FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The Thunderhawk's engines roared with furious heresy-purging rage as it sped its deadly cargo across the void of space. Nestled within, the Deathwatch kill-team were contemplatively silent. Brave didn't know if that was because they were contemplating the mission to come, or perhaps if they were ashamedly aware of the reason their respective Chapters had lent them out to the Inquisition.

The militant arm of the Holy Emperor's Inquisitors, the Deathwatch was formed of Astartes from across the Imperium's many Space Marines Chapters. Amongst a hundred men, none might be fit to join the ranks of the Space Marines. But among one-hundred Astartes, only one might be fit to join the Deathwatch. To be selected for the multi-Chapter organisation to be pitted against the terrible xenos was considered a great honour.

Scanning the faces of his kill-team, then considering his own history within the Ultramarines, Brave suddenly figured his selection for the Deathwatch was more a punishment than an honour.

Brave had shunned his old rank and name when he was assigned to the kill-team. Gone was Brother Sergeant Olav Reinhart; replaced by 'Brave.' An ironic nickname, he was sure.

The Astartes' hands gripped his harness just a little tighter as the Thunderhawk's airframe shook. He recognised the bumps of hitting atmosphere and his stomach flipped. They were here, and had his armoured carapace allowed it he would have been drenched in a nervous sweat. But to Brave's credit, he kept his chiselled features wrapped in a straight poker-face. His fingers leaving small dents in the bar crossed over his armoured chests were the only subtle tells of the proud Ultramarine's nerves.

He was clad from his neck down in bulwarking armour, mostly the colour of shadow with the low profile Inquisitorial 'I' embossed with a skull on his left pauldron. His right was coloured blue and silver, sporting the omega symbol of the Ultramarines Chapter. His helmet sat in a cubby just above where his custom bolter was racked, whereas his bolt pistol hung ready on a magnetic stripe affixed to his right thigh alongside a large Space Marine sized combat knife.

His face was that of a rather handsome, if not unusually large man. His augmentations and finely crafted power armour gave him the stature of a God in flesh and bone. His visage as suitably striking, his black hair squared away neatly, a granite jaw cleanly shaved and his piercing eyes gazing with the sort of innocence you wouldn't expect to see on a battle tempered Astartes.

Then again, all the members of the kill-team weren't your typical Astartes.

Like Brave, Brothers Shark, Shiv and Prince had their helmets stored away, revealing their faces. And by their appearances alone it was clear to see all of them hailed from entirely different worlds – literally and proverbially.

Shark was the most foreign looking of all them. The insignia of the Carachadons on his right pauldron, this intense looking mute had thin lips, bone white skin and a shaved head. His eyes were pure black coals and from a few flashes of his teeth, Brave had spotted pointed, serrated rows of shark-like fangs. One might think him tained by Chaos somehow were it not for his undying loyalty to the Emperor, as shown by his Chapter's insignia and numerous purity seals adorning his armour.

His knuckle-plates were home to long lightning claws, currently retracted but cackling with energy and hungry for blood none the less.

Right next to him was Shiv, the blade adorned Space Wolf was chatting away without pause about everything and nothing at the same time.

“… but during the fourth engagement," he said, sharpening a shank that like it started out life as a screwdriver. “During the fourth engagement, the rules changed and we had to re-assess our kinetic options in order to render hostile enablers ineffective. This was attained through a dynamic flanking manoeuvre in which we pushed through urban terrain, which as you might know changed up the aggression of our posture…"

His voice was an octave below the wail of the Thunderhawk's engines, meaning he sort of phased in and out of his attention. Brave couldn't tell what the one-side conversation was all about. All he could see was the Space Wolf's mighty moustache and magnificent mutton-chops waggling from side to side as his lips moved along with an unbroken stream of conversation that went nowhere and was acknowledged by no one. It didn't phase him in the slightest though.

The chatterbox wore a fur over his right pauldron to signify and honour his Chapter. The rest of his armour was adorned with blades of nearly every shape and size. His hip held a pair of axes, two large machetes crossed his backpack, knives locked to his boots, chest, shoulders and thighs. There were smaller blades, curved and straight, homemade shivs and shanks coupled with finely honed weapons forged by master Artificers strapped all over the rest of his body. And finally complimenting his various blades, Shiv carried a pair of bolt-pistols, identical-twin weapons, one on each thigh.

Right beside Shiv, and ignoring his stream of chatter much like Shark did, Brother Prince of the Dark Angels gazed into a small handheld mirror as he fixed his already perfect brown hair. Prince had a slight, narrow face with untouched features and soft skin. There wasn't a single thing out of place. He was perfectly clean shaven, no nicks to indicate a slip of the razor and no blemishes of any kind. Arguably, he was perfect. Even Brave, though for lack of battle scars, had some weathering to him in the form of some tired creases or salt-and-pepper greys dotting the short hair around his temples.

Not Prince. The guy was prettier than a glowing daemonette fresh out of the warp.

Last but not least was Brother Pounder. He stood out, not only in his immense size that towered over his fellow Astartes, but also in the fact he had shunned the finely crafted uniforms of the Deathwatch. Clad in his old Imperial Fists yellow, the Space Marine had an arc-welder in one hand and a cigar in the other, sparks flying from his rebreather grille as he attached the cigar as if lodging it in in the left corner of his mouth.

Brave hadn't spoken extensively with all of them yet, but their stories were easy to read.

The kill-team was a squad of miss-fits, that much was easy to see. So, their respective Chapters were likely glad to be rid of them to the Deathwatch (Brave knew for a fact that his Ultramarine brothers were glad to be rid of him). Which meant their mission was more than likely a mission of the suicidal variety.

And hence, Brave's skin crawled nervously.

Trying to take his mind off it, Brave turned to Prince who was still fixing his hair after nearly an hour. “Are you about done preening, brother?" he asked.

Prince shrugged nonchalantly as best his harness would allow. “A moment of laxity can lead to a lifetime of heresy."

“You rehearse that, sister?" Pounder chuckled heavily.

The Dark Angel pouted, but made no retort. To Brave's relief. He was trying not to lose his breakfast, and breaking up a verbal sparring match would do nothing for his constitution.

The Thunderhawk made several quart-rolls and pulled into tight turns, zig-zagging to air-brake along their atmospheric descent. It seemed unusual that none of them had any inkling where in the galaxy they were or what their mission would be. Perhaps this was just an execution. Maybe they were all dressed up to gain a false sense of security, just so the Inquisition could line 'em up and shoot 'em, Old Yeller style.

Brave swallowed tears just thinking about the ending of that damned movie.

“My ears are burning," a voice suddenly called with lovely feminine tones. It carried down from the cockpit, over the wail of the engines and creaking airframe.

The sharp clack of high heels on the metal deck drew the Astartes' eyes upward as a blood-and-ebony figure slid out of the cockpit. Her stilettoed boots were visible first, sleek black with blood red soles and trims around the knees, and armoured all the way up to her sleek mid-thighs before giving away to bare flesh. Leather suspender straps were connected with a metal garter belt and armoured thong revealed as she gracefully descended the steps further.

A hardened corset fitted over the abdominal armour protecting her light torso and cupping the bust decorated with spikes where her nipples would have been. A low-cut collar revealed the pale flesh in the soft valley between her breasts, and her arms were bare from the shoulders down to her elbow gloves, ending in claw-tipped fingers.

The human woman held her chin high, her silver and black bob and angelic features attenuating her slender neck. With the body of a flexible young woman whose chiselled curves brought the obstinate to heights of arousal, her face showed her true age with some subtle crow's feet and a few lines at the corners of her mouth. But she had glowing emerald eyes that even the honoured Ultramarine wanted to see looking up at him while her full, kissable lips wrapped around his cock-…

Brave shook off the haze of lust, wondering where it came from… scratch that. He knew exactly where it came from. He was different from other Space Marines who lacked the glands that injected the hormones associated with sexual tension. Even without them, from somewhere he still felt things like love, arousal and fear, whereas the regular Astartes felt only finely calculated hate.

He sometimes feared the taint of mutation or Chaos within him, and kept his feelings and urges hidden. He'd grown very good at it. But picturing the older Sisters of Battle Canoness on her knees, armour stripped down to her waist with armoured claws pinching her bare, pink nipples as she caressed his rod in her skilled mouth had been the most vivid his imagination had grown in a long time.

Brave swallowed his sudden lust again, mind wandering to heretical things. What was it about the Canoness that had him losing control of his own imagination so suddenly? He'd seen Adepta Sororitas like her before. He'd fought alongside the beautiful Sisters of Battle many times. So why did he suddenly feel the powerful urge to bend this Sororita over an ammo box, peel down that metal thong of hers and then spread her tight virginal pussy around the girth of his-…

“Canoness Sepharya!" Prince called out with surprise, dragging Brave from his train of thought. “I hadn't seen you board."

Halting before the Astartes with her hands resting on her slender hips, Bernadette Sepharya looked on sternly. “There was no time for pleasantries, Brother Astartes. This mission you have been selected for is of the utmost importance, and time is short. An imperial world has fallen victim to a xenos cancer which must be cut out."

Another rap of heels on metal followed Sepharya as she paced down the centre of the Thunderhawk, now suspended in a smooth cruise. Descending from the steps came another red and black armoured form, just as slender as the Canoness but twice as covered up.

Following the sleek curvature of her alluring body, the Sister of Battle who followed with a claymore-pattern chainsword on her back and bolt-pistol on a lustrous thigh was armoured from her neck down to her high-heeled boots. The carapace followed the sleek curves of her graceful limbs and arguably left less to the heretical imagination than Canoness Sepharya's flesh-teasing outfit.

Her face matched her young, lithe body, divine features framed by her platinum bangs. She had the same general structure as her Canoness, and the sister could have been a younger clone of Sepharya.

While Brave tried to purge images of the sister posing naked across the hood of a Landspeeder, Pounder opened his mouth for the first time since the flight begun.

“The fuck are Bolter Bitches doing here then? Don't you virginal battle-nuns have an army of daemon-sluts to fight or something?"

Both smouldering gazes of the Sorotitas turned slowly, and angrily, to regard the Imperial Fist. He stared right back through the scowling mask of his helmet, though seemingly oblivious of what he said to piss them off.

“What?"

Maintaining admirable composure, Sepharya ignored Pounder and handed the floor to her sister. “Sister Helena Gelle, if you please."

Like he had been thrown by Sepharya's mature sex-appeal, Helena's voice threw Brave. Were the Emperor Himself a woman, He would have ideally sounded like Helena.

“We are currently descending upon a world called Agrauthea." Waving her hand over a holo-node, a three-dimensional image of a planet threw harsh blue light around the Thunderhawk's spacious interior. “Agrauthea is a world of ideal habitation conditions. Clean air. Non-lethal ecology. Mostly rocky terrain with sparse photosynthesis based vegetation. The Imperium settled exploitation colonies on the world mining titanium, platinum, ceramite and the like."

The image of Agrauthea changed. Ships objects appeared in orbit and for a moment Brave couldn't tell what they were. At least not until Shiv's keen eyes identified them.

“Roks," he spat with some disdain. “Roks means Orks."

“Indeed," Helena confirmed.

Brave checked the star chart hovering next to the planet map about the same time as Prince spoke up with some concern.

“This sector isn't in a very important position," he said with a small frown. “Why not leave it be? Pull out and let the aliens strand themselves on it."

“Negative. Our nearby forge worlds need the raw materials mined from Agrauthea. Strategic value is absolute."

“Can we Exterminatus?" Shiv offered.

Helena's answer was pretty much the same. “Damage to existing assets would be financially devastating for the Imperium. Strategic value is absolute." She said nothing about the local humans affecting her judgement of Exterminatus bombing, which chilled Brave just a little.

The Ultramarine was next with his strategic input. “Xenos planetside are going to be dug in. Best to drop an assault fleet on their head. Perhaps a battalion of Space Marines."

Taking over, Sepharya eyed the Ultramarine, her eyes lingering for just a second longer than they did on the other Space Marines. There was even a slightest tweak of her lips while regarding him. Still, her voice kept its terse harshness.

“A valid strategy, but the nearest assault fleet is months away. Delay is unacceptable. We were closest and have the support of an Adepta Sororitas battalion. We will suffice until reinforcements arrive."

Brave wanted to say “if we last that long," but kept his thoughts to himself.

“Re-enforcements may not even be necessary," Helena explained. “The Imperial Guard divisions on the ground have held off Ork assaults on population centres so far and will be receiving Sororitas support. We will be heading into the fray to remove xenos leadership. Without their Warboss, the Orks will be leaderless and should fall into disarray. From there the Imperial Guard will be able to finish the filthy xenos off."

With a wave of Helena's hand the holo-display showed an orbital view of some rocky terrain with an Imperial Guard firebase nestled amid the uneven boulders. At least, what had once been an Imperial Guard firebase. Its banners and aqcuilas had long since been replaced by rusty and gory effigies of scrap and decomposing bodies. The firebase itself was cracked and had fallen into disrepair.

“This is firebase 'Poonkrusha.' It is obvious by the banners and 'upgrades' that this is an Ork held stronghold," Helena explained.

Shiv chuckled and muttered as he nudged the ever-silent Shark. “Not just by the banners, right?"

As always, the Carcharadons Chapter Space Marine said nothing, merely watching the presentation in eerie silence. Shiv's chuckle died down, then with a clearing of his throat he regarded the holo-display again.

Waiting until Shiv was about done, Helena went about her presentation again, pacing as she did. “I will be leading the operation into the firebase to locate and kill the Ork Warboss. Brother Brave has second in command should I unexpectedly go to the Emperor.

“Thermal intelligence places a small warband, roughly fifty Orks within the walls. It is well fortified, but not impossible to infiltrate thanks to the typically short attention span of Orks. Our orbital drones have shown breaks in their ranks and patrols. Reaching the firebase and breaching its defences should not prove too great a challenge."

Walking past Pounder as Helena paced, the yellow Space Marine reached out to smack her taught bottom. A hand clamped around his wrist though, forcing the objectifying gesture of masculine bravado to miss and Pounder glowered at Prince.

“Killjoy," he growled.

“Misogynist," Prince retorted lightly.

She rounded on them with equal man-hating fuelled distaste. “However, the problem is not the Ork defenders."

Prince gulped, sitting suddenly attentively. “What is the problem?"

Helena waved at the map and kept moving, the slow but sharp crack of her heels making even Pounder jump with mild startlement. “The problem is the nearby city under assault. The Orks have committed the majority of their forces against the Imperial garrison there. If we are discovered before we assassinate the Warboss, hundreds of thousands of blood crazed Orks will double back, swarm us and flay the flesh from our bones."

The gravity of failure took a few seconds to sink in, and very quickly the kill-team realised this purge was going to be a stealthy one.

Brave didn't even have to give the order. Already Shiv was patting down his blades and threading suppressors onto his twin bolt-pistols. Brave and Prince alike reached for their bolters and did the same.

Pounder, the most slouched and relaxed of all of them lifted his flamer, ignited the pilot light and lit his cigar.

“You'll have to shoulder that flamer for now, Pounder," Brave warned, closing the last thread of his suppressor and tightening it accordingly. “We will need absolute noise discipline. Check your gear is tight, double-check it then do it all over again. Communicate with internal comms only and use hand-signals where possible."

Shark gave a thumbs up, indicating that wouldn't be a problem. Pounder sighed, dousing the pilot light and readying his own bolt-pistol with a suppressor.

The Astartes were doing as they were told so far, Brave figured. But he had no idea how they would behave once they were on the ground. Helena had them wound tight here in the safety of the Thunderhawk, but would the miss-matched Astartes obey in a fight?

Brave cast a furtive glance to the Canoness and her loyal battle sister. Helena was standing on her tip-toes, glossy black lips parted to whisper something into Sepharya's ear. The tender flesh of their perfect cheeks brushed one another, and Sepharya's long lashes seemed to flutter for a moment. He was suddenly itching to see the Canoness press into Helena with a passionate kiss. To push her underling to her knees, then press the young girl's lovely mouth against her own nether-lips for a passionate kiss of an entirely different debauched kind…

Brave shuddered, ashamed of himself, and wondering if his own thoughts would obey him in the fight to come.

~~~~

Sister Gelle's assertion had been right. The kill-team closed with Firebase Poonkrusha and infiltrated with relative ease, covered by the glare of the rising sun at their back and aided by general lack of discipline on the Orks' part.

With silencers affixed, the thunder of guns in the distance further muffling their attack, and Shiv on point with a knife that was huge by even Space Marine standards, the team made short work of the few Orks on guard. With some flair and a few fancy takedowns, the Space Wolf quietly took down whole Ork patrols that moved through badly dug trenches and between ill-placed barricades and tank traps. Shark joined him in the swift melee, breaking off from the kill-team to deep flank and circle the firebase, picking off groups of stragglers the main team would otherwise overlook in their approach. Much of the cover the Orks had set up worked against them, but in favour of the Astartes, allowing them to get nice and close without being noticed.

Longer range targets standing watch on the battlements were taken out with light coughs of bolter suppressors. Heads exploded a hundred yards away, sometimes two and three at a time thanks to synchronised shots.

Brave was in his element, micromanaging the spacing between them and positions on the battlefield. Their approach was nice and slow and quiet. Each time they engaged the enemy the Orks had no idea what was coming, granting the Space Marines time to carefully set up, fine tune their aim and count down shots for perfect synchronicity. The Orks never saw them coming and didn't have a chance to put up any sort of fight.

Chatter was kept to a minimum where possible. Everyone was doing their jobs quietly enough with the exception of Shiv who went on and on regaling menial tales of his battles and travels.

“And that is when I met the remnants of the Promethean Cult for the first time," Shiv went on over the closed comms for any who listened. In the background was the wet squelch of steel tearing through Ork flesh, and a subtle groan from Pounder who was slowly losing his sanity. “Good folk, surprisingly. All but extinct now, which is a pity. The Salamanders Chapter still follow some of the tenants, so it goes to show not all cults are so bad. Some are just good old-fashioned Emperor honouring groups. But then when your home planet is a fire-and-brimstone shithole…"

Brave sprang from cover and pinned a large Ork nob to a wall, face first. Several teeth broke off, and before the xeno could cry out the Deathwatch Astartes peppered three holes through the back of its head. Black blood splashed his helmet and left a wet trail down the wall as the corpse slid to the floor.

The kill was followed by a shot of adrenaline coming late for the party. Brave trembled, but with a calming breath managed to take control of his senses again. He wasn't a coward as his Ultramarine battle brothers might think. He just thought things through and preferred to approach with speed, aggression and surprise upon an unaware enemy. It was how an ideal battle was won. Quickly, with minimal resistance. Though perhaps that was a mantra better served within the ranks of the Imperial Guard, it was not a popular school of thought among the in-your-face Astartes. Especially not within a Chapter as proud and decorated as the Ultramarines.

The only thing to advertise Shark's approach was a friendly ping on the armour-integrated auspex. Turning, Brave expected Shark to regroup covered in greenskin blood, but somehow the eerily silent Carcharadon returned as spotless as he had left. Once regrouped, Brave organised the Astartes into a formation, then indicated Shiv to take point. A knife in ice-pick grip clutched in one hand, a bolt-pistol in the other he raised both weapons, blew the rest of the kill-team a raspberry (for no other reason than that it sounded funny echoing through his faceplate) then led the way into the firebase proper.

Firebase Poonkrusha had obviously been built with the possibility of Space Marine visitors in mind. As such the chambers were upsized, the gun-nests were spacious and the halls were both wide and tall. Still, as opposed to the rolling skirmish they experienced outside, suddenly having their fields of fire narrowed to corridors of barren permacrete felt suddenly claustrophobic.

Helena organised the marines in single file. With Shiv and his keen eyes in the lead, Brave followed closely after. Behind him was Shark, his claws ready and followed by Pounder, flamer unlit and silenced bolt-pistol in a low two-handed grip. Sandwiched in the middle was Sister Gelle, with Prince watching the rear.

Canoness Sepharya had remained on the Thunderhawk in tactical command. The drop ship had taken off shortly after insertion and was beaming them up-to-the-second thermal data from high above the firebase. Reports showed the stragglers and patrols all around the firebase had been mopped up and their bodies were cooling. The corridors were clear, and the mass of Ork population in Poonkrusha was gathered in what aging schematics called the mess hall.

“Stay sharp," Brave reminded in a whisper. “The building can interfere with Thunderhawk thermals scopes, and grot signatures may been too small to be picked up."

“That reminds me of the time…" Everyone pushed Shiv's new line of conversation to the back of their minds, but he did not get to say much before he raised a fist and quickly halted progress.

They stopped right on a junction that branched off to the right. Shiv wasted no time in making space, switching to the opposite end of the junction and giving Brave an opportunity to get a look down the branching corridor.

“Contact. Two hostiles…" Brave's voice trailed off with some surprise as he surveyed the way ahead in more detail.

“What is it?" Helena demanded, but Brave had no idea what to say.

“Um…"

“The Orks are fucking," Shiv deadpanned.

Much to Brave's annoyance, the Astartes surged forward and bunched up around him to get a look. Pounder rushing to see, he understood that. But Helena disappointed him a little when she pushed to the front.

Shiv's description of what they were seeing was right on the button. About twenty metres further up two greenskins were coupled together at the groin. The larger of the two was a typical Ork nob, large and muscular with long gorilla-like arms, a severe underbite filled with tusks and rudimentary scraps of armour and clothing. His pants were down by his ankles and a raging, veiny green erection was extended to plunge repeatedly into the soft and squishy dark green flesh of an Orkette.

The Ork 'gurl' for lack of a better description had the familiar, if not impossible, tells of female physiology. Built like an Ork boy, shorter than a nob, it had gangly legs with knobby knees spread wide as it bent forward and dug its broken nails into the permacrete surface of the corridor. The Orkette's clothes were ostentaciously slutty, with panties down around its ankles, fishnet stockings and ludicrously high heels. The attire matched the Orkette's role of cock-hungry slut with such enthusiasm it had to be a parody of some sort.

The tattered remnants of the shirt had fallen open to several violent groping motions made by the nob as it ploughed the sodden alien pussy from behind, leaving a pair of breasts to swing with every ruthless thrust.

For some reason, that's where Brave's eyes were drawn. Not to the splatter of green Orkette arousal that flecked the wall with every stab by its lover. Not the red, vacant stares from both equally hideous xenos twisted into carnal entrapment. It was her swinging tits, and the opinion that the sagged, widely spaced, long-nippled mammaries were repulsive when compared to Helena's. He hadn't even seen Helena's breasts, but the way her armour were sculpted over their ample roundness promised them to be glorious, perfectly formed mounds of flesh offering hours of entertainment to the lucky fucker sliding his dick between-…

Shaking away thoughts of his team-leader's boobs, Brave turned his head to the rest of the team now invading his personal space. “So how are you guys doing? Good? Getting a good look at the xenos fornication there?"

“So this is how Ork babies are made?" Prince mused curiously, earning a cuff upside the head from Pounder.

“Orks are asexual," Helena explained matter-of-factly. “When they die they release spores that quickly seed, grow and mature into more battle-ready Orks. This" – she pointed out the aggressive greenskin fornications from which new, squishier noises were starting to come – “is not how Orks normally do things. These monsters stink of Chaos intervention."

Sisters of Battle loved to purge heretics, xenos and mutants. Helena was getting to purge heretical xeno mutants. It was like all her birthdays had come at once.

Brave gestured for silence when he sensed Pounder was opening his mouth to say so in some kind of crude manner. “Whatever they are, they're in our way."

As the Astartes quickly slid back into line, the Ork nob's hips started making shorter, more fitful thrusts. Its head rolled back, slack jawed with pleasure. At the same time the Orkette dug its nails deeper into the wall, hips jumping almost nervously in anticipation.

“I feelz it!" the nob cried. “It'z cummin! I's gunna… gunna… WAAAAGH!"

The Ork clenched and released, pumped gushes of seed into the wanting Orkette whose grunts and groans turned to greedy cries for more.

The timing couldn't be more perfect. While the Orks were distracted by the heights of orgasmic ecstasy, Brave took aim. The suppressor made a whisper of the gunshot, and the bullet entered through the side of the Ork nob's skull. The xeno stiffened comically, as if it was too stupid to die outright and had to think about what to do next.

One heartbeat later a flesh-muffled explosion blew apart the Ork's skull and it fell headless in a wet heap.

Brave systematically swept his sights onto the momentarily distracted Orkette, but hesitated for a second and didn't know why. He'd met women on the field of battle plenty of times before. Eldar and Dark Eldar often fielded cunning, ruthless and deadly females, many of whom had nearly walked away with Brave's scalp. But every time he had been quick on the trigger and slain them at the first possible opportunity that presented itself. This time however he paused, thinking over the moral ambiguity behind his next trigger pull.

Was it misogynist to shoot? Was it sexist not to shoot? Brave was suddenly very confused and didn't know what to expect anymore.

Was he expecting the Orkette to just surrender? And even if she did – which she wasn't because she had green skin and a large axe in her hand – what were the kill-team to do with her? Tie her up? Then what?

He didn't even shoot as the Orkette charged him, axe swinging above her head and her mate's cum still bubbling from her gaping snatch. A trail of the pale green stuff ran down her inner thigh and left a long puddle in her wake.

“BRAVE!" Helena suddenly roared on the comm, and pulled from his insane musings his finger finally stroked the trigger.

The round coughed from the suppressor and exploded in the Orkette's chest cavity, right between her swinging breasts. She was strewn across the hall with a wet crack. Silence followed.

He was staring at the bloody mess left by the slain fuck-buddies, but in the corner of his eye Brave caught his Astartes glancing among themselves. All except Prince. He reached into the typical Dark Angels surcoat he wore over his Deathwatch pattern power armour and produced a vanity mirror to check his armour for scuffing.

“You good, boss?" Shiv asked gently.

Brave quickly nodded. “I'm fine. Just caught by surprise is all." Looking over his shoulder he caught Helena's suspicious glare. Her lips moved slightly, clearly reporting this privately to the Canoness. “Let's keep moving."

Stepping over the dead, the kill-team moved on, suddenly understanding the weird décor the Orks had opted for. Orks love to fight. So everything in their décor was usually about said love for fighting. Now they had Orks who loved to fight and fuck (what's more Orky than fighting and fucking at the same time?). As such, along with the crudely drawn murals of bloodshed and battle etching the walls, there were childish pictograms of cocks and titties and cocks jizzing all over the aforementioned titties.

Brave had thought those had been leftover doodlings of bored guardsmen. But apparently not so.

A little further up, Shiv slowed progress again, only this time not because of contact. He had heard something, and after a heartbeat of focus Brave started picking it up too. Huffs, pants, moans and the distinct sound of wet flesh slapping against each other drifted down the corridor from up ahead.

“Mess hall ahead," Shiv informed. “Sounds like the Orks are having themselves a feat."

Creeping over to the door, Brave and the others peeked inside, each of them immediately feeling their eyes widen. It wasn't exactly a feast, despite the various Orkettes gobbling down green cocks and swallowing spurts of semen.

They formed a writhing pile of naked bodies. Cocks ejaculated sprays of lime green one way, fountains of girl-cum shot the other. Orifices were stuffed, lips were locked, anuses probed and hands moved in non-stop jerking motions to the undulation of the orgy. It was gross in the fascinating kind of way that would have evena puritan entranced. And it did. Brave, the others – even Helena – had trouble looking away.

And in a way that only Brave noticed in the corner of his eye, he saw Helena close her legs a little, rubbing her armoured thighs together in a squirm as if trying to access an offensive itch.

Presiding over the unclean orgy was an Orkette unlike the other greenskin females in the warband. She had more in common with Helena than the Orks she presided over. Dressed to arouse, built to fuck and still deceptively deadly, the touch of a daemonette was very obvious.

Her flesh was a darker shade of green to her fellows, built tall and lean and clad in a cropped vest and panties. Her mid-thigh stockings were ripped and faded through in places, and her dressy high heels had stand out red soles. Her mid-riff was toned along with her long, graceful limbs. Her legs seemed to go on forever as if trying to break some sort of hypersexualised galactic record.

The touch of warp was not just obvious in her undeniably human physique and terrifyingly attractive features, but also in the unbalanced set of horns jagging from the crown of her skull, sleekly swept back and over her pointed ears like a tiara of pure evil. A pink haze of daemonic energies bled from her ruby red eyes like a mist of lust. Her fingers ended in deadly looking talons and her raven hair fell in wavy locks down past her shoulders.

She was perched with one leg elegantly crossed over the other at the very top of the writhing orgy, like an empress atop a throne of pleasure. Several of her Ork underlings massaged her bare shoulders. Another filed and manicured her talons.

“That's Warchik Slappah Wetslitt," Helena pointed out to Brave's surprise.

“How did you possibly discern that?"

“It's written all over the firebase," the sister answered. “Orks are brutes, but they do have primitive forms of script and insignia."

She pointed across at a banner splashed in crude red paint across a wall. Only now did Brave truly take note of the warband's insignia. It was a childish representation of the Warchik's bare breasts. Under it was some chicken scrawl that Helena was obviously able to read.

Pounder looked between the drawing of tits and the Orkette before chuckling. “The resemblance is uncanny."

Helena made a slicing gesture across her throat, then jabbed a finger at the Astartes as if to poke them into action. “This gathering is unclean. Get ready to purify it. Breach in three…"

Brave gaped and shifted his gaze away from Warchik Wetslitt. “What in three?"

“Two…" Helena counted down unimpeded.

Brave tried to wave her down, get her to stop so he could properly survey and come up with a clean and effective plan of attack. “Wait, so, hang on a sec-…"

She either didn't hear him, didn't understand, or just didn't care.

“One. Breach!"

Pounder surged forward with a cheer. “PREPARE THINE ANUS FOR A BOOT-FISTING!"

He led the charge inside, with Brave shoved along behind him by the other Astartes following Pounder's zealous example. Hell and fury broke out at the same time, bolts hammering into the Orky orgy and adding more green stuff to the sprays going back and forth.

The shots of orgasmic discharge flying about the mess hall was replaced by the sling of solid shot. Bolters puffed rounds out of suppressors, shootas and sluggas were snapped up and let out a deafening retort. Ordinance pinged walls, busted flesh and plinked armour. The whole situation spiralled out of control and Brave nearly lost the contents of his bladder.

Diving to one side the Space Marine aimed for the cover of a stack of tables that had been moved to make space for the Orks' frivolous conglomeration. Time froze as his armoured palms skimmed the deck, suspending him in the midsts of the battle.

Bullets hung between the two parties, with the Orks scrambling forward into a hail of explosive bolts. Above them Wetslitt had been caught unaware and tipped from her throne. She was on her back, long legs comically stuck up in the air as she tried to figure out what was going on.

Down on the ground the Astartes were pushing forward. Sister Gelle's chainsword cleaved large bloody arcs through the nearest Orks, gobbets of fleshy stuff and chunks of bone catching between the blade's whirring teeth. At her back Shark was cutting through two Orks at a time, with Shiv at his side, both pistols drawn and firing accurately into individual fields of fire.

The only one not in the fight, with Brave's exception was Prince, but he still took cover from the doorway, firing his bolter from a crouched position so his armour would not be scuffed by incoming fire.

Time wailed back to its normal progression. A few bullets touching Brave's armour sparked and were flung harmlessly away and the Ultramarine smacked into the deck, sliding behind cover. It had all gone to hell. There was no organisation to this fight. Lances of cold dismay knifed through Brave's body as he saw the initiative bleed away with Helena's eagerness to get stuck into the Orks. This exchange of fire was too loud, too fast and it was only a matter of time before someone got hurt!

Brave was still overthinking it as Pounder stepped into his field of view, winding up a punch with a ridiculous wind-mill action of his arm.

“MAXIMUM FUCK!" His fist connected with an Ork and the xeno was fired headlong into the permacrete ceiling where it liquified upon impact.

Laughing heartily Pounder levelled his flamer and got stuck in. A misting spray of promethium doused the nearest Orks, who were shortly after ignited in a swirling inferno of burning death. Their screams were drowned out by the whoosh of fire, and the mad cackle of an Imperial Fist enjoying himself more than he should have. Through it all, sweeping his spray of fire from side to side to blanket the area in a firestorm, Pounder glanced sideways, then looked twice as he spotted Brave on the ground.

“Hey, boss! Watcha doing down there?" Firing his flamer one-handed, Pounder reached over, grabbed Brave by the chest plate and hauled him up and out of cover with the casual manner of a buddy helping his battle brother up after a stumble. “See? You can shoot more xenos from up here!"

Wrenching himself free, Brave quickly sidestepped and knelt behind an upturned table as Ork boolitz glanced his armour. “I was surveying the tactical situation, Pounder!"

That made the larger Astartes laugh under a hail of sparks as rounds harmlessly pinged his yellow carapace. “Tactical situation? What the fuck is tactical about shooting fish in a barrel? All we gotta do is push forward! Don't overthink it!"

Behind his mask, Brave's eyes bugged and he considered the fight one last time. Throne have mercy, Pounder was right. There was no tactical approach to this breach! The Astartes were pressing forward and slaughtering everything that moved. The opposing Orks were caught unaware, unprepared and were going down like bowling pins with minimal resistance. Those who did get close enough to swing a blade were taken out by a whirling dervish of death called Shark, or the gouts of angry flame fired by Pounder. The rest were cut down by volleys of bolter fire.

Realising the best plan for the situation was having no plan, Brave set his jaw and figured he still had control of the situation after all. Vaulting over cover, he waved his brothers forward like a standard bearer.

“Astartes! Forward!"

The kill-team pushed as one, pressing forward into the fray… with the obvious exception of Prince who didn't much like the look of the flying gouts of blood Shark was producing.

Almost as if driven to stamp out the shame of diving for cover, Brave led them at a reckless pace that even Helena with all her xenos-hating zeal was hard pressed to match. Rounds flattening against his ceramite chest plate didn't slow the Astartes and he leapt onto the nearest Orks with overcompensating bravery, his sights set on the lean figure at the top of the greenskin pyramid.

The Warchik screamed something at her underlings, but it was too late. Crushed under Brave's boots, three Orks offered him a good launchpad and he threw himself at the Orkette in charge, his thinking being that ending her would end the fight immediately.

He instantly regretted not overthinking this leap like he seemed to do everything else. That regret turned into concern as he and Warchik Slappah Wetslitt tumbled down the far end of the naked Orky stack and crashed into a sub-compartment access hatch. And in turn, concern turned into self-loathing when the access hatch gave way under the Space Marine's weight and the duo fell down a dark shaft into the utility tunnels crisscrossing the firebase's sub-structure.

Wetslitt clawed at his helmet with her daemonic manicure all the way down as his bulky frame caught several crossbars, wall-pipes and support beams, battering him during the fall until he smacked into the ground nearly a dozen metres below. The Orkette landed on top of him, straddling his chest with her face pressing against his crotch-plate.

Really, Brave didn't have the right mind to say anything about it. Not until Wetslitt nimbly rolled off him and dashed into the dark corners of the compartment. Several dark tunnels illuminated by Brave's heightened senses branched off from the utility room they had fallen into. He had no idea where any of the tunnels led or even where they re-joined the surface. They were lined with pipes running steam, water, power and other utilities all over the firebase and it's connected outposts. For all he knew one tunnel might run halfway across the planet.

Worse yet, the place was not built with Space Marine access in mind, meaning the tunnels were tight and the access ways were tighter. Wetslitt's leaner frame meant she could slip away into some nook or cranny Brave couldn't follow through in his bulky power armour. She'd be gone in a matter of seconds. He could not allow that to happen.

Rolling on his side, Brave scooped up his fallen bolter and fired one handed.

The single shot tore through the back of Wetslitt's knee with a fountain of blood and powdered bone. But even as she stumbled, she refused to stay down, despite her lower leg hanging on by a thin membrane of muscle.

A glow of unholy warp energy bound the crippled leg together, and even as Brave watched in horrified silence layers of sinew and flesh began to reappear as if 3D-printed in place by an invisible machine. Slices of bone re-appeared. Muscle and tendon grew over that and finally the sleek green flesh of Wetslitt's gorgeous long legs covered the knot of viscera once more. The warpish glow faded and the Orkette rose to face Brave as if nothing had happened.

Rolling to his feet, Brave steadied his bolter in a proper grip and fired twice more, the Orkette twisting and flinching violently with each hit. Both rounds tore through the Warchik's torso. One punched through flesh and bone just above her right breast, exited leaving a gaping hole then airburst somewhere behind her. The second hit her in the abdomen, a little to her left, with the resulting detonation tearing a massive chunk of meat out of her toned mid-riff.

But like before, the massive trauma was engulfed in otherworldly magic, and moments later it was as if she'd never been injured. The only evidence left of prior damage was the state her clothes were left in. The mid-riff shot had blown away some of her panties, leaving the smouldering remnants of the garment hanging around her ankle, revealing the tight, hairless slit of a nubile. The upper torso hit had severed the straps of her top, and it hung in tattered remains to expose her perfectly reconstructed breast.

Brave steeled himself, but thanked the neutral visage of his helmet as he subconsciously licked his lips. There was a minor clenching in his britches at the sight of Wetslitt's exposed and hardening nipple. Her tits were just like that of Helena's or Canoness Sepharya's. Perfectly rounded, perky and full as if carved by the Artificers who constructed His Golden Throne on Terra.

Her flesh may have been green, but it was free of the blemishes or horrid mutations one usually associated with the warp-touched. And the same way her body was touched by warp, Brave felt the near irresistible urge to shed his armour, close the gap and touch for himself, regardless of the deadly consequences.

His loins tightened the same way they had when his mind wandered about Sepharya and Helena. Within moments his mind was lost into a state that might offend, drifting down the erotic avenues in which Wetslitts body was twisted into a sexy pretzel while his club of man-meat stuffed her slippery orifices.

Hardly caring about her modesty (if she really did care she wouldn't have dressed like that in the first place), Wetslitt rested her hands on her slyly cocked hips and smirked smugly.

“I can't be kilt like dat, Spehss Muhreen! I's of da warp, 'n won't go back less I's eppeysed."

Brave didn't have to hazard a guess as to how one might 'appease' a deamonette. There were literally two things daemonettes were interested in. Bloodshed and orgasms.

The former wasn't going to work, so Brave was going to have to work with the latter interest. As much as it pained him to do so, a sense of dread and shame rising in his chest and catching in his throat, the Ultramarine slung his bolter onto a magnetic strip on the back of his waist and unhooked the codpiece.

The armour came free with relative ease and he set it aside in the webbing of his belt. Freed from its metal prison, his semi-aroused penis unfurled and dangled down to just past his mid-thigh.

Wetslitt's gaze was fixed on the Space Marine's mighty spear, and he noted with a sense of pride he'd never felt before how her eyes widened. The Orkette was biting her lower lip lustily as a thin line of drool formed from the corner of her mouth, heels scraping audibly as she shuffled just a little closer.

She wanted… no, needed it in her hands. To feel it's weight, firmness in her palms. She wanted the musk in her nostrils, the taste on her tongue, the scalding hot batter blasting her face and sliding down her skin. Wetslitt was lost in the depravity of her own imagination for a good few seconds untilshe realised what she was dealing with. Yes she wanted the big cock inside her, but she had to remember who it belonged to.

Regaining some of her otherworldly composure, she snarled at Brave. “Yew wont da Orky porky den? Yew fink I's gonn fall fer dat one, humie? Spehs Muhreens is pur'fied. Lit'nies 'n like. Yer skeet 'll strait up dedd me Chaos bitz."

His dick twitched a little, rising further until it was fully erect, nearly two feet in length and two wide for even Wetslitt's experienced grip.

“You talk as if you have a choice over whether this happens," Brave said, trying to devoid his voice of emotion. Inside he was fearing for his life and his soul. He didn't know where this was going, but saw no other out. The daemon must be banished, one way or another. This was going to happen.

And with some realisation about his dark comment, Wetslitt realised that if she didn't let it happen, Brave was going to make it happen. They were going to fuck. End of story. How much she struggled would only dictate how quickly it ended.

“I's can scream," she warned, showing no fear.

“That won't save you."

The challenge was laid down. The Orkette's pussy was exposed and glistening with a mixture of excitement and fear. Brave was at full erection, and no about of regret was going to change that now.

They went at it.

The Orkette started strong. Leaping forward, Wetslitt let out an otherworldly battlecry to the Chaos gods, her talons beared and clawing at his face. Several thin streaks stitched Brave's armour as he caught her by the throat at arm's length. With his free hand yanking her legs open by one ankle, he whirled the relatively light Orkish daemonette to one side and slammed her into the nearest wall.

The gap was closed. The Astartes settled between her thighs despite her kicking and struggling, claws finding no purchase on his slick armour. But Brave seemed ot stop. To hesitate, looking sheepishly down as if wondering what to do next.

“Aww. Wotsa matta, lil humie? Dunno were fings go?" Wetslitt laughed, earning a growl from the Astartes. “C'mon den! Do it! Zoggin do it, ya gi-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIHHh!"

Wetslitt hardly finished her taunt when her eyes widened and her jaw went slack with shock. Brave impaled her, holding the green skinned daemon-whore up with one hand around her throat, the other aiming for entry. The head of his cock slammed into her glistening little slit, the shaft kinked for a moment, then with a clench and a push he dipped into the hot bead of moisture pooling at her opening and pressed the assault.

It was like a sharpie fucking a stick-figure. At first it didn't seem possible. Then the Orkette's body stretched and yielded to the invader, seemingly warping reality itself and allowing Brave to push roughly into her with an arousal lubricated plunge.

He bottomed out with one thrust and Wetslitt's deceptively human face contorted when he kissed her cervix, pulling an expression like she was trying to shoot vinegar out of her eyes. Then Brave pulled back and every muscle in her body instinctively relaxed. Immediately she started living up to her namesake. Brave was sliding experimentally in and out of her quivering pussy when he felt a crash of wet heat roll over him. She started leaking copiously, lime green fluids gushing from her stuffed pussy and dripping down the front of Brave's legs.

He slammed her again, just to try and her whole body reacted, flexing around him and sucking him in close, pleasured moans rolling from her full, dark green lips. Wetslitt's arms reached up to grab a tangle of pipes for support and she wrapped her strong legs firmly around his waist, no longer fighting the Space Marine in any way. She clearly didn't care about being exorcised any more. If she was going to go, she was going to die happily with her cootchie stuffed to breaking point and trembling with uncontrollable pleasure.

She went into a frenzy, drooling profusely, bucking her hips against his, cooing encouragingly and squeezing her kegel muscles in a skilful rippling fashion. If he suddenly thought better of what he was doing and stopped, refusing slam her, she'd milk what she wanted out of him one way or another. So, Brave let her have it.

Transferring his grip so that his hands enveloped her waist, Brave gained leverage and started pounding her with jackhammer ferocity. Wetslitt cried out, flexing the lower half of her body to meet his powerful, deep thrusts.

The world clouded around them and they were both lost in the throes of passion. Where they were, who they were and why they were going through these motions didn't seem to matter anymore. The Space Marine was lost in the new tingling that raced through his loins, having forgotten why he was giving in to the daemonette. And the Warchik – with her pussy on fire and her whole body undulating with the feverish, inexperienced thrusts of the Astartes, basking in pleasure that electrified the tips of her fingers down to the tips of her toes – conveniently forgot that when he blew his load, she might well blow up.

Down in the darkness, with the noise of battle raging above and their pleasured moans joining together, echoing off into branching tunnels, all that mattered was the feeling. The feeling that built, and built, wracking their bodies, driving them on autopilot and bringing them higher and higher until finally—

Throwing her head back the Orkette let out a mighty “WAAAAAGH!" and came, a violent orgasm shaking every inch of her taught, toned body. Bullets of sweat dappled her skin and transferred to Brave's armour where they touched. Erratic squirts of her Orky girl-cum escaped between the stretched lips of her nethers and slippery green fluids jet-washed the midnight black steel encasing (the majority) of the Space Marine's body.

Brave gritted his teeth as the torrent of heat washed over his cock, enveloping him from all sides and drooling down over his balls. The warmth, the softness of the yielding flesh and the slipperiness of it all tipped him over the edge, and his stubborn body yielded to sensations he'd never before had the privilege to experience. His body did something new, but performed with choreographed ease like it knew exactly what to do.

He clenched as his balls were sucked up into his body, holding on for dear life until he could no longer hold and finally released a massive, powerful torrent of cum. The batter painted Wetslitt's wholly satisfied insides with countless pent up bursts. The Orkette trembled and convulsed under Brave's vice-like grip as he filled her to the brim with his seed. Wave after wave crashed through Wetslitt's cervix, coating her uterus and overflowing her vaginal canal. What refused to stay inside her was pushed out between her sodden, stretched walls and Brave's hefty girth. Waves of his spooge dripped in thick drops to the floor between his boots to form a puddle.

It was all over. The inner thighs of her stockings had worn away from the friction of Brave's armour. One of Wetslitt's shoes had fallen off and lay on its side in a large puddle of cum. The Orkette herself had checked out completely, her satisfied stare blank and devoid of conscious thought.

Warchik Slappah Wetslitt had been purified by the consecrated seed of an Astartes, and with her fell the warband of warp-tainted Orks.

~~~~

The climb out of the sub-structure was not particularly difficult. The pipes lining the access shaft were built sturdy, and the brick crumbled just enough that Brave could punch out his own handholds in sections where there were none. Soon he emerged back through the broken access panel and into the mess hall where the rest of the kill-team had cleaned house.

Green bodies lay strewn all about. Many blown apart by explosive bolter rounds, others sliced and diced by Shark's claws. A few had been reduced to puddles of mush that lay about the ground, and even clung to the ceiling – the handiwork of Pounder's fury.

Helena was finishing up one last Ork nob, having run it through with her chainsword and a few revs later the creature lay eviscerated at her blood-dappled boots. Flicking gore from the weapon, she noticed Brave climb to his feet and slung the weapon across her shoulder, approaching with a casual sway of her birthing hips.

At the same time, Brave slung the limb body of Warchik Slappah Wetslitt he'd carried out of the basement off his shoulder and dropped the daemonic Orkette like a sack of cum-stuffed potatoes. She squirmed where she lay, eyes shut and unconscious. Filling her with his sacred seed had not destroyed Wetslitt as they both originally thought would happen. She seemed temporarily weakened though, which was nearly as good.

“The greenskin daemon yet lives," Brave reported shortly.

“You are covered in much of her blood. How is it still alive?" Helena curiously scooped up a green glob from his armour with a slender finger.

Brave gulped quietly. “Er… yes. Blood. She bled… copiously." He cleared his throat and added, “However she is protected by the powers of Chaos. Whatever damage I inflict, she shrugs it off. Even now in her weakened state."

Brave levelled his bolter to show the sister, but Helena waved him off.

Flicking what she thought was gore from her hand, Helena huffed. “No matter. We will incarcerate her to perform the proper rites of exorcism. I will report this to Canoness Sepharya now.

As Sister Gelle was pinging the commlink to the Canoness, Brave turned to the rest of the kill-team and checked them over, removing their helms at the same time.

“Status?"

“We are secure, sir," Prince reported, tip-toeing between the bodies, piles of guts and pools of blood.

Brave nodded. As unusual each of them were, he could not argue that they were in any way ineffective. Perhaps he had overthought things on the Thunderhawk ride in. Maybe they weren't miss-fits or outcasts. Maybe they were just an effective, if not unorthodox team selected to deal with an unorthodox situation.

“Good work everyone. Push out and secure a perimeter. The militia will need our help mopping up the rest of the Orks," Brave began to say, but Helena cut across him with the sharp clack of her approach and the snap of her terse voice.

“Belay that. The head is cut from the snake and our forces are uprooting the remnants of the Ork infestation," she reported. “We are to report back to the ship for the next mission."

~~~~

Brave felt immediately over-dressed when he walked into the quarters the Sororitas had reserved for the kill-team. It was an unusual situation, whereas men, Astartes or no, were not usually allowed on the convent battleships of the Adepta Sororitas for long periods of time. However, they were now making some exceptions for the Deathwatch Space Marines with some semi-permanent lodgings.

While Brave remained in full armour, minus his helmet and his bolter slung, the rest of the Astartes he was destined to serve a discretionary number of xenos-killing missions with had stripped down for rest and maintenance. Clad in the baggy robes of their respective Chapters, the Space Marines were dotted loosely around the chamber. Shiv reading something from where he sat on an ammo crate. Pounder and Prince were side by side on a bench working on pieces of their armour – Prince polishing the ebony carapace to a spotless sheen and Pounder wearing his helmet while trying to replace the now totally burnt out stub of cigar he'd welded on earlier.

A servitor shuffled by, broom in its flesh and steel hands as it quietly swept the floor, drawing attention to Shark knelt in the corner of the room in silent meditation. Their armour was neatly stowed away in the wall recesses lining the armoury, and gear was cleaned and racked.

“Our new guest comfortable, boss?" Shiv asked casually.

Brave nodded. “The Warchik has been interned with the Canoness for purification. The daemon will be torn from her soulless body and her physical form will crushed out of space and time."

“… cool."

“I don't get it," Pounder mused. “There's whole battalions of these women marching about the ship and looking sexy. Why not rain those bitches on the Orks instead of sending us in like special forces work-monkeys?"

“Finesse, Pounder," Brave explained. “Intel on Ork leadership was sketchy. There were plenty of unknowns. The Canoness wanted to go in strong so Astartes were ready on the front line if everything went tits-up."

“I guess that fits," Pounder admitted, resting his helmeted head in one hand. “And I do like tits," he added, missing the point.

“What I don't get is why the Sororitas are working so closely with a kill-team," Prince interjected, polishing one of his pauldrons next. “With the Inquisition, sure, I've seen that before. But Inquisitors usually choose to work with Sororitas or the Deathwatch. I'm not saying we don't need the help, but a full battalion of sisters along with a kill-team seems like overkill, no matter the task."

“Overkill is underrated," Pounder said. “The Bolter Bitches are probably just on their periods and trying to justify bitching about the gender pay-gap by doing some actual work for once."

Brave had no idea what Pounder was going on about, but he could tell it was offensive. It had come out of Pounder's mouth after all.

“What's a 'period'?" Prince asked obliviously.

“Girl stuff."

“What's girl stuff?"

“You oughta know, lady-biscuit."

As Pounder and Prince had their little crossfire, Brave noticed the data slate in Shiv's hand. He was leaned over and pored over the contents with intensity, explaining his unusual string of silence throughout the conversation.

“What have you got there, Shiv?"

“Report on our next mission," he answered.

“Do tell."

Shiv pulled a face. “You're not gonna like it, boss."

Prince asked, “What is it? More Orks?"

Shiv grimaced. “Worse."

“Tyranids?" Pounder offered.

“Worse."

That got Brave curious, and reaching out he accepted the slate to look for himself, Pounder scoffing loudly in the meantime.

“What's worse than Tyranids?"

Brave agreed. It didn't seem possible to face anything worse than Tyranids. But there he saw them, illustrated in the briefing summary.

Lifting his gaze, Brave let a single, terrible word hang between the concerned Astartes.

“Furries…"

Author's Note :

Wakka-wakka!