Badab Prime

Badab Sector
Imperial Secondus Outer Marches

Captain Valentian of the 79th Company of the Ultramarine Legion was frankly surprised they
had lasted this long. As well as being pleasantly surprised by the estimated numbers of enemy
casualties. His single under strength company with only a few Iron Hands allies and the local
defence forces had managed to kill or wound by their lowest estimates almost 3,000 Word
Bearer Astartes and had all but destroyed their Thrall forces as effective combat formations.
While not a veteran of Calth himself, he firmly believed that he and his men could hold their
heads high amongst the ranks of officers and men who had fought the Word Bearers in that long
campaign. Again and again they had bloodied and thrown back assault after assault, while
launching ambushes and counter attacks in limited numbers whenever the odds were in their
favour. Against overwhelming numbers the 79th and it's allies had fought with courage and
tenacity against all the odds. Yet while their will and their desire for vengeance hadn't failed
them, sheer numbers had. He was now reduced to less than 100 Astartes from both Legions who
could be considered combat effective, while his conventional forces were similarly depleted.
Sheer weight of numbers had carried the day against the quality of his own forces.

He and his remaining troops had instead of forting up in the towers of the aristocracy and well to
do of the hive had instead retreated deliberately into the Under-Hive in order to fight on for as
long as possible and were now reduced to holding only a handful of key sectors as well as
staging a guerrilla warfare throughout the rest of the tunnels of the dark Under-Hive. Still one of
the few sectors he still held did at least hold out the promise of one last opportunity to lash out at
the invaders. Turning his head and ignoring the pain where most of the left hand side of his face
was covered in rad-burns from his use of a grenade at close range against a squad of enemy
assault troops he brought his one remaining good eye to bear on the single remaining
Techmarine available to him. By now it mattered to him not a damn that the Astarte was from
the Iron Hand's Legion and not his own. After weeks of close fighting the two forces who had
been friends off old during the Great Crusade were as one in brotherhood again. "Tech-Sergeant
Herod... Can you disengage the safety locks without the damn Traitors realising it?"

The mostly cybernetic Techmarine considered the Ultramarine captain's question for a few
seconds before answering in a mechanical rasp from a voice box that had replaced his long torn
out vocal cords. "For the first few hours... Yes. However when the reactors for the Southern
Sectors are approaching critical mass there will be no hiding the warning alerts from even the
most incompetent of morons. That will give them a few short hours to evacuate."

It wasn't the answer Valentian had been hoping for, but it was good enough. It was just a shame
that out of the 6 main reactor plants that powered Hive Dominar only one remained in his hands.
Still it would hopefully be enough to kill a few more Traitors. "Good enough Herod. Good
enough. We'll just have to try and keep as many of them engaged when the alarms start to go off.
Make them choose between fleeing and being shot in the back and fighting and being burned
when the reactor goes critical. Begin your preparations and let me know when to launch the
attack."
He turned to the remainder of the command structure of the defenders of Badab Prime's capital.
"You heard the Tech-Sergeant and you all know my intent. Prepare your units for a general
attack on my signal. Hold nothing back. This is our death ride, so let's take as many of the
treacherous scum with us as we can. Push them hard. Don't give them time to disengage. Even
holding them in place for a few minutes might make the difference between them getting to their
transports and not. Those of you scheduled for deep strikes to take and hold their likely
evacuation routes, you know what is expected. Hold until overrun. No retreat. Every minute you
can delay them counts. Does anybody have any questions?"

From the half dozen Astartes sergeants and nearly a dozen Imperial Army and Militia senior
officers remaining the only reply was grim faced nods. They all knew the were dead men
anyway. They might as well try and take a few more hundred Traitors with them. Valentian
could feel his burned chest swelling with pride for every one of them. Picking up his custom
combi-weapon he checked the power level on the plasma gun while loading a fresh clip into his
bolter before standing painfully. "For the God-Emperor warriors..."
Badab Prime
Badab Sector
Imperial Secondus Outer Marches

The corridor was lit by flashing red warning lights, while klaxon's were blaring loudly enough
that anyone not wearing battle plate was half deafened as the idiot machine spirits of the alarms
of the doomed sectors warned of the approaching catastrophic failure of the Southern Sector's
power generators. Even the blaring klaxon's and warnings however couldn't drown out the roar
of gunfire that seemed to come from all around. Captain Zadante blinked away the never ending
cascade of threat icons on his helmet's display as he continued to give orders to his company,
ordering them to fall back to the nearest landing pads and get aboard the gunships and transports
awaiting them even as he charged down a corridor with his few remaining bodyguards around
him. "Sergeant Machilas, your path is blocked by a squad of Ultramarines. You must break
through. There is no time to go around or for fire suppression. You are to take your squad and
break through them in a full frontal assault. Squad's Uphiston and Jackarn are following behind
you and counting on you to clear the path... "Sergeant Uphiston, Squad Machilas is going to
attempt to break through the blocking force but their heavily under strength and Machilas lacks
the skills and equipment for close combat, you will follow behind them and make sure the job is
done. No delays, break through.... Sergeant Laskar I ordered you to disengage, I don't care if
you'll lose half your squad, you'll lose ALL of them if you don't fall back NOW!... Sergeant
Ptronal your direct route is blocked by the Ultramarines collapsing the causeway, fall back on
your beta route..."

Even with all his years of experience and the abilities that were his birthright as an Astartes
Captain Zadante was overwhelmed. Organising an entire companies disengagement from a full
scale Loyalist attack while finding his evacuation routes blocked and collapsed had managed to
overwhelm even his ability to process information. He was reduced to picking individual
problems and squads and giving them orders relevant to their situation, but had long ago
abandoned any attempt to actually co-ordinate the various squad's movements to better organise
the withdrawal. For instance as Squad Ytronas had almost reached it's transports and were no
longer in danger he had stopped paying attention to them, which is why he didn't order them to
turn around and clear the route for Squad's Machilas, Uphiston and Jackarn from behind which
they could have done in minutes. Still he was getting his men out and had ensured that Dark
Apostle Tanal was amongst the first to pull out. Tanal was approaching the landing pad upon
which waited he and Zadante's own heavily armoured Stormbird and which would take them
both to safety even as he gave the order to the squads to break through the Ultramarine
roadblock, just a few minutes ahead of him and his bodyguards.

As he turned a corner and reached an intersection additional threat icons exploded into his
helmet as he was taken under fire by a single Ultramarine Astarte. Diving back behind cover he
snarled, realising that the warrior from the XIIIth Legion had taken up a post that would allow
him to bring under fire anyone crossing the junction. The junction that led directly to his
evacuation point. He began to quickly organise his bodyguard squad for a rush across the dozen
or so feet of open ground they would have to cover. With the obedience that was one of the
trademarks of his Legion his warriors began creating a wall of bodies between him and the
enemy sniper, ensuring that he would be amongst those who made it across the death ground.
However his lack of forward progress had been noticed.

"Captain Zadante, you have stopped. Why?" The silk like voice of his direct superior Dark
Apostle Tanal cut into his vox commands to his squad.

"We have been temporarily delayed. I will be in movement within a minute Dark Apostle." He
answered as his warriors reformed into his chosen formation.

"Unfortunate. I cannot risk waiting. Re-divert to your beta extraction point."

"Holiness, we will be less that 2 minutes longer... My squad's beta extraction is an additional 15
minutes away!" Zadante couldn't help but bark back.

"Do not question me again Captain, or I will order your beta extraction point lifted off as well.
Have Faith brother and if the God's so will it I shall see you upon the Darkness Divine." With
that the vox channel disconnected. Yet no further words were needed as Zadante's command map
showed the waiting Stormbird begin to take off. Swallowing a curse Zadante snarled for his
squad to rush the intersection and then head left towards their beta extraction point. Even as his
bodyguards fell around him while crossing the killing ground he began to return to giving orders
to his remaining squads to attempt to get as many out as he could...
The Phalanx
Rogal Dorn's Remnant
Border Region with the Horusite Empire

Rogal Dorn made no sign of acknowledging one of the largest of his son's as Captain Alexis
Polux marched into what passed for his office and came to attention. Concentrating on the screen
in front of him he finished the latest additions to be made to the fortress guarding the approaches
to the Hive of Nestoria upon the forge world of Vesparan IV before finally looking up. "Captain
Polux. You requested an audience. You now have it."

"Thank you Lord Dorn." Polux made a show off bowing his head slightly to his Primarch. It had
never been the way off the VIIth Legion to scrape too their father. "I wished to discuss with you
the information we have received that your brother Lord Guilliman has formed the surviving
Loyalist Iron Warriors into a new formation, the Silver Skulls Cohort."

Dorn grimaced slightly but nodded his head in reluctant acknowledgement of the Silver Skull's
new recognition. "Yes, the few Loyalist's of the IVth have been granted a new name, new
colours and a chance to redeem their honour at my brother's decree."

It was almost unheard off for an Astarte to interrupt their Primarch but Polux did so now.
"Forgive me Lord Dorn, but the warriors who make up the Silver Skull do not require to redeem
their honour. They have more than done so in decades of fighting against their treacherous kin
following the example of their former Warsmith Barabas Dantioch. They have a record against
their traitor brothers that would do any force of Loyalist Astartes proud."

For a long second Dorn considered the interruption. He knew that some of his brothers would
have reacted with rage at being contradicted by one of their warriors even in private. Were he
Perturabo for instance Polux's head would by now be detached from his body. Best not even to
imagine how Konrad or Angron would have responded. Indeed it was considering the reactions
of his brothers that decided the matter for him. This time his nod was firm. "You are right
Captain. The Silver Skull's warriors have proven themselves to be beyond reproach and it was ill
off me to tar them with the sin's of their Traitor Primarch. It is sometimes hard to let go off old
hatreds and feuds, even for a Primarch. Yet what off this new formation of Imperial Secondus?"

"My Lord I am here to respectfully ask that we support the Silver Skulls in whatever way we
can." Polux leaned forward as he spoke, his face unusually energised for a member of the stoic
Imperial Fists. "I believe that this is a chance, perhaps our only opportunity, to show that it is
time to bury the hates of the past and to reforge a new bonds between the Loyalist Legions and
Astartes. If we, the Imperial Fists, who were the long term rivals of the old Iron Warriors were to
forge bonds of brotherhood with the Silver Skulls I think it would be a telling show off Imperial
Unity my lord! Yet if it is to be done, it must be done now before we fall back into old habits."

"I see now why Yonnad named you as the greatest of his pupils Captain Polux. You have a way
of looking past the obvious and the familiar. A trait which will earn you few friends... Yet one to
be admired." Dorn acknowledged. "What do you have in mind for this support?"

Alexis made no pretence of not having given this consideration. "I believe that two gestures
would suffice. The first is a gift of a suitable armour formation for the new Cohort. The Iron
Warriors were renowned for their large numbers of armoured vehicles and artillery pieces, yet
what few that Barabas seized with his old flagship are long gone, either subsumed into the
Ultramarines formations or destroyed in battle. I believe that a gift to help them reform their
armoured formations would be well received."

"There is a logic to that, and Imperial Secondus lacks our depth of forge worlds and so is ill
suited to make such an extravagant gift to the new Cohort. Indeed even for us such a gift will be
costly. Yet you mentioned two gestures Captain?" Dorn asked.
"Our garrison on Kielman's World is on the fringes of the area that this new attack into Imperial
Secondus is hitting. The garrison there consists of only 91 brothers. I believe we should make a
request that the Silver Skulls Cohort send a small force to help reinforce the garrison and aid in
fortifications works." Polux spoke quickly.

This apparently was too much for Dorn to sit through and he stood suddenly, his voice at least
calm if cold. "The Imperial Fist's ask for AID in fortifications?"

Despite the Primarch towering above him Polux nodded firmly, not even trying to meet his
Primarch's eyes but instead focusing upon the Imperial Aquila on Dorn's breastplate. "Yes my
lord. Ourselves and the Iron Warriors have always been rivals in our chosen specialities. Why
not turn it to friendly rivalry rather than the bitter one off old?"

Just as suddenly as he had stood the Emperor's Praetorian sat and a rare smile ghosted over his
stern face. "An excellent and wise suggestion Captain, one which I had been considering prior to
your arrival. Your own recommendation given your history with the Iron Warriors however adds
weight to the arguments in favour off making the request. I had not thought to send the Silver
Skull's a gift of armour, but again it is an excellent suggestion to form new bonds between old
rivals. Fleet Master Polux, you will personally pick out a battalion's worth of armoured vehicles
and artillery. Pick out such machines as you think our brothers in the Skulls will most appreciate.
You will also draft a message to go with them on your own and my behalf. A message of new
brotherhood. I will send a request to Macragge for a double squad of the newest Astarte
formation to be dispatched to Kielman's World as soon as possible so that the two formations of
Loyalist siege experts may work together against our common foe... As they should have from
the start. Dismissed."

With the approval of his scheme Polux almost missed his formal ascension to Fleet Master of the
Imperial Fists. When the use of the rank finally hit him he saluted formally. "Thank you Lord
Dorn, I will carry out your orders immediately."
Badab Prime
Badab Sector
Imperial Secondus Outer Marches

Even from the bridge of the Vengeful Spirit the death of Dominar Hive was visible. A flash off
intense light on the planet below marked where for a few seconds the fiery power of a sun had
slipped it's containment deep within the southern depths of the Hive. Abbadon looked down at
the cascades of information on the huge holo-table before him and grimanced. Even the worst
case predictions for Word Bearer casualties had been exceeded with this last suicidal strike from
the Loyalist defenders by the early predictions flashing up on the screens around the table. He
had dispatched 20,000 of the Priest's to the planet before, expecting to loose between 2-4,000 of
them to the dug in defenders. 10-20% casualties had been acceptable to his plans in removing the
worst of the chaff from the Word Bearer Legion forces attached to his Crusade. The top end of
that figure had already been reached prior to the detonation off the huge power plants deep
within the Hive. It was more than likely that the true casualties would now be more than double
his worst case predictions. Restraining the snarl that sought to break out on his face he glanced at
one of his own Legion's captains. "Contact those fools and find out the real numbers of losses.
Not just in Astartes but also in equipment and their thralls. I particularly want to know which
companies suffered the most losses and also the losses in their leadership cadres. Don't let them
fob you off with prayers and the Dark God's will either. I want hard numbers of what this
disaster means for those pseudo-warriors. Report back to me once you have the information."

The officer in question, a junior captain in Abbadon's own 1st Company, Captain Kalus Ekaddon
spent the better part of a day before he could finally return to the command room off the Black
Crusade to report to a now visibly furious First Captain. He started with an explanation off why
it had taken him so long. "Lord Abbadon, the Word Bearers were reluctant to give out such
details to anyone not off their own Legion. I believe they are humiliated by their losses and wish
to hide them. However under threat off taking my Reaver Attack Squad's over to their ships to
force them to give me what I asked for, they have informed me as to the extent off their losses. I
would estimate these are mostly correct, but perhaps downplay their losses slightly even now."

Abbadon only nodded jerkily, not trusting his voice with the fury at the Priest's lack of co-
operation with his own representative.

"They are estimating that in the siege and then cowardly sabotage of the city's power plants they
have lost an estimated 6,400 Astartes. They stress that some of those they lost may still be found
alive in the rubble that makes up almost half of the ruined Hive. Their casualties were light in
what they consider their command cadre, namely only 2 Dark Apostles were lost, 1 of them in
the battles and the other did not reach his evacuation point in time. However when pressed on the
numbers of Captains killed... They admitted that off 35 Captains committed to the battle only 11
survived. Similar casualty rates exist amongst senior sergeants and other command ranks. It
would appear from my findings that the Dark Apostles were the first to be evacuated, often while
the military ranks organised and led the actual evacuations. This led to the military ranks often
being amongst the last to reach the transports and so many didn't make it. Amongst Tech-
Marines and Dreadnoughts the losses were particularly severe. The Dreadnought's were too slow
to reach evacuation points and the Tech-Marines mostly attempted to slow the eventual
detonation and so stayed behind for too long. Losses amongst both groups were at least 90%.
Similar or higher loss rates are estimated in the Thrall warbands."

"Damn the Thrall warbands!" Abbadon growled through gritted teeth before snapping a question.
"Equipment losses?"

"Almost all heavy weapons, artillery and vehicles committed to the planet were lost. Personal
arms were mostly saved, however huge ammunition stocks have been lost. The Dark Apostles
are requesting that we resupply them with heavy weapons and ammunition for them as well as
stocks of ammunition for the few vehicles they have left." Kalus explained. "It appears that most
of the heavy weapon squads and warriors who did survive did so by dumping their weapons such
as heavy bolters and missile launchers in order to retreat faster."

For the first time since the reports of the impending explosion of the Hive's power plants reached
him raw fury disappeared from Abbadon's face, replaced instead with a sneer of total contempt.
"They dropped their weapons to flee faster... Truly the Word Bearers are a degenerate Legion.
Little better than ordinary humans! Inform them that we will not be replacing their lost weapons,
but saving them for warriors who at least know how to fight. They can make good their losses
from any Loyalist equipment we capture. Until then have their heavy weapons teams re-deployed
to the assault squads. I will not waste good equipment on poor warriors."

One of the other captains in the command centre. "My Lord the other Hives, while lacking
Astarte defenders are still in the hands of Loyalists, should we prepare a combat drop?"

Abbadon shook his head firmly. "No. I've wasted enough time and blood on this miserable ball
of mud. Have what's left of the Priest's ordered back on their transports, we head for our next
target."

"But the Loyalist hives...?"

The First Captain could feel his temper close to the surface at the repeated question. "I have
already sent word to a number of our brother's in the VIIIth Legion to let them know this world
is nigh on undefended and heavily industrialised. Soon warbands of the Night Lords will arrive
to kill and torture those we leave behind. While the Carrion Lords are poor soldiers at least if we
draw them in our wake they will tie up Loyalist troop formations for us. Which is better than the
Priest's would manage!
Hammerforge - Salamander Legion Strike Cruiser
Imperial Secondus

While en-route to their new duty station overseeing the construction of a new armament's
complex to build Plasma Carbines and Tribarrel's for the every expanding Imperial Army the
warriors of the Salamander Legion busied themselves with repairs and upgrades to their own
armour and weapons. The two squad's of warriors chosen to help in the establishment of a totally
new industrial complex were hand picked artisans from a Legion known for it's forgemasters and
smiths. Each had years of experience at the crafting and maintaining of weapons and could be
counted upon to ensure that the new forge complex was not only efficient but also provided
weapon's of superior quality.

The leader off this small expedition had been hand picked by Lord Vulkan himself, a point that
caused no small pride in Firedrake Su'Lan. While new to his rank of Firedrake he had been noted
early on in his training and induction into the Legion for his superb work in the forges. Indeed on
several occasions he had been considered for the Tech-Marines, yet his skill with weapons and
outstanding leadership and bravery had kept him on the path to be a warrior for his Legion.
Given the casualties suffered during the Drop Site Massacre and the following Heresy he had
been advanced quickly in rank and given more and more opportunities to prove himself, the
latest of which was this assignment in command of twenty of his brothers.

Still even with such a weight of responsibility upon his young shoulders the Firedrake was
conscious of his duty to maintain his own arms and armour, and took every opportunity afforded
him to work on them in the silence of his own quarters aboard the Strike Cruiser. His current
work was he believed unique so far to the Salamander Legion, with only a handful of other
Firedrakes having adapted their Terminator suits in such a way. Still not even his older and more
experienced brethren had taken the idea as far as he was now attempting to do. With intricate
care and patience he was currently working upon the power feeds and couplings of his master
crafted Terminator plate in order to ensure that they would be capable of handling the increased
power required to support two Tribarrel plasma weapon's, one in each arm. While other
Firedrake's had adapted their armour to support a single Tribarrel as a long range weapon, he was
attempting to mesh two of the weapon's with his power supply. When he could make the
connections work and ensure that the power couplings could handle the massive amount of
power required to fuel two such weapons while firing continuously, he believed he would be able
to lay down a truly immense amount of concentrated heavy firepower against any Traitors who
attacked his command.

Swallowing a snarl as one of the power coupling's he had just connected up snapped and sent
flickering arc's of lightning surging through the heavy gauntlets of his armour when connected to
the power feed he was testing it with it never occurred to the master craftsman that what he was
doing might not be possible. Confident in his own abilities and in his Legion's training it was
simply a matter of when not if he would succeed. In this he had the sterling example of his
Primarch to guide him.
Word Bearer Battle Barge Darkness Divine
In Orbit over Badab Prime
Badab Sector
Imperial Secondus Outer Marches

Captain Zadante awoke in agony. His last conscious memories were one off his command squad
dragging his shattered body onto the waiting Stormbird, while around them the Hive collapsed
and burned. For a second he fought back the pain to remember his injuries had been the result of
a firestorm burning through the corridor he was running along with his squad, the raw plasma
buckling and melting his power armour and then burning into the flesh below. Attempting to
open his eyes so that he could see what damage had been done to his body did nothing but send a
spike off agony through his body, making him convulse in reaction. Or at least attempt to
convulse, he seemed to be restrained in some fashion, unable to move!

The aborted motion however had drawn attention and he heard the footsteps of two figures
wearing power armour approach. The first voice to speak was familiar, Apothecary Hedar, his
companies senior medic. "You are awake captain. Good. We nearly lost you."

"It is the Will of the True Gods." That voice was also familiar. Dark Apostle Tanal. The man
who had left him behind.

Attempting to speak was it's own singular form of torture yet he forced words past his ruined
mouth and throat. "How... bad....?"

Before the Apothecary could speak Tanal answered with his silken voice, strange how he had
once found it's tones soothing and charismatic depending on the circumstances! "Your wounds
are severe. However I have convinced Apothecary Hedar that you are a prime candidate for
internment within one of the Host's few remaining Dreadnoughts!"

It was impossible for an Astarte to feel panic. Such weakness's had been purged from their
personalities. Yet that was the closest word to the feelings burning in Zadante's chest at the
almost malicious glee he could hear in his superiors words. Internment within a Dreadnought,
once considered amongst the greatest honour bestowed upon the fallen warriors of a Legion had
become a fate worse than death to most within the Traitor Legions, promising a slow descent
into madness! Forcing his throat to speak he almost pleaded with the two officers standing over
him. "No... Please..."

Hedar interjected quickly. "Perhaps... While the Captain's wounds are severe... Cybernetic limbs
and eyes could be fashioned... He could be returned to duty Dark Apostle..."

"No. We have few Tech-Marines left to us. Such massive reconstruction is a waste of resources."
Tanal's voice for all it's smoothness was final. "Prepare our former Captain for internment Hedar.
Unless you wish interned within the sarcophagus yourself...?"

Exhausted by forcing out even those few words Zadante could make no more protests as he
heard the Apothecary rush off to do the bidding of the Dark Apostle. Leaving him alone with
Tanal. The slight shift in the noises of the Dark Apostles power armour indicated he was leaning
over the apothecary slab on which he was no doubt strapped down on, bringing him close
enough to speak softly. "Zadante you have been a thorn in my side from the moment off the
restructuring of the Legion. You have never accepted your new place within the command staff
as my subordinate and have questioned me at every turn. Never accepted that I am no longer
merely your Chaplain but your commanding officer! Deep within your heart of hearts I know
you still think yourself better qualified to lead your former company that has become MY Host.
You still refer to it as the 82nd Company and not my chosen title of Prophet's of the Dark Truth!
Now I will finally be rid off you. Your successor will no doubt be more malleable. I had hoped
you would have the decency to die on the planet but this is an even better fate! Go into the
darkness of the Stasis Vaults with that in your mind to drive you mad that little bit faster..."
Night Lord Battle Barge Silent Scream
Un-named System
Nostramo Sector
Disupted Territories

The Raven didn't even need to look at the scanners or listen to the reports as the alarms began to
blare across the Strategium. They had been found again. Forcing a calm he didn't feel onto his
face he stepped up to the huge holo-table that showed his fleet of ships in orbit over the third
world in some nameless dead system. Ignoring the silently watching members of the VIIIth
Legion all around him he fought the urge to look behind him to make sure none of the murdering
scum were manoeuvring into his blind spot to slide a knife into his hearts. By now avoiding
looking weak by glancing behind him was second nature, but it did mean that one of these days
one of the son's of Curze would probably stab him in the back. Or shoot him. Or strangle him
with a garrote. Or whatever twisted way of murdering they had thought up. Still looking like he
was worried would only hasten the day. His eyes glanced over the data flooding in from their
retreating frigate picket ships and he nodded as though he had been expecting the arrival of the
Loyalist ships. Which in all honesty he had. After all for the last year or more every time his
ships spent more than a few weeks in real space their pursuers arrived to hound them.
From the darkness that surrounded the wane light of the holo-table the voice of Captain Ktak of
the Flayers Company rasped. "Raven Guard. They've come for you again Raven."

Glancing into the deep shadows from which the voice came from he used the combat sign
language that allowed him to communicate with his "subordinates". "They've come for us you
mean."

Another Night Lord, Captain Ntallan of the Red Handed Murderers stepped fully up to the
command table and pointed with a lightning clawed finger at one of the icons. "The Avenger!
Corax's own new flagship! He's not hunting any other band of Night Lords... Just the one's that
his own traitor son leads!"

It was hard to argue with that logic, but if he didn't it wouldn't be long before his officers killed
him and dumped his body out of an air lock in a vain attempt to appease the Raven Guard
Primarch. His hands flashing quickly as his face twisted into a snarl. "You think he just wants
me? You don't know Corvus Corax if you think that! He's here to kill us all! Me for betraying
him personally but trust me he want's you all dead as well for the multitude of crimes you've
wreaked upon his precious Imperium of Man. For the Urgall Depression! For the butchery of his
Legion under your guns and blades! As well as the crimes that the murdering VIIIth has
committed across the world's of Man! If you think that giving him me will buy you any more
time than it would take for him to reload his weapons you're madder than your lunatic Primarch!
Without me you won't last a month while he hunts you! Don't forget, I'm the one who knows his
doctrines, his tactics and how he thinks! How far would you get without me you curs?!"

It was hard to sneer when you couldn't speak, but somehow Alastor Rushal, late of the Raven
Guard and now of the Night Lords managed it. Glancing from face to face he met their black
eyes and with sheer willpower and hate managed to overawe the dozen or so officers of his
adopted Legion around him. At least for now. Which didn't make them hate him any less he
knew. The knife was coming. All he could do was delay the inevitable. Which was all he had
managed to do since the Drop Site Massacre.

It was Ntallan who finally spoke into the twisted hate filled silence. "Your orders then Lord
Raven...?"

"We break for the Warp. All ships. Corax has twice our numbers with him and we can't fight him
head on." The Raven signed hiding the tiredness that was growing from being hunted and his
certainty that if Corax didn't catch him his own troops and officers would turn on him.

"The frigates Barbed Whip, Nihilistic Pleasure and Screaming Death won't be able to break free
in time without support. While the Strike Cruiser Wordless Agony engines are too degraded to
make it out with us." The Silent Scream's own Captain Lepat spoke up with a query in his voice.

"Good. Send them rendezvous co-ordinates and order them to try and get clear as best they can
on their own. The wrong co-ordinates. They'll slow the Raven Guard down while we escape and
if any data is taken with their shattered hulks it will hopefully lead them away from our next
refuge..." It sickened in The Raven's guts at the growl off approval such orders brought from the
Astartes around him. Gone was the old comradeship of the XIVth Legion that he had once been
surrounded by, and he had replaced it with this collection of psychotic murderers... Yet beyond
anything, he was a survivor. He had survived being left for dead on Isstvan V. He had survived
forced enrolment within the Night Lord Legion. He had survived the Horus Heresy. He would
survive this. At least for as long as anyone could. Every day, every hour he survived in this
insane asylum that passed for a Legion was his own private triumph against the madmen of the
VIIIth and a slap in the face of the XIVth Legion who had left him to die... Damn them both...
Night Lord Battle Barge Silent Scream
Un-named System - Near the border with the Ghoul Stars
Nostramo Sector/Ghoul Stars
Disupted Territories

It had only been 2 weeks since the ad-hoc fleet of Night Lord vessels had arrived in this desolate
dying star system hunted through the void by the Raven Guard and their Primarch. Which was
typically as long a rest as they ever received. For weeks no sign of their pursuers would be seen,
but then from the Warp the pursuing Raven Lord fleet would appear. Again and again the Night
Lord's fleet had been flushed from their bolt holes, never able to rest or resupply to any
meaningful degree. Their few battle barges and strike cruisers were no match for the ship's that
the battle barge Avenger led. Even had their ships been fully supplied and filled with their full
compliment of Astartes they would have been outnumbered heavily. As it was, with only half
their compliment of Astartes and less than a third of their magazines full they would stand little
chance in a full on engagement. So The Raven had again and again slunk away from his former
brothers, leading his formation of Night Lord's in an almost frantic effort to find some place they
would not be found. Slowly they had been driven almost from their home sector and now found
themselves with their back's to the Ghoul Stars, an area of space known for it's mysterious and
dangerous Xeno's races. Few of the Night Lord's captains who had sworn their services to
Alastor Rushal, for what little such oath's were worth, wished to enter that region of space
willingly. A few warband captains had already been talking of breaking off and scattering in the
hope of avoiding their hunters when they arrived in this desolate system. Where they had found
what might be their salvation.

Already in the system were a number of VIIIth Legion warships, along with one XIIth Legion
battle barge. Surviving refugee's from Captain Kheron Ophion's failed attempt to unify the
Nostramo Sector under his banner, the group readily joined forces with the fleeing forces of The
Raven, while the 200 World Eaters upon the Red Blade were more than happy to join in with
anyone who promised them a battle which was how they had ended up in the system in the first
place. The Raven quickly deployed his original ships deep within the gravity well of the system
in what he knew would look like an attempt to mask his ships within the glare of the dying sun,
while the new forces available to him hid themselves deep within the systems poor orbital
asteroid belts. When the Raven Guard arrived, by now everyone knew it was a when not an if,
they would head in system to attempt to force him into battle. For once he would allow them to
do so, forming an anvil upon which his new hidden allies would hammer Lord Corax's fleet. He
had no illusions about being able to destroy the Raven Guard forces, yet with his new ships and
troops he believed he stood a chance of bloodying them heavily and forcing them to relent in
their ceaseless pursuit. At the very least he could buy time, forcing them to fall back to repair
their damaged ships. Who knew perhaps Centurion Brall the senior surviving officer aboard the
Red Blade would fulfil his oath and be able to board the Avenger and take a Primarch's skull for
the Skull Throne. Rushal could no longer laugh, but he did manage a silent chortle at the thought
of the blood crazed lunatic thinking he could kill Corvus Corax. It just showed how far into
madness the World Eater's had fallen if they believed they could possibly kill a Primarch with a
few head hunter squads.

As the alarms began to go off to alert the crew to enemy ships arriving from the Warp The Raven
picked up his corvus pattern helmet and mag locked it to his hip as he checked his bolter and
power sword one final time before striding from his quarters and directly into the Strategium of
the Battleship, a habit that was by now second nature for him after years serving with the
treacherous Night Lords. He never went anywhere unarmed and unarmoured these days. Indeed
as his dark eyes took in the shapes of his officers assembling from the shadows around the holo-
table which was filling up with icons from his former Legion he mused that he struggled to
remember the last time he had even taken his warplate off except to repair it... Or indeed the last
time he had slept properly...
Secondary Docking Bay
Red Tear
Imperial Secondus

The Primarch Sanguinius greeted the figure descending from the battered and colourless
Stormbird with words which were neither welcoming nor hostile. Excepting himself and the
worn figure no other living was in the docking bay. Not even his own Sanguinary Guard were
present for this meeting. "There are many who say you are dead... More who say that if you are
not, then you should be. My brother Leman foremost amongst them."

Just like the Primarch the figure was tall beyond the reach of unaltered humans and like
Sanguinius he was clad in ornate golden armour. Yet where Sanguinius's plate was embellished
and edged with arterial red, this figure's armour was pure gold. Stopping before the Angel he did
not bow, for it was not in him to bow to any but the Emperor. "The Wolf King is not entirely
incorrect. I and my Legio failed. Those of us who survived the Fall of Terra and the Emperor's
death are all wracked with the guilt of failing Him and not being there at the end. We shall carry
that shame to our final end. All of us share the shame, yet it is mine to bare most heavily. For I
am the First of the Ten Thousand and so must carry the most blame."

Sanguinius made no false statement off assurance or meaningless platitude of consolation. It was
not his way. Additionally in some respects it had been he who had stood where the warrior
before him should have been at the end. Not that he would have swapped even with the outcome,
yet he couldn't help but feel that the man's words were correct. "Yet you live and seek audience
with me. Why? What do you wish from me Constantin Valdor?"

"It is simple. I wish to know if my Legio is doomed to fade and die. Or if you can aid us so that
we can in some small part atone for our failure to guard Him from harm and at least seek
vengeance in His name?" The Captain-General of the Legio Custodes cut straight to the point.

The Primarch stood silent and gazed at the Captain-General as he weighed his request. "You
wish me to create more off you." It was not a question.
"I do."

"Yet reports are that the Legio Custodes seems to have grown in number since it's few survivors
escaped with Dorn. Something that is a mystery to all of us I might add. Why do you need my
help?" There was genuine interest in the Angel's voice.

Constantin Valdor, knowing that he required the Primarch's assistance was bluntly honest. "The
few increases in our numbers have been those of my Legio who have either been on detached
duty, wounded or have subsequently escaped Terra since the Arch-Traitor killed our Lord. Not a
single new Custodian has been created my Lord Sanguinius. Without the Emperor we cannot
create more of our kind. You have my oath on that."

Considering that Sanguinius nodded. "And so you come to me, given my resurrection and my
healing of Corax's son's, which you no doubt have discovered."

"Yes my Lord."

"I cannot help you." Sanguinius answered as bluntly as the Captain-General. "It is not within my
powers to create new Custodians. I lack the knowledge."

Despite himself Constantin's shoulders fell fractionally. He did not doubt the words and saw no
use in denying them pointlessly. Yet the Angel wasn't finished.

"However... My brother Corax has the knowledge that I would need to create more Custodes.
Together, he and I could create more off you." Sanguinius explained. "Yet why? Why should we
create more off you, when you failed in your task Captain-General?"

"Because we wish to continue to serve Lord Sanguinius." Valdor responded with total honesty.
"Because we wish to fight on in His name."

"A good answer. The right answer. I will contact my brother..."

Mars
Horusite Empire

Slowly Mar began to reorganise under the iron will of it's new master. Day by day Perturabo's
control over the massive power flooding through his pain wracked body grew stronger and more
sure. His great intellect bucked and tore, yet slowly began to learn to control the power and
information flowing through him from the Red Planet via the daemonic engine he was bound
within. In this he was helped by his swearing to the Dark God Tzeentch in his new form of the
Mad Experimenter, his new patron sending Greater Daemon's to whisper in his ears during his
more lucid moments with advice as how best to bring the machine he was now a part off under
his own control and not that of others. It did not happen overnight or even in months, but as time
went on Perturabo was finally able to spend longer and longer in control of himself and in
control of the machine-throne. With such control, a guiding intellect began to exert itself
throughout Mars. Where once each Hive-City and Forge would work mostly independently of
each other only bound together by the dictates of the Fabricator General, now a single mind
dominated the scattered and damaged Hives. Indeed Perturabo was soon able to expand his
control not only from the planet itself but also into it's orbit, the Iron Ring which had once
produced much of the war fleets of the Great Crusade and which was now in ruins, slid under his
control.

At first the periods of control and lucidity were short and inter spaced with long periods of
madness. Yet even with such limited time available to him Perturabo was able to make his will
known. In the seconds, then the hours and then the days in which he was the master of his own
mind he sent out orders through the his growing web of communications channels for work to be
done even when he was not sane. At first much of this work was in the manner of repairs.
Factory complexes and indeed entire hives were ordered to begin work at rebuilding damaged
portions of themselves or at the very least to begin what little work was able to repair the damage
of decades of war and misuse. The great bio-vat's of Mars were sent orders to increase
production to the very limits of their damaged capabilities. Requests were sent to all of the
nearby worlds for the chaff of their populations and soon fleets of ships were entering orbit
carrying the damned souls who would be either be mind wiped and lobotomised and turned into
servitors to aid in Mar's rebuilding or merely broken down to be fed into the bio-vats so that
more productive templates could be created from their useless bodies. Even as the gene-forgers
and genetor tech priests strained every brass cog to eek out every single possible servitor from
the existing bio-vats, no fewer than three huge new complexes began to take form around the
outskirts of the Forge Temple of Olympus Mon's. The new complexes would double the
production of bio-engineered bodies to fuel both the growth of Mar's but also it's armies. Not
only the bio-vats were being repaired and rebuilt, but also the industrial complexes which
supplied the Horusite war machine. Older factories were rebuilt, while new expansions spread
like leprous growths from them. For the first time since the start of the Horus Heresy the
production of Mars rose quickly. From every spaceport new shipments of war materials poured
forth to reinforce the Horusite Empire. Everything from the roughest of mass produced las-gun
for the Horusite Army Divisions to Terminator class armour for the 1st Company of the Son's of
Horus. Even a growing number of Titans began to be built, around a third of them intended for
possession by Daemons.

Nor was these the new sites being built. Along with dozens of damaged and destroyed
manufacturing sites being returned to production a new Forge-Hive was being constructed. Near
the site of the destroyed Hive-City of Magma City a new city arose. This one's construction was
a joint work by the Iron Warriors and the Dark Mechanicum. Huge industrial factories were built
up, concentrating on the equipment which would be required to expand and support an Astartes
Legion, while around them a series of interconnecting fortresses sprung from the ground.
Millions of augmented servitors worked under the direction of Tech Adept and War Smith to
construct factories who when fully online would produce thousands of Mar's Pattern Bolters and
Bolt Pistols per month, while around them more servitors worked to install huge anti-aircraft and
anti-tank weapons emplacements in numerous linked bunkers. While the nine factories being
built to produce the standard pattern Bolters would be the most prolific of sites, other similarly
sized factories were being built anything that a Legion might need. Factories capable of
producing entire suits of Power Armour spread across the red ground, while beside them huge
industrial buildings capable of manufacturing Rhinos, Land Raiders, Spartan Assault Tanks and
a host of other armoured vehicles were built with the blood and oil of the mindless labour force
which were pressed beyond endurance to construct them at a pace unseen before. The new Hive
Olympia was to be the base for the Iron Warrior's Legion not just upon Mar's but also within the
wider Horusite Empire and no cost in blood or treasure was to be spared to make it one of the
greatest industrial centres known to man, while around it similarly grand fortresses were ordered
into being straight from the very mind of Perturabo himself. Deep within the bowels of this new
city a final addition was ordered to be built, a fourth new bio-vat complex began to take shape
hidden from site of all but the Iron Warriors and the most dedicated of their Dark Mechanicus
allies. This complex was divided into two distinct parts. The first and largest was a large number
of new bio-vats designed and shaped to produce new Demi's. Cloned from the best and most
rugged of the existing Iron Warriors derived stock, this complex was to give the Iron Warriors
independence from the rebuilding Demi-production centres of Terra. However these new bio-
vats were but the trial run and cover for the small number of more advanced bio-vats designed by
Perturabo himself in his moments of lucidity. These new bio-vats would be used to mass produce
suitable aspirants for the Iron Warrior Legion itself. Thousands of the most aggressive,
intelligent and physically enduring specimens were harvested from any world that had an Iron
Warrior presence and sent to Mars. Once there these specimens were subjected to a battery of
physical and psychological testing to weed out the weakest. The survivors of this process were
then given primitive weapons and subjected to gladiatorial style combats until only a handful of
the most truly gifted specimens remains. Those specimens were then used as the templates which
the new bio-vats would then produce en-mass. These templates would be grown to a suitable age
and then decanted and prepared for implementation with the Legion's gene-seeds. Any
specimen's template which had an unacceptable level of rejection at this stage would be
summarily destroyed and a new template would then be selected to mass produce. A constant
series of continuing gladiatorial games between new specimens and those already in production
ensured that only the finest specimens would be used to create aspirant bodies for the Legion. In
such a way the Iron Warrior's Primarch secured for himself a virtually unlimited supply of
suitable yet varied genetic stock to support his Legion's rebirth and growth.

Nor was the growth limited to the planet itself. The Ring of Iron in orbit over Mars had long
been semi-derelict, it's huge shipyards and factories shattered by decades of war and orbital
assaults between Loyalists and Traitors. Again and again it had been fought over and torn apart
by warriors and soldiers of both sides. Yet now a steady stream off shuttles and transports from
the planet below poured forth to begin refurbishing the shattered shipyards. As each slip was
rebuilt and put back into production, new ships were almost instantly laid down. Most of those
ships were in the colours of the Horusite Empire or for the Son's of Horus Legion itself, yet a
large and growing number of new battleships were laid down in the colours of the Iron Warriors
themselves.
Badab Prime
Badab Sector
Imperial Secondus Outer Marches

Even before the Black Crusade had moved on a handful of lighter Night Lord's ships had
descended upon the system. Although after the first few were stupid enough to proceed in-
system and were immediately "drafted" into Abaddon's forces, the others remained in the outer
system. Individual ships and small makeshift flotillas arrived almost seemingly at random, drawn
by the reports off a major Imperial worlds fall. Even with the almost total destruction of Hive
Dominar there were dozen's of other Hives to loot. For the Night Lords, who lacked any real
supply lines or bases this was a feast off incomparably richness. Warbands and pirate flotilla's
from nearby sectors were soon flocking to the system and as soon as the Black Crusade headed
for the Warp points and disappeared they rushed into orbit to begin the murder of the crippled
world. For most of the members of the VIIIth Legion it wasn't just about the potential loot. It was
also about the still billions of Imperial citizens who could be "educated" in what terror truly
meant. Only a handful of Night Lord's battleships were in attendance with the bulk of the ships
being strike cruisers and attack frigates. Yet from each ship gunships and drop pods rained down
on the world below. Even as the first Night Lord's crunched down on the planet more of their
ships arrived from more distant sectors, hurrying to claim their share of the pain and the treasure.

The few militia's and Imperial Army garrisons who hadn't either been drawn into the last stand at
Dominar or hunted down subsequently did their best. Yet none of these units had plasma
carbines and had little armour or artillery attached to them. Within hours the Night Lord's had
crushed all organised resistance and had begun to slaughter the civilian population of the world
while looting anything of value for their ships and wargear. A handful of the world's population
were also harvested, either to be used as future aspirants or merely to replenish ships crews. A
Night Lord warship was not a healthy place and many of the crew members would die at the
hand's of their own masters, let alone the inevitable losses in any ship combat that the warship
might engage in. Even the ruins of Hive Dominar itself were not excluded from this brutal sack,
with thrall's and press ganged locals being forced to dig through the ruins of the destroyed Hive
for anything of value, such as Astartes weapons or even just pieces of armour. Loyalist or Word
Bearer, it mattered little to the Night Lords who had become a Legion of scavengers in order to
continue to operate. There was little co-operation between companies and warbands in this
process, indeed in some cases open fights broke out over choice loot or just frustration. Each
group of VIIIth Legionnaires was out for itself and wished to capture the best of the world's
resources while also indulging in the most wanton acts of torture and terror. Indeed the various
forces of Astartes would often transmit vid or vox recordings off the most choice torturous
activities. Partially to terrify remaining locals but also in a spirit of unholy competition with their
rivals within the Legion. Showing their skill with flaying knife, whip and other more exotic
implements of pain to their fellows. In at least one case this resulted in a full out battle between
the warriors of the Red Flayer's and the Bleeding Eyes when the Flayer's attempted to tempt the
former apothecary turned torturer of the Eyes to their own services after admiring his work on
the ruling family of one of the Hive cities.

Unfortunately for the VIIIth they were not the only Legion to be drawn to the Badab system by
the Black Crusades actions. Even as they took their depraved pleasures and loaded their shuttles
with loot an another force was approach. The Vth Legion had received word of the attack upon
Badab and although knowing that even with their famed speed they were unlikely to arrive in
time to save the world, their Primarch the Khan himself had personally led a large force of his
troops in the hope of at least avenging the defenders...
Mars
Horusite Empire

On a gantry overlooking a huge hall filled with arcane and twisted versions of the standard bio-
vats of the Mechanicum two figures stood. One was clad in metal and ceramite while the other
was mostly made of metal. The Astartes found himself in the uncomfortable and unpleasant
situation of having to look up at the Dark Mechanicum adept's who "stood" before him on three
metal legs who's "feet" consisted of talon like spikes which dug deeply into the metal floor and
left dents wherever he strode. Worse was having to meet the four beady and blinking red eyes
which were all that even his enhanced eyesight could make of the adept's face. At least one of
those eyes seemed to come and go within the shadow of the cowl, appearing to have changed
position whenever he wasn't noticed. It was mildly disconcerting even for a son of Perturabo.
Still he hadn't come all this way from growing Hive Olympia to attempt to determine the
augmentations of an adept. Even one as seemingly useful as this. With a grating voice that was
the result of having been choked almost to death by an enraged Salamander on far away Isstvan
V he barked his query at the heavily augmented cyborg who had led him to this gantry
overlooking Lord Perturabo's latest project. "You followed the instructions to the letter?"

A burst of binary was the initial response which was then translated into Gothic by a small brass
box that nestled within the metallic chest piece of the adept. "We followed the Primarch-
Fabricator's instructions without fail. The bio-vats below have been modified heavily as he has
instructed us. They will serve adequately for his his latest project. The work was exacting and the
standards almost impossibly high yet we have completed the work so that even he would be
pleased with the results."

"You don't know Perturabo..." The Iron Warrior Warsmith muttered mostly to himself with no
attempt to hide the bitterness. The warriors of the IVth Legion knew well how there was no
pleasing their demanding Primarch. The best they could hope for was that he might find their
works and achievements adequate. And even that faint praise was given rarely and begrudgingly.
For the merest second Sharok of the 91st Grand Battalion wondered what it might be like to love
your father as many of the other Legion's did. To have a Primarch who could inspire the kind of
devotion of Horus or Sanguinius within his son's? However before the thought had even fully
formed he dismissed it. He was a Warsmith of the Iron IVth and such things were of little
interest to him. He was here to do his duty. Everything else was weakness. Aware of the
motionless cyborg awaiting further questions or instructions he spoke again quickly. "We shall
see. The first of the test subjects are already on their way by Legion Stormbird. A full dozen of
the most pure and stable psyker's of various specialities that we have been able to obtain. You
will begin the cloning with each one as the basic template for 10 bio-vats. Our shared master
expects the first of the new candidates for implantation and indoctrination into the new Warp-
Smith Grand Battalion within the year. I would advise you against disappointing him."
Commorragh
The Webway

"This is a strange place to reassemble your fallen consort Morai-Heg." Cegorarch spoke from
just behind where she was floating looking down upon the dark city of Commorragh. He had not
been there even seconds before and she had not senses him arrive. The Laughing God had
became skilled at not being seen it would appear.

"Is it?" She didn't bother to turn to face him. After all what would be the point. Neither of them
were really here, merely facets of their beings concentrated so as to be able to observe and
converse. "Can you think of a better place to breath new life into the God of Murder?"

"When you put it that way Crone... No. Indeed I begin to see the jest in it. I had forgotten your
twisted sense of humour." Matching deed to words Cegorarch began to chuckle to himself. To
Morai-Heg it sounded like the cackling of a witless fool, yet that same witless fool had survived
when she had been consumed so which of them was the wiser she wondered idly. Still it didn't
take him long to get to the reason he had manifested himself to speak with her. "When will you
tell Isha?"

"I do not intend to tell her. Nor will you." At that she did turn to face the Trickster, ignoring his
ridiculously coloured outfit and painted face to meet his eyes with her own. Not even the
Laughing God could avoid shuddering and his usual background chuckle was forced as he stared
into the eyes of the Goddess of Fate.

Still a God who survived the fall of his Pantheon and then helped to begin rebuilding it was no
coward and he shrugged it off and smirked back at her, painted lips stretched into a rictus grin.
"You do not order me Crone."

"I am not ordering you. Stop playing the fool. You are very good at it, but now is not the time.
You will not tell Isha because you know she would baulk and refuse to aid us if she knew my
true plan. That would delay and might even prevent what we both wish to happen. So you will
keep our secret from her and let her continue to believe what she must to be able to fulfil her part
of this endeavour." The only answer to that was a slight bow of the head from Cegorarch and his
insane grin turning to a slight mocking twist of his lips.

Turning her back in dismissal Morai-Heg returned her gaze to the city before her which stretched
out in in an impossible number of directions. Only a God or Goddess could truly see and
comprehend all of the city at once and her gaze took it all in, every alley, every tower, every
hidden forgotten corner. She saw it all and saw the depths to which her creators had fallen. And
all through the city she could feel her consort slowly coming back to life, his presence being
reassembled and healed here within the Dark City. Already the effects of his reforming
consciousness was being felt by it's denizens, with murders and suicides rising exponentially
hour by hour. The authorities, such as they were, were beginning to struggle to maintain order.
Such order as the Dark City had at least. As her gaze took in every inch of the city descending
even further into murder and madness behind her she sensed Cegorarch slowly fading back into
the Webway, but as was his nature he could not resist a final barbed question. "Tell me Goddess
of Fate, Crone of the Elder... Do you feel guilt for what you are doing here and what you intend
to do...?"

Before she had any possibility of answering him he was gone. Yet she answered anyway, if only
to say it out loud to herself. To give voice to her conviction. Whether he heard her or not was a
matter of indifference to her. "No."
Commorragh
The Webway

By now the dark energies flowing through the city laid out in all it's cruel splendour beneath the
remaining Gods and Goddesses of the elves were so strong that nothing could contain them.
Eldar awoke in the night and proceeded to slaughter their loved ones and friends in cold blood.
Warriors ran amok in the barracks, throwing grenades and firing their pistols as they butchered
their own sworn comrades. In the palaces of the noble houses the floors were splashed with
blood as servants turned on masters and guards and were then massacred themselves. Such was
the blood lust swimming through the minds off the Eldar of the Dark City that they would fight
back to back with a sworn comrade one second to fight of their mutual enemies before turning
and stabbing each other in a mutual betrayal that was almost along the lines of a suicide pact.
Allies and sworn comrades stabbing at each other with razor bladed knives while giving no
thought to the knives slashing their own flesh. The streets of the city of Commorragh which were
always a place where danger was around every corner for it's citizens was now a hunting ground
for mad feral gangs who as often not would turn upon each other if prey were not found fast
enough. Even from far "above" the city which breached all the law's of physics the deities of the
Eldar could taste and smell the blood and the power surging through the air.

Isha looked ready to be sick. Such wanton death and destruction was anathema to her and and
was causing her physical pain as she could feel the fractured soul of her former tormentor
feeding off the deaths below. No, not the deaths. The murders. Kaela Mensha Khaines fractured
psyche was knitting itself back together, now sufficiently far along that the peaceful and healing
abilities of Isha were no longer required. Now the cracks and wounds in the disrupted and torn
apart deity were being filled and patched with that which he loved most. Blood. Prior to her brief
incarceration within the Garden's of Nurgle the Goddess Isha had never once been sick. Indeed it
had been a feeling so far beyond her realm that she had never even felt sickened. Nurgle had
managed to change that with his potions and plagues and now Isha was forcibly reminded of
those new and terrible sensations. Swallowing the vomit she could feel rising she turned pleading
eyes to Cegorarch and even Morai-Heg. Yet they ignored her.

The Laughing God had a manic grin on his face as he could already see the growing outline of a
pair off great red hands spreading over the city. The Eldar God of War and Murder was being
reborn. Reforged stronger and more deadly than even before. With him they would have a
fighting chance.

While the Trickster's face was a mask in truth of paint and wraithbone the Crone's was a mask of
what passed for flesh in a Goddess. As she watched the murder of an entire city-civilisation her
face revealed nothing. Her eyes locked on the glowing form of dripped red hands which were
becoming more real with every drop of blood spilled below. She ignored her fellows with studied
indifference, her mind far away from theirs. To them the red hands were the emerging rebirth of
a figure of fear and death. To her it was her husband. Yet that too was a matter of indifference.
No sentimentality clouded the Goddess of Fate's mind as she watched and waited. Khaine was a
mean's to an end. He was needed. So she had arranged for him to be brought forth. No matter the
cost. Her fingers of her good hand rubbed the stump of her other arm as she reminded herself
that she was no stranger to paying any price to ensure what was needed occurred. With each
stroke of her fingers over the stump that pained her still she remembered that.

With a scream that laid waste to half the city Kaela Mensha Khaine was reborn and strode forth
in all his burning glory into Commorragh. He looked down and around at the now burning and
maddened city and laughed, well pleased with what he saw and ignoring his fellows who he
knew had arranged this and awaited to speak with him. Let them wait as he savoured the fine
aroma and taste of the murders and war raging around him even as the city burned.

Cegorarch laughed out loud in joy. "It is done! We have our warrior to face Slaanesh!"

Isha doubled up and began to vomit in psychic agony at what was going on beneath her.

Morai-Heg didn't look from staring at her laughing husband as she answered Cegorarch. "Witless
fool. It is not done! It has merely started! I did not bring him back to fight... He is needed for
something far darker than mere battle..."
Commorragh
The Webway

Far below the politics and schemes of the Gods above a Dark Eldar knelt astride the body of his
latest victim and laughed madly. For a brief second he recognised the mutilated body below as
having been a member of his own Cult of the Black Heart and wondered which of his followers
he had just killed. Yet that brief second of sanity was all that even his unmatched willpower
could muster and dragging the dagger from the carved open chest of the corpse he looked around
for another victim. Any victim. A few feet away two other Eldar in identical colours to the body
beneath him were writhing and wrestling with each other as they tried to bring the poisoned
daggers in their hands down into the others flesh. Equally matched in strength and skill they
were clutched together, hand to wrist in a death grapple that would likely end with both their
deaths eventually. The murderer shortened that by leaning over and slashing the throat off the
one currently on top with a quick slash before plunging his dagger down into the eye of the one
beneath. In a handful of seconds he added two more murders to his tally.

Surging to his feet he snatched a maroon splinter pistol that one of his victims had been carrying
moments before and proceeded to fire off the entire ammunition crystal into the moving figures
throughout the alley, the splinter's of crystal piercing over a dozen victims wearing the same
black and silver colours and armour as his own. He laughed as he directed the shards of crystal
into various forms fighting each other until it ran dry. Once the weapon was useless he threw it at
a dying Dark Eldar who's lungs had been punctured by the shards before throwing himself mono-
molecular knife in hand at the nearest surviving enemy. Because everyone within Commorragh
this night was his enemy. There was only the urge to murder and kill burning within his dark
soul. All ambition and goals of rising through the ranks of the Dark City gone in blood lust.
Howling madly he bore his next opponent to the ground and began to stab into his back again
and again, dark blood spraying over his armour and face in a warm rain that filled him with a joy
he could scarcely contain.

As Asdrubael Vect stabbed again and again into the twitching body beneath him another of his
former followers stepped up behind him and levelled a liquifier gun at his unguarded back and
fired his last few bursts off acid into his own leaders back and neck. Before Vect could even
scream the burning and pressurised acid had burned through the thin plate of his armour and into
his chest cavity. The scream that finally emerged from his ruined throat was a gurgling sound as
his very lungs liquefied and melted within his chest even as his throat disintegrated and bubbled.
Even as Vect died his murderer himself was cut down by another Cult member throwing a
plasma grenade at his feet. All around the would be future Kabal of the Black Heart tore itself
apart in a frenzied civil war... Commorragh in miniature.
Commorragh
The Webway

Before the other two could ask what she meant there was a sudden pressure and Kaela Mensha
Khaine was there standing beside them, his burning body and weapon giving off a heat that was
uncomfortable even to his fellow deities. With a rasping voice that sounded like blades breaking
and Eldar screams he addressed them. "The coward and the weakling. No wonder they haven't
figured it out."

He turned to his wife and the smile he gave her was ghastly. "Have you thought this through? I
mean all the way? There is no changing your mind at the last second..."

Morai-Heg's face twisted into what might have been called a smile. "Sentimentality? From you?"

A bark of laughter like the noise of an artillery shell echoed from Khaine as he sneered. "Hardly.
To me a death is a death."

With dawning horror twisting the psycho-reactive mask on his face the Harlequin snapped. "That
is not needed!"

Morai-Heg ignored Isha's questions as to what they were now talking about and sneered at the
Laughing God. "Not laughing now I see. Of course it's needed you fool. Khaine has faced She
Who Thirsts before and lost. Admittedly He/She is weaker now, but so is Khaine. A second trial
by combat will not be any different from the first. No. We need Ynnead."

For the first time the name of the God of the Dead was said by one of his fellows and they all felt
a chill in the air around them as his proto-consciousness was drawn to them. Only Khaine
seemed unaffected and stood leaning on his flaming blade watching his fellows with a face of
molten iron. He could wait. For a time.

Before Cegorarch could speak the Crone continued. "It will take Khaine and Ynnead combined
to throw down She Who Thirsts and reclaim our place within the Heavens. Both must be as
strong as possible and you know what is required to make that so!"

"But... What we have done here... The deaths..." Isha whispered in horror. "That must be enough!
Haven't we done enough?!"

If it was possible for the Crone to look with kindness on another she did so now even smiling
softly at the Goddess of Healing and Life. "No sweet child it is not. Half a city has died. Half a
civilisation. Yet much of that went to fuelling Khaine's rebirth. Too little off the souls and lives
lost fed our new brother."
Isha stared down at the still burning city of her people and cried softly. "You intend to kill them
all..."

"Yes. But even that will not be enough." Morai-Heg said almost to herself. Before Isha could
think that over and realise what she mean't she turned to the God of Murder and nodded once. "It
is time."

Even as Isha screamed in dawning awareness of what was to take place and Cegorarch cried out
for a delay, Khaine stepped forward with a burning smile. His finest blade Anaris swept up and
then down in a brutal and cruel stroke, cutting deep into Morai-Heg's shoulder and chest. The
Goddess of Fate screamed despite herself at the pain burning in her very soul and then cried out
again as the God of Murder tore the weapon free before plunging it deep into her stomach. She
had secretly hoped that Khaine might do her the mercy of giving her a swift and relatively
painless death, but that was not his way. He was not killing her out of mercy or even duty but
instead was indulging in his very nature. Each slash of his blade brought such pain that even a
Goddess found it unendurable. What Khaine was inflicting upon her wasn't death, but butchery
and murder. Again and again Anaris slashed or hacked down into her by now torn and bloody
body, cutting deep not only into the physical form she had taken but also her power and what
passed for a soul in a goddess. Power flowed with her blood and Khaine drank it in, his eyes
glowing with it as the flames he was clad in burned brighter and brighter. Yet even the God of
Murder could only absorb so much of the power of killing a god.

All that Isha and Cegorarch could do was watch in horror. From the first cut of the blade it was
now inevitable. Not even they could stop it.

Finally at the end when even Khaine's blood lust for pain and injury had been sated for the
moment he paused to gather himself for the final strike. The execution stroke. In that second
Morai-Heg, now on her knees with her head bent and her one good hand clutching the terrible
wound in her belly glanced up into the mask of horror that was the Harlequin God's face. With a
bloody grin she spat out what might have been considered a last bequest or perhaps more
fittingly a curse. "Cegorarch... Trickster... Laughing God... Fool... Dancer... Now Dance with the
power and knowledge of FATE!"

Her bloody hand left her torn stomach and pointed a single finger at the horrified Great
Harlequin as she willed her "folio" of powers unto him even as the blade came down upon her
neck. Even as the blade Anaris took her head she made sure to direct most off her power away
from her husband and into the now almost manifest form of the God of Death. With her own
death she willed a son into being with her last shards of consciousness, a Dark Son of Death to
stand alongside his father the God of War and Murder...

Commorragh
The Webway

Ynnead the God of the Dead stood in front of his fellows with the last of his mother's life force
still swirling and absorbing into him. Taller than any save Khaine and a perfect match for him in
height he was clad in literal shadows which absorbed the light from the captured sun's of
Commorragh. As the others watched he took in his first breath and in that single instant every
remaining living creature in the huge webway city below dropped dead. Their souls and life
force sucked into the God with just that one breath. Even the other God's of the Eldar could feel
the potential to be drained by the new God before them and quickly created barriers to avoid
having their life force stolen. Isha found this particularly hard due to the very act of the birth of
the Death God, an act in itself usually of creation and life having been tainted by the manner in
which it was done. Yet she managed to finally erect sufficient defences against his presence that
he was no longer a constant pain in what passed for her soul.

While Isha recovered her rescuer had his own internal work to do, finding himself flooded with a
new portfolio of powers, bequeathed to him by the dying Crone. His entire being was changing
and warping to adjust and accommodate this new expansion of his remit and the Laughing God
was struggling to adjust his being sufficient that he remained himself, the Great Harlequin and
did not become a Crone Lord while at the same time resisting the life draining presence of the
new Lord of Death. Finally he had managed to adjust enough that he could pay attention to those
around him.

Of the three Elder God's only Khaine had no adjustment to make. Instead he was having to work
to restrain his temper, never something that came naturally to him. He had knew Morai-Heg's
plans. How could he not. Yet he had still deep in his heart of iron and fire wished to claim more
of her powers for himself. While her death and the manner in which it had been done had
flooded his being with power and returned him to his former glory, he still felt cheated by how
much of her power she had willed to Cregorarch and Ynnead. After all he had been the one to
swing the blade! Not they! As his anger built, Kaela Mensha Khaine took a single step towards
the God of Death, his blade twitching subconsciously in his hand.

"Hold." Ynnead spoke for the first time ever and his word was a whisper over gravestones, yet it
stopped even the God of Murder in his tracks. "I have no wish to fight you Father."

"Father?" Isha whispered in horror. "You name HIM father?"

"I do." Ynnead didn't take his eyes of Khaine as he spoke. "Morai-Heg was my mother. Yet the
act of my creation and birth took two. Her and my Father. Kaela Mensha Khaine."

"He killed her! Butchered her! Slaughtered her!" Isha nearly screamed at the calm God of the
Dead.

"He did. It is his way. My Mother knew this. And I know this now. Without him, I could not
have been born. It was for that very reason that she had you bind his broken form back together."
Ynnead shrugged a dismissal of Isha. While her power was critical to the rebirth of the species
who fed them and gave them life her realm of powers was the opposite and yet the root of his
own. The life she gave would in turn feed him. They were two sides of the coin, yet he had little
interest in her. They were too different. His father however... He understood him very well.

Khaine growled as he ignored the goddess off life and spoke to the god of death. "Do not
command me."
"I did not command you Father. I merely wished to speak before you did something... Rash."
Ynnead continued before Khaine could become angry. Or angrier. "We need each other Father.
We cannot waste our power and time fighting each other over scraps of Mother's power. No. We
must complete the next part of her plans..."

Finally Cegorarch spoke. "The next part... She is dead!"

"Yes. And I am the Lord of the Dead. Every death of the Elder feeds me. I know what they
know. I know my Mothers plan." Ynnead stared at the new Lord of Fate with blank dark eyes.

"And what is the next part of the plan child of the Crone?" The Harlequin said, forcing his face
into a mocking smile.

"We must rescue Vaul. So that he might create two great new blades... One for myself and one
for my Father. God-killing blades." Ynnead spoke quietly with almost a touch of sadness in his
voice.

That at least drew the attention of the Lord of War. "Blades? Vaul has made blades before. He
made my current blade Anaris. Why do I need another blade?"

"Because these blades will be made from the body of a Goddess. Vaul once created five supreme
blades from the finger bones off my Mother's severed hand. Now he will create two even greater
blades from her long thigh bones. Weapons with which the God of Death and the God of War
will stride across the Heavens to fight those who wish our destruction!" Ynnead spoke calmly as
with his very mind he began to strip the flesh from the dead Goddess who had given him life.
The flesh he cast away for now, although he would return to use it later. The majority of the
bones he crafted into a suit of armour for himself, keeping only the thigh bones back for Vaul to
use as he had described. The God of Death would march to war in a panoply made from the
bone's of his very Mother...
Badab Prime
Badab Sector
Imperial Secondus Outer Marches

As the Night Lord's pillaged and tortured their way across the dying world of Badab they sent
more and more shuttles back up to their waiting ships in orbit. Thralls, ammunition, spare parts,
fuel even such basics as food and water were stripped from the planet to restock the every
hungry ships and flotilla's of the VIIIth Legion. The ships themselves trained their scanners on
the planet below to help guide the warbands to the choicest loot and hiding civilians to torture. In
return the few Astartes who remained upon the ships were rewarded by vict feeds of their
brethren slaughtering and torturing the weak humans of this world. It was a pale and tasteless
payment compared to being on the planet and wielding the flaying knives themselves, tasting the
sweet blood and hearing the screams, yet it was better than nothing. The handful of Astartes on
each ship were in any regards the weakest and least favoured or trusted of their respective
companies and warbands.
This was to backfire catastrophically upon the Night Lord's when suddenly the Warp tore open
and disgorged a Battle Fleet of Astartes warships. In both numbers of ships and particularly in
heavier ships the new arrivals dwarfed the orbiting Night Lord vessels. Yet it was not just in
quantity but also in quality that the torturers found themselves out classed. The ships of the
White Scar's Legion despite decades of fighting had been able to rely upon the shipyards of their
Imperial allies to resupply and refurbish worn engines and repair damage. Many of their ships
still carried the marks of battle and they were far from pristine, but compared to the pirate like
flotilla's in orbit of Badab Prime they were fully combat effective. Leading the fleet in their
sweeping attacks came the Swordstorm, the personal flagship of the Khan himself.

From the bridge of his flagship the Warhawk snarled in fury at the information from the planet.
This was no war. This was slaughter. Konrad's sons had degenerated into savage beasts, no
longer fit to be considered Astartes or kin by his own Legion. Stepping up to a specially prepared
dais he transmitted himself to all of the ships of his Legion. "No mercy. We come not for
revenge, but for Justice. We will bring Justice for the victims of the murderous VIIIth Legion.
Kill them all my warriors. Hunt them down and kill every degenerate member of that fallen
Legion. We must purge them in my Father's name and in the names of the dead... No quarter."

Already light attack craft were streaming ahead of the main battle fleet, moving to encircle and
hem in the Night Lord's ships, while the heavier cruisers and battle barges followed behind them
at their best speeds. Which were much faster than any other comparable ships of any other
Legions. The White Scar's ships had always had advanced engines to allow them to better suit
their lightning strikes. Already every one of the handful of Night Lord battleships in orbit was
doomed. They could not escape the fury that was descending upon them, nor could any cruiser
who's engines were not at 100% or who had delayed for even a few moments before breaking
orbit to scatter. The only ships which could still escape if they fled were the handful of fully
functional cruisers with quick thinking commanders and the light frigates and destroyers who
were prepared to abandon the bulk of their companions upon the planet below.

Which turned out to be almost all of them. Even those ships with no real chance of escape mostly
broke orbit and tried to scatter perhaps hoping for a miracle. Only a handful of ships made any
effort to stand and fight or even to wait for their warbands to blast off from the planet and join
them. The vast majority of the Night Lord's who had come to Badab would now find themselves
trapped on the planet to await Jaghatai Khan's anger...
Badab Prime
Badab Sector
Imperial Secondus Outer Marches

As the Swordstorm slid into a low orbit it was already spewing forth Stormbirds, gunships and
transports as were the other ships of the fleet who were not conducting mopping up exercises
against the few remaining Night Lord ships which were still fleeing. Jaghatai Khan who was still
on the bridge watched a huge view screen that was showing a Night Lord battle barge off his
flagship's port side as it burned a fiery trail as it descended into the world's atmosphere. The Kiss
of Death had been packed with fleeing rats from dozens of warbands and had attempted to hold
the orbitals above the planet long enough to fill it's bays with Astartes and then attempt to flee.
The combined firepower of four White Scar's battleships had put paid to that vain hope and now
it was out of control, engines reduced to so much molten slag, and falling further and further into
the planet's gravity well as it began to burn up. Even as the Warhawk watched a chunk of the
ship as big as a frigate broke off and burned in the lower atmosphere before exploding
spectacularly.

As the Khan watched the Night Lord ship breaking apart his Chief Stormseer stepped up beside
him. "There are still Astartes alive on board I suspect."

Jaghatai nodded silently, sharp features casting his eyes into shadow as they both watched the
battle barge burning it's way down.

"There was a time my Khan you would not have left fellow warriors to die in such a fashion.
You would have ordered torpedo strikes." The words were said without condemnation.

The Primarch of the Vth Legion considered that for a moment and nodded. "You are right. Yet
they are no longer fellow warriors. They are not brother Astartes. Not any more Naranbaatar.
They are carrion and murderers, jackals who feast of the dead. They deserve no gestures of
respect as warriors."

"As you say my Khan. You wished to speak with me?" The heir to Targutai Yesugei asked.

"I did. I will soon be descending to the planet to lead the hunt against those who did not manage
to flee to their ships. You will not be joining me in this hunt. I have a different task for you and
your brethren. A number of Night Lord's ships have been taken in boarding actions. Mostly
lighter ships but a few cruisers and a damaged battle barge. I wish you and your Stormseers to
attend upon those vessels. Use your God-Emperor granted powers to seek out corruption. Taint.
Find it. If you can undo it and cleanse the vessels of any polluting filth. If you cannot notify the
ship's captains to destroy the vessels. If any of the ships can be cleansed however I would gift
them to my brothers. Roboute and Vulkan have been generous and produced a number of ships
for us with the enhanced engines we require. At no doubt considerable cost in resources. I would
not be in their debt. Yet only if the vessels are not irredeemably tainted. Can you do this?"

The man who in another Legion would have been known as the Chief Librarian nodded at his
Primarch. "We can do this. Perhaps some of them can be salvaged. The VIIIth for all it's
degeneration show little signs of the taint of the Warp that is found amongst the other Traitors
such as the XIVth and XVIIth for instance. Perhaps if I was to send for a few of the Librarian's
of the XVth to aid us in this? They know sorcery better than anyone."

"A wise suggestion. Do so." The Primarch spoke as on screen the rear third of the battle barge
began to break off and disintegrate in a fiery cascade.

"We shall do our best my Khan." The Stormseer bowed.

As he turned towards the doors, his fur lined cloak sweeping behind him the Primarch nodded a
dismissal, his mind already on the battles below. "That is all I can ask Targutai."
Badab Prime
Badab Sector
Imperial Secondus Outer Marches

When he had landed upon the world of Badab Prime the Nostroman born Sal Hattas known to
his warband as the Blood Spiller had remarked with a red and cruel smile that "Death had come
to Badab!"... At the time the warriors of the Blood Drinkers warband, formerly the 90th
Company VIIIth Legion had laughed and sped outward from their dropsite to partake in the
massacres spreading across the world, led by the Blood Spiller who had once been their captain.
They had slaughtered and tortured to their dual-hearts content across a province of the world.
They had even performed the macabre "Feast of Blood" for which they were named and reviled.
Hundreds of civilians had been gathered up and been forced to wait upon the warriors of the
Blood Drinkers, serving them with goblets of fresh blood drawn from their own bodies and those
of their fellows. As one by one the members of the "staff" of the feast succumbed to blood loss
or were killed by their fellows for their blood the Blood Drinkers would take their knives and
serve up their flesh as the meat of the feast. The last survivor who didn't pass out or who wasn't
killed by his or her fellows would then be let go to tell the tale of the Feast.

Had the former captain had any real ability to self analyse or insight into his own descent into
madness he might have thought back to that statement as he looked up at the descending forces.
For now Death had come to Badab in truth, in the form of one of the God-Emperor's avenging
sons. Thunderhawk and Stormbird gunships formed the main body of the attack streaming down
upon the Blood Drinkers, their already impressive engines having been fine tuned by the Tech-
Marines of the White Scar's Legion, yet ahead of them came the elite of the White Scar's their jet
bike equipped vanguard. Leading the way was the Khan himself. It seemed to the Blood Spiller
that the huge tulwar in his hand was pointed directly at his own chest as he gunned his jet bike
for even greater speed.

All around him the murderers of his warband opened fire. The former 90th Company had never
been known for it's armoured formations and most of the limited armour it had was now pieces
of scrap metal along with the Strike Cruiser Blood and Pain. What few tanks they had brought
with them were ill suited for anti-aircraft use and so they were limited to their own personal
weapons for the most part. Against the fast moving jet bikes and gunships of the Vth Legion they
stood little chance of throwing back the attack. Even as Sal Hattas fired his own combi-weapon's
bolter element as fast as he could reload it at the Primarch who was leading the attack he knew it
was an exercise in futility. Jinking this way and that the Khan easily avoided his fire to swoop
down and plow his reinforced jet bike straight through the bodyguard squad around the Blood
Spiller, the heavy bolter's set within the nose of the jet bike roaring as it blew them into chunks
of torn meat. Yet for all the storm of metal flying around him the leader of the Blood Drinkers
was left untouched.

At least until the Khan returned for his second pass. This time the desperate Astarte used the
melta gun element of the combi-weapon in a vain attempt to knock the Warhawk from the sky,
yet the plume of molten fire missed the Khan by half a body length. In return the Khan held his
fire and instead swept down and past close enough to touch the Night Lord Astarte. Or indeed to
sweep his tulwar shaped power sword and cut him in half at the waist before sweeping back into
the sky to co-ordinate the extermination of the rest of the Blood Drinker vermin!