Once more into the breach

[Okor]

A grunt escaped Okor's black-toothed excuse for a mouth, bolt and las-fire filling the air as his massive hands turned the wheel of the landspeeder, throwing the hovercraft into a steep dive. Sparks and fire coruscated across the scorched and pitted hood, as his inept motions led their escape vehicle into a collision course with a steady stream of civilian traffic, unaware of the Legionnaires bearing down on their airborne activities. Tartaros whipped around from his firing position, taking a moment to comprehend the scene unfolding before him. "What in The Emperor's name are you doing you damn fool!? We're going to crash!" The disgusting animated piece of cloth that clung to his pale white armour shouted similar, if more obscene phrases. Okor's titanic foot pressed down on the accelerator, propelling the shuttle forward, unbalancing the lone wolf, who fired his bolter in confusion, forcing a pursuing Imperial craft to jink away. The Plague Marine's single sight focused on the shimmering wall behind the sky-lane. "Patience, brother." his voice was laboured, still recovering from the bloody battle they had fought to take their prize.

The hovercar descended upon the skylane like the flaming fist of an angry god, sparking and smoking, held together by necessity more than anything else. The civilians scattered, steering their flying vehicles out of the unstoppable juggernaut of mangled steel, still harried by the fusillade of fire unleashed by the Imperial enforcement forces. An airborne transport truck loomed in front of the marines, its operator either courageous to the point of suicide, or somehow unaware of the events unfolding before them. Okor began to throw their escape vehicle off-course, but his rotten nerves proved too slow to undertake this task. The nose of the hovercar collided with the cabin of the transport, shearing away a vast expanse of the craft. If one would look closely, they would see half of the engine falling to the streets far below. The grav-plates attached to the underside of their ride sputtered and died as they careened away from the collision, the shimmering surface of the portal growing to fill their vision. For a brief moment, all was silent as they stared at the rapidly approaching gate, idle blue waters awaiting them on the other side of this reality. Their transport was a death trap. As soon as it touched the ground, their survival was unlikely, to say the least. "Tartaros. Jump." He spoke, clambering over the side. "The hell are you doing, you crazy bastard? You'll get yourself killed!" Okor's cyclopean face turned to face his brother. "I survived the guns of... Terra. With Nurgle's favour, I will survive this."

The Luna Wolf took a moment to factor in the momentum of the craft, the rapidly enclosing stormtroopers, and weighed the odds. He was a survivor, and was not one to make rash decisions. He had, however, honed his instinct to a razor's edge. The Luna Wolf quickly leaped, falling through the air as the damnable creation of cloth pitied his foolishness. Chuckling, Okor looked once more at the portal, his gaze drawn to a lone figure standing at the base of the portal. They were small, vulnerable. Innocent. Forgotten memories, lost to millenia of aging, rot, and hypno-training began to surface. Sister. I had a sister. He remembered now. Three (Or was it two?) years his junior, with a laugh that melted hearts, a freckled face that brightened everyone's spirits when it came into view.

He couldn't save her. Not when the walking dead came to their village, hungry for the flesh of the living. Screams echoed in his mutated skull, a reminder of his failure. Not today. Not here. Today, he would save someone's little sister.

He threw his weight against the side of the vehicle, several hundred kilograms of dead flesh and ceramite sufficiently altering the vehicle's course. The hovercar tilted, granting Okor a view of the proceedings as he began to crash through the gate. Tartatos rolled along the ground, his ceramite cracked. But he was alive, and moving. It would have to do for now, until they got to the other side. His sight settled upon the small, pale child his actions had preserved. She smiled, raven dark hair falling across her shoulders, blowing in the wind as the speeding wreck passed her by. He closed his eyes and leapt, rotten teeth smiling beneath his helm as he dearly he hoped he wasn't too late to save himself. The shimmering surface engulfed him, as his ungainly form left the ruined excuse of a transport, light struggling to penetrate his closed eye, the morning sun of Costa Del Sol making its presence known.

[Tearen Wover]

Rebecca blinked slowly as the flaming air speeder thundered towards her in this huge, strange city. Everything was so bright and shiny; it was like a whole city of angels! The howling contraption went through the portal with a loud screech of metal on metal, sending a shower of sparks and chunky debris skittering along the ground, all around Rebecca's feet. Daddy wanted her to follow the two people who had been in the flying machine, but Rebecca noticed a bunch of white men in armor advancing with caution.

Though they did not seem to take notice of Rebecca, their exchanged words indicated that they wanted to follow daddy's friends and hurt them! No no no! That wouldn't do! With pouty lips, Rebecca focused daddy's power on the nearest soldier and he fell to the ground, his head twisting at a horrid angle with an audible crack. The rest of the white soldiers immediately went on alert, raising their stupid guns and looking for the threat. With another snap, a second stormtrooper thumped to the ground like a plastic doll.

Now, the remaining soldiers were outright panicking. They didn't want to follow daddy's friends anymore. With electronically garbled shouts, the stormtroopers retreated to their bikes and sped off. Rebecca watched for a moment as they went, before turning her attention on the two fallen soldiers. Instinct dictated she try and harvest ADAM from their bodies, but she didn't smell any of the miracle goo coursing in their veins. They were just smelly cans of meat. Disgusted, Rebecca turned on her heel and skipped back through the portal to the Vasty Deeps.

...

Emerging from the swirling luminance of the gateway, Rebecca immediately hunched over and peered at the recovering ultra-marines from behind the cover of a small; tropical bush. She didn't know why daddy wanted her to stay hidden from his friends. Maybe there was going to be a surprise! Rebecca did so love surprise parties, but for now, she needed to be quiet and watch the two grownups.

[Tartaros]

Tartaros skid along the floor of the portal's platform, diving across the steel plates and rivets as the pile of scrap that once resembled a hovercar went crashing into a nearby building. He had to keep moving... With a final burst of adrenaline, the marine tossed himself forward, leaping through the gate, with the laughing puppet in tow.

The Luna Wolf pulled himself to his feet, scraping sand, blood and chipped paint off of his knees. What did Okor say again? Something about a "far-off from Nahrgûl"? No matter... Grabbing the panting and somewhat singed Mr. T up of the floor and idly tossing him onto his shoulder, he set out following Okor's trail of mildew and muck through the sun-soaked, strangely empty cobble road through the town, and into the back alleys. The little stunt in Coruscant should keep a proper search away from them, at least for a short while...

"The sun... It's... beautiful, is it not?", the rotting giant pondered as the group hid behind an old and dilapidated shanty house. "Yes, yes...", the Luna Wolf muttered as he scanned the sky, a small tone of impatience in his voice. "It's only early morning, and it looks like we've lost the guards. If we're careful we should be able to slip out of this place before anyone's any the wiser. Now, follow me.". With what seemed to resemble a smile stretching across Okor's face of blackened sinew and cracked bone, he nodded, hobbling into the the winding shanty town alleys after Tartaros, careful to keep away from gaps in the walls and the sirens in the streets.

As they passed a pair of feral, finned beasts sifting through the local rubbish heap, Mr T finally spoke up. "Y'know... I never asked you two crazies what the hell you actually are... Well, as this fool already knows...", the puppet gently smacks its hand over the back of Tartaros' helmet, "I'm Tureaud, Lawrence Tureaud. I don't know why I'm called that really, it's just what's on my tag, same with this here "do not dry-clean" message... Anyway, you are?"

With Okor still deep in his own thoughts as he walked, Tartaros answered. "The name's Tartaros. Tartaros... ehm... uhh... Bugger it, it doesn't really matter...", Mr. T tried to muffle what seemed to be a chuckle before it spoke, "We got a dementia patient here, eh?"

The Luna Wolf glared at the denim-clad puppet, "Dementia? What are you talking about?... Some sort of disease? No matter. Anyway, the big 'un is Okor."

The mention of his name seemed to rouse the plague marine from his thoughts, "Uh... oh, yes. Okor. Okor Paleblood. Now, this place seems to be an archipelago. If we find a dock on this island we should be able to escape to... greener pastures.". Tartaros glanced out of one of the many broken ruins of the shanty town, and back to the rotting giant next to him. "Alright. But this time, I'm driving."

The group continued through the alleyways, slums and sandy fields of Costa del Sol, the rising orange sun beating down on their armour and skin. Finally, they reached the harbour. Though the area was rather sparsely populated, with guards handling odd, dog-like amphibious creatures and local fishermen still went around their daily routines.

The group slunk behind a crate of fish carcasses, the smell of salt and rot fortunately masking Okor's corpse-like fetor. As they lay there, Tartaros monitoring the guard patrols, Okor pondered the Smiling One's words... summoning... simply picture what you desire. It surely would not be possible, would it? Well, there was only one way to find out...

The rotting giant pulled out a coloured, eternally shifting orb from under his tabard, gripping it tightly and focusing his mind. What they needed... were disguises. They were too recognizable, too easy to catch... perhaps a flaw of their plan in general, though it was far, far too late to change that. With the plague-bringer keeping a focused and calm mind, the orb began to shift and change, its ever-shifting colour eventually settling into a pure white, with the shape twitching and fluctuating, before finally consuming itself, leaving a pair of heavy burlap robes in its place. As Okor draped a set of the robes over his armour, he turned to the Luna Wolf, "Get dressed, we have some work to do."

Tartaros nodded, throwing on the remaining sackcloth garment and removing the tattered remains of his helmet, clipping it to his belt as the puppet hid in the deep pockets of the robe.

The two slowly crept out from the the side of the crate, bowing their heads and shuffling across the harbour and down towards the main dock, being careful to avoid the careful eyesight of the guarding fish-dogs and their handlers. Eventually reaching a wharf built on a stoney outcrop, with a simple fishing seiner tied up by one of the posts.

As Tartaros quickly set about vaulting the boat's guard rail and prying open the way to the engine room, Okor set about freeing the vessel, drawing his rusted blade and slicing through the thick rope holding it in place, while scanning the dock for any approaching guards. Fortunately, the sharp, serrated edge of the lade, combined with the plaguelord's brute strength, made freeing the vessel a simple task. After a few swift chops, the rope was severed, and Okor carefully clambered over the rail and onto the gunwale.

Hearing the growl of the engine deep in the core of the boat was a relief, it mattered little if the guards had found them at this point, they were almost free...

[Okor]

The death rattle that was Okor's breath briefly dominated the atmosphere as the ship began to pull away from the docks, ripples forming in the tug's wake. He shambled across the deck of the ship, heavy feet beating a steady rhythm across the steel surface. The bright lights and searching patrols of Costa Del Sol began to fade away, becoming a distant memory. He chuckled, blood and phlegm vibrating inside the horrific excuse for a throat he possessed. His titanic body was wracked with coughs, Nurgle's blessings reminding him of his presence, how they infused his four lungs. Bacteria, parasites, viruses, fungi... Every creation of filth and disease infested him, taking their sustenance from what he consumed, sapping the life from his emaciated flesh. The eternal hunger gnawed in his gut, entrails twisting and writhing in their famished state, deprived of the sustenance they desired. Flesh. He shook his head, attempting to dissipate the lust that seeped into his mind. His bare hand drifted idly down to the dirtied ivory crown upon his hip, and conviction ran through him. They had won a victory here today. Those who would oppose them laid broken and disgraced, unable to protect their treasures. And yet, we stood tall. He breathed in polluted air, ravaged lungs filling with a toxic mix, tender, newly-born flesh bleeding as it stretched to accommodate the deadly substance. He chuckled, the sound drifting across the eerily calm ocean. "I must say... Brother, I have not felt so alive since.... Istvaan." He could almost smell the blood and fire. The life-eater Virus, the greatest of Nurgle's gifts, still foolishly used by loyalists. It left nothing, scourging organic matter, leaving naught but death, without rebirth. The ultimate punishment, to entirely remove a planet from the sacred cycle. He was a kind God. A good God. To bring such wroth down upon them...

His infected teeth broke into a sickening smile. The scum deserved it. Slaving away to a greedy, distant king, denying themselves their true potential. He remembered wading through hip-deep organic matter, all that remained of the life on the planet, his weapons roaring death at the entrenched loyalists. As he recalled, naught but a few wily Wolves had escaped their doom. But drops in the dead sea. Finely toned instincts, as of yet undeadened by rot, screamed at him. Movement. His horned head shifted, sighting a small child in his gaze as they clambered from the irrelevant cargo. Little Sister. They stumbled towards him, a pale blue dress clinging to their sickly, pale frame. He kneeled down, reaching out an armoured hand to the small, weak child.

It was then he realized his mistake.

The child's eyes glowed from within, something... else, swirling beneath the human skin it wore. He had played right into its hands, danced like a puppet on its strings. He was too late to act, too late to make a difference in what was to come. Eldritch light shined into his own eye, as everything but It faded away.

[Tearen Wover]

Nealaphh was slightly amused as dawning comprehension filled the eye of the titanic warrior who knelt in front of Rebecca. It was slightly cathartic; no one had knelt before the god-mind in quite some time. Still, context mandated an attempt at assuaging any potential violent outburst borne of justified panic. Nealaphh did note, however, the fascination that Okor had held before realizing the true nature of what Rebecca contained. It would be tucked away for later use. For now, Nealaphh was dimly aware of the sound of a firing mechanism sliding into place. Rebecca adopted a wry smile onto her uncanny features.

"Be at peace, Tartaros. You as well, Okor Paleblood. I come on auspices of interest and benevolence." the small girl said, clasping her hands behind her back and turning to face the Luna Wolf. The man's bolter was aimed squarely at her chest. Nealaphh would have expected nothing less.

"Interest in what?" Okor said slowly, lurching back up to his full height. The plague marine let his hand come to rest on the pommel of his sword. There was no telling what this...thing...was capable of, but there was no sense in provoking it more than Tartaros may have already. The small girl turned her luminous green eyes back to Okor and offered a polite smile. It was tempting to ask how she knew their names, but it more than likely stemmed from their stay in that thrice damned death tournament.

"You. Both of you, actually. I've been watching your efforts in the Omniverse, and I must say, I am impressed. We have crossed paths before..." Nealaphh said, sending the pair of soldiers images of its normal appearance from when they had all been in the lobby of Dante's Abyss, however briefly.

"Why do you hold...the body of this girl...captive?" Okor said in his raspy voice. Rebecca giggled, and her voice took on a less mature timbre.

"Daddy protects me! We're traveling together!" she squealed, offering a beaming smile at the soldiers. Surely they had to be impressed that daddy was taking her such neat places! This didn't sit entirely well with Tartaros.

"...and you must enthrall her to do so?" the Luna Wolf asked, making a pointed gesture with the tip of his firearm. Rebecca let out a long sigh.

"It is a symbiotic relationship. Rebecca provides me with a disguise, and I keep her safe. If you must be convinced, however..." Nealaphh said. Rebecca opened her mouth wide and a plume of pitch black smoke billowed forth from her jaws. It swirled into the solid form of the shadow, his black cloak glittering in the sharp mid-morning sun. Rebecca jumped up and down on the deck, clapping her hands together in excitement. Rather than try and telepathically communicate with the ever-cautious soldiers, Nealaphh decided to have the young girl convey its words. Rebecca and Nealaphh locked eyes for a moment as she took Nealaphh's cold, glassy hand. She nodded and looked at Okor with her usual pale yellow eyes.

"Daddy says he thinks you have good ideas about the world! He thinks you have lots of potential and that you should work together!" Rebecca said in a breathless sentence. She looked up at Nealaphh again as the god-mind sent her more messages to convey.

"He asks if you've read his book...the...th-the...Mahn-Oh-Truth..." she continued, fumbling over the unfamiliar words. Daddy sure was smart!

[Tartaros]

Tartaros rested his boltgun on his shoulder, raising an eyebrow in curiosity and glaring at the robed figure before him. "The Monotruth? Ne'er heard of it..."

The girl giggled, covering her mouth with a dirt-covered hand. "Silly... It's Daddy's book! He wrote all by himself! It's about the world, and Daddy's... phi-philo... philosif... phiolosifee! And what Daddy thinks about with the Smi... Smili... Smiley One. People like it a whole, whole lot! Daddy even made a whole school about it!", quite obviously, this girl was not exactly on her "Daddy's" level of literacy.

Okor covered what remained of his fetid-smelling faceplate with his gauntlet, staring up into the sky in though. "Most, most interesting... Now then, wha-", the infested giant's raspy musings were cut off by the sound of ruffling inside Tartaros' ammo bag. Eventually, after several muffled, unknown curses and terrible oaths, Monkey T crawled out of the bag, letting several counterfeit brass bolt shells fall to the ground. Leaping onto the wooden floor and glaring, the puppet said, Hold on! You're just gonna trust this... this... this thing?! I knew you foo's were crazy, but... look at it! The thing's floating. F.L.O.A.T.I.N.G. When's that ever a good sign?! I MEAN REA-", with the crashing of a particularly large force against the boat, the sockpuppet was swept off its feet, landing head-first onto the deck of the boat. "Aaarrrghhh..."

Turning his head towards the sea and muttering something unintelligible about the weather, Tartaros reached for the puppet hushing it and placing it back onto his shoulder, before speaking again. "Apologies for my comrade's... erm... interruption. Please, do go on."

The girl pouted slightly, as if irritated, before fixing her eyes on Okor. "Yes. Daddy wants you to continue, Mr. Oh... Ohkeer."

The plaguelord let out a rough, bemused chuckle at the puppet's rant, before turning his attention towards the cloaked figure and child in front of him. "Very well my dear... I have a proposal to make. If we are to work for you, we require a... payment. And proof of your organization's strength as well, naturally."

The shadowy figure nodded, one of the few acknowledgements it had made in the entire conversation. A bright grin stretched across Rebecca's face as she opened her mouth to speak, "Yes! Daddy has lots of friends!"

"I suppose that settles it then... Now, let's mo-", Okor was once again interrupted, this time by the rush of several finned, scaled, and almost dog-like beasts leaping across the deck, screeching and tearing up the floorboards as they went. Rebecca shrieked and hid behind the cloaked figure, while the marines stood in place, waiting for the pack of beasts to pass.

When the finned monsters had finally passed over the deck, the child looked up towards the still figure of the god-mind, speaking with a tremble in her voice. "Daddy... What was that..."

"They're running from something.", Tartaros interrupted, "So we'd best get moving before...", with a second rush of water crashing against the boat, the marine jerked his head towards the starboard prow, glimpsing a monstrous set of jaws emerge from beneath the waves. The Luna Wolf could only stare on in shock, as he and Monkey T both muttered in unison, "Holy shit..."

The great blue and white beast rushed towards the small fishing boat, leaping out of the ocean and into the air, it's full size clearly visible, before cleaving into the vessel with its massive jaws, completely capsizing it. Now was not a good time to be alive...

[Okor]

A spray of salt and splinters rose up from the impact of the creature, brine-soaked daggers of shrapnel embedding themselves in his desiccated flesh. Rotted lips peeled back underneath his horned helmet, pointed, ruined teeth awash in acidic saliva. Every time he believed he had found his footing, this maelstrom of unrequited creation threw another obstacle at him. He was reminded of an ancient adage as he began to draw his bolter. To remain strong, you must be eternally tested. Every step, every rattling breath, it was a testament to his will. A single second of life was worth the cost, a screaming rage of defiance against cruel reality. As the shattered fragments of the boat began to sink into the sea, dead fingers spat fury and hate, the bark of the bolter adding to the cacophony of chaos caused by the colossal Charchadon, its grey hide suffering as shells exploded into nuclear-touched shrapnel within its hide, black eyes rolling back into their sockets in its maddened frenzy.

A plan formed in his head, writhing currents of thought winding their way around the decayed architecture of his mind, foreign thought raising long-neglected pillars to the sky, shifting runes etching themselves into existence behind his eyes. An intricate net of suggestion ensnared him. Step forward. Defy gravity. Reject reality. Rusted greaves stepped over open air, distorted reflections and madness keeping him aloft as he spat death from his trusted weapon. The scream of a chainsword disappeared as the Luna Wolf descended beneath the waves, white gauntlets clinging to the patchwork chainsword embedded in the beast's side. A foamy wake heralded its disappearance, a flick of its massive tail sending it diving beneath the surface, the water turning crimson in its wake from the wounds it had suffered in their battle. His fingers twitched, adrenaline and rage still flowing through ravaged veins. He still hungered, still lusted for battle. The blood of conquerors infused him, calling him to war. Okor. Jump. The words slid into his thoughts like silk and honey, two things entirely unknown to Okor up to this point. It felt as if the Primarch himself, the rightful King Mortation, calling him to war. The Bolter mag-locked to his thigh, he drew his blade from its loop of rotten cord, the rusted metal slick with sickness and salt water. Chanting a benediction to Nurgle in dark tongues, thanking the Lord of All for the strength to survive, he leapt.

As he flailed through the air, he could see the encroaching darkness. The predator began to rise out of the sea, his brother screaming curses above the whine of his weapon. All Okor saw was its mouth. A cavernous, gaping orfice, filled to the brim with razor-sharp teeth. Soft, weak flesh, hiding beneath pain. Pain was an illusion of an unworthy shell, something that the faithful rejected. He fell into that ravenous maw, antique blade slashing out, carving into the vast expanse of flesh facing him down. As he plunged his sword upwards into the roof of the monster's mouth, he grinned savagely, exulting in the brutality of combat. He was made for the crucible of war, his body scrapped, melted, and reborn to be a god of war. Vitae splattered across his armour, eliciting a roar from the monstrosity. And he was damned good at it.

[Tearen Wover]

One moment, Nealaphh had been gazing into a seemingly endless maw of teeth and fury, and the next, there was only darkness and cold. It opened its green eyes beneath the waves, only to see the flickering silhouettes merging and diverging as the marines did battle with the massive beast. Nealaphh was dealing with its own issues, however. Namely, that it wasn't naturally buoyant at all, being made of a sort of black, stoney glass. As such, it was sinking rapidly. On the plus side, Rebecca was also nearby, desperately kicking her way to the surface of the waves and the rippling sun that beckoned her back to a chance at life. The god-mind concentrated and removed its unnecessary matter from the physical realm, allowing its now ghostly body to swoop back up through the water and into Rebecca's soul. For many normal beings, it would be quite startling to suddenly have your subconscious replaced by an infinite darkness, but for the Little Sister, it was like Daddy was coming home. With renewed vigor, the young girl kicked with all her might and popped back up above the water, taking in a deep breath.

The raging charchadon surged past, mere feet from the physically helpless girl, but the space marines tended to their glory and duty as expected, giving Rebecca enough time to grab an errant piece of flotsam to keep herself afloat. Nealaphh took the liberty of accelerating its relative movement in time in order to slow down the flow of events. The enormous shark was headed for the remains of the vessel, its jaws opened wide, ready to breach the surface of the frothing waves. Tartaros was half submerged and plugging munitions into its soft flesh, but this only seemed to irritate the monstrosity. The god-mind devised a plan, and was thankful that Okor was the kind of person that would not be terrified at the prospect of its efficacy. Once Nealaphh had successfully coaxed the plauge marine into the charchadon's gullet, the shadow briefly reassured Rebecca that everything would be okay before emerging from her tiny, shivering frame. Nealaphh would not face the monster head-on: battling such a titanic foe in its natural environment was not a winning fight. Within the slowed sphere of time, Nealaphh watched as the charchadon thrashed wildly, finally flinging Okor free of its mouth in a spray of blood and teeth. The beast was mortally wounded, for sure, but Nealaphh could sense more than enough vitality left in its thrumming muscles to dispatch all of them in short manner. The beast needed to be put down, and put down now.

Summoning what remained of its strength, Nealaphh reached out to Tartaros' mind, just a few meters away. The Luna Wolf was in the midst of drawing his fell chainsword, but paused as the presence of the god-mind enveloped him.

What are you doing?! Get out of my mind, daemon!

Allow me to lend you my power. We are all in danger if this battles persists.

At what cost? My soul? MY FREE WILL?

I have no reason to lie to you, Tartaros. Even if I did desire to take you as my own, it would accomplish nothing, given the circumstances. Besides, do you not trust your own willpower to be capable of dispelling my influence?

I am wary of you, shade. I see can feel how your power ebbs. Cross me, and there will be nowhere for you to run...but, let it be done.

As you wish.

With that, Nealaphh's black, incorporeal mist cloaked the Luna Wolf in a thick shroud, which summarily was inhaled by the immense man. As this happened, Tartaros' shining white armor shifted to adopt a gleaming obsidian polish. In kind, his helmet's facepiece cracked open to grant sight to the new, burning green eye that had sprouted beneath his more mundane oculars, though these too had taken on a virdian shine.

Tartaros could feel the control over his body. The shade held true to its word, at least for the moment. But his body, it was so much...more! Tartaros could feel the shifting of time and space. He could see the gaps in reality that permitted the eldritch feats of his erstwhile guest. The rotations of the stars in the sky, the exact angle at which to produce the most devastating cut...all this laid bare before him in an intuitive grasp of the true simplicity of the cosmos...and still there was more! Through Nealaphh's guidance, almost like a memory of his own making, the flow of time knelt at his boots. Everything appeared in slow motion, in detail that the seasoned warrior had never dared contemplate.

...and there was his prey. The charchadon seemed...almost quaint in this state of being. With an almost serene determination, Tartaros readied for this decisive final skirmish...

Nealaphh used:
Relativity Shift/1 SP
Symbiosis/1SP Nealaphh, 1SP Tartaros

[Tartaros]

As the carcharodon thrashed beneath the now crimson-stained ocean, Tartaros leaped from the side of the maddened beast, gripping firmly onto a splintered chunk of the fishing boat's hull. Everything felt so clear, every drop of salty seawater, the ebb and flow of the waves, every forceful twist and growl from the monster before him, all laid bare. It was so simple, each motion predictable, obvious and most importantly of all... exploitable.

Grasping his blade with a newly restored confidence, the marine calmly waited on the maddened leviathan, still gripping tightly as ever to the chunk of steel and oak. All he needed was time, and with such a heightened state of perception, as well as Okor providing distraction for the monster, he certainly had plenty of that.

As the beast finally turned to him, charging through and cutting a great canyon through the waves, the Luna Wolf took his chance. Gripping the makeshift raft with all his strength, the wanderer lobbed it towards the predator, piercing its bone-plated hide across its back. Roaring in anger and pain, the carcharadon whipped its tail back and forth, shattering a portion of Tartaros' right pauldron and knocking Monkey T into the pockets of his waterlogged ammo satchel.

Still calmly floating through the waves, the marine dived beneath the waves, speeding towards the slowed beast. As the monster turned around for a second strike, Tartaros searched for another opening. As he focused, it was if time itself was shifting for him, almost bending to his whim.

Finally, there came the time to strike. Moving like a flash of light through the waves, the wanderer slowly gripped the trigger on his chainblade as he went about his work...

It was almost... serene, a sort of twisted beauty, like a painting of blood, the Luna Wolf going about the bloody business more like a gardener trimming a rose bush than a soldier attacking a maddened animal. Slashing and cutting as ribbons of crimson blood flowed from his masterpiece, staining the obsidian plates and robes of his armour. But still, the leviathan would not halt. Smacking itself against an outcrop of cobbled rock, breading apart the shard wedged between its plates of bony protection, the beast roared, smacking against the marine and the god-mind with the full force of its body. Cracking the obsidian plate of the warrior and tearing through robes of burlap and hide, knocking back the fused duo back and forth while still roaring in fury.

From a nearby sandbank, Okor, holding the small form of Rebecca in its rotting hands, stared towards the bloody scene in the ocean, grinning in amused approval. Reaching for his boltgun and holding in a raspy, fetid breath, the plague giant fired a singular irradiated round into the beast's exposed wounds. Detonating inside of it, the leviathan roared in pain, swiftly turning its attention towards the towering pile of rot, carving a path through the water towards it.

Still dazed, Tartaros spat a mix of blood and saliva from his helm and turned towards the monster. Though still in a stunned stupor, the marine felt a voice come from his mouth, one that was not entirely his... A great roaring, "NO!", as the sky itself seemed to glow. The marine clenched his jaws in pain, whilst the giant water-beast writhed in agony. Moments later, a great field of shadow engulfed Tartaros, and a blast of great force erupted from it, smacking the leviathan heading towards Okor and Rebecca directly into the side of the sandbank.

Panting in exhaustion, Tartaros flashed towards the monster, prepared to cast the finishing blow. Though as he revved his chainsword, the monster turned, gripping his arm between its jaws, crunching through armour and flesh as the wanderer stared in shock. As the leviathan acing back into the sea with Tartaros in hand, the marine barked out an order to the group on the sandbank as they disappeared into the horizon. "What are you waiting for? MOVE IT! I'LL HANDLE THIS THING!"

Mustering the last of his strength, the marine lifted his chainblade into the air, bringing it crashing down into the monster's head. Striking once into its eye, Tartaros lept into the depth of his mind, screaming at the god-mind that dwelt within. "I SAID MOVE! I'LL BE FINE!"

"As you wish..."

As the clarity that once enveloped his mind faded, and the obsidian colour left his armoured form, the marine focused on the only thing he could. Killing. Slash after slash after slash, roar after roar after roar... Eventually, choking from the salty water slowly filling his lungs, Tartaros readied his arm for a final strike. Bringing down his blade in a great arc onto its skull, his vision faded as the beast finally loosened the iron grip on his arm. Tartaros clambered to the top of its corpse, knowing the beast had finally fallen... as the carcass floated towards the sandy shores of Costa del Sol, he knew his work was done...

Tartaros/Nealapph used: Ego Nova - 1 SP (deducted from Tartaros)
Tartaros and Nealapph are no longer fused

[Okor]

Okor grunted as he hauled his dead flesh onto the precarious bank of loose silicate, chitinous armour splattered with gore, slick with blood. His rusted blade glistened with the unmistakable crimson of battle, its pitted surface a testament to a thousand other combats, its verdigris a constant reminder of how long he has crusaded in Nurgle's name. His infected eye took in the massacre before him, the floating remnants of the titanic beast floating on the water, little more than chum. Already, the ever-present Razorfins returned, engaging in vicious brawls over the chunks of flesh. Beside him, the small child gazed up at the blazing sun, pale, glowing eyes, unused to life above the surface taking in every aspect of the world. Combat drugs still flowed in his deteriorated veins, infusing his toxic blood with largely redundant painkillers and adrenaline, the rush from combat slowly ebbing away as the orb of fire in the sky approached the horizon, the military installations and gaudy tourist attractions of Costa Del Sol forming a dark silhouette, black smoke from their passage rising into the night sky. Toxic, refiltered air that he had breathed a million times before was sucked into his ravaged lungs, the lethal mixture right at home in what passed for his respiratory system, swirling clouds of airborne disease filling his lungs. He tore a jagged tooth from the papery skin of his dead arm, casting the fragment into the reddened sea as his companions began to repair him, weaving flesh and skin from within him, squirming and writhing through dead meat.

What a time to be alive.

Their mysterious patron and his battle-brother glided across the waves, the stranger's robes strangely static in the wind, unknowable symbols worming their way across his cloth coverings. The Luna Wolf seemed haggard, his warplate ravaged and scarred, somewhat limp, as if drained. Their savior glided down gracefully onto their temporary respite, limbs hidden by his all enfolding-cloak. All he could see were a trio of eyes, burning with otherworldly light from the recesses of its hood. Okor struggled with the urge to kneel, the feeling of majesty and power present in the being nigh-overwhelming. He bowed before a false Emperor once. He would not risk it again. He slammed a clenched fist into his breastplate, pallid skin impacting against warped, organic ceramite that writhed beneath his touch, its internal sensors confused by this sign of devotion while the area was devoid of Legion brothers. "We thank you for your... aid, Daemon." Okor gurgled, words bubbling up through tumors, filth, and mutation. Light burned from the trio of eyes set in its black hide, hinting at the power and knowledge it hoarded within its immortal form. His cyclopean visage gazed down upon the hooded figure, moving slightly too late to a more respectable position, ancient knees grudgingly bending to bring himself down to the eye level of their benefactor. But he knew that the aid of Daemons always came at a cost. Blood, knowledge, fealty. The beings of the immaterium were not prone to charity (Save the servants of Nurgle of course, spreading their patron's blessings wherever they walked), and he doubted that this trend changed between realities. "What... sacrifice will suffice for your... boon?" The Plague marine gestured at the ravaged remains of the shark, even now swarming over with vicious razorfins, adding to the blood in the water with their small wars over gobbets of meat.

The entity's eyes glowed.

Sacrifice? What I offer to you, marines, is a mission. A purpose, something greater than the sum of your parts. It hovered around them, an elegant replacement of simple pacing. Its words bypassed the inefficiency of mere vibrating particles, transcending the mind and worming their way into their thoughts. You've yearned for purpose, haven't you? Deprived of meaning, cast adrift over millennia without that animating spark, fighting in wars you can barely remember the beginning of. There is no life to it, no joy. A mere task, taking lives, conquering worlds, awaiting the blow that will end your hollow existence. I offer you a chance to carve your name into this reality, burn it into memory with flames fed by the corpse of The Smiling One. The entity cast its arms over its head, framing the savaged corpse of the beast they slew, robes slipping down its arms, revealing the polished, shining obsidian that formed its body. I offer you a war, a war that you hunger for in your bones. You've been starved, emaciated by ennui. No longer. Join me, and we shall burn the heavens themselves. It offered a reflective hand, the infinite darkness within it reflected through the multifaceted surface, seeming to force away the sight of the beholder. A diseased palm slapped into the shining stone of the being's hand, as Okor grinned beneath his helm. "We have a.. compact."

[Tearen Wover]

As the plague marine concecrated his alleigance with what Nealaphh, at first, considered an affronting physical gesture, Rebecca was drawn from her skyward daydreaming and clapped while bouncing on her toes. It was nice to see Daddy making new friends, because that meant they could be her friends too! The Little Sister rushed forwards and tried to wrap her pallid arms around Okor's greaves in a childish embrace. This seemed to startle the plague marine even more than the ocean beast had, and the titanic warrior wobbled backwards slightly in shock. Rebecca pulled away from her erstwhile hug and beamed up at Okor with a now filth-encrusted face. Perhaps a normal 'parent' might be horrified at the implications, but Nealaphh trusted the sea slug grafted to her internal organs to maintain its symbiotic protection.

Althewhile, Tartaros was dredging himself out of the scarlet tinged surf, his armor having returned to its more 'earthly' visage. The sun hung just above the line of setting, casting long shadows on to the small atoll that the quartet had so fortuitously happened upon. The Luna Wolf stood tall against the horizon, his silhouetted body evoking the power that had been bound in his bones just minutes prior.

Behind them stood a small grove of palms, which whispered distantly amongst themselves as the sea breeze washed through their fronds. Sea birds skittered along the shore, pecking at motes of carrion that had been shredded from the predatory corpulence of the chachadon. The setting of seaside serenity, cut with the atmosphere of strife and carnage, was soothing to the god-mind's countenance. It waylaid any sense of ease, however, in preference of soliciting the assistance of the unblighted marine.

...and what of you, Luna Wolf? I would be honored to have a member of your lineage overseeing my battles. Nealaphh said. It's tone was conveyed as if a menthol to Tartaros' mind, which still carried the heady tonic of panic and vindication within it. Nealaphh had come to know the Luna Wolf during their short period as one entity. Certainly not everything was revealed to the shadow, but it was enough for Nealaphh to feel familiar with the man's ways and principles. It was because of this that Nealaphh had concerns that Tartaros might not want to align himself with a being he considered a 'daemon'. This was much in contrast to Okor, whose fealty to Nurgle made him more acclimated to consortion with eldritch beings such as itself. The god-mind simply hoped that the tantalizing taste of its power was at least enough to pique the marine's interest...

[Tartaros]

The wanderer struggled as he tried to push himself upwards and onto his feet. Everything felt so much heavier... His balance, his eyesight, the weight upon his shoulders, every single drop of blood let and every pang of pain... all crashing down back to reality. The true weight of it all simply dumped onto the marine as the adrenaline and clarity faded. Despite the aches, slashes and bites, in a sense, it was almost a relief, feeling the shifting of the sand beneath his feet again...

Panting and gasping for air as he slowly raised his head towards to the sky, Tartaros felt a familiar numb burn sear through his mind. The same pitch dark, cold, numb pain... that of a certain dark-robed figure.

"...and what of you, Luna Wolf? I would be honored to have a member of your lineage overseeing my battles."

The wanderer mulled over this for a moment, still bruised, dazed and exhausted. A odd offer indeed, the being hardly seemed to be of the trusting sort, what possible reason cou-

"Hol... Hold on here! What'choo think ya tryin' to do fool?!"

A water-soaked sock puppet lept out of Tartaros' ammunition bag, its tiny denim jacket and tiny gold chains still glistening with droplets of salty, bloody water. Feeling another dull ache making its way through his skull, the Luna Wolf knew the God-Mind was hardly going to take such things in its stride.

"W-What? Hrm... little one, you can understand me?"

"Damn right is "lil' one" can understand you, sucka! You tryn'a take my boy away from me?!"

It took some time for the three-eyed being to conjure some sort of eligible reply, as the marines gazed on in confusion and the small girl giggled to herself.

"Mhrm... Apologies... I don't mean any offense..."

"Yeah, yeah... Whateva'...", the tiny being clambered back onto the Luna Wolf's pauldron, "Look you crazy nut... You got ya screws looser than almost any other foo' I know, but your my boy, a'ight?And I ain't gonna let you go wit' this jibba-jabberin' sucka. This 'un only means trouble, y'see?"

"I can hear..."

The puppet snapped its head to the side, it's beady eyes glaring at the figure in the distance, "YOU DON' THINK I KNOW THAT, FOOL?!"

A new surge of searing numbness and cold clouded the marine's mind, yet another message from the so-called God Mind. "Right then, Luna Wolf, what is your decision?"

Tartaros nodded towards the dark figure, and laid his head onto his palm, resting. The pain was still there, still burrowing its way through his mind, right through the darkest recesses. The puppet still hung from the marine's shoulder as well, attempting to look as innocent and convincing as possible.

Grumbling and turning his head towards the dark figure in the distance, the wanderer had finally made his decision. "I must apologize.. I do not work with your kind personally... Such ventures tend to go poorly.".

After a few short moments of silence, a final surge of pain made its way through his mind, this time more intense than ever, forcing the wanderer to grit his teeth. "Very well... it is your choice in the end..."

As Tartaros turned and hobbled away towards the midday lights of Costa del Sol, the monkey-like puppet still clinging to his shattered armour, he could see a glaring green figure out the corner of his eye, and still a subtle burst of the same icy, dark pain made its way through his skull. "And one last thing, do not attempt to use my "lineage" or "legacy" as a bargaining tool..."

[Okor]

Okor watched his companion drift into the waves, his superhuman physiology scoffing at the idea of remaining solely terrestrial. The plague marine's chitinous chest rose and fell, a milky fluid slowly seeping from a shark-inflicted gash etched into its surface. Chuckling quietly to himself, he looked to his new master, its form shrouded beneath robes, its markings squirmed and squiggled beneath his sight, as if he, nay, any mortal was never meant to see them. "Farewell to..." He took a rattling gurgle, witnessing the short appearance of bubbles that marked the disappearance of his traveling partner and battle-brother. "... Dead weight." The familiar light of flame was visible in the city they left behind, illuminating needlessly extravagant structures, and the stark contrast of boxy, utilitarian military installations. It carried screams on the wind, as civilians moved to repair the devastation left in the marine's wake. A fragment of parchment floated through the water, a hand-scribed piece of writing, obviously copied down and smuggled, hardly the work of the industrialized, uniform realm of Coruscant. Curious. His desiccated claw ran through the water, picking up the scorched, soggy advertisement. His new master hovered over his shoulder, his robes floating over the wet sand of their temporary respite, failing to touch the ground. A noble warrior was sketched on the front of the sheet, obviously a second-hand recreation of some distant original, a pale imitation. Nonetheless, it still had a hint of the majesty the original creator had managed to convey. The title had still escape the flames: Camelot Coliseum.

This realm's seeming obsession with blood sport was curious. When warriors were immortal, and unstoppable, it did make some degree of sense. But it still lacked the thrill, the closeness to The Lord of All, the great, unknowable beast of battle that lurked in the hearts of men. A pale imitation of a true war. It was reward, without risk. It will have to do, warrior. The thoughts seeped into his mind, a pure, more spiritual communication between him and his secondary lord. The rotting reaver looked up at the inscrutable, shadowed visage that he followed. "But..." There was so much he could say. That it was without honour, without joy. It was a soulless mockery of a truer battle, played out for the thoughtless masses. The Abyss was at least more prestigious. This was little more than a back-alley brawl, in comparison. There was so much he could say. There was only one thing he would say. "As you will, my lord." The necrotic knight rose from his position by the water, returning once more to his massive stature. Another foreign thought entered his consciousness, beckoning his attention. But one more thing, Okor, chosen of Nurgle. How did you enter the city of lights? How did such figures of strength and power enter Coruscant? Okor threw back his head in laughter. "It was a... simple matter. Walking through the front gate is far easier when they have no reason to-" Okor coughed, a ragged, hacking noise that betrayed the gruesome defilement of nature within him. Taking a brief moment to collect himself, he resumed his explanation. "...Stop you. We had committed no crime, betrayed no ill-intent. If you seek a route inside, I fear I may not be of much... assistance. I know that the lower levels are lawless, out of sight of authority. It would be easy to... disappear there." He looked towards the distant city, attempting to sight the Gate leading to freedom, and to glory. "Shall I leave now, my lord? Shall I.. make my way to the tournament? It would be... several day's travel."

[Tearen Wover]

Disappointing. Based on what Nealaphh had observed of the space marines' exploits in Coruscant, the God-Mind had been certain that they had discovered a secret way through the Empire's security. This was less than optimal; Nealaphh would have to find its own way into the depths of the perilous city; no small feat, considering the recent increase in security protocols. Still, there was no reason to let Okor know that it had been shortsighted in its pursuit of such details. Besides, Nealaphh had gained a powerful new ally for the Institute. This was enough to consider this detour a success. The shadow was withdrawn from its ruminations when Okor queried Nealaphh on when he should depart.

Let me be clear, Okor. It is not my intention to breed resentment between the two of us. If this championship is as truly revolting to you as it seems, I will not force you.

Okor stared at Nealaphh for a moment before offering a hoarse chuckle.

"Ehech...your concern is noted but... it is better to fight a pointless battle than...to shrink away from it. the immense soldier said, his intermittent breaths gurgling with the sound of unnamed ailments. Nealaphh narrowed its third eye; a sign of bemusement. It would have expected nothing less from its new attaché.

Very well. To be clear, I am instating you as Dean of the Security Branch. All pertinent information can be found on the AntiOmni dataverse site. For now, though, you have your task.

Okor nodded slowly and turned to begin his sojourn to the distant land of Camelot. Nealaphh watched as he trudged away, before looking down at Rebecca. The young girl beamed up at the shadow clinging to its enrobed leg like a puerile limpet. The god-mind pondered to itself for a moment; would the girl be better served if it were to send her along with the plague marine? Her mental programming would make her reluctant to do so, but Nealaphh did not want to risk her being abducted by the Empire.

At the same time, without her, Nealaphh would not easily be able to infiltrate Coruscant. It was a conundrum to be sure. Nealaphh thought long and hard about the decision, which, for a being such as itself, was a mere second. It would simply have to ask if Okor was even willing to do such a thing. In addition, there was one extraneous piece of information Nealaphh needed to get from the plague marine.

Okor. Hold a moment. I have two questions.

Okor said nothing, but simply looked back over his immense shoulder with a curious look in his milky eye.

What are your intentions for the artifact you acquired?

Nealaphh could feel faint stirrings of anxiety within the plague marine's neurons, but though he was a dangerous, tyrannical man, he was not one to rely on deception to meet his goals.

The Crown of Blackhand, in and of itself, is a mere trinket...but to certain orks of this land, it is an...item of of cultural power. He who carries the crown has the...unquestioning fealty of the ork tribes. I intend to utilize them..." the plague marine said slowly, suspicion brewing in his mind. Was the daemon going to try and claim the artifact from him? Forbid him from enacting his conquest? In truth, this was the best news Nealaphh had heard in some time. It was a solution to a problem which Nealaphh had difficulty solving, which was; how to control the Orcs of the Tangled Green?

For weeks, the God-Mind had been considering potential strategies for negotiationg or eradicating the host of verdant marauders, but this Crown was the key to the lock. Okor Paleblood would indeed have his orks, and have his conquest, but it Nealaphh would ensure it would be a conquest well outside of the Tangled Green. Perhaps to eradicate New Babylon, perhaps something else, but it would ultimately solve two problems at once. Now was not the time for pondering this scenario; there were too many unresolved variables.

Interesting. I look forward to it.

This seemed to act as a balm to the Plague Marine's troubled mind. It was reassuring to know that the daemon would not hold him to some sort of false moral standards. There was an unresolved thread to this conversation, however.

"...and the other question?"

Ah yes. Would you be willing to look after Rebecca for a time? I'm sure she would love to accompany you to the championship. If not, it is no trouble.

This caused Okor to turn around to face the shadow directly. An indistinct gurgling sound buzzed within his throat as he tried to find words. Did this daemon honestly expect him to babysit its pet human? What could it possibly expect from him in such a regard? At first, Okor was resolved to refuse the request outright, and perhaps even question their alleigance, but then...something stirred within the plague marine's fetid synapses. Something warm but...difficult to grasp. Sensations, fleeting echoes of forgotten conversations ran through his mind, begging to be remembered but coyishly dancing away from his recollection. A confused look cast itself upon his ghastly features, a mix of emotions that was...uncomfortable, to sat the least. The plague marine looked down at the otherworldly pair, with their mutually glowing eyes. Would it be so bad to have some company?

[Okor]

The rotting hulk of dead flesh, infested by disease, maggots, and worse looked down upon the small child, worms chewing through his twinned hearts. A crimson eye, dark shapes squirming through its infected depths, looked down upon the small child, her pale face beaming up at him, its visage of innocence, a face that has failed to know trouble, nor pain. A laugh stirred in distant depths, forcing its way through his twisted body, streaming from his jagged, infectious mouth regardless of any wishes he might have had otherwise. Broken teeth, set in a black-gummed maw set themselves in a grin beneath the Plague Marine's horned helmet. He extended an armoured gauntlet towards the youth, its warped surface dripping with a mixture of salt water and blood. "It would be a... pleasure." The word sounded unfamiliar in his throat, his ascetic lifestyle allowing for no such respite save the glorious heat of battle. The small child jumped and squealed in glee (Which was different from the screams of terror he had come to expect), prancing around Okor while humming a tune, the meaning of which he was unable to discern. The youngling began to scarper over his back, clinging to the nuclear power pack adhered to his back, its hum a constant companion. Her laughter seemed to brighten the world.

He looked back to his master, looking on the scene with an unknowable expression, three glowing eyes amid darkness piercing his soul. Ceramite-clad legs shook as he rose to his bloated, dead feat. He began to shamble into the roiling seas, his ward ably swimming through the reddened water. Silt shifted beneath his titanic tread, as the trio of glowing ocular organs (?) concealed beneath Nealaphh's hood studied his departure. Okor's eyes rarely left the child placed under his care. A wake, and a paddling child was all that marked his departure.

A seaweed-wrapped greave smacked on to the rockcrete around Costa Del Sol, glimmering Omnillium shrouding him, giving way to a simple, roughspun robe covering his form. While it was doubtful to hold up to any form of dedicated investigation, it should be enough to get the pair close enough to the gate. Stealth was a mere, temporary means to an end, far from an imperative. Rebbecca twirled around in her new cloak, its hem spinning around her slight body, youthful exuberance a stark contrast to the measured, ancient pace of the Marine. Dirtied cloth turning his massive frame into a formless mass, he walked down the darkened streets, Rebbecca's tiny hand grasped in his own gauntlet, surreptitiously sidling into shadowed alcoves when emergency crews ran past, dealing with the clinical application of violence the marines had inflicted. So far, the flames threatened to approach a bunker. Knowing full well what sort of things were stored inside such constructions, he emitted a low chuckle, picking up his pace, the shimmering surface of the portal to the Nexus in sight.

It was then that the stormtrooper appeared.

Porcelain-white armour covered dark skin, emerald eyes staring into his recesses. Short hair, cropped close to his skull, was spread across his skull. He held up a hand, motioning for Okor to stop. "Sir, there's been reports of a terrorist attack in the area, we apologize for the inco-" It was then that he glimpsed the armour beneath the robes, the prevalent hum and buzz of his armour and infestation penetrating the air. "Oh shi-" Okor's fist flew towards the trooper, the mass of skin, bone, and will flying towards the foe. Had it have hit, the trooper would have surely been slain on the spot, his youthful face pulverized into a slick, wet mass of shattered flesh and bone. Okor did not land his blow. The trooper turned away to the left, the marine's clenched claw merely grazing his cheek. cursing, Okor's armoured hand flew to his hip, the mag-locked bolter coming free, prepared to fire. The trooper fired first. A searing bolt of heat burnt into Okor's eye, plunging his vision into naught but darkness. Grunting in annoyance, and the last few vestiges of nerves crying out in agony, he fired, spraying broken stone into the air. He began backpedaling towards the portal, blindly firing towards the foe, inflicting screams of fear, and at least one grunt of pain. Rebbecca sheltered behind him, las-fire impacting off of his nigh-invulnerable frame. With one more step, he fell back through the portal, leaving the scene of devastation behind him, as the trooper clutched at the ragged stump of what was once his leg, trying in a fit of panic to stop the crimson tide.

[Tartaros]

The wanderer limped away from the sandy shores, towards the sun-soaked bustle of Costa del Sol, dust and droplets of seawater splattering on his battered armour. Still sore and exhausted from the prior brawl, he could not help but to stumble along some of the thicker pockets of sand and dirt.

The trip across the archipelago of isles was fairly uneventful, the water being rather shallow, only waist or elbow-deep along most of the shoreline. Uncharacteristically for Monkey T, it was almost silent as well, save the swashing of the waves and an occasional grunt of pain from Tartaros.

After a rough hours trek through the shallow waters and occasional isle, the two finally came across the capital of the Empire's control in the Deeps, still drenched in water. Tartaros pulled his robe's hood over his helmet and wrapped some ragged remnants of hide and chainmail over his face, in some vague attempt to disguise himself as the two trudged up the cobble streets of the coastal city. Turning to his now slightly-ragged companion, he uttered, "Get down."

Eventually approaching the sandstone villas and simple tents of the noisy marketplace, Tartaros was approached by a bearded man dressed in odd robes, carrying around a large sack. Putting on his best grin and salesman-like voice, the man said, "Hello sir! Would you like to sample one of our fine marinated cecina breads?"

The marine's curiosity was piqued, and the fact he had not eaten in a good two days certainly helped. "I suppose so... Right, how much?"

"Ten credits, sir."

"Oh, I think I have something better...", Tartaros reached into his robe, pulling out a small, swirling sphere of colour. Tapping it with his finger, an even smaller cube appeared on top of his hand. "I assume that will be enough." he said, handing over the tiny cube to the man.

"Oh... Yes sir. Yes indeed!", smiling, the salesman reaching into his bag, and pulled out a large, rounded loaf wrapped in brown paper. Handing it to the marine and thanking him for his service, the man took off into the crowd with a spring in his step.

Grabbing the loaf with one hand and the handle of his chainsword with the other, Tartaros wandered into the town, humming happily to himself as he limped. Heading through the crowded marketplace was certainly a refreshing experience for the haggard Astartes and puppet. The busy cobbled streets filled with various vendors selling all sorts of services, crops, tools, and all sorts. The midday sun beating down on the crowds, the smell of smoke and salt, the cool sea air, luckily this time not tainted by blood... The angular sandstone and wood buildings. All not fully appreciated by the two before.

After what must have been two hours of wandering through Costa del Sol, Tartaros and the puppet finally came across a large plain gate, guarded by a squad of stormtroopers.

Monkey T turned towards the wanderer, "So... what we gonna do?"

"Be quiet and keep your head down, I'll handle the rest."

Lowering his head and shuffling towards the gate, the marine was stopped by a small hand clad in white. "Excuse me, for future reference, spot weapon searches will be occurring inside the city for the next three days. Recent attack..."

Still making sure not to make eye contact, Tartaros turned his head in the trooper's direction. "Understood."

"We apologize for the inconvenience, sir."

Walking through the gate and into the white barren landscape of the Nexus, the wanderer muttered to himself. "Well, that was easy..."