The hum of the medi-chamber was low and irritating. Evodius lay supine on the surgeon's table. Evodius grimaced as the surgeon did his work. Grinding and slicing away. Caesulio was the finest in the Legion and he worked quickly. The smell of ointments and chemicals hung thickly in the air. Caesulio ceased his relentless digging and slicing and stepped back from the surgical table. 'We are done my Lord'
Evodius rose up from the table, his body ached and he groaned as he hopped off the table. His left leg now a finely tuned bionic replacement. The Legion artisans had outdone themselves. Although it was a dark, polished metal it was finely wrought with minute details of a normal leg. Veins and muscle striations of gold inlay ran down the side of it. A masterpiece! He flexed the ankle and was surprised at the quickness and natural feeling. Caesulio inspected the new limb. 'Master Voruy is truly skilled, this will serve you well. Take these tabs and report back to me tomorrow and we'll remove the dressings on your chest' Evodius looked down at the blood caked bandages across his chest. He could still remember being a boy, he could remember the searing pain of a deep cut or a broken finger yet here his chest, blown open by the dark energies of a Necron flayer rifle, was but a dull ache.
Evodius calmy walked back along the corridors of the ship. He paused for a moment, still getting used to his new leg. He gazed out of the viewport down onto IV-85. It seemed peaceful but Evodius knew better. The battle that had just raged lay fresh in his mind. The walking bones, the ancient dead, Such a bizarre and strange enemy unsettled him. Mindless orks, vicious tyranids and fickle eldar were one thing, but a civilisation that pre-dated the Imperium by millions of years was simply unfathomable. Their technology was of a different age but they would die like the rest Evodius vowed, gripping the railing with barely controlled rage.
Evodius, sitting calmy in his chambers, awaited the vid-link from Legion Master Kaine. He had requested an immediate report. The screen infront of Evodius rattled into life. Kaine's stern, battle-scarred face appeared on the screen. 'Report!' he barked.
'My Lord, Almost a thousand pilgrims went missing 3 days ago at grid reference 04-56-87. Forces from the local planetary garrison had responded and moved out. They encountered the xenos known as Necrons. The garrison force was almost completely destroyed but a few survivors reached an old comms station and managed to send a distress call. We answered. The Necrons have not come from off-planet. I fear IV-85 may be a tomb-world but we have yet to verify this.
After we arrived the Necrons attempted to overrun us but we blunted their attack and pushed them back. The commander of the garrison force was rescued. I believe he will provide us with valuable information. We succeeded in destroying their largest warmachine and slew many of them but...' Evodius paused and swallowed, his pride conflicting with his sense of duty.
'We failed my Lord. Their leader escaped my wrath and I was incapacitated.'
'Only in death does duty end Evodius... this fight is not over! Reinforcements are already on the way. Secure a foot-hold on the planet and rally the remaining garrison forces. IV-85 will be ours! Tomb-world or not!'
'Reinforcements my lord?'
'Yes, I've sent the 9th'
'The 9th my Lord? but...'
Before Evodius could reply the vid-feed was cut off. The 9th? he thought to himself. For the first time he doubted his Master's tactics. The situation on IV-85 requires measured tactics, a calm, calculating mind. It requires master tactician, not a raving mad-man. Cylander Azeron, Lord Commander of the 9th expeditionary company was a lunatic, a berzerker who lives only for death. Azeron's arrival to IV-85 means only one thing: the planet will be consumed by war.
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