The Grox Herder
‘Move! Move!’ The sergeant's voice rang between lasfire, greenskin roars and cries of men. ‘To me, Venn! Now!’ Something whizzed past his ear, close enough to chill the skin.
‘Move! Move!’ The sergeant's voice rang between lasfire, greenskin roars and cries of men. ‘To me, Venn! Now!’ Something whizzed past his ear, close enough to chill the skin.
Not every war is waged across trenches or void‑choked battlefields. Some begin in silence — in the corners of the soul, in whispers behind locked doors, in the moment a sworn oath begins to crack. This is the war of conscience and corruption, where loyalty unravels from within.
A crash sounded somewhere in the distance. Dampened by numerous walls, fields, and exhibits, nonetheless, it was very loud and went on for a long time. A very long time.
The display flickered into life. Grainy helmet-cam footage filled the chamber. The screen split into multiple views. Asp disliked reviewing helmet footage. The screaming was rarely useful.
Dust drifted through the shattered streets, turning the morning sun into pale streaks of light that bled through the haze. Private Tomas Grell sat with his back against a mound of shattered stone.
Lieutenant Cobral Janner was bored. Eight years on a deathworld, guarding a secret fortified warehouse containing a strategic stockpile of spare clothing, equipment, weapons and vehicles, and he had yet to fire his lasgun in anger.
The sand had teeth on this world. They’d been a jungle regiment once. Their fatigues were still a blotched green, unsuited to this sun-blasted hellhole.
The bunker door slammed shut, dulling the wail of sirens and thunder of shell impacts to a low hum and faint thudding.
The explosion lifted Gerebrix Rho several feet into the air, but still not above the head of the angry Adeptus Astartes warrior immediately to his left.
Despite running dangerously late, Athenus, Lord Exultant of the Emperor’s Children, applied his foundation with a medicae’s patience.