DANCE LIKE THE GALAXY'S BURNING

[I — THE BATTLEFIELD HAS A BEAT] [IMMEDIATE FULL WAR-METAL IMPACT] [DOUBLE-KICK DRUMS, LOW-TUNED GUITARS, ARTILLERY TOMS] [BRASS WAR HORNS] [PROPHET — COMMANDING RHYTHMIC MELODY] Steel on steel! Fire in the sky! Ten thousand voices screaming reasons why! March to the left! Charge to the right! Everybody's ready for another endless fight! [HEAVY RIFF] [PROPHET — sardonic] Imperial guns across the trenches. Orks arriving without invitations. World Eaters making subtlety a historical curiosity. [WAR HORN] Every faction has a battle cry. Every banner has a reason. Every army has a drum. [ARTILLERY STRIKES IN RHYTHM] Wait. [ONE DISPLACED SNARE HIT] Was that... a snare fill? [LOW BASS PULSE] Oh. Oh, that's good. [PROPHET — delighted] You magnificent bastards. You've already got a beat! [GLITCH-TAR SCRATCHES THE DOWNBEAT] [II — UNAUTHORIZED REMIX] [INDUSTRIAL DANCE KICK ENTERS BENEATH HEAVY GUITARS] [SYNCOPATED BASS LOCKS TO WAR DRUMS] A shell hits the hillside. The cannons answer back. An engine coughs in seven. The mortars fill the gap. A thousand boots are pounding through the broken city streets. And all I had to do... [PROPHET — wickedly amused] ...was move the beat. [GLITCH-TAR FRACTURES THE RHYTHM] [THE GROOVE SLAMS BACK HEAVIER] Now the firing lines are stepping sideways. The charge has developed a curious little swing. A Commissar is shouting orders. His entire regiment is doing exactly what he says. [PROPHET — laughing] Technically! [CHORUS I — THE WAR-DANCE CHANT] [FULL MARTIAL DANCE-METAL] [STOMP PERCUSSION, GANG-LIKE SPECTRAL SELF-DOUBLES] BOOT! BOOT! BREAK THE GROUND! TURN! STRIKE! BRING IT DOWN! FIRE! STEEL! HOLD THE LINE! FIGHT LIKE HELL - BUT KEEP THE TIME! [DOUBLE-KICK SURGE] LEFT! RIGHT! STOMP! STRIKE! THE WHOLE DAMN WAR IS DANCING TONIGHT! [GLITCH-TAR AND BASS UNISON DROP] [III — EIGHT COUNTS OF HERESY] [SCRAP-METAL PERCUSSION JOINS] [DIRTY ORK-LIKE STOMP GROOVE] The Orks didn't need convincing. They heard the bass and brought more guns. Somebody welded six enormous speakers to a stolen battlewagon. [PROPHET — impressed] That's horrifying. Turn it up. [HEAVY SCRAP-METAL DROP] The greenskins are moshing through the barricades. Every headbutt lands on the snare. [PROPHET — amused] Of course it does. [DRUMS SHIFT TO RIGID EIGHT-STRIKE PATTERN] Then came the followers of the Blood God. Axes raised. Armour red. Nothing resembling a sense of humour. [PROPHET — counting forcefully] ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT! [BLACKENED GUITAR RIFF] [PROPHET — taunting] Now turn! [ONE-BEAT GLITCH] Oh, look at that. A perfectly timed chainaxe swing. A little shoulder movement. An involuntary pivot. [PROPHET — delighted] You're doing it! You're actually doing it! [HEAVIER EIGHT-COUNT] I have never seen someone so furious about having rhythm. [CHORUS II — MORE VIOLENT, MORE PRECISE] [CRUSHING HALF-TIME GUITARS] [WAR HORNS AND INDUSTRIAL KICK] BOOT! BOOT! BREAK THE GROUND! TURN! STRIKE! BRING IT DOWN! FIRE! STEEL! HOLD THE LINE! FIGHT LIKE HELL - BUT KEEP THE TIME! [PROPHET — shouted] NO, NO! NOT A TRUCE! JUST BETTER FOOTWORK! [DOUBLE-KICK BLAST] [GLITCH-TAR LAUGHS THROUGH DISTORTION] [IV — THE GALAXY LEARNS TO MOVE] [MECHANICAL PULSE ENTERS] [PRECISE INDUSTRIAL TECHNO UNDER LOW METAL RIFF] The Necrons advance in silence. Perfect timing. Perfect spacing. An entire phalanx turns ninety degrees on the same beat. [SHORT SERVO CLICK] Then another. Then another. [PROPHET — fascinated] Sixty million years of technological supremacy... [MECHANICAL BASS POP] ...and you've invented the robot. [ANGULAR SYNTH ARPEGGIO] The Harlequins find the rhythm. They don't stumble. Don't hesitate. They leap between the broken measures and make the whole thing look deliberate. [BRIEF 7/8 FRACTURE] [SWINGING METAL GROOVE REASSERTS] [PROPHET — offended] Oh, you smug little bastards. [GLITCH-TAR ANSWERS A TWISTED GUITAR PHRASE] That was excellent. [PROPHET — exhilarated] Someone's turned the artillery into percussion. The Mechanicus has synchronized the sacred machinery. And somewhere inside a ruined cathedral... [BRIEF DISTORTED ORGAN STAB] ...a Noise Marine is demanding more volume. [PROPHET — dry] Naturally. [V — THE HIVE LEARNS THE RHYTHM] [LOW ORGANIC SUB PULSE] [CHITIN CLICKS ENTER BETWEEN DOUBLE-KICKS] [THE DANCE GROOVE REMAINS, BECOMING UNSETTLING] Then something moves beyond the smoke. Too many claws. Too many bodies. Not a voice. Not a cheer. Just thousands of living weapons moving as one. [PROPHET — uneasy] Oh. No. Not you again. [CHITIN CLICKS BECOME TRIPLET PERCUSSION] The swarm is learning the rhythm. The Hive Mind has found the pulse. Every strike falls together. Every movement anticipates the next. [EXTRA BEAT APPEARS] [PROPHET — startled] Hang on. Who added that extra beat? [NECRON SYNTH ANSWERS] That's not mine. [ORK SCRAP DRUMS DOUBLE] That's definitely not mine. [HARLEQUIN RHYTHM BENDS THE PHRASE] Oh, you absolute bastards. [PROPHET — ecstatic realization] You're improvising! [VI — THE GALAXY'S BURNING] [ALL FACTION RHYTHMS COLLIDE] [RELENTLESS INDUSTRIAL WAR-RAVE] [HEAVY GUITARS, WAR HORNS, TRIBAL TOMS AND DISTORTED BASS] Now the battlefield has become a stage. The guns are roaring in the pocket. The tanks are keeping time. Every marching column has developed a personality problem. And nobody has stopped fighting! [PROPHET — shouting over the beat] THAT'S IT! KEEP THE AGGRESSION! KEEP THE CHAOS! [BRIEF GUITAR CHUG BREAKDOWN] JUST STOP FALLING OFF THE BEAT! [FINAL WAR-DANCE CHANT — MAXIMUM AGGRESSION] [DOUBLE-KICK AT FULL POWER] [STOMPING HALF-TIME RIFF] [PROPHET'S SPECTRAL DOUBLES THICKEN] BOOT! BOOT! BREAK THE GROUND! TURN! STRIKE! BRING IT DOWN! FIRE! STEEL! HOLD THE LINE! FIGHT LIKE HELL - BUT KEEP THE TIME! [WAR HORNS] LEFT! RIGHT! STOMP! STRIKE! THE WHOLE DAMN WAR IS DANCING TONIGHT! [PROPHET — fierce melodic lift] LET THE CANNONS TAKE THE DOWNBEAT! LET THE ENGINES SHAKE THE STARS! LET THE RHYTHM BREAK THE FORMATION! [HUGE GLITCH-TAR ASCENT] YOU WERE ALREADY MAKING NOISE! I JUST SHOWED YOU WHERE THE GROOVE WAS! [FINAL INSTRUMENTAL COLLISION — SHORT] [BLACKENED GUITAR TREMOLI, INDUSTRIAL BASS, ARTILLERY TOMS] [ONE MASSIVE SYNCHRONIZED IMPACT] [PROPHET — breathless, laughing] Oh, that... That was beautiful. [CODA — SOMEONE NOTICED] [WAR-METAL GROOVE CONTINUES LOW] [DISTANT BATTLEFIELD NOISE] [PROPHET — satisfied] Well. I think my work here is done. [ONE ARMOUR-HEAVY FOOTSTEP] [ANOTHER] [THE MUSIC LOSES ONE BEAT] ... Oh. [PROPHET — cautiously] Hello. [LOW GUITAR RUMBLE] You're a large fellow. Lovely axe. [ONE HEAVY DRUM STRIKE] What? [BRIEF SILENCE] Oh, come on. You looked magnificent! [THREATENING EIGHT-COUNT BEGINS] ONE. TWO. THREE. [PROPHET — hurried] Right! I'm leaving! [TEAR OPENS WITH A GLITCHED BASS DROP] And for the record - [BEAT FOUR HITS EARLY] YOUR FOOTWORK WAS TERRIBLE! [GLITCH-TAR SCREAMS] [INSTANT HARD CUT] [ONE DISTANT VOX TRANSMISSION — PROPHET'S VOICE] ...Still worth it. [END]