The Chosen Few [IC|40K]

[Antimersia]

Cyprig

Cyprig watched with seething anger as Coracus sang his way into battle. His audacious entrance should have been predicted but was none the less upsetting to Cyprig. Cyprig saw the round strike Coracus. He cackled under his breath. He was almost happy that an Eldar took the shot. If not for the pleasure of seeing Coracus see the consequences of his flamboyant nature, then for the joy of knowing that a fight was upon him.

"Kill them all!" Cyprig roared, cackling through his speech as he led a charge of the thousands of Night Haunters towards the Aeldari Hornets that struck the Blades of Solus' Rhinos. Cyprig extended his shield, activating the conversion field emitter within it as the hornets fired upon the charging legion. Chapter Commander Markin Maddsla sprinted closely behind Cyprig. His drive and bloodlust making him the only one of the 20th legion capable of matching the speed of their primarch. The hornets fire upon the Haunters. Cyprig halts his charge and raises his shield. The rounds converting into light as they pass through his conversion field. Markin pulls out his plasma cannon and fires wildly in the air towards the many hornets. The vast majority of his shots miss, as the Eldar are crafty and their maneuverability is high. But Markin manages to strike a hornet dead center, the hot plasma shredding through the craft. The round cleaves the hornet in two and sends both halves careening into the ground. Unfortunately, its crash landing takes out a couple of the Haunter's marines in the process. A loss that weighs little on the mind of someone such as Markin. He laughs firing wildly until his cannon runs dry of ammunition, taking every chance to strike the hornets as they pass over head. His barrage of plasma cannon fire ripping through several shields in the process.

Cyprig likewise takes aim at the hornets as they rain fire upon the Haunters. He aims his cybernetic arm upwards towards an approaching hornet. He leads the craft as he begins to fire the grav-gun built into his arm. The rounds strike the hornet, suddenly and violently ripping it from the sky into the ground, creating a plume of snow and smoke. Cyprig maintains fire on the hornet until he watches in collapse in on itself under the massive gravitational force. He crushes it for longer than necessary, relishing in the destruction. Once he is satisfied he halts fire and begins to take aim once again. He repeats this process several times taking out 6 hornets on his own.

The 20th legion, take strategic cover in what few ruins are left in the city of Belatar. They fire their weapons at the hornets. Most of the marines wield bolt pistols, They are rather ineffective against the hornets. Athough as they pass over the tens of thousands of marines that are firing at them, many of the hornets take critical damage from the plethora of bolter fire. The marines armed with missile launchers take time to load their launchers and take aim. Most of the remaining Hornets have passed over head by the time they are ready, but they manage to land hits on a few stragglers lagging behind their brethren. The Haunters reload their weapons and readjust their cover as they prepare for the possibility of a second wave of attacks.

[Imperialisium]

912.000.M31
Mirienh System
13th Expeditionary Fleet and 5th Legion Elements
Bridge of the Aeterna

"Fleet Master, Distress signals from the Fortress of Penitence!" shouted the communications officer abruptly. Krisztoff von Tisza und zu Solaire blinked, "Specifics?" The Communication officer began to recite messages and throw up vox recordings picked up between various Penitent Sons forces and surviving crew of their mighty Gloriana-Class vessel. Sounds of bolter fire, energy weapon discharge, reports of strange creatures and zombies? Krisztoff frowned, "Zombies?"

Immediately, the bridge doors opened and in troops a pair of Sun Angels bearing atypical colour schemes on their armour. Their armour was Black and bore the Sun Angels emblems in plain red and white. Krisztoff had seen these sort of Legionaries rarely and never in large numbers. But always felt unsettled by them. Him! A career officer who had seen the horrors of war countless times! Something seemed to ball in his gut and tense his mind around those post-human warriors bearing the pitch black colours of what he had heard only in whisper. Euthanatoi.

"Master of the Fleet. I am Sergeant Rafael. Requesting permission to dispatch via Thunderhawk to the aid of the Penitent Sons."

The requests from Space Marines always caught him off guard. Even after working with them for many years. Yes, they respected and deferred to his rank. But it still gave pause that these genetically crafted pinnacles of Human soldiery seek permission from a frail Human like himself.

"Permission granted. Good Hunting, Marines." The Sergeant nodded walked off as quickly as he had entered.

Thunderhawk 37
914.000.M31

The flight to the Penitent Son's Gloriana was passed in still silence as the squad of Marines in their pitch black armour and reversed colour sigils conducted weapons, armour, and equipment checks. The Astartes pilot, a member of their squad, came over the comm as the date check finally ticked over to 914. The seconds and minutes still scrolling by on their helmet data feeds. 2 Minutes. Hangar Command unresponsive to our hails. Still picking up numerous battles raging in the Fortress of Penitence. Mag-locking to Airlock. Standby."

Sergeant Rafael checked his bolter and stood up. Grasping the reinforced hand hold over a hatch in the middle of the thunderhawks bottom floor panels. He could not feel the craft turning on its side to come resting on the hull of the Fortress of Penitence. Only the thud of maglocks sealing and a pressure seal forming to attach around the airlocks frame. Against the bulk of the Gloriana the Thunderhawk would seem utterly miniscule. Barely noticeable even compared to the crenelated eminence of the vessel it was now clamped too. The pilot joined them and pressed a key on a data pad bolted to the Thunderhawks hull. The hatch before them slid open smoothly. Slight hisses of pressure equalizing.

Brother Arahael. Can we gain automatic entrance? voiced Sergeant Rafael.

Negative. The ships locking codes are not registering my commands. Emergency protocols have been enacted.

Can you conduct a manual override?

Yes, Brother Sergeant. Brother Arahael, the Euthanatoi Techmarine attached to his squad was already pressing a dizzying array of keys on his gauntlet mounted computer and to put it plainly. Hacking the ships data-streams to allow manual entry. One minute and thirty-six seconds later the airlock slid open partly. Rafael looked at Arahael from behind his helmet. The Techmarine shrugged, Hydraulics are failing on this deck.

Rafael nodded and leaned down and with the strength only an Astartes in Power Armour could have, he slowly forced open the doors, lowering himself through. The Ship's gravity causing a lurching motion as he swung 90-degrees to upright position. His Bolter already out and scanning for targets. The deck was dark with only a smattering of service lights flickering in the gloom. Screams and gunfire could be heard in the distance. Carried by the labyrinthine corridors of the mighty vessel. Behind him his squad, 14 in all, one by one boarded. Arahael pressing a key that shut the Thunderhawks hatch behind them. Rafael was already speaking into his helmet in an attempt to reach anyone still alive aboard the ship. A hand signal and the Squad began to move out down a corridor that ship schematics pointed to as the general direction of the warships bridge.

"This is Sergeant Rafael of the Sun Angels. Anyone respond. We have boarded on Deck 46. We will be making our way to your bridge. Please respond."

The Marines moved twenty meters down the hallway. Weapons raised and at the ready. As they turned a corner to a shut bulkhead with emergency lights flickering with red malevolence. Arahael was already working a keypad. The doors unlocking with clunks of reinforced adamantium bolts and sliding away to reveal a sight of horror. Crew members screaming and running. Wildly firing in horrific shock. Dead crew picking themselves up from the ground in a macabre spectacle of blood, gore, and stiff limbs. Dead crew tearing at their friends, comrades, and even former lovers. Horrific, noxious monstrosities of barely humanoid shape clambering like spiders on walls and ceilings. Feasting, tearing, mulching, and infecting all they came to encounter.

Sergeant Rafael opened fire. The hard thunks of his bolter blazing as three undead crew members disappeared in puffs of red gore. The Marines advanced in rapid unison. Their presence, their antithesis to the warp, caused the clearly not human or even formerly human monstrosities about the wide open space. A space that was once a large mess hall. To shriek in rage and possibly fear? Recoiling for a moment. Some broke and ran. Other in pure eldritch hatred released howling roars and began to surge to the Marines. The Marines went full auto while brother's Castiel and Furon mag-clamped their bolters to their sides and readied chainswords. Their blades whirring to life as they counter-charged two of the closest monstrosities that had just finished sucking the marrow from a crewman's femur.

Their shouts resonating throughout the space. Know. No. Fear.

Diseased tooth met chainsaw blades; bolt shell met putrefying corpses; combat knifes slashed against noxious flesh. The battle raged across the mess hall as the Marines fought a bloody ruin of carnage, blood, and gore like a sick artists tapestry of gruesome violence. Brother Arahael flung a diseased creature to the ground bodily. Ceramite boot stomping the monsters skull into a dozen pieces till it stopped moving. Brother Furon bisected a creature with six too many legs as his chainsword split its crumpling cadaver like torso into two. Sergeant Rafael emptied his magazine into several creatures until he was set upon by a wave of a dozen zombies. Not having time to reload the Sergeant brutally with just his fists beat the zombies into pulps. Ripping feshly deceased arms from sockets. Shattering kneecaps. Splintering jaws and tearing skulls from dead bodies.

The Mess hall descended into silence as the Marines looked about the carnage. A few surviving crew huddled in fear of what they had witnessed. Their eyes wide in traumatic mental shock. Brother Furon knelt by them and shoved a fallen Laspistol into one of the shacking crew member's hands. Speaking rather softly for a Marine, "Remember your training and you will survive. Shoot anything not living."

All the Marines left before any of the three surviving crew could speak. Moving out of the far side of the Mess Hall into a hallway strewn with blood spatter, body parts, and decimated corpses. The lights in the hallway were completely off. Power no doubt was intermittent as a full on war raged throughout the stricken vessels hull. The Marines pressed on down the hall. Moving at a run as their heavy boots thunked down the metal decking of the hallway. An intersection opened up before them as a missile flew left to right. Giving the Sergeant pause as he peered around the corner. His helmet auto-senses zooming in to show a Penitent Son's team of what looked like two marines in defensive positions. Peering right a shambling horde of corpses was slowly making its way up to the intersection.

Rafael tapped into a widebrand frequency known to be used by the Penitent Sons. Penitent Sons near intersection 22. This is Sergeant Rafael of the Sun Angels. We are at the intersection. Respond.

913.000.M31
Duro System

Bridge of the Solarian Nights

"My Primarch, Incoming communication from the Thunderchild. They detect life-signs indicative of enemy command echelons in the Southern Hemisphere of the planet. Further information gleaned from their Psykers is obscured by Warp Taint."

"Warp Taint? Can you confirm Tsarro?" Standing nearby a 5th Legion Librarian was already in deep concentration. Rising his head to his Primarch slowly, "Aye, I feel it too. There is significant traces of Warp corruption around the planet."

"Auguries?" queried Vasilisa. Switching her fair gaze to a stocky man hunched at a terminal who rotated in his chair. "Can Confirm Auguries are getting distorted returns. We will be able to increase scanning power and resolution as we move closer."

"Then we must assume the enemy knows we are here and take caution. Adjust course. Signal the Thunderchild we will take a course avoiding celestial objects. Denying the Eldar chances of ambush. Calculating time of arrival?"

Another Naval Rating spoke up, "Adjustment will bring approach time to Nine Hours and Twenty-Three minutes."

"Helm proceed. Ready all guns and torpedo tubes." ordered Vasilisa as her Fleet began to alter course. While the Communication's officer began to relay an tight band signal to the Thunderchild to detail their course adjustments.

914.000.M31

As predicted the use of a path devoid of close proximity to celestial objects negated any chance of ambush. The Eldar would be forced to strike in such a manner that they would be picked up by Auspex and long range Augurs quickly. As such, when the 5th Fleet arrived over Duro. It was unmolested and taking up Geo-synchronous orbit over the planet's Southern Hemisphere.

Vasilisa had remained on the bridge and heard the reports. Increasing data had managed to be gleaned. The world was indeed a mostly dead, barren, radiation blasted world. Whatever scraps of flora had clung to the equatorial zones of the planet that is Duro. "Conduct fresh scans of the planet. Prepare Marines for combat sorties."

"Yes, My Primarch," replied Tsarro behind her as he sent another Marine to begin disseminating orders through Legionary communication bands.

[Revlona]

Elyrian Manuxus
Elk King of the 8th Legion

The ground at the immediate drop zone was clear, the heavy handed orbital bombardment from the fleet above and the careful and quick examination by the first wave of the 8th legion saw to that. A perimeter had been established to allow to safe and speedy landing of reinforcements, the first of them being the Primarch himself. Elyrian strode from the green dropship that was his own, around him marched his sons, his bodyguards, the Knights of the Elk. Clad in terminator armor, the 200 astartes that made up the elite bodyguard of the Primarch were the best of the Legion. Each walked forward with a boarding shield in one hand and a powered blade in the other. Embedded into their armors wrists were bolters should the need to fire upon their foe arise. These were Elyrians most trusted companions, these were the most martially and mentally capable astartes in the 8th legion.

Dozens and dozens of drop pods and transport ships filled the air around the landing zone as thousands of Astartes and tens of thousands of Auxilia came to earth to support the already large force upon the ground. The Eldar had already been giving the perimeter problems. Quick assaults had produced heavy casualties on both sides, though the surprise of the attacks ensured that the eldar were always taking the lighter casulties. Elyrians sons had already thrown up many strong points in an attempt to force the enemy to come to them, but every time the Xenos managed to find a weak point in the defenses and dash in and out, leaving dead in their wake.

Elyrian hated it, but he also knew that if he ventured forth now with such numbers, he would take even heavier casualties. So he waited for his legions to land, they would expand in every direction in overwhelming force. Eyes open and ready for any appearance of the vile enemy. So all he had to do was wait, and so he waited.

KILL THEM....ALL OF THEM...

[Antimersia]

Cyprig

The ambush was quelled expeditiously, thanks to the efforts of the Night Haunters and the Tupelov Lancers. Cyprig wanted to search the bodies for any potential specimens that he could collect. But he knew he would have no where to store, or to study them. He sighs with disappointment as the constant presence of the Emperor's Custodes perpetually remind him of the halt in his research. He takes a deep breath as he stares out into the vista. The cold tundra is nearly impossible to see into, even with Cyprig's enhanced eyes. But it brings him a small comfort to be on watch. He continues his watch, as he waits for his Chapter Commanders to report in the status of the men in their Chapters. Silas Tlaloc remains on the bridge of the Arcana. Archem Baldur has fled with Cyprig's lab to Archimedaes. And Skinner Lascerous has bravely given his life to the crusade. Thus this leaves eight Chapter commanders of the Night Haunters to lead the legion into battle on Halathel. Markin stands beside Cyprig, having taken a head count of the men in his Chapter, as well as checking in on the Marauders rather quickly. The rest of the Commanders funnel in quickly and report the damage the ambush caused to their forces.

The first four to arrive are four Commanders of the Night Haunters not so affectionately known as The Calamities. "I lost three Marines to those fucking xeno pissants. If we don't shove off soon I might lose my cool." said Commander of the fourth Chapter, Kanneg 'The Quake' Sallef. A man with such frequent violent outbursts that what most legions would consider excessive force, Kanneg considers holding back. Kanneg gained his moniker 'The Quake' when he led the bombardment of a fault line, that resulted in the crust of a planted rupturing and killing its entire population. "I am pleased to report no losses in the fifth, Sir." said Fifth Chapter Commander Maxximuxx 'The Storm' Stark. Maxximuxx is a well tempered man who fights with haunting precision. He and his chapter are known among the 20th for their skill with their bolters. Maxximuxx himself has such remarkable precision that with a nothing more than a five second observation of the enemy's position, he was able to blind fire kill an entire small company of rebel fighters with a single magazine. There is an urban legend to his name, that it has an unusual number of x's because he adds one whenever he misses a shot. "Five gone from the sixth." adds Niko 'The Wave' Melcic. Niko is often the silent one of the Night Haunter's Chapter Commanders. He prefers to let his fists do the talking. His power fists that is. Niko is by far one of the strongest marines in all of the 20th legion. He trains his strength and technique by striking the armor off of salvaged rhinos with his bare knuckles. "A single loss within seventh. It was Leonard Nusome. A loss most tragic." said Seventh Chapter Commander Jedidiah 'Pestilence' Hargrave. Hargrave is a perpetually somber fellow. He is noted as being extraordinarily caring with the marines in his chapter. So much so that he has learned and memorized all of their names.He could likely tell his marines apart even when they wore nearly identical armor. He garnered the name 'Pestilence' from his chapter's methods of approach. It is common for the seventh chapter to use Missile launchers. Much more so than any other chapter. They are thought of as spreading fire and smoke wherever they go like a disease. Together, these four Chapter Commanders are 'The Calamities'. Often working together and more so than any other chapters, are responsible for making planets nearly uninhabitable when the Night Haunters are finished pacify them.

The eighth, ninth, and tenth Chapter Commanders; Hilton Anthony, Bacilus Bryant, and Kain Johnson respectively, report in an additional four deaths from their chapters as well. All in all, despite the attempts by the Eldar, they manage to take out only thirteen astartes from the 20th legion. Though a seemingly small number, it is still thirteen more lives lost than Cyprig would ever want. He addresses his Commanders all at once, "We will mourn the loss of our men at a later time. Now, is the time for extermination." Cyprig speaks with a soft hissing tone. Quiet, yet biting. "The Eldar are nothing more than living beings. We are Night Haunters. We are more than mere living beings. We are better. We are stronger. We will be here, far beyond their deaths. Because their deaths will come from our very hands. We will Haunt the dreams of their eternal sleep." The Commanders nod their heads towards their Primarch in understanding. Markin cackles lightly to himself, giddy with excitement as the march towards battle grows ever nearer. "Gather your chapters. We march west within the hour." He said with finality before stepping away from his commanders. The Custodes follow him closely as he moves on.

Cyprig walk through to a company of one hundred fifty marines. These marines are donned in different power armor than the rest of the 20th legion. Their armor bares more black than the average Night Haunter. And there is a large white hand painted skull on the chest of each of these marines. They are the Skulltakers. A specialist unit that usually operate in groups of ten within each chapter. Their purpose is to remove the heads of people of importance on planets so their minds can be preserved. Hidden as a practice honoring the way Cyprig severed the head of the tyrant that ruled over Archimedaes. But with the Emperor's censure in effect, Cyprig has taken them under his personal direction, as their stated purpose would merely draw more unwanted attention to him. The Skulltakers polish and check their weapons as they wait for their next orders. Many of them sharpening their combat knives to be as sharp as physically possible. "Follow." Cyprig says, his words booming with dissatisfaction, knowing that he will get no new minds to preserve in this crusade. He walks due west, leading the Skulltakers, and reluctantly leading the custodes out into the tundra to find the next fight. His shield extends as he leaves Belatar, making certain he is ready if the Eldar try another ambush strike.

[The Empire of Tau]

“Sir, the engine room is uhm...filled with Eldar.” A local commander states towards Samael as the alarm of the flagship echoes throughout the whole ship. Samael nods, dual-wielding his storm-bolters, rushing towards the engine room at full speed. Space marines near the engine and for those already at the engine room, a hellish firefight would come about. Thousands upon thousands of small mono-molecular discs of plasti-crystasl hit the armor surface of space marines fighting in the tight spaces within the engine room. Space marines fire back with a series of bolt rounds, most missing but the likely chance of hitting a speedy Eldar is higher in this case because of the tight spaces involved in the engine room. Other Eldar warriors are more direct, using various melee weapons to engage in brutal melee combat with a marine. More and more marines start to flow into the engine room, the alarms remembering them that the Eldar have breached into the engine room, and that the reactor cores are in danger of being attacked too. The arrival of Samael did not take long as he has interest in not having his flagship blown up. A barrage of bolt-rounds goes down range as Samael accurately shoots down any Eldar standing in his way. One after another, Samael aims, shoots a hail of bolt-fire, and slowly makes his way deeper into the engine room. A tail of corpses follows Samael, clearing out the engine room of xeno scum. Marines meanwhile have a tougher time in their targeting and aim. Even in these tight spaces, Eldar are somehow able to move about enough to dodge the aim of a marine bolt round. No matter, more and more marines are coming to the defense of the Sam’s flagship. Soon, no single Eldar can dodge the hail of ten marines firing. Luckily, the reactors are in a separate room from the enginarium of the flagship, sealed by heavy blast doors and held with bulkheads. Who knows how long this intense fighting will last, but with the aid of Samael and the influx of even more maries - things might end sooner than expected hopefully.

Citadel Cúig is not doing so hot now. The 400 terminators onboard Cúig are making good progress on the Eldar, cutting their way towards the citadel command spire. Either by bolt-fire, power fist, krag grandetes, etc, Eldar bodies lay about in hallways and rooms assaulted by terminator teams. That is not to say that the Eldar have not put up an intense fight. Each terminator has been shot up by millions of plasti-crystals shot from Eldar Shuriken Catapults. Eldar Wraithbone constructs, such as the Wraithguard and even Wraithlords, have caused issues for terminators trying to advance. Heavy damage has landed upon many terminator suits engaging with Wraithbone constructs wielding heavy anti-armor weapons, limiting terminators for soon-future Citadel assaults as suits will have to go into repair. In terms of void combat, Citadel Cúig’s overall superstructure is weakened by each round fired into it by Sam’s fleet. Chunks of armor can be seen flying off the Citadel and massive dents made into the hull structure. It is only a matter of time before Citadel Cúig is left as a burning hulk.

[Skaldia]

Halathel Tundra
913.000.M31_____

Discipline. It was a word that had become utterly void in it’s meaning as the Aeldari plunged into decadence. Celeorn knew this. He had seen the utter destruction their foul ways had brought them; felt it like a mighty wave that had rose to sweep him away, snatching his soul from him. Only through the training and guidance from the Prince had saved him. The diamond hard, psychic core of his being had rode the psykic shockwaves brought about by the annihilation of his species. And had remained intact.

Celeorn had been promoted to High Captain within the Brotherhood and thus commanded the Outcast forces on Halathel. He had watched as the planetary defenses he had placed in position had done their work, funneling each Imperial force to be forced to land in ruins long dead. But not forgotten. Belatar and Aeystr would be graves for the Imperials. The Legions just didn’t know it. Celeorn had then sent a few scant forces to harass them as they landed. It had goaded the Legions to sally forth from their drop zone.

He believed they would be disappointed in what they would find.

The Exodites of this world were a fractious lot though. It had been difficult to persuade the Clans of the importance of preparing Halathel for invasion. In the end, it has taken Celeorn defeating the Exodite Lord of the Dara’sei Clan in ritual combat. With the backing of the Dara’sei, the sites for the planetary defenses had been set. Indeed, the Night Haunters would meet them first, the Dara’sei Exodites eager to cross blades with the Night Haunters and Blades of Solus.

Due West lies the Fortress of Cazan’tai, built from the very ground of the tundra itself. It had been chosen as site for a massive planetary laser cannon pointed towards the heavens and studded with point defenses systems that had wrecked so much havoc on Imperial Attack Craft. Left largely unscathed from the bombing runs, it boasted formidable automated defenses put in place by the Brotherhood but scant few living Aeldari.

The Dara’sei remained largely hidden, waiting for the Imperial forces despite efforts of rhino transports ranging out and around the Fortress. Here and there, brief gunfights would break out as pockets of Aeldari were discovered and eliminated. However, it was not all to the benefit of the Blades of Solus as traps, mines, and rocket attacks would disable or destroy a Rhino.

Halathel Forests
913.000.M31_____

The forests around Aetyser burned, shining emerald leaves turned to russet then to blacken as they were consumed by the raging fires. Unlike the darkside of Halathel, the ruins were surrounded by great dense forests from where random sniper fire would originate from, here and there a Son of Calmora being struck but thankfully few injured or killed. With the Sons of Calmora securing the ruins, Stormraven Gunships landed and dispelled their retinue of Hospitallers led by Remigius himself. He frowned at what he saw around him, the dense forests burning ruining any such chances for either Aeldari or Hospitaller to use them to their advantage. Despite that, he was looking forward to getting into the action and marched across the bare tufts of grass that grew around the stark white stone of ruins to find Elyrian.

Remigius looked up to Elyrian with a frown. He still had not forgotten the actions of Elyrian on Dolgota, but he understood why Elyrian had acted in the manner he had. He would not hold them against him and hoped that Elyrian would prove a worthy brother to fight beside.”Allow my Hospitallers to move ahead and discern what we might see.” The Hospitallers were renowned infiltrators and many of them were eager to test their mettle against the legendary stealth of the Aeldari in active combat.

Duro Orbit
913.000.M31_____

Icarion was tired of waiting. He commanded 15,000 Lightning Bearers, including his personal Maniple The Heralds of Thunder, the 1st Maniple itself. After relaying what they had been able to scry, Icarion had descended to the preparation room. There, he found the assembled officers and senior enlisted members waiting for him. Each was in formation, both Marshals at the front of his assembled subcommanders within his Maniple. At the front of the First Maniple was First Magister of Icarion’s Volta bodyguard, Fujin Isu. Fujin was also Venerable Sejin of the Lightning Bearers, the only Volta to have also walked the Red Path of the Oni. Due to Raiden’s status as an Equerry, Raiden stood apart from the assembled command.

Icarion surveyed his elite, some of the greatest warriors in the Lightning Bearers, and smiled. Rising his hands, his movements were mirrored by each of the Lightning Bearers. As they did, the psyhoreactive crystals that enhanced their psyker abilities, began to glow.

“We are lightning.”, the words were in Old Madrigese, before the coming of the Imperium, falling with an almost distinct blow to each of the I Legionnaires as their psykic might was attuned among them, allowing them to sustain a connection among each of their. While they would not be able to telepathically communicate, it would allow them to sense each of their Brother’s location with unerring accuracy. It would make them capable of drawing from each other their power so they might face their opposition with not the strike of one but of many.

“We strike.” Was the answering reply of the assembled officers. The room, insulated with veins of the same material as the crystals, began to shine and hum with power coalescing around each officer.

“We are lightning.”
“We burn.” At this they opened their eyes. Sparks of electricity danced across the burnished silver gleam of each of their armor. All of their eyes were storms as lightning crackled about them.

Now they were ready. Marching from the Room, led by their Gene-Father, serfs and officers of the Thunderchild scattered from their path or knelt and looked away from the passing Space Marines lest they be inadvertently struck down.

All throughout the Thunderchild, the Battle-Brothers of the I, XI, and XV Maniples would be likewise concluding their own rituals of preparation. The Thunderchild was not like other Glorianas. Where others boasted a generous supply of attack craft, the Thunderchild eschewed all craft but their Ash Phoenixes, thus making the hangar far smaller than compared to others. In it’s place was more than a quarter more guns on her than the average Gloriana and generous improvements on her engines, making her markedly faster than her siblings.

The Thunderchild’s primary insertion of it’s Space Marine complement was via drop pod. More than a thousand were loaded with Space Marines along the keel of the Gloriana. The Thunderchild sped forward, past it’s accompanying escorts and the Vth Legion’s ships. As it neared the orbit of Duro, each drop pod was fired in tight rings with the center being Icarion and his I Maniple. Each Drop Pod disappeared into the milky white clouds of Duro and disappeared.

Upon insertion, the RODT regiments, commanded by Lieutenant Colonel Wan Itoro, would follow. The Sando Erite, however, had not yet been seen.

The Fortress of Penitence
914.000.M31_____

"This is the Fraternal Ezekial of the VI Order. Near the-… please-… over-..” static overrode the vox signal as random bubbling screams and gurgling could be heard throughout the corridors. From one chamber, the door hissed open and a humanoid dressed as a ship menial but covered in massive tumors stepped into view. Each growth across it's rotting form pulsated with a dark light. Where it’s head should have been turned to face the Sun Angels. As it seemed to build up an inhuman shriek, the tumors exploded as mass reactive rounds punched through the thin flesh and detonated. As the thing shrieked and turned around to face it’s attacker, an armored fist in the armor of a Penitent Son ripped through it’s chest and then tore it in half with a a strange, burring roar.

In stepped view a Penitent Son sans helmet. The Brother’s entire head and face was a mass of burned scars, absent hairs, lips, and most of the jaw gone and replaced with thin silver wires that held an iron jaw to the rest of the face. It looked incredibly painful and the eyes of the Penitent Son were bright with both agony and delight as it flicked brown-red viscera from it’s gauntlets. It looked from one of the Sun Angels to the other and nodded it’s head approvingly.

“My squad was annihilated by these beasts.” nodding it’s head toward the sundered halves of the dead creature, the Penitent Son spoke in a machine monotone.”As we neared the bridge. I have had no contact with my Primarch and I have not come across any of my Brothers. The beasts have congregated near the bridge and I am not enough to break through. Now though, I believe with your aid we might make it to Zahariel.”

The Bucephalus
914.000.M31_____

Geria mourned the death of her fellow Aeldari, feeling each loss like a knife to the heart. She focused her rage and despair into her power. Around her, coruscating waves of power began to gather. She gritted her teeth at the rampaging Primarch, a dark grin that promised nothing but pain.”Die mon-keigh.” She growled as she brought her palms together. At the center of her palms a sphere of black nothing expanded. With a shriek from tortured lungs, Geria launched the sphere at Nikolai just as a Custodian’s spear erupted from her chest.

916.000.M31
Oelil System_____

Borv Tarso was not invited to the meeting through hologram between the Primarchs. It was no matter to him as he resolved to meet the Eldar head on. He ordered the Frigate Squadrons, Knife, Blade, and Pike to move forward and begin probing the great mass of nebula waiting to swallow any ship that dared enter it. He knew that he was probably sending those men to their death and he was determined not to let their deaths be in vain. Turning to his helmsmen he growled out,"All ahead, half speed. If the vaunted Space Marines want to sit on their thumbs and debate on the next course of action, let them. We, as instruments of the Emperor's will, are going to carve our way through these xenos scum and bring the wrath of the Imperium!"

Azure Rain Gloriana
914.000.M31_____

Lord Qaras glanced towards the oncoming Primarch. They had done much in annihilating the engines. Even now explosions were rocking through the ship as heavy weapons teams of Duine Sciath wielding modified Suncannons made even Space Marines have to readjust their tactics lest they be cut down like chaff. Luckily, the arrival of Samael emboldened them and the Rain fell upon the Aeldari heavy weapons teams with blistering accurate fire that cut down the Aeldari in turn. Qaras could no longer afford to focus on his destruction of the engines of the battleship. They could not reach the reactors in time. Frowning deeply, Lord Qaras waved his hands and created a wall of light around him. Bolter rounds would puff as they hit the shield and he strode directly towards Samael.

As he neared, he fired three powerful white bolts of light at the approaching Primarch.

Citadel Cúig
914.000.M31_____

The Citadel was lost. Even now terminators in the deep blue armor of the Azure Rain advanced on the Command Spire. What few Wraithguard available to the Citadel were now falling and Berian glanced once more down at the portrait on his command console. A little girl and woman looked up at him and he smiled. He had so hoped to have seen his little girl once more. No matter. His death would assure she and her mother had time to flee Ishariel. His death would not be in vain.

Commander Berien kept this smile on his face as he pushed several nodes on the command console. The Onyx Circuit would carry the self destruction sequence to it's heart. Within ten minutes, the Citadel would fracture as the Circuit controlling the very wraithbone of the structure itself died. He just had to make sure he took these armored mon-keigh with him.

Striding from the command tower, Commander Berien glanced down to see his cousin, the great warrior Jerathiel sliced down by combi-bolter fire that had him dancing in the darkness aboard the Citadel. He raised the heavy Suncannon in his grip and fired until his head exploded in a great burst of bolter fire. No matter, upon his death the destruction of the Citadel began with the outer rings first crumbling and drifting away from the station like so much dust.

If the terminators could escape in time was a chancy thing.

[Ormata]

Primarch Igneous
II Legion
Perpetual Discipline, Ishariel System

The attack could and should have gone far, far better. The volley of Nova shots largely missed their target save the one which cleanly struck command spire from station. True, by and large the citadel was still operational, but they had rendered the disruption cannon it wielded impotent and useless and were out of range for the other weaponry that citadel possessed. It was a good effort, though Igneous found the marksmanship of his gunners lacking to a large degree. The enemy was not moving for one thing and neither was their own formation. The gunnery solutions had been checked multiple times over some period in advance. It should have had every shell land on target but, sadly enough, the Nova Cannon was a fickle gun. He could not precisely be angry at them, not at all as they had lost their lives and the lives of many others. Igneous should have been able to say that at least he had sustained no losses but that would be untrue. Over nine hundred lives gone.

One shell had detonated far prior to actually exiting the vessel. The Lord Overhead lost a third of her length in the explosion which followed, that portion of the ship simply engulfed in a sphere of light before being torn asunder by gravitational forces, by the sheer weight of the Warp. Igneous watched as the torn hull, supports and central keel visible, continued to spew debris. Remarkably however the ship was not actually destroyed; the compartmentalization of the cruiser had ensured her atmosphere was kept and the critical systems were far aft of the magazines. It was impressive, though her captain gave some warning that a need to abandon the ship may become present. She was unable to immediately escape into the Warp however, for the Gellar Field had to be properly calibrated. That alone was quite unfortunate. Igneous considered it, gave a good deal of thought into moving the ship back to the Emperor's fleet for repairs, and gave leave for that captain to depart. Sadly, it was not the end of their troubles. He watched the ship come about slowly, timid in it's pain, pieces from the newly christened bow tearing off and forming a wake of debris behind the cruiser, and sensed that something was wrong.

"Incoming Eldar vessels on attack vector, ma'am!"

A klaxon, same one as before, started to sound; at least one of the enemy vessels was on a direct collision approach. The Fleet Admiral was not especially deterred by the fact; their hit and run tactics were not unknown to the woman and her hawk like features glowed in the dim lighting. She spoke quickly, nearly a cadence with little measured pauses.

"Course 220 11 flank turn! Target their lead vessel! Batteries release!"

"Course 220 11.."

"Target lead vessel! Batteries.."

" ..flank turn aye!"

"..released aye! Fire at will!"

"Fire at will aye!"

The massive warship began to turn, maneuvering thrusters burning out long gouts in the midnight on her side to swing the bow about. They needed a targeting solution on the enemy. Lance turrets had already made the attempt to train, though they held an inability to strike the enemy. Long red fingers grasped into space and found nothing, all while the fleet about the Perpetual Discipline maneuvered themselves to avoid the oncoming enemy and the attempts of their own flagship. One Eldar vessel peeled off, making it's own run against the critically damaged Lord Overhead, and in but a breath that cruiser's aft was burning in the void by a handful of impacts. Her engines sputtered, hulk adrift, and the reactor critical, the cruiser was nearly saved by the urging of her own fleet. They had to have tactical victory, not personal glory, and so the Eldar craft came about with a last salvo before jetting off. The miniature star left no survivors.

It still didn't feel right, not to Igneous. As a pair of frigates began to burn in the void from Eldar lances, as they made their retreats, even as calls were made to dispatch parties to recover what little there may be, there was something else. Something had been aboard those ships, something different, and that sense of wrong was soon given a sound to go with it. A rapid bell.

"Security alert, security alert. Boarding parties about decks 9 through 14, flight deck. All hands lay to armories. Stand by to repel boarders. Set mechanical and chemical isolation throughout the ship. Set mechanical and chemical isolation throughout the ship. Class Bravo weapons authorized."

It came again, frantic, loud against the bullhorn to which it was paired. The bridge came under lockdown as the Primarch peered at one of the varied viewing screens. What was once a nearly orderly retrieval of strike craft about the hangar decks had turned into a battlefield, a cacophony of war and death as countless Eldar have come aboard. Somehow they had bypassed the Void Shields, performed what no other was capable of, and had caught his flight crews and few Legionaries unprepared. Some few vessels recently landed made their attempts to touch-and-go, get airborne and moving out of danger, but these were the most quickly targeted. He watched them setting up with grenade launchers and suncannons, plasma grenades punching holes through the adamantine plating and engine housings to punish those impudent enough to attempt flight. Elsewhere, Thunderhawks eschewed that flight and instead put their battle cannons to good use as shrapnel rounds had already been loaded. Most got off only one round before destroyed, the lucky few firing two. Flight crews made their vain last stands, cut down at their bolter pintles, firing off their laser pistols, or attempting to move for cover. Legionaries, cleanly outnumbered, largely attempted their own tactical withdrawls through the Warp but something was wrong. Igneous could see it. He could feel it. He saw them attempt to tear holes in the Warp, saw the Sergeants try to rend it so their comrades could escape, though a force made it marginally harder to make such an attempt possible. Nevertheless the squads provided ample covering fire, bolters in well-oiled bursts to bring one after another Eldar down, though man to man the Legionary and Eldar were closely matched, though edge had to be given to the xenos in every honesty. What saved the Marines, Igneous could suspect, was the fact that they were on the flight deck for potential boarding actions and as such were quite ready for combat. And yet it still pained the Primarch when one of his sons fell.

A detail did stand out to Igneous however. Several did. The foe seemed quite capable in boarding, in making the effort to engage his forces on effectively his terms, and relied on their speed and experience for combat victory. They had done this in a smaller number than would be expected to take the whole ship and, as such, had to hold some other objective than the destruction of all humanity near. That could of course be achieved by engaging the vessel's reactor, destroying it, or by overloading the vessel's warp drive, or by charges in the magazines, though they would have held better luck by merely boarding in those locations. The Eldar instead were in the hangar to cause all manner of chaos. True, though, they did seem to be pushing aft and so it was possible that their boarding was merely misaimed and yet...yet it didn't align. They hadn't boarded every single battleship in his fleet, nor the transports, nor the cruisers and their cannons, but had only boarded his vessel. What was so important upon Igneous's own ship...but him. Possible, yet in any case it mattered not at all. Sabotage and ship destruction would guarantee his death as much as assassination and all possibilities had to be guarded against. They wore black armor, though...bulky, black armor on the corpses. It meant something, for Igneous hadn't seen that sort before. He just didn't know what.

"Security alert, security alert. Boarding parties about decks 9 through 14, flight deck. All hands lay to armories. Stand by to repel boarders. Set mechanical and chemical isolation throughout the ship. Set mechanical and chemical isolation throughout the ship. Class Bravo weapons authorized."

He needed to close off the area above the hangars, the gunnery decks. They had enough ordinance, when firing, on deck to blow through the internal bulkheads, the magazine citadels, and snap the battleship clean in two with the resulting blast. Having just a few decks between the Eldar and his death didn't sit right with Igneous. Likewise, the magazines themselves had to be secured from intrusion. He hadn't met an Eldar whose armor could withstand phosphex, that devil smoke, and the Primarch moderately doubted these were far different. Just the same, he wasn't comfortable with the fighters and strike craft just pouring onto the killing fields and that had to be halted immediately. Igneous gave his orders quickly, thundering them out.

"Steady our course! Wave off the remaining wings into formation. Evacuate gunnery decks and cease macrobattery fire. When able, depressurize and vent phosphex into those spaces. Evacuate magazines, depressurize, and vent phosphex into those spaces."

"Aye sir! Steady course, rudder amidships!"

"Rudder amidships aye, ma'am."

"Wings coming to, sir!"

"Confirm gunnery order. Evacuations underway!"

"Fleet Admiral Urran, you have the con." Igneous tilted his head at the woman ever so slightly, seeing her head jolt upwards at the fact. Nevertheless, she was professional.

"Aye sir! Stand relieved."

With that, Igneous made his way off the bridge, helmet about his head, and the Primarch made his way down and down to the rear of the hangar to meet his new guests. About the giant were the miniscule little cherubs, tiny things clothed in robe and crowned with iron, tiny things which bore not harp or bow but plasma and volkite. The foe was upon them and Igneous strode to greet this enemy, his Tears in tow. Through dim corridor and under bright battle lantern they strode, through the knee knockers and hatches, though those about the man paid him only token attention. They had their stations, had places to be, and the Emperor's Son had forever made it known that he would prefer them to go to that station than collect behind him as droplets of dew might collect about a flower. He didn't need their entourage and didn't need their delinquency from the proper stations. The man made his way down, down and down, and over the din of a working ship, of boots down the corridor as sailors got to their posts, of engines aglow and positions being thrown up in the passageways, Igneous could hear it. He could hear the wretched scream of the suncannon, the plasma grenades, the bolter fire. He could hear the war echo down and about him, got closer and he could feel it too. It pulsed and thrummed in the area, burnt that ground about him. It was chaos and energy, the addictive feeling of life in the moments where it might matter and so, so, so much death. It was cold, clammy against the brain, a sickly sweet that made you stop and pause before that paused turned into your last. It was full of last goodbyes never spent and hatreds never expressed, endless regrets and just a few apologies. Igneous bit down on the growl rising in his throat; Eldar needed killing and he wasn't one to let them wait in line.

"Depressurizations underway, sir," came a vox operator over Igneous's helmet comms. Good, good. It meant that the phosphex wasn't long after. He needed those areas sealed off to organics and sealed off soon. Anything else wasn't acceptable.

He continued down, down and down through the hull of the ship. Corners were ambushes, a volkite rifle's barrel poking just out of the hole there, and Igneous knew that the man behind that hole likely had an armored shield as well for his own comfort and safety. It wasn't as though he expected for the shield to stop every Eldar weapon in it's tracks, but the item was useful with the ship plating. Along the long corridors, multi-las cannons had been set up with their heavy gunshields, ready to knock the foe down should they try to charge the length of their view. Most edges and sides of structural arches played host to a rifleman, one way or another. They were afraid, a good many of them, afraid of the eldritch foe who sallied upon the ship, afraid of their power if so few were willing to board.

"Sir," came that vox operator again, "Comms reports that Bulwark, Sword of Samael, Bucephalus have been boarded by Eldar forces. Unknown status." Those vessels had been boarded and Igneous gave some mental pause even as his boots thundered. It was surprising that the flagship of the Emperor was boarded, very surprising, and he nearly felt sorry for those poor fools aboard her. They had made a severe mistake. The Bulwark, massive station as it was, would hold more issue if the Xeno had sent more than a token force. If they fanned out it would be a stubborn thorn to remove.

Igneous turned the corner, finding himself face to face with four Eldar who had made the unfortunate mistake of trying to be smart. There was little pause in the event, the first to move being the Tears. The mind was faster than flesh, than metal, and four Tears nigh immediately began to open fire on the Eldar. They provided little true effect, instead directed to aim their shots to corral the foe even as the closest lunged with their blade. It impacted against the Primarch's shield, skidding from it down and to his right, and Igneous responded with a brutal upper swing into the Xeno's neck. The body crumpled one way, helmeted head another, and in a burst of speed Igneous was upon them. As one fired their shuriken weapon in rapid order, metal shards skirting about the giant in an attempt to find purchase, the Primarch swung to find only air as another slide backwards. A third attempted to flank about, a solid spint that turned the black carapaced Xeno into a blur even as volkite and grav weapon spattered about the blur, and Igneous knew he had to react. He continued that swing, leaning into it as the axe almost seemed to lengthen to just reach the foe. It was a graze against the armor, one which splattered molten adamantium and black armor against the floor, though the force of it was enough to pause that third, spinning him about to break the sprint, and allow Igneous to sweep up against him with the free hand. Power fist lit up the space as it connected square to the face, though Igneous turned his hand about as the Xenos head snapped back from the punch's force. Dead, true, yet Igneous grasped the head all the same and swung the soon collapsing corpse about with such force as to make him fly. The two remaining were quick enough to avoid the corpse, though one ate four volkite shots to the chest as they landed. The other lept forwards, forwards as axe was turned away and hand was unready, plasma grenade in hand. Igneous turned. The Eldar stopped in mid air, Igneous turning to fully face them. Air wrapped about the figure, wrapped and wrapped until they simply couldn't move, and Igneous made the simple action. The axe came down again, biting through the neck and out, crimson against floor.

Another pause, the Primarch considering those corpses about him. He hadn't felt them, not one bit, and it irked the giant. They were something specialist, something likely very new to the Imperium and very old to the Eldar as most things would be, and they had held issue only by virtue of attempting to battle in a corridor. Igneous had also never seen one willing to charge, grenade in hand. Desperation? It was likely. It mattered some.

He continued.

[Antimersia]

Archem Baldur

Archem stood firm in the strike cruiser as it made its exited the warp and made its final approach on Nuvoa, the moon of Archimedaes. A largely barren and rocky moon, Nuvoa is not unlike Terra's moon in composition. Nuvoa was once rich with metal and minerals. Now, mined thoroughly, the mines and quarries have been filled with 20th legion facilities. Many of the surface facilities house astartes and neophytes that are prepared to join the rest of the Night Haunters, should they be called upon. Each level deeper into the facilities reveal a darker and more disturbing motive than the last. There are laboratories attempting to make substances that can preserve tissue for millennia. Training facilities for aspirants that look more akin to torture chambers. Labor levels, where failed aspirants are sent to work and keep the facilities running until they die. Many of whom die of exhaustion. And in some of the deepest levels of the main facility, Station One, is the breeding program. A place where women of the highest genetic stock, taken from across the galaxy are artificially inseminated with genetic material from men of the highest genetic stock, repeatedly and without end. All done in the effort to create the best possible candidate for astartes for the 20th legion.

The strike cruiser descended towards Station One. The station requested a call sign for access. Archem replied with only two words. "Ghost Protocol." Within seconds of his words being uddered, the dust beside the station began to be kicked up as a hidden under ground hangar was opened. The cruiser lowered slowly into the hangar and landed. The hanger is a stark white, almost sterile looking massive room. There are no other craft in the hangar, though it is clearly large enough to house at least a dozen other strike cruisers. Marines in pitch black power armor line the walls of the hangar, holding lasguns at the ready. Five of the marines approach the doors to the cruiser as they open. Archem steps out slowly. He nods to the marines as he leaves. The five marines rush into the strike cruiser and spread out throughout the ship. The sounds of lasgun fire can be heard from the ship, as the marines systematically wipe out each and every human soldier and crew member on the vessel, ensuring that zero witnesses remain.

With his Primarch's laboratory secured, Archem made his way deeper into the facility to prepare for Cyprig's eventual return to the planet, when the crusade is complete. The hangar walls are solid almost the entire way around the room. The only ways in an out, are the hangar doors above, and a single elevator that descends directly to the lowest level of Station One. Archem enters this elevator alone and looks back as the marines begin to slowly carry out the contents of Cyprig's laboratory out into the hangar, and catalog them all. The doors of the elevator close and the car quickly descends. In just over three minutes, the elevator doors open again. Archem steps out and passes the training and indoctrination rooms for the aspirants of the 20th legion. One room features a pair of of the Station One bred aspirants. They are fighting, brutally striking each other bloody. One of the boys is clearly more formidable then the other. The formidable one eventually wins and is instructed to kill the boy that lost. Without hesitation, the aspirant kneels down and bites into the jugular of the other aspirant, ripping the flesh of his neck away with his teeth. Arterial spray coats the window into the room, obscuring Archem's vision as the sounds of the aspirant dismembering his victim continues. In another room an aspirant from Archimedaes is strapped to a table flat on his back. His eyes are being force open with metal hooks. No more than two feet above him a middle aged woman is suspended in the air with several straps attached to the ceiling. She is clearly sedated as she is not moving. a voice can be heard over the intercom into the room. "In order to receive your Occulobe implant you must cut her throat. Remember, aspirant, she is no longer your mother. She is now an obstacle you must overcome." The voice said. The boy breathed heavily, tears streamed down his face as he slowly lifted his hand. His one non strapped down arm held a large combat knife in it. The aspirant reluctantly rose the knife to the woman's throat, and sliced it open. A torrent of blood began to pour out onto the aspirant's eyes, the hooks making it impossible to close them as the flood of his mother's red blood filled his vision.

Archem passes dozens more rooms with equally horrific things occurring in each of them as he proceeds towards the last door in the corridor. Archem presses in a code at the door, which swings it open. The room on the other side illuminates as lights within it flash on in stages. The room is a massive blue tiled laboratory. Cyprig's home lab. The place where all of his studies, and specimens go for permanent storage. On one side of the room is a massive line of servers, holding petabytes of data. And on the other are dozens and dozens of jars with brains within them. Most of them are human, although some are distinctly inhuman. The room is ghastly cold to keep the brain tissue preserved. Finally in the center of the room are half a dozen autopsy tables, cleaned and sterilized for ready usage. Archem enters and waits for the new additions to be brought down so that he may catalog them all in Cyprig's system, in his Primarch's place. While he waits, he checks his weapons. He thought about the implications of the Ghost Protocol. One that Cyprig designed to not be called upon lightly. One of the other Primarchs or even the Emperor himself must be on to Cyprig's experiments. And he knew if that were the case, he would need to be ready for a fight. His hand shook lightly, his anxiety and paranoia rising at the thought of being discovered. But they do not waver his resolve. As he believes so wholly in Cyprig's mission, that he would gladly die in its service. Because he knows, that if Cyprig succeeds, that he can never truly die.

[The Empire of Tau]

Co-Write Between me and Skaldia

Samael watched each round fly by him with a scoff, a snarl mauling his features as he looked back at the Eldar Lord contemptuously. He begins firing his weapons once more. A storm of bolter rounds rushes forth from the barrel of Samael’s two storm-bolters, shell-casings bouncing off the walls of the corridor, loud sounds echoing from the fire, and big flashes of light from the storm bolters’ muzzle breaks.

Qaras absorbs the bolter rounds on his shield and let’s loose with a devastating wave of energy towards Samael, a scream bubbling forth from Qaras’ lips as the power unleashed is enough to burst blood vessels in his eyes. Soon, he is crying blood.

Despite the massive force of the blast hitting the Primarch like a tidal wave, Samael is only pushed back from Qaras and slammed into a bulkhead, the metal bowing around the giant form of the Primarch. With a groan more of effort than pain, Samael extricates himself from the wall and starts shooting once more towards Qaras.

Qaras obviously needed to close the distance and deal with this upstart Primarch face to face. With a wave of his hand, his shield began to decorporate and Qaras goaded the Primarch with his sword. In the space between combat, Qaras reaches up and pulls his helmet off so that Samael might see the face that brought him death. Qaras’ face was a bladed ruin, blood having painted both sides of his face in crimson, red eyes glowing balefully in the dark corridor.

Samael does not pause upon seeing the argent wraith in front of him, he just keeps shooting at Qaras. Why the hell would Samael want to close in while he has four-barrels of bolts to shoot at the Eldar? In his experience, most things die when pumped full of explosive rounds. Samael kept shooting a barrage of bolt rounds at Qaras.

When Qaras he darts forward at almost a blistering speed. The few shots Samael is able to fire off miss entirely as Qaras lands a kick directly into Samael’s armored chest. The blow would have killed a normal man. For a Primarch, it would be enough to send him knocked back by several feet.

Samael is knocked back across the corridor by several feet. Skidding to a stop, sparks flying up, Samael falls to his knee and nods his head approvingly of his foe. Samael quickly stands up and then goes back to shooting Qaras once more with even more bolter fire, a hearty roar from his lips as he targets the elusive Void Dreamer.

This time Qaras is not so lucky. The reprieve he had hoped to acquire in knocking back Samael so that he might charge his next attack was not to be. Bolter rounds riddled his body in moments and Qaras fell to his knees. However, instead of dying, a gurgled cackling could be heard emitting from the broken body of Qaras.

In the silence that followed the last bolter discharge, the cackling was unnerving to the ear. Slowly, the Eldar lifted it’s head. Half the skull was gone, revealing bright red and pink brain matter. One glowing eye dangled on his chin. The mouth was wide open, split at the ends from how wide a laugh wailed from it’s lips.

With a look of incredulity turning to horror, Samael strides up to the kneeling figure and raises his gauntlet. Just as Samael is about to fire, the Void Dreamer suddenly stops screaming and says, ”You will fail in your quest.” In perfect dialogue of the Imperial Gothic.

Samael, absorbing the words for a moment, raises his fist once more and unleashes the last storm bolter rounds at point blank range on the Eldar’s face until a ringing indicates the weapon is empty.

[Revlona]

Elyrian Manuxus
Elk king of the 8th Legion

Elyrian grimaced as a Remigius came up to him, it was the first time Elyrian had faced one of his brethren since since his display on dolgota. Elyrian knew remigius wasn’t the type to hold it over his head, but even still, he could see the slight disapproval that marred his brothers face as he approached the primarch of the 8th.

“Yes that’s fine, I am almost done gathering my own forces for a push, so your scouts would be invaluable.” He said, looking out towards his own men as he did so. Columns of massive tanks used my the Auxilia Calmora had begun arriving half and hour before, and already hundreds had arrived in the space used by the legion as a beachhead. The landing zone had already been expanded thrice, each expansion bloody and swift as the outer perimeter moves all at once, catching some of the enemy off guard.

“When I am finished gathering I intend to push in every direction with overwhelming force, the enemy will have to either face us in a pitched battle or continue these nuisance attacks. Either way we will emerge victorious.” He said before being distracted, he spoke swiftly into his Vic price and soon a formation of quick moving attack craft soared by over head, and mere seconds later came a sounding of roaring explosions and gunfire from the direction they flew.

“One such nuisance strike now,” Elyrian said

“KILL HIM....HE IS A WORTHY FOE” the voice said.

Elyrian grimaced at the thought of attempting to murder his own kin, fighting among kin was only natural, especially for such a large family, but the thought of murdering ones own blood was abhorrent to him. It was the greatest sin a man could commit in his eyes.

[Antimersia]

Cyprig

The road west was rather arduous. The permafrost tundra and the howling, icy winds made the trek one that would likely be impossible for the average human. But for the Marines of the 20th legion, it is merely a challenge. Cyprig leads the group forward, the Emperor's Custodes never letting him get more than a few steps ahead of them, and the many Skulltakers bringing up the rear of the marching force. Several of the Skulltakers walk backwards, and sideways. The look out into the horizon of Halathel in every direction. They have already fought of four ambushes since they began their march from Belatar. Each time the Eldar tried to strike by surprise, but their attempts bore no fruit. Each ambush was systematically extinguished with extreme prejudice. The Eldar in the path of Cyprig and his battalion of Skulltakers stood no chance of winning, yet they continued with their attacks regardless. It puzzled Cyprig. Many of the planets he pacified were filled with beings that would snivel and beg for mercy when they knew they were out matched. Yet these Eldar willing rush into a slaughter as if they are proud to die for their failures. The only thing that intrigued Cyprig more than their tactics, was the Eldar's technology. They way it seemed to be, almost alive in its architecture. It is fascinating and something Cyprig hopes to learn more about. He has stowed away a piece of armor from one of the downed Aeldari for further study later. Something he had hoped would not upset the Custodes. Though his explanation of needing to study the technology to aid with futures battles seemed to appease them.

Over the horizon a large structure became clear before Cyprig. He activated his cybernetic eyes and tried his best to scan the structure for any signs of Eldar. But alas, the tundra's effects on his ability to read heat signatures continues to plague him. Cyprig extended his shield, drew his double barreled hellgun, and readied himself for battle. The group advanced forward against the wind as the structure became clear to their vision. A large fortress, built from the same permafrost as the ground beneath them, stood before them. They were now close enough that Cyprig's eyes could pick up feint signatures of life within the fortress. And one very large heat signature in the very center of it. He turns to the Custodes and Skulltakers and says, "This fortress appears to be housing a large weapon of some form. I'm not certain how it survived the bombing runs, but it clearly has some sore of defenses that have kept it standing. On my mark, we charge." Cyprig turned back towards the fortress and activated the conversion field within his shield. "CHARGE!" He roared as he began sprinting toward the fortress, Custodes and Skulltakers in tow. The automated defenses of the fortress began to activate. Automated guns firing down at the advancing Haunters. In response the Skulltakers fired their bolters and threw plasma grenades at the turrets to try and disable them. Cyprig charged up to the wall of the fortess and began to fire his hellgun at the permafrost wall. The two barrels blasting highly powerful laser fire into the wall, melting through the ice and dirt with the goal of breaching the wall of the fortress quickly.


Coracus

Coracus led his legion east out of Belatar. The ambush, despite having taken his eye from him, has taught him nothing. His legion barrels forward over the icy tundra in their rhinos, mounted up and ready for any fight that stands in their way. Coracus though, has gone from joyous and boisterous, to seething and determined as he recklessly fires his weapon forward any anything that appears to move in the path of his rhino. Whether it be Eldar, or some small rodent that is somehow managing to survive on this side of the planet, he attacks and destroys it. His rage guides him as the Blades of Solus push forward and destroy any living thing in their path.


Sixth Chapter Commander Niko Melcic

The marines from the sixth chapter of the Night Haunters are some of the most brutally efficient. Their Commander, is a shining example of this. As he marches forward, a litany of corpses line the ground around him. One of his marines spotted a mine ahead of them. Niko knew that it was an ambush and rush ahead of the marines following him. A marine fired his weapon at the mine, setting it off into a plum of fire and smoke. Niko sprinted through the cloud of smoke, roaring a deep guttural scream of strength. His power fists activated on both of his hands as he sprinted towards his target, the first poor Aeldari to rush out for the ambush. With one punch the Eldar was reduced to a pile of shredded offal. Weapon fire rained in on Niko. He largely shrugged the attacks off. The rounds that didn't dissipate in his conversion shield, bounced off his power armor like they were nothing. He ripped through the snow to find where the Eldar were hiding. He grabbed the head of the closest one and squeezed it in his palm, popping it like a water balloon. His fist became hard to see as he swung quickly and wildly, beating the Elder into a literal pulp. His marines fired and punched their way through the remaining ambushers until the field was soaked with the bright red blood of the Eldar. Niko's fists and armor became so coated and stained that he looked more like a member of the Sun Angels than of the Night Haunters. His hands shook with anticipation as he tried to calm himself when the short battle was finally over. It took a few breaths but he was able to calm himself. His feet squished with remnant blood and gore stuck to his boots as he began marching west once again. He needn't say a word or give an order. The marines of his chapter simply knew to walk with him, following their Commander into the next fight.

[Endem]

Nikolai Sxaraczkiewicz
Bucephalus

The battle has ended, the Eldar died or would soon be dead, Nikolai was drenched with their light red blood, he would soon be directed towards the teleporter, where he would be brought back aboard the Tchaikovsky, in a bright spout of light he suddenly came on board the Tchaikovsky.

He was soon transported to the bridge, from which he issued two orders "Make the last citadel slag" and "prepare all vessels to deploy landing craft" he felt as the Tchaikovsky's engines started to work harder by the minute, climbing in speed to go for a broadside on the last citadel, presumably with all the Lunar Cruisers Iron Sentinels had.

And though Nikolai felt the weight of his actions, and he knew what would happen as soon as he was left alone, he decided he needed to stay, whatever ghosts may want to haunt him, he needed to stay as a symbol for his sons and everyone under his command, even if that meant losing his mind.

[Northern Poland]

Mercaekha Taristus
916.000.M31
Oelil System

"Brothers, I believe that we should push full steam ahead, which one of our mortal Admirals has done for us. I am ordering our fleet to advance into the void, and I implore you to follow." Mercaekha said to the primarchs gathered via the hail. He nodded to the helmsman, who relayed it to the Comms officer, who relayed it to the fleet. "By order of the Primarchs, all ships are to move at full ahead, Frigate squadrons activate auxiliary auspexes, corvettes begin the fighter craft screen, flak cannons at the ready." Affirmations from Captains of dozens of ships flooded in, followed by the fleet moving forward, with escorts searching for any Xenos incursions into the fleet's structure.


Armsmen stalked through the bowels of ships, looking for Xenos intruders inside the ship, space marine squads remained at strategic dispatch locations, ready to reinforce any Arsmen team that finds Xenos. The main hallways of the ships were fortified with barricades and mounted laser turrets. Battle servitors stalked places too hostile for humans to safely patrol, armed with heavy weapons, with suited up Arsmen waiting inside airlocks. Imperial fighters combed the space in between ships, looking for any craft the screening ships had missed.


Along with this, dozens of bombers waited in hangers, ground crew arming and fueling them, these great war machines where being prepared to help eliminate the Xenos menace plaguing this sector. The battle was looming, and the Imperium was charging headfirst into it, desperate to grab the initiative, to throw the Xenos onto the backfoot.

[Theyra]

Miztli Huitzilihuitl
Kalramia's Sword
Oelil System

Going on ahead full steam seemed rash without enough information about Eldar forces. Better to get some reconnaissance in and then form a plan to assault the Eldar. That was Miztli was thinking and it seems they would be rushing in against the Eldar. He was about to speak against it but, the dice had been cast when Mercaekha and the mortal admirals chose to blast ahead. If they do not go ahead with the rest then the fleets will be vulnerable to the Eldar. Speaking in a low tone, "Fine Mercaekha since half of our fleet are going ahead, I will send my fleet too". Miztli pressed a button that muted himself on the holo and contacted the bridge. "Captain Ixcachel, have the fleet follow the Night Stalkers and prepare for imminent combat". Ixcachel acknowledged and spread the order to the rest of the fleet. Slowly the engines of the fleet blazed to life with a bright blue hue and steamed forward after the two fleets.

Everyone went to their stations, manning their posts, eagerly awaiting the first signs of contact with the enemy. Pilots running to their spacecraft while they are being prepped with weapons. Some of the fighters launched and began patrol actions. Space Marines prepare their weapons and gear as they await to began boarding actions while others patrol the halls. Making sure that if any Eldar boards their ship that they will get a proper and bloody introduction to an Imperium vessel. The Obsidian Warriors fleet will be ready when the fighting starts and they come head to head with the Eldar Fleet. How they will fare against the Eldar fleet remains to be seen and Miztli is confident that despite this rash action. They will be able to weather the storm and drive these Xenos from the system in due time.

[Imperialisium]

917.000.M31
Oelil System
Dream of Asur

Void combat took time. That was a fact drilled into Vaeldairya when she was but a youth going on her first voyages among the stars. Indeed, as she looked at the strategic displays before her. The Mon-Keigh had charged forth across the emptiness of space. Seeking to throw the Aeldari onto the backfoot, for them to give up the initiative, and allow the bulk of their crude ships to knife to the heart of the Oelil system. "Hold fire. All ships are to begin vectoring maneuvers in the nebula," said Vaeldairya to her command echelon present. Relaying the orders telepathically to the other ships captains via psychic signals. The Eldar ships would begin to shift in no particular order or formation within their hiding places. Further frustrating Imperial augurs and auspex machinery in trying to acquire firing solutions for their gunnery crews.

The hours ticked by as the Imperials pushed in from the edge of the system. Finally passing beyond the maximum effective ranges of the Aeldari ships. Still the Eldar where silent. Letting the Mon-Keigh come closer and closer. Until, more than a third into their effective firing arcs, the Aeldari Corsairs opened fire. Seeking to give the Imperials less time to react by waiting till they where closer. Pulsar, Shadow, Weapons batteries of graviton guns and heavy starcannons interspersed with heavy fusion beamers, and the Phantom lances of the smaller corsair vessels flashed across the blackness of space. A continuous shower of energy based ordinance thrown in the direction of the Mon-Keigh naval forces.

"Activate holo-fields! Prepare for incoming ordinance!" said Vaeldairya calmly. She expected the Imperials to return fire almost immediately in an initial attempt to try and dislodge her from their hidden positions. The activation of the Holo-Fields would further assist them. Being machines designed to scramble a ships signature. But, despite all of these tactical advantages, the Mon-Keigh outnumbered her considerably.

Duro System
913.000.M31
Vasilisa Sanguina

"My Lady. Primarch Icarion's forces are dropping onto the planet below. Mass drop pod assault taking place. The systems atmospherics are offering some interference. Will try to adjust feedback parameters to get clearer read outs." voiced a Naval Ensign from his communications terminal while rotating a complex series of dials and brass knobs in an attempt to sharpen auspex readings from the world below. "Icarion, patience is a virtue..." muttered Vasilisa as she sighed inwardly. "Prepare for planetstrike! We follow them in. 1st, 2nd, and 4th Great Companies are to drop on my command. Auxilia will follow with the 7th Great Company in the second wave."

"Aye, My Lady!" came a chorus of replies as Vasilissa looked at the strategium display. The haze of icons jittery and unreliable even as the Bridge crew fought to improve its readings.

Drop Pod Bay of the Aeterna

Marines were loading into craft in an organized fashion, but with such speed beyond normal human soldiery, as to be perfect clockwork. Loading into their drop pods as the hissing haze of hydraulics opened compartments for the drop pods to launch down to the planet below. Launched from the ship followed by the ignition of their powerful centrally spaced engines. Propelling the rain of drop pods at impressive speeds up to Mach 5. Blazing red hot as they were buffeted by the resistance of the planets atmosphere.

A a few thousand blazing orange comet trails lighting up the milky-white heavens before the engines cut out. Reverse thrusters fired and the drop pods slammed to earth. Their doors firing out on pressurized bolts to slam to the rocky soil with a crunch. The Space Marines where out of their pods before the rams had even fully lowered. Bolters raised as they were met by blizzards of ash, the roar of beasts, and the distinctive barks of boltgun discharge. The Lightning Bearers had already been engaged and beset by raving feral beasts similar to ancient Terran myth. In many cases ridden by Eldar riders directing their steeds forth. Firing their own weapons as they did so. Battle had been joined and the Fifth Legion was sweeping into the fray.

The Fortress of Penitence
914.000.M31

"Well met. You are the third Penitent Son we have encountered." Indicating the two other Penitent Sons manning their makeshift barricade down the hallway. Several of Rafael's squad now opened fire at the encroaching horde of undead. One of the marines disengaging the mag-lock on a flamer and activating it's pilot light. Aiming the weapon down the hallway the marine let loose with a methodical sweep of the flamer. The undead horde and their noxious fumes igniting in a shower of shrieks and coiling flesh. The horde disintegrating as the flames wreathed them in death.

Rafael seems to not notice or pay any special care to the dispatch of the encroaching zombies. Keeping his gaze at the marine before him. "We must reach Zahariel. Lead the way, brother Astartes."

[Skaldia]

Perpetual Discipline
914.000.M31_____

They had not been enough. Within the first few minutes of arriving in the hangar bay aboard the battleship, hundreds of the warriors under the command of Lord Harak were killed. Each death had been a knife twisted in Harak’s heart. Many of these warriors had been friends and family he had trained himself. He had watched them blossom into the deadly warriors that they had been. To see them cut down like so much chafe had been galling and he resolved to make sure his death was not in vain.

Lord Harak had left the hangar as fast as he could, moving in a blur. In his wake was death as each mon keigh that tried to stop him, their armored giants or the poor sods working in the bay, was cut down. Eventually, he had made his way through the ship until he was able to discern more clearly the location of the Primarch. All this death had been for one goal and one goal only. The generals of this new mon keigh empire had to be destroyed. The Dreamers had spoken of what was to come. They did not do this just for the fate of their people but for the entire galaxy.

Harak was one of the strongest Dreamers of the Duine Sciath. He had seen for himself the destruction to come. And nothing, the loss of the entire order of the Duine Sciath or even the annihilation of the Aeldari, could compare to the destruction that was promised if the Imperium was allowed to continue it’s rampage across the galaxy. It had to stop and it had to stop now.

Igneous’ proud march across the decks of his mighty ship were halted as a shadow from one bulkhead decoupled from the darkness and coalesced to form into the shape of the Duine Sciath Exarch. Lord Harak was taller than most of his kind, bright emeralds stabbing towards Igneous in the darkened glow of the ship. In his hands were two painfully thin long swords, each of the blades were pitch black, crimson dripping from their needle shapes. The blood of countless men who had died to bring Harak in front of the Primarch.

“Mon-keigh, for all your power, you are but a monkey with delusions of grandeur.” Harak’s control of the Imperial language, despite each word dripping with poison, was exceptional.”You are weak. If you were strong, if you knew what was to come, you would open your throat now.” A smirk,”Instead, you will fight me.” Harak raised the swords.”And die.”

Halathel Forests
913.000.M31_____

The Hospitallers melted into the forests surrounding the landing zones. Beneath the darkened jade boughs of the massive trees, the Hospitallers met their match in stealth. The warriors waiting for them were Aspected to shadow, to scorpions of the night. Despite the mastery evident in each Hospitaller, they found their equals waiting for them. A thousand battles were happening simultaneously there beneath the trees, life and death struggles as squads and solitary scouts detected or were discovered themselves. Most died quickly or in their turn killed their foes. But it was enough for intelligence of the movements of the enemy to trickle back to Elyrian and Remigius of what was going on.

It was becoming quickly evident that the forest was a trap waiting for the Imperium. It was why Remigius gave the order that the forward elements be equipped with flamethrowers. The Imperium would burn down the entire forest just so it meant they would be able to close with the enemy on equal terms. The Eldar were crafty and cunning enemy. Remigius did not see any point in giving them the benefit of continuing to fight their shadow wars in the trees. Over the vox he relayed his intentions to Elyrian, hoping his fellow Primarch would agree with him.

Halathel Tundra
913.000.M31_____

Cyprig was sent flying through the air as he reached the fortress wall. All around him detonations and gunfire was going off as the fortress responded to the attack by targeting all of it’s guns on the approaching Imperial forces. The battle was bloody as the power of the guns proved more than equal to the task of punching through ceramite and even adamantium if concentrated enough. While the Night Haunters had been largely left unscathed by the attack that occurred upon their arrival on the planet, the fortress was proving far more of a threat to the men of the Legion than the ambushes at the beginning of the land campaign.

What had sent Cyprig flying back became all too clear. From the haze of smoke and fire came the giant shape of an Eldar Knight, behind him even more of his compatriots as the Fortress decided to lead a sortie out against the enemy before them. Dozens of the ethereal machines came forward, their guns blazing as they cut a swathe through the forces arrayed in front of them.

Ishariel Orbit
914.000.M31_____

The last Citadel did not last long under the fury of the Iron Sentinel’s renewed assault. Before too long the orbital station was broken, it’s guns gone silent as it no longer had the crew or the wherewithal to continue fighting. It was silent, only death now occupying the once pristine and beautiful corridors of the bright shining station. With the guns of the last Citadel having fallen silent, the Emperor no longer felt the need to keep his fleet in reserve. While those ships that had felt the brunt of the latest attack from the Brotherhood were allowed to nurse their wounds until they could carry the fight onward, the Emperor sent an order to every Imperial vessel gathered in the system. If a ship was currently not fighting Eldar scum aboard her or dealing with damages sustained so far in the battle, they were to move in and begin preparing attack craft to lead the assault against the planetary defenses of Ishariel itself. And, unlike that which was found at Halathel, the planetary defenses of Ishariel were even more formidable.

Oelil Nebula
917.000.M31_____

The Emperor Class Battleship, Zephyr’s Might, rocked as it’s main engines rocketed it forward of the entire Imperial Fleet. As he peered into the argent nebula awaiting to engulf the Imperial Fleet, a bright flash of light pierced the crimson murkiness before being extinguished, swallowed up once more by the red cloud. From the cries of the vox, he knew it to be one of the frigates sent forward of his command dying as it’s engines overloaded under the weight of fire brought down upon it. He frowned, absentmindedly gripping the symbol of his faith resting beneath the black vest he wore. The cold steel returned to him his strength and he let go of the cross to turn around to issue orders.

“Tighten formation on us. Frigate Squadrons, Order Epsilon.” As that order went out, the Frigates so far suffering the most for having transgressed the deepest into the cloud so far, began falling back having fired their so far punitive weapons and thus sought the safety of the spear of the Imperial might falling down upon Oelil. Leading the way was the Emperor Class flagship of the 201st Imperial Fleet, followed closely by the Fleets of the Legiones Astartes. At the front of those vaunted forces was the Night Stalkers, eager to exact their pound of flesh under the gaze of their Gene Father. At a close second, the dark contingent led by the elusive, enigmatic Jaguar Primarch. Surprisingly, at the rear of those forces was the largest number of Space Marines, the melancholic and contrite Fallen Angels.

But if one thought they were reluctant to dive into the nebula, they would be surprised. They merely waited, giving time for the Eldar to bury their teeth in the flesh offered them. Oberon knew he only had to be patient. Once the teeth were buried deep in the morsel so far sacrificed, his fleet would be waiting to fall down on the Eldar. He would see their grace ripped from them, left as pitiful burning wrecks to adorn the cosmos for forever more.

Duro Swamps
913.000.M31_____

Remembrancer Isiah Weirhalf had been chosen to honor the 1st with his words. Isiah was a renowned author in the entire Solar Segmentae, his works relating the tales of the Great Crusade back to eager populaces hungry to devour the glory being made in the name of Humanity. To better honor those he was privileged to witness, Isiah believed at being at the very forefront of the fight. In the course of his thirty seven year career attached to the 1st Legion, he was less than he had been. Legs lost on the world of Trioacha from the sweep of a scythe-blade, he had replaced with with the finest augmetics available. From the thighes down, Isiah’s legs terminated in a foot much like that of some kind of scaled beast, three adamanitum claws adorning the front of the heel and a much larger and slightly longer rear digit. It gave him a gait that was ungainly when moving at normal walking speed, earning him the derogatory term as the “Chicken Scratcher”.

The mechandrites installed into his spine, designed to assist him in writing were less conspicuous than his new found legs. Despite the running joke among some of the 1st Legion, Icarion had allowed Isiah a place within his very own drop pod, tucked away near the Equerry himself. When the drop pod landed, Isiah lost consciousness, the landing far harder than he had been anticipating despite warnings that it would happen. He resumed consciousness as an armored giant lifted him from the three foot muck of torpid water they had landed in and deposited him on a dry outcropping of rock nestled among the most.

Coughing up the water fouling his lungs, Isiah lifted himself up off the rock. All around him he could hear gunfire and the roars of some kind of beast. The armored giant that had pulled him from the depths was nowhere to be found, lost in the milky white mist that clung to everything. He could not tell if it was day or night, instead a perpetual dusk seemed to exist on this world. He was less sure of his footing out there in the mist than he normally would be and the sporadic gunfire and the roaring of beasts was somehow enough to break the spirit of a man who had dove headfirst into a myriad of combat zones. Something slithered and quaked at the center of Isiah’s soul, and fear gripped him.

Suddenly, something swung into view. It was a Lightning Bearer, but for any other detail Isiah could not make out. He watched as the Lightning Bearer was attacked by three skeletal figures that seemed to come out of the mist itself. The first wraith to reach him was quicker than a normal eye could follow, but Isiah’s augmented eyes was more than enough to slow down the move and admire the fluid grace and lethal purpose in the enemy. This was all torn asunder when the power-sai wielded by the Lightning Bear punched through the skull of the mistwalker, brains and blood shot lout to pierce the ivory fog like buckshot for a brief moment before the mist closed around the holes once more.

The second skeletal figure was faster than his unfortunate kin. The white armored warrior nimbly leaped onto the extended arm of the Space Marine and then performed a perfect tumble through the air that resulted in the head of the Lightning Bearer to hop in the air on a fountain of blood and plop into the red stained waters of the swamp. The white silhouette landed on it’s feet in the water without leaving a wake in the water and looked up to where Isiah crouched behind the black rocks. Isiah could actually feel the eyes of the thing bearing into him. At that moment he evacuated his bowels all over him and mumbled prayers taught to him as a child tumbled through numb lips.

Just as soon as it was there, it was gone and Isiah no longer felt the oppressive weight slowly crushing him there. Slowly, inch by inch, he looked up from where he hid to see the wraiths gone, even the body of the Space Marine was no longer there, taken into the mist. The gunfire and roars of some monster continued. Except now, inhuman screams rent the turgid air to give their voice to the mist. The last thing Isiah felt as the voices reached into him and devoured his soul was the mist caressing his exposed flesh ever so lovingly. It had been enough to make his eyes roll up in orgasmic bliss before he died.

A bubbled laugh from torn throat briefly echoed in the fog.

The Fortress of Penitence
914.000.M31_____

Clapping his fist to his chest, the Penitent Son nodded gravely,”I am Ezkyal, Brother Rafael. In the name of Pain let us cleanse this filth!” He unclasped the weapon still on his side, a burning master-crafted power hammer. As soon as Ezkyal touched the handle of the hammer the head ignited in a bright corona before it ebbed to reveal a hammerhead that appeared to be made of dripping molten lava. Instead of the molten steel dripping and burning the floor, it seemed to dissipate almost as soon as it left the burning iron in a spark that lent an otherworldly light to the corridor around them.

Ezkyal nodded his head,”This way my Brothers!” He roared as he turned on his heel and charged down the corridor. As he neared the end of it a tentacle thing that had been scraping itself down the hall rounded the corner. It met Ezkyal’s charge directly, a wet mucus tinged roar turned to a sound resembling that of a runt before the hammer in Ezykal’s hands slammed into the thing and burned it up. It squealed as, with a buzzing roar of his own, Ezkyal tore the thing from the top of the bulkhead using the war hammer as an improvised pitchfork to slam it down to the deck. The writhing, rotted tentacles fell limply and the body started to turn to liquid as Ezkyal tore his hammer back.

He turned to face the Sun Angels. His face turned to the shape of grim, a simulacra of the real emotion on his horribly created face.”This way.” He burred before he disappeared around the corner.

More of the things would need to be killed and Ezkyal was unerring in his march through the ship, driven by the need to find his Primarch and return order to the battleship. It was no glorious fight, but a grim slog through sights and beasts that would have broke the mind of a mortal. As it was, by the time they reached the great gates of the bridge closed to them, Ezkyal’s bearing had become like that of a wizened man, cowed beneath of the weight of what he had witnessed on his sojourn with the Sun Angels to make it this far.

No warp beast or zombie waited for them at the gates. Instead, there was an abnormal silence like that of a death shroud descended on the setting. However, this changed as the Sun Angels came to stand before the gates, a creak was heard as the gates started to slowly open, revealing nothing but darkness waiting for the Space Marines.

[Antimersia]

Cyprig

The conversion shield did nothing to stop the blast from the wall. Luckily his storm shield was there to withstand the brunt of the concussive force. So despite Cyprig being sent flying, he took more damage slamming into the ground than he did from the blast itself. He stood up quickly and slammed the base of his shield into the ground to stand firm against the combined fire of the turrets and Aeldari war machines. As the Skulltakers threw almost every plasma grenade they had equipped themselves with, the Emperor's Custodes were left taking the brunt of the advance from the Eldar machines. Several of them died along with nearly a dozen of the Skulltakers from the first volley of laser fire. The area around fortress lacked much in the way cover. So most of the Night Haunters and the Custodes fighting there with Cyprig were forced to rely on their draining shields.

Once the initial shock of the counter attack was over the Skulltakers and Custodes were able to repel further advances by the Eldar. Their bolters shredding through their machines. And their plamsa grenades doing considerable damage to the automated turrets that adorned the walls of the fortress. This left the menacingly large Eldar Knight to Cyprig. Cyprig stared at the towering machine and thought back to his battle against the Imperial Knight on Archimedaes. This Eldar knight seemed slimmer and likely faster than the Imperial Knight was. But Cyprig too is faster and stronger today than he was back then. He clutches his hand into a fist. The servos of the robotic arm, fashioned from an Imperial Knight, whirl as he clenches it into a fist. Cyprig smiles widely, his pupils dilate, and his muscles clench. Though, to the Eldar Knight he appears to just be standing still in the tundra.

The moment The Knight begins to advance towards Cyprig, he pounces. He retracts his storm shield to be able to move fast as he sprints full steam towards the Knight. His Primarch strength and reflexes moving him across the battlefield at a blazing speed. Weapon fire from the Eldar rain toward's Cyprig. He is struck twice by their projectiles, one in his left shoulder, and once in his lower right torso, just barely missing his spleen as the projectile sears through his body like a hot knife through butter. But Cyprig doesn't stop his sprint. He doesn't even slow down. Many of the Haunters around Cyprig divert their fire towards the Knight and the other Eldar that were engaging Cyprig, to give him some covering fire for his forward assault. Another seven Skulltakers are lost sacrificing themselves to give Cyprig cover fire.

Their deaths were not in vain though. Once he was finally closing in on the Eldar Knight Cyprig leapt forward, almost soaring through the air, propelled by his strength and built up momentum. He led forward with his left forearm, and the moment before impact, he extended his shield to slam himself full force into the knee joint of the Eldar Knight. Cyprig barrels through the knee, almost severing the lower half of the Eldar Knight's left leg in the process. As he landed more Eldar weapon fire came his way. He reactivated his conversion field, but it was just a moment two late as another three shots landed. Two struck Cyprig's right calf, and another skimmed his face, slicing through his helm and opening a gash on his cheek. Cyprig ripped off the helm once his conversion field was running and protecting him. He cackled loudly, his smile almost ear to ear and his eye seeming wholly black. He aims his robotic hand at the Eldar Knight and fires a continuous volley of projectiles from his grav-gun at the massive mech, pulling it down onto its back as the added weight crushes what what left of its left knee.

The Eldar weapon fire died down slowly, as the remaining Custodes and Skulltakers cleaned up the ambushing forces of the Fortress. Cyprig's injuries were somewhat serious, and in need of medical attention. But his adrenaline and burning hatred pushed him forward. He climbed up onto the downed body of the Eldar Knight and pulled open the chassis with his robotic arm. The Eldar inside pulled a weapon on Cyprig and fired it, putting another wound into his right shoulder. Cyprig's smile never faded. He simply swatted the weapon out of the Eldar's hand and ripped him out of the machine. Cyprig held the Eldar pilot by the back of his head with his left hand, and forced the fingers of his robotic hand into the mouth and down the throat of the Elder pilot. The Eldar squirmed and writhed against him, but Cyprig easily held him in place. He roughly grabbed the Eldar's lower jaw with his robotic hand and pulled down and away with an immense force, peeling the front of the Eldar's windpipe away from his body like the peel of a banana. The bright red blood sprayed all over his face and armor. Cyprig licked the blood off his lips as he dropped the Eldar pilot's body back down into the Eldar Knight cockpit. He jumped down the from Knight and began to walk back towards his regrouping forces. Of the over one hundred fifty marines that began this march with him, fewer than eighty remained. And a mere five of the Emperor's Custodes had survived the skirmish as well.

"Secure the fortress, dismantle all weaponry. Leave no stone unturned." Cyprig commanded of his men, as his uproarious smile turned to a cold look of determination within a moment. His Skulltakers nodded in understanding then rushed into the fortress to complete a sweep and clear. The Custodes stayed right by him as always, staring him down as though he had just done something wrong. Cyprig sways a bit, the damage sustained making him feel slightly weak. But he held firm, and stood proud, looking towards the horizon in case any of the Eldar planned to circle them to attack from behind. He opened up communications with Silas, back up on the Arcana.

"Silas, do you copy?" Cyprig asked over his vox communicator.

"I do my lord. How may I assist you?" Silas replied stoically. Knowing that if Cyprig is speaking with him now it is most certainly of great importance.

"I am in need of triage. Please send a thunderbird to my coordinates. Include some reinforcements at well." Cyprig replied, cutting off the channel instantly. He remained there standing at the ready, the pain ever growing, hoping the thunderbird would arrive quickly and safely.

[The Empire of Tau]

Azure Rain

The planet of Ishariel has many anti-orbital and anti-war defenses that need to be taken down before any major landing can be conducted on Ishariel. Samael is no stranger towards sieging major worlds, and fully understands what needs to be done. Luckily for Samael, Azure Rain and his supporting 46th Imperial Armada are among the largest holders of an air-fleet. This air-fleet, known as ‘Air-Army Blue’, is well-known for its strategic bombing and anti-capital capabilities. Air-Army Blue had just been recently involved in the destruction of a certain Eldar massive-void-craft. Now, Air-Army Blue has another dangerous task to do - bomb the living hell out of anti-orbital defenses on Ishariel.

The 19th Azure Rain fleet and the 46th Imperial Armada move a bit closer to the planet of Ishariel, but only close enough to allow Air-Army Blue to do daily sorties, and avoid the anti-orbital defenses of Ishariel. After hours of preparations, Air-Army Blue became ready to do a strategic bombing campaign over Ishariel. This would be no easy task. First, intel had to be gathered by aerial-reconnaissance to locate and pinpoint known anti-orbital installations. Once that was done, the data from the intel had been organized and processed. From there, air-wings were sent out down towards Ishariel.

The Eldar had a fuckton of fighters and anti-air around their anti-orbital installations. The Marauder Bomber, a variant of it known as the Marauder S-Bomber, would be used in the hundreds of air-sorties on Ishariel. The Marauder S-Bomber, the S standing for strategic, has been stripped down of anything not vital for its job of strategic bombing - leaving it defenseless against most fighters. Escorting the bombers are the Thunderbolt, the workhouse of any air-campaign in the Imperium. High-altitude bombing is the name of the game. Air-Army Blue can not risk its air-wings to be shot down by deadly short-ranged AA. The only enemy threats that Air-Army blue now has to contend with, is the massive Eldar fighters and high-level AA. Air wings can not do much against High-altitude Eldar AA ealy on, but the Eldar fighters problem can be fixed with mass-Thunderbolt escorts.

With everything set, the skies of Ishariel will be filled with lead and bombs, as the Azure Rain strategic bombing campaign of Ishariel anti-orbital defenses starts. Who dares to win.

[Parcia]

The Burning Scrolls

"Leaving warp in 3-2-1..." The Sounds of the helmsmen echoed through out the pristine interior of the Arethusa's Wrath as the 20 kilometre long battleship exited the warp some distance from her stricken sister, the Fortress of Penitence.

"Zahariel, my brother, it is Clause, I have been detached by our father to aid you in you're battle. Me and my 1st Company, along side a detachment of my Cataphractii." The solemn voice of Clausewitz echoed over the open Vox channel of the system as the lumbering, freshly painted form of the Arethusa's Wrath as she began to move along side her sister. More so for security then malace, the 12th Son gave a chilling order as he rose from his chair, seated next to the Captain. "Prime firing solution on the Penitence, if it looks as if she will be taken by these...things, disable her engines and keep her in place. We shall not loose such an asset, and I will not suffer the loss of a Brother." A moment of silence, then, the diminutive, raven haired women in clean officer's dress answered him. "As you wish."

With grace unbecoming of a man of his stature the powered armored form of Clause, using his spear as a walking stick, strode out of the room while fitting his helmet. Opening his Vox, he spoke out load to the ship as a whole. "The 1st Company, along side Mad Jack and his Cataphractii, are to report to the hanger with full kit. We sally forth to aid our bothers aboard their stricken ship." As he closed the vox and began to check his equipment.

Opening a closed channel to his Lieutenant, Jahk "Mad Jack" Ulric, he spoke quietly. "Jack, How does Project Kraken fair?" Jack answered after a moment. "Well, tests have shown that the rounds have...promising results. My lord...I simply ask, why would we fabricate such a...such a weapon." Clause answered him simply and plainly. "I hope...my brother, that we should never need such a thing, that being said, it would be prudent to have such a thing, even if we never have to use it."

He would continue this conversion as he gathered the 1st Company and make for the Penitence via Stormbird dropships. Once there, they would move along side the Sun Angles to secure the Penitence's engines and warpdrive, preventing her from being commandeered by what ever insidious forces were at work. In short order his men formed up behind him in halls leading to the hangers, their armor shining and the Volkite, Plasma, and Melta weapons humming with resolute energy as their machine spirits were giddy at their first real taste of combat.

Marching in to their transports, the men of the 6th company, clad in their Cataphractii armor and wielding their large Plasma Casters. As the transports began to lift off, carrying the 500 men of the 1st Company, and 50 of the 6th Company Cataphractii along side Jack him self. "Standard close quarters combat scenario, there is both friendlies and fragile components of the ship to be worried about. Use Grenades only when needed. We know not the make and form of these enemies, only that they come from the warp. Seal and pressurize your armor and report any injuries to the apothecaries." Various sounds of affirmatives resonated over the vox channel before Clause continued.

"My brothers, sons of Parsarius, this is to be our first taste of real combat along side our brother astartes since the time of our liberation, let us show them what we can do." To this, the Vox exploded in to a cacophony of cheers and war cries.

[Revlona]

Elyrian Manuxus
Elk king of the 8th Legion

"Eight Legion, forward and fire at will," Spoke the deep and somber voice of the Elk King, He himself walking forward into the forests as it burned around them. Any twitch of movement seen by the Astartes of the eight legion that did not immediately identify itself as a friend was met by a storm of fire. The forests echoed with the sound of un ending gunfire as the thousands and thousands of marines and even more auxilia moved in and swept away the Eldar scum like the pests they were. Elyrian bloodied his blade more than once as arrogant Aeldari saw him and thought to end him in one stroke, only to find their crumpled and lifeless forms on the forest floor as they could not match the primarchs speed or strength.

"THE TIME COMES....I WILL CONTROL OR YOU WILL DIE....THINK..." The voice said in his mind, its tone not angry, but smug and knowing. A worried frown stole across Elyrians face, he had never heard the voice like this, it was always yelling and screaming for blood, but now it was calm and almost quiet.

"What time is this?" Elyrian said, stopping in the forest so as to speak to the voice. His guards formed protectively around his form, giving him a mild sense of privacy as it uttered one more sentence.

"YOU NEED ME......."

"I need no foul voice in my head," Elyrian snarled, anger returning to him at the voices suggestion. With a deep exhale of breath he steeled himself and marched forward once more, and as he did, the systems sun rose in the west, painting the sky blood red in its glory.

[Parcia]

Hanger Bay of the Penitence.

The Stormbirds came in hard and fast, breaking at the last moment and setting down roughly on the deck plate of the hanger bay. As in proper fashion Clause lead from the front, being the first to step down through the ramp in his typical fashion. Sweeping his sectors with the Judge while using the Quill much like a walking stick, cape fluttering behind him. Making use of Astartes battle sign to command his man, the men of the 1st company began to spread out and cover their Primarch as he proceeded to stroll towards the bulkhead at the back of the hanger.

The place was a mess, with a matting of unknown biomass and putrid rotting...meat strewn about and illogically infused with deck plating, the walls, and various craft that were left unattended when the ship was waylayed. The primarch and his sons did not get to long to ponder the state of affairs, as soon enough a grouping of afflicted crewmen began to shamble towards them, oozing all manner of organic fluids and generally looking like their current existence was purely hell. Rather fortunately, it was the chosen duty of the Burning Scrolls to end their suffering.

Taking aim, he fired a solitary shell in to the group as they neared and utterly disintegrating a crewmen. His men joined in, beams of sheer heat and fire lancing out and enveloping the shamblers and quickly reducing them to ash. Interestingly enough, small, grotesque little creatures began to spawn from some of them and began to skitter about, occasionally tossing some piece of metal or broken equipment at the Astartes as they fanned out and formed a firing line. Cleansing of the ship will take time, but clearing out these biological enemies would be easy with the Legion's use of energy weapons. Finally, the last of the corpse fell to the ground, skulls and bones, scorched black, were all that remained of the crew.

Taking a moment to get a good wide screen recording of this blight with his helmet's specialized auspex, he gave the silent order to form on him just as the last ships came to off load the last of their company. With a squad of Plasma Cataphractii forming a ring around their primarch, their plasma casters spinning and ready as they breached the stuck bulkhead with a charge. Moving quickly, the formation of men began to fan out in to groups. Most of the 500 astartes were sent to secure and cleanse important portions of the ships while Clause and his Cataphractii moved towards the stricken ship's bridge.

[Endem]

In The Skies Of Ishariel

a co-write between Endem and The Empire of Tau

Hell has rained down on the planet of Ishariel. Over 600 kilotons of explosive bombs, equal to many high-yield tactical nukes,  have been dropped onto ‘Landing-Zone-Beta.’ This landing zone (about 500,000 square miles in size), placed upon the main continent of Ishariel (known as Continent-1A) has seen hundreds of sorties of strategic bombers dumping thousands of bombs upon anti-orbital defenses preventing the landing of the Legions. Everything has been leveled to the ground, pounded by the constant stream of bombs and missiles. Nothing remains and LZ-Beta appears to be fine for the landing. The air-battle for LZ-Beta is still ongoing. Vast amounts of strategic bombers have moved elsewhere to do their work, but thousands of Thunderbolts are still in battle against the flooding Eldar-craft. Hundreds of downed Thunderbolts and Eldarcraft, their corpses strewn about like broken toys, lay scattered on LZ-Beta. In the distance, the great Superspires of the Aeldari cities glow faintly amid the flash and dazzling light of anti aircraft weaponry tracking Imperial aircraft.


"This is Red Squad of the VI Legion approaching for escort, acknowledge, over" The Red Squadron leader said to his vox communicator, the signal making its way through the aether to the squad of Thunderbolts flying close. From the cockpit of his Lightning, the midnight sky was pitchest black, illuminated only by the guns of the enemy and his allies. The first sorties by the Thunderbolts and escorts had done well in clearing the skies of enemy attack craft, but the possibilities of more of the wickedly fast and deadly Aeldari fighters was ever present.


“21st Squadron, acknowledged, Red Squad.” The leader of the 21st Squadron responded back to the Red leader. "Copy that, over" Red leader then proceeded to direct his machine into a position in which he could safely escort the Thunderbolt''s, his squad of about 8 Lightnings followed.


“Escorting bombers over enemy AA..” The 21st Squadron leader informs the Red leader. "Acknowledged, lea the way, over" Red Leader responded briefly, flying closer to the Marauder Strategic-Bombers, suddenly, as if only a flash of sun reflected from a shard of glass, a squad of Aeldari Nightwings on the horizon, "Enemy fighters spotted, breaking formation, moving to intercept" the Red leader transmitted to the 21st Squadron leader after which he shifted his flight path so that his Lighting will intercept the trajectory of the Aeldari fighters before they can reach the Marauder bombers, his squad followed, and he could only hope the Thunderbolts would also follow.


“Boogeyman, intercept.” The 21st Squadron leader voices her commands towards the vox caster. Quickly, 16 Thunderbolts move behind the Red Squad towards the Eldar-craft trying to move into position to shoot down the Marauders. "Break formation, engage enemy at your own accord" the Red leader shouted over the vox to the 8 Lightings under his command, they soon followed that order, he then fired off two Skystrike missiles at the nearest Aeldari craft and pulled up to gain an altitude advantage over the Aeldari. The pilot of the Nightwing was clearly skilled, as he managed to avoid the first missile, however, he wasn't so lucky with the second, and the warhead exploded on impact with the wing ripping it off and sending the machine tumbling down to its demise.


After that surprise attack the Aeldari aircraft scattered and soon a proper dogfight would start. A barrage of Skystrike missiles, autocannons, and las-cannon fire fill the sky, as both Red Squad and the 21st Squadron engage in aerial combat with the Eldar, attempting to outmaneuver one and other. One of the 9 Lightings found himself besieged by the Eldar Nightwings, as he accidentally performed a flat turn and bled too much speed two of the Nightwings selected him as prey, so far he managed to avoid most of their fire thanks only to the nimbleness of the Lighting, as the trio was getting closer and closer to the ground in a spiral, the Lighting rolled onto its back and dove down performing a half loop, only to be followed by the Nightwings in a similar half loop, they now were some 1000 meters away from the ground, Nightwings on the poor Lighting's tail, one of them fired its Shuriken cannon, shredding the fuselage in two, the pilot of the lighting fallen out of his craft with his arm missing and the fighter was no more, the two Nightwings pulled up, now they have become prey, as in retribution for their fallen comrade one of the remaining 8 Lightings destroyed the first and slower Nightwing and gave chase to the second one.


Slowly many fights like that would play out in the skies of Ishariel, and though neither side came out undamaged out of this engagement, it was the Eldar that lost their machines, the Imperial bombers delivered their payload and devastated yet another AA and AO entrenchments, the mission was complete, and soon the remaining 10 Thunderbolts and 5 Lightings returned to their respective legions.

[Parcia]

Halls of the Penitence.

Their progress was slowed. Not because they were facing any real resistance, but on several occasions his Cataphractii had to make use of their plasma casters to burn through blocked bulkheads and doors. On several occasions once they did manage to bust through the doors, they were set upon by groups, no, hoards of infected and blighted crewmen and some of them were armed, their lass pistols and boarding shotguns also seemingly blighted and rotting. None the less, they did little then annoy the Terminators and Primarch as they cut the poor souls down with Bolt shells and plasma blasts.

A nasty surprise awaited them as turned a corner of yet another blighted hall, as a seemingly blighted Astartes rushed towards them in a saggy, stumbling run while screaming at the top of his blood filled lungs and swinging a chain sword. The Cataphractii, being a good deal slower then either their primarch or a regular Astartes, didn't cut him down as quickly as they should have. Drawing the Judge he leveled the bolt pistol on the infected marine and fired once, twice, thrice before he side stepped the charging marine, used the blunt end of his spear to sweep his legs as he stumbled past. Twirling the polearm around in his hand he buried the spear head in to the marines head. Turning to finally face the foe, he fired the last 2 bolts in his side arm in to the fallen brother.

His Terminators both raised their casters and, once he had removed his spear, promptly covered the marine in a hail of plasma fire until all the remained was a scorched, half melted piece of power armor pitted with the strikes of his bolt shells. Staring a minuet longer as to properly record everything, he broke open the top action of his revolver and reloaded it with a fresh set of shells, this time choosing a set of of the prototypical set of the special shells Project: Kraken had been developing.

Realizing the situation, he broke vox silence and spoke out to his men. "Brothers, it seems what ever this blight is, it is capable of infecting even the like of Astartes. Double check your suits seal and do your best to prevent your self from being contaminated. Report any injuries or suit breaches to your attached Apothecaries, that is all." With the rest of their stroll though the diseased vessel rather uneventful they made it to friendly held territory, reaching the bridge and entered rather anti-climatically. Upon seeing the fellow Astartes tending to the mess about them, he made his presence known.

"Greetings all, I have had my 500 men deploy along the nearest intersections and secure the nearest points of interests. Might I ask who's leading the defense of my brother's vessel?" He would be cut off by the realization of his brother actually being there. The seven foot tall primarch would smile and hold his hand up. "Brother!, Good to see you, shame to see this...blight effecting your ship."

[Skaldia]

Halathel
913.000.M31_____

Halathel burned in the night. Deemed to be going too slow, the Imperial fleet assets attached to the Legions battling out on Halathel deemed it high time to add their weight of fire to speeding up the process of conquering the planet. Now, instead of assaulting installations like the Night Haunters had stumbled onto and acquiring undue casualties, they were merely identified and then wiped from the face of creation from orbit. On the Sunward side of Halathel it was much the same. Once a continent of rolling tall grass and emerald forests, the might of the Hospitallers and Sons of Calmora turned the landscape into ash. Every hidden spot in the forests was found and destroyed with ruthless force.

The Blades of Corus suffered the most of the four Legions on Halathel. Spurred on by their wrathful, wounded Primarch, they ignored aid from the Imperial blockade in orbit above them and assaulted the enemy wherever they could find them without preamble. The good humor and levity the Blades were known for was crushed on Halathel as time and time again they were sucked into ambushes and fights that left too many of their kin dead on the frozen fields of the darkside of Halathel. By the end of the campaign, Coracus was urged by Cyprig to seek aid for his ruined eye socket while the Blades were relegated to support duties for the Night Haunters.

On the once sun drenched hills of the lightside, the Hospitallers had been bloodied as well but not to such a degree as the Blades fortunately. They had proven their worth time and time again beside the Sons of Calmora, saving the Eighth Legion in multiple instances from making the same blunders that had killed so many of the Blades. However, they would pay for their selflessness, for in the Eldar did the Hospitallers find their superior in the arts of stealth. Despite that, the Hospitallers were Marines first before they were anything else. Often the Sons of Calmora would be the hammer to shatter any Eldar line while the Hospitallers were the scalpel to excise any sort of cohesion in the defenses they met.

Near the end of the campaign all that remained was the Kestian Spire.Resting in the narrow shadow belt on the planet, the Kestian Spire was the last Aeldari stronghold on the planet. While the Night Haunters and Blades approached from the Night Side, the Sons of Calmora approached from the light side. The Eighth Legion would not have the support of the Hospitallers though. With only one major battle left to conquer the planet, the Hospitallers had seen to establishing supply camps behind the front lines while a good portion of their strength was moved off planet to neutralize possible xenos bases in the asteroid belt.

The Kestian Spire was a misnomer. The Spire in question was a half kilometer tall crystalline tree that had survived any sort of orbital strike on it by emitting a powerful shield that had protected the Shadow City of Kestia. Meanwhile, the Eldar had known from the start that Kestia would be the final battleground. The walls of Kestia were near a hundred meters tall with defenses that had made any other fortresses encountered on Halathel pale in comparison. It was here that they would make their stand and draw the forces of three Legions and countless Imperial Army personnel in for the fight.

The North of Kestia would be assaulted by the black clad Legionnaires of the Night Haunters. The Sons of Calmora would strike the city from the South. But before either of these things could happen, the shielding of Kestia would have to be brought down before either the 8th or 20th Legions could attack her. Luckily, scans of the local area revealed something curious. Roots extending deep beneath the ground were emitting energy signatures that stretched out for hundreds of kilometers in either direction. One such tendril led to a half ruined tower near a hundred kilometers to the East. The Blades would be the ones to take this tower. With the taking of the Tower, it was believed that the shields would be down.

Ishariel
914.000.M31_____

The skies above Ishariel became full of similar events being played out by the attack craft of the Azure Rain and Iron Sentinels. They would prove the most successful in their bombing strikes but it would come at a heavy price as enemy fighters and AA would wreck a terrible toll on the Imperium. Approximately sixty percent of all attack craft that would enter Ishariel’s atmosphere would never return, claiming the lives of thousands of servicemen and women in the space of a few hours. However, the AO would be silenced with the main Imperial fleet, under the personal command of the Emperor himself, moved into range and began disgorging it’s main components of attack craft, squadrons of Marauders in their multitude.

Just about the same time as Igneous was snapping the neck of the last of the Eldar aboard his flagship, the order was sent out from the Imperial Fleet now closing in.”All Imperial forces are to converge on Ishariel and begin preparations to bring the world into compliance.” The orbit around Ishariel was a graveyard for tens of thousands and on the surface itself it was a constant meteor shower as pieces of the Citadels and ships that had attacked her were pulled down to burn up.

It was now possible for the Imperium to close the distance and glass the surface of Ishariel if they so wished. But the Emperor did not wish for such a quick end for the Eldar, no. They would be made to suffer. Only when every single Eldar on Ishariel was dead would he even deign to consider orbital bombarding the planet. Nor would this be a contracted war of attrition either. The Lord of Ishariel was not difficult to find. The Imperium would fall on that location and the Emperor himself would be the one to tear his heart out.

But before any of that could happen, they would need to kill so many Eldar.

The Fortress of Penitence
914.000.M31_____

The bridge was a dark affair, only the lights of a few working terminals and what not could be seen. All around the bodies of the dead had been laid out In rows while makeshift barricades of torn monitors and stations had been stacked haphazardly to stop whatever enemy had come for them. Everywhere was the blood and viscera of the dead. Past the barricades was the last of a functioning command aboard the battleship, three Space Marines of the Penitent Sons and around a dozen remaining mortal officers.

The Astartes that stepped into view for Clausewitz was none other than Zahariel, towering over his brother. While Zahariel would never be considered a man of levity, he was far more grim than normal, the shadows beneath his eyes more pronounced than ever before seen. His eyes though were bright with wrath. He had not fared well seeing what had become of his once glorious flagship.

“Clausewitz.” Zahariel frowned darkly.”You should not be here.”

Before Zahariel could explain a hush seemed to fall over the ship once more. Zahariel turned away from Clausewitz. Behind him two a pair of Pentitent Sons in terminator armor but their armor was rent and corroded in places. Turning quickly back to Clausewitz, Zahariel lifted his weapon.”It comes once more! Whatever you do! Do not look at it’s eyes!”

Outside the main gate where Ezkyal and the Sun Angels had gathered, a groan could be heard seemingly coming from all directions. From the recesses behind them down the many chambers a shuffling and rasping as thousands of voices gathered together to create a cacophony. Ezkyal frowned, hefting once more the prized thunder hammer in his hands. Swallowing slowly he pointed towards the now open Gate.”We cannot hope to overcome so many a foe. Let’s enter the bridge and close the Gate before they make it past us!”

[Parcia]

Clause n Company.

The thumping approach of the demonically blighted Terminator announced it self at the same time his brother shouted his morning. While normally his own marines would hesitate, a quick snap of Astarted battle sign led to them heading his warning. Turning, he tilted his head upward at the beast as it approached and the voices in his head began to dim and soften...then grew and grew in volume and pitch as the cackling broan of the demon roared in his head. Time seemed to slow, his brother raising his bolt-rifle, his marines revving up their Plasmacasters...his hand frozen over his revolver.

"Hail Mortal! Realize that all things must break down, must collapse and congeal, must rot and rust and fall to ruin, that the great works of man will one day vanish from the universe, and the stars themselves must one day die." For a split moment Clause dwelled on this before he replied out loud.

"And?"

With a fluid motion nearing imperceptible to the human eye the diminutive primearch drew the revolver, leveled the barrel on the abomination and fired once, twice, thrice. He emptied the cylinder of Kraken armor piercing bolt shells in to the rotten remnants of the poor Terminator's helmet, causing the beast to stumble back. The voices both paradoxically softened and raged at the failure of the thing to intimidate him and for his mental fortitude, Clause made it a point to avoid contact from that point on.

"Covering fire!" Diving to cover behind the nearest piece of cover, a data console, his half dozen Plasma Cataphractii unleashed their combined streams of blue ionized plasma at the beast, his brother doing the same with his bolt-rifle. Crouching low, he reloaded the revolver quickly and keyed in his Vox. "My Sons, I and my brother have met a beast most resilient, we require reinforcements!" He peaked out from cover, took aim, and fired a second volley of Kraken Bolt shells in to the Blighted Terminators leg joint, aiming to cripple the beast.