The Skryre main fleet crushed the encroaching Orks with contemptuous ease. In terms of raw numbers, these disparate greenskin raiders were no match for the Skaven, and under the guidance of the Warlock-Engineers, the vermin's deranged contraptions proved far more lethal than the Orks' scrap-heaps.
When the greenskins attempted their signature boarding actions, they found themselves staring into an abyss of fur and filth. For once, the Orks were outmatched in sheer, overwhelming quantity by the endless tide of brown-furred Skaven.
To Ikit Claw, however, this was a mere distraction. He had slaughtered countless greenskins along the way, using them as living test-subjects for his latest experiments.
"My most-treacherous Master! We found-saw them! Clan Rictus and Clan Pestilens are here-here! This place is called the Nachmund Gauntlet-thing!" A Skaven scout clad in Warp-Power Armor scurried toward Ikit to report. "The Rictus-things whispered to us—many-countless man-things and Chaos-things are fighting for it! Yes! Fighting-battling!"
Though every Skaven is a backstabbing coward at heart, few dared to betray the powerful Great Clans. The Warlock-Engineers deployed across the fleet served not only as the Skaven equivalent of Tech-Priests but also as the eyes and ears of Skryre.
Information regarding the location and strength of various factions flowed back to Skryre headquarters, a practice quietly tolerated by Clan Eshin and the Grey Seers. After all, Skryre's heart beat in the Skaven capital of Zavka; the stronger Skryre became, the more it benefited the Great Horned Rat.
"Excellent-perfect! We salvaged that 'Attack Moon' thing from the greenskins last time. We shall use-utilize this planet to test-practice it!" Ikit Claw didn't particularly care about the other clans' agendas; he was merely confused as to why they had deviated from their path.
Since they were here, Ikit followed the primary Skaven tenet: never leave an opportunity unexploited. He would cut his teeth on the planet Bard, eager to see what salvageable treasures this world held.
The massive Skryre fleet appeared like a world-ending eclipse, bearing down first upon the Dark Mechanicum and Drukhari vessels. The Skaven pushed their engines to the breaking point, leaving jagged trails of toxic green flame across the void. The Nest-Ships soon reached the optimal distance to launch their boarding craft.
Drop-pods engraved with the triangular sigil, the Claws of the Vermin, were packed tight with Skaven. The common rat-kin were crammed together, shrieking and biting; only the Weapon Teams and accompanying Warlock-Engineers enjoyed anything resembling "comfort."
At the tip of each Claw was a disposable Warp-Drill, designed to breach any hull and deliver the cargo directly into the bowels of the enemy ship!
Thousands of pods slammed into the outer hull of the Dark Mechanicum vessels. The Warp-Drills shrieked into life, tearing through armor that was already scarred from the previous battle. As the drills shattered the final layers of plating, an ocean of Skaven poured forth!
Immediately, the first wave collided head-on with the Orks.
"Lookit dem hairy runts! Listen up, lads! We'ze bigger! We'ze stronger! WAAAAAAGH!!!"
The leading Ork Nob was encased in heavy scrap-armor like a walking excavator. His left arm had been replaced with a hydraulic Power Klaw, while his right brandished a massive Chain-Axe. With a deafening roar, the Orks charged into the vermin-tide!
The Nob tore through the Skaven Slaves like a bulldozer through an anthill, carving a bloody path through the masses. But then, a monstrosity of cold steel and stitched flesh lunged forward, a mechanical Rat Ogre. Its iron-bound frame was more than a match for the Ork Nob.
This mechanical beast brandished a Warp-Claw on its left arm and a Warpfire Thrower on its right. Its movements were unnervingly fluid, displaying a level of combat prowess that belied its horrific appearance.
It was well known that during the End Times of the Old World, a Chaos Champion was handed over to the Skaven by Archaon for his failures. That champion's brain was harvested to create the legendary Rat Ogre, Ghoritch. This new creation was Ikit Claw's latest masterpiece: the brain of a captured and broken Space Marine housed within the metal skull of a Rat Ogre.
Through the "Brain-in-a-Vat" technology perfected by Clan Skryre, the mind of this Chapter Master, from a minor Chapter known as the Vanguard Blades, was trapped in a sensory illusion. He believed he was still fighting for the Imperium.
In the "loyal" mind of this mechanical Rat Ogre, the poor wretch's senses told him he had repelled the Xenos invasion of his home world. He believed he had been gravely wounded and interred within a Dreadnought to continue serving the God-Emperor!
The Power Klaw swung wildly, crushing the Ork Nob, as the creature roared with fanatical zeal: "For the Emperor! For the Vanguard Blades!"
But from the grinding mechanical maw of the Rat Ogre, his "loyal" battle cry emerged only as a terrifying, chittering screech:
"SQUEE-SQUEAK-RAAAAAAGH!!!"
The gaunt, wicked Skaven surged forward, following this "loyal" Astartes Chapter Master as they counter-attacked the greenskins. Behind them, Warp-bullets began to trade fire with Ork choppas and sluggas, as more mechanical Rat Ogres joined the fray.
Indeed, following the logic of "efficiency through repetition," Clan Skryre spared no expense in this cruel experimentation. Every Astartes they captured, whether Loyalist or Traitor, was subjected to these augmentations. Acting as Ikit's personal bodyguard, they were designated the Warp-Blight Cadre.
Despite their power, the failure rate for these mechanical Rat Ogres remained high; only about a hundred existed, with the rest of the heavy lifting being done by standard Stormfiends. As the Ork Nob was decapitated by the "Chapter Master" Rat Ogre, the greenskins began to break. The Skaven swarmed over them, rapidly seizing key sectors of the Dark Mechanicum vessel.
However, just as the accompanying Warlock-Engineers prepared to strip the "man-thing iron-junk" for parts, the red-robed tech-horrors looked back at them with... rat-like eyes. Upon their complex, crimson machinery sat a shrine of sacred unguents dedicated to the Great Horned Rat.
"...My kin. By the decree of the Great Horned Rat, you must divert your path of conquest."
The Archmagos of the Dark Mechanicum, now corrupted into a Skaven-hybrid, spoke in a cold, synthesized rasp. Normally, a Skaven wouldn't recognize a being so heavily modified, but the Presence of the Great Horned Rat's altar gave every vermin pause.
"The... the Horned One? How? How-possible?!"
The Warlock-Engineer's knees knocked together in terror. He wouldn't dare lay a finger on a shrine of the Great Horned Rat even if his life depended on it.
At that moment, a dark shadow materialized behind Ikit Claw. He only noticed it when a massive, razor-sharp claw came to rest on his shoulder.
"AAAH—What-what thing?!" Ikit's fur stood on end. He spun around, only to realize why everyone in the vicinity was paralyzed with fear.
Standing there was a massive, pitch-black Verminlord. Judging by his attire and the suffocating aura of dread he radiated, there was no doubt: this was one of the two legendary ascended Clan Lords—Sneek, the Nightlord!
Ikit had seen him once before while accompanying Morskittar to the Council of Thirteen. Merely looking at him then had felt like a thousand blades pointed at his heart; now, that sensation was a thousand times more potent.
"Ikit of Skryre?"
The Nightlord's voice sounded like an echo from a bottomless abyss. Ikit practically jumped out of his skin before dropping into a submissive, groveling posture, a sycophantic grin plastered on his face.
"Oh—oh! Most powerful, most terrifying Shadow-Lord, Master of the Night, Holy Claw-of-the-Horned-Rat, Lord of Eshin! Lord Sneek! Why—why have you come to my humble-lowly place?"
He scurried to pile on the flattery while desperately praying that this legend of the Skaven underworld hadn't come for his head.
"Our Master has decreed: annihilate all life upon that planet. As for these iron-things... Our Master further commands that they be reorganized as a vassal of the Grey Seers. They shall be known as Clan Resilience."
Sneek had no interest in bullying Skryre's second-in-command; his blades were reserved for the likes of Morskittar.
"Oh! YES-YES! For the Horned Rat! YES!" Ikit agreed instantly, not daring to offer a shred of dissent.
With a mere turn of the head, the Nightlord vanished, leaving Ikit to heave a massive sigh of relief.
What Ikit did not know was that in another dark corner of this moon-sized Nest-Ship, Sneek had reappeared beside a silent, solitary Skaven who was busy eating. In a flash, the eating Skaven's three Weeping Blades, which never left his grip, flickered like three bolts of lightning across the Nightlord's form.
Inspecting the triangular scratch on his hand, Nightlord Sneek nodded. "Well done, Snikch."
Only then did the ninja-clad Skaven look up to truly acknowledge his target. Despite his master's ascension, he still recognized his mentor and lord. This was none other than the second-in-command of Clan Eshin, the current Deathmaster, and the "Eraser of Worlds"—Deathmaster Snikch.
"I am honored by your presence, Master!" Snikch dropped to one knee in a shinobi's stance. Simultaneously, thirteen shadow-like Eshin Assassins manifested in the gloom, bowing in unison. These were the Black Thirteen, the most elite assassination squad in Clan Eshin, second only to the Deathmaster himself.
"How fairs-goes Skryre?" the Nightlord asked.
"No anomalies, Master," Snikch replied, shaking his head. Truthfully, he didn't understand why he had been ordered to lead the Black Thirteen into a clandestine infiltration of the Skryre fleet when there were so many other enemies of the Skaven to kill. But an assassin does not ask; he executes.
After a moment of silence, the Nightlord offered a rare explanation: "Though we of Eshin and the Grey Seers are called the 'Twin Claws' of the Horned Rat, Skryre is the engine that drives the Skaven Empire forward. Our Master wishes for no 'accidents' to lead Skryre astray, not from their filthy hearts, nor from their foolish decisions."
Snikch merely bowed his head in affirmation. He did not waste time wondering if his master was testing his loyalty.
"Soon, you shall be unleashed... Our Master's claw-marks shall span the galaxy. And so shall the blades of Eshin." With those words, the Nightlord dissolved into the shadows once more.
Deathmaster Snikch sat back down and resumed chewing his meat-paste rations. Moments later, the Black Thirteen bowed to their leader and vanished back into the darkness.
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