Emperor.
It
is
for
our murdered
clans. Our
last
battle
shall
be
fought
in
accordance
with
our
ancient
ways.
Let
us
perform
the
rite
of
Deathwing."
* * *
Two
Heads
Talking
ran
for
his life.
Through
the
darkened streets,
Genestealers pursued,
loping
along,
swift
and deadly.
He sensed
their presence
all around.
He leapt over a
pile
of
rubbish
which
lay
in
his
path
and
swept
round
a
corner
into
a
main
road.
Two
workers
poked their heads through
a doorway
to see
what was going
on. They
swiftly withdrew.
Two Heads
Talking ran wearily. His heart
was
pounding,
and
his
breathing
was
ragged.
The
strain
of
maintaining
the spell of concealment
for so
long had
sapped
his strength.
He wondered
how long he could
keep up this
pace.
He risked a
swift
glance
over
his
shoulder.
A
Genestealer
had
just
rounded
the
comer.
He
fired
his
storm
bolter
at
it, but
his shot
was inaccurate,
and
the
Stealer lurched
back into cover.
Sensing
danger
in
front
of
him,
he
turned.
From
out
of
a shadowy
doorway,
a
Stealer
uncoiled.
He
had
just enough time to raise his force axe before it sprang.
He thrust
the
blade
out
before
him, chopping
into
the
monster's
chest.
The momentum
of
the
thing's
charge
knocked
him
over.
A
claw
cut
into
his
arm,
searing
it
with
pain.
If
his
blow
had
not landed
cleanly, he realised, he would have
been
dead.
Ignoring
the
pain, he rolled onto
his belly,
catching
a
clear
glimpse
of
his pursuers
as
they
charged.
He
squeezed
the trigger of his bolter and stitched
a line of fire across
their chests.
The strength
of the
armour allowed him to hurl off
the ambusher's carcass
with ease.
He continued
on his way.
Not
much
further,
he thought,
forcing
himself
to
reel
onward.
He
could
see
the
huge
walls
jutting
upward
above nearby
buildings.
He recited a spell to free his mind of pain and
made for the
gates.
His heart
sank
when he saw what awaited him - a mass of hunched,
evil-faced men with
dark,
piercing
eyes.
Some
held ancient-looking
energy
weapons.
Some
gripped
blades
in
their
three hands.
Towering
over
them
were
purestrain Genestealers,
flexing their claws menacingly. Two Heads
Talking came to a halt. facing his foes.
For
a
moment.
they
eyed
each
other
in
respectful
silence.
The
Librarian
commended
his
spirit
to
the Emperor.
Soon Deathwing
would
be
carrying
him
off.
His
bolter
was
almost
empty.
With
only
his
force axe,
he
knew
he
could
not withstand
so many.
As
if
at
an unspoken
signal,
the
Genestealer
and
their
brood surged forward.
A
bolt
from
an energy
weapon
burned
into his armour, melting one
of
the
skulls
on
his chest
plate.
He
gritted
his
teeth
and
returned fire, cutting
a great
swathe
of death.
There was a loud click as
his bolter jammed. He did not
have
the
time to clear it,
so he charged
to meet his foes,
chanting
his death-chant.
He rushed
into a sea
of bodies
that
pressed
against
him, hitting
him with
blades
and
rending
claws.
He
summoned
the last
dregs
of his strength
to power his force axe and
swung
it in a great
double
arc. He
It
is
for
our murdered
clans. Our
last
battle
shall
be
fought
in
accordance
with
our
ancient
ways.
Let
us
perform
the
rite
of
Deathwing."
* * *
Two
Heads
Talking
ran
for
his life.
Through
the
darkened streets,
Genestealers pursued,
loping
along,
swift
and deadly.
He sensed
their presence
all around.
He leapt over a
pile
of
rubbish
which
lay
in
his
path
and
swept
round
a
corner
into
a
main
road.
Two
workers
poked their heads through
a doorway
to see
what was going
on. They
swiftly withdrew.
Two Heads
Talking ran wearily. His heart
was
pounding,
and
his
breathing
was
ragged.
The
strain
of
maintaining
the spell of concealment
for so
long had
sapped
his strength.
He wondered
how long he could
keep up this
pace.
He risked a
swift
glance
over
his
shoulder.
A
Genestealer
had
just
rounded
the
comer.
He
fired
his
storm
bolter
at
it, but
his shot
was inaccurate,
and
the
Stealer lurched
back into cover.
Sensing
danger
in
front
of
him,
he
turned.
From
out
of
a shadowy
doorway,
a
Stealer
uncoiled.
He
had
just enough time to raise his force axe before it sprang.
He thrust
the
blade
out
before
him, chopping
into
the
monster's
chest.
The momentum
of
the
thing's
charge
knocked
him
over.
A
claw
cut
into
his
arm,
searing
it
with
pain.
If
his
blow
had
not landed
cleanly, he realised, he would have
been
dead.
Ignoring
the
pain, he rolled onto
his belly,
catching
a
clear
glimpse
of
his pursuers
as
they
charged.
He
squeezed
the trigger of his bolter and stitched
a line of fire across
their chests.
The strength
of the
armour allowed him to hurl off
the ambusher's carcass
with ease.
He continued
on his way.
Not
much
further,
he thought,
forcing
himself
to
reel
onward.
He
could
see
the
huge
walls
jutting
upward
above nearby
buildings.
He recited a spell to free his mind of pain and
made for the
gates.
His heart
sank
when he saw what awaited him - a mass of hunched,
evil-faced men with
dark,
piercing
eyes.
Some
held ancient-looking
energy
weapons.
Some
gripped
blades
in
their
three hands.
Towering
over
them
were
purestrain Genestealers,
flexing their claws menacingly. Two Heads
Talking came to a halt. facing his foes.
For
a
moment.
they
eyed
each
other
in
respectful
silence.
The
Librarian
commended
his
spirit
to
the Emperor.
Soon Deathwing
would
be
carrying
him
off.
His
bolter
was
almost
empty.
With
only
his
force axe,
he
knew
he
could
not withstand
so many.
As
if
at
an unspoken
signal,
the
Genestealer
and
their
brood surged forward.
A
bolt
from
an energy
weapon
burned
into his armour, melting one
of
the
skulls
on
his chest
plate.
He
gritted
his
teeth
and
returned fire, cutting
a great
swathe
of death.
There was a loud click as
his bolter jammed. He did not
have
the
time to clear it,
so he charged
to meet his foes,
chanting
his death-chant.
He rushed
into a sea
of bodies
that
pressed
against
him, hitting
him with
blades
and
rending
claws.
He
summoned
the last
dregs
of his strength
to power his force axe and
swung
it in a great
double
arc. He
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