False Gods: A Warhammer 30k Roleplay (IC/reboot)

[Krugmar]

Atlas Rising
The Betrayal at Taracanis

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Dagger Unsheathed

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Ilse lazily reclined into her chair, only half awake. Atlas had informed her that the rest of their fleet had taken care of the xeno fleet, that it would be unlikely they would meet even a small cruiser for defence. It didn’t make much sense to her, but then again nothing the xenos were doing here did. Taracanis was an insignificant world, the true prize was Port Maw.

“Oh, the weapon.” She muttered to herself, having forgotten it. Luckily Primarchs seemed to have eidetic memories, never missing a detail. Who knew how much she had forgotten? A lot of mistakes of a younger woman, thankfully. Did Atlas ever get sick of remembering everything, knowing so much?

“Captain, we’re translating into realspace.” Said Szina, standing next to her. Ilse merely grunted in response, content to let Szina have the honours of maneuvering their ship into position, and then watching the Astartes do their work.

“Look alive Captain.” Spoke Atlas, though his tone was soft and he wore a pleasant smile.

Ilse instantly shot up, adrenaline surging through her body at the sound of his voice. She had grown complacent, a fate that had seen many captains in the Imperium relegated to lesser duties, or passed over for promotions. “Sorry my Lord, no excuses my Lord.” She said.

“Atlas” He said to her, reminding her of the privilege he had given her some decades ago. The campaign through the Dhenian Reach had seen her acquire a battlefield promotion, through the untimely death of her predecessor, and had earned her the personal friendship of a Primarch. Their relationship had since been somewhat stormy, her a firm Terran with orthodox beliefs, and him, a Stirian-born renegade who enjoyed writing a book of rules for others to follow, and for him to break. Yet there was a mutual respect which had persisted, one that prevented her from looking for promotion, albeit really a retirement, back to Terra, and him from replacing her for somebody easier to work with.

“Indeed. We should be transl-” She started, though the warp beat her to it as it spat them out into realspace. Crew began shouting and sounding the alert, as something she’d been told was unlikely was a reality, a small cluster of xenos ships orbiting the planet.

For a second she swore she could almost see abject confusion on Atlas’ face, before his resolve instantly hardened. “Captain, signal to the fleet that we are entering combat. Destroy the xenos vessels, and continue with the plan.”

----

The Pride of Terra burst from realspace, surrounded by its small cluster of escorts. Lord Commander Mordak was a veteran of void warfare, although it was not his specialty; he was not of the Host of the Ether, after all, but to assault a planet often required the achievement of void superiority over the selected drop zones.

“Fourth Column form up on the Pride of Terra.” Mordak spat the order over the squadron-vox as data-feeds flickered to life, reporting a small cluster of unidentified xenos blips orbiting the planet. “Continue preparations for drop, flank speed, all hands to battle stations.”

There was no acknowledgement, for none was needed, the ships of the Fourth Column of the Host of Eagles forming into a wedge behind the venerable battleship as they sped through the void. Now there was nothing but to wait as he watched the engagement range tick down, hundreds of kilometers passing by in minutes.

“Lances.” Mordak said calmly, the front of the Pride of Terra lighting up in brilliant, stunning white for a second as the ship’s prow lance batteries fired, the powerful lasers streaking through the void and scoring a hit against the lead xeno craft’s void shields which flickered for a second, then died.

Mordak glared at the auspex, not quite believing what he was seeing. This was the threat that Atlas had so worried about? He was not one to underestimate the xenos, but… There would be an explanation, no doubt. Something he had missed.

The ships of the Star Swords ploughed onwards, the escorts still out of range and remaining in formation as the Pride of Terra kept its course, its ancient lance batteries flaring to life as they gradually closed in, softening up the enemy.

No, there would be an explanation. This would be a second line force, a garrison, ships left behind to make repairs. The full might of the enemy fleet would be elsewhere, waiting in ambush most likely. Mordak nodded to himself.

“The bridge is yours, Captain Crawne.” Mordak said, turning away from the auspex and looking to the command throne-bound captain, who’s head tilted in the barest hint of acknowledgement.
“I must prepare for the drop.”

----

The Brazen Beasts exited the void in typical haphazard fashion, the first cluster of ships to arrive not waiting for support, lunging ahead like bloodhounds seeking prey as other ships transited out of the warp behind them. They weren’t a force that was particularly skilled in warfare, not by the standards of Astartes at the very least.

The Rex Bestia exited the void nowhere near the middle of the chaos of the Brazen Beasts, and uncharacteristically, remained relatively still in the void, waiting for a cluster of other Brazen Beasts warships to gather around it like a swarm of ants before it slowly, ponderously, began to move into the system, bringing up the rear of the mass of Brazen Beasts ships moving into the system, the rare, speculative weapons shot being launched towards the ships arrayed around the planet as they closed, but none hit. Their ships weren’t geared up for such long range void combat, after all.

----

Past the ponderous Brazen Beasts shot the sleek ships of the Sons of Heaven, their refined arrow-like designs shooting past their slower cousins. Their ships were small but designed for speed and maneuverability and Athalaric was determined to prove their worth. He had been seized in the aftermath of Valenteran’s duel and confined to the bowels of the Honorious where he had thought he’d spend the rest of eternity. But rather abruptly he, Valenteran and a variety of other unfavourables had been released and placed in prominent positions for the legion’s upcoming campaign.

I will prove my innocence through victory. He told himself as their vanguard pulled far ahead of the main bulk of the fleet. It was a bold move but there were no signs of a fleet lying in wait according to his scanners and he had faith that the ships of the vanguard were fast enough to withdraw if such an ambush was sprung.

The enemy fleet was smaller than expected, but there was always the possibility that more were garrisoning Port Maw. Taracanis was always going to be a secondary target within the subsector, and any Xenos warlord facing down so many of the Emperor’s legions would probably find slightly better luck in not spreading their strength thinly over indefensible territory.

The enemy was an eclectic mix of ships. Here and there were massive but lightly armed traders that could do little but drift through the void, there were few proper warships, and Athalaric could swear there were even pleasure barges designed for a single noble to soar the blackness of space alone. The Sons mostly ignored the smaller ships, swarming over the large warships. Athalaric’s ship Heaven’s Wind flew beneath one with the Blades of Aitus, raking fire at the underbelly of the beast, as it desperately tried to turn. It was too late and the enemy collapsed in on itself, tearing apart and leaving debris to fly through the void.

Even despite the paltry nature of the enemy Altharic could not fail to notice the meagre amounts of firepower that met them. Were they simply too fast? Could the unrefined trackers of Xenos weaponry just not keep up? That could be true but he’d find it far more likely the enemy would just spray vast quantities of shots into the void, hoping one or two would hit if that was the case. And the ships seemed slower and more sluggish than similar models he’d seen. But then again with Xenos it was hard to tell, their minds more often than not did not work based upon logic, and trying to discern their patterns of thinking was a fool’s goal. Altharic resigned himself to the triumph of victory, easy as it was.

----

Belteshezzar felt an uncommon sense of superiority when they burst from the Warp into realspace, finding the Legion’s warships engaged in warfare. The superiority faded quickly and replaced with a growing ire. Ire towards Atlas and his poor planning. Ire towards his failure to properly scout ahead. The fleet they faced stood no chance against the Imperial fleet, but that was not the point. If it had been anything larger, then it could have spelt the end of the campaign before it even began.

“Vipers, adopt line formation.” he voxed fleet wide. The undecorated, darkened blue ships of the Vipers Astra lined and faced their broadsides towards the foe, Belteshezzar’s battle barge Primarch’s Pride, taking the centre. The lances fired in slowly and deliberately, missiles hitting what they lances couldn’t.

“Sar Mat Exemplar, the Xenos shan’t last long.” one of the bridge staff said aloud, his eyes remaining fixed to his monitor.

Belteshezzar groaned inwardly. “Indeed, now let us follow the would-be Warmaster into this folly”.

The Void battle above the besieged imperial world ended nearly as suddenly as it began. The entire imperial force emerging above the planet and moving to land and engage the Xeno ships.

Lucian stood aboard his shuttle, constantly being fed reports of the swiftly ending void battle outside his ships, already nearly half the enemy numbers had been destroyed and with the Unifying Sons ships coming into optimal distance the battle ended.

It cannot be said that the sons struck the decisive or most important blow, but it is without a doubt that they struck the last. Dozens of capital ships paired with the Flagship of the legion let loose their volleys and ended all resistance above orbit.

Now came time for the landing. Lucian trusted Atlas, he truly did. However something had been telling him that their was something wrong, some extra sense warning him to be weary. Lucian trusted Atlas but he trusted himself more. Only sixty thousand of the Unifying Sons would be dropping with the first wave, the rest remaining aboard ship as Lucian’s own tactical reserve.

“Let us begin my sons, the Xeno must be purged and the weapon secured in the name of the Emperor,” Lucian called over his Vox as the shuttle slipped out of the hanger, making its way to the surface below.

[Woodstovia]

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By Bolter and Blade

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Athalaric was the first Son of Heaven to grace the surface of Taracanis, his drop pod slamming into a ridge overlooking the Star Swords’ landing site. But there was nothing graceful to be said about this place. Winding mazes of trenches, redoubts, strong points, laagers of anti-aircraft batteries smouldered with dying flames. That there had been a battle here was in no doubt. And down towards the bottom ridge stood strange towers of crystal and stone, twisting towards the skies. Here had been the Imperium, and there the enemy. Their bodies still lay here as well. Here and there men had been torn completely in half, others looked like they had been partially devoured, or defecated upon. Athalaric saw but he did not feel, his emotions vanishing in the face of duty

Beyond the scars of war was a barren red wasteland. There was no vegetation or life, only sand and dirt. The Star Swords and Lord Commander Modrak had been given the honour of landing closest to their target and making the initial assault on a strange fortress which to Athalaric’s eye seemed a mixture of the crystalline Xenos structures and regular Imperial defences. Athalaric would ponder that later, as for now his objective was to secure the ridge and provide cover for the Star Swords’ landing zone and assault.

Initially things were simple. The Imperial defences were reoccupied, the Xenos structures had been completely abandoned and were torn down. A site to the south of flat land was entrenched to make way for the landings of vehicles and heavy weaponry. Through thick black clouds and unrelenting lightning the Sons of Heaven waited.

And then it came.

As Athalaric exited a bunker he realised he was no longer standing on a ridge. The entire hill had sunk deep into the earth and the ground to either side was rising higher and higher. The dismal reds flashed and flickered before his eyes, here blue, then green, then purple, flashing each colour in turn at random. Tornados of wind battered their fortifications before disappearing entirely, and torrential rain started and stopped between heartbeats. The world itself seemed to be coming to life. And it did not want them here.

At either side of their encampment now pink and blue blobs with rows of red eyes, and giant maws reamed with fangs extended wild and gangly limbs and in those hands appeared fires of pink and blue, and they were hurled at the Astartes. The fortifications which had seemed so solid now struggled, with the creatures firing downwards the trenches provided little cover, and heavy weaponry which had landed to the south was facing a precarious drop straight down a cliff if they tried to reinforce their comrades.

But they were Sons of Heaven, and when fire was returned it ripped straight through the Xenos. Row upon row of expert bolter fire was flying through the turged air, and Athalaric’s nose was filled with the sulfuric odour of thick xenos blood. He drew his bolt pistol and shot straight through the maw of a pink one which chittered even as it died. But it did not drop to the ground and spill its life essence into the sands, instead it simply was not there. In fact the entire mass of the enemy was difficult to predict. Every time Athalaric blinked the number changed, with every shot the Xenos simply disappeared or split into two, or then more appeared elsewhere . The trenches were filled with uncontrollable fires, which burned hotter than anything Athalaric had ever felt. They were holding, barely. But more and more seemed to be rising over the horizons.

Athalaric pressed his finger to his vox caster, and called for reinforcements to drop atop the newly made ridges but was met with an earful of static and more crazed chittering. The Xenos seemed to be talking to each other, and just never stopped. Their communications severed Athalaric gave a hand signal every Son of Heaven knew, and without a word they sprang from the trenches and began their charge.

----

The Stormbird rattled disturbingly as it descended, one of four in a square, a formation that was as familiar to Lord Commander Mordak as his own armour, a tactic refined in the crucible of hundreds of conflicts. Drop pods were, in his view, for specific situations, and given the lack of anti-air defences a brief auspex of the drop site had indicated, the quartet of ancient Stormbirds housed on the Wrath of Terra had led the assault.

There was a loud thunk as the ancient craft set down on the surface of Taracanis, each of the four craft having moved to one of the corners of the large xenos fortress complex that had been identified as the likely point at which the xenos were excavating the ancient weapon Atlas had been so worried about.

The Stormbird’s doors opened and the Star Swords charged out, bolters raised as they emerged onto the blasted surface of Taracanis. By the time Mordak emerged, a squad had established a semi-circle around the side-door, and he could see the faint forms of Thunderhawks descending, black specks in the sky carrying their contingent of armour descending.

“No sign of hostiles.” The Commander in charge of the squad embarked on his Stormbird reported as Mordak overlooked the fortress in front of him, the flickering haze of the Stormbird’s void shield between him and the fortress. It was imposing enough, strange white walls rising up from the sand and dust, completely smooth with a row of gun slits atop it.

No gunfire, though. Strange. An ambush, then.

“With me, Commander.” Mordak said, drawing his power sword, gesturing towards the fortress. “Let’s take this fortress.”

They didn’t meet any resistance as they moved around below the fortress wall, a series of abandoned trench lines ringing it, likewise empty but for the occasional pile of human corpses atop one another. It was… Eerie. He could hear bolter fire in the distance, a moldy yellow fog surrounding them in a ring, stopping them from seeing too far until they found the gate inside.

They formed into two columns of ten, the Commander leading one squad, Mordak the other as they moved cautiously through the gate, bolters raised. The courtyard inside was filled with a vast pit filling the middle, filled with the same putrid-looking fog. There was a strange building on the opposite side, the bare ferrocrete walls distinctly Imperial but even looking at it felt… Wrong.

Mordak waved with his power sword, gesturing for the other column of Star Swords to move around one edge of the pit, his own column slowly moving around the pit, warily watching as the noxious fog billowed around within, casting strange, eerie shadows over whatever lurked within.

Something moved in the pit. A brief flash of shadow, but the Star Swords didn’t hesitate, turning, bolters roaring as they unloaded into the pit.

Whip-like tentacles emerged from the fog, lashing out, slicing through power armour like it was nothing. Mordak didn’t flinch as the brother behind him dropped to the ground, a tentacle having sliced cleanly through him, defiantly unloading his bolt pistol into the depths.

More tentacles lashed out, one wrapping around a Star Sword and dragging him down into the pit even as he dropped his bolter and plunged his combat knife into the tentacle over and over again.

“Grenades!”

Mordak couldn’t see who’d shouted the order, but he sheathed his power sword, grabbing a krak grenade from where it was clamped to his greave and throwing it into the pit, a flash of light and a muffled explosion. More explosions followed as the survivors threw their own grenades into the pit, a mixture of frag and krak grenades.

The pit returned to placidity for a moment, the survivors watching it warily with their bolters as they moved around the pit, more Star Swords gradually trickling into the courtyard, a Contemptor Dreadnought surveying the area with its assault cannon.

The fog had faded from the pit, revealing an empty pit, the remains of excavation machines scattered around the edges, destroyed by the grenades, of whatever beast had made its home within there was no sign.

“Lord Commander.” The curt voice of Knight-Commander Eliphus caused Mordak to turn around, away from the pit as the Star Swords moved slowly around the fortress.

“Knight Commander.” Mordak said, the roar of Thunderhawk engines slowly becoming audible as the follow-up forces descended. “Report.”

“The 1st Battalion has landed and secured a perimeter to await any xenos counter-attacks.” Knight Commander Eliphus said. “Some resistance from unknown xenos, not the Mitu.”

“Not the Mitu, you say?” Mordak’s brow furrowed. The Mitu Conglomerate had been a menace to the Coronid Deeps when the Star Swords had conquered the region, and his officers would recognise them if they saw them. “Lord Atlas would not make a mistake on this matter. These must be allies.”

“As you say, Lord Commander.” Eliphus nodded. “With your permission, Lance Commander Varus has requested the honour of clearing the storehouse.”

“Granted. Inform him melee weapons only. Don’t need a stray bolter round setting off the weapon.” Mordak said, Eliphus nodding and jogging away as he turned, heading up a staircase to the top of the wall of the xenos fortress.

The fog yet remained in a ring around them, seemingly held at bay by the faint hazy dome of the overlapping void shields of the four Stormbirds. He could see squads of Star Swords moving below him, sweeping through the trench lines, while Thunderhawk Transporters landed their cargo of Predators or Land Raiders before swiftly returning to orbit, the landed tanks quickly moving to take up defensive positions against the inevitable xenos counter-attack.

There was no reason to defend this location so lightly, after all, although more defences could be waiting further in. The building had seemed small from the outside, perhaps two rooms, but it was entirely possible it led to a bunker complex underground, or perhaps a tunnel system, where they were storing the weapon and waiting in ambush.

A small group of Star Swords passed him as he stared out over their preparations, taking up a firing position atop the gatehouse, and he could see Lance Commander Varus massing his company on the far side of the pit, preparing to enter the storehouse.

Everything seemed to be proceeding as expected, which, in Mordak’s experience, meant something was about to go wrong.

----

Six Cohorts, sixty thousand astartes, hundreds and thousands of drop pods and drop ships. This is what the Unifying Sons brought to the surface of the besieged planet.

A full cohort landed in and around the command structure of the Xenos, the most likely place the weapon would be should it be at this drop zone. A full ten thousand astartes who immediately found themselves engrossed in combat.

Lucian had barely taken a step from his Stormbird when the command channel of his Legion filled with the sounds of battle. Shouted commands from each cohort as it moved out and attempted to seize its objective, the worst coming from the Cohort assigned to the command structure.

“Sire! Thousands of Xenos, they are fighting tooth and nail to keep this place, I think it is the place!” Princeps Erin Hufflia called over the Vox, the background noise of countless screams, both alien and human, combined with the endless chatter of bolters to fill the world with sound.

“Very well, do you require reinforcements?” Lucian said calmly, already tasking several companies of other cohorts to the location.

“Yes sire! They have numbers alone to overwhelm us, this place is a death trap. DIE YOU XENO SWINE!!” The Princeps called back.

“Very well, they are being tasked to you.” Lucian said before switching to another channel.

“Brother, Atlas, this is Lucian. My men have met fierce resistance at what is believed to be the location of the enemy. I am tasking a large portion of my sons and the Vipers to carry the day there and secure it. I believe we can forgo the second drop site, you were right I think.” Lucian said into the Vox, motioning with his hands towards a map that one of his men had quickly laid out. His hands moving several figures which represented friendly forces, his men moving to give orders as he moved them.

<<”Lucian, I read you. I have asked Raziel to deploy his Blades to the second drop site. They will assist you. We are picking up unexpected readings here, possible counter-attack by the main xenos fleet. Do not be alarmed if we go dark. You have full command of operations on the ground. Atlas out.>>

“Understood brother,” Lucian muttered to himself, knowing that Atlas could no longer hear him.

----

As the drop pods of the VIIIth Legion crashed violently to the ground, the sound that followed next was a struggle to be described. One hundred and twenty thousand Astartes in a chorus of unsuppressed rage, of an aggression unchecked. Among them was Belteshezzar, leading it as was his right as he acted with the authority of the Primarch.

They Vipers burst from their drop pods with bolter aimed and chain weapons roaring to life, the tide of blue armoured soldiers was a veritable tsunami against the rust red soil of the planet. But they charged without abandon, heading directly to the location of the enemy. Breaching a reach, Belteshezzar was the first to spot them, firing his bolter in the mass of red enemies that stood en masse. He let a frown form under his crested helm, the vile Mitu wielded only blades of dark metal. How this slaughter was to be a bore, to be denied a worthy foe.
He again felt ire grow, how had three Primarchs and their Legions failed to exterminate such a pitiful foe? More importantly, how had the Imperials that lived on this planet failed to fight them off? His mind began to turn as he began to think he risked underestimating the foe that stood against them, as pitiful as they appeared to be, Their gangly legs bent as all digitigrade creatures did, their torsos bent forwards as though their horned skulls weighed too much for their backs to carry.

“Third Bani, hold back, focus fire in their centre, I want Devastators along this ridge to give overwatch” he barked into the vox, a series of affirmation vox-clicks returned.

[Revlona]

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Not in Vain

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Captain Crawne sat motionless in his command throne aboard the Pride of Terra, the ancient battleship sitting firmly atop the Star Swords’ drop zone in orbit as a swarm of Thunderhawks, escorted by Xiphon interceptors, returned from the surface, their cargoes of Astartes and vehicles delivered.

Everything seemed to be going as planned, which, naturally, meant it all soon wouldn’t be. Crawne could feel it in his old bones. He was no Astartes, but he was nonetheless a veteran of enough campaigns not to doubt his instincts at a time like this.

“New fleet exiting the Warp, captain.” His auspex officer announced. “Numbers… Climbing rapidly.”

“Hold position.” Crawne declared. “If this is the xenos, let the others deal with them. Our duty is to our Lord Commander, no one else.”

The Star Swords fleet remained motionless, sitting protectively over the drop zone, even as doom approached in the form of the Crimson Tyrant and its accompanying escorts.

----

Uriel Febua paced across the bridge of the Rex Bestia impatiently. The Brazen Beasts were not used to waiting for orders, and nor was he. He could feel the pounding in the back of his head, the desire to roar the order out to open fire. He could see the restlessness on the crew, the twitching hands, the slight movements as muscles tensed and untensed, waiting eagerly.

There was no semblance of organisation among their ships as they moved seemingly at random, their commanders picking their chosen prey for boarding as their ships moved in and around the ships of the other legions, moving in between the gaps, other ships remaining at a distance, the Rex Bestia among those forming an outer defensive ring, accompanied by the Crimson Tyrant and its escort group. A band of Brazen Beasts that’d served as the Rex Bestia’s boarding contingent, clad in terminator armour, had been sent over by Thunderhawk to ensure the loyalty of the ship’s commander. A simple precaution, although given the ship had followed out of loyalty to Atlas personally, whether it would be needed was doubtful.

He didn’t give an order, didn’t hear one over the vox, but given how packed the orbit of Taracanis was with ships he could see the bright flash as clear as day, a macrocannon broadside from one ship into another. A captain with a twitchy crew, perhaps, or a weapons officer mishearing an order. A simple mistake, a spark tossed into a primed tinder box.

“Fire.” Uriel ordered, and the Rex Bestia obeyed.

----

The Crimson Tyrant fired without mercy, its powerful broadside obliterating one of the Pride of Terra in a single stroke, the ship simply vanishing off the auspex.

Captain Crawne was a veteran of decades of the Great Crusade, and with the glory-hunting Star Swords no less. He was not someone that was easily phased, and yet as a second auspex blip vanished from the screen, another escort torn to shreds, all he could do was stare in a shocked and unresponsive silence.

“Hail the Crimson Tyrant, order them to cease fire!” He bellowed out.

“No response.” His comms officer said a few seconds later as a third escort was destroyed, the rest scattering away as the Crimson Tyrant’s own escorts broke off in pursuit, the Star Swords escorts reluctantly turning to give battle in a fight they hadn’t been prepared for.

“Then we do what we must.” Captain Crawne said grimly as the Pride of Terra’s void shields flickered under the first barrage from the Crimson Tyrant. He could see the signatures of combat on the auspex, marking this as not an isolated incident but happening across the fleet all at once.

“Return fire.”

The Pride of Terra’s batteries roared defiantly back at the Crimson Tyrant, void shields crackling under the fire as the two ancient ships duelled, but Captain Crawne knew what the outcome would be. His escorts had fled and would be picked off, so it was only a matter of time until the ship was torn apart, either by the Crimson Tyrant or its returning escorts.

All they could do was to try and make the loss as painful for the traitors as they could in orbit, and warn those on the ground. The stream of Thunderhawks that had returned to the Pride of Terra launched one by one, without cargo, heading to the surface to warn their brothers even as interceptors launched from the Crimson Tyrant to intercept them.

----

Captain-Exemplar Sussanah Toussant looked around her as all hell broke loose. Her mouth open in a silent o as their allies fired upon them, yes that’s right, their allies were firing upon them. She blinked once, twice, but not a third time, she was not the only mortal bestowed the title Exemplar by Lucian’s own hand for no reason.

“All ships return fire! I say again return fire!” She cried out, both to her crew which was staring at her and into the Vox.

“Get me my Lord Lucian! Some type of treason or Xeno trick is taking place and he needs to know!!” She said, watching as a Strike Cruiser of the legion was split in two by three lances from once friendly ships.

----

“...My...looorddd...myyy...looorrrdddd….treeeaaaaassssssooooon….vooiiiiiidddddd…...betrayed...we have been bet…..what are your…..my lord?” The Vox said to Lucian as he looked into the sky above him which flashed with the obvious signs of void warfare.

“No...this cannot be.” Lucian said, his mind immediately finding the correct answer and discarding it hopefully in favor of others.

“Brother! Come in! Atlas can you read me!? What is happening!? My ships are being fired upon in orbit!? What is happening!?” Lucian called into the mic, anger and confusion muddling his voice.

<<Atlas here, I read you. The Xenos fleet has returned, tailed by my fleet. We have the situation under control, but some friendly fire occurred as some ships had repositioned without authorisation. Keep your focus on the ground, I’ll get the Xenos up here and then send the second wave. Atlas out.>>

Lucian narrowed his eyes as he heard the words, such a thing happening was bad. And even worse to allow friendly fire to occur, but if Atlas said that things were under con…

“Sigma...siigggmmma...dellttaaaa….delta...alphaaa...bravo...Charlie...sigmaaaa” The Vox from his fleet said to him, Lucians eyes widening in response to the words being said. The words being his legions own codes, the one being said now stating an immediate need for an uninterrupted channel with the possibility of jamming or enemies listening in.

“George, Alpha, Sigma, Sigma, Bravo, Zulu,” Lucian said immediately, signalling that whoever was sending the message could go ahead.

“This is….Exeeemplar….Tooouusssant...betrayed…...Steel meeeeennnnnn firing….on us...not friendly…..heaavvvy casualties….intercepted orde…...virus...boooomm…..oooovvvvveeeerr” Toussant said.

Lucians eyes narrowed and his heart hardened, his mind taking over as it confirmed the code the Captain had spoke 27 more times in a flash of a second. It then found the scenario which it had shoved aside earlier and forced acceptance of it upon his heart and soul.

“Lucian to all Imperial forces. We have been betrayed, currently the ships of the Steel Men and others are firing upon our own in void. I have intercepted a message mentioning virus bombs, seek shelter. Underground facilities have been noted before the invasion, all units are to immediately move from their current objective to finding safety, may the emperor protect,” Lucian said, struggling to keep his emotions in check to allow himself to stay emotionless throughout his orders.

When he had finished speaking he set the message up to continue on repeat and then left his stormbird, his singulares running and killing besides him as they searched for cover.

“Captain Toussant, retreat to the homeworld, you must bring news of this to the Galaxy,” he said into his Vox, boosting its power so as to allow it to carry through to the ships above.

----

“All ships this is Captain-Exemplar Toussant, by the Primarchs own words retreat, I say again, retreat.” She said.

The bulk of the Sons fleet turned away and began to charge away from the enemy, making to the edge of the system and the safety of the warp. They were not going to make the Primach’s sacrifice be in vain, they would not.

It was the first time in nearly thirty years the captain had cried, silent tears flowing down her face as she issued the orders. Her own crewmen weeping at their stations as they carried the orders out. Lucian was beloved by all who served under him and they knew that he had just signed his own death warrant.

“In the Emperor's name, we will not waste this chance, Lucian will not be in vain,” She said over the Vox. Almost feeling the ships accelerate and shields harden as the will of the entire armada bent towards escaping, she knew it was not real, but she could almost believe it.

----

Sar Mat Karus had initially been annoyed he had been passed over to fight on the surface, instead relegated to the unenviable position of shipmaster, overseeing fleet formations and maneuvering to provide orbital support whenever necessary. It was wholly embarrassing and far beneath his honour as an Astartes. But he had bitten his tongue when Belteshezzar had given him his role, he imagined the grim stare he’d receive if he had mentioned such a thing. He shuddered, Belteshezzar’s weak voice still sent uncomfortable tingles up his spine.

His eyes drifted from the planet to the monitors that sat before him, arousing his curiosity. He saw Brazen Beasts moving their ships, but that didn’t surprise him. They were barely restrained dogs begging to be let loose, so the concept of them reining themselves it wasn’t at all shocking. But then he saw the Sons of Heaven begin to move in a fashion that defied logical or tactical sense. Was it attempting to one up the Beasts? He doubted it, the Sons had contempt for just about every Legion that wasn’t theirs, so that wouldn’t make sense. Were they moving to keep them in line? His eyes looked back to the monitor and resolved that wasn’t the case, far too apart and the Beasts dwarfed the Sons, no way they could hope to block them.

His eyes scanned the ancient monitor as displays read, the bustle of the bridge fell into the background. There was something bizarre about their arrayment, they were almost perfectly in line with firing arcs. His eyes looked up towards the void and saw the distant specks of the grossly over designed vessels and the scrap hulks of the Beasts. He thought he saw some bright lights along their lines, but couldn’t tell for sure, perhaps it was an emergency.

<<Sons of Heaven, this is Primarch’s Pride, is everything alright on your vessels? You’ve broken formation considerably, is it some Xenos interference?>>

He sent the vox through, eyes trained at their vessels across the freezing cold void. Something was off. He looked back to the monitor, flicking between different readings until he found one that really bit at him. The silence from the Sons and Beasts was deafening as he read an increase in energy and thermal exhausts, almost as if they were firing. He went to send another vox message, but a brilliant flash froze his hand in place.

They were firing on their own vessels. His eyes widened. His skin crawled. This was impossible, had they lost their minds? He keyed a vox for Atlas, informing him of the Sons and Beasts treachery, but again the silence remained. He tried again, but the silence refused to be abated. He felt the slow thud of his secondary heart kick in as what was happening dawned on him. Had they gone insane?

“Shipmaster, energy spikes detected!” a voice cried out, panic seeping into their voice. Karus looked back into the void and saw it, a blinding light that only grew and grew as it came closer.

“Evasive maneuvers, void shields to maximum, have the fleet show these traitors our broadside, I want them dead!” he ordered, the sound of the bridge came crashing back to him. Feet slamming against its metal floor, the flickering of switches and buttons as people react to orders as quickly as they could, he could sense the panic and confusion that laced this room. He could taste it.

He felt the pressure pound against him as the gravity compensators struggled to keep up with the demands his had placed on this ancient ship, yet his void shields erupted in a wave of light as the energy lances crashed against them, stop short of blinding him as the view port struggled to compensate for the influx of bright light.

----

The Dauntless-class Light Cruiser Nigrum Vulpes and her companion vessels drifted out-system on minimal power as they ran silent. On the ship’s bridge, High Captain Demoph Decius of the Void Reavers paced uneasily as turmoil raged in his mind. After the meeting at Acre, Lord Atlas had unexpectedly contacted Decius to issue some special orders. It was those orders that were playing heavily on Decius’ mind, orders that he’d never expected to have ever received.

There was no doubting the fact that Lord Atlas had gone mad, why else would’ve he issued those orders?

An ancient Terran phrase ’Get out whilst the going’s good’ came to Decius’ mind and it seemed the most prudent thing to do in the circumstances. However, Decius knew he couldn’t just leave least Lord Atlas’ sights fell upon him next. Some sort of excuse was going to be needed, something that Lord Atlas couldn’t simply dismiss.

An idea suddenly struck Decius.

“Attention all hands.” He called, prompting the bridge crew to turn and look at him. “My next few orders will seem bizarre, but there is method in the madness.”

“Gunnery, standby to fire half dozen volleys of short-fuse munitions.” Decius ordered. “Helm, set course to the Mandeville Point and begin preparations for a transition to warpspace. Ensure the rest of the flotilla does the same.”

“Master of the Vox, transmit a message stating that we’re under attack by xenos craft believed to be Aeldari in origin.” Continued Decius. “Once we’ve safely transitioned see to it that an astropathic communique is sent out ordering our various warbands to muster in the Goth system.”

Decius had encountered the Aeldari before and knew first-hand just how tricksy they were, their ships barely registering as sensor ghosts on the augur array and thus nigh impossible to detect at long range. By firing munitions set on a short fuse to then detonate would, at least, give the impression of a battle and hopefully not arouse Lord Atlas’ suspicions. The flare of a warp transition could easily be seen as the violent destruction of a ship, thus give off the impression that Decius’ flotilla came off as the losers in the mock battle.

It was Decius’ hope that the ploy would work long enough for him to put some considerable distance between him and Lord Atlas. But then there was the question of where exactly to go?

----

Agrippo furrowed his brow, asking the crewmate to repeat the vox transmission. Aeldari, here? Impossible. There were no Craftworlds in the area, and nor did the other kind of Knife-Ears attack unless they had supreme advantage, which given the massive amount of Imperial ships gathered in one place, they did not.

<<Captain Decius, this is Agrippo of the Paphian Queen, if what you say is true I can spare a few ships to your position to scare off the Aeldari. Regardless your ships should not be massed, follow your orders and keep the blockade, do not let any of the traitor ships escape. Agrippo out.>>

----

The Vox barked almost unreadably on the bridge of the Primarch’s Pride, Karus had to exert every ounce of his influence to bring the bridge into a semblance of orders. The static of the vox drilled unceasingly into his ear yet he couldn’t have it turned off, in case even the weakest of messages managed to break through. In the hour they’d been fighting, the Vipers fleet had taken a serious battering, its size was the only strength available to them, but even that paled in comparison to the arrayed might of the three legions that had been brought to bear against them. It frustrated him that he faced three full Legions while only a third of his Legion fell under his command.

He had tried to contact the surface, but the traitors jammed any communication, so he had no picture of what was going on down there, but he assumed it was a similar tale as to what was happening here. He gritted his teeth, suddenly being the shipmaster wasn’t nearly as bad as he had previously thought it was.

“Shipmaster, a new ship emerges from the Warp!” one of the crewmen yell over the noise “Identification is unknown at this moment!”. In a glance Karus could see the giant thing burst into view. Even at this distance, he could hardly comprehend its sheer size. His question died in his mouth as its batteries opened up and obliterated a strike cruiser that had gotten separated from the Viper pack, it’s death a mere blip of light that faded in an instant. The sound of the Unstoppable Fury dying cried through the vox, the clearest message they’d gotten in the entire battle. He saw his cannons and batteries risked overheating from the incessant violence they found themselves in. He knew they stood little chance, but he had an idea.

“Vipers, form upon the Primarch’s Pride, no Viper vessel leaves this system. We hold the line and allow our allies to escape. We Endure!” he ordered fleet-wide, the Viper vessels left their resting position and boosted forwards, batteries and cannons firing at whatever target lay against them, void shields crackling for the impact of enemy ordnance.

----

“Sons of Lucian, make for the warp, do not allow the Vipers interference to be in vain!” Called the Captain-Exemplar. Watching as one of the Battlebarges took several lances to the mid section of the ship and collapsed into multiple sections.

“Captain we are almost there!” Called the Navigation officer.

“Shields are starting to fail captain! We have lost several dozen destroyers and lesser vessels that were running interference, our Strike cruisers are about to be out!” Called in XO, running from station to station to give updates.

“Incoming missiles!” Called a weapons officer.

“Intercept them!” Called out another officer, sweat gleaming upon their brows as they issued orders, watching them take place.

“Success, they’ve been intercepted!” Another called.

“Warp translation in 3...2...1...now!” The Navigation officer said and the bridge officers all watch as the Indomitable Son and the rest of the fleeing fleet that had made it translated from the treasonous void above the planet and into the relative safety of the Warp.

[Audunia]

---

Cry “Havoc!”

---

She could not believe her eyes. One moment she was reading through reports from the surface, as ships maneuvered about in the distance. She had ignored the Brazen Beasts and Sons of Heaven changing their positions in a seemingly random fashion. Lancarius and Uriel may well have been trying to outdo each other.

The sudden arrival of the Steel Men fleet, their ships which had been sent off prior to engaging the xenos, was not something she could ignore. They made a beeline for their position, but did not hail them nor did they send any kind of message. They moved into a rhythm with the ships of the Sons of Heaven and Brazen Beasts.

Then confusion turned to horror as the aforementioned fleets began to open fire upon the unsuspecting ships of the Twilight’s Blade, Unifying Sons, Knights of the Void, and Vipers Astra. Her own ship then also began to fire, without her permission or leave. The crew ignored her, while her First Mate seemingly headed the mutiny, directing them in their treason.

All she could do was request Atlas’ immediate presence, and was surprised when none of the crew stopped her. Surely he would put a stop to their madness. Was this Uriel’s doing? It felt like something that mad dog would do. But why were so many others going along with it

“You requested my presence at the bridge, captain?” Said Atlas, his eyes upon the carnage unfolding before them, his face betraying no emotion or response.

“Chaos my Lord, absolute chaos. Elements of our fleet are firing upon each other, and now mutiny. My crew is refusing to hail the other ships.” Said Ilse, her hand upon her blaster, ready to begin firing upon the traitorous scum at his command.

“There is no mutiny. I sent further orders. Relay them to the crew.” Replied Atlas. Ilse gave him a confused look and observed her hololithic pad, quickly scanning through orders to load the Life-Eater Virus and fire it at positions she could have sworn were where their forces had landed. She put that aside for a moment, returning to the issue at hand.

“But what is going on? Why is our fleet firing upon itself?” Asked Ilse, feeling a tinge of fear ripple down her spine. In all her years of service she had never been this lost, never felt completely out of control of a situation.

“Forget that. Now, give the order to fire the payloads.” Said Atlas. He was ignoring her. Why? His own crew was mutinying, his fleet firing upon itself, and all he could think about was firing upon his own troops? Was there something larger going on, xenos infiltration of their fleet, but of the Brazen Beasts as well? Nothing was adding up.

“Payloads? I don’t understand, our forces are still down there. Do you want me to tell them to withdraw?” Asked Ilse, abjectly confused as to the order she had been given. Atlas was not one for mistakes, but perhaps the outburst by that Vipers Astra Astartes had given him leave to rethink parts of his plan, and perhaps make a very human mistake? That had to be it.

“No, they are what we are aiming for.” Said Atlas bluntly.

Ilse let out a laugh, one partly of pure shock, was this a jest? It was unlike him to joke to her during the opening stages of a campaign, especially one so great as this. “I don’t understand. Do you want me to tell them to withdraw?”

Atlas gave her a look of pity, one which told her a great deal had been kept from her. She had not acted upon her hunch, the creeping suspicion that treason was growing within the crew, but only now did she realise its source. She felt empty to the core, purpose and resolve draining from her, though she felt somewhat vindicated. Whatever happened, no matter what, nothing she could have done would have changed what would happen now. In this galaxy moved by demigods, she was a mere mortal. But that wouldn’t prevent her from taking action, perhaps the most meaningful action of her life. Her last action.

“I won’t do it. I don’t know why you intend to do this, and I don’t want to know. I am your captain, yes, but I am a Terran, an Imperial, and a faithful servant of the Emperor first.” She said defiantly, though she could feel herself shaking. It was taking everything she had to remain standing, and she dared not look him in the face too long lest her resolve give out.

“I know Ilse, I know.” Said Atlas, in a voice that almost seemed pained. His face was steady and calm, but she could see in his eyes horror, horror at what he knew, horror at what was doing. Horror at what this would make him become.

She looked around the room and saw the crew staring at her, those that were not continuing with their duties anyway. Was she the only person on the ship who did not know? Any rebellion now would be meaningless. Defiance, for Terra, for the Emperor, was now her duty. And duty was its own reward.

“I appreciate everything you have done Ilse, I wish you had chosen differently. I would have had you come with us all the way to Terra.” Atlas said, softly kissing her forehead. Her shaking slowly subsided as she closed her eyes and uttered under her breath her oath of command. She felt Atlas’s fingers wrap around her neck, and opened her eyes to see his eye shed a single, faint tear. “You will not be forgotten.” He said, before the swiftest click of his hand snapped her neck.

He watched the life leave her eyes in almost an instant, staring into the dull Terran globes for several seconds as he struggled to contain his emotions. Several deckhands moved up, and he released her body into her care, watching it be shrouded in a flag emblazoned with the Baleful Eye. He noted that later they would need to find one with the Imperial symbol, one far more befitting her sacrifice.

“Captain Szina, you have the chair.” He said, watching as the Stirian took the place of her recent predecessor, taking note of her satisfaction.

She took one quick look around the room, enjoying her new position, before uttering the word that would damn them all.

“Fire.”

----

Mordak looked up at the specks in the sky in confusion. He’d tried to vox them with the Stormbird’s voxes acting as a relay, but apparently they couldn’t get through. Jamming, poor atmospheric conditions, it was impossible to tell. Was it already over? Had another group found the weapon which Atlas so feared, and the Thunderhawks were coming to return them?

It was a strange situation. He was joined atop the walls by the blood-splattered figure of a legionary, his armour scratched and dented, his power axe painted red.

“Acting Lance Commander Syrus reporting, Lord Commander.” Brother Syrus said, resting his axe’s head on the floor. “Eighty-five Astartes dead, eleven wounded. Zone Mortalis conditions against unidentified xenos that seemed to teleport and melt out of the walls. No sign of the weapon in the cave system.”

“Take your survivors into one squad and consider yourself promoted, Lance Commander.” Mordak said, watching the closing Thunderhawks, the roar of the engines distant. “The xenos must have moved the weapon elsewhere, I’ll inform Lord Atlas-”

“This is Raptorus Rex-” The vox-caster barked. “Betrayal- Orbit- Bomb-” The vox cut out as an explosion bloomed overhead, smaller, faster dots cutting past it, interceptors presumably.

“All units, this is Lord Commander Mordak. Seal armour and seek shelter, a xenos fleet has breached orbit and intends to bombard our location with a bioweapon.” A lie, but more believable than the truth. He turned, sprinting down from the walls as the Star Swords ran for shelter wherever they could find it, those in the trench lines crowding into underground bunkers, sealing them as best as they could while Mordak and those in the fortress ran for the storehouse, hoping that the formerly xenos infested-bunkers and caves beneath would offer some shelter.

At the very least, they had the void shields of the Stormbirds to help them weather the coming storm. It was more than could be said for their comrades.

----

Athalaric sheathed his mighty two-handed blade, still covered in the foul xenos blood. The enemies they had been facing had been deadly at a range but up close they were weak and poorly coordinated Athalaric and Valenteran’s swords had sliced through them with ease, the two warriors fighting side by side.

Some Sons of Heaven remained on the ridges, guarding against any further attacks but as suddenly as they had risen the hills flattened and the bulk of the force began reoccupying the defensive systems they had abandoned.

And then it happened. A vast howl from orbit filled the sky and bombs began dropping.

Some had reached the safety of the bunkers, but many more had not. Warriors fell to their knees as the virus penetrated their armoured bodies, deadly corrosive agents laced into the viral structure of the weapons dissolving exposed pipes and armour joints, or finding their way inside through battle damage.

Astartes screamed. The sound was all the more shocking for its very existence rather than for the horror of its tone. The virus broke down cellular bonds at the molecular level and its victims literally dissolved into a soup of rancid meat within minutes of exposure, leaving little but sloshing suits of rotted armour. Even many of those who reached the safety of the sealed bunkers died in agony as they shut the doors only to find they had brought the lethal virus inside with them.

Athalaric had been sealed safely inside the largest bunker with valenteran and his most veteran forces. The screaming of endless waves of bombardment left him stunned. He could only watch. His brothers outside were wiped out within seconds. But the bombardment continued. Minute after minute. Athalaric could only close his eyes and hope he would not be next.

Eventually silence fell over the battlefield, and then another howl, and then the fire. A lance from the Star of the Waning Summer carved through the atmosphere and with a dull woosh set the virus alight, and a raging firestorm spread over the entire surface of Taracanis. In a second, the air itself caught light, ripping across the landscape in a howling maelstrom of fire and noise. What little life was left on Taracanis was obliterated within seconds. Structures collapsed and turned to ash. Those Astartes who by some miracle had survived the virus were set aflame and disintegrated. In other cases bunkers collapsed, dooming all those inside.

A deep sinking feeling filled Altharic as he realised what had happened. The bunkers reopened when the fire burned itself out, consuming the vitus with it. Those Sons of Heaven who remained picked their way out, and stared at the ash which had once been their brothers. Athalaric’s body moved forwards but inside he was already dead.

And then came another howl and drop pods filled the sky. They landed within the midst of the fortifications, smashing straight through trenches and gun emplacements. And out came his brothers. Bolters flashed on both sides and Purple warriors tumbled into the red sands, painting it with their blood. Athalaric thrust his sword through the chest of someone he had once known, but now his mind could not focus.

Until that is a howl rang across the air. A marine in purple, its face twisted into that of a snarling dog, its hand a mass of razor sharp whips was upon them.

“Julius.”

Its jaws ripped into Valenteran’s neck and feasted upon the warm flesh of its kin. Athalaric could not feel the bolts which ripped through his armour, and for that he was thankful. His head exploded into an eruption of gore and viscera and the darkness consumed him.

----

The storm had passed them as Lord Commander Mordak emerged out of the charnel house of a bunker. The void shields still glowed faintly above him but the walls of the fortress had been reduced to scattered piles of rubble, enabling him to see the trench lines.

“All Legionaries of the Fourth Column, prepare for battle.” He announced grimly over his helmet’s vox-caster as the survivors emerged from their improvised bunkers and shelters, reoccupying the trench lines. There weren’t as many of them before, Mordak wasn’t even going to try and determine how many of them were left as they filed out of the storehouse behind him, taking up defensive positions in the ruins of the xenos fortress walls.

There was going to be no denying their fate; they were going to die today. All they could do was die with honour.

[Krugmar]

---

Stand Unbroken

---

Hundreds dead, no potentially thousands, tens of thousands. The Life eater virus and the bombardment that followed had killed many, to many in Lucian’s eyes. Barely eight of the sixty thousand Unifying Sons had survived the bombardments themselves, now only about four thousand remained.

They had fought tooth and nail over several hours which then stretched into days, falling back and launching counter attacks the entire time. Time was coming to a close now however, his brethren Uriel and Lancarius had been seen wreaking havoc among the lines.

They had retreated to what was once a powerplant of human making, its walls allowing for a last redoubt against the traitors and it was heard that Lucian sat, staring across the rubble filled central room at his brother Raziel, his weapons in hand and his armor dinged and burnt.

“I hope I should be happy to see you brother, should I apologize for my book before we dance if that is what you are here for?” Lucian said, a sense of wry amusement that bordered on pure rage echoing in his tone as he gazed upon his brother. He had disposed of his emotionless state hours before, allowing his emotions to show yet still being ruled by the logical part of him.

Raziel chuckled, “While overly optimistic, and with a grim lack of emotional investment of the author, I am not here to kill you over your book.” He said, with a wry smile. “Actually I’m not here to kill you at all, I believe our brothers’ oncoming legions have reserved that right for the both of us.”

Lucians eyes narrowed and he said, “Well that’s good, at least I have someone to discuss the finer points of being an author with before Uriel bashes my head in,” Lucian said, relaxing now and sheathing his blades again.

“What are you here for then brother? If you intend to place yourself in the defense then you are welcome, if not then please speak quickly, my sons and those who have entrusted me with their lives are in need of me,” Lucian says and quirks an eyebrow at Raziel as he does.

“Defence is pointless in this scenario. I will lead what remains of my legion to the second dropzone, see if we can’t make a scene, possibly escape. It’ll divert some attention away from you, leave you to your defences.” He said, pushing himself up and making to leave. “I won’t bother to learn your strategy, nor you mine. We both know we are dead men.”

“It is how we sell our lives which matters now I think, I very much would prefer to take one of our traitorous siblings with me if I could,” Lucian said, his eyes having a haunted look to them as he says this. “I do hope your escape works out, if so would you mind passing on a message for me? My second in command Sylus, he is to take control of what remains of my legion, whatever remains...,” Lucian says, knowing that he had led more than half of his legion to their deaths.

“You must pass that message on yourself. Remember Lucian, your quality will be known among your enemies, before ever you meet them.” He said, giving his brother a playful wink before he placed his helmet upon his head and left the makeshift headquarters, calling for his Blades to follow him.

----

The smell was the worst part of it. Belteshezzar had been on world’s that stank, worlds that overflowed with pollution so thick it would leave a thin film of grease on armour. Worlds that cause soldiers to hack up black ooze if they went too long without a rebreather. But the smell of death that clung to this rock was by far the foulest thing he’d ever experienced. It cloud to his nostrils, the stale air his rebreather circulated throughout his power armour kept it as a constant reminder as to the foul crime that had been committed to this world.

He looked at the tunnels that they had sheltered in, two hundred Astartes stood with him immediately, he didn’t know how many others survived the bombardment, but it didn’t matter to him. These two hundred would do for the time being. “Quickly, they will be landing soon to pick off survivors. I intend to make them bleed” he spoke into his vox-grille. He had given up on the vox channel a while ago, the last message he had received was the warning from Lord Lucian.

A wave of agreement passed over the survivors. Belteshezzar led them out of the caves cautiously. He had taken a bolter from the fallen as they fled, sensing it might help in the coming fight, and he had it aimed high. Breaching the tunnels, he found the red dirt scorched, a lifeless world rendered completely infertile. Whatever had been above the surface had simply ceased to exist, their memory forgotten as though they were never alive at all. His choler rose.

Pearched on a small hill stood a ruined fort. It was a sorry state, but as fortifications went in this dead world, it would do. He signalled for the Vipers to take position, their ceramite boots slamming against the blackened sand. The fort itself was a basic hollow square, towers stood at the front of the gate. Looking around, Belteshezzar spotted a second fortress further upon the hill, a small banner standing on its central tower. It seemed more Vipers had survived. He made a note to use that fort as a fallback point should they become overwhelmed.

They arrayed themselves carefully, meltas hid in ambush spots, surviving devastators enjoyed an expansive overview of the coming battlefield, while those with bolters lined the writhing trenchline and the crumbling walls of the fort. They hid themselves with what they could, though their armour already bore considerable signs of battle damage, making them seem like they had already perished. Belteshezzar snorted to himself, eyes looked at him.

He shrugged. “We look like death, half the job is done already.” weak laughs followed his comment. Comedy was never his strong suit. He had placed himself on the exterior of the walls, the last line of trenches to ensure nobody fell back before it wa too early. His visor picked up the shapes of the first thunderhawks minutes later, the ostentatious purpled hulls betraying their Legion.

“Sons of Heaven” a Legionnaire spat next to him, a small mutter of curses sounding out at their identification. The aircraft came lower and lower, bolters clicking to life. He heard the heavy sound of a heavy bolter cocking then it thunddering cry as it opened fire, the rounds leaving bright trails in the sky as they fired. Missiles shrieked as they fought to hit some of the aircraft, a number hitting their mark in a series of bright explosions that clapped in the distance. But the resistance wasn’t enough to stem the tide forever and the aircraft soon touched down, their cargo spewing forth.

It was then that the truly unthinkable kicked in. The fort opened up in a roar of gunfire at the approaching Sons of Heaven, rending ceramite, tearing flesh and crushing bone in their explosive impacts. Belteshezzar did not aim for the head as he normally would on any enemy, no, he aimed for the body. He would not grant them a clean death, they would suffer for their betrayal. Painfully.

It was twenty minutes before the first Son managed to engage in melee with the front of the line. Twenty minutes of heavy gunfire and combat that once was impossible. Belteshezzar didn’t care that he was killing fellow Astartes, they had signed their death warrant when they turned. Next to him a Legionnaire’s head exploded in gore as a bolter round found its mark, his body collapsing in a lifeless heap. Belteshezzar spared it only a glance before returning to firing, his eyes set on a Son of Heaven then crouched behind a rock. He fired twice, the first round impacted the Son in the arm, knocking his bolter from his hands as his body was rocked by the explosive impact, the second detonated in his chest, tearing through ceramite and spurting a mess of viscera from the crater in his chest. He smiled under his helm. A brother avenged.

He had no time to savour his act, as the wave of Sons was unceasing, the tide slowly tearing away at the finite ranks of the Vipers. In moments of rest when they had seen off a wave of the Sons, Belteshezzar would count the dead and rearrange the ranks where necessary. By the third wave, they had abandoned the first line, by the fifth they had left the second line. Now they faced the eighth wave and all that remained was the last line before they breached the fort itself.

He discarded his bolter when the eighth wave smashed against the the third, he hurled himself into combat. Anger fuelled his attacks. Anger at the actions of his cousins, for their betrayal. Anger at his inability to not allow the Vipers to take part in this doomed fight. But most of all, in the back of his mind, was grief for the brothers he lost, for those that had fallen against their cousins without any idea why they had turned on them.

He brought his maul down on the head of a Son who had gone into battle without his helm, his silvery hair tied back in an elongated ponytail, his sharp features seemed razor sharp, as though they might pierce through the skin. They broke all the same under his maul. Ducking beneath a power blade, he brought his flamer to the gorget of the Son, unleashing the Promethium tank into him. He shove the Son back, ignoring his screams as the interior of the power armour filled with unbearable flames.

His maul bayed for more blood, and he was eager to acquise, swinging it in a sharp arc that smashed into the arm of another Son, causing him to drop his bolter in pain. Belteshezzar lifted his maul to deliver the final blow but detonations on his pauldron knocked his balance off, sending his staggering, He brought his head to see to his right to find the source but was greeted instead by a ceramite fist that crashed against his helm, his visor shattering from the impact. He felt the cool wind against his bare skin. Finally, a Son who presented a challenge.

----

They moved as a pack, spread out over a mile, as they attempted to reach their dropzone. It was a mad gambit, for the enemy had likely secured it and any surviving transport, but it might buy time for Lucian’s plan.

One by one various groups went dark, hit by traitors or the strange xenos. Raziel had not expected warpspawn, and in such numbers. Yet this was but a taste of the malevolence which would epitomise this war. The dark malice of dreams scorned.

Much like the galaxy to be, their star-scattered nebulae-ridden teal armour was caked in mud, guts, and blood. More vox bursts and silences as further groups fell.

Raziel stopped as they approached the hollowed remains of an amphitheatre perhaps, though all remained was a raised round platform, splotched with holes and areas dented by warp exposure. In the centre it looked as though a ritual had taken place, though any bodies and bones that once had laid here had been reduced to atoms.

He made his way to the centre, as his group assumed their positions and began to fortify the position. He raised his hand, “Carry on, complete the objective.” And without question they obeyed, swiftly abandoning their Primarch without hesitation.

“Lancarius, how nice of you to join me.” Said Raziel, looking to his left and seeing the resplendent armour of his erstwhile kin making his way towards him.

A titan strode towards him, and as Lancarius walked the earth beneath his feet twisted and changed. The red sands became purple, green and gold, sometimes they suddenly sprouted into towers or structures before collapsing without a trace.The eye atop his staff pulsed with chaotic energies. It had gorged itself upon deceit and betrayal and the power it held was almost too much to look at for someone with psychic powers.Behind him came Runeweaver. It’s head bobbing and eyes scanning the image before it wildly. There were punctures and tears in reality all around it and more horrors spewed forth from the wounds it inflicted on the universe.

“It is a pleasure as always to see you brother.” Lancarius gave an immaculate smile. “May I know why you are here?”

Raziel pulled off his helmet, one as simplistic as his armour. Were it not for his stature, one diminutive compared to most of his siblings anyway, one might not even know he was a Primarch. He ran a hand through his long silver-white hair, a trait shared with his brother standing before him.

“I’m just taking in the scenery. Can’t say it’s what I would have done with the place, a bit dramatically morbid, wouldn’t you say?” He said, giving Lancarius a mocking smile.

“He mocks! Mocks!” screamed Runeweaver with a flap of his great wings, blue feathers flying everywhere. It’s voice was strained and harsh as its mouth forced out human words it was unused to speaking “You should bow before the might of the Lord!” its head bobbed “Bow and know his might!”

“Silence!” Lancarius roared, lightning boomed in the sky and sparks of fire suddenly roared from the sands as rage flickered over Lancarius’ eyes. Runeweaver took a step back in surprise and the fires died as quickly as Lancarius’ anger “I did not give you leave to speak to my brothers as an equal.” he said softly, turning back to Raziel.

“My apologies. Brother. Yes, Lord Erebus and the great powers of the Primordial creator have a unique aesthetic to them.” He smiled “But it is one which is growing on me. You did not answer my question brother, and it is most impolite to ignore me so I’ll ask you again. Why are you here?”

Raziel drew his sword. It was a simple thing, one with no name, nor vaunted history, something any Astartes could aspire to wield in defence of the Imperium. Yet today it would earn its mark, it would draw blood from a Primarch.

“I am here, where it begins, and I will be there.” He said, pointing upward to a distant star, “Where it ends.”

“You will be, brother. All you have to do is pledge yourself to Lord Atlas’ cause. Or if you’d like you could pledge yourself to me?”

“I have already made an oath, brother. Now prepare yourself.” He said, forming an offensive stance. He closed his eyes for a second, breathed in, and charged. “Belkira!” He shouted, as he brought his sword in a downwards right arc.

Lancarius was able to draw The Sword of The Saviour and parry Raziel’s attack. Lancarius was not as skilled as Raziel and he knew it, but he was stronger and he had a strength which Raziel didn’t. The Staff of Eternal Radiance hissed and groaned as the two gods clashed, the earth seemed to shake and wail beneath them, and the stars above wept.

Lancarius closed his eyes and searched beyond himself. The veil between reality and unreality was mercilessly weak here and the power of the Great Ocean soon flooded inside of him. He pulled for more and more power until he wrenched his eyes open and they were filled with lightning. He pushed a hand forward and great magical flames of blue and purple flew from his body.

Raziel brought all his strength to bear to dodge the magical attack, though ultimately he wasn’t successful. His left half was hit, blue flames engulfing his hand, and purple sparks streaking across his body. With a swift wave of his hand the fires went out, and instead of grimacing he smiled, feeling the thrill of combat. He had foreseen many moments like this, but to actually experience it was exhilarating.

He had only milliseconds to plan his next attack. He did not have the stamina nor strength for a prolonged fight. One final strike, a do or die, to sever the head of the snake. He feinted right, before bringing all his weight to bear on his left foot, diving straight at Lancarius, swinging his sword around in a highly but tersely calculated motion.

This was not just a physical battle, the two gods clashed on the mental and spiritual planes as Lancarius bent every ounce of his near-infinite power towards his brother’s complete destruction. Lightning and thunder battered the skies, the oceans of Taracanis turned black, boiling and bubbling as they raced up at the shores. Torrential rains were sent down and the sands formed a red quagmire, shifting and turning as hands began to grasp out from beneath. The roar of the Great Ocean was everywhere now, the battle tearing larger and larger holes in reality. Lancarius’ ears were filled with the screaming of the Primordial Creator as he saw the faint, too late.

Raziel’s sword cut clean through Lancarius’ armour and the gristle and gore of one of the Emperor’s very own children tumbled out onto the earth as he howled in pain. Thick crimson goblets poured onto Raziel’s sword as Lancarius’ body leapt backwards, shuddering in pain.

“She was right, I missed.” Said Raziel, though he didn’t wear a frown, but instead a growing smile, until he erupted into laughter.

Lancarius clutched as his stomach, thick blood staining his immaculate gauntlets as he struggled to keep his lifeblood inside of him. Pain coursed through every part of his body, forming a raging fire which singed and burnt at his senses. His body was trying desperately to pull away but Lancarius’ mind bid it to stay. Raziel’s attack has punctured his stomach but had not severed an essential organ. He would live. He knew, but with every shuddering breath the fire burnt deeper, searing at his soul as he felt the blood oozing out of his mouth.

As he heard Raziel’s laughter it burned deeper than anything.

Lancarius pulled every ounce of strength left within him, pulling and grasping as his mind filled with the power of the Great Ocean. The great eye of the Staff of Eternal Radiance looked as large as a mountain and the fires which had formed its crown engulfed the ground around Lancarius though he did not feel its heat.

He was not going to kill Raziel. He would unmake him.

Lancarius’ mind tore savagely at Raziel’s defences, using every bit of power stolen from the Primordial Creator to burrow his way past his flesh shell and deep inside his very being. Lancarius could feel the lifeblocks of Raziel’s soul, every atom of his making. He reached out a hand and grasped, and pulled. Each atom was torn and rent apart, each block wrenched from his soul. His mind filled with the gibbering laughter of the immaterium as he ripped and tore at Raziel’s essence.

The puncture marks at the body’s soul manifested on the flesh, veins and arteries erupting, an eye exploding, internal organs rupturing. Raziel fell to one knee, still laughing as his lungs and mouth filled with blood.

For a moment, as Lancarius was eagerly savaging this body’s being, their minds touched. “He still loves you, Lancarius.” Raziel said calmly, as he faded away, the soul breaking free of its shell. The body tumbled to the ground, twitching for a few seconds as the light left its eyes, before it was still.

A son of the Emperor lay dead. A god had left the universe. But Taracanis continued to spin, and the bolters still fired, and the screams and shouts of war continued as if nothing had happened.

The skies cleared of thunder and lightning and clouds, the sand beneath Lancarius began healing and returning to his usual state, the torrential rain ceased, as did the hurricanes and galeforce winds, the oceans were blue and clear. Lancarius dropped to his knees, his being spent. And only then, when the world had returned to normal did he realise what had happened.

He grabbed at the body and began to weep.

----

The enameled purple of the Sons of Heaven shone through the blood and smoke, a symbol of ancient Terran royalty smothered in the blood and viscera of their kin.

The elite Comitatenses terminators had made their assault directly in the heart of the Vipers Astra, their own traitors dealt with, the bitter gaze of Lancarius’ sons had turned to their cousins. Storm bolter fire ripped through dark blue warriors which had once stood side by side with them on the battlefields of countless worlds. Mighty glaives rose and fell, and explosions and gore and blood and gristle covered the loyalist fortifications.

The Vipers Astra had beaten back waves of Sons of Heaven assaults, their fortifications buoying the numbers they had lost through the bombing and initial shock of betrayal. But now the enemy was in their midst. The Comitatenses did not care for trench networks or stationary fortifications, they had simply punched straight past it all and were now striking at the head of the snake: Commander Belteshezzar.

The Comitatenses carved deeply into the Vipers, but around Belteshezzar their attack stalled, heavy flamers cooked some alive, while spears impaled others and the mighty powermace wielded by Belteshezzar smashed the head of two Comitatenses to a pulp. But on and on they came, grinding the Vipers Astra down one member at a time.

Above the din then came a voice, high and clear yelling “Halt!” and in a moment of madness, despite the raging fires and bolts and spears the Comitatenses to a man took a neat step backwards and stopped their attacks. Out of their midst came a figure. Taller than the others, and clad in heavy terminator plate. At his shoulders were the great golden wings of an Imperial Eagle, its tips stained with gore, and in his hand a slim silver blade.

“You should have taken my offer back on the ship.” came the mocking voice of Flavian Aetius Quetius as he lifted the shimmering blade to point at Belteshezzar. “In my infinite mercy I forgave your indiscretions. But you just had to make this a fight, instead of our swift and glorious coronation. Well I think I’ll have that tongue I let you keep.” he declared. He swept the ground in front of him with a foot and moved forward, standing sideways as was Aituan dueling custom. And then with frightening speed despite even the plate of terminator armour Flavian was upon him.

Belteshezzar looked at the self-righteous Flavian and felt his contempt and anger flair. How he hated the Sons of Heaven, how he would hope to choke him with his own ego. His helm had been shattered in the fight and wouldn’t be much use to him now, so he tore it off, throwing it to the ground and letting it crack against the hard red rock. His face was bloodied and his scars made his lip curl naturally.

He gripped his maul tightly, its power field crackling erratically, almost as though it were responding to Belteshezzar’s anger. “Shut up,” he spat with disgust, rushing forwards, his maul prepared to swing violently. A roar of anger followed as he forced as much power behind the swing as he could imagine, how he wanted to scar this loathsome being’s face, to ruin that perfect visage permanently.

The strike missed. Flavian ducked, impossibly quick, and then using the momentum as he rose back up he drove his sword straight at the scar on Belteshezzar’s throat. He would shut the idiot up for good, and present his head to Lord Atlas himself.

Lines of contempt were drawn tightly on his face as the sword cut his old scar open again, his body radiated with emotions he had held deep inside him. The anger, rage, the pain he had felt all his years of crusading as this scar had forced his voice to be quiet. Well now it was open again, it’s pain dim against the rush of adrenaline that flooded his body in response, and he did not care about restraining himself any longer. He brought his maul in an upwards swing, bringing his flamer pistol forwards and firing, unleashing a wash of promethium to spray forth.

As Flavian basked in the ease of his coming victory the counterattack by Belteshezzar caught him almost unaware. He could not dodge this and instead he was forced to try blocking it with his left arm. A growl of pain escaped unwittingly from his lips as the mace smashed into the limb, immediately punching through bone, but Belteshezzar’s strength had waned and it stopped the strike.

The arm hung limply from Flavian’s side as he stepped backwards, forced once again into taking his opponent seriously. Hot flame was shot at his armour but he was insulated from the worst of the initial blast, but he knew if he let Belteshezzar fire uninterrupted for much longer the flames would sear through even the thickest of plate and cook him alive.

Flavian came again, feigning another strike to rip straight through Belteshezzar’s neck, before at the last moment his sword dove downwards and straight for Belteshezzar’s chest.

Belteshezzar realised his mistake too late, he’d overcompensated in his recovery and pressed too close to Flavian, leaving his guard too open. He’d heard Flavian was an expert swordsman and he wasted not time exploiting Belteshezzar’s error. A groan of pain fizzled out of through gritted teeth as his sense became overwhelmed by the pain. He heard only one heart still beating, a second, slower thump came afterwards, lagging slower and slower. He felt blood bubble up his throat as his flamer stopped fire and clattered against the ground as it fell from his grip.

His eyes looked up at Flavian, his unnaturally kind eyes surrounded by a face that scream in a desire to kill. Blood came out of his lips as he cough, splattering onto Flavian’s face. A weak laugh came from Belteshezzar as he dropped to his knees, feeling the blade twisting within him.

Flavian licked his lips in anticipation. He forced the broken arm back up, fighting through the stabs of pain running all along it to thrust straight inside the hole he’d just cut into Belteshezzar’s chest. With a sickening wet slurp Flavian wrenched Belteshezzar’s heart out, gristle and viscera spilling into the floor. The organ beat once, twice. And then Flavian squeezed and it was reduced to slick gore which ran all across his hand.

Belteshezzar’s pain became unbearable as his became alight in pain, his maul smashed to the ground as he strength faded from him, his head sank as he felt the cool breeze run inside him, his mind in a daze as the trauma hit him. He knew then that he would die on this world. Die a pitiful death against traitors that had lost their minds for a reason he did not know. He raised his head to look at Flavian, blood congealing on his lips and staining the blue ceramite that had seen a thousand wars.

“Why?” he asked breathlessly, his jaw feebly trying to tighten.

The fight was clearly over, and Flavian lowered his sword. His helmet was lifted off and the smug, satisfied smirk of victory filled his lips as he gazed down upon Belteshezzar’s broken body.

“Because The Emperor, beloved by all, sent creatures like you into our midst, to divide us. Like his agents the Terrans, or the false Warmaster he elevated to create jealousy and strife. He does not see a future for us, so we must reach out and take one. Lord Atlas will tear through this galaxy, storm Terra and throw down the imbeciles our beloved tyrant believes can rule this galaxy. My father will sit as his right hand and rule a strong, united galaxy where humanity can finally be free.”

Belteshezzar went to laugh, but a hacking cough came out instead “All this...for Atlas’s hurt pride?” his eyes fell on his fallen brothers and those that still fought “His ego will be the end of us”

“Ego? Pride? This is for the future of humanity dear cousin. Although creatures like you don’t care about that. But we do. Lord Atlas, and Lord Erebus, and the Runeweaver have shown us the Emperor’s goal. When the Crusade ends he will kill us all. What use are engines of war in a time of peace? But your dying bores me. I think I’ll take that tongue…”

“No…” he managed weakly, his head shaking “No...if you serve the Emperor...let me serve him too…”

“I don’t serve the Emperor whelp, I serve Lord Lancarius. Restitutor Orbis.” He bent down to grab the head of the dying man.

“Then you will die like him...as well…” Belteshezzar sputtered out, his eyes rolling up into his skull, his arms limp by his sides.

He’s dead Flavian realised, a laugh erupting from his lips. Maybe he would take that tongue after all. He sheathed his sword and drew a small combat dagger. He knelt by Belteshezzar’s side and reached forward to wrench his mouth open. Belteshezzar’s eyes shot open, a malicious smile formed on his lips and he spat blood. With the energy he had left, he put as much force as his body allowed him behind his punch, swinging right and connecting with the unsuspecting Flavian’s skull with a brutal sound of cermaite meeting bone.

A sickening crunch rang out, followed by a scream of pain as Belteshezzar’s fist smashed straight into Flavian’s nose, flattening it with a spray of blood which filled Flavian’s nose and mouth.Pain shot through Flavian’s body and tears filled his eyes. Every breath caused him to shudder and gasp as he struggled to fill his lungs.He reeled back, clutching at his face, as the terminators who had watched so respectfully rushed forwards to protect their Lord.

Bolter rounds rang out as Vipers made a rush to retrieve their Lord from the fate that almost awaited him. Belteshezzar picked up his hand flamer, offering a few spurts to keep the Terminators at bay as he weakly pushed himself to his feet and fell back, disappearing within the tide of blue ceramite. He placed an arm around the nearest one for support.

“Exemplar, you still live” he said, his tone betraying the surprise that he felt. Belteshezzar nodded and he drew ragged breaths, his eyes racing across the battlefield. The momentary rush had bought them moments as the Sons reacted, but it was enough.

“We withdraw from here.” he said, specks of blood splattering his lips “Another fort lies further up, Vipers have marginally better defences there, we can hold out longer there.” Each word he spoke was a battle and interrupted by a ragged and pained draw of breath. He’d escaped an embarrassing fate at the hand of Flavian, but he knew Flavian had achieved what he wanted to. Belteshezzar was dying and he knew it. There was no escape from this world, he could only hope to hold out long enough to impede the rebellion’s progress.

----

Mordak could hear the sounds of war in the distance, the roar of violence ever over the horizon. Their time would come sooner or later, he knew, but less than a thousand of a force specialised in aerial assaults, stuck on the ground, on the defense? It would be far from the height of priorities to deal with, doubly so given the presumed destruction of their fleet and the scattering of their air support.

The sheer presumption that they were not the first to be dealt with made his blood burn. They were the I Legion, the Star Swords, those that had mastered all ways of war amongst their legion, not a force to simply be… Disregarded despite their small size.

“Drop pods inbound, Lord Commander.” The Legionary that stood next to him said, pointing up at the flaming specks in the dusty red sky. He was, as far as he knew, the only ranking officer that yet lived.
“Then we have not been forgotten.” Mordak said grimly. “Death or dishonour is our only choice.” He hefted the bolter that he’d taken off one of his fallen brothers, crouched behind a pile of rubble for cover. None of their tank crews had survived the bombardment, not that the tanks had either, their wrecks scattered in among the trench lines where their crews had dug them in to hull-down positions.

The drop pods landed some distance off, more following behind them, Thunderhawks joining the descent from orbit. Minutes passed as the force assembled, safely outside of the range of the Star Swords limited weaponry.

“Atlas’ sons, from their armour.” The Legionary beside him observed, the roar of tank engines slowly filling the air, a cloud of dust and ash kicking up behind them as the landed Rhinos and Land Raiders advanced before they halted in full view of the Star Swords, just out of weapons range having crossed the outermost abandoned trench, their numbers limiting them to only manning the ruins of the fortress itself and the innermost trench lines.

Ulysses observed the Star Swords in their hastily fortified position, and felt some distaste for the combat that was likely to come. More had survived than expected, but it would not be enough. He had several taxeis with him, along with a speira of Zhataroi, savage killers without hesitation or abandon. This was no way for Mordak to die. Perhaps he didn’t have to.

Using the Rhino’s vox amplifier, he called out to the Star Swords. “Is Lord Commander Mordak still alive?”

“Despite your best efforts.” Mordak snarled back in response, broadcasting over every frequency he could set his helmet’s vox to. “Here to taunt us before we die, Steel Man?”

Ulysses chuckled, “You need not die here. The days of the Emperor are numbered. This was but the first strike of several happening concurrently. Your Primarch, Lady Indrania, is as we speak striking a blow against loyalists in the east. There is no sense in dying here. Declare yourself for Lord Atlas and your Lady, join our Great Crusade to rid the Imperium of the False Emperor, the mortal High Lords, and the conniving Sigilite. You have five minutes to reply.” He said, making his ultimatum.

“No.” There was no hesitation in Mordak’s reply, not even a moment spent to consider the offer. He had never met Lady Indrania, having been posted to the Coronid Deeps before her late rediscovery. He owed her no loyalty, he owed his Legion Master and the Master of the Host of the Eagles nothing, for they had let the First deeper into disgrace and bitter infighting. No, he would die here, his death hopefully the first step on the road to reclaiming his legion’s lost glories. “I choose death before dishonour, Steel Man, as was the way of the Star Swords of old.”

“I gave you five minutes, Mordak, use them, think of your men. After they are up, prepare to experience your honour.” Replied Ulysses, pushing the broadcaster back into the rhino, awaiting a response, or silence.
There was no response, Mordak simply turning to the Legionary next to him, his helmet tilting slightly to look back at him.

“And what would you have me do, Brother?” Mordak asked, standing up and looking over those huddling among the ruins. “Brothers of the Fourth Column?” The term of address was unusual in the Star Swords, which normally eschewed the more fraternal term. “Would you have us surrender, after they have betrayed us? Make us one more stain on the long line of wrongs committed as our dead cry out for I vengeance?”

He couldn’t see their faces, but Mordak knew his Column, knew that even as Astartes, they would be tempted by the offer. Ambition was among the core of what made the Star Swords, the desire to improve, to strive, and to be slighted by a posting to a Column like the Fourth was most certainly a slight against all of those.

“The Lady Primarch is no leader of ours, the Masters are no masters of ours. We are the Fourth Column, and today we will claim that with honour.” Mordak climbed back down behind the rubble he was using as cover, the shifting rustling of rubble as his brothers adjusted their positions and the lack of a bolter round in his back that he had won them over. He would give no reply, and simply wait to meet his fate.

The seconds dragged on for eternity, the pervasive silence slowly gnawing at any chance of a peaceful resolution. At last the time was up, and no answer had been given. Ulysses gave the signal, and the Steel Men unleashed their fury.

The void shields of the Stormbirds held for a while under the bombardment as lascannons and other weapons blazed away at the void shields, the Stormbirds returning fire as best as they could given the limited arcs of fire of their flank-mounted ball lascannons, joined in by the rare missile fired from the trench lines as the armoured wedge of the Steel Men moved forwards unimpeded, the fire from the Star Swords only destroying a couple of vehicles in the implacable advance.

The void shields held out even as the armoured wedge passed through them, the Rhinos simply rolling over the first, barely manned trench line, their passengers dropping out of the side doors directly into the trench line, butchering the defenders while most continued onwards, the void shields useless now they were beyond them, their heavy weaponry cutting through the cover of the Star Swords even as they fired back defiantly, bolter rounds clattering off armour as Steel Men disembarked to clear out the final trench line, others firing volleys up towards the fortress.

Mordak roared in response, the Star Swords in the rubble of the fortress opening up in response, their bolters ineffective except where they got lucky, striking an exposed joint, while Mordak could see his brothers die fighting alongside him, one by one, their armour seemingly breaking under the bolter fire of the Steel Men.

He kept firing, and they kept coming and the heavy weapons fire kept coming, tearing through their cover, blasting their armour open. Even as one by one his brothers fell, Mordak stood defiant until a bolter round took him in the chest and he fell backwards, a hand grasping for his bolt pistol before a second caught him in the neck and he fell to the ground, staring up at the sky.

He smiled faintly as he died.

...

They came, Lucian could hear the sound of bolters coming closer to his position. The Steel Men had stormed the defenses with nearly 6 times his numbers. His sons would die, he would die, but their lives would not come cheaply.

“Sire it is ready,” Captain Hyrion of the 5th cohorts 2nd company said, his voice grim. “My Techmarines have assured me it will work,”

“Very good captain, leave a guard on the device and join your men, let your last thought be on letting the blood of the traitors flow,” Lucian said as he too unsheathed his blades and stepped forward from out of cover.

His shields immediately stopping incoming Bolter rounds as he charged forward, helm in place and swords at the ready. His bolt spat death from where it was fitting into his gauntlet and he forced said death upon his enemies.

Lucian had never been known for his prowess in combat, this was because he very rarely took to the field. He preferred to instead fight his battles at the planning table, killing his enemies through the placement of his troops.

To think he was a poor combatant however would prove to be many a astartes downfall that day, he was still a son of the emperor.

Lucian seemed to dance through his foes, his speed astounding for his size, his blades piercing and cleaving the traitors as he passed them. All either falling dead or into a comatose state their bodies forces upon them to save their lives.

One after another the astartes fell, both the traitors and his own sons. It seemed to go on for hours though he knew it had been only 47 seconds. “13 seconds left to live, what a thought,” Lucian muttered to himself as he continued his dance.

The next feeling he felt was a tremendous force as the power plant they were defending was forcibly overloaded and exploded in a massive and powerful ball. All of the remaining defenders and a large portion of the attackers were killed instantly, engrossed deep into the facility in the fighting.

Lucian himself only had the sensations of pain and being lifted from his feet. He could no longer feel the blades in his hands or the helm upon his head, it was not like he was going to need them he realized as consciousness left him.

----

Uriel’s drop pod struck the earth with the screech of grinding metal and engines, but he didn’t so much as wince at the noise and the ramps dropped, he flung himself outwards into pandemonium.

There was nothing but the sound of violence in his ears, the booming of bolter fire, the roar of chainaxes. Dirt and dust and ash filled the air as he breathed it in, the smell of death and blood.

Oh, to see a battlefield like this again, against opponents that could actually fight! It was a shame that this battle was all but over, the enemy crushed in orbit and now reduced to scattered, isolated holdouts on the ground. It was only a matter of time before they fell, but Uriel could respect their stubbornness.

He wouldn’t have gotten to experience this if they weren’t.

There was no point in trying to make sense of what was going on, and that was just perfect. That was what the Brazen Beasts were trained to expect, what they thrived on. He could see a mass of them, their number indeterminate, off to his left, a swarm assaulting a hastily constructed defensive position held by a group of Vipers Astra, but that was not where his attention lay.

Off to his right armoured vehicles duelled in the churned-up dust, beams of lascannon fire lancing between hull-down Predator tanks sheltering in craters, the silver specks of their attached Astartes slowly moving through the field of craters towards the improvised defense line opposing them.

That did not hold his attention either.

No, Uriel’s attention lay on the fortress that he could see between them in the distance, trench lines and barbed wire standing between him and it. He roared to the heavens as he charged, meters passing in mere seconds as he bounded across the dirt.

Bolter fire riddled his armour, the plinking sound of ricochets filling his ears as he charged, meters passing as the first trench line grew closer and closer. He could hear the battle cries of the Brazen Beasts that had followed him into battle as they plunged into the first trench line. His chainaxes roared for a moment as they scythed through the chest of the first unlucky Vipers Astra Astartes to get in his path but Uriel didn’t stop, bounding out of the trench and continuing, the spearhead of Brazen Beasts behind him following.

The growing roar of engines made him look to his left, a Spartan Assault Tank having crossed over the first trench line and continuing on to the second, a scattering of Astartes sitting atop it with bolters roaring as the tank spearheaded the Brazen Beasts advance. Uriel turned his charge, intercepting the tank and climbing up the side, bellowing out as he gestured with a chainaxe towards the fortress.

The answer was lost in the hail of bolter and lascannon fire and the roar of tracks as the Brazen Beasts armour, landed by Thunderhawk behind their infantry, finally caught up, their heavier weapons suppressing the trench lines in front of them as they rolled over them in a tide of armoured might.

They passed smoking wrecks of tanks and the bodies of slain Vipers Astra filling the trench lines, either having died during the initial bombardment or attempting to resist the armoured spearhead Uriel led from atop his Spartan.

The fortress’ ramparts yet loomed overhead, however, and a missile roared passed Uriel, exploding just behind his Spartan. He dismounted as they passed the final trench line, the Spartan’s ramp opening and disgorging its cargo of twelve silver-clad Terminators, the squad’s lead member’s Reaper autocannon roaring as he suppressed the fortress’ ramparts.

An Astartes fell to the ground next to him as Uriel landed on the ground, armour shattered, a small cloud of dust rising around him. He roared up at the ramparts of the stubbornly defiant fortress, a bolter round plinking off his shoulder plate as Uriel cursed, starting forwards in a charge for the main gate.

They were met with a disciplined volley of bolter fire, better coordinated than the haphazard resistance in the trench lines had been, and the charge left a stream of corpses behind it as the Brazen Beasts tanks fired on the fortress, the hail of bolter fire falling to a trickle as the ramparts were blasted apart by lascannons and autocannons.

Uriel was through the gate in a moment, baying for blood, the rush of battle coursing through his veins as he looked around. Those that had followed him had fanned out inside the fortress, the roar of bolter fire and the clashing of chainswords echoing in his ears, the battle outside a dim, faint rumbling as he stalked forwards towards the thin tower at the fortress’ center.

The occasional volley of bolter fire or, more rarely, a meltagun or a plasma gun from shallow foxholes was swiftly dealt with, dispatched by a counter-volley as Uriel led his spearhead forwards, eyes locked on that thin, unnatural tower and the banner waving atop it.

There was no door, but the pair of Viper terminators barring were far better a defence than a mere gate. They levelled their storm shields, new pieces of wargear, only issued to veterans. Uriel lunged forwards anyways, heedless, a storm of raging violence.

The one on his left stepped forwards, shield rising just fast enough to block the swing of his chainaxe, and the one on the right moved to his side only for the chainglaive of a charging terminator to catch the power axe aimed for Uriel’s skull, forcing his attention away for a moment as Uriel’s other lightning claw impaled the one on the left through his exposed torso. He kicked the body to the ground as the remaining terminator finished off his opponent, his power axe slicing off his opponent’s arm as he wheeled around to face Uriel, only to have his helmet torn open by a point-blank shot from Uriel’s gauntlet-mounted inferno pistol.

He spat on the ground as he entered the tower, the lower room filled with the bodies of dead or dying Vipers, an Apothecary looking up as he entered and grabbing for a bolt pistol. Uriel lunged across the room, chainaxe catching the apothecary in the sternum as he fired a defiant shot into Uriel’s boot.

He flung the apothecary's body to the ground, moving up the spiral staircase on the far side of the tower, moving upwards. Uriel’s lightning claws lashed out as he passed a door, impaling a Viper with a combat knife that’d attempted to ambush him as he moved up, his group of followers moving after him until he reached the top, emerging onto an empty platform but for a single, injured marine lying next to a bulky vox-caster.

-----

Running had shamed him. He had fled from his fight with Flavian through cheap trickery and it shamed him. His entire life he had spent disregarding the concept of shame, of honour, but even though it amused him to batter the insufferably arrogant Son of Heaven, it had cost him his heart and what little honour remained in his shell. He had laughed at first, at least he thought he had, his memory was becoming faded and distorted, as though even seeing Astartes fighting Astartes was not enough to convince his brain that such a thing was possible.

His mind briefly went to Nuzi, to a mother’s face that had long since perished peacefully on that beautiful world. He smiled, dried blood cracking at the corners of his mouth as his lips twitched into position. At least she did not have to suffer knowing her child had died being stabbed in the back, she had died believing her son to have achieved the greatest honour available to any human. His mind wandered for a moment, wondering what may have happened if he were not a genetic match, if he had remained on Nuzi.

A static of vox pulled him groggily from the fantasies his brain was giving him, anything for him to ignore the fact he was dying. “Sar Mat Exemplar,” it cried “The traitor Uriel comes!” A struggle took place in his body as he dragged himself to a view port overlooking the ruined fortress. He could hear it from up here, the furious death cries of the Vipers Astra, refusing to give in even as they saw their deaths approaching.

He coughed up some congealed blood, feeling cool air rush through the whole in his chest “Bring the Ninurta to the gate,” he managed weakly “We cannot withhold them, so grant them an honourable death.” Death by Primarch. Hours ago he had thought such a fate impossible.

There was a brief silence “By your will, Exemplar.” He smirked to himself, Exemplar. He had spent nearly two centuries fighting this war and all he had was the title. No belongings to say that he existed, only his name on a long list of Exemplars and casualties. As was the Nuzian way, he thought to himself. He had spent his entire life uncaring for glory and he would not go to his grave thinking of it. He was not some damned Son of Heaven who thought honour and glory would shield him. His smile remained as he again thought of the Sons of Heaven he had cut down when their betrayal had become clear. The insult of a lowborn slaughtering those nobles in such an unsightly fashion was something he relished. His hand felt empty without its maul, clenching onto nothingness as though it were still there.

The sound of battle was getting quieter now, he knew not of who remained nor what state. He could hear the fighting in the tower coming his way. He coughed again, activating the vox “To any surviving Loyalists,” he coughed into the vox “This is Belteshezzar of the Vipers Astra, we have fought defiantly, but we are no more. The enemy has paid dearly for their treachery thrice fold.,” he confessed, though he wouldn’t admit to knowing the truth. He didn’t care, if morale would be bolstered by this and lead to more dead traitors, then that was all that mattered. “Only in death does duty end, brothers, know that we died in the Emperor’s name” he added, knowing that other Astartes would be facing similar predicaments. Better they know their duty and face their deaths with lethal defiance. He looked up as the towering form of Uriel emerged from the stairs, his armour pitted in battle, the blood of Vipers splashed against his armour.

“Still alive, I see.” Uriel said almost casually, his chainaxe roaring. “Maybe I should leave you here to bleed out and deny you a warrior’s death.”

Belteshezzar shrugged weakly, he felt his strength fading, “You could.” he said, a fresh wave of blood dripped out of his mouth, he almost laughed. He hadn’t thought he had much left. “But you won’t. Too much beast in you.”

“Mercy isn’t who we are.” Uriel nodded, reaching over his shoulder and sliding his chainaxe back into its holster as he walked closer, lightning claw crackling. “My sons know that better than most. Now, we are but rabid dogs.” He knelt down, staring for a moment at the ragged hole through Belteshezzar’s chest before ramming his lightning claw through it, impaling him before holding him up, still breathing raggedly despite the lightning claw through his chest.

“I think you know that too, now, despite all your pretentions. It takes a rabid beast to not lay down and die when their time has come.”

It was pain he had never felt before, the feeling of electricity surging painfully throughout him, the sharp claws ripping at flesh that had no reason being ripped. His teeth grit together, his face filled with pain as he was lifted from the ground. Each breath pained him, each second he risked choking on his blood or his body giving in.

“I am not a beast.” he managed, his voice weak yet defiant. “I am a Viper.” as his jaw tightened, he felt a tang on his tongue, his mouth tightened shut and starting to fill.

“We are all beasts on the Emperor’s leash, brother.” Uriel grinned, leaning in closer. “It is… Good to be free, now I have realised what it is. I thank you for that, if nothing else. A shame you cling to your stubborn lies, even in death.”

Belteshezzar felt sweat forming on his head, the pain of everything was overwhelming, but he would not scream out. He would not cry in pain. Uriel would go without that sound this day, Belteshezzar resolved, he had had his fill. In his mind, he saw glimpses of his mother again, her kind brown eyes that he had gotten from her. The years had not been kind to him, but those remained. He wondered what she would think of him now.

His tongue twitched in his mouth, pain sang all over it, his mouth burned. Throne how his mouth burned. His eyes had been facing down and, with the last of his strength, he made them look into Uriel’s. He could see glee there, the rush of battle. Belteshezzar grinned wide, revealing teeth that had dissolved to tiny points, his spit ran down his chin, his skin quickly turning red upon contact. With the last of his effort he spat in Uriel’s face, the acidic spit finally free of his mouth, yet still it burned.

A vile, disgusting noise came from deep within Belteshezzar, sounding akin to thick slurry being splashed furiously. Belteshezzar hadn’t realised he was laughing, and though it pained him, he did not stop. He laughed at what he had done. The demi-god Primarchs thought themselves beautiful and immortal, and here he scarred one, tethering it to its mortality. The shame of the Viper Legion, the Betcher’s Gland, used to shame the traitors. He laughed and did not cease.

Uriel roared out in pain as the acid burned at his face, reflexively lashing out with his lightning claw and hurling Belteshezzar off the tower as he felt skin and bone vanish, the pain all-encompassing as he turned away from the edge of the tower. He should have just given him a clean death, and not subjected himself to… This. He heard the distant sound of the body slamming to the ground as he turned away, boots angrily slamming against the floor of the tower as he felt the raw air brush against his face, the mere touch of it a light burning that made his muscles tense to strike out.

His part in this massacre was over. A battle won, but a war yet to fight. He should have been grinning at the thought, but instead, all Uriel could feel was anger and hate for the dead Belteshezzar as he stormed down the tower. There would be a reckoning for this slight, he would make sure of it.

---

Atlas Rising, the first act of the Atlas Apostasy, has been a collaboration between Audunia, Krugmar, Lunas Legion, Morrdh, Revlona, and Woodstovia

[Wysten]

Captain Morganthau
Aboard the Battle Barge Long Night of Solace

The sound of bolter fire radiated through the battle barge as an almost miniaturized version of what was happening on the surface rang out through every hall of the ship. Captain Morganthau was at the center of this, having gathered some twenty of his marines into the central armory as the rest of his so-called “Company” was fighting their way towards their leader. The Space Marine Captain stood over his men with melta pistol in his left hand, and thunder hammer in his right Morganthau looked over his brothers and took stock of the ad-hoc force he had under his command, Battle-Brother Lurgoth was bleeding from a stump where his left arm had been the blood coating the floor and the left side of his body. Giving a nod to the marine Morganthau found his Lieutenant, Boroth standing upright checking his bolter, his armor was pockmarked with bolter dents causing his plane white ceremite armor to have a slight black coating of dust from the resulting battle.

“Status on the rest of the Damned?” Morganthau asked as if his fellow brothers hadn’t just turned their bolters and swords on him and his men just hours previously.

Boroth responded in kind, “Most of 1st and 2nd Demi-Companies are currently holding the hanger but are starting to run low on ammunition. 3rd is all over the ship though are fighting their way towards us, 4th has secured the warp drives but are facing heavy counter-attacks, and 5th is holding position just a couple of dozen meters from our position.”

Morganthau merely nodded and looked over the troops in the armory once again, a solid half of them were wounded to varying degrees with the other half merely scarred but all had almost a snarl that could be felt across the entire force which caused the Captain to speak up, “Betrayal, that is what this is, nothing more and nothing less from here on we are no longer sons of Febua” not but a few of the marines in the room spat at the calling of that now damned name, “We are soldiers of the Emperor now and those who you used to call brother want you dead for their selfish reasons, so come to me, come to war.” The Marines in the room shouted and readied themselves. Morganthau turned to Boroth and spoke,

“Take the severely wounded and move them to the hanger, I will have part of 5th Demi-Company break a hole through their encirclement of our brothers there. Make sure to take what weapons you have here, we will need every gram of firepower we have if we are to see tomorrow.” Boroth nodded before ordering the wounded to start gathering weapons and ammunition.

“And your plan Captain?” He asked taking a Melta Rifle from the wall and charging it.

“I will take the rest of 5th and fight our way to the bridge, Captain Hankir and that damn ship captain are held up in their tomb,” Morganthau said with the same stoic flat line he has carried through many campaigns.

With the two halves departing Morganthau quickly grabbed a melta bomb and clipped it onto his side and switching his melta pistol for his storm shield its plain ceremite coloring reflected dimly in the lights of the battle barge. Morganthau then pulled up an overview of the Long Night of Solace on his helmet’s HUD. A line lead from his position to the bridge, it was a short journey but looking over the information from the ongoing battle, most of the traitors were seemingly focused on trying to take back the hanger and warp drives. Waving forward two more marines stepped forward with storm shields effectively blocking the hallway with the rest of the half of the 5th Demi-Company behind them.

The hallways leading to the bridge were cleared with almost mechanical efficiency, fire from both naval personnel and even marines would ring against the storm shields until well within the range of the heavy bolters. The shield wall would then drop their shields and the resulting clearing will be filled with heavy bolter fire, cutting through what defenders dare opposed them. Behind them, tactical marines would clear each room with a hail of bolter fire before moving on. Finally, the force reached the doors leading to the bridge taking out the melta bomb Morganthau rushed over and set in a time of ten seconds before quickly stepping away, behind him almost every marine readied shock and a few fragmentation grenades. The ten seconds seemed to last years as the beeps slowly continued until the door exploded in a hail of smoke and superheated metal before even the debris had settled a couple of dozen of shock grenades and a few krak and fragmentation grenades rolled into the room and in a flurry of flashes and explosions Morganthau charged headfirst into the bridge, his HUD changing to thermals and then normal as the dust settled.

All over the bridge laid dead traitors both crew members and marine alike, quickly the rest of the assault force combed over the bridge as the handful of tech marines with them began attending to the controls of the ship. At the captain’s chair, however, laid the still breaking body of what would be Captain Hankir, the fatally wounded marine was trying to reach for a melta pistol only just far enough for him to reach it. Crawling along he just got his hand on the pistol when his foot was crushed under the weight of Morganthau’s foot.

“You..traitor...cant you see... He will... dispose of us... once the Crusade…” Hankir’s mouth would periodically fill with blood before being coughed out. Morganthau took off his helmet and looked down at what was his brother and spoke.

“You may be right but you, my former brothers, and even our father must have forgotten what our true purpose is. We are tools of the Emperor, finely crafted and taken care of but tools nonetheless, and akin to any tool, it will not be needed anymore, Goodbye brother.” Morganthau then raised his thunder hammer and slammed it into the traitor Captain’s head, leaving nothing but a bloody stump and his right arm coated in the blood of his gene-brother.

“Ruven” Morganthau said turning towards the lead tech-priests of the company, the marine merely turned his head as his hands and automated claws worked on the controls. “Can we get this out of the system?” His voice was matter of fact as Ruven nodded.

“Yes Captain, all we need to do is get out to the edge of the system and the warp engines will do the rest.”

Morganthau then turned and vox’d Boroth, “Boroth I need a status report, what is the situation down there.” He called out as the Long Night of Solace began to turn towards the edge system and claw its way away from the fleet. A response came much to Morganthau’s relief.

“Yes Captain, the traitors were broken by the time we had arrived, 1st and 2nd Demi-Companies have been regrouped and are currently making our way to reinforce the 3rd near the living quarters,” Boroth said with a thin veneer of satisfaction. “4th Demi-Company also reports that the traitors have been beaten off from the engine room and are pursuing the traitors towards our position. The day seems to be won, shame it had to be in the midst of such tragedy.” The Lieutenant’s voice trailed off into that of melancholy before the vox call was cut off.

The Long Night of Solace sailed away from the rest of the fleet but not without notice, lance and macro cannon fire soared past the battle barge as it pushed with all of its might towards the edge of the system to get a chance at surviving. Morganthau stumbled a bit as a lance shot glanced off the side of the battle barge when he finally reached the hanger. Inside a few Stormbirds had crash-landed onto the hanger deck, the small loyalist crew trying their best to get the deck cleared. Inside the Stormbirds stumbled more of what used to be the Brazen Beasts, wounded in varying degrees Morganthau received a vox from Ruven.

“Warp drives active Captain, tell everyone in there to hold onto something.” He said as Morganthau felt the sway of the ship as a hole into the warp just off the bow was ripped open forcing the ship through and closing behind them.

Back on the bridge, Morganthau walked through the ruins of the door, spent bolter casing, gore, and blood still covered the ground along with the bodies. Walking over to Ruven and Boroth who were looking over the bridge the Lieutenant spoke up.

“Captain, Ruven has set us on course to Terra, though what we are supposed to do there is beyond my assumptions.” He said with a hint of what could be mistaken as worry.

“Simple, we seek an urgent audience with the Emperor or Malcador and tell Him of what happened, but we must tell them and only them. I fear we do not know the extent of this betrayal and must treat everyone save for them, The Ten Thousand, and the Silent Sisterhood as possible traitors.” The Captain said with concern as he looked around at the bridge, “But we do not know how long it may be until we reach Terra, in the meantime, Boroth get the new arrivals and use them to reinforce the 3rd Demi-Company, and move to the casualty collection point from the hanger to the medical bay. Ruven, get what tech-priests you can find and make sure the Gellar Fields are fully functioning, the last thing any of us want is to be consumed by the warp after what just happened.”

The two space marines gave a short salute and moved out of the bridge and towards their respective positions. Morganthau moved to the star map and made some adjustments showing the homeworld of his now traitor gene-father’s homeworld of Alx and its moon. Behind his helmet, one could almost see a smile cross Morganthau’s face as plans to avenge his brothers and cousins crossed his mind.

[Tethrys]

Aghoru Awakening

Lady Raven, Anza
Cogmoor, Aghoru

Around her was nothing but chaos. The sudden collapse of the barrier around the pyramid like construct had been unexpected, not to mention the sudden swarm of xenos across the plain surrounding the tomb had started a chain of events that had led to Anza forming a defensive line around the city with hopes of stalling the hoard until her forces could properly get into position. Luckily the majority of her forces here had been orbiting the planet in her fleet and were able to react quickly. Soon the Knights would be properly positioned to launch a counter attack and drive these monsters back to the whole they came from.

Already Anza had ordered a bombardment of the complex from orbit and the guns had cracked open the pyramid like an egg. What lay inside still remained a relative mystery to her though as the horde took precedence. Still she had no doubt it would require her leading a force into the mountainlike building to finish this threat off for good. Whatever the task, it seemed it had been the correct choice to remain on Aghoru with a sizeable fore to put this new enemy down and ensure they could not grow into a truly sizeable threat.

At the moment the greatest boon had been the awakening of the two giant statues that Anza had confirmed were in fact the smallest variant of Eldari Titans. The massive warmachines more than halved the horde of creatures before they escaped the valley, and even now, the titan's focus remained on stomping the beasts down. That being said there had been twice now that an Imperial vessel or unit had strayed into their range and felt similar wrath dealt upon them.

Looking out over the hills that covered Cogmoor's approach, the bunkers and other defenses established by her Knights and the Auxilia forces accompanying them were already showing a strong line that rather easily kept the forward elements of the xenos at bay. The xenos themselves were an odd force. Much of their clothing and equipment was reminiscent of the Eldar. Anza could acknowledge the elegance their technology held had a beauty to it. Yet these seemed warped by some ill force. Perhaps that was why their kin seemed to have sealed them away into a massive prison. Was it possible the worlds surrounding Aghoru were dead, not through natural reason but by design? Was the fear of their prisoner's escape so great that they had ensured should they even escape this world, that for an entire system or more they would find nothing to help them expand?

What's more the titan wardens that stood still for so long as to become a part of the cliffs they rest against. This threat was not something Anza would allow the opportunity to spread past their prison. Gathering her Scarlet Knights the primarch began making her way down from the tower she had secured as her HQ. All the while making not of the gathering forces for her planned attack on the Xenos nest. Auxilia forces had already been sizeable before her own marines and their supporting auxilia had arrived. Aghoru was supposed to be on the verge of being recognized as Imperial Territory after all. Her role her had initially been to help smooth the transition. That hadn't gone as well as such missions in the past clearly.

Finally reaching the ground floor Anza paused to look to the growing storm in the sky. Since noticing it a handful of weeks previously the storm hadn't dissipated in the slightest. Instead it seemed to swell more and more every time her gaze returned to it. The coloring had also become more unnatural, and she couldn't help the odd churning in her stomach from simply laying her eyes upon it. A few of the locals had been killed or incarcerated to try and keep the populace calm when they began claiming that the Elohim had grown angry from them accepting the Imperials on their land, and that in response they had awakened the Daiesthai to purge both from the world. As if fighting these seemingly corrupted Eldar wasn't enough, fighting the largely hidden cult of their worshippers left her forces open tot he real possibility of sabotage. Something she loved to perform on an enemy force but absolutely loathed when turned against her.

Not that she needed to worry on that at the moment. Instead she needed to rally her men for the push to come. The fight would grow harder the closer to the pyramid they grew. While the Eldar Titans slew droves of the beasts allowing only a partial amount to flee past them into the Imperium's waiting guns, the majority was likely still near or even in the pyramid proper. Anza had no doubt that even with her bombardment of the site, it was unlikely she had truly broken the enemy force.

Stopping at the side of a Landraider preparing to move she cast her eyes once more to the growing storm. It filled her with a deep seated dread. One she had never experienced before in any real measure but one that gave her an almost somber feeling that welled up unbidden in her chest. Whatever this feeling grew from she couldn't know, either way it would hopefully be gone with the destruction of the xenos sight and the extermination of their forces.

[SherpDaWerp]

The Immaterium, aboard The Burning Hand

"Aaaaaare we there yet?" whined Lord-Forgefather Malicek, his petulant tone a surprisingly accurate mockery of the classic childhood phrase - coming from a centuries-old war veteran. Indeed, it had been a long journey for the Craftsmen. The vagaries of warp travel left something to be desired in consistency, and a journey halfway across the galaxy was a long one in the best of conditions. This time, it seemed the journey would take years, perhaps even decades, to reach their destination, not to mention the semi-regular breaks the fleet had to make in order to pickup garrison strike cruisers that had made their way back to the fleet.

Despite all this, the marines of the 18th remained in good spirits, partly helped by the humor of command, and partly by the forges of the Burning Hand. Every time the fleet stopped, the marines rotated on and off the Burning Hand, ensuring no marine was left without some way to occupy their hands over the long journey. Most every marine had a project on their hands, be it regular maintenance of their wargear, personalisation of their favoured weaponry, or creating something entirely new.

"Your guess is as good as mine," chuckled his crew-mate Volkesh. "If I didn't know better, I'd almost say something was out there slowing us down... this is, what, the tenth warp-jump in a row that's taken longer than average time?"

"Eleventh, but who's counting?"

The marines chuckled to themselves as they set back to work. Preoccupied by conversation and craftsmanship, not a one noticed a flicker in the gellar field of the ship.

---

Carmirre sat alone in his chambers, poring over his workbench. Upon it lay his sword - or, the pieces of metal that constituted his sword - as he worked to further improve the design. It was something to do over the long journey - anything to take his mind off the visions he'd been given on Stel-Uit.

Sibling killing sibling was unheard of, unthinkable, and yet, it seemed possible. The resentment some siblings harbored could easily be turned into hate. When he exited the warp, the first thing to do would be summoning every astropath he could to check on his siblings. To lose someone so precious to the imperium would be a mighty blow.

<<it is too late>>

Carmirre whirled around, looking for the voice, his project forgotten. With no reason to limit his mobility aboard ship, his cataphractii-pattern armor sat in another room, but he was not without protection. He unholstered his two pistols as he searched the room.

<<the next step in the great game has been played the apostasy has begun>>

"Show yourself!"

<<two failed four join us the emperor will fall>>

The lights in the room flickered and dimmed. "I will not give in to your dark prophecies, xenos. I rejected them on that eldar world and I reject them now. Begone from this place!"

<<you shall see the truth>>

A ship-wide vox call broke the "conversation", and the lights blinked back to life.

"There's been a disturbance in the ship's gellar field. No permanent damage. All marines are to report to their commanding officers for a headcount."

Carmirre shook his head and returned to his sword, redoubling his concentration in an attempt to push the intrusive thoughts from his mind.

[Revlona]

In Cooperation with Krugmar

A Shattered Soul

Pain, anger, sadness. All feelings a human should feel when in grieving, all natural emotions. When one is buried in rubble and is constantly slipping in and out of consciousness as your body attempts to repair the damage of a near death experience. Your body, a superhuman body, a body crafted by a supreme being. Your mind, driving this crafted body ever onward in concert with your heart.

Your heart...shattered at the deaths of your sons, at the betrayal of one you once thought to be your trusted sibling, at your own death. Death, the end of ones body and mind, you’d think it’d be a little more final wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t you? The only solution to this question is simple, I am not dead.

Lucians eyes shot open to find his view an unfamiliar one, this was not the planet he had been betrayed upon, nor was it one of his ships. Had he been captured by his treasonous brethren? He saw no reason to keep him alive after such a cold and brutal betrayal on Taracanis, no he should not be alive. Even if he had survived the power plants explosion the Steel Men which had also survived would have finished him off, none of his sons would have remained to stop them. So why was he alive? That was when someone spoke beside him.

“4 is up. Alert Shemhazai.” Spoke a voice, one muffled by a helmet’s vox system. Lucian slowly looked up in hidden pain, every muscle in his body still on fire and many bones still broken, to see several Steel Men Astartes watching him.

“Ah, well then,” Lucian said, his eyebrow quirking in confusion as he looked upon the Steel Men. Logically he should be dead, either from the explosion, or from being put out of his misery by his foes. He had not died in the explosion and his enemies were standing before him, seemingly as his rescuers. Logic had been defeated in this case.

Lucian sat up, his body screaming in pain. But he was a Primarch and would not be put down like a dog, if he was to die by his brothers hands or from one of his gene sons, he would look them in the eye as they did it. “I am in too much pain to really care for subtleties, why am I alive?” Lucian said, his voice low and somber.

The same Steel Man who had spoken removed his helmet, revealing not the tanned, curly-haired and stern looking Stirian, but instead a pale Astartes with a long silver-white hair. “Your quality will be known among your enemies, before ever you meet them.” He replied.

“My quality? Who are you, you are not a Stirian,” Lucian said, narrowing his eyes as several different thoughts struck his pain hazed mind. He fought with them for several seconds before saying, “Raziel was being mysterious when we last saw eachother, are you one of his?” He asked the Astartes.

“I am Raziel.” Replied the Astartes, and as if on cue the other Steel Men chanted Shemhazai in a low, monotonous tone, before returning to their work.

Lucian sighed, a tone of annoyance and resignation. He had always hated the way that Raziel and his sisters legions had acted, so mysterious. Almost as if they acted upon their own sense of logic, as if they had their own hidden facts that no one else knew and that they guarded fiercely. Normally it was just an annoyance but today it was tiring to the Son of the Emperor which sat upon the bed.

“I know the face of my own brother, you are not Raziel, Astartes,” Lucian said before slipping his eyes to each of the other Astartes in the room. It was a small vessel, it had to be, otherwise the other Astartes most likely would have been doing their work in another room. A transport perhaps, or simply a drop ship, he would have to find out later.

“Where is my brother? You who names yourself as he, tell me his fate,” Lucian said.

The Astartes gave him a confused look, “Your brother is here, I am Raziel. His fate is tied to yours, wherever you wish to go.”

Lucian stopped for a second before responding. There was the obvious resemblance that many astartes shared with their Gene-Sire but he was obviously the size of a regular astartes and not of a Primarch. This was not his brother, at least not in the flesh, perhaps something of psychic nature? Lucian couldn’t remember if his brother had been a Psyker, he did not believe so at least, if so he had hidden it well.

“Very well..” Lucian said, his eyes tracking back to the Astartes face. “Our destination is my homeworld then, Grevonia. In the meantime, have you an apothecary? I will most likely need some sort of treatment to speed up my recovery,” Lucian said,

“Yes, he has been treating you while you were unconscious. Your body will do most of the work. It will have to, we are not sure how you work.” Replied Raziel, turning his attention away. Another Steel Man came over, his armour white and bearing only one pauldron in the livery of his Legion.

The apothecary removed his helmet, revealing a more expected Stirian look. “I am Raziel.” Said the apothecary, as he got to work as best he could.

As the Apothecary worked, Lucian spoke again, addressing the first Astartes. “Tell me, did any of my sons survive the betrayal on Taracanis, any others? And what of the fleets in orbit, do you know their fate?” Lucian said. He of course was mentally prepared for the answer he expected, the only answer he thought possible with the element of utter surprise the traitors had, he still wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to hear it though.

The first Raziel replied, “All forces on Taracanis, deceased. Viper and Void Knight fleets destroyed, a few Unifying Sons ships escaped due to their sacrifice. Overall, mission success for traitors.”

“Very well, it was more than I hoped for. And of Raziel, your Primarch Raziel, my brother Raziel. I believe he would have made himself known were he on the ship, I only ask that you confirm my suspicion. He is dead?” Lucian asked. He knew of course, even as he asked the question he knew. No confirmation was needed for him, but still he yearned for one. He needed someone to speak the words, a son of the Emperor had met his end at the hands of another son. Civil war would consume the galaxy and all for what.

“All forces on Taracanis, deceased.” Replied the first Raziel, repeating his earlier statement. He did so with no emotion, not even glancing over at Lucian. Neither did any of the other Blades seem any different, the apothecary slowly looking over Lucian, with not even a minute twitch that a Primarch could pick up.

“Understood,” Lucian said before switching his gaze to the apothecary. “Apothecary Raziel, I am going to rest, it should allow my body to work faster in aiding your work. If you have any need of me or should anything unexpected occur, wake me.” Lucian said as he leaned himself back on the bed. His body protested as it had just gotten used to the sitting position.

[Woodstovia]

Antonious

The Honorious seemed quieter today. The official estimates had been around 15,500 Sons of Heaven dead on Taracanis, along with 15 ships. A figure none could have imagined scant few days ago. The vast majority of the dead were Terrans or other traitors who wouldn't be missed, but the idle chatter, sparring, training, and stomping of feet had been drained out of life aboard the ship. His squad had been tasked with assaulting the Vipers Astra, who were well dug in. They were victorious of course, none could stand against them. But his Lord Flavian's face had been smashed in the process, his noble features mangled and bruised. Antonious had the edge of a spear cut through his armour and leave a jagged scar on his leg, although thankfully the armour had slowed the attack enough that it lacked the momentum to cut deeper. Still, he knew the cut had been deep enough to scar him permanently, imperfection marked upon his virgin flesh.

Those who remained in the Honorious had changed too. The fighting on Taracanis had been so bitter that pieces of armour had been shot or hacked off, and replaced with whatever they could scavenge. Men had come back with the red breastplates of Unifying Sons, the grey-blue pauldrons of Twilight Blades, dark blue boots from the Vipers Astra, there were even pieces from their allies: the plain unpainted steel of the Brazen Beasts or the dark grey of the Steel Men. Only a few of those pieces fit properly, and most were battered with bolter marks or the tears from chainswords, axes, or spears. There were new faces too. The forces of the Great Ocean had mustered with all their strength to join them on the battlefields of Taracanis and some had come back with them. Their chittering constantly bounced from wall to wall, their forms shifted and changed endlessly so that Antonious struggled to describe or even look at them. Some had said their image was blessed, and new paints had been created that shifted constantly between purples, blues, and pinks never settling.

A voice, weak and thin called out behind him and Antonious saw a hooded figure in a robe of blue and purple. There was the symbol of a talon sewn above his eyes, the sigil of the Tempore Inpro. Lancarius had begun establishing cults of magic users and scholars within the legion while they were in transit from the Loki sector. Most were still secrets, with only their sigils being widely known to the legion but Antonious had attended a meeting at the Court of the Saviour when the leader of the Tempore Inpro: a Librarian named Marcemedes had argued fervently for its goals. They had taken to the study of the flow of time and how to unravel and deconstruct its natural order. After they had returned from Taracanis he had given an impassioned speech about how the Xenos of the Eldar had learned how to manipulate time, to unwind the seconds to ensure a strike which had been dodged or missed actually landed. He had declared the need for an immediate withdrawal from the system and an assault upon some nearby Craftworld which a worrying number of officers seemed to agree with.Had they lost all grasp on reality? Did they not realise they had just entered a civil war?

"You are wanted by the Emperor." said the man.

Antonious grabbed for his sword "The Emperor?" he asked disbelievingly. "A brazen traitor aren't we? How exactly are you planning to take me to terra?" the sheer bizarreness of the situation caused him to laugh as he said the words, but there was no hint of a reaction from his new jailor.

"Follow me." he said, his voice low and hushed. Antonious' curiosity got the better of him and he followed, unable to keep his lips from smirking. The man did not in fact take him to Terra but to the command room of the Honorious "The Emperor is inside."

Antonious could not help but enter, his senses suddenly hit like a power fist had smacked into his head by what he saw. Well it wasn't so much what he saw. The command room of the Honorious was much like it had always been, but it felt... Strange. The atmosphere felt heavy and greasy, and he was constantly off-balance. A headache rolled from the back of his mind like a thunder cloud, and his eyes struggled to focus. Everything seemed to ripple, to move and change and be unsteady. There were beings here, the warriors of the Primordial Creator, but where they flickered and disappeared suddenly through the rest of the ship, here they seemed remarkably stable even when reality twisted and turned around them.

"All hail the Primarch slayer! Ruin of Gods! Emperor of Psykers and the Great Ocean! First Champion and Scholar of the Primordial Creator!" bellowed a member of the Nine. Their armour had changed too. Their battle gear was completely polished, to the point where it reflected everything around it.

Atop a throne sat Lancarius. before he could have passed for a clean limbed and comely man in his mid-twenties, and Antonious had been his mirror image. But now he could have passed for seventy; grey-faced, gaunt, with hollow cheeks, sunken eyes, and hair as white and brittle as chalk. He sat hunched over and leaning, protecting his right side, the side where the cut had been. Every member of the Sons of Heaven had fallen silent as they had watched their Primarch hobble back from battle, his great invincible armour torn asunder, in a horrific gash which spewed blood and gristle. Antonious had never seen it scratched before. He had seen what had happened though. As he pressed against the Vipers the fighting stopped, and on the horizon, he could see two mountains. An orb of light and flames, Restitutor Orbis fighting a cloaked shadow. The Twilight Blade. The image flickered and faded and Antonious still did not know if anyone else saw what he had seen. The earth shook and cracked beneath their feet and he could feel the world itself dying. In his dream that night he had seen the images again, and every time he had blinked thereafter.

Lancarius' eyes were wet and almost innocent. If his face looked seventy his eyes were that of a seven year old. He had heard, though did not know if he should believe that Lancarius had barred all from his chambers, and the men outside heard alternating bouts of weeping and screaming, which lapsed into laughter and song, and back again. He killed a brother Antonious thought. Even if it was a shadow, a riddle built into flesh and blood whom he had not heard anyone talk fondly of, he was still a brother to the man. Let him have his grief.

Antonious did not know what to make of any of what he saw in front of him, however. So he did what he believed would cause the least offense, he knelt and bowed his head. He could feel then a new pressure in his mind, that stabbed then at his heart, and then somewhere deeper than that. As if a knife was peeling off his flesh, then his muscle, then his bones, and then stabbing into his soul. He could feel his jaw clench as the pressure built and built and began hurting, squeezing at his mind. Then it passed.

"You may rise." Lancarius' voice was more horrible than his visage had been. A weak, thin, brittle thing, where his voice had once been loud and high and full of joy. Antonious rose to his feet. He could not meet his father's gaze so he tried looking at his chest. But it seemed to shift and writhe and change so much it hurt his eyes. But then so did everything in this place. He forced himself to bear it.

"My knight." he declared suddenly, and Antonious waited through a long silence for any kind of explanation. "You will be my Knight." Lancarius uttered finally. "I have seen it. The Cultum Adyto." he took a long rasping breath "You will be its leader, my Knight-Errant. You will seek in this universe and the next the hidden histories of the world. Our Great Crusade has struck through it like lightning, but we did not learn of the universe, did not study it. You will find the artefacts long hidden by fate." He gestured to the Staff of Eternal Radiance "You will bring us glory, and weapons and artefacts so that our enemies will not stand before us, my child. Choose your men, I will grant you ships and weapons and whatever you desire. You will stop at nothing, worlds, cultures histories. Crush them all, make sure they are never told if they will not cooperate. Open your third eye and the Creator will guide you. What destructions you will wreak, what order will unravel before your charge." a thin smile drew across Lancarius' face and a great two-handed sword was presented to him. Antonious took it and tested its weight.

"Is this?"

"Althalaric." Lancarius looked pained as he uttered the name "I have reworked his sword, removed from it the clinging stains of Terra. It has been etched with runes of great power, it will not fail you."

Antonious nodded, but felt utterly and completely lost. He would find men to explore the galaxy hunting old treasures with? Who would even join him? Was he to ignore the war spreading throughout the galaxy?. But to argue against his father was an anathema. His thoughts turned then, to the fool and traitor Belteshezzar. A worm who deserved his fate no doubt. but he had studied the history of the man after his poor conduct and learned of the position of Sar Mat Exemplar, a post for an officer to deliberately argue against their Primarch in all things. It had been so ludicrous and idiotic that Antonious had mocked it as the primitive barbarian practices of his estranged cousins. But now he would be lying if he said he did not see the value in such a thing.

He bowed his head "Yes my Emperor."

[Antimersia]

Adalon Cyprus
The Oasys
Orbit above Palissar

News trickled in slowly. But the message was clear. Adalon listened as he was told of the loss of the Seed of Victory. this strike cruiser bore no particular importance to Adalon. None more so than any other. But dread and sorrow filled him at hearing of the loss. The warp, having claimed a vessel with thousands on board. So many lives lost, all in vain. Dread and sorrow quickly became anger and determination though. Adalon looked upon the armor the Mechanicum had so graciously crafted for him. Built perfectly to his specifications, made of the same warp repelling material that Navigator chambers are made with. His determination grew. The warp is a bane to Adalon. Psykers and their mind reading, ork wierdboyz and their immense power, losing entire ships to the warp because of a simple error. This armor would be his weapon against it. As someone who believes in the fruits of diplomacy, the belief that a best offense is a strong defense rings true for him. Just off a few feet to his right, a tech marine of the XVth legion is crafting a series of drones that will give Adalon perfect three hundred sixty degree vision while wearing the perfectly sealed suit. But even still, with this armor it is not enough. Adalon feels an ager towards the warp that drives him to learn more of it.

"Ensign, bring a message to the astropath. Have him request a meeting with my sister, Ravidania. Tell her that I wish to convene with her and discuss the warp at her earliest convenience." Adalon commands.

"Yes, my Primarch!" The ensign salutes quickly and jogs out of the small armory, headed off to deliver and have the astropath send the message. Adalon new that short of the Emperor, there was likely few in existence who could tell him more about the warp. And he would be damned before ever asking the Emperor for assistance or guidance.

"My Primarch, the drones are complete. We should run some tests. If you would be so kind as to don the armor. We shall calibrate them for you." The tech marine said politely, showing the sleek black and yellow striped drones. Looking like very large hornets, that will fly around him as he walks. Adalon agrees, sliding on the armor piece by piece with help from the tech marine as well as crewmen, when it is needed. Each piece of the armor, sealing into place with the others. As they lock it, Adalon feels a slight restriction to his movement. Nothing severe, but enough for him to notice and get used to. Expected of such tightly sealed armor. With nothing left but the helmet to put on, Adalon pulls his long greyish silver hair back and ties it up to not get caught in the seals. The slide the helmet onto his head. With a loud hissing sound it clasps on and seals completely. With no facial features carved into the face of the suit, the helm is instead just bicolored, half painted yellow, the other black, bisecting the helm where the two colors meet. "To activate the drones, simply use the control panel on your left forearm." The tech marine explained. Adalon could not see, so he carefully felt his forearm for the control panel. Feeling the resistance to three buttons, he halts, not sure which one to press. "The one furthest up your arm activates the drone. The second button, forces them to return to a static encircling position around you. They will constantly hover and move through the space around you to ensure a perfect view of all of your surroundings. Displayed on the inside of your helm. And the final button deactivates the drones." Adalon pressed the button furthest up his arm. The sound of the drones activating and flying up fills the room. Adalon's helm displays four feeds of the room around him. For the average human, or even astartes, this would be far too much information to process all at once. But for a Primarch like Adalon, it is doable. Even if it will take some getting used to. He presses the second button, making all four drones quickly fly over to him, creating a floating circle around him that stabilizes his feeds. Then, he presses the final button. Although, rather than simply shutting off and dropping, the drones slowly lower and attach to the pauldrons of Adalon's armor.

"They are calibrated splendidly. You have done splendid work and brought honor to yourself." Adalon says to the tech marine in a stern yet congratulatory manner.

"Thank you my Primarch, it pleases me greatly to hear your kindness." the tech marine replies. Adalon activates the drones once more to return his sight. He walks out of the armory and back up to the bridge. He looks out, staring at his homeworld through the optical feed and smiles. Palissar always brought him peace. But as worries of the state of the galaxy continue to pile up, he worried how long such a peaceful place could possibly last.

[Ossric]

Malliston's cold eyes glared hard at the suit of armor resting across the room from him. It's existence was a mix of a blessing curse, however as time wore on he found himself more and more hateful of the suit and it's effects on his body. Malliston remained trapped in a cycle as it was. His body initially could go for long extended times without needing the mix of chemicals and cool temperatures to remain functioning, but he was required to return to his palace on Stygia or his fortress on Enyo. There his personal physicians, largely those trained by the former Zavrin scientists that had been partially responsible for his condition.

The primarch's distaste for his suit had begun shortly after receiving it with joining the Imperium. As time went on he came to realize his suit, while allowing him to remain away from his home longer than he would have been able to was also shortening the time between his treatments or internment within his suit. The fact that his suit was making it a requirement to wear it more and more often was becoming stifling. His once bright eyes, turned slightly more glassy over the years stared hard at the black and grey machinery.

Pulling his eyes off it, Malliston clad himself in his preferred more ornate armor and began the walk to join his men. They set about their normal tasks on the ship. Chondax had been officially declared cleansed recently. Initially fire had been the preferred weapon against the greenskins there but realization that it only helped to spread their spores across more of the planet led to use of a slightly more taboo set of weapons. Biological and chemical tools that ruined both the orks and the land. A great many soldiers of the Imperium had also suffered it's effects though their loss was less than the marines that could have perished had they needed to return to cleanse world again at a later date for not being truly thorough.

Despite both Malliston and his men understanding the need of such tools in the situation some seemed distraught over their use. Not the weapons or their effects. The Stone Wardens were nothing if not practical in mindset, willing to commit atrocities should they be lesser of two evils for the growth of the Imperium. No what seemed to bother them was the ease at which the weapons carved away at friend and foe alike. Even within the many bastions the Stone Wardens had constructed for themselves and the Steelhearts and other Imperial Army forces a great many guardsmen succumbed to virus and chemical attacks that took their lives in agonizing and slow fashions. The main issue was the ease at which the weapons slipped through even their most stalwart defensive sites and claimed soldiers in handfuls. The only true consolation was how much more severe the reaction was for the orks. Watching their bodies eat away at themselves or crumble into filth was a thrilling sight.

Now though with time to reflect Malliston could recognize the signs of wear upon his own legion as well. Their grey armor while largely unaffected had the signs of chemical burns across it. Crackled patterns across the armor as if made of crumbling stone. While they could have the damage repaired, he suspected few wished to do so. It remained a part of their identity now. They were after all the Stone Wardens. It seemed fitting that their armor gave the appearance of making them as stone golems.

Reaching the bridge of his ship, the crew bowed lowly and he payed little attention as he waved them off to return to their work. The whole of his fleet were now on a direct course home to Stygia and Enyo to both resupply and reinforce the Imperial Army forces before they looked to join one of the open fronts of the Imperium. Malliston wondered which would require his forces more in the time being but for now he would wait to contact the Warmaster until he was ready to redeploy his troops once more. Malliston may be envious of her seemingly favored position but he knew better than to break ranks and simply gallivant off to his own wishes when father had appointed Vasilisa to her role. Perhaps she would give him a chance to do more than clean up the leftovers from his siblings for a change. Whatever came it would wait until he had reached home and gathered his forces to return to the crusade.

[Parcia]

OPERATION: WATCHTOWER
Sigma Extremis
Site “X-ray”


The plan was smart, well put together and rather simple. So what did Leo have a bad feeling about it? HE couldn’t put a finger to it, but he could feel it in his bones. Something about this opp was off. It included the entirety of Tertia Optio and a sect of Astartes he knew little, if anything about beyond the normal scuttlebutt of the Wrath’s voidsmen.

The launch from the hanger went off well, and the decent down did go as planned too, even the breaking thruster maneuver and the landing on the base’s roof. The poor fuckers didn’t have much in the way of warning before the overhang above them blew down ward, then upward as the atmosphere was vented out of the room.

The Marines went first, their small ground cars worth of ceramite armor giving them much more protection over the hard suits the Harakoni were clad in.

Bodies flew past them, some still flailing and screaming as they either slammed into items and bunks across the room, or out the now wide hole the breaching charges had blown in the roof, exposing those inside to the void. A quick death, all things considered.

The 75 men of Tertia Optio were split in to roughly 3 “sticks” or platoons, with command stick being a bit larger by 10 or so men. Each platoon also had attached to them, 10 Astartes who acted essentially as large moving tanks and fire support vehicles.

How ever they weren’t the most compact of beings, and they couldn’t spare the numbers to take the entire facility them selves, hence the attachment of Human troops.

Hanamura dropped in along side the Astartes, lass pistol drawn alongside his short blade. They moved quickly in the now vented compartment. His objective, along side his men, were to storm the command center and take any important officers prisoners if possible. A possibly worse fate considering they had orders to shoot anyone else, human or Xenos.

[United Islands of Polis]

The Primarch Aleksandr Zorkastanov, II Legion, The Primordial Guard
Gentium, Aonachd Mirgorod, Medhan-Ionad Shipyards, Level 733

The Medhan-Ionad Shipyards as a vast space, that on the records of Aonahd Mirgorod city plan, the shipyard, which acted also as an orbital elevator, had its own independently planned transportation system, yet it still mixed in with the serenity of Gentium. As Aleksandr left the docking tube, him and his entourage was ambushed by reporters and remembrancers, begging for questions, there was not a lot of them since his arrival was not reported, however some voidsmen must’ve seen the Pride of the Nation enter the system and word passed on.

Aleksandr stopped for a moment to address the crown of journalists. “Friends, I shall address all your queries at the State of the System Address, I am aware of all the most recent events as well.”

The crowd only grew louder after that, but they were left behind as the rest of them boarded a Stormbird to take him to his Family Estate.

Gentium, Aonachd Mirgorod Outskirts

The Stormbird touched down on a landing pad recently built, perhaps in the last decade. The estate was a property built by Aleksandr using the money he had saved up during his lengthy service in the Gentian Armed Forces and his time as the Premier of the Gentium system, however as a Primarch he had relinquished his salary and pension due in part to his status in the Imperium as son of the Emperor, the money from that could go and help someone in need.

The estate itself however was definitely based from very ancient Terran design, dating back as far as the first millenia according to Malcador during his visit to Gentium. It situated itself in the mountainous areas, almost rivaling the beauty of the Alpine mountain region back when Terra still had natural water bodies, according to the old mage. The surrounding town as well had added to the aesthetic unconsciously. It was large enough to house over six families in luxury, but for now the only ones there were maintenance staff. As the ramp went down Aleksandr and his retinue walked out. The scene was beautiful, the rolling plains were vibrant green and the mountains had their peaks covered in snow.

For a moment one of the terminators of the Vigil Confido stopped before continuing, catching Aleksandr’s attention, which he called out. “Mesmerized by the view, are we now, Ferrite?”

“Temporarily, my Marshal. I just didn’t expect such beauty for a fortress world.” the terminator named Cassius replied back.

Aleksandr laughed softly. “Yes that’s true. For a fortress world, Gentium is different, sustainable development is the reason why we still attain this level of cleanliness. Would you like to explore the town nearby on your off-duty time?”

Cassius looked to Grand Sentinel Alistair who simply nodded, there were enough Astartes and other elements to guard Aleksandr so it was natural that guard duty would be done in shifts. Ferrite had his helmet on but Aleksandr was sure the man was smiling. “Only if you would allow it, my Marshal.”

“Then make ready the schedules with your Starshina or Guardian Captain while we are taking on supplies, this still is by technicality shore leave.” Aleksandr patted the back of Ferrite before entering the property itself.

Inside, the main building was grand, much like a palace but homey as well. Most of the furniture was sized for regular humans. The walls were adorned with portraits of men and women who served under and with him, the names of generals and soldiers who performed beyond the call of duty were put on display to immortalize them. But Aleksandr went to his personal room instead.

Inside were helpers and a few techpriests who helped him remove his armor and store it properly and neatly in an armor rack, the Protego terminator armor, a hybrid from different kinds of terminator plate was placed beside his old armor during the years before the Imperium found Gentium. A shower with non-recycled water, which was a luxury so to speak for those who had to live in the voidships for long periods of time, was taken, and after that, Aleksandr had donned on more comfortable clothing, ready to rest for only a while, he had many matters to attend to while he was home.

The next day, Aleksandr was woken up by the time the sun rose, Primarchs, much like their gene sons, could stay up for days, weeks, months if needed and their bodies could retrieve that energy in one good rest, or less. It was amazing really that it still baffled him today.

He was up and about in a black three piece suit custom made for a Primarch with an aquila lapel pin made of gold; while it seemed completely defenseless, the fabric was made of heat and ballistic resistant materials, and under the suit he wore an body glove which absorbed heat and ballistics very well, along with a shield emitter, like the ones found on Cataphractii plate but smaller.

After a breakfast with Grand Sentinel Alistair and whoever of the Conference of Sentinels was present, the first agenda of the day was to meet with Vice Premier Abioye Dubaku, who had arrived earlier than expected.

“Abiyoe! Welcome to my home!” Aleksandr notioned for him to take a seat. “Make yourself at home, would you like anything?”

“A cup of tanna, perhaps, my Marshal.” Vice Premier Abioye took a seat as a server left to get the requested drink.

Aleksandr looked towards the mountains from the foyer they were situated on. “A cold morning, the Zdrovo mountains are looking fine as well.”

“Spring had just started after all, my Premier, only a few months ago.” Vice Premier Abioye took the cup of tanna from the server.

“Yes, I can smell it from the air. Anyway you know why you’re here, Vice Premier, I want to hear the updates from you, what’s the news on Project: Halo?” Aleksandr asked the smaller person.

Vice Premier Abioye pulled out a data slate, giving it a few swipes before placing it on the hardwood table, a few seconds later a hologram of data appeared from the center of the table. “Project: Halo for the Gentium sub-sector is at 80% completion. The installation of the major and minor space stations are already complete, for now we are waiting for the main station, the Utak Control Station being set up, and the fighter bases being set up would lead to total completion.”

Aleksandr looked at the data, and pondered quickly before continuing. “And the surrounding stations have their failsafes installed?”

Vice Premier Abioye passed a file from the hologram to the side of Aleksandr’s part of the table. “Yes, my Premier, the biggest stations are compartmentalized and can be detached when needed, no piece of the stations nor the station itself can enter orbit, forcing an immediate thrust vector to counter or move away from the planet to avoid an extinction level crash, and if all else fails, a self destruct system.”

“Very good, now what of the extension to the rest of Beta-Garmon?” Aleksandr moved to a map of the Beta-Garmon system.

“We can start now actually, the Mechanicum of Mars and the companies we have contracted have advised us to do so, I was going to send a letter to you regarding the authentication, here.” Vice Premier Abioye passed a file over again.

Aleksandr read the contract, it was in line with the project and would help boost security to the Imperium and Gentium, all expected as much. With a quill, Aleksandr added his signature on it before passing the parchment back.

Aleksandr took a sip from a cup filled with recaff. “There is another matter however. I would like to add a new law.”

Vice Premier Abioye froze a bit. “Oh? On what?”

“Reserve forces.” Aleksandr frowned. “The Great Crusade gives us more and more discoveries by the second, if we run into something not even the united might of the legions cannot stop, we will need to rely on every person who can defend the Imperium.”
“Is that not a form of treason? To think like that?” Vice Premier Abioye asks.

Aleksandr grinned slightly, gaze cast onto the green plains and the town below. “You are very sharp with how the Imperium works. It is only akin to treason if you preach it, preparing for it is different.”

“What do you have in plan, my Premier?”

“I want to have a 50% population conscription rate of sorts. The first 25% will be picked at random and will be trained occasionally, they may live their lives normally, if they are a carpenter, they will live as a carpenter, train as a soldier, and become a soldier when the need arises, preferably these people should be volunteers.”

“And the other 25%, my Premier?”

“Conscripted when that situation happens. How are the military equipment stocks?”

“Well we may need to raise taxes by five percent for a few years, the taxes are high enough already with all citizens having fully covered healthcare and education. Maybe five years to arm the first 25%. But with all due respect, my Premier, we need to make further calculations first such as the amount of able bodied adults.”

“Of course, my mistake, Vice Premier. But you get the gist of it, yes?”

“I do, my Premier. There is one more thing to address, when are you holding the State of the System Address?”

“Two days from now, everyone in the Senate, House of Representatives, and the General Assembly already knows I’m here already so I’ll give them a few days to prepare to come to Gentium.”


Gentium, Aonachd Mirgorod, Palace of Leadership, Grand General Assembly Hall

“In saying this, the Great Crusade seems to be slowing down, perhaps meaning an end to the crusade itself, and thus an end to major military activities, however the universe is a wide space so we would never know. Even with the slowing down or ceasing of crusading activities, it should be made known that the regiment recruitment and deployment will still going on albeit at a much slower rate, the Imperium and its vastness will require many soldiers to guard its flanks and interior, and as such it will always have a security issue that needs to be filled in by people. As Premier of the Gentium sub-sector, I open the floor to any questions.” Aleksandr ended the address, he had already covered the most recent happenings worth noticing and was allowed for the public to know of, by the time they finished it was noon already.

Those in front of him were members from the Palata Predstavitelei, Seenadh, and other important members, along with members of the media, who were more than eager to ask any questions.

A woman with a data slate approached the vox caster in the middle of the room and spoke her question. “Premier Zorkastanov, if the Great Crusade is slowing down, then shouldn’t the 42nd, 16th, 34th, 35th, and 84th Gentian Guards Regiments be deployed slower, or are they to head to the Warmaster in her new campaign?”

“No, these elements will not. These elements, while well armed and equipped, cannot make the time to get there in time, they will be deployed elsewhere and wherever the Imperium requires them to be. Next question please.” Aleksandr replied back.

“Is it true that a new bill you proposed will result in over 50% of the entire Gentium sub-sector to be turned into a militia if the need requires it?”

Aleksandr recoiled slightly but not visibly. “It was originally like that, however we are running it through the Statistics Offices to fix the ratios properly. Recently it seems that the total percentage will be 25%-30% or lower.”

“Some people on Terra say that Project: Halo is the first step to a separatist movement in Beta-Garmon, is this true?”

“Beta-Garmon is a crossroads to the most stable warp routes in and out of Segmentum Solar, if anything I am attempting to make sure the front door to Terra is secure.” Aleksandr answered back sharply.

“There have been rumors of a Primarch that has been arrested. Can you validate these claims and who was arrested?”

Aleksandr calmly but surprisingly leaned forward into the vox caster. “I have heard this rumor as well, however this may be an attempt of a joke.”

For the rest of the session, Aleksandr had been confused as to how such information was able to leak out. Odds are it might have been a leak from his fleet, however at the same time, if his brothers Lucian and Nehushtan had made it back to Terra with Kortaez in compliance, then maybe someone might have seen it, who knows. Soon after the assembly was finished and more matters were faced.


Gentium, Mount Tashkent, Tsentr Bezopasnosti Sektora, Communications Suite Primaris Alpha

This building coordinated all security concerns of the Gentium sub-sector and its immediate areas around Beta-Garmon. It was located deep underneath Mount Tashkent with tunnels spanning and expansive, reaching even other cities. It had been a project that had been in the works for 400 or so years, beginning since Aleksandr became the Premier. It still had a good amount of functions above ground, but the underground facilities did have quick escape options to the surface, some of them being teleportation chambers used for emergency escape access for high ranking officers and people of importance, for now Aleksandr was above ground given the office requiring access to visible communication equipment.

Clad in [i[Protego[/i], Aleksandr took up a big chunk of space while listening to all the communications coming in and out. He was only here because this morning he felt something was off, something terrible had happened and yet it was a beautiful day. The fleet and legion were almost ready, only a few more days before more supplies came in and completed the fleets stores.

However Aleksandr was more focused on getting something akin to a semblance of a message of bad news, or a ship damaged beyond repair appearing suddenly. But he also hoped none of that would happen and the uneasiness would simply go away. He needed to keep an eye out, even his fleet and the sector defense fleets were out and about much more and in force.

“Is there anything yet?” Aleksandr asked politely.

A vox operator removed his headset. “No, Lord Chasovoy, we will inform you when something appears.”

“Nothing on scopes yet as well, Lord Chasovoy.” an auspex operator called out as well.

Grand Sentinel Alistair put a hand on his Primarch, to which Aleksandr flinched but was not seen by anyone. “My Marshal. Everything is fine, perhaps you should take a moment to breath?”

Aleksandr waved it off. “Not yet, in a few hours I will, don’t worry friend.”

He was true about resting for a bit in a few hours, a few hours being a few days maybe. For now he was very much engrossed in the data flowing in front of him. A hiccup, perhaps the leak of the attempted arrest of Kortaez. Something just felt off, way too off.

[Krugmar]

Mars

Raziel was face to face with a strange creature, one more machine than man, though that was befitting one of the Machine Cult. In many ways they were the same, both as detached from humanity as each other.

“I trust you were satisfied with the ships?” Asked Kelbor-Hal, his vox-voice almost purring, revealing a deathly pride which would lead him down a dark road.

“Of course. But I am here on that other business.” He said. Kelbor-Hal’s eyes flickered, and Raziel knew that he was still on the fence. He was no friend of the Imperium’s, resenting the Emperor’s imposition as the Omnissiah, but he was cold and patient, not prone to heated decisions like those still wearing flesh.

The Fabricator-General wringed his hands, perhaps he was still human after all, thought Raziel. “This course of action would put Mars at much risk, being so close to Terra. And if what you say is true, only three legions challenge the Imperium. These are not winning odds.” He replied.

Raziel smiled, the Kelbor-Hal was not exactly wrong, but where his machine mind could guess the future, his mind had seen it. “Half the legions will turn. The three at Taracanis, which will happen soon, will strike a crippling blow to the loyalists. They may make an effort to take Mars, but they will be unable to spare enough to overcome your forces, and they will be afraid of what you have uncovered from the Vaults of Moravec.”

Kelbor-Hal’s eyes flickered several times, his hands shaking in anticipation for a few seconds before he regained control of himself. “The Vault is sealed.” He replied simply.

Raziel nodded, before brandishing an archaic datapad. “The security protocols…” Said Kelbor-Hal, reaching out to grab them.

Raziel pulled it away, “You will have your prize now, and when Atlas wins, the Treaty of Mars will be renegotiated. The Mechanicum will be free to pursue technological advancement without hindrance.” He said, handing it over to Kelbor-Hal.

The Fabricator-General thought for a few moments, running the possibilities, the variables, pushing his cognitive systems to the limit. But in the end it was very human emotions that swayed him: greed, anger, and most of all, pride.

“Mars stands with Atlas. We shall topple the False Omnissiah.”

----

Star of the Waning Summer
Taracanis

Deep in his palace dwelt Atlas, in a dark room lit only by several mute lamps. He looked at the body of Belteshezzar, staring at the hole in his chest. It was a shame that such men would die for a tyrant planning to discard them like mere tools, even when the truth was presented to them. He draped the ragged Vipers flag, a makeshift shawl, back over his corpse, and moved on.

On another table were Lucian’s blades and helmets, his last remnants from the explosion which left little else intact. If there was a body still remaining, it would have to be buried on Taracanis. It was not a fate befitting one of their number, but it was Lucian’s fault. Too stubborn and proud to listen to reason. Atlas cast him from his mind, and continued on.

The last contained a morbid curiosity, the remains of a Primarch. His apothecaries had opened him up, to confirm the Emperor’s handiwork, before putting him back together. Lancarius had killed him, though not without suffering injury himself. Atlas knew little of the Twins, beyond their gifts of foresight, and Raziel’s penchant for trickery and deceit. Just what game were they playing, what plans required his death? Or had he made a mistake, one small misstep which now changed the fate of the galaxy itself?

He pulled the shroud over, and cast Raziel from his mind. In time, perhaps, more of his siblings would end up in this chamber. They would not remain here forever, though. He would bury them on Terra, and build great monuments to their triumphs. History would be rewritten. It had to be.

To the victor, went not just control of the future, but the past.

----

Star of the Waning Summer
Taracanis

Atlas waited in the meeting hall of his palatial quarters, seated upon his dais overlooking the round table. Two of the seats, one marked with the symbol of the Unifying Sons, the other the Twilight’s Blade, had been covered over with a shroud. He was alone, and so would his brothers be, for this was a meeting only for Primarchs.

Lancarius was the first of his brothers to arrive. His health had improved somewhat but he was still a pale ghost of what he had been mere days ago. His face was gaunt, and stripped of flesh, his eyes sunken; his silver mane of hair was brittle and grey. He still wore the immaculate armour of a Primarch but upon its breast there was a deep, jagged cut where it had been punctured and torn open. He seemed slightly hunched in an attempt to cover it. Atop his brow sat a crown of woven gold, with 9 small flames flickering upon its peaks. Lancarius cast a glance towards the shroud covered seat of the Twilight’s Blade before taking his seat.

There were still dried bloodstains across the bare silver ceramite of Uriel’s armour as he walked in, crude metal bars crossing part of his face in a grid, the skin around it red and scarred, still healing under the treatment of those few in the Brazen Beasts that had chosen to take training in the art of the apothecary. There was no grin on his face like there usually was after a battle won, only a grim scowl as he sat in silence, not sparing a glance for the two shrouded seats.

“I will not say we have won a victory, for all we do now is a necessary evil to ensure our survival, humanity’s survival. But, beyond a few hiccups, our plan was a success. Two Primarchs dead, two legions crippled, and two more devastated. Now we must move with some haste, while surprise is still on our side. I will move with my legion to secure Port Maw’s subsector, and then rally the Coronid Deeps to our cause.”

“Uriel, Lancarius, I trust you with a vital mission. Our allies will aid us in cutting the galaxy in half. I will give you Erebus, along with 30,000 Steel Men, and the Midnight Abyss, a gift from Ravadania, to burn many worlds of the Ultima Segmentum. Erebus will initiate a ritual, conjuring up a warp storm which will prevent the loyalists in the east returning in good form or haste.” Atlas said, displaying no emotion.

“An entire Segmentum is a lot of space to cover, brother.” Uriel said, his voice a low growl. “Even with two legions. News of this… Betrayal will spread once you take Port Maw. We will need to move quickly, and I will need to rally those Brazen Beasts unbloodied here.”

“Erebus has informed me of many things, whispers from his dark gods. Were we alone in this endeavour, I would head straight for Terra to cut the head off the snake. But we are not. More will join us, and not just governors and fabricator-generals, but our siblings and their legions. They might not care for our reasons, or hopes, but they hate the Emperor and his Imperium enough to rally to a simple cause. That will give us the time we need, as the Loyalists have to worry who will turn on them next.” Replied Atlas.

“Do you want the honour of north or south of the Malestrom, brother?” Uriel asked, turning to Lancarius. “I’m not one for such tactics, but an entire segmentum to raze is something even I would not attempt undirected.”

Lancarius flicked a hair from his face, his eyes seeming completely uninterested in the conversation around him. “I have done my part already brother. I killed a god for you, my legion was well blooded on Taracanis. What Lord Atlas so generously gifts us is over half of my remaining forces. I have seen things, the currents of the Great Ocean speak to me. There are great treasures of the universe hidden on distant worlds, the technology and learnings of the Xenos has been shunned by our Father but I have seen its potential. Leave war and bloodshed to yourselves for it is knowledge I seek.”

“Then it seems I must do this myself.” Uriel growled. “I will return to Bodt and rally all those of my legion that I can to burn the Ultima Segmentum to the ground.”

“When we win this war, you may seek knowledge all you want brother. But should the Loyalists win, I doubt your headless body would be able to drink in the forbidden secrets you seek.” Atlas replied bluntly, not wishing to be tested at a time like this

Lancarius scowled “Then do not ask me to do half the work, Lord Uriel you have 4 times my number, and I have never known a Brazen Beast to shirk like this from a fight. Take the North and the South, and I’ll help where I can.”

“Very well.” Uriel relented. “I must still return to Bodt to rally those of my sons that have gathered there, and send word to those of them that could not make it here from being tied up in other campaigns. Any world that does not declare its loyalty will be dealt with as they were in the Great Crusade, turned to ash.”

“Can we trust your erstwhile sons? Those at Taracanis proved their loyalty in battle, these new recruits from all those systems away may not be as reliable.” Lancarius muttered, his voice a strained whisper.

“It is irrelevant, if they stand against us then like all others they will be destroyed.” Said Atlas. “I will not detain you, if you are satisfied with our plans. There is much to do.”

“Those I seek to gather are veterans, not unbloodied whelps.” Uriel scowled. “Their campaigns prevented them from arriving to Taracanis in time, their loyalty is not in doubt to me. And there is. I will need to call a Bul for the warbands to pick their preferred routes of conquest and their… Instructions.”

“To pick their instructions and routes?” Lancarius looked dismayed “Brother, tell them where to go and they will follow you. Do not forget your forces are the vast majority of this campaign, but your decisions will affect me as well.”

“I have an entire Segmentum to cover, brother. They will have campaigned across it in the past, they will know different warzones better than one another, have those that they campaigned alongside in the past and are yet friends with them.” Uriel said. “To try to coordinate a single legion downwards across the width of the Galaxy is the height of foolishness when speed is of the essence.”

Lancarius gave a belated sigh “And one more thing brother, have your psykers board the Honorious, they will need to swear me fealty from now until their dying breath.”

“A Brazen Beast will not swear their loyalty to anyone.” Uriel snarled. “If you would have their fealty, you can come and take it over our corpses.”

Lancarius looked shocked “But brother.” he said innocently “I am Emperor of all psykers and of the Great Ocean, they must show me fealty as will all others. And besides I mean no offence brother but they will be much more of use to me than amongst your other sons. The Beasts have never exactly prioritised intelligence or knowledge.”

“They are Brazen Beasts first.” Uriel said, glaring. “I will give them your… Offer, but how many of them accept it I do not know, if any.”

“Thank you brother.” Lancarius smiled, seeming satisfied.

“Unless either of you have anything else, I would return to my ship.” Uriel grinned slightly. “There is a galaxy to burn.”

----

Ozymandias
In Transit

The spear hurtled through the air, striking and piercing the statue, followed quickly by an inhumanly fast figure rolling and then throwing her sword-arm around in a wide and crazed arc, decapitating the faceless sculpture.

Beads of sweat ran down her forehead, dripping onto the floor as she knelt, taking deep breaths. She was exhausted, having been at it non-stop for two days. Training without care for sleep or food. The thought that her quarry was out there, gloating and revelling in his kinslaying, disgusted her.

She struck Ebonbrand into the floor, wiping sweaty palms on her loose robes, and retrieved her Spear of Destiny from its target, pulling it through and rupturing what remained of its chest area, cleaving it in twain.

Why had he gone, even though they had both foreseen his fate?

“One small splash, can create a great wave.” Said a voice behind her. It was familiar, and yet impossible. She turned without hesitation, whipping around to see Raziel in the flesh, smiling at her. He was in his finest, the best money could buy on Terra, and looking down she realised she too was dressed for a fine occasion.

“Raziel, I… what is-” She stammered. This was impossible, even for them. Even for the Emperor.

He reached out his hand, “Will you give me the honour of a dance?” He said, and she accepted. For a time they exchanged no words, slowly moving around the room together. Around them ethereal presences danced, to a slow and sad tune, as the room alternated between a ruined hall, and a hall so decadent and vast she could only assume it was the Imperial Palace on Terra.

“Is this a dream?” She asked.

She saw him smile again, “All of this is a dream. His dream. But we are real, I think. It is the dreamer who does not belong here.” He replied, cryptic and unhelpful as ever.

“Why did you go?” She asked.

His smile lessened, “The same reason I came to you on Jericho. That man’s blasted dreams. Or perhaps, just because I wanted to..” He said, again failing to give her a satisfying answer.

They danced again in silence, though slowly one by one the other dancers faded, and the music grew quieter. The hall lost its grandeur and warmth, becoming dull, grey, and cold. But Raziel remained, warm and near, yet cold and distant as ever.

They stopped, and she felt the tears flowing freely. She had held them in, an iron cage around her heart, but now they were as a waterfall, the cage broken and ruptured. “I don’t want you to go.” She mumbled, amidst the agony.

He ran his hand through her hair, down to her chin, and lifted her head up. As always, he was smiling. “We are one soul, I will always be here.” He said, placing his hand upon her heart. She looked down at it, feeling warmth and strength flowing into her. When she looked back up he was gone, and she was all alone.

Though not truly alone, for she felt another presence. Sitting on a bench nearby was Raziel, or rather a replica. One of their blasted projects.

“What do you want.” She growled, quickly wiping away the tears and giving it a scowl.

It chuckled, “That’s no way to greet your brother, who wanted to check up on his dear sister in this time of grief.”

“You are not my brother.” She spat, looking it over for a few seconds, “You are just one of their creations. Nothing more.”

It chuckled again, “In the flesh maybe, but my mind is here for the moment.”
She narrowed her eyes, “Where are you truly?”

“Aboard the Hammer of Twilight.” It replied earnestly. She did not detect a lie.

“Hmph, one of your new toys. I have no desire to speak with you. And never deign to call yourself my brother again, wretch.” She said, grabbing her weapons and making her way to the door.

“But we are siblings, no? I felt his death as much as you did. I saw it, just as you did. I hoped he would not go, just as you did” It replied, standing up. Its smile was gone, had she hit a nerve?

She gave it a deathly glare, “Clone. Traitor. Accident. Scum. You might have my legion, but you do not control me. Rejoice though, you are not my prey today.” She said, before storming out. Every step was a thud, filled with rage, as she gnashed her teeth together as one name repeated itself again and again in her mind, before emerging in a guttural hiss.

“Lancarius!”

[Lunas Legion]

Indrania Stratia Megasa
Gladium Stellae
Gulgorahd, Gulgorahd Protectorate, Ultima Segmentum

<<Indrania, I request your presence at Acre. Atlas out.>>

It was a small message, meaningless to most, lost in astropathic traffic and likely to quickly fade from the minds of those who'd seen the message. A simple request from one Primarch to another to meet at a location like that which had been sent to many of her siblings, were it not for previously agreed on signals. Her summons to Acre was not actually a summons to Acre, or indeed a summons to anywhere at all; no, it was a signal for her that Atlas had started the first stage of his plan, and ​a signal to get her own plans into motion.

Gulgorahd had mobilised, the ancient forge-world mobilising the Taghmata Gulgorahd, its ancient Knight Houses and Titan Legions roused to wreak vengeance in their one-sided feud against Triplex Phall. Her own legion had purged itself, or half of it had, and it was as loyal to her as it ever would be, presided over by officers that owed their stations to her and then on downwards, a complete inversion of its previous way of doing things. If everything had gone according to plan, then right now she would be mobilising her own legion to storm into destroy the weakened Triplex with Gulgorahd at her back.

Instead, as she scrunched the paper up into a ball in a clenched fist, she had been thwarted by dumb luck. As her ships, repaired and replenished, had gradually trickled back to her, they kept reporting the same thing; that Orestes and his legion remained stubbornly in system, frustrating her best-laid plans. As if to add insult to injury, as far as she was aware the entire Host of the Tarot had simply... Vanished.

Eight thousand Star Swords aboard eleven ships, simply... Gone. Vanished into the Warp, despite the turbulence having been firmly within anticipated margins according to her other Lord Commanders. Had they betrayed her? It was a possibility. It always was, when it came to her sons. They used the purge at Desperation for their own ends, and then simply... Vanished, to pursue whatever mysterious aims they had.

So instead she would simply wait Orestes out, and once he left, then she would strike and cripple, if not destroy, Triplex Phule. She still had ships there under repair, it would be a simple matter for them to keep her updated on the presence of the Watchers through Astropathic communication. They might be casualties in her coming assault, but so be it.

If there was one thing she had learned, however reluctantly, from Lucian, it was that war was, fundamentally, a mathematical equation, and that losses were inevitable and acceptable. A few of her sons to cripple a forge world like Triplex was a trade vastly in her favour. All she had to do was wait for the conditions to change to strike.

[Wysten]

Morganthau
Aboard the Battle Barge Long Night of Solace
~20 Minutes from Terran Arrival

The Battle Barge was not idle as it tore through the unreality of the warp, inside tech priest and tech marine alike worked almost constantly to repair the damaged battle barge, despite it being attacked from what seemed to be half of the Brazen Beast’s fleet the ship was only moderately damaged from its hasty retreat. Through the hallways, there was almost always a marine patrol coming either to or from one area to another. To keep the marines occupied Morganthau had ordered training and the development of even basic anti-Space Marine tactics, a skill that no one save for the XII had even considered developing, much less practicing. Morganthau himself was busy, however, peering into the star maps a wide variety of information was flashing over his HUD and the holographic projection, besides him stood Lieutenant Boroth, his second in command and leader of 1st Demi-Company, to his right and around the circular projector stood Lieutenant Mettius of 2nd Demi-Company, his usually pristine face was marred with fresh scars from the battle just a few days prior, then came Lieutenant Heremond of the 3rd Demi-Company, still somewhat displeased with his new reinforcements from a small loyalist warband, after that came the tall figure Lieutenant Antronov of the 4th Demi-Company seemingly immersed in the information on the projection, Finally the Lieutenant of 5th Demi-Company Arden stood with his arms crossed looking towards Morganthau along with the rest of the table.

Morganthau spoke up as the projection outlined the planet, “Bodt is one of the most prized possessions of our former gene-father, it has proved to be ample ground for fresh marines and materiel, given the size of the fleet we encountered just a few days ago we can only assume that both it and that cursed world of Alx have but a token garrison assumed hostile to anyone that is not under Atlas or Uriel. Now, this garrison is more than enough to deal with our only around thousand marine force, however, its moon is just about to be in a position where it will be extremely close to the planet, if we can shift it even just a few degrees, even a near-miss will cause tidal force strong enough to rip the planet apart. While it may be early to start planning to attack such a place, we must be ready to wage our war against the traitors without help from even our loyal cousins due to assumptions about our loyalties. Any questions?”

The Commanding Officers of the Damned Company merely shook their heads and Morganthau gave a nod of dismissal and the marines quickly departed the bridge and off to their respective units.

With the minutes ticking by the Battle Barge tore itself out from the orbit of the warp and into the realspace of just beyond Luna, quickly Morganthau gained control of the ship’s vox and hailed the Imperial Palace, “This is Captain Morganthau of the 33rd Company of the Brazen Beasts, this is a priority hail for the Imperial Palace, request immediate contact with any member of Custodes, Council, or even the Emperor.” Morganthau’s voice sounded almost desperate as with each minute that ticked by the more damage the traitors would do.

The Battle-Barge’s arrival beyond Luna was extremely close for a Warp translation. Even before it successfully translated, when the fabric of reality tore open to allow the vessel passage, the alert was raised on Terra, Luna, and Mars. Detachments of Battlefleet Solar in the vicinity were already acquiring target solutions. The orbital defenses protecting Terra, and those of Luna and Mars, were tracking the vessel within the minute.

Indeed, throughout the bridge of the damaged Battle-Barge alarm klaxons would blare as more than fifty-seven thousand unique target locks from various ships, patrol boats, terrestrial defense batteries, orbital defense stations, and scrambling attack craft would be assaulting the Cogitators of the vessel. A number that kept rising as more of Sol’s defenses became aware of the intruding ship.

For in the intervening weeks between the Dropsite Massacre and the 33rd’s arrival Terra had been assaulted by frantic, garbled, downright indecipherable Astropathic messages. Cries and calls of betrayal, anguish, aid, or even pure confusion, and awaiting orders from thousands of planets, fleets, and armies.

It would not be until the Battle-Barge was in a total killbox that it would never survive from once shooting occurred that a response was sent directly from the Imperial Palace.

<<Do you recognize my voice?>>

The voice of Constantin Valdor echoed throughout the bridge of the ship. Embedding itself in the ears of Astartes and Crew alike. By now the Apocalypse Class Battleship Luna’s Spear had pulled within effective gunnery range with over thirty-four other ships of Battlefleet Solar stationed above Luna.

What would be considered a chill ran down Morganthau’s spine as he heard the voice, he had heard it only a handful of times, once during the Solar Reclamation, and one final time at Ullanor. Raising the Vox to his mouth once again Morganthau spoke, “Yes Captain-General,” was his only response as their Battle Barge laid adrift in the void near Luna.

There was a momentary pause. Vox static whistling softly. For but a moment there could have been doubt if they’d survive beyond the next several minutes. If the ship was fired upon it would not survive the amount of ordinance levied against it.

<<Power down your drives, Captain Morganthau, prepare to be boarded.>> The eruption of Valdor’s voice, uncompromising totality, could have been seen as elating after the tense silence. In reality, The Imperial Palace’s traffic controllers and security suites were overseen by the Custodes themselves had run all that was known of the Long Night of Solace. One thing was quickly ascertained. This ship had been at what was officially being termed as, ‘The Dropsite Incident.’

The tone of Valdor’s voice was also clear to Morganthau and any Marine present. There would be no compromise. There would be no doubt. If the Battle-Barge gave off signs that it would flee, fight, or otherwise maneuver in any manner deemed even possibly hostile. The Luna’s Spear and the orbital defenses would open fire.

“Craft on approach from Luna,” said one of the bridge crew. Indeed, the holo-lith in the bridge denoted a sleek golden and red craft approximately the size of a Cobra-Class destroyer, maybe a bit smaller, on approach. It was not a ship of any Astartes or Armada outfit. This was a craft solely in the heraldry of the Legio Custodes. The Emperor’s chosen Praetorians.

“ETA four minutes and twenty,” sounded the bridge crewmember again. A nervous trickle of sweat on the middle-aged man’s brow. Even though it was the Custodes coming, the gravity, intensity, of the situation bore heavily on the human survivors aboard the Long Night of Solace.

The sleek vessel cruised, rapidly closing the distance until it had pulled up to a portside access hatch. A small umbilical extending to magnetize to the hull around the hatch. Access would of course be granted, as three Custodes and two Sisters of Silence stepped through the threshold. Guardian Spears held in their hands. Bolters in the Sister’s gauntlets. They were expecting the possibility of a fight.

Morganthau would switch to his Company Vox and spoke, "Lieutenant Boroth, tell every marine to lay down their arms and tell them to move to the exits, I will meet the Custodes personally." His voice was stoic even with seemingly every piece of ordnance pointed at his ship.

Walking down the halls of the Battle Barge Morganthau took in the almost derelict state the ship was in, lights flickered and sometimes just popped, sending a shower of sparks bouncing off the marine's ceremite plating, the floors still had remnants of the battle weeks earlier with spots of dried blood, and spent bolter cases. This didn't perturb the Captain as he made his way to the port side access hatch and saw them.

While engineered specifically to not even have the thought of fear something pulled at Morganthau's heard when he saw the Silent Sisters, their auramite armor gleamed in the dim light of the Battle Barge with their soulless eyes almost looking at Morganthau. Besides them also stood the Custodes, the Ten Thousand, the personally hand forged guardians of the Master of Mankind. Their long Guardian Spears lowered Morganthau knew that even if the entire Company stood in this hallway with bolters they could maybe kill one with luck.

Saluting an Aquilla the Captain spoke, "Greetings Praetorians, I assure you I and my marines mean you no harm, I merely came to deliver the news about what happened." His voice had changed to that of reassurance as he gestured towards his disarmed person.

The Custodes were silent for a moment. The Sister’s observant yet unflinching in any betrayal of emotion. Until one of the Custodes spoke with surprising clarity given the vox-grille of his helmet. “That is to be seen, Brazen Beast. You and your company are to be taken to the Somnus Citadel on Luna. Whereby your accounts of what transpired are validated.”

The Custodes and Sisters parted. It was clear, the Brazen Beasts were to be treated as accomplices until their words could be considered truthful.

Morganthau nodded and called over the Vox to Boroth, “Take the Marines to the exits and to be handed off to the Custodes, there will be no need for weapons.” His voice was still stoic as ever as he cut off the communication. Walking forward the Captain took off his helmet and walked towards the lead Custodes, “I assume we are all going on board your ships?” Morganthau asked his general unease seemed to sharpen as he got even a step closer to the Silent Sisters.

The process of the marines filing onto the Custodes ship was easier said than done. Even if it could be seen as a humiliating notion for Astartes to be subjected to. If only the gravity of the situation would have allowed such a trivial lack of manners to be voiced.

Within fifteen minutes the Astartes had been gathered onto the smaller Custodes vessel. Filed into holding cells but not yet removed of their armor. A small sign of respect one could comfort themselves with, even if they found themselves surrounded by a full platoon of Sisters and seven additional Custodes.

The vessel unlatched from the Battle-Barge minutes later. Smoothly gliding through the weightlessness of space until it reached the terminus of its course. Sliding into a berth above the Somnus Citadel. At which point the Astartes were filed off in small teams, a process which took some time, one which ended in them arriving in reinforced cells forged of ship’s grade hull armor. Anti-Psyker wards etched into the bones of each cell. No chance was being afforded for treason in the fortress of the Sisters.

For soon it was just Sisters who the Astartes saw. The Custodes swiftly departing with some possible degree of urgency in their step. Has something transpired on Terra? Is the Emperor safe? Such thoughts no doubt came across one Brazen Beast.

Internal armor chronometers would tick until four hours had passed when the tapping of a staff. A glowing fiery light. Until a man in a hooded robe hobbled into view clutching a long staff, its end-capped with golden eagle wings spread to take flight and wreathed in fire. A second man, moving with surprising grace and silence despite being a golden giant, appeared next to the hobbled man. Malcador, the Regent of Terra, and Constantin Valdor.

“You may give your accounting to me, Captain Morganthau,” voiced Valdor.

Malcador perked up, “Do not spare details. I will know if you are withholding anything from me, Son of Uriel.”

Morganthau’s eyes widened at the sight of the two, kneeling the former Brazen Beast spoke, “I apologize, Lord Regent, Captain-General my gene-father had called for our aid to deal with an apparent Xenos threat located at Taracanis I was offered to have me and my Company be transported by Hankir and his Warband aboard his Battle Barge Long Night of Solace three weeks ago. During the travel, however, the situation seemed peculiar from the start as you may know my gene-father has never been one for an organized chain of command much less giving orders beyond his own Warband save for the War on Ullanor he has never called the Legion together especially for such a small threat on such a small world. When we arrived near the planet however me and Lieutenant Boroth’s suspicions had been raised even higher with the arrival of nine legions, Uriel, Atlas, Lancarius, Raziel, and Lucian were all in there in person along with the Steel Men, Sons of Heaven, Brazen Beasts, Void Reavers, Knights of the Void, Unifying Sons, Star Swords, Vipers Astra, and the Twilights Blade’s. At first, the Knights, Sons, Star Swords, and Vipers were deployed first along with random elements of other legions and Lucian and Raziel. Then, it began, at first, it was reports of friendly fire on ships but the truth quickly came to us all however that is when I and my Company were attacked by Hankir’s Warband, the leader thought that even though my Company outnumbered his almost 5:1 that he could strike and kill us all before we were ready. What we could gather however is that Atlas, Uriel, Lancarius, their Legions, and the Void Reavers had turned upon their brothers. From what we could gather before we jumped however was that Lucian was confirmed dead and that Raziel was nowhere to be seen. If you want my estimate Lord Regent, Captain-General, every Marine loyal to the Emperor and the Imperium died on the planet’s surface though we saw loyalist fleet elements from all over fleeing the battle that is all we saw before we entered the warp.” Still kneeling but looking up at the two men Morganthau merely gazed at the men waiting for their judgment.

Malcador shuffled closer, his eyes masked beneath his low hood, but Morganthau would be able to feel them boring into his very soul. Every marine could feel his presence. As if peeling back the layers of their mind for any hint of deceit. Valdor remained passive. As if awaiting judgment to be given to the Brazen Beasts.

Malcador’s voice was low and serious, “I sense your fellow Marines and you come here gird in truth. You are Brazen Beasts no more. Your Legion has abandoned its oaths, yet you and your men have not, for that you will be set apart. No, not Brazen Beasts, but Knights of the Imperium. You, your men, and others of different Legions shall bear a new mark befitting this moment.”

Malcador held out a hand and the small device in his palm swam to life to display a green light. A stylized ‘I’. The symbol of the Sigillite. “Do you accept your new calling, Knight-Captain Morganthau?”

Morganthau stood and looked at the symbol in the Regent’s hand he had been an outcast from his Legion before the betrayal but it was still a bond, but that bond had been broken long ago, before Taracanis. Looking at Malcador Morganthau spoke, “What will you have your Knight-Captain do?”

Malcador pressed a stud on the side of the device and a small holographic image of Mars swam into view. “The Mondus Occulam and Mondus Gamma forges are critical. Terra is still ascertaining the extent of Atlas’ betrayal. The Warmaster has yet to be reached so we must fear the worst and that she has been struck as well. You and your men will secure the Forge-fanes producing the Mark IV power armor, secure its technical data for transport to Terra, along with as much war material as possible. The loyalties of Kelbor-Hal and the Fabricator-Locum are so far aligned to the Emperor, but for how long is not clear, or if the seeds of betrayal have taken root on the Red Planet. No matter. The objective remains the same.”

It was at that moment that Valdor finally broke his relatively mute stance. Speaking confidently, “The Titan Legions: Mortis, Ignatum, Death Bolts, and Tempestus are loyal to the Emperor and Warmaster. Mortis and Ignatum’s rivalry is known but will work to defeat a common enemy. Koriel Zeth from Magma City will also be of use and through connections with the Warmasters agent, the Sun Angels Astartes Masamune will render aid in securing your objectives. As would Knight House Taranis. Anything else we cannot be certain of and advised to proceed with caution.”

Malcador withdrew, “Battlefleet Solar will move to assist in securing the Ring of Iron. Any questions?”

Morganthau spoke once again as he put his helmet back on. “I assume me and my Marines will be given new equipment to suit our new Legion? I will also need every Marine possible if we are to have any hope of getting the power armor off-world, while it may only be a handful I request those in the Crusader Host, even of those from traitorous Legions, be sent to me if their loyalties lie with the Emperor and of Humanity.”

“And you will have them,” remarked Valdor.

Malcador waved over to his side and the sounds of workbenches rolled into view. Bearing paints and artifice equipment. “You will have your new insignia and equipment. The alterations aside from my sigil on your left pauldron will be of the Marines' own choosing. You will have access to one hundred Mark IV suits that were kept on Terra as part of initial production runs. New bolters and squad equipment will be of your choosing. Flamers to Volkite weaponry will be authorized for your use. Chain to power weapons. Your mission will begin as soon as you are ready.”

Morganthau walked over the table and saw the array of tools at his disposable, “It will be done Lord-Regent.” Giving the Aquilla the Knight-Captain ordered the armors moved to the Battle Barge and slowly over the span of the next two days the Company were transformed from the Damned to the Knights of the Imperium, as a mark of pride at being chosen by the Lord-Regent and Captain-General personally they kept the I given to them on their pauldrons. Morganthau meanwhile was in the bridge of the Long Night of Solace preparing for the storm soon to engulf both Mars and the galaxy.

Collab by Wysten and Imperialisium

[Audunia]

Co-write by Audunia, Krugmar, Bentus

Head of the Serpent
Nehushtan

Ten minutes. Ten minutes was all it took me to reach my quarters from the bridge. I knew the route on muscle memory at this point, yet this felt different, like I was running through knee-deep sand. Every movement was sluggish and delayed, each second dragged achingly slow. Yet at the same time, it passed without incident, like my unconscious mind was being subjected to a different flow of time than my conscious one.

My ceramite boots clanked against the metal floor with every tortured step as I reached my quarters. They were simply designed, brown Nuzian stone had been brought in, but the walls remained bare. A stone bed was nestled in the corner, a granite bowl sat close by. The wall furthest him sat the weapon rack, but it was shrouded by darkness. My brows furrowed. The room was usually well lit by candles, and I could see the flames on the candles closest to the rack flickering with life.

I strode forwards. A simple trick of the eyes, nothing more. My hand plunged into the darkness surrounding the rack, a sudden coolness penetrated through the ceramite and engulfed my armoured hand, a chill running along my bones. I felt the sensation of ice forming and cracking throughout my body. Grunting in pain, I felt a rush of blood to my head. Throne, my head spun. What could this darkness be to make a Primarch dizzy? I fell to my knees, a crash resounding throughout the stone room. My hands raised to my head as I felt my head pulse and throb, I yelled out as a resounding shriek played in my ears. Bright spots danced in my vision, my eyes clamped shut.

A Son of the Anathema, brought to his knees so easily? an voice spoke, silencing the shriek, bringing my spinning head to a standstill. I looked up and the burn of bile was in my throat. What stood before me felt like a vicious mockery. It’s legs were grossly malformed, the colour of dead flesh, sitting upon bent knees and hoofed feet, though much of its hide was scarred or had absorbed some armour, it melding with the flesh as though it was born with it. It was bulky, larger than even my father, its muscles corded tightly around whatever bones lay within, cruel tattoos and jagged spikes decorated its cold blue skin. It’s arms were just as abnormally formed, muscles that writhed beneath the skin as though worms feasted on its flesh, talons in place of hands, tinged red. But what disgusted me the most was its head. It looked almost too human, yet its skin was peeled back and held taught across its bones, small tips of white stuck out of its cheeks. For a moment I clenched my fist to strike it, but something held me back. A familiarity hung abouts its vile form. I have strived to never betray emotion on my face, but I failed this one. It’s head was mine.

---

It had been too long since he had experienced the thrill of true action. Fifty years ago he had been Argaman, a Twilight’s Blade Rav in a tight-knit S’erhmelk. So close was their bond, in fact, that all four had been Argaman. Whether he was the original he did not know, any trace of his true identity, if he were not the original, had been wiped away. But he was now Sagar, and another had taken his place as Argaman.

Sagar had been an honourable Battle-Brother of the Vipers Astra, serving for thirty years, before he had eaten his brain. The Blades had been tracking their quarry, an Aeldari corsair, and arrived to find the Vipers had beaten them to the punch, albeit with some casualties. One minute he was standing alone over Sagar’s body with a chill working its way down his spine, the next he awoke to find himself on Red Scar with most of Sagar’s memories.

To be picked as an infiltrator was a high honour, and so without orders he set about blending in, wearing another’s face for so long that it became his own. For all those fifty years he had acted perfectly, often forgetting that he was not in fact a Viper. And then it had hit him, a chill voice which sent shocks through his body. He was unsure what exactly it had said, but instantly he knew his mission, and felt a great compulsion to carry it out.

And now here he was, walking quickly through the halls to return to his post. The gellar field had been sabotaged, in a way that would lead their tech-priests to no other conclusion than accidental failure or an oversight by one of their own.

Why had he sabotaged it? He had no idea. Any time his mind probed the subject, he felt a cold chill. Since the voice’s sudden appearance, a splitting headache erupted from time to time, and he had the feeling that he was not the only one seeing the world through his eyes.

Finally he reached his post and waited. Any second now the field would fail, and the xenos of the warp would invade the ship. Without any further orders he would fall back to his primary mission, one which would meld well with his identity as a Viper. Survive.

---

“What vile trick is this?” I spat, my eyes struggling to fully comprehend what stood before me. It’s torso hunched forwards, a mocking smile reveal rows of uneven teeth tipped with a bright metal.

I am your future it said, its voice sounded like vellum rubbing against itself, soothing yet aggravating Your fate at the end of all things

I shook my head, refusing to believe what it had just told me “No, I would never let myself become this...this thing” it gave a barking laugh, straightening its back and stretching to its full hit, a set of wings made of writing smoke outstretched from its back.

You do not have a choice. Even now gears are in motion, gears you are blind too, that have set you upon this path it said again. It’s voice had shifted, instead of parchment its voice sounded slower, more relaxed, as thought patience had been granted form.

I suddenly became aware of where we stood. A sea of raging colours surrounded us, rising and crashing down at a whim, each action both meaningless and at the same time important. Dark colours swirled menacingly before vanishing, light colours became towering tornados that raged into darkness. It’s randomness evoked only one thing.

“No path will see me stray from what I am” I answered, my focus directed to the sea that raged around me.

The beast eye’s fell upon me, feline and contracted into a slit, as though studying its prey And what are you? Murderer? Sadist? I am you, I know we are most euphoric in the misery of others. it said, clouds formed behind it, showing memories that were thrust to the forefront of my mind. Nuzi, where I unleashed vipers upon a panicked army. How I had celebrated such a victory. Agria, the first world I conquered as Primarch, I had relished every second of it. The scale of warfare had expanded expontially for me then, a tingle of pain emerged beneath my cheek as my body remembered the first time it was cut. An Agrian bio-warrior, I recalled, like the Astartes but lesser, had forced its way into my guard and its blade bit into my flesh with expert grace and aim. The bio-warrior fell then and there, but it was enough.

It was then we decided that the joy of killing would not overpower us, but we were foolish it began to say, I could hear the sound of saliva dripping from its mouth, as though savouring the memory, feasting on the surprised emotions.

“Feelings had almost cost me my life” I answered back, though I felt like I could not stop the words even if I had wanted to, this beast had latched onto my thoughts and compelled them to be spilled “They were not useful, they were blinding, so I ignored them.”

A mocking laugh came from it, like stone being smashed beneath a hammer, You were blinded, but not by emotions. By your own making. The Anathema crafted you so. He fears your power when fuelled by emotions, so he stunted you it paced confidently around me, it’s bulk should be ungainly and awkward to walk it, yet this being defied it. Each step was intended, controlled, no sign of its form impacting it. But when we become one, we are free of those chains. Every emotion is euphoric, pleasurable, powerful. We discover our power and we refuse to become leashed again”

My mind raced. In this beast’s presence, I was tempted. I could taste my freedom, in it’s form, I saw raw power, barely constrained. To be such a being would be to become a deity. All would bow before me. Atlas would bow, Vasillia would bow, Lancarius, Lucian, Kortaez, all my siblings would bend to my will. Those that resisted would break. Even my…

The air became chilled, I saw a glare upon the beasts face, it’s features rife with revulsion as it tralled through my mind. “The Anathema...he crafted me...you mean my father...the Emperor” I said, my voice fighting against a will that was not mine trying to keep me silent.

Do not speak that liar’s name! the beast hissed, its size doubling but something felt wrong with it, as though it was compensating for some weakness I could not detect in its alien form. The talons of its hands seemed to crack in exposure to His name.

“Why?” I asked, my will and fortitude returning to me “You claim to offer boundless power, but you fear a name? You are no less a liar than you claim the Emperor to be!” I felt my form grow, as though empowered by a source that had always been within me, innately “Begone from me, you pitiful peddler of lies, begone from my sight, begone from my ship, in the name of the Emperor, I cast you out!”

The sea around us flashed as raging torrents swirled violently around us, lightning emerging from nowhere brought brightness to this darkened realm. The creature in front of me seemed to beg, crying out as its body began to crumble in front of my eyes. The talons shattered, turning to mist that rejoined the sea, indistuisable. The body followed, the beast cursing me in a guttural language I did not recognise nor wished too, its body bent and broke in ways it was not meant to, cracks ran along its hide as it diminished into nothing but mist.
----
Janessa winced as she bent over to lace up her boots. She grinned at the slight discomfort, becoming increasingly aware of the litany of bruises and scrapes that she’d earned in her encounter with the Primarch. She’d wasted no time in tossing herself beneath the warm waters of her quarter’s shower, but while it could wipe away the sweat and grime, it made her acutely aware of the aching fatigue that was emanating from her muscles. Throne knew that she’d be feeling the consequences of her rash choices in the morning, but for now she wore each of the minor injuries with pride.

Truthfully, she’d just been curious to see what it was that the astartes considered to be training. It wasn’t often that she was given the chance to be stationed on one of their vessels, and she wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity after Clarke had assigned her as their maniple’s representative during this transit. Even when she’d surprised even herself by challenging that astartes to a duel, Janessa never would have imagined in her wildest dreams that the Primarch himself would’ve offered to fight her instead. A part of her still didn’t believe that it had really happened, and that she’d awake to find she’d just imagined the whole thing. But until then, she’d relish the feeling of being able to say that she fought against one of the pinnacles of mankind, and lived to tell the tale. How many mere mortals could lay claim to as tall a tale as that?

Janessa was torn from her thoughts as the lights in her room flickered above her head.

Caught off guard, she paused to frown at the main bulb that offered the small room its illumination before it appeared to settle itself back down. Janessa felt a strange crawling sensation underneath her skin. By all accounts, it was almost certainly some faulty wiring somewhere in the immense ship’s circuitry, or a fuse briefly going out before alternate systems recovered from the short-circuit. But call it a sixth sense, or instinct, but something caused the woman’s stomach to twist with concern and put her on edge. Her worries appeared to be confirmed when a painful groan emanated throughout the ship’s superstructure, the creaking of a mountain of metal and steel as some unknown stress caused the very bulkheads to shudder.

Steadying herself with a hand on a wall until the shaking had subsided, Janessa stood still for a moment as she tried to listen for any hints of what might have just happened. If she concentrated, she thought that she could hear the sound of shouting in the distance, along with some over noises that she could scarcely make out over the beating heart of the vessel’s life support systems. And then...were those gunshots?

Janessa didn’t hesitate before grabbing the laspistol that rested by her bedside. Holding the sidearm comfortably in her hand, she made her way towards the entrance to her quarters before taking a cautious peek into the hallway beyond.

“Princeps Ignatova, it appears that the machine spirits are unruly today. Do not worry, I shall have this malfunction rectified shortly.”

The mechanical voice addressed Janessa from down the hall, and she turned to see the magos that had guided her to the astartes’ training chamber earlier. Dressed in the red robes of the mechanicum, he appeared to be fiddling with the command console for a bulkhead door that had slammed shut at the end of the corridor. Janessa frowned as she studied the heavy metal door, wondering for a moment if the groaning she had heard was its heavy frame sliding closed. No. It’s heavy, but not enough to make the ground shake like that. Something else is going on. And besides that, a simple electrical short wouldn’t have triggered the bulkhead. Those were meant to function on their own circuits, so as to prevent parts of the ship from being accidentally separated from one another in the heat of battle

“Magos, I’m not sure that opening the door is a -” Before Janessa could finish her warning, an explosion ripped through the side of the corridor, wrenching the door from its hinges and twisting it aside. The blast was enough to knock the princeps off her feet, despite the distance, and she slammed her back painfully onto the metal floor. Groaning as her head rung like a forge being struck, Janessa was blinded for a moment as stars filled her vision. Coughing, she rolled herself back onto her hands and knees, shaking her head in an effort to chase off the ringing that saturated her ears. As her senses began to return to her, she was immediately greeted by the sound of klaxons, and a nearby mechanical wheezing.

Looking up, she saw the magos clutching at a stump where his augmented arm had been moments before. The limb must have been torn off by a piece of the door, the impromptu metal shrapnel having passed through flesh and augmetics like paper. Oil and blood seeped through the wound, but Janessa noticed that the man’s enhancements appeared to have included improvements to his body’s ability to coagulate around wounds. A minor foot-note compared to the significant modifications that his natural form had undergone, it alone was probably going to be responsible for keeping him alive. Shifting her gaze from the injured techpriest, Janessa shifted her gaze to look through the exposed doorway into the more expansive room beyond, and she froze at the sight that greeted her.

Scattered fires were burning, beginning to send up thick clouds of smoke as shouts and lasfire filled the air. Screams of pain went unheeded, as the dying and dead were ignored by the living that fought desperately against something just out of sight. Moving forward, Janessa ignored the ongoing firefight as she crouched beside the whimpering tech priest.

“Magos, can you hear me? Are you hurt anywhere else?” She asked, years of battlefield experience driving her actions despite the chaos that had erupted around her. The magos blinked as he focused on her words, glancing down at his stump before slowly nodding.

“Y-yes. Diagnostics indicate that I am functioning nominally...considering the circumstances.” He took a breath, trying to calm himself with the action. “What is going on?”

“I think we’ve been boarded.” Janessa stated, her serious tone being met by a look of shock from the techpriest.

“In the warp? But the gellar field should have -” A blood-curdling roar cut the man off and caused both of them to turn to look back into the room beyond their corridor. An armsmen was unloading the entire charge of his weapon in desperation, screaming at his foe. Janessa could hear the sound of rapid, heavy footfalls, and that sensation of crawling skin once again returned.

Despite the soldier’s best efforts, his weapon didn’t even slow the xenos as it barrelled into view. Its inhuman form towering over the mortal as it cleaved its blade from the man’s shoulder to his groin. Janessa heard the techpriest gasp, before additional armsmen began firing at the xeno, only appearing to have drawn its attention with the action.

“Run.” Janessa said, her eyes locked onto the alien creature even as it ripped the head from another trooper, briefly creating a fountain of blood before the body crumpled to the floor. “We have to run, now.”

The intensity of her own words spurred her into action. If the lasguns wielded by the armsmen were having the little of an effect, then there was nothing that she could do with the pistol in her grip. The only course of action right now, was to focus on surviving. Grabbing onto the techpriest’s good arm, Janessa ignored a hiss of pain from the man as she pulled him to his feet before she turned to run away from the firefight as fast as her legs could carry her. The magos needed no further encouragement, having been knocked from his own horrified reverie by the princeps’ instruction. Together, they ran through the corridor even while they heard the screams of the dying fading behind them, along with the alien’s blood-curdling roar.

---

My vision restored as my eyes opened uneasily. The darkness that hung around the weapon’s rack had vanished, the flickering light had taken it back over, casting shadows that swayed at the whims of the light. For a brief moment I thought I was seeing another falsehood, but my vox flared to life, bringing me back to my sense. The maul. I got back to my feet and grabbed it, the wooden rack creaked as I relieved it of the considerable weight.

I went to leave, but I felt a film of sweat upon my face. It was considerable and would risk morale on the bridge, so I went to the bowl that sat near my bed. I dipped my hand into the cold water, splashing it on my face. I took a breath to ground myself and stared at the fragments of my reflection in the clear water, shifting and morphing my features. For a moment I swore I could see the creature I had seen, but I broke the image by taking another scoop of water and cleansing my face with it. Paranoid delusions, I was sure that was what it was.

My vox blared again, this time I answered it “My Lord!” came the deep voice of Alknetai, resonant despite the static “Where have you been?”

Where have I been? My brows furrowed as I raised from the bowl, my grip on the maul tightening as I departed my quarters “Speak sense Alkentai, I’ve not left this ship” I replied back gruffly, unwilling to even hint at what I had just experienced.

“Lord, we’ve been attempting to reach you for twenty minutes to no avail” he answered back.
“What?” I demanded, picking my pace up from a spirited walk to a sprint. Twenty minutes being completely unreachable? It was an unforgivable absence, I’d take penance for it in future, but now I had greater concerns. “The Engineerium, does it survive?” I asked, turning a corner, finding it hauntingly empty as the lumens flickered wildly.

“It does, Lord, the Xenos are tenacious and are not felled easy, but we have stood so far.” he responded, the sound of bolter fire in the background.

A door was jammed between opening and locking, I gripped it tightly with my free arm and yanked it open, the sparks flying and metal screaming in resistance. “And of Sylus and the Sons?”

“Alive, Lord, and here. Their presence was instrumental in holding the Engineerium, it seems the beasts have fled.”

I didn’t slow my pace as he gave me the news. The Xenos had struck fast and slithered back just as quickly, it was beyond the capabilities of any Xenos I had ever fought. The part was what concerned me the most. A Xenos threat that could strike in the Warp could prove disastrous to future wars, an unfortunate byproduct of the Imperium’s reliance on it, but I never could have foreseen it as such a weakness.

I struck the thought from my head. The Warp was the Immaterium, nothing could exist in the damned place. I knew this, yet I still couldn’t help but think otherwise, like there was something I had missed. Words rang in my head as I got closer and closer to the bridge. Gears are in motion. What gears? Whatever dream I had faced had intelligence, but nothing of that sort existed out here. I shook my head again, I would not dwell on these things, not with more important concerns.

Arriving at the bridge, I saw how important the other concerns were. The manpower had been reduced significantly, whatever they had experienced had driven them mad. Some consoles and chairs were decorated in spilled blood, while some sat inconsolable at their positions, tears streaming unabated.

My own Shipmaster was nowhere to be seen, her station empty. My eyes fell on a shrouded corpse and knew the why. I felt sorrow then, sorrow that this had suffered this unpleasant fate, but my sorrow paled in comparison at my own ineptitude. Abandoning the bridge at such a time of crisis on a frivolous matter such as my maul. Pathetic.

“Sire” a weak voice called, weighed down by some unseen nightmare “We are approaching Triplex Phall”

I frowned slightly, sympathy in my eyes “Thank you,” I said, sadness tinging the edge of my voice “get us out of the Immaterium”. The ship groaned as it was spat from the Warp, though a wave of relief could be felt rushing through the crew. Mortal and Astartes relaxed slightly, a brief respite before the dire task of cleaning up. I would order the mortals to do it immediately, this was a task for whatever servitors that survived.

I saw alerts flicker weakly alive. Ship runes. I recognised two of the names. My frown deepened at the realisation of who waited for me. Carmirre, rash and impetus, but while some siblings may not like him, I have learned he hones himself in the forge, to rein himself in. He’s certainly tolerable. But more frustratingly was my other brother present. Orestes

---

The Immaterium, aboard The Burning Hand

Klaxons blared across the length and breadth of the ship, signaling the imminent arrival of the Craftsmen's fleet. Battle-brothers strapped into landing craft, fully suited up and weapons ready. Exiting the warp was always an exercise in preparedness - you never knew what awaited in realspace. The length of the journey ensured not many marines expected there to still be fighting left, but then again the Craftsmen always were better at the cleanup than head-on combat.

The alarms intensified, and soon the few remaining crewmembers and marines were ready for the exit. The ship began to creak and groan under the strain - its mass, once sequestered in the warp, returning to realspace and the laws of physics. Parts of the ship, once massless in the warp, now accelerating to match the speed of the ship lest it tear itself apart under the strain.

With an almighty shudder, the Burning Hand exited the warp above Triplex-Phall, its escort and horde of smaller Craftsmen' strike cruisers following shortly after. It had been a long, tiring journey - but the Craftsmen had arrived.

[Imperialisium]

Merphidion System
Site X-Ray

Silent gunfire lit up the atmosphere-less terrain around the facility designated as 'Site X-Ray' on Imperial Militarum Tactical Maps. The Pale Huntsmen deployed to take out the generators had done so wonderfully. With commiserate skill swiftly evading detection and demolition the generator facility along with their defenses. All in perfect timing with the arrival of the Sun Angels and 109th Harakoni's Tertia Optio. The bulk of the Sun Angels joined the escalating firefight outside as enemy turret defenses and gun emplacements rotated to try and engage their enemy. While automatons of the enemy, the same fighting on Sigma Extremis surface in another star system, sortied from air locks to engage the Space Marines. Bolt shells, rockets, and lascannon beams lanced back and forth. Occasionally, accompanied by the globing mass of a plasma weapon being discharged. However, the real target was the interior of the facility.

Breaching inwards and venting the unfortunate occupants of the room on the other side into the void. The Astartes of the Sun Angels Legion were first in. The Euthanatoi wore black armor with inverted color schemes, yet bore the badge of the Sun Angel's Legion on their armor and weapons all the same. Breaching into hallways properly. Atmosphere depressurization violently subjecting anyone caught outside of a suit or unable to be taken into a pressurized area with the painful death of mass barotrauma.

Clearing the immediate floors it was not until the Astartes and Harakoni had penetrated nine floors down that the depressurizations stopped. Indeed, confirmation from rear sweeping teams had confirmed that the enemy was dropping bulkheads to prevent further damage to the facilities artificial atmosphere. The Astartes at least, however, remained unperturbed by this and merely pressed on. Bolters sweeping in firing in support of their smaller Harakoni allies own lasfire barrages. The enemy was skilled of course, for the most part, and the cogitators in the helmets of the Astartes confirmed suspicions that the enemy security forces were refugee FSF from the Aureliana Federation.

The battle raged deeper into the facility. Leaving gore strewn hallways and the eviscerated remains of enemy Federation Special Forces teams. Not that unarmed combatants had been spared. Indeed, the Harakoni would immediately bear witness to Astartes merely stepping into doorways and mowing down anyone inside a lab, data center, or dormitory without so much as a warning. The Space Marines were not cruel, just brutally efficient.

It was however when Captain Vyacheslav and his team of Astartes and Harakoni neared the reactor core of the facility. Coming into a large space with the reactor cores before them. That they met their true test. Loping out of the dim lighting two dozen enemy automatons assaulted them. Five met their ends with well placed Bolter shots. Two more to quick lasgun bolts. The rest closed in and the marines switched to chainsword and combat knife. The Harakoni could only fix bayonets and move to apply the plasma charges they carried to the reactors as the marines engaged the foe.

Sigma Extremis System
The Battle Above

The 1st Gwentian was beset by increasing enemy reinforcements. Three full squadrons had assaulted them. The brave pilots of the Wing tenaciously fought on. Even as their own casualties continued to mount. Their auspex systems showing another enemy flight vectoring towards them. Only to suddenly disappear as a series of detonations among the clouds. Missile kills. Coming out of the clouds. The 244th Imperial Fighter Wing had finally arrived on the scene after two minutes and four seconds.

<<1st Gwentian, your relief as arrived. Your clear to bug out of the engagement zone>>

The voice of Wing Captain Ban Zeri of the 244th came over their helmet commbeads. It had been a tough fight but the 1st Gwentian had denied the enemy air superiority when it mattered most.

The Vengeful Spirit

Stroke and counter-stroke. To gaze at the Warmaster's conduct war is to bear witness to genius. Every update of the myriad sectors were fighting was being conducted led to new orders, the completion of past orders revealing themselves to be keen set ups that achieved an objective to many steps ahead for human minds to grasp, to see Imperial icons moving across holographic maps and the enemy formations identified melt before them. One could guess that this was some form of obsessive micro-management. Except, that the Warmaster's orders were seldom elaborate. In fact, if one could read the orders being issued in real time there would be a curious trend of flexibility to them, as if Vasilisa merely was directing an orchestra of conquest. Leaving the individual musicians to conduct their instruments, their formations, as they saw fit. Letting each and every officer play their part to their own expertise. And it worked beautifully.

The massive Western pocket was shrinking by the second. Already, beyond adjacent to the Imperial landing zones to the West, South, and North-West Imperial forces were having to facilitate a cordon sanitaire. As tens of millions attempted to flee the fighting. As tens of thousands of enemy soldiers caught in the wake of the enemy advance surrendered. Indeed, the Western Pocket was crumbling by the second. The 686th Vanitor pressed in from another. Vipers Astra cleaved through it from the opposite end. Titans of Vulpa decimated rearward formations while Imperial Army divisions coming behind the Vipers swept stranded units away.

Lord General Zvite had landed with the 2nd Voln swiftly joining the Sun Angels companies ready to storm across the single large river bisecting the urban conurbation. The planets last remaining resistance beyond it. Indeed, the 2nd Voln and the Sun Angel's companies strewn along the river had reaped a fearsome tally as Coalition forces desperately tried to cross the river. In one such instance a company of Voln troopers holding one side of a tram-line on the Western side of the river accepted the surrender of six thousand enemy combatants stranded on the western side, and hemmed in by Voln and Astartes units. However, it was not always so. On more than one occasion Vasilisa heard about Voln units needing to call in heavy artillery to blast individual buildings at point blank range to drive the enemy out.

But these engagements were not the only ones. The air battle had raged. The 1st Gwentian being recommended for a citation while the 45th Elysian and 501st Vanitor reported retrieving several down Imperial pilots that had managed to parachute onto the Western side of the river. Else where the Imperial forces of the 150th Imperial Army operating to the North was advancing steadily South. The 302nd Imperial Army was advancing West and in a straight line was precisely 175 kilometers away from Zvite's own forward positions. Finally, 8018th Imperial Army had, after a brutal see saw battle, punched through to the South. Moving North to where its flanking forces had met up with the 302nd in the East and the 25th Army in the West. Coming in alongside the 2nd Voln as the hours passed.

"Your Grace. Logisticae statistics paint civilian death tolls to be now over one hundred million. With sixty million processed at our concentration zones. Enemy prisoners of war have surpassed one-point-one million. Given resource requirements we suspect that once the river is crossed from the West that the enemy will no longer be able to offer effective, coordinated, resistance. Estimated enemy collapse is well within seventy-two hours." The Tacticae officer, a Strategium Lieutenant grade officer, spoke from a data slate.

"What of Nantico?"

"No word from Primarch's Drennus or Ariadne, yet."

<<Enemy Fleet disengaging.>> Came the voice from the Strategium comms as the ships tactical cogitator updated the schematics of the holo-lithic display showcasing the complex void battle that had raged for hours. Only a few scattered and battered enemy squadrons remained. Attempting to limp away out of the engagement zone.

"Order 556th and 7399th Fleet's to pursue. No survivors," responded Vasilisa smoothly. She need not look up to know her orders were being carried out. Instead, she waved a hand over the holo-lith before her and it showed the last stand of the Titan Battle.

Dies Irae, Legio Mortis Imperator Titan

Target Acquired

Firing

Engine Kill, verification Moderati

Confirmed, My Princeps

The Dies Irae stomped on an Easterly course. The Legio Mortis detachment of forty engines had been covering the Legio Vulpa's Northern Flank. The Apocalypsis was visible to their South, a hazy mass many kilometers away, occasionally there would be a hazy flash and something out of visual view would die. The Legio Mortis had kept pace with the Vulpa Engines, which was easier said than done due to the ponderous pace of the Augustus Apocalypsis, which for all of its ferocity and durability was slower than even an Imperator. An already ponderous God-Machine variant.

The Warmaster wishes for an update, My Princeps.

Patch me through, Moderatus Cassar

You are connected Princeps Turnet.

The Warmaster's voice swam through the vox-speakers of the mighty Imperator Titan's bridge with its usual intoxicating authoritarian tone. <<Princeps Turnet. Congratulations on your latest kill. The scopes of the Vengeful Spirit were able to witness such an efficient dispatch.>>

Your words bring me pride, Warmaster, few of the enemy Titans remain. Mostly in the Vulpa's line of advance and apparently trying to pull away. They won't get far. The Vulpa's Warhounds already harry them. They will be overtaken by Reavers and Warlords soon enough. The Princeps words seemed to project from all around the bridge. As if he was the Dies Irae. The MIU link allowing Princeps Turnet to commune with the mighty Machine-Spirit of the Imperator Titan as if they were one soul.

<<The Legio Mortis is to move to secure the stretch of river front in your path to support a general advance. We finish this war in less than seventy-two hours.>>

Confirmed, Warmaster, Mortis will move with all available speed to our objective. I suspect Ground assets are aware of our course?

<<All ground assets are aware of your routes. You may enter the city with impunity.>>

Very well, My Warmaster, at your behest we advance. Sending a pulse with the MIU link the reactor of the Dies Irae began to increase its power yield. The giant gears and drive train of the titans locomotive machinery increasing in power as the mighty footfalls of the God-Machine increased in pace. It would appear as if the ponderous war machine had suddenly broken into a loping fast walk. Shaking the earth around it with the pressure of its mighty armored and fortified feet. The other God-Machines of Legio Mortis likewise increased their own reactor output. Fast walking Warlords moved behind loping strides of Reavers who in turn came upon the heels of the loping jog of Warhounds.

The Vengeful Spirit

Vasilisa stood up straight as she cut the communication link with the Dies Irae. Instead turning her attention to a data reel coming up on a holo-screen above her. Reports. Going through them quickly Vasilisa smiled. 13-25 "Orion's Watch,' had been swiftly taken with Lord Commander Xerxes von Zaukken sweeping into Coalition territory alongside Lord Commander MacNamara advance from newly compliant Corrigan XI. While Lord Commanders Zheijin Khur and Luitpold van der Marke conducted a series of offensives alongside the Coalitions minor members Spinward to Sigma Extremis. Opening the way for Vasilisa, Drennus, and Ariadne to advance on the Olamic homeworld once Nantico and Sigma Extremis were pacified.

[Morrdh]

Raider Fleet Decius

It had been some hours since Decius had played his ploy of a faux xenos attack in order to escape from the Taracanis system, the entire time Decius' flotilla had been on coms silence and hadn't even responded to hails from Atlas' forces concerning the supposed xenos attack. It was Decius' hope that he and his ships would be presumed destroyed, if anything to gain the advantage in light years before Atlas realised the truth. Thus far there was no sign of pursuit by Atlas' forces.

Giving it a few hours to be sure, Decius gave orders for astropathic communique to be dispatched to the various Void Reaver fleets in the sector ordering them to converge on the Goth system. Aware of the time that this task required, Decius took advantage to ponder his next action. It was clear in his mind that Atlas had betrayed the Imperium with his actions, effectively becoming a traitor. Duty demanded that Decius take action to counter this, though he knew he lacked the ships at his disposal for a fleet engagement. His other option was to get word out sooner than later, though that ran the risk of incurring Atlas' wrath but also meant he could be branded a traitor through inaction.

Damned if he did, damned if he didn't.

Decius sighed heavily and called to one of his bridge officers. "Prepare to have the following dispatched by the astropaths; Urgent, all Imperial commands. Lord Atlas....traitor."

The bridge officer looked aghast for a moment until he met Decius' eyes, at which point he quickly bowed and hurried off.

My choice has been made." Decius mused to himself. Let the tempest come, I stand ready to face it.

---

Sigma Extremis
Ardent Will

Trenchard let out a sign of relief when the pilots under her command were finally able to dis-engage. The Gwentians were beginning to take heavy losses in both pilots and planes, though the timely arrival of Imperial reinforcements stopped it from being a complete disaster. Initial reports suggested a number of pilots managed to bail out and recovery operations had begun to retrieve these downed pilots, other pilots were forced to land on the planet's surface due to the damage suffered by their aircraft. It would mean that the 1st Gwentian would be understrength for a while, though it now boasted a number of new Aces in it's ranks.

The Warmaster seemed to have noticed the Gwentian pilots, if the citation was anything to go by. Though a crowning glory, Trenchard still had other matters to attend to such as the bomber squadrons that were due to arrive back soon along with the fighters that were still capable of reaching orbit. Then it would be a case of shifting through after action reports and re-assigning personnel where needed before submitting requests for new planes and pilots.

[Danubian Peoples]

[OOC NOTE: WILL EDIT OR REDACT POST IF NECESSARY.]
Primarch Orestes Charon of the XI Legion
Gloriana-Class Battleship Lord Colossus, in Triplex Thule System
Orestes' Quarters

Two Astartes stood vigilant guard against the room's exterior walls. Behind them their lay a ceramite door, and behind that there lay Orestes' most private quarters. A single, moveable slot to slide in small requested items was the only other entrance, and it was almost always closed. The room was almost always silent, save for the heavy footfalls produced by the Primarch and their armor, and even those were muffled to a such degree they were reduced to mild thuds that blended well with the ship's ambience, lost in the constant humming of electronics, or the quiet footsteps generated by movement elsewhere.

Which is why it came to a shock when the wall produced the sound of a mighty impact from within.

Muffled and distorted by the architecture yes, but there was the sound, a startling noise that defied expectations. Both Astartes wondered in fearful curiosity. What might've happened in there? they both mentally asked in unison. But neither knew of the other's thoughts, similar as they were, and they instead remained silent and still. They were under strict orders after all.

Moments passed, and the silence returned. Were it not for memory it would be like the event never happened at all. The scene remained as constant as ever, paying no heed to the prior disruption. And then as if on cue, the Astartes parted in unison, in conjunction with the sliding open of the ceramite door, a pneumatic hiss heralding the reveal of the Primarch's titanic frame. Orestes stepped into the hallway, and he walked off the bridge in a brisk pace, the usually measured steps of the Primarch now somewhat frantic. And so he left the scene, the two Astartes still at the door.

As the Primarch left the scene to head for the bridge, another disturbance to the status quo took his place. "Shift change. AS-2-RT-87A6N and AS-1-RT-1SDBN, report to next assignment. AS-1-CA-QW354 and AS-3-RT-JP0CX en route to current assignment." said an automated voice on the vox. Like clockwork, the two Astartes at the door, presumably 87A6N and 1SDBN departed from their post, with two new Astartes, the latter two designations most likely, arriving in quick succession to take their place at the door. The two were identical to one another and those that they were replacing, scarcely a difference visible save for their names. And such was true for all Astartes among the XI. In fact, this truth is universal amongst all under the rule of the 11th Primarch. Naught but cogs in the grand machine that is Orestes' regime, each fit for purpose yet nonetheless replaceable by a potentially unending sea of substitutes all identical. And as QW354 and JP0CX took their positions at the door to Orestes' quarters, it was like nothing had changed at all.

...

Primarch Orestes Charon of the XI Legion
Gloriana-Class Battleship Lord Colossus, in Triplex Thule System
Bridge

Orestes strode through he halls as fast as he could. There was little distance between his personal quarters and the bridge of the Lord Colossus, compared to say, the distance between the bridge and a room on the other end of the titanic vessel, but the distance to cover was considerable nonetheless. Still the Primarch moved at the fastest pace he could manage while still walking, the footfalls of his figure producing the hallmark thuds of armored foot meeting vessel floor. They were louder than most, outstripping even the footsteps of say, an Astartes under similar conditions, and the weight that accompanied them is said to make weaker floors buckle.

The Primarch entered the bridge premises with haste. His arrival was not greeted or even acknowledged by most, not out of neglect or disrespect to their superior, but out of the fact that to most, if not all on the bridge, they ought to operate like he'd never left at all. The Primarch rested his frame upon his angular seat, the dorsal portion of his armor meeting the flat and bare face of his command chair. The console at his front awaited him as usual.

Ahead of him, viewed through the bridge's windows, was a new arrival most important.

The Immaterium, aboard The Burning Hand

Klaxons blared across the length and breadth of the ship, signaling the imminent arrival of the Craftsmen's fleet. Battle-brothers strapped into landing craft, fully suited up and weapons ready. Exiting the warp was always an exercise in preparedness - you never knew what awaited in realspace. The length of the journey ensured not many marines expected there to still be fighting left, but then again the Craftsmen always were better at the cleanup than head-on combat.

The alarms intensified, and soon the few remaining crewmembers and marines were ready for the exit. The ship began to creak and groan under the strain - its mass, once sequestered in the warp, returning to realspace and the laws of physics. Parts of the ship, once massless in the warp, now accelerating to match the speed of the ship lest it tear itself apart under the strain.

With an almighty shudder, the Burning Hand exited the warp above Triplex-Phall, its escort and horde of smaller Craftsmen' strike cruisers following shortly after. It had been a long, tiring journey - but the Craftsmen had arrived.

The arrival in question? A sibling of his. More specifically, Carmirre, greatest smith and builder amongst the Primarchs and the adoptive wilding of a death world. No greater teacher than nature they say, momentarily mused the Primarch as the thought of their sibling came to him. Hair usually a soot-speckled grey, clad in deep blue armor, beholder of an impressive collector of artifacts, and helming a Legion that dressed in much the same manner he did, that was the image that Orestes conjured upon the Primarch's arrival. His mind began to race as worked to find a proper response to Carmirre and the Craftsmen. No doubt he was hear to answer the Warmaster's call, and to give the straight answer, that he was, with a third of his legion, idling at Triplex Phall would certainly be a bad move.

How do I dress this statement? What emotion do I put into it? What alibi do I use? mused the Primarch as he calculated the proper response. He had to do so with haste, too much silence between him and the Craftsmen could be interpreted negatively, and with the trigger-happy reaction netted by the Star Swords that could very well have ended in disaster had he let the counter tick to zero, Orestes was in no mood to waste too much time thinking.

With thoughts collected and ready to speak, Orestes gave an order. "Open vox channels," he stated bluntly, voice as commanding as always. The bridge crew heeded, and vox channels were indeed opened. Announcing to Carmirre, Orestes spoke, words well-selected, in a neutral, slightly positive tone.

<<"Greetings, sibling. It is I, Orestes of the XI Legion. I presume you are here to heed the Warmaster's command? I certainly am. I am just, resupplying my forces at the moment is all.">>

Orestes said the words through the vox channel, the tone towards the end shifting to a somewhat more apologetic one. The words beamed through the void of space thanks to the miracle of technology, and they reached the ears on the other end with ease, only distorted a minute degree, certainly not enough to chop up words or mask Orestes' very deliberate tone choices.

Time passed, and the message seemed to have been received well. At the very least the two fleets weren't exchanging fire, nor were they dangerously close to the prospect-a massive improvement from Orestes' prior encounter with Indrania and her Star Swords. Orestes breathed a mental sigh of relief, outwards expression silent and unmoving, almost uncanny, save for that subtle smirk the Primarch always wore when pleased.

Then there was another arrival.

Co-write by Audunia, Krugmar, Bentus

Head of the Serpent
Nehushtan

Ten minutes. Ten minutes was all it took me to reach my quarters from the bridge. I knew the route on muscle memory at this point, yet this felt different, like I was running through knee-deep sand. Every movement was sluggish and delayed, each second dragged achingly slow. Yet at the same time, it passed without incident, like my unconscious mind was being subjected to a different flow of time than my conscious one.

My ceramite boots clanked against the metal floor with every tortured step as I reached my quarters. They were simply designed, brown Nuzian stone had been brought in, but the walls remained bare. A stone bed was nestled in the corner, a granite bowl sat close by. The wall furthest him sat the weapon rack, but it was shrouded by darkness. My brows furrowed. The room was usually well lit by candles, and I could see the flames on the candles closest to the rack flickering with life.

I strode forwards. A simple trick of the eyes, nothing more. My hand plunged into the darkness surrounding the rack, a sudden coolness penetrated through the ceramite and engulfed my armoured hand, a chill running along my bones. I felt the sensation of ice forming and cracking throughout my body. Grunting in pain, I felt a rush of blood to my head. Throne, my head spun. What could this darkness be to make a Primarch dizzy? I fell to my knees, a crash resounding throughout the stone room. My hands raised to my head as I felt my head pulse and throb, I yelled out as a resounding shriek played in my ears. Bright spots danced in my vision, my eyes clamped shut.

A Son of the Anathema, brought to his knees so easily? an voice spoke, silencing the shriek, bringing my spinning head to a standstill. I looked up and the burn of bile was in my throat. What stood before me felt like a vicious mockery. It’s legs were grossly malformed, the colour of dead flesh, sitting upon bent knees and hoofed feet, though much of its hide was scarred or had absorbed some armour, it melding with the flesh as though it was born with it. It was bulky, larger than even my father, its muscles corded tightly around whatever bones lay within, cruel tattoos and jagged spikes decorated its cold blue skin. It’s arms were just as abnormally formed, muscles that writhed beneath the skin as though worms feasted on its flesh, talons in place of hands, tinged red. But what disgusted me the most was its head. It looked almost too human, yet its skin was peeled back and held taught across its bones, small tips of white stuck out of its cheeks. For a moment I clenched my fist to strike it, but something held me back. A familiarity hung abouts its vile form. I have strived to never betray emotion on my face, but I failed this one. It’s head was mine.

---

It had been too long since he had experienced the thrill of true action. Fifty years ago he had been Argaman, a Twilight’s Blade Rav in a tight-knit S’erhmelk. So close was their bond, in fact, that all four had been Argaman. Whether he was the original he did not know, any trace of his true identity, if he were not the original, had been wiped away. But he was now Sagar, and another had taken his place as Argaman.

Sagar had been an honourable Battle-Brother of the Vipers Astra, serving for thirty years, before he had eaten his brain. The Blades had been tracking their quarry, an Aeldari corsair, and arrived to find the Vipers had beaten them to the punch, albeit with some casualties. One minute he was standing alone over Sagar’s body with a chill working its way down his spine, the next he awoke to find himself on Red Scar with most of Sagar’s memories.

To be picked as an infiltrator was a high honour, and so without orders he set about blending in, wearing another’s face for so long that it became his own. For all those fifty years he had acted perfectly, often forgetting that he was not in fact a Viper. And then it had hit him, a chill voice which sent shocks through his body. He was unsure what exactly it had said, but instantly he knew his mission, and felt a great compulsion to carry it out.

And now here he was, walking quickly through the halls to return to his post. The gellar field had been sabotaged, in a way that would lead their tech-priests to no other conclusion than accidental failure or an oversight by one of their own.

Why had he sabotaged it? He had no idea. Any time his mind probed the subject, he felt a cold chill. Since the voice’s sudden appearance, a splitting headache erupted from time to time, and he had the feeling that he was not the only one seeing the world through his eyes.

Finally he reached his post and waited. Any second now the field would fail, and the xenos of the warp would invade the ship. Without any further orders he would fall back to his primary mission, one which would meld well with his identity as a Viper. Survive.

---

“What vile trick is this?” I spat, my eyes struggling to fully comprehend what stood before me. It’s torso hunched forwards, a mocking smile reveal rows of uneven teeth tipped with a bright metal.

I am your future it said, its voice sounded like vellum rubbing against itself, soothing yet aggravating Your fate at the end of all things

I shook my head, refusing to believe what it had just told me “No, I would never let myself become this...this thing” it gave a barking laugh, straightening its back and stretching to its full hit, a set of wings made of writing smoke outstretched from its back.

You do not have a choice. Even now gears are in motion, gears you are blind too, that have set you upon this path it said again. It’s voice had shifted, instead of parchment its voice sounded slower, more relaxed, as thought patience had been granted form.

I suddenly became aware of where we stood. A sea of raging colours surrounded us, rising and crashing down at a whim, each action both meaningless and at the same time important. Dark colours swirled menacingly before vanishing, light colours became towering tornados that raged into darkness. It’s randomness evoked only one thing.

“No path will see me stray from what I am” I answered, my focus directed to the sea that raged around me.

The beast eye’s fell upon me, feline and contracted into a slit, as though studying its prey And what are you? Murderer? Sadist? I am you, I know we are most euphoric in the misery of others. it said, clouds formed behind it, showing memories that were thrust to the forefront of my mind. Nuzi, where I unleashed vipers upon a panicked army. How I had celebrated such a victory. Agria, the first world I conquered as Primarch, I had relished every second of it. The scale of warfare had expanded expontially for me then, a tingle of pain emerged beneath my cheek as my body remembered the first time it was cut. An Agrian bio-warrior, I recalled, like the Astartes but lesser, had forced its way into my guard and its blade bit into my flesh with expert grace and aim. The bio-warrior fell then and there, but it was enough.

It was then we decided that the joy of killing would not overpower us, but we were foolish it began to say, I could hear the sound of saliva dripping from its mouth, as though savouring the memory, feasting on the surprised emotions.

“Feelings had almost cost me my life” I answered back, though I felt like I could not stop the words even if I had wanted to, this beast had latched onto my thoughts and compelled them to be spilled “They were not useful, they were blinding, so I ignored them.”

A mocking laugh came from it, like stone being smashed beneath a hammer, You were blinded, but not by emotions. By your own making. The Anathema crafted you so. He fears your power when fuelled by emotions, so he stunted you it paced confidently around me, it’s bulk should be ungainly and awkward to walk it, yet this being defied it. Each step was intended, controlled, no sign of its form impacting it. But when we become one, we are free of those chains. Every emotion is euphoric, pleasurable, powerful. We discover our power and we refuse to become leashed again”

My mind raced. In this beast’s presence, I was tempted. I could taste my freedom, in it’s form, I saw raw power, barely constrained. To be such a being would be to become a deity. All would bow before me. Atlas would bow, Vasillia would bow, Lancarius, Lucian, Kortaez, all my siblings would bend to my will. Those that resisted would break. Even my…

The air became chilled, I saw a glare upon the beasts face, it’s features rife with revulsion as it tralled through my mind. “The Anathema...he crafted me...you mean my father...the Emperor” I said, my voice fighting against a will that was not mine trying to keep me silent.

Do not speak that liar’s name! the beast hissed, its size doubling but something felt wrong with it, as though it was compensating for some weakness I could not detect in its alien form. The talons of its hands seemed to crack in exposure to His name.

“Why?” I asked, my will and fortitude returning to me “You claim to offer boundless power, but you fear a name? You are no less a liar than you claim the Emperor to be!” I felt my form grow, as though empowered by a source that had always been within me, innately “Begone from me, you pitiful peddler of lies, begone from my sight, begone from my ship, in the name of the Emperor, I cast you out!”

The sea around us flashed as raging torrents swirled violently around us, lightning emerging from nowhere brought brightness to this darkened realm. The creature in front of me seemed to beg, crying out as its body began to crumble in front of my eyes. The talons shattered, turning to mist that rejoined the sea, indistuisable. The body followed, the beast cursing me in a guttural language I did not recognise nor wished too, its body bent and broke in ways it was not meant to, cracks ran along its hide as it diminished into nothing but mist.
----
Janessa winced as she bent over to lace up her boots. She grinned at the slight discomfort, becoming increasingly aware of the litany of bruises and scrapes that she’d earned in her encounter with the Primarch. She’d wasted no time in tossing herself beneath the warm waters of her quarter’s shower, but while it could wipe away the sweat and grime, it made her acutely aware of the aching fatigue that was emanating from her muscles. Throne knew that she’d be feeling the consequences of her rash choices in the morning, but for now she wore each of the minor injuries with pride.

Truthfully, she’d just been curious to see what it was that the astartes considered to be training. It wasn’t often that she was given the chance to be stationed on one of their vessels, and she wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity after Clarke had assigned her as their maniple’s representative during this transit. Even when she’d surprised even herself by challenging that astartes to a duel, Janessa never would have imagined in her wildest dreams that the Primarch himself would’ve offered to fight her instead. A part of her still didn’t believe that it had really happened, and that she’d awake to find she’d just imagined the whole thing. But until then, she’d relish the feeling of being able to say that she fought against one of the pinnacles of mankind, and lived to tell the tale. How many mere mortals could lay claim to as tall a tale as that?

Janessa was torn from her thoughts as the lights in her room flickered above her head.

Caught off guard, she paused to frown at the main bulb that offered the small room its illumination before it appeared to settle itself back down. Janessa felt a strange crawling sensation underneath her skin. By all accounts, it was almost certainly some faulty wiring somewhere in the immense ship’s circuitry, or a fuse briefly going out before alternate systems recovered from the short-circuit. But call it a sixth sense, or instinct, but something caused the woman’s stomach to twist with concern and put her on edge. Her worries appeared to be confirmed when a painful groan emanated throughout the ship’s superstructure, the creaking of a mountain of metal and steel as some unknown stress caused the very bulkheads to shudder.

Steadying herself with a hand on a wall until the shaking had subsided, Janessa stood still for a moment as she tried to listen for any hints of what might have just happened. If she concentrated, she thought that she could hear the sound of shouting in the distance, along with some over noises that she could scarcely make out over the beating heart of the vessel’s life support systems. And then...were those gunshots?

Janessa didn’t hesitate before grabbing the laspistol that rested by her bedside. Holding the sidearm comfortably in her hand, she made her way towards the entrance to her quarters before taking a cautious peek into the hallway beyond.

“Princeps Ignatova, it appears that the machine spirits are unruly today. Do not worry, I shall have this malfunction rectified shortly.”

The mechanical voice addressed Janessa from down the hall, and she turned to see the magos that had guided her to the astartes’ training chamber earlier. Dressed in the red robes of the mechanicum, he appeared to be fiddling with the command console for a bulkhead door that had slammed shut at the end of the corridor. Janessa frowned as she studied the heavy metal door, wondering for a moment if the groaning she had heard was its heavy frame sliding closed. No. It’s heavy, but not enough to make the ground shake like that. Something else is going on. And besides that, a simple electrical short wouldn’t have triggered the bulkhead. Those were meant to function on their own circuits, so as to prevent parts of the ship from being accidentally separated from one another in the heat of battle

“Magos, I’m not sure that opening the door is a -” Before Janessa could finish her warning, an explosion ripped through the side of the corridor, wrenching the door from its hinges and twisting it aside. The blast was enough to knock the princeps off her feet, despite the distance, and she slammed her back painfully onto the metal floor. Groaning as her head rung like a forge being struck, Janessa was blinded for a moment as stars filled her vision. Coughing, she rolled herself back onto her hands and knees, shaking her head in an effort to chase off the ringing that saturated her ears. As her senses began to return to her, she was immediately greeted by the sound of klaxons, and a nearby mechanical wheezing.

Looking up, she saw the magos clutching at a stump where his augmented arm had been moments before. The limb must have been torn off by a piece of the door, the impromptu metal shrapnel having passed through flesh and augmetics like paper. Oil and blood seeped through the wound, but Janessa noticed that the man’s enhancements appeared to have included improvements to his body’s ability to coagulate around wounds. A minor foot-note compared to the significant modifications that his natural form had undergone, it alone was probably going to be responsible for keeping him alive. Shifting her gaze from the injured techpriest, Janessa shifted her gaze to look through the exposed doorway into the more expansive room beyond, and she froze at the sight that greeted her.

Scattered fires were burning, beginning to send up thick clouds of smoke as shouts and lasfire filled the air. Screams of pain went unheeded, as the dying and dead were ignored by the living that fought desperately against something just out of sight. Moving forward, Janessa ignored the ongoing firefight as she crouched beside the whimpering tech priest.

“Magos, can you hear me? Are you hurt anywhere else?” She asked, years of battlefield experience driving her actions despite the chaos that had erupted around her. The magos blinked as he focused on her words, glancing down at his stump before slowly nodding.

“Y-yes. Diagnostics indicate that I am functioning nominally...considering the circumstances.” He took a breath, trying to calm himself with the action. “What is going on?”

“I think we’ve been boarded.” Janessa stated, her serious tone being met by a look of shock from the techpriest.

“In the warp? But the gellar field should have -” A blood-curdling roar cut the man off and caused both of them to turn to look back into the room beyond their corridor. An armsmen was unloading the entire charge of his weapon in desperation, screaming at his foe. Janessa could hear the sound of rapid, heavy footfalls, and that sensation of crawling skin once again returned.

Despite the soldier’s best efforts, his weapon didn’t even slow the xenos as it barrelled into view. Its inhuman form towering over the mortal as it cleaved its blade from the man’s shoulder to his groin. Janessa heard the techpriest gasp, before additional armsmen began firing at the xeno, only appearing to have drawn its attention with the action.

“Run.” Janessa said, her eyes locked onto the alien creature even as it ripped the head from another trooper, briefly creating a fountain of blood before the body crumpled to the floor. “We have to run, now.”

The intensity of her own words spurred her into action. If the lasguns wielded by the armsmen were having the little of an effect, then there was nothing that she could do with the pistol in her grip. The only course of action right now, was to focus on surviving. Grabbing onto the techpriest’s good arm, Janessa ignored a hiss of pain from the man as she pulled him to his feet before she turned to run away from the firefight as fast as her legs could carry her. The magos needed no further encouragement, having been knocked from his own horrified reverie by the princeps’ instruction. Together, they ran through the corridor even while they heard the screams of the dying fading behind them, along with the alien’s blood-curdling roar.

---

My vision restored as my eyes opened uneasily. The darkness that hung around the weapon’s rack had vanished, the flickering light had taken it back over, casting shadows that swayed at the whims of the light. For a brief moment I thought I was seeing another falsehood, but my vox flared to life, bringing me back to my sense. The maul. I got back to my feet and grabbed it, the wooden rack creaked as I relieved it of the considerable weight.

I went to leave, but I felt a film of sweat upon my face. It was considerable and would risk morale on the bridge, so I went to the bowl that sat near my bed. I dipped my hand into the cold water, splashing it on my face. I took a breath to ground myself and stared at the fragments of my reflection in the clear water, shifting and morphing my features. For a moment I swore I could see the creature I had seen, but I broke the image by taking another scoop of water and cleansing my face with it. Paranoid delusions, I was sure that was what it was.

My vox blared again, this time I answered it “My Lord!” came the deep voice of Alknetai, resonant despite the static “Where have you been?”

Where have I been? My brows furrowed as I raised from the bowl, my grip on the maul tightening as I departed my quarters “Speak sense Alkentai, I’ve not left this ship” I replied back gruffly, unwilling to even hint at what I had just experienced.

“Lord, we’ve been attempting to reach you for twenty minutes to no avail” he answered back.
“What?” I demanded, picking my pace up from a spirited walk to a sprint. Twenty minutes being completely unreachable? It was an unforgivable absence, I’d take penance for it in future, but now I had greater concerns. “The Engineerium, does it survive?” I asked, turning a corner, finding it hauntingly empty as the lumens flickered wildly.

“It does, Lord, the Xenos are tenacious and are not felled easy, but we have stood so far.” he responded, the sound of bolter fire in the background.

A door was jammed between opening and locking, I gripped it tightly with my free arm and yanked it open, the sparks flying and metal screaming in resistance. “And of Sylus and the Sons?”

“Alive, Lord, and here. Their presence was instrumental in holding the Engineerium, it seems the beasts have fled.”

I didn’t slow my pace as he gave me the news. The Xenos had struck fast and slithered back just as quickly, it was beyond the capabilities of any Xenos I had ever fought. The part was what concerned me the most. A Xenos threat that could strike in the Warp could prove disastrous to future wars, an unfortunate byproduct of the Imperium’s reliance on it, but I never could have foreseen it as such a weakness.

I struck the thought from my head. The Warp was the Immaterium, nothing could exist in the damned place. I knew this, yet I still couldn’t help but think otherwise, like there was something I had missed. Words rang in my head as I got closer and closer to the bridge. Gears are in motion. What gears? Whatever dream I had faced had intelligence, but nothing of that sort existed out here. I shook my head again, I would not dwell on these things, not with more important concerns.

Arriving at the bridge, I saw how important the other concerns were. The manpower had been reduced significantly, whatever they had experienced had driven them mad. Some consoles and chairs were decorated in spilled blood, while some sat inconsolable at their positions, tears streaming unabated.

My own Shipmaster was nowhere to be seen, her station empty. My eyes fell on a shrouded corpse and knew the why. I felt sorrow then, sorrow that this had suffered this unpleasant fate, but my sorrow paled in comparison at my own ineptitude. Abandoning the bridge at such a time of crisis on a frivolous matter such as my maul. Pathetic.

“Sire” a weak voice called, weighed down by some unseen nightmare “We are approaching Triplex Phall”

I frowned slightly, sympathy in my eyes “Thank you,” I said, sadness tinging the edge of my voice “get us out of the Immaterium”. The ship groaned as it was spat from the Warp, though a wave of relief could be felt rushing through the crew. Mortal and Astartes relaxed slightly, a brief respite before the dire task of cleaning up. I would order the mortals to do it immediately, this was a task for whatever servitors that survived.

I saw alerts flicker weakly alive. Ship runes. I recognised two of the names. My frown deepened at the realisation of who waited for me. Carmirre, rash and impetus, but while some siblings may not like him, I have learned he hones himself in the forge, to rein himself in. He’s certainly tolerable. But more frustratingly was my other brother present. Orestes

There the fleet was, another arrival, this time from two Primarchs instead of one. The first Primarch out of the bunch was Nehushtan Saraph, the Serpent, the Hollow Shell. Under his watch and locked in his chains was the second Primarch, Kortaez Aisa. Bearer of a few monikers, but known forefront to Orestes at the moment, as the Primarch who slaughtered a world. Orestes now had to answer to their arrival.

The Primarch opened vox channels once again, and lead on strong with his initial words, reusing the same somewhat positive tone he'd practiced on Carmirre earlier.

<<"Greetings, sib-lings.">>

Orestes announced to the void, placing special emphasis on the plural form on the last word in that sentence. Pausing momentarily, Orestes then continued to speak.

<<"This is Orestes Charon of the XI Legion. I am well aware of your business here, under orders from the Warmaster I presume? I think she's made quite a good choice asking you to handle this." As for myself, I am currently resupplying me forces here to join the campaign at large.">>

Orestes fell back into his chair, and awaited the response.

[SherpDaWerp]

Triplex Thule System, aboard The Burning Hand

As the fog of the warp cleared and realspace returned to view, the commanders of the 18th surveyed the port "below". It seemed the 11th legion was there, as well as the 8th, though the 8th had clearly arrived within minutes of the Craftsmen.

"Incoming vox-hail from the Watchers' flagship," announced one of the many servitors on deck.

<<"Greetings, sibling. It is I, Orestes of the XI Legion. I presume you are here to heed the Warmaster's command? I certainly am. I am just, resupplying my forces at the moment is all.">>

Relief flooded Carmirre - oh, to hear his siblings again, alive and well. He had spent too long away from the others, mused Carmirre. "Open a response channel," he ordered.

<<"Acknowledged, brother. Yes, I am here at our sister's bidding - I came as fast as I could. Unfortunately, the currents of the warp weren't exactly... in our favour, though I am glad to have finally arrived. There is no shame in resupplying, either - only when you can trust your weaponry can you win the battle. How you manage to trust forgeworlds and techmarines to maintain your livelihoods will forever be beyond me.">>

Ending the vox-link with a chuckle, Carmirre turned to the Master of Signals, beside him on the bridge. "Open communications with the eighth legion's flagship. I wish to hear my sibling's voice again."

<<"Hello, brother - Carmirre speaking. What coincidence that we should arrive so soon after one another!">>

Ending this vox-link, much as the last, Carmirre returned to his command seat, preparing the fleet for docking and supply before they could join the campaign proper.

[Prusslandia]

Eastern Fringes Offensive
Nantico Campaign
Drennus


Across the war-ravaged world of Nantico, vox speakers and pict-casters flared to life, whether civilian or military. A dark, oppressive orchestra played on, a rumbling choir singing a cadence known as ‘Die for the Cause’. Movement, and for those capable of seeing it an imposing figure strode onto a large podium. Easily towering over those beside him, he was armored in thick plate, a skull-faced helmet tucked beneath his arm. His face was a ruinous wreck, pitted with las-burns and penetration wounds, crude-looking augmetics marring his features even further. He stood silently for a moment before suddenly speaking, rumbling bass tones of deep, controlled rage.

“Inhabitants of Nantico, the Pax Imperialis has come to your Hives. I, Judge Drennus, Primarch of the Ninth Legion and High Commandant of the Judges, am its deliverance. For those of you who welcome His Truth and Imperium, you will be justly rewarded, for the Emperor is a merciful lord. But for those of you who shun His mercy, who deny His Imperium, only His wrath awaits you.

We await you with bolter and blade, with screaming chainsword and incinerating plasma. You will be broken asunder by practiced hands, worked to death or executed outright. By virtue of your crimes your life is forfeit, and if you cannot serve, the headsman awaits you. This is the price of rejecting the Pax Imperialis, of working to undermine His Crusade to unite Humanity and bring Order to the galaxy.

Yet I find more whom reject His mercy, who label him False Emperor, who decry his works as as nothing more than folly. So on this night, on the eve of conquest, I will educate you on what the Pax Imperialis means, in hope that it will show you the error of your ways.

Strength through Unity, Unity through Order, Order through Loyalty. We are all vital components of the Imperium, guided and protected by the Emperor, and in return we heed His word and give oath to His Throne. We swear our arms to His banner, and gladly serve beneath the Aquila. The Imperium is the herald of an age of science and reason, of order and law. No longer shall the Xeno rape and pillage our worlds. No longer shall the traitor plot in their infested warrens. No longer shall the guilty go unpunished.

There is a saying, amongst the Judges. Do you know what it is?”

Drennus returned to silence for a moment, as if allowing the viewers and listeners across the planet to answer him, but suddenly roared with authoritative zeal.

“Purge the Xenos!

Hang the Witch!

Behead the Traitor!

We are His Judges! We are His Justice! We are the death of His enemies, the bane of the wicked and the guardian of the innocent. We are the heralds of order, the punishers of wickedness and the builders of worlds. If you will not kneel to Him, we will bring Him your head. We will cleanse every filthy den of criminality and disloyalty, burn away the rot and grime of the Old Night and usher in a golden age.

That is what Pax Imperialis means, people of Nantico. But even now, in wake of my words, you continue to fight against us. Your fleet splinters like glass in the void, and the blood of your sons dies in the name of the inhuman monstrosities known as the Olamic. Yet you resist on, and thus you confirm your guilt.

Hear me well, oh guilty souls. Your Judgement has come.

By Will of the Throne, I judge Hive Orkad guilty of tech-heresy, base immorality, and resistance to the Emperor. The sentence is Death, by chemical bombardment. In His Name, may none survive.”

With his words finished, the feed cut to black. Across Orkad even further Chaos erupted, coalition forces scrambling to engage environmental barriers and usher civilians into bunkers, but it was already too late. Dozens of chemical warheads pierced the mega-structure, while gas bombs erupted with death. Some would say it was a cruel way to kill, to punish, as so many souls twisted in brief, choking agony. But still the sentence was carried out, to the letter. In the following hours Judges Astartes began the slow process of ensuring every soul was dead, while similar punishments worked to dissuade those still fighting; The televised executions of survivors only further seared the horrifying memory into their minds.

By dawn the next day, the Nantico system had been rendered compliant, and Drennus and his Judges began to build a better world.

Strength through Unity, Unity through Order, Order through Loyalty.

[Segmentia]

Sigma Extrmis

Lead elements of the Voln Second Army Group had landed in force with massed infantry and tank formations just outside the city limits, mounting a swift and brutal attack into the city proper. Enemy resistance had been tenacious and continuously reinforced as the Voln elements pushed, even with the confusion within the city thanks to other units and the Astartes having been spread out. Through force of numbers and sheer discipline the well-dressed Voln had pushed block by bloody block into the city, their zones of advance growing as more and more units were landed. Coalition resistance had only grown fiercier with every building, to the point where the Voln had brought in heavy self-propelled artillery to fire point-blank into the more stubborn hold outs. Half a dozen commendations had been recommended by officers in the field for the crews of these SPGs, and a dozen more for bravery across the ranks.

As the Voln had continued the press further into the city, being pushed back with brutal counter-attacks but never losing the initiative fully. Linking up with fellow Imperial forces, Voln troops reached the river an hour before night fell on the first day of the invasion. The night however, brought no end to the war. Outside the city the Titans still fought their war, lighting up the night sky with brilliant flashes and war-horns howled across the city like mighty predators of the night on the hunt. Inside the city itself fresh Voln units took up the mantle. Voln heavy infantry and storm-troopers fought pitched, violent clashes throughout the night, sometimes entire regiments of Voln and Coalition soldiers exchanging fire from mere yards away. Astartes from the Sun Angels and the Hierophants helped in collapsing pockets of resistance, strengthening Imperial lines. Civilians were instructed to shelter in place and that a curfew was in effect, with rear-echelon detachments tasked with securing the shell-shocked and terrified civilians as best they could. Medical, food, and fresh water stations were established in quick order, and the population was corralled into secure buildings. Coalition wounded were treated, and prisoners of war were escorted to holding areas.

The second day was much like the first, with the Voln troops widening the amount of river front in Imperial hands, linking up with several Sun Angels groups that had secured the bridge heads at the beginning of the battle. Not all bridges had been secured, or the Astartes securing them had been wiped out under intense enemy counter attacks, but Imperial forces managed to push the enemy back across them, with the retreating enemy blowing the bridges after them.

Now with more fresh Voln regiments and a secured line of supply to the landing zones. Lord General Gregor Zvite was determined to bring the invasion to a decisive close. Standing in a sheltered observation post, Zvite scanned the towering hab-blocks on the other side of the river one last time before making his way back to his forward command center, a large tent tucked between piles of debris.

“The Warmaster wants the war wrapped up in seventy-two hours.” Zvite said to the assembled officers as he pointed at a large map of the city on a table in the center of the tent. “I think we can end it in ten to twelve.” He said, getting a round of mostly approving grumbles.

Taking a marker to the map, Zvite began to lay out his plan.

“If I were in the Coalition commander's situation, the river would be the final defensive barrier to be breached before I threw in the towel, when honorable surrender was an option. So I’m thinking we bring up as many guns and as much armor as we can, we lay down a thick blanket of smoke on the other bank of the river, we provide heavy suppressive fire across as wide a stretch as we can, and we force a crossing.

Armor and heavy infantry can push across the four bridges we have in our hands, and we can also use the river craft that we’ve captured along the bank, as well as anything we have available of our own. All forces would have the order to secure the bridgeheads and to hold them at all costs. Once we secure them we send an offer of honorable surrender to the enemy command, in the hopes that they will see the sense of saving their command from annihilation and to ease the suffering of the remaining civilian population.” Zvite laid out his general plan for the assembled officers.

“It’ll cost us heavily.” One officer said, frowning slightly and chewing on the inside of his cheek as he mentally ran scenarios and numbers in his head.

“Would the Warmaster even allow the enemy to surrender with conditions? She seems the type for unconditional surrenders or annihilation.” Another spoke up.

“I’m sure the warmaster would accept an enemy honorable surrender. A swift victory is all but assured if we get those bridgeheads, an enemy surrender would simply speed things up. I don’t think she’s the type to uselessly throw thousands or even tens of thousands of Imperial lives away over the matter of what type of surrender she gets.”

“The surrender conditions will be honorable but simple. Their soldiers would be allowed to surrender in good order, officers allowed to keep their sidearms, and they’ll be allowed to keep most of the colors. Any sane commander with these odds would see it as the sensible and honorable thing to do.” Zvite said, shrugging a little. In truth he knew little of the Warmaster, or Primarchs in general, hell even Astartes were a bit of a mystery. The Voln Second had served alongside a handful of Astartes here and there, but they had mostly been conducting their own crusade campaigns until being called up for this invasion. He did have the Warmasters book though.

“Start preparing, I want kick-off in four hours.” Zvite said, dismissing his officers with a round of affirmatives.

The next four hours were hectic but organized, with armor being brought up to the bridgeheads, with several super-heavy companies ready to lead the charge. Heavy infantry and stormtroopers reorganized and prepared, while regular and light infantry prepared for a swift crossing of the river in whatever boats they could get a hold of. A thick layer of smoke was used to conceal these preparations, especially the preparation of the captured river-craft, but the noise of tank regiments was hard to conceal entirely, and the occasional barrage slightly hampered the Volns efforts.

At precisely four hours and sixteen minutes after the dismissal of the briefing that morning, the Voln Second began their attack. Massed armor and artillery opened fire on the opposite bank, lighting up the murky river with fiery reflection. Vast clouds of dense smoke shrouded the other bank, the clouds slowly drifting down the river. Heavy guns of all sorts, from artillery to heavy bolters, peppered the opposite bank as the armor and heavy infantry began their advance. The Coalition forces had had the bridges zeroed for hours however, and it wasn’t hard to tell what was happening. Enemy heavy weapons fire reaped a terrible price on the Voln lead elements, with artillery strikes taking out whole squads. Tanks that were taken out were simply bulldozed off the bridge and into the river.

The fleet of river-craft and other boats faced less but still punishing levels of fire, but the iron discipline of the Voln pushed them across. The cross-river attack casualties were as high as forty-percent before the first boats even reached the other bank.

The bridge crossings were slower, but they pushed across steadily. As the first elements began reaching the otherside, the heavy infantry and stormtroopers surged forward, joining into brutal melee combat with the Coalition defenders. As the defensive fire began to lessen, fresh regiments were crossed to join the fight, flooding the enemy positions with the extremely disciplined Voln troopers.

Room by room, floor by floor, the buildings guarding the opposite ends of the bridges were cleared in bloody close-in fighting. Elements of the Sun Angels and Hierophants Astartes legions assisted in these clearing actions, the bridgeheads being steadily gained and made larger. Coalition counter-attacks were swift and near-overwhelming, with one of the bridgeheads being recaptured and all Voln forces there being annihilated, but three of the bridgeheads held firm.

At the eleven hour, three minute, and sixteen second mark, Lord General Gregor Zvite relayed the option of honorable surrender onto all known Coalition frequencies.


----

Sigma Extremis
Legio Vulpa

Augustus Apocalypsis was unstoppable. It’s advance of annihilation could not be stopped by the vast amount of firepower the Coalition threw at it. The Vulpa detachment had suffered two casualties, with a Reaver and a Warlord having to fall out of formation and retreat to the rear because of damage. As the Coalition had continued to throw more forces at the Augustus the remaining engines of Vulpa had fallen back to allow the god-machine to lead the advance in its slow but unstoppable pace.

The Apocalypse titan alone had made an immense tally of kills over the past two days. Two dozen enemy engines, thousands of tanks and artillery pieces, and untold scores of enemy infantry. Displaying their notable habit of cruelty, the Vulpa engines didn’t care to check their shots, and the city itself had suffered terrible damage as a result.

Princeps Maria Stahlmann, Augustus Apocalysis, marched forward. Her weapons had just forced an enemy engine to the ground, trapped like a turtle on its back, it’s reactor already cooling in shut-down.

“Preparing the turbo-laser for firing on enemy engine.” Moderatus Velaz said.

“No. We shall tread upon the enemy in another dozen strides, target another.” The distorted, booming voice of Maria sounded across the bridge.

“Yes my princeps.” Valez replied.

There was no shortage of targets even now, with what seemed to be the bulk of the remaining enemy titans in her zone of engagement, and there were still a few divisions worth of enemy tanks out on the field, though they seemed to be organizing to make a run into the city. Augustus would stop them.

With its ponderous tread, Augustus Apocalypsis moved to intercept the enemy formations, firing a volley of apocalypse missiles in their general direction, the missiles hitting the lead elements and wiping them out, slowing the enemy retreat. The mega quake cannons fired long-range shots as well, both in fire support to Imperial forces and hitting its own targets. The remaining enemy titans seemed like a pack of confused, defenseless animals, pinned up between the city, Augustus, and the concentration of Imperial titans to the north that seemed to simply corral them, moving off to new objectives rather than swooping in to finish the kill. That was fine with Maria, a few more kill tallies were always fun to brag about.

There was a terrific squeal of metal, the sound piercing across the city, as the immense foot of Augustus came down upon the fallen enemy titan. The leg mounted inferno guns licked flames down on the earth, catching the evacuating crew in hellfire.

“Confirmed engine kill.” Moderatus Elise called, the smug satisfaction clearly evident in her tone.

Augustus continued on, reaching the only real entry point the enemy had to get into the city, a massive eight lane highway. The immense machine turned to face the oncoming Coalition convoy, which was now joined by the remaining titans. The Vulpa engines spread in a line behind Augustus as both sides prepared for the annihilation to come. The Coalition forces only had two options. Flee north into a larger number of Imperial titans, or continue on their course and run the blockade of Vulpa’s ten engines, even if one of them was Augustus.

They chose to continue forward.

Maria couldn’t help but laugh as Augustus released the remainder of it’s missiles, twenty four in total, and both sides began exchanging fire. Energy weapons lanced across the space, with Coalition forces focusing on Augustus, as with the city behind them the smaller titans of Vulpa were too easy to miss and for the shots to hit their own city. It was that weakness that would cost them.

Three coalition engines were taken down inside the first two minutes, focused down as they advanced. Augustus’ Vulcan mega-bolters stitched a line of explosions down the highway, catching dozens of enemy tanks and other vehicles in the deadly fire. With the larger quake cannons focused on the remaining coalition titans, the enemy convoy was left to the smaller turrets, which tallied up an admirable count. Some of the convoy began veering off, or turning around, but most went forward, some senseless kernel of hop compelling them forward, perhaps hoping they could clear Agustus’ guns as it focused on the titans.

They were sorely mistaken.

Allowing the enemy convoy to pass to right between the massive feet of the titan, the inferno cannons opened fire. The convoy was caught in an instant firestorm that only the mightiest super-heavy vehicle could pass through. Infantry in soft topped trucks were instantly vaporized, spared the fate of being roasted inside the hulls of tanks, which even that only lasted for a few mere seconds. Those vehicles that could stop and turn away did, but many were consumed. The firestorm was so fierce that Imperial infantry a mile away suddenly found it harder to breath, as the raging storm consumed oxygen at an immense rate. Augustus was unphased, the vulnerable ports that might have been caught in the storm having been sealed beforehand. The heavy tanks of the Coalition were turned into molten slag by the firestorm, the highway bubbling and burning away, and the earth on either side of it being turned to glass.

“Engine kill. That’s the last of them Princeps. The field is ours.” Moderatus Elise said. Victory was always a satisfying feeling, especially in a battle such as this, against enemy titans, though they hadn’t put up as much of a fight as Maria had thought they would.

“Inform the Warmaster.” Maria said, beginning to turn Augustus towards the city. A quick check of combat information showed that the city sector before them was still in enemy hands, if only with moderate enemy resistance. Maria smirked, and Augutus strode forth into the city.

[Tethrys]

Storm of Aghoru

Anza
Elohim Pyramid, Aghoru

As she had feared the closer to the ancient Xenos labyrinth they came, the more of the twisted xenos they encountered. Had she not been joined by forces of the Auxilia even her three divisions would have been outnumbered by the hordes of demented creatures that seeped from the depths of the pyramid's abyssal corridors. She wasn't proud of her use of the armies of the Imperium in such a way as this. Almost like shields for her own forces. The loss of human life disgusted and pained her but with little other choice the primarch rallied her forces and pushed ever onward.

It was thanks primarily to the support of several super heavies, Imperial Titans, and another series of orbital attacks that the Eldar titans were felled. The price paid to achieve the two kills was massive. The Eldar machines much faster and more dexterous than their Imperial Counterpart, and with the largest Titan on Aghoru being the Warlord class Fury Unblemished the battle would have been more even than she would have liked had the Titan forces not had varied support to help keep the agile enemies bogged down enough for them to devastate them with their heavy weapons.

Now the Titans and majority of Auxilia cleansed the valley of the twisted Eldar cousins that had escaped their tomb while Anza herself led a contingent of her Marines into the heart of the ancient maze. The structure was warped with a foul presence that permeated it's construction. Within the horrors she witnessed were too inhumane even for xenos to suffer, let alone by their seemingly own hands. The depravity and sheer madness the once-eldar trapped within committed on their own kind could not even be uttered for remembrancers to give cautionary tales such was their vile terror. The psychic energy created by whatever foul entity enshrouded this place and the tormented souls within was enough to cause her and her sons to feel ill, and those among her number with psychic gifts to often need aid in battle simply because their senses were so overwhelmed.

Still the Knights of the Void pressed on. Striking deeper and deeper into the hellish dungeon they found themselves in. It seemed for a time that there was simply no end to this place. Yet just as Anza herself was beginning to falter to her doubt they found it. Upon the lowest place in the tomb like prison. A strange gate like edifice. One that loomed within the massive central cavern of pyramid. It hummed with energy foreign to the mundane plane of reality and several among the few surviving Auxilia accompanying her forces were driven to their knees merely upon seeing the construct.

A different primarch may have attempted to purify or examine the object, however Anza was not one to waste time on such things. Nothing short of it's utter annihilation would please her, and with deafening roars of tanks and artillery the structure was shredded and torn to pieces with Anza's few marine psykers working to properly seal whatever terror came along with it's construction. As her forces withdrew, explosives detonated throughout the pyramid rendering the remains little more than a mound of rubble and corpses. One that Lady Raven would like nothing more than to put out of her memory.

Casualties at the end of the battle were egregious though the Auxilia had borne the brunt of the losses. Despite that Anza still felt the anguish at the loss of many of her sons to the monsters that had once populated Aghoru's tomb. The worst loss however was the destruction of the warhound class titan Beast of Cunning to the Eldar titans.

While their sacrifices had given the Imperium victory here, Anza could not help but notice the strange storm she had idly watched had gradually grown larger and larger. It's odd coloration growing more and more distinct as the intense purples, pinks, blues, and reds, that made up it's strange bank of clouds spread across more and more of Aghoru's skies.

---

Nantico Blitz

Ariadne Danaphaia
Aboard the Gorgon Triumphant

The remnants of the Coalition fleet burned around her as the Imperial forces finished off the few straggling enemies. Twice organized attempts at a break out from the system had resulted in severe losses to the Quietude's forces. Their ships either outrights broken or boarded and turned on their fellows. In the case of an especially powerful vessel a squad of Sirens had guided a partially captured enemy capital ship into it, setting off a chain of several impacts among the tightly clustered survivors of the Quietude's ships. The opening made by the suicidal attack allowed the Gorgon Triumphant and it's supporting ships to launch directly into the center of the remaining enemy's formation. The Imperial vessels tore into the ships before them. Their defenses only held briefly once Ariadne's fleet was among them and soon they scattered. Their attempts to flee were crushed and no mercy was given to the enemies of the Emperor.

"My Primarch, reports from the Leviathans that the orbitals including Aeon Terminal have fallen to our troops are coming in and Lord Drennus and his Judges have been crushing opposition planetside. We have reports that he has had Hive Orkad judged and set it to be chemically bombed." One of the crewmen reported while bowing to the wild looking woman as she watched the burning derelict of an Olamic ship drifted passed her view port.

"My brother is harsh as always, not that he is unreasonable. Still though perhaps a message trying to convince him that these wretches would be worth marginally more alive and serving our father's imperium as menials would be a good idea. Have word sent to my brother that we may wish to spare some of these scum to repay their people's debt to the Imperium through servitude, and that he has my ships ready to help guide the populace if anything more heavy handed than planetside bombardment be deemed necessary. Send word to Themis as well, she is to have the orbitals reconfigured for our fleets at the earliest opportunity and our forces will need to reorganize to continue the campaign deeper into the Quietude's territory. They may be breaking from the initial attacks but like with all the others we have had to face, they remain a thorn till we fully root them out." The crewman bowed lower before turning to do as he was ordered.

Ariadne sighed as she watched two drifting ships impact with one another between her vessels and Aeon Terminal.

'I would have preferred leading a boarding operation myself, but it seems with my position comes the need to remain in a place to command my sons. At least word of our victory will likely please Vasilisa, perhaps she will commend my growing sense of restraint for combat. Though I hope she repays me with a fitting celebration after this. It's all been boring for me so far. Ariadne thought. While her troops had seen hard combat and faced dangerous odds, she herself had been stuck seemingly dethatched from the whole thing at a strategic level. Watching the Gorgon Triumphant and her other ships carve up enemy ships was not the same as piercing into their hulls and slaughtering the crew herself.