Disregard the sight of these ratmen currently professing their unwavering unity; merely witnessing them gathered in one place filled Lucius with a dark premonition.
This conclave of the ten Great Clans was held beneath the surface of Holy Terra itself, the subterranean heart of the Skaven Under-Empire, a transit hub boasting hundreds of Gnawholes, surpassed in the galaxy only by the blighted capital of Zavka. Consequently, the second-in-command of other clans, the likes of Ikit, Throt, Skrolk, and Queek, had not dared to attend in person, fearing they would be cornered and purged within the sovereign stronghold of Clan Verminus.
In truth, that was precisely what Whitesick had intended. Styling himself the Supreme Klaw-Marshal, he could not endure other ratmen sharing the glory of the Horned Rat. Upon learning that the other clan leaders had declined to appear personally, he clicked his teeth in bored disappointment.
Upon a circular table of dark, ancient, and corroded metal, a place symbolizing the ratmen's facade of equality, Whitesick unfurled a meticulous map of the Sol System. Every strategic asset was marked with agonizing clarity: the Primary Forge Temples of the Adeptus Mechanicus on Mars, the Selenar Gene-Labs on Luna, and beyond.
"The machine... machine-man-thing headquarters? Haha... interest-fascinating!" cackled Questab Gillstud, a Warlock-Engineer sent in Ikit's stead.
As the primary rival of Clan Skryre, the Adeptus Mechanicus and the Skryre engineers were like a pair of smiling tigers, or two Black-horned Sharks circling one another. To the ratmen, the technology of the Mechanicus sat at a perfect threshold: sophisticated enough for Warlock-Engineers to comprehend and mimic, yet advanced enough to offer delightful tactical surprises.
Conversely, the tech of the slender, long-eared things and those mechanical bone-constructs slumbering beneath the earth remained utter enigmas. Even Ikit had yet to fathom the forging process of that self-repairing "living metal." Furthermore, the tendency of those metal skeletons to vanish instantly upon destruction infuriated the Skaven to no end.
"How-how do we get-cross? Man-things are strong here! Yes-yes! Our fleet-ships will die-die here!" chirped the representative of Clan Moulder.
Questab, however, offered a smug, self-assured grin. "Skryre has a way, yes! Man-things cannot sense-see it. All rats can swarm-tide at once!"
With a flourish, Questab revealed Skryre's pinnacle achievement: the Warp-gate. This was the very technology that had enabled the Skryre raid on the Phalanx to succeed. Under the labor of tens of thousands of Slave Rats and the lash of Clanrat overseers, guided by the twisted ingenuity of Warlock-Engineers, dozens of Warp-gates, each over thirty meters in diameter, were rapidly constructed.
"With these... we-we are everywhere-allwhere!"
Whitesick narrowed his eyes at the Skryre representative. Indeed, these rats from the outer realms possessed genuine talent. He decided then that this Questab would be worth subverting and recruiting later.
…
Within the Sanctum of the Lord Regent in the Imperial Palace of Holy Terra, Roboute Guilliman found himself tethered to his duties. As a statesman, he could not spend every hour wielding the Emperor's Sword to slaughter enemies, much as he might have preferred the visceral clarity of battle; to do so would only further paralyze the Empire's already sluggish bureaucracy.
Thus, as soon as the Skaven presence on Holy Terra appeared suppressed, he had returned to his office. Yet, his recent briefings were saturated with reports of the xenos ratmen. Nearly every planet still capable of sending a transmission reported an invasion.
"Damnation!" Guilliman hissed.
If the Tyranid Hive Fleets of the past were a titan's fist striking at the heart of the Imperium, these ratmen were like a pervasive thicket of thorns. Their attacks caused the Imperium pain without delivering a killing blow, yet every puncture was agonizing and foul.
Guilliman resolved to concentrate his forces to annihilate the Skaven within the Sol System first, then use that momentum to crush the vermin across the galaxy like a rising tide.
"Three months, tell Mikael I am giving him three months. The xenos on Holy Terra must be utterly purged," Guilliman commanded the herald, tossing aside reports of local victories and rubbing his weary eyes.
"By your command, Highness. I shall relay your orders to Lord Mikael immediately."
On the Mariana Trench front, Mikael Fabian, Captain of the Ultramarines 3rd Company, had just repelled yet another wave of vermin, each weaker than the last. This warrior, who harbored a cold hatred for the xenos, had not left the firing line for months.
Under his direction, the 3rd Company utilized heavy flamers, Redeemer-pattern Land Raiders, and Hellfire bolter rounds, armaments proven to be exceptionally lethal against the rat-tide. The vermin's fur and stunted bodies served as excellent fuel; the defensive line was choked with countless charred carcasses.
Inside the 3rd Company command center…
"My Lord, victory is within our grasp," one Astartes remarked with confidence. His Captain, however, remained a mask of stern fury.
"I shall not rest until the final xenos is dead," Mikael replied, his expression unchanging as he inspected his power sword and plate, ready for the final extermination.
Suddenly, a low rumble shook the earth, causing the command center to vibrate.
"What is this? Has the Astra Militarum initiated a heavy artillery barrage?" Mikael demanded.
As the Astartes operated under a separate chain of command, they were not always privy to the Guard's tactical maneuvers. However, several Astartes Scouts soon arrived with a frantic report.
"Captain! The xenos are attacking again, and the lines of the 18th through 42nd Nikaea Regiments have been breached! The xenos are flanking our right wing!"
Silence fell over the command center, heavy with shock. Mikael stood abruptly, his voice a roar. "Impossible! The combat effectiveness of those creatures could not have surged so rapidly!"
His months of experience had taught him that these ratmen lacked armor-piercing capabilities beyond their crude xenos small arms. Their charges relied on two legs, and their only "armor" was the sheer number of their comrades.
"This time is different, Captain! The xenos have launched a sudden armored spearhead using heavy tanks, massive hulls resembling Leman Russ and Baneblade chassis! They are supported by heavy artillery saturation. The mortals couldn't react in time; they were simply overwhelmed!"
Mikael seized his power sword and charged out with his guard. Ahead, the horizon was choked with the billowing dust of a massive armored assault. On the flanks of his allies' territory, green flashes of Warp-light erupted in rhythmic succession, mercilessly pounding the Imperial positions.
He watched as Skaven clad in flak armor and helmets, wielding bayoneted rifles glowing with sickly green energy, followed the tanks into the breach. They fell upon the Astra Militarum in a frenzied close-quarters shootout, and through sheer, suffocating numbers, the ratmen were clearly gaining the upper hand.