Ramiel continued to retreat as a small mob of cultists and ritualists threw themselves in his way. Maintaining situational awareness was key. Spot one of them pulling out a Krak grenade? Take a second to put a bolt round through their skull. Spot an enemy with a melta or plasma weapon? Bolt round to the skull. To Baldos, those split-second interruptions were adding up. When Ramiel kept putting one of the vile rune-covered pillars between them, Baldos decided to smash it. The massive stone slabs crushed a dozen people, including one of the lead ritualists, on its way down, which instantly destabilized the portal and drew panicked, pained screams from the witches tasked with keeping it open. His legs were coated in a layer of viscera as he pressed forwards. The room trembled as a distant explosion rocked the station again. Baldos ignored the small arms fire, his upgraded armour performing above expectations over and over as he angled to take a few glancing blows that might have damaged his hull before, those hits had their damage deflected away. "You're just a relic beyond your time, Baldos! How many of your brothers still live? You will spend your final years in silence!" Ramiel spat out the words like the venomous serpent he was. The sonic dreadnought had twisted his ruined siren into a makeshift spear, his chassis glowing with crackling energy from foul warp-sorcery. "None. Better silence than your madness." Baldos growled as he swept an arm and knocked away the last individuals separating him from Ramiel. Baldos charged his combat claw and met Ramiel's chain fist head-on with a shower of sparks and the sound of metal grinding against metal. His second arm caught Ramiel's makeshift spear mid-strike as the two stood locked together for a moment, testing their strength against one another. Baldos grinned in his sarcophagus as the servos in Ramiel's arms started to groan and creak. He leaned forward and twisted his arms until he heard cables separate with a rip and internal supports snap. Baldos let go of the two limp, unpowered arms even as Ramiel fired his mounted weapons into him. He ignored the ineffective attacks, the blasts deflecting off his superior master-crafted new chassis like pebbles, and instead kicked Ramiel's sarcophagus, knocking his foe onto his back. Baldos grabbed Ramiel by the legs before he could stand and, in a show of immense strength, hoisted his foe upwards before slamming him down back into the ground with a thunderous crash. Baldos growled and repeated the action, bludgeoning his foe and cracking the floor as he swung the dreadnought chassis around like a heavy weight. Each slam weakened Ramiel's chassis until Baldos let him go, the final strike left Ramiel partially buried in the floor. Baldos loomed over Ramiel as he punched out and ripped armor plates off. He peeled open Ramiel's sarcophagus, he wanted to see Ramiel's face one last time before the end. With a final heave and a wrenching sound, a gush of fluid spilled free, and Baldos found himself staring at the head and torso of his once proud foe, who was wheezing in his life support suite. Baldos reached out his massive claw hand that bore a plethora of scars from Ramiel's chain fist and grasped the side of his head. As he did, Ramiel began to chuckle, and moments later, it transitioned into a full-on laugh. "You think you've won Baldos? This is just the beginning!" Baldos frowned, but he realized what was wrong, the nearby sorcerers had circled them both, and Ramiel's chassis was still radiating foul energies. Baldos squeezed his hand, crushed half of Ramiel's skull, his brain matter and bones splattering all over his combat claw, part of his skull cap even lodged itself in one of the deeper gashes. Despite the blow, Ramiel's chassis did not settle. Baldos was forced back as the flesh rippled and bubbled. The metal began to warp as corruptive energies surged forth. Bursts of crackling energy forced Baldos back several steps as the once mechanical form of his enemy mutated and was twisted. "Helbrute," Baldos grumbled as the newly born Helbrute howled. It was a hideous, feral thing. Baldos could still see the remaining half of Ramiel's head frothing at the mouth as the mutations tried to make up for the grievous injury. It had grown horns, fangs, and turned bestial and feral. The broken chain fist changed into a trio of foul tentacles, and the ruined gun arm had been replaced with a meaty, clawed hand. The beast launched itself at Baldos, who backhanded the first swipe and slammed his other fist into the brute's chest. Baldos felt an incredible surge of disdain for his foe. "You abandoned your humanity long ago, you had nothing left to abandon but your soul, and yet you are still… weak." Baldos baited the brute after him, kiting it around as he used his storm bolters to mow down the last few remaining sorcerers that were helping regenerate it. Baldos took a few glancing blows, and winced as one of the tentacles scored a deep gash on his side before he could grab the tentacle and rip it off. He had a feeling the littlest one was going to be cross with him about that later. Baldos felt the floor shudder again, far more violently this time. The distant woosh of air signaled a decompression echoing through the facility before the bulkheads slammed shut. The portal behind him was growing turbulent and no longer showed the way back to the ship. Baldos broke the thing that had once been Ramiel's arms again, the clawed fist snapped and hung at an awkward angle, the tentacles ripped out by the root one by one. Finally, Baldos kicked the Helbrute's knee out with a thunderous clang, forcing the abomination to kneel in front of him. "Bal… Bal… Baaall," it slurred, trying to speak with its foul, fanged maw. Baldos shook his head. Getting a notification on his display, he chuckled. The Princeps had triggered his emergency beacon and would be recalling him shortly. "Now, Ramiel. It's time for you to die. This is for Lord Ferrus, my brothers, and me." Baldos declared as he armed the missile, tucked into his chassis, and set it for a timed delay. He fired the warhead directly into the squishy flesh of Ramiel's exposed torso. The rocket embedded itself in his chest cavity. It didn't kill him immediately, and Baldos stepped back, arms splayed, and he laughed as the timer for his recall hit zero, and he was teleported back to the ship just before the Cyclonic warhead detonated and reduced the ritual chamber and everyone in it to atoms. —---------------------------------------------------------------------- I glance around the chamber as the torrent of fire continues to assail the unfortunate cluster of Astartes standing in the middle of the teleportarium after Baldos vanished into the portal out of view. I let out a small sigh and shake my head. The traitor Astartes fall in droves under the overwhelming torrents of bolts, balls of plasma, and lasfire. My initial plan was to terminate them all and then send some units to aid Baldos. Unfortunately, the portal destabilized before that plan could come to fruition, a few moments after Baldos went through. "I need to get to the control console." I inform my escorts as I begin making my way there, safely tucked behind the mobile wall of automata and power-armoured individuals. Once I reach the dais, it takes but a moment for me to track Baldos's beacon and confirm that he has been sent to the Silver Tower. Still within the recall range of the Teleportarium, but only just. The feed letting me monitor Baldos starts to suffer lag as the portal flickers again. No more reinforcements have sprung forth since the dubious flickering started. "Delta-A3, cease using the conversion beamer for now." Not wanting to damage the wall behind the portal if it suddenly vanishes. "Yes, Princeps." He replies immediately, powering down the conversion beamer and switching back to his secondary. Reports were trickling in over the noosphere regarding the assaulting traitor forces elsewhere in the ship. One cluster was attempting to advance towards the Gellar field generator. Navigating the Tenebro Maze and breaching the multitude of heavily armed defensive emplacements seems to be giving even the heretic Terminators a spot of trouble. I glance up when a bolt round plinks off my protective field just in time to watch one of my Vorax rip an enemy marine in half at the waist, entrails and organs spilling onto the floor. It looks to have been one of the last few enemies still standing. "Ma'am, the traitors have been neutralized. We have survivors. What should we do with them?" Brother Silverwalker asks me. "How many?" I ask as I continue to fiddle with the console. "Six at present." He replies as he checks his weapon. "Bring them here. I'll scan them. The heavily corrupted will be purged. If any remain after my inspection, we can secure them for interrogation. We should also clear the pad of corpses and double-tap the dead." I suggest, unwilling to take the chance, that one or more of them might be faking. My various automata prove more than up for the task of collecting the dead for me in a pile away from the main platform. Silverwalker marches the prisoners over towards me. I take a cursory look with my Auspex and psychic senses. Unfortunately, four of the six are too heavily corrupted and mutated. They are summarily executed, leaving us with two traitor Astartes, one Scourged and one Emperor's Children Astartes, both of whom are missing limbs. "You will all die! The liars must die!" The Scourged marine hisses. "Mmm… No. I don't think so. You and the rest of your warband probably will, though," I say softly. "Not a lie?…" He mutters, sounding confused and unsettled. He recoiled physically as if he had been struck. Just as the two are being restrained, I get the emergency message from Captain Bolar and quickly trigger the recall for the strike team and Baldos for good measure. Seconds later, they appear in the middle of the bloody platform. Before I can even greet them, I sense the massive pulse of warp energy. Argent triggers several warning alarms. My emergency dampeners trigger at their maximum threshold automatically. "Everyone brace!" I scream out. Even with the Gellar field up, the energy that passes through the ship is obscenely potent. The walls start to bleed, and seconds after it passes, the first horror starts to crawl its way into our reality. It manages to chitter and leer at us before Captain Bolar's foot comes down and crushes it. However, the manifestations don't stop as daemons of all shapes and sizes start to pour into the chamber, routed here from the rest of the ship by the defensive runes. "Oh… this is going to suck" I mutter with a wince as I disconnect from the terminal. —---------------------------------------------------------------------- POV: Man of Iron, PR-103 Pride made his way forward, his strides echoed throughout the metal corridor. So far, he had felt rather bored. Killing the first few hundred humans had been a treat, but their level of strength left a lot to be desired. He had only encountered a dozen or so Astartes, which confused him. This was supposed to be their main transport vessel! One Astartes had even managed to parry two of his blows before he gutted the man like a fish. Pride idly wondered if he should have been more sporting and let them regroup. The unaugmented, underequipped humans were far too weak to pose a challenge. He shook his head and let out a mechanical, wistful sigh as he aimed his weapon through a wall and shot out a small ball of plasma. It traveled through several decks before finally striking a promethium storage tank, causing it to detonate magnificently. It was by no means the first or the last. Pride's work had left the ship burning across multiple decks. He had even detonated a few ammo storage areas that had left portions of the vessel exposed to the void. Not that he needed air like some pathetic meatbag. He had already hijacked a majority of the ship's automated systems and was in the process of venting or poisoning most of the ship's atmosphere. He took a meandering route towards the bridge. He was about to assault another fortified position when he sensed the distant detonations. His systems flared a warning as the surge of warp energy engulfed the ship. His shields crackled, and he paused to look around. Behind him, one of the corpses started to twitch and rippled as a daemon took advantage of the available material as it manifested itself. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. "Malevolent warp manifestations? Threat level: varies from low to high. Source: temporary localized veil degradation caused by multiple nearby simultaneous warp core detonations. What kind of absolute moronic meatbag thought that was a good idea?" Pride wondered aloud. He could hear the men on the other side of the door start screaming as they were either possessed or attacked by manifesting horrors. "Maybe this will be fun after all." Pride purred as he forced the bulkhead doors open. The minor daemons and possessed meatbags fell easily enough. Pride noted how some of the daemons were fighting amongst themselves, the daemons were logged under different factions of warp creatures. Curious. Pride prioritized his ranged fire on Nurgle daemons. He didn't want any of the disgusting things fouling his glorious armour's polished finish. Pride continued purging the remaining crew when possible. The dull humans lacked the clarity to process his true threat, they showed fear, but not the proper terror he was due with his inherently superior form. Even the mechina anathema was respectful when interacting with him. These creatures were little more than apes acting on instinct, barely sentient. However, his progress was interrupted when the vessel shuddered. Not far from his current position, across the large storage space, he had been crossing. The air itself screamed. All the blood started to flow in a single direction and pool around a large pile of skulls that some of the red daemons had gathered. Reality twisted in a vortex of madness, as though the fabric of space had become a wound, raw, gaping, bleeding malevolence. Lightning forked across the ceiling as the room was dyed crimson, each bolt laced with psychic agony, distorting the howls of the damned that poured forth like smoke from a furnace. From the heart of the warp-rift, emerged a monstrous, taloned, clawed limb slick with ichor that hissed and burned the metal below. Chains rattled like the tolling of a war drum. Then came the horns, twin arcs of blackened bone curving from a skull wreathed in fire and hate. The Bloodthirster of Unfettered Fury roared. Its voice was a storm of war and fury, a thousand battles compressed into one unholy sound. Wings like ragged iron spread wide. Its axe, a relic of murder forged in Khorne's own fires, dragged behind it, gouging molten furrows into the metal floor. The nearby mortals vomited blood before they could raise their weapons. The chaos Psykers' skulls burst like overripe fruit, their minds shattered by the creature's presence alone. The daemon general of Khorne had been unleashed into reality. Its brass armor glinted with gore, its every movement heavy with purpose, every breath a declaration of war. And with a voice that split the very mountains, it bellowed a name forgotten to mortals, lost to time, but etched in fire across the Warp: "Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the skull throne!" Pride scanned the massive brute as it shook itself off. It seemed to be a young Bloodthirster, newly elevated, given the lack of accolades adorning his collar, "Manifestation designation: Bloodthirster. Threat level: high." Pride felt a surge of elation, finally a worthy foe. "You! Yes you. The stupid ugly one with the axe!" Pride yelled as he pointed at the giant brute. "Fight me!" The Bloodthirsted flashed the Man of Iron a vicious grin as it hefted its massive brass axe. "You face Skaldash Bladeslayer, soulless machine! I shall rip your metal head out from your body and give it to my master!" He bellowed out even as he charged forward. The two met in a clash of intense violence. Pride's movements were clean, graceful, and precise against Skaldash's brutal, powerful blows. Several daemons died by accident just for straying too close to the clashing titans. The ship around them shuddered as it suffered immense damage from the conflict. —---------------------------------------------------------------------- POV: Deathwatch Morlith Ixion of the Marines Malevolent Morlith ejected the mag from his bolter and slid a fresh magazine into place. The enemy borders had heavily targeted the Purest Shadow. Though it was mostly by swarms of mortal pirates and cultists. Worryingly, a few psykers had been spread about the enemy forces and were giving the ship's armsmen a rough time. Enough that he and Brother Scalprum had been dispatched to deal with them. When they got orders to fall back to the nearest defensive position, Morlith hesitated. There was still a squad of Inquisitorial troops defending the position ahead of them despite their heavy losses. "Brother Scalprum… our orders are to reach the nearest defensible position. I believe it's just ahead," Morlith said, voice level as he scanned the corridor. "That is one interpretation of our orders, Brother Morlith," Scalprum replied, tone flat and emotionless. Morlith gestured down the corridor, where a hellstorm of warp fire and psychic fury tore through the defenders' lines. "The men ahead are under assault by multiple enemy psykers." Without a word, he drew his power sword, a massive black bladed relic crackling with caged energy, and stood motionless for a heartbeat longer. Then, calmly: "Proceeding to the nearest defensive position." Morlith fell in behind him like a shadow. Both wore the black of the Deathwatch, but the difference between them was stark. Morlith, precise, ever-vigilant, his concern palpable. Scalprum, the Apothecary, a void in the shape of a man. Cold. Silent. Soulless. ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ NoveI~Fire.net But it was more than silence. It was absence. They reached the fortification thirty seconds later. As they closed in, the world began to dim. The warp-born inferno that had consumed the barricade faltered. The perilous screams of the war and demonic entities, once thunderous, now sounded distant, muted echoes inside a vacuum. The lumen strips overhead flickered like dying stars, as though unsure they had permission to shine. Morlith felt it as he always did. That subtle hollowness that clawed at the edges of perception. A stillness where no soul could exist. His helmet's auditory sensors registered faint static, like the ghost of a scream that never came. Then, Scalprum stepped past him and deactivated the suppression protocols on his null field. The warp assault didn't weaken. It utterly ceased. Psychic fire vanished mid-air. Crackling warp fueled lightning evaporated before contact. The front line exhaled in disbelief as the warp itself recoiled from Scalprum's presence. Without breaking stride, the Apothecary vaulted the barricade and plunged into the enemy ranks. Bolts of las and psychic fury redirected at him simply vanished. His blade rose and fell like a metronome of death. Morlith knelt by a pinned soldier, surveying the ruined armor and crushed limb. "Gather the rest of your men and fall back to the next position!" he barked at the officer. He grabbed a slab of twisted plating and, with a servo-assisted heave, pulled it aside. The wounded man coughed, blood on his lips. "Lord Astartes… shouldn't we help?" the soldier wheezed, his shredded carapace bearing the marks of claws or worse. Morlith glanced down the corridor just in time to see Scalprum bisect a warp-witch from crown to crotch. The daemon beside it lunged, only to be carved down by a flawless follow-through stroke, clean and efficient. "I do not believe Brother Scalprum requires your aid, soldier," Morlith said dryly. "Against witches, he doesn't even need mine." He chuckled as the defenders began to fall back. Scalprum returned moments later, somehow his armour remained pristine despite the corridor now soaked in viscera and flame-scorched soot. "Another wave of assault boats inbound. The enemy appears… agitated by our presence," he said, voice even. "They're Chaos," Morlith replied, helping the wounded to their feet. "Wasted effort is their plan." A new alarm howled overhead. The corridor lights dimmed and bathed the hall in pulsing crimson. From both ends, a thick, blood-red mist began to seep in, choking, wet, and pulsing with unnatural heat. It moved like it had a purpose. Except around Scalprum. The mist recoiled from him, forming a perfectly clear bubble around the null. The rest of the mortals instinctively huddled closer, as though drawn by instinct to the eye of the storm. "Daemons," Scalprum growled, his fury barely constrained. As if summoned by the word, a daemon lunged from the mist only to disintegrate the instant it crossed into his null field. Not slain but unmade. "The navigator reports a larger daemon presence amassing in the hangar. Are you coming, Brother?" Morlith checked his bolter, then gave a slight nod. "Naturally. Standing near you is the safest place I could be during an incursion. Lead on." "They will be purged. In the name of the Emperor," Scalprum intoned. "I am His wrath made manifest. His blade against the daemon, the heretic, the mutant, and the witch." Morlith opened a Vox channel. "Sergeant Silvanus, Brother Scalprum is advancing on the hangar. I will accompany him and provide support. Daemonic activity is escalating." There was a long, tired sigh on the other end. "That is… acceptable. Do act with haste. Not all our nulls are as proficient, or as dangerous, as Brother Scalprum." —----------------------------------------------------------------------- POV: Lord of Change, Skra'kalichaust the Schemer Skra'kalichaust clicked his tongue as he watched the detonations weaken the veil. It had been a crude working on the strings of fate. Amateurish in his eyes. He looked at the various vessels within the radius of the phenomenon. The veil was weak enough at the moment that even a being as powerful as he could manifest if he so chose. He wasn't going to go anywhere near the Argent Drake or Purest Shadow; those two vessels were horrible, warded, and filled with traps for his kind. Less than one in a hundred managed to get through the wards, and most would perish before doing anything of note. A Bloodthirster had managed to slip in, which might have been a concern. Unfortunately for the Bloodthirster, he was getting his ruby red posterior kicked by the ancient human metal automata. The Eldari souls shone brightly, but fighting Slaanesh for those was a fool's errand, one he learned long ago. Their presence was mildly vexing, as they produced ripples each time they attempted to divine their own ideal future outcomes and reacted accordingly. The local system ships were handling the daemonic manifestations poorly, most of the poor things didn't even have Gellar fields. However, the attacking chaos forces were also being swarmed. The majority of the daemons did not discriminate against the mortals. The space hulk sat outside and wasn't assaulted by daemons - or it was, but not more than usually. On the other hand, the Halo was inside, but its Gellar fields held fast, allowing only a sliver of the daemonic tide to slip through the cracks and inside the installation. He spared one last glance at the Argent Drake, the soul of the Fateless One deep within was a curious conundrum. Almost certainly the source of Eligael's vexation. Just considering the idea of investigating that individual filled him with a subconscious sensation of dread. He trusted his instincts and would let the foolhardy investigate in his stead. There were strange paths of possibility, ever changing and evolving, centered on the outcome of this conflict. So much so, he didn't mind what the ultimate outcome was, it would be interesting all the same. Skra'kalichaust once again glanced at the skein of fate. The future was an untangled mess of different possibilities; none of them were more likely than the others, and that was very interesting indeed. The Lord of Change chuckled as he studied one of the possible realities, one that he found the most amusing, and with a flick of his talons, he cloaked his presence and slipped past realities, landing right behind Eligael's command throne. Oh yes, this was a future worthy of seeing.