The hundred Deathwing Terminators, split into ten tactical squads, struck like the hammer of the gods descending upon the vermin. To the Skaven, each squad was an unstoppable force of divine retribution. Drawing upon millennia of combined combat experience, the veterans rapidly identified the location of the enemy commander.
Grand Master Belial gave a sharp hand signal. Without the need for a spoken word, a heavy weapons specialist stepped forward, leveling his assault cannon and unleashing a relentless, suffocating hail of bolt shells toward the command node.
THOOM-THOOM-THOOM-THOOM!
The focused fire of just a few Terminators instantly suppressed an untold number of Skaven. Their accuracy was preternatural; in a heartbeat, scores of rat-men were reduced to a fine spray of gore and bone splinters.
"For the Emperor! For Caliban!"
Belial's battle cry galvanized the brethren. With an agility and speed that defied the massive, heavy bulk of their Tactical Dreadnought Armor, the Terminators surged toward the Skaven Warlord.
"Kill-slay them! Yes-yes!"
The Warlord, a high-ranking member of Clan Skryre, sat perched atop a Bonebreaker Rat Ogre, a four-armed monstrosity grafted with Warp-weaponry. The commander shrieked his orders at the top of his lungs.
Waves of Skaven threw themselves at the advancing giants from every direction. But against the Terminators, these fragile creatures were like porcelain striking adamantium; they shattered instantly into a bloody mist that hung in the stagnant air. Warp-jezzails and Ratling cannons opened up in a frenzied cacophony, yet the Terminators adjusted their gait with micro-second precision, ensuring no rounds struck their critical joints or eye-lenses.
The Clanrats were ground underfoot before they could even raise their rusted blades. In mere minutes, the Deathwing crossed kilometers of treacherous, debris-strewn terrain.
Before the Skaven could deploy their Doom-wheels, the Warlord jerked the reins of his blind Rat Ogre. The beast let out a guttering roar and exhaled a torrent of emerald Warpfire.
"Brother-Sergeant!"
A Terminator equipped with a massive storm shield lunged to the front, intercepting the toxic flames. Even the reinforced energy field of a Terminator-grade shield began to hiss and corrode under the unholy intensity of the Warp-fire.
Bang bang bang!
Bolters integrated into power fists barked in response. The explosive rounds tore through the Rat Ogre's filthy hide and matted fur, only to reveal that beneath the muscle lay stitched plates of scavenged ceramite. The foul xenos had armored the very innards of the Bonebreaker.
"Big-tall man-things! Want to kill-slay the mighty-powerful Surik Gnawlord? No way, no way!" The Warlord cackled, pointing his Warp-glaive at the Dark Angels.
Hundreds of Stormvermin bodyguards formed a disciplined phalanx. Their Warp-halberds crackled with malevolent energy, discharging arcs of Warp-lightning that enveloped the Terminators in a searing cage of green electricity.
"Grand Master! Their weapons... they are eating through our plate!" a veteran shouted over the vox. He could feel his suit's auto-senses flickering and failing as the Warp-taint gnawed at the machine spirit.
Belial let out a roar of pure, righteous fury. "In the name of the Emperor, the Dark Angels shall know no shame! HRAAAGH!"
To the horror of the Skaven, these humans, who should have been paralyzed by the Warp-lightning, forced themselves to move. Belial, acting as a frenzied lion, tore through the electrical discharge. With his power fist in his left hand and his power sword in his right, he plunged into the Stormvermin, beginning a systematic slaughter.
Though these Stormvermin were sturdier than their kin and clad in crude heavy plate, they were no match for the transhuman fury of the First Legion's elite. Bolstered by their leader's defiance, the other Terminators broke free from the lightning's grip and followed him into the fray, turning the tunnel into a charnel house.
"No! No-no! Impossible!" The Warlord's bravado vanished. He yanked his mount around to flee.
The Deathwing would not allow it. Two Terminators engaged their teleporter-homers or surged forward, intercepting the beast. It was a masterpiece of Clan Moulder flesh-crafting; the Bonebreaker fought with flaying-claws and Warp-drills, holding its own against the two veterans with surprising martial skill.
However, the rest of the squad provided immediate fire support. Massed bolt fire shattered the monster's ankles, forcing the colossus to its knees with a wet, bone-crunching thud.
Belial lunged, seizing the Skaven Warlord by the throat. He casually parried the creature's desperate counter-attack and hoisted the rat-man high into the air.
"Where is your master? What is your craven objective, foul xenos?"
The Terminator's crushing grip made the Warlord's armor groan. The creature thrashed in futile desperation.
"No, no! My masters... they are not here-here!" the Warlord shrieked.
"Where? I have no patience for your prattle!" Belial snarled. His brothers were still fighting off the remaining Stormvermin, and he tightened his grip, the sound of breaking bone echoing in the helm-comm.
The Warlord's beady eyes darted frantically. "There! Over there! The Warlock-Lords... their great scheme!" He pointed toward a deeper, darker abyss.
Belial looked toward the pitch-black tunnel. "I shall grant you a quick end." With a single squeeze, he crushed the Warlord's skull. Dropping the limp carcass, he signaled his men. Like living tanks, they pivoted and charged toward the dark.
…
"Even if you cheat, you cannot change the outcome of this game, Master of Mankind." Lucius looked down at the board where the Deathwing pieces were being drawn deeper into the heart of the nest. He looked up at the Emperor.
"Humanity never abandons hope," the Emperor replied calmly.
Lucius let out a jagged laugh. "But your Imperium abandoned that long ago. What remains sprawling across the galaxy is nothing but a bloated, festering corpse. And from the ruins of man, the Skaven shall rise. These creatures of the gutter will pick the bones of your Empire clean!"
With a flourish, Lucius pushed the pieces representing the Dark Mechanicum and Clan Eshin, encircling the isolated Deathwing Dark Angels. Simultaneously, a vast "wire-mesh" of Skaven battle-lines locked Lion El'Jonson in place, preventing the Primarch from reinforcing his sons. If the Lion dared to leave his position, the last Imperial bastion on the planet would be overrun instantly.
…
As they pushed deeper, the Deathwing noted a shift in the environment. The crude shanties gave way to structures that possessed a twisted sense of technology. Massive gears, unidentified alloys, and tangled nests of cabling crisscrossed the halls in a chaotic mess, resembling the laboratory of a tech-priest driven to the heights of madness.
Initially, they intended to raze every xenos construct they encountered. However, after a violent explosion cost the squad three brothers, buried forever under tons of collapsing rock, they learned a bitter lesson.
Do not touch Skaven technology. The only difference between a Skaven machine and a bomb is that no one knows exactly when the former will become the latter.