Judge Markstein kept a steely-eyed lookout as the chimera sped through the smog-filled streets. Foul degenerates of every description flashed past as he stood, head and shoulders out of the top hatch. The vile pariahs that populated the sprawling underhive would someday meet their end, but not today.
“How long driver?” He called below.
“ETA six minutes”
It was but four days ago that inquisitor Karras had contacted him, bringing information of the deviant cult whose location they were now racing towards. The men in the back of the rhino, their armour black, the imperial eagle resplendent in white on their shoulder pads, were silent as they prepared their weapons. Their resolute will to purge this new threat kept under steadfast control.
The commset chimed “Approaching target location, make ready to disembark.”
Markstein ducked down back inside and locked the heavy hatch. He took the chair to the rear of the driver, picking up the comm.
“Have faith in our glorious Emperor and have faith in each other for we have prepared well for this hour and we will triumph over heresy once again!”
This brought a cheer from the men as they loaded their shotguns, ready to leap from the vehicle. The chimera screeched to a halt, its wide tracks digging deep in the sodden ground. The rear hatch dropped simultaneously, thudding into the mud.
“GO, GO, GO!” Markstein barked.
They poured from the vehicle, quickly finding cover among the burnt out shacks and detritus. Its engine roared and it sped off again, ready to proceed to the extraction point when called upon.
The great dark edifice of the abandoned hab-block loomed over them, its boarded windows and crumbling exterior not quite as debased as the scum it was known to contain. Judge Markstein examined the makeshift door of the place. A large wooden affair with pitted sheet metal bolted on the front. A small eight-pointed star was crudely painted on, in what looked like blood. He turned to Arbitrator Volgatt and gave the signal. The deputy leveled his grenade launcher at the door, selecting krak.
Magus Keel snapped from his trance, the congregation ceased their chanting and the room became silent at the sound of the explosion. He had anticipated this; the Adeptus Arbites were certainly persistent, if not always predictable.
“You two, the stairs!” He hissed.
The cultists quickly picked up their weapons and made for the door. Keel turned back to the foul assembly, casting a cursory glance at the thing, now moaning on the stone altar. Whether it was man or woman he could not recall. It was quite beyond recognition at this stage.
“Continue with the ritual.”
The chanting recommenced, the cultists forming a circle around the wretched thing.
They increased in volume, slurring into one another as to be incomprehensible, reaching a fever pitch. Keel laughed aloud in ecstasy, the very air was charged. Their great gift would soon come screaming into existence.
Arbitrator Schneider led the charge up the steps, shotgun tight in his shoulder. The squad ran up behind him, armour clanking reassuringly. The first shot came from above, through the gap between the stairs. The shell whistled down, striking the wall to the left of Schneider. The second came in as he brought his weapon to bear on the assailant, sparks flying as it impacted on his thigh plating. His tracker chimed as it found its target and he squeezed back the trigger. The shotgun roared and kicked back into his shoulder, the executioner shell finding its mark. A crimson explosion gushed from the heathen’s neck; the blood-slicked head defying gravity for a moment before falling downward, thudding sickeningly below.
The body on the altar arched upwards, its limbs rigid like stone. A low moan escaped its lips as its head lolled back and forth. The Magus shook with joy for the glorious moment had arrived. A horrific screech filled the room as the daemon host thrashed in its restraints. It gargled before blood and vomit sprayed from its gaping mouth, dousing the congregation. It lay silent, unmoving. Keel now became aware of the dull pulsating sound that filled the room, whether it had been there before he was unsure. He glanced upward as dust began to shake loose from the ceiling. The altar then again grabbed his attention as a hazy, red glow now surrounded the body. He took an uncertain step backwards.
Judge Markstein kept his eyes on the top of the stairs as he led his men upward to the source of the blasphemy. They had almost reached the top as a burning sheet of flame engulfed the group, one took the brunt of the attack and plummeted screaming over the handrail. Markstein saw his chance as the cultists’ unreliable weapon spluttered and died. Quickly, he unsheathed his power-maul and leapt forward, swinging the crackling weapon in a wide arc. The degenerate made as if to duck but was not fast enough and the weapon found the heathens temple. Markstein felt a wave of grim satisfaction as bone turned to pulp and blood and viscera splattered the wall. The man dropped immediately, his head now a misshapen thing that did not afford a second glance.
Keel shielded his eyes as a painful red flash issued forth from the altar before it exploded into flame. The cultists who had been closest were thrown back, some ablaze. Keel cried aloud, in a mixture of joy and fear at what he now saw. A pair of huge, blood-drenched claws raised a great rusting axe from the inferno. A large, elongated head slowly followed, twisted horns protruding upwards, a great mane of gore-clotted fur ran down its back. The daemon snarled and brought itself upright, cloven hooves scraping on the hard stone of the altar. Keel shuddered, it was a full eight feet tall, it’s red body slicked with blood. He continued to watch, transfixed by its awful form. Many of the others had lost their nerve and were now pulling at the boarded up windows, some cowering in the shadowy corners.
With an unearthly howl the daemon leapt backwards of the table, spinning around to face the screaming cowards. With its foul axe raised high it charged at the cultists, rending them asunder as if they were but toys. It stopped momentarily to feast upon the neck of one decapitated heretic, drinking the corpse dry in awful slurping gulps. The mayhem continued, cries of terror filling the room before being silenced one by one in a continuous spray of gore. The Magus made for the doorway for he had no stomach for this madness; he thought they would be rewarded…
The door exploded in an almighty crack. Shards of iron sped into Keels body, throwing him backwards, skewering him to the wall. The Adeptus Arbites poured through the breach, shotguns raised. Markstein stopped in his tracks at the scene now before them.
The unholy beast was hunched low over the dismembered corpse of one cultist, greedily taking mouthfuls of flesh. Its tall horns swayed back and forth as it did so, cutting trails through the acrid smoke that billowed around the room, now more akin to a butcher’s shambles.
