The winds in the ruined city carried an aroma of ash and burnt flesh. Gathered by a bombed out plaza was a platoon of Grey Knights, the Imperium's finest Daemon Hunters, every incorruptible warrior anathema to the denizens of the warp. A Razorback rumbled alongside the towering strides of a Nemesis Dreadknight through the war-torn streets.
The Razorback pulled to a halt. The Grey Knight Grandmaster in the Dreadknight pulled ahead, and turned around. Something was amiss. The howling winds carried a stench of rot now. Child-like chitterings whispered from the shadows of the ruins. A bell toiled in the misty horizon.
The Grey Knight Grandmaster twisted his torso, cycling through the weapons systems in a routine check. The Razorback driver did the same, relaying scan results to higher command in orbit.
"We're clear," came the reply.