On Vigilus, Kratch Doomclaw envisioned transforming the war-torn world into a primary stronghold for Clan Rictus, a lair that would rival the infamy of Crookback Mountain. However, the planet itself remained obstinate.
The surface was a fractured hellscape where Marneus Calgar and Abaddon the Despoiler engaged in a ferocious struggle for dominance. Throughout the Nachmund Gauntlet, literally countless worlds were being torn asunder by the warring tides of the Empire, Chaos, Orks, Drukhari raiders, Tyranids, and Necrons.
In such a chaotic theater, Clan Rictus found it impossible to establish stable rule. Furthermore, the sheer density of Skaven clans migrating through the sub-sector forced Clan Rictus into bloody internecine conflicts against their own kind just to secure the meager subterranean reaches available.
Driven by this gridlock, Kratch Doomclaw devised a treacherous gambit, a plan to lure Abaddon and the Imperial forces into a mutual annihilation.
"The Chaos-things... the Chaos-things agreed? Hahaha! YES-YES! Man-things are fools-idiots, Chaos-things are fools too!" Kratch cackled. Through the Gnawholes bored into the fabric of Vigilus, Kratch was able to siphon the lifeblood of every Clan Rictus domain across the galaxy like a cosmic parasite.
As long as these Gnawholes remained protected from specialized destruction, Clan Rictus, bolstered by its status as one of the Great Clans of the Council of Thirteen, could never truly be purged by Calgar's forces.
"Yes, my despicable master! The Skryre-things... they are ready-prepared! We wait for the Chaos-things to come-arrive, then we make them all die-die-die!!!"
Tretch Craventail, sporting his infamous Lucky Skullhelm, bowed and scraped before Kratch with practiced sycophancy.
Kratch regarded his subordinate, a creature he viewed with equal parts utility and loathing, and stepped forward with a mask of feigned trust, clapping a claw onto Tretch's shoulder. "Excellent. The yield must be massive-big! I want no ash-dust left of them! Tretch, this task is yours—YOURS!"
"Ah? Me...? No-no! My despicable master, Tretch is weak-feeble! It would make the Great Horned Rat angry-furious!" Tretch's legs began to shake uncontrollably at the mere suggestion.
Since the manifestation of the Great Horned Rat, Tretch's quality of life had actually plummeted. Kratch, realizing his pool of competent talent was shallow, had begun ruthlessly exploiting Tretch's legendary "luck."
The tithe of ten thousand souls a day could not be met by throwing a few thousand Slave Rats into a pit. Tretch, a veteran of betrayal and subterfuge, was an expert at such grim logistics; he was personally responsible for more than half of the disappearances across Vigilus.
In the depths of the Hive Cities, rumors of upright-walking rats dragging citizens into the sumps under the cover of darkness never ceased. Calgar had dispatched numerous mortal agents and even Astartes Scouts to gather intelligence on the Skaven presence. Predictably, the mortals never returned. As for the formidable Space Marines, Kratch simply hired Clan Eshin assassins to silence them.
Facing a situation where every tactical investigation yielded nothing, Calgar was forced to turn a blind eye. He established specialized units among the Astartes known as Vermin Hunters to patrol high-risk sectors while decreeing strict mandates: Imperial citizens were forbidden from approaching the sewers, and all talk of "rat-men" was prohibited to prevent mass hysteria.
In such a high-pressure environment, allowing the populace to know that an ineradicable threat lived beneath their very boots would be catastrophic. Calgar chose a policy of silence, much like the previous Imperial denials regarding the Eye of Terror looming above Vigilus.
Let the Horned Rat be angry with you then, Kratch thought bitterly, though his expression remained neutral. He waved a grand claw. "For the Clan, YES! If you kill-slay the man-things and the Chaos-things, the glory is yours! I give you-you ten clans to command—TEN!"
"Ten?!"
The offer gave Tretch pause. Despite being the second-in-command of Clan Rictus, his actual power was negligible; Kratch constantly sent him on suicidal sorties that saw his subordinates slaughtered to a man.
If he could claim lordship over ten clans, he would become a Skaven Warlord in his own right. It meant he could take his forces, abandon his temperamental overlord, and lead his own fleet to fight for his own interests.
Kratch saw the hesitation and smiled inwardly. As a member of the Council of Thirteen, Kratch's martial prowess and cunning were peak-tier. If he couldn't read the mind of a subordinate, he wouldn't survive a day in Skavenblight.
Finally, Tretch gritted his teeth and stomped his foot in resolve. He agreed.
"YES-YES! Thank you for your generosity, my despicable master! Tretch Craventail serves you-you as always!"
As Tretch slunk away, Kratch returned to his overlord's throne. Several female Skaven attendants, large and powerful enough to rival Stormvermin, offered him stolen Imperial wines and delicacies.
Kratch ignored them. Soon, a Doom Warlock Engineer from Clan Skryre attached to the host approached him.
Doom Warlock Engineers belonged to a secretive, fringe sect within Skryre. Even among the lunatics of their own clan, these Warlocks were feared. While most Warlock Engineers sought bizarre and varied lethal inventions, the Doom-Warlocks had but one obsession: the glorious mushroom cloud. They sought the most grandiose explosions imaginable, believing that reducing every civilization that snubbed the Great Horned Rat to radioactive rubble was their divine mandate.
The lethal Doomrocket was one of their most terrifying masterpieces.
"Vanfreet, prepare-ready the bombs! In the name of the Horned Rat, no one but Skaven shall remain-stay on this world!" Kratch snarled at the Warlock, who radiated a palpable aura of danger.
"Hehe... hehehe... yes, my greedy-treacherous patron. None shall survive-live! So long as your pets lure-bait them into position!" Doom Warlock Engineer Vanfreet Ashes ran his claws frantically over a Warp-bomb that resembled a bloated pufferfish, treating the world-ending device like a common toy.
"Tretch will complete the mission—"
At that moment, Tretch was unaware of Kratch's deeper machinations. He trusted his "luck" only to a certain extent; regardless of what other rats whispered, he knew he only had one life. He didn't know where his luck came from, and he wasn't about to bet his neck on it without insurance.
"Dirtypaw! Dirtypaw!" Tretch shrieked. A Stormvermin clad in the grey-tinted power armor of Clan Rictus scurried forward.
"Yes-yes, my despicable master," Dirtypaw said, bowing low, mimicking Tretch's own subservience to Kratch.
"Go to the man-thing territory. Spread-spread this news!" Tretch handed him a scrap of filthy parchment. He didn't care who Dirtypaw sent to do it, so long as the word got out.
Dirtypaw glanced at the parchment. It contained "leaked" intelligence regarding an alliance between Clan Rictus and the forces of Chaos, detailing a massive counter-offensive intended to seize control of Vigilus.
"Oh, I see-see, my despicable master!"
——————
If you want to read ahead of everyone, go to my pat-reon: pat-re-on.c-om/magnor (remove the hyphen to access normally)