"Pull back!"
A voice echoed through the empty road, followed by the rapid pounding of boots and the sharp cracks of lasgun fire.
"Run! Run back to the command post! We'll be safe there!"
Ten PDF soldiers ran through the deserted street, accompanied by several civilians who struggled to keep pace with them.
Their breathing was ragged.
Some clutched lasguns tightly against their chests while others carried whatever weapons they had managed to find. Their uniforms were torn and stained with blood, their faces showing the exhaustion of men and women who had been fighting for far longer than they were prepared for.
Every few seconds, one of the PDF soldiers would glance over his shoulder.
Then he would raise his lasgun and fire several shots into the darkness.
Red beams briefly illuminated the abandoned buildings.
Nothing.
"Keep moving!"
The soldier immediately turned and continued running.
Behind them, something moved.
It was difficult to see.
The darkness between the ruined buildings seemed almost alive, swallowing the faint light of the emergency lamps that still flickered along the street.
Another PDF soldier looked back.
"Did you see—"
A burst of lasgun fire erupted from somewhere behind them.
The soldier flinched.
"Don't stop!"
They ran harder.
The civilians were beginning to fall behind.
One man stumbled and nearly fell, only to be grabbed by a PDF trooper and pulled back to his feet.
"Come on!"
"I—I can't—"
"You can! Keep running!"
The command post was only a few streets away.
They could see its defensive lights in the distance.
For the first time, hope began to appear on their faces.
Then a figure stepped into the road ahead.
Everyone stopped.
The PDF soldiers raised their weapons.
For several seconds, nothing moved.
Then another figure emerged from the darkness.
And another.
The civilians slowly backed away.
The PDF soldiers tightened their grips around their lasguns.
The first figure stepped beneath the flickering light.
Power armor, one that in pink, yellow and black.
But, the first thing they see is the severed heads chain on his waist and the flayed skin on the armor.
None of the mortals cried out in joy or relief.
If anything, their fear deepened.
The soldiers raised their lasguns higher, their weapons trembling as they aimed at the towering Astartes.
Then the figure spoke.
"Ahhhh..."
The voice was sharp and perfectly neutral, yet something about it felt horribly wrong. It carried no anger, no excitement, no hatred. It was almost calm.
"The smell of despair."
The words seemed to crawl directly into their minds.
"So tasteful."
Several soldiers staggered.
One dropped to a knee, clutching his helmet as a piercing pain erupted inside his skull. Another gasped and pressed both hands against the sides of his head. Even those who remained standing found their vision swimming, their thoughts becoming sluggish and disjointed.
"What... what is happening?"
"I—I can't think..."
The civilians began to panic.
The Astartes simply watched them.
Behind him, more shapes emerged from the darkness.
One.
Then another.
Then another.
The flickering lumen revealed more suits of corrupted power armour, each bearing the obscene colours of the Emperor's Children.
Before any of the mortals could react, the Astartes surged forward.
They moved with terrifying speed.
Swords were drawn as they rushed into the street, their blades coated in a strange, glistening substance that clung to the edges like oil. The first Emperor's Child reached the nearest PDF soldier in an instant.
His sword struck.
The soldier barely had time to scream.
The moment the blade cut through his armour and flesh, the toxin entered his bloodstream.
His body seized.
Every muscle locked at once.
He collapsed to the ground, still conscious, his eyes wide with terror as agony spread through every nerve in his body. He tried to move his arms, tried to scream for help, but his muscles no longer obeyed him.
Another soldier was struck.
Then another.
The Emperor's Children moved among them like predators through a herd, their blades flashing beneath the flickering lights.
One PDF trooper raised his lasgun.
His hands suddenly stopped responding.
The weapon slipped from his fingers.
He stared down in confusion before a blade pierced his side.
His entire body convulsed.
Pain flooded through his nerves, overwhelming every thought in his mind.
He fell beside the first soldier, completely paralyzed but still painfully aware of everything around him.
The civilians screamed and scattered.
There was nowhere to run.
The Emperor's Children tore through the formation, cutting down those who resisted while others were left twitching helplessly upon the pavement.
Some victims could do nothing more than breathe.
Some could not even manage that.
The street became filled with screams, desperate pleas, and the scraping of armour against stone.
And through it all, the first Astartes walked calmly among the fallen.
He looked down at one of the paralyzed soldiers.
The man stared back at him, tears running down his face.
The Emperor's Child crouched beside him.
"Don't worry."
His voice remained perfectly calm.
"This will hurt for a very long time."
He then turn towards the shadow where they first appear.
"Come," he called. "Bring your new companions to their new home."
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then figures began to emerge from the shadows.
A group of mortals stumbled into the street.
They were slaves belonging to the warband.
Their bodies were thin and exhausted, their clothes little more than torn rags. Chains hung around their necks and wrists, while crude collars had been fastened around some of them. Many bore scars and bruises from years of abuse.
But what disturbed them the most were the devices attached to their bodies.
Small mechanical injectors had been surgically hooked directly into the slaves' veins, with thin tubes running beneath their skin. The devices constantly pumped drugs into their bloodstream.
The drugs kept them awake.
Always awake.
No matter how exhausted their bodies became, they could not sleep. No matter how desperately they begged for unconsciousness, their minds remained painfully alert.
And the pain never stopped.
As the slaves putting collars on the newly added collection, one of the traitor approach the one that looking over the process, enjoying what he see and hearing.
"I can't seem to contact our strike cruiser," the traitor said.
He turned his head slightly to the side, trying to watch the ongoing process while speaking.
The other Astartes barely acknowledged him.
"Hmph."
The sound was filled with irritation rather than concern.
"Try again."
"I have. Nothing."
The overseer finally turned his attention toward him.
"When was the last transmission?"
"Several minutes ago."
A pause followed.
Around them, the slaves continued fastening collars around the prisoners. The newly captured mortals struggled weakly, some still suffering from the paralysing toxin, their bodies unable to respond properly.
The overseer watched them for another moment before looking back at his fellow warrior.
"Then they have either found something more interesting to do..."
His gaze shifted toward the distant sky.
"...or something has happened to them."
The traitor gave a low chuckle.
"I doubt this world defense fleet can threaten them."
The overseer did not reply.
Instead, he continued trying to establish vox contact.
First with the other overseer.
Then with their captain—the leader of the warband.
Nothing.
Only static answered him.
Seeing that the overseer had no intention of speaking, the traitor decided to leave him alone. He reached for one of the injectors attached to his armour and pushed another dose of the drug into his bloodstream.
His body shuddered.
A quiet sigh escaped him.
The pain coursing through his nerves intensified, but he seemed to welcome it.
Around them, the slaves continued their work.
One by one, collars were fastened around the newly captured prisoners. Some of the captives were still barely able to move, their bodies recovering from the paralysing toxin. Others had already regained enough control of their muscles to stand and walk.
The slaves pulled them into a rough line.
The overseer watched the process for a final moment.
Then he looked toward the road leading deeper into the city.
That was where their captain and the bulk of the warband's personnel were supposed to be.
"Let's go."
He turned away, already beginning to walk.
"It's time to leave. We've already met our quota."
The slaves hurried after him, dragging the newly collared prisoners along with them.
The Emperor's Children followed.
Behind them, the empty street was left littered with blood, discarded weapons, and the bodies of those who had resisted.
None of the traitors looked back.
They had gotten what they came for.
At least, they thought they had.
After almost an hour of walking, the group finally arrived at the center of the city.
The center control tower rose above the surrounding buildings, its once-imposing structure now bearing the scars of battle. Smoke drifted between the towers, while the distant sounds of gunfire and screaming echoed through the streets.
But it was the bodies that drew the eye.
Corpses filled the streets around the control tower.
Some had been dismembered so thoroughly that it was difficult to tell where one body ended and another began. Others had been pinned against walls with blades, chains, or crude metal spikes, their bodies left on display like grotesque decorations.
Blood covered the pavement.
Pieces of armour, weapons, and clothing were scattered among the remains.
Yet not all of them were dead.
Some still breathed.
Barely.
They remained conscious despite the wounds inflicted upon them, their bodies broken and mutilated beyond anything that should have allowed them to survive. Some could only twitch weakly, while others stared blankly into the distance, unable to move.
Their breathing came in shallow, ragged gasps.
Every breath brought another wave of agony.
The slaves walked past them without looking.
They had seen this before.
The newly captured prisoners were not so fortunate.
Many stared in horror at the scene before them, finally understanding where they had been brought.
One of them began to tremble violently.
Another whispered a prayer.
A slave beside them quietly shook his head.
"Don't."
The prisoner looked at him.
The slave's eyes remained fixed on the ground.
"Don't pray."
"Why?"
The slave hesitated.
Then he whispered.
"They like it when you pray."
The prisoner fell silent.
Ahead of them, the control tower's massive doors stood open.
From within, another group of Emperor's Children emerged.
At their head was an Astartes whose power armour was far more elaborately decorated than that of the others. Intricate golden trim covered the pink and black plates, while trophies, chains, and flayed strips of skin adorned his armour. The decorations made his position unmistakable.
He was the captain of the warband.
"Ahhhh..."
He sighed softly as he descended the stairs, slowly approaching the group.
"My most favourite overseer has brought us a new group of entertainments."
He walked past the overseer and his men, who immediately bowed their heads in respect.
The captain continued toward the prisoners.
He stopped before one of the PDF soldiers.
The soldier froze.
The captain slowly raised his left hand and placed it upon the man's shoulder.
For a brief moment, nothing happened.
Then his fingers tightened.
With effortless strength, the Astartes tore the man's shoulder away from his body.
The soldier screamed.
His cry echoed throughout the plaza.
Blood poured from the wound as he collapsed, clutching desperately at the ruined side of his body.
The captain stared at the torn flesh in his hand.
A shudder passed through him.
His head tilted back slightly.
A low moan escaped his lips.
"Ahhhhh..."
He closed his eyes, savouring the sound of the soldier's screams.
"Yes..."
His voice trembled with pleasure.
"That sound."
He slowly opened his eyes again, staring down at the terrified prisoners.
"I have missed it."
The other Emperor's Children watched in silence.
Some smiled.
Others simply waited.
The captain casually discarded the severed limb onto the pavement.
"Bring them inside."
He turned toward the control tower.
"We have so much to do tonight."
But before anyone could move, a series of deep engine noises began to echo through the city.
The sound grew louder.
One by one, the Emperor's Children turned their heads, searching for its source.
The captain remained where he stood.
Then he slowly looked upward.
His bodyguards immediately moved around him, forming a protective circle as they scanned the skies.
The captain stared into the clouds.
Even through his helmet, those closest to him could sense the sudden change in his demeanour.
Happiness.
Excitement.
Anticipation.
Emotions they had not heard in his voice for a very long time.
"Our cousins have arrived."
There was genuine happiness in his voice.
"Summon all the overseers."
He turned toward his warriors.
"We must prepare the feast for them."
The Emperor's Children immediately began moving.
Above the clouds, engines roared.
Then shapes began to emerge through the thick cloud cover.
Thunderhawks.
Dozens of them.
The gunships descended toward the city in tight formations, their engines shaking the surrounding buildings as they broke through the clouds.
Their hulls were dark, marked with silver and black heraldry.
And upon each gunship was the unmistakable emblem of the Dark Knights.