All control and restraint was lost. Everything was happening far too quickly and most of the events following their arrival and deplaning into the transfer terminal, where they'd briefly met with officials of Abyssium's Immigration Security Disembarkment Authority, had devolved into a chaotic jumble of homicidal excess...

It had been decided that D'Spayr and the surviving members of Lord Hehlgrummyte's fallen Whyrligaegem multiplex compound were criminal insurgents, probably outlaw mercenaries on the payroll of the Gorgahnun Coalition.

It had been decided by Abyssium's Metropolitan Crisis Management Action Division that they were a threat to urban security and public safety. It had been further decided that they should either be captured and immediately jailed or killed on sight.

No one in authority showed any interest at all in Kazzime Jox's or D'Spayr's narrative explaining what had brought them to the darkly mystical city. No one cared to examine or validate the digital documentation D'Spayr supplied showing that he and Qrystatos, even though the elder brother Bluhd was in shackles, were duly-deputized and officially sanctioned Knights of Central Homefront Security assigned to Territorial Expanse Extrasolar SpecOps. All that mattered was that they were armed Offworld strangers entering Abyssium without prior direct clearance from the Mayoral Judiciary or from Nahztreme UnderMajor Uhxehara Zakudao during a time of terrorist attack and invasion...

Damn all paranoid, ethno-nationalistic, bigoted xenophobes to the darkest pits in Hell!

Surrender to Crisis Action Division forces to face imprisonment without benefit of trial or be subject to enhanced systematic physical interrogation or face death, those had been the choices.

D'Spayr and company felt strongly compelled to make a different choice...

A pair of incendiary projector beams slashed by, punching into the wall as Anthus Rhoggym's massive right leg shot forward in a stamping kick that caught the advancing, black-clad trooper in the solar plexus, slamming him two meters back to crash into three of his armed comrades, who had been charging up the stairwell. The staggering impact from the kick hit the armored soldier with force enough to knock both him and his unit-mates down the stairs to slam onto the gore-spattered floor of the landing below. Even as those men fell, Rhoggym had pivoted and thrown a high block with one gauntlet-encased forearm against a stabbing blow from a helmeted trooper attacking him from behind with a hastily swung electro-lance. The head of the lance crackled, arcing with barely contained lethal current. With the other arm, the heavily-tattooed Fae-Spawn giant stabbed forward to thrust his own bladed weapon deep into the trooper's throat, nearly decapitating him. Blood gushed everywhere. A shrug of his massively-muscled shoulders and Rhoggym hefted the soldier over his head and tossed him down the stairwell atop the group of men scrambling to get past the splayed corpse of the fallen trooper he'd kicked only a heartbeat ago...

The stairs were beginning to fill with a dynamic and animated mass of more black-armored, visor-helmeted troopers as they came to the aid of their fallen corps-members, charging recklessly towards the mutant meta-synth warrior, their blaster weapons extended and firing light-packet after light-packet of laser-pulse emissions.

In an explosive blur of motion, a tall figure leapt past Rhoggym's shoulder to sail down onto the well's landing amid the bulk of the troopers surging up after the motley band of survivors. Second-Rank Adeptan and former Inquisitor Knight-Marshal Qrystatos Fa'neel Mica Bluhd, his restraints now removed, unleashed his exo-armor's edged melee weapons. Qrystatos' hit the platform whirling, his arms extended as the serrated-edged, claw bayonets over the knuckles of his gloves extended, a phasic-anion charge running along the claws' diamond-bonded razored edges. He stabbed, hacked and sliced through his opponents' protective shielding with relative ease, his power-armor enhancing his own greater-than-average native muscular strength. His movements were deadly graceful and expressly aware of the spatial placements of all his opposition. The soldiers from the Abyssium defensive services were too closely packed in the linear stairwell space to effectively use their ion particle beam weapons. Rhoggym, who was predominantly passionless even when engaged in heated battle, was shocked and alarmed to hear Qrystatos' deep voice suddenly erupt into amused chortles as he carved through the bodies of his enemies. This was combat. Sadism was not appropriate. To Rhoggym's mind, a true warrior did not take pleasure in the disfigurement or maiming of an honorable foe. But this was Qrystatos, the Butcher,... the Fae-Spawn gladiator was unused to such displays of feral zeal. He looked away as Qrystatos impaled a trooper's skull through a fractured face visor, taking a moment to stare feverishly at the blood on his weapon as he withdrew its blade. 

Rhoggym lunged into a brief jog for a dozen steps, ducking and dodging incoming weapons' fire, the searing heat from the strafing beams of coherent light leaving purplish streaks across his vision. His eyes attempted to adapt to their deadly brilliance, and he abruptly collided with an armored black-clad duo who'd just come from around a corner along the outer corridor in which Rhoggym fought, knocking one man down while the other slashed savagely at Rhoggym's left shoulder and upper torso with a shattersaw mace. Rhoggym hit the mace-wielder in his helmeted face with a punch that would have stove in a ship's deck hull-door. The man staggered a pair of steps and bent over backwards from the impact. The trooper who'd fallen tried jumping awkwardly to his feet, but he put himself in perfect position for the Fae-Spawn warrior to rapidly drive his large knee into the man's chin, snapping his head up and back while shattering the protective helmet and collar-guard. He went down limply like a marionette with cut strings.

D'Spayr, Rhoggym, Qrystatos, Kazzime Jox and Charryvane V'rell had, after arrival, exited the aerodrome's central reception terminal, past the Transport & Migration Duty Gates, under armed guard, accompanied by eight sentries. The cadre's company-grade command leader had not spoken to the group past instructing them to follow. And, much to D'Spayr's befuddlement, he had not requested they remove and surrender their weapons. That puzzling act gave the team the illusory appearance that they were trusted, if only for the moment, by law enforcement and military consignees. As they'd walked through the stark, curvilinear, artificially-lit interior of the aerodrome they'd noticed they were being led past the disembarkment baggage claim carousels, past the public gathering areas and into the rear-positioned Offices and Administration section --- well away from any exit corridors for street access. Jox and D'Spayr had noticed how sparsely populated the terminal section and public areas had been and they saw very few support staff as they were led through the back section. There was no way any of that could have been normal. All semblances of trust had then hastily faded. That had been their first warning that something was going seriously awry.

And it had been then that Charryvane V'rell had wordlessly signified to Rhoggym and the Knights that she'd seen a trio of snipers in-position at catwalk-perches above the floor of the paraloft warehouse section into which they were being led... That had been their second clear warning that things weren't right.

D'Spayr and Qrystatos had exchanged solemn looks while Kazzime Jox had then surreptitiously passed back to Qrystatos the keys to his bonds. The group had instinctively known that whatever actions that were to come next would require the participation of the entire team to address.

And then, smiling like a gleeful devil on the verge of stabbing an unsuspecting angel in the heart, the sentry command leader had signaled the procession to stop as he'd turned to confront the visiting warriors... and that had been a grievous mistake on his part.

He hadn't yet realized that he wasn't dealing with angels of any conceivable variety. The group he and his men had been escorting were far worse devils by comparison.

Things had pretty much rocketed straight to hell after that.

The thunderous crack of a sudden explosion drew Rhoggym's attention back to focus on the frenzied melee around him... 

The snipers in the paraloft, desperate to aid their team mates but frustrated at their inability to optically lock onto individual targets, had unleashed a volley of ion-streak immolination beams from their rifles.   The glowing pulses of fiery light ripped into metal and masonry with brutal intent and frightening ease, leaving hissing slag in their wake.

The floor beneath him shook in a sustained tremor as he located D'Spayr among the scattered chaos of the melee. The Knight was almost invisible amid a whirlwind of thrashing limbs and brandished weaponry while confronted by a trio of ebony-armored sentries. Cherryvane V'Rell and Kazzime Jox stayed in the background, content to be out from D'Spayr's way during the intensely physical, violent match-up. The sentries were all experienced fighters, hard men who stayed in the peak of physical condition and well-versed in the strategies and mechanics of hand-to-hand combat, but they were completely overwhelmed by the Knight's near-paranormal display of speed, endurance and technique. One man who was positioned directly in front of the Knight kicked forward with on his front foot, pushing his thick body forward in a low lunge while one of his comrades simultaneously swept downward with a raised Naginata-styled sword-lance... D'Spayr quickly angled his body to the right, turning to provide a smaller vertical target, and inverted his sword-hand, striking out with the pommel of his bladed weapon and smashing it into the face of the lunging fencer. The guardsman staggered back and fell over the railing of the mezzanine staircase behind him. Without any break in motion, the Knight then spun on his outside heel and ducked, sliding past the swing of the sword-lance and positioning him just to one side of the front of that attacker. D'Spayr drove his sword deep into the man's torso, into the unarmored articulation folds of the serratus anterior obliques, and the man's high-pitched squeal of pain echoed over the percussion of their booted feet stamping on the floor. The man dropped , writhing. The last sentry let loose with a combination of moves using his black steel bo staff, the metal pole spinning end-over-end across his palms and wrists as he twirled it, but the Knight countered with a swift floor-to-ceiling sweep of his blade that clanged hard against the staff, throwing it off its arc, jarring the long weapon from the sentry's fists. With that, D'Spayr then executed what would have been recognized on Earth as a left-handed kendoka tsuki thrust, a throat strike, and then dropped with his back to the guardsman whereupon he drove his elbow deep into the man's abdomen, cracking the trauma-plate carapace of the sentry's armor. Gagging and convulsing, the man dropped to his knees to then fall over senseless. The entirety of the brawling exchange had taken only seconds... 

One of the sentries raised his arm and clumsily lobbed a pounder-pod mini-grenade at Rhoggym and Qrystatos. As luck would have it, the grenade was a low-intensity percussive model that contained no fragmentary payload. The mini-grenade was a crowd-control urban policing weapon. The small bomb went off with a sound resembling that of gong-cymbals and spat out a rolling wave of heat and force that disoriented the combatants of both sides.

And then a Burssurken Alphus Golemmaton, the conical, slightly spiraled horns of its heavy helmet sweeping back like those of a Terran-Earth African bull-antelope, had stepped out from the smoke and haze of a flashfire cascade from the nearby shadows. Its massive, veiny hands were wrapped around the long handle of a Chinese Dadao-style sonic saber.

Anthus Rhoggym was dumbfounded. He had not ever suspected that any of the Fae-Spawn in Abyssium would work with the Emperium-based military forces, a parent-military organization that considered them as little more than programmable cannon-fodder, and certainly not with any branch of the intolerant and sectarian Nahztreme Legion division... The Alphus Golemmaton had to be one of the Carrier-Mind "Shellwurkes" drone specimens. Rhoggym felt the flames of his growing anger begin to rage  ---  Shellwurke drone specimens were intentionally born mindless husks that Emperium "drivers" could remotely inhabit and control. They were purposely developed to be little more than biological robots, not clones and not androids. In truth, they were actually soulless, artificially manufactured, hollow puppet-people. Functionally unstable, they had been responsible for several friendly-fire catastrophes for the Emperium, as well.  And so their creation had eventually been outlawed nearly nine orbital solar heliars past under the specious auspices of their construction being a cruel and unscrupulously amoral insult to human life. The very existence of such a creature now constituted a war crime.

But when the Golemmaton spoke, everything the embattled team thought they knew changed...

"Attention! Do not initiate hostilities. If you are seeing this Fae-Spawn construct, then know that a crime of murder has been committed against the human intelligence whose encephalogrammatic identity engrams have been downloaded within. Do not initiate hostilities. A crime of murder has been committed. This bio-synthetic construct is representative of the organic human victim. This proprietary Burssurken Alphus is the cerebellic alter-residence for the psi-sentient encephalograms of Chief-UnderMajor Uhxehara Zakudao."

"...wwwhhaaaaat...!" Anthus Rhoggym growled disbelievingly.

"Well, well, well, and here I thought I'd seen and heard it all," Qrystatos remarked, stepping over the lifeless body of one of his fallen opponents.

Composed and unperturbed, D'Spayr lowered the blade of his weapon as he regarded the puppeteered Fae-Spawn long enough to bark, "Code of the Day. Provide secure authorization codification of resident identity."

As members of the military, both D'Spayr andQrystatos knew that each sectional division or troop compliment was provided apreviously agreed-upon countersign to establish immediate operational securityand member allegiance bonafides in the absence of digital verification ordocumentation of identity. Generally,the codes changed on a daily basis to prevent spies from stealing the previousday's countersign and thus infiltrate a military base or network organization. Since they'd been assigned to Pex'Insava, theBrothers Bluhd had been made to memorize a series of signs and countersignscovering a duration of six orbital heliars. On the seventh day, a new set ofCodes of the Watch would be randomly generated by the military command'sCryptography unit, but each sub-division would receive a code-variant thatwould identify them and the section to which they were assigned if challengedby someone who didn't recognize them.

"The Code of the Day is 'Benediktum Epsilon XI' as assigned to the Nahztreme Overdrone of the Hegemonic Emperium's Special Operations Counter-Insurgency Force, Lunar Division," the Golemmaton said. "Identity: Chief-UnderMajor Uhxehara Zakudao."

"Response: Zekkaryah, formalization Delta C," D'Spayr said, reciting the counter-acknowledgement for the security phrase.

"Denomination recognized through counter-code: Third-Rank Journeyman Knight of the Emperium's Central Homefront Security Corp for Outland Marshals, alias Draekasen Se'nurqille Predayas frae'Bluhd --- confirmed," the Golemmaton emotionlessly substantiated. "Sir Knight, I have been been betrayed, my life functions terminated through an act of treachery. This bio-synthetic alter-residence for my cerebellic engrams was activated by a pre-programmed emergency disaster-recovery sub-layer control in my battle armor. I was murdered through the treasonous actions of a former Judge-Exterminant of the Qrypfathenne Sovereignty, an independent contractor named Dhoumhaunt."

"Dhoumhaunt," Qrystatos muttered crossly through clenched teeth, his frustration again rising. "This was not the plan. It was never supposed to come to this. Damn his sullen, faithless, disloyal wreck of a soul to the deepest Infernal Pit!"

"And so it shall be that all our sins will come darkly home to roost," Kazzime Joxx remarked to no one in particular.

"Sir Knight, with this information passed to you, going forward, how am I assigned?" the Golemmaton asked.

D'Spayr's rejoinder came without hesitation. "Provide all pertinent background pre-history as mission briefing. Then, assume Protect and Avenge mode," he said decisively.

"As you so command, it shall be done."

"By all Gods above and by all Devils below, this has now graduated to a level of insanity I had not at all anticipated," Charryvane V'Rell said, speaking to Kazzime Joxx.  She had taken a half dozen strides forward from out behind the Knight's shadow to stand at the edge of the mezzanine's landing atop the stairwell, a recurve blade vibro-machete clutched in one slender white-knuckled fist.

The Master Mage Spellcaster's lean, wolfish face wrinkled into a coldly humorless grin.

                                                                                                   * * *

The Dread Rider, the dark cavalry's Lead Combat Reconnaissance Specialist, in his role as their Point Man, solemnly sat atop his growling steed half a kilometer from the outermost edge of Abyssium's paramagnetic spin-field. He could feel its forceful turbulence. The hot wind it generated ruffled the edges of his tattered cloak. He could even have, were he at all still capable of it, taste the bitterness of the energy in those savage torrents of air.

His long and gaunt, near-dessicated, leathery-skinned body was encased in composite-plate, ballistic caliber trauma armor worn over a Chain Mail Shirt and Coif tunic. A demonic, crested visored Bascinet-style covered his lumpen head. A voluminous windbreaker overcloak covered his back and flowed from shoulder fasteners. A scallop-bladed, less-bulky variation on a Flamberg-design sword was sheathed in a cradle across the right side of his saddle. He cut an ominous figure astride a genetically-altered species of Varanus Niloticus, a Clydesdale horse-sized monitor lizard mutation that served as his steed. Festooned with adaptive barding that included a chanfron muzzle-guard with forehead plate, a body length protective spinal ridge dragon's-scale sheathe, peytral chest covering and croupier haunch covering, the hulking, outsized lizard had nodule-speckled iron gray skin and bright yellow eyes.

The steed he rode was not the same as that ofhis comrades. And as if to further emphasize that fact, there was a fiery, constantlyblazing sigil, a brand signifying some stygian catechism or creed, glowing inflame on each of the beast's stout and sinewy shoulders.

A stained and tattered banner was affixed to a gallow's cradle mounted across the hips of the lizard. The banner was emblazoned with an insignia in sepia and orange colors that were characters of ancient Fellaenka'agge runes. Those characters were set atop the more familiar background of Dreidax Terathi's counter-clockwise facing white crescent. Fellaenka'agge runes were Chaos-devil language, an alphabet system banned and abolished by the Hegemonic Emperium. No one alive could read or remember specifically what it said, but it had been long ago rumored that it was the Forbidden Name of the Incestuous Bastard Child-Concubine of Death.

Those who rode under that banner were not an heroic Brotherhood and not some Fellowship of the Valiant. They were a wolf-pack, a plague of marauders, a school of parahuman piranha... 

The Dread Rider was atypical of most the troops comprising the bulk of The Wannyshe cavalry.  Though The Rider was evolutionarily closer to being from the same bio-zoological genus as Dreidax Terathi whom he worshipped and served, he was not as close kin as was Syrrus Drehdfynitor. It was of note that the term 'zoological' was applied more accurately than the term 'anthropological' inasmuch the cavalry troops of The Wannyshe weren't actually human males. They were instead a type of Undead mammalian predator. And a "dread rider" was not some descriptive of a rank of achievement --- it was a mark of shame, a badge of horror. His sins were greater than the rest of his dark fraternity. But Syrrus Drehdfynitor, by dint of scientific misadventure, torture and unconscionable semi-Alchemykal experimentation, actually belonged to the mystical lineage of an actual Luciferian-variety, superhuman creature, though he had been born as a human.

As it was on the planet Teshiwahur below, nothing on the moon of Pex'Insava above was as it first would seem.

And that was as it should be here, in a broken galaxyspeckled with age-worn, dimming stars.  This was the Last Place in the Cosmos. This was the Withered Land.  In this place, the concepts of "Good" and "Evil" described states of being not so much in contention or in opposition to one another as they were reflective of each other --- if image reflected in that cosmic mirror weren't already warped and twisted beyond recognition.

The Rider closed his eyes and reached out with one hand as if to touch the spin-field. He sat motionless for a long moment, concentrating, as if seeking communion with something beyond the physical forces that composed the spin-field. Then next, his arm still extended, he clenched his long, bony fingers into a closed fist and threw his head back, hollow eyes snapping wide open, their surfaces reflecting a raging inner electronuclear fury.

He saw everything, all at once, but he was only an observer, a recorder, a cartographer mapping the most recent events unfolding in this limited gepgraphical areas pocket of Time and Space. He could see the state and full physical extent of the layout of Abyssium's foundations and labyrinthian catacombs, the complete layout of all the city's streets, the intricate details of the architecture of all its buildings, the interlaced, overlapping multitudiness mappings of its hydrodynamic and electrical infrastructure, the rag-tag remains of the remaining structural topology of its computer networking systems, and the manpower numbers and weaponry of its police and military forces... All of it, naked, laid bare, and uploaded into his mind.

A single, large spark of iridescently blue-black light flashed between his mounted figure and the paramagnetic spin-field's churning surface. The spark slowly rose high into the air and then flew back, away from the tornadic wall, leaving the Dread Rider trembling and convulsing in its wake.

Two kilometers southwest of the Rider...

"And so we are here, at the portal to an old and arrogant human anthill long overdue to fall before the fire and the sword... were you aware that in its history, this bleak and decadent, urbanized sprawl on the edge of the lunar frontier was the trafficking nexus of the now-extinguished criminal empire of the Flesh-weaver Clans?" Drehdfynitor asked. "Imagine that world, if you can, Lord Hehlgrummyte, before the Emperium and its Extraplanetary Expansionist Forces, before Teshiwahur's First Continental Reconstruction and the ensuing Crusades, before the Convention of the Transhumanist Autonomic Edge-Intelligencers, a time when the Plague Wars were at their height, imagine there was this rough-hewn outlaw metropolis where the miraculous manipulation and transmutation of human flesh was not only a sought after commodity for sale, but an actual Art!"

"You spend far too much time contemplating and mis-remembering the Past, Syrrus...," Hehlgrummyte muttered crossly. "Pex'Insava was never so elegant, sophisticated, nor so cerebrally-inspired a place as you'd paint it to be."

Drehdfynitor ignored him and continued his fevered musings. "That was a time when the damn Fabrikkant-Anvil was actually useful producing Fae-Spawn slaves whose bones and meat we could then freely mutate, refashion, devolve and transmute... Imagine the searing agonies produced, packaged and sold as a psychotropic opiate to addicted masses of debauched and prurient, lascivious customers... Degeneracy on-tap, degradation ready to be served in mass quantities, traumatic cruelty as a commercial product, almost a burgeoning growth industry. And then the damn Cult of the Vulcanodian arose to wash the city clean from sin. Puritans! Priggish moralists! Phaugh! They were hypocrites! Mostly, they were jealous they couldn't control and monetize the business for all for themselves. Abyssium was a place like no other in those days..."

"If memory serves, and I know it does, that whole 'mutation, devolution and transmutation' undertaking didn't quite work out to your benefit," Hehlgrummyte said pointedly.

Drehdfynitor sighed and fixed the Warlord-Astromancer with a sidelong glare. "One of your most glaring character failings has always been the complete lack of romance and mystery in your dull, leaden soul, M'Lord."

"I just maintain a firm grasp of the line between fantasy and reality, old friend, no matter how blurred it may seem to a few of us."

"Ah, so now we've once again become 'friends', have we? It is good you've come to your senses, old man. You have, I imagine, devised a plan of entry for the upcoming attack?"

Hehlgrummyte nodded sagely. "I have."

Drehdfynitor attempted to smile, but could only manage a wrinkled grimace that made him appear even more feral and psychotic than he normally did. "Your talent for this is a marvel. I salute the skill and proficiency of your genius for butchery. Astromancy and retirement were never worthy pursuits for someone as gifted as you..."

"It's a bittersweet and very recent epiphany," Hehlgrummyte said sorrowfully. "In the end, we each are doomed to be what we truly are, despite our best efforts and intentions to be otherwise, and that fact of personal condemnation is a part of the so-called natural order."

Their senses suddenly tingled, similar to the feeling one would get when a fire was lit to suddenly flare, unseen, somewhere near them. Something in the sky caught the attention of the two conspirators. They looked up. It was a glistening dark star, liquid black light falling down and drifting across the sky towards them. Several troopers in the greater mass of Wannyshe behind them saw it, too, and they emitted coarse, anticipatory vocalizations of satisfaction that hinted at their familiarity with such a sight... It was almost time again for war.

Timidly, like a weary hound afraid of disappointing its unloving, too stern master, the black spark floated against the wind over towards Syrrus Drehdfynitor.

"Recall the Dread Rider," Drehdfynitor ordered loudly, directing the command to his ghoulish cavalry's Field Captain. "Gather the tactical squad-leaders. We have an offensive to mount... and a city to kill."

                                                                                              * * *

Dhoom-Addur coughed wetly, painfully, his ribs pulsing as they flexed. Something was definitely broken, he could feel it. As he struggled to stand, his bleary eyes roved across the sight of his quartet of personally selected Korhng'Nathi assassins stretched out across a floor speckled with blood-spatter, torn flesh and human bone fragments.

Nothing living had ever hit him as hard as this over-sized, armored Qrypfathenne pig named "Dhoumhaunt" had.

He'd been so secure in his assault that he hadn't even bothered to disarm any team-member from Haq'Ja-Rashaei's Korhng'Nathi explorartory Recon team.

In a conference room area, inside the oval-shaped east-wing lobby behind a pair of sliding hydraulic doors, and standing next to a towering bank of racked electronics, Commissioner Claeryssa Koylrayzur of Kithpell Manus was heatedly arguing with the Qrypfathenne demi-god. Nearby, at a narrow balcony landing near a seven stair rise, was the Commissioner's hulking Augmentor-Elemental, a man-machine with the designation "Frakchurmass", who was coolly surveying the results of Dhoumhaunt's ferocious attack against the small band of Korhng'Nathi clansmen.

The young, long-haired Anomaleunne Vale-Ogre caught the eye of Reihn Valkonnur and he could see her trying to silently warn him against initiating further hostilities. She looked frightened. Dhoom-Addur had never, in his short time working with her and fighting at her side, seen her exhibit anything resembling fear before. Reihn was tough, capable, and adaptable, an experienced warrior despite the polluted bio-genetics of her blood-lineage and the coddling she'd received in her past duties in the lesser ranks of the Emperium's military. Though the Anomaleunne considered her untrustworthy, he was struck by the anxiety in her intense gaze. She was furtively signalling him to stand down and, given his current condition, he was most definitely not ignoring her unspoken advice.

Frozen into motionlessness by the unprovoked savagery they'd witnessed Persephall Grymmodeun, Mah'rymeth Kwarq, Gryce'roy Daamen and his Centrie Brahnz, and Judicial Attache Lel'Kinculnon all kept their distance on a platform-deck that ended the central corridor leading out from the area of the vaulted-ceilinged supply hangar. Grymmodeun and Kwarq had drawn their firearms, but during the attack on Dhoom-Addur and his men, and at Reihn Valkonurr's wordless urging, had not entered the fray. Confused and more than a little alarmed at the deadly turn of events, they stalked the outside of the tableau ready to engage anyone and everyone, trusting neither side of the conflict.

Sergeant-Major Daamen and the Centrie Brahnz bristled with weaponry at-the-ready, all of it being trained on Dhoumhaunt. They were a hair-trigger's pull away from decimating anyone whose allegiances they couldn't validate.

Claeryssa Koylrayzur was angrily pleading with the Anguisher and the former Judge-Exterminant was listening, but his posture and manner expressed an ambience of disdain and dismissal towards her that set the Vale-Ogre's teeth on edge. He could instinctively tell that Dhoumhaunt had no intention of doing what the Eaufidyann Viper-born was imploring him to do.

"WHY are you doing this? You egomaniacal fool, you need to get control of yourself! This is NOT what we said we'd do! These Korhng'Nathi are not of any consequence! Listen to me, this is a distraction, and a self-inflicted one at that... What possible purpose will this continued violence serve? You've already stepped way beyond the pale by murdering the Nahztreme Overdrone UnderMajor --- we NEED to maintain the appearance of serving the Emperium until we have sufficient force to counter their efforts if they manage to untangle our plans prematurely..."

"Maintain appearances? Untangling our plans? THIS is what is wrong --- allowing a scheming, double-dealing serpent to issue me commands. Your words fall on deaf ears, you conniving lizard. I possess all the force I'll ever need in dealing with these insects," Dhoumhaunt intoned. "We were once conquerors. We were once, ourselves, children of a mighty empire. Now we hide behind false faces lest we be discovered to harbor indignation and anger towards alien upstarts who claim to be our betters. Now we tremble in fear that the World-Father's Emperium will slap us down for our ambitions. No more. No hesitation, no fear, no masks. I am Dhoumhaunt and I will no longer be denied my due! Let the blood flow."

Claeryssa Koylrayzur blew out a long, shuddering breath from between her clenched teeth as she glared at Dhoumhaunt. "And this is how we Qrypfathenne lost our empire, despite our array of powers and our physical superiority. We lost by failing to consider that which is less obvious, by over-simplifying the path to victory and by underestimating our enemies. We constantly attempted to confront complex threats head on, with no subtlety, with no strategy, and through over-dependence on brute force. We lost our territories, our political dominance and, ultimately, our independence, to the Hegemonic Emperium because we allowed our cultural immaturity and our egocentric impatience to overrule our intellects. And for that, we deserved to lose!"

"Heresy," Dhoumhaunt growled dangerously. "Utter heresy." He took a pair of thundering steps towards the Commissioner.

"Frakchurmass... analyze recent verbal output. Calculate and define associative threat. Select and enact permanent resolution."

The anthropoid sentient automaton rapidly flexed and metamorphosed his complex, metallic exoskeletal casing, adopting a denser, more aggressively war-like, physical chassis as he uttered a one word reply, "Demolish."

That was the moment when Reihn Valkonurr rapidly drew her ionic pulse-energy chainsword from its sheathe across her back and lunged, leaping acrobatically at Commissioner Koylrayzur...

Gryce'roy Daamen gave the Centrie Brahnz the order to engage.   Thereafter, things got very ugly very quickly.

                                                                                              * * *