Imperium Ascendant

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Death in Calixis

Location: The Dyatlov-Rho System

Date: 893.M30

The swollen gullet of the Worm-Ship finished discharging the Moon, vomiting up the planetoid like a piece of rancid meat. Megastructures were not uncommon sights in the Galaxy, no matter what race created them. Millions of years of intelligent life attempting to surpass nature resulted in wonders and horrors on a planetary scale. Humanity itself was no stranger to their creation, having created moon-sized ships in its past. The Phalanx of the VII Legion was a surviving example of such a behemoth. Beautiful and terrible, the Phalanx and other human Megastructures inspire awe. They were physical manifestations of humanity's power and purpose. It makes sense that Xenos creations on that scale would similarly reflect their mind and culture.

That wretched alien intelligence must exist to design, let alone create the War-Moon, and its creation hinted at many terrible things about the Rangda. The descriptors picked by the Imperium to describe the Rangda mobile battle station are accurate yet deliberately vague. Yes a War-Moon reaches a size comparable to many moons and planetoids. Roughly a thousand kilometers in radius and spherical, it possessed a myriad of weapon systems, some reaching the size of a small hive-spire along with literally millions of Rangda crew and docking points for hundreds of War-barques show what it was designed for, war.

The descriptor of War-Moon did not convey the sheer alien wrongness of the battle station. They are not a hollowed out and repurposed planetoid like the Orkish ships, but a wholly artificial creation of Xenos make. A biomechanical chimera of flesh, plastic, metal and other more profane components. The War-Moon's surface was a labyrinthian mass of grotesque figures and shapes. Like the vivisected innards of some primordial god-thing cast in plastic-flesh, and smeared across a world. It defied both symmetry and true randomness. Patterns of tumorous growths and metallic shapes covered it. Never quite consistent enough to make a semblance of sense, but still showing the signs of some unknown intent and purpose.

For a few brief moments the War-Moon hung in the void, floating away from the Worm-Ship, its albino surface silent and unmoving. The Moon seemed to lack any method of propulsion, its surface absent the craterous engine pits required to move something of its size. Even if it used the strange radiation propulsion of the Rangda, an alien parody of the Ion Engines favored in smaller craft. The War-Moon should show signs of those machines. Yet as if the idea of including anything remotely familiar in the War-Moon's construction was intolerable. It moved by writhing across the Void like some gelatinous fish of Old Earth. Continent sized pieces of plastic-flesh swelled and twitched, dragging the War-Moon forwards through some alien mechanism. It wriggeled through space, pulling itself across hard-vacuum like an amoeba in fluid.

Swarms of war-barques, some detaching from the War-Moon, others leaving the ongoing battle flitted around it. Screening the leviathan from any enemy foolish enough to get close. Something the Night Lords could not even think to do, let alone attempt. There was chaos across Dyatlov-Rho. In a few moments the tide of the battle turned completely. Explosions wracked the Resupply Fleet, throwing its desperate exodus into question. Imperial ships opened fire on eachother out of sheer startled horror. Many of the now undeniably suspicious Refugee ships broadcasted desperate hails and vox-codes. Only a small number of those who made it to the jump point revealed themselves as parasite ships. The majority claimed innocence and humanity. Claims that fell upon deaf ears.

Guns opened up across the Resupply Fleet. No more chances were given. If a ship was remotely suspected of harboring Xenos parasites it would die. Under the bombardment more parasite ships were exposed. Their stolen skin ripped from them, and their bulbous fleshy forms blasted to milky ash. Other ships pleaded innocence and mercy as they were torn asunder. Auger readings showed no abnormalities in the majority of executed ships. They spilled their guts into the Void, revealing themselves as humans in death. An ugly truth that would be hidden from many. To die in service to mankind is one thing. To be cut down by your own people in paranoid wrath is another.

Wounded and shocked, the Resupply Fleet resumed its escape attempt. Elements of the fleet had already jumped, many to their deaths. Still some might be lucky to arrive intact. The evacuation would continue, but gone was the opportunity for any semblance of an orderly retreat. This would be a rout, clumsy and ill planned. One that must still be defended at all costs. Normally it would fall to the Night Lords to torment and kill fleeing foes, not protect them. This was not the type of warfare Konrad Curze's sons preferred. But to think they are helpless outside their element of terror and pain would be a gross miscalculation. They are the Emperor's Space Marines, and war, no matter the type, was the reason for their existence.

The VIII Legion forces recovered quickly from the shocking arrival of the War-Moon and trap sprung at the Mandeville point. Night Lord ships pulling away from whatever skirmish they found themselves in and regrouping. It became clear to Chapter Master Fenj and his fellow officers that the Legion's favored methods of engagement were impractical. The Night Lords would need to adapt quickly if anything would be salvaged from the battle. Soon messages in VIII Legion Battle Cant jumped between ships. The eclectic mix of Terran underhive slang, shared references and foul humor was virtually indecipherable to any native gothic speaker. No more chances would be taken.

Orders came in Battle Cant. Roughly half of the Night Lords fleet, the more experienced ships present, received commands from Master Fenj. "Show the Sump-Humper your bellies. Give the starch-eaters a skirt flash and make them squeal", while the other half received orders to "mind the Midden and bite leather. Hold till Magie and then earn your cuts.

The first group would dive head first into the Rangda fleet and present an easy target. All while keeping something special in store. The second group would escort the evacuating ships and skirmish with any Rangda that got close. Then join the first group when the Resupply Fleet had successfully escaped. The Vindication and its escorts would lead the first group. Pushing forward with a gamble from a madman's mind.

Location: The Vindication, Night Lord Strike Cruiser at head of VIII Battlegroup

Date: 893.M30

Master Tiberiu Fenj watched through the Vindication's view ports as the War-Moon gathered its fleets to it. He saw the War-barques swirl around the biomechanical tumor of a planetoid, moving like swarming insects, with patterns that drew the eye and turned the stomach. Smaller craft joined the Barques, squat things similar to a parasite ships true form except more compact. Like they had not stretched themselves out to fill up a ships husk. Soon a shifting cloud of xenos ships filled the Void around the War-Moon. At least four hundred ships, not even counting the War-Moon and whatever secrets it held. Watching the strange dance the Rangda ships performed, a flash of insight struck Fenj. Experience, mixed with his Legion's gift, told him what he was watching. This was an intimidation display. The Rangda were using the time required for the War-Moon to awake and move into position to play mind games.

This was comforting, it was inefficient and alien, but hinted at something Fenj could use. They were attempting to scare the Expedition Fleet. These Xenos knew what fear was and attempted to use it. This was good. The psychological impact of the War-Moon could not be understated. Superweapons are often more valuable for the shock and terror they introduce than the actual combat value. Yet the Xenos sought to increase the tension instead of pressing the advantage presented by the Parasite Ships attack. The Night Lords intervention in rescuing the refugee fleet was unexpected and shocking. The Rangda had probably intended to use the infiltrated fleet to get deeper into Imperial territory or another strategic goal. Fenj and his brothers had forced them to waste that advantage. Wrecking merry hell on the Xeno Fleet after coming out of nowhere. The Rangda did not know if the Imperials had another play to make, they had brought the War-Moon as insurance and now prepared for his move.

The Rangda were afraid, or at least nervous, expecting the Imperials to have another dagger waiting. These Xenos, these Cerebvoric horrors had spent years already fighting the Imperium of Mankind. Years fighting Primarchs, two demigods gifted with precognitive abilities and a skill at shock warfare. Twisting his mouth in something approaching a smile Fenj whispered to himself. "Thank you my Lord Father, and Lord Uncle. Now it is time to cast the bones and make them bleed."

Fenj turned his attention to the prone form of Nosteroi. The Chapter Master had cast the Solomonari down violently, nearly hard enough to injure even an Astartes bones. Not letting his iron-hard gaze waver he addressed the Librarian. "Is this why you misled me old friend? I cannot forgive you but I can start to understand. What web have you and your ilk woven?"

The Solomonari started to pull himself up and reached out with his mind. With an effort of will, Fenj batted away the telepathic request and growled "No, no more games. Speak truth with your tongue, as men are meant to."

Nosteroi spared a questioning glance at the bridge crew. He felt uncomfortable sharing the truth. Too bad, thought Fenj. He had his chance to be honorable with this, Now the truth would come out, pulled free if need be.

Speaking in his grating rasp Nosteroi spilled his secrets "We saw the path ahead of us. My colleagues and I, and we made a choice. Our struggles and death here in this system could have been avoided, but in doing so we would damn many others in our place. The carnage those Parasite ships might have inflicted in Imperial space is just the tip of the proverbial sword. A blade we might impale ourselves upon to save others. Is that not why we exist and the Imperium's armies exist? To die in place of others. We sacrifice ourselves upon the altar of war to save those we protect. I'm sorry Tiberiu but the pawn cannot know it is a pawn. I could not ask you to willingly lead your subordinates into the jaws of death."

A quick boot to the gut knocked Nosteroi down again. Now Fenj stood over him, ceramite scraping against ceramite. The cold blood-fury of the Night Lords filled the Chapter Masters eyes. Like a carcharodon of Old Earth's darkest seas entering a frenzy. "You dare Nosteroi? You dare to assume cowardice or incompetence from me? I expected more from you! Denying me the knowledge to make the choice. By the Emperor, you denied me the knowledge OF a choice. This is the mistake of your kind. Knowing the future makes you forget the present." ℝå₦ỔＢƐṡ

A swift and brutal kick knocked Nosteroi over, the Librarian unresponsive to the abuse. Firm hands grabbed the shamed and castigated Nosterori and lifted him up. Face to face with Fenj. Nosterori resisted the urge to turn away. Fury, hurt, and a deep seated malice boiled below his commanding officer's face. With a final growl Fenj spoke quietly. "No more lies brother, do not disappoint or mislead me again. We will face death with honor and hate, join me in facing our end with drawn blades."

Nosterori nodded and felt himself smile. Not the saddened grimace of a martyr, the likes of which decorated his face for months. Instead, the wild-eyed malice of a Night Lord's grin. Pragmatism and predatory cruelty define the VIII Legion. A brotherhood of darkness designed to strike at the enemies weakness and inflict terror. For warriors such as them a suicidal battle did not mark some glorious last stand or valiant bravery. It meant failure, foolishness and ignoble defeat. Any good predator does not let itself be driven into a corner. Yet when driven into a hopeless situation, subtlety and pragmatism can be cast into the void. The Rangda had the Night Lords cornered, outnumbered and outgunned. But the Xenos did not know that, a doubt Fenj would take full advantage of.

Location: The Dyatlov-Rho System.

Date: 893.M30 (Shortly after Chapter Master Fenj gave his orders)

The Vindication and its fellows in the first Battlegroup charged the War-Moon. Accelerating their ships to their maximum and Void-Flicking as they moved. A strange strategy the II, VIII and XIX Legions had each indivudally developed. Of rapidly shifting Void shields between normal and inverted during the lead up to an attack. Risky and potentially disastrous if mistimed, but capable of befuddling scanners and disorienting the enemy. Never was the full force of Night Lords visible, and they never kept a consistent course. Masking the Imperial's numbers and position. The Rangda expected trickery and more secrets from the Night Lords, it was best the VIII Legion did not disappoint them.

The War-barque screen expanded forward. Thinning itself to cover more territory and better control the Void around the War-Moon. The Xeno megastructure had been unnervingly quiet. It's only activity, the movement of ships too and from its various bays. Aside from its disturbing method of propulsion. Auger probes and overlapping scans gave new insight into that. Powerful gravitic generators dotted the War-Moon's surface. Each at the center of a polyp form that stretched out from the surface and increased its own gravity, while its siblings decreased theirs. Using the War-Moons own mass and space/time's curvature to wriggle through the void.

Stretched out and bristling for an attack the Rangda forces moved towards the remaining Resupply ships. Auspex readings were imprecise but it seemed the Xeno fleet was dividing itself into a great crescent shape. The War-Moon at the center and mixed groups of Barques and Parasites forming AU sized wings on either side. Encirclement tactics are less useful in void warfare, with three dimensions being considered instead of two. That was not to say they were not dangerous. A fleet funneled in any direction by enveloping enemies would find itself easy prey. Something the Night Lords would not let happen. The secondary Battlegroup would deal with the Rangda wings if they got too close, but Fenj doubted that would happen. Guard duty was actually their secondary purpose in hanging back, they would be the Imperials reserves.

Pushing forward and void-flicking as they did the Night Lords ignored multiple feints by the Rangda wings. Attempts to pull them away from their charge and divide their force. The first battle group juked and twisted at every opportunity but did not deviate the course. Burning at full thrust directly at the War-Moon. Realizing this intent, elements of the Rangda fleet moved to intercept. The inner segments of the wings and some of the orbital guards around the Megastructure taking up new positions. The Rangda abandoned any attempts to intimidate or manipulate. The aggression shown by the much smaller and already unpredictable Night Lord fleet could not be ignored or underestimated.

From his Command throne aboard the Vindication, Fenj absorbed the ongoing battle and watched the War-barques move closer and closer. The skeletal, agile things moved with impressive coordination and speed. Yet occasionally Fenj caught glimpses of what he wanted to see. Slight delays in responding to fleet movements, and formations more compact than necessary. The signs of uncertainty and worry. Recognizable across the void and between species by the trained eye of Konrad Cruze's sons. Fenj did not know how the Xenos crewed their ships. Maybe strange alien forms operated a bridge much like his own. Or perhaps the ships were more grown than constructed, its crew akin to organs and symbiotes. No matter, whatever alien intelligence guided the ship wished to live. It could feel fear or something close to it, a weakness to be exploited.

Soon the first Battle group would be within firing distance. Imperial void weapons have better range than Rangda weapons. The unstable nature of radiation cannons forcing the Xenos to medium engagement distance at a minimum. Normally the Night Lords would keep their distance and flay bits off the Rangda fleet. An option limited by the Xeno's superior numbers and the enigmatic War-Moon. So the Imperials pressed forward, but did not neglect the present advantage. Night Lord ships flickered in and out of visibility as some maneuvered to aim their guns as the coming Rangda. Going from a parallel course with the Xenos to perpendicular, without virtually any loss of momentum or direction. Sliding across the void with all guns blazing. A tricky maneuver, one that could easily over tax a ship's gravitational compensators, but if done correctly allowed the full might on an Imperial broadside to strike with the ship still in motion.

Volleys of Macro Shells and Lance strikes filled the void, slamming into the Rangda's shields. The Gel Shields slowed down the Shells, turning ship rending munitions into sluggish hunks of metal. Something the Night Lords now expected, and compensated for. Two-stage detonation Macro Shells are specialized and typically not very cost effective. The piercing power of a normal Macro Cannon combined with the dangers of Space make the bolter-like secondary explosion typically unneeded. That is not to say an enterprising Tech-Priest or few thousand might not be able to convert the standard shells to the two-stage variant with a bit of effort. Something the Rangda learned as the slowed Macro shells exploded in a hail of ultra-dense shrapnel.

The results were not as spectacular as the Imperials had hoped. Resulting mainly in slow motion explosions or otherwise stunted blasts. Some rounds did have the desired effect. Taxing the Gel Shields and even breaking past the strange slowing field. Tearing holes in the Rangda ships and even breaking a few particularly unlucky ones into pieces. Long distant scans showed the still intact but wounded alien ships start to "heal." The plastic flesh oozing over the damage with disturbingly organic movement. Deceive strikes would be needed to ensure the damn Aliens actually died.

The bombardment continued with more Lance strikes and Macrocannon fire hitting true. Cutting holes in the Rangda line of battle. This sweet spot where the Xeno's could not return fire effectively was coming to an end, they would soon be in range of the Rangda's gamma weaponry. Now came time to commit, the void flicking must end and they would dive into the breach. The moment of truth came fare too quickly as the fleet's shields sparked and glowed with impact. Concentrated beams of Gamma radiation punched into the overlapping defenses of each ship. While not much more powerful than a traditional Lance weapon the Gamma Bursts lingered. Each volley leaving trails of radioactive contamination in the void. Turning the space between the fleets into a rad-soaked waste. So far the Night Lords shields held and they pushed forward. The heavy armor and shielding of Astartes vessels protected from the worst of the radioactive storm the ships flew through.

Shadow Blasters and more concentrated Gamma fire started to change that. Unlucky Imperial vessels died as their mechanisms and crew burned with invisible flames. The Rangda were starting to slow, preparing to move into an optimal engagement range. The Imperials did not, pushing forward with seemingly careless abandon. Lance strikes, Gamma Bursts and other weapons streaked through the void as the fleets clashed head on. It would not be long before the Night Lords entered close quarter void battle. Fenj and his fellow officers could see confusion start to sow among the Xeno ships. This was not how humans fought they must have been thinking. Sacrificing the ranged advantage for up close pugilism, this was Orkish and illogical. Distinct from what the Aliens had fought before.

This was the Night Lords presenting their bellies and their claws. Equal parts sign of weakness and threat. The homing rad munitions of the Rangda were soon in use and started to strike Imperial ships. They seemed a cross between torpedo and macro shell, but soaked in radiation like most Rangda weapons. Now came the moment of truth, it would be minutes before the two lines of battle smashed into each other. As far as the Rangda knew this was an attempt at ramming. If they didn't move the Night Lords would literally smash through them, if they did then this brazen assault would get that much closer to the War-Moon. The inevitable problem of super-weapons and megastructures is they can win a battle by their presence but lose a war in their destruction. It was unlikely the Imperials had anything that could truly harm the War-Moon, but battles have been lost because of smaller assumptions.

The Rangda made their decision as the Vindication and its kin came close. Barely moving out of the way, literally scraping by each other in a few cases. The Xeno ships deployed their boarding tentacles, latching onto passing Night Lords with long fleshy tubes. At this distance the Xeno's might have noticed the unusual power consumption and additional shield wrapping around the Night Lord ships. If they had been looking for it, and had not been focused on the lunatic assault of the VIII Legion. Once they had gotten close the Night Lord vessels had taken a risk and diverting power to the Gellar Fields. Virtually pointless in real space, but critical for a Warp Jump, a Micro Warp Jump in fact.

A hundred tiny tears in the fabric of reality ripped open as the Night Lord offensive Battlegroup dived into hell. Dragging Rangda ships in with them. Such a brazen and unplanned micro jump was incredibly dangerous and required the knowledge of countless variables. Or at least the ability to see into the future. One moment the Night Lord fleet was charging past the Rangda line of battle, the next it reappeared in the outer orbit of the War-Moon. Many Imperial ships trailing the severed and twisted remnants of boarding tubes. The Dark Gods do not take kindly to any species that deny them, be that Mankind or Rangda.

Now the Night Lords were where they wanted to be. Within striking distance of the War-Moon, and with the full attention of the Rangda fleet upon them. Torpedoes and munitions rained down from above. Bombarding the War-Moon with Imperial wrath. Forests of nozzular cannons spat globs of off-white fluid into the heavens in an alien equivalent of Flak. Overlapping shields and waves of radiation halted directed energy and confounded cogitators. The scant elements of the attack that made it through the defense struck hard and twisted biomechanical landscapes that quickly healed, but they did strike.

Location: Tyrannos Umbra. Night Lord Battle Cruiser.

Date: 893.M30 (Shortly after the raid on the War-Moon began)

Claxons pulled Brother-Sergeant Lubor Leontiv from his pre-battle meditation as they went through the Battle Cruiser's halls. Something had struck the Tyrannos Umbra. Swiftly clipping his helmet into place, Leontiv scanned the runes lighting up on his tactical display. One of the Rangda rad-blacked torpedoes had made it past the point defense and slammed into the ship's starboard side. Battle damage and possibly active enemy munitions fell under the purview of the Mechanicum and mortal crew, not something an Astartes outside the command crew should be informed about. New data streamed through Leontiv's helmet and he understood why his squad was being summoned. These were not torpedoes, they were boarding pods. The enemy was attempting to board the Tyrannos Umbra

Sergeant Leontiv turned to the squad and growled through the private vox. "Voidsmen patrols are moving to hardpoints around the potential breach" Their armor's virtual map pinged half a dozen locations in a semi-sphere around the boarding pods impact.

"These will be our fall back points and where the line must be held. Squads Averin, Gusev, and Ernet will be joining us. But we are primary defenders and they will be positioned to respond to other potential breaches or cover our slack if we all die" continued the Sergeant, with the typical morose humor of his Legion.

"Command has little go on in tactical data. Let the enemy show their hand before we cut it off. These are Rangda, probably bastard cousins of those walking worm Slaugth, so expect similar foulness and difficulty killing them. Exterminate with extreme prejudice and tag the corpses for burning. Brothers, let's go find out if these xenos breeds can scream!"

Squad Leontiv armed themselves and moved out, exchanging favored weapons for more specialized tools of destruction. Volkite and Flame weapons at range, axes, claws and mauls for melee. Weapons better suited for close quarter combat and not damaging the Void Ship around them. Equipped for battle and finished with final preparations the Astartes moved out. Slipping through the Battle Cruisers bowels with remarkable ease. This is where the Night Lords excelled. They relished skulking in claustrophobic shadows, a predator army unburdened by mercy or honor.

The labyrinthian expanses of an Imperial void ship, especially a warship could be confusing for even an experienced crew. Literally thousands of kilometers of corridor and access ducts snaking through the vessels innards. Squad Leontiv moved through the maze with ease, making excellent time to their destination. Internal sensors fed the enemies location to the Tyrannos Umbra's cogitators, which in turn transmitted the data to the Night Lords, giving them a reasonable estimate of the Rangda boarders' movements. Extreme radiation levels quickly burned out all but the hardiest sensors, resulting in an expanding dead-zone on the Cogitators map. They could know the extent of the enemy's infestation, but not their precise movements. Squad Leontiv moved to intercept one enemy thrust moving towards a Voidsmen hardpoint. The Rangda boarding pod was large enough to be mistaken for a large ordinance shell. There was no telling how many Xenos had gotten on board, but the sensor outages indicated a single large mass moving toward the nearest Imperial defenders. Anomalous sensor pings hinted at other possible scouts and infiltrators moving elsewhere. Voidsmen could hopefully head off this threat before it became too serious. While the Night Lords dealt with the main threat.

Soon the Rangda force would move through an almost empty cargo hold. Clever use of automated bulkheads and the ship's crew had given the Xenos a path of least resistance. Dark, filled with metal crates and plenty of industrial detritus. The Cargo hold would be the Night Lords hunting ground. Squad Leontiv had already taken up positions and prepared a number of surprises for the enemy. They did not have to wait long. The red mass on their helm display would soon reach the main entrance of the Cargo hold. Aside from the low bass hum of the ship, the hold was silent. Silence first broken by the rapidly increasing clicks of armor-held rad-counters. Thousands of years had made the tell-tale crackle of the Giger Counter a universal sign of danger.

Next came the wails. Leontiv at first thought it was displaced air or vent problems caused by the invaders. A low but rising note of anguish echoed down the ship's halls and into the cargo hold. Unified by some unseen torment were a multitude of voices, singing in a choir of pain was the unmistakable keening of human agony, accompanied by other stranger warbles of misery. The screams grew in volume to a near deafening height, the hell-song keeping tempo with the steady click of detected radiation.

Then at long last the enemy came. A tide of bodies poured out of the large transport bulkhead. The ten meter entrance was filled with a teeming mass of limbs. Brother Lubor assumed it was a flesh-crafted horror. A splicing together of meat into one singular tool of destruction. As the river of skin and bone emptied into the cargo hold its nature became apparent. A stampede of withered broken forms driven forward by their sheer weight of numbers. Lubor focused his sight on the mass and soaked in the details. Humans, abhumans and at least half a dozen unknown Xeno species made up the mob. Each naked and covered with radiation burns. The unmistakable stink of dying tissue and iron pouring off them. Rubbery and near translucent skin marked by festering wounds did little to hide strange slithering shapes writhing within. Each of these slaves held an eldritch weapon in hand and were bound by a neural-collar sunken into their flesh.

Neural-Collar, another example of the Imperium giving an accurate but underwhelming name for a Rangda atrocity. Biomechanical flesh plastic protruded from the slave soldiers spine, neck, and skull. Forming a vaguely insectoid construct burrowed into skin and bone. Later dissections and observations would reveal the truth of the Neural-Collars. These were the Rangda slave-soldiers, the lowest of the Xenos castes, more kin to the Khrave then true Rangda. The tortured body the Neural-Collars were bolted onto were nothing but armor and tools. Kept "alive" and moving by worming tendrils. The bodies belonged in a hospice ward in the wake of a reactor collapse, instead they served alien parasites. Doomed to slowly fall apart from the signature radiation of Rangda weaponry.

Sergeant Leontiv estimated at least a thousand slave-soldiers were in the Cargo hold and connected passage. They must have been crammed together in the Boarding Torpedo like vac-sealed ration packs. The data pouring in from his sensor suite informed him that about half of the slave-soldiers had entered the Cargo hold. Perfect opportunity for the first surprise. With a thought the remote detonators on a series of thermal explosives activated. Fire is paradoxically useful and useless in this type of combat. Limited oxygen and vented compartments could easily neuter the flames spread. While the cramped quarters and air-tight structures could turn entire chambers into smoke and flame filled death traps.

The initial blast of the thermal bombs produced a flash of white hot fire. Instantly incinerating the closest slave-soldiers. Luckier slave's shields held from the blast, the fiery backwash only burning them horribly. The Neural Collars came equipped with a flimsy energy shield of some sort. Probably enough to absorb one or two las-shots. Leontiv wondered how they would handle the secondary explosions. "Repurposed" fuel canisters had been tucked away in the hallway, the closest a few inches from the thermal bomb. Liquid fire erupted out, spreading in great pools of burning promethium. Leontiv took an appreciative inhale, the smell of surprise, fear and burning flesh go lovely together.

Smoke filled the Cargo hold, the burning flames casting eerie shadows around the large chamber. The slave-soldiers farthest from the blast recovered quickly. Moving into a loose semi-circle formation and scanning the shifting darkness. All while never stopping a steady babble of screams, cries and panicked murmuring. Psychological warfare is an ever popular weapon across this accursed galaxy. The Master of Mankind had given his Legions an order and a promise. 'And they shall know no fear.' Exactly for this reason.

Leontiv spoke quietly over the squad vox. The Rangda slave-soldiers were searching for them, he did not know what senses they possessed and was loathe to give away the element of surprise. "They have been weighed, watched, and found wanting. Kill them all my Brothers!"

Streams of fire, Volkite rays and a few incendiary bolt-rounds poured from the cargo holds ceiling. Other legions mocked the Night Lords for this stereotypical tactic. "Of course the Bats of Cruze hang upside down in the dark looking for victims" they would say. No matter, it got results and the sheer terror it could provoke was lovely. Dozens of slave-soldiers died in the first volley. Every Volkite or Bolt killing instantly, the Flamers requiring time to overtax shields. Even thinned by the explosion the alien assault force was massive. Reacting quickly, nearly two hundred barrels of alien guns swung up towards the ceiling and opened fire. Jets of monochromatic energy lanced into the shadows. Shrunken down portable shadow blasters.

The weight of fire was immense and scores of shadow blasters fired on every suspected Astartes position. Most of the shots went wide, either from inaccuracy or Night Lord agility. The few that hit were dissipated by personal shields. Only Battle-Brother Cletatian was unlucky enough to catch a full volley of shadow blaster fire. The Astartes had been midleap, bounding between metallic rafters. Quick thinking and maneuvering thruster work saved his life. The monochromatic blasts quickly broke through Cletatian's shields and a few more struck his left leg.

Instantly the armor's paint burnt off and it's mechanisms melted. The transhuman flesh inside burned into a shriveled radioactive husk. Cletatian spun in the air to avoid subsequent fire and missed his intended landing. With the crunch of ceramite on metal the Astartes slammed into the deck below. Recovering quickly, but with a useless leg, he pivoted to face the onrushing horde. Volkite in one hand, chain axe in the other, Cletatian met the enemy. Crippeled by his ruined leg, he still punched through the slave-soldiers with dismissive ease. Weaving between them, forcing the slaves to hold their fire or at least hit each other. To little surprise they still shot eldritch energy bolts at him. Every dodged blast reducing a random slave-soldier to a burned husk or rad-blackened shadow on the hull. The rest of Squad Leontiv reacted quickly. Two other Battle-Brothers moved to help Cleatian in the melee while the rest poured fire into the slave soldier swarm.

Cleatian's destroyed leg caught up with him, the dead weight forcing him to stumble. An opportunity exploited by the nearest slave soldiers. Who sprung at him with spears made of fluited bone. One spear managed to slip between plates of ceramite and thrust into the Astartes flesh. Transhuman organs already pushed to the limit found another challenge. Viral loads pumped into Cleatian's flesh, accompanied by dozens of different immune-system inhibiting toxins. The injured Astartes revitalizer kicked in. Stimulants and rejuv chemicals flooding his body. It would do little to halt the Rangda infection, but maybe keep him fighting longer. The augmented biology of the Astartes protects them from true Rangda subversion. Flesh might wither or become foul with rot, but would not be possessed by the insidious Xeno's viral nature. An Astartes very tissue would let itself rot into septic muck before becoming enslaved to the Rangda.

Grinding his teeth in pain, pain that burned hot even with the stimulants coursing through him. Cleatian pushed forward, the bloodlust of his geneseed pushing him forward. Hacking through the crowd of slave-soldiers. Volkite spewing deflagrating rays, turning any slave unlucky enough to be hit into a charred skeleton. Wounded and surrounded, Cleatian did not even see his death approach. Something huge pushed through the Cargo hold's entrance. Ignoring the still burning promethium and charging Cleatian with speed similar to an Astartes own. Cleatian barely started to turn when a duo of spears struck him right through his chest. Long lances of bone, plastic and metal punctured his hearts and lungs. A follow up point-blank blast took the dying Astartes' head off.

Standing among the Slave-Soldiers, its lance-like melee weapons retracting from Cleatian's corpse was a Rangda Warrior. Standing at least a head taller than an Astartes, its body brought to mind images of microscopic bacteriophages, and mounted warriors of Old Earth. Three lower limbs formed a stout tripod base, each ending in armored claws. The main body was heavily armored and vaguely humanoid. Four manipulator limbs stuck out from the torso's shoulders. One pair holding shadow blasters. The other holding the duo of lance weapons that combined the practical lethality of a spear and the insidious flexibility of the ovipositor. Nestled between the armored shoulders was a flattened head covered in diverse sensory organs surrounding a lamprey mouth. Formed from the strange milky white biomechanical material of most Rangda constructs. It's flesh wriggled and twitched, the air around it humming with the tell-tale discharge of an energy shield.

With Cleatian dead, the Rangda Warrior and its accompanying slave-soldiers moved to meet the two Astartes who had hoped to rescue their Battle-Brother. Loping forward on the alien tripod limbs the Rangda clashed blades with the Space Marines. The Lances quickly proving themselves more akin to sharp tentacles than actual lances. Crowds of slave-soldiers surged around the Astartes, uncaring as their stolen flesh was crushed under heavy ceramite boots. Each attempt to land a blow with a shadow blaster or bone spear was a trivial threat even in the hundreds. One that did serve its purpose, slowing and distracting the Astartes. Every time one of the two Battle-Brothers got close to the Rangda Warrior the air around them started to glow with ionizing radiation. The Xeno's shields irradiating and burning anything that got too close.

Battle-Brother Andrival pushed through the energy field. Ignoring the paint on his armor flaking off and the faint itch on his skin. He managed to land a solid blow with his power-axe. The blade cleaved through flesh-plastic and the Rangda Warrior let out an eerie wail of pain. Already close, Andrival levelled his bolter and emptied his clip into the Rangda. Blowing holes open in the Xeno, showering the Astartes in stinking oily blood. The wails grew louder and Andrival did not have time to react when one of the lance-tentacles snaked around his power-axe wielding hand. The blade refusing to come free and costing him valuable micro-seconds. Wrapped around his arm, its shifting surface squeezed and cut .

Roaring in fury Andrival kicked out with all the leverage he could muster. Snapping one of the Rangda's legs. The Xeno toppled forward onto him and his Brother opened fire on its exposed back. In a final act of spite the Rangda ripped off Andrival's ensnared arm as it died. Pain and hatred colored the Astartes voice as he screamed. Shoving the twitching corpse off of him in time for a handful of slave-soldiers to descend upon him. Ramming their spears into his body over and over. The last sight the Astartes saw, between the flailing strikes of the slaves was the shadows of more Rangda Warriors emerging from the entrance.

Watching two of his squad die quickly, far too quickly for an Astartes. Sergeant Leontiv made the call. "Fall back. On my mark detonate tertiary explosives. We will regroup at the nearest hard poi-"

His words were cut off as the Tyrannos Umbra shook with impact. Runes on the Sergeant's display informed him three more boarding pods had hit the ship. The Rangda Kindred had come in force to kill them all.

It left a bad taste in Leontiv's mouth but their two fallen brothers must be left behind. At least seven more Rangda Warriors were moving into the cargo hold. Watching the slave-soldiers swarm the dead Astartes and rip them to pieces, he knew geneseed extraction would be impossible. Better to fall back and regroup with the Voidsmen. Hopefully the additional firepower would turn the battle back in their favor.

Under the Sergeant's orders the Squad fled the Cargo Bay, arming the proximity explosives peppering the room and leaving the Rangda with a few parting shots. The Night Lords were fast, incredibly fast. Slipping through the ship's innards with an agility unnatural to such hulking figures. A series of brief Vox messages informed the nearest hardpoint they were coming and what was trailing after the Astartes. Steady booms and cracks echoed down the long transport shaft the Night Lords charged through. The Rangda were seemingly hitting every trap they had left behind. Leontiv doubted it would do much more than thin the slave soldiers' numbers and maybe slow them down.

Soon the garrisoned hardpoint became visible. A bunker built into a major intersection of two large hallways. It had built in shields, a quartet of Multi-laser turrets, ammo, med and ration stock. All wrapped in a sturdy metal frame. Vox-pings between the bunker garrison and Astartes crackled. Position noted and status confirmed. Leontiv did not want any itchy fingered gunner opening up on him or his brothers when they entered the hardpoint. Dispensing with stealth the Night Lords had thundered down the transport shaft and burst into the hardpoint.

All four turrets swiveled to face them but thankfully the gunners kept their wits. The Night Lords scrambled up the intersection's walls. Taking positions in the corners, using the series of gantries and rafters as their own bunker. Sensor runes lit up on Leontiv's display. The electromagnetic trip wires had been placed every ten meters down the hallway. Hopefully the additional rad-shielding and subtle nature of the devices would protect them from the Rangda. Leontiv watched as a cascade of runes alerted him to the encroaching threat. Waiting till a specific secondary alert reached him. One tripwire had identified an anomalously large and fast object. A Rangda warrior no doubt.

The real threat was in range, and if the sensor readings were accurate, in perfect position. Leotiv would turn the slave-soldier horde from an asset to a hazard. The lead Rangda was caught between the waves of slave-soldiers. Probably using the possessed flesh as living armor, expecting more bolt rounds or volkite fire. This would be a fun surprise then. On the Sergeant's orders all four Multi-lasers opened fire down the transport shaft. It was blind fire, relying on the sensor data the Astartes provided. Accuracy becomes less important with a chokepoint and overwhelming firepower.

Slave-soldiers were cut down in droves. Torn apart by directed energy capable of punching through their shields and their flesh through sheer weight of fire. The Multi-lasers poured red bolts of energy down the shaft. Three always firing while the fourth cooled. After ten seconds of sustained fire the Multi-lasers stopped. On cue, a pair of shoulder-mounted missiles flew out of the Bunker. Screaming down the transport shaft and detonating with the sound of dull thunder. A sound that didn't even have time to end before the Multi-lasers started up again. Linked directly into the ship's power grid, the rapid-fire las weapons could keep up a sustained bombardment for a long time. Unfortunately, the sensors relaying back to the defenders perished in the attack. A trio of Cyber Altered Tasks, disposable mechanical drones favored by Mars, soon found themselves scuttling down the transport shaft. The near-constant stream of red las bolts overhead were unregistered by their simple circuitry.

The C.A.T. 's soon found piles of corpses, burnt, torn asunder and broken open. The Multi-lasers and Missiles had reaped a grim toll on the Rangda attackers. It was difficult to tell from the servitors' shoddy sensors but it seemed at least two hundred of the slave-soldiers were smeared around the hallway and one, maybe two Rangda Warriors as well. Worryingly there was no sign of the enemy assault force, aside from the corpses that is. The Rangda had retreated back, realizing the transport shaft was a death trap. Most likely regrouping, possibly with the newly arrived transport pods.

Not unexpected but not ideal either. Now the question was should they hold the Hardpoint or sally out and face the enemy. The other Astartes Squads assigned to this section of the ship were moving in and would arrive soon. They would need information if they wanted to push back and destroy the Rangda attackers. Better have Squad Leontiv, which already had an idea of what to expect skulking in the dark looking for monsters. A plan of action quickly formed in Leontiv's mind. One he never got to use, as the gravity turned off.

Gravity compensation shut down and the effects were instantaneous. The Tyrannos Umbra was moving at full Plasma burn, without the ships compensators the full force of that movement punched into Leontiv and every other soul in this section of ship. The impact was immediate, Astartes smashed against metal walls with a resounding clash. An unlucky Voidsmen fell to his death sideways, screaming the entire descent down one of the transport shafts. Others were crushed under suddenly moving cargo or debris. As quickly as it left, artificial gravity returned, except it was five times Terran standards and tilted at a thirty degree angle.

This should not be possible, artificial gravity was a tried and true standard of Imperial void ships. Causing a mass failure on this level required access to the ship's most important internal workings. Something had made its way deep into the Battle Cruisers innards and gained control of important cogitators. Terrible insight flickered through Leontiv. His unconscious mind putting together the pieces or his genesires gift at work. The earlier unknown signals, Xeno infiltrators worming into the ship. Was the attack force nothing more than a distraction? No, the Rangda attacked with two weapons, a ready spear and a subtle poison. Both are equally capable of killing.

If the Rangda had already taken control of the ship's artificial gravity, there was no stopping them. A rune ignited on Leontiv's display, pulling his attention to the C.A.T. 's sensors. They had detected movement.The Rangda were returning. He got a few moments of video feed as the servitor was trampled under foot. The enemy intended to continue its suicidal attack, except they now had an opening. Sergeant Leontiv was not even surprised when the lumens and power feeds within the hardpoint went dark. The Multi-laser would only have so much battery charge and use of the ships systems would not be possible.

The long high-pitched scream of Rangda slave-soldiers started to echo down the transport shaft. It was louder and clearer than before. Xeno reinforcements had arrived. Twisted gravity limited the Voidsmen's effectiveness, and the Astartes as well to a lesser extent. They could fall back, but where to? The enemy was coming and warbling com disruption echoed across the vox. Time to make a stand, hold here or die trying. A sneer crossed Leontiv's face as he made his decision. This was not how Night Lords fought, but so be it. No plan survives first contact with the enemy, and that was especially true when the Rangda were concerned.

Prowling towards the hardpoints entrance, he motioned for his squad to join him. When the Multi-laser ran out they would use the choke point to make a stand. It had been a long time since Squad Leontiv made barricades out of their dead enemies. Forcing the foe to clamber over corpses, just to die like the rest. Not a bad place to die, surrounded by piles of Xeno scum. Would be better to survive of course, but you can't have everything. Hell, it might be worth dying just to make the Rangda bastards afraid of a broken squad of murderers. As the slave-soldiers screaming grew louder and louder Leontiv let out a final cruel laugh. If he were to die here, he would let out a scream of his own. The Night Lords lived for stealth, for striking from the shadows and vanishing without a trace. He thought that just this once, it would be appropriate to let out a cry from his transhuman lungs that would drown out all the others.

"FOR THE EMPEROR!!!"

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