Urbanosprawl Alpha, the largest city on Sangua Terra, was collapsing under the weight of war. Ten kilometres to the south, in the smaller city of New Nachmund, things were just as bad.

The sky was ablaze with warp energy, weapons fire and explosions. Something deep underneath the city cracked, whether that was a hidden vault, the Crimson King, the planet’s mantle, a Stormsurge gone rampant or something the Blood Angels cooked up, didn’t matter. The city began to tremble. An earthquake.

Inquisitor Stella stumbled to her feet, her head ringing, wounds bleeding and ribs broken. Her last mission had been her only success of note recently, resulting in the rescue of the Planetary Governor of Sangua Terra. If the planet would even last the rest of the week.

Stella looked up at the collapsed tower she had fallen from, and then down at the disused aqua-canal she had landed in. It had been dry as a bone for a year, but that was rapidly about to change, due to the shattered hydro-dam not too far away. A furious and unstoppable torrent of water was heading right for her. A Tsunami inside the city.

“There are worse ways to go…” Stella muttered to herself. She checked her pockets for a cigarette. At first, she pulled out a warp-touched Sorcerer’s Tome, which kept reappearing on her person (nothing to worry about at all). Stella tossed it aside. “Sangua Terra, you’d better hope I don’t survive. If I do, it’s definitely Exterminatus.”

As the Inquisitor lit her final cigarette, she noticed someone stretching out close by. The metallic man noticed her back.

“Holy shit. Greg? Is that you?” Stella said to the metal man. “You’re back! Didn’t fancy joining the local Necrons, then?”

“Inquisitor Stella,” Greg the false-necron acknowledged. “I decided that Dynasty life was not worth the hassle. Likewise, I assumed that you fell into the warp.”

“You wish. What are you doing here?” Stella asked.

“Isn’t it obvious? I am experiencing what it is to live, after being dead-inside for so long,” Greg the false-necron answered, high on the archeo-poetry he had recently consumed. “Translated into Low Gothic: this metal-man is about to catch this wave.”

Only now did Stella notice the archeo-surfboard that Greg was standing upon. She was speechless. Greg had clearly banged his metal head so hard that he’d lost the plot.

“Are you just going to stand there and accept your fate, Inquisitor?” Greg asked in return, steadying himself for the wave. 

“Yeah, maybe,” Stella answered honestly, as she eyed up the rapidly approaching wave.

 “I have acquired a spare surfboard if you want to join me. Redundancy measures are effective.”

“Uhhh. You know what? Sure,” Stella said, grabbing the back-up-archeo-surfboard. As if this old and broken Necron was the one convincing her to carry on living. “Greg, what’s your plan after surfing to safety, anyway?

 “I will escape from Sangua Terra. There is an abandoned Corvus Blackstar waiting next to highway 88. You are welcome to escape as well, but must agree to a non-betrayal pact.” Greg offered.

Stella took a long drag of her cigarette before flicking it away. “Agreeable. I’ll see what I can do about the Deathwatch, too. They’re going to be pissed that you’re still alive.”

The Inquisitor and False-Necron clasped hands, before grabbing their Archeo-surfboards. The wave reached them in seconds. The cascade of water carrying them forward. Together, Stella and Greg rode the wave through the canal, racing towards the highway as New Nachmund collapsed behind them.

High above, Saint Belestine flew against the trepid winds, watching as the Inquisitor and Necron surfed down the canals of Urbanosprawl Alpha. The Saint pumped her fist and shouted out.

“Praise the Emperor!”

At just the right moment, Stella and Greg threw themselves off their boards, and out of the canal. As promised, an abandoned Corvus Blackstar lay, abandoned next to the highway.

Onboard the aircraft, Stella took precious minutes to turn the lights on, never mind the engines. She would have to figure this out very quickly. It took Veteran Deathwatch Techmarines years of arduous training and indomitable will to tame the Corvus machine-spirit, to be able to pilot this deadly vehicle. 

Stella looked around the cockpit, which was filled to the brim with buttons, levers, screens, switches and ports. As she did so, Greg plugged himself directly into the flight controls. The aircraft’s machine-spirit audibly groaned in protest. Five seconds passed. Then the hull rumbled as the engines powered on.

“Are you kidding me? How?!” Stella yelled.

“You are never going to believe this,” Greg said. “This is not a Corvus Blackstar Machine-spirit. It is the Abominable Intelligence that you discovered earlier this year. It escaped confinement and has been trapped in this aircraft. I have just given it the command codes that I stole from the Deathwatch.”

“You what? How did-? Shit. I… am in so much trouble,” Stella replied. “You better not speak a word about this heresy to anyone,” Stella replied.

“Understandable. The AI says hello. Now strap yourself in, Inquisitor, things are about to get bumpy,” Greg said.

The Corvus Blackstar suddenly roared into the sky, banking left, right and barrel-rolling through the collapsing city. Once there was a break in the air-defence network, Greg yanked back on the controls, flying them straight through the stratosphere and beyond.

Stella wiped the blood from her nose, a side-effect of the extreme G-forces Greg had just put her through, and leaned back in her chair, sighing heavily. 

“I hate the Nachmund Gauntlet, Greg,” Stella said with resignation. “If a Saint ever pulls me out of my grave again, tell them to just put me back in.”

“If you need some time off, I’ve heard of this great Industrial world which ticks all your preference boxes,” Greg replied.

Stella perked up. “Oh yeah? I could do with a vacation. What’s this planet called?”

“Armageddon.” 

“I hate you.”