Hive in the Underhive
The Withdrawal
Under the cover of suppressive fire, the Orlocks moved, advancing over ancient walkways, each step rattling metal seams long since forgotten. Sparks flew from ricocheting rounds as muzzle flashes carved momentary light into the gloom.
They reached a Power Cone just as motion flared at the far end of the catwalk. A young juve lunged forward, snatching the artefact with trembling hands.
Then the shadows moved. Silhouettes. Claws. Glimmering eyes.
The gang leader gave the order they were all waiting for. The Orlocks obeyed, falling back, covering one another as they went.
The Missionary did not follow.
Rearguard fire echoed behind them — Theodore perched atop a broken railing, autogun blasting, voice bellowing prayers into the dark.
His chanting was soon drowned out by the roar of a chainsword as he leapt from the gantry, charging into combat with fanatical rage.
