Luna. This genetic bastion of the Imperium of Man had fallen swiftly to the XVI Legion during the Unification Wars, following a lightning strike against the Selenar gene-cults. It was this very feat that earned the XVI their storied name: the Luna Wolves.
Since those days, Luna had served as the cradle of humanity's biological mastery; from its gene-laboratories emerged the transhuman legacies of the Adeptus Astartes. Naturally, such a prize had drawn the covetous, twitching gaze of Clan Moulder.
Whitesick cared little for biological curiosities. His singular focus remained the sacrifice of Holy Terra, to cast the Throneworld of the Corpse-Emperor into the Realm of Ruin and claim the Ultimate Blessing of the Great Horned Rat. But the tides of Skaven politics were shifting.
As the saying goes: nothing stings a Skaven more than seeing a rival turn a profit. Watching Clan Moulder's forces edge toward victory on the lunar surface filled Whitesick with a gnawing sense of imbalance and spite.
Below, a Brood Titan, a mountain of flesh and warp-tech equivalent to a Warlord-class Titan, was rampaging like a maddened tectonic plate. The abyssal tunnels had been pulverized beyond recognition by its passage. Even the Gilded Fists of the Emperor struggled to restrain a Titan lost to frenzy. As a venerable Land Raider was crushed beneath a massive, warp-infused claw, Vanius realized he had to neutralize this behemoth immediately.
Two of the beast's three heads had already been severed, leaving only a hybrid lupine-rat head to roar in defiance. Yet, the Titan showed no signs of slowing, leaving the Adeptus Custodes in a grim predicament.
Suddenly, from the jagged cliffs overlooking the Titan, a group of furtive Skaven heaved a strange crate toward the Custodes' position before scurrying into the shadows.
"What is this?" Vanius muttered, wary. He sprinted through the tremors to pry the container open. Inside lay a specialized explosive device several meters tall.
Drawing upon his encyclopedic tactical knowledge, Vanius identified it instantly: a Life-Eater Virus Bomb. Though smaller than the cyclonic payloads used for Exterminatus, this was a tactical master-stroke, a weapon that should have been locked deep within the most secure vaults of the Imperial Palace. It seemed nowhere on Terra was safe from the vermin save the Inner Sanctum itself.
The Custodes knew not who had delivered this "gift," but they would not waste the opportunity.
"My Lord, allow me!" a Custodian cried, shouldering the massive viral payload.
Vanius did not hesitate; he had other objectives that required his blade. He nodded solemnly. "May we not fail the Emperor's Will."
The warrior leapt into the jagged, weeping stump where one of the Brood Titan's heads had been. He used his power glaive and melta grenades to tear an opening in the raw, mutated meat. To ensure the virus did not compromise the wider mission or his brothers, he plunged deep into the Titan's foul, caustic interior, tearing through living, rat-like tissue with his bare hands to bury the bomb in the beast's core.
As Vanius and the others reached a safe distance, the Brood Titan let out a final, distorted roar, leveling its massive Ratling Cannons at them.
"You... you dare break-mar my-my mighty body! Die! Die-die!"
The rotary barrels began to whine as they spun up, but a muffled thud cut the sound short. The fortress-like body of the Titan shuddered. Black, necrotic ichor began to leak from every remaining orifice.
Knowing the virus bomb had detonated, Vanius gave the command. The remaining Custodes boarded their Venerable Land Raiders and surged toward their primary objective.
Before the Brood Titan collapsed, the Custodes activated a short-range warp-jump, vanishing from the sector. Moments later, the colossal meat-mountain dissolved, melting into a sea of highly flammable, toxic mist.
"Hahaha! Die-die well! Outside-vermin will not... will NOT take spoils from Clan Verminus!"
Whitesick's elite guard cackled as they watched the Moulder monstrosity dissolve. Clan Verminus had struggled to counter the beast themselves; using the "human-things" to eliminate a rival's asset was the pinnacle of Skaven strategy.
However, a stray spark, perhaps accidental, perhaps spiteful, ignited the gas. In a heartbeat, the toxic fog transformed into a localized inferno, a wall of green flame stretching for ten miles.
…
On the lunar surface, Clan Moulder was embroiled in an assault on the Imperial gene-laboratories. This was no mere raiding party; Moulder had committed its finest horrors. Unlike the "export models" sold to other clans, these beasts were masterpieces. They had grafted the brains and nervous systems of Clanrats directly into the monsters' carapaces, granting them a cruel intelligence and finer control. Yet, their bodies remained hardwired to flinch at the Packmaster's whip.
These living Dreadnoughts, Skaven-sized Killer Kans, tore through defenses with warp-claws and flaying gauntlets. Those built for range spat concentrated acid or utilized scavenged Clan Skryre warp-tech.
The Moulder representative, Master Mutator Skranquil Venomclaw, observed the carnage, recording the efficiency and kill-rates of his biological weapons. Skaven greed was infinite, but true success was rare; most "experimental" horrors either turned on their masters or died on the slab.
But Skranquil saw his destiny. If he secured the human gene-tech on this moon, he could rival Throt the Unclean himself. He might even eye the seat of Verminkin!
Suddenly, a thunderous explosion rocked his rear lines. A pillar of emerald flame erupted into the thin atmosphere.
"What?! Those cursed rat-spawn!" Skranquil shrieked, slamming his data-slate in fury.
Then came the report: their Warp-gate had been sabotaged. The Moulder reinforcements from beneath Holy Terra were cut off.
"What? No-no! Impossible! How could the human-things!?" Skranquil squealed, his fear-glands nearly venting. "Find the Skryre-things! Bring them to me NOW-NOW!"
Though Moulder and Skryre shared a mutual loathing, they were bound by necessity. A group of Warlock Engineers and their apprentices soon approached, their expressions a mix of groveling fear and technical condescension.
"Go! See what is wrong with your cursed-damned gate! If it is broken... you! DIE-DIE!" Skranquil spat.
The Engineers didn't dally. They knew Clan Moulder's penchant for "recycling" failures into the guts of Hell-Pit Abominations. But when they reached the site, they froze. The gate wasn't merely broken; it was annihilated. The rusted, oil-slicked arches of the warp-portal were twisted scrap, and the warpstone fuel was burning away in a relentless green pyre.
This treachery was unfolding across the system. It wasn't just Clan Verminus; every clan was sabotaging the others. Under the "guidance" of rival Skaven, Imperial forces were being led, sometimes unknowingly, to critical infrastructure, which they promptly put to the torch.
In one sector, a squad of Tempestus Scions and twenty Salamanders Space Marines had "stumbled" upon a vital Skaven armory. After collapsing the tunnels, they had effectively severed the supply lines for an entire Clan Verminus front.
"Truly... such vermin," Lucius remarked, watching the Skaven tear each other apart just as victory seemed certain. He felt an itch in his arm, a burning desire to slaughter the meddlesome fools himself.
But before he could move, the golden radiance of the distant Sun pulsed with a psychic whisper that echoed in the Empyrean:
"I am watching all that transpires. If you wish to interfere, let us see how the Master of Mutations fares against My will."
Lucius looked toward the golden light and sneered. "Heh. Rest easy. I am not such a sore loser. After all... it's only a game."
——————
If you want to read ahead of everyone, go to my pat-reon: pat-re-on.c-om/magnor (remove the hyphen to access normally)