"Forgive my ignorance I was asking to move to the objective but you have just give the order." Malrak gave Orghast a bow as he was still floating in the air and he launched himself forward towards a defending guardsmen that was moving between cover. "Die in the name of the Dark gods filth!" Malrak, using his claws slashed the guardsman in the leg causing him to fall to the ground in pain. Malrak then using the enhanced strength of the mutations and picked up the injured guardsman by the head with his right hand and the placed his left hand on the guardsman's chest completing the circuit and he then unleashed an ark of lighting directly though the man completly frying him head to chest his flesh was smoking and he was limp. Malrak quickly used his knowledge of telekinesis to throw the body at a near by wall and launched himself further into the defences.
Izakdor began to chant the true name of a Daemon he had bound to his will. Ghalha'Veet Chanting the name, over and over, the two corpses Malrak had given him rose off of the ground and burst into explosions of blood, bone and fluid. Where the two corpses once lay, a unique Daemonic Entity emerged from the Immaterium. As the followers of Chaos knew, all Daemons were formed from emotions. They drew power from these emotions and feelings and grow more powerful as those emotions are strengthened. However, this Daemon was unique. It had been crafted using only emotions born from Izakdor. This art was practiced by the Dark Priesthood. Such Daemons were referred to as the "Soul-Brothers" of the humans that created the emotions that birthed them. This daemon manifested as a Horror, but rather than blue or pink skin, the skin of this Daemon was black as pitch. The creature had a vaguely human form, with many different, writhing tentacles growing from it's back. Rather than having the markings of Tzeentch or any God, the unique Daemon had the star of Chaos Undivided emblazoned unto it's back. The Daemon and Izakdor lept forward into the enemy, each mirroring the others movements. The Daemon unleashed a wave of Warpfire which engulfed 3 Guardsmen, transforming them into Chaos Spawn that followed in Izakdor's wake, attacking any who would try and harm him. As Izakdor cut through the defenses, bolt pistol screaming and sword slicing through flesh, he screamed litanies from the Book of Lorgar, and other foul Praises to Chaos Undivided. The Daemon's many mouths screamed in the guttural, incomprehensible language of the Warp, but it did so with such ferocity and vigor that it was likely it was screaming sermons of it's own, not from Lorgar's lips but from the Gods themselves.
As soon as the dreadclaw had smashed down, and its sides opened and released a them in their preciusly few numbers, Macer stormed out, he imidiatly saw that all they where facing so far where just imperial guards, and these ones looked to still be in shock from the dreadclaws sudden aperal. It was allmost too easy as his bolt pistol began barking, the mass reactive rounds easily pircing flak as it started gibbing and ripping apart the first couple of guardsmen, in his way. Then with a loud charge he he closed in on those remaining to give them a bloody end with his axe.
Izakdor continued to press into the Guardsman defenses, jumping from one enemy to another as his daemonic ally rained warpfire unto the battlefield.
Fighting her way out of the awkward seated position, Dyrhildur War-Scythe scrambled to join the fight outside. As fast as her legs would carry her, she sprinted, unfastening one of the javelins from her back to hurl it at a distracted guardsman. Even though she launched it with practiced ease and power, it missed, embedding itself firmly in the ground a few feet to his right. The huntress grunted in anger - after all, her allies had already scored a few kills, and now that she could unleash her fury - something she'd been waiting for ever since she'd stepped into that wretched shuttle - she was held back by bad luck. But it was of no matter. The distance was not too large, and soon, she was in range of another man. With the momentum of her sprint carrying her, the poor guardsman had no chance as she twisted, bringing down her bladed appendage on him with full force, snuffing out his life in a single, bifurcating, fell strike. Blood and organ juice adhered to her 'arm' as a quick punch from her human left fist seperated him into left and right halves, making the woman smile as she looked for a next victim, blind to the threat of lasfire.
The chaos spawn, being weak, minor creatures, are quickly slain after scouring a few kills. The Daemon, also being weaker than most, only had the strength for that one burst-attack. It melts back into the Warp, shrieking madly. Cursing beneath his breath, Izakdor dives behind cover and begins picking off Guardsman with his Bolt Pistol. He feels drained of energy from that sudden surge of warp power, and would need time to recover.
Malrak was making his way to the main building by launching himself through the use of his telekinetic prowess while he was no master at it he certainly had a talent in it. As he was basically throwing himself in the correct direction and using small bursts of energy to steer himself and dodge laz fire. As he approached the entrance of the main building he used a large burst of energy to send him careening towards the ground onto an unlucky guardsmen who had been trying to shoot him down. As he was about to hit him Malrak placed his legs to hit the man's shoulders which made the man fall on to his back. Using this opportunity to finish the man off Malrak punched through the man's neck with his claws severing the spinal cord killing him instantly. Malrak then ripped off the head with ease do to it only hanging on by a few strings of sinew and muscle and carried it with him. He then cleaned the blood off his hand with a quick surge of warp lighting and continued on his way to the entrance carrying his trophy by the strap of the helmet that was still attached like a morbid basket.
Hamadias did not attack, letting the others do the legwork and getting used of what presence was a foe and which was not. There was an order to be fulfilled and as such he moved toward his assigned position as per Orghast's plan, being slightly ahead of his commanding officer. Harpoon gun in hand and hunched to make himself smaller, the alien moved rather quickly zig-zag.
Thermidor would stand in the thunderhawk's bay, simply watching the madness unfold outside, mainly studying Izakdor's daemonic summoning ritual, and the devastation it left in its wake, a soft mechanical humming/buzzing noise could be faintly heard coming from under his hood as he stared out at the battle. He didn't know why, but for some reason, despite the fact that it would put him in unnecessary danger, he wanted to walk outside into the fray. He slowly began to walk down the ramp, looking around for any threats, the combat had by this point mostly been pushed forward, away from the thunderhawk but he still must be careful, his survival was his paramount goal, after-all, one can not create wondrous things if they are dead. The fallen tech-priest would find a wounded guard lying on the ground, his body badly damaged, it would soon fail him. The failure of the organic form... weak, frail, inefficient. Thermidor thought to himself as his mechadendrites emerged from under his robe, wraping themselves around the wounded man's shoulders like tentacles, lifting him up slightly and leaning/pressing the man against a nearby large piece of rubble. His right hand held the plasma pistol under his robes but he didn't draw it just yet. He would slap the man with the palm of his left hand to snap his attention to him, the cold metal impacting on skin making a somewhat loud noise. He would then attempt (and thanks to his mostly monotone, filtered voice, mostly failed) to sound panicked in an attempt at tricking the guard. "Soldier! The facility is under attack by the vile forces of Chaos, I must get to the control room and activate the sentry turrets immediately, how would one get to the control room from this location?" The wounded man simply issued forth dazed mumbling, blood from his wounds staining the front of Thermidor's robe. Thermidor felt his anger rising for what he believed to be his anger at the man's weak organic form giving way, denying him the information he sought, however in reality it was Chaos's sway over the heretek slowly increasing, pushing him to violence. "DAMNABLE USELESS FLESHBAG!" Thermidor shouted and he drew his pistol and fired it point-blank at the man's face, melting the wounded trooper's head into slag. He dropped the body and pulled the mechadendrites back up under his robe. He then began walking towards Orghast, being the largest and easiest to spot of his allies. The soft mechanical humming/buzzing noise resumed once again from under his hood.
Izakdor was still hiding behind cover, bleeding from his nose and ears. His breathing was labored. The daemonic attack he had summoned had taken most of his energy. He couldn't fail now. Somewhere in the facility was a Commisar. That was his kill. He couldn't allow any of the others to claim that one.
