Blood Moon IC - Chapter 2

"Um, thanks." says Lars, making sure his bare skin doesnt touch the psykers. He takes the weapon and looks at it intently. Weapon is disappointingly light and Lars is not really sure who too use it. Yes, the lasgun was built to be easy to operate, but Lars never used one. At least gun stock seemed sturdy enough to bash someones head in. At the thought of vengeance, Lars mouth stretch into a ugly smile.

She takes the chainaxe. It had nice, solid weight to it. It would be good for some ultra violence.

She sneaks down the hall, with more grace and skill displayed than the others realized that she was capable of.
Two hundred meters down the dark hallway to her right was a corridor leading into a small antechamber, Peering around the corner, she saw several more doors and an open floor hatch.
On the floor was a bisected cogmun, his dragging himself was what caused the scraping noises they had heard when the entered. Seeing now danger, she rounds the corner and casually storlls up the the half man. A trail of blood and unguents trailed from elsewhere (door? hatch?).
She squats down, a devious smile on her face.
"Ew did this to yew?"

The figure is slumped to against the floor, but struggles to look up when you approach. Their form is bulky and they are clearly heavily augmented. The smell of blood and biomechanical fluids hangs in the air with a metallic tinge.

It is none other than Magos Artelinus Tilaris.

His voice comes through the vocal augmitter raspy and choppy.

"The.....the unfai.....unfaithful....."

The broken Magos trembles, clearly struggling to hold himself up. He is undoubtedly on deaths doorstep.

Sent from Topic'it App

She wanted to do nothing more than cranial stop this wanker, but it might do good to let the other cogmun have a bit of his robotic perversity fulfilled.

She turns the corner and waves them forward.

Marius cautiously moved forward at Donna's beckoning. As he turned the corner, his eyes went wide at the site of the mangled body of the Magos. He rushed to the side of the dying mechanicus, free hand rummaging desperately for a means to stabilize him.

"Damn it, Donna," he hissed quietly, "I'd have appreciated a sense of urgency." He gestured for the Magos to lay back. "Do not exert yourself further, Magos. I am a medicae, please lie still."

The Magos was, to put it lightly, in bad shape. It was astonishing that he was still alive at all. Were it not for his mechanical augmentations, Marius doubted that the man would even be conscious. Hopefully, keeping him prone would prevent him from bleeding out as quickly. Under normal circumstances, Marius would administer the Emperor's Mercy upon the unfortunate mechanicus and send a prayer to the Throne. But mercy was a luxury they did not have time for; they needed to know as much as possible about what was happening and keeping the magos alive, if only for a moment, was integral to that end.

Finally finding a stimm from his vest, he took his best estimation of where the Magos' heart should be and slammed the stimm in place, injecting its full contents. It wouldn't keep him going much longer, but it would give him a bit more clarity with which to answer their questions.

"Listen, Magos, we do not have much time. By the will of His most Holy Inquisition, I demand you tell us who these "unfaithful" are and what they intend to do. The fate of this station depends on it."

Moving down the corridor with others, Lars can almost see cruel smile playing on Donnas lips. Well, at least in his mind.

Looking down at the dying magos with mixture of disgust, pity and fear, Lars brings up his new weapon at the ready, and dragging his eyes from the half-man, looks around the antechamber, checking the doors and illuminating the floor hatch with a beam of light from the borrowed glow globe.
With a squeal from his blood and oil stained boots, he turns back to the magos to hear what, now drug stimulated man, will say. Remembering his training, he positions himself so that he can keep an eye on as many doors possible.

Felyx strolls forward slowly and carefully on Servitor. He wasn't the most quiet machine to ride, but if he went slow enough the noise from the tracks dimmed down. Still better than the thumping foot falls of the bipedal models.

Felyx places a hand to shut Marius up as they enter. Gothic was such a waste of precious time and energy. He begins immediately in the holy machine cant.

+++Time is running out. You've given a name as indicated by my team - 'Unfaithful' - explain in detailed binary cant: logistical, detailed analysis required - allegiance//ordo//faction//number//combat capabilities//Leave nothing out for highest chances of less suffering+++

When he got those answers he continued to the most important question.

+++STC presence understood and known. State its location and capabilities. State your purpose with it. State the downfall of those who came before. Knowledge not freely given will be forcefully removed from your central cortex and retained by me for eternity - whomever you serve now, be it the Omnissiah or another entity, you will never meet unless you cooperate. Make your choices. Ready for processing+++

It took all of three seconds. He was eager to see what the traitor knew.

Damiel walks close to Egill, attempting to ease the pain of this warp-tainted site. He knew little of what the psyker must be going through, but if it's anything like what he saw in the rift... Damiel shuddered at the thought.

"I can do little to directly aid you, but perhaps my condition may ease your weakness. Let's move quickly through this dangerous locale and stop the heretics."

Once they made their way to the Magos, Damiel found the others far too trusting for the circumstances. Heretics are a violent and unpredictable lot, they are more than willing to kill their own over even a minor inconvenience. As such, their team had no method of knowing which side he was on, and no time to find out. "Spit it out. Our time is fast growing short, the longer you sputter and whine, the less time we have to close up those wounds."

Malik slinks in the door behind the rest of the party, a lasgun in hand. He must have either nabbed it from the armory when no one was looking or pulled it off one of the dead guardsmen. He keeps it trained on the door behind the rest of the party, although from the way he's holding it, it's not clear he knows how to use it. Despite the freezing cold, he looks slightly sweaty.

Damiel's presence does ease the pain for Egill, thankfully.

The magos, flipped over onto his back, writhes and leans forward, his features twitching and shaking as the stimm works its way into his blood and fluid streams. The twitching continues, and his speech is stuttered and broken. Keen members in the party may recall the man spoke with tremors in his voice and subtle abnormalities in communication before...

His voice switches back and forth between binaric and high gothic, making it slightly difficult for everyone in the party to follow but slightly easier than Felyx. Everyone gets the gist of it, though some more clearly than others.

The magos chuckles slightly at your threats, blood bubbling out of his vox augmitter.

"....adepts.....my adess....betraya...." He weakly turns toward Felyx. "I sough.....I sough ess-tee-see...failed....Omneeziah furgiiv..." The man pauses, catching his breath and deeply breathing. It's clear that speaking even this much is exerting a great deal of effort. His eyes close, and for a brief moment it looks like you've lost him.

With an arm filthy with blood and off-white biomechanical fluids, he points toward the open hatch in the floor. "....ess-tee-see.....tray....turs....."

Felyx is tired of listening to the heretek. But he tries one more time in the holy cant.

+++Traitor numbers//combat capabilities+++

In his right hand, Alistair's combat knife materializes.

(I cannot remember if I gave this back IC. I don't think so)

The Magos chokes out a few more words...

"...mah...maahny....te....ten....o...or...more.....psy....psyker...."

He seems to gain greater control of his ability to cant for a moment.

+++Raided....armory....av...avenge me, brother....+++

After those last few words, the Magos leans back, eyes wide open, and stops breathing.

Casting one last disgusted glance at the magos, Lars says:
"We should hurry, Emperor knows what those trice-cursed traitors and mutants could do given enough time. Psykers."

He spits at the floor, wanting to emphasize his feelings. The effect of slavery, cold and drug withdrawal are taking their toll, and he has harder and harder time controlling himself. Or thinking straight.

"I dont know what is out there in the storm, but I dont want it to become worse. Nor do I want to see it again. Ten real, flesh and blood enemies sounds much better."

Dropping his voice he mutters to himself: "Better then whispers in the wind and the lights. The damned lights. Damned lights."
He turns his eyes to some unspecified point on the wall, lost in reliving the memory from the slave chambers earlier today...

Felyx watches without emotion, but a keen observer would see his eyes narrow slightly at the last bit. Why had the Magos - a heretek - referred to him as though he were an ally? Was his brain core dying and he becoming delusional in his death throes? Was something else at play?

He turns him over and jams the Imperial Guard knife into the sweet spot on either side of the brain stem. It took him a few moments, but he deftly removed the brain stem and core as he had done previously, placing it into the vial Marius had given him earlier. Wiping the blade on the Magos' robes, he looks for the pistol he kept on him when they first met. Someone could get some use out of it.

"What is being plan of game? All charge in foolish. But also strengths with numberings. Who is of combat and tactical of minds?"

The whole while he spoke, his eyes looked to the hatch. To the STC.

He points at the hatch - "If durable it is being - perhaps to trap the enemy. Donna fast, yes? Donna then as baits. Put enemy to kill zones. First finding to enemy where they are being is importants."

To Felyx's dismay, he does not find any armaments or really anything of value on the Magos - aside from his fine winter-weather gear and robes, of course.

MmmTasteIt wrote:

Marius cautiously moved forward at Donna's beckoning. As he turned the corner, his eyes went wide at the site of the mangled body of the Magos. He rushed to the side of the dying mechanicus, free hand rummaging desperately for a means to stabilize him.

"Damn it, Donna," he hissed quietly, "I'd have appreciated a sense of urgency." He gestured for the Magos to lay back. "Do not exert yourself further, Magos. I am a medicae, please lie still."

She shrugs, uncaring, "Yew got it chuck. Next time Oui jus kill'em rouight away an save us all the trouble yeah?"

His words meant little to her. Just more to kill, which was all she wanted to hear in all honesty anyway. The psyker would pose a problem, but his flesh should tear like everyone else's, problem solved.

She looks at the party as the magos kicks the bucket. It was clear they wanted her to lead the way more, fine by me she thinks.
"Weyo weyo, which way shouldn' we be goin?" she says, presenting the two options before them:

the door or the hatch?

Egill grimaces at Damiel, it had supposed to have been a smile, but he couldn't help himself while being so close to the null. His words were however genuine "Your closeness lessens my pain, so stay close. I won't be using my powers unless I have to, the risk is great with the veil so weakened."

The barbarian pays the dying and then dead magos no heed. Heretic or not he was at best guilty of negligence. On edge Egills gaze darts left and right looking for phantoms where they were none, or at least not to those who lacked the sight.

Lars once again point the glow globe at the hatch.
"Hatch is open. Its likely a way to go. Anyways, they know we are coming. I dont think creeping will help us much."

"Oh, how good it is being. You are to be thinking now. Master to strategizes. Tacticianal expert hero, yes?"

Felyx glared at Lars. How his dead eyes could glare was hard to say, but he wore this same look aboard the Euphrates when Alistair had deigned to question his intelligence.

"Maybe you to run ahead first. You to be bait."

As he just saw techpriest put a knife to a mans brain, Lars decides to let it go. He shrugs his shoulders and says:
"Sure, I can be bait. I was so far."

"Dont worry." Donna reassures Lars, "Oui'll be rouight behind ya. An' if yewr not as 'onorble as yew say, Ill turn ya to chum. Chum."

Like honor meant anything to her. She just wanted to be a part of the ultraviolence.

Donna and Lars step over to the hatch. A ladder leads deep down into darkness. As they climb down, they notice the ladder has blood smeared on it here and there...whether it's from the magos or the cultist is anyone's guess.

After climbing for a while, they stop in something of a maintenance tunnel. It's dark, and you'll need a flashlight or some night vision goggles to see anywhere...though by feel you can tell it only leads in one direction.

In the distance, you can hear the low sounds of voices...no, not voices, but chanting.

"Ain need lights to hear whats ahead." She whispers to Lars.

"Sounds like a buncha goonies tryin tah summon dark'uns. Cults n awll that."

Lars was glad that it was so dark that Donna couldn't see his face growing pale after hearing the chanting. It brought back bad memories.
"Do we press on and scout," he whispers, "Or go back and report to others?"
He could only hope that their whispers where not heard by the cultists.

Donna gestured forward, hurrying Lars along. The two stepped forward through the dank, dark passageway, the chanting getting louder and louder. Among the chanting, you can now make out the sounds of people moaning in agony. It makes their skin crawl, and they have an uncomfortable suspicion they'll never be able to get the sound out of your head, that it will haunt your dreams for years to come...

Finally, the two approach a bend in the passageway. Edging along it, you can see through to a chamber lit by...torches, perhaps? There's a flickering light inside somewhere...you can only see a small portion of the room from this angle, and you can see a couple of hooded figures. They're wearing white robes that obscure their faces entirely. Beyond that, you can't see anything in the room - you'll have to move forward for a better look.

Spoiler:

Sent from Topic'it App

She taps Lars on the shoulder and whispers closely in his ear.
"Oui'm awl fer rushin in and taking sum 'eads, but maybe we oughts to let the others catch uppa bit?"

She had a point. If they launched an attack, reinforcements could overwhelm them easily enough. It was an old ganger tactic to look before you leap.

As they move through the dark corridor, Lars can feel his discomfort rising. After the chill of the snow storm, this place would seems like a improvement, if not for the moisture and the heavy air slowly soaking their clothes. Soon enough, the passageway is filled with the sounds of agonized moaning and it invokes unwanted images in arbitres mind, his imagination running rampant in the worst possible moment.
When they see the cultists, Donna taps Lars on the shoulder and whispers.
He nods in agreement, his head barely lit by whatever is lights up the chamber and they go back as quicky and stealthy as possible.

Donna and Lars make their way back through the tunnel and emerge through the hatchway without any further event, though the strange chanting and noises definitely leave them rattled.

Sent from Topic'it App

Marius fidgeted with his shotgun as he waited for the scouting party to return. The death of the magos had left a bad taste in his mouth; there was nothing that could have been done for the man, of course, but that did little to assuage his discontent. Patience was something he had never been short of, but the current circumstances had worn it quite thin.

Mercifully, he did not have to wait long. Unmercifully, it seemed that the news would not be good, judging by the pallor of Lars' face as he emerged from the hatch. "I take it you two have discovered something?" he started, straining to keep his voice level, "Something that urgently requires the attention of our entire party, no doubt."

Lars could sense impatience in doctors voice, all the more clearly because he too felt that time is running short.
"Down there," he says, pointing at the hatch "is a corridor. At the end of it is a chamber. They are performing some sort of ritual there. I don't think they saw as, they where quite preoccupied with what they where doing. It is the only way in as far as I could see, but its pretty dark in there, so I might have missed something."
Lars refrained from any comments or suggestions. He knew others where strained by all that was happening, and he didn't want to become a target if somebody eventually snaps.

"e's right." She adds.
"They be some wankahs down theah, doin choasie wankah stuff. No way they see us. We gots the jump on em we do."

Egill just wanted out of here before he too lost his mind, he was sure it would only be a matter of time. The only thing that kept him here was that there was heretics to kill.

They were enacting some damned rite and who knew when the would complete it. They needed to be quick at it. He was not a military man but he knew to make a good ambush they'd need to hit hard and press to keep them on the back foot.

"Hit em' hard and fast, grenades and covering fire to keep their heads down while we rush in." he says harshly with fervour and fear showing in his eyes.

Marius saw the big man had been stretched to his limit. Whatever ritual the heretics were performing, it must have been putting immense strain on the psyker. While Marius would normally have preferred to create a more thorough plan their time was clearly up; they had to act quickly.

"Agreed, Egill. A surprise grenade is the best kind of grenade. Lars, Felyx, and I can start with an initial volley of ordinance and covering fire so you and Donna can dispense the Emporer's justice in a more... intimate fashion." He grinned. "Such egregious heresy deserves an uncompromisingly direct response."

"Not being best to be throwing bombs. If targets being as easy to kill as reported, maybe OK?"

Felyx shrugged. This was not his area of expertise. The fighters had come up with a plan and it seemed to be rushing in and seeing how things went. He preferred differently, but this was the way of things.

"You are to being the weapon of secrets, yes? If Warp comes in, you to strangle to it, yes?" He pointed at Damiel as he spoke. The null was a blessing in this case, as much as the man's abhorrent presence made the Tech Priest wish to study him.

He briefly glanced at Alistair. The fighter hadn't said a word since their last encounter. Felyx made read to shoot him in the face with the stolen hotshot laspistol if he decided to embrace the other side. He nodded to him.

"It is being times to fight, Alistair Guardsman. You. Fight. Now."

He was as ready as he would be. He took a moment to put the spider pads on his hands, feet, knees, and arms. This was a cave after all; there very well might be an opportune moment for him to climb out of the battle and do more from a higher vantage point.

When that was done he took out his web grenade and his firebomb and kept them close. He would snare the largest grouping first. Then they would burn.

Donna points at Marius with renewed enthusiasm.
"Now yews tawkin. Oui like wot yew be sayin."

Allistair stepped forward and readied his gear. He hadn't said much lately, but that was only because there wasn't much to be said. The fight at the base had been quick and deadly - but they had come through unscathed. He hoped their luck would hold.

"'m not much for speeches. Go in quiet - don't give away our position. When we hit them, hit them hard and kill them all. Bastards deserve death. And you - don't go haywire if they're doing some fething terrible shit with the machine you keep blathering about. Expect it. Prepare for it. Keep your wits about you; it's all you got going for you." He pointed to Felyx for the last bit.

He clipped the targeting monocle to the outside of his photo-visors. The motion-predictor would give him an edge when firing rapidly. He clicked his rebreather to the lower half of his face, completely obscuring his head. With so much ordnance about to fly, the rebreather wouldn't hurt. Then, with a flick of his thumb, he changed the variable power setting on his lasgun to maximum. It would drain the power cells faster, but it would make sure the heretics died faster too.

He shouldered his weapon and nodded at the group. It was time.

The party slinks down the ladder and quietly regroups once they've made it to the service tunnel. They walk softly down the passageway, taking great care to remain silent - not like anyone was much in the mood for talking anyway. The tunnel is dark and damp, and before long, they can all hear anguished screaming and cries of agony. Just a few here and there, but a cacophony of them. Accompanying the screams is some twisted chanting that almost appears to have an intoxicating effect on the party...it feels alien, deeply unsettling, and alluring all at the same time.

The sounds grow ever louder until they walk through a bend in the tunnel. Ahead, they can just make out a few hooded figures on the ground level below them...it appears the service tunnel enters the room above ground level, onto some sort of cat walk.

In addition to the hooded figures, they can see some strange formation extended crossways across their vision....as if something had grown out of the floor and attached itself to the far ceiling where it met the outer wall.

It takes all the courage you can muster to press on....

What you see before you is a scene so grotesque and so unholy, it rattles you to your very core. Never again will you look at the world the same - the scene will haunt not only your dreams, but your waking moments for years to come.

Bodies...twisted, broken, lacerated, gored...

Sitting before you are human bodies in various demented, creative torture scenarios, and as your eyes flit between them, each one seems more horrific than the last. A woman pinned to a table with knives. A man with a pole shoved clear through his whole body, shish-kabobbed from the rear with the pole sticking out of his mouth toward the ceiling. Others are strewn about, each in similarly nightmarish situations. Mangled corpses lay on the floor, tossed aside like common refuse.

They appear to be the remains of the slaves and the servants of the camp. It is only a moment later that you realize most of these poor people are still alive - howling in abject agony.

The center of the scene draws your eye. A man is sprawled on the floor on top of some strange symbol, with vile iconography crudely carved into his skin across his entire chest and forehead. His limbs are shackled drawing each outward with taut tension.

He is surrounded by 9 figures in dark black robes, their faces covered with some wrap. They are chanting some language totally foreign to you, and harsh on the ears. Even without the other grisly sights, the sound would make your stomach churn.

The figures are led by a figure with red robes without a hood - after some squinting, you realize it is none other than Norgrim Zuriel, the second-in-command from the research facility.

Behind them sits yet another monstrosity. A vast black box-shaped structure...you recognize it as what was, formerly, a sacred STC fabricator. But no longer would any sane servant of the Imperium permit its existence. It appears to have grown appendages...long, thick, ropes of some sinewy flesh material intertwined with metallic tubes stretch out from the structure in all directions.

Each appendage is about 2-3 feet in diameter. Bulging and swollen, these freakish "tentacles" reaching from the structure to anchor themselves against the wall and ceiling. They pulse and sway, almost in rhythm with the chanting.

At the center of the structure facing you - presumably where completed machines and vehicles used to exit the structure, is a twisted maw, complete with metallic teeth as well as ragged, sharp bone-like teeth. Around the teeth is what appears to be inflamed flesh before it slowly smooths out into a metal surface. It keeps opening and closing, gnawing at the thin air before it, as if trying to eat any of the cultists who would stray too close...

You stand on a catwalk about 9 feet (3 meters) above the ground floor. Scattered between you and the scene of the ritual and tortured figures are various crates and boxes. The room is about 50 meters wide, and the STC-demon stretches into the darkness of the room. You cannot see the other side of the room in the gloomy darkness.

They don't appear to notice you while you sneak in...until Damiel stumbles slightly while walking and clatters against the grated floor of the catwalk. You'll have a brief moment to unleash the Emperor's fury on the heathens, at the very least...

Round 1[Bonus Round]

Initiative Stack:

Donna: 14
Felyx: 13
Alistair: 11
Damiel: 10
Lars: 8
Egill: 7
Bogeys: 5
Marius: 4

Donna was quickest on here feet, amped up on slaught and ready to kill something. Her murderlust was up and the tainted cogmen were about to pay for it.
"Out of moui way yew stinking maggots!" she threatens like a rabid dog about to attack.

Since Im likely to go first with that initiative roll, Heres my first round action:

She was in position and ready to bring the axe down, literally.
"Nowzza time to play dead luvs" She screams as she charges the fool foolish enough to be the closest to her.
He hardly had time to recieve the untested chainaxe as she brought it down in a savage swing.

**

Instinctively, the figure brings up their arm to shield themselves against the blow - a critical error. The chainaxe gores into the flesh of their forearm, spritzing blood around. The figure cries out in agony, but does not collapse just yet.

-------------

Felyx's mind went haywire at the sight of the STC-turned-abomination. It was all he could do not to scream. His eyes searched for someone or something to punish for this. They found Norgrim. He hadn't been seen yet, but knew it wouldn't last - not with Damiel slamming around.

Firebomb in hand, he made ready to burn it all to the ground - starting with that traitor heretek.

**

The firebomb lands precisely where Felyx aimed as if guided by the Omnissiah itself. It knocks Norgrim backwards as the fire spreads across his robes. The cultist to his left yelps in pain as the flames circle around him as well.

-------------

Damiel Heaves loudly, his breathing suddenly erratic. Is THAT what the warp looks like? He'd seen rogue psykers drag pieces of the warp through their shattered minds, but never like this. Never like this. His fingers started to tremble, causing his whip to rattle about in his hands. He stumbles forward, clattering on the precarious catwalk before him. Bracing himself on the wall, he reaches for his whip. Where was his whip? He grabbed hold of something sinuous and fleshy. It pulses in his hands and shrivels under his null influence. He pushes away with a scream. The experience disrupts his mind and his throat slicks with vomit. He chokes and coughs as the blood drains from his already paled face, the Null falls to the ground in a dead faint.

------------

Lars was grateful he didn't witness unholy scene in front of them twice. It was easier to face it with others with him, and although he could feel his bile rising, he was able to keep it down. He is not sure he would be if he and Donna pressed when they where scouting the tunnel.

Taking deep breath and eyes focusing on the nearest cultist, Lars moves forward, kneels by the closes crate and aims at his target, the lasgun trembling slightly in his hand.

------------

Egill almost reeled at the horror in the room, but he managed to stay firm with only his faith in the Emperor and the holy work he did shielding his mind. It was time to bring judgement to the heretics. Gripping his claymore firmly he moves forward darting between the cargo containers, staying focused on the enemy and trying to ignore the hell around him.

**

The cultists, startled, look around frantically for their assailants and spot them on the catwalk.

The monstrosity behind them groans, the sound of a demon rumbling in anger along with squealing, screeching metal...behind its maw, you see light burning in greater intensity. It is clear that it is going to do something soon...Emperor knows what. It's appendages quiver and shake as the whole machine vibrates.

-----------

Marius felt his chest tighten and could hear his pulse pounding in his ears as he looked out upon the macabre scene. The chanting of the cultists seemed to fade away into the background as he took in the myriad atrocities. Somehow, an odd sense of calm had settled upon him. The corner of his mouth twitched, as close to a smile as he could manage, as an odd thought rose in his mind: And I thought these things looked bad from the inside.

He shook off the errant thought; the blasphemy here was too great for such trifles. This is what his time with the ecclesiarchy had prepared him for, why his soul had been cleansed, and why he had forsaken his life as an infidel citizen. Such taint could not be allowed to exist.

He took up a vantage on the catwalk, leveling his newly acquired grenade launcher towards the center of the ring. As he flipped off the safety and glared down the iron sights, he recalled one of the first prayers he had learned during The Cleansing:

I tread the path of Righteousness. Though it be paved with broken glass, I will walk it barefoot; though it cross rivers of fire, I will pass over them; though it wanders wide, the light of the Emperor guides my step

"Emperor..." he whispered to himself, "guide my hand, so that I may purge these unclean souls."

He pulled the trigger.

***

The grenade landed exactly as Marius had placed it in his mind's eye. It explodes with a ear-splitting boom, spitting shrapnel in the direction of Norgrim and three of his wicked servants. They shriek, holding limbs up to block their faces and torsos. The cultists recoil, but Norgrim appears unfazed.

----------

Round 2

Initiative Stack:

Donna: 14
Felyx: 13
Alistair: 11
Damiel: 10
Lars: 8
Egill: 7
Bogeys: 5
Marius: 4

-------------

Donna tested the wicked cogman with a cheap feint of the chainaxe.

"Nawt buyin it eh?" she sneers before testing him with a real attack.

She attacks him with the flat of the blade, it only slaps the air.

"Awlright, awlright, yew may have a bit o' skill. But it ain' gonna be nuff luv" she goads

-------------

Felyx-080 was elated as the arch-traitor, defiler of the holy STC, caught fire and burned. He hoped the flames would stick and burn lightly, giving Norgrim an agonizing death. He moved into cover, the logical part of his brain still compelling him forward. Once he got there, he pulled out his web grenade.

------------

Damiel awoke, propped on the floor of the catwalk, the shape of the diamond printed metal pressed into his skin by the force of his fall. He could smell his vomit, but he couldn't locate it. Still, his hands found purchase on his whip and he pulled himself to his feet. It seemed his allies were already fanning out to meet the traitors, and he noticed Egill on his own. He felt that the two of them had formed a working relationship, and that Egill would be worse for wear if it weren't for Damiel's unfortunate position. So the Null rushed after his teammate, across the catwalk and down the stairs, as he watched the beautiful chaotic bonfire. "Nothing like the smell of burning heretic."

-----------

Lars made a poor choice of target. He should've known better. But truth to be told, he never fired a lasgun; his usual fight involved blasting mutants and heretics with shotgun. Lasgun was a different thing.

He didn't dare shooting with Donna so close. As steady as he could in the situation, he lines up lasgun with a more far away target, tries not to look at the fusing of flesh and machine behind the cultist, takes a second or two to aim and starts shooting.

----------

The horror at what was happening hammered at Egill’s mind, the barrier was so thin here. It was like an expanding bubble and soon it must pop. Realisation hit him, they were trying to open a rift. “We do not have much time.” He yell as loudly as he could “they’re trying to create a rift!”

He almost staggered as another wave from beyond threatened to unman him but them Damiel was there, quietening the storm in his mind. The man was repulsive, but Egill knew that Damiel too served the Emperor with a curse that was hard to carry. Ha was grateful to have him by his side.

With a roar Egill charge’s at the closest heretic, he rush’s in with his two handed sword held over his head which descends in a devasting chop.

***

The cultist dodges the blow at the last possible second.

----------

The cultist on flame flails in agony. They trip over their robes and start crawling across the floor, thrashing in attempt to put it out. Their screams eventually die out and they lay still, apparently dead.

KILL THEM, YOU FOOLS!! Nogrim bellows at the top of his lungs as he drops to the ground and starts rolling in vain to put out the flames. The cultist on his left runs forward to help him, but they are unsuccessful as the fires lick his robes.

The free cultists snap into action, drawing battered lasguns. It's hard to discern much detail through the murky darkness, but several braziers scattered throughout the room illuminate the scene enough with flickering light.

The two along the left side of the ritual circle fire off las bolts at Damiel's direction, but go wide in the darkness.

The monstrosity behind them shakes, and from within, you can hear a wailing scream...a keen listener might notice a hint of binaric screeching as well...

The three cultists along the right side of the circle draw shots on Marius, and miraculously all hit their marks.

The cultist engaged with Egill draws a curved, wicked looking ceremonial sword and slashes forward but misses his mark.

The cultist in combat with Donna does the same, stabbing forward with awkward footing. Their clumsiness results in them merely stabbing into the air.

With a violent shudder, the monstrosity opens it's maw wide as a hulking figure stumbles out. A horrifying amalgamation of flesh and machine, it is vaguely humanoid in shape. What looks almost like a man's torso, albeit contorted into a hunched shape, is matched with four long limbs providing tortured, stuttering quadripedal motion. The rear "legs" are similar to a guard sentinel's bipeds, albeit smaller, and intertwined with swollen tendons. It's forward limbs hinge like a humans arms, with muscular fleshy upper arms that turn into forearms of double-bladed chainswords. Each chainsword is about 5 feet in length, making the beast tower some 6.5 feet off the ground. On it's curved back, serrated spikes protrude from the length of it's spine. It's "head" resembles a humans, yet appears to be eyeless with naught but empty sockets and a vox grill in place of a mouth. Lastly, a long curved horn extends from it's forehead.

As it gain's its footing, it trembles and lets out a long, undulating screech of binaric code, a mechanical sound of utter depravity. It starts to shuffle toward Egill, it's chainsword-limbs screeching and scratching against the floor as it moves.

-----------

Marius grunted as a trio of stray shots impacted his carapace, two of the shots ricocheting off into the gloom. He felt a slight sting as one managed to slip between the plating and graze his flesh, though not managing to cause any serious harm.

Death.

He let the grenade launcher fall from his hands and pulled up his shotgun; while effective, the launcher would take far too long to reload. He would not hide while his fellows engaged the heretics; he would endure and force their attention while the others did the Emperor's work. He leveled it at one of heretics not yet engaged in the vicious melee unfolding below... and the sound of the Mauler's rapport echoed through the chamber.

The cultist moves to dodge, but isn't quick enough. He staggers backwards as the bullets him home, grunting.

Round 3

Initiative Stack:

Donna: 14
Felyx: 13
Alistair: 11
Damiel: 10
Lars: 8
Egill: 7
Bogeys: 5
Marius: 4

It was time to stop playing around. Donna saw from the corner of her eye as Nogrim commanded the thing to vomit a hulking monstrosity of flesh and....muscle? It was like one of the over-muscled gangers of the bingo butcherers back on Abby.
Added to that was Egil panicking, she needed to act quickly.
"Sawrry luv. I ain got time to play n'more." she says with mocking sarcasm as she swings the chainaxe towards the cultist's midriff.

**

The man stumbles backwards, but moves too late. The chainaxe rips through his gut, spewing out his entrails and splattering blood at Donna. He collapses on the floor, clearly dead.

---------

Felyx stayed in full cover, bringing out the tube charges he had liberated earlier. He quickly goes to work with his combi tool. He already knew what had to be done to make the weapon more volatile and does so with ease. Once done, he stares at the walls, knowing what had to come next.

---------

Seeing the STC daemon-spawn, Damiel rushes into action. He darts down the stairs and lays against the back of a nearby storage container for cover. eyeing around the corner of the crate, Damiel sets his sights on the STC-spawn, rolling up his sleeve to free the laspistol on his forearm. He shouts out to his psyker comrade. "Egill, get back here, I'll cover you!"

---------

Lars made a poor choice of target. He should've known better. But truth to be told, he never fired a lasgun; his usual fight involved blasting mutants and heretics with shotgun. Lasgun was a different thing.

He didn't dare shooting with Donna so close. As steady as he could in the situation, he lines up lasgun with a more far away target, tries not to look at ther fusing of flesh and machine behind the cultist, takes a second or two to aim and starts shooting.

**

The warp-machine screeches in binaric code, staggering as the jury-rigged lasgun hits home. It shimmers faintly in the darkness - it appears it's grip on reality is quite tenuous.

---------

Egill hoped Damiel was hot on his heels as he saw what he could only describe as an 'abomination' as it haltingly stepped towards him. It was hard not to focus on the large chain weapon that 'grew' out of its arms.

Emperor protect me, best make this quick

Egill wielded his claymore swinging it back down diagonally past his hip before bring it back over and around his opposite shoulder in a devastating blow at the cultist.

**

The man attempts to dodge but is far too clumsy. Egill's claymore slices downward with righteous grace and power, cleaving the cultist in two. Another foul enemy of the Emperor purged from real space.

--------

Norgrim continues to flail on the floor, bellowing in anger. One of the cultists sprints over to help pat out the flames, but for now, he is still aflame.

The rest of the cultists, reacting to the enemies in their midst, draw their ceremonial swords and guardedly approach the melee combatants.

The STC spawn advances steadily towards Egill, quivering and shaking. It's frame shimmers in a surreal fashion, almost as if the creature looks like an optical illusion on a hot summer day. One more good blow should send it back to the warp.

A deep rumble emanates from the STC. A bright, reddish orange glow rises in it's gullet...and it belches forth a glob of molten metal. The large slab sails through the air toward Marius' on the balcony...time seems to freeze for a moment. The projectile hits the balcony just below Marius' feet, sending a shockwave. Within a few moments, the balcony section below Alistair and Marius seems to buckle and sag downwards as it melts the supporting beams.

--------

Marius grinned as he racked his shotgun; he and his allies had thus far served excellently as a conduit for the Emperor's wrath. Suddenly, there was a deeply unsettling sound - some odd combination of an engine stalling and retching - and a glob of glowing metal belched out of the machine.

Burnburnburnburnburn

Its arc came up a bit short, however, impacting at the front of the walkway. Marius felt the heat of the projectile wash over him. Possibly, he decided, his righteous intention to draw the attention of their foes had been a bit hasty. A bit of cover might not go entirely unwarranted given the circumstances.

--------

--------

Alistair snaps out of his catatonic state when the blob of molten metals hits the balcony. Unsure where he is and what's going on around him, he is quite shure that the floor should not sag like this. Trusting his instincts, he raises to his feet and tries escape from the balcony. Downwards to solid floor. To solid cover.

A sudden sagging of the balcony makes him loose his footing, and sends him tumpling down towards the fight.

Alistair did his best to save his jump from the balcony, bot to no avail. He hits the container's side full speed, his ribs cracking under the impact. With a muffled groan he falls flat next to the container, clutching his ribs in pain.

Round 4

Initiative Stack:

Donna: 14
Felyx: 13
Alistair: 11
Damiel: 10
Lars: 8
Egill: 7
Bogeys: 5
Marius: 4

--------

Donna had severed the cultist from his life. It was always a satisfying feeling when dealing with the ultraviolence. It was a warm place in her heart that reminded her of home.

"What a Bongo!" she says, a derogative term for her gang's rivals, the bingo butcherers.

She jerks her head up, and moves towards the next target.

She moves with preternatural speed, the slaught running its course and filling her with unnatural vitality, though it would wear off soon and the shakes might come on again. She had to end this before that.

**

It seems her jitters got the best of her as Donna's chainsword merely rips through thin air.

--------

Fleyx looked at Lars and smiled. It was his typical, alien smile that was all face and no eyes. But it was fine. It was perhaps the last time he would see the man, and he knew that normal people enjoyed such pleasantries. He stood without a word and took off at a full run around the far side of the catwalk. He had to get close before what came next.

--------

Alistair was afraid for a moment that he would loose his consciousness from the pain. His could only take short, sharp breaths. Each one sending pain through his rip cage.
"Get a grip, man", he murmurs to himself, "Get a grip".

He could see his trusted Las just outside of the container's cover. He bent out of the containers shade, grabbed the gun and threw himself back into cover. Groaning with renewed pain, he was standing up, peeking around the corner. Hunting for a target.

--------

Damiel leaned around the corner of the storage crate, sighting in the daemon before squeezing off a shot. The sweat from his hands made lining up the shot difficult, and he struggled to see clearly through the beads of sweat that dripped from his brow. The shot goes wide and he isn't surprised.

"Egill! If you don't move you'll be there forever! Get to cover!"

--------

Maintaining steady rate of fire, Lars continued to pour the shots at monstrosity. It was hard to miss, and he begun to think he is getting a hang on shooting with a las weapon. Strange feeling started to creep in his mind. No matter the raving cultist, demons, smoke, fire and melting metal, excitement mixed with horror took a hold in his head. A maniacal laugh almost escaped his lips. Feeling the weapon warming in his hands, he braced it against his shoulder for another salvo...

The monstrosity screeches one last burst of binaric code, shudders, and seems to wink out of existence. Lars has felled his foe.

--------

Hearing Damiels shout Egill looks about, with the lumbering abomination approaching and the other cultists he realises he'd over extended. His father Skallagrim was a smart fighter and Egill decided he would be to. No point in dying needlessly, he had to make sure this job was done right. Backing up Egill tries to summon lightning but his focus was taken by the huge chainsaw wielding 'thing'.

--------

Norgrim has extinguished many of the flames, but not totally. He continues to flail and roll around on the ground, although it appears the other cultist is assistance is continuing to help. His movements are becoming more lethargic, it is clear the foul tech priest has become fatigued in rolling around trying to put out the fire.

The cultists near Donna move forward to engage. One swings with reckless abandon, but misses his mark. The other cultist moves forward cagily, slashing with a well-timed blow.

The two cultists closest to Egill also engage him - one charges in and swings wildly, his blade slicing toward Egill. The other sprints forward, but doesn't get a blow in just yet.

The STC growls and belches forth two more demonic engine minions. The first - closer to Norgrim - is a walking turret of sorts - a heavy stubber atop a quadripedal creature of twisted looking crab legs, some muscley flesh, some bionic.

The second creature is a lumbering, mutant looking servitor with one shriveled, frail arm...and another massive arm that has been deformed into a 4 foot club of metal and bone. They howl in agony at their violent birth, shake off some strange goop covering their bodies, clearly selecting targets on the battlefield.

----------

Marius stopped to catch his breath behind the crate; while he possessed a reasonable amount of stamina, he rarely had to move so quickly. It wasn't his forte.

He leaned out around his cover and took stock of the combat unfolding on the lower level. The blasphemous machine had produced further warp-spawned nightmares, but it looked as if many of the cultists were either dead or embroiled in melee with his fellows. He didn't want to risk hitting Donna or Egill with an errant blast from his shotgun, but there were no targets close enough to take serious damage. Noting that Egill and Donna seemed to have things handled, he figured it would be best to ensure that the odds remained in their favor; he raised his shotgun, preparing the fire on any cultists or warp-spawn that made an effort to tip the tide of the melee in their favor.

Round 5

Initiative Stack:

Donna: 14
Felyx: 13
Alistair: 11
Damiel: 10
Lars: 8
Egill: 7
Bogeys: 5
Marius: 4

Donna found herself outnumbered, but it didnt matter to much to her, violence was violence.
It would only make it easier to hit her enemies.
"Gow ohn! Tag teamme if yew think yew'r mahn nuff fo'it!" she says, still with a toothy grin on her blood splattered face.
She hacks at the one to her right.

The cultist tries to side-step the blow but doesn't move in time. The chainaxe swings down roaring and cuts a long gash down the enemy's torso.

------------

Felyx continued his run, the whole time looking for a good position to begin is climb.

------------

Shooting into melee was always tricky. But he hoped to take at least some heat from Egill.

Lets hope that my bad luck ran dry ...

He leveled his Lasgun, ignored the pain in his chest and pulled the trigger at the nearest cultist.
It was hard to miss at that range.

The man was evidently preoccupied with combat, as he didn't see the shot until it was too late. The bolt hits dead-on, sending the cultist to the floor. Dead, the foul smell of singed flesh emanated from his body.

---------

Damiel levels another shot at the disgusting Daemon that had crawled out of that machine. "I'll send you back to the hell you crawled out of!" He yells at the creature as he fires a shot, not certain the beast even spoke gothic.

The demon flinches, but appears unharmed.

---------

Lars spits, clearing his throat from the foul fumes he inhaled following melting of walkway. More monstrosites where pouring into the fray, and lead heretic managed to get up on his feet. Aiming for the center of the mass, Lars fires again, hoping that killing Norgrim might stop this nightmare. Its a slim chance, but he gives it a try...

His aim proved less accurate than last time - the shot misses.

---------

Egill flinches slightly as one of the cultists he was fighting takes a shot and crumpled. He'd perhaps have taken issue with that; one of his companions firing into melee as it was dangerous, but his hatred towards the cultists was flowing. He swings his sword in a mighty arc trying to cleave apart the remaining cultist

The cultist moves to jump out of the way, but is too clumsy. The blade slices through the cultist, sending his torso flying from his legs. Blood spurts everywhere.

---------

Norgrim finally rises to his feet. His robe is missing in places, as it has been ravaged by flames. Underneath is some sort of armor...perhaps flak or leather. As he extinguishes the last of the flames, he looks around the room in a rage.

The demon with a club for an arm starts lumbering toward Donna, running faster as he builds up momentum.

The other demon scuttles to the side, it's turret swaying this way and that as it moves. It makes a hissing sound of some sort - though in the darkness you can't make out any mouth on the creature - and let's out a burst of fire in Egill's direction. Although it lets out a steady stream of bullets, they all miss Egill. It appears the emperor is watching over the Psyker today...

The two cultists engaged with Donna stab forwards, but miss their mark.

The STC belches forth another blob of molten steel. It sails directly toward Marius...perhaps the demon possessing the STC is familiar with Marius, and resents his newfound servitude to the emperor.

---------

Marius waited patiently for the demonspawn to close in on Donna, then let loose a well aimed spray of shot, landing a solid blast in its center of mass. He heard the vile retching sound of the STC and realized he had remained still for too long. Without even looking at the construct's intended target, he ducked back behind the crates and slunk towards the far side of his cover. He felt the blistering heat of the projectile as he moved, combined with the acrid smell of the slagged section of walkway he had just evacuated. He grimaced; twice, he'd cheated death. He hoped he would not have to press his luck a third time. He swung around the far-side of the crate to pump another round of shot into the Spawn, but the shot went wide this time. He cursed audibly. Focus, Marius, he chided himself, you are not yet dead but will be if you don't FOCUS.

**

The first blast hits home, eliciting a low groan from the clubarmed demon. It doesn't seem to be hurt enough to be deterred from Donna, however.

Round 6

Initiative Stack:

Donna: 14
Felyx: 13
Alistair: 11
Damiel: 10
Lars: 8
Egill: 7
Bogeys: 5
Marius: 4

Donna was about to be in a sorry place and she knew it. She keeps up the pace on her wounded victim.
"urry up an'die will ya? Oui got othas tew kill." she says with a bit more urgency than normal.

The cultist jumps backwards, but is too late. The chainaxe rips through his torso, sending him to the floor in and spewing forth a torrent of blood.

-----------

Felyx grabbed onto the... protrusions... and climbed, feeling slightly more comfortable as the spider pads gripped and stuck to the surfaces they encountered. It was time to end this.

Occasionally, one of the tentacles gives slightly under his grip or feet. They feel almost...spongey. It is certainly unnerving, but for now, the protrusions held.

------------

Alistair peered around the corner, searching for his next Target. Egill seamed to be safe for now.

So he set his sight towards the horror spawned from the STC. Again, his aim was true.

Although the las bolt flies straight towards his target, the demon's frantic sprint carries him just out of it's path. The bolt zips past and hits the ground instead.

-----------

Damiel lines up a shot with his forearm laspistol at the same STC-spawned demon as Alistair. His shot hits home, but the biomechanical beast doesn't even seem to notice it's been struck...Damiel curses under his breath.

-------------

Lars takes a shot at Norgrim. The lasbolt hits home, eliciting a pained grunt. The sorcerer screams in rage.

-------------

With a bellow Egill charges the closest abomination, he rushes in with his claymore held high above his head. Despite the things terrifying visage he felt no fear, just his hatred for these things that were an affront to his Emperor.

The creature pulls up its club to parry, but is too clumsy. The claymore slices its left leg, causing it to falter and opening a severe wound.

------------

The malformed demon engaged with Egill turns to face him, a raspy snarl emitting from it's mouth-vox. It's shaped like a vox...but gnaws at the air like a jaw, a ragged horizontal slit across the grill. It pulls it's club arm back and swings with a mad rage.

Egill parries the blow with ease. It is clear that he is well-trained with the blade, long and unwieldy though it may be.

The cultist engaged with Donna looks on as she slashes down his ally. Sensing his end is near, he slashes forward wildly at her torso.

Donna dives out of the way, but the cultist is too fast. His blade slashes diagonally across her chest.

The crablike turret spawn snaps it's weapon toward the crawling enemy on the ceiling. It unleashes a torrent of bullets, but misses his target. Felyx remains unscathed...

Norgrim turns to the cultist next to him in rage. "Attack, you wretched fool!" The cultist rushes forward to Donna and stabs his sword at her.

Already off her balance from the first wound, the blade stabs into her upper right arm.

Norgrim stretches his arms out to his sides and mutters an incantation. Blue flames lick up his body, swirling around him as a smile stretches across his face. Without warning, he then winks out of existence, the space where he was before completely empty.

The familiar sound of the STC wretching fills the cavern. It grumbles and roars, gears clearly grinding and smashing within itself. Another ball of molten metal spits from it's maw, arcing over the melee toward Alistair...

Though he is already worse for wear, Alistair musters what remaining strength he has and rolls out of the projectile just in time. He feels the burning heat wave wash over him all the same and counts his lucky stars.

--------------

Marius decided it was time to end this once and for all and began reloading his grenade launcher with krak rounds.

Round 7

Initiative Stack:

Donna: 14
Felyx: 13
Alistair: 11
Damiel: 10
Lars: 8
Egill: 7
Bogeys: 5
Marius: 4

Donna grimaced at the pain coursing through her body. She glanced over her shoulder and considered running, but realized the best way out of this combat may simply be through it. Oh well, at least she would either come out alive, or die doing what she loved - slaughtering punks.

"Awright, let's fuckin go you pricks!"

She growled and spun her chainaxe at the cultist to her right, but it spun through clean air. The odds were getting longer and longer...

------------------

Felyx held tight to the protrusions, trusting the technological marvel of the spider pads to carry him onward. It worked like a charm. In no time he had easily crossed roughly 7 meters while the battle raged below. Something in his brain, something unfamiliar and unsettling, hoped, for the briefest of moments, that his team could hold on for a little longer. He hoped that they would all be OK. It was a sentiment he had never before felt in his life.

------------------

Alistair was quite surprised when the creature dodged his shot in the last second. Never taking his eyes of the target, he fired again.

Unfortunately, it was hard to land a hit amid the back and forth between the demon and Egill. The shot sizzles directly between the two of them, barely missing each.

----------------

Damiel lines up another shot on the Daemon assaulting Egill. His shot flies wide and he curses under his breath.

----------------

Lars takes a pot shot at the turret-demon. The shot hits and the turret creature screetches and stumbles backwards, whipping about in frustration.

---------------

Bullets whizzed about Egill and the abomination, he dare not look around to see who was shooting at his melee. He certainly didn't care for it as he reckoned a bullet would hurt him more than it. There was little to do about at the moment. With a roar Egill wields his sword over his right shoulder, the blade angling diagonally down at the things shoulder, with luck the blow would take its arm...

Egill's blade slices across its torso, sending a burst of blood outward. The creature is clearly on death's doorstep - one more good hit should send it back to the warp once and for all.

---------------

The beast-machine engaged with Egill staggers backwards and winds back it's clubarm. It brings it down with the fury of all that is unholy toward him. It must sense it's time in this mortal plane draws near, as it is swinging recklessly. The blow lands with a sickening thud.

Egill looks on in despair as more tech deamons appear, it was enough for him to take his eye off the ball so the swinging club connects staggering him. They had to destroy the STC cogitator, it might close the rift throwing these tech deamons back into the void.

In realisation Egill shouts out.

"Destroy the corrupted cogitator. It should close the rift and banish these horrors!"

The turret demon spews out another blast of shots at Felyx. It must be struggling to identify its target among the tentacles, as the shots go wide. A few land with a sharp splat noise around Felyx into the protrusions, spitting a mucky, greasy and acidic substance onto his clothing.

One of the cultists engaged with Donna slashes their sword forward, hoping to finish the job.

The blade rips open her gut, letting out a torrent of blood. She collapses to the floor, drenching the floor around her and the cultists.

The STC itself groans and creaks, vomiting forth two more ghastly beings.

The first is another bionic-flesh mash-up in a form not too similar to a gorilla. It stumbles forward and regains its footing. In the dim light, you can make out clumped fists and stout rear legs that clump heavily on the floor. It's mechanical maw is spread open at gruesome angle, and a large, thick barrel sticks out of it for about a foot. It snarls and a gout of flame spouts out of the barrel. A long, hairy and slimy tail drags along the floor behind it, like some sort of freakishly large rat's tail. It advances steadily toward Damiel.

After the gorilla creature is a being that largely holds the shape of a man. It's legs bend backwards, and in each hand it wields a large cleaver. However, in place of any sort of head is only long, mechanical tentacles, each topped by some sort of sensor apparatus. They look as if they have recently sprouted out of the flesh, as the skin at the base of the "neck" is swollen and bulbous. These sensors flail about wildly, clearly identifying targets nearby. It strodes slowly toward Egill and Donna.

----------------------

Marius frantically worked at the grenade launcher, retreiving a krak grenade from his vest and loading it into the chamber. Their time was running out; the longer that daemonic monstrosity was allowed to exist, the lower their chances. It had continued to disgorge a steady stream of abominations that, soon enough, would overwhelm them. As he finally finished priming the weapon's firing mechanism, he heard Felyx's shout. Way ahead of you, tech-priest.

Blood.

He felt a chill as he watched Donna take a vicious blow from the cultists, a gout of blood issuing from the wound. Severe laceration to ancillary arterial systems, hemorrhaging suggests fatal level of trauma, estimated time to death of subject: inconclusive but inevitable. He would have to make this one count: as much as he wished to treat Donna's injuries, it would be impossible until their foes had been neutralized. He hoped she would be able to hang on until then.

Round 8

Initiative Stack:

Donna: 14
Felyx: 13
Alistair: 11
Damiel: 10
Lars: 8
Egill: 7
Bogeys: 5
Marius: 4

Seeing the mangled wreck of Donna on the floor, the pair of cultists level their blades and scan the area warily, searching for new targets. No use in executing this woman while other active threats are about.

------------

Donna crashed to the floor hard, she was in a puddle of red. He legs was numb except for the tinge of blazing pain. It was the end for her, she knew it. Still, no one was going to say that she was a coward who creawled away on her belly. She staggers slowly to her feet, her left leg limp at her side.
"Aint no one gon' get the besta me chum." She spits out through blooded teeth before swinging wildly with the chainaxe. It was a sloppy attack, easy to avoid.It nearly unbalanced her but she was able to stand her ground.

The cultist looks toward Donna and chuckles quietly.

------------

Felyx pulled the modified tube charge from his belt. His heart rate rose slightly. A tear came to his eye, but he didn't notice. "Now, I will fucking to you!" He pushed a button and tossed the ordnance into the heretikal maw of the daemon-infested STC. A few seconds passed before an enormous explosion erupted.

The fabricator machine gnashes it's maw, almost as if it perceives a foreign object. It trembles slightly, sending shudders up through the tentacle Felyx is grasping onto. The explosion sends an ear-splitting boom through the dark room, sending a few of the machine's metallic teeth flying out into the room before it. A few of the tentacles explode into gory bits where they attach to the front of the structure. The spawn closest to its maw, the crabturret, is engulfed in flames and collapses motionless to the floor after a few moments of frantic movement.

Amid the ecstasy of seeing this explosion, Felyx almost doesn't notice a quiet popping noise from one of his hand holds. As he looks up, he spots a section of flappy skin - it appears he has popped a pustule on the tentacle. A foul smell wafts toward him, and he starts to feel a tingling, numbing sensation on his hand...

-----------

Seeing Dona go down, Alistair had to act, he needs to relieve his friends, to draw away some heat from the melee. Through the mob he could see another creature closing in. He started moving immediately.
And with a shout, spraying the abomination with shots. Even with his shots going wide, he hoped to draw at least the attention.

In the dim, guttering light of the torches left by the cultists, it's hard to observe the creature's behavior too closely. Alistair can barely make out the creature turning and looking in his direction...another gout of flame dramatically and briefly illuminates it's face. It looks like some heretek melted flesh onto a mechanical structure. The skin is taut and appears more like a mask than anything else. It's enough to send a shudder down the spine of any but the most jaded of acolytes...

------------

Damiel lines up another shot which seems to fly perfectly toward his target. Maybe his luck is taking a turn...

Or maybe he's taking someone else's. "Donna! It would be a shame to die to that filth!" It didn't take the doctor's analytical word to see she was severely injured. Damiel moved after her, trying to get to the fight before it was too late.

His shot his the demon machine, narrowly missing Egill. Unfortunately, the horrific beast doesn't even seem to register that it was hit. It barely flinches, and it's gaze remains on Egill.

-----------

As looks over the battlefield, he shivers. The sweat on his brow now feels icy cold despite the heat. He wipes his forehead and focuses on what appears to be the party's primary target: the STC fabricator itself. He aims and fires, although the former hardly seemed necessary. The jury-rigged lasgun fires off a superheated bolt, which appears to have hit the machine somewhere particularly sensitive.

It shudders and howls, and a tentacle crashes downward...at first glance it may seem like the tentacle fell involuntarily, but then he noticed that it had pulled down a large chunk of plascrete with it from the ceiling. The boulder-like chunk crashes downwards, punching a large dent in the steel floor. He feared for what might happen if the beast decided to yank down all of its tentacles...

-------------

Egill plants his feet after he'd been rocked back from the spawns clubbing attack. He heard the STC roar and thrash at its wounding, this was good as he could focus on the spawn trying to brain him and then help Donna. Snarling at his foe he swings his claymore horizontally at its mid-drift. "Die!" he bellows.

Already off-balance from it's haphazard attack, the demon is unable to dodge. Egill's blade slices through it's midsection, cutting the beast in two.

------------

One of the remaining cultists sneers at Donna as she climbs to her feet. He swings his sword forward, hoping to finish the job once and for all. She moves to flail, but the effort is in vain. The sword cleaves downwards and lops off her left arm right at the elbow. Donna collapses to the floor motionless as blood gushes out of the wound.

The other cultist watches in dismay as Egill dispatches the demon-machine. He moves over and swings a sword downward. The attack is surprisingly cunning and the blade comes at the barbarian fast. Egill attempts to parry but the sword still connects. He grits his teeth and shrugs off the blow as best he can, thinking of how the Emperor would smile upon him...

The demon with the strange bionic tendrils in place of a head charges fast at Damiel and lunges forward with one of it's meat cleavers. It misses the null narrowly, and one of the tendrils hisses as the cleaver lodges itself in the floor. It wrenches it back out and readies for another attack.

The flamer-beast lumbers over toward Alistair, skirting around the combat.

Meanwhile, the STC-fabricator itself starts emitting a very high-pitched screeching noise. It almost sounds like a steam whistle. At a dizzyingly fast speed, several metal objects fling out of its maw toward the ceiling where Felyx is perched. It appears the machine will not let his offenses go unpunished. A large metal rod flies through the air with a whistling sound and punches into Felyx.

---------------

Marius, after fumbling around with the launcher for what felt like an eternity, slammed the barrel into the locked position. He swung out from behind his cover, just in time to watch a cultist take Donna's arm off at the elbow. He winced; he'd have to make this shot count, he wouldn't have time to fiddle with the launcher any longer if he wanted to keep his compatriots alive.

He lined up the iron sight on the grotesque maw of the STC abomination. He whispered a quick prayer to the Emperor, exhaled, and pulled the trigger. Time to take your medicine, you monstrosity.

*THUNK*....shhhhhhhHHHH*THWAP*

The grenade impacted directly into the maw. As the explosion blossomed outward, Marius grinned.

burnburnburnburn


The STC lets out a bone-chilling roar as flesh and machine alike grind together inside. It sounds like the howl of a thousand lost souls, wailing in agony and fury. From Felyx and Marius' vantage point, they can see a chunk of the top of the STC Fabricator fall inwards, a gout of unearthly flame blowing upwards from the hole. It appears the structure is just beginning to collapse...

Round 9

Initiative Stack:

Donna: 14
Felyx: 13
Alistair: 11
Damiel: 10
Lars: 8
Egill: 7
Bogeys: 5
Marius: 4

Everything hurt. With all the sensory overload and blood pouring from a 100 cuts, Donna hardly felt, or even registered the blow that cleaved her left forearm off. She did register the sudden lack of weight from the arm as it no longer held a chainsword. The sudden imbalance caused her to stumble backwards.

Her head was spinning, round and round and she closed her eyes to keep from puking.

Then it all went dark......

----------

Felyx hardly registered the shots impacting on and around him. All that mattered was seeing the end of this. He pulled out his final modified tube charge, primed it, and tossed it exactly as he had done before...

**

The explosion rocks the chamber, and Felyx, even on the ceiling, can feel the heat wave pass over him. His ears ring as he surveys the damage.

The fabricator, barely recovering from the grenade launcher blast, emits a ragged howl that draws out for what seems like an eternity. Then everything starts to unravel. First the corner of the STC fabricator by Felyx collapses, falling inwards. The structure then seems to quiver immensely before contracting inwards. Tentacles begin ripping further chunks of plascrete off the walls. It appears that if the demon inhabiting the STC must go back to the warp, it at least intends to destroy its chamber. The room rumbles and quakes as more and more plascrete falls off the walls....

The tentacle bearing Felyx draws taut as the STC strains and pulls on it to bring down the eastward wall. It is clear he must move quickly to avoid a rather nasty fall.

------

Alistair grits his teeth as placrete chunks begin to fall all around him. The rumbling fills the chamber. He glances at the STC creature in front of him and decides to risk his odds and sprint past it toward the stairway. A few large chunks fall near him, but luckily he makes it to the stairs unscathed.

--------

Damiel stumbled at the sudden collapse of plascrete rock and squeal of metal on metal. As the underground temple began to fall apart around him, he realized how dire their situation was. " Come on come on! Let's get out of here, we can finish off whoever survives when we get out!" He looked across the hall at Egill, and then at Donna, bleeding out on the ground. He didn't expect her to make it, but he wouldn't say that to Egill. Still, was taking the carcass out of here worth the danger it put them in?

He weaves and ducks through the falling plascrete, shrugging off a few small pieces.


-------

As the room begins to collapse, Lars sprints for the door. The melted catwalk before him would have probably given him pause under different circumstances, but as is he clears it easily with a running jump. Adrenaline had a funny way of making you act without thinking....he posts up in the tunnel, watching for any sign of collapse here and waiting for his comrads.

Lars does jump when he notices Malik stands cowering in the tunnel. The man is covering his ears with his hands and is purposefully looking at the floor. Given the monstrosities in the other room, it's hard to blame him....

-------

The cultists glance in one another briefly. The one standing over Donna sprints off to the northeast abruptly, weaving under some tentacles there. The other cultist curses, glances back toward Egill, and follows him.

Meanwhile, the STC spawns move about weakly. Their form seems to flicker...it is unclear whether they still pose a threat, but there is no doubt that they are weakened significantly.

The STC itself is roaring, the pitch slowly lowering. It continues to wrench at the walls and ceiling. Red, orange and yellow lights flash spasmodically within the bloodied, open maw.

--------

Egill stumbled as the chamber started to come apart, while he would have preferred to bring the Emperors wrath to the cultists he was glad they decided to flee. If they'd stayed it probably would have been death for all of them. They had to get out and it was to him to try and get Donna out. He hoped the lass was alive. Quickly coming to his warrior in arms side, he hefts her over his shoulders.

The Emperor give me strength Egill thought as he steadies himself. She was heavy. It was all muscle though.

-------

Marius quickly realized that he could not meet Egil half-way - the chunks of rockcrete falling from the ceiling would almost certainly be fatal if they had the misfortune to be struck by one. He turned from the stairs to the sizzling gap of slagged walkway between him and the exit. He cursed - despite the excellence of his fine motor skills, his macro-motor skills had often left a lot to be desired.

Taking a deep breath, he sprinted towards the gap... though an observer would be hard pressed to call the pile of ill-fitting carapace lurching towards the gap a 'sprint'. Planting his foot near the edge of the gap, he nearly was pitched into the hole by the bending walkway. As fate would have it, however, the damaged walkway functioned almost like a spring board, launching him well across the gap and causing him to land, fully upright, on the other side.

He exhaled, making a mental note to spend extra time on his Prayer of Gratitude to the Emperor when they escaped the station. Carried on by his momentum, literal and spiritual, he took another leap across the small gap near the exit...

He managed to deftly cross the second gap as well, ducking into the tunnel they'd arrived through. He flicked the stimm he had been gripping, white-knuckled, during his leaps, making sure it would be ready for Egil's arrival.

Round 10

Initiative Stack:

Donna: 14
Felyx: 13
Alistair: 11
Damiel: 10
Lars: 8
Egill: 7
Bogeys: 5
Marius: 4

Felyx shimmied across the weird protrusion before dropping down awkwardly on the catwalk. Just as his feet touch the ground and he starts moving forward, a large chunk of the wall falls on top of him. He collapses to the floor, gasping for breath.

-------------

Alistair was sprinting up the stairs, taking a hard right, around the corner. It was now every man for himself. Even the beasts have turned their back on them and were fleeing the chamber. He stopped suddenly in front of a molten blob of metal, needing time to gather the courage for the jump. After a moment of hesitation, Alistair takes a few steps and then leaps over melted walkway.

-------------

Damiel looks back at Egill as he picks up the body. He was happy the warrior gave so much care to his comrades. Maybe it will save his life some day. Damiel turns and runs up the stairs as fast as his feet will take him, giving himself plenty of room to get a running start toward the slag in front of him. He sprinted down the catwalk and bounded over the slag. For a second he felt as if he was hovering over the molten metal, and he thought to himself that this would be a fitting end for one cursed as he was. Yet, his feet touched down on the other side and he halted his momentum on the nearby wall. Once he caught himself, he stopped to look back at the fates of the others in the room.

-----------

Egill looked briefly down at Donna's severed arm and chainsword. She'd be pissed if he didn't grab her weapon he thought. Then a clump of ceiling crashed to the floor beside him, easily big enough to brain him. Time to give it some legs. Spurred on by the adrenaline of combat, the will to survive and desire to bring more pain to heretics in the future Egill runs. His burden a mere irritation to the barbarian.

Although a lot of small rocks and dust collapses on Egill, he manages to avoid any blocks or chunks that would cause any harm. The metal staircase groans and squeaks under his feet as he runs up to the catwalk. The catwalk itself is now twisting and tilting under the pressure...

----------

A large boulder, tugged loose from the cave wall, falls down to crush one of the STC spawns. The other one hobbles after Egill, but then winks out of existence. Meanwhile, the STC summons up one last blast of molten metal....it flies across the room and hits one of the more intact walls, the south section of the wall to the east of the entry way. An enormous portion of the wall starts sagging downward, and small blobs of molten metal drip downwards onto the catwalk. It is quite clear that a total collapse of this room is imminent.

---------

Round 11

Initiative Stack:

Donna: 14
Felyx: 13
Alistair: 11
Damiel: 10
Lars: 8
Egill: 7
Bogeys: 5
Marius: 4

Felyx crashes against the railing from the blow, clutching it desperately to keep himself from tumbling over it. He closes his eyes for a moment and breathes deeply. Not today, he thinks. The omnissiah has need of me yet.

Taking a deep breath, he steels his resolve and starts sprinting down the catwalk. His limbs move awkwardly but swiftly.

----------