The Marine's heavy bolter roared, spitting explosive rounds that shredded stone and sent shards of rock skittering through the chamber. The concussive force slammed into Servius as he darted behind a broken pillar, his green eyes blazing as he assessed the traitor's position. The massive Astartes stood at the entrance to the chamber like an executioner, its crimson eyes glowing through the lenses of its corrupted helmet.

  Adrasta crouched behind a slab of fractured stone, her breathing ragged as she slammed her final magazine into her autogun. She fired a short burst at the Marine, but the rounds bounced harmlessly off its jagged ceramite armor. "That thing’s got us pinned!" she hissed, her voice tinged with both frustration and fear. "We can’t get close to it like this!"

  Servius’s mind raced. The heavy bolter was a problem—no, the problem. Its suppressive fire was keeping them locked down, and the cultists still advancing through the corridor behind it were only moments away from swarming the room. Adrasta was out of options, and her desperate glances made it clear she knew it. Servius wasn’t about to let himself or her be cornered like rats.

  But the situation was dire. His weapons—what few he had left—weren’t going to fix the situation. Not directly. He needed to think faster, act smarter, and use everything at his disposal.

  His eyes fell to the bent lasgun in his hands. The weapon wasn’t worth much, but he couldn’t discard it just yet. He gritted his teeth, searching the chamber for anything—anything—that could tip the odds in their favor.

  His gaze flicked back to the hulking Marine, its movements deliberate as it adjusted its aim to obliterate Adrasta’s cover. Servius felt a surge of anger, hot and searing, at the idea of being pushed into submission by the monstrous creature.

  And then, like a blade slicing through the fog of his thoughts, the Watchers’ gift whispered in the back of his mind.

  For a brief moment, he closed his eyes, forcing himself to focus. The noise of the battle dulled, and the oppressive hum of the Nexus threads pulsed faintly within him. He remembered the gift granted to him in the Nexus—the ability to become unnoticeable, a ghost in plain sight. The risk was great, but it was his only chance.

  Opening his eyes, Servius exhaled slowly. “Adrasta,” he called over the gunfire, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Stay here. Keep it distracted. Don’t die.”

  “What the hell are you—” Adrasta started, but Servius was already moving.

  He slipped from cover, his lithe form vanishing into the shadows of the chamber. The Watchers’ boon settled over him like a veil, blurring his presence from the senses of the Chaos Marine. It wasn’t invisibility—if the Astartes turned directly toward him, it would still see him. But for now, he was nothing more than a ripple in the air, a fleeting phantom in the corner of its vision.

  The Marine’s bolter continued its relentless assault, hammering Adrasta’s position. She shouted something—probably profanity—but Servius didn’t hear it. He moved with the fluidity of a predator, closing the distance between himself and the Marine with deliberate precision.

  As he drew closer, the weight of the Nexus’s threads grew heavier, tugging at him like chains. The fortress itself seemed to pulse in response to his presence, its living walls thrumming faintly as he passed. The whispers of the Warp grew louder, clawing at the edges of his mind, but he shoved them aside.

  The Marine didn’t notice him. It was too focused on Adrasta, its heavy bolter spitting death with mechanical efficiency. Servius circled around to its flank, his claws tightening on the bent lasgun in his hands. The weapon wasn’t much, but it was enough to distract the Marine for what he had in mind.

  Raising the lasgun, Servius aimed for the Marine’s exposed power pack and fired. The crimson beam struck true, searing into the connections that fed the heavy bolter’s relentless hunger. Sparks flew from the damaged pack, and the weapon stuttered, its deadly roar faltering for a precious moment.

  The Chaos Marine growled in fury, spinning toward the source of the attack. Its glowing eyes locked onto Servius as the veil of the Watchers’ gift faded. “You!” it roared, its voice a guttural snarl that echoed through the chamber.

  Servius discarded the lasgun and darted forward, his claws gripping the chainsword he’d picked up earlier. The weapon roared to life in his hands, its jagged teeth spinning unevenly as he brought it down in a brutal arc toward the Marine’s damaged power pack.

  The blade bit deep, tearing through the exposed cables and sending a surge of electricity crackling through the Marine’s armor. The heavy bolter sputtered once, then fell silent, its feed severed.

  The Marine roared in pain and rage, swinging its massive gauntlet toward Servius in a desperate attempt to crush him. Servius ducked low, the blow missing him by inches as he twisted to the side. He could feel the heat of the Marine’s rage radiating off it like a physical force, but he didn’t relent.

  “Now, Adrasta!” he shouted, his voice sharp and commanding.

  Adrasta didn’t hesitate. She surged from cover, her combat knife gleaming in the dim light as she charged the Marine’s exposed flank. She moved with the precision of a predator, her blade finding the weak points in its armor—the joints, the exposed cables, the cracks left by Servius’s earlier attack.

  The Chaos Marine staggered under the combined assault, its movements growing slower and more erratic. Black ichor spilled from its wounds, the corrupted liquid sizzling as it hit the ground.

  Servius moved in for the kill, his knife flashing in the dim light as he drove it into the gap beneath the Marine’s helmet. The blade sank deep, piercing flesh and bone, and the Marine let out a final, guttural snarl before collapsing to the ground in a heap of blood and ceramite.

  The chamber fell silent, save for the ragged breathing of Servius and Adrasta.

  “Hell of a plan,” Adrasta muttered, her voice tinged with exhaustion as she leaned against a broken pillar.

  Servius wiped his blade clean on the Marine’s armor, his green eyes scanning the chamber for any signs of reinforcements. “It worked,” he said simply, his tone as cold and sharp as the knife in his hand.

  Adrasta smirked faintly, though her gray eyes remained wary. “For now.”

  Servius didn’t argue. He holstered his knife and retrieved his plasma pistol, reloading it with his final energy cell and holstering it as well. The fortress wasn’t done with them yet, and he wasn’t about to let his guard down.

  “Come on,” he said, his voice low but firm. “We need to keep moving.”

  Adrasta nodded, her smirk fading as she pushed herself upright. She began to loot the fallen cultists for more ammunition for their gun. Together, they disappeared into the fortress’s labyrinthine corridors, leaving the shattered remains of another Chaos Marine behind them.

  The fortress groaned around them, a low, guttural vibration that seemed to come from the very walls. The air was heavy with the stench of blood and molten stone, the echoes of their battle fading into an oppressive silence that pressed against their senses. Servius and Adrasta moved quickly, their steps careful but purposeful as they navigated the twisted corridors.

  Every turn felt like a trap waiting to spring, every shadow like an enemy poised to strike. The black stone of the fortress seemed to pulse faintly with its own life, the cracks in the walls glowing with an unnatural light that bled into the narrow halls.

  Adrasta was breathing hard, her autogun held tightly in her hands. The strain of the fight was clear in the tension of her posture and the blood splattered across her armor. Her gray eyes flicked toward Servius as they rounded a corner, the feline warrior’s sharp gaze scanning ahead with a practiced calm.

  “How many more of those bastards do you think we’ll run into?” she asked, her voice low but steady.

  “Too many,” Servius replied flatly. His tail flicked sharply behind him, his ears swiveling to catch any sound beyond the hum of the fortress. “They know we’re here. They’ll be regrouping, reinforcing. We’ll need to move faster if we’re going to stay ahead of them.”

  Adrasta grunted in acknowledgment, her focus shifting back to the corridor ahead. The adrenaline of the battle was starting to wear off, and the weight of their situation pressed heavily on both of them.

  They passed through a shattered archway, the stone crumbling beneath their boots as they entered a wide, open chamber. The ceiling was high, lost in the gloom above, and the walls were lined with grotesque statues carved into shapes that defied reason. The floor was littered with debris—broken weapons, shattered chains, and the charred remains of what had once been human bodies.

  Servius stopped in the center of the room, his sharp gaze sweeping across the space. His tail flicked once, a subtle gesture of caution, as he raised a clawed hand to signal Adrasta to stop.

  “Something’s wrong,” he said, his voice low and cautious.

  Adrasta frowned, her grip tightening on her autogun. “What is it?”

  Servius didn’t answer immediately. His ears twitched, straining to catch a sound he couldn’t quite place. The air felt different here—thicker, heavier, and charged with a faint, static hum that prickled against his fur.

  “It’s too quiet,” he said finally, his green eyes narrowing.

  Adrasta opened her mouth to respond, but the sound of scraping metal cut her off. It came from above—a harsh, grating noise that echoed through the chamber and sent a chill down both their spines.

  Servius’s head snapped upward, his glowing eyes scanning the shadows that clung to the high ceiling. Movement caught his attention—a faint ripple in the darkness, the glint of metal catching the dim light for the briefest moment.

  “Ambush,” he hissed, his claws tightening on the grip of one of his bolt pistols.

  The words had barely left his mouth before the attack came.

  From the shadows above, cultists dropped onto the floor, their bodies clad in patchwork armor and their hands clutching jagged weapons. Their howls filled the chamber, a cacophony of madness and rage as they charged toward Servius and Adrasta.

  Adrasta fired first, her autogun spitting a burst of rounds that cut through the closest cultist. The man crumpled to the ground, blood spraying from his chest, but the others pressed on, their zeal undeterred.

  Servius fired his bolt pistol, the streaking bolt reducing a cultist to a splattered heap of flesh. The weapon shifted faintly in his hand as he pivoted, firing again to take down another enemy. But for every cultist they killed, more seemed to pour in from the shadows. The chamber filled with the clash of metal, the bark of gunfire, and the guttural cries of the fanatics as they threw themselves into the fray without hesitation.

  Servius moved like a predator, his movements fluid and precise as he weaved between the cultists. His bolt pistol clicked, jammed, just as a cultist lunged at him, and without hesitation, he holstered it. His claws found the hilt of his knife, the blade gleaming faintly as he drove it into the throat of the charging enemy. Dark blood sprayed across his arm as the man crumpled, gurgling.

  Adrasta was holding her ground, her autogun barking in controlled bursts as she picked her targets. But Servius could see the strain in her movements—the desperation in her eyes as her remaining ammunition dwindled.

  “Servius, this is getting out of hand!” she called out, her voice tight as she swung her knife at another charging cultist, slashing deep into his shoulder.

  Servius cursed under his breath, his sharp eyes darting around the room. The cultists were everywhere, their numbers overwhelming, and the only exit was the way they’d come. But retreat wasn’t an option—not with reinforcements likely closing in behind them.

  His mind raced as he searched for something—anything—that could shift the tide. His gaze landed on one of the grotesque statues near the center of the room. The twisted black stone pulsed faintly with Warp energy, its chains wrapped tightly around the broken remains of some long-dead victim. The chains shimmered with a faint, unnatural light that drew his attention.

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  It was a risk—an enormous risk—but it might be their only chance.

  “Adrasta, hold them off!” Servius barked, darting toward the statue.

  Adrasta didn’t hesitate, planting herself between Servius and the oncoming horde. Her autogun coughed again and again, cutting down cultists in bursts of controlled fire. But the weapon clicked empty after only a few seconds.

  “Damn it,” she hissed, throwing the spent magazine aside and drawing her combat knife. She met the cultists head-on, slashing and stabbing with a ferocity born of desperation. Blood sprayed across the floor as her blade found flesh, but she was being overwhelmed.

  Servius reached the statue, his sharp claws slicing through the air as he grabbed one of the shimmering chains. The moment his fingers touched the metal, a sharp, searing ache burned through his hand and up his arm. The Warp-taint in the chains was potent, its chaotic whispers slithering into his mind like coiled serpents.

  He snarled, his tail lashing behind him as he focused his will, forcing the Nexus’s threads to surround and suppress the corruption. The ache in his fingertips flared violently, but he gritted his teeth and pulled with all his strength. The chains groaned in protest, their unnatural light flaring brighter as they resisted him.

  “Servius!” Adrasta shouted, slamming her knife into a cultist’s gut and shoving the dying man aside. “Whatever you’re doing, do it faster!”

  The horde was closing in. More cultists poured into the chamber, their wild eyes and slavering mouths eager for blood. Adrasta was being pushed back, her movements slowing as exhaustion began to set in.

  With a final, guttural snarl, Servius yanked the chains free. The pulsing energy within them surged outward, cascading across the statue in a burst of chaotic light. The entire structure trembled violently, cracks spreading through the black stone as the Warp energy within it destabilized.

  The cultists hesitated, their zeal faltering as they sensed the shift in the air. The whispers of the Warp grew louder, a maddening chorus that filled the chamber with an oppressive weight.

  Servius turned, his green eyes blazing as he shouted, “Get back!”

  Adrasta didn’t need to be told twice. She broke away from the cultists, diving behind a jagged piece of stone as the statue collapsed in on itself. The chaotic energy it contained erupted outward in a blinding flash, the force of the blast ripping through the chamber.

  The cultists nearest the statue were obliterated, their bodies reduced to ash and bone in an instant. Those further back were thrown to the ground, their screams drowned out by the deafening roar of the explosion.

  When the light faded, the chamber was deathly silent. The air was thick with the stench of burnt flesh and molten stone, the floor littered with the charred remains of the cultists. The walls bore the scorch marks of the blast, their grotesque carvings warped and twisted further by the explosion.

  Adrasta pushed herself to her feet, coughing as she waved away the thick smoke. “What the hell was that?” she demanded, her voice rough but steady.

  “A solution,” Servius replied flatly, his breathing heavy as he sheathed his knife. His fingertips still burned from the taint of the chains, the ache a constant reminder of the price he had paid to unleash the blast.

  Adrasta stared at him for a moment, her expression a mix of exhaustion and incredulity. “You’re insane,” she muttered, shaking her head.

  “Maybe,” Servius said, his sharp eyes scanning the room for any signs of survivors. “But it worked.”

  He turned toward the far end of the chamber, where the corridor stretched into the gloom. The fortress was still alive with danger, but for now, they had survived.

  “Let’s move,” he said coldly, his voice cutting through the lingering silence.

  Adrasta nodded, gripping her weapons tightly as she followed him into the darkness.

  The fortress seemed to pulse around them, its jagged walls whispering faintly with voices that didn’t belong to any living soul. The air was thick with heat and ash, the Warp’s influence saturating every breath. Servius and Adrasta moved quickly, their steps measured but urgent as they climbed higher through the fortress’s interior.

  Servius’s bolt pistol hung at his side, the weapon still jammed from the earlier chaos. His claws flexed around its grip as he assessed the damage. The casing was slightly warped, a result of the heat and strain from prolonged use, and one of the internal mechanisms was locked in place. It wasn’t irreparable, but it would take time to fix—time they didn’t have in abundance.

  They paused briefly in a narrow corridor, the walls lined with crude sigils etched into the stone. The air was cooler here, but only slightly, and the distant sounds of movement echoed through the labyrinthine halls. Adrasta leaned against the wall, her chest heaving as she reloaded her autogun with one of her final magazines.

  “That’s it,” she muttered, snapping the magazine into place with a sharp click. “One mag left after this. Then it’s just my knife.”

  Servius glanced at her, his sharp green eyes narrowing. “You’ll make it work,” he said bluntly, kneeling to examine his bolt pistol. His tail flicked sharply behind him as he retrieved a small multitool from his belt, the worn instrument well-suited for field repairs.

  Adrasta snorted softly, her scarred face twisting into a faint smirk. “Not much of a pep talk, but I’ll take it.”

  Servius ignored the remark, his focus entirely on the weapon in his hands. He flipped the pistol over, prying open the jammed slide with deliberate precision. The mechanism groaned in protest, but after a few tense moments, the bolt was freed. A deformed shell casing tumbled to the ground, its edges blackened and warped.

  “The round misfired,” Servius muttered, his claws deftly reassembling the weapon. “Too much heat, too fast. It’ll hold for now, but I can’t push it like that again.”

  Adrasta pushed off the wall, her autogun held loosely in her hands as she peered down the corridor ahead. “We’ll take what we can get. How much ammo do you have left?”

  “Three and a half magazines,” Servius replied, sliding a fresh clip into the bolt pistol with a satisfying click. “Seventy bolts total. Plasma’s almost empty, and I’m down to fourteen rounds for my rifle.”

  Adrasta nodded, her expression grim. “Better than me. Let’s hope we don’t run into anything worse than that Marine.”

  Servius didn’t respond immediately. He holstered the bolt pistol and stood, his sharp gaze sweeping the corridor ahead. The air here felt... wrong. More wrong than usual, even for the Warp. The sigils on the walls seemed to shift and writhe when he wasn’t looking directly at them, and the faint whispers had grown louder, brushing against his mind like cold fingers.

  “We’re getting closer,” he said finally, his voice low and steady. “The leader of this warband—Kael Dravak. He’ll be at the heart of the fortress.”

  Adrasta grimaced, gripping her autogun tightly. “Great. I can’t wait to see what kind of monster we’re dealing with.”

  They moved forward, their footsteps echoing faintly in the narrow corridor. The path sloped upward, the walls growing more jagged and uneven as they ascended. The flickering light of torches cast long, shifting shadows that danced like specters on the stone.

  As they climbed, the fortress seemed to react to their presence. The air grew heavier, the whispers louder, and the temperature fluctuated wildly—freezing cold one moment, stiflingly hot the next. Servius’s ears flicked at the sound of distant movement, his sharp eyes narrowing as he scanned the path ahead.

  They reached a wider chamber, its ceiling lost in the gloom above. The walls were adorned with massive chains, their links glowing faintly with an unnatural light. At the far end of the room, a set of massive iron doors loomed, their surface engraved with the sigil of the Ebon Claws—a jagged clawed hand clutching a broken Aquila.

  Servius held up a hand, signaling Adrasta to stop. “We’re close,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “Those doors lead to the inner sanctum.”

  Adrasta glanced at the doors, her expression dark. “Let me guess—he’s in there.”

  “Most likely,” Servius replied. His sharp eyes scanned the chamber, noting the scattered debris and the faint traces of blood on the floor. “But it won’t be unguarded.”

  As if on cue, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the chamber. Servius and Adrasta ducked behind a crumbled section of wall, their weapons at the ready. From the shadows near the iron doors, a pair of figures emerged—Traitor Astartes, their massive forms clad in jagged, corrupted power armor. One carried a heavy bolter, its barrel glinting faintly in the torchlight, while the other wielded a massive power axe that crackled with Warp energy.

  Adrasta’s breath hitched, her knuckles whitening around the grip of her autogun. “Two of them,” she whispered, her voice tight. “This isn’t going to be easy.”

  Servius’s green eyes narrowed, his mind racing as he calculated their options. A direct fight against two Chaos Marines in open ground was suicide, but the chamber offered little in the way of cover. They needed to be smart—fast and precise.

  “We take them one at a time,” he said quietly, his tone sharp and decisive. “Draw one away, neutralize it, then deal with the other. Stay low, stay quiet.”

  Adrasta nodded, her expression grim. “And if they both come at us?”

  Servius didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. They both knew the odds were slim, but there was no turning back now. The mission had to be completed, no matter the cost.

  The two Chaos Marines stood like living monuments of war, their corrupted power armor reflecting the flickering torchlight in grotesque patterns. Servius’s sharp green eyes tracked their every movement from behind the shattered wall where he and Adrasta crouched. One Marine hefted a heavy bolter, its rotating barrels spinning idly as though eager to unleash destruction. The other gripped a power axe that crackled with Warp energy, the weapon's glow casting a faint, sickly hue across the jagged floor.

  Servius’s tail flicked once, sharply, as he considered their options. A direct fight against two Traitor Astartes was suicide—he knew that, and so did Adrasta. But the faint ache in his fingertips reminded him of the Watcher’s boon, a power he had been reluctant to rely on but knew would make the difference now.

  “I have an idea actually. Stay here,” he whispered, his voice low and cutting. “I’ll take them.”

  Adrasta glanced at him, her gray eyes narrowing. “You’re joking. Those are Astartes.”

  Servius shook his head. “No joke. Trust me. Just don’t move.”

  She opened her mouth to argue but thought better of it. Instead, she nodded, gripping her autogun tightly as her sharp eyes flicked toward the Marines. “If this goes sideways—”

  “It won’t,” Servius interrupted, his voice sharp and firm. “Stay low.”

  Without another word, he slipped into the shadows, his movements fluid and silent. As he moved, he felt the threads of the Watcher’s boon stir within him, an otherworldly presence coiling around his senses like a protective shroud. He closed his eyes briefly, focusing on the sensation, and the world seemed to shift.

  The sounds of the fortress—the hum of torches, the distant murmur of cultists, the heavy footsteps of the Marines—grew muffled, as though filtered through a thick veil. The air around him seemed to bend, light and shadow intertwining in ways that defied natural order. His breathing slowed, his presence fading like a wraith into the void.

  This was The Shroud—a gift from the Watchers, a fragment of their power that allowed him to slip between the cracks of perception. To the outside world, he was gone, untraceable. Even the Chaos Marines, with their enhanced senses and Warp-tainted awareness, couldn’t perceive him now.

  Servius moved with deliberate precision, each step silent as he weaved through the chamber’s treacherous terrain. The Chaos Marines remained unaware, their attention fixed on the room’s far corners as though expecting an ambush from anywhere but behind them. The heavy bolter Marine shifted slightly, its crimson gaze scanning the chamber with cold calculation, while the axe-wielding Marine stood motionless, a statue of malevolent power.

  Servius reached a vantage point near the chamber’s edge, his sniper rifle slipping from its sling with practiced ease. He steadied the weapon against a jagged piece of stone, his sharp green eyes narrowing as he peered through the scope. The reticle settled on the heavy bolter Marine’s helmet, its jagged features filling the sightline.

  But Servius didn’t fire. Not yet. His tail flicked once, sharply, as he adjusted his aim, aligning the shot so the second Marine’s head fell into the path of the same bullet. The faint clink of the sniper rifle’s grip scratched against his clawed fingers as he steadied his breathing, the faintest crackle of Warp energy brushing against his senses.

  A single shot. One round. That was all he needed.

  The threads of the Nexus stirred faintly within him, a whisper of guidance that flowed through his body and into the weapon. His finger tightened on the trigger, the motion deliberate and precise.

  The shot cracked through the chamber like a thunderclap, the sharp report echoing off the warped stone walls. The sniper round streaked through the air with deadly precision, punching through the heavy bolter Marine’s helmet and exploding out the back in a spray of brain matter and shattered ceramite. The bullet didn’t stop—it continued its trajectory, slamming into the second Marine’s helmet and detonating with the same devastating force.

  Both Chaos Marines fell simultaneously, their massive forms collapsing to the ground with a deafening crash. The heavy bolter clattered to the floor, its inner mechanism slowing down uselessly as the weapon powered down. The power axe sparked and hissed as it struck the stone, its energy fading into silence.

  The chamber was still.

  Servius exhaled slowly, his tail flicking once as he lowered the rifle. The ache in his fingertips flared briefly, a sharp reminder of the cost of the boon. He shoved the sensation aside, his glowing eyes scanning the chamber for any signs of reinforcements. None came.

  Adrasta emerged from behind the crumbled wall, her expression a mixture of awe and disbelief. “Two of them. One shot. Damn, Cat, you don’t play fair.”

  “I don’t have to,” Servius replied coldly, slinging the rifle over his shoulder. “Fair doesn’t win fights. Now let’s move.”

  Adrasta nodded, gripping her autogun tightly as she stepped over the fallen Marines. “They’re going to know we’re here after that. What’s the plan?”

  Servius’s sharp gaze locked onto the massive iron doors at the far end of the chamber. “We go through those doors,” he said, his voice hard and unyielding. “Dravak’s behind them. This ends now.”

  The two moved swiftly, their footsteps echoing faintly as they approached the doors. The air grew heavier with every step, the whispers of the Warp rising to a fever pitch. Servius could feel the threads of the Nexus stirring within him, their presence both a comfort and a burden as they pressed against his soul.

  The final confrontation loomed ahead. And there would be no turning back.

  https://youtu.be/QChULMy_4Xg?si=PGf6ZkifALHS5vG5