Sunset awakens with a start, galvanized back to consciousness by muscle spasms rippling across her equine form. A nervous twitch courses through her frame like somepony was tracing a straight razor up her spine. Her body convulses as unsteady gasps tear from her parched throat. The Unicorn rolls onto her stomach with a whimper and tucks her head against her breast to ward off the sickly sensation churning in her stomach. The only sound to be heard in the darkened room was the arrhythmic thunder of her heart, the wheezing breaths she tried to suck in, and the sound of her own mucous laden mewling. The sharp ringing in her ears deafens her, blotting out anything else.

it was a shock to the system when a hoof gently brushes her withers. She tenses, and the reverberating shriek she lets loose may well have shaken the foundation of Canterlot itself. Hooves grasp her, hold her, pin her as she tries to worm free and lash out. It isn't until she looks up into lavender pools that she comprehends it isn't the acrid ruby slitted eyes of... her. “T-twi-Twilight?”

A soft pony face forms words, but whatever they said were stolen away as her ears ring even louder. Her vision swims as the warmth of a fellow pony presses into her shivering frame. The faint taste of bile still lingers in her mouth with the alkaline waft of sickness, but she clutches the form to herself. Sunset barely recognizes her Alicorn friend other than she was alive. Well, alive and purple.

The stonework frame, the faint outline of cabinets only just caressed by grungy firelight, and a small chair with a ruffled lavender sheet kicked to the floor are all she spots. But as the firelight spills into the room amid the pitiful sniffles, through blurry tear stained eyes, Sunset glimpses two pony-like-shapes in the doorway. This wasn't Twilight's castle, it was too sterile, too cold.

She spots the pale lilac hued Unicorn mare, a starry blue cap on her head as she holds a copper framed fanous in her arcane grasp. It casts soft light inside without being blinding, but its pale yellow glow still glints off the second pony's lacquered armour.

The night guard thestral peeks inside, golden cat eyes transfixing her. Sunset yelps and pulls Twilight close, overbalancing the Alicorn onto the bed as the Unicorn thrashes and backs herself against the cold tile wall. The bed was tucked in the corner, but Starlight Glimmer, Twilight, the room, everything bleeds away as golden slitted pupils burn into her mind's eye. “GET OUT! GET OUT! I won't do it, and you can't make me!”

Her renewed shout jars Starlight out of her stupor. The copper lantern tumbles to the ground as she reels back and trips over her own hindlegs. "Sun-"

Sunset's horn lights up, flinging the door closed hard enough to send it flinging back open with the force . A second equal telekinetic shove slams it shut and cracks the wooden frame, leaving the room once again plunged into abject darkness.

Darkness...

“Sunset, Sunset Shimmer.” The Unicorn heard Twilight's voice alright, but her gaze shifts around the blank room as her horn lights up. Flickers of magic flow through the Alicorn's conical spire and illuminate the chamber in warm solar rays. She casts about, eyes darting wildly to every corner, seeking the well of darkness lurking within the shadowy recesses or the some abominable leering grin.

“Sunset Shimmer!” Twilight shouts. Hooves seize the panicky Unicorn, and her gaze is forcefully directed to a pair of bright amethyst eyes. The warmth, the worry, the glitter of gathering tears glint in the pale arcane light.

“Twilight....” Her whimper was what made the dam burst. Twilight's eyes stream tears as she buries the Unicorn in her chest fluff. The beat of her heart and comforting pat coax out the virulent waves of fear sloshing around inside the Unicorn.

“Shhhhh, shhhhh, I'm here. I'm here Sunny, I'm here. It's alright.” Twilight brushes her mane and traces down her withers, ending with a comforting pat before starting all over again. Each time more and more of the reflexive spasms would weaken until there was nothing left but an exhausted Unicorn with her face tucked into her friends chest.

“I saw,” Sunset gasps, “I...”

Silence pervades the chamber, the sensation of warmth and accomplishment vanishing like the sheen of sweat evaporating from her nose tip. It was cold enough that she was sure her breath would billow out into clouds at any moment. Slowly, through only slightly open eyes, the world unfolds itself in a blurry haze lit by a faint blue glow as Luna's senses slowly return to her.

A soft blue-green ceiling looms up above her, unadorned and utilitarian. Sheaves of paper printed with blurry pony figures hang taped to the walls, and aside from a single L shaped desk and hutch against the opposite wall, there was very little there. The illumination all stems from a small silently turning turnstyle lamp, casting pale blue moons and stars across the room. Through it all, she could only start to ruminate with a slow dawning realization-

'This isn't my room.'

Luna's eyes widen, neck snapping swiftly to the side. A pair of chairs next to the door is occupied by an unfamiliar cream-coated Unicorn mare with somewhat too-long bangs. She'd placed the chairs facing together, and curled up across both of them cocooned in a fuzzy aquamarine blanket.

'Who is this?! Where is this?!'

And her mind flits back to the shattered castle, the broken gates and chuffing wail from the young human colt. Colt. Tybalt. Moy. The names, the pain, the worry returns like a reopened wound.

'Does Horus know he lost a colt?!'

It's swiftly parsed down to an even more simple thought in the blink of an eye.

'Horus?!'

Beyond the plans of reaching out, of contacting somepony... somebeing, someone who needed her, she recalls the endless string of violent dreams and mocking howls. She recalls the strain of fights and mental exhaustion that wanted her to just sleep. And the Alicorn remembers the push through the barrier to reach that other tepid glow where she found the colt, the dead, the bloated corpse of their assailant. She recalled telling the youth that their father would need their help, and that a sorcerer called Erebus was to blame in the ancient temple fraught with dark magic.

And she recalled the final relaxing moment where the dream suddenly ended and she was able to rest easy for one single-

“MOTHERBUCKING SNOT-SUMMONING SYCOPHANTIC SERPENT STALLION! EREBUS! HOW AM I HERE NOW?!” The howl of rage met one of sheer shock as the unknown Unicorn mare bolts upright and promptly overbalances onto the floor with a muffled thump.

'Holy hayride, there's a screaming Alicorn five hooflengths away and the walls are shaking. Oh sun and stars, the ground's moving too!'

Moondancer's brain rattles around like a foal teacup ride without a safety belt.

'Ooooooh mare, I'm gonna be siiiiick... 's this what a heart attack feels like? Am I dying? This sucks.'

Moondancer's scream had died, more or less choked to death by a far louder shriek of terror... nope, maybe not terror. Rage? Oh holy stars, the mare was already wondering if her gelatinous hooves could take her from the room before it immolated under a screaming princess's wrath.

Thoughts pass through her skull, and part of the pounding from her tumble off the waiting room chairs was there too.

'Damn it Twilight, why'd I get stuck with Alicorn sentry duty tonight?'

The shouting seems to have stopped but the ringing whine in her ear and bubbling sickness in her stomach hadn't subsided. But tangled up in her Unicorn-suppression device, IE, the borrowed blanket, Moondancer just lay her cheek on the ground and hoped the Alicorn didn't step on her.

She watches through blurry eyes, realizing her glasses were... somewhere. But just as she was sure the Princess of the Night was going to unfold her wings and ascend to some wrathful paragon of nocturnal glory, Luna sprang to her hooves on top of the bed and promptly keeled over the edge. Her left foreleg had wrapped up in her bedding, and a little shudder was all it took for her to pitch over the edge and land in a feathery bundle, muzzle, first on the stone floor. And thus lay the princess of the night, felled by gravity and cloth.

She holds still, Moondancer searching around with a few waggling constrained forehooves until her glasses were found tucked against her barrel. The Unicorn slips on the black horn rimmed glasses and stares at the twitching Alicorn.

Well, Luna was still breathing. The rise and fall of the bundle of feathers was anything but regal, and if she was saying something at least it wasn't at a volume that could be physically felt.

Luna was the first up, though Moondancer valiantly started to wiggle free of her blue comforter. The Alicorn rises on unsteady hooves, shaking from the exertion. Little tremors rippled across her form, and even as she stands and folds her massive dark pinions, the Unicorn had to once again bite back the mounting apprehension.

“M-m-mornin' princess.” Moondancer stammers louder and less coherent than she anticipated. Part of it likely from the ringing in her ears, both of which flapped and flopped wildy. A soft blue glow surrounds her and pulls her up with a pulse of telekenetic force. But instead of being just stood up, she is quickly pulled face to face with the Alicorn.

“Ready my tower for the ritual.”

Moondancer's blink is almost desynchronized. The look of confusion passing her features might have been humorous if the glance that was slowly overwhelming Luna didn't make the Unicorn mare feel like a gormless griffon.

'I really hope I don't know what that means.'

“Uh-huh.” In an almost existential detachment, the Unicorn finds herself nodding an affirmation. More or less against her will, Moondancer's gaze follows the Lunar Princess as she unsteadily heads to the door. It swings open, and she nearly bowls over the pair of Night guards rushing inside.

A fizzling 'pop' and flash of lavender light temporarily scorches Moondancer's eyes as she stares at the temporary blur of pure white light. Blinking the spots out of her vision, a more familiar voice bleeds into her still ringing skull.

“Princess Luna, you'refinallyawakeand I'msoooo-so-so gladtoseeyou!” A far-too rapid fire Twilight Sparkle rambles off fast enough that Moondancer takes a full second to realize what was said. "We only have a few second, Sunset just woke up an hour ago and she's-"

Luna, on the other hand, didn't seem to need it. And while the slighter purple Alicorn rears up on her hind legs and spreads her forelegs wide for a hug... nope, it was just to clutch at her shoulders. But stony silence from the Princess of the Night forestalls whatever Twilight had been anticipating. Moondancer wasn't sure whether her own sonic-induced drooling idiocy or Twilight's expectant grin was more uncomfortable.

Both. Both seemed suddenly very awkward as Luna pivots her ear, then glances to Moondancer. “We gave thee an order, magi.”

The Alicorn's sharp tongue and piercing teal eyes nearly sent Moondancer skittering to do as bidden. Twilight's sudden wing-brush is the only thing that keeps the Unicorn from scampering out of the room to who knows where. But her calming voice interrupts even the rapid clatter of more hoofsteps and armour in the hallway. “Luna... Luna, what happened? Sunset hasn't really said anything.”

Twilight takes a step back, falling in alongside Moondancer. A fact the Unicorn was very glad of. She leans her own weight against Twilight, both of them were suddenly privy to the burning balelight in Luna's eyes and the stern gaunt-faced glower that slices across her dark features. It wasn't improved as she stands between them and the lamp; the modulating shapes casting winking light that silhouettes the imposing Princess of the Night in a sapphire corona. It did nothing to brighten the room any more than a crypt at midnight.

“We have little time and even less patience, Twilight Sparkle." Luna's voice could often be stilted and cold, but now it was verging on a wintery snarl, "Assemble thy supplicants and any of Our friends that can be had. We yet have much work to be done. We... fear We have made an error.”

That snaps Twilight out of it. Thankfully, the fellow Alicorn must sense, or worse, smells the cloying musk of sweat and nervous anxiety practically dripping off the Unicorn. The wing that slips around her friend helps hide the sharp gasp and tremor as more ponies clutter around the doorway. A half dozen Night Guard pile in near the frame, lacquered battle plate glinting with the faux moonlight. The largest thestral mare in the doorway is an enormous wraith like Umberfoalian, sharp coal grey fur as matte and dusty as powder. Even her gaze falters before the fiery blaze of Luna's nearly incandescent ire. The little shivers of exertion and weariness looking like barely controlled flickers of rage. It was little surprise that even the Umberfoalian's icy blue slitted eyes lower to the ground.

Luna brushes by, slicing through the group of dark armoured pony warriors. “Commander Bleakshoals, form your squad up. You shall accompany Us to the Tower. None shall interfere.”

The dark mare nods, stepping back with the half-dozen Night guard and all but melting into the shadowy gloom.

“Luna?” Twilight asks again, more softly than ever as she trots past, squeezing through the throng with a groggy ear-flicking Moondancer protectively under her wing. “What happened?”

And finally the Alicorn takes a breath to steady herself. The exhalation unnervingly echoes a death rattle pulled from her throat. “We... made a friend of sorts-” Moondancer's brow raises the same moment Twilight's muzzle cracks into surprised half-grin. “-and hoped to save him from dark spirits that beset his waking nightmares. We thought to gamble, to implore his nearby colt to immediately seek aid so that his sire might be rescued. We told them to hurry henceforth, even after tragedy had befallen them. And... We had thought We could return to his sire to aid in his escape as well. We were mistaken, for We may have been hasty in impressing the urgency of the situation.”

The wrinkle of her muzzle doesn't quite hide the flush in her cheeks as Luna staggers forward. Twilight drags Moondancer ahead while darting to Luna's side, helping steady her as the pack of Night guard form into a neat little semi -circle in her wake. "Princess Luna," Twilight quietly whispers, “You're in no state, you need to rest yourse-”

“Twilight Sparkle.” Luna's growl comes out less as a Canterlotian bellow, and more a serpentine warning hiss. “No force above nor below the heavens shall stop Us.”

With a hollow whip-crack, the room blazes with white and gold light. Another figure emerges into existence with a blistering fizzle, radiating white and aurora spangled light. “Luna!” Like a glittering Alabaster phantom, the shape barrels into the Alicorn. Moondancer can see the curled lip and exposed teeth as the midnight blue Princess is scooped into a bone crushing hug from the elder diarch.

There were a lot of things that Moondancer had to re-evaluate as she stares blankly at the overjoyed Celestia, and the frustrated glower of a haggard Luna.

'Does Celestia count as 'above the heavens' or not?'

“Y'know Garvi, if this goes south then we may as well be trying to find a new line of work. Because, call me crazy, but I really don't think Erebus likes you much.” The noisy slurp of liquid and pungent aroma of reheated recaf fills the little forgotten chamber in the foredeck gunnery compartment of the Vengeful Spirit. Two figures quietly converse while browsing the stack of data slates piled on a wide folding table. Thin wafting vapors from chem-heater pads keep the otherwise stagnant mugs just below a simmer, thankfully masking the stink of machine oil and torpedo ignition residue. The two overly-bright lumin orbs still hang at jaunty angles, casting sharp stage-like lighting in two corners of the room while plunging the rest of the copper conduit lined chamber into darkness.

“Tarik, I don't think you have to worry about that. If we fail, we'll have more to worry about than just looking for new duties.” Garviel Loken doesn't even glance up from the data slate sat in his lap as he scribes a second occupying both hands.

His companion lounges on a metal framed chair, data slate flat on the table as he sips from a mug while simultaneously flipping a stylus nimbly between his fingers. "Hmmm, you're not wrong. We'd more than likely be looking for our heads. Sniveling bastard probably would try to steal 'em too, even when they're still attached.”

"Lets keep it that way." Loken's non-committal grunt only draws another noisy slurp of recaf as they settle in, still poring over the flickering lines of text from a dozen different volumes each. "And you know how we're gonna do just that?"

"Please tell me you've found a better way then 'just keep looking through battle report and coms traffic until our eyes start bleeding'. And it better be more than just 'listen to them on audio till our ears follow suit.'" It didn't take a savant to spot the crooked grin on Torgaddon's face as he tosses the stylus onto the table next to the data slate. The chair creaks ominously beneath his genhanced bulk as the warrior kicks his feet up onto the metal table, cradling his mug all the while.

Another moment, another slurp, and Loken replies without looking up. "You're supposed to be looking through battle reports and coms traffic. I'm looking through medical reports and a few more esoteric sources. If you want to trade spots, be my guest."

"Are they any shorter?" Torgaddon pipes up with a faint note of hope.

"No." Loken's monotone reply dashes that in an instant. "But, there's a few spots in here that are an awful lot like the Whisperheads incident back on sixty-three-ninteen. There's references to unnatural creatures and talk of dark spirits." Loken's tone slips to something more surely and disgruntled as he goes on, "But nothing about any stone blade, nothing that Vaddon can use, and nothing that implicates Erebus. We just don't have any evidence."

"Hate to say it, but I'm not surprised. Erebus is a slippery bastard, no doubt about that." Torgaddon asks, eyes darting over from beneath the messy mop of short black bangs. "Sindermann give you those?"

But the distraction did eek a slight curl of Loken's lips, forming into that nascent smile. "Tarik. Stop stalling and just get back to those reports."

"Right. Quicker we're done here, quicker we can nab 'em, then string 'em up in front of Malogurst, rescue Horus, get Vaddon whatever he needs, and finish up with this little Great Crusade business by conquering the rest of the galaxy. You know, I heard some of the Imperial army grunts talk about something called a 'vacation'. I kinda like the sound of that." Torgaddon smirks, bright eyes sparkling as he finally catches Loken's unamused glare.

"Tarik?" Loken looks up impassively, "get back to work."

Torgaddon puts the mug down and snatches his data slate, lifting it in front of his face before whispering, "Starch-arse."

Loken didn't try to hide the flicker of a grin. He was about to let it go when the fellow captain shifted awkwardly in his seat, the hairs prickling on the back of his neck. “Ta-”

The door rocks open on its hinges, slamming into the wall. Loken's head snaps up to the sound, the data-slate in his hand flipped down by instinct before he could ever register it. But Tarik had reached for the back of his grey fatigues, fingers brushing the grip of a combat knife as the form outside materializes into shape.

The strobing green lights of the bulkhead hallway outside slowly throb, sending pulsing flickers of verdant green across the shaven head of another Horusian son. “Sacred oath, Marr." Torgaddon growls, "You could have at least knocked!”

Stern face, sharp aquiline features, and sallow skin: Tybalt Marr looked almost worse for wear. He strode in, his black sleeveless shirt plastered close to his muscled frame, the same grey fatigues as his two fellow astartes looking aged and neglected.

Tarik's eyes flick back to the dim hallway behind him, expecting some armoured figures to be trailing in the captain's wake. But there was nothing, not even a prowling maintenance servitor. “Something wrong, Marr?”

Loken had evidently paid more attention to the disheveled astartes. Both were on edge, though not because of Marr himself: just at the company in general this far away from the hustle and bustle of the astartes' usual bastions.

Marr's eyes all but glow in the dim light as he flings the door closed with a loud clang. “Horus is in danger, and we need to do something about it. Now!” He brought his formidable strength down on the weak folding table. It buckles around his clenched fists, showing two prominent dents.

Loken wordlessly takes in Marr's wild eyes and sharp frown, while Torgaddon slowly arches a brow as data slates slowly slide down into the freshly formed divots. “You know what this means, right?” Loken begins, voice a conspiratorial growl, “We think-”

“Erebus is to blame. He is. I know it, so does Horus. I can't... tell you how I know, not yet.” he glances away, allowing Loken and Torgaddon a second to share a look of confusion and apprehension.

“If this is about Moy.” Loken hesitantly asks, “I can ask Sindermann to talk to you about-”

“I said I could handle it before, Garviel! And I can.” The smallest trace of a somber smile passes his lips. "More than ever, now." He breathes in a stale gasp of air and stands to his full height. “There's only one choice: we need to gather a strike team and break our way in. No hesitation. No distraction. We blast our way through, secure Lupercal, and deal with the consequences after.”

“Tybalt, I normally wouldn't ask you given your current condition, but... recaf?” Tarik smiles and nudges a mug of the simmering drink across the dented table.

“This is insane, Marr.” Loken hisses to the other two as they exit the gunnery deck, laden with data slates tucked in an aged canvas duffel.

“No no Garvi, let him finish." Torgaddon grins, "I really want to hear this.”

A heavy bulkhead blastdoor shuts behind the trio of unarmored astartes, blocking out the vox-thieves and security auguries of the protected magazine. Tybalt Marr takes up the lead of the three with Loken and Torgaddon on his left and right respectively.

The heavy thunder of their footfalls echoes through the wide causeways of the Vengeful Spirits mid-decks. But none would think a trio of legionnaires, even a trio of captains, out of place here. Passing by the enormous archway leading to the upper thoroughfares along the spine of the battleship, each falls silent. The Tartaros Warden guardians that linger ever in the shadows of the massive ship weren't to be privy to their conversation. And in the light of the new world each discovered they were living in after Davin, all knew that nothing could be taken for granted.

Marr waits until even the Warden's augmented hearing wouldn't make out the conversation. “Alright, we know Horus is in trouble. We don't have much time to get him out of there.”

“And where exactly did you obtain this 'information'?” Loken's quiet whisper barely rises enough to be heard over his own footfalls.

Marr's reply is near instant, “The answer probably isn't going to sit well with you, Captain Loken.”

“Would it help if I said 'please'?” smirks Torgaddon, “if you won't indulge Garvi, I'm still pretty curious myself. I mean, don't get me wrong, it's nice to hear we aren't the only one to think that Word Bearer mutt is up to no good. But there's usually a reason.”

Marr steals a glance between the stoic neutrality of Loken and Tarik's more amicable grin. With a sigh, he steels himself and begins. “Because I've been having nightmares.” Seeing the momentary flicker in Loken's gaze, Marr forestalls it with a stern expression. “Ones about Verelum Moy. About Horus. About all of this. The same thing's been biting in the back of my mind for the past three days. Then it changed.”

“Yes, but how?” Loken's inelegant question still but to the heart of the matter.

Tybalt Marr takes in only a single strained breath. “Something in the warp-”

“Tybalt.” Loken's warning melds irritation and perhaps disappointment.

“No, not like that.” He takes a breath. There was no way he could tell them what happened, not when so many things hung on a knife edge. He couldn't tell them about the warp-creature, some sort of warp angel who hadn't stolen away his fears but had simply embraced him. It... she, had stayed there like a guardian through the night as another heartbeat running against his own. In his unwaking mind, even then, he knew it wasn't astartes and it wasn't human.

She hadn't torn the image of Verelum Moy away, or made him forget, but a soft touch and gentle word to the body of his twinned-soul had been enough to close his eyes too. The words of warning had come later, much later. But the voice of comfort didn't ring with martial pride or exhortations pursuing glory for the dead, but the recognition of loss and sadness. And she stayed. She'd been angry with Erebus, she'd been worried about Horus, but just as much, Tybalt had felt an overwhelming sympathy directed at himself.

“Look,” Tybalt finally replies, “call it bleed off, an echo, some psychic glimpse or something. They're doing all sorts of weird rituals in that temple on the surface. We should have burned the damned thing down the moment we got here. You both know that the Word Bearers damned well should have the first time when they declared the world compliant!”

The venom and fire returns, and with it, the glimmer in Torgaddon's eyes. Loken bobs his head, with that likely making more sense. They'd all thought it, seeing the bestial simian Davinites and their cultish pagan ways, how could it not?

“Alright, alright.” Loken intones, his voice stronger and more certain now. “But why did we have to do this immediately? There are other avenues we have to investigate, Marr. As of now, we have no proof. No way to link this back to Erebus. The blade we found on the Glory of Terra hasn't been positively identified as the Anathame blade stolen from Xenobia.”

“C'mon Garvi, we all know that's exactly what it is. What kind of poison could hurt the commander like that? It's just a matter of time before Vaddon confirms what we already know. So lets stop dancing around this,” Tarik nods, the smile more hollow than genuine before turning to Marr, "what's the plan?”

“Simple,” Marr continues with a whisper, “You've seen the layouts of the temple, right?”

“Only the outside data, it seems mostly impenetrable to our fleet auspex arrays.” Loken nods.

“And the hand-held ones I took when I went to go back and see Captain Aximand yesterday.” Marr continues, and for the first time since the assault on the Glory of Terra that had taken them to Davin's moon, a weak smile slips onto his aquiline face. It gets a pair of surprised expressions, though he continues by increasing his stride. “But it's a dark fane. I'd be willing to bet everything on a ritual being performed in the lower, darker parts. So if we hit the top with something like a Stormbird, or more reasonably a Storm Eagle gunship, we'll have to fight our way down through the spires. We don't have the time.”

Tarik pipes up, “And it's bound to be a hard target, too. Central hubs usually are. And I doubt we can simply walk in the front door.”

They all go quiet as a small work detail of fleet menials pass. The clank of the servitor coffle carrying new ductwork pipes and acetylene torches clatters in a noisy procession if ever there was one. Loken waits, but picks up quietly right where Torgaddon left off. “No, we don't have the firepower for that even if we could get a Stormbird in that close. Besides, I don't think even Vipus and Locasta would be willing to fight Abaddon or Aximand if push comes to shove.”

Marr bobs his head just once in acknowledgement. “But, if we take a Dreadclaw we can hit one of those eight radial towers. Come down on the other side of the complex so Abaddon and any other unit stationed near the front won't be able to react in time to stop us. We come in hard at an oblique and use the Magna-cutters to break in, hit the central corridor and follow it down at ground level. By then, we have two options. Or rather, Abaddon and Aximand do.”

There's a soft light of defiance and wit in Marr's eyes, and both his fellow captains radiate a healthy dose of surprise. Marr had never been one to adhere to Maloghurst's more political strategems, and there weren't many chances for a simple line captain to use such methods before.

In fact, partly it didn't originate from him, but the hopeful words of what he could only call the mythic pegasi-like creature that had cut through his dark and morbid dreams. Her soft voice had whispered it in his ear while he was buried in a comforting mound of fluff, 'We all must make choices, and when the time comes we can't always be certain that others will make the ones we want them too. But be honest, share that worry and you will see, true family will support you. Even if they don't always understand.'

“Well, Abaddon won't like that much. But to blazes with it, I like it.” Torgaddon's wry grin splits his saturnine face, and he takes a moment to sweep his bangs aside. “And we can just hopethat Erebus is in there, so we can catch him red-handed. That'd be a nice stroke of luck, eh?" he blinks and turns, keeping his voice low, "Actually, where are the rest of the Word Bearers?”

Loken shakes his head, “No sight or sound of them since we left to find 'the article' for Vaddon.” They take a turn and head into a mag-lift alcove. Once more, all three of them were well aware of the glassy-eyed servitor plugged into the wall console that could hear their every word.

The sickly skeletal frame rasps its flat dead monotone, “Please input desired destination.”

“Horus Lupercal, right away.” Torgaddon smirks, and he gives his two accomplices a shrug as the servitor bleeps out a negative response. “Worth a shot. Barracks center twenty-six, main traverse.”

Laden with just a non-descript duffel bag and eyed by a few passing menials in their grey fatigues, the trio of astartes seemingly drop into the pits of hell, surrounded by a flashing red light and rhythmic click of magnetic clamp releases.

Author's Notes:

Alright, earlier than normal but it's moving day for me. So figure better now than really late.