There was a burst of Warp Energy somewhere deep inside the Space Hulk, and the Possessed appeared.

The creature's expression of rapture dissolved into frustration and disgust, and it groaned in inhuman tones.

What was most likely a Word Bearer long ago was now simply a slathering monster of Chaos. Adrax Uthuzul, the Dark Traveler, had spent untold millenia serving the True Gods. He would leap headlong into the blessed Aether, allow it's random winds of madness to carry him to whatever battlefield or location the Gods might need him most, then do his duty and allow the Warp to carry him once again. This time the creature found himself in the Tomb of Madness, for reasons unknown to himself.

The creature stood a head taller than a normal Space Marine, it's body bloated and merged with it's armor by the possession of a Daemon. Claws and ivory tusks sprouted from it's form, and what was once a battle helm had long since merged with his skull, the Armor becoming a layer of thick red skin. The energies of madness and entropy wafted off of the Possessed, it's eyes burning with hatred for all who would deny the truth of Chaos.

Adrax looked about, wondering why the Gods had sent him here, and for a moment an old feeling resurfaced. Hatred. Not for the Imperium, but the Materium itself. He hated the laws of Order and sanity. In his twisted mind, Madness was synonymous with Enlightenment and Salvation, and only by embracing the reality of the Warp and rejecting the lie of the Materium could Mankind be saved. He enjoyed his travels in the Warp far more than he did his duties in the Materium. The Warp was a blessed realm, the Materium nothing but Sin incarnate.

Perhaps there were loyalists here, he thought to himself. Perhaps there were beings here to sate the Daemon's hunger, souls in need of redemption for the grievous sin of serving the False Emperor. Unlike many of his kin, he held a sense of twisted pity for his loyalist counterparts. They wished to serve Mankind and to aid it, but in fact they were doing the exact opposite. If only he could open their eyes, flay open their minds and let the truth of Chaos force it's way into their psyche.....

Every atom of his being ached for that feeling. The feeling of liberating another mind by either converting it to the worship of the Dark Gods, or by slaying it's body and freeing it's soul to be one with the Warp. He could think of no duty more noble than his, a messenger of Truth in a Galaxy of Lies.

The Daemon, on the other hand, was a lot less noble in ideal, though just as twisted. It found it's hosts aspirations of justified acts an annoyance, and would prefer the abandonment of the concepts of rightness and wrongness altogether, but in the end Adrax served his purpose, and for the Daemon that would suffice.

The two that were one stalked the halls of the Space Hulk, bathing in it's holy energies to try and maintain the sense of rapture he had from the latest warp jump. He wondered what the Gods had planned for him this time.

Simus was disappointed that the Commander hadn't responded yet. He was simply trying to be friendly so his new allies could relax but he knew he was coming off as intimidating and all-knowing. As a space marine he had that effect on people but being a psyker made things worse. The ignorant feared and distrusted his power and the educated were ever wary of him. Most of the time he didn't give it any thought but this was going to be a long and bloody campaign and he wanted these people to trust him.

Seeing that he wasn't going to get any small talk out of this woman Simus simply smiled down at her. "You prefer silence then? I understand. We shall wait for the others."

They didn't have to wait long as Captain Uhasi and five battle brothers in red and yellow artificer armor walked through the bridge. The armor's base color was red with white details on the shoulders, knee pads, imperial aquilla and some of the helmets. The same sort of pattern as the white and red of the Boros paladins. Simus was surprised to see the captain bring so many men to a friendly meeting but knew it was hardly unexpected. Eternal vigilance was needed after all.

"Greetings Admiral Quinn" he said, nodding to the man before addressing The librarian. "And Captain Psyrakon, I assume?" he said, briefly looking the two over.

"I am Kaelo Uhasi, Captain of the Burning fists fourth company, and behind me you see my personal honour guard. I believe that we have battle plans to discuss..."

"Greetings and welcome aboard My Lord." Admiral Quinn said, bowing to the captain as he did Simus. "We are pleased to have you with us on this crusade. Please forgive my brevity but I have much to do My first officer Commander Mortwich and Librarian-Captain Psyrakon can brief you. Again My Lord, welcome aboard." He bowed again before turning to a choir of astropaths that were desperately trying to get his attention. Something about an Imperial Guard regiment arriving later than expected and a Commissar Tiberius being with them. Simus ignored it.

"That is correct Brother-Captain." Simus said with a smile and offering the fellow marine a handshake. He was pleased to sense no unfriendly intentions from the man. That meant that his chapter, or at least his squad, harbored no ill will towards psykers. "I confess I do not know of the Burning Fists but you are more than welcome among the Boros Paladins. Respect our allies and honor The Emperor in battle and you will be our brothers. As for our battle plans we may now discuss them with your arrival. Commander Mortwich is in charge of Imperial Navy operations aboard the Tomb of Madmen as well as the Imperial Guard forces when they arrive. My brothers and I shall coordinate our efforts with her and I would suggest you do the same. Are we ready to begin Commander?"

Kaelo looked at the Librarian as he offered the handshake, an ancient terran tradition used for greetings as far as the captain knew. He accepted it, gripping Simus' hand firmly, but not with enough force that it would cause any pain or discomfort. "It is good to see more marines in this campaign, as for all of their bravery and determination, I do not think that the men and women of the imperial guard forces present would be able to face the nightmares in a hulk of this size alone" Kaelo stated before removing his own helmet and clipping it to his hip, a smile creeping across his face, making him look almost vampiric. As Simus spome Kaelo signalled his men to take up guard positions around the bridge, while he did trust his fellow marines, Kaelo didn't have the mindset that allowed him to leave things to chance, and thus, he never stayed in a place for too long unless he had some sort of guard around him.

"And I, brother Librarian must admit that I knew nothing of the Boros Paladins before this day, but, as you said, if you prove yourselves in battle, if your faith in the emperor is strong, you will find a fierce ally in my chapter" As he spoke Kaelo's smile grew slightly. The marine had too often been forced to lead lacklustre forces into battle, too often had he been required to come to the aid of faltering regiments and decimated. But now he found himself in the presence of other marine allies, men who he knew would not falter, warrior that he knew would fight fearlessly to the bitter end. Allies that he could rely on.

He listened to the Librarian speak of what was happening, who was in charge of what and other relevant information. "Very good brother Librarian, I shall order my men to assist the Commander in any way possible..." he said, before lowering his voice to the point where only the superior hearing of an astartes could pick up the sound. "And brother librarian...I...have a question to ask you concerning matters of the mind..."

The lumbering form of the Greenskin made it's way through the many corridors of the Hulk it had long since called home. It's towering form finally happened upon a decently sized intersection that had long since been re-purposed. Two of the four pathways, namely the forward and aft passages, had been sealed up. The forward passage was sealed by a blast door and both of it's sides were the victims of crude Orkish markings and glyphs. The aft passages blast door wasn't sealed but it's confines were packed with boxes, junk, and just about anything deemed useless by whomever set them there. The other remaining passage ways had crudely made gates or fences that, when push came to shove, wouldn't be able to hold off things for very long. Situated at the fronts of the non barred entrances were poles fixed to the ground. Each pole had a grim and bizarre assortment of skulls and other trophies stuck upon them. Some of the trophies included the occasional genestealer head, human skull, and various bits and pieces of what was most likely an Ork at one point. In addition to the rather bland trophies, there was a helmet that looked like it belonged to a Space Marine of some sort. It was a midnight blue in color with a golden trim and, situated at the helmets sides, were red bat-like wings.


The interior of the camp consisted of barrel, more of the skull-adorned totems, and a tent full of what the Ork had deemed to be worthy "loot". The barrel had the embers of a dying fire inside of it which, thought it was nearing its end, was enough to brighten the camp barely. The rattling of a nearby chain greeted the Orks arrival as, out from the safety of the shadows, emerged a ravenous creature. Now in the light, one could see that it was a Genestealer. Unfortunately for the creature, the limbs it relied upon for combat were severed. In addition to having it's combat capabilities torn from it, It was chained to a pole near the tent. The Ork let out a guttural laugh as it brought it's heavy right hand down upon the creatures head, flooring it. The Ork sauntered into its "camp" before dropping its axe on the ground. It promptly rummaged through it's tent before pulling free a bucket. The Ork would then sit on the opposite end of the fire from his captive Genestealer. A green hand would reach into the bucket as a red slop would spill out onto the floor, anointing it with the scent of blood. Greenskin savagery would then take a backseat to an even darker sense of humor as the Ork began to feed its "pet". Every now and again the Ork would toss a piece of the mystery meat into his own jaws rather than the ravenous maw of his pet.


" Dats it, Bitey! Eat da bits ya like, HAHAHA! "


This bizarre moment between two beasts would go on for several more minutes before passing. The creature, still perturbed, would recede back into the shadows. It wouldn't be content until it killed and devoured its master but the time for that wasn't at hand. All it could do was bide its time and wait for the right moment. The Greenskin made a toothy grin as it saw this. The thought of it getting free and attacking was an utterly fantastic scenario to entertain. This of course, brought the Greenskins mind toward thoughts of other fights. It looked towards the tent and stared at the pauldron of what appeared to be power armor. Emblazoned upon the rather large shoulder guard was what appeared to be a fist. Any other definitive markings were worn away due to a mixture of time and poor care. It had been a while since he had a real fight on his hands. A dust up or a scrap was one thing to the Greenskin. A fight. A true, no holds barred fight to the death was another thing entirely.


The Greenskin would stew on this thought for but a moment before standing. He needed a fight, plain and simple. He was going to go find himself one.

Peaking up at the direct mention towards her, Commander Mortwich coughed gently to gather the attention of those gathered at that moment and slid her gloved hands delicately across the tactical holo field which dominated the center of the raised dias that the command lectern sat upon. Reacting to her nimble movements, the lights dimmed around them as a privacy field went up to prevent eavesdropping on the conversations held within despite them still being visible through the notable shimmering of the fields effects.

Entering in a targeting solution to bring up the space hulk proper, the Commander finally spoke.

"Gentlemen, honored guests of the Emperor, and fellow servants of the Imperium. As of 1400 Zulu shipboard time, Battlefleet Tempest has set up a blockade and cordon across the projected path of the target. As you are all by now aware, our mission is the capture of any artifacts and cogitator data banks located upon the accursed Tomb of Madmen. Despite the formidable power of the auspex contained within the fleets holy vessels, we are unable to ascertain the layout of the hulk beyond its outer layer and even then, there's many gaps."

Zooming in on a specific portion which showed the smashed remains of an Imperial vessel, its class unrecognizable within the clustered debris and smashed hull of some Ork vessel, the hologram created a see through multi-layered image upon which the section was highlighted in green and all charted sections in bright blue. The areas, which were quite numerous, that were uncharted shone with amber light and eventually dimmed to blackness to reveal what was assumed to be the interior of the area.

"Our insertion point will be here. Auspex and close ranged probes from interceptors place this as the single largest open insertion point without breaching the hull of the hulk and based off visual inspection, it appears the vessels docking bays are relatively undamaged so there is a chance we might be able to siphon life into them and create a working airlock for further reinforcement and resupply. As we are unable to confirm the damage to the vessel, our initial course of action will be to secure the immediate vicinity before venturing further in. Once we can confirm a breathable atmosphere and any possible contact with hostile forces, we will proceed if at all possible to the largest energy readings we have managed to lock onto."

At the mention of energy readings, a yellow dotted path linked the landing zone to a series of throbbing white sections deep within the hulks interior.

"Make no mistake, this accursed collection of vessels is undoubtedly harboring xenos filth. As such, the first teams to go ahead will comprise an entire company of Naval Security. We have the most experience boarding and securing naval vessels as well as the ability to repair and if necessary secure a workable environment for the rest of the boarding teams. Once the beachhead is secured, and for that matter we ask the assistance of your forces Captains, the Imperial Guard elements may begin their landings."

Zooming out as she finished, the hologram projection faded to list a visual representation of troop strengths, equipment, and hardware that would be deployed initially as well as a very tight time table as to the operation. Undoubtedly, it was timed to Naval perfection but like any plan, whether it would survive first engagement with the enemy was still left to fate.

"Any questions my lords?" she asked as her steely gaze slowly traversed across those gathered with the uncomfortable sensation of a Leman Russ turret locking unto its target, its aim true and purpose filled with repulsed aggression and anger ready to lash out at a moments notice. It was at that moment, the blast doors to the bridge thundered open and a large detail of Naval Armsmen stood outside, sending only a few heavily armored and equipped soldiers, resplendent in hostile environment gear, towards the group. Entering through the shimmering haze, the first figure, helmet cradled under one arm saluted and bowed before speaking.

"Commander Mortwich, with compliments from Strike Force Kilo, we are ready to launch at your order."

The dank air permeated a stench around him, as The Adonis strode along through the silent halls, one that was familiar to the infiltrator. A scent of dried blood, fired bolts, and rotted meat, that wafted down the corridors ahead, catching the notice of the marine perhaps two hours ago. His worship to the Decadent Lord of Sensation, had honed his own senses to the point of almost hyper awareness, and like a hound tracking a fallen fowl in the old days of Terran hunts, he closed in on his quarry. As he made his way along, the being would feel a constant pulsating presence within a small pouch at his belt, a slight acknowledgement of a gift remaining with him. Not for the first time, The Adonis felt a portion of his mind drift back to the events that had drawn him here, that which had brought him to the hulk.

_____

It always began the same way.

With a desire, and a man willing to satiate it.

The Adonis had been running with the warband, The Descending Talons, a mercenary organization that had always acted more as a means for blades to be hired. There was no formal master, merely the being that believed himself capable of keeping the ramshackle group of traitors and renegades together, both to pool resources, provide mutual protection, and appear more intimidating, which, in the realms of the Immaterium, was always a welcomed boon. The Slaaneshi soldier had never seemed to feel a bias towards any of the so called comrades he served alongside, yet, he performed his duties, brought back the payment, and so ensured his place among them, cultivating a reputation along the way. So it was, that upon one dawn in the Eye of Terror's expanse, the current leader of their band, T'Kalis Czek, notified him of a mission, and how he'd be interested. At first, the marine had ignored the irritable being, for at the end of the day, he lead the Talons, yet The Adonis answered to none but his Lady, and she had commanded a time of enjoyment and relaxation. Yet, when told it was he himself personally requested, this drew the one thing the warrior could not resist. An undeniable sense of curiosity, that wore through his denial within heartbeats.

This was how he'd met his employers, a band of Astartes clad in a sickly plate of skeletal white, gleaming gold trimming their corrupted suits. The Adonis was no veteran of the Long War, but he could tell them when he spotted them, by their movements, the way they carried themselves, and their weaponry, and it was obvious that, atleast with the retinue that had come to him, he was speaking with those who had fought in the days of the Great Heresy. Silent, save for their chosen speaker, he was swiftly told the objective he sought, the details of his insertion, and granted access to the relevant data of the hulk. For this task, his current armaments were replenished, and he was gifted a piece of gear from the armory of his host himself, a bolter of ancient design, filled with magazines blessed by the sorcerers at the command of the previous one who wielded it.

Brief, and to the point, as soon as the contract was signed, the retinue began moving off, as to each side The Adonis felt the Winds of Chaos rushing about him, coating him the in arcane might of those who commanded it. As the psykers in the service of his host went about their duties, siphoning off the souls of slaves and prisoners, weaving the energy needed for the journey through the Immaterium together into a coherent purpose, The Adonis heard one final utterance before the chaos overtook his vision. Armoured in a suit of tartaros-pattern terminator, it's frame barely recognizable behind the corruption it bore from bathing in the Ruinous Powers, bearing scars and marks that dated back to the days of the Great Crusade itself, stood his host, the employer, he who had summoned him. His figure, haunched over, was as contained violence, for while he did not sway of shift in his place, The Adonis noted the slight twitch in the fingers of his clawed power fist, the senses of the duelist recognizing the tell of a being that wished naught but to stand atop the apex of the galaxy itself, and would crush any who stood in his path.

"By accepting these gifts, you have agreed to retrieve something for me. You belong to me for now. Consider that well, Aspirant. Consider it well. The thing I want you to retrieve has more value to me than you could possibly know. Pray that you succeed, Aspirant. For if you fail, The Tomb of Madmen and it's horrors will be the least of your worries."

These words stayed with the Sworn Sword of Slaanesh, echoing through his mind, as the gates to hell parted, and he was engulfed in their corrupting light.

_____

An echo of a laugh drew the being out of his almost meditative frame of mind, as he halted his steps, finding himself at the turn of a corner, and the end of his hunt. Glaring down upon the metal floors, The Adonis crouched to draw his helm eye to eye with the fallen warrior before him, taking in the scene around him. His gaze was drawn upwards, towards the gaping hole in the roof, leading to a dark abyss above, before looking down at the fallen figure of the marine before him. His body was misshapen from the impact, hinting at a great height, his right helm had been torn off at the elbow, and his plate was adorned with gashes and slashes, rending into it's metal, nearly scratching out the insignia of a winged skull upon it's pauldron. The Adonis looked at the dead Night Lord, it's skull mask leering back at him from beyond the grave, as, within the span of three heartbeats, he came to a conclusion. The flash of silver would be the only sight of the power sword, as in a quick movement, the duelist stood over the corpse, it's scalp now fallen to it's side, revealing the skull and it's contents within. Reaching into the mess of grey matter, the Astartes ripped free a chunk of the brain, luckily still intact, before holding it up before his helm, it's featureless design clearly looking intently upon it. Without the attempt to remove his helm, briefly, the darkness would be briefly lit up, by an otherworldy glow, the hues of some pinkish colour emanating weakly from his palm. In this brief moment, the piece of brain would bubble and sizzle, as it was drawn, seemingly being absorbed by the gauntleted head around it, until it was gone, and the light fades away, The Adonis bracing himself, for the memories to come.

_____

Running, running filled his vision, as his heavy footfalls echoed around him, their tempo only broken by the pounding of his twin hearts in his chest, and the shrieks of an unseen foe behind him.....

......The shots fired from his bolter, flying through the darkness of the hall, cutting away at the shadows to impact against his target, rewarding him with a dying howl, before he moved again......

...He needed to escape.....

....ship was barely serviceable, but maybe he coul..........

........Pain flashes through him, as he feels his arm part from his body, yet already the adrenaline in his system forces him to ignore it. His bolter rears around, blasting a hole through his assailant, it's body falling as his own begins to seal the grievous wound......

....Blood trailed behind him, that wasn't good, they could track tha.......

.......How long had it been in the darkness, how long since he last saw the light of any star......

........He braced himself against the gangway railing, turning to unleash another burst of fire against the chitinous monsters that had hounded him through the maze off halls. He felt his breath coming in long drags, as he watched their incoming forms fall to precise bolter fire, a testament to his own endurance......

....He never missed a shot, Antillus had always complimented him on that......

....Antillus had died screaming....

.....Blood seeped from a dozen wounds, as from both sides, the tide of fangs and claws and hunger came, the floor at his feet sizzling from their shed acidic blood. He felt the hammer of his bolter strike, and heard the final round fire off, taking an oncoming through the skull, as he ejected the now useless magazine to the floor, dropping his bolter to the side, letting it fall off down into the abyss, as he drew his combat knife....

......Pain lanced through him, in the shin, in the shoulder, through his throat, as he felt his breath flood with his own ichor. Gurgling away, eyes still open, he willed defiance upon this accursed hulk, upon these damned tyranids. Yet, as he felt the talon withdraw from, he found the alien cared little for the beliefs of a dying wretch, as he prepared himself for the abyss, hearing the tearing and rip of metal......

.....He was falling, the railing and metal gangway spinning beneath him, his eyes going dark, as the last sound in his mind is the frustrated screams of hunters denied. His final act, is a smirk peeling across his lips.....

Better luck next time. This Raptor dies on the wind.
_____

The shriek echoed into reality, bouncing off the walls of the hallway, as The Adonis felt himself return to his own body. The distant cries of hunters searching for prey was picked up by his keen hearing, and though he knew they approached, they were still a distance away, and thus, he had time to finish what need be done here. Looking down upon the fallen son of Nostromo, the marine swiftly pats the corpse down, pilfering four magazines, unused by their previous owner, that he swiftly stows in his own bandolier pouches, along with a single melta bomb, stubbornly locked to the body's hip. Swiftly taking these boons, his eyes scanned around the site, before he found what he sought, and strode two steps to the left, before recovering the discarded bolter that lay upon the floor, noting the winged horrors etched into it's design, and nodding with approval. Performing a quick field inspection to ensure the weapon functioned properly, The Adonis stood, carrying the new found armament, loading up a magazine, cocking back the firing mechanism, and enjoying the grip of his prize.

Casting a final glance upon the corpse, The Adonis found something stirring within him, before he felt a whisper in his ear, soft and alluring with each syllable.

"Go on, you know you desire it. Pay homage to this fallen predator as you will."

He was back before the corpse in an instant, his power sword in hand, before he brought back the blade, and thrust forth, stabbing through the ceremite, and digging into the bloody chest beneath. With a quick withdrawl, and a flick to cast off any blood residue not burned by the power field, the warrior knelt down, before pressing his fingers into the wound, feeling it engulf his hand, as he dug around the carcass, like a scavenger looking for choice meat. His effort was rewarded, as his onyx gauntlet pulled back, coated in the sanguine liquid of the fallen soldier, and clutched the gene-seed legacy he bore. Holding the small organ within his palm, The Adonis felt a rush pass through him, as in an instant, this too was absorbed into his being, feeling his essence shift with the addition of this being's final memory to the uncaring universe. Feeling his being take in the genetic spirit of the fallen warrior, The Adonis briefly considered turning to rush onwards to face the monsters that had lead to him acquiring this new rush.

Yet, stilling a trembling hand, he clutched his new bolter, turned down a passage, and dashed off silently into the abyss.

The hunt was on now, and he intended to survive it.

​

Adrax Uthuzul had been successful in his first venture: creating a base of operations.

Having gathered corpses of Genestealers and whatever other dead he could find and crucifying them on eight-pointed stars he had hand-crafted, he successfully transformed a chamber of the Tomb of Madmen into a shrine to the Dark Gods. From there he would commune with them, and figure out exactly why he had popped up here.

Suddenly he felt a Warp-Presence nearby. A champion of the Lord of Vices, as his daemonic senses could tell. He stalked the halls around his shrine, searching out the soulfire.

(@BruticusTheGoreHound It alright with you if our characters meet?)

With an almost amusing sense of familiarity, The Adonis barreled down the halls of the Space Hulk. Behind, he heard the clack of claws upon metal, the pursuing horde of genestealers slavering as they closed the distance between themselves and him. Reaching to his belt, the marine would feel his fingers close upon the form of a frag grenade, before he'd activate the explosive. Dropping the item as he rounded a corner, The Adonis would count his heartbeats, before he heard the distant thump of the bomb going off, rewarding him with cries of pain. He felt his body joyously pumping in response to this chase, his veins beating with his blood, muscles tensing and relaxing with each stride, as the situation of combat and survival brought the ever constant thrill of simply being alive to the forefront of his thoughts. Life, and the struggle to maintain it, that was a simple high he'd never grow tired of, testing it in a variety of ways, to see just how close he could brush with death, before pulling back from the brink. Yet, as he shoved his way through a damaged door before him, with a crash, he'd enter into a new scene, causing him to briefly halt.

It was clear the chamber was at one point an atrium of sorts, though to which faction he could not tell, and it's age also lost to him. The air here was not as stale as that he'd sampled when he'd first arrive, and the sign of dust in the air gave off the sense that this was an area relatively more traveled then the abyss he'd come from. A dim light, glowing from a barely powered red bulb atop a passageway, would give the room an almost unwelcoming quality. This coupled with the charms already apparent within the hulk, and The Adonis felt the sense that many mortals might feel quite fearful if they'd stumbled upon this place. Yet, that was not what had caused him to pause, for it was the other figure he'd spotted that had led to this.

The warped armour, the clear aura of corruption, the bloated, monstrous form, akin to the terrors that stalked the minds of mortal children, The Adonis knew he looked upon a being whom had a creature of the Immaterium within. From the colours he bore, The Adonis recognized the bastard offspring of the XVII Legion, one of the preacher's ilk, the stench of piety emanating from his very form. Truthfully, he had not expected to stumble upon one of these beings within the hulk, especially after the corpse of the Night Lord, yet, he did not waste time on why he shouldn't be here. That the daemonkin stood before him was a reality, and he needed to determine one important fact.

Would he stand in his way?

Before his heart had beat, these thoughts had been processed, as The Adonis reacted without missing an impulse, his bolter raising up, as he continued to move into the room, circling about towards the left. Within the vast chamber, stood four pillars, planted in a pattern that supported the sections of the room. It would be behind one of these, that The Adonis would move to take a position behind, as he swiftly turned, keeping his eye upon the possessed, as the first of the genestealers barreled in. Their shapes quickly flooding in, eyes searching after prey, The Adonis would open up with a quick burst of fire, a trio of bolts planting themselves into the torso, head, and shoulder of the lead xeno. Before it hit the floor, already the warrior had unloaded another four bursts to follow it, ensuring the beast would not die alone, and yet, the tide would not be halted. Within moments, it would soon be clear, that if he held here, The Adonis would not be able to slay all the creatures before him. Not alone, and as this thought passed through his mind, he'd look over to see how the child of the Warp would respond, preparing for the possibility that he'd face not only the fangs of the aliens, but the rage of the daemon.​

Before the arrival of the Genestealers, Adrax had silently regarded the scion of Slaanesh. Sole worship of only one of the Gods was looked down upon by his Legion, but Adrax himself didn't see a real reason to create enemies.

Then the Genestealers came. Quickle, a daemonic claw sliced through one, scattering ichor and carapace shards across the floor. The Hive Mind was a great foe of the True Gods, for it could not be corrupted by Chaos - yet - and it threatened to devour those who were.

The Warpson let out a roar of daemonic fervor and charged into the tide of Genestealers headlong, slashing and slaughtering all in his path while screaming praises to the Dark Gods in an ancient, malefic dialect of Colchisian.

As the scions of Slaanesh and Lorgar united to fight their chitinous enemies, a new face promptly stormed its way on scene. Its presence was first heard as a heavy footfall boomed out for all to hear. This footfall gave way to the imposing form of a monstrous Ork clad in a crude suit of plate armor. A Genestealer advanced toward the two Chaos marines, its talons raised and ready for a truly gory encounter. At least, that was what it had been expecting. Ramming into it shoulder first as it rose into a bipedal stance, the Ork slammed the Genestealer into a nearby bulkhead. The Ork stumbled back in a daze whilst the Genestealer flopped to the floor. Whether or not it was still alive was of no consequence as, after shaking off the impact, the Ork brought it's axe down upon the Genestealer. The creature emit a hideous screech as its life was snuffed out from the Greenskins mighty blow. Taking the initiative, the Greenskin tore its weapon free and swung it in a horizontal arc. The blow almost spun the Ork fully around and, while clumsy from a duelists perspective, had served its purpose in keeping the remaining creatures away. Now possessed of some breathing room, the Ork yelled something at the top of its lungs. It was something that had been heard and feared by many sentient beings across the galaxy.


WAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!

The Ork then promptly engaged in battle once again. The Tyranid organisms, while deadly, were caught between two forces. The Ork strung his attacks into a crude series of broad, somewhat economic movements. The Ork was leaving the creatures with very little room and where they chose to evade, they were pressed back and into the weapons of the Chaos Space Marines. The melee promised to be a violent one and it was all the more likely to get worse once the Tyranids were gone and Ork met Marine. The thought apparently seemed to spur the Ork onward as it slaughtered. Fighting the "Jean-Sneakers" was one thing. Fighting the degenerate trans-humans that comprised most of humanities shame was another. They were the best the weakened species had in the worst sort of ways. They were madmen, power hungry, and ruthless above all else. All in all, they were a fun sort and they made excellent fights. Mostly. They sometimes brought those "Demoney" things in that, while still fun to fight, made things sort of weird. The Ork hoped that things didn't get very weird.