Perhaps it passed unseen, perhaps it passed with no one to care for its presence . . .

but either way, it passed. . .


Having been somehow able to send out a distress beacon into space, Mal’Caor and his lost Cadre were delighted to see the gravitic wash of the Orca dropship falling from the skies to extract them. What was left of the recovered Steel Caste Warriors boarded with extreme speed, having been forced to abandon the damaged Broadside and Stealth suits. After the earlier encounters with the beast of Titan and the forces of the Imperials, Mal’Caor was lucky to escape with even half of his team alive. As soon as the team was aboard the Orca, the doors were closed and it lifted from the atmosphere, once again passing without an issue, the forces present either not seeing or not caring for the tiny dropship as it fled to its mothering Skether’qan-Class Starship.

The Orca made headway at a rapid pace, and the second the bay doors closed behind it, the Messenger vessel shot away from the system, ensuring its safety through its speed before beginning the journey back to its homeport, Bork’Los, home to the Steel Caste and the birth place of the mighty Steelhoof. Mal’Caor, once aboard, took a deep breath. This was the first time the now grizzled Tak’Vre felt safe in a long time. Soon he would be among his comrades once more, haunted by the events on the moon but comforted by his fellow soldiers around him.

Unbeknownst to Mal’Caor, his Cadre, the Orca pilot, or anyone else aboard the ship, there was an uninvited guest. The lone spindly creature crawled down from the dropships landing gear, and slipped its way into the ventilation shafts of the advanced vessel. The creature snaked its way through the ship, searching for a perfect, singular target to begin its work.

Mal’caor had unwittingly doomed his planet to one of the worst fates imaginable, a death at the claws of Hive Fleet Titan.


A handful of firewarriors flee to the drop ship, abandoning their last remaining battlesuit.


Tezaras reviewed his prizes as they shimmered back into the webway. Aboard the raiders and venoms of the Kabal sat beings of all shapes and sizes.

One of their primary catches was a large grouping of Tau. The young creatures were most delicious to torture, for they were far too young to know the terrible darkness of the galaxy.

Tezaras would delight in their suffering, but the blue skinned race was not the only ones taken from the moon. The Imperials proved a bountiful source of slaves as well. Another spectacular catch was a squad of purple clad Adeptus Astartes. The genetically modified super soldiers had been trouble to take alive, but Tezaras and his Kabal had managed with minimal losses. Alongside the Space Marines were a handful of the Adeptus Sororitas, a few cultists of the ruinous powers, and a single guardsman from the planet Krieg.

Curiously, out of all they had attempted to take alive, the guardsmen had proven the hardest to capture. Even after being disarmed, the squad had clawed with their nails, bit with their teeth, and one had even used his own arm as a club. The Kriegsmen were truly fanatics, even to their last breath.

But the Imperials were nothing compared to the best catch. A few of Janriss’ corsairs had perished on the moon, but the bodies were young, and barely aged. Those that could be recovered were immediately sent back with as much speed as possible. Tezaras grinned with malice as he thought about it. With any luck they would be revived by the time the Solarite arrived back in the Dark City. The pain of other Eldar was always the most rejuvenating suffering. The Archon had been right. The Dawnbringer Corsairs had paid, whether they intended too or not.

The denizens of Commorragh board their vessels and return to the Webway.

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