Siege of Hive Cogger

(Note: Not all events of the siege are mine alone but the collective works of those involved in a RP. Chazz Huggins, Eye of Night, Kharne the Befriender, War Kitten, Drakka77, Bob The Hero, Irishpeacockz, Sgt Smudge, Erza Tyrius, and others)

The Siege of Hive Cogger was an Imperial response to a pair of Chaos Cults gaining control of a major Hive and declaring secession from the Imperium. The initial landing force consisted of Inquisitor Garrett Randall who was investigating the cults as well as his retinue. As the conflict increased more resources landed to support the Inquisition. Inquisitor Randall had at his disposal a retinue of Storm Troopers and Grey Knights in limited numbers. The sheer scale of the Hive had him at a standstill. Only the especially large Penal Legion's troops and the quality troopers of the retinue kept the war from falling from Imperial favor.

Several Months of street fighting found the 487th Lunar Venatorii Cavalry Regiment land and join the war. In the final push was supported by the Elysian 14th Drop Regiment.

Fall of Hive Cogger to the Flayed Legion
Lord Edrick Eisell, Baron of Hive Cogger's South District, had never imagined that rebellion would come to his city. Yet for the past hour, the skies had been black with smoke, the streets were aflame with madness, and it was becoming more and more clear that he had previously possessed insufficient imagination for what was happening. Struggling to fasten his pistol belt around his waist, Lord Eisell ran through the spire tower, shouting and gesturing at guardsmen as they piled his valuables into crates. His guard captain, a hard-bitten mercenary of a dozen campaigns if the man's resume was to be believed, stayed beside him with every step. The man's giant rifle rested in the direction of the noise and chaos, and for the twenty-eighth time since the revolt began, reminded Eisell that the rebels were getting closer.

"I know, I know!" Eisell waved him off frantically, motioning for a pair of guardsmen to load the next box of fine art into the transport outside. "I just..Jael! Where are you!"

His wife, a slender beauty far too young for him, staggered through one of the doors to the rooftop garden. Her hair was disheveled, framing a vacant gaze to which Eisell had become accustomed. "I just- I want to bring the flowers! They'll die if I don't! Well, the yellows will, but the blue ones never fade..."

Her floral sentiment was cut short by a thunderous blast from outside the spire. A gunship swept through the sky, ablaze from every angle, and slammed into the street below with the force of a battle cannon. Eisell grabbed his wife's arm and began to run, waving at the remaining guards.

"Quickly! Leave the rest! The Emperor will protect!"

The Aquila Shrine groaned mightily as the last of the home-brewed demolition charges blew out its foundation. A great eagle's head, which once gazed out over a congregation of thousands, slammed into the street and cracked into deformed slabs. The rebels raised a cheer which echoed from every spire in the southern district, streaming over the debris by the hundreds. Some brandished weapons, both newfound and heirlooms, and fired off meaningless rounds into the air. Others ran with tattered red banners clutched in their hands: old curtains, bloody garment, and bedsheets alike. Theirs was the bolder defiance: to chase the retreating guardsmen bearing little more than their defiant spirit.

A lone figure, moving slowly amongst the horde of rebels, stopped with one foot on the eagle's deformed eye. It was a symbolic victory, but Lazarus was never one for symbolism. The fallen shrine opened a clear line of fire for one of their hijacked defense guns to sight on the dividing wall between the southern and western districts.

The lho-stick between his lips lit up sharply, in contrast to the cerulean glow of his artificial eye. He nodded once, and raised a handheld radio. The old serial number could still be made out beneath the blood smear of its previous owner: some forgotten Lieutenant of Cogger's defense forces, who still had enough glorylust in him to try to stop the rebels' advance.

"Do you see the wall, Isaac?"

The return voice was muffled by static. "Yes, Father!"

"Bring it down."

With cracks like thunder, giant anti-aircraft shells streaked overhead, erupting in plumes of fire and smoke across the western division wall. Powderized concrete drifted down after each relentless impact, and the steady drumbeat drove the throng of rebels to a higher and higher frenzy. Lazarus narrowed his eyes, as if he could see through the wall to the other side. The city's defenders were closing ranks, retreating to the fortified safety of the hive center with their leaders, and he had a timetable to keep.

The gunfire from Isaac's commandeered defense gun quieted, and Lazarus imagined the young man was peering through the smoke, trying to see if he had cracked the wall yet. Lazarus inhaled deeply on the lho-stick, tasting the thick tang of its leaves mixed with the dust and blood in the air. He pressed the radio button.

"Again."

The siege doors slammed shut behind Lord Eisell, rattling with the grudging motion of enormous locks and barriers. A dozen guardsmen leaped to the task of replacing a makeshift barrier, more for the comfort of their own minds than anything else: whatever could pierce the courtyard doors would certainly make little work of a few tires and a bench. Lady Jael stumbled behind him, struggling to hold onto an armful of pale blue flowers from her garden. The hem of her dress was torn and muddy, a sober reminder of the rubble and disaster they had dashed through to make it here. Eisell stopped, catching his breath, and turned to her. She was frightened, it was written in detail across her face, and he cupped her cheek gently with his palms.

"It's alright, Jael. They are rebels, scoundrels, and thugs, not an army. We are safe here, and safe we will stay." He forced a winning smile, the kind he wore at official functions or when he had to deliver bad news. "Go, find a place to plant your flowers, yes?"

Her face brightened instantly. "Yes! Yes, I will!" She shuffled off towards the closing shutters of a great observation window, cradling the armful of plants. "The red ones are vibrant, but the blue ones..."

Lord Eisell watched her go with a heavy sigh, closing his eyes as he allowed a faint feeling of security to seep into him. The courtyard was near the high center of Hive Cogger, overshadowed only by the Governor's personal palace. That location was neither secure nor defensible, but this courtyard door could easily outlast anything a rabble of poorly-armed peasants could muster. The polished pistol at his hip felt heavier now, with the weight of hope, and he puffed out his chest as he turned to face the handful of mercenaries that made up his personal guard. "What are you waiting for? Find a position!"

The men began to scramble, and Eisell allowed a trace of his glorious old war days to tint his commands. He stood straighter, striding towards the gate with a sense of purpose he'd not felt in years. "Bring up ammunition! Pass out arms! Any man too afraid to fight can help my wife plant her flowers!"

A laugh, even a nervous one, echoed around the compound as the fighting outside drew closer. Eisell paid it no heed, and leveled an authoritative hand at the massive iron doors marking the courtyard's entrance.

"We are men of Hive Cogger, and on these gates the enemies of the Emperor will perish!"

By the word of the Flayed Lord And stars which bleed at his command

By the blades of His legion And the worlds which lie dead in their wake

''You will not live to the dawn. ''

Lord Eisell was beset by terrible dreams that night.

He dreamed that he was still running through the hive, seeing flames and hearing screams all around. Jael was nowhere to be found, and he had the dismal sensation that she was dead. He ran harder, unheeding the destruction all around, looking for somewhere that may resemble safety.

A blue flower lay at his feet, discarded in the midst of ruin, but still pure and untouched.

Without warning, a horrible screech filled his mind, and a face loomed before him, absent of flesh, nothing more than glistening muscle, shredded tissue, and bare teeth. Twin eyes, blazing with hatred, stared out at him from the ruined visage.

And then he dreamed no more.

Eisell's body lay on the bed, lit periodically by the raging fires and explosions outside of the governor's palatial spire. It was still warm, yet unmoving, finding a safety and comfort in death which had been denied to him in the fury of the riots. Jael stood over him, wiping the specks of blood from her hand as she admired the knife she had buried in the side of his skull. The amasec-induced stupor was gone from her eyes, replaced with a cold hatred she had learned from months of meeting with the Brotherhood in secret. They had showed her the truth, which she had forgotten after years of life sequestered in the hive. There were greater forces at play, far greater than she, and the only hope of survival was to swear to their service.

"It's too peaceful an end for him." She inclined her head thoughtfully, wrenching the sharp tool from Eisell's corpse. "We should have bled him more."

Beside her, Lazarus shook his head dismissively, turning away from the dead baron and moving towards the pile of its belongings. A dozen more rebels crept in through the window, their feet wrapped in tattered cloth to muffle their entrance through the old servant's passages. Jael had spent weeks before the riots in an apparently blissful wandering, secretly scouting every entrance into the supposedly impregnable governor's spire. When her husband sealed the gates, he had unwittingly sealed a traitor into the spire with them.

"No, it is fitting." Lazarus pushed over a bag of clothing with his foot, and selected a small satchel from the deceased baron's personal affects. "We must maintain the illusion that he, and the others, are still alive and holding on. As long as Cogger believes they still have defenders here, they will not attack this place. His death will have more power than his life ever did." He paused at his own words, and the vague memory they brought back. Odd that he should recall a battle fought so long ago now.

He shook his head to clear it, and withdrew a small electronic wafer from the satchel, clenching it in his fist. The baron's personal crypto-security codes and emergency authority were contained within, and without official word of his death, they would remain active within Hive Cogger's databanks. Mordecai followed behind him, the stolen radio clutched to his ear, his voice muffled by a white mask covering his mouth and chin. "Father, the refugees from the city are fleeing to the East, towards the planet-side elevator."

"So they are." Lazarus lowered his voice, opening the door to the quarters just barely. "They are being escorted by a young and courageous captain from the Defense Force, and he will ensure they make it to their new home."

Lazarus glanced out through the cracked door, counting the weary guardsmen arrayed with their guns facing towards the massive gate. Facing the wrong way, he smiled to himself. He extended his hand to Mordecai, passing him the security wafer. "Take apart the upper data-banks one by one, leave nothing uncovered. Find the Amaranth. The rest of you, with me."

He leaned his shotgun against the wall, and instead drew his chipped and beaten sword: a relic of past battles he'd rather forget. "We finish this quietly."

Lord Eisell had been right about one thing: the rioters and rebels were no army. They were rabble, raised from the unruly alleys and back-doors of Hive Cogger, just armed enough to bring down the city's defenders. But now, barring the mock force left to maintain the illusion of a siege, the rebels were given free run of the city to arm and armor themselves. Nothing was left undisturbed: autoguns and blades were stripped from the dead defenders, improvised armor was fashioned from scrap metal and street signs, and any working vehicle was loaded with guns and gunners. Red banners flew from what buildings remained as the throng of rebels marshaled themselves for war.

They stood as one horde on the streets of Hive Cogger: armed and armored with steel and undying faith.

They were an army now.

A piercing scream shook the walls of the Hive Cogger palatial spire, a mixture of pain and despair that would have chilled the city's defenders if any had still lived. It was answered by the frantic pounding of feet, and the chaotic shouts of too many people trying to stifle an emergency.

From the window of the governor's throne room, Lazarus waited until he heard the gathering of rebels moving back down the hallway before calling out. The chaos was less, and the screaming was now muffled, but it was decidedly still present. “What is it?”

One of his cultists shouted back as they dragged a panicking body past, struggling to restrain him and keep a mass of cloth pressed to his neck. "It's Jerimoth, Father! He tried to take the Mark!"

"Damned fool." Lazarus shook his head slowly, not bothering to turn around. In the aftermath of every major victory, there were those in the Brotherhood who attempted the ultimate display of loyalty to the Flayed Lord: taking the Mark by ritually skinning their own faces in deference. It was enough of a challenge for one of the Astartes to complete the ritual, and every human who had attempted had perished of shock or bled out before they could finish.

Another set of footsteps approached, more hesitant, and Mordecai's muffled voice called out from near the throne. "Father, I've news from the comm channels."

"The Amaranth?" Lazarus asked immediately, though whether it was hope or fear in his voice was difficult to determine. Regardless, Mordecai shook his head, stepping forward with a list of hastily scribbled notes and diagrams.

"No, Father. But many forces have assembled themselves around this world, and they have yet to suspect that their communications are-"

"So I have heard." Lazarus stared out away from the throne room, as if he had only barely heard the man's report "A great corpse gathers many scavengers." He spat the proverb as if it burned his tongue to say it. Mordecai waited another moment before continuing, offering the paper out like a peace offering as he approached.

"I've been breaking out the codes and call-signs, Father. This corpse brought some familiar feeders."

Lazarus took the sheet, his left eye flaring brightly as it recorded the information. His natural eye narrowed as he read the list and the full scope of this war began to form in his mind. he stopped suddenly halfway through the list, and flexed his hand slowly, feeling the solid bronze ring set around one of his fingers.

"Trouble?" Jael called out as she entered the throne room, carrying her own report in one hand. She had traded her flowing noble gown for the same beaten leather and improvised armor as the rest of the Brotherhood.

"No." Lazarus spoke thoughtfully, without the usual brace of confidence in his voice. "Just an old ghost."

She stopped, raising an eyebrow at the list as she sensed his uncertainty. She exchanged a glance with Mordecai, but the man's expression, as always, was hidden behind his white mask. "Is this a ghost He should know about?"

There was another long, agonizing pause before Lazarus answered. "Not urgently."

The Inquisition is Aware
Prisoner 3434 sat at the camp fire watching the caste iron pot that hung above the weak flames. An olive drab canopy torn with holes kept the rain off him and his fire. 34 as his fellow convicts knew him attempted to scratch the dry skin under his explosive collar, a risky move but the itch had become intolerable. 1597 approached the fire and took a seat in the semi dry dirt next to 34. 1597 was a long haired man and wore a full beard, his weathered orange jump suit had its sleeves removed revealing a tattoo that marked him as a Faustian. His black boots were dull, his pants drawn over the grox leather. 1597 groaned as he reached the ground. 1597 lifted the pot and took in whiff and spoke in a grizzled voice “Smells like piss and onions.” 34 laughed as he used his rusted bayonet to whittle a piece of wood “Your losing you sense of smell its piss and cabbage.” 1597 spat “Ugh cabbage, can’t stand that gak.”

It was not long after that Arbitrator Halouk came stomping towards their tent. His eyes hidden beneath his helmet’s visor, black tactical gear hung about his chest, and a stun baton clutched in his grip. The law man was an agent of Warden Hoffman. The officer kicked over the prisoners’ pot of stew, they knew better than to protest. The arbitrator began to bark, “listen up convicts we are moving out, pack up camp we mobilize in nineteen hours, Inquisitor’s orders.” The penal legionaries rose to their feet and saluted, as Halouk moved on to tell the next group of convicts. 1597 whispered as the guard went long out of ear shot “Ass Helmet”

Inquisitor Garrett Randall stood at the war table with his usual retinue around him. Randall spoke “While the banquet did not go as planned we did get the information we needed.” Randall pulled up map of Hive Cogger and spoke “Heretics have taken root on in this Hive. It is our number one priority to see this swine destroyed before they can spread to the rest of the planet.” Commissar Alenko spoke out “We will need to establish a foot hold sir.” Randall spoke “Yes, there is a PDF out post on the island of Gin, we will commandeer it as our base of operation, the same with the men stationed there.” Warden Hoffman spoke “Lord Governor Payne agreed to this.” Captain Athenar replied “The Governor’s consent is irrelevant.” Hoffman smiled “Suppose it is.” Randall pointed to another dot on the map Hive Cogger. “Our investigation will begin here, it is unlikely that any truly loyal citizens remain, as such this will be a purging operation.” Paladin Utilitarius spoke “Inquistor we have reports that some refugees may have escaped Cogger Hive, they may be corrupted.” Randall felt the burden of his next words, “We will heavily monitor them, Captain Kid I task your men with this duty, should any of the Hivers prove to be impure, you know what to do.” Kid pounded her fists to her chest “Aye my Lord I have several men who can easily pass for Cogger natives, they know how to conduct the tests.” Utilitarius raised his voice “Inquisitor why take these risks, if there is even the slightest chance they have fallen to heresy we must act now before they can spread their taint.” Randall spoke to Utilitarius with his most stern face “Thank you Paladin your concern is noted.” Utilitarius looked over Captain Athenar “Brother tell him.” Athenar spoke much more level headed than the angered Paladin “Inquisitor Randall has the right to take action as he sees fit. Though I must say I do agree it would be safer to purge them now rather than take time to conduct the trials.” Randall took in a breath “I assure you should a single man fail the trials of purity, every one of these refugees will be dealt with, but I can not damn these men until I am certain.” Captain Athenar spoke “Very well Inquisitor, though I must insist that Brother Freeman aid in conducting the trials.” Randall nodded “Agreed his psychic skills would prove invaluable, as will his devotion to the Emperor.” Athenar nodded. Randall spoke “Make ready I do not know what awaits us in Cogger hive, but we will bring the Emperor’s light to the darkness.” Commissar Alenko raised his saber and shouted “For the Emperor, and For the Inquisition.” The rest in the room rallied behind the call “For the Inquisition.”

The streets of Cogger hive were filled with an unholy silence, the air was thick and reeked of blood, the only lights in the underbelly of the hive were stray vehicle fire and the las gun mounted holo lights of the troopers of 4892nd penal legion.

Arbitrator Halouck looked at the Auspex scanner implemented to his wrist. The small wrist mounted computer was the Arbitrator’s best means of keeping his charges in line as with a few simple button presses an arbitrator could detonate the collar of any of the prisoners under his command. Should an arbitrator die in the field command of his squad would transfer to another Arbitrator. Should the fight seem beyond hope an arbitrator might detonate the collars of his charges to ensure the enemy can not extract any information from them. However, this level security came at a cost as it was not unheard of bomb collars to detonate by mistake after being hit by a lucky bullet, or the collar’s anti removal feature might be trigger if a prisoner moves in an odd fashion. Still for all its flaws it ensured that the convicts were well behaved, well at least when near the watchmen was near.

3434 felt over encumbered by the darkness of this place, it reminded him too much of home. He watched 1597 advanced up the street with his las gun aimed forward. He took cover behind an advertisement display then waved the rest of the squad forward. They had been at this scouting for hours and had come into contact with nothing. From the looks of the place there had clearly been a war here, las burns and bullet scars on the walls and casings on the floor. 34 saw no one and heard nothing but still he could shake the feeling that he was being watched. The squad of convicts had reached their destination a small abandoned house.

An actual home in a hive is rather uncommon as most common under hivers lived in the massive hab block tenements, but this was once the abode of a priest of the Ecclesiarchy and he was afforded this luxury. This holy man’s house was to be outpost five of twelve to provide recon ahead of the rest of the inquisitorial forces, they would rejoin the main force once they began the operation to purge the hive.

1597 kicked the rotting wooden door open and 22 heavy boots came storming in checking everywhere for contacts. Arbitrator Halouk checked his scanner again before declaring the house to be clear. The arbiter began “3434 and 0351 you two have first watch the rest of you rest up.” Halouck heard a call on his micro bead, “Sir I think you should get a look at this.” Halouck headed upstairs to where 7387 had called him. As he entered the door he saw the back of the prisoner in front of him was an alter. 7387 with a grim look upon his face moved to unobscured the guard’s view. The stone table was a horrid sight, carved with chaos stars and coated in dry blood. But above the sacrificial alter hung 8 grizzly visages, and though without eyes could peer through souls of those who looked upon them. Halouck pressed at his com bead “5219 bring the flamer.”

War for the Hive
Jael cupped the blue flower in her hands, idly brushing the petals away from the center. Beneath those, a set of smaller and more vibrant blue petals were growing outwards.

“That's why we say these never fade.” She smiled softly. “The new blossoms grow inside the old, and replace them once it's time.”

“That's fascinating, Jael.” Mordecai gritted his teeth in frustration, tossing aside another series of pages. He was beginning to regret asking her about Cogger's people, but as one of the few members of the Brotherhood who came from the Legion and were not recruited, it behooved him to know his new territory. “I suppose you make some hallucinogenic tea out of them to see the future too?”

She shot him a glare and set the flower aside. “No. We believe in omens, not forced visions. Strange weather, shooting stars, even some animals. There's a bird-”

A sudden and alarmed shout from outside the chamber cut her off. In a heartbeat, both of the rebels were on their feet, Jael with her knife and Mordecai with his shield, dashing out to the grand balcony overlooking the hive below. A group of cultists were gathered at the edge, pointing excitedly towards the horizon.

A serpentine shape, small from this distance, wound its way into the sky, twisting and rising on great wings. Fire exploded from its mouth, illuminating a tortured and blackened countryside below, where the smoldering remains of an outpost lay below. It took Mordecai a long moment to realize he was looking at a dragon.

He felt a sinking pit in his stomach, and inclined his head towards Jael. “Any idea what kind of omen that is?”

Sudden laughter, a hoarse bark of mirth, caused them both to spin around. Lazarus stood in the doorway, leaning heavily on it but still standing. His torso was covered in yellowed bandages, many of which were still moist with blood. His skin was pale, but he was smiling: a genuine, pleased smile that he had not worn for some time. The fact that the sorcerer A'Khel, in all his arrogant knowledge, had not foreseen this unique turn of events amused him to no end.

“A dragon, waking from a deep sleep, breathing fire on an unsuspecting world.” He lifted off the doorway, and limped forward with his malicious smile growing. “I'm going to say it's a very good omen.”

Lazarus never cared much for symbolism. In all his battles and all his trials, he had never had a use for crafting eloquent icons out of his circumstances. He preferred to use his faith, will, and cunning to carry out his Lord's command, and so no need to bring overmuch ceremony into the bargain. However, this dragon was a new hurdle. He didn't dare send forces after it, not with wounds from the Maw so fresh, and the immigrants from Torcan still arming themselves. But he could not ignore it, all of the Hive had heard its roar when it broke free of the mountain. And so he would use it.

"If there is order, it is because the gods allow it." He paused, recovering from a wounded muscle spasm before he continued. There was something unsettling about the mountain, but its definition evaded him. "We bask in order so that we may fully relish our fall."

Behind him, listening to each word, were two dozen of the finest, bloodiest, most suicidal loyal killers of the Brotherhood. All of them had stood with him at the Battle of the Maw, and had walked the streets by his side when the city first fell. The accompanied him now, on the slopes of the mountain itself, though they did not know why he had asked for them.

"This world is in fragile order. Envy it, for it has yet to experience the full glory of the gods' gifts." He spread out his arms, wincing at the effort, to take in the mountain itself. "The gods send armies, storms, and sometimes...they send creatures of their own." Lazarus turned to the first of the towering killers, who bowed his head in respect. "Lamech. You have read A'Khel's Ninth Canticle have you not?"

"Yes, Father!" The man's voice boomed through his gas mask, ceremoniously streaked with blood, which Lamech refused to remove. Lazarus suspected the disciple was planning to decorate the mask with an artistic blend of blood sprays before this war was done.

"And what is the first parable therein?"

"All things are but ashes in time!" Now that was pride in his voice. Lazarus was impressed, and mildly surprised that Lamech could read in the first place.

"So they are. So they are indeed."

He turned, resting his hand unsteadily on a blackened, cracked boulder as one of the wounds from the takeover flared up in his side. Again, the feeling of unease came over him as his eyes swept across the stones. He raised the hand, dusted with the ash and debris of the mountainside, and extended it to the first of the chosen disciples. With one finger, he drew a rough serpentine shape on the man's rough iron chest-plate, figurative of the dragon which dwelt below.

"From this day you will be Drachen. You will lead your brothers, and bring the fire and fury of the gods themselves to the enemies of the Flayed Lord." He nodded his head once in respect. "Fire and fury."

As one, they raised their weapons and held them high, as if in offering to the dragon within the mountain. Their chant was strong, filled with venom, hate, and praise all in one.

"Fire and fury!"

Lazarus' eye narrowed as he realized what felt wrong about the mountain: the foliage remained. Not a shrub nor tuft of grass had been burned away by the dragon's fire, only the rock below had taken the heat of the fire. Rising to his feet, Lazarus did his best to dismiss the uneasy feeling in his mind, and led his new Drachen back towards the hive.

Mordecai looked at the map layout of the 4th level of Cogger Hive. Eleven flags rested inside model buildings that indicated where these new intruders have taken up lodging. Mordecai looked at them with intrigue, who would be so bold as to enter the domain of the Flayed Legion, who would dare to defy the will of Father Lazarus. Reports suggest they are penal legionnaires, it is unlikely they came from Hive Cogger’s Prisons so where did they come from, another hive perhaps? Ultimately It mattered not who they were or where they came from, they would die like all the others. Mordecai looked to his would be sergeants and spoke “I want these lot to be made an example of, swarm the houses bring ten times as many men as we need. I want the bulk of these men alive, we will be sending them home flesh-less.” The officers of chaos grinned at the prospect. Before Mordecai could give the final order a the crack of gunshots and las fire could be heard outside his den, by the sound Mordecai judged it some distance away from his den. Mordecai raised an eye brow beneath his mask “What in the warp?” Less than a minute later a messenger came storming in through thee doors “My Lord we are under attack.” Mordecai growled “You can’t handle some penal Legion dregs, you are a disgrace to our lord.” The messenger stuttered “My Lord I…” Mordecai raised a blade to the messenger's throat and growled “You what?” The cultists panicked fearing for his life “It’s the Inquisition my Lord, they march under the Inquisition’s banner.” Mordecai smiled beneath his mask “Good to know.” He then proceeded to slice the courier’s throat. Mordecai looked over to the Sergeants “There is no room in our ranks for cowards. This will be your only warning.” Everyone in the room nodded in understanding.

3434 knelt in cover behind a burnt out car avoiding the worst of the cultists auto gun fire. He blindly returned fire from his position, only to be met with more bullets. 34 looked to his left and saw Halouck and 1597 in a similar predicament hiding behind a car across the street. Halouck shouted “Frag out.” Before unpinning a grenade rising from his position and chucking it towards a cluster of advancing cultists. The bulk of the cultist scattered away for cover but a corrupted servitor that accompanied them was not so fortunate. The lobotomized heavy weapons platform was destroyed in a shower of blood, oil, meat and iron. The Grenade detonated the servitor’s pack of heavy bolter rounds taking with it an additional three cultists. However, these losses were ultimately meaningless, the Flayed Legion was an immortal brotherhood without number.

Halouck barked into his wrist com “This is Operator Halouck squad 37582, requesting immediate reinforcement.” Prisoner 7387 was hit the throat by a sniper, the convict fell to the ground gasping for air. 34 watched as 7387 squirmed and suffer prisoner 5219 went to him. The convict had no intent of helping the dying man rather he sought to rob his still un-dug grave. 5219 claimed 4 LHO-sticks, 7387’s lucky shiv, a lewd picture of two women, and his boots which he tied around his neck. 1597 was disgusted by this at least two of those LHO-sticks were his. However, 5219’s loot grab seemed rather pointless as in less than a minute they would be overrun by cultists. A reply came from Halouck’s communicator “Operator Halouck this is crusader; reinforcements inbound stand by.”

From the streets behind the penal squad came the rumble. Three Malcador Assault Tanks came rolling up the boulevard. They fired their full arsenal at the cultists hordes, Heavy Stubbers and Bolters cutting down the horde, and the primary battle cannon demolishing the buildings they took cover in. The front of the tanks opened and thirty inquisitorial Storm Troopers clad triangular black silver carapace poured from them leading the charge was Captain Amanda Kid.

The sight of the Storm Troopers made many of the cultists break ranks and retreat. However many of them feared Mordecai more than they feared the inquisition. Kid began firing her hot shot lasgun at the cultists as did the rest of her men. The cultist attempted to dig themselves back in but the heavy fire from tanks made it near impossible ass a single shot from the primary gun would crumble any defense they may erect. Arbitrator Halouck grinned at his good fortune and shouted “Prisoners advance.” The orange jumpsuit unit arose from their cover and finally got the chance to get some payback. Their las guns set to half charge was able to cleanly pierce through the cultists salvaged flack armor. Kid slung her rifle around her back and drew her power axe and bolt pistol. Kid with a former Faustian knight and Catachan devil charged for their enemy. The cultists knew nothing of close combat and had naught a proper blade to defend themselves. Kid cut through ranks of the foes as did her subordinates, all the while the remaining troopers continued to rain hell fire upon the heretics. Realizing this firefight had become unwinnable the remaining cultists fled praying for their master to be merciful.

Kid spoke into her com bead “Fire team thunder report three casualties, negative on fatalities, sector 4-02 secured.” Arbitrator Halouck removed his helmet and approached Kid. The officer pounded his fist to his chest and spoke “Thank you Captain I appreciate your sudden intervention; I realize we are not high priority.” Kid wiped a swath of blood from her face and spoke “Think nothing of it, we were in the neighborhood. How many men did you lose?” “Only four.” Came Halouck’s reply. Kid sighed “You have my sympathies.” Halouck needed no such sympathies but would accept them regardless.

Meanwhile

Commissar Jethro Alenko shouted atop his lungs at the penal troopers under his command. “Focus fire on the heavy weapons teams.” It was after he said this he was forced to tackle a Arbitrator to the ground when he saw a molten beam fired from a lascannon approach him. The Arbite Sargent shook his head at the Commissar to thank him for his sudden intervention. Alenko quickly returned to shouting “I said focus fire damn it.” Warden Hoffman Fired his laslock at the advancing cultists and took out one of the Las Cannon operators, it was not long after another took his place, Hoffman shouted over at Alenko “We need to decommission that weapon battery.” Alenko nodded “Ajachus begin your assault.” It was Utilitarius who replied “We bring doom.”

Two groups of five terminators appeared in the flash of an eye the enemy learned what fear looked like and it was the sons of Titans. The hulking behemoths unleashed their Storm Bolter upon the cult before charging them with their glaives. Brother Athenar being adept in Biomancy casted iron arm and with a single cleave of his blade sent a dozen cultists flying. None escaped the paladin’s wrath such was his hate for the filth of traitors.

Mordecai watched his men flee from atop his tower. He would have each of those scum pay for their sins with a slow death. But that would have to wait, he needed each of them for the fight to come. Mordecai looked to his sergeants and spoke “We are moving deeper into the hive.” One of the men scoffed “Retreat Lazarus won’t like that.” Mordecai felt his rage grow as he took the soldier by his collar and growled “Do not pretend to know his will.” The man spat in return “You are a coward, and he will punish you like one.” Mordecai growled in a rage and lifted the soldier over his head and threw him over the tower balcony where he splatted on the metal ground bellow. Mordecai looked over to his remaining officers and growled “Anyone care to join him?” silence “I thought not.”

Inquisitor Garrett Randall holstered his plasma pistol and stepped over the half corpse of a dead cultist. Randall looked over to Alenko “I think we’ve made a good first impression.” The commissar grinned as he pried his blade free from a corpse “They are everything.” Captain Kid spoke her voice more serious, “Sir we have our enemy on the run, let us give chase into the underbelly of the hive.” Randall spoke “Don’t worry they won’t escape us, they’ve nowhere to run. We will tend to our wounded first then we will finish cleansing this place.” Paladin Utilitarius approached he seemed almost happy “Our work is not done here Captain, but we have struck a mighty blow against the fiends of the warp, take pride in that.” Captain Athenar was pleased by the paladin’s relatively friendly demeanor battle against the most detestable foes of the emperor had a odd way of calming Utilitarius. Randall spoke “Yes we have struck a mighty blow, but remember the beasts fights hardest when it is on the verge of death. This is not let over.”

Mordecai knew what chaos sounded like. They had faced a tsunami of rage and lived, but this was different.

Now they faced a lightning strike of fury which they could not deflect.

A battle cannon's hideous echo thudded from behind him as he sprinted down the ruined street, the shot passing overhead and ripping the heart out of a nearby building. The roof blossomed upwards on a sudden flame, and cultists were thrown from within as the enormous shell detonated. Reflexively, he raised his shield, hearing the patter of shrapnel on its beaten surface. Ahead, a group of the enemy's prisoner-soldiers had broken through, streaming from a gutter below and catching the group of cultists from the flank.

“The lift!” Mordecai shouted, vaulting a tumbling piece of rubble. “Secure the lift!”

He slammed his shield hard into the first of the penal legionnaires, feeling something crunch beneath the impact as he sped onward towards the central lift. The gargantuan elevator, once used to transport heavy construction equipment up and down the levels, was a surefire way to transport the heavy Malcador tanks up to the higher levels without opposition. Smoke streamed overhead as a handful of cultists fired home-made rockets from the rooftops, scattering broken stone shards and nails through the penal legion ranks. The accompanying screams were satisfying, but Mordecai knew those flimsy shots would have no effect on the silver-armored knights advancing down the alleyways.

“Brother Mordecai!” A masked cultist, bearing the weight of an older-model vox-caster on his back, limped his way forward. “Brother! We've re-armed the far defense gun! Where are the tanks?”

“Nurgle take the tanks!” Mordecai grabbed the man's arm, dragging him along towards the lift. “Tell him to swing the gun west! West!”

Ahead, the cultists had reached the lift, turning around to form a gun-line at its edge. Mordecai leaped over the crate barricade and landed hard on the iron grate floor. He kicked the controls hard, and with a titanic groan of effort, the lift began to rise. Mordecai gasped for breath, but he knew his task was not yet done.

“Tell the gun to lock onto the lift.”

“Brother!?”

“Lock onto the lift! There will be more tanks, and more soldiers, but there will be no easy road for them.”

For three agonizing minutes, the lift rose, finally coming to rest at the next level up. The cultists poured out of it as if it was already aflame, and Mordecai pushed and shoved the last ones to hurry. “Move! Move!” The overhead light clicked green: someone had summoned the lift from below. His hustle broke into a full sprint. “And fire! For the Flayed Lord, fire!”

A series of thunderclaps rose from the east, and with a roar and flame that rivaled the dragon beyond, the lift shattered into debris and slag, collapsing down in a useless scrap heap. Mordecai mustered as much saliva as he could and spit it down the smoldering shaft.

The access lift was disabled forcing the inquisitorial forces to rely on humbler means of transit. The great freeway of stairs that allowed for the humble denizens of Cogger Hive to traverse from level to level as the great lifts were reserved exclusively for business and the noble. The men encountered some resistance as they traversed up the great stairwell but nothing they couldn’t handle. Eventually after near six hours of walking and occasional fighting the entirety of the inquisition war band made it up to the upper hive. The upper Hive was once a realm of elegant gleaming spires and the posh of noble fancy. One would hardly think they were even in a hive thanks to the artificial sky that hung overhead. However, this dreamland was now perverted by the claws that wrench the psyche of man. Men hanged from lamp poles, horrific runes were carved into every wall, and the once always false blue sky bled a horrific crimson.

As the soldiers emerged from the stairwells they were met by a wall of auto fire. The legionaries and storm troopers rushed for the nearest cover and began clearing the cultist that fortified the building that stood against the Inquisition’s access points. After five hours of fighting the inquisition had secured only a few feet of the hive level. They had but stalemated with the cultists securing only nothing but their own entrance.

Inquisitor Garrett Randall convened his war council in a blown out shop only a block away from the line of cultist exchanging potshots with the inquisitor’s own forces. The sound of gun fire cracked in the not distance and from the broken window panes one could see squads of Penal guardsmen and Randall’s Elite rush to reinforce their embattled comrades, while men on stretchers were being hauled back to the medical tents. Randall saw all his advisors were present and began to speak “The cultists have consolidated all their forces here; we have thus far barely managed to gain any ground at all. If we are to make it to the citadel than we need to regain the advantage.” Randall leaned over the table and pointed to a point on the map of the upper hive and began speaking again. “As you know these Cultists have shut off the lifts forbidding us from bringing in our tanks. Naturally having these would prove invaluable to our efforts here, so we must capture the lift controls here.” Randall looked over to Captain Kid “Captain Kid, I’m assigning you and your men to handle this.” Kid pounded her fist to her chest plate and spoke “I won’t fail you my lord.” Randall Looked over to Commissar Alenko and spoke “Jethro I’m placing you in command here while I’m away.” Alenko asked “Where do you think your going.” Randall spoke “These cultist fight with uncanny determination, they may have something planned I wish to scout ahead with the Jackals to ensure that all is well.” Kid spoke with some concern as the Jackals was the informal nickname of a squad of penal guardsmen reputed for being an unruly lot of vagabonds “My lord wouldn’t you prefer a squad of my troopers to accompany you.” Randall spoke “The Jackal have proven themselves masters of stealth and reconnaissance. I will take them.” Athenar spoke “You take great risk in doing this Inquisitor, I insist you take me or Utilitarius for your protection.” Randall shook his head “Brother Captain You are needed here as is Paladin Utilitarius.” Athenar added “At the very least take Brother Chiron a single battle brother won’t make a difference here.” Randall conceded “Very well then, his psychic aptitude might come in handy.” Randall looked over his men and spoke “We all have tasks see to them.” And with that everyone in the room pounded their fists to their chests and left to make ready for what lay ahead.

The sewage pipes that ran under the upper hive led to the lower sections of the hive where it dumped freely upon the less fortunate denizens. Captain Kid was glad her helmet filtered out the smell of this place which she could only imagine to be horrid. As if the sewer hadn’t been repulsive enough the cultists had been dumping corpses here and the rats were drawn to them in hordes. Kid signaled her squad to hold as they came to their destination. She looked up above at the grate overhead. She could see two cultists standing overhead smoking. Kid signaled for one of her men to hand her the explosive charge and the trooper removed the explosive from a leather satchel. Kid climbed the later and placed the charge.

The ground exploded and from it poured over a dozen soldiers in silver and black carapace armor. The cultist began to take aim at the sudden invaders but the commandos were already upon them. Hot shot las fire turned the crude defenders to ash in less than two minutes the cultist that occupied the lift control center were dead. Kid spoke over her communicator “We have the lift bringing it back on line.” It was Alenko’s voice that replied over the vox “Excellent work, we’ll have our armored support within three hours. I’m sending you reinforcements to help you hold the junction.” Kid spoke “Copy that.” One of Kids men asked with a grin as she killed the link “We’re getting back up from the cons?” Kid spoke “Probably why.” The trooper laughed “I don’t think they have proper hazmat gear for that sewer.” Kid chuckled “I suppose they’ll just have to hold their breath.”

Garrett Randall’s expedition into enemy territory was already at a poor start. They had nearly been spotted by three massive cultists patrols. Prisoner 3434 was worried Brother Chiron would betray their position due to his massive stature but he knew when to lay low. The citadel was the hive’s capital and had become the fortress headquarters of the cult. The squad was heading up a boulevard when they heard the beat of a drum in the distance. Randall pointed towards an abandoned building and Arbitrator Halouck motioned for his men to clear the building. The building was confirmed secure and the party waited hunkering low as the parade of cultist passed the house, marching and singing. Above the chant came the booming hiss of a demented preacher “Forward you dogs, we are awaited at the side of the dark gods! Ave Lazarus Ave the Flayed Legion.” The marching cultists returned the shout and continued their dark war hymn. For near fifteen minutes the inquisitor’s retinue laid low in the house. When the coast seemed clear Randal arose and spoke with regret “Their forces are to thick this way, if we continue we’ll only get ourselves killed.” Chiron spoke “Are we heading back Inquisitor.” Randall nodded “We’ll rejoin the rest of the men and try to push ahead with them.” And without another word the inquisitor and his men made their way back.

When Randall arrived the last of the Malcador Tanks had exited the lift and Captain Kid had radioed that she and her men were on their way back. Randall looked to the distant citadel spire and knew that things were reaching a turning point.

The retreating cultists threw a makeshift barricade together along one of the mid-level streets. It was a canyon of a road, braced on either side by towering hive dwellings from which the cultists could rain down fire. At least until the enemy gained access and the complex would become a labyrinth of death and violence. But it was as good as any other choke-point, and it was here that Mordecai chose to make his stand.

The barricade was formed of broken stones, an array of debris, and no small number of corpses piled into the mix. Behind it, tattered and panicked rows of cultists knelt behind the feeble protection, reloading their weapons and trying to pray away the sight that advanced down the road towards them.

A Malcador tank, trembling the ground, ran ahead of the penal legion forces, taking up the majority of the road and serving as an enormous shield for the forces advancing behind it. Its giant gun boomed repeatedly, blowing holes in the makeshift barricade and showering them all with bits of shrapnel and gore. Mordecai raised his shield to deflect a smoldering piece of iron, and leveled his hand towards the tank, mentally willing the Brotherhood to stand and fight in the face of the iron behemoth.

“Hold! By the gods themselves, they will advance no further!”

He felt a hundred eyes turn towards him, and a cold clench in his throat as death incarnate roared down the street. He had stood by Lazarus's side for years, but had never stood in the Father's shoes before the fury of the Imperium. He grabbed the nearest cultists and threw them back towards the line, running along the line and shouting at the cultists. His shouts caught their ears, and they faltered in their retreat.

“Hold! If it costs us every bone, body, and soul on this line, they will come no further than this!”

The cultists regained the defensive line, firing blindly but in massive amounts. The street filled with the chatter of guns and the boom of cannon fire. Mordecai planted a foot onto the barricade, feeling a surge of invincibility as one of the Malcador's shells seared overhead, missing their line by a matter of feet.

“No further!”

One hand-made missile, trailing coiling streams of acrid smoke and etched with a crude “F...” on the side, spiraled wildly through the air. It screamed, whistled, and twisted into the tank's treads, ricocheting into a socket through either dumb luck or profane design. The tank's treads exploded out to one side, slewing the titanic war machine to the left. The barrel of its gun slammed into the street ahead of it, and the beast's momentum brought it nearly to overturn.

A heavy stubber round blew out the top hatch, following by a hail of merciless gunfire and a rudimentary grenade. The inside of the tank became at once a storm of hellfire and short-lived screams as it came to its final rest in the center of the road. The cultists sent up a roar of triumph, setting themselves firmly against the barricade and launching their arsenal at the approaching foe. Behind the wreckage, the penal legionnaires fell back, firing off blind shots over their shoulder as they retreated back to their fortified line.

Mordecai raised his fist, reveling in the surge of emotion and violence which rose about him like a fire. It felt different, it was a physical sensation of a rising tide,. Briefly Mordecai wondered if that was the Immaterium itself, answering the flood of fire and ruin which had erupted in the street. It was intoxicating, and he grinned behind his mask, wondering vaguely if the feeling was connected to the defiling ritual taking place in the sub-streets below. The cultists began to reload, and he let out a commanding shout.

“Hold them here! Not a step further!”

3434 watched the Malcador Tank explode taking with it a dozen convicts and a arbite handler, it was no sooner that Arbitrator Halouck shouted to his charges “Get to cover.” And so the penal legionnaires slowly began to be pushed back by the barrage of cultist fire. In less than a minute the penal guardsmen were either behind some form of cover or dead. From the wreckage of the Malcador spilled fourth a single storm trooper the wounded tank operator clutched his side as he fell into cover behind his wrecked vehicle. 3434 looked over to the wounded storm trooper and then to 1597. “I’m gonna need some covering fire.” 1597 looked at the storm trooper “You gonna risk your ass for that f... wipe?” 34 growled “just do it.” 1597 grumbled before shouting “COVERING FIRE!” from behind cover the legionnaires began firing blindly at the cultist’s postion giving 3434 enough time to rush over to the wounded henchmen. The carapace clad trooper grunted in pain as 34 lifted him over his shoulder and carried him to safety. 3434 sat the trooper down by 9176 who once ran a humble clinic on some hive a million light-years away. The medic removed a syringe from his trappings injected the trooper with it, the tank operator seemed to calm as the liquid hit his veins. Arbitrator Halouck spoke into his wrist “Magister 5 is down we require reinforcements.” No response

The suppression fire seemed to anger the cultists as their auto guns seemed to strike with renewed wroth. The rain of bullets began to eat away at the legionnaire’s cover and several more prisoners were picked off. Halouck shouted “This is operator Halouck Penal squad 37582 requesting immediate assistance, taking heavy casualties.” One of the prisoners began to flee, but before Halouck could detonate his collar he was mowed down by the hail of fire. A bellowing voice came over Halouck’s vox “37582 stand by for deep strike” not a second later eleven grey knight terminators appeared from nothing.

The chaotic flow of battle came to a sudden halt as the sons of Titan took the field. They took their first steps towards the chaotic encampment without breaking formation after their second step one of the braver cultists began to fire. The bullets never reached the grey knights adamantium plate as the shield generator installed in the crux terminates deflected primitive projectile. With another step the rest of the cultists began raining auto fire upon the grey knights to no better effect. At the head of the formation Paladin Utilitarius drew his nemesis force sword from the mag lock on his back. The paladin saw the fear in the cultists eyes and grinned to himself as they unloaded their weak munitions on them. Utilitarius rose his sword and shouted as he charged “For the Emperor!” and his fellows returned with a glorious call that struck a righteous fear into the hearts of those sworn to ruinous power.

The cultists broke ranks before the Grey Knights struck at the first of them. Those who were unlucky enough to be on the front lines were cleaved by the Grey Knights psychic blades. The cultists threw their arms up in resistance but met their grizzly end. The whirlwind of halberds devastated the cultists of the flayed legion.

Utilitarius looked up the boulevard as removed his blade from a traitor’s corpse. He saw a massive human firing a double barrel shotgun at the cowards fleeing the fight. The cultist champion bore many scars on his breast, he wore cargo pants like those worn by the PDF, a pair of blood stained boots, and a gas mask. In the champion’s left hand was the sawed off and in the right hand a massive sickle sword. The cultists feared their overlord enough to stand their ground. The champion saw Utilitarius and raised his blade at him.

Apothecary Myrmidon raised his wrist mounted storm-bolter at the champion but Utilitarius lowered his arm, “I will show this one the Emperor’s fury personally.” Utilitarius flourished his sword to remove the coagulating blood on the sword’s flat. The champion hoisted his sword over his head and charged for the Paladin. Utilitarius gritted his teeth and tightened his hands around his sword. The cultist had jury-rigged his rusted salvaged blade to have a power-field capacitor at its hilt, but the ruinous power had wormed its way into the once sacred technology as the once blue blade glowed a unholy blood red. Force sword met power sword and bolts of power crackled and crashed as the blades collided. Thee cultist was by far stronger than your average human, but Utilitarius was abnormally strong even by the stoic standards of astartes. With a ground shaking roar Utilitarius struck at the champion. The warrior of chaos attempted to block the blow but his curved blade shattered as the grey knight brought his weapon to bare. The blade continued downward diagonally parting the champion from his left shoulder to his waist.

Utilitarius roared as the heretic’s corpse dropped to its knees. The regrouped cultists broke once more and fled deeper into their territory. Utilitarius spoke to his men “Let them flee, they have no true escape, let them spread word of what happened here.” Utilitarius looked back at the burning tank and dead penal guard, it would be some time before the human forces are ready to push, it would be unwise to continue without their support. Utilitarius opened a vox channel with inquisitor Randall “The heretics flees.

Hive Cogger, Governor's Spire
“Father!” Mordecai slammed into the door, throwing it open as he stumbled into the governor's library. “They are here! Silver knights in the outer sectors!”

Lazarus stood over a large desk, his one good eye staring listlessly down at the surface as his blue artificial eye gleamed and blinked with information. “I know. The day has come sooner that I thought it would.” Lazarus rested his hand on the desk, closing his eye and shaking his head. “I had hoped that we would have found it by now. But since we are short on days...” He motioned Mordecai towards the map, and the rebel approached, his panic replaced by a cold curiosity. On the desk was a sprawling paper, retrieved from the archives below them. And on that paper was the end of Hive Cogger.

The paper was a map of the lower levels of Hive Cogger, in all of its Imperial-sanctioned ramshackle organization. Dozens of servitors had diligently slaved over the map for decades, updating it as new sections were built and old ones collapsed. Cogger had lived like a parasite growing on its own corpse, like many hive cities, and the revision number printed in bold on the map gave testament to that.

But far more chilling was the elegant, twisting rune Lazarus had drawn on top of the map. Inked in deep red, it overlaid the streets of Cogger, connecting alleyways and industrial complexes into a profane sigil ripped from another realm. The symbol curved and snaked its way through the map, passing seven different points before terminating at the center: the Governor's Spire.

Even on such a mundane medium, the symbol shivered with untapped power, drawing energy from the Immaterium and emanating an unnatural hiss just beyond normal hearing. Mordecai turned in shock, but Lazarus was already on his feet and moving.

“It's time we reminded this world that we are the true children of Chaos.”

Cleansing of Tainted Refugees
Justicar Freeman, The Grey knight of Randall's Retinue was given command of a hundred of Inquisitor Randall’s storm troopers and given a task. Ensure that the refugee camps that surrounded Drake’s Point were free of heresy.

Lieutenant Jackson strolled along the fairway of refugees. They were a miserable lot, motely, weary, and starving. They huddled in masses around humble campfires under canopies to keep the cold off that came with the night’s rain. Jackson did not dawn his inquisitorial armor rather a long black trench coat to remain inconspicuous. Jackson eyed a beggar with a bowl, the man moaned “Please my good sir, spare a throne.” Jackson reached into his pocket and pulled a odd silver coin, marked with the all seeing eye of the inquisition. The beggar bowed humbly hearing the coin enter his metal dish “Thank you kind sir.” Jackson bowed slightly and continued on his path. Lieutenant Jackson raised his wrist mounted com bead and spoke “All Tracers set, begin specimen extraction.”

Men and women went missing that night carried away by shadows and specters. Each that went missing awoke in a similar place an empty white room bound to a chair.

Lieutenant Jackson entered the interrogation room with a clip board in his hands. The inquisitorial henchmen spoke “Tell me your name.” The man tied to the chair groaned “Where am I?” “That is Irrelevant, your name please.” The man recognized Jackson as the man who put a throne in his cup, the man snarled “Let me go this instance, you have no right to…” It was at this moment Justicar Freeman entered the cell, “The inquisition would appreciate your compliance.” The restrained refugee froze for a moment before speaking “My name is Jon Took.” Lieutenant Jackson continued “Can you name the Emperor’s nine loyal children Mr. Took.” Took easily replied “Leman Russ, Roboute Guilliman, Sanguinius, Rogal Dorn, Ferrus Manus, Lion El'johnson, Corvus Corax, and Vulkan.” Jackson continued “Can you recite for me the Litany of the Emperor’s Fire.” Took bowed his heads and spoke “For those who walk in the light of the Emperor; fire is their water, fire is their blood, and fire is their spirit. Empower me Emperor with your righteous flame so that I may do you will now and forever.” Jackson nodded over to Freeman and began to head for the door “Thank you mister Took, we will be back shortly.”

Freeman and Jackson walked side by side to the next cell, through the one way mirror they spotted a man restrained to the chair. Jackson raised an eyebrow “I never gave this man a token.” Freeman folded his arms as he replied “He had one none the less.” Jackson interest was piqued and he entered the interrogation room.

The man growled as Jackson approached “Let me go I didn’t do nothing wrong.” Jackson removed the silver coin from his pocket “How did you come by this coin.” The man spat “Old lady gave it to me traded it for a scrap of bread.” Jackson paced around the room “I do not appreciate lies mister…” The man replied “Mister none of your damn business. And that’s the truth old lady gave it to me.” Justicar Freeman entered the room speaking “Yes she did but not willingly I imagine.” The man gulped as the grey knight entered “Space Marine, who the freak are you people?” Jackson continued “Are you familiar with the Inquisition?” The man’s face grew pale as he replied in a near whisper “Only rumors.” Freeman spoke “Than tell us how you came by the coin I will know if you lie.” The man hung his head “I killed the old lady, slit her throat and took the coin, it was shiny and I wanted it.” Jackson was still unmoved the man was clearly evil, but not necessarily an agent of chaos. Justicar Freeman spoke on “Can you name the Emperor’s loyal sons.” The man replied slowly needing to think about his answer “Guilliman, Russ, Ferrus, Rogal Dorn, Sanguinius, Lion El'johnson, Vulkan, and Corax.” Jackson ordered “Recite the Litany of the Emperor’s Fire.” The murderer began “For those who walk in the light of the Emperor; fire is their water, fire is their bloo-….” The man attempted to finish the word but couldn’t. He soon began screaming as he felt his own blood burn as it coursed through his veins. His volume increased and then his voice turned to gurgling as blood began to pour from his mouth. After about three minutes the man’s eyes rolled back into his head and his corpse went limp in the chair. Justicar Freeman regretted the discovery but his duty was clear “There is no doubt, heresy has been detected Lieutenant Jackson inform the men.” The storm trooper knew what this meant.

The Inquisitorial storm troopers broke into five-man kill teams each squad armed with flamer. They silently descended to the camps everyone was asleep, the occasional roaming insomniac and late night latrine goers were dispatched with knives. Every exit from the camp was sealed off and at at 3:07 AM the tents that held the refugees were set ablaze by geysers of flame. There was panic men women and children rushing from burning tents some of whom had caught fire, heretic and refugee alike were indiscriminately gun down by cracks of las fire. None were spared they could not risk a single heretic escaping their wrath so all were judged guilty. After twenty minutes of screams and cries all went silent under the crackle of the purging flame.

Justicar Freeman looked at the charred corpses of those around him, children. He knew that they had done the right thing they were to purge the heretics at any cost. Still he knew he would never grow numb to the horror of their deeds. Lieutenant Jackson came rushing toward Freeman “My Lord, we have reports of a possible group of heretics fleeing to the south in a vehicle.” Freeman hoisted his halberd “Gather the Valkyries.”

Enter the Black Legion
The wind roared as a Storm Eagle flew through the skies over Hive Cogger. The battle below made for a useful distraction, keeping most of the defenses busy whilst the gunship descended towards the burning Hive.

Kusun and Mithras sat in the back of the vessel, surrounded by a group of ten Terminator-armored Black Legionnaires. A safety measure, as Mithras had put it, in case the ‘negotiations’ did not go as planned.

Kusun despised the thought. Astartes were not meant for diplomacy, nor for ‘negotiations’. To negotiate was to prostrate oneself for another, to show weakness. He had grown amongst the pack of wolves and serpents that was the Black Legion, and he knew all too well that a silver tongue never saved anyone from the ambitions of his brethren.

The vox crackled as the intercom sprang to life.

“Lords, we are approaching our destination. Shall I open the communications channel?”, the pilot’s slightly metallic voice croaked over the vox.

Kusun sighed. “Negative. I shall do so myself”, he spoke, reaching for the Vox-caster he had ripped from an unfortunate PDF guard back in the village. He hooked a small wire unto the Vox-caster and attached it to his collar, linking his personal vox with that of the Vox-caster. Then, he carefully started tuning the signal, although it proved rather difficult as the buttons were still slick with the blood of their previous owner. After some fiddling, Kusun heard a shrill voice shouting into the vox with an admirable passion, proclaiming the death of the Imperials and the glory of the revolution.

Fanatics. Wonderful.

He cleared his throat, and spoke into the vox a single word.

“Despair.”

The voice suddenly stopped dead in its tracks. Confusion seemed to reign on the other end of the line. A few minutes of silence and static passed, only a few whispers passing between the individuals on the other side. Then, the voice spoke again.

“Who is this? How did you find this channel?”

“How did you?”, Kusun asked, his armoured fingers tapping on the unfortunate vox-caster’s skull. He’d kept it on his belt ever since the attack. He himself wasn’t even quite sure why.

More whispers, this time slightly agitated. The voice returned.

“Identify yourself! Are you a servant of the Corpse-Emperor?”

Kusun sighed. “I am Kusun Zhaqar, commander of the Omnia Cadunt and representative of the Black Legion. I’m going to presume that I am speaking to the resistance of Hive Cogger.”

Mentioning the Black Legion seemed to have caught the cultists’ attention, as their whispered chatter was now almost audible in the background. The voice returned, albeit still rather hesitant.

“Do you pledge your allegiance to the Flayed Lord?”

If Kusun had not lost his sense of humour millennia earlier, he would have laughed at such a question.

“I bow to no-one but the Warmaster himself. If your Lord takes offence to that, I propose he works it out with him instead.”

The man on the other end of the line didn’t respond.

“If you are done asking mundane questions, I would like to meet with your superiors. My ship requires a landing zone. Guide me to one or I shall make one myself.”

And with that, he unplugged the Vox unit from his suit and crunched it to dust in his fists.

The Storm Eagle gracefully descended towards the landing zone, which was a small landing pad near the Governor’s palace. The side hatches were open, so Kusun could see the state of affairs for himself. Around the landing zone stood a group of armed cultists, several of them nervously pacing back and forth and trailing the incoming gunship with worried glances.

Kusun rose from his chair as the aircraft touched down on the landing pad, as did Mithras and their escorts. Before Kusun could step outside, Mithras placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Remember, Brother. We are here to make these men our allies.”

Kusun glanced at him over his shoulder. “I am aware, Apostle. Your point?”

Mithras sighed. “Try to not provoke them… unnecessarily.”

“Of course”, Kusun replied, as he stepped out unto the dust-covered landing pad.

The group of cultists visibly tensed as the Black Legionnaires disembarked from the Storm Eagle, their grip on their guns tightening as they took stock of the new arrivals.

Few dared to keep their eyes on the black-armored giant leading the group for too long, for fear of catching his undivided attention. A careful observer noted that his left shoulder-pad was colored a bloody crimson, and an icon of the Blood God hung prominently on the figure’s belt. A massive war-axe hung loosely on his back, ticking ever so softly against the backpack, although one could have sworn it sounded more like the barking of a monstrous hound.

The giant stopped, as did his retinue. The two groups, human and Astartes, stood face to face for a few tense minutes, as the former gathered the courage to approach the latter. The situation sat on a knife-edge, and everyone knew how quickly things would escalate if it came to blows.

The giant inhaled, the sound akin to a wave heaving itself upwards before it crashed back unto the ocean floor, and the cultists and Astartes alike gripped their weapons even tighter, waiting for the fateful command that would be ushered from the giant’s lips.

“Bring me to your leader.”

The statement was so incredibly blunt that it temporarily stunned both groups entirely. Mithras smacked the palm of his hand against his face-plate as hard as he could, whilst the cultists were simply too puzzled by the statement to form a reply.

The tension returned when one overzealous cultist shouted a curse and took aim at Kusun, his eyes glimmering with fanaticism. A couple of brave others joined him, their rusty autoguns trained on Kusun’s un-helmeted head.

Kusun looked around at the group, making not even the slightest move to defend himself. His Legionnaires stood impassively by his side, waiting for what would happen next.

“By all means…”, Kusun spoke to the crowd, his voice carrying a hint of the rage that simmered beneath.

“Amuse me.”

Rise of a Plague Cult
Kremus blindly fired his Lucius Pattern Mk22c Combat Shotgun over the makeshift barrier towards the oncoming forces of the rotting Imperium, Kremus heard a few cries of agony as his projectiles found their mark. Risking a glance Kremus raised his deformed head when one of his pale milky eyes spotted the Imperial guard retreating, his fellow mutants cheered finally getting revenge on the ones who scorned them all their lives but Kremus wasn't convinced and stood his ground just as he was ordered to do “Hold the barricade you curs ! Hold !” Despite his commands some of the adrenaline fueled cultists charged after the fleeing imperial guardsmen only to be reduced to a bloody pulp as mud, blood and dirt sprouted from the ground where the shell landed, a second one shell from the approaching predators hit the ground sending the few cultists that were still unharmed fleeing. Cursing Kremus ordered the retreat, they didn't have that kind of firepower. They retreated to a nearby building which used to belong to the adeptus arbites and which was once a formidable structure. Now however it is a crumbling ruin like much of the city, whether that was due to the separatist uprising or the Imperial attack was up to debate. Dust fell onto Kremus’ shoulder from the one half of the roof that was left, “Rights lads, when I say hold, I mean fething hold! The Imperials have us on the back foot and they have more numbers, think ! Why would they retreat ? Why ? Think for once in your lives before throwing your life away -” a shifty cultist stepped forward with all the various boils on his body bubbling and pus oozed out of every pore “What is it ?” Snapped Kremus annoyed by the interruption “Grandfather has granted me a message for our master” Kremus considered this a moment, the Imperial predators were advancing on their position quickly which they could not take out and messages to their master must always be delivered with haste, “We’re moving out, grab anything useful and let's go” gathering anything useful from the station they set off to find their master.

Prophet Garathal stood atop a mound of dirt which overlooked the crowded field. His Terminator Armor was rusted and the cape that hung from his shoulders was ridden with maggots. The armor itself was quartered with a pea green and steel gray colour scheme. The Prophet’s helmet featured a single horn which was slightly cured in to center of the forehead, it had a T shaped slit for vision and breathing purposes and on either side of the slit near the cheekbones were holes were maggots were that emerge and submerge themselves giving one nightmares to think about what lay beneath the helm, similar to the horn on his helm two horns adorned his knee pads. His staff was long which thins out at one end and broadens out the the other. At the broad end lies a scythe with green runes etched upon its surface and drips crudes poisons and diseases, near the end of the scythe where it connects with the body of the staff a circle is carved out where the symbol of nurgle resides constantly have a sickly green aura.

The last of the women and children were being brought to Garathal as he observed the foolish humans. “Fools ! Grandfather Nurgle is generous to those in his service, he will make you more powerful than you can even comprehend and you dare to refuse him ? The one who makes sure your crops don't rot, the one that makes sure your cough goes away, ungrateful cretins !” Garathal stepped forward with his arms outstretched raising his staff high in the sky “Whether you enter his service service willingly or refuse his wonderful gifts, all shall receive Nurgle’s blessing” an aura oozed out of Garathal’s staff which spread towards the hundreds of humans in captivity, when it reached the first few humans they began coughing viciously. Soon a chorus of coughing echoed throughout the fields. Once the coughing died down another chorus rang out, the thundering sound of autogun fire. As the last of the humans were eradicated, Garathal heard footsteps approaching, turning he saw Kremus alongside a cultist blessed by Nurgle “What is it now Kremus ? Does the hive still hold ?” Kremus bowed “No Prophet, they sent in heavy armor we couldn't penetrate the thick plates” Garathal was silent a moment “Prophet if I may this one here says the Grandfather has a message f-” before Kremus could finished Garathal swung his staff diagonally from high right to low left splitting open the adjacent cultist’s stomach littering the floor with his innards. Picking up the man’s intestines it read where words were carved into the flesh “The people of Crion yearn for my gifts, spread my children, spread my gifts to this world” the cultist collapsed and became one with the dirt. “Seems we have a new purpose my children, gather up your things, the Lord’s work is never done !” Shouted Garathal as he began to survey what was once a field of dead humans was now a field of the rising dead, one by one they rose stumbling towards their own homes, towards the armies of the Imperium.

Garathal awaited atop a hill overlooking both the treeline his cultists were lurking in and the stretch they must make to the fort Dorn’s Shield. As the last of his cultists reserves made planetside he raised his hands and produced a green flame and sent it across the night’s sky illuminating the frenzied cultists who charged at the signal. The fort stood silent almost as if it were unimpressed by the cultist's shabby display until simultaneously ranks of las fire lit up the cultist's ranks felling them by the dozen, eager to attain his prize Garathal continued the attack, he just needed to reach the walls and pass on Nurgle’s gift to just one man and it would spread like wildfire. At first it would appear as a mere cough, a common thing, perhaps their skin would take a sickly tone. After a couple of days their skin would tighten revealing their veins underneath and their hair would begin to fall out. In the next phase there skin is paper thin, the teeth will begin to rot as the last strands of hair fall out, their cheeks sunken in, the eyes and most of their internal organs will now begin to rot until finally Nurgle welcomes them with glee and they begin to crave flesh.

Kremus emerged from the treeline sprinting and shouted in Nurgle’s name like all his brothers, such a warcry has struck fear into many poorly equipped and poorly trained Planetary Defense Force causing them to run and flee, but behind their wall they were fearless. When Kremus began his charge the warcry that he and his brothers mustered was deafening now as cultists dropped left and right it was a shadow of its former self. Before Kremus knew what hit him he felt a burning sensation in his right thigh which brought him crashing into the dirt like hundreds of others before him.

The cultist's did not manage to spread Papa Nurgle's gift however, they did not even reach the walls. The systematic firing lines that the Imperials had set up were cutting down the cultists as they tripped over their dead comrades trying to reach the walls for their master, what they lacked in efficiency they made up for in fervour. 50% of the original force of cultists were dead now, cursing Garathal ordered the retreat deciding to cut his losses rather than throw more men at the Imperial’s formidable defenses “Flee you fools flee back into the trees towards the swamp” a red ball of flame sparked to life in Garathal’s hands which he sent flying through the air to signal the retreat. Whether they were charging towards the fort or the treeline the cultists were being torn to shreds. Only a handful of cultists survived that participated in the first attack, 65% of Garathal's cultist’s more or less had perished, retreating with his plague marines and beastmen intact Garathal would never be so blunt in his dealings with the Imperium on this world again.

When Kremus awoke he was being dragged through the dirt and his leg was aflame, red lines shot through the sky in unison and dropped the shrouded figures left and right. As his vision cleared he began to grasp the situation, retreat. The word left a bad taste in his mouth and struck fear into his heart when he began to wonder about how his would punish him for such failure turning his head he saw the two cultists which have been dragging him and the decrepit treeline that they have been racing towards, “just a little farther now Kremus” reassured one of the cultist’s between his heavy breathing “We are almost ther-” the cultist’s head rocked back as a shot from a lasgun pierced through his skull dropping him on top of Kremus. The other Cultist let go of Kremus and ran “Filthy Cur, I will have your head !” Spat Kremus as he dug his fingernails into the dirt to try and pull himself out from under the rotting corpse, freeing his one good knee he dug that into the mud freeing himself. Grabbing the dead mutant’s poor excuse for a rifle he slowly picked himself up, leaning heavily on his newly acquired walking stick and began shuffling back towards his brothers, and that coward.

Prophet Garathal kept on marching as he had been since Dorn’s Shield, that was two days ago or so he thought keeping track of the sun and the moon. Of the cultist's remaining a few died of exhaustion, mainly the humans and mutants. The beastmen, plague marines and the Prophet’s seven apostles stood strong. Garathal was expecting an Imperial counter attack on his ragged train but none came, a good thing to thought Garathal, his enemies must never know how weak the Disciples of Decay were at this moment, they must show a force of strength to their enemies and recuperate in the shadows. Upon reaching a peak atop one of the many rolling hills that featured throughout the province, Garathal noticed the local fauna on the horizon change which he reckoned to be the swamp “Come brothers, only a little farther, Nurgle’s refuge awaits, where metal rusts and wood rots” pointing his staff towards the horizon,encouraging his weary band ever onwards.

Near the rear of the train lay Kremus who was slumped over Drelos’ shoulder, “In service to Grandfather Nurgle foul fumes come with the job but this minotaur takes the cake” “Be grateful” said Baezael shutting the cultist up “I could have him lay you down, let you struggle up this hill, no doubt it would please the Lord of Decay to no end” Kremus could just about make out the Beastman shaman as Drelos stomped up the hill. The shaman was donned head to tail in the same pea green as the rest of the cult with the robe being tattered near his hooves and his arms, revealing his sickly yellow, leathery flesh and matted hair beneath, it bore a hood which has various engraving along the brim representing Nurgle. His staff unlike his master’s was simple, a wooden staff that was carved by Baezael himself. Atop it laid the skull of a ram’s head much like his own with Nurgle's symbol carved into its forehead, he attached a small bit of leather to where he hand often frequents when he is walking such as now. Beneath the ram’s head were various trinkets and charms that were sacred to his people which clanked against the wooden shaft as he walked which irritated Kremus to no end. Baezael broke the silence “Brooding over your revenge against the one who ran away ?” Kremus clenched his fists “Aye, think I might take it nice and slow, drawing out his entrails and hanging him with them so the men can use his corpse as target practice” Baezael chuckled “Perhaps you will find a message amidst the entrails” Kremus shot a glare “Very Funny”

Quickly after entering the swamp Garathal felt a presence, minor at first so much so that he could have missed it but as they ventured deeper and deeper he began to notice it more and more until eventually it broke into whispers. Following the words Garathal picked up his pace striding through deep, murky waters in his terminator plate leaving his other minions to navigate around such deep waters, only his similarly armored Apostles kept up ensuring his protection at all times. Cleaving through little trees and shrubs in his way Garathal cleared a path through the foliage getting ever closer to the source of the whispers,leaving his apostles to follow in the wake of his destruction. After losing the main body of his forces leaving only himself and his apostles, Garathal stopped at the base of a hill atop of which stood a few crumbling walls with vines and other growth which had claimed the walls as their own via the passage of time, the hill itself was made up of slippery wet mud out of which stuck thin dead trees which could perhaps act as something to pull oneself through the mud, but for one of Garathal’s size that wasn't an option. Garathal turned to face his followers, “I will be venturing up to the top,Brothers Galrass and Farthac will accompany me, Brothers Rhaegos, Klyn,Lynx,Krel and Steele rally our forces here, we must regroup and prepare for Imperial retaliation”. Sticking his staff deep in the mud, Garathal began to make the climb digging his feet ankle deep into the mud to try and gain some footing while the climb was slow this way it was reliable and he would not slip while doing so. Upon reaching the top Garathal discover a big gaping hole in the wall which allowed easy access, the whispers were strong and loud here however still he proceeded until he reached a point where they were almost deafening, it was at this point where he knelt and prayed to the Lord of Decay, for forgiveness for his foolish actions at Dorn’s Shield, for guidance on what to do next. Suddenly the whispered stopped and he saw nothing, a moment went by then two,three then a flicker of activity burned into his mind for a split second before it was gone as quick as it had came, following this he saw a hive besieged by the Imperium, close by the ragtag troops looked like cultists and by the orange uniforms they must have been a penal legion. Garathal searched across the void trying to find a location initially finding nothing, try harder Garathal said to himself, searching some more he found it, Luna Maximus, Cogger.Garathal sat there for a long time so long that he had sunk deep into the mud, when he emerged he was giving orders left and right “Get some men to scout out this swamp and find some materials, this will be our new bastion from which we will spread Nurgle’s wonderful gifts, this shall be a cathedral for those who walk Nurgles path, this shall be a Cathedral of Blight. Signal our brother's in space send some aircraft, we are going on a trip.

Nightfall at Cogger was an exercise in insomnia and waking nightmares. The perpetual glow of distant artillery, the faint screams of the dead and dying, and the omnipresent fear of a random explosion to snuff out one's light combined into a terrible place to rest. Commissar Jethro Alenko rubbed one eye hard as he walked back to his tent. The grinding warfare was a staple of siege warfare, and there was no fortress so convoluted, vulnerable, and yet impenetrable as an Imperial hive city.

His eye caught movement to his left, an unusually hurried pace in a camp for the weary and the wounded. Instincts kicked in, and his pistol was drawn without more than a moment's thought, his eyes narrowing as he peered into the darkness. He could sense the movement rather than see it, and slowly raised his plasma pistol to point up, as if firing an artillery. The others might be upset about their sleep being interrupted, but paranoia was the first skill taught to all commissars.

The pistol kicked in his hand, lofting a ball of blue plasma up into the night sky. It would deteriorate long before striking anything of note, but if there was one characteristic common to all plasma weapons, it was their painful brightness.

In the brief, harsh flash of the shot, Alenko saw a cultist crouched by the first tent, knife in hand, shielding his eyes vainly from the brilliance of the weapon.

"Heretics!" Alenko shouted.

He lowered the gun and fired a second shot, and the cultist dove for cover, narrowling dodging the searing blue blast as it plowed into a ferrocrete wall and lit up, bathing the area in angry light. At least ten of them were there, dressed in dark-colored rags and carrying the simplest, and quietest, of blades. They turned as one, unprepared for discovery, and ran back towards the city at a frantic sprint.

"Heretics! Heretics in the camp!" The pistol flashed a warning, dangerously close to overheating in his hand. He scowled, staring at the faint shapes fleeing the camp, marking the one cultists trailing behind his fellows, and set his jaw. The gun flared once more, burning his hand through the glove with a harsh sizzle, but the ancient weapon held. The ball of plasma collided with the mud to the cultist's left, bursting in a searing bubble that threw the man to the side. He hit a prefab wall and went down hard, his crude and rusty blade flying from his hand.

The two biggest legionnaires fell upon him in an instant, snapping his knees with brutal kicks and cracking each rib in turn. They wrenched the cultist's arms behind his back, and one of them raised his foot to deliver a fatal shot to the cultist's neck.

"Hold!" Alenko was striding towards them, his eyes a mixture of righteous rage and indignation as he held the pistol out to his side, allowing it to vent into the cold night air. "Stand him up. Stand him up! I want to know what he came for."

Molor stared down the barrel of Alenko's pistol, the sharp stabs of pain from his injuries fading in the place of fear and the certainty of death. He had prepared for this, they all had, but it did not compare to the feeling of being broken in front of the enemy. The raid was a suicide mission, but it had such promise. The penal legion corpses all bore the blocky Imperial collars, and it had not been long before mishandling had discovered the explosives within. Mordecai had gathered them that same day, and tasked them with entering the camp, finding the controls, and ending the enemy with its own tools.

They had failed.

He licked his lips, but his tongue was too dry to do anything. The commissar was saying something, he could see the man's mouth move, but nothing was registering. Molor was thinking about the name. He didn't know what it meant, or for how many untold eons it had swam through the Immaterium, but he could feel its eyes on him now.

"Pa..pah..." He found some saliva and swallowed hard, gathering his remaining strength into his lungs. "Pah'kyr'vull-"

Alenko struck him with the pistol, cutting off his words and forcing his teeth to bite hard into his tongue. But it didn't matter. He didn't need to finish, just needed to get the entity's attention. It fed on fear, savored despair like fine synth, and he had been taught its name in case he was ever capture.

Two sets of gnarled, black fingers slowly unfolded from the cultist's mouth, reaching up and out until the rotted nails had an icy hold on the man's face. The penal legionairres recoiled, swearing loudly as Molor's limbs went limp and he looked to the sky above. With a broken shriek and a sudden snap, the hands tore his skull in two. His body fell to the ground, and the hands vanished into the Warp with a sharp crack.

Before Prophet Garathal and his disciples departed their new found home, there was a number of issues to be seen to, Kremus dragged his bad leg through the mud that was smeared all over the courtyard over to his master “My lord, we have found some quarries that were abandoned much like this outpost but they seem to have hit a snag, they cannot figure out how to get the stone up here, getting it up a steep slope is hard enough but with loose footing from the mud it-” “Silence worm, stop wasting my time with such nonsense and get Drelos and Kalnar to lift them up, patch the hole in the wall and reinforce the others, the cathedral shall be built in the center and I want all the towers along the wall rebuilt and the insides cleared out. I want a reliable way up this hill, carve a staircase out of stone up to the main gate which also need to be remade and make sure to add a preservative to the wood otherwise it will rot, I only want one entrance, one weakness in the structure which we must remain vigilant of. The Barracks,mess halls, armouries and training grounds shall be placed around the Cathedral itself and I want a private study to be made which adds onto the Cathedral, accomplish all this and I shall be pleased” bowing Kremus hobbled away barking orders to two cultists who were standing around and chatting. Garathal turned to his bodyguard who was as silent as the grave “Apostle Galrass gather the Apostles and tell Brother Anlock to gather a portion of his plague marines, we move out in 10 minutes”. Stomping across the busy Courtyard Garathal managed to find Bazael surrounded by his beastmen kin and where the went, swarms of flies followed. “Shaman, Nurgle has need of your warriors, particularly the Pestigors, gather a party and have them group up A with the Apostles” the beastman nodded “It will be done at once my lord” Baezael turned to leave but Garathal was not done “Nurgle has entrusted to you with the knowledge to spread his gifts, you shall use them. Spread his gifts to the local fauna and wildlife, when I return from my trip I want to feel at home” kneeling the shaman grinned “With pleasure my Prophet”. Departing for the clearing made for the thunderhawks, Garathal and his party embarked to Hive Cogger to see the state of these Cultists and whether they are worth his time.

As his little fleet approached Hive Cogger Garathal managed to get through to someone on the ground “Who dares to approach Hive Cogger which is conquered in the Flayed Lord’s glorious name ?!” Garathal would have rolled his eyes but they had rotted away long ago, he turned to his Apostles “Nothing worse than a cultist who doesn't know his place” turning back to his vox Garathal retorted “Nurgle's chosen has arrived clear a few landing pads, I have brought a few friends” cutting off vox communications Garathal peered through a slit in the side of the aircraft, the hive was covered in darkness except for the fires of the imperial’s camped outside and the fires of battle that raged inside the hive itself. It was clear to Garathal that the cultists have the odds stacked against them especially against Imperial armor luckily Garathal has brought just the thing for the tin cans, a nice bargaining chip thought Garathal .The Disciples of Decay landed on the rusted space that was cleared for them on which stood dozens of cultists holding up their autoguns with a nervous yet viperous demeanor. One cultist stood out from the horde “Who dares to encroach on lands that fly the Flayed Lord’s banner ?” Simultaneously the three hatches of the Thunderhawks opened spreading forth a foul aroma followed by flies and maggots which hit the wave of cultists like waves against the rocks, the cultists backed off from the pungent smell which they found to be intolerable with some coughing uncontrollably.

A booming laughter emerged from the center Thunderhawk as Prophet Garathal emerged with his anointed seven in tow. From the left emerged the Chaos champion Brother Anlock and his plague marines, the champion’s body was bloated with his yellow skin having rotted and his hair has fallen out long ago, he armed himself with a Bile Spewer, Papa Nurgle's version of a flamer which can spew out his toxic substances to foes. While the plague marines themselves sported a variety of weapons they all had the same thing maglocked to their hip, the dreaded plague swords. These rusted blades drip with the diseases of their master and on,y the most devout in Nurgle's eyes shall be worthy of bearing them like his glorious children who call themselves plague marines. From the right emerged the beastmen cultists whose armor was salvaged from anything they could find and weapons were generally autoguns while the more bloodthirsty beastmen had clubs or sharpened metal poles. The cultist spoke up again “What is the point of such an entrance ? If you are here to take Cogger from us yo-” Garathal laughed again “Take Cogger from you ? Run along and inform your master of my arrival before my patience wears thin” the cultist stood firm as did Garathal “My lord is in a meeting at the moment he shall not be disturbed” ignoring the cultist Garathal spied the Governor’s Spire which towered over all the ruined buildings that were littered across the hive, presuming that their leader was holed up in the spire Garathal turned to his followers “Anlock you have command of the beastmen hold this platform, Apostles with me” the eight giants in terminator armor marched straight through the sea of cultists who parted before the mighty Sorcerer, the cultist who tried to stop Garathal at the landing platform followed him “I suppose I could escort you to Father Lazarus, my lord” Garathal could tell that last part wasn't easy for him to say “Very well, but hurry along you rat you have delayed me long enough”

The Prophet entered the once exquisite tower, he could imagine it in it’s splendour as fragments remain of its once rich past, muddied carpets, finely carved marble pillars who stone was brought from halfway across the Imperium, paintings and ornate suits of armor that once adorned the walls were now mostly plundered, the cultists taking off with the armor and the paintings have been taken down and used to keep the fires going. Taking a flight of stairs Garathal looked out onto Hive Cogger, or what was left of it. The spire stood over everything in Cogger giving one a superb vantage point to see the various skirmishes that were happening throughout the husk of the once great hive. Many buildings were crumbling and in one section the orange jumpsuits could clearly be seen, “so close” realised Garathal, “things must be worse than I thought”. Reaching the top two large doors lay at the end of the corridor which obviously must of been his destination, red carpet ran from the top of the stairs to the twin doors, whether the carpet was red originally or whether it was stained with blood was anyone's guess, as Garathal was getting closer and closer voices could be heard from inside but they stopped as he grew closer, his footsteps giving him away. The cultist stopped at the doors and turned to talk to Garathal once more who shoved the cultist aside and pushed the twin doors opened with a satisfactory creak.

All heads looked to the door as a massive figure waltz through the door followed by seven others similar to his size, his held a scythe with a glowing symbol of Nurgle, if that didn't give his allegiance away then his bodily odour definitely did. Standing Father Lazarus bowed “My lord, it seems today is full of surprises not one but two guests today” he gestured to the edge of the table nearest to the doors please make yourselves comfortable” Garathal walked to the edge of the table but remained standing due to his massive frame with his apostles in formation behind him, he took a moment to observe the other members in the room. At the opposite end of the table sat Father Lazarus who seemed small compared to the terminator clad marines that stood in the room, the man himself sported a Colonel’s Coat which has has seen better days with an artificial blue eye, to his left sat a necron which surprised Garathal not that he would show it, it’s burning red eyes stood out in the dimly lit room, it’s main armor was white which looked similar to ivory in appearance and trimmed with obsidian black, amber energy surged through the necron along with gold accents on various pieces of his armor, he remained silent. Noticing Garathal's glare the Necron spoke up “I am Grulahk of the Kageros Dynasty, we have an agreement with Father Lazarus and thought it would be only fitting to attend” Garathal nodded showing that there was no problem. Across the table from the necron sat two marines behind them stood their ten terminator clad brethren, the taller of the two spoke up “My name is Mithras and my friend here is called K-” “Kusun” spat the other marine cutting his friend off. Mithras was the taller of the two he sported no hair on his face or his head and wore the iconography of the Word Bearers while his friend had a rebreather with a long scar running across his face with a red knot on top and wore the colours of the Black Legion. After some quick observations Garathal introduced himself “My name is Prophet Garathal and I have come to this sector to spread Grandfather Nurgle’ gifts to the fools of the Imperium and release them from their false belief in the rotting Emperor. I am here to see if an alliance can be formed and from the looks of things you could use all the help you can get.”

Father Lazarus sighed and slumped back into his chair, “Honestly Cogger is not the reason I am here it is just a mere stepping stone, these cultists are a mere tool to be used to help me with my true goal of finding the amaranth” that piqued Garathal's interest “What is this Amaranth exactly ?” Father Lazarus shrugged, “The chaos gods are not always clear with their messages, but I Will figure it out” “I see” Garathal’s tone suggested he was disappointed at the lack of information on the Amaranth. Mithras spoke up next “You are not the only one searching for something, we seek another warband who call themselves The Remnants, if you help us find them we will help you find the Amaranth and perhaps with Cogger’s Defenses as well” Father Lazarus considered this a moment “Very well, you help me and I’ll help you” Garathal turned to Mithras “Is there a sorcerer in this warband ?” “Why yes, yes there is, have you had dealings with him ?” “Not quite, while I was praying to the mighty Lord Of Decay I felt a disturbance, a flicker in the warp, sorcerer’s can make such disturbances” Kusun rose out of his chair “Did you manage to track it ?” Garathal shook his head “No, as I said it was but a flicker if it was a sorcerer he must be powerful, powerful enough to hide his presence from me but if he appeared to me for a second perhaps his concentration was broken and if it happened once it may happen again, I will keep a lookout for this sorcerer” satisfied Kusun sat down “And what do you want in return ?” “I may need your help in the future, if I do I expect you to do so, agreed ?” Kusun eyed the rotten sorcerer before Mithras broke the silence, “Agreed.” “Excellent,” grinned Garathal, “As for the Amaranth I intend to spread my cultists throughout Crion and her moons, If I am successful I shall make inquiries and if they know anything I will send them your way” Lazarus nodded “You have my thanks” Grulahk spoke up for the first time “While all this this great the Imperium of Man is still knocking on Cogger’s door, My Dynasty is willing to provide troops and advice to defensive formations in this regard. In return we ask that the Imperials be keep away from the Yankor region and maybe in the future if we need any supplies” Lazarus agreed “We can grab the imperium’s attention provided we hold here” Garathal spoke out “I would also be prepared to help Crogger in fact my troops are waiting outside, before you accept my help Nurgle's gifts are for everyone not just the Imperials, your cultists the will receive them just as much the encroaching armies of the Imperium will” Father Lazarus agreed “As I said, they are but a tool do what you like in fact we have a few medbays where our men are too injured to fight perhaps Nurgle could make use of them” Garathal almost squealed in excitement “Most definitely” Lazarus stood once more “Very well my lords if that is everything I still have a hive to defend, we are all helping each other and hopefully things go well” Father Lazarus nodded and departed through the twin doors behind him.

With nothing left to be said Garathal left the way he had came back to Brother Anlock and his waiting forces “Brother Anlock mobilise our forces and coordinate with the cultists here you are tasked with pushing the foul Imperium back and to gift them with Nurgle’s delights” Anlock slammed his rusted breastplate “Yes my Prophet it will be done”. Moving on Garathal quickly found numerous medbays, well if one could call them that. These makeshift centers where more of a place for men to die rather than to get help with men crying out on beds or laying up against walls. Picking one who wouldn't shut up Garathal plunged the curved blade of his staff into the stomach of the cultist ripping his guts out onto the cracked tiled floor, the body collapsed but slowly rose again and stumbled towards a fellow cultist and bit down hard on his neck spreading the infection further. Garathal moved on to the next medical center and repeated the same process Garathal sliced one man open and moved on until all the centers had been visited. Upon returning to the platform where Anlock and his thunderhawks were stationed the once whimpering group of cultists were now a ravenous horde of zombies awaiting a command “Brother Anlock you have the Command, May you carry Grandfather's favour” “May he favour us all” Garathal jumped back on his Thunderhawk and returned to his holy Cathedral, for he had plans to set in motion.

Hive Cogger slept uneasily that night.

Around the Hive, campfires and lumen strips twinkled softly in the dark night, as the Imperial positions kept a firm eye on the battered Hive and its occupants. The dead from the cultists' failed attempts at breaking the siege still lay where they had fallen, their blood glistening lightly in the pale moonlight.

Kusun stood on a half-broken terrace overlooking the city. He had temporarily taken residence in the Governor’s mansion, along with his subordinates and the Apostle. The latter was currently trying to contact the Omnia Cadunt to relay his orders, although his attempts were hindered by some unknown issue with the vox network.

Kusun heard the old wooden door behind him creak open, followed by sluggish murmuring. His eyes drifted towards the door. The door was opened softly, revealing the haggard form of one of the sentries. The cultist, a man of around forty Terran years, looked as if he had not slept for days, dust and grime having settled in his greyish beard and filthy hair. The man’s eyes sluggishly focussed on Kusun, opening wide once the man fully realized who he had just run in to. Without a word, the man hastily turned around and went back through the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Once, Kusun might have considered that to be funny. Hilarious, even.

Now, it merely filled him with disgust.

He had never enjoyed fighting alongside mortal forces, and this rabble was certainly not warming him up to the idea. They were weak, pathetic. Most of them had nothing more to bring to a battlefield other than their fanatic conviction, and even that evaporated more often than not once battle was truly joined.

They were pests. Rodents.

Expendable.

And he knew that the ones who were leading this little uprising thought so as well.

He gazed across the city again. I should have flattened this miserable rock from orbit when I had the chance, he thought, as his fingers idly trailed the skulls hanging from his belt.

Hive Cogger was a mess. And now, it was becoming a rotten, decaying, disease-ridden mess, thanks to their new… ‘allies’.

He would have to keep a close eye on the Nurglites. Their methods, while despicable, would be more than effective in the cramped corridors of the Hive should the Imperials manage to breach the outer walls. Someone had to keep them in check, however, for the followers of Nurgle had a tendency of extending their ‘gifts’ as eagerly to their enemies as to their own allies...

He sighed, and looked up to the cloud-filled sky. That flicker in the Warp was, for the moment, the only lead on his quarry he had. It would be best to stay on the Nurgle sorcerer’s good side – for now.

I see you.

Startled, Kusun turned around, only to find no-one behind him. His eyes moved slowly across the terrace, looking for the source of the sound.

I can see them, too.

Again, the voice came from behind him, but again, there was nothing there. Kusun gritted his teeth, his hand reaching for his axe as he spun around like a cornered jackal, looking for the intruder.

He sees you, Kusun Zhaqar.

A shiver went down Kusun’s spine, and he looked upon the moon that now shone brightly against the night sky.

And the moon waxes.

Rain pinged off the hull of Garathal's thunderhawk which would have rusted and corroded the paint and outer surface of the craft, if it wasn't already rusted. The rusted hull of the aircraft entered the mists of the swamp where visibility was limited to a few feet in front of oneself and they now relied on their sensors and scanners for safe passage. Kremus’ voice started talking in Garathal's ear much to his irritation “My lord we have done as you commanded, steps have been built and the construction of your cathedral is well under way, we ha-” “Silence fool, let me land and I will witness your efforts myself” despite the harsh weather conditions the pilot managed to land the aircraft perfectly and offload his passengers. Garathal disembarked from the thunderhawk to the courtyard with was bustling with cultists heaving stone or rotted wood that had taken up residence when this bastion was abandoned, Drelos and Kalnar were hoisting stone up the hill, they seemed to be enjoying the exercise. The hole in the northern wall was patched up and some of the crumbling towers along the wall have been knocked down and were being rebuilt, the rotten wooden gate was torn out and replaced with a new door which was much thicker and was reinforced with steel and when closed the face of a smiling demon was formed.

Upon a raised platform sat his Cathedral which featured many symbols of the Lord of Pestilence and his demons carved into the stone and was the central structure, the foundations for the other buildings that would surround the keep have been laid but no work had been done to them, yet. Kremus dragged his leg up the steps which led to the Cathedral where his lord stood, admiring the structure “My Lord, what do you think ? Have we pleased your worship ?” Garathal ran his hand along the stone “It is too clean, Nurgle’s slimes must oozed from this place, who is responsible for this construction ?” “One of the cultists my Lord, he claimed he was a stonemason before joining our cause” Garathal nodded “Bring him before at once” bowing Kremus went to search for the stonemason. Garathal watched as a bald burly man slowly stepped up to the Prophet with a face of terror, his arms were hairy along with his chest, he sported a thick beard and his hairless forehead was saturated with sweat, his deep green eyes looked straight to the floor as he stood there waiting to be spoken to, at least this one knows his place remarked Garathal before continuing, “So you are the stonemason?”

“Yes milord.”

"You are responsible for all the stonework that this place has undergone?”

“Yes milord.”

“The carvings, the repairs, the Cathedral all of it?” The man gambled a look up to his lord and nodded “Yes milord.” Garathal touched the stone again staying silent for a moment, “You do good work stonemason.” The man left out a sigh of relief and smiled, “Thank you milord.”

“Father Nurgle is pleased with your efforts and has decided that your work shall be rewarded” before the man could react Garathal clutched his skull and began whispering, softly at first but then he began to raise his voice and tighten his grip, the man’s skin began to bubble and rot, boils and pus began to sprout from all over his body, the hair on his arms and chest fell out and the colour in his eyes diluted to a milky white, in replace of the sweat on his forehead now sat the symbol of Nurgle burned into his flesh which was still sizzling and then Garathal let go letting the man fall to his knees. The surrounding cultists stopped working and watched in awe as their comrade was transformed, taking a moment to recover Garathal spoke up “Nurgle has bestowed his gift upon you for your fine service which you will now continue to do under the name of the Architect, your task is to make this bastion formidable enough to stand against our enemies for a prolonged period of time,if you need any material,go bother Kremus” the Architect scrambled to his feet “Yes milord, you have my thanks” Garathal nodded and turned to the crowd that had gathered for the transformation “Get back to work you curs”

Kremus limped over to the tree where the woodcutter’s axe was embedded deep into the ancient bark smearing its razor sharp edge in thick sap, grabbing it he made his way to the North Eastern tower on the wall. The tower itself was in the middle of being torn down in order to be rebuilt and a small crew had been dispatched to tear it down, his crew. As Kremus reached the top of the stairs which led out onto the wall he saw him, laughing and joking with the others who donned faked smiles and smashed another block out of the wall of the tower. Upon seeing Kremus approach he dropped his smile and all went quiet, turning the man looked in Kremus’ direction “Kremus did you get more w-” Kremus slammed his fist against the man’s jaw send both him and some teeth flying. Kremus turned to his crew “Pick him up” scooped up by his coworkers the man was helpless against the assault that Kremus laid down on him, punches landed left and right particularly to the midsection until he heard a few cracked, the ribs. He slumped back down again spitting out blood in an attempt to beg for his worthless life, Kremus kicked him in the mouth dislodging any teeth he had left “Pick him back up” lifting up the drooling cultists Kremus grabbed his axe and began to make small incisions all over his body before finally driving the axe through his knee which cut through flesh and bone which dropped the cultist to the floor “Hold out his other knee” spat Kremus as he raised the axe over his head, through the combined might of Kremus’ strength and gravity the axe made a satisfactory chunk into the rockcrete on the floor of the tower, a clean cut. “Right chuck his body and his legs over the wall and into the river, I am sure the crocodiles are hungry for flesh and this donkey-caves blood will draw them from all over” he turned to leave as his men went to work but stopped at the doorway “And clean up the blood, better if no questions were asked about this” satisfied Kremus went about his business, he has had his revenge and his name will be feared.

Brother Anlock had one last look over the map that the Brotherhood of the Red Banner had provided him of the various alleyways and narrow streets of Hive Cogger that would prove vital to his task, rolling up the map Anlock left his makeshift tent out from which stood three strikeforces blight, rot and pestilence. Strikeforce blight consisted of his own plague marines, Nurgle's own creation and the strikeforce he had the most confidence in. Strikeforce Rot consisted of cultists which were mainly beastmen but some humans survived Dorn’s Shield, this was the strikeforce he had the least amount of confidence in. Finally Strikeforce Pestilence consisted solely of Pestigors and he was fairly confident that they would be effective. “Right you have your orders, get to it and make the Imperium bleed hehe” Anlock chuckled at that last part and formed up at the head of his own marines and marched. The Strikeforces disappeared through the narrow streets and alleyways to their targets clearing the once crowded courtyard in seconds.

Prisoner 4239 clutched his lasgun and pointed it at the shadows, the cultists have pulled back farther than they thought, 4239 turned to 4301 and whispered not to attract attention from the Arbitrator “Think we finally broke them ?” 4301 nodded his head “From what our failed push ? Ya we definitely shook them keep your eyes on the bloody road” 4276 chipped in “They will never be as shook as you were when you saw those bonemen charge at ya” a few of the lads chanced a grin. 4301 turned around with a mad gleam in his eye “Say it to my face you bastard” 4239 grabbed his friend by the shoulder “Turn around or you’ll be seen” before he could get a response he heard a shout from behind which sent shivers down his spine, it was Arbitrator Carron “Shut up you pieces of gak and keep your eyes open, this is too quiet and I don’t li-” a series of violent explosions cut the man off as the crumbling buildings that once laid dormant along the roadside was now cutting off their escape and separated them from their tanks and heavy armor leaving the infantry fend for themselves. Following the deafening explosions the only thing that could be heard was the panting of the prisoners followed by Arbitrator Carron’s orders “Form a circle, form a bloody circle” the man pulled out his sword and looked around to see no one move, pushing the closer prisoner to him into a circle he shouted again “Form a fething circle you scum” the prisoners did as they were told and they waited and waited, nothing happened, no ambush no nothing, they began to disperse when they heard laughter all around them. 4239 heard lasfire from a nearby alleyway, another ambush ?From the battered buildings to either side of them emerged Nurgle’s finest, his plague marines, Anlock leaned out of a window and and sprayed Nurgle’s rot down on the helpless prisoners who fired blindly up into the air in the general direction of the vile raining liquid. 4239 watched as 4276 was drowned in the gut retching substance. Plague marines rushed out amidst the chaos, wielding their rusted blades and proceeded to slice off limbs yet leaving the men themselves alive, rolling in agony on the floor. 4239 fired five shots at an approaching marine before a rusted blade pierced him through the back. Arbitrator Corron fired his laspistol into the chest of a marine that lunged at her which dropped the marine to one knee, laughing the marine rose again, ignoring any pain and proceeded to decapitate the man. Rockcrete showered marine and prisoner alike as imperial armor ploughed through the collapsed building creating an exit point for the penal legion and an entry point for the tanks, seeing this Anlock called the retreat “Fall back, I said Fall back” retreating as quickly as they came, the crews of the tanks began to climb out of their armor to evacuate the wounded and unknowingly bring the plagues of Nurgle into the heart of their encampment.

Back at his tent Anlock looked over the reports, the Pestigors managed to leave some of them alive, they had killed more than he would have liked but it was acceptable. The cultists on the other hand killed every last one of them, no survivors and they lingered too long taking losses from the tanks that broke through their trap, unacceptable, and an example must be made. Leaving his tent he approached the cultist who had the command and without saying a word grabbed him by the skull, gouging his eyes out in the process and twisted, snapping his neck. The other cultists took a step back in shock and to avoid the pool of blood that was spilling out over the floor and grew bigger when Anlock ripped the dead man's skull off his shoulders, this will do nicely, needed a new blight grenade Anlock said to himself as he looked up to the surrounding cultists “This is the price for insubordination, do not disappoint me again” clipping the head to his belt, Anlock retired to his tent, he had more battles to plan.

After his “promotion” the Architect wasted no time in finishing Prophet Garathal's study inside the Cathedral of Blight, which featured the actual study and Garathal’s personal prayer room and a large chamber which ran beneath the Cathedral. Grathal wasted no time in moving into this new, private space, furniture made to accommodate the size and weight of his armor were crafted from a mixture of wood and metal, the desk was buried beneath stacks of books and maps, ancient manuscripts from a bygone age which depicts long forgotten plagues and information about the surrounding swamplands and beyond. One could just make out the surface of the desk in areas where the the paper was less cluttered revealing various notches and scraps suggesting the desk was even as old as the manuscripts that covered it. The chair was equally as old and often squeaked in protest from the weight when Garathal sat in it as the reinforced wood was pushed to its limit. A shrine to the Grandfather stood in the corner where Garathal would often pray for guidance and often receiving nothing but silence. The room itself was dark being lit by candlelight primarily around the desk and the shrine, rusted wall mounted brackets that were set in place from the previous inhabitants had been fixed and used, guiding someone underneath to Garathal's chamber where he brewed terrible concoctions.

Garathal sat in his custom fitted desk examining a book on the various species that once inhabited the swamp which he now called home, whether they still live to this day is anyone's guess as Garathal got the impression the Disciples of Decay were the first ones to enter the deep swamp in some time. While his study was mostly completed the Cathedral itself was not which was the source of the banging of hammers and chisels against fine stone nearby. Such noise was intolerable to Garathal who could neither pray nor study with such a pandemonium of noise, a different kind of banging started however which was much closer than the cultists hammering at the Cathedral, quickly realising it was the door, Garathal's chair gave a squeak almost as a sigh of relief to be relieved of the weight as he answered the door. An annoyed Garathal opened the door to the malformed Architect, “What is it whelp ?” Snapped Garthal “You hammer at my door like a battering ram !” The man, if he could be called such a thing anymore lowered his gaze immediately, “Apologies my Lord, there is a number of things which need to be brought to your attention” “Such as ?” “The work on the outer walls are complete, they are reinforced and completely rebuilt in some areas, that goes for the towers as well. The Cathedral itself is taking shape but it is not yet finished perh-” “I know that fool, the banging of your hammers irritates me to no end” interrupted Garathal “We will work with all due haste my Lord. While the fortress would stand well enough against mass infantry we are terribly vulnerable from the air, I would suggest placing some additional towers around the premises with some anti aircraft guns placed atop of them”. As the Architect was blabbering on Garathal heard a familiar sound, the tapping of Baezael’s staff against the smooth stone floor, the sound grew louder with each passing second, interrupting the Architect for a second time Garathal spoke waving off the man like a pestering fly or maggot “Yes Yes, I will keep such things in mind going forward now begone”.

The shaman glared at the Architect from underneath his hood as the man ran out of the room, not returning his gaze “I see another one has received Nurgle's gift in my absence” “Indeed but tell me of the surrounding wildlife, did they accept The Plague Lord’s gifts ?” Garathal stood aside allowing Baezael to enter and pull up a normal chair which was dwarfed in comparison to Garathal's Baezael replied as he walked “Only time will tell but I have confidence that they will” Garathal tilted his head “What do you mean ? What did you do exactly ? Either they take to the gifts or they don't” “Perhaps for one such as yourself you could force the gifts onto others but The Lord of Pestilence has yet to offer me much of his powers so alas I must be a bit more …… creative in my methods” Garathal sat down in his own chair which protested again with a defiant squeak “Details shaman, I want details” “ I infected the ground where some shrubs lied and watched as they took on a darker color, a creature resembling a deer came to feed on the plant spreading the sweet sickness to the animal. I proceeded to spill the infected guts into a nearby lake where many creatures come to drink and feed, a reptile of some description began to devour the carcass as I left to find more lakes and plants, After finding a few more spots I decided to check the birds in the various trees that dotted the swamp and discovered that they too had been infected, perhaps the worms in the ground were infected also ? I must admit I am not sure but this natural way of spreading the plague has worked before and I am confident it will work again” Garathal nodded “Good, Good continue to observe the wildlife in the coming days if all goes well we shall definitely see a difference”. Both of them stood out of their chairs and began to walk towards the door “Tell that fool Kremus to bring me his most human looking men, I require their services” Baezael slightly nodded his head making the bone charms around his neck clang “It would be pleasure” Garathal turned and closed the door behind him as the tapping of Baezael’s staff grew quieter and quieter.

Voices echoed throughout the unfinished Cathedral, they were only mumbles at first with Garathal struggling to hear exactly what was precisely being said, the voices however the quickly grew into a heated argument and it became clear to Garathal both who was arguing and what exactly was being said with a sigh Garathal took one last glance at Nurgle's shrine before leaving his study. Kremus, the Architect and ten cultists stood outside the Cathedral when Garathal found them, with Kremus being in the Architect’s face “I don’t give a gak what he told ya, he obviously changed his mind now get out of my way runt” the Architect bite back “Bah ! You are just a glorified grunt, another meat shield to be thrown into the grinder, at least I actually pull my weight around here cripple !” Before Kremus could retaliate Garathal stepped in “Enough ! I asked you to send me a few humans and you almost start a brawl ?” Kremus took a very different posture, his back once straightened was now arched and his chest once puffed out was now tucked in. His voice once loud and commanding was now soft and trembling “In my defense lord he di-” “Silence fool do not dare talk back to me” Garathal turned to one of the adjacent cultists “You ! Follow me to my study” turning and stomping back to his study, the cultist scampered after his master. The cultist looked in awe of the shrine dedicated to the Lord of Rebirth in Garathal’s study “Stop gawking at the shrine and pay attention maggot” the cultists snapped out of whatever trance that he was in and straightened his back “There is a city to the south of us in the swamp, Nortannis, you are tasked with infiltrating the city if possible and scope out their defenses understood ?” The cultist nodded “Yes holy prophet it shall be done” “You will need a persona, you wont be allowed to just walk straight in as you are” Garathal paused for a moment. “Your new name will be Mason Lee the youngest son of a farmer who has come to Nortannis in search of more rewarding and more thrilling work, i’m sure you can make up the details yourself, now get out” the cultist left without saying a word, Garathal shouted out after him “And change out of those rags, even farmer’s sons have more fashion sense than you”

Mason Lee departed the Cathedral of Blight with an armed escort of beastmen as many of the human followers either died at Dorn's Shield or are helping the Architect finish the construction work, Mason did not mind the beastmen in fact he actually kind of liked them. Sure they could get carried away with blood-lust in the heat of battle but around the campfires at night or when the lads ever find a bit of booze to pass round they make fine companions, they like many other who joined the Disciples of Decay they merely wanted a place to feel welcome and Papa Nurgle does not care who you are as long as you are willing to serve. The roads upon leaving the Cathedral were deserted and overgrown with the swamp trying to claim the pathway for its own, after a few hours walk south the roads became bigger and the path was more beaten showing traces of at least occasional use, upon passing a few travelers who gawked at the beastmen Mason stopped. “I will proceed alone, it should be safe enough from here and we are encountering more travelers the further we go on, we must be near Nortannis” one of the beastmen slammed his fist against his bare, burly chest “May the Plague Lord watch over you comrade” Mason mirrored the action “May he watch over us all” parting ways Mason continued on alone. As he trudged on he encountered more and more travelers however all were leaving Nortannis not approaching it, was something wrong ? After another twenty minutes Mason heard a choir of voices mumbles and through the trees sat the setting sun which still managed to shine through the foliage, the sun was pierced by three dark lines upon squinting Mason realized what he was looking at, the towering spires of Nortannis. Continuing down the path which bended around a hill Mason saw the city in all it’s might, huge walls were erected around the city which were manned by the Planetary Defense Force, by the looks of things Nortannis was in lock-down with the gate shut with a huge crowd of refugees shouting and raising their fists, demanding entry. A single trooper stood above the gate shouting at the gathered crowd “We have already caught seven of you fethers trying the scale the walls since this morning if you we catch anymore we will gun you down and burn your bodies, Nortannis is under quarantine and none of you f's are getting in end of f...ing story” the trooper globbered out a phlegmy spit with rocketed down to the crowd below. Mason joined the crowd asked the nearest man what was going on “Apparently some Nurgilite Cultists were spotted in the area and Lord Mayor Lawson Barlow shat his trousers and put Nortannis under Quarantine, I lived here all me life I go out to do a bit of fishing and I find meself locked out of me own home what a croc of gak” another man turned around “Barlow ? Don't make me laugh everyone knows those bitches in armor the Order of Stalwart Blades or some rubbish, they are ones behind this” as the men were arguing who was the blame a hooded figure bumped into Mason and continued walking upon checking his pockets he found a piece of parchment which had some writing on it, unfortunate for Mason he could not read and decided to slip away from the crowd and report back to his master.

Garathal sat motionless almost in a trance like state as his mind scoured the vast black emptiness that was spread out before him, like a river any activity would send ripples throughout the black abyss and also like a river no activity meant the water ran smooth, not a trace. As Garathal was about to stand up ripples erupted somewhere in the deep and Garathal rushed to the epicenter where he saw nought but a hand handing over a crumpled piece of paper. Hours of searching and this was his reward ? What could it mean ? While he was contemplating his new found discovery the abyss returned to its calm status leaving Garathal alone. Standing up and turning his back on the shrine Garathal grabbed his staff, opened his door and proceeded into the Cathedral, his Cathedral with his seven in tow. Long benches carved for the masses were lined up throughout most of the Cathedral with a center aisle which ran down the center and to the front doors, a musty carpet was rolled down the aisle which featured many holes no doubt due to the many maggots that follow The Disciples of Decay wherever they go, occasionally one could hear and feel the squish under their boot as they crush the life from one such maggot bur another will take its place in due time. The carpet itself was once a bright luscious green belonging to a noble house on some backwater Imperial world but after the populace began to worship the Plague Lord the Disciples took it for their own, now however after surviving the long and harsh travels of the cult, dirt and grime have seeped into the fabric darkening its color which suited Garathal just fine. Carvings of Daemons were lined the outer aisles, the humanoid Plaguebearers, the insectoid Battle and Rot flies, the slug like Beasts of Nurgle, packs of Nurglings and even a bloated Great Unclean One from which Nurgle himself takes form. The altar itself is a simple thing, large but simple, made of wood with Nurgle's mark carved into its face it served it purpose, the vast majority of the work was put into the stonework this altar was clearly a last minute addition. Behind the altar on the north facing wall lied a few lines of words scrawled in a sickly green liquid "Buboes, phlegm, blood and guts! Boils, bogeys, rot and pus! Blisters, fevers, weeping sores! From your wounds the fester pours."Garathal took a deep breath and let it all out with a toothless grin, he was finally home a place he could call his own, a place where true believers could come and live among those who believe as they do but of course one does not hold onto something unless they are willing to protect it and with that in mind Garathal began to think of a way to try and source some anti aircraft guns, as he mind raced through all the possible locations when the twin doors creaked open to reveal a lone figure, light cut through the shadows illuminating the dust particles within. “Prophet I have news from Nortannis” Garathal nodded towards his study “Follow me Mason let us discuss your findings inside”

Back inside his study Garathal sat back in his chair expectantly looking at Mason who upon closing the door behind him dug his hand into his pocket and produced a crumpled piece of paper, just like the one Garathal had seen but mere moments ago, Garathal snatched it from Mason’s hand and read it eagerly and aloud “Brothers of Cogger, the Imperium of man is crumbling and we are the wrecking ball, join our might and fight for your homes ! Come to the Cordova Iron Pub bearing this piece of parchment, the real fight begins soon” Garathal brooded over this a moment “Interesting, very interesting” Mason coughed up “Did I serve you well ?” Garathal looked up from the letter “That remains to be seen, you will gather three others and go to this Pub and gather any information you can on these rebels, I see potential in them” Mason bowed to his master and turned for the door “Where do you think you're going ?” Mason froze and stuttered “I-I-I was going to gather the others” “Get back here, I sent you to scout out Nortannis not to gather me letters, speak” Mason turned back round “The city is aware of our presence and as such have placed the city under Quarantine trapping many of its inhabitants outside the city, many were angry and a hooded figure was handing out those letters” “So they were riling up the commoners, go on” “They have high walls behind which they grow food so besieging them isn't really an option, aside from the PDF I spotted an armored female warrior overlooking the enraged populace, that is all I have, its the best I could gather while being locked out of the city itself” Garathal spat “Sororitas, has to be” Garathal sat silently for a moment “Go gather the others and make your way to that pub, infiltrate their ranks if you can, become one of them and they’ll begin to trust ya and if they trust ya then there will be very little information out of your reach” Nodding Mason left to gather three people he thought might be up for the job, ones who could keep themselves under control.

The sun cast an orange glow over the horizon when Mason and his squad approached Cordova Iron Pub, it was a pit stop on the road a place for travelers to rest their heads or get a decent meal. Local Cogger folk music could be heard from outside along with laughter and shouting all the signs of a merry time then why was Mason so nervous ? Mason revised his choices for his squad, Logan Reid, Strong build short dark brown hair with some stubble was a prisoner who joined the cult during of the many breakouts Garathal had staged to bolster his numbers, the prisoners either join or be left behind, most joined. Reid himself was a bit unstable but not as bad as some of the others as long as he has a bottle in his hand and he stays calm he should be fine, “just as well they are headed to a pub” thought Mason, “otherwise I wouldn't have brought him at all” His skin was still relatively human and clean so he shouldn't raise any suspicions. Varius Foy, slim build shoulder long red hair, clean shaven was found digging through corpses in a graveyard Garathal used to distract the Imperials, upon discovery he begged to join the Disciples one which Garathal agreed to. Foy doesn't talk much and keeps to himself although most of the cultists find him awkward to talk to, as long as he doesn't start talking to people about his obsession with the dead he should be fine. Clover Dukes the last member of the team, muscular build with a shaved head and a scar ran from her right ear to the corner of he mouth, a former rebel from a planet long brought back under compliance she joined when the Disciples fled the system and while she may turn a few heads for the wrong reasons she is damn good in a fight which hopefully is not what Mason needed but nothing wrong with being prepared. “Right people act normal, grab a beer and keep to yourselves I’ll handle any talking and track down these rebels, keep you weapons hidden not every farmer's boy carries pistols and shotguns” double checking that his weapons were loaded and that he had the parchment Mason and Co. entered the Cordova Iron Pub.

The layer of smoke was so thick that Mason’s eyes almost immediately began to water, quickly wiping his eyes they strolled towards the barman. Looking left and right Mason spied some men leaving their seats in a hurry and turned to the others “You three grab those seats, I’ll get the drinks” pushing his way through the crowded pub Mason found himself in front of a big burly balding man was a groomed mustache and tattoos halfway up his arm which were revealed via his ill fitting and greasy tank top, he eyed Mason as he approached the bar “What are ya having boy ?” Asked the man as he wiped a glass with a dirty cloth “Three ales and a water for meself please” the man scoffed “Water ? If you want bloody water go out and drink from the stream” the man disappeared and Mason took the opportunity to observe his surroundings. The pub was crowded making seeing anything difficult almost everyone puffed at a pipe of some description which didn't help the situation, the music that could be heard outside was now deafening and most people were seemingly having a good time, the man reappeared with four ales “20 quid” handing the man some money and not caring for the spare change Mason took the drinks and brought them over to the table, Logan grabbed his ale and slogged it down while Clover and Mason sipped theirs Varius didn't even look at his. Clover turned to her commander “How are you going to inquire about the rebels in here ?” Mason shrugged “We have to blend in, relax have a few ales and then we will harass the locals” by the time Mason turned back around Logan had finished his own ale and had begun slurping on Varius’ Mason chuckle pd “See Logan gets it” the four of them sat and talked for a while finishing their ales and eyeing potential people with information on the rebels “If i was a gambling woman my money would be on the barman, he overhears things on that bar and he sees everyone who comes in here, if there is one working for these rebels it's him” Clover decided “How about just to be sure you buy the next round” Both Mason and Logan left out a laugh while Varius cracked a fake smile in an attempt to fit in. Clover grunted before wandering towards the bar while Mason took the opportunity to find the toilets, Mason merely followed his nose to find out where they were as the pungent smell of urine had seemed to have seeped into the white tiles leaving a smell emit from the toilets into the main body of the pub. The toilets themselves housed three cubicles, two slender windows and a back door, as Mason washed his hand in the filthy sink he heard the back door open, looking in the mirror in front of him he saw troopers adorned in red storm in, turning and reaching for his hidden side arm Mason saw nought but the stock of a lasgun crack against his nose as the troopers moved into the rest of the pub, Mason collapsed and heard a loud bang from inside, a frontal breach. Whoever had lured Mason here had laid a fine trap one which he blundered into beautifully.

Other Forces A Foot
Randall read the reports that had been piling up for the past few days. Cogger Hive was meant to be a quick and decisive blow to the forces of chaos, this steel hell was anything but. Two new chaos war bands had come to reinforce the flayed legion and reports also suggested that the wretched heretics made an unlikely alliance with a Necron lord. Randall had never had any dealings with the Necrons, he knew only what he read, and that was that they were but soulless machines bent on the eradication of organic life. It struck Randall as odd the Necrons would make any compact with anyone, they must have some great scheme or perhaps they are insane. Regardless any creature that makes compact with heretics will die alongside them. There were reports from the lower hive of sabotage on flayed legion armories and other points of interest. Randall had at first credited these raids to pockets of hive resistance, however these raids were carried out with such procession that seemed unlikely. Good news came in the form of Valkyries, yet another force of guardsmen was en route to Cogger Hive. While Randall appreciated the assistance the massive amounts of guardsmen could prove problematic. This place was a den of corruption, he feared that heresy could take root in the guardsmen ranks. Other members of the ordo would just summarily execute the companies after to avoid all risk of heretical corruption. However, Randall did not agree with such methods as he found them a gross waste of the Emperor’s gifts. He would find another solution, memory wipes perhaps.

It was at this time Commissar Alenko entered Randall’s tent “Inquisitor, do you have a moment?” Randall gestured for the chair opposite of his desk and spoke “Of course, what troubles you Jethro.” Alenko took a seat “Inquisitor I can’t shake a terrible feeling I have.” Randall laced his fingers and rested his elbow on the desk as Alenko continued. “I can’t help but feel our enemy has us exactly where they want us, like we our playing into their hand somehow. It is if we are here by their choosing and not ours. The very thought of this makes me sick to my core, it feels like a knife twisting into my stomach.” Randall spoke “You’ve felt this way since the failed assault?” Alenko nodded “Aye, something about the whole incident seems wrong.” Randall arose and turned away “I’ve had the same fear, this place has drawn the gaze of some foul deity. We must end this madness, remove it from memory and existence. We will take the Citadel tomorrow or we will die in the attempt.”

Landing of Lunar Venatorii at Hive Cogger
Down in a large Devourer Dropship, the 487th Regiment landed as a whole. Quiet this landing was not, and the Regiment moved its array of animals. The roar of Wyrms and engines could be heard as well as the neighs of horses. Over Two thousand men and women disembarked off the transport. The Various variations of Tauros and Chimeras, rolled off the ramps as the beast masters calmed and gave over their charges to the riders. Motorcycles of all sorts high tailed down the ramps around the others. Each Company and Battalion moved into a battle line formation. Several of the Chimeras looked odd with extra antennas.

The cultist's vox communications started going in and out as static flooded the air waves. This regiment knew its business even as disorganized it looked to outsiders. There was yipping and yelling as people rode to their designated spots. Over a Hundreds of Horses, Wyrms, Bikes, Buggies, and Sentinels made up this Calvary regiment. Everyone was wearing a dizzying array of leathers and Carapace armor. The coloration was Dusty reds and charcoal blacks in a variety of different patterns. They all wore patches of a roaring Panther head. Almost before the regiment was completely formed a Flight of Wyrms took off to enter the hive. Their job was reconnaissance and maybe a little bit of dropping bombs. The horses were the next to leave, and these left in total silence. They left in squads to approach the city by stealth, they were to hit points all along the walls of the hive. This was to be a multi front battle. The lightest of the army was taking the furthest points. They were going to appear to be a much larger force and they were already pretty big. Only the Command Salamanders and their escort bikes were left of these companies as they rolled out.

The next leaving was a great split of forces as what looked like two full battalions of Buggies, Sentinels, Motorcycles, and Salamanders Split to either side of the hive with their orders. They we to hunt down and cut supply line and wreck any resistance. This hive will be subjugated to the Imperium. They were going to use every trick in the book to do so. 1st Battalion went left while 2nd Battalion went right. They moved in a kind of synchronized movement that spoke of deep planning. They were to be a siege force.

The last to move out was Fourth Battalion. These were the Chimeras of War. Four of the five companies moved out as one mass towards the center of the hive and the main entry way. They were heavily armed and ready to be in the thickest fighting. This was the Armored Calvary section. Armed with Multilasers, Autocannons, Heavy bolters, and Storm Bolters, they prepared to shred any resistance. Any may face one of these forces but all fighting like they were makes it hard to form a solid line against them.

The ones that were left behind immediately started building a base camp in case of a long siege. These were the medics, the enginseers, and all the support troops. They could fight but their purpose was to make their fighting arm more effective.

Immediately upon reaching the city 3rd and 4th Battalions ran afoul of the traitors to the Imperium. The narrow passages of the Hive provided only so many avenues of attack and the enemy was prepared. Immediately the Chimeras came under heavy fire and small groups of isolated horse troops were disappearing. The Regiment had grown too confident that they were facing the normal disorganized rabble of civilian cultists. But it turned out that a clever man might be leading them. Several have died or disappeared. Even a couple of Chimeras have been damaged to the point of retreat.

It was chaos of warfare that ensued though that was ironic on who was causing that. It was if the entire hive was attacking them. Missiles and bullets flew everywhere. Several Companies and platoons became isolated and had to retreat on their own, taking casualties. Guardsmen and women were not only getting injuries but dying and having to be left behind as they retreated to open other paths. The wyrms unfortunately didn't see how well placed the barricades were nor spotted the cultists who were wearing dark enough clothing to blend into the dusk attack.

The Samaritans of the Support Company immediately rushed out to save who they could. The cries and screams of the injured could be heard as rescue operations occurred.

This would not be the end of the regiment though. The first forces pulled back but made way to find new routes of attack. Colonel Errmanno himself called off further attacking until other routes were found. They caused some damage but not much and definitely not enough.

" You Slackers. Is this how the best Calvary unit in the Imperium performs. Retrieve your wounded get back here and then attack again but this time use your damn heads," Colonel Errmanno Raven was an overly large man, but his bellow was loud especially over the vox. He was of average height and a slim build, though he was defined in his musculature from years of hard training as Guardsmen. He rose through the ranks as a survivor, and he made sure his men were intelligent, independent, dependable soldiers that could survive as well. He knew not all would make it but some and if he did his job right most will. His high fade cut hair bristled with sweat from his earlier attentions of taking care of his own beast, not an easy task. He was originally a Wyrm rider himself and still was, with a beast that he raised and hatched himself. He had a reputation for being an analyst and being courageous when called upon. His leathers were well worn and only the Dark Green outline of the Black Panther patch denoted his rank above the rest of the regiment. Another thing odd about him was his connections to the Forge world that supplied his men with equipment. His Brother was a Magos there, and his brother supplied him with a piece of equipment that usually go to Skitarii to ride into battle with to protect him, A Taser Lance. Otherwise he was equipped fair average for a Colonel, Including a Ceres Pattern Bolt pistol, Light Power Armor, Mordian pattern power sword, and an array other devices and weapons.. He also had bionics but that wasn't apparent to the naked eye so much as his brother did him well at getting his brother the best he could offer. That was one of the reasons his regiment was chose to escort a Forge world Expeditionary Fleet. He had them trained on their home world in the same sector, where these beasts roamed and only the best could tame one.

The war council was quite informal it had all the usual members Commissar Alenko, Captain Kid, Captain Athenar, Warden Hoffman, Paladin Utilitarius, and Justicar Freeman who had only recently returned from his mission at Drake’s point. Randall wore his black carapace armor with the holy seal of the inquisition on its breast over that he wore a tattered black trench coat. Randall Spoke only semi formally “To be blunt progress has been much slower than I like, these heretics are proving to be a stubborn lot. However I just received news that should turn the tides of war in our favor. A regiment of imperial guardsmen has by some miracle of the Emperor has made planet fall around the Hive.” “Who are they.” Asked Kid. Randall stole a glance at his paper and replied “The 487th Lunar Venatorii Panther Calvary. Wyrm riders.” Alenko spoke “We could definitely use the extra men, but I would advise caution this place can corrupt.” Randall nodded “My thoughts the same, that is why I am sending Captain Kid to make contact with their commander to ensure there is nothing to fear from them.” Kid disliked the idea of being taken away from the battle to play diplomat but she would not complain. The Captain nodded to the inquisitor and Randall concluded “Excellent make ready we will make our final push soon.”

Captain Kid blocked the glare of the sun with her armored wrist. This was the first time in weeks she had been out of the hive. After a few minutes of her eyes adjusting she could now see the world in more clarity. In the distance she could see the Venatorii camp, though the lodging was temporary it must have been a massive undertaking due to its scale. Began the long walk from the stairs that exited the hive to the earth below.

Kid had walked for nearly twenty minutes when she saw a trio of riders coming. It was not long before the wyrmsmen were upon Kid, the trio blitz around the storm trooper and encircled her. The three creatures looked menacing, two were black scaled with red scales that accented the flanks of their long bodies. The third rider was mounted atop a deep blue beast who’s hide was marked with freckles of white.

The lead rider spoke from atop his blue steed “State your name and business here.” Kid replied examining the fearsome mounts “My name is Captain Amanda Kid, emissary for Inquisitor Garrett Randall.” The rider dismounted Kid could see by his patch he was a sergeant. The sergeant offered Kid his hand and spoke as the two shook “My name is sergeant Jacob Holiday, it’s a pleasure to meet you mam.” Kid spoke griping the sergeant’s fist “Well met sergeant, how much further is your camp, I will need to speak with your commander.” Holiday replied “Not but another ten minutes walk on foot. I will accompany you.” The sergeant looked over to one of his subordinates and spoke “Take Azula here and inform Colonel Raven he has company.” The rider pounded his fist to his chest and the three wyrms and two riders were off.

As the sergeant said it was only a ten-minute walk to the camp. Kid saw the hastily built stables that would temporarily house the dragon-kin mounts, they walked by tables where groups of men played cards and drank, they passed patrols of riders overseeing the camps welfare. At the center of the camp was a tent much larger than the rest. Holiday looked over to Kid and spoke “Before you head in I’m afraid I will need to confiscate your side arm.” Reluctantly Kid relinquished the hot shot las pistol. Holiday continued “And that knife in your boot.” Kid removed the nine-inch blade and handed it to the sergeant. Holiday smiled “You can head right on in.”

Kid entered the tent, it was lit only by a few candles. She examined the holdings and noticed it to be a bit on the simpler. She saw the colonel facing away from her looking in the mirror. The man’s neck and checks were covered in shaving cream and in the colonel’s left hand was a straight razor. The colonel spoke friendly but didn’t turn to Kid “Captain, I thank you for your presence.” Kid spoke “Colonel Raven, the honor is mine. We appreciate your sudden arrival; it is a gift from the Emperor.” Raven wiped the shaving cream away with a rag and spoke “A high praise madam, however I think the Emperor could do a whole lot better than our humble regiment.” Kid smiled “Regardless we are glad to have your support.” Raven gestured to a table and some chairs and spoke “Sit, I reckon we have much to discuss.” Kid sat and began recounting the war for Cogger Hive.

In the time Kid spoke Raven had lit a cigar. The colonel had seen the taint of chaos before, he knows what horrors it may have on the minds of men. Raven spoke “Captain I know what the effects the arch enemy might have on my men, should any of them succumb we know what must be done.” Kid spoke “I have lost dozens of men to the taint, it is never easy but it must be done.” By this point Kid was comfortable in allowing the Venatorii to assist them. Kid spoke “We are planning a final push against the heretics, your men will prove invaluable. We can discuss this further at our forward camp.” Raven grinned we will have our camped pack by night fall, we will join you shortly there after.” Raven called outside the tent. “Holiday” the sergeant shortly appeared. “You and your men are heading out with the captain.” The sergeant pounded his fist to his chest. Kid bowed her head to Raven and exited the tent.

Battle of Salvation Plaza
The inquisitorial war council was well underway.

Warden Hoffman slammed his fist to the table, “We have the heretics corned let us advance up the center and crush them with are superior force.” Colonel Raven shook his head “Advancing up the center would be a mistake; our enemy has had plenty of time to dig them selves in charging head first would be a slaughter.” Warden Hoffman laughed “My charges would lead the way, I bet they’re eager for some retribution after the stunt those heretics attempted to pull last night.” Captain Kid spoke “I’m with Hoffman on this, advancing up the center would be the quickest path to victory.” Commissar Alenko added “We don’t need to throw everything we have into a center charge, we should split our forces and flank our enemy.” Randall seemed intrigued “You have a plan Commissar?” Jethro nodded “Of sorts.”

The commissar leaned over the table where a map of the upper hive sat. He placed a line of black tokens on the map and reached for more as he began to speak. “Our enemy is sending everything they have to prevent us from advancing. As Warden Hoffman said the bulk of our force will advance up the middle as the enemy would expect. All of our heavy armor up front” Jethro set down the tokens representing the penal legion and inquisitorial storm troopers. “What our enemy won’t be expecting is to be hit from their flanks.” Alenko sat the token that represented the Venatorii forces on the left flank while he placed the token that represented the grey knights on the right flank. “Raven’s men mounted atop their wyrms should be easily able to break through the cultists line on the left, while Captain Athenar’s task force would be small enough to slip through and reek havoc on the right.” Alenko put more tokens representing Raven’s men behind the line of black tiles. Once Raven’s men are through they will fan out behind the enemy preventing their escape. Then the center and right forces will push forward and we will have our foe in a full route.”

Captain Athenar smiled “A classic hammer and anvil maneuver.” Captain Kid studied the map before confessing “I like it.” Hoffman nodded “It is acceptable, provided the Colonel’s men are up to the task.” The colonel nodded “No task too great.” Randall spoke “So we are settled, we strike in six hours ready your men.”

The 487th flooded into the plaza in force, launching grenades and wild snap-fire to drive the cultists back. After hours of exchanging fire, the cultists retreated clumsily in the face of the advance, diving through boltholes and retreating through the maze of half-destroyed buildings which surrounded the plaza. Wyrms shrieked overhead, forcing the cultists to take cover in the ruins of their own barricades as the soldiers advanced.

"Bonemen!"

The cry came in the gap between shots, filling an eerie silence on the battlefield. There was no alarm in it, nor was there cheer. It was a statement, and it became a chant from within the buildings and beneath the streets.

"Bonemen! Bonemen! Bonemen!"

With a sudden chill, it became apparent that the cultists had not taken cover from the soldiers and wyrms. They were sworn to the Flayed Legion, veterans of the furious melee at the Maw, and would not be dislodged while living. They were taking cover from something far worse.

They stalked from the ruined buildings in perfect step, crushing debris and corpses with each footfall. Gleaming ivory forms lit by the strobe of incoming gunfire, towering monoliths with skull-like faces and slender limbs. They might have been ghouls had they ever lived, or statues had anyone deemed to call them art. But the long weapons hanging from their arms cared nothing for aesthetics or appearances as they raised them in a single, massed motion. The air grew still, as if the moon itself shied away from what was about to be unleashed.

The sky lit up in crackling amber, arcing in angry trails which reached out for tank, soldier, and beast alike with a tremendous roar.

The wyrms reacted first, animal instinct warning them a heartbeat before the machines released their fury. The lead wyrm took a blast across the chest, scales falling in a gentle powder to the ground below, but the beast turned hard and cleared the remaining bolts. The skies cleared, and the automatons brought the brilliant curtain of energy crashing down onto the soldiers massed in the street. Men vanished under the storm's fury in seconds, reduced to component particles in a frenzy of xenos firepower. The returning shots ricocheted harmlessly off of the machines' metal forms, and where the lasbolts melted away metal, it reformed anew seconds after. The machines, with their blank, glowing stares and perpetual death grimaces, seemed neither to notice nor care.

They took a single, precise step forward, and fired again.

Shouts rang out, commands of retreat and covering fire as the plaza was bathed in amber light once more. The line broke, melting back towards the fortifications at the city's edge, and the plaza was yielded to the Necron "bonemen" amidst the wild cheers of a hundred heretics.

Commissar Alennko walked up the boulevard. In the first hours of the attack they had encountered heavy cultists resistance, but soon enough that resistance had faded away. As they marched deeper behind enemy lines they encountered only stray pockets of cultists. Now they were met exclusively with silence. The only noise that was here was the sound of inquisitorial boots, and the grumble of imperial war machines. The sound was oddly foreign, though Alenko had heard all these sounds before, they melded ill with this place. Alenko knew he was the intruding on something unholy. It was not long before Raven’s men and the Grey knights caught up with the primary force.

Colonel Raven dismounted his wyrm and approached Alenko and Captain Athenar, as Athenar spoke “We met only limited resistance.” Raven added “Same on our end. Have the cultists fallen further back then we anticipated, perhaps to better fortify the citadel?” Alenko eyes widend as he realized their blunder, but before he could voice it Captain Kid’s voice came over the Vox. “We have movement.”

Kid watched the auspex from the cabin of the Malcador tank as dozens of blips approached from all sides. Soon the blips doubled in number and then again doubled.

Alenko uttered “It’s a trap.” Not a moment later hundreds of beasts emerged from their places of hiding. They came from buildings and sewers and every shadow lurked with a pair of twisted eyes. The creatures had no uniform nature to them save that each was horrific. Alenko looked to one razor teeth, horns, blades for arms and a single cyclopean eye.

The Imperials wasted no time firing at the foul chaos spawn, but the creatures wasted even less charging them. A storm trooper fired his las gun at the creature only to be charged and impaled by its scorpion like tail. A penal legionnaire drew his shiv and dashed for the nearest beast, with some luck he struck the beast and planted his blade in its skull. The prisoner’s victory was short lived as another equally horrid creature with the hands of a crustacean pried him in two. One of the beast charged for the tank that held captain Kid. With razor claws the hell spawn shredded open the Malcador’s armor side, its reward was a buck shot from Kid’s shot gun. Commissar Alenko linked to all voxs and ordered the retreat. A demented thing charged for the commissar but was cut off by a wyrm rider. The creature beheaded the wyrm with a swing of a rusted axe, the creature then lifted the rider over head with a tentacle. The rider squirmed and freed his left arm, with that he drew a grenade from his belt and detonated it killing both him and the beast.

The loyalists were in full retreat, though they disengaged their nightmare was far from through. A chimera struck a mine and blew the treads clear off. At this time a mob of cultists revealed themselves and attacked the fleeing Imperials. The Imperials had no choice but to continue to fight their way back to their base camp and fall victim to all the traps that lay in their path.

Prisoner 1597 fired at the enemy behind him whiled dashing forward, one careless step and the steel teeth clamp down. 1597 fell and screamed in agony as the bear trap dug into his flesh. 3434 saw his friend, he wouldn’t leave him like this. 1597 screamed in pain as 3434 attempted to pry the metal trap out of the flesh of his leg. It was no use not without the trap’s key, 3434 drew the hatchet he took from the 8591’s corpse. 1597 shouted “No don’t!” but 34 ignored his request, the hatchet came down on 1597 just below the knee cutting him to the bone. A second swing and 1597 was free. 34 lifted his friend over his shoulder and carried him to the where the rest of the fleeing convoy was fighting.

It was another hour of hellish fighting before the loyalist reached their camp. A dim bastion of hope in an ever darkening hell.

An emergency council was called all the members were wounded to some degree. The silence was heavy. Randall spoke “We have lost only a battle, but the war goes on. You all exemplified honor and bravery today and for that you should be proud. We can not let our enemies demoralize us, we must remain vigilant. I wish I had good news to offer you all, but I don’t.” another heavy silence fell before Randall spoke again “At approximately 1532 Cogger time the planetary garrison of Dorn’s shield was assaulted. After a short battle that was a decisive victory in the defenders favor it was confirmed that the attacking force was dedicated to Chaos.” Captain Kid spoke “So that’s it than, everything we’ve done here has been for nothing.” Randall arose “Heresy must be completely purged from Cogger now and forever. What we have done here is completely necessary. We can not allow heresy to have any foothold on Cogger. So I will see every last these apostate scum dead, and once I am sure every one of these mutineers have ceased breathing I will send this damn hive to oblivion!” Randall regained his composure “Justicar Freeman I am sending you and your squad to assist in the purging of these scum, track them and destroy them by whatever means. When we are finished here we will join you in your hunt.” Freeman pounded his fist to his plate. Randall continued to speak “Rest now, you all earned it.” Silently the war council exited the Inquisitor’s tent, all except Commissar Alenko.

Randall spoke first “Its not your fault Jethro, you had no way of knowing.” Alenko spoke sadly “So many died, if we would have advanced up the center we might not have lost so many.” Randall spoke “Jethro you have two options. You can sit and wonder what you could have done better, wonder about how many men you could have saved so they could die somewhere else, wonder why the emperor let you fail. Or you you can get mad, plot your vengeance and fantasize about how you will make your enemy suffer at your hands. I only have room in my army for the second kind of man.” Alenko pondered on those words for a brief moment before standing to leave the tent.

Inquisition Makes A Move
Commissar Jethro Alenko looked off into the darkness the hive’s streets. The flood lights of inquisition’s forward base rebelled against the corrupting abyss of the upper hive, however they barely managed to illuminate ten paces from the compound’s walls. From the darkness Alenko could hear all manner of noises, the distant crack of las and auto fire, the occasional explosion that illuminated the black oppression for seconds at a time, and the hideous howl of yet unidentified origins. Jethro took a deep breath, his rebreather filtering out dozens of harmful airborne particles. Since the Nurgle’s rot had taken nearly two hundred convicts rebreathers had become mandatory to wear at all times, the punishment for any man being caught without a mask was a three days in quarantine without food. Alenko stared deep into the abyssal streets and felt as if a knife had been twisted in his gut. Alenko swore he heard a silent whisper cry from the unknown: a horrid beckoning he would have no part of.

“Under the crimson fog of a winter dawn, a black regiment marched over Iron Bridge. I had not thought death had undone so many.”

The voice of Captain Amanda Kid caught the Commissar off guard. She wore a rebreather similar to Alenko’s only hers was silver to match her carapace armor. Alenko turned to Kid and recited.

“So come now sons and daughters of Mordia, let us strike one final blow against the void and rejoin our comrades forever more.”

Kid removed her mask and approached the commissar.

“I had not realized you were a coinsure of Mordian poetry.”

“It was always a bit macabre for my liking I much prefer the works of Faust.” Spoke Alenko

“Oh, would you care to share one with me?”

Alenko broke his gaze from the black shadowed streets and recited staring deep into the Captain’s eyes. “I cannot rest from travel: I will drink Life to the lees: as all times I have enjoy'd Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Armageddon Vext the dim upon the void.”

Kid took a step towards Alenko and removed the commissar’s rebreather lingering near him. Alenko continued breath unburdened.

“I am to become a name; For always roaming with a hungry heart. Much have I seen and known; cities of men and manners, climates, councils, governments, Myself not least, but honour'd of them all; And drunk delight of battle with my peers, Far on the ringing plains of Gallor Prime.”

Before the Commissar could speak another word Amanda pressed her lips on his.

3434 watched as 1597 exited the medical tent. It had been nearly two weeks since the failed attack where 1597 lost his leg. Where 1597’s leg was replaced by a crude metallic peg forcing the former Faustian to walk with a limp. 3434 laughed at his friend. “What in thrones name is that, why didn’t they give you a regular servo leg?”

1597 grumbled. “Apparently, they don’t have anymore regular servo limbs, it seems the storms had first dibs on them. So I’m stuck with this in the mean time.”

34 laughed and pulled a flask filled with contraband from his pocket. 34 tossed the booze to 1597 who immediately took a swig. Growling at the horrible drink 1597 spoke “thanks for cutting off my leg by the way.”

“Any time friend, any time.”

Jethro and Amanda laid on the small cot in the Commissar’s tent.

“Why didn’t we do this sooner?” asked Amanda

“I don’t know. I’ve thought about this, us for some time. The timing just never seemed right. I was going to say something at the Governor’s ball, but those pesky green skins had to barge in and start killing everyone.”

Amanda laughed “Put a bit of a damper on the mood.”

Amanda arose from the cot and began reattaching the pieces of her silver carapace armor. “You should get ready; Randall’s final war counsel will begin in half an hour.”

Alenko sat up in his bed and spoke “Right I’ll see you on the other side.”

Kid smiled and nodded as she fixed her last piece of armor and exited the Commissar’s tent.

Randall watched as Raven entered the war tent, Randall spoke “Welcome Colonel, now that you are here we may begin. We have at long last a chance to strike at the heretics headquarter.”

Randall pointed to the hive’s citadel.

“Should we destroy this the rest of these cultist scum will fall to disorder. Our enemy knows this and has consolidated everything they have to defend the citadel. I suspect it will be a hard fought battle, but we stand to finally end this.” Randall began placing down tokens identifying the various units and began to speak. “We will surround our foe, and attack them from all sides. Colonel Raven you have the fastest force so you will flank from the south. Captain’s kid’s storm troopers will advance from the north, they will be our anvil. Commissar Alenko and warden Hoffman will split the penal legion and attack from the east and west. Paladin Utilitarius will lead a terminator deep strike force into the citadel and bring it down from within, using melta charges.”

Raven looked at the battle plan and then to Randall “It’s sound, but our last offensive was equally sound.”

“I think our enemy can only have so many tricks up their sleeve, but yes we must remain ever vigilant our enemy is unpredictable.” Randall arose “What we do here today will echo throughout the Imperium for generations to come, preform your duty for the Emperor.” Each of the soldiers returned the salute “For the Emperor.”

The citadel was the center of the Hive. From here the hive’s lord mayor would govern his uncountable charges looking down upon them from the spire’s balcony. The compound was built to withstand all manner of attack, lower hive uprising, mutant incursion, a coup from the PDF. The citadel lived up to its name. around the single large spire were several other small buildings. The cultists had taken to using them as armories and barracks. Surrounding the complex was a 20-foot-high wall, that completely encircled the mile perimeter of the compound.

Mordecai looked at the approaching inquisition with disgust. From the ramparts he saw his own forces taking positions both in and out of the fortress among the ranks of normal soldiers were the twisted chaos spawn eager for the fight to come. Mordecai looked to the cultists below him awaiting his order. Mordecai growled beneath his porcelain white mask. “Those imperial dogs seek to martyr themselves for their corpse god, I say we oblige them.” The men bellow shouted and jeered in approval. Mordecai looked up at the citadel spire, the inquisition will not interfere with the ritual.

Captain Amanda Kid advanced up the boulevard taking cover behind the Malcador tank the slowly paved the way. Kid kept her head low as the metallic pinking of steel and iron sent sparks and flashes. From Kid’s left a squad of cultists stormed firing their weapons on full auto. The storm troopers returned fire and eliminated the squad, but not before three of their own had fallen. One of the Malcador operators opened the turret hatch and began the heavy stubber allowing the storm troopers to fan out into the ruined buildings for cover.

The underbelly of the citadel.

Five Grey Knights materialize in the flash of an eye. Paladin Utilitarius’s heads up display installed in his helmet read the area was clear. Utilitarius looked to his men, no words were needed they knew their jobs. They split up and headed for their assignments each with a melta bomb in tow.

Commissar Alenko fired his bolt pistol at the oncoming cultists, these ones were a particularly sickly lot pallid flesh and grotesque boils. These were the ones responsible for the out break that took so many convict lives, and the prisoners were eager for a bit of retribution. The penal legionaries advanced aggressively any cultists that had the misfortune of getting too close was met with exceptional brutality. The defenders were so preoccupied with the storm troopers on the north and the wyrms men to the south they had neglected the eastern and western walls almost completely. The penal legionaries were but feet away from the citadel’s walls. Randall saw his opening, the Commissar shouted “Hooks”. The order bounced six times from the arbitrator section commanders, and the penal legionnaires produced their grappling hooks.

3434 swung the hook at his side before sending it flying towards the citadel’s walls. 34 shouted “Hook secure!” as the iron snare latched to the citadel’s wall.” 8516 was the first to begin climbing the rope, he made it about half way up the wall when a cultist at the top of the wall gunned him down. 8516 fell taking with him 3391. 34 dodged the falling convicts and fired his las pistol at the defending cultist. 34 looked to his left and watched as a cultist cut the climbers rope with a hatchet. It was none other than Commissar Alenko who put a bolt in the hatchet wielders chest. At last they had finally reached the top of the walls 34 drew his pistol and short blade as the first of the cultist ran to meet the penal legionnaires.

The fighting on the west ramparts was brutal. 1597 slashed the throat of an oncoming cultist with his curved blade as 3434 kicked another off of the wall. This fight was clearly going in the penal legionaries’ favor, and soon enough the cultists began fleeing into the spire. 7386 an ox of a man hoisted the last cultist over his head and threw him from the wall, the cultist screamed for a few seconds before breaking every bone he had against the harsh hive floor.

Alenko watched as the penal legionnaires celebrated their victory over the cultists, Alenko couldn’t help but grin as he shouted “Alright boys, lets show the rest of these poor bastards what real fighters look like.” An eager roar was let out as the commissar drew his saber and headed for the northern gate with his criminal chargers.

The citadel’s underbelly was a loathsome place, dark, damp and decrypt. From here Utilitarius could hear the muffled fighting between the inquisition forces and the heretics. The occasional explosion would cause dust to fall from the celling. Paladin Utilitarius had encountered three cultists hurrying to get something from the cellar, the Paladin had cut them down before they could learn of his presence. The paladin approached where he would place the charge and set the explosive. Utilitarius opened a psychic channel with his squad and informed them his charges were set, battle brothers Beshka, Fellran, Kellgan responded affirming their task’s completion. Brother Jyorus however made no such check in. Utilitarius attempted to psychically hail the knight but was given no response.

Utilitarius ordered his men to meet him where Jyorus was supposed to place his bomb. Utilitarius was the first to arrive, finding Jyorus dead in a pool of blood.

Fellran approached “That wound was caused by no human forged blade.” Beshka growled “By Titan I swear vengeance for brother Jyorus. We must find the creature that did this.”

“You already have Grey Knight.”

Inquisitor Garrett Randall removed his sword from the heart of a massive chaos spawn, toppling backwards. High above the battle field was a flicker of light, emanating from the top of the spire. Soon the flicker became a beam of light that reached the celling of the hive. It drew every eye for miles. Randall felt a sharp pain in his head and his nose began to bleed. The grey knights accompanying him shared the psychic phenomenon. Captain Athenar spoke with shock “By the emperor.” Randall regained his focus and shouted “It’s a summoning, we have to get up there now.” Athenar attempted to caste a warp gate to propel himself to the ritual point, but there was some manner of psychic ward preventing him.

Randall opened his com bead, “Utilitarius, we need that spire down now.” Randall repeated “Paladin do you copy, what is your status.” Again static, Randall attempted to contact the paladin psychically but could not get a trace on him.

Utilitarius turned to face the voice, his brothers did not react. Utilitarius gripped his nemesis force sword with both hands. Across from him was a foul red creature armed with a blade of stygian ivory. The beast was a foot taller than the eight-foot paladin, its flesh an ever shifting gradient of black and red, its horns sharp, teeth, and claws razor sharp. Utilitarius moved passed his frozen brothers and cursed at the demon.

“Utilitari ati vak Draigo”

The demon laughed

“You think you can banish me with some words as if I were one of Slaanesh’s cheap harlots or Tzeentch’s sniveling peons.”

Utilitarius growled and charged for the crimson beast the demon grinned

“So it begins.”

Randall cursed “Utilitarius isn’t responding” Randall looked at the bright beam and focused on it so that he might detect its magics. After a few moments of focus Randall called over to Athenar, “We can’t teleport to it, but perhaps together we could teleport a small squad through.” Athenar nodded in agreement, “Those wards are meant to keep out psykers, we could send some non psykers through.” Commissar Alenko stepped forward “Me and my men will go.” Randall nodded “Get your men no more then five.” Alenko gathered five of his best men, Arbitrator Halouck, 3434, 4716, 7386, and 5219. They stood perfectly still waiting for Athenar and Randall to channel the psychic power. Through the combined effort of the two master psykers the six men vanished in a flash of Sanctic light.

Paladin Utilitarius swung his nemesis force sword at the khornate creature. The two blades of corruption and purity made heavy blows at one and other. Utilitarius found his opening after nearly a minute of exchanging blocks with the demon. However, when the blade struck the demon’s hide, it became apparent the beast was not actually there. Utilitarius’s blade phased through the demon, as if there were nothing there. The demon laughed as he returned to being soldi and locking blades with Utilitarius.

“You almost had me. It has been some time since I’ve killed something almost worthy.”

Utilitarius growled and shot a bolt of lighting from his hand at the demon. The creature absorbed the psychic attack with his blade and redirected it at Utilitarius. Utilitarius in turn weathered the blow against his adamantium hull, his ward of endurance ensured he felt no pain from it.

Top of the spire

Mordecai watched with pleasure as the psykers conducted the ritual. Eight psykers stationed at the points of the chaos star painted in blood atop the spire roof. At the center of star was a pyre with a hundred and eighty-four skulls of one hundred and eighty-four flayed men. Seven of the Psykers chanted in demonic tongues while a single orator sang above the others. “Ave Arachus prince of darkness, rise anew so that you may re-forge this world in glorious iron. Show us the path oh grand demon, scion of Khorne. Slayer of Skies, ARISE ARISE.” From the center of the pyre of skulls arose a blood red hand griping a massive thunder hammer. Mordecai smiled underneath his mask as the prince of chaos slowly began to force its way into the world.

Mordecai’s smile turned to a fierce rage as flash of blinding light heralded the arrival of six inquisitorial meddlers. Mordecai shouted “Complete the ritual! Guards!”

Alenko fired three bolts into the torsos of two guards. 3434 drew his lucky shiv and danced around las rifle armed cultist before slicing his throat. Arbitrator Halouck drew his stun baton and began dueling a chain sword armed pdf traitor. 4716 leveled his las rifle at one of the ritual cultists but was gunned down by Mordecai’s broom stock auto pistol. 7386 the ox man charged for Mordecai, with his chain sword. Mordecai drew his sword and shield easily blocking the convicts hardy blow. Mordecai lifted his shield and struck at 7386’s legs sending the man to the ground, allowing the Lazarus’s shield bearer to finish off the ox like soldier. Alenko removed his saber from another cultist guard as he saw Mordecai.

Mordecai locked eyes with the Commissar and flourished his blade and raised his shield that bore the sigil of the flayed legion.

Alenko fired the remaining two bolts he had in his pistol at Mordecai, but the champion of chaos withstood the bolts thanks to his shield. Mordecai swung first Alenko narrowly dodged the long sword. Mordecai swung for the second time Alenko parried the blow but was driven back by its force. Alenko felt himself growing weary, while Mordecai was still fresh and hardened by rage. Mordecai swung his blade at a 45-degree angle, Alenko thought this would be the end for sure, but a memory came to him. Sheppard.

Alenko flipped his saber so the back faced Mordecai and the Blade rested in Alenko’s left palm. Mordecai struck the saber and followed the blade’s curve to the left. This left Mordecai’s face exposed to a bash from the hilt of Alenko’s saber. With all his strength Alenko bashed the side of Mordecai’s face with the Aquila headed pommel. Particles of the champion’s porcelain mask went flying everywhere and the masked cracked all across its face. Mordecai was stunned by the blow and Alenko did not hesitate to press his advantage. The Commissar pivoted to mordecai’s undefended right and ran him through with his saber. Mordecai fell to the floor gripping his side. Alenko towered over him and raised his boot. Mordecai laughed gurgling blood, “I will be with you soon, four fathers. I pray I served you well.” Alenko brought his boot down shattering both Mordecai’s mask and his face.

3434, arbitrator Halouck, and 5219 killed the last of cultist guards. They drew their pistols and began firing at the ritual psykers. Soon enough they all laid dead. And the hand that was slowly rising from the pyre of skulls began to sink back to the hell it came from.

Alenko looked over to his men they were all weary, 3434 laughed “You know, this reminds me of the time…” an explosion cut 34 off, as the building began to shake.

Earlier

Utilitarius locked blades with the demon as the beast snarled “You tire mortal, I do not. Give up now so you may die with some comfort.” Utilitarius roared stepping back from the demon unleashing the full strength of his wrist mounted storm bolter on his foe. The bolts had no effect on the demon but Utilitarius noticed something, one of the bolts damaged the creature’s bone sword that was its source of power. Utilitarius casted Iron arm and made a mighty vertical swing at the demon. The demon struggled to match the Grey Knight’s strength. The force of the Utilitarius and the burning fury of his spirt channeled through the force sword soon became too much for the demon’s blade to handle as it snapped and disintegrated into black ash. The demon snarled “Impossible!” Utilitarius threw the demon to the ground and seized the beasts by its massive horns and began to pry at it. The demon screamed in pain as Utilitarius planted his foot on its spine and with a mighty yank removed the beasts head.

Time was restored around Utilitarius and his three remaining battle brothers saw him finish the beast.

Kellgan bowed “A mighty kill Paladin.” Utilitarius merely nodded and spoke “Brother Jyorus has been avenged. May he never be forgotten.” The knights pounded their breast plates in solidarity. Beshka set the melta charges and began speaking “Charges set brother.” Without another word the grey knights activated their suits’ teleporters and the five of them were gone.

Alenko and the rest of the surviving cons ran toward the spire exits. A pillar crumbled in front of Alenko nearly crushing him. The party climbed over the large pillar to find the rest of the room engulfed in flames. They braved the fire and charged ever closer to the exit. Debris fell from above while smoke arose from bellow. Alenko had nearly lost his way before he saw the great doors of the citadel. Making a final mad dash the Commissar, Arbitrator, and two prisoners made it out of the building just as the final explosions ran out and the once mighty citadel crumbled down and into the lower hive.

Alenko arose to see the entirety of Randall’s and colonel Raven’s forces. As Hallouck, 34, and 5292 arose a slow applause began, and it eventually consumed everyone. Jethro sore and exhausted limped towards Randall. The Commissar began bandaging the slice in his hand where he had deflected Mordecai’s blow. Alenko looked to his left and saw Captain Kid, she had a smile but was not clapping, Alenko could never read her. Randall spoke “You did it.” Alenko laughed “All in a days work for the Inquisition.” Alenko turned to see a hole in the dome where the citadel once stood. The explosion tore a hole in the hive’s celling. Alenko for the first time in months got to see the true blue sky, and it looked like a lovely day.

Battle of Hive Cogger Perimeter
Colonel Raven was fuming at the traitors that set up cunning traps but they were not the only cunning ones here. After the aborted extending of the Inquisitor's control, he went back to his base camp which was looking more permanent by the day. The encampment grew larger and larger with stalls for each wyrm and horses, as well as facilities to house all the people involved with their care. It was turning into a mini city of its own. His various Battalion and Company base camps were doing the same as he tracked their progress over vox. He had his three pronged plan already moving forward and the side tracking of the Inquisitor's plan actually helped one prong. Sgt. Holiday bringing Captain Kid here was a good thing. 1st and 2nd Battalions has now completely encircled the great Hive. Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Jones of First Battalion reported several attempts by the Cultists of trying to breach the siege.

The Cultists were trying to transport stuff in and out of the city via a variety of civilian transports. These were no match for the heavy weapons carried on the fast attack platforms of the Lunar Venatorii. One interesting incident was when the Cultists led a breakout attack against and encampment and was killed to a man during the attack. In the Hive they had advantages of terrain, outside it was the guard. A group of cultists tried a charge into the heart of First Battalion encampment to get chewed up by the timed bursts of Heavy Bolters and Heavy Stubbers for each encampment of guard had time to entrench themselves and set up a series of anti infantry and anti armor dens. Even a couple of Anti air platforms at each encampment was run by the senior gunners of each formation.

The cultists hit the siege outpost at dawn, a long stream of screaming lunatics led by a towering Ogryn with chaos stars etched into its skin and heavy metal plates strapped to its chest. Under heavy fire they reached the outpost's edge, trampling over their own casualties or diving behind their friends' bodies as shields. The ogryn threw soldiers back from his path like they were insects, roaring with rage as it stormed through the first line of defenders, swinging a light pole back and forth in great sweeping motions.

A dark shape flashed overhead, and a wyrm's claws grabbed onto the giant metal shoulder plates, lifting the ogryn off of its feet with a mighty yank, the light pole falling from its hands. The wyrm flapped its wings hard, carrying the giant ogryn as high as it could before the beast could retaliate, and released it a heartbeat later, sending the ogryn sailing into the ground. It hit hard, sending up a spray of mud and bloody spittle amid the sound of shattering bones. The cultists paused in their advance, shock taking over their minds as the wyrm circled once overhead and roared. As one, the cultists turned, retreating back into the hive and abandoning their dead to the field.

The Hive looked odd with a ring of encampments around it. At each of the compass points was a Large encampment each unique to a Battalion. At the North and South was the combined Elements of 4th and 3rd. At East and West was either the First or the 2nd Battalions. Between each major encampment there was a series of satellite encampments each run by a company in the nearest Battalion. Patrols was left up to the mass Calvary of Bikers and Horses of 1st through 3rd, each with an escort of a Flight of Wyrms and one Fast attack vehicle section that included Sentienels and Tauros Buggies. Fourth was setting up the entrenchment for each battalion and company providing complements of true infantry. This was a major effort.

So far the effort not only stopped Convoys of food and supplies down to a trickle for the Heretics, it also caught an interesting piece of information of reinforcements to the enemy. The enemy had more of their "bonemen" enter the city. This "Bonemen" were definitely xeno tech, but not completely invulrable. Two of their flying platforms were destroyed by the Melta Lances of the Elite Wyrms of 3rd but a price was payed to stop even that much. Multiple Wyrms are now on recovery and up for bionic repair due to the damage these advanced xeno robots.

3rd Themselves though was able in their retreat from the Chaos Spawn and "Bonemen" attacks inside the Hive, to set up and ironclad Base camp. Elements of 4th with their heavy weapons on Chimeras and Tauros were able to clear a couple blocks of traitors and the Flights of Dragons set of a series of nests on the roof tops. One Flight of twenty actually made it back to the Inquisitor's camp and got orders to back up Captain Kid's Element. Apparently that Captain made a good impression on Colonel Raven. He actually took charge of the Hive Base camp himself.

After the ambush with the Chaos Spawn that killed Private Fredrick Jenkins, The Wyrm riders and Horse Troops had heavy fighting back to their line. Lucky for them while soldiers of 3rd were battling out of the trap that the Inquisition soldiers had led his into, that and the aborted taking of the plaza where 'bonemen' attacked his men. 4th using their Chimera's flamers to clear a few square blocks of all opposition. And 3rd retreated and reinforced the Line 4th had set up.

But not all news was good. His Vox warfare section fowled up badly. They didn't interfere with the Cultist's Communications but disabled all long range communications in the Regiment. To speak to each other they were relying on runners and short range voxes set up at every encampment. This had the Colonel enraged. Especially because every-time they try to communicate long distance a weird message repeats. "The Stars will Bleed."

Xarak and his Chieftains formed a group at the front of the War Party, they halted movement. From their position they could see what appeared to be some light vehicles, walkers, and biker squads. Xarak looked to Yelnava, “I want you and your war-band to hold back in the treeline, there will surely be more to come, when you hear the signal, strike.” He looked back to the small bunker where the humans lay like sheep and the depot where the vehicles were. There were no more than ten in the bunker and 30 at the depot, this would do as a sacrifice, he once again looked back, but this time to Demerdul and Tarja, “Brothers, when I give the signal, you may attack.” Demerdul looked almost happy about the impending death of the humans. Xarak stood and looked to his flanks, he began a very deep breath before bringing a frightening roar to bear, he was then joined by hundreds of his comrades as they charged forward. Xarak removed his swords from their sheaths as he ran towards the bunker, the humans inside were scrambling for weapons, a bright beam of light came from one of the windows and hit Xarak’s breastplate, he laughed as his armor hardened at the exposure to heat. The other Tarellians made quick work of the walkers and tanks with their scorch weaponry while the others dispatched the bikers fairly quickly. When Xarak barged into the bunker he began shouting in Tarellian, “By the Great Deserts!” He took off a Guardsmen’s head and cut another in half, “You will all burn!” Demerdul ran full speed at another human and smashed him into a wall, crushing his chest. The Guardsmen were dead, and by the looks of it this was either a communications or command element. Xarak put his weapons away and walked out of the bunker and began giving orders. “Began shoring up the area with whatever you can find! We will be ready for the Imperium when they come! And Come they will brothers, you will have your blessed revenge at long last!” Crates, debris, and everything else was used to make defenses, but there was only enough to make a hasty defense, their next battle would be a rough one.

Lt. Hogan runs up to Col. Raven and salutes. He is sweating bullets as he reports the disaster that is the siege. " Sir, We have loss most of 2nd Battalions 3rd Company sir. 'Lizard-men' seemed to be allied to the traitors and providing them a break in the siege. And worse sir, The counter attack failed. They are present in massive numbers and are currently fortifying. Captain Jensen and his entire command staff were lost in the attack as well as their entire motor-pool. Only Corporal McKee and his squad who were at Battalion HQ for retrofit are left of 3rd Company." Colonel Raven grunted as he chewed on his cigar. This cruddy assignment to help and inquisitor is turning worse and worse. Failure is not an option but he didn't have the numbers to do what was needed. He looked back at his map table as he tried to decided his next move as yet another runner came and interrupted his planning time. " Sir, We have reinforcements from the Air Calvary Regiment that was here, sir. " Colonel Raven's eyes lit up at this news. " Bring their commander here, ASAP. " He then dismissed everyone as he tried again to get a handle on the war front of Hive Cogger. He was just spread to thin. The reinforcements will be a good boost but if latest intelligence is right they are gonna lose the Hive just by weight of numbers the other side has. Colonel Raven then shook his head. "Recall all units. The siege is over. Inquisitor Randall is going to use us as a fast attack force on a push against one of the HQ. We just don't have the numbers to continue the Siege."

Reinforcements Landing
I’ve often been told that there’s no feeling quite like the one that you get just before a battle is to start. That feeling of foreboding, the electricity that seems to build in the air as the timer begins to tick down, the sense that this is just the calm before the storm, and that very soon all hell will break loose. That is the feeling I have right now, as I supervise the preparations for my regiment’s move to Hive Cogger. The only way I can describe it is controlled chaos, Guardsmen and flight crew run past me loading ammo, medical supplies, weapons and spare parts into our Valkyries in preparation for the trip to the Hive. Word has begun to filter in from the regiment stationed outside the Hive that the situation is far more serious than originally anticipated, and so High Command has ordered me and my boys to the Hive to render assistance. “Assistance”, I snort bitterly as I remember that that was the exact word that was used when my role in Cogger was laid before me. What good does High Command expect that a freaking air-cavalry regiment will do in a Hive? Those things are most assuredly NOT conducive to the Elysian way of war, and High Command has to know this, so why are they sending us? Do they doubt the loyalty of me and my men? Is that why they are sending us off to this potential death trap? I shake myself fiercely, banishing those dark thoughts to the recesses of my mind where they belong. Now is not the time for me to begin to doubt, doubt leads to hesitation, and hesitation leads to death. As the controlled chaos continues to unfold around me I clench my fists in silent defiance to the dark thoughts that continue to plague me, when the time comes I cannot be found wanting. I’m jolted out of my dark thoughts when Sergeant Jacobson taps me on the shoulder and says “Sir? We’re just about ready to roll, the men are assembling near their assigned transports, and you might want to get moving if you don’t want to be late for your prom date.” The sergeant grins as he’s saying this to show that he’s just teasing, and I return his smile with one of my own. When I do he gives me a crisp salute and jogs off to where the rest of his squad has assembled in front of one of the crimson-armored Valkyries. Jacobson is one of the best commanders this regiment has, and I have a feeling that he and his men will be crucial in the upcoming war. Time and time again he has turned down a promotion to a Platoon Command, content to lead his squad of Veterans. As I turn and begin to jog over to where my own command squad is assembling the feeling of foreboding returns, and I can’t help but wonder what’s going to be waiting for me up there at Hive Cogger.

As the last of the Valkyries settle down on their landing gear outside the Imperial Base Camp set up outside of Hive Cogger that feeling of foreboding still hasn’t gone away. If anything, it has grown even more during the flight over here. We’ve settled down a short distance away from the camp, hoping to avoid any potential misunderstanding with the forces that are already stationed here. We voxed ahead to warn them of our arrival, but you can never be too careful, anxious and trigger happy sentries tend to shoot first and then ask you questions while you’re lying on the ground bleeding. Settling down a short ways away from their camp will let them digest our arrival safely and send out some scouts to meet us and bring us into the camp. I gesture to the disembarking Guardsmen around me to settle down to wait for our new allies. We don’t have to wait long, only a few minutes after we first set down we can see several figures approaching us, and as they get closer their image clears to reveal several Guardsmen mounted on what appears to be giant Wyrms. The Guardsmen around me begin to whisper as the riders get closer, some with excitement, and others with fear. As they get closer I take the opportunity to study them. Each man is clad in carapace plate, with face concealing helmets, and underneath it they are wearing what appears to be leather of some sort. Each individual is armed with a lance and a hot-shot laspistol. The Wyrms themselves are no less impressive, each one exuding a sort of restrained wrath, like a ticking time bomb waiting to go off on some unfortunate foe. The lead rider removes his helmet to reveal a shockingly young looking face and says “Ah, you must be the new arrivals. I’m Sergeant Holiday, and I’ve been sent to escort you boys to the main camp for a meeting with the boss. Pick up your kit and when you’re ready we’ll head out.” As I turn around to issue the necessary orders to my men, I find that they had already picked up their gear and are staring at me with anticipation and without another word we begin to set off with the Wyrm Riders towards the main camp, which slowly gets closer as we begin walking. Behind us the Valkyries begin to slowly lift off and begin their own trip towards the main camp, to set down near the motor pool that we saw as we flew over. The sight banishes the anxiousness that has been gnawing at me for a little while, and I smile softly. The Emperor’s Helldivers are here, and we will bring death to the enemy.

Several Hours later
Colonel Raven mounted on his own Wyrm and then turned to the column of men and women waiting for orders. " Wyrm Guard. Panther Calvary. Men and Women. We are charging into the thick of Cogger as part of a prong attack. This shall cripple the Choas threat. Once we complete this assault we shall work on freeing the rest of this system. " He chews on his cigar for a minute. " This is your moment to prove that we are more than a hammer we are the saviors of Cogger and the will of the Emperor is for us to bring this vile Hive into compliance and free them from corruption. Keep your heads full of the Emperor's light and dash it upon our enemy. Forward and unto Victory." With a wave of his arm, His wyrm lifted off. Behind him his entire regiment drove, rode or flew as they will into the heart of the hive. Using their sheer numbers to do what tactics was failing at. Wyrm riders were providing air and flank support as bikers and buggies cut a swath through enemy lines allowing the Chimeras and Tauros to charge straight into the center lines causing devastating damage unto the Chaos enemies arrayed against him. The Inquisition's plan seems to be working. This may be the end of one theater of war but their job was far from done.

Predictions
Mason awoke to a throbbing pain between his eyes, where his nose had been broken, looking up he could tell he was indoors somewhere. A whimpering to his right made him sit up, he saw the rusty bars and through them many more like it, he was lying on a yellow stained, worn rotten mattress which offered no comfort from the hard ground upon which it was laid, there was a sorry excuse for a toilet where flies swooped in and around it attracted to the pungent smells that oozed from it, a single barred window was on the back wall but it was too high up for anyone to look out, “Prison” thought Mason letting out a sigh. A ray of sunlight shined in form the window illuminating a red lock of hair of someone in the corner, Mason squinted just about able to make out his slender frame, “Varius” there was no reply as two men donned in crimson marched past “Varius, who are they ?” The illuminated strand of hair receded into the shadows and was replaced by a twitchy eye “I- I don't know, imperial most likely” the eye lowered and the strand of hair returned. “What about Clover and Logan ?” Varius did not move this time “Last I saw him he was struggling with the guards down the corridor to the right” there was a pause “And Clover ?” Mason asked “Haven't seen her since Cordova” figuring he had got as much information out of Varius as he could Mason returned to observing his surroundings. Standing up from his sorry excuse for a mattress Mason put his hands between the bars and rested on them, they were in some sort of cellblock with other people, some he recognised from Cordova such as the barman who now sported a fresh scar across his forehead and a few other patrons. Armed guards patrolled the cellblock with the occasional prisoner throwing an insult at them in a futile gesture of defiance, Mason felt uneasy “Something's up” he thought to himself, his eyes darted around the cellblock and the prisoners themselves, “Everyone is too quiet, too relaxed, something is about to happen” the sink behind Mason shifted a little leaving a small gap in between the wall and the sink, confusion and curiosity set in as Mason approached the moving appliance and jumped back half a step when a voice emerged “Hey you, want outta here ?” The voice was soft, feminine and echoed down what must have been a passage behind the sinks of all the cells, “For easy access for the plumber ?” Mason quickly snapped himself back to reality and whispered back “Uhh sure” there was a few moments silence before the voice returned “Great, all you gotta do is snatch a key” Mason continued to eye the sink “Whats the catch ?” “Its on one of the patrolling guards person” Mason threw his hands in the air and looking back at the bars reconsidering his decision before the voice reigned him back in “Listen, he always takes a sip from the water fountain right outside your cell around 15:43 when he is hunched over pinch the keys from his right hand side on his belt and toss them behind your sink, when it goes down I’ll come back for you” “And what if he doesn't feel thirsty today ? Hello ? Hello ?” There was no answer, whoever that person was now gone leaving Mason to ponder his decision.

Garathal climbed the creaky wooden stairs for the tenth day in a row, each step up the delicate staircase could collapse under him and send him sprawling into the dark abyss below, Garathal swore to one day gut that cultist for forcing him up these stairs. The cultist claimed that the pigeons would only nest in high places and as such this abandoned tower suited them perfectly. “Laeron !” Shouted Garathal if the creaking of the steps did not announce his dreaded arrival that certainly did, “Yes sir” Laeron stood stiff as a board in salute Garathal entered the cramped rookery where the plague pigeons made their home, “Any news from any of them ?” Laeron relaxed and shrugged “Sorry sir the pigeons came back empty handed”. The rookery provided a great view of the surrounding swamplands, Garathal took advantage of this and devised his next move. Thoughts raced through the mind of the sorcerer “Enemies must be closing in and if Cogger is lost so is the only other bastion of Chaos” Laeron interrupted him “Sir, shall we send them out again ?” Garathal did not move but merely muttered something “One down, One to go” “Sir ?” Garathal turned for the stair way “Do what you want with them” and departed. At the end of the tower stood Brother Steele and Brother Krel, two of Garathal's seven “Brother steele, plans have changed I will be conducting the ritual set things in motion” Steele departed without saying a word and his brother Krel fell in behind Garathal who made his way to the large room beneath his cathedral

“What were they thinking putting chilli on the menu two days in a row ? That gak just runs right through me and sets my tongue on fire” “Could be worse Harry, you could be chewing on those miserable rations with those fancy off worlders hunting traitors” “Hmm, true Frank, true anyway better get back to watching these scum, see ya tomorrow” “See ya round Harry” the two parted ways with Harry stopping along his route to take a sip of water. While sipping, he could have swore he felt a tug at his belt but thought nothing of it and moved on. The plan was set and soon it will be sprung.

Hive Cogger, Northern Quarter
One hour after wall breach

Kusun cursed.

All around him, Hive Cogger was systematically being shot, bombed and blasted to shreds. Small pieces of rubble rained down on him from above as an errant shot blasted a nearby outpost. Other explosions thundered in the background, blending in with the sound of gunfire and the steady grind of armored columns advancing in the streets. The Imperial spearhead was pushing up hard and fast, breaking through the cultists’ defenses as it made its way to the citadel.

Which was exactly where he was heading, too.

He and Mithras had been directing the fortification of the Atonement Plaza when the Hive’s northern entrance was blown open by concentrated artillery fire. Malcador tanks carrying Inquisitorial Storm troopers had rushed through the breach, making quick work of the gate’s remaining defenders and swiftly establishing a beachhead for the Imperials to pour in from the north. Kusun’s own troops, two squads of Astartes and a single squad of Terminators had had only minutes to prepare themselves for the onslaught that was coming for them. They had hastily set up a defensive position at the fountain at the centre of the plaza, while scores of cultists frantically took position in the buildings around it. They were outnumbered, outgunned, out of position and caught by surprise; for any mortal force, that would have been a death sentence.

For an Astartes, all that was merely a challenge.

The initial skirmish had been swift but brutal. The Malcador tanks had rolled into the streets, providing cover for the Storm troopers advancing behind them while simultaneously turning several of the cultists into pink mist with their battle cannons. The spearhead’s steady advance had been short-lived, however; improvised explosives had rained from the windows above the tanks and bolter fire hammered through their armor plating, destroying the front runners in minutes, their iron corpses blocking the road for the tanks behind them. The Storm troopers had adapted quickly, however, and soon the windows of the surrounding buildings had flashed white as flash-grenades rolled through the doors. The cultists, while numerous, didn’t stand a chance against the experienced veterans of the Inquisition, and soon shots were coming from all angles, bathing Kusun’s position in las, plasma and stubber rounds.

The sheer amount of fire focused on them was too much for even Astartes to bear, and Kusun hastily ordered a retreat as his men died around him. The two remaining Terminators were left behind to secure the others’ escape, although that had more to do with them flying into a blood rage rather than planned strategy.

As Kusun, Mithras and the few survivors from their strike force ran from the charnel house that was the Atonement Plaza, a single question had burned into his mind, and it was that same question that drove him through the battlefield towards the citadel.

Why had they not been warned?

Hive Cogger, Southern Quarter
One hour after wall breach

“Stand fast, my children! Show them the power of the Grandfather!”

Brother Anlock’s warcry was almost lost in the maelstrom of the battle raging around him, having to compete with the cries of the dying and the screeching sound of bikes and assault buggies skidding around the battlefield. Above him, great beasts prowled in the sky, swooping down on the defenders at breakneck speed, snatching whoever they could get their claws on only to drop them mercilessly back to the earth. In the distance, Chimeras and Tauros were rolling in, their passengers setting up forward positions and deploying mortars, adding explosive noise to the cacophony of war.

It had all gone so fast. One moment, he had been inspecting the defenses in the Southern Quarter, the next, there was a mighty big hole in said defenses, and an avalanche Imperial assault units had roared into the Hive. Bikers and horse cavalry had swarmed into the streets, leaping over barricades meant to stop armored vehicles with contemptuous ease. The outer defenses had fallen swiftly into the enemy’s hands, and now the inner circles, those closest to the citadel, were heavily contested.

One didn’t need to be a seasoned general to know that the battle was going poorly for the forces of the Dark Gods. The static defenses the cultists and Astartes had erected were no match for the fast-moving Imperials, and the Plague Marines’ lumbering way of warfare was ill-suited to this kind of battle. The cultists were fighting out of fear for their very lives, the flying monstrosities above them sending many of them into blind panic. The pestigors fared better, albeit only slightly, their natural ferocity and hardiness giving them an edge in the fight against the Imperials.

He could see the battle unfolding from his vantage point atop the stairs of a large complex. This was the last line of defense before the citadel itself, and by the look of things, the Imperials were going to get there sooner rather than later.

Anlock turned to a cultist to his side, who was frantically working on a vox unit. “Any word from our allies?”

The cultist looked at him nervously, his face locked in a terror-stricken expression. “I can’t reach them, Lord. There’s some sort of interference blocking the signal!”

Anlock cursed, venting his fury on one of the beasts circling overhead. One of his bolts clipped the beast’s wing, sending it sprawling to the ground. With some satisfaction he saw a group of cultists throw themselves on the wounded animal and its rider, cutting into the flesh of both with crooked knives and blades.

Still, doubt nagged at his thoughts. He knew that the Imperials were probably jamming the vox traffic, but that did not explain the citadel’s silence prior to the attack. This was clearly a planned attack by the Imperials, so why had he not been warned about it?

He took another look at the battlefield, seeing the Imperials push deeper and deeper into the city with every passing minute. It was time to take matters into his own hands.

He signalled five of his plague marines to follow him and ordered the rest of them to hold their position. He started heading to the citadel, and prayed to the Grandfather that he find answers there.

Hive Cogger, Citadel
One and a half hour after wall breach

The square before the citadel's entry was a hive of activity, cultists carrying heavy weapons and munitions scrambled in all directions, desperately erecting barricades to hold off the impending attack. Kusun and his men stormed into the square at the exact moment Brother Anlock and his escort appeared at the opposite side.

The battle was going on bad on all fronts, apparently.

The two groups of Astartes met in the middle, neither greeting the other with more than a curtly nod. The time for pleasantries had long passed.

"I see you have not fared much better against the Imperials", spoke Anlock, as he walked next to Kusun and Mithras towards the citadel's main entrance.

Kusun merely grunted angrily. He was in no mood to talk, especially not with the followers of the Plague Lord.

"They hit us sooner than expected", replied Mithras, ever the more diplomatic of the two Black Legion officers.

"No. The warning came too late", Kusun grumbled, his anger lending more speed to his steps.

"And I intend to find out why.

Hive Cogger, Citadel Landing Pad
Two and a half hours after wall breach

The landing pad was under heavy attack when the group of corrupted Astartes and Necron Praetorians reached it after traversing the myriad halls and passages of the citadel. Imperial aircraft and strange dragon-like beasts zigzagged between bursts of flak and tracer fire, unleashing their deadly payloads on the citadel’s defenders before taking to the skies again for another attack run. Part of the landing pad was already on fire, the flames licking hungrily at the hulls of a trio of Thunderhawks that stood nearby. A group of cultists was desperately trying to put out the fire surrounding the smouldering ruins of a fourth Thunderhawk, occasionally ducking for cover as an Imperial fighter strafed above them.

Kusun’s Storm Eagle was nowhere in sight. Kusun assumed it had already taken off to engage the enemies circling around the spire, which he would have approved of had he not been in need of immediate transport. Especially since the Imperials’ jamming devices prevented him from contacting the pilot, which left him with little choice but to go with the Nurglites.

“The Thunderhawks are ready! Get aboard before we all join the Dark Powers in the Warp!”, shouted Anlock over the screeching sound of aircraft swooping in for a bombing run.

The group broke out into a sprint, Necron and Astartes alike trying to reach the waiting Thunderhawks in one piece. Assault craft roared above them, wreaking havoc on the landing pad with stubber rounds and bombs. Two Necron warriors fell to the floor, their shells perforated by a hail of bullets from an Avenger Strike Fighter, while three Black Legionnaires disappeared into thin air as a well-placed bomb landed between them. More of the group fell to the merciless strikes of the Imperials picking on them like vultures, but Anlock, Kusun and Mithras thundered forward, heedless of the casualties, their minds only focussed on the Thunderhawks nearing them with every step.

Only half of the group made it to the Thunderhawks’ ramps, the last of them had barely stumbled into the transports before they took off into the skies. Kusun and Mithras slumped against the cold steel wall, while Brother Anlock and one of the Necron Praetorians took the seats opposite them as their Thunderhawk powered out of the burning wreck that was Hive Cogger, where other events had been set in motion…

Mop Up of Hive Cogger
The entirety of Randall’s war band was gathered at the gates of Cogger Hive. The gargantuan steel door was twenty feet tall, adorned in the brass head of the Aquila. Repelling from the top of the door was crews of penal legionnaires armed with plasma cutters. It had been six weeks since the fall of the citadel the Randall’s inquisition had been fighting small pockets of resistance, they proved rather difficult to uproot. Now fairly confident in their clean up work Randall had ordered every entry way into the hive to be sealed.

Inquisitor Garrett Randall looked at his men gathered before him, the stalwart storm troopers, the rugged penal legionnaires, and the indomitable grey knights each standing at attention. Over their heads were dozens of crimson red banners fluttering slightly in the breeze. Randall looked to his left where Captain Kid stood was standing at attention, the Inquisitor turned right and saw Commissar Alenko who rested his hand on the pommel of his hip clung saber. The Inquisitor began approaching a podium so that he may address his men from a point of elevation. As the Inquisitor reached the podium he unrolled a scroll and began to read.

“I Inquisitor Garrett Randall of the Ordo Malleus, through the holy authority of the Inquisition condemn this place. It has been tainted by heresy, blighted by apostasy, and corrupted by the immaterium. In the name of his blessed majesty the Emperor of Mankind I brand any who trespass upon this site as excommunicate traitoris. So let it be”

Randall handed the scroll to Captain Kid. The captain proceeded to the massive door of Cogger hive and with hot wax attached the writ to the door under the seal of the Inquisition. Randall smiled giving a nod to Commissar Alenko. The Commissar bellowed

“About Turn!”

Every soldier made in unison made a 180 degree turn.

“Forward March!”

As if it were a single being the inquisition forces moved in formation and began marching away from the hive. Only one looked back. Inquisitor Randall watched the sun begin to fall behind the massive hive as its shadow enveloped the inquisitor’s retinue.

Later at the inquisition’s camp

The night air was cool and the stars were shining bright overhead, the soldiers were all glad to have true earth beneath their feet and an earnest sky overhead. Even those that were hive born had been made sick by the looming metal walls of the hive. From here, Cogger, could be seen a void black spire piercing the twilight blue night. Randall wishing to reward his men for their exceptional efforts had procured several large casks of Cogger ale from a small town that was not too far to the south. Several of the officers had snuck off to the town to partake in the local inn lured by fables of beautiful Cogger women and stronger drinks.

The only place that seemed to have any degree of silence was Randall’s tent. The inquisitor sat at a table with several folders scattered about on his desk several mark classified and one branded with the holy seal of the inquisition.

That particular folder was a status report from Justicar Freeman. He had made contact with two regiments of Imperial Guardsmen and were searching the swamps for the traitors. The 1st Calian Dragoons and the 49th Redeemers regiments. So far their hunt had only turned up a cultist held quarry and no other trace of the Nurgle sworn heretics.

Another folder was regarding the fall of New Pavus, the separatists had taken the city as their own. Randall was concerned about these rebels, while they were not worshipers of chaos, he feared they might use the ruinous power to achieve their goals. At some point Lord Governor Payne’s nephew had been assassinated. Attached to this document was an invitation to the late Rodrick Payne’s funeral.

Randall looked up from his documents as the Grey Knight Beshka posted outside his tent entered.

“Inquisitor Colonel Raven is here to speak with you.”

Randall smiled “Show him in.”

“At once inquisitor.” Coldly croaked the silver behemoth.

Randall cleared his desks of his documents and set them into his miniature safe unlocked with his thumb print. As the vault door sealed Raven had entered the inquisitor’s war tent.

The colonel removed his hat and spoke “My lord inquisitor.”

Randall raised a hand “Please colonel, I’ve not yet earned the title of Lord Inquisitor. Inquisitor or Randall will suffice.” Randall then gestured to an empty chair in front of his desk.

Raven took a seat and set his hat atop the inquisitor’s table.

“I must say inquisitor, a part of me is surprised we made it out of that metal hell in one piece.”

Randall smiled

“The emperor still has plans for us it seems, but come a hard fought victory merits a toast.”

Randall reached under his desk and produced a fifty-year-old bottle of Vallorian wine along with two glasses. The inquisitor poured a glass for Raven and then one for himself.

“What shall we toast to?” asked Randall

After a moment of thought Raven replied raising his glass.

“To the men and women who laid down their lives at Cogger Hive.”

Randall raised his glass

“May their sacrifice never be forgotten.”

Captain Kid had with a handful of other officers found her way to the village bar. A neon sign read “The Lusty Lark” the sign featured a neon animated woman winking approximately every four seconds. Kid leapt from the truck and smiled, from here she could hear familiar voices shouting and jeering. Several other black military trucks adorned with the red seal of the inquisition were parked in front of the bar. Kid thought the sight hilarious, transports of the Emperor’s holy inquisition parked outside of this sleazy cabaret. The officers that were accompanying Kid had already made their way into the bar as kid approached the swinging saloon doors.

The Lark was filled to the brim with the celebrating officers, Arbitrators from the penal legion, The music was jolly, a five piece Cogger jazz band played at a rapid pace. Games were being played, darts, pool, cards, regicide. At one table Kid saw the familiar face of Sargent Holiday arm wrestling an Arbitrator while men from both of their companies cheered for their champion. Around the main stage crowded nearly fifty men each watching a woman clad only in the distinct helmet of an arbitrator dance around a brass pole. Arbitrator Halouck unmasked by the dancer and intoxicated by the barkeep sighed “I think I’m in love.” Hustling among all the chaos were nearly a dozen waiters fetching food and drink. Kid saw in the shadows of the far corner Commissar Alenko sitting alone at a table.

Kid approached the Commissar and spoke “Is this seat taken.”

Alenko smiled. “I’m actually saving it for this local girl, she thinks I’m exotic.”

Kid laughed and took the seat “Exotic must mean annoying in Cogger.”

Kid grabbed a bottle from a passing waitress and spoke “You sure know how to treat a woman; do you take all the ladies here.”

Alenko smiled “Only the pretty ones.”

Randall and Raven sat in the war tent, they had finished half of the bottle.

Randall began pouring “So tell me Colonel what is next for the 487th Panther Calvary.”

“I want to do one final sweep of Cogger, make sure we didn’t miss any of those heretics. After that someone needs to set up a quarantine.”

Randall nodded “Thorough I think we got them all but it never hurts to check. As for the quarantine I think we can leave the PDF to do that.”

Raven spoke “My men are in need of provisions.”

Randall smiled “Consider it done, I know a rogue trader who should be able to acquire whatever it is you may need.”

Raven smiled “You are generous inquisitor, but I must ask what future is there for Cogger Hive.”

Randall spoke with a sigh “Not a good one I’m afraid, the taint of the warp has corrupted the hive itself, we can’t resettle it for possibility of corruption. The best thing we can do is prevent it from spreading its cancer.”

Raven frowned “It seems like such a waste.”

Randall spoke filling his own glass “There will be greater sacrifices in the wars to come. Come Colonel another toast, to those who do what must be done to keep the Imperium safe.”

Raven took another drink, it seemed more bitter than the last.

Jethro and Amanda had found their way outside the pub, the two sat on a wooden goat coral. The shaggy creatures gathered beneath commissar and captain as Jethro threw pretzels into their eager mouths.

“So Sheppard stands up knocks the dirt away from his uniform and says to the Nova Marine, oh don’t mind me.” Alenko smiled as he reminisced about when he was a cadet.

Capain Kid laughed “He got away with speaking like that to a space marine.”

Alenko smiled “Commander Axton was a rare breed, an astartes built with a sense of humor.”

Amanda shook her head, “Whatever happened to him, your mentor.”

Alenko frowned “I’m not sure, they say he vanished after I was assigned to my own company.”

Amanda apologized “I’m sorry, it sounds like the two of you were close.”

The Commissar restored his smile and spoke “Its fine, I knew once I reached the rank of full commissar I would likely never see him again. But still I would at least like to know where he is.”

Amanda smiled and threw a pretzel into a happy looking goat’s mouth. “When I was a girl growing up my best friend was the neighbor boy named Joseph. We used pretend we were space marines and practice marching like the soldiers at parade. When we turned eighteen we enlisted in the guard. After basic training was over we got assigned to separate companies. We were being deployed to the opposite ends of the imperium. To this day I have no idea if he is alive or not. I know how it is not knowing.”