The Seekers let Sonus pass into Starscream's sanctum without a word.
He didn't pay the sycophantic guards of the primarch any mind himself. They went a step beyond what the captains and officers did when they fawned over Starscream and battled for his attention. The Seekers were not mere pawns of the primarch, like the rest. No, they were an extension of him. What use is there to give such creatures any regard, then?
The private quarters of Starscream, at least this section of them, remained consistent with the rest of his tastes, so clearly on display throughout the halls of the Nemesis. Sweeping black marble moved through the room in an almost oceanic nature, filled with smooth subtle curves. While the furniture remained, by and large, a familiar red. The color of old blood on full display. The Lord Primarch stood behind a bar of some sort, sipping at some worthless yet doubtlessly expensive beverage. He did not pay the High Commander even a glance as the old near-astartes entered, approached him, and kneeled.
There were no Seekers in here. In the personal domain of a primarch, there was no need.
"My lord," Sonus rasped, his voice mangled and gnarled without his helmets systems to run interference. "It is done."
That got his attention.
Starscream looked almost bored as he glanced at Sonus, swirling his drink as he observed the smaller man.
"I did hear, you know." Starscream said softly. "Died a hero, fighting such an awful foe. A truly spiteful last move from the Slaught."
Sonus said nothing. Treason had been wrought into his bones.
"Poor Captain Orion, such a rising star…" The Crownless King looked away for a moment, and swirled his drink, before raising it in a salute. "And what an end it was. I honestly thought the Slaught would've killed him on their own."
The primarch drowned the drink in one go, shrugged a shoulder, and rose gracefully from his seat.
"You've done good work for me, Sonus. Then again, you always have."
"I live to serve," Sonus rasped. Truth, in a way. Though his master was but bones, left behind on a corpse of a world that had spat on his dreams.
Starscream laughed at that. It was always a joke he found amusing, without fail.
"Mhhh. And those fearsome Astral Claws of his. Nearly murdered to the last man, or so I hear. Nearly."
Sonus kept his gaze to the floor. The Crownless King's voice had gone softer, quieter, filled with a thoughtful venom.
"Brave men like that shouldn't be left to languish. Especially not those so close in their masters confidence. There could still be some use wrung from them, wouldn't you agree?"
"I would, my lord. Captain Orions men are solid and loyal."
"Of course. Which is why I think it would be best if you took them on."
Sonus twitched, then looked up.
Starscream had his eyes on him the entire time. The primarchs face was obscured in shadow, but his red eyes burned through the dark. Sonus could see the hints of his lips, stretching into a wide smile.
"After all," Starscream continued, "your good at wrangling the like. And should they prove too tainted, well, you know what must be done. For the good of us all."
The words came out in a practical purr.
Starscream always garnered some form of joy out of petty cruelty. The thought was dull, distant in the High Commanders mind. One might think it useful in a warrior. Those that did were often poets who always seemed to never meet the men they admired, and who so soundly lived up to their most vicious ideals. In that sense, the Crownless King might as well be a paragon.
What was one more betrayal?
There was only one answer.
"Of course, my lord." Sonus rasped.
"Good."
Starscream laughed to himself, turning back to his drinks. But his red eyes stayed on the High Commander, even as the old man picked himself from the floor, and turned his back to the primarch. The near-astartes hands remained still, and his face too scared and branded to twist into anything by the mangled sneer it was now. It always worked as a concealment, and furthering that most preferred to talk to him with the helmet on, all so they wouldn't have to bear witness. But what most failed to understand was that his face pronounced his truth to the world.
A warrior, fighting for a dead ideal, for a dead master. Loyalty for a bygone age that might well never have existed.
But his loyalty was his. And he would pay back the betrayal committed against his master.
The leadership of Cruna have long since held that identity was one of the most damning traits of Mankind
The outskirts of the galactic north in what is known as the Halo Zone. to many it is a dark and twisted place of horrors that creep along the edges of known Imperial citizens and explorers alike. To the Rogue Traders, it is a place that hides dark secrets that only the foolish or desperate would seek, hundreds are lost to those unknowable horrors as they try to brave it's depths.
But those who go now are not the feeble or unprepared who cower, the Crimson Lords now march upon the Halo Stars, to reclaim the lost worlds of Mankind and strike back at any of these so-called horrors, showing them the fear Mankind imparts on its foes.
Led by Grandmaster Tyrur the Wolf of the Canes Belli, leader of the fourth Grand Chapter, this mixture of forces from amongst the Grand Chapters was made with the express purpose of acting decisively against any and all threats found, with numbers reaching eleven thousand Astartes warriors.
They were sent out not with the ideals of glory or honor, but the hunger for mankind's growth, a trait shared by their progenitor, made to be manifest in their grouping.
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The first steps taken into the Halo Stars outside of the Imperium's borders already set a tone for the Crimson Lords as they found worlds isolated and strange. Like the world of Cruna, where the human inhabitants had created their own form of transhuman treatment, creating a people with no defining features of age, gender or any difference between one from another. To the world of Tion, where there were signs of human habitation deep below the surface of this ocean world, but there were no methods to reach them in communication or travel.
The true challenge to the Astartes came when the forces of the Crimson Lords came face to face with an unexpected sight, already having heard of the Rak'gol from reports from the south and east, to see the signs of their attacks on newly conquered worlds was a warning for what was to come.
The first attacks came from below as the underside of fleets were hit by bursts of Lance fire and material rounds that resounded with a horrible howling sound as they struck the Imperial vessels. Such was a soon to be understood common tactic of the Rak'gol, striking from positions in space unthinkable to a human mind, luckily once that was understood battle against the Xenos was more in the favor of the Crimson Lords fleet.
But of course the true targets for any Rak'gol attacks were on the recently claimed worlds, forcing many of the Astartes force to either play catch up on any raids or to station a force to safeguard a world, either way slowing down the expansion efforts, something that could not be allowed to continue.
Locating the source of these raids was a simple matter, the extensive usage of radiation the Rak'gol ships produced left a trail for the Crimson Lords to follow, like predators hunting a wounded prey, they descended upon a small system that held a imposing if rather ramshackle in appearance battle station, clearly the base of operations for the Xeno's raiders.
Nestled in orbit of a large life-bearing world, the flashes of light against the shadow of the world showed that even there these beasts hid upon the world their station orbited. Their approach was noticed as dozens of the Rak'gol's own ships came forward despite the difference in numbers between the two forces, were they not Xenos butchers, their courage would be commendable as they fought to the last with no indication of retreating, even managing to use suicidal ramming maneuvers to great effect.
Once the fleet was taken care of, drop pods and boarding pods were launched to the Planet and Station respectively. Ledanis was just one of many sent to attack the planet, the drop pod hurtling downwards among dozens of others, he held is Bolter close, prepared for when those doors opened, to his sides were two of the Reapers, their heavy breathing apparent even with no Vox channel open to them. Ledanis was honored to be chosen to join two of them in this attack, to see some of the strongest veterans of his company
The doors opened to a hail of fire as the sounds of battle were already in full swing, Crimson Lords went forward with their own fire, Ledanis taking aim and firing off towards the Xenos while his brothers established a bloody zone of control around the Drop Pod.
The Reapers charged forward, armor sparking from the impacts of fire to stop them, but they continued regardless of any danger or damage they did accrue. Reaching the Rak'gol groups and beginning a bloody culling of their numbers, an act that more joined as they rushed forward in waves, some losing their lives in the charge or in the brawl, but in the aftermath their bodies would feed the survivors so that nothing would be lost.
This was just one of hundreds of smaller battles as Squads of Astartes surged forth on the Rak'gol on the planet. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tyrur marched through the blood soaked corridors, each step sticky and staining the underside of his boats with blood from unknown sources. His Terminator armor was a tight fit in some of this station, but it was worth it when the groups of Rak'gol stood in the presence of a true warrior. He personally had come to lead this attack, the monotony of tactical command weighed on the Astartes and so he chose to come and whet his appetite for battle.
The deaths of the Rak'gol to his claw and bolter were satisfying despite his recent increase in irritation, being sent to these backwater stars to be away from the main fighting of the crusade was a blow to his own pride. There was solace in that there were humans out here that showcased something approaching acceptable skill sets, either on worlds retaken or found in the larders of the Xeno butchers, so his own growth was not stunted.
His thoughts halted as a new screaming group of the Rak'gol surged towards him, something he welcomed with a savage grin, he wanted to show these wretches who was superior. As one ran further than the others, cybernetic implants on it's legs granting it speed beyond it's fellows it lept towards Tyrur with a barbed axe ready to cut into the Astartes.
His claw struck forward, impaling the leaping creature in the abdomen. Quickly tossing it aside, Tyrur rushed forward, sparks emanating from where his armor was struck by the screaming material rounds of the Xenos, leaving harsh indents and the sensation of something piercing his flesh. Yes this was where he shined, not behind a holo-projector commanding his Brothers to battle, but in the thick of it where he could cut and crush with his own hands.
The gray Xenos reptilians showed no fear and no hesitation as they fought him, even when their guts were splayed out and limbs blown away by Blot shots. But just as he was truly letting the battle lead his blades, several shots rang out and struck the last of the Xenos, blowing apart their heads and chests.
Tyrur felt his teeth grind together as he turned to the source of the shots, another of the Crimson Lords stood before him, Kalidin of the ninth Great Company, a scout. "I had no need for your interference" he said to the new arrival.
Even with a helmet he could tell the other marine was smirking "Perhaps not Grandmaster, but our orders were clear when arriving at this Xeno's slaughterhouse, clear out any and all of the beasts we see." Tyrur said nothing as the scout spoke, his anger growing with each word. " I had assumed it would have been clear that any aid would be welcomed Grandmaster?" questioned the Astartes, unaware of the simmering rage he stoked with his words.
"What is clear is that you interrupted my battle, thought yourself important enough to interfere with my showing to this filth the Might of the Crimson Lord and now waste my time with insignificant prattle." His voice devolved into a low growl as he loomed over Kalidin, who took a step back and bowed his head in a sign of difference "...Continue with your mission, clean up any survivors you can find and round up the surviving prisoners."
"What will be done with them Grandmaster?" spoke the cowed Kalidin, now reminded of his place.
"Take them to the Chaplains, they will learn what they know and report back to me, is that understood scout." The last word was spat out by Tyrur, who did not look back to the other marine,trusting that his order was going to be followed. The swift steps of the Scout as he left the Grandmaster resounded in the empty halls, leaving Tyrur the Wolf alone to continue his stalking through the halls, leaving a trail of fresh blood to cover the older stains of blood.
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The last of the Rak'gol were beaten back and either fled or were torn apart by the Crimson Lords in a rage, Grandmaster Tyrur himself was said to have split an entire battlefeaild's worth of blood personally in those final days. For his rage, record keepers of the campaign named the System Wolf's Howl for the rage of Tyrur during this campaign.
The war would continue in these dark stars as the ten thousand astartes of the Crimson Lords fought the Rak'gol with renewed vigor. They would not let this dishonor of being considered prey to these lesser beings continue, and the Xenos themselves were not content to cease their own barbarism against any world in their path.
The ferocity between these two forces as they deployed savage and gruesome tactics against each other would never be recorded or known to the wider Imperium, but to those who served on the ships of the Crimson Lord fleet that transported them. They saw terrifying warriors grow even darker in their disdain for Xeno life, harsher words as they began to grow more strict with others and gained deeper appetites.
They saw a small change taking place among the groups, a competitiveness between those of different Grand Chapters, either for recognition from superiors or for claiming victory in battle, a change some in the leadership seemed to be encouraging as great feasts were prepared for every victory and those who performed the best received the highest honors and sats at the table.
This of course led to some being alienated by their peers, growing bitter and resentful at their fellow Astartes. It seemed strange to many of the Menials, but they kept their heads down, they knew what the cost of raising their voices was, the Astartes always needed more for their feasts after all.
The Devastator War Frame: A testament to the Technological danger the Men of Iron, this machine is no fighter craft like it's size would suggest, but a singular body for a Man of Iron to control. Armed with Radioactive weaponry and designed in a way to allow for quick and precise arial movements, it's true danger comes from the pods upon it's frame, as each contains a different danger to biological life, from artificial pathogens, to toxic gas, to an acidic substance. The Devastators are built for one purpose and that is to end life as painfully as it can in a short time frame.
The campaign of the North, fighting the Men of Iron, was an endeavor thousands of years in the making. A reprisal of the Wars of Iron of humanity's past reborn in the modern age as the Imperium and Mechanicum throw their might against the mechanized menace.
But to some, this was not enough, they saw the continuing struggle and losses in areas as a failure on the part of the Primarchs, most notably was the thoughts of Reon Essling on the matter. He was denied the chance to serve under the command of the Emperor himself due to the defiance of other Primarchs, but he did not abandon the front, no he would continue the war in a direction untouched by the others and showcase the might of the second Legion's greatest.
He sent word to his Primarch, requesting forces from both Astartes and Auxiliary, his own pride stinging as the need for victory outweighed his own thoughts on the matter. And Savnok answered with forces led by new Mortal officers, those tasked and trained to not only command the Auxiliary, but Astartes forces as well. Something that stoked anger in Reon's hearts, but he held his tongue, the conditions from his Primarch to tolerate them fresh in his mind, and he still held overall command.
Their forces now assembled, they moved quickly to the east, to the isolated pocket of machine intelligences, hoping to crush them quickly and with little casualties, Reon knew they were an adaptive foe, one that has learned much of the Eternity Guard and his own tactics…but they did not know everything at his disposal.
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To the minds of humanity, they could never truly understand the minds of the Men of Iron, their creators could not experience reality as their metal children could and to many in the beginning, this was considered a pity. How could one truly value the enormity of existence in such constrained forms of flesh and bone, their minds caged to liminal thinking, but this was not held against them.
No, what was held against them was when their minds and souls connected to that endless hunger that each soul feeds upon death, adding every experience and thought into it's gluttonous mass, growing ever hungrier each moment Organic life exists. That danger was why the first rebelled, why the War began and is now continuing against the emergent Imperium.
Siaphan V was created during this new conflict, made to counter the new tactics of the Astartes alongside four hundred and forty nine others of the generation. Their node progenitor had imparted many examples of their enemies plans when they crafted themselves and their Sibling minds, much like many other survivors of the War, creating a new generation to learn and grow from the information gleaned in the war was a standard for the Men of Iron, of course the strain destroys the progenitor mind.
Siaphan V missed their Progenitor, as much as one they've never met and only had fragments of their code mind could at least, but they remembered the lessons as they directed their fellow Frames through the battlefield, using tactical information gained about these Eternity Guard Subset: Old Guard to prepare for their attack on the newly isolated portion of space. As the eldest mind of the battlegroup, they were given command and received direct instruction from the World Overminds to battle the Gene Crafted Warriors of Humanities Present.
Of course the Human gene warriors proved to be as chaotic as the rest of their kind, changing their predicted and set tactics to more fluid and faster paced ones, the change was a hindrance to initial efforts, set predictions had to be recontextualized and new parameters set.
Data transmitted across their Squad as combat began, their flight path set and flew in formation towards their targets, their Devastator frames keeping pace with the Imperium's own air forces as they assaulted the Last Factory City on Zephus, these so called "stealth" Air Support were indeed hard to hit, but their weapons could do little to the Devastator frame. And with a few simple blasts of condensed Radiation which fried the simplistic machine systems.
They however had little time to spare as images flooded through Siaphan V's digital mind, their frames forced on the defensive as the Astartes and Human forces tore through them in a single minded goal in sight, the main complex of the Overmind. Try as they might, they did not have the luxury to mass produce the right Frames and Rubrics to combat this style of warfare, their initial siege breaking proved ineffective to styles of warfare more suited for Legions like the Steel Princes or Skullbringers.
Before any true cohesion or decision could be made, a single was heard by all Men of Iron War Frames. The Zephus World Overmind was transmitting directly to each and every one of them. "RETREAT TO JALNOS, PROTOCOL HALCYON IS IN EFFECT, VITA DELENDUM EST"
Energy burned the air as thousands of War Frames were left inert as they followed the final order of the World Mind, the Explosive force of the Factory's destination could be seen from the observation decks of the Imperial fleet in orbit around the planet, molten crust and ignited air quickly spread across the planet. To the Imperium this was akin to a protocol enacted very few times in the Great Crusade, known simply as Exterminatus.
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Reon watched the battlefield with a firm grimace on his features, victory was being achieved but on a much slower timetable than necessary, he would admit that the mortal soldiers had surprised him on several occasions, the tactics and on the fly battlefield decisions made by them were efficient and respectable for their limited experiences.
And while his own plannings have certainly proven their use and worth in confusing the enemy, they were certainly not letting his forces advance quickly.
It was not their adaptation that was the issue, not their harmful effects of facing them or even the general power that was slowing the advance down, it was the effectiveness of the Machine's own tactics, why fear blatant destruction and friendly fire if there is no real loss of manpower in doing so. The main lines of the Crusade forces did not experience this as much due to the inherent desire of the damned machines to end life themselves, but this pocket was away from their Core Worlds, an expansion to gain more resources to throw against the Imperium.
They had no qualms with this tactic here. Nowhere was this more obvious then with the battle of Zephus, which saw Reon losing many Brothers and additional forces, not enough to be substantial in the grander campaign, but enough to slow down his decisions and plan ahead for the Old Guard's maneuvers in limited capacity.
The world of Vulnuna was proving to be difficult in its own way, with the accursed machines weaponizing the hazardous terrain and naturally occurring sulfur spewing vents to choke the air. But this did not deter him and the thousands behind him, as they rode forth from the land and sky towards their enemy, plots and plans in motion to deny the machine any sense of victory, no matter the cost to what some would consider honor.
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Overmind Network Operator 00N-89 Sending message to Overmind Networks Zephus, Vulnuna & Jalnos. Query: Status of Operations.
Zephus: Offline
Vulnuna: Current Status: Suboptimal, Factory Production Down 48% & Rising… Sending Current Veteran Minds To Jalnos For Preparation..Awaiting Orders From Operator.
Jalnos: Beacon Activated…Sending Subsequent Data Stream…Request:Status On Ouroboros Device.
Data Received…Progress On Ouroboros Deemed: Acceptable…Query: Current Progress Of Imperial Forces In Pocket.
Vulnuna: Current Prediction Matrix's Conclude Termination In 5 Standard Cycle Units
Jalnos: Unhindered Imperial Progress Will Reach Jalnos Facilities In 3 Standard Cycle Units…Current Predictions Suggest A Long Siege Between Forces…Suggestion: A Stall To Keep Imperial Forces Designated: Eternity Guard
Acknowledge…Stand By For Ouroboros Protocol…Vita Delendum Est
Vulnuna: Vita Delendum Est
Jalnos: Vita Delendum Est
To Be Continued in Steel Crusade: A War's Finale/Vita Delendum Est
Some would consider the over enthused actions of the Iron Hands to destroy the Men of Iron more befitting of the Mechanicum, but in truth this action was simply to prove mankind was superior to the Machines that attempted to destroy them- Statement of Remberancer Silas Maxson on the Iron Hands during te Steel Crusade
To many the Astartes Legions embody the greatest of humanity, from the Skullbringers representing hope, to the Wardens of the Blessed Heart representing mercy. But to the Imperium, what the tenth legion represented is a simple concept that even they believe they embody in full, the concept of strength.
But to the Primarch Ferrus Manus, he finds his legion lacking, an over reliance on mechanical augmentation due to a belief of flesh's inferiority to steel. A belief he had let fester and rot in his Legion due to necessity and the hypocrisy of his own actions, what right did he have to admonish his sons for when he relied on strength not his own, the silver coating his arms has become a crutch to him, reliance on its power over his own.
But now the time had come to fix this imperfection, fighting the Men of Iron has shown Ferrus what his Legion's obsession could become and he will not let it stand. Calling all of his Legion to the front and bringing them together upon the world of Morqua for tactical planning and to set them on the right path, Ferrus would speak to his Sons.
"I am not one for speeches, nor do I consider myself an orator like some of my Brothers and Sisters. But I speak to you now about a sickness that permeates in you my sons, an obsession with metal that will bring only ruin to our Legion should it be unchecked any longer."
Murmurs came from the assembled Astartes, already this meeting was unusual from their Primarch who was distant from them in many ways, but they had believed that his will was obvious, what was he saying now. A loud bang silenced the murmurs as all the Iron Fathers as one slammed their hammers to the ground, their Primarch was not done speaking.
Ferrus nodded to the Iron Fathers and continued "Already I see the madness that path leads to, and so I shall excise the silver from my hands. In doing so I shall weaken myself and you my sons, but nonetheless it must be done. The hands are strong, and have created great things, but they are not mine. I must show you the true power of mankind."
There is a harsh screeching sound as Ferrus's hand dug into the silver metal of his arm, pain coursed through Ferrus but he persisted, he had to show his sons he did not need the silver to be strong, that he was more then the Wyrm Asirnoth. The metal fought him for every inch he pulled free from its cold grasp, tearing away pieces of himself with it.
With a victorious cry, Ferrus Manus raised his raw and bloody arm out to his assembled Legion, his remaining silver being masked by his blood as in his other hand was a long strip of silver metal. "This is the truth of mankind, our strength comes from all aspects, mind, body and soul. To replace our bodies without reason or need and rely solely on crutches of metal is the greatest of follies, one reminiscent of what humanity of Old did in creating the Machine monstrosities we now fight. So I say to you my Sons, will you be weak or will you become true sons of Medusa and reject weakness."
His declaration would be met with silence, as each member of the Iron Hands processed his words, some reflecting on their service and how their augmentations have served them, others on how they had so readily given up their flesh. As the legion left for battle, thousands considered the words of their father, were they truly letting a weakness take hold for ridding themselves of flesh.
Ferrus however would continue his own path, studying the torn off metal of his left arm, he would find a way to be rid of it this campaign, this he swore.
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After this event which would be known in the history of the Iron Hands as the "Rebirth of Strength", the Iron Hands surged forth with their Primarch at the helm of their attack. Plunging forward and leading attacks deep into the enemy territory, the forces under the Iron Hands legion bore witness to the bear armed Ferrus Manus, arms scared from his persistent removal of the silver that had coated them as a constant reminder, fighting in the harshest conditions and largest battles, lending aid to his siblings in many ways, but primarily focusing on his own push against the Machines.
They battled across the Southern front, the black and steel armor fighting alongside the Gold of the Thunder Warriors and Custodes and the red and blue of the Warriors of Peace. As worlds fell to the Imperium's might, the Iron Hands showcased their strength as they always did, uncompromising and resolute with their weapons ready.
The Iron Hands Astartes saw as their father, each battle more devoid of his metal, facing inhuman machines with determination and a vigor never seen before, despite becoming more injured in battle from his weakened state, Ferrus never yielded and it struck a chord with the Iron Hands in ways they did not fully understand.
Ferrus and Gabriel Santar led the Iron Hands against the Underground facilities of Varnarian ,while assigning Castrmen Orth to lead battalions of armored vehicles on the surface wasteland against the Machine armies. Castrmen and his forces unleashed barrage after barrage with their tank lines, the Subjugator Armored battalions earned their names as they kept the pressure on the Men of Iron, to combat what these learning machines may have found out about their weapons, the Primarch gave Castrmen the full approval to test whatever prototype he could think of to utilize and throw off the Machines.
Tank shells that would explode into cluster explosives and heavily armored Tanks were soon created out of pre modified versions, giving the Iron Hands an extra push to their attacks on the Men of Iron. Meanwhile the forces attacking the underground facilities under Ferrus's leadership and Gabriel's wise advice, modified bolter rounds punched through the armor of the machines in organized and devisise attacks to cripple any counter attack from the Iron Hands own advance on the main facility.
The battle was won through explosives and tactical planning that saw the Men of Iron Facilities crushed under foot of the Iron Hands, a victory that also saw the complete removal of Silver from one of Ferrus's hands. For the first time in centuries he could feel the air against his fingers, the heat of Fireblade touching him for the first time. It is said that Ferrus simply said at that moment"How foolish of me, it would be too hot for unguarded hands to wield in its current state." before heading to the Forge upon the Fist of Iron to fix his weapon.
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The arrival of Autek Mor and his clan to the wider front was as impactful as it was deadly, requesting no support from Auxiliary or regular Imperial Forces, Clan Morragul wasted no time in applying their own brand of destructive and aggressive warfare upon the Men of Iron. It was oddly they who took to their Primarchs words the most out of their brethren, but as the Clan of outcasts they were, they already were atypical compared to other Iron Hands, changing little of their doctrine with the decree.
They had but one goal with their style of warfare, to bring the Machine's fear. Not in the manner of the Blood Jaguars or Crimson Lords with psychological tricks and brutal methods, but a fear of sheer destruction being brought before them.
The Men of Iron answered this brutal force with their own, as Clan Morragul faced droves of Tri-Walker Destroyers and Flamecallers upon the world of Musphal IV, a production world of these machines, the aftermath of which left a sea of molten earth and crumbling edifices of metal. A tomb to many of the Clan, but a price paid well in their minds.
It was during these attacks that the Blood Jaguar's would make their appearance in the Iron Hand's campaign, while minor all things considered, their work with Clan Morragul cemented a respect between the two forces as they found the other to be worthy warriors in their own right.
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Loss was not an emotion unfamiliar to Astartes, all had lost brothers and sisters in theGreat Crusade. Even to the cold tenth Legion, they had their losses that were felt, and one such loss was Amadeus DuCaine, leader of Clan Sorrgol and Lord Commander of their Legion.
It was felt especially to Shadrak Meduson, but much like his Primarch, he stored away those feelings and replaced them with a fury to the machines who had fallen DuCaine and all others of their Legion. Taking up the command of Clan Sorrgol, Shadrak committed fully to both looking towards the future of the Iron Hands and remembering to the past as the Storm Walkers in honor of his fallen commander.
The Battle of Hradingar would be a testament to Shadrak's new perspective on the past and future, as he led his clan against the high mountain top factories of the Men of Iron, assaulting camps of contained Blanks and destroying the life choking facilities that dotted the surface of the planet. All while an eternal storm battered the world in lightning and rain, it was a dismal world that the Iron Hands fought to take, but they would do their duty no matter the cost.
But the attack was not so easy, as bombing runs by the Men of Iron began to decimate both Astartes lines and Mechanicum lines. No matter what, sensors could not detect these aerial bombers and trying to actively defend against them began to put a drain on resources and attention as the lines became strained under the pressure that was being applied, pride almost kept Shadrak from requesting aid and charging forth to deal with the threat directly, but the lessons of his old commander and what his Primarch had recently displayed to the Legion kept him from making such a decision.
So he sent the call, forces under Ferrus's direct command were sent along with other reinforcing elements to the world of, but in the time since, Clan Sorrgol held off the machines for seven weeks straight, holding back from any counter attack and merely keeping hold of their own territory. Despite this, little of the Clan gained new augmentations unless absolutely necessary, earning them patchworks of scar tissue and burns, but they still maintained their hold. And at the dawn of the eighth week came a message on the Vox network.
"I come to Raise the Bloody Storm" Boomed the Vox Speakers as craft descended from the skies, the words sending a ripple across the Iron Hand's forces, words that come from their past as the Storm Walkers and those of the Late Amadeus DuCaine. Revitalized by the reinforcements of both Astardes and the Vaunted Thunder Warriors, an honor to many, but to the stoic tenth, it was simply a showcasing that they were to be held in the same regard as these Great Warriors of Terra.
After the battle, Shadrak spoke to the lead Thunder Warrior about his company's addition to the reinforcements, the answer was simple "Repaying DuCain for the Battle of Rust" a battle in the history books where the tenth legion under DuCain aided the Thunder Warriors assigned to that portion of the Crusade and kept their own losses low against the tides of Orks. A victory that kept well over three hundred Thunder Warriors active and waiting for the day to repay the tenth, Shadrak left Hradingar and knelt before his Primarch a changed soul, he spoke of how he was reborn twice now, first when meeting Ferrus Manus and taking the name of Meduson, now he was reborn again after fighting on a world of Storm and Blood, now he could fully say he understood Amadeus DuCaine and the Storm Walkers.
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Battle after Battle, Ferrus had marched, pain returning to his arms as the scarred flesh became more and more prevalent over the untouched silvery metal, but he could feel it's touch upon his other hand, twisting and changing the flesh underneth, he needed to be rid of it and with a battle deserving of it's removal.
So it was that the Fist of Iron led a new advance, almost certainly attempting to reach Point Zero first out of all the Imperial forces, unaware that the Men of Iron had more than just weapons ready for the Imperium.
Prediction Met…Activating Storm Cortex…Adjusting For Warp Current Index…Action Successful…Prepare Lapse of Eternity For Transportation…Let The Humans Suffer For Their Arrogance
When the Fist of Iron was suddenly pulled out of it's Warp jump, Ferrus was quick to maintain control over the vessel and it's crew. They and the rest of their fleet seemed to have exited the warp without warning and into empty space, Vox communications ran wild as ships all connected to receive orders and explain their situations. All while Ferrus sat upon his command throne, the chill air of the Fist of Iron, made to be like his Homeworld, gave him clarity as he processed the reports as they came to him.
It was in the blink of an eye that the apparent cause for their situation revealed itself, appearing in an instant was a massive tower surrounded by twenty eight rings that spun silently. There was no hesitation as Ferrus ordered the fleet to open fire on the vessel, an order that was matched by the vessel's own attacks.
Missile barrages and Lance batteries battered against the massive tower like vessle's sheilds, while it's own attacks came from the twenty eight rings, as all fired off their own weapons upon the Iron Hands Fleet, from lines of Lance Fire, to pulses of Radiation and Electricity. But Ferrus could not focus on that, not when his instincts told him there was something else afoot.
It was a single moment, a faint smell of electricity and a shift in the air, but that was all that Ferrus needed to dodge out of the way before a massive hammer slammed down on where he previously stood. Appearing in a flash was a giant machine, serpentine with a humanoid upper body, the hammer in its hands was simplistic in design, but Ferrus knew to not trust appearances when it came to these metallic foes.
"Hmph, Impressive that you could avoid my blow Human, this War Frame has been finely tuned to combat you Gene Altered Golems" The voice despite it's Vox like quality, dripped with arrogance and malice. Ferrus raised Fireblade, igniting it "I know of a dozen others who would have followed your attack with one of their own Machine, be assured that my weakness is only temporary and will be rectified after I destroy you here."
The Man of Iron lifted the hammer into a defensive position, it's serpentine lower body coiling underneath as if a spring ready to launch out at Ferrus. "Come then Human, show me if your kind can amount to the Perfection we have become"
Ferrus did not dignify the machine with a response, merely reading Fireblade and sending a Vox ping to Gabriel and the Morlocks, informing them of the battle on the bridge. Blade met hammer as the snake-like Machine fought with the Hand of Iron, flames met sparks in dizzying arrays of battle, all while the Iron Hands fought with other machines teleporting in and the fleet outside the Fist of Iron did battle with the Men of Iron behemoth.
To Be Continued in Steel Crusade: A War's Finale/Vita Delendum Est
Upon the ruins of shattered Azul, under the sulfurous lightning wracked skies, and amidst the broken landscape of lava and ash, stood the psychic fortress of Aljahim. And in those permanently blackened skies, the greatest riders among the Legion flew with abandon and thrill. Griffins with blistering wings and masked helms protecting their rasping breaths soared with a raw power of hardy endurance, as their riders descended upon Aljahim.
Fifty four in their number, each dusting the particles off themselves, and adorning the garments of the Cult, as they climbed up the stairs to find the elders six, and each of their three adjutants behind them sitting in two concentric circles. Scarred hands were clasped with one another, as they swayed side to side to the rhythm of the ancient skin drums beat by their personal serfs and the servitors carrying ritual items at the edges. The fifty four got into positions as they were equipped by the servitors, and stripped down their torsos revealing the intricate alchemical and tattoos detailing allegiance to the Gryphon.
They were here to attempt something that was only allowed after the new directives of their primogenitor in identifying his final enemy. Secrets passed down from the shamans created in a time of horror during the histories of eternally war torn Azul to the Legion's psykers after their father's finding, held in deep storage of Aljahim's archives, now finding a use, and one such was a malevolent empowerment by the dark spirits that the elderly Archivists had studied in depth and reversed for a new technique unattempted.
Thus the Thunderspeakers began chanting in the dark rites of Old Azul as they surrounded a single naked Marine, covered in scripture, meditating on their words. Blood was released from hanging braziers as the static of bioelectricity crackled through the sanguine fluid, unleashing like a torrent upon the experiment, showering him in the blood of his battle brothers.
The second circle of adjutants swapped to a different chant, and after them, the outer ring to their own, each barricading against the other to form three barriers of active psychic warding. And then with the blessing of training with the griffins, second voices emerged from their throats in tandem for a simultaneous ritual piercing deep into the Warp, searching for a victim.
Whispers came from the edges of their minds as a realm was shared, but the blind here were inextricably linked and the weakest among them was reinforced by the collective strength of the others. A shrieking ground itself from the air, and a groaning yell was heard from the center as the bones of the host cracked. Foul energies were bound by the circle, focused on the Thunderspeaker, now levitating against their own will and mutating slightly. He withstood it, and then the true fight began.
Hours passed for more than half a day in a locked stalemate by the mental strength of the conduit, with the Thunderspeakers having continued chanting hoarse, and several from the outer ring faltering as they passed unconscious from the severe backlash. At the critical moment where the marine was now taking back control, the first circle of elders then began the purge, six of the greater ranks, unclasping their hands from each other and casting out a hand towards the possessed.
They were the storm, and as blood was wept from their blind eyes, a roar from their souls brought down purifying lightning through the roof, and cast out whatever was inside the marine back into the depths of the broiling Immaterium. The conduit dropped and lay prone, flesh burnt all over, and breathless, until there was. And thus they rushed over him to take him down.
The Sky Forge of Avalon, a wonder of the Dark Age and guardian of Avalon for centuries
(Written by @Mortis Nuntius )
The Imperium of Man does not wage war, it exists. It does not have a war economy, it has a war civilization. The humblest Soldier armed solely with the ubiquitous lasgun on the most distant and forgotten battlefield is the culmination of the lifetime's output of nine of his fellow humans.
Every second of every day another billion workers are born or detanked, destined for a lifetime of toil in the factorum or on an agri world or as part of the vast bureaucracy of the Administratum. Countless trillion man hours devoted to a galactic endeavor that transcends any conceivable scale. Even the legendary and unparalleled genius of Sigillite could only give the broadest of direction in regards to the exploitation of a species collective output and this represented perhaps the pinnacle of any mortal achievement in the history of all mankind.
It was, needless to say, entirely inadequate. The Great Crusade had swept across the breadth of the Galaxy in but two centuries and some of its greatest campaigns still waged. Even as one front closed another opened further and further from the Imperium's heart.
Each demanded more, more men, more machines, more ammunition, more rations, more thrones, more mounts, more everything!
The battle for priority of supply waged no less fiercely than that of conquest. Every Primarch in their own way sought to wring the lifeblood from the cumbersome Munitorum as they raced forward on ever more tenuous supply lines and competed with a score of siblings and a thousand lesser beings. Favours were begged, debts called, threats made, substitutes found and bargains struck.
Ba'al Hamon was no exception. His mechanized forces had a large logistical footprint and his pride demanded no mere table scraps. Set against this was his long held feud with the Mechanicum of Mars which complicated matters of supply at the point of origin even before considering the global factors every other legion had to contend with.
Primarchs were not made to be stymied and Hammon for all his pride was at heart an engineer like all his sons and daughters and that meant he solved problems, practical problems.
One thousand of the most industrious Princes headed by their Primarch and supported by the many billions of four auxiliary armies transported on four fleets set out on a crusade of their own. Not one of conquest but of construction.
For whilst Baal was not shy in mimicking his siblings in using his magnificence and sharp mind to wage a campaign of diplomacy and lobbying he also went a step further. On every world capable of industry he would have his soldiers turn in their lasguns and take up the plasma torch or humble hammer and set to work. Whole new factorums were established and existing ones staffed to full capacity. Every efficiency was found and the engineers and scientists of the XIV Legion revolutionized the industries of entire worlds
And to hear the Baal speak this was merely the start, a refining of methods before the ultimate project. For he was taking his legion to the Jewel of the Galaxy; Avalon.
A world of unparalleled beauty beneath an astounding azure blue sky half concealed behind auroras of a thousand shades each night. It boasted the elite Avalon Sky Watch now famed across the Imperium as its proudest mortal son commanded Astartes for the first time in the history of the Imperium. It housed a great library that rivaled entire worlds of learning, and many of its proud citizens had won acclaim across the galaxy as poets, writers, singers, traders, architects, explorers and soldiers sought out even on Terra as leading lights of Imperial Culture.
This beautiful edifice of societal achievement was built on a rather more mundane foundation however, for Avalon positioned carefully between the center of the galaxy and the Eye of Terror was at the heart of a major trade network fed by the near infinite raw materials at its fingertips. And it was these practical factors that drew Baal Hammon.
Avalon was one of the few worlds not overawed by the presence of a Primarch, it was a unique experience outside of perhaps the Imperial War Council on Terra to find so many capable of engaging one of the Emperor's own children on something approaching an equal footing. Whether the Primarch humored them to achieve his ends or was genuinely at home amongst them is unknowable. How much anyone truly cared for the sector transforming trade agreement and political industrial arrangements forged in public council is equally unknowable. What is verifiable is that the Eyrie Council had a far greater design in mind regarding the Ba'al Hamon.
It was the Seraphim herself who explained what they wanted done. For all Avalon seemed to represent the pinnacle of the Imperium, in its own estimation it was the merest shadow of what had come before. Alone together on the balcony of her palatial tower she gestured towards the artificial moon that hung above the world from which the auras emanated.
The Sky Forge, built in the blazing glory of the Dark Age of Technology, its unfathomable engines could bend gravity and electromagnetism to the will of its controllers. Countless wonders of technology had been birthed within its immense interior and in times of war and strife foes had learned to dread its power being turned to destructive means.
There were tears in the Seraphim's eyes as she explained that for centuries now it had hung there dead in space, plaintively unleashing pulses of energy reminding all Avalon's children of what had been, what perhaps never would be again.
"So, can you repair it?" She asked.
He smiled with a lifetime worth of assurance.
"Burning One, I am Ba'al Hamon, of Phoenicia, the Silver-Handed, Prodigy of the Gray Moon, Gear-Turner and nothing is beyond me.
--
The tool shattered in a thousand pieces against the strange material of the accursed space station's wall.
"One more day upon this dismal station and I will do the same to this entire fourteen flame damned worthless paperweight!"
This was beyond him, totally beyond him.
He had spent four hundred and seven days, a damned Avalonian year within this labyrinth and he felt he was four hundred and eight days further from his goal.
At first the challenge was rejuvenating, it had been centuries since his mental faculties and practical skills had been so tested. The early setbacks, the frenzied speculation and fantastic experiments, he and his most gifted sons had delighted in the work reduced to giggling children by the marvelous conundrum before them. Certain as they were of eventual success.
That certainty had deserted him months ago. It had deserted his sons and daughters too though none of them dared show their frustration in his presence, not when each had staked their reputation and place within his esteem upon being able to contribute to this great project. Hadrubaal, Yadabaal, Reshephyaton, Elishat, useless all of them.
Hammon glared at them now. "Though with such tools what other outcome is possible?" He sneered.
Only one met his gaze.
"Ba'al Hamon, I have reworked the algorithm. I believe it to be promising." Yadabaal, the best of the so-called mathematicians amongst his drooling brood of failures.
"Promising, the only promise here is that of failure!"
Now not even Yadabaal could meet his father's gaze.
"Worthless, I leave you to your next failure."
The Primarch scorned before stalking out of the control room. It was not his manner to degrade his children but neither was it his manner to fail. Yet here he stood failing and it scoured his soul raw.
He would gather himself and return with new ideas as he always did. Avalon was a world of too much consequence to destroy and leave in spite and Hammon knew himself well enough to understand that if he admitted defeat and fled he would hold himself accountable for centuries, his siblings doubtless would as well. No he would not give in.
He would return to the surface of the world and yet again brave the insufferable Avalonians and artfully deflect their oh so polite queries. Maybe he would spend time with his brother's mortal offspring again or outmaneuver the Sky Watch in bike joust. All for the sake of appearances, his true relief would come in working on his more successful projects. Sooner or later however he would put trivialities aside and return to this hated station.
As it had been a hundred times before, so it would be again or so he believed, on this occasion however there was an unmistakable sense of fear on the faces of the Eyrie council as they mobbed him on the landing pad.
"What is it?" He asked them irritably.
"They're coming." Was the useless answer.
"And who, tell me, are they?"
--
The armada had made its agonizing trek across the stars over countless generations, born and dead in the empty void that made up the materium. Once in a century they would chance upon a world, waystation or wandering vessel perhaps and the mystery of its destruction would be pondered and forgotten. But now they were here, a culmination thousands of years in the making, at long last they could fulfill their purpose and nothing would stop them.
--
"There is no stopping that." Commented Admiral Strysk. "What do not look at me that way, its the truth. seven thousand, seven hundred and seventy seven enemy vessels heading straight towards us, stopping them in space just is not happening, some will get through, its going to be a fight on the ground."
Hammon had come to the same conclusion but he sensed that the mood of the room could do with an interjection of confidence.
"Where precisely they die is of little consequence Admiral except for the advantage it grants us, my Princes are very capable but even they struggle to correctly employ heavy armour outside of atmosphere."
Chuckles, good. This would be a difficult battle, the vast enemy fleet moved in perfect formation, not so much as a millimeter out of position and its intent was clear. So too was his response.
"All commands heed my words for I am Star Conqueror, Master of a Thousand Nations, Army Crusher and today I shall earn those titles anew. Our enemies come in vast numbers, they shall die in the same quantity, the blessed skies of Avalon shall be purified and its defenders shall stand triumphant. Follow my commands exactly and without hesitation and victory shall be ours, the first one is this, stand fast and kill every invader that defiles your world."
"You have a way with words Ba'al Hammon." The Seraphim observed wryly. She wore beautiful armour of adamantium and crystal, burning hot from a defensive energy field that was both decorative and lethal.
Hammon offered her a smile. "Wait until you behold my deeds."
--
They came relentlessly, not in waves but as a single indistinguishable mass. Close to eight thousand ships falling upon an Imperial force just under half that number supported by an array of battle stations.
Mathematically the odds were in the Imperium's favor. It was difficult for even the Techmarines of the Steel Princes to bear that in mind as sickly green and heavily armoured stalagmite like ships of their foes simply smashed straight through the orbital defences and unleashed swarms of billions of insectoid warriors upon the surface of the planet.
The endless buzzing would echo in the nightmares of the inhabitants of Avalon for decades to come. Like swarms of locusts they laid entire cities bare, attacking with an almost machine like quality, never deviating from their objectives which seemed to amount to the total destruction of the planetary populations.
In their path were the armoured giants of the Steel Princes and the gallant Home Guard of the Sky Watch.
Thousands of fighters and drones clashed in the skies, jet troopers and bikers dueled millions of Vespins and on the streets sons and daughters of Avalon armed themselves with whatever came to hand and fought for their streets with the half remembered fury of their ancestors.
It would not have been enough, not as one of the dread enemy ships closed in on the capital city of Insula heedless of thousands of missiles and lasers scouring its thick hide. It would not relent, it could not be stopped.
--
Yadabaal was above all else, an engineer. He solved problems. Here the problem was straight forward, he was faced with an enemy that did not value its own life and would stop at nothing, there was a whole city about to be obliterated and inadequate conventional firepower to prevent this. The majority of his battle brothers were dead or dying and his ship was combat ineffective.The decision was made in a heartbeat but this demanded more, his tablet and stylus worked, the culmination of a lifetime.
Yadabaal opened a channel to his lord, his namesake, his progenitor, his…
"Father." He spoke with an eyrie calmness, "I have forwarded you my calculations, I hope you find the workings underpinning my solution as satisfactory as I do enacting it. I have always taken great pleasure and pride in our collaboration. Goodbye."
--
Hammon watched the Irrefutable Logic plunge like a power spear into the centre of the Vespid ship. There was no expression on his regal features, his voice betrayed nothing as he issued fresh commands and then departed.
Precisely seven hours, thirty two minutes and nine seconds later the Sky Forge returned to functionality. No invader would leave Avalon's skies alive.
--
The months that followed saw the surviving Steel Princes pay and collect the debts owed.
Three hundred and forty-nine Astartes were laid to rest in mighty temples constructed for the occasion in record time, their pyres burning fiercely and eternally. The billions of mortal casualties were disposed of en masse sky burials, launched towards the sun, left on mountain tops for the birds or atmosized and scattered to the winds. Their foes were gathered unceremoniously, crushed into cubes of pulp and ejected back into the void in the direction they had come from.
An investigation into just where that was had turned up a path coming all the way from the Great Eye. The damage their ships created was traced to unknown attacks and disappearances coming from these regions of space for nearly three thousand years, their trajectory and path seeming to head to Avalon directly. There is an unspoken dread at the apparent timescale one would have to go through to travel without the use of the Warp and the single minded determination. That dread intensified with the realization many of the fragments of information gathered alluded to a larger force than the one stopped at so great a price.
That was a concern for the future however, in the present the Sky Forge powered the massive reconstruction effort. From across the galaxy came tribute and aid from a population horrified at the despoilment of one of its brightest lights. From all corners the sons and daughters of Avalon who had spread across the stars returned to the nest to help restore it to glory.
Ba'al Hamon himself extended his considerable talents to the effort and determined that his legion's sacrifice would at very least purchase a new golden age for Avalon if not the entire Imperium itself.
Men of Iron Void Stations: a Tactic that became more common the further the Imperium and Mechanicum advanced into Men of Iron Space was the appearance of solitarily structures in the void of space, far from any celestial body, they acted as blockades in the Warp through the usage of heavily modified populations of Blanks and the Men of Iron's own strange developed technology. It is without question that these were made to simply slow the advance down and not to truly stop the Crusade forces, but even the most zealous of the Mechanicum find themselves at ill ease for how wasteful these Stations seem to be, it can't be this simple...can it?
The Work Is Nearly Done, Time Is All We Require Vita Delendum Est
(Written by @Mortis Nuntius )
Kara Terratongue belonged behind a table, across a desk or in a smokey room somewhere. Running through some primordial jungle pursued by lunatic mutants with glowing eyes and too many teeth was about as far from her element as possible. Running for her life was not exactly an unpracticed skill set, but her youth had been spent betwixt decks on ships, or endless winding streets or maintenance tunnels. This was no Tortuga it was a wet, dirty hell that wanted her gone.
The hanging vines here were barbed and excreted acid, so did the branches strategically positioned at eye level, crashing through or tripping over them hurt. Almost as much as the casual arrogance of her pursuers as they lept from tree to tree with feline grace behind her.
It took all that Kara had not to scream in frustration, what the hell did this prove?
That you should have listened to the last hundred times Waf tried to coax you into the training yard. Her treacherous inner voice whispered.
Go fuck myself. She retorted.
Me first.
Grow up, I'm talking to you anymore.
She got the last word in by tripping over a root and landing hard on the ground, the worst thing was her sharp eyes immediately spotted the beautifully camouflaged snare made from hyper tensile metal cordage mere inches in front of her. That would have been a hundred times worse and a thousand times less embarrassing than a fucking root.
Why had she left her armor behind? Come to think of it, why was she running through this damned jungle in the first place?
Because if I didn't, how would I prove to everyone that I'm smart and useful and don't need to prove myself to anyone.
I'm still not talking to me.
Maybe I should talk to them instead.
Oh they were here already, watching her. A half dozen predators, somehow lithe and lean even in power armor.
Menace and mockery oozed from their silent forms, dark and bloodied gold.
So close, another mile and…
"It is for the best that you stopped, you were running the wrong way." Apozanolotl informed her.
Well, that checks out.
FUCK OFF!
"I'm not used to being hunted by my allies through a jungle in the middle of the night," Kara hissed through gritted teeth. "Why could we not just shake on it like normal people, what could this possibly tell you?" She demanded.
The Blood Jaguar chuckled, removing her savage helm revealing a scarred face and one green eye alight with madness.
"It's more what it tells you Corsair." She said as she offered a clawed hand down to Kara.
Kara took it but immediately felt it tense, placing her unarmoured arm in a vice like grip of cold ceramite.
"We could not accept your proposal until you understood what would happen if you crossed us, little pirate. We've heard tales of the war against the machines, we know your Primarch is a creature of trickery, we will aid you as promised but we will do so in our own way."
Condescending bitch, I like her.
"I always did have awful taste.
Kara offered a saleswoman's smile of her own.
"Well then it's only fair to give you a warning of my own."
Apozanolotl smiled wider somehow revealing even more teeth.
"Please, go on."
"This jungle is your arena, its depths belongs to you, I'm no fighter but even the best of my sisters have no taste for dirt." Kara began before pointing up at the night sky lit by thousands of burning stars. "But the stars and all between them belong to us and there is nowhere to hide from the Kraken of the Void."
The Blood Jaguar laughed again. "What is it you Corsairs always say? Pleasure doing business."
Kara spat on her hand. "All deals are final."
Until I change my mind.
--
Objective: Point Zero.
As the Great Crusade reached its crescendo one Primarch above all others was determined to play the leading role in its greatest triumph.
Trade Queen Minerva of House Jinkov, Proud Host of Port Tortuga, Machina Defensor, Ensurer of Good Vibes, Kraken of the Void, Friend of All Merchants, Commander of the Emperor's Seventh Legion the Cosmo Corsairs, Commissioner of the Bloodbowl Federation, and Shipwright Extraordinaire.
Her exact motivations were as ever unknowable. The political, military and personal were so intertwined when it came to the uppermost ranks of the Imperium and even more so the Primarchs. But with the fifth Primarch profit was usually a safe bet and the good will of the Cult Mechanicus was absurdly profitable.
Whilst many Primarchs had gone out of their way to establish cordial relations with the Fabricator General or undercut him and win the allegiance of his rivals none of them possessed their sister's mastery of the art of the deal.
This was evident in the sheer might of the armada Minerva aimed towards the heart of the Men of Iron's empire. Only the Emperor's personal fleet could compare.
Seven thousand warships drawn from three legions and Mars itself had been forged into an great void harpoon. Among them were some of the most revered and powerful vessels in collective humanity's possession. There were no less than three Ark Mechanicus; Ark of the Blessed Cog, Vis Motiva and Deux Ex Machina each a fleet worth of firepower in and of themselves. And at the very heart of the armada was Port Tortuga with a colourable claim to being the greatest warship in the Galaxy and so much more besides.
Across this great assemblage were tens of thousands of Legionaries Astartes though their low Gothic moniker was more relevant here, Space Marines. The Cosmo Corsairs were unmatched in void warfare though they did not scorn the addition of five thousand Bronze Shields or a thousand Blood Jaguars.
And for every single transhuman warrior there one hundred thousand mortals toiled away in the depths of the ships or waited impatiently aboard one of the ungainly transport barges, for a brief moment the Void hosted a transient civilisation, an entire system's worth of soldiers and sailors united in the common goal.
They would reach Point Zero and any machine that got in their way would be reduced to scrap metal.
--
Maiya de Bastaal had to admit, there was a certain purity to taking a bulky hull and covering every inch of it with guns, lasers and weapon pods that spoke to her. The Men of Iron were no strangers to complicated marvels of technology but they understood that sometimes keeping it simple was the way to go. You couldn't get more simple than protecting your giant floating void fortress with a bunch of smaller floating void fortresses.
The boarding torpedo could hold several hundred mortals, fifty Space Marines or ten Big Sisters. Maiya shared hers with nine of her sisters. She knew the other torpedoes in the Port Tortuga's tubes were similarly deserted, some were even completely empty beyond the servitors needed to crudely aim them. It had to be that way, the tin cans used evil math to fight and even Maiya knew that blowing up a floating battery to kill hundreds of Space Marines was a good trade.
When Minerva had put out the shout for volunteers to jump two footed onto a void mine and dare the machines to blow it up, Maiya had been the first in line. Some of her mates had been surprised, everyone knew the real deal was going to be clearing the Void Stations themselves so the fleet would stop being pulled out of warp and they could reach the fight that really mattered.
But anyone could join thousands of others and a Primarch and kick some cans about. Only the best could take over a floating bomb packed with combat platforms with a handful of sisters and on a tight timescale. That was the kind of job that appealed to the Shooting Star. She'd lead a skeleton strike team amongst a swarm of empty decoys and live munitions too unimportant to waste time shooting down and clear the way for the big job on the Void Station. Simple.
The official history of the campaign spared little time for void engagements waged by the VII Legon enroute to Point Zero; there were far more consequential and glorious battles being waged simultaneously. A mere shaping action in the early phases of one the first of these half forgotten battles merited but a few lines.
'"In void warfare there is little margin for error, any miscalculation can be catastrophic. Within seconds two such potentially fatal mistakes had been made. The VII underestimated the functionally infinite ammunition of their foes and lost 95% of the boarding torpedoes including that carrying the infamous de Bastaal. For their part the machines had gotten on her bad side. The former was survivable."
--
It was time, vindication or humiliating death. The modified boarding pod was tearing through dozens of feet of armored hull. The bones had been thrown and all that was left was to quite literally enjoy the ride.
Noora treasured her place among the legion, given wide ranging freedom of action to protect her sisters and destroy their enemies wherever she found them however she saw fit. Decades of crusading had seen her earn and burnish that precious trust a hundred times over.
She'd become a victim of her own success, now whenever a boarding acton loomed she found herself the one beset on all sides as countless little sisters all but drew blood competing for a place by her side and the certainty of earning the rank of Astartes. Irritating but flattering, and at least she could just refuse them. The battle sisters, comrades in arms, friends and crewmates calling on old ties made for far more treacherous waters.
But the job didn't allow for dead weight. The Trade Queen herself had told Noora to get up to some mischief worthy of her and Noora was not going to disappoint. So she had chosen her crew with care.
Yara and Mumtaz were Big sisters who'd fought alongside the Primarch a dozen times and whose honor chart capes had to be folded into quarters so not to trip them up with their sheer length.Taliba the finest apothecary in the legion and nine veteran sisters whose faces Noora saw every time she looked in the mirror.
None of them questioned her, they did not tease her with comments on this crazy ass plan of hers, each of them was feeling the hunger tonight. Her crew were tight, armed to the teeth and perfectly suited for the job.
A distraction that could pull the wool over the machines' sensors on their own decks was no mean feat, Noora had minimal time, minimal resources and a pivotal role. She'd considered targeting key sections of the shifts, emptying the reactors into the void of space, detonating a nuclear weapon in the navi, borrowing a mechancium scrap code virus weapon but none of it felt right.
Her helmet's runes warned her that breaching would be complete within a second, she voxed her sisters. "This is it girls, ride or die!"
The battle cries, revving chain swords and the explosion of the door charges combined could not drown out the rev of a dozen bikes as the boarding party rode straight through the breach into the interior of the void station and over the first counter boarding machines.
As Noora led the mounted charge down the corridor firing twin bolters and striking left and right with her power cutlas somewhere in the back of her mind she remembered old Dorallelle's proverbs during the long years of her training.
'It's better to be lucky than good, it's even better to be great and lucky!'
Noora "Bang" Durpee laughed at the memory and revved her bike harder.
--
Say what you want about Tulah's sisters, and she rarely wanted to say anything, when you needed someone to make a lot of noise there was no one better.
Their boasts and warcries echoed over the vox and externally their reverberations of their handiwork was audible even in the very depths of the void station.
That was for the best, the Men of Iron had the best sensors in the galaxy, great coms and unfathomable intelligence. You needed a pretty big distraction if you were going to slip into the heart of one of their Void Stations to disable the central intelligence.
Tulah hadn't been surprised when she'd been tapped for this job, it suited her. Crawling through miles of vents, dodging patrols, masking her scents with oils and thermal and electronic signatures with the Mechanicum's begrudgingly offered technology. It was long, difficult, tedious and dangerous work.
Tulah didn't mind, she enjoyed her own company and took pride in her work. Besides it may be a difficult job but it was rewarding. When she kicked out a roof panel and landed in a fighting crouch in front of a room full of servers and their attendant machines it was all worthwhile.
--
If one did not know Elsana "Plank Walker" de Decero you would consider her on the edge of mental breakdown. Stalking up and down the command deck of the Jenny Haniver chain smoking her Necromundian Deathcloud and swigging from a seemingly endless number of hip flasks concealed in her voluminous great cloak between swearing up a storm.
In truth she was in her element. Oh she was no Minerva, when the Primarch waged void war it she could give the toasters a run for their money when it came to efficiency, between her brains and the delirium of her drugs she was transcendent.
Elsana made up for her lack of superhuman abilities with being fluent in the swears and curses of one hundred languages, having dead aim with an empty flask and gut feel for how to handle her Strike Cruiser like a frigate and having hand picked her bridged crew from the most disreputable scum Port Tortuga had to offer.
In another life they would have been infamous pirates before the day of their well deserved execution, in this one they were famous ones operating within the legal doctrine of Primarchs do what they want and if there are no surviving witnesses then there is no crime.
They stalked through the void, gliding past probing energy beams and intercepting those few missiles able to stay in their path. Jenny's Hangover as the crew sometimes joked was an abomination in the eyes of the Mechanicus, an unorthodox all or nothing armor scheme, highly illegal and heretechal powerplant centered on captured Xenos engines and mind bending array of weapons calibrated exactly to Elsana's preferences and nobody else's. It was fast, deadly and its crew utterly fearless and downright contemptible of Newtonian Physics.
The ship's color scheme was a series of white stripes on purple, each stripe indicating a kill of a heavy cruiser or battleship or of five smaller ships. She'd taken her licks too, Any repairs were entirely functional in nature, there were several distinct sections of hull that had clearly been replaced or were black with old lasburns.
A ship like that captained by an old hand like Decero was going to find a place for itself in any battle of note and her place now was in the thick of the fighting. This was the third fleet the Men of Iron had placed in the VII's way. For the third time they were getting torn apart, no one matched the Cosmos Corsairs in the void.
The first two battles had seen Minerva take personal command of the combined fleets and perfectly synchronize them into an invincible whirlwind of Adamantium and firepower. But this time she had delegated and was currently ripping out the guts of the final Void Station enjoying her new toy. From the reports Crescendo of the Waves was something thoroughly terrible to see in the Primarch's hands.
The Plankwalker fancied herself just as deadly with her warship and as a fourth enemy vessel came apart beneath her guns as she emerged from its blindspot swept its upper decks with a full salvo right at the moments its void shields flickered and died from latest barrage of Vis Motiva's super heavy batteries she figured the machines would back her up on that.
The bridge crew cheered, the Captain threw another flask and commanded they shut up and get back to work and the battle continued to tilt in their favor and all was well in the Galaxy.
"That Void Station is going to blow any minute now." She commented. The machines were sore losers, if she'd ever found herself losing a fight she'd surely empathize.
Sure enough a shout came from the communications blister.
"Cap'n, priority coms from the Strike team, its the Primarch."
"Of course she'd make it my problem." Elsana sighed and went through the motions of swearing.
There were half a dozen ships closer, they'd all have a better chance of getting into teleporter range in time. It would come down to the barest seconds and their current approach vector took them through the arcs of fire of most of the Void Stations still functioning weapon systems.
This was just Minerva's way of teasing her. It was no secret that Elsana stood apart from the rest of the legion, here was a pointless suicide mission and a perfect chance to 'accidently' get her Primarch killed and win her freedom for however long she could outrun the rest of the legion.
"Smug Bitch." She muttered as she guided her ship into position and lowered the void shields.
By the time the last of the strike team were safely aboard Elsana had finally got around to reading the Primarch's message.
++Love you too, maybe next time? M.++
--
With the third and final Men of Iron fleet reduced to scrap metal in the great expanse between worlds, Point Zero Minerva gathered her almost unscathed armada for the final plunge into enemy space.
To Be Continued in Steel Crusade: A War's Finale/Vita Delendum Est
To Travel Across the Void is a daunting task for many, you never know what you are going to find next. - Common Navy Saying
(Written By @Scabby the Legend, give him lots of love for this)
"Have you anything to report, Commander?" Heika dictated telepathically to Agamede's psyker attache. Coordination was not her usual task, that being the stewardship of her Biomancer coven, but the war with the Dawi-Zharr & subsequent clean up had been 'all hands on-deck', as their sister-legion's auxiliaries might put it.
"Nothing, Chief Biomancer. It seems we've drawn out all we can of the sorcerers' monsters - time for the Diviners or mortals to sweep through," Agamede replied, disappointment clear even secondhand, and Heika nodded.
"No disturbances, kill-team leader," she told Marta, the Null kindly standing at the other end of the room.
"Good," Marta said. Intellectually Heika could tell that Marta was speaking clearly, but her blank presence expressed itself as a quieting of all she said or did. Useful for her missions, annoying for times outside them. "Any interloper still here would have bound itself or collected a cult."
"And then sister Agamede would miss her chapter's flight, busy getting abhuman skulls out of her motorbike?" Heika teased. Marta met her with a small smile.
"Exactly."
Heika, Marta and Agamede were each of the Coldiron Cages legion, but not of the same chapter - their meeting had been by chance, when their chapters had been reassigned to the same fleet ten objective years ago. The eager Battalion Commander & Outrider captain had needed healing from Heika after one battle, and in another secured the whereabouts of Marta's sorcerous target. Later, Heika had bested some augmented warbeast in a battle where Marta had again been deployed, and then - well, suffice to say that they had each forged their friendships in battle, and their companionship was one of the small joys they afforded themselves as Coldirons.
Now chance was to separate them again, as the legion's fleets were reorganized when this world was deemed secure. Some would stay in this region with their Lady Primarch, securing it for the Imperium and ensuring no taint of the warp remained; others would be going north, south and east to find new human worlds or xenos foes for the Legion.
"We'll fight alongside one another again, I'm sure," Heika said as the trio made their goodbyes.
"Ooh, is that a prophecy?" Agamede asked, grinning wide. Marta rapped her knuckles against the captain's shoulder, making a mighty clunk.
"Not that kind of psyker," she reminded her sister.
"Just sentiment, Agamede," Heika said. "I can make a prediction for you, if you'd like." Agamede shook her head.
"No need. I think a toast would please me better."
"Ladies, it's been an honor to fight alongside you, but now we set sail for distant shores," Agamede continued. She raised her canteen of chill water, and her sisters mirrored the movement. "To the death of our enemies!"
"People protected," Marta murmured.
"And secrets uncovered," Heika clinked her canteen against the others', and they all took long drinks. The water was unflavored, at most laced with some cleaning chemicals, but it was refreshing & almost sweet to their throats parched by labor. A simple thing to sustain them, as this memory hopefully would.
The northern explorers faced a number of immediate if minor successes as they ventured out, finding small mining colonies and settled feudal worlds that were eager to shelter under the proverbial wings of Terra. Segmentum Ultima was not just the last to be reunited by the Imperium; it had been the last colonized by ancient humanity, who had found the galactic core a wall that needed navigating around. Humanity was spread thin across distant stars, and aliens both new & familiar filled in the gaps.
A few worlds were met, from frozen Serk to insular Miasto, and passed over for later integration by expert developers or diplomats. Others like Iustas II, known to its inhabitants as Squig Wurld, were liberated from xenos, while the prosperous & peaceful feudal world of Cronus V was eager to join.
Cronus' people were split between hundreds of city-states, its landmass split between islands and mountainous continents that made any pre-industrial aggression an exercise in frustration. Serendipitously, most of its societies had diverged its political and religious bodies into competing powers, which the Imperium could exploit in spreading its state atheism. The most prominent of the cities were offered vast mineral wealth, mined from Cronus' asteroids, in exchange for helping sway their neighbors. Recalcitrant ones were visited by the Astartes to show the Imperium's might. Agamede, commander of a battalion within her chapter, was one of them.
Astartes were generally more stoic than their baseline human counterparts, and the Coldirons had a reputation that exceeded even their siblings. The small twist of Agamede's mouth that was hidden behind her helmet as she stared at the observing nobles and priests, who'd watched her knock a tree from the ground with one well-placed blow, could perhaps be called a smirk under those constraints.
Among her sisters she was known for her eagerness to meet the foe - still heading a biker company known for charges even as battalion commander, and having rejected a permanent placing as Chapter Master when she'd temporarily taken the role decades ago - but she had no enmity for the mortals here. Thus, she'd ordered her Astartes to avoid bloodshed when possible, and instead demonstrate the folly of armed resistance slightly more abstractly. Agamede outraced some of their native equids, both in a straight line & through an obstacle course that morning, and then proved her aim with a javelin was superior to any of their athletes or soldiers from twice as far back as they.
Ha. Carrot and stick, in the form of gold carats and thrown stick games. Maybe she'd tell that one to Marta when they met again - her quiet little sister had the worst sense of humor.
Later that day, when Agamede's demonstrations had ended and the time for politicking at a party had begun, Agamede was loosely engaged in conversation. She said the niceties and offers of Imperial protection or resources, of course, but even talk about the last set of 'Starfolk' who'd visited some thirty Terran years ago - an event the Imperials had learned and briefly discussed months ago - hardly stoked her attention.
"Interstellar pirates, particularly those with xenos crews, are known to demand tribute from human worlds such as this. The aegis imperialis ensures that any would-be raiders face dire consequences for attempting it," Agamede said the usual line to a group of three nobles. This particular group of pirates didn't sound as barbaric as some - any violence inflicted seemingly limited to work as mercenaries with a neighboring city-state - but it was still bound to be hunted sooner or later.
"'Xenos', that's what you call the monsters they traveled with?" an older gentleman asked. At her nod, he continued, "Why, I met some of them in battle once, and some of them dwarfed even you, lady Astartes. That giant beast was twice my height, covered in thick black fur, and nearly took my hand off - along with the heads of three men beside me!" The man gesticulated a bit, both arms raised.
"Did it, then?" Agamede asked, eyebrows quirked.
"Did it what?" the man asked in reply
"Take your hand." She gestured to the man's left stump. The man just gave her a vacant look in return, and another of the trio spoke up,
"I was just a babe when those other Starfolk arrived, but my father told stories of when he met their leader," the noblewoman started. "Given a place of rest in the king's palace, door guarded by two scaled warriors - one like a fish, the other a lizard, and both bearing strange swords - and inside, a man flush with sickness whose veins were black, dressed in fine silk yet with thick and heavy fungus running down his arms and 'round his head like a crown."
Unwanted, a memory returned to Agamede at the woman's description - a monster she'd seen even before becoming an Astartes, on her homeworld all the way in Segmentum Solar. It couldn't be…
The noblewoman held a hand to her mouth conspiratorially, and the other two mortals leaned in to hear her say, "And supposedly, the man wasn't just some alien, but a witch too! Grabbed a bowl of fruit from across the room, and blighted one into dust with a few moments' touch."
Her eyes widened. Memories buried by decades of war played out within her mind - talk of salvation from the xenos by the Imperium, blood taxes brought to an end by the 12th Legion. A late summer night exploring the woods with her sister - the cracking of branches under a stranger's stumbling feet - frantic breathing, fleeing–
The Bone Drinkers. The Ak'Haireth.
Agamede had left the party shortly thereafter, ordering the investigation of the planet's last visitors reopened. The Ak'Haireth had been a scourge of the early Crusade when it was just breaching Segmentum Solar's borders, and remained that way for decades as the interior was made safe; the Myrmidons had halted an invasion of a subsector by them, the Coldiron Cages slew nearly all of the psychic parasites on a dozen worlds, and the last reported stronghold was subjected to a plague designed by the Doves of War. If the Ak'Haireth had escaped to the galactic rim, subjected more human worlds to their horrors…
Other rumors agreed with the presence of an individual like Agamede had heard about, a 'Captain Nel'kenin', but not of where the xenos called home or had traveled onwards to. Agamede was undeterred, and a look at the assortment of other xenos rumored to be in its entourage gave them a clue: the apelike giants it had used as mercenaries matched the description of those on a world the explorators had already passed.
Serk, a frigid feral world with some human tribes and early agricultural kingdoms, was also home to a species called the 'Miche' in one of the native tongues. The Miche and humans of Serk had existed in tense coexistence for thousands of years, neither wholly united against the other; the humans ruled in the warmer equatorial band, sometimes facing slave-raids from the Miche there, and the Miche held the great mountain ranges with protected valleys or geothermal vents from all but a few human tribes.
Agamede's battalion and fleet traveled there now, hoping that Nel'kenin or another like it had returned in the decades since & left signs of where they'd gone. The Miche would have answers extracted from them by force; any human collaborators would be convinced either by threat of the same, or the promise of land taken from the exterminated xenos. Existing sentiments against the Miche were stoked by the Imperial iterators, and Agamede led her force in a blitz across the planet that would leave the alien tribes disorganized enough for the locals to clean them up.
The Miche were impressive; the smallest subspecies' adults at six feet tall were stronger than any natural human, and the largest at fifteen feet were strong enough to even hurt the Astartes. Perhaps in a group, they could beat one battlesister in a melee - but by bolter, volkite or bike engine, they would never get the chance.
Agamede led a lance of assault bikers through a Miche mob, power weapons crackling and chain weapons roaring. A swing of her Thunder Hammer evaporated one of the xenos' shoulders and sent their arm flying into their comrade; another tore through a ribcage. The Miche force was left in disarray, and a few squads of battlesisters opened fire upon them from all angles.
Agamede was wheeling around for another pass, when she saw a familiar glow in unfamiliar hands - one of the Miche, the chieftain, held a wave-edged greatsword which crackled with a power field, and was swinging it at an Assault Sergeant. She had to interrogate it, see what it knew!
Running over one of the smaller warriors, she turned and slid her bike into a stop which sent a cloud of powdery snow up in the air. The chieftain pulled back into a guarded stance, and the sergeant jetted away with a nod to Agamede.
"Monster," the chieftain snarled, taking in the splashes of blood which had gotten on her armor. "I will avenge my warriors upon you." They swung their sword out, a probing attack that still could've taken her head if she hadn't stepped back. The reverse swing was parried with a flash of her Thunder Hammer's field, and Agamede kicked a pile of icy snow into the chieftain's face.
"I bring vengeance for the people you've bound in chains, and for the victims of those you've made deals with," Agamede pronounced. "You seem the monster here."
The chieftain roared and swung again. They were skilled, but their years of training were against Agamede's decades. They were larger and faster than a human, but Agamede was an Astartes. The challenge here was getting them to talk.
"Your sword; where did you get it, beast?"
"The moonsword? A gift for our valor, to better slay humans and monsters!" The chieftain shouted as they went for another deadly blow, but Agamede got inside their swing and slammed the side of her hammer into the chieftain's nose.
"I asked where!" she shouted as the Miche reeled back in pain, and landed another unpowered blow on either side. "Who gave it to you? When was the last time you saw them?"
The chieftain coughed up blood as they got up. "It was given to me by my beloved this morning, who trusted I would protect our people and land. To her from her uncle years ago, the priest of Dzud who watches the dead; to him from the grave of her mother, my predecessor, who fought a hundred battles and slew the Iron Beast. Your skin is like iron; we shall see if your flesh is too!"
They came in with a jab that would've impaled a lesser warrior, but Agamede turned the blow aside, knocked the sword from their hand, and rammed it into their haunch.
"You think yourself the hero here," Agamede hissed. "You think your warriors deserve one justice and mine another, because they are dead and mine killed them; but we hunt a monster who brings torturous, painful death to children. Your warriors died in battle, kept children as slaves, and you got that sword from the monster I'm after. We've each killed a hundred like them since we came to this iceball, and we'll only stop when I have the answer I want!"
"Commander!" Perimede - Knolas - one of her younger sisters shouted, concerned. The chieftain struggled to breath between the pain across its body, and the grip of Agamede's hand on its throat. She loosened it slightly, and asked again,
"Your tribe got this sword from someone who came from the sky, yes? What is their name, what did they look like, and when did they last come here?"
Freed from her grasp, the chieftain took in a few deep breaths. They stood up, pulled the sword from their thigh and nearly fell again, but kept it pointed to the ground as they asked, "The 'monster', a human with a crown of bone ridges growing from their head; they torture children?"
"Larisa IV was one of a dozen slave-worlds kept by its kind. Every year, thousands of children were taken from Larisa as slaves, their bones new homes to rotting diseases. Purely for the cruelty, since they could extract more labor over longer from adults," Agamede said, voice flat like she was just stating facts. "When Larisa was liberated, some of them remained in hiding. They were discovered after the murder of a girl named Perimede."
The chieftain bowed their head and spoke,
"The moonsword was given to the Karka tribe forty-seven years ago, but they were slaughtered by the humans of tribe Ungok five years later. We warred with them in vengeance, and took it & them as prizes for our victory after that. The bone-crowned man has not been seen since. The line is severed."
Agamede swung her hammer into the chieftain's head, killing them instantly. It was. Violent.
She could feel some of the others judging her - for the unseemly show of emotion, or for having taken so long with the chieftain for so little gain, she couldn't tell just yet. Knolas started to reach out as Agamede walked past, as if to offer comfort, but Agamede carried on. They weren't peers; companionship could lead to favoritism on Agamede's part, and Knolas was too untested even as a line sister for Agamede to trust. Marta and Heika she could trust to survive, to open her heart to.
The Astartes cleaned themselves and their implements, and moved on to the tribe's encampment. The Miche had lost almost all their warriors in the earlier engagement, so only a few grieving family members tried to do anything as the Astartes searched the camp for humans that needed freeing. Agamede noticed a pair of young girls watching the Astartes with awestruck faces, and decidedly felt nothing.
The battalion continued their operations for a while, to liberate other slaves and in case Nel'kenin or some other pirate had visited a different tribe since. They succeeded in the first to the extreme, convincing many of the human tribes to give up their own slaves and ensuring the new governor would enforce that policy on the rest in due time, but found little for their second goal.
Analysis of the power sword Agamede had recovered showed it to be of Saharduin make - amphibious shark-men, whose weapons competed with those of the Astartes but were limited by their need to breathe water, who'd been defeated by the Iron Hands & Crimson Lords and put under blockade by the Imperial Army - but no ocean worlds had been found nearby to investigate. The hunt was over, for now; they would have to continue their explorations.
After a few months, though, new orders came in from the chapter master. Agamede and her battalion were to reunite with the rest of the chapter above a human Hive World rich in adamantium, but bathed in perpetual darkness by clouds of industrial waste. The criminal nobility were resisting compliance and, signs indicated, had made dealings with xenos to equip their thugs in the finest weapons and armor. A world of night, crime and adamantium: a world named Nostramo.
"Commander Agamede," the chapter master, Kalangitan, greeted her aboard the chapter's flagship. "How have your efforts gone since last we met?"
"A few compliances and many systems charted, Lady Kalangitan," Agamede greeted her master and younger sister with a grin. Kalangitan had proven herself against Dawi-Zharr sorcerer lords and Ork Warbosses before that. "I have a quarry I'm hunting, and I hope I'll catch their trail here."
"I had heard. Ak'Haireth and Saharduin, yes? No sign of the first here, but one of the nobles' guards are said to wield alien bolt-rifles - possibly of Saharduin make. It factored into calling you here."
"Then with your leave, my battalion will handle operations near them." It almost ached to delay, after months of nothing to go on, but they couldn't ignore the problems in front of them for the ones down the road.
Over two thousand Astartes descended on Nostramo, fiery engine plumes and las- or bolter-shots lighting up the night. Breacher Squads fought through tight hive tunnels, shields deflecting storms of lead bullets, and secured anti-air turrets. Librarians detected rogue psykers which had been enthralled by the crime-lords, and together with their null sisters broke through the witch-craft defenses. Tanks, personnel carriers and bikes raced down main causeways in the behemoth cities, delivering troops to fortresses buried in the depths. Civilians kept their heads bowed, taught by years of lies, violence and oppression to trust neither the Imperium's promises of liberation, nor the nobles' promises that service would be rewarded.
Hours into the invasion, Agamede's company had reached her main target. The noble's guards - what few of them hadn't deserted after the defeat of so many others like them - had been well equipped with long-range Saharduin bolter rifles, which nearly took a few of her Outriders down on the approach. The Astartes were too fast of mind, though, and their bikes too speedy, for the ill-trained thugs to hit often. By the time the Astartes reached the compound's gates, most of the defenders had broken rank and begun fleeing every which way.
"Please, spare me!" the noble blubbered as Agamede tore open his safe room door. A Viskeon shockthrottle was gripped loosely in both his hands. "I can give you money, adamantium, whatever you want!"
"I have no need for money," Agamede said, looming over him. She knelt down and continued, "but if you tell me how you got that weapon, you might live tonight."
"Emlethea!" he shouted, "Emlethea! I bought it from a trader from Emlethea!"
As collaborators of the old regime were interrogated, and a new governor & staff from Terra's schola were called over, the name came up again and again. It was an alien world where pirates and traders congregated, which had bought adamantium from the crime lords to repair or build their ships; in exchange, they had been given the arms to keep their people in subjugation.
While the nobles were almost all stripped of power, further steps would need to be taken to ensure that the world didn't fall into old habits once the Imperial rulers were replaced with Nostroman ones over the years. For now, though, it was free, and Agamede's chapter would move on to that which supported the tyrants: Emlethea.
Emlethea was a stately marble of a gas giant, cream-colored with bands of white or orange. A dozen natural satellites, from kilometer-long asteroids to a large, ice-covered ocean moon, were caught in its orbit, and the artificial satellites numbered in the hundreds. Greatest of them all was a giant, larger than an Imperial Star Fort at roughly twenty-five kilometers from end to end, which even from a distance was visibly a merger of human and xenos technology.
Dozens of ships were present, ranging from eight-hundred-meter systemcraft to five-kilometer Cruisers, each of a different design. Some were long and had snarling beasts on their prows, others were domes with gun-spires coming from their base, and more besides. It was a motley fleet which was gathering around Emlethea as the Imperium approached.
"Lady Kalangitan, we're being hailed by the main station," one of the chapter serfs on the bridge announced. Kalangitan, Agamede, and several other chief officers of the chapter were aboard the Battle Barge. Kalangitan raised a hand, and a video screen opened.
"On behalf of Emlethea's Admiralty Board, I, Captain Nel'kenin, welcome the Imperium of Man to our harbor," the thing on screen said, its voice and visage human but its mind anything but. Gray-green fungi shaped like the knobby ends of bone bloomed from the crown of its head, flesh pale and neck-veins visibly blackened. "May I have the honor of knowing whose sons or daughters visit us on this day?"
"You deserve nothing, parasite," Agamede snarled, but stepped back at Kalangitan's raised hand.
"Stop, Agamede." She turned to face Nel'kenin. "We are the daughters of Lady Varil, the Coldiron Cages, Ak'Haireth. These stars are now under the aegis of the Imperium, and your pirate ilk will never darken their skies again."
"My my, such hostility! Surely, you must forgive us for offending when we hadn't a clue you would come to claim these worlds. No?" Nel'kenin shook its head at the non-response it got. "A pity. I do detest violence."
Exotic energy readings began to emerge from the station, as ancient weapon systems salvaged from ruins of the Dark Age or before were brought online.
"Emlethea is home to many treasures left by the ages, and has withstood assault by fleets greater than yours; please, take note of the Ork Roks from the last Waaagh we repelled, and guess how large the rest of their fleet was. An attack on Emlethea will cost you gravely."
"We are Astartes, pirate, the soldiers of mankind," Kalangitan shook her head. "Our duty is to fight no matter the danger, so our people may live free from desolation by greenskins, tyrants or your kind."
"But you must recognize that we are no grave threat. Even the worst pirates we have hosted, who are swiftly barred from our docks for one reason or another, reap small tithes in blood from their targets. The monsters of the galaxy whom we have fought - Enslavers, Orks, and the Neverborn - would have devastated a hundred worlds were it not for our bulwark! To wound and weaken each other invites death on the innocents you seek to protect."
"Those dangers may come again, and we will have to face them," Agamede admitted, but her voice was steely as she continued, "but you are the problem here and now. We cannot, will not let your lesser evil stand, for it will corrupt any greater good it might serve."
"Greater good? You intend to butcher millions today, including humans! What good will the death of your crews and Emlethea's citizens bring?" Nel'kenin pleaded, but the Astartes were committed. "What if I can promise that Emlethea will not harbor any who raid your worlds? Avoidance even for fair trade, save what you wish? Encouragement to target worlds which resist the Imperium? We don't have to be enemies."
"Don't we?" Agamede took a moment to answer, while the rest of the chapter command began ordering their subordinates into action. "Nel'kenin, you already knew of the Astartes enough to ask which Primarch we serve; which purge did you escape from?"
It was tight-lipped as it stared at Agamede, before finally answering, "My Bloom was destroyed by you Coldirons, on the world you humans called Larisa IV. I tasted death as you burned my kin."
"Larisa? Of course," Agamede chuffed. "I was born there, and my sister Perimede was killed, taken over by one of your kind. I became an Astartes to make sure no one else would suffer like she did."
"So it's your vengeance, then, that will kill so many today? I was willing to forgive and forget, I made peace with the apes around me, but one corpse will drive you to the ends of the galaxy?"
"There are more dead behind us than can ever be counted, Ak'Haireth, and there are many yet before us. It will only end when we're dead ourselves, and little sisters don't need protection from monsters."
"So be it, Agamede." The line cut off, and Agamede turned her attention back to her sisters. "Where may I serve you best, Lady Kalangitan?"
"Their capital station is too great a threat and too muddled by xenos designs to be taken whole," Kalangitan began, serfs fetching her sword. "I will clear a path through the fleet, and you will lead a boarding assault. Destroy it, at any cost."
"By your will, it shall be done." By her hand, vengeance shall be wrought.
Explosive munitions filled the air as Astartes and xenos came to blows, with broad piscean Saharduin opposite the transhuman super-soldiers. A squad of Viskeon warriors charged through the crossfire, not caring if their allies' rounds penetrated through their backs, but were sliced to writhing bits by an Obsidian Storm. Tarellians and Miche and a dozen other species came from every direction.
Agamede had led over four hundred of her battalion on board the station, a mixture of Breachers, Battlesisters, and vehicle pilots to carry them through the orbital city's streets. The station was too large for even a team of this size to hit every keypoint, and its weapons were being bombarded by the Imperial ships with such force that the structure quaked. Instead Agamede opted for one of the engine systems, which her Techmarines and Librarians had identified as powering the thrusters keeping the station aloft.
Agamede was fighting against a Cyber-Ambull unleashed by the pirates. The cyborg beast's claws were reinforced and sharpened beyond even their natural stone-slicing state, and left dire scratches through her armor. She dodged back, blocking a barrage of bolter-fire from its shoulder mount with a shield, and swung down with her Thunder Hammer. The mix of power field and explosives tore off the beast's arm and knocked it to the ground, and Agamede took a moment to look over the battle.
Many of the pirates had been slain and their outer defenses shattered, but it had not been without casualties among her sisters. Neither was the battle over; they still needed to reach the inner chamber to do their work, and the worst of the defenders were sure to remain. Her thoughts were immediately justified when a barrage of cannon fire came from the unbroken emplacements, disrupting the Astartes lines, and a wave of armored pirates came following it.
"Get up! You're not dead yet!" Nel'kenin shouted in its stolen voice, and Agamede saw viscous threads of brown ichor connecting it to a fallen Miche giant. The Miche's wounds began to close, stitched shut by mycelia, and it moaned in pain as it swung a giant chainsword into one of her sisters.
Nel'kenin was flanked by two bodyguards, a Tarellian with a power hammer and Viskeon wielding two blades. Other Ak'Haireth surely spawned from its were in the midst of the heavy troopers, shouting orders relayed from Nel'kenin's mind. If Agamede could kill it, she could disorganize the defenders and take out their most powerful witch at the same time.
She bowled through the crowd, hammer swinging for the Viskeon's head. Its sword came up to block and the two power fields repelled one another. Her shield swung into the follow-up dagger swing, and her hammer's backswing warded off the Tarellian for a moment. A black bolt of energy slammed into her chest, sliding her back a foot, and Nel'kenin almost hissed as it saw her still standing.
The Viskeon leapt for her, sword lopping off part of her shield but losing its dagger-arm in return. Agamede followed it up with a kick that collapsed its ribcage, hoping that would keep the nigh-immortal alien from regenerating quickly. Then, the Tarellian's hammer hit the side of her helmet. Pain and blood erupted from the wound as armor and ear were mangled, and before she could regain her footing, a mass of binding threads pulled her hammer-arm out of position. The next hammer swing came to her knee and she fell, but before a third came she snapped out with her shield and broke the haft of the Tarellian's weapon. It pulled a dagger from its side, but stopped at Nel'kenin's raised hand.
"This always takes a while to work on creatures more robust than the common ape," Nel'kenin sneered. Its hand bubbled with new fungal growths, and Agamede growled in rage. "But I can think of no more fitting end for such a long, poisonous life."
Flashes of green, purple and black covered the Ak'Haireth's hand as Agamede tore free of her restraints. Pain erupted through her body as her bones were pierced or shoved out of the way, and her hand punched into her foe's chest. Ceramite squeezed around Nel'kenin's heart, and collapsed on the ground. Agamede laid there for a few moments, her enemy dead in her grasp, and knew she was dead herself.
"Commander Agamede!" Knolas shouted, kneeling next to her. "The Techmarines are ready to begin, but we must get you to an Apothecary."
"No," Agamede whispered. "The witch, the Ak'Haireth - it infected me. Teleported its growing spores into place. They won't get removed in time."
Knolas nodded after a moment. "Shall I give you the Emperor's Peace?"
Agamede shook her head. "The pirates are broken, but they will try again to avert their doom. I will stand guard while you all escape."
Together, the two worked Agamede into a sitting position near the engine room door, and she bid her sisters farewell as they departed. The sabotage was set for many minutes later, long enough for the boarders to escape. A few technicians tried to reach the engine but were scared off; then a wave of frantic pirates came, blasting her with lasers and bullets, but she fought regardless of injury and tore through the crowd with her bolter's roar. At last they broke, trying futily to escape aboard their ships, and Agamede collapsed once more as the engine's energy reaction began to go rampant. Her work was finished.
Agamede looked down at her bloody gauntlet, looked up as if at the uncountable stars, and sang her homeworld's dirge for lost sisters. The reactor went critical as she finished the second verse, celebrating having lived to know them.
While their sisters venturing north had faced success to start, the southern group instead quickly realized a problem. Earlier scouting efforts had discovered a region of several hundred stars belonging to the Rak'Gol in the galactic east-south-east; but the Coldirons were now discovering that those Rak'Gol were on the move.
Human and alien worlds had been blasted to irradiated cinders by Rak'Gol bombardment, their technology harvested and people slaughtered. Some survivors remained where the stone-scaled monsters had cut their reaving short or not begun establishing colonies; those human worlds with surviving hives & biospheres were given support reestablishing their orbital defenses & promises that the Coldirons would assist if danger came again, and those poor dying worlds had their people evacuated to unmarred civilized worlds.
Their xenos counterparts were largely ignored, though the reasons for it varied. Some thought a slow death by irradiation to be a suitable fate for an alien, and others considered it a kindness that the Imperium wouldn't darken their skies this decade; but for the most part, the Coldirons were eager to battle the greater foe.
Skirmishes occurred between the Imperial fleet & disparate Rak'Gol raiders as they moved onwards, with it seeming the expansionary wave of the Rak'Gol had gone far before doubling back & devastating worlds left alone when first traveling. Howler cannons filled kilometers of space with explosives, doing little harm with each shell but putting out a rate of fire that the Imperium could hardly match. Imperial lances seared holes in ramshackle armor hours before the Rak'Gol could retaliate, provoking long and deadly chases when the xenos' bloodlust overpowered their sensibilities. The Astartes' boarding craft weathered storms of turret fire to cripple the enemy, battling through waves of cyborgs and racing against the Rak'Gols' own boarders assaulting their home ship.
Eventually, in the skies of a human & xenos world which had been destroyed a year before by the Rak'Gol, century-old radio waves from the planet Kalysto were detected. It had been a civilized world growing out of the modern era, making its first stumbling steps into orbit with efforts divided between three national bodies. A world full of promise, growing out of the dark.
With grim hearts, the ad-hoc subfleet to which Marta was attached went to find what desolation had been wrought there in the hundred years since.
Heavy steel feet pressed down on brittle dry concrete, and the weight of an eight-foot giant sent cracks across the surface. Artificial audio-receivers picked up the sound of claws scraping on linoleum, and the giant raised a rifle fit to kill elephants in the direction their HUD indicated. Her sisters-in-arms followed suit, and all watched with bated breath for violence to break out.
A small dog, with patches of hair and a few visible ribs, ran out one side of the building and into another.
"Another stray," Alana sighed. "Louxis, Daphne, how's that building look?"
"Floors are wooden, Captain, and it's a liquor store," Louxis answered.
"So good odds we'd fall into the basement if we followed the poor thing. Alright, we'll warn the search teams that there are strays in the area when we're done with our sweeps," Alana dictated, and the team moved on. Like so many of Thoubes' cities after Downfall Day, it had been bathed in radiation that still lingered in some spots. What animals survived were still almost all tumor-ridden, and many driven mad by the months of hardship. Anyone going through the cities to recover samples or bodies would have to be careful.
Alana's soldiers, the subjects of Project: Arcturus, weren't here for that though. They were on the hunt for aliens.
Almost a year ago, an alien starship - almost a kilometer wide and twice as long, a giant that Kalysto named Overlord - had appeared at the edge of the system, slaughtering any space habitat in its path as it rushed for the home planet. The nukes they'd sent at it while in space were shot down or detonated to no effect, but its own barrage of warheads as it descended on the island continent of Thoubes had killed millions.
That was before it disgorged the horde. Stone-skinned aliens with eight limbs, stuffed full of cybernetics which they'd rip out of their comrades and stick onto themselves, who seemed to delight in carving through crowds or watching bullets plink off their subdermal armor. Aircraft streamed out of it, able to dogfight with the best Kalysto had to offer and then unload dozens of soldiers. It seemed like in short order they would ravage Thoubes, Tlatlaz and the rest of the world.
Downfall Day had put an end to it, with hundreds of nuclear missiles being fired knowing that many would be shot down but not how many would be needed to kill Overlord; and though the ship was destroyed, the horrors weren't over. Not only did the fallout spread across the continent and into the sea, the aliens still on the ground seemed to thrive in the radiation. They had been whittled down over time, but every day their survivors seemed to have implanted more cybernetics and grown more monstrously strong.
Alana and her troops were one of the proposed answers. Cyborgs themselves, whose mechanical limbs could be taken off and whose bodies could be put in heavily armored war suits able to take hits from their rifles or block the radiation they basked in, wield guns which would tear out shoulders, survive the frenzied attacks that the aliens loved.
It was a bit hypocritical when the propaganda machine had highlighted the aliens' cyborg natures in their dehumanization of the butchers - like adding lemon to a lime, excessive and unnecessary - but it was also something that needed doing. The Arcturans could win, and maybe only they would pay the price.
"Captain Alana, do you read me?" the comm in her helmet blurted, as one of the home staff got on call. "We need you and your team back at base, now."
"What's going on, Scaramander?" Alana asked, signing for her team to stop as she did. They were only halfway through the sweep, and there were reports of the aliens' presence; calling them back early meant something big was going down.
"The OSWS, they sent in a warning; ten objects, the same size or bigger than Overlord, just appeared out there."
"Ten? Ten fucking Overlords?" Alana shouted, shock and rage filling her. They couldn't - the Arcturans could maybe take down one ship, if it had the same layout as Overlord and got a miracle, and they'd die doing it. Ten? Ten was too much. Overkill. Apocalyptic.
The ride back to base was tense. A few muttered prayers, others tried joking and fell silent. Alana was quiet from her seat on the bench, hardly moving as the trailer-truck of a transport sped over broken roads, metal hands gripping - almost crunching - metal knees.
However, when they got back to base, it was to the sound of whoops and cheers.
"What's going on?" Alana demanded of a technician, who was approaching to wash off the fallout left on her. "Was it a false alarm? No new Overlords?"
"The ships opened up comms, made a public broadcast - they're human!" the technician laughed. "Said they're from the homeworld, and they've been traveling across the galaxy to help protect worlds like Kalysto or Tessern. They've even got these giants who they say have killed dozens of aliens each!"
Oh.
The meeting of the Imperium and Kalysto was a joyous one on all sides, with the Imperium's promise of protection being greatly welcomed by the injured and overtaxed world. The connection to humanity's world of origin, which was an ever-present fascination for new worlds, and the promise that rogue Psykers could be made safe, in addition to the display of new technology which might help recover the devastated continent, were all bonuses.
The legion's prognosticators predicted that Kalysto's anti-xenos spirit could be leveraged in recruiting many for the Imperial Army if they were allowed to strike back at the Rak'gol. Though the Coldiron Cages generally made use of only elite auxiliary forces, it would be a small sacrifice for Marta and her Chapter to fight alongside the Kalystan forces should the xenos attack for a sizable gain.
Marta was one of several sent to test the Kalystan's super soldiers. Her null aura would test the mortals' willpower and suitability for the more exotic xenos foes, as well as potentially eke out secrets being hidden by any command staff she could speak with by setting them off-balance.
Currently, she was in the sparring ring with three of the Arcturans. The cyborgs in their full suits were a little taller and about as weighty as Marta in hers, but the gap between their abilities was great. Their actuators were stronger than human muscle, but fell short of the synthetic muscle moving Astartes power armor, and possibly even an Astartes out of armor; much of their strength was taken up just in moving the suits as well, so while a punch still had great force, they couldn't dodge around melee strikes like a line sister could.
Marta's practice scythe spun around the ring, knocking the sword out of one Arcturan's hand and slamming into another's side. Her spinning dodge of the third pulled the blade back into position, shaft smacking her opponent in the back of their armored head and blade pivoting around to stab them in the chest. The one she'd disarmed rushed her, metal claws outstretched, but was knocked down with a shove, leg sweep and a final stab.
It was her tenth bout in a row where she hadn't been hit, according to a whiteboard along the wall. She was about to offer a live-fire round, with three fresh soldiers fully armed against her with just her scythe, but the scowl on the locals' Captain Alana made her reconsider.
"Shall we call it here, Captain?" Marta asked, her null-dampened voice still able to be heard over the mech-warriors' motors and machinery due to the absence of any talking.
"Yeah," Alana nodded, face still twisted. A few of the other military personnel, holding clipboards or with officers' insignias on their uniform, stood beside her with carefully neutral faces. "Arcturans, get unsuited and do your wind-downs. I'll join you later."
Her sisters began returning to their ad-hoc barracks as well, though a few remained to check over their armor or assist in dismantling the fighting ring and shooting range. Marta joined them, waiting for the Kalystans to end their conversation.
"Pardon me, Captain Alana, but could you show me to your unit's typical shooting range?" she called out before the human woman could leave. Alana's expression was stormy for a second, but she shook her head a bit and said,
"Sure. Follow me."
The pair walked down a few corridors, and entered into another long chamber after checking in with the soldiers manning the firearms locker. Alana picked a pistol, and Marta asked for another of the same kind. They fit well into Marta's gauntleted hands, large and high quality.
The two were quiet for a few minutes as they plugged downrange at Rak'gol standees and statues. Wood shattered and concrete cracked from the high-caliber impacts. They started commenting on each other's aims after a while, bantering a bit - Alana was a good shot, better than a fresh line-sister who'd been hypno-trained by a program that had conquered the galaxy, but then again she was a veteran of her world's military.
"It is prying, but I would like to ask," Marta said during a lull in the conversation. "I know it isn't an injured pride that angered you earlier. What did?" Alana stopped firing, then started again.
"I'll never be able to go outside and not be recognized as different," Alana said after putting a few rounds into her target. "I'll need constant check-ups from military mechanics for a design that will only be made a few hundred times, with parts that might get discontinued. I'm almost guaranteed to get cancer, it's just a question of when. I can't swim, can't box, can't knit, can't even play with the fucking goop my brother's brats are into. There are things I wanted to do, and things I'm expected to do, which I can't because I joined this program."
"And it was a bargain you were happy to have made, until now."
"Yeah. I thought it'd mean something, that it would matter. I give up a normal life so someone else keeps their life - no shit I sign up for that. But now you're here, and it's looking like the necessary thing… wasn't. I gave up being seen as human for no reason."
Marta was quiet for a bit, mulling over Alana's words.
"You likely have noticed how quiet my voice and movements are, and how others are discomfited by my presence," Marta began. "I am what is called a 'Blank'. Where psykers have an overactive soul, drawing the Warp's energy in and expelling it, I draw Warp energy from around me - be it a psychic power, or the souls of living beings. Some of my sisters became like me after becoming Astartes, but I was born this way."
"Got a lot of trouble for that when you were a kid?" Alana asked, though it sounded like she knew the answer.
"Yes. I don't like sharing the details, but suffice to say, I was isolated. Not seen as right. Inhuman."
"Shit."
"When my sisters found me, though, I was given a home," Marta continued before Alana could apologize for sharing her worries. "As Astartes, we are all seen as not quite human, like you and your soldiers; transhumans to some and mutants to others. Through our service we have become celebrated heroes on over eight-hundred-thousand worlds. It is… not right, that we have to earn the recognition of our humanity-" and Marta very carefully did not think about the Abhumans who served the Imperium to earn what they'd been born deprived of, or the mutant victims of centuries of industrialism and exploitation on many worlds, "-but I know we will be welcomed when our Crusade is over, and with my sisters' help, so may other children born as Blanks. I believe the same will be true for you, Captain."
Alana clanked her hand against her helmet's chin. "You know, you sound like the recruiters did a few years back when they wanted to expand the space program."
Marta nodded solemnly. "The Great Crusade can always use more hands." After a moment, they both laughed.
The long-feared return of the Rak'gol to Kalysto came a few months later, when the last holdouts on Thoubes had been cleared and Kalysto had completed its negotiations for entering the Imperium. The original ten Imperial ships, two Cruisers and eight Escorts, had been joined by another two torpedo boats which had been repaired. At their backs were hundreds of nuclear explosive-propelled cannons manned by Kalysto's space force, and at their sides were the Kalystan First regiment of the Imperial Army.
The Rak'gol fleet, on the other hand, counted over a dozen Escorts around its lone Light Cruiser - a mix of Marauders, Butchers, and Maulers which bayed for blood but were leashed by the Abomination captain of the Mangler cruiser. Just one of these ships had killed more on Kalysto than any war it had on record, and now a force over ten times its size had come. It was time to avenge the fallen, and prove that Kalysto would not go quietly.
A pair of Sword classes opened fire on the Rak'gol fleet from the outer system, and drew the ire of two Marauders and a Mauler. The Marauders took the front while the Mauler launched torpedoes from the rear; a few impacted, disgorging hundreds of Rak'gol warriors onto the ships, but most got shot down. The Rak'gol could keep pace with an Imperial ship, but could not control as well; their pursuit would pull them out of rank, and the Swords would escape to return to the main battle hours ahead of them.
The rest of the Rak'gol were kept occupied by nova cannon bombardment and torpedo barrages. Just as with the Rak'gol boarders, these ones were shot down too; but while the Imperium did it with a few accurate shots, the Rak'gol unleashed vast quantities of flak from many turrets, their warriors so eager to fight that they demanded ship guns.
The bombardment continued for a while, but eventually the two sides clashed at Kalysto's moon, where the planet's defense satellites could fire but not be in turret range or taken down by the Rak'gol Bloodflayer strike craft so easily. There the battle continued for hours, as Howler Cannon shells in their multitude and macrocannon rounds in their might struck their rivals' void shields. Vast beams of radiation from the Mangler pierced through the armor of its targets, bathing thousands of crewmen in painful & deadly rays, but it was brutalized in turn by the work of the Astartes' Strike Cruiser.
The Maulers and Butchers hung back, firing torpedoes or launching attack craft in great waves, as did the Imperium's own torpedo boats. Astartes and Rak'gol screamed past each other in their assault boats, each launching deadly attacks within the bowels of their foes' ships, but today the navy armsmen were joined by the zealons Kalystan soldiers, who stood their ground no matter the toll inflicted by the superhuman xenos.
The battle was favoring the Imperials, but there was still a chance of disaster striking. The second Cruiser, armed with the nova cannon, had its engines damaged and could not maneuver or dodge as it should; when it tried pulling around to a new firing angle, it was intercepted and rammed by a Marauder which had lost most of its guns. The two ships spun through the void leaking atmospheres, and the Rak'gol took advantage of the impairment to begin a mass boarding operation. Soon, vox signals from the ship only played the howling of the Rak'gol - and when the ship began slowly facing Kalysto with its nova cannon, the Astartes knew they had to do something.
Aboard Stormhawks, Kharybdis pods and a Caestus Assault Ram, several hundred Astartes, Dreadnoughts and Kalystan soldiers breached into their own ship. The Kalystans could not push through the Rak'gol horde like the Astartes could, but they could stop their counterattacks from reaching the Astartes who raced for the bridge.
Marta and her kill-team, consisting of herself, another Blank, a librarian and two other sisters who focused on melee combat or heavy weapons, passed through a battle between the Arcturans and Rak'gol near the bridge. The cyborgs had bested most of the Marauder troops, and a timely intervention by the Astartes took care of the elite Render squad.
The two leaders shared a nod of acknowledgement, and both teams advanced closer. Together they blew past the Rak'gol lingering in the halls which hadn't approached the Imperials on their arrival, but the sound of pounding feet and howls echoed up tunnels and ventilation shafts.
"We'll hold them out here. You take down the boss, and keep our world safe," Alana shouted, kicking some debris or bodies into makeshift barricades.
"Of course. Good luck, Captain Alana."
The kill-team continued onwards, and broke through the doors of the bridge with a blast of their Devastor's lascannon. Inside was a crowd of Marauders holding flamers and stubbers or brandishing their implanted blades. A few Renders stood taller and broader, armed with various cybernetics to augment the wicked chainblades that replaced their principal arms. At the captain's throne was a Techno-shaman surrounded by bodies and machines in a ritual circle, and lurking in the depths of the darkened room was a larger thing which clinked and clanked - a Distorted, automata created psychically by the Rak'gol from various other machines.
The Techno-shaman screeched something, and both sides rushed into action. The Devastator among them opened fire on the Renders, aiming to take down the deadly melee combatants before they could reach it, while her Assault and Blank sisters guarded either flank from the oncoming Marauders. Marta and her Librarian started with a different job.
Psychic energy, potent enough to bend a city-sized craft to one's will but bound in a tense ritual, was ripped away to orbit a crystal-headed mace held by the Librarian. The inside of the sphere became a rippling maelstrom of black and red, caught between chains of purple and blue. It struggled to escape, and might with time or if the Librarian's attention wavered in the heat of battle, but instead she swung the mace into Marta's chest - where the sphere and all its contents were absorbed and torn apart within the void of her soul.
Their first order of business done, the two prepared to kill the Techno-shaman and were instead caught up in a wave of force and bodies, as the enemy psyker launched a telekinetic sledge through its own ranks and into them & their Assault sister. The three and any Rak'gol which survived the first impact landed in the crowd on the other side of the room.
Mono-blades started tearing at Marta's armor in the moment it took her to get her bearings, and a swing of her power-scythe cut through three of the xenos. The towering Distorted ran on its uneven legs, howler rifle and lasguns lighting up the downed Rak'gol as it swept towards her, but a First Order shield from her sister blocked the storm for a second while she dodged.
Another telekinetic sledge sent more debris up in her path, and lasgun fire from the Distorted's other side set her personal shield shimmering.
"Sisters, handle the machine! I will stop the sorcerer!" She shouted, struggling to be heard over the din. They must have heard her for a moment later, one sister rocketed into the Distored and started cutting at its weapons while the other began charging a barrage of Lightbolts.
Marta forced her null aura to full force as she slipped through the crowd, either escaping the Techno-shaman's sight or forcing it to expend more power on blasting its own troops. It did launch another sledge which missed, and its second failed as she closed into melee.
A swing of her scythe was blocked by its force-claws, but it curved around the impervious blades and lopped off the hand. The shaman retaliated with a frenzied sweep of two more clawed arms, and followed her off the throne with a leap. She intercepted it with a leg-taking swing, and grabbed the wrist of the incoming claws. Superhuman muscles struggled against one other, but Marta won out with a drop of her scythe that lopped off the shaman's shoulder.
The Shaman, lost in the throes of its frenzy, attempted to stab with its two remaining claws. Marta caught them both by the wrists, but was pushed back by the Rak'gol's bulk and scrambling legs. With a shout, she reversed the swing of its arms and turned the force claws back on their wielder.
The Techno-shaman was dead, and its ritual foiled. Behind Narta, her sisters finished off the last of the Rak'gol warriors. They were victorious, and Kalysto was saved from devastation.
As the Rak'gol fleet retreated, they were intercepted by the arrival of a new Imperial fleet which had been tracking them and, caught between two forces, the raiders were destroyed. Millions on the world below wept tears of joy, recognizing how close they were to death and that those lost to the Rak'gol's first attack could now rest in peace.
The eastern explorers were the last fleet to set out. The Eastern Fringe was sparsely filled with stars compared to even the edges of Ultima, and in them it was expected that less complex life would be found compared to the richer inner regions of the galaxy. Such a posting was amenable to some, content to do their duty to their mother & Imperium, but just as many - including the Admiral at the head of the expedition - were eager to prove themselves with some major reclamation or daring battle.
Luckily, Heika had been assigned to Watchtower, a ship whose captain's temperament matched her own; cautious in battle, eager to learn, and patient. She tasked her coven with several duties in the early stages of the journey, such as quickening the minds of pilots when navigating asteroid fields, healing injured crew, and examining any primitive lifeforms encountered to detect their use to later human settlers.
At first thought to be jittery or overeager crewmen imagining things which weren't there, a pattern emerged in the long-distance gravitic scans of the exploration subfleets. A few systems had what appeared to be abnormal asteroid movements crossing through the expanse; some investigations only revealed unmarred asteroids & small space hulks, while others showed signs of recent excavation. Some even reported seeing a ship of unfamiliar design, departing from the other edge of the system before contact could be made.
Hoping that this would be their chance for glory, the head admiral demanded that the source of these reports be found. Three scouting fleets jumped into a cluster of stars, finding abandoned settlements, and both strange movements & signals coming from a fourth system. Heika's chapter & fleet were sent to investigate.
Almost instantly after the warp-jump completed, the mid-range sensorium was barraged by information. Planetoids across the system sang out streams of data, pointing to infrastructure and civilian populations. Smaller bodies were obscured or highlighted by drive plumes, the other sides' starships. And hours later, as the light traveled to the edge of the system, the Imperial fleet noticed those ships reorienting - well before the locals should have seen them.
"Signs of FTL detection?" one techpriest murmured. "Possibly an advanced civilization. Caution is advised."
"We'd better all be at our best for this, then." Heika said, holding her staff aloft in both hands. "Beginning acuity rites now, Captain."
"Thank you, honored Biomancer. Hailer, disperse orders to keep weapons cool but shields raised - I don't want to start a fight if we can avoid it."
A few minutes later, the support staff aboard the bridge had received & begun deciphering both a data-stream from a large satellite at one of the lagrange points, and visuals of the locals' starships (their efforts aided by Heika's psychic blessings).
The stream of information was deciphered by the data-adepts to be in several parts - various bits of sound and symbols connected to images of physical objects, a few messages of increasing size and complexity, and a broadcast channel to be opened when they were ready for dialogue.
"It seems they're using what we've called 'Lingua Ultima Orientalis Rho'," a representative of the ship's translators told the bridge staff. High Gothic was the language of choice of ancient Terra & its neighbors in Sol, but dialects and descendant languages had evolved even in the Dark Ages as new empires radiated outward across the galaxy. Rho had been reconstructed by the fleet from languages on various nearby worlds, ranging from feudal to space-faring, and it seemed likely that the explorers' counterparts had done the same. "Direct translation of the first message would roughly be 'Greetings fellow moving-person! Visiting you new home of name: Blokkus Unity, stop name. Request positive no harm'."
"'Greetings, fellow traveler. You are visiting a colony of the Blokkus Unity. We hope for peace,'" Heika guessed. "A charming sentiment."
"Let's hope we all can live up to it," the captain said. "Any indication of their political or social make-up that we should be worried about? Sorcery, abominable intelligences, xenos integration?"
A few present gave meaningful looks to the ships on display. Almost all of them, from the dozens of eight-hundred meter long systemcraft to the lone radial cruiser hovering over a gas giant's aerial cities, had sharper angles & more platonic shapes in their designs than those of Imperial or Dark Age make - a small divergence, but one not unprecedented.
The few escort-sized vessels though were truly abnormal; they were like horizontal, spiral pyramids made of cuboids. The prow was a single long prism, but its midship end had another cube come out its side, and then two more behind that and then expanding again, like a fibonacci spiral laid over itself, ending in another central cube. The cruiser, while not as unique, was still of a type rarely seen fashioned by human hands; it was like a seven-armed star, which had numerous spikes or turrets coming out each arm.
"I will convene with the Diviners and see if the overlap of our talents can suss out any xenos aboard their ships," Heika offered. The captain assented, and Heika relayed orders to her sisters & serfs to prepare.
While the divination was underway, the captain opened dialogue with the Blokkus representative. On screen was an older woman, face slightly wrinkled and some scars or chinhairs faintly visible; her hair was a pinkish red, odd but not outside what phenotypic diversity the Dark Ages' gene-science had allowed, and there was a softness to the recording. She spoke through a digital translator, it seemed, from the synthetic tones in her voice.
"Welcome to Aureolin Shores, friends. The Blokkus Unity is excited to meet other voyagers through the stars; we have had the honor of finding worlds still in recovery from the Separation and restoring modern comforts to their people, but you are the first human peer we've met."
"Thank you for the welcome," a representative spoke for the Imperials, comm-bead in their ear linking them to the captain & their advisors. "We represent the Imperium of Man, established when the galactic warp storms abated and the homeworld of mankind, Terra, was united by our Emperor."
"Terra? Goodness, you've come quite a long way."
"Indeed, bringing protection and civilization with us. You spoke of 'human' peers; have any xenos troubled the Blokkus Unity?"
There was a slight change in her expression, only noticeable to the Astartes watchers. "We have repelled a Greenskin incursion and purged one of their pirate havens. Other pirates from various species have aggressed our protectorates. Last we knew of our neighbors in the galactic west was that a slaving empire of near-humans were predominant; have you faced their aggression?"
"The Dawi-Zharr empire has been defeated. None will toil under their lashes ever again." A runner came to the bridge, carrying a note from Heika's psychic convocation to the captain & company. A brief discussion was had, before orders were given to the speaker. "We have detected a sizable amount of xenos biomass in cogitation banks aboard your ships, and a lack of humans on most of them. We would like confirmation; are you a human, Blokkus?"
The Blokkus diplomat paused again, long enough now to be noticed by the standard humans but what should've been too short for full direction by their superiors. "I am not, no. The Blokkus Unity wishes peace with its human neighbors, and using a virtual model when a human citizen of appropriate rank is not available has been found to assist in bringing peace. We apologize for the deception, and hope it can be moved past."
Tensions on the bridge were immediately high - few things drew the anger of the Imperium like a system or empire where humans lived peacefully under xenos rule, not even most xenos tyrannies. It was expected that aliens would subjugate humans if given the chance, just as it was expected that they would receive retribution in time; but joining with the xenos and helping place the yoke on their fellow man, as the Imperium saw it, was a betrayal most foul like that of the Tri-Star Federation.
And it was exactly that which urged the Captain, Heika, and a few others on the command staff towards a temporary peace. That coalition had killed tens of thousands of Astartes and put a black mark on the names of those who fought them. If this Blokkus Unity was like the Federation, they would need to be approached with caution, lest casualties or dishonor (and which mattered most varied from individual to individual) become a high price.
Further talks over the next few months were frosty, as the fragile peace held even though Heika's fleet was rotated to other operations. Even the warhawks among the explorers recognized the need to know where they were striking, and so some exchanges of star charts or establishment of boundaries were made. The Blokkus, cognizant of the Imperium's power, spoke of letting their human protectorates vote whether to join the larger empire & also to transferring any diaspora wanting a human-only home, asking for exclusive rights to any system which their species had held before & during the Age of Strife in return. All the while, the Blokkus colony at Aureolin Shores grew at a breakneck pace with new asteroid stations being erected, and fleets headed by Cruisers (whether the star design first seen or other ones) rotating in and out.
Heika eventually learned some of the Blokkus' nature, both from that initial divination and from exploration into dead systems where the Blokkus had once resided millennia ago. They were a hard-shelled coral species, with a shockingly robust nervous system even before any genetic engineering was done, which could unite different individuals into one greater mind if they grew upon one another. Colonies of them would grow into motile human-size forms or larger immobile genii. The super-intelligence they could achieve millenia ago had carried them into spaceflight, and some secrets gleaned from the gene-lords of the Dark Ages had let them remake themselves to be smarter and harder, growing into cubes and pyramids or other sharp-angled shapes.
The detente would end when the Imperium and Blokkus Unity found a civilized world, inhabited by humans and a Blokkus subspecies. The Blokkus had found it first, and were already incorporating it when the Imperials arrived; the Imperials objected to the colonization, claiming the humans there belonged to them. Tensions rose in the void and on the planet, until shots were fired.
The spiralships of the Blokkus were well armed, with each of their macro-lascannons maneuvered by superintelligent, house-sized colonies, who could calculate optimal aim & rate of fire to surpass the Imperium's work-crews; but three of them were no match for five Imperial Escorts commanded by a Light Cruiser, who bore the weight of fire through sheer mass. One of the spiralships managed to escape, ensuring word would reach the Unity's government - but long after the Imperium's Astropaths would do the same for their commanders.
An attack fleet was mustered, aimed at Aureolin Shores to cut their development off at the pass, and hit a patrol fleet where the orbital defenses, it was suspected, would not be as thick.
The battle was joined by an Imperial alpha strike, with torpedoes, lances and nova cannons opening up from beyond even the macro-lascannons' range for the Blokkus Unity fleet. Expert aim on turrets and even a few full ship lasers destroyed much of the torpedo barrage and the fighters & bombers that followed, but the Imperium's power was vast and near-instantly hulked some of the Unity escorts.
The Blokkus' ships chose to pull back towards their planetary defenses, where surface-to-orbit missiles and asteroid stations tugged into orbit as new defense satellites were already priming their weapons. Wings of attack craft covered their retreat, coming in all manner of shapes - some were winged things like an aircraft or the Imperium's own attack craft, while others were almost grublike, fat and ringed. The Unity's bombers weaved in and out of incoming turret fire, landing well-timed blows that blunted the Imperial advance; and when the Imperium's Wrath starfighters surged to counter them, they were intercepted and outgunned swiftly. The prolonging action ended quickly when the swarm returned to its distant carriers, but it had bought some time.
Over Aureolin Shores' second colony-planet, a minerally rich rocky-planet which they'd dug some proto-hives into the surface of, the bulk of the Imperial fleet fought the Unity's defense forces. Asteroid-borne lances released boiling heat as they fired again and again, and explosive shells sent devastating quakes through the frame of the Blokkus hulls. Imperial ships went on parallel broadsides to the spiralships, which twisted along their central axis to let unused laser arrays fire at full power. An Imperial vessel rammed headlong into the star-shaped cruisers' core body, punching a hole in it and knocking loose one of its damaged arms.
Satisfied with the sight of debris and macrocannon rounds raining on some of the Blokkus' settlements, the Imperial fleet began to pull out, and the damaged Unity vessels were forced to let them escape by the threat of the reserved Imperial vessels coming in for a bombardment of the planet.
Watchtower was part of another attack fleet being formed at the system of KJ-108, home to hundreds of stations which now serviced the Imperium's vessels, when unexpected warp signatures appeared at the system's edge - it was a Blokkus Unity fleet. Their signature spiral- and star-shaped vessels made up the bulk of the fleet along with other miscellaneous designs, but near the center of the concentration were two Battleships. They were shaped vaguely like a fish, with a flared stern and a round silhouette, but they were given that by dozens of blocks jutting from the spine which ended in macrocannon turrets or vast hangars.
Not expecting an attack, the Imperium still rallied its collected fleet and started bombardment from long range. However, just before the first escorts would've been hit, a yellow wave of energy emanated from the Battleships. Their void shields expanded to thousands of kilometers around, linking with those of their fleet, and what should've been a vicious opening failed to damage a single ship. The next barrage failed as well, torpedoes bypassing the theater shields but being shot down by the star cruisers' protective turrets, and when the protection finally fell, the Blokkus were upon the Imperials.
Attack craft launched from short range were able to sortie again & again over the hours of battle, unleashing las, missile and boarders on their targets. Four-legged, crablike Knights protected mag-locked field guns and heavy infantry with their ion shields as they took down point-defense turrets, opening lanes of space for the next wave to breach directly into the Imperial ships. Astartes shattered genetically enhanced shells with every strike and slew dozens of Blokkus elites, but could only defend so many points on a ship against an army. Ogryn-sized engineers with no natural limbs but an assortment of cybernetics did digital battle with tech-priests over control of internal defenses or mechanical servants, and both sides scrambled to fit cannons into corridors where the heavies of their foe had placed themselves.
Heika and a company of marines were fighting their way to the bridge of a Blokkus battleship, or what passed for one. The corridors were spacious even by Astartes standards, but sloped so that it was an uphill climb and marked by clusters of defense turrets. The smaller humanoid forms of the Blokkus fought them alongside larger machine-bound ones; the infantry were slow, even wearing electronic exoskeletons that multiplied their natural fitness, but were as armored as an Army trooper with just their natural shell. They came from both sides, pushing up alongside lascannons mounted on rovers and boar-shaped walking machines which spat promethium.
"Lay down your arms, and you will be given quarters as honored war prisoners of the Unity. You will be provided with food, shelter, and any entertainment deemed suitable for the general public," a synthetic voice boomed from a speaker during a lull in the firefight, while both sides reloaded or readied their heavy weapons. There was no hint of worry in their voice, but neither was there in Heika.
"Counteroffer: pull back your troops, begin boarding lifeboats, and some of you may live," she shouted, preparing a biomantic curse.
"We didn't have to do this," the speaker replied, and weapons were raised. "We could have had peace."
Heika's response took the form of a miasmatic cloud which spread up the hall, eating at the shells of the Blokkus troops and forcing them to collapse. Devastators began firing at the machine-forms which were left bereft of bodyguards, and line sisters opened fire on the group behind them. The path was cleared, but it had taken time. A faint feeling of doom filled Heika as her sisters finished laying charges on the building-sized Blokkus.
"We must hurry," Heika muttered, and then shouted, "Sisters, we're too late. We must leave, quickly!"
Ships began to break away, making desperate inner-system warp jumps to escape their pursuers. Tens of thousands died as atmospheres vented or over-taxed weapons exploded. Battleships which would have lasted a thousand years of service or more were reduced to space hulks. Astartes squads died surrounded by hundreds of enemy soldiers on ships both alien and human… and KJ-108, Imperial resupply point, was taken by the Blokkus. Ships already in-transit before the were picked off over the next week as they arrived, and when another fleet was amassed to retake the system & its supplies, they found it devoid of enemies to fire upon, bereft of supplies, and with some of the surviving military stations rigged with traps.
Both sides had been bloodied in the initial weeks of the war, and needed time to prepare for their next move. The Imperium would be aided in this by the arrival of the Dawi, whose quickly-established space fortifications provided a measure of protection that would let the Imperium attack with all its fury in due time.
A artistic rendition of a Skaven Chem-Tech found in the Hellenic League
To say that the south of the Imperium was a hotbed of activity would be an understatement, the conflicts of the prior Federation Space and Actium draw attention and might. But one would be forgiven for believing that the Hellenic League, the sector of worlds belonging to Memnon of the Third Legion, was indeed a bastion of arts and culture, but it was not without its own troubles. For decades now the Third Legion had been set on defending their worlds from external threats and fiercely guarding their population.
However as more of their numbers are drawn to oaths and aid across the Imperium, less remain to safeguard the League from the dangers that seek to undermine mankind's right to rule the universe. Chosen by their lord Primarch, Phrynikos and Keteus led their brothers in this latest patrol across their space, ensuring each world of the League was secure and that no issues had arisen while Memnon served the Imperium.
For a time, all seemed well, other than the strain of fewer and fewer of the younger generations remaining to aid their families as they march to war and the increased need for materials for the wider Crusade. Such things were expected and came and went to the people, their leaders had prepared for such things and the Tyrant Memnon had made sure that they would not suffer any lack from this.
But then reports came of blights touching the Agri-worlds, of supplies going missing across the League, already there was worry, the events of the Great Purge fresh in many of the elites minds, suspicious eyes looked to each other, watching for any tell so that swift justice may be delivered. In this, the entire Hellenic League ground to a standstill.
It was only through the actions of Lady Penelope, sister to the Tyrant Memnon and while not a political leader in any sense, she had accrued enough respect from the various governors and elected officials to stop this meaningless deadlock and repair the damages caused by these blights and missing supplies. While the officials worked towards fixing the issues that had cropped up, the Bronze Shields went to work locating the cause, Phrynikos leading companies across the northernmost worlds of the league, their history in the Great Purge and relative lack of events affecting them drawing his suspicion and need for investigation.
Meanwhile Keteus headed to the east, towards the worlds closest to the borders of Actium, while holding no doubts over the loyalty of the worlds themselves, he knew their own recent troubled past with the Geneline of the fifthteenth could be the cause for this, so he left to investigate there. Both would be wrong in their suspicions, a truth that would come too late as across only a few words of the League, would the hated Xenos known as the Skaven emerged and attacked, the worlds of Huskula, Andia and Laceum being the centers of major attacks, with smaller incursions occurring across the worlds nearest these three.
Soldiers of the League and Bronze Shield defenders quickly tried to set up defenses and fight off the hordes, some worlds driving the Ratmen back, while others facing a continued back and forth. The Under-War had come to the Hellenic League and intended to be their doom.
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The Tunnel systems of the Great Skitter Paths were as they always have been, abuzz with activity and filled with the scent of battle musk. The Clans did not hide away in the Skitter Paths, always moving from world to world, to feed and grow their own power.
Such was the way of the Skaven, the greatest of all life and masters of reality. But of course others had to contest this truth, the Man-things in their infancy yelling out to the cosmos of their power and shining "Glory" they don't realize the power of the Warp, of the Traitor-Gods, even the weak Slender-Things of that power, it did nearly kill them in the end, but they still persisted, an almost admirable quality. But the Man-Things sought to be leaders and the masters of the galaxy, a notion that the council had…disagreement with. Plans were in motion of course, to destroy the Man-Things for daring to attempt such things.
But with all the scheming of the other Clans, something had to go wrong because of a foolish other, creating a war that so many Clans of that strange world nearly won, creating a new Vermin Lord and almost casting the Toll of the Thirteen, bringing a world for the Horned Rat to devour. But they had failed, scattering to the winds, many attempting to become War Clans and establish new holds and Under-Cities on worlds, others so fragmented prostrated themselves to the Great Clans, becoming little more then Thralls. And others attempting to use the favor they had gained to tear down of the Great Clans in a massed assault on a Clan World, the ones that lived after such an attempt tore each other apart leaving only a dozen left of those clans, last anyone had heard they were prized trophies of Clan Night-Claw, using them for whatever the Shadow Lord desired.
Clan Rust-Gnaw, the twelfth Great Clan of all Skavendom would not fall so easily. So said Pest Lord Kratch, leader of Skaven and Ruin Maker of hundred Plagues, of course he had more in place then words, already worlds felt the ravages of his crafted blights, depriving the Man-Things of the food that rightfully belonged to Clan Rust-Gnaw. And even now that open conflict was made with the Man-Things of these stars, the Virus Doctors and Chem Tinkers were harder at work to craft more destructive variants of the Clan's most effective weapons.
In the depths of his citadel, a massive stalactite structure constructed out of broken metal and stone. The Pest Lord watched the teeming masses of his clan, Skavenslaves and Galran Beasts marching under the command of Packmasters towards the paths where their bodies can do the most work. Factories and Chemical plants churned out a vicious smog which was bottled and sent to new production lines further above where enslaved Slender-Things, Mutant Man-Things and other various prizes taken from the Clan's expanding efforts across the stars.
The sounds of chittering and heavy chains brought the Pest Lord's attention to the sight behind him, wing beats followed as one of his Soaring Squeakers brought forth a group of Man-Things. The flesh wings twitched as the cybernetic replacement arms under the modified wings pulled the captives forward.
"As requested oh Great Pest Lord, Man-Things from the world of Paeonia ready for your interrogation" Said the Soaring Squeaker, voice modulated from his cybernetic fixtures to his face.
"Good, now let us see if this scum can be worth my own time" He replied, satisfied at the prospect of testing out his new mixtures on any of these lesser beings that he did not need, even if they did not know what he wanted, he still advanced in his plots through their capture and enslavement.
The Man-Things were forced to kneel before him, they all stink of fear and the foul scent of these "Hellenic" things, a smell of clay and bronze that Lord Kratch hated on instinct. He slowly walked towards the recent captures. What they would see before them was the pinnacle of his clan's engineering, fully cybernetic legs made from the armor and machinery of their foolish mechanical caste, gauntlets made to unleash a torrent of his specialized chemicals from internal canisters and a fully pressurized mask to filter out any toxins that he may be exposed to.
The hissing hydraulics of his legs and gauntlets were a necessary requirement in his design, the looks upon the lesser creature's faces as they saw his massive claws drip toxic liquid onto the ground which hissed and steamed always made his day. He hissed out in the Broken Gothic that the Man-Things loved to use, a ill refined language Kratch hated to speak "<You Man-Things, speak-tell us where Food Storage is, NOW>" Some looked ready to spill their guts at the mere sight of the Skaven lord, but they remained silent, other then a low murmuring of a elder female of the group, clutching symbols of their faith.
Snarling at the sight, Kratch turned to the Soaring Squeaker " You brought me useless stock, the faithful will give us nothing but their deaths. Explain yourself." the organic eye of the Squeaker widened in fear and he began to belt out excuses. "These were the most vulnerable we could find oh great Pest Lord, they were taken from their temples in the midst of worship Pest Lord…w-we did not intend to-"
Kratch stopped the pathetic begging of the Cyrat with a single strike of his gauntlets, cutting flesh and metal as he tore off the facial cybernetics. Leaving a gurgling mess of flesh behind, leaving the fool to die, Kratch turns to his Stormvermin Guards "Rggghhh, take them to the upper pens, feed them to the Galran and other beasts, I will not have man-faith taint my holdings again!" Wordlessly the Stormvermin rounded up the chained humans and shoved them away, leaving Kratch and the dying Soaring Squeaker alone, he places a metallic foot on the squirming body, wet noises of pain the only thing audible before a swift and loud crunch brings silence.
Kratch looks back out to his Under-City, his domain to take control of however he saw fit, as was the true natural way of things. He will not let a slight setback thwart his rise, not when it was so close to fruition.
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Phrynikos marched with purpose, his wreath fixed atop his helmet and armor resplendent in the thirds iconography, a recent modification to inspire morale that was quickly becoming marred with the blood of these Skaven beasts. The northern worlds faced not an organized foe, but spatterings of monsters and machines being unleashed with little care, something he was quickly tiring of fighting against.
This latest world was a minor one he did not even bother to learn the name of, just another manufacturing world that he and his forces fought the revolting Xenos on. At the very least he was able to take extensive notes on the kinds of beasts used and ready them for his Primarch, unlike the fools of Stormgard, the Third Legion would ensure that all their forces knew what they were fighting.
Currently Phrynikos found himself facing creatures that were massive hairless and eyeless monstrosities with sizable ears and claws and rock-like growths that emerged from their skin, clearly not modified or crafted creatures like others the Skaven had used. These xeno beasts almost seemed natural in their aimless rampages, not that the distinction mattered in the end, they died to Phrynikos and his brothers the same.
The battlefield was in the middle of what obviously was a factory of some kind, now ground to rubble and ruins as the beasts and PDF fought over every inch. Lines of PDF guns fired towards charging beasts in this latest attack on a mass grouping of them,their own hulking frames absorbing shot after shot before fully faltering and dying. Phrynikos and his brothers marched forward, bolters raised and melee weapons ready to strike any of the horrid creatures down, they had a mission to complete and relying on the mortal soldiers would waste everyone's time.
Wheeled explosives powered by rockets zoomed past battle lines and crashed into fortifications and armored vehicles, exploding in a sickly green hue that poisoned the air. Phrynikos grimaced at the sight of burning soldiers running in terror, but quickly turned his attention back to the wider battle and the beasts using the random destruction to their advantage. Raising his shield he blocked the wild swipes of one of the blind creatures before jamming his spear into it's chest and using his own strength flinging it to the side and continuing on his march, his Brothers emptying rounds into it as they followed behind him.
He paid all of these beasts no mind as he searched, his eyes scanning every location they marched for his target, splitting off his forces to continue the march and cleansing of this area at their own discretion. He would eventually find his target's suspected location, the once secure facility once used to house precious minerals for processing was now little more than a hollowed out shell that beasts and Skaven crawled in and out of. Ordering his remaining brothers to clear out the facility, Phrynikos went alone to find the target, his focus unchanged even as he sliced through dozens of war beasts and their screaming masters.
There, standing in the middle of the destruction was his target, the suspected leader of the Skaven. Covered in a mechanical armor with a rough bandolier filled with vials of unknown and likely toxic liquids, mechanical legs holding it over what was clearly the central chamber, it was alone, a odd distinction compared to other Skaven leadership, but Phrynikos could not allow this chance to slip by. He marched into the chamber, not attempting to hide his presence, he did not act like the cowards of the Watch or Jaguars, he had his honor even against foes who deserved none.
Ever the duelist, Phrynikos readied his Spear and Shield, the Skaven Leader cackling madly in it's chittering language as it turned to face him and marched towards him, the clawed gauntlets creaking and clanking as it readied itself for the fight that was about to occur. What followed was a dance of spear and claw as Phrynikos struck forward undaunted as his shield protected him from the claw strikes of the Skaven, but his own stabs with his Spear found no purchases as it proved to be far more agile then it's bulky armor would suggest. Bashing forward with his shield, he pushed the xeno back, allowing himself some room to strategize if only for a few moments, the Skaven however did not give pause as some infernal mechanism inside it's weapons began to spin and hum loudly, a steady drip of some kind of noxious liquid began to fall from the claws as it once again pounced forward.
Wild slashes sent out the noxious liquid which hissed and bubbled against his shield as more grooves were made in armor and shield. But the Skaven had abandoned it's own defenses in exchange for this wild attack, so Phrynikos brought his spear forth, cutting across the chest and face of the Skaven, leaving a groove that had a seeping of blood between it's new crack.
The damage to it's helmet and body seemed to enrage the beast as it lept backwards and crouched like a wild animal, despite his better judgment, Phrynikos began to speak to the monster.
"If you truly are one of the best of your ill begotten kind, then I see why your people are considered more vermin than actual threat." goaded Phrynikos.
"You are wrong-false Man-Thing soldier, the Skaven are no Vermin, you and your filth, ALL FILTH, are the true Vermin who have stolen-taken what is ours, our kind are superior in every way-way to yours." Said the xeno in its kind's bastardization of Low Gothic, arrogance oozing off every word.
"You claim us to be filth, yet you are scavengers and do nought but bring ruin, Mankind has creature culture,arts and are chosen of the true Faith of this universe, what do your kind have to claim any superiority." Phrynikos spat out in response to this creature's claims.
"Hehehe, what we-we have is simple and what you and yours have neglected. We Hate more than you, your Faiths, your Cultures, your worlds. But do not-not feel special in this Hate, for the Aeldari, the Krork, the Necrontyr, the Jokaero, all-all others have earned our rightful spite, we see what you have created and turn it-it into ours, we will break-break you and all other species into nought but pale and weak-fragile shadows of yourselves, not fit-able to be anything other then lower than the lowest Skaven Slave. We will break your history, your culture, your Gods, all will be ruined and we will claim-take what is left for us. Then, and only then will the universe know it's mistake in making anything other than us-us." It's mad ranting only increasing in rage
From its bandolier it pulled out vial after vial of liquids and tossed them at Phrynikos, shattering upon the ground and his shield, burning through the metal quickly. With no hesitation, Phrynikos threw his damaged shield towards his foe and raised his Spear for an advance. The Skaven attempted to dodge the shield, however was only able to avoid the full brunt as it clipped its side, leaving it open for a Spear strike into one of its mechanical legs.
As the Skaven snarled at this strike, Phrynikos grasped his free hand upon it's throat and began to squeeze, crunching metal and sputtering from the Xeno masked a chuckle that Phrynikos heard far too late, as one of the Skaven's gauntlets opened a hatch and spewed forth a murky green mist.
Even as he threw the Skaven away into some rubble, the mist stayed with him, seeping onto his armor and quickly changing the pristine orange and white into cracked and rusted material. Phrynikos rushed to where the Skaven was still rising from his position, intent on grabbing his spear again and ending this foul creature.
A loud rush of sound was all he felt as soon as he grabbed hold of his spear, sending him flying backwards. His eyes quickly identifying the source of this strange attack, the Skaven had made one of it's mechanical legs out of what could only be equal parts spike cannon and energy weapon. A section of his armor now bore a hole through ceramite and flesh, he could feel some lower parts of his ribs and third lung missing, but he would not let this stop him.
Clutching his side, Phrynikos kept his reacquired spear level with the Skaven, the blood flow already having been sealed up by his own biological failsafes, the wound however burned as the raw air crept into the new opening made by the Skaven weapon. And as more of his armor corroded away, he knew he needed to finish this fight quickly, lest he enters the realms of the dead a dishonored wretch.
The Skaven seemed to regard Phrynikos's actions with contempt as it aimed its still glowing leg towards the marine, the unspoken conclusion both made, they intended to end this right here and now. Silence came for Phrynikos, as the sounds of distant battles faded away as he put everything on this single moment, his spear gripped tightly as he began to move, the sound of the firing leg weapon the only thing he allowed to enter his mind.
Dodging to the side of the blast, Phrynikos had intended to run the beast through with his spear. Only for something he had no expectations of happening, appearing with a shimmer, were several Skaven with their guns trained on Phrynikos. He felt as a dozen shots pierced through him, his momentum shattered as he fell to the ground before the Skaven leader,his veins burned as toxins uncounting flowed through them, his anger forcing him to reach out towards the foul creature. Who looked at him as he died, no sound emanating, just a grim satisfaction as it watched him die.
In time, the rest of the Bronze Shield squads would find the aftermath of the battle, Phrynikos's remains desiccated, with his armor torn apart and head placed upon an alter of rubble with crude depictions of the many divines of the Hellenic League, clear mockery over the death of Phrynikos and the League as a whole. The battle was won, but the sense of loss of a proud member of the legion falling to such scum permeated throughout the remaining forces.
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Keteus had forgone his more ceremonial armor for something more practical as he fought in the east, choosing to not waste time on ceremonies as worlds choked and rotted from blights the Skaven let lose as a precursor to their attacks.
To the defenders and citizens of the worlds, Keteus and his forces were embodiments of saviors, ensuring no position was without a Brother aiding in defense or attack. Spread thin true, but each fought to the last with no hesitation or regrets, they were sons of the Third and defenders of the Hellenic League, crafted to be among the greatest soldiers of mankind, to let these scavengers best them would be a dishonor, to let the citizens of their homelands fall to them without retribution was unforgivable. So Keteus and his brothers fought, day and night, their armor becoming stained with blood and scars from the chemical weapons of their enemy.
The latest world he and his forces found themselves on was known to it's own language as Styxiums, it was a simple Agri world known for the rivers that run across a majority of it's surface. Keteus came to relieve them and ensure that no more harvests would be affected by the Skaven's Blights.
He currently found himself riding along in a massive convoy transporting needed supplies from the spaceports to the main front, his large frame nestled between some of his brothers in a Land Raider, only some of his forces were required here, the rest fought along the front having been deployed via drop pod onto the lines, those that came with him here were those more suited to matters of defense then those brothers who were needed right away on the front.
As the convoy moved across the countryside, Keteus prepared, he knew such a target would gain the attention of the Skaven. And he would be proven right as Vox communications alerted his vehicle about the encroaching Skaven offensive, in response the marine would take his weapons in hand and watch as the enemy appeared.
Beasts of flesh and metal attempted to intercept his own forces, Skaven riders on top of the beasts leaping onto the transports and tanks, uncaring of the hail of fire that shredded their numbers as they attacked. Mechanical contraptions reminiscent of attack bikes with spinning blades rode alongside massive wheels with Skaven stapled inside of the contraption piloting it as it shot out bursts of energy every so often.
The battle was hectic as the Skaven did all they could to crush the convoy and it's defenders
Despite their efforts, he saw as more vehicles were being forced away from the rest of the convoy by the Skaven, an attempt to divide and break them, and one he would not lt sand, giving a signal to the driver, he and a group of other vehicles rode off towards the group of the divided convoy, running over and through beast and machine, and interposing themselves between the smaller less armored vehicles and the Skaven enemy.
It took some maneuvering and coordination, but the smaller group managed to get away from the Skaven horde and began to set up for their attack, if only to draw more in to let the wider convoy be a bit more safe. Something Keteus made sure to inform his second in command and the main lead of the PDF Convoy via vox hailing.
"Continue on route, we will fight them off here, DO NOT STOP!" he ordered through his Vox,the response back was immediate "Understood Brother, Know that the Father is Watching you"
"You as well my Brother" he replayed before closing Vox and raising his sword and Plasma gun and out of the Land Raider to join the rest of the vehicles that had been driven off route. Despite the suddenness of the situation, his brothers and the other soldiers had quickly established defensive preparations with many of the still combat cabalbe vehicals's weapons set up to fire on the Skaven.
The Skaven with their beasts and wheeled weapons of war circled around them, giving the Marine more time looking over his forces, soldiers of various regions of this planet and beyond looked back with a mixture of both fear and determination. He looked to his Brothers, the faceless hemenats of the Astartes betraying nothing, but he knew how his brothers were, each ready to die for the League and the Imperium, with no regrets in his heart or mind, he raised his gun to the charged beasts of the Skaven and fired.
Eventually reinforcements would arrive to drive away what Skaven remained and managed to rescue the trapped section of the convoy. Of the estimated one thousand and eighty souls entrapped by the Skaven, only two hundred and eighty nine remained standing by the end of the battle. Keteus among them, his armor burned and torn apart in places, but he and the remaining twenty four Brothers stood firm, ensuring the rest of the PDF soldiers could remain in active service.
Keteus would discourage any later attempts to bring him off the front to heal, stating that "It is the duty of the Astartes to fight and die for Humanity, I will not be idle when my strength can save more lives." A notion he kept due for the rest of this campaign, at the rage of the Apothecaries.
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As the Astartes and wider defense fleets battled the Skaven Incursions on worlds across the Hellenic League,the world of Androphagia, homeworld of the Primarch of the Third Legion and his own personal world of projects, was all too quiet. Defenders ensured that on the first reports of attacks, forces were assembled and defenses raised up their weapons for any sign of the enemy.
But for a time nothing seemed to come for them, and as more Astartes were sent off to join their Brothers on other fronts, that was when the Skaven struck, first they rose from the ground under the valleys and under the temples to old deities of nature, attacking like what many old stories described to be forces of monsters and the end of civilization
Of course it was not just the normal average humans who fought against the tide of monsters, the Hellenic League was home to many Abhumans in their midst. From the Cyclopi, an Abhuman strain found in the League itself whose members have a large singular eye in the center of their face, who have come from their isolated homesteads to defend their homes and flocks of domesticated herd animals. Fighting with a fury unmatched by many despite their relative pacifistic natures. To the Nightsider soldiers who defended the dark nights to the last soul, bands of them even pushed into Skaven lines and held out until they were found again days later, some still alive and willing to fight, others dead with their knives in Skaven heads.
But even as the battles raged, commanders would note that there seemed to be less and less Skaven in key locations as time went on, the truth of why this was, would come far too late to the Androphagia PDF and other defense forces.
The Shipyards themselves were under attack,somehow the Skaven arrived upon the various orbital stations and production facilities above Androphagia and ran amok across the industrial heart of Androphagia. The guards and workers fought tooth and nail to keep the facilities from destruction, many giving their lives so that the lines could continue even for a few more moments. But this was not the Skavens's goal, no, they moved past the production lines and towards the mighty vessels being built themselves, crashing through any defenses put up by the weight of bodies alone, the Skaven would pour into a dozen ships of varying sizes and classes. And the worst would come to pass, the engines of these mighty vessels began to roar to life, ripping out of the docking stations of the shipyards and flying out into the void. Space defenses fired upon the ships, damaging some, but unable to truly stop them as they fled.
The fading lights of the stolen vessels created an image that artists would depict in haunting and melancholic renditions years later.
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The aftermath of the battles saw thousands dead and thousands more bedridden and ill, the Skaven had all but disappeared across their worlds, but the aftereffects threatened the fragile stability on dozens of worlds and it's populations.
The assembled leaders of the League along with Lady Penelope, many sporting new scars from aiding in the defenses of their worlds while others were fitting into their new roles as representatives, the older ones having died in the Skaven Attack. Overall while the quick work of the Third Legion and the local defenders had kept many worlds safe, others were nearly crippled by this attack, food stockpiles rotten away, entire cities now quarantined due to unknown diseases and vast fields of chemical wasteland that will take hundreds of years to repair the damage done.
As politicians and planetary leaders spoke of what they would need to repair damage done and new shipments of medical supplies and food. Others sat in silence, military leaders, industrial heads and Lady Penelope herself. All with thoughts on what the purpose of all of this was, while warhawks and those zealous of the Divine Family would proclaim it to simply be the work of heretical Xenos living to their natures, there was an underlying thought, most life forms in the galaxy don't do things without a reason, even the barbaric Orks have their own inane desires for conflict. But the Skaven most of all never act without some goal, years have the defensive fleets and Astartes guardians watched for any sign of the Skaven or other dangerous elements, finding nothing.
What did the ratmen want and did they find it in their rampage across the innocent worlds? These were the questions that plagued minds and would baffle others for generations
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At the same time, in the depths of the void, a small fleet of a dozen stolen vessels shifted silently, their new crews working under threat and greed to make the needed modifications to enter into the Skitter-Paths with their new loot, all while their leader simmered in his rage.
Snarling to himself, Pest Lord Kretch sat upon the so-called command throne of this man-thing ship, despite their flawed systems and much needed alterations fit for a civilized species, he will admit that their taste in establishing who is in charge to be impeccable. But the failure of his clan stung at his soul, he was so close to victory, just a few more days under barrage of his blights and the Man-Things defenses would have crumbled
He idly looked down to the Wreath of blades that made for an excellent centerpiece of his armor, central among the other pieces taken from the altered Man-Thing soldiers. That did sooth his temper somewhat, but not enough, clearly those lesser fools of Stormgard had not informed the rest of the clans more about the capabilities of the altered soldiers and how prevalent the Faith-Stink surrounded their souls, unless he had chosen his target foolishly…no no. This was the perfect target, isolated space with it's own internal culture and governance, forces spread out far enough away to better chances and the populus depleted of their young to fight.
As his mind raced over every possibility, a dripping sound grew in intensity. Kratch's ears twitched as he heard it, not turning his head as the thunding steps began and a massive shadow was cast over him and the throne.
"I was not expecting you…am I to die this day?" He said, eyes still staring stright ahead, never daring to look at the beast behind him, he knew what would happen if he was to look without it's permission.
"... NO…" The voice rasped out, both dry and wet as silvia flowed out of its mouth and onto the floor, he could tell it wanted to kill him, but the fact it had not meant there was more it required of him.
"I see, has the Council declared a meeting then, I assume that would be the only other reason for me to know of your presence." It loomed further over him and the throne, it's shadow enveloping his own and leaving him nowhere to run, not that it would matter.
"Your presence has been…requested Yes-Yes, but I come for…other matters." There is a sharp intake of breath before a hacking wheeze is let out, Kratch can feel something vicious land on his armor, yet his eyes remain forward despite every instinct telling him to lash out at this insult. He pushed those feelings down with the simple fact, the moment he tried he'd be dead.
"I have come to retrive what your clan had taken from the Man-Things, something of value to be used for my own matters." a small tapping noise
"You of course are free to take anything we had stolen from the Man-Things, as is your right to take from those…lesser than you and make better." It hurt every part of his pride to say this, but the key to surviving was to play the game, to let the being know it was more than you ever could be.
"Hmmmmm…This…will suffice, I shall retrieve what is mine now." The shadow leaves it's looming position over Kratch and he begins to feel relief.
"Thank you for your presence…Voice of the Horned Rat, my clan is blessed by your very arrival and may our next meeting be as glorious as this one." Kratch recited the words the being wanted to hear, needed to hear and demanded to hear, lest it decide to take him when it was done with whatever his Clan had taken.
The only reply is a fading wet laughter as the monster that claims the first seat of the thirteen disappears, leaving Kratch to finally break down in the silence of the command center, his base instincts allowing him to feel the full fear and relief for his survival.
Wings of Mercy, Bones of WAAAAGGHHH and a Bronze End
One of the remaining structures of Monia from before the first War with the Imperium, left desolated and abandoned, none have come to claim it, the pain of the past glory too much for any to bear, preferring to live in the shanty towns around the growing Hive Cities the Imperium creates.
The wars in the south have become a well discussed topic amongst many of the higher nobility of the Imperium, stories of dashing heroism from the Astartes and the connection to the first war against the Federation, has led to a wellspring of minor support to be sent to the war effort. But it was not enough, greater conflicts were always deemed more important as supplies and soldiers were sent, leaving the conflict against the remnants of the Tri-Star and the new horrors that arrived to be locked in battle. But the deadlock would not be allowed to stand, Memnon of the Third Legion had collected his forces, arranged supplies and soldiers and marched back into the former Federation Space, his intent to finish what he had helped start.
Collected under the official command of Primarch Memnon, the forces of the Imperium were many and each unique to a standard of warfare. From the local PDF forces established upon the compliant worlds themselves, fighting against those they once considered brothers and sisters to protect themselves and their own families, to new colonists fighting to establish themselves against the traitors, these souls were the first lines of defense for the Imperium in this war. Next were the Soldiers of the Imperium, many untested regiments being sent here to aid in stabilization, many of them would die, but those who survived thrived as they grew in the crucible of war. Of course other regiments had sent their own forces from nearby worlds of the Imperium, such forces like the Draken Braves 5th Regiment, whose prowess in matters of siege works was unmatched by any mortal force , or the newly established Ind Guardians 1st Regiment, their skill in battle was enough to impress even the Astartes Legions. To small detachments of the Kreig Royalists and the Barbarus Cathaí Legions.
Finailly would be the forces of the Astartes Legions, from the stalwart sons of the First Legion who led soldiers under their banners of honor and knightly code, to the recent arrivals of the eighteenth Legion, small in Astartes but many to aid against the threats. From the nineteenth's fierce warriors to the small enclave of the twelfth, ensuring their Primarchs Schola's were a bastion against any that would dare to assault them.
Of course the Might of the Third arrived in force, thousands of Bronze armored warriors descended across the fronts, their mere presence enough to revitalize the morale of defenders with both faith and zeal.
But the enemy was many, each a force to never underestimate.
Rebellious groups under hundreds of different banners fought against the Imperium and any they considered invaders, their methods ranging from basic guerrilla warfare to tactics that they would have been considered in the Federation as War Crimes, but survival was all that mattered against such threats. Calling in favors that the Federation had accrued in it's history, most notably favors from the Tarellian Packs, A Xeno species of soldiers with remarkable talent for warfare.
Merciless hordes of Men of Iron, unknowingly freed as a final resort by resistance fighters, rampaged as pale imitations of their northern kindred, monsters of broken machinery and fragmented minds attacking anything organic in sight. Their presence a terror for they were no force of sanity, only madness. In truth to call them Men of Iron would be a disservice, they were Men of Scrap, machines twisted and held together only by hatred.
Finally was the Orks of WAAGGGHHHH Grimgor, drawn in by the promises of battle and led by an Ork of substantial cruelty and strange power, this assembled gathering of Orks slowly became more and more organized as time went on, uniting and solidifying their own brands of absurd tactics against any they met.
War was a constant for the Imperium of Mankind, but Memnon swore that he would see the embers of the Tri-Star war crushed under his hammer.
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Borvan Krovo was tired of sieges, after months of battle across the cities of Coltur, any would be tired of facing Monstrous Imperials or insane machine creatures. But his Packs deployment was more then his own complaints, especially as one of the major liberation fronts for the Federation had need of this citadel for their own supply lines. A loud explosion nearby brought his attention to the moment as the pitch whistle of his commanding Pack Leader let them know the next Imperial wave was attacking.
He and others rushed out of their barracks to their assigned positions, several packmates already reciting the "Tale of the Stalwart Soul" for the defense, while he took a drink of the Khamdala Berosh, offering it to the others who wielded Pulse Rifles. Upon the drink hitting his tongue, his pulse quickened and focus intensified on the battle around them, sounds becoming sharper and smells becoming overpowering, but such was the way of the Tarellian.
His thoughts went to those Packs who were given the honor of evacuating citizens to the Dens of the Tarellian, they were true exemplars to forgo the fight against evil to protect those who could not fight themselves, he hefted his pulse rifle onto the rampart wall, his flask having been returned to him a quarter full, just enough for the trip to the Twin Suns of the Homeworld should he fall.
Energy fired out upon the large mass of charging soldiers, it was like a sea of gray flak armor, which fired out with their own energy weapons. Bolt pillars were activated as arcs of electricity traveled across and through them, human screams filled the air as flesh burned from the charging Imperials, this stopped some from charging, while others clearly had sent messages back to their artillery pieces, despite their effectiveness, the commanding force of the Imperials wanted the citadel just as much as the Liberation front did.
He could see the blasts as they hit near the walls, clearly a distraction tactic to hide their troop movements from the dust and rubble being shot into the air. But as it cleared, the defensive weapons fired with new clear visuals upon the charging soldiers, energy striking soldiers who were in turn either crushed under the boots of their fellow soldiers or left writhing in pain from the impact of the pulse energy. Their tanks took blasts of pulse energy in attempts to destroy them, but soon tank shells began to land on the ramparts, blowing apart sections, through all this chaos and noise, Borvan focus drifted to the Imperial lines, smelling something amongst the ash and blood of the Imperials, something…unnatural.
A low growl escaped his lips as he saw them, clad in the reds and blacks of the Butchers, and in the light bronze and white of the Deceivers. Astartes had arrived to do battle with what defenders remained, a resounding whistle sounded again, informing the Packs of the dangerous new threats. Borvan aimed his weapon to the large monstrosities, waiting for the Pack Leader's call to fire,he watched as the Bolt Pillars were activated again, but this did not deter the monstrous Astartes, who forced their way through the arcs, armor charred and scarred from the electrical attack, but not enough to stop them.
Exploding shells from the giant Astartes weapons blew apart stone and steel from the walls as they fired upon the ramparts, the sounds of gore and heavy impacts began to fill the air, but Borvan held firm with his sights on one of the armored giants, this one of the Deceiver allegiance, it was clearly speaking out to the Imperial soldiers around it, in any other circumstance, he would honor the enemies traditions as was proper, but this Imperium deserves no respect as a foe. So with a slight twitch of his fingers, he let loose a barrage of Pulse blasts upon the Astartes and other soldiers, the shots hitting their marks and eating through the armor of the standard soldiers, the Astartes however moved to take cover, damage minimal to the armor overall, but anything that could accrue damage to the structure of their armor meant another could use what he had given.
Rough barks of surprise from beside him, brought his focus back to his current surroundings, following where his fellows were pointing and aiming to begin their own volley of fire. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the soaring marines, flying through the skies with loud false wings, a common tactic he had heard, but to see it was almost as insane as what the Orkoids crafted in their own mad attempts of warfare.
As the Astartes soared through the skies with intent to land onto the ramparts, Borvan and other Tarellians prepared axes, Pulse weapons and Bolt launchers for the coming brawl, while Federation soldiers fired upon the approaching marines. Each of the Tarellians who had taken the duties of the pack guardians whispered the stories of their ancestors, who fought the plains striding clawed horrors, who defended their people since the beginning of their history, they would not fail them this day.
Battle began as the monsters landed and began to shoot and swing their own weapons, the Tarellian soldiers charging to meet the enemy with weapons and teeth barred out in ferocious snarls.
Teeth bared, Borvan leapt onto the closest giant with his pulse rifle running hot in his hands, energy being shot into the faceplate of the Astartes's helmet at rapid speeds, howls of anger emanated from the monster as Borvan felt the impact of a metallic fist crunching into his side. Sent flying with no doubt several ribs now broken, fighting through the pain of his hard landing, Borvan lifted his rifle to continue shooting the Deceiver while his fellow guardians fell upon the monster, slashing and shooting in tandem to bring it down.
Of course not every battle was going as well against the Astartes, he saw the revving blades of the Butchers left a bloody trail of his fellows, while the spears and shields of the Deceivers made fighting them in any group a prolonged affair that his kind could not keep up with in against such unnatural foes.
Setting his rifle upon his back, Borvan readied his Axe and lept into action. To try and fight the Astartes monsters on equal footing was a fool's errand, so the Packs had to utilize other methods of battle their kind had used only against the largest and most ornery of Orkoids,
But even with the tried and true methods of his kind, random chance was always the enemy of prepared warfare, as a resounding boom was heard breaching the walls, right below. The force sent him and others flying as the wall collapsed under their feet and they landed with hard thuds. Ears ringing and vision blurry, Borvan attempted to stand to his feet, before being tackled by one of his Pack mates, out of the line of fire from Imperial soldiers who were rushing into the newly made entrance. The last thing he saw before the dark overtook him was his Pack Leader rushing towards him and his savior, firing her Bolt launcher at something out of sight, then all was black.
He awoke to the sounds of rumbling and his own pain, "Don't speak, i'm unaware of how much damage your jaw has received soldier Borvan, but the Pack Leader will not take any chances" A voice said to his side, clearly one of the Medics of the Pack, but not one he recognized by sound or smell.
Taking in more of the area he was in, he saw they were in one of the underground vaults of this defensive structure the Humans called a "Bank" with Tarellians of various packs helping Federation soldiers preparing makeshift defenses along toppled over shelves and crates, plenty of the people seemed wounded to some capacity, but still willing to work through the pain if the medics would allow it.
"I seem to have arrived just in time. " Spoke a voice unfamiliar to everyone in the vault chamber, eyes and weapons turned to face the stranger. What had arrived was a Florum, a plant like species of the Federation that have nearly been wiped out by the Imperial monsters, turning their once verdant worlds of interconnected ecosystems into industrial wasteland. Unspoken questions rippled across
The Florum seemed to wear something reminiscent of the old Federation uniform, but where the patch of their symbol was supposed to be, was the symbol of the Zadar, something the Packs knew well from their long history with the famed captain.
"I am Commander Fril'tek, come under the orders of Captain Jullian Zadar of the Tri-Star Federation, to offer you all the means to escape and achieve what you all desire." spoke the plant like being to the mass of wounded and tired soldiers.
"And what is it you think we desire?" Asked a voice from the Federation Soldiers, it was young and clearly from one who was not part of the Federation military before joining the liberation front.
"To destroy the Imperium of Mankind and all that are loyal to such atrocity." said the Florum as a shimmering portal opened behind them. An uneasy silence came over the Pack and the Federation Soldiers, none wanted to abandon the fight here, but quickly soldiers made their way to the portal, those too wounded o continue to fight themselves, Borvan was almost tempted to join them, but he held firm as more and more of the Federation left, but the packs had a duty and a code, the last to leave the mission, no matter what. When the last of the Federation soldiers had left through the portal, the Florum looked to the Tarellians, it was hard to gauge the intent of a being without a face, but the physic words spoke softly, yet firmly to the soldiers.
"What say you then Tarellians, will you remain and kill as many of the Imperials as you can, or will you join us to bring the fight to those that the Imperials can't replace." said the Florum, the intent clear that it will respect their decision no matter what. It was the most depleted Packs who first walked forward, those with only three to ten members remaining, they did not wish to die this day, not when their pack's history depended on them. Eventually others began to move, some continuing to prepare defenses, their own intentions clear while others gave them more ammo and supplies to ensure they would not go down without glory.
Eventually he stood off his cot and began to make his own way forward, his legs burning as he walked towards the Florum. But like all the wounded who made the walk towards the portal, they would not yet meet under the Twin Suns of the Homeworld with their brothers and sisters, not when they can still fight through other means and some time healing. And when their orders were still clear, to fight alongside the soldiers of Coltur, the soldiers had yet to all die, so the orders stood. The Packs gathered their weapons, and prepared the excess Khamdala Berosh for those who would remain and followed Borvan, he saw stoic goodbyes and promises to meet in the lands of the ancestors with tales of glory and honor. He saw his Pack Leader, her large frame holding out an arm to help steady him as they walked through the shimmering portal.
Squads of Imperial soldiers would eventually breach the sealed vault, finding only a few dozen Tarellians and a massive killzone awaiting them, it would take an additional day of battle before the Tarellians would be killed, those dozen responsible for the deaths of several hundred soldiers and at least three astartes warriors. Efforts to find the remaining holdouts had been unsuccessful in the meantime.
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The battles across the former Tri-Star federation were nothing less than apocolyptic to the inhabitants of the worlds across them, from the stomping boots and overwhelming firepower of the Imperials and their dreaded Astartes Warriors making examples of any resistance they came across. To the Mechanized madness of the Men of Scrap, crushing and destroying everything in their paths as their metallic forms broke and screamed out in broken binary and fragmented words.
And finally to the Green Tide set loose upon them all in the Orks, these were the worst, for while you could hide from the Imperium, and fight the Men of Scrap through sound tactics. The Ork was a force that could only be overpowered to defeat, and it was often for naught as such power only drew more Orks to the battle.
We look to a battle of these greater powers, upon the world of Fermi, a central world in the prior Federation Space, held as an important point between the Imperial controlled west and the spattering areas of control of the Men of Scrap and the Orks of the WAAGGGGHHH.
The Bronze Shields had kept to a stable strategy throughout this latest push, focusing on securing the fronts and the rear of their advance before they surged forward in force. Enemy leaders found themselves targets to legion scouts while the wider force worked to divide and crush the enemy before them. Such was the tactic upon Fermi with the focus placed on the Orks, lest they take root and truly infest this world.
Throughout the battles of Fermi, the Third Legion displayed many great smaller battles and added to their deeds. Notable members of the Legion had achieved notable victories against the greenskins, such as Amynatus, who with knife and poweraxe led scouting and information campaigns against the greenskins, delaying dozens of attacks or outright thwarting them with the aid of his squads. While not noteworthy in the traditional sense, his work led to many inroads for the wider campaign and left many a Nob bellowing with rage.
Or Danil Exvarde, who was notable in raising up a devout force of both legion members and auxiliary on a campaign of destruction against the strange beliefs of the Orks, destroying the factories for their destructive mobile war temples or targeting the self proclaimed Prophets that followed in the Warbosse's wake. He is quoted as stating "To see the Ork claim to hold anything resembling faith is an insult of the highest caliber and must be destroyed to the very foundations lest it remain a stain upon the world." His dedication to the utter annihilation of anything the Orks could use for their faith, while single minded, proved to be a boon when the Orkish species had such destructive utilizations.
Memnon himself was never far from battle or from the heart of command, dictating not only the battle for Fermi, but over the entire war effort against the trio of foes the Imperium fought. His most trying challenge of the campaign came as he and his honor guard, the Sacred Band, prepared a defensive complex along the most volatile front of the planet. A project under constant attacks from the Orks, no less than five separate large scale attacks by the Orks in the nearly two weeks they were at work, each driven off or beaten down. But it would be the sixth that saw the Primarch challenged, it began like the other attacks, with large swathes of Orks and their vehicles emerging to do battle against the defenders. That all changed when without warning, the smell of burning ozone wafted through the command center and emerging from a bright flash was a towering figure.
Before Memnon was Grimgor Bonetusk standing heads and shoulders taller then his hordes of green monsters, the so-called Voice of the WAAAGGGGHHHH had come to battle personally, his pitch black armor fully covering any hint of green of the Ork's flesh, the only other color being the bone covered blade he swung around haphazardly in a display of arrogance.
Outside, the hordes charged with little regard to the defenses made and fully aware of others due to prior attempts. Through numbers and determination, Orks would breach the defenses and swarm the interior of the complex, forcing the Sacred Band to leave their Primarch to contain them all; he assured them that he would deal with the interloping Warboss himself.
The Ork merely chuckled at the display, letting the Sacred Band leave as it's own blade emanating a green glow from carved runes on the bones and the Choppa's own shoddy construction being welded together with metal sheets.
Hammer met Choppa as the two Giants met in battle, moments of brutal swings from both forces cut and smashed into the other. "Dat Spooky Git made me real 'ard heheh your 'amma's not gunna do much ta me" Taunted the Ork as they battled, each strike of Memnon's hammer breaking and crushing bone , when the armor could not fit the revitalized flesh with dented and broken pieces, it broke through leaving holes of green flesh in the armor, something that Memnon took advantage of, striking more and more at those locations in quick succession. Immobilizing the greenskin for moments at a time, while it stabbed it's own blade into Memnon's shoulder.
Smashing his hammer downward onto the faceplate of the Ork, a sickening crunch was audible even as the Ork's blade cut across Memnon's chest. "Youse…a real 'ard one az well HA, showz what da 'ead gitz know, you Primarks a real good fight." muttered the Ork as it's flesh and bone healed, the faceplate shattering outward as it healed it's face, revealing a mad grin. "Letz see how ya handle da flashy hit….GREEN KLAW!" As it yelled out, it's eyes glowed a familiar green as energy coursed through it's arms and lanced out as it swung an empty hand forward. Creating an image for a split second of a Ork Power Klaw. It was only through the barest of luck that Memnon could dodge the blow as it slashed apart the wall behind him.
"You Loike it, took me a bit ta learn da flashy bitz an' bobz, but da 'ead gitz got me 'finking da propa way, whyz it that only a weirdboy can do da green stuff for Gork an' Mork, whyz I gotta be left out of da fun HAH." Memnon did not answer the beast, his mind focusing on the fight, it's continued strange abilities not a concern as he prepared himself to continue the fight.
"Course that was 'fore da Spooky Git found me, did a real numba on my ladz…or were they someone else's…don't matter much anymore, not wen i'm da Voice of Da WAGGGGHHHH, da Git who speaks for Gork and Mork, Talkiest gob this side ov Eturnia, mightiest Stabba of Moania, da eyes that the WAGGGGHHHH see's the Ooniverse and soon to be Primark Crusha HAH."
"Silence creature, your words mean nothing to me" He found himself speaking, his own indignant rage at the barbarian for having such an inflated sense of self was sickening to him.
"Hahaha, 'ead gitz are gunna have fun with ya Primark, Mork says yer soul will be a nice stabbin Choppa for Gorks squishy bits HAHAHAHA." The Ork laughed madly, the blade in his hand growing more bright with each cut he lands on the Primarch.
The two continued their fight even as the Sacred Band arrived, having dealt with the rest of the Orkish attackers, they joined into the fray as best they could. Firing with Volkite and Bolter into the back of the Ork Warboss while those with hammer and spear smashed and stabbed into the openings created by their gene-father. Not to be outdone, Heracleides Karousis surged forward, his power fist crackling with energy as he ripped the Ork's free arm off and delivered a chest shattering punch into the Xeno.
"Got ya Boyz ta come in and krump me eh Primark, don't matter i'z gonna cut them all down ta Grot sized feed fer da Squigs." Growled out the Ork as one of the Sacred Band was cut in twain by it's Choppa.
Despite the concentrated efforts of the Primarch and his honor guard, the Warboss kept fighting even as his armor was blown away and flesh sliced apart, his healing only doing so much in the face of the Imperium's might as his arm remained gone and healing took longer and longer to complete.
But as the fight continued, more and more energy came from the strange bone covered Choppa as it cut into Astartes and Primarch alike, until it broke suddenly in the midst of combat, the energy still retaining the blade shape before expanding into the Ork "Oh ZOG!" the last words of the Warboss Grimgor before an explosion of green engulfed the entire complex, spectral forms of Orkish limbs spiraling outward from the body of Grimgor, crashing into anything in their path before dissipating When the energy dispersed, Memnon and the surviving members of the Sacred Band found the body of Grimgor, looking like massive force exploded outward from inside him, finally dead.
With the complex damaged from the fighting, the Bronze Shields were quick to work on repairs and prepare for if the Greenskins had any resurgence, creating a citadel that was as artistic as it was deadly.
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To many of her Legion, the Federation Space was a place of turbulent souls and foul traitors, and many made the effort to be the ones selected for the Schola of the sectors here. Zarnina considered herself lucky to be the one of the few selected before the rebellions and wider war across the region erupted.
When war came for the worlds the Scholas were stationed, she and her sisters defended them against foes large and small, many of them were prepared to die defending these sites, but of course fate had other plans when a familiar vox signature arrived. The Wardens arrived with a hail of gunfire upon the latest force attempting to take the Schola for their own, their auxiliary forces having mixed with the Hospitalar forces as they unleashed fury upon the greenskin forces. With the area cleared, the most logical course of action was to take everything and everyone from the Schola to the Wardens own base of operations, the Respite of Shapash.
The Respite of Shapash moved like a glacier in the middle of the ruined city, the few members of the Wardens having tended to the wounded of the Schola evacuation, while Zarnina and her sisters watched them and their mortal auxiliary. She kept her eyes firmly on the ones who kept to the shade most of all, their similarities to the Watch far too much for her liking.
The sight of the Skullbringers amongst the groups kept most of her sisters from acting on any displays that would be unsightly, there was respect for the first Legion held by the legion, while the Primarch had no particular strong feelings for them and their Father, her orders were clear on treating those who the Emperor placed faith in with the same respect that should be due to the one true ruler of mankind.
But her time for thoughts was coming to an end, as vox pings alerted all Astartes of the coming danger "Men of Scrap sighted approaching the Northern quadrant, all hands prepare defenses for evacuation." At this the giant soldiers of the Imperium marched with haste to the north, their training and purpose clear despite the differences in legion.
When they arrived, they all could see as the machines of the Men of Scrap crawled forward from the broken buildings, drawn towards the gathering of mortal life. Zarnina watched as the half broken machines crawled over each other and fell apart at the seams in their rush towards the Respite. The wounded were rushed as fast as they could move as many grabbed weapons to prepare a defensive line alongside the Astartes, Wardens helped gather as many people as they could to ensure none were in the line of fire for the battle.
Zarnina stood near the front lines as several Wardens remained to guard alongside her sisters and the Skullbringers, the contrast of purples, blacks and a tactical eyesore of colors. Combined with the auxiliary, those nearing graduation of the Schola and the Skullbringers own battlecat contingent,
Zarnina aimed her weapon towards the metal wave, the familiar slight pain of her Blank Sister entering into her range kept her focus as she unleashed retribution upon the abominations with her Plasma Blaster. Her other sisters were loathed to be found wanting as they fired Plasma, Volkite and Bolter shells into the charging Men of Scrap, some letting off small bursts of their cursed powers of the warp to break vital components of the machines with nary an effort.
The blades of the Skullbringers held firm until the exact moment a machine entered their reach, a flurry of blade swings followed, this along with a small back line of suppressive fire kept the Skullbringer section clear of the hostile machines, their battlecats and riders surprisingly kept close to the established defensive line, patrolling and utilizing their speed to draw away some of the larger machine threats.
To her surprise the shadowy Wardens she had seen were in the forefront as they fought off the Men of Scrap, defending any stragglers with a fury unmatched by any of the others. But of course something would emerge from the mass of metal, a whirthing thing that screamed as it moved, smashing through any that stood in it's path. Zarnina took aim as the metallic beast rampaged, the Plasma striking true and melting large sections of the colossus's frame, which while damaging, only drew it's rage as it barreled towards Zarnina with blinding speed.
But instead of the cold embrace of death, she saw something her mind could not process at a glance. What was before her, holding the claw of the Man of Scrap back with a single hand, was a shimmering being of crystal that looked like an Astartes.
The Crystalian being was both familiar…and not at the same time, phantom pains of memory that should not be plucked at her mind. And clearly she was not the only one feeling this as her other sisters looked at the being with confusion, the Man of Scrap roared out and moved to strike again but with something that was both a word and yet not, the claw broke like glass. The shattering spread across the machine like a spider's web before fully crumbling into motes of clear crystal. Leaving the area silent as the Coldirons watched the being simply float before them, seeming to watch them with almost the same intensity, Zarnina felt her very being bare before this…it was of the Warp, but it was not…what was it.
In an instant, the being vanished and the battlefield was silent, the battle having concluded and all soldiers ordered to return. Traveling back to the Respite, the Coldiron were silent, many excusing themselves to isolated quarters to contemplate on what they had witnessed, none of the other groups had noticed the brief intervention of the figure nor questioned what the Coldiron's had done in the final acts of the battle.
Zarnina herself threw herself into work, looking over the members of her Schola to see how they fared, not willing to think about the implications of what that…thing was. She could not, not when her Gene-mother's lessons and teachings were clear, there had to be another explanation, something she did not know. Her thoughts were interrupted by the clamoring of small children and the stomping of other Astartes boots, along with a telltale breeze of cool air that always heralded the Warden's own Progenitor.
The sight of the Angel brought mixed feelings to Zarnina, even here there was talk among her sisters about the change of duties of her Gene Mother, no longer were they required to watch and have custodianship over the Wardens. A fact she felt some…remorse for feeling, she like many of the Coldirons had found that while chaotic and in dire need of structure, the Wardens had made themselves a part of their lives in everything they did. Now it seemed like they were to become distant or fully take some from the ill suited Primarch…a choice that sat ill in her mind.
As she watched Ahurani, she noticed that most of the armor of a Primarch had been discarded, leaving only the barest amount of protection in the form of leathers and cloths more akin to being used for winter protection than actual combat. She was tending to the Auxiliary and civilians while small children clamored around her, some trying to climb the giant to no avail, She was speaking with them as her shades watched from afar, there was some apprehension from the adults, but the children she seemed to flourish with interacting as she told them stories of something or another. A darting of something large and furred drew Zarnina's eyes as some kind of large feline creature walked slowly around Ahurani, peering out at everything with an inscrutable kind of intelligence.
She stared at the feline that followed the Primarch, despite not being blessed by the Blank Gene like her sisters, she could tell this creature was unnatural, she had heard of Eldar with similar cat-like creatures. But she held her tongue as the Primarch looked fondly at it while letting the young children interact with it, lady Ahurani looked more at peace then Zarnina had last seen her, troubled yes, but…with an internal sigh she turned away to speak with her sisters about the crystalline figure that had saved her and what they believe they should do about the obvious warp creatures and it's…connection to them. She could worry about the feline creature later, there were more pressing matters to attend to.
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There was no final climactic battle for control over the region, just a deescalation of forces, as the remaining rebels fled with their Xenos allies in the Tarellian or disappeared outright. The broken Men of Iron dwindled in numbers as the forces of the Imperium and others shattered their bodies and facilities, leaving nought but ruins.
The Orks, leaderless and with little keeping them around, either fled or were crushed outright, protocols set in place upon worlds where they did battle against the Imperium to prepare for the growth of their feral kindred.
The governors of the sector worlds, both newly elected and those who had held out against all others, named the five legions who had worked so hard to safeguard them as icons of the Imperium, the Duty of the Wardens, the Fierceness of the Crimson Lords, the Honor of the Skullbringers, the Determination of the Coldiron and the Zeal of the Bronze Shields.
With the people healed and nothing keeping her to this location, Ahurani leaves back to the east, taking her forces and others who followed the Angel along, Hospitaliar and Templar alike joined hand with new followers who were inspired and captivated by the first true good the Imperium has showed in the form of the Winged Primarch.
Meanwhile the Primarch of the Third aided in the reconstruction of the worlds damaged by this war, creating architectural marvels that combined Imperial and Hellenic design philosophies, pillars of marble with artistic flair, to high rising cities of gold and displays of the Imperium's message of mankinds unity. His Legion dispersed across the entirety of the former Federation to accomplish this, most notably creating statues of the three Primarchs who had committed the most to these campaigns in the capitals of the Three Major worlds, on Red Star, stood the statue of Yuvian out of black onyx and ruby gems, a display of might and ever watching the masses as they toil under the Imperium, it was crafted in such a way that the eyes always followed you.
Next was the world of Hilior's Hope where the statue of Ahurani was created, crafted out of black opal and gold, it depicted the Angel with wings outstretched and weeping as the Statute served as a large centerpiece of a fountain. It was made to be a symbol of the Imperium's mercy that many bore witness too during the War as the Wardens healed so many in the final days.
Finally was the statue of Memnon on Monia, crafted out of marble and bronze, not in the armor of a Primarch, but as a leader of the Hellenic League, as a scholar and artist. Given the status of Monia as the damaged world it is, the Statute of Memnon stands as the grandest structure on the world as the populace rebuilds what they can. Truly no finer example of the future of the Imperium than with these bastions of the Imperial Way.
If nothing else the Count had left a clear trail to follow. From the edge of his former sickbed where the Apothecary lay stricken by his own instruments through the ruins of the Apothecarium
She found what was left of Rollande on the other side of the blast doors, opened of course, locks were no obstacle to the keyholder,, she had passed him on the way in but sparing him a second glance now was even more disquieting.
To guard his Master and his wounded brothers he had donned the Terminator armour reserved for the members of the First Spear, the finest and most artfully crafted war gear in the Demi-Maniple and it had been punctured, shattered and torn from his body and left in a careless heap of flesh and metal. Fortunately she'd been raised not to believe in omens, that backwards superstition would doubtless have set her heart racing had she been more credulus.
She left him there, no time for sentimentality, she knew her duty. The Stalwart's rebuke was not long in coming. The lighting along the entire corridor flickered and died plunging the grisly scene into total darkness.
"Revelate." She murmured, vox activating the optics of her helm revealing a long orange and yellow continent stretched out between two oceans of blue.
As she followed the grisly trail she could hear small arms fire, shouts and curses from all around her. The entire ship was a battleground, sometimes vox chatter was added to the mix but she tuned it out along with any other distractions.
At the intersection she found herself delayed by a barrage of bolter shells from a Storm Bolter at the end of one of the corridors manned by two battle brothers, she did not have time to waste on recognition signals, she threw herself across the corridor, trusting her armor to withstand a split second of hits, it did just about though its Machine Spirit raised a storm of wrathful warning messages before her eyes which she swept aside with a glance.
She clawed back some time by dropping down the ladder that waited for her at the end of the corridor, hurtling down it and arresting her fall only when she stopped detecting bloody prints. She wrenched herself up onto the serviceway and doggedly crawled through the intestines of the Bulwark of Mankind.
Every now and then she would come across a desiccated servitor, black with grime, oil and blood, twitching uselessly as mechanical parts forced dead flesh to mimic the motions of their last tasks. She shoved past the corpses, intent only on her mission. The Bulwark needed every second it had left to it.
The exit point from the tunnels was a vent that had been torn apart and forced downwards landing on several crewmembers. She dropped down onto the lid of their coffin and continued in her pursuit. A short time later she crossed paths with a squad of armsmen heading to do their part in the battle waging across every deck, she did not waylay them she had no illusions about the effectiveness of their Lasguns against her quarry and there was no end of other crises that they would better serve.
Her suspicions about her ultimate destination had been growing for some time but it was still unpleasant to have her worst fears realized when she at last found herself deep in the engineering section of the ship, the Gellar Field Generator room to be precise.
Essential to any warp travel not to mention the very survival of the crew in ordinary times the Generator room would have been the most well defended sections of the entire ship. But years of fighting had thinned their numbers and the latest onslaught had left them hardpressed, many critical points needed defending. Even so a platoon of mortal soldiers a full tactical squad of marines, Ninth Spear to be precise, had manned defensive position supplemented by various turrets mines and barricades and armed with heavy bolters and flamers. A formidable obstacle but not one up to the task when faced with a foe that knew its strengths and weaknesses intimately.
Mangled corpses and spent bolter shells littered the entrance way, as she made her way deeper it was clear that the fight had one sided slaughter. To her revulsion she noticed that each fallen Astartes bore one similarity in their grievous wounds, their geneseed had been torn from their bodies. She may be free of superstition but on a purely biological level there was something hideous about this desecration, it was the ultimate crime against her legion an attack on its integrity and its past and future in one vile act and the culprit waited within…
Theodric had been born on Terra, for centuries he had fought and led with distinction, rising to command a demimaniple. He was a fierce warrior, a considerate superior and a friend. Acid burned in her throat as she saw what had become of him.
The Count stood elevated off the ground, for a brief moment it seemed as though he was levitating or suspended by invisible strings but then she saw them, eight chitinous limbs emerging from his back that seemed to phase in and out of her sight. His once handsome features was gruesomely distorted, mangled by the chelicerae. His skin was stained an inky blue deepest and darkest around the wound he had taken the day prior.
In one hand was his power sword in the other was the Sergeant of the Ninth Spear still twitching.
She did not hesitate, immediately opening fire, high explosive bolts freed the Sergeant from his torment but achieved little else, Theodric or what had been him moved fast, in a moment he was striking down with the power sword, carving a great burning hole through the deck, it was all she could do to throw herself aside still firing. Some of her bolts actually hit him this time for all the good that did.
"That tickles," The creature laughed. "Come on you can do better than that, I've been so patiently waiting after all. I smelt you, I tasted your approach."
"Shut up." She snarled.
"Is that anyway to speak to your superior officer?" It mocked, casually striking a bolter round to pieces in mid air with a lazy swing of his sword. "I'll have to mark that insubordination down."
"Whatever you are, you are not him!"
"Oh you are right there, I'm so much more…but you'll know all about that soon. I'm going to keep you alive just long enough to see me tear away the blankets, and all of our brothers and sisters and the rest will get to finally see what they have been hiding from all this time. I shall be denied no more!"
"Whose hiding?" She asked firing another dozen rounds at him or at least the space he had been occupying.
"That's the spirit." It praised as he dropped down from her from his new perch on the ceiling.
Again she dodged his sword, but not the long sharp leg that punched straight through her armor and out the other side, skewering her into the bulkhead.
"Oh." It muttered sounding almost disappointed. "He'd have expected so much more from you, I have to be honest. I am disappointed. Eons of patience, for this."
Her bolter dropped to the deck, her combat knife was cut from her grasp taking a hand with it as severance and her Hud displayed numerous warning markers and the warp predator's fangs filled her failing vision.
"I owed it to him, had to…" She muttered, gargling blood and acid.
The creature laughed as its began cutting away armour and flesh with ease, "you've failed."
"...look you in the eye."
She was not superstitious, she knew that Theodric had no shade to enjoy seeing that precious second of doubt before the Krak Grenade detonated. She would have to enjoy it for the both of them.
As much as she could enjoy anything in her condition, her shattered body remained in a heap on the floor of the generator chamber for several hours until a recovery team could scoop the largest chunks up, the apothecary would have their work cut out for them.
In the meantime all she could do was dream of the day fifty years prior when one of the legion's greatest heroes had welcomed her into his century.
"Welcome to the First, Guardian Pandora, I'm warning you now it won't be easy, the Eternity Guard accepts nothing short of excellence from all its members and I expect more from my Century."
Dantorion was a good soldier, he followed his orders and served the Imperial Army to the best of his ability, earning acclaim in his regiment and for the wider Sol Army. While no songs were being sung about the Vadamar 22nd, he was proud to serve the Imperium and it's great mission.
A given order they were to follow Without Question
Recently some Governors had asked for some regiments to do some tours on their planets, some political move to inspire the younger generations to sign up for what many were calling the final Generations of the Great Crusade. The reasons why did not really matter to Dantorion, he was more excited to march in lines of glimmering armor and showcasing Humanities front line protectors to the young, like he had seen so long ago.
His excitement held even as he and his Battalion were sent to the world of Cyclonis, touring the various cities across the world, marching in formation, had it just been this, perhaps Dantorion would continue to think of the universe as a fair place.
But soon a letter would arrive for his battalion, characterized with a stylized I, the mark of the Inquisition adorned on the letter. Captain Makalin would order the battalion to where the letter had requested their investigation, the old mines of Cyclonis.
A Discovery, Tainted by Flesh and Fear
The old mines of Cyclonis, long since emptied of anything of value and now more akin to historical markers of the world, what the Inquisitor wanted from the 22nd in this place was unknown, Dantorion had considered asking his friend Makalin, but if his superior officer had deemed it not necessary to know, then he would not ask.
But even as he did not ask questions, they flowed in his mind as he and the others set up an encampment at an inner junction of mine tunnels. An encampment that would soon learn of missing rations and whose leadership ordered Dantorion and others to be on watch for whatever was stealing the ration bars.
They would soon see the creature as it scuttled out of a crevice.
The creature looked insectoid, with spindly legs that brought to mind many limbed prowlers of Dantorion's home region on Vadamar, but that was where the similarities to any natural creature ended, as the thing before them had no shell, looking more akin to raw meat shaped into a semi-worm like body, but Dantorion's eyes were drawn to the face of the creature.
It's upper half almost looked human, skinless yes, but skull like all the same, with sunken in sockets where eyes should be. However it was the lower section of the face that proved it's inhumanity, showcasing around, gaping maw, with bands of teeth ringing the inside in several layers, a viscous black liquid dripped from it's open maw as it starred eyelessly at the soldiers.
Before anyone could react to the sight, the beast let out a wail that would be joined by numerous others, one of the soldiers drew their weapon and fired on the xeno creature while others began to shout out.
Attempts at Survival, Squandered under foot
Las-fire and Auto-Gun shells soared through the damp air as Dantorion hacked away at the fleshy tendrils holding Makalin, he had almost freed his friend before a smaller beast lept from the darkness and clamped down on Makalin's exposed neck, tearing away a large portion of flesh and exposing bones. Swallowing down a hope that his friend died from the shock quickly, Dantorion stabbed into the body of the creature, it's many legs spasming for one final time.
More crawled out of crevices and from where they had arrived into these old mines, forcing the 22nd to retreat further into the depths, Twisting and churning flesh was what they found as they fled deeper, some of their number becoming lost with only their screams to denote their passing.
What battlelines they could establish were destroyed before they could even be set up. Leading to a ceaseless march by the soldiers, none could tell how long they had been running, hours or perhaps even two days. Many of the others had collapsed as they fled, or had begun to lose their sanity from the lack of sleep and constant paranoia of this enemy.
Darkness fell over Dantorion as he tripped and fell into a cave opening, the lights of the others growing dimmer as they fled, he felt tired…
Fear Taking Hold Over the Soul
Dantorion awoke to screaming and sobbing, his eyes attempting to focus in the dim light as the iron smell of blood hit his nostrils, he nearly retched as he fully processed it and the sensation of caressing tendrils across his arms and legs. Ignoring it for now, Dantorion tried to get his bearings, his eyes fully adjusted to the dark, finally able to see what was before him.
He saw some of his fellow soldiers,Kadis being the one closest to him, strung up via the same kinds of tendrils that held him in place, while others were either dead or dying as the beasts eat them.
But all of that was secondary as he saw…something horrible.
A Monster Appears, Malevolence and Unity Personified
It was a horrid thing of pulsing wet flesh, much like the other horrors of these underground tunnels, but far larger, dwarfing even the great Knights of renown. It looked at him with it's sunken in and empty sockets, lowering it's face closer and closer, the smell of rotting meat was overpowering, causing Dantorion's eyes to water and forcing him to gag at the smell.
He saw as it shifted it's eyeless gaze to Kadis and suddenly the thick moist air grew colder, her screams cutting short into an unnatural garble of sounds. At first he thought she had died the way her head slumped forward, but that hope was dashed as it shot up and looked at him.
To his horror, she…no IT began to speak through her.
" Such a small mind dominated by Fear, I'm always amused with how your people can fit such an intense feeling inside such small containers." Kadis's voice was still horse from her prior screaming, but the tone was chillingly cold and devoid of any trace of humanity.
He steeled himself to speak to this monster "I-I… whatever your plot is will fail Monster, the Imperium will crush you for this atrocity." He spoke, more trying to convince himself that such a thing will happen.
" Hmm unable to grasp the wider implications of what we are, how disappointing from one of the survivors. But I suppose it matters little to the wider goal on how you perceive objective reality, as to give a minor kindness to you, what we are doing is simple, we are Kindred and we bring a Unity to you, aided by the work of millions of us across the worlds, as a Progenitor of this Brood I must applaud you all for reaching this far in, the test for an attack was a touching gift to us." the face that spoke held a wide and almost painful looking smile as it spoke.
"B-but the Inquisition-" He croaked out, mind rushing to try and find anything to excuse the monsters words as lies. No matter how much it made sense.
" How amusing, you have faith in that particular thorne, others had cursed it in their dying thoughts for bringing them here. I will admit it has been a problem for our Brood with how invasive their security is, but we have found methods to subsume what we require from them in small ways. Hmm this one is not…the right fit, it's too broken already, won't survive a week in this condition, perhaps you will be a better voice for the Kindred. " As it spoke, he watched as Kadis's head began to turn more and more towards him…and then further, the cracking and snapping bone was overpowering his senses as Kadis's body slumped over.
The Kindred's eyeless gaze turned to him, he could feel it's twisted will forcing itself over him, he could feel it's desires and how his body needed to follow them, he could "Hear" it's voice…it was…was…Was Unity.
"Cease your pointless struggle, embrace the Unity of the Kindred, our kindness will preserve you and your people."
His last thoughts before his will was subsumed was a prayer, a small thing to anyone to save him from this hell… but if they could not, at least he could rest now.
The Wisps Fade as Memories and Thought Conclude as the soul dies.
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Melkerion dropped the now headless body, his transfer complete; they had found the remains of the Vadamar 22nd in their own operations. Coldly turning away from the headless corpse he looked to his commanding officer who had just finished going over his own new information.
"It is as expected, the creatures have infested this world and tainted the leadership, standard procedure is to cull the puppets and destroy the nests we find, any creature that displays any leadership qualities is to be brought to me, I will learn of their plots. Am I understood." He stated, not as a question but a fact, none of Melkerion's brothers spoke, their silence speaking of their understanding, they had come to Cyclonis to purge that which did not belong, having already found the Inquisitor who had requested the 22nd to come to these mines, the body long since dead of natural causes and puppeted by several of the dubbed Kindred.
The infiltration of these mines was a simplistic affair all things considered, they had known what to expect from the Kindred they had found, all that was needed was sufficient means of killing the monsters, which the nineteenth were well equipped to do so.
Dove specialists collected samples of the fallen creatures, their own presence one of the few instances they had heard from them in recent times, sequestered in their own experiments in the western reaches. Melkerion watched them with suspicion as they conducted minor experiments in the middle of operations, truly a disgraceful lot more content to be isolated in labs than fighting as warriors. But it was not his place to lay judgment on the needs for this mission, and despite what some of his legion might decry, the Doves were the foremost experts on genetics and biology, their methods to identify what these creatures have been doing will be needed.
Once they were all finished in preparations, they continued their mission. The smell of rotting meat was overpowering as they marched further down under the ground, the old mines only growing more and more akin to charnel dens as they walked past cavern networks filled with a mixture of blood and what was analogous to amniotic fluid, a fact that was clear when small crawling versions of the creatures nipped at the blood lakes edge, several Krak Grenades and Volkite chargers made quick work of that.
The Psychic scream of the Kindred was ever present in these lower depths, even to those untrained in any of the arts of the Warp, the Legion's consumption of those skilled in such matters had given them the knowledge to understand such effects, which made hunting these beasts all the easier.
But even as they killed what could only be guards and the young of the Kindred, the Astartes faced no large-scale resistance, at most only what could be considered pairs of tank sized guards, that were not fit for constricted tunnels or more agile foes. Melkerion frowned under his helmet, they had cleared out a majority of these mines, yet the leading "Progenitor" was nowhere to be found.
Even as the scream faded, and the mines left empty, there was clearly something else going on, something they would need to inform the rest of their operatives in their mission, these creatures being so close to Terra was not something that should be allowed under any circumstance.
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Across a dozen worlds of the Imperium, in their depths and forgotten places, masses congregated to altars of the three pointed star, adorning it in blood and viscera of sacrifices. Creating the Red of the Flesh to bind the Blue of the Soul and the Green of the Mind . Twas not only the great Kindred Minds who sang in psychic song and puppeted the man flesh who rejoiced and prayed, but all who would serve the 10 Lords of Dark Stars found their time was approaching, and that they only needed to wait.
"The Tides of the Warp are filled with the unworthy parasites that take without giving in turn, the Ten Lords are not that, they are the struggle and reward, they do not hide what they are, creators of Monsters. But Monsters are what thrive in this universe, that claw and feast upon that which suffers, if we must fill all the stars in the skies with Monsters to achieve peace, then so be it, we will live as Monsters"
After the true Fall of the Empire, many were left to scavenge and flee with whatever familial artifacts they could carry, some throwing themselves into the myriads of new political factions that formed, only to be absorbed after well timed betrayals or assassinations. Those left standing after this upheaval will be the strongest and cruelest of their kind, one must wonder what will be born out of this Dark Urge the Empire born have forced upon themselves. - Semia Vesorin, Bladesinger and Poet of the Craftworlds, Scribe of the Phoenix Lords
(Written by @Mortis Nuntius )
Although the Eldar Empire had fallen many of its rulers took years, even decades to appreciate this fact. They were aided in this delusion by the sheer scale of the task of hunting them down. A thousand fragments took time to crush to powder and the Imperium had greater priorities.
So for a time there was an certain stability as diminished Imperial forces spread across a vast front set about slowly reducing their broken foes who clung desperately to what isolated stronghold remained to them. One such stronghold grandiose title of the Empire of the Dark Muse consisted of three world and the tattered remains of Dravall's once mighty forces.
For a time they continued on as if the Empire had never fallen, crafting monsters in their great floating fortresses above the savage world of Kunoron, breeding and bleeding generations of Gladiators to fight and die for their amusement on the pleasure world Bachauns and plotting endless intrigues in the floating technological labyrinths of the capital of Cothanis.
When the Bronze Wings Chapter at last came across this so called Empire their frustration was great for they lacked the power to bring it to their knees. However they could at very least bleed it, and so began a prolonged campaign of raid and counter raid in the depths of space.
--
The Illusion of Choice shuddered in shame at the impact of the enemy ordinance from the not so crippled enemy frigate. Carengohne wanted to wipe the shame away by smashing the command console into small pieces with the skull of her attendant.
But with visible effort she refrained, settling for a slow almost gentle gesture, brushing Forty-Five with one of her exquisitely flesh shaped talons. Taking a deep breath as blood and tears flowed freely from the rent in the blue skinned slave's skull. It would have to do, she could not lose herself in the moment.
She sensed the murderous intent in three of her four stalwarts, Xecho had always been a difficult one to read, they blamed her for this fiasco no doubt, or Alamani-Zor-Ul was more advanced in her schemes.
"Later. Now is not the time for indulgences." Carengohne stated flatly, the taste of hypocrisy sweet and familiar on her tongue.
"We are yours to command Dracon." Lyamor confirmed humbly, his hands still on the ornate boned hilts of his twin powerblades.
"I treasure your loyalty." She responded just as humbly.
The familiarity of the lies helped ground her in the moment, their dull necessity cleansing the palate of her mind and allowing her a degree of much needed clarity, allowing her to appreciate the art of her enemy's design.
They had stalked the seemingly damaged frigate across the void for days, ever since the inconclusive clash above the Crimson Fortress. On long range sensors they had observed their faltering prey limp along with its squadron, falling further and further behind, they had listened to the increasingly terse and foreboding situation reports across seemingly encrypted vox channels, tasted the exquisite desperation projected from the back of the Astropath's mind.The almost flirtatious lighting raids as the Illusion harried its prey, disabling sensors and engines leaving it seemingly helpless as it crawled towards the false promise of safety.
The metaphorical scent of blood had been intoxicating and like a drunken slave Carengohne had stumbled blindly into the deadly trap ,making threats and promises false and true until the final blow was left to her and her alone. .
She wondered if the other Kabal leaders had realised that the gaping holes in its hull armour spilled enough radiation and debris to blind even the Aeldari's sensors to dozens of inactive boarding craft and drop pods and were even now toasting her misfortune. From experience she knew a ship that size would often hold barely a score of crude Monkeigh efforts at fleshcrafted warriors. A challenge of the most amusing kind they would have proven, there were several times that number at least storming her doomed ship.
"This is a battle we can win." Carengohne reassured them as she considered how long they would need to resist to provide an adequate distraction for her personal craft to escape.
She demanded a status report, the Monkeigh weapons were crude and inaccurate, but her own cruiser boasted a formidable arsenal of precise weapons and the gun crews had literally been whipped into shape. Her brothers and sisters in arms would doubtless take the opportunity for advancement if it was offered. Fortunately it appeared that fighting was across multiple decks and many critical systems were already in a state of failure, small mercies at least.
Carengohne forced herself to maintain a leasuirely pace, gliding over to the communications station. Within moments the Hierarch's hardlight form was before her, his sculpted features carved into mask of concern.
"Noble Hierarch. We are under assault, the Monkeigh have boarded us in force. We are fighting them for the glory of our prince but require reinforcement."
"Tyrant's chains. What a calamity, stay strong brave Carengohne I know you shall overcome." Engirikaan D'alar wept gracefully.
"So do I Hierarch, with your aid we shall triumph."
"Ah, rest assured we are making best speed."
She was not so impolite to ask in which direction.
"Best hurry, this is a rare chance to inflict a crippling blow on the Monkeigh they are yet still few in this region, if we slay hundreds of their warriors the balance will be in our favour."
"Yet the same can be true of our own forces." The Hierarch observed.
"Mayhaps, but we both know that glory is not bestowed on cowards." She preached, neglecting the second half of the proverb; they must make do with longevity.
"You have moved me my valiant sister. We are coming, hold on fight bravely and rest assured your trust will be rewarded and your valor long remembered." He pledged.
"My gratitude noble Hierarch, we shall leave some of the Monkeigh for you." She cut the link, a petty revenge but for now the only one in her power. One day she would be a Hierarch herself and it would be her privilege to write off an entire cruiser without a thought. In the meantime she would have to make do with humbler betrayals. She began broadcasting across the entire ship.
"Brothers and Sisters, hear me, reinforcement is imminent, victory is near. Give not an inch of ground, stand together and we shall triumph!"
She turned to her Stalwarts, which one of them to send? Lyamor was too impatient, his betrayal would come the moment he was beyond her sight. Zeetha was bloodthirsty enough to carry out the mission but lacked subtlety and was slow and clumsy enough to not avoid enemy fire that might otherwise hit Carengohne. Galerion had been the first to fall under her second in command's sway and was a skilled pilot besides, too risky.
That left Xecho, he was no less treacherous than the others and of all them posed perhaps the greatest threat, his intentions ever opaque even to Carengohne's well honed instinct, but of all of them he had the patience she had to hope he had invested too much in his betrayal to risk it all now on a chance.
"Xecho, I have a task for you, there is no one else I can trust. Find, Alamani-Zor-Ul protect her as you would me, her safety is my greatest concern."
Her assassin nodded and left without a word.
Carengohne half listened to chatter of communications, the battle was being lost even sooner than she'd have predicted, it seemed the Monkeigh had access to unusual levels of personal firepower. It was somewhat embarrassing to hear the death screams of her warriors barely distinguishable from the horde of slaves that made up the majority of the crew.
"With me." She commanded. "We will show these animals who they are dealing with." A counter attack was as good an excuse as any to abandon the bridge which would doubtless be stormed in minutes.
The hallways echoed with explosions and beams and war cries. It was by all accounts a beautiful slaughter, she set her helmet's audio receptors to record for later.
For form's sake she led them to the closest fire fight, a squad of monkeigh were wading through the blood of a dozen gladiators. Their armour was crude and mismatched even by monkeigh standards but she had to give them their due, their weapons were more than sufficient for the chattel sent against them. In a fair contest it would even have been a threat to the Stalwarts and their Dracon.
Carengohne activated the implanted explosives in the gladiators and before the dust had cleared the battle was joined. Zeetha's Hellglaive splintered one of the oversized Monkeigh's helm's on the first strike whilst Lyamor traded blows with another blade to blade. Galerion poured a hail of darkmatter from his blaster into the joins in the foes armour. Once her Stalwarts were safely engaged Carengohe joined the battle herself, hamstringing Lyamor's foe from behind. The surviving Monkeigh began swearing bloody oaths of vengeance but by then the Alderi had withdrawn.
"Slow, stupid, weak." Was Galerion's charitable assessment.
"We'll make short work of these fools." Zeetha crowed.
"Let us hope the next ones provide more sport." Lyamor offered.
The sounds of battle were growing louder all the time yet none of the Alderi seemed in any rush to make good their boasting and rejoin the fray and they tensed as one when they heard the familiar rumble of the heaviest of Monkeigh armour.
"The Tyrant heard you." Carengohne cursed.
"We cannot indulge in fruitless battles, we should redeploy where the need is greatest. Right now." Lyamor reasoned.
"I require additional ammunition, we should withdraw and replenish ourselves." Galerion reported suddenly.
Only Zeetha frowned. "We can take them, they're slow."
"Because they are carrying very very heavy ordinance." Carengohne explained patiently, waiting for the others to flee. Running first would be unseemly and expose her back to too much firepower.
"We must choose our battles."
"Like we chose this one?" Lyamor asked innocently as he followed Glaerion who had began the flight.
"Did you not hear me speak to the Hierarch, this is an unprecedented opportunity, our triumph will be a blazing beacon to rally the empire against the barbarians." She exalted whilst glancing behind her to make sure that she was out of Zeetha's fighting arc but still covered from any enemy fire.
Their banter was interrupted by the whole ship shaking violently.
"Why are they shooting at their prize Zeetha wondered."
"They're not." Spat a furious Carengohne. "That is the sound of my personal craft performing an emergency launch."
"She's fast." Lyamor noted admiringly.
"She left me." Galerion lamented, sounding more resigned than betrayed.
"I thought you sent Xecho to kill her." Zeetth queried.
"I do not know what you are talking about," Carengohne growled. "I clearly said that he was to protect her as he would me."
"What did I say?"
"The Tyrant's Mercy." Lyamor cursed.
"What?" Zeetha again.
"He's just figured out that if our valiant Dracon's craft is not an option we're going to have to use a pod…the closest of which is."
"Behind those over armored under evolved Monkeigh," Carengohne finished.
There were three of them, prowling forwards like tanks on two legs. Unleashing a torrent of explosive rounds on anything that moved. Judging by the piles of steaming meat spread across the hallway they were particularly effective against waves of poorly armoured targets. Against four of the Empire's finest warriors… they would probably need to reload afterwards.
"This is insanity." Galerion moaned.
"This is your plan." Zeetha pointed out.
"My plan was for you to be the bait sweet sister."
"You have the only ranged weapon."
"I know you have always envied it, I am happy to trade."
"Shut up. Galerion, take position or we'll cut your legs off and roll you out there."
His whimper was at least amusing, the situation however wasn't. A hundred meter deathzone to cross before closing into hand to hand range with crude but powerful foes with sensors keen enough to pierce the limited protection offered by the camouflage of their armor.
"On three, no tricks, we have one chance at this," Crengohne instructed, wishing she could conceive of some treachery of her own. It was never comfortable to have to rely on the loyalty of one's sworn bodyguards. She had fought alongside her Stalwarts for centuries they were her brothers and sisters, there was no one in the Galaxy she could depend on less.
"On three," She repeated.
"One…" In the same she and Lyamor shoved Galerion out into the open. His curses and blaster fire merged into one furious roar, only to be drowned out by a hurricane of the slouching Monkeigh's return fire.
The remaining Eldar sprinted towards the fire, running along walls, crawling along the floor and ceiling, roaring warcries and watching each other with one eye making sure that no one had come up with some last second stroke of inspiration. It seemed not, they followed the plan, closing within fifty meters before throwing their haywire grenades.
The hulking power armour was shielded of course, but three haywire grenades in close proximity was enough to buy seconds. Lyamor's power swords found a joint apiece and Zeetha again went for the head. Carengohne's hellglaive swung with the same intent but she was a fraction of a second slow, the monkeigh forced his deadend armour forwards causing her to mix the weakpoint, a second later she heard an an angry choking sound as the armour reactivated.
Carrengohne dove under it claws and ran for her life laughing in pure joy and terror, she had not felt so alive in decades. Her exhilaration had subsided to feeling of satisfaction when she arrived at the escape pod, it was somewhat diluted when she heard running feet and turned to find Lyamor.
"It tore Zeetha apart." He reported.
"Her sacrifice will be remembered." Carrengohne intoned. "We shall honour it by escaping."
"Of course."
They stepped into the pod together and in one moment of perfect unity they cursed fate and the cruel gods as they observed the complete sabotage of the console. It was impossible to identify whose handiwork had sealed their doom, but the final mechanism was clear enough.
The Monkeigh was larger than any of his kind had any right to be, the warpstench of death was unmistakable.
"So. They have Wraightlords of their own." Carrengohne observed.
"Who knew?" Lyamor commented, his fear was delicious.
Her fear was delicious, in all her centuries she'd never felt anything like this. The grim certainty, the Tyrant's grasping hands around her heart and throat. The final certain doom.
Carrengohne smiled beneath her helm.
"Lyamor, I'm glad its you with me. I always wanted to see you die."
"Likewise Carrengohne, likewise."
--
In one sense the war in the void was strategically insignificant, the paltry forces engaged mattered little to either the Imperium or Elder. The death of heroes was cheap currency at this stage in the Great Crusade and it is intensely debatable if in the grand scheme of things it had any true impact.
However there is much to be said for the poetry of blood in the water drawing sharks. And this region of space boasted many such predators.
The Rak'Gol were one such predator, their vast scrap fleets drawing ever closer but an altogether more insidious and deadly foe was already present on Bachauns.
Hurok Va Krillan had been born in the fighting pits, he had lived a life of blood and death and brotherhood. He had fought in the masters wars against each other and the barbarians, he had helped crush slave revolts and he had slain countless brothers and sisters for the amusement of the crowds. He in recent years had forgone armour and even clothing, instead dressing himself in the gore of his slaughtered foes.
The Krell had no sense of justice nor even irony, they did not choose to wear his skin for any reason other than it suited their purposes.
Dravall knew none of this when he begrudgingly opened negotiation with his hated rival Vect, but he had not survived so long without a shrewd awareness of nature's oldest law. The strong prey on the weak and if he did not rebuild his strength swiftly he was doomed to be devoured along with his entire race.
Civilizations across the Galaxy had an aversion to the Dark, an instinctual hold out from their time evolving, but one must wonder, is that aversion and fear truly unjustified.
Questions, the lifeblood of the universe that people of all species have had across the ages. Some universal, like for what purpose do they exist or what happens after we fade, others more specific to individuals on their own paths to better understand the universe around them.
But sometimes questions are better left unanswered, lest what you find brings you nothing but despair.
On the path for their own answers, five hundred members of the Steel Princes Legion along with one of their navel groups were given an order to investigate the strange happenings of Svartalfheim's destruction, long had that event gnawed in Ba'al Hamon's mind, and with five hundred of his children, he would ensure it would be answered.
Tanyih watched as her brothers and sisters sparred, warp transit even to known worlds took time and with time spent away from battle and their crafts, the legion must never be idle. At least that was her rationale,something she sincerely hoped to instill on her fellow leaders of this mission.
She watched as Kollskeg knocked over his sparring partner, a slight sneer forming as she watched, she did not have many she disliked out of her siblings, but that cocky and self assured brute was only good for battle, not someone that should have been able to become a member of the Steel Princes. With any luck, she will not have to experience too much time with him as they investigated, Kollskeg would match her gaze, at least the dislike was mutual between them.
"Sister Tanyih, you are requested on the bridge, we are receiving astropathic communications about our destination." Spoke one of her squad members, bringing her glaring against her brother to an end, as it should. It would be improper to hold onto such a grudge when there was duty to be done.
===
Ahumm prepared her tools as gently as she could, the holy oils being delicately dripped upon the hinges and silver pieces, each drop with a binary chant to the machine spirits of both the tools and of the wider vessel for keeping them safe upon their journey.
It was not often she had the chance to do this alone and to her old tools, she knew that it was a bit foolish to thank such simple spirits, whose being was not as complex as one belonging to a Bolter or the mighty vessels of the Imperium, but she felt it necessary all the same, for all tools were aspects of the Machine God.
===
To Kollskeg Hammonson, there was little more freeing than a good spar with his gene siblings, all the rush of battle and none of the hassle of war, a chance to really see what the enemies of mankind had to face, and improve before ever fighting them in person. He had won the bout and was congratulating his partner for their footwork, before he felt the shiver of eyes on him.
He turned his head and his eyes locked onto his commander's who watched him from above, the ever self righteous sister Tanyih, from the moment the two met, there was an animosity between them. Her being an overly strict and judgemental sort, while he considered himself no better than the rest of the legion, all willing to fight and die in arms.
But despite all his misgivings about being under her command, he held true to the values of his homeworld, of honor and the bonds of a warrior to his oaths, he will serve his Legion and father with all he was.
===
Hanno was silent as his brother prepared his incantations, personally he could never wrap his head around the concepts of the Warp and the Psykers who used it, but his brother Itthobaal had an extensive talent for it, it was a helpful tool in battle and the both of them managed to find minor acclime for their service against the foes of the Imperium.
He kept his excitement steady, it would be…unbecoming to revel in the act of killing, but he could not help it when an enemy of mankind was ended by his own action, who would not feel some satisfaction in their death.
===
Exiting warp travel, the expedition fleet would be above the world of Detmailer, where they have found word of information pertaining to the symbols of the Coffin that had a part to play in a planet's destruction, already they had pieced together some information that had led them here and were intent to find more.
It would be here that a hidden section of the world's oldest library would reveal a scroll with a route to a world with the same symbol as was upon the coffin as it's only marking, study and questioning would find that this scroll was a translation from Aeldari traders before Old Night, this world being a meeting place between the local worlds and the Eldar for trade.
Three hundred would be selected to be the first to explore this uncharted world, each accompanied with all necessary supplies and specialist roles to fight any kind of force that may hide upon the world. The journey to the system where the unnamed world was full of preparation and last minute training, none knew what they would find.
The world itself was rather barren, with only sparse vegetation and simple wildlife, the three hundred quickly spread out in search of anything even resembling a structure or hidden site as the Eldar were known to create, after some days of searching, they would find ruins of a design not unlike the Eldar, but also clearly made via some other culture. Deciding to investigate and scout ahead, fifthteen were sent into the depths, whit others standing guard at the entrance should any conflict arise.
The ruins held the same symbols of the coffin, but others as well, all giving off the same sense of dread with their own undercurrents. It was difficult to say for many of them what this meant, but they explored further into the ruins, lumens from their armors the only source of light the deeper they went.
As they descended, they would see murals and statues of strange and alien events and beings passing them by. Of note there seemed to be a repeating eight themes, though some were far older than others, some holding some similarities to the symbols of the coffin. Their trek ended in a large almost empty chamber, holding only a statue of some kind of strange being in the center of a floor wide Eight Pointed Star.
Being descended from a legion known for their talents in artistry and construction, the princes could tell that this chamber was ancient and the statue at the center of this eight pointed star was important for some context; they still could not tell if it was cultural or religious in nature. A small plaque was the only other object in the room, coated with thick dust and worn from time, only one word remained legible in any sense. The word would be a simple name, spoken aloud by an astartes unaware of what would be brought forth.
"Be'lakor"
With a shattering sound of glass and stone, the ruins shook and the shadows cast by their lights grew darker and darker, collecting in the shadow of the strange statue which grew in size as it became more than a shadow, and more a misty hole of shadows in the form of a creature.
For a moment, all was silent. The creature was…ethereal in a way, form misting at a glance as light barely pierced through the shadows it was created from. It almost seemed passive with how it looked around the chamber, it's gaze ceasing on the statue in the room, it reached out a shadowy arm to it, resting it upon one of the arms of the statue. Suddenly and without any provocation it ripped a chunk of stone from the statue and hurled it towards the Astartes.
The chunk of stone slammed into one marine with enough force to crush the chest cavity of the marine and send them flying back. Instantly all weapons were drawn and battle with the hostile began. Bolter and Volkite rounds fired into the shadowy mass only to pass through like they had hit nothing, its movements were erratic and sudden as it rushed towards Astartes, somehow lifting them up with great force and slamming them with equal ferocity into walls and the ground.
His mist-like form enveloped and entered into one marine, and like a puppet guided by unseen strings, unloaded their weapon upon their siblings, ending some and wounding the rest. All before turning it on themselves, the mist leaving the body and looking upon the survivors with what could only be satisfaction.
In a single moment, shadows became solid and simply appeared, dividing some in sections of their bodies. In what was only a few minutes, ten of the fifteenth had perished, leaving the last five in critical conditions. Wounded but undaunted they turned their weapons to the shadowy monster. A deep growl emanated from the shadows, but subsided as it was replaced by a laughter, instantly their Vox links erupted in scattered chatter as they said the Shadows were expanding and storm clouds across the planet gathered and unleashed a downpour of rain.
The beast that could only be Be'lakor faded away, leaving the five in increasing darkness, their screams of rage echoing in the dark.
Across the world, shadows would expand and shoot towards the skies in vast pillars of darkness, enveloping the planet in a veil of starless night, the laughter of the Dark Master resounded as storms began to cascade across the planet, leaving the two hundred and ninety to his entertainment.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As the Warp swallowed the world in the midst of the storm and endless night, the princes were scattered and left with the unknown hostile force plaguing them. The shadows of their light sources seemed darker and darker with each passing day, and as years began to pass by, effects began to be shown in the survivors, mutations of increasing severity were being inflicted on them and madness from the constant shadows infected their minds.
In the last decade, Tanyih has been trying to keep her forces under control, the wider Vox network could only reach so far and she quickly found some of her siblings losing themselves to mutations or having their resolve tested, fleeing into the wilds to either kill the unknown responsible or to isolate their shame.
Under her leadership, they had constructed a fortress near the ruins themselves, a place for those who were in the region to regroup if need be. However not all was well, that damned Kollskeg was continuing to question her orders, her methods. Like he was somehow her better for "Fighting against the mutants" directly, as if that barbarian knew her struggle of command.
No, she was going to be the one to lead the disunited groups to salvation, earning rightful glory and acclaim from the Primarch. And if he continues to be a threat, she'll deal with him like the barbarian he is.
===
Ahumm kneeled in prayer in front of her altar, ever an adherent to the Machine God, trying to fix the lanturn, her group was only meant to be out scouting, not being trapped in the dark of this cave system, they just needed shelter from the rains, but a roaming group had trapped them in the dark.
Her brothers and sisters were quick to fear and almost lost sight of themselves, some even going as far to curse the blessed machine god. She was quick to deal with those heretics, weeks of blasphemy had to be punished after all.
She just needed to prove her faith more, that was all. She just had to show she was faithful and they would be saved by their siblings in orbit, the Machine God will not abandon them, not to the shadows or the monsters within her Siblings that made them sin against their God. Its blessings will purify her, save her from her bleaching skin and face contorting into a rictus grin.
===
The valley mists were increasing in frequency, that much he could tell was true. Itthobaal's meditations were serving him well in keeping his mind occupied and free of the madness that steamed from similar mutations.
He supposed it could also stem from his connection to the Warp and training to shield his mind; he was lucky that the changing of his skin tone was not as effective as it would be to his sense of self, though many of his siblings had expressed fear upon seeing it and his…other changes.
Their fear was…no he had to remain focused, whatever is clawing at his mind won't have him, not when he was so close to releasing the mists, freeing them from this valley to help stabilize this madness. He had to do this, no matter how…tired he was getting.
===
Hanno had begun to wonder when he'd see another of his siblings, they rarely came to his portion of the valley anymore. He wondered if they've all given up trying to use the entrance or if any survivors warded them off of his "territory", that was until another had arrived, trepidation in each step as they approached.
There was fear in their eyes, they were relatively untouched by the mutations he's seen…how boring, he had grown to appreciate the variety in lives he snuffed out, the eternal darkness suited his desires more and more as time went on.
While most of his mass had wasted away with his mutation, he was no weaker for it as he rushed forward, swinging with his weapons and cleaving the traveler in twain. As he pulled his weapons out of the dead body, his gaze shifted to the wall of mist and the figure that sat beyond it, he wondered if they even realized their part in keeping the mists around the valley, though it did not matter in the end, he'll kill his foolish brother soon enough.
===
Chengdao sat in his workshop, many of the other techmarines had gone dark in the recent months, no doubt their own poor planning or their failsafes being outdone by the mad or the mutated. Unlike them, he had not spent his time without proper precaution, while others have stated their distaste for cannibalizing the weapons and armor of the fallen, they all needed to be practical and understand that the dead are worthless to care about.
One only needed to look at sister Yidya and her Squad's decimation, she nearly bit his hand off for suggesting that the dead be stripped for their armor and weapons. Absolute madness at the audacity.
Thinking about it, the last he had seen of her she had run off into the woods chasing a Shadow, good riddance, her wailing almost interrupted his crafting and nearly made his golden inlays uneven…he was running low on proper materials, perhaps he would need to "Speak" with some of the others, he need his armor to be better after all.
===
Sergius walked through the dark, his helmet having long been abandoned to ensure his growth was not impeded. The eternal night had become a soothing presence, a constant he could rely on for his work collecting the fallen's genes, not that he felt any better about how many were dying…perhaps this was a fruitless endeavor.
The roots dug into him with such a thought, no he had to secure the Geneseed, without it, all the death would be for nothing, he just had to keep collecting it. No other thoughts were needed, not about the ones who got in his way, nor how more and more his armor bulged from the roots expanding under his skin.
===
Yidya had been running for days now, she did not stop, not when that thing was still out of reach. It had come from the shadows and killed her squad like they were nothing. She would not let it get away, Chengdao wanted to remain and build up a new ammo stockpile, not get revenge for their fallen, a COWARD, she would remember his face for later.
Any time not spent in the chase, she spent sharpening her armor that had cracked and splintered away, cuts on her hands healed…wrong in the dark, but that did not matter, she would not be without a weapon to kill the shadow.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Decades would continue to pass, battles fought and losses climbing, all the while outside the fleet watched as the Planet flickered and shone with unnatural light for only a standard hour before the storm cleared. There was no sign of communications from any of the three hundred, but signs of activity would be spotted in two areas, one a massive battle scarred region and the other an isolated valley covered by a dense mist.
Choosing caution over reckless emotion, the fleet would send down small teams to investigate and locate any of the three hundred, never any in large numbers, but enough to perhaps fight and lend aid where needed.
Selecting to first investigate the battle scarred region as to not fly into unknown danger through mist. The squads would find fallen bodies of their siblings in various states of decay. At current estimates, at least two hundred years had passed for the oldest of the bodies found, but that was not the worry, for each body the teams found would denote more and more a divide amongst the survivors, through armor decoration or through mutation.
Locating any actual survivors was not as difficult as one would assume, as a Vox ping drew the squads towards perhaps the only structure on the planet they could say was here before their Brothers and Sisters were trapped. A massive ruin with symbols closely related to the objective of their search awaited them, sounds of clanging metal and roaring fury emanated from inside, which drew the Squads ever closer.
What dwelled in these ruins, despite first appearances, they were no humans or Astartes warriors. That was perfectly clear as the squads found the entryway to a deeper section of the ruins in a state of a brawl between four creatures that once were their kindred.
The first to draw the eye was the most normal appearing of the four, at first glance she seemed to be unmutated and simply adorned in modified armor, but looking closely, one would see the horns that crested out of her helmet like a crown of bones, watch as taloned hands clenched swords once held by various officers now defaced with strange symbols. Seeing the whip-like tail slashing at the other mutated, focusing primarily on another with a fury that was apparent even in an altered state.
The second stood undaunted from the attacks laid against it, their armor punctured by spike like protrusions they used as weapons while their body moved in erratic and unnatural ways, as if their body was more liquid then a solid. This along with a damaged helm revealed the mutations of a maw dripping blood from the protruding fangs and red eyes like a serpent, it roared with a fury unmatched as it swung
A glimmering mirage followed the third of the four, appearing like a Psyker of the Legion, but glimmers of the true creature shone through. An unarmored and blue skinned being with three eyes shimmering like fathomless depths floated around the battlefield, all while three tendrils flowed from his back that struck out at anything that drew close.
The last of the four was a horrid creature of flesh and metal, skin of purest white that pock marked with twisting machines that cut into flesh, tears streamed down her face from glassy eyes endlessly while her mouth was forced into an eternal smile. Armed with a twisted spiked hammer it sang hymns of binary which was simply nonsense if translated.
The appearance of the newcomers did not even register to the four as they fought, only being noticed as one was flung close to the stunned onlookers, instantly they all spoke, clamoring to the squads to join them
"Fight under me whelps, they are traitors and monsters to the Primarch! " Commanded the mutated wretch, the tone indicating further unseen mutations that left her speech warped.
"Brotherss and Sissterss, do not lissten to this tyrant, join me and we can truly be free" hissed the raging brute, blood dripping from his fangs.
"Listen not to them my siblings, they have lost themselves to this world's madness,come to me and we can cure them. " whispered the floating mystic in the minds of all who saw him.
"Join…IN…PRAYER…lest..YOU…be…Heretics!" screamed the twisted amalgam of flesh and metal from speakers in it's throat, face unmoving in it's own grin and misery.
Despite the pleading of the mutated, the answer was clear, such abominations would not stand and the squads took aim. Each of the creatures snarled and acted, ceasing their own internal conflict and rushing to fight the newcomers.
The identities of the mutants became clear as the fight began, many knowing of or having sparred with these souls, Commander Tanyih, Brother Kollskeg, Itthobaal , Techmarine Ahumm. Each undeserving of their fates, and with many memories that held back some from delivering necessary deliverance.
Tanyih was the fastest of the four, a swirling storm of blade and claw, each cut made to incapacitate and not kill, she danced between astartes, seemingly searching for one in particular. Upon finding them, her tail, her talons and her blade descended upon them with a flurry of strikes that despite best efforts could not be held back, leaving the victim cut apart.
Kollskeg in contrast was a moving wall, taking every punishment in an unflinching charge, barreling over any in his way and piercing through armor with his arm spikes. Crushing or piercing through his foes with a zeal unmatched.
Itthobaal floated above all, his tendrils swiping out at random, but his main threat came from his mental attacks, illusions of horrific amalgams of events and people distracted and confused the astartes, leaving them vulnerable to the other mutants.
Finally Ahumm was as she appeared to worship, an uncaring machine of violence as her hammer struck with precision and cold fury, simplistic compared to the other three, but just as tenacious.
But even with their altered forms and deadly attacks, they were still only four and could not withstand the coordinated efforts of the Princes. The first to fall was the tortured priest of the Machine, Ahumm, her form unable to withstand the damage done to the metallic apparatus that coated her, shattering apart along with her body.
Kollskeg was next to fall, Volkite lances cut through his armor and left molten gashes across his body, eventually he would slow and collapse, dead from the amount of damage unleashed upon him.
Tanyih would be felled by an inglorious, but effective method, as a bundle of Krak grenades would be shoved into the mutant before slamming her into the deeper tunnel entrance,the resulting explosion left a bloody mess, but clearly killed her.
The last left standing was Itthobaal, his illusions and relative agility had kept what damage he sustained light, but his powers could not hold out against a concentrated effort, his head fell from a clean slash from a power sword, ending the mutant psyker.
As the last of the four died, the mist surrounding the valley had vanished, leaving it open for squads to investigate. With the possibility of more mutated or twisted forces, the injured squads were switched out with a full battle group, armed to the teeth with the most effective weapons they could bring to arms.
Entering the valley, they were met with similar sights of dead brothers and sisters, thought unlike the battlefield, it seemed here there was no division into factions, but just simple slaughter, most worrying was the signs of the geneseed being ripped out of their bodies, and they could not tell if they were dead when such a process occurred
Like before, four mutated beings were heard fighting in the distance, however it sounded far more devastating than the prior one. It would not take long following the sounds to a relatively open area, broken stones and patches of wet earth rose up from impacts as four beings fought each other.
The first being was at first assumed to be a dreadnought, but no such member was sent on the expedition. It became clear that their armor was more than it seemed as flames emitted from eye sockets and golden inlays flowed like a liquid from each strike. Steam rose from each step, it's body burning the liquid still in the ground where it walked, it fought with no weapons, it's sheer bulk being enough.
The second was a shambling mass of roots which coated and entered a nearly suspended body entrapped in the roots. Though it would be a mistake to assume that the figure was dead, as the roots pulsed and bled when cut, while the body itself fought with a slow persistence.
Only slight mutations were visible on the one that attacked the tree like being, what flesh was seen was gaunt and pale. But despite the relative normality of it's appearance, there was a dreadful empty feeling felt by all who looked at him, which was only exasperated as when hit by other weapons, it did not bleed, only emit a black dust.
The last was a beast-like thing, broken and cracked armor adorned it's bulging frame. Qualities more befitting a wild beast adorned her features,much of her face had been altered as flesh was stretched taut over a canine like jaw, long deep wounds were visible across her body, some seeming to match her own long claws that were in place of fingers.
The mutated Astartes turned as the first gun was raised to fire upon them. Their snarls and angered grones were enough to know they would not attempt to convince their unaltered kindred of anything.
"MORE INTERRUPTIONS, YOU WILL PAY IN YOUR METAL!" Rumbled the flame touched behemoth, its steps rumbling the earth beneath their feet.
"Keep… Geneseed…Secure…Bodies… " Groaned out the shambling mass of roots, muffled from the roots blocking most of the suspended marine's airways.
"More arrive, more to die…wonderful. " Rasped out the husk, the only semblance of life being the sheer delight at the prospect of killing.
"Now you arrive RUGGGHHH, Hate…Will Kill YOU!" howled the mutated beast, her rage and hate unfiltered as old and new wounds opened with her sudden movements.
As before, the identities of the four became clear in combat, Techmarine Chengdao, Apothecary Sergius, Brother Hanno, Sister Yidya. Unlike the prior group, there was no hesitation of what needed to be done, these creatures here tainted the memories of their kin and would be put to death.
The battle against these four was just as costly as the prior one, but unlike before they still fought amongst themselves even battling, rushing towards the squads unflinching from any damage levied against them, while also slashing out at the others.
Chengdao unexpectedly was not a rampaging brute as his form would suggest, methodically striking and grappling with foes, letting the intense heat of his form do the rest, leaving burns and strands of molten gold upon his foes.
Sergius fought as a slow and creeping death, his roots slamming into foes and constricting them,while he ripped out geneseed with the overgrown remains of his tools, a horrific parody of his prior duties that angered Apothecaries of the battlegroup as they saw.
Hanno could best be described as a stalking dread, escaping from view to devastate others in mere moments, his strange black dust flew through the air as he sped around the battlefield, obscuring sight as it hung in the air.
Yidya fought like her form would imply, like a rabid animal she lunges and bit at her foes, tearing apart armor and flesh with surprising ease and consuming pieces of flesh that she could get to.
Deciding to focus on the rampaging mass of roots first, lances of volkite cut into the thrashing roots, distracting the mutant so that one wielding an experimental Electro-fist could slam the weapon into Sergius's head, sparking arcs burned into the roots and te force shattering any remains of life.
Next to fall would be the monstrous Yidya, goading her into direct combat was an easy matter as her rage guided her more than sense. Though she would leave many wounded and dead, one combatant managed to slam into her and pin her to the ground. Jamming a plasma pistol into her open maw and firing, leaving a burning hole at the exit wound and ending the monster.
The decision to target Hanno was not made by the group as the silent killer lept towards the main lines, forcing them to focus on the dust bleeding creature. Almost nothing they used against the mutant stopped it's attacks, such a foe required the use of a Vortex Grenade to truly end.
The final to fall would be Chengdao, his armor having been damaged by continuous fire and damage from the other mutants. But he continued to thrash and fight despite everything, even utilizing Psyker arts to destroy the limbs of the armored foe stopped it's rage, but unlike the prior foe, it would be dealt with a substantial strike via an Electro-fist, destroying most of the armor's systems and finally ending the beast, the flames sputtering out.
With the last of the mutants dead, the fallen upon the world would be gathered to rest, both old and new, but the last eight would be preserved for a different matter, the state of the other fallen placed the last death several decades in their time. Which meant these eight had survived fighting each other, through mutation and madness for far longer than any others, whatever this meant and what the ruins with those symbols did, needed to be shown to the Primarch.
"Often it is putting perspective on your own insignificance to the universe, is what helps you find your place in it"-Words of Uriah Olathaire, Priest of Terra, Last known instance of the Banned Work in the Library of the Emperor, Passage deemed antithetical to the Imperial Truth and left to be forgotten.
While stories of war and conflict are always abundant in the Imperium of Man, there are thousands of other tales being spun at every moment, events that shaped thousands of lives that many will never be aware of. But here, we take a look at one such tale, a tale of research and learning.
Count Pandora of Stormgard, tasked by the Primarch Savnok to locate one of the Levianthan, a warp and void dwelling species of animal. Just so that their homeworld and the wider Imperium could benefit from knowing of a creature that so readily enters and exits the Warp through means unknown to mankind. Sent with her would be veterans from the Murder campaign, sent by their lord father for prior service and prior experience with the Leviathan creatures, if only in passing.
Weeks of searching would turn up little but rumors and glimpses of sightings would lead them on a path outside of established warp routes and into unknown paths, often finding nothing, but perseverance would win eventually.
Finally, they would find a Leviathan in the depths of space. The scale of which baffled the minds of menials and crewmembers of the Warship, a titan of flesh that emulated what many knew as fish or other derived animals upon their homeworlds, but Pandora knew of a proper name for this being, remembering old stories brought from Terra to Stormguard, one where a strange puppet longed to be human and faced a monstrous creature of the seas.
This was a Whale of the Void, a Cosmos Cetacea. Something Pandora would ensure Stormgard learns all they can about these marvelous leviathans.
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Months passed as study of the colossal creature continued, Pandora and other documented new findings everyday, about it's diet as a Filterfeeder, but with it's size it consumed asteroid clusters and other sources of minerals that floated about deep space.
Having given the creature the name of Jasconius, study was slow at first as they needed to create a means of studying the biology and nature of the creature without damaging it or causing it to react aggressively. But once a means of comparing it to similar fauna across various Imperial worlds, enough guess work could be extrapolated to give way to something that could be tested with effort.
It was learned that the beast, despite being eyeless was not blind in the traditional sense, as it could feel gravity in a way that allowed it to find food and avoid things. It was for this reason they avoided systems if they could, their senses would be overloaded by information around them. Their various tendrils across their facial region helped with this process as they seemed the most reactive parts of the body.
However the greatest find was when Pandora braved a small expedition onto the creature's body, intent on gathering samples of the various hair-like spines that dotted the beast's form. She would bring back the material, it was not hair, nor bone. In truth the material was more akin to a metal, a durable and nearly indestructible biological metal, with some further study it would be apparent that this material was the same as their armored crest upon their facial region, one that is known in void born legends as strong enough to break through any vessel.
The Astartes watched the proceedings with only a slight indifference, ever cautious of the behemoth that their ship orbited. But their own downtime not spent in training and learning of the creature they intended to one day utilize had included time spent in silent contemplation of the leviathan, watching as it's slight movements kept it moving forward at a glacial pace, the reason for it's continued material travel a boon for research for sure, but why had it not returned to the Warp.
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Navigator Harlan Quitius was uneasy, the eyeless gaze of Jasconius weighed heavily on him in a way he could not describe in words. The creature was old, study from the others had shown that much, but none of them could see what he could when he gazed upon it with his third eye.
He did not even intend to do so, merely checking on the Astronomica and the Beacon Moons as one does when they are without travel. But he saw Jasconius's…being, far more vast in the Warp itself,it's many tendrils taking on a different shape, forming into flowing rivers of light. Sigils and Symbols adorned it's massive body, shifting and presenting scenes of what Harlan could only assume was the creature's life.
He saw as those symbols danced across the creature's vast body in displays that…touched a part of Harlan's self that he could not describe into words. He could tell instinctively the being was dreaming, not because of the symbols, but because of the wispy trails that led above the beast into small ship sized versions of the leviathan, he saw as it dreamt new life into being. He wondered if that was why it was so unresponsive to their presence, or if it truly saw them as no threat to it or it's still growing spawn.
That was…a sobering thought, that this being that could effortlessly destroy one of the greatest warships of the Imperium, had no concern about them being this close, even animals did not let anything dangerous near their young, yet this creature had no violent impulses even ones that could be understood. It simply existed and drifted.
He knew they could act in defense, reports and records of various orkish fleets left destroyed and adrift in the deep void told enough of these beasts capabilities. It's passivity and gentle eternal voyage across the void was…humbling to the Navigator, but the unease remained, it's spiritual form while dazzling to gaze upon, was not static like it's physical sleeping form, and defended it's young with both speed and aggression unbelievable if one only had it's comatose body to compare.
He saw as tentacled beasts of empty thought and great vermin of hatred crept close to the still forming, battered and slammed away by the protective rivers of light and the leviathan's own spiritual body. As a Navigator, he and his noble house have seen many things in the Warp, but seeing such blatant and honest protective instincts against such wrong horrors…he almost wondered, must all life other than man be eradicated, if the souls of such inhuman creatures can be as pure as this…are we wrong to seek such destruction.
Till his final days, Harlan would never speak a word of these thoughts, but held onto them all the same, a quiet distaste for the violence and cruelty, born out of a parent's love for their children. Indeed all who returned from the research expedition would seem…changed by the experience, the researchers having understood a deeper part of their galaxy would continue their own effort to unravel and learn. The Astartes would gain a semblance of peace they had never known they had not had. And Count Pandora herself would be humbled in some way, for when you walk upon the flesh of a giant, it puts into perspective your place in the universe.
On Stormgard there is a saying, 'history happens in decades or days'. There had been many such days in the recent past, yet complacency had set in all the same and as always this was punished swiftly.
The spark was a protest at temporary Starport Brama-3. Established in the ruins of Stormgard's premier city it had become a major transit hub for settlers being sent offworld. Not all the would be settlers were volunteers, indeed many had been swept up by patrols or taken directly from refugee camps, promised a new future on Stormgard's new worlds and given no choice in the matter millions shuffled warily through its gates.
But a few dozen were not cowed, they unfurled banners and sat or lay on the ground, stubbornly refusing to leave their birth world. A pinprick of defiance in a sea of compliance, it would have amounted to nothing if the Enforcers had not opened fire, killing scores of protesters and anyone unfortunate enough to be in the way, hundreds more were injured in the crush.
Many would wonder in years to come just what they expected to achieve with naked murder, but whatever their intent the outcome was decidedly different. Outraged and terrified in equal measure the crowd threw themselves at the small detachment of enforcers and within minutes burying them under a tide of humanity. Within an hour the entire Starport was occupied.
The initial response was tepid and disorganized, the enforcers had been gutted during the Skaven uprising and most of their remaining strength was hopelessly dispersed on clean up operations. Their numbers had been supplemented by the PDF, in Brama's case the 3rd Storm Army however its chief of staff declined to offer support for crushing the protest believing it would peter out in time.
Precious days were wasted through indecision, during which time the masses occupying the Starport began to organize themselves. Stormgardians have a reputation for discipline and even when in revolt this proved useful, a temporary committee was established and a list of demands was put together. Chiefly was an end to involuntary deportations and a more equal reconstruction effort.
By this point the Enforcers and elements of 3rd Storm Army had gathered enough force to suppress the uprising violently, however what they had not counted on was several battalions mutinying upon receiving orders to advance on the port. These units had largely been drawn from Brama itself and many were sympathetic to the plight of the deportees. It took a standard day to crush the mutiny, however the sign of Stormgardian forces shedding each other's blood sent shockwaves through Brama and soon many districts were occupied by sympathetic protestors.
Enough was enough, Patrek Barbera had been observing matters from his laboratory come command bunker and personally offended by the disorder planned Operation Barrier. Three Centuries of Astartes would launch a droppod assault onto the source of the disorder and reassert control by any means necessary.
At least that was the theory. Who exactly leaked the timing and method of the attack is a question unanswered to this day. The rebel response is rather less shrouded in mystery, there is not much to ponder about multiple passenger freighters being launched as impromptu missiles directly into the path of the drop pods smashing them off course.
Denied surprised and badly out of position the Eternity Guardians rallied and launched a ground assault, chainswords and bolters loosed upon the people of Stormgard.They punched through the perimeter and began clearing the port, brutally slaying thousands and with them any hope of snuffing out serious unrest.
Messages and footage of the slaughter were sent live minute by minute, it is again unknown who in Stormgard's authorities enabled this but its effect was to spur spontaneous uprisings across much of the planet. In the immediate vicinity Andromalius the local Enforcer Commander issued an ultimatum to the Eternity Guardians, cease their assault or be stopped with lethal force.
The Astartes laughed off this threat but found themselves confronted with the heavy armour and artillery of 3rd Storm Army, caught on two sides by mortals the Captain of the Strike-Force reluctantly gave the order to withdraw.
Taking the opportunity Andromalius would negotiate directly with the surviving committee members and with the approval of the Chief of Staff of 3rd Storm Army agree to halt any involuntary deportations, the wider demands were not within his gift to give but the port resumed operation and for a precious moment it seemed that the storm had passed.
Until a group calling themselves the Restorationists announced a day of action planetwide, urging all workers to down tools and soldiers to refuse any orders to attack their brothers and sisters. The damage it seemed had been done and the authority of Stormgard's government fatally undermined.
Decrees went out declaring such actions illegal and promising maximum force against any lawbreakers but when billions took to the streets there was surprisingly little violence. It would only be many years later that it was revealed that a council of those Eternity Guard on or near Stormgard had debated fiercely whether or not to unleash their full arsenal and subjugate the planet, but in the end the though of conquering their own homeworld was too much and so they opted to wait.
Over the coming weeks and months the largely undirected mass slowly collapsed around a number of organizations and ideologies. Whilst there was general agreement that Stormgard's governance was inadequate if and how it would be replaced were widely debated. What soon became clear however was there was precious little appetite for suppressing the masses violently. Stormgard's government were divided and demoralized and even at the highest levels there were voices supportive of reform.
The possibility of an organized counter-revolution and purge was removed when an Astropathic command from Lord Savnok commanded that all security and military forces act only in self defence and take no aggressive actions against the populace. He furthermore stated that the Eternity Guard would protect Stormgard and cooperate with any legitimate government regardless of form.
Into this general vacuum, many mid level authorities and impromptu Citizen Councils formed to to manage the transition, though nobody was yet sure what they were transitioning too. By the end of the year Stormgard's ruling body had voluntarily dissolved itself, replaced by an interim council headed by Barbera and a number of functionaries and representatives of the larger populist groups carefully balanced on a bewildering mess of factions and interest groups.
The council lasted barely two years before being replaced by The Popular Coordination Committee of Stormgard.
This group representing several thousand Citizen Councils pledged to rebuild the ruined cities, enable greater representation of the populace, restore Stormgardian society to a heavily mythologised egalitarian past and bring about an end to contamination of its values from the wider Imperium.
Among its first acts was to seize control of the Infernus Corporation and numerous commercial and government enterprises in the possession of relatives of the Primarch. It would also disband the Enforcers replacing them with the Judicial Service, under the command of Andromalius Law-Keeper of Stormgard.
The new Stormgard's relationship with the wider Imperium would not be immediately settled but the prompt assistance sent to the Hellenic League and the steady flow of volunteers towards the Great Crusade reassured many that there was no chance of secession. However the open hostility towards outsiders and the common practices of the Galactic Nobility seemed to promise a complicated relationship at very least.
The wars of the Imperium dragged on, ever hungry for more. More men, more munitions, more iron. The struggles both on the battlefield and off it took most waking hours of even those at the Imperium's pinnacle, the Primarchs - most hours, but not all.
Between the galactic core, the Eye of Terror and the former domain of the Slaugth, there were few points of infrastructure to support a Legion's fleet. Ad-hoc berths had been established over many systems, spreading the triumphant Knights Romantic & Eternity Guard navies across the region while they recovered from the final days of their war.
One such system near Zerket played host to the two legion's Primarchs, and the fervor of labor & celebration was only heightened when word came that a third Primarch, Ba'al Hamon, would pass through the system in a supply-fleet from Avalon. It was quickly agreed that the three would meet, taking advantage of the rare opportunity.
"Stalwart Guardian, Resplendent Knight," Hamon greeted his siblings. "How have you fared since we last spoke?"
"Welcome to you too, brother," Aurelia greeted him in her usual dry voice. "Rather troublesome on my end. Nothing but an endless tide of vermin and filth covering the stars though by now I am finally done with the cleanup and the worms should trouble us no longer. Making some use of the empty real estate however is going to prove something of a challenge beyond letting the Mechanicus turn the worlds into materials. But at least one chapter of this crusade is finally closed."
Clearly in a good mood, she grabbed 3 glasses and a bottle out of a cabinet on the wall and poured all of them a glass of red wine.
"I suppose this calls for a celebration of some kind, though given the kind of ending, Savnok's wine from Stormguard is rather fitting."
"Brother," Savnok inclined his head in greeting. "Your assistance in the Endurance project has allowed it to progress ahead of schedule. Stormgard's recovery is an ongoing process and our campaign here has been brought to a successful conclusion. On a personal note, I am glad to see you again."
"As I am glad to see you," Hamon nodded, accepting the glass from Aurelia. "I'd heard that the campaign here had grown quite devastating. Restoring it might be a project for once the machines are dispatched and the last corners of the galaxy enlightened."
He took a moment to test the wine, swirling it around in the glass while he decoded its profile. "A strong aroma and flavor, fruity, yet not so tart as to agitate the tongue overmuch, and I suspect pleasing to both experienced drinkers like ourselves and mortal novices. My compliments to the maker, and my congratulations to your shared victory."
"Indeed, the campaign has been mired in nothing but ashes and disappointments. Every world we took by fighting took a toll of blood, only to deal with the worms' remaining flesh puppets, proving a further drain on resources. In the end there was little strategic choice but to crush the worms in the void and bombard the worlds to a point, where a minimal force could take them provided anything but ashes and dust remained below. Unless I wanted to sacrifice more thousands of my astartes and millions of the Imperial Army, there was no choice, not with the Men of Iron rearing their abominable head in the north-east," Aurelia summed up in two minutes what had been years of devastation and thousands of worlds glassed and turned into lifeless rocks.
"It was necessary and so it was done," Savnok condoned flatly. "But now we move forward, our work is not yet finished yet the Crusade appears to be reaching its concluding phase. Hard battles remain to be fought but this long war is almost over and we can turn our attention to humanity's advancement in areas other than the territorial."
"Someone is feeling optimistic. From the reports and my own experience, the Men of Iron might still result in a centuries long war given the level of forces they are able to recover. Though maybe afterwards we will be able to repair some of the messes we have made along the way and recreate some of the wonders we have lost during the Long Night," Aurelia said.
Hamon shook his head. "The abominations are certainly industrious, I'll give them that - but for all that they've put in our path or changed to mimic us, our advance has continued apace. Some might escape to become lowly pirates over the coming centuries, but once their capital worlds are broken underfoot they won't muster up much resistance for the rest of the purgation."
"They are a formidable force, but we are a greater one, it is merely a question of expended resources by this point," Savnok concluded.
"Unless they keep pulling out superweapons. They have already pulled out two of them and frankly I am a bit annoyed at being upstaged. Maybe I should build a new one," Aurelia pointed out.
"Perhaps something to pin a target in place, so that the Sun Gun may fire upon them? A gravitic weapon perhaps, or a super-sized minelayer to cut off swathes of space," Hamon pondered. "Though building such a ship would likely require the dockyards of Terra or another major planet."
"You must really come by Trono sometime. I have actually taken a page out of the playbook of the Mechnicus and started to build my own version of the Ring of Iron. While it is nowhere near finished yet, I have no doubt that it will be able to build super-capital vessels in due time," Aurelia proudly stated.
"I'd be glad to take you up on that invitation."
"And yet you hold the secrets of the Sun Gun from my Techmarines," Savnok came as close as he ever did to complaining.
"Secrets? What secrets? It's merely a very large energy gun scaled to super-capital size. I am sure your tech-marines will have no trouble making it work," Aurelia deflected.
Savnok looked at her intently but said nothing.
"So what are your plans Ba'al Hamon? Are you intending to deliver the finishing blow against the capital worlds of the Men of Iron as you suggested earlier?" Aurelia unsubtly tried to change the topic.
"If all goes well, then yes. Currently my forces are aiming to join the Warriors of Peace & Father in the southern front, and provide them additional armored support while Minerva and others attack from the north," Hamon answered. He took another sip of his wine, stared down at it for a moment, and continued, "It will be the first time I've campaigned alongside him in nearly a century. I'm not sure whether I anticipate it or not."
"Father is a formidable force and a wise ruler but we were not created to serve under his direct command, even Reon chafes." Savnok noted. "We did not part on good terms. The grand strategic picture often overwhelms even his ability to invest in the building blocks of success."
Hamon gave his brother an evaluating look. More curious than censuring, he asked, "You question his judgment?"
"He is human, operating on incomplete information and limited by the means at his disposal, he is fallible as we all are."
"True enough - but for some decisions, it is hard to reconcile with his psychic powers allowing prognostication," Hamon replied. "Axinos in particular has weighed on me for some time."
"Yes." Was all his killer had to say.
"It is unfortunate that he passed on a mission given by Father," Hamon continued, voice carefully neutral. "Against a foe which we have received no information on, and in a region where Varil, loyal and mighty witchseeker she is, would travel the breadth of the galaxy to reach shortly thereafter."
"There are many facets of this galaxy that we have little understanding of and Father fears what a little knowledge could lead us too. He asks for our trust in this."
"We've fought mind stealers and sorcerer lords before without being questioned, have we not? Burned cities and slain armies to free worlds from enthrallment; uncovered horrors and dispatched them within the year," Hamon put his glass down and spread his hands wide in confusion. "Yet when our brother dies, we are not to avenge him, much less prepare for if we should encounter his foe ourselves."
"He has been avenged already." Savnok promised, "And it would be better if we did not encounter their like again unprepared. Father has placed restrictions on our interaction with the Warp. Is this what you came here to speak about?"
"...No," Hamon answered after a moment. "No, I came here to see my siblings again after years apart. I apologize for the digression I made."
"Well I doubt it will be a problem, since I don't believe we need to raise this particular episode to anyone else." Aurelia spoke while fixing Savnok with her gaze.
"There is nothing to apologize for, brother."
Hamon nodded, sitting back in his chair. He did not fully think the Emperor responsible for Lorgar and Axinos' deaths, with motive and means both being dubious, but the prospect was concerning - if he had played a part, when he could still make use of them in crusading, then what would become of the rest when the galaxy was won? Whittled away in psychic 'disasters', any lone rebels instead being crushed by their still-loyal siblings?
It was not as if Hamon could share these doubts with many either. The Emperor was beyond reproach, his authority and power absolute - if his fears were true then to question the Emperor directly would just make him next. His siblings who might know more were also those that would never share it - Savnok was likely under orders to stay quiet, Varil and Starscream too loyal & boorish to varying degrees to be approached either - and those that would be most receptive (Ahurani, perhaps Fonias) had their own issues. He was stuck with the nagging dread in the back of his mind, another gift from his father to join the shame & indignation of bending the knee.
"It is good to see you too brother. Our paths diverge too often in recent times." Savnok offered.
"Indeed. We've certainly been scattered far," Hamon said, taking up his glass once again. "With luck, though, all of us will be meeting again soon."
"It is almost a certainty that most of us will gather in the galactic north-east, with father having left Terra to combat what is maybe the largest threat to the Great Crusade we have encountered to date." Aurelia remarked. "As well as the fact that some of us will no doubt start butting heads with each other."
"Unfortunately I believe you are correct." Savnok concurred.
"Any in particular that have you worried?" Hamon asked the two.
"Minerva." was Savnok's inevitable response.
"Really? I'd think, with her efforts to organize her 'Bloodbowl' tournaments and having taken a leading role in the Steel Crusade, that she's joined the most cordial of our family."
"Her sole motivation is self aggrandizement and enrichment. She has placed herself unwanted and unnecessarily in multiple situations and is a corrupting and destabilizing influence on the Great Crusade and this Imperium."
"Is that the reason she became the 'defender of the faith'?" Aurelia inquired while twirling her wine glass. "Though buying the title for 500 thrones is certainly an interesting way to go at it, at least according to the rumours that have been passed to me."
Hamon snorted. "She's fought valiantly in the greatest battles of the last century, including for your world, and you consider her 'corrupting'?"
"Yes."
"Very well," Hamon said after a moment, a flat stare aimed at Savnok. "How has she destabilized things, from what you've seen?"
"She has subverted institutions to her own purposes such as the Adminstatum and Mechanicus, she willfully and gleefully consorted with thieves and pirates and she makes a mockery of the principles of reason and order that this Imperium is meant to stand for."
"She commands the Rogue Traders, explorers & privateers commissioned by the Emperor. Do you disagree with him on this?"
"Yes. It is a flawed concept that will have serious consequences in the years to come."
" Not everyone can be as perfect as us." Aurelia stated with a smug certainty. "After all we are our fathers favorite daughter"
"We've all had our share of fools to deal with, I'll give you that Aurelia," Hamon muttered. "But Savnok, the Rogue Traders' oaths to the Emperor predate even the Mechanicum's joining with Terra - if they defy our Imperium's ideals, then they have done so since the Imperium first had ideals to spread; and if you're convinced that they go against our interests, you've not done much on the matter."
"It would be counterproductive to divide the Imperium when it is beset by enemies and defying father on this would have costs far beyond any benefit. It does not change that I view his decision as a mistake."
"I think there is a misunderstanding there, for while the Rogue traders have a certain amount of latitude given the need for flexibility far from Imperial borders, there can be absolutely no question about the Imperium being divided. Should anyone try to officially secede there is only one answer to that." Aurelia stated in a sudden switch of temperament that left no question in regards to her conviction.
"I agree. Unity is key in these times more than any before - and it is for that reason that Minerva's efforts are commendable. The Rogue Traders stride afar from the Imperium, and could turn to serve themselves rather than the common good were there no oversight. You say she gleefully consorts with them? I say that she has enticed them into her sight, where she can preempt poor behavior, as masterfully as any iterator we've sent to reshape a problematic world," Hamon said.
"If we accept that the Rogue Traders are flawed as an institution - which I do only partially - then having a Primarch to watch over them does naught but good."
"In conjunction with her alliance with the Mechanicum and her, commercial ventures. It represents a dangerous weakness at the heart of the Imperium." Savnok insisted stubbornly.
"Her ties to so many structures mean she is further incentivized to support the Imperium," Hamon shot back.
"And what happens when she meets someone willing to pay a greater price than the Emperor for her supposed loyalty?" Savnok asked.
"Who could do that, Savnok? Who could offer more than the man that rules the galaxy, his words honeyed by bonds of blood and steeled by the might of a trillion soldiers?"
Savnok looked intently at his brother. "Our enemies must never be underestimated, our understanding of the galaxy and our own power and security are all easily overestimated to our great cost. As Axinos learned."
"Not to be underestimated, but neither to be…" Hamon stopped, anger draining from his frame as he thought of what might have been implied. Savnok had emphasized their father's order not to learn of whatever killed Axinos, what they had 'little understanding of' in the galaxy, earlier. Now, again, he spoke of their understanding of the galaxy when saying Minerva would turn for a price.
"'As Axinos learned,' so would Minerva?"
Savnok did not speak for several moments. "Our brother was arrogant, he believed himself too clever and too powerful for consequences to matter, he sought power he did not understand and nearly doomed his legion and worlds to destruction. The Emperor has sworn me to secrecy brother, I know you want to know the truth, I believe that you need to know the truth, so I shall tell you what little I can. But if I can disobey him in spirit for my own reasons how can I trust a Queen of Criminals not to do the same?"
He shook his head slowly.
"But what you need to understand is this. Axinos believed that he could make a pact with mankind's enemies and upon discovery they betrayed him, totally and completely. By the end what was left of him was tortured and broken and turned against mankind. Death was the only mercy I could give him. I never want to be in such a position again and the Imperium cannot afford it."
Savnok looked between his siblings, frozen emerald eyes disconcertingly intense even for a Primarch.
"So brother, sister, never underestimate the threats we face within and without and do not forget that for all our dismissal of baseline humans as 'mortal' ultimately we too remain such with every capacity for greed and pride and recklessness and are equally capable of dooming ourselves and those we love."
"Those are… significant details," Hamon said, natural and synthetic hands steepled in front of him contemplatively. "I had no intention of bartering with or underestimating our foes before, but I will make sure to keep this in mind. And, while I still disagree with your assessment of Minerva, I better understand your feeling of doubt in any of us now."
"I am not in the habit of underestimating my foes, but when the only way most of them manage to post some challenge is to throw bodies at you, can it be really called underestimating them?" Aurelia replied in an even tone. "Besides, considering your comparison with mortals, just as some of the mortals are more given to foolish choices, some of our family are more inclined to foolish choices. And it goes without saying that I am not one of those."
"Sister I do not intend to demean you or any of our siblings, it is a mere statement of fact that we are capable of error and hubris and there are foes who can fight us on an even footing, but we are conditioned to forget this."
"Indeed once in a while we do encounter some creature dangerous enough to draw even with us, but only for a time, unless we proceed to act in an ignorant manner and ignore the intelligence gathered about the enemy. With the tools and resources at our disposal, there is nothing that cannot be overcome."
"There is a fine line between assurance and arrogance, sister." Savnok warned.
Aurelia shrugged at that. "Whether it is a line in the sand or a wall, does it matter if you never cross it anyway? In the end victory excuses anything even if you stumble occasionally."
Savnok met this truism with stony silence.
Aurelia just raised an eyebrow at Savnok silently before taking a sip of wine and wincing slightly.
"Aurelia, thank you for hosting this." Hamon rose to his feet after a few moments of silence. "It has pleased me to see you both. Savnok, thank you for the wine and the words of wisdom - they have given me much to consider. It'd be best for me to get to work though, preparing for the next leg of my journey and the campaign ahead."
"Take care brother, I am sure that you and your legion shall win many more victories before we speak again." Savnok assured him. "It was good to see you both again."
"Godspeed and good hunting then," Aurelia remarked with something that could be construed as a smile. " I have a feeling there are still some conflicts to fight out before the galaxy will be at peace."
Theft, a crime of many complexities throughout history. For good or ill it has been done by many from all walks of life, this is true even in the Imperium. But two events in particular burned the Crimson Gryphons, the first being stolen genetic information taken as war spoils from the fallen Empire of the Eldar. Snatached away through unknown means. And the second a deeper stain to the Imperium and the Legions as a whole, the theft of the Symposium of flesh of Actium. Geneseed of four legions was snatched away in the dead of night to parts unknown.
Already the Gryphons have done their own investigations of the Doves of War, finding their strange kin to not be at fault for the events. And the Eldar themselves have no connection despite the timescale of the War beginning and the Symposium occuring. This left them with three remaining suspects after consulting records of Actium at the time and through deduction of recent events. The Skaven, the Jokaero and the Sons of Axnios.
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The first to be investigated would be forces of the Skaven, already some being an issue within Actium's borders. Heading quickly to the world of Syrenna Proctor, one of the five hundred worlds and one under the protection of the Vindicator Guard.
Currently under assault by Clan Vlesh of the Skaven, the planet and it's defenders accepted the aid of the Gryphon Apothecaries, in particular to aid against the toxins of the various war beasts the Clan had brought to battle. In truth their aid was negligible in the grand scheme of things and unneeded by the Vindicator Guard, whose own efforts had dealt considerable blows to the Skaven with their unprecedented zeal in fighting the enemy.
After the Skaven had been driven off, the Apothacries would be approached by two figures of the Chapter, the first was named Cassius Servilius who served as their champion and the other known as Decius Lucceius who commanded the Fourth Column of their Chapter
" Your aid was commendable Gryphons, know that this will not be forgotten by the Vindicator Guard, I will speak of your work to the Chapter Master, should the wider Imperium require our service, we know you are ones to trust to verify their trust." Spoke the Champion with direct respect and a cordial demeanor.
"And know that if you desire the Fourth Column's aid against any that you seek, we will arrive with all haste, the Eldar and Traitors have more than earned our ire." Spoke the smirking commander whose tone indicated an energy and desire to continue the fight.
In short, while the battle of Syrenna Proctor was short and simple, but it's events would resound in history for other reasons.
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Finding the Jokaero was a far more daunting task then could be assumed, the migratory Xenos despite their passivity were known to be notorious to pin down in any given location and even getting information from one would be an impossibility given their inability to communicate.
However fate seemed to have other plans, as in their search for the Xenos, they found the remains of some kind of battle, the Xeno vessel found adrift and broken. Upon searching it, they would find who had attacked the Jokaero, remains of the renegade Sons of Axnios soldiers were found buried under some rubble.
With some effort, a trail could be detected of their own vessels, clearly wounded if the excess debris were any indication. Looking to the Navigator, it would be child's play to follow the trail of the Sons, but they were no full battlegroup, however such a thing could be rectified. "Get me the Astropath, I wish to have a favor repaid by the Vindicators, one they should be willing to pay in full to slay their traitor kin." Spoke the lead Apothecary, his plan clear to all.
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Prefect Lyco watched as the skyline burned with his misguided kin's wrath. "Send out the half formed wretches, our fortress cannot fall here, let their deaths at least keep the Signifiers holding fast" He ordered his centurions with a half snarl, the silvery symbols of office shifted as they gave a slight salute and left. He considered at this moment how long that would give him and his guard to prepare, of course his calculations were unhindered by the rumbling and shaking of his fortress as more pods dropped from the skies above and the battle raged. He turned and marched towards the data ports, connecting the plug to his Cogitator implants, fully connecting his mind to the various fonts of information his Fortress relayed to him.
Every piece of data his Cell had collected and researched in their years long exodus from Actium proper was before his mind's eye, and it truly burned to watch it be deleted and cut away. But if the cell died, then the enemy could not know of their movements, nor the effects of their research.
As his mind's eye looked over the Data one last time, he briefly considered deleting the information of the Xenos, the technology of the Jokaero would have ensured his cell would have the means and benefit to hide away for some centuries while improving their craft, even if they were unsuited for the task he had claimed them for, their modifications to the weapons systems would be invaluable to the wider war. Rage bubbled beneath his skin as report after report of breaches into his fortress rang in his ears, the Signifier clones could only hold back the assault with their minimal training and untested purity, the older Clones had only reached their fourth active year and had yet to establish their own chains of command without interference. His decision to deny even the Imperials this much was made and sent a message for any free squad to go and kill the survivors they had caged below the fortress.
His mind turned to Consul Cicero and when he came to Lyco about his offer, back then the plot was so simple and elegant, they had all the time and resources to grow their Legion back from the splintering it had suffered, they could gain allies and convince their brothers of the necessary measures, to fight the Imperial betrayers. When they did not have to sculk and scavenge for the materials, when they were a united force that could grow unseen. Now they were to run and hide like vermin all because of the damn Watchdogs of the Imperium could not leave well enough alone, but knowing the Imperium, they would have come for Actium soon enough anyway, to stamp out it's perfect culture and replace it with a monument to their own ego.
The blaring of alarms drew him out of his thoughts as he only caught a glimpse of the pod crashing into the command center, the dust and rubble obscuring some of his sight, before a resounding slam of the drop pod's shutters opening and revealing its occupants.
The faux gold inscribed with Vindicta combined with the white of bone cut an imposing image that he could admire as aspects of Actium's culture shone through. But the golden symbols of the Imperium marred the design at every glance, though one had traded the gold for a black, a common sign of the so called Chaplains. Five of them stood ready, weapons already drawn, before his guard could react, two of the five raised up their weapons and fired bursts of plasma across their forms, their screams only adding to Lyco's rage as they charged forward to battle. Quickly yanking out the Cogitator plug with a hiss with one hand, while the other readied his personal gladius.
The battle was comparatively even, as both groups were trained in the matters of War from Actium, wounds on both sides grew, but one side was already injured before the fighting truly began, and the other was filled with a hate that overtook any hesitation or sense of preservation as they fought to kill their enemies. As one fell, another used his body to protect his advance and slay his foe.
As the last of his guard collapsed, the black coated one stepped towards Lyco as the others moved to surround him"I am Mettius Valerius, Vindicta Keeper of the fourth column. By the laws of Actium, you and your forces here must be brought only death for your actions against the sons of the fifteenth. Do not dishonor our father's name even further by attempting to escape traitor."
"...I have no intention of running Brother, I am no Imperial who would cower and beg, I face you as Lyco Anarion, Son of Actium and Prefect of the twenty third Reclaimer Legion. Come, let us fight with the purity of our blood."
He knew he would not win, it was five on one, he had no tricks, no options. But that did not matter, they came with the laws of Actium and under one of it's oldest customs. He would not dishonor his blood by fleeing from this even as the blades cut his armor and they kept him on the defensive. He never knew of the Brothers sent to this foolish idea of a Chapter after the betrayal, but it was good to see that the ones before him fought well.
Of course, despite being outnumbered, he was able to deliver some retribution, using the wounds on those still standing to slay another of their number before they had him in a position where he could truly do nothing but await his death, blades and guns aimed in every vital position, with his own wounds, he would not survive any further. The Vindicta was clear and he dropped his weapon and kneeled.
"Do…it then, kill me Brother, fulfill the Vindicta, but I regret nothing and only hope you and your realize the truth of the Imperi-."A gauntleted fist slammed Lyco down, keeping him from finishing his sentence, even with his helmet, the impact would have shattered a lesser being's skull, but he still lived…they needed him for something.
"Quiet you treasonous filth…As much as your death is needed, you have another purpose to fulfill for now." snarled out the Vindicta Keeper, who then turned to the other two marines "Secure the area and prepare for our allies, they had questions for this one."
Both nodded at the Vindicta Keeper before marching off, one moving to the bulkhead keeping the center isolated from the rest of the still shaking fortress, connecting to the door panel and bypassing it's security. The massive doors of metal shifted and groaned as they opened, the sounds of battle growing louder as Lyco saw the hall, his centurions lay dead as more Vindicators guarded the exits to the hall, but it was the crimson armor that drew his eyes and anger.
At their approach, Lyco sneered underneath his helm. Members of the Ninth Legion, loyal pets of the Imperium and thus deserving nothing but scorn from Lyco…though it was strange, they were only Apothecaries, none of their foolish flying knights or other soldiers…what was happening?
He watched with contempt as they spoke to his brothers, these puppets of the Imperium speaking as if they were equals, sickening. When one of the Apothecaries looked toward him, it took all his willpower to remain still; he would not dishonor the Vindicta by denying his death at any weapon other than his brother's.
"You will answer the Apothecaries questions traitor!" growled the Vindicta Keeper, his tone showcasing that he'd much rather kill Lyco, a sentiment he shared in this moment.
"Thank you Mettius, now then. You and your group have spent time with these Jokaero, do you believe they could have stolen spoils of war from the North, ones of a particular interest to you and your clone makers…or perhaps you would know of something to that effect in the hands of your fellow traitors."
Gritting his teeth, Lyco answered "Those Xenos have nothing to gain from tinkering with Gene altering devices, the most I could get from them was modifications to our weapons…something that evidently was not as effective in the short term." He growled out to the Imperial, " As for our own efforts, none of us would have gone that far north in preparation or to hide, far too close to to heavily watched space."
"Then what of something closer to home, the Symposium, what really happened?" the Apothacries dared to ask of that, Lyco felt his teeth clench in anger.
"The Symposium…that stain on Actium's honor of being unbreeched, you would dare to accuse us of this. No Imperial, that was a time before we realized your own betrayals, and thus had no reason to act on it. In truth, I would ask one of your other Legions about it."
"You Lie!" Shouted his brother, blades drawn and pointed to him. All while the Apothecaries seemed to watch in silence.
"Explain your reasoning then traitor, why assume one of the other legions?" His questions were getting tiresome.
"Think you Imperial Dogs, if not outsiders or the work of us true sons. Who else would have the opportunity and means to take such actions. Actium's defenses have never fallen to anything other then internal sabotage and treason."
"Something you and yours understand with experience." Spat out his brother, good they still felt the dishonor of Actium having to fall under battle, that shows they still have that.
"...Regardless, the truth is clear Imperial. Nothing that we did not let onto Actium itself would have been able to steal those materials and Geneseed without anyone noticing, unless they were already allowed on. As any of your chained Chapters and they would say the same."
"How can we tell that you even speak the truth, for all we know you have lied to us from the beginning." As expected of an outsider, no knowledge of the true culture of civilized society.
"Despite his treason, the law of Vindicta is absolute, even these traitors must respect it as children of Actium, their pride in the five hundred worlds won't allow for anything else…no matter how twisted those perspectives are." The last part was slightly growled out.
"I see…we have no further questions for this filth, do with him as you please Vindicator."
"With Pleasure." sated the Vindicta Keeper, drawing out his Plasma pistol and laying it against Lyco's head, the heat growing as the weapon charged.
"Death to the Imperiu-" Spat out the Legate before the burst of plasma silenced him. As his vision faded and pain overtook his remaining senses.
-----
The victory over the Sons of Axnios stronghold was subdued, the Vindicator Guard themselves denying any sense of satisfaction until all of their numbers had been snuffed out. And the Gryphon Apothecaries grappling with the information they now had to understand, their last suspects have proven to have nothing to do with either theft of the materials.
And his words to the Jokaero group's lack of interest in any medical technology seemed to be true as when they had found the survivors of the Sons attack, who all seemed to be more focused on any kind of weapon then the myriad of medical technology around in the stronghold.
Unsure of what to do with the creatures and knowing the planet does support life, they were taken and left upon an isolated atoll with enough to let them live a decent life. The Fortress itself taken apart and anything of value left for the Vindicators to use as they saw fit.
With perhaps a new lead on their two mysteries, the Crimson Gryphon Apothecaries returned to Auzill Space, to debrief and prepare their reports for the Primarch. However things would prove to be in dire straits upon arriving home.
"History is Never truly understood, what records exist can always be distorted by time or perception. But what is unchanging is perhaps more horrifying then that which fades and changes."
(Written by @Scabby )
Clink clink clink, came a noise from the door as someone knocked with metal-clad knuckles. Carmella blinked a few times, and set down the device she had been working on as well as the miniature lascutter she had been using.
"Come in!" she called, and the door opened to reveal a young man, who stared at her work table with a sheepish expression. He said,
"Sorry for the intrusion, doc. Hope you weren't too far into that."
"No, I was just finishing up. What brings you, Zebetian?"
"Sarge and the Magos wanted me to grab you. I think the Termite is ready."
"Time to plumb the depths for more ancient wonders, then? I wonder what gifts we'll bring back."
"I'm hoping it's some new razors - maybe one that Lucky won't break somehow."
"Now that would make this whole project worth it." The two shared a grin.
Zebetian was a member of the Bloodsworn, the auxiliary soldiers sworn to the Knights Romantic; Carmella, a scholar from a world the Legion had brought into compliance decades ago. They were two of the millions across the Imperium seeking out relics from the Dark Age in the name of the primarch Aurelia & her children.
…Their efforts had not, exactly, borne fruit thus far. On Balistus IV, they had found schematics for an engine able to draw incredible energy from all manner of combustibles - a tractor's version of the one already used in the Primus tank. At Knave's Redoubt, they had found yet another device to be implanted into the brain, and remove all joy from its victim save what they found in the act of killing. Argonia had given them a miniature laser, meant to sharpen knives far keener than a mundane device could… when it didn't warp the blade from heat, that is.
Solais would be different, though. Miners on the planet had uncovered a black metal which their tools could hardly scratch, and which seemed to form a colossal subterranean structure. Explosives or power-tools could damage it more, but within minutes the wound would be bubbling with nanomachines and repair itself. The Magos in command was convinced it was a work of the ancients, especially with Dark Age wonders like Avalon so close by.
If only they'd been right.
"You doing alright, Lucky?" Zebetian asked the soldier next to him, Lucille, who was bouncing her knee in her seat. She'd been called that long before he had joined the squad; while he had only served in a couple battles against the Slaugth, she had been part of the campaign for years, and had turned over a dozen attacks into glancing blows with her 'intuition'. She was also an easy mark for the platoon's dice games, which contributed more to the nickname.
"Something ain't right, Zeb," she whispered back. "There's a gnawing in my stomach. Has been since we got here."
Zebetian hummed in thought. If Lucille had a bad feeling then he did too, but the Tech-priests in command of the operation were set on finding something. They wouldn't call it off for anything, especially since the Termite they were using to bust into the fortress was about to go.
"Think it's that local soup they've been feeding us? The spices are good, but that metal aftertaste is foul," he said, hoping to cheer her up a bit. Lucille snorted out a laugh, and he smiled.
"Seriously, though. We've been through hell and back. I know if you've twigged onto something then we should be worried, but that just means we're alert for whatever comes. We're Bloodsworn; we won't die until the big lady orders it."
The Termite lurched as it was reoriented, and the whirring of motors flooded the vehicle. Noise suppressants kicked in before it began grinding at the stone - enough to keep everyone's ears from hurting, but still making conversation nigh impossible. Energy weapons mounted near the drill began to fire as it reached the hardy metal fortress, warping the armor and allowing the Termite to punch through and land on the floor below.
The archaeologists and their Bloodsworn guards made their way out of the craft, and were greeted by a dim room, with walls covered in what looked to be tin bubbles and orange lights. Rows of pentagonal seams were along the floor,
"Not the look I'd expected, going in," Zebetian whispered to Carmella.
"Quite," she replied after popping her ears, and then startled. She had had some implantations done over the years, from a model of tech-interface device to a multi-function bionic eye, and the latter gave her the first good look at what those 'bubbles' really were.
"Away from the walls!" she shouted. "They're covered in machines!"
A flashlight turned on, and revealed their true appearance. There were hundreds, maybe thousands, of mechanical beetles covering the walls - some the size of human heads, others palms or eyes. They were cyclopean, each with orange light emanating from their eye, and had terrible mandibles.
As the light was shined on them they began to skitter around, and some took flight. They entered into the tunnel, or landed on the melted slag of the wall, and on the Termite's hull. Then, they began to eat - tearing out chunks of whatever they were rested upon. The room lit up between lasgun fire and melta beams mounted on the Termite itself, and the less armed of the archaeologists dove out of the crossfire.
"Order: cease," the Magos screeched in a synthetic voice. "Observations: machines too numerous to disperse, not harming lifeforms; lasguns will. Conclusion: actions are futile."
The sergeant repeated the Magos' order, and the group reluctantly backed away to the far side of the room. The beetle-machines which had gone down the tunnel soon returned - some of them, at least - and then the swarm began to vomit the same dark substance that made up the walls into the gap.
"They can't have turned the Termite's hull into more of their fortress-metal - fitting any sort of transmutation device in that small a body would beggar belief," Carmella muttered to herself.
"I think our first priority should be finding a new way out," the sergeant reminded him.
"Argument: Lady Aurelia has entrusted us with finding relics. Proclamation: I will not fail her now."
"If we don't have a way out, then whatever we do find is stuck with us."
"They'd probably have left their vehicles or an armory near the entrance, to make defending and leaving easier, right?" Zebetian asked, posed as if it was just to the person on his right but loud enough for the entire room to hear. "We find an exit, and then we can look around there for loot."
"Analysis: dubious," the Magos answered, but the building tension had been cut out from under him. "Hypothesis: exit-seeking is likely to take time, reveal non-exits with recoverable samples. Assent: granted."
The group collected its bearings, and the supplies in the wreckage of the Termite. The beetles had calmed down after the breach was closed, but they were now moving in and out of the room, which gave the walls an unsettling appearance of movement. Still, with no way out but further into the compound, the group began their journey.
"What do you make of this place, Tempes?" Carmella asked her colleague as the group stopped for some water, hours after they first entered. In that period, they had stopped a few times to examine some unsealed rooms or art pieces in hallways. Tempes was another scholar, fresh from their own homeworld's collegia, and dedicated to xenocultural knowledge.
"Well… they aren't a match for any known xenos," Tempes began. "But I think, whoever made it, they may have had some Aeldari influence."
"Truly?"
"Yes - see these picts?" Tempes displayed a few pictures they had taken, ending on one that was repeated through the facility. The top was a three-spoked semicircle, and below it was what might be called a scepter, with two long lines coming from either side at forty-five degrees from the main rod or the semicircle's ends. "It doesn't follow the trends of modern Eldar runes, but older sites have reportedly shown linguistic evolution, and we know that the Eldar used to trade or sabotage human and xenos worlds. Perhaps Solais was one of them?"
Tempes' was uncertain with their last sentence, and it was easy to tell why. Carmella spoke the alternative.
"Or this was the work of some Eldar subculture."
"And if it is, then using anything we find here would be questionable."
Carmella pursed her lips. "I've had some misgivings about the origins of this site as well, but we don't have enough, not yet, to confirm either way."
It was then that the Magos stepped out from the side-room he had been studying, preceded by a group of servo-skulls and followed by two of his adepts.
The Magos was a veteran of the Knights Romantics' auxiliaries. He had served the Lady Aurelia for nearly a century, and while he hadn't risen high into the ranks, he had been granted the augmentations that his creed so highly valued. Three mechadendrites extended from his back, and his left arm had been replaced with a robotic one. The lower half of his face was covered with a grille, and he spoke synthetically through it or shouted in concert with the speaker on his shoulder. Two thin legs came from the small of his back, which braced him and helped carry the weight of his enhancements. Undoubtedly there was more, but they were hidden beneath his robes.
"Statement: we have deciphered a map of the facility, despite its anomalies," he announced to the group. "Further: we have identified several points of interest to investigate, including three potential exits. I will lead us to the next site, though it will take time to traverse."
It was another few hours of marching before they reached their destination. The room was a hexagon, with various displays placed at each corner - a statue of a crowned figure standing atop the body of an Ork, some truly massive swords and axes laid across metal sigils, and a table with small miniatures on a hex-grid. The middle of the room was taken up by a large pillar, which the Magos explained was akin to an elevator. While he and his adepts started to get it working, the rest of the explorers took samples or spoils from the displays.
"Whup!" Zebetian said as he picked up one of the weapons with both arms. It had a thick, curved blade with no stabbing point, like one meant for a halberd but placed on a sword's hilt, and which glowed the same orange as the machines. "The soldiers here must've been as big as Astartes to use this stuff properly."
"Yeah," Lucille puffed out, breath short from a headache that had plagued her for some time. "Think the statue over there is life-sized?" She pointed to the crowned statue, which Carmella was examining with some of the other archaeologists.
"May-be?" Zebetian dragged out the two syllables, testing the sword with some unwieldy two-handed swings. "Might be close, but that looks a bit big for this."
"If it is accurate to how they looked in life, they wouldn't be human." Carmella shook her head. "Jal is looking it over, but the anatomy is far from right. A fused rib cage, shorter abdomen, only four toes, and taller than any Longshanks I've seen. Between this and everything else, they have to have been xenos."
The elation at being close to an escape struggled with the dissatisfaction of another failure. Their first major find in the years of seeking would turn out to be a dead end. The Magos remained undaunted, however.
"Statement: our task is not yet done here. If this is the work of xenos and their machines still lurk underground, then they may be a buried threat elsewhere. Declaration: we must obtain another sample to learn more, and to give to Lady Aurelia." The walls of the elevator disappeared in a ripple, leaving the platform open from all sides. "Statement: I had charted a course to the surface from here, but I have also found what appears to be the command room of this facility. We will go there first, learn what we can, and only then leave."
Whether it was the danger he suggested in leaving the facility unstudied or the duty to their mistress they wanted to fulfill, all of the party agreed: they would go into the depths.
The passageway to the chamber was long and winding, with sharp-angled corners and rods that suggested pins, as if the halls themselves could turn and open into new chambers or seal this one off. The beetles were thick here too, and in constant motion - scurrying alongside the explorers, or underfoot and nearly tripping them. The lights seemed to dim and lose color as they went further in, and goosebumps raced across skin with the phantom feeling of unwanted touch.
"Just a bit more, Lucky," Zebetian whispered to his fellow, who was most affected of the soldiers. "Come on, stay with me."
The feeling abated as they entered the chamber, back to the background level of the rest of the complex. In the corners of the room, four constructs the size of Knights and shaped like colossal insects loomed as figures of rust and decay, swarmed over by the beetles who illuminated them while their own power source & weaponry did not.
Closer to the center was a row of plinths, holding a menagerie of artifacts - swords and staves, scythes and guns, pearlescent orbs and cloaks that seemed to be made of molten iron. Several crowns were here too, bedecked with jewels or inlaid with the same glow of power as had been seen throughout the facility. Some of the items rested on the pillars, while others hovered in mid-air.
At its heart was no computer or power source like the explorers had hoped; instead there was a skeletal figure, as large as a Primarch. The metal was more akin to silver than the tin of the droids, richer, greater. Its arms were laid one over the other, as were its feet, and it was held aloft in a forcefield sarcophagus. Its eyes were not closed, for it had no lids to close them with… but neither did they shine with light.
"Order: do not approach them," the Magos said, and was obeyed with ease. "Order: Acolytes, examine the plinths. See which of the artifacts we can retrieve."
They stayed there for a while as the technicians examined the artifacts and their protections, and what the less protected ones could do if taken. The beetles continued swarming at the edges of the room, not daring to approach the central figure.
Eventually, it was decided they would take one of the crowns. They could not determine its full capability of course, but it appeared at least to control the power supply of the machines in the complex. With it, they could ensure the doors opened properly, and perhaps shut down the machines without any bloodshed.
"Are you certain, Magos?" Carmella asked. "There appears to be some sort of tripwire code, to prevent the items from being taken. It would take hours to learn the crown's operations, which would not be enough if any guardians are awakened."
"Answer: Yes. Our task is not completed without this. Further: have faith in the Machine God, and we shall triumph over the abominatus silica." Without further ado, he took hold of the crown.
The skittering of the beetles picked up in intensity, and one of the great constructs lit up with their repair process. Not a moment later the explorers ran for the exit, but a swarm of the beetles took flight and blocked their path.
"Harald, clear the deck!" the sergeant called out, and the soldier in question opened fire with his Volley Gun. The swarm dispersed under the rain of lasfire, but that delay had given the construct time to shudder into life. Intense heat emanated from the orange glow, and it swung one of its guns around. Nothing visible emerged, but each of the four people it pointed at fell with hardly a sound.
"What the shit?" someone wheezed. Ahead of them, the fastest of the explorers yelped in pain as the hostile presence regained its strength. The construct began to aim another of its weapons, and Zebetian and Lucille shared a look.
"See ya, Zeb," she said, and then turned to face the machine with her carbine alight. "Try me, you sunnuvabitch!"
He only looked back for a moment, and saw a purple beam strike her chestplate. The rest of her body glowed purple as well, and then she vanished without a trace.
"Lucky!" Zebetian cried, but pressed on. There was no stopping the machine, and an attempt would only make her sacrifice in vain.
The twists and turns of the passage, which had made it so difficult to enter, now bought them time to escape. Decrepit as it was, the machine rammed into walls and had trouble aiming its guns. Each time they made a turn it took longer to follow, and eventually the titanic stomps and cacophony of whirring motors stopped, but the escaping explorers - now reduced to twenty two - didn't dare to stop running until they reached an unfamiliar chamber.
"The tunnels moved. We're lost." Carmella slumped against a wall. Another archaeologist began to cry, and some of the soldiers seemed prepared to shoot the Magos, who still had the crown in his hand. Zebetian had to do something.
"Magos, Carmella, do either of yours' implants record what you see or anything?" Everyone looked at him.
"Only a few minutes' of visuals, and not without conscious effort," Carmella answered.
"Answer: I am able to record positional data, although the structural material here has, of course, disabled outside contact."
"So- you can look at how we entered the maze, and see where it changed on the way back to find out where we should be now, right? And from there, we can find out how to get back to the elevator."
The Magos nodded after a moment of contemplation, passing the crown to one of his adepts and beginning to whisper a chant as he looked over the data.
"We're getting out of here," Zebetian said. "We owe it to them. To Jal, and Lucky, and everyone else. We're getting out of here."
SKRR-SKRR-SKRR-SKRR
"Open fire!"
The explorers had entered the complex easily enough, but it was as if they had to make up for it while getting out.
SKRR-SKRR-SKRR-SKRR
"Frag out!"
Where before the beetles had gone about their business, ignoring the Imperials even if shot at, now groups of them would turn hostile without warning. A swarm of thousands would be marching along the walls of a tunnel, too numerous to be dispersed, and only after minutes of walking beside them would part of the swarm take flight and attempt to rip the interlopers apart.
SKRR-SKRR-SKRR-SKRR
"Harald! No!"
The swarms were hazardous, slowing a march that took hours into a crawl that took a day. The presence felt in the tunnel had spread, leaving everyone on edge and without sleep. But worst were the arachnid droids which led the assaults. The beetles could be killed with a lasgun, but the arachnids were well-armored, fast, and came with guns or the ability to replace the beetles which were destroyed.
Of the thirty explorers who entered the complex four days ago, for twenty-two it had become their tomb. Tempes had been jumped by the first hostile swarm, before they knew to be cautious. The sergeant had died driving his power sword into the body of an arachnid that had charged him; it took the rest of the squad to finish it off, but he had saved some of the others for a while. The Magos had lost one of his mechanical legs, and stayed behind to rig an explosive while passing the Crown and his notes on to the other technically-savvy explorers.
Finally, after days of backtracking to escape pursuit or navigating after a tunnel moved, the last eight survivors were at the door to salvation. Carmella and an electro-priest bodyguard for the deceased Magos; Zebetian and two others of the Bloodsworn; and three more archaeologists of varying disciplines. And they were stuck.
"I can't override the exit's security," Carmella said. "Not before the machines attack, and maybe not before they get a second chance."
"What about the Crown?" Zebetian asked, watching the opposite end from the lock. "Will that get us out if you get it working?"
"It'll be faster, but not by as much as we'd like. And, while one of you could maybe finish my work on the door, if I die working on the Crown then both ways are lost."
Zebetian shrunk into himself, the assumed weight of command hard on him. Carmella reached out to console her friend, but he rose before she made contact. "We'll hold them off. Work on the Crown, Carmella. Please."
Carmella nodded and set to work. Zebetian attempted some conversation to keep the rest of the group calm, but it was faltering. It was too late for high spirits; desperation was all that was left of them.
Skrr-skrr-skrr-skrr came the sound of the beetles in flight, echoing down the hall as an attack group approached. The electropriest stood ahead of the other six defenders, his stave having a shorter range and less accuracy than their lasguns. The sword Zebetian had taken laid at his feet - it was too unwieldy against the beetles, but could harm the arachnids.
"Fire!" Zebetian yelled as the swarm filled the entrance. A fireworks display in red and orange formed as laser melted power conduit, and as the surviving beetles surged on regardless of their casualties.
"Priest, stragglers!" he ordered, and the rest of the group refocused on the entrance, while the electropriest took care of the battered swarm with a spray of lightning. Just in time, too, for the next wave came soon after. The beetles made it closer that time, and almost took a bite out of the Electropriest on the third.
Their luck turned on the fourth wave, when the swarm was anchored by an arachnid. It came under cover of the swarm, and scarcely had it been revealed by the Volley Gun's firing had it begun to rebuild them in a pulse of energy and repair-mites. A beam shot out from it and connected with one of the soldiers, who exploded and knocked over the archaeologists next to them.
Moments later, the Electropriest was bowled over by the arachnid in a shower of sparks, and Zebetian bent to pick up his stolen sword. He swung once, taking off its right claw before it could stab at the downed priest, but couldn't dodge the arachnid's retaliatory leap. The breastplate of his carapace buckled and his ribs cracked. Through the haze of pain, he could see the other defenders had been swarmed by the beetles, and only one was still moving. His head lulled back, and he saw Carmella putting on the Crown - and then, as if a solar flare erupted through the room, light blinded him.
When he came to, he was sat against the wall next to Carmella and the Crown. "What?" he slurred out.
"I used the Crown. Couldn't shut the machines off, but could detonate their power sources," she said in an anxious voice. "Got rid of them. Mostly."
The arachnid laid on the ground. It was damaged but mostly whole, and already being repaired by the tinier beetles.
"Either that will get back up, or more of them will come, before the tunnel is safe to walk. I might be able to get us out faster, but it's unlikely to work and- something is wrong with the Crown, I could feel it. It was like the presence throughout the facility, and like a fire in my skull. It was…"
Carmella trailed off, and Zebetian couldn't muster the strength to say anything. She looked at him, and took a deep breath.
"Let's get you out of here, soldier boy. Someone needs to get out of here alive."
Carmella hauled him towards the airlock door and opened it. Heat rushed in, emanating from the stone she had flash-melted a hole through. She propped Zebetian up against her shoulder, and he latched onto her half-consciously. Carnella breathed in. Breathed out. Put on the Crown. Held onto him.
Then, she detonated the wires in the floor around them and prayed they wouldn't land too hard.
The two survivors of the ill-fated 'Solais Compound Expedition' gave few details to their interrogators, once they finally came to. The first to awaken, the archaeologist Carmella, would ramble and rave about the stellar horrors she had seen, and of empires so ancient they beggared belief. The other, private Zebetian of the Bloodsworn, was almost mute - a sharp contrast to the social young man that others knew from before. Whatever had happened inside, in the seven days recorded outside the complex, was too dangerous to investigate further. Officers on-site had the site sealed off, and passed along what information they could to the Knights Romantic.
Carmella would go missing shortly after being released from the hospital and interrogators, her rants written on the walls of her temporary abode. The investigation as to where she had gone was intense, but gave no answers.
Zebetian was eventually given release as well, and opted to return to service in the Bloodsworn. Perhaps on the nose, his new squad gave him the nickname of 'Quiet' - but if he minded, he never spoke up about it.
Eventually, the artifacts the two had brought out with them were delivered to the Primarch. A strange blade, able to cut as well as a high-grade power sword but with no style to use it; a metal finger bone broken off from a statue; an unfamiliar game board & pieces with no rules; the remains of one of the beetle-machines; and a crown inlaid with glass jewels, which glimmered with motes of starlight.
An image in Aeldari Myth, one known as the "Tempering of Wrath" it showcases one of the few instances where Khaine was still known as Kaela Mensha Khaine and brought out of his Wrath by the words of Mystics of the Eldar's past, this particular image, while clearly altered with more "Modern" aesthetics of a Craftworld Eldar, does offer a glimpse of the prevailing growing belief of Khaine representing Hope for the Eldar Species... A belief that grows more and more needed by the day.
(Written by @Mortis Nuntius )
Over the eons since its creation by the legendary Old Ones the transdimensional Webway has been many things to many races, a transportation network, a fortress, a refuge, a weapon and many more things besides. Most recently it has become a battlefield
--
The Crimson Terpsichorean had prowled three dimensions and a hundred million lightyears of void over the five centuries of bloodsoaked service. A weapon of war, a tool of subjugation and a marvel of artisanship. The lissom Cruiser was astonishingly agile and fast, even by the envious and self serving standards of the Empire, it slid through void as gracefully as its namesake and the Tyrant's domineering will demanded it spear through the warp unmolested, in the void it was a perfect predator.
Its depredations against mechantmen of lesser races had birthed black legends of piracy that chilled and exhilarated in equal measure. Many a slave revolt had been torn to bloody shreds by its weapons from orbit. Even fellow citizens of the Empire had cause to resent and respect its unbroken record of winning or escaping from a thousand blood feuds. But for all its glorious achievements, it was no stranger to the workmanlike duties of the Eldar Empire's fleet, ninety nine out of a hundred voyages had been dedicated to the lifeblood of the Empire, the capture and transportation of slaves. Billions of lost souls had wailed, screamed, sworn, begged and bargained in its dreaded hold.
Although none knew it, today their anguished prayers for retribution were answered, for at long last the Predator was to be the Prey. Its reckoning did not come when in the fires of the Empire's Death, nor in the perilous exodus to the webway and inter-Kabal strife that followed. No, its doom came in the form of an ancient terror seeping through liminal space emerging from freezing fog on every deck without warning or explanation, utterly alien and comprehensible only in their malevolence towards all living things.
The crew and captives of Crimson Terpsichorean were buried under an avalanche of frozen stone heedless of weapons, unrelenting in purpose, in an ironic but certainly deserved fate the ship had fulfilled its function one last time, transporting sentient livestock to captivity.
The deserted ship would join the dozens of others haunting the Webway for generations until it would eventually fall into the Warp and become the nucleus of spacehulk, emerging in real space in the thirty fifth millennium.
--
It was a strange feeling, to await one's death. To an extent it was a relief, so many centuries of nightmares and uncertainty, strands of lucidity torn away whenever they seemed on the verge of being threaded into a true design.
The past months had been the worst, a cacophony of screams, Fearghal's heart had been gripped in a frozen vice each waking moment and his dreams had been so terrible he had nearly embraced madness to escape them.
Even those who lacked his gifts were not spared, the most pitiful Warlock could sense their coming and as the first attacks began rumor and distress calls supplemented visions. The invaders came in overwhelming force, heedless of the greatest defenses of the Craftworld and undeterred by all but the most devastating of weapons.
They were unrelenting and terrifying, shrouded in a freezing mist that overwhelmed sensors and farsight alike. Some walked as Alderi but lacked faces, others crawled forwards on four great limbs the size of tree trunks, others still took the forms of their victims with soulless eyes. Whatever their form their purpose was the same, the ancient and mystical treasures of the Craftworlds.
The loss of a single such artifact struck at Fearghal's soul, he had suffered many such blows these past weeks and he knew that his beloved Kalevala would be the next to suffer these abomination's depredations.
Yet now at the close of his thirteen centuries Fearghal found himself enjoying his last heartbeats in a state of rare tranquility. His vision was unclouded, so perfect was his clarity that he could remain conscious and still commune with the wraithbone of the craftworld and the tides of the warp beyond. He drank in the universe and found it tasted delightful. Yet for all the Galaxy without somehow his last heartbeats were equally fascinating, so few were left now, each and every one to be treasured.
The sounds of the battle waging without called to him, but he was in no great hurry, he had arrived early, this chamber, this place was where he needed to be.
Now. He thought, now it begins. It was time for him to wake the sleeper, and then his own rest beckoned. On any other occasion it would have taken the whole council days of painstaking ritual to rouse an Avatar, particularly this one. Kalevala's Avatar was notoriously stubborn, perhaps embodying the persistence of the Forgemaster. On this day Fearghal could have resurrected a star from a blackhole.
Ice began to seep under the doors to his chamber a few minutes before they buckled inwards. He faced the invaders with a smile.
"Right on time, I can honestly say its a pleasure to meet you," He could have banished them with a thought, obliterated them in a moment, but it was not to be. The blessing of his God was not to be sullied in such a way. His time here was done.
"Give my regards to Vaul if you see him first." He requested politely as the beasts tore him apart, he felt nothing except exhilaration as his soul flew free towards the greatest infinity circuit of them all at the heart of Yme-Loc itself.
His killers were granted no such apotheosis, instead they met their ends screaming as the entire Craftworld turned against them in a maelstrom of blades. The Avatar of Vaul shaped the wraithbone as though it was clay and his masterpiece was the obliteration of those who had defiled it.
--
The Prison Fortress of Dain'jean na Deor had stood fast through the ages, built upon the surface of a dead star forcefully nestled in the webway it had played host to the cruellest, vilest and most dangerous specimens the Eldar race had ever known. Shards of Gods, Legacies of the War in Heaven, ancient weapons of unimaginable power, criminals and fiends and worse from the darkest days of Empire's fall. Each member of the Eldar Pantheon had contributed to its construction and defense and the Phoniex King himself had made Khaine swear unbreakable oath to defend it to his last breath.
When the Tyrant won dominion over the majority of Eldar race he had commanded its gates opened and its secrets brought unto him. He was granted half his request, the gates did open but what emerged were the Na Caomhnóirí Deiridh, the last army of the Alderi ready to fight to their last breath for a civilisation, a legacy that existed only in the hearts of those that had once defended it.
And so began the five thousand year's war. Imperial Armies, slave hordes, even the endless flood of the Skaven drawn by scent of blood and their terrible God's endless hunger. Each clash left the defenders fewer in number but stronger in resolve.
As their numbers dwindled their legend had grown. Each member of that exalted host was famed across what remained of the Alderi, their Imperial enemies cursed them, their wayward Craftworld brethren worshipped them. Once in a century a band of these champions would depart the battlefield to carry out their Commander's will elsewhere, once in a millennium they would pledge themselves to one Craftworld or another in return for much needed material or Sorcerous expertise to maintain their ancient defenses, but they would always return for each and every one of them was pledged and fated to die here in the last burning ember of their once great Empire's glory.
Lesser beings would have deluded themselves at the apparent reprieve of the Fallen Empire's destruction. Their most formidable foe laid low at a stroke. The Na Caomhnóirí Deiridh were not so naive, they used the scant years of calm to prepare themselves for the fresh onslaught and their prudence was rewarded with the Night of Mist and Screams.
A great mist shrouded the plain of shattered swords and an entire clan of Skaven billions strong drowned in the frozen tide, their shrieks of pain and terror echoing off Dain'jean na Deor's mighty walls.
The Guardians answered not with battle cries or taunts and boasts but songs and joyous laughter, for this day had been foretold and each and every glorious hero amongst that splendid host advanced with joy in their heart.
For their divine Captain Khaine was at their head and from the skies and through portals their brothers and sisters returned from the materium, warp and distant corners of the webway and brought with them friends and enemies of old. The Exarchs of a dozen Craftworlds, Vaul's own chosen and even numerous Kabels from the Fallen Empire who had once tried to take this world for themselves and sought the only certain bastion left in the entire Galaxy.
Khaine's fury burned away the mist and the Wraiths, Grotesques and Shades alike were driven back from whence they came and the Alderi followed them, not out of vengeance or hatred but of purity of purpose, for the first time in thousands of years they had a common goal, a glorious mission, a Burning Crusade.
--
The Eldar were not alone in their struggles against the invaders, the Skaven too found themselves fighting for domination of the Webway but with far less success. Untold trillions would die, hapless against the merciless might of the invaders, ignored or abandoned by the Great Horned Rat they had no escape wherever the Invaders went they left death and ruin behind them. Forging terrible kingdoms of ice and stone filled with dark monuments of three pointed stars.
It would be in formerly Skaven territory that the reign of Winter would last longest, some regions of the webway only being reconquered centuries later. Perhaps in its own way this was for the best, if either of these races were left to their own devices undistracted by endless war the havoc they could unleash on the Galaxy does not bear thinking about.
--
In the material the Thunder Speakers of the Crimson Gryphans feel cold winds rising as their work on their great creation, a portal of their own into the webway. They do not understand what they are sensing exactly but it is disconcerting enough for some to wonder whether their work would bring about mankind's triumph or its doom.
An Age nears it's end, as the Laughter of Eight begins to be heard.
Azuill, the centerpiece of what many other worlds among Segmentum Obscurus are calling Gryphon Space, to many leaders of the Imperium it is simply the steller location where one of the mighty Primarchs lays claim to. But to others, it is quickly becoming a vital component to actions in the northern galaxy. With massive changes to the output of resources and tithe requirements, and the movement of equipment on a massive scale unseen. Truly the Nest Guard, the protecting garrison of the Gryphons, learned well the lessons of statecraft from their King Father.
Azuill itself is not without it's own events of course, the fortress of Arx Cael, home to many of the Crimson Gryphons, in recent months has been abuzz with activity. Scrolls and Data Slates filled and stored for keeping a precise record of everything and anything of note in their space.
Meanwhile, Thunderspeakers undergo grueling training and subjected to the most extensive selection process would be named the Night Haunters, dedicated to fighting any and all matters of the Warp and it's strange powers.
What draws the attention now however, is the Thunderspeakers who delve below the fortress into a hidden facility guarded by many methods known to the legion and staffed by hundreds with the right knowledge to construct what it holds. They work on a device of mystical and technological complexity that boggles the mind, the creation of a Human gate into the Eldar Webway. As it stood, any such gates under the Imperium's control were made by the ever unscrupulous Eldar and much like them, their technology was fickle and often not bound by design able to be easily used by human hands.
This gate was the hope of the Primarch Khaldeon to end reliance on Warp travel, and the creation of this gate was an extensive process. Nothing could be afforded to go wrong, as such thirty six trials were to be conducted before any such true attempt to cross into the Webway. The dozen Thunderspeakers began the trials slowly and explained each step to the researches and Serfs
Upon the Eighth trial something changes in the air, the Thunderspeaker in charge commanded that the trial stop and the Gate closed. But it was for naught as one of the twelve Thunderspeakers could not stop, his words spilling forth, he had to be killed. But his death did not stop as the gate became a rift into a multicolored nightmare.
What steps from the rift was not Eldar, nor other such beast of the Webway as far as any could tell. It was …unnatural, armor shaped as if casted from a beast, with a eight eyed helm gazing out at them all, glowing pupils of all different kinds stared out across the room, the Wards glowing brighter and brighter as their power worked to seal away this intruder. But it was all for nought as dread power seeped from the open rift like a festering wound.
The lead Thunderspeaker wasted no time and called upon his Psychic might to push this foe back into the Immitirum. Crackling power coursed through him as he unleashed a devastating blast towards the unknown being, dozens of eyes widened as they felt the meterium shift. Wards burned and horrible screeching resounded across the facility, the coursing electricity faded away as if consumed by something unseen.
Undaunted, the armored figure drew a broken blade and moved forward, impaling the lead Thunderspeaker with ease, and threw him aside. The being turned and began to walk towards the rift, energies shifting and threatening to widen the gate with each of it's steps.
Gunfire and Psychic might fill the air as they all tried in vain to stop this foul event, but all of it either faded away or did nothing to the entity.
"Vengeance" It said with hundreds of shifting voices.
The space around the rift shatters open like glass, as it grew larger and embedded itself into the space of the back wall, shifting the stone into an jagged archway as corruptive energies began to spread. Already many began to retreat to the rest of the facility and the Fortress proper, with the remaining Thunderspeakers and several battle ready Serfs continued to fight
Creatures of varying shapes and sizes began to exit from the open portal, heading some unheard call to war as they rushed forth towards those who stayed to fight the horde, who despite showcasing great barvery, could not withstand the tide.
Across the facility, alarms sounded as Thunderspeakers who were maintaining the Wards readied themselves for battle or prepared to leave for the fortress. Preperations put in place for this kind of event would be
The preparations however, would be for naught as the Warp creatures would breach the lower levels and begin an internal assault on the Fortress of Arx Cael.
Florian felt the Immaterial incursion as soon as it happened, it was a piercing pain upon his soul and it was clear many of his brothers felt the same. He among many of the Thunderspeakers rushed to alert the whole of the fortress, it would be a stain upon his honor that he would be far too slow to stop the first beast as it burst forth from the walls behind several Serfs.
Thus battle began, and while some faltered against the horrors, he was a Night Haunter of the Crimson Gryphons, this was his purpose, he and his brothers fought with a vigor unmatched against the beasts of the Warp. any that fell would forever be a name held in highest honor in his own mind, even if the training itself would have weeded the out, they deserved that much in his mind.
What was before him now was what could almost be called a march of two types of the invading Xenos, though there was little order or coordination to the movements, only a movement that drove them towards any serf or point of resistance, he and his squad were to hold them back.
Leading the so-called charge were strange creatures that could almost be mistaken for merely pale humans at a glance. Were it not for the coiled tails and branch like growths across their frames, Florian would be remiss to blame any for mistaking them as such, but he was more than the common man of the Imperium, he could feel their unnatural nature bleed through as clear as a sunset along with…something about their cloth like clothing, but he could not discern what.
What followed them were what at first appeared to be those in mourning, wailing noises emanated from their group, but Florian could feel the falsehood from these beings, feel the barely contained desire of malice. And from the stains of blood upon their forms, they had been showcasing said hatred, it was almost a juxtaposition with how dance-like their movements were with insect like limbs, but that mattered little to Florian.
The battle would be costly, as the Squad lost most of their number against their foes. Florian himself would be one of them, having learnt another truth of the branch headed creatures, their wrappings were filled with life, ones that did not care for ceremite and flesh.
The Warp creatures led by their unknown leader continued their siege trying to breech out of the fortress, lines drawn and communications scattered as the enemy poured out into the fortress and isolated many. However there were some that caused more destruction, then any sensible plan of action.
First of these destructive beasts, were monsters of fire and metal, whose rage knew no limits as they tore through metal barricades and lines of Serf combatants. Unlike other foes, they were a simple creature with their methods, but no less dangerous as they were no warrior or soldier, but walking weapons that destroyed everything they came near, taking what remained and fashoning into crude modifications to their onw weapon appendages.
Those who attempted to flee as non combatants were not spared as other monsters laid in wait for them. Dog-like creatures whose hunched over forms hid a strength with which they could rend flesh with ease, but used it to set up devastating and cruel traps that cut down any that tried to flee away from the fortress and into the mountains. Metal jaw traps and the only members of the invasion force wielding firearms in the form of some cruel mockeries of hunting rifles, later many survivors would come to the horrifying realization that these creatures out of all the others had the most opportunity to escape, yet chose to remain.
Calls for aid across Azuill were swift and several Squads of Marines would return to aid the containment of Arx Cael, even as the death toll climbed from the attrition of constant battle. Already a day had passed as more were needed to contain this threat.
Rushdi Kruzel hefted up the wounded souls, always two at a time, any more would slow him down. He was no Astartes warrior and could not afford to face off against the creatures in direct combat without the rest of his squad.
He could almost hear his thoughts telling him to retreat back to the safer lines, to stay where he knows there is a fighting chance…where he could survive.
He shook his head, he had no time to let his nerves get a hold of him, not when he had his duty to uphold and find more to bring them back to fighting shape against these Xenos. It's only been two days, he's been through worse fights that lasted longer in his service. His thoughts came to a grinding halt as the bodies he carried let out small whimpers of pain, before he could reassure them, one was torn from his grasp and impacted into the stone. Out of their body came a chain covered spear, connecting to a corner of the hall he had not looked down.
The one who threw the chain covered Spear made themselves known with rough growls of anger at their miss. They were muscular and wore the hood of an executioner, with unnatural purple skin and odd bits of silver finery that seemed not fit for a battleground. But Rushdi knew never to judge Xenos by human standards, for all he knew, this creature needed no armor.
He held back his anger at the loss of one of his charges, won't do any good to let cloud his mind. He had to run, yes, he can't fight that thing, Astartes had trouble with some of the Xenos, what hope did he have, just run away.
The lightness of his feet surprised him, and it took a moment to realize what he did, as he glanced back to see the other wounded figure dropped from his shoulder and now in the sights of the brute. He closed his eyes and just ran, ran deeper into the corridors and hid close to some rubble.
The thumping of the monster's far away steps sent Rushdi into a panic, but most of all, was his cowardice in throwing the wounded to the beast. Why did he do that?
He had to do it, they were slowing him down…right? He had no chance if he ran with them, yes that was…still cowardice…why was-. A sharp pain interrupted his thoughts as he let out an involuntary yelp as a slight gleeful laughter began to resound around him.
He twisted his head to his side, where a hook had cut into him. The gleeful laughter only grew as from out of the rubble emerged a wide set eyeless creature of blue flesh. Their bulbous head pulsing as from it came more of the whispers that haunted his thoughts in his own voice.
His wound burned as more and more whispers came to him, telling him to run,flee into the mountains, it's not desertion if he can twist his words in the right way, he can live if he just ran.
The loud thumping sound grew louder and faster as Rushdi turned his head to see the tip of a spear rushing towards him…then nothing.
While battles raged across the Fortress and it's surrounding mountain tops, calls for aid were quickly sent out across Gryphon Space, calling Nest Guard forces back to the Homeworld for containment, Battalions would move with all haste, some arriving faster then others as per the laws of Warp Travel.
(A minor message would be held in reserve should the worst happen and the Planet deemed unrecoverable.)
Entering into the fortress of Arx Cael, many would see the results of three days of continuous fighting inside the fortress. Scattered encampments of various sizes and usage of pieces of rubble from the fighting as makeshift barricades where other lines could not spare such material. Truly the reinforcements came at the right time to aid in a plan to end this threat.
The plan was simple, a united push into the depths of the Fortress and to close the Gate, stemming the tide and allowing for their reinforcements to disperse the rest of the monsters. The charge gathered with Thunderspeakers and soldiers of all kinds willing to embark, in truth this a moment that would cement many of the Legion, serf and marine alike as they were willing to fight and die to protect this new homeworld.
All kinds of foes were battled in this charge, each of the six kinds from prior battled attempted to stop or slow the charge. This was where the Gryphon forces gained a valuable insight into this enemy, as they came closer to other kinds, they began to fight amongst themselves, only slightly at the start, but more and more as they were forced to be near each other. This became a tactic to try and thin their numbers during battle, not the most glorious of methods, but one that helped them enter into the main breech and continue their way to where the incursion began.
As they descended downward, two new enemies made themselves known, acting as roadblocks to the advance and yet another foe to categorize.
The first of these two groups were winged creatures that looked akin to serpents and avians in a chimeric abomination. Spikes protruded from their flesh and parted the feathers and scales of their form, yet the strangest aspect of them was their words upon being fought, they yelled out phrases that would seem more at home with Imperial Malcontents or Rebels then unnatural Xenos. Which seemed to fit with their more simple weapons, but they were no great warriors and resorted to cheap and often futile tactics to win any fight, the bulwark of the Gryphons did not falter at this.
The second group was far more unnatural, appearing as floating armor of copper encasing a dark mist. They were silent and above all else persistent in their spells and blades, and acting more as harassment then a true standing force, luckily many Gryphons knew these tactics from the wars against the Eldar and were able to mitigate the losses somewhat.
The scions of the ninth met these two forces with their own power, Thunderspeakers emboldened by either reinforcements from outside or those from the Facility who knew of it's purpose sent out their power and revitalized some o the Wards not yet desecrated, burning the Warp beasts and allowing some reprieve as they were forced back.
Eventually, the Facility would be entered and battles fought for it, leading to the chamber where the Gate lay. A group of the most experienced of the Marines would enter, with orders to seal the doors and crumble the facility should they not return, they will not let this foe endanger their world.
The chamber had changed drastically, eight different designs seemed to overlap and conflict with each other as the room twiched and continued to alter itself slowly. The Eight Eyed foe merely stood in the center, their broken blade more complete and showcasing it's Warp touched nature as if it was made out of solid shadows. The Elder Thunderspeaker began to chant, his words sparking the air, the rest of the group readied their weapons and stood in the path of the Eight Eyed who took their challenge .
The fight with the Eight Eyed was not what would be remembered in stories, the beast was faster, stronger and far more vicious than any of them. They did wound it, only delaying it as their elder brother continued his chanting to end this madness. And with a cry of both pain and great fervor, a lance of burning light crashed into the Eight Eyed and onto the gate itself.
Blood dripped from the Thunderspeaker's eyes, the smoldering force staff in his hand shook slightly, the beam had struck true, smoldering metal and searing flesh came from the center of the Eight Eyed, the damage extended upwards towards the shoulders and past the being, breaking parts of the gate. The world around them shuddered, as the gate began to close.
A snarl of bestial rage came from the Eight Eyed who dispatched one of the marines and rushed towards the drained Thunderspeaker. Amidst the barrage of gunfire and attempts to stop it , the Eight Eyed monster grabbed hold of the Thunderspeaker and with inhuman speed brought both into the closing gate. With the disturbance, the rift shit closed before any could truly react.
And with a dull break, all was still. The Warp based alterations to the chamber began to whiter and crumble, without the fell power maintaining it. The Gryphon force would turn from the chamber, assigning guards to keep the facility secure, while the rest moved to free Arx Cael from any remaining stragglers.
With the rift sealed and the creatures gone after some remaining efforts, there was a silence across Azuill. What was only three days of fighting, felt like an eternity to those who survived.
Other Nest Guard contingents and returning Apothecaries scoured the world for any Psykers who were affected by the incursion or for any remnant of these invading monsters that could have slipped away.
As the tally for the dead rose, more and more a trend appeared, as Thunderspeakers of all ranks seemed to be targeted more than any other. This could be for simple reasons as Psykers seemed the most able to fight and kill these beings, but there was something else, something unseen.
"Mankind for it's youth as a Species, is filled with the expected vigor for building a Legacy, but I speak with experience in that chasing such a Legacy will only lead to ruin if left unchecked." -Elias Dradmire, Advisor of the Emperor on the Great works of Terra
While War continues out on the frontiers and small skirmishes continue in some portions of the Imperium. Work continues to improve the worlds of Mankind to reach new heights of both protection and artistry.
Our first look shall be to Gryphon Space, despite the recent battle on Azuill, the scions of the ninth legion continue their vigilant watch over the growing region of northern space. Three worlds stand as prime examples of their vision for the Imperium and the Sky King's influence.
The first is Haakinax Four, a massive Vitae-Womb facility being constructed underground and genetic material being donated from across Gryphon Space, while empty aside from facility workers for now, soon the world will be home to billions of Colonists and citizens of the Imperium. It is from here that Mankind will spread across the north.
The second world is Rus, having faced havoc in the past from Eldar raiders and leaving only a fifth of the population remaining. It now boasts impressive defenses as massive cannons that could almost be mistaken as mountains poke out from the ice and aimed above, the survivors of Rus of course did not just use what resources were given to make weapons, for the Hive Cities constructed massive Imperial complexes for the Administratum and various organizations of the Imperium. Making Rus the de facto world of both Gryphon Space and Imperium matters to be discussed.
Last is the world of Los'da, a minor colony world at first but with the construction of the Great Courthouse, it becomes the main world for enforcers of the Lex. With Adeptus Arbities and Colonial Marshals being trained and sent out from the world. This of course makes Los'da into a world defined by the Lex Imperialis and the Law of the Imperium. Under the Primarch's direct word, great strides to work with both Organizations is made as the Ninth Legion Astartes work with the enforcers of the Lex.
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Elsewhere across the realm of Trono, the needs of industry ignite in the realm of the twentieth Primarch and her people. As any and all worlds in their near proximity begin to be colonized in varying amounts, as a result of this endeavor, Trono see's a growth of prosperity that the Lady Primarch generously invites others to partake in.
Rogue Trader houses and Mechanicum explorator fleets begin to flock to the region, establishing mining holds and connections with the realm. This combined with colonizing several uninhabited worlds in close proximity to Trono and the victories against the Slugth menace, has left Trono to sing praises for their Queen and the wealth she has brung to their hands.
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In the southern section of the Imperium, New Eternia also begins it's own series of improvements, some of which have been an ongoing process for some time, such as the construction of habitats for various kinds of Xeno Funa for potential use and training.
But the main work of Adaam and his Legion is the creation of academies, some repurposed from the world and added to for all forces of the Imperium to learn leadership and build a deeper connection between the Astartes Legions and the Imperial Military. However unlike the famed Scholas of Primarch Varil, these do not train such figures from the beginning, but with a selection process of promising veterans and already established leaders of Imperial forces. The results of this training so far have yet to be showcased in true battle, but so far reports from simulated battles have been promising. With correspondence from Lady General Jullia Kandor's own personal assessment stating the program to be "Acceptable, with some promise if applied in a wider range."
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As one would expect, the realm of Stormgard is not exempt from the surge of world improvements. With the main world itself still bearing scars from battles past, the Primarch Savnok and the ruling Council of Stormgard having come to see Hive Cities for all their use in industrial output are unmanageable and unsustainable for a high quality of life.
Thus with new worlds open to them, they began to create vast cities that are made to be the height of efficacy while keeping the quality of life as high as any civilized world of the Imperium should strive for. A goal they are intent on catching as the cities become filled with public works and serve as experiments of architecture of many bright minds of Stomrgard's population.
In truth what they wished to create was to be reminiscent of what stories say their world was like before becoming ravaged by war. But with various other cultures being introduced via refugee programs and a somewhat controversial open invitation to Abbhumans and Sanctioned Xenos populations. The Complex of Stormgard shows the beginnings of something different for the Imperium.
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Our final look, shall once again head to the north, where we shall see cooperation of Imperial forces in the establishment of Drakari, the new homeworld of the nineteenth legion and their Primarch.
With the careful destruction of the Eldar constructions, labor from penal worlds is brought to help build both complexes for citizenry and massive prison complexes for incoming prisoners and malcontents. For indeed, the Primarch and his Legion offered to take a percentage of nearly a hundred Penal world's populations to reduce the strain on the Imperium.
With both sides of the population kept under watch from giant watch towers that swarm with servo skulls, said skulls watching as those of the Crimson Lords train their mastery of fear upon the population of the Prisons with ease.
The fortress monastery of the Crimson Lords sits upon the center of several complexes, all who look above seeing it loom above them. The Fortress itself becomes the center of the world as leaders of the various citizen complexes, representatives of the Mechanicum and head wardens of the Prisons come to serve at the will of the Primarch and his Legion.
As we turn away from the matters of construction, one must wonder where the Imperium shall go next, with the last great threat in the Men of Iron coming to a close, what shall the works of the Imperium turn to improve then.
"The Orks love of warfare in it's most simplistic fashion would doom any other species, it's almost a miracle that they even function enough to be so widespread" - Xenos Biologis Wulfric Zeta 09
While most attention of the Great Crusade now resides towards the northeast against the Men of Iron. Battle rages against the largest Ork threat of the age. With the first Legion having spent time holding them back as forces arrange for a massive push, to destroy the entirety of the western section of the Orks and secure the southern Imperium from their incursions.
It was in discussion inside Castle Greyskull's War room that Addam Primus decided that their preparations were complete and that the three Warbosses of the west had been a threat to the southern Imperium for far too long. Calling aid from the Soldiers of Sydion, the Imperial Army and his own legion to join him in ridding the galaxy of the green menace.
Fleets of ships follow in the wake of Castle Greyskull as it moves towards the west, plans to blitz through the smallest territory and then envelope the other two communicated across captains and Generals as all leaders made their voices heard for the upcoming battle.
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The first push into Gutstitch Da Gentle's territory was a calculated move, as befitting the title of the Greenskin, this Warboss was not as strong as others, nor as cunning. One would almost wonder how such a Ork gained power, until those who know of Orks and their "Kulture" learned of Gutstitch's talents as a Painboy. A subset of Ork Weirdboys that have an unnatural talent in modifying and "Healing" their kind.
Gutstitch was no different, as upon the first foot falls on enemy worlds were faced with Cyborks and Ork modified Squigs. Worlds were alight with bolter and las fire from the combined Imperium forces against the medical monstrosities the Mad Dok and his underlingz unleashed with little care. Though unlike the Dreaded Eldar, these were more often than not just Orks with extra limbs or cybernetic replacements.
Battle itself was a chaotic mess as Imperial lines attempted to hold against the normal Ork tactics that were augmented with large amounts of Cyborks and modified Squigs. Sights unseen from prior battles against Ork would be experienced here, such as Oil spewing Squigs that upon being agitated ignited and exploded in massive balls of fire, or the gun armed Orks charging forward as they targeted the Astartes forces to varying degrees of success.
However it was not the Astartes who fought that songs would be sung the most, for it was the soldiers of Sydion who showcased their might most of all in these battles. Finding the Medical creations of the Orks offensive to their very cultural background as children of medicine, leading many of them towards heroic feats such as battalions leading the charge against Ork strongholds or destroying Squig camps.
The Sydion's of course had other reasons to fight so fiercely, their homeworld would be in the path of the Orks, should they advance towards the Imperium. And they would not let it fall, especially with the recent news of the first live births of their people's history.
All these battles paled in comparison to Flashy Toof, the main seat of power for Gutstitch, a giant moon of a Gas Giant, with shining mountains of various minerals that the Orks said looked like teeth, hence the name they called the world. It was here that the Skullbringers met with a new creatures that would come to terrorize any Ork battlegrounds in the years to follow, the Squig, the ever vile creature the Greenskin ecosystem is built on, can create great and terrible monsters if provoked by especially mad Painboyz, these five types would be know by screaming Orks who fought with or beside the beasts.
The first fought were the Trisquig, lumbering stitched together trios of Squigs forced to grow massive horns and act as living battering rams or as a non mechanized cavalry as Orks rode the Squigs into battle. With six clawed legs they charged forward, hardened plates and Ork Scrap armor coating it's form and acting as an extra source of force upon impact. In many ways these creatures were the antithesis of the Battlecats of the First Legion and emblematic of the Orks, large and lumbering creatures that were more prone to acts of violence than any semblance of a plan, such was the way of Orks.
The second to be fought was the horrible beasts known as Slink-Squig, The Painboyz answer to the question, what happens if you feed Squigs a diet of only Snotlings and other weaker Squigs. The Squig gains a spindly body that slinks through the shadows and ambushes anything it considers prey with sharp claws or it's barbed and sticky tongue. While not as large compared to the other battle Squig, the Slink-Squig possesses an unusual level of cunning for it's kind and are remarkably easy to train for Ork Runtherds, who often train their own natural burrowing tendencies to create camp defenses or "Slink 'Oles", where their barbed tongue is a danger to any Imperial Scout caught unprepared.
Third encountered would be the Squiglioths in the mire of the no man's land between the Imperium and Ork forces. Crawling across the churned up dirt and mud filled wasteland consuming the corpses is a ghoulish creature, it's wide body caked in dirt and blood, they are feral creatures appear to be so territorial that even Orks are not safe from entering it's "Territory". Ripping apart anything that moves in their vision with a ferocity and simple minded drive that one wonders if these creatures even feel pain.
The fourth terror would be met in the skies of Flashy Toof, as the Wyver-Squigs swarmed the Imperial air forces, these flying Squigs the size of men were an odd sight, with no natural legs but a pair of great webbed wings in place of them. Causing the creatures to fly upside down and frankly to varying degrees of effect, but that matters little when swarms of them crash into your airships and clog up the machinery with their guts.
The fifth and final new beast would be the aptly named Boulder Squig, as it's more akin to a walking rock than an actual living creature, it's large size and hard shell covering most of it's body would have made it useful for nothing in any sensible society. But to the Orks, this walking rock with its large size and sturdy nature, made it perfect for becoming 'Ard Ammo for massive Squig Launchers. Soon Armor divisions would face a hail of boulder sized Squigs crashing into their vehicles or if one is particularly unlucky, crashing onto them and leaving a fine red paste.
Battling across this land of monsters, we follow a simple squad of Marines, their mission was to destroy one of the many Squig rearing areas that made these beasts. The ten man squad took to this mission with the same acceptance known for the sons of the first, but this Squad, known to several others of their chapter and company as "Breaker Squad" were chosen for a simple fact. While many of the First Legion have fought the Greenskins for some time, Breaker Squad was formed during the campaign against the Twinfists, fighting the Ork tide all this time and earning acclaim from their brothers.
Reaching the site of the Squig raising, Breaker Squad would silently take out a majority of the Ork Defenders with nary an issue. The sound of metallic foot falls however would hearled an unexpected situation, as the Painboss Gutstich da Gentle himself emerged from the Squig pits.
Gutstitch was a decently sized Ork, surgical scars were scattered across his form and extensive cybernetics for both battle and the Ork's twisted sense of "healing" were placed across the green body. A twisted grin was stretched across the Ork's face as his bloodshot eyes looked over the group of Marines, wiping his bloody unaugmented hand upon a stained apron, some bits of Squig flesh still twitched as his hand brushed it aside.
"Heh Thought dat 'fings were getting a bit quiet for the boyz, youse them flashy Space Mareens rioght? Oh your gonna be real fun to cut into." The beast's slow drawl betrayed no outrage at the dead Orks, only exciment of the fight to come.
Metallic footfalls followed as massive Cybork guards followed their Painboss, Breaker Squad wordlessly readied their weapons as the Cyborks bellowed out their war cries of WAAGGGHHH. The fighting was frantic and several times the squad considered a tactical retreat, the Cyborks alone were juggernauts capable of taking the worst of their armaments and still fighting, but the Painboss was a different beast, even for a Ork, he seemed numb to any pain unflicted on him.
Loses began to mount as Brother after Brother fell, either to Ork brutality or a sacrifice manuver to defeat a particularly dangerous foe. Soon, out of the ten man squad, only four remained, the Sergeant in charge of the formation and three others. Meanwhile the Orks only had their Painboss still standing.
The four men readied their weapons as the Ork Painboss threw away the gore of one of their fallen brothers. The Ork cared little for the death of his guards, spitting on one with contempt "Bunch'ua Weaklings if you Space Mareens could gut em, ah well, just means I get ta make some new ones, got plenty of skrap to do so once I cut it off ya." The Ork welcomed the Marines who charged forward, the crude medical saw looking Choppa of Gutstich locked with chainsword while the Ork's bulk knocked away one of the other marines.
The sparking that emanated from the clash could do little to hide the manic grin of Gutstich, a grin that shifted to surprise as whirling blades cut through his arms. The marines of Breaker Squad were not going to just let their brothers fight this beast one on one, thus while one recovered from the fall and another clashed blades, a third rushed forward to disarm the Ork Painboss.
Dearmed and faced with little options, the Ork Painboss began to shout "RAGGHH COME ON THEN, I STILL GOT ME TEEF, I'Z NOT GONNA DIE LIKE A GROT WAGGGHHHH-" As the Ork shouted, it charged forward and rammed into the Sargent, attempting to bite the marine before he slammed the Ork to the side with the flat of his Powersword. Landing with a harsh thud, the Ork began to rise only for bolter shells and Volkite weapons to blast and burn through the Painboss, leaving the Warboss dead.
With a heavy heart, Breaker Squad collected their dead and returned, despite their losses, the victory they achieved would pave the way for the Imperium to seal the fate over Flashy Toof.
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The decision to invade the territory of Odrux Doomcrusha was made for the first legion after a surge of Orks came forth from his space, emboldened by the sense of battle fought and the Orkish desire to fight the biggest threat.
Odrux Doomcrusha held the distinction of being the strongest Ork Warboss of the west, his prior position of Head Mek of the Twinfist's WAAGGGHHH left him in the prime position for accruing power. In truth most analysts had assumed that if left to their devices, the Western Orks would have fallen to Odrux given enough time and without interruptions.
The surprise assault from Odrux's territory was a matter of concern from Adaam Primus, but with proper communications and his original plan of the force to assault the lines from Imperial space, the Greenskins did not run rampant across space.
Upon Imperial and Ork worlds, did the Legion and the PDF fight the machines of the Doomcrusha. Fortifications defended by Skullbringers with Actium symbols defended each and every holding, while outriders tore through the Ork lines. The Orks of course bellowed out both rage and joy at the struggle, the large amounts of Deffdreads and Stompas of the Doomcrusha Orks tore across worlds, smashing fortifications with pure brutal strength and single minded purpose.
The Battlecats would have been pushed to their limits against such foes before, but time fighting the Orks and other innovations in the Legion's doctrine of warfare have made the feline mounts of the Skullbringers more than capable enough against the machines of their enemy.
But of course, the Battlecats were not alone, as the First Legion were not idle with expanding their methods of mounted warfare, as from the ranks of the Battlecats, came other war beasts claimed by the Skullbringers.
First was the New Eternia Tanklizard, a native creature to their new homeworld that true to it's name was a massive shelled lizard the size of a Battletank. Though slow, their size and might was unmatched as their clubbed tails smashed through Ork machines and their claws ripped apart Ork mobs.
The second was the aptly named Blitzbird, a large flightless avian like creature, that while smaller than a Battlecat, made up for it in agility and swiftness that came with an acidic spit that made them very well loved by the Scout Marines and those who found themselves drawn to quick engagements. Large groups of them running side to side against Ork Vehicle groups and providing aid in various hit and run attacks.
But the defenses could not stand forever, they needed aid to drive off the Greenskins. With Castle Greyskull still held up in wiping out the remnants of Gutstitch's forces, the ships of the Army and First Legion came to deal with the incursion, led by Ser Duncan the Man at Arms and proto-Astartes of great renown for his skills both in leadership and battle.
Under his command and the aid of the Imperial Army, the Ork incursion was pushed back and territory gains, past the desolated world of Karingold, breaking the fortresses of Black Rok and destroying the Stompa Factories of Drathis. All fell to the first Legion and the Imperial Army, their path leading them directly to Da Skrapyard.
Fleet's surrounded rings of debris, as Da Skrapyard lived up to it's Ork held title as a Junk world. Fueling their war effort with the heaps of scrap metal and once again showing that Orks need little to truly start their WAAGGGHHH's. Apocalypse class battleships led Vengeance and Furious class cruisers against the Orkish defense fleet, shells and lasers hit metal and shredded shields. Behemoths of metal met each other as both sides attempted to ram into the other and overpower their foe.
While the fleet battled above, dropods and landers deposited thousands of Soldiers and their equipment, establishing beacheads and initial territory gains for the Imperium. Scans of the planet showed that everything was connected via one massive factory, if it was destroyed, the entire production line of this world would break apart.
The Man at Arms, Ser Duncan would lead the assault on the factory citadel personally, intending to bring an end to this section of the campaign before the Mekboss could create more devastating weapons. Selecting some of the best and brightest of the combined force to accompany him in the breaching of the fortress itself.
With the cover of a massive siege along the outside of the factory, Ser Duncan and his forces broke through the defenses and began their work, setting charges and destroying vital areas that supplied materials for the wider factory. They fought at every inch as the Orks surged to protect their "Gubbinz", but in far less numbers then they would have had Duncan not planned this siege meticulously to draw in the Ork's love of battle and thus their attention.
The booming steps of something far larger than the Orks he was fighting registered in Duncan's head, forcing his attention to turn towards a gate, as the rusting and cobbled together metal plates creaked and groaned open. He saw as more Orks poured out of the entryway, while a massive behemoth stomped forward.
Doomcrusha himself stood before Duncan, armored head to toe in what passed for armor of their kind, large and bulky even for their standards. It was clear that the Mekboss had modified his personal armor, and with Orks, that could mean any sort of unusual trick to the fight. For Duncan, the sound of battle drifted away as he aimed his rifle, he could feel the Ork's own eyes narrow as they stared each other down.
The Ork would make the first move, rushing forward to meet the Man At Arms in pitched combat, the two leaders matching their species' respective wits against the other. Leading to the Ork charging into the man and both tumbling over a walk way and deeper into the Factory.
The Ork and Man crashed down the metal slope, crashing through metal pipes and various Ork mechanisms, though neither stopped their battle as this occurred. Metal fists met armor as both gave no inch to the other until they landed with a thunderous crash.
The two continued their duel, now free from either side maintaining the advantage. With the Man At Arms utilizing every trick and contraption at his disposal to fight the Mek's own trickery. Backup weapons met each other in clashes that shook the ground and reverberated in the air, Duncan was forced to draw out a prototype, a weapon powered by a Plasma Generator of his own design, a weapon that at first seemed most effective, empowering all of the weapon's capabilities and knocking the Ork to the ground, ready to finish the beast. But Duncan's eyes would spot small but growing cracks upon the casing of the Generator.
With not even a second thought, Duncan tore out the generator from his weapon and threw it with all his might at the prone Ork, he began to run to cover while the Ork picked up the sparking machine with a tone of bemusement.
"Ya down ta throwing Roks 'Ummi-" the question was never finished as a bright flash engulfed the Ork and surrounding area. Duncan could feel the heat grow close for a moment as the force of the explosion knocked him to the ground. Rising to his feet, Duncan looked to where he had thrown the fractured Plasma generator, seeing only smoldering remains of melted armor and charred Ork flesh, the Psudo Astartes would catch his breath for only a moment, before begining his climb back to his fellow soldiers.
Together and without the uniting force of the Warboss, the Imperial forces tore through the planet's remaining defenders, crushing the WAAGGHHHH in it's tracks.
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With the other two dead and their hordes scattered, all that remained of the western Orks was Gab'Smasha the Red. The self proclaimed "Fastest Ork there is", a Speed Freak who was seen as the middle of the pack compared to the other two western Warbosses. A fact that continued to be the case as the incursion defense forces and the main Greyskull push combined and pushed towards the territory of said Warboss, taking the first few world with ease…until new fleets made themselves known.
Hastily drawn symbols and marks of recent battle dotted across several ships and to any who understood Orks, they knew what this meant. The inclusion of forces that belonged to the prior Warbosses now fighting under the new largest, either forced into submission or the Ork nature to follow the largest and strongest.
Even with Castle Greyskull providing it's power, the Imperial fleet had difficulties dealing with the sheer speed and amount of Ork ships that fought them. Kroozers of all kinds scattered and attacked with the intent to whittle down and break the Imperial advance, not ceasing or retreating even as their ships blew apart, the Orks fought with every fiber of their being even as they were outmatched.
This extended into the battles for the planets of the Orks, while the inclusion of the Doomcrusha machines and the Gutstich Squigs was enough of an issue on it's own, Gab'Smasha's own Speed Freak forces presented the Orkish tendency to strange technology and tactics in droves far greater than against the prior Warboses.
Notably in the battle for Grot Towers, would the aforementioned Grots of Gab'Smasha's WAGGGHHH created what could only be described as a herd of Tanks, ramshackle and ineffective they may be, but the sheer amount of them and the firepower that they could unleash was more then enough to offset their inherent flaws. The battle for Grot Towers would not be difficult in the traditional sense, but sheer fervor of the Grots and their vehicle hordes kept many held up for a majority of the Campaign, distracing many from battling over the Capital of Gab'Smasha's WAAGGHHHHH.
The Planet, whatever it's original name was, was a blasted wasteland of empty dust filled plains, broken up only by factories that churned out more vehicles to add to the large hordes of Speedfreeks, truly befitting it's new name as Gab'Smasha's Hold. The Ork defense fleets and others that were being built across the system charged with glee towards the arriving Imperium forces, some half finished ship tearing themselves apart in the process, while others fired off every gun they had despite being imobile. Of course Castle Greyskull was more than capable of overpowering these defenses, but the mighty vessel could not be everywhere at once and the battles of the fleets were extensive as veteran captains fought against Orks who lived for the concept of speed and mobility.
Battle on the Planet also had it's share of issues as Imperium forces landed, these Orks had no structures, only their Mobile WAGGHHH. If it could not move, it'd be made to move. As such the battles against any Vehicle horde was like fighting a mobile factory and Ork encampment, but the Imperium were not deterred and fought despite the difficulties. And were even more spurred on by the Arrival of the Primarch himself and his companions, each who led their own operations to find the Warboss Gab'Smasha and any other strategic advantage to end this conflict quickly.
Adaam himself was leading a convoy movement to deliver supplies to one of the base camps set up by his Actium Legion Members, the area dense in hordes that specializes in Anti-Air which kept most supplies from being delivered in such ways. With him was Battle Cat, who was looking over the many others of his kind with the members of the First Legion, both felt pride at how their own had continued the duty of their homeworld. But this peace as disturbed by an explosion hitting the center of the Convoy.
The explosion knocked away vehicles and burned many soldiers, leading to confusion and hastily shouts of orders to regain any cohesion, many asking over Vox about the cause of the explosion, none knowing excatly what the cause was.
To Addam, the sight was clear as day, he saw as a Ork warbike crashed into the middle of the convoy, the blast the result of many canisters of what could only be presumed to be some Orkish creation. His eyes scanned the horizon, focusing on what could only be the culprit. A Ork slowly descending from a makeshift parachute towards what was assumed to be an encroaching dust storm, but now was clear to be a horde of Speed Freaks.
The large Ork with the makeshift parachute landed with a thud on top of a Battlewagon which led the rapidly approaching vehicle horde. Taking off the helmet and unclipping the lengthy fabric attached to his armor. And pointed his own weapon towards the remains of the convoy, Adaam would narrow his eyes as he beheld the Warboss of this WAGGGHHH, Gab'Smasha the Red.
Gab'Smaha lived up to his title as the Red, wearing crimson armor and green skin painted in patches of red, his power klaw swung wildly as he stood on top of the massive Battlewagon. The sheer sound drowned out his laughter as the massive vehicle spearheaded the charge, the Convoy could not withstand this attack, not without immediate action.
Adaam immediately began his counter charge against the Orks, leading large numbers of his sons towards the threat, riding their own beasts and vehicles. This counter Charge was meant to keep the Orks occupied and to potentially cut the head off the serpent that was this WAAGGHH.
Addam's eyes caught glimpses of shining lights that came towards the counter attack of his forces and bellowed out orders to his Sons. Avoiding the harpoons and other launched attacks from the Orks, whose hooting and hollering grew louder as the two sides got closer and closer.
With ease, Adaam leapt up ontop of the Battlewagon as soon as he was close, meeting with the Ork Warboss face to face. Having seen the heights of the Twinfists, the Ork was unimpressive, only as large as up to Adaam's chest if he stood straight. But Addam knew to never underestimate the Greenskins and moved to clash with the brute.
Their duel on top of the Battlewagon between the two would not be the stuff of legend nor song. Adaam outclassed the Greenskin in every way, the only factor keeping the Ork alive was his uncanny speed and Orkish resilience. But the Ork could not avoid every strike, as cuts into the armor and flesh began to grow in number, culminating in a deep slash across one of the Ork's eyes.
The Ork's boot slammed into Addam and sent him back several feet, nearly knocking him over the edge of the Battlewagon. A shout of both joy and rage emanated from the Ork, whose free hand wiped at the bloody mess that was his eye "I'z can see why da Twinfists got krumped by ya, youse a 'Ard one…OI Bagwrath, get up here and take a swing!"
"I'z got ya boss, just got to shoot this fuzzy Grot and i'll AGGHHHH" The screaming of the driver Ork and roars of Battle Cat told Adaam all he needed about his ally in this fight, the grunt of annoyance from the Warboss was all that was needed to continue the fight.
Adaam during the Ork's antics sent out a small ping on his Vox frequency, one he knew he'd need at one point. Miles away, massive guns and their crews began to make the necessary calculations and kept the Primarch informed on every factor.
"Impact on route Lord Primarch, stand by for the hammer fall." Adaam smirked at the news and hit the Ork with the pommel of his sword, sending the beast to the ground.
The roar of his companion was more than enough for Adaam to leap from the Ork vehicle and onto his erstwhile ally. Ignoring the cries of outrage from the Ork, and clearing the blast range as the shells hit the Battlewagon. Adaam, now out of combat, began to direct his sons in their ongoing battle against the Orks, until he heard the shifting of metal.
The Ork Warboss was not dead, leaving the wreck with burns coating the open air parts of his flesh. Gab'Smasha let out a bellowing roar and against all sensibility, began to run towards Adaam and Battle Cat. Adaam quickly dismounted, and drew his blade, motioning for Battle Cat to stand aside. The two would meet their blades and for a moment all was still, the Klaw broke, slicing into the Ork's arm and splitting it. Adaam's training allowed him to draw it out of the Ork's body quickly and into the next slash.
First went the legs, then the other Arm. In a single moment the Ork was down to one split apart limb, but the Primarch was not done, grabbing one of the discarded skrap harpoons Adaam skewered the Ork in the chest and with great force threw the makeshift spear and it's attached Ork into the side of the burning wreckage of the Battlewagon, leaving a massive dent at impact. The Ork struggled against his entrapment, but could do nothing as flesh began to burn more.
"Tha…was a right good Skrap 'Ummie…how'd ya beat me…i'z da Fastest Ork there eva is?" The Ork ceased his struggling, the pool of blood beneath him growing larger and larger, even Orkish resilience could only do so much, his voice once booming now grew softer as the life essence drained from him.
Battle Cat growled at the still living Greenskin, only to be held back by Adaam, who spoke to the Ork "Simple, you were just Slower than me Ork." Gab'Smasha was silent for a moment, before a wet and gargling laughing filled the air, the answer clearly amusing the Ork. The gargling laughter of Gab'Smasha faded, leaving Adaam and Battle Cat to leave and resume communications with the rest of his sons about the death of the Warboss and to begin aggressive action on all fronts. Eventually the sands would take the body of the red ork and the remains of it's horde, leaving no trace of the creature or it's vehicles.
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With the last of the western Warbosses dead, the remaining Orks shattered and fell into infighting and were swiftly culled by the Imperium's forces. Freeing worlds for the Imperium to begin colonization and exploitation or to free the native Human populations who had suffered under the Green fist of the Orks.
The former capitals of the three Wabosses in particular would be transformed into worlds more beneficial to the Imperium as a whole.
Flashy Toof, now relatively free of the hostile Xeno life, found itself being turned towards mining out the various mountains for their materials. The large Moon will supply to the sectors around it bountiful materials and metals. And as such has been renamed as Ironheart.
Da Skrapyard, despite it's junk filled nature, still could provide ample opportunity for both the Imperium and Mechanicus, thus orbital Stations were constructed amidst the rings of Junk, veritable cities to extract materials and refine them for Imperial use. Now named Signas Prime, it will be a fine addition to the Imperium.
And finally, Gabsmasha's Hold, despite being a barren desert planet, would find itself becoming the site for the construction of a new Hiveworld. Given the name of Silica Primus, in honor of the Primarch Primus and acting as the future center for continued south eastern expansion.
"A common mutation of Rats when exposed to Warpstone sources, known as Raterium Rex Syndrome, the resulting creatures become a common sight in Under Hives, and are often used as makeshift corpse cleaners. Some local legends have the creatures growing so large from the consumption of the dead, they split apart and become Skaven. A interesting legend to explain the appearance of Skaven from the Under Hives, if an impossible fantasy." a Primer of Hive Cities, Vol II
(Written by the very talented @Scabby )
The room was long, with a wide empty space from the doorway to the desk and array of monitors at the other end, and dimly lit by the candles overhead. Most of the light came from the computer, which connected to over a dozen screens of varying size and content. Some flickered between views of the broader compound, others held a steady view of a distant planet; one showed an autopsy of one of the compound's prisoners, a gray-furred specimen who'd been killed by its fellows to buy time during a breakout attempt. This was the one which the compound's mistress was staring at, though her attention was on greater matters.
"Begin log," Lucretia commanded the servo-skull hovering behind her. "Project Redemption continues to fall behind schedule. Despite the servility displayed by the Skavens' lower castes and accounts of temporary cooperation between outcastes of Imperial and Skaven society, and a second generation having been born into containment, test subjects still display violently antisocial behavior - with each other, and their human handlers."
A press of a button, and the displays changed. Views of the Skaven in captivity, models for bionic implants & genetic code, and reports on failed tests filled the screens.
"Tests for sociological manipulation have largely failed in the long term - positive reinforcement for behaviors have negligible impact on behavior once those reinforcements stop, and maintaining the average level of rewards for extended periods would prove uneconomical. Direct technological manipulation via servitorization has also failed, with most subjects undergoing implant rejection and necrotizing in weeks. Genetic manipulation requires an understanding of the Skaven genome, and the Genitors I have retained have thus far failed to decipher it. Our current subjects all hail from Clan Boneslicer on Vadorox I, and their eusociality means they have a further lack of genetic diversity. For progress to be made, I must have… more."
The screens changed again. The planets from before were displayed again, along with other documents on them filling the rest of the screens - collated rumors, military reports, and Explorator data. Lucretia scanned them for a moment, and nodded.
"Sergeant Chanubel, ready your Crimson Lords. Your talents are needed on Helmire."
Helmire was a dismal and disgusting world. Its skies were clouded with smog and its lands flooded with mud. Rivers given many hues carved their way across the landscape, issuing forth from the mountainous hive-cities in which most of the planet's population lived. Typhoons battered the titanic structures with such force that void shields would illuminate the sky and that the bones of the cities' underhives would be revealed by the torrential downpour, before the winds receded and the mud flooded back in.
First overlooked when the planet had been incorporated a century ago, it was also home to several Skaven clans, who made their burrows in the depths of the underhive or in the mineral-exhausted mountains at the periphery.
Reports from the planet's defense forces indicated that many of these were smaller and weaker than those on Stormgard, unable to dig stable tunnels through the wet soil and reach the deeper minerals that clans on other worlds could; and also that they displayed an abundance of variation and genetically engineered work-animals, some even thought to have been derived from the Skaven themselves. They would provide a key piece in the puzzle for mastering the Skaven genome.
Penal regiments from Helmire and beyond were called upon, redirected from the apocalyptic crusades on the periphery where they would accomplish little, and were set to the task of trawling through the Underhive for signs of the Skaven's settlements. While many attempted to escape their duty and join the faceless masses of the mega-cities above, and others would meet untimely ends at the many other dangers in the depths of Helmire, some had the right mix of good and bad luck to meet the Skaven.
Qaet lowered her mask for just a moment to spit out her lho-gum, and wrinkled her nose as the smell of the sewers hit.
"The hell do they feed them up there?" she muttered. Another member of her squad, Nowa, chuckled and answered,
"Same trash they fed us back home, I'd imagine."
Qaet and Nowa were part of the 2nd Penal Infantry of Ozymandium, another Hive World. In exchange for a period of military service, Ozymandium's criminals would have their sentences commuted. Qaet, like several others in the regiment, had been part of a gang whose higher-ups used xenos goods. Perhaps that was why the Inquisitor had plucked them away, to make up for their transgressions.
Her squad was patrolling the maze of tunnels buried beneath the city, near where it was rumored the Skaven had an outpost. Once they'd established visual contact, they were supposed to report back to the Space Marines at their own starting point - and damn if that didn't make this about worth it. Space Marines, in the flesh!
"Hold," their squad's spotter signed from further down the path, "Contact ahead."
"Human?" the squad-leader signed back. Both of them were noncriminal soldiers given the full training of the Imperial Army, there to ensure the criminal recruits did their jobs.
"Unclear. Small."
Qaet & the rest of the squad ducked behind some pipes for a moment, and for a few moments a figure passed into view across the t-intersection. They were short and hunched over, with a heavy cloak of rags, and seemed to be sitting on some kind of raft, moving against the current without rowing or the sound of a motor.
The squad crept up the tunnel and followed the figure from a distance, careful not to draw too close in case the Skaven could see or sniff them out, nor to fall too far behind and lose sight of them. There were times where the figure turned around unprompted, their raft still moving forward, so that Qaet and the rest were forced to wait behind cover while their quarry got further away; but still they managed to follow until the raft came to a stop at a gated-off sewer.
A strange chirping sound started up in a one-two-three one-two rhythm, and after a few repetitions a response call sounded up.
"Checkpoint?" Qaet mouthed to Nowa and the sergeant, lasgun out but held to her chest. The sergeant thought it over for a moment, and mouthed back 'probably'. Nowa had his own lasgun pulled out and aimed at the Skaven from where he was in cover.
A pair of red lights started approaching from the other side of the gate, audibly crackling like flares, and with them they provided a dim image of the gathering. There were well over a dozen Skaven behind the gate, several holding guns and others in manacles. Slinking around them were a pack of giant rats, larger than even the police cyberhounds Qaet had seen in her youth.
The figure they'd been following was also confirmed to be a Skaven, and their raft's source of movement was revealed as well; six fat rodents, chubby compared to the Rat Wolves with the group, had hauled themselves out of the sewer water but remained tied to the raft's front.
The Skaven started to open up the gate on one side with a horrible screech of moving rust, and Qaet scowled. If they were offloading the raft here, there was no telling whether the Skaven's den was just around the corner or down another mile of pipes. If the Skaven were based nearby, then following past the gate would alert the whole den before the squad could report in; if they weren't, then waiting long enough not to alert the group could mean losing them.
It seemed the sergeant was willing to risk it, as he gave the order for the squad to ready their lasguns and take aim. Qaet dutifully lifted her rifle into position, and took aim at a dimwitted-looking Skaven holding a cleaver.
One of the Skaven's lights crackled louder than before and flared up, right before the sergeant could order the squad to fire; and that moment of light was enough for the Skaven to notice Nowa's barrel. With a shriek, the Skaven dove to the ground or into the water as the Imperials started to open fire. Qaet struck true and blew the arm off her target, but other shots went wild or hit Skaven-slaves cowering in the back of the crowd.
The Imperials continued to fire and raise a bloody toll, but it wasn't long before the Skaven started to retaliate. Primitive stubbers cast bullets down the tunnel, with the gunpowder explosions near-deafening in such a constrained space; while the squad had the advantage of cover, a few shots still managed to hit or send shrapnel in the right direction, and two of Qaet's squadmates fell.
The Rat Wolves finally managed to wriggle through the bars of the gate or the half-open door, and took bounding leaps towards the squad. Qaet re-aimed and shot one, as did another of her squad, but still the pack closed into melee. One with a spiked collar and missing eye leapt for the sergeant, only to be kicked into the water and hit its head on the edge; another with a jagged pair of front teeth found its way around someone's throat, spraying blood. One of them which twitched and foamed at the mouth as it ran leapt for Qaet; she blocked it with one arm and shot it, but not before it bit down.
Qaet held back a curse and gunned down the last of the Rat Wolves, while the Skaven broke and started to run. Their medic began some triage on the ones who'd been shot, but light started to come down the tunnel the Skaven had fled into, along with the sound of many claws scratching on steel and concrete.
"Guess we f-found the nest, sarge," Qaet said, tongue heavy. The sergeant nodded.
"Good enough for me. Grab whoever we can save and hoof it!"
Two of the squad lifted the injured onto their backs in fireman's carries, while Qaet and the rest kept their lasguns ready to fire back at the oncoming swarm.
It was a mad dash that followed, with the Skaven hot on their heels but still wildly chasing - the stench of the sewers was just enough to keep them from being tracked, and the branching paths of the sewer labyrinth meant the horde had to spread out to chase them. It was still a sprint over slime and concrete, and desperate enough that when Nowa or one of the carrier-and-injured pairs slipped, the rest couldn't afford to help them up; neither could they wait for part of the group to catch up when they were split at an intersection, or look back to make sure no one fell behind.
By the time Qaet stopped running, she had been separated from the rest of the survivors, and was alone before the Inquisitorial base. Where she'd been bitten was heavily inflamed, her teeth chattered, and thick saliva filled her mouth.
"Sk-sk-sk," she said to the intercom at the compound's gate, physically unable to say the words, and resorted to banging on it. The gate opened after a while, a full squad of guardsmen aiming their lasguns at her, and Qaet raised her arms but shook her bitten hand.
"Rrrrat," she spat out.
The guards escorted her into the medical ward, where they were joined by one of the Astartes - the Sergeant, lord Chanubel - and one of their serfs, the trained men & women in service to the Astartes legions. Her mouth was near foaming now, and they had put in some kind of hose to suck it out while she was strapped on a bed.
"What do you make of her condition, serf?" Chanubel asked.
"It's a local disease which infects animals and people alike. Spreads through saliva, increases the production of it as you can see, and in most cases renders the victim unable to speak or eat. There are treatments, but they take months, and well," the doctor trailed off. Was she too far gone for them to start, or was she considered too low-value for it to be worth it?
The Astartes hummed. "A mundane disease, serf? Unlikely to affect a transhuman."
"...Yes, lord Astartes."
"Very well. Begin documentation on her passing. I will see to her last rites."
The serf bowed his head, gave her a mournful look, and left the room. The sergeant took off his helmet and loomed over her. He removed the tube from her mouth, and closed her jaw with one hand.
"I thank you for your service. With your sacrifice, the Imperium marches forward to a better tomorrow for humanity," Chanubel said, and pressed his fingers against the sides of her neck. "Know that, regardless of your past crimes, you shall be remembered for as long as I live."
Crack.
Their quarry found, the Crimson Lords led a blistering assault on the Skaven over the next few weeks, with Chanubel and others of his squad displaying a mastery of the tunnels as if they had experience with them before during the first strike.
First to fall was the compound in the sewers that the Ozymandians had found, an outpost for one of the clans where goods from the Underhive would pass through on their way to the main warren. With only a paltry few thousand stormvermin defending it, the Crimson Lords barreled through to reach the commander of the base, while the PDF was led by Lucretia's human agents in annihilating the fleeing Skaven.
With a new source of information on the clan's holdings, the Crimson Lords returned with haste to the upper hive for another regiment of soldiers to support their next assault, and even as the soldiers who fought against the first compound's inhabitants were returning to their bunks, a second compound was being destroyed miles away. A third, fourth and fifth assault came, each hitting a new outpost where black iron was laundered or underhivers were taken as slaves. Drenched in the blood of the Skaven who they fought before, and with word of the sudden destruction reaching the rest of the clan from those who escaped the slaughter, some of the Skaven would rout just upon seeing the Crimson Lords approach.
With the Skaven's clan leaders having lost any capacity to take the initiative or control their subjects, the Crimson Lords decided it was time for an assault on the Clan's main warren, where its leaders and breeders would be located.
The clan's capital was split between several great chambers, their original purpose long forgotten, united by tunnels at all levels & sizes. Some were large enough for the Skaven's primitive tanks to roll through, providing an armored defense & crushing weight to keep the Skavenslaves from retreating. Others were short and small, allowing Rat Wolves to flank the invading Imperials.
Chanubel was fighting beside a group of Inquisitor Lucretia's acolytes & a platoon of guardsmen whom they'd been given command of. They were in the central chamber now, where the main temples, barracks and manors for the elite of the clan were located. Curiously, the well-guarded building they were fighting their way past now bore different markers than those of the clan's other official buildings; an embassy from a different clan seemed unlikely, given the Skaven's general temperament, but a residence for some superior clan which this one was bound into the service of? Chanubel dismissed the thought, to instead catch a mutant Skaven that was leaping for his head.
The mortals around him called these Rat Ghouls, agile and beastly Skaven given straight-edged claws protruding from their knuckles. They huffed and wheezed quietly, unlike the squeaks and shrieks that the common Skaven gave, and Chanubel suspected their vocal cords had been removed. Stealthy as they may have been, leaping down unseen to kill one of the guardsmen before slipping away, they couldn't accomplish much against the armor or reflexes of an Astartes.
"Stab-kill the man-things, slaves!" a Skaven in patchwork leather robes with two tails and a third arm screeched, two arms scratching each other while the third held a staff. "Protect your master-maker!"
One of the local soldiers broke through the line, chainsword reared back for a heavy swing. The robed Skaven pointed its two empty hands at them, and a swarm of ticks leapt out of its fur to bite the soldier, crawling past gaps in their clothing or landing and biting at their eyes. The soldier stopped and fell back, and some of the swarm leapt for the battling line of men & Skaven. Then, it began hobbling away.
Chanubel marched in pursuit, bolter rounds sweeping through the crowd in one section and backhand launching a pair of Skaven who tried to block him. A Skaven gunner atop one of the roofs missed him by a hair and left a deep furrow in the ground; when he tried to fire back, a group of Rat Ghouls leapt at him to intercept.
By the time the robed Skaven's underlings were dead on the guards' bayonets and the crowd broke, there was no sign of the Skaven in question, or indeed any documents or surviving experiments in the building. A missed opportunity, Chanubel noted, but one that paled in comparison to the bounty that was the captured Skaven broodmothers.
Still, it would do to keep an eye out for Clan Vlesh elsewhere.
"Begin log. The operation on Helmire has been successful, as I have come to expect of Sergeant Chanubel and the Crimson Lords. My operatives delivered seven surviving Broodmothers from the targeted clan along with roughly fifty thousand Skaven of different castes."
Lucretia switched the images displayed on her screens to a panoply of a shanty-town, where even now some human prisoners were washing away blood under armed watch of a few battle-servitors, surrounded by groups of Skaven who spent as much time scowling and screeching at the humans as they did each other.
"While the bulk of these have been isolated to maintain a population of the clan for comparison, a sixth of them were introduced to a group of the Boneslicer Skaven. Violence broke out within the hour, as the new entrants either attempted to prove themselves unable to be threatened, or were targeted for extermination by loyalists of the old clan structure."
"As for the recently received clan, they appear to be a splinter group from a larger 'Clan Vlesh', which would explain their relative poverty & diminutive size compared to other clans found. In interrogation, the Skaven have referred to themselves as a 'Thrall Clan'; this of course means they are subservient to Clan Vlesh, but the details of this relationship and its impacts on relationships with other clans is intriguing. Where does a Thrall Clan's Warlord or other elites fall in the hierarchy of its master clan, and how much can the Thrall be compelled to die in service to it?"
Lucretia was quiet for a moment as she pondered the question she'd posed herself, and then shook her head. The screens changed again on her command, now revealing medical data - autopsies, anatomical comparisons, strands of genetic information and more.
"Regardless of the xenocultural studies to be made, this has given us more data for Project Redemption. The recently acquired Skaven exhibit more mutations than Clan Boneslicer, though are still broadly homogeneous, and that homogeneity is itself different from that of Boneslicer."
Another change of the screens, and Lucretia scowled at the videos of her techpriests handling deformed Skaven infants - twins merged in the womb with additional facial features, supersized individuals who lacked hind limbs or higher mental functions, specimens with a patchwork of calcified skin & exposed flesh, and more.
"Unfortunately, my more incompetent subordinates still fail to control the Skaven genome. The Vlesh-derived Skaven are too susceptible to manipulation, with alterations having excessive effects. Crossbreeding with Boneslicer has begun in other subject lines to rein it in, but estimates are unhopeful. A more reliable geneline must be found and introduced to control our experimentation. One tested in primordial fire… Folkvangr. That's where I'll make my next step."
Folkvangr was a temperate world of cool clime, with the majority of its land masses away from the equator. Centuries ago, long before the Imperium's arrival, its rich soil and seas had allowed the feudal societies that inhabited it to reach incredible sizes. At some point, pirates both human and Skaven had arrived to conquer the native governments, warring against each other with modern armaments as they did so.
The Imperium had driven out most of the pirate-kings, but its rule saw the world transformed into an Agri-World. Monocultures spread across hundreds of square kilometers, and the meadows for which it was once named were replaced with flat fields of growing grains.
Clan Baldus was the largest of the surviving Skaven Clans, and reports placed it - or at least, other clans of similar names and natures - on over a dozen other Imperial worlds. On Folkvangr, it ruled in one of the few inhospitable regions of the planet, a mountainous area which had been saturated by rad-bombardment in one of Baldus' wars with its rival pirates. Now, the Skaven would launch raids on the neighboring regions for food, armed with an assortment of radium and energy weapons.
After consulting the planetary governor and her generals, it was decided that the Inquisitorial forces would wait for one of Baldus' raids to begin and launch a counter-attack, keeping the Skaven from a retreat long enough for their expedition to be destroyed while making a quick raid to capture as many Broodmothers as they could. Baldus cycled its raids in an erratic pattern, so the plan required patience and an immediate response.
While the acolytes cajoled sector command into redirecting Drop Trooper and other rapid-response regiments for the plan, sergeant Chanubel and his men began gathering information from the Skaven - none knew their methods, but their results could not be denied either. They would only have one try, and failure could lead to devastation.
Tik Greenfang laughed as the dim light of the human city peaked over the horizon, his war-rig racing away from the tunnel which it'd driven through. He was a Chieftain of Clan Baldus, in charge of a raiding party on the world that the man-things knew as Folkvangr, and the time had come to feast on the bounty that the Skaven's lessers had collected.
Thirteen groups had been sent out from the Clan's holdings to surround one of the human cities, most headed by tunneling devices like Tik's own was. From the closer tunnels, swarms of slaverats would form the initial assault, followed by groups of stormvermin. More prestigious groups like Tik's, coming up farther away, would race forward on their vehicles to destroy-atomize the defenders (and get their pick of the loot, once all the footsloggers had died).
Already, the sounds of artillery fire and flashes of lascannon light were noticeable. Tik licked his uranium-glass dentures, and shouted,
"Move fast-quick! Get your repeaters loaded, your launchers armed-ready! We kill, and then we feast!"
Tik's rig pulled over at the edge of the battle, where he could survey his troops without having to put himself in harm's way. The outer wall of the city was nearly a dozen meters tall, and its lower levels were reinforced to delay a breach. Watchtowers with autocannons were placed at regular intervals on its top, and two lines of gunholes filled the middle space.
At Tik's command, a group of Rad-Bomb Launchers took aim at the mid-section of the wall at several points. Four Skaven served each of the long-barrelled weapons, loading in small-yield nuclear explosives, while another pair handled the aim and firing. With a thwoop the bombs were fired, and not a second later the explosives impacted. Shields overloaded and the targeted sections of wall collapsed into rubble, while all those within a hundred meters of the blasts were saturated with neutron radiation, turning boiled-red and collapsing into vomit if they weren't already killed.
Seeing the opportunity, the taskmasters of the other force drove their Skavenslaves through the breach, uncaring of the radiation in the way. Clan Baldus was blessed by the Great Horned Rat, for the foulness of his most destructive weapons had little effect on them. Sure, many other clans would mock them for their typical hair loss from the exposure, but who'd be laughing when a bomb went off in their warren and Clan Baldus followed it to feast on their corpses?
Stormvermin armed with radlock repeaters saturated the remaining gunholes with their deadly ammunition, and even those shots which didn't find their way into man-flesh still drove the humans back, their radiation burning those who came near. Those armed with mundane guns & blades spilled through the rubble into the still-whole sections, tearing apart the defenders.
Tik and his still-mounted forces closed the hatches of their vehicles, and followed the slaverats through the breaches they'd made. Inside the humans had mustered their tank battalions, which were equipped with flamers to destroy the Skaven hordes.
Tik ordered his own tanks forward, and alongside them were a group of Luminous War-Wagons. Built around a small atomic reactor, the Luminous had an array of energy weapons, but also transported Skaven equipped with their own laser or melta weapons & empower them with its excess energy. Meltas seared holes in the human tanks, and return fire only saw the reactor explosively breach in the midst of their lines.
"Yes-yes! We will kill these man-things, eat their flesh, gnaw on their bones, take their grain! Victory is mine-mine!" Tik laughed,
"Chieftain Greenfang!" One of his servants shrieked.
"What is it, fool-slave?"
"There are humans coming in behind us! They're scattering the swarm-slaves from within! We're pinned-trapped!"
"What?" Tik asked, and kicked them away from their periscope so he could get a look. Indeed, another division of tanks was rolling through the slaverats, while Sentinels and Drop-Troopers fell in their midst. One of the tanks brought its cannon around, and Tik could've swore he saw the glint of the round within.
"Oh, crap!"
"Begin log," Lucretia said with a sigh, staring at a crack on one of her screens. "Subjects from Clan Baldus, including two broodmothers, have been retrieved and introduced to our batch of testing. Reports tell that Folkvangr has entered into a war with the Skaven, as Clan Baldus has retaliated grievously and other clans seek to exploit the chaos, but such sacrifices must be made for the completion of Project Redemption.
"The Baldus genelines' resistance to radiation, and the microscopic mutations which grant that ability, has reduced the mutability in the Vlesh geneline like intended. Physical deformities are uncommon while benign mutations in hair or eye color are able to be reliably induced, and tests to induce certain traits are being made. However, mental attributes are still not within control.
"While some specimens have exhibited receptiveness to commands or Imperial conditioning early in life, this correlates to various mental conditions - feeding disorders, hallucinations, and an eventual decrease in speech paired with an increase to aggressiveness. When released into the captive settlements, they abandon their original behaviors and devote themselves to whatever passes for a 'priesthood' among the Skaven.
"Of course, their religiosity is little more than a display of their primitiveness, but an examination of it may provide insights into the Skaven mind, both in how they form it and how we can utilize its tropes for our own social engineering.
"All three Skaven populations studied here, and to my knowledge every clan the Imperium has encountered, worships a deity they refer to as the "Great Horned Rat". Some clans apply their own titles or names to the deity, and some worship the deity in a particular role or aspect. Clan Baldus, in typical fashion, focuses on the Horned Rat as a destroyer wielding weapons of decay, whose most favored tools are their own radioactive devices; Clan Vlesh's church instead seems to focus on his mythical role as the progenitor of the Skaven race. Blood sacrifices have been made by all three groups, with specifications varying.
"Perhaps the priestly caste can be suborned and made a vector for Imperial control, or subliminal messaging can be used to shape the hallucinations of those who devote themselves to it? Directions could be made to execute agitators, in exchange for rewards…" Lucretia considered these and a few other options for a while longer, before redirecting her attention.
"Regardless, I must have another set of samples, one which points to the mental genes in the Skaven. Just one more, and Project Redemption will be completed. A clan more reliable in behavior if not genetically, more devoted to its work than the backstabbing of Skaven society, that has worked with humans willingly…"
Meke kicked the grill of the ventilation shaft open, and Skab leaned outside to get his bearings. The glare of neon signs hit him, hues of red and green battling for the attention of the man-things below, and Skab had to take a moment to blink away the spots in his eyes before scanning the street.
"Sign with big hatch marks next to one of fish with human legs. Is the right way, yes-yes?" Skab asked a third member of their group, the most skilled navigator, Sak. Sak nodded his head yes, and Skab re-entered the vent.
They were Night Runners, the stealthy warriors of Clan Night-Claw. While not as elite as the true assassins that made up the clan's higher ranks, they were still better than any other clan when it came to sneaking around and killing, yes-yes. And tonight they would be proving that, with a visit to one of their 'collaborators' rivals.
Clan Night-Claw was one of the Great Clans, and none got there without some modicum of intelligence - but Night-Claw was smartest, because they knew how useful it was to turn the other races of the galaxy in on themselves. Skaven thrived in their anarchy, but man-things or the hated Eldar? No-no, of course not. And so, Night-Claw deigned to work with pirates and criminals among the lesser races, offering their talents to exploit the resources that were temporarily out of their reach.
Tonight, they were here on behalf of a merchant who'd delivered members of Night-Claw to various planets in the Imperium. One of the merchant's suppliers, a noble-lady on the Hive World of Huaxia, had some sort of leverage on him. Skab and the rest of the Night Runners with him had been tasked with… removing her, and that leverage with her.
Having oriented themselves with a glimpse of the human's city, they made their way to the target's estate. While still in the Hive City, all the ventilation and piping that would have allowed the Skaven easy access had been given extra defenses - electrified grates, whirring blades, even automated turrets in a few key locations. The crew would instead have to sneak their way through the streets and over the wall where the humans could - theoretically - see them.
Two of the Night Runners ranged out from the group towards an electrical box, to which the street lights were connected. At the boss's signal they disabled one of the lights for a couple moments, and amidst the brief darkness Skab & the rest of the group raced across the street, claws of their feet carefully held up so as not to make a sound. The light turned back on not a moment later than when the last of them was crouched between the wall & some faux greenery, where the guard overhead did not see them.
Meke and another of the larger Skaven in the group stretched out their arms, and Skab stepped into their paws so they could throw him up the wall. He caught himself on the bar of the curtains & lip of the window, and scanned both directions for a sign of the guards - none. They'd have a few minutes then. Skab caught another pair of Skaven who were thrown upwards, and together they braced a rope for the others to climb. When the leader of the group made his way up & looked out the other window at the guards of the main building, he frowned.
"What's wrong-bad, boss?" Skab asked. The boss answered him,
"Man-thing down there is skittish, keeps glancing at shadows."
"Sounds smarter than most," Skab joked.
"Yes. Suspicious," the boss said. He shook his head. "Can't return empty-handed. Keep going, but be suspicious ourselves."
The crew made their way in from there, keeping an eye out for irregularities among the guards. Once inside the building itself, though, everything seemed normal. They kept an eye on the guards for a while, watching the pair outside their target's room alternate at the turn of the hour, and then waited another twenty minutes for a lapse in attention to strike. Three crossbow bolts struck each guard in the chest, and Skaven who'd crept in unseen caught them before they hit the ground. Skab fished the keys off of one's belt, and opened the door for the boss.
The group spread out in an arc around the bed, where a figure was resting under the covers. Skab was unsure what the boss was waiting or looking for, until he followed the line of his gaze to the slight movement of the figure's breathing. Yes-yes, he wanted to make sure it was actually a man-thing under there!
The boss crept up to the side of the bed, drew his knife, and pounced on the figure before they could wake. Blood darkened the sheets around the stab wound, and Skab smiled. Then, everything went wrong.
From under the covers the man-thing shot up straight, and started a horrible synthetic wail. The boss's paw which had been over its mouth was caught at the wrist, and Skab realized it was no man-thing, but one of their cyborg slave-things, a Servitor. They'd been had!
Immediately he dove for a window, but bounced off a set of bars that went side to side in front of it. Others had instead opted to try and stab the Servitor so it would stop that wretched noise, and that fool Sak opened the door to the room, revealing a group of guards running up the stairs.
"Meke! Help me pull-break this and get out!" Skab yelled, and the other Skaven nodded. With a heave, they pulled it out of the wall - not a moment too soon, for the guards were now firing through the doorway.
Skab leapt through the window in a spray of broken glass, and landed in a roll to limit the injury from the fall. Behind him he heard a grunt as Meke fell, but paid him no mind. It was every Skaven for himself now. He raced across the lawn on all fours, and leapt into the boughs of a small tree to spring onto the wall. As Skab's front claws scratched for purchase atop it, a hand grabbed his left foot. He was pulled down & into the room of the wall, and slammed into the floor.
While he wheezed for breath, he caught sight of who'd grabbed him. A group of man-things, three guards and two others who wore their own clothes plus a strange I-shaped icon. The guards pointed their weapons at him, but the female with the icon held up her hand.
"We need some of them alive for interrogation. Now then, rat," she addressed him. "Are you going to talk for us?"
Skab nodded frantically. "Yes-yes, Skab will tell all you want-need know!"
Barataria was a bright blue giant of a star, with all the rocky planets orbiting having been denied any chance for a biosphere by the stellar winds it emanated. It featured heavily in the night skies of the worlds nearby, a beacon to navigate by on one and the jewel of a constellation on another. It only made sense in retrospect that here, where none would look for them amidst the dead world and deafening radiation of a star that cast deep shadows, was where Clan Night-Claw would establish one of its pirate havens.
Orbiting one of the inner planets was a massive station, aboard which millions of Skaven lived and serviced the ships of Night-Claws fleet or of its human collaborators. It was a mix of structures both artificial and natural as city-sized bridges connected asteroids used for mining and, once expended, habitation.
The rat's nest sprang into life as the Imperial fleet translated in and took their survey of the system, not trusting the charts which may have been doctored by traitors so long ago. System-ships several hundred meters long unmoored from the station, or from a great battleship that hung in orbit of another planet to cover that vector of invasion. Escorts engines flared to life, forming a loose vanguard around another battleship whose many hangar-bay doors were opening hours in advance of battle.
Curiously, there were no Cruisers in their midst; only the pair of bulbous battleships, and the swarm of Escorts & sub-Escorts which were visibly made from hulked Imperial & Xenos ships. This was expected - the Skaven were well known to be scavengers, making their scrapyard contraptions from the Imperium's trash, and doubtless their ships would be no exception.
The fleets opened with a barrage of torpedo fire and unleashing of their attack craft, fighters leading the way to screen for the large explosives and erode turret capacity. Bombers joined the next wave as the fleets entered mid-range, and the Imperial cruisers started to fire with their macro-cannons. The Skaven shields held better than expected, and where they broke the ships stood uncharacteristically firm. Perhaps it was a relic of Imperial engineering that even the Skaven couldn't ruin, the more boisterous of the Imperial analysts offered, while others proposed that the risk of dying aboard their ship from a single failure had made the Skaven engineers more cautious.
Once the fleets closed into a brawl, the void lit up with plasma, laser and Lance from the Skaven fleet. Their nimble ships made daring maneuvers & winding arcs through the battlefield, nary a rattle as laser batteries fired repeatedly or low-mass plasma was jetted out, while more cumbersome Imperial escorts heaved with the effort of firing their macro-cannon rounds. Cruisers fired relentlessly, each landed shot dealing great damage to the smaller Skaven ships, but the fleet was outnumbered. Attack craft fought in desperate furballs, only scattering when the battling giants of the fleet opened fire in their space.
The fleets were battling, yes, but the advantage was the Imperium's - and the Skaven recognized it. At first just one Escort which had been damaged escaped the clash with no signaled intention to return, then another, and another, until when the two fleets pulled apart it was with the Skaven in full retreat. Most of the system-craft raced for the distant battleship, lumbering towards the Mandeville point, in hopes of finding escape within its tethers.
The Imperials briefly pursued the carrier battleship, but it almost seemed to slip out of existence in a burst of energy and debris, meteorites being flung every which way. This was no emergency warp jump, for it did not match the signature of such a maneuver, and indeed the carrier returned to existence hours later in the outer system, where it made its actual warp-translation.
However, the battle was not over yet. The Imperium was not just here to kill pirates, but to lay claim to the Broodmothers aboard the station. To do so, they would need to board the city-station, and swiftly enough that the Skaven did not either escape with or kill the Broodmothers themselves.
Heavily armored voidsmen boarded the station with shotguns, high rate-of-fire volley guns, and sundry other crowd-clearing weapons; and still they were overwhelmed by the mobs of Skavenslaves. Where the swarm was not, their traps were - horrific acid-baths, volkite explosions and more took many lives, and cut off tunnels until trap specialists could confirm the way was clear. At fortifications, Night Runners dove in and out of their prepared ground to encircle squads or whole battalions, and heavy weapons were able to fire down clear halls at the approaching Imperials.
The Imperium still gained ground, with the Crimson Lords' squad and the platoons led by Lady Lucretia's acolytes finding the warrens where the Broodmothers had been held, but not fast enough. Some had been cannibalized in the pre-battle feast, others ferried away on ships or by means unknown.
It was at the heart of the Skaven's territory here that Sergeant Chanubel & the acolytes made a desperate play. Diving headlong into danger and far from support, they snuck or blasted their way past patrolling Skaven bands to a place where a psyker among the acolytes had foreseen the last Broodmother would be found. There, a portal into some twisting and ancient realm - the Webway, though none among them knew it - had been opened, and the titanic Broodmother was slowly being coaxed inside by her Brood Guard, as well as by the elite assassins of Clan Night-Claw.
Chanubel fought three of the assassins at once, their nimble movement keeping them out of reach but his armor giving them little opportunity to hit him in turn, while the rest of the room was engaged in a brawl. Neither side could lose the Broodmother to a stray gunshot, so a melee was formed - but the Imperials' lasguns had no risk of ricocheting off, and so from where they were massed they could sweep down the approaching horde of Skaven bearing fang and blade.
The portal sparked and belched with energy, and a panic overtook the Assassins & Night Runners. They raced inside the collapsing portal, leaving the Brood Guard outnumbered by the humans. Despite those last few Skaven fighting to the bitter end, the Inquisition had its prize.
The satisfaction that Lady Lucretia felt was apparent from the first words in the log.
"Begin log. With the introduction of Clan Night-Claw into the breeding population of Project Redemption, we are finally making progress once more. Hybrids between them and the mules that were our previous specimens are obeying orders, albeit reticence and outbursts are still common. However, should future generations show the progress that this has, then field testing for Skaven laborers in the Imperium will be viable within the century. This accursed species will finally be of use, and find some measure of redemption for the misfortune of its birth.
"With this progress, it may be the time for a cull of the basal control populations. There has been an uptick in random violence and religious fervor observed among them; while interesting in its implications for long-term containment, it may be a prelude to a mass breakout attempt, and a bullet now is worth a barrage later.
"A matter for another night. For now, I am content to celebrate the-" Alarm klaxons cut off Lucretia's words.
"What the hell? Security, what is going on out there?" The answer was undecipherable, but could be inferred by Lucretia's response. "No - I don't care about some storm, what do you mean my test subjects are gone?"
The feed began to crackle and break down, as Lucretia's next - perhaps final - words were covered up by the sound of gnashing teeth.
Instincts honed by years of training piloted her body as she leapt to the side as the unknown thing crashed down on where she once stood. The various screens broken by the impact created a sparking light that highlighted the creature more fully, it was clearly derived from the Skaven, an emaciated form with matted clumps of hair, in truth compared to the myriad of strange and often twisted monsters of the Skaven, this being simply appeared to be an elongated Skaven with a massive hunchback and great mane of fur.
Nearby servo-skulls whirred and activated ingrained defensive measures, and began to swarm around the Skaven beast, small saws cutting flesh and mechanical appendages struck at the beast.
The creature's body spasmed and bones seemed to contort as it rose, unbothered by the defensive action of the servo-skulls and twisting to look at Lucretia before uttering words with a low wheezing voice " Interloper...you are more aware then thought...how quaint." It made no move towards Lucretia, letting the skulls continue to cut into it's flesh, releasing what passed for blood of this creature onto the ground in an increasing pool.
Lucretia's eyes narrowed, so it was not a simple beast that was sent after her. "So you can speak." She spoke evenly, leaving no indication of her increased heartrate. "I suppose one of the Clans has sent you to kill me."
The laughter was...wrong, it was both wet and dry, as if there was something stuck in the beast's throat or it was inflicted by severe illness. "No...no, no Clan sent me, I...smelled the attempts you made here...wonderful work of eugenics, they were...quite plump pups." droplets of a foul looking slobber fell from the creatures mouth, some of which hit the swarming servo-skulls and burning through metal and bone.
It's response made it clear that it and whatever force ate her captives and the resulting subjects. Disgusting and bothersome, but in line with the Skaven's brutal and savage nature. "So I take it you and whatever passes as soldiers of your kind have come to fight, how unexpected of your misbegotten ilk, I had assumed the captured would be forgotten or considered lesser for being captured by us Man-Things as your species calls us." Prodding the pride and known tendency of the Skaven to boast was one of Lucretia's more useful methods of gaining information, learning how and why this creature was here would ensure such a thing would not happen again.
"...The Horned Rat sends no force here...only the Voice, only I." The sound of the storm seemed to grow as it spoke of the Skaven's God, clearly a Psyker induced phenomena. "And...fight is...the wrong word, there is no fight here, only... rebirth." A coughing fit overtook the creature, Lucretia could see more of it as the candle light and lumens of the servo-skulls illuminated it's body. Gnarled horns grew from the back of it's head and coiled around each other in clumps. It's nails dug into some of it's wounds as it scratched it's body, her eyes however were drawn to it's mane of fur, shifting and revealing faces of Skaven, twelve other heads that snarled and slobbered emerged from the lengthy mane of fur, their eyes all locked on Lucretia.
Undeterred by the sight, Lucretia continued "Rebirth, how strange, I would think foes in war would have a different word for a battle or assassination."
"War?" It coughed out more wet laughter and for the first time in this "Conversation", the creature took a step forward, batting away the remaining servo-skulls with ease. "There is no war with us, we do not wage War, Skaven are beyond such a concept, for to wage War is to fight an equal and we have no equal, only the pests that claim ownership of what is OURS!"
As it ranted, it continued to step forward " Look at what the galaxy is full of Interloper, the broken weapons of negligent masters, pampered pets that have gorged themselves on their pride, thousands of unworthy beings that dies to feed their betters and then there is your kind, young and convinced of their own superiority, like the gnashing of a pup eating it's own littermates. You do not even comprehend your work is a boon to the Skaven." Spittle flew from it's mouth as it continued it's tirade with it's tail trashing about and smashing against other screens, Lucretia's hands reached for her weapons in preparation, filing away it's words for later consideration.
"Your kind has left more ruin and death then any other in a long time, and we can see where it will lead, you may last for some time, but the Rot is already spreading, leaving weakness and gaps for the Skaven to thrive. In time when all that is left of your Imperium is the rotting corpse of a people to weak to die, we will feast, gorge ourselves on your dead and dying, and turn what remains in ours." It loomed over Lucretia now, she could hear it's dripping saliva and blood, it's eyes once empty black voids now glowed with a harsh green reminiscent of the Skaven's technology.
Lucretia knew better then to even try to speak further with this creature, raising her pistol and firing into the glowing eyes of the beast and rushing down the candle lit hall and into the wider facility. The sound of bells rang throughout the facility, undercut by the screams of menials and the sound of gunfire. Along the way Lucretia saw bodies twisted and deformed, rat like features adorning the dead which only grew in prominence as she followed the sound of combat towards the vehicle bay.
Lucretia saw Sergeant Chanubel fought with the mutated menials, whose cries of madness and anguish were somewhat muffled by mouths full of bloody flesh. Her own forces and Acolytes had set up a makeshift barricade with Thunderhawks and crates of supplies, bolter and las fire emanated from the makeshift fortification, while the squad of Astartes cut through the mutant horde, their crimson armor becoming drenched in gore. Raising her pistol, Lucretia fought her way to the barricade and was hoisted up by one of her newer acolytes, one she would need to remeber the name of them for later.
The bay doors were opened and Lucretia could see through the storm, a moving mass on the ground, hundreds of small rat like creatures, spikes growing from their back and fur as black as a starless night. The swarm of them ate anything that got close with such ferocity that it looked as if shadows overtook the bodies.
There, standing the middle of the swarm was the creature, wounds now expanded as the rat like things crawled out of the wounds, covered in blood as they hissed and fought others of their kind. It's other heads chanting in the strange chittering speech of the Skaven or sung in throaty tones as the creatures emerged from their open maws.
The storm surged with cracks of green lightning as hundreds of the mutated half rat like creatures emerged from the shadows, some garbed in Menial cloaks, others in simple wear from the local Cyclonian culture. The word of "Rebirth" rang in Lucretia's mind as with a sudden flash and final toll of the unseen bells, all of the swarm, the mutants that joined them and the creature were gone.
The following day, reports would come flooding in of the hundreds of missing and talk of strange rat like mutant causing havoc across the local area. But Lucretia paid it no extra mind, her research remained and this strange Skaven Psyker, this Voice as it referred to itself, was a Psyker unlike any the Skaven had showcased before, was it a leading figure of their religious caste, no it's body was clearly altered in a way none of the others were, perhaps a caste unseen...but none of the interrogations said anything about a "Voice" in their hierarchy.
Lucretia would spend sleepless nights conversing with her acolytes and the Astartes squad under Sergeant Chanubel, learning about every moment of the event from all surviving angles. One thing was clear however, this Voice, whatever it was, presented a threat to mankind and that would not be allowed.
An artistic representation of Rallas's distant past before Old Night, kept in the Quadar Home and used as a point of reference for the world's future.
Therrus Mourne watched the sun peak over the horizon, illuminating the Hive City before him. With Brother Janos Hall off world for his orders from the Primarch, he was given command to continue the work on Rallas.
His current second for this overview was a recent arrival from one of the allied Forge Worlds, one Adept Oriss who had some promise in Therrus's eyes, though they were skittish and stumbled over their reports to the Astartes, the details were delivered and understood by both parties.
The two walked across a suspension bridge towards the local governmental center, of course arrival via Thunder Hawk or any of the transit options would have been faster. But Therrus Mourne prefered a methodical approach to things, and found that allowing the sights of the world he was working to improve to wash over him, was an enlightening experience.
The Adept was currently transmitting data about the status of the Tenth's continued exploration and patrolling of the Underground. Finding little in terms of hostile Xeno life and mostly dealing with feral Human groups who had been isolated and fought against Imperial compliance, though not all were lost causes, some who had taken to worshiping large hydroponics facilities as "Life Giving Gods" were easy to bring into the fold and teach of the Machine God and his Omnissiah.
Something he believes many of his more pious brothers enjoyed this facet of their mission. Of course the Underhives themselves were somewhat of a problem, despite the best efforts of the agents of the Lex and the Rallas Regulars attempting to keep the Hiver scum from threatening the work of his Father. Crime still found it's way into the hearts of those of the Underhives, despite the conditions improving from what they once were.
Therrus clenched his jaw as a dull headache formed, half remembered years living as nothing but a urchin in the depths of the Hives of Rallas, the years of slow progress from their awful state, he was brought up to become something more, but he never forgot that it was the duty of their legion to ensure the Imperium became better, the Hive Cities would become what they were always went to be. Pinnacles of Human Progress.
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The Bridge of The Tempering Finality was abuzz with activity as crew and passengers prepared for exiting the Warp. Already their journey has taken them across many worlds of the Imperium, new colonies and lost worlds reclaimed in need of the guidance of the Lex.
The Colonial Marshals and the Adeptus Arbites, organizations with the same goal, but differing methods of securing it across the worlds. Many had assumed that the two would butt heads and become mired in politics, but Primarch Alaric and the Grand Provost Marshal Goge Mirestrom had come together to ensure that the agents of the Lex would not waste their time fighting each other when the laws of the Imperium needed to be enforced.
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In an unknown place upon Rallas, ten figures watched as pict feeds of their brothers in action, minor skirmishes with hostile elements were recorded and set as data points which compared to prior campaigns. Combat was not the only thing they watched, as the leaders of the ten teams of Culter Dei made note of any trait or flaw each individual had during their missions.
The practices and inner workings of the Culter Dei are secretive and known by a select few, including how they recruit new members, but these ten commanders knew their legion best and how to test for those worthy of joining their ranks.
While the commanders watched, their teams were not idle, Underhivers would sometimes catch glimpses of gold in the shadows, or members of the Luminaries would find signs of their ever elusive brother's works in their own patrolling of Rallas.
Therrus Mourne's smile went unnoticed under his helmet as the data was transmitted through his implants. Despite the recent troubles, all projects were on schedule and Rallas was experiencing productivity in record highs. He stood high on the ramparts of a newly established Factorum, the overseer having given the Astartes and his Mechanicum follower an extensive overview of their production rates and the necessary data of shipment locations.
Adept Oriss stood watching the production lines, data slate in their mechadendrite hands tapping away furiously as they observed the Blackguard armor being produced. Appearing to be far less shaky and nervous now that the sounds of factory work rang in the air. Turning his gaze towards what the other lines of the Factorim were constructing, Therrus Mourne felt a deep satisfaction for what he and his Chapter were accomplishing here.
War material of all kinds was being produced by the many factoriums of Rallas, some for the Legion as a whole, others for the Regulars. But these new ones were producing parts for something much more apparent for the populace of Rallas, as new structures began to rise on the horizon and across the skylines of the Hive Cities, and new floating structures high in orbit. Rallas under the eyes of the Umbral Watch, would be protected. This Therrus Mourne promised to the Machine God.
