The fortress awakened.

  The echoes of the fight still clung to the jagged walls of the hall as the oppressive quiet fractured into chaos. Distant guttural shouts bounced through the corridors, the rhythmic pounding of boots hammering against the stone floors like the heartbeat of some monstrous entity. The Ebon Claws were mobilizing, their cries a discordant hymn to violence and death.

  Servius stood over the felled Chaos Marine for a moment longer, his breathing steady but shallow. The dark blood dripping from his knife was already coagulated and drying, its acrid stench mingling with the burning tang of molten ceramite. He wiped the blade clean on the Marine’s scorched cloak, his movements brisk, almost automatic. The faint ache in his fingers lingered as he touched the corrupted weaponry on the corpse, but the Nexus’s threads didn’t stir—this time, it was just muscle memory.

  Adrasta kept her back to him, her autogun trained on the hallway ahead. Her gray eyes darted from shadow to shadow, catching every flicker of movement in the gloom. “They’re closing in,” she said, her voice low but tense. “We’ve got maybe two minutes before this whole place is on top of us.”

  Servius nodded, sliding his knife back into its sheath across his chest. His plasma pistol hummed softly in his grip, its glow illuminating the faint lines of blood that streaked his fur. “Then we don’t waste them,” he replied curtly. “Keep close. We don’t stop until we’ve got a defensible position.”

  Adrasta glanced at him over her shoulder, her expression grim. “You think they’re just going to let us find one?”

  “They’ll have to catch us first,” Servius growled, already moving toward the heavy iron doors at the end of the hall. His tail flicked sharply as he motioned for Adrasta to follow. “Come on.”

  The iron doors groaned as they swung open, their rusted hinges screeching in protest. Beyond them lay another wide corridor, its walls etched with glowing runes that pulsed faintly in time with the distant rhythm of the fortress. The air here was hotter, heavier, as though the hall itself was pressing down on them.

  Servius’s sharp eyes scanned the corridor ahead. It stretched for what felt like miles, its far end disappearing into shadow. Jagged alcoves lined the walls at irregular intervals, each one housing grotesque statues that seemed to watch them as they moved.

  The distant sound of boots grew louder, accompanied by the harsh clatter of autoguns being readied. Servius flicked his ears back, his tail lashing once behind him. “They’re splitting up,” he muttered, his voice low. “Some coming straight for us. Others are flanking.”

  Adrasta’s grip tightened on her autogun. “And we’re walking right into it.”

  “Good,” Servius said, his tone cold. “Makes it easier to deal with them.”

  The first wave came fast—five cultists rushing down the corridor, their ragged cloaks and mismatched armor barely concealing the zealotry in their eyes. They raised their weapons, the barrels spitting fire as they opened up a barrage of shots. The rounds ricocheted off the walls and floor, sparks flying in every direction.

  Servius darted forward, his movements fluid and precise. He fired his plasma pistol once, the shot punching clean through the lead cultist’s chest. The man collapsed without a sound, his body crumpling against the stone. The others hesitated, their momentum faltering for just a moment—but it was enough.

  Adrasta fired from behind him, her autogun rattling as she sent a burst of rounds into the group. Two more cultists dropped, their bodies hitting the ground with wet thuds. The remaining two tried to fall back, their panic evident in their erratic movements.

  Servius didn’t let them.

  He sprinted forward, closing the gap in seconds. The first cultist swung a jagged blade at him, but Servius ducked low, his claws scraping against the floor for balance as he came up under the man’s guard. His knife flashed, the blade slicing cleanly across the cultist’s throat. Blood sprayed in a wide arc as the man staggered back, his weapon clattering to the ground.

  The last cultist raised his autogun, but Servius was faster. He slammed the plasma pistol into the man’s face, the impact shattering his jaw and sending him sprawling. The cultist writhed on the ground, blood pouring from his shattered mouth, until Servius ended it with a quick stab to the heart.

  He rose to his full height, wiping the blood from his knife once more. The ache in his fingers flared faintly as he picked up the fallen autogun, the corrupted weapon radiating a subtle, unpleasant warmth. He ignored the sensation, slinging the weapon over his shoulder. “This might be useful.”

  Adrasta moved to his side, her gray eyes scanning the corridor ahead. “That wasn’t the main group,” she said. “Just a scout party.”

  “Then we keep moving,” Servius replied. “The longer we stay in one place, the worse it’s going to get.”

  The corridor opened into a larger chamber, its high ceiling lost in shadow. The walls were lined with grotesque murals depicting scenes of carnage and depravity, their warped forms seeming to shift and writhe as the light from the fissures flickered. A massive iron chandelier hung from the ceiling, its chains rattling faintly as though moved by an unseen wind.

  Servius slowed, his ears twitching as he listened for any sign of movement. The room was eerily quiet, save for the faint whispers that seemed to emanate from the walls themselves. His tail flicked sharply behind him as he scanned the chamber, his plasma pistol raised.

  Adrasta moved to his left, her autogun held at the ready. “This place feels wrong,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. “Like it’s watching us.”

  “It probably is,” Servius said grimly. His green eyes locked onto a darkened archway on the far side of the room. “Stay close. If anything moves, kill it.”

  They moved cautiously across the chamber, their boots crunching softly against the uneven floor. Servius’s sharp gaze caught every detail—the faint glow of molten fissures beneath the surface, the twisted shapes of the murals, the flicker of movement just at the edge of his vision.

  And then, the shadows moved.

  A guttural snarl echoed through the chamber as a massive figure stepped out from the archway. It was another Chaos Marine, its corrupted armor gleaming in the dim light. In its hands, it held a massive power maul, the weapon crackling with dark energy as it swung it experimentally, the faint hum of its power field filling the room.

  Behind it, more cultists spilled into the chamber, their weapons raised as they fanned out to surround Servius and Adrasta.

  Adrasta swore under her breath, her autogun snapping up to fire. “Here we go again.”

  The Chaos Marine’s power maul crackled ominously, the dark energy radiating from the weapon illuminating the jagged spikes of his corrupted armor. Behind him, the cultists advanced in a loose semicircle, their weapons raised and their eyes glinting with savage zeal. They were baying for blood, their guttural cries echoing off the warped walls of the chamber.

  Servius felt the oppressive weight of the moment settle on his shoulders. This wasn’t just a fight—it was a test of endurance, skill, and sheer will. His plasma pistol hummed softly in his grip, the faint glow of its charge bathing his clawed hand in pale blue light. He didn’t waste time with words or theatrics. There was no point.

  Adrasta fired first.

  Her autogun barked in rapid succession, sending a volley of slugs toward the cultists closest to her. Two went down instantly, their bodies jerking as the rounds tore through their torsos. The others scrambled for cover, their movements wild and disorganized.

  Servius took advantage of the chaos. He fired a plasma shot directly at the Chaos Marine’s chest. The glowing bolt slammed into the corrupted Aquila etched into the ceramite, scorching the symbol and staggering the massive warrior. Blackened blood hissed as it dripped from the wound, but the Marine didn’t fall. Instead, it let out a guttural roar, raising its power maul high before charging.

  “Adrasta!” Servius barked, his voice sharp and commanding. “The cultists are yours! Keep them off my back!”

  Adrasta didn’t hesitate. “On it!” she shouted, already moving to flank the advancing cultists. Her autogun roared again, cutting down another two as she wove through the chaos with practiced ease.

  Servius, meanwhile, braced himself against the oncoming Astartes. The Marine’s charge was relentless, its booted steps shaking the ground beneath them. The power maul came down in a brutal arc, and Servius barely sidestepped in time, the weapon smashing into the stone floor and sending shards of molten debris flying in all directions.

  The feline darted backward, holstering his plasma pistol in a single fluid motion. He grabbed a fallen autogun from the ground, the weapon’s barrel still warm from the dying hands that had held it. The ache in his fingers flared faintly as he gripped the corrupted weapon, but he pushed the sensation aside. He had no time to linger on the cost.

  With a practiced hand, he brought the autogun to bear, firing a burst of shots into the Chaos Marine’s exposed joints. The bullets pinged off the ceramite plates but managed to slip into the gaps, drawing fresh sprays of ichor. The Marine snarled, its glowing red eyes blazing with fury as it swung the maul in a wide arc.

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  Servius ducked low, the weapon whistling just over his head. He rolled to the side, tossing the autogun aside as its magazine clicked empty. Another corpse provided him with a replacement—a lasgun this time, its battered stock slick with blood. He fired without hesitation, the crimson beam scorching a jagged line across the Marine’s pauldron.

  The Astartes roared again, its movements growing more erratic as the damage piled on. But it wasn’t enough to stop it. The power maul lashed out again, and this time the blow clipped Servius’s shoulder. The force of the impact sent him sprawling, his lasgun clattering to the ground as he rolled across the uneven floor.

  “Damn it,” he growled, his claws digging into the stone as he pushed himself to his feet. The armor on his shoulder was dented, and a sharp, burning pain radiated through his arm, but he could still move. Still fight.

  The Chaos Marine loomed over him, its power maul raised for a killing blow. But before it could strike, Adrasta’s autogun barked again, the bullets slamming into the Marine’s exposed flank. The massive warrior staggered, its attention snapping to the human woman who dared to challenge it.

  “Over here, bastard!” Adrasta snarled, her voice cutting through the din of battle.

  The Marine growled, shifting its focus toward her. Servius took the opportunity to snatch up another weapon—a crude chainaxe lying amidst the bodies of the cultists. The ache in his fingers flared sharply as he gripped the weapon, the taint of the Warp radiating from its bloodstained teeth. But he didn’t let go.

  With a feral snarl of his own, Servius lunged forward, the chainaxe roaring to life in his hands. The weapon’s jagged teeth spun wildly as he swung it with all his strength, aiming for the back of the Marine’s knee. The blow struck true, biting into the weakened joint and tearing through the ceramite. The Chaos Marine roared in pain, its massive frame buckling as it dropped to one knee.

  Adrasta capitalized on the opening, emptying the remainder of her magazine into the Marine’s exposed side. The bullets tore through the gaps in its armor, ripping into flesh and bone. Corrupted blood sprayed across the chamber, staining the walls and floor.

  The Astartes lashed out with its maul, forcing Adrasta to dive for cover. But it was too late for the hulking warrior. Servius swung the chainaxe again, this time aiming for the Marine’s helmet. The weapon connected with a sickening crunch, the jagged teeth biting into the corrupted metal and ripping through the vox-grille.

  The Chaos Marine let out a final, gurgling snarl before collapsing to the ground, its massive frame shaking the floor beneath it. The power maul clattered to the ground, its energy field flickering and dying.

  Servius stood over the fallen warrior, his chest heaving as he released the chainaxe. The weapon fell from his claws with a metallic clatter, the ache in his fingers flaring one last time before fading. He wiped the blood from his muzzle with the back of his hand, his green eyes scanning the chamber for any remaining threats.

  Adrasta emerged from cover, her expression grim but triumphant. “That was loud,” she said, her voice tight with adrenaline.

  Servius nodded, his tail flicking sharply behind him. “The rest of them heard it,” he said. “We need to move.”

  Adrasta slung her autogun over her shoulder, her sharp gray eyes narrowing as she glanced toward the darkened corridors ahead. “You’ve got a plan, right?”

  “Stay ahead of them,” Servius replied. “Use the fortress against them. And hope we don’t run into more of those.”

  He gestured toward the fallen Chaos Marine, its broken body a testament to the cost of their victory. Adrasta smirked faintly, but her humor was short-lived as the distant sound of approaching reinforcements reached their ears.

  The metallic clang of boots and guttural shouts echoed through the corridors, the sound growing louder as reinforcements closed in. Servius and Adrasta moved swiftly, their footsteps light but purposeful as they darted through the twisted, suffocating halls of the fortress. The flickering glow of torches cast grotesque shadows on the warped walls, the air thick with the stench of molten rock and decayed flesh.

  Servius’s ears twitched at every sound, his sharp green eyes scanning for movement as he led the way. His plasma pistol was back in its holster, its energy cells depleted after the battle with the Chaos Marine. His knife was in his hand now, its blade catching the dim light as he gripped it tightly. Adrasta followed close behind, her autogun reloaded but with only a few magazines left.

  They didn’t speak. There was no time.

  The corridor opened into a wider chamber, its ceiling lost in the gloom above. A massive, bloodstained altar dominated the center of the room, surrounded by jagged spires of black stone. Chains hung from the walls, their ends wrapped around the broken bodies of those who had died in the fortress’s grip. The air thrummed with an unnatural energy, the whispers of the Warp brushing against Servius’s mind like the faint rustle of dead leaves.

  He gestured for Adrasta to stop, his tail flicking sharply as he crouched low. The distant sound of approaching reinforcements reverberated through the halls behind them, but this chamber offered little in the way of cover. The altar and the spires cast long, twisting shadows, but nothing substantial enough to hide them.

  “We’re cornered,” Adrasta muttered under her breath, her voice tight with frustration. “No way out.”

  “There’s always a way out,” Servius replied, his voice low but firm. He scanned the chamber again, his sharp eyes catching a faint glint of light on the far side. A doorway—partially hidden behind one of the black spires. “There.”

  Adrasta followed his gaze, her gray eyes narrowing. “You think it leads anywhere better?”

  “Anywhere’s better than here,” Servius said flatly. “Move.”

  The two darted across the chamber, their movements swift and deliberate. Servius’s claws scraped against the uneven stone floor as he kept his body low, his every sense tuned to the oppressive atmosphere around them. The whispers grew louder as they neared the altar, the air pressing against him like an invisible hand. He felt the faint tug of the Nexus’s threads, their presence stirring within him, but he shoved the sensation aside. This wasn’t the time.

  They reached the doorway just as the reinforcements entered the chamber behind them.

  A tide of cultists poured into the room, their grotesque forms illuminated by the flickering light of their torches. Their cries filled the air, a cacophony of bloodlust and fanaticism as they surged toward the altar. At their center stood another Chaos Marine, its massive form towering over the rabble. This one carried a heavy bolter, the weapon’s menacing barrel glinting faintly in the torchlight.

  “Move!” Servius barked, shoving Adrasta through the doorway ahead of him.

  The cultists saw them then, their howls of rage rising as they pointed toward the fleeing intruders. The Chaos Marine raised its heavy bolter, the weapon’s unmistakable whine building as it powered up.

  Servius darted into the corridor just as the first explosive round screamed past him, slamming into the stone wall with a deafening crack. Shards of rock sprayed across the hallway, and the force of the impact sent him stumbling forward. Adrasta caught him by the arm, yanking him upright as they sprinted deeper into the passage.

  “They’re not letting up!” Adrasta shouted over the roar of gunfire.

  “I noticed,” Servius growled, his voice strained as he fought to keep his balance. The passage twisted and turned, its walls narrowing as the ceiling dipped lower. The air grew hotter, the oppressive weight of the fortress bearing down on them with every step.

  Behind them, the sound of pursuit grew louder. The heavy bolter barked again, its explosive rounds tearing into the stone and sending tremors through the passage. Servius could feel the heat of the blasts against his back, the concussive force rattling his teeth as he pushed forward.

  Ahead, the passage widened into another chamber—a smaller one this time, with no visible exit. Servius’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the room, his mind racing. They were running out of options.

  “Dead end,” Adrasta hissed, her tone laced with desperation.

  Servius didn’t respond immediately. His sharp gaze caught sight of a pile of debris near the far wall—a collection of broken weapons, shattered armor, and discarded ammunition. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

  “Take cover,” he ordered, his voice cold and commanding. “We make our stand here.”

  Adrasta hesitated for only a moment before nodding. She ducked behind a jagged piece of stone, her autogun at the ready. Servius moved to the pile of debris, his claws sifting through the ruined equipment with practiced efficiency. Most of it was useless—melted lasguns, rusted chainswords—but he managed to pull free a battered stub pistol and a handful of rounds. The weapon was crude and barely functional, but it would have to do.

  The first of the cultists burst into the chamber, their frenzied cries echoing off the walls. Servius fired the stub pistol, the crude weapon kicking violently in his hand as the round punched through the chest of the lead cultist. The man fell with a wet gurgle, but the others pressed on, their zeal unshaken.

  Adrasta opened fire, her autogun spitting a controlled burst of rounds that cut down two more. The bodies piled up at the entrance, but the cultists didn’t hesitate. They clambered over their fallen comrades, their bloodied hands clutching blades and crude firearms as they surged forward.

  Servius tossed the empty stub pistol aside, his claws snatching up a rusted chainsword from the pile of debris. The weapon roared to life with a sputtering snarl, its jagged teeth spinning unevenly as he gripped it tightly. The ache in his fingertips flared sharply, the corruption of the weapon brushing against his soul, but he ignored it.

  “Stay low!” he barked, lunging toward the oncoming horde.

  The chainblade tore through the first cultist with sickening ease, the jagged teeth ripping flesh and bone apart in a spray of blood. Servius moved like a predator, his movements fluid and precise as he carved through the enemy ranks. Every strike was deliberate, every kill methodical.

  Adrasta covered him from behind, her autogun barking in short bursts as she picked off the cultists who tried to flank him. The air was thick with the stench of blood and burnt flesh, the sound of gunfire and screams deafening in the enclosed space.

  The Chaos Marine’s heavy bolter barked again, the explosive round slamming into the chamber and sending Servius sprawling. He hit the ground hard, the chainblade skittering from his grip as the impact knocked the air from his lungs.

  “Servius!” Adrasta shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos.

  Servius rolled to his feet, his claws finding the grip of another weapon—a bent lasgun with a cracked stock. He raised it and fired, the crimson beam searing through the helmet of an advancing cultist. The man dropped instantly, his body twitching as it hit the ground.

  “We can’t hold this forever!” Adrasta shouted, reloading her autogun with frantic speed.

  “We don’t have to,” Servius snarled, his sharp eyes locking onto the Chaos Marine as it stepped into the chamber, its massive frame blotting out the light behind it. “We just have to outlast them.”

  The Astartes growled, its heavy bolter whirring as it prepared to fire again.

  https://youtu.be/21B8mmAlAOM?si=GZJVSAH3Ud5-h6je