The encampnt established by Marneus Calgar within the Mortwald sector was, by all accounts, an inescapable snare. Following Haarken Worldclair's assault, Calgar had ordered the hive's sky-piercing spires demolished; now, the area was a jagged wasteland of scorched, collapsed ruins. Imperial Guard and PDF units had transford these fallen monoliths into layer upon layer of fortified redoubts.
The Ecclesiarchy and Sisters of Battle patrolled the periter, their fervent litanies anchoring the resolve of the faithful, while their absolute violence purged any flicker of instability. Under such stifling vigilance, it was nearly impossible for the Skaven to deliver their machinations directly to Calgar's strategist table, save for one group. Within the skaven hierarchy, only the Shadow Masters of Clan Eshin possessed such lethal guile.
Tretch imdiately pulled every string available to contact an Eshin assassin for aid.
As the blades of the Great Horned Rat, Clan Eshin functioned as the Great Stabilizer among the clans, yet they remained rcenaries at heart, sustained by the coin of shadow-contracts. The silhouette of an Eshin operative could be found lurking behind nearly every large-scale skaven coup. They were anomalies among their treacherous kin: once a contract was inked, an Eshin assassin never reneged, never betrayed, and never sold out their employer.
In this, they were the Skaven equivalent of the Drukhari Incubi. It was a common irony for two rival Skaven nobles to simultaneously hire different Eshin assassins to liquidate the other, and for both to succeed. Rumors circulated within the Under-Empire that such unwavering reliability was itself a masterstroke of Nightlord Sneek; by adhering to a code, Clan Eshin maintained a superstitious, absolute terror over all other clans.
The strategy was undeniably effective. Even Tretch, despite being flanked by hundreds of Stormvermin, could not stop his musk glands from venting the scent of pure terror when he moved to et the assassin. The Eshin operative, however, had no interest in Tretch's miserable life. Upon hearing the mission paraters, the assassin instantly formulated a gambit.
…
Within the "warm" confines of the Lord Macragge's temporary sanctum, a top-tier Imperial ICU ward where the finest Hospitallers and Apothecaries worked in grueling shifts, the Chapter Master himself lay upon a dical slab. Despite his state, Calgar's expression remained as unyielding as stone as he reviewed the strategic disposition of all Imperial forces across the Nachmund Gauntlet.
Indeed, after repelling Abaddon the Despoiler, taking a blade from the Warmaster only to return two gauntleted blows, Calgar had once again been relegated to the ICU. Yet, the mont he regained consciousness, he wasted no breath, commanding the war effort via remote link to hold the Gauntlet. He knew that should this passage fall, he would be a failure in the eyes of the Imperium and his Gene-father alike.
"Do not pursue the Aeldari corsairs," Calgar decreed from his sickbed, his voice still carrying the weight of ultimate authority. "We must focus our most devastating strikes only upon the primary threat."
Finally, after a shift longer than that of the most wretched servitor, Calgar allowed his eyes to close at the insistence of his Victrix Guard.
"Protect the Chapter Master, brothers."
"None shall pass while we yet draw breath."
The Victrix Guard stood watch outside the chamber, their Laurel Wreaths gleaming upon their helms. These elite champions were among the most terrifying warriors in the galaxy. Yet, amidst the complex architecture of the ceiling in this luxury ward, once the pride of the Governor of Vigilus, a pair of eyes watched them with predatory stillness. A hunched silhouette flickered like a dying candle, rging with the shadows.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
The rhythm of power armor striking the deck plates echoed with disciplined precision.
"One, two... four. Yes-yes... I have but the blink of an eye-glance," the Eshin assassin hissed in a voice ant only for his own ears. He blinked, calculating the timing of his strike. Beneath his Warp-cloak, a pair of Weeping Blades drank in the ambient light, suppressing any telltale glint.
As the four giants drew near, the assassin ntally traced every path, every contingency. He suppressed his breathing, coiling his wiry fra into a lethal spring.
As the patrol reached the center of the corridor, the lead Astartes instinctively glanced upward at the decorative tal rafters. As usual, he saw nothing.
Then, a black blur bypassed him, lunging directly at his three battle-brothers!
The three Victrix Guard saw only a flicker. Their reflexes scread; hands flew to chainswords to draw and sound the vox-alarm. But the shadow revealed its true, hideous form: a grey-furred Skaven draped in tattered black.
Leaping into the center of the formation, the assassin's Weeping Blades blood like the petals of a death-flower. In a single fluid motion, he opened their throats before a cry could escape. Simultaneously, his prehensile tail whipped forward, a Warp-star clutched in its grip, piercing the third Astartes' cranium from above.
The assassin landed with a sound lighter than falling dust. In less than a fraction of a microsecond, three of the Emperor's finest lay dying.
"…!!!"
The lead Astartes heard nothing, but centuries of combat experience sent a chill racing up his spine. Without hesitation, he relied on pure instinct, drawing his power sword and swinging in a wide, rciless arc behind him.
CLANG!
The power blade was t with a jarring parry. The Astartes tried to pivot, his free hand reaching for his bolter to gun down the intruder and alert the spire.
The assassin was faster.
Standing barely 1.7 ters tall, the lithe, corded body of the rat-man twisted. His green blades erupted with baleful light. The left Weeping Blade pinned the power sword's edge, while the assassin's entire body spun in a macabre dance. A blade pierced through the master-crafted plate and into the superhuman flesh as easily as a knife through parchnt. The Skaven beca a whirlwind of toxic green steel, inflicting dozens of lethal lacerations in a heartbeat.
Yet, the Belisarian Furnace kicked in, keeping the warrior's heart beating. Before the paralyzing venom of the blades could take hold, the loyal son of Guilliman squeezed the trigger of his holstered bolter.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The terrifying bolt shells tore the Guard's own thigh to splinters like a heavy sledgehamr, but the thunderous report shattered the silence of the sanctum, alerting the entire ward.
"You... are dead... Xenos!" the giant roared through gritted teeth. His lower body was mangled by his own bolts, his torso shredded by the assassin, yet he glared with defiance until the Eshin's blade finally claid his head.
"Contact! Protect the Chapter Master!!"
Instantly, countless Ultramarines, Astra Militarum, and Sororitas surged toward the sound. The assassin's rat-face contorted into a vicious snarl, then smoothed into a cruel smirk. He reached into his tunic, feeling the Eshin contract given to him by Tretch, and downed a vial of pure Warp-steroids.
The high-potency concoction surged through his veins, pushing his unnatural reflexes to their absolute zenith. He blurred toward Calgar's chamber.
"Enemy—ugh!"
A squad of Imperial Guardsn intercepted him; the lead man saw only a ghostly afterimage before the assassin's twin blades perford a theatrical pirouette, severing every throat in the line.
The Warp-star on the assassin's tail sliced through the alloy door of Calgar's room. Inside, the remaining victrix guard opened fire with hellguns. The assassin instantly threw a Warp-smoke bomb, a supernatural fog that not only blinded the eyes but choked the machine-spirits of their power armor, rendering their auto-senses useless.
Ignoring the giants, the assassin crossed his blades and lunged for the bed.
Marneus Calgar, however, was not called the "Wargod of the ICU" for nothing. Deprived of his Gauntlets of Ultramar, he reached out with his bare hands, seized the heavy tal desk beside his bed, and hurled it with the force of a falling Titan.
Even an assassin of such renown did not expect a bedridden man to toss a massive tal desk like a toy. As the assassin's blades sliced through the furniture, he was t not with a helpless victim, but with Calgar's bare fist.
CRACK!
The strike landed squarely on the assassin's skull. While the Eshin was a master of the killing arts, his physiology remained fragile. The blow sent the Skaven hurtling backward, welding his broken body into the far wall. After a few desperate twitches, his soul departed for the Realm of Ruin.
"Chapter Master!"
"I am unhard. Search the xenos!" Calgar commanded, rolling out of bed with a combat-ready flare, his eyes fixed on the corpse.
The Victrix Guard searched the body, eventually recovering the filth-stained parchnt covered in jagged xenos runes, an Eshin contract.
"Get this to the Ordo Xenos for translation imdiately," Calgar ordered, not even pausing to reprimand his guards for the breach. "If these craven aliens are attempting assassination now, they must be masking a far more insidious plot."
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