Chronicle of Namhaft

Private Drayton died in a spray of gore. The first bolter round had struck him in the shoulder, the second blew a hole straight through is torso. The third shot splattered brain matter over the other his squad mates. The guardsmen turned in shock as fifty iron clad giants lumbered through a dark tear in reality. The terminators mercilessly dispatched the other members of the enemies rearguard platoon before they could even fire a shot. The sounds of battle echoed from over the rise of the green hill. General Garenth smiled to himself as he watched the battle unfold. The advance of the traitor marines had begun to falter as the heavy artillery, positioned near the top of the slope, opened up.

" You see Eremus? These traitorous dogs are no match for a well placed earthshaker round. And to think that you were worried about facing these scum."

He paused for a moment as an enemy land raider blew out under sustained fire from the weapons teams in the ruins on the right flank.

"I shall have to commend Sergeant Tarsaul again, his men always seem to be in the right place at the right time."

A mere second after that a battle cannon from the enemy lines blew the position apart.
"Or not, so it would seem. Order Carmel's platoon to take up that positon would you Eremus. I think he will he would like the chance to get to grips with the enemy. I wouldn't like such a talented man as he to spend the entire battle guarding the rear. Move Frapelli's lot to replace him."

"Sir, I'm not getting a response from Sergeant Carmel."

Suddenly an eerie silence fell across the battlefield as the artillery pieces upon the top of the hill ceased firing.

" What does Peten thinks hes doing? Those guns should have enough ammuniton to last a ......"

Upon viewing the guns, the actual reason for them falling silent became apparent as Garenth watched fifty terminators emerge from the fires of the destroyed guns. The leader of this new threat was a terrible sight to behold. Eremus vomited at the sight. Garenth's nose beagn to bleed spontaneously as did the noses of the other members of his retinue. The figure raised his head to the heavens and let out a yell that echoed across the battlefield, his voice amplified by an unknown means.

"Iron Within!"

Every warrior in the enemy force replied as one.

"Iron Without!"

With this the traitors main battle line surged foreword, the Imperial's main line opened up but seemed to be ineffective. Garenth still stared at the towering lord of darkness, unable to look away, even as the terminators began to slaughter Sergeant Frapelli's platoon. The sound of Eremus's crying brought him back into reality. He unsheathed his glimmering power sword and pointed it towards the advancing marines.

"Men of Mordholt, the traitorous enemy commander has revealed himself. Cut of the head and the body shall fall. With me! Charge!"

Two hundred guardsmen joined the charge, screaming curses at the enemy and chanting prayers of cleansing. Robed priests were at the head of the advance, revving their chainswords at the prospect of engaging these traitors to the God-Emperor. As the last of Frapelli's men were finished off, the terminators turned to engage this new threat. Reaper autocannons roared and the chatter of combi-bolters filled the air. The imperials answered with a withering hail of las shots and plasma rounds, seven terminators fell to the initial volley. As the advancing tide of soldiers neared, heavy flamers doused the first few ranks in liquid fire. Men scremed and fell to the ground. The smell of burnt meat and promethium filled the air. Only one hundred and twenty guardsmen reached the lines of the marines. Bayonet met powerfist. For every terminator that fell the imperials lost at least six men.

The fighting was brutal. Garenth swung at a huge monstrosity. His power sword cleaved through the beast armour with ease, severing its arm at the elbow. The giant swung back with his remaining arm, his armoured gauntlet putting Garenth down on his back. He moved to get up, the ends of his broken ribs grinding together. He pushed past the pain, rising to meet the terminator again. The broken body of Eremus lay at its feet, his head in its hand. The giant looked at and hurled the head of Garenth's voxman at him. Dodging the severed head, Garenth lunged forward in a rage, severing the marines remaining hand before cutting its head off with the reverse stroke. Its giant form wobbled for a second before falling upon a limping guardsman, killing him instantly.

A vast shadow fell across Garenth from behind. As he turned he froze in horror as he saw the form of the enemy lord enter his view. Garenth had faced many terrible foes during his time but this was by far the worst. It very presence seemed to defy nature, the grass underfoot turned to ash with its every step. The air became stagnant whilst any water vapour turned to ice and drifted to the blood-soaked ground.

The giant was busy gutting Garenth's standard bearer, a friend for decades, with its pair of shimmering lightning claws. He shook of the effects of the lord's presence and lunged to engage the foul beast. It turned just in time to deflect his initial blow, immediately muttering a praise to something called Tzeentch. Garenth never even got to take a second blow as the lord's other gore covered claw swung upwards, lodging itself under Garenth's ribcage.

Lord Namhaft lifted the squirming maggot that had killed Brother Travidius. Even moments before its death it still defied him, spitting at the insignia of the dark gods on his chest armour. The creature began to chant a prayer to its corpse-god. He laughed.

"The false-emperor cannot hear you mortal. Give your praises to Grandfather Nurgle and you may yet be spared from an eternity of suffering in the warp. The true gods hear and see all."

The pathetic creature gasped for air, both its it lungs punctured. It tried to speak but only blood came from its mouth. Defiance was still in its eyes. Around him, the last of the imperials were being rounded up. Those not intact were offered as a sacrifice for the gods. The few hundred left were shackled and led back to the Iron Warriors encampment. They would be put to work building trenches, temples and fortifications as Namhaft exapanded the influence of Lord Perturabo throughout the sector.

The mortal that clung to its miserable life, still on his blades, was not of any use. He ended its existence with a swipe from the claw on his index finger, offering the severed head to the Khorne.

"Iron Within!" He bellowed in triumph.

"Iron Without" Screamed back his Iron Warriors.

General Obsidius Hakor Garenth, hero of Mordholt, servant of the Emperor, was left to rot on the fields of his homeland, along with the bodies of nine thousand of his loyal guardsmen. The last line of defence to the capital was now gone and the millions of civilians were at the meracy of Lord Namhaft, chosen of Perturabo, the butcher of Hellcorst Maximus.

Catechism leave Tarsis

"Who is the master and the slave?"

Lieutenant Irenicus watched from the bluff as thousands upon thousands of ragged men, weak from fever and exhaustion, marched in unison below. And though they had not been given water they continued to shout in their hoarse voices as they had for the hundred miles they had been marched, flanked by silent Thousand Son warriors.

"Moonface, who has control of our will in order to serve us."

The words were hardly audible, coming from parched mouths and men stifling groans of pain. And the cry had to contend with the constant rumble of machinery that the masses were herded towards. It mattered not that Irenicus could barely hear the shouts, he knew the words.
"Who takes with one hand and provides with the other?"

Irenicus turned, the helmet's visor keenly zooming towards the contraption ahead of the men. It was still a mile away, yet towered over the landscape. It belched a thick red smoke into the atmosphere, poisoning the sky and bathing the land in a sickly light during the day. It had no name that Irenicus knew of, it was only referred to as the device. It had not been powered up since the Catechism arrived on Tarsis Major. That a million souls were being sacrificed to its engines could mean only one thing – the Catechism was leaving.

"Moonface, who takes our freedom in order to give us life."

The grim death march was mesmerising, but Irenicus turned away from his vantage point at the sounds of transports arriving behind him. Moonface had called him here, no doubt to discuss plans for... for what..? The march of the Catechism had seemed so strong, yet Irenicus knew it was a retreat. He chided himself for even thinking of the word.

The lead Land Raider halted as Irenicus approached. His lord Moonface disembarked on one worm like tail, slithering down the ramp and onto the scorched earth. His crescent face was, as ever, inscrutable. It betrayed no fear, nor anger at leaving the world set to be the staging area for the Catechism.

No sooner had Moonface turned towards Irenicus then there was an audible crack from behind the Chaos lord, like the sound of a hundred bones being snapped. Moonface turned to gaze upon a rift in the air, through which a towering Daemonic figure pulled itself. Bat-like wings unfurled from the Daemon as it raised itself up, lifting a sword as tall as a marine above its head. Irenicus began to raise his bolter at the sight, fearful his lord might be in danger.

"Moonface!" The Daemon cried. His voice was like a thousand insect buzzing at once. "This cowardly act will not be forgotten!"

"Cowardly?" Moonface replied, Irenicus detecting only the slightest of trembles in his master's voice. "Tarsis is lost, our allies cannot stand up to the assaults."

"Allies? You use them as an excuse to cover your own incompetence, little worm."

Moonface turned away then and Irenicus could see pure anger upon his lord's face, the face that was so normally a blank mask. But the Daemon was not finished with Moonface, with a wave of a clawed hand a translucent lash of energy flicked out at him. The lash circled Moonface, pulling him back to face the Daemon and then hurling him face down into the earth.

"Fool!" Cried the Daemon as Moonface lay sprawled. "The deal cannot be broken. Regroup with the Iron Warriors. The Imperium will suffer for..."

But suddenly Moonface sprang up, his tail propelling him straight at the gigantic Daemon. From nowhere Moonface had produced two gleaming blue swords which he used to slash at the Daemon's neck and face. The monster roared and staggered back, his huge sword flailing in a wild arc. With his other hand he grasped out, grabbing Moonface's crescent head. But Moonface twisted one of the swords in his hand and stabbed directly into the Daemon's wrist, with one twist severing it.

Moonface dropped to the ground as the Daemon raised his greatsword again. Irenicus desperately unloaded a bolter clip into the monster's face. Briefly it was distracted, looking at the lieutenant from a ragged visage, the wounds suffered leaking an eerie pink light. As it bought its sword down Moonface was ready and sprung close to the Daemon's belly, driving his sword deep into the monster and bringing up in a visceral arc.

The weapon slid from the Daemons fingers at it collapsed back. Irenicus could see the pink light streaming from the cuts.

"Foolish child..." Gasped the Daemon. "Foolish... You cannot... cannot escape my..." But the Daemon evaporated even as he threatened Moonface, pink whips of light disappearing in the wind.

Moonface turned to Irenicus, who bowed his head. "Lieutenant, prepare all Catechism troops for strategic withdrawal from Tarsis."

That was all, Moonface turning back to his transport. Irenicus could hear in the distance the last few hundred men being herded towards the Device. In their last doomed moments they cried out as one.

"Who is the ally and the enemy?"

And with them, Irenicus whispered back. "Moonface, who must destroy us to bring us to life."

Vengeance is mine

From the viewing platform on the bridge of the flagship Mjolnir, Grand Admiral Thokk surveyed the aftermath. The clash with the Imperial fleet had cost him dearly; one ship utterly wrecked and six badly damaged. Mostly Traegan’s ships, though he mused, chuckling to himself.

“M’Lord Admiral,” the voice was that of Captain Graal, a slight man with a lean, hard face. He was Thokk’s trusted right hand and long-time friend, a fellow survivor of the Purge of Loki all those years ago. “We have successfully boarded the loyalist ship Ajax, the few survivors that there were have been executed as you ordered.”

Excellent. “Inform Lord Raziel that the vessel will soon be ready for his warriors, and that he is free to commence the assault on Tarsis. The Loyalists are scattered, they will be unable to re-group before Raziel makes his attack.”

“Very good, Sir.” Graal saluted stiffly, then flashed a wicked grin to his friend. Thokk grinned back.

“Finally, Fjalen, finally…” Thokk trembled with anticipation, “The loyalists will pay in kind for their betrayal. Our kin will be avenged.” She will be avenged. “Nothing can stop us...” He turned back to the view port and stared at the distant stars.

It had been so many years ago, a life-time away. But the memory of the Purge was forever seared into Thokk’s memory. Loki had been a peaceful planet, nestled safely in the Norsefire sector, isolated from the many troubles of the galaxy and the wars of the Imperium. All those years ago Thokk had been the captain of the Emperor’s ship Jormungandr, pride of the Norsefire home fleet.

It had been a cult, nothing more, hardly noticed or acknowledged by the majority of the inhabitants of Loki. A group of a few unhappy individuals who had turned from the Imperium in their time of trouble, disillusioned. They were radicals, but they were just a few, and unheard voice ignored by the rest of the world. That was all. But this was not to be overlooked by the agents of the Emperor.

The Ordo Hereticus, fearful of the spread of new political and social ideas, had reacted the only way they ever did. Loki was condemned, a “danger to the Imperium and a heresy against the Immortal Emperor’s divine rule”. For the sake of a few activists and malcontents Loki was purged, torched by super-atomic weapons launched from near-orbit. The righteous judgement of the Emperor.

Thokk had returned to his home-world from manoeuvres in the Aurelius Deeps to find a dying world. The major urban centres had been obliterated, but a far worse fate had befallen the out-lying townships and villages.

Thokk had searched for her for days, scouring their homeland for any sign. At every turn he found death and slow decay, the unfortunate survivors subjected to a tortuous and agonising demise under the grim shadow of radioactive poisoning. He finally found her at a make-shift refuge where the last of the damned huddled together in their final hours. The medical supplies were all but spent, the only food and water left too polluted to touch.

His wife, once fair and graceful, was slumped alone in a dark corner, a ghastly spectre of the woman he had loved. In her arms Helvetta cradled the tattered rag that was their son. Pale, shrivelled, dead. When he looked at her, Helvetta gazed back with cold, empty eyes. They stared up at him, the only flicker of life that of the pain she endured and the horror she had seen. She spoke no words. Made no sound. She did not have much time left, but another second of her agony was too much for him to bear. Thokk gave his wife the only mercy left to her. The Emperor had shown her none.

After he buried his wife and, Thokk returned to Jormungandr. It was there that Lieutenant Fjalen Graal had won over the fleet captains and persuaded to flee, lest the Emperor’s judgement find them and damn them too, as it had done all the other innocent people of Loki. They scattered amongst the stars, abandoning their home forever. The few remaining survivors of a desiccated world.

Whenever he stopped, paused for too long, the memory would find him again. It always did, and he would never be free of it. They will pay a thousand times over, a million. There will be no respite, no remorse. They will pay dearly for what they did to our home. What they did to my son. What they did to Helvetta. Thokk turned back from the view port on the bridge, his face stony as he spoke to Graal. “…And it will begin with Caitlen Station.”

The Fun Stuff

A long time ago in a galaxy in the millennium 40K

Lieutenant Kiffle peered out over the entrenchment and surveyed the scene laid out before him with his Power Binoculars. From his elevated position he could see the snaking network of trenches and bunkers that comprised the 13th Helmund Planetary Defence Force’s defensive lines. These stretched down from the hillside HQ where he was positioned, down across into the plain, eventually halting at the banks of the River Wilde. Through the smoke and haze he could also see to the far bank of the river. He could make out the ramshackle buildings and shoddy defensive structures that had somehow frustrated the 13th Helmund PDF thus far. He could also see the tiny green bodies of snotlings frantically ducking and diving around amidst the emplacements, reinforcing and constructing the paradoxically steadfast battlements. The scene had not changed much in the 6 months, 13 days, 2 hours and 17 minutes he had been stationed on the planet, despite intensive efforts from both parties involved.

He could see at this current moment in time the Ork Waaargh! of Warboss Rockosocko was renewing its efforts to breach the defensive line across the river. He could see the trench bound PDF defenders scurrying towards the front line to take up firing positions.
He could also see that things were not going well.

The usually solid line of bunkers and heavy weapon emplacements that stood vigilant over the Imperial side of the river and been breached on the eastern side. Ork Boyz wielding “choppas” and “shootas” were streaming out of the river through a hole in the barbed wire and meeting with little resistance. Casting his gaze further along he could see the heavy bolter nests up on the rocky outcrop were surrounded in the thick black haze produced by the Rocket Pack device utilised by Stormboyz.

This would have been a great cause for concern, but the Imperials currently had an ace up their sleeve. Kiffle slipped his Power Binoculars into his pocket and glanced back over his shoulder at said ace. The Imperial secret weapon was lounging in a deckchair at the command table scrutinising a tactical map of the situation. Kiffle hoped that he was considering decisive stratagems in order to break the deadlock, or at least hold under the current green tide surging across the river into close quarters with the remaining Guardsmen on the right flank.
On closer inspection he appeared to be gently snoozing under a tactical map of the situation. Kiffle shuffled over and gently tapped him on the shoulder.

“Colonel Roover, sir, I believe we have a situation that requires your attention.”
His request was met with a few snorts and grunts, with a brief wiggle of his bushy moustache the only clear sign of awakeness. Kiffle shook harder and raised his voice slightly

“Colonel Roover, sir!!”

This time he was met with a wave of the hand and a mumbles request.

“Hmm, what, tell the enemy to stop being so barbaric and hold the attack till after lunch, its not cricket”

“I don’t think they know how to play cricket sir”

Roover suddenly jolted into life, with a spark of vague awareness coming on somewhere in his head.

“Eh, what are you talking about sonny? What the Eldar is cricket?”

“I don’t know sir, you brought it up”

“I did?, hmm, darndest thing. Anywho, what’s such a big hoo-haa that you felt the need to interrupt my afternoon nap, eh?”

“The Orks have breached the eastern fortifications, sir. Without decisive action they will in our trenches within minutes.”

Roover appeared to be contemplating the situation briefly before breaking out into a huge smile.

“Bout bloody time, thought the flaming Grott chucker’s would never get round to it”

“But sir, it means we have lost Kappa and Delta squads, without prompt reserves our current position will soon be untenable!”

“Stop babbling man, I had Delta withdrawn back from the front, give the Greenies something to have a dig at, hmm, did it on Myrmidia V, works like a charm (least I think it did, can’t quite remember), what the hey, gimme that Vox-Box-a-majig.”

Kiffle passed the receiver of the Vox-Caster to Roover, watching with fevered anticipation.

“DELTA SQUAD, REPEAT, DELTA SQUAD..”

“You don’t have to shout, sir, they can hear you through the receiver just fine”

“Eh, what? Oh, Delta Squad, you still alive down there?”

The Caster crackled into life, the reply came in clear, though occasional patches of static rumblings and the roar of chainswords came through in the background.

“Colonel Roover, sir, alive and well” came the hopeful reply.

“(We’ll see about that) Good-O, right, I want you to counter charge the Ork breach, see if you can’t kick them back to their half”

“Sorry, sir, not sure I received that correctly, it sounded like you wanted us to charge the Orks”

“Damn right sonny-lad-boy, show em what your made of”

“Sir, I don’t believe this is a prudent course of action…” the voice was promptly waylaid.

“Don’t worry, you’ll have back up, it’s already on the way, just get on with it, you wanna live forever or something, wot?”

“No sir, but surviving the next five minutes would be nice”

“Smart-arse, just do your job, won’t know what hit em eh?”

A prolonged sigh was clearly audible over the Vox-Caster. The voice returned in a subdued sombre tone.

“Will do, sir.”

“Good boy, Roover out.”

Kiffle gave Roover a concerned glance. He wasn’t aware of any imminent reinforcements, and certainly wasn’t optimistic of Delta’s chances in the assault. Roover had shuffled his way over to the edge of the bunker and was looking out to the eastern fringe with his looking glass. Kiffle joined him, Power Binoculars in hand.

He saw what would later be described in battle reports as a courageous and selfless counter charge by valiant souls placing their duty to the Emperor above their own lives.

At the time it looked like about 40 bedraggled Guardsmen hesitantly charging into a 200 strong mob of Orkboyz. To Delta squad’s credit, they did seem to have the Orks confused as to what was going on, but only in the sense that a lion would be confused when the Christian climbs into its mouth.

He lower the Binoculars and looked at Roover, he was looking at his pocket watch, and glancing over to the hill immediately down to their right. Kiffle wandered over and looked.
Through a large cloud of dust and smoke he made out about10 Lemun Russ battle tanks rolling onto the crest of the hill.

“Bout bloody time, damn treadheads, always late for the party” grumbled Roover.

“What’s going on sir?” inquired Kiffle.

“The Imperium is about to strike back lad!”

He grabbed the Vox-Caster and retuned the frequency.

“Prepare to open fire”

“Sir, our own men are down there, they will be caught in the cross fire!!” Kiffle pleaded.
Roover turned to face him, a faint glimmer of insane fire in his antediluvian eye. His reply would haunt Kiffle for years to come.

“Yes, but we’ll hit theirs as well”

The frankness of this struck Kiffle speechless. What possible case was there to plead to this madman. As if to cement this impression, Roover reached over and flicked a switch on the trench network loudspeaker system. Instead of the usual motivational messages or anti-Ork propaganda (whatever the Ork equivalent of “Yo Momma” jokes are) music began to play. It was unlike anything that Kiffle had ever heard before. He couldn’t place the artist, or era, but it conjured images to mind of large warrior women, swooping down across ancient battlefields upon winged steeds.

“Open fire!”

The order snapped Kiffle out of his musical contemplation. He quickly raised his binoculars and looked down on the eastern flank. There still were about 20 or so Guardsmen, going toe to toe with the Orks, holding them fast in the breach, pinned in what would soon become a series of smoking craters.

The ground shook as the Lemun Russ opened fire, He couldn’t be sure but it seemed to Kiffle that they were in time with the music, launching their devastating barrage in time with crescendos of the blaring music. Where the brave combatants had once stood, fire and smoke remained. Kiffle had never seen such raw power launched at such a small area. Bodies flew through the air like ragdolls, limbs thrown asunder under the battlecannon’s deadly gaze.
Kiffle dropped his binoculars and turned to Roover. The Colonel stood before him as a haunting visage. He had his eyes shut and seemed to be swaying to the music. He had the index fingers on the stubby hands raised, tapping and bobbing in time with the ebb and flow of the piece. Kiffle felt an artery throbbing on his forehead as he beheld Roover, conducting his orchestra of destruction.

Suddenly the music and the barrage ended, replaced with a morbid silence. Roover levelled off his musical direction, savouring the moment like a wargamer savours a Ginsters Pasty. Slowly he raised the Vox-Caster to his mouth.

“Lets get this biscuit race underway gentlemen”

Kiffle turned and looked again. From under what had previously looked like bushed and scrubs Chimera transports burst forth, gunning towards the recently vacated breach as top speed. The smoke was just clearing, revealing a scorched path into the Ork lines. The Chimeras flew through into the soft underbelly of the fortifications on the other side of the River Wilde (Chimeras, apparently being aquatic, had no problem crossing). They were followed from concealment by Sentinel Walkers sporting Multilasers and Lascannons. These all disappeared behind the Ork walls, explosions and heavy bolter fire soon became the only indication they were present.

Roover clapped his hands together and rubbed them with a gleeful smile.

“And that’s the end of that chapter, eh wot?”

Kiffle stood perplexed, stunned into silence by the implemented tactics.

“Oh, lighten up lad, I’ve seen, and done, worse. Harsh times and harsh measures and all that. You never get anywhere without a little blood being spilt. Ends always justify the means, remember that. I call it Roover’s Law.”

He promptly produced a Hip Flask from somewhere within his large overcoat and took a long swig. He offered it over to Kiffle.

“Tot of space gin Kiff?”

“Err, no thank you, and its Kiffle sir” came the beleaguered reply.

“Whatever, you know” Roover paused to take in a large intake of air, “I love that smell. Smells like a job well done. Let me tell you something sonny, some people in this Universe some would rather sit down and solve their problems with unless banter, or bits of paper, like some hippie love in. But, y’know what? They can nonce around all they want, but they wouldn’t have a chance without the lowly likes of you and me here to do the things they are too damned scared to do. Leave em to it, we’ll still be here, enjoying what we do, enjoying this..”

“What exactly is this, sir”

“The fun stuff, Kiff, the fun stuff”

Necrons 2...

Automated Minutes from Imperial Joint-Select Committee for Sector Affairs

(Static, followed by sounds of general clutter and hubbub. Someone coughs violently in the back ground, several people appear to be eating noisily)

Unidentified:….then I said to her “are you sure you’re not a mutant? Your hands seem to be all over the place, and that trick you just did, I’m pretty darned sure it’s not natural”

(Several senior sounding gentlemen burst into laughter and cackles)
(Voice Print Identified – Cross Ref: General Thaddeus Roover -1IC Sector Defense Force (SDF))

Roover: Well, she turns to me and tells me there could be some grain of truth to it, she was born with one of those vestigial tail things that dropped on off at birth, can you believe it?

Unidentified: By the Emperor, what did you do?

Roover: Handed her straight on over to the Inquisition, filthy mutant. Not the worst I’ve seem but still.

Unidentified: I tell you what, I saw this one mutant, looked exactly like you or I, except his skin was black as the night itself!

(Voice Print Identified – Cross Ref: Admiral Bova Magnus – CIC Sector Naval Forces)

Roover: A black person!! not in this universe. Suppose those Tallarn rag’eds come close, must be a splash of the mutant in them too. With all these savage races out there, you can’t help feeling that it is the burden of the Imperium to get out there and bring civilisation to them all. Still, awful shame about the girl, she was a good looking lass and all. They burned her in the City Plaza last week; along with that albino boy they found hiding in the sewers.

(Silence….)

Magnus: I thought she was supposed to make roasts, not become one

(Outburst of guffaws and snorting laughter, degrades into several hacking coughs)

Roover: (sighs) The wife was most put out, got to be looking for a new cook now, detracts from her life of leisure. Not that I see her much, spends all her time at that Health Spa with her Vostroyan personal trainer Borgs.

Magnus: Bah, never trusted Vostroyans, shifty lot, always look like their about to pinch something.

Unidentified: It’s the beards, just because you can grow one larger than your head, doesn’t mean you have to, bunch of bloody show-offs.

(Voice Print Identified – Cross Ref: Governor Tarkus Babcock – Planetary Governor)

Roover: Flaming savages. Pass the prawn sandwiches, Gaius

(Sound of plates scraping over table)

Roover: No, the ones without crusts. Crusts give me gas

Unidentified: Sorry General

(More plates shuffling)
(Voice Print Identified - Cross Ref: Adeptus Gaius Astros - Chief Scientific Officer of Sector)

Babcock: Where is Dominel?

Magnus: He sent his apologies ahead. His damn gout is flaring up again. Poor thing is laid up in his solarium.

(Door swings open, sounds of stumbling and rustling of paper, general cacophony quietens down)

Astros: Ah, here you are, suppose we better get this little gathering underway. This is…is…er…wait, can’t quite conjure… What was your name again…

Unidentified: Adeptus Stilton Mowberry, sir. Ordo Xenos Aleph Sector detachment.

(Voice Print Recorded – Begin Archive: Adeptus Stilton Mowberry – Ordo Xenos)

Astros: Right, right. Well, Adeptus Mowberry here has something important for us, latest findings off Einmyrria.

Babcock: Where?

Roover: Little planet in the Hellheim system, had a bit of a tussle there a while ago, apparently some of those roboskellies…

Mowberry: Necrons, sir

Roover: That’s the one, Necrons has some little shindig going on there, so we trotted on over and gave em’ what for. Tough little critters, but they don’t like it up em’, wot wot. Weren’t the only ones invited to the party, just about every xeno in the sector turned up, kicked em’ all in the crotch, or whatever ever the have, sent em’ packing. Then half the planet blew up for no particular reason, darndest thing you ever saw.

Astros: Anyway, the archeological team sent to investigate the Necron ruins remaining on the planet was temporarily out of contact due to unusal emanations from the local star, and well, Mowberry can take it from here.

(Sounds of a projection screen being wound down)

Mowberry: Gentlemen, during the communications blackout the team was left in command of the Automated Relay Command…

(Several confused grumblings)

Mowberry: Its like an answering machine with some sentient programming, allowing it to issue orders based on a logic matrix. The A.R.C can coordinate field operatives, weighting up risk and benefit for the good of Imperium, the kind of tough calls that you gentlemen make, during comm’s downtime. It’s a very sophisticated machine (its probally Tau), …

(Nervous shuffling in chairs)

Magnus: Err, how many of these things do we have.

Mowberry: Oh not many, it’s in its infancy, some programming bugs. It can become psychotically single minded at times. Additionally its binary processing keeps switching resource expendability from 1 to 0, causing massive asset loss, sometimes for very little gain, so we only deploy them in systems of low strategic importance. It still performs okay, even compared to your own distinguished records.

(Fit of coughing)

Roover: Err, yes, just get on with it lad.

Mowberry: Well, you can read for yourselves, this is a log of all communications between Einmyrria and the A.R.C during the blackout period…..

(Show Media: Adeptus Edama’s Logs)

Babcock: Good Lord, I see what you mean about the A.R.C, its never going to work with all those bugs.

Mowberry: Actually sir, the A.R.C performed as per its original programming, the natural expendability of the resource in question was 0 to begin with.


Magnus: I don’t quite know what to make of this. You believe this device he speaks of exists, and that the Eldar are in possession of it?

Roover: Poncy Coneheads, no wonder their race is dying, way they act makes you think there’s not much lead in their pencils, know-what-i-mean..eh.eh?

Mowberry: A distinct radiation pattern recorded by the team was traced at the site. It has been seen again as several places all over the sector, with concurrent reports of Eldar activity. They have it, and we think they are trying to hide it.

Roover: Sodding brightlance smokers!

Mowberry: We believe that they cannot destroy the solar enslaver due to the energies contained within. Readings indicate they have spilt it into as many as 3 pieces in order to prevent assemblage.

Roover: Pretentious wraithpillow biters

Astros: General please, we must hear the full briefing

(Sound of Roover mumbling under his breath, combinations of the words, cone, wraith, nonce, monkey, candy ass and other expletives are heard in the background)

Magnus: Tell us more about this device

Mowberry: Further study has allowed us a greater understanding. We have classified the device as a Chronometric High Energon Electromagnetic Solar Enslaver

Babcock: Spare me your fancy science talk, I want the facts dammit!

Mowberry: CHEESE sir, the device is CHEESE.

(Shocked gasps)

Mowberry: We believe that this inauspicious looking machine can draw off and harness the power of the very stars themselves. The CHEESE converts Solar Energy into Chronometric High Energon Dimensionally Displacing Anti-matter Radiation

(Sound of eyebrow being raised)

Mowberry: CHEDDAR sir. It seems that this is used to teleport Necrons (especially out of close combat situations), teleport in monoliths, in fact it provides them with power to carry out all of their functions, and it is the power supply for Necron tomb fleets. It also provides C’tan with a light low-carb snack.

Magnus: So, the source of the Necron power is revealed at last

Mowberry: There’s more. Based upon our projections we foresee that the power of the CHEESE can be augmented further based on the properties of the star it is used upon. It seems for the maximum energy output to be obtained energy must be siphoned off from stars in their larger twilight periods, prior to their extinguishing.

Magnus: Oh My Emperor, you don’t mean…

Mowberry: Yes sir, I’m afraid I do. Mature CHEDDER…

(Exasperated gasps. A glass smashes. Stunned silence.)

Astros: These are the facts as we know them, Gentlemen. We must decide what is to be done

(Hubbub resumes)

Babcock: It could power entire planets. It is safe isn’t it, I mean the radiation from the CHEESE, seems to have had an adverse effect on Edama.

Mowberry: Actually, reports from the Ordo Psychorum indicate that Edama’s mental breakdown was highly likely in any event. That’s why he was posted to a backwater station like Einmyrria.

Roover: We should take it for ourselves. Think of all the xeno arse we could smackdown with this thingymajig.

Magnus: No, think of the technological applications of such a device. We could travel like the Necrons, effortlessly through the deeps of space.

Astros: Gentlemen, please. We have had time to analyse this information in depth and run simulations of the potential use and abuse of such a device. Our studies have yielded only one possible conclusion. The CHEESE must be destroyed.

(Outpouring of noise, shouting, jibing, papers being thrown across the room)

Babcock: Come on, this could revolutionise the Imperium.

Roover: You eggheads are all the same, always trying to spoil the fun for the rest of us. This gizmo drains suns right? Imagine the faces on those UFP pansies when the lights in the sky go out eh? Imagine the damage we could do with this thing.

Astro: We can, and we can also imagine the damage it could go if it fell into the wrong hands. The CHEESE is too dangerous. We believe the Necrons know it is missing, if it remains in one place too long it calls them to it. Even worse, the Inquisition believe this thing is reaching out across spectral bandwidths looking for help, across the Warp, rattling the cages of attuned inhabitants there.

Roover: CHAOS!! That settles it. I’ll set the entire sector on fire before those gribbly-herders lay one damned tentacle on it.

Magnus: What makes you think we can destroy this thing is the Eldar are incapable?

Astro: For all their technology, they sometimes miss the distinctly more blatant solutions. We think a large area explosion could set off a chain reaction within the CHEESE, causing it to release its energies in a confined space and vaporise.

Magnus: That would take an Exterminatus level bombardment!

Astro: We didn’t say it would be easy. Not quite an Exterminatus, just a concentrated enough blast to resonate the structure of the CHEESE , the chain reaction would intensify the power by an exponential level, destroying the entire planet. The effects could stretch out across the entire system.

(Hearty chuckle)

Roover: So in order to save us all from this MacGuffin, all you have to do is destroy an entire planet with this CHEESE bomb?

Astros: Well, we haven’t quite decided on a target uninhabited system that would be suitable for this purpose. Why General, do you know of any?

Roover: Well, I can certainly think of a few habitabited ones. Maybe we can make this thing go bye-bye, and show the enemies of the Imperium what for in the process. STEVENSON!!!

Unidentified: Yes, Sir?

(Voice Print ID – Insignificant)

Roover: What’s the name of that planet those stuntie bastards givin’ us the jip on Cerberex come from?

Insignificant: Hartak, Sir.

Roover: Hartak eh?, hmmm….

(Recording Ends)

Necrons...

Transmitted: Base Station Einmyrria
Date: 2304.007.M42
Security Clearance: Omicron
Ref: GH302/N.19.04.007/A
Received: Imperial Capital, Cerberex monitoring station
Subject: Archeological Investigation of Necron Ruins
Author: Adeptus Prefectus Primus Kaleb Edaman

Following the successful annexation and consolidation of Imperial power on Einmyrria, archeological teams under my jurisdiction have been carrying out widespread investigations into the remnants of Necron structures present on, and below, the surface. While still ongoing, certain findings have been brought to my attention, which I now relay onto you, which I deem may be essential to continuing Imperial interests in the Hellheim sector.
Initially the investigative teams met with little success in charting the ruins in the largest central cluster Caro, the base of operations established on the planets main continent in the aftermath of the Einmyrrian Conquest.
The ,as yet, unknown material from which the structures are constructed has proven impervious to all scans, probes and orbital assessment techniques, leaving manual exploration the only route available to us. The Necron tombs do not willingly divulge their secrets, and sacrifices were made as we penetrated deeper into the subterranean complex. Interference with our equipment inside the tombs has left us vulnerable to the arcane defense mechanisms employed by the Necrons to guard their slumber. Unfortunately members of the expedition were lost to these wondrous technologies, several plummeting to their doom due to a cleverly disguised false floor, others crushed under falling rocks, more still falling victim to spikes and pointed sticks which seem to leap forth from the very walls. Even greater tragedy befell my own pupil Adeptus Cam Monbear. The regrettable incident which led to his demise involving a large rolling stone and a prolonged chase down a tunnel haunts my dreams still.
Eventually these devices were individually discovered and catalogued, allowing for further progress. Has my request for more men and a new assistant been received, we are running a little thin on the ground out here. We have been able to complete full analysis of Necron glyphs and structure. Much of what is revealed is foul Xeno-worship and grandstanding below the notice of the council, but startling evidence of the technologies of which the Necrons possess has come to light. I draw your attention to the following glyphs which are indicative of a device of unthinkable power. As is clearly shown this innocuous and relatively simple looking device has the ability to siphon off the power of the very stars themselves. I have submitted full details of our discovery to the Ordo Xenos for their opinion of the capabilities of the device.
Another discovery made is of further underground Necron structures secreted beneath the northern ice cap of the planet, harking back to a period in its history when its rotation about the sun was differently aligned. Topographic orbital scans would place the complex at the center of the blast crater caused by an explosion of unknown origin at the climax of the battle for this world. I would take this opportunity to request greater resources to allow an expedition to the ice cap to assess what remains, be it more information on this "star eating" device or other technologies which can be bent to the will of the Emperor.
(Sign Off)
(Message back from Relay)
++Request for additional resources DENIED +STOP+ Request for polar expedition GRANTED +STOP+ Proceed with current resources and all due haste +STOP+ May the
Glory of the Emperor guide you +STOP++
(Sign Off)
(Sign On)
To whom it may concern,
I must restate my request for additional resources and manpower if any effective expedition into the ice cap crater is to be commenced. As I have already stated during the penetration of the Necron structures many fine men were lost to unforeseen defensive devices. As it stands my unit and staff are below half strength and extremely nervous about another incursion into unchartered Necron ruins. There are even mumblings that I myself should be the first into the breech, so to speak. Of course I dismissed these as flippant and extremely unlikely to happen, it would be obscene if someone of my knowledge and training were to fall pray to quickening sand or walls which close together rapidly under unknown stimuli (a particular favorite in structures explored so far).
Morale within the unit is low and I am unsure how many more unforeseen casualties they will accept before unruliness becomes them. I myself fear personally for my men and my own wellbeing, I mean there are limits to how expendable resources are in this case, surely.
(Sign Off)
(Message back from Relay)
++Resubmitted request for addition resources DENIED +STOP+ Mission will proceed as stated with all due speed +STOP+ All resources classified EXPENDABLE +STOP+
We all must suffer so the Emperor may learn +STOP++
(Sign off)
(Sign On)
We have finally arrived at the site of the crater. Adverse weather conditions force advancement on foot while ascending to the rim of the crater. Snow storms prevent the use of mechanized transport, which refuses to start, several blinking lights on the dashboard may reveal the cause but our engineer fell into a pit in the Necron ruins at Caro (sensor reports were unable to ascertain exactly how deep it was).
Initial analysis indicates a powerful blast only matched by those expected of an orbital bombardment. Energy signature suggests some sort of highly concentrated plasma implosion, far beyond anything within the capabilities of the Imperial Armory. Xeno involvement is highly suspected at this juncture.
The men are bedraggled yet chirpy, encouraged by the wondrous knowledge which may lie ahead.
(Sign Off)
(Sign On)
On the descent into the crater surface examination revealed little, but as we advance further into this crucible of incineration it is apparent that where we stand was once perhaps even miles under the surface of the planet.
The weather has again turned upon us, while previously we fought snow storms and cascades of ice, we are now presented with unseasonable warmth, increasing ever still as we approach the epicenter of the crater. The snows persist in a manner, being of ash and plasma blasted remains. The persistent storms and pulsing heat are not helping morale.
The men are once again taking umberence to the task presented before them. I have told them to stand firm, but there are mumblings, of shiftings in the ash, unseen watchers and foul mutant fused together by in the plasma heat. I have told them all to stop being so silly but I fear they resent me for my optimistic outlook. I suppose lesser men would be disheartened and perhaps robbed of their precious sanity by the conditions we face, but I am resolute in my steadfastness to persevere on into the bowels of this beast or may be all be struck down for our lack of faith in the Emperor’s guidance.
(Sign Off)
(Sign On)
We have reached ground zero. I initially feared we would not make it, as the air quality became significantly worse, but fortunately every man from the original expedition was issued with a rebreather, so we have plenty to go around.
After days of stumbling I was amazed when a structure loomed out of the ash haze before me. It appears that whatever was at the heart of this complex it was significantly shielded to partially survive the blast as a shell of its former self. What ever the vaults contents, they must have been highly coveted by the Necrons. Some of the markings on the outside of the walls remain, although inside all detail has been incinerated.
I regret to inform you that the little situation with the men has not been remedied but has indeed worsened. It appears that the fraying of their nerves continues, as was highlighted during an unfortunate episode. It seems it got all too much for Ensign Monterrey, who we awoke in the middle of the night (or what classes as night in this smog) to find waving around a pickaxe in an aggravated manner. Of course I ordered him brought to task and in a brief, relatively bloodless, struggle he was eventually taken down. You can mark my words that he was severely berated by myself and locked in a supply crate until his behavior became more acceptable. He has quietened down since, and may be released later today. I am cautiously hopeful that he has learnt his lesson.
(Sigh Off)
(Sign On)
Our worst hopes and fears have been equally excised. Outer markings seem to confirm that this was indeed the resting place of one of the C'tan or Star Gods that the Necron's pay homage to. The fate of this being is unknown. I would highly doubt that such a being could have been destroyed by the detonation here, which leads me to conclude that this tomb was already vacated.
Of greater interest and less speculation is the technological wonders held within the tomb. The "solar enslaver" device may once have been secreted here along with other such xeno-machines. I am assured that it remains here no longer, in that it was not blasted to oblivion along with the complex. While examining the ruins, I did trip and, almost as if guided by some divine intervention, found myself down in the ash face to face with what I am certain it a piece of Wraith bone (a femur I think). It appears the cause of the explosion, and almost definitely the current possessors of the device previously described are the foul Xeno's commonly known as the Eldar. What their motivation for this theft it anybody's guess.
It must be said that I spend as little time as possible in the ruins. The device used to destroy the tomb has superheated the remaining structure, turning it into a giant radiator. If not for the containment suit I was wearing (the only one we have) I may have been horribly burned and disfigured like the men I had with me. With their loss amidst the screams and smells of boiling flesh (odd that I would smell it even through the suit’s air filter) I lost perhaps the few good remaining men.
Since the initial misbehavior of Monterrey (who thankfully was pacified by his 3 days stay in the crate, though by much more than even I had hoped for) we have run out of crates in which to lock the lunatics that spring up among us. Hopefully the situation will calm down now as the few men that remain should be know I am not to be trifled with. I hope to stay a few more days before leaving this corrupted place.
(Sign Off)
(Sign On)
I fear this may be my last transmission. The men are mutinous to the point of obstinence. I came about as I announced my intention to remain at the ruins to investigate for two more days. It seems that they object to their unshielded proximity to the source of infernal heat. They seem tanned and healthy to me, though Coteswain Babibel is peeling a little round the edges.
It was he who stepped forward as the ring leader of this little coup. I fear the heat may be getting to me also, though only added to by the heated exchange between our differing camps. His pig head stubbornness on the issue may have been the key to wrath getting the better of me. After stamping my foot down he remained unmoved and unrelenting, even in the face of my superior archeological arguments. I ordered him seized and crated, but the men refused, as well as pointing out that we had run out of crates in which to hold those unmanned.
In a rash action I remembered little of till after the event I fear I may have bludgeoned Babibel to death with my hyperclip board. This immediately restored order, though my hyperclip board may be beyond repair. Yet the men still grumble like old men deprived of their pudding. I shall watch my back, but I feel a proactive approach to their menace may be more advisable. I shall wait until the fall of night, and let the Emperors will guide my hand.
(Sign Off)
(Sign On)
The men complain no longer. Their petty whining has been silenced and none now question my authority. I have satisfactorily completed my survey and come to the conclusion I was looking for, no further findings on the previous assertions so to speak, but confirmation.
I now set out on the treacherous journey back, alone (though the Emperor is always with me, though I feel his hand holding mine less and less in the ashen blackness that surrounds me) though I also carry the spirits of the brave men with me, their hearts hanging next to mine to give me courage.
(Sign Off)
(Sign On)
They are out there. They think they tread careful upon the sooted ground but I hear them I do. Scrabbling around. It is the men that turned to insaneness, those I was forced to lock away for their own good. They throw my kind actions back in my face. They can't have escaped. I can only theorize that they have somehow freed at least one limb to give foul pursuit. I hear them scraping along, unseeing, stumbling on legs and dragging on arms.
They think to trap me, as they believe I trapped them, the forsaken, the ungracious, the Boxed. They whisper things to me in the night, tempting me with their boxed way of life, asking me to pay homage to their box chaos gods instead of the venerated Emperor. One of them even invited me to a box social. I cannot be more than a few days away from the rim of the crater. I will attempt to shake them there. I have upon my person a demolition charge, funnily enough removed from one of the boxes in order that one of their number be confined within. The very thing which freed space for their incarceration will be their undoing.
(Sign Off)
(Sign On)
Victory is mine. At least victory was mine. Upon reaching the rim, I set about in motion the doom of the Boxkin. I hid the charge in the snows (thankfully the ash storm was confined to the crater, I was met with the daylight and the cold caress of the winter upon my exit) and taking the detonator I found myself a place to watch on the face of one of the ice peaks.
I must have waited for some time, for night to fall, and the Boxed to come for me once again in their ignorance. My keen eyes did not fail me as I saw there upon the rim they came. Not one but many, their name the Boxed, their number legion. I could not help but let out a cackle of laughter on the fate they had visited upon themselves. Pushing the detonator in sweet release I consigned them to the dust from which all things come. But in doing so I sealed my own fate. The ice peaks themselves fell upon me, their betrayal cutting through me with icy claws. Upon coming to I found myself trapped in a pocket of air within the snow, escape quite impossible.
At this juncture I would like to request assistance and rescue if at all possible. If you have the time to divert yourself from the Emperor’s great works to help one poor wretched soul that is.
(Sign Off)
(Sign On)
They come again. I see one now burrowing ahead of me. I am prepared for what will surely be my final battle. My ice pick will strike hard and true with the Emperor’s wrath. He is comes, ready to strike am I….
But wait, there in the corners of my vision, from within the snow to more pop up out of the snow on either side…….
Clever boxes….
ARRHRRHRHHHRHHH…………
(Sign Off)
ATTACHED MESSAGE
Sir
It appears that solar activity temporarily took us out of contact with our assets on Einmyrria. During this period it has come to out attention that a series of unfortunate events occurred leading to eventual permanent loss of contact. A recovery team eventually dispatched discovered the final resting site of Adeptus Edama. It appears he was involved in some sort of frantic struggle resulting in death from an apparently self inflicted ice pick wound to the head.
Still he has provided us with invaluable information into this Necron device. It will be discussed at length in the upcoming council meeting. Here are the briefing notes from the technopaths at the Ordo Xenos.
Note: It may be irrelevant mumblings of a madman, but we will forward the accounts to the Ordo Hereticus. It is for them to assess the extent of any threat presented by these so-called “box chaos gods”.

Full Moon Rising

Alone in his vast war-chamber on Kendrenec, Lieutenant Gallowfen sat in an iron throne and surveyed a bank of screens, each one displaying technical data; armed forces, planetary dispositions, space fleet allocations. As the War Smith's optical receptors glanced from one screen to another in rapid succession, absorbing and processing the information, his heavily augmented mind was forming a plan.

On his lap his Kai-Gun shuddered and growled, pulsing with a dark energy. Gallowfen stroked it like a pet.

"Soon we will have our revenge. Soon the Imperium will pay." He said in a low voice.

"And how will that be achieved?" Slithered a voice from behind him. Even Gallowfen, veteran of a thousand campaigns, was startled. He rose to his feet, hefting his gun and pointing it directly at the intruder.

In front of him was the creature that had both blessed and cursed his operations for a year. The body was of a loyal marine, but it rose on a single worm-like tail which constantly circled the floor. And worst of all was the creature's crescent shaped head and its two beady red eyes that caused even Gallowfen to flinch. It was the creature known only as
Moon Face.

"How dare you enter my chamber!" Roared Gallowfen, not moving the Kai Gun's barrel away from the mutant.

"I simply wished to know how things were proceeding. Whether you had decided on the method of your revenge." Replied Moon Face, apparently unconcerned by the weapon trained on him. In his hands he held his twin swords that had slain so many a man.

"It is not your concern!"

"Oh but it is. You do wish to make the Imperium pay, do you not?"

"Of course, how dare you suggest otherwise." Gallowfen's finger tightened around the Kai Gun's trigger, and the daemonic weapon thrummed beneath his grasp. It was taking all his restraint not to shoot the impudent mutant right now. The trouble was that Moon Face had proved immensely useful over the past few months. The tactical advice offered had bordered on the pre-cognisant.

The mutant had also proved highly resilient. In every battle he would charge ahead, outrunning all men as his tail snaked its way towards the enemy. There he would cut down whole squads with his power swords before being taken down himself. But each time, each time Gallowfen saw his moon head cleaved from his neck, or his whole body blown apart by a Demolisher shell, the creature would suddenly return at the end of the battle unharmed.

"And?" Asked Moon Face calmly.

"We have the troops and ships under our command. We will return to the Perseus Deeps, pillage every planet, destroy Imperium and Tau alike. All will crumble before our might!"

Moon Face looked downcast. "I am disappointed. A chance to strike back is so close."

"Explain yourself, worm." Growled Gallowfen, angered at this insubordination.

"Cerberex."

Gallowfen almost laughed. "Cerberex? The Imperial capital? The most heavily defended planet in the system after Hartak? Ridiculous."

"The Eldar will help us."

"What? I will not ally with those scum and they will not ally with me"

Gallowfen's often limited patience was stretched at its thinnest. The mutant had lost it, his strategic advice had turned to nonsense. Perhaps Moon Face had finally lost the blessing of the dark gods.

"They wish to see the Imperium fall." Moon Face replied, ever calm, but with a slight grin on his pock-marked face.

"I refuse to communicate with them. Now get out of my sight, maggot, or by the gods I will strike you down where you stand."

"How... disappointing. It seems you have outlived your usefulness, War Smith." Moon Face said, slowly slithering across the floor towards Gallowfen.

"Halt!" Barked Gallowfen. But Moon Face came fast at him. In Gallowfen's hands his Kai Gun squealed with pleasure as he squeezed the trigger, two blasts of white energy hurling at the mutant. Moon Face dodged low, but still one shot hit him straight between his eyes. The mutant was thrown back to the floor. His swords seemed to... vanish? Gallowfen had not seen him let go but could not see them now.

Gallowfen paused. In front of him lay the hated Moon Face, his head now a smoking mess. The War Smith walked slowly forward. His gun remained trained on the creature, the mutant looked dead but Gallowfen took no chances.

As he stood over the body he growled. The crescent head was somehow reforming, moving as though made of mercury back into its original form. Gallowfen sighted his gun at Moon Face's body.

Suddenly he was thrown off his feet and landed with a smash on the cold marble floor, Moon Face's tail wrapped tight round his leg. The Kai Gun went spinning across the room. Still entangled, Gallowfen quickly rose to his feet, but the mutant was already up and towered over him. Gallowfen tried a punch at the creature's reformed head but Moon Face grabbed his arm in an iron grip.

"Very disappointing!" It let out a terrible cry, wrenching at the War Smith's arm. His ornate power armour snapped in the mutant's hands. Beneath the armour most of Gallowfen's flesh had been replaced by whirring gears and pistons, which were now crushed. The mutant leaned in, his terrible grinning face leering close to Gallowfen's.

The War Smith suddenly lurched forward, the top of his helmet smashing into Moon Face's nose. The mutant briefly recoiled and let go, Gallowfen using this as an opportunity to dive out of the creature's entanglement. His right arm was useless, but his left still struck out at Moon Face's neck, grasping it tightly. Gallowfen squeezed.

But Moon Face's grin never faltered. Sudden jolts of pain shot through Gallowfen's body. The War Smith looked down to see the mutant holding a sword, flickering blue, and sticking through his chest. Gallowfen barely had time to wonder where the weapon had come from. He staggered back, inside him circuits were failing, gears were shattered and flesh was severed.

Moon Face pulled back his sword from Gallowfen's chest. It was slick with blood and oil.

"Now for my plan." Smiled Moon Face, and with one dramatic arc sliced the War Smith's head from his shoulders.