Chapter Nine
Light returned to Amber’s eyes in a sudden rush, forcing her to return to consciousness. She must have fainted after she was grabbed by those horrifying things. Either that, or hit her head pretty hard when she went straight through the floor. That would explain the pounding against her skull, at least, but not the tightness around her fetlocks and shears. She tried to move, but the sound of jangling chains and a straining pain on her limbs made it evident that she wasn’t going anywhere fast. Amber blinked repeatedly to clear her vision, the blurred lights slowly beginning to take shape in the dark. Unfortunately, as soon as she could see, Amber noticed that she was staring inches away from the eyes of a glowing skull. Amber screamed and tried to thrash in her bindings, but to her own surprise, it was the skull that recoiled more. Once she stopped her thrashing, Amber saw the wiring and metallic bits that ran through the skull.
“Oh, i-i-it’s just a servo-skull.” Amber breathed a sigh of relief. “... Why do these humans have to be so fascinated with skulls? It’s way too creepy.” The servo-skull let off a digitized whirr and flew off into the dark corners of the room. “No-no-no, wait, come back, I didn’t mean that! Aww…” Amber’s ears flattened again as she hung limply in her restraints. “I miss it already.” She tried to look around the room and get better bearings of where she might be, but it was still far too dark to properly tell. She was probably still on Armastus, and maybe the Hive City, but she couldn’t tell where. The cold, stone wall pressing against her back made her think she was definitely indoors. Underground, perhaps? Could be, though the Hive Cities on the planet were on artificial islands, and the only metal she felt was on her legs, binding her to the wall.
A bright light briefly shone in the corner of the room, a beat of hope ran through Amber’s heart that one of her friends had come to save her, but it died quick when she saw it was simply the servo-skull… followed by the eerie, unblinking eyes of the serpentine woman. Lady Tzahah emerged from the shadows, the glow of the servo-skulls eyes accenting her alien features in a nightmarish light, glimmering off her golden, fanged smile.
“I am sorry if my acolytes were far too rough with you, bringing you here.” Lady Tzahah said. Her clack of her golden staff with every step made Amber’s heart skip a beat. “Hormagaunts don’t really understand decorum and delicacy in these kinds of matters.” Amber just resumed her thrashing, wanting more than ever to get out of her restraints and away from this crazy woman. “Oh, why that’s a rude gesture, trying to run when I’m apologizing. I’ll have to rectify that.” Lady Tzahah twirled her staff about and rammed the topmost sphere into Amber’s exposed abdomen. Amber groaned, the sudden force causing her yellow cheeks to puff up to prevent the rising bile. “There, slight rectified.”
“Hoarff…” Amber swallowed the hunk of partially digested food and wheezed. “Pain… all the pain…” She coughed again, glancing up at her mutant captor. “Why?”
“Ah, therein is the ultimate question for everything, isn’t it?” Lady Tzahah said. “Why does the Imperial war-machine claim planets that are so hostile that even the flora itself seeks to render them dead? Why does someone as powerful in position as the Planetary Governor feed himself five meals a day while Underhivers starve in their effort to survive? Why wage a war against far more powerful Xenos adversaries whom simply wish to live their lives? Why work from absolute nothingness to gain the ear of the most powerful man on the planet?” She cupped Amber’s face in one hand, her clawed nails pressing against the pony’s cheek. “Why prompt an alliance with a power eclipsing existence itself that has access to a greater reality that one we currently reside?” Tzahah giggled, her nightmarish eyes matching with Amber’s own. “I gave you that answer already.” Amber shook her head, releasing the rogue advisor’s grip on her face.
“You think your plan will work?” Amber snapped. Tzahah put a hand to her chest, a gesture of mock surprise. “The Merodi are far more intelligent than whatever you and the rest of the Genestealers on this planet are planning. We’ve come against far more dangerous things and come out strong every time!”
“Ah, but I doubt even your precious Merodi Universalis can prepare for a widespread infiltration down to the genetic level, little morsel.” Tzahah replied. She parted her mouth, and out lolled an elongated tongue, thin and serpentine, that reached down to the center of her chest. “Especially after you bear witness to the ceremony, and hear the ever hungry call of the Hive as we do.” She set her cane aside, which seemed to magnetically keep itself straight on the floor even without Tzahah’s hold, and grabbed ahold of Amber again, bringing their faces uncomfortably close to one another. “I look forward to seeing what the Gift will do to you, my little treat. Once it is within you, you’ll play an instrumental part in bringing about a glorious new dawn for the multiverse. A veritably delicious banquet for the Hive.” She purred, a look of ecstasy upon her face appearing that made Amber extraordinarily uncomfortable and terrified. “I can taste it now.” The cold and wet touch of Tzahah’s monstrously long tongue pressed itself against Amber’s cheek, slowly tracing itself upwards along her face. The bile that Amber had swallowed earlier was already coming back up, the sheer thought of any form of violation by this thing that was jeopardizing her mission for the Merodi sending a surge of sickness and anger through her body. For the past week, she had been tormented and teased by the representatives of this galaxy, belittling her for her meekness and haste to apologize, even her friends viewing her as more a liability than a true contributor to the cause.
No more. No more!
A burst of strength ran through Amber’s body, emboldening her through raw emotion and fury as she tugged at the restraints on her hindlegs. With a sundering shatter of stone, the restraint on her left leg broke from the wall and shot upwards, striking Tzahah directly at the base of her jaw. A crack, a squelch, and a wail, and Tzahah broke away from her twisted embrace of the pony, clutching her mouth in agony as a waterfall of red and green ichor cascaded through her fingers and onto the floor. Amber yanked at her restraints again, pulling herself free from the wall with both her forelegs, even as the manacles still were bound to her ankles. As she came to the ground, her hoof touched something in the dark, wet and soft. She squinted her eyes, and saw, squirming in a progressively expanding pool of blood, was Tzahah’s own two-foot long tongue, writhing on the ground like a snake in the throws of death.
“How’s THAT taste, freak?!” Amber shouted, kicking the tongue to the side. Tzahah withdrew her hands, gawking in horror at the blood that stained her fingers, and the vacant sensation in her flooded mouth. She snarled, her bloodied golden fangs muddied in the dim light of the chamber, glaring at Amber like a feral animal. “Not too happy about losing your tongue, huh? Serves you right for being a creepy alien pervert!”
“Wha’… wha’ strenff you ‘ave….” Tzahah gurgled, more blood gushing through her lips and staining her robes. Amber smirked and stamped her hoof again, a sizeable crack forming underneath on the stonework.
“Might be out of touch, but there’s some things you don’t forget as a member of the Daughters of Manehattan.” Amber said. “Like how to really kick some flank when you’re downright peeved.” She lowered her head, scraping her hoof on the ground as she glared down the advisor. “Yamira would probably like to kill you first, but I think I totally earned this just now.” Amber yelled at the top of her lungs and charged, surging towards Tzahah with a fire burning in her eyes. The Genestealer woman snarled back, and raised her clawed hand overhead in an anticipatory swipe. Before either could make a response, a flash of two bright orange lights shone in the dark behind Tzahah. Amber only briefly looked upon them for a moment, but a moment was all that was needed. Drowsiness instantly took hold of the yellow pony, her slurred state of mind causing her legs to carry her off away from her path, careening right into a wall. The collision instantly knocked Amber out, sending her sprawling to the ground with a bloody gash on her head.
Tzahah stared at the pony with hatred and fascination, even as the blood flowing from her mouth trickled its last few drops. “Su’h powa’... Su’h re’ilian’...” Tzahah muttered. She walked over to her staff and picked it up, carefully keeping her eyes on Amber, in watch for any potential sudden movements. Save for the twitch of a leg, the pony did not move. Tzahah wiped her chin clean of blood, her snake-like eyes narrowed to slits as she glared at her future progenitor of a new Genestealer strain. “An’ i’ will belong to ‘e.” Her lips curled back into their usual wicked smile, the dripping of blood in the room accompanied by the sound of her claws pecking against the metal of her staff. A thought rang out through the Hive Mind of the cult, Tzahah issuing her command to her disciples to collect the soon-to-be addition to their clutch. The humiliation was brief, but soon, Tzahah would achieve far more than she could ever accomplish than on a backwater like Armastus. A planet would be an entree for the Swarm, but the Multiverse would be a buffet of infinite proportions.
The air in the cramped hidden corridor smelled of rust and mildew. Though Yamira’s nose only partially functioned, the half that could smell the rancid odor wrinkled a bit from the sting of decaying metal and fungus. Yet still, she needed to keep her nostril open to follow after the Genestealer filth. Though the shot Devon made likely cauterized the wound, burn wounds can still bleed. She knew this more than most.
The blue glow of her power sword only gave Yamira a few feet of visibility in the dark corridor, only shining the dark metal and ferrocrete just slightly out of her arms reach. Every step she took was careful and concise, moving at a slow and deliberate pace to mask her footsteps. One errant misstep and her position would be given away, and the Genestealer would come upon her.
‘Not that it has much room in here.’ Yamira thought. ‘Barely any room to swing my sword, let alone prepare for an ambush.’ True to her own thoughts, the corridor was far more cramped than she had anticipated. Were she to press her hands against both sides of the walls, Yamira would have no room to keep her arms even remotely straight. The ceiling itself was only a meter taller than she was, so her quarry had less opportunity to pounce upon her from above. Still, it was cramped and claustrophobic. Never a good place to be for anyone, especially an irate Commissar chasing after a mutagenic Xenos. Yamira removed her hat and brushed her sleeve across her forehead, the wet sting of sweat that started to drip from her hat and into her eye acting as an annoying distraction.
The tunnel ahead seemed to grow darker ahead, her sword no longer illuminating the environment around her. Before she could properly think as to why, she lost her footing on a phantom step and stumbled forward. Her shin clanged against something rounded and heavy, a dull jolt running up her leg as she quickly braced her foot against something else. The echoing clang ran throughout the chamber, now sounding vastly larger and cavernous in the dark. Yamira hissed and withdrew her leg, only to bump her heel against another hard, metallic surface, sending another ring throughout the room. She furrowed her brow and lowered her sword to inspect what she had just bumped into. A pipe, nearly as thick as a human head. Yamira glanced behind her, more pipes. The blue glow shone more and more pipes of varying sizes and groupings, snaking around her in a labyrinthine pattern.
‘A boiler room.’ Yamira mused. ‘Certainly explains the humidity.’ A few dull lumens flickered overhead, casting pale yellow light from above, barely enough to properly see. Yamira cursed and continued walking around in the dark, her hand held out to locate any other pipes that would seek to trip her up. Unfortunately, as soon as her hand merely brushed the surface of one of the larger pipes, Yamira pulled her hand away with a hiss. The metal was practically superheated, no doubt done so for distributing Velour’s bath water, and it nearly burned her through her own gloves. ‘Like I need further means of scarring my skin.’ Yamira slowly walked among the vacant spaces of the pipes, squinting in the dark even with the aid of her sword. To her fortune, some of the lumens seemed to flicker on and off, illuminating the room bit by bit, yet not nearly enough for her to properly see.
“Wait…” she stopped in her tracks, tightening her grip on her sword. “Can Genestealers see in the dark?” No sooner had the words left her lips that a primal roar resounded off the metal walls. Yamira whirled about and drew her bolt pistol from her hip, aiming it at the closest source of the noise and pulling the trigger. Three loud pops rang out, the muzzle flashes bathing the dark room in a blinding light. Her shots missed, simply denting the walls or grazing the pipes, but she saw where her prey was. The tall, gaunt and monstrous creature stood perched upon a pipe above her, clinging tightly to its vantage with a clawed hand. She could see the stump where Devon had removed one of the other limbs, but three arms still remained, with two holding long and serrated bone blades. The Genestealer’s eyes gleamed in the dark, its tongue rolling from between its jagged teeth. A single drop of drool dropped from its mouth and landed onto a pipe in front of Yamira, sizzling into nothingness.
Yamira drew a bead again and fired, but the Genestealer was already moving. It hissed as it jumped from pipe to pipe, flashes of its purple chitinous hide flaring in the light of Yamira’s muzzle flare. It was nearly identical to a full-blown Hormagaunt. The thought that the Genestealers had been so active that they nearly achieved full Tyranic genes made Yamira’s blood boil. She fired again, catching one of the pipes the Genestealer clung to. The bolt tore clean through the metal, breaking what little support it had for a creature of such size. The Genestealer shrieked and plummeted to the ground, landing in a mess of pipes just out of Yamira’s sight. No telling how quickly the damn thing could recover from such a fall. Yamira discharged the empty rounds from her pistol and set to reloading, keeping her eyes trained on the spot she saw the Genestealer drop. Once she heard the satisfying click of a reloaded gun, she slowly started towards the site of impact. Not two steps did she even move before the Genestealer burst from the dark, brandishing its blades with a scream.
“FOR THE EMPEROR!” Yamira shouted. She swung her power sword and met the bone blades, batting them both aside in a shower of sparks. The Genestealer recoiled and swung again, waggling its abhorrent tongue about, only for Yamira to meet the strike with a swift block. It was far bigger than she was, no doubt stronger too with its bulky frame, but Yamira was faster. Years of training in the schola and military experience had made sure of that. She whirled her sword about in a blue blur, slashing at the Genestealer’s swords, arcing electricity amplifying her attack to a potent degree. One of the bone blades was cleanly broken in two by the hit, clattering harmlessly on the ground, while the other met Yamira’s power sword with a firm block. The Genestealer howled in fury, thick gobs of spittle flying from its hideous maw, some of which spattered onto Yamira’s face, and it redoubled its efforts to slaughter the Commissar. Yamira parried and blocked any blows she could, but an enraged Genestealer was still far stronger than she was. Even with one arm missing and down one weapon made from a denser chitinous alloy.
Yamira leapt backwards as the Genestealer slammed its blade into the floor. She quickly drew her bolt pistol again and fired. In a spray of green blood, the Genestealer collapsed onto the ground with an anguished whine, what remained of one of its legs reduced to a stain on the piping. It was down, but Genestealers were still resourceful, even when severely injured. Yamira knew that well enough from Karthag. Bellowing her own war cry, she lunged forward with her sword and drove it directly into the mutant’s skull. The arcing energy lancing through the sword surged through the Genestealer’s head, blood leaking from its wound sizzling and popping as it ran down its hideous face. Yamira saw its sloping forehead, jagged teeth, and bulbous, spiteful yellow eyes, and shuddered to think this may have once been as human as she was. Those eyes, those horrible eyes that shone like the lumens over an operating table, stared back at her, even as the creature lay dying. She hated it. She absolutely hated it. Yamira screamed again, dropping her gun and letting go of her sword, and grabbed the mutant’s head, pressing her thumbs against those horrible eyes. With all the strength she could muster, she pressed her thumbs harder and harder, until they popped against her hands like egg yolks. The Genestealer ceased moving and slowly slid off the Commissar’s thumbs, landing on its back with her sword still sizzling in its skull.
Yamira’s breathing labored and sweat cascaded down her forehead as steam puffed around her from the damaged piping. She stared at the dead Genestealer on the ground, its horrid, eyeless face staring back at her in the glow of her power sword. It had been a while since she had properly killed anything in the name of the God-Emperor. She bent to a knee and placed her hand over her aquilla, closing her eye to be at peace. Yet, when she parted her lips to utter the first words that always came to her heart when praises were concerned, she found herself without breath. Did she really kill this abomination in the name of the God-Emperor of Mankind, He who paves the righteous path for humanity? No, she wanted to believe it, but she did not. She killed it because it was a threat to the Merodi. Because the Merodi were favored by the God-Emperor. Because they were stealing the galaxy from right under the Imperium with few to contest them. Because they extended an olive branch to the galaxy instead of a loaded gun. And Yamira had killed for them.
She rose to her feet and spat on the Genestealer’s corpse. Such a kill was not worthy of Xenos and Heretics, let alone a prayer in their heathenous name. She grasped the hilt of her sword and slowly pulled it from the mutant’s skull, trailing greenish-red blood that still burned on the blue glow of the blade. A casual flick and some of the errant blood was flung off onto the piping, still dirty, but now only slightly cleaner. ‘No point in staying here any longer than necessary.’ she thought. ‘Where there is a Purestrain, there is a Broodlord.’ Yamira turned to retrieve her gun she previously dropped, but stopped when her ears were assailed with a horrid and familiar shriek. A four-armed blur of purple lunged towards her, teeth like surgical equipment and eyes like dull lumens, ready to tear her asunder. Yamira quickly drew her sword, ready to intercept, but a cloud of steam erupted from one of the pipes and covered the Genestealer in a thickened haze. No, it was far too dark to be simple steam. The Genestealer coughed and recoiled as it found itself suddenly suspended midair, its four arms bound together by unknown bindings, hissing and snapping its teeth. Yamira sniffed and slowly stepped back. Smoke.
The Genestealer’s arms shot outwards, slowly being pulled further and further apart, the mutant screaming and thrashing in terrified confusion. Yamira stared in awe as the smoke cloud separated, and with a sickening crack and splatter, tore the Genestealer clean in half. The two chunks of the dead mutant fell to the ground as the smoke coalesced into a single condensed form in front of Yamira, dispersing into a familiar form. A human form, bearing a bomber jacket and a casual smirk aglow with two lit cigarettes.
“Did ya make a wish?” Cage asked. Yamira’s awe immediately broke away into annoyance, sighing as she scooped up her bolt pistol from the floor. “... Yeah, you’re right, not one of my better one-liners. Gonna admit, surprised to find you in this dump. Even more surprised when I went back to the dining hall and didn’t see Cap or Ambs there either, just a big hole.”
“Ambassador Dust was kidnapped by mutants.” Yamira curtly responded. One of the cigarettes fell from Cage’s mouth, dropping onto his foot. “I found one lurking in ambush and chased it here. Did you find anything about the corridor?”
“Hold up, time out,” Cage said, crossing his hands in a ‘t’ position. “Ambs got kidnapped by these purple fuck-ugly bug-men?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I said.” Yamira replied, checking the ammo on her gun. “Likely these Genestealers have taken her to the center of their disgusting lair. I plan to go there and slaughter them wholesale, before they take over the Hive City.”
“I know where they are.” Cage said. Yamira turned to the smoker in surprise, the tone of Cage’s voice had changed entirely. Gone was the casual, lax man who was sooner to quip than actually getting his job done right. Now stood someone rigid, determined, fierce. A soldier that could be molded into a true weapon. “That area Velour was talking about, that’s where we’ll find the freaks that took Amber. I can get you there.” Yamira slowly nodded and holstered her weapons.
“Lead the way, Jameson.” she ordered. Cage nodded and held his hand out behind him. The smoke that tore the Genestealer asunder drifted towards Cage’s hand, swirling in a large circular vortex.
“Hold your breath, Commissar.” Cage said. Before Yamira could say anything further, Cage grabbed her hand and leaped into the smoke vortex. In an instant, her world was smog and smoke, her eye stinging and her lungs flaring in burning pain. She felt her body being propelled forwards, as though she were swimming through toxic runoff, with Cage running ahead as though the air were as pure and clean as a Paradise World. She did not know how long she was in this world of smoke, but through the pain her body was being put through, she wanted out, and out soon. Fortunately, for what seemed like the first time in ages, her prayers were answered, as she and Cage emerged from the world of smoke and she fell to the floor, coughing and wheezing.
“What…” she coughed and hacked, struggling to rise to her feet. “What the HELL was that, Jameson?!”
“Stand ability,” Cage casually whispered, leaning against a wall and glaring down the area. Yamira took in her new surroundings, noticing how far different they were compared to the manor. The walls were made of pure stone, carved with man-made tools and supported with metal braces. It was like they had gone fully underground and entered a mine shaft. Down the pathway, a dull light shone, with various distant noises being heard. Very few sounded human. Cage patted the side of the wall, to which Yamira moved to and pressed herself against. “C’mon, we’ve got a vantage spot, but be super quiet.” Rather than snapping for a lesser giving her orders, Yamira nodded and tugged the brim of her hat. The two slowly shuffled alongside the wall, making their way towards the lights at the end of the path. Louder and louder the noises seemed to get, inhuman chatter being joined in by the sounds of machinery churning and chugging along. Yamira bit her lip, grim thoughts running rampant through her mind as they moved closer and closer. Cage dropped down to a crouch and moved over to a pair of large rocks on the opposite end of the wall, waving Yamira over. The Commissar joined Cage, and the two peered over the stones into the light below.
It was worse than she thought. The two Purestrains she had encountered in the boiler room were an ill omen, but seeing the swarm that ran rampant brought her stomach sinking. Below her and Cage’s vantage point was a massive chamber, roughly the size of a battle-barge’s hanger. Genestealers in varying stages of development ran about, many still adorned in human clothes of all sorts, chattering amongst each other and moving large boxes. She saw worker uniforms, nobility robes, even a few in Guardsmen armor and Arbites uniforms, all giving themselves slowly to the Tyranid menace. Further along, she saw several conveyor belts containing hunks of scrap metal from afar, with cultists working rapidly to randomly affix the pieces together.
‘No, not random scrap.’ Yamira thought. On second glance, she could recognize the pieces cleary. A primer here, a trigger there, a stock and muzzle, a plasma battery and a lasgun cart, these detestable mutants were building their own weapons and arming themselves. ‘They’re preparing for an uprising!’
“You see anything down there?” Cage whispered. Yamira kept looking at the crowd of Genestealers milling about below, especially at the conveyor belts where they prepared their weapons and stacked them into boxes. Suddenly, the chatter was starting to sound less like heretical ramblings and more coherent. Yamira shook her head, thinking it merely a byproduct of the steam or whatever that smoke-filled realm was, but she could hear them! She could hear the Genestealers speak as humans do! And what’s more, she could hear some of them singing. They sang a cacophonous tune as they pounded their tools to fix the weapons together and packaged them away, grotesque voices joining in harmony as they gleefully sang.
Rattle big, black bones,
In the danger zone.
There’s a rumblin’ groan, down below!
There’s a big dark town,
It’s a place we’ve found,
There’s a world going on,
Underground!
As they finished building the guns, the workers stuffed them into boxes and hauled them off to another section of the chamber, guarded by more cultists in even more advanced states of mutation. They were just as disgusting, if not more so, with their heads absent of all hair and even sporting far more limbs than should ever be permitted. And even so, they sang in coarse and sickening voices as they counted their boxes, stacking to the ceiling.
We’re alive, we’re awake,
While the rest of the world is asleep!
Below the mineshaft roads,
It will all unfold,
There’s a world going on,
Underground!
Yamira continued scanning the room for any sign of a potential leader, but all she saw were more hideous abominations. As by a stroke of chance, she did see something that caught her eye. Towards the center of the room was a large stone pedestal, concealed under a white tarp. Something was hidden underneath it, with head too large and body too stocky to belong to any human… or humanoid for that matter. ‘And there might be the Ambassador.’ Even as she thought, the cultists still sang their chant, pounding their rhythm into the very rock of the planet itself.
All the roots hang down,
Swing from town to town,
They are marching around down under your boots!
All the trucks unload,
Beyond the Hormagaunt holes…
There’s a world going on,
Underground!
Enough was enough, and Yamira had grown tired of listening to this disgusting drivel. She unclasped her bolt pistol from her belt, but Cage firmly held her in place, shooting a harsh glare at her.
“Do anything now and all those freaks are gonna come down on us and tear us to shreds.” Cage whispered. Yamira attempted to stand up again, but Cage kept her pressed against the rock. “Don’t move! I’ve got a plan.” Before they could move further, three loud clacks resounded in the chamber, and all productivity inside halted. Cage and Yamira slowly peered over the rocks and saw that the Genestealers and cultists had ceased their work, and stared at the concealed table at the center of the room. Standing at the center of attention like an idol amongst her adoring crowd was Lady Tzahah. A large bruise was underneath the cultist’s chin and her robes seemed stained red and green from some kind of injury, but the air of dignity around her was so thick it was suffocating. She raised her clawed hand and all went silent.
“My children…” Lady Tzahah purred. “The time for our ascendance is at hand!” The chamber erupted in a choir of hissing and clicks, some facsimile to cheering amongst the mutants. She raised her hand again, and the cultists went silent again. “Long have we resided on Armastus, and yet we have been confined to the shadows for so long that the cattle above has forgotten about us. Oh, they remembered when we took to the surface and even attacked the Spire.” She smiled eerily, her golden teeth shining in the light of the lumen’s glow. “I even enjoyed seeing the look upon Anton Velour’s face when I plunged my knife into his throat. Again and again, and convinced his boorish imbecile of a brother that it was one of the manor servants.” She laughed heartily, a sentiment carried by the rest of the cult. Yamira already heard enough, raising her gun and ready to blow the mutant’s head off, but again Cage brought her own. “Ah, but that was nothing, NOTHING compared to the bountiful feast that has been brought to us on this most glorious of days!” She pointed her claw to the ceiling, clicking her teeth in glee. “Interlopers from beyond even the reach of our masters have come, unaware of our existence amongst this pitiful planet. Soon, we will make our way off this planet, and consume the city in the sky from within, and soon spread our influence across not only this galaxy, but the universe! And the next, and the next, and the next, and the next, THE INFINITE WILL FEED THE TYRANID HIVE FOR ALL ETERNITY!” Again, the cult cheered, many even slamming their extra arms against the floor to showcase their primal excitement. Like locusts ready to swarm and strip a crop field dry. “Oh, but how will we manage this, you ask? Well,” Lady Tzahah placed her hand on the tarp. “We do as we have done for millennia. Strike from WITHIN!” With a dramatic flourish, she threw the tarp off and revealed their newest bounty underneath. A slumbering yellow and brown Earth pony, chained with numerous bindings across her legs and barrel.
“Ambs!” Cage grit his teeth, snapping his remaining cigarette in his mouth. “Oh, I’m gonna smoke that bitch like a Cuban Cigar, I swear.” Now Yamira took her opportunity to shush Cage, watching the cult and its leader with rapt interest.
“The Genestealer Virus has resulted in many interesting strains amongst the Xenos of our galaxy,” Lady Tzahah said, tracing one of her fingers on Amber’s cheek. “But I am curious to see what it can do to a creature like this.” She stood up and snapped her fingers, smiling maliciously. “BRING FORTH THE BROOD LORD! YOUR MATRIARCH DEMANDS IT!” The cult cheered again in their bizarre hissing and clicking as some ran off down a tunnel. Yamira and Cage slid back down the rock and into cover.
“Okay, so they’re gonna try and do something to Ambs, and I sure as hell am not gonna let that happen.” Cage said. “What’s the plan on getting her out and dealing with crazy psycho bitch down there?” Yamira blinked rapidly, shifting back to her apparent default emotion of anger.
“I thought you said you had a plan!” Yamira hissed.
Cage simply shrugged and lit two cigarettes in his mouth. “I’m more of an impulsive ‘punch what I can in the face to solve my problems’ kind of guy.” he said. “Besides, you’re the military lady person. Strategy should be second nature or some shit.” Yamira groaned and ran her hand across her face. Serves her right to even consider putting her faith in a smoke-addled idiot.
“Fine, here’s what we’ll do.” Yamira said. “The Brood-Lord is the primary source of the Genestealer Virus. We kill that, then we effectively cripple the cult. We wait for them to bring it out, wait until it’s in a vulnerable state, then blast it to oblivion. We execute Tzahah, slay as many Genestealer heathens as we can and save Armastus from these abominations. That’s the plan, understood.”
Cage nodded slowly. “Okay, yeah, good plan. Question though: Where’s the part where we save Amber and, y’know, not die?”
“Self-sacrifice is a part of the Astra Militarum, an integral one at that.”
“Hey, newsflash, I’m not Astroid Military, so I’m not exactly 100% on the suicide mission thing.”
“Then what do you suggest we should do then, Jameson?!”
“Not talk so loud and let yourselves get caught, that’s for starters.” Yamira and Cage realized immediately that neither one of them made that suggestion, especially with such a baritone voice. They turned slowly and found themselves staring down the barrels of five plasma guns, and the very irate cultists who wielded them. Cage glanced over to Yamira and shrugged.
“... That would have been a good part of the plan to have.”
Yamira and Cage were flung onto their knees before the altar, hands bound behind their backs and rough hands holding them by the collars of their shirts. Yamira struggled with her binds, but she was struck against the head with her own confiscated gun, glaring at the Genestealer who now held both her weapons in its disgusting claws. Lady Tzahah stood between the two, clicking her tongue and waggling her finger.
“My-my-my, you Merodi Universalis people simply have no manners, do you?” she asked. “If you wanted to witness the coming of a new and glorious age, all you had to do was ask.” Yamira simply spat, her phlegm spattering against Tzahah’s dress. Tzahah stared at her new stain, then at the furious Commissar, and responded by smacking Yamira across her scarred face. Yamira jerked her head to the side, her sensitive skin stinging from the blow, but remained stoic. “No manners at all. No matter, you’ll see things as we do soon enough, and you’ll be welcomed as brother and sister.”
“Can I take a raincheck on that?” Cage lazily asked. “Last time I joined a family, I ended up with a buncha crazy people who wanted to kill a Senator for some stupid shit, and I’m kinda done with the whole thing.” Tzahah shot Cage a glare and prepared to raise her hand. “Alright, alright, I’m shutting up.” Tzahah slapped Cage regardless, resulting in a large bruise on his cheek. “GOD DAMN THAT HURT! Jesus, lady, you have metal bones?!”
“Progressively developing exoskeleton, actually.” Tzahah said, flexing her fingers. She clacked her staff on the ground and glared down at Yamira and Cage. “So, any final words you wish to give before the Brood Lord gives you the proper welcome amongst the Children of Shan?” Yamira said nothing, instead straightening her back and keeping her head held high. She would not give the mutant the satisfaction of a final word. Even if she may die today, her soul belonged to the God-Emperor of Mankind, and she would join the Eternal Crusade against the foes of humanity when that time come. She would go with not a whimper or a cry or a shout, but simply a stance of stoicism.
Cage did not have that kind of dignity, and decided to run his mouth like a heavy bolter on automatic.
“Is that the name? Children of Shan? What the hell’s a Shan? Is your brood-thingy a Shan? Is it some kinda subspecies? Ah hell, I don’t care, I got a million more questions anyway just for shits.” Already Tzahah’s eye was twitching, as was Yamira’s. “Am I gonna get extra arms when I get infected or whatever shit? That’s gotta be a pain in the ass for, like, B.O. when you’ve got eight arms and not enough Right-Guard for all of it. You guys probably don’t get deodorant out here, which totally explains why you all smell like a fishing wharf. Also, I just realized this, but I don’t see a lot of guys here wearing pants. Probably explains why you guys get that nickname, jea-” Tzahah screamed in fury and annoyance, bearing down on Cage with bloodshot serpentine eyes.
“BY BEHEMOTH’S ENDLESS APPETITE, DO YOU NEVER SHUT UP?!” Tzahah screamed.
“... Are you missing a chunk of your tongue or something?” Cage casually asked. Tzahah screamed again and slammed her staff on the ground.
“WHY HASN’T THE BROOD-LORD ARRIVED YET?!” Several thuds responded her scream, as Tzahah, the Cultists, Yamira and Cage all turned left and saw several recently decapitated corpses drop to the floor. Among their masses lay the large and hideous head of the Brood Lord, its tendrils from its maw severed into stumps. Tzahah’s jaw dropped at the sight, while the other cultists slowly backed off. A shimmer of light danced in front of the severed alien head, tall, lithe and elegant. Slow and methodical footsteps echoed throughout the chamber as the light moved closer and closer. Finally, as it stood five feet away from the altar and the gathered precession (and prisoners, additionally), the illusion was dropped, and Yamira was greeted with the familiar, ever grinning face of silver and bloody red.
“Have no fear, have no fear. Victorious Zasraman is here.”