"Disgusting xenos!" The Chaos Terminators of the Black Legion, those massive humanoid tanks, glared at the Skaven clad in crude power armor.
Though they had long since betrayed the Imperium, their hatred for the alien remained etched into their very gene-seed. Had Abaddon not personally ordered the rats be brought before him, the Black Legion would have ground them into the deck plating.
Inside his powered rig, Ikit Claw's beady eyes darted back and forth, scanning the Vengeful Spirit—the crown jewel of the Emperor's lost legacy. If not for the Great Horned Rat's decree and a healthy fear for his own pelt, Ikit would have already started looting.
Behind him marched a squad of Skaven Servitors of Ikit's own design. These personal guards were encased in plasteel and laced with glowing green conduits, making them stand taller than even the largest Stormvermin. They clutched Warp-Lightning Staves shaped like polearms, capable of unleashing firepower equivalent to a vehicle-mounted cannon. They were Ikit's ultimate insurance policy.
After conquering a minor Forge World, Ikit had become fascinated by the Skitarii, soldiers who could be perfectly controlled. Of course, to a Skaven, even a servitor couldn't be fully trusted. There was always a subordinate Warlock Engineer waiting to hack the commands so their superior might "meet the Great Horned Rat" a bit ahead of schedule. Thus, this "Ikit's Warp-Guard" was maintained and repaired by Ikit alone.
Soon, Ikit stood before the Master of the Black Legion, the "Bondsman of Chaos," Abaddon himself.
The Despoiler sat upon his throne, radiating menace. However, when he saw the Skaven, specifically the triangular rune on Ikit's armor, he knew his vision had been true.
Am I really this popular? Abaddon mused internally. First Vashtorr, now another god seeks me out. It seems my fortunes are rising. Aloud, he stood and let out a low, predatory growl. "Xenos. State your purpose before I render your filthy hides into scrap!"
As a member of a race unparalleled in treachery, Ikit Claw was a master of the silver tongue. He rubbed his metallic claws together. "I come to trade-deal, yes-yes! Good for me, good for you-you, yes For the Great Horned Rat"
Abaddon eyed him. "And what could you possibly offer me?" He drew the Daemon Sword Drach'nyen across the Claw of Horus, sending a shower of sparks flying as a silent threat.
"Much, yes! Much-much! Skaven are best, most loyal-faithful friends! Anything you want-desire, we give-provide!" Ikit chuckled, but his Warp-stave crackled with an ominous current.
Suddenly, a fusion of metal and monstrous flesh burst into the chamber. The Master of the Soul Forges, Vashtorr, roared in fury. He lunged toward Ikit, unleashing his Warp-authority over machinery. Ikit's power armor immediately groaned, the metal plates twisting as if they had a mind of their own, pinning the rat-man in place.
"Hm? What are you doing?!" Abaddon barked, thinking Vashtorr had seen the prophecy too.
But Vashtorr only bellowed: "Give me back my KEY!!"
Abaddon blinked. He had assumed the Dark Angels had moved the relic; he hadn't expected a third party. He remained silent, choosing not to take a side until the situation clarified—a survival tactic he had mastered over ten millennia in the Eye of Terror.
Bound by Vashtorr's will, Ikit did not panic. Instead, he hissed a prayer: "The Horned Rat walks among us!"
The triangular mark on his armor erupted with a baleful green radiance. Instantly, the machine-spirit of the armor snapped back under Ikit's control, shrugging off Vashtorr's influence.
"How is this possible?!" Vashtorr snarled, recoiling in disbelief.
As a god, the Great Horned Rat possessed many aspects: the shadow-mantle of Clan Eshin, the pestilence of Clan Pestilens, the mutations of Clan Moulder, and the mad science of Clan Skryre. In the divine hierarchy, the Horned Rat was a direct competitor to Vashtorr's domain of techno-sorcery—a rivalry even more bitter than the one he shared with Nurgle over disease.
Vashtorr, who had struggled to fight Azrael (a man who had barely survived Primaris surgery), found his power wanting. Lucius had imbued Ikit's armor with enough divine favor to strip away Vashtorr's "Techno-dominance."
"Another... Warp Power? Such an alien signature... how?" Vashtorr muttered, staring at the rat-man who had defied him.
"Right, so right!" Ikit Claw said, remembering the Grey Seer's instructions. "Yes-yes, the thing you seek is in my claw-hand! But we must trade-deal! YES! Skaven are most honest, most trustworthy friends! We come to bargain!"
Vashtorr hesitated. He sensed a power behind this creature, something unknown, yet far more potent than himself, perhaps even eclipsing Be'lakor. Vashtorr operated in the Materium because the Great Powers usually ignored him as a minor nuisance. If he was being hunted by a new rival, he was in grave danger.
"Yes-yes! The Arks of Omen... yes! Trade the Ark-tech to Skryre-Skryre, and the Key-thing is yours!" Ikit rubbed his paws together, grinning wickedly at Abaddon. "The Skaven will be your... allies! But the loot, the tech, the hairless-manling STC-things, those belong to us!"
Abaddon narrowed his eyes. He never turned down a new ally, and Vashtorr's hesitation proved this new god was a force to be reckoned with. However, he couldn't let a xenos join his ranks without a show of strength. He turned to his Terminator guard. "Test them. The weak have no place in the Black Legion's Long War."
"With pleasure!" Six Chaos Terminators stepped forward, leveling their combi-bolters at Ikit.
Whish-whish-whish!
Ikit's grin widened. From the backs of his Warp-Guard, six miniature green missiles streaked out, detonating directly against the Terminators' faceplates. Before the smoke could clear, Ikit thrust his claw forward, unleashing a gout of sickly green Warpfire.
The Warp-fuelled flames engulfed the humanoid tanks, turning the legendary Terminator plate into hissing, molten slag in heartbeats.
"Good-good stuff!" Ikit cackled, admiring his handiwork.