[IC] The Dark Gods Servants

[Eisenhorn]

When Azus Dracates finally emerged, the stormtroopers were being confronted by another traitor marine, and even from here, he could see the thing's allegiance. Nurgle, but he had little time to meditate on such things. The trip through time had left him feeling off, but he didn't have any time to give that consideration either. He still had all his equipment, thankfully, and he had a clear, unexpected line of fire on the stormtroopers. After all, not a one had an idea he would be coming back at all, let alone in the precise same spot as he had left. Leveling the autocannon, he opened fire on the man his doombolt had connected with before, and since the poor bastard had not a moments warning, he was torn down by the barrage of shells, much to the shock of the stormtroopers around him, since they had a man who should not have appeared again, suddenly show up behind them and open fire, and not a few moments later, their officer was taken down by the heavy bolter of the traitor marine at the other end of the corridor. He smirked under his helmet, which faded quickly as the situation developed.

The rounds fired did nothing to hit them, apparently his time warp had thrown off his aim or senses, considering his inability to get the autocannon rounds on target anymore. The plague marine was doing better, but the flash of a grenade made it clear the traitor was blinded, and the stormtroopers volley fired him again, more rounds missing and punching through his power armor. Now was the time for a tactical withdraw, and he did such, moving around the corner and bracing, autocannon leveled at the incoming stormtroopers. Sure enough, they turned the corner, and the autocannon roared, rounds hurtling towards their targets, while some did fly off target as well. The stormtroopers did their training well, scattering and evading the rounds before they could impact, and scrabbled to take cover across the way from the Alpha Legionnaire as well. Now he was getting tired of this, and could tell he was nearly done for as well, so he dropped the autocannon, it would do him no good either way of how this turned out the second time around.

Azus Dracates stood tall, summoning more warp power than was safe, since it hardly mattered at this point, proudly basking in the warp power that was being drawn to him. Raising his arms, he sent all of his malice and spite hurtling along his arms, intending to send as many doombolts as he could possibly manage. He never would know what happened, as reality itself denied his efforts this time around, a full 20 meters of area in a sphere around the traitor warping and tearing itself asunder, ripping a hole in reality that swallowed the traitor marine and everything in that 20 meter circle around him whole. There was nothing left, just a perfect sphere and no sign of the traitor marine who had drawn too greatly upon powers above his status, and the marine known as Azus Dracates was indeed no more, and would never be heard from again, as was how such things would indeed play out in such cases.

[Omega]

Cremutus and Chelkar

The human ratings did their best but they were untrained in frontline combat while the armsmen were almost to a man rendered incapable of aiding the battle in any meaningful way. The officer tried to rally them and seemed to hold the ratings there but as Cremutus stood resolute an imposing figure he indirectly rallied the forces of chaos who aided in pouring fire on the defenders while in side passages and other minor fights warriors of chaos took to heart the fact that they were winning and would impress themselves upon their gods. From above lasrounds rained down on defenders who could find no cover from his shots and further panicked the already near broken men of the Imperium. With every passing salvo of fire the Imperium firepower lessened, none would even dare to try for the heavy stubber that had moments ago held back the tide of chaos so well for it's exposed position doomed any who would try for it now.

Seeing the flanks collapsing and the best of his men unable to fight back while the remainder barely holding on while dieing and unable to even harm the monster across the bay from them the officer gave the only order he could. "Fall back, all men fall back to form new defensive positions," he fired his pistol towards Cremetus as more of a show of solidarity than any real chance of harming him. Looking up towards the cat walk he saw Chelkar as well and made sure to fire a parting shot at him as well to let him know the officer was aware he existed. Relieved of their order to hold the line though it was irrelevant to the ratings who fled from the frontline towards the hatches leading out of the bay. They were potential killzones they could hold if they could somehow find the armaments to hold them with and could rally from what was rapidly turning into a panicked retreat.

[Eisenhorn]

Alexander Atreides had kept to the shadows, lurking and watching as the crush of battle was met between the forces of Chaos and the Imperial forces, watching them clash and the key figures on both sides engaging in their actions, the Imperial forces routing even as their leadership tried to rally them. He smirked under his helmet, Reaver Long Rifle cradled in his arms as he scanned the fighting from his hidden firing position, having been watching for any special targets worth picking off. As the fighting swung around, he spotted an officer rallying the Imperials into falling back towards defensive position, and well, that would simply not do at all. Not one bit, the renegade sniper decided, he would have to do something about this man right now, regardless of the plans others in the fighting had for the man.

Alexander calmly raised his rifle, settling his sights on the officer rallying the enemy forces and zeroing in the scope, the scope settling on target, and with a trigger squeeze, the rifle whispered rather than bark, silencer muffling the shot as it was discharged and sent hurtling right towards the Imperial officer. The poor sod didn't even have a chance to react or move, the round slamming clean into his neck and slaying the man without a chance to react, sending him hurtling to the ground, utterly dead before he even had a chance to land, and the renegade sniper smirked under his helmet, keeping low and not moving from his position, looking for the next target in the enemy forces, looking for another high value target that would further destabilize the enemy lines and actions, so their numbers would not do them any good in the fight. Cut off the head, and the beast will die, it was simple as that.

[Midget616]

Cremutus stood as the last of the dregs of the imperial ship scuttled away. Dogs with their tails between their legs. He reloaded his Bolter, having only three rounds left was a recipe for disaster when another mob of ratings could arrive at any moment. Cremutus reengaged his emotional response system and ran a diagnostic for his armor and weapons

Swiftly accessing the ship wide vox network Cremutus announced “I have broken the defense of the cargo hold choke points, All available Astartes and Humans follow me as I advance on the enginerium.”

Walking forward towards the lander the Warpsmith stopped by the dead officer and picked up his vox bead. Quickly reprogramming it to accept one of the ancient Astartes channels. He called up to the man in the cat walks, “Human, come here and take this. We can remain in contact as we advance into their ship.” he wondered how the officer died for a quarter of a second, he was not shot by las nor bolt...

After speaking more words in just a few seconds than he had in a number of years, Cremutus quickly lapsed into silence. He began to look for any usable items near the Arvus. At a glance he found an auto cannon, some grav-chutes, a handfull of krak and frag missiles and a pair of launchers. Deciding quickly how he might sabotage the engine of the imperial ship, He bend over and picked up a launcher and the missiles, noting the rest for servitor use or for the humans of the crew. He placed the vox bead down on the Arvus's hull.

Cremutus then began to methodically make his was to the enginerium, keeping an eye out for ambushes and snipers.

[Fallen Muse]

Callus Brutus had his target in his sights, the officer of these stormtroopers, seeing the autocannon of the Alpha Legionnaire cutting apart the stormtrooper who wielded the same weapon. Triggering the weapon, the heavy bolter spit out a hail of roaring death, which gave the officer no chance to act or even give an order, being blown apart by the exploding bolt rounds that flew out of the barrel of the heavy weapon, which pleased the plague marine, who was content to ignore the assault that the Alpha Legionnaire made on the stormtroopers now trapped between them, since he had more than a few problems of his own to worry about. One being the blinding flash that now left the traitor marine unable to see, which, while crippling, was not as dangerous as one might think, as this plague marine could fight without seeing, he just had to get close enough to land true blows with his own knife, which would indeed cripple the fools, one at a time with the gifts of Papa Nurgle.

Knife in hand, Callus Brutus charged as fast as a plague marine might go, which wasn't terribly fast granted, appearing more a walk of a being that would not be easily stopped. He heard the warp tear a gaping hole in the ship, and knew that the Alpha Legionnaire had died, claimed by whatever god he had chosen to follow into this place. Of course, between recovering from the blind grenade, and his own slow, pondering strides, he failed to see his own doom planted in the ground as he turned on the stormtroopers. The tripwire gave quickly, and the melta charge went off without delay, vaporizing the Plague Marine clean through his armor and leaving nothing behind, eerily reminiscent of how the other traitor marine had gone, but through entirely different means, of course.

[Omega]

Alaistair and Kaillan

From the luxuriously appointed bridge of his vessel Alaistair Godwin Lafayette, self-proclaimed Prince of The Dark Desire, a Tyrant-class cruiser could easily tell that Beraesh had gotten himself into more trouble than he could handle. Even on such a minor incursion he had failed piteously it seemed. The two cruisers had become hopelessly intertwined as they had impacted it seemed and in a system this closer to the edge of Imperium space reinforcements were a very real possibility and would likely be more than his lone vessel could handle. At the same time of course he could not abandon whatever treasures could be found on either vessel and he doubted that the Imperium would get vessels here in a very timely manner. Running his hand along the arm of his chair upholstered in a deep red satin-like clothe he thought over it for a moment. There was almost no chance others would get here soon so he ran no real risk in at least investigating and at worst he could replenish his ships stores, they were running dreadfully low on slaves afterall.

Languidly standing he reseated his robe about himself as he walked down from the command platform into the immense bridge central command area, a hologram of the two vessels displayed from projectors in the floor indicated crippling damage to both vessels and explained why the Imperium vessel did not fire upon them as they approached. Walking away from it towards his own quarters a short distance down the passageway he began to casually issue out orders the command crew which eagerly awaited his words, "Continue our approach and begin procedures to commence boarding. Tell the everyone what they take is theirs unless they find something of particular note. A great reward to any who bring me something new or interesting," Alaistair always knew how to motivate his soldiers, "have my armor prepared for I go aboard as well, Beraesh and I need to exchange words yet. Send word to the Eldar she is to join me in going aboard I doubt I will need an honor guard so all others may loot as they please." With that he left the bridge, the men standing guard at the exit immediately snapped to sharp salutes in their pristine silver and black uniforms. Their lack of color causing them to stand out aboard the vibrantly lit and colorful hallways.

Walking at a leisurely pace to his own quarters a straight path down several decks and nearer to the bow and temple to his beloved goddess Slaanesh he came upon them soon enough and opened them with but a touch of his hand enjoying the cool metal on his warm skin. There stood no guards at this door for none aboard would ever challange him, their prince and no enemy could ever hope to approach so close. Within the first door were his weapons and armor laid out for him upon their silk sheets kneeling beside each one was a beautiful woman, servants and courtesans of his trained to his exact specifications. Removing his robe in a single fluid motion he let it pool upon the floor and stood naked before the armor and allowed the women to slowly put each piece of armor in place and bind it upon him. As the chestplate was secured about him he felt the reactor come online and sent a shiver of ecstasy through him as it did each time. As the arm pieces and then gauntlets were attached he sighed slightly, the greatest flaw with such armor was way it made it impossible for him to experience the world outside his armor. Bringing his gauntleted hands up to his face he did take a moment to enjoy the sight of the intricate work placed into the armor the gold and silver inlay and filigree were nearly perfect, nearly, sadly he had yet to find a being capable of making the armor he wore truly perfect, but that would not stop him from trying.

At last the helmet was brought to him, innately worked and bearing gleaming horns he smiled as he donned it and heard it lock into place. It was another unfortunate necessity of fighting in such tight quarters as a warship but having his senses dulled and diluted by a machine was superior to dieing at least and so he undertook such suffering if only for a short period. His armor now complete he took the power sword proffered by one of his maidens and sheathed it at his side. Next he took the black and silver belt from another and locked it about his waist feeling the weight of the plasma pistols in their holsters now. His preparations now complete he turned from the six women and walked fluidly from the room heading towards the nearest boarding point. No doubt the Dark Eldar woman would be their before him given how her speed far outstripped his own, and for that she greatly intrigued him.

[Fallen Muse]

Shadows danced around the room, corners vague and uncertain, as if the realm was uncertain of its own boundaries and limits, if the place even had such things. The darkness would be disconcerting to many, but not its main occupant, a Dark Eldar, but to her, we shall not focus yet. Her room was fairly bare, lacking the trophies and ornemantation that many others of her kind favored. Indeed, one could almost find such barren and cold quarters more unsettling then the shadows that danced and weaved about the place, concealing more than most would dare wish to see, a small boon to those that might indeed find themselves visiting such a place.

Kaillan Veskara stood in the room center, holding a position over the corpse of a recent sacrifice, one that would slake her hunger, and the hunger of others, for a time, although fresh blood and suffering were always needed, and the more she spilt, and the more pain she caused, the longer her life and longevity would carry the female. Indeed, while the long ritual blade was held firm in her hand, her form was accented and held lithe by the ghostplate that encased it, a fact that was noticed by a man who was sent by the Prince of this vessel, one who claimed that he was requesting her presence in the boarding areas, that would be no doubt seeing use soon then.

Veskara wasted no time, reclaiming both her electro corrosive whips and her splinter pistol as well, and moved with the hastened grace that even the fallen Dark Eldar so easily retained, compared to the clumsy fools of the mortal humans who scurried about, looking to gain the favor and place of other, lesser beings who posed as gods. But such things were not in the place of a mind heading to war, indeed, as she arrived ahead of the human prince, she found herself waiting. But, before long, he indeed arrived, and she greeted the human with a bow of her head, slightly, with all of her notable weapons and armaments holstered, speaking in a whispered tone that carried all too well. "What is your need of me master?"

[Mortarion]

Calistarius heard the scream of the machine spirit of the ship as it impacted the other, all of it's components crying in pain and indignity for the fate that was thrust -quite literally- upon them, to be a mere part of a space hulk. But he only paid attention to the raging battle when his work was interrupted, the blades working on his hands cutting a deep gash into the flesh of the man upon which he had been working a mere seconds before, by a violent shudder from the ship, most likely the result of one or more explosions that occurred. He looked down at the servitor he had been building, it was useless now with it's delicate arrangements thrown into disarray by the gash he had cut accidentally into it's minimally enhanced flesh; letting out a binaric cry of frustration, he reviewed the logs of the ship thanks to his easily accessible noospheric connection to the ship's spirit: Imminent collision; Collision; Boarding parties detected inside of the ship. Based on this he deduced that the latest raid had been unsuccessful and that someone had finally pursued them and thrown them into their current state.

Letting out a binary chant -in annoyance at the further setbacks to his work- he went to his servitor, clad in the flak armor of an unlucky member of the warband and reactivated him. The creature looked to him, awaiting his command and he handed him his lasrifle; it had been some time but he had finally finished attaching it's laser sight and improving it's quality...the work was not difficult....he had been merely dissected by other pursuits. After that was done, the Idolitrex Magos grabbed his power axe, feeling the gentle thrum of the power source as it was activated and felt the machine spirit of his ballistic mechadendrite come back to life, and made his way towards the area where the ships internal auspex showed that the fight was thickest, the servitor following him a short distant behind with the lasrifle clutched on it's hands, determined to make pay those who set back his goals.

[Omega]

Alaistair and Kaillan

As expected she stood before at the boarding lock her ghost plate hiding her skin but did nothing to her physique, so human yet it had it noticeable differences from true humans. everything was more nimble, sleek, feminine than most true unaugmented humans. She truly was a great find and not just for her beauty, her nimbleness showed off just as well in combat as outside. Her armor was weaker than most but it often mattered little against her speed, versus a normal unaugmented human there was no competition.

"Kaillan, we are to kill humans today, and once we finish taking over a already crippled ship we will then be facing down an astartes, or likely several. After that though we should be able to be on our way," he spoke with his usual calm and soothing tones even if they were altered by his vox implanted in his helm. If only he was not so vain he would not need this suit but until he had experienced everything mortality had to offer it would stay.

As he drew his sword partially from it's sheath to insure it was perfectly seated through the ship they heard a rumble as they impacted the Imperium cruiser. A moment or two later the boarding latches locked into place and the melta cutters could be heard to begin their work of slicing a new hole in the enemy ship. All down his vessel at other boarding points the same task was being performed and men and women were prepared to invaded the Imperium vessel. Soon enough the boarding cutter withdrew leaving a flawlessly cut oval the ship easily wide enough for them to go through one at a time. Withdrawing his sword from his sheath he also drew one of his ornate plasma pistols and turned to enter the vessel. Normally there would have been a boarding party already waiting for him but with most efforts directed to the other side of the ship it was quite possible they had no idea they were now being boarded from both sides. What a perfect beginning to an engagement.

[Midget616]

Cremutus kept up his methodical advance down the corridors of the imperial vessel. The Warpsmith encountered little at first. Mostly the fleeing backs of the enemy Ratings and Armsmen. He quickly caught up to them in the halls near the cargo holds.

Drawing his combat blade, not wanting to waste bolter ammo or sully his power axe with their worthless blood. He stepped behind the slowest running Rating, already injured from their previous battle he thrust the blade into his back. Pulling the blade out the the ratings side and into the arm of the armsmen next him him he began a flurry of slaughter for a number of minutes.

Chasing down the last of the men he stopped and began to shut down the anger response this waste of time had triggered, but he stopped before running the program, deciding that he would use the anger, it sped up his reflexes by a half millisecond.

He boosted his aural receivers and began to hunt for more prey. These humans where not even a challenge. His workshop could have been filled with servitors after this, if he still had a workshop. The unrepentant seemed dead in the void, power was fluctuating rapidly. Quickly picking up the sounds of screaming and bone saws he knew he was closing on the medicae deck.

As Cremutus neared the entrance the medicea deck he grunted in disgust, A small man, a chiurgen by the looks of his robes. He asked Cremutus to spare his life and those within the hall. Cremutus quickly decided that a following of Chiurgens would benefit the lord of change. Activating his external vox system he spoke in a low metallic voice “Deny the emperor and you shall be saved. embrace Tzeentch as your true god. the corpse emperor sits on his throne rotting, useless and he will not return, Horus saw to that. Embrace Tzeentch now by kneeling before me and swearing your life to the lord of change!” The man knelt and attempted to say Architect of Fate's name but instead blood burst froth from between his lips. A good sign this was not.

Beckoning the man to follow, Cremutus entered the Medicae hall. Surveying the area he saw many wounded men and a few other Chiurgens around tending to the worst of the injured. He decided that converting these wretches was not worth his time and would probably displease tzeentch anyways, worthless prayers given unwillingly. Knowing that he was better used by breaking the Enginerium. He confirmed the sniper was still with him he continued onto his target. Ignoring the wounded and medics.

[Eisenhorn]

Alexander Atreides silently picked his way through the rubble of the crumbled and ruined Imperial defenses, the Warpsmith having more than broken their wills, while the officer's death had only hastened such things. He had indeed picked up on the message that the Traitor Marine had broadcasted, since his own suit's built in vox was perfectly functioning and operational, and noted some of the equipment he had set aside. He walked over to the equipment, noting several grav chutes and claimed one for himself, rigging it on under his cloak for now, it wouldn't be doing him much good until he needed to get somewhere fast, the expressway down type of fast. A useful piece of tech, really, and one that he figured it wouldn't hurt to have. Better in his hands than those of some fool or a Stormtrooper, for that matter. But, the remaining chutes were of no concern to him now, as he turned and followed after the Traitor Marine, opting to draw his laspistol for these corridors, instead of potentially wasting his rifle ammo on worthless foes.

Sure enough, they found fleeing arsmen and rates, which the Marine wasted no time laying into with his knife, carving them apart and charging through them. Alexander kept to the shadows, only picking off those that seemed to try and organize their peers, or had a real means of harming or, in his case, viably discovering him. Of course the slaughter was quick, easy, and over as fast. Which was not much of a shame, this kind of clean up fighting had no real interest for a hunter, he preferred foes that strutted about all high and mighty, full of themselves. They made right proper kills, and were worth the figurative notch on his rifle. But these fools were not, dying en masse to the knife and laspistol, when the latter needed to be used, while the former cleaned up rather nicely, and saved ammo for both of them. Good, that suited the renegade just fine, more rounds for real targets then.

Alexander examined his surroundings again as he entered the medical wing behind the Marine, as he spoke and worked on turning the fool imperial to Tzeentch. More power to them, the renegade figured, might make their jobs easier or harder, depending on what that Lord of Lies considered doing. But that was the Marine's business, and while the renegade did consider having these wounded executed, he had not the means or time to do so, so he left them to be dealt with by the oncoming Chaos horde. Probaby would have begged him to shoot them, if they knew what was storming this ship as the medical personnel worked to save their lives. Alexander readied his rifle rather than his pistol, following a bit behind the Marine, flitting from shadow to shadow, determined to avoid detection and get the drop on whatever fools they were coming after, even if the Marine blew it. Oh well, he would live regardless of his fate, so with that thought, he tailed the Warpsmith, scanning his surroundings constantly, rifle at the ready and wired, expecting something to go wrong at the drop of a dime right now.

[Mortarion]

Calistarius frowned as he entered what his auspex's had assumed was the main focus of the fight only to find that it was a desolated battlefield the heat signals that led him to believe that it was the site of a massive battle most likely coming from the corpses of the dead and what few discarded equipment remained dropped into the ground. However, a particular piece of equipment caught his attention, an arvus lander which had apparently served as an impromptu fortification to the invading imperial troops. He approached the now emptied lander and looked around the ruins, noticing an autocannon in perfect condition "Come here Alpha-233" He issued the command to his servitor via the personal vox channel he had with the creature "Hand me the lasrifle" He said, extending his hand, not bothering with the vox channel and received the weapon from the clumsy hands of the servitor "Take the autocannon" HE said, finishing his orders for the time being as he picked up on a vox transmission from the resident Warpsmith of the warband.

Soon enough, they had agreed to meet by the medicae deck that him and another member of the warband held on the other ship. He made his way through the dimly lit corridors, the smell of blood and seared flesh -typical from lasrifle wounds- persistent on the air. Eventually, he arrived at the medicae deck; the smell of blood and various chemical products potent on the air. He approached the towering form of the Astartes and spoke "I have arrived Warpsith, my name is Calistarius" HE said, deciding to play cautious towards the astartes, also noticing the other heretic from the corner of his eye.

[Midget616]

As the warpsmith waited impatiently for the Fallen Magos to arrive from whatever it was he was doing. He began to order the Cultists who followed him down here to begin to convert the mass of people here but accidentally left his binary speech pattern on, instead of instructing them he just gave them a headache, and causing them to leave. The amount of speaking he had done this last hour astounded him. He was not accustomed to speaking to fleshlings anymore, Practice was necessary.

After the fallen magos had entered the hall Cremutus move into the passage to the Enginerium. Which was very close at this point. Letting the Sniper scout ahead he entered after a short pause. Cremutus attempted to stealthly adavance down the hall, however his large size and stomping gait alerted the Skitarri guarding the hallway of his presence. The sniper, having not notice the guards, and the guards not having seen the sniper, had advanced right past them.

The First skitarii Heaved his axe at Cremutus, catching him completely unaware. It struck him in the chest gravely wounding Cremutus and causing some of his systems to begin to short out. The second one having missed in his haste of the ambush. He lost most of his control over his arms and his senses began to feed back.

Attempting to strike back He Drew his axe after dropping his combi melta to the ground, the thing would be useless at this close of range. Upon seeing his weapon the Skitarii canted in binary about how they would strip him for his parts, Cremutus just laughed and chopped with his axe in an overhand strike meant to bisect the first Guard. However the skill of the skitarii combined with his arm servos locking up cause the axe to miss. The warpsmith quickly rebooted his system attempting to mitigate some of the damage, which only partially worked. He activated his refractor field after that to assure his triumph over these machine men.

The First skitarii Missed Cremutus with he second swing. The second one would have hit him had his Field not protected him, however the field Collapsed with the first blow. Cremutus Swore in binary to Tzeentch. The Men who accompanied the Warpsmith down here accounted for one of the Skitarii, and Cremutus was allowed to focus his attention solely on the one remaining guard. Swinging his axe again, this time with all his might, which just his luck had caused his servos to lock up again and his sight to short out temporarily while striking with his Mechadendrite and missing with that as well.

In the final moments of this accursed fight the Skitarii stuck him in the chest again, Crushing bionics and what little flesh was left. Cremutus had not been this wounded in a very long time, he leaked coolant, blood, and hydraulic fluid onto the floor.
Silently cursing the fact he could not use his Demonic powers given to him by Tzeentch without wounding the other Tzeentchian he attacked with his axe one last time, again the Warpsmith missed, cursed by ill luck and faulty mechanics he prepared himself to die.

However the blow did not fall, the skitarii was distracted by the wounds caused by the others it missed the death stroke. And as the servitor following the magos riddled it with an auto cannon shell the skitarii dropped dead.

With the combat over and his systems purged and rebooted again, Cremutus started to go through the corpses of the skitarii, finding many finely crafted bionics and weapons, as the other two heretics came over the three of them began to bicker and call specific items until they had the idea that they would drag the corpses behind the servitor until they finished, then use the medicae hall to render them down for their parts. In a fitting end of their earlier threat again the Warpsmith.

[Eisenhorn]

Alexander Atreides wasted no time in tailing the Warpsmith into the tunnels, noting their rather unkind layout. Multiple offshoots, all of which would rather easily be an ambush if one did not tread with care. Such a thing he did not expect the others to even remotely begin to be able to approach with any sort of dignity or success. So he moved around the slow moving, lumbering mess of bionics and flesh to move ahead, rifle at the ready in case he indeed found any sort of trouble, and what happened he did not quite expect to happen again in his personal experiences. It was always a strange thing when two forces slip past one another, without ever being aware of the other, a strange thing he would rather not have had happen again in his lifetime.

The Warpsmith, for lack of better terminology, was getting his bionic arse handed to him. Fancy warp powers and bionics didn't seem to help much, now did they? Atreides would keep his rifle and skill over all that fancy tech and sorcery, thank you very much. Raising his rifle, he took careful aim and put his first shot in the skull of the nearest of the two Skitarii forces, which hit and looked like it did damage, but for all it mattered, Atreides couldn't see much damage having been done from the shot. Stubborn, durable creatures they seemed to be, and his second round caught the same Skitarii in the arm, and now they finally deigned to realize he was indeed firing on them from his vantage position. Not like they could really do much, they were engaged in melee by other foes, which provided them no cover.

The one Skitarii fell to the ground, finally dead, and Atreides turned to fire on the other one, round also finding its mark and hitting the skitarii cleanly as well, causing damage and creating an opening that allowed the servitor to finally bring the final one down. The Warpsmith had nearly died, which was a shame, since he had to share the loot from the dead Skitarii now. So that made it a three way split instead of a two way one, as he reloaded his rifle and stored the empty magazine for later reloading, he stalked over to the corpse, listening and simply nodding his agreement with moving the bodies for later. The eyes looked useful, but beyond that and a combi tool he snagged, there was little that did the sniper any good to try and lay claim to personally.

[Omega]

Alaistair strode through the ship passages with impunity Kaillan at his side easily dispatching those who stood before them. Few stood a chance of even approaching Kaillan as she cut them down with her rending whips sundering limbs from bodies and cutting men apart. Alaistair kept his pistol at the ready but had no intention of using it quite yet, the pathetic beings who stood before them now did not merit the ammunition it would take to remove them from his path. Instead he used his sword to slay the rare few who managed to not be eviscerated in an instant by the whirling whips which seemed to control the entire corridor in which they tread. This ship held passages much like his own, a standard Lunar class he knew exactly where they were going as they went up through the levels ever closer to his target.

As they drew closer to the main bridge through the command decks they encountered fewer and fewer living beings in the damaged passageways, no doubt a result of the boarding parties taking the ship from both sides. Nothing could be afforded to be held in reserve, such an act made his plan easier. Though he made sure to be on the alert for the defenders he knew would be about.

Such vigilance paid off, with his own blessed hearing and that of his current companion detected the measured but heavy tread of heavy infantry. Looking to Kaillan she gave him one of her menacing yet seductive smiles and said simply, "One moment master.” With that the a grenade was around the corner and she was a moment later. She was so fast it was often hard to track her with the human eye and as her clone field came one line became borderline impossible. Naturally before he had even finished clearing the corner with both plasma pistols now free of their holsters she was already practically on top of them.

Heavy bolter and hellgun fire ripped out from the pair of stormtroopers even able to fire after the grenade had thrown went off amongst them. Slashing at one man he could not react as the whip fried his nervous system, Alaistair took aim with both plasma pistols on two targets frozen by the Dark Eldar weaponry and while the one in his left hand released a pair of bolts that scorched the flesh from the man at the heavy bolters. With that Kaillan was off, into the handful of men at the same time though Alaistair let out a howl of agony as his second pistol malfunctioned and scorched his skin even through the protection of his armor. Seeing an open target two men fired their hellguns at the momentarily shocked Slaaneshi worshiper only for his power armor to negate the entirety of the attack. Knowing that he could not count on the same thing to happen again he fired out with his still functional pistol bringing down a second stormtrooper before withdrawing to the corner of the hallway to provide some cover while he recovered himself.

While unable to watch he could certainly hear his Dark Eldar continue to fight and with the amount of hellgun firing being released he knew she would not last forever with the current odds. Holstering both pistols he drew his power sword and charged down the short distance to where the stormtroopers were preparing to fire again on Kaillan as she appeared to be slowly tearing down the defenses of another stormtrooper. Turning one of the men began firing him with one shot punching through his armor though it only winged him and so Alaistair continued on attempting to strike the stormtrooper that fired on him but the man was skilled with close combat. Ditching his gun for a combat knife, in such a fight, a simple man carapace armor with a combat knife against a being blessed by the gods themselves, wielding a power sword of the finest manufacture, sheathed in armor that can shrug off bolter there could be but one outcome. The man acquitted himself well for his stature in life though deftly dodging and avoiding blows from the lethal field of energy about the blade. All the while attempting to strike true a telling blow of his own.

In time though his defenses were worn down and Alaistair succeeded, cutting the man apart with his power sword. Turning about to face the last man standing he found only an unharmed Kaillan standing amidst the corpses. He could not hep but let out a minor laugh having through she would truly need his help against these men in such tight confines. Oh well what was done was done, taking a moment to inspect his badly burned arm he was mildly distracted by Kaillan as she seemed to be rummaging now through the arms locker the stormtroopers had left open.

[BurningDaisies]

The Unrepentant's belly rumbled with the cries of war and rage making its appetite for destruction known. Another unit of combatants rallied to call of an irresistible, fiery voice. Gathered together in a half-mangled corridor were a dozen khornate cultists. All of them scattered about the ship as a result of the collision and each of them assembled at Castiel's word with the promise of blood and glory.

The quakes and clangs of battle felt closer now as they reverberated into wrecked hall Castiel had filled with a motley unit of crewman. The firefights were moving towards them. Some of them shuddered, not with fear, but anticipation. Others were obviously anxious to move out. The fires in their eyes were the same though. All of them wanted a piece of the action, a chance to prove their worth.

Castiel sat perched upon the collateral of the warship's ditch effort: a twisted bulkhead bowed into low-hanging arch. The red emergencies lights created dim streaks of red that glinted along the curves of her power armor and reflected in her dark eyes.
Another shock wave resounded through the hall as the last of the cultists joined her entourage. A sly grin crept onto her lips. It's time. She stowed the grin before stepping onto her makeshift seat, treating it as though it were her own pulpit.

"Can you hear it? The sound and fury of battle calls to us. Those corpse-worshiping wretches wait for you to butcher them with blade and bullet." Castiel unsheathed her glimmering longsword, Tighmaevril, and with a flourish of her leathery, black wings held it high with the confidence of a king brandishing his scepter. "Khorne demands carnage! Their blood his His blessing. Take it! Their skulls are trophies. Claim them! Show them the wrath of the Blood God!"
The heated words that escaped her lips were unwavering and sure of victory. She possessed a strange radiance which stoked the fires of emotion and asserted somehow the certainty of Khorne blessing. The ruthless fighters cheered at the fierce rhetoric, pumping their fists and weapons into the air while shouting. She could feel the hall seething with their bloodlust, a palpable storm of fervor.
She truly cares not for which god she her audience praises, only that it is a God of Chaos. It fulfills her now.

"That's right! Cast down the idols! Destroy the temples! Slay the priests! Show these fools that they worship nothing more than a rotting corpse!"
The crowd howled with approval.
"Show me the strength of your devotion! Drown these worms in the blood of the fallen!" She thrusted her blade toward the symphony of clamor and combat lingering at the end of the hall. "CHARGE!"
Her war cry broke the floodgates of their already weakened restraint. And with that, they were off. The small horde of warmongers rushed headlong down corridor towards the command deck. With her true objective in mind, Castiel led them in. The writhing mass of unchained ferocity and rage-filled warriors stayed close on her heels.

[Fallen Muse]

Kaillan Veskara wasted no time carving a weaving path of death and blood through the enemies that attempted to rally against her and her master within the corridors of this damaged essel, each death being kindling that would further feed the excess of Slaanesh. The weaving pattern of the twin whips left no gaps, and no escape for those that could not run fast enough, the Prince saving his ammunition by using his sword to claim the few that evaded the whips as she advanced, but those were indeed few and far between, and those few were of no concern to the Dark Eldar, as those that evaded the sting of her whips were cut low by the Prince's own blade, and solved any problems they might have caused should she have been alone.

Their caution was paid well, though, as they encountered another enemy entrenched position, the grenade and Kaillan's own lightning assault caught them completely off guard, her clone field kicking in and making her a nigh on impossible target to hit, for those still able to fire as the Prince began executing those who could not act, one of his pistols sounding like it overloaded and another volley forced him to fall back to recover himself. That still left the Dark Eldar Wych dancing in their numbers, each whip strike draining their nervous systems and laying them low in single, lethal blows. Each attempt to shoot, stab, or wound the Dark Eldar missed, either through the clone's actions or those of the Dark Eldar herself, becoming as a terrifying cyclone of destruction in their ranks.

And with that, it was done, the Stormtroopers were all dead, any Imperials that had been manning the defenses here were equally dead. She had kept an eye on the Prince as he dueled the sole man who assaulted him with naught but a combat knife. Brave, but foolish, the Prince had far more power than the man could have ever realized, and he had indeed been cut down, leaving another death tallied up to the Prince. Of course, she was far ahead of him, but that was not surprising. The very thought of a mere human, even one as talented as the Prince, surpassing a Wych in kills was ludicrous and unlikely in many cases, only those of the fewest experience could be found in such sitautions. But that was hardly the case, for now, another fight was indeed won.

It was at this point that Kaillan checked the lockers they had been pulling munitions from and found a treasure trove. Taking everything that was explosive out she began strapping grenade upon grenade to her belt. Then she saw the melta charges, quickly she looped her arms around them and strapped them to the body of a stormtrooper along with a frag grenade which she tied a strip of cloth to the pin of. Warning her master of what she was about to do she went around the corner and using the cloth pulled the pin free. The resulting explosion powerful and leaving a gaping hole where the door to the command deck had once been.

[BurningDaisies]

The battle raged through the command deck.
No restraint.
No mercy.
Only.
Pure.
Unadulterated.
Violence.

Castiel had the lead charge in slaying the first guardsmen she came across. They were of little challenge. Even the cultists, which hurled themselves past her, expended more effort clawing over one another to pounce on the enemies ranks than on murdering the few fools brave enough to step in their path.
With all manner of rending blades, they hacked and cleaved, bit and snarled, ripping through their foes without a second thought. Castiel did nothing to organize their number. These brutes seemed to be at their best, when nothing held their rage in check.

Practiced footwork carried her over the carnage littering the floor as she the quickly carved a path through the bloodshed, rounding a corner into a corridor junction where a handful of armsmen huddled in defensive formation around a cogitator. They were already embroiled in conflict with another boarding party from the Unrepetant. More importantly, they were too preoccupied to notice her approach. With a grim determination set in her stride and a few thrusts from her wings, the fallen sister dropped on them with her fell blade, dispatching them with haste as the friendly fire from the boarding party's volley ricocheted off of her power armour.
She pried the weapons away from the armsmen's rigid grip and tossed them at two of her fellow insurgents, once their salvo subsided. With a smug grin, they caught the guns and ran off through a demolished office to regroup with their team who wasted little time in moving to the next skirmish.

"It has to be around here somewhere." She grumbled impatiently.

At last she came to a jagged hallway. Red splotches and black scorch marks marred the walls. Gored bodies lay strewn along her path, resting in pools of still-warm blood. She floated nimbly over the gore, wings aloft, only to be spotted by two armsmen with shotguns. They fired without hesitation, but the shots fell short of Castiel, who stood unperturbed at the end of the corridor. "They must have set up a choke point."

Behind them, was the entrance to an imperial shrine and a priest delivering an obnoxiously pious oratory. In one hand, he held a scroll of litanies and the other a chain sword. Castiel could feel her old wounds begining to burn as a familiar hatred rose to meet the fiery sensation. The world to fell away as her focus narrowed onto the priest, who should've been glad there was helmet preventing her cold, cruel glare from freezing him in place.

The growing tension set her jaw and gritted her teeth. It would be dangerous to advance on their barricade. Nearly forty meters of corridor, littered with limp corpses and slick with blood, were between Castiel and her prey. A thin haze coalesced around her, warping and twisting the very essence of her being. Her substance melted away and only an eerie astral likeness remained as she willed herself into the veil between the Materium and Immaterium. She rushed headlong towards the barricade. The ghostly visage of a horned flying demon charged at the armsmen full tilt. They fired wildly at the nightmarish spectre. Each spray of pellets from their shotguns bit into the walls and floor, but not into their intended target.

With unnerving silence, Castiel drew close. The fabric of reality wrapped around her, reinstantiated her corporeal form into existence. Her wings spread wide, the hate-filled sororitas fell upon the priest with her blade, all the weight of her diving charge into the power of her swing. Tighmaevril carved into the man's shoulder, ripping through his lightly armored vestments. The holy man groaned in pain, but recovered quickly. He stood firm as a grimace contorted his features. He had finally recognized the iconic power armor and sororitas trappings.
"For one once held so high, the emperor weeps at how far you've fallen." He seemed to feel genuinely reviled at the thought of a traitor in his presence.

With a iron-set jaw, he dropped his scriptures, gripped his chain sword with both hands, and slash up through Castiel's guard. She took quick notice of the tactic. Although she was able to swat the ripsaw blade away with her shield, the priest's martial prowess was commendable, but nevertheless lacking in comparison. Castiel thrust at his midsection, the tip of her sword aiming for the sweet spot between the ribs where it could skewer the heart, but it caught cloth instead as the priest nimbly leaned aside.
The two exchanged blows one after another dancing back and forth to the rhythm of clashing metal. He was good, but not good enough. With each swing Tighmaevril cut deeper and deeper into the priest's body, bits of blood splattering to the floor and walls, while the priest's own weapon flailed helplessly against Castiel's tough armor. The two armsmen behind the combatants stood at the ready, waiting for an opening to fire a volley into the Sister's back, but they were overrun. The cultists she had inspired with hate finally stumbled onto the scene. At the sight of the mortal struggle, their bloodlust returned and they renewed their assault. The small horde crashed into the armsmen and slew them without hesitation.

Fatigue betrayed finally betrayed the priest's guarded stance. Castiel seized the opportunity. The first cut bit into his shoulder and cleaved through his chest, but the reverse swing sliced clean through his leg just above the knee. A torrent of red poured from the stump and pooled on the ground. The priest helplessly murmured a prayer to protect the passing of his soul as the fear of his own mortality extinguished the lights in his eyes. She stuck the tip of her blade through his ribs, tearing into his heart, then twisted. His bones snapped with a wicked crack. An old feeling of satisfaction swelled in Castiel's chest as drew her sword out of his corpse.

She gathered her calm and turned to the two junior priests, each wielding a mace inscribed with liturgies of hate, and each trembling with fear as they tried hold on to some measure of hope. The cultists, having already finished the wanton slaughter of the scattered ratings and armsmen, overwhelmed the clergymen before she could kill them herself. Pity. The remainder of the shrine's attendants were slain despite their incessant mewlings and screams of agony. Castiel spared no time in running her blade through each and every one of them in turn.

When at last the room was cleared, Castiel approached the massive golden idol of the god-emperor. Pews to either side were strangely clean despite the rampant bloodshed, the various sacrements and relics, too, seemed no worse for wear. At the foot of the decadent statue rested a large bejeweled sword. Intricate litanies wove a beautiful pattern down the length of the blade. She puzzled over the inscriptions.

"Curious item..."

[Fallen Muse]

Kaillan Veskara bolted into the room, spotting the wounded Captain of this hostile vessel, still standing thanks to the failing force shield around him, and she wasted no time in her following actions. She lunged for his throat, grasping to throttle the life out of the wounded human, make him suffer the last agonizing moments of his life, lungs ablaze from a lack of air, his last mortal sight being the hateful gaze of a Dark Eldar. But even after a physical assault with bare fists, the throttling was failing, the human struggling back against her, despite being clearly outclassed by the Wych, he continued to fight back, as if it was ever going to change a thing in the situation. He managed to get free of her choke hold, although it would not buy him any reprieve, as the crack of the Wych's whips stunned him and dropped him to the deck, no longer conscious and completely at the mercy of his captors now.

[Omega]

Rushing into the bridge of the vessel after Kaillan Veskara she easily outpaced him as she always does. Any defenders at the door never had a chance while the heat and pressure wave of the blast had disoriented everyone else aboard the bridge. She was already engaging the captain though apparently without intent to kill him this time, he decided to not bother with whatever intentions she had with the captain, instead setting about cutting down surviving crew members. Few were skilled enough or armed to challenge him, instead falling like chaff to his blade. Most of the skilled warriors had been sent out to repel boarders with only the handful already faced left as guards. Bridge officers and technical crewmen were no match for his blade.

As he finished the last of his weak enemies he inspected the bridge, very spartan, military, lacking much of the excess of his own bridge though it was mostly mechanically the same. The primary entranceway was now a melted hole, the command platform was several meters away and empty, the captain having been at the helm of his vessel near the control pit. At the helm he found what he had hoped to find here, turning on the ship wide vox be broadcast his message throughout the vessel, "This is Prince Alaistair Godwin Lafayette Captain and Lord of the vessel Dark Desire. Forces of the Imperium, surrender now to the forces of the Dark Gods about you, there is no escape from this doomed vessel. I am your only salvation from doom. Warlord Beraesh, I am currently aboard the bridge, I await you just as I await the end to our conversation we started some time ago. Forces who once served Beraesh, surrender yourselves to the forces of the Dark Desire and be welcomed as future brothers aboard my magnificent vessel."

He smirked under his helmet as he drew out his plasma pistols and loaded in fresh clips for them as well as setting them to maximum power. It was his intent to end this fight in a single blow. There was little cover and so Alaistair stood in the open, both pistols ready and pointed at the door ready for his foe to arrive. Everyone on the ship likely heard the message and given their history he knew Beraesh would be coming for him. Turning to his Eldar companion he spoke again, "Ready yourself, this foew will be far more resilient than we are familiar with."