“This is Grandmaster Richter opening secure channel. Executioner Voorhees. Do you read, Eversor?”

A rough and jagged voice cut through the static hiss, though the voice itself wasn’t much softer.

“Yes Grandmaster. I read. How goes the hunt, sir?”

The murderous voice dripped with malicious intent and envy. A desire for anything but confinement and a lust for battle oozed from every syllable.

“I was attacked by mutants carrying the Imperial Aquilla, but what else can we expect from this wretched place? Even our Ogryns forget how to be loyal. I scouted out their leader and let him taste the fury my rifle delivers. She knows only death, after all.”

“Did you bleed him, commander?” The Eversor asked with gleeful anticipation.

“By the love of the throne, I certainly did. He hid behind a statue of a brave Astarte warrior as if it would leap into battle and defend him. He let foul, mutated hounds do the fighting for him. I should bring a grav chute next time, I dare say I may have bruised my ankle diving from the roof of a tower. ”

“It’s a Pity. Nothing feels as lovely as digging into a fat boy with my claws. There’s so much more tithes of pain they can pay to the Emperor. It is as if they are rich.”

“Well, Executioner, there still may be a chance. You see, one of the bastards kept blasting me with high explosives. I left him unscratched. Somehow I’d feel sorry if I did not try to repay the favor in one way or the other. Perhaps you can hunt with me once the preparations are made back home.”

“Nothing would make my day brighter, save the Emperor himself visiting us, Grandmaster.”

“Excellent. I’ll return soon. Sharpen your claws. It’s time to end lives and send souls to the God Emperor of Mankind.”

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