By now, Lucius was well-accustomed to the fact that almost everyone in the Warhammer universe eventually felt the urge to "tour" the Five Hundred Worlds. Consequently, he held little hope for the success of Clan Moulder's expedition.
After all, the last individual to lay claim to the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar was Mortarion. He had unleashed the Godblight and come dangerously close to executing Roboute Guilliman, only to have "Old Man Gold" ignore all sense of fair play. The Emperor himself had intervened, not only saving Guilliman but putting the Garden of Nurgle to the torch.
Lucius sensed that Clan Moulder was angling for a grand masterstroke, but he had no intention of intervening. Rats being rats, they simply needed to taste the iron fist of the Emperor's wrath to learn their place.
Given the reckless scale of Moulder's experimentation, the nearby worlds of the Lost Empires and various xenos civilizations had already been reduced to mere genetic sequences within the pits of Hell Pit, their survivors relegated to living test subjects in cramped holding pens.
The reason Throt the Unclean was setting sights on the Five Hundred Worlds, a region only recently ravaged by the Plague Wars, was simple: in the wake of such devastation, the vermin population of Ultramar had exploded. The collective psychic shriek of these billions of rats had been detected by the Grey Seers accompanying the Moulder fleet.
Where there are rats, there is food. Thus, Throt had issued the decisive command to steer the fleet toward that coordinate.
Within the orbital star-ports of Hell Pit, the Rat-Nest Fleets began their ignition cycles. One after another, bloated and mutated brood-mothers were herded by lumbering monsters into the hive-like hold of the starships.
Clan Moulder had yet to fully crack the genetic code of Tyranid Hive Ships, forcing them to swallow their pride and hire Warlock-Engineers from Clan Skryre to finalize the essential bio-mechanical integrations. Every Master Mutator harbored a deep loathing for these arrogant Skryre technicians, vowing that one day, Clan Skryre would pay for their insolence.
Soon, a massive armada ascended from a dozen worlds centered around Hell Pit. The interior of these vessels resembled a subterranean abattoir; the corridors echoed with the roars of countess monstrosities and the frantic, human-like wails of the suffering.
Endless tides of Clanrats and Slaves pushed and shoved, hurling twitching slabs of meat, mutated by Warpstone elixirs, into the salivating maws of Brood Horrors so deformed their original species was unrecognizable. As if in a cycle of constant regurgitation, the birth canals of these pulsating meat-fortresses continuously expelled squealing ratlings and far more terrifying creations.
Overseeing Clanrats sorted the newborn litters like common livestock. Those with yellow, brown, or mottled grey fur were condemned to the ranks of Skavenslaves or Clanrats. Those with black fur were taken to be forged into Stormvermin. As for the white-furred pups, especially those with horns, decree of the Council of Thirteen dictated they belonged to the Grey Seers; these "lucky" few were handed over to the Grey Seers as apprentices.
The males were thrown into accelerated maturation chambers, chemically forced into adulthood to serve the Skaven Under-Empire. The fate of the females was far more wretched; they were seized by Master Mutators for immediate surgical augmentation, destined to become the "demonic wombs" of the Skaven race.
To the Skaven, this was not horror, it was a point of pride, the natural and righteous order of their existence.
In the center of the fleet's command altars stood the Grey Seers, serving as navigators. Surrounded by thirteen massive shards of Warpstone, they sensed the resonant echoes of the Great Bell tolling through the Immaterium. Navigating by these psychic sonars, the Moulder fleet transitioned through the Warp. After several days, aided by the dark providence of the Horned Rat, they translated back into realspace.
According to the Grey Seers' limited intelligence, they had arrived at the edge of the "man-thing" territories: the Damocles Gulf.
How did the ratmen know this name? Naturally, from the maps scavenged after they devoured the Imperial worlds surrounding Hell Pit. However, their understanding was superficial at best—they knew the name, and little else.
Effortlessly, guided by the chimes echoing in the Warp, the Skaven fleet bypassed the treacherous Great Rift and breached the Sanctus reach of the Imperium. They emerged in the southern reaches of Segmentum Ultima, within an obscure, feral system, the transition marked by violent bursts of emerald lightning.
…
On the far side of the Damocles Gulf, near the Farsight Enclaves, Commander Farsight had been busy rebuilding his strength following the recent conflict with Vashtorr the Arkifane. To this end, Farsight had been forced to humble himself and petition the T'au Empire.
While the Ethereal Council denied his request for the mother-empire to maintain the Enclaves' infrastructure, they did agree to restore official trade routes. In their calculation, it was better to let the headstrong Farsight act as a buffer between the T'au Empire and the myriad threats of the Damocles Gulf, including the Imperium of Man.
This shift meant Farsight no longer had to fear for his rear flank, allowing him to push his front lines with renewed boldness.
On the feral world of Ogulan, a force of Kroot was currently purging local mutant insurgents. These xenos auxiliaries, masters of close-quarters jungle warfare, were perfectly suited for this verdant, savage world. Farsight's forces had already sanitized the ruined hive cities and established a preliminary occupation.
What they did not know was that from the Warp, the Moulder fleet had already fixed its gaze upon the Kroot, watching them leap, slaughter, and consume their foes.
"Such... such magnificent gene-sequences! I shall… I will crack them, YES-YES!"
Throt the Unclean peered through his modified optics, observing the planet's surface. He watched the strange xenos who could evolve instantaneously by devouring their enemies. To Throt, this was a treasure beyond measure. He immediately signaled for the capture of live specimens.
And so, the war began.
The Rat-Nest Fleet tore through the veil of reality. Countless ships began spewing green exhaust as they accelerated, ejecting a deluge of boarding pods into the atmosphere like a planetary-scale discharge of filth.
The Enclave fleet was caught completely off-guard. Though they did not recognize this bizarre armada, the T'au commanders knew an aggressor when they saw one and immediately moved to intercept.
On the surface, the Kroot, who had been handily hunting mutants through the brush, looked up to see the blue skies of Ogulan streaked with thousands of black trails as pods pierced the atmosphere.
The pods impacted with devastating proximity, vaporizing swaths of dense jungle and embedding themselves deep into the earth. From the smoking hatches, a tide of massive rats and bipedal ratmen surged forth, charging straight for the Kroot.
The Kroot were momentarily stunned, but they quickly recovered, broadcasting emergency vox-signals to the Farsight forces.
"SQUEAK-SQUEAK! ROAR-REEEEEE!"
As the massive landing pods settled, horrific bellows erupted from within. Hundreds, then thousands, of monstrous rat-beasts leaped out. They were the size of Dreadnoughts, their hides covered in Tyranid-like chitinous plates and serrated claws.
Recognizing the threat, the Kroot did not hesitate. They fell back in a fighting retreat, their rifles barking as they prayed for Farsight's reinforcements to arrive.
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