[center] One Month Ago [/center]


The [i]Devastation[/i] pushed forward into the crippled Word Bearers strike cruiser, the length of her hull aflame as she plunged through a firestorm of firepower from the small flotilla she had ambushed.  The wrecks of two frigate escorts drifted lazily through the battle, their hulls cracked open and their innards gutted with uncharacteristically accurate fire from the World Eaters strike cruiser.  Krale watched silently from the command throne as his shipmaster, a mortal who had once been a Cadian fleet officer, now his world was forgotten, the only sign of it was the violet eyes that were filled with satisfaction as the crew he had drilled from the scum and slaves that filled her halls performed with more skill that even the World Eater Krale was impressed.


The Ursus Claws, a weapon that had been almost exclusive to the World Eaters fired into the rotating flank of the Word Bearer ship, the immense cables pulling taut and dragging the ship towards the [i]Devastation[/i], Krale grinned beneath his helmet as he could almost feel the slaughter that was to come, worthy skulls aplenty with the Word Bearers aboard that ship.  He stood without a word, and stalked his way through the halls of the strike cruiser that had been his home even before the Heresy, with him stomped seven of the deadliest fighters of his warband, including himself and he had the holy number of Khorne himself, a good omen if one was to believe in such things.


The crew were busy with damage control or with other tasks that kept them from standing idle, but as the party of World Eaters approached they cleared the way instantly, almost crushing one another in a press so thick it was surprising this many people could breath on the ancient strike cruiser.  Krale thumbed the activation rune of his immense, two-handed chainaxe, the daemon bound within sensing the bloodshed to come, revving itself hungrily as he felt its presence merging with his own mind.  The Butcher’s Nails sensed the intrusion, and reacted as he knew they would, coursing pain and rage into his mind, he could feel the bloodlust coming, the red haze creeping into his eyes.


“Enough!” he snapped, swinging the axe sharply to his right, the unfortunate slaughterscum who stood within reach screaming in pain as his chest was ripped open by the teeth of the still weapon.


Kor’agrash, the daemon bound within the axe hissed in his mind, trying to forge itself into control again, feeding the Nails and the rage they controlled, within his mind he could see it grinning at him, the red-skinned creature had once been a Bloodthirster, defeated in combat by Krale many millennia ago, the hatred it felt at being trapped within a weapon was almost visible in the space between them, and every day Krale felt the daemon trying to break free of the bindings.  Krale took a deep breath before continuing to the hanger bay, Kor’agrash was a threat that he had countered in the Eye of Terror, and the longer he kept from Eye the more annoying the daemon became, as if the distance from its own realm angered it even more.


“My lord, the Stormbird is ready for you,” said Hanger Master Balkus, an ancient mortal, who had a mastery of the logistics required for running of a hanger that was almost preternatural.


Krale didn’t answer, he simply walked onto his personal Stormbird, his chosen squad filing in behind him, two more squads climbing in after them, the tension was visible, an almost electric charge filtering through them all as the slab-like ramp rose into place, casting them in the deep red of the interior lighting, the dirge-caster throwing the calls of the Blood God’s daemons and the screams of dying to wash over the assembled warriors.  He felt the surge of the Stormbird roaring out of his strike cruiser, slamming the base of his chainaxe against the metal grate beneath him, pounding out a steady beat, watching the distance-counter on his lens ticking away rapidly, other World Eaters following suit, the interior filling with the clattering of weapons and feet on the deck, fists on chests and against the walls of the venerable Stormbird, it wasn’t for any reason other than to distract them and prevent a brawl within the tight confines of the Stormbird, but as the distance dropped, the beat increased, like a rumble of thunder announcing a storm, it built in intensity.


The Stormbird itself was flying through the scattered interceptor fire the Word Bearers still had operational, a flight of Hellbats a variant of corrupted Fury’s, favoured by the Imperium, flying close protection around it, even as the Thunderhawks and other transports filled the space between the two ships, not everything was surviving the short flight, a thunderhawk bearing renegades of the Crimson Sabres, long since calling themselves the Crimson Slaughter, sworn to his service was destroyed, casting the tattered remains of the Astartes within through the void like debris.  A fat troop carrier with slaughterscum, the dregs of humanity so lost to bloodlust they could be called beasts, exploded spectacularly so violently its death caught one of the many Hellbats roaring between the transports.


“Ten seconds!” roared Krale as he pushed to the front of the gathered World Eaters.


“Maim!  Kill!  Burn!” chanted one of the World Eaters, the chant being echoed by the twenty-four World Eaters rapidly as the slaughter came that much closer.


They all jerked forward as the Stormbird hurled into the launch bay of the Word Bearers, its weapon systems wiping out any groups of the enemies, the ramp slamming down with a clatter on the deck, the scattered remnants of the Word Bearers deckhands backing away as the World Eaters charged out of the ancient gunship.  Krale was the first into the enemy, his hungry chainaxe cleaving through mortals without pause, but it was too easy, the mortals falling like wheat to the scythe, and it was then that the real threat came into the launch bay.  Two squads of Word Bearers, bearing their bolters at the ready filing out of the entrance portal.  The blood-crazed slaughterscum charged straight into the Word Bearers guns, bursting apart easily as they made no headway in reaching the Astartes.


One of the Word Bearers carried a heavy bolter, and raked his weapon through the mortals, loyal to both the World Eaters and the Word Bearers, Krale picked up a dropped power sword of one of his World Eaters, the previous owner laying in a pool of his own congealing blood, armor pulped by the heavy bolter.  Throwing it like a spear he didn’t expect to even wound the Word Bearer, but it did catch his attention, ducking back as the sword sailed past.  The momentary reprieve in firepower allowing the Astartes of the Blood Hands warband to charge forward, half a dozen of the renegades who had joined the band falling before they reached the Word Bearers, a couple of World Eaters knocked off their feet, and then the battle was joined, ceramite clashed against ceramite, the screech of chainweapons carving into ancient armor, bolters discharged at close range, throwing bodies back.  Krale dragged his weapon clear of the stomach of the Word Bearer he gutted, kicking the dying warrior to the ground and marching past, the champions were his goal, and they were skilled, working together to cut down any who closed with them.


“Blood for the Blood God!” he roared, leaping at the pair, he heavy axe driving one champion to his knees as he blocked it with both his power swords.  His comrade sweeped into try and catch Krale as his weapon was engaged, swinging a power maul for the side of the World Eaters warlord.


Krale stepped back out of the blow, pulling his weapon back, the head of the immense weapon dragging the two swords with it, pulling the Word Bearer off balance.  Spinning on the spot he brought his axe around on the stumbling Word Bearer, the axehead smashing into the faceplate, the revving engine suddenly roaring again as Kor’agrash tasted the blood of another Astartes, the champion falling with half his skull removed, the jagged remains spitting blood before the body toppled over.  Krale didn’t stop though, stepping around the toppling body to swing his axe overhead, slamming into the raised weapon to block in, driving the Word Bearer to his knees, the teeth scraping against the pauldron of the warrior.  He kicked out sharply, pushing the champion to the deck, he struggled to defend himself as the axe came down again, smashing into his chest, the power of the strike crumpling the armor and the daemon feasting on the rich blood of another champion.


His warriors had slaughtered the rest of the Word Bearers, not free of losses, a trio of World Eaters lay in the heaped warriors, as did many of the renegades that had joined the Blood Hands.  Krale shrugged as he ripped his weapon free of the champion’s body, and led the charge into the bowels of the Word Bearers ship, slaughtering the crew as they went, battling the Word Bearers as they found them.  The Blood Hands swarmed the Word Bearer’s ship, filling the halls with their own slaughterscum and bloody butchers as they claimed deck after deck, the gunnery  deck fell silent, the few remaining weapons no longer spitting angrily at the [i]Devastation[/i] as the slaugherscum overran the gunnery crews and slaves.  The engine room fell to a freakishly coordinated attack from both entrances by World Eaters and members of the Skulltakers, the Apothecarium was taken from three squads of Word Bearers by a swarm of slaughterscum and fifty Astartes owing allegiance to Zathos Krale, the Bloody Hand.


All that was left, was the bridge, the blast door sealed, the bodies of a squad of Word Bearers and their cultist followers, mixed with the odd body of one of Krale’s warriors and mounds of slaughterscum, and Krale licked his lips as the largest World Eater, and most ancient of their number stalked forward, his immense armored form dripping with gore, the World Eaters bowing their heads in respect to this most ancient of their former Legion.  Varkas the Immortal, sealed within the corrupted form of a Contemptor-pattern Dreadnought, his sanity still in check, for he never suffered the bite of the Butcher’s Nails, although the blood lust of Khorne could overwhelm even his ancient mind at times.


“Brother Slaughterer,” growled Varkas as he stamped past, drawing his form back and lunging forth to slam his powerfists against the blast door.


Again and again he struck, the doors designed to protect the most critical section of the bridge could not withstand the power arrayed against them, over and over he struck the metal bending at first, and then the breach appeared, enough for one of the thick fingers of the powerfist to grip, hauling the breach wider as a hail of bolter fire rained uselessly against the Immortal’s skin, detonating against the massive powerfist currently ripping the blast door apart.  The Immortal shattered what remained of the door, stomping into the bridge and flooring Word Bearer after Word Bearer, crushing some beneath his tread, smashing others with blows of his fists, keeping his weapons clear of the World Eaters that swarmed in after him.  The slaughter was complete, the Word Bearers Dark Acolyte fighting to the last, but his skills were found wanting as Krale cut down his personal champion, only for Varkas to lunge forward and tear the posturing fool in two with an almost casual gesture.


The slaughter was complete, and the World Eaters and their renegade cousins began the grisly task to claiming the skulls of the fallen for Khorne, the holds of two fat transports filled to the brim as Krale reached the launch bay again, stepping over discarded bodies, the armor stripped from the fallen being piled by the slaves of one of the warpsmiths of the Blood Hands, the weapons similarly being placed for collection.  He stalked past them all, reaching his target, the Warpsmith Tygarias, formerly of the Iron Warriors, his bloodlust brought common cause with the Blood Hands, serving as their chief master of the machines.


“What did we get then?” he growled, planting the head of his axe against the deck.


“Another Stormbird, and two more Thunderhawks from this bay, the other has only one serviceable Thunderhawk, but requires some repairs,” said Tygarias happily, looking at the forms of the ones to be salvaged for parts.  “These however will need to be pulled apart, even I can’t get them to fly again,”


“Anything else?”


“A few empty dreadnoughts, and a mess of hell machines that seem to be waiting for daemonic insertion, they should be ready for the next war you find for us,” the warpsmith twisted the bolter in his hand slowly, the attached plasma device was spent, but the warpsmith didn’t care overly much, his gauntlet absorbing the weapon easily, the Obliterator Virus within his body aiding him in his belief that the machine would best the flesh.  “We have the gene-seed of their apothecarium, enough to make perhaps fifty warriors, and the arms and armor of the dead would go a long way to arming them,”


“And the kill count?” grumbled Krale as he pictured bastard sons of Lorgar fighting alongside his warband.


“Final tally of worthy kills?  One hundred and sixty-three Word Bearers, including the ones on the bridge, and we lost eighty-three of the renegades, and twenty-six World Eaters,” said Tygarias peacefully, watching his arm form into the combi-bolter he had just absorbed.


“Get it aboard the [i]Devastation[/i], and set the charges, the Word Bearers can have their ship back, doesn’t need to be easy for them though,” said Krale stepping aboard his Stormbird.


He had another war to reach, and he would reach it before the month was out, of that he had no doubt, the bloody dreams that plagued his moments of sleep showing a war with many worthy kills to be had.  With a roar to Khorne he threw himself into one of the seats of the Stormbird, panting as the flashes of memory filled his mind of the slaughter that had just happened, the champions who fell to him, the warriors who barred his path, glimpses were all he had, the Butcher’s Nails had turned it all into a blur of movement and flashes of the blood red he enjoyed seeing.  Looking at his hands, the blood coating him so thickly that the brass edging along his armor was all but gone, the planet in the great maw was still visible on his pauldron, as was the blood hand placed over it, as though even Khorne wanted people to know who was to be killing them.  Soon it would happen again.