[BC] The Blackest Heart (IC)

[A.T.]

Xerxes:

 

A final scan of the pict displays, the rabble appeared inadequately armed to deal with heavy armour but perhaps amongst their assorted weaponry would be something for the sniper to address.

 

The door should provide an adequate choke-point to limit their numbers if the others could hold their ground. Dendrite-blades flicked up into position as the adept took a final look into the conduits above estimating the risk that they might be outflanked.

[Mazer Rackham]

Xerxes:

 

GM: I did offer the occupants of the room an Easy (+20) Awareness Check, but I don't think anyone took me up on it, and was going to let the chance pass. However, I offer this to you now, as you've mentioned it.

 

 

 

 

[A.T.]

Xerxes:

 

Awareness

Xerxes: Roll 61 vs target 76 - pass (optical mechadendrite for flashlight/darkvision/infravision)

Ephialtes: Roll 88 vs target 21 - fail

[Mazer Rackham]

Xerxes:

 

Above all the noise and bluster, beyond the shouting and shooting, it is the quietest thing that draws your attention, for silence in mechanical terms is a problem, a fault. You discern that one of the filtration ducts has ceased the gentle hum of operation, a small trivia, perhaps, yet from a mechanical standpoint this can mean one of two possibilities: either the system has been so poorly maintained it has suffered a malfunction and collapsed, or it has been shut down.

 

GIven the quality of this installation, and the hardiness of the main components, the former is unlikely, if built properly to STC standards.

 

A cursory glance shows that a significant amount of bullt impacts from the room's previous occupants lurk around one of the extractor fans, which slowly, slowly grinds to a halt even as you watch it...

[A.T.]

Xerxes:

 

"The rabble are a distraction, we are being outflanked"

 

A position in the doorway seemed the safest, stub guns and knives little threat in small numbers to his augmented frame and an opportunity to seal the room from outside if needed...

[Xin Ceithan]

Cyrandras

 

Rushing forward through the continuing hail of lasbolts, the former Astral Claw grunted as another shot managed to get past his warplate. Through gritted teeth, Sorcerer  called  upon the blood of Erishgal to aid the attempts of his genenhanced physiology to cope with the damage . 
 

He loosened another volley from his Bolter as he advanced, trying to use the increasing cloud of debris as cover. They had to end this quick, or they would risk being overtaken by sheer numbers…

 

Spoiler

Remaining Wounds  11 / 19

 

Burn 1 Infamy for HP recovery 
 

Half Action: move ( into cover, forward if possible)

Half Action : Burst - Boltgun at Mob B

 

GM : Feel free to roll ( still at work)

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Cyrandras:

 

As you dart forward, you fire, only to recieve the snarky clck-clack of derision from your weapon.

 

SAB: D100 97 MISS and JAM

 

 

[Lord_Ikka]

The Smiler

 

He moved towards the doorway, sword unsheathed and eyes darting. Battle...so wasteful.

[Mazer Rackham]

Crux'As ONLY:

 

Spoiler

You see your reflection in the steel of the doorframe, but although the face is yours, the eyes are his.

No, my friend, He doesn't say with your smiling mouth, even though the muscles ache with the pull. Reach for your salvation in the dark...

 

Your gaze is forced towards the broken grille around the antenna array. Perhaps a nimble man fit...

 

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Click.

 

Somehow, even in a vacuum, Rykaz could hear the hated sound of an Astartes bolter jamming. Cyrandras’ weapon had failed to fire. Amongst the Executioners, it was an ill omen, a prophecy of future trouble far beyond the immediate problem.

 

Of course, even without any greater significance, a jam was seriously bad news. A lasgun alone was a paltry threat, but Hagga wasn't sure that they would survive another volley unless they did something to thin the xenos’ numbers, or at least break their mindless alien focus. He snarled, suddenly furious at the thought of their being defeated by such a feeble foe. An ignominious loss, an insult to his pride and his honour, and an ugly scar upon his personal record of martial glory.

 

Damn the Corsairs for their lack of maintenance! Damn Iorek, and Huron bloody Blackheart too, for sending their forces in so abysmally unprepared and ill-equipped! For that matter, damn the flaming Executioners too, for leaving him behind, alone, forced to join with such traitorous dogs!

 

Damn! Damn! DAMN!

 

Barely holding in his rage, Hagga looked around, seeking a way to regain the initiative. And then, suddenly, he saw it. On the central arm of the second level gantry, the last Astartes from the other Krokodil had hunkered down in cover. The wreckage he sheltered behind was pocked with dozens of stubber impacts. The Executioner growled at the Corsair’s abject cowardice and opened his microbead again.

 

+++You! On the center arm! We need supporting fire, now!+++

 

A crackle, and a voice responded, surly and twisted by age and pain and bitterness.

 

+++Negative. I'm pinned… and injured… That fire team has me bracketed, if I move I'm dead. Besides, I'm down to my last two rounds…+++

 

Hagga's fury exploded and he interrupted the other Marine with a vicious curse.

 

+++  I don't give a damn how many bolts you have left, or how injured you are! You are Astartes! Where is your warrior pride? Stand! You were born to die joyfully in battle! It is your purpose!+++

 

His voice dropped suddenly, into a menacing hiss that nevertheless lost none of the rage that fuelled it.

 

+++You will fire every round you have, for if you cost us our rightful victory and you somehow survive this mess, I will hunt you down myself. You and yours call me ‘heart-eater’? If you will not fight, I swear I will rip both your cowardly hearts out with this blade, and you will watch as they are eaten up by its fire before you die!+++

 

 

 

 

Command Test: Order Corsair to attack Horde B
Fel45, Roll: 16, 3DoS

 

Hagga gains +1 Corruption (now on 4)

For preference, I'd rather he took a half Aim and a Standard Shot to maximise his chances of hitting, rather than a SAB. All I want is 1 Hit (+1 for X) to take the Mag down to a (marginally) safe(r) level.
 

 

Hopefully it is fairly obvious, but I was trying to pull both of Hagga's Failings of Martial Prowess and Wrath into the narrative? I'm not sure where the Incursion comes in, but I'll leave that up to our GM

 

 

 

 

Edited January 28 by Lysimachus

[Machine God]

Kraggan:

 

As Kraggan turned to face the attack he felt a tug, his data-jack was still plugged in. 

 

He'd been downloading Station Logs to look for clues. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PER42 / 2 = 21 +20 (Easy) =41. Result: 28, Pass 2DoS

 

 

 

 

 

 

The files had downloaded, so he unjacked. Just what had he found? 

 

 

 

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Hagga:

 

GM: I would put it to a vote, but your RP is well regarded, so I will award an Incursion of +20 to the BS Test.

 

The Corsair stares at you, vibrating with hate-filled, kill-urge. He stands up, a torrent of hard rounds spanking from his armour, chipping away red and black paint in a grim pantomime of erasing him even as he moves. He sights up, and without hesitation presses his firing stud.

 

The weapon recoils, the flaming comets birthed as his bolt slams shut on an empty chamber, but the payload is away, strange, eerie light catches them, making the brass-coloured cases look odd with verdigris. His rounds crunch into the descending xenos-lovers, blasting two of them apart in a welter of gore, the soundless ballet of insta-fried viscera obscene where it interacts with other rubble, blobs of oil and blood.

 

Unfazed, the enemy continue their descent, irrespective of casualties or threat, but they are lessened.

 

It all happens at once.

 

As he reloads, the unnamed Corsair is caught by the resulting fusillade from below and freakishly this catches his fresh magazine, which detonates on his belt, blasting a terrible hole in his metal skin and genewrought flesh. New redness soaks his painted scarlet, repainting wargear with sacrifice. More glowing hornets catch above his gorget, punching through the lower plate of his faceplate.

 

Red lenses ebb whilst power armour systems try to keep him alive, but he begins to burn inside his suit as the rich oxygen photoflares*.

 

The dead, roasting man, puched off his feet slowly floats towards the open launch-bay door, and darkness.

 

It is a quiet, simple thing to fall, brothers. Damnation comes not in the leaps of giants, but in the slow, silent cuts to our soul. How terrible it is to think it. How easy it is to deny it, but more dangerous and terrible still to admit it.

 

Thulsa Kane, The High Morteurge. His voice rebounds in your mind from his sermon, unable to escape the confines of your skull, and even then the void smothers it inside your casque. Perhaps there is no going back now.

 

Horde B, Mag Dam: 2

 

Edited January 29 by Mazer Rackham
*More Dank Abnett, for Xin Ceithan

[Mazer Rackham]

Kraggan:

 

Your searching pulls togother fragments of the asteroid's history. Most of them are routine communications, acknowledgments and signal traffic. Other bits and peices of personal communiqués detailing the rough and ready humdrum life of the mixed complement of male and female work crews. It appears that the original inhabitants of this rockball were low-risk, skilled-labour convicts, supplemented by a cadre of trustees from the Institutiona Poena Iudicarem, a subdivision dealing with Class C and low Class B prisoners allowed to shorten their term through work.

 

This facility, simply known as Space Object #3306 was established two centuries after the Horus Heresy, initially by the Mechanicum, then freelanced to a local tech guild.

 

Other files you can pick out are fractally damaged, likely data-shredded, irrecoverable.

 

Parts of the Officers' Logs, however, are more 'recent':

 

Chief Mining Overseer: (Codex CY -150)

Spoiler

...six haulers. How in hell are we supposed to fill that with only half our staff? The Coggers won't take no for an answer, though. I should inform the Adjutant. Maybe he can buy us some leeway...

 

Chief Mining Overseer: (Codex CY -149)

Spoiler

...underway. The ships never stop coming now, either carrying convicts for the work gangs, Judges to keep them in line, or taking our ore. We're well over quota, and I suspect we're going to suddenly find our caps increased. As long as we keep getting that manpower, Throne knows-

 

Chief Mining Overseer: (Codex CY -145)

Spoiler

...who the hell these guys are. They've sequestered the Adjutant for over a week, with all my work heads and everyone from Crew 16. Nobody dares say anything, and the soldiers scare the living piss out of me. Every time I ask where my guys are, I get told to mind my own business, then asked if I serve the Emperor. Bastards! I earned my pardon, who are these-

 

Crew Enginseer: (Codex CY -143)

Spoiler

...bloody new Adjutant. Miserable bastard. All month Crews 16, 17 and 18 have building...things. Rumour is they've refurbed the old brig. What do we need that for? We're all cons here - well except the Judges. Who read our mail, Petrus! I know you do! I know you hate Johann as well, don't lie to an old lag! Anyway, they've been drilling up top, burned through three-

 

Crew Enginseer: (Codex CY -141)

Spoiler

..sick of this . I'll bet this goes back to what we found. Nothing's been the same since those scuffers put all that junk all over the place. Adjutant warned me to keep it quiet from the Chief or I'll be 'reassigned'. It's not like he's gonna-

 

+++++

 

Krokodil 4-1:

ROUND ONE CONT

 

Horde 14A and 14B continue their pell-mell descent, firing at any targets of opportunity they can.

 

14A Mag 17/20

Spoiler

Half Action Half Move (Momentum Variable)

Half Action SAB at Ukalegon (Random D3)

D100: 1 Hit

1: Body, Dam 19 (rolled double 8's) AP 0

Horde now at 90m

 

14B Mag 18/20 

Spoiler

Half Action Half Move (Momentum Variable)

Half Action SAB at Hagga (Random D3)

D100: Miss

Horde now at 100m

 

ROUND ONE ENDS

 

ROUND TWO BEGINS

 

[ ] Ukalegon

 

Edited January 30 by Mazer Rackham
Fixed the b0rk, cheers Lysi

[Lord_Ikka]

The Smiler

 

The Smiler felt the pull of the mental words, the implanted yearn to go to the grille. It pounded at his brain and blood.

 

The smile stretched and tore at the corners. You think to bend my will? I, Crux'as the Smiler, daemon-friend and demagogue! I have seen deep into the Warp and long to know more of its mysteries and wonders. I will not be turned by some mutant filth towards unknown purposes. My life is my own and my apotheosis will come! Cor'gail the Wild-Weaver, hear my pledge and plea!!

[Necronaut]

Ukalegon

 

Placeholder (extremely busy at work today sorry)

 

Declaring a change vs Horde 14A (assuming they are roughly within range with his reduced charge distance per the used jump pack rules)

 

Operate (Aeronautica) Test: Ag51

D100: 78; 2 DoF

 

Charge: WS41 + 20 + 5 (compact) + 10 (horde) = 76

D100: 48

Edited January 30 by Necronaut
Added charge roll

[Mazer Rackham]

Ukalegon:

Your ramshackle flight pack malfunctions at the last moment of thrust, making your charge erratic. However, your collision with a weapons cabinet from the Krokodil Assault boat currently disintegrating within the landing bay, throws you somewhat at your target in a shower of skating sparks as you body it, resulting in a brute-ram into the loose clump of bodies, still swinging your chainsword. It scatters several to the void, breaks faceplates, hacks off limbs, and leaves you spinning slowly in the chum-wake, until you finally bump into a crate which has more mass than you.

 

GM: Note the rules for movement in Zero G have you as 'prone' due to AG test/Operate Test Failure, but that doesn't mean much in Zero-G. However, I have taken into account your Attack Roll, and applied 1D10 Mag Damage to the Horde directly. Please advise me if you wish to alter this. Your trajectory has left you within 30m of Horde 14B with a suitable 'push-off' block.

 

Mag Dam Horde A: 7

Horde A now at Mag 10.

 

Horde 14C

SAB at Cyrandras (D2 Random)

BS: MISS

 

[ ] Hagga

[ ] Rakash

Edited January 30 by Mazer Rackham

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Hagga's rage fled in the space of a heartbeat. He felt the jarring stubber impacts in his own breast.

 

Though he knew it had been the correct call, that he had been right to expect the fallen Corsair to stand and fight, he felt… shame? Guilt?

 

But why? During his years with the Executioners, he had seen Astartes give their lives in behalf of their brothers many times, and die with pride and honour. Perhaps that was the difference. Sacrifice freely given was a worthy thing. Sacrifice demanded was not. Had Hagga stolen something from the old Corsair - and thereby lessened himself - by forcing him to act?

 

With a growl, he dismissed the thought. He had simply insisted on what the other should already have done of his own initiative. Besides, there was no time now for such windy reflections.

 

Hagga watched as Ukalegon's pack suddenly misfired, throwing off his charge as the first unit came within reach. Still the Lamenter made the most of the brief encounter, using both his blade and his sheer bulk to smash the xeno-mutants as he passed through their ranks.

 

As more blood and debris scattered across the bay, Hagga coldly switched his aim, targeting the second squad still descending a few metres above. As he fired, he voxed Cyrandras.

 

+++Reload. Quickly.+++

 

 

Half: Aim
Half: Standard Shot at Horde B
BS41 +10(Aim) +10(Standard Shot) +10(Horde) = 71, Roll: 59, Hit.
+1 Hit for X
2 Mag Dam caused?

 

[Xin Ceithan]

Cyrandras

 

”++++Reload. Quickly.++++”

 

In the privacy of his helmet,  the Sorcerer couldn’t quite stifle a laugh at the remark.

He’d dropped to one knee, instinctively trying to present a smaller target and reduce exposing more vital parts while performing emergency rites on his throne- damned suddenly erratic Bolter.  The former Sergeant was apparently warming up to being in command again. 
 

He almost expected him to to reprimand Ukalegon next.
“If you are going to crash into the enemy, at least learn to explode properly .”

 

Cyrandras chuckled at the thought, hands moving over the Bolter. His mood darkened somewhat as he thought about how Hagga had commanded the stray Corsair to sacrifice himself for them. That had been …unexpected.
Rakash wondered if the Executioner realized much he’d resembled Huron Blackheart in that moment. Raging, seething, lashing out…

 

He shook his head, focussing on the rite. One more reason to have a say in whose blood was spilled here…

 

+++ Aknowledged. +++++

 

,he voxed acidly . 
 

Spoiler

Full Action : Unjamming Weapon

 

 

[Mazer Rackham]

ROUND TWO CONT

 

Horde 14A (10 Mag):

1 x Mag Half Action: Ready Item Grenade

1 x Mag Half Action: SA Grenade

D100: MISS, bomb goes woopwooopwoop and explodes harmlessly, as outside 5m

Horde Half Action: SAB Ukalegon

D100: 1 Hit

1: Body, Dam: 20 (8, 9) AP 0

 

Horde 14B (16 Mag):

Full Action Run (float?, fly? toboggan?) (-20 to Hit them)

Down towards Hagga and Cyrandras.

 

ROUND TWO ENDS.

 

ROUND THREE BEGINS:

 

[ ] Ukalegon

 

[Necronaut]

Ukalegon

 

Placeholder

 

Declaring charge back into Horde A

Charge: WS41 + 20 (charge) + 5 (compact) (I think the horde has been whittled down to lose the size bonus, please correct if wrong)

D100: 44; 3 DoS

 

Operate (Aeronautica): Ag51

D100: 100 (?!?!)

 

The dice are all over the place today. Do with that what you will. Ukalegon has, somehow, become the setting's clumsiest assault marine/raptor. That or my dice roller is cursed. Probably that. 

Edited January 30 by Necronaut

[Mazer Rackham]

Ukalegon:

As you enter into combat with these xeno-beast fiends, they manage to sever one of your fuel cells with a lucky blow from an axe-rake. The effect is immediate - a nuclear orange glow vents as your reserves turn into fusion torch and send you spinning around in a thoroughly unstable spiral. The benefit of this, of course is the insane amout of heat and damage this flammenwerfer werfs, in which it completely destroys the filth accosting you, but also accelerates you to a speed of 259MPH.

 

Were you ought but Astartes, you would be pulp, however, as Katherine Wheels go, you cut an attractive and robust dash, as you pirouette to the cieling and thereupon brain yourself against the odd, purple-hued black metal it is constructed from.

 

The impact completely blows your visor, aural augurs, and compresses your spine by 0.37 inches, which is enough for your cul to 'D' your sac.

 

Your armour integrity is nominal, keeping you alive, however you are quite blissfully and thankfully, unconscious, preventing you from doing further harm to your own person.

 

Horde 14A is destroyed.

Ukalagon is away with the faeries.

 

ROUND THREE CONT

 

Horde 14 C (Mag 18)

Full Action: Full Move towards Dock Control Blister

 

[ ] Hagga

[ ] Rakash

 

Edited January 31 by Mazer Rackham
Dooble-entendres.

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Half: Aim
Half: Standard Shot at Horde B
BS41 +10(Aim) +10(Standard Shot) +10(Horde) -20(Run) = 51, Roll: 86, miss.

 

Rykaz couldn't quite believe what he was seeing, so much so that his next shot went more than a metre wide.

 

Another malfunction? Or an unorthodox tactic? The first unit of renegades was obliterated by the torrent of fire from the jump pack… but the Lamenter was tossed around like a leaf caught in a maelstrom. Finally the Assault Marine rocketed upwards through the bay and smashed himself senseless against the ceiling. Hagga shook his head slightly in disbelief, then cursed himself soundly for letting the fiery display throw off his aim.

 

Do better, fool.

 

He looked over at Cyrandras, who appeared to have cleared his weapon. Hopefully he would do better than Hagga had done.

 

+++Looks like it's you and me for now, Sorcerer. If you've got any better ideas, I'm all ears?+++

 

 

Edited January 31 by Lysimachus

[Xin Ceithan]

Cyrandras

 

His Auto-Senses shielded him from the worst of the glare as the Lamenter and his foes suddenly vanished in a fireball.

 

Cyrandras shook his head sadly. 

He recalled his own thoughts  earlier, which now appeared almost eerily prophetic. If there were any gods watching, they were certainly displaying a malicious sense of humour.

 

He slapped one of the magazines he‘d acquired from dead Corsair on the Krokodil into his boltgun, reaching the culminationof the ritual. 

 

+++Looks like it's you and me for now, Sorcerer. If you've got any better ideas, I'm all ears?+++

 

 

This time, Cyrandras did laugh. 

 

„Oh, so now  he is asking ME ?! When the tactical situation  moves beyond 

yelling to make one  reload quicker and  hit them with a big  axe ?!“

 

Rakash grimaced and swallowed the thought. After what happened to the other Corsair below just before, it might not be wise to antagonise the Executioner further.

Or at least, not while Cyrandras was in such close proximity….

 

Still….

 

+++ I thought laughing in the face of oblivion and assured mutual destruction were your kind of work, Headsman?! +++

 

The Sorcerer laughed again, vox still open, hoping to build some sense of camaraderie in face of imminent danger. 

 

+++ Your initial ploy is still solid. Thin them out, get stuck in. Mostly though, I‘d recommend getting someplace where they can‘t literally get the drop on us from all sides..+++

 

He raised the bolter, aimed and fired…for emphasis and effect, Cyrandras hoped.

 

Spoiler

Half Action Aim

Half Action SAB - Mob C ( the one on leisurely descent)

 

I‘ll regret this but I‘ll offer to the Gods and call for our GM to roll 

 

[Mazer Rackham]

Krokodil 4-1:

 

Cyrandras (and Hagga):

 

BS D100: 95 MISS and JAM.

 

Dead-man's click. Again. You must now surely suspect the previous stoppage has possibly damaged the feed ramp or bolt-head, as why would a fresh and good-condition magazine prompt another feed problem? Ammunition? No, your rounds were Badabian manufacture, the other bolts were from elsewhere - lacking the Astral Claw's proof runes.

 

Damaged weapon. This benighted mission was thick with mishaps. Maybe that's what Huron wanted, maybe even Sevaris himself knew it. Die well, brother. Perhaps not rhetorical at all.

 

As you summon your Psychic energies to reveal a power more efficacious and dangerous as Space Marine bolt rounds, something happens.

 

From the corner of your eye you see the brilliant fleshes of the autocannon emplacement, heavy shells chewing the gene-polluted recreants on the upper gantry as they flee for the blister. The weapon, a reliable heavy weapon from millennia past, it causes you to look askance at your bolter, perhaps, but not for long.

 

The weapon appears to be using flak, or fragmenting shells, certainly not a standard purpose ammunition, but the emplacement could well have been refitted from a spacecraft, thereby suggesting logical provenance. Silent thunder ceased, the spent flak still scything around, a hatch in the emplacement opens, and diminuitve human appears, pointing a bulky handgun. A rocket-flare ignites as a projectile blasts from it at high velocity - not unlike a bolt - and thumps into the rockrete above the control blister.

 

A heartbeat later, the diminutive mortal, a female by body-shape - despite her smocking voidsuit - hurtles aross the intervening gap of 400m towards the blister, feet first. She kicks or pushes off the smaller crates controlling her transit with deft and natural aplomb, proving her a voider of some experience. Around her body she has a kind of webbing rig, ot unlike the Imperial Guard, but this is quite obviously a local fabrication or pattern.

 

Reaching the gantry rail, she clips herself on, agility given over to clumsiness of digits foiled by a suit. Pulling a grenade, she hurls it into the blister, blasting plastek, armourglass and vellum scraps out of the now shattered and pocked windows. Xenos-filth giblets accompany this. Enemy burrow disinfected enough, she floats inside.

 

+..an you h..r m.? Ge. in.. cov..+ She's breathing hard.

 

Lights begin to flicker across the decks, amber warning sigils. You know you would hear the tocsins, were atmosphere thick enough to breathe, but even if not, you would know hat was happening instinctively. The deep drop in your innards, the pull of down.

 

Gravity generators thump and churn reverberations through the deck, and you can feel the metal beneath your feet - around you - begin to take gigatonnes of strain. It is designed for it.

 

You are not.

 

The suddeness of the shift pull you and Hagga to the deck, setting your feet quite firmly as Arch-Machine Cleric and Gravometry* Magos Isaac Newtonne's laws sieze the docks with an iron grip of reality. There is frantic movement above, as Ukalegon is caught up in a web of rigger straps and cargo netting, which mercifully snag on one of the rails broken by your combined assault.  He drops, to swing in a coarse replication of a silken bolas woven by a monstrous spider.

 

The Xeno-lovers have no such protection. They begin to fall, screaming noiselessly into the aether, knowing well that thier efforts are now in vain. It is this the, perhaps more than the certain death of the fall, that frustrates them so, as if some terrible master of fate, in a giant stake of dice and cruel laughter has robbed them of thier smirking victory.

 

However, as thier suishy bodies plummet, they are not alone, for there are far hardier objects up in the air, and what goes up...

 

Perhaps it is well to take the mysterious female's advice, and find cover.

 

GM: Just narrate getting out of the way lads, and we'll get control of this game from the Fates.

 

+++ STRUCTURED TIME ENDS +++

+++ NARRATIVE TIME BEGINS +++

Edited January 31 by Mazer Rackham
*Dank Abnett, for Xin

[Lysimachus]

Hagga:

 

Even before his feet were solidly on the gantry deckplate, Hagga was looking upwards and moving, positioning himself so that there were no objects larger than a mortal's fist above his head. He could also see that Ukalegon would be fine, his unconscious form caught up in netting that should hold even an Astartes’ weight.

 

Then, all at once, everything began to fall.

 

A rain of metal and flesh. From small fragments of shrapnel to hulking pieces of transports and fightercraft, from tiny droplets of red to… Hagga grinned as the filthy xeno-form twists hurtled past the second level gantry. He could even see a few screaming behind their armaglas faceplates.

 

Let's see… at least 50m down to us on Level 2, then 200m down to Level 1, and then another 100m down to the landing bay floor…

 

A momentary respite, a chance to re-arm, to check on their comrade above. He turned back to Cyrandras, still grinning, and gave the Claw a friendly-ish slap against his pauldron.

 

+++Assured mutual destruction is fine if necessary… but it’s always preferable when you can kill the without it.+++

 

Then he turned to look back up towards the control room.

 

+++We hear you. Our thanks for the assistance.+++

 

 

 

Edited January 31 by Lysimachus