as soon as the furies vanished behind a set of structures.

They mostly just passed through all the living areas, though they were quite the sight. Humans having friendly chats with their orkish neighbours over the proper method of deboning a squig. Children of every kind just playing together, without a care in the world, adults walking their gaunts. The mutual understanding and acceptance almost made some of the entourage hurl.

During their entire journey, Ugu spent his time getting petted by every battle sister in the group. The knights kept muttering something about foul magic, but the truth was, the squig's innate cuteness somehow radiated outwards, despite the several rows of razor-sharp teeth.

After rounding a corner, they all kind of just stopped. In the distance there was a rather lonely, modest home, unassuming on its own. Attached to it was a massive brick wall, both in height and thickness. On it, a monstrous trophy was mounted, easily the size of several tanks. The home was artificially elevated and they could see two figures enjoying beverages on the balcony.

Seeing as they weren't particularly stealthy, the two noticed them. Marek walked up to the railing and raised his glass to the visitors:

"Well, now, what a surprise. Not sure if it is pleasant or not, but it is most certainly a surprise."

Ezekiel walked up closer:

"Few expect the imperial inquisition."

"True enough."

"Lord General Marek Antonius, I presume?"

"One and only. I suppose you already know everything else about me, inquisitor."

"A few questions linger. For one," he pointed to the mounted head, "is that your catch?"

"Oh, no, no," the second figure revealed herself in all of her blue, noseless beauty, "it's ours."

"Oh, indeed," Mont'yr chuckled, her braid almost reaching the ground as she rested on the railing, "and we're going fishing soon, so we may bring something nice once more."

Snogrot added:

"We'z already caught da' biggest thingy there, though."

It was then that an annoying beeping caught their attention. It was followed by an annoyed grunt:

"Oy, get yer lovey-dovey 'eadz over to da' boss pole! Some weird magicky bit gone atez it up!"

Marek frowned:

"Well, that is most certainly troubling."

"Oy, kaptin be in troublez! Usually a gud larf, let'z go lookit!"

Beren turned first to his knights, then to the inquisitor:

"If foul sorcery is afoot, we would do well to banish it."

"I could not agree more," Ezekiel almost cracked a smile, "Snogrot, was it? Take us there, post haste."

"Oh, yeh! Let'z get rokkin'!"

The portal was truly magnificent. It radiated with crimson red energy, covering the immediate area with jagged rock formations. Onlookers who gazed inside risked being ensnared by its entropy, like a mouse being lured into a trap. Squads of local law enforcement gathered near it, readying their weapons.

Events escalated quickly, as the gate violently burst open and a massive shape charged into the materium. Several stories tall and excessively muscular, the monster stood upright on two legs, a massive battleaxe clenched in its talons. Remnants of power armour, violently twisted and expanded by the energies of the Warp, could be seen among its fur.

The prince gazed around, as the ants beneath it ran for better cover. With a deep cackle, it shouted:

"Aaaaaah, the halls of Big Rok, I missed their rotten stench," he breathed in deeply, then exhaled, the air coming out as visible steam, "and more importantly... your stench," the beast turned towards him, two flaming eyes locked on the ork nob, "Gorasho Pain!"

The kaptin did not seem to be particularly intimidated, though he did suddenly remember several important matters on the other side of the rok he simply had to attend to:

"D-dat voice... Gug?"

"No, NO," the ascended roared and smashed his weapon into a nearby building, cleaving it in two, "I am Gugulash! Butcher of Bovinus, Reddener of the Dunes! Gugulash, whose soul smothered packs of hungry daemons until the Blood God himself took notice! Gugulash, Slayer of Handmaidens, Terror of the Bloodworld Kesh! Gugulash..."

"Da' boy with just enough title bitz ta' fit in 'iz big ol' 'ead. Youz neva' give up, do ya', Gug?"

"Insolent whelp, I shall lick your bones clean when I'm done with you," a mighty roar blew Gorasho of his feet and sent him tumbling away. Gug then raised one of his hands to the ceiling, clenched in a fist, "come forth, my warriors! Come forth, sons and daughters of Khorne!"

Many more shapes appeared in the portal, some more grotesque than others.

Deep within the Warp, the Fortress of Khorne rumbled as massive pawed feet dashed here and there, leaving burning pawmarks in their wake. It dropped the massive bone at its master's feet, the remnant of a particularly ancient space squig. Karanak growled with all three heads, waggling its flaming whip of a tail. A fiery fist came down to pet them, the warpfire barely even registering on the hound's thick fur.

"Good boy, good boy! Warp, I hate to admit it, the slaaneshi know their stuff," he was still against pink hairclips, though, the new 'single flaming braid' look was quite enticing. He pulled out a brass mirror, gazed at himself for a moment, then took out a small piece of cloth, "now, here boy. Find."

All three heads sniffed at it. Each growled, then roared horribly as the hound sped out of its master's hall of skulls. Each could already see the victim, the thorn in their master's side, the untrue believer. The leftmost saw the fool's tracks, their scent, their comings and goings in the materium. The middle one saw them in the Warp, as a beacon of psychic energy ready to be located. The last head was the ultimate hunter, seeing not only where they were, but where they had been and would be. The tracker of time never failed, for while one could mask themselves from the other two, none could hide that actions existed, that at some point, they were or would be.

Khorne nodded enthusiastically, before sitting down on his mighty, brass throne and opening a ridiculously-oversized newspaper. The Warp Happenings, because time was, after all, relative in that place. Cheap property near the Lakes of Torment, he wondered why. Slaaneshi organising their seventeenth orgy of the day. Nurgle's garden finally receding, most khornates were sad about lack of fighting. Tzeentch was about to call him.

A small portal appeared to his left, a colour-changing eye on the other side:

"Khorne."

"Ah, Tzeentch. Relative time no see."

"Yes, well, there is a situation. Have you recently promoted any daemon princes?"

"Hmmm," he rubbed his chin, "there was that Gugulash fellow. He kept strangling bloodletters so I gave him a post to make him calm the Warp down."

"I see. The same Gugulash who has attacked the project twice before?"

"Hmmm, now that you mention it, probably."

"The one who is now attacking it a third time, as a super-powerful prince of the Warp, along with an army of possessed?"

"Oh. Oops."

"Can't you run background checks on your followers at least sometimes?

"I don't have time for the paperwork. Besides," the Blood God grinned, "if they can't beat a single prince, what hope do they have against him?"

There was a silence on the other side, before the portal closed. Khorne shook his head, then returned to reading. Bloodcrusher birth rate exceedingly high, jousting tournament planned to control numbers.

They emerged in great number. Hideous, twisted abominations, perhaps human at some point, before they had become host to an entity of the Warp. And the entities wasted no time in making their new shells more homely. Limbs and skeletal structures twisted in unnatural angles, arms turned to little more than giant claws, tentacles and other deadly weapons, breath tainted by warpfire. Some wore remnants of power armour, others had nothing to hide. The horde assembled around Gugulash, growling, snarling and roaring.

"Yes, yes! Come, my warriors, let us turn this place to ash!"

Not too far, a voice rose in opposition:

"Not so fast, warpspawn!"

Ezekiel marched at the head of several lines of stormtroopers, with not even the slightest hint of fear on his face. The prince roared, before gazing down at a rather happy Gorasho:

"So you side with the Corpse's lackeys these days? Bah! Have at them, my horde! Rend them limb from limb!"

The possessed charged with untold ferocity. Ezekiel merely smiled:

"Predictable. Triple line, fire at my mark," the stormtroopers formed three lines, the first lay prone, the second crouched, the third standing upright. Hotshot lasguns primed, they waited for the inquisitor, as the horde crept closer, "fire!"

The air lit up with crimson lasfire. It crashed into the horde with mixed results, mostly just crippling those without armour and angering those with it. Those that stumbled were trampled by their kin, yet the charge continued.

"Good show! Separate, hold formation, fire at will," as the stormtroopers fulfilled every command, he turned to the armoured figure behind him, "Serena, Drachen, they are all yours."

The canoness had an almost sadistic grin:

"You are too kind. Sisters, to me," the sororitas marched forth, Serena at the head with six, the rest hanging back, "bolters, fire at will!"

"You heard the lady! Wyrms, open fire!"

Their rounds proved a tad bit more effective than simple lasfire. Explosions of gore dotted the enemy battleline, coupled with monstrous screams and wails, yet they did not slow down. Serena allowed herself a smile:

"Sisters," those at her side hefted their large weapons. The horde was almost upon them, "show them the Emperor's mercy!"

With the pull of a few triggers, an inferno was unleashed from six flamers. It was no simple flame. It was purification incarnate, augmented by scared oils, blessed by litanies of fortitude and faith. To the daemon, the witch, the heretic, it was their antithesis, their nemesis. Their final judgement. The horde faltered as the entire area was doused in the Emperor's holy wrath, scorching their flesh, cooking them within their mighty armour. They turned tail, sometimes literally, scattered, beaten, scarred. Above it all, a chant could be heard, as the sisters prayed to the God-Emperor. Only one issue remained. Ezekiel shouted above the purging:

"Beren, now!"

The knights emerged and rushed straight towards Gugulash. They crashed through what remained of the possessed like a tidal wave, leaving little more than giblets in their wake. The two psycannons discharged their payload, their payload destabilising warpspace itself. Gugulash roared as parts of his very essence shook with each impact. From his maw emerged a stream of warpfire, aimed directly at the charging knights.

Beren was undaunted and raised his armoured fist. An unnatural field seemed to surround him and his brothers, pushing the warpfire aside harmlessly. As the stream died down, the terminator shouted:

"Your fire is powerless against our resolve!"

"With a minor dash of protective psychic wards," mumbled one of the knights.

"Damn you, damn all of you!"

The battleaxe came down in an overhead swing, but the knights scattered just in time. Beren charged forth, right towards the monster. Gug tried to swipe with his clawed hand, but another salvo from the psycannons made him reel in pain. Beren readied his nemesis pike and used one of the warpal rocks as a platform. He jumped to impressive height, especially considering the tactical dreadnaught armour, and made a downward slash of his own.

The blade cut through the daemon's hide with ease, carving a deep gash from the monster's stomach down to its loins. Gugulash roared with absolute fury, falling down to his knees, even as his guts started spilling. Half-roaring, he spewed out words:

"Stupid... overpowered tosh. Damn you, Waaaaaaaaaaaard!"

By then, the other knights were upon him, their blades causing the prince ever more harm. Growling, he got to his feet, clutching the wound on his stomach, and made a mad dash for the portal. Psycannons bombarded him even as he finally made his way to the immaterium. With an unidentifiable scream, the portal closed. The imperials rejoiced as kaptin Pain made his way to the inquisitor:

"Oy, youz lot pretty killy. And fankz."

"Lifelong training brings results, captain. Now, if you would excuse us, I have something to discuss with my troops."

"Oh, yeh, dat'z gud. Iz need ta' get some grotz fer cleanin' up, anyway."

As the kaptin walked off with Snogrot, discussing their day, Ezekiel turned to the other commanders and their retinues:

"Brothers and sisters, we stand at a crossroads. On one hand, we are all sworn to our duties to the Emperor. To eradicate the alien, the daemon, the heretic. Yet, here we are, in a place where the rules of the universe at large do not seem to apply. Where, alien, daemon and heretic live together, troubled only by themselves," he walked among them, "we see a new, inclusive culture, whose mere discovery could lead to internal struggles within the inquisition itself. I refuse to believe all of this occurred without the meddling of greater powers, but for what purpose, I could not hope to fathom. I feel compelled to discover the nature of this manipulation, so that mankind at large may be protected from it. The inhabitants may be oblivious to it, but I am not."

"You propose we remain here, inquisitor?" Serena liked just getting to the bloody point.

"Not all of us," he turned to the wyrms, "Drachen, you and your brothers have served the Emperor with body and soul. Even faced with such revelations, you did not falter and your faith remained strong. I would loathe to take away such a devoted servant away for an extended time. You have my leave," he came closer to the captain and whispered something, then turned back to the other leaders, "and what say you, my friends?"

The canoness straightened herself:

"I have served with you on many occasions, Ezekiel. Your judgement has never failed us so far. Your mission is ours. The Merciful Wrath stands with you."

Beren smashed his gauntlet against his chest:

"We have seen today that even this manipulation you speak of is not widespread. While the daemonic entities here seem mostly harmless, unless provoked," the entire squad turned towards the offending knight, "other entities still seek its destruction. We stand with you, inquisitor. May the daemonic fear our wrath!"

They raised their spears in perfect unison, with a triumphant cry. The inquisitor nodded with a smile:

"I assure you, your faith in me shall not be squandered," he turned again to Drachen, "go now, captain. Emperor be with you."

"And with you, inquisitor."

As they left, Ezekiel turned to see several squads of gretchina nd gaunts cleaning the surroundings of discarded body parts and rubble. The kaptin stood above it all, shouting at anything performing under peak efficiency. Several grots, repeat offenders, became afternoon snacks and created more work for the rest. The groups approached him:

"Captain. We will be staying for a while."

"Ohz, right. Like it 'ere dat much?"

"I will lie to you and say yes."

"Uhuh. Woteva', Iz think we'z got some free livin' placez in one of da' multi-blockz. You'z gunna' love it."

Drachen and his squad entered one of the transports. The few men left on board, weapons ready, asked him the question:

"Code and authorization?"

"Code Valkyrie Omega. Xeno soup."

They lowered their weapons immediately:

"Well, damn. Must be quite a situation in there."

"You wouldn't believe me even if I was allowed to speak of it."

Their living quarters were quite nice, though, the spontaneous daemonic parade occurring that evening. One of the knights, in hastily-purchased civilian clothing barely his size, shouted from his window:

"Keep it down, we're trying to meditate here!"

A group of daemonettes shouted back, before throwing him a party hat:

"Lighten up and live a little, tin man!"

Psycannon fire roared into the night and was mistaken for fireworks, much to the knights' dismay. The sisters accepted the generous gifts of party hats, but were not exactly the life of it.

"But my lord!"

"SILENCE," Khorne's shout shook the very foundations of the Warp, "you alone have caused Tzeentch to bother me three times today. I need my newspaper time, you know? For this reason, Gug," the short name hurt him more than any nemesis weapon ever could, "I think you have outlived your usefulness, in record time. Wait for a bit, he should," as he said that, the most feared bloodhound burst into the chamber, clutching what looked like a terrified berserker in its middle maw, "aaaaah, good boy, set him down on the burning coals in the corner, I have a treat for you!"

The berserker was not pleased at all. Gugulash started trembling as he gazed at Karanak, who was slightly larger than even him.

"W-what did he do?"

"Oh, claiming skulls for himself. You never claim skulls for yourself. But that's beside the point. As I was saying, you are a hindrance at this point and, conveniently enough, Karanak deserves a little snack. Have at him, boy!"

There was no struggling against the ultimate predator, only whimpers of terror. Khorne treated himself to a low-calorie, genetically modified bloody steak, when another portal opened to his left. A full face was shown, at that time quite serpentine, yet somehow still possessing an alluring quality:

"Oh, hi Khorne!"

"Hail."

"I hear Tzeentchey's been giving you trouble."

"Don't worry, the problem has, shall we say," chomping and the crushing of bones could be heard in the background, "been treated."

"Oh, okay. Oooooh, I see you like the flaming braid. I knew you would."

"I am merely tolerating it at the moment, I assure you."

"Uhuh. Say, one of my Keepers made a deeply introspective independent film filled with self-reflection and meaningful, religious imagery. It's pretentious as all Warp. Wanna' go make fun of it with me? We can stop by for something tasty on the way back!"

"Fine. I'll come pick you up in an hourglass."

"Yay, I knew you'd like it!"

"I am only coming to ridicule your servant, nothing more."

"Yeah, right, Khorney."

With a giggle, the prince of excess closed the portal. Slaanesh loved it so much when they played hard to get.