False Gods: A Warhammer 30k Roleplay (IC)

[Imperialisium]

Hive World Falluja
Sima Hive Spires

Deep in the Hive Spires, while still kilometers above the ground, a circular room was lit by a million small lights. Dozens of pict screens with scrolling data and long panels festooned from end to end with a motley assortment runes, keys, and knobs. A pair of figures, one seated and one standing, gazed upon the scrolling streams of data. The seated man craned his head along the rows of screens, tubes and wiring inserted into various plugs and sockets implanted into his flesh. Ghastly tattoos and ritual scarification marring his face and arms. The figure standing stood with hands clasped behind his back. His garb more orderly and eyes sunken with heavy red bags under his eyes. An Eight pointed star was tattooed onto his forehead while ritual scars sliced into his neck gave the impression of ghoulish gills.

"Is it ready? You've been concocting this for a week?!" said the standing man impatiently.

"Yes, yes! Almost. I just need to match transmission frequencies for their receivers. Their technology is not entirely dissimi-."

"Spare me. Get this done or it is you who we sacrifice today."

The sitting figured paused for a moment as he listened tensely. Resuming his typing and knob twisting with redoubled effort. "There, yes! This will allow the Spirits to commune through the air and beyond!" the sitting feature was gleeful as he hopped off his rickety chair and moved to an arcane, large, roughly generator shaped device which unlike everything else in the room seemed to be in decent condition. "The inner workings of this device are beyond all of the Cult of the Red Spark. But it will work, it always has, yes? A gift from the Red God himself it must be!"

"Mhm," mumbled the standing man as he turned and watched as the hunched cultists seemed to be lost in prayer. Taking a ritual, jagged blade, from his pocket he sliced his palm and clutching a handle. Blood dripping down the shaft. The acolyte pushed it forward. Lights came online and the whirring tumulus of power surged within. What followed was subtle but no less malevolent...

Across Hive Falluja Imperial Vox communications suddenly sputtered and cackled to silence. Cogitators began to flash uncontrollably, spark, or fail completely. Electronic targeting systems deadened. Tech priest attempts to resurrect the Machine-Spirits within unveiled the worst. Hellish data serials, infectious codes, and replicating viruses spread like a tidal wave throughout the Imperial forces equipment. But that was not all, carried upon the radio waves, the ship engines in orbit dimmed and died.

The flurry of Vox traffic between the two Frigates that had descended in orbit illustrated the horror as their hymns abruptly switched to ghastly chanting in a Dark Tongue. Assailing the ears and driving the weak willed into frothing madness. Then the Frigates began to fall as their propulsion failed. The Fleets in orbit listlessly floating as their vectoring thrusters and engines were shut off as the self replicating virus carried over by radio waves melted through the Machine-Spirit defenses of the Mechanicus sanctioned cogitators and equipment. Breaching into control panels, logs, databases, and switching command codes in a random manner. The Skitarii suffered the worse as their implants were overwhelmed by the code. Organs failed, a Skitarii beat another paralyzed comrade to death before blowing out his own skull with his transurance rifle, only those who had a second to shut down all receivers were spared the horror which followed.

Sima Hive
Industrial District 72

Dusty gray-black boots crunched on the dusty street. A man in a matching cloak and wearing Y-straps with a combat rig moved forth. Helmet at his hip as a matted cap rested on his head. His frame was strong but not very muscular. At his hip a beat up autopistol, in his hands a long rifle shaped weapon. The din of artillery and mortar shells exploding in the distance was ever present. As were the clattering roar of those giants and their explosive ballistic weapons. Rounding a corner a company of figures in similar uniforms came into view. But these men clutched automatic weapons, snubguns, and other closer range weaponry. Grenades tucked into their belts and boots. Their helmets on and the eight pointed star dabbed in red upon them.

A man that could only be guessed as an officer with crimson stripes on his shoulder stepped forth, "A Kharethi? What dishonour-."

"Sent to assist in combat against the heretics." said the man clutching the rifle matter-of-factly. Evidently, like the vast majority of the cults who followed the Great Red God, to fight from afar was deemed dishonourable and without honour. But the Kharethi of Hive Goerin to the North on the icy cold plateaus of Jhalagat found there was an honour in skill of hunting your prey from afar. For war was but predator and prey in constantly switching roles and time to them.

The officer lifted his chin to reveal ritual scars along the left side of his neck. Badges of honour, "How many?"

He was asking how many that the Kharethi before him had killed so far, these heretics from the void that had come to test their faith and resolve in the Great Red God. "Twenty-three." The officer raised his eyebrows and nodded as he swung an arm for the man to follow.

"These...Imperials as we've heard them call themselves...They've managed to penetrate deep into the industrial sectors. Most of the workers in the area have shown their faith in the Great Red God." The officer meant that they had charged the Imperials and likely were but decaying corpses in some mass grave somewhere. As to the slaves which assisted the inducted faithful who laboured here? None could say but there was only one fate which awaited a slave. Another sacrifice to the Great Red God.

Rubble was piled up between the narrow alleys between the various burnt out or damaged manufactorum complexes and their attendant habitation blocks. The officer stepped up and peered over the lip for a second before crouching back down to lean on the collapsed masonry, "But, we've so far beat them back from going this far."

The Kharethi checked his weapon sights for a moment. "Any idea of what is over that little wall there?" Indicating the collapsed masonry.

"Snippets we could get over radio is that they call themselves Parsarians. They also have Astartes."

"So that is what the giants are called." spoke the Kharethi rather nonchalantly, "Ever killed one?"

The officer looked at a nearby soldier before nodding side to side in a 'no.'

"Aim for the eyes." said the Kharethi casually as he clambered over the rubble wall without pause or send off. Leaving the other defenders behind him as he crouched and went to the side of the manufactorum building wall. In the distance Imperial mortars and artillery were slamming a defensive position along a Simi Hive overpass and series of hab blocks. The Kharethi, rifle ready, sprinted across the narrow street and slammed his body up against the opposing wall. Listening for a second he entered the gloom of the next manufactorum. The Eastern wall half collapsed from what could only have been an artillery strike. Stepping quickly, cautiously, the Kharethi moved forth like a serpent. Stepping over corpses, Simi Hiver and Parsarian, as he moved up to look through a hole in the wall. Voices in the distance.

The Kharethi looked up and swung up onto a steel decked gantry allowing him vision down through busted windows at the network of neighboring alleys and industrial streets. The clatter of gunfire five hundred meters away as what looked like a Simi Hiver and Parsarian patrol got close enough to engage each other amid the increasingly ruined environment. Further along the sounds and even sights of combat wreathed the hive on over a hundred levels. The Kharethi moved on.

Snaking his way forward from street to street. Manufactorum to hab block and so forth. Until, nestling in an abandoned gallery, the Kharethi peered through the lens of his rifle. The shadows masking him. Hand out to touch some pipes. Still hot. The giants, no, the Astartes are able to see heat. But he was not out to just hunt them. All enemies of the Great Red God were prey in the fields of war.

Peering through the lens there an Imperial tank of some sort had pulled to a stop. The commander shouting into something, shaking it, and pointing to infantry around the tank as they sought to secure a perimeter around the vehicle. Something was up with their communications it seemed. A slender, dirty, finger adjusted the lens magnifier on his rifle. Focusing in on the man in the tank. Plink. The man in the vehicles copula jerked back as blood sprayed from the back of his head. Headshot. The Kharethi smiled as the infantry around the tank broke into action frantically. Looking about them, unclear of were the shot came from, plink, an NCO face planted as his neck was torn asunder by the passing needle round. Two shots and move. Was what the Master Hunters of the North said.

The Kharethi was gone by the time the Imperials could guess were he was. His hunt continued...

The Underhive

The Underhive did not escape this as voxs cut out and the power failed. Casting the Underhive in even greater darkness. All a delay as deep down in the furthest circle of the Pit piles of sacrifices were assembled. How you ask? Slit throats and piling bodies pooling into bubbling pools of blood. Liter after liter, gallon after gallon, flowing like red rivulets into a shape, which could be easily made out if one were to look top-down, at the stylized figure of an eight-fold path.

Arms held aloft, priestly figures in red robes chanted, swayed, and held aloft horrible gory icons of the Eight-Fold Path. Their mouths dripping drops of black ichor as they spoke in a Dark Tongue which wound their very throats and mouths. More bodies, more lives, more skulls and blood for the Great Red God! Every death in this war against the invaders from the heavens was a gift, an offering, to the Great Red God! The Eight-Fold Path began to glow as shapes swam and swirled in the rivers. Spiraling, separating, conjoining, into something large and winged.

[Parcia]

Angeline Pattern Heavy Tank
"Emperor's Benediction"
Tank Commander Wilhelmina Van Clase

They were rolling down yet another street when it hit them. First her internal Comes went dead, then alive again with a roar of unholy screams and whispers. In a moment her ears began to ring and burn at the audio assault. She groaned and clawed at her mask and cap, trying her best to rip them off. Below her the crew went wild. The engineseer fell over and began convulsing in a growing pool of his own oil, blood, and cogs.

Her Vox operator went frothing mad and scrambled for his side arm, instead finding their one bolt pistol and racking the chamber. The Bow gunner turned to the vox operator and set upon him with his fighting knife, the combination of blood and the whispers of this...this...this mad cult triggered something in the rest of the crew as they set upon each other with pistols, knives, what ever weapons they had.

None of bloodlusted animals that were one her crew noticed their commander scrambling out of the tank, over the side and roughly land on the dusty ferocrete ground. A pain flared in her right ankle as she landed rough and twisted it. She screamed, the pain being enough to clear her mind for a moment and look around. She was out in the open, with her side arm and autopistol, and her training told her to make for cover.

She got up, scrambling really, and limped to a near by building for cover. Her mind ran, her ears rang with strange voices that pierced her soul. She stumbled through a doorway, took a few steps and leaned against the wall, holding her ears and sliding down.

These voices, these voices, these infernal fucking voices! She held her head, trying, searching her mind for something to shut the voices out.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me......Wait...that psalm...it was one her gunner had thought her, during their few nights together. Her gunner, Alice? She shot up, the autopistol handing by its sling as she turned to look through the doorway...

Only to hear the distinctive thump thump of muffled bolter fire, then a sudden whoosh of air, the smell of ozone and burning propellant, then a jet of flame out of the Benediction's commander's hatch as the Vanquisher round cooked off and judging by growing stench of ozone, the lass cannon power sells cooked off next. This lead to a catastrophic detonation of the tank's munitions stores, and Mina watched in numbed horror as her tank, her crew, her friends, all went up in a white hot jet of flame.

She returned to her spot against the wall, dropped her mask and cap, blond strands of hair dripping with sweat and quickly forming tears...repeating the mantra in her head...

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.

[Antimersia]

321st Company Sergeant Aleks Tibouron
615.000.M31
The Underground levels within a hive on Apocraphon Alpha

The lowest levels of the hives are places of that could only be described as vile by those who don't have to live in such horrible conditions. The lights are dim. The walls covered with enough filth that they appear to be a different color from the metal they are made form. The people have gone so long without sun light that to call them ghastly would be an insult to ghosts. Such a place is the perfect breeding ground for disdain against the Imperium. As such, Sergeant Aleks Tibouron and his company have been called upon to patrol the lower levels of the hives in order to snuff out any lasting embers of the rebellion.

Apocraphon Alpha has been without incident since the day the rebellion fell. Order appears to be restored. And Sergeant Tibouron is on the final hour of his last scheduled sweep of the level before the Umbral Hornets intend to move along and continue the grand crusade, wherever the Warmaster directs them.

Sergeant Tibouron walks through a long stretch of hallway. Residential doors litter the walls on each side of him. The doors are so close together that the rooms behind them likely would not even be able to fit the Sereant within them with his power armor on. It is late in the evening, so most of the hive's citizens are deep in their slumber. At least, the ones who are not on the graveyard shift are sleeping. The occasional child runs through the hall. With parents working late shifts there is not always someone there to watch over them. And there are always tight hallways and alleys for them to hide in, so the marines never bother to chase them. As the Sergeant was reaching the end of the hall one odd looking child bumped into him. He looked oddly old. Far too old to not be working somewhere within the hive. But he acted a spoke like a child. The Sergeant barely got a good look at him before he disappeared into an intersecting hall, but he could tell there was something wrong with the boy. His head was lumpy, and he could have sworn that he hand three arms. The Sergeant ignored it though. No need to make a case about an odd looking child, his peers likely do that enough. He turns back and continues on his way to the end of the hall, when he feels a sudden heat on his back. The heat starts low but grows hotter and hotter until the heat becomes a searing pain, driving into the Sergeant's back. The sounds of molten ceramite splashing against the floor can be heard. And finally, the heat reaches an unbearable level as it feels like molten steel is pouring into his power armor and onto his back. Then, the is a white flash and deafening blast as the Sergeant's back explodes. The concussive force slamming him into the wall and sliding down until he lay on his belly. His back faces the ceiling. The armor on his back is completely gone. A massive hole with black smoldering edges has taken its place. The skin, muscle, tissue of Sergeant Tibouron's back are completely gone. You can see inside of his mangled body from the hole in his armor. His vision blurs as he fades from this plane. The deformed child walks back into his vision from the intersecting hallway. But he looks different now. The child is now a visage of horror. Ever shifting, and lacking definite shape. His pale blue skin being the only feature about this creature that remains constant. With his final breath, the Sergeant attempts to lift his bolter to fire. But his eyes shut and his life ends before his finger can even reach the trigger.


Adalon Cyprus
616.000.M31
The Oasys

The reports came in faster than Adalon could process them all. Hundreds of marines slain within minutes of each other in every hive on the planet. All of them left in similar states. Laying on the floor with massive holes blown in their bodies. This was fast, powerful, and coordinated. The initial thought that went through Adalon's mind was that this was simply the last bit of rebellion finally making their move. But he knew this was far too advanced and coordinated for such a ragtag group.

"I want a full situation report in front of me within the hour. I want security footage, chemical analysis, and any other bit of information you can deliver to me from the scenes. I want to know everything. Put all hives on immediate lockdown as well. Any personnel not essential to keeping the hives running should be in their homes. Inform them that anyone without essential clearance who is found outside will be executed with extreme prejudice." Adalon orders. The humans and marines manning the bridge of the Oasys get to work, putting their primarch's orders into effect. Adalon himself looked over the reports, reading a dozen at a time as his eyes darted between them. He was so shocked that so many astartes could have been taken out simultaneously. He knew such a thing should have been impossible. The odds that a human could have been quiet and quick enough to plant an explosive on a marine are so slim that the idea is absurd. Furthermore, Adalon was at a loss for what substance would even be able to burn through the ceramite power armor so completely. He knew if he wanted answers to this, and justice for his fallen men, he would have to go down to the hives himself.

[Morrdh]

Morrigan's Wrath
Lunar-class Cruiser
Stellar Cartographae Designation: CAL-319

"Come Scáth." Gaelin commanded as he stood, the psy-raven perched nearby have an answering squawk before flying over and landed upon Gaelin's shoulder. The pair, man and cybernetic familiar, proceeded through the passageways of the great ship. The bird's name was the Calbernian word for 'shadow', fitting as it had become Gaelin's shadow and seldom left his side. It was bonded to him via a neuro-implant, though he deliberately chose to give it verbal commands to lure people into a false sense of security round the bird. Gaelin had long since learnt to keep some cards close to his chest.

They made their way up to the ship's bridge, passing crewmen and green-jacketed Calbernian soldiers alike. The vast majority of the ship's crew was Imperial, though the upper ranks featured Calbernian officers that Gaelin had brought with him to learn from their Imperial counterparts. The soldiers were drawn from the Calbernian Garda, though each one was inducted as a clansman of Gaelin's own clan. Regardless of who they were, Scáth glared at them all with equal measure.

At last they arrived on the bridge, a large vaulting chamber filled with rows upon rows of banks of cogitators manned by servitors or living crewmen. The captain's throne sat at the back of the vast chamber on a raised dial, enabling an unobstructed view of the entire bridge, and above it was a large clan crest that Gaelin personally had installed. Scáth let out a squawk before taking to the air and finding a perch high up above the bridge as Gaelin was greeted by Shipmaster Cowpar. "Sire, I trust you want the latest reports?"

"Indeed Cowpar." Nodded Gaelin. "What have our scouts found?"

"The Ariadna reported a human inhabited world, though she was driven off by xenos marauders. Dunedin reported and confirmed another human inhabited world, she's now finishing up surveys." Cowpar explained. "Caven last reported to be underway in the empyrean whilst Swiftsure suffered some damage in an engagement with orkz and is returning back to the fleet."

"I see, anything else of note?"

"Magos Gant has petitioned for an expedition to examine technological ruins reported by Dunedin, he believes it to be of vital importance for the Mechanicus."

"Can we really spare a vessel?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not." Cowpar replied non-committally as he handed Gaelin a dataslate. "We've received an astropathic communique from the Primarch of the Fifth Legion."

"Vasilisa Sanguina if I recall correctly." Answered Gaelin as he skimmed through the dataslate. "Hm, it appears that she has summoned us."

"Aye sir, that she has."

"Though it appears she's keeping us in the dark as to why." Gaelin said with a sigh. "Best speed?"

"About couple of months if the empyrean is with us."

"Right, send an acknowledgement of the summons and order all ships to make their way to the rendezvous at best possible speed." Ordered Gaelin. "The Magos' expedition shalt have to wait."

"Aye aye sir." Cowpar nodded before barking orders to the bridge crew.

High above, Scáth let out a squawk and set about pruning himself.

[Aserais]

Hive World Fallujah, in orbit above Hive Sima

The good news was, any system that wasn’t active during the initial pulse was unaffected, meaning that none of the Legion’s vehicles or weapons in storage were harmed. This included the drop pods and several hundred troop transports and shuttles to bring down, as well as fresh radio equipment that had yet to be touched by what the tech-priests that hadn’t been killed as “Hellish data serials, and infectious code.” Those onboard the ships had been, thankfully, mostly untouched by the unnatural whispers. Those whose faith was lacking, they found, tended to go mad and froth at the mouth when hearing the Daemonic transmissions.

Those whose faith was unshakable tended to be more resistant to the mind-destroying corruption.

Still, that meant that 70,000 marines that had been waiting in reserve, ready to reinforce the troops on the ground as soon as they needed it, were largely unaffected by the corruptive algorithm. And because of that, they had been able to send out a few craft to conduct scans, and what they saw wasn’t good. Eighteen million other inhabitants of the world were swarming towards Hive Sima, and it seemed that the troops were either unaware or unable to commit a large force outside of the city to halt their advance.

That’s where they came in.

The first wave of drop pods came not long after they managed to calculate the trajectory on a physical medium and independently program that trajectory into the pods, to limit the chances of infection of the hellish code.

The angular pods slammed into the earth at various points in the industrial wasteland around Hive Sima, allowing the Astartes within to spill out and begin their hunt for enemy forces, the Lightbringers committed to doing as much damage as they possibly could to the reinforcements, to buy their brothers time.

Outside Hive World Falluja

Traveling across the planet’s surface, driven by hatred and bloodlust, the converging forces of Eighteen million soldiers in the blood red of their God were closing in around Hive Falluja. The Hive City’s spires rising up to the heaven’s like the jutted spines of some great beast buried in the polluted wasteland spread many dozens of kilometers out from the city walls. For all their blood lust and want for battle the ranks of this host were, however, quite organized.

Columns of tanks and armoured personnel carriers dabbed in the crimson red of their God. The Eight Fold Path of a myriad different designs and styles etched into their hulls or bolted onto the glacis plate of their tanks. Representing the various individual cults that dominated the polluted dying world that billions called home.
These vehicles were followed by the tramping march of millions of feet. Marching to the beat of ghastly war horns and heavy drums. Their officers bearing garish sabers while standard bearers hoisting insidious icons festooned with skulls shouted war cries. A ring of fanatical violence slowly encroaching.

To the West and North of the city vehicles broke formation and pulled into odd rows of a nondescript pattern. Trundling to a stop as barrels were uncovered by the removal of tattered tarpaulins. Artillery raising to unleash their furor upon the Imperial’s who had long since taken the walls and overrun the outer districts of the city.

A cry, a thousand flashes, and the screams of an angry God rained into the city. But that was not all which fell, for from the heaven’s on wings of fire, came the drop pods of the Legio Astartes. The Lightbringers had come to take the fight to the enemy.

As their drop pods landed the marines would be met by bullet and bayonet. Saber and axe. The Imperial defenders on the walls could only look at the giant, chaotic, engagement unfold as the Emperor’s Angels met a foe many times their number head on, undaunted, and unrelenting.

To the soldiers in the livery of their Red God, Kharneth, Khorne, the Blood God, and many more names more adept than the last. It was a chance to offer a skull to their God. To shed blood in his name. To honour him with a defeated foe. Something that many would find in failure as chainsword and bolt met flesh. The wasteland outside soon dotted with smoking hulks, disemboweled Khornate soldiers, and chunks of matter where a bolt shell had ended a Human’s life.

Thrice the Khornate forces were thrown back in a single day by the courage and steadfastness of the Lightbringers. Yet, more kept coming…

Inside Hive World Falluja

The Kharnethi stepped over loose rubble gingerly as he maneuvered through the warren of the battlefield. Linear battlelines were impossible in the urban topography, while zones of battle shifted as forces clashed in streets, buildings, and even in the spires. The flashes of gun, las, and bolt fire were interspersed with heavier squad support weapon discharge in the spires as Imperial and Khornate forces battled over two hundred levels of the Hive City.

Stepping over a pile of corpses. Whether gathered by Imperial or Khornate did not matter to the Kharnethi sniper as he moved deeper into enemy territory. Slinking with an almost preternatural skill wrought by the harsh realities of life on Falluja. Voices ahead, the Kharnethi juked into a crouch and pulled his automatic pistol. Coming around the corner a series of voices as a squad of Skitarii traveled by. They seemed disheveled, more than one leaked some sort of oil fluid, others leaked oil and blood, their mechanical bodies cloaked in their characteristic red robes.
The Kharnethi reached down and pulled out a slender stick grenade. Pulling the pin he silently said a prayer to the Red God as he hurled the grenade forth until it landed amid the formation. The Skitarii jerked as they registered the impact. Detonation. Mechanical cries, some from human mouths, as the shrapnel slices through robes, cut cables, and gouged flesh. Two of the Skitarii crashed silently to stillness. The Kharnethi emerged.

Depressing the trigger the slide of his firearm moved back rapidly as rounds punched through the skulls and lenses of the recovering Skitarii. Splattering red and black ichor onto the dusty potholed pavement. A whirring of servos, the Kharnethi turned as a Skitarii warrior knocked him to the ground,the Kharnethi pulling a blade from his boot and slashing. The Skitarii sidestepped and caught the blade on a mechanical leg. Sparks flew as the half-man half-machine warrior swung his Galvanic Carbine like a club in a swift motion. Faster than human arms could allow. The Kharnethi rolled and pulled his auto pistol in close. Two bursts and the chamber rang empty. One shot missed while the other impacted into the Skitarii’s steel bionic shoulder. The Mechanicus warrior brought his carbine around but the Kharnethi charged, ducked, and leapt onto the Skitarii. Bringing both to jumble back into a wall. Hands on the Galvanic Carbine the Kharnethi gritted his teeth as flesh and sinew fought cog and hydraulic. Stab!

The Kharnethi gasped as the Skitarii reacted by grasping his blade wielding hand by the wrist. Forcing him away second by second with unyielding force that only the mechanical could provide. The Kharnethi swung to the side catching the blade as he let go, spun around, willfully dislocating his own shoulder to stab the blade into the back of the Skitarii. The red robed warrior whirred and beeped what could only be heard as some sort of cry as red fluid, warm and smelling of iron, began to darken the fabric of the Skitarii’s cloak. Hydraulics giving way as the metal warrior fell to its knees. Letting go of the Kharnethi’s wrist as it did so.

Crunch. The sniper slid his arm back into its socket and rolled his shoulders. Looking up in the distance to see the shadows of two invader ships, frigates, begin to impact the buildings below them. Crushing the buildings underneath them like a cement block dropped onto thin plywood. Crashing and splintering the concrete and steel ribs of the buildings as a vast dust cloud emerged to wreath the ships. Surging in an uneven ring through streets and buildings.

As the dust blew through the streets and obscured the view of most of those incapable of seeing through auspex, a pair of glowing eyes began to illuminate the dim window that a silent hunter was staring out of, directly at the Kharnethi that had just wiped out a squadron of Skitarii. He had been hunting this predator for days, following his trail of destruction and the psykik trail that the assassin left in his wake.

It had taken a week of careful tracking, but he finally had the predator in his sights--and he wasn’t about to allow this man to commit further offences to the Emperor by killing or maiming his servants. The assassin was crafty and cunning, and more than an able combatant from what the Librarian had seen… but he had yet to engage an actual Astartes in anything other than a long-range shooting match--impressive enough on its own, but the point stood.

And now, it was time for him to understand why the Emperor could never be denied.

The Librarian focused with all his mental fortitude and gripped the immaterium with his will and forced a hole to open, which Librarian Dumas stepped through just as the dust obscured the man’s vision. A bright flash would have betrayed his appearance, but then he swung his blade straight down so that he might cleave his foe in two before he knew what was happening.

The Kharnethi gasped and dove. Rolling to his haunches at the Astartes which had appeared almost from thin air to almost cleave him in twain. The Kharnethi eyed the giant which had materialized before him. His heavy armour and leering eyes, which weren't truly eyes but merely lenses for the Astartes auto sense suite. Yet, no words came from the Kharnethi's lips. His prayers were silent and need not be said, his actions clear in veneration, and if the will of Kharneth bade be fallen today then so be it.

A second passed before the Kharnethi in one swift motion dove for a doorway behind him. Intending to put more space and at least a wall of some sort between him and the Astartes.

Imperator Vult, the Paladin thought to himself as he simply chased after the assassin, ignoring the door and wall around it and simply crashing his multi-ton form through the doorframe and slash once again at the retreating form of the Karnethi. He missed, but he didn’t stop with that. The arm holding his shield extended and he manifested his will upon the world, causing the ceiling of the doorframe that the man was passing through to collapse.

The doorframe crashed as the Kharnethi barely survived a second swipe from the marine. Striking the Kharnethi in the shoulder and throwing off his landing. Coming up awkwardly from his combat roll he fired a flurry of rounds at the marine. Continuing to back towards a window. The Astartes was far superior in melee combat and swiftness. The sorcery he used was surprising to the Kharnethi, as he had only seen such abilities manifested in some of the Priests of Kharneth. Continuing to fire at the marine, most rounds pinging off the shield, a few striking the marines pauldrons or helmet but otherwise unable to slow down the Astartes murderous advance. Leaping, the Kharnethi propelled himself through the window, back first, with intent to make it down the alley. Hand reaching for his rifle. He had to get a shot off on the marine’s weak points in his armour. The eye lens preferably. That was the only obvious weakness seen in the marines armour for his weapon to penetrate reliably. Several steps, the marine no doubt hot on his heels, the Kharnethi squatted as he raised his rifle and readied to fire.

The Astartes blasted through the window right after the cultists, taking a good chunk of the wall with him as he turned as fast as he could, though his momentum meant that he slammed into the wall of the alley and slowed himself down, just long enough to allow the sniper to get several dozen feet of distance between them as he extracted himself from the wall. The glowing golden eyes never faltered in looking directly at the man he was now hunting. There was no room for error--this man had killed Astartes.

Dumas could not afford to be lazy about this.

The Paladin wrenched himself out of the wall and began charging just as the Karnethi dropped to one knee and brought up that deadly rifle, obviously about to aim for his eyes. Dumas raised his left arm, hefting the shield in that arm to cover his eyes as he rapidly closed the distance between them.

He felt several impacts as the bullets bounced harmlessly off of the Adamantium shield he bore, clattering uselessly to the ground as the golden skull symbol on his aegis stared down his foe. As soon as he was in range he moved the shield to the side and thrust his Force Blade downward to skewer the cultist and pin him to the earth.

The Kharnethi sniper exhaled slowly and dropped his aim and fired. Aiming for the pelvis were pelvis and thigh armour had a slight gap to allow movement. Of course, it required sacrifice, and the Kharnethi smiled as the Force blade met his flesh. Skewering him to the earth. A grenade rolling from his body as his life force pooled about him. Hopefully, he’d offer one last skull for Kharneth…

Librarian-Paladin Dumas’ eyes went wide at the sight of the grenade that spilled from the man’s hand as he skewered him, and he did the only thing that he could think of. A hoarse whisper escaped his vox, sounding tinny and raspy through the external broadcast.

“Scutum,” he rasped out in high gothic, causing the massive explosion to be contained to a tight ball as he extended the hand that had previously been gripping his sword, his arm actively trembling as he bent all of his will and might upon containing the explosion. He slowly lifted his arm, causing the explosion to slowly rise up and away from the two in the alley, before he finally released with a gasp and allowed the massive BOOM that rocked the alleyway.

His hood prevented him from falling unconscious or going catatonic from the effort that he had just exerted, though his shoulders could be seen rising and falling heavily as the physical aspect of the effort he had just exerted came over him. The Astarte’s eyes turned back down to the assassin, who was currently kneeling, his arms dangling to each side as his blade pierced down through his torso and into the ground.

Dumas rested his hand upon the blade that pierced the man and began reciting a silent prayer, the same one that had been drilled into him from the time he was an Acolyte training to become both a Librarian and a Paladin of the Church.

A spiritu dominatus, domine, libra nos,
From the lighting and the tempest,
Our Emperor, deliver us.
From plague, temptation and war,
Our Emperor, deliver us,
From the blasphemy of the fallen,
Our Emperor, deliver us.
A morte perpetua, domine, libra nos. Amen

His sword was ripped from the lifeless corpse and swung to rid it of blood, allowing the assassin to slump to the ground amid the sprawling hive of industrial waste and concrete-steel buildings. Just another heretic brought redemption in death.

[Parcia]

Lieutenant 1st Class
Wilhelmina Von Clase

She sat there for some time, silently preying the voices away and soon enough, they were silent. The distant booming of 76mm Field gun fire in the distance told her at least some part of the Guard was still operational. Light had begun to dawn and filled the sky with a dusty, hazy red-orangish glow that was oddly fitting. She took stock of her self. Her ankles hurt like hell, but she could still walk on it, and she had little in the way of other injuries.

She checked her munitions, finding her C-9 stub pistol with its three magazines, her one Crew issued .45 auto pistol and its two magazines, her Kriegsmesser 3 fighting knife...and a small boot knife. Shouldering the .45 as much as she could with out her stock, stepped out in to the street. The rank odder of burning thermite and propellant...and burning flesh hung in the air. She approached the burnt out wreck of her tank and couldn't bring her self to check in side. Instead, she climbed the still smoking wreck and winged at the still hot metal touching her hands.

After putting her field gloves back on, she climbed back over the wrecked hull and instead made for the external stowage box on the rear of the turret. Jimmying it open with her field knife, she managed to rummage around it till he found what she as looking for. Her loader, Johann, had been a bit of a pack rat and had been sleeping with the unit's quarter master, allowing him to occasionally squirrel away extra bits of gear. She pulled out a standard issue flak vest and slipped it on over her uniform. She then found Johann's personal rifle and paused. It has survived the cook of rather well, the plassteel frame resisting the heat, as did the half dozen spare magazines of caseless ammo.

Finding a spare personal medkit and a Iron Guard issue E-tool, she mounted the bayonet, loaded the rifle and jumped down, cringing at the pain in her ankle and limped back to her previous hiding spot. Leaning down, she took the tanker's cap and replaced it on her head, after fixing her blond locks in to a messy bun. She stepped back out in to the street and stuck to the side of the road, keeping a wall to her side at all times for cover.

Then movement, She dropped to a knee and shouldered the rifle, watching the movement, a savage as she recognized him, ran from something. Then a Boom, a crash, and a fucking Astartes came through a wall wielding a shield and power sword. She froze, more so in aw of the Angel's livery and armor and the grace he seemed to move. He soon fallowed the savage in to another building, literally bursting through another door way, and Mina got up to fallow him.

She heard the sounds of a struggle, then a pin being pulled, and the deafening boom of a grenade. She dove in to a pile of rubble, winging again at the pain in her leg and waiting for a moment as the dust settled. Standing up, she shouldered the rifle and peaked in to the ruined door way, muzzle first. She found him kneeling, preying, his sword embedded in the savage hiver. She took a few steps in and spoke, keeping the rifle lowered.

"Praise be upon him, delivering me a gilded angel."


Captain Erwin Henning
Camouflaged firing position
Hive Spire #34

His vox had been non working for nearly 8 hours. His rifle worked, his optics worked, but his vox bead had been out of his ear, yet active when the wave hit and in panic at the voices he heard when he put it back in his ear he ripped it back out and crushed it under boot.

Now he was alone. His spotter had gone to run for supplies and hadn't returned. He had 5 days worth of rations and water, but his spotter would have brought nearly 2 weeks worth of food and water. His little murder hole of a fire position was secured though, with several frag mines and even a looted melta charge in the long stair case up, all armed, all well hidden. But his spotter had their new Servo skull, and with out it, he had to rely on spotted movement and his optic's prey-sight to pick out heat signatures.

He had still gotten kills, having gotten pretty good at discerning the difference between the Savage's officers, commanders, and....priests? They sure as hell resembled the fanatics that the Lightbringers often installed among the Iron Guard. He found the, repulsing, seeing them a perversion of Lord Clause's guiding principles of Reason, logic, and science.

Movement in his optic brought him out of his mindlessness, and he shifted the rifle ever so slightly to properly see it. He picked out and cycled through the vision mode until he got to standard. He quickly identified it as some one crawling through rubble, wearing some rough cloth vaguely colored like the environment with a stub rifle of some form. His skin was pale, his uniform (what he could see of it) and sickly nature as well as complete and total lack of Imperial insignia told him this boy was trying to play at his own game.

He sighed, centered his cross hairs on the lad and squeezed the trigger, sending a near invisible bolt of energy out and melting the lads skull with pure fury. One more to the tally.

"Fucking amateurs."

[Imperialisium]

Hive Sima
Falluja
Hive Spires

The din of explosions and the rumble of ordinance echoed ever so slightly closer as slaves and priests hurried about the chambers and hallways around the command center deep in the spires of the vast city. Cultists and soldiers of Khorne went one way. Priests and slaves the other. Not that they were going any place better. Many of the slaves were destined for the pit. Another explosion echoed down the hall and the better dressed man watching let out a sigh.

"Magister, we should be evacuating the city via the tunnels." said a hunched servant in plain crimson robes festooned with the Eight Fold Path's imagery.

"Very well. The Red God's blessing to us is nearly ready." Both turned and began to make their way to the lifts which would take them down to the subterranean levels were the crucial functionaries of this Hive City's Cult were gathering to leave the Hive City. One could only guess how many of the city's inhabitants remained alive. Given the rate of Imperial advance and his own peoples tactics and fervor it was easy to estimate that the death toll of the citizenry had thence spiraled past the ten million mark. Not counting disease and as of a rising occurrence...cannibalism.

Outer Regions of the Falluja System
Mandeville Point Delta
860.000.M31

Blackness, backlit by a million stars, ruptured by the cackling lightning of space-time tearing apart. Purple-red energy and cascading lightning spewing forth from over a hundred fresh wounds ripped into reality. Sliding forth the superstructures of mighty voidships. Dozens, hundreds, and as over three hours came and went one-thousand two-hundred and thirteen voidships had translated back into realspace from the Empyrean. Exiting the warp at the safe distance of the Mandeville Points. Avoiding the gravity wells of celestial objects which could produce heightened margins of error or cause an off course translation to occur.

Once the last ship came forth into position the armada's battlegroups set forth with lengthened plasma wakes. Cruising at an appreciable percentage of lightspeed towards an embattled world...

Bridge of the Vengeful Spirit

"My Lord Primarch, there is no vox traffic among the various fleet elements. Shall we attempt a hail?" came a response from the vox-officer. Vasilisa made to respond but was stopped by the sudden raise of a hand from a much closer person.

The hunched form of a Mechanicum Priest. Archmagos Zephar-Mul. A mechadendrite manipulated the central holo-lith of the bridge as fresh data was being fed by the augur arrays with every passing second. "Auguries report that your siblings ships are offline. They're effectively drifting with minimal power."

That is not natural. A weapon of some short must have struck her sibling's void assets. Sabotage mayhaps? No, this world sported no real void based capabilities. Must have been a ground based weapon.

"Put us on a course to reach the far side of the planet. Prepare for evasive action should readings give a hint to a ground-based weapon which could disable our vessels." ordered Vasilisa.

"What of the ship's crew?" mused Krisztoff as he nodded to the helmsan, vox-officer, and tactical officers to carry out the Primarch's order with all due haste. The armada's separate fleets adjusting course accordingly through their vectoring thrusters.

"They will have to survive on their own for the time being." replied the Primarch. Krisztoff pursed his lips and Vasilisa could tell he silently objected. "Task boarding parties, Krisztoff, so I need not bear witness to your frowning."

The Master of the Fleet grinned and began to speak into his comm bead a series of commands. Detailing several ships to deploy armsmen once in orbit to ascertain the situation on friendly vessels.

861.000.M31

At cruising speed it took about nine hours for the 1,213 ships of Primarch Vasilisa's relief fleet to approach the planet of Falluja's opposite side. Having to alter their course to maintain projections of holding geo-synchronous orbit over the planet. No energy signatures or tell tale signs of ground to space weaponry had been yet seen. Only, when the fleet had pulled into high anchorage did alarms go off as auguries spun up crisp images of the planet's various hive cities and habitable zones.

"We are picking up substantial broadcasting interference on regular Imperial communication's frequencies coming from the Hive designated as Sima." said Zephar-Mul

"What of the other ships?" queried the Primarch.

"Astropathic communication has been established. Shuttles are on the way. Situation isn't looking good. Some sort of broadcast caused a corruption in their Machine-Spirits." said Krisztoff bluntly. Zephar-Mul made the symbol of the Omnissiah with a pair of mechadendrites at the mention of much Heretek methods for waging war.

"Ready Mark." ordered Vasilisa as she abruptly changed the topic to the upcoming engagement. Krisztoff raised a bronze pocket watch and signaled for the tactical officer to ready the strategic clock. A method which allowed accurate record keeping of a combat operation in a star system.

"Mark set!" came the Tactical Officer's voice.

"All guns, acquire solutions on the Hive City's and habitation zones. Prepare bombardment."

Gunnery officers and crew began coordinating with various ships as the thousands of macro-cannons, lances, bombardment cannons, and missile launchers began to turn to face their intended targets. Vasilisa watched as the vox traffic among her fleet flared to life as ships signaled target acquisitions. Every hive city and habitat of note was being targeted. "Gunnery ready, My Lord!"

Vasilisa clasped her hands behind her back as she gazed at the world before her from the viewport of the Strategium of the Vengeful spirit. "Mark! Open fire!" she shouted and the heaven's were rent asunder across an entire hemisphere. Lakes evaporated into scalding steam, oceans fizzled, forests burned, towns and villages vanished amidst atomic retribution. Hive City's unable to raise their void shields were struck by over a hundred macro-cannon shells, lance strikes, or high-yield airbursts of atomic ordinance with at least 2 gigatons of TNT equivalent force per warhead. The global temperature rose 1 celsius as fire and brimstone lifted billions of liters of flash steamed water vapour conjoined with unaccountable amounts of smoke, ash, and burning carbon into the atmosphere.

Let the World Burn

The bombardment did not relent. Locations reduced to ruin and smoke were simply left as such. Thousands of guns merely alternating and focusing on progressively diminishing list of still surviving targets. The Void Shields of a Hive City collapsed and the Imperial ships pressed through. Leveling the city into a burnt out hulk. Several other cities had their shields hold only for their populations to be bathed in radioactive fallout in the thousands of Rad levels. Millions died in agony as their cells were bathed in nuclear rage. Skin separating from sinew, bones cracking under weight, bowels uncontrollably loosening as estimated casualties rose into the billions.

"Marines! Prepare to drop!"

Drop Pod Bay 5

Sun Angels clad in ceramite checked the seals of their armour. Said silent prayers to the Machine-Spirits of their weapons. Took oaths of moment before boarding drop pods. Or checked their brother's equipment before boarding. One by one the drop pods launch lights went green. The doors sliding open below them and engines prepping as they dropped gracefully from The Vengeful Spirit. Engines igniting with the force needed to rapidly approach mach 10. Propelling the craft towards their target using advanced telemetry guidance systems uploaded directly into the Pod's navigational cogitator. The Machine-Spirit crunching a hundred variables simultaneously to keep the pod on course.

A Rain of Fire

Thousands of drop pods impacted the earth, masonry, and rubble of a half dozen hive cities. Coming from which were the Angel's of Death. Bolters ready, chainswords whirring, and auto-senses constantly scanning. Their orders were simple. No Remorse, No Mercy.

Looking through the auto-senses of his helpet. Captain Arpad of the 15th Company "Sun Leopards," practically bolted from the drop pod as its doors launched on ignition charges. Heavy ceramite boots hitting the ground with a crunch as he raised his Bolter and in two quick squeezes of the trigger. Pulped two survivors of the bombardment in the hive city he dropped in. Information scrolling before his eyes as he read bio-signs of his brother Astartes, tracked movements and looked for threats around him. To be within an Astartes helmet was bewildering for all but the trained. For the auto-senses made it so that it felt like you were not wearing a helmet visually. Able to see around him unimpeded. Prey-sight constantly scanning among a dozen methods to locate hidden foes. This was not a war anymore. This was an extermination.

Arpad crunched through the rubble of the smoldering city as the sky continued to rain death. More warheads detonated to spew their radioactive contents, more lance strikes, and more bombardment cannon shells occasionally joined with macro-cannon strikes struck increasingly specific targets.

<<Enemy forces in the mag-lev>> Came a report from a marine in the 15th Company and Arpad waved for his command squad to follow. A blink click and a vox com was opened, <<Arpad in route.>>

Information scrolled to the left of his eyes. His marines track four hundred surviving enemy troops in what appeared to be fallout protective gear were converging down the mag-lev line. Arpad and his command squad picked up the pace as other 15th Company squads converged on the mag-lev from above. Entering through breaches or collapsed roof top gantries. Arpad need not give the other as the bark of mass bolter fire scythed through the approaching ranks of the enemy. Reducing the approaching battalion to red paste and bodily chunks in a matter of seconds.

Stepping back out of the mag-lev line Arpad crunched with every footstep up to an overlook gallery at the burning Hive city. Spires collapsing and throwing up millions of tonnes of dust and debris. It was then that Arpad finally took in the scenery around him. Thousands, no, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands of bodies lines streets, balconies, roof tops, and courtyards. Marines eliminating those survivors who had managed to either find shelter or don rad protection equipment.

Bridge of the Vengeful Spirit

Vasilisa looked down at the world slowly turning. Smoldering fires as the fleet cut blazing trails of fiery doom into the planet's drained crust. The atmosphere filling with smoke and ash.

"Open a one way comm-link. Wide band message. I want to be sure my siblings hear me." said Vasilisa apathetically.

Krisztoff nodded to a crew man who gave a thumbs up back, "Wide band open, My Lord."

"Dear Brothers, Sister, It is at my firm suggestion you report your whereabouts and dispositions to me when I arrive in Hive Sima, post haste. The Warmaster is in-route and none to pleased with your apparent lack of progress." Vasilisa looked to Krisztoff and the transmission was cut with a wave of his gloved hand.

"Ready my Stormbird. The Dark Seraphs are to join me." said Vasilisa as she left the bridge.

862.000.M31

A purple and gold stormbird bearing the golden aquilla and heraldry of the Sun Angel's rocketed through the upper atmosphere of the wounded world. Crossing over into the opposite hemisphere with another, all black Stormbird following, flanked by two newer Thunderhawks. Six Xiphon fighters piloted by Sun Angels formed escort. Crossing over the hemisphere was like day and night. Leaving the devastation of the still on-going orbital bombardment and purging of the Sun Angels with the largely still normal appearance of this half of the planet.

Krisztoff's voice came over Vasilisa's vox as she donned her helmet. <<Lightbringers are holding off significant enemy forces. Shall I begin dropping of Army regiments in support?>>

Vasilisa spoke into her helmet vox in response, <<Affirmative. Begin mass drop of Army assets. Task Aeronautica wings to provide air support.>>

Hive World Sima approached and the escort broke off to circle. Already contacts in the thousands were registering as literally thousands of bombers, ground attack equipped fighters, and interceptor craft from the Armada's Aeronautica Wings were launching and making full speed to provide fire support to the Lightbringers. The Stormbird coming to hover in the middle of what was the largest Imperial depot in the city. Main exit ramp lowering as Primarch Vasilisa's armored sabatons struck the dust covered pavement. Resting a hand on a hip she looked about the place as Army troopers, mostly Lightbringers and Burning Scrolls auxilia, the occasional Skitarii paused to look at the imperious individual which had arrived.

The purple clad Athanatoi emerged with half in Cataphractoii Terminator Armour. The others in new Mark IV Imperial Maximus suits fresh from Mars. The black coloured thunderhawks and stormbirds disgorged their drab black Astartes. The Dark Seraphs. Members of the Euthanatoi. The Sun Angel's order of blanks in the Legion.

Vasilisa strode forth as the Imperial air wings outside began to engage the enemy assaulting the Lightbringers tenaciously defending the city. Her face hidden behind her purple helmet emblazoned with a golden Aquila along the face.

[Antimersia]

Adalon Cyprus
The Oasys
615.000.M31

Adalon dons his power armor. The Golden yellow and black trimmed ceramite looking weathered and worn. He attaches his scythe to his back and slides his helmet onto his head. He lifts his power maul into his hand and carries it as he stride out towards the hangar. The Dust Giants, Adalon's personal guard, follow him to a stormbird that has been prepared for him. Another dozen ships full of marines fly off ahead to other hives throughout the world. All with strict orders to never be alone while they investigate the attack sites of their fellow marines. Adalon is the last one onto the stormbird. She personally checks the armor and gear of all of his Dust Giants before they leave. He trusts them to always be thorough themselves, but understands that they are human. Even if they are heavily augmented humans, even the greatest of humans makes mistakes. He steps onto the stormbird and within moments the ship launches out of the hangar and decends down to the surface of the planet, landing on the roof of the hive that Adalon has chosen to begin his investigation on.


Hive of Apocraphon Alpha
616.000,M31

The investigation has been long and arduous. As Adalon and his Dust Giants reach the final marine's body within the Hive, Sergeant Tibouron's body, they are already numb to the sight of their fallen comrade. Adalon kneels beside the corpse and examines the wound. "Evidence of plamsa based explosives, just like all of the rest." Adalon says quietly, recording himself for notes for his report of this event.

"Sir! Over here! I may have found something!" yelled Parker Norse, one of the Dust Giants. He points to an odd disturbance in the floor down the hall from the body. There are claw marks on the walls, that lead down to foot print like dents in the metal floor. The footprints follow a path and turn into what look like track marks. There is a clear path of a single moving entity but the tracks of the path seem to change shape every few meters.

"Good find, marine." Adalon says complimentary. Adalon points to a pair of Dust giants, "You two, stay with the Sergeant's body. Parker and I shall follow these tracks." All three marines shout "Yes Sir!" in unison.

Parker follows Adalon closely, his flamer out and ready to be used as he watches their backs. The tracks continue on and repeatedly change shape into tracks of beasts that Adalon could not even recognize. He follows them through miles of hallway, twisting and turning until he finally reaches the end. Adalon and Parker stand at the intersection of three hallways. Adalon looks both ways down the hall that runs perpendicular to the one he arrived from. Similar trails of tracks lead to the door across from him from each of the three hall. The lights are dim here. The lower levels barely having reliable power compared to the higher hive floors. Adalon can read that the door before him is to a storage room. Likely one meant for food and provisions for this level of the hive. He draw his belt fed bolter and slowly opens the door to the storage room. The room is pitch black, and without even the faintest of light within. There is a switch just within the door though, that Adalon sees, and flips on.

The room is massive, as the rows and rows of lights flicker on, the size of the room is revealed. The room appears to be vastly larger than the hangar on the Oasys. But inside is not boxes of food like Adalon had suspected. Instead, Adalon looks in disgusted shock at a huddled mass hundreds of thousands of horrific looking creatures. Many look like starved and beaten humans, others appear to be floating headless cones, and others still barely have any discernible shape at all, beyond having multiple orifices through which puffs of flame escape. The beasts appear to all be feeding on things, huddled together in large groups, each focusing on devouring piles of viscera.

Adalon backs away quietly, as to not disturb the hundreds of thousands of potential threats. But Parker was not as smart. He stepped into the room and began firing his flamer at the masses of demons and thrall. The stream of flame erupted from the nozzle and instantly incinerated a few dozen of the closer fiends. But that was nothing compared to the wave of flesh that swarmed and consumed him. Within seconds he was torn limb from limb. The armor did almost nothing to stop the relentless assault of the overwhelming numbers they had against him. Adalon began to fire his bolter into the mass, but knew he could do nothing to save Parker. Adalon ran, sprinting through the halls against, back towards his men. He activated his vox, sending out a message to his entire legion. "All Umbral hornets are to regroup, board their ships and return to orbit immediately! Save as many humans from the hives as you are able. This planet is lost to xeno invaders of unknown origin. Prepare for exterminatus!"

The hangar of the Oasys
617.000.M31

It took far too long, and they saved far to few. But eventually Adalon and the Marines of the fifteenth legion were back on their ships. They were able to save roughly five thousand humans from the hives. Space on the stormbirds was too limited to save more and there could be no second run for more refugees. Whatever those beings were, Adalon would not go back to find out. The moment the last ship was confirmed to be aboard, the Oasys as well as every hunter destroyer and striker cruiser present began to bombard the planet in an unending onslaught of destruction. Adalon walked to the bridge of the Oasys, pulling his helmet off to watch as constant streams of fires pelted the planet's surface. The hives crumbled. The surface became molten, and within a terran day the entire planet was confirmed to be devoid of all life.

Adalon activated his vox and prepared to record a message. "Brother, I have unfortunate news to deliver to you. Upon quelling the rebellion on Apocraphon Alpha, a worrying discovery had been made. Xenos, of unknown origin, had infested the hives of the planet. I saw no fewer than a hundred thousand with my own eyes. I saved as many humans as I was able, but ultimately was forced to declare exterminatus on the planet. Please pass along my apologies for my failure in duty to the Emperor. I could not bring the world back under the Imperium. This is Adalon Cyprus, end of report." He says, relaying this in a message to be sent to Titus.

"Send this message to the Warmaster immediately. He needs to know of the atrocity that occured here." Adalon demands of his bridge crew. A human member of the crew brings it to the ship's astropath, and it is transmitted with haste. Adalon stands at the window, watching the surface of Apocraphon Alpha continue to burn. A tear wells up in his eye, for the lives he was forced to take today. Another for his failures. And a final tear for his adoptive father, who he worries may be looking down upon him in disgust.

[Aserais]

Collab between Aserais, Imp, and Parcia

At the mouth of Drill A-1, Lightbringer FOB 3

They had just gotten replacement vox equipment, courtesy of those still alive in the vessels above them, when they got the request from the Primarch’s escort to land. Astartes-Marshal Louis Celestine ordered them to grant the clearance and said a silent thank you to the Emperor that they were finally getting true relief.

The Marshal stood taller than the two Knight-Astartes who accompanied him,as he was garbed in Terminator Armor, with a large pod of missiles over each shoulder. He waited at the bottom of the landing pad ramp and knelt before her, crossing his hands over his chest in the sign of the Aquila, before standing up and looking the Primarch in the eye. He was beset by unease as he felt the strange emptiness that accompanied her and her Dark Seraphs.

“Hail, Primarch Vasilisa. Thank the Emperor you have arrived--the situation isn’t good,” he rumbled out, his deep voice sounding almost tinny through the Vox.

“I am aware of the situation. Astartes-Marshal Celestine,” replied Vasilisa with a monotone voice caused by her helmet’s vox-grille. Absentmindedly, she made the sign of the Aquila in turn to him and put a hand on her hip while the other removed her helm with the disengagement of vacuum seal.

“That is good then, Primarch. The xenos we’ve been fighting are beyond the regular troops. They drive them mad--The Iron Guard has suffered a 25% force reduction since we sent our last transmission. We would have pulled out and bombed this entire planet into slag, but most of our fleet was taken out by that pulse of evil code,” he responded, bowing his head as he spoke.

He turned his Auspex upon the hulking wreckage of the Blazing Dawn, which had slammed into the city just recently. They were still scouring the ship for survivors.

The small form of an armored man would grow closer, in a full sprint. As he drew closer it was clear he was an Iron Guardsmen, an enlisted man with a stub pistol in one hand and a sharpened E-tool in the other.

As he neared the Astartes and Primarch, he slowed, bent over to catch his breath, then rose and gave the Imperial Salute. “My lords...Fieldmarshal Kitle wishes...w-wishes to meet you in person at the field command point. He would normally have...reached out ove Vox but the Guard’s Vox net was taken down with the enemy attack...as well as most of our Cogmen.”

Another pause and the lad caught his breath. “He asks forgiveness for this inconvenience, but the situation is rather dire as is and he wishes to give his field report in person, as well as receive any deserved judgement in the absence of Lord Clausewitz.”

The Master of the Sun Angels glanced between the Astartes-Marshal and the Iron Guardsman. “He is not all that is up for judgement. Take me to the field command point, trooper.” replied Vasilisa as she indicated with a flick of an armoured finger for the Astartes-Marshal to follow. Moving to walk just behind the Iron Guardsman as he led the way to the command point. Vasilisa didn’t turn her head to look at Celestine, but asked a question regardless, “This ‘evil code’, tell me all you know about it.”

In the distance the rolling thunder of Imperial artillery was now matched by the assailing wings of attack craft providing mass air-to-ground attack in support of the Lightbringers.

“The code was a death sentence to any piece of equipment capable of receiving it. It knocked out our fleets, most of our active air wings, and entire sections of the armored division. Most of the Skitarii were knocked offline. Even some of the Astartes’ Power Armor was knocked offline. And the voices that came with it…” the Marshal trailed off, and if Vasilisa didn’t know better she may have detected a shudder in his voice.

“It drove many of the Auxilia insane. They fell upon each other as if possessed by Daemons. Friends and comrades tore each other to pieces or clawed their own eyes out, that’s if they didn’t simply commit suicide. We have found that those of us who have faith in the Emperor tended to resist it better than those who are lacking,” Louis admitted as he turned his auspex onto a group of men, all injured members of the Auxilia, being led in prayer by a Priestess of the Church, each one of them clutching Rosarius between their clasped hands as they prayed fervently.

The Astartes-Marshal looked down the Rosarius dangling from his own wrist and said a silent prayer, asking for protection.

Vasilisa frowned at the religious superstition going on but said nothing. That is something she would add to the chastisement her siblings were going to hear from her. “It was some xenos psychological warfare instrument. Nothing more. There are no Daemons, Astartes-Marshal, just blasphemous technologies that deserve to be unmade. Now, where are my siblings?”

“Primarch Angeline and Primarch Clausewitz are currently leading the charge against the main hive of these xenos and… we’ve taken to calling them Cultists. They seem to worship an entity known as Khorne, or the Great Red God. There’s some kind of disturbance in the warp coming from that area, and we believe it is the center of all of their operations,” the Marshal responded, choosing wisely to bite his tongue in the presence of the Primarch and deliver only what was asked of him.

“Primarch Vasilisa… Permission to speak freely?” the Marshal asked, finally turning his auspex to look up at the Daughter of the Emperor.

“Permission granted,” replied the Primarch of the fifth legion quickly.

“These xenos are unlike anything we have ever faced. They are as fast and as strong as Astartes, and they are extremely tough. To the point that event dismemberment isn’t a guarantee of a successful kill. We have to burn them into nothingness to be sure. I have watched hardened soldiers go mad in their presence, and the cultists are driven to a fervor I have never seen in all my years campaigning for the Imperium. These xenos are a true threat, and from what my Primarch said… they appear to be made of warpstuff. It truly is a good thing that you are here,” he said pointedly, though his voice still came out monotone through the vox-grille.

“Then I should join my siblings if that is the case. As for other pockets of resistance in this city simply keep them bottled up to be dealt with later. I am going to join Angeline and Clausewitz.” Vasilisa waved her Dark Seraphs forward and the marines checked their bolters while several readied Volkite weapons as they moved forth to descend into the Underhive.

[Lunas Legion]

Indrania Stratia Megasa
Kinov, Segmentum Ultima, Eastern Fringes


"Are you done, Archmagos?" Indrania asked, looking out over the vast stretch of blackened field that the 444th was using as a temporary spaceport.

"Yes." Anacharis Scoria said, his voice a distorted mess, not quite the harsh, mechanical speech one expected from an Archmagos, but the slight musical tint added just made it all the more unsettling to hear. "Everything that is to be sent to Xana II has been archived and prepared for transport, as have our gifts to other forge worlds. It is a... Shame this 'Hall of Devices' you spoke of on Xenobia was ruined."

"It was a casualty of war." Indrania said, watching as one of the transport shuttles on the desolate field slowly started to move silently skywards. "The Interex betrayal was... Unexpected."

"Betrayal should always be prepared for." Scoria said, his odd, scorpion-like mechanical body clicking as its segments of armour plate shifted. "Not expected, but prepared for."

"I suppose." Indrania sighed. Scoria was... Not a friend, but the Archmagos was her liaison to the Lords of Xana II, and if her belief was right, one of the most dangerous of that planet's Tech-Priests. Reading between the lines, it wasn't difficult to see that Scoria had been made her liaison not because of any degree of trust despite his position as the Vodian Magistrate, the chief enforcer of Mechanicus doctrine on Xana II, but rather the exact opposite; that the Lords of Xana wished him to be as far away from their domain as possible. "That is why you aren't simply taking it all for Xana?"

"We take the best examples for ourselves, but there is no advantage to be gained in having so much of the piece of technology, even if it is xenos or archeotech." Scoria answered. "Gifts, given freely and without price, garners goodwill among the other Forge-Worlds for minimal disadvantage to ourselves. They will no doubt reciprocate in time, once they find something of their own, and if they do not, well, little has been lost to us. Xana II is far better equipped to take advantage of such weaponry."

Indrania said nothing, simply nodding.

Minutes passed in silence, more shuttles lifting off the ground in silence.

"I should return to Vulkana." Indrania said, turning away. "It has been too long since I have seen the homeworld, and I must update myself on the larger situation of the Crusade. To be here..." Indrania shook her head. "It is not my place. The 444th has fared well enough without me, and I can already see the strategic webs unravelling in my mind."

"And you would have me accompany you?" Scoria sounded almost... Amused by the prospect.

"Where else would you go?" Indrania said, looking towards him. "You know full well why you were chosen for your role, and why I haven't objected to your more... Questionable practices."

"Indeed. And I have... Research of my own, to do. Vulkana may lack the advancements of Xana II, but your lack of oversight is... Appreciated, Lady Primarch." Scoria said. If he weren't a Tech-Priest, Indrania would swear he was smirking.

"You get results." Indrania said. "The Interex weaponry was... Interesting. Their armour less so, the trade-off of protection for additional mobility was far from worth it, but their weaponry has potential."

"The penetrating power of a lascannon in a weapon the size of a bolter has... Much potential, yes." Scoria hissed. "I will need time, and material."

"I will provide what I can." Indrania promised. "You've taken the best of the salvage for yourself, I would assume."

"You know me too well."

[Segmentia]

The Bulwark, last rendezvous point before heading to Hive World Falluja

The Bulwark, like many of the ships in the assembled rag-tag fleet, had been bustling with increasing amounts of activity in the previous days, making final preparations and coordinating with the assembled ships and their soon to be ground-based elements. The assembled fleet wasn't particularly massive, a total of only four hundred and fifty seven ships, but Titus was hesitant to strip any more ships from expeditionary fleets, or any more forces from campaigns, nor did he feel that it would be warrented, with the strength of four legions already on the world, and then having sent Vasilisa in as well.

In the three days that Titus had allowed for any stragglers to arrive, and for one last supply fleet to off-load, the Astropahtic chatter had been busy, reports both major and minor coming in to be read, sorted, and stored on the Great Crusades progress. A handful of these reports were for the Warmaster, and few of those received were good. Atlas and Uriel had wrapped up campaigns, though Uriel's report, while having few details, did present some troubling news. Next was Adalon's report, with even more troubling news of some breed of xenos so horrid that he had had to declare an Exterminatus. It was all troubling, so many legions running into increasingly dangerous xenos...but Titus had little time to dwell on this development as the most troubling, and enraging, news was confirmed.

The Bulwark had been receiving reports about the Sons of Calmora legion abandoning on-going campaigns, and leaving garrisons with no warning or explanation. Titus had tasked several trusted agents to go and find out the truth of this matter, and they had. The Sons of Calmora had abandoned the Great Crusade, even as Eyrian still seemed to be refusing to send any message to Titus to explain the actions on 28-44. With this confirmation Titus was forced to alter his plan of going to Falluja, but he trusted that Vas would have the situation under control in short order. However he knew that she had stripped ships from expeditionary fleets following his orders, and now with the Sons of Calmora gone, the forces of the Great Crusade were thin, too thin for comfort. The fleets and armies of the Imperium were vast and mighty, but they were not infinite, and those in progress campaigns the Sons had left would need to be finished, the most vital garrisons filled, at least until the issue was resolved.

It didn't take long to decide what to do about the precarious situation, after all the bulk, or at least a decent percentage, of two legions had just returned from campaign, and while they wouldn't like being ordered to cover for another legions colossal mess, especially Uriel, there was simply nothing else for it. Adalon as well would have new orders, this infestation he spoke of was worrying, and Titus would have the worlds and systems surrounding Apocraphon Alpha would need to be made safe.

Atlas, Uriel

I am thankful for your reports, and applaud your victories, however I must cut short any celebration. Eyrian and the Sons of Calmora have, for unknown reasons, left their campaigns and garrisons. The situation on Hive World Falluja has forced me to send Vasilisa to their aid, and in doing so she has, within her right, taken ships and formations from other crusade fleets. Our forces are stretched to thin, and I cannot risk further stretching them to cover the Sons of Calmora campaigns. I must order you both to send whatever strength you can muster from your Legions to cover these abandoned campaigns, and the most vital of the abandoned garrisons. Should you desire it, the credit of these campaigns, if completed with your forces, will be given to your legions.

I will be heading to Calmora to deal with this issue with Eyrian personally.

Titus

Adalon

I have received your report, and while the destruction of Aporcraphon Alpha is regrettable, these reports of xenos infestation are of greater concern now. I know it is lowly to ask you and your legion to do so, but I must ask that you secure any and all surrounding worlds and systems to Aporcraphon Alpha. If this xenos infestation was not a solitary affair, then a great many worlds in that sector could be at risk. If you do come across any more infestations, you are to notify me at once, and then deal with the situation as needed. If no other infestations are discovered, I leave your legions direction and future campaigns to your judgment.

Titus

Vasilisa

I will not be joining you and our siblings on Falluja. You may have heard that Eyrian has returned to Calmora, but I have received confirmation that his entire legion has followed him. I have ordered Atlas and Uriel to fill in the gaps as best they can, but the situation on Falluja is spreading our forces thin. I am authorizing you to take command of the situation on Falluja if you deem it needed, and to finish the campaign swiftly and decisively, raze the damned world if you must.

I am diverting to Calmora to deal with this issue personally, as Eyrian has responded to none of my astropahtic messages. Keep me informed of your progress, and gather as many detailed reports as you can on these xenos, several other legions are reporting running into unknown xenos breeds that are a match for Astartes, and I fear the worst.

Titus

[Ormata]

XX LEGION, VOID TYRANTS
PRIMARCH CREATRIX
HIVE WORLD FALLUJA, SEGMENTUM OBSCURUM

Creatrix and others of the Twentieth felt the sound in the distance, felt it oncoming through that Vox, and it put the fear of the Omnissiah into that being’s digital soul. It was a grating noise, the cacophony and din outside of the gate, the screams of roiling masses entangled in the passions of human war. It put fear into Creatrix, nearly transfixing the Primarch with the intricacies laden in that digital code, and yet emergency protocols were carried out with that machine’s speed. Like oh so many, like some of the Lightbringers and some of the Burning Scrolls, that Vox was shut down and disabled. Unlike brothers on the ground, Creatrix was not enveloped in the din of combat, not entangled in the foe before, and so more certainly had enough presence of mind. At least, that was the thought, brief as it was.

The fleet shuddered.

The fleet died.

Lights flickered to nothingness both on the bridge itself and the vessels in the distance, pulsing away as the Vox-Operator screamed, high-pitched human voice degenerating into digital white noise and fragments, body convulsing in rhythmic, irregular pulses, almost as though a whole body went alight with sheer fury. Some of the Tech-Priests shut down without even a syllable, their forms still standing as head, arms, and Mechadendrites went limp, light dying from their optics, though exceptionally few were so lucky. One raised Servo-Arms to deliver a crushing blow to its console before that body found a fist sized hole in the neck, head nearly decapitated from the bolter blast, and it fell limp against the ground. Others fell to the ground, convulsing where they lay there. A few, however, screamed as their forms and postures turned feral, one beginning to sprint against a Marine, Mechadendrites flailing about the form as though a demented creature, before being cut in two by a burst from a Bolter. Creatrix was struck by this, by the heresy before the optics, by the fact that such a planet had the technology and knowledge to strike down the mightiest of the Imperium, of the Mechanicum, and it was wrong. It made little sense to the Light Child that they could develop such technology in secret which left, oddly enough, the idea that they either traded for or found it. Whichever it was, such a thing meant either a live enemy turning the Imperium against itself or another which had faded away to leave such heretical things where it once was. Both potentials were not desirable.

The Primarch turned to the Magos at the throne's side. In part the Forgefather prayed that this companion, this font of knowledge tempered by experience, this trusted advisor was not cut down by whatever plagued the rest. In part the Forgefather knew one could not be so lucky. The Magos was shuddering, shuddering as though icewater had replaced blood and it seeped into the very soul, shuddering as Mechadendrites hung limp about the form and hands reached out. It vainly grasped at the air, fingers trembling in electric fear, vainly stroking whatever stood before in the mind's eye. Then that advisor turned lightless optics upon Creatrix, cocking the head quizzically as a spasm coursed through the whole of that tainted being. When the Magos spoke, it was scratchy, afflicted. It somehow had that tilt in the tone of the machine, a tone of grave reverence. Hands outstretched in supplication, the Magos spoke.

++LET ME
+<<CORRUPTED>>
+YOU++

Creatrix cocked head in return. It wished to do what to him? It spoke? Both things seemed strange and unusual to the Primarch, especially compared to the bestial natures of those others who seemed to be afflicted as the vessel was. The Magos had always been a quiet one, one who seemed contemplative on the uses of the thing in addition to its methods. It didn't quite fit.

++NEGATIVE
+POWER DOWN AND SUBMIT TO EXAMINATION MAGOS
+FAILURE TO COMPLY WILL RESULT IN FORCE++

It moved fast, though not fast enough to catch the Primarch by surprise, as both beings burst into action. Mechadendrites intertwined and caught one another, Transonic blades humming in the air, many others simply bouncing off of the shields of the other. Creatrix, however, resorted to a more brutal method as the Magos brought his Omnissian Axe to bear down in a cleaving swing. One mechanical hand grasped the haft of the axe while the other stretched out to catch the rebel throat. Of course, strangulation wasn't a threat to such an augmented being, but that wasn't the intention. With explosive force Creatrix squeezed, compressing that metal and blood neck in a split second as blood coated gleaming steel about the hand and between the fingers, as oil ran in thin rivers here and there while it burst away from the Primarch in a pitiful fountain, before tearing outwards with the neck still in tow. Most of it left in that clenched hand, bloody with steel splinters jutting out from odd angles, though just enough remained for the head to remain attached, and from that ruined neck blood and oil flowed freely. The Magos swayed in place, hands losing their grip, Mechadendrites paused where they were. It looked down, far as it could at the ruined neck and the blood staining the robes, at the treasure clenched in the hand. It spoke before collapsing in a heap, finally dead.

++BLOOD
+<<CORRUPTED>>
+THE BLOOD GOD++

The sounds of Bolter fire died down on the bridge, those afflicted no more than blood spatters and carrion on the deck, and those about it were on the alert. Some covered the entrances, ready in case of a flood of crazed, ill priests would howl through the doors. Another, the black armor marked by a simple, white I upon the helm, approached the Primarch. His extensive modifications to the Terminator Armor worn, from a host of armed Mechadendrites to the Heavy Bolter and modified helm, said the being was of the Conquestus. Shouldering his weapon, the Astartes meshed armored knuckles together in the Sign of the Cog, not an easy task by any measure, and bowed ever so slightly before making his report. Creatrix made the sign in return, bowing as well.

++I DUTIFULLY REPORT
+BRIDGE CLEAR
+DAMAGE REPORT AS FOLLOWS:
+POWER LOST ON ALL DECKS AND ESCORTS
+MACHINE SPIRITS ARE INOPERABLE
+TECH-PRIESTS ARE INOPERABLE / HOSTILE
+UNKNOWN CASUALTIES / HOSTILES
+ASSESS ENEMY STRIKE ORIGINATED ON OPEN VOX NETS
+METHOD: UNKNOWN
+REQUEST PERMISSION TO ISSUE STANDING ORDER: VOX RECEIVERS TO BE RENDERED INOPERABLE ON ALL UNITS
+REASON: SYSTEM VULNERABILITY PRESENTS TOTAL VULNERABILITY TO UNKNOWN WEAPONS SYSTEM
+REQUEST PERMISSION TO PERFORM SYSTEM REBOOT ON ALL SYSTEMS WITH EXCEPTION OF VOX RECEIVERS
+REASON: MACHINE SPIRITS ARE INOPERABLE. ALL SYSTEMS ARE AFFLICTED BY UNKNOWN VIRUS
+TIME FOR SYSTEM REBOOT ESTIMATED FOUR-EIGHT STANDARD HOURS++

Creatrix looked over the Marine. The assessment was deemed correct by the Primarch's account; after all, it had been the Vox Operator who was first injured by the unknown malady. Through shutting off Vox receivers they had avoided most of the issues which would normally hold such issues. It made sense, considering that Vox transmitted, in a way, information over nets, but that sort of thing shouldn't have spread as it had. It should have been stopped, ideally, by the Vox Operator and yet...and yet it had killed with little to no warning. Something worse was present. The system reboot was a heavy handed suggestion, however, considering the time it would take to restore all systems to what they were. And yet, compared to the other issues at play, compared to the likely problems half-solutions presented, it was their better bet. With their vessels incapable for so long however it was necessary to take the fight to the enemy on the ground, necessary to put Astartes down there to engage the foe. To perform effectively however they required friendly unit positions. To gain those positions Creatrix needed Augur up. To do that, it needed the Tech-Priesta back online.

++PERMISSION GRANTED TO ISSUE STANDING ORDER
+PERMISSION GRANTED TO PERFORM SYSTEM REBOOT
+ADDENDUM: REBOOT UNDAMAGED TECH-PRIEST UNITS WITH EXCEPTION OF VOX RECEIVERS
+QUIERY: TIME TO RESTORATION OF AUGUR ARRAYS?++

++ORDER CONFIRMED
+UNKNOWN
+PRIORITY SET FOR AUGUR ARRAY RESTORATION++

++POTESTAS OMNISSIAH, OMNISSIAH VULT++

With that, both made the Sign of the Cog to one another and repairs were soon underway. The Tech-Priests were reasonably concerned with what had happened, some even displaying concern or fear at the idea of such a weapon being in possession of the enemy. They did not enjoy the idea of technology being corrupted in such a fashion, of Blessed Binary being turned into a parody of its most simplistic self, or for that matter of their own mortality and fragility in regards to that virus. One stared at a corpse for a few moments, looking over the ruined corpse of the Magos who just a handful of remembered seconds before had been leading them in their knowledge. Blood pooled on the ground, had splattered on the consoles, and they attended to those tasks before them well. If any had difficulty swallowing the idea of taking orders from a Primarch, they concealed them well in their own mechanical way. After all, a more important task was at hand in the restoration of the ship, of their own abilities, of their Skitarii legions and servitor aids. They needed to mend before the questions had to be asked, for the act alone was in the nature of the Martian Priesthood.

As they toiled away, Creatrix aiding where one could as but another Priest of the Cog, a quiet sound could be heard. It was a whisper, the quietest whisper that was drowned out by the laziest breeze on the placid fields. The Primarch heard it, though, heard it from the communications console and in but a few strides moved there. Picking up the black phone and raising it up, concentrating on that noise, Creatrix could hear someone on the other end. Blessedly, sound-powered systems acted just as the name implied, though they were usually aided by a series of amplifiers along the route of their wire. This one however was not, and neither was any other for that power was down. Nevertheless Creatrix heard someone roaring at the other end and, unless deceived, there was that sound of Bolter fire.

++BRIDGE, PORT STORAGE++

++BRIDGE, GO++

++TECH-PRIESTS INOPERABLE / HOSTILE
+SERVITORS HOSTILE
+SPACE INACCESSIBLE DUE TO DEBRIS
+SPACE ACCESS NECESSARY FOR 05-130-48-S REPAIR ON 2B SENSOR RELAY
+REQUEST PERMISSION TO VENT LOCAL ATMOSPHERE
+REASON: CLEAR DEBRIS / HOSTILES
+HOW COPY?++

Servitors in revolt. Well, it did make sense considering how the virus acted on many of the Priests, how it seemed to afflict mechanical devices specifically, and servitors were not very biological in any remaining sense. Most of their bodies were machines, a mind slaved to a controlled and wiped for one reason or another, and the fact that such units were puppetted by effectively Vox systems made them even more vulnerable than Skitarii. On the positive side, however, they were extremely cheap and easily replaced. It was no great loss.

++PERMISSION GRANTED TO VENT LOCAL ATMOSPHERE++

++CONFIRM, PORT STORAGE OUT++

And yet, as Creatrix looked out from vast, stained windows to see outer doors on the port side open up, to watch clutter and corpse and pieces in between float out from the vessel with explosive force, something else caught the eye. Something was transiting into the system, something in the distance, but it was by no means a small thing. The Primarch could count the new stars in the night sky, count the new ships upon the precipice of the system, and more and more translated in from the Warp. One could see the space boil and rend, see it wring fabric and position as each warship entered. Reinforcements. They had sent reinforcements. As systems came online, gradually Creatrix regained control, regained more of the picture. First the ship's 1MC system, the announcement system, came online and the Primarch was able to muster officers on the bridge, able to receive reports from across the ship. There was damage to all sectors, all areas as Servitors and Tech-Priests had gone insane, bloodying the vessel, one-another, and their inactive comrades. Minor hull breaches were present throughout the outer hull area, venting some areas, while other systems were damaged significantly. Repairs were underway while fireteams continued to clear hostiles from the vessel, using the sound-powered comms to coordinate their efforts, though despite best efforts substantial rogue servitor elements still roamed the ship. Internal Augurs were unable to be brought online, in part due to the suspected efforts of afflicted Tech-Priests. External Augurs were, likewise, inactive. A Marine approached the Primarch, standing as one was on the bridge.

++I DUTIFULLY REPORT
+ASTROPATHIC COMMUNICATIONS SAT WITH REINFORCEMENTS
+REINFORCEMENTS OF FIFTH PRIMARCH LEGION ORIGIN
+BOARDING PARTIES EN ROUTE TO ASCERTAIN CONDITIONS++

++VERY WELL++

Vasilisa. It had been some time since Creatrix had seen her. In a way the Primarch could appreciate that tenacity in her, could appreciate as one might appreciate a fellow tool. She was harsh, fair, and to a degree was of the opinion that the Imperial Truth was the way forwards over all others. Creatrix clicked the 1MC on.

++ALL HANDS, BRIDGE
+STAND BY FOR FRIENDLY BOARDING PARTIES++

[The Empire of Tau]

Battle of the Hell Pit
Sima Underhive

The Hell Pit, also known as Khrone’s Pit by other cultists, is a gigantic cave bored out by the cultists some years ago after their take over of Hive-City Sima. This is the origin point of the whole uprising of the Red God, deep down in the Sima Underhive, a perfect place given the lack of oversight by higher authority or elsewise. Afterall, who would care about some cultist worshiping some strange blood god? Well, it has appeared that the tables have turned as Hive-world Falluja has fallen to the Red God followers in a show of force. Hundreds of thousands of mutants and fanatics have made the Hell Pit into a ramshackle city and fort, where daily mosh pit fights and every other bloodsport that can be imagined happening every other hour, worshipping their Red God in brutal displays of carnage. Deep in the center of all of this, a ritual was ongoing, hundreds humming and hundreds more sacrificed to give birth to something truly horrific in the name of Krohne, God of Blood. Tacllous, commanding officer of the Azurmarine detachment on the planet, would have this nonsense ended with force. Tacllous would have a sizable group at hand. The 1st Reinforcement Group led by Clause. The 2nd Chapter Celestial Cohort led by Angeline, accompanied by Chapter Master Jean-Pierre Gustav and Chief Librarian Nostradamus, and the 1st to 3rd Azurmarine Battalions, including a section of heavy armor and transports, plus the Hades Drill (and anything else that the other Legions would offer in support)

Either by drilling directly into the pit, or using the premade tunnels bored out by the cultists, the assault force made their way into the Hell Pit. What awaited the space marines and Imperial units would be brutal urban combat, cultists rushing to the front of the action while being gunned down by bolters or stubber fire as while Imperial forces very slowly made their way deeper into the Hell Pit. Without a doubt, this quickly turned itself into a slugfest.

The marines were soon met by fierce, continuous, streams of stubber fire. Occasionally joined by heavier munitions as the Cultists wheeled in squad and platoon support weapons. Heavy Stubbers joined their lighter brethren. Grenades were thrown. While some defenders behind hastily erected barricades rolled in 20mm guns which began to fire in sporadic pom-pom barks towards the Space Marines seeking to advance further towards their intended objective.

Death met every cultist coming to the front as the marines did their job with placing bolt rounds into every cultist in their sights. Not even cultists behind their barricades and cover could stop hails of bolt-fire coming towards them, penetrating thick scrap-metal and concrete walls. The heavier weapons brought forth mattered little with the soon arrival of the Fellblades and Faithblades, who needed a bit more time to get into the Hell Pit due to their size. High-velocity rounds, either from the cannons of the Fellblades or the Faithblades with their Vulcan-cannons, would rip anyone or thing with a single volley of shots (if they did not die in the first round of fire). The Imperial forces went deeper and deeper. The culists knew that they had no chance against the marines of the Imperium, but they knew that someone else could stop their breakthrough - something that the Imperium has yet to face and know of in truth.

For deep within the macabre of the pit the ritual had gone on unabated. More blood and gore spilt in the name of the Great Red God, Kharneth, Khorne, the names went on. The blood flowed and the skulls stacked. For in the twisting bloody formulation continuing to manifest a blazing aura of murder and death blossomed to life. Cascading electrical energy and noxious swirling lights tore into the fabric of reality. The bloody form, now large like a giant, towering over the priests as they held blades to their throats. Swift jerks of their knives and their own blood was added in a final ritual which tore asunder the gates of the materium. Coming forth, red of flesh, white of horn and fang, bearing a garish sword and wielding a mighty axe. Leathery wings flaring. The beast roared it’s challenge and sprung forth. Far faster than any monstrosity of such size and girth should physically allow.

But that was not all. For coming from the tear came dozens, then at least a hundred creatures of similar visage but smaller form. Wielding long bronze burning blades and holding aloft crimson blood soaked banners. Their hellish appearance and ghastly, gnarled, faces festooned with devilish horns surged after their larger brethren.

It was the Azurmarines who encountered this foe first. Swiftly followed by the accompanying Burning Scrolls and Lightbringers. Bolters roared but did little to slow the crimson tide. The hellish cohort moved so fast that even to marines their movements seemed to phase in and out of reality. Sword and bolter, claw and ceramite, ichor and blood met in a frenzy befitting a laughing God of slaughter.

The great beast launched itself at a Fellblade and with two strokes of its axe it wrent the armour and destroyed several forward facing guns. The beast did not stop. It merely continued on its path of destruction as with every strike it split ceramite, bisected bodies, decapitated foes, and wrend limb from body. All while shouting roars of challenge and glories to it’s dark master.

What had been a relentless tide of Imperial advance was now a meat grinder...and the Imperials were currently losing…

Angeline’s face was a mask of fury as she tore her way through the cultists and Daemons--for that was the only way that she could describe the putrid xenos that spilled forth from this gaping wound of a city--which only hardened into a deep scowl upon sighting the largest of the creatures that she had seen yet take apart a Fellblade.

“Imperator vult! Daughters, stay behind. Protect my sons,” she ordered her bodyguard, whose auspex never wavered as they continued to strike down the demons with blade and bolt. Angeline propelled herself through the warp, appearing in front of the creature and delivering a mighty cleaving blow, aiming to separate one of the beast’s massive legs from its body with her flaming sword.
Angeline’s blow would have connected, had it not been for the swift block by the beast’s blade, spinning around it swiped with a blow aimed at the Primarch’s neck. To use the gifts of the Great Ocean in such a manner is dangerous.

The beast's words lanced through Angeline’s mind as it telepathically spoke to her. It’s immaterial voice like the loosening of stone in its throaty, rocky, unflattering sound.

Clause had followed his sister through the hole she cut through the swath of chaff, charging head strong at the...beast. True to her nature. Behind him the line of Panzerinfantry, Terminators, and his 1st Company were joined by an unlikely, yet welcome sight. Macharious Oldran, the Oldest of the Burning Scrolls, stomped into battle in his behemoth suit of Siege dreadnought armor, cyclonic lance and melta gun spewing death and fury.

Clause was smaller then Angeline, and just as fast, keeping pace with her and using his longer reach to swipe and thrust enemies away from her rear. Turning in time to see the strike. He thrust the spear forward letting the crimson blade ride until it caught upon the cruciform guard. Heaving with all the might he could muster, he parried the blade, sending it just enough off course to embed itself into the hard floor of the underhive.

The Bloodthirster roared at the defiance of his blow being stopped by Clausewitz. Flapping his leather wings in a gust of rage the beast put precious meters between himself and them. The Daemonic Legions pausing from the mutual slaughter taking place. Their numbers thinned, but more than matched by the wrent forms of ceramite clad marines and destroyed tanks.

“My Master has watched thee for many years. Angeline...Clausewitz. Ever since you were absconded from The Anathema’s laboratory on Terra.” The Beast rolled its shoulders as the Daemonic legion behind him snarled and flicked their forked tongues. Behind them the tunnels hazed and fluxed as pure warp energy bled into the tunnels below the Hive city. The Beast smiled, “I must say that any victory you achieve today will be a hollow one. But Khorne welcomes the wars that are to come.”

Angeline’s blazing white eyes betrayed no emotion, and her expression was one of anger and determination. This thing was far more dangerous than anything she had ever faced. None had ever managed to block her strike with such ease in one-on-one combat, let alone the fact that he knew their names… and their origins. And the message he had sent her, warning her of the dangers of the warp, just made her angry--how dare this creature attempt to chastise her, after the horrific damage he and his had done to the immaterium on this world?

“I know not how you know us, fiend, but all this ends here,” she uttered, declaring her intent. Waves of heat began to waft up from her armor, distorting the air around her, before two wings composed of pure fire manifested and blazed, outstretched. “In the Emperor’s name, we defy you. We shall erase your existence so utterly that none shall remember you for the rest of time. And when we are done… we come for your master. IMPERATOR VULT!”

The declaration was enhanced through the warp, causing her voice to echo throughout the battlefield and be heard by everyone on it. The Primarch rushed forward, unheeding of the danger and trusting that her brother would come with her and aid her in putting down this menace. She leaped into the air, her fiery wings accelerating her to near-blinding speeds as she opened with an overhead strike aimed at the beast’s skull.

Clause did so to support his sister, by drawing his bolt pistol, the Judge, and aiming for the wings of the beast. Tactically speaking limiting the beast’s mobility was optimal. There was no war yell, no proclamation of faith, no cry for the grace of their Father. There was but the round of an armored thumb cocking back a hammer, and the half dozen shots in rapid succession as the masterly crafted Bolt gun fires its hand tailored shells.

He then broke open the gun as it and his sister fought, retrieved a speed loader (a tool adapted from stub pistols of similar design) and loaded 6 more shots, closed the Judge and took aim once more, taking aim to sever the wing joint of the beat before firing another 6 shots.

The Bloodthirster snarled at the challenge, and seemed to roar in rage at the mere mention of the Emperor, charging at Angeline head on. Tanking the bolt pistol shots from Clause as the Bloodthirster, who dwarfed Angeline, closed the distance as Primarch and Daemon met with a thunderclap. Angeline’s brutal strike crashed against the Bloodthirster’s blade. Chipping the daemonic weapon as it cracked and gave way. Swiftly moving the side to put Angeline between it and Clause the ferocious axe of the winged beast swung and crashed into Angeline’s flank. Sending the Primarch spiralling away with a horrid hole torn into her cuirass. More bolts from Clause struck him, causing the winged horror to roar in anger as bolts burst chunks from its essence. It dropped it’s ruined blade. Destroyed by the female Primarch and hefted it’s axe with both hands. Charging for Clause now.

Angeline let out a cry as the beast’s axe dug into her side, just managing to block the haft with her blade to prevent the damage from being more than a surface wound. Still, a hole was wrent in her cuirass, and she could feel the corrupted metal make contact with her flesh. She tumbled end over end before slamming into a fellblade so hard that a dent formed in the ceramite.

She extricated herself from the dent with a grunt, accompanied by the groaning of metal as the Archangel fell to the hard floor of the underhive and looked to see what her brother had done in the time it had taken her to recover.

The beast roared as it charged the smaller Primarch down. In a single fluid motion Clause holstered the bolt pistol, drew the fighting knife on his belt and side stepped the beast. He thrust the knife into its side, yet received a glancing blow across the helmet from it’s great axe in return.

He frowned and removed the sparking helm, revealing his face to the beast as it turned to face him. The melody came to a crescendo, the violent and uncoordinated nature of the notes causing a bead of sweat to form across his brow as he fought to maintain control. The beast raised its axe and Clause prepared to meet it with his spear, the glittering form of his fighting knife sticking out of its side.

Angeline once again moved through the immaterium, forcing the shifting corridors of the plane to conform to her will. The Emperor’s Angel appeared behind the beast just as it turned to face her brother with her sword readied by her side, aiming to thrust it into the beast’s back.

But what the Archangel did not realize was that the Bloodthirster can see the shifting currents of the Immaterium better than any Psyker, and thus knew of her movement, and so flung itself upwards with a beat of its wings. “To use the Great Ocean in such a manner? I am from there!”

Angeline scowled as the Bloodthrister avoided her strike and beat her own fiery wings, launching herself into the air to the same level as the red beast. “Good to know, beast,” she responded with a snarl, before she caught the axe’s blade on her own flaming sword and held it there. She scowled at the beast for a fraction of a second before she twisted out and back, allowing the effort the beast was putting into his swing to overextend him.

She dove in to close the distance and thrust, aiming to pierce the beast’s heart with Dawnbringer.

The Beast was ready. Ichor from its bolter wounds from Clause alongside the knife embedded in it’s flank. It’s blade broken by Angeline’s wrath. Yet, it gritted serrated teeth in defiance to both Primarchs. At least, until the sounds of bolter rounds suddenly filled the air once more and the Bloodletters below began to shriek and surge away. Some dematerializing altogether. The Bloodthirsters' focus broke and thus it’s guard failed as it deflected, too late, the incoming strike. The Archangel’s blade pierced the beast just above where it’s heart should be. Scything through essence and spouting blood red ichor which fizzled and evaporated upon spilling to the ground. The beast roared and grabbed Angeline as it plummeted the short distance to the ground. It’s grip weakened as Angeline slipped away and the Bloodthirster crashed onto the destroyed hulk of a Fellblade.

Coming down the tunnel the purple clad form of Vasilisa and the Dark Seraphs surged forth. Angeline and Clause struck by the soulless presence of the marines and the Primarch with them as they came. The warp energies washing away like the receding tides.

But the Bloodthirster was not yet finished, even as it’s form flickered and wisped, as blood red ichor spurted from its grievous wound which churned and burned with an inner fire. Gnashing it’s maw at Angeline and Clause.

Clause followed the aerial battle from below, and made for the Faithblade hulk when the beast crashed upon it. As it lay there, gnashing it’s teeth, the armored form of the younger Primarch emerged and stood above it, spear held high. Waiting for an opportune moment, he thrust the tip downward, through its open maw and into its throat. Spearing it through until the armor of the tank stopped the speartip, he threw his weight to one side and twisted the beasts head and neck. The wet popping sound of corrupted bone and tissue tearing and breaking echoed out throughout the cavern.

Adding one last insult, He braced himself and wrenched the spear, daemon head still attached, free of the corpse and held it aloft in the rank air. All around them, Astartes roared in victory, daemonic beasts screeched in anger and anguish. With it’s form shattered, the beast began to disintegrate before their very eyes.

He retrieved his knife, sheathed it, only to seemingly just now notice his sister’s wound. “Angeline, you're hurt.” he reached into his belt and offered her one of his spare medkits.

Angeline took the Medkit with a grateful nod, and winced as she felt a headache coming on that only one being she knew of could generate. The aura around her head dimmed, as well as the light spilling from her eyes, until they both vanished entirely. Icy-white irises turned to look as her sister arrived, looking… well, as angry as Vasilisa ever got.

“Sister. It is good you are here,” Angeline said before wincing and making a small sound of discomfort as the wound in her side made itself known.

Approaching rapidly, the imperious form of Vasilisa, reckoned as the eldest sibling of the Primarchs by virtues of being found by the Emperor first, came to a stop. The Dark Seraphs continued down the tunnel as they gave chase to the Daemonic cohort. The Warp rift itself diminishing and disappearing in the chamber beyond as the Astartes approached. Vasilisa, however, held both of her siblings within her gaze. Looking at Angeline as she took the medkit and then at Clause.

“I am giving the withdrawal order from this world. The presence of both of you is required aboard The Vengeful Spirit.” said Vasilisa matter-of-factly. Her presence caused Angeline’s aura to fade while the glow of her eyes faded back to their regular ice-white colour.

The sound of quick, heavy, footfalls came as a Dark Seraph rapidly approached, “The Warp-Xenos have disappeared. Chamber secured.”

But before Vasilisa could respond her vox-grille chirped. <<My Lord, Astropathic Transmission from the Warmaster. It is urgent.>>

The Primarch of the 5th Legion depressed the vox-stud on her collar and spoke quickly, “Execute withdrawal order on my authority to all Imperial forces on Falluja. Prepare Cyclonic Torpedoes.”

In a rare moment of lucidity, Clause spoke to Vasilia as she turned to leave. “Good seeing you too, sister.” He then turned to the nearest Burning Scrolls Astartes, who just so happened to be the lumbering form of Macharious Oldran. “Give the order, record everything.”

[Morrdh]

Hive Sima
Falluja

Brigadier Owen Finhallen, officer commanding the Imperial Army's 5th Brigade, Calbernian Guard, bitterly reflected upon the useful of vox-sets to co-ordinate the few thousand men under his command. They'd been told last minute, just as they dropped the drop ships, that vox-networks on the planet were inoperative due to some sort of 'interference' on the rebels' part. It was an....unpleasant surprise and one that necessitated vox-sets being left behind on the drop ships when they made it dirt-side. They were fortunate that a battleplan had been drawn up and distributed to dataslates carried by the the unit's officers, though some of their intel was outdated and there had been no real chance for final updates and corrections.

They went in effectively half-blind.

Compounding matters was that since the vox-net was out of action, the Calbernian vox-operators had to pull duty as runners. This had the effect of drastically slowing down communications and, thus, the 5th's advance as it's component elements stuck close to enable some resemblance of co-ordination to take place. This had the knock-on effect of slowing down responses to enemy attacks, reduced effectiveness of fire support and ultimately cost lives as medicae response time was slowed down. Finhallen wondered how his forefathers on distant Terra waged war prior to the advent of vox communications. Can't have fought with anything larger than a company of men, he mused.

The enemy was the other issue.

Finhallen was a veteran who'd served in the Imperial Army, and the Calbernian military before that, going on for a number of decades. In that time he'd fought against a wide range of foes, human and xenos alike, running the gauntlet from honourable professionals to rebel rabbles. The enemy here...well...Finhallen could only describe them as a frenzied mob. There were some soldiers amongst their ranks, but most appeared to be civilians with all having dyed their clothing varying shades of red by way of uniform. Time and time again they'd thrown themselves at the Calbernian lines with a lack of restraint and care that Finhallen had only previously encountered on the occasions that he'd done up against Orks. Admittedly, he was sure that the greenskins weren't so...fanatical.

The Calbernians' advance had been stalled and they'd been forced to dug in under the relentless onslaught of the enemy. The mounds of bodies was testament to the ferociously of the attacks, though far too many of the bodies wore the mustard drab fatigues of the Calbernians for Finhallen's liking. There was a number of burnt wrecks of Calbernian Macha MBTs that laid beyond the 5th's lines were they'd been swamped under by the horde of enemies. If only the vox net was working, Finhallen could've co-ordinated his units into better positions and called up some fire support to dislodge the enemy from their current positions. Whilst Finhallen was cursing the enemy and their parentage, a flustered and breathless runner stumbled into the command post.

"Message!" Gasped the runner. "Urgent! Orders from command!"

"Ach, 'bouts bloomin' time." Grumbled Finhallen, reaching for the offered message tube. He quickly unscrewed the tube and read the parchment inside. He frowned at first before his face bristled with anger before he started barking orders. "Want ALL runners here! NOW!"

"Command has ordered us to disengage and fall back to the drop ships." Finhallen grumbled, not relishing the prospect of organising a staged withdrawal of his units. "We're leaving Falluja."

[Lunas Legion]

Uriel Febua, Primarch of the Brazen Beasts
Segmentum Pacificus


The 94th Expeditionary Fleet hung in the void over some nameless world, or at the very least it was nameless to Uriel. No doubt it had a name, as it hosted a Star Fort over it, a tip of one of the thousands of spears of the Great Crusade, but it was not a name Uriel had cared or bothered to learn. This was not a world he had brought into compliance, although given that the captain of the Gloriana-class battleship Rex Bestia, Crallas Andros, knew of it, it might have been brought into Compliance by one of the many roving bands of the Brazen Beasts scattered across the Galaxy.

The command chamber that Uriel sat in the throne of was a spartan affair, a wide holoprojector table filling the room, surrounded by the looming figures of Brazen Beasts. The main leaders of the largest warbands that formed up his 94th Expeditionary Fleet, fresh from their conflict on Six-Three-One-Nine, and Crallas Andros, the ship's captain.

"My siblings do nothing but generate more problems for us." Uriel growled, looking down at the piece of paper being held in front of him by a pair of servo-skulls. Orders from the Warmaster were a rare thing, and to be giving orders to him, well...

The Brazen Beasts were not something one could truly order. They were to be unleashed at an enemy, not given careful instructions that any other legion but theirs would have been able to follow with ease, but such was their method of waging war.

"You may see for yourselves." Uriel said, the servo-skulls turning as the holoprojector table lit up, casing shades of green and blue across the room, the transcript of the Warmaster's orders to them appearing in front of his commanders, floating in the air.

"Our most dogmatic and duty-bound of siblings has grown cowardly and fled back to his home, and the once-censured Warmaster goes to censure him which will amount to nothing at all." Uriel snorted. "We are to pick up the mess he has left behind." Were it any other legion, save perhaps the XXth or the XIXth, Uriel would not have begrudged, but for it to be the VIIIth? No, Uriel would have relished the chance to bring his cowardly brother to censure over this but the task was to be left to the Warmaster. "Bring up the map of warzones."

The table changed, and was replaced by a map of the Galaxy, with thousands of tiny red lines plotting the trajectory of expeditionary fleets and the expansion of the Great Crusade as it, at least to his eyes, neared completion. "Expeditionary fleets with elements of the VIIIth Legion, only." Uriel commanded, and the red lights faded. There were less, now, but still many, marking where the Companies and Great Companies of the VIIIth had abandoned their prized 'duties' to return to their Primarch's call.

"You see the scale of the problem." Uriel said. "You may choose your pick of expeditionary fleets to take the place of the VIIIth contingents. 28th Expeditionary Fleet only."

The red lights faded, until just one single point remained in a galaxy of blue.

"I'll be taking the core of the 94th, that is the Rex Bestia, to the last location of the 28th. Whatever has so frightened my brother into cowardice must be unearthed and crushed. The Xth have been assigned to join us on this campaign, and they will make up for wherever you do not go. You may divvy up the assignments as you see fit." Uriel said, tuning out his commanders as the map lit up once again with red lines, slowly flickering into gold as his commanders made their choices, or bargained with one another with supplies and favours in exchange for exchanging fleet assignments.

What had frightened his brother so, on this numbered world, to declare an exterminatus of it and then to flee back to his homeworld, and abandon the Great Crusade? What dangerous truths had been revealed there?

Brother,

You have seen the Warmaster's orders. The vast majority of the Brazen Beasts with me will be cleaning up the mess left behind by our cowardly brother, and will be breaking off from the 44th to do so. I intend to have the 44th join with Eyrian's former 28th over world-designate 28-44 to ascertain whatever frightened him to retreat to his homeworld and recall his legion. You may accompany me or not, I will report my findings regardless.

[Parcia]

The Burning Scrolls,
1st Parsarian Field Army

The Pull out order...welcomed, if only with a bittersweet taste. The Burning Scrolls would cease offensive operations for the time being and allow for the Iron Guard to start their emergency pull out. Organized, yet a little rushed, they would begin the first set of hasty demolition orders to prevent the enemy from reusing the hive. With the re-establishment of of Vox comunications to the Wrath, the situation was made clear to them and the Field Command of the 1st Iron Guard.

Field Marshal Kitle began to order an acceleration of the rapid pull out, simply having the buildings and emptied depots marked for orbital bombardment. Upon his desk was a field report written by one Librarian-Paladin Dumas of the Lightbringer's legion. Among it's rather lengthy story were what the Astartes Librarian commented several times on the battlefield bravery and tactical capabilities and feats of the young officer. He knew her personally, she was Willy's Daughter.

He sighed, marked her for a field promotion to Captain and moved on with his day while also sending her file to Lord Clause.

It would be several days before the last of the Guard and the Scrolls would leave this hellish world. Among their few trophies was a banner. It was nearly the size of a Ground Car, crimson red, and held the pointed star of the cultists. It had been captured when the Guard, supporting a Panzerinfantry Kill team, took an enemy field HQ and captured it. It had been turned upside down, a crude Imperial Aquilia sewn in to its cloth, and several of the Lightbringer's Librarians had donated some of their "Seals of Purity" to adorn it's face.

Clausewitz
The Vengeful Spirit
The Strategium

The deck plate creaked ever so slightly under the weight of his armor as he walked. It was scuffed, dented, pot marked by all manner of weapons and even scratch marks from the Warp-Xenos. He helmet was still broken, and his face was adorned with several noticeable scratches, bruises, and the tell tail left overs from several near misses. Many of his legion took worse, and many more of his Iron Guard paid the ultimate price.

523 Astartes, nearly 625,000 Iron Guardsmen, and 2,000 armored vehicles were lost and Clause found him self debating the costs of this entire campaign. The door swished open and Clause stepped in to the room.
"Vasilia, you asked for me?"

[Ormata]

XX LEGION, VOID TYRANTS
PRIMARCH CREATRIX
HIVE WORLD FALLUJA, SEGMENTUM OBSCURUM

The lightless corridors howled and screamed in black fury and the airlock swung slowly open. They had been boarded. They had been boarded and those far, far below were still at war. Servitors hunted in their great packs, oil foaming at some of their mouths while other shivered and shook in electric joy at the thought of finding their prey. They hunted, finding some few inactive priests to delight in their unnatural sadism, their carnage. They wanted to paint the walls in holy crimson, the bones of their once-friends being all the more delightful to find for they were all the harder to extract. They crowded about doors, suspecting them to play host to prey, suspecting them to hold joy. In the distance, the echoes of Bolter fire made itself known in the characteristic bursts, the burst of a frag grenade punctuating every time as though the period at the end of the sentence.

The door opened and the deck reeked of blood and oil. Servitors littered the deckplates, still as could be, many bearing the marks of their termination from Void Tyrant service. A Bolt had cut one in two, guts mixed with electronics and armored plating, raw meat with noodles and glass, while another simply had a stump where the head might be. Intermixed with such things were priests, red robes stiff with blood and viscera, optics torn away with many bearing the lenses in their hands. Another still had its own Mechadendrites embedded in the body, face a hundred slashes and gouges deep into the flesh, neck torn to pieces as though a dull knife had sawed away at the flesh with grim determination, and one could only hazard to guess that it was once a humanoid. Another had legs displaced down the corridor, bloody strips at the tear as though it had simply been removed with great force, and such legs had not a single intact bone within them that they were contorted into neat swirls as one might store line. Blood was ever present and, down that corridor, blood was yet tracked in the form of two pairs of massive footprints. Bolter fire yet again in the distance. Over the ship announcement system thundered a mechanical voice.

++ALL HANDS, BRIDGE
+STAND BY FOR FRIENDLY BOARDING PARTIES++

The boarding craft came in the form of various transport craft and Shark Assault Boats. Not that they were assaulting or even breaching, but just in the odd chance it was required the potential was there. And so the boarding ships arrived by mag-locking to the hulls of various ships and having to manually restore power and open airlocks. Once within the various ships knocked out in orbit were boarded by entire companies of Naval Armsmen.

The situation they were met with varied but generally started the same. Airlocks opening to empty halls or straight carnage. Destroyed servitor and tech priests down gallery passageways and cramped corridors. Workshops pocked with weapons impacts. Blood and oil pooling on the floors of the ship decking. It was only a matter of time before contact was established with surviving Tech Priests and Void Tyrants heavily engaged in clearing their vessels from the corrupted machine-servants which once served them.

Platoons of Armsmen armed with shotguns, stubguns, and the occasional squad support rotary gun on a half dozen ships lent their additional firepower to the Void Tyrants fighting in the bowels of their vessels.

As time progressed, however, more and more systems came online and what was a brutal, simple hunt before turned into an extermination. Auspex equipment proved useful as a stopgap before the internal Augur arrays came online and, linking up such systems with their helmets, the Void Tyrants began to direct efforts with a greater ease. Ambushes would be set up, pushing the servitors into tight corridors before completely eradicating their corrupted forms. Conversely, they were led into sealed, external spaces before being vented out into space. As time passed, that space about each vessel grew cluttered by a fair margin before, finally, the Filii Vetustissima's shields came online and that orbital cloud slowly dispersed into the void. Judging their time of danger over, Vox systems were brought online as well and, as to be expected, that first order heard by Creatrix was the one to evacuate the planet, the chatter to prepare Cyclonic Torpedoes.

They intended to invoke Exterminatus, to purge the world of everything, and the Light Child could only watch.

Creatrix had been called to the Vengeful Spirit and, striding through the passageways, could only think of what had occurred. The Primarch had failed. They all had. The planet resisted far more than it had any right to, their forces moving slower than they should, and in deploying no Astartes planetside Creatrix had contributed to their failure. The Primarch had not committed to the war, landing only what seemed to be adequate for the task at hand before being struck down by an attack which should have been prevented. There had been a failure upon many shoulders and qs a result blood had been spilled in excess for little to nothing. As the Primarch boarded that transport, a prayer wheezed from that grill.

++DEUS EX MACHINA
+MACHINA MAGNUS
+COR MEUM AUTEM INFERMA
+TAMEN PROGREDI++

[New Sriker]

Agri-World, Novae Spes

The trees sat silent and the winds blew slowly, as what hid in the forest were one contubernium of the 17th Legion, or the Liberators. Juno walked towards the front of the brush where he and his men hid looking for a caravan; the road in front of the forest sat quiet; the only travelers on the path all day were refugees fleeing from the frontlines of the Planet. The planet, known as Novae Spes was once a prosperous Agri-World known for its exotic fruits and vegetables, but recently a violent war had consumed the planet. It started when a strange ship landed on the capital of Novae Spes, the ship belonged to a foe Juno had faced many a time before, the Dark Eldar. A species of Xeno known for enslaving and torturing their victims, this is what drove Juno to come to Novae Spes, these vile xenos forced men, women, and children to march to their endless pain. After weeks of raids by the Dark Eldar, the people of Novae Spes finally got the help they needed, The entirety of the Liberators legion. Fighting was happening all over the planet from the largest port city to the smallest prairie. Juno and his men sat waiting for the slaver caravan to pass by.

“Do you see anything Julius, I wish to help these poor slaves and return to the front lines with the rest of the legion?” Asked Juno the young Decanus to his left.

“No, my primarch, it seems the slavers took a different path….wait I see something.” Julius said while looking at the path.

As soon as they saw what was coming, the Liberators got ready for a tough fight, it’s not only some Dark Eldar soldiers, but a Haemonculi and the atrocious monsters he called his creations. There were about 60 Kabalite warriors, the Haemonculi, and about a hundred of the Haemonculi’s creations, in the front of the caravan were the kabalites then the creations, and finally the Haemonculi himself. He was slim and had four arms, each arm wielding a sword. He also wore a mask hiding away his face from onlookers.

“There they are, men get ready we shall face the menace head on, Canes Infernos to the front, Exploratores stay back and fire upon the enemy from a range, and Legionaries with me right behind the Infernos.” Juno told his men as the enemy forces drew closer.

Juno equipped his helm and pulled out his gladius, and in a moment's notice was charging right into the enemy’s caravan, right behind him were the Canes who upon seeing their Primarch charge into battle followed suit alongside the Legionaries. The Eldar were shocked at the sight of the giant Mon’keigh charging at them, the warriors fired upon the Primarch, most of the shots missed but the ones that didn’t miss, did little to nothing to Juno’s armor. When he had gotten close enough he swung his gladius at the warriors, in a single swing he cut two of them in half and the third had the gladius stuck in his side, Juno then took the third warrior’s corpse of his blade and continued the battle. The sound of bolter and dark lance fire consumed the air, the Haemonculi commanded his creations to charge at the Legionaries, the clash was a violent one, with several battle brothers slain by the abominations. The battle brothers held on, fighting with the might of a whole legion trying to push back the beasts.After Juno had finished his massacre of the Eldar warriors, he then turned his attention to the Haemonculi, Juno charging at the Haemonculi with his gladius in hand, but then suddenly an abomination tackled the Primarch. This particular beast was larger than the others, it was even taller than Juno and every hit from it felt like a bullet. Juno tried dodging the beast’s attacks but they were too fast, a right hook to the nose made Juno’s nose start bleeding, Juno then smiled at the beast and said “Finally the Eldari give me a worthy opponent!”

Juno threw his gladius at the beast hitting it in the shoulder, then he readied his gauntlet and charged at the beast, as soon as he got close he slashed the beast’s chest and then attempted to decapitate the beast, but the beast sacrificed it’s arm, the beast then tried to grab Juno. Juno managed to move out of the way, he then pulled the blade out of the beast and then in a second he had chopped off its head. The Haemonculi was shocked at this action, but he looked around him seeing the Mon’keigh butcher his men, the Haemonculi looked at the Primarch and shouted “ Mon’keigh, if you are so brave, face me!” He then charged at Juno, Juno dodged most of the slashes from the Haemonculi's blade, but one of the slashes cut through the armor on his chest, Juno in response grabbed and slammed the Haemonculi into the ground of the path. Juno then looked at the Haemonculi’s corpse on the ground, broken, cracked, and damaged and lifted it up and yelled “ The slaver’s lord has fallen!” His sons yelled in happiness and vigor.

A few hours after the battle, Juno went to have a conversation with Julius about the war on Novae Spes.

“How many did we lose Julius?” Asked Juno with a interested look on his face

“We lost about 50 brothers, only 2 were Canes, but still we lost a few. But let's focus less on the legion, my Primarch, let's focus on you.” Julius said to Juno.

“What do you mean, my son?” said Juno questioning his Decanus.

“My Primarch, you were hurt during today’s engagement and I just wanted to check on your health” Julius told Juno with a concerned look on his face.

“My boy, don't worry, i’ve had worse injuries than this simple scratch.” Juno told Julius with a joyous tone in his voice.
“That’s good to know, my Primarch, I will get to writing the battle report on today’s engagement.” Julius told Juno.

“Good Julius, i’ll see you later my son.” Juno said to Julius

Juno soon arrived at his quarters, he then sat at his desk and started reading battle reports of the war across Novae Spes, All the engagements had been successful and the reports had stated the leader of the Dark Eldar on the planet had been slain by the Legatus, Leo Victor, Juno’s most trusted brother in battle and diplomacy. Juno looked at the report smiling and said “I owe him a drink.”

[Prusslandia]

Metrax-II
Hive Quintus
Housing Sector 127b


The world was ending.

Battleships the size of mountain peaks rained fire on the cities below, fusing metal and pulverising rockcrete, the already smoggy air rendered thick with particulates and ash. Escape craft attempted to leap the surly bounds of gravity to ‘safety’, only to be swatted down like petulant children, the sound of their impact unheard amidst the cacophony. The atmospherics had died hours before, and the hive baked in the greenhouse gases from millenia of hyper-industrialization. Some died simply from such, and those that did not thought them lucky.

For on the ground monsters in the shape of men marched, no, prowled, searching for life. They were death, bringing bloody execution with bolter and blade. Some would run, some would hide, but none would escape these warriors. Only by surrender would you survive, but this was not a guarantee. More than one sobbing soul was brutally silenced by a ceramite-enclosed fist.

Abram knew this, but still he ran. Over the past week he had run more than his entire life put together, and how keenly he felt it. His muscles burned with acidic compounds, chest tight and heaving with strenuous effort. His rifle was heavy in his hands, but he wouldn’t dare to have it slung, just as much as he wouldn’t dare to sleep. At this point he was running on adrenaline and amphetamines, having consumed the entire blisterpack from the medkit. Not like the rest of his squad would be needing it. They numbered five when this began, but now only he remained.

Emile had been the first to go, a bolter clearing his head from his shoulders. Katherine and Karter, twins from 87b, were next, bodies broken when an invader got the drop on them in the maintenance duct. Old Tom, the veteran among them, had died not more than forty minutes before now. The two of them had been manning a mortar emplacement, trying to cover fleeing civilians as best they could. A passing gunship repaid their efforts, and Old Tom ended his storied life as a pink mist. Abram did not know how he had survived, but he spent little time wondering, opting to run instead.

He had just turned a corner when he saw the squad of invaders, halfway down the block. Abram threw himself backwards, slamming against the rockcrete. Exhaling a long breath, he shakily peeked, trying to gauge the threat. He counted 10 of them, arrayed clockwise around kneeling prisoners. He had not truly realized how large they were, easily 8 or 9 stanlengths tall, many of them holding mauls longer than his torso. His mind was seized from observation as a man resisted, spitting on one of the giants. Words were barked in a brutish language, and one of the maces casually swung, more than blood splattering across the road. Fear overcame discipline and Abram dropped his rifle, the weapon clattering to his feet. He quickly grabbed it, head swinging fully behind cover. Praying to the Maker that he went unnoticed, he looked back down the block, relieved that a volley of fire wasn’t hurting toward him. In his relief he didn’t notice that there were 9, as opposed to 10. Rather his eyes focused on the exposed fueltank of a beached autocar. Abram slowly brought himself to a knee, the barrel of his rifle poking out. He was focused now, and just like the drillmaster said, he let out a slow breath. His finger ghosted the trigger. He would distract the marauders with the explosion, hopefully killing a few and allowing the civilians to run. He did not notice the invader at his back until he was too close, but by then it was too late. Abram Menjor let out a single, defiant scream, and then it was over. The Astarte kicked his corpse for good measure before rejoining his Vodnik as they continued their mission. They laughed and bantered amongst themselves, mocking the futile efforts of the local populace.


Scenes like this occurred elsewhere on the planet, but it did not matter.

Urvodnik went street by street, house by house. Those who resisted were massacred, and those who surrendered were corralled like animals. By dawn the next day Metrax-II had been rendered compliant, existing resources seized and tribute enacted. The Pale Ghouls boarded their vessels and left, leaving the reconstruction to the incoming Imperial fleet. This would occur on the next world, as it had on the worlds before. Thus was the way of strength.

[Antimersia]

Adalon Cyprus
Bridge of the Oasys

Adalon sat somberly in his seat. He stared at the screen reading Titus' reply to his report of the situation on Apocraphon Alpha. In truth he was hoping to leave this system behind and forget about the monstrosities that he had seen. But Titus was abundantly correct in ordering him to continue to scour the system. If even one of these monstrosities that he witnessed was allowed to exist on another planet within the system, the horrors that would occur are untold.

He sat back in his chair, worrying about the refugees aboard his ship. He did not have a good idea of where to bring the few that remain once this is all over. He would surely leave them on Apocraphon Delta or Apocraphon Gamma, assuming sweeps of the system show both worlds to be clean of any xeno threat. But, Adalon feared the worst. Those xenos swarmed together in numbers greater than he could have imagined being able to hide in a hive. Many of them even appeared human in some respects, though mangled and corrupted.

Adalon's thoughts were interrupted by the sudden sound of a child's voice. "Your choice will not be easy." the voice uttered. Adalon spun around in his chair to find a pair of boys standing beside one another, so close that their shoulders were touching. Their hair is matted and black. Their eyes are sunken yet bright and deep blue. They look malnourished and far too thin. They are wearing the same outfit, one of a white shirt and shorts made of cotton. Neither of them are wearing any shoes, despite the cold metal floor.

"Children should not be wandering the ship. Return to your guardians." Adalon says firmly. He gestures to a nearby human crewman to escort the boys out of the room.

"Our removal will spell your doom." The second twin yelled angrily.

"I have to come to offer guidance." "I have come to bring you to my master." both twin one and twin two say respectively. They speak in unison, their voices harmonizing in tone so they almost sound like one. Adalon, intrigued, raises his hand to the crewman to stop him. He assumes this is nothing more than child's play, but at worst he hoped such frivolities would lift his spirits.

"Well then, tell me your names first and foremost. Then we might discuss this guidance and master of yours." Adalon says almost patronizingly.

"We are one." "We are many" The twins continue to reply in unison. "I am the Fateweaver." "We have no name."

Adalon looks at them confused. They give contradictory answers, and speak at once. It is rather perturbing to him. The game seeming to grate on him already. "Well then, Fateweaver. What guidance do you offer me?"

"I have seen your future." The first twin says alone.

"Is that so? what becomes of me then?" Adalon asks feigning intrigue.

"You fail my master's challenge and serve him for eternity." "You pass my master's challenge and serve him for all eternity." The twins say at once.

"You're master's challenge?" Adalon asks, "And just who is your master then?"

"Our Master is the Architect of Fate." "We have no Master." They reply together.

"What challenge does this Architect of Fate have for me?" Adalon says, hoping it will be some form of children's game that he has yet to hear of.

"A grand battle of strategy on Apocraphon Delta." "A war, on Apocraphon Gamma." They reply.

Adalon's face turns serious for a moment. These are just children, no older than six from low levels of the hive. The likelihood of them having knowledge of other worlds in the system is rather low. Adalon looks deep into their eyes for a moment and sees something odd. They are not the eyes of a human he is looking into. The eyes are avian, he is certain of it. Upon realization he stands up quickly and brings the blade of his scythe around until it is resting against the neck of the twins. He does not kill them instantly, though. As he hopes more answers will come from them. "So you are xenos then. Do you command them?"

"The threads of their fates are created by our master." "They are my thrall." They reply.

"Enough with these games, give me a straight answer." Adalon says angered now.

"I have only told you the truth." "I have only told you the truth." they respond. Adalon can see through the game that they are playing. One speaks the truth, and one speaks lies. Finding the one who speaks the truth will be as easy as a single question.

"What is my name Fateweaver?" Adalon asks, knowing that this being must know it if he came to speak with him, and that only the one who speaks the truth would answer him honestly.

"Adalon Cyprus." "Fifteen." They reply at once. Answers which were wholly unsatisfactory. Adalon hated being called by his primarch numeration. But he knew it was as valid of an answer as his true name is."You must choose your destination. Delta, or Gamma." "Your choice is already made and your fate is sealed." the continue.

"I promise you, Fateweaver. My fate is far from sealed. And your race, whatever it may be, will die to my hand." Adalon swings his scythe at the two twins. Reality seems to warp slightly as a purple and blue glow flashes around the bodies of the twins as the disintegrate before Adalon could even end the xeno threat. He stares at the empty spot in the room where the once stood, concerned at this revelation. One that would have to be relayed to the Warmaster. Adalon turns to the closest astartes in the room. "Go to the hangar where the refugees are being held. Have them all examined closely. If any of them appear to have avian eyes, purge them." Adalon commands. The astartes salutes Adalon then rushes out of the room to carry out his orders. Adalon then turns and considers his options heavily before making his decision. "My fate is not sealed. This I know. Therefore the one who spoke the truth said his master's challenge was a battle of strategy on Apocraphon Delta. Relay my orders to the 5th Chapter. Tell them to travel to Apocraphon Gamma and observe the situation. Tell them to report even the slightest disturbance on the world. Set our course for Delta. We have a challenge to complete, and a race of xenos to wipe out."

Titus,

This xeno threat may be greater than I had originally imagined. Some appear to have the ability to disguised themselves as human. Even worse, they appear to have a high level of sentience and intelligence. I am beginning my search for the source of these xenos in this system as I now know they are on multiple worlds. More updates will follow.

Regards, Adalon

[Krugmar]

The Triumvirate
Segmentum Pacificus
3.811.000.M31
Collaborative post between Lunas Legion, Prusslandia, and Krugmar

There was nothing left on the surface of world-designate 28-44. Patches of the world still visibly burned from orbit, great gashes of red-white fire across the ash grey surface of the planet.

The vast bulk of the Rex Bestia loomed over the destroyed planet, small lights circling around it from its complement of Thunderhawks and Stormbirds as they returned from or flew down towards the still-burning world on survey missions. It wasn’t what they were designed to do, but improvisation was one of the Brazen Beasts’ strengths.

“There is naught down there but ash and flame.” Crallas Andros said, looking out of the ship’s bridge from beside his Primarch. “If Eyrian did find something down there, he has covered whatever it was up rather thoroughly.”

“Continue the search.” Uriel said, scowling as he looked out at the dead world. “They may yet be something left on this blasted world.” He wanted answers, and they would have to await the arrival of their brothers anyways; Atlas had been quick to reply and to say that he would join him over 22-44, and that he would be bringing Sarov Mercatus and elements of the Pale Ghouls along with him. Not that Uriel had any objections to that. Of all their siblings, him and Sarov were the most similar between any two of them, he felt.

---

The Warp battered the ships of the 30th and 88th, the usual low hum giving way to vicious shrieks. Thunderous claps of pure energy pelted the ships, and for an unlucky few their gellar fields simply did not hold out. They would be left adrift in the Warp, all signs of life slowly dissipating as the strange xenos who made that realm their home took advantage of the wayward vessels.

The bulk of the fleet transited into realspace, a vast armada of ships of the 3rd and 10th Legions, and of the attached Imperial Navy. Despite the strange storms they had made excellent time, as though they had been blown right to their destination. Ahead of them, orbiting 28-44, was the fleet of the 14th Legion.

An hour passed as the newly arrived armada continued to transit from the Warp, a few stragglers and fleet wings having been blown off course. For them it had been weeks of extra travel, but for those in realspace they had lagged behind only in time measured merely in minutes. Such was the nature of the Warp.

Two small transport ships detached from the fleet, one from the Star of a Waning Summer, and another from the Sunderer. They headed towards the Rex Bestia.

Uriel waited in the hangar, watching as the two ships landed. From one came Atlas, followed by his equerry Evonios, and from the other came Sarov, followed by his equerry Sergis. Sarov took a broad look around the hangar, onyx eyes taking it in before he settled his gaze on Uriel. He strode forward, his face stony and almost inscrutable. Stopping before his Primarch brother, he stared him in his eyes for a few moments before his face broke out into a grin. Drawing his closest brother into an embrace, he heartily exclaimed in his Burzum accent.

“Uriel! It has been too long, Bakna. How goes your search, good hunting I hope? I’m most curious to find what gave Eyrian such trouble.” He continued to smile at Uriel, glancing over at Atlas with equal mirth.

“Whatever he found, he’s covered his tracks well.” Uriel said, smiling back. “The Brazen Beasts have been scouring the planet from Thunderhawks and Stormbirds, but we have found nothing down there but flame and ash. Perhaps there was not even anything at all, and our brother has less of a stomach for this than we thought.”

“I am afraid we must cut short any pleasantries, my brothers” Interjected Atlas, as he made his way over to Uriel and Sarov. “What Eyrian did or did not find is of no concern, the fate of his conquests even less so. We must speak somewhere private, there is much I would share with you.”

“Privacy is not exactly a commodity here, but one of the secondary gun decks will have the fewest serfs or Marines occupying it. My own commanders will be occupying the main command room as they figure out which warband has gone where and in what strength, but come.” Uriel said, turning away. “If you wish to share something in private, then it must be of some concern. We do not hide things from each other.”

Uriel led them through the corridors of the ship, serfs and Brazen Beasts moving out of their way as they walked; it was rare for two Primarchs to be on the same ship, let alone three. The ship seemed to be rather chaotic, and their passing brought a halt to the chaos as shouting quietened and serfs and marines paused in their tasks, until Uriel brought them onto an empty freight elevator and hammered one of the buttons, the elevator, slowly starting to rise up the shaft before suddenly stopping about halfway through to the next floor.

“This elevator doesn’t like anything above that deck for some reason.” Uriel explained, pointing above. “It will go down just fine, but no one above this deck uses it and since that is where the munitions it is supposed to carry are kept, our privacy is assured.”

“I trust that in time you will understand why I have kept this secret from you. In many ways I wished that it were not true, sought to prove myself wrong. Recent events, however, are merely the beginnings of a chain of events which will see the Imperium irrevocably changed, and for the worse.” Said Atlas.

He motioned towards Evonios, who handed him a small leather booklet. “Unfortunately many pieces of evidence have been destroyed over the years. Meticulously hunted down or eradicated to give way to a legend that has for centuries inspired the Imperium. Tell me brothers, what do you believe became of our predecessors, the Thunder Warriors and their Primarchs?”

“I assumed they perished by attrition.” Uriel shrugged dismissively.

“The legends say they were killed, wiped out to a man during the Unification of Terra, on Mount Ararat. A cataclysmic battle, if I understand correctly.” Sarov offered.

“A great tragedy, Ararat, but not merely for the loss of most of the Thunder Warriors. Stronger, more savage than our Astartes, they would have been ill-suited to our long crusade. The Emperor made them for one task, to unite a barbarous and feral Terra, for which they were quite suited. And when that task was complete, he had little need for them. In the long-term they would have simply served as an impediment, a rival to his new Astartes. So they were butchered to the man, or nearly, by the Custodes and, most likely, the first of our Astartes.” Continued Atlas, delicately pushing over a fragile page of his leather book.

“And the relevance of this… Ancient history?” Uriel asked impatiently. “A history lesson does not require such privacy.”

“We, both Primarchs and Astartes, are well suited to our task, the Great Crusade. But when our task ends Uriel, what then? Mortals from Terra now dictate the Imperium, the Emperor has retreated to his stronghold, the Imperial Army swells by the day, and now the much maligned Titus is Warmaster. Already the cracks show. Brothers, our Ararat approaches.”

Sarov let out a string of bitter Burzumi curses, shifting uncomfortably before he switching back to Low Gothic.

“I will not be ordered about by Skag’Puv, nor by an Emperor made Overseer, but are you sure of this Atlas? How would he accomplish this? I would not raise arms against either of you for such aims, you have my word bakna.”

“Near two centuries ago I spent some time on Terra after my discovery, and it was there I followed a trail which led me to the truth.” Replied Atlas, twirling the book around to show an ancient drawing of what appeared to be an underground gladiatorial arena. It showed a behemoth of a man facing a small group alone. “I came across an arena, where I watched a man of impossible strength fight against great odds. At the time I believed him to be an Astartes, or some kind of gene-warrior. Upon reporting this place to the Emperor and the Sigilite with some enthusiasm, I doomed it and likely its denizens.”

He flipped to another page, this one containing printed reports of the Cerberus Insurrection. “On the penal colony of Cerberus, the 7th Legion was sent to contain a particularly nasty riot. The records were later changed and censored, but I was able to gain the original. The 7th suffered heavy losses, fighting against abnormal prisoners. For each of these prisoners, it would take four to five Astartes just to bring them down. Only a Custodes has such strength, or…?” He asked rhetorically.

“Finally, I believe some Thunder Warriors still live. My agents have as of yet been unsuccessful in locating them, but rumours abound on regions of Terra of vast men, hiding in the shadows, ruling the ugly pits of Terra’s underbelly.” He handed the book back to Evonios, and received another in turn.

“This book is not of my writing, but that of a mortal.” He said, handing it to Uriel, and handing another, similar but not identical, to Sarov. “I have been told it is called the Lectitio Divinitatus, and that it asserts the divinity of the Emperor.”

“As does Angeline.” Uriel noted, slowly reading down the first page of the book. “She has not been censured for it, and cults of the Emperor are… Not uncommon among the Crusade fleets. What of it?”

“These cults are spreading, and spreading fast. It is my belief that the Imperial Truth stands only to remove all other gods and religions, and that once those of us who truly uphold it, the Astartes, have been removed, then the mortals will do what they always have done, worship he who is the most powerful. And I can think of only one.” Replied Atlas.

“Then why bother with the Imperial Truth at all, and not just… Use this ‘Lectitio Divinitatus’ and crush every other religion with his own and indoctrinate us with it?” Uriel shook his head. “It seems a rather complex scheme, brother, and I have my doubts on that, but…”

Uriel knew what he was; a warrior, not a general, or a strategist or a scholar like some of his siblings were. “Even so, even if you are wrong about all this, the Great Crusade has an ending. And I do not know what the place of myself and my sons will be after such an ending has happened.”

“I know it.” Said Atlas, giving Uriel a grim look. “Under ash and stone, on some forgotten world. His task complete, your final mission done. And a legend of a final great battle, between you and some xeno horde, erected to hide the ugly truth of your extermination.”

“Then, brothers, what is to be done?” Uriel asked, looking between Atlas and Sarov. “We may be Primarchs, but we are but three, to seventeen. We cannot hope to challenge them in open battle, even if I may wish to. And to attempt to recruit more allies risks everything.”

“We can fight them as we have fought our enemies for the past centuries. I would wager none of our brothers match our skill in brutal, decentralised warfare, and combined we number close to eight hundred thousand Astartes. Atlas is a match for many in strategy, and his worlds could serve as a base of operations. I have been shoring up defenses for some time now, in the event the Emperor would strike against me.” Sarov spoke, voice inflected with a measure of brash pride. “Let them try to beat us at our own game, I would welcome the challenge.”

“A war is not won by holing up in one’s strongholds.” Uriel shook his head fiercely. “Our strongholds will be besieged and destroyed one by one. Either we recruit more allies, from wherever they may be found, or we move like lightning. The abandonment of the Great Crusade by the VIIIth provides a pre-text to mass greater concentrations of our legions together. Such massed fleets can be turned against Terra itself, a quick and brutal strike to the heart. The conflict will be ended before our siblings even realise it has begun.”

“And what of those worlds who would resist us? I would have them burned, made to submit. We can smash aside any defenses Titus or Indrania throw against us, take what we need and move on. They, world and Primarch alike, will learn to stand against us is to invite brutal death. We can fight such a war better than any other.” Sarov said. He was more impassioned now, but not to the point of fervor. A plan was beginning to take shape in his mind.

“With the Emperor dead and Terra fallen, who will they rally around? Titus?” Uriel snorted in derision. “Our Warmaster has not the charisma or personality to do so. They will either fall in line behind us, or turn on each other. They can be picked off at our leisure. The hard part, that is taking Terra itself. Our enemy is our father, not our siblings.”

“Terra is one of the greatest hives in Human history, and that is where the Ghu-Vodnik excel. But that does raise a crucial point.” Sarov turned to look at Atlas. “None of this matters if the Emperor lives. So long as He lives, the Imperium as we know it survives. How will we kill him? What is your plan, Atlas? I know you would not present this to us without believing it could be done, both burning a path to Terra and killing the Emperor himself.”

Upon hearing that Evonios pulled out of a small case an object wrapped in soft silks. He unwrapped it, revealing a strange and alien sword, the hilt golden and the blade seemingly of flint. He passed it to Atlas.

“This strange weapon, of xeno origin, is capable of killing anything.” Said Atlas, cradling in his hands was to him a small dagger. “Speak a name to it, and it becomes hostile to said person at a molecular level. I believe that this shall be one part of slaying the Emperor.”

“But it is not the only part.” He continued. “The Emperor is immensely psychically powerful, and for that we shall need allies or a weapon that is capable of destroying his shield. I shall myself search for this power. The same creators of this blade spoke to me of a force, ‘Kaos’ they called it, that the Emperor sought to keep us blind to. I believe in it lies some sort of weakness, else like the Thunder Warriors he would not keep it hidden.”

“You shall continue following Titus’ orders for the time being, though I do not expect things to remain the same for long. As the tyranny from Terra escalates, more will join us. However I expect we shall have to commit great treason and treachery if we are to be successful, for there are those among our siblings who will not join us.” He passed the anathame back to Evonios, who shrouded it once more.

“For now you must use this campaign to purge your legions of those who would betray you, and thus humanity, in their misguided zeal for the Emperor. Most of these will be Terrans, who remember the days before your arrival. Evonios will command my legion while I am absent, and will be doing the same.” He ordered, hoping that they would understand the brutal necessity of what had to be done.

“The Terrans of my legion form most of what in other legions would be considered to be officers.” Uriel shook his head. “Eliminating them would be an impossible task, but their bonds to their brothers will keep them in line. They will not be a problem.”

“Those who would put the Emperor above their brothers were dealt with long ago, but I will ensure no trace remains.” Sarov replied.

“So be it, I will leave how you deal with your legions to you.” Atlas replied. “For all official purposes I will be here, but in reality I shall take a small detached force elsewhere. I trust you will be able to cover up any such discrepancies, both here and in the reports to Titus.”

“There is an entire legion to replace in the front line, I think the bare minimum of updates would be all I could give anyways.” Uriel said, rumbling with laughter. “I wish you luck on your hunt, brother. With luck, events will happen that make this easier than the task it seems to be currently.”

“If all else fails, better we die free and on our own terms, than as slaves buried in ash and lies.” Replied Atlas, returning a grin to Uriel’s infectious laughter.

“I would choose none better to die alongside. May our enemies quake before us.” Sarov said, grinning despite himself. “I will join you in doing what Eyrian could not. If that is acceptable, brother? It has been too long since we fought the same foes.”

“Your company would be welcome, brother.” Uriel said. “It has been quite a while since we have had a proper campaign alongside one another.”

Clapping Uriel on the back, Sarov nodded. “Then it is settled, I shall go and prepare my Dy-Vodnik for the coming assaults. Is there anything more we needed to immediately discuss, brothers?”

“Nothing of major importance.” Uriel said, the metal floor of the elevator clanging beneath him as he moved back over to the console. “Anything related to the larger campaign will need my own commanders present, given my legion’s nature. Atlas?”

“Yes, make those you trust aware of what is to come. When we strike, there must be no doubt left.” Atlas replied.

“And that has yet to be determined.” Uriel said. “But war is fickle, a chance will present itself sooner or later.”

[Imperialisium]

<<Incoming Ork forces!>>
<<Copy that squadron lead, moving into attack position>>
<<This is the 22nd Neftrian engaging!>>
<<Where are they going?>>
<<Ork forces have overrun the Jolghan Mountains!>>
<<VIII Legion forces had those Mountains covered?>>
<<Astartes breaking for orbit?!>>
<<Where are they going? Attempts at hail have failed.>>
<<Incoming Ork attack ships!>>
<<Hold the line!>>

Kalas Sector
823.000.M30
Moorn's World

The trench lines snaked out eight hundred meters from the city's walls. A city that only stood for a few years, colonists fresh from other worlds, as settlement had only been a decade old in the sector. Ever since the Triumph of Ullanor and the Greenskin menace had been routed across the stars. At least...so we thought. The Greenskins had been broken! Defeated! At least, until the 8th Legion upped and left. Army gossip was that they didn't answer hails or cries for help either. The bastards!

Crunching through the muck as heavy rains fell across the pockmarked landscape. The 22nd Neftrian Mechanized had held their ground around the city in support of the 1st Moorn's World Militia and the 32nd Neptunian Shock. The last in a cluster of systems known as the Moorn Deeps. Itself just a sub-sector in the overall Kalas Sector. Though he wasn't privy to the situation else where, if it was like Moorn's World, then it was suitably and rightfully fucked. Boots squelched in the gooey gray mud as water slushed seven inches deep about calves. Soldiers fighting over dry scraps of earth in their dug outs, hovels, and wooden bunkers. Whatever could be hastily built after the Greenskin fleet swept aside the naval taskforces trying to hold the space lanes. Allowing millions of Greenskins to swarm across the planet in a tide of green death.

*shrrrrrr*

"Incoming!" someone shouted and the troopers in the trench ducked as ork rockets fired in the distance in their hundreds. Striking earth, rampart, and beyond into the city. itself already half burnt. This was day eight of the siege.

"WAAAAGH!!" Came the tell tale cry as hulking forms began to surge through the gray mists ahead as the rain picked up. Troopers ran to their firing positions, las and stub gun's levelling, while somewhere behind a pair of mortars began plunking their ordinance into the incoming Greenskin ranks. Throwing up dirt, xenos blood, and the occasional greenskin body with each detonation. A sergeant smoking a cigarette of local tobacco, cheap shit that sunk worse than a hiver's socks, but as best as could be gathered. The Sergeant shouted as he leveled his lasgun, "Steady! Steady! FIRE!!"

Red bolts let loose into the gray morning mists. The wisps of perspiration flashing rouge as the Army troopers and militia unleashed all they had at the incoming Greenskin tide. A Dozen were scythed down. Then another, and thrice more. Yet, they still came with hoarse guttural roars of challenge. "Grenades!" came a shout down the line as troopers hurled grenades, sometimes entire bandoliers, at the incoming tide. The Green tide swept into the trenches amid the detonations and cries of Man and Alien.

Astropathic cries were flung into the warp from Moorn's World...just one of over twenty...as the worlds of the Kalas Sector burned in the rage of a vengeful alien species. Overwhelmed and under gunned.

The Vengeful Spirit
Strategium
875.000.M30

The Vengeful Spirit's Strategium was a large gallery like room. The floor plan laid out around a large oval depression which sat a round holo-lith. Large enough that at full projection capacity could fill much of the air space and allow individuals sitting in the raised, tiered, seats around the room above the tactical cogitators and crew command consoles a crisp view. Vasilisa had been standing near the holo-lith gazing at some scrolling data logs when Clausewitz had entered. The first to arrive and by far after Titus the brother she considered the most trustworthy. She turned, still in her purple power armor, with a small whine of servos.

"Clausewitz." A tint of sibling fondness laced her tone. Vasilisa clasped her hands behind her back quickly as her visage turned to the stony imperiousness Clausewitz knew was his older sister's business face. Angeline and then Creatrix arrived into the Strategium a short time later.

It was then that Vasilisa spoke, the fondness in her tone gone, "The Warmaster is most displeased. Three siblings, forces from four legions if you account the Azur Marines, and two months of stalled progress in a single city."

Vasilisa took a step forward the twinkling flicker of that golden-silver light that siblings whom had spent much time with Vasilisa knew what was simmering right below the surface of the eldest sibling. Hands still clasped as she meandered between her siblings as if tracing some invisible paradigm by her steps. "Now, I have seen the reason why, these Warp-Xenos are just as such. They will be such in official reports and explanation to ranking officers with the proper clearance. Now...,"

A tremor, the Primarchs would have felt it, even Creaetrix in all his bionics. A sense of wrongness. A sense of slowly creeping exhaustion and unsettlement. The light in the chamber dimming not by any normal means as the twinkling light in Vasilisa's eyes sparked. Something, like a black hole in the very room itself, slowly siphoning the life from their very souls. Causing a slowly encroaching pain and draining nausea as Vasilisa straightened her back and turned on her heels. The sensation passed as quickly as it had begun, the lights in the Primarch's eyes gone as she continued speaking, "...Need I remind you all the Imperial Truth is the ideals our Great Crusade. The Emperor tolerates some superstition but that has limits. Let it be clear that proselytization of any kind is forbidden. Should such activity continue unabated then I will be forced to take measures I personally find most...unsavory."

Vasilisa eyed all three of them evenly as she walked by them all to the Holo-lith. Circling it as she clapped her gauntlets together. The doors to the Strategium were flung open as various officers, Armada, Army, Mechanicum, and Astartes, filed into the cavernous chamber. Many took seats. Others stood. The Holo-lith blinked to life as Vasilisa depressed a quick sequence of runes.

Bringing forth a map of four star clusters, thirty-four individual star systems with most being binary or trinary, and labeled with green holo-lettering. KALAS SECTOR.

"The meat of the matter. Our sibling, Eyrian, has abandoned the Crusade for means that which the Warmaster is investigating personally. Several fronts have been stalled, set back, or delayed by this action. The Steel Men and Brazen Beasts have already flung themselves into the effort of plugging in such gaps and recovering a half dozen Compliance actions alone. But, those two legions cannot be everywhere and we are gathered in strength once we put this world to the sword." Vasilisa nodded to a Tech-Priest who began typing a sequence of commands. Various data feeds, astropathic transcripts, and situation reports popped up around the various star systems.

Vasilisa continued speaking, "The Kalas Sector, Ultima Segmentum, due Galactic South-East of us, was host to some of the fleeing remnants of Ullanor. Likely would have been purged by now if the 8th had not abandoned their campaign. Now, Warboss Urrlak Ghar, one of the surviving lieutenants to the Greenskin leadership at Ullanor has gained momentum. They have overrun twenty-seven systems and are present in all of them by now. Imperial casualties range between eighty and one hundred and sixty million both military and civilian. The 2202nd Fleet diverted to assist was ambushed in the Kalas System itself. Estimates range that forty of fifty ships are lost or unaccounted for given last astropathic transmission. We are to blunt and purge this threat to the Triumph of Ullanor. For already more remnants are flocking to Ghar's banner and his forces swell by the day."

[Aserais]

The Vengeful Spirit
Strategium
875.000.M30

Angeline held her tongue as her sister talked. Though technically the only one among her siblings who outranked another was Titus, Vasilisa was the first found--which gave her some level of clout over all of the Primarchs. At least, enough that Angeline took the admonishment for the priestesses of her religion preaching to the Iron Guard that wanted to listen. Which, to be fair to Angeline, was outside of her control--she wasn't the head of the Church on Ophelia VII, and while any of the Priestesses would have heeded her if she told them to stop, she had no reason to forbid it. And a few reasons to allow it.

Namely, that those who believed in her Father tended to stay alive longer than those who didn't when facing down the warp-xenos.

Still, there was no use trying to convince Vasilisa of this--nor her two brothers, one of whom had a god whom he was allowed to openly worship. So she allowed the remarks to go unchallenged for now. She was going to present her evidence at the war council that was to be held soon, and then she would have the opportunity to defend her beliefs openly. There, she would present the irrefutable proof one of the Remembrancers attached to her Legion had captured. The sight of the warp-xenos cowering before an Imperial Aquila and then dissipating as the guardsman rebuked it in the Emperor's name had reaffirmed all of her beliefs, and had done nothing but strengthen her resolve in them.

Still, she didn't appreciate the threat inherent in Vasilisa activating her abilities, causing the light around her head and in her eyes to flicker and dim. Not to mention the wound in her side that was already sapping her strength, but she would endure it. She always had, and always would--weakness was a death sentence for a leader, and doubly so for a Primarch.

Angeline leaned against the metal of the Strategium's main table as their sister told them about their brother simply abandoning the crusade, her face not betraying the deep ache in her ribs where that massive warp-xenos had rent her armor with its corrupted axe.

"Sister, it is unlike Eyrian to simply abandon the crusade. Something tells me that there is more to this than is apparent at first glance. The world we just came from was crawling with xenos hailing from the Immaterium. They lure us to this world, bog us down in it for two months, and at the same time somehow someone manipulates our brother's legion into abandoning the crusade. Titus, our warmaster, is forced to abandon us as well in order to investigate our brother's action. And then a massive military force, with Astartes in numbers that have not been seen since Ullanor, is called to deal with the splinter factions of the Waagh from that battle," Angeline thought out loud, trying to make sense of the events that had led up to this moment.

"I feel as though we are pieces being moved on a board, on a scale so grand that we can not see the players nor can we know the endgame," she said as she looked down at the data feeds and strategical maps, trying to see where the road they were on lead down. There was something here, some machinations of a higher intelligence, but Angeline couldn't quite see how the pieces fit together.

"At any rate, our numbers will be good for one thing. These Orks will not be as entrenched as the ones on Ullanor, and their roots will not be so deep that it will be as hard to rip them out," the Emperor's Angel postited, looking down at the intelligence reports that were visible on the display. "From what I can see, Moorn's World has yet to fall. If we can halt their advance there, the Orks should throw all their strength at us for the chance of a good fight. It will be easy enough to quarantine the world after they've devoted the bulk of their forces on-world, and then it'll just be a matter of closing the noose."

Angeline pointed to the world she was talking about, a new colony-world with only a few major settlements.

"Looks like three Auxilia groups are holding the line on that world. The question is, do we think they could hold long enough for our relief fleet to arrive? From what I could tell, my fleet is another 48 hours away from being fully functional again, and I hesitate to imagine the state that your fleet is in, Creatrix," she said, looking over to her mechanically-obsessed sibling.

[Ormata]

XX LEGION, VOID TYRANTS
PRIMARCH CREATRIX
HIVE WORLD FALLUJA ORBIT, SEGMENTUM OBSCURUM

As the transport shuddered and danced, vibrations coursing through the whole of the vessel even in defiance of the harness about her sole passenger, that same passenger considered everything in detail. The Primarch had, in a time of distress and necessity, effectively overstepped their bounds by ordering Tech-Priests as Creatrix would order Astartes. While the Forgefather was of the priesthood, with all the rights therein, it inherently placed the Primarch within that chain of command. And so Creatrix had completely overstepped those bounds by giving orders. It was a necessity, though, considering the alternative options. The Primarch could have given no orders and had chaos run rampant before the priesthood had decided on who, of those still alive, was of what rank and experience except that was simply too slow. Even by taking command Creatrix had been unable to join the battle before it was declared over by Vasilisa. The fact that there was an overstepping of bounds would come under the eye of the Mechanicum, especially when the knowledge that a non-deployed Magos Dominus had been killed by none other than the Primarch, in person. If the Pict-feeds were blanked, serious issues might have arisen but as it stood the matter was still exceptionally serious.

As it stood, overall the response from Mars was likely serious. Kelbor-Hal, the Fabricator General of the Mechanicum, had proved difficult and reluctant in the past and it was by Creatrix's understanding that many of Mars did not hold warm feelings for the Primarch. It would make sense that the Fabricator General also would not have any sympathy there, considering that he was elected. The fact that a Primarch of the Imperium ordered Priests of the Mechanicum would only amplify those dislikes, for in their eyes the Treaty of Olympia Mons was absolute and infallible, unable to be proven incorrect or too inflexible to adapt or apply to a situation. As such, what had occurred could not go without notice. Creatrix could not, however, anticipate what form of punishment Mars would decide to inflict. Their intentions could not be adequately predicted. It was likely that such a thing would revolve around

Another shake of the hull. Vasilisa had arrived, possibly bidden by one of the other Primarchs. She would likely be annoyed by their lack of progress, by the fact that some no name Hive World had resisted the efforts of three Legions. Something had happened on the planet, however, for an Exterminatus to be called by Vasilisa, for her to declare that the blood had been for nothing and that it was truly lost. Something had happened down below in the midst of all those battles. Perhaps they discovered the origin of that foul, malignant virus, that such a thing was of such unnatural creation that it all had to be destroyed. It hinted at something larger occurring, some other entity which was capable of producing devices or held enough knowledge in order to strike down man and machine with simple transmission. The fact that it took such a cruel hold of the priests could nearly be likened to the old possessions and superstitions, to demon and devil and black cats. Remarkably useless information and yet the overall fact that it correlated showed to the Primarch that something larger was there. The universe is exceptionally large, more than able to hide the true meaning of some of its rules, and it was entirely possible that there was something else. The Warp wasn't even a simple measure of folding space, holding its own secrets as it was, and they employed the Warp daily. The universe was vast and full of terror.

In the dark belly on the transport, Creatrix could see the light on his gauntlet come alive with a red glow, a sun that cast long shadows with its intensity. Communicating? It had been decided that Vox was acceptable at that time, so such a thing made sense. The danger of the malignant virus had come and gone for now. With a thought, the Primarch accepted and opened up comms.

++INCOMING TRANSMISSION++

++VERY WELL++

++I DUTIFULLY REPORT
+FILII VETUSTISSIMA DAMAGE REPORT IS AS FOLLOWS:
+EXTERNAL AUGUR ARRAYS OPERATIONAL
+PROPULSION SYSTEMS OPERATIONAL
+NAVIGATION SHIELDING OPERATIONAL
+HULL BREACH REPAIRS UNDERWAY. O2 LEVELS DROPPING ON OUTER DECKS. DEEMED NOT CRITICAL AT THIS TIME
+FLOODING REPORTED 8-260-35-B, BATTERY LOCKER. SOURCE: RUPTURED CHT PIPE, 2 INCHES. PIPE SECURED. DEWATERING UNDERWAY VIA VENTING. DEEMED NOT CRITICAL AT THIS TIME
+FLOODING REPORTED 03-500-02-S, STORAGE LOCKER. SOURCE: RUPTURED FIRE MAIN PIPE, 1 INCH. PIPE PATCH APPLIED. DEWATERING UNDERWAY VIA DECK DRAIN. DEEMED NOT CRITICAL AT THIS TIME
+CLASS B FIRE REPORTED 5-30-0-M, MAGAZINE. FIRE OUT BY VENTING O2. SPACE UNSAFE FOR ENTRY DUE TO DECK PLATE BUCKLING. REQUEST PERMISSION TO DE ENERGIZE GRAV PLATES IN SPACE TO INSPECT. DEEMED CRITICAL AT THIS TIME
+HOW COPY?++

On the whole, the flagship of the Twentieth had sustained some, but not major, damage. There was flooding, but that was to be expected; the pipes posed an easy target to destroy, especially for brute force servitors, and flooding was relatively easy to take care of. Those pipes which were not critical to the vessel’s operation could be temporarily secured and rerouted, while those which were critical could be patched and sealed up. It was a temporary measure that could be anything but; Creatrix had seen pipe patching last for years on low pressure systems. Fire Mains were another thing entirely, but the Primarch was assured that the patch would hold until a more permanent solution was applied. The magazine fire would have been extremely problematic and though it was put out a dangerous condition had been applied. Deck plating buckling could cause a complete magazine detonation in that area and, being so far forward, put a hole right through the warship’s defenses. It would have to be remedied. The easiest answer would be shoring, something that could be done in a short period of time.

++SOLID COPY
+PERMISSION GRANTED TO DE ENERGIZE GRAV PLATES
+COMMENCE VERTICAL SHORING AT 4-30-0 SPACES AND ALL ADJACENT AREAS++

++CONFIRM, VERTICAL SHORING TO COMMENCE FOLLOWING INSPECTION
+FELIX DAMAGE REPORT IS AS FOLLOWS:
+HOSTILE SERVITOR / TECH-PRIEST ELEMENTS ELIMINATED
+EXTERNAL AUGUR SYSTEMS OPERATIONAL
+PROPULSION SYSTEMS OPERATIONAL AT THREE FOURTHS STRENGTH
+HULL BREACHES ON ALL AFT ENGINEERING DECKS
+PLASMA FIRE REPORTED ON AFT ENGINEERING DECKS. HALIEX DEPLOYMENT UNDERWAY, 3 MINUTES
+HEAVY CASUALTIES. TECH-PRIEST COMPLIMENT INOPERABLE. THREE-SEVEN XX LEGION INOPERABLE, NINE-FIVE XX LEGION WOUNDED
+HOW COPY?++

The Felix had taken a beating. To Creatrix’s knowledge, maintenance performed aboard the vessel had been in progress when the virus had struck. Servitors went mad in the engineering spaces, detonating several charges and causing a near meltdown before the engineers eliminated the immediate threat. The self-detonations across the battleship had not helped matters at all. As a direct result, Creatrix deemed the vessel inoperable for combat conditions and could not be forced into such conditions without being completely destroyed. It would have to go into a shipyard period, at the very least to bring all systems online; having a fast battleship at only ¾ speed was not acceptable in the scheme of battle, especially when it was that speed Creatrix and the Chapter Masters relied upon.

++SOLID COPY
+DIRECT FELIX TO FALLUJA ORBITAL SHIPYARD FACILITIES FOR REPAIRS
+VENT ALL SPACES TO CONTROL SECONDARY FIRES
+VENT FUEL TO CONTROL AFT PLASMA FIRES WITH THE EXCEPTION OF FORWARD TANKS
+HOW COPY?++

++SOLID COPY
+FUSILIS DAMAGE REPORT IS AS FOLLOWS:
+UNRESPONSIVE TO HAILS. V LEGION BOARDING PARTIES REPORT HOSTILE SERVITOR / TECH-PRIEST ELEMENTS STILL ACTIVE
+V LEGION BOARDING PARTIES REPORT SICARIAN RUSTSTALKERS INFECTED AND ACTIVE
+REQUEST PERMISSION TO DEPLOY REINFORCEMENTS
+HOW COPY?++

They needed that vessel operational. With the Felix inoperable, at least one battleship had to be able to perform void operations. They needed it now, too, and the solution was simple: the application of brute force. Creatrix had no immediate battles, no wars that had to be fought in the moment itself, and as such could spare a few people. The Primarch set the deadline, too; pressure was good for the operations at play and frankly would determine their success or failure. Creatrix was quite sure that they would not fail, however, considering the numbers contemplated for that cleansing.

++SOLID COPY
+DEPLOY II, III CHAPTERS TO FUSILIS
+DEPLOY I, II, III FULGUR MANIPLES TO FUSILIS
+TIME TO CLEAR: SIX STANDARD HOURS
+FUSILIS OPERATION CRITICAL TO LEGION OPERATIONS
+HOW COPY?++

++SOLID COPY. DEPLOYMENT OF LEGION ASSETS TO COMMENCE IMMEDIATELY
+SOL FILIUS DEI DAMAGE REPORT IS AS FOLLOWS:
+HOSTILE SERVITOR / TECH-PRIEST ELEMENTS ELIMINATED
+MODERATE DAMAGE ON ALL DECKS. INSPECTIONS UNDERWAY. REPAIRS UNDERWAY
+LOW CASUALTIES. TECH-PRIEST COMPLIMENT INTACT. OH-THREE XX LEGION INOPERABLE. ONE-THREE XX LEGION WOUNDED
+HOW COPY?++

And on and on and on, every ship one by one, as they reported their conditions. The Tyrannus Inanis had no Vox at the time and had to resort to flashing light in the eldritch Morse code, though they had a good reason. With a reactor operating at a fraction of full and heavy damage to those decks, they were just trying not to detonate. The sad result was that the Tech-Priests had suffered heavy casualties while the Marines on that cruiser did not. As such, Creatrix had some doubts that the vessel could become combat ready in a short period of time, much less fully recover. That vessel was also ordered into the shipyards in order to restore her reactors and thereby make her combat worthy. The Sine Culpa had survived extremely well in contrast, that vessel suffering no dead and few wounded with light damage across her decks. At the time, they were mustering parties if landing Astartes was deemed necessary and as such were rather well prepared for the event. The frigates suffered similarly low amounts of damage and dead, their size allowing the troops aboard to breach and clear with few issues, if any. They were only hampered following that by a lack of personnel to bring systems online. The whole of the reports and orders took less than a minute.

As the transport continued on its way, Creatrix opened up in the mind’s eye what feeds were available to them. The Primarch, having never been on the ground, had need of all the information which might be found. The request to the Lightbringers was sent and allowed in mere breaths, though such a thing was to be expected when a Primarch requested for information pertinent to their operations. Combing through the feeds was a nauseating experience, one which Creatrix bore through with a stubbornness to be expected of that kin. Information was necessary, an ichor nothing else quite matched. Most of the pict-feeds were nothings among nothings, simple cleansings and screaming fanatics armed with little else than sharpened steel. They were bolstered by something, possibly that Blood God which the Magos had referenced. Others screamed the same prayers and exultations as they charged, screamed as long as mouths and lungs were whole which on average wasn’t all that long. Yet then the Machine found what was desired: the reason for the Exterminatus. There were creatures the like of which had never been seen, beings which resisted bolter and blade, which struck down Astartes like wheat under the scythe and broke Fellblades like simple toys. There were monsters, one which took the combined efforts of both Clausewitz and Angeline.

It was concerning.

Creatrix quickly boarded the Vengeful Spirit, following the Sun Angel to the Strategium. All of the others were there, waiting, hungry. Vasilisa was the first to speak, as to be expected.

"Clausewitz."

"The Warmaster is most displeased. Three siblings, forces from four legions if you account the Azur Marines, and two months of stalled progress in a single city."

"Now, I have seen the reason why, these Warp-Xenos are just as such. They will be such in official reports and explanation to ranking officers with the proper clearance. Now...,"

"...Need I remind you all the Imperial Truth is the ideals our Great Crusade. The Emperor tolerates some superstition but that has limits. Let it be clear that proselytization of any kind is forbidden. Should such activity continue unabated then I will be forced to take measures I personally find most...unsavory."

Creatrix felt it about the body, about the soul, about the being as warnings echoed in the helm. Mechadendrites shivered in instinctive vigor, in a preternatural desire to strike out and destroy whatever caused the pain and unnatural death, and only through Creatrix were these things silenced. The buzz of transonic razors would not reach the Strategium of Vasilisa, not those of the Primarch, and to do so was most certainly death for all present. The adamantium limbs prevented the Forgefather from falling, the armor preventing weakness in the posture, though a twitch in Creatrix’s neck betrayed that uncomfortability, that instinctual wish. Not much was said.

++THREAT ACKNOWLEDGED. THE OMNISSIAH PROTECTS++

"The meat of the matter. Our sibling, Eyrian, has abandoned the Crusade for means that which the Warmaster is investigating personally. Several fronts have been stalled, set back, or delayed by this action. The Steel Men and Brazen Beasts have already flung themselves into the effort of plugging in such gaps and recovering a half dozen Compliance actions alone. But, those two legions cannot be everywhere and we are gathered in strength once we put this world to the sword."

"The Kalas Sector, Ultima Segmentum, due Galactic South-East of us, was host to some of the fleeing remnants of Ullanor. Likely would have been purged by now if the 8th had not abandoned their campaign. Now, Warboss Urrlak Ghar, one of the surviving lieutenants to the Greenskin leadership at Ullanor has gained momentum. They have overrun twenty-seven systems and are present in all of them by now. Imperial casualties range between eighty and one hundred and sixty million both military and civilian. The 2202nd Fleet diverted to assist was ambushed in the Kalas System itself. Estimates range that forty of fifty ships are lost or unaccounted for given last astropathic transmission. We are to blunt and purge this threat to the Triumph of Ullanor. For already more remnants are flocking to Ghar's banner and his forces swell by the day."

Odd. It wasn’t the way of Eyrian to simply abandon what was in his purview. Something else was at play. It had to be. The Primarch of the Eighth was not a coward, much akin to the opposite, and such was his stubbornness that some dared consider Eyrian a foolish man. Creatrix was not one of them, though the action put distaste in the mouth and doubt in the soul. The Forgefather had considered Eyrian a tool that merely needed some measure of work, an item that could be improved, and yet it seemed that perhaps such a thing was only a mask. Before, the Eighth was one of the most honorable, though Eyrian did seem to have some trouble distinguishing human and xenos in regards to Creatrix. It was good, however, that Creatrix was not the only one to think this way as Angeline was the first to speak in response to these troubling events.

"Sister, it is unlike Eyrian to simply abandon the crusade. Something tells me that there is more to this than is apparent at first glance. The world we just came from was crawling with xenos hailing from the Immaterium. They lure us to this world, bog us down in it for two months, and at the same time somehow someone manipulates our brother's legion into abandoning the crusade. Titus, our warmaster, is forced to abandon us as well in order to investigate our brother's action. And then a massive military force, with Astartes in numbers that have not been seen since Ullanor, is called to deal with the splinter factions of the Waagh from that battle."

"I feel as though we are pieces being moved on a board, on a scale so grand that we can not see the players nor can we know the endgame."

"At any rate, our numbers will be good for one thing. These Orks will not be as entrenched as the ones on Ullanor, and their roots will not be so deep that it will be as hard to rip them out. From what I can see, Moorn's World has yet to fall. If we can halt their advance there, the Orks should throw all their strength at us for the chance of a good fight. It will be easy enough to quarantine the world after they've devoted the bulk of their forces on-world, and then it'll just be a matter of closing the noose."

"Looks like three Auxilia groups are holding the line on that world. The question is, do we think they could hold long enough for our relief fleet to arrive? From what I could tell, my fleet is another 48 hours away from being fully functional again, and I hesitate to imagine the state that your fleet is in, Creatrix.”.

++AGREED
+EYRIAN’S ACTIONS DO NOT FIT PERSONALITY PROFILE
+THERE IS A NEW ENEMY AT HAND
+THEIR ELIMINATION IS PARAMOUNT
+ORK INCURSION THREATENS VITAL ASSETS AT THIS IMMEDIATE TIME. THEIR DESTRUCTION IS THE IMMEDIATE CONCERN
+AT THIS TIME, FLEET ASSETS ARE DAMAGED. TWO CRUISERS REMAIN UNDAMAGED. ALL OTHER ASSETS UNABLE TO PERFORM COMBAT DUTIES AT THIS TIME. DAMAGE CONTROL IS ONGOING. REINFORCING FLEET ELEMENTS REQUIRED FOR IMMEDIATE COMBAT DEPLOYMENT
+DO YOU UNDERSTAND?++

[Lunas Legion]

Indrania Stratia Megasa
Vulkana Prima, Segmentum Obscurus, Halo Stars


Home. It meant many things to all of the Primarchs, but to Indrania, it would always be here on Vulkana. She had seen some of the other worlds in the Imperium, some of those they had conquered or peacefully brought into Compliance, but none could compare to the simple beauty of Vulkana Prima. Some were industrial hellscapes, some vast, endless oceans of crops waving gently in the wind, some grand gleaming cities with spires that brushed the clouds, but none would compare to the view from Indrania's Strategium.

Blue.

An ocean of blue stretching out to the horizon filled the view, the distant crash of waves echoing in the distance, the pale reds of sunset clashing with the ocean to form a deep purple where sea met sky. It was peaceful. Easy to forget that beyond that sky, uncounted billions fought and died according to the decisions she made here. Her desk was a wooden piece, with intricate carvings on the legs, more for form than function despite the surface being covered in vast lines of papers and reports, the desk spanning the full length of the window. Some of her siblings would have eschewed the luxury, but to Indrania, the soft padding of her chair and this room were more of a home than the chaos of the battlefield.

Unfortunately, just because something was home, that did not mean it had the potential to be any less chaotic than the battlefield could be.

"Thrakia, are these all related to the Sons?" Indrania called out, a note of despair in her voice as she looked over the vast swathe of paper in front of her.

"All of them, Lady Primarch." The stern-faced Thrakia nodded. Of all of the Golden Phalanx, she had been their leader for the vast stretch of time before they had found Indrania upon Xana II. She was a mentor to Indrania in many ways, and normally remained on Vulkana, commanding its Mora and advising her Primarch.

"How-" Indrania made a sound of despair as she looked out at the mass. "How does one Primarch cause such a mess? If what I read here is correct, the Sons may have abandoned every last warzone, expeditionary fleet and compliance action they were involved in without warning. What... Why? How? This... It could set the Great Crusade back a decade, if not more." Indrania paused, looking over the papers before snatching a sheaf of them up, flicking through. "Even with the Warmaster moving the Steel Men and the Brazen Beasts to fill the gap, the Brazen Beasts couldn't hold a defensive position if the Emperor told them to do so, and the Steel Men are already committed. Even with the free forces that I have listed here..." Indrania tapped another file. "Elements of the IIIrd, Vth, XIIth, XIIIth... It won't be enough to cover every theatre of war, and that's not counting the ships, planets and material lost during the time it will take. One expeditionary fleet has already reported near-destruction, I expect more reports to trickle in from secondary fleets over time."

"So what do you intend to do?" Thrakia asked bluntly.

"What would you do?" Indrania retorted. "The situation is by every metric a disaster. We don't have enough forces in a strategic reserve to cover all these gaps. I cannot magic an Astartes legion from nothing, Thrakia."

"Then we improvise. The 44th can be recalled in short order. One Mora. The garrisons here and on Xana II brings that total to three Mora. Archmagos Scoria is on world-"

"Scoria is busy with a new project, he will be unavailable for the foreseeable future." Indrania said curtly. "But the Lords of Xana have not failed us yet. Three Mora may not be many, but with proper support, the tides of war can be turned. Whatever other free Mora are available will be diverted to the area in crisis to arrive as soon as they can." Indrania sighed. "I suppose I must once more go unto the breach. Prepare the garrison here for transport, issue recall orders to the 44th and inform the Lords of Xana that the necessities of the Great Crusade requires that I temporarily take their honour guard into more active duties, and that whatever extra support they can offer would be most appreciated."

"It will be done, Lady Primarch." Thrakia said, turning to leave. "How was your brief campaign?"

"Interesting." Indrania said. "It was... Interesting." She didn't elaborate, and Thakia left at a quick pace to fulfil her orders. War did not wait for anyone, not even a Primarch.