again and again until it was an unrecognisable； bloody pulp。
More of the small tyranids scrabbled at the assault ramp as it closed； but then the assault ramp
was sealed； severing several stabbing blade…arms that fell to the floor inside； leaking foul…smelling
fluids。
Marduk slumped down into one of the seats； breathing hard。
Only then did he realise that he still had the bony blade…arm of one of the creatures protruding
from his chest。 He ripped it clear with a sharp movement； and tossed it to the floor alongside the pair
of tyranid corpses。
The Doxology of Revilement was still being recited as Sabtec tore the melting breastplate from
the warrior of his coterie who had been splashed with bio…acid； and the champion sprayed a black
film over the wounds。
“First Acolyte；” said Kol Badar over a closed channel from the other Land Raider。
“Go ahead；” said Marduk。
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“The tyranid invasion may have covered half this world already；” said the Coryphaus。 “I feel
that it would be inadvisable to proceed to the drop…ship’s location overland。 We do not know the
numbers of the xenos between here and there。”
“Agreed；” said Marduk。
“I suggest that we order the ship to launch； to meet us half way。”
“Understood。 See that it is done；” said Marduk severing the connection。
Bloody and battered； Marduk pulled his helmet from his head and stowed it in the alcove above
him。
At last they were leaving this doomed Imperial backwater planet； he thought； and he smiled；
exposing his sharp teeth。
A month； maybe two； and he would be back on Sicarus； returning in glory。
The Land Raider rocked as tyranid bio…weapons struck its armoured hide； but still Marduk
grinned。
Glory would be his。
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CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Dracon Alith Drazjaer of the Black Heart Cabal strode down the dark corridor； his thin lips curled in
distaste。 He moved with the supple； arrogant grace of a born warrior。 A pair of heavily armoured
incubi bodyguards walked warily on either side of him； the sweeping blades of their punisher
glaives lowered。
They passed dozens of cells； all crammed with wailing； wretched slaves； many of whom had
already felt the ministrations of the haemonculus Rhakaeth； or soon would。
The wretched creatures were mostly human； but there were other lesser species packed into the
crowded cells as well： tall； reptilian k’ith； kroot mercenaries； stony…faced demiurg； as well as eldar；
either those of Drazjaer’s dark kin that had fallen from his grace； warriors of his rivals； or his
deluded craftworld cousins。
The cells closest to the haemonculus’s operation chambers were filled with his experiments； and
these blighted creatures filled the corridor with their sickly cries。 Humans with their spines removed
flopped impotently on the floors of cells； while others that had had their legs replaced with muscular
arms whooped in insane rage； hurling themselves against the invisible barrier separating them from
Drazjaer。 They were thrown backwards as energy arced across the barrier； accompanied by the stink
of ozone。
Other twisted monstrosities had insect…like eyes； more than one head； or random limbs sprouting
from their bulbous stomachs。 Some had leathery wings grafted to their backs； and others pulled
themselves across the floor of their cells with flipper…like appendages where human hands had once
been； their lower bodies shrunken and wasted； like the malformed legs of a foetus not yet reached its
term。
Some of the abominations scratched at faces that were already torn to bloody ribbons； and all
cried out for death。 Still others flexed overgrown muscles； fan…like webs of skin opening up beneath
their arms； while others appeared almost normal； with just minor enhancements； such as arms that
ended in glittering blades； or had sharp ridges of bone running down their craniums。
A pair of Rhakaeth’s grotesques guarded the door to the haemonculus’s chambers： his altered
ones； his companions； his twisted cortege； his more successful experiments。 These eldar had come
to the haemonculus willingly； desperate to experience new and varied sensations； and they had
begged and backstabbed their way into Rhakaeth’s favour in order to feel the touch of his razors。
One of the grotesques stood taller even than Drazjaer。 Hundreds of quill…like spines had been
surgically inserted into his flesh； running down his spine and across the backs of his arms。 His
mouth had been cut into a new form； a vertical slash bisecting his horizontal lips； and additional
musculature added so that when it opened； its four corners peeled back independently。 The
abomination’s eyes were those of some serpentine； alien species； and a dual pair of eyelids blinked
as the grotesque looked towards the approaching dracon and his incubi。 Its quills stood on end and
began to shiver noisily。 More spines flicked from within his forearms； and others slid forwards from
the base of its palms。
The second of Rhakaeth’s guards； a female eldar； was completely naked； though her flesh was
covered in small metallic blue scales that shimmered and turned a dusky red as Drazjaer drew near。
Her luscious； ruby lips parted and a forked tongue； pierced in a dozen places with metal studs；
flicked out past sharpened teeth。 The fingers of her left hand had been replaced with long knives；
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and parts of her body—and her companion’s—bore scars and fresh wounds that had clearly been the
result of her caresses。
Neither of the altered eldar warriors bore weapons； their enhanced bodies their instruments of
death。
The incubi at Drazjaer’s side levelled their glaives at the pair； and runes flickered with witchlight
upon the blasters built into their sweeping tormentor helms。 The potent weapons were neurally
linked to the incubi’s brain waves； and could be fired with a mere thought； leaving the warrior’s
hands free to wield their punisher glaives。
The grotesques hissed at the powerfully armoured incubi； the female creature flexing her fingers；
and her male counterpart turning his upturned hands towards them。 Drazjaer had seen that one fight
before。 It was capable of firing the spines from its palms； and the merest scratch of one of the quills
would cause a slow and painful death。 The haemonculus Rhakaeth had been particularly proud of
that creation。
Drazjaer waved them aside with a languid； dismissive motion； and the pair of grotesques backed
away from the portal； still hissing at the incubi。
“Stay here；” Drazjaer said to his bodyguards； in his soft； dangerous voice。 The incubi bowed
their helmeted heads in respect of his wishes and stood to attention； taking up a position opposite the
grotesque bodyguards； the ruby…red crystal lenses； hiding their eyes； glittering menacingly。
Drazjaer strode into Rhakaeth’s chambers； the bladed arcs of the door slicing closed behind him；
and gazed around。
He avoided the haemonculus’s private chambers whenever possible； and it had been some years
since he had last set foot in this part of his ship。
The only light within the room was a dull； pulsing glow that emanated from the floor and
ceiling； throbbing like the beat of Khaine’s heart； Rhakaeth’s eyes were particularly sensitive to
bright lights。 The walls of the circular chamber were smooth and the colour of dried blood and
bladed stands atop which was spread a veritable cornucopia of curios and torturous implements
hovered above the floor。
There was no obvious order to the mess of objects strewn across the levitating stands。 The
hollowed skulls of eldar； carved with runes； lay alongside blades covered in rust…like flecks of dried
blood； jars filled with blinking organic creatures that squirmed within their confinement； and
decomposing severed limbs and organs left to rot。
Drazjaer moved to one of the hovering stands and lifted up a cube the size of a child’s skull。 Its
sides were covered in stretched； flayed eldar skin； and as he held it； faces began to push from within；
straining to escape。 They opened their mouths wide in silent cries of torment。
“That was a gift to me from my old master；” said a hollow voice； and Drazjaer turned to see his
haemonculus； Rhakaeth； ghost into the room； his impossibly thin； skeletal frame seeming to glide
across the floor。 Blood was splashed across one emaciated cheek； shockingly bright on his
monotone countenance。
The haemonculus folded his wasted arms across his chest； skeletal fingers covered in blood
scratching idly at the emaciated flesh of his upper arms。
“Before you killed him？” asked Drazjaer。
“Indeed。 It is a crucible。 The soul…spirits of an entire seer…council of our brothers of Ulthwe are
housed within it；” said Rhakaeth。
“It’s very nice；” said Drazjaer； placing the cube back upon the hovering stand。
“But you did not come here to admire my collection；” said the haemonculus； “you came here to
pay witness to my work。 Please； my lord； come through。”
Drazjaer followed him through to a side room and gazed upon the two bloodied bodies that were
held aloft by a multi…legged mechanism； their limbs pierced by the blade…arms of the machine。
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The two figures were immense； as tall as eldar； but easily three times the weight； their bodies
bulked out with thick slabs of muscle。 Blood was everyw