Raug stalked in one of the myriad halls of the Hulk aimlessly until the sound of battle could be heard echoing through one of the hallways.
"Peculiar." He mused to himself in a hollow grating voice. He moved toward this new event curious.

The battle was between two corrupted astartes, an ork and genestealers. He observed the combatants every movement and strike, making mental notes on their strengths and style. The way the genestealers were brutally culled was amusing to watch. Raug laughed silently to himself, arms crossed, as he watched the battle unfold.
When the end of the battle was near he began to clap slowly, smiling with sharp teeth.

Rumon walked for what seemed a few hours, must have left the wreckage that once was a transport.

As Rumon walked throughout this new ships halls he heard something that hadn't been heard in a very long time. Bolt rounds being discharged, this was it. He'd finally gone insane, Genestealers was one thing but bolt rounds? He'd seen no sign of life anywhere for years. Perhaps he discharged his own bolt pistol.

No, still maglocked to his thigh waiting it's chance to sing to the world it's glorious voice that heralded death and destruction.

The Bolt rounds sung again. "Prey?" Rumon had announced to himself but unsure of this. Perhaps his 'brothers' had survived or at least one of them, they could at least accomplish more together regardless.

Still having his sense about him to act like an idiot and charge into the halls of another Hulk on what he believed he was hearing but began stalking into the direction the sounds came from, Genestealers could be heard as well.

"Preysight" with that single word Rumon's Power Armour responded with his optics changing to his command. If something was heard his sight would pick it up, it's machine spirit couldn't lie.

At first nothing but the direction of the Genestealers had his lens flare and began moving in that direction and with the cracks of Bolt rounds the direction became clearer and clearer.

His Preysight picked up unusual sounds that to any who hadn't heard them would be confused at the words, Rumon knew them though. "Colchisian" spat Rumon who even though knew he should leave the what he assumed would be a Word Bearer felt slightly compelled to see any living being. Might even help him to escape if possible or was even more deranged than they were when the Long War started all those millennia ago.

Whatever came after that was rarely heard, even aboard this Hulk. "Daemon." The word alone made Rumon feel cold, he remembered seeing Legionaries ripped apart by them, the cold left him almost instantly as rage burnt his body. "Daemon." Rumon spoke the word this time with a sense of anger to himself and began moving to kill whatever create spoke the word.

The sound of a footfall that was like a Terminator stamping down to let it's presence be known to those before it, it gave Rumon pause regardless of being away. Perhaps the Word Bearer was in Terminator Armour. As a moment passed and even if Preysight wasn't working by sound he'd have known that cry, it was nothing but a guttural cry uttered by the Greenskins. Last time Rumon had heard it his brothers had silenced shortly after it was bellowed. This Ork for some reason wasn't silenced.

"Orks and Daemons, no brothers" Rumon whispered to himself.

As Rumon neared the sound of Bolt fire it had suddenly ended, no sounds came from anywhere and direction was lost. Rumon stood motionless with no sound apart from his suit's generator humming.

Preysight picked up a new sound, a sound again unheard for years. Clapping. Once more Rumon began to close in on the sound, he knew he must be close by now.

Adrax looked to the clapping figure when the last Genestealer fell.

He then looked at the Ork. The Daemon told him another presence was near, one that would not likely appreciate the gifts of the Warp.

He was cautious, and hoped to avoid conflict. After all, there was an overwhelming loyalist force nearby, and they were the true enemy.

The encounter lasted no longer than a single minute, and yet, in this short frame of time, so much had occurred. He felt his mind electrified at the rapid developments battle brought on, each new variable spiraling into the chaotic dance of combat, and further fueling the euphoria of his focus. Screams echoed, his bolter kicked in his grip, flesh parted, blood was spilt, and the muscle of material and daemonic flesh rippled as it set itself against the raw hunger of the aliens to this galaxy. Truthfully, The Adonis fancied he could see a ripple of surprise pass through the linked mind of the abominations, for in a moment, the hunters, had become the hunted.

And then, to contrast against the storm of violence, suddenly, it was all over, silence dropping over the scene. With a flick of his fingers, the magazine from the bolter dropped to the floor, empty, it's munitions depleted, as in a moment, the weapon was fed fresh rounds, it's wielder eyeing those that remained in silence. He took in the scene around him, not only in sight, but in smell and sound and touch, the scent of the dead wafting in the air, mixing with the aggressive odor of the large ork that had stumbled onto the scene. The sound of breathing, of armour shifting, echoed in his mind, as the renegade heard the thump of the daemonic being's hearts, still beating even in the depths of corruption, and the movements of one who had not chosen to reveal himself yet. He felt the vibration in the ground, soft and subtle, pulsing through the metal, as yet another came forth, most likely drawn by the sounds of combat, as the others no doubt had been. In this moment than spanned much longer in the darkest reaches of his mind, The Adonis would take an inner sigh, enjoying the last flickering sensation of the battle, before it faded away. Now it was time to return to the mission.

Gripping the bolter in hand, the marine stood silently before the two who had joined him in bloodshed, before he'd offer each of nod in turn. Their ferocity had been key in taking the genestealers, and smashing their pack, and so, even towards the xeno, he'd offer a modicum of respect. It was only as the hidden one made himself known, clapping at the display he'd witnessed, that The Adonis would turn, offering his back to the possessed and the greenskin. Gazing upon the newcomer, his mind would race, taking in the information apparent from a glance. Armour was in colours he didn't recognize, and seemed to be of a newer pattern, lacking the corruption and shift of a longer resident of the Eye, of course that told little, as The Ruinous Powers always had a flow of new followers. Damage and wear seemed apparent on the plate, some looking like genestealer scars, others perhaps caused by fellow Astartes, so this suggested that the being had shed his brother's blood at some point, interesting. Weaponry was, again, looking newer than the models typically seen in the service of the older powers, such as the bolter he'd picked up from the Night Lord corpse, and hinted more at freshly turned, so to speak. Telling how long he'd been upon the hulk would be impossible with the dilution of time in the Immaterium, so he didn't bother, and instead focused on the eyes of the man, where he found another intriguing feature. There was a darkness to those eyes, a hunger, like a wolf gazing upon sheep, and instinctively, The Adonis felt his grip tighten upon his bolter, and relished the sense of danger that seemed to radiate from this one.

This was growing all to interesting for a simply grab and run assignment, he'd note, as silently, he awaited to see how this band of the lost and the damned would act next.​

Simus and his two brother marines listened to the briefing quietly, thoughtfully stroking his chin every once in a while. The information they had about the space hulk was woefully inadequate but it was just enough for a starting point. A point where he and his brothers could land and explore the vessel in support of the navy. There were many stories and legends about the Tomb of Madmen and Simus had read them all. He was curious, even eager, to discover the truth about them and wanted to explore the vessel as much as possible. He wished he could explore it all but that was unlikely. Admiral Quinn would likely order the fleet to withdraw once they found something truly valuable or dangerous and the Boros Paladins had a personal mission here, one that needed Simus' absolute focus.

Uther was here. The Chapter Master of the Boros Paladins who had saved the chapter from being expunged by offering to pay for its sins with a crusade into The Eye of Terror. Now that crusade was over and Uther and the few brothers who went with him were on their way home. This, they had told Simus, was the place to look for them but after all this time he couldn't be sure if it was really them. Only he had received the message and he had told no one else. Not even his brothers knew why they were really here. It wasn't safe for them to know, not yet. Simus hoped that it soon would be.

"I have no questions commander." He said when Mortwich was done. He gave a nod of approval to the armsmen who were before her standing ready. Her men were ready to do or die for her, their loyalty was absolute. That was the sign of a good commander and she would need that skill in the coming weeks. "I suggest you allow my brothers and I to go in first. We will dock at the hanger you described by stormraven and secure the area. Once we have established that all is well you may com aboard and establish your bastion. And should we find unwelcome hosts it will be far easier for five of us to escape than one hundred of you. In the meantime I must return to the Candle of Faith and prepare our own boarding actions. If you do decide to grant us the honor of first contact please let me know within the hour."

He turned to the assembled armsmen and shook the hand of their leader. "Good luck armsman. Keep the Emperor's light in your hearts and know that his angels of death sand with you and you will know no fear. Fight or die well."

Once everyone had dispersed Simus pulled his fellow marine aside, not forgetting the audience he wanted. "Now brother, what is it you wish to discuss?"

Watching the Astartes leave, Commander Mortwich motioned for the commanding officer, Lieutenant Commander James Hughes, to follow her outside as she took her leave of the group to discuss the minor details that did not need her attention. Waiting until the blast doors sealed behind her and the group had proceeded towards a relatively unused section of the ship she finally spoke.

"Commander Hughes, let me be frank with you. Are you a true devout servant of the Emperor?" she said without wavering as if the question she had just asked had been no different than asking the time yet by the look from her steely gaze and the blank expression, she was dead serious. Slightly unnerved by such a question and lifting a gloved hand to move a strand of auburn hair from his eye, the Lieutenant Commander looked outside the viewing glass of the armored deck for a long moment before meeting her gaze.

"I would like to assume that I am a loyal servant...that I would not do anything to jeopardize the safety of the fleet, my comrades, or my devotion to the Golden Throne. I don't quite understand why you would ask this of me..."​

"Forgive me Commander, I fear the coming days will be a test of our faith. I do not trust our 'guests'. The Astartes always have some secret goal in their mind and make no mistake...we're all but fodder in their games and I for one will not allow them to destroy this fleet, risk my men unnecessarily, or worst...bring some foul artifact from that damnable vessel."

A look of concern filled Hughes face as he watched Mortwich stare outside the viewing glass as well, her jaw clenching rhythmically as she let the implication sink in. After a couple moments of silence, she took it as his confirmation that they were of one mind.

"I have new orders for you. You will continue your mission as outlined but in the event I am killed, or the mission directive changes beyond what was discussed...you will send out a call for fire to the fleet with my authorization signal. Destroy the hulk no matter what. If the Astartes stop you, then they have proven that they are agents of the Warp seeking to undermine the Imperium. I do not doubt your loyalty Commander, I know in the end you will make the right choice."

Moving away towards the end of the corridor and activating the rune to call the elevator, she turned back towards Commander Hughes and smiled briefly.

"Good luck Kilo One, as of this moment the operation is a green light. I will be arriving in the second wave as there is some unfinished business still here on the ship. I expect a status report within the hour. Ave Imperator Commander." Stepping unto the platform as the hatch hissed open and two crew members saluted before getting off, she left the commanding officer of strike force Kilo contemplating what really was going on...

___________________________
​

The hangar bay was a beehive of activity as cradled drop ships lowered down from their berths. Intestinal tubing of fuel lines, oil, and power cables dangled from each craft as they were placed onto their launch racks. Enginseers, techpriests, and servitors moved from vessel to vessel sanctifying each and doing last minute system checks as pilots throttled the thrusters testing for any inconsistencies. Weapon mounts spun and tracked targets, their safeties on even as fresh ammunition and rockets were loaded into waiting mounts.

Groups of armsmen, in heavy boarding armour, shouldering their weapons and making final checks lined up as squad officers did last minute break downs of the deployment patterns. Even as the last minute drills and checks echoed through cavernous hangar bay, the elevator slowly dropped into view and Commander Hughes stepped off the hazard stripped platform even as orange warning lights flared. Marching up towards his command platoon which stood waiting, weapons at the ready, visors up on their hostile environment suits, oxygen tanks filled and with final nods, he patted his second on the shoulder and turned to address the waiting men.

"Gentlemen! Ladies! Bastards from Second Platoon! Listen up! Our operation is a green light. Once the last of the munitions are loaded, all call-signs will proceed to the highlighted landing zone. Second and Third will secure the LZ. Once it is confirmed it is clear of hostiles, Fourth Platoon will land and begin creating our base of operations. Make no mistake people, we're going in first because the Emperor damn well knows we're the best He's got in the Navy. Cover your mates six, make your blessings to Him, and we'll all be back in time for next weeks special." his voice boomed as it was met with raucous cheers and booming laughter.

Marching up the ramps of their associated drop ships, each squad filed up into their arrestor seats. Weapons were stowed, equipment locked in place and as the last person was in place, the ramps began to slowly grind upwards snapping shut with a hiss of escaping atmosphere. Turning on their guiding rails, the first set of drop ships lowered down unto the launch deck even as lights dimmed down and the traffic control crew began to waive them forward with illuminated green and red batons. Seconds ticked by as a resounding clank echoed through as the first drop ship locked in place and the pilot spoke muffled over the internal vox frequency.

"Launch control this is Stryker-One, we are green light and ready for take off over."

"Copy that Stryker-One, launch authorization is confirmed. You are clear to drop the washboard in t-minus three....two....one....coupling disengaged. Good luck Stryker-One."​

"Copy control, we'll give 'em hell." the pilot replied as thrusters flared to maximum rocketing the drop ship forward even as it was magnetically propelled down the long launch rails down through the vessels launch tubes. Accelerating under pressure as it exited the atmosphere and gravity of its mother vessel, the transport hammered out into space followed by the sudden discomforting sensation of OH SHIT I'M FALLING before weightlessness assumed.

Behind the first transport, the process was repeated as fifty transports shot out into the blanketing darkness of the void and the formation gathered into a five wave chevroned formation. Fury Interceptors banked overhead escorting them towards the target zone as the pilots HUD loaded up the projection path. Suddenly a green line appeared over the vast expanse of space as the vessel shifted on a course correction to come inline with its new heading. Turning roughly forty degrees on its axis, the formation lead slowly faced the hulk following the guided path towards the target vessel even as broken metal filled the view as they passed the outskirt of the hulk.

Flying past, the interceptors broke off as the target landing zone came into view and the formation slowed to allow the first wave in. Entering through a spacious cavern of twisted metal catwalks, broken armored plating, and skeletal platforms, the first five transports entered into the abandoned, lifeless cargo hold of what was once an Imperial freighter of some unknown class. Bright floodlights coughed into life as the first transport lowered itself to the freighters deck, landing claws extending to catch it as they magnetically sealed. Killing the power to the thruster, the pilot sent a confirmation ping over the squad frequency even as the ramp began to lower.

Unfiltered light and radiation shined through the ramps crack to illuminate the red lit interior of the transports hold revealing the first rank of armsmen, boarding shields facing outwards and weapons ready. Their boarding suits fully sealed, the first rank clanked down as their magnetic boots anchored them in place and they fanned out, torches illuminating the area. Squad leaders motioned with hand signals and confirmation pings as objectives were secured and the landing zone scouted out and cleared.

Waiting on another transport still outside the hangar bay, Commander Hughes waited impatiently for the confirmation signal from Kilo One which came moments later signifying an all clear, no enemy contact. Sending a confirmation over the general vox frequency, the rest of the transports began to move in staggered waves as the prior ones cleared out after unloading their cargo and troop compliment. Already as his vessel came in for landing, the Lieutenant Commander could see engineers hard at work as search lights were already up and running lighting up the interior.

Welders flared as metal constructs were linked up to create a perimeter wall. Pre-fabbed containers which were fully sealed and would act as their garrison structures were lowered and locked into place. Generators coughed into life powering up the limited structures life support until the hangar could be sealed even as armsmen set up a perimeter. Without gravity it would be harder to defend the position but so far the auspex wasn't picking up any life forms and the engineering detachment had already unloaded its combat servitors which began to deploy the perimeter even as the vessel finally descended.

Clambering down the embarkation ramp, Commander Hughes walked towards the nearest pre-fabbed structure they had brought with them and entered through the cycled airlock. Already inside, a group of armsmen and an enginseer were busy setting up a permanent command station even as recycled, stale air was pushed through the rooms strained life support system. It was a start but within the next 48 hours they would have a permanent foot hold.

Moving towards a cogitator bank hooked up to the only functioning vox-terminal, he keyed in his command pass code and began the encryption frequency towards the main fleet. Typing in a single word, he sent the signal and congratulated the men inside of a job well done so far before cycling back out through the airlock to oversee the transition of his men.

Adrax sniffed the air and turned to the Noise Marine and Ork.

"The servants of the Anathema are here."

The Ork stared at the two with an expression full of bloodlust. It took a step forward as if getting ready to fight before stopping promptly. The fact that one of the two marines was a hideous abomination wasn't the reason nor was it that the other was quite well armed. Truth be told, the Ork stopped for a reason that many humans often overlooked when confronted with Orks. NutStompah was being clever. The time for cunning was at hand as a bizarre sort of rationality overcame the Nob. This wasn't unprecedented as it had been seen before in many Nobs, Warbosses, and other Orkish warlords. Something wasn't right and the Ork could tell. He sniffed the air before he gave the two traitors another gaze.

" Oi! You two Gitz aint from 'round 'ere! "

A further realization dawned on the Ork. If the two were truly " Kaos Marines " and they were new to the hulk like he had expected, then certain opportunities were now available to the Ork. This didn't dawn on him immediately so he stood his ground before the Marines with his Axe in hand and at the ready. When the gravity of the situation did finally make itself known, the Ork let loose a hearty laugh before giving the two marines a rather toothy grin.

"You Gitz is new to da Hulk, yeah!? The two of ya got on 'ere somehow, didn't ya! "

The Ork spoke in a broken but still somewhat viable form of Low Gothic. If the two of them got on then there was obviously a way off. A way off meant Stompah could get back to other Orks and possibly even find a WAAAGH!!! to join up with. Waiting for other Ork Boys to appear, kit up enough, then fight wasn't going to do. Furthermore, even if they did rise up and kill the "Jean-Sneakerz", they would have to wait for a Mech to fix up the entire Hulk. That in itself would be hard enough to deal with were it not for the Warp things that sometimes assailed the ship. All in all, escaping here to find better and worthier fights was all Stompah cared for now. These two marines, as the Ork reckoned, were probably the best way off the Hulk. Furthermore, if they proved weak or said no, Stompah reasoned he could relieve them of their heads and loot what they had.

"Ah, I see." Adrax said, grinning. "You wish to leave this Hulk. I would help you, but I did not arrive in a conventional sense. I was sent here by the Gods. Riding the tides of the Warp is a dangerous game, even for a possessed. For a greenskin like yourself..... it would certainly be a fight, but no the fun kind."

"Trapped as well?" Raug smiled maliciously at the warriors who had slaughtered the genestealers. "Imperium only means more prey. Still, they have us outnumbered. Why not combine our strength?"
Raug smiled wide, revealing his teeth. The situation he was in didn't seem to bother Raug in the slightest.
"If you are fond of survival, whoever you are."