Chapter 3

Strike at the Heart

The Fifth Horseman bucked and reared over the stormy waves. Torrential rain poured out of a sky pitch black, even the moon hidden behind a thick cloud barrier. Sailors worked miserably across its deck, making sure all of the cargo was well secured. The ship was an enormous frigate, used for transporting mass quantities of non-perishable goods. Anything more valuable went by air.

Inside the ship's small bridge, elevated and located near the aft, Captain Brahagan watched the weather with a cautious eye. He didn't like it. It was about as bad as could remember, and he'd served a lifetime in the coastguard before 'retiring' into less strenuous duties. Less strenuous indeed, he thought, chuckling.

The Horseman crashed down over a swell, sending a bow wave over the front deck, sailors scurrying back. They were still a day away from port, and had had no warning of the invasion so far.

Can't get any worse, he thought, eyeing the storm.

There was...something. It wasn't an explosion, exactly, and it wasn't like a shudder could have been felt over the waves anyway. Before he could ask a question, one of his staff called out.

"Comm's down!" Had it been a lightning strike? He had seen a brief flash. What the devil was going on?

Appropriately, it was the Devil.

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It had swept in, ridiculously low over the waves, as if daring them to knock it out of the sky. At the very last second before crashing into the ship's flank the Voidraven pulled up in a steep ascent and dropped its precious cargo. The void mine struck the comm.-array, and it disappeared in a ball of dark energy.

Following it was the Raiders and Venoms. In the absolute black, even the Commorites had some degradation to their aim, but the target was vast. Its pitiful armament consisted of four turret guns, and they weren't manned. Why would they be? They weren't at war. Dark Lances flashed out and they were destroyed in instants.

Seconds later, the Kabalites were on the deck, Eldar agility finding easy footing on the treacherous deck. But then again, they were used to treacherous.

In total, one hundred Kabalite Warriors alighted onto the decking, with the addition of Silkaro's Trueborn. Sailors, completely helpless by surprise and environment didn't stand a chance. A few died to splinter rounds, but a delightful idea spread quickly, and many were simply thrown screaming into the ocean.

Silkaro gave no orders. They all knew the plan, and any not following it now were either traitors or high on killing, making ordering them irrelevant. While the Trueborn headed for the bridge, the rest moved below decks to enjoy themselves, or tamper with the cargo. If any touched the engines though, Silkaro would kill them personally.

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Brahagan was terrified. He'd only caught glimpses of the assault through the horrendous conditions, but he knew that he was under attack. He heard the lock try to turn, but they'd sealed the door. There was rapping, as if they were actually knocking, and a poorly accented voice spoke in Low Gothic.

"If anyone's in there, I suggest you get back from the door."

The door simply ceased to exist in a bizarre purple flash. The next instant a blaster wielding Trueborn leapt through, gesturing with the weapon, daring someone to try him. More pushed through with much more sensible carbines for the enclosed space. In total, the bridge crew was only three men: the Captain, the Comms man and the Pilot. None were armed.

Screaming in fear, the Comms man jumped at the nearest Trueborn. In seconds, he was on the floor, the elite Eldar pinning him to the ground in the most painful fashion he could without causing him injury.

At last, Dracon Silkaro stepped through, joining the four Eldar inside. The others remained outside as defence. He removed his helmet, allowing his hair to spill out. He languidly observed the bridge crew. The maggot whining on the ground, a painfully young boy, and an older man who he assumed to be the captain.

"What is his role on the ship?" He asked, gesturing to the prostrate man. There was no reply, so he made gesture and the Trueborn produced a knife, holding it to the man.

"He's our Comm expert!" Captain Brahagan said in desperation. The Dracon smiled at that.

"Then he is disposable. He is your gift," he said, gesturing to the Trueborn holding him. Cackling, he began to cut with the knife, making ritual wounds. A common practice in some youngsters, though needlessly formulaic in Silkaro's opinion. The man screamed and screamed as the Eldar looked on with amusement.

"Aah, it is good to be out of the rain," Silkaro said amiably to the two remaining men. He lit a stick of na'khale, a low level narcotic, and took a drag. He offered it to the two humans who just stared at him with fear and loathing. "No? You won't have much enjoyment left in your lives, you may want to reconsider."

"What do you want?" Shouted Brahagan with all the courage he could muster, fists balled. Silkaro turned to look at the steering wheel.

"Literally a manual turning system? How primitive." He turned the wheel left and right, noting the ship change course. "I feared we may need your pilot." He made another gesture, and a second Trueborn pushed the Captain aside, and set upon the young man. Brahagan tried to stop him, but was sent reeling by an elbow to the face. A second set of screams joined the requiem.

A third Trueborn made to the wheel, pulling out some kind of Eldar equivalent of a data-slate. It charted the course to the destination, and he easily got the hang of the simplistic controls, working through how to alter speed.

Silkaro sat down in the captain's chair. "Now Captain, it's going to be a long trip, and your comrades won't be around too much longer. So why don't we have a nice chat to pass the time?"

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"Is she damaged?" Called the dock master.

"Her turret emplacements appear to be damaged and the comm.-mast is gone. Other than that, she looks whole." The younger man was using a pair of binoculars to see. "She's coming about for dock three. Do we let her in?"

"She might be damaged by the storm or attacked by the Xenos. I'm not leaving Brahagan and his men to rot. Let them in." We need the supplies too, he added silently.

The ship steered like a drunkard, but perhaps her engine was damaged too. It wasn't a graceful docking, but The Fifth Horseman successfully made her way in, killing her speed. Repair crews and medical staff hurried to the dock to see if they were needed. Anxious hands hurried to help.

They were the first to die.

Splinter fire mowed down the defenceless civilians easily. They cried out as bodies hit the floor, mouths foaming in response to powerful toxins. Fast moving bladed forms jumped from the ship, hacking apart any who were left. Silkaro alighted onto the dock as well.

"Forwards! We'll have time to savour later, but now let us feast!"

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Unseen, the docks essentially formed a gaping hole in the city walls. The Kabalites made a straight line towards the city centre, cutting down hordes of civilians unaware of the intrusion. Mass panic spread as people fled for their lives, choking streets that PDF troopers tried to move down.

Silkaro was annoyed as the inevitable happened. Kabalites high on pain stopped to torture, and the force began to fragment. His Trueborn stayed on point, but he was losing cohesion.

"Ravax, Amenkon, Dobengal! Get your warriors back in the fight!" He shouted at his sybarites. Amenkon obeyed immediately, and Ravax made a sly look before loping off. Dobengal appeared to have forgotten where he was. He was a liability. "Dobengal!" Silkaro shouted, and the drug addled Sybarite suddenly snapped back to reality. "Your men. Moving. Now!"

"Sure thing, boss. Kyahaha!" He also ran to gather his men. Slowly, the warriors began to congeal, but by now, PDF troopers had begun to engage in the well-lit roads. Eldar began shooting out the streetlights, throwing as much darkness onto the fight as possible.

The casualties were horrendously one sided, but Kabalites began to fall as lasrounds made their marks. Warriors high on the slaughter they'd wreaked could bear a lot of punishment, but there was a limit. Cursing, Silkaro ordered a staggered fall back, and activated his webway portal.

Dragging their casualties, the Kabalites slowly fell back under the cover of darkness that the PDF were afraid to advance into. Soon, no Eldar remained. With not even bodies left behind, to any appraising the attack, it looked as if men and women had chosen to spontaneously die in the most horrific fashion.

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"Merciful Emperor," Governor Mehan muttered as he surveyed the scene. Once the area had been scoured to make sure the Xenos were gone, he'd travelled there personally with a PDF bodyguard for security.

Bodies were everywhere, most of them civilians shot in the back. Here and there were the corpses of people who'd gotten more attention, hacked up in a variety of cruel and brutal ways. Eldar lance technology left little in the way of corpses, but lines were hacked out of the ground and buildings. Shredder fire…he retched.

Behind cordons, flocks of people stood, watching the scene in silence or crying out for their loved ones.

"This will not stand…," he said, and he felt the tug of attention as people nearby noticed their Governor speaking. "This will not stand!" He shouted at the sky. People were definitely drawn to him now.

"With the Emperor as my witness, we will repay this scum a hundred fold! I hereby request that any person of eighteen years or more enlist into the PDF! If we unite and stand together, we can…no we will crush these abominations in His holy name!"

Some people began to cheer and applaud. Most didn't feel it, but the infectious rush caught them up and they started as well. General Wesser looked on, concern warring with hope. It was certainly true that more bodies would help, but training would take time. A civilian with a gun was a liability, not an asset.

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Eldar have the capability to recall their memories with perfect clarity. Doing so, Silkaro sat in a trance, counting the dead humans he could see. The ship's crew numbered about a hundred, he had learned. He reckoned that the total dead must be in excess of a thousand when the deaths he didn't see were factored in, which wasn't exactly bad, but he'd lost ten Kabalites along the way.

Those Kabalites could undergo rejuvenation, but still, it rankled. The plan wasn't a failure per se – the only goal hi wished to achieve was to reach the governor's mansion to make a point – but he felt like it hadn't had the impact he had wished for.

Still, he had cut a bloody swathe through the human's main dwelling, and made them fear using their marine vessels. In terms of pure body count, his assault far exceeded the Haemonculi's, and in terms of fear, he had struck a telling blow.

Time to face the music.

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"Wonderful, Silkaro, wonderful!" Kuras was in full melodramatic mode, clapping with glee. "What a perfect message to send. Even in their own strongest fastness, you struck without warning and butchered them in droves. Wonderful!"

"I am honoured by your flattery, my Lord," said Silkaro kneeling, eyes fixed at Kuras' feet.

"Of course," said Kuras, making the Dracon tense, "They will turtle their defences, gathering more soldiers. The next time we assault the capitol will be much harder, won't it?"

Silkaro's heart seized in fear, but before he could respond, Kuras continued, his voice low and ugly.

"So when we break it again, their morale will shatter like glass."

Damn him, thought Silkaro. The Archon had skilfully manoeuvred the conversation to either praise or blame him depending on the final outcome. We win, here's a gift. We lose, it was your fault. Very suddenly the door was flung open and Arianys swaggered in.

Kuras looked annoyed, and the Incubi's hands strayed towards their hilts. "Can I help you, dearest sister? I was in the middle of…"

"It's my turn now, right?" She interrupted, glaring at him in the most brazenly confrontational manner possible. As the tension built, Silkaro desperately wished to be elsewhere, despite the thrilling emotion to sample.

"By right, it is your chance to lead the next raid." Kuras chose to answer the question directly and cut the crap.

"Fantastic, my little brother. I hope you have no problem with us going all out." Her mouth crooked in a cocky smile. Despite himself, Kuras was intrigued. He blinked in a moment of realisation, and his antagonism was leaving his lips before he knew it.

"Oh? Two displays of subtlety and you think your only recourse is overwhelming might? I understand, dearest sister. Intelligence was never your strong point." He barked a laugh, and the Succubus scowled but didn't rise to the bait.

"I promise you a show, little brother, something worth watching. In fact, we'll bring Medusae along and get a few recordings." She turned to saunter out.

With her gone, Kuras spoke. "I'll have to kill her someday. I'll make it slow."

Silkaro kept quiet, unsure of how to respond.

"Oh, you're still here? You are dismissed." Standing and saluting, the Dracon left as fast as protocol would allow. The rivalry between the siblings was no secret, but still the words troubled him.

Because your ranks are equal. If she's expendable, so are you.

Silkaro shook himself. He knew that, and had known since he was a child. All Commorites considered each other expendable commodities. That was the game, and he had to play it well.