War of Words

[Llagos_Tyrant]

The following has been organized at an alternate thread. Please, if you wish to join the story make a comment in that thread. That thread is also to be used for Out Of Character comments and preferably also for any community feedback we may generate, if only to keep this thread uncluttered. The Following post will contain background information, character information and a timeline of major events within the plot.

 

So without further ado, let us begin the Collaboration of Writer's Work of Fiction - Volume One.

 

 

http://i1261.photobucket.com/albums/ii597/GrimApostle/Title.jpg

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++ Ordo Malleus System Report Inquest - Habron System, Segmentum Obscurus ++

 

Habron I

• Mineral Rich Rock Planet

o No atmosphere.

o Planet has orbital rings and three small moons.

 

Habron II

• Rock Planet

o Trace atmosphere constantly wracked by super storms.

o Home to an old Adeptus Mechanicus Observation Facility.

 

Habron III

• Death World.

o Ravaged by nuclear fire from Habron Primaris hundreds of years ago, Habron III's ozone layer is extremely volatile and the population are forced underground around mid-day every day to escape the heat and glaring sun.

o Interestingly, no records of any excavation of the caverns within the planet exist, and unusual burst of radiation are sometimes experienced on the planet.

o Local Rumours tell of a device that could repair the Planet's Life sustaining capabilities buried in an ancient city - Some factions of the Ordo Xenos, Adeptus Mechanicus and the Ordo Malleus have taken an interest in the rumours, though most dismiss them.

 

Habron Primaris

• Hive World

o Inquisition notes a largely devout Ruling Aristocracy

o There is a large Adeptus Mechanicus Forge facility in the Northern Polar Regions.

o Population; 11,000,000,000

o Derelict Space Docks in High Orbit

Cheri

o Jungle Moon of Habron Primaris. Houses a large contingent of Habron Guard Regiments.

 

Habron Secundus

• Agriculture World

o Responsible for 73% of incoming food products to Habron Primaris.

o Travel Restrictions in Place after an increase in local Psyker counts.

o Population; 18, 000, 000

o Notice - Roving Ork Warbands remain threat to locals.

o Notice – Chaos Incursion in process. Multiple Chapter Response Force moving to intercept.

Donjon

• Rocky Ice Moon of Habron Secundus.

o Serves as Prison Facility for the System.

o Population; 145,000

 

Habron VI

• Gas Giant

o An Unusual Energy Signature seems to be locked in High Orbit.

o Contains a Gas Harvesting Plant within the Atmosphere.

 

Habron VII

• An Ice Dwarf on the edge of the system.

o Possible Eldar Sightings - Ordo Xenos unable to respond at the present.

 

 

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++ Ordo Malleus Last System Situation Report ++

 

The proximity of the Habron System to the Eye of Terror makes it a valuable asset for the Imperium. It was used as a staging point for several fleet actions in the 13th Black Crusade and has been marked as Priority-2 Importance by the High Lords of Terra, due to its strategic location and the warp corridor in which it lies. Due to this proximity and its importance, the Habron System has been subjected to regular reports for the Ordo Malleus, Cadian High Command, the Departmento Munitorum, and the Imperial Fleet.

 

For several years Habron Primaris reported an increase in Psyker activity on the Agri-World Habron Secundus. Last year, the Habron Council of Governance introduced a new defence policy, which had lead to an increased military presence on both planets. The local PDF Regiments were deployed from their base of Operations, the Jungle Moon Cheri, and had begun conducting a series of sweep and clear operations against large concentrations of Psykers while travel restrictions into and out of Habron Secundus were enacted. Three months ago, reports indicated a possible chaotic taint among the population. One month ago, the Ordo Malleus received a report containing information about an erupting armed conflict on Habron Secundus lead by Rogue Astartes matching the description of Traitoris Extremis Word Bearers. A General Call for intervention by Astartes Warriors in the area has been made. Several forces confirmed en route ...

 

 

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++ Ordo Malleus Notable Individuals Report ++

 

Gregor Von Bismar .................................................................. Loyal Astarte; Teutonic Brotherhood; Knight-Marshal (Jake Mulraney)

Oden Tullaris ........................................................................... Traitor Astarte; Iron Warriors 7th Grand Company; War Smith (GrimApostle)

Lucius Vorenus ........................................................................ Loyal Astarte; Praetors of Mars; Captain (IronDragon66)

Mafez Al-Morham ..................................................................... Loyal Astarte; Shadows of Terra; Ranger-Hunter (King Willy)

Cthastus Geddon ..................................................................... Loyal Astarte; Emperors Blood; Brother Sergeant (Olisredan)

Linus Theo .............................................................................. Traitor Astarte; Alpha Legion; Acting Sergeant (Nineswords)

Goddvar Holmgang .................................................................. Loyal Astarte; Space Wolves; Grey-Hunter (Bongfu)

Further Individuals Expected as Information Improves

 

 

 

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++ Ordo Malleus Compiled Timeline Reports ++

 

• Six years prior to Campaign Start - Psyker presence on the rise
  One year prior to Campaign Start - Military presence increased
  Three months prior to Campaign Start - Suspicion of Chaotic Taint raised
  One month prior to Campaign Start - Word Bearers sighted in-system
  Day Zero - Campaign Start
  Day One - Astartes Warriors begin arriving in-system
  

 

 

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++ Habron Campaign Status : Commenced ... ++

 

Gregor's Call.

 

Gregor woke up on the ground. He had been knocked unconscious somehow. He staggered to his feet and gathered his bearings before looking around to gain a better idea of his immediate surroundings and realised he was in the middle of a battle.

 

Mist covered the battlefield as it rose from the corpses of thousands of dead bodies. Gregor could barely see in front of him. It was as though the mist was heavier than the Golden Throne itself. He slowly walked forward as he heard his battle-brothers calling for him. The stench of death filled the air, choking Gregor as he made his way to the voices of his allies. The swampy marsh that was the battlefield had consumed many brave Astartes this day. Trudging through the gushy earth Gregor soon realised that he was only seeing the bodies of his fallen brethren. Where were all the enemies corpses, he wondered.

 

The battle was supposed to be short and sweet. A force of two hundred and forty Teutonic Brothers were to meet the forces of five other chapters on the ground. They were supposed to march to the wet region where a large quantity of renegade marines and chaos daemons had made camp. Thousands of them. It was there last stronghold on the planet. Then he remembered that his force was ambushed upon planetfall. Being the first in command he tried his hardest to manoeuvre against the enemy but there were far too many of them.

 

He continued through the mist, the cries of pain and death followed by the thuds of dropping bodies piercing his ears. He came across the corpse of his friend. Stopping for a moment to pray for him he knelt down on the floor, his knees slightly sinking into the mud. As he finished his prayers the howls of the chaos monsters filled the air. He looked around but there was nothing to be seen.

 

He upped the pace as he made his way onwards toward the sounds of the main battle. Suddenly, silhouettes began rushing around in the mist in front of him. He counted four, maybe five before readying himself for a fight. With his powerfists raised up in the air he planted his feet firmly in the ground. “Show yourselves, daemons!” he shouted. Then, with the screams of a thousand banshees the bloodletters descended upon him. He jumped at the beasts with rage and valour. As he struck each one down another two rose up to take its place. He shouted at the top of his voice “Stark! Stols! Edel!”, the battle cry of the Teutonic Brotherhood. He pulverised with his powerfists as he tried to overpower the enemy.

 

The numbers of the bloodletters were merely increasing as he wrought the wrath of the Emperor down upon them. He took a slash to the left arm and let out a shout of rage as he crushed the skull of the bloodletter responsible. It was looking grim for Gregor. Severely outnumbered and slowly being torn down, he needed some kind of aid.....

 

By JakeMulraney

 

________________________________________

 

Caging Iron

 

All around the warrior, resplendent in his dark iron armour with its silver trim, the signs of a dying world were too plain to see. In the skies above him, ash rained down from dark clouds, lashed with the arching blood red and fluorescent purple lightning of warp interference. It was a terrifying sight for all but the most hardened of warriors. Even the War Smith himself was unnerved by the sight as his breathes thundered in and out of his respirator. For with the roaring crackle in the distance and the gathering smoke enveloping the world like a rolling mist, it would not be long before Habron Secundus was little more than a playground for the Chaos Gods.

 

"Red One and Two are returning to base. Haul is intact. Ave Chaotica." Came a voice over the vox communicator.

 

"Report, Red One. How many do you offer us?" Drusus' answered the man in his deep Olympian accent. It was still strange for the War Smith to hear such an accent after all these long years. It warmed his heart as much as it tore at his soul, and he closed his eyes briefly in remembrance.

 

Past his skull like silver helmet, mounted with a sideways plume in the tell-tale hazard stripe of his legion, Odens eyes narrowed on the horizon as he opened them again. A plume of billowing smoke rose up from a village just beyond the next dried and cracked wheat field. The village itself, was little more than a few run down huts, burned and scarred by the las and plasma weaponry of the traitor guardsmen. Even from this distance however, he could see that burning down their storage shelters and their excuse for a chapel was not enough for the zealots. Tied to steel posts and hoisted atop the farm grain silos, the flayed corpses of a priest and a few unlucky residents stood as an offering to the Dark Gods, and as a warning to the local PDF troopers.

 

"I offer nine, to the Word Bearers, My Lord. Red Two, counts another five."

 

A pair of low booms on the horizon signaled the thrust of their Valkyrie engines as their aircraft rose from the burning town square, thrashing the mangled dead in the gusts they exhaled.

 

"Is that satisfactory, My Lord?" The Pilot asked. Drusus paused in his response.

 

"The Dark Gods shall be pleased with your gift, Red One. Redirect to course 17-62, Objective Gamma. You will be met on your arrival. Ave Chaotica."

 

Oden stood in the charred field, bereft of cover and exposed to the howling aircraft as they banked left to face him. Looking up at the warp lightning scattering across the rippling skies, Oden clenched his fist and felt the gentle hum of his wrist mounted plasma pistol begin its warm up period.

 

In a dozen cities I was forged ... Odens mind began the hymn almost instinctively.

 

"Brother-Malthus, raise the flag." Oden ordered in his deep, near metallic voice. From behind him, the Iron Warrior rose up from a dried riverbed and unfurled the flag, covered in hazard stripes and bearing the Iron skull of the Olympian Legion. Raising it high into the air, Forge-Brother Malthus raised his fist to the sky and beat against his chest piece, over the place of his original heart.

 

Wrought with fury and tempered with guilt ...

 

"Flesh-Smith, at the ready." He called, the lumbering Captain and Apothecary rising from the embankment and hoisting his plasma gun upright. Leveling it up with his other arm, mounted with the chain-blade and drill of an apothecary, already spinning and at the ready.

 

No Blade can pierce the Iron Within ...

 

"Centurions on the line." He said, slowly unsheathing his glimmering sword Everburn from its scabbard, mounted horizontally across his lower back. By now, the Valkyrie could see the Marines lining up. As Centurion Wulfric stepped up to the line and raised his Chainsword and bolt pistol to the sky, he let out a feral cry as his weapon roared on the charred plain. Centurion Mortez meanwhile, silent and stoic in his Corvus pattern armour, brought up his Stalker Bolter to line up with the pilots seat as the sun caught the combat blade mounted on his shoulder.

 

And no Armour can stop the Iron Without.

 

"Red Two, do you see that group ahead of us?" came the pilots voice over the vox channels. There was a break in between their discussion as the pilot let out a gasp and realized what was before him. "Red Two, ready weapons! The Space Marines have come!" he called. "Get weapons hot! I repeat, get weapons hot!" he yelled.

 

"Drusus, on my mark." Oden said calmly.

 

"Guns are spinning up!" The Pilot called out to his compatriots.

 

"Mark."

 

From beside him, Oden could clearly hear and feel the pulse through the air as Centurion Mortez unleashed a Hellfire Round up towards the aircraft, and as Flesh-Smith Tyr pulled the trigger on his plasma gun, the round sprawling through the air like a miniature sun. The Hellfire round struck Red One first, exploding on the cockpit and shattering the glass into the faces of the pilots as the plasma round struck soon behind. Barreling through the cockpit and incinerating the pilots and controls in a white hot explosion of plasma and fury, the Valkyrie shuddered and dropped like a stone, it's pilots dead and its controls fried. Rolling to the side and dipping forward, the metallic framework smashed into the ground, tearing up the dirt effortlessly as it did so. Sliding twenty feet and spewing fire and fuel across the plain, the Valkyrie groaned as it came to a halt, with Centurion Wulfric rushing forward and Forge-Brother Malthus planting his banner in the ground, both on their way to clear the crash site.

 

Red Two however was not in a better position. While Red One was struck from the front and brought low with two shots, Centurion Drusus fired his personally modified Stalker Bolter - fitted, adapted and integrated with the extended barrel of a Sniper Rifle claimed after a brief duel with a Crimson Fists scout. The round fired from Drusus soared through the air, and Oden barely heard it over the roar of Red Ones demise. Smashing through the side of the cockpit with the fury of a God, Drusus' round found its mark in the head of the pilot, tearing through it and out the crimson splattered windows. The co-pilot, unprepared for the death of his comrade and in shock from the crash of Red One, was unable to recover his trajectory as the Valkyrie barreled forward, over the heads of the gathered Iron Warriors and into the next field behind them.

 

Oden spun with his sword at the ready and walked towards his prey.

 

"Find her." He repeated his orders again. "Mortez, Tyr - with me. Drusus, stay alert. No witnesses." Tyr dropped his Plasma gun as he drew his bolt pistol and revved his tools for use. Mortez turned with his weapon at the ready, his eyes always down his sights.

 

Crossing the riverbed, Oden clenched his fist and brought up his plasma pistol to the ready, his hand parallel to his head. Over the crackle of the flames, Oden could hear the wailing within the slaves carriage underneath the Valkyrie.

 

"Tyr, carve it open." He said, walking past the burning, twisted metal towards the cockpit. As the chain-blade of the Flesh-Smith roared to life and the screams within the wreckage rose to an overture, Oden looked within the cockpit to find the flayed body of the co-pilot, his form riddled with shrapnel and glass from the crash. Each breathe was a struggle for him, as the blood flowing in his mouth bubbled and seeped into his lungs with each breathe. Grabbing the traitor by the throat, Oden dragged his body out of his seat and held him in the air. With a single plunge of his sword, Oden stabbed clear through the man and watched the trickle of life flow from his face.

 

Withdrawing his sword as sparks sprung off the wreckage, and casting aside the broken corpse, Oden turned back to his Chosen. "Drusus, report."

 

"No communications traffic. No signs of life in the area. We're clear, My Lord." he answered.

 

"Good. Prepare to move out." Switching vox channels, Oden glanced over to the other crash site. Forge-Brother Malthus was tossing out the dead while Wulfric roared his Chain-Axe within the wreckage.

 

"Malthus?"

 

"War Smith, no sign of her here. Wulfric is dealing with the witnesses."

 

"You couldn't just use a pistol?" Oden asked.

 

"Wulfric, prefers a more personal method, Sir. We'll be clear in two."

 

"Good." Oden said, making a mental note to deal with Wulfrics blood lust. Turning back to Tyr and Mortez, Oden stepped forward as the pair wrenched a section of the rubble free from the corpse of the Valkyrie.

 

"My Lord." Mortez said with a bow of his head, gesturing into the wreck. Tyr returned the gesture and followed in after him.

 

Oden looked around as he entered. Their was a myriad of body parts littered across the room. Pushing the wounded to Tyr to take outside, and leaving the dead for Mortez to drag out, Oden walked to the back of the room, to a cluster of bodies, shivering in terror and whimpering in his shadow. One of them turned to look at him and immediately recognized his station as a Space Marine. The man fell to his knees and begged praise of the Emperor as Oden pushed past him. The others soon followed suite save for one. Past the bloodied and injured forms of men, women and children that were of little consequence, all praying for thanks from the Emperor lay a young woman of no more than 25. She did not cry, and she did not shiver. She did not thank the Gods and she did not praise the Emperor as she lay there, curled up in a ball in the furthest corner from their entrance.

 

Oden paused to glance at those gathered around his feet and whispering their ecclesiastical verses.

 

"Outside." He ordered. Though at first they moved slowly, a quick shove from Mortez pushed them outside, where their prayers were silenced with the thud of his bolter. Turning back to the girl before him, Oden sank to a crouch and brought one knee to the floor. She turned to look at him as he clicked the release on his helmet, and pulled away the silver skull guarding his face and respirator.

 

Looking at her with his own eyes, he could see her black hair draped low around her shoulders and stained with the blood of those who had died around her. He could see her eyes, blue and piercing with his enhanced vision in the darkness. Even as she looked at him with the innocence of a child, he could see the deceiving flicker of the warp-touched in her eyes. Looking down from her full lips and the sweat covering her neck, Oden pulled the wolf cloak from his back and pulled it over her.

 

"My child." He began in between the thunderous breathes of his respirator. "I have been looking forward to our meeting." He said. She did not answer him. "What is your name?" He asked.

 

"My-" she hesitated. He tilted his head slightly, amused by her discomfort. "My name is Ariadne." She finished, pulling up the cloak to better wrap around her.

 

"My name is Oden." He responded. Reaching out his hand to touch her face, the War Smith stroked her cheek with his armoured hand as she turned from him and closed her eyes. "Are you afraid, Ariadne?" he asked as he pulled his hand away.

 

"No." She answered quietly.

 

Oden was quiet for several moments, nodding his head in consideration before looking deep into Ariadne's eyes.

 

"You should be."

[King Willy]

Clense From The Shadows

 

The mist seemed to lash out around the ankles of the Space Marines, snakeing heavily up their legs as they spun with precise and curt movements, interconnecting dances of fire discipline and combat ritual. Four veterens battled around a lone Razorback, mist so enclosing they could barely make out there location except for the flashes of other similair battles occuring around them and the heavy thud of heavy weapons. The lack of tracer fire making them seem even more distant as if confined to there own seperate world, the mist some kind of veil trapping them from the battles around them.

 

"Bedizius, can you get anything from chapter command" Ranger-Hunter Mafez said sweeping his bolter across the mist at a pair of indistinct shadows that roared inconcievable praise to there dark masters.

 

"No, Hunter, nothing but that damned warp whisper" Bedizius replied his own bolter snapping off two quick bursts at approaching shadows. All the while his enhanced vox system spitting the same metallic tone, The word is all, The word is grand, The Four bring light to this damned land, constantly repeating.

 

"It seems to be quieting though" Bedizius said, quickly locking another magazine in to his bolter before unloading a burst into the erraticlly shifting form of a bloodletter. "Gorzak, get that heavy bolter working" he added quickly as he ducked a bloodletters blade and fired into the daemons back before spinning and emptying yet another clip into another of the approaching beasts.

 

"Almost... there... brothers" Gorzak said from within the Razorback, the mist had somehow weakened the machine spirit of the Razorback, causing it to cower and hide as the tendrils of the warp-spawned mist reached into the metal form seeking to corrupt the proud spirit, "Come forth Spirit, with this incantation I aid thee with my spirit and body" he said under his breath, the lights on the control panel flickering brightly and bathing the interior with an incandescent green light, "Banish the Shadows brother" Gorzak said to the Razorback with a smile before lovingly patting the monitor, "Bolters open fire" he said to the machine spirit as he moved in under the heavy bolter turrets fire controls and took control of the turret.

 

The heavy bolter roared loudly out across the mist sweeping across the front arc of the vehicle, Ranger-Hunter Mafez on the left moved down the flank to clear out the left side with his bolter, while Ranger Arkmen moved down the right mirroring his commanders precise fire patterns.

 

The mist undulated with a silent cry as the heavy bolter ripped through the veil, sound seemed clearer now as the mist slowly rolled back upon itself, "Everyone on board" Mafez shouted over the vox as the squad converged on the rear access hatch, which fell open with a bang, inside Gorzak was swinging the controls round, cords snaking up into the mounted heavy weapon above as the squad moved in around him, "Arkmen your driving, Mordicai get on the storm bolter" Mafez said as the door closed shut behind them and they were bathed in the electronic light of the Razorbacks control console.

 

"Sir, vox transmissions are breaking through" Bedizius exclaimed, Mafez looked over at the marine sitting next to the control panel, a silent confirmation to update them.

 

"Chapter command is advising all squads to aid our allies from the Teutonic Brotherhood, any available squads divert towards the western line of the Basilica and aid them within the fields, already got responses from Hunters Modid and Fazers Tactical squads they heading through the mist now"

 

"You heard him Arkmen, head towards the fields" Mafez said as the Razorback lurched forward through the mud and rocks towards the western fields, the sounds of other heavy bolter equipped Razorbacks cutting through the mist and suddenly connecting the mist seperated dimensions as they rolled into sight next to the, mist clearing and returning normality to a small area of the planet.

[IronDragon66]

THE HUNT:

 

"Captain, Gaius has informed me that he has brought the Pillum in to low orbit on the dark side of Habron III." "Thank you Titus, prep the stormeagle for departure, and make sure the rest of the men are ready." "Not to worry Vorenus, Ajax has been polishing his cannon on the eagle sense before we came out of warp. The twins are bickering as usual, but we will be ready." Vorenus laughed as he thought of Cicero and Augustus arguing as Ajax cleaned his cannon. The only time Augustus talked was to hit his joking brother with a stinging insult. Ajax was probably complaining and telling the twins to shut their mouths. But Vorenus knew listening to the twins bicker was one

of Ajax's favorite pastimes, besides cleaning his precious assault cannon.

"Will we be able to stay out of sight from the Imperial traffic in the system Veras?" "We should." There appeared to be no one else in the large circular room, except for Captain Vorenus as he leaned over the round table in the center of the room looking over the charts and data slates that were strewn over the steel table. A large marine in rust red power armour stepped out of the dark alcove at the edge of the room. The clank of his boots in time with the crack of the shaft of an intricate hammer staff echoed across the burnished steel room as Veras walked towards the table.

Vorenus looked up from his data slates and met Veras' glacial blue eyes. The Librarian was Vorenus' most trusted confidant, he had been with Praetors for over 400 years. Vorenus had known him and worked with him closely for over 250 years. "There are multiple Imperial, Astartes, and even Traitor ship contacts in the system." "I am very aware, Veras, which is why I have ordered Gaius to keep the Pillum hidden for as long as possible." "I still want to scout the surface of Habron III with just the six of us before we make any other plans." "If we can it would be nice to get as much good intel as possible on this device before anyone realizes we are in system." "Sir, it might be best to make our presence known now, go to Habron Primas and search the Mechanicus libraries for any information first.....before we hit the surface." "Also sir we have gotten reports that the Teutonic Brotherhood is under severe duress."

"Yes that does sound like the most logical step......but I want to see Habron III for my self first." "I am aware of the plight of the Brotherhood, but there are other Astartes and Imperial warships in the system, and we need to see to our loyalties to the Mechanicus first." "I've heard of Gregor Von Bismar, and trust me he is quite capable of taking care of himself." "Besides, even if these rumors are just simple stories, I'd rather hear them for my self first." "Veras, we've been in transit for months it would be nice to go for a walk and stretch our legs." Vorenus smiled up at Veras, and finally saw a crack in Veras' usually expressionless face. Veras broke out into a booming laugh, and smiled at his Captain. "You always love your constitutionals dont your Captain." "Oh you know I do, lets go gear up and save Titus from the twins and Ajax before he chains them to the landing bay."

Vorenus sent Veras to the landing bay to make sure Augustus and Cicero hadnt driven the rest of the team to insanity. He walked from the prep room back to his personal quarters. Vorenus' quarters were larger than a normal marines, but that was because his contained a small armoury and work station.

All Praetors had the skill of a techmarine so were constantly fiddling with all manners of tech, machinery, and weapons. Vorenus agreed with Veras, he didnt like leaving brother Astartes in the lurtch. But he had a duty to his chapter and to his Mechanicus Masters. He would do what ever he could to assist his brothers, he just wanted to gather some intel first. He had been hunting rumors and myths of lost tech for over 200 years. If there was something on Habron III he would know quickly, and if these myths were false he could quickly have Gaius re deploy the Pillum. Vorenus holstered his matching master crafted plasma pistols, and slung his long barreled stalker bolter over his shoulder. He also grabbed his thunder hammer from its rest, it was a slow crushing weapon, but he hardly used it.....he was much faster and deadlier with his pistols than most. The hammer was just in case. Vorenus continued to brood over his order to scout Habron III as he left his quarters and headed to the landing bay.....something just didnt feel right.

[Olis]

The Shepherd

 

Brother Sergeant Geddon checked his scratched vox as he watched the green, verdant landscape flash by. The wind seemed to rush past at a furious rate, even though the Land Speeder was only cruising. The winds today would be a problem. It had been over an hour since his unit had been dropped off in the hinterlands and they were nearing the first way point. His Brother Captain had been unequivocal about who was in charge in this theatre - it wasn't an independant astartes deployment. The Ordo Malleus was involved. Geddon pursed his lips as he remembered the words. Ordo Malleus.

 

"Vox check." He growled. At least he was with others of his chapter. The last time Geddon was in the same system as the Inquisition, as far as he was aware, was decades ago. Alone and answering to a judgemental mortal made Geddon uneasy. It made him question every move he made and caused hours of reflection when the Inquisitor made a mistake. Things may have ended well but Geddon vowed never to trust an Inquisitor again.

 

Sat next to his Sergeant, Squire Brother Nascadene was the first to respond, "Nascadene, check." Although the novitiate was perfectly capable of sniping, he was prone to impatience and haste. It made him curt and not much of a conversationalist - he only ever needed pertinent information, the facts, and cared little for idle chatter. It also made him difficult to instruct sometimes but usually he payed attention when Geddon made it clear Nascadene was to listen whether he liked it or not.

 

Ardimmar and Thespian acknowledged soon after, both checking their sniper rifles with their backs to Geddon and Nascadene, looking over to starboard. In the distance was a burning township and ravaged fields spewing smoke, the roar of the flames lost to distance and wind.

 

Zlovin didn't answer. He was the youngest initiate in the squad and had yet to learn the proper protocols. Geddon turned to the young warrior ready to rebuke him. Zlovin glanced at his Sergeant before pointing to the sky, "Isn't that...?" Before he could finish his sentence Brother Mortain had told everyone to hold on, enemies inbound. Geddon had barely caught a glimpse of a glint in the sky before losing sight in the tight turn. By the Emperor Zlovin had a good eye. Geddon could only guess at the flyers thousands of metres above but they were likely there to take air superiority.

 

Mortain knew what he had to do, jinking between farmsteads and following a river attempting to get to the drop off. All the time the squad tracked the flyers above, getting ever closer and lower. When water spray began to splash over the Land Speeder Geddon had made a decision. The primary drop off had to be scratched.

 

Geddon had to shout to be heard over the whining engines, "Find cover and slow, brother! We must deploy safely!"

 

Mortain did not acknowledge, he was too preoccupied evading the flyers. Checking the sky again, Geddon got his squad ready. One of the flyers had just fired a missile - it was easily tracking the jinking Speeder and was getting close real fast. "Everybody out!"

 

Nascadene first, then Zlovin, the scouts leapt from the doomed Speeder, hitting the water hard. Geddon offered a prayer for Brother Mortain and jumped himself. He missed the water and crashed into the roof of a low, fat Grain Silo. It was empty. Slowed only momentarily by the iron sheets, Geddon crashed into the rockrete floor with an audible smack, his rifle skittering away out of his grip.

[Nineswords]

Phantom Protocol

 

Western crag-lands, three days ago sidereal

 

THE SWAMP MIST provided ample cover for acting sergeant Linus Theo as he made his way over the rocky terrain.

 

Even from this high up, the fog permeated through the atmosphere in a thick soupy haze that reduced visibility to the point of blindness, even for an Astartes trans-human vision. It however, also provided excellent cover for the Alpha Legionnaire’s current agenda.

 

A locator blip sounded in Theo’s Mark VIII helm to signal he had indeed reached the highest point within a one thousand kilometer radius. The Legionnaire knelt down onto one knee, and unfolded a steel tripod onto the rocky ground, before unclamping a small device from his utility belt and attaching it to the tripod.

 

Using his left hand, he opened up a small plate on his right vambrace and extracted several cables and plugged them into corresponding sockets on the small device on the tripod. Theo activated the frequency tuner and listened for the familiar hum of the correct modulation signal. Mid-range vox communications between the members of Echo-Nine were transmitted via a number of encrypted relays in high orbit, which subsequently triangulated on the encryption node Theo had deployed.

 

‘Gereon code, omega-one-three-hydra,’ initiated Theo. ‘Echo-Nine-Two, response required.’

 

Static washed over the vox frequency. A moment later, Theo heard a faint tinny voice in his ear piece. Atmospheric interference.

 

‘Accessing cryptodu—,’ more static interrupted the broadcast, and when the vox transmission resumed, the speaker was intoning a sequence of random phrases. ‘—ghurh nanin, gaion kosolo massi kess’.

 

Theo nodded as the correct security protocols came over the vox. 'Gereon code, omega-one-three-hydra, protocols received, Nego. Report,' said Theo.

 

The vox static was getting louder. '—plicated than originally anticipated,’ replied Legionnaire Ozias Abednego. ‘The newest scans have detected identification markers from no less than four Astartes Chapters. Curr—'

 

It suddenly occurred to Theo why the static interference had dramatically increased. Not just atmospheric interference after all then.

 

Theo interrupted. ‘It is likely then Legion Command has followed standard evasion policy, and has retreated from high anchor over Habron Secundus if a significant chapter fleet has translated in-system. We can no longer reliably send encrypted vox transmissions over this kind of distance via the Omicron, Nego. We are cut off.’

 

‘Orders?’ asked Abednego.

 

Theo considered Echo-Nine’s now rather precarious position. Four Astartes chapters! Things were about to become very difficult. ‘Nego,’ Theo began, ‘What is the current force disposition of the Imperial strike force?’

 

‘Last scan indicated the presence of over two companies under the chapter identification marker Teutonic Brotherhood, who have established a defence perimeter thirty-one kilometers south-southeast of my current location,’ replied Abednego.

 

Theo cross-referenced his comrade’s location on the topographical chart displayed in his helmet systems.

 

‘Other force dispositions are smaller, but they're currently too far away to get any realistic numbers, although I have returns for Astartes chapters Shadows of Terra and Emperor’s Blood,’ continued Abednego. The static increased again.

 

‘And the fourth?’ asked Theo. He tilted his head in the hope the static wash would disperse.

 

‘This is where it gets interesting. I’ve identified the chapter name as Praetors of Mars, but the meta-data and intercepted short and mid-range communications frequencies are almost exclusively in binary data bursts,’ responded Abednego.

 

‘That is interesting,’ said Theo. ‘Exclusively Mechanicum?

 

‘Adeptus Mechanicus, you mean,’ corrected Abednego. ‘Hell’s teeth Linus, you are so pretentious when you use archaic titles.’ Abednego chuckled, before continuing. ‘I’ll need to get back on to you on that one. So far I’ve only spotted Astartes and combat serfs, rather than the usual Tech-Priests and their Skitarri. If I’m speculating, they look like Mechanicus Genetus or Biologis to me.’

 

‘Get confirmation as soon as possible Nego. This is something much bigger than we anticipated,’ began Theo. ‘As of this moment, our mission parameters have just been supplemented considerably. We need to get t—’ interference cut the transmission once again.

 

‘—peat, Linus,’ came a garbled reply.

 

‘Ascertain a full force disposition and likely objectives of the Astartes strikeforce, and get it to the Omicron via encrypted text. We’ll need to be creative to avoid it being intercepted. Try and get as much as you can on these Mechanicus Astartes, Nego. El Dragón will require a detailed briefing,’ Theo said, rapidly.

 

‘Consider it done,’ agreed Abednego. ‘And the primary objective? I’d consider postponing or altogether abandoning the primary objective in lieu of these developments. If the Imperials adhere to standard codex doctrine, our primary objective will likely be compromised within two to five hours standard.’

 

‘Negative,’ came the terse response. ‘We continue with the primary objective. Standard reconstitution policy to waypoint Delta-Gamma-Zero-Three-Four in E-T-A one hour. Pulse signal the Omicron and let them know that Echo-Nine is now operating under Phantom Protocol, so only short range vox from now on, Nego. Acknowledge. Theo out.’

 

‘Acknowledged. Abednego out.’

 

Linus Theo kept the channel open for another moment, the background static becoming a soothing presence as he thought through this predicament. It wasn’t like Legion Command to be so wholly unprepared, Theo conjectured. He reached one of two conclusions: either the primary objective was far more dangerous than the Legion would admit, or there was something else going on that required a strike force of several Astartes chapters to rapidly deploy in-system. Neither conclusion was endearing for Echo-Nine’s mission parameters.

 

With the plate on his right vambrace still open, Theo thumbed a small rubber pad and swiftly pulsed a series of instructions and coordinates to the other Legionnaire of Echo-Nine.

 

An acknowledgement pulsed back.

 

— + This doesn’t look good. More bad news to come. ETA 53 minutes. M.Z. + —

 

Linus Theo sighed as he interpreted the pulsed code. Time to move. The Alpha Legionnaire stood up and dismantled the portable communications array, mag-clamping the encryption node back on to his utility belt and closing the plate on his bronze vambrace.

 

As the plate locked into place, Theo smirked as he noticed for the first time the outline of the Imperial Aquila on its wrist, rendered in the rich indigo of his original plate underneath: the Legion employed exceptional artificers for the specialised nature of their operations.

 

He began to trudge back the way he came, heading towards waypoint Delta-Gamma-Zero-Three-Four, his helmet’s internal chronometer indicating a forty-seven minute march.

 

Things really did just get more interesting, and significantly more dangerous.

 

 

+++

 

 

Waypoint Delta-Gamma-Zero-Three-Four, one hour later

 

‘IT ISN’T GOOD,’ remarked Mos Zebulon, placing his bronze baleen-snout Mark IV helmet on the nearest rock.

 

The three Alpha Legionnaires were loosely grouped in the shadow of the cave entrance designated waypoint Delta-Gamma-Zero-Three-Four. Abednego was busying himself with activating proximity sensors, whilst Theo searched through a number of plas-steel crates.

 

Theo looked back at Zebulon, interrupted. ‘Let’s hear it then Mozes,’ said the acting sergeant. He resumed his search of the crates.

 

‘As I said Theo, the news isn’t good. The western provinces are being ravaged by the Seventeenth, the Brotherhoods and worse. It’s bad out there, it’s no wonder the Imperial Astartes have deployed in numbers,’ replied Zebulon.

 

Theo arched an eyebrow. Word Bearers? The XVII Legion was last seen invading the Agripinaa Sector following the fleet actions during the Thirteenth Crusade. He continued his search.

 

Presently, Theo found what he was looking for: a packet of lho-sticks secreted in an empty ammunition clip. Without ceremony, he placed a lho-stick in his mouth and proceeded to light it with a laspistol set to a focused beam that suddenly appeared in his left hand, aiming it at the gravel floor.

 

Zebulon was incredulous. ‘Those will be the death of you, Linus Theo.’

 

‘Duly noted, Brother,’ replied Theo. He frowned, deep in thought. ‘What I can’t figure out Mozes, is why Legion Command didn’t see this one coming. You would think they might mention a sizeable presence of our cousins,’ Theo almost spat the word out, ‘on this world. Something doesn’t add up,’ he finished.

 

‘Indeed, my estimates place Word Bearer presence on this world for a month standard, maybe more. That said, it does explain why Tullaris is here.’

 

Theo didn’t reply. Instead, he stood up, with the lho-stick hanging from his mouth. He paced around the cave before settling on a spot on the inside lip of the rocky entrance, and knelt onto one knee, and focused the laser pulse of the laspistol for a moment on the surface of the rock.

 

There. Better.

 

Abednego looked up from his work activating proximity sensors and stalked over to inspect Theo’s handiwork. Heat-scorched into the exposed rock face was a symbol portraying several small and stylised reptiles heads, linked by a single body.

 

The house of the hydra.

 

‘Your dedication to ancient tradition is indomitable, Linus,’ said Abednego. ‘Quaint, but impractical. Save the ammunition for something more important, like that inane habit of yours.’

 

The Legionnaires laughed as Theo returned the laspistol to its foam casing in the crate, nestling alongside the liberated Tigrus Bolters and ammunition. The moment passed and the resulting silence was only broken by the wind blowing outside the cave entrance.

 

‘Any word from Legion Command?’ asked Theo.

 

‘Negative. We’ll have to assume we’re going in blind, for now,’ replied Abednego.

 

Theo took a last drag on the lho-stick, amused by the fact the narcotic had no effect on his trans-human Astartes physiology. Flicking the stick onto the ground, he stepped on the butt and twisted his foot, imitating the deck-crews he’d observed aboard the Omicron. Resolved, he looked up and addressed both members of Echo-Nine.

 

‘Alright then. Here’s what we’re going to do...’

[Jake-Mulraney]

Beyond The Mist.

 

(( A prelude to Gregor's Call.))

 

Upon making planetfall the Teutonic Brotherhood began their march to their destination. The code name for the destination was the dead marsh. On Habron Secundus the dead marsh was a place considered completely inhospitable. It was a place of death where a great war once ravaged the lush landscape.

 

Gregor and his chosen were travelling in a Rhino. It was customary for the leaders of the Teutonic Brotherhood to lead from the front, and so they charge into battle with the main force in the Rhinos.

 

His army was to rendezvous with the other chapters deployed on the planet. Praetors of Mars, Emperors Blood and Shadows of Terra were confirmed to be in Habron System with more chapters en-route. He had no idea about his mission objectives. Konrad, The Grand-Master, was extremely vague when he gave the orders “Make planetfall, proceed to the rendezvous point, await further orders” to Gregor.

 

As they moved further west a thick mist descended upon them. The searchlights of the Rhinos couldn't penetrate the fog so they ground to a halt. After assessing the situation Gregor decided to have the army establish a perimeter around the near-by fields of the Basilica.

 

“Jerrark. Can you establish any communications with the Freedom Ark?” Gregor said in an authoritarian yet noble manner.

 

“Negative, Sir. All I'm getting is this rubbish interference” Replied the knight.

 

“Interference? What the? Something is wrong here...I smell chaos. Ishmael. What do you think?”

 

“You are correct sir the place is rife with the taint. And this is no ordinary fog” Declared the wise, hermit-like voice of the ageing chaplain.

 

“We have to find the source of it. We can't proceed while it blocks the way.”

 

“Agreed. I suggest sending out a search party, sir.” Jerrark said.

 

“...No...I don't trust this mist. Keep trying to establish comms with the Freedom Ark and the other chapters. Our main priority now is setting up the perimeter. If other chapters encounter this mist, they'll need somewhere to regroup to.”

 

As the conversation ended Jerrark and the rest of Gregor's chosen began taking charge of different duties around the perimeter. Gregor made his way into the his Rhino and sat down for prayer. It was one of those rare occasions which he considered a plausible reason to pray.

 

“The Emperor is my shepherd. I shall not want. He leadeth me into battle and layeth my blade into the hearts of his enemies. The Emperor is the light and the way for...”

 

BOOM!

 

A massive explosion from a near-by Rhino shocked the Rhino Gregor was in. He ran outside to a chaotic flurry of bolter rounds flying past his head. He turned and faced the mist to see an enemy army charging the perimeter.

 

“Where the hell did they come from!” “Die Heathens!” “Never!” “There's too many!” “Don't give up!” Yells of his army filled the air as an enemy horde of daemons and chaos marines broke through the outer defences.

 

The battle was already surrounding him and in an attempt to rejoin the ranks of his battle-brothers he charged the enemy lines shouting “Brothers! On Me! Attack!”

 

A great bellowing of the words “Stark! Stolz! Edel!” followed and the brave warriors drew their swords. Valiantly, they charged into the foe, head on.

 

The clash between the two main forces was like watching two land speeders collide whilst at maximum speed. Metal crunched, blood rained, limbs flew and mud gushed. For miles the same bloody scene filled the fields of the Basilica.

 

Gregor began making his way to his second in command, Jerrark whilst slaying as many of the beasts as physically possible.

 

He moved to the near east of the field in front of the perimeter, where the main battle was taking place.

 

At this point the mist worsened ten-fold and it became near impossible for Gregor to see two metres in front of him.

 

The searing sound of a rocket pierced the ears of the Knight-Marshal as he turned to face his fate head on. The rocket flew past his head landing but a few feet away from him.

 

The blast knocked Gregor unconscious.

 

Hours went by whilst the chapter fell apart without their leader. The endless myriad of daemons looked as though it would overrun the east sector of the perimeter...

[Llagos_Tyrant]

The wind lashed at the armoured behemoths as they strode through the storm. It was unnatural, to be sure, but the blinding fury of a warp excited sand storm seemed rather fitting for such a barren land. What a year ago was rolling hills of wheat, and potatoes, and an assortment of produce to satisfy every taste desired, was today a desert of cracked and broken lands. At least here, just south of the equator on one of the larger continents of Habron Secundus. In other parts of the planet, warp interference had, apparently, produced remarkably different results.

 

In the North, a massive Hurricane system was marshaling over the arctic, ready to freeze with blasting winds and bury in snow and ice what it otherwise might have lashed with rain. To the East, in the dense forests and marshlands that had long been home to an array of wild beasts, an unnatural mist gathered on the waters and shrouded all in unceasing darkness, feeding off the death and decay of the dying greenery in its mask. But here, Oden and his Chosen were not so lucky, marching in column towards the closest city they could manage. It was further South of them, and Imperial reports said that the Warp Storm had not yet reached the city. Indeed, at the pace the warriors set, they looked like they might escape from its grasp and then from the city altogether without a second look.

 

Whipping at the chainmail over his breast plate, and lashing at the veteran's shield, marked with the silver skull of the IVth Legion guarding his neck, the wind coated him in its unnaturally ionized sand and dirt. The leather straps hanging round his waist flew wildly around him, while his wolf fur cloak clawed and pulled to escape his body. The others behind him did not fare much better. Forge-Brother Malthus, second in line, had folded the flag and condensed its pole long ago, but still the wind heaved at the canvas, strapped down and buckled onto the top of his exhaust pack. Centurion Wulfric had even decided to mount his helm to keep the storm from his face, something almost unheard of the blood crazed Wolf-convert. Centurion Mortez seemed unfazed, sealed tight in his Corvus armour. Even the combat blade strapped to his shoulder seemed to barely feel the tug of the warp, and Oden knew the sway of his bolter was merely his readiness. Drusus marched on in the storm, uncaring for the weather as his bionic right eye adjusted and filtered through the whirling sands around him. With his modified bolter disassembled and mounted on his exhaust pack, an onlooking Trooper might think him vulnerable, though it was furthest from the truth.

 

Walking up beside the group, Flesh-Smith Tyr strode with Ariadne chained to his wrist. She had long stopped trying to struggle, and her earlier attempts at escape had only managed to leave both of her tied hands bloodied and sore. Undoubtedly, she suffered the most amongst the group. Although the breathing mask Tyr had strapped to her face was keeping her alive and her lungs free to breath, the Warp Storm had ravaged her hair and was playing with her clothes like gang scum in the darkest recesses of a Hive World. With any luck, her sight wouldn't be affected by the Warp, but Oden knew that it was, at the core of the matter, irrelevant.

 

"How much farther must we wander through this wasteland?" Wulfric growled. "It's been a full day, and the Warp has hardly let up."

 

"Patience, Wulfric. Even the Sons of Russ must sometimes have to wait for their quarry." Drusus said.

 

"For their quarry? Drusus, this is no hunt. It is a walk, and too long at that." Wulfric answered.

 

"And what would you do, Wolf-brother? Would you wander through the open grasslands, exposing ourselves to the enemy before we are ready to strike, or would you bide your time and walk a while in the caress of the Warp?" Malthus added.

 

"I would take the fight to the XVIIth Legion! Surprise them while they're gathering their strength, and cut out those damned tongues of theirs." He said.

 

"Surprise is a tool of opportunity, Wulfric. To base a strategy around it, is to base a strategy in failure. The enemy will always recover, and the Astartes of any loyalty will recover before the battle is over." Oden silenced them, marching on at their head. "Tyr, how is she doing?" He asked without pause.

 

"The Warp's peeling her skin back with every gust, but she'll live." The Flesh-Smith answered.

 

"You sound impressed." Mortez commented.

 

"Indeed I am, Centurion. If she was anything other than Warp Touched, this trip would have ended long ago."

 

"If she was anything other than Warp Touched, we wouldn't be here." Oden said.

 

"I'd think not!" Wulfric hollered up.

 

A moment of silence came over them as the wind died around them and the sand fell to the ground, like dust drifting down from the rafts of a decrepit roof. The group paused in their tracks as the storm retreated from them. Oden opened his hand before him, a mix of ash and sand falling into his palm. Rubbing it together, he brought it up to eye level and let it fall before him. Watching the mixture drift to the ground, Oden was sure that the Warp had released them. Turning back to his troops, Oden saw Wulfric raise his hands to the sky with a praise to Khorne as he pulled the helmet off of his face. The others mostly just turned back to look at the retreating storm.

 

"Kharns Head..." Tyr whispered. The group watched as the retreating storm whirled about the image of a face, a spark of Warp energy flickering in its eyes as it closed its gaping maw, allowing their exit. A smile flashed across its lips as its dark eyes, swirling with dark energy and leaping streaks of purple lightning, narrowed on them. The whirling form retreated deeper into the storm, its eyes flashing brighter and then disappearing in the storm. Oden watched, stunned as Tyr pulled Ariadne away from the beast. Drusus stepped in front of her, covering the girl as she let out a piercing scream that was not wholly her own. Wulfric raised his pistol at the daemon, drawing his chain axe and revving it in anticipation as Mortez stood with his Bolter at the ready, stepping back towards the rest of the Group. Malthus stood not seven feet from Tyr and Drusus, his bolt pistol searching wildly for targets in the dark.

 

Oden dropped to his knees in spasm as the Daemon slithered into his mind, while those of his party grabbed their helms or called out in pain. Only Ariadne now fell silent, gasping for breath and shivering in fear.

 

Try to escape me,

You failed Sons of Pertuarbo,

You long Outcast of Horus,

You wholly Damned of the Corpse...

 

Came the Daemons voice, femininely sensual and ripe with an unnatural lust. The War Smith gasped for air as he groaned aloud, the Daemon still caressing his every thought. Slowly, Oden managed to fight for his mind. Drifting his thoughts back to another time, Oden struggled for control ...

 

"On the left!" Sergeant Tullaris shouted to his men, swinging his Bolter round and firing a trio of rounds into the oncoming Ork mob. One of the brutes fell in an explosion of gore, while another took a round in the shoulder and another in the leg. Falling to the floor and wailing in pain with an arm and a leg limp at its sides, Oden finished it off with a final round to its head. Another round exited his bolter as another Ork dropped to its knees before falling face forward.

 

"Sergeant! On the right!" one of his men shouted as Tullaris pivoted in the ruins of the Chapel Tower. The Ultramarines below him were already shifting fire as his own Iron Warriors focused their fire left and forward along the line. Farther down the battle lines, Oden could still hear the calls of the Luna Wolves as they continued the defence, supported by his brethren and the Ultras in equal number. Tullaris swept the barbed fields below him with gunfire as a pair of Orks fell to his own fire, and a trio of others fell to Roboute's kind.

 

"Hold the line!" Oden called as he dropped the magazine out of his bolter and kicked it to the corner with a group of others. Whipping up his Plasma Pistol, Oden emptied a round into an advancing Ork and then another and another with blinding speed. As fast as he was though, even Oden Tullaris of the Iron Warriors had missed the Ork with the Flamer, limping slowly through the deep trenches his men had dug the week before. Realizing his mistake too late, the young Sergeant spun his pistol round and triggered the weapon too quickly in succession to his other shots. Discharging in his hand, Oden dropped the weapon and recoiled in pain.

 

"Flamer!" he called out as he clutched the smouldering gauntlet. Popping it`s head out of the trench and leveling it at the Angels of Death, the Ork unleashed a burning hail of Promethium into the Chapel as the Marines inside spun to face the threat. Enveloping the ground floor and engulfing Oden Tullaris in its rising heat, the Ork sprayed its volley with the glee of a child as it spun the nozzle onto the nearby Imperial Army squad, detonating its heavy weapons ammo cache behind the sand bag embankment.

 

Leaping through the shattered window of the Chapel Tower, Oden struck the ground running as he drew his combat blade and sprang at the Ork. His position compromised and his squad likely dead, Oden wanted the one thing he had left in the world. Revenge. Spinning to face the survivor, the Ork pulled its Flamer to and raised it up to the Marines chest. The young sergeant instinctively rolled to the side and dropped into the adjoining trench.

 

Releasing its clutch on the trigger, the Ork probably thought that any trace of its assailant had simply burned up. Then again, the Ork probably never noticed the blade soaring through the length of the trench before it crashed into the side of the brutes skull, spraying blood and brain matter across the muddy ground and walls. Snatching up his knife and returning it to its sheathe as he checked the trench, Oden Tullaris opened his vox communicator.

 

"My Lord Horus! Alpha Noble has taken heavy casualties, repeat heavy casualties! Requesting any available assistance." He said. "My Lord, Alpha Noble is requesting assistance!" He repeated. Glancing up over the trench, Oden could see the approaching Orks massing for another assault. With a roar and the unmistakable smack of a blade on their crude armour, the beasts lunged forwards.

 

Turning to the corpse beside him, Oden wrenched up the crude Flamer and climbed up from the trench. Bounding towards a nearby piece of cover, Oden dived in behind it as bolt rounds flew overhead. The Sergeant grunted as he slammed into the charred wreck that had been a scout bike, a bolt round pummeling into the other side. Tullaris closed his eyes momentarily.

 

In the light of the Emperor,

In the forge of the Primarch,

The Iron shall stand strong,

The Iron shall stand fast.

 

Opening his eyes and turning to face his enemy, Oden brought the Flamer to rest on the wreck and unleashed its crude flames on the advancing horde. Scores were enveloped in burning promethium as the fires lit up the Sergeants face. The smell that billowed in the smoke, and bathed him in its scent was much more than the smell of charred Ork. It was the cologne of revenge.

 

Oden pushed off the ground and struggled to his feet as his vision blurred and an unnatural tear ran down his face. Blinking to his senses, Oden saw his Chosen struggle and convulsing on the ground. Ariadne still sat, shaking and in tatters as they began to regain control. Tyr was the first, his shaking slowing and then ceasing altogether as he rolled over and then got to his feet. Mortez was next, pushing himself up with his Bolter. Followed by Wulfric, Drusus and Malthus, the Iron Warriors were once again whole as Oden glared back into the swirling hell of the Warp Storm. Bounds of energy leapt within the whirls of sand and down from the ash clouds above, striking deep and splitting the ground within.

 

Among the roar of the storm and the heavy breathes of his fellows however, the Iron Warrior heard the voice one last time.

 

Try to escape me...

[King Willy]

The Razorbacks lurched forward through the dirt and mist, turrets silently rotating on there turrets ready to tear through the chaotic spawn waiting just on the edge of sense. Mafez sat in his squads Razorback looking over the tactical readouts flying past on the Razorbacks display, "Were are the daemon filth?" Gorzak said in frustration.

 

"They are out there brother" Arkmen said as he moved into the rear hold from the drivers compartment, "Encoded text, Hunter" he said handing the small datapad to the Hunter, who flipped through it silently before reading it out to the squad.

 

"Chapter Command says, Initial meeting ambushed, Teutonic Brotherhood force, heavy casualties, confirmed by Ash, moving to support, confirmed, Reinforcements making way in Hawks, Hunter-Captain Josef Hizayal and three tactical squads, set up landing zone, await his command, relay hunt orders from Soul Seers, The Lizards Swarm The Shadows, Soul Seer Confirmed" he said, most of the order needed no encryption at all but the last line, mentioning the librarians of the chapter, was not meant for any eyes but there own.

 

"Course they'd bring in the psykers" Gorzak said, breaking the silence that had suddenly befallen the squad.

 

"Hunt chaos with chaos" Mafez said in a bitter tone.

 

"Sir, we in the dead marsh now" Ranger Mordacai said gruffly as the Razorback lurched in the swampy terrain.

"Good the main battle is still in the area, push through to the last location of the Teutonic Brotherhood" Mafez said, signalling Arkmen to head back through to the drivers compartment, "Bedizius, any more word from Chapter Command?" he said turning to pull his bolter from the weapons rack.

 

"No Hunter, Deathwind has moved in orbit above us to help vox break through the fog and reinforcements are on the way" he said as he checked his weapon was clean and calibrated the scope.

 

"Contacts!" Gorzak shouted, the rhythmic beat of the Twin-Linked heavy bolters began it's staccato roar. "Bedizius, With Me" Mafez said, pushing the rear door open and leaping out onto the marsh land, sinking a little in the wet soil, his eyes looked left as he spun to keep up with the advancing rhino and he could see his brothers doing the same as the Heavy bolters blanketed the front while stombolters covered the flanks.

Mafez moved quickly to the flanks, his bolter spitting out at darting shadows, while bedizius moved In behind to support.

 

"Chaos Space Marines, left side" Arkmen said over the vox, Mafez reacting instinctively and dropping back to move to the left he saw, three forms sprint out of the mist, roaring chainaxes swinging wildly above there script covered heads, the dark crimson armor already bloodied hurt Mafezs eyes with there repulsiveness, "To defile the Emperors gift!" Mafez shouted as he snapped a fresh magazine in to his bolter and sighted down at the threes heretics, "His light will redeem you" He said under his breath as he fired three quick shots.

 

The first of the three, had no time to react as his skull exploded in a bright blue flash of energy that melted not only the helmet but much of the armor around, the second managed to look over at his comrade, before the second bolt impacted his chest, the blast catching him in mid air and sending him back a meter or two, the bright flash burning deep into his chest and leaving a small crater were his fused ribcage should have been.

 

The third was luckier, catching the bolt in his shoulder and spinning but able right himself in time to walking into the slowly advancing teeth of the Razorbacks heavy bolters, stopping him in his tracks, his armor more then adequate protection faltered under the rain of bolts, small puffs of red blossoming out as the Razorbacks drew closer.

 

Mafez smiled under his helmet, "Hunter Mordid, Hunter Fazer, spread out stay close keep an eye out for survivors, we in the main battle now, Reinforcements are on the way" he said over the vox, two bolters firing up in confirmation of the orders, "Push through" he said over the vox as more Chaos Space Marines broke through the mist, drawn by the sounds of gun fire, "Bedizius, Vengence rounds, fire at will, Arkmen, Gorzak sweep the flanks, we'll handle the front, advance slowly" he quickly said over the vox, to all three squads.

 

The Razorbacks slowed there advance, the Chaos Marines sprinting forward to meet them, Bedizius knelt beside Mafez as he brought his scope up to his eyes, "The Emperor protects" he said as he pulled the trigger, his bolter snapping out three shots before he moved forward a few steps and repeated the mantra, Bedizius next to him mirroring his hunter.

The Chaos marines, came in a rush now, five or six at a time, the Rangers Vengence rounds more then enough to stem the flow but the tactical squads allowed them to gain a few meters every minute till the they were falling around the front of the Razorbacks, "Bedizius, across the front" Mafez said, twisting to fire an unaimed burst along the front of the convoy, managing to send two traitors flying moments before there chainswords bit into Hunter Mordids Tactical Marines.

 

"We got bodies" Arkmen said over the vox, the storm bolter mounted to the Razorback swinging across to fill the gap opened at the front, "Teutonic Brothers" Mafez said as he picked out the armor splayed out across the mud, chest ripped open and organs spilling out across the dirt, "Avenge this defilement" Mafez shouted as he advanced out of formation towards the charging Word Bearers, "The Emperors will, be done, by my hand I smote down the Traitor" he shouted over the Vox as his bolter snapped a two shots into a horned Word Bearer, "May his light shine from within my arms, may it suffuse the souls of the wicked were I send it" he said his bolter sweeping across two more, who flew back in a mixture of melting ceramite and blue energy, "Mine is the role of judge" another traitor falling to his Vengence rounds, "Jury" one fell to his knee as he attempted to bring his bolt pistol up to fire but another round knocked him back as it burst his chest, "Executioner" Mafez ducked beneath a chainaxe, bringing his bolter round one handed to snap a round into the back of the traitor who stumbled before falling to his knees, the back packs powercells popping before exploding in a small fire of purple plasma, "I am the Angel Of Death" he said as he moved up next to the body of the Teutonic Brother and began to fire on the circle of Word Bearers the closed around him.

[Olis]

Splashdown

 

Geddon lay in the grain dust, marvelling how he was still conscious. He knew he had broken bones - certainly at least one was in his right arm - and he could also taste blood. Aware of his own breathing and distinctly hearing his blood rushing over the roar of engines in the clear sky, the brother-sergeant rolled onto his back.

 

Engines.

 

The enemy.

 

Geddon knew he could not tarry here for long. Unfortunately, getting up proved more difficult than he realised. Coughing up some blood as he rose, he rubbed the cuff of his body glove across his bloodied face, hawking and spitting a thick glob onto the rockrete. The sergeant idly wondered if the Seraphias in orbit was aware of the squads predicament. They would likely know the Speeder was splashed and also that there was now enemy airpower. That made things more difficult. Not very difficult, but still, an annoyance.

 

A bang on the side of the grain silo triggered an automatic response, bolt pistol in hand as fast as possible by reaching across his torso with his good arm. A muffled voice called out to him. Geddon knew the voice but he wasn't entirely sure who it was. Perhaps one of the scouts? It must be. A seasoned fighter wouldn't be so careless. But which one? Again the voice called out and again Geddon wasn't sure who was making a fool of himself. Was it Galen or Zlovin? No, wait, Galen was dead. He had been for a year, Emperor rest him. Several moments passed before he clicked his vox twice, acknowledging the voice. Silo door squealing open, one of the scouts pulled it sharply, the metal briefly shrieking. Revealed was the battered brother-sergeant, looking somewhat worse for wear. The outside wind blew the grain into little whorls as it crept in behind the figures in the doorway.

 

Geddon's squad still dripped from their unplanned drop into the river and Zlovin was comically draped in sticky, red water-weeds. Ardimmar checked his brother-sergeant's eyes with a small light he whipped from a pouch. Back and forth the light danced as the scout held each eye open with a thumb as he stared in. Thespian checked the silo and the hole in the roof as Nascadene and Zlovin covered outside from the door.

 

"Concussion." He clinically told no-one in particular. The light was put away. After a cursory once over, done with all the brutal grace of an apothecary-to-be, the scout spoke again. "Broken arm. Broken ribs." Ardimmar looked at Nascadene and the other squire-brothers, "Sergeant Geddon will need attention, but not immediately." He turned back to Geddon, fishing a cloth sling out of another pouch and helping his sergeant into it. "We have no time, we must move, yes?" The others looked at their sergeant.

 

Geddon hawked and spat again, "Yes, we move," looking at Zlovin he grumbled, "first, we need to find Mortain, or at least what happened to him. Take the lead." Thespian handed over his sergeants rifle, still dusty from the pile of chaff it found rest in.

 

Outside the landscape hadn't changed much. The fields off the the west were still aflame, as was the township. The river still flowed fast toward the northern arctic coast, far beyond the horizon. The sky still didn't have many clouds in it but those that were in sight drifted faster than the river flowed - it was as if the clouds were escaping from something, anything. Following the river, the scouts headed toward the nearest plume of smoke in an attempt to find Mortain, mindful of the circling flyers far above. They shouldn't have much fuel left, thought Geddon as he sheltered under a tree. The nearest planetside airbase was, if he remembered correctly, past the settlements to the west and on the other side of a boreal forest. Beyond the airfields was the marshes and more dense boreal forest where the more serious engagement reports had came from, not long before the squad had departed.

 

With the sun setting behind them, the scouts closed on the black smoke plume. Down in the shade of a tributary, lined with overgrown weeds and vines, they found the Speeder. It had ploughed into the treeline first after it had been struck by the missile and then cartwheeled down the slow trickle of water, shedding chunks of armour cladding and pieces of grav plating on the way. Blackened nuggets of metal protuded from the trees that weren't alight, glinting in the dull illumination from the flames.

 

Checking over the wreckage, it was clear Mortain had survived. For one, he was not in the wreckage. For two, the pintle mounted heavy bolter had been removed rather than wrenched off. Geddon checked over the rest of the destroyed skimmer but nothing of use survived.

 

"Movement." Voxed Nascadene. He was facing upstream, crouched behind the bole of a tree. "Astartes." Peering down his sight, the scout watched his target.

 

"Friendly?" Geddon queried.

 

"Unconfirmed. Target is obscured." Nascadene muttered. Geddon brought his own rifle to bear, careful not to jolt his slowly healing arm, getting no better an angle than his lead scout.

 

"Zlovin, Ardimmar - Flank and confirm. Thespian, Nascadene - Keep him in your sights. If he's a threat I want him taken care of, if he's Mortain, I don't want one of you accidentally killing him."

 

Surely it had to be Mortain?

[Nineswords]

Rip Claw

 

c. Waypoint Delta-Gamma-Zero-Three-Four, three days ago sidereal

 

THE WARP STORMS HAD calmed since the Omicron had finally responded to Echo-Nine’s encrypted intelligence; and in a move that surprised the three Alpha Legionnaires, the Legion’s flagship proceeded to enter high anchor over the northern continents from the relative safety of the gas giant, Habron VI. Despite the considerable size of the void class strike cruiser, the Omicron successfully slipped past the Imperial fleet dispersal, by dint of the interference generated by the warp storms; combined with utilising a modified void shield, known to the original XIX Legiones Astartes as the reflex shield.

 

Much was lost, and much was stolen from the Raven Guard.

 

Biding its time for a particularly violent warp flare from the planet’s surface, that rendered all sensor equipment blind for a period of three minutes standard, the Omicron despatched a single vessel onto the surface of Habron Secundus as it continued its silent trajectory over the planet, returning to its origin point in the gas giant.

 

The Stormraven gunship was a new addition to the Legion’s assets, salvaged from a recent operation where ten members of the Angels Encarmine chapter Astartes met their demise in a firefight on Eris IX. Magos Bakun himself had repaired most of the blast damage, in addition to removing Imperial insignia according to standard Legion policy for salvaged assets. The gunship had been re-sprayed munitorum grey, and reprogrammed with the rather uninspiring identifier designation Kappa-Phi-Twenty-Gamma. The Omicron’s flight crew, however, referred to the craft by its original chapter moniker: Rip Claw.

 

The gunship’s descent was a particularly harrowing affair due to turbulence brought on by the warp storms engulfing the region, not helped by the fact the transport was piloted by one of Bakun’s experimental aeronaut servitors. The craft was guided by Legionnaire Mos Zebulon into a large rocky alcove, deep in the Western Craglands near waypoint Delta-Gamma-Zero-Three-Four. Legion Command had clearly respected Echo-Nine’s wishes with regard to their Phantom Protocol status, but had seen fit to send enough resources to reflect the increased mission parameters. The Stormraven had enough capacity to deploy serious firepower in the form of a full tactical complement of Astartes, or in rarer cases, a dreadnought. Rip Claw however, delivered a different payload.

 

‘Clearly, the Omicron intends to stay away from high anchor for a while then,’ remarked Zebulon, as he pointed at the dish array mag-clamped onto the hold space of the gunship. It was a scaled up version of the very same encryption node module deployed by acting sergeant Linus Theo the previous day, used for long range encrypted communications.

 

Theo merely nodded in agreement as the Legionnaire clambered over the numerous crates containing more ammunition, equipment and ration packs. No lho-sticks, though. Dominating the cramped hold space of the craft was a loose grouping of equipment, considerably larger and bulkier than the long-range encryption node. Drawing back the black canvas that tethered it to the floor of the gunship, Theo whistled softly as he recognised the bronze machinery instantly.

 

A soft hum reverberated in the confines of the gunship’s interior as the third member of Echo-Nine powered up a small hololithic generator that was inset into the flight console. A small red light blinked as Legionnaire Ozias Abednego pressed a console stud indicating a pre-recorded transmission. The message, true to Legion Command’s ethos was spartan, consisting of just five letters, unencrypted.

 

– + P.O.T.G.L. + –

 

A file appended to the communication gave a series of coordinates that triangulated on a location near the equator region of Habron Secundus’ southern continent.

‘Anything else?’ asked Theo as he joined Abednego by the flight console.

 

‘Negative, Linus,’ replied Abednego as he flipped through the message again. ‘The time-stamp and geo-location of these coordinates however, indicate that one of our encryption relays sent back the primary objective’s identifier markers to the Omicron in a standard sweep. This information is now several hours old, so we have to move quickly.’

 

‘Aye,’ agreed Theo. ‘You and I will secure the waypoint, whilst Mozes powers up this bird,’ Theo pointed at the aeronaut servitor. ‘That,’ he began, ‘will be the death of us. Trust El Dragón to throw us one of his reps when we’re heading into the maw of hell.’

 

Zebulon looked up from his inspection of the encryption node and grinned at the two Legionnaires. ‘The rep will come in useful,’ he called out. ‘How do you think we’re going to put together that?’ he said, pointing at the black canvas covers.

 

+++

 

RATHER THAN CARRY the extra weight in the gunship, Theo and Abednego had simply hidden the plas-steel crates at waypoint Delta-Gamma-Zero-Three-Four, reasoning that it would be prudent to have at least another cache of ammunition, in lieu of Legion Command’s generous supply load carried down with Rip Claw. The Legionnaires had wired the cave’s entrance with three fragmentation grenades connected to a proximity sensor. An economic and elegant solution, the idea was not as much to kill intruders outright; but rather inconvenience them under a few tonnes of debris, should they happen to come across the Echo-Nine’s hidden cache.

 

After returning to the Stormraven gunship, Zebulon had successfully navigated Rip Claw through a particularly violent warp storm as they entered the airspace of the southern continent Terra Gamma Largo. Recalling the briefing several days ago aboard the Omicron, Theo curled his lip in distaste by the physical changes wrought by the intense warp activity. The area was known as the Esh Grasslands, the previously fertile landscape allowed tall poaceaen wheat-grass varieties to flourish, which were harvested for both sustenance and the sacking industry across the Habron sector and beyond. A commodity now ruined beyond any hope of repair, as the warp storms reduced the a quarter of the entire continent to desert; its skies a haze of purple hues, swirling and shifting every second.

 

Zebulon landed Rip Claw at a location one hundred kilometers west of the nearest extent of the warp activity. Setting down in a ravine deep enough to avoid casual sensor sweeps, Echo-Nine secured a defensive perimeter before deploying not only the encryption array, but in addition the larger pieces of machinery, rendered in the same bronze patination and insignia of the Alpha Legionnaires’ disguise. After three and a half hours under Zebulon’s precise instruction, the members of Echo-Nine and the aeronaut servitor had assembled the diaspora of machinery under the cover of Gamma Largo’s night cycle. Assembled thus, the machinery was in fact an anti-gravity landspeeder; a modified variant that was substantially lighter and more agile than Astarte standard, stripped of much of the armour plating to reduce its mass. It was a flimsy thing, granted, but Magos Bakun had anticipated the necessity of an agile reconnaissance vehicle that could fit into the confines of the Stormraven. Better than nothing, I suppose, thought Theo as he inspected the assembled craft.

 

Opening a nondescript bronze panel near the starboard air intakes, Legionnaire Zebulon proceeded to clamp a long cable onto a steel contact, and snaked the other end to a corresponding panel next to Rip Claw’s interior hatch. At first, nothing happened, but after a short period the distinct whine of anti-gravity engines began to charge and lifted the slight craft waist high off the ground plane. Jump starting equipment was an unusual, but necessary practice in the specialised operations of the Alpha Legion, and every Legionnaire was required to have a minimum standard of mechanical training.

 

Unhooking the cable from the speeder, Zebulon nodded at the other two members of Echo-Nine as they clambered into the speeder, the craft bobbing up and down, but not quite reaching the ground as it took the weight of two Legionnaires in operational battleplate. As was necessary with flying with Bakun’s modified craft, the Legionnaires took the absolute bare minimum for reconnaissance work: a Tigrus pattern bolter, one spare ammo clip, a combat knife, and two fragmentation grenades; all of which were mag-clamped onto the bronze battle plate. Integrated within the frame of the landspeeder was an encryption node for mid-range communications, although as a precaution, Theo took the same node he had previously used.

 

As Abednego began to flick on the numerous switches on the flight console in anticipation of flight, Theo voxed Zebulon, who was by then spooling the jump cable between his hand and elbow joint. ‘Pulse the Omicron and let them know we have reached target zone. We’ll have to work fast and track the primary objective as best we can in this hell-storm. Try and find out if Legion Command has any updated intel so we know what the fug is going on.’

 

‘Acknowledged, Echo-Nine-One,’ replied Zebulon. He made a fist and beat it once against his chest plate. The ancient salute. Both Theo and Abednego returned the gesture, before Abednego took control of the steering column. In a heartbeat, the landspeeder hyper-accelerated through the ravine, coating the darkness in a haze of backwash. Within ten heartbeats, the craft had disappeared from view entirely, leaving Legionnaire Zebulon and the servitor listening to the sounds of Gamma Largo’s nocturnal creatures.

 

+++

 

Esh Grasslands, Gamma Largo, six hours later

 

GIANT CRACKS FLASHED by as the bronze landspeeder roared through the hamada landscape; a perpetual sea barren wasteland that now made up the new deserts of the Gamma Largo region. A plume of red dust billowed into existence behind the jet-wash of the small craft, scattering packs of un-beast carnivora that followed in the wake of the warp storms that tore through the veil of the Empyrean into physical reality like a fresh wound.

 

The landspeeder had been cruising at eighty percent velocity for the last five hours and fifty two minutes through the rest of Gamma Largo’s night cycle. The local sun Habro-Sol, had begun to rise, though it did little to abate the intense hues of the warp interference. Theo had been thankful for his fully enclosed helmet, that was locked into place within the reinforced gorget of his Mark VIII battleplate.

 

Just after the sixth hour had passed since leaving Rip Claw in the ravine, Abednego, who had stayed silent the entire journey, voxed Theo, his voice ever so slightly distorted through the warp wash. ‘Approaching coordinates.’

 

Theo scanned the horizon and his trans-human eyesight began to resolve the profiles of structures in the distance. A locator blip and a small display had begun to triangulate his position relative to the coordinates given by the Omicron. 9,442 metres. 6,421 metres. 2,982 metres. The landspeeder banked lazily to the right, drawing a large curve towards the biggest barn-like structure in the settlement. Abednego slowly piloted the light craft through the large opening of the barn, and began to down-power the landspeeder into a standby mode.

 

Killing the main thrust drives, the landspeeder bobbed up and down, as a fishing boat behaves on a calm body of water. Theo vaulted over the passenger side of the transport and crouched to keep a low profile, bolter at the ready, initiating a standard tactical sweep of the immediate vicinity as Abednego continued to power down the craft.

 

As far as he could tell, the entire settlement was derelict. There were only a few structures, and they were barely intact. Tell-tale scorch marks and ballistic collision patterns on what was left of the blackened wooden panels led Theo to an obvious conclusion. Primary objective had definitely been here. ‘My guess Nego,’ Theo voxed, ‘no more than twenty two hours standard. No vitals, although there is something big returning on my long range helm sensors one kilometer north, near the river. Perform a wide sweep.’

 

‘Acknowledged, Linus,’ replied Abednego. He had moved past the crouching Legionnaire and began to sweep left, heading in a wide arc, passing the ruined and scorched bodies of the settlement’s former inhabitants.

 

+++

 

THE TWISTED WRECKAGE of two Valkyrie transporters lay as a scorched heap in a large shallow crater. Whatever – or whoever – had inflicted such catastrophic damage to the craft had timed it so well the two transports were virtually next to one another embedded in the warp soil of the near dry river bed. From long range helm scans, both craft had appeared as a larger single entity. Approaching warily from different sides, Theo and Abednego converged to a safe distance from the wreckage, taking care to not disturb any traces of earth or splintered metal that would give some indication of the whereabouts of the primary objective. Clearly, a significant amount of activity had occurred in the vicinity within the last day.

 

‘Hold position, Nego, I’ll check the nearest lander,’ commanded Theo, as he carefully tread through the jumble of scorched metal and earth. To unmodified humans, the speed at which Theo moved was astonishingly fast, covering the distance to the downed Valkyrie in twelve heart beats, as the acting sergeant traversed the open ground in a low gait, in the same manner an apex predator tracks its prey.

 

The vessel was slightly smaller than the Stormraven gunship, and despite its very similar function; was built to a different specification to accommodate unmodified humans, rather than the increased bulk of Astartes warriors. Wearing full operational battle plate, Linus Theo had to crouch in the hold space. In the gloom of the cockpit, Theo became aware of a shape nearby. It was a human ribcage, its flesh eaten away, leaving behind scraps of uniform littered around it. Linus turned the bones over with his armoured boot, noting a series of focused fractures that could only have come from a bladed weapon applied with phenomenal force through the torso. Next to the rib cage was a patch of decking that had been ripped clean off from the craft’s chassis. It was a similar locking mechanism that tethered the landspeeder parts to the deck of Rip Claw. ‘Nego, they’ve taken someone prisoner. It explains why the transporters were shot down.’

 

‘Linus.’

 

Theo looked back at the figure of Abednego standing thirty metres away, framed within the doorway of the mangled opening of the downed transport.

 

‘Contact?’ asked Theo, his voice rendered tinny by the vox cackle.

 

‘Negative,’ came the reply. ‘However, I have found remains of other crew members from the other craft. Or what’s left of them anyway. My guess is that so–’ Abednego stalled. ‘Multiple contacts! Visual confirmation.’

 

‘Acknowledged,’ replied Theo, swiftly creeping out the cargo hold. Transhuman eyes resolved the threat immediately. A large pack of eighteen warp ridden carnivora had emerged from the darkness of the other Valkyrie. The presence of the Legionnaires had clearly disturbed the the un-beasts, and they spread out in a rough arc around Legionnaire Abednego. They were disgusting things, canine-like in stature but nothing that resembled any natural evolutionary cycle. Their flesh was glimmered with translucency, with a suggestion of organ composition behind the diseased fleshy piles. Pools of salivary fluid pooled like refined oil on the ground below as the pack anticipated its next meal. Abednego had enough time to register a pair of eyes, before the alpha-beast stalked out. The thing was huge, its mass nearly two thirds the size of the landspeeder that had brought the two Legionnaires to the settlement.

 

How did they all fit in that? Wondered Theo as he approached Abednego, boltgun at the ready. The other Legionnaire held up his hand, signalling Theo to stop where he was. Reacting to the sudden movement of Abednego’s signal, the slavering beasts bounded towards both of the Legionnaires.

 

The response was instantaneous. The Legionnaires opened fire with a precision borne out of years of combat training, its dispersal punching through translucent flesh, rupturing the un-organs as the bolt rounds detonated. The carnivora bled a white ecto-fluid, and yet they still kept on coming. They would be on the Legionnaires within ten heartbeats. Nine heartbeats. Eight heartbeats.

 

‘Switch ammo!’ snarled Abednego over the vox.

 

Theo did two things. Within two heartbeats, he had primed and hurled a fragmentation grenade at the nearest beast. The contact detonation threw the thing through the air and into the rest of the pack, buying the Legionnaires a few more seconds of time. The second action, achieved within another two heart beats, was deftly arming his Tigrus-pattern bolter with the other ammunition clip that was mag-clamped to his waist. The bolter roared into life, and this time around, the bolts inflicted mass trauma on the un-beasts as the pack exploded like overripe fruit.

 

‘We can’t take out that thing,’ barked Theo, pointing at the alpha-beast, ‘without some serious firepower’.

 

Abednego nodded, keeping a wary eye on the slowly moving bulk of the alpha-beast. ‘I’ll see you shortly then, Linus,’ replied Abednego, calmly.

 

Theo began to run. A kilometer wasn’t a large distance by any means, certainly not for an Astartes, but the severity of the situation meant that every second counted. Behind him, the clash of the inevitable between Abednego and the un-thing had begun. Closing the distance rapidly in an all-out sprint, all Theo could hear was the beating of the primary and secondary hearts processing the huge increase in blood flow.

 

With no time to actually go through the opening of the large barn where the landspeeder was stored, Theo simply created his own by shoulder barging through the flimsy scorched cladding of the exterior wall, and in one fluid motion, vaulted into the pilot seat, firing up the anti-gravity engines. The air intakes made a high pitch squeal as loose debris was pulled into it, and the landspeeder shot out the barn as a round leaves a bolt gun.

 

‘Disengage!’ shouted Theo over the whine of the landspeeder pushing one hundred percent velocity. In the distance he could see a small figure hurl an object at the alpha-beast before diving in the opposite direction. A fragmentation grenade detonated a second time, pushing the un-thing back and widening the gap between it and the now prone Legionnaire. Theo thumbed a small stud and grimaced with satisfaction as the rotator cannon mounted on the port side of the landspeeder roared into life. The significantly larger calibre rounds burst warp-meat in a shower of huge gobbets. The un-thing however, was by no means finished.

 

Theo pressed his foot down as hard as he could on the speeder’s acceleration pad as the craft rammed what was left of the beast at bone crushing velocity. In the milliseconds that followed, somehow the un-thing had managed to bite down into the metal panels of the front of the landspeeder, leaving a large dent in the craft that caused one of the anti-gravity units to pop out of its housing. The craft lurched as the landspeeder slowed down, and Theo was somewhat amazed to see that the head of the alpha-beast was still embedded in the bronze – cleanly separated from its body – leaving behind a gore strewn trail in the ground behind.

 

‘Kill confirmed,’ said Theo hoarsely, as he clambered out of the landspeeder. He immediately dropped to his knees and retched, a result of mass disorientation from the sudden change in velocity.

 

‘Acknowledged,’ replied Abednego as he walked casually over to the bronze craft. He towered over the dry-heaving form of his acting sergeant, and held out his hand. Theo gripped the proffered gauntlet and steadied himself on his brother Legionnaire. ‘Smart thinking, Linus,’ Abednego remarked, referring to the impressive amount of damage inflicted by the landspeeder.

 

‘I can say the same thing about you earlier,’ acknowledged Theo. ‘There is a reason why we keep that raving priest in the brig, then. Those bolt shells will come in useful.’

 

Before they had left, Legionnaire Zebulon had suggested to the reconnaissance party to arm themselves with a spare clip from the cache of special ammunition sent down with Rip Claw. Each of the bolter shells within these clips had been blessed and engraved with Imperial iconography by an Ecclesiarchical priest kept prisoner aboard the Omicron.

 

Alpha Legion uses any, and all means to get the job done, reflected Theo as he considered the blessed bolt shells. Legion Command had spent ten millenium waging the long war, and in that time, had accumulated some highly unorthodox, but exceedingly effective insights into combating any and all foes.

 

‘We botched that one, no mistake’, said Abednego as he surveyed the newest layer of damage across the expanse of the wreckage. Large pools of white ecto-plasmic fluid pooled around diseased heaps of the carnivora pack that had attempted to attack the Legionnaires. The fluid had also begun to corrode what the twisted scorched metal of the Valkyries, leaving any forensic evidence of Echo-Nine’s quarry virtually useless. The Legionnaire squatted on the ground, attempting to glean any clue as to the whereabouts of their quarry. ‘Any ideas, Linus?’ asked Abednego.

 

‘Not a clue’, began Theo as he paced around the wreckage in frustration. This whole endeavour was turning into a wasted trip. ‘Perhaps they jus–’ the acting sergeant paused as a flash of inspiration hit him. Any, and all means necessary. ‘We need one of those, alive,’ Theo pointed at the nearest dead carnivora.

 

Abednego gave his acting sergeant a sharp look. ‘Really?’ enquired the Legionnaire, his voice accented with a healthy dose of skepticism.

 

‘Think about it Nego,’ hissed Theo’s reply. ‘Those things are like carcharodons. They can trace blood and psionic activity from leagues away. We follow the blood scent of whoever butchered the crew before the packs ate them, but more importantly, we follow the psyk-trail.’

 

Abednego grunted in acknowledgement of Theo’s absurd logic, and nodded slowly.

 

‘Smart thinking, Linus,’ repeated Legionnaire Ozias Abednego. ‘Legion Command may make something out you after all.’

[Nineswords]

Whoops. Double post.

[Jake-Mulraney]

Gregor turned on his right leg with his left knee raised in the air. He spun and jumped around, swinging his right leg up and smashing it into the face of a bloodletter. The monsters head exploded into a plume of brain-ridden, eye-strewn mess as the body fell to the ground. He spotted another opponent. He charged at it, jumped of both feet and swung his left leg through the fiend in a spectacular 360 degree spin.

 

Although he was a mighty warrior his enemy was very numerous. Seeing no alternative, Gregor made a gap through the enemies lines and ran as fast as he could. As he ran, more and more word bearers, chaos marines and daemon spawn noticed him. His foes took pot shots at him as he ran through the field and tried to make his way back to the perimeter.

 

After a few more moments, and two or three scratches from bolter rounds of the chaos marines which came a bit too close for comfort, Gregor saw that brilliant sight. The wall of Rhino tanks which had made up the outer perimeter. As he ran between two seemingly empty Rhinos the voices of his companions grew fainter and fainter. He could tell that his brothers had fallen and lost much of the ground they once held.

 

As the sounds of his allies faded into the distance and the whaling of the chaos behind him grew louder as it began to catch up to him Gregor heard a new sound coming from the north. It was the sound of victory. The sound of a lone squad of astartes accompanied by a Razorback. Though ever so faint and barely hearable through the screeching of the chaos monsters it was there.

 

He turned to face the north and realised that he would be going into the dead marsh once more. He ran onwards as fast as he could, hoping to leave the enemy behind him. This time he hoped there would be some sort of salvation...

[Llagos_Tyrant]

Oden sprang to the cover of the fallen minaret as the howl of maddened warriors rang out in the city of Agrippa. Even from out here, far in the outskirts, giant pillars of smoke rose to the heavens, as a beacon and offering to the dark gods themselves. The last time he had seen the city, some weeks ago now, it was still clinging to its old loyalties. The minarets and towers of the city had hung their imperial banners high and the massive rockcrete towers lining its outskirts had bristled with weaponry while they looked over the trenches below them. The sounds of life had been vibrant even then. The bustle of daily life and the low rumble of a million feet on the ground, walking and shuffling about in their ordinary routine had sickened him. The pitiful defences the Guardsmen had assembled had done little to ease his disgust at the time, and it was clear that his dismissal was well founded.

 

Drusus crawled up alongside him, heaving his elongated bolter over the shattered tower column to look into the suburbs beyond. From this position, situated on a hill overlooking the southern portion of the city, the oncoming Chosen could observe more of the desolation left in the path of the Word Bearers. Gunfire rang out in the distance and tracer rounds flew into the sky as the setting sun glared orange and aflame upon a city in its death throes. In the distance, the group could hear the thunderous rumble of massive walkers, the Titans of the Word Bearers as they tore through the city, engulfing all before them in fire and flames.

 

“The guardsmen never had a chance.” Mortez commented as he came up alongside Oden and ducked into cover. His remark was confirmed by the screams of the injured as the drum beat of auto-cannons and the whine of lascannons erupted in the city, searing a trail of destruction into one of the larger dome-topped buildings.

 

“We stick to the plan?” Malthus asked as he reached the others, carrying Ariadne in his arms. She had long fallen behind, too tired to walk and too valuable to drag. She looked out of place as she curled into his chest amongst the chained skulls of dead foes hanging around his shoulders and draped down his back.

 

“The city is still too dangerous.” Oden said, looking at one of the large Hive Spires in the distance as the crimson red form of a War hound Titan lurched into view, unleashing on the building with its cannons. “We’ll have to stick to the underground.” He affirmed.

 

“They will have troops sweeping through.” Drusus said. “With any luck though, we might go undetected. They seem to have their hands full.” He added, lowering his rifle sights and gesturing to the spire under assault by the Titan. Bolts of plasma fire and streams of lasgun fire flew from the Hives burning carapace as the machine stood its ground, undaunted, and uncaring.

 

“They won’t be busy for long. Whoever brought them together has been preparing for some time.” Oden said, trailing off in thought. Running the numbers through his head and mixing information and guesswork, the War Smith came to a staggering figure. Under the command of the Word Bearers, the Titans and traitors of the Imperium had marched against their own, and an innumerable host of daemons was spreading across the Planet at a breakneck pace. Someone had to be driving them, and he had to have a reason for launching his assault here. Oden looked at Ariadne as he thought before the thunder of another assault by the distant Titan roused him.

 

“We make for the tunnels.” He said, vaulting over the minaret and making his way over the ruined fortifications of the Imperial Guard. Trenches had collapsed in on themselves and the weight of artillery fire had levelled much of the ground, turning it into a blasted hell scape. Craters and dust choked tank wrecks littered the area as the party passed a series of entrenched heavy bolter placements, ringed with a basic sand bag defence, and lined with discarded and looted ammo packs. Bodies and limbs lay strewn about them as the company marched through the city, weapons at the ready.

 

Amongst them, only Oden walked with the unwavering conviction that whether his prize was the target or not, the Word Bearers had arrived to claim something that held great value to them. Whatever it was, it was worth the cost of total war in the Habron Sub-Sector. Perhaps, Oden considered, the bulk of his forces needed to enter the stage …

[King Willy]

Mafez stood vigil over the defiled corpse, the Razorbacks moving up towards him to support his one-man attack, "I am Mafez Al-Morhem, I am the Emperors hand made manifest, his will guides me!" he roared as a trio of Word Bearers charged from the swirling mist, anger etched on their every motion, bolters barking as Vox Grilles spat sermons of hate and dark prayer.

 

A bolts struck Mafezs legs and chest but his body was as empowered as his holy rehtoric, "Go to your gods and tell them what rightious fury you have witnessed" he roared as his own bolter barked back, each traitors chest burst open as Vengence rounds exploded with incandessent fire.

 

"Come brothers, push back the rabble and the fog will follow" he said over the vox as he swept his bolter across the fog, each hole screaming with a silent daemonic roar.

"Ranger-Hunter, this is Hunter-Captain Vorshnik, we are on approach now, prepare a landing zone" the vox bud in his helmet.

"Come Hunter-Captain, join the purge and do the Emperors work" he replied, quickly clicking a fresh magazine into his hungry bolter.

"So be it... Strike from the shadows my brothers!" the Hunter-Captain roared.

 

The tactical marines fell through the mist with a silent certainty, no war cries left there mouth, two at a time they hit the damp soil and moved forward bolters spitting hot explosive death out towards the fog, a line of heavy bolter fire shoot out above them as the mist rolled back to reveal the source of the descending angels, the vast maw of a thunderhawk, it's grey flanks opening the mist and allowing the sun to shine through to the advancing marines.

 

"Move Forward Hunters, Aid the Ranger-Hunter" an imposing figure roared from the mouth of the Thunderhawk before he to jumped from it's form, storm bolter blazing from his left arm as a crackling mace sparked in his other hand.

He landed with a heavy thud, his mace slamming into the ground and sending arcs of energy snaking through the marsh water.

With a speed exceptional even for an astartes he was next to Mafez, the two men back to back as there bolters scythed through Word Bearer and Daemon alike.

 

Slowly the line advanced, twenty fresh marines advancing with the three Razorbacks, while the imposing mass of the Thunderhawk hovered overhead, it's heavy bolters slashing great divets in the ground as it shredded Chaos Marines three at a time.

 

"Ranger-Hunter, we have friendly contact, his vox signal is weak but he's heading towards us now" Bedizius voxed as Mafez cut down a pair of Daemons with his bolter.

"Who is it?"

"Gregor Von Bismark, Knight marshal of the Teutonic Brotherhood.

[Olis]

Friend or Foe

 

Geddon watched the figure, far down the stream and amongst boulders, with the practised attention of a hawk. The silhouette shifted, he followed, gently tilting his rifle against his own boulder that he rested upon. The water around his feet shimmered from the continuing conflagration in the canopy above. Every now and again he would leave the scopes embrace and scan his surroundings warily. As a scout, unsupported in effectively enemy territory, you could never be too sure. Of course, there was Thespian and Nascadene present to keep a semblace of a perimeter but you had to teach by doing. It was no good telling them what to do without doing it yourself - they must gain the experience in a practical matter, not a theoretical one.

 

"Keep your eyes open. Do not forget to check your surroundings." He told them, as he fixed his sight back on the space marine upstream. "The one time you do not look will be the one time you will regret that failure, because if you survive, you'll have to explain to me just what the seven hells you thought you were doing." Both the scouts acknowledged.

 

The vox clicked. Zlovin and Ardimmar were in position. Now all Geddon had to do was wait. At any sign of gunfire he would take a shot - granted the astartes was mostly out of sight but a shot to the leg or arm could tip the balance should it come to a confrontation. He may even attempt to get a body-shot should his target move out of cover.

 

A crackle on his earpiece caught the brother-sergeants attention, he listened intently. It was news from ahead. They had found Mortain. Geddon let out a breath of relief, content his boys had found their pilot safely with no incident. Zlovin relayed the details back to him as Geddon urged his remaining two charges forward with hand gestures. Mortain was pretty beat up but he could still function well enough to make no difference. He had made the insightful decision to stay away from flaming trees but to stay close enough to the Speeder to still be found by the scouts. With the twilight now quickly transitioning into the full darkness of the night, it wasn't wise to shelter by an inferno.

 

While Geddon approached the hidden trio he noticed Mortain's Mk5 helmet had a shattered eye-piece and the face-grille had been punctured - a chunk of the lower faceplate evidently taking the brunt of whatever struck Mortain in the jaw and fractured. Bits of ceramite had obviously been driven inward, lodging in the grille itself. The three stood from their crouched positions as they received their comrades, Mortain's visible eye watching the revealed scouts as they approached. The rest of Mortain's black power armour was either mildly scratched or exhibited minor damage, the most extensive of which was a great dent in his Mk6 chest piece that had misaligned one of the cabling mounts, and the cabling, on it.

 

"Brother." Geddon nodded to Mortain. The pilot nodded back, inclining his head toward his superior. Geddon noted the heavy bolter clutched in his hands, the box magazine still firmly attached. With Mortain now secure and the squad together, the mission reverted back to it's original brief: Search and destroy - Find the archenemy and disrupt them or kill them. High value targets were to be pursued and eliminated with extreme prejudice, at the cost of other targets. They were to assist friendlies only when requested.

 

Ardimmar reported to the brother-sergeant of Mortain's injury - a broken jaw. The scout had also noticed Mortain's broken vox, but Geddon had suspected as much given the damage to his helmet. It was going to have to be something the squad would have to work around.

 

The last location known to harbour enemy units was to the west, in the township. The fighting there had been a desultory affair since before the Seraphias arrived but it appeared an enemy officer was in command in this area. He would be the first target objective, if he was still alive. If not, his minions would serve as fodder well enough.

 

To the left and right were fields of grain burning freely. As the flames drew closer, the stalks in turn bent and withered before catching themselves, the moisture inside them crackling as it boiled and popped. Smoke drifted in the air and ash fluttered freely, providing plenty of cover for the time being. Amongst the brush lining the field were the bodies of local militia, possibly indentured PDF, fallen and twisted in ways only death can grant. Judging by the way the corpses had lain and the wounds they had taken, they'd taken on a cultist ambush - and lost, of course. Geddon checked over the dead men for any salvageable equipment, although it was likely the cultists had already taken anything of immediate value. Besides a shot through vox unit, Geddon could find little of use. They moved on.

 

Skulking further along, by the already immolated fields, Geddon checked the sky as the group moved toward the head of the stream, nestled under the shadow of the town's walls. He stopped moving and craned his neck, listing carefully. No flyers. He looked into the night sky, seeing the stars above as well as the more mobile points of light that represented starships in orbit. And there was the pink smear on the horizon that could only be part of the Occularis Terribus. He was glad it was not fully in the sky, if only for peace of mind. He knew men could get unpredictable when they realised the gateway to hell gazed down upon them.

 

Passing into the town itself almost proved more of a hassle than it seemed worth it. The gateway into the town was barred and the walls were not only high, but manned. The 'manned' part was soon taken care of but they still had to get in quietly. Geddon nodded to Thespian, the resident climber. Thespian threw his rifle to Zlovin before scaling the gateway, using the wall itself and the detailing on the gate to get up. Twenty minutes slowly eked on by before the gateway opened, revealing Thespian, looking rather smug. The squad took up positions inside, Geddon telling the scout to wipe his stupid grin off of his face and Zlovin merely shrugged when he gave back the rifle.

 

Along the main thoroughfare were the burnt out wrecks of civilian vehicles - mostly agricultural but some seemed leisure orientated. in the main square was three battle tanks, one a local variant and the other two Leman Russes. All three were daubed with eye-aching symbols over shoddily applied red paint. None of them seemed active, no engine was running nor were there any runnings lights on. The place felt absolutely deserted. It probably wasn't though. Geddon motioned the scouts to shoulder their rifles and take out their knives and silenced pistols. This was going to be close work. Moving close to Mortain Geddon explained he needed him to disable the tanks and then find a good vantage point for his heavy weapon. Mortain grunted an affirmative.

 

The scouts moved quickly into the township proper, moving in a crouched run from hab to hab. Inside most blocks were either civilian bodies or nothing at all, with the occasional desecrated aquila or dark symbology marking the place as lost. Whenever a cultist was found they were dispatched without pause. They didn't deserve thought or mercy, not in the Imperium of Man. It wasn't long before a sentry came across them and had quick enough reactions to cry out before he was silenced, an alarm to everyone nearby. In the dim confines of a squat hab-block the scouts now had to contend with enemies that were awake and armed. They had their work cut out for them.

 

Outside, Mortain had finished his work with the vehicles but hadn't found a place overlooking the centre of town - he had reached the local shrine, desecrated of course, when shots came at him from the square. A cultist had mounted a Leman Russ and swung the pintle mounted stubber to bear on the eight foot super-human warrior, loosing off a fullaside with a determined squeeze of the trigger. Heavy slugs spanked off of Mortain's armour and ploughed through the wooden shrine, chewing it to pieces. Mortain drew and sighted his pistol on the mortal, casually blowing his head off in an explosive red mist. And yet there were more crewmen scrambling into action. Mortain readied his heavy bolter.

 

In the ensuing melee, Geddon didn't sight the enemy commander, nor his command cadre. Again and again he struck down cultists and traitors alike, few getting the chance to bring their guns to bear. He was beaten and bloodied by now but there were fewer and fewer enemies to kill. Geddon heard the tell-tale report of a heavy bolter outside, smiling to himself. At least the pilot was getting his hands dirty this time.

 

With the last of the grey-shirted men dead it was clear the fight was over. The small town had been turned into an abbatoir, butchered men and blood obscuring the floors of the habs and the square. Mortain had discarded the spent heavy bolter and was now stood in heavily gouged armour over a dead tank commander in the centre of the square, bearing a heavy stubber ripped off of one of the cupolas. Nascadene came out onto the square, bloodied nose leaving a dark red trail over his mouth and down his chin. The others also returned to the square, equally battered and bruised. Thespian was now missing his right ear, the gristly stump left had bled profusely before clotting, the entire right hand side of his face red from his own vital fluid. Ardimmar had lost a small finger from his left hand, losing it amongst the bodies inside the communal hab, never to be seen again. Zlovin appeared unharmed until he showed the hole in the meat of his bicep, a stray stubgun shot tearing through the muscle tissue. It effectively meant he could no longer use his left arm until the mission was over. He would have to provide support from now on, much to the eager scout's chagrin.

 

Geddon himself had been knifed twice - once in the breastplate, once in his foot. Although it was a glancing blow, it had taken some flesh off of the outside of his foot. He did, however, re-break a rib causing him to cough up some more thick blood, his lung not appreciating the grating treatment it took from the rib shard lodged against it.

 

The enemy commander wasn't there. None of the scouts had found any officer in the town besides a scrawny colour sergeant and it felt disappointing. Time was not necessarily wasted here but the lack of a higher value kill irked the brother-sergeant. It was probably best they move on while the loss here was yet to be noticed. Leaving the place a charnel house, they headed toward the nearest trees - a copse situated next a farmhouse, just along the road from the township. It was getting light by the time they sheltered under the trees, birds beginning to sing their morning song.

 

Out to the west, across yet more damnable grain fields were armoured figures in bronze. Astartes. They looked Imperial from their trappings but wore heraldry Geddon was not familiar with. Could they be part of a newly arrived task force? It would certainly help to know who they represented and what capacity they operated under.

[Nineswords]

Stymphalids

 

Kurshan Township, Greater Agrippa Metropolitan Zone, continuous

 

THE INNER AND outer hab-zones were ruined, in the same way the wheatgrasses that gave much of Gamma Largo’s external trade were utterly annihilated by the XVII Legion’s presence on Habron Secundus.

 

It had taken the better part of two days for the Alpha Legionnaires of Echo-Nine to triangulate the position of the primary objective to Gamma Largo’s third largest urban conurbation Agrippa, such was the unreliability of their sole tracking mechanism. Returning the battered landspeeder back to Rip Claw, it had taken some clever thinking on Mos Zebulon’s part to re-calibrate the gunship’s long range sensor array to match the warp frequency of the carnivora’s un-biology to establish a psyk-pheromone trace. It was a highly erratic gambit, and had resulted in a number of false starts where Echo-Nine had undertaken half a dozen reconnaissance sorties that yielded no useful findings.

 

The devastation, therefore, was the first fruitful piece of evidence Echo-Nine had gathered that seemed to corroborate the location of the primary objective, combined with the weak psyk-scent detected by the ad-hoc carnivora-sensor hybrid. Not wishing to draw the attentions of the Word Bearers, nor the Imperial presence which no doubt would manifest itself given the scale of the traitor’s destruction, Zebulon had landed Rip Claw three clicks west of the township marked Kurshan – literally, chaff home in the local dialect, relating to the by-product of wheatgrass processing.

 

Wasting no time, acting sergeant Linus Theo had ordered Zebulon to conduct repairs on the damaged landspeeder whilst he and Ozias Abednego would establish a reconnaissance perimeter and try and establish a safe route into Agrippa city proper that would evade detection. The Legionnaires had not taken the carnivora with them, even in the greater safety of Gamma Largo’s night cycle. Crossing into the outer hab-zones of Kurshan, Theo and Abednego headed east towards the main square, noting the recent signs of armed conflict.

 

‘The Brotherhoods have been busy, Linus,’ remarked Abednego over the vox as he surveyed the damage. Concrete and plastek flakboard had been pockmarked and scorched by las-discharge and small arms fire, without the tell-tale wholesale detonation marks of Astartes bolter devastation.

 

‘Indeed, Nego. Although I suspect you’re referring to weapon damage rather than their insatiable need to desecrate anything that resembles Imperial iconography,’ replied Theo, as he scanned the hab-zone distantly ahead of him. Burnt out bodies of both civilians and the cultists littered the scene as the pair quietly made their way towards the township’s main square.

 

Theo resolved the phantom outlines of three larger vehicles in the distance, despite the smoke and ash from the still-burning fires as a result of short range ordnance. Two Leman-Russ’ and a local variant pattern armed vehicle formed the centrepiece of the square. Approaching the periphery, the two Legionnaires fanned out in a standard tactical dispersal, silently crossing the former public space.

 

Linus Theo remained near the outer edge as Abednego moved towards the centre, scanning for possible threats.

 

‘One vital, weak, but alive,’ said Abednego as he made his way towards the nearest Leman Russ. The Legionnaire gingerly stepped over the remains of a Brotherhood cultist clutching a heavy stubber, as he reached his quarry.

 

She was pitiful, really. A frail, fleshy grey mass of ash covered skin, matching the grey combat fatigues of her uniform. Abednego crouched down, bolter aimed at the near-corpse despite the minimal threat, and gently turned the cultist over onto her back. The cultist was breathing in shallow, fast breaths, and turned her ruined face towards him, eyes wide with a glazed expression. Abednego wasted no time in his interrogation.

 

‘Tell me where your masters are,’ he began, his helm’s vox distortion lending his voice a flat, monotone feel.

 

Despite no obvious external wounds, Abednego could tell the woman was suffering from massive internal hemorrhaging and a catalogue of broken limbs. With considerable effort, her reply came as a hoarse whisper. ‘Shi-het resa kahan het, nu’l twasan kao sann ikip.’

 

‘I will cast the infidel into the fires of hell,’ cut in Theo, as he translated into the Legion’s battle cant from the other side of the square. ‘She’s of no use to us, let’s move on Nego.’

 

‘Acknowledged,’ replied Abednego, setting down his bolter onto the ash covered ground. He began to reach his right hand towards the woman’s neck. The Legionnaire froze, trans-human senses and years of combat experience guiding a deep intuition. Something isn’t right. Abednego recognised contact wires spilling onto the floor that had been previously covered by soot, revealed as the cultist shifted her weight to roll back onto her side, a frail hand creeping towards her chest. Abednego expediently cupped his gauntlet around her hand and crushed metacarpals and phalanges with a crunch. A moan escaped the cultist’s lips as life finally left her. Danger mitigated. Or was it? Abednego began to move.

 

‘Caution, Linu–’ voxed Abednego as he instinctively dived under the Leman Russ just as a las-round penetrated the darkness. The resulting explosion bellowed with a hellish vigour as the round detonated the explosives attached to the grey-corpse.

 

Theo was thrown back as the square lit up immediately with incendiary light followed by a whoosh of super-heated air. The sound of small arms fire filled the night sky as a party of cultists began to fill the square and capitalise on the surprise afforded by the explosion. Fuzzy distortion filled Theo’s helm as it began to resolve the aftermath, picking up several targets. Theo rolled onto his front and sprinted towards his bolter that was several feet away from him, auto-rounds ricocheting off his bronze armour. Grabbing the weapon, Linus Theo spun around and the bolter roared into life as the Legionnaire strafed towards the cultists, each shot detonating through limbs and exploding through torsos. The party was decimated in seconds, but the damage had been done and Echo-Nine’s cover had been blown.

 

‘We need to leave, Nego before we attract more attention. Scans indicate a copse of trees further east,’ said Theo, cross-referencing their location on an topographical overlay within his helm.

 

‘East sounds good,’ agreed Abednego, emerging from the relative safety of the mass of the tank and dusting himself off.

 

The Legionnaires began to move out of the square, taking care to avoid Kurshan’s main avenues and occasionally doubling back to mitigate further discovery. As the time past, the sound of activity gradually diminished as their pair reached the eastern perimeter of the township, following the road eastward toward Agrippa city. Past the township’s outer perimeter, the air had begun to clear of ash and Theo noted that it was dawn.

 

The pair immediately deviated from the main road itself, and instead trudged over the blackened wheatgrass fields, circling round in a wide arc northwards towards the copse. Abednego suddenly stopped.

 

‘Don’t move, Linus!’ hissed Abednego.

 

Lost in his own thoughts, it had taken half a second to process what Abednego had seen. The other Legionnaire pointed at the ground beneath them. Theo’s foot was millimetres away from a sensor beam, picked out as a barely discernible line in the helm’s sensor array. Interesting.

 

Alpha Legionnaire’s sensor arrays were constantly tuned to Imperial security harmonics as standard procedure, normally resolving themselves as a series of bright criss-crossing lines that were painfully obvious to the Legionnaires and their operatives in the field, even the more sophisticated technologies employed by the Ordos and chapter Astartes. These sensor beams however, were nearly invisible, even to the members of Echo-Nine.

 

Taking a step back and hunkering down, Theo began to inspect the security beam. ‘Whoever has done this are good. Very good. Look at the harmonics data spool, it’s shifting frequencies constantly within a tight band. It’s a wonder our own modifications are even picking this up,’ marveled Theo, clearly impressed with the defensive strategy.

 

Abednego crouched down next to Theo, and inclined his head as he studied the readouts in his own helm. ‘I’m changing my harmonic resonator to detect fluctuations between zero-seven-eight-three-kappa and zero-seven-nine-two-kappa. Wait,’ said Theo.

 

Theo followed suit and gradually, the previously near-invisible sensor array began to appear as a thin orange line. It was still erratic as the Legionnaire’s helm sensor arrays struggled to catch up, but it was a workable solution.

 

‘Orders?’ asked Abednego.

 

‘Our cover was blown back in Kurshan, and we’ll be outnumbered once the Brotherhood has congregated. We’ll have to hide in plain sight,’ began Theo as he stood up. Before his fellow Legionnaire could stop him, Linus Theo had simply walked straight on, breaking the security lattice and setting off the beam. ‘Follow my lead and pulse Mozes to keep out of sight. Let’s not make this more complicated than it already is.’

 

The pair had begun to move further towards the copse of trees, making a show keeping low and moving in a fast gait across the blackened wheatgrass field and into the darkness of the copse.

 

 

+++

 

 

‘STAY EXACTLY WHERE you are and don’t move another step,’ commanded a voice.

 

The two Legionnaires spun around and trained their bolters at the source of the sound. Theo was greeted by the sight of a grizzled Astartes wearing a black scout uniform. Scars criss-crossed the scout’s face, belying decades of warfare. Theo deliberately and slowly lowered his bolter. Abednego did not.

 

‘Well met, brother,’ said Theo, forming his hand into a fist and wrapping the end once against his bronze breastplate in the ancient salute.

 

The gesture was met with an intent stare. Behind the scout, two more phantoms melted away from the shadows of the canopy, weapons aimed squarely at the Legionnaires.

‘Name and rank, warrior,’ the scout barked, clearly taking no chances.

 

Theo tenderly placed his bolter on the ground and slowly removed his helm, drinking in the coolness of the damp air of the copse, and stood up. ‘I am Aquino, and hold the honourable rank of Brother, fifth company Stymphalids, scoutmaster.’ Theo respectfully nodded at the veteran for good measure and made the sign of the aquila. He looked back at Abednego.

 

‘Cruz,’ grunted Abednego, his bolter still trained at the scout.

 

The tension was stifling, and Theo affected a face of neutrality and forced himself to reduce his heart rates to a steady rhythm.

 

As if sensing the concerted effort Theo had willed into diffusing the situation, the scoutmaster waved his hand forward and the two phantoms lowered their weapons and stood at ease. Abednego too, lowered his bolter.

 

‘Brother Sergeant Geddon, currently of tenth company Emperor’s Blood. These are Squire Brothers Zlovin and Nascadene.’ The two scouts nodded. ‘We need to head back towards base,’ said Geddon. ‘You tripped our sensor array, and no doubt whatever theatrics you pulled in the township will mean the traitors will be amongst us soon, Aquino. We heard and saw the entire thing a mile off.’

 

Theo nodded. ‘Agreed. It was an unfortunate turn of events. Cruz was questioning one of their number and the entire square was rigged with explosive.’ The group began to move further into the copse, the members of Echo-Nine deliberately snapping twigs in their wake. ‘What is your force disposition, Brother Sergeant Geddon?’

 

‘Our main disposition is classified, Brother,’ Geddon emphasised the rank. ‘But we are six in the immediate vicinity. We were in the middle of performing a precautionary sweep after your firefight earlier and laying down some explosives to slow down the foe.’

 

The group shortly encountered another Astartes of the Emperor’s Blood as they entered a small clearing, and unlike his brothers, this one was in full battleplate, albeit slightly injured. The Legionnaires had noticed the scouts’ injuries and as a gesture of good faith, Abednego had produced an aerosol of counter-septic and began to treat the bicep wound of the scout named Zlovin.

 

‘We don’t have long to prepare,’ remarked Theo. ‘Cruz and I were planning to continue into Agrippa city to achieve our objective.’

 

Geddon acted as if he had not heard Theo. He turned back onto the Legionnaire. ‘Forgive me, brother, but I am unfamiliar with your heraldry and chapter. Who are you and what are you doing here?’ Geddon pointed at the black stylised swooping bird on Theo’s shoulderplate.

 

Theo raised his eyebrows in mild surprise. The scout named Nascadene interjected.

 

‘We have no record of the Stymphalids in the Astartes muster,’ explained the scout. ‘We are... not comfortable with being uninformed. Has the Ordos dispatched additional clandestine support?’

 

‘The details are classified,’ lied Theo quickly, ‘but I can tell you that we have a singular remit in this theatre. The Stymphalids are a fleet based chapter, although our strike team has been seconded to’ – Theo recalled the name – ‘Inquisitor Hiro Takanawa of the Ordo Malleus.’

 

‘And your progenitors?’ enquired Geddon.

 

‘Our proud cousins of the Raven Guard, and the Master of Flight Corvus Corax,’ called out Abednego, still bandaging Zlovin’s wound.

 

‘Trust the Ordos to omit vital information,’ said Nascadene.

 

Theo cut in. ‘We need to access Agrippa clandestinely to achieve our objective, Geddon. Our last scans indicated the force muster led by the Teutonic Brotherhood is compromised on the northern continents. Our own part is small, but instrumental. If we are to succeed, we need your help.’

 

Geddon regarded the Astartes in front of him, noting Theo’s noble bronzed face and closely cropped black hair. He nodded. ‘If the Emperor wills it, it will be done,’ replied Geddon. ‘But first, you can help us deal with what’s coming at us.’

 

Theo grimaced. ‘We will crush these traitors. For the Emperor.’

[Llagos_Tyrant]

Legion War

Sewer Network, Greater Agrippa Metropolitan Zone

 

Taking another step in the blood seeped sewers of the Agrippa Hive, Oden was greeted with a sickening squelch. Looking down, his enhanced vision saw the pale lumps of a cleaved torso, its limbs and head severed and lying several feet away. The light from Mortez' stalker bolter behind him light up the scene, and he glanced at the head, its face torn from the skull, before looking back up ahead of him. Dim beams of light peered through the grates above them, blood and oil dripping from the slick streets of the city. Gunfire overhead continued its rhythm as the whining shriek of artillery shells pummeled into the city. They had to keep moving down the tunnels, into the unending stretch of darkness that had enveloped them for the last few hours.

 

"We're moving too slowly." Mortez cautioned, his light fading in the distance of the pipe. "The guardsmen will evacuate before we can get off world, and then we're stuck here." He said into his vox, keeping it from the others. Oden turned to face him, his wolf pelt and chainmail cape flowing with his pivot. The War Smith looked at him and saw the drips of blood, washing his armour in gore and staining the silver trim of an age old penance. Several droplets splashed against his armour as Oden looked on, a stream of blood gathering at the tip of Mortez' shoulder knife and the end of his Corvus pattern helmet.

 

"The girl is slowing us down." Oden answered, thundering into the communications network as he glanced at the others. Drusus had slung his modified bolter across his back before their entry into the system and marched with his drawn pistol hanging at his side. Behind him, Malthus walked with the roll of the banner mounted on his backpack and Tyr urged the chained prisoner onwards, in keeping with their feverish pace. She heaved her legs with every step and slouched forward, panting through the gas mask they had pulled over her head for the march. At the back, Wulfric stood still with his arms raised and his head back, open mouthed to catch the drips of crimson falling into his mouth.

 

"Wulfric fall in, or fall behind." Oden boomed. The blood mad wolf slowly craned his head to meet the gaze of his master. With a snarl that exposed the growing outcrop of fangs in his mouth, the renegade marched on behind Tyr. Turning back to Mortez, Oden nodded and spoke into the vox on an open channel. "Farther ahead, the sewers descend into a reservoir." The pair continued their walk as the pool of blood and oil at their feet sloshed with every step. "We'll have to cross the surface there to reach the next sewer junction."

 

"The surface?" Malthus asked, stepping over the cleaved torso imprinted with Odens boot.

 

"Indeed, Brother." Tyr said, his growing impatience with the girl vented in his tone. "Or would you rather stay in this pit?" Tyr barked as he kicked the torso out of his way and pulled the chain wrapped round the girls hands. She fell forward into the soup of the sewer and gagged as she pushed herself upright, drenched in its mixture. Tyr moved beside her as she retched in disgust. "Vomit in your mask human, and you'll drown in your last meal - or suffocate in the fumes of the dead." He hissed.

 

She calmed herself before Oden continued his march, the ends of his pelt and mail staining crimson in the juices of the sewer. "On your feet." The Flesh Smith ordered as the party marched on in the darkness, Ariadnes sobbing announcing their procession.

 

It was some time before they reached the junction that Oden had spoke of. Emerging from the endless pipes into a wide cavern, its ceiling covered in glistening stalactites that dripped condensation into the vast pool of frothing waste and gore that had filled the massive basin within. It was easily a hundred feet across and none of them could guess just how deep it ran, being the first such pit they had come across in an hours walk. A small ledge ran around its edges and the Iron Warriors struggled to cross it, a ledge meant for a single human to walk over was near impassable for beings of their stature. When they had finally crossed it without incident, they found themselves looking up into an ascending tower, lined with a pair of ladders on opposite sides of the structure. Beginning the climb, Ariadne was shaded by the shifting forms of her captors in the beam of light from the surface above.

 

The climb was a long one, and Oden knew that they had to be careful with Ariadnes screams announcing their arrival on the surface. He would have to berate Tyr for his recklessness, hauling the prisoner up by the chains wrapped around her wrists. Reaching the surface grating with Mortez at his back, Oden called them to a halt as they listened for the slightest hint of treachery above them. It was a long while before Oden broke the silence on the vox.

 

"Mortez, on my go. Cover with your bolter." He ordered, moving a hand to grasp the grating in deliberate caution. Feeling, more than hearing, the gentle whine of his plasma pistol warming up on his wrist, Oden waited til it was at a full charge before he gave the order. "Go!"

 

Bursting from the sewer grate in a shower of sparks, Oden pushed the cover aside with ease before leaping up the hole. Landing like a tiger, Oden had his feet spread wide and his body low as he worked his wrist pistol around his surroundings. The War Smith found himself in the middle of a street, littered with bodies and the wreck of vehicles as Mortez popped up behind him and looked at the myriad of buildings and spires, built from the same sand stone that had made up the outskirts of the city. Lightning was darting from the sky, a mere pink tinge the only sign that they were charged by something more than natural.

 

"Clear." Mortez said, clambering up the ladder as Drusus rose behind the War Smith, his bolt pistol darting out before him as he glanced at the rising figure of his master. At his back, Malthus followed Mortez up to the surface.

 

"We need to move." Oden said. Tyr came up now, dragging Ariadne up behind him and out onto the cracked asphalt. The Iron Warrior laughed as he pulled her, and spun the chain round, tossing her across the ground and into the body of a cultist. Crawling away from the tattered corpse and collapsing in pain and exhaustion on the street, Tyr called out to her as Wulfric came up the ladder, his chain-axe falling from his back and into his hand as he drew his pistol in readiness.

 

"Be Silent!" he said. Oden brushed past Malthus as the wind caught his cape, blowing it behind him as he walked towards his second.

 

"Flesh Smith." Oden bellowed. The Apothecary had barely turned when the War Smith's first blow struck him in the face. Knocked back, Tyr brought up his hands to block as Oden darted around them, his cape fanning out behind him. Another blow caught Tyr in the face and another in the gut as his Lord flowed around him. Striking back with his fists, Oden caught his arm and spun him around, tossing him onto the floor. Dropping to one knee beside him, Oden unleashed another jab at Tyr, cracking his left eye lens.

 

"My Lord..." Tyr sputtered as Oden grabbed his arm and dragged him forward, dropping him so that the Flesh Smith was forced to support himself above the hole to the sewers, limbs outstretched across the tarmac he could reach. "Forgive me My Lord." He said.

 

Oden drew his sword, glowing like magma as it whined in anticipation, with a spin of the blade, the War Smith brought it up above his head to come down on his Lieutenant and held his pose. "You disappoint me Tyr. Would you so readily kill off my prize? Would you so willingly allow the enemy to find us?"

 

"My Lord-" Tyr started again.

 

"Enough!" Oden yelled, his leg shooting out from his stance and striking Tyr in his side as his grip on the edges of the road slipped, and he inched into the cavern. Oden slowly lowered his sword as his lieutenant coughed in agony, returning the blade to its sheathe as it shivered in faded anticipation. "You have held true to me thus far, Brother. For that, I shall forgive you - but remember this when you risk us all for your spite." Oden knelt beside the apothecary as his grip slipped above the chasm and he sagged another inch into death. "I believe that penance is in order." The Warsmith said, looking at the girl, feeling a smile work its way over her face as her hate was satisfied for the moment.

 

Oden wondered what punishment she might have had in mind. Then he saw the crimson armoured traitors rounding out of an alleyway past her and on the other side of the road. Kicking out the corpse of a loyalist guardsman from the alley, the warriors howled in delight as a pair of them ran over and hacked the body to pieces with their chainswords. Counting them now, Oden opened the vox. "Word Bearers, hundred meters right, coming out of the alley." Blood soared in the air like steam and Oden saw it drift into the sky, over the cratered traffic barrier dividing the sides, and up past the ramshackle light posts, torn down or damaged in the fighting for the city. He counted seven. Turning back to Tyr, he grabbed his wrist and pulled him over the manhole. Drusus had unslung his rifle by now and Mortez and Malthus were taking cover by the barrier. Wulfric snarled in anticipation as he crouched low and crawled along the wall.

 

"Kill them all!" Oden roared as he tore his sword from its sheath and wrenched it to the sky, the blade howling in the air. He counted them again as Drusus unleashed a bolt at one of them rounding the corner. That made 11 so far. Drusus' targets head erupted in a red mist as the warriors hacking the guardsmen turned sharply, alerted to new danger. Wulfric kept crawling along the wall, bounding up towards them unseen. Malthus unleashed with his bolter, catching one of the Bearers in the alley in the leg. The man crumpled and cried out in pain as the host reacted, firing at the Iron Warriors from their position. Most of their shots struck the traffic barrier and the few that didn't flew overhead. Mortez popped up from cover now, unleashing a trio of shots. One of his shots missed by a hairs breadth, blowing out a piece of shoulder guard as his other shots found their mark, striking one of the Bearers in the chest. The Astartes crumpled as bits of gore erupted from his body.

 

As the Warsmith counted again, Oden saw the squad leader. The Word Bearer was a hulking brute, towering a head above his brethren with rune carved flesh draped over his shoulder pads and around his waste. On his right knee pad, a leering daemonic face glared at the Warsmith, its nostrils flaring in green flames while its eyes burned with the malice of untold aeons. His face was obscured by his hood, a stitched fabric of flesh that ran down his back, still glistening moist in the dimming light of the days end. In his hand, a massive crozius arched wide, inflamed in an alternating pattern of coloured warp fire. Finally, Oden thought, an enemy worth slaying.

 

Walking forward with new found purpose, Oden leaped over the barricade as the Aspiring Champion reared towards him, urging his warriors onwards. A trio of marines with chainswords joined their advancing brothers as they headed for the Warsmith. The two running along the traffic barrier, having carved up their previous victim, never realized that Wulfric was crouched beside them as they passed him. Spinning up from the low wall, the Wolf emptied a trio of bolt pistol rounds into the back of the furthest Word Bearer while the other spun to face him. He was too late, as Wulfrics chainaxe swung across his mid section, spilling his guts onto the ground in front of him.

 

Mortez and Malthus kept up their fire as a resounding shot from Drusus threw one of the word bearers back against the wall of the alley, blood splattering behind him. The trio ducked low behind cover as Tyr rolled onto his side and drew his pistol, a Word Bearer raising his heavy bolter by the wreck of a chimera down the street. Ariadne crawled across the ground to her captors, eager for the safety they afforded her. The loud crackles whisked down the asphalt, tossing up large chunks of rock and dirt around the Warriors as they realized they were flanked. Spinning to pin their enemy, Malthus took a round in his chest and fell back.

 

"Grab him!" Oden heard Tyr yell as his Chosen fell back under fire with their captive, their bolters lacking effect under such a salvo. The three Word Bearers were on him now and the first swung high with his blade. Oden brought up his burning sword, Everburn to meet the blow and cut the chainsword in half. Bringing his weapon down and slashing out into the back of the legionnaire as he pulled him forward with his free hand, he heard the cry of agony and the clank of armour on asphalt as his blade cut through the body of the soldier, bisecting him. The next opponent was more prepared and revved his chainsword to meet the power weapon. Sidestepping over the rubble and cracked road, the Word Bearer was keen to wait for his comrade to join him in his duel, though Oden would have none of it. Jabbing forward and then recoiling as the Bearer blocked his strike, Oden swept his blade back into his opponents guard and drove forward, impaling his opponent on the end.

 

Watching with all the pleasure of his first kill, Oden saw the mans blood seep out of him in an otherworldly fashion. Everburn was burning the man from the inside out, torching his nerves and liquifying his innards to fuse with his blood in a burning, gushing miasma of unbearably hot reds, oranges and yellows as it seeped forward. Howling in pain, the warrior grasped the blade to push it out of his abdomen, but quickly regretted his decision. Oden wrenched the blade out as the steaming gauntlets of the warrior flailed in agony, the moisture of his flesh and body vaporized with but a touch. Looking up at his last opponent, Oden saw a warrior striking wildly with flowing strikes, one moving seamlessly into the next. He struck high then low and Oden was quick to dodge or to parry his opponents moves though he couldn't retaliate at first.

 

Looking past the swordsman he fought, Oden watched as Wulfric emptied his pistol into the Aspiring Champion, emptying his clip as the hammer slammed on empty. Snarling as the massive Astartes ignored their impact, Wulfric raised his chainaxe and charged, his first blow parried by the man as his warriors ignored the ongoing duel, moving to flank the remainder of Odens Chosen. There were just 5 of them there now, running into cover. Were it not for their heavy weapons tech, the fight would have already ended.

 

Seizing the moment as his opponent tired, Oden struck left low and then brought his sword up to strike right high, grasping it now in both hands. The crash of metal rang out as the Warsmiths sword ground against the revving chainsword of the word bearer above the heads. Striking with his leg, and shattering the knee cap of his opponent, Oden pushed down on his foes sword with all his strength, and dug his own weapon deep into the Word Bearers neck. Withdrawing it from the crumpled body, arterial spray coated the battered ground as Oden turned to face Wulfric and his opponent.

 

The Aspiring Champion was toying with him, battering his blows aside like the strikes of a child on a master duelist, Wulfric was growing weary and it showed. His strikes were sluggish now and rather than the mad lightning hacks and slashes that he had used at first, his chainaxe swept from side to side as if it were scything wheat, not striking out against an enemies Champion. It was no surprise when the Bearer gained the upper hand. It was no surprise when, in a single swing of his mace, a brutal design with eight blades at its end and wreathed in supernatural flame, he struck Wulfric and sent him flying across the road, blood spraying from his chest as he soared into the wreck of a burnt hab vehicle.

 

The Apostle watched his prey fly, and fall to the earth with satisfaction, chuckling in a cold, unearthly voice. "You should have brought me better prey, War Smith Oden." the Aspiring Champion said. Oden marched on, unphased by the growling voice of his enemy, a voice that echoed with the sound of the dead.

 

"You should have stayed on Sicarus." Oden said, his breathing unit thundering with every breath. The pair of them circled each other, one step over the other in a circle that spoke of their respective skills. Oden struck first with a feint, striking with his blade to the right. The Aspiring Champion followed his move. Striking with a feint to the left, the Apostle again followed.

 

"Come on, Old Man. I will not have you die of age in my moment of glory." The Apostle said. Oden hazarded a glance at his troops to see that they were returning fire, Malthus and Wulfric were still down, but he could see from his position that another Word Bearer was dead. He regretted the distraction as soon as he returned to the fight. Rolling to the side with barely a moment to spare, the Crozius swung past Odens head and into the wreck of a hab vehicle, smashing its blackened metal to splinters as Oden ducked round the other side. With another swing, the vehicle flew into the air and knocked Oden to the ground. Flying some ten feet back, the vehicle landed with a magnificent crash as the heavy bolter team stopped to reload.

 

Oden heard Drusus' rifle discharge like the crack of thunder as he saw the Apostle swinging again. Rolling out of reach, the Crozius smashed into the ground and kicked up a large mass of asphalt and dirt into the Apostles hood, though he moved unphased. Oden grunted as he rolled to his feet and readied his sword in one hand. The Aspiring Champion swung again, his mace coming around like the hammer of a god. The Warsmith ducked under the weapon and dove for the warriors legs as the Apostle spun. Slicing through his opponents thigh, Oden came to his feet with his back turned at his enemy. He could hear the massive warrior grunt as he pushed himself to his feet, blood trickling down one leg.

 

Turning back to face him, Oden raised Everburn to block the Crozius as it swung and caught the weapon with both hands on the swords hilt. The strength of his enemy was massive and he wondered-no, he couldn't worry about his Chosen. Not right now. Tilting his blade to the side, the Crozius slid into the ground in an instant and knocked Oden off his footing. The wide slash he had made to cleave his enemies neck went low, slicing through the damned Chaplains Shoulder and spewing blood like a fountain before the wound clotted within moments.

 

"Your reputation is well deserved, but I am the favoured of the Gods. You are an unbeliever. You will die for such heresy." The Apostle panted, slouched forward with two deep gashes in his armour.

 

"I have met the Gods favoured Sons, and you are neither of them." Oden said. "You are a fool and you will die for your lunacy." Oden raised his sword for the killing blow and met the raised Crozius with all his might. Unable to knock it from his opponents hands, the Warsmith swatted the weapon to the ground and then kicked the Apostle in the chest, sending him rolling back on his cracked armour. Spinning to the side and around his opponents wounded arm, Oden drove his sword into the second heart of the Word Bearer as he lay on his back. The warrior panted beneath him, the daemon head fading from reality on his knee plate as his hood fell back.

 

Exposed to the dim light, the Apostles face was a myriad of features and tones, covered in the scraps of his slain victims that had served to graft a layer of flesh over his own skin. In normal space, this might have been a grisly mask, but in the warp, it had fused to his own flesh, and the stitches holding his face together breathed and pulsed with his own body, shuddering at the loss of a heart. Beneath his skin, maggots and warp bugs festered and crawled, leaving wriggling lumps over his head and neck. Oden drove the blade deeper and saw the sharpened fangs of the Apostle, fine points like thin daggers as he opened his mouth in pain.

 

Twisting his blade as he prepared for the killing stroke, Oden moved his free hand over his opponents other heart and blasted his armour with a shot from his plasma pistol. Melting the armour away and fusing it to the stitched skin beneath, Oden dropped to one knee and drove his fist through the Word Bearers chest, tearing the Apostles primary heart through his gaping chest cavity. Wrenching his sword from the corpse, a pool of blood like magma gathering at its wounds, Oden rose to his full height and crushed the heart in his hand, the blood dripping down along his fingers. The War Smith tossed the mangled lump to the ground and looked back to his Chosen. The gunfire had stopped and the Word Bearers were dead.

 

Unless they could get off world, or find adequate medical supplies soon however, Malthus and Wulfric might soon join them.

[Olis]

Bodycount

 

The first thing Geddon and his compatriots knew of the enemy was a distant cry and the thunder of many feet. Over the hill, beyond the township, came a mass of humanity intent on finding out who had taken the town. While the cultists rushed headlong toward the settlement, outriders and various vehicles sped ahead, eager to take glory for their masters.

 

Having swarmed the habs and buildings inside the wall, many of the degraded and lost began to simply wander, looking for more interesting fare than a slaughterhouse and a crater. Mortain crouched with the two Stymphalids, watching the damned from the copse. All three had begun to advance on the traitorous wretches as soon as they had entered the town but they were bade to wait by Geddon. Through his scope, Geddon kept watch for more than just wastrels. His insistence to wait had grated on Mortain, that much he knew, but wait they must. The horde milled aimlessly as yet more of them arrived - twenty, thirty, fifty, a hundred of them. A party of unwashed PDF traitors headed toward the stream, not far from whence the squad had left to break into the township. Nothing to worry about. Yet. Geddon had Nascadene keep a weather eye on them.

 

Cresting the rise, behind the dirty mob came an APC - Chimera by the look of it. Daubed in the same eldritch runes and muddy paint the battle tanks had, this machine trundled over the fields and parked outside the town's gateway, caring not for whomever was briefly in the way. Out the rear of the Chimera jumped out a reasonably well kept band of men clad in carapace armour and weilding a motley collection of weaponry, some of it incongruously high-powered; here and there a chainsword, a melta, a plasma. One even lugged about a patched up needle rifle, clearly not knowing anything about trigger discipline. Once these bodymen had disembarked, out came the leader. A Word Bearer. His armour was covered in burning runes and he carried his boltgun and power axe as non-chalantly as his minions did. He was no Dark Apostle but a valued target, nonetheless.

 

Nascadene relayed news about the wayward group in a hushed whisper. The group had split up and were, by the looks of it, resting amongst the treeline. He believed, along with Thespian, he could eliminate the group without a problem. Geddon thought for a moment. It was best they didn't have any enemies in danger of flanking them. Geddon gave Nascadene the go ahead, on the proviso that they did not rush things. Nascadene looked like a scolded child but nodded affirmation anyway.

 

As he and Thespian melted away into the fields, a commotion occurred over by the gates. A heretic in a ripped tunic with no sleeves and a pointed hat shouted and gestured about himself as the Word Bearer stared at him. The man looked hysterical to Geddon but his comrades appeared to be unmoved. As Geddon wondered what the wiry scrote could be communicating about, the Word Bearer took his head from his shoulders with his axe. He hadn't even deigned to activate it. The traitor astartes roared through his helmet grille, the noise sounding like it should be formed into words rather than a bestial growl, spittle spewing from it. Holding the head of the decapitated minion, the crimson armoured beast swept his arm and made more noise. If Geddon didn't know better, the traitor had just ordered his lackeys to do a search of the countryside. This had to end soon.

 

Brother Aquino spoke up. "They are coming this way, Scoutmaster."

 

"Just wait. It is all ask, brother. Give me one minute." Drifting his sight toward the Word Bearer's head, Geddon moved his finger to the trigger.

 

He did not get one minute. Long before his time was up Mortain stood and sighted the heavy stubber like a rifle over the field of grain, centering the crude iron sight on a large gathering of heretics getting too close for comfort. In controlled bursts he sent heavy slugs whinnying at the nearest foes, ripping them to shreds with an accurate hail of death. Arms spun from bodies, legs became bloody stumps squirting arterial life-fluid and heads ruptured like over-ripe fruit. Almost immediately returning fire spat back from the beleaguered men splintering branches and chopping at the stalks of the forgotten harvest. One by one the militia dropped, tagged by Mortain's deadly fire, dwindling down to none at all. It was over in seconds. Echoes of the exchange rolled across the fields, not to be mistaken for anything else. Geddon seethed at Mortain's impatience. Had he been a scout in his squad there would have been severe consequences, but he was not. Geddon resolved to ensure Mortain served penance for this, even if it was merely enforced isolated reflection.

 

The Word Bearer, recognising the threat for what it was, pointed at the copse and roared wordlessly. At once the horde turned and ran toward the squad, nigh a hundred lackeys of the Dark Gods closing the distance to the trees. They didn't quite have the terrain to sprint, the grain getting in the way of their legs and so they ran in a loping gait, forcing their way through the once golden stalks.

 

There was no other choice but to take on the mob, Geddon knew that. Aquino and Cruz needed no permission to fire, unlike the scouts. Flanking Mortain, they stepped out from their hiding place and brought their bolters to bear. Left and right bodies dropped, their torsos a bloody ruin. Still the enemy ran on. Geddon plinked off shots at the command cadre carefully, still very aware of his knitting bone. A melta-gunner fell, clutching his spilling entrails. A chainswordsman dropped, his face missing. The Word Bearer himself taking a shot to his helm, ripping away a horn and some of the face plate. The revealed visage was nothing like Geddon had imagined; the pale, wasted flesh looking entirely human.

 

Mortain loosed off again from his position, squeezing the trigger for a moment before adjusting his aim and firing a burst at a different group. Across the battlefield the Chimeras turret turned ominously, the multilaser sighting the unmoving marine. A spear made of light beams spat out, reaching toward Mortain, like the jabbing finger of death himself. Geddon had no time to check, but he heard Mortain fall. The crash of his body in the undergrowth signalled to the brother-sergeant that the marine had met his match. Yet another mistake of his, this time punished. He should have kept mobile, like Aquino and Cruz. The two Stymphalids were moving amongst the fields, admirably keeping low even though they still stood taller than the grain in a crouch. More heretics fell as the astartes assaulted each cluster of men with fury that Geddon found impressive.

 

Alongside Geddon, Ardimmar sniped as best he could, whittling away the number of the enemy before they reached the copse. One shot from him took the scalp off the turret gunner of the Chimera, standing in the basket to spot enemies. A better shot took down an outrider, speeding through the fields at them, pitching him backwards from his offroad cycle. Soon the grubby, grey-shirted cultists would be too close for the rifle and then the arduous work of melee would be needed. Zlovin, crouched further over again from Geddon began to sight his bolt pistol now that he had the range for it. The first screaming idiot out of the field, rattling away indiscriminately with his autogun, took a round to the chest. His legs stopped working and he pitched forward face first into the ferns lining the field's boundry. The next man too went down, poleaxed. Over to the left more cultists dropped, allowing Geddon and Ardimmar opportunity to catch the enemies out to the left before they had chance to bear down on Zlovin.

 

Aquino and Cruz, out in the fields, engaged the command cadre with aplomb. The first to go down were the most dangerous - the plasma gunner and a chainswordsman were clubbed down in seconds. Aquino starting slaughtering the rest of the cadre as they threw themselves at him whilst Cruz sighted the needle-man and blew his head off. Turning to help his comrade, only Cruz's automatic reactions saved him. The Word Bearer swung his power axe at Cruz only for the bronze-clad astartes to fend off the blow with his bolter. The casing shattered and the axe sheared the front end clean off, rendering the bolter useless. But it kept him alive. With Aquino otherwise engaged, Cruz had to fend for himself.

 

Across the field a group of cultists had managed to get into melee with the scouts. Zlovin clearly was hampered by his badly wounded arm, holding it close where it could not be grabbed or caught. Every time he slapped away a strike with it the torn musculature screamed at him. His bolt pistol blew away another greyshirted cultist, her hands clutching her gaping side as she bled to death. Zlovin brought the pistol to bear again, hearing the tell-tale click of an empty chamber. He used it as a bludgeon instead, bringing the grip down onto the skull of an adversary sweeping his own weapon forward, crushing the bone and staving in his cranium.

 

Ardimmar and Geddon fought back to back, lashing out with their blades and executing those foolish enough to hesitate. The foe here seemed less inclined to close in to attack them but, whether they liked it or not, they had to. A las round spanked off of Ardimmar's shoulder pad as another heretic tried his luck, receiving a wicked blood-smile across his neck for his trouble. Seconds passed until Geddon knew the enemy was tired of this, three of them bringing up their rifles to fire. One opened fire briefly, his fellows falling to the ground with the back of their heads missing. He joined them shortly but not before getting off a burst at the scouts. Several shots were soaked up by the protective carapace but that didn't stop the injuries from the other shots. One shot had skimmed Geddon's scalp, adding a new furrow to the network of scars he displayed. Another punched into his foot, destroying three of his smaller toes. Yet another caught Ardimmar in the side, cleanly passing from front to back, thankfully missing his vitals. The last ripped off Ardimmar's cheek, exposing his teeth and gums. From behind the trees to the left, Nascadene and Thespian appeared, bolt pistols in two-handed grips. They seemed none the worse for wear but they were covered in blood. It seemed there was plenty of knife-work to be had where they had gone.

 

With Cruz dodging and deflecting the power axe swung his way, Aquino faced down the final cadre member - a short, bald man with a respirator weilding an industrial melta-torch. Every time Aquino lunged forward the torch-man brought his weapon around, careful to keep the astartes away. His undoing was trying to attack Aquino, jabbing at the superhuman wildly, scorching and melting the breast plate a little in places. Aquino grabbed the haft of the torch and brought the man right up to him. For a comical moment, still clutching the torch, the traitor gazed upward at the helm of Aquino, who stared back. Without a word Aquino let go of the tool-cum-weapon and brought up his boot. The flat-soled kick sent the man tumbling away through the blackened grain with a crunch, mashing the chest of the unfortunate and killing him through sheer leg power. Turning to see Cruz, Aquino found him grappling with the Word Bearer, an embrace that would likely see one of them dead, should either lose. Picking up the nearby melta-torch, Aquino approached the crimson clad traitor and fired, careful not to catch his brother in the blast. The Word Bearer wilted, melting and combusting as the melta blast consumed him. Left to his own devices, Cruz stamped on the heretic's head for good measure, hearing a satisfying crunch as he squashed the exposed skull.

 

The scouts moved to find Zlovin, putting down the heretics coming at them with ease. Geddon raised his hand to halt them as a figure blundered out of the shadows. The blood on his face masked who it was, but the red soaked grey-shirt did not. A swift knife through his heart ended him. Beyond the cultist lay Zlovin, punctured and bleeding from dozens of wounds. He weakly rolled his head to look at his brother-sergeant, his eyelids half closed. An attempt to speak only resulted in a welling of blood from his mouth, the ensuing gurgle tailing off. Geddon watched his charge's eyes turn glassy with a scowl. He should have kept the wounded scout between him and Ardimmar. He would reflect on this later - now was not the time. To Zlovin's credit he was surrounded by the bodies of traitors and his weapon was empty. A warrior's death. Dorn himself would be proud.

 

"Ardimmar." Geddon rumbled.

 

"Aye?" Was all the scout could manage through his ruined face.

 

"Patch yourself up and then see about Zlovin."

 

"Aye." The blood from Ardimmar's wound had soaked down into his bodyglove, changing it from a matt black to a sticky, shiny black-brown.

 

"Nascadene, stay. Keep watch. You are responsible for your brother here until he is done. Thespian, come with me."

 

They found Mortain, led in the field, unconscious. A great rent in his helm belied where he had been struck, the skin and his hair mostly scorched away, revealing the bone beneath. The helmet itself was wrecked, no longer capable of protecting anything, let alone a head. With the damage it had sustained in the crash and the damage taken from the multi-laser, a great crack had split the front of the head-piece, making it useless.

 

The Chimera. Geddon swept around his scope as he crouched, finding the vehicle now burning, giving off a bellowing, acrid smoke with his reticule. There was another astartes in the lee of it, emerging from the hatch. Geddon did not wait to confirm his target and fired, punching into the breastplate of the astartes, visibly damaging the armour. Staggered, the warrior dropped to one knee. The vox piped up - it was Aquino.

 

"Hold your fire! That is our brother there!" He implored. Geddon checked his fire, bringing his scope into better focus. Bronze armour. That did not bode well. Today was not as good a day as it should have been. Geddon looked to the sky and shook his head. He knew better than that, he knew better than to take a shot without confirmation. Penance would have to be served.

 

"Acknowledged, Aquino. Holding fire." Geddon shouldered his sniper rifle and kicked Mortain. The sooner he awoke, the better, he thought. The marine stirred, awaking to the sight of a brother-sergeant scowling down at him. Geddon clicked his vox again. "We are going back to the treeline for a moment, Aquino. We shall meet you at the APC, acknowledged?" A moment passed.

 

"Acknowledged. Aquino out." Thespian looked uneasily at his sergeant, aware that he was likely to be in a dour mood given the death of Zlovin, Mortain's impatience and the friendly fire. The crackle of nearby fires and the wind-whipped smoke signalled yet more grain burning, set ablaze by the firefight.

 

Geddon looked at Mortain once more in disgust and turned for the trees. Zlovin would be honoured the old way, the way every other dead warrior had been since time immemorial. The veteran looked at Thespian, "Mark this position. When our operation is over we shall return and reclaim Zlovin. He deserves the proper rites at the fortress monastery."

 

The scout's body rested in a shallow grave, with his hands laying on the rifle resting on his chest. The others looked down upon him, far from peaceful in repose. Once covered, the only thing belying the dead novitiate was a mound of dirt. His useful equipment was shared between the squad, Mortain accepting the bolt pistol Thespian gave him. Geddon moved off, his pace giving away his injured foot. Commanding the remaining four to follow, Geddon had little patience for sentiment. Time was wasting.

[Llagos_Tyrant]

The Dire Wolf

 

Slums, Greater Agrippa Metropolitan Zone

 

Oden tossed the limp body of Wulfric into the brick wall at the end of the alley, dust fanning out as the wolf grunted in the impact. The young pup had outdone himself, again. Wulfrics head slumped to the side as he drew slow, shallow breathes, wheezing through a collapsed lung. His chest plate was shattered and splintered into his body, the black carapace of his body, oozing a thick red blood that refused to clot. Blood trickled down his mouth as his hand fell to the side with a clatter, dropping his chain axe. Oden turned from him to the others.

 

Tyr was pulling in Malthus on the left wall, covering his bloodied shoulder in skin grafts to cover the wound. With his other hand, Malthus tossed away his shattered pauldron, yelling in anger as it clattered across the ground. Ariadne stood still with sunken, bloodshot eyes and cracked lips as she crouched in the shadow of Mortez, kneeling across from Malthus and his saviour.

 

"You'll be fine." Tyr reassured him.

 

"Of course I'll be bloody fine!" Malthus roared. "But now I have to scavenge another pauldron! Like a dog!" He said, glancing over at the still Wulfric. Tyr didn't move as Mortez looked out into the street, watching Drusus as he scanned the sandstone towers and apartments. As they had traveled through the ruined cityscape, following their informants precise directions, they had not counted on wandering through the cult steeped ruins of the Agrippan slums. If Oden hadn't known better, he might wonder if Alpharius was trying to kill him. Drusus raised his scoped bolter momentarily before firing off a round, the shot echoing through the empty street. There was a brief moment of silence as all ears listened for the sound of the body boring into the city street below. It was distant, but certainly audible. Mortez looked back down to Ariadne as Oden watched his men, the kneeling giant feeling her eyes on his shoulder mounted dagger. Without a word, the Iron Warrior raised his finger and shook it side to side.

 

"Tyr, check on Wulfric. Malthus, cover the other street." Oden boomed through his breath mask.

 

"What's to check on?" the medic asked, standing to full height and gesturing to the pale dog with his hand. "The pup is dead. Leave him."

 

"Tyr, I asked you to check on him." Oden said, lowering his voice as he glared at his second. The medic paused momentarily before bowing his head in agreement and stepping past his master. The Warsmith walked on to the edge of the street as he heard Tyr pulling fragments of ceramite out of Wulfrics shattered body. The wind whipped down the battered asphalt, kicking up a hail of sand and rock fragments from the scarred road.

 

"Drusus? Did we lose them?"He asked, peering into the dark windows of the buildings in the street.

 

"So far as I can tell, my Lord, they are gone for now." Drusus said, nodding in affirmation and lowering his rifle.

 

"Good, stay alert." Oden said, glancing down at the clotted wound of Malthus shoulder. "Tyr, why does Wulfrics blood not clot like it should?' he called out.

 

"I can't say my Lord. A daemon weapon perhaps?" The medic said, glancing up from his blood soaked hands as he piled the broken armour in a mound beside Wulfric.

 

"That was no Apostle, Tyr. Even you saw that, dangling above death. Mortez?" Oden asked.

 

"A damned crozius my Lord. It must have cursed Wulfric when it struck him." The warrior reasoned, glancing over at his broken brother.

 

"That it did, Mortez. That it did." Oden trailed off. He breathed deeply as he craned his head back to look at the sky. The sun was going down now, and a great plume of black smoke from the city outskirts had only made the city darker. "It will be night soon." He whispered. Beyond the clouds and the smoke, the War Smith could see the faintest whisper of turquoise and pink warp streams passing through the atmosphere. Had this been another world, he would have passed it off as an abnormal aurora but the powers of the warp were cunning and with their taint in the air, they would rule the night in this city.

 

"We can't stay here." Came a meek voice behind Tullaris. The War Smith lowered his plumed helm and listened for the next words of hoarse speech. "They come at night." Ariadne whispered, kneeling in the sand beside Mortez. The Iron Warriors had all turned to look at her by now. It had been a long time since a human had spoken without their consent, and it was even longer since they might be berated for flaying said human for its impotence. Oden turned his head slightly to the side, listening as she continued. "They soar in the sky, impossible to see." She managed, swallowing hard and fighting for her breath as she spoke. "We can't be outside when they come." The War Smith turned to look at her, finally, his cloak spinning with his body.

 

"Furies." Malthus grunted, looking back out at the street before him. "The Gods hate us."

 

"And we hate them in turn." Oden boomed, arching his head as an unfamiliar scent caught his nose. Breathing in deeply, Oden followed the direction of the smell down the street. Incense and ritual herbs, smeared with the odour of sweat and rotting flesh was drifting through the city. The Word Bearers were nearing the climax of their summonings, and Agrippa would be lost to the Warp. Wulfric gurgled and spat a clump of blood own the alley as Oden turned to look at him, a stream of blood flowing steadily down from his body.

 

"Drusus, find me the conjurors. Khorne favours us today." he said, his eyes bursting a deeper flame as he finished.

[King Willy]

His will from the Dark

 

It was glorious battle in Mafezs eyes, the slice of his blade as it cleaved a shining arcs through the traitors, his blade cutting sublimely through a traitor, bisecting him from head to groin, Mafez ducked and spun as the larger muscular form of his captain brought his mace crashing through a traitors head who was attempting to attack Mafez from behind. Mafez brough his bolter up in one quick movement snapping two quick shots one handed at a Word Bearer trying to attack the Hunter-Captain with a blood-stained chainsword.

 

It was a show of supreme skill, almost 1500 years of battle experience forcuse into a small area only a few steps wide. Quick strikes from Mafezs blade disarming or maiming while Vorshnik smashed the stunned foe with great arcs of his blazing power mace. Mafez and Vorshnik standing back to back as they fired there bolters at the enclosing ring.

 

"Push them from this ground, Never Rest!" Vorshnik roared over the vox as the Razorback turrets turned quickly to blanket the area in heavy bolter fire, "Free there souls" he added quietly as he watched the last of the attacking squad fall, armor shredded by the massive bolts.

 

"Mafez gather the men" Vorshnik ordered, his tone somber and reverent, his hand rising into the air, a signal for the thunderhawk to fire, the large gunship turning slowly as it's powerful thrusters moved into position to supress the massive recoild of it's main gun, which dipped slowly to point into the roiling mist which had now dissappated enough to make out the shadows of retreating Chaos Space Marines.

 

The gathered squads lined up, 35 marines standing shoulder to shoulder, bolters hanging loosely in there hands, "Purge the Traitors" Mafez said.

 

The line erupted with a roar, Bolt tracers leaping into the mist, twisting holes forming into vast screaming faces that clawed at reality, behind them was the telltale mist of bolter rounds munching through flesh, the sound of the dying drowned out by the chorus of bolters.

The Razorbacks covered the flanks, though the drivers now looked through the top hatches to admire the work of there brothers, silently smiling and commending there brothers.

The thunderhawk hovered above, it's cannon trained and waiting for the signal, which came as a single bolt tracer fired high into the air.

The cannon dipped slowly, with an eruption like a giants roar the thunderhawk cannon fired, the mist leaping away from the streaking projectile before the impact shredded the misty veil.

 

Silence fell across the field as each brother watched the explosion grow, the blast wave washing over there lines as the mist parted and a growing ball of reds, yellows and blacks burned the triators, the marshland bubbling as the heat spread through it.

 

The mist rolled back faster now, retreating as the Chaos Space Marines had being doing moments before.

[Olis]

Shadows in Flight

 

Walking back through the field, Geddon brushed aside the withered stalks masking the dead. He needed to be sure of no surprises, even though every kill made on the field was as thorough as it could be. Astartes weaponry was devastating for a reason. A breeze fluttered through the fields, swaying the unburned vegetation. With the sky now overcast, the battlefield took on an eerie hue, looking for all it was - a place of death.

 

Surrounded by bodies was the unmistakeable form of the dead Legionnaire, his tell-tale crimson battle plate marking him out amongst the other slain. Blackened and crumpled, red armour melted beyond any usable state, the body of the Word Bearer lay sideways, atop the remains of a mortal's body. Geddon regarded the traitor briefly, noting the burnt apostate parchments and the dessicated head attached to the belt, before moving onward toward the trio of Stymphalids.

 

Behind Geddon trailed the scouts and, conveniently bringing up the rear, Mortain. It was clear Mortain was keeping his distance from the brother-sergeant, considering his transgressions. There was the possibility he was directly responsible for Zlovin's death, although it was unlikely. What Mortain knew, though, was that he had bought them time. If it wasn't for him, the scouts could be all dead. And yet they weren't. The pilot realised Geddon may never forgive him, but that was the price he was prepared to pay.

 

In the middle of the group Ardimmar scratched at his wound, his ruined cheek unlikely to heal fully. The syn-skin covering the hole in his face stood out, the rubberized formula a different tone to his real skin. Out of the corner of his eye the squire-brother caught a shape in the sky. An unnatural, man-made shape that his instinct immediately told him to duck from. In the split-second between him, and the others, ducking and seeing the flyer he believed it to be one of the interceptors, back to menace them again from the airfield beyond the forests. As he took sight of the object a feeling of utter relief filled his hearts. It was a Thunderhawk, blunt nosed fury and armoured death taken flight.

 

Geddon arose to the sight. The black and maroon beast swept low, preparing to land, the engines shaking his diaphragm as Geddon spied the name-plate. Chariot of Dorn. One of the oldest in the fleet. Which meant the Brother-Captain was aboard. As if summoned by the mere thought, the vox awoke with the voice of Captain Liscatus.

 

++Brother Geddon, can you hear me?++ Came the crackled, static-laden message. Geddon looked to the Stymphalids as he listened.

 

++Aye, I am reading you, Brother-Captain.++ The bronze astartes checked over their wounded comrade, who had disengaged his helmet. His gorget as well as his breastplate appeared to be damaged.

 

++Board the Chariot, Sergeant, I have no time to indulge questions.++ Cruz was warily watching the 'Hawk, his eyes following the ramp as it lowered. He indicated the flyer with his thumb, silently questioning the transport. Aquino jerked his head, encouraging Cruz and the other astartes to approach. They stopped when the port-side heavy bolter drew a bead on them, the servitor tracking the unknown warriors. Geddon watched the trio stand defiant of the heavy weapon.

 

++We have allies in the vicinity. Permission to allow embarkation?++

 

++Granted, Sergeant. Any infraction will be your responsibility.++ The heavy bolter tracked away again, the Stymphalids approached the ramp unhindered.

 

The scouts embarked, followed by Cruz, Aquino and their third man. Geddon watched Mortain as he covered them, disdain writ upon his face. Briefly Mortain met his gaze. It was then Mortain knew for sure Geddon would not forgive him. So be it.

 

The last to walk up the ramp was Geddon himself. Looking back toward the copse he thought about the shot that never happened. There was little to remember this place by, except as the resting place for Zlovin. And they would return for him.

 

In the cargo bay sat twenty of Geddon's brothers, clad in their traditional black power armour. The Captain, resplendant in his ornate Maximus plate and cape, stalked the length of the vessel coming from the cockpit. His cape billowed behind him as the ramp closed after Geddon, other members of the fourth watching the scout sergeant. Of course, inside the Chariot rested Liscatus' squad but another marine sat with them. Nodding his respect from his seat was Brother Tetra, Chapter Champion.

 

The Captain keyed his vox.

 

"We will be heading directly to Agrippa Hive, under instruction of the Ordo Malleus. We are to expect heavy resistance from the traitor forces there, including possible Titan engagement. Our target is the traitor Koresh, known to be a Dark Apostle. The Ordo believes he is somewhere in the Greater Agrippa Metropolitan Zone. Needless to say he is a priority, brothers. Seek and kill." Liscatus paused. "We shall be the vanguard, backed by our venerable ancients Bede and Erixin, and our armoured assets, we shall cut into the Hive and excise this menace to the Imperium." Again a pause. "Brother Garren, get us there in one piece."

 

++As you wish, Captain.++ Came the amused reply.

 

As the Thunderhawk banked, aiming for Agrippa Hive, there was the unmistakeable flash of orbital fire. One strike. One flash. Directed into the urban expanse they flew toward. It would not be long before they flew through the shockwave.

[Nineswords]

Insertion

 

Over the Western Agrippa Hab-zones, continuous

 

A BLINDING FLASH scorched the enhanced retinas of Linus Theo, followed by an intense lateral force which made the acting sergeant lurch almost comically in the hold space of the shaking Thunderhawk as the Legionnaire's mag-clamped boots compensated for the sudden change of gravity. The force wave passed quickly, and Theo began to return naturally to a standing position.

 

As his vision began to clear, helped by his helm’s photo-reactive lenses, Theo turned his head to the left as he realised he was being addressed.

 

‘Well?’, the irritation in the voxed question was transparent.

 

‘Well what?’ replied Theo. Before his questioner could form a retort, Theo had cut him off, if only to deflect the attention away from the fact that the Legionnaire hadn’t listened to a word that was said before the shock wave hit the transport. ‘Let us recap Scoutmaster. Despite your precautions, that last firefight did not end well for your men, compounded by the stupidity of accidentally shooting Brother Escal.’

 

Legionnaire Ozias Abendnego looked sharply at him, and Theo suddenly became acutely aware of his mistake. Not the tone of an battle brother addressing a superior officer in front of his captain. The ravine of scars across Sergeant Cthastus Geddon’s face rippled as he registered the insult. The Emperor’s Blood captain turned towards the pair, as did entire cohort.

 

‘I would have you flogg–’ started sergeant angrily.

 

Time for another gambit.

 

‘No, Geddon,’ replied Theo, his voice assertive. ‘Although the Emperor’s Blood has initiated this air strike and mass deployment into the city; as a representative of the holy Ordos in this theatre, and taking into consideration the singular remit of our presence on Habron Secundus, I think not.’

 

Taking advantage of the sheer audacity of the deception, Theo quickly opened a small hatch on his right vambrace and tapped in a pulsed code into the rubber stud. Momentarily, the hololithic form of a stylised “I” of the Ordo Malleus began to rotate out of a small projection unit built into the vambrace. It wasn’t the real thing, but it would pass all but the most stringent inspection. No one spoke, and the tension hung in the air, and even the Thunderhawk’s background hum seemed to dim as the confrontation unfolded. The silence was broken by Captain Liscatus of the Emperor’s Blood.

 

‘Explain what this is Brother-Sergeant, and do it quickly,’ said the captain. Theo snapped the vambrace plate shut, and chose to say nothing. Geddon phrased his reply carefully.

 

‘Brother Aquino and his companions came upon us just outside of Kurshan shortly before we were attacked by the enemy. As he just pointed out, they have been despatched on a singular mission under the authority of Inquisitor Takanawa – the details have not been divulged.’ The captain turned toward Theo. The Legionnaire nodded in approval at Geddon’s economic appraisal.

 

‘I apologise for speaking out of turn to Scoutmaster Geddon,’ began Theo, attempting to diffuse the situation. He switched to a private vox-link and addressed the captain directly. ‘I would request your security clearance, Captain Licastus.’ The captain stared at Theo momentarily, before finally thumbed a small control stud, and a security protocol flashed in Theo’s helm display.

 

The Alpha Legion had a reputation for secrecy and misinformation; however, sometimes the honest truth had an quality all of its own. This was one of those moments.

 

Theo began to recite the well rehearsed cover story. ‘The Stymphalids’ deployment in this theatre is part of a covert operation involving several kill teams, assisting the Ordos in hunting the renegade known as Oden Tullaris of the Iron Warriors Legion. Our orders are to eliminate the traitor with extreme prejudice. Such is the gravity of the situation, the kill teams consist entirely of our chapter’s First Company, who are currently spread throughout the system. The team consisting of myself, Cruz and Escal have come the closest to finding Tullaris, who we are reasonably sure is active in Agrippa,’ Theo explained.

 

The captain did not reply for a moment, as he considered the new intelligence.

 

‘The Iron Warriors’ presence concerns me,’ he said, simply.

 

‘As it does us,’ replied Theo, relieved by the captain’s acceptance of Theo’s version of events. The vox-link clicked, indicating someone else was listening in. ‘Captain Cruz, I have appraised the commander of our mission parameters.’ Embellishing the truth was a detail that made it more credible.

 

The captain of the Emperor’s Blood looked across the hold space at the kneeling bronze Astarte attending his companion.

 

‘Brother-Captain Liscatus,’ began Abednego, ‘We apologise for our clandestine conduct. Kurshan blew our cover and we’re improvising. No one was supposed to know about our presence. What Brother Aquino has just told you is what he’s allowed to tell you given your security clearance. However, I cannot emphasise enough how important it is that we carry with our mission,’ he concluded.

 

‘Acknowledged,’ replied the Liscatus. ‘How can the Emperor’s Blood assist in this matter?’

 

Abednego stood up and pointed at Geddon, who had been intently watching the private exchange, despite not hearing the conversation.

 

‘Scoutmaster Geddon and his scouts would be of greater use to us, than they would be in your mass deployment. We harbour no hard feelings, the Scoutmaster made a simple error in the heat of battle, such is the nature of war. A stray sliver of Escal’s armour has penetrated through the helmet joint and torn his vocal chords, but he is not severely combat compromised,’ said Abednego with a conciliatory tone.

 

On cue, Legionnaire Mos Zebulon signed an ‘O’ at Theo. Abednego continued, switching to main vox-channel. ‘Scoutmaster Geddon. If you hold your oath of service to the Emperor dear, then you and your men will be a most welcome addition to our mission. We have informed the Captain Liscatus of the details.’

 

The captain turned to Geddon. ‘Cthastus, I think you owe it to our brothers to see them through. Leave Mortain with us.’ There was a finality in the commanders voice that brooked no argument. Theo noticed that the commander had switched to private vox-link as he addressed his sergeant again. Zebulon had also stood and the Legionnaire was moving towards the captain with laboured breath.

 

Zebulon looked at Abednego, who began to speak on his behalf. ‘According to our calculations, if we diverted from this approach vector for two minutes and thirty three seconds, we can enter the city’s sewer network and continue on foot. Sergeant Escal will furnish your pilot with coordinates,’ said Abednego.

 

The pilot, Garren, had overheard the exchange, and without even looking at the assembled party, replied curtly. ‘Brother-Captain, I can have us back on the main approach vector in under five minutes if we perform a low surface sweep.’

 

The captain nodded, and turned to Abednego. ‘May you strike bold and true then, Captain Cruz. The Emperor’s Blood will not let you down.’

 

Abednego thumped his fist once against his chest plate in salute, and offered his hand to the captain. Liscatus clasped the Abednego’s wrist in solidarity.

 

‘Brother Garren, take us off course. Running disembark.’

 

+++

 

BROTHER GARREN SLOWED the Chariot of Dorn on a low approach vector towards the coordinates that Zebulon had shared with the pilot. The hatch had opened, allowing the seven-strong party to engage in a disembarkation even as the Thunderhawk moved. It was a substantially riskier means of deployment, but not one that any Astartes was unfamiliar with. Even as the last trooper, the scout called Nascadene, had successfully made the several foot drop from the edge of the hatch to the surface level, the Chariot of Dorn had engaged its main thrust drive and had made its hasty exit back to the approach vector of the main strikeforce.

 

The assembled kill squad now consisted of the three disguised Alpha Legionnaires Theo, Abednego, and the now silent Zebulon; bolstered by the Squire-Brothers of the Emperor’s Blood that included Nascadene, Ardimmar and Thespian, led by the Brother-Sergeant, Geddon.

 

Almost immediately, the members of Echo-Nine spread out in a standard tactical dispersal pattern, with the four Imperial scouts ranging ahead in their black and red armour, grey camo-cloaks billowing slightly in the wind, attempting to gain entry into Agrippa city’s complex sewer network.

 

–+ He was here, no more than a day ago, according to the psyk-trace of our tracker. +–, pulsed Zebulon to his fellow Legionnaires.

 

Theo acknowledged the communication with a nod, and continued to move northward towards Agrippa’s centre, following the tracking locators of the scouts.

 

This part of the city was a desolate ruin, clouded by a pervasive grey ash that refused to settle from the orbital lance strike. The march continued for a number of minutes in silence, before Theo’s vox-link crackled into life.

 

‘We’ve found it,’ said Geddon, his voice slightly muffled due to the rebreather attached to his face to mitigate the cloying ash.

 

By the time the Alpha Legionnaires had caught up with the scouting party, their bronze armour had been coated with ash, likening the Astartes to moving stone statues. The scouts had been hauling pieces of rubble, exposing a damaged culvert which marked the entry point into the sewer system that was large enough to comfortably accommodate the large frame of Echo-Nine in full operational plate.

 

Taking point, Abednego had signalled the rest of the party to follow his lead as they entered, the light receding as they moved silently further into the vast sewage network. Trans-human eyesight and helm sensors compensated immediately for the loss in light, and the party moved quickly with no appreciable loss in visibility. Zebulon and Theo had taken the rear, casually sweeping around with their bolters.

 

As they moved deeper into the sewer network, the level of effluent and water had begun to rise to knee-high level, rendering the grey ash into a thick sticky paste. Above, Theo registered the faint rumble of conflict as the Emperor’s Blood had finally initiated its ground operation against the Word Bearers.

 

–+ Left at the next junction, and bear a North-North-West heading for two clicks.+–, instructed Zebulon. The party turned and changed direction.

 

‘Scoutmaster,’ voxed Abednego. ‘Have your men roam ahead towards the junction indicated Alpha-Two-One-Zero-Zero-Eight-Zero on the auspex. Brother Escal’s modified sensor readouts have picked up traces of off-world trace compounds.’

 

‘Acknowledged, Captain Cruz,’ replied Geddon. In the gloom, Theo registered the Brother-Sergeant’s hand signals to his squad to range forward in pairs.

 

Presently and without incident, the party reached junction Alpha-Two-One-Zero-Zero-Eight-Zero; which was a confluence of many pipes that spilled into a wide cavern basin, its ceiling encrusted in stalactite formations, a result of the strange ecosystem that existed in the darkness of Agrippa’s waste system. Across the cavern, Theo had noted the scouts nimbly negotiating a small ledge that ran around the perimeter, heading towards an ascending structure flanked by maintenance ladders.

 

‘Junction clear,’ voxed Thespian. ‘Your quarry has certainly passed this way, there a number of striations on the ladder rungs that indicate something with significant weight has ascended onto the surface level.’

 

Once the members of Echo-Nine had carefully negotiated the ledge, the assembled party began to ascend the ladders in pairs, with Theo taking the rear guard on his own. The climb was tediously long, and spent in silence, with only Zebulon’s laboured breathing for company. Theo was impressed with the scouts’ noise discipline, no doubt a product of Geddon’s approach to training. By the time Theo had reached the surface, the scouts had gathered around the manhole cover, kneeling down to present a smaller target. The dust had begun to settle.

 

–+ Nothing beyond this point. +–, pulsed Zebulon.

 

‘Anything, Scoutmaster?’ voxed Theo.

 

Geddon had moved ahead from the party, in an attempt to pick up any trail that hadn’t been covered by the grey ash.

 

‘Negative. No, wait. Hold,’ replied Geddon. Thespian and Ardimmar had also begun to head off towards Geddon’s position that led into a large alleyway. The members of Echo-Nine didn’t have to wait long, and Geddon waved them over to inspect what he had discovered.

 

In the ash gloom, a dozen human bodies had been strewn across the street, mutilated by massive traumas that could only be the result of bolt fire. Near the bodies however, was far more interesting; the broken body of a Word Bearer’s Astarte covered in ash, rendering the once crimson armour a dull grey.

 

How ironic, thought Theo, as he inspected the misaligned bulk of the warrior. Just as the party was about to move on, Geddon raised a hand.

 

Two words came over the vox.

 

‘Multiple contacts.’

[Llagos_Tyrant]

+++ Reserved Post +++

[Dominicus]

IIn the Victorius, above Habron Primaris

“My lord, scans of the area and sending back signals,” the adept manning the scanning station on the bridge called out. Third Captain Maximius Aurius turned on his heel from the viewport and strode quickly towards the adept.

“Show me,” the towering Astartes commanded.

 

The adept brought up a screen, which showed a live feed of the battle being fiercely waged between the Emperor’s Blood scouts and the Chaos Astartes. But there was something wrong about the image…

“Adept, who are those three there?” Aurius demanded. The adept swallowed and wiped a drop of sweat from his brow before replying.

“Return signals indicate unknown origin, given our security clearance; however, they seem to be friendlies, my lord,” the adept said, trying to steel his voice.

“I came to that assumption myself,” Aurius muttered, before turning away from the station again.

 

He walked across the bridge towards Seratius, the Company Champion. He was clad in the traditional Iron Brotherhood colours, his Mark VI power armour adorned with purity seals and devotional texts. At his right hip, an ornate bolt pistol rested, while a large axe was slung on his left, engraved with the words “Victoria In Mors”. Aurius stopped a few feet away from Seratius and lowered his head, deep in thought.

 

“What do you think, brother?” Aurius asked the Champion. The reverent warrior rarely spoke off of the battlefield, except to offer words of wisdom, or unless he and Aurius were in private. He was Aurius’ confidant, his closest friend since his adoption into the Brotherhood.

 

The champion stood silent for a moment, his helm hiding his emotions.

“I believe that those are our brothers down there, and that we are obliged to help them,” he stated quietly, his eyes staring directly at Aurius. The captain nodded his agreement.

 

“But what about the settlements in the northern regions? The orks have made a play in the chaos of the war; they’ve left their mountain hideouts and now pillages the human towns in the northern continent,” Aurius pointed out, the pain of this decision etched on his face. He had never backed away from the opportunity to save a human life, but now, faced with such a decision…

 

“Our brothers must come before them, Maximius,” Seratius muttered. Only he would be able to address the captain by his first name and not suffer punishment.

 

Aurius sighed, knowing that his friend spoke the truth. He placed an armoured hand on Seratius’ shoulder.

“Will you go to war with me, brother?” he asked him, knowing the answer as he spoke the words.

 

Seratius reached up and released the clamps on his helm, lifting it off and revealing a noble, patrician face.

“Always, brother,” he said, a slight smile cracking his ever-serious visage. Maximius smiled, and pivoted on his heel towards the command throne.

 

He grabbed his ornate lion’s helm from the throne, slamming it on and engaging the clamp in one fluid motion. He turned back to regard Seratius, who had his helmet back on and was standing at attention, ready for orders.

“Prepare the squad. Ensure the Chaplain has them observe the proper rites and blessings. We are dropping into a war zone in ten minutes, drop bay 4,” Aurius ordered, running through the standard system checks of his Terminator armour.

 

“Yes, Captain,” Seratius said, his fist slamming to his chest in salute before he turned and walked from the bridge, the doors hissing open as he began relaying orders.

 

Aurius turned back to the viewport, which was now showing the battle being waged between the loyal Astartes and the traitors, who vastly outnumbered the Emperor’s Blood Astartes and their mysterious allies.

 

“We are coming, brothers,” Aurius grunted, “hold on.

[Olis]

Cats and Dogs

 

It was more of a slaughter than a firefight, with a pack of cultists and another Word Bearer coming to investigate the area near the disturbed manhole. Many of the mob merely had pistols, although one or two did sport more robust weaponry in the guise of heavy stubbers. The Word Bearer lashed at them cruelly with a long, barbed whip. Whether it was for discipline or his own sick pleasure, Geddon did not know. The skull helmed heretic looked like a daemonised version of a Chaplain, a thought that had been dismissed as soon as it had surfaced. This was a tainted traitor, nothing at all like an upstanding, morally true Chaplain. This wretch was the polar opposite of an Imperial Chaplain.

 

The first to die was the Word Bearer, taking a sniper round directly through the right eye piece. The fool was in the middle of a back swing with his whip, causing the now brain-dead astartes to topple backward. His lackeys turned in horror as they heard one of their demi-gods fall to the asphalt with a deep boom, the weight and mass reverberating out along the once quiet street.

 

Dumbfounded, the cultists swept around, trying to find the source of the shot. It was then when Aquino, Cruz and Escal opened up, supported by the scouts bearing their pistols. Explosions of blood and viscera replaced significant chunks of the cultists as they were struck by the mass-reactive bolt rounds put into them. In the space of a few seconds the group was brutally scythed down - there had been no chance to run.

 

Geddon watched as Thespian, along with Nascadene, moved to check the dead demi-god, passing through the carpet of corpses with practiced grace. The Ardimmar had taken up his rifle again, sweeping his sights in search of any sign of archenemy forces. Further away, acting as a perimeter guard, the Stymphalids kept watch of the boulevard, careful to see and yet not be seen. The brother-sergeant brought his scope in line with each of the bronze astartes, keeping a careful eye on them. If he didn't know any better, he'd reckon they were talking amongst themselves over a private channel.

 

Cthastus had thought about the Inquisitorial sigil that he had seen on the Thunderhawk. It was unusual for astartes in the Ordos pocket to leave such an identification so late with others of their ilk, in his experience. He had seen the likes of Red Hunters brazenly wear their association on their heraldry, of all places, and Exorcists unashamedly defend the actions of the Inquisitor Geddon had been sequestered under, backing the mortal even when he was clearly and demonstrably wrong. As far as Geddon was concerned, Malleus directed astartes rarely had reason to be covert, or subtle. So why had these Stymphalids been secretive? What reason had the Ordo to not show it's hand? Perhaps this was nothing but Geddon hadn't lived as long as he did, serving many years under an Inquisitor he didn't trust to boot, by assuming nothing was wrong. If there was an ulterior motive at work, he'd find it.

 

Nascadene and Thespian began to make their way back from the corpses. Deader than Dorn himself, came the word. Geddon would have to remind Nascadene to not take his forefather's name in vain. It was disrespectful, especially to someone who was a foundation stone of the Imperium. In the distance the sounds of war permeated the background noise, gunfire and explosions signalling the first real onslaught of loyalist forces against Agrippa Hive's despoilers. There was also the tell-tale signs of incoming Titans - the periodic rumble of their steps, the mammoth firepower sailing overhead from the north and, of course, the loudhailers. Geddon had yet to find a turned God-Machine that didn't make extensive use of them.

 

++Scoutmaster.++ Geddon clicked his vox to respond.

 

"Captain Cruz."

 

++We have reason to believe that building with the steel colonnade could be a way into the underlevels, the auspex has picked up raid shelter Alpha-Four beneath us.++ Cruz curtly spoke. ++I intend to send Escal and Aquino to plant the necessary munitions to break into lower thoroughfares. The sewage system is sealed off from this area, and we need to, shall we say, avoid those accursed Titans.++

 

"Acknowledged. Will you need support?"

 

++Perhaps one of your men to provide cover will be of use.++ Came the reply.

 

"I will send Nascadene, Captain."

 

++Nascadene. Thankyou, Scoutmaster.++

 

The building in question was of a reasonable size, compared to it's neighbouring compatriots, in a squat, blunt fashion. The front, garnished with a now defaced Imperial aquila, was blown out from previous fighting, the decaying corpses of it's defenders lying in testament to their struggle and the front of the building streaked with soot stains. For the most part the dead men were incomplete and the dried, brown lake of spilt blood decorated the stairs leading to the main entrance. Geddon wasn't quite sure what purpose the building had when peace reigned in Agrippa Hive but recently it had served as a last stand for these poor souls.

 

Minutes passed as Aquino, Escal and Nascadene went about their business inside the building, lacing the cellars with explosives. Flashing overhead again, worryingly close and arcing downward, was more Titan-fire. Not far along the boulevard the shortfall struck a hab complex, bringing the building to a dangerous lean. Normally this sort of development warranted moving from the site but Nascadene and the other Stymphalids were still busy. More heavy fire bracketing the area changed the option from 'staying outside' to 'find cover immediately'. Geddon did not favour the idea of vaporisation and, clearly, neither did Cruz.

 

"Nascadene."

 

++Yes, brother-sergeant?++

 

"We are coming inside now, scout."

 

++I recommend you do not do that, sir. The explosives are primed and on a timer.++

 

"There is no choice, Nascadene! You will stay inside. We are coming in, now." Geddon felt like throttling the upstart.

 

++Aye.++ Came the terse response. Nascadene rarely liked being shouted at. ++We are moving to the south-side of the building, away from the blast zone.++

 

"Acknowledged, scout. We shall remain on the northern side and then, afterwards, we will redezvous at the blast site."

 

++Aye, sir.++

 

Inside the building husk Geddon waved in Cruz and the scouts, now grey with ash and dust from the ongoing barrage. Shortly after Thespian ducked inside, the explosion shook the building, bringing loose masonry down from the upper levels. Tearing metal and loud crashes signalled the floor caving in, almost the entirety of it. But the catastrophic noises did not stop. The front of the building had cracked and the ceiling had caved in, obscuring the rest of the ground floor, and the others too. Aquino, Escal and Nascadene were, at best, seperated from Geddon and Cruz. At worst, they had been crushed. Static over the vox did not help matters at all, reducing communication to line of sight.

 

"What now?" Geddon asked Cruz.

 

"Downward." Spoke the Captain.