Location: Ishvan II – Hive Primaris, Sub-Core Vaults
The air was thick with rot and the stink of spilled blood. Deep in the belly of Hive City Ishvan II, where the machine-spirits had long since fallen silent and the light of the Emperor dared not shine, a throne of corpses had been built atop a collapsed cathedral vault.
Upon it sat a Shaw — no longer human, not quite daemon. Cloaked in stitched flesh, crowned with a halo of rusted rebar, his eyes burned with the fire of mad purpose.
Below him, a heretic lieutenant knelt, blood smeared across his mouth and armor.
> "My lord... The Iron Wrath chapter has taken the bait. They've deployed across all major sectors. Six of their number have already been... illuminated. Their minds now dance the corpse-Emperor's funeral dirge."
The Shaw smiled — lips cracking to reveal jagged, filed teeth.
> "Good... very good. The shadow of my master thickens. He will be pleased."
He stood slowly, the pile of corpses squelching beneath his weight, and stretched out his arms like a prophet.
> "Each Astartes they send down only feeds the rite. Each Guardsman that dies sings another verse to the hymn of rot."
Another cultist scrambled into the chamber, panting, his face scorched with radiation burns.
> "My lord! The corpse-worshippers have begun orbital bombardment. Danger close. Their barge—it's moving! They're taking it seriously now. Our AA grid is... gone. Scattered. We lost half in the first strike."
The Shaw tilted his head, as if amused.
> "Ah. The little lambs begin to kick. Let them. Their desperation only enriches the ritual."
The cultist swallowed hard.
> "We struck their barge three... no, four times. One round missed. Another intercepted by a smaller escort vessel. Their void shields still hold — charging now. They're aiming everything at the proton cannon."
> "It must survive," the lieutenant added quickly. "If they destroy it—"
> "Then we improvise," the Shaw interrupted, calmly stepping down from his gory throne. "The Imperium may strike with fury… but our vengeance was prepared before their ships left the warp."
He walked past the cultists, dragging behind him a chain-flail made from spinal cords.
> "I hear noise above. Loyalist filth, perhaps. I will clear it myself."
The vaulted chamber trembled as another Imperial shell detonated far above, sending dust and ash drifting down like black snow.
The Shaw grinned, whispering to himself:
> "Boom. Boom. Boom... How fun."