Art by Darko Stojanovic
The xenos was lying in the dirt holding her guts in.
A fractional movement where there should have been no movement caught the Warden of the Void’s eye. He looked closer to see that instead of what beings in this situation should be doing – in his experience, trying to push their digestive tract back into their body – the Drukhari was doing something with her hands he could not quite make out.
Is she… squeezing her own entrails? What could that possibly…
A sound drew his gaze up to the creature’s face, and he learned that even after uncounted ages as a renegade Space Marine he could still be surprised and disgusted, and at the same time.
Is she ENJOYING this?
He pointed his plasma pistol at her head and pulled the trigger.
“Suffer not the alien to live, indeed,” he murmured.
There was a noise behind him, an electric SHUNK! he recognized as the sound of a power axe being swung through armor and bone and lodging in ferrocrete. Turning, he saw Kallor Veyran pulling his weapon out of the corpse of another Drukhari. The Oathbound Serpent pointed his axe at the corpse with a smoking stump for a neck.
“The Emperor’s Mercy, I believe the servant Astartes call it?” Veyran asked.
“Mercy for myself,” the Warden said. “The escalating depravity coming out of Commoragh amazes even me.”
Veyran surveyed the battlefield. “A good day.”
The Warden considered this. “At the moment the kabal lacks the forces to fight us effectively. That will not be the case for long, though.” His commander gestured for him to follow and started to cross the ruins. “They won’t go down as swiftly in greater numbers.”
“A rout every so often is good for morale,” Veyran said. “Especially after the last few months.”
“Be careful, Kallor. We are treading a very thin line, here.” He swept his arm behind them to encompass the field of smoldering red-armored corpses, a difficult maneuver while walking in power armor. “This is nothing to be celebrated, not with so many wheels turning at once.”
A throaty chuckle came out of Veyran’s vox-grille. “Ever the voice of reason.”
The Warden stopped and took off his helmet so Veyran could see his expression. “We aren’t one of the cult legions. Each of us should be the voice of reason.”
Veyran took a few steps over to one of the larger piles of bodies and planted the head of his axe in the dirt. He stared off over the battlefield. “I am aware. But, still, continue to remind me.”
At least he seems to be listening. Good.
“You sent the recall signal to Calchas?” Veyran asked without turning around.
“I did.”
“And?”
The Warden tried not to sound snide. “He ignored it. We have his location.”
“Signal the Master of the Fleet,” Veyran said. “Full speed to the Mandeville point the instant the last transport is secured. We’re bringing him back.”
As he was starting to nod in agreement, the Warden heard an odd metallic pinging sound coming from the ground. He and the Serpent both looked down.
A bloody Drukhari was tapping Veyran’s boot with its finger.
It grinned and said, “ooooooh, can I come too?”