Several regiments, tens of thousands of mortal Slaaneshi cultists, descended upon the planet. These mortals represented the bulk of the manpower the dozen or so Slaaneshi warbands had scraped together.
These warbands weren't motivated by any grand cause or high ideal; they were driven by a singular, obsessive desire to secure warpstone to refine into their newest addictive narcotics.
However, the moment they made planetfall, they were swarmed by the local rat-kin. These Skaven were filthy, covered in weeping sores and necrotic rot, exuding a sickly miasma that reminded the Emperor's Children of the loathsome Death Guard.
Of course, these Pestilens Slave Rats possessed none of the preternatural resilience of the Death Guard; their emaciated bodies were easily torn asunder by lasgun fire.
"These rats are different from the ones before?" a Lord Exultant remarked, his face twisting in disgust. The stench was unbearable. While Slaanesh did not harbor the same ancient enmity toward Nurgle as Khorne did toward Tzeentch, the two factions were far from cordial.
Could these rats be servants of the Plague God?
"I'll go cut down their leader and find out. But if there is warpstone, I demand a larger share!" one of the Lords Exultant declared. His demonic, preternaturally smooth face split open to reveal a maw filled with jagged teeth; a serpentine tongue flicked out, tasting the air as he spoke in a slurred, sibilant tone.
"Agreed…" the other warband leaders replied after a moment's calculation. Whether they would actually honor the deal once the spoils were in hand was another matter entirely.
The volunteering Lord Exultant knew this perfectly well. Contempt burned in his eyes; he had already decided that once he secured the warpstone, he would gorge himself on the essence and flee, leaving his "allies" with nothing.
Under his command, a regiment of mortal traitors, thirty Emperor's Children, twenty Noise Marines, and ten Flawless Blades formed a powerful vanguard.
Though the mortal cultists were hollowed out by depravity, their basic combat conditioning remained. The warband leader distributed potent stimulants, drugs normally reserved for the Astartes, which ignited a frantic energy in their decayed spirits.
"Ohohohoho! Aaaaagh!" the cultists shrieked in ecstatic mania. With a light, unnatural gait, they howled as they followed their selfish masters into the sea of fur.
Under the influence of these hormones, the cultists demonstrated the terrifying potential of Slaanesh's "blessings." Though they were mere fodder, they swung their lasgun bayonets with blurring speed and murderous grace.
Beside them, the Noise Marines marched like a troupe of deranged punk-rockers. They strummed their guitar-like sonic weaponry, unleashing devastating waves of acoustic force into the Skaven ranks.
"Aaaaaagh!"
The intense sonic vibrations pulverized the internal organs of the Slave Rats instantly. Pus and ichor geysered from their ears, noses, and eyes in a gruesome reversal of their own sickly nature.
"Hahaha! The perfect audience!" the Noise Marines roared with laughter. They delighted in watching life vanish into the medium of their "art," intensifying their performance with every scream. Naturally, several mortal cultists who wandered too close to the "performance" had their heads shattered by the sympathetic vibrations.
Soon, the regulars of Clan Rotblight arrived in a fury.
These were Plague Monks, draped in tattered green robes. Their bodies had been fused with metal through the Rust Plague, rendering them as hulking and monstrous as an Astartes. Their clawed hands were often grafted directly to rusted twin-blades and flails encrusted with the very warpstone the Emperor's Children craved.
But the sight was so revolting that even the most depraved Emperor's Children felt a flicker of nausea.
"In the name of the Great Corruptor's Plague!"
Thousands of Plague Monks shrieked the title of the Horned Rat's most pestilent aspect. Their cries drove the Slave Rats and Clanrats into a religious frenzy, propelling them into a fresh suicidal charge.
"Ugh... I'm beginning to doubt this place has anything worth the effort," the Lord Exultant muttered, his face contorting in revulsion. He considered withdrawing, not out of fear, but out of pure spite for the lack of "aesthetic" value.
Amidst the sea of plague-rats, a few specialized teams from Skryre and Moulder stood out. Clad in heavy gas masks, they unleashed volleys of warp-shot, providing the traitors with the high-value targets they sought.
"They are mine!"
"No, they belong to me!!"
The Emperor's Children's formation disintegrated instantly. The Flawless Blades relied on their peerless swordsmanship to carve a path through the rats, desperate to reach the warp-weapon teams and seize their ammunition and power cells.
As one warrior lunged forward, a blast of sonic energy from a fellow Noise Marine obliterated both the Skaven and the Flawless Blade. The Noise Marine merely laughed and stepped over the twitching remains of his "brother."
At a Ratling Gun nest, the Skaven crew held down their triggers, unleashing a hailstorm of warp-bullets. Suddenly, a bolt shell took one in the head.
Bang!
The weapon team's heads were vaporized, and the Emperor's Children crashed into the position. Ignoring the comrades who had been cut down by warp-fire, the survivors immediately began brawling over the glowing green crystals.
A bizarre three-way battle ensued: the Pestilens rats fought the invaders from the outside, while the Emperor's Children butchered one another on the inside. The Lords Exultant were more adept at backstabbing than the rats themselves; with so little "spoils" to go around, every "ally" was a competitor who needed to die.
The skirmish ultimately devolved into a petty brawl. The "victors" who managed to secure enough warpstone fled immediately to their landing craft, refusing to return to Abaddon's fleet.
This was exactly what the Warmaster had expected.
Truthfully, the fate of the planet mattered little to Abaddon. What incensed him was the Skaven's disruption of his strategic rhythm. They had destroyed massive stockpiles of materiel he had gathered specifically for the conquest of the Nachmund Gauntlet.
While Ultramar was slowly restoring order, with Titus regrouping to face Nekrosor Ammentar, whose goal was clearly a shard of the Nightbringer buried beneath an Ultramar world, Abaddon focused on his own problem. The Nachmund Gauntlet remained an iron wall under the command of Marneus Calgar. He was determined to teach the rats a lesson.
But just as he prepared his retribution, a loathsome xenos envoy appeared before him once more.
"My patience for your kind is exhausted, xenos!" Abaddon barked, his voice echoing through the chamber. His top-knot quivered with his suppressed rage as he glared at the Skaven messenger.
The rat was clad in heavy power armor bristling with glowing green transport-vials. Its long snout was protected by a fitted helm, the tip of which was fashioned into a wicked blade.
"Oh~ you speak-talk of those wretched Skryre-things. No-no. Clan Rictus is not such treacherous filth-meat," the envoy squeaked in a fawning tone.
A Justaerin Terminator stepped forward, leveling his combi-bolter at the rat's skull. "Do you think we will fall for your lies again, xenos?" he roared.
"No-no! By the Great Horned Rat, Clan Rictus has-has honor! YES-YES! We can help-aid you! Help the Chaos-things!" The Skaven collapsed into a shivering heap, squealing out the name of its god without hesitation.
"Hold," Abaddon commanded his bodyguard. The Warmaster was well-aware of the shifts within the Warp. He knew of the Horned Rat's ascension to the pantheon, and even he was wary of openly insulting a god of Chaos.
He leaned forward. "...Fine. I will give you one final chance. In the next assault on Nachmund, your kind will take the vanguard. Fail me, and I swear by the name of Horus, I will scour every rat from this galaxy!"
"YES-YES! By the Great Horned Rat, we swear-vow!" The Rictus envoy scrambled to his feet, babbling oaths of loyalty.
Abaddon watched him leave, satisfied. He believed that no mortal, not even a rat, would dare lie in the name of their god.
He had forgotten that the Horned Rat was the god of lies.
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