For Lothar, the players' running dialogue was usually just a jumble of weird whispers. They sounded like they were speaking some ancient, terrifying truth, but he couldn't make heads or tails of it.
He'd discussed it with his comrades, who believed the strange chatter was a side effect of the Saints' Warp-touched nature. They'd all gotten used to it, so now he just tuned out the noise.
Arale's digital smoke and mirrors worked like a charm, giving the players a five-minute head start—a window of time they desperately needed to penetrate the Brass Sword.
Under Arale's guidance, they made a beeline for the Communications Center, only to find it locked down by Anjido's most trusted goons. A quick and dirty fight broke out, but the players were on fire. They seized the comms and immediately took down the jamming signal, restoring Shalatath's fleet-wide link.
The moment the intrusion alarm blared, Redel and Anjido went white as ghosts. They knew immediately they were facing a full-scale counterattack from Shalatath and the Valancius family. If the Commodore could re-establish contact with the fleet, their harebrained scheme was toast.
"The Valancius rebels must have killed Commodore Shalatath! I am assuming command. Open fire immediately! Punish the traitors!" Redel yelled, running on fumes as he rushed to the control console.
"Hold on a minute! That's jumping the gun! The Commodore just hasn't responded; we can't assume she's dead!" the Communications Officer protested.
Whoosh! A ruby-red laser beam sliced through the air. Anjido had pulled the trigger, shooting the officer dead on the spot.
Panic broke out on the bridge. Several crew members reached for their sidearms, but the guards, positioned precisely for this moment, immediately leveled their weapons and warned them to stay put. Redel and Anjido had planned to take this bridge by force, flooding it with their most trusted, ruthless guards.
"The Commander is dead, and this scum was still defending the heretics! He was clearly their plant! Killing him was a stroke of genius," Anjido spat, his eyes cold as he surveyed the crew. "Under emergency naval regulations, Redel, as Deputy Commander, automatically takes charge. Any objections?"
"This is a mutiny! You can't—" another crewman started, only to be gunned down by the loyalist guards.
"I will take the heat for everything that happens here!" Redel declared, his voice full of menace.
"Your only job now is to follow orders and avenge Commodore Shalatath. Stand against me, and you'll wind up like these two."
It was a naked power grab, but faced with automatic gunfire, the officers' backgrounds, and the ruthless efficiency of the mutineers, no one dared to say boo. Redel and Anjido exchanged a grim smile.
They knew they had pulled it off. The next step was simple: wipe out Atomal, then write their own history. Praise the Lord of Change; His protection has brought us victory!
"Disperse the formation immediately and hammer Planet Atomal! Don't let a single ship escape!"
The words were barely out of Redel's mouth when Shalatath's voice cut across the main communication channels of the Brass Sword and several other warships.
"Redel and Anjido have committed treason! Anyone who supports them is an accomplice! Those who come clean and surrender immediately will be treated leniently. Those who dig in their heels will face the full wrath of the Inquisition!"
Redel, Anjido, and their supporters, who had thought they had the whole situation in the bag, went ghostly pale.
Before they could even figure out their next move, the sound of bolters and screams erupted just outside the bridge door. After securing the Communications Center, Warmaster and the other players were charging the bridge to capture the mutineers.
The soldiers protecting the bridge, who were all in with Redel and Anjido, immediately opened up on Warmaster and the team. But mere mortal soldiers, no matter how loyal or well-armed, were no match for a stampede of Astartes. The players chewed through the defenders, who quickly collapsed and fled, crying uncle.
Inside the bridge, the loyal officers and crew members seized the chaos, pulling out their own weapons to fight back against the mutineer guards.
Realizing the writing was on the wall, Redel and Anjido tried to beat a hasty retreat through a secondary corridor, only to be caught red-handed by another team of players flanking them.
"You messed with the Guide, and you thought you could just skip town?" the World Eater, OneHand, growled. He carved through several guards with his chain-axe and grabbed Redel and Anjido.
"Don't think you've seen the end of this!" Anjido shrieked, his head held high. "The will of the Lord of Change is coming! You can't win!"
"You're a prisoner, and you're still shooting your mouth off? You've got a death wish!" OneHand roared. He didn't hesitate, delivering a punch that caved in half of Anjido's face.
Witnessing the brutal efficiency of the players, the remaining prisoners started trembling and knew enough to keep their traps shut.
Deep in the ship's lower deck, Cultists of the Lord of Change were performing a dark ritual, begging for Tzeentch's wisdom and power. This was Anjido's insurance policy—his Plan B. If the mutiny succeeded, it would be a sacrifice of victory. If it failed, he could still call upon Chaos to turn the tide.
Since the Fall of Cadia and the Great Rift's expansion, the psychic barrier had thinned, meaning the cost of summoning Tzeentchian Daemons was dirt cheap. The cultists managed to complete the ritual by sacrificing a mere eighty-one insignificant slaves.
On the dimly lit deck, an azure light flared, tracing complex, ever-shifting geometric patterns. In seconds, these patterns solidified into a portal—a shimmering tear in reality leading to a vast, crystalline labyrinth.
"By the sacred number of nine, descend! God who commands fate and wisdom, bless your devout followers!" the lead cultist screamed.
But before the Daemons could break through into the materium, the deck shook with explosions. The bodies of several cultists participating in the ritual were vaporized.
The remaining cultists looked toward the entrance in terror, only to see a team of Saints, led by the soulless Mordecai and Battle Sister Ilana, piling in under Arale's guidance, guns blazing and carrying the banner of the Imperial Aquila.