Back on The Animositas.
A few days after the Veridian operation. Everyone had returned safely to base. There was no debriefing.
Exhaustion weighed on them —body and mind.
Kochav retreated to his room and lay down. Conflicting thoughts churned.
"Was there truly nothing we could have done?, should we have helped the Guardsmen?"
Each thought only fanned his anger —at himself, at his enemies.
There was no right or wrong. Only what was written.
A law they followed. The moment he closed his eyes, the clone's hollow stare met him —burned into his mind.
Rest would not come. With a sigh, Kochav rose. Sleep was a stranger tonight.
He wandered the ship. Past familiar corridors. Past the steady thrum of the engine halls. Past the few crew still awake.
He kept walking. Seeking distance. Seeking silence.
He found a forgotten space. Far from footsteps, far from voices. A disused maintenance chamber.
Rust-streaked walls. Pipes snaked overhead. A lone lumen flickered weakly. The ship groaned faintly —like an old beast in restless slumber.
Kochav sank against the cold wall.
For the first time since Veridian's Fall, the full weight of it all pressed upon him. His revolver lay beside him. His blade across his back.
And still —that gaze remained. The clone's eyes. The choice he had made. His hands trembled faintly.
No peace. Only silence.
He picked up the gun. Without thought, he turned it. Pressed the barrel to his temple.
CLICK
Again.
CLICK, CLICK, CLICK, CLICK.....CLICK.
Empty.
A shallow breath escaped him —half relief, half regret. Maybe it would've been better if it wasn't. But fate had other plans. The burden remained.
He lowered the weapon slowly, resting it across his lap. Fingers lingered on the grip. Eyes closed, head against cold metal.
Alone.
He focused his power, a psychic bullet materialized in a chamber. He put it against his temple again.
Then —a figure appeared.
An obscured shape, wavering, indistinct.
A hallucination?
A ghost?
It did not matter. It stood in silence.
A shadow without face, without form. But somehow—familiar.
Its hand extended. Softly, it guided Kochav's trembling hand—the one gripping the gun —and pointed it away from Kochav.
The barrel pressed against its formless chest. A voice echoed in his mind. Low and hollow.
"You still have a job to do, Velardo.
Get up and finish your work."
The grip vanished. The gun lowered. Kochav looked up. Moments ago, his eyes had been clouded.
Now—they burned.
He stood. No words. No theatrics.
He holstered the weapon. Turned. And walked.
Behind him, the shadow watched.
Kochav's boots echoed down the empty corridor. The cold steel beneath his feet felt heavier than before —but so did his resolve.
One step. Then another. He needed purpose. Action. Not the abyss of thought.
His path took him upward, toward the command deck of the Animositas.
The ship thrummed with quiet life —a skeleton crew still awake, systems on idle as the rest of the team recovered.
As he approached the tall, reinforced doors of the deck, faint voices carried through the metal.
A discussion.
He pressed his palm to the panel.
HISS..
The doors parted.
Inside stood Mira, back straight, arms folded —her eyes fixed on a holographic display.
Bergelmir, hammer resting against the floor, armor scratched and dented but imposing as ever.
And Helsin, half-seated on the edge of the central table, expression dark and unreadable. All three turned as Kochav entered.
No words of greeting —only a brief glance exchanged.
"You're just in time." Helsin spoke first, voice gruff. "We have a new mission."
"Where to?" Kochav asked.
"Our spy sent word," Helsin spoke, voice low and measured.
He tapped the holo-display in front of them —a grainy projection of a feral world:
green forests, jagged mountains, scattered primitive settlements. Outside of Xarcarion's domain.
"They're purging a planet", Helsin continued. "Cleansing the inhabitants and add it to their domain. Building a new facility to replace the ones we destroyed."
"Our source says they are moving their most valuable assets to this world. Too remote for the Imperium to notice, too brutal for simple recons to survive. And a high possibility of the gene-seedbeing there."
Bergelmir straightened, the hunger for action clear in his gaze.
"Then we must move", the Grey Knight said. His voice was iron.
"It is time for me to recover Aegir's gene-seed."
"Agreed." Kochav's tone was cold.
"Let's depart immediately," Bergelmir urged.
Helsin looked up from the holo-display.
"Wait, we need the Animositas to move without risks," he said.
"This world lies deep past known lanes. I want a route mapped before we risk a blind jump."
He tapped a control rune.
"Helm master, prepare for immediate course plotting. Send word to the Navigator —I want her Warp-eye ready."
A crackling voice replied over the vox. "Aye, Captain. Helm plotting underway. The Lady Elysia has already begun her auguries."
The ship vibrated, shifting through the void. It would take them days to reach the feral world.
Some time before, somewhere within the Xarcarion's domain.
Two figures walked briskly through an arched corridor, words hushed.
"Two facilities destroyed. Lucaszo is dead. We need to know who is sniffing around", one said.
"Do you think we have rats in our midst?" the other asked.
"Perhaps, We should take this to the Council." replied.
They reached a towering set of doors. a breath pause then they pushed the door open.
Inside, a vast chamber.
A circular council hall. High-backed seats surrounded the floor below, each occupied by cloaked figures.
Above them, shadows clung to the vaulted ceiling.
The two new arrivals stepped into the center.
A voice from above cut through the air. "I trust you are not here to waste our time, Farell."
Farell bowed slightly. "I bring news of Lucaszo's death, and the destruction of two of our facilities."
A scoff.
"Lucaszo was a fool. As for the facilities—one of them were already lost to the orks."
"No investigation will yield anything." Another voice, dismissive.
"But we still do not know who is targeting our Dynasty", Farell pressed.
A low murmur rippled through the council. Arguments. Suspicions.
SILENCE!
A commanding voice from the central seat. The hall quieted at once.
"Continue, brethren." The voice urged.
"I suspect a spy among us," Farell said, eyes sweeping the room.
"We must interrogate everyone. And offer the rat a bait."
Another wave of murmurs. Accusations flickered in narrowed eyes. The mood soured —trust dissolved.
The central figure nodded once. "Seal the chamber. No one leaves until the traitor is found."
The arbitrators obeyed, the great doors slammed shut with a thunderous clang. Cyber-mastiffs took position, growling softly, blocking every exit. Arbitrators raised their weapons, eyes watchful.
Panic stirred. Shifting glances. Tense whispers.
One voice rose, calm amidst the fear.
"What is your plan, boy?" the figure asked.
Farell inclined his head. He gestured to the man beside him.
An assistant stepped forward, producing a holo-projector. A flickering image appeared:
a green world, wild and untamed.
Farell's voice lowered. "Thrysa."
Later.
The Animositas had emerged from the Warp and now coasted through realspace, approaching Thrysa's outer orbit.
The ship's vast engines thrummed with controlled power, void shields shimmering faintly as it closed the distance.
In the main hangar,
the air was thick with readiness. Servitors moved along mag-rails. Deck crews worked in silence, eyes raised to the looming shape awaiting final clearance.
A Valkyrie Assault Carrier stood ready —hull weathered but serviceable, painted in Creed camo and Mantis Warriors green.
Its frame had been void-hardened for short exposure— enough to launch cleanly once the Animositas reached stable orbit.
Now, final checks were complete. The boarding ramp hissed open. A faint gust of recycled air spilled outward.
A crewman waited at the hatch, posture stiffening as Bergelmir approached — a mountain of adamantium and ceramite.
The Grey Knight exhaled a faint sigh. He dipped slightly beneath the frame, plates scraping edges with a hollow grind. Each deliberate step made the deck groan beneath his armored weight.
There was no seat aboard the Valkyrie that could hold him.
Bergelmir stood at the center of the bay, one gauntlet braced against the overhead strut, hammer upright at his side —an unmoving pillar.
The others followed.
Mira slipped in first, a knowing glance cast his way.
Kochav entered behind her, a faint smirk touching his lips.
Helsin arrived last, dataslate in hand, composed as ever.
No one spoke of the awkward tension crowding the narrow space, but it was there—thick in the recycled air.
Then, without turning, Bergelmir's voice rumbled through his vox:
"Don't you dare laugh at me, Rogue."
Kochav's smirk widened. Mira stifled a soft chuckle. Bergelmir sighed again —faint dry amusement in the sound. Helsin remained unreadable, eyes on his slate.
Through the vox, the pilot's voice came:
"Valkyrie primed and sealed. Preparing for launch once orbit is stable."
The Void-ship thrummed as it neared final position.
Soon, the Valkyrie would punch through the mag-shielded launch bay and descend into Thrysa's unforgiving skies.
"Launch when ready. Initiate angel descent." Helsin's voice cut through the Vox.
The pilot's fingers danced over the controls, eyes sharp beneath his flight-helm as the Valkyrie's engines howled to life.
The assault carrier shuddered, thrusters burning white-hot as it tore free from the Animositas' hangar bay.
Behind them, the bay doors sealed shut with a hiss.
Outside, the stars streaked past, the void ship shrinking to a distant speck. Ahead lay the swirling green tempest of Thrysa's atmosphere.
Dense jungle stretched beyond sight, jagged mountains rising like the teeth of some slumbering god beneath the clouds.
The Valkyrie pitched downward, shields flaring as it punched through the planet's upper atmosphere.
Wind buffeted the craft, turbulence hammering the frame as they dove into cloudbanks heavy with rain and static charge.
Inside the cockpit, the pilot called out:
"Atmospheric entry stable. Approaching drop zone in T-minus five Terran minutes."
Helsin looked toward the team.
"Mission confirmation," he began, voice steady beneath the roar.
"You will deploy one Terran kilometer from target. Proceed north—through swamp terrain and reach the facility."
"This one is not underground."
He tapped the slate, pulling up an image of the half-completed structure in the heart of the jungle.
"Find the gene-seed. Destroy the facility."
His eyes flicked across the team.
"Locals are abhumans and Kroots. They will likely shoot on sight. Proceed with caution —use your own judgement."
—
Before Helsin could finish —Kochav's eyes flared orange.
Words and images —burned across his vision.
Trap. Ambush. Hidden viper striking at eagle.
Twin-linked autocannons, cloaked in jungle shadow.
Without thinking, he lunged, shoving Helsin sideways.
The next instant—
—his lower left arm vanished. A molten ruin where flesh had been. The space between him and Helsin was shredded by unseen fire.
Staggering, reeling from shock, Kochav flung shimmering force shields —barely covering Helsin and Mira.
Before he could shield the cockpit—
KRRAK, KRRAK, KRRAK
BOOM!, BOOM!, BOOM!
Autocannon shells ripped throughthe Valkyrie —The canopy exploded. The pilot disintegrated beneath shrapnel and flame.
Bergelmir shielded Kochav with his body, A burning shard slipped through—struck Kochav in the neck. He collapsed, blood pouring freely.
Mira rushed toward him. But with grim strength, he shoved her back with telekinesis toward Helsin, hand slick with his own blood.
The ship broke apart. Structural groans turned to shrieks of tearing metal. The rear ramp was a yawning void.
Kochav locked eyes with Mira —and nodded once. Telling her to stick with Helsin.
Bergelmir moved, the Grey Knight grabbed the wounded psyker in one massive gauntlet. His voice rumbled through the burning ship.
"You're not dying today, Rogue."
From Mira's eyes —Bergelmir leapt from the broken Valkyrie, Kochav slung across his back.
In the air, falling alongside the Astartes. Kochav still held his hand up, shielding his two allies as he began to lost consciousness.
BOOM!
Groundside, where the viper struck.
A man stood beside the camouflaged Hydra flak tank —barrels still smoking. He spoke into his vox.
"Viper has eaten the baby bird. Time to kill the mother."
Grinning, he looked up —Eyes fixed on the faint silhouette of the Animositas in high orbit.
His next target.
—
——