[WH40k] Lords of Chaos [IC] {Rated M}

[Atrum Daemon]

[Rated for copious scenes of violence, gore, extreme themes, and other related horrible things]
Music for this Opening

The Imperial World of Kreuzung

Night had fallen and brought a cold, heavy rain with it. The town the rain fell on was slowly growing quiet as the citizens bunked down for the night, feeling secure in the shadow of the mountain pass and in the knowledge that armed soldiers of the Imperial Guard were watching. The mountain pass was a crucial point as one of the only passes through the mountains fit for both men and vehicle to travel. Guarding the pass itself was a large, fortress-like mansion: The Hinterhause. The town was a strategic strong point for both the Imperial Guard and the Forces of Chaos.

On a ridge overlooking the town crouched a figure. Rain pelted on his bare skin, from which jutted strange suds, and which was interwoven with metal plating. Varris, champion of the Dark Mistress, checked his chrono and stood. He turned away from the town to look upon the joint attack force he was leading. Three platoons of reavers sat or stood anxious for action. “It's almost time,” Varris said, walking back to the main body of soldiers. “Let's go over it one more time.”

“We've been over it a dozen times already, Varris,” sighed Fyx.

“And we're going over it again,” Varris said, shooting a hard glare at Fyx. “We can't afford any screw ups.”

Varris produced a small holo-projector and brought up the layout of the town below. The plan itself was not overly complicated, but Varris had the compulsion to make sure everyone knew their role perfectly. Fyx's platoon and his would take the flanks of the town while Markal's would rush up the center. This put Markal's men in the most danger, but he was the best equipped to weather such difficulty. “Let's get ready to begin,” Varris said.

Kreuzung Capitol – One Hour Previous

Sharp footsteps rang through the halls of the Administratum office. A frazzled scribe carried himself toward the office of the senior adept and knocked on the metal door. He was bid to enter and stood before the cluttered desk within. “You've looked better, Carl,” the senior adept commented. “What is it?”

“I've been checking and re-checking the authentication codes and identity information for those merchant ships that arrived a few hours ago. And I found some...inconsistencies.”

Carl handed a dataslate to the senior adept, who looked over it from behind the frames of round spectacles. He scrutinized the slate for several moments, scrolling through the collected data. “This is most troubling if it is true,” the senior adept said grimly. “Have you shown this to anyone else?”

“I came to you straight away,” Carl said. “I wasn't sure if it was accurate, so I thought it best to not show it around.”

“A wise decision,” the senior adept said with a nod, reaching into his desk drawer. With a flash of movement, a laspistol appeared in the adept's hand and he shot Carl in the head. “A little too wise, I'm afraid.”

The Main Assault – The City of Zephyr; Present Time

Victory was key and The Voice knew that. A secondary base would secure a foothold for further conquest on the world. The city of Zephyr, while not the capitol, was one of the larger cities on the continent. It also served as a gateway to the mountain ranges and having control of the passes would be a vital part of achieving victory.

The psychically charged chanting blared from the speakers as a full-scale assault began on Zephyr. Bolstered by their commander's words, the reavers swarmed into the city. The new champions had been given a collective goal: spear through the main artery of the city to the capitol building to secure it.

The Hamlet; The Attack Begins in Earnest

The three-pronged attack began seconds after the main assault on the city of Zephyr. Varris and his men moved on the right flank of the hamlet and pounced upon the defenders like vicious shadows. Blood flowed freely as knives stabbed into flesh with elegant, fatal blows. Varris got caught off-guard by a sergeant who came at him from in between two of the houses. The man was not a simple PDF soldier, his poise and eyes spoke of an experienced Guardsman. The power sword sizzled by Varris twice more, the champion evading the strikes with inhuman agility.

The sergeant was good, but not good enough. Varris found his moment and caught the man's arm mid-swing. His other hand found the sergeant's throat and slammed him into a wall. He pulled the sergeant's arm away from his body and with a serious tug ripped the arm off in a shower of blood, the cry of anguish reduced to a gurgle from Varris's grip. But Varris did not stop there with the violence. He threw the bloody sergeant to the ground and crouched over him. His fist connected with the sergeant's face, breaking every bone he struck. He struck again and again, bloodying the ground and his fists. Varris beat the sergeant until his skull was nothing but bloody chunks. When he was finally finished, Varris opened his jaws and let loose the sonic projector fused with his voicebox as a battle cry and signal to the others to keep moving forward for the Hinterhause.

Fyx heard the sonic shout through the ears of one of his linked soldiers. His platoon worked in perfect unison, firing shots at targets of opportunity. Fyx himself had remained at the edge of the town, directing his soldiers through his powerful psychic links. But even those links did not prevent a few crafty Imperials from locating Fyx with the help of a sanctioned psyker. The two soldiers were consumed by the lightning that Fyx fired from his arms. Fyx had something else in mind for the psyker and dove at his mind. The mental defenses crumbled under Fyx's assault and he burned the psyker's mind from the inside out. His soldiers continued moving forward, only a few falling to Imperial guns.

Fortress World Iko

Light years across the Girza sector, an entirely different battle was being fought. A planetary invasion under the direction of the Chaos Lord Kolgrim. The invasion hit while a Space Marine strike cruiser was refueling at Iko's orbital station. A calculated risk to cut down on the number of loyal Astartes in the sector while conquering a planet. The strike cruiser belonged to the Silver Hands chapter and they had been a thorn in Kolgrim's side for years.

In the opening minutes of the orbital assault, the strike cruiser had been sheared in half by lance batteries. The moment orbit was locked, landing craft ejected from the bellies of ships and pods fell from the launch tubes. The forces crashed upon Iko like a thunderstorm of meteors followed by armored landing craft. The pods unleashed Legionnaires in red armor, shoulder pads adorned with a dripping moon. From one of the first landing craft came the heavy footfalls of terminator armor; footfalls that belonged to Kolgrim.

Among the attackers stood Hannibal, a rising Dark Apostle. Impassioned words flew from his lips as he strode forth among his brethren. He kept pace with the charge through the fortress-city, booming voice emboldening his fellows around him as bolter rounds tore into soldiers defending the city. Large caliber rounds impacted the power armor worn by Hannibal and his brothers. Hannibal zeroed in on the gun firing and took his crozius in both hands, charging the Guardsmen who had the courage to fire upon them.

The Silver Hands were within the city and though reinforcements were not coming from the destroyed cruiser, a sizable number were on the surface of Iko. Stalwart fighters and defenders, silver colored gauntlets gripping bolters and swords with resolute will. From defensive positions, they fired. The older Hands knew the city was already lost when the pods landed inside the walls. At the very least, they could hold out long enough to evacuate a percentage of the population before making a tactical retreat.

[Cfavano]

Markal smiled as his troops, his collection of fanatics and fans, readied themselves for battle. He licked his lips. "Alright, ladies. Are you ready to rock their socks off?"
"We love you, Markal!" Shouts one female reaver fanatic fangirl.
"Well then, let's goooooo!"

They begin their assault, with Markal swooping through the air. He casts Invisibility and Endurance on his troops, and Shrouding on himself. When his troops got into range, they would begin firing on who or whatever was there, using cover beneficially, of course, while Markal darts through the air, blasting out waves of death from his sonic blaster in a crossfire position to suppress the enemy. "Hey Loyalists! Taste my vicious funky sauce!" he would cackle at the enemy, taunting them, making him appear insane and dangerous.

[Thrannix]

---Before the Assault---

Rifkin was deep in psychic trance, through the chaotic storm of the warp he tried to grasp at the strings of fate. He liked to perform this specific ritual before any major engagement. He swam through whirlpools of warp energy, the hunger of the immaterium’s denizens around him was oppressive, but they were kept at bay by the mark blazing at the back of his neck. Tzeentch protected him, for now.

Frost covered the arcane texts and scrolls that he kept in his tent. Beside the champion, at arm’s length, a tortured figure that once must have been a human being stood shivering, held in place by both fear and the chain that was kept tight by the silent armored figure wearing a black cloth over his face.

Endless possibilities danced in front of him; from absolute victory to terrible annihilation. He had to sweep carefully thread by thread. Divination was a delicate art; first he had to determine which threads are more than just mirages, reflections of one’s own desires or fears, then which of the remaining strings are stronger, how they connect and intertwine with other threads to obtain something akin to a prediction.

As he broke his psychic link and the tent's temperature slowly began to rise back to normal the Serpent gave out a fanged smile.

---During the Assault---

The reavers under his command advanced parallel to the main street that ran directly into the city center. Up to this point they hadn’t engaged in any serious fighting. As he had seen in his vision the blunt of the resistance was being kept busy west of his route.

As he walked the field he kept muttering a chant and the shrunken heads in his collar seemed to mouth the words along with him. Through this spell he was continually sensing the currents of the warp for warnings and visions of immediate dangers and strategic possibilities. This technique, unlike the one he performed in his tent, allowed him to keep his other cognitive functions unimpaired.

One of the sergeants under him approached him and bowed in front of him. The man hesitated before asking “Master, champion Varlan’s troops seem to have met heavy resistance up ahead and request assistance. Should we come around that plaza and flank the imperial dogs?”

Rifkin unblinkingly directed his unnatural black eyes towards his pawn. A minute passed while the weakling squirmed in fear under his gaze.

“Do not speak to me unless I address you directly. If I do not give you the answers to your questions before you ask them,” he said without emotion, “then they were the wrong questions to begin with.” He gestured with his hand for his minion to leave, the sergeant nodded his assent and scurried away.

He knew Varlan was probably going to make it. It was of little consequence either way. But trying to help him would take away momentum from the assault leaving them exposed to counterattacks from the nearby imperial reinforcements. They had to push on.

Through his divinations he kept his troops one step ahead of the imperial defenders. Ambushers were ambushed in turn, cover was promptly taken before the first enemy shots could make damage and units were evacuated from buildings before demolition charges could bring them down. Those who were too slow or too stupid to heed his commands died quickly. Rifkin didn’t care, he had no use for anything but quick, blind and complete obedience. Slowly, without courageous charges or maddening speeches, but with unstoppable determination, the Serpent’s troops closed the distance towards the objective.

But as always the warp was treacherous. Some visions came with too little warning. His spell showed him a Leman Russ coming through the side wall of a seemingly abandoned warehouse, only seconds before the actual event. The reavers handling the heavy weapons didn’t have a clear line of sight, they had been positioned to cover the road from where a group of Chimera’s would soon try to flank them. The sponson mounted heavy bolters of the imperial tank quickly felled the unfortunate bastards that had been caught unaware too close to the breach. The tank commander was no fool, and realizing who the champion was ordered the turret's battle cannon to turn towards Rifkin’s position.

The vision of his body reduced to bloody, half burnt pieces rose in his mind. The tank had to die. He couldn’t be sure if his unaugmented Bolt of Change would be enough to penetrate the vehicle’s thick frontal armor. No time for divinations now. He grabbed the slave by the neck and pulled back his cowl uncovering his forehead. His third eye’s reptilian pupil contracted at the contact with the light as it focused on his master’s target. Rifkin rose his staff in the air while warp energy started to course through his body into the weapon.

As he did so the slave began to thrash and wither until his neck crumpled under Rifkin’s hand, a mummified body and head fell to the ground before turning into dust. At that moment he lowered the staff in one quick motion directing it towards the vehicle. A ray of raw warp energy connected the weapon with the tank for a moment, twisting and melting metal, corrupting flesh and boiling blood. When it was over only a molten carcass in the middle of a smoking crater remained.

“Find a new one.” He calmly told the brutish handler who was still gripping a now empty chain.

[dakkagor]

"Welcome to sunny Zephyr you pukes! Stay in formation and watch the gods damned corners!"

Alyss listened with half an ear to the shouting of Reaver officers as they swept over the barricades. A PDF unit had assembled the barricade from ground cars and doors, but with Alyss supporting the charge it had posed barely any challenge at all.

Zephyr reminded her of Vorstagg, but then all Imperial cities looked the same to her. Block pattern, heavy ferrocrete walls, dull streets emblazoned with eagles and statues of the dead and hallowed. Artillery had already opened up some of the sewers below street level, and the place was beginning to stink of disease and death. Everywhere frightened imperial citizens ran and hid, or cowered from the advance of the reavers.

"Milady" she turned to look at one of the Sergeants, Mikkaus. "We are keeping pace. Champion Rifkins forces are advancing parallel to us a few blocks over."

"Good." She nodded. "Keep me appraised. Keep the men advancing for now, while we have the initiative we must use it. We can't let the Imperium muster for a counter attack."

The sergeant bowed and turned to shout orders at his men. Behind her, she heard a woman shriek. She turned sharply on her heels, and stalked towards the sound. In one of the buildings, she could see some of the men from her unit struggling with something. As she closed, she realized with a sick lurch that they had snatched a young girl, no more than 15 years old, from her weeping mother, who was pinned to the floor herself by one of her men. The two men holding the girl where trying to strip her clothes. She realized with a sense of horror that they would rape that girl in front of her mother if someone didn't intervene.

"Whose unit are you with?" she asked quietly. The three men froze, and one turned to her.

"Lady Gallowglas." he muttered. "We are taking our prize for our service."

"Funny." She snarled back, advancing a step, force staff in hand. "I did not see the banner of Archon raised over the governors building. Have we won already?" Outside, as if to punctuate her point, artillery crashed down further up the street, and Sergeant Mikkaus was shouting for her.

"Are you denying me the gods gifts?" the man pinning the mother growled. She frowned as she saw the symbol of the dark prince had been crudely painted on their armour. They obviously would have preferred being assigned to that egotistical maniac Markal.

"Let them go." She thumped the butt of her staff into the floor, making the building shiver. "I won't ask again."

"Make me!" The man snarled. He pulled a heavy autopistol from his webbing and aimed it at Alyss. She merely blinked. There was a pulse of force, and the mans hand snapped up to the ceiling as he fired the pistol, the loud bangs accompanied by a shower of plaster. She gestured with her left hand and the pistol twisted out of his grip, snapping fingers before she flung it across the room. He reflexively let go of the woman, howling in pain at his suddenly mangled hand. With a contemptuous flick of her hand, Alyss put him through a wall, wrapping him round a metal pillar and snapping his spine in a shower of plaster dust. She turned to face the other two men, who had wisely dropped the girl and backed away.

"Now, you two, get back to the front line before I rip your dicks off with my brain."

They ran from the building, leaving Alyss alone with the women. She sighed, and turned away.

"Why did you save us?" the girl asked. Alyss didn't turn around, but did stop at the door.

"Because I could." she responded. "If you head to the city walls to the east, and stay low, you should be able to get out safely."

She strode away, and back towards the front. She could hear rifle fire again.

---

"Well?" She walked up to Sergeant Mikkaus. He and his fireteam where hunkered down behind a low pile of rubble.

"Discipline problems hey?" he chuckled, before pointing up the street "We have a heavy bolter team up in that building. They ambushed the lead squad good and proper, but we only had a few casualties. We don't want to hit the building with missile launchers, we only have limited ammo and we got a report there are some armored fist squads maneuvering to the east."

Alyss looked around, assessing the situation. It was a good kill zone, they had height and the road had no cover. Too the left and right large buildings with no ground floor access blocked them in.

"I'll make some cover. Suppress them."

Mikkaus started barking orders. The rifle fire picked up, chipping chunks of rockcrete out of the buildings gothic facade. The heavy bolter fire slacked of immediately. Alyss stepped out onto the road. If there was a sniper, they would soon find out.

She grasped her staff two handed, the runes that laced it glowing white hot, while ice formed on the road surface. She slammed it into the ferrocrete road surface and and focused her power into a wave of force, and the road surface splintered, cracked, and shattered. Massive blocks of the surface flipped up, creating an impromptu series of barricades. Behind her, the men swarmed forwards. Flamers where brought to the front, and with the cover, able to get close enough to blast the building with a sheet of fire.

"Objective secure!" Mikkaus soon reported, having led the storming assault. "We have sight on the central objective from up here, and I can see Chimera's closing."

"Lets use that position sergeant." she responded over the radio, waving her men forwards. "Get a runner to the other warbands and let them know we are holding the flank against counter attack. With the height, we can hit those Chimeras from above with the missile launchers for easy kills."

[Thrannix]

An imperial sentinel was stabbed through the cockpit by Rifkin's bolt of change killing machine and pilot alike. As the walker fell to the ground in purple flames Rifkin's previous vision of the flanking Chimeras dissipated changing into the burning wrecks of the enemy vehicles as heavy weapons tore into them from a building to the west. He smiled slightly intrigued, at least now his heavy weapon teams were free to engage other targets.

At that moment his vox adjutant, Garl, turned to him with a reverence and said offering the speaker.

"Master, one of Lady Gallowglass' officers-" Before the man could finish Rifkin grabbed the device and placed it next to his ear. He took note of the name in his mind. Was she the markless witch he had heard about? Most interesting indeed.

"Rifkin." He presented himself without preamble.

"Master, Rifkin, sir." Came the reply from the other end after a slight stutter. "Lady Gallowglass wishes to-"

"Inform me that you're holding the flank… and about the imperial Chimeras which your lads will generously take care of." Rifkin interrupted the man in his ever creepy unemotional recitation. "Extend my gratitude to your lady." He closed his eyes and focused for a moment diving deeper into the warp before snapping his black orbs open once again.

"Also, she might want to know the building will come under artillery fire twenty minutes after she deals with the vehicles." He released the speaker and walked away leaving Garl to deal with the unpleasantness of vox protocol.

[Atrum Daemon]

The Hamlet

“Varris,” the lilting voice sang over the champion's vox bead, “you might wanna see this.”

Varris jolted out of his latest bought of unnecessary violence against a man he killed. Swiveling his head toward the rest of the platoon, he moved like a ghost through the rain-filled darkness. He pushed his way through the bodies of his soldiers to see what they had found. What they had was a corpse laying in the mud. The body was clothed in a rain-soaked, foul weather coat that reached his ankles. Varris turned the body over with his foot and swore through clenched teeth. The body was clad in black flak armor and helmet with a full face mask. The eyepieces were lit up, shining dully. “Keeps eyes up,” Varris said over the vox link to the other platoons. “We have Iron Rangers in the hamlet!”

On the roofs of the buildings, multiple soldiers in black put the eyepieces of their helmets to the scopes of high-powered rifles. The eyepieces lit up, they made their targets, and squeezed the triggers. A shot went through each of Markal's wings, punching through the bone. The third that would have gone through his skull pulled to the left and flew past his ear. The Icon bearer fell, his throat destroyed by a precise shot.

“Scale up,” ordered Kalis, Varris's lieutenant, “we need those snipers dead!”

The Slaanesh death cult that was Varris's platoon produced their climbing equipment. Since they preferred quiet and close, scaling structures was common for them. The men and women got climbing.

Fyx and his men moved unhindered, the Rangers blocking their flank already fallen to the Overmind's psychic influence. Fyx had been charged with scanning the hamlet for potential obstacles and had taken a point to omit the detail of the Iron Rangers when reporting his findings to Varris and Markal. The sound of Varris's discovery coming over the vox made the psyker grin maniacally beneath his helmet. The grin faded when his platoon came under fire from a heavy stubber, the weapon set up in one of the large buildings at the end of the run. Three of his soldiers fell, torn open by large caliber rounds, their blood mixing into the mud.

The City of Zephyr

The tank brought low by Rifkin was not the only one prowling the city. The heavy shells had already reduced several platoons to red paste on the streets. The army headed by the Voice was not unprepared for this. Chimeras has speared further into the city, carrying specialists to take key positions and make priorities of the city's artillery guns. Weapon teams were taking point to hunt the tanks. The city was on full defensive and more and more of the outlying territory was falling the closer the Voice's sermon got.

For Rifkin, an unforeseen event kicked off a few moments after his message to Alyss went out. The buildings behind his advancing force detonated, collapsing onto the street and blocking the primary escape route. But, not concentrated fire came from the buildings on either side. A chimera plowed through an alley ahead of Rifken's men, the multi-laser opening up and blanketing the street.

Across the city, Alyss had found a good place to set up. Three chimeras rolled right into the kill zone for her heavy weapons. Reduced to flaming wrecks, the street became littered with the burning and unrecognizable corpses of guardsmen. After the three, the chimeras stopped rolling through. The air became thick within the building and several of the reavers under Alyss began clutching their heads and screamed in agony, blood running from their noses and eyes. The backs of their skulls burst open, splattering blood and gore around the room.

[dakkagor]

There where savage cheers, and Alyss couldn't help a grim smile herself. They had stopped the counter attack cold in this sector.

"Mikkaus, get the men ready to move out. Objective point 15 on the maps!" Mikkaus nodded and turned to shout orders as Alyss walked across to the stair well, her staff clicking on the tiled floor. She paused, halfway there, cocking her head to one side.

"Can you hear. . .chanting?" She turned to Mikkaus, who shrugged. Behind him the weapon teams where packing up the missile launchers and getting ready to move. "I'm certain I can. . . " She looked around, and then pain lanced through her head, causing her to crumple to her knees. She clung to the staff and gasped in shock as the pain intensified, past the worst migraine she had ever had as a child, and through to feeling like something was boring out of her skull. Had she overstretched herself? Had some warp daemon finally latched its claws into her soul?

As she looked around, she saw her men crumple around her, screaming in agony, heads exploding wetly from the tremendous pressures. Mikkaus stumbled, blood running from his eyes and ears. Through the pain Alyss realised her staff was glowing red hot, its runs of warding blazing white. It wasn't a daemonic possession, it was a psychic attack! She staggered to her feet, and held the staff above her head.

"show yourselves, cowards!" she yelled, blasting out a wave of force that caused the heavy air to momentarily recede. "Everyone, get to the back stairwell! Now!" Mikkaus nodded blearily, and around him the survivors grabbed equipment and stumbled through to the stairwell. The enemy plan was very clear. Pin her and her force in place with a psychic barrage, and then flatten the block with artillery. She spat at the hypocrisy of it. She was a witch, a psyker, but the Imperium didn't hesitate to use what it hated against her.

They drifted through the walls as Alyss took a battle stance, legs braced, staff held in the crook of her elbow. Five psykers, projecting avatars from some distance away, accompanied by a sussarant chanting of Imperial hymns. To Alyss they where gauzy, barely real things, washed of colour like they had been left out in the sun. To blunts they would be only detectable as a feeling of cold, of being watched, or deja vu as their minds brushed against you. Alyss frowned as they circled her. Five versus one was bad odds. They circled around her, and in the distance, she could hear artillery firing. She was running out of time.

She opened with a blast of bio-lightning, which slashed through the form of one and dissipated it instantly, with an effect like film tearing. The other four closed as the pressure rose, beating against her skull and drenching her skin in sweat. In their hands they wielded curved, wicked blades. Psykana mercy blades. They slashed down and passed through her like smoke, but hot pain lanced where ever they touched. She spun her staff through two, and with flashes of white light, she banished two more. The last two hovered for a moment, barely sustaining their avatar forms, like projections on a column of smoke.

They are a choir! Hurt one and you hurt them all!

As she summoned another blast of lightning, they rushed her. She caught one and it vanished with a faint scream, but the last came on. She caught its blade with her staff, and for a second looked into its hollow, dead eyes. It was a woman, of about her build and age, but gaunt and sickly looking.

I could have been like you. You could have been like me.

She wasn't sure where the thought came from. Did it come from her opponent, or from herself? The ghostly psyker backed away, and sketched a small bow before dissipating into wisps of smoke.

Above Alyss, the building shook. Outside she could hear heavy mortar fire crashing down. She turned and ran, ignoring her psychically inflicted wounds that weeped blood into her black robes from skin that wasn't torn. She reached the stairwell and threw herself down it, catching herself at the last minute with a blast of telekinetic force. At the bottom, she found her surviving soldiers, marshalled by Mikkaus. Around them the building and the walls shivered from the heavy mortar shells landing outside.

"Its raining gakking death out there!" He shouted over the din. "No way we can leave!"

"Everyone get as close as you can!" She shouted. For a moment Mikkaus looked confused. "Do it!" She yelled again. The men quickly clustered around her, their odour, a mixture of style sweat, blood and cordite quickly filled her nose. She held up her staff and focused. A sphere of telekinetic force
extended from her weapon and over her soldiers. She focused on it, strengthening it with layer after layer of force.

"Cover your ears!" She yelled. Around them the world exploded as the heavy battery, the bunker busting medusa and bombard cannon shells, shrieked down and obliterated the building.

+++++

Alyss came too being dragged from the rubble. She shook her head blearily and looked up to see Mikkaus dragging her by her shoulders into the remains of an alley. Around her the streets where blazing, filled with smoke, rubble and twisted metal.
He said something Alyss couldn't hear as he realised Alyss was awake. She clambered to her feet, and started cuffing of the brick dust that had collected on her robes. There was a loud ringing in her ears as he pulled her along and into the cover of the alley.

"What?!" she shouted as Mikkaus tried to talk to her. Mikkaus touched the side of her head, causing her to recoil reflexively until she saw his fingers come away covered with blood.
"Oh gak me!" she said. She looked round and saw that she was left with about 20 men. Most carried injuries, and their heavy equipment was lost. She looked back to the building, which was a smoking pile of rubble.
"Vox Rifkin and tell him we are out of the fight for now!" She shouted over the ringing in her ears. Mikkaus made a face and pointed at the building, then mimed a vox unit.
"Gods frakking damnit!" she shouted again, before slumping to the floor against the wall. She breathed out, and tried to focus. Her hands where shaking. She had the ability to heal these wounds. But right now she was exhausted. Keeping that force dome up, under such a savage bombardment, had drained her completely.
"Get some scouts out and find us a place to hole up!" she said, trying to keep her voice level. Mikkaus, who had been kneeling next to her nodded once and rose to his feet. Over the ringing in her ears she couldn't hear a blessed thing.

Suppress, pin, hammer with overwhelming force. So typically Imperial. She leaned over and retched up whatever she had eaten last, then fumbled for a canteen and washed her mouth of bile and concrete dust. She needed to pull herself together and get these men moving. She splashed a little of the water in her eyes and blinked the dust out of them.

After a few minutes that Alyss spent dazed and half asleep from pure fatigue, Mikkaus returned. He helped her to her feet and they started to move. Ahead of them, out of the artillery barrage zone, they found a local pub that had been abandoned. Heading down its stairs, behind the bar, was a cellar stocked with barrels. Some had fallen over in the barrage, splitting and spilling their contents on the floor.

"The owners?" Alyss asked of Mikkaus. He pointed over to a pair of legs that jutted out from behind a stack of barrels, in the middle of a pool of blood. "Alright. Lets hunker down here for now."

Mikkaus laughed, though Alyss couldn't hear it, or understand what was so funny. He set off with some of the men and Alyss unsteadily settled to the floor. Was she concussed? She gripped the staff and focused through it, feeling through her injuries. Slowly, with care, she started knitting herself back together, starting with her burst eardrums. As they healed, she heard the city around her come back. The silence was replaced with the sound of distant fighting, and her men moving around the building.

[Thrannix]

Rifkin turned with narrowed eyes to the collapsing buildings behind him, a slight frown of his forehead the only expression of his irritation at failing to see it beforehand. He had probably lost his focus as he concentrated on Alyss’ location. Every good action has its just punishment. The imperial trap was well orchestrated, the Chimera and the enemies hunkered in the buildings at both sides had already killed several of his men before any chance of retaliation was given.

He renewed his psychic link. But something was wrong; the visions that had been so clear and vibrant now seemed murky, uncertain, contaminated. He strained himself fighting against whatever veil was trying to keep him blind. His efforts were rewarded as he was able to grasp the vision of his troops being decimated as they failed to take the buildings at either side, he tried to see a way forward but the tank blocking the road was a black spot to his warp sight, his visions became unstable once more. Something or someone was directly altering his divinations, that troubled Rifkin much more deeply than the fact they were being showered with fire from all sides.

“The only way is forward. All units stay in cover and suppress the enemy hiding in the buildings.” While Garl frantically transmitted his message the problem the incoming imperial tank represented became evident as the unit a few meters ahead of Rifkin’s position was showered by the multilaser felling several reavers. Rifkin swiftly took out the weapon with his bolt of change, an unexpected flash of pain rose in his mind for a second, at the same time some competent individual under his command shot the vehicle with a rocket launcher from the side immobilizing it.

But the imperials inside were far from done yet. The disembarkation ramp was down before the reavers could effectively surround the vehicle. Ten men wearing the stormtrooper uniform came out, flamer armed specialists at the front who quickly reduced the reavers that had tried to rush them to cinders. The heavily trained soldiers quickly took cover behind the wrecked vehicle and the large stonework pieces that littered the street, from that position they turned the street into a killing field.

Rifkin didn’t need to see the future to know they needed to get out of the damn trap quickly, every minute that passed the fire coming from the side buildings became more dangerous and harder to suppress. He hated to admit it but it was time for some unpleasant hand to hand engagement. He turned and took his nearest officer by the collar.

“Charge them. Now!” He ordered. To his credit the heavily scarred man only nodded grimly and gathered his unit. The action was well executed; grenades and suppressing fire came down the street as the unlucky unit dashed towards the imperials followed by Rifkin and a second unit. Flamers and hotshot lasbolts met them and brought the charging troops down to half the number that started the run, and for a moment it seemed that the imperial dogs would successfully repel it. But Rifkin was having none of that, he rose his hand and focused his power, a strange pain rising in his brain with every psychic exertion. Tongues of eldritch flame flowed from his fingertips and washed down the street. The stormtroopers desperately took cover but not all were quick enough. Three had been caught by the psychic fire and their flesh deformed and mutated before bursting in a shower of gore. When it was done the reavers had managed to cross the killing field and a bloody close combat began.

That was the moment when the imperial sergeant cut through two reavers with his chainsword and charged him. Then Rifkin felt it, as he rose his force staff to block the blade. The pain in his mind, the sickness in his gut, the unbearable desire to vomit and lose consciousness. Gods damn him, he’s a bloody blank.

Fear was something Rifkin seldom felt, but now he was terrified. In his weakened state he couldn’t read the enemy's movements, and he wasn’t the greatest melee fighter to begin with. The staff was out of his hands with the chainsword's next swing. He barely got time to clumsily stagger backwards to avoid being decapitated by another slash of the roaring blade and fell to the ground in the process. As he lay there helpless his vision blurred, completely disconnected from his warp sight, he could feel his very soul withering in the presence of the pariah's aura.

The stormtrooper sergeant closed for the kill raising his sword to end what Rifkin thought would be his last breath. Then through his misted black eyes the sorcererl saw a shadow standing behind his would be killer. Before the man could bring his sword down a thick chain had been laced around his throat and pulled with a hard yank snapping his spine. At the moment of the blank's death Rifkin was immediately free of the near coma inducing side effects of the pariah.

"I’m very sorry Master, I still haven't find a new one." The slave handler told Rifkin with deep sadness in his voice fidgeting with the chain in his hands. The fool didn't even realize he had saved his master's life. In response Rifkin only managed to laugh in amusement to his servant's growing discomfort.

"Don’t worry Megoth, you'll find one soon enough." Rifkin finally answered, the words seemed to visibly calm the brute.

The hulking beast hooded under the black cloth grabbed the fallen staff, approached his master returning the weapon and helping him to stand. Around them all the stormtroopers laid dead and his men were slowly getting out of the death trap in good order.

"Master." Garl addressed Rifkin, he was limping from a las wound to his right calf. "We still have thirty eight reavers in fighting condition."

Rifkin hadn't restarted his divination spell, so he had to ask. "How many heavy weapons are still operational?”

"Four.” Garl responded after a few vox calls. “Two missile launchers, one autocannon and one heavy bolter."

Rifkin nodded in silence, it was not ideal but it was workable. He could still push onward.

"Lady Gallowglass informs that she has suffered heavy losses." Garl transmitted as the vox chatter came in from the other champions' forces reporting their status. "For the time being she is unable to continue the assault."

They had put a few city blocks between them and their imperial attackers, meeting scarce resistance for the time being. Apparently the loyalists in the buildings had more pressing matters to deal with before being able to pursue them as heavy weapons fire could still be heard.

"Send her an encrypted approximation of our advance coordinates." Rifkin ordered Garl as he slowly began to focus, preparing to begin his warp connection once more, the shrunk heads in his collar slowly started to mouth silent words. "If she manages to join us it will greatly increase the chances of success for all of us."

[Cfavano]

"Gargh!" Markal says as he plummets to the ground. However, he is able to control his descent enough so that he doesn't become reduced to a stain. This is aided by the fact that he was not up too high. He managed to 'land' (I.E. faceplant) behind some cover, but as he lifted his head, a lasbolt slammed into the rockcrete next to his head. "Fokk!" he says ducking. More and more shots are fired at him. A sane man would be scared out of his wits. A sane man would try to call for support. A sane man wouldn't switch his weapon's firing mode from Pulse to Stream, crank the power to 11, wait for his enemy to get close, stand up and blast them...

But Markal, like most servants of chaos was not sane. He did just those things, switching his gun's settings, the weapon crackling with so much pent up sonic energy that the strings glowed pink, and emitted an electric hum. He heard the footsteps of the approaching imperials and, when they got close enough, he popped up and leveled his weapon at a surprised large squad of guardsman. "FOKK YOUUUUUU!" He shouts as he blasts them with his ubercharged gun, the sonic waves so powerful they are visible. The squad was liquefied, and it can be safely said that anyone within a few miles heard the shot. This includes both allies and enemies.

Markal collapsed to his knee, and ejected the burnt out capacitor of his gun. Truthfully, it should have lasted him at least another battle or two, but this shot more or less melted it. It was still smoking, and he'd have to wait a while before he could fire again. Nevertheless, he loaded a new capacitor in, and reset the settings to normal. He sat behind the cover, trying to get his bearings. The shot had even made him dizzy. "That was...awesome."

His platoon was catching up to him. Thanks to his harassing, they managed to make it far into the hamlet, although they did take casualties. When the Icon Bearer fell, another one took it up, and did not let it fall.They would get to markal soon, but it would still be a few minutes.

[dakkagor]

Alyss looked up as Mikkaus returned. She had been busy using her biomancer abilities to patch up the worst injuries of the platoon. Under her careful, delicate touch, bones bent back into shape, skin sealed and flesh reknitted. Alyss was feeling increasingly drained, but pushed on with pure willpower, careful drawing on the last of her husbanded reserves and dipping into the wellspring of the warp with caution. With emotions running high, it was all too easy to over reach, over extend and lose herself. The clash with the psykers, and the subsequent bombardment, had unnerved her, shaken her confidence.

“I have good news and bad.” He began, sitting down on a barrel as Alyss finished with the last man, who had burst eardrums much like she had. The man quickly stood and bowed, before picking up his lasrifle and leaving the basement.

“Good news first” Alyss stood and Mikkaus did as well, falling in behind her as Alyss walked to the stairs.
“Good news, we where able to rustle up some more stragglers. We are up to 30 men, and we where able to recover two of the missile launchers. They only have a few shots each, but its better than nothing. Better than that, we also found two working cookers in the wreckage of those chimeras. I'll give it to the Imperials, they build their equipment tough and to last.”

“That is good news” Alyss admitted. “What's the bad news?”

“We spotted some storm troopers moving through the bombardment zone, two squads worth. Didn't get a bead on the unit. I would guess they are looking for you, check they did the deed. They where loaded for Grox, flamers and plasma mainly.”

Alyss nodded sharply as they climbed the stairs. They emerged into the darkened bar with a few nods of recognition from the soldiers. She got the feeling, that having saved many of them twice in as many hours, they had a lot more respect and time for the independent witch.

“However, we have made contact with Rifkins forces, and they aren't too far away. He's suggesting a rendezvous. We have a vector.” Mikkaus shrugged. “Sounds like they got hit hard, and the only chance any of us have is to work together.”

“Lets go meet the Wizard then.” Alyss responded, picking up her pace.

++++++

“Friendly on the flare!” Alyss said into her microbead. She took the small packet and crushed its base into her palm, and the shot arced into the sky with a sickly green glow.

Around her her men moved forwards. It had taken some time to find where Rifkin had hunkered down, the streets had gotten narrower away from the main through fares and more maze like. She started forwards with the others, holding her staff up to draw attention to herself. She just hoped that Rifkin was reasonable. Not all champions of Chaos where.