I've Ridden Fine Bikes Too

The horizon had changed color beneath a foul cloud of poison. The rolling masses of green-black corruption gazed down gleefully upon what had once been fertile plains. Now, rotting wounds covered the land, and nothing remained in the fields but filthy sludge. The wind swept fragments of decayed grain into the breathing filters, and the machine spirits buzzed in displeasure as they purged every trace of the foreign matter.

Lasguns and flamers formed the final line of defense around the massive granaries. Terrified crowds clung desperately to the walls beneath the shadows of commissars' greatcoats, firing at the endless tide of plague zombies.

Whoosh!

A quad mortar launched incendiary shells into the zombies' midst. The blast first threw the horde into disarray, then a wall of fire surged up. Smoke from the burning corpses drifted skyward, making the green-black masses swell by several more rings.

"Grand Master, Granary No. 15 in Sector B has been confirmed secure. The corpse-driving sorcerers active nearby have all been eliminated."

"Good." Sammael, Grand Master of the Ravenwing, responded to his warrior's report.

Sammael rode the anti-grav bike 'Raven' away from the battlefield, while the other members of the Dark Angels' Ravenwing gathered at his side on their combat bikes.

As a long-lost Mark XIV anti-grav bike, 'Raven' vastly outperformed the combat bikes ridden by the other Ravenwing members. Sammael had to suppress the machine spirit's yearning for freedom and speed in order to let his battle-brothers keep pace.

A band of riders in white armor roared past, their braids lashing wildly like whips. Their leader had a weathered dark-brown face, and a two-handed crescent blade was strapped to the side of his bike.

Kor'sarro Khan.

Sammael gave the newcomer a friendly nod. Kor'sarro Khan returned the gesture with equal courtesy, then the White Scars'