Clan Verminus was originally the most formidable of the Great Clans in the Age of Sigmar, forgoing both the reliance on refined warpstone technology and the engineering of lethal contagions. Their singular strength, their defining characteristic, was an overwhelming, inexorable tide of flesh!
As the fastest-growing clan within the Imperium Sanctus, Whitesick's faction had expanded until their sheer numbers rivaled the combined strength of every clan within the Blight-City.
Crack-boom!
Poisoned Wind Mortars and Death Globe Bombardiers unleashed their payloads into the ocean of fur. Glass shattered amidst the dense ranks of Clan Verminus, instantly venting clouds of toxic green and violet warp-vapors.
The effects were immediate; the flesh of the Verminus vermin began to liquefy and slough off in chunks. They shrieked, collapsing only to be ruthlessly trampled by their own comrades. These Verminus soldiers wore tattered, scavenged flak armor and carried triangular shields fashioned from polished ceramite. Their primary armaments were Warp-pistols fixed with monomolecular bayonets.
In a grotesque mimicry of the Imperium, Clan Verminus deployed Leman Rat Tanks. Spewing thick, sickly green exhaust, these armored beasts spearheaded a suicidal charge against the Skryre forces—forces that were, by comparison, noticeably more advanced and sci-fi in their lethal elegance.
With the Leman Rat Tanks leading the way, Rat-Sentinels, heavily modified from Imperial Sentinel walkers, opened up with their side-mounted Storm Bolters, mowing down everything in their path.
Clan Verminus clearly held the numerical advantage. Clan Skryre, requiring vast populations for their flesh-factories and experimental targets, possessed a relatively small population of its own. Consequently, Skryre was forced to spend exorbitant amounts of Warp-tokens and weapons to purchase countless thousands of Slaves from other clans, especially Clan Moulder, to satisfy their meat-requirements.
The outnumbered Skryre Slaves and Clanrats held their ground behind Storm Shields, bracing desperately for the massive impact of the Verminus charge. Behind them, the roar of Ratling Cannons and Warplock Jezzails created a curtain of green fire, a rain of tracers that cut down Verminus vermin by the hundreds, only for the gaps to be instantly filled by the next wave.
The collision was brutal. The Verminus tide slammed into the Skryre shields. For the first time in their history, the Skryre vermin felt the panic of being outnumbered. They raised their weapons to fire, but a hail of green bullets from the Verminus ranks riddled them with holes before they could pull the triggers.
Even the overseers in the rear could not maintain the fragile morale. The technically "inferior" pistols and rifles of Clan Verminus were achieving fire superiority through sheer weight of numbers.
Simultaneously, captured Imperial Salamander Scout Tanks began to find their range, dueling with Skryre Warp-lightning Cannons. Clan Verminus's technical solution for these Imperial engines was characteristically simple: they ground warpstone into a fine powder and smeared it into the mechanisms. Thus, a crude but effective Warp-weapon was born!
The battlefield was a cacophony of explosions. Elsewhere, Skryre's forces were being systematically flushed out of the sewers, tunnels, and mine-workings.
"Oh, Great-Mighty Chief Warlock! They are too many—YES, too many! We must retreat-scurry! The weapon teams need-need more boom-dust, the flayers need more fuel-juice, my Lord!"
A Warp-Engineer, his body more machine than rat and his face hidden behind a copper gas mask, rubbed his claws together as he pleaded with Ikit Claw.
Skaven are naturally arrogant and boastful in victory, but pathologically cowardly in defeat. As the second-in-command of Clan Skryre, Ikit did not immediately flee, but for the first time, he felt the urge to withdraw.
His Skaven Attack Planet sat in orbit above, its retrofitting nearly complete. It required a massive labor force for maintenance and excavation. Therefore, Ikit would not launch a world-ending orbital strike on this planet, a strategic restraint that mirrored the logic of the Imperium.
Deep down, Ikit sensed that if he unleashed an Exterminatus-level event on a world populated entirely by rats, he might taste the Great Horned Rat's personal wrath, a nightmare no Skaven wished to experience.
"Withdraw-retreat to the surface! Otherwise, we lose the sky-dominance!" Ikit commanded.
"Yes-yes! My Lord!"
Clan Skryre began a tactical retreat like a receding tide. They hurled Poisoned Wind globes behind them, creating a wall of lethal gas that choked both the pursuers and the abandoned Skryre stragglers alike.
As the gas cleared, a local Verminus Claw-Warlord picked up a discarded piece of Skryre technology. He marveled at how perfectly it suited the rat-kin, yet he felt a sharp pang of survivalist dread regarding this stranger clan.
What if Supreme Klaw-Marshal Whitesick was not the only Chosen of the Great Horned Rat? Could he still claim his share of the Horned One's glory?
But there was no time for theology. The Verminus vermin poured out of the tunnels and onto the surface. To attack in the open air, beneath the light of the sun, was the dream of all Skaven. However, the moment the rat-tide emerged, they were met with a devastating counter-attack.
The sky was filled with Sow-Bombers, crude metal skeletons stripped of skin to save weight and bulging with warp-bombs like pregnant rats. Pup-class Fighters circled like winged vermin, raking the ground with warp-autocannons.
Simultaneously, the Skryre Nest-Fleet in orbit opened fire with Warp-Macro Cannons to thin the herd. Then came the Ghoritch-pattern Rat Ogres, Ikit's personal guard. These monsters possessed a disciplined lethality and coordination unheard of among Skaven. With Warp-claws and flayer-gauntlets, they began a methodical slaughter.
"Squeak-Roar!" These mechanical Rat Ogres emitted vox-filtered shrieks, but they were bellowing familiar war-cries: "For the Emperor!" "For the Allfather!" "For Ultramar!"
These biomechanical horrors were built of reinforced steel and wire; a single swipe meant death for a regular rat. Yet the Verminus horde was infinite. Soon, even the Ghoritch-pattern ogres began to crack under the weight of thousands of knives and warp-bullets.
With Skryre holding air superiority and reinforcements raining down in drop-pods and landers, Clan Verminus began to feel the pressure.
However, they had prepared for this. Beneath the surface of every Verminus-controlled world lay a Gnawhole. These shimmering portals, appearing as jagged tunnels filled with glowing green-glass liquid, were a miracle granted by Clan Rictus to the Great Horned Rat. Whitesick had secured them through the sacrifice of millions of rats and the souls of kidnapped humans and xenos. They were the lynchpin of his dominion.
Eventually, both sides grew weary of the senseless attrition. Whether Skryre or Verminus, both determined it was time to step to the negotiation table, to seek through lies and betrayal what they could not seize through war.
A cease-fire agreement was dispatched by Skryre.
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