Issinel was 16 years old. Her favourite thing to do was carve wood (she had a collection of dolls she'd made herself). Her least favourite thing to do was cook because she lacked the skills. When the rebellion happened, her whole family left the Imperium to join Halivor's insurrection. Her three brothers joined Halivor's hearthguard and lost their lives fighting the Ersonian loyalists. Her father was arrested and shot. Only her mother and two sisters survived the war. Now, because of the orks, even they were gone. Snowbrow, the 31-year old light-haired man who had escorted Cav, had adopted her. Sitting inside the cellar of the place they had taken Cav, he and Issinel told each other about themselves, from who their parents were to their least favourite chores.
It was hard to think of her as his captor. Her golden-blonde eyebrows were always bent into some expression and she gestured wildly when she spoke. If it were Springfest or Emperor's Day, Cav might ask her to dance with him. The only thorn to her rose was her gun, which sat on her lap. The men had asked her to shoot him if he tried to escape before leaving. It had been several hours now and no one had come back. But in those hours, the gun had become a forgotten, unused thing that now sat unused across her lap. In time, Cav forgot he was a prisoner as he talked about himself.
"…so then at that point, Floria comes in," Cav continued.
"No way," laughed Issinel in anticipation of the story's funny conclusion. Cav chuckled as he recalled his most vivid memory of the incident.
"And the poor girl looks down at the cabin floor and sees Notren and she sees Gyellya. And she lets out the loudest scream you can imagine," Cav and Issinel shared a laugh. "And I jump in, hands like this, and I go 'Floria! Floria! I promise you, it's not what it looks like.' But I can't help it because I'm trying to keep myself steady." Issinel shook her head in amusement.
"Did she leave him after that?" she asked.
"No, Gyellya felt sorry for Notren and explained everything to a very shaken Floria that evening. But I was laughing about it all the way back to my clan's territory," Cav finished.
"Did Flora and Notren get married? Where are they now?"
"No, they didn't have time. Gyellya's still a maid and Notren…" Cav dismissed the memory. "So did you ever live through any funny love stories?"
"Those will wait!"
The light, friendly atmosphere of the room was stolen by a wash of cold air. Down into the little cellar came Sectraa, still hooded. The room was nicely lit, but everywhere he went seemed to grow darker. Cav saw Issinel look afraid for him as she stood unsteadily up and nodded to the walking shadow. Cav, sitting in a chair, didn't dare to move.
"Why is he not bound?" Sectraa hissed. Issinel shrunk under his stare. Her light, playful attitude gave way to soft, fragile weakness.
"I…I really didn't think he needed…" she shrugged and tried to lighten Sectraa's evil mood. "And I mean, it's just wrong. Little creepy for me to tie up a boy, you know?" Sectraa backhanded her cheek. Cav felt a strange sort of hatred, one he had not felt before. With just one cruel gesture, Sectraa had earned Cav's eternal disdain. Cav promised himself he would kill Sectraa, first chance he got, even if it killed him. He watched Sectraa glide over to Cav, Issinel's gun in his hand.
"You are going to help us, Angelspear." What sunless planet could produce a people with such an inhuman accent? "There is a door that only one of you can open. You will open it for us." Cav nodded. Anything to appease this awful man. He didn't want to see what else those talons could do. "It is a gate that is opened not by a key but by thought. Only a thought that truly wants to open the gate can." Sectraa pointed a finger at Cav. The talon unfolded and pricked the space between his eyes, softly, gently. His forhead began to tingle. "You must want to open the gate. It mustn't be forced."
"What gate?" whispered Cav.
"No questions!" shrieked Sectraa.
"The one by the mountain," said Issinel, "well…I mean, the Temple Guard resistance group, the group I am part of, found this gate in a hidden chamber deep inside a shaft on Angel's Peak. Sectraa thinks if we can open it, it will bring forth the angel of the Emperor to purge this world of orks and Imperials, to free the hill clans." Sectraa looked displeased at her but didn't say anything. "Come on Cav, you can open it to save Ersonia, can't you?"
Cav thought about the tattoo on his arm. That mountain, that angel. It and the things the tattoo stood for were closer to him than his skin. They were special, precious things he loved and admired. The angel's return was a wonderful fairytale to believe in. But to have it commanded by this monstrosity of a human being, this Sectraa? It stank of dead fish. Trickery was at hand. Even without Sectraa, how could the Emperor's greatest miracle be made manifest through the simple opening of a door?
"A gate?" he asked, "in Angel's Peak? No, can't be…" Sectraa's free hand clasped him by the throat.
"It is so," Sectraa hissed. "If you do not help me release the angel…" He brought his lips to Cav's ear, "I'll kill both of you. Issinel and you. Slowly. Deliciously." He pulled back to look into Cav's face. "Does that make you want to open my gate?" He grinned an evil grin, his pointed teeth showing. Cav knew he had little choice. "As the girl said, it will release the angel," he whispered menacingly. But how could Cav trust this man?
…
Only Osprey and Mhal were allowed to come on this rescue. Kins had objected to sending thirty of the 112th but Lystartro promised him they were on a mission of discovery, not just a rescue mission. When Kins himself volunteered to come along, Lystartro let him. He left the recovering Frens in charge of the base while they were gone. Arcantillius had also chosen to come.
"This is it," Mhal whispered, pointing down the street. It was an unusually intact street, given the rest of Urbanis 1's condition. There were plenty of buildings that were nearly untouched by damage. If there was a nest of humans out here, they could be found in here for sure.
"Alright," Lystartro loaded his shotgun and crept down one half of the street with his squad, Osprey and Mhal. Kins and Arcantillius led the other two squads down the other half of the street. "So where is it?" he whispered, in case orks, or Halivorians, were nearby. Osprey looked down the street through his rifle's scope and shrugged, but Mhal was more certain. His knowing eyes looked up and down the road, searching. It was the look of a hunter.
"Look for a short building with fewer windows, square. It is one of the Halivorians' outposts. My friends know it is where Cav is," Mhal promised. Lystartro nodded, his breathing calm, his muscles ready to snap into action. Instinct wasn't something they taught in basic. It had to be picked up with experience in the field, where the shots fired were real. This closed street was a good place for his shotgun. His finger was tense on the trigger, but it was too experienced to fire at anything but the enemy.
"There," whispered Osprey, "I see it, way down there." It was a long street and Lystartro could barely make out the building he meant. It matched Mhal's description. He looked to the other squads across they road, but they were out of sight, sneaking through the buildings instead.
Before Lystartro could give them the directions to the structure, there was a flurry of lasfire from the buildings. Immediately, Lystartro contacted Arcantillius.
"Contact?" Lystartro asked. His squad jumped inside the nearest building.
"Ye…es," buzzed Arcantillius' voice. "Can't see…t. Disappeared…not…"
"Hello? You're breaking up," Lystartro cursed. "They might be jamming us." Mhal nodded, his power sword drawn.
"They know we're here," Mhal sighed. "Osprey, keep the streets clean." Osprey was already looking out the window, his rifle raised.
"Should we go help them?" Osprey asked Lystartro. His answer did not come. Lasrounds and a few autogun rounds flashed from one of the buildings opposite and skipped into their side of the street. Osprey fired his rifle and reloaded, sliding the bolt to take his next shot.
"Three, up on that third floor," Osprey said. A few guardsmen joined him and returned fire. Lystartro cursed. All this gunfire would bring orks, not like a moth to fire, but like looters to an unwatched warehouse. They would come in a violent barrage of green bodies and violence.
"Away from the windows. Remember, the greenskins are still out there!" Lystartro called over the shooting. "Draw them in house to house where we might have a chance at going hand to hand." They all pulled back to the far wall of the room they were in. Lystartro pushed open a door and several men swept the room beyond, burrowing deeper into cover.
"No!" Mhal advised. "They could have this place rigged." He seemed to be afraid of something.
"Rigged? To what? To fall down?" asked Lystartro. They opened a door and were greeted by gunshots. Everyone jumped away from the door as bullets sprayed out. Lystartro aimed his shotgun and signaled a plan to the squad. The sergeant put everyone into position and they prepared to storm the room. One man drew a grenade, but no more.
A purple sphere of metal clanged into the room. The high-pitched whine it emitted got louder every second, telling everyone in the ubiquitous language of common sense that they'd better run. The Osprey and the squad dashed madly back the way they came. Mhal kicked the ball in through the door and ran to the far wall with Lystartro. A second later, there was a dim pop and a white smoke trailed out of the door and into the room.
"A smokebomb?" asked Lystartro.
"Not quite," replied Mhal. "One breath of that gas and you die." He pointed his power sword to the door. "Against the wall, gun ready."
In the smoke, Lystartro saw a man. He fired into the smoke but missed as the man vanished. Lystartro fired again. He heard gunshots come from the other room. Osprey and the others were under attack. They all were!
"AH!" two young gunmen, faces masked in rebreathers, barreled through the smoke, autoguns blazing. Lystartro fired twice, hitting the madmen both in the chest. Two more shots laid them down. They were dressed like commoners, but as crazy with bloodlust as an ork. They kept their madness in death, despite the bloody gauges Lystartro blew from their bodies. As he reloaded, a third man came in.
Was he a man? His skin was as pale as chalk and his teeth were sharp. A mutant! The name came to Lystartro's mind as he worked to reload. The hideous attacker wore black gauntlets, metal boots and a long black coat with a hood. He drew a jagged silver blade from his sleeve and held it out in some kind of attack stance. His weapon was a blade, not a sword. If not for his gauntlet, he'd be cutting his hand.
"Behind me," Mhal commanded.
"Dressa sasra minssra!" taunted the newcomer in a lightless accent that chilled Lystartro's blood.
"Zesay rassek," Mhal replied confidently. The two had a short, but fierce conversation. The newcomer seemed to be taunting Mhal and Mhal sounded outraged. Though the words were alien, Lystartro had an idea of what they were saying by their tone. From their voices, he gleaned that Mhal and this man knew each other. From where?
What did it matter? As a soldier, he knew the only thing that mattered in battle was violence! To hell with who he was. Lystartro was about to shoot, when the newcomer suddenly attacked.
Mhal ducked with grace as the newcomer's blade missed him by a hair. He danced around Mhal like smoke, assaulting him furiously. Mhal's swordsmanship kept him alive, deflecting and attacking whenever the stranger was clear. None of his hits scored, for the stranger was always retreating when Mhal attacked. They exchanged sharp words even as they battled, always in that different language. Lystartro fired his shotgun and saw the stranger flinch. Blood dripped down his side. Lystartro reloaded, but the stranger was retreating through the way he came, through the door. Mhal lowered his mask and went after him. Lystartro considered the merits of pursuing him, but ultimately did not abandon his squad. He ran back to them.
Three of them were dead, dismembered. Their killers were nowhere to be seen. The sergeant was shouting orders to his men as the took cover beside the walls and fired down a hallway. From two doorways in the hallway came gunshots, some kind of autogun Lystartro couldn't identify.
"What did the killing?" Lystartro demanded.
"These guys…they were too damned fast," gasped the nearest man, Husky. "So hard to see too." Lystartro peeked down the hall and caught a glimse of a bald, chalky man in a black coat with metal gloves and some kind of mask covering the bottom part of his face. Lystartro ducked back.
"I want a grenade down there…" he began, just as a circle of ceilng gave way.
He turned to see a human in grey come down land behind Husky. His hands carried blades like the one the stranger had. He grabbed the back of Husky's uniform. Both of them were reeled back up as if by a line, too fast for anyone to shoot. Husky screamed, but Lystartro couldn't do anything but hear the wet sounds of flesh ripping and bones breaking. Husky's screams of terror became wails of pain. Blood dribbled down and dribbled into crimson puddles on the floor. The screams did not abruptly end, but rather carried on, growing weaker and weaker, long after the last wet rip sounded.
"Damn it, what are these things!" someone cried.
"Get back," Lystartro ordered, "Back." His men shifted back. Before they could get out, another hole opened up and the grey man dropped down, blades up. Lystartro raised his gun, but the attacker was too fast. He flipped into the next room, lasbolts missing him. Three guardsmen chased after him. Lystartro came in behind him to find the next room empty. Where did he go? There was some furniture in here, desks and chairs, but nowhere to hide from a veteran guardsman's eyes.
"Get a grenade in here," Lystartro whispered, "he's still in here…"
From a shallow shadow in the corner, the man in appeared. He had been there the whole time, hidden so well that he seemed to come out of the shadow itself. His clothes changed from black to grey to match the walls. One of his blades opened up, unfolding a pair of prongs from its side to turn a knife into a fork, so this crazed freak could devour these guardsmen.
Lystartro, who had lived through the nightmare of Rynn's World when all seemed lost, who had dragged himself through unnumbered situations where death lurked under every rock, could not die so easily.
BANG! Not even the skill and speed of this killer could outrun Lystartro's reflex. A shell burst home into the man's chest, spraying black blood out his back. Only then, did Lystartro realize the man wasn't wearing anything except metal pants, fitted with mechanisms to help him jump. In that moment of truth, Lystartro saw the face of Mhal's enemy in clear light for the first time. The man's wicked eyes and razor teeth were leering evily at him even as his lifeblood gushed from the hole blown through his chest. His skin…it could actually chance colour. The slender man's streamlined shape was built for grace. And his ears, they were like arrowheads.
Lystartro had heard of these things before. Many campaigns had put him beside regiments from other places who had fought in wars he'd never heard of against creatures he had never seen. The stories those men told stuck with him, in case he ever needed their wisdom to survive.
"I've always wanted to kill one of you," Lystartro fired one more shot into the alien's face, ending it right there. In his mind, the puzzle pieces clicked together. Now he had a feeling he knew why Mhal's troops never took their masks off.
"That thing…" the sergeant stood beside him. "Captain, is that…?"
"Yes," Lystartro replied. "Get on the vox and tell Arcantillius that there are dark eldar in the area." The sergeant nodded and complied, taking his vox-set and trying to get through to Arcantillius. Lystartro prayed they would still be alive.
"Captain Arcantillius?" the sergeant asked. "Captain?"
"…ello…es I am here but you aren't too clea…"
"How…" he held the vox-set up higher. "How about now?" He shook the set, to awaken the machine spirit from its apparent slumber. "Hello? How about now?"
"Yes, I hear you," Arcantillius replied from the set. "Tell Lystartro if he's still there, that we've run into some shadow-people." There was still lasfire in the background.
"Yes, yes," Lystartro replied, "we found some too. We need to regroup and push on to the objective." He narrowed his eyes. "And find Mhal Dannit! He has some explaining!" Outside, the sound of dirty engines reached his ears. The distinctive heavy boom of ork weapons broke the air and a round exploded through the wall. The sergeant ducked down as a bullet grazed his shoulder. Lystartro ducked and readied his shotgun. "You hear that, captain?" Lystartro growled in frustration.
"Yep. I'm on it."
"See how many there are." Lystartro peeked out a hole in the wall. Squinting, he could just make out an orkish flatbed truck disgorging a mess of warriors. He couldn't spot an overall leader and Lystartro judged these orks to be younger ones, bullied into watching these ruins for human survivors. Good. Easy.
Lystartro's breath quickened when he saw one of them had a flamethrower. It hooted and jumped up and down as it sprayed an empty window with a liquid jet of bright orange fire.
A flamethrower. Uncontrolled fire, getting everywhere, burning and destroying. It bit into Lystartro's mind like a knife. Orks he could handle, rebels he could handle. Machine guns and bombs and cannons and nobs he could handle. So far, he was sure he could even handle the dark eldar. But not flamethrowers.
Lystartro clenched his augmetic arm and ran to the back of the room, peering gingerly into the room with his flame-scarred face.
"We have to get up onto higher levels where their flamethrower cannot easily hit," Lystartro explained. "Put lasfire down on them from above and force their gunners to aim awkwardly. Sergeant? Do it."
"Yes sir."
Oil from his burning lorry, burning like fiery rain, dribbling down into his face. Drop. Drop. Drop. Drop.
Lystartro took his squad up the stairs. They lined up against the windows and, as Arcantillius did the same thing on the other side of the street, fired down. All three squads poured lasfire down on the orks below. Lystartro clenched his teeth and fired shot after shot down at the flamethrower-ork, who shuddered with each hit. As its comrades took hits that burned or blasted bits of green meat off their chunky bodies, the ork swung the hose of his weapon around like a club. Dust flew up around him whenever Lystartro missed. The veteran captain lost count of his shots and tried shooting when his gun was empty.
CLICK
It made him feel like a recruit again. But the job was done and the ork fell, bleeding and twitching, the scorched animal furs it wore were ridden with shot. Lystartro calmly reloaded as the orkish truck's windows burst as it was covered in the dust from a pair of grenades going off.
The shooting settled as the last ork shuddered, grabbed its stomach, and fell.
But then the distant growl of more guttural, piggish engines stole their victory.
"Yeah, we gotta bug out," Lystartro admitted. "Arcantillius!" he said into the vox. "We have to collect Mhal before we go." The two began to work out a plan.
…
In the middle of a square of open land in the middle of a tall grey Urbanis 1 office, Mhal and Sectraa glared at one another. The dark eldar had fallen back but halted when he ran out here and saw there was no way out. Only the windows could save him. Mhal stepped towards him, sword raised. He could see Sectraa's grin from across the square.
So much you'd do for this world taunted Sectraa It's not worth it Mhal
We will not let you prevail here Sectraa Mhal spat back, closing carefully, looking for an opening. You're crimes will be avenged Sectraa cackled.
You're not one of us, human. You know your Alaitoc slavemasters use you like a tool, just as the Halivorians are ours Sectraa answered. You think those outcasts you live with are your family? You will never mean anything to them! Sectraa weaved in and stabbed. Mhal deflected and cut down at Sectraa's throat as hard as he could. Again, the alien was too fast, dancing back, but cutting as he did. His sword tore into the sleve on Mhal's carapace armour, not quite cutting through it. Mhal came in for another attack but took a whipping kick to the gut. He staggered back, sword up to defend himself, but Sectraa was dodging off, weaving through the courtyard like a liquid shadow and sliding through the window.
Mhal took a second to catch his breath and began to pursue, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. Three stormtroopers stood behind him, masked and anonymous.
Sectraa went that way Mhal pointed. He moved to pursue, but one of the troopers stopped him.
Don't the false stormtrooper said He will likely lead you into an ambush. There are kabal warriors all over these ruins. They will have taken Cav up to the mountain already. We must stop them at the mountain Mhal nodded.
Mhal, I foresee a day coming soon when the skies will open and many thousands of Imperial troops will storm Urbanis 1, where we are, to try and slay Skullkicker. I am afraid I cannot destroy all their vox-casters. We must fade away and confront the kabal by Angel Peak. If there are any loyal to you in the 112th, take them. I fear we will need as many warriors as we can get if we are to stop Sectraa and his Halivorian dupes
Yes farseer
…
Curth looked up from his hand of cards as Mieel stepped into the mess hall. Josahik asked him what he was looking at, before following his gaze. Soon, the other three players were looking. Then, all the 89th boys were watching Mieel tiptoe across the floor and over to Curth. Frens, the only 112th in the room, said something under his breath, but he looked pleased to see his fellow wounded was back on his feet.
"So, the little squirt is back up," Tigerson muttered. "Look out, he might wanna cuddle you again." The table laughed at Curth. Curth could deal out insults and teases, but he was bad at receiving them.
"Shut up," Curth replied, making a fist. It was a habit of his. "What's up, Mieel?" The timid young trooper looked around nervously. His arm was still bandaged from when Frens had located and removed a strange "tracking device" from Mieel, which had somehow told the Halivorians where Mieel was. "Mieel? You wanna play?"
"No, he's not playing with my cards," Tigerson growled in his ganger tone. Curth wished Mieel would stop staring at him like that.
"Mieel? Whatchya want?" Curth looked around the room. "Hey, what are you folks all looking at?" A few heads turned away. He looked back at Mieel.
"I can't find Cav, so…so I came to say sorry," Mieel said. "I…um, the thing in my arm, I'm sorry it got there. Didn't know what it was." Mieel was as stupid as a board. He wouldn't know what it was unless someone told him. "So say sorry to Cav when you see him."
"So you're finally talking?" Tigerson asked. "What? The thing that made the rebels attack us, keeping you quiet?" Mieel didn't answer. "So I've been dying to know, what was it that attacked your hole that night before you disappeared? Killed those poor guys?" Mieel's lip quivered and he squeezed his eyes shut and plugged his ears. A few jeering laughs sounded all around. Curth smiled a bit, but only a bit.
"Was it a big scary machine-spider?" Tigerson asked.
"Big…big…!" Mieel jumped and spread out his arms to emphasize his description. "Real big. A big monster that could fly. A big flying scorpion with claws. It poked me in the arm, gave me that device. Killed. It was...it was so big"
…
We know the dark kin have at least one talos the farseer said. Mhal nodded, remembering Mieel's drawing. If they have a significant enough presence to field such an advanced thing, there may be more than a few handfuls of the dark kin upon this planet. Mhal and the others turned to head back inside.
The rattle of crude gunfire broke through the air. Several windows broke. They all jumped to the floor in alarm, those who had guns raised them up. Even the farseer flinched when a door was thrown off its hinges and a rocket-mounted ork, a so-called "rocket-berzerker" barged through, blazing shots from a wrist-mounted blaster. Mhal rolled aside as shots struck the ground near him. The false stormtroopers fired as quickly as they could. The ork's horned helmet melted down the center when a shot struck it, but the brute did not die until a shot struck it right thorugh its war-tormented brain. The sizzling alien crumpled to the dirt.
They stood up just as two groups burst into the courtyard. On one side, a few more orks leapt through the door and out the windows. Behind Mhal, Lystartro, Osprey and Arcantillius joined them, sixteen men at their backs. Lasfire from the guardsmen and the stormtroopers was overwhelming. Windows melted, ork flesh was blown off the bone, small orange holes appeared in their crude armour plating and blood dribbled down their green flesh. They cracked off heavy shots as they were smote by the storm thrown their way. Mhal grinned as the last one fell. Now, they could go after Sectraa.
Isha's tears… cursed one of the two who escorted the farseer. Mhal felt his heart grow heavy as one of his stormtrooper-clad comrades dropped. Not the farseer, but a single life lost to these aliens was an insult. The fountaining red on his carapace armour was the sign of a mortal blow. Rivers of red fountained down and into the thirsty ground.
Who is that? Mhal asked, crouching over the figure. Siqu'ey? Is that you?
"What the hell are they saying?" he heard one of the guardsmen whisper. There was little point hiding it now that the word of the dark kin was surely out.
S…S…Sorry my b…brother Siqu'ey apologized. His heavy breathing softened.
I'll take you back home when we're done with this evil place, I promise Mhal said solemnly to his dying friend.
"Mhal!" Lystartro barked. "What are you saying to that man?" Mhal looked up at the captain and pointed at Siqu'ey.
"A dying man's last words are in his native language…"
"Why didn't you tell me about the eldar?" asked Lystartro. He looked from the farseer to the surviving man. "Maybe you feared one of us might suspect something if you told me about them, right? Hm? Or you hoped to do your stuff in secret? Now that he's dead, you wouldn't mind if I took off his mask." Mhal leaned down and cut open the pocket on Siqu'ey's breast, revealing a compartment in his carapace armour that contained his spiritstone. "What's that?" the captain asked as Mhal collected it.
"Sentimental relic," Mhal replied. "We've got to get inside." The others were thankfully willing to follow those words. They ducked indoors. Straining his ears, he could hear shooting in the distance. Had the others shown up to confront the dark kin, or was that all ork against Halivorian? They settled down with the rest of the squad, who watched the streets. The evidence of battle scarred the road. A burning truck and a handful of slain orks lay haphazardly on the road.
"So why didn't you tell me about the eldar?" asked Lystartro again. Mhal rolled his eyes.
"Because I couldn't confirm what I thought and didn't want to start rumors. But they are what I have taken your two companies on to combat. Like I said, they have captured Cav and are taking him…" Mhal was interrupted, not by Lystartro, but Arcantillius. The normally astute officer was red in the face and barking.
"What the hell is wrong with you!" Arcantillius roared. "How dare you infringe on my authority and direct my men to their deaths!" Lystartro joined in.
"Are your men eldar?" Lystartro looked at them and pointed to their masks. "Huh? Are they? Some of your pale cousins are kicking around so you's want to kill them all. I mean, I know what the eldar are supposed to be like. You trying to make us your puppets? You act just like them." Mhal chuckled.
"Do I look like an eldar to you?" Mhal knew he was backed into a corner. A confession would have to come.
"You think I don't know what that crystal you took off the dead guy was? It was a spiritstone," Lystartro whispered sharply. Checkmate.
The farseer raised his mask.
"My name is Kiskantsh," the pale farseer said. A few men gasped at the farseer's hairless, ageless face and his tattoos. Osprey, who had known the secret all along, shrunk away into a corner. "Our enemies are the same, human. If you would raise arms against us, you would make enemies of those who would help you. Our dark kin threaten your world and we hold the key to your survival." Lystartro's mood seemed to lighten. While his men drew back in shock, he began to laugh slightly.
"So I guess Mhal isn't your glory-boy sergeant after all, mister Piss-catch," Lystartro snorted. He gave an exaggerated shrug. "So, I don't get it Mhal. You're not really one of them, are you?"
"I don't have to be," Mhal replied. "If you're going to kill us, please. But only we know how to combat the dark kin…I mean, the dark eldar." Arcantillius pointed at the farseer.
"So he's your real leader?" he asked, still angry.
"I am, human," replied Kiskantsh. "The dark ones want something in your mountain. I do not know what precisely, but Mhal and I have the experience to deny it to them when they find it. Murdering us would be unwise." Around the room, the shocked guardsmen were losing their fear. They didn't even seem to hear the shooting in the distance.
Then suddenly, the shooting was right there with them. A swift ork four-wheeler zoomed down the street. When one of the guardsmen took a shot at it, the vehicle wheeled around to shoot back. The guardsmen were stunned, but Mhal and the two eldar were in the next room. Two smoking rockets shot from the vehicle and at the guardsmen. All seemed lost for them.
By the power of the farseer's mind, both rockets were twisted around and shot over the road, exploding into the buildings opposite. The vehicle's driver shot into the window with his massive pistol, but the guardsmen were gone, fleeing deeper into the building with Mhal. The driver drove on, but there was no respite.
"Greenskins!" Kiskantsh warned, "I hear them!" he pointed an ancient finger down the hall leading deeper into the building, the way they had originally come. When the first ork appeared, waving a cleaver and a pistol, the guardsmen all shot it at once, blasting it onto its back. The second one showed more sense and fired from around the corner, but the imperials and the eldar had already taken cover. A grenade was lobbed down to the end of the hall. Ork cries sounded when it went, covering the end of the hall in violent dust. When the explosion settled, one more ork came. Osprey put it down in one shot with a bullet to the head. After it, no more aliens came.
"We can't get the young human now," Kiskantsh continued, "but we can go to the mountain and stop my dark kin there. Again, I remind you…"
"That you're the best bet when it comes to the shadow people?" asked Arcantillius with a groan. "Alright, alright. Damn you eldar. Why do I have to be a heretic today?" He kicked the floor.
"I don't know, if we get the job done, it might be admissible in the Emperor's eyes," said one trooper.
"Why not?" asked another. Lystartro nodded. Mhal knew he was an experienced solider. A man like him would know the value of an ally, no matter who they were.
"Very well," Lystartro said. "I'll forge my way back to the Water Dogs with first squad. Osprey, with me. Keep in touch with vox." Mhal felt some sympathy for Lystartro. It was a long way back.
"Good," Kiskantsh said after Osprey had left with the captain and one squad. "We lay low until the orks are gone. Then, we make for the mountain."
…
It was nighttime.
This was one of a number of raids done to soften the landing zone and draw Skullkicker out of his hole for the raid. They were fine pilots from the world of Masouel. Their machines were vulture gunships with a crisp black coat for these night raids. Star Leader flashed ahead of Star Wing, its turbine screaming up a storm in the stillness of night. Their objective was a tall, orkified building. Lastar Akkam, the pilot of Star Leader, knew the building top to bottom. Behind him, the other three vultures of Star Wing were steeping the kilometers by on their mission of demolishion-assassination. A flight to blow up a ruin. This was the kind of mission command handed out to the underdog pilots, the novices, the pukes.
Pukes: an insult Lastar had picked up from another aviation regiment he had spent time around earlier in his career. What were their names again?
"Watch your radar," Lastar spoke into the vox channel. "I don't want no damn crashes between here and home." He looked down at his controls, spread before his seat. His eyes firmly forward, he looked at the lights indicating his rockets.
"Rockets are lit," Lastar said. "ETA to target: five minutes."
"Copy leader." The slurred voice of Star-One's pilot, Yusalf, spoke up.
"Star-One, Star-One, contact, contact, contact, I've got something on my scans," he said in alarm. Lastar looked out across the landscape through his goggles. The night-blackened city was hazy with green and white through his vision goggles. Any ork fliers would show up on his heat vision for sure. They'd have to be behind him.
"Confirm Star-One, you have contacts on what bearing?" Lastar asked, taking sideways glance at his fuel supply. His own radar showed nothing. "Star-One, degrees and altitude…"
Even through the canopy of his cockpit, he heard the explosion. The startled squadron swerved around to see the burning remains of Star-One flaking apart as it swerved on a disasterous fall towards Urbanis 1 below.
"No ground fire," Star-Three said. "What the hell…" From the wreck of Star-One came, of all things, a flying ork. But what an ork! Star-Leader's heavy bolter spat rounds at the huge alien, but the beast was shooting off, flying under them with his rockets.
"Big ork!" cried Laster. "Engage! Engage! Take him down!" The vultures tried to bring their noses to bear on the target who had just flown under their ships. What little radar signature the huge ork gave said he was right under them. Right under…
"Star-Three! I'm hit!" As Star-Three twirled to the ground, its left wing, shaved off, Star-Two was hit by a flurry of rockets that came from a bright speck on the edge of Lastar's vision. In a blaze of fire, the vulture fell, smoking and dying, to join its brothers, now bonfires among the ruin. Laster, his heart racing, turned his vulture to confront the ork and signaled for his gunner to shoot on sight, but the ork was gone: flown underneath them.
"Where is he!" Lastar screamed in frustration and fear. The ork could fly on his rockets, sure, but he was so fast!
Then, there he was, just on the edge of Lastar's vision. The ork had flown up alongside his vulture and tore through the turbine. Warning lights went off and the craft shook. Lastar couldn't tell what was going on. So much noise, so much shaking. Was he going down?
He looked up in time to see an ork, far larger than any ork he had ever known, flying straight for his canopy, a blazing rocket on his back. No, three rockets, three rockets for an ork that big. Lastar didn't spot more, for he did not have time.
The ork collided with the canopy, its outstretched foot smashing through the glass, kicking Lastar's skull. Lastar's head burst like a blister, the ork's boot mashing it against the back of the cockpit. The doomed vulture fell from the sky to join the bright wrecks on the ground.
Flying over them, briefly visible in the fires of his work, was their monstrous killer. He was only just visible in the weak light like a shark just below the water. He was not some random berzerker nob, but the warboss of the waaagh himself. Huge ivory fangs, dripping with drool showed when the ork's dark face grinned. In the flicker of the fire coming from the wrecked flight, the ork's yellow eyes shone like coals. Pistons hissed as the monstrosity flexed its great metal claws.
And then Skullkicker was gone, soaring back down to rejoin his waaagh.