Agents of the Multiverse

BLAM-BLAM, FWSSSSSSSSSSH-KABOOM!

The roar of the Inferno Bolters, the detonation of warpflame and Tzeentchian blessings alike against the hordes of ethereal-corruption effigies blowing their bodies apart like kindling eluded no gaze from the Thousand Sons Exalted Sorcerer. But his attention concentrated elsewhere at the particular moment; a certain form of focused, rapt commitment to the ritual circle. There proved little he could do. This world was dying, even as the psychic death screams of a trillion trillion souls rang agonizing echoes through his cerebrum. Bone of a Living Saint desecrated by vile runic carvings; the blood of dozens of Corpse-Emperor Astartes pooled into bowls. Again and again the Inferno Bolters roared as mass-reactive shells culled the encroaching swarm-masses of blackened spirit-corpses, but they showcased no end. Indeed, Rubricae hissed as the animated dust within their armored shells floated freely from their sarcophagi-bodies; the Shades exemplified unrelenting drive.

He was running out of time.

Then, as the first line crumbled, the second buckled, and his own barrier-runic defenses began to falter, there came the swirl of empyric energies. Psyker-witchery followed suite, and carefully, as he drew a jagged blade betwixt the rib-cage and sternum of the saint, it was time. As his Rubricae fell to the last, Ankhu Shen lifted his damned eyes upward, and invoked that of Tzeentch. Whipping tendrils of energy sundered that of Shade-form and his own still-intact Rubricae. A sacrifice, then, of dust and corrupted soul-stuff.

A howling shriek from the darkness, however, included not all was well. Whatever this Corruption was, he had wounded its presence in this dying world. But wounding was not the same as felling - and with a sudden snag of blue-purple-pink phantasmagoric flames, he was pulled elsewhere. Visions flashed; images of another place, another time, another dimension. A laughing cackle of Tzeentch followed -- and then he was gone. Departed from his Rubricae, from this now-dead universe. And now... onto greater glories beyond this tomb.


Energy whorled and discharged upon a nameless alley - and then with it, the twin hearts of Ankhu Shen fluttered to a calm rhythm. It was... not what he had expected. Death, at the most, death and failure at the least. And yet here he stood, armoured bulk garbed upon him as much as his metallic staff was bore in hand. An Inferno Bolt Pistol laid resting at his side; the Exalted Sorcerer of the Thousand Sons squinted in rapt curiosity. He had been a member of the Cult of Magic - a magus who practiced damned witchery to those of unenlightened origins... yet he, Ankhu Shen, remained. A breathy laugh escaped him - and then he stepped out as it ceased. The disconcerting view, at least to those of the Loyalist dogs, bothered not that of the Sorcerer of the Fifteenth. The beast-forms of the Tzaangor were no doubt, though perhaps less mutated, than these creatures milling about. Still...

He didn't see a reason to commit violence. Such crass actions were unfitting - to study, weave, and commit to the grandiose plots of Tzeentch was habitual as more as it was ingrained in his very being. Blue glowing eyes rested behind his helmet's lenses, and thus did they locked onto... the small creature waddling up to him. Resembling more landbound avioid than man, the flapping of linguistics fell unnoticed as he concentrated. Than he understood its speech. A Sanctuary. A place to live. And perhaps, potentially, even, the start of a new thrall-band to create.

How unfortunate the easily-known Sorcerer, anointed by cruel deeds and benevolent manipulation alike, was not going to get that opportunity. Perhaps something, or more keenly, someone, felt interrupting him was worthwhile - because his gaze swept 'round the crowd until he locked onto a small child. The Sorcerer merely tilted his head at the prattle; an amusement to be sure. But for now, he waited for Tzeentch to show a sign of presence... or perhaps this city's administrators to arrive in expected full. He anticipated such a response, though not its outcome, for the Loom of Fate proved fickle at best to decipher...

Someone had popped into being in town square. In Sanctuary, that wasn't really an unusual occurrence. The vast majority of the city's residents were rescued from dying worlds, brought in through one of the Gates at the Omphalos, processed, and then after a short hop through yet another gate to Sanctuary itself, eventually settled.

But there were still plenty of people who came in on the rifts. Sanctuary was a Nexus world, and things tended to... 'bleed through' on occasion. Usually, they arrived in the wilder parts of the landscape—an occurrence dangerous enough in fairer weather and occasionally deadly in the middle of winter like they were. Most of the people who arrived directly in in Sanctuary, though, were just the average, run-of-the-mill, interdimensional travelers. There was a surprising amount of them out there, Krepta had learned.

Information that would have been a lot more useful to her as a kid rather than now that she was an adult, but it was what it was.

This newcomer, though, whoever it was, had people spooked. Maybe it was just the way it carried itself or the armor it supposedly wore, if it was armor at all. With the Crackle storms making non-organics crazy sometimes, Sanctuary's people tended to be a little leery of anything even vaguely robotic looking. So, just in case, Krepta had decided to check it out.

Whatever it was, it was a big one, the shapeshifter thought as she came around the corner. She wasn't too short herself, standing at a good 5'9" in her human form, which had been tall for a woman where and when she had been born, but the metal monolith standing in the town square definitely dwarfed her. The human woman lingered at the edge of the street that fed into the square for a moment and considered her options, wondering if maybe she shouldn't have gone in full dragon.

She thought of Heretic then and gave a little mental shrug and a sigh.

Eh. She'd seen bigger.

"Hey there," she called, projecting as much friendliness into her voice as she could muster as she approached. Krepta didn't come at Ankhu directly; rather, she circled the newcomer in a wide arc, trying to get a better look at them and a read on their body language at the same time—not that that always meant much in a world full of every and any species imaginable. Still, the thing was humanoid, whatever it was, and if it was organic, then there was a lot of crossover in Krepta's experience.

She was careful to avoid getting too close, casting a pointed look at a nearby sunbird. She knew that he knew what that look meant. Start subtly clearing out the square, just in case things got ugly. Most newcomers behaved themselves alright, but once in a blue moon, there was trouble, and the less innocent bystanders there were if that happened, the better.

"You're a biggun, huh? I think you've got people a bit shaken. You're friendly, yeah?"