Through smoke and fire, through shot and shell

[Brother Captain Ming]

Excellent read. Too bad they couldn't get the gene-seed from Srabion, but I guess grabbing the two troopers under fire is enough.

That had better be a very big boom. :P

[Ufthak]

Thanx Brother Captain Ming! :P

 

Well, really I don't know how long it taked for the Gene-Seed to decay, so possibly they can still return later to harvest it...

[Ace Debonair]

That was cool. ;)

 

I'll put my earplugs in now - I expect the following explosion to be really loud. :P

[Ufthak]

@Ace Debonair:

No, don't put them in now, the next chapter will tackle either the terminators or Theoderic's group, so you'll have to wait a short while for the big boom :D

[Ace Debonair]

I can't hear you - I've got my earplugs in. <_<

[Ufthak]

*aims big fat sonic blastmaster at Ace Debonair and fires it, thereby blowing his earplugs (and eardrums) out*

 

:tu:

 

 

 

219-58, Capital City Sewer System

 

 

“Pugnus 1 to Montmartre, do you copy?”

 

As they carefully trudged along the dark sewer tunnels, Theoderic tried in vain to raise the intelligence officer on the vox. All he got was static.

 

They were nearing their objective. If Montmartre’s intel was correct, they were about to find a doorway leading to a storage room in the wall of the sewer. That was their point of entry.

 

The group was much reduced. When they had initially entered the sewer, Theoderic had led a force of forty stormtroopers and twenty Astartes. Now, Daman had only six troopers left, and so had Theoderic himself.

 

It had been ten minutes since they had set off again, and so far no one in the group seemed to have been plagued by illusions and hallucinations.

 

Almost there...

 

 

 

Maric, who had taken point, carefully stalked through the slimy goo at the base of the sewer.

 

Due to the loss of his power pack, his sensorium was reduced to a minimum, running on auxilliary systems, but he needed no sensorium to see the massive shape that suddenly loomed out of the darkness some fifty yards down the sewer.

 

The group stopped dead in their tracks.

 

The thing was large, taller than an Astartes, and clad in bulky gunmetal armour, which was pock-marked with small, strange coils, which in turn fizzled and hissed with electric sparks. The left arm of the thing was a huge, red-glowing blade, the right arm a massive rotary cannon. The monster’s armour had a high collar, which obscured much of the head, but it wore no helmet, exposing a greyish, heavily scarred skin and large, wide-open eyes.

 

Four black-uniformed troopers in greatcoats followed the hulking thing.

 

For a second, both groups stood motionless.

 

Then, suddenly, the huge thing reared up and let out a deafening blast of noise, not unlike a foghorn, like a bellow of rage of some alien creature. The blast almost knocked over the stormtroopers, and some held their hands to their ears in an attempt to block out the noise.

 

What happened next happened within a few seconds.

 

Church roared and charged toward the hulking thing, his bolter blazing; Maric dropped into the slime and added to the barrage.

 

Theoderic and the other four brothers took up firing positions in one swift movement and blazed away; the stormtroopers, still gathering themselves from the sonic blast, opened up with their autoguns and shotguns.

 

Explosions erupted all over the massive frame of the monster as bolt shells impacted, but the thing didn’t even flinch. The four enemy troopers opened up with strange las weapons which spat blue rays at the Astartes and the stormtroopers. One trooper, Ndwembe, went down as a blue ray pierced his thigh.

 

With a whine, the massive rotary cannon powered up and started spinning, gathering speed. A moment later, a hail of red bolts pelted down the sewer. In such a confined space, it was impossible to miss.

 

Theoderic cried out in pain as a hail of bolts smashed head-on into his MkIII armour. He felt burning pain as they penetrated his chestplate and leg armour. He lost all feeling in his legs as they were shredded and ripped off by multiple bolts, and slumped to the ground.

 

The four enemy troopers were reduced to a bloody mess as bolter shells and autogun slugs found their mark.

 

Church and another battle-brother by the name of Alvaro charged toward the massive thing, firing their bolters. Church roared in rage as a red bolt grazed Alvaro’s MkII helm, thereby blowing his head apart. Another bolt grazed Church’s helm, and a sharp pain erupted on the left side of his head, his vision going black. He dropped to the base of the sewer, clutching his head.

 

Two stormtroopers were ripped apart by the red bolts, their limbs and insides coating the walls as they flew apart. Another Astartes dropped down, a large smoking hole in his chestplate.

 

“Concentrate on its head!” lieutenant Daman shouted.

 

Bolt shells and autogun slugs pelted toward what little of the head was visible, but no round found its mark.

 

“Take this!” Octavia suddenly shouted, and fired a rifle grenade from her underslung grenade launcher. The grenade perfectly slammed into the creatures forehead and detonated.

 

Ulman gazed in wonder as the seemingly invincible monster’s head blew apart, spewing bits of brain matter and flesh all over the place, before slowly dropping to its knees, then finally slumping to the ground with a slushy thud.

 

 

 

For a few seconds, no one moved. The surviving stormtroopers gasped for breath from the shock.

 

Then Daman took the initiative.

 

“Erman, scout ahead and check for further enemies, try to find that doorway.”

 

When no one moved, Daman raised his voice.

 

“Do it now!”

 

The trooper sped off.

 

“Octavia, Ulman, do the same for our rear. Now!”

 

Daman took a moment and gazed at the ruin that had once been the Emperor’s finest. Theoderic, the Astartes sergeant, lay on the ground, his breath coming in gasps, both his legs having been blasted off and blood leaking through multiple holes in his torso. Another Astartes slumped against the sewer wall, wheezing, blood leaking from a large hole in his torso, while a third lay dead in the dirt, his head a bloody ruin. The warrior by the name of “Church” sluggishly twisted on the ground, apparently having trouble taking his helm off. One of the remaining two Astartes sped over to help him, while the other crouched down by Theoderic.

 

Daman’s micro-bead cracked.

 

“Lieutenant, Erman here. No enemies up ahead, and we found the doorway to the storage room. It’s empty.”

 

“Good job. Hold position.”

 

“Affirmative.”

 

A mere moment later, Octavia’s voice came through the vox. It was strangely quiet and on edge, and barely audible.

 

“Sho, we’re in BIG trouble.”

 

“What do you see?”

 

“Multiple enemies inbound from the rear” Octavia answered, her voice slowly growing frantic.

 

“Fall back, fall back now, but try not to be seen.”

 

“Understood.”

 

 

 

Theoderic wheezed.

 

“Church, where is Church?”

 

Hanas Churchendal grunted as, with the help of his battle-brother, the helm finally came off. The bolt had melted part of it, locking it in place and scorching the skin on the left side of his face, but it had finally come off.

 

He stole a glance to brother Alvaro, whose helm had been blasted apart. Church realized that, had he been wearing MkII armour like Alvaro, he would probably have suffered the same fate. The additional frontal armour of the visually brutal MkIII armour had saved his neck today.

 

“The sarge wants you, brother” the other Astartes, Hernando, remarked.

 

Church sped over to Theoderic. He felt anger and sorrow rise in him to see the noble sergeant’s body so lacerated. Maric was trying to do whatever possible to ease the pain, but everyone present realized the sergeant was dying.

 

“Church” Theoderic wheezed and grasped his brother’s hand.

 

“Sarge?”

 

“Lead them on. Whoever’s left. We’re almost there. Finish it, Church.”

 

“What about you, brother?”

 

“Leave me...and whoever else...is wounded...we’ll cover your...rear...” the sergeant wheezed. He beckoned to the stormtrooper lieutenant.

 

“Daman...your warriors have served us well...I am assigning you to Church here...carry on and finish this...”

 

“We will, Lord.”

 

The lieutenant turned to Church.

 

“We have multiple enemies closing on us from the rear, we need to get moving! My troopers have located the doorway, we can proceed immediately.”

 

Church straightened up and for a second rubbed his gauntlet over his red-and-white-tattooed face, a pained look emerging from his features. Then he suddenly barked out commands.

 

“Lieutenant, gather your unhurt men and fall in, arm and leave the wounded! Maric, Hernando, prepare to move out!”

 

Next, he grabbed his sergeant under the arms and pulled the warrior’s ruined body over to the wall, leaning him against it. Then he gathered up the sergeant’s bolter and gently placed it in Theoderic’s hands.

 

“It was an honour, brother.”

 

“Yes, Church, it was...now go...you have no time...we’ll hold them...”

 

Church’s voice cracked with emotion and tears streamed from his eyes.

 

“Farewell, my brother.”

 

He turned and sped over to brother Isidor, who lay slumped against the adjactent wall, nursing the large, bloody hole in his chestplate. Next to him, lieutenant Daman was talking to the wounded stormtrooper, Ndwembe.

 

“Isidor, we need to go. Hold this position with the sarge for as long as you can.”

 

The wounded Astartes paused for a moment before nodding.

 

“I will do the Legion honour, brother.”

 

Church patted his brother on the shoulder pad before turning to the remainder of the group.

 

“Let’s do this, onward!”

[Legio Draconis]

I sometime just can't believe how good this is. Keep up the very best of work.

[Ace Debonair]

*aims big fat sonic blastmaster at Ace Debonair and fires it, thereby blowing his earplugs (and eardrums + brains) out*

 

"Hmm? Did a fly alight on me for a moment there?" *Ace looks around, confused*.

High-quality earplugs. Your feeble sonic weapons have no effect on me. ;)

 

It's not looking good for Theoderic's squad, is it? :D

I wonder just how this is going to finish - and how many of the characters are going to last that long. :whistling:

[Ufthak]

*throws useless blastmaster to the ground and kicks it, shouting "you useless thing, I should've known Eidolon lied about having changed the strings before he sold you to me!"*

 

Seems like you've got master-crafted ear-plugs... :down:

 

Anyways, thanks for your comments guys!

 

@Legio Draconis:

I feel honoured...I'd never have expected anyone to like my story this much...

 

@Ace Debonair:

Yeah, I'm still not sure myself who'll survive and who won't, but we'll see...

Which characters would you rather want to survive?

 

 

 

Next part up soon, working on it! :P

[Ufthak]

As promised, next part, in two short chapters :)

 

@Ace Debonair:

Good thing my blastmaster was useless and your earplugs held, because you're going to need them now ;)

 

Anyways, here goes...

C&C welcome as always! Let me know when the story gets boring, which characters are good / bad, etc. so I can improve :)

 

 

 

 

 

219-58, Imperial landing site

 

 

Captain Pavlos Mayer leant heavily on the table holding the holo-caster, his brow furrowed. The Headquarters was bustling with activity as orderlies and aides operated vox casters, shifted data files, coordinated artillery support, and sent out orders. Around Mayer stood a mixed group of generals and officers. All had their gaze fixed on the three-dimensional battle map generated by the holo-caster.

 

“First off, the landing site is secure, enemy assaults have largely ceased, the defences have been stabilized, routed units rallied and reserves are being deployed from orbit. All this is largely thanks to the efforts of you all.”

 

The assembled generals drummed their fists against the table in acknowledgement.

 

“The situation now is as follows. Our swift counteroffensive against fortress 35-Z, nicknamed the ‘Meat Grinder’, has thrown the enemy off balance. Their assaulting forces have withdrawn from the landing site, digging in all around and going into the defensive. They have realized that with us controlling the fortress and its artillery, their chances of taking the landing site are now slim. As you can see, whoever controls the fort also controls the entire area between the fort and the landing site. Thereby, the enemy cannot launch concerted, effective attacks on the site and exposes his forces to enfilading fire from the fort.”

 

Mayer paused to let the generals get their bearings on the map.

 

“The fort is taken and secured, largely thanks to the heroic efforts of the Dumonti Royal Guard.”

 

He paused again and nodded to Lieutenant-Colonel Davignon, liasion officer from the Dumonti Royal Guard Corps to HQ. The assembled generals drummed their fists against the table again.

 

“And here lies the problem” Mayer continued. “It appears that we are at a crucial stage in this conflict. Whoever controls the fort controls the landing site. Two hours ago, intelligence reported that the disarrayed and bogged-down enemy forces started moving again, implying the enemy has got their bearings back. It appears that the Corporations are moving all their remaining forces in for one last knock-out blow. They realise that if they tarry and wait, we will gain the initiative. They are committing everything, all that is left – here.”

 

Mayer pointed to the fort. Small, three-dimansional red flags dotted the landscape where intel reported enemy formations. Many surrounded the landing site, but large concentrations clustered in the area around the fort.

 

“The enemy elites will be deployed here. We have reports of Mons Sanctus Gene-Guard, Bavar Berserkers, heavy armour brigades, MykroPortae robot battalions, large concentrations of mobile artillery and strong air support. All arrayed to deal a hammer blow.”

 

As the Captain spoke, the holographics, which were being operated by one of Lieutenant Montmartre’s aides, a petite girl by the name of Ulomni, zoomed in on specific enemy formations and deployments.

 

“We expect the enemy to launch strong diversionary attacks against the landing site to pin any reserves we have here, but I won’t let that happen.”

 

Mayer folded his arms and glanced around at the assembled officers and generals with a stern look.

 

“I will be deploying all the Astartes warriors left to me to the fortress; but I want 10,000 of your men and 300 tanks ready for battle within three hours as reinforcements. I don’t care what you need to do to achieve these quotas. So, any reserves you have to spare, hand them over.”

 

For a moment, there was a stunned silence. Even though Imperial Army units were always subordinate to Astartes, the bluntness and magnitude of the order was almost impertinent. But then one of the generals, a small, old man with a wrinkled face wearing a red-grey-black camo uniform answered.

 

“The Qwahishki 23^rd Corps will provide three infantry regiments, my Lord.”

 

Mayer nodded in acknowledgement.

 

Another general, a large burly man in crude, leather body armour stepped forward.

 

“You shall have the 26^th and 34^th Karshnu Demi-Brigades.”

 

More generals answered the call.

 

“Two squadrons of Mughali armour are yours to command, my Lord.”

 

“Sideria will do the Imperium honour and contribute a battery of heavy self-propelled howitzers!”

 

“I can provide four weak regiments of Urslavik infantry, Lord.”

 

And so it went on. Mayer was satisfied; the generals were doing all they could to provide troops.

 

“I thank you all for your efforts. Intel will provide you with coordinates where to assemble your forces. When that is accomplished, see to the defence of the landing site.”

 

For a moment, he paused, then finally made the sign of the Aquila and dismissed the assembly.

 

 

 

Mayer watched his warriors swiftly move up the ramps of the Thunderhawks. Their yellow armour was battle-scarred and blackened, and some squads had been reduced to below fifty percent starting strength.

 

Mayer was proud of them all. Not once during the defence of the landing site had they fallen back, not once had they broken. Where his warriors had held the positions, the enemy dead littered the ground so thick you could hardly see the earth for all the bodies. They had fought like true Imperial Fists. They would have made Lord Dorn and Sigismund proud.

 

They were Imperial Fists, the Legio Septima, stalwart and stubborn on the defence, unrelenting on the offense.

 

He put on his black MkIII helmet and it locked in place with a couple of soft clicks.

 

From the east, where the fort lay, a low rumble announced the enemy’s opening barrage. The assault had begun, the last assault that would ultimately decide the fate of the 219^th Expedition Fleet.

 

Running up the ramp, his command squad behind him, Mayer voxed the Thunderhawk pilots. “Super 1, 3, 4 and 5, make ready for take-off!”

 

 

 

219-58, black skies above the Khaman Defence Laser System

 

 

In an apocalyptic blast, like the roaring thunder of some ancient god of myth, the charges set by the Dumonti engineers detonated. A gigantic, multi-coloured fireball blew the large dome apart, tongues of fire spewing out in all directions, engulfing masses of enemy troops advancing toward it.

 

The rear of the Thunderhawk was picked up by a massive shockwave, which rocked the craft and threw everyone inside off their feet.

 

“Whooooaaaa...everyone hold on to something!” the pilot bellowed through the vox.

 

It was a few moments before he managed to regain control of the craft.

 

Markos Demmerung pulled himself off Aktos, and glanced out of the open ramp to where the dome had been. The huge fireball seemed to persist, as if it thought itself too large to be rendered down by such petty things such as wind and lack of oxygen and fuel.

 

Demmerung turned to the Dumonti engineer officer lying on the floor, still dazed from the blast.

 

“What the hell did you do to that thing?”

 

The officer’s eyes widened with terror.

 

“Now I understand what took you so long!” Markos said, raising his fist and bringing it down. The officer whimpered and held his own arms up, shielding himself from the expected blow.

 

It never came. Instead, he felt the Astartes’ sergeant’s huge gauntlet grasp his hand, and suddenly, he was pulled to his feet.

 

“A job well done!” Demmerung roared and slapped the officer on the back, almost knocking him over again.

 

Patrax chuckled.

 

A job well done indeed. They had made it!

[Ace Debonair]

In an apocalyptic blast, like the roaring thunder of some ancient god of myth, the charges set by the Dumonti engineers detonated. A gigantic, multi-coloured fireball blew the large dome apart, tongues of fire spewing out in all directions, engulfing masses of enemy troops advancing toward it.

 

I think the force of the blast dislodged some tiles on my roof. :)

Still up to your usual high-standards of work - good show!

[Ufthak]

Thanks Ace

 

Next Chapter probably up tomorrow or this evening!

[Ufthak]

Hey guys!

Next part up :tu: And if work lets me, I can possibly post another chapter late this evening!

Hope you enjoy reading!

 

Next two chapters:

 

 

 

 

219-58, Capital City Sewer System

 

 

Theoderic’s hands shook with pain as he checked and cocked his bolter. Though his badly damaged armour was attempting to pump stimms and painkillers into his ruined body, the pain was still excruciating.

 

Glancing down the tunnel he espied Church and the rest of the group disappearing in the darkness. His damaged sensorium blurred and distorted his vision, and the enhancements such as night vision and infrared fickered on and off sporadically.

 

He looked over to Brother Isidor, lying across the tunnel against the wall. Theoderic held his fist up against his chest and nodded to his battle-brother. Isidor returned the gesture and cocked his bolter.

 

The Mughali stormtrooper, Ndwembe, had positioned himself a few yards back, had carefully lain down behind the huge body of the power-armoured monster they had killed and taken up a firing position from where he could provide support fire to the two Astartes. Theoderic voxed him.

 

“Good position, trooper.”

 

The stormtrooper answered in a calm voice.

 

“It is an honour to fight with the Emperor’s finest, my Lord. For Kyrdesh, the VII Legion and the Imperium.”

 

Despite his pain, Theoderic smiled to himself.

 

Isidor’s voice suddenly hissed through the vox.

 

“Here they come.”

 

Theoderic strained his eyes, willing them to penetrate the flawed vision of his malfunctioning sensorium. A hundred yards down the sewer, a large group of enemy infantry, clad in long black greatcoats was cautiously advancing.

 

They’re cautious...they must have found the three dead stormtroopers...they know we’re here somewhere.

 

Theoderic hefted up his bolter and carefully aimed it at one enemy, a figure with a red-glowing spear – an officer of sorts.

 

He voxed Isidor and Ndwembe.

 

“Wait...for my signal...let them...get closer...”

 

 

“In here” Trooper Erman shouted, pointing through small, open, metal doorway in the sewer wall.

 

Ulman and Octavia moved in in the standard room-clearing pattern, one covering while the other moved in and to the nearest corner, immediately followed by the first into the opposite corner. The storage room was small and dark, and they swept their lamp packs left and right.

 

Aside from a few vermin eggs and rotting crates, it was empty.

 

“Clear” Octavia voxed to the rest of the group, and they moved in.

 

Erman and the lieutenant detached explosive charges from their backpacks, and Ulman and Octavia followed suit while the senior Astartes, Church, looked around.

 

“What now, Lord?” the lieutenant asked. “There are no passages leading from this chamber.”

 

Church was silent for a moment, seemingly brooding.

 

“Damnit...the intel officer mentioned something about blowing a wall...and beyond that wall would be a large chamber with our objective...but I do not recall which wall.”

 

“Church, I do” one of the other two Astartes, Hernando, said. “She said: ‘once there, you need to blow a hole through the northern wall. Whatever it is that is creating this shroud lies in the chamber beyond.’”

 

Church chuckled for a brief moment.

 

“Your memory never fails you, does it, Hernando? Good, north wall it is then. Lieutenant, initiate radical deconstruction if you please.”

 

Lieutenant Daman gave two brief hand signals, and Erman and he moved up to the northern wall with the explosives.

 

Ulman felt the strange strength he had gathered from Octavia’s consoling words course as adrenaline through his veins. He ground his teeth together and his hands almost shook in anticipation.

 

Almost there...

 

After a few moments, Daman turned to the Astartes.

 

“I am sorry, my Lord, but the wall appears thick and reinforced with steel. I am unsure whether our explosives will suffice.”

 

Church moved up to the wall.

 

“Allow me” he asked, and Erman and the lieutenant moved aside.

 

Church ignited his massive power fist, energy crackling around it in fizzling sparks and arcs of lightning.

 

With a roar, he sent a series of blows into the rockrete wall, pummeling huge holes into the weak points. Masonry and debris flew everywhere, making the rest of the group duck.

 

After a minute, he stopped, snarling with vented rage.

 

“That should have weakened it. Now rig it, lieutenant.”

 

With a gleeful grin, Daman and Erman applied the explosives.

 

 

 

While the stormtroopers were rigging the wall, Maric covered the exit to the sewer.

 

His senses leapt as firing broke out a few hundred yards down the sewer. He glanced around the doorway and could vaguely make out muzzle flashes.

 

The sarge!

 

He sped back into the chamber.

 

“Church, the sarge is engaging enemies. We’re running out of time!”

 

Church gave a barely visible nod to acknowledge he had understood.

 

“Ready to blow!” the lieutenant shouted.

 

“Good. Now, everyone listen up. We have a certain element of surprise, and we’ll use that. We have no idea what it is that’s behind this wall, but the moment it comes down, I want everyone inside in room-clearing pattern. Eliminating enemies will be our top priority for now, but as soon as anyone finds the shrouding device, our priority changes to detroying it. Have krak grenades ready at hand. Clear?”

 

The assembled group all mumbled their acknowledgement.

 

“Last of all, I would like to say it has been a priviledge to fight with warriors such as you. You are an honour for the Imperium, all of you.”

 

The stormtroopers made the sign of the Aquila, and the Astartes banged their fists against their chestplates.

 

“Right, everyone back to the sewer.”

 

The group exited the chamber and took up positions to both sides of the door.

 

Gunfire echoed down the tunnel from where Theoderic and the other wounded were holding.

 

Church nodded to Daman.

 

“Blow it.”

 

With a grin, Daman pressed the detonator.

 

 

 

219-58, black skies above the trench systems between Capital City and Imperial Landing Site

 

 

Lars von Bingen cleaned vomit off his scope.

 

Finally, they had managed to shake off the enemy craft tailing them, and where making their way to the landing site unchallenged.

 

The torn, black land beneath them was covered in masses and masses of enemy troops, long columns of tanks and formations of infantry all advancing; batteries of artillery were moving into position and digging in; formations of spider-like robots were scurrying across the trench systems swiftly and easily; and huge, hulking warriors in gunmetal armour slowly trudged alongside the tanks.

 

It was impressive. Lars had seen the Imperial Army in the field, millions of men and hundreds of super-heavy tanks advancing in unision, but the concentration of Corporate troops here almost rivalled that.

 

None of the enemy troops paid them any heed. Apparently, they mistook the small local craft for one of their own.

 

What surprised Lars was that the bulk of the enemy forces appeared to be moving not against the Imperial landing site, but against a low ridge to the east.

 

It was strange; was the landing site not their primary objective?

 

He glanced toward the plateau which formed the landing site. Huge drop ships thundered as they landed and disgorged Imperial reinforcements; others flared up as they took off, ferrying routed formations, damaged equipment and wounded to the fleet above.

 

And yet the enemy moved toward the ridgeline to the east.

 

“Master spy.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Turn east, head for the ridgeline there.”

 

“Of course. But may I ask about your motives?” the voice of the spy hissed and slithered.

 

“A gut feeling tells me that is where the party’s going to be” Lars answered.

[Ace Debonair]

Cool. :lol:

 

I'm trying to work out in my head where I think this is going to go, but I give up. ;)

It does look as though all the pieces are falling into place for a grand finale, though.

[Ufthak]

@Ace Debonair:

Thanks again for the comments Ace :P

Good if I can keep you intrigued!

 

Next part up sometime today I guess!

[Ufthak]

Ok guys, next part :)

Hope you enjoy it!

 

And @Ace: Don't worry, will tackle the story of Theoderic's squad in the next upcoming chapter ;) I myself am quite intrigued how that's going to turn out - I often decide at the last moment what's going to happen next :P

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

219-58, “The Meat Grinder”

 

 

The Imperial Fists were masterful defenders. 2^nd Company, 1^st “Templar” Grand Company had done that trait honour by holding together the defences of the Imperial Landing site.

 

Now they would be ultimately tested: they were to hold the “Meat Grinder”.

 

The ramp of the Thunderhawk dropped open even before it had touched down, and Captain Pavlos Mayer jumped out, closely followed by his command squad. He landed heavily in the black sand, throwing up small clouds of dust.

 

The fort was under heavy fire from all sides. For miles around, masses of enemy troops were going into assault positions. Battalions of Falsinfild Regular Infantry; hastily armed and organized Capital City militia regiments; brigades of Mons Sanctus troops in black greatcoats and skull-shaped gas masks; assault groups of crazed Bavar berserkers; squadrons of MykroPortae drone-controlled aircraft; batteries of massive Falsinfild artillery guns; formations of hundreds of Mons Sanctus armoured vehicles; and scurrying assault squads of spider robots.

 

Mayer knew that the enemy would attempt to bomb the fort to oblivion with artillery and air attacks before advancing with the infantry. The first shells were already falling, and he quickly voxed sergeant Loric Amboss.

 

“Loric, the entire company’s here. What’s the status on the defences?”

 

“Copy that. Defences reinforced, all units in heavy cover, armour and artillery dug in and camouflaged.”

 

“Good. We’ll be with you in a minute.”

 

 

 

Sergeant A-340586 glanced over the lip of the narrow trench. The trenches had been well made: reinforced with rockrete, rather narrow, with built-in heavy stub weaponry, small rockrete bunkers every twenty yards and larger, thicker bunkers with heavy weapon turrets every hundred yards.

 

Looking out over the black, burnt-out plains, he could espy formations of enemy troops going into position.

 

Suddenly, a titanic rumble erupted, making A-340586’s comrades instictively look to the skies, expecting a storm.

 

A storm was what they would get.

 

The rumble lasted for a few seconds, making the earth shake. A few kilometres away, on the other side of the plain, the clone trooper could make out a barely visible series of flashes. He turned to his comrades and bellowed “TAKE COVER!”

 

The remnants of the 305^th Regiment, Dyssadian Clone troopers, dove into the trench and flattened themselves against the wall.

 

A few moments later, the first shells impacted.

 

A-340586 felt his stomach leap as a huge explosion, merely twenty yards away, blew clouds of earth into the sky, showering the clone troopers with debris. Half a second later, the next explosion followed, then the next and the next.

 

The series of explosions gained momentum. Shockwaves came through the air and through the earth, throwing troopers about in the trenches. The earth shook as it was once again beat by war, and A-340586 watched as rocks and stones wandered over the sand and toppled into the trench through the constant barrage.

 

Never in his life had A-340586 experienced such a hail of metal and steel. Under such a barrage of death and hate, he could not help wondering whether this was Armageddon, the Apocalypse, the end of ages.

 

The earth was rent asunder by huge, 1-ton heavy shells which left wide, burnt-out craters were they had fallen. Entire sections of trench were blasted apart or buried under debris and earth.

 

A-340586 watched as some of his troopers held their hands to their heads and screamed in fear. A couple attempted to leap out of the trench in panic, but their comrades immediately pulled them back and held them fast.

 

The bombardment seemed to go on for eternity as A-340586 lost all track of time. His muscles burnt with pain, cramping from the strained flexing in fear as he held on to the walls of the trench. His breathing came in heavy gasps through the grille of his enclosed helm. Gazing down the trench to the right, he could see groups of Dumonti Chasseurs huddled together, holding each other, slowly disappearing under the torrent of dirt and earth flung into the trench by the impacts. To the left, part of the trench containing a platoon of Bourdak Infantry from the 834^th/875^th Battalion was obliterated in a huge explosion which collapsed part of the earthworks nearby.

 

By now, A-340586 could no longer distinguish the individual explosions. The bombardment had turned into a strange background storm, much like an unending, ear-splitting thunder, accompanied by a brutal earthquake.

 

A-340586 wondered how much of the ridge-line would be left by the time the shelling stopped.

 

 

 

The bunker shook under the bombardment, sand and dust trickling from the ceiling in thin trails with each impact.

 

Mayer looked up from the primitive map of the fort lying on the table and glanced around at the assembled sergeants.

 

“Right. We have prepared ourselves as well as possible. Expect the assault to come the moment the bombardment ends. I want all that is left of the company on standby for counterattack immediately. If the enemy moves according to Loric’s plan, the positions of our troops and our fields of fire will funnel the enemy into multiple bogus breaches and away from the truly important defensive systems. These intentional breaches are crucial, because they allow us to put large numbers of closely packed enemy troops under enfilading and artillery fire. Nevertheless, expect the enemy to penetrate our defences, which is where we will crush them in swift counterattacks. Clear?”

 

The assembled sergeant nodded their assent.

 

Mayer clapped his hand to Amboss’ huge terminator frame.

 

“Loric, if this works...I’ll be damned if Sigismund doesn’t give you your own company.”

 

 

 

After what seemed like an eternity, the shelling suddenly stopped. The earth stopped trembling, the shelling abated and the air cleared.

 

Shaking, A-340586 slowly pulled himself out of the earth which had engulfed him during the bombardment and glanced out of the trench, gasping for air. His eyes widened in shock at what he saw.

 

The fort, indeed the entire ridge-line, had been changed into a brutally churned moonscape. The defensive positions had mostly disappeared under churned-up earth and craters. Even entire bunkers had been largely buried. Never could the clone trooper have believed that the earth could be so hammered, so beaten, so broken. Looking out over the heavily pock-marked slopes of the ridge-line, he could hardly believe anyone could have survived.

 

His ears still ringing and his head spinning, he vaguely registered a loud war cry coming from the plains. Glancing down from his position, A-340586 now espied the massed enemy assault formations advancing against the fort.

 

They’re attacking while whoever’s left is still dazed. Well, here’s one Imperial Army unit who they’re not just going to walk-over!

 

“Up, up, up men! Get up, you useless curs!” A-340586 snarled and grabbed one of his dazed troopers by the arm, pulling him up.

 

“Here they come! Let’s give them a nice welcome, shall we?”

 

The brutal drills that the training back on Dyssadia had drummed into them took over, and the clone troopers leapt up, gathered their weapons, manned heavy stub guns and went into firing positions.

 

A-340586 cleaned dirt off his lasrifle and manned a firing point.

 

“Wait for my signal!”

 

Black-clad Mons Sanctus troops were advancing up the slope against them in masses.

 

“Wait for it...”

 

Armoured formations moved up behind the infantry, adding supporting fire from heavy weapons to the assault.

 

“Now! Let them have it! For the Emperor!” A-340586 roared and fired his lasrifle.

 

Scores of enemy troopers dropped under the hail of fire. With hardly any cover, all they could do was advance further. The Clone Troopers’ fire was disciplined and accurate, and the first company of Mons Sanctus troops was annihilated under the barrage.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, A-340586 saw muzzle flashes and streams of tracers to his left and right. Glancing around, realized that, all along the Imperial defensive lines, troops were emerging from the ruined earth and returning fire. Even as he watched, the Imperial fire intensified as built-in heavy weapons were brought to bear.

 

The first salvos were devastating. Entire battalions of enemy troops, having expected easy victory after such a brutal bombardment, were caught in the open and mown down.

 

A-340586 heard the Dumonti Chasseurs further down the trench whoop in delight.

 

The Imperial line was holding!

[Brother Captain Ming]

Ufthak, I don't even know where to begin...it's all too good...it's all really good, you should be very proud of yourself!

 

I thought the master sniper had spotted the enemies buildup, I bet he sows all kinds of havoc at the HQ. :ph34r:

 

Their position at the Meat Grinder changes as soon as Church brings down that shroud, huh? :huh: Changes by about a good old orbital barrage, or three right? ;) Next chapter, we find out what's guarding the shrouding machine? How many before it's finally taken out (or the rest of Theoderic's squad is)? Man I hope you update later tonight!

[Reyner]

This is truly awesome Ufthak. I've read the whole thing, very good work!

[Ufthak]

@Brother Captain Ming:

Thank you so very much for your kind comments ^_^

Your speculations are indeed partly correct, but I shall not give away anything B)

Sorry I can't update tonight, didn't have the time to write. I'll try to do so tomorrow morning, alright?

 

@Reyner:

Thanks <_< Nice to hear!

 

Here's hoping I get the end of the story right...

[Ace Debonair]

Here's hoping I get the end of the story right...

 

You're the author, buddy. It's not like you can get it wrong. :lol:

 

You certainly didn't with that last chapter - good stuff!

[Ufthak]

@Ace:

Well, I could...I could for example have Duracel rabbits charge the Imperial lines with the brutal combat chant of "Duracel is better and lasts longer than standard batteries!"...or I could have a Mons Sanctus Gene-Guard advance in pink armour with a "Hello Kitty" logo on its frame...

Believe me, THAT would be just plain WRONG...

 

^_^

 

 

In any case, here's four short chapters, hope you like them!

 

 

 

 

 

219-58, black skies north of the Imperial Landing Site

 

 

“Talon 1 calling Montmartre, do you copy?”

 

“Talon 1, this is Montmartre. Good to hear you.”

 

“Likewise. Lieutenant, patch me through to the Captain if you please.”

 

“I fear the Captain is beyond your vox range. The entire company has been relocated to the defence of fortress 35-Z, to the east.”

 

“Understood” Patrax answered.

 

“Will you let him know that we have accomplished our mission and are returning to the landing site. We have sustained heavy casualties and have many wounded that need treatment.”

 

“The Khaman Defence Laser System is incapacitated?” the lieutenant asked.

 

“Erm...so to speak, yes, though ‘incapacitated’ is an understatement.”

 

“It is impossible the enemy can reactivate and use it?”

 

“Believe you me, no.”

 

“Well done, my Lord. I will notify the fleet immediately and have medical services on attention when you land. What is your E.T.A.?”

 

“Around 15 terran minutes.”

 

“Good to have you back, my Lord. Montmartre out.”

 

 

 

Markos Demmerung turned to Patrax.

 

“So what’s the deal with this fortress to the east?”

 

“No idea. But given the Captain’s seen fit to deploy the entire company there, it must be a crucial position. Why?”

 

“Are you thinking the same thing I’m thinking?”

 

 

 

219-58, “The Meat Grinder”

 

 

Loric Amboss grinned gleefully as his trap snapped shut.

 

Entire brigades of enemy troops broke through apparent weak points in the Imperial lines. Believing they had cracked the Imperial lines, tanks, spider robots and further infantry reinforcements were thrown in through the breaches.

 

Then the slaughter began.

 

Inside the breaches, pre-prepared Imperial heavy weapons emplacements and dug-in Malcador tanks laid a heavy, criss-crossing enfilading fire on the masses on enemy troops storming in.

 

Hundreds were caught in the deadly hail of shells, bullets and bolts. It was the most brutal carnage Amboss had ever witnessed; the Malcador tanks’ heavy bolters could hardly miss their mark, and tank shells blew scores of men to pieces as the impacted.

 

And yet, as one brigade was annihilated, another took its place. There seemed to be no end to the Corporate troops being poured in through the breaches, and each unit pushed in deeper.

 

“Sarge, deep breach in sectors 3E and 3F. Prepping the rest of the squad for counterattack” Brother Rodriguez’ voice came through the vox.

 

“Affirmative, I’ll be with you in a moment.”

 

 

 

Sergeant A-340586 cooly aimed and snapped off single shots at the black-clad troopers stumbling up the slope toward the Dyssadian Clone Troopers. Here, the enemy assault was grinding to a halt, but to the left and right of their position, enemy troops were triumphantly charging in through breaches in the Imperial defence.

 

Under such circumstances it was better to retire and avoid encirclement, but A340586 knew this was part of the Astartes’ plan – funnel the enemy into killing zones.The Dumonti Chasseurs and the Bourdak troops left and right of the Clone Troopers were wreaking horrific slaughter amongst the enemy troops pouring in.

 

A-340586 started as he heard the tell-tale grinding of tank tracks. Glancing over the lip of the trench, he could make out a large armoured squadron, some twenty tanks, churning through the black, burnt sands toward the breaches.

 

Things are about to get very interesting.

 

 

219-58, underground crypt beneath the Capital City

 

 

Church charged through the smoke and residue left by the blast.

 

Through the large hole in the wall, and into...

 

Church stopped in his tracks and for a brief second, gazed in wonder.

 

They had entered a vast, dome-shaped chamber. It was so huge, the other end of it seemed half a mile away. In its centre, a huge spire reached up and out of the ground toward the ceiling. The spire reminded Church of a dark, straight tree-trunk. Strange, blue-glowing, translucent drops dotted the spire, large sacks hanging from the gnarled surface. Arcs of blue light spun around the spire, like a wind that had taken on a wondrous, light-blue shade. The coils of light seemed to briefly attach themselves to the blue droplets, then drawing away again, with brief cracks of power. A strange humming noise mingled with the whoosh of a wind Church knew could impossibly exist here, so deep underground.

 

Gazing out over the floor of the chamber, Church could make out strange lines and patterns that snaked their ways all across the entire chamber, up the walls to the very top of the dome. Taking a closer look, he realised they were stylised pictures and artworks, intermingled with wondrous, curved writing he could not decipher. Tiny crystals were inlaid into everything, into every curve of writing, into every figure depicted, and reflected the blue light from the spire in a beautiful, glittering display. The very walls and floor seemed to glow blue, and as Church watched, he could see the glittering crystals pulse as the light from the spire shifted and turned.

 

It was beautiful.

 

What is this place?

 

Church shook his head and forced himself to concentrate. There were no enemies in direct sight, but they needed to be careful nonetheless.

 

“Team, spread out in standard formation, but stay close. Let’s see what this is.”

 

 

 

Theoderic wheezed in pain as hard slug rounds struck the stumps that once had been his legs. With great effort, he lifted his bolter and loosed a salvo, disintegrating the last three Mons Sanctus troopers.

 

“Everyone...alright?” he wheezed with a shaking voice.

 

“Still...here, sarge” Isidor acknowledged, his voice wracked with pain.

 

“Alive and fighting” Trooper Ndwembe affirmed.

 

“Good...we held them...”

 

Even as he spoke, voices rang out down the tunnel, barking commands.

 

Isidor let out an angry snarl.

 

“More...”

 

 

 

219-58, “The Meat Grinder”

 

 

“FEEL MY WRATH!” Ancient Hohenstaufen roared, tearing off the turret of an enemy tank in an earsplitting whine as metal bent and twisted.

 

Spinning on its axis, the huge dreadnought launched the turret through the air. With a deafening clang, immediately followed by a massive explosion as the munitions inside the turret blew up, it smashed into a group of huge, lumbering Mons Sanctus Gene-Guard, bowling over three and killing two.

 

Captain Pavlos Mayer dodged the slash from a red-glowing blade and expertly executed a pirouette, lopping off the sword arm of one of the monsters. A foghorn blast of noise erupted as the Gene-Guard cried out in pain. Mayer did not let it deter him and in two swift strokes lopped off first a leg, then, as the creature crashed to the ground, the head.

 

Chaplain Komnenos roared as a red-glowing blade deflected a blow from his crozius in a shower of sparks. The Gene-Guard swung his blade to cleave the Chaplain apart, but a barrage of heavy fire from the Ancient sent the creature reeling until it dropped to the ground, large, smoking holes pock-marking its huge, armoured frame.

 

Though Amboss’ tactic had paid off, and thousands of enemy troops had been slaughtered in the killing grounds, the attacks were coming relentlessly. Many of the enfilading defences at the bogus breaches were fast running out of ammunition as the enemy threw in more troops than the Imperial Army could kill.

 

“Open up with the artillery, NOW!” Mayer bellowed into the vox.

 

Every single one of the bogus breaches had been zeroed in with Imperial or captured artillery batteries, which had been dug-in and camouflaged. Now was the time.

 

Mere moments after Mayer had given the order, a series of booms shook the earth as the earthshaker guns opened up, dropping heavy shells into the masses of enemy troops storming the breaches.

 

Come and die, you bastards!

[Sons of Horus]

I like this one a lot :) love the dread too

[Legio Draconis]

Almost cinematic in it's descriptiveness, could almost see Tom Hanks storming the breach and getting his <_< handed to him as the fists opened up on him.

[Ufthak]

<_< That one was good :devil: :lol:

 

Next part up soon, perhaps this evening, if not tomorrow morning!

 

@Sons of Horus:

Yeah, I really like my Ancient... ;)

[Ufthak]

Next part up...things are gathering pace...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

219-58, Imperial Landing Site

 

 

Markos Demmerung watched a platoon of freshly arrived Sernii Jägers swiftly board the Thunderhawk. When the last one was in, his own three surviving troopers, as well as Patrax, Aktos and Graiff, hurried after them.

 

Back into the fray it is, then.

 

Demmerung picked up his huge heavy bolter and rushed up the ramp. The Thunderhawk took off even before the ramp had closed, spiralling up into the sky swiftly before turning toward the contested fort and gathering speed.

 

 

 

219-58, “The Meat Grinder”

 

 

The artillery wrought unimaginable slaughter among the enemy. Within moments, thousands of enemy troopers died in the hail of shells. What little was left was swiftly dispatched by quick counterattacks.

 

Amboss had indeed organized a brilliant defence. Within a short space of time, the imperial garrison of the fort had inflicted losses ten times their number and defeated a series of heavy armoured attacks.

 

And yet, as Mayer analyzed the reports coming to him through the vox, it appeared that today, quantity triumphed over quality.

 

Sections of the Imperial Defences were slowly being overrun by the sheer vastness of troops thrown against them. The Dumonti Grenadiers, Chasseurs and Voltigeurs had had to give up the front-line positions and fall back to the second line. Two battalions of Bourdak infantry had been encircled, their fate now unknown as vox reports had ceased. The 26^th and 34^th Karshnu Demi-Brigades, feral warriors armed with large-calibre slug weapons, broad combat swords and power glaives and wearing crude leather armour, had counterattacked to relieve the two battalions, but had sustained heavy casualties as they ran into enemy armour.

 

And everywhere the accursed Gene-Guard broke through the lines.

 

Prefering to scale the slopes than follow the masses through the breaches, the heavily armoured monsters had broken the line in multiple points and were slowly fighting their way to the centre of the fort.

 

Mayer realised that the only thing that was going to stop them were his Astartes warriors.

 

“Loric, I need you and your terminators at the central command bunker ASAP. Contact any of our squads not immediately engaged with the enemy and send them along as well. We need to take out these armoured abominations.”

 

“Copy that” the deep, calm voice of the veteran sergeant answered.

 

Mayer turned to his command squad. Chaplain Komnenos, holding aloft the crackling crozius; Apothecary Hildebrand, his white helmet flecked with blood from his brothers, spurted onto him as he had extracted the precious gene-seed; Tech-Marine Stahlhelm with his servitors; Brother Huno, holding the huge, two-handed Thunder Hammer against his shoulder; Brother Kolom, newly-attached and recently promoted signifer, bearing the torn banner of the company; and the Ancient, bearing the beautiful, golden Aquila above its huge frame.

 

“Brothers! This day, we finally engage a foe worthy of us! The enemy has seen fit to throw these huge armoured creatures against us. Let us show them what it means to be the Emperor’s finest!”

 

The assembled squad roared in assent and ignited their weapons as the first red bolts came flying their way.

 

 

 

Loric Amboss charged along the fortifications, his terminators following close behind. A maelstorm of smoke and fire, of shot and shell, surrounded them as waves of enemy troops broke against the trench- and bunker-systems stubbornly held by the Imperial troops.

 

Amboss flinched as enemy aircraft came in in a strafing run, pummeling his squad with heavy slug rounds and dropping explosive payloads on a nearby earthshaker battery, now exposed. In a series of massive blasts, the earthshaker guns and their munitions blew up, showering the terminators with shrapnel. Thanks to their Cataphractii Tactical Dreadnought Armour, none sustained any damage, and the squad lumbered on, toward the centre of the fort.

 

There they are.

 

A large group of the massive, gunmetal monsters was moving in against the Captain and his command squad from all sides. Dumonti troopers who attempted to aid the Astartes were blasted apart by bursts of the rotary cannons.

 

Amboss roared, ignited his lightning claws and charged.

 

One of the huge things espied him and lifted its rotary cannon. Amboss perceived the multiple barrels starting to spin, but cared not. A moment later a hail of bolts erupted against him. He felt mutliple hits pierce his armour, and warning runes flared up on the inside of his lens, but still he cared not. Roaring, he battled on through the storm of red bolts, struggling as they slammed into him at a phenomenal rate.

 

Then, suddenly, he was right in front of the Gene-Guard, who gave a strange screech of surprise as the huge Astartes failed to fall to the ground and die, and instead swung his razor-sharp claws.

 

Amboss roared in battle-joy as his blades slid through the power armour of the Gene-Guard, cutting it like paper. A devastating foghorn blast of noise marked the Gene-Guard’s cry of pain as it dropped to the ground.

 

Amboss lifted his huge ceramite boot and brought it down on the helmeted head of the Guard, crushing it and silencing the sonic blast.

 

A sea of flame erupted next to him, engulfing two of the massive monsters as Pausanias brought his heavy flamer to bear, roaring in delight.

 

Amboss dodged a stream of red bolts as another Gene-Guard charged him, firing his rotary cannon. The terminator sergeant darted here and there as fast as his hulking armour would let him. A couple of bolter shells from one of Amboss’ brothers made the Guard flinch, and Amboss used that moment to charge up to it and swing his claws.

 

Unfortunately, the thing responded swiftly and parried the blow with the red-glowing blade, a thunderclap and a shower of sparks erupting as the blades met. Amboss launched a series of furious attacks with his claws, but the Guard parried them all with equally swift strokes from the glowing blade.

 

While swinging his claws, Amboss stole a glance toward the captain. He roared in rage as he saw one of the hulking monsters smash the rotary cannon into Mayer, flinging him through the air.

 

No!

 

 

219-58, black skies above the “Meat Grinder”

 

 

From what Lars was hearing over the vox, the situation was clear: the captain and indeed the entire command squad were in deep trouble.

 

“Master Spy, fly us directly into the centre of the fort. Now!”

 

The spy’s voice hissed through the vox. “Master sniper, we are using a local craft. If we fly in there, Imperial anti-aircraft systems will target us.”

 

“I know. It matters not. Bring us in!”

 

“As you wish, master sniper.”

 

 

 

219-58, Capital City Sewer System

 

 

Theoderic coughed up blood as multiple rounds penetrated his armour, slamming the air out of his lungs.

 

He felt his ammo pouches for a fresh mag and realised they were all empty.

 

As further rounds struck his armour, clanging off, he sighed and dropped his bolter. Without his legs, he would not even be able to fight with his fists.

 

His already distorted vision blurred as he fought the urge to pass out. He tried to utter a cry of defiance at the scores of advancing black-uniformed troops, but nothing came from his mouth except a pitiful cough.

 

So this was the end...

 

A rattling sound suddenly erupted behind him. At a rate of thousands of rounds a minute, a hail of red bolts hammered into the enemy. The entire group of enemy troopers was scythed down within seconds, bodies bursting and limbs dropping as the red bolts slammed into them.

 

With great effort, Theoderic turned his head and glanced back.

 

Isidor, lying on the floor, was steadying the large, heavy rotary cannon of the dead armoured monster over his shoulder, while trooper Ndwembe manned it.

 

The multiple barrels of the cannon slowed and finally stuttered to a halt, thin trails of smoke and steam snaking their way into the air.

 

“Eat that” Brother Isidor snarled.

 

 

219-58, underground crypt

 

 

Ulman gazed in wonder at the blue-glowing, intricate patterns covering everything here. This was indeed a place of beauty, a place of...power.

 

Apparently, this was the “crypt” – whatever that meant – of a large temple complex. Whoever had built it must have devoted much labour, much imagination, much love to the detail, indeed, poured their hearts into its construction. Ulman wondered what kind of false gods had been worshipped at this wondrous place in ages past.

 

He shook his head to dispel the thought. To his left, Octavia cautiously advanced, her face screwed up in concentration, her eyes aiming down the autogun as she carefully swept it right and left. To Ulman’s right, the Astartes trudged on, their bolters held at the ready. Beyond them, Erman and Lieutenant Daman aimed their autoguns into the vastness of the chamber as they moved, searching for enemies.

 

Ulman’s eyes darted around the dome-shaped chamber. It appeared, indeed, empty, except for the strange spire in the middle. If there truly was a shrouding device here, then the spire had to be it.

 

 

 

Church’s sense of unease grew. The eerie humming sound, intermingling with the unearthly whooshing of wind, unnerved him. In this beautiful chamber, something was not right, but he could not place it. The strange blue coils of light which danced around the spire had something unnatural to them.

 

Church sniffed the air, analyzing the smells. The smell of rock and of metal; the smell of mould; and – though he was not sure whether it really was there or whether his mind was making it up – a very faint trace of ozone.

 

“Anyone see anything?” he murmured to the rest of the group.

 

“Nothing, brother” Hernando answered.

 

“No enemies in sight, my Lord” Lieutenant Daman confirmed.

 

“Good. Keep moving toward this spire. No distractions now. I have a gut feeling this won’t be over so easily.”