The creature abandoned its feast, dropping the mangled carcass into the mud with a wet thud.
Threads recoiled from its surrounding in a spiraling snap, detonating midair with the crack of ruptured bone and snapping sinew.
The blasts hurled shards across the clearing, hot sprays of beastman blood pattering against leaves and armor.
A single, titanic beat of its wings smashed the air.
The shockwave rolled through the clearing with hurricane force, scattering loose foliage into a whirling storm. Helsin staggered back a step, boots biting into the sodden ground as grit stung his face. Shadowgaze slid into Bergelmir's shadow, the Grey Knight's massive form planted like an iron pillar amid the chaos.
—
Above them, the sky was a torn canvas—stars scattered across the night, veiled by bruised clouds that glowed faintly with the reflection of distant fires.
Mira vaulted from the throne in a blur of motion. The slick surface gave way under her armored boots, but she was already airborne when a whip-thread sliced past her cheek.
She felt the heat and hiss before it slammed into the wall behind, detonating with a sharp, concussive crack. Resin splinters peppered her back. She landed in a low crouch close to the others, knees bent, breath clouding faintly in the chill highland air.
—
Her hands moved sharply as she moved closer, fingers cutting the air with precision:
"K signature? On the beast?"
—
Her eyes never left Kochav, a dark figure astride the monster's back. The psychic weight bleeding from him pressed against her skin like stare in the abyss, albeit familiar.
—
Bergelmir answered with a low grunt, a confirmation, nothing more.
—
Her signs flashed again: "B? Greeting. Where have you been?"
Then a quick follow-up: "H unable to pinpoint your crash site."
—
"I would have—" Helsin snapped, voice hot,
"if you hadn't gutted my Auspex to make your bloody refrigerator!"
—
Mira only rolled one shoulder, her expression unreadable in the flicker of battle-light.
Shadowgaze stepped from behind Bergelmir, gaze narrowing like a blade-point on Mira.
"So, you're the warlock-hunter," she said in clipped, contemptuous Aeldari.
"Your presence nauseates me—quite literally."
—
Mira's posture shifted, weight rolling forward. Her hands flicked a sharp, cutting sign toward Bergelmir:
"Sneaky Eldar. You Sloppy. I break her neck."
—
"She's on our side—" Bergelmir began.
—
"Your side?" Shadowgaze cut across him, voice cold enough to frost the air.
"I would never side with a Mon'keigh. This is merely… aligned interests."
—
"Enough!" Helsin's bark cracked the air like a rifle shot.
"We'll all be dead before this conversation ends." He stabbed a finger skyward at the circling beast.
"We've got a flying Rogue Trader to save—" his hand swept toward the treeline
"—and a nest of Xarcarions to kill."
—
From somewhere beyond the forest came the hollow scream of incoming artillery. The shell hit with a flat, bone-shaking roar, painting the distant canopy in a bloom of crimson mist.
The tang of promethium drifted through the clearing.
—
"Mira, tune your inhibitor," Helsin ordered, his eyes flicking to the metal band at her wrist.
"We need Psychic, unrestrained."
—
Her hands blurred in a quick, flat reply:
"Tuning… failure. Power intake below minimal."
—
Bergelmir's helm tilted toward the bombardment's origin, the light from distant fires washing over his ceramite plates.
"What about the artillery site? Might find a power unit there."
—
"Killing Mon'keigh? I'm in," Shadowgaze said, her mouth curling in a thin smirk.
"Besides—" she added,
"—I know the terrain like the back of my hand."
—
Helsin nodded once, sharp and final.
"Bergelmir and I rally what's left of the troops for a counter-assault."
"You two—Disrupt, kill. Do whatever it takes."
—
The team split without further words.
Bergelmir and Helsin moved through the smoke, their armored silhouettes swallowed quickly by drifting ash and broken debris.
Shadowgaze and Mira slid into the treeline, boots silent on the thick, damp loam.
Here, the air was heavier—rich with the smell of wet earth, crushed fern, and the faint acidic tang of fungal growth.
The canopy swayed under distant concussions, each blast dropping threads of mist and leaves onto their path.
From the shadows ahead, Rouar emerged with two other Felinids at his back, their eyes catching stray shafts of starlight like molten gold.
No words passed between them; they simply fell in behind Shadowgaze and Mira, and together the hunters slipped toward the steady thunder of the Xarcarion guns.
—
Through gaps in the foliage, the missile site came into view—a jagged clearing carved into the jungle, its muddy perimeter ringed with metal scaffolds.
The launchers loomed in silhouette against the faint glow of the upper cloudbank, their long barrels angled skyward like accusing fingers.
Each shot hammered the night, muzzle flash illuminating the forest for a heartbeat at a time, throwing every shadow into sharp, alien relief.
—
Upon the Vraskariin's back,
Kochav, Ruk'tan, and Chi'vak fought to stay alive.
The creature's spine rose and fell beneath them in violent swells, like the deck of a ship pitching in a storm. Kochav's right hand locked around a jagged ridge of chitin, the edges biting through his glove.
His forearm burned, every muscle locked and trembling. His left stump scraped uselessly against the slick armor, searching for leverage that wasn't there.
Wind screamed in his ears, tearing at his clothes and hair, carrying the musky, metallic reek of the beast's breath.
Mira's null field gnawed at his strength from afar, dulling the sharpness of his psychic senses until each movement felt like pure muscle and stubbornness.
—
Beside him, Chi'vak lay low, beak pressed to his chest, talons buried deep into the Vraskariin's hide.
On the opposite side, Ruk'tan had looped a crude leather strap around a bony spur, clinging like a man nailed to his fate.
None dared glance at the others; survival meant moving with the beast's rhythm, not fighting it.
—
Without warning, the Vraskariin twisted into a brutal roll. Every sinew along its back flexed at once, and the threads trailing from its body snapped back in a perfect spiral.
They detonated mid-air, the blasts cracking like thunderclaps. Heat rolled over Kochav's cheek, the force rattling his teeth.
Then—
"Turn left."
The voice brushed the edge of his mind, quiet and certain.
Weak divination surged in his skull, sharp as a knife-point, and he obeyed without hesitation.
The shift saved him. Explosive lines tore through the air where his head had been, carving smoking scars into the Vraskariin's back.
A quick glance confirmed Chi'vak and Ruk'tan were shaken but unhurt.
—
"In the moment of crisis, one must remain calm," Kochav muttered, voice barely carrying over the wind's roar.
—
"Mon'keigh!" Ruk'tan bellowed. "We've got a problem!"
—
"What problem?!" Kochav snapped, the edge in his tone a stark contrast to his earlier statement.
—
"What about being calm?" Ruk'tan whispered to himself in disbelief, then jabbed a claw ahead.
Kochav followed the gesture—and froze. Cutting through the canopy ahead was the spiraling smoke trail of a missile, its warhead glinting in the starlight as it hurtled straight for them.
—
"Fucking Manticore—everyone brace!" Kochav roared.
—
Chi'vak pressed flat to the beast's back. Ruk'tan hunched low, tightening his strap.
Kochav slammed his right shoulder against the ridged chitin, feeling the heat of the Vraskariin's body burn through his sleeve.
—
The creature sensed the threat. Its head tilted slightly, wings snapping inward in a vicious fold. The sudden dive punched the air from Kochav's lungs, the forest blurring past in streaks of green and shadow.
The missile screamed overhead, clipping the upper boughs before detonating somewhere beyond in a bloom of fire.
The shockwave rippled through the canopy, making the Vraskariin's wings stutter mid-beat.
"That's new," Kochav rasped.
—
A second missile streaked toward them from below, the trail cutting up through the jungle gloom. The Vraskariin banked sharply, rolling with impossible agility.
The projectile whipped past, vanishing into the treeline before exploding in a white-orange flash that lit the undergrowth like midday.
—
The beast tucked its wings and dove.
Between the blur of branches, Kochav caught glimpses—the angular silhouette of the Manticore launcher, the gleam of armored plating, and the panicked faces of its crew.
BOOM!
Talons slammed into the platform, gouging deep furrows through ceramite and steel.
Metal screamed in protest. The launcher buckled, then collapsed inward under the Vraskariin's weight.
A muffled boom rolled through the air as ammunition ignited, the blast punching Kochav's ribs with sledgehammer force.
One cracked clean; his breath left in a sharp, wet gasp, the taste of copper flooding his mouth.
The Vraskariin heaved upward, wings hammering.
The Kroots leapt free with sharp, controlled movements, vanishing into the canopy. Kochav lost his grip and fell, hitting the churned earth hard enough to drive the air from his lungs.
—
Above,
the beast hovered for a heartbeat, then dropped the shattered launcher. It crashed through the forest before detonating in a gout of fire and splintered steel.
The eruption drew every Xarcarion weapon to bear.
Lasguns, plasma weapons, autocannons, and missiles lanced the sky.
The Vraskariin folded its wings inward, scales locking into a black, shield-like carapace.
The barrage slammed against it for nearly a minute. None broke through.
The scales then began to glow, ember-red, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Kochav's gut tightened.
"Move."
—
The wings unfurled with a single devastating motion. Scales ripped free, whirling outward in a lethal storm.
They punched through armor, severed limbs, and tore deep craters into the ground.
Kochav ducked behind a Xarcarion trooper's corpse, dragging it close as a shield.
One glowing shard landed beside him, as tall as he was, its mirrored surface showing his ragged reflection.
—
The Vraskariin descended, each wingbeat stirring ash and smoke. A low droning hum rolled from its faceless head, vibrating in Kochav's bones.
Electricity leapt between the scattered scales, arcing in blinding chains that fried anything it touched. The air filled with the stench of scorched flesh.
Its abdomen shifted—not solid armor after all, but rows of folded, mantis-like forearms.
They unfolded with a dry, scraping sound, framing a vertical maw lined with countless spinning, needle-like teeth.
Sensory pits flared, sweeping the battlefield. Every living thing was laid bare before it.
—
Kochav staggered upright, ribs protesting every breath.
"Kroots! If you're alive, I propose we run!"
—
Chi'vak and Ruk'tan were already sprinting toward the Great Tree, feathers slicked back, never looking behind them.
"You bastards!" Kochav shouted, pounding after them across the churned, burning earth.
—
The air was thick with the smell of ozone and blood, lit in flickers by distant fire.
Behind them came the sounds of tearing metal, wet snaps, and the shrieks of the dying.
"Are we safe?!" Kochav panted.
—
"Uh-huh," Chi'vak growled without slowing, weaving between blackened stumps.
"We are so far from safe. It will hunt until nothing's left—doesn't matter if it's bigger than itself or small as us. If it's alive, it's food."
—
Kochav's stomach sank. "And our best bet?"
—
"Regroup," Ruk'tan said, eyes fixed ahead.
"Then kill it. Together."
—
The Great Tree swelled with each stride, its colossal trunk blotting out the horizon. But movement ahead made them slow.
—
A group was cutting across their path at speed, heading the opposite way.
They froze mid-stride as the shapes came into focus.
"Mira?" Kochav breathed.
—
"My lady?" the Kroots echoed.
—
Before them stood Mira, clad in gold, with gorget high, hiding half her face, poised and deliberate.
Shadowgaze a coiled spring at her side.
Rouar padded just behind, flanked by his two silent Felinid companions.
They were heading toward the Xarcarion site.
—
"Why are you here?" Kochav and Shadowgaze demanded at the same time.
—
They both blinked, then after a beat—
"Running, obviously," they both said in sync.
—
The pause that followed was broken only by the distant crack of weapons fire.
—
Mira stepped between them, arms outstretched. Her fingers moved in sharp, deliberate signs:
"Going to kill Xarcarions. Missile site."
—
Kochav shook his head.
"The site's already destroyed. That giant insectoid flying lizard took care of it."
—
Shadowgaze tilted her head, eyes narrowing.
"Then why are you running? Cowardice doesn't surprise me, Mon'keigh."
—
"I'm not fleeing, I'm tactically retreating," Kochav said, defiant.
He jabbed a finger at the Kroots. "It was their idea!"
—
The Kroots whistled, feathers puffed in feigned innocence.
Shadowgaze's gaze flicked to them, then back to Kochav.
"Better plan—let it feast on the Xarcarions. Then we deal with what's left."
—
Mira signed quickly:
"Inhibitor calibration unavailable."
"Need power source—possibly in Xarcarion lines."
—
"Fine, whatever," Kochav sighed. "Let's trek back."
—
"What happened to your arm?" Mira signed, pointing at his stump.
—
"The crash," Kochav answered flatly.
"And Bergelmir… severed a bit more."
—
Shadowgaze cut in with sharp impatience.
"Enough talk. Move."
—
The jungle swallowed them whole within a dozen paces.
The smoke and fire of the clearing faded behind, replaced by the deep, living breath of the forest.
The air hung damp and heavy, cool against the sweat on Kochav's skin. Moonlight filtered through the high canopy in pale ribbons, gilding the wet leaves and the gleam of moss-slick trunks.
Somewhere far off, artillery rumbled like distant thunder—a reminder that the world beyond these shadows still burned.
But here, in this narrow corridor of ferns and tangled roots, it felt almost… still.
Kochav adjusted his pace to match Shadowgaze, boots sinking slightly into the soft loam.
"So," he said, voice low, "what exactly is your plan?"
—
Her eyes didn't leave the darkness ahead.
"Unlike you Mon'keighs who thrive on improvisation," she replied coldly,
"I follow only certainty. We will slip behind their lines, take their communication nodes, and feed them false orders. The chaos will do the rest."
—
Kochav gave a short, quiet glance.
They pressed on.
Leaves whispered above them in the night breeze, and the chirr of unseen creatures threaded through the silence.
Shadowgaze broke it again, her tone sharper now.
"How does your warlock-hunter friend's power work?"
—
Kochav only smiled, offering nothing.
Shadowgaze's eyes narrowed. "Of all the times to go quiet, you think now is wise?"
—
He shrugged.
"Let's just say… the closer you are to her, the less effective our psychic tricks become."
Shadowgaze scoffed under her breath. "Figures."
—
They moved deeper into the jungle, the air thick with the smell of damp earth and the faint tang of fungal decay.
Somewhere ahead, a voice rasped through the humid night,
mechanical, distorted through a helmet vox.
"Ivory (Command) One, this is Maniplex (Company) Four, we have arrived at the engaged site, over."
—
The group froze mid-stride, exchanging quick glances. Kochav's eyes narrowed. Shadowgaze's ears twitched toward the sound.
Static buzzed through the foliage, followed by a clipped reply:
"This is Ivory One to M.4, status report on Lapis (Artillery) Zamrad (Squad) Two and Three, over."
—
The answer came without hesitation, cold and precise:
"L.Z.2 and L.Z.3 have been decimated, awaiting further command, over."
Through the gaps between moss-slick trunks, movement resolved into form, and then into a flood of bodies.
Nearly four hundred Xarcarion soldiers pushed into the clearing, their formation tight, every step timed and deliberate.
The jungle seemed to bend away from them, the sheer weight of their presence forcing the space wider.
—
Kochav crouched low behind a tangle of roots, eyes tracking the spread of color across the force.
Onyx (Core Infantry) marched in the center, their black armor swallowing what little light made it through the canopy.
Crimson (Assault) flanked them in streaks of blood-red.
Verdigris (Recon) shifted at the edges like living shadows.
Lapis (Artillery) units in cobalt blue clustered around portable launchers,
while Tremolite (Support) in muted gray tended to ammo crates and portable shields.
"They're organized," Kochav murmured, voice low enough that only the Felinids and Shadowgaze heard.
—
"What a nausea." Shadowgaze replied, eyes narrowing.
—
At their head stood a Zerath (Company Captain), Onyx armor marked with the sharp edges of rank sigils, a vox mast rising from his gorget.
The vox cracked again — but this time the voice was heavier, colder, carved from authority:
"This is Veylar (Supreme Commander) Commissar Reyvis Fitz,"
"you are to disengage from the unknown terrestrial beast and purge all local inhabitants."
—
The Zerath straightened, his reply taut and formal:
"Roger, Commissar. What about the Zamrads that are still engaging the beast?"
—
Reyvis' voice came back like the snap of a firing line:
"They will keep the beast occupied. Use their sacrifice wisely. Execute all Xenos. Capture all humans. Over and out."
—
The vox died in a sharp pop.
In its absence, the only sound was the slow, unified advance of four hundred soldiers—the grind of ceramite joints, the muffled thump of boots, the faint hiss of powered weapons charging.
Kochav's mouth tightened.
"Well… I think your plan just got a little harder."
—
Shadowgaze clicked her tongue in annoyance, eyes narrowing on the passing column of troops.
"If they're running from the Vraskariin—" she paused mid-whisper, her expression sharpening, a slow, predatory smirk curling her lips,
"then we will bring it to them."
—
Kochav gave her a side glance.
"And how exactly do you plan on convincing the world angriest apex predator to follow them?"
—
Shadowgaze's smirk didn't waver. "You'll see."
—
The Kroots exchanged wary glances, feathers shifting in uneasy ripples, but no one voiced an objection.
Above the canopy, the distant beat of colossal wings carried on the night air like a war drum.
—
Through the fine-etched wraithbone glass of Shadowgaze 's Ranger long rifle, the jungle became a world of contrasts, cool shadows painted in deep blues, broken by three glaring blooms of heat.
They moved fast, weaving between tree trunks and over tangled roots, their trails sparking faint bursts of white where overloaded coils vented.
Shadowgaze adjusted the focus until the outlines sharpened.
Kochav—armor stripped from dead Xarcarions and half-hanging off his frame, and the two Kroots in equally mismatched rigs.
Each of them burned bright in her scope, radiating heat and static in the humid dark. Jury-rigged packs. The perfect bait.
High above, a deeper shadow shifted across the fractured starlight—broad wings beating slow and steady, the sound carrying like distant thunder through the treetops.
The Vraskariin was tracking them, drawn in by every pulse and hiss of their jury-rigged packs.
---
Heat shimmered around him, the scavenged power pack on his back kicking again with a sharp pop. Sparks bit into the air, filling his nostrils with the tang of scorched metal.
The Kroots pounded at his flanks, their own rigs sparking and hissing, drawing the predator ever closer.
"Faster!" Chi'vak barked, his beak snapping with each breath.
"It's following!"
—
"No kidding," Kochav grunted, leaping a moss-slick log and stumbling when his overloaded pack flared again.
The faint, rhythmic boom of its wings grew louder. A shadow passed over the stars above the cloudbank, and Shadowgaze's lips curved into a slow, satisfied smirk.
She toggled the vox. "Do you like my plan, Mon'keigh?"
—
Kochav's reply came between ragged breaths.
"I know you're enjoying this. When this is over, I'll wipe that smirk off your face."
—
Shadowgaze adjusted the scope, watching the massive, indistinct bulk closing in on their trail.
"If you live that long."
—
With the Xarcarion column finally coming into view through the undergrowth, Kochav's eyes lit with grim purpose.
"Unlatch!" he barked.
—
All three tore the jury-rigged packs from their backs, now carrying them in their hands like volatile charges.
Heat bled into their palms, the coils whining in protest with each jolt of movement.
They closed the distance in a dead sprint. A few Verdigris scouts at the flanks spotted them, rifles snapping up—
PEW, PEW, PEW.
Silent darts sliced through the humid air from the treeline.
The scouts jerked once, twice, then toppled soundlessly into the mud. Their comrades didn't notice.
In the shadows, Rouar and the Felinids moved like ghosts, reloading before their targets had even hit the ground.
—
Kochav and the Kroots pressed on. The wall of armored bodies loomed ahead, their colors—Onyx, Crimson, Lapis, Tremolite, glinting in the fractured moonlight.
Above,
the deep, steady wingbeats of the Vraskariin cut off without warning. The massive shadow pulled upward, vanishing into the cloud-smeared sky.
The sudden silence pressed heavy against the ear.
Then—
CRACK!
A sonic boom tore through the night, rattling branches and shaking loose showers of leaves. The disciplined rhythm of the Xarcarion march faltered as hundreds of heads turned skyward.
It was there,
pale and enormous, diving with terrifying speed, wings tucked tight to its sides like a spearpoint from the heavens.
"Now!" Kochav roared.
—
They hurled the packs upward in unison and dove into the mud. The jury-rigged cores tumbled end over end, trailing heat and sparks.
The Vraskariin's talons smashed into them mid-air.
The world split open in a chain of concussive blasts, fire and shrapnel tearing through the front ranks.
The beast's claws closed on empty air, momentum throwing it off-balance.
Its massive frame slammed sideways into the heart of the column, plowing through bodies in a geyser of blood and shattered armor.
When it rose again, its pale chitin was painted crimson with human gore.
—
Chaos erupted in the Xarcarion ranks. Soldiers scattered, shouting orders that drowned in the roar of the Vraskariin's rampage.
The beast tore through armor and flesh alike, its claws leaving smoking rents in ceramite, its maw spitting torn limbs into the churned mud.
—
From her vantage in the treeline, Shadowgaze watched the carnage unfold, the pale smear of a smile creeping across her face before twisting into a full, unrestrained laugh.
"Hahaha—haha—hahaha! That is what you deserve, Mon'keighs!"
She rose smoothly from her prone position, cloak shedding leaves as she brought her Ranger long rifle to her shoulder.
Her finger squeezed the trigger in sharp rhythm, each silent shot threading into the chaos below.
"A retribution to the fallen!" she declared, the words cutting the humid air like a battle cry.
—
Beside her, Mira glanced over, expression half-hidden behind her gorget, one brow rising in silent question.
—
Below,
the ordered geometry of the Xarcarion formation collapsed into a seething knot of bodies and broken lines.
Onyx units in the center were the first to be struck, their black armor cracking under the Vraskariin's talons.
Crimson troops surged forward to counter, only to be swept aside in pairs by the creature's wingbeats, body parts flung into the air like spilled beans.
Verdigris darted at the flanks, trying to flank the beast, but every time they drew close, a whip-thread lashed out, severing limbs in bright arcs of arterial spray.
Lapis gunners struggled to realign their portable launchers, their cobalt armor streaked with mud and blood.
Tremolite scrambled to drag ammunition crates clear, many cut down before they'd taken three steps.
Over the chaos, the Zerath's voice thundered from the company vox, snapping between orders,
"Reform ranks! On me! Get those launchers firing!"
—
But the Vraskariin was already in motion again, carving a path through the re-forming squads, every strike leaving a widening smear of red across its pale chitin.
—
Shadowgaze's scope tracked the Vraskariin as it carved bloody arcs through the Xarcarion ranks, her grin widening.
Without lowering the rifle, she spoke quickly, almost eager.
"Tune your inhibitor down, Warlock-hunter."
"I could end this faster with my power."
—
Mira gave no reply. She kept her eyes forward, whistling.
Shadowgaze's smirk faltered into a click of the tongue, then she tried again—her voice more measured, almost polite.
"Mira, was it? Could you tune your inhibitor down, so I can help end this quickly."
—
The forced civility in her tone was impossible to miss.
Mira still didn't answer. She checked the seal on her gorget, as if the request hadn't been made at all.
Shadowgaze just screamed in frustration instead.
—
In the command tent of Ivory One, the desperate call echoed from the vox, sending a chill down every operator's spine.
"Veylar! This is Zerath M.4, unexpected variable emerged. Disengagement is impossible,"
"I repeat, disengage is impossible!"
—
A long, heavy sigh answered, filled with disappointment.
"Cut the line," Reyvis ordered, his tone flat.
—
"Y-yes, sir," the vox-operator stammered.
—
Reyvis stepped closer, looming over him.
"And connect me to the merc."
—
"Connecting… now,"
the operator replied, fingers moving across the dials before handing the beadset over.
—
A voice came through almost immediately, devoid of emotion.
"Your troops failed, Commissar? I can see the carnage from here."
—
Reyvis grunted in answer.
"The main forces are wiped out. I need you to give me something, Jaeger."
—
"That, I do have, Commissar," Jaeger replied smoothly.
"The survivor…" He paused for effect.
"One of them is a Librarian."
"Etched in runes, barely hiding his blue hue."
—
Reyvis straightened, eyes narrowing.
"Are you saying there's a Grey Knight here?"
—
"Affirmative."
—
"Then you know what to do. This will bring merits to both of us," Reyvis said, voice low.
—
"Yes. Kill him, and send his body to Arxas Veyl ," Jaeger answered without hesitation.
"Worry not, Commissar—this will go smoothly. Just like the first one."
—
The line went dead.
—
Far away, through the steel rimmed lens of another scope, the Vraskariin filled the reticle—its pale bulk tearing through the Xarcarion line in a storm of blood and chitin.
The crosshairs lingered there for a long second, tracking its murderous path, before the view shifted.
The magnification tightened on a single cloaked figure standing sentinel among the scattered beastmen.
The stance was unmistakable—broad, immovable, a fortress in humanoid form.
"An Astartes playing dress-up?" the observer murmured, voice laced with wry amusement.
Without looking away, he gave a quiet order:
"Load the null rounds."
—
CLICK—CLAK!