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@Sophrus@Wraithblade6@Necroes@Klomster@BCTheEntity

Vedius could not have planned it better himself, mulling over the details of his execution of the small group of Red Corsairs in his mind as he walked, his steps oddly light for one clad in the bulky armour of the Astartes. The details even now began to become fuzzy in his mind, but he had managed to convince the Corsairs and their Apothecary to lead the way out of the shuttle, pulling one of the heavier weapons from the nearest rack and, once they were crushed between two walls nearby the door of the lander, had fired a fully automatic magazine of explosive-tipped bolts straight into them; it had not been clean, it had not been clever, but it had worked and had gotten rid of a rogue contingent within the 'group'.

Were they even a group?

Such thoughts evaporated as he continued following the trail of the Dark Angel tech-marine and the brutish Greenskin, a bolter clutched in his hands while a smaller version was mag-locked to his hip, his sleek blade which had given his unit its name poking out from his other hip.

He could hear movement up ahead, then the whump, whump of shotgun blasts, his legs beginning to quicken and his steps to become heavier as he urged his body to reach the scene of the action.

The Pride had been on its way out of the fleet battle when the warning runes had began to flicker, Captain Isaiah – who had been perfectly happy just to ignore such things, they were bleeding into space after all, riddled with Eldar shuriken rounds – being alerted by one of his bridge crew that the alert was not coming from exterior damage but from the forced opening of prisoner cells on one of the lower decks; this was mere moments before the master of the Astropathic choir had reported a small but sudden fluctuation of physic energy somewhere inside the vessel.

If there was one thing that the Captain refused to believe in, it was coincidence. He had been a military man for far too long and witnessed far too much, and he knew that nothing happened separate of something else, that was just the way it was. When it was said that both these things came from the same deck, area and corridor, then he knew this was no random occurrence. Out here, away from the battle, so close to jumping back through the warp and to his home base, there was time to focus on such small matters that would otherwise have been missed.

“Dispatch a Commissar and several teams of Armsmen, I want to know what's happening immediately.”

Commissar Krike strode along the corridor with his power blade activated and his bolt-pistol held ready, his own team of a dozen shotgun-wielding Ratings converging on the brig section from one end, another team of a similar number moving in from another. A third team had been sent toward the armoury to secure it, but that was none of his present concern. In his imposing uniform and peaked cap he was an impressive figure, calm and collected and as ardent a worshipper of the God-Emperor as could be, and he knew that his men would fight and die for him.

“What the-”

The shock of finding a Greenskin, one that had burnt simplistic text into the wall no less, alone amidst the remains of a prison block – one that now looked charred and blackened by some unholy rite – caused even the Commissar to temporarily halt in his footsteps. It was only for split second, just long enough for the ingrained impulse to kill all Xenos to kick into action, his bolt-pistol rising and firing as if he were on a practice range back in the Progenium.

“Open fire! Open fire!”

A dozen shotguns opened up on the hulking fiend, their shots rocking the Ork back even as he tried to come forward, the bolt-pistol taking chunks of flesh and tissue from it. From behind came the second team, another bellowed order and further shots from autoguns, lasguns and shotguns doing there own fair share of damage.

In a matter of minutes, minutes of near constant firing, all that remained of the Orkish psyker was a twitching and mutilated corpse; three bolt rounds to the creatures cranium saw an end to the nerve movements, but having found it here just raised more questions for the Captain.

“Tell the Captain what we found here,” snapped Krike to the closest comm-operator, “and the rest of you will follow me to the armoury. Escaped prisoners and arms do not mix. Quickly now!”

A bio-hazard disposal team was dispatched to the deck to remove the body, Captain Isaiah grinding his teeth together in frustration.

What the bloody Warp was going on?!
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