"Part 917 of Katos Codex Skitarii; In action where any skitarii disobeys orders given from Magos of appropriate rank that are not in direct command, Ranking Magos leading the Skitarii shall be punished; as the Skitarii are tools and cannot make just descions one they're own."

Atasca and his Skitarii bodyguard were moving in cautiously through the now open doors of the Hall of Relics. The power to this building had been disabled, and so there was no light. The Skitarii used flashlights on they're shoulders and heads to see. They kept their weapons raised at all times. Once in the central enterance hall, Atasca called for the servitors to take care of the relics. The hall lead off into three long corridors, and in each corridors were indents to house a relic on a floating anti-grav pedistal. In the event of an emergency blast doors would slam shut and prevent all entry. Only the right data-key could open the blast doors, and luckily Archmagos Lupa had given Atasca all of them. They were beautiful constructs of binaric data and numbers, ancient values since the day the cult mechanicus was formed and they were treasured dearly. Each data key was inside a small wafer, and valuable beyond measure. As hundreds of servitors entered, Atasca gave each a data key and watched as they stomped into the gloom to collect their prize.

A split second later fear and self-loathing flowed through Atascas. He knew he had forgotten something. As soon as one of the servitors tried put the data key to one of the blast doors, defence drones and security systems will come online. Programed to attack any intruder - including allies. Atasca let out a sigh at that moment. There was a slight pause and then the first servitor tried to use his data key. Red warning lights flashed, and out of the ceiling came many defensive turrets. Each was armes with a heavy bolter with laser pointer and had a skull surrounding the camera.
"State your name and buisness, if you fail to comply prepare to be fired apon." Came the steely voice of the cogitator inside. The cogitators were computers made of human brains and were not very intelligent, made to carry out simple tasks.
"I am Magos Atasca of the Legiones Skitarii, I was sent by Archmagos Lupa to retrieve all relics and artifacts." Said Atasca.
The cogitator consodered for a moment, before swivelling the guns turrets upwards and folding back into the ceiling.
"Right lets get going!" Yelled Atasca at the servitors. It didn't make them work any faster, they were brainless afterall, but they did seem to get the idea of haste. Several Servitors, having collected their relics returned to the main hall where Atasca was standing.
"Once you have collected the item please take it back to the designated transport." Said Atasca again; it was like talking to a child.
The servitors beeped and carried on walking straight past him and out the large metal doors.

An hour had passed, and the Skitarii had nearly finsihed. Only a few servitors needed to return and then they would on their way to the Skyshield Landing Pad Array for the relics to be sent into space. Atasca had counted all of the servitors as they left, two more needed to come back. It was quiet, and the darkness of the corridors seemed to drown noise and shroud all that entered in a dark embrace. After waiting a few more minutes, Atasca got impatent. If the Dark Eldar were really coming down on his position, surely they would be here any minute now?
"I am going down to check. You two." He said, pointing at the two nearest Skitarii. "Come with me."
The two Skitarii nodded their slited helms and followed Atasca into the gloom of the centeral corridor.

The corridor was longer than expected, at least fifty meters. Atasca was suprised at how hot it was, and was having to wipe sweat off his brow. He was nearing the end of the corridor, no sign of the two missing servitors. Atasca looked in at all the empty vaults where the relics used to be safely housed. As he continued walking, a small noise could be heard. It was a kind of..sucking, ripping sound. Atasca picked up his pace, eager to see what was causing it. He flashed his head-mounted torch on the walls and floor and paused. Something had been split on the floor. It was red and oily black - servitor blood. By the marks left in it, something must have been dragged away. Atasca stood up and looked into the vault the servitor tried to open. Inside, floating in it's pedistal, was a bronze antique pistol. Complete with a gold trim,it was like nothing he had ever seen. Just above the handle was a shaped stone on an extended arm, and at the base of the barrel was an open slot. The long barrel was shaped neatly into the stock and protruded outwards with golden leaves decorated on the bronze. Atasca leaned forward to pick it up, it was so bizzare. He grabbed the handle in his hand and removed it from the anti-grav base. It had a nice wieght to it, comfortable. A slot then opened in the pedistal, revealing a set of three, bronze bullets, each one had binaric prayers etched into the side. Atasca took these and slotted one into the open gap in the barrel. To his suprise, no shutter slid back to protect the round. Instead to stayed there. Atasca raised it and looked down the sights, before lowering it again and putting it by his side. The sucking sound was close, and he imagined it had something to do with the missing servitor.

Atasca stalked forwards cautiously, eagerly looking into the darkness for signs of something. He was looking at the blood trail left by whatever had taken the servitor, and then paused. Following the trail upwards he saw to corpse of the servitor lying on its side a few meters away with something bent over it. Atasca raised his newly aquired pistol at the thing. It was pale, gaunt with hunger with swelling augmented muscles. It's back was lined in antlers, tenticles and containers of thick green bile. As soon as the light was shined onto it it shuddered backwards and lifted its face, showing a head clamped in a dark metal sheet with a slit in it. A wild and feral whinning howled, demoralising Atasca - but not the mindless Skitarii. They raised their weapons in response but didn't dare fire without the command being given. The creature springed itself into the air, blade-like fingers and mutulated claws spread outwards like a birds wings. Atasca squeezed the trigger on his ornate weapon. The stone held aloft by the arm swung down into the open slot containing the round. A spark flew from the base of barrel and a singular lead slug hit harmlessly the metal sheet. The creature paused for a second, taking in the sheer impact before then charging again. Was that it? Atasca thought taking a step back.

Then the weapon started to hiss, and before Atasca knew it a violent stream of white-hot phospher ejected itself out the barrel and attached itself to the screaming and squirming abomination. It screamed as the molten phospher singed through leathery pale skin and to the precious organs beneath. It began to melt in a puddle, falling to the floor in a wailing mess of agony and heat.
"End it's pain." Spoke Atasca to his two Skitarii bodyguards. Without speaking and in percect syncronisation, the two augmented soldiers raised their Radium Carbines and pumped the xenos full of radioactive slugs.

When the screaming finally died, all that was left was a pile of ash floating in a small puddle of biological mush. The rad-censer at Atsaca's waist chimed; it was far too radioactive here, a few more minutes and they would be mutated.
"Time to leave." Muttered Atasca, turning and walking towards the distant light of the central hall.

Outside, chaos had started. The Skitarii were now fighting on all fronts, assualted by white skinned monsters with snapping claws and hungry maws. The air was fizzing, and eventually a small hole would open, another abomination falling onto the manufactorum floor and sprinting forwards in a glee that can only be described as madness.

The Baneblade's bolters swung around on their side mounts, fire spitting at the end of the stubby barrels accompanied with the loud thud of self-propelled missles launching themselves from their shells. Around the Baneblade, the Skitarii were firing their weapons at the oncoming xenos filth. The Ironstrider cavalry were sprinting around on their two-legged mounts, impaling the xenos on the end of long taser goads, or shooting at them with long radium rifles. Clouds of incense hung in the air from where the Ironstriders had stepped.

Atasca paused, surveying the battlefield. The two Skitarii by his side and sprinted forwards and started opening fire on the nearest xenos, weapons cracking.
'Princep, what is the situation here?' Atasca said into the vox.
'We are being overrun and are starting to pull back.' Came a muffled voice.
'Any reinforements?'asked Atasca.
'The Adeptus Astartes Ultra are on their way now!' Came a yelled reply.

A waypoint flickered onto Atasca's vision, in the sky. A black Thunderhawk was less than 750m away. Hope and awe filled Atasca's body. Perhaps this battle was not yet lost...