Suffering a minor setback at the hands of Commander Bravestorm was hardly a loss in the eyes of the Skaven. For the Master Mutators led by Throt the Unclean, the primary objective had been secured: they had obtained their specimens.
Amidst the chaotic skirmishes, several Kroot had been captured. Now, the Master Mutators were deep within their laboratories, dissecting the alien gene-sequences to determine how best to stitch this rapid evolutionary trait into their own monstrous creations.
Yet, even Throt was unaware that his intended destination was the epicenter of the next galaxy-shaking event.
On Macragge, an Astartes of stern countenance and noble bearing, resembling a hero of ancient myth, swore a solemn oath. In the name of the Primarch, he vowed to do everything in his power to reclaim the lost glory and prosperity of the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar, wresting back territories held by traitors, xenos, and the scions of Chaos.
This man was the protagonist of legends, known to some as "Titus the Unconquered."
No longer the humble Lieutenant of past records, tasked with impossible missions alongside a mere handful of battle-brothers, he was now the newly appointed Captain of the Ultramarines Second Company: the Master of the Watch.
As for the previous Captain, Acheran... ever since Abaddon was repelled during the Vigilus Campaign, he had vanished from the annals of active duty, likely meeting a tragic end.
With Titus's ascension, his trusted inner circle rose with him. He had promoted Gadriel, whose stoic, almost wooden demeanor belied a sharp tactical mind, to the rank of Ancient, the Company Standard Bearer. His mentor, Metaurus, served as his primary advisor.
Beyond his Astartes kin, he had elevated several elite mortals. Among them was the Astropath Daniel Cornelius, a man who had survived over a century of service and was currently monitoring the turbulent currents of the Immaterium.
The experienced and powerful psyker's brow was furrowed in concentration; the guidance of the Ultramar Defense Fleet rested entirely upon his psychic tether.
At that moment, a Librarian of the Second Company issued an urgent warning from Tigurius.
"Captain Titus, a moment!"
Titus, who had been conferring with his advisors, turned with a calm expression. "What is it, Lyas?"
The Librarian, Lyas, spoke with gravity: "We have received word from Chief Librarian Tigurius. He has shared his latest prophecy. It appears our burden is to be heavier than we anticipated."
Titus's frown deepened. Tigurius had already used his formidable psychic might to foresee that the reclamation of the Five Hundred Worlds would be fraught with peril.
The vision had been one of twisted machinery and green-glowing steel. Marneus Calgar had interpreted this as a sign that the xenos known as Necrons would be their primary adversary. Titus had clashed with the Necrons before; he knew that while he was nearly invincible when operating in a small strike team, this campaign would require full mobilization.
However, he had not expected Tigurius to add a new objective so late.
"A new enemy?" Gadriel asked, his features set in his customary mask of stone.
"Yes," Lyas said, his voice dropping an octave. "Lord Tigurius told us... 'Watch your step.'"
"Watch our step?" Titus's expression hardened. He instinctively looked down at the deck of his flagship, a floor of reinforced adamantium capable of withstanding terrifying ordnance.
Was this a metaphor or a riddle? Having matched wits with the Thousand Sons in the past, Titus was no stranger to cryptic warnings.
Yet even Titus could not imagine that beneath their feet, hidden within the gaps of conduits and cables beneath the thick armor of the massive Imperial battleship, countless chattering, long-tailed vermin were scurrying through the dark. Their red eyes burned with greed and malice as they glared upward at the "man-things" above.
Simultaneously, another force moved toward the Five Hundred Worlds: the most dangerous entity among the Necrons, the source of the Destroyer Curse itself— Nekrosor Ammentar, obsessed with resurrecting the C'tan Shard of the Nightbringer.
This Destroyer Lord, who held the Nightbringer in religious awe, led a vast legion of Necron Destroyers and carried multiple C'tan Shards. For reasons unknown, this "Source of the Destroyer" was prepared to unleash his nihilistic horror upon Ultramar.
…
"Magnificent, truly magnificent… I didn't expect you to stumble into this. Let us see how the play unfolds."
In the Realm of Ruin of the Warp, Lucius was molding the souls of vermin like clay, shaping the rats within the Sanctus Reach. These new Skaven would be modeled after the archetypes of the Mortal Realms, possessing their own clans and legendary heroes.
Lucius had decided: the Skaven headquarters within the heart of the Imperium would be established beneath the surface of Holy Terra itself!
Deep within the crust of the Throneworld, he forged the souls of the first clan: Clan Verminus. The first individual he shaped was a cunning beast who had clawed his way to dominance through raw violence and cruelty.
As the other vermin watched in awe, the first Lord of Clan Verminus, Whitesick, took form. Once his physical shell had solidified, he declared himself the recipient of the Great Horned Rat's favor, bestowing upon himself the title of Supreme Claw-Marshal.
He proclaimed that the Great Horned Rat was the God of Conquest, the King of Many Tails, and that he had been commanded to transform the underside of Holy Terra into the City of Blight to prepare for the Horned Rat's ultimate dominion over the galaxy.
Lucius was unconcerned with the details. He merely wanted the Imperium's heart to be infested with his children. As for any future friction or civil war between the City of Blight and Skavenblight...
Hehehe. Without internal strife and the desperate competition to offer him sacrifices, the Skaven would hardly be Skaven at all.
While Lucius continued to place his legendary pieces on the board, he watched the unfolding events in the Five Hundred Worlds with keen interest. He was curious to see how Clan Moulder would fare against the dual might of the Ultramarines and the Necron Destroyer cults.
If Ammentar truly succeeded in unleashing the Nightbringer, Lucius might just step in to lend his "children" a hand, much like a player swatting away an opponent's hand from the board.
Suddenly, a jovial, booming voice echoed through the domain.
"Little Brother Horned Rat... I see your people are moving into the fray. Care to do an old brother a favor?"
As the voice spoke, fungi and bacteria within the Realm of Ruin began to proliferate at an unnatural rate. Lucius waved a hand, purging the influence of Nurgle from his realm.
"Brother Nurgle," Lucius said, looking out beyond his borders. "Shouldn't you be tending your wounds at home rather than talking to me?" Following the Emperor's fire, Nurgle had indeed been in seclusion.
"Ah... forgive me. It's just that I have a small request for my dear brother," Nurgle's voice was steady and deceptively grandfatherly, hiding the reality of his bloated, rotting form. "You are about to ascend to a seat among the Great Eight. You know as well as I how loathsome those Star Gods are. We cannot allow the Nightbringer to be fully restored. That would be ill for us all."
It seemed the Four Gods did not wish to intervene directly, preferring Lucius to handle the "mess." Perhaps they were bound by the shifting tides of fate, but Lucius was an anomaly.
He agreed readily. He knew that as soon as the Skaven clans were firmly established within the Imperium, he would officially ascend as a Great Power of Chaos, taking his place upon the Horn of Formless Distortion. As for the Malevolent Artifice he had seized from Vashtorr, those would have to wait until Clan Skryre and Clan Moulder grew strong enough to truly master them.
And so, as Throt the Unclean sailed through the Immaterium, he found, to his shock, that the daemons of the Warp did not harass him. Only a few unaligned Warp-beasts or minor renegade warbands dared to strike, and they were easily swatted aside.
He did not know why, attributing it solely to the protection of the Great Horned Rat. He remained blissfully unaware that four—no, five, gods were currently giving him the green light.
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