Loyalty is its own Reward (A Traitor Legion Chapter Master Quest)

What it says on the tin. I´m going away for the rest of July to a place where I don´t have either an internet connection nor time to write. As such, this quest will take a momentary pause in that moment. Rest assured, I will continue writing in August. Thank you for your patience, apologies for the inconvenience and have a nice summer people!

Lezo System, Aetelian Sector, Ultima Segmentum 773 M41.


With the threat of the mutants vanquished for Lezo, all of the inhabitants from the system feel relieved as life slowly but surely returns to normality. In the nobility spires and the merchant guildhalls the old song and dance of intrigue, manipulation, treason and alliances plays once more, even though now the Lord Sector is the one setting the rhythm. In the myriad of temples, cathedrals and churches that dot the planet, thousands of priests preach to the faithful, stirring sermons and bombastic admonitions making themselves heard over the sound of organs and trumpets. The depleted forces of the Arbites replenish themselves, and in the meantime newly formed gangs and criminal groups clash against one another for turf, grudges and criminal activities. The fires of industry burn once more as manufactorums damaged in the fighting are restored, and uninterrupted shifts of dirty-faced men and women produce a vast array of supplies and materials for the ever-hungry maw that is the Imperial Navy.

One of those workers is Diego, who crosses the doorway to his home in one of the hab-blocks of the Underhive with a sigh of relief. He closes the door behind him, and is greeted with the smiling visage of his wife, Rocio, who had been sitting in their threadbare couch, mending some of her more frayed clothing. Diego promptly closes the distance, embracing her and melting into a kiss.

"Well someone is eager to see me." Comments his wife coyly when they break it up.

"Always my love." Replies Diego. "How are you feeling, is the baby bothering you much?"

Rocio rolls her eyes with an amused smirk. "You ask as if it was my first pregnancy, everything's fine honey." A cry echoes from the room where the rest of their children sleep, and Rocio gestures in that direction with her arm. "Speaking of children, it seems like it's your turn to check on them."

"I'm going, I'm going!" Diego quickly covers the small distance between the living room and the children's bedrooms. On their cribs, he can hear the older one crying and with the utmost gentleness he scoops him into his arm, wincing a bit when one of his nails scratches against his arm.

"Shush, shush are you hungry Pedro? Don't worry, let's get you some food, ey?" He rocks his kid in his arms, and can't help but give praise to the God-Emperor for how blessed he is.

He remembers the insurrection, the dead lying on the streets, the cultists moving through the hive, grabbing people from their homes amidst scream and violence, the way the PDF and the Guard had descended on them with fire and fury. His parents and brothers had died when a stray tank round had lunch through their old home, Dieg owning his life to the fact he was scavenging supplies outside. He met Rocio a year or so after the war ended, two people who had lost everything and found comfort in each other. They had married soon after and started having kids immediately. At first Diego had thought it too sudden, especially since Rocio couldn't work while pregnant and money was scarce with only his salary from making boots for the Navy. Fortunately, Rocio had met some other young couples in a similar situation, and together they had pooled resources to make things more bearable. Besides, once he had held his son for the first time, the sheer elation he had felt had made it all worth it.

He gave Pedro back to his wife, moving to their stove to start cooking dinner for them. He's rummaging through the cabinet, when a loud crash and the sound of something falling, alongside the startled shout from his wife. He turns around to see that the door has been torn from its hinges, big armored hands tearing the doorframe from the door in order to allow the entrance of something that draws a gasp of frightful awe from Diego's lips.

There is an Angel of Death in front of him. His towering form is encased in armor as dark as the night's sky (or at least how the holos showed the night's sky), with the face of a young boy painted in the chestplate, frozen in a rictus of screaming fury. Red eye lenses that shine ominously scan the room, before zeroing on Rocio, who's frozen in fright.

His gun, which Diego would struggle to lift for more than a few seconds, points squarely at both his wife and son. Acting on instinct, Diego leaps at the Space Marine, desperate to protect his family. With the same ease Diego would swat a bug, the transhuman bats him aside with his off-hand, catching him squarely in the stomach and sending him flying against the wall. Air leaves forcefully Diego's lungs, and as he crashes against the wall he simultaneously ceases to feel his legs and his stomach explodes in agonizing pain. Rocio tries to flee, but she only manages to rise from the couch before a shot from the Space Marine gun blows her and Pedro apart.

Diego stares at the remains of his family in shock, his mind unable to process what it sees in front of him. He doesn't see as the marine moves to the room where his other son now cries, as grief and despair flow through his mind and soul. Tears falling from his eyes, he sobs silently, laying there despondently until the Marine once more blocks his vision. He should hate him, but he's too overwhelmed by loss to do so.

He closes his eyes and embraces oblivion.

—-

"What a shame."

Aboard the Thunderhawk, Lieutenant Mircio of the 7th Company takes a deep breath and counts to three before addressing the Techmarine in front of him. "So you have said before. Six times."

If Techmarine Husnik catches the exasperation in that comment, he doesn't seem to care about it. "The Master of the Forge found a Land Raider here, there must have been some other Astartes equipment here, but we have not found any trace of it! It is a failure of our duties!"

Mircio refrains himself from pointing out that finding equipment was the Techmarine's responsibility, not his. By his account the operation here in Lezo has been a complete success. What few mutants remained had attempted to be clever, spreading out into individual couples instead of bunkering up together, but they had been able to locate one of their sporadic meetings, and from there easily trace back all of the cultists to their homes.

Despite the annoyance of the Techmarine's whining, the Lieutenant has enjoyed this mission. With the Chapter's tendency to fight in full companies, independent commands without a Captain at command are rare, and he has made the most of the opportunity. Not only has he gotten away from the obnoxious braggart he has for a Captain, but he's building up credentials for when the time to choose a new Captain comes. It still irked him that he had been passed over for promotion for someone like Vitalievich, who lacked any sort of experience in command, but he's sure he can eventually reach the captaincy he deserves.

-Remnants of the Genestealer Cult in Lezo completely eradicated.

Falgartra System, Cassioan Sector, Ultima Segmentum. 774 M41.



As he stands on the bridge of the Bird of Prey, Captain Aelius Catilina can't help the feeling of trepidation that blooms in his hearts as the vessel crosses the void towards its targets. While it is something unworthy of an Astartes, he has to admit that he has begun to associate his presence in a starship with foul experiences, caused by both the losses his company suffered against the Eldar in Saffron and the loss of the Shrouded Blade against the Eyes of the Mutator.

Of course, his companion is not exactly helpful in this regard.

"Their ships are out of position." Grumbles Hostilius. Catilina looks at the distorted visage of the Master of the Fleet that the Hololith projects, and smothers the impulse of cutting off communications.

"They have just translated out of the Warp, we must give them time to reposition. I'm sure they will contact us soon enough." His reasonable argument doesn't convince the other Mist Shrikes, not that Catilina hoped it would, but he carries on. His words are proven right when they're hailed by the sons of Vulkan's Battle Barge.

Once they pick the call a Marine in Terminator armor appears on the Hololith. Catilina recognized him as 1st Captain Taweerat Keacham, thanks to the reports of the deployment at Malbork, where their chapters had first fought together. Catilina decided then to take control of the conversation, in order to ensure that it flows in a satisfactory manner. "Greetings Captain Keacham, I am Captain Aelius Catilina, and with me is Master of the Fleet Marcius Hostilius."

The scarred visage of the Blazing Warden shows a slight smile for a brief instance, before it shifts into a more serious expression. "Well met Cousins. I must thank you for your assistance in culling the greenskins. If things go according to plan, we shall dispose of them without too much hassle."

Hostilius scoffs disdain. "And what makes you think that…?" "And what is the plan, cousin?" Catilina sees the Master of the Fleet glare hatefully at him for the interruption, but the Captain of the 6th ignores it. A positive relationship with the Blazing Wardens is important, and he's not going to let him get in the way of that.

The son of Vulkan looks quizzically at the both of them through the hololith, before carrying on. "We've fought the Kaptin in charge of the orks, Moardakka, before. The greenskin has shown interest in seizing the Pride of Xdit. As such, he will surely focus his efforts in tearing through my Battle Barge shields in order to board it and take it for his own. We will use that obsession to bait him with my ship, so that your Strike Cruiser can flank his Kroozers and take them out."

Catilina nods, finding the plan reasonable enough, and Hostilius grunts in a manner that can charitably be referred to as an agreement. "Well then, let us face the Orks then."

"To Victory, Cousins." Says Keacham, before cutting off communications. The second he does so, Hostilius snarls at Catilina, his voice a harsh bark. "Don´t you ever interrupt me again! What right do you have to put my ships in service of a strategy he has made on his own, without my input?!"

As satisfying as the Terran Noble would find to shout down his words, he won´t allow himself to lose his poise in that manner. As such, Catilina´s voice is steady and calm when he replies, speaking facts with an almost disinterested tone. "First of all, we are here at his chapter´s request, so this is their operation, not ours. Secondly, he´s a First Company Captain, and as such he outranks the both of us. Thirdly, he has brought both the ship with the heavier tonnage and escorts, which let me remind you is something that you have remarked insistently that we require. Fourly, the sole reason we are here is to deepen the bonds between our Chapters, and so being accommodating with them is not only appropriate but also needed. And lastly," Some heat enters his tone here, and Aelius raises his chin slightly, looking down on his fellow officers. "As Master of the Fleet you may command the ships, but they are not "your" ships. Are those enough reasons for you, Marcius?"

The both of them glare at each other for a few seconds, Hostilius eyes blazing darkly with anger like burning coals, Catilina´s cold and disdainful. Finally, Hostilius looks away with a snort. "As you say Catilina. Then let us prepare for battle, and this time, try not to lose one of our Strike Cruisers, like last time."

Hostilius disconnects the communications with those parting words. Catilina turns around to focus on the upcoming battle, and if any of the bridge staff notices the brief second in which his teeth are gritted and his hands curled into fists before they are released, they do not comment of it.


The Pride of Xdit leads the charge against the Ork Kroozers, who act according to what the 1st Captain had predicted and focus fire on the Battle Barge. All the fire power that the foul xenos can bring to bear is unleashed against the mighty vessel, and even as the Battle Barge shields stand firm against ordnance crashing against them, Catilina notices how some of the projectiles seem to bypass the protection of the shielding and score hits against the ship's hull, although they don't do enough damage to truly threaten the integrity of the Pride of Xdit.

Taking advantage of the Orks fixation on the biggest ship on their battle line, both the Mist Shrikes Strike Cruisers and the Blazing Wardens escorts position themselves to envelope the Kroozers. The maneuver is done without issue, and Catilina can readily admit that while Hostilius may be an ill-mannered lout he is competent in his duties. Blazing Warden intel had identified the Kroozer Flashiest Dakka as the Flagship of Kaptin Moardakka, and it is against that ship that the full power of the fleet is unleashed. As macrocannons and lance batteries hammer relentlessly the ramshackle ork vessel, Catilina can't help but compare the ships of the Imperium with that of the crude orks. Neither of them can appropriately be called beautiful nor elegant, but the Imperial ships are a solid construction of harsh lines and straight angles, the ancient lore of Mars and the material bounty of many worlds coming together to forge straightforward yet effective predators of the stars. In contrast, the ork ship can only be charitably described as crude. They are amalgamation of scrap metal and parts from other ships, bolted together with some engines and as much weapons as they could probably fix together.

As the Flashiest Dakka finally blows up under the strain of a final barrage from the Unavoidable Sentence batteries, he equates the difference as the one between an under-hiver shiv and his own combat knife. Targeting the flagship of the Kaptin had the intended purpose of breaking cohesion within the greenskin ships, but after some waiting the absence of infighting amidst the Orks indicates that the Warboss managed to escape its flagship destruction.



Undeterred by this, the combined forces of the two chapters shift their focus towards the other Kroozers, whose return fire is sporadic and disorganized, one of the Kroozers shifting his attacks towards the escorts of the Blazing Wardens. Still, the lack of opposition allows the Mist Shrikes Strike Cruisers to fire upon them with impunity. The three ship are maneuvered in a manner that separate the three remaining Ork Kroozers from one another, with one falling to the guns of the Bird of Prey and the other to the other rescuer of the Wardens, the remaining one beats a hasty retreat, the scrapheap engines pushed to such an extent that Catilina can discern one of the engines detaching from the frame before it enters into the Warp.

From then the only task that remains is mopping off the surviving ork strikecraft, something that is done with ease, the only challenge being keeping the Stormbirds out of the sight of the Blazing Wardens. Communications are established once more, with Keecham opening the conversation with evident cheer.

"Well done cousins! This truly has been a great victory, with few casualties to report!

Catilina takes in the Blazing Warden words with a smile and a brief nod, while Hostilius openly sneers at his tone. "The Kaptin has escaped. Not much to celebrate with that taken into account."

Catilina almost intervenes, only to stop himself from doing so as the 1st Captain merely laughs in response. "True, but one has to find the silver lining whenever he can. I must take my leave now, but it truly has been a pleasure to fight alongside you. May the Emperor be with you."

As their cousin hangs, Catilina turns his attention to Hostilius. "It would do you well to learn the virtues of silence, Marcius." Despite the holithic projection tinting his visage blue, he can see the Master of the Fleet visage redden in outrage, but before he can turn his indignation into insults and vitriol, Catilina hangs up, cutting him off with the word on his mouth. A petty act, but one from which Catilina derives immense satisfaction.

-Ork Freebootas eliminated, Kaptin Moardakka escapes.
-Relationship with the Blazing Wardens improves to Liked-
-2 Storm Ravens Damaged

Noitsab System, Aetelian Sector, Ultima Segmentum, 774 M41


Chaplain Cassiel fires his plasma pistol, the superheated ball of plasma burning through the chestplate of the Iron Warrior Havoc firing the heavy bolter at the checkpoint he's in. There is a microsecond in which the traitor's eyes meet Cassiel's through their helmets, burning, foul hatred shining in his gaze before the light in his eyes fade away and his body falls to the ground dead. Bereft of the covering fire they need to storm their position, the remaining Iron Warriors of his squad and the chaff they lead cannot hope to succeed, so they sell their lives dearly in bitter callousness, each son of Perturabo taking a score of defenders with them. The last one of them falls at Cassiel´s hands, and as he falls, ribcage caved in by a mighty blow from his crozius, he let´s himself feel briefly the bone-deep exhaustion that permeates his being before schooling himself as the most veteran Guardsman in the checkpoint approaches him.

"Status report Sergeant." He asks her, and the woman makes a salute with her left hand, which lacks all fingers except the thumb and is bandaged with a torn sleeve of her uniform.

"Milord, I don´t think we can repel another assault." She states grimly. "Most of our men are dead or wounded, and the structure of our barricades has been weakened enough that we can't trust them to provide adequate cover against heavy weapons."

"We don´t need to push them back Sergeant, just hold them off long enough." The Space Marine replies. "Do we have news of how the other positions in the Fortress-City are faring?"

"Much the same as us Milord. General Beaufort thinks they will breach into the inner citadel eventually." Cassiel nods in response and takes a look around, observing both his surroundings and the soldier that stops behind him. The first had been once a perfect killing ground, a downward slope bereft of cover and with plenty of line of sight, before the wrecked hulls of tanks and foxholes dug through falling shells stole their defensive potential. Of the second, of what had once been three proud regiments garrisoning the fortress-city of Noitsab Prime, only a few scattered and mixed platoons are left standing, his own position being manned by Seibourc Royals, Boshinese Rikoguns, and the local Noitsab guard. Most of them were wounded to varying degrees, and as the reports indicated, the situation was similarly grim in the rest of the city.

Worst thing was, the situation had actually improved from how it was when they had arrived. Their strike cruiser had come onto the planet diverted from their return to their Homeworld from a clash against an Ork Warboss by the freak currents off the Warp. Only to find an Iron Warrior Battle Barge and its escorts disembarking troops and equipment onto the planet after disposing of the systems defense fleet. Despite their own fleet assets being outnumbered, leaving Imperial subjects to suffer under the grasp of Traitors could not be allowed, and so they engaged the heretics. The crew of the Angel´s Grace fought courageously, managing to grievously damage the enemy vessel and granting enough time for Cassiel´s depleted demi-company to land on the planet before being destroyed. He still mourned the heroic sacrifice of the chapter´s serfs.

With the Demi-company and their depleted assets on the ground, he and Force Commander Raphael had quickly set to the task of improving the systems defenses, providing a much needed counter to the Iron Warriors own Astartes. Still, their efforts and that of the brave guardsmen of the Imperium proved insufficient against the onslaught of the IVth Legion. The traitors' slave-armies were seemingly endless, overwhelming through sheer weight of numbers the defending garrison. Their defenses torn asunder under columns of tanks and a veritable downpour of Earthshaker shells. And for all that Cassiel and his brothers had fought with all the skill and fury of the sons of Sanguinius, it had not avail them. Noitsab Quintus had been the first fortress-city to fall, taking with it ten of his brothers. Force Commander Ramiel and his command squad had been the last ones to die defending Noitsab Tertius, slain under a barrage of artillery for the black hearts of the foe quailed at the thought of facing them head on. Cassiel had been left with less than thirty marines to defend the last three fortress-cities of the planet, and as the Forces of Chaos pressed on Noitsab Prime, he felt in his hearts that he would lay his life in it´s defense.


Then, in what was a rare occasion for his Chapter, fortune had turned to their favor.

Reinforcements arrived, in the shape of a Battle Barge and a Strike Cruiser from an unknown chapter. With haste, they had destroyed the damaged vessel of the Iron Warriors and its attendants, which had prompted the now grounded traitors to renew the intensity of their assaults, feeling the urgency to take the remaining citadels on the planet lest they be caught between the two forces. However the Imperial reinforcements hadnt felt inclined to face the Iron Warriors in open battle. Communications between the garrison and the reinforcing Astartes had been constant, but the effect of their actions had soon given credence to their reports. The constant bombardment had been reduced to sporadic fire as munitions were detonated and guns sabotaged. The tanks and aircraft of the IVth legion were used sparsely, for the fuel needed to propel them burned in fiery explosions. Strafing runs of the newcomers air assets wreaked havoc on the Traitors slave armies, to the impotent fury of the Iron Warriors that couldn't contest them with their decreasing artillery pieces and munitions. The Shield generators that protected their conquered cities from orbital bombardment had been sabotaged, forcing the enemy to abandon them lest they be eradicated.

And so here they are now, with the methodical and grinding siegework of the IVth Legion turned into hurried offensives. Even though it was the first step on the road to disappointment, Cassiel allows himself to feel hope, for now the Traitors are the ones feeling their doom fast approaching.

His musings are interrupted by the trooper in charge of the vox-caster, a Boshinese sporting a bandage in his brow. "Milord, the reinforcing Astartes had begun landing in the citadel! Two squads will descend on our position!"

Cassiel turns slightly at his words, if only to look at the clustered troops directly. "Did you hear that Guardsmen!?" He asks rhetorically, projecting his voice aloud. "Your efforts have borne fruit!! You have endured, you have fought back and stood undaunted against the forces of the Archenemy, and they have proved unable to vanquish you!! You have honored me beyond measure by fighting alongside me, and yet I ask you that you do so once more! Deliverance comes in wings of fire and with their assistance we shall cleanse this world once and for all!! For the Emperor! For the Imperium!"

"For the Imperium!!!" An enthusiastic roar answers his short speech, bursting forth from the throats of every Guardsman that has heard them. Soon after that roar is eclipsed by the sound of Thunderhawk engines, as a gunship painted in midnight blue lands. As the ramp lowers and its occupants disembark, Cassiel is greeted by an eclectic mix of marines. Two squads, a silver bird shrouded in mist on their pauldron, step out of the vehicle first, one made up of Tactical marines of the Second Company and the other of Devastators of the Ninth, judging by the numerals on their knee pads. Their armors are decorated with frightful imagery, skulls and bones, animal pelts and other trophies draped as capes or pauldrons,... The only decorations that break this trend are the silver leaf that all of the Devastators have on their breastplate, and Cassiel briefly confuses the new arrivals with a group of the vicious Night Lords. Three things are quick to dispel that impression however. The first is that there are no flayed skins or human bones, and those trophies of animal or xeno origin are clean and lacking in gristle. The second is the discipline that shows in their readied stances and comm-disciplined, incongruous with the howls and twitching common in the Nostraman butchers.

The third and more obvious one is the presence of three marines with black helmets and pauldrons behind the squads that close the distance towards the son of Sanguinius, the Thunderhawk departing in the meantime. Leading them is a Master of Sanctity, recognizable by his skull-faced helmet identical to Cassiel's own, the Crozius in his hip, and the silver filigree of his armor, smooth lines adorning Imperial iconography. The two behind him Cassiel recognizes as his apprentices, clued in by their lack of the symbols of office of the Chaplaincy.

"Well met cousin!" The Master of Sanctity greets him, left arm stretched for a Warriors handshake. "You must be Chaplain Cassiel, the local generals have been singing your praises and that of your brothers."

"It is they who deserve praise, not I." Replies Cassiel modestly as he returns the handshake. "Forgive me, for I ignorant of both your name and your Chapter."

Out of the corner of his eye Cassiel notices how one of the apprentices seems offended by his ignorance, even if his superior waves off the comment with a chuckle. "Understandable, for we are of the newest Founding. Master of Sanctity Falce of the Mist Shrikes, at your service. These are my apprentices Pavel and Fabien." The first makes the sign of Aquila, while the second just dips his head slightly, being the one who had been offended by Cassiel's lack of recognition.

Whatever else they might say is interrupted by the whistling sound of falling shells, followed by a series of booms as those shells touch the ground. "That was close." Comments Pavel. "They must be preparing themselves for a new assault."

"The enemy does start their assaults with artillery barrages." Agrees Cassiel. "Our position will be under attack soon. Does your Chapter have any plan for how to kill the traitors once and for all?"

"We have spread our forces through the Fortress city, to reinforce defensive checkpoints like this one." Answers Falce as he gives one last check to his bolt pistol. "We hold them back until the Warsmith shows himself, when a strike team we placed in reserve will assassinate him. We will then make use of the confusion in the chain of command; his death will cause us to push the warband out of Noitsab Prime and once in the open we will initiate a saturation bombardment on their position." He looks towards Cassiel at that moment. "Your brothers are posted through the city right? Then please tell them to report if they make contact with the Warsmith." Cassiel does so, and both Astartes and soldiers take positions, awaiting the incoming foe amidst the pounding crash of artillery.

They do not wait for long, as the sound of rumbling treads and hundreds of boots stomping upon the ground make themselves known before they actually come into view. A column of Leman Russes comes into view, surrounded by marching infantry. A Predator tank with hazard stripes closes the column, and near it stand the sons of Perturabo. As soon as they are within range the traitors open fire, accompanied by the thunderous war cry of "IRON WITHIN! IRON WITHOUT!"

Both the fire and the war cry are answered by that of the Imperial forces.

"FOR THE EMPEROR!"

"WE ARE NIGHTMARES MADE MANIFEST!!"

"FOR THOSE WE CHERISH, WE DIE IN GLORY!!"





A prodigious amount of firepower soon engulfs the space between the two forces, to the point that if any Ork could bear witness it would probably shed a tear in wonder in the millisecond before it was annihilated by it. The crackle of lasguns sounds uninterrupted, providing a base that is contrasted with the harsh bark of bolters and it's heavier variants, the explosions of rockets, missiles and grenades, the quieter hisses of plasma and the whining pinch of lascannons. Cassiel shoots his pistol as fast as the weapon allows, the blue projectiles burning through chests, heads and limbs, both human and transhuman. Beside him, his cousins of the Mist Shrikes acquainted themselves well. Falce shoots his pistol at the mortal thrall of the Iron Warriors, almost contemptuous of how his Rosarius flared up to protect him from bolter fire, and the Devastators and the Tacticals reap a fearsome toil of vehicles and Astartes, even if with some of them being downed in return. One of them falls a few meters to his side, left leg blown up below the knee by a bolt. Without delay, both of Falce's apprentices spring into action, braving the projectiles aimed in their direction to reach the injured marine. Pavel hoists him by the shoulder's and drags him to cover, while Fabien grabs the injured marines missile launcher and fires it at one of the Leman Russes.

As minutes pass by and casualties mount, the battle seems to slowly but steadily shift in the Imperials favor. While their fortified positions are eventually shredded, having the upper ground leaves them less exposed than the Iron Warriors forces. The IVth legion is also hampered by the remains of their previous attacks, as the craters and burn out vehicles make it so that their tanks and armored transport have plenty of difficulties maneuvering, which leaves them easy prey for the Mist Shrikes anti-armor. That is not to say that they die easily. Cassiel grits his teeth as guardsmen fall dead, blown to pieces, vaporized and melted by the enemy's guns. Still, they keep on fighting, bravely fighting against the traitor legionaries even as the spilled blood of both traitor and loyalist turns the slope into a crimson river of blood.

The comm channel of his company blared into life, although Cassiel almost misses it due to the cacophony of war. "Sergeant Aureon reporting, Warsmith spotted in Sector 16. I repeat, Warsmith spotted in Sector 16!"

"Acknowledged." Is Cassiel clipped reply. Sector 16 is on the opposite side of the Fortress-city, so the only thing the Chaplain can do is keep on fighting, and hope that the Mist Shrikes can deal with the threat effectively.



The sounds of battle fade slowly as your marines and the surviving garrison of the Fortress-city push what remains of the Iron Warriors out of the Fortress-city. Ignoring with ease the pain of your broken arm, you step towards the corpse of the Iron Warrior Warsmith, who even in death maintains an expression of incensed loathing on his face. He had screamed plenty when he had seen you on the battlefield, ranting and raving about how your intervention had ruined everything and plenty of inventive threats about the ways he would make you suffer. While the threats have been uninspired and unimpressive, the son of Perturabo was skilled with his thunder hammer, as your injuries and the bloody swathe he cut through the 2nd Company can attest, to the point that dueling him would have been a risky endeavor.

Of course, you had not been stupid enough to duel him.

Taking advantage of how the Warsmith had focused on ending you, and his own guard was clashing against your own (Spatha on his own handling half of their numbers), Captain Secutor had snuck up past them and jammed his combat knife in the Warsmith's throat and ripped it out so violently it had almost decapitated the foe. His sudden demise distracted his fellows long enough for you and your men to dispatch them, although they had struggled to the bitter end. Which the nearby Karark Zel and Soran could definitely attest to, the first deep in the guts of a crashed Thunderhawk and the second trying to keep Thrax intestines inside his torso.

You try to move your injured arm, only for an intense flash of pain to remind you that the joint is indeed mangled. A call from Falce makes you push the pain aside. "Severus, our surviving cousins wish to speak with you, they are rendezvousing in your position."

"Understood, are you coming with them?" You ask in return, sparing a glance towards the yellow-armored marines that are already there, standing at a respectful distance as their Apothecary extracted the geneseed of a fallen brother.

"I won't. Me and the rest of my forces will link up with Captain Pluvia and the Master of Recruits to assist them in corralling the enemy towards the designated areas." You scowl at his response. You would have appreciated to have Falce present, knowing him he probably has already established a rapport with the other marine.

But at the end, his presence is something you can do without. "Acknowledged, Severus out." You wait for your cousins to arrive, watching in silence as marines with the bleeding heart on a checkered pattern meet with their fellows. They come in small groups or their own from streets and alleyways, with dented armors and empty bolters, sporting injuries or carrying the bodies of their fallen brethren, but standing straight and proud. Eventually most of them are gathered and as Soran has moved from a stabilizing Thrax to tending to your arm, their Chaplain appears. Your uninjured Honor Guards shift the perimeter they have formed around you to let him pass, and as the black armored marine closes the distance he removes the helmet from his face, revealing the golden locks and handsome features common in his bloodline.

You do the same with your other arm, the light of dusk faint enough not to hurt your eyes and look warily at the approaching chaplain. Your feelings on the IXth legion have always been...mixed. You recall how they were before the arrival of their Primarch, when they turned every battle they took part in into a charnel feast, other legions avoiding the cannibalistic frenzies of the Revenants. You still remember that joint campaign in Donner Secundus, where you had to keep a particularly ravenous squad at gunpoint, certain that they were a second away from trying to add you to their meal.

Even now you swear you can see a hint of that hunger in Chaplain Cassiel's blue eyes. Yet it fades in an instant and what remains is the image of what Sanguinius changed them into. The Great Angel grasped this cavalcade of monsters and molded them into the perfect icons of the Great Crusade. Stalwart, noble, cultured. The fury tempered, channeled by discipline and ideals, impulse shaped into focused determination in the same manner a sculptor molds clay.

The arrival of their Primarch had elevated his legion. The arrival of your Primarch cast yours into ignominy and madness.

Envy burns in your mind for a second before the Chaplain in question speaks. "Hail Chapter Master! I am Chaplain Cassiel of the Lamenters 5th Company. I must thank you for your assistance. I fear that without it the enemy would stand triumphant on this day."

"We just did our duty, cousin." You wave away his praise as Soran starts digging into the joint in your arm. "Besides, if you had not been present, the Iron Warriors would have conquered the planet before we arrived."

"We only helped the brave defenders of this world endure, even though I wish that fewer sacrificed their lives in defense of this world, for it is tragic indeed." He deflects your words with his own, and even though you think that the sadness in his tone is somewhat unwarranted, you do not comment on it.

"Would you require assistance in returning to your own homeworld?" You ask him instead, only for him to shake his head.

"Thank you for your offer, but General Beaufort has already agreed to lend us his astropaths to contact our brothers." He tilts his head. "Still, wouldn't you require assistance in pushing the Iron Warriors out of the city?"

A bright flash from the heavens and an earth-shattering explosion answers the question for you. "As you can see, we have it handled."

-Noitsab successfully defended, Iron Warriors Warband eradicated
-New Contact gained: Lamenters (Neutral)
-11 Space Marines slain, 9 Nowalijki Slain, 40 Progenoids recovered.
-1 Predator Tank Gravely Damaged, 2 Rhinos Damaged
-10 Boarding Shields, 15 Lascannons, 1 Power Axe and 1 Rhino Looted

Saibula System, Aetelian Sector, Ultima Segmentum. 773 M41


As part of his time in the Deathwatch, Grigori had dealt with Eldar on a few occasions, and the impressions that he has on them is that they are a mercurial breed, even after learning that the ones that enslave routinely Imperial citizens are a different kind of the ones that dwell in Craftworlds. Twice, they even have established some kind of cooperation with the Xenos, when there had been a more pressing threat in the form of Ork Waaaghs of remarkable size. It had been a grating experience, both for the tension that comes from constantly being on guard for treachery, which in one of those occasions they had suffered, and their attitude, constantly speaking vaguely or in riddles and acting as if he and his cousin were nothing more than idiotic children.

On the other occasions it had been to wage war upon them, just as it is happening now in Saibula. Grigori's face contorts in a rictus of fury as he sees another of his brothers fall to sniper fire from the damned Rangers, the crop field they were standing failing to provide both adequate cover and concealment. Ever since they had arrived at the area that the reports indicated, they have been suffering from Eldar harassment. Sniper fire, ambushes by Striking Scorpions, hit and run attacks by jet bikes, Hornets and Swooping Hawks. The number of fatalities they are inflicting is somewhat low, but plenty of marines have suffered some manner of injury. It isn't helped by the fact that the Mist Shrikes had been forced to split into smaller groups to adequately cover ground.

"GRIGORI, CAN YOU MAKE IT TO MY POSITION?!!" Asked Captain Logos through the vox.

At Yefimovich side, a battle-brother of the 7th lined up a shot with his stalker bolter, before indicating through hand signs that the xeno had retreated. The Chief Librarian then checks the distance between his own position and that of the Captain of the 7th. "We are just a few clicks apart, we will march to your position." Just as he says that he and the squad that accompanies him are already moving with haste, ceramite boots stomping upon the plants underneath their feet.

"GOOD, WE ARE GOING TO RALLY OUR BROTHER'S HERE AND PUSH FORWARD TOGETHER!! THE…." Constantinus' words are interrupted by a grunt of exertion, before the sound of ceramite hitting armor echoes through the transmission. "THE ELDAR ARE TRYING TO DELAY US FOR SOME REASON, AND WE MUST INTERRUPT WHATEVER THEY ARE DOING!!!"

"It could be that they are doing a fighting retreat." While Grigori doesn't truly think they are doing it, with the unpredictability of the xenos it is a possibility that must be considered.

The Terran does so, indicated by the few seconds he remains silent. "I DO NOT THINK SO." He eventually replies. "IF THEY MERELY WISHED TO FLEE THEY COULD HAVE JUST DONE SO, THEY ARE QUICKER THAN US. LET US MEET SHORTLY BROTHER!!"



It takes them half an hour to reach the Captain's location, and by that time they do so the rest of the 7th has arrived before them. The only ones missing are the riders of the attack bikes and the Land Speeders, whose absence Logos explains.

"THEY HAVE FOUND WHERE THE XENOS ARE RETREATING!!" The Captain reports cheerfully. "SOME MANNER OF OLD XENOS RUINS, LET US GO THERE AND PUT THEM DOWN!!!"

That's all they need to advance, a rolling mass of ceramite and zeal. The xenos still attempt to harry them, but between the concentration of forces, the interference of their forward elements, and the air support provided by their Thunderhawk, they can't stop them from reaching their destination, although a great number of Astartes fall dead to shuriken fire and laser. The ruins, for what little Grigori knows of Eldar architecture, appear to be some kind of ruined manor or estate, crumbling walls covered in vegetation providing cover for the Eldar. A volley of shuriken fire greets them, so precisely aimed that it fells plenty of his brothers, despite the protection of their power armors. Still, he and his brothers advance under overwhelming suppressive fire, helped by a few minor illusions he uses against the defenders. Nothing particularly intensive, illusions and tricks that make them aim their weapons less precisely, see his brothers farther or closer than they really are… Enough for the Mist Shrikes to close the distance, vaulting onto the walls and engaging the xenos in melee.

Once he crosses, he sees an active Webway Gate, near which rests a considerable amount of Eldar artifacts, some of them mundane, others blazing in his mind with psychic power. More of such artifacts are lying around, their arrival having halted the transportation process. Before he can take in more of his surroundings, a two-handed chainsword comes barreling towards his neck, one that he barely manages to parry with his staff, the whirring teeth biting into the haft. The wielder, an Striking Scorpion Exarch, doesn't falter in his offensive, throwing a series of slashes and thrusts that the Luctusian blocks or dodges, even if each of them get increasingly closer to pierce his flesh, as the increasing dents and slashes in his armor attest. Grigori spies an opening amidst the flurry and tries to take advantage of it with a swipe of his staff, only for it to be a feint by his xeno opponent. He dodges the staff blow with contemptuous ease before stabbing deep into the Librarians stomach. Grigori feels as the wraithbone teeth tear through his ribcage, grinding a lung and part of his spine. He falls to the floor, his legs lacking the strength to hold him steady as his staff falls from nerveless fingers. The Eldar raises his chainsword to deliver the killing blow, only for Grigori to be saved by Chaplain Osinki, who throws himself at the Exarch, tackling him away from him and throwing him onto the ground. Osinki raises his Crozius in an attempt to bash the xeno head in, but a blast of plasma coming from the Xenos helmet throws him aside, even if his Rosarius protects him from most of the blast damage. Both stand up, weapons in hand but before they can clash against another one again a voice sounds, in the musical tongue of the Eldar, and Grigori follows the sound to a Warlock in yellow and blue standing near the portal, sword drawn as her helmet faces the Chief Librarian. Around them the Eldar are retreating into the Webway, some carrying artifacts while others provide cover for them. The Exarch starts stepping back swiftly, sword pointed at them.

"Do not think this is over Mon'keigh, you'll pay for these butchery eventually." He says in High Gothic with cold, hateful loathing, before turning back and running into the portal. The portal then shuts down, leaving the Mist Shrikes alone in the ruins.


"WELL, WE AT LEAST MANAGED TO SEND THE XENOS SCURRYING!!" Comments Logos as he approaches them, the bloody helmet of a Swooping Hawk Exarch sharing space in his hip alongside the Ork skulls. He turns towards some of his men then. "SET CHARGES IN THAT PORTAL, WE WON'T RISK THEM COMING BACK!!"

As the marines of the 7th rush to obey his orders, Grigori takes note that some of the Eldar Artifact have been left behind by the xenos in their escape. Osinki follows his gaze, and he can feel the disgust surging from his thoughts before he opens his mouth. "Better we place these things below the gate before we detonate them."

"That would not be wise." Interjects Yefimovich, blood bubbling from his lips as the Apothecary approaches, and immediately the disgust that Osinki feels towards the artifacts is shifted towards him. Unabated, Grigori carries on. "These artifacts could be useful, in the right circumstances."

"Trust not the Xeno, nor the tainted gifts it may bear." Quotes Osinki harshly, before addressing Logos. "Captain, I urge you to destroy these at once."

Constantinus shakes his head, to the consternation of the Chaplain. "WHILE YOUR ADVICE IS PRUDENT CHAPLAIN, IN MATTERS OF THE ALIEN, I FIND IT WISE TO HEED THE OPINION OF A MEMBER OF THE DEATHWATCH!!! WHAT DO YOU RECOMMEND GRIGORI!?"

What is to be done with the Eldar artifacts?

-[] Give them to Inquisitor Harker: While outside of his remit as a member of the Ordo Hereticus, perhaps your Inquisitorial backers would be able to get some use out of them. (Improves relations with Inquisitor Harker)

-[] Give them to an Inquisitor of the Ordo Xenos: They are the ones tasked with matters of the Alien, and it would be useful to make inroads with other Inquisitors of the Sector. (Gain the contact of a Ordo Xenos Inquisitor)

-[] Give them to the Deathwatch: You can trust your cousins to keep these out of Inquisitorial power-play and it would be a good gesture to have with the ones training some of your brothers. (Improves relations with Watch-Commander Affram)

-[] Keep them: Products of Xeno sorcery they might be, but perhaps important insights can be gleaned from their study. (New option added)

-[] Destroy them: On second thought, perhaps Osinki has the right to it. After all, the path to hell is paved with good intentions.

-[] Write-in:

-Eldar manage to escape with most of their artifacts. A few of them remain behind in Mist Shrike Custody
-15 Nowalijki Slain, 10 Marines slain, 50 Progenoids recovered.
-5 Attack bikes destroyed, 1 Land Speeder gravely damaged

Boshin System, Aetelian Sector, Ultima Segmentum. 773 M41.

In the cramped, dark confines of his Stormbird, Captain Mikhael Yefimovich is silent, ignoring the various conversations of the Marines around him. His marines now. This is his first deployment as a Captain, and against a foe that cannot be underestimated. As was typical with Inquisitors, most of the target's career is unknown except for a few details, and those details speak plenty of how dangerous he is. 10 years of service in the Imperial Guard, received his Inquisitorial Rosette after 16 years as an interrogator and a further 30 as a full-fledged Inquisitor. Heavily augmented with cybernetics and at least a full platoon of Stormtroopers at his disposal, and one must add to that whatever defense he might have in his lair. It would be a daunting task, but one that must be accomplished if he is to prove worthy of his command. Captain Gallienus is also present on the planet, but he and his company were patrolling the rest of the planet, to ensure that the Inquisitor had not fled to another hideout other than the one they were going towards.

Near him stand Chaplain Jaronski, and Chief Apothecary Valzadai, having their own conversation. "Say, Chief Apothecary, why are you equipped with just a bolt pistol and a chainsword? The other Founders possess more advanced equipment."

Valzadai glares at him suspiciously. "Why do you wish to know?"

The Luctusian Chaplain shrugs. "Idle curiosity."

Valzadai holds the glare for a few seconds, before eventually answering. "I can do maintenance on them myself, and recognize if they've been tampered." The chaplain nods in acknowledgement and shifts his attention to one of the Luctusian marines of his company.

The voice of the Stormbird pilot echoes through the bay. "ETA to the Schola Progenium is one minute, prepare for landing."

"You've heard it, brothers, helmets on and weapons ready." Mikhail follows his own order as the other takes heed. His helmet lenses tint the darkness red as the marines make their last checks to their weapons. He hears some of the Braicamians boast about their future feats, to the contempt of the Luctusians and the indifference of their Terran sergeants. When the gunship lands, the ramp lowers to reveal a mighty fortress, its walls lined with banners with the Imperial Aquila. On its door, a group of stern-faced guards and instructors are stationed to greet them, led by an older man in an ochre uniform with short, gray hair and a pencil-thin mustache, a power sword at his belt. Once they reach them, and before any of the Mist Shrikes can open their mouth, the leader quickly lowers himself to the ground, forehead pressed onto the floor.

"Milords, I offer my utmost apologies for rendering aid to the traitor Inquisitor." He states. "We were ignorant of his excommunication then, but that does not excuse our failure."

Mikhail doesn't need to glance back at the Chief Apothecary to know that he's glaring at the prostrated man in suspicion. They stay silent for a moment, until Mikhail realizes none of the others will speak. He runs his tongue through his teeth and talks. "You can atone for it by assisting us in bringing justice to the traitor…." He trails off, as the man had not introduced himself, something that he corrects as he stands back to his feet.

"Headmaster Tokishirou Sugimoto, Milord."

Mikhail nods. "Right, what can you tell us about De Wiert's hideout?" He asks as they all start walking into the building.

"Not much. De Wiert negotiated with the Schola the construction of an underground facility in the Schola terrain at the beginning of my tenure as a Headmaster. Since then, I know not what he has made inside or its design. He arrived here a few days ago, but one of his agents in the astropathic chambers hid his excommunication, so we didn´t bar his entry." Here Tokishirou´s face reddens in fury. "Once we found out, we demanded that he and his followers surrendered to the Emperor's Mercy, but the bastards refused!"

"Has he made any attempt at leaving?" Asks Jaronski

"None. For all we know he's still there."

After a few minutes of marching through the Schola, Mikhail and the rest of the Mist Shrikes reach the gate of the compound, an hermetically sealed door, similar if lesser in quality to that of the Luctusian Refuges. The techmarine they had brought with him immediately starts to work in coaxing the Machine Spirits to open the gate. "Headmaster, the Inquisitor might have means of escape that we are ignorant of. You and your men will make sure that he doesn´t escape through the Schola." The man salutes and leaves, barking orders to his own subordinates as he does so. Capua chuckles as the gate opens, revealing a spacious cargo lift.

"We should search for another entry." Comments Valzadai. "Otherwise we risk the enemy dropping the elevator into freefall the moment we step into it."

"Already taken care of Chief Apothecary." Replies Capua. "I´ve seized control of the lift mechanism. However be warned that the automated defenses appear to be on a closed system."



Mikhail nods in acknowledgement. The Mist Shrikes descend for a whole hour, the ride tense due to the anticipation of the incoming fight. The second the lift touches the bottom level, the marines are greeted by a fire from a pair of heavy turrets, quickly dispatched by the plasma guns of the 9th. From the lift spread a series of corridors and passages, wide enough for the Astartes to move, but only three or four at a time. The barren metal surface of them carried the sound of boots rushing towards them. Mikhael quickly addresses his men as he moves towards one of the leftmost corridors.

"Spread out and secure the location! We can´t let the target escape!"

After walking a scant few meters, they soon find the first sign of resistance. A squad of stormtroopers, half of which are busy barricading the passage while the others open fire upon the Astartes with the hellguns, undaunted by the Angel's of Death.

"Tennoheika Banz-!" Their warcry is cut short by a melta blast from one of the Nowalijki, the actinic smell of the blast soon followed by that of carbonized flesh. The rest of the enemy squad tries to rally, but are soon blown apart by a burst of heavy bolter fire. The Mist Shrikes then continue, running over their remains in a hurry.

This scene repeats itself constantly as the spread out Marines advance through the underground complex. The Boshin Stormtroopers are well-trained, hunkered down and supported by heavy weapons and automated defenses. However, not only do they face the transhuman elite of the Imperium, but the Mist Shrikes are perfectly equipped to flush them out. While the narrow corridors force the Marines to advance in pairs, that same narrowness prevented the defenders from bringing their full firing lines to bear against the attackers, whose power armor protects them long enough for them to retaliate with plasma, melts and heavy bolters that punch through their hastily erected defensive positions.

Despite the rapid advance of his group and that of the rest of the company, Mikhail scowls behind his helmet as his brother's reports come in.

"Armory secured, no sight of the target."

"We've reached the Inquisitor's quarters, the place has been picked clean."

"Valzadai here, we have located a lab teeming with Ork Spores, I will need to decontaminate the area."

"Captain, this is Chaplain Jaronski. I've used my Omophagea on one of the Stormtroopers officers, the Inquisitor is attempting to flee through a hidden hangar. You're the closest one to his position, transmitting coordinates now."

Mikhail and the marines spring into action as soon as the words register in their minds, abandoning the fast but cautious pace they had been using in favor of sprinting as fast as their legs can carry them. In a matter of minutes they reach the door to the hangar, which is soon blasted to smithereens by a melta. The Mist Shrikes fan into the hangar, only to see a Valkyrie Gunship already departing. Mikhail sees the Inquisitor inside as the ramp of the transport closes, firing a snapshot with his bolt pistol that misses De Wiert's head by the narrowest of margins as he fades for view. The accompanying marines also fire their weapons, but the transport ascends into orbit before they can punch through its plating.

"Get me in contact with the SDF and Captain Gallienus now!!" Roars the Captain of the 9th into his comms. "We need to bring down that gunship, we can't let him escape!!"


Adrien de Wiert, previous Inquisitor of the Ordo Xenos and now Traitor to the Throne, lets out a sigh of relief as his ship, the Crucible of War transitions from out the Warp. He had known that the Mist Shrikes would get involved in the hunt for him sooner or later, but that they would manage to overcome all his safeguards in minutes and force him to escape by the skin of his teeth had been a surprise.

But it had been a pleasant one. After the treacherous Wind Watchers, and the overstretched Angels Crusader, a brand new chapter had not inspired confidence within the Brudenellian, but between their actions today and their involvement in Lezo they had vanished any doubt he had about their worthiness.

Even beyond that and despite his present circumstances, his plan in Lezo had gone almost exactly as he intended. The uprising had put to the test the PDF and other local forces, the Sororitas, the Astartes and the Guard Regiments, and most of those organizations had risen up to the challenge. Sure, the performance of the Arbites has been pitiful, and they had been justly annihilated for it, and that of the Sisters of Battle would require further investigation to see if it was an unfortunate showing or proof of a lack of mettle, but in general the Sector Capital had proven to be adequately protected. There had been even an unexpected boon in the shape of the Lord Sector. He had expected the drunken lout to perish and be replaced, but to his delight the close encounter with death had prompted him to improve himself and step up to his responsibilities.

Of course, the only failure, and a crucial one as that, was his failure to shift the blame to Mitsuhide or Harker for his actions. While he did not know why the two Inquisitors are at odds, giving them an excuse to fight amidst themselves more fiercely would have ended in the death of the weaker one, and the survivor would emerge a far more capable servant of the Imperium.

Still, thinks Adrien as he opens a bottle of expensive amasec and pours himself a glass, perhaps it is fortunate that he has lost the protection that his Inquisitorial authority granted him. He now realizes that he had relied on it like a crutch, and he had grown complacent in letting it obscure his movements. Without it, he shall be tempered once more, a worthier agent of the God-Emperor.

He takes a sip of his glass, mind already focused on the next way he is going to test the Imperial forces in the Aetelian Sector.

-Inquisitor Adrien de Wiert escapes. You have gathered the location of some of his potential hideouts.


Q.M Notes: So I´m back. This chapter is kinda of a month late, so if you want to pull out the torches and pitchforks it is warranted. Hope you enjoy it after all this time and feel free to point out any spelling mistake you find. Have a nice day everyone.