[@Dusty][@BCTheEntity][@Andreyich]


[i]In the subterranean warrens below the battlefield...[/i]


Sweat, along with other more bodily functions, dripped from the quivering flesh of the huddled multitudes roped together and gathered like cattle in the underground 'Cathedral of Anash'Ra' – a name given to the vast cavern by those cultists initially sent to Anairu to sow the seeds of its destruction in the name of Slaanesh.

On a plateau of granite there was a focal point upon which only the most determined or iron-willed of the planets kidnapped inhabitants would look, adorned as it was by the cults sacrificial altar of supernaturally 'steaming' metal – if it was metal, looking more like a pulsing purple cocoon, wisps of multicoloured gas drifting toward the caverns highest points before evaporating as if by magic – three figures surrounding it... four, if you included the sacrificial individuals.

The foremost among them was a masked figure in robes that never seemed to stop changing colour, sometimes agonised faces seemingly pressing against the flesh-like material, crying to be set free, his hook-nosed mask equally shifting in texture and colour if not in form; due to this, beside his height and any pallid skin that could be seen, the man below was visually an enigma, the two towering ones at either end of the altar less so.

Both were half-men, their lower bodies furred and hoofed, their features warped to that of horned Beastmen, Satyrs even if one should know those most ancient of Terran myths!

One stood in silence and clutched a two-handed axe in huge hands, both the weapon and the beast drenched in the blood of a hundred or more innocents, while the other... the other was in an obviously perpetual state of priapic arousal, those being sent to the Prince of Pleasure doing so after hideous violation – at least their deaths following that were swift and sure.

“Magister!” A purple-cloaked messenger sprinted past the bloody-handed executioner without a glance, kneeling before his earthly lord, “Magister, above ground, the-”

“The Astartes have arrived.”

It was a statement rather than a question, but the courier seemed unmoved by the pronouncement and simply gave a nod of acknowledgement, “I have never seen their like before, but they are here your holiness, as you have no doubt foreseen. They shine in silver and fight with the fury of many.”

There was an intake of breath and a slight twitch of one hand from the Magister, “we shall need to quicken our pace! Move these cattle faster, we shall call for reinforcements and summon our god a little earlier than I had intended.”


[hr]


The gore and offal of several dozen attackers coated Bieito quite nicely as he threw himself through the wattle-and-daub wall of the nearest building, a fine layer of dried clay adding itself to the blood and multiple small scorch marks where high-powered las had impacted on his armour,  dust moving all around him as he stomped toward the opposite wall only to cease his movement for a moment.

Curled in the corner of the building, which had obviously been a habitation before he somewhat barrelled into it, were two people – one a small child and the other a women who glared at him with unrestrained fury... but also the correct amount of fear – Bieito feeling absolutely nothing as he looked at them, not a twinge of some primal familiarity nor a sense of needing to keep them safe, it was odd to him that at this moment he pondered on how odd it was to him that it even was so odd to him to feel like a hollow shell!

For a further several second he wondered if he should kill them both, they were worthless and corrupted and would surely burn in the flames of retribution anyway, so why not?

As it happened the choice was taken from him rather unexpectedly, the distinct sound of a multi-laser being shifted into position not far off causing him to turn his gaze away for a split second, snapping fleetly back as a child's cry was cut off by a [i]crack[/i] and a [i]snap[/i] and a hysterical twitter.

Framed instantly by his targetting reticle was the now non-existent mother holding up the head of her offspring, an elongated tongue moving to lap up warm blood even as her face started to melt and reform in a visage that was created to make any mortal drop to their knees in adoration... but he was far from mortal.

“Come,” it crooned even as it – oh it was an [i]it[/i] alright – nonchalantly threw the head to one side, squatting on haunches that had began to break and reknit together, “join us Space Marine, join the orgasmic embrace of Sla-.”

It never would finish uttering blasphemies, the Grey Knights halberd flicking out faster than the eye could see and cutting the earthly shell of the half-formed Neverborn in two, ceasing the process.

“Brothers, we must be on our guard” warned Bieito over his helmet vox, even now scanning about for emerging threats, “the enemy know we are here and I believe are moving to fortify choke-points in the town, that and they are finally summoning help from the beyond. Daemons.” 

He could not keep a little hint of relish from his tone, what Knight in their right mind did not wish to test their mettle against [b]direct[/b] servants of the Dark Gods?

“Recognised, Brother Bieito,” came a crackling reply from their Justicar, “we must all move with extreme caution and extreme prejudice, we are but five – even if we are Knights of Titan – do not hesitate to slay those you find, for each is a potential portal. We must head toward entrance sigma-epsilon-epsilon with all haste.”