Tat-tat-tat-tat—!
Countless bullets streaking across Nostramo's perpetual night sky had long become the city's lullaby. For the underhive denizens, this fusillade signalled only one thing: a new gang was challenging the Iron Fist's dominion.
The five thugs on patrol were caught utterly unprepared by the rebels' sudden assault. Bereft of heavy stubber support, they were swiftly suppressed beneath a dense hail of autofire.
The barrage of bullets alone added several pounds of lead to each corpse.
"Father... I've avenged you!"
A youth clutching a rifle whispered, tears streaming down his face. His father had fallen to the Iron Fist. His was but one story among countless at Nostramo's sunless depths.
"Do not grow reckless! All squads, advance!"
Before the Captain had even finished speaking, he surged forward once more. His objective was twofold: neutralise any heavy weapons not yet brought to bear, and train the soldiers beside him — while sustaining minimal casualties.
Within the Iron Fist fortress, the thugs, now alert to the assault, scrambled to assemble. All awaited their leader's command from his elevated platform.
"Brothers! It seems there are those who, weary of life, seek to challenge the Iron Fist!"
"Then let this refuse witness our strength — let them sample the fine wares we traded from the Merchant Lords!"
The Iron Fist leader — half his body given to crude cybernetics, his forebones replaced with gleaming adamantium — descended his throne-platform with a savage grin. From his belt, he drew his prized blast pistol.
This weapon, acquired from the upper hive's black market, was the very instrument that had cemented the Iron Fist's dominance in this sector.
Boom!
The reinforced blast door was hurled from its hinges by the Captain. His transhuman might carved through the throng like a berserker through chaff; most fell before they could even squeeze their triggers.
"Damn you — fire on me!"
The Iron Fist leader raised his blast pistol and discharged its payload into the crowd. The explosive rounds failed to harm the Captain — but they shredded the limbs of the surrounding rebels.
"The gulf between an Astartes and a mortal cannot be bridged by weaponry alone."
Nyx observed from a rooftop, unmoving, as the Captain led the rebels in purging the gang. His calculations placed total annihilation at twenty minutes.
I cannot die here... I clawed my way to this station...
Wait... Just like then...
"Blood for the Blood God!"
His adamantium hand crushed the throat of the subordinate beside him. The Iron Fist leader, now drenched in hot blood, used it to daub the blasphemous eightfold mark upon his chest and bellowed his supplication:
"BLOOD GOD! BLOOD GOD! A SKULL FOR THE SKULL THRONE!"
"No — he's—!"
A viscous, cloying psychic energy flooded the Iron Fist hall. It coiled around the Iron Fist leader, who yet shrieked his prayers to the Blood God.
The Captain reacted without hesitation. He wrenched a grenade from a fallen thug's belt, primed it, and hurled it — following with several precise shots.
Boom!
The grenade erupted in a crimson mist. Yet the blood pooling on the ground seemed to move— to flow upward. The Captain's instincts screamed warning; he ordered the rebels to withdraw and braced to face this alone.
Within the gore, the Iron Fist leader's form expanded. Alien limbs burst from his torsoe, twisting and coalescing into a churning, chaotic ovoid. Men such as he — grasping at life, terrified of death — could never before have earned the Blood God's attention.
But now, the Dark God's gaze was fixed upon Nostramo. Khorne had forged a pact with a future traitor — one who would return the Night Haunter's reign of terror to this world, empowered by the Blood God's blessing.
Shhk!
Lightning-wreathed talons tore through the Chaos Ovum. From within stepped a Chaos Space Marine — clad in the battle-scarred power armour of the Night Lords, his hands wreathed in crackling lightning claws.
"Traitor."
One glance at the crimson eyes glaring from beneath that bat-winged helm — and the Captain knew.
The traitor's transhuman frame, further elevated by his war-plate, loomed even larger than the Captain's own. The moment he escaped the Ovum, he dissolved — melting into the shadows that clung to every surface.
"Traitor... where is he?!"
Battle-honed instinct drove the Captain to seek light. He lunged toward a lumen-projector on the Iron Fist's plaza, activating its full beam. His transhuman senses strained, searching.
The battlefield lay silent — save for the groans of a few downed thugs. Yet those, too, soon ceased. The Captain watched as their faces were removed, cleanly and precisely. They died in mute terror.
Drip.
The sound of blood, falling from shadow. The instant the second droplet struck the ground, the lightning claws erupted from the darkness!
Shhk!
The Captain narrowly evaded. Yet his ceramite was breached — a shallow wound weeping blood. He understood. This was temptation. The Night Lord sought to shatter his will with fear.
Intimidate a fellow Astartes? Amusing.
Yet the Captain knew his mobility was compromised. Should the traitor continue this game of stalk and ambush, he would eventually be bled dry.
Drip.
Another droplet fell. This time, the killing stroke was swifter — the Captain only registered the lightning claws when they were already at his chest!
Thunk!
The talons struck true. The Night Lord attempted to retract his weapon and fade — but found the claws locked fast, immovable.
"I have you."
The Captain had seized the lightning claw within the dense cords of his own muscle. He wrenched the traitor's trapped arm, raising his bolt pistol with his free hand, pressing the muzzle directly against the enemy's helm.
Boom!
The bolt detonated. The blast hurled both warriors apart. The Captain skidded across the ground, his torso scorched and blackened — the lightning claw still embedded in his chest. Its corrupting energies gnawed at his flesh; he could not rise.
"You actually dodged?!"
The Captain had calculated perfectly — but he had not accounted for the Night Lord's rudimentary foresight. In the instant the Captain fired, the traitor had abandoned his weapon. The bolt-round inflicted only superficial damage.
From the shadows, the drip of blood resumed. The Night Lord did not rush his attack. He wished to grant the Captain time to fear.
Drip.
At the eighth droplet, the Night Lord's gaunt silhouette eclipsed the Captain's vision. He drew a combat blade — his trophy for this hunt.
"You have fought well, my son. Leave this to me."
Golden light. Banishing shadow.
Nyx caught the Night Lord's killing stroke with his bare hand. His warm radiance even began to suppress the Warp-taint festering in the Captain's wound.
"This is no place for you, child."
Golden lightning erupted.
Nyx struck in wrath. His fist punched throughthe Night Lord's war-plate, shattering one of his hearts. The Chaos Marine seized — his transhuman form locked in temporary animeparalysis.