Trenches crossed the plains like veins snaked through a body, thousands of kilometers dug into the earth with tools and artillery, craters turned into pits turned into muddy holes into nexuses for trenches, with one side sporting the banners of the Eternity, great banners flapping in defiance of the other side, all it stood for, and all it would bring. On the other stood pre-fabricated fortresses and bunkers, fortifications taken or destroyed, with rubble and the ghosts of murdered cities lying just behind the lines of the Valan.
And standing in Section 39-A.3, where a Valan Fortress of the same name had stymied the progress of the Eternity for years, Specialist Merf looked into the skies, his lasgun held loosely in his right hand, and his mouth hung open as he watched the fiery streaks of red fury descend in their hundreds unto the surface, the crackle of the vox-caster upon his back ringing through the caster in his left hand momentarily forgotten, its antennae swaying in the breeze of the battlefield and the trench he stood within, just as every other soldier near him, and likely beyond, stared into the skies.
He had grown up with the stories. They all had, of the Angels of Death, the Hands of the God-Emperor in the Aspect of the Soldier, those lucky few who Knew No Fear as they defended humanity as its shield and sword. But they had all assumed that this would be all they would remain; stories. Hard-kept memories and legends passed through the generations as they slowly rose from the ashes of Sub-Sectors fallen and disunited, risen by the might once shirked and made great by the power of comprehension and deliberation. Merf had never thought, even for a moment, he would see the Angels of Death, not even in a pict, and much less in person.
Yet here they were. Falling in their hundreds, an entire Chapter deployed to the embattled warzones of To-latha, descending with divine fury and fire unto the xenos that had caused them centuries of pain. And as they did, anti-air fire began to rise from the positions of the karking beakers, missiles and munitions racing into the skies with malicious intent.
"WHAT ARE YOU JIBBERS STANDING AROUND FOR?!" The Lord Commander suddenly shouted, waving his staff around in the air with crackling light atop the same, his other hand pointing at the positions beyond the no-mans land. "AT THEM! FOR THE GOD-EMPEROR, SUPPORT HIS ANGELS!" And with that, he followed his own orders as Merf felt adrenaline course through his body, a sharp intake of breath bringing the smells and sounds of the entire battle into crystal clarity. Sweat, blood, piss, shit, metal, poison, grime, dirt, oils, explosives, and wood assailed his senses as he jumped from the bottom of the trench to its top in one go, feeling every single muscle in his body delight and roar with power, hundreds, thousands all along the lines rising as the order spread, a charge that should have been staggered erupting from the trenches filled with brimstone fury in one unison.
"FOR THE GOD-EMPEROR!" "KILL THEM ALL!" "REMEMBER '54!" The human wave shouted, limbs enhanced with immaterial might pounding against the churned-through mud and soil. Grenades went sailing farther and with greater precision than should be possible for mere humans by the hands of those seeking to suppress the beaks as others merely charged and fired with aim gained by limbs enhanced by sorcerous might. The Valan noticed, and fire shifted from the skies to the thousands of humans charging at them, artillery shells absent from the spontaneous charge and unable to lend their suppressive might, and so their weaponry ripped through the air, tens of thousands of flechettes and rounds thundering against the wall of flesh.
And yet, Merf charged all the same, trusting in the Lord Commander as several dozens fell to the ground...and no more followed; a wave of liquid had been ripped from the ground by the Battle Ritualists as one of their miraculous works intercepted the projectiles sent against them by his command. He charged all the harder for it, knowing it would not last long, maybe another second or two, but then they would have to be next to the beaks, lasguns shoved down their throats, and mags already emptied into their stomachs.
Distantly, he saw that the descending pods had almost reached the ground and jumped feet-first into the trench of the Valan; lasgun sighted on one Xeno gunner, its head swiveling around as his finger pressed onto the trigger.
Explosions of flesh and feathers followed the bright red streaks of superheated light, cooking meat erupting from the change in temperature and bones charring with matchless efficiency as one soul got ripped from its mortal coil by the actions of a man and joined all other souls ripped into the eddies of the Warp that died. One more Xenos dead, billions more to follow, and Merf hit upon the ground with a stumble, the power in his veins exhausted and the price now to be paid.
Just in time for the ground to shake, hundreds of pods crashed against the ground, throwing up plumes of dirt and stone, causing quakes and stumbles in the human soldiers in the trenches and furious squawks by the Valan.
Merf looked up, his lasgun rising as he steadied himself.
Explosions erupted from further into the fortification and trenches.
Lights flashed as he took a single step, screams rising by the micro-second, turning from fury to terror.
He turned a corner in the trenches, looking upon a pit dug into the ground, a pod of the Angels nearby.
Three dozen Valan lay dead within, blown and sliced apart, a single Space Marine in yellow armor walking calmly back to the pod from which he had likely emerged.
Merf paused, looking upon the scene of carnage, one thought in his mind as other soldiers joined him in this section, either awed by the presence of the living myth walking toward them or stunned by the sheer violence enacted within a few seconds.
"Soldiers," came a deep rumble from the Angel as he hefted a large bolter like a mere rifle. "I am Brother Gregorius. What are your orders?"
As one, they all began to kneel in respect. "To kill the Valan, Lord," Merf replied with a voice far too steady for how he currently felt. "And to liberate this world in the name of humanity from their presence. All else flows from there."
"Then rejoice, the Lamenters have arrived." The Space Marine paused for a moment, inclining his head, before he looked back at the assembled soldiers. "The fortress has been taken, only stragglers remain. Contact your superiors to tell them of the news. You will require extensive mechanized reinforcements to support our advance in the coming weeks."
And with that, he turned, walking calmly against the backdrop of Fortress 39-A.3 wrecked and trails of smoke rising from within, the burning banners of the Blood Court fluttering to the ground as they turned to ash, and a new standard fluttered upon its ramparts.
A red bleeding heart upon a white-black checkerboard pattern bounded by a yellow edge.
The Eternity had been in a stalemate against these forts for years.
It had taken the Lamenters four minutes to break through.
The Song Of War Continues:
(6-Hour Moratorium)
[] No Mercy For Those Who Give None.
(The Lamenters are used to tragedy. It does not mean they are indifferent to the evil that precedes it.)
[] Where Is Your Fury Now?
(A Choir fights. And the Warp croons its approval to their hymns.)
[] Dancers Upon The Stellar Currents
(Did you think the Aeldari would be idle?)