Since Haarken Worldclaimer joined the carnage on Vigilus, the "War of Beasts" that began with the Orks has officially transmuted into a "War of Nightmares." Under the dark aegis of Abaddon the Despoiler, the Black Legion and the Death Guard have been joined by the sorcerous Rubric Marines of the Thousand Sons. These Traitor Sorcerers emerged from corrupted Aeldari Webway gates, spilling onto the Kaelac's Bane.
This site was a vital water source, second only to the Stygian Spires. Astra Militarum armored regiments tasked with its defense immediately engaged these hollowed husks of Traitor Astartes in a desperate struggle. Beneath the witch-fire of Thousand Sons Inferno weaponry, Leman Russ Battle Tanks were engulfed, transformed either into ice-shrouded hulks of scrap or slagged into molten iron. In a matter of months, this secondary reservoir fell to Chaos.
This further crippled the strategic position of Marneus Calgar and the beleaguered Imperial defenders.
During the two years of Skaven dormancy, the Iron Hands Chapter had assumed defensive responsibility for the East Thoria Hive Sector. These stoic and resilient loyalist Space Marines utilized fire as their primary barrier against the encroaching darkness. Without hesitation, they ignited entire hab-blocks with heavy flamers, attempting to create a scorched-earth firebreak to halt the spread of the Gellerpox.
Regrettably, through some preternatural means, the Gellerpox bypassed the towering walls of flame, directly infecting the noble districts of the Dirge Mast.
Panic cascaded through the hive. The Black Legion, descending from the hive spires they had seized; the Orks, who had besieged the outer walls for over a decade without fatigue; and the Genestealer Cults, rising from the sub-strata, all began their coordinated assaults.
The Imperial vox-network was crippled by the psychic turbulence of the Great Rift and the psychological warfare of Haarken Worldclaimer. This was exacerbated by the Imperium's own draconian edicts forbidding citizens from looking at the sky, and Calgar's own disdain for the Agamemnus aristocracy, a loathing that led him to pointedly ignore the dying screams of the nobles broadcasting from their high towers.
Consequently, the Black Legion seized near-total control of Imperial vox-transmissions. Every channel was saturated with blasphemous Chaos whispers, bestial roars, and the agonizing shrieks of the dying. Countless mortals were driven to madness, either ending their own tormented lives or walking out into the wastes to surrender. Even a grand strategist like Marneus Calgar found himself "unable to cook without rice," forced to revert to primitive communication methods like human runners and semaphore.
It was at this moment that the Skaven made their move.
For Calgar, however, this was a dark blessing. While the Skaven were mobilizing, their primary target was another xenos threat: the Pauper Princes Genestealer Cult.
The motive was simple: territory.
For countless years, the miners within the sub-sectors of North-Macro had been exploited by the Adeptus Mechanicus, leading them to embrace the Pauper Princes. As a furtive subterranean army, the Genestealer Cult intended to hold these miners as a hidden trump card.
But the Skaven did not share their patience.
As the Skaven population exploded exponentially, the warrens of Clan Rictus spread like a malignant tumor through the sub-strata of Vigilus. Incalculable numbers of Skaven slaves sacrificed their lives to the Great Horned Rat and the Under-Empire, their corpses serving as literal fertilizer for their kin. In this rapid expansion, the Skaven tunnels inevitably breached the mining shafts of the Mechanicus.
Thus, the Genestealer Cults clashed with the dormant Skaven in a shadow war unseen by the surface dwellers.
"The Below, the Below belongs only to Skaven! YES-YES! Only Skaven-kind shall dwell-reside here! No room for other... other hairless-things!"
Upon learning that the North-Macro clans had been routed by a massive Genestealer assault, Kratch Doomclaw immediately ordered a brutal counter-strike. No matter how precarious the surface became, the underground was the Skaven's final retreat; he would tolerate no threat to it.
"Tell-inform the Pestilens... the plague-things! Tell Skrolk to fulfill his promise! Yes, his promise!"
Even as the head of the Council of Thirteen, Kratch did not dare issue overt threats to Skrolk, the second-in-command. Though Clan Pestilens was not formally one of the "Four Great Clans" in name, its power rivaled that of Clan Skryre and Clan Moulder.
Regardless of Skrolk's cooperation, the armies of Clan Rictus surged into the labyrinthine mining tunnels of North-Macro.
"Let me... let me go, my despicable master!" Rikcruk Sliceblade, a formidable Skaven leader, volunteered eagerly.
Kratch looked at him deeply. This fourth-ranking leader of Clan Rictus was consumed by ambition, perpetually seeking to usurp Kratch's position. However, the Lord of Rictus paid it no mind; this brute possessed a recklessness comparable to Queek Headtaker but lacked his genius, though he remained sufficiently "brave" by Skaven standards.
"Good, good... it shall be you! Go!" Kratch nodded, his power-armored claw patting Rikcruk's shoulder with a mocking snicker. "Lead fifty vassal clans and kill-slay! Do not disappoint the Horned Rat, vermin!"
Rikcruk, fueled by ambition, immediately departed to muster tens of thousands of Stormvermin bodyguards and contact the vassal clans.
In stark contrast, Tretch Craventail, wearing his "lucky" skull-helm, attempted to submerge himself within the mass of Skaven. He used the towering bodies of several Stormvermin to hide, muttering incessantly: "By the Horned Rat's great teeth... don't pick me, don't pick me...!"
But Kratch would not overlook him. Tretch's inexplicable luck was as irritating as it was useful. Kratch called his name loudly: "Tretch! What… what are you muttering?!"
"Aie? Nothing! My reckless master, I... I said nothing-nothing!" Tretch replied, his face twisted into an obsequious, groveling expression loathsome even to other Skaven.
"I have a fine task-mission for you. Go... take your curs to the Oteck Hivesprawl. Blow-destroy the reservoir! He-he-he!" Kratch issued a lethal assignment. The Oteck Reservoir was a critical Imperial water source. To increase the leverage of the Stygian Spires in his possession, Kratch decided to sabotage the reservoir that sustained tens of millions.
Hearing the order, Tretch's eyes nearly bulged out. He would have preferred fighting the "hairless purple-skin human-things" in the tunnels! According to Skaven intelligence, that sector was already a madhouse of horrors: purple-skins, black Chaos flyers, fur-clad human-things in power armor, terrifying humans with skull-masks, and white-haired human females were all gathered there in a bloody carnival.
"He-he-he, do not... do not worry! The Pestilens-things will... will appear too!" Kratch chuckled. As long as Skrolk honored their pact, and Kratch was certain Skrolk wasn't foolish enough to sabotage the Great Horned Rat's Great Crusade now, the Plague Monks would be there.
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