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They had been boarded. That was all the command had been able to tell from the augur returns; decks 15 through 31, assault rams and drop pods. Just what had found its way onto the troop carrier, the scanner data could not say. That was for the on-board infantry to find out.
Torren's commanding officer was a hard veteran. Sergeant Neevan had been on the front lines of several wars against planetary uprisings and killed greenskins in close combat without losing more than a toe and some teeth. An exemplary Cadian in all respects, he had lead Torren's squad for the better part of a decade and kept the men alive and in line through victories that would've seen most guardsmen dead twice over. Now, though, Sergeant Neevan was in three pieces on the floor of the corridors of deck 19, with what used to be his squad similarly spread across the hallway in various states of dismemberment. Torren, by the Emperor's grace, still had all his limbs attached to one central mass, but now he wished it wasn't so. Having lost his lasgun in the melee, he was lying on the iron grating unarmed, trembling as he gazed up at the Devil himself.
The thing had the rough shape and features of a space marine, but rather than an avenging angel of the Emperor, it was a dread abomination from the most indescribable nightmare. One foot was armored, the other the supersized hoof of an animal. Its left arm was a misshapen killing claw, an instrument of slaughter wrought of pallid muscle, and its right grasped a hellish, burning blade in bestial fingers. The horned helmet had a mouth, by the Throne, with carnivore teeth jutting from bone-crushing jaws and a long tongue snaking back and forth. The armor surface was warped and contoured, growths of bone protruded from the shoulder guards. The abdomen had an extra pair of wiry, clawed arms sticking out of it, and they probed the air with twitching, groping movements. The beast - that is what it was, no other word was more appropriate to describe that which should not have been - stood in the darkness surrounded by the mangled remains of Torren's friends and comrades. No-one had seen it coming, it had struck from behind and slashed and torn with impossible speed. All dead within five seconds.
A laspistol lay discarded mere steps away from Torren, but he knew he would never reach it. The monster's eyes burned with murder as it savored the coming kill.
Torren's commanding officer was a hard veteran. Sergeant Neevan had been on the front lines of several wars against planetary uprisings and killed greenskins in close combat without losing more than a toe and some teeth. An exemplary Cadian in all respects, he had lead Torren's squad for the better part of a decade and kept the men alive and in line through victories that would've seen most guardsmen dead twice over. Now, though, Sergeant Neevan was in three pieces on the floor of the corridors of deck 19, with what used to be his squad similarly spread across the hallway in various states of dismemberment. Torren, by the Emperor's grace, still had all his limbs attached to one central mass, but now he wished it wasn't so. Having lost his lasgun in the melee, he was lying on the iron grating unarmed, trembling as he gazed up at the Devil himself.
The thing had the rough shape and features of a space marine, but rather than an avenging angel of the Emperor, it was a dread abomination from the most indescribable nightmare. One foot was armored, the other the supersized hoof of an animal. Its left arm was a misshapen killing claw, an instrument of slaughter wrought of pallid muscle, and its right grasped a hellish, burning blade in bestial fingers. The horned helmet had a mouth, by the Throne, with carnivore teeth jutting from bone-crushing jaws and a long tongue snaking back and forth. The armor surface was warped and contoured, growths of bone protruded from the shoulder guards. The abdomen had an extra pair of wiry, clawed arms sticking out of it, and they probed the air with twitching, groping movements. The beast - that is what it was, no other word was more appropriate to describe that which should not have been - stood in the darkness surrounded by the mangled remains of Torren's friends and comrades. No-one had seen it coming, it had struck from behind and slashed and torn with impossible speed. All dead within five seconds.
A laspistol lay discarded mere steps away from Torren, but he knew he would never reach it. The monster's eyes burned with murder as it savored the coming kill.
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