As she ran, Amberley wanted to curse, but she dared not waste what little breath she'd left. Her lungs were burning, her legs felt like lead, and her heart was pummelling in her chest, but she forced herself to ignore her growing exhaustion and just. Keep. Moving.

At the same time, she had to remain focused on her surroundings : an abandoned manufactorum left to rust for just short of three centuries was the sort of place to punish missteps with crippling injuries and a list of infections as long as it was nauseating. And she had to do all that while keeping an eye out for her pursuers, who were undoubtedly far more adept at this sort of thing than she was.

This operation had been supposed to be easy, Throne damn it. Amberley and a handful of her operatives were going to bust an exchange between a local trader in forbidden artefacts and his off-world supplier, capture everyone involved and get the information they needed to dismantle the ring's activities in this entire region from them. It was the sort of thing she'd done dozens of time since she'd been chosen to join the Holy Ordos.

To her team's credit, the first part of the plan had gone like clockwork. They had hidden around the meeting place her tech-priest had extracted from the criminals' intercepted comms, and their targets had shown up with the goods right on time – clearly those were professionals, who had been doing such heretical work for years. She had watched as the traditional exchange of veiled threats and boasts took place, and then, once the packages had been exchanged and both sides had started to relax ever so slightly, Amberley had given the signal to move in.

Which was when the Eldar reavers had shown up, blasting through the building ceiling and falling upon the traffickers, the sound of their malevolent laughter mixing with the screams of the heretic scum. She and her team had been caught completely by surprise. Fortunately, the xenos had targeted the smugglers first and hadn't expected the Inquisition's presence either, although it hadn't taken them long to realize there were witnesses to what Amberley was fairly sure was a kidnapping operation.

At least the rest of her team had made it out, but that would be little consolation if she were caught. As a member of the Ordo Xenos, she knew far more about the habits of the Dark Eldars than she was comfortable with – enough that she was seriously considering turning her weapon on herself rather than let herself be taken alive.

But things weren't that desperate yet, she told herself firmly. If she could make it out of the manufactorum, there was an entire industrial sprawl outside she could disappear in, then vox the gunship to come pick her up –

The Inquisitor froze. There was a figure before her that hadn't been there a moment ago, and she had no idea when or how it had appeared.

The figure was clearly an Eldar, but its attire couldn't have been more different from the reavers'. It was a patchwork of bright colors and patterns completely at odds with their drab surroundings, and its face was covered by a smooth white mask with an exaggerated laughing face painted on it in silver and blue.

Amberley recognized the Eldar sub-species the xenos belonged to at once, though she'd counted herself fortunate enough never to have encountered its ilk before today. It was a Harlequin, known even among the mercurial Eldars for their unpredictability – one day stalwart allies of the Imperium against the forces of Chaos, the next merciless killers wiping out random human villages on backwater planets down to the last woman and child.

It was also holding something which was unmistakably a pistol, aimed directly at her. Her own weapon hung at her belt – she had holstered it early in her flight, needing both hands free to navigate the manufactorum. For all her training, Amberley knew that her chance of drawing it in time to make a difference were so low as to be effectively nil.

"I would tell you there is no need to worry," spoke the xenos in passable Gothic, "but you wouldn't believe me. I do apologize for the inconvenience, but we must all play the parts assigned to us. You may take solace in the knowledge that you alone are required for what is to come : your associates are already safe."

Before she could answer, it fired, the alien weapon shooting a dart that pierced right through her bodysuit and stabbed into her shoulder. Not for the first time today, Amberley wished she'd come down in her custom suit of power armor – but then, she would have been caught long ago in the more cumbersome suit. She tried to draw her own weapon to shoot back, out of sheer bloody-minded defiance if nothing else, but a cold numbness was spreading from where she'd been hit, and her bolt pistol slipped from her fingers and crashed onto the ground, soon followed by her own body.

To her own vague surprise, as the darkness took her, Amberley's last thought was a prayer that this wasn't the end, if only so that she wouldn't have to explain to the God-Emperor how she'd been killed by an alien clown of all things.

Eight standard months after the first anniversary of the Uprising, Slawkenberg came under threat from outside forces for the second time since it had claimed its freedom.

Using the new ansible technology designed by the Bringers of Renewed Greatness, the beacons at the system's edge immediately sent out their warning calls. Each the fruit of weeks of effort by some of the Bringers' greatest minds, they had been deployed mere weeks ago by one of the few starships available to the Liberation Council. By combining the records of space traffic pre-Uprising with the calculations of the scholars of the Immaterium who served the Liberation Council, the beacons had been deployed in those areas of space where ships were most likely to emerge from the Warp.

At the time, some had argued against the apparent waste of such incredible technology, but Cain himself had ordered it so, and the Liberator's foresight was demonstrated once more.

For all the incredible advantage that was the ansibles' instantaneous communication, and for all the promises it held of revolutionizing the way in which the isolated outposts of Humanity kept in touch with one another, its bandwidth was severely limited. As such, the beacons' machine-spirits struggled to send all the details they could perceive with their auspex suite. The new fleet numbered about a score of vessels of various sizes, and though there was a lack of hard data, it seemed obvious that they weren't of human design.

This alone was enough to know that the firepower and troop numbers of this new enemy were likely several times greater than the despicable Karamazov's ill-fated attempt at punishing Slawkenberg for its defiance. Yet despite this, and how close to annihilation the planet had come when last faced with off-world invaders, the people did not panic. Instead, they calmly followed the orders of the planet-wide announcements, moving to the shelters that had been erected in every settlement and ensuring that their neighbours and those citizens too old or frail to make it on their own were escorted to safety, even if they had to carry them on their back.

For as the Liberator often said, only by looking after one another could they hope to stand against their enemies. And while Slawkenberg had come to the brink of destruction the last time foreign ships had darkened its skies, now all lived under the protection of Emeli's Gift, the immense battle station said to have been sent to Slawkenberg by the departed spirit of Cain's lady love, who still watched over him from the afterlife (a story that continued to be told and retold in playhouses all across the planet).

Then, about three hours after the ansibles' first warning, the new arrivals' broadcasts reached the planet. They were unencrypted, and although understanding the foul speech of the alien was difficult, the accompanying images made the nature of the invaders obvious. Soon, all on Slawkenberg had heard the news :

The Orks had arrived.

Warboss Gargash Korbul looked through the cracked, patched together screen that was all separating the bridge of the Gork's Klaw from the void. The Mekboyz had done something to the screen so that it could make things on the other side look bigger (although nobody knew exactly what, because they'd been drunk on mushroom beer when doing it after the party during which the screen had gotten broken in the first place). Usually, it helped point the ship's dakka in the proper direction, but at the moment, every boy on the bridge was too busy staring to even think of firing.

"Dat's da most beautiful fing I ever seen, boss," whispered Korbul's chief Mekboy from where he stood next to the Warboss' throne.

Korbul grunted in approval. The Space Hulk that orbited the humie planet they'd come to attack was impressive, there was no denying it. Korbul had seen a few of the massive things himself in his time, but none as big as that. His mouth filled with drool at the thought of all the loot that must be lying inside it waiting to be claimed, of the dakka his Mekboyz could make with it. Already, it was beautiful; once the Mekboyz were done with it, it would be magnificent.

"Looks like dere are humies on it," said one of the boyz, frowning at a flickering display that, if Korbul remembered right, was linked up with the Klaw's sensor gizmos.

"We'z gonna take it," he declared. "Da humies is too stupid to use it proper."

That the humies had managed to get the Space Hulk close to their planet without it crashing was already impressive enough. When Gargash had first heard about it, he'd thought his Nob had taken one too many hit on the nogging, but when a bunch of his Weirdboyz had told him it was true, his curiosity (and greed) had been tickled, and he'd brought the bulk of his Waaagh there, while leaving the rest of his underbosses to attack three other humie planets he'd marked for conquest.

Looking at the view, it was clear he'd made the right choice. He muttered his thanks to Gork and Mork, before shouting :

"Oi ! Somebody put da big talkie-thingie on ! I want da humies to know who'z comin' to krump dem !"

There was a series of banging noises, grunts, muttered curses and one funny scream as the cable a gretchin was chewing on suddenly went live and incinerated the small creature (which made quite the appetizing smell), then one of the meks called out :

"It's on, boss !"

Gargash picked up the speakie-thingie, which was big and sturdy enough that he could hold it without breaking it by accident when he got excited (like what had happened to the last three).

"Alright, humies ! I iz Gargash Korbul, da Boss of dis here WAAAGH !" He paused, giving time for the rest of the bridge's crew to join him in shouting the holy word of Mork and Gork. Most of them didn't understand the humie-speech he was using, but they certainly recognized that word. After a moment, he got bored, fired his shoota at the ceiling, and everyone shut up sharpish. "We'z here to kill you and take all your loot !" He grinned, showing each and every one of his many sharp teeth to the lookie-thing, to make sure the humies were properly scared. "Starting wif dat big ship you got. So do your best to give us a good fight !"

He slammed the speakie-thingie down, and raised his klaw toward the Space Hulk while slamming his other hand on the big red button next he'd had installed next to his throne (causing the shoota it was still holding to fire and turning another gretchin to red mist). The Gork's Klaw shuddered as its engines were suddenly pushed to full power, and the bridge was filled with the sound of various things and people falling down from the sudden acceleration, as well as the Warboss' booming laughter.

"Dis iz gonna be fun !"

On the bridge of the Dark Tormentor, flagship of the Kabal of Murderous Death, Archon Vileheart leaned back in his seat and sipped his drink. The blend of crushed Kroot eyeball and Craftworld Eldar tears paired delightfully with the wine made from the grapes cultivated by his gardeners inside the still-living bodies of mon-keigh prisoners. He could taste the agony in every drop, and it wasn't just because the glass' sharp edges bit into his lips with every sip, adding a taste of his own vitae to the mix.

The Dark Tormentor and the handful of vessels that made up the Kabal's space assets were hanging in the black void, made invisible to the primitive sensors of the system's other denizens by technology that had been designed in the long-lost days of yore, when the Aeldari had stalked the galaxy as conquering kings and taken their pleasure wherever, whenever, and from whoever and in whatever fashion they wanted.

Sheev wasn't old enough to remember those days, but he had learned much about them, both from listening to tales from those who had survived the Fall, and later, once he had no more use for them, by devouring their memories using a delightful device built by one of his favoured Haemonculi. The process was far from perfect, but what he'd managed to absorb was enough to make him nearly weep with envy every time he recalled it.

Such power. Such glory. Such unrestrained magnificence. One day, he swore to himself for more than the thousandth time, he would know how it felt to directly make the very galaxy scream at his whim, just like his ancestors had.

But that was for later. Right now was the time to enjoy the spectacle of his latest scheme coming together. Around him, the rest of his court stood in silence as they watched the Ork fleet approach the mon-keigh planet.

"Everything is proceeding as I have foreseen," said Vileheart, with a smile that would have given a Haemonculus pause. "Once the greenskins have exhausted the strength of this world's defenders, and both sides are left reeling from the conflict, we shall move in and claim the choicest prizes for ourselves."

"Most cruel and cunning Archon," said one of the lieutenants in attendance, "forgive my ignorance, but is that not the same strategy Lady Malys employed when she hunted for the Panacea ?"

"You are forgiven," replied Sheev, which was perhaps the most unlikely sentence he had ever spoken in all his long years of life. "You see, there is a key difference between that whore's plan and mine."

"And what is that, my lord ?" asked the Hierarch, recognizing his cue and obediently playing along. Good – Sheev'd need Sarevok cognizant and able to function later, meaning torturing him as punishment for his incompetence would have been inconvenient at this juncture.

"She failed to get her hands on the planet's ruler," he answered with a sneer that he knew was only slightly more vicious than his usual expression. "She had to contend herself with the Panacea, despite her goal of claiming both. I won't make such an error. When we return to Commoragh, it will be with both the mon-keigh's precious relic, and their champion, so that all can see that I am better than the usurper's discarded concubine."

"Only the blind would fail to realize something so obvious," said Sarevok in an obsequious tone.

"Unfortunately, there are plenty of blind fools in Commoragh," replied Sheev. "But once this is over, not even they will be able to deny my glory."

This prompted another round of sycophantic praise from his underlings, which he basked in with a relish that was mostly due to the fact he knew perfectly well they didn't mean it, but were too afraid of him to stay silent. Nobody else on the bridge needed to know that the notion of using the Orks as the blunt instrument to break the mon-keigh defenses had been inspired by a random comment by the Harlequin emissary who had revealed the existence of another Panacea to him. Besides, the bulk of the plan had still been his own work, regardless of the spark of inspiration the servant of Cegorach had unwittingly provided him.

It had been at his instructions that his agents had plundered the resources of a mon-keigh criminal group that had, on occasion, done business with the Kabal of Murderous Death, and used those resources to bribe some of the Ork Warboss' advisors to plant the idea that Slawkenberg was a more interesting target than wherever the original target had been. The presence of the Space Hulk on which the Panacea had been discovered had made convincing the brutes laughably easy, and the indirect route had even yielded some interesting spoils that now rested with the Dark Tormentor's hold, waiting for the post-victory celebrations.

Of course, by then there would be more than enough victims to go around. Still, the Archon was looking forward to it : it wasn't every day that you got to torture a mon-keigh Inquisitor and rebel leader at the same time.

AN : "YOU WAZ EXPEKTIN' DA SPIKY POINTY-EAR GITZ, BUT IT WAZ ME, KORBUL !"

Yes, Korbul is the Warboss who attacked Perlia in canon, before being heroically defeated by Cain in single combat during the events of the book Death or Glory. Karamazov's purge of the Astra Militarum's higher-ups, combined with Sheev's manipulations, led him to attack Slawkenberg instead of Perlia. You may now speculate freely as to what form the butterfly effect will take, especially considering what lies hidden within a certan Inquisitorial/Mechanicus research facility beneath a certain dam on that world.

I have a plan, and it is going to be GLORIOUS. And, more important, funny. Well, except for Cain, but I reckon he's getting used to it by now.

Speaking of our dear Liberator, this chapter doesn't have any Cain POV. That's because initially, this chapter and the next one were going to be just one chapter, but I decided that splitting them after the Dark Eldar scene made more sense narratively speaking (and also because I wanted to publish something in celebration of Vainglorious, the latest Cain novel, being published). Hence its relative shortness as well.

Don't worry, you shouldn't have to wait too long before seeing what happens next. I am going to use shorter chapters for the current arc, to make the pacing tighter and more in tune with the fact it's action-focused. Please tell me what you think of this change.

Also, I had to cut the Ork scene before running my autocorrect, out of fear it would become sentient out of sheer hatred of me and seek revenge.

Zahariel out.